Programmer, opera singer, actor, textual editor.
Actually, the Electric Fork was a real novelty product in the early 60s.
No, in the post-war period, “tan” was distinguished as a lighter shade than “khaki”, and the Army Tan Uniform was a specific alternate uniform.
“Beetle Bailey” uniforms and insignia are stuck in the 50s, when the tan summer uniform was in use (until 1985, in fact), and that cap is definitely tan, not khaki.
Frankly, most non-philosophers have no idea of what “substance” meant to Aquinas.
I actually remember having an inner monologue along those lines, though I was three, not two. It’s one of my earliest memories.
The Norse didn’t even believe that much. They expected the gods to lose in the long run.
Socrates (at least according to Plato) said the silly myths were all the fault of poets, which is why poets were to be excluded from his ideal Republic.
“Gun” is a cereal-industry term for an industrial-sized pressure cooker that is loaded with grain and a bit of water that is then heated to the boiling point. When the steam has had time to permeate the grain, the “gun” is suddenly opened, and it goes BOOM! The grain is suddenly puffed up. It’s the same principle as popcorn, but popcorn needs only the natural water and the relatively hard shell of the kernel, and does not need the “gun” mechanism.
A later development was making dough and letting it harden in small shapes, and then using the result as artificial “grain”. Cheerios, for example, are made into tiny, hard little O’s, and then are puffed up to serving size (and edible density) in a “gun”. Most cereals (I believe offhand) are made this way. Look at Trix, for example.
Quaker talked most about the “guns”, but everybody in the business had them. I wonder whether Quaker made a point of it because of the old American expression, “Quaker gun”, meaning a dummy gun (usually made of wood) used to discourage enemies from attacking.
✠ Angels and ministers of Grace defend us!
In opera, it’s “In bocca al lupo!”—“Into the mouth of the wolf!”
In ballet, they tell me, it’s “Merde!”—a naughty French word that I can’t translate here.