Dolores Delargo Towers - Museum of Camp

I'll never know what made it so exciting

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Fri, 17 May 2013 06:03:00 +0000

The magnificent Birgit Nilsson was an opera diva completely unafraid of dressing up for a role.

And what a voice! Here she is in one of her trademark roles, Turandot by Puccini - In questa reggia:

As Brunnhilde in Wagner's Gotterdammerung (Immolation Scene):

And in complete contrast, I Could Have Danced All Night from My Fair Lady:

Birgit Nilssen (17th May 1918 – 25th December 2005)

Do of the Century?

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Wed, 15 May 2013 10:47:00 +0000

Mia Farrow and Frank Sinatra

Candice Bergen

Lee Radziwill

Jacqueline de Ribes [Read more about her]

Gloria Guinness

Truman Capote's Black and White Masked Ball, 1966 (often referred to, mainly by Capote himself, as "The Party of the Century") - read all about it, courtesy of The Independent

Style, models' own.

Hair by Kenneth.

Kenneth Battelle (19th April 1927 - 12th May 2013)

Oh for the wings of a Dove

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Tue, 14 May 2013 12:01:00 +0000

Art Deco icon Billie Dove (born Lillian Bohny, 14th May 1903 - 31st December 1997)

Facts about Miss Dove:

In the 1920s she was voted, with Clara Bow, as America's most popular actress.
Her parents were Swiss immigrants, and as a child she spoke German before she spoke English.
She began her career (as so many others) as one of Florenz Ziegfeld's girls.
Apparently Howard Hughes paid Billie's husband $325,000 in thousand-dollar bills to divorce her so she could marry him. She never did.
Dorothy Parker dedicated a book to her: "To Billie Dove, God loves her, I do, too."
Her greatest on-screen collaborations were with the heartthrob John Gilbert, and, like him, she never transferred successfully to "talkies".
She retired from the screen in 1933, and lived till she was 94.

On the Jukebox this weekend at Dolores Delargo Towers

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sun, 12 May 2013 06:25:00 +0000

The laughter is over

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sat, 11 May 2013 07:01:00 +0000

The last photograph of James Dean alive, and he is sharing a joke with our own, dearly departed Sara Montiel...

RIP

Going against the rules

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Fri, 10 May 2013 11:05:00 +0000

"I've never done what was fashionable. Going against the rules comes naturally to me."

"Life is more with colours."

RIP "Mr ZigZag" Ottavio Missoni (11th February 1921 - 9th May 2013)

Tea lovers

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Wed, 08 May 2013 17:17:00 +0000

“I know my little ‘dirty drawings’ are never going to hang in the main salons of the Louvre, but it would be nice if - I would like to say ‘when,’ but I better say ‘if’ - our world learns to accept all the different ways of loving. Then maybe I could have a place in one of the smaller side rooms.”
- Tom of Finland, 1991

Creator of the greatest "über-masculine" homoerotic art in the late 20th century, Tom of Finland is now considered an artistic, as well as erotic genius - his work appears on the walls of such esteemed establishments as New York's Museum of Modern Art and the Art Institute of Chicago, as well as on t-shirts, numerous prints and books, and on this rather marvellous tea service...

[I know I have featured it before, but it is my 50th birthday this year - hint, hint!]

Touko Laaksonen aka Tom of Finland (8th May 1920 – 7th November 1991)

Tom of Finland Foundation for the protection, preservation and promotion of erotic art.

The Latin Lover

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Mon, 06 May 2013 22:21:00 +0000

[Click for larger image]

"Women are not in love with me but with the picture of me on the screen. I am merely the canvas on which women paint their dreams."

"To generalise on women is dangerous. To specialise on them is infinitely worse."

Rudolph Valentino [aka the "Latin Lover"] (6th May 1895 – 23rd August 1926)

Here comes the Bride

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sat, 04 May 2013 06:07:00 +0000

It's my sister's wedding today.

