Literary dining
Mark Taranto
j...@islay.dco.dec.com (Jolly C. Pancakes) writes:
> The Beloved Spouse and I got into a discussion last night on the
> classic topic of the Ideal Dinner Party - who would you invite to
> dinner, if you could invite anyone from any period in history? (The
> Beloved Spouse wants to invite Voltaire and Genghis Khan. But then, he's
> also the one who initiated the previous night's discussion on
> cruetly-free methods of getting enough hair from a badger to make a
> proper shaving brush. Cruelty-free for the badger, that is....)
This idea was done, quite well, by Steve Allen on the PBS series GREAT MINDS.
As for me, I would not be able to limit my list to the eight people needed
for dinner -- so I would have a champagne and truffle party. This would
allow me to invite people whom my other party guests might enjoy.
For days, I would make chocolate truffles (the Julia Child recipe -- with
1 1/4 sticks of unsalted butter, 8 oz. semisweet chocolate, 2 oz. baker's
chocolate, 1/4 cup strong coffee, 1/4 cup of Liqueur (I find that Grand
Marnier works best -- but Cointreau is also nice). In addition, a nice
selection of cheeses, crackers, fresh vegetables and dips, strawberries
dipped in chocolate, and petite fours will be available.
The family room, living room, dining room and deck will be lit with
candlelight. Bobby Short and Ella Fitzgerald will be playing the
piano and singing Cole Porter songs (as well as those by others).
We get ready for the party. The suggested dress is black tie for the men,
and cocktail dresses for women. Carole looks stunning in the dark green
silk dress I bought for her. Her oldest daughter decides to strike
a somewhat bohemian pose, failing to hide her beauty behind drab clothes.
Carole's middle daughter goes for a more glamorous look. Her youngest
daughter, who has been told that she can stay up until 11:00 for this
special occasion, is wearing the rose colored Laura Ashley sailor dress
which I gave her for Christmas.
At precisely 8:00 p.m., the historical figures all appear at once. Bobby
plays the piano, while Ella sings. I give everyone a glass of champagne
(ginger ale for my youngest stepdaughter). As I am about to give the
toast, Everiste Galois pulls a dagger from his dress uniform, holds it
above his glass, and says "To Louis Philippe." Alexandre Dumas (Fils)
applauds. Remembering that Galois never made it to his 21st birthday,
I take away his wine, and give him some ginger ale. "But I am French,"
he says, pleading with me. After Clarence Darrow intercedes, explaining
that his birth certificate puts him well past 21, I back down.
Soon, the other guests start to arrive. Francis is the first. Seeing
the sailor outfit on my youngest stepdaughter, he interupts Raoul Dahl,
who is telling the story of the gentle giant, and introduces himself.
As other guests enter, I start to circulate -- pouring more champagne, and
handing out truffles. I notice that Mike Godwin and Mike Morris are talking
with Rushdie.
"Let's get this thing over with," says Mike G. "We'll just fly
in to Teheran. I can get you off on a technicality."
"Hell," added Mike M, "I can get you off on principle."
"Ah, Principle!" said Socrates, who just joined the conversation.
"I could have gotten off on a technicality, but I chose to die
like a man. Be a mensch -- stand up to them."
Rushdie, looking nervous grabs two glasses of champagne, and downs them
quickly.
I see Carole sitting with Dr. Ruth, discussing sex-education films.
Bertrand Russell sits down next to her. After talking for a moment,
recounting how he was denied a post at CCNY for his views on sex, he puts
his hand on Carole's knee. She quickly removes it, and continues her
conversation.
On my way back to get more wine, I notice Joan of Arc and Sigourney Weaver
explaining to Jean Paul Sartre that their hair styles are NOT a result of
their cooperating with the Nazis.
In the room, the women come and go, talking to Michaelangelo.
I also see that Carole's oldest daughter is in a lively discussion with
Tolstoy. As the discussion is in Russian, I am unable to relate any of it.
Carole's middle daughter is unable to keep up -- as her Russian is a little
rusty, so she grabs Thomas Jefferson, and starts speaking with him about
international politics. Bertrand Russell joins them. After a moment,
he puts his arm around her shoulder.
Charles Dodgeson approaches me and asks if he can take pictures of my
youngest stepdaughter. "Of course," I reply. Then I think about it
for a moment and add, "Fully clothed, of course."
