My Favourite Character!!!

“Blast you, you cunning voman viz your cunning vomanly vays!”

Yes... the woman that can inspire such passion and outrage could only be Luisa Danforth, Ace Girl Spy. She first met light of day in Treacherous Hearts, a WWII tandem tale written by me and the irrepressible Mark. She appeared in other stories as well, Brittanica: The Final Frontier (set well into the future), Sand and Crumpets (set in the present day in a Las Vegas brothel) and Love Among the Pyramids (1930s) to mention just three. Here are some excerpts from Treacherous Hearts, complete with original exclamation marks.

*****

Then Luisa did what any other red-blooded Englishwoman would have done in such a situation: she kissed him! His firmly-moulded lips were a velvet whip to her senses! Down she plunged, in a miasma of ecstacy and ever-increasing longing… longing for a fulfillment that could not be denied any longer!

*****

Hours later, she couldn’t say when, she was woken by a sharp jab to her ribs. Looking up into the dusty air of the barn, she could see that at the end of the hay fork that was prodding her was a robust young man, dressed in farm clothes that couldn’t disguise the broadness of his shoulders and his magnificent chest, nor his powerful thighs. But enough of that, thought Luisa. She had a civilization to save and she was the girl to do it.

*****

She gave some attention to her travelling companion. He was a striking man, not only for his rugged jaw and closely cropped black hair, but also for the black eyepatch he wore. His one mesmerically blue eye drew attention away from the two pale slashes of skin on his cheekbones: his Heidelberg scars!

*****

“Good night!” he whispered hoarsely, then bent and kissed her hand with lips that burned with unspoken passion. Luisa drew back, not daring to speak – how could she when she could barely trust herself to stand upright, let alone be coherent? It was all the signal Reinhard needed. Swooping down, he took her in his arms and kissed her with a scorching intensity that she had only known once before. Luisa did what any red-blooded Englishwoman would do: she kissed him back! His hands moulded her pliant form against his hard body. Luisa’s head swam with the intensity of sensation that was suffusing her very being with ecstacy. Somehow, she managed to pry herself apart from him, gasping for control of her senses, wanting nothing more than to be consumed by these magnificent sensations.

*****

And with that Dalibor kissed her passionately. What wealth of emotions flooded Luisa’s body! She had only felt this depth of passion three times before! It was all she could do to stop herself from falling out of her seat and into Dalibor’s arms. Suddenly, from far behind them, she heard a man’s voice.

“Nein, for ze love of Gott! Do not be thus torturing me!” It was Reinhard and he had witnessed their impassioned farewell. Luisa broke away and looked over at the hapless Captain, still tied up to his tree.

“Poor idiot,” she sighed, then turned to look at Dalibor. “Be kind to him, please!”

*****

Standing up, Louisa placed on hand on her heart while the other hand held her tea cup securely. She looked off into the distance and envisioning all the pink bits that made up the British Empire said, “By all that is Holy, while the Union Jack still flies over thick steamy jungles, vast plains, busy trading posts, bustling sea ports and over millions of natives and ex-patriots, and over all those who drink tea at an appointed hour and change for dinner, I will set Count Delrowski free!”

*****

They entered and there, sitting on a wooden pallet was Count Delrowski. He rose elegantly, but it was obvious to Luisa that he wasn’t in the best of health. However this could not detract from his natural presence that seethed and coiled its way around the cell like a heady vapour. He was slightly taller than average with light brown hair brushed straight back from his intelligent brow. His startling blue eyes spoke volumes and his compact build was like that of a jungle cat, composed and ready for anything. He wore camel coloured wool trousers and a white linen shirt that had seen better days.

*****

“Yes,” replied Ryzard, with a slight smile of predestination illuminating his handsome visage. So Luisa and the Baron hadn’t consummated their relationship? What a relief to the heroic Pole. Since he had first laid eyes on Luisa’s delicate beauty, he had burned with an untold passion that was all too new to him. What rewards lay in her strong yet supple arms? What delight to lose oneself in those impossibly fascinating eyes? What ecstacy to rain kisses on her swan-like alabaster neck? What transcendence to burn with the fire of a thousand volcanoes, as they finally entwined themselves in to a miasma of passion and…

But enough of that, he thought to himself, it was time to rescue the Polish pilots.