Life's a Drag

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Wed, 01 May 2013 22:32:00 +0000

"Clothes make the man" - Mark Twain

Throwing shapes, sucking in their cheeks

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 15:16:00 +0000

Unknown punk and Steve Strange, 1978

Marilyn, Princess Julia and Boy George, 1978

Martin Degville (Sigue Sigue Sputnik), 1978

Boy George and Patti Bell, 1978

Jeremy Healy (Haysi Fantayzee), Andy Polaris (Animal Nightlife) and friend, 1978

Billy's Club punters, 1978

Joan, Marilyn and Kate, 1978

Princess Julia and Boy George, 1978

Siobhan Fahey and friend, 1978

Steve Strange and friend, 1978

"Anything went at Billy's, the more theatrical the better." - Photographer Nicola Tyson.

Back in 1978 Billy's Club, a small venue in Soho, held a David Bowie tribute night each Tuesday.

Although it only ran for three months this most influential of venues, run by Steve Strange and Rusty Egan (later to form Visage), and its punters - including Boy George, Simon Le Bon, Gary and Martin Kemp, Princess Julia, Marilyn, Siobhan Fahey and Isabella Blow - went on to dictate the tastes of the nation in the 80s and beyond. The club served as inspiration for other seminal London nights, such as Blitz (read my previous blog about that club) and Taboo, as well as the basis for the New Romantic style of dress and music.

Another mighty trendsetter, the writer and journalist Robert Elms, was there:

"We're starting a new club at place called Billy's in Soho, Tuesday nights, come along," said Steve Strange. The 1980s were about to begin a year and a bit early.

Tuesday night, the deadest time in this always near moribund playground, was the night we were invited out, to gather at Billy's, a small, unspectacular club down a suitably unmarked stairwell. Above it was the Golden Girl, a grubby whorehouse, where tarnished brasses lazily tempted the seedy mac men. The girls would occasionally give a whistle as we walked by, and we'd shimmy and blow kisses, confident that we had made it to our destination in one piece. Tuxedos and wing collars, padded shoulders and cummerbunds, T-shirts, diamanté brooches, taffeta gowns.

That first night at Billy's, I had on my quarterback PX top, a pair of voluminous white linen harem pants with Melissa Caplan had made and a pair of Kung Fu slippers from round the corner in Chinatown. I had no idea what I was supposed to look like, but we all knew you had to look and make people look. Steve Strange was on the door, camply clocking your get-up as he let you in and took your two quid. For the first few weeks he didn't have to try too hard to keep people out. The very idea of a one-off night, where an outside promoter fills and otherwise empty club with his own punters, was entirely new. The logic for the club owner (in this case a wide black guy named Vince) was obvious. On Tuesdays he couldn't even attract sufficient lotharios and nurses to make the place viable, so why not invite this weird Welsh shop assistant, who claimed to have lots of friends to take over and take a share of the takings? There were maybe only thirty or forty elaborate souls at most, gathered up by the bush telegraph, to answer the call. Billy's wasn't a big place, a couple of dark rooms and a shiny mirrorball, and the few who gathered there on the first few Tuesdays could find a corner each to lurk in, bits of their extravagant outfits protruding from the murk.

Rusty Egan was on the record player. As yet there wasn't much choice for the selector. A staple of Bowie and Roxy, Kraftwerk's Germanic machine music, and a touch of slick Euro-disco, like Georgio Morodor's pulsating The Chase. The sound was electronic, Teutonic, avowedly fake, a fabulous respite. From the murky corners of the club came a few dancers, posers rather than hoofers, throwing shapes, sucking in their cheeks and extending their lithe limbs for all to admire, proto-vogueing. I'd gone in my Chinese space-cossack attire with Chris Sullivan in monocle and spats, Ollie O'Donnell as a tartan Teddy boy, Melissa Caplan as a psychedelic swinger and Graham Smith as a mod matelot. Billy's was like a do-it-yourself, teenage version of a Neue Sachlichkeit painting.