Looking down at his feet, he adds, "Yes, of course."
Joan Shields enters, heads straight for Queen Elizabeth I and says, "You
had the right idea. Never marry -- and if they get fresh, off with their
heads." Elizabeth Regina smiles broadly, putting a crack in her inch thick
makeup.
Joe Green makes his entrance. He is followed by the O'Tooles, who shadow
his every move. Postumous, who arrived at 8:00 with all of the historical
figures, quickly joins this group. Bertie O'Toole makes some cutting remark
to him as Candlestick, looking elfin in a long translucent dress, lets out a
long laugh. All of the O'Tooles grow quiet as Joe speaks. "Let us find
Nietzsche," he proclaims. "I need to find out how he got his PhD without
writing a dissertation."
Just then, Robertson Davies crosses his path. The O'Tooles, thinking him
an older Joe, wonder which Joe they should follow. "It's just a damn
Canadian," cries Joe, and all of the O'Tooles fll in behind him.
At this point, Jolly C. Pancakes rushes in. "Mark, you must help. My
Beloved Spouse has started something between Voltaire and Genghis Khan."
As we make our way out to the deck, I see Terry (my ex) talking with
E. M. Forster. She is pointing towards Francis, who is lost in conversation
with Thomas Love Peacock. I hear her say, "There is the one who confused
HOWARDS END with THE LONGEST JOURNEY.
Things are calm as we reach the deck. Voltaire explains it simply:
"For a great cause, it is better to run and fight for it later, than
to die for it."
I see my youngest stepdaughter talking with Anne Frank. "I liked it, but
there were just SOOOO many little details, and, of course, it was so sad."
At this point, I see Joe Green making his way over to Tolstoy and Carole's
oldest daughter. The O'Toole's are still following him. I notice that
Nietzsche tags along. He now has 32 pockets. Joe says a few words in
Russian. The O'Tooles scratch their heads. Joe hands her a coat with
32 pockets, announces to the group that from this date onwards she shall be
known as Anastasia O'Toole, and that she will be returning with him to
St. Paul, to continue her studies.
With This, Joe moves through the crowd, with the expanding group of O'Tooles
fanning out behind him.
At this point, Annette Bergmann, Barbara Hlavin and Janet Zimmerman arrive.
Explaining that they got lost on the way from the airport, they gladly
accept a truffle and a glass of champagne. Sensing their inner souls, the
cats in the household run to them, rubbing against their legs.
Bertrand Russell, who is trying to explain to Sartre, Galois and Dumas (Fils)
why both 'the current king of France is bald' and 'the current king of France
is not bald' are false statements, sees this, and thinks that the cats have
the right idea.
I notice that Virginia Woolf is speaking with Francis. "You're a geologist.
What do you think of these rocks?" In the corner, I see Terry having a
discussion with Kate Catmull about Catholic guilt.
I notice that Anastasia O'Toole is flirting with Reluctant O'Toole, the least
well known and shyest of the O'Tooles. The rest of them are listening
in rapture as Joe discusses poetry with Rilke. Rilke lifts his hand, exposing
the blue topaz ring of the O'Tooles. The O'Tooles gasp, as they notice
his ring indicates that he is the same rank as Joe.
Carole, who had been discussing sterile procedures with Pasteur, breaks away
to tell me that it is a certain little girl's bedtime. After tucking her in,
I notice various r.a.b.ble looking through the bookcases on the balcony that
overlooks the livingroom. Coming downstairs, I see Monet complimenting Carole
on her still-life paintings.
Passing into the family room, I notice Freud explaining to Shakespeare why
tragedy is so popular. "You see, it is common to be sad."
"Yes," I said, "But much more sad to be common."
Oscar Wilde looked at me, and said, "I wish I had said that."
The O'Tooles, in unison, responded, "You will, Oscar, you will."
James Joyce, who was discussing hitting with Shoeless Joe Jackson and Ted
Williams (the only male guest without a tie), came over to complain that
the three of them would really prefer a good beer to this fine champagne.
I quickly supply them with a bottle of Bass Ale, and two bottles of
Rolling Rock.
At that point, Joe asks me if I would relate my only unforgivable sin
to the O'Tooles. I tell him that it is neither the time nor the place, but
do agree to relate the story about how I made a nun cry in high school.
