One of our cats also chases her own tail. She always seems extremely pissed at it, growling at it, grabbing it and biting it... My sister and I came up with a theory about that. We think she's been catnapped by aliens who amputated her tail, and when they sewed it back on afterwards, they got it mixed up with some other cat's. Possibly yours.

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- The dead yeast scraped from brewers vats mostly (since you asked).

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Isn't Vegemite made out of vegetables? (I don't know, I've only heard of it.) If so, then shouldn't Marmite be made out of marmots? :)

From fading memory (I haven't played anything orchestral in a long time), and from the point of view of a position in the percussion section, thus affording good views across the rest of the popular beat combo, er, orchestra:

Brass: Sit in front of us. Generally get on well with percussion as the trombone is the only other instrument with funny-noise making potential even approaching that of a pair of pedal timps. Rather unfortunate tendency to do revolting things resulting in little puddles of spit on the floor, but hey, we can forgive them for that. Until we slip in one of them while clearing up. Also tend to be most enthusiastic in their pursuit of BEER after the gig.

Woodwind: Occupy the no-mans-land between brass and the strings, and can be divided into two sections - flutes and everybody else. Don't generally make themselves known very much as they're so quiet, instead choosing to hide in the middle-distance and occasionally emitting a plaintive A which they then expect us to tune the glockenspiel to. Little sense of humour. The phrase "owners come to look like their pets" can be modified to "woodwind players come to look like their instruments sound".

Strings - the "very small creatures" of the orchestra. Divided into Little Ones and Big Ones, or Violins and Everything Else. [1] The Big Ones seem to mind their own business, and double bass players in particular Know How It Is as they have big heavy instruments to pack up and which need a car to lug them around, which almost makes them honorary percussion players. Violins, however, are very small and make such a tiny noise that they have to have millions of them to be heard at all. This means they tend to hunt in packs - cross one violin player and you've crossed them all. However, as 30 violinists playing their little heart out are still no match for a well-played [2] pair of concert cymbals, this is no big problem. A special case of the Violin is the Leader. For some reason, the Most Important Violinist (you might say 'biggest rat in the pack', but that wouldn't be fair) is allowed to (attempt to) boss the rest of the orchestra around. As a percussion player, if you aren't contributing to your orchestra's unusually rapid turnover of leaders (one a week is a good target), you're not doing your bit. The "cross one and you've crossed them all" rule doesn't apply here, as the other violins don't usually like the leader either.

Percussion - the Everything Else People. If the score calls for a duck quack, you'll get it, despite your protestations that it's plastic, you blow into it, so it really should be woodwind's job. Add to this the arsenal of swannee whistles, vibraslaps, those funny squeezy things that go "peep" and assorted other gubbins, and the resulting hundreds of techniques you're expected to know are likely to push everything else out of your brain and leave you staring at a snare drum thinking "now, what's this?" and wondering whether you're supposed to blow into the hole in the side, shake it, or turn it over and play the snares like a banjo. That said, this big pile of strange instruments leaves you with a funny-noise making potential which, used at opportune moments, will turn any rehearsal [3] into a veritable laugh riot. It will also make you the worst enemy of the conductor, but much more importantly, of the Leader (q.v.).

Mike "So, have I insulted everyone yet?" K.

[1] Whilst not that much bigger, the viola is an honorary Big One as there aren't many of them around, and besides, the poor things need a break from all those people thinking they just can't spell violin. Or that their _name_ is Viola, which in many youth orchestras is really quite probable as, let's face it, they tend to be Tory.
[2] Or well-aimed.
[3] Or concert, for that matter. However, "Dropping Cymbals on Church Floors During The Quiet Bit" is a topic for the advanced student.

For example, a test in the style of Ernest Hemmingway....

It had been one of those days. One of those days when it was impossible to tell whether a post had actualy surfaced in the grim, shifting seas of USENET. He had a news agent. It was a UNIX news agent. It was a good news agent, a manly news agent, a news agent for men. He cast out his lure and sent a test, sitting in the hard wooden chair, feeling the console creak beneath him with the rocking, swaying motions of the great electronic sea.
A bite, a test post. He reeled, cautiously at first and then with greater abandon, until his realisation that he was in deeper waters than he he had known filled him with a sense of panic. Drowning in the contempt of the massed clued monsters of the deep, he would not long live to regret posting his tests to alt.fan.pratchett instead of a shallower and less dangerous shoal...

And now a test in the style of Charlotte Bronte....

Of course, she was a well-appointed young lady of exquisite breeding and taste, but when deep within the firm, sensual grasp of the newsgroup she became flighty to the point of distraction; flustered, befuddled and as bothered as a flower under the gentle caress of the gardener who's tender ministrations may sometimes pluck a bud as well as repair a stem.
"Does it hear me at all?" she thought breathlessly. "Can it be that my voice has become lost in the intensity of our passion, that my words are unheeded the animal grip of our shared communion?"
Seizing control of her keyboard she posted a quick test, deliberately concealing the depth of her emotion with the phrase "don't pay attention to this at all". All of this however, was merely a blind for the words that forced themselves against her trembling lips - "Will you marry me?"

And finally, a test in the style of Quentin Tarantino.

"You lousy fuckin' piece of shit. I'm seein' a whole loada words from every muthfucka on the goddam net but I got no idea if mine are gonna show up or not."
"Hey, you pays your money, you takes your choice. At least you usin' UNIX, man. At least gotta chance t'avoid all that microsoft shit an maybe get treated with a little goddam respect, you know?"
"Man, how'm I gonna get noticed in all that? How the fuck am I even supposed to know if this piece of crap even works at all?"
"Post a test, man. Just make sure you don't post nothin' boring. I mean, do these guys look like bitches?"
"What?"
"You say 'what' one more time and I will shoot you in the face, i swear to God. *Do* *they* *look* *like* *bitches*?"
"No, they don't look like bitches."
"Then don't you try to fuck them like bitches. Post somethin' with a little goddam *class*, muthafucka."
"Fuck you already, I'm posting."

If you lost either of these items at Hogswatch or some-such event, then let me know what the item was and we'll try to get them returned to you via the "afp-network".