Prim wrote:And the heroines? What heroines? Their job was to catch their spike heel in the ground while running from a robot and fall down and cry.
Or in Kate Capshaw's case, toss a gun aside while being chased and scream about breaking a nail. Can't let go of her purse to get on an elephant. Screams "I'm a singer! Oh I need to call my agent!" as she foolishly rides an elephant backward. Totally dependent, useless, and always screaming. I HATE Indiana Jones Temple of Doom.
Look, she made the 14 most annoying characters list!
"What do you fear, lady?" Aragorn asked.
"A cage," Éowyn said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
On the one hand, I can see why. On the other, I can relate. I would probably not do any better if dragged into Indy's adventures.
Let the other societies take the skilled, the hopefuls, the ambitious, the self-confident. He’d take the whining resentful ones, the ones with a bellyful of spite and bile, the ones who knew they could make it big if only they’d been given the chance. Give him the ones in which the floods of venom and vindictiveness were dammed up behind thin walls of ineptitude and lowgrade paranoia.
Frelga wrote:On the one hand, I can see why. On the other, I can relate. I would probably not do any better if dragged into Indy's adventures.
Says the woman who can break down, clean, and reassemble some really bad-a$$ weapon that I can't remember. I don't think you would worrying about cracking a nail.
"What do you fear, lady?" Aragorn asked.
"A cage," Éowyn said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Kate Capshaw must be very different off screen. She's been married to Spielberg for 26 years and they have seven kids, two from their previous marriages and five together. She must not scream a lot around the house.
ETA: And I just spotted something in the Wikipedia article on her that made me snicker:
She met film director and future husband Steven Spielberg upon winning the female lead as Willie Scott, a spoiled and stubborn sexy[citation needed] American night-club singer. . . .
EATA: I'm not snickering at the idea that the actress is sexy, just that that's a way to get in a dig at someone that I hadn't seen before. Not nice, but clever.
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Frelga wrote:On the one hand, I can see why. On the other, I can relate. I would probably not do any better if dragged into Indy's adventures.
Says the woman who can break down, clean, and reassemble some really bad-a$$ weapon that I can't remember. I don't think you would worrying about cracking a nail.
Um. More like the woman who had a few classes in high school on how to handle the AKM, and who remembers best the part about taking out the case with the little brushes out of the stock (? is that called stock in English?) because the first time I tried it my finger got stuck.
Although I will give myself a tiny bit of credit - I probably would not throw away a gun. Maybe.
Let the other societies take the skilled, the hopefuls, the ambitious, the self-confident. He’d take the whining resentful ones, the ones with a bellyful of spite and bile, the ones who knew they could make it big if only they’d been given the chance. Give him the ones in which the floods of venom and vindictiveness were dammed up behind thin walls of ineptitude and lowgrade paranoia.
Frelga wrote:On the one hand, I can see why. On the other, I can relate. I would probably not do any better if dragged into Indy's adventures.
Says the woman who can break down, clean, and reassemble some really bad-a$$ weapon that I can't remember. I don't think you would worrying about cracking a nail.
Um. More like the woman who had a few classes in high school on how to handle the AKM, and who remembers best the part about taking out the case with the little brushes out of the stock (? is that called stock in English?) because the first time I tried it my finger got stuck.
Although I will give myself a tiny bit of credit - I probably would not throw away a gun. Maybe.
I think there *is* a "stock" on a gun. Well, a long gun, rifle kind of gun, anyway.. says the woman who has never taken a class (classes?) on ANYTHING to do with guns. I can use a BB gun now, though. We use it to scare the Harris hawks off the cottonwood tree in the back yard, where they spend all day gazing down at our chickens and considering lunch.
And no, I suspect you would not throw away a gun. Those without swords can still die upon them... oh, yeah. I have been channeling Éowyn lately. She would have ridden an elephant properly, yessireebob.
Prim wrote:
She met film director and future husband Steven Spielberg upon winning the female lead as Willie Scott, a spoiled and stubborn sexy[citation needed] American night-club singer. . . .
EATA: I'm not snickering at the idea that the actress is sexy, just that that's a way to get in a dig at someone that I hadn't seen before. Not nice, but clever.
Ah, I had missed that! It's almost Southern in its subtle barb.
"What do you fear, lady?" Aragorn asked.
"A cage," Éowyn said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Yes, the part of a rifle/long gun behind the trigger is referred to as the stock.
I've fired a .22 a few times, and my husband had an old Daisy air rifle he used to use to keep the crows out of our backyard, because they were hunting for songbird eggs and nestlings. I fired that a few times.
He had his Dominion Marksmanship Medal, which he won in High School back when Canada was still referred to as a Dominion. I think that changed when Pierre Trudeau repatriated the constitution in 1982.
When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows,
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love, in the spring becomes The Rose.
OK, but what's the part that goes against the shoulder? Where the tool case is? I keep thinking it's the butt...
We did also have to shoot rifles at targets, but I'm not actually sure what kind they were or what caliber. I know they were not AKMs!
Slight sidetrack: a highlight of our summer camp sessions was often a military game of some sort. One year, the camp got the soldiers from the nearby base to hide in the woods and be enemy paratroopers, and we were supposed to find them and take them into custody. Mostly this involved us running around in the forest and the councilors yelling at us to take cover in particularly muddy spots. But we did find the soldiers, who were armed with their actual AKMs but supposedly non-live ammunition.
They wouldn't let us shoot, though. They said the recoil would be too strong and might injure our shoulders. Because that's the worst thing that can happen when you give an AKM to a bunch of 10-13 year olds.
Let the other societies take the skilled, the hopefuls, the ambitious, the self-confident. He’d take the whining resentful ones, the ones with a bellyful of spite and bile, the ones who knew they could make it big if only they’d been given the chance. Give him the ones in which the floods of venom and vindictiveness were dammed up behind thin walls of ineptitude and lowgrade paranoia.
Yes, you're correct. The end of the stock is referred to as the butt.
When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows,
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love, in the spring becomes The Rose.