As I walk away, a few of the O'Tooles stray away from Joe, following me. But
a high pitched sound, much like a mother goose calling her gosslings, brings
them back to Joe.
In the next room, I have to separate Newton and Leibnitz. Bertrand Russell
had got them started by proclaiming Leibnitzian notation as the superior. He
immediately fled the scene, to make his attempt at piercing Joan of Arc's
armor. Ella was singing "Just one of those things" and the bubbles were
beginning to get to Joan of Arc. But Benjamin Franklin got to her first.
"The French always DID like that fat little bastard," Russell mumbled
under his breath.
By now, the flock of O'Tooles had tripled in size, and their inability to
stay near Joe was causing confusion.
Bertrand Russell had passed out on Lily Langtry's bosom. Lily was talking
with Carole, who was telling her that a mild soap like Dove was much better
than Pear's (which Lily had advertised). Carole also gave her several samples
of Retin-A to help with the wrinkles which were due to sun damage from her
days in Jersey.
At 2:00 a.m., I am finally able to sit for a few minutes, but the historical
figures disappear immediately. The famous living people had already left.
Only the r.a.b.ble remain. Joe, who had changed into his pied piper outfit,
leads them all away. Anastasia O'Toole leaves with them, assuring us that
she will be alright.
Bringing the dirty champagne glasses into the kitchen, I yell out:
"Damn, I forgot to serve the madeleines!"
Mark
Dani Zweig
>Bobby Short and Ella Fitzgerald will be playing the
>piano and singing Cole Porter songs (as well as those by others).
Some of your less modern guests might not appreciate that music.
>Rushdie, looking nervous grabs two glasses of champagne, and downs them
>quickly.
Would he drink champagne? He *is* Moslem.
>Charles Dodgeson approaches me and asks if he can take pictures of my
>youngest stepdaughter. "Of course," I reply. Then I think about it
>for a moment and add, "Fully clothed, of course."
>
>Looking down at his feet, he adds, "Yes, of course."
You embarrassed the poor man. A good host would have found a way to be
more tactful.
>At this point, Annette Bergmann, Barbara Hlavin and Janet Zimmerman arrive.
>Explaining that they got lost on the way from the airport, they gladly
>accept a truffle and a glass of champagne.
I'm losing count of the guests. Are you *sure* you made enough truffles?
-----
Dani Zweig
da...@netcom.com
Roses red and violets blew
and all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew -- Edmund Spenser
Mike Godwin
>mtar...@shearson.com (Mark Taranto):
>
>>Rushdie, looking nervous grabs two glasses of champagne, and downs them
>>quickly.
>
>Would he drink champagne? He *is* Moslem.
He's a nonobservant Moslem, or was last I checked. (His much-publicized
"conversion" was actually an acceptance of his Moslem heritage--he has
since said he hopes to be part of the beginning of a "secular" Moslem
heritage, much as there are "secular" Christian and Jewish traditions.
--Mike
--
Mike Godwin, |"Humanoids are the galaxy's way of trying to get rid
mnem...@eff.org | of all that alcohol."
(617) 864-0665 |
EFF, Cambridge | --Iain Banks
jim hori
Does one *make* truffles? I had thought they were rooted out.
Dani Zweig
>>I'm losing count of the guests. Are you *sure* you made enough truffles?
>
>Does one *make* truffles? I had thought they were rooted out.
By chocolate truffle hounds?
Mark Taranto
> mtar...@shearson.com (Mark Taranto):
>> Bobby Short and Ella Fitzgerald will be playing the
>> piano and singing Cole Porter songs (as well as those by others).
> Some of your less modern guests might not appreciate that music.
I like to think that my less modern guest are in Heaven. I also like
to think that there are a lot of Cole Porter and Gershwyn songs
performed, there. Therefore, it is my assumption that my less modern
guests would already be familiar with the music.
>> Rushdie, looking nervous grabs two glasses of champagne, and downs them
>> quickly.
> Would he drink champagne? He *is* Moslem.
Thanks to Mike G for answering this. My implication, of course, is
that champagne is preferable to hemlock.
Actually, Bertrand Russell rarely drank alcohol. There is a story about
one time when he did. He sat up quickly, and exclaimed: "I'm as drunk
as a lord! I AM a lord!"
>> Charles Dodgeson approaches me and asks if he can take pictures of my
>> youngest stepdaughter. "Of course," I reply. Then I think about it
>> for a moment and add, "Fully clothed, of course."
