Bonneteau
7.4.2k1
Hey! Great news! Longtime list member and official TNSC historian Stuart Pidd has just published his first novel! It's a work of fiction called A Big Hat For a Small Head. I got an advance copy from our good pals at Wet Possum Publishers. Here's an excerpt. (I'll preface: The protagonist, a Three Card Monte Tosser named Jackson, is plying his trade at the Powell Street cable-car turnaround in San Francisco. His team includes his lover, an ex-stripper named Doll-face. Doll-face is a Shill, or accomplice, who wins a couple hands to prove the game can be beaten. Cass is another shill who befriends the Punter, or target, enough to get the Punter to play. Belv is a Russian Army deserter who is the Lookout, Muscle and Roper. Jax doesn't trust Cass or Belv as far as he can pee. The Punter is a tourist from Dayton, Ohio named Page.) Doll-face picks the Queen.
"Win again. Little lady picks the lady."
Doll-face hops up and down, clapping. "Ohhh. Lemme go again. Lemme go again."
"Sure," Jackson says, "you bet."
"Hey, I win too. I threw down," says Cass.
"That your fin?" Jackson asks Cass. "You throw down that five?" He looks at Doll-face, she's still jumping. He looks at Page. "You. You see him throw down that five?"
"Uh ... uh ... " says Page.
"'Uh' what? He bet the five or not?"
"Uh ... yeah. Yeah, I guess he did." Page seems a bit more interested. Jax thinks he's almost got him."
"Okey, then. You throw in five, you get ten back. There's your five ... and ten." He tosses over the bills. Cass collects the ten.
"Let's go again. Let the five ride." says Cass.
Jackson looks over to Belv. Belv is wading five-deep through the cable-car crowd. They make eye contact. All clear.
"All right. We go again. But how 'bout throwin' down the ten? The lady's hot. She can pick 'em. You seen her."
Cass looks at Doll-face. She bats her eyes at him and he looks her up and down. A hard look. Page looks on.
"Well let's go, Romeo. Win her a prize," Jackson says. He lights a smoke.
"Yeah, I'm in. Here's the ten." Cass says, placing the ten. He reaches for his five ...
"Ep! Too late, bud. You're in for fifteen. Can't take 'em back."
"What?" Cass says. "You said bet the ten. Not fifteen."
"You wanna take back bets, go to some other guy's table. Let it ride, huh?"
Cass looks at Page. Page shrugs. "Okay," Cass says, "why not? The lady's hot."
Jackson shows each card. Ten of spades. Ace of spades. Queen of Hearts. He throws them face-down.
"Find the lady," he tells Doll-face.
Doll-face shoves a fingernail in her mouth and chews. "Ummmmm ..." she says.
"Take your time, but we ain't got all day." Jackson says and winks at Page, who smiles.
After a couple seconds ... "There! Middle!" Doll-face takes her finger out of her mouth to point. "Middle"
"Middle card, babe? You sure?"
"Uhhh ... sure. Sure I'm sure."
"Yeah. I think so too." Says Page. "Middle."
"Whoa!" Jackson says, "Batter up!" A few other passers-by look in. "New batter! You think middle too, new batter? You want a piece?"
"Sure. I seen it too. Middle or I'm from Columbus." Page throws down a five.
"Okay, batter," Jax takes a drag and points at Page, "Let's see where you from." He turns the middle card. Queen.
"Shit the lady HOT!" says Jackson. "Makin' the fellas happy!"
Everyone smiles. Doll-face goes through her hippity-hoppity routine, Cass slaps Page on the back. Page nods his head. "Middle all the way."
Jackson talks it up. "Way to go, batter! Here's yer ten, yer five. You ... here's your forty-five. You, Eagle-Eye," he
motions to Doll-face, "here's your twenty and here's my forty. Dang. You hot."
"Oh I wanna ride it out! Sixty! I'm in for sixty," says Doll-face.
"Hey!" says Cass, suddenly, to Jackson, "You can pay that out?"
"Oh yeah," says Jackson, pulling a fistfull of bills from his pocket, showing Cass, Page, "bank of Jackson is open."
Cass looks at Page. "Oh fuck yes. I'm in for it all too. Let it ride."
"How 'bout you, batter? You ride it out?"
"Uh ..." Page looks around, to Jackson, to Cass, back to Jackson.
Jackson says, "The lady, she winnin'. She got it goin' ON!"
"C'mon, bud," Cass says to Page, "You seen her. She can spot that Queen bitch no shit!"
