I am not a plant.
6.4.2k1
Ya hear of Fong Schway? Well I dug up a little primer on the trend at a local used book store. It's supposed to enhance the flow of positive energy in yer home. You chuck a mirror here, throw a windchime there, plug in a gurgly fountain and you're off to better livin'! Well I don't know about that. Mirrors tend to confuse, windchimes piss off neighbors and those fuckin' fountains ain't nothin' but algae ponds for the cats to drink up and puke. The trend is pretty hot, though. Some folks making a bunch of dough off suckers dumb enough to believe the arrangement of your sofa and chair can affect the Positive Energy in your place. The Fongers call this Positive Energy "chi." The Fongers go around the house with a bunch of sticks glued together that they say can identify the "Relationship Corner" and the "Wealth Corner" and such. Then you shove a cut-glass crystal in that corner and bingo, yer old lady ain't gonna leave you and you hit all six Lotto numbers. This little book was really informative.
The last part said that there was wide latitude for interpreting the "chip" ... or "chi" rather ... but it was careful to point out that your bunch of sticks better be glued together right or you risked the relatively unknown phenom of Fong Schwit. This is where your windchime, if placed in the "wrong" place, will bring the fuckin' sky down on ya. Yer dog'll run off, yer daughter will get knocked up and you'll lose your shirt at the track. Then your car will break down on the way home. That kind of nasty shit. Don't fuck with the Fong Schwit.
The last chapter, or more accurately, the addendum focused on the new school of Fong Schway called Fong Schwing. That seems to me at least to be the most believeable. That part says that the placement of domestic light beer and rock and roll CD's and remote controls in proximity to where you're sitting will enhance the harmony of the room. I have some problems with the mirror and fountain placement nonsense, but the Fong Schwing kinda rules. I suppose I've been livin' the vida Fong Shwing for a while now, which is nice.
Meanwhile ... Thursday night's venue is here: Li Po
Sorry about the temp digs, but the new site is under construction and the Robot coughed up this no-frills loaner. Here's hopin' the new site is up soon. And since Robot is offline 28 June do to MOVE, VA goes out EOD Wednesday. Live w/ it.
It also seems that Robot's mail server is not so reliable. I think everyone got two or even four Venue Announcements last week, thus confusing the Mailing List testing that's going on. My testing is done, though, so stay tuned Thursdays for a VA - if you're subscribed.
Non-public TNSC mailbox: here.
Tonight's Contest: John Metsker won last week's Find the Reference! (The title of the VA was "19.07 g/cc." That's the density of Uranium. Wow! Easy!) He will enjoy a lovely prize. (An out-of-state subscriber also won. He too will enjoy a lovely prize.) Who will win this week's Find the reference!
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Miss Kopke is back on the list after far too long. yee ha!
Porn Title of the Week: INREARENDENCE DAY ha! Just in time for the Holiday!
Now then. Who wants delicious drinks in a stylish location? Who wants to enjoy these things with lovely List Members? If you do, like I do, you're in luck! All that unfolds before us tonight at Li Po. I'll bring my friends and see you there. bye-ee!
Thursday, June 28, 2001
Thursday, June 21, 2001
19.07 g/cc
6.3.2k1
I sometimes wonder how I'm gonna buy the farm. Whether it's Old Man Ebola virus, or Old Man Earthquake or simply Old Man Father Time. I don't mope around all day thinking morbid thoughts, but every now and again I think of the inevitability of me kicking the bucket. It's strange, though: While one is helpless to avoid dying, one can do certain things to prolong life and keep one's mortality at bay. Some folks will say that, for example, quitting smoking will save your life. Sure. Others suggest that a healthy diet and regular exercise is the key to longevity. Why not? I got my own secret that I'm willing to share. I stay alive by avoiding them Cee-Ment Mixers. Those suckers cruise the streets at about a million miles per and with a load of concrete they can punch through a mountainside. Have you heard of depleted uranium? The Army uses it in the bullets they shoot from some of their planes. It's sorta radioactive and it's incredibly dense and with enough velocity it can penetrate armor-plating (read tanks) like butter. I figure cement mixers are kinda like depleted uranium bullets. There ain’t no stoppin’ them. I’m surprised there aren’t more of them wreckin’ into things around here. So you want some advice from me for long livin’ … you see a cement mixer – go the other way. You ought only to be watching its taillights disappear.
Oh … I got some more advice. Enjoy bevs here: Lucky 13
News: Jeremy, watch your step on the way to the bar. Don't reenact your trip-and-fall. Also, more mailing list testing. I’m getting slightly bored with it, but I’ll whip it soon. Construction has begun on the new TNSC site.