The nucleus of what would become known as New Romantic, which would go on to define the 1980s stylistically, which would shift the tastes and the desires of an age, (and which would be derided like no other) was weaving its way through the wreckage of the "Winter of Discontent" to get to Billy's on Tuesday nights in 1978. This cadre in ridiculous clobber has been portrayed as the extravagant over-reaction to Punk's ripped and torn anti-style. But that is to completely misunderstand both movements. Almost all the kids, and there were few people in Billy's over twenty-one, who made it past Steve Strange in those early days had been punks. They'd been the eager-eyed young ones at the back, too young to really make a mark or form a band, but they'd been punks in the glorious early days, when Punk itself was an underground, individualistic, overdressed style statement. Billy's was like Louise's only more so. Billy's was for those who'd tasted the thrill of wearing "clothes for heroes" and wanted it back.

Punk had been a thrashing spasm of brilliance, but despite its apparent nihilism had actually shown that even here, in "sick Britain", you could accomplish something. The handful of self-obsessed, self-confident exhibitionists gathered at Billy's on a Tuesday night had learnt the lessons of punk and were determined to create shining lives for themselves, or at least look good trying.

After a couple of months, Steve Strange and Rusty Egan had a falling out with the owner of Gossips. The place had got a little more popular as word spread, and Steve began his gleeful act of rejecting anyone who wasn't sufficiently spectacular. But there still weren't more than sixty or seventy regulars and no one was really making money, so we were evicted.

The Way We Wore: A Life In Threads by Robert Elms

Life is a party

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 06:08:00 +0000

"Only an expert fabricator could survive the public tightrope walk required of someone trying to portray herself as both the taste-making doyenne of European society and a self-effacing American nobody." - biographer Sam Staggs

If you weren't invited to an Elsa Maxwell party in the mid-20th century celebrity whorl, you were nobody. She knew something about everyone.

Elsa Maxwell injected a sense of fun into post-war society parties, and the great and the good came flocking to her door to lap it up, from royalty to Hollywood. The superstars of the entertainment world all carefully kept the grande dame on side, for fear she would launch a tirade against them in one of her syndicated newspaper gossip columns or numerous TV appearances.

She not only entertained in person and in print, she also wrote books on "etiquette", wrote and produced music for theatre and film (and appeared in a few) - and in 1959 she even recorded an album of her own, Elsa Maxwell - Her Voice and Music [oh, if only I had a copy of that!].

A bizarre mix of contradictions, Miss Maxwell was renowned for being coarse and vulgar yet aspired to mix with the highest echelons, and she was probably a lesbian (and quite possibly a stalker at that) yet publicly decried homosexuality. Certainly, by all accounts she was a much-feared harridan.

Her endless name-dropping and not-so-subtle snobbery belied the fact that she was (in her own words) "a short, fat, homely piano player from Keokuk, Iowa, with no money or background, who decided to become a legend and did just that."

Yet when she died, aged 82 in 1963, barely a dozen people turned up for her funeral. The party probably wasn't big enough, or fun enough. Or maybe the joke had simply run its course.

"Life is a party. You join after its started and you leave before its finished."

"I don't hate anyone. I dislike. But my dislike is the equivalent of anyone else's hate."

"Nothing spoils a good party like a genius."

"Laugh at yourself first, before anyone else can."

Elsa Maxwell (24th May 1883 – 1st November 1963)

Warholflower

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 07:22:00 +0000

"Andy Warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy Warhol, Silver Screen
Can't tell them apart at all"
- David Bowie

Photographic portraits of pop artist Andy Warhol that lay forgotten in a filing cabinet for more than 30 years are to go on show for the first time.

As one of the senior photographers at The Daily Express, in the summer of 1981 Steve Wood travelled to France for the Deauville Film Festival to photograph the celebrities attending. By chance he ran into his longtime friend, Elaine Kaufman, her new husband, and their friend Andy Warhol - and took the opportunity to badger the great artist for a photoshoot.

Once back in the UK, Wood apparently developed the images on to slides, filed them away under the letter "W" and promptly forgot all about them.

Lat year, friend and fellow photographer David Munns was helping Wood to clear out the contents of his London studio. Among the myriad papers, notes and films, Munn came across the Warhol slides.

