Odyssey
10.4.2k1
I am writing this message under adverse conditions: There is a twelve pound cat sitting on my keyboard. Now he is sitting on one hand. He is moving again. Rubbing his head on the desk, my hand, the keyboard, my other hand, back to the first hand, now he is just leaving his head in the middle of my hands. I suppose I'm not paying him enough attention, because he is looking up into my eyes - pitifully - as if he is on the verge of speaking English. He would probably say, "How 'bout some pets, baby." I'm sure he'd call me "baby." I'm certain of few things these days, but one thing I'm certain of is that he'd call me baby.
Don't start thinking that I don't give this cat enough pets. This sucker has been the boss for 11 and a half years now. We as humans might think we "have cats," or "own a cat," but I'm beginning to think we factor only slightly into the equation. We feed them and clean up after them (a lot) and keep them from running out the front door and that's about it. Oh yeah ... we do bring 'em the pets, too. It seems that we could hire a staff of sixteen to come over and pet the little sucker all day, what with his insatiable appetite.
I was gearin' up to launch into a rant about space exploration, or the war, or the beautiful sunny days but that fuzzball had other ideas about what I was gonna be writing about.
Drop by: Specs'
News: Who's got a job? Who's pounding the pavement? Who's hiring? Oh and I need volunteers to be Pinch Linkey-Loo Coordinators. Moss? Tama? Oh yeah: Two shoppping months till Xmas.
Last Week’s Contest results: The VA's title, "Turkey," rhymes with "No Workey," and y'all know what that means. Honorable mention to Founding Member John Metsker, who dug up a cat-devoted website featuring a cat named Mog who likes the turkey.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBERS: All of last weeks' attendees.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: (Still more Halloween fun) Intercourse with the Vampire.
Come down to North Beach, grab a hunk of cheese and saltines and wash 'em down with sweet sweet beer. Bring your comrades and religious icons. I know I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
Thursday, October 25, 2001
Thursday, October 18, 2001
Turkey
10.3.2k1
PalmPILOT let me down. I didn't know I had an appointment to pet and feed the cats at 4am. Surely I did, though, because they woke me up to remind me. They did it a bit less gracefully than PalmPILOT would have. PalmPILOT would have issued a polite "buh-da-beep, buh-da-beep," I would have blurrily read the display that said, "ALARM. 4am Pet/Feed Cats," and I would have petted and fed them. Fats and Mog, on the other hand, employed a slightly more invasive method of waking me: They stood on my head and howled. Ugh. The PalmPILOT's mode would have been preferred, but I guess I “forgot” to note the appointment.
Wouldn't that be great if you had a magic PalmPILOT that would schedule those difficult ones? I could see myself checking the calendar: "Lessee ... I got an appointment to get punched in the eye by some jackass at the park this Saturday." I'd look at that one and say, "uh, yeah. I think I'll be missing that." Or how about, “2pm, today, bump head really hard.” That would be great to skip. Then there are the bigger things: “Quit current job, get new one FAST; ride in NO cars today; do NOT eat that enchilada.” I’m sure that such a tricked out PalmPILOT would come in handy quite often.
(After all is said and done, I rather didn't mind getting woken up by the little jerks. I was having disturbing dreams about two people I don't care for who had shacked up together and dreams about a totally insolent and unapologetic asshole who resells AVIDS.)
PalmPILOT does have tonight’s venue noted: Make-Out Room
News: As many may have gathered, the venerable Western Images has gone outta business, leaving many former and current employees eager to get together and laugh about the glory days. Tonight is the night. (The meeting ain’t exclusive to Western folks, of course.) Robot is hoping to recruit new list members.
Last Week’s Contest results: The VA's title, Laid, refered to "Laid Off, like we all were. However, other correct answers include, "euphemism for sex, also known as fucking, or getting fucked, like we are," and, "them IKEA bed slats." All good guesses, all winners.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBERS: All non-ex-Western employees.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: (More Halloween fun) Hung Wankenstein
Last week's Annie's meeting brought a shit-ton of folks. I think tonight will bring more. Drink beer, do some networking. Bring your pals! I sure will!
bye-ee!
10.3.2k1
PalmPILOT let me down. I didn't know I had an appointment to pet and feed the cats at 4am. Surely I did, though, because they woke me up to remind me. They did it a bit less gracefully than PalmPILOT would have. PalmPILOT would have issued a polite "buh-da-beep, buh-da-beep," I would have blurrily read the display that said, "ALARM. 4am Pet/Feed Cats," and I would have petted and fed them. Fats and Mog, on the other hand, employed a slightly more invasive method of waking me: They stood on my head and howled. Ugh. The PalmPILOT's mode would have been preferred, but I guess I “forgot” to note the appointment.
