Llama Font. You know you want it.
Click to go to the generator and write secret llama messages—though once you get the hang of it, it’s easy to read.
The T and the Y are particularly adorable, I think. And the I. Okay, yeah, all of it.
Go forth and Llamafy!
(thanks to Janet Reid for this new toy, even though I didn’t decode her message fast enough)
Janie has discovered Weird Al Yankovic. The world may never be the same–after ten straight repeats of “The Weird Al Show Theme Song,” in the car this morning, I’m pretty sure I won’t be.*
She has it memorized and goes around singing, “But that’s really not important to the story!” at odd intervals. I’m beginning to miss, “Whatever.”
It’s amazing to her that a professional musician messes up songs on purpose. Music is supposed to be sacrosanct, like books. “I mean, I know you do it, Mommy, but he’s good.”
My husband’s reaction? “Excellent!” He’s so proud to have helped produced the next generation of Dr. Demento** fans.
‘Course, he doesn’t drive her to school and back.
Quotes from the Notes
People who talk by the yard and think by the inch should be removed by the foot.
—Croft M. Pentz, The Complete Book of Zingers
Sheer (shear?) unadulterated cuteness:
To get this kind of effect, I’d need a handful of styling product, a round brush, and a windtunnel—and some Rogaine.
One off the bucket list:
I finally found a copy of Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen’s version of the Mission Impossible theme song from the first movie. I’ve been looking for this for years, but didn’t want to illegally download it.
In the end, I had to buy a CD with a Bjork song on it. Bjork. But it was so worth it.
Yes, Janie comes by her musical obsessions honestly. Why do you ask?
And to end this odd, little llama-fest, Wally Llama, reluctant guru, and three insistent pilgrims:
The moral of this clip? Use your smartybrains: don’t meditate without a net.
*Yes, I was closest to the stereo control and yes, I’m the parent. But it was either listening to ten reps of this song or twenty minutes of begging, whining, pouting, and aspersions cast upon the quality and quantity of my maternal love. I’ll take the earworm, thanks.
**Does anyone else miss this guy? Does anyone else remember this guy? I used to stay up past my bedtime and listen to him under my pillow with my huge airport runway style radio headphones.