Page looks at Doll-face. She bats her eyes at him, steps closer. Page takes out his wallet and fingers two twenties. Doll-face steps up to him, pushes her breasts against his arm. "Oh, wow," she says. Page looks at his wallet, then at the girl. He takes four twenties out and puts them on the table.
"Oh yeah, baby," says Cass, elbowing Page playfully, "you buyin' at the Thursday Night Social Club tonight
when you double that." Cass looks at Jackson and grins.
"Okay, baby," Jackson says, showing three cards, "Find the lady."
It’s a fun little romp. Kinda pulpy, sure, but it reads easy. The whole thing is set in San Francisco and the characters all go to TNSC. Stu works in some real-life list members. Tama, John Metsker, Alan, Moss … all of them show up at one time or another. You’ll have to read the book, but there’s a hilarious part where the Doll-face character and the fictionalized Dee get into a brawl in the Mayor’s office. (Okay, what’s with the character Doll-face? What kinda cheesy name is that? My opinion is Stu couldn’t think of anything better.) Oh well. Tonight we pay tribute to Stuart and his fine piece of pulp fiction at his favorite local bar:
Bamboo Hut
The news: There is NO PARKING in North Beach. Take the bus. Also in the news, Kira is new to the list. John is new to the list. We had a great turnout last week at Orbit. Lots of old-school list members. Thanks for showin up. Tonight we have out-of-town list members. Welcome all!
Comments: tnsc@therein-lies.com
TONIGHT'S CONTEST: Find the reference!
Last Week’s Contest Results: The VA title was “Trinity.” The name referred to Carrie Ann Moss’ character in The Matrix. Longtime List Member Moss got this far, but he didn’t finish the reference. Trinity did her some slow-motion kung fu in the move and that was your reference! (This toughy was a response to the “These are too easy” comment from Founding Member John Metsker.) No winner.
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: Australia’s disqualification in the women’s 800-meter freestyle relay at the 2001 World Swimming Championship. Team Australia was disqualified after having won the event when one of the team jumped into the pool in celebration before the Italian team had finished. A “clear-cut” violation of the rules, perhaps, but the decision by the sport’s governing body, FINA, prompted the Austrailan coach to call FINA a – get this – “kangaroo court.” HA!
Players: Anna plays the Australian anchor who finishes first; Mary Haring plays the Australian swimmer who disqualified her team; Mrs Alan Chimenti plays the slow-ass Italian swimmer; (nameless) plays the Australian coach; and Scott Harris plays the rigid, take-no-shit governing board FINA.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Todd Lindo. He is so cool. That gets him singled-out.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: A Midsummer Night's Cream
Bus, walk or bike to Bamboo hut. Skateboard. Hitchhike. Don’t drive or you’ll be looking for parking forever. However you get there, be sure to bring your friends. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!
Thursday, July 26, 2001
Thursday, July 19, 2001
Trinity
7.3.2k1
Scandal!
I got nothin' but grief from a lot of ya for leavin' you out of the loop regarding my surprise bday party. Well excuse me but I didn't know much about it during the "planning" and "invite" stages. Being in on the ground-level of one's own surprise party kinda shit-cans the surprise part of the party. That said, I'm awful sorry if you were one of the unlucky that stayed home. You missed a hell of a time.
One last story for the kiddies: The joint is called the Cal-Neva because it's on the border of California and Nevada. ON THE BORDER. They got a pool on the boundary that is striped down the middle showin' what state yer in. They got a swim-up bar in that pool and several list members delighted in sitting in one seat and ordering Everclear shots and getting turned down, only to shift over one and get their shot o' grain alcohol. Sadly, the CHP waded in before the snorkel trick Mr. Metsker was trying on the Cali side got off the ground, but an enterprising interstate Mossy's reenactment of Das Boot on the Silver State's side had everyone - aquacops and waterborne barmen included - falling over laughing. Well enough of all that. No sense in rubbing it in. Instead, I'll try to salve crisped feelings by letting you all in on what I stumbled on: Tryouts (of some sort) for slow-motion kung fu robots!
My guess is that someone's making a movie that features a platoon of robots that do slow-motion kung fu. That's about the only thing it could be. Or maybe a TV show or miniseries. Anyway, let me explain more. I was walking in to work the other day and what with the new apartment, I got a new commute. This takes me past a big church on California Street that has a park across the way. I'm walking on the park side and as I'm dodging some filthy ankle-biter dog that the oldest lady you ever saw is desperately trying to reign in I see a bunch of folks going through some very strange gestural movements. So strange, in fact, that it stopped me dead in my tracks to gape. The little yapper snaps me out of it but the wonder is still in front of me. Dozens of people - young, old, man, woman, child, black, white, brown, yellow - all going through some ritualistic slo mo judo chops and kicks and leg sweeps and sleeper holds. Stunned. That's the easiest way to describe my reaction. I was stunned. If I'd been on my bike, I'da wrecked.