>>
>> Looking down at his feet, he adds, "Yes, of course."
> You embarrassed the poor man. A good host would have found a way to be
> more tactful.
But he wasn't one of the invited guests, and did have a reputation
for taking pictures of little girls without their clothes on, and
Ashley does look like Alice. I think Leibnitz brought him along.
>> At this point, Annette Bergmann, Barbara Hlavin and Janet Zimmerman arrive.
>> Explaining that they got lost on the way from the airport, they gladly
>> accept a truffle and a glass of champagne.
> I'm losing count of the guests. Are you *sure* you made enough truffles?
Yes, I always have chocolate truffles left over, as a matter of fact. I
usually end up sending them home with guests. Besides, the O'Tooles don't
eat much.
Someone asked if truffles were made -- he thought they are rooted out.
Truffle pigs come in all varieties. Some of us prefer rooting for
the chocolate kind. For our Australian readers -- I do not use the
word "root" the same way as you.
And for those who are interested, the recipe is in MASTERING THE ART OF
FRENCH COOKING, vol II.
Mark
PS
I would also like to apologize to Joann Zimmerman for writing her
name as "Janet." I used to work with someone named Janet Z, and
obviously (in my haste) stuck her name in there. Annette, Barbara, and
Joann are noted cat lovers who contributed to the Feline Fiction
thread. I received e-mail from another cat lover who told me
that it was quite a compliment to the three of them, that the
cats in the houshold immediately ran to them. It was meant as such,
and I am glad that it was noticed.
M
Heidi E. Schlenker
>
There are two kinds of truffles - the French, expensive mushroom (that is
rooted out); and a chocolate desert type (which I HOPE is what the
literary dining extravaganza was munching on!)
Heidi
el...@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu
>
>There are two kinds of truffles - the French, expensive mushroom (that is
>rooted out); and a chocolate desert type (which I HOPE is what the
>literary dining extravaganza was munching on!)
>
>Heidi
Chocolate desert?
with peppermint cacti and marmalade skies, I expect.
Hello again, all.
Bryan Solie
Tom Maddox
I would like to correct Mark Taranto's vicious slur on the O'Tooles,
who are by nature anarchic, irascible, unpredictable, and as easy to herd
as a thousand cats. For him to imply that Joe Green O'Toole could function
as some sort of Elron-like Big Brother slanders both them and him.
I believe Mr. Taranto suffers from O'Toole envy.
And while I'm at it, I suppose I should rebuke the buzzing voice of
Ms. Joan Shields, who quoted me as being pissed at not being quoted and who
thereby committed an uninteresting paradox.
Bertie O'Toole, aka
--
Tom Maddox
tma...@u.washington.edu
"I swear I never heard the first shot"
Wm. Gibson, "Agrippa: a book of the dead"
Joan Shields
> And while I'm at it, I suppose I should rebuke the buzzing voice of
>Ms. Joan Shields, who quoted me as being pissed at not being quoted and who
>thereby committed an uninteresting paradox.
>
> Bertie O'Toole, aka
I really must apologize, Tom, I failed to recognize you under all that
eyeliner and rouge. Can you ever - oh, will you ever forgive me? Please?
You did, however, seem pretty pissed off when I saw you walk into Rick's
American Cafe. And why was the side of your face so red - if I hadn't
known better I'd have said someone slapped you.
Joan
"I'd walk a million miles for one of your smiles -
but don't come near me with that thing!"
Paul Callahan
>Chocolate desert?
I'm surprised that no one has pointed out that the best animal for
truffle-hunting is neither dog nor pig, but a chocolate moose.
--
Paul Callahan
call...@cs.jhu.edu
Mark Taranto
It seems I have struck a nerve. I hate to offend anyone, and wish
to apologize to the O'Tooles.
tma...@milton.u.washington.edu (Bertie O'Toole a.k.a Tom Maddox) writes:
> I would like to correct Mark Taranto's vicious slur on the O'Tooles,
> who are by nature anarchic, irascible, unpredictable, and as easy to herd
> as a thousand cats. For him to imply that Joe Green O'Toole could function
> as some sort of Elron-like Big Brother slanders both them and him.
Ordinarily I will not post e-mail messages, but:
Posthumous O'Toole writes:
> I would like to correct your vicious slur on the O'Tooles.