*****

Silently and masterfully the Count swept Luisa out onto a magnificent marble balcony and into a rose-covered bower where they were hidden from view. And before she could catch her breath and continue her tirade, the dashing, one-legged, author-equestrian-hero-diplomat-soldier clasped her in his arms and did what any other red-blooded Polish man would do: he kissed her! The dancing, the music, the city, the whole wide world stopped for Luisa as she was lost in a tide of emotion and a depth of passion she had only felt four times before!

Suddenly the earth moved. And it wasn’t just the force of Ryzard’s searing kisses. A great booming sound caused the magnificent chandeliers to tinkle. Berlin was under attack!

*****

“Yes… yes I suppose you’re right,” sighed Ryzard, turning about and taking Luisa in his arms. “By Vladimir! If you veren’t an ace girl spy, you vould make a hell of a pilot!” Inevitably, indisputably, irrevocably… Ryzard’s lips met hers and they were both swept away on a torrent of emotion, of a sort that Luisa had only experienced five times before!

*****

“I mean, you oafish lout, that I’m willing to take us both out to save this nation, nay the world as we know it from your evil ways! Since the glorious days of Sir Bramwell Pemberton, gentleman spy, it is I, Luisa Danforth, a mere woman, whose natural fragility was always my greatest strength, who is the world’s greatest spy!”

“Blast you, you cunning voman viz your cunning vomanly vays!”

*****

“Well, I say,” murmured Sir Bramwell in his still beautifully-well-modulated voice. “I say Luisa, you’re a credit to women everywhere!”

“Here, here! I say! Hooray! Three cheers for the old girl! Jolly good, what?” cried the Polish pilots who were learning English with great facility.

“Yes,” said Winslow meaningfully, “I’ve always said if Luisa weren’t a gel, she’d make a jolly fine chap!”

*****

Luisa looked up at the Count with such meaning in her eyes that Ryszard did what any other redblooded Polish pilot would do: he kissed her!

What emotions whirled through Luisa’s mind? What torrent of physical sensation assaulted her slender form? She had only felt this way six times before.

Call me Crazy.... but I Sense a Theme Here

From a selection of my tandem tales (writing exercises written with various good and talented friends):

From Springtime in Zurich:
Dr. Dietrich Jurgen opened the large window of his spacious office and gazed at the twinkling waters of Lake Zurich in the distance, now bathed in the light of the late-afternoon sun. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh, running a hand over his fine wide forehead and back over his chestnut hair. His sideburns were slightly touched with gray. His deep green eyes were tired and seemed to have lost forever the bright gleam that had set him apart from his fellow students at university. There in Vienna he had been recognized early on as a brilliant mind and a great thinker and it was widely believed that he would surely contribute profoundly to his chosen field of psychiatry.

From Bramwell Pemberton, Gentleman Spy
Bramwell Pemberton stepped out of his shower and wrapped a towel loosely around his lean hips. Leaning against the window sill, he lit a cigarette and gazed thoughtfully over the view that stretched before him. He hadn’t been in Buenos Aires four hours, and already three people were dead. War was Hell, and they were calling this the war to end all wars. In a gesture of frustration Bram (as he was known to his friends) ran a hand through his hair, letting the unruly curls fall becomingly on his noble brow. There was a knock on the door.

From The Grimoire of Pengannon Castle
Seth emerged from his bath and walked over to the tall sash window of his hotel room, a towel loosely wrapped around his lean hips. Leaning against the jam, he lit a cigarette, folded his arms, and gazed broodily out onto the rain slicked streets. He was more irritable than usual. He hated the city and especially the people who populated it. Bankers were the worst.

Gregory Peck

Gregory Peck's daughter, Cecilia Peck, made a lovely documentary about her dad: A Conversation with Gregory Peck (1999). Here is one of the revelations from that film:

When Gregory was en route to Rome to film Roman Holiday, he stopped in Paris and was interviewed by a very charming young reporter, Veronique Passani. He had several months in Rome filming and then was coming back through Paris so he decided to call Veronique and ask her for lunch. She hesitated several times, in a silent and torturous manner, and he really didn't know what to make of it, before finally accepting his invitation. Weeks later, when they had had many dates and were obviously falling in love, he asked her why that first day, she had been so reluctant to agree to lunch with him. She told him that that afternoon she had been booked to interview Albert Schweitzer at the home of Jean-Paul Sartre!

