Sondheim (him again?) quipped “You can have an orange or a porringer”, and that works fine for a New Yorker, but not for me. The jury’s out on which syllable, first or second, is stressed in ’sporange’. There’s also Blorenge, in Wales.
Oh, and the ‘promises’ one sorta happened by accident.
Thomas always promises,
“There’s no band like Thomas’s!”
His band? He’s just the drummer.
They play that punky foreign jazz,
Their singer’s hair as orange as
A mandarin in summer.
June 4, 2009 at 9:00 am |
At a party for Ralph Lauren Jezebel fulfils her promises
Of little heirloom oranges and figs and dates and hommouses…
June 4, 2009 at 9:09 am |
Yeah. ‘Cos we say Ralph LAU-ren, whereas I think Yanks say Ralph Lau-REN. Serves them right.
I confess I had to look up “heirloom oranges”.
June 4, 2009 at 9:14 am |
Dang it. If she’s the caterer for his party, her song really should say pronounce his name in American.
June 4, 2009 at 9:16 am |
Perhaps the observer, who sings this song, is a cool, detached Brit?
June 4, 2009 at 10:23 am |
What I’m wondering about is why so many of my entries to these involve women who work in the fussier end of the food preparation industries.
June 4, 2009 at 10:36 am |
All of mine seem to take place in a bar …
June 4, 2009 at 9:10 am |
[...] a partial solution to Petey’s challenge. And it really needs a New York accent to [...]