> We are by nature anarchic, irascible, unpredictable, and as easy to herd
> as a thousand cats. For you to imply that Josef O'Toole could function
> as some sort of Elron-like Big Brother slanders both us and him.
Candlestick O'Toole writes:
> I would like to correct your vicious slur on the O'Tooles.
> We are by nature anarchic, irascible, unpredictable, and as easy to herd
> as a thousand cats. For you to imply that Josef O'Toole could function
> as some sort of Elron-like Big Brother slanders both us and him.
I have four other such messages, but see no need to repeat each of them.
From Joe, I received the following:
> Great piece, Mark. But I'm a little worried about the O'Tooles
> They like to think they are independent. I've sent each of them
> the following message:
>
> Don't worry about Mark Taranto's vicious slur on the O'Tooles.
> Everyone knows that we are by nature anarchic, irascible, unpredictable,
> and as easy to herd as a thousand cats. For him to imply that I could
> function as some sort of Elron-like Big Brother slanders both you and me.
>
> That should placate them.
Mark
Heidi E. Schlenker
>>There are two kinds of truffles - the French, expensive mushroom (that is
>>rooted out); and a chocolate desert type (which I HOPE is what the
>>literary dining extravaganza was munching on!)
>>
>>Heidi
>
>Chocolate desert?
But of course! Sand is so tasty in France! :)
Just kidding. Bad typo, BAD!
Tom Maddox
>
>It seems I have struck a nerve. I hate to offend anyone, and wish
>to apologize to the O'Tooles.
Ah well, then . . .
>Ordinarily I will not post e-mail messages, but [follows a concatenated
burst of fancies from the traitorous Taranto intended to further besmirch
the reputation of the O'Tooles]:
Taranto, you vicious hyena, there is obviously no reasoning with
you as your envy of the O'Tooles has prompted you to even more outrageous
calumnies than your previous ones.
Hence:
The Firbolg is the only remedy.
We await your reply.
Mark Taranto
tma...@milton.u.washington.edu (Bertie O'Toole, aka Tom Maddox) writes,
> Taranto, you vicious hyena, there is obviously no reasoning with
> you as your envy of the O'Tooles has prompted you to even more outrageous
> calumnies than your previous ones.
With me, there is ONLY reasoning.
Calumny implies action and intent. I admit to the action, but all of
the O'Tooles know that there is no cruelty in my intent. It is truly
a sad day when someone with the talent and potential of Bertie O'Toole
is reduced to the actions of a name-calling schoolyard bully.
> Hence:
> The Firbolg is the only remedy.
A remedy implies that there is something to be remedied. Since the
only thing I see which needs to be remedied is Tom's O'Toolish
delusions of grandeur, I must assume that the Firbolg is for him.
I do hope he lets us know how it turned out.
A personal note to Tom. My cats get a lot of Firbolgs. There are
several good tasting petroleum gel products that will help you
to pass them through your system. This is far preferable to coughing
them up on the rugs.
Mark
Joe Green
Mark -- I was shocked when I read this. Perhaps you think it good
sport to mock those brave O'Tooles who have traded eternal damnation
for a few years of fooling around. You might have recalled the
curse of the O'Tooles. After all, we are an Atlantean secret
society and, after all, we are not just some
Rosicrucians, damn your eyes, and after all, each of us knows
that he or she will be damned forever and we gladly accept this
just for a few brief years of O'Toolehood. What do we care about
the curse of the O'Tooles? Will the fact that every O'Toole
has died in a most horrible, protracted, and ridiculous
fashion daunt us? Never! Though we all deplore this dismal
conquest and are not insensible of the horror that will rake
our bowels or the fact that -- cadaverous relics -- we will
"survive" in our graves for 40,000 years (those graves already
prepared for us in the O'Toole charnel house) while infinite swarms
of transmigrated versifiers tear at our anatomies with their
sharp sharp teeth before we are consigned to an Eternity of
torment in the bronze caskets already prepared for us in the
deepest regions of the infernal pit, we do not cry out O!
O'Toole, quid fecisti. Nothing! Nothing! daunts the courage
of an O'Toole! Wonder not at the French for their dishes
of frogs. Wonder not at the O'Toole for trading a few years
of fooling around for an Eternity of torment in infinite
graduations!