They were married in 1955 and remained so until his death in 2003.

The Time Traveller's Wife

I finished The Time Traveller's Wife (by Audrey Niffenegger) last night in bed. I can't remember crying so hard over a book for a long, long time. The first time I cried this much was when I was seven years-old, part-way through Charlotte's Web (when Wilbur cries because the other animals won't play with him). Then again when I finished The Last Battle (the final book in the Chronicles of Narnia), because I couldn't bear that it was over and there were no more stories to come.

This is a thoughtful, clever, deeply-detailed novel, and a magnificent time-travelling love story. The heroine is breathtakingly patient with an almost incredible ability to love the hero: it is his dilemma which is the point of the novel. Henry is a man who, in a manner beyond his control, time travels through his own life and slightly before. He arrives at his destinations naked and disoriented. It's a rough life and it takes its toll on him. On one of his journeys he comes across a six-year-old girl and it is she who is destined to be his wife; in fact where he has just come from - she already is. It's an incredible juggling act by the author and an intriguing mind-game for the reader, who is attempting to keep it all straight. The story is written in the first person (Henry and Clare take turns) and it's all present-tense, with the author providing a sub-head at the start of each section giving you the date and the couple's respective ages. Clare's life is all told in a straight chronological narrative, with poor Henry popping in and out at all different ages, until she meets him in the "present" and they start their more formal life together.

This is so hard to explain! But anyway, I do urge you to read it. JenStar lent it to me (she's such a good source of books, always got something interesting to suggest and it was her doing that got me reading the Diana Gabaldon Outlander series).

This is a great love story and it will break your heart!

Happy Tobacco

I'm sitting here innocently typing away and - sniff! sniff! - I can smell pot. Well... it's not the first time, but they must be very near by. See, this is where I sit and type, so the window is right next to me. My neighbours just have to have a breeze waft by and I get to share in their happy tobacco. I have to say, the cooking smells here are excellent. Someone on this floor does roast lamb at least once a week and I distinctly detected mint sauce one day. Other lovely aromas too. I'd rather have the lamb than the pot. Hmmm, reminds me, I have a leg in the freezer.

Naughty Cheesy

I'm giving up wheat in an effort to find out why I feel so permanently allergic. Yes, it's my own diet-elimination plan. It's actually more drastic than that, but I don't want to go into the tragic, chocolate-deprivatory details here.

So... for old times' sake... here is a picture of a cheesey from a packet I bought recently. I think it's extremely saucy. So I photographed it, then I ate it. Yummy!

New Purchase

And I bought this little jug. I think it will hold flowers and stay in the spare bedroom with the William Morris curtains. I know, I know... I'm a girl, what can I say?

Race in Movies

For those of us who watch old movies, you can't go very far without the question of race coming up. In Hollywood the maids were always black simpletons, the cooks were Chinese, the Mexicans and Italians were eye-bulging lotharios or half-wits. I watched a few moments of a Bruce Lee bio-pic on Sunday and there's a scene where Bruce Lee goes into a movie theatre with his girlfriend and they're showing Breakfast at Tiffany's. She's seen the movie before and says to him, "this is so funny" about an upcoming scene. It's when Audrey Hepburn's character comes home and she's with George Peppard. Mickey Rooney as the Japanese landlord (or neighbour) comes out and he's angry about something and he carries on in most scene-chewing manner. It's excruciating. His depiction is not only tasteless and well past the time when such a thing should have been allowed (it belongs alongside a black-and-white minstrel show), but it's also incredibly un-funny. Anyway, Bruce's girlfriend (who is Caucasian) soon picks up on how offended he is and they leave.