The photos will go on display at the appropriately-named Lost Then Found exhibition in New York from 2nd to 12th May 2013 - but some of the images will also go on show in London from 10th to 12th May 2013 as part of a pop-up exhibition at the brand new Conran-designed luxury South Place Hotel in Finsbury Square, near Moorgate.

Lost Then Found website

George's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 16:37:00 +0000

"Where on the screen I am invariably a sonofabitch, in life I am a dear, dear boy."

George Sanders (3rd July 1906 – 25th April 1972)

More George

Office

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 06:06:00 +0000

How imagine my office should be.

Closer to the truth, however...

"The brain is a wonderful organ; it starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office." - Robert Frost

Hey ho.

Parky

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 09:31:00 +0000

Today is the centenary of one of the most influential fashion photographers Britain ever produced, Norman Parkinson.

Read my previous tribute to the great man.

Norman Parkinson CBE (21st April 1913 – 15th February 1990)

Jayne had a lot more

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 07:05:00 +0000

"A 41-inch bust and a lot of perseverance will get you more than a cup of coffee - a lot more."

"I like being a pin-up girl. There's nothing wrong with it."

"I will never be satisfied. Life is one constant search for the betterment for me."

"Most girls don't know what to do with what they've got."

Jayne Mansfield (born Vera Jayne Palmer; 19th April 1933 – 29th June 1967)

A monster? Or a sacrificial lamb?

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 12:20:00 +0000

Take the most hideous, the most repulsive, the most complete moral deformity; place it where it fits best - in the heart of a woman whose physical beauty and royal grandeur will make the crime stand out all the more strikingly; then add to all that moral deformity the purest feeling a woman can have, that of a mother ...

Inside our monster put a mother and the monster will interest us and make us weep. And this creature that filled us with fear will inspire pity; that deformed soul will be almost beautiful in our eyes ..." - Victor Hugo (from his preface to his play Lucrèce Borgia)

But was she really the "monster" or "creature" that Victor Hugo (and Donizetti, upon whose opera Hugo's play is based) portrayed her? Not according to many recent historians. I reprint in full this rather good article by Tanya Smith on Helium website published in 2009, that seeks to redress the balance:

Lucrezia Borgia (1480-1519) was the illegitimate daughter of Rodrigo Borgia, Pope Alexander VI, and is one of the most unjustly disparaged women of the Renaissance period. Legend portrays her as an immoral murderess who conspired with her power-hungry father and brothers to further her family's influence in Italy and Europe. However, like most high-ranking women in the Renaissance period, Lucrezia would have had few choices in relation to her personal life. Marriages were made for political alliances and Lucrezia was used to form such alliances for the Borgias.

Her family's ruthless tactics in breaking off her betrothal to a wealthy Spanish nobleman named Cherubino Juan de Centenelles, in order to betroth her to a more powerful contender for her hand Gasparo da Procida, resulted in making the young girl an object of anger and injured pride. The situation worsened when her father ascended the Papal throne shortly thereafter and decided that his daughter should marry even higher. Rodrigo Borgia cancelled the second engagement to Gasparo da Procida and entered into a new agreement with Giovanni Sforza, Count of Pesaro. Lucrezia became the innocent pawn between the two rival suitors at the tender age of twelve.

Eventually, it would be her first husband, Giovanni Sforza who was the source of her worst defamation. Lucrezia seemed happy enough with the marriage, but after six years, she had not become pregnant. The Pope did not need the alliance with Sforza any longer and since no heir was forthcoming, he annulled Lucrezia's first marriage. Sforza was furious and embarrassed that an examination of Lucrezia had proven that she was a "virga intacta". He blurted out a horrible statement that would blacken Lucrezia's name for centuries, accusing the Pope of wanting Lucrezia back for himself.

Shortly thereafter, Lucrezia was married to a young, handsome man who appeared to make her very happy. Upon meeting Prince Alfonso Bisceglie of Aragon, it was said that Lucrezia experienced un colpo di fulmine' literally, a thunderbolt' of love at first sight. She became pregnant with his child soon after their marriage. However, her happiness was not to last. Along with Lucrezia, the Pope had come to feel very affectionate toward his new son-in-law. This angered her brother, Cesare. In a fit of jealousy and fear of losing his position, Cesare murdered Alfonso Bisceglie, just as he did his own brother, Juan, who had also threatened his influence with their father. Lucrezia was almos inconsolable. Barely having recovered from the loss, she was married off to Alfonso D'Este, a man who matched her family in power and was therefore able to remove her from their life of treachery and deceit.