Exolution! Liquifaction! Transformation! Ingression of unending pain!
Very well.
Cocktail?
You see how it is. Tom accepts this Eternity of Pain so that you
might live. Do you think that there is no-one holding back
the dark that would devour you just because so far you have
given no indication that you have read the essays of Sir
Thomas Browne and no indication that you ever will? Do you not
know that you would be whisked off to Hell in a trice if we were
not holding back the dark that dogs our feet that eats what's
sickened of? You caper about playing of your lute under windows,
delighting in your close-kneed colored suit and the new gilt-handled
sword and dandling your bastard children and trapping Doll in the stairwell
and remarking to your diary of the strange slavery you hold to beauty
and never know -- you darling of Aurora's bed -- of the forces that
would do so much more than nibble your nice phlebotomy -- if the gallant
O'Tooles did not -- boot and saddle to horse and away, hurrah! -- ride
into Tophet itself to keep you -- YOU -- from all harm.
--
--
Kate Atherley
I am an idiot or at least I can't type.
I meant to say Paul De Man was NOT a Nazi.
Sorry over the confussion this caused.
De Man may have been a not so nice guy but he did
revolutionize the way we see literature and that is
very important to me.
Dag The Bad typist.
Bob Ingria
Readers,
What you mean ``we'', kemosabe?
-30-
Bob
Mark Taranto
kath...@cayley.waterloo.edu (Kate Atherley) writes:
> Readers,
> I am an idiot or at least I can't type.
> I meant to say Paul De Man was NOT a Nazi.
> Sorry over the confussion this caused.
I thought it was completely obvious -- and people were choosing to act
confused.
I somehow feel like Francis, pointing out unmannerly behaviour.
But it is unmannerly of me to mention this, so I'm feeling more
like myself, now.
Mark
Francis Muir
Mark Taranto writes:
Rushdie, looking nervous grabs two glasses of champagne,
and downs them quickly.
Would he drink champagne? He *is* Moslem.
Some Moslems, like some Mormons, will drink away from their home base.
When you are next in London, check the Bar at Claridge's. If Rushdie
didn't drink pre-fatwa, he certainly does now. Furtively, of course.
Charles Dodgeson approaches me and asks if he can take
pictures of my youngest stepdaughter. "Of course," I
reply. Then I think about it for a moment and add,
"Fully clothed, of course."
Looking down at his feet, he adds, "Yes, of course."
You embarrassed the poor man. A good host would have found a
way to be more tactful.
An interesting commentary on "modern" standards and those dreadful Victorian
ones that Dodgson (sic) was heir to. In any case, it would have been Carroll,
not Dodgson who attended the Party.
At this point, Annette Bergmann, Barbara Hlavin and Janet
Zimmerman arrive.
Janet Zimmerman? Is this the Identical Twin to our Joann? Silent sister?
Fido
Francis Muir
A personal note to Tom. My cats get a lot of Firbolgs. There
are several good tasting petroleum gel products that will help
you to pass them through your system. This is far preferable
to coughing them up on the rugs.
I am compelled to inject an anecdote. In those halcyon years before the
war, my mother would, from time to time, hold tea parties for the good
ladies of the town. Best Crown Derby china, Lapsang Suchong, cucumber
sandwiches in the Summer, hot, buttered crumpets in the Winter, you all
know the sort of thing. The Drawing Room was a No Go area for Us the
Kids at almost all times, but, from curiosity, we'd sneak in to these
do's from time to time. Was Mrs. Hernu's Pomeranian really allowed to
sit on a sofa? That sort of thing. I snuck in one afternoon to catch
one of the old dears excalim:
My cat's got furry balls!
I cracked up amidst looks that varied from terror to horror to small
smiles. Ah, what do we do for fun nowadays?
Fido
Doug Moran
> Taranto, you vicious hyena, there is obviously no reasoning with
>you as your envy of the O'Tooles has prompted you to even more outrageous
>calumnies than your previous ones.
Vicious hyena?
--
Doug Moran | "Smithers, hand me that ice-cream scoop."
do...@hal.com | "Ice cream scoop? But sir!"
{...}!hal.com!dougm | "Damn it Smithers, this isn't rocket science;
HaL Computer Systems | it's brain surgery!"
;;;;RC47
>I really must apologize, Tom, I failed to recognize you under all that
>eyeliner and rouge. Can you ever - oh, will you ever forgive me? Please?
