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The Q.U.I.Z. Round Two: Standings and LIGHTNING ROUND

Round Two is now part of our collective memory of how much fun the quiz used to be before it all got lame.

With final answers for the round all tallied, here are the updated standings:

1. The Ipso Factoids: 200+338=538
2. The Whiskey Rebellion: 225+225+75=525*
3. The Dependent Clauses: 80+363=443
4. Bob Hope's Your Uncle: 105+125=230

Congrats to the Factoids for breaking into the lead, but with over 1100 points left to go, it's still wide open; the Whiskey Rebels and the Clauses are practically tied for second, and even Bob still has plenty of Hope for a race to the finish.

Before we get to the Lightning Round -- which addresses the only unsolved portion of the previous questions -- a little explanation of scores are in order. Quite a few guessed that the subject of the famous phrase in Question #3 was the "Gordian knot." He who could successfully grapple with its intricate windings would be, according the prophecy, the ruler of Asia. Alexander the Great, according to myth, solved the problem with his sword -- hence the expression "to cut the Gordian knot." If you mentioned the knot, but left out the manner of the solution, you got 1/2 credit for that part of the question; 1/4 credit for getting it post-clue.

Question #4 was probably too easy, and Question #2 tricked at least one team by seeming more recondite than it actually was. I'm ashamed of the former, and proud of the latter.

Question #1 was not a universal stumper, but only one crew got the three-letter main answer right, and nobody, to my surprise, guessed the second part.

So it's time for a LIGHTNING ROUND. First team to post the correct answer to the part in bold below wins the 75 points that were left up for grabs.

In 1559, Dr. Gilbert Lymborch wrote a treatise on the "acidulous" waters of this location in an area variously claimed over the years by more than one European power. Over two centuries later, to capitalize on the town's rising fame, Cardinal Jean-Theodore of Bavaria announced the construction of a large building called the Redoute, which took seven years to complete, and became one of the grandest facilities of its kind. Those who worked within were notorious for their haughty bearing, and styled themselves with such titles as "captain," "gendarme," or "hussar." What is the name of the town? What was the profession of these self-titled men?

One final note: I keep meaning to mention that BHYU player James and his wife Kim are now the proud parents of Paisley Julianna; and Dependent Clause Josh and his wife Yvonne are at this very moment expecting their daughter Naomi to arrive. Would that we all had such good reasons to abandon this futile pursuit of trivial triumphs. Congratulations, guys.

*POST LIGHTNING ROUND UPDATE: After an avalanche of guesses, Bootsy adds 75 points to the Rebellion's score. Scroll way, way, way down in the comments to see the answer.

Comments

Congrats to the new and on-the-verge parents!

Nutritionists?


masseurs?


sommeliers?


spa assistants?


ski instructors?


Electroshock therapists?


waiters?


Exercise instructors?


perfumiers?


imperial food tasters?


eunuchs?


hairdressers?


winemakers?


aestheticians?


nail technicians?


Nope. Perhaps related to their haughty bearing and their silly titles was their ability to wield a conditional, momentary power over the lives of the establishments patrons.


cosmetologists?


cosmologists?


typographers?


jewelers?


chefs?


swimming instructors?


furriers?


ferriers?


horsemen?


Thems what give enemas?


musicians?


Dammit, after sending in the post-clue answers I figure it's alright to "cheat"; therefore I think I know the answer now.

And curse you for being proud of leading us (me) AWAY from the right answer with a "helpful" clue.


hypnotists?


bartenders?


bobsledders?


dressers?


surgeons?


Physicians


doctors?


Aerobics instructors


waterboarders?


Thems what apply leeches


threat assessors?


astrologers?


prognosticators?


astrologers?


ooh freaky simultaneous post


Soldiers?


sailors?


tinkers?


boytoys?

Let's crash typekey, everybdy!


translators?


bakers?


wiggiers?


Psychoanalysts?


teachers


dentists


professors


cockswains?

This whole "quiz trope" is making me incredibly angry.


courtiers


taxonomists


animal impersonators?


priests


groomsmen?


confessors


tax collectors


Ohh, priests,good guess, Jonathan!

Musicians?


huntsmen


dance instructors


stable boys


body piercers


pages


postmen


biographers


portraitists


painters


candle lighters (proto-electricians)


waxers


porters


hedge fund managers


moneychangers


engravers


tasters


flyswatters


germans


clocksetters


exorcists


project managers


drivers

(anytime you wanna jump in here, Bill...)


ass-wiping brownnosers


psychics


man-juice suppliers


curtain raisers


phlebotomists


croupiers


judges


interior designers


etiquette instructors


actors


software developers


butlers


plasterers


judges


has everyone been tested for steroid use?


sheep wool carders


sheep wool carders


drug testers


drug takers


quizmasters


matchmaker


Inquisitors


patent inspectors


editors


cheesemakers


abortionists


Ayurvedic practitioners


image consultants


speech pathologists


pallbearer


the crafters of cowbells


spliff rollers


the enders of lighting rounds


knife sharpeners


athelets


poets


writers


kidnappers of wombats


mathemeticians


loansharks


deep fat fryers


swan whisperers


bottlers


money lenders


insurers


gilders


morticians


mercenaries


dungeonmasters


poachers


dentists


bouncers


what was the question now?


guards


weavers


tree surgeons


clerks


bookies


compostists


messengers


magickians


inspectors


beekeepers


brewers


stockbrokers


puppeteers


smiths


baby's awake, gotta go. Aren't we out of professions yet?


Bootsy finally hit the jackpot at 12:53, after pumping the Wombat File equivalent of a zillion nickles into the slot.

The answer is CROUPIERS. The Redoute was one of the grandest casinos of the day, and while thousands of tourists had previously come to Spa, Belgium (and later to Baden-Baden, another health-water town that became a gambling mecca) to take the cure of those "acidulous" waters, the ancillary attraction of the Prince-Cardinal's establishment -- followed by many more -- defined the town's appeal for many years.

Indeed, the pairing of "health resort" with "high-end gambling" was one of the classic pairings of the late-18th and 19th centuries.

75 points to the Rebellion, who move to within a wombat-whisker of the Factoids.

Third-round questions will be posted before St. Nick shows up with his annual load of coal. I promise. Now, I'm off to join the retail horde.