At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016


The conclusion that really stood out, among many other haphazard and chance-met conclusions, was that an appreciation for Monty Python is essential in a life mate. Or even if the other person is NOT a life mate.

I think we arrived at this epiphany while passing in front of City Lights Books, while sidestepping a person of the wrong gender who may never be able to appreciate Monty Python.

And before encountering more people who will, throughout their lives, have that problem and similar issues.

For those who do not understand this, I really must point out that Monty Python is by no means a generational marker, although there are many people of a younger, brighter, and altogether more soft and springy generation who have not yet been exposed to Monty Python.

It is, for a very large part, a cultural thing.

Secondarily, perspective.

Several years ago at a dinner it became apparent that my host did not have a clue about Monty Python, but his children did. For several minutes, all the geeky references confused him, as he had no idea what the rest of us were talking about.

"Whatever happened to the Popular Front of Judea?"

"He's over there."


Years ago, on a first date, I took someone to see Woody Allen's movie 'Bananas'. It completely baffled her, and made apparent that despite our superficial similarities ("human") there were insurmountable differences all the way down to the bone.
Any of the Monty Python movies would have worked as well.
I'm sure she wouldn't have had a clue.
"Peoples' Front of Judea!"
Eh? What now?

[ X ]

Word of advice: if the man or woman you wish to date does not have the capacity to enjoy the fish slapping dance, and has never heard of the Lumberjack Song or the Philosopher's Song, reconsider.

Disregarding this important message means there is a very great danger that you will end up living in the suburbs, with two and a half children and a poodle, having interminable conversations about handbags and sports, and going to Outback Steakhouse once a week for the rest of your life.
As well as vacationing in Vegas and Walt Disney World.
Not just once, several times.

Like Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, and Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, four term president of Iceland, I have been a fish slapper for many years.
I favour the dried flounder.


After having a pint at Vesuvio Cafe, we ended up in a place where two visiting business men insisted on singing 'We All Live In A Yellow Submarine' on Karaoke. This is not recommended.
It also leads to epiphanies.
None good.

It could have been worse.
I really hate The Eagles.

No Canadians were harmed in the making of this post.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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