Nothing to forgive. Simple mistaken identity. As I recall,
the only people wearing "all that eyeliner and rouge" were your mother
and your date.
>You did, however, seem pretty pissed off when I saw you walk into Rick's
>American Cafe. And why was the side of your face so red - if I hadn't
>known better I'd have said someone slapped you.
Wishful thinking, my dear. I was simply shocked (as I always am) by
a certain vulgarity of language employed by one of the O'Tooles. Having to do
in this instance with your mother or your date, a passing sailor, and a
practice called Around the World in 80 Ways.
Yours,
Bertie O'Toole
Sara Kalvala
> Wishful thinking, my dear. I was simply shocked (as I always am) by
> a certain vulgarity of language employed by one of the O'Tooles...
> Yours,
> Bertie O'Toole
I give up - am I the only person reading this group who has no idea of
who the O'Tooles are? Is this some secret insider's joke? I looked up
O'Toole on the UC on-line reference system, and found many O'Tooles
but nothing much fun. I am so puzzled that I don't mind appearing
completely dumb with my question: What's it all about??? Who are the
O'Tooles???
Curiouser and curiouser,
- Sara
--
- Sara Kalvala
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Dept. of Computer Science kal...@cs.ucdavis.edu
University of California TEL: (916) 752-6476
Davis CA 95616, USA FAX: (916) 752-4767
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Tom Maddox
What, man, do you not feel? If we cut you, do you not bleed?
Inhuman, I call it.
>> The Firbolg is the only remedy.
>
>A remedy implies that there is something to be remedied. Since the
>only thing I see which needs to be remedied is Tom's O'Toolish
>delusions of grandeur, I must assume that the Firbolg is for him.
>I do hope he lets us know how it turned out.
Taranto, you are a weasel as well as a hyena (*not* an imposing
lineage). Surely Joe Green O'Toole revealed to you the Secrets of the
Firbolg. Surely. Hence your profession of ignorance is a sham, an attempt
to escape the inescapable.
The Firbolg (let it here be announced to all others) is a contest of
honor among (generally--some would argue necessarily) . . . *men*. Robert Bly
pales at its mention and pulls out his lacework; Norman Mailer remembers a
previous appointment.
Its structure is simple, and goes like this: two men, nude,
stand back to back (or buttock to buttock, if you will), and each reaches
between his legs and graps the testacles of the man behind him; at the word
of the Overseer of the Firbolg, both may squeeze at will; the loser is the
one who releases his grip first--ceremonially, the loser, perhaps in other
ways as well.
So, Taranto, all of the O'Tooles stand ready. You can no longer
claim ignorance of the ritual; you can no longer hide behind hollow japes.
Our grip is sure, our willingness to endure the most excruciating compression
of the testacles blithe and certain (especially among the female O'Tooles,
several of whom have volunteered to take first place in the Queue of the
Firbolg).
Yours,
Bertie O'Toole
Tom Maddox
>I give up - am I the only person reading this group who has no idea of
>who the O'Tooles are?
Yes.
>Is this some secret insider's joke?
No.
Yrs.,
Bertie O'Toole
Tom Maddox
>In article <1992Jun12.0...@u.washington.edu>, tmaddox@milton (Tom Maddox) writes:
>> Taranto, you vicious hyena, there is obviously no reasoning with
>>you as your envy of the O'Tooles has prompted you to even more outrageous
>>calumnies than your previous ones.
>
>Vicious hyena?
Oh, all right.
For a hyena, not *that* vicious.
Yours in contrition,
Bertie O'Toole
Mike Godwin
>Our grip is sure, our willingness to endure the most excruciating compression
>of the testacles blithe and certain (especially among the female O'Tooles,
>several of whom have volunteered to take first place in the Queue of the
>Firbolg).
Ah, those must be mind-forged testacles.
--Mike
--
Mike Godwin, |"Even if a man's whole day be spent as a servant of
mnem...@eff.org | of an industrial concern, in his spare time he will
(617) 864-0665 | make something, if only a window box flower garden"
EFF, Cambridge | --Eric Gill, AN ESSAY ON TYPOGRAPHY
Luiza z niebieskimi oczami
>In article <hkmll=n.tm...@netcom.com> tma...@netcom.com (Tom Maddox) writes:
>
>>Our grip is sure, our willingness to endure the most excruciating compression
>>of the testacles blithe and certain (especially among the female O'Tooles,
>>several of whom have volunteered to take first place in the Queue of the
>>Firbolg).
