5. The ridiculously profound pleasure of a brand new pair of socks.
4. Thursday: a typical encounter with new technologies in our house:
Him: Crikey, the baby's just ... Sorry, no, as you were: it was just my Blackberry going off.
3. Seeing this new photo posted yesterday by Peter Peryer, which he says reminds him of photographs he's taken of flowers:
2. The description of lo-fi merchant Sean Kerr in the Physics Room's enterprising press release for his current exhibition 'klunk, clomp, aaugh!' as "New Zealand’s own troublemaking new media pundit". And then citing Martin Kippenberger. In a press release. More like this, please.
1. Watching the first season of Deadwood (yet again). Best show on TV -- ever.
[Jack has just been found not guilty of killing Wild Bill Hickock]
Al Swearengen: "What's your name, it's Jack, ain't it?
Jack McCall: Yes, sir! You buy me a drink, I'll make my mark.
Al Swearengen: Stick around camp, Jack -- I'll make mine for you. Jack McCall: What in the hell is that supposed to mean?
Al Swearengen: Means there's a horse waiting for you outside you'll want to get on before somebody murders you who gives a fuck about right and wrong -- or I do. [Jack stares, dumbfounded]
Al Swearengen: It's the paint, Jack. Right outside my joint. [whispering]
Al Swearengen: Run for your fucking life."
Hotel proprietor E.B. Farnum: "Hickok's half-woman friend's off somewheres on a tear. The orphan square head's in the widow's care. The widow feels put upon. She's asked me to find her some help. I suggested the gimp."
Al Swearengen: "In life you have to do a lot of things you don't fucking want to do. Many times, that's what the fuck life is... one vile fucking task after another."
E.B. Farnum: "Be brief.
Calamity Jane: Be fucked!"