Daily Office: Monday
Morning
¶ Polish Joke?: We begin the week with news of — drag racing in Åodz, Poland (pronounced “Woodge,” according to the Times). Now with legal status! Nicholas Kulish reports: “Where the Street Racing Is Fast And the Police Aren’t Furious.”
Noon
¶ No, Your Leader: Below the jump, a picture of HM the Extraterrestrial, pointing to her spaceship, at the RAF Fairford flypast.
¶ Paradise Unpaved: From one little house in Toronto, may a great idea fly throughout the denser parts of suburbia. Franke James’s My Green Conscience.
Night
¶ Cake Wrecks: This just in, from my good friend Y—: Cake Wrecks. Celebrating disasters crafted by professional bakers and paid for with cash American! Blinded by tears of hilarity, I can hardly type. What was I saying about frivolous Mondays?
Morning, cont’d
§ Polish Joke. With everything that’s going on in the world, it’s sweet to see former prisoners of a command economy let ‘er rip. It might seem very wrong-headed, given the price of oil, to be wasting fuel on thrills that are every bit as adolescent as acne, but the recreational use of almost anything, while wasteful by definition, is nowhere near as objectionable as the systemic, dependent use that has trapped so many Americans in spiralingly-expensive automotive commuting.
Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I want to say what a terrific time I had on Saturday at One Day University‘s Times Center program. It was the sort of experience that’s so comprehensively interesting that I risk saying nothing about it at all, lest I fail to do it justice. A series of “One Day U Notes” sounds like a good idea.
Noon, cont’d
§ Leader. Other pictures from this suite (at the Telegraph) make better sense of the millinery. But still:
And what’s with that queer bar of white across HM’s face? Really, this is worthy of Glen Baxter or Tom Tomorrow.
If I thought I could count on material, I’d devote every Monday’s office to frivolity. During the summer, anyway.
§ Unpaved. This strip packs the wallop of a feature-length film. (Via kottke.org)
Night, cont’d
§ Cake Wrecks. Cake Wrecks appears, at first glance (as I say, I’m too blinded to take a second), to lift the prize-winning formula of Go Fug Yourself to loftier heights of wretched taste. The entry for Bastille Day must be seen, er… And the one for the next day isn’t an improvement!