From: owner-ammf-digest@smoe.org (alt.music.moxy-fruvous digest) To: ammf-digest@smoe.org Subject: alt.music.moxy-fruvous digest V1 #209 Reply-To: ammf@smoe.org Sender: owner-ammf-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-ammf-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk alt.music.moxy-fruvous digest Wednesday, August 5 1998 Volume 01 : Number 209 Today's Subjects: ----------------- Re: Not a kilt! [Chad Maloney ] Canadian Customs [Caitlin ] Re: Jian's Cool! [kdsinthhal@aol.com (KdsInThHal)] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Wed, 05 Aug 1998 13:26:45 -0500 From: Chad Maloney Subject: Re: Not a kilt! Robert M Fenster wrote: > > A skirt and/or sarong are not necessarily equivalent to a kilt and this > certainly was not a kilt. It wasn't plaid either. Apparently you weren't > there, so I suggest you keep your know-it-all attitude to yourself. > > What a stupid thread this is becoming. Really? I thought it was a good learning experience thread. The only stuff I knew about kilts was that they were scottish and that Groundskeeper Willy wears 'em sometimes (when his overalls just aren't fashionable enough, I guess). Thanks for teaching stuff, Vika! I appreciate all the various information each of us know and I know full well that if there was a band-fan jeopardy where all the fans of a band would compete together, the Fruvous fans would definitely kick butt. But hey, if you think this is a stupid thread and that someone's being a knowitall, maybe you should take a break from it. I've heard there's nothing like sitting in a sauna. It's good for opening the pores. Or turn up the high-tech tube hi-fi and blow some Oasis to the great outdoors. And no sails, get a speed boat. You got to go fast. The wicked finger picking is going to make the licking last. Turn down the treble when it's up in your face and Murray'll play you something stomping on the bass. And now, a slight revamping of Robert M Fenster's post to make it much less mean sounding: Oh, Vika, no. The thing definitely was not a kilt. I don't remember it being plaid either. It was more a sarong/skirt/wrap around/thing. I have my own theory though. He was a plant sent by the Canadian government to spy on the show. With only 3 tanks, I'm sure the espionage budget for Canada isn't so large either. They could probably only afford a bad book about scotland when they were researching disguises. [Camera pans down onto an old-style tape recorder. Male finger pushes play button and the tape starts rolling] Tape recorder: Good morning, Agent B. [Hands floats over tape recorder. The face of a watch points very intentionally straight at the camera while the other hand points at the time. It's 3:24pm. Hands go away] Tape recorder: We have another assignment for you. We know you have been involved in intense study of the native culture of scotland for the past month and now is the time to show show off what you've learned. [Hand reaches across camera and picks up a book off the nightstand next to the tape recorder. The hand shows the book deliberately to the camera - _Scotland My Home_] Tape recorder: We need your expertise to infiltrate the United States and bring back information. Meet at the hockey rink tonight to get some needed materials. And be careful, Agent B. [A slight pause before a female voice kicks in] Tape recorder: Please return the tape recorder and tape to the Toronto office for later reuse. [Tape clicks finished. The hand reaches over and rewinds the tape. Fade out] [Fade in. The scene is a standard hockey rink. Our hero skates onto the scene dressed in full hockey gear, carrying a tape tape recorder. He skates up to another man, fully dressed in his goalie gear] Goalie: Greetings, Agent B. Agent B: Wow! You're Patrick Roy! Goalie: Sssh. Here. [Roy hands our Hero a stick on a rope. Agent B looks mock-excited] Agent B: (dryly) A rope on a stick. Thanks. Roy: (whisering) Actually, it's a stick on a rope. [Roy hands over a bundle of clothes] Roy: Here's what we could find that looked vaguely scottish from what we knew from TV. Good luck, Agent B. [Before Agent B has a chance to speak, Patrick Roy skates off. Agent inspects his bundle. Fade out. Fade in. As this scene develops, Agent B is mastering his tools and working on his personality. The _Scotland My Home_ book is open to somewhere in the middle. The bundle of clothes lie next to it. Agent B is practicing tricks with the stick on a rope. He puts down the rope and takes off his shirt. And looks through the bundle. Nothing even vaguely scottish looking. A Harvard shirt. A Red Wings jersey. An I love Scottish Terriers shirt. A 3M shirt. After a bit, there's a pile of rejected clothing. The original pile containing one thing. A long bathrob made of some kind of weird material. Oh well, it'll have