a lenten benediction

courteous thanks to ami, belinda, betty, cath, chloé, ella, emma, gretta, hannah, jennifer, karina, mel, nora, paige, rachel, rachelle, renee, (and anyone else i may have carelessly omitted), for stopping by "foundfoundfound" last year, leaving comments, and helping themselves (unprompted) to all the chupa-chups.

what's going on

no golf (good)
no "new yorkers" since september (bad)
bodyclock at war with daylight savings (bad)
just bought lime tree (good)
parrot pooed on my face last night (bad)
watching "extras 2" (good)
hearing hillary's scaly voice (bad)
blueberries half price (good)

replies

to comments previously left pending.

in the beginning

i wasn't sure whether to call this blog "foundfoundfound" (after the song, obviously), or "artie ziff's busy hands" (look! he's ready to grope!). i think i made the right choice.

pennies for pensées

it has been politely pointed out (many times) that the only thing holding back "foundfoundfound" are the posted items: viz. the expressed opinions of the author. so i'm thinking of outsourcing the writing duties to bangalore or bombay. does a penny a post sound about right?

in my limited experience

canada has the best bloggers. fact.

you for scuba?

not today.

apologies aren't necessary

i'm australian. we don't have feelings. say whatever you want.

couldn't

be bloggered.

my brother

was here before. he ate everything. i have nothing left. to offer you.

out there, beyond the footlights

foundfoundfound is a silly little enterprise begun in an idle moment. it's not profound. it's not a confessional. it's not saucy. there isn't even any fucking on it (blog authorities have warned me about this and told me to juice things up a bit). it has no intrinsic value at all. except insofar as it functions as a brasserie which serves honey, al fresco, for the passing bee trade. and what lovely bees call by.

and, so, i'd like to thank the buzziest members of the hive: that small, select group of women of impeccable taste who come here regularly whenever their schedules allow. by which i mean jaded angel, and rachel, and sam, and angel. there are others of course. i mention these women because they are generous tippers. the coin jar in my email box is almost too heavy to lift.

who knew that the very things i say which usually cause friends to quietly reach for their coats and briefcases (most can't depart soon enough), would in the blogosphere, be a source of some diversion? it's not much of a readership now. but i know women. they're a talkative bunch. four women today, a few phone calls later, and tomorrow the audience might be the size of china.

if my experience is anything to go by, blogging leaves blind dating for dead. every woman i've met has been a knockout.

taking the curtain call

kind thoughts to all who've hoovered up the "casting call" post. and for the praise a-plenty. très flattering. though i think it is a little on the soupy side. it's intended as a reply to phillip larkin's poem "talking in bed". itself a wonderful coda on the incongruity of physical closeness and emotional distance. and to the mush-loving women who come this way, catching their heels on the grate and spilling the contents of their bags all over my comments page, i'm just letting you know i'm giving this subject a rest for a little while. will a week do for you? i'm not an expert. believe me. so to avoid becoming the fabio of blogopolis i'm going to whine and opine about other things.