Calamity Jane in Goscinny et al´s "Lucky Luke Meets Calamity Jane".

Especially concerning the kissing technique required.

Some three fairly fluently and two more I dabble in; embarrassingly badly.

I was born german in Sweden and raised bilingually. My mum started pre-school around my age four or so at teaching her kids to read and write in german, to ensure we would at least know our mother language before going to swedish school.

Then I learnt engrish at swedish "ground school" (har) from age 10 (4th class) and onwards. But I really only learnt it from starting to read, since I was missing out on english some eight weeks for having fallen off a pony and broken my shoulder, wherefore I borrowed myself books at the library to catch up.
There was one shelf with english books at the small public library in the suburb of Tullinge south of Stockholm where I grew up. This meant I came home with a rather strange little collection for a ten-year-old, my first english books being chosen mainly by the more or less intriguing names of their writers:

Evelyn Waugh, whom I thought to be a woman, Anais Nin (her N.Y. "erotic"=need-to-earn-money-fast stories but most of all her diaries; for I also kept one) because of the two ii-points above her name, and Dorothy Sayers because I already knew the word "saying" in english and found that funny. All accompanied by an english version of 1000&1nights...which made the librarian, a good friend of my parents, call my mother to ask if it were alright for me to read those books.
Mum had the excellent taste of laughing at the Q. more than her serious-minded clown gal and saying "sure"; "it will do her more good than harm". I have been in doubt about that, since.

I soon came back to our librarian friend and ordered the collected poems of John Donne after having read Sayers (where Donne´s "Ecstasy" is a bridesmaid´s morning gift to her groom) and blushed a lot at what grown-ups do, as described by Anais and an ancient story-teller. I may have understood perhaps one-third of it and guessed at the rest, taking the words up through osmosis rather than understanding them fully or using lexica, which bored me.

Furthermore I got to be afraid of elderly, hungry women from reading one of the short stories of Mr. Waugh about a poor student in Paris who had to feed one of them expensive asparagus in winter. She had a lot of teeth and grew fat, later.
And only now, days later, do I notice how I still do mix up Waugh and Maugham due to the sounds of their names. Awwh, maughmm, like. It was the latter indeed, who was being picked by my tenyearoldhead for samesounding reasons.

French, I had (meaning was taught, at the swedish high school equivalent) from age 12 and on for some five years, until it had to go for me to be able to learn latin and classic greek instead, none of which I remember a lot about, sadly. Least of all ancient greek which makes me want to bite my butt for having dropped it to party at all of Stockholm´s discos instead (most of all at the gay club After Dark in David Bagares Gata), since so utterly beautiful! The greek, I mean. Reading Sappho in original and later Cavafy easily outmatches being a Dancing Queen. But being a silly teen at the time, I failed to get it.

Now, living in France, some of it´s good old language is coming back to the ditto of my mind but far too little, still, since I hardly ever used any of it over many years and it instantly fell asleep and has been hibernating ever since.

My italian is even worse than my french though at one two-week stay in Siena and numerous others in Rome, Florence and Puglia I always feel I could speak it; but still can´t, except for ordering the next espresso.

Maltese or Malti, which is supposed to be a late-night form of phoenician and some more (correct me if wrong) fascinated me, when I was there. I had a feeling of understanding parts of it, while naturally not getting a word. I quite liked the sound. I felt, all of the mediterranean area is somehow contained in there and very musically, too.

http://karinmollberg.livejournal.com/27247.html



http://www2.english.uiuc.edu/cybercinema/bomb20.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Star_(film)

There is always light.
But only when the freezer is closed. Our freezers are the secret horts of negative energy on earth and therefore don´t want the muhants...no: humans, to know about this (secret) fact.

Just as the light usually goes on in the fridge as soon as we open it (unless we forgot to change the bulb as in this Peg household), it immediately goes out at opening the freezer door.
Is only logic for lightbulbs.
Sorry, for telling on you, mutants & "Let there be light!", as the bomb said
http://www.dailyscript.com/scripts/dark-star_short.html
after travelling space in quest of getting to know some more about its own existence through thinking, therefore existing: "dobedobedo". But as it said: "let there be light" it also blew itself up: "BANG". Here, have a cigar!

"People write songs about:
Love, Loneliness, Heartbreak, Being Broke,
but, noone´s ever went out and written a song about REAL PAIN":




said Screamin´ Jay Hawkins in his intro to this excellent song.

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Personally, I am here at LJ for the following reasons:



real (even if virtual) friendship and inspiration, genuine enjoyment in each other´s company at the sharing of the diversest interests and ideas in words, music, art, even the weirdest, most fascinating or disturbing experiences and by all means; some pretty personal stuff, too. I see this in a similar way, as I once loved producing and partaking of SF-fanzines or other zines in the early 80s in Sweden with all possible links and tips for interested fans to read on, listen on and looking on; at what friends and fans wish(ed) to share with their (real) friends.



Mutual respect, however hard or silly the jokes may get here, at times, is the key chore to being here, at all. I am incorrectible concerning this and trust and hope; so are you. I also refuse to lose my good humour over this, as a lack of such is always a serious indication of something being not only utterly, unnameably drab, but deeply wrong and unhealthy with any person, whatever their gender or sexual prefences; who cares.

But I do allow myself, to be as tired as I am by this being´s behaviour towards others, in this case meaning: me, but not only. I also seem to have more guts than some, even if not as huge as those of some others either?! But that may be a (female) chimaere, by all means...

If you do not agree to or feel uncomfortable with what I say on this, in any of the above mentioned cases, this is definitely the wrong address for you. If you do feel comfortable, name your poison, hang on to your leather chair and let´s have a good time in the name of "grace, honour, praise & delight" http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fran%C3%A7ois_Rabelais together here in My House of Holy Silliness à la Thélème et Al!

For further information, please enjoy:



http://www.amazon.co.uk/Calamity-Jane-Lucky-Luke-Adventure/dp/1905460252

Thank you for your UNDERSTANDING. You may now leave. Or stay, accordingly.

"And now, for something completely different":

The Counting Sheep To Fall Asleep Icon:



Whoever made the wolf jump like that has both my admiration and gratitude; furthermore is now my Guru. & One more time as Photo-Tapestry behind cut, meaning HUGE!

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...as encountered one day in Praha (by Calvano di Montalbuono)






and observed in the garden of Villa Hanbury near Menton, somewhat later.