Rude but funny.
You know what the most significant distraction for anyone who works on the computer is don’t you? Of course, the Internet. Yet it’s fun to start the day with a chuckle.
From Jay Leno’s Late night came this from a 100-year-old woman:
Leno said, “I heard you went to Universal Studios yesterday.”
“Yes,” she said, “the wind was blowing as I was wearing a skirt and holding onto my hat.
“A young man came by,” she said. He told her, “Lady, you better hold down your skirt. We can see everything you’ve got.”
“Honey,” she said, “everything I’ve got is 100 years old. But this is a new hat.”
Here’s a challenge:
Read the excerpt from the children’s book, The Snail with a Right Heart, and not buy it.
I couldn’t.
With fascination, I read the lengthy excerpt of Maria Popoya’s book printed in The Marginalian–biology, the origin of life, snail reproduction, and Jeremy, the snail with a shell coiled the opposite direction of most every other snail. And with his internal organs opposite as well.
And then came a “but,” and the excerpt ended.
What?
What happens next?
It’s going to make me cry, I know it.
The book is in the mail.
★ A Kirkus Best Book of 2021: A Best Informational Picture Book
★ A Marginalian (formerly Brain Pickings) Loveliest Children’s Book of 2021
★ A Spirituality & Practice Best Spiritual Book of 2021
All of the author’s proceeds will go to the Children’s Heart Foundation, whose quarter-century devotion to funding research and scientific collaborations is shedding light on congenital heart conditions to help young humans with unusual hearts live longer, wider lives.
And on the home front–a friend who is cruising into a broken heart.
Take a lesson–don’t get scammed by a promise of romance with sweet talk and I love you’s from a chat room.
My husband says it’s a billion dollar business. And schools to teach the scammers how to prey on hopeful hearts.
Here’s her story: He is (supposedly) off-shore on an oil drilling rig, and has mortgaged his home to invest in some scheme that will make him 9 million dollars, so he can retire in style.
He says he has a Scottish accent and immigrated to America with his father when he was 20. Our friend and he are only texting, no speaking, but have exchanged pictures.
He says he is off the shore of Louisiana, which would be in a 3-hour time zone from where she lives, yet their visits are 12 hours apart. Hum. What’s wrong with this picture–many things actually.
Yesterday he sent word that there was an explosion on board the rig and financial loss. [Plus an Emoji sad face.]
The plot thickens.
The heart is a lonely hunter, someone said, and wrote a book by that title. Luckily, he’s across the globe, and she’s here, and she is holding onto her money with an iron fist.
She could read a novel, but this is more fun.
“No man* knows how much he is an optimist, even when he calls himself a pessimist because he has not really measured the depths of his debt to whatever created him and enabled him to call himself anything. At the back of our brains… [there is] a forgotten blaze or burst of astonishment at our own existence.”—G.K. Chesterton