Then I got to thinking about The Party (1968), which I love. I know some people are offended by Peter Sellers playing an Indian. Sellers plays Hrundi delightfully and he is ultimately the hero of the film, so does it matter? Well, maybe it does. Or does the fact that he is sympathetically portrayed makes it okay? I don't know. It would be far harder to take if he was playing him as a villain. I don't suppose it would be cast this way now, for one important reason: we have actors now who can play characters of different ethnicities. But even this has to be handled delicately. Remember the outcry when Memoirs of a Geisha was cast with Oriental, but non-Japanese actors. To the American producer, they probably "all looked the same". Same with Anna and the King, which spawned lots of controversy over the casting of Yun-Fat Chow, a Chinese actor, playing the King of Siam.

I'm just grateful we've come this far. I know there's a way to go, But I still love my old movies, despite the wince-making moments.

Top Ten Reasons I Love Second-hand Book Stores

10. Two words: low prices.
9. That promising damp, musty smell.
8. Hidden chairs to sit on.
7. Not a single large-chain, west-coast, American, coffee mega-empire branch in sight.
6. Quiet, bookish store owners let you do your own thing.
5. Hidden corners to sit on aforementioned chairs.
4. A personal inscription just inside the cover makes you wonder about the history of your new, pre-loved book.
3. If there is music, it's discreet and conducive to curling up in aforementioned corner.
2. No sales bins and no wretched impulse buys at cash register.
and...
1. Discovering a book you'd forgotten you'd missed, and it thrills you to find it... re-discover it, then remember it all over again.

Stargazey Pie: An Adventure in Food

This is one of those odd stories that pops up once in a while. A couple of weeks ago we saw Ladies in Lavender (2004), a very sweet film set in Cornwall, in which - in one scene - a dish is served called "Stargazey Pie." This pie is so called because it's made with pilchards or herring - whole ones - whose heads poke out of the pie crust and gaze heavenwards.

I made this years ago for a Celtic-themed party. The bottom crust is laid, the innards are basically the whole fish laid on their sides - tails in the middle, heads to the outside - and an eggy mixture is used to fill the rest of the pie. The crust is laid on top with slits made in it for the heads to poke out (as though the fish were all tucked into bed) and so they bake, their glassey eyes turned upwards. The idea is that the oils in the head drain down into the pie. Mmmmm.... (Homer Simpson-type sounds): fish-head-oil... drool...

Well, I had a hell of a time finding whole small fish. I think I ended up with smelts from the St. Lawrence Market. I seem to recall only one person at the party liked the pie (he'd had it before) and he had two big pieces. I didn't repeat it.... but one day I will. Mwah-ha-ha-haaaaa!

Tibbles

Suzanne reminded me today that one of my favourite things that start with "F" would have to be felines, and, in particular, the wonderful Tibby. He lives with my parents but I'm kind of an honorary mum. This picture was taken by Barbara (ace girl cat photographer) and it is the best picture ever taken of him: I think it captures his sweet expression and gorgeous colouring. Now Tibbles is a big boy, about 20 pounds, but he's also big boned, honest guv! When he stands on his hind legs, he can hook his front paws on the kitchen counter, to give you an idea of how long he is. He loves people, loves talking back, is gentle and affectionate. He often comes when he's called. His actual name is Tybalt, as in "Tybalt, Prince of Cats" but of course he's been Tibby since day one. Well, he's been other names too:

Tibby ~ Tibbles ~ The Tibmeister ~ Tubby Tibby ~ Tibby Wibby ~ Tibbles and Bits (courtesy of Uncle Derek) ~ The Ginger Donut ~ Cat with Wibbly-Wobbly Walk ~ Inspector Tibblesworth of the Yard (because he likes to inspect the yard) ~ The Honey Cruller ~ The Ginger Whinger ~ Chatty Catty ~ George ~ Herbert ~ The Sausage Machine (don't ask) ~ and finally... That's MR. TIBBS.

Planning Ahead for Leftover Pizza

I was talking to Captain Luke not long ago, and extolling the virtues of cold pizza. I think it extends to all that cheesey/doughy/tomato saucy Italian food, because it's the same with lasagne. And we both admitted to buying a size larger pizza than was necessary the night before, so there'd be some left for breakfast. We even came up with a new script for a message you might leave on your lover's phone:

"Darling, I've slipped into that red silky number, the mangoes are sliced, the edible vanilla massage cream is ready, the jumper cables are under the bed... and the pizza has been delivered and is congealing in the fridge."

