Roald Dahl's "Crocky-Wock The Crocodile."
I used to read this to my kids. It was better than "Little Bo-Peep."
Commentary by Michael Wade on Leadership, Ethics, Management, and Life
Roald Dahl's "Crocky-Wock The Crocodile."
The trailer for the new documentary, "Listen to Me Marlon."
I am an animal lover but there are days when the amount of coverage given to a basic story is hard to understand.
He who has a hundred miles to walk should reckon ninety as half the journey.
Petula Clark: "Downtown."
The Unnaturals with "If Only Keith Richards Could Surf."
The trailer for "Taylor Camp."
Someday you will read in the papers that Dwight L. Moody is dead. Don't you believe a word of it. At that moment I will be more alive than I am now.
William F. Buckley, Jr. remembering the ailing David Niven:
I have returned from my training trip and am doing the usual "back in town" chores. My morning was fueled by Starbucks Double Shot Espresso so I feel like Hercules unchained.
I came to see, in my time at IBM, that culture isn't just one aspect of the game; it is the game.
Lorrie Morgan: "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?"
Mark and Maggie O'Connor playing "Appalachia Waltz."
The client status of Mr. Y. K. Deng of Hong Kong became a prime topic of discussion near the end of the quarterly management review of the New York law firm of Needham & Lewis, a meeting that till then had been all gloom and acrimony.
For it is mutual trust, even more than mutual interest, that holds human associations together. Our friends seldom profit us but they make us feel secure.
A little something before the work week begins: a conversation between Sydney Greenstreet and Humphrey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon.
We were sitting in the blind that Wanderobo hunters had built of twigs and branches at the edge of the salt-lick when we heard the truck coming. At first it was far away and no one could tell what the noise was. Then it was stopped and we hoped it had been nothing or perhaps only the wind. Then it moved slowly nearer, unmistakable now, louder and louder until, agonizing in a clank of loud irregular explosions, it passed close behind us to go on up the road. The theatrical one of the two trackers stood up.
A rule/tip from Eclecticity Light.
Anderson Layman's Blog is a daily treat.
There was always fame. As long as there have been human beings, there has always been fame. It's a human weakness. No other kind of living creature knows anything about fame, not even the peacock, who certainly craves attention but lacks the brain to know why. In every human group of any size, someone becomes famous, and it's a fair bet this has always been true. When prehistory turned to history, famous people became, almost by definition, the first kind of people posterity got to hear about. Indeed it wasn't until recent times that the writing of history began to concern itself with anyone except famous people and the things they did. Far into the nineteenth century, the famous were remembered and everybody else was forgotten. That was what fame was. It was a classification rather than a force in itself.
The secret of life is to have a task, something you devote your entire life to . . . and the most important thing is - it must be something you cannot possibly do!
I came to the philosophic life as a thirty-eight-year-old naval pilot in grad school at Stanford University. I had been in the navy for twenty years and scarcely ever out of a cockpit. In 1962, I began my second year of studying international relations so I could become a strategic planner in the Pentagon. But my heart wasn't in it. I had yet to be inspired at Stanford and saw myself as just processing tedious material about how nations organized and governed themselves. I was too old for that. I knew how political systems operated; I had been beating systems for years.
Time to revisit The Dollar Shave Club site with its memorable video.
The arrest scene in The Grand Budapest Hotel.
The Atlantic has extraordinary photographs of ocean life.
Thunder is good, thunder is impressive, but it is the lightning that does the work.
Check out the short video at Guy Kawasaki's site.
Aside from the 16,000 Republican candidates for president, could a surprise be lurking on the Democratic side?
You know you want one: 1980s mobile phone ad.
The most exhausting thing in life, I have discovered, is insincerity.
Back by popular demand: One of the greatest opening scenes in the history of film.
The Czech Philharmonic with "The Moldau."
Muddy Colors has pictures of Comic Con in San Diego.
The intuitive mind will tell the thinking mind where to look next.
I was born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County, Virginia. I am not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth, but at any rate I suspect I must have been born somewhere and at some time. As nearly as I have been able to learn, I was born near a cross-roads post-office called Hale's Ford, and the year was 1858 or 1859. I do not know the month or the day. The earliest impressions I can now recall are of the plantation and the slave quarters - the latter being the part of the plantation where the slaves had their cabins.
Otis Redding: "Sittin' On the Dock of the Bay."