I shook it off and resumed my walk, after watching a while longer. It stayed in my head all the way to work and for most of the day. I don't know for sure that it was a casting call or what. I didn't see any producer-lookin' folks. I didn't see any ubiquitous MiniDV cameras recording the best slow-motion kung fu robots to screen later, so I don't know. Mebbe it was the newest fitness mode, a la Ti Bo. Could be it was a newfangled martial art. My guess it was either tryouts for slow-motion kung fu robots or a new self-defense mode. The kind of new self-defense mode that is so unique, so original, it stupefies the would-be attacker long enough to deliver a slow-motion boot to the head. It'd probably work only once, though.
Tonight's venue is here: Orbit Room
News: As I'm trying to figure out the mailing list errors, you may notice that a Thursday will go by and you won't receive a message from Robot. Here's the solution: Go to the frikkin' site. All the email is is a link to the site. You sorta don't need it. Just check to see if it's updated. The Venue Announcement is usually posted by 3p.
We're going to Orbit Room to raise a toast to Founding Member and Linkey-Loo coordinator A.J. Chimenti. He just got both his GED and his San Francisco Taxi medallion. Congrats!
Non-public TNSC mailbox: here.
Tonight's Contest: Once again, John Metsker won last week's Find the Reference! (He writes: "RNO= Airline jargon for Reno Airport. These things are too damn easy.") Robot will bring his lovely prize tonight. Robot made this week's contest a bit harder. Up for grabs is a brand new T-Shirt! Who will win this week's Find the reference!
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Scott Harris. He's movin' back to Chicago soon. Let's be sure to ply him with drinks.
Porn Title of the Week: The Sopornos. Bada-Bing!
I gotta ask: Do you need that sorta thing? Where we're going tonight they got it. They got it in spades. Bring your friends and encourage your love interest to bring theirs. I know I will. See you there. bye-ee!
7.3.2k1
Scandal!
I got nothin' but grief from a lot of ya for leavin' you out of the loop regarding my surprise bday party. Well excuse me but I didn't know much about it during the "planning" and "invite" stages. Being in on the ground-level of one's own surprise party kinda shit-cans the surprise part of the party. That said, I'm awful sorry if you were one of the unlucky that stayed home. You missed a hell of a time.
One last story for the kiddies: The joint is called the Cal-Neva because it's on the border of California and Nevada. ON THE BORDER. They got a pool on the boundary that is striped down the middle showin' what state yer in. They got a swim-up bar in that pool and several list members delighted in sitting in one seat and ordering Everclear shots and getting turned down, only to shift over one and get their shot o' grain alcohol. Sadly, the CHP waded in before the snorkel trick Mr. Metsker was trying on the Cali side got off the ground, but an enterprising interstate Mossy's reenactment of Das Boot on the Silver State's side had everyone - aquacops and waterborne barmen included - falling over laughing. Well enough of all that. No sense in rubbing it in. Instead, I'll try to salve crisped feelings by letting you all in on what I stumbled on: Tryouts (of some sort) for slow-motion kung fu robots!
My guess is that someone's making a movie that features a platoon of robots that do slow-motion kung fu. That's about the only thing it could be. Or maybe a TV show or miniseries. Anyway, let me explain more. I was walking in to work the other day and what with the new apartment, I got a new commute. This takes me past a big church on California Street that has a park across the way. I'm walking on the park side and as I'm dodging some filthy ankle-biter dog that the oldest lady you ever saw is desperately trying to reign in I see a bunch of folks going through some very strange gestural movements. So strange, in fact, that it stopped me dead in my tracks to gape. The little yapper snaps me out of it but the wonder is still in front of me. Dozens of people - young, old, man, woman, child, black, white, brown, yellow - all going through some ritualistic slo mo judo chops and kicks and leg sweeps and sleeper holds. Stunned. That's the easiest way to describe my reaction. I was stunned. If I'd been on my bike, I'da wrecked.
