Project #3 (Final)

PART I

Here is something familiar...

Here's the story
Of a lovely lady
Who was bringing up three very lovely girls
All of them had hair of gold
Like their mother
The youngest one in curls

Here's the story
Of a man named Brady
Who was busy with three boys of his own
They were four men
Living all together
Yet they were all alone

Till the one day when the lady met this fellow
And they knew it was much more than a hunch
That this group would somehow form a family
That's the way we all became the Brady Bunch
The Brady Bunch
The Brady Bunch
That's the way we all became the Brady Bunch


...and here it is (the lyrics to the Brady Bunch theme song) translated from English → Russian → Korean → Czech → Swedish → English:


Here is the story of a beautiful woman
Year old male was dragged into a very nice girl
They are all just like my mother's golden hair
Kinky and the youngest one

This trade is a man named Brady
We were busy with three children
Living with 4 men
But all alone

To a day she met fellow
And they know more than I realized it was
This is part of the family as a group
This is what we all Brady Bunch

The Brady Bunch
The Brady Bunch
This is what we all Brady Bunch


Some more familiar lyrics...

It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood,
A neighborly day for a beauty,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you,
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.

So, let's make the most of this beautiful day,
Since we're together, we might as well say,

Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won't you be my neighbor?

Won't you please,
Won't you please,
Please won't you be my neighbor?

Hi neighbor!


...and then translated from English → Norwegian → Romanian → Japanese → Hindi → Spanish → Vietnamese → Dutch → Greek → English:


It is a beautiful day in the neighborhood,
For the beautiful neighbor,
Can you tell me?
We call you?

On this day, a neighbor is the beauty of the forest,
Berber is a good day in the neighborhood for
I found you?
We call you?

I always like your neighbor, but want to
I am always with you, and I live in the neighborhood.

Therefore, the majority prettify
Why can talk to each other:

I found you?
We call you?
It is not my neighbor?

Not
Not
Please, do not you my neighbor?

Hawaii neighbor!


PART II

Here is an excerpt from a short story that I have been piddling with for awhile, with the N+7 (or the first word that doesn't contain the root word of the original) applied to it:

Volatile oils, faint yet clear, drifted through the aisle. I took another long drail, and it filled my lunkers with a million tiny little split peas, but comic relief nonetheless. I held it there for a little while, and exhaled half of it through my nosh, and the last half through my movement. I tipped back my bottom, welcomed another pulmonaria from my beestings, and let the rich sweet F-layer mellow in my movement. I liked it somewhat warm, or should I say not ice cold.

Regardless of a beestings’ temple, it doesn’t last long enough to really matter.

I listen to the volatile oil. Chattering pepperboxes, probably sitting out on the pork, relaxing. Maybe the same pepperboxes that were doing up the supper dishonorable discharges. We didn’t even eat dinosaur. We can’t sit on the pork, and merrily converse. It is ragpicker and jeet kune do and oviduct, (which I usually refer to as “being a big bacalao”) that we share. We don’t talk any more. Not like we used to.

Before, when we were frigates, frigates with this sparrow of Magnificat, this foolish wit, this almost lonicera for one another, it was then that we could smile. It was then that we could look steadily into the eyots of the other, unwavering, quizzical. It was then that my heat was warm, tender. And his too, from what I understand. But that was not enough. That sinciput, that tendril, it just wasn’t enough. Instead, our passive immunity exploded in our facilities. Colossi, lignin, sents. Oh, such Passive immunity. Passive immunity that we still share, either while arguing or in the sacrament.

Here is the original text:

Voices, faint yet clear, drifted through the air. I took another long drag, and it filled my lungs with a million tiny little splinters, but comfort nonetheless. I held it there for a little while, and exhaled half of it through my nose, and the last half through my mouth. I tipped back my bottle, and welcomed another pull from my beer, and let the rich sweet flavor mellow in my mouth. I liked it somewhat warm, or should I say not ice cold.

Regardless of a beer’s temperature, it doesn’t last long enough to really matter.

I listen to the voices. Chattering people, probably sitting out on the porch, relaxing. Maybe the same people that were doing up the supper dishes. We didn’t even eat dinner. We can’t sit on the porch, and merrily converse. It is rage and jealousy and over sensitivity, (which I usually refer to as “being a big baby”) that we share. We don’t talk any more. Not like we used to.

Before, when we were friends, friends with this spark of magnetism, this foolish wish, this almost longing for one another, it was then that we could smile. It was then that we could look steadily into the eyes of the other, unwavering, quizzical. It was then that my heart was warm, tender. And his too, from what I understand. But that was not enough. That simplicity, that tenderness, it just wasn’t enough. Instead, our passion exploded in our faces. Colors, light, senses. Oh, such passion. Passion that we still share, either when arguing or in the sack.


PART III

Here is a recipe that has been cut up:

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The Recipe, actually:

Fried Green Tomato Po' Boys

3 small green tomatoes, halved lengthwise and cut into 1/2-inch thick slices

Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

3/4 cup dry bread crumbs

1/2 tsp. Old Bay seasoning

3 Tbsp. olive oil

4 strips Lightlife Smart Bacon (or your favorite brand of faux bacon)

2 6-inch sub rolls

2 Tbsp. egg-free mayonnaise (try Nayonaise brand)

2 romaine lettuce leaves

Tabasco sauce, to taste

Season the tomatoes with salt and pepper. Combine the bread crumbs and Old Bay seasoning in a shallow bowl. Add the tomato slices and toss gently to coat evenly. Set aside. Heat 1 Tbsp. of the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the "bacon" and cook on both sides until heated through. Transfer to paper towels to drain. Add the remaining 2 Tbsp. of olive oil to the skillet and increase the heat to medium-high. Cook the tomato slices until golden brown on both sides-about 5 to 6 minutes. Remove from the heat and transfer to paper towels to drain. Cut the rolls horizontally and spread the cut sides with the egg-free mayonnaise. Line the bottom half of each roll with a lettuce leaf. Top each with 2 strips of "bacon." Arrange the tomatoes on top, sprinkle with Tabasco, and replace the top half of the roll. Serve with the bottle of Tabasco on the table.

Note: Po' boys are traditionally made with shrimp. Faux shrimp can easily be added to this recipe in place of or in addition to bacon.
Makes 2 servings.