Strange company hopes you aren't getting bored with this blog.
We fear the cats already are.
On to this week's Carnival of the Curious:
What the hell is going on in Baltimore?
And in Russia?
And in Alaska?
And in Cape Town?
And in London?
And in the oceans?
And in the whole freaking universe?
True crime writer Ann Rule is at the center of an interesting twist on the recent rash of author vs. negative reviewer battles.
Anyone for a scavenger hunt?
America's oldest known cave paintings have recently been discovered.
In case you needed one more reason to appreciate gin.
Music to die by.
Kittens go to war.
More military cats, via the Library of Congress:
|Mascots of the USS Nahant, circa 1898|
|Miss Vixen, mascot of the USS Vixen during WWII|
Time machines a go-go!
No, but they sure have us sized up. Next question?
Start your weekend off with a taste of the Total Perspective Vortex.
An interesting "revisionist history" of "The Elephant Man," suggesting that Joseph Merrick may have found life as a sideshow exhibit preferable to being a hospitalized exhibit.
Via the ruins of Pompeii: I'm embarrassed to admit I have loaves in my kitchen that look worse than this.
Because around here, we just love our Royal-baby-secretly-switched-at-birth stories.
Photo of the week, via the UCLA Archives. It was Raymond Chandler's birthday this week, so they highlighted a photo of him with his cat, Taki. The inscription notes that in this photo, Chandler was holding his cat's tail to keep it still. Look closely at Taki's face, and you will see how much he appreciated that.
I'm sure there was an unreleased sequel to this photo that showed Chandler's nose being ripped off.
This week's PSA: Santa Anita is hosting an unscheduled exhibition of what happens when people who do not know how to drive horse trailers insist on driving horse trailers. I told one of the security guards that they have to bronze this thing and keep it as the perfect metaphor for what's become of the track since Frank Stronach took over.
He liked that.
Have a good weekend, gang. I'll be back Monday, with the story of one of the strangest deaths on record. Let me put it this way: After reading about what happened to a quiet suburban housewife in 1924, you will never think of barbecue the same way again.
Consider yourselves warned, my lovelies.