Regardless of her innocence and inability to make her own marital choices in life, Lucrezia still became the target of malicious gossip. As a female, she was the weakest member of a powerful family, and therefore, the easiest to attack. Her name was sullied by the Borgia's enemies, who claimed she had incestuous relationships with her father and brothers. Her role in her family's machinations was grossly exaggerated.

Yet, by the end of her life, at age thirty-nine, Lucrezia's image had changed. She spent the second epoch of her life helping the needy, protecting the rights of Jewish people in Italy, encouraging peaceful agreements, and devoting herself to family, friends and the service of God. She died as a beloved patron of the arts, immortalized by poets such as Pietro Bembo and Ercole Strozzi.

Her third husband, a hardened warrior who was known to have been reluctant to marry Lucrezia, fainted with grief at her funeral. Even the Doge of Venice said he "grieved for her as if she had been his own daughter". Despite these evidences of her better nature, famous composers such as Donizetti portrayed Lucrezia as a spoiled, murdering woman of ill-repute. Victor Hugo based his Lucrece Borgia on Donizetti's opera and thus the false legends of Lucrezia Borgia were carried to popular culture.

Finally, it is the cruel words from an epitaph written by Pontano, twenty years before her death, that are most commonly associated with her today: "Here lies in her tomb a Lucrezia in name, but a Thais in fact. Daughter, wife and daughter-in-law to Alexander VI". History has not been any kinder to Lucrezia and does not often account for the fact that she was no more than an innocent daughter and sacrificial lamb to the Borgia family.

However, in high art and culture, everybody loves a villainess - so it is the Donizetti/Hugo portrayal that provides us with the campest version. And, in the immortal words of Anna Russell (read my blog about her), ...that’s the beauty of Grand Opera, you can do anything so long as you sing it!"

Lucrezia Borgia (18th April 1480 – 24th June 1519)

'do of the Day

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 06:01:00 +0000

Dusty Springfield (16th April 1939 – 2nd March 1999)

I think today should be...

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 06:11:00 +0000

...a "say something hat" day!

Don't you?

Il pleut...

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sat, 13 Apr 2013 10:54:00 +0000

Miller, liked

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 16:14:00 +0000

Johnnie Lucille Collier, better known as Ann Miller (12th April 1923 – 22nd January 2004)

Facts about Ann Miller:

She was "discovered" by Lucille Ball and talent scout/comic Benny Rubin, aged just 13.
As a child she had rickets, and dancing was seen as good therapy for the condition.
Miss Miller is credited with popularising the wearing of tights (pantyhose).
It was claimed that she could tap 500 times per minute, but the sound was in fact looped in later.
Her first (credited) screen role was in New Faces of 1937, and her last was in the David Lynch movie Mulholland Drive in 2001.

Read our previous entry for Miss Miller

Elegance is a state of mind

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 07:39:00 +0000

Oleg Cassini’s designs for Jaqueline Kennedy - "The Jackie Look" - were described by none other than the great Hollywood costumier Edith Head as the "single biggest fashion influence in history".

Alex Witchel in the The New York Times described him thus: "His name has always suggested glamour, champagne, polo ponies, a box at the opera, he was married to a movie star, and engaged to Grace Kelly before she became a princess. The son of Russian aristocrats banished to Europe after the revolution...he designs clothes that betray a lifelong ache for lost grandeur, there is about him in every gesture from knocking ash from his cigar to straightening his tie an echo of old world distinction."

Mr Cassini - whose first wife was that great style icon Gene Tierney, and among whose other myriad clients were Rita Hayworth, Betty Grable, Joan Crawford, Marilyn Monroe, Natalie Wood and Gina Lollobrigida - was the fashionista behind such fashions as the A-line skirt, Sheath dress and Empire Strapless gown.

