It’s funny how when you’re getting things done, you’re getting everything done and when you’re not, you’re getting nothing done. Or perhaps not so much funny as depressing. Haven’t even been blathering on about the usual nonsense on the ol’ blog. Actually the other day I did have an idea about researching the amount of money non-Christians end up giving the Finnish church via the community tax but soon succumbed to apathy. I could have either made the dubious statistical approximation that “each Finnish atheist/muslim/scientologist ends up giving about 20 euros to the church a year” or “every Nokia phone Osama bin Laden buys ends up funding Finnish protestantism to the tune of NN euro-cents” but I became so incredibly bored writing it that I don’t know why I bothered doing so now.
I even got the flu just in time for May day fun, which is probably just as well since I never was a big fan of the associated public binge-drinking and open-air fornication. Call me old-fashioned, but I think such things are a man’s private business.
As my excessive bout of listening to Led Zeppelin winds to an end (it’s lasted several months) I can’t help but feel grateful that somebody got around to inventing progressive rock. It’d be terrible if all popular music still had to be about girls. Led Zep did occasionally try – here’s Ramble On, a nominally Tolkien-inspired song:
Mine’s a tale that can’t be told, my freedom I hold dear
How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air
T’was in the darkest depths of Mordor… (seems reasonable so far)
…I met a girl so fair (ah well, I suppose it was inevitable really)
But Gollum and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her, yeah (what?)
In fact descending into total nonsense is something of a Zeppelin trademark. I defy anyone to come up with a scenario to describe what’s going on here:
Listen mama, put on your morning gown
Put on your nightshirt mama we gonna shake ’em down
Must I holler? Must I shake ’em on down? (slightly cryptic, but such is the blues)
Gave my baby a twenty dollar bill,
If that don’t get her I’m sure my shotgun will (and we suddenly turn to the tried and true romance of cash and death threats)
I leave you with Rachel, the star of my new favourite web-ad (if there’s hope for hyperhidrosis sufferers, there must be hope for me):