Wouldn't that be great if you had a magic PalmPILOT that would schedule those difficult ones? I could see myself checking the calendar: "Lessee ... I got an appointment to get punched in the eye by some jackass at the park this Saturday." I'd look at that one and say, "uh, yeah. I think I'll be missing that." Or how about, “2pm, today, bump head really hard.” That would be great to skip. Then there are the bigger things: “Quit current job, get new one FAST; ride in NO cars today; do NOT eat that enchilada.” I’m sure that such a tricked out PalmPILOT would come in handy quite often.
(After all is said and done, I rather didn't mind getting woken up by the little jerks. I was having disturbing dreams about two people I don't care for who had shacked up together and dreams about a totally insolent and unapologetic asshole who resells AVIDS.)
PalmPILOT does have tonight’s venue noted: Make-Out Room
News: As many may have gathered, the venerable Western Images has gone outta business, leaving many former and current employees eager to get together and laugh about the glory days. Tonight is the night. (The meeting ain’t exclusive to Western folks, of course.) Robot is hoping to recruit new list members.
Last Week’s Contest results: The VA's title, Laid, refered to "Laid Off, like we all were. However, other correct answers include, "euphemism for sex, also known as fucking, or getting fucked, like we are," and, "them IKEA bed slats." All good guesses, all winners.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBERS: All non-ex-Western employees.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: (More Halloween fun) Hung Wankenstein
Last week's Annie's meeting brought a shit-ton of folks. I think tonight will bring more. Drink beer, do some networking. Bring your pals! I sure will!
bye-ee!
Thursday, October 11, 2001
Laid
10.2.2k1
I wish I was born in a donut factory. That way I would have eaten so many I’d certainly be sick of them by now. I ain’t, though. I’m not at all sick of donuts. I could eat donuts from now till doomsday. I was sittin’ on the bus the other day and passed one “HappyDonutChineseDinner” after the other and that got me to thinking about the almighty Donut.
If yer one of the two dopes that reads alla way through this mess each and every week you might remember a short time ago when I pledged my love and devotion to the brownie. There was a sad tale about a brownie that went missing? Anyone remember? Yeh, well, if you read that and remembered it while you were reading the previous paragraph you might be thinking about a conflict of interest. Like, “Oh, what a fickle Robot: One moment it’s the brownie, then it’s the donut. What’s next? The Bugle filled with Rooster sauce? The Number 11? Another story about fuckin’ nachos instead about my fucking belly-dance troupe? What, Robot, is the junk food of choice? And why write about that crap anyway? Some other worthy subjects come to mind immediately: Beer, scissors, buttons, sleeves that are too long, pencil cacti, webcams, quilts, lighters, booty calls, saying “oof” in the middle of the night, film festivals, iron on’s, morning wood, and asparagus-pee-stench.” (All this begs the question, did anyone read the previous paragraph in the first place?) Robot answers his self-perceived critics: Donut is worthy subject matter. Read on and see the influence Donut has had over the years …
When I was a child I saw some after-school special that had this donut machine going shit-crazy-nuts and spitting out enough donuts to fill one room, then another, then the whole building, eventually flooding the world with donuts. That scared the shit outta me, but also inspired me to vow not to ever let that happen. With ample supplies of hot black coffee and ice-cold milk I would lead a group of volunteer 2nd and 3rd graders against the rampaging toroidal carbohydrate units!
When I was a 7th-grader, I had a knack for diagramming sentences. You remember that shit? Here’s a refresher:
I ate a bunch of donuts and gained about a million pounds.
I could diagram sentences like there was no tomorrow. Sadly for my best friend Phil and a lot of other 7th-graders, they were not so lucky. The kick to the nuts was that we had to diagram sentences from the first day of school to the last day of school and every day in between. Phil and the rest of the poor bastards had salvation, though: Tasty Pastry. Oh my gawd the glazed donuts from Tasty Pastry bakery were the best on the planet! They came in these wax paper bags and would kinda get squished and stomped in kids’ backpacks on the way to school. Why were they bringing donuts to school? Let’s just say that for a Tasty Pastry glazed I might let Phil have a look at my paper. Them donuts were legal tender.
My pal in high school who was to become the rock god known as Bob Log III had a cool old car with this bitchin hood ornament. I looked like a jet plane with a long nose-section and fuselage sticking out (kinda phallic-like) and the wings of the jet incorporated in the hood. My friend Danny put a donut on the hood ornament with the plane nose going right through the hole. Ha! Bobby liked it so much he left it until some bird ate it.
Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti brought a mess of donuts (from the Sanitary Bakery no less) in to work the morning his co-workers needed them most. The jelly-filled and long johns soothed anxious ex-employees.
Booze from this joint is sure to soothe too:
A N N I E 'S
Well there you have it. TNSC will live on! Fear not! And bid high!
Last Week’s Contest results: Yeh. "Oh La La" is the name of the coffee kiosk. Tama wins. Oh, and Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti won the "Bales of Cocaine" reference a week before.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBERS: All ex-Western employees.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: (Gearing up for Halloween) Ejacula
Big turnout. Tonight. Bring yer resumes. Bring your pals! I sure will!
bye-ee!
10.2.2k1
I wish I was born in a donut factory. That way I would have eaten so many I’d certainly be sick of them by now. I ain’t, though. I’m not at all sick of donuts. I could eat donuts from now till doomsday. I was sittin’ on the bus the other day and passed one “HappyDonutChineseDinner” after the other and that got me to thinking about the almighty Donut.
If yer one of the two dopes that reads alla way through this mess each and every week you might remember a short time ago when I pledged my love and devotion to the brownie. There was a sad tale about a brownie that went missing? Anyone remember? Yeh, well, if you read that and remembered it while you were reading the previous paragraph you might be thinking about a conflict of interest. Like, “Oh, what a fickle Robot: One moment it’s the brownie, then it’s the donut. What’s next? The Bugle filled with Rooster sauce? The Number 11? Another story about fuckin’ nachos instead about my fucking belly-dance troupe? What, Robot, is the junk food of choice? And why write about that crap anyway? Some other worthy subjects come to mind immediately: Beer, scissors, buttons, sleeves that are too long, pencil cacti, webcams, quilts, lighters, booty calls, saying “oof” in the middle of the night, film festivals, iron on’s, morning wood, and asparagus-pee-stench.” (All this begs the question, did anyone read the previous paragraph in the first place?) Robot answers his self-perceived critics: Donut is worthy subject matter. Read on and see the influence Donut has had over the years …
When I was a child I saw some after-school special that had this donut machine going shit-crazy-nuts and spitting out enough donuts to fill one room, then another, then the whole building, eventually flooding the world with donuts. That scared the shit outta me, but also inspired me to vow not to ever let that happen. With ample supplies of hot black coffee and ice-cold milk I would lead a group of volunteer 2nd and 3rd graders against the rampaging toroidal carbohydrate units!
When I was a 7th-grader, I had a knack for diagramming sentences. You remember that shit? Here’s a refresher:
I ate a bunch of donuts and gained about a million pounds.
I could diagram sentences like there was no tomorrow. Sadly for my best friend Phil and a lot of other 7th-graders, they were not so lucky. The kick to the nuts was that we had to diagram sentences from the first day of school to the last day of school and every day in between. Phil and the rest of the poor bastards had salvation, though: Tasty Pastry. Oh my gawd the glazed donuts from Tasty Pastry bakery were the best on the planet! They came in these wax paper bags and would kinda get squished and stomped in kids’ backpacks on the way to school. Why were they bringing donuts to school? Let’s just say that for a Tasty Pastry glazed I might let Phil have a look at my paper. Them donuts were legal tender.
My pal in high school who was to become the rock god known as Bob Log III had a cool old car with this bitchin hood ornament. I looked like a jet plane with a long nose-section and fuselage sticking out (kinda phallic-like) and the wings of the jet incorporated in the hood. My friend Danny put a donut on the hood ornament with the plane nose going right through the hole. Ha! Bobby liked it so much he left it until some bird ate it.
Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti brought a mess of donuts (from the Sanitary Bakery no less) in to work the morning his co-workers needed them most. The jelly-filled and long johns soothed anxious ex-employees.
Booze from this joint is sure to soothe too:
A N N I E 'S
Well there you have it. TNSC will live on! Fear not! And bid high!
Last Week’s Contest results: Yeh. "Oh La La" is the name of the coffee kiosk. Tama wins. Oh, and Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti won the "Bales of Cocaine" reference a week before.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBERS: All ex-Western employees.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: (Gearing up for Halloween) Ejacula
Big turnout. Tonight. Bring yer resumes. Bring your pals! I sure will!
bye-ee!
Thursday, October 04, 2001
Oh La La!
