Serge, Larry -- the big furry monster in sneakers wasn't Gossamer?
I remember the Peter Lorre mad scientist, but he turned up other places, too.
I repeat it often as a cautionary tale.
A former housemate had the warning repeated back to her, by a third party, and was able to tell the cautioner that she knew the original victim.
So at least I got some amusement from it.
No, the Modern Major General is Elmer Fudd, because it's much better to give the patter song THAT speech impediment, and Bugs Bunny always plays a drag role in G&S productions, so I believe he'd do rather well for Mabel. Although not a bad choice for Ruth, either.
Daffy Duck also has to play Ko-Ko in The Mikado. Just turn your mental ear to him singing "Tit-Willow."
Teresa, I don't know if it's the best method, but a bathtub full of tepid, soapy water served to relieve the agony one Philcon when my sweetie had consumed habaneros (in chocolate) at a Hot Foods Party.
Important safety note: Toothpaste does not remove 100% of the capsaicin from the mouth of one who has recently consumed habaneros.
It does remind me of certain ideas expressed in Ian McDonald's "Scissors Wrap Paper Cut Stone," though.
Would you settle for being shot with a tranq-dart instead of anything lethal?
Amy -- is "triffically" a neologism, d'you think, or just phonetically rendered dialect?
I'm remembering an old Blackadder episode where they find a Turnip Shaped Like A Thingy, and Baldrick says, "A great big thingy. It was triffic."
Either way, I like it too.
Will NOT let all the lovely links distract me from the stuff I'm supposed to do today. no no no no no.
Fascinating. And I am now going to have the musical theme from the opening credits of PBS' "Mystery!" running through my head all day, along with the Edward Gorey artwork that derived so much inspiration from mourning pictures.
It could be far worse. This is fun.
Jazz: have you considered using something serious and straightforward for the processional, but entering the reception to the Imperial March?
My husband and I used the old standby Pachebel for a processional (carefully timed so I entered on the sixteenth notes, I *still* love those sixteenth notes), and a nice bit of Vivaldi for the recessional, but when we made our entrance to the reception, we had the band playing the Muppet Show theme.
The cantina band music would work too.
Trust me, you don't REALLY want the Imperial March for the processional itself. Your friends would be unable to resist making scratchy breathing noises while it was going on.
Soft, apprehensive descending chords? Not the classic scary-movie riff of "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor?"
In the "that's just wrong" department, I know someone who used the Imperial March (Darth Vader's Grandmother etc.) as her wedding processional. Another sometime poster will Know Who I Mean. :)
Indeed, proprietary chili seasoning was likely the intended ingredient. That sort of thing is generally a lot of cumin and paprika, with some oregano and actual powdered chile pepper in smaller amounts.
Academically-gifted non-jock females are neither warriors nor adrenaline junkies messed up at least half a dozen women I know, which means it probably did the same to a lot of other women I'm acquainted with, but whose histories I haven't known in sufficient detail.
It might have for me, if there hadn't been SF and fantasy to disappear into, and a fortuitous introduction to D&D when I was ten, and a summer camp with activities that could seduce a non-jock into the joys of the adrenaline rush. Whitewater rafting? Eighty-foot zip lines? Whee!
Thank you for making me realize how lucky I was.
I learned to knit last winter, mostly from diagrams, but I got some help from one of the other swimming-class mothers for casting-on.
I think what I like best about it, besides its meditative quality, is that it's a socially acceptable buffer activity for family gatherings. It's not OK to pull out a book and read at a holiday party. But it's OK to pull out your knitting. Then, when people want to talk to you, the first thing they do is ask about what you're making, and that's a nice SAFE subject, much better than the usual family-gathering nosiness.
Absolutely pictures. Certainly talking pictures, with distinguishable accents. Generally not much background noise.
Sometimes the pictures are static, but most of the time, if there are described actions, the pictures will move -- more proscenium-arch than movie camera, though.
When I was very, very young -- say, four or five -- it used to distress me when I encountered a description of something that was so far outside my experience that I just couldn't GET a picture, even though the description was detailed. I remember it especially in the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, because Laura was brilliant at describing things, but some of the late-nineteenth-century artifacts were so foreign to a five-year-old a hundred years later that I had no mental image, and formed a distorted one. I can also remember encountering things in the physical world and getting a click of recognition from one of her descriptions, and having those sections of the book go much more smoothly when I re-read them.
I rarely get taste or smell from books, but when I do, it's next to impossible to keep me out of the kitchen trying to duplicate it. I think the first literary cooking effort I made was a try at lembas-wafers, when I was ten, in which I discovered the difficulties of trying to grind almonds to flour in a food processor. Nut butter, anyone?
The most successful effort was a meat pie inspired by the ones sold by Raf in "Five Hundred Years After." Didn't have any venison, but the steak version quelled my cravings.
I know I can't be the only person to do this, or "Lobscouse and Spotted Dog" wouldn't exist.
"One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas."
Merry Christmas, everyone.
I think I ran across a riff on the mood-influencing typography idea in a book called "Scissors Cut Paper Wrap Stone." It was a very interesting read. It's probably still on my bookshelves somewhere.
As for Errol Flynn -- most of the fencers I know can go on at length about his fencing flaws, the worst of which is generally held to be "not listening to Bob Anderson." The beach duel scene in "Captain Blood"? That's not fake blood on Basil Rathbone's cheek. It's a real injury, inflicted by Errol Flynn not following the choreography. Even with the injury, Rathbone finished the take.
WTF?
How do they expect to DO this?
Do the friendly blue boxes on the street corners disappear?
Do they refuse to collect an outgoing envelope from your house if you haven't written a return address on it? What if you've put a return address other than your own on it -- which you could be doing for entirely innocent purposes, for example helping a friend or paid client to address wedding invitations? (Sure, a lot of people do these on the laser printer now, with a script font, but there have got to be some holdouts still favoring calligraphy or simple handwriting.)
Would ALL mail have to go across a post office counter, in person, with the sender showing ID?
How do they then store that information? How many more labor hours will it take to maintain the data?
This is both ridiculous and an outrage.
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