Delayed Gratification
As Gavin points out, the unguessed answer to the quiz from a week ago was never revealed.
My apologies: the city we were looking for -- which may or may not be named after Alexander the Great -- is Kandahar, Afghanistan.
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As Gavin points out, the unguessed answer to the quiz from a week ago was never revealed.
My apologies: the city we were looking for -- which may or may not be named after Alexander the Great -- is Kandahar, Afghanistan.
A simple task today-- three opening passages, each from a short story by a well-known writer. You are almost certainly familiar with the names; you are less likely to have read these pieces before, although none is by any means truly obscure.
1. In the millennium an educational genius will write a book to be given to every young man on the date of his disillusion. This work will have the flavor of Montaigne's essays and Samuel Butler's note-books -- and a little of Tolstoi and Marcus Aurelius. It will be neither cheerful nor pleasant but will contain numerous passages of striking humor. Since first-class minds never believe anything very strongly until they've experienced it, its value will be purely relative ... all people over thirty will refer to it as "depressing."
2. Mrs. Lidcote, as the huge menacing mass of New York defined itself far off across the waters, shrank back into her corner of the deck and sat listening with a kind of unreasoning terror to the steady onward drive of the screws.
3. After her mother's death, Ruma's father retired from the pharmaceutical company where he had worked for many decades and began traveling in Europe, a continent he'd never seen. In the past year he had visited France, Holland and most recently Italy. They were package tours, traveling in the company of strangers, riding the bus through the countryside, each meal and museum and hotel prearranged.
Who are the three writers? Bonus: name the titles of any of the three stories.
First correct guess of each posted to comments wins an autographed copy of the Wombat's own first short work of fiction, "The Giant Egg" (Plot summary: Giant egg, mysteriously originating atop a mountain peak, is tumbled to the bottom by unspecified forces, resulting in a Paul Bunyan's-camp-style breakfast feast; illustrated). No Googling or programming your Lego Mindstorm kit to reconstruct the ideal reader of Montaigne, Butler and Marcus Aurelius. One guess at each part per comment, but comment as often as handsome does.
I'm not entirely sure the focus here is right. Is Darfur uniquely China's problem? Any more than our own? Is the Olympics a legitimate point of connection here? But there's something so devastatingly frustrating in how little movement there has been in the international community to deal with the ongoing atrocity in the Sudan at the level it demands, that one is tempted to applaud any attempt to divert attention away from spectacle (however hallowed) and back toward the Problem from Hell.
As referenced in the last quiz, on Friday the unquenchable DeSelby-Bowens and I went to see Canada's ambassadors of catchy and artful guitar-pop, Sloan. Never having seen them live, I was glad to remedy the omission, and it was a treat to hear not only a clutch of songs from their excellent new album, but such bounce-inducing hits as "Take Good Care of the Poor Boy" and "Money City Maniacs" (though, sad to say, the crowd seemed not to want to move much below the neck -- which was a pity, as it was energetic and fun, and should have been the occasion for plenty of happy jumping about). Chris Murphy let his inner rock star run wild n' free toward the end of the show, and my friend Bill Pearis -- who I saw briefly there -- has the key visual of a tambourine-booty-spanking duly recorded. And, as he is a noted Sloanauthority, I refer you to Mr. Pearis's comprehensive overview of the show.
First: the unguessed answer last week? Mustard.
On to a quick brain-disabler before the evening meets the day:
It's possible that the name of this city, the second-largest in its nation after the capital, comes from an ethnic group that settled in the region and was listed in the imperial records of Darius I, as well as in a major religious text. But it's also possible that it comes from the name of a famous and sometimes deified personage who was born thousands of miles away; in recent years, a temple to this figure has been discovered within the city's Old Citadel. What is the name of the city?
First correct answer to comments wins a papier-mache model of the band Sloan playing their Dylan-esque "Down in the Basement", which the Wombat may witness them playing tonight, in a concert that will also be attended by frequent quiz-dominator Scraps and less-frequent quiz-player (but no less dominating for all that) Velma. No Googling or playing "Delivering Maybes" backward in the hopes of finding backwards-masked answers (they're in there, but you have to speak Nova Scotian to understand what Patrick Pentland is saying). One guess per comment, put for the love of all deified personages, comment.
UPDATE 6/22: I initially left out a crucial preposition in the question, since added. Oops.
...what was the first big-budget movie "remake" of a hit television series from past era? I'm not talking about the creation of the Star Trek franchise, but the idea of looking back to a popular series of a previous era and capitalizing on it with a new standalone film. When did this (mostly regrettable) trend start? Who is its patient zero?
Sorry I couldn't get to it this morning, but here's a pair of after-lunch head-hurters to while away the time between now and the French 75s which hopefully await you at 4:59 or so. Without further delay…
1. The ancient Romans mixed unfermented grape juice with the seeds of plants from the genus Sinapis to produce what?
2. The first recorded ruler of this region as an independent entity was Duke Zemuzil, who went to war with Casimir I in 1046, a conflict eventually reconciled by the Holy Roman Emperor. The name of his duchy came from an Old Slavonic word literally meaning "seacoast.”" The area it comprised has been claimed by various powers over the centuries, and is currently split between two countries. Its name survives most popularly in the common name of something which in some places is called the Zwergspitz and has been possessed by many people, including Michaelangelo, Sir Isaac Newton, and Queen Victoria, who had two. What is the name of this region?
First correct answer to either wins a small bowl of cold frozen peas, which are, improbably enough, a popular snack at Chez Wombat. No Googling or Zwergspitzing. One guess at each part per comment, but comment as often as you like.
No tripartite themed-thingy today. I didn't have it in me. A quick one for you to dispose of in time for lunch:
As outlined in Robert Timberg's book The Nightingale's Song, this man --now a well-known U.S. lawmaker --engaged in a celebrated rivalry with another man while both were in school. Before he graduated, he and his rival fought in the school's championship boxing match, but the future Senator was defeated. The latter both went to work in the administration of the same U.S. president (one as a direct appointment, the other by dint of assignment), but are now members of opposing political parties; both have run for national office representing the same state.
Who is the man currently holding elective office? Bonus: Who was his antagonist in the ring?
First correct answer posted to comments wins the Wombat's old varsity letter in It's Academic never actually attached to a jacket. No Googling or re-reading The Nightingale's Song, or Keats' "Ode to a Nightingale," which is beautiful but you'll spend so much time contemplating Negative Capability that you'll forget to finish the Quiz. One guess per comment, but comment as constantly as if you were a cup of Constant Comment[tm] tea.