I shook it off and resumed my walk, after watching a while longer. It stayed in my head all the way to work and for most of the day. I don't know for sure that it was a casting call or what. I didn't see any producer-lookin' folks. I didn't see any ubiquitous MiniDV cameras recording the best slow-motion kung fu robots to screen later, so I don't know. Mebbe it was the newest fitness mode, a la Ti Bo. Could be it was a newfangled martial art. My guess it was either tryouts for slow-motion kung fu robots or a new self-defense mode. The kind of new self-defense mode that is so unique, so original, it stupefies the would-be attacker long enough to deliver a slow-motion boot to the head. It'd probably work only once, though.
Tonight's venue is here: Orbit Room
News: As I'm trying to figure out the mailing list errors, you may notice that a Thursday will go by and you won't receive a message from Robot. Here's the solution: Go to the frikkin' site. All the email is is a link to the site. You sorta don't need it. Just check to see if it's updated. The Venue Announcement is usually posted by 3p.
We're going to Orbit Room to raise a toast to Founding Member and Linkey-Loo coordinator A.J. Chimenti. He just got both his GED and his San Francisco Taxi medallion. Congrats!
Non-public TNSC mailbox: here.
Tonight's Contest: Once again, John Metsker won last week's Find the Reference! (He writes: "RNO= Airline jargon for Reno Airport. These things are too damn easy.") Robot will bring his lovely prize tonight. Robot made this week's contest a bit harder. Up for grabs is a brand new T-Shirt! Who will win this week's Find the reference!
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Scott Harris. He's movin' back to Chicago soon. Let's be sure to ply him with drinks.
Porn Title of the Week: The Sopornos. Bada-Bing!
I gotta ask: Do you need that sorta thing? Where we're going tonight they got it. They got it in spades. Bring your friends and encourage your love interest to bring theirs. I know I will. See you there. bye-ee!
Thursday, July 12, 2001
RNO
7.2.2k1
A lady friend threw me a birthday party last week. All my friends and a lot of you lovely list members were there. I’ve never been the “victim” of a surprise party before – let alone one that was surprising – but it was fun. I fully wasn’t expecting it: My brother called and said something like, “Hey, what’s going on?” I said, “Oh, you know, unpacking … settling in.”
“What say you meet me downstairs in five? I’ll be in a Vets taxi.”
I was game. “I’m game. See you in five.”
The familiar Vets cab wheeled up minutes later and my brother threw open the door and threw me a domestic light beer.
“Hop in. It’s a short trip.”
Well it wasn’t exactly short, but it wasn’t too bad. Veteran’s taxi to the airport, Southwest B737-300 to Reno, Dodge minivan to the Cal-Neva resort in North Lake Tahoe. We B-lined it to a villa that I guessed, from its vantage, had a killer lake view. You see, I was concentrating on the view and wondering if this was the actual villa that a certain JFK clandestinely encountered a certain MM back in the early ‘60’s and not that it was my birthday and this jetting to exotic locales was a bit irregular and suspicious. My brother pops open the door and Surprise! I was very much surprised.
I said thanks, toasted to myself when they sang “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and was a darn good spirit when the obligatory 31 punches in the arm started to sting. All my favorites magically appeared. Domestic light beer, Makers Mark Manhattans, corndogs … Friends I haven’t seen in years came up and wished me well. Folks from Arizona, Chicago, NYC … someone even brought my cats. Fatty squawked a happy birthday and Junior purred best wishes from under the couch where he hid. What a treat.
When the ruckus subsided, I checked the place out. A pretty swanky joint. Nicely decorated, furnished and goddang it smelled like a spring morning. I cooled it on a very comfy sofa and looked out on the lake. A beautiful view indeed. I chatted with some long lost friends, sipped a domestic light beer and found a bowl of snack mix within reach. Oh shit was that stuff good. Whoever came up with the buttery salty cerealy pretzelly brown breaddy goodness that makes up the shack mix gets into heaven automatically if you ask me. I just about killed the entire bowl when my lady friend, the hostess, came and got the bowl, presumably to refill it. Well no matter, there was another bowl already there. I dug into that sucker too and met a different mix. Gone were the brown breads and cereals. What the hell. I ain’t no snob so I munched it anyway. It had a peculiar tang to it – not exactly bad but kinda odd. It was sorta “woody” too. I washed it down, grabbed another handfull and figured I’d wait for the refilled bowl to come back. As I was listening to Tama tell a great story about a customer service call she recently fielded, the hostess returned with the bowl brimming with goodness. I told her thanks and that this stuff beat the hell out of the mix in the other bowl. She looked puzzled first then gasped suddenly – the other bowl didn’t contain an alternate snack mix, the bowl contained wood chips soaked in fragrant oils. Fucking PotPourri! That was the shit that made the villa smell like a dewey April morn. Goddamn I must have chowed down two three cups of that shit. What the fuck? Kind of a dumb place for a bowl fragrant wood chips if you ask me.
