The Moai are one of my favourite mysteries of the world – if only we had some here on Mars – or maybe we do – cue thrilling music with a little vibrato. Well, I suppose there’s a lot of information about them, and mystery may be stretching it a little. But one has to wonder why the esteemed sculptors kept making the great big heads when all around them was going to hell, not to mention treeless, foodless, and tuna-less. Ordering pizza was not an option.
On the plus side, we still have nearly 900 of the gigantic beauties to ponder over and admire. They’re monoliths, you know, and were responsible for thriving physiotherapy businesses on Rapa Nui (not a true fact, but perhaps an alternative fact – hahahahahaha).
You know, of course, that the Crusaders could be rather nasty types, given to wholesale bloodshed with the excuse of serving their masters, the Popes, and accumulating indulgences to keep them out of trouble in this world and the next. Silly boys! They would have done better had they learned a bit more about how to layer and honey a nice baklava, or the many lovely accompaniments to pita bread and felafel. Maybe next time.
Euclid – it’s all his fault, friends. Far be it from me, or meow, to finger an ancient angler, but hey, why not? Personally, I like the odd shapes and I’m guessing you might, too.
Euclid is known as the ‘father of geometry’ – imagine giving all those sharp little shapes and corners and angles a kiss and a hug before bedtime. Imagine the damage to the porcelain at bathtime as a 45 degree introvert collides with its obtuse over-achieving sibling. What fun, eh, Pythagoras!
The sofa, by the way, is a lovely replica of a design by Irving Harper who worked for George Nelson’s company. It’s called a marshmallow sofa – positively edible. Thanks to the talented Lorrie for her miniature replica and permission to use in this presentation.
Did you know that alleyways really are quite the thing nowadays? Even here on Mars. They are. Formerly places my old friend, Top Cat, and his pals called home, they’ve been given the fad-on-a-stick treatment and prospered mightily.
I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I like my tuna bagels in a nice tea-room with delicate crockery and catnip on tap. I’ve done my time on the mean streets of the third and fourth rocks, and I like the friendly salons, heavens, I like Gertrude Stein and Alice B Toklas. What I really, really like is a bowl of plain ice-cream with a happy drizzle of genuine Canadian Maple Syrup, preferably served by Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in his very nice suit.
When I was a graduate student at Pranceton, I well remember the Snarkinpiffle brothers. They were an unfortunate mix of stumbling, bumbling, cat tail stomping dunderheads with genius level IQs. I have no sympathy whatsoever for Helen – she should know by now what my sainted mother, Mrs On Mars taught me, Never work with siblings and never work without tuna crisps.
Perhaps I’m a tad biased, but I’ve always said that our canine colleagues lack a little something, empathy wise. But then, nature will out, won’t it? And take-away is a treat any day of the week. That’s all.