Recycled CASHMERE scarves & accessories that are handmade in the Seattle, WA. The most eco-friendly fashionable way to be hip & warm! Great environmentally conscious bohemian luxury. Oh, and some ramblings about goats, vintage sewing machines, craft & sewing gadget reviews, etsy friends, and eating gluten-free.
I actually found the movie really funny. But then again, I have an off-the-wall sense of humor. And I do think the army is kinda weird, in a "we can't tell you everything" kind of way. And I do think George Clooney could make a goat drop if he stared at it... and Jeff Bridges, well either he's a good actor or...
Here's an excerpt of Djali's performance from Victor Hugo's book:"Djali!" said the dancer, "it is your turn." And, seating herself, she gracefully presented her tambourine to the goat. "Djali," she continued, "what month is this?" The goat lifted its fore foot, and struck one blow upon the tambourine. It was the first month in the year, in fact. "Djali," pursued the young girl, turning her tambourine round, "what day of the month is this?" Djali raised his little gilt hoof, and struck six blows on the tambourine. "Djali," pursued the Egyptian, with still another movement of the tambourine, "what hour of the day is it?" Djali struck seven blows. At that moment, the clock of the Pillar House rang out seven.
The people were amazed.
"There's sorcery at the bottom of it," said a sinister voice in the crowd. It was that of the bald man, who never removed his eyes from the gypsy. She shuddered and turned round; but applause broke forth and drowned the morose exclamation. It even effaced it so completely from her mind, that she continued to question her goat. "Djali, what does Master Guichard Grand-Remy, captain of the pistoliers of the town do, at the procession of Candlemas?"
Djali reared himself on his hind legs, and began to bleat, marching along with so much dainty gravity, that the entire circle of spectators burst into a laugh at this parody of the interested devoutness of the captain of pistoliers. "Djali," resumed the young girl, emboldened by her growing success, "how preaches Master Jacques Charmolue, procurator to the king in the ecclesiastical court?" The goat seated himself on his hind quarters, and began to bleat, waving his fore feet in so strange a manner, that, with the exception of the bad French, and worse Latin, Jacques Charmolue was there complete,--gesture, accent, and attitude.
