Zweeble nork
Jul. 24th, 2010 07:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slipjig3You know what's wrong with this world? Apparently, no one has bothered to standardize what "medium" means re: Buffalo wings. Yes, it's all subjective, but at least there are fairly well agreed-upon standards for "hot" (conveying at least a decent amount of pain) and "mild" (someone waved a sign reading "SAUCE" in the general direction of the fryer). But ordering your wings medium is truly a spin of the wheel; even if you consistently buy from the same place, you run the risk of either scorching out your nose hairs from close proximity, or getting something so flavorless even the late chickens' families have disowned them. Pleh.
Moving on to something completely different (as far as I can tell), there's a part of me that has a tender love for the days when avant garde filmmakers just didn't give a rat's ass. In this section of Jaroslav Kucera's 1966 Czech opus Sedmikrásky, for instance, a young bikini-clad woman with a creaky elbow picks her nose, and we're only four seconds into the proceedings. From there, it takes another four seconds until the trumpet enters into it. (The gamboling in a field comes later. And, to quote Roger Ebert, gamboling is not a word that I use lightly.)
Moving on to something completely different (as far as I can tell), there's a part of me that has a tender love for the days when avant garde filmmakers just didn't give a rat's ass. In this section of Jaroslav Kucera's 1966 Czech opus Sedmikrásky, for instance, a young bikini-clad woman with a creaky elbow picks her nose, and we're only four seconds into the proceedings. From there, it takes another four seconds until the trumpet enters into it. (The gamboling in a field comes later. And, to quote Roger Ebert, gamboling is not a word that I use lightly.)