It is his centenary, and even now, on the catwalks of the 21st century, his influence is everywhere.

"Fashion anticipates, and elegance is a state of mind... a mirror of the time in which we live, a translation of the future, and should never be static."

Oleg Cassini (11th April 1913 – 17th March 2006)

Lady and the camp

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 06:08:00 +0000

This actually happened...

I reproduce in full this review by Brian Wheeler from the BBC website back in February 2006:

The razzle dazzle of Maggie
Here's one for you - a grocer's daughter from Grantham rises to become one of the most powerful leaders in the world, helps bring the Cold War to an end, but in a classic betrayal of Shakespearean proportions is brought low by her closest colleagues.

It really was only a matter of time before somebody did Margaret Thatcher: the musical.

And the all-female Foursight Theatre company (previous productions: Boadicea, Mae West - Goodness Had Nothing To Do With It!, Hitler's Women) have had the good fortune - the foresight, in fact, to get there first.

It may not have the big budget clout of a West End production but what the group lacks in fancy sets it more than makes up for in the Maggie count. There are eight - yes, eight - different actresses playing Lady T at various stages of her life.

First of all we meet Young Maggie the grocer's daughter, played by Julie Baker, all pigtails and 'cution lessons (note to cast: Grantham is not Oop North!).

Lady and the camp
Twin Set Maggie - who loves to flirt and show off her shapely legs as she powers her way through the party ranks.

Then comes Toni Midlane's Power Suit Maggie, standing imperiously at the door of Number 10 as her political acolytes perform the high-kicking Cabinet Shuffle below. (Disappointingly the women playing Geoffrey Howe and Keith Joseph don't attempt anything more than a cursory impression.)

I think my favourite was Britannia Maggie - played by Kath Burlinson - who kicks off the second half with a wonderfully unhinged punk number - "No! No! No!" - vividly capturing Lady T's lurch into Euroscepticism.

But with anything up to half a dozen Maggies on stage at once, it feels at times a little like the Monty Python sketch set on Alan Whicker Island, with the actors all trying to outdo each other to pull off the best impression.

Voice coaching
The cast received voice coaching from Steve Nallon, who played Lady Thatcher on Spitting Image, and it is that mid-period, basso profundo, hectoring Maggie that they have all gone for, with varying degrees of success (I could swear I heard Enoch Powell's staccato tones creeping in at one point).

There is no sign of the more high-pitched early Thatcher, even though the script refers to the fact that she dropped an octave during the course of her political career.

I was also slightly puzzled by Narrator Maggie, who arrives on stage in a giant handbag, sporting a shapeless black dress and a blue fibreglass hairdo, and lurks about in the wings commenting on the action ("I really did say that!") and occasionally joining in with the musical numbers.

The cast and directors took three years to devise the show and it is extremely well-researched.

'Where there is discord...'
They really know their Iron Lady.

The script weaves in extracts from her most famous speeches - from St Francis of Assisi on the steps of Number 10 to her final exit from the party leadership contest.

Of course, the real Lady Thatcher is still a figure that divides opinion sharply and there was, apparently, a nostalgic cry of "Maggie! Maggie! Maggie! Out! Out! Out!" - from one section of the audience at the first night's performance.

The production does its best to be even-handed, steering the line between being an out-and-out celebration of Lady Thatcher - the flag-waving scene with a flak-jacketed Maggie atop a tank could almost have come from the sort of revue you might see at the Tory party conference - and her darker moments. The sinking of the Belgrano, the poll tax riots, mass unemployment - it's all here.

But only as it reaches its finale does it really tumble off the political fence, as Diva Maggie, played by Lorna Laidlaw, emerges to perform a nightmarish, swivelled-eyed vision of the present about how "we are all Thatcherites now".

If you can live with the slightly scary image of eight Margaret Thatchers in purple feather boas singing a rousing gospel number about economic policy then this is definitely the show for you.

Time for a revival?

RIP Margaret Thatcher

Tea break?

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Mon, 08 Apr 2013 06:06:00 +0000

Here's another new-fangled device I think should be installed in the office.

It would make Mondays so much easier.