"'But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry. I am sure he has not the least idea of it. Do not put it into his head. Why should he marry? He is as happy as possible by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, and all the parish to manage; and he is extremely fond of his brother's children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up his time or his heart.'"

* * *

Jane Austen + Blackadder = Naughty Thoughts

Must read someone else now.

Tagged by Dante.

I am not going to post a long litany of memories of Ricky. But I am going to need your help. Describe one word--may it be a verb, an object, an adjective, a character or a limerick--that would make Ricky be the first person that pops in your mind. When you post, tag one person only as well. Believe me, when this snowballs--it will be like those Brit comedies that Ricky loved so much.

It's more of a phrase for me: The Spanish Inquisition.

An explanation: early on in our friendship, Ricky and I shared a love of Monty Python, although at the time I had only seen the movies and not the Flying Circus episodes, and he would always say, out of the blue, "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" During those times (2003-04), all I used for downloading was Kazaa, so you'd have an idea of how slow things were. Finally, I found a copy of the 15th episode (and a few isolated clips of sketches).

One evening, I found myself at Yale with Ricky and Reitch--they had just gotten together, so it was probably in late 2004--and I remembered that I had the clip. It had been a while since Ricky had seen the sketch, I think, because the opening scene of "Jarrow, New Year's Eve, 1911" shifting to "Jarrow, 1912" didn't ring a bell with Ricky.

And then Michael Palin burst in with the patented "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" and Ricky damn near fell off our old green couch. Until that point, I had never seen him laugh so hard. And that's one of the ways I remember Ricky and always will.

Tagging Joon. :D

Today, I had my long-overdue shiatsu massage that I've been wanting to get from Bioessence. And while I was getting squished this way and that in a state of semi-nakedness, my mind began to wander.

Oh no, they're doing IT again. What an utter bore.

Hey, I didn't know I had air bubbles in those joints.

The bleeding newsletter should be done by tomorrow.

Wait. Thinking about work bad. Must not think of work.

India. Thinking about India better. Yoghurt, mmm.

And at this point, I fell into the Giggle Loop. To illustrate, I present Steve, Patrick, and Jeff of the BBC:

Now, the significance of the Giggle Loop to the word 'yoghurt' lies with John Cleese and his "Lesson in Logic" from the Monty Python and the Holy Grail Album, where he says, "'Fuck supper!' I now invariably conclude, throwing logic somewhat joyously to the four winds, and so we thrash about on our milk-stained floor, transported by animal passion, until we sink back, exhausted, onto the cartons of yoghurt."

My brain seems to be designed to torment me, since it rewound a few seconds earlier to "...so that I would not have to rely on that rancid Pakistani for my orgasms!"

So imagine, if you will, the scene: masseur lifts my leg--loose-legged massage shorts falling down enough to give the Kurrien family jewels a good breeze--and proceeds to rotate said leg. Brain loops John Cleese's voice in my head, "rancid Pakistani for my orgasms." Masseur repeats same process with other leg, brain loops same audio file at the same time.

Bwiset.

Maybe I should console myself with the fact that when there's a minute silence at my funeral, people will just burst out laughing.

For further clarification, a link to the aforementioned John Cleese track.