On overeating or drinking

Whether we are talking about the next mouthful, the next drink, the next cigarette, the next sexual partner, or the next dose of whatever psychoactive chemical we might buy on the street, the concept is equally applicable: It’s hard to get enough of something that almost works.


Isn’t that an amazing little insight?  I got it from a Kaiser write up about what they’re studying/doing to help their members with weight control.



GREAT personal ads in this little story. Read ’em and weep (tears of laughter).


“Arthritic granddad (67) with a catalogue of driving convictions including ‘Driving whilst trying to turn the dang wipers off’, ‘Driving whilst wondering if his urology appointment has come through’, and ‘Driving whilst “Hey! Isn’t that where your Aunt Maude’s first husband lived after the divorce came through? He’s settled in Jersey now. I could never stand him – he used to do this thing with his teeth…”’ WLTM someone who knows how stop the oven from beeping. Box no. 9729.”

“Last time I placed an advert in here I got a great response from a lovely man who seemed ideal (remember those letters, swapping bits of Yeats with lines from Dylan songs?). We arranged to meet at a nice restaurant South of the Thames. Unfortunately I missed the date because on the way out of my flat I popped a Kegel*. That was almost three years ago, but after several surgical pubococcygeus restorative procedures and 30 months of contracting and relaxing and stopping mid-flow I’m finally ready for that Italian meal you promised. If you’re still out there, Carl from Highbury, get in touch with Wendy, now 49 and fit enough downstairs to crack a walnut. Otherwise any man to 55 who isn’t afraid of surgical knickers. Box no. 9376.”

On a completely unrelated subject

I was out picking apricots this morning and two nauseatingly overripe ones fell on me from above. One onto my head in my hair, and the other on my boob.
It’s interesting how the cots ripen at different times. There are still some fairly green ones on the tree, too. Mostly ripe now, though. Cobbler again tonight.
Can’t wait for the peaches, should be next week.

It was finally a little bit cool this morning and I’ve had the house opened up. I started smelling smoke again about an hour ago so I’ve battened down the hatches.

Off to give Lewi a bath and a shave. I’ve not shaved him myself yet, this may be interesting. Or just hard and unpleasant. As opposed to my earlier “task” which was hard and pleasant.
I’ve got it on the brain, people. Bear with me.

Update: I took a shower and the apricots came right out with scissors.
Nah, just kiddin’. Also, Lewi looks like a convict from the pound did his haircut, only with more bald spots. I’m going to have to rub sunblock on him before he goes outside. My bad.
PS: I’m looking for my camera. It’s somewhere. No before haircut pics, but maybe an after.

I miss Nurse Myra

Word of the Day for Tuesday, April 29, 2008

gimcrack JIM-krak, noun:

1. A showy but useless or worthless object; a gewgaw.
2. Tastelessly showy; cheap; gaudy.

Yet the set is more than a collection of pretty gimcracks.
— Frank Rich, Hot Seat

In those cities most self-conscious about their claim to be part of English history, like Oxford or Bath, the shops where you could have bought a dozen nails, home-made cakes or had a suit run up, have shut down and been replaced with places selling teddy bears, T-shirts and gimcrack souvenirs.
— Jeremy Paxman, The English: A Portrait of a People

And as for coincidences in books — there’s something cheap and sentimental about the device; it can’t help always seeming aesthetically gimcrack.
— Peter Brooks, “Obsessed with the Hermit of Croisset”, New York Times, March 10, 1985

The origin of gimcrack is uncertain. It is perhaps an alteration of Middle English gibecrake, “a slight or
flimsy ornament.”


Nurse Myra is due back any moment now, I just know it. I’m sending white light to her internet connection.