to do. Fade out. Fade in. Our hero is at the border, getting ready to cross into the US. Agent B is wearing no shirt and appears naked inside his car.] Customs official: Where you heading? Agent B: I was going down to New York City for a vaction. Customs official: Where are you coming from? Agent B: Well, I was in Toronto for awhile. I'm originally from Scotland. I have my passport with me. Customs official: That was my next question. [Takes passport] How long are you planning on staying in the United States? Agent B: One week. Customs official: [looking at the passport] You don't sound very scottish. [Agent B hesitates. He may be caught. Only quick thinking can save him now] Agent B: Right. Well, we... um... are a very internationally aware people in Scotland. When we study in school, we practice talking like other cultures in order to truly feel we are involved with them, eh. Customs official: [laughs] I know what you're talking a-boot [Agent B doesn't get the joke, but laughs anyhow] Customs official: Okay. Go ahead. Agent B: Thanks. [He drives on, wiping his brow. Fade out. Fade in. The scene is a concert. A huge crowd has gathered. Agent B stands around doing tricks with the rope on a stick, wowing children. But he is only half paying attention. His purpose is to watch the people on the stage and how they interact and act towards Canada. Agent B's head perks up at the stage. "Rather be rock in Pennsylvania" just blared over the speakers. That must be Ford. Those Americans are easier to spot. Agent B wanders closer to the stage, using his rope stick to walk. He never found a shirt, so he walked around with no shirt, the robe around his waist attempting to be the best kilt he could. When he compared himself with what _Scotland My Home_ said, he wasn't even close, but he was doing the best he could. As he wandered onto a path, someone on stage yelled "Look, a scotsman." Agent B smiled. It was working. His disguise, his hard work and intense study. They think he's a Scotsman! Digging in his brain for the proper scottish response to this, he walked up towards the stage and bowed towards the band, acknowledging them. Jian, the percussionist mentioned something about muslims, so Agent B got up fast, worried that maybe bowing down wasn't so scottish after all. Murray, the bass player, mentioned something about an improptu performance of Joseph. Agent B was too close to the enemy and he knew it. He smiled a scottish smile and walked off. After only a couple minutes, a uniformed officer accosted him. He took the rope stick away at first and then lured Agent B off to the side where he captured our hero, muttering about indecent exposure and purchasing real clothing. Fade out] [Fade in The scene is a US prison. TV is on in the nice air conditioned room. Two men sit on a comfortable couch and watch US cable programming.] Agent B: Well, Agent A, it looks like our land's espionage force is depleted. I am happy to see you aren't dead. Agent A: Actually, these people are rather nice. The rent is payed through citizen's taxes and we get twice as many TV channels. Agent B: Very nice. How did you get captured? Agent A: Well, I was sent to Cincinnati Ohio to spy on this musical group. So, I dressed up like a drunk frat boy named Francis who dances. Needless to say, they found me out and got me up on stage and sang about Francis, the frat boy who dances for a while. I was so humiliated I gave myself up to the authorities. Agent B: Pass the Ben & Jerry's, will you A? [Fade out. The End.] - Chad ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 5 Aug 1998 12:07:58 -0700 From: Caitlin Subject: Canadian Customs Just a curiosity thing... how many people have actually been asked for proof of ID when crossing the border in and out of Canada? I've never been more than asked to verbally confirm my country of origin, and for a while there I was crossing the border at Niagara on a pretty regular basis... but then, customs officials in general seem to be too confused to actually question me about anything :) and on another note... will some kindly Canadian *please* send me the words to the Smarties song? I'm redesigning the package, and got "do you eat the red ones last" stuck in my head, without knowing where it goes from there! ____ \ /__ Caitlin Xantha Hazen \/ / caitlin@wayward-volvo.org \/ http://www.wayward-volvo.org/xanthe.html ------------------------------ Date: 5 Aug 1998 19:48:19 GMT From: kdsinthhal@aol.com (KdsInThHal) Subject: Re: Jian's Cool! aah! i wrote: >i could really care less. :P i meant *couldn't* care less. really, i did!:) . . . . . . . *sarah linnellgirl@tmbg.org http://lava.home.ml.org "I'm pro-nonsense..." ~ m. doughty ------------------------------ End of alt.music.moxy-fruvous digest V1 #209 ********************************************