My New Christmas Movie

I'd heard of the movie The Shop Around the Corner (1940) with the release of the remake, You've Got Mail (1998). I finally got to see the earlier version and - again - I have to wonder why I had to wait so long to discover it. It's based on a play by Miklós László and directed by Ernst Lubitsch. It was also remade in 1949 as the musical In the Good Old Summertime.

The setting is Budapest, most of it just before Christmas, but it doesn't feel kitchified as so often happens with quaint European settings in Hollywood movies (foreign stereo-types are the subject of my next post). Frank Morgan is in it, just a year after he appeared as the Wizard of Oz. He plays the owner of a successful leather-goods shop, with a staff of six. What a lovely store to work in! They don't seem to have much to do except re-arrange wallets and dust briefcases. The supporting cast are interesting and so well-developed. The squabbling between our hero, James Stewart, and our heroine, Maureen Sullavan, is destined to melt into love and it all comes to a delicious climax on Christmas Eve. I think this is my new Christmas must-watch movie.

Not Just About Film, Food and Fiction. There's Flowers Too.

Dave and Mario gave me this violet years and years ago, and it still blooms in it's cheerfully relentless way almost all the time. I keep it topped up with soil and twice a year or so give it a fertilizer stick, watering from the bottom. It loves this northern exposure and, for all its modesty, is the most cheerful thing I see each morning.

Summer Feast

Today I bought the first mangoes of the year. And some little forelle pears that I am eating as I type, with some cheddar cheese and some tea. Mmmmmmmm... very happy girl.

Here's a picture of the best of the bunch before I cut it up. I think this is one of those foods, that - as much as I love eating them - look prettier than they taste, but for that reason alone they're worth it.

The mangoes are filling the kitchen with the most wonderful smell and I'm preparing to perform my cavewoman routine on the weekend. I'll peel one, slice it into long slivers, then lean over the sink and ravish the pit, juice running down my arms. Most unlike my usual dainty ways (no smart comments please). BUT... those slivers I sliced before... in a bowl... feeding myself like sealion, head back... in he goes... a quick chew and smacking of lips. Also, cut up into pieces with some Balkan yoghurt. Sigh.

Cooking, Movies, Cooking for Movies, Cooking to Movies, Movies to Cook By

It's been decided. The Oscar Ballot winners have asked the... runners up... to cook a meal inspired by the movie Big Night. Stay tuned for all the laughs that will ensue. I am half-thinking of suggesting we just recreate the final scene with the cooking of the omelette. But my guess is we won't get away with that and that timpano and risotto will somehow be involved.

Yesterday I had some friends over and we watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975). Yes, I have to admit, it was my first viewing. Now, I didn't fall about laughing very much, but I think that was because I was feeling stunned by it all. But today I kept laughing out loud as things came back to me (don't send the men in white coats). I think what I need is at least one more viewing to really appreciate the dialogue. I loved Graham Chapman playing King Arthur absolutely straight up, with a sort of WWII British war hero voice. And the grenade of Antioch bit, with Michael Palin as the cleric reading:

"And the Lord spake, saying, 'First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.'"

The scary Tim, Brave Sir Robin, Anthrax Castle ("Oh! The spanking, the spanking! And after the spanking comes the oral sex! Yes! Yes!") I know the other Python movies well, but for some reason never caught this one. How embarrassing. But now I have embraced my heritage properly. No more quizzical looks about the Knights-who-say-Ni! The DVD has lots of extras. We just watched the coverage of Michael Palin and Terry Jones going back to the Scottish locations where they filmed. They are such charming men and met some equally charming locals. I have decided for my next career move to get a job working in a gift shop in a remote Scottish castle. Somehow, I believe this is my calling. Caroline warned that the castles are cold and drafty so I shall stock up on big sweaters.

Earlier in the day I had to get some work-work done and also cook for the evening. I usually cook to music only, and would pick the most inspiring for whatever dish I had to make (usually opera for Italian, etc.) But yesterday I had the tv on in the background, tuned to Turner Movie Classics. A miasma of movie magnificence! (Jen, that's for you, if you're reading this.) Citizen Kane (1941), followed by King Kong (1933), The Big Sleep (1946) and Philadelphia Story (1940).

