So Anne Laurie, channeling her inner SPT, and professionally looting* the invaluable TBogg, gives us the immortal music video below.
Well. It may seem hard to match that — but I have a secret weapon.
I share the house with an eleven year old.
And that fine young cannibal (for do not one’s children always dine on their elders, one way or another?) has led me to the delights of Yogcast. (Don’t ask. If you know, I know quite a bit about you; if you don’t, you don’t need to. It’s a life-cycle thing.) And with that, I have listened now more times than humans should be asked to tolerate (“He’s dead, Jim!”…or alternatively, “Jim–he’s dead!”) to this:
<div align=”center”><iframe width=”420″ height=”315″ src=”http://www.youtube.com/embed/fC7ltMJj13k” frameborder=”0″ allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
You may thank me later.
*Per the noted wordsmith and somewhat inconsistent¹ antisemite T.S. Eliot’s dictum: “Immature poets imitate. Mature poets steal.” (Usually glosssed as “amateurs borrow; professionals steal.” I am a professional. ;)
¹There’s a marvelous incident in which the buttoned up Eliot finds himself enmeshed in a conversation too surreal to be invented that casts a delightful sidelight on that ugly story. I’ll probably feel compelled to blog it soon.