portrait-photo

The Wunderkammer of the Mild Colonial Boy, Esq., a Reactionary Tory Gentleman, who armed only with a Steampowered Babbage Engine and Pure Intentions, wanders the Time Streams and Aetheric Plane gathering an Eccentric Hodgepodge of Curiousities, Frivolities, Whimsicalities and Nonsense.

Q. Why is your Tumblelog called "My Ear-Trumpet Has Been Struck by Lightning"?

A. Because "My Grandmother's Ear-Trumpet Has Been Struck by Lightning" wouldn't fit in the available space.

the-asphalt-jungle:

Myrna Loy utters those immortal dinner party lines - “The Thin Man” (1934)

(Source: the-dark-city, via mothgirlwings)

peterseaman: I wish my dinner parties were as classy as the one prominently featured in “The Time Machine.” That dinner party included classy beverages, a well furnished Victorian room and a trip to the year 802,701 to fight Morlocks. I like the decor of the room, and would eventually like to have a similar space as a study or office. At the moment I have “The Time Machine” playing in the background while I draw a flow chart with probably too many arrows, as I drink Earl Grey tea and sit in the soft light of a desk lamp. Normally my dinner parties just involve me in casual attire giving people chicken, then asking why they won’t eat more chicken, then suggesting they really should eat more chicken,  and then repeating the whole process with some sort of cheesecake, against a backdrop of cheap wine and occasional shenanigans, such as someone being pistol-whipped by an angry latino girl with a Nerf Gun. 

peterseaman:

I wish my dinner parties were as classy as the one prominently featured in “The Time Machine.” That dinner party included classy beverages, a well furnished Victorian room and a trip to the year 802,701 to fight Morlocks. I like the decor of the room, and would eventually like to have a similar space as a study or office. At the moment I have “The Time Machine” playing in the background while I draw a flow chart with probably too many arrows, as I drink Earl Grey tea and sit in the soft light of a desk lamp.

Normally my dinner parties just involve me in casual attire giving people chicken, then asking why they won’t eat more chicken, then suggesting they really should eat more chicken,  and then repeating the whole process with some sort of cheesecake, against a backdrop of cheap wine and occasional shenanigans, such as someone being pistol-whipped by an angry latino girl with a Nerf Gun.