10.1.2k1
Who remembers that game Mousetrap? It’s the one where your play piece is a little plastic mouse, and you go around the board and assemble this crazy-ass mousetrap contraption that has steel balls rolling, springs springing and various other bits affecting the end, which is a cage dropping down on your opponent’s plastic mouse. I had the game when I was a kid and I loved it. Today I recognize that it was a very good educational tool: In it, there were lessons about engineering, gravity and simple machines like the inclined plane, the wheel and axle, and the lever. I don’t know if it’s still sold today, but it should be. My only qualm is that there is but one way to build the trap. All the pieces of the contraption were molded plastic that fit into the board. The thing could only be built one way. Seeing the thing work and being unable to try different configurations of the pieces led me to augmenting the game play with one of nature’s most amazing products: The Lego.
With a bunch of Legos, I had that thing stretching across the room. My brother and I got some hand-me-down Legos that were “technical” Legos for big kids. They had gears and differentials and even some electronics. Here I learned lessons about resistance, capacitance, acceleration and velocity. I learned hard lessons regarding the load-bearing capability of Legos. (The bowling ball kept breaking the Lego ramp until I epoxied the Legos together.) However, I think the most important thing I took away from all those long days and nights is the ability to be crafty. To avoid being the mouse in the mousetrap. I could see my brother’s mousetrap begin to take shape and move my mouse away from the nail-gun. That type of craftiness. Which brings me to the point of this walk down memory lane: The other day I narrowly avoided being the mouse in the mousetrap!
I rode Chuck into work as usual, and locked him up in the cage in the garage. I came up into the building and there in the lobby was another collection of bad art … sculpture, if you can call it that. There were towers of Qtips, a dance floor made of bark and rusty nails, a huge collection of rubber bands stretched all over the place, metal poles turning, fans blowing big tarps, various train parts welded together, ball bearings being flung into cans by automated mannequin arms – a gigantic loud ugly mess! I’ve already ranted about my dislike of these installations, so I won’t bore you with it again, but this time was different because as I was taking in this horrific spectacle, I noticed a strange bare spot in the middle of all the machinations. In the bare spot was a steamin’ coffee pot and a stack of Styrofoam cups. Oohhh … but the coffee smelled good! I was in a Homer-Simpson-and-the-donut-like trance going toward the coffee when suddenly it hit me! The sculpture was a giant mousetrap and the coffee was the cheese! That could only mean … I was the mouse! Well fuck that, I thought, and ran for it, startling a bunch of dorks chatting with the bagel-kiosk dude. I could get coffee upstairs and relax in a safe environment. There I could try to figure out who was trying to trap me.
Tonightr: Lucky 13
New to the list: Steve Wood and returning to the list is Woody! How ‘bout that. Now that we have sufficient wood, we can continue with the Venue Announcement.
Comments: tnsc@therein-lies.com
Last Week’s Contest results: Nobody got the reference to The Reverend Horton Heat’s song Bales of Cocaine. Too bad. I bet former list member Uriah would have gotten it.
Dramatic Reenactment: The Amazon dot com bend-over job. Have you ever innocently browsed Amazon’s huge site and happened upon something you want? Perhaps you knew that the new Stereolab record came out and remembered that you told your boyfriend that you would get it for him but never did and maybe he forgot that it’s out and that you said you’d buy it for him but knowing him he’s probably not forgotten and is at this minute waiting for you to hand it over? Amazon dot com is a great place to buy CD’s and whatnot. However, one must beware the Amazon dot com bend-over job. This is when one, like my brother, attempts to buy a book and per usage, adds it to his cart, specifies a shipping address, specifies a credit card and waits for a confirmation – only to be booted off the site! Trying again yields a boot at confirmation! Only the third attempt is successful. Or is it? The email In Box has three messages from Amazon: Thanks for ordering (1), Thanks for ordering (2) and Thanks for ordering (3). Great. Three copies. Thanks. Our players in the Dramatic Reenactment: Bobo plays my brother as he is rapidly losing his patience with the ordering process; Moss plays my brother as he checks his email and flies into a rage; Alan plays his computer; Teensy plays a defiant and defective Amazon dot com; and Mark Bobek plays the three copies of the book my brother ordered: No Shit Sherlock: A Practical Man’s Guide to Being Practical in 2001.
Tonight’s Satanic Word: for
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Mary Haring
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: 5 Card Slut
Well okey. Who wants to meet a real live Australian? There will be one at the 13 tonight and tonight only! Do yourself a favor and come have drinks and listen to someone talk really funny! It’s almost not English! Bring your pals! I sure will!
bye-ee!