Non-public TNSC mailbox: here.
Tonight's Dramatic Reenactment: TonDramRe Office closed this week. Moving, you know.
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Mary Haring. Say hi to Mary tonight.
Porn Title of the Week: I Cream of Genie Ha!
Oh Lordy. I want to see each and every one of you at the venue tonight. I have an important question for you. Oh and bring your pals. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!
6.3.2k1
I sometimes wonder how I'm gonna buy the farm. Whether it's Old Man Ebola virus, or Old Man Earthquake or simply Old Man Father Time. I don't mope around all day thinking morbid thoughts, but every now and again I think of the inevitability of me kicking the bucket. It's strange, though: While one is helpless to avoid dying, one can do certain things to prolong life and keep one's mortality at bay. Some folks will say that, for example, quitting smoking will save your life. Sure. Others suggest that a healthy diet and regular exercise is the key to longevity. Why not? I got my own secret that I'm willing to share. I stay alive by avoiding them Cee-Ment Mixers. Those suckers cruise the streets at about a million miles per and with a load of concrete they can punch through a mountainside. Have you heard of depleted uranium? The Army uses it in the bullets they shoot from some of their planes. It's sorta radioactive and it's incredibly dense and with enough velocity it can penetrate armor-plating (read tanks) like butter. I figure cement mixers are kinda like depleted uranium bullets. There ain’t no stoppin’ them. I’m surprised there aren’t more of them wreckin’ into things around here. So you want some advice from me for long livin’ … you see a cement mixer – go the other way. You ought only to be watching its taillights disappear.
Oh … I got some more advice. Enjoy bevs here: Lucky 13
News: Jeremy, watch your step on the way to the bar. Don't reenact your trip-and-fall. Also, more mailing list testing. I’m getting slightly bored with it, but I’ll whip it soon. Construction has begun on the new TNSC site.
Non-public TNSC mailbox: here.
Tonight's Dramatic Reenactment: TonDramRe Office closed this week. Moving, you know.
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Mary Haring. Say hi to Mary tonight.
Porn Title of the Week: I Cream of Genie Ha!
Oh Lordy. I want to see each and every one of you at the venue tonight. I have an important question for you. Oh and bring your pals. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!
Thursday, June 14, 2001
Agent Orange!
6.2.2k1
I may have mentioned that I ride my bike to work and that I try not to be distracted by things that I encounter on the ride, but perhaps I haven't. I do, though; I try to keep my eyes, ears and mind on the road. Some have called me crazy for riding a bicycle on the streets of San Francisco. Others expressed disbelief that anyone actually tries - what with the condition of the streets and the near militant drivers. Most urged and continue to urge me just to be careful, damn it! I take their advice and try to be careful and ride defensively and concentrate. Sometimes that just don't work. Witness ...
• Goddamn sinkhole develops in the middle of Hyde street and almost sucks me in. A miraculous, record-setting bunny-hop over it saved me from tumbling into the nether-regions of the subterrainian Tenderloin. Counting my blessings for my lightning-fast reflexes and catlike manuvering abilities I thought briefly of the alternate outcome: Spiraling down, down, down. A chilling thought shot through my head: What with the state of the cro-mags that inhabit the surface of the Tenderloin one might guess the hideousness that awaits the hapless sinkhole victim below. One imagines the "Morlocks" from Wells' The Time Machine, but these subsurface beasts are strung out on dope! Oh heavens! To escape such a fate!
•• The consequence of this daydream: Almost plowing into the deadbeat crossing against the light.
• "I'll be damned if that guy doesn't look like my dad." South of Market on 8th and Harrison, there's a white-haired gentleman wearing a suit and tie and Ray-Ban Wayfarers. He's over 6 feet tall and he's walking with a purpose. Could be my dad except for a few factors: This beanpole weighs in at about a buck-thirty while pop weighs more like a buck-oh ... I don't know ... a buck-oh-more-than-thirty. 200? 180? Somewhere around there. Also, I know it ain't him because in my father's own words: "I ain't going to Shakey Town." So, yeah, it couldn't be him. We meet him in Tahoe when he's "in the area."
•• The consequence of this daydream: I'm almost clipped by a van from that French public toilet outfit that has an office right there on 8th. Woulda seen it pulling out if I hadn't been proving why that guy wasn't my dad.
