It's A Big Day for Birthdays

For starters, it's Sigmund Freud's birthday (1856). You can find the Little Thinker Freud dall here--they also have a musical version and a Tickle Me version.

It's also the birthday of Orson Welles, Robert Peary, Tony Blair, Willie Mays, Rudolph Valentino, and George Clooney. For all of their accomplishments, these people do not have Little Thinker dolls.

Comments

Gina said…

I love George Clooney so much, I think I might buy a doll of him if there was one! ;)

I mean, how could they not make a doll for the acccomplishment of cinema that was Ocean's 12?

Don't hate me, I'm joking.

10:59 AM

Sassy Sundry said…

Holy crap. That's a lot of birthdays. Sigh... George is a hot one, isn't he?

11:40 AM

Anonymous said…

Freud is a doll? That would have come in handy last term what i was being beseiged by weeks of learning about the sick and twisted soul. Did they bring out a freud's mother as a companion doll or has he finally grown up?

5:23 PM

Maria said…

I want a Jung doll. But, I think I only share my birthday with Bette Davis. I could go for her, except for those eyes might creep me out at night.

Now, that I think about it...I think someone told me that Barbara Bush and I share the same birthday too. Now, I only want THAT one if it comes with pins to stick in it.

7:53 PM

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

Scout Moves

Search This Blog