10.1.2k1
Who remembers that game Mousetrap? It’s the one where your play piece is a little plastic mouse, and you go around the board and assemble this crazy-ass mousetrap contraption that has steel balls rolling, springs springing and various other bits affecting the end, which is a cage dropping down on your opponent’s plastic mouse. I had the game when I was a kid and I loved it. Today I recognize that it was a very good educational tool: In it, there were lessons about engineering, gravity and simple machines like the inclined plane, the wheel and axle, and the lever. I don’t know if it’s still sold today, but it should be. My only qualm is that there is but one way to build the trap. All the pieces of the contraption were molded plastic that fit into the board. The thing could only be built one way. Seeing the thing work and being unable to try different configurations of the pieces led me to augmenting the game play with one of nature’s most amazing products: The Lego.
With a bunch of Legos, I had that thing stretching across the room. My brother and I got some hand-me-down Legos that were “technical” Legos for big kids. They had gears and differentials and even some electronics. Here I learned lessons about resistance, capacitance, acceleration and velocity. I learned hard lessons regarding the load-bearing capability of Legos. (The bowling ball kept breaking the Lego ramp until I epoxied the Legos together.) However, I think the most important thing I took away from all those long days and nights is the ability to be crafty. To avoid being the mouse in the mousetrap. I could see my brother’s mousetrap begin to take shape and move my mouse away from the nail-gun. That type of craftiness. Which brings me to the point of this walk down memory lane: The other day I narrowly avoided being the mouse in the mousetrap!
I rode Chuck into work as usual, and locked him up in the cage in the garage. I came up into the building and there in the lobby was another collection of bad art … sculpture, if you can call it that. There were towers of Qtips, a dance floor made of bark and rusty nails, a huge collection of rubber bands stretched all over the place, metal poles turning, fans blowing big tarps, various train parts welded together, ball bearings being flung into cans by automated mannequin arms – a gigantic loud ugly mess! I’ve already ranted about my dislike of these installations, so I won’t bore you with it again, but this time was different because as I was taking in this horrific spectacle, I noticed a strange bare spot in the middle of all the machinations. In the bare spot was a steamin’ coffee pot and a stack of Styrofoam cups. Oohhh … but the coffee smelled good! I was in a Homer-Simpson-and-the-donut-like trance going toward the coffee when suddenly it hit me! The sculpture was a giant mousetrap and the coffee was the cheese! That could only mean … I was the mouse! Well fuck that, I thought, and ran for it, startling a bunch of dorks chatting with the bagel-kiosk dude. I could get coffee upstairs and relax in a safe environment. There I could try to figure out who was trying to trap me.
Tonightr: Lucky 13
New to the list: Steve Wood and returning to the list is Woody! How ‘bout that. Now that we have sufficient wood, we can continue with the Venue Announcement.
Comments: tnsc@therein-lies.com
Last Week’s Contest results: Nobody got the reference to The Reverend Horton Heat’s song Bales of Cocaine. Too bad. I bet former list member Uriah would have gotten it.
Dramatic Reenactment: The Amazon dot com bend-over job. Have you ever innocently browsed Amazon’s huge site and happened upon something you want? Perhaps you knew that the new Stereolab record came out and remembered that you told your boyfriend that you would get it for him but never did and maybe he forgot that it’s out and that you said you’d buy it for him but knowing him he’s probably not forgotten and is at this minute waiting for you to hand it over? Amazon dot com is a great place to buy CD’s and whatnot. However, one must beware the Amazon dot com bend-over job. This is when one, like my brother, attempts to buy a book and per usage, adds it to his cart, specifies a shipping address, specifies a credit card and waits for a confirmation – only to be booted off the site! Trying again yields a boot at confirmation! Only the third attempt is successful. Or is it? The email In Box has three messages from Amazon: Thanks for ordering (1), Thanks for ordering (2) and Thanks for ordering (3). Great. Three copies. Thanks. Our players in the Dramatic Reenactment: Bobo plays my brother as he is rapidly losing his patience with the ordering process; Moss plays my brother as he checks his email and flies into a rage; Alan plays his computer; Teensy plays a defiant and defective Amazon dot com; and Mark Bobek plays the three copies of the book my brother ordered: No Shit Sherlock: A Practical Man’s Guide to Being Practical in 2001.
Tonight’s Satanic Word: for
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Mary Haring
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: 5 Card Slut
Well okey. Who wants to meet a real live Australian? There will be one at the 13 tonight and tonight only! Do yourself a favor and come have drinks and listen to someone talk really funny! It’s almost not English! Bring your pals! I sure will!
bye-ee!
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