• "This frikkin' police escort ever gonna end?" Right in front of me, a dozen cop motorcycles turn right onto State Street from westbound Division Street. Sirens blaring. Followed hotly by three or four cop cars. Then the black Suburbans, more squadcars and trailing motorcycles. I'm stuck at the intersection. Some joker politician or foreign dignitary must be checking into the Ambassador East. An eternity of cops later and the last copcar goes throught he intersection. "Finally," I'm thinkin' to myself. I put my head down and go.
•• The consequence of this distraction: Bam! Right into the rear bumper of that last copcar that - um - stopped in the middle of the intersection! Rode right up on front wheel - spilling it onto the cop trunk. What the hell? I thought the guy was gonna keep goin' and I was gonna get me a po-leese escort. Nope. I got a dirty look from the Chicago PD. The look said, "Get the fuck off my trunk, asswipe. Here, let me help you." He hit the gas and, yeh, I got off his trunk. (Okey, so this is a Chicago story, but it illustrates what might happen if you let yourself get distracted on them mean 'ol streets.)
Tonight: Dylan's
News: Ah, hell. I don't know if the Mailing List works or not. Here is a (censored) list of those subscribed:
jjohnson@**.com
Diana.Vasquez@**.com
(nameless)@**.com
Tama@**.com
AShuba@**.com
moss.gross@**.com
matt.brown@**.com
jason13@**.net
rbonstin@**.com
maryharing@**.com
brucenewman@**.com
bobo@**.com
moss@**.com
Amy_Whitehead@**.com
kmichaud@**.com
erokan@**.com
chamilton@**.com
tlindo@**.com
achimenti@**.com
andyokno@**.com
mhegarty@**.com
dhindley@**.com
john@**.net
Killme3x@**.com
bayfunk@**.net
bercestey@**.com
SallyC@**.com
Would each of you please click here to send TNSC Robot a message saying you got the Mailing List post, as well as the old fashioned email. Work with Robot here. It's a cry for help in a world gone mad. Other news: Stay tuned for exciting newness coming soon to the TNSC. Design! Readability! Interactivity! Yes, yes ... nipple-numbing funness coming soon. (See a preview of the newness in Tonight's Contest and the new feature: Porn Title of the Week!)
Tonight's Contest: From now on, the contest will be: Find the reference! How to play: The title of the Venue Announcement will refer to a line, word or sentiment or perhaps something even more vague within the Venue Announcement itself. Click on Find the reference! to zap an email to Robot and state your found reference and the first right answer received will win a prize. Prizes weekly! Okay, then ... Find the reference!
Tonight's Dramatic Reenactment: Chef falls asleep twice while viewing Pearl Harbor! The hour and a half of the shitty love story preceding the battle scene had too little to hold poor Cheffy's attention and he dozed off! Upon waking, he asked his date if he had missed the battle scene yet. "Not yet," said his date. Later, halfway through the forty-minute battle scene ... Chef fell asleep again! What a movie! Our Players: Chef's date plays Chef and Chef plays his date (a little role-reversal here); Loretta, Alan, Dee and Jason play the other (disappointed for wasting three hours of their lives) moviegoers; Moss, Bruce, Jeremy, Sally, Tama and John Metsker reenact the shitty movie (a little reenactment within a reenactment here).
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Bercesty! Hello there Miss Relocated-to-South-California!
Porn Title of the Week: Spankenstein (Longtime List Member Tama, in her capacity at work, comes across hundreds of porn movie titles weekly, and graciously shares her fav of the week with the Club!)
Ah, hell. It's great out tonight. Why not come out and discuss mp3 sharing or whatever with the other lovely List Members. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!
6.2.2k1
I may have mentioned that I ride my bike to work and that I try not to be distracted by things that I encounter on the ride, but perhaps I haven't. I do, though; I try to keep my eyes, ears and mind on the road. Some have called me crazy for riding a bicycle on the streets of San Francisco. Others expressed disbelief that anyone actually tries - what with the condition of the streets and the near militant drivers. Most urged and continue to urge me just to be careful, damn it! I take their advice and try to be careful and ride defensively and concentrate. Sometimes that just don't work. Witness ...
• Goddamn sinkhole develops in the middle of Hyde street and almost sucks me in. A miraculous, record-setting bunny-hop over it saved me from tumbling into the nether-regions of the subterrainian Tenderloin. Counting my blessings for my lightning-fast reflexes and catlike manuvering abilities I thought briefly of the alternate outcome: Spiraling down, down, down. A chilling thought shot through my head: What with the state of the cro-mags that inhabit the surface of the Tenderloin one might guess the hideousness that awaits the hapless sinkhole victim below. One imagines the "Morlocks" from Wells' The Time Machine, but these subsurface beasts are strung out on dope! Oh heavens! To escape such a fate!