Bertie, Watch out where you plant your implications.
-Candlestick O'Toole
Joel B Levin
>Ah, those must be mind-forged testacles.
Or at least testaceous.
/J
=
Nets: le...@bbn.com | "There were sweetheart roses on Yancey Wilmerding's
POTS: (617)873-3463 | bureau that morning. Wide-eyed and distraught, she
N1MNF | stood with all her faculties rooted to the floor."
| -- S. J. Perelman
Vince Gibboni
>
> I give up - am I the only person reading this group who has no idea of
> who the O'Tooles are? Is this some secret insider's joke? I looked up
> O'Toole on the UC on-line reference system, and found many O'Tooles
> but nothing much fun. I am so puzzled that I don't mind appearing
> completely dumb with my question: What's it all about??? Who are the
> O'Tooles???
>
Well, I feel pretty safe in saying that you are, in fact, not the
only person confused by this whole O'Toole business (although I'm
beginning to suspect it's some sort of subliminal sales gimick for
non-alcoholic beer). I will nontheless, and for no apparent reason,
mention that I actually met Peter O'Toole once at the Connaught
and feel quite confident that he would look askance at the whole thing.
Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allen Poe
- John Lennon
Joe Green
>kal...@toadflax.eecs.ucdavis.edu (Sara Kalvala) writes:
>>
>> I give up - am I the only person reading this group who has no idea of
>> who the O'Tooles are? Is this some secret insider's joke? I looked up
>> O'Toole on the UC on-line reference system, and found many O'Tooles
>> but nothing much fun. I am so puzzled that I don't mind appearing
>> completely dumb with my question: What's it all about??? Who are the
>> O'Tooles???
>>
>
> Well, I feel pretty safe in saying that you are, in fact, not the
> only person confused by this whole O'Toole business (although I'm
> beginning to suspect it's some sort of subliminal sales gimick for
> non-alcoholic beer). I will nontheless, and for no apparent reason,
> mention that I actually met Peter O'Toole once at the Connaught
> and feel quite confident that he would look askance at the whole thing.
>
>
>
together. (We older fellows micturate). I've met a lot of notable
fellows this way -- including Northrop Frye -- and you get to feel
that you know a person when you meet in this manner. I began
the conversation by using the word "soigne." I then followed up
with a deft "soi-distant." I was holding an O'Toole Martini in
one hand (which is, by the way, a swish of Glennlivet, icy Bombay
Sapphire, Tio Pepe and an incendiary twist of orange) and gesticulating
with the other which may account for the fact that Peter was looking
wildly about during our conversation. I mentioned that I would like
to manufacture a prosthesis that could be fitted around the shoulders
of gentlemen under their jackets to help their jackets drape
in the O'Toolish manner beloved by all. He seemed quite agreeable.
I also mentioned in passing that there was a secret society of
Atlantean origins called the O'Tooles dedicated to bringing a little
sang-froid to the numinous void and began recounting the history of
our organization but he zipped up after bouncing only once (Nature
has, presumably, favored him with the ability to do this and remain
quite dry) quickly moved out of the way of the amber stream of
my own contentment (the man moves like a fencer) said something
cheery to me in High British and was out the door. The man obviously
assumed that the O'Tooles had something to do with him and was
too shy for the compliment.
Inquirers -- I will answer your question "What are the O'Tooles?"
in private correspondance since even the first father of sauce and
deviser of jelly becomes tedious after a while and many in here
have, in a sense, already "gone over."
--
Joel Levin
I don't know why I'm even presuming, since I'm in over my head before
I start, but I couldn't help notice a few things.
>Au contraire. Several years ago I met Peter as we were micturating
>together. (We older fellows micturate). . . . I began
>the conversation by using the word "soigne." I then followed up
>with a deft "soi-distant."
I can't help but think that may have been a little too deft, unless
you mean you held yourself afar.
> I was holding an O'Toole Martini in
>one hand . . . and gesticulating
>with the other which may account for the fact that Peter was looking
>wildly about during our conversation.
I believe that a gentleman who occupies both hands with dring and wild
gesticulation during micturition is considerable cause for alarm.