As I heard Citizen Kane announced, I thought (it had been many years since I saw it): "Gor blimey, I mean, what makes it the best movie ever for so many people?" But just listening to the sound alone was mesmerizing. It's a brilliant script, flawlessly cast and with choices about pace and interpretation that leave me completely gob-smacked. I have to get this on DVD, I bet Criterion has an edition.

Mark told me a while ago that for him the original King Kong, and especially Fay Wray, was the best. I waffled on a bit in disagreement, but I'm eating my words (and left-over lasagne). I'd forgotten how enchanting Fay Wray was - and what a screamer! The stop-start animation is incredibly primitive but the other effects were amazing for the time, like Kong climbing the Chrysler building, and the planes coming right at the camera. And ultimately it's suspenseful and moving.

I took a break to watch the start of The Big Sleep. The titles are hysterical. The entire sequence is overlaid with wafts of cigarette smoke. You really have to see it to believe it. It's like an homage to smoking. Each name is sort of blown away with it. I wish smoking were healthy for you and smelled good. It looks so sexy. Remember Paul Henreid lighting up in Now Voyager and Liam Neeson (in glorious black and white) at the start of Schindler's List? The Big Sleep is completely incomprehensible. Apparently when Raymond Chandler was consulted on a plot point, he - too - was unsure of what actually happened. I've seen this movie five times and never figured it out. But that's not really the point. The point is to let it wash all over you with it's noirish style.

The Philadelphia Story was on when Barbara and Christine arrived and they picked up their cues magnificently, doing fine Katherine Hepburn impressions: "Hellooo you." Hee hee!

And When You've Had Enough Trifle....

Here's a wonderful new tea my folks introduced me too. It's green tea with ginger and something else I can't remember, some currant extact. Well, it tastes great and you can just feel it doing you good! You steep it for 1o to 15 minutes, covered.

I can't recommend it enough. That's my strong opinion of the day! Hee hee.

My New Love

Well, I never thought I would say it about a dessert, not having the sweetest tooth in the world, but I have fallen entirely in love with this: Nigella Lawson's Chocolate Cherry Trifle. It's like Black Forest cake in trifle form but ten times better. I made it for Easter and I was a bit nervous, not liking to serve something I'd never made before and I'd never made a chocolate custard. Well... I'm not going to go on. All I can say is, when next you visit my home for dinner, you will most likely be having this for dessert. So get used to the idea my loved ones! Mwah-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaaaa. As you can see by the picture, I really do need a proper pedestal glass trifle bowl, like wot Nigella had in the tv show. My glass bowl is a bit sad looking and doesn't show the layers to their full potential.

Oh, okay, I'll go on about it a bit more, by absolutely no popular demand whatsoever.

It is basically this: very rich chocolate sponge sandwiched with black cherry jam, topped with drained sour cherries, doused in cherry brandy, topped with chocolate custard (8 eggs, dark choc, cocoa and sugar), and then lashings of fresh whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings.

This is what they'll serve in heaven three times a day.

Finally a Fiction Post! And the Fun Question of the Day

I finally finished The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. I don't think I've ever read anything so slowly. So last night I picked up A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I'm still on the introduction, but it's pretty dense. I'm re-reading it as I'm writing something of my own and it's inspired by this play. In fact, the introduction has given me some fresh insights already that I intend to incorporate into my own story.

We played a game at a party a few years ago: if you could meet anyone in history or fiction to sit down and have dinner with - who would it be? For me it's still Shakespeare. Although Jesus would be nice too. Maybe we should expand the dinner party to four people: you and three others. Okay, so here's the question of the day: Who would be at your dinner for four (you are one of them) and then... if you could only have one guest, who would it be?

Another Thrilling Discovery

I was loitering palely on Queen Street on Sunday, and guess what! Hollywood Canteen has opened a cafe right there (I don't know the exact address and it isn't on the website, but it's somewhere between Parliament and Sherbourne on the south side of Queen.) It's a gallery as well, with rare, vintage posters for sale. The dvd/video collection is still up at Coxwell and Danforth, but you can peruse the inventory online and have one delivered downtown. Now, Barbara and Derek are always reason enough to travel to Coxwell and Danforth, but the one thing my area has been missing is a really good video store with tons of old movies. My large popcorn bowl spilleth over!