•• The consequence of this daydream: Almost plowing into the deadbeat crossing against the light.
• "I'll be damned if that guy doesn't look like my dad." South of Market on 8th and Harrison, there's a white-haired gentleman wearing a suit and tie and Ray-Ban Wayfarers. He's over 6 feet tall and he's walking with a purpose. Could be my dad except for a few factors: This beanpole weighs in at about a buck-thirty while pop weighs more like a buck-oh ... I don't know ... a buck-oh-more-than-thirty. 200? 180? Somewhere around there. Also, I know it ain't him because in my father's own words: "I ain't going to Shakey Town." So, yeah, it couldn't be him. We meet him in Tahoe when he's "in the area."
•• The consequence of this daydream: I'm almost clipped by a van from that French public toilet outfit that has an office right there on 8th. Woulda seen it pulling out if I hadn't been proving why that guy wasn't my dad.
• "This frikkin' police escort ever gonna end?" Right in front of me, a dozen cop motorcycles turn right onto State Street from westbound Division Street. Sirens blaring. Followed hotly by three or four cop cars. Then the black Suburbans, more squadcars and trailing motorcycles. I'm stuck at the intersection. Some joker politician or foreign dignitary must be checking into the Ambassador East. An eternity of cops later and the last copcar goes throught he intersection. "Finally," I'm thinkin' to myself. I put my head down and go.
•• The consequence of this distraction: Bam! Right into the rear bumper of that last copcar that - um - stopped in the middle of the intersection! Rode right up on front wheel - spilling it onto the cop trunk. What the hell? I thought the guy was gonna keep goin' and I was gonna get me a po-leese escort. Nope. I got a dirty look from the Chicago PD. The look said, "Get the fuck off my trunk, asswipe. Here, let me help you." He hit the gas and, yeh, I got off his trunk. (Okey, so this is a Chicago story, but it illustrates what might happen if you let yourself get distracted on them mean 'ol streets.)
Tonight: Dylan's
News: Ah, hell. I don't know if the Mailing List works or not. Here is a (censored) list of those subscribed:
jjohnson@**.com
Diana.Vasquez@**.com
(nameless)@**.com
Tama@**.com
AShuba@**.com
moss.gross@**.com
matt.brown@**.com
jason13@**.net
rbonstin@**.com
maryharing@**.com
brucenewman@**.com
bobo@**.com
moss@**.com
Amy_Whitehead@**.com
kmichaud@**.com
erokan@**.com
chamilton@**.com
tlindo@**.com
achimenti@**.com
andyokno@**.com
mhegarty@**.com
dhindley@**.com
john@**.net
Killme3x@**.com
bayfunk@**.net
bercestey@**.com
SallyC@**.com
Would each of you please click here to send TNSC Robot a message saying you got the Mailing List post, as well as the old fashioned email. Work with Robot here. It's a cry for help in a world gone mad. Other news: Stay tuned for exciting newness coming soon to the TNSC. Design! Readability! Interactivity! Yes, yes ... nipple-numbing funness coming soon. (See a preview of the newness in Tonight's Contest and the new feature: Porn Title of the Week!)
Tonight's Contest: From now on, the contest will be: Find the reference! How to play: The title of the Venue Announcement will refer to a line, word or sentiment or perhaps something even more vague within the Venue Announcement itself. Click on Find the reference! to zap an email to Robot and state your found reference and the first right answer received will win a prize. Prizes weekly! Okay, then ... Find the reference!
Tonight's Dramatic Reenactment: Chef falls asleep twice while viewing Pearl Harbor! The hour and a half of the shitty love story preceding the battle scene had too little to hold poor Cheffy's attention and he dozed off! Upon waking, he asked his date if he had missed the battle scene yet. "Not yet," said his date. Later, halfway through the forty-minute battle scene ... Chef fell asleep again! What a movie! Our Players: Chef's date plays Chef and Chef plays his date (a little role-reversal here); Loretta, Alan, Dee and Jason play the other (disappointed for wasting three hours of their lives) moviegoers; Moss, Bruce, Jeremy, Sally, Tama and John Metsker reenact the shitty movie (a little reenactment within a reenactment here).
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Bercesty! Hello there Miss Relocated-to-South-California!
Porn Title of the Week: Spankenstein (Longtime List Member Tama, in her capacity at work, comes across hundreds of porn movie titles weekly, and graciously shares her fav of the week with the Club!)
Ah, hell. It's great out tonight. Why not come out and discuss mp3 sharing or whatever with the other lovely List Members. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!
Thursday, June 07, 2001
The limit of my attention span.