Ask me something else and I’ll tell you: Annie's
News: Mailing List is broken. ISP issues, I guess. I ain’t getting any intelligible tech support, so it’s back to the old list. “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
Non-public TNSC mailbox: here.
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Matt Fassberg. I like Matt Fassberg. He is nice.
Porn Title of the Week: Egg Foo Kitty Yung. What the?
We haven’t visited Miss Annie in a while so why not? It’s one of the best joints in town and it’s centrally located. What more you want? Oh and the juke! Do youself a favor and come on out. And bring your friends. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!
7.2.2k1
A lady friend threw me a birthday party last week. All my friends and a lot of you lovely list members were there. I’ve never been the “victim” of a surprise party before – let alone one that was surprising – but it was fun. I fully wasn’t expecting it: My brother called and said something like, “Hey, what’s going on?” I said, “Oh, you know, unpacking … settling in.”
“What say you meet me downstairs in five? I’ll be in a Vets taxi.”
I was game. “I’m game. See you in five.”
The familiar Vets cab wheeled up minutes later and my brother threw open the door and threw me a domestic light beer.
“Hop in. It’s a short trip.”
Well it wasn’t exactly short, but it wasn’t too bad. Veteran’s taxi to the airport, Southwest B737-300 to Reno, Dodge minivan to the Cal-Neva resort in North Lake Tahoe. We B-lined it to a villa that I guessed, from its vantage, had a killer lake view. You see, I was concentrating on the view and wondering if this was the actual villa that a certain JFK clandestinely encountered a certain MM back in the early ‘60’s and not that it was my birthday and this jetting to exotic locales was a bit irregular and suspicious. My brother pops open the door and Surprise! I was very much surprised.
I said thanks, toasted to myself when they sang “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and was a darn good spirit when the obligatory 31 punches in the arm started to sting. All my favorites magically appeared. Domestic light beer, Makers Mark Manhattans, corndogs … Friends I haven’t seen in years came up and wished me well. Folks from Arizona, Chicago, NYC … someone even brought my cats. Fatty squawked a happy birthday and Junior purred best wishes from under the couch where he hid. What a treat.
When the ruckus subsided, I checked the place out. A pretty swanky joint. Nicely decorated, furnished and goddang it smelled like a spring morning. I cooled it on a very comfy sofa and looked out on the lake. A beautiful view indeed. I chatted with some long lost friends, sipped a domestic light beer and found a bowl of snack mix within reach. Oh shit was that stuff good. Whoever came up with the buttery salty cerealy pretzelly brown breaddy goodness that makes up the shack mix gets into heaven automatically if you ask me. I just about killed the entire bowl when my lady friend, the hostess, came and got the bowl, presumably to refill it. Well no matter, there was another bowl already there. I dug into that sucker too and met a different mix. Gone were the brown breads and cereals. What the hell. I ain’t no snob so I munched it anyway. It had a peculiar tang to it – not exactly bad but kinda odd. It was sorta “woody” too. I washed it down, grabbed another handfull and figured I’d wait for the refilled bowl to come back. As I was listening to Tama tell a great story about a customer service call she recently fielded, the hostess returned with the bowl brimming with goodness. I told her thanks and that this stuff beat the hell out of the mix in the other bowl. She looked puzzled first then gasped suddenly – the other bowl didn’t contain an alternate snack mix, the bowl contained wood chips soaked in fragrant oils. Fucking PotPourri! That was the shit that made the villa smell like a dewey April morn. Goddamn I must have chowed down two three cups of that shit. What the fuck? Kind of a dumb place for a bowl fragrant wood chips if you ask me.
Ask me something else and I’ll tell you: Annie's
News: Mailing List is broken. ISP issues, I guess. I ain’t getting any intelligible tech support, so it’s back to the old list. “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
Non-public TNSC mailbox: here.
Tonight's Singled-out List Member: Matt Fassberg. I like Matt Fassberg. He is nice.
Porn Title of the Week: Egg Foo Kitty Yung. What the?
We haven’t visited Miss Annie in a while so why not? It’s one of the best joints in town and it’s centrally located. What more you want? Oh and the juke! Do youself a favor and come on out. And bring your friends. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!
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