6.1.2k1
I ain't the forgetful type. Occasionally I'll forget something, but I'm usually pretty good with remembering the important stuff. It's quite an easy distinction: The important stuff and the non- important stuff. Remember to wear pants. Remember to never trust that bitch again. Remember to tell your loved ones that you love them. Remember anniversarys. Don't worry about remembering this shit: Email addresses. Billy Joel song lyrics. Stupid jokes. Funny thing is ... I remember email addresses, Billy-Frikkin-Joel song lyrics and stupid jokes. I fill up the brain with nonsense like this. I want a better filesystem up there so I can purge that crap. God damn. How's this:
"Look what happened to me,
Under the apple tree, It was hairy and scary and looked like a tunnel to me.
So I whipped out my big 'ol ba-na-na,
And shoved it into the crack,
And she let out a scream,
As I filled her with cream,
And that was the end of that. de-do."
God dang that was funny in third grade. Why it's still up there in my pea brain I don't know. I even remember who said it, where they said it and what happend later when the teacher heard it. (That was kinda funny.) I get some help remembering other stuff. Calendars, alarms, Palm Pilot and PowerBook lend a hand. Yeh, so when I'm relying on something to remind me of this or that and I forget, uh, one of my helpers ... I find myself in a world of shit. Today I needed to send an TNSC Venue Announcement, it being Thursday and all, and shit, I needed to write the thing. Remembered all that, but forgot my helper. My PowerBook. At home. Me not at home. Oh well. Got it now and here you are. A really stupid fucking rhyme from 1978. Hope you enjoyed it 'cause that's all there is and there ain't no more.
'Cept this: Hyde-Out
News: If you're getting the VA twice that means you've subscribed to the mailing list. You're getting one from the mailing list and one from the classic list. This is the last week of the classic list. So Subscribe!
Remember, list members, send your non-public comments to: tnsc@therein-lies.com
The TNSC Contest, Dramatic Reenactment and Singled-Out List Member writers also forgot thier PowerBooks so you lovely List Members suffer without this week. Linkey Loo Robot forgets nothing, though.
Calling all Pac Heights, Snob Hill, North Beach, et al denizens: Get to the Hyde Out. It's central to your location and that's where yer pals will be. I know I'll be there, and I'm yer pal. See you there! bye-ee!
6.1.2k1
I ain't the forgetful type. Occasionally I'll forget something, but I'm usually pretty good with remembering the important stuff. It's quite an easy distinction: The important stuff and the non- important stuff. Remember to wear pants. Remember to never trust that bitch again. Remember to tell your loved ones that you love them. Remember anniversarys. Don't worry about remembering this shit: Email addresses. Billy Joel song lyrics. Stupid jokes. Funny thing is ... I remember email addresses, Billy-Frikkin-Joel song lyrics and stupid jokes. I fill up the brain with nonsense like this. I want a better filesystem up there so I can purge that crap. God damn. How's this:
"Look what happened to me,
Under the apple tree, It was hairy and scary and looked like a tunnel to me.
So I whipped out my big 'ol ba-na-na,
And shoved it into the crack,
And she let out a scream,
As I filled her with cream,
And that was the end of that. de-do."
God dang that was funny in third grade. Why it's still up there in my pea brain I don't know. I even remember who said it, where they said it and what happend later when the teacher heard it. (That was kinda funny.) I get some help remembering other stuff. Calendars, alarms, Palm Pilot and PowerBook lend a hand. Yeh, so when I'm relying on something to remind me of this or that and I forget, uh, one of my helpers ... I find myself in a world of shit. Today I needed to send an TNSC Venue Announcement, it being Thursday and all, and shit, I needed to write the thing. Remembered all that, but forgot my helper. My PowerBook. At home. Me not at home. Oh well. Got it now and here you are. A really stupid fucking rhyme from 1978. Hope you enjoyed it 'cause that's all there is and there ain't no more.
'Cept this: Hyde-Out
News: If you're getting the VA twice that means you've subscribed to the mailing list. You're getting one from the mailing list and one from the classic list. This is the last week of the classic list. So Subscribe!
Remember, list members, send your non-public comments to: tnsc@therein-lies.com
The TNSC Contest, Dramatic Reenactment and Singled-Out List Member writers also forgot thier PowerBooks so you lovely List Members suffer without this week. Linkey Loo Robot forgets nothing, though.
Calling all Pac Heights, Snob Hill, North Beach, et al denizens: Get to the Hyde Out. It's central to your location and that's where yer pals will be. I know I'll be there, and I'm yer pal. See you there! bye-ee!
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