Fuzzy
11.3.2k4
Ya ever hear the expression: "Those that care a lot, swear a lot." ?? No? Well I just now made it up, so no wonder. But since you now have, think on it for a bit. I swear an awful lot and I care about a lot of things. So it's true. Ain't it?
Tonight - Place Pigalle.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Couple things:
Robot's sister Bishop's solo art show is tonight, conveniently enough just a few steps from tonight's venue. Please come by early and have a peek. The show is at Lavish. Bishop's new website featuring her paintings is Here.
Sadly for some, Place Pigalle don't serve hard liquor, just beer and wine. Fair warning. (Come anyway.)
The rant section is offline, as is the service that hosts it. Wouldn't ya know? Will re-insert when they revive. IF they revive.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Cuba
11.2.2k4
"Thank god for T -N-S-C is the first thing I say,
When I'm jumpin' outta bed
At the start of every day."
It's the truth! I'm starting to think that few people outside the membership of the venerable TNSC have any clue at all! Sure, Alton Brown ain't a List Member, but he's one of the few exceptions and anyway he would join if he lived in this area.
Couple things got me thinking about what a bunch of slack-jawed idiots most folks are. One thing, and you prolly see this coming, is the outcome of last Tuesday's Electrocution. My ballot had a space for a write-in candidate, but it had a declaration that anyone writing in "Any frikkin' monkey in the National Zoo" would be sent directly to GitMo and so I didn't write that in even though it was exactly what I had planned to write. Word-for-word.
I got another indicator of how fucking stupid people are. I'm currently selling an item on the eBay. Let's say it's a car. So I set up the auction by writing a description: Robin's egg-blue 1979 AMC Hornet Sportabout. 4-door, 4-cylindar, 666,000 miles. Robin's egg-blue vinyl interior, mint condition. AM radio. ONE OWNER. COMPLETE, METICULOUS MAINTENANCE RECORDS from 1979-2004 and original owner's manual included. 2004 smog certificate. Blue book value $6.50. Reserve half that. Pictures of car and scans of documents available. Opening price $1.
Right, so there's the eBay item. For all to bid upon. I was expecting a few people to contact me and request the scans and the photos. A few did. However, MOST people who asked questions came up with questions like this:
What color is it?
How many miles?
What is your reserve?
Is there an owner's manual?
What kind of material is the interior?
Is there a radio?
I'm really beside myself. I can't figure it out. Did they read the description? If they did, their questions were answered. If there had been one question like this, I'd politely tell them as much. But there were 15 - 20 fuckups asking "it a two-door or four-door?" I swear, calling them doorknobs is a disservice to the knobs on doors.
Help us, Jeebus.
Tonight - Shanghai Kelly's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Robot's brother's birthday is this week and he chose the bar. C'mon in outta the rain and have a bevvy. I know I will. See you there!
Props to MC 900 Ft. Jesus for the song lyrics.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
11.2.2k4
"Thank god for T -N-S-C is the first thing I say,
When I'm jumpin' outta bed
At the start of every day."
It's the truth! I'm starting to think that few people outside the membership of the venerable TNSC have any clue at all! Sure, Alton Brown ain't a List Member, but he's one of the few exceptions and anyway he would join if he lived in this area.
Couple things got me thinking about what a bunch of slack-jawed idiots most folks are. One thing, and you prolly see this coming, is the outcome of last Tuesday's Electrocution. My ballot had a space for a write-in candidate, but it had a declaration that anyone writing in "Any frikkin' monkey in the National Zoo" would be sent directly to GitMo and so I didn't write that in even though it was exactly what I had planned to write. Word-for-word.
I got another indicator of how fucking stupid people are. I'm currently selling an item on the eBay. Let's say it's a car. So I set up the auction by writing a description: Robin's egg-blue 1979 AMC Hornet Sportabout. 4-door, 4-cylindar, 666,000 miles. Robin's egg-blue vinyl interior, mint condition. AM radio. ONE OWNER. COMPLETE, METICULOUS MAINTENANCE RECORDS from 1979-2004 and original owner's manual included. 2004 smog certificate. Blue book value $6.50. Reserve half that. Pictures of car and scans of documents available. Opening price $1.
Right, so there's the eBay item. For all to bid upon. I was expecting a few people to contact me and request the scans and the photos. A few did. However, MOST people who asked questions came up with questions like this:
What color is it?
How many miles?
What is your reserve?
Is there an owner's manual?
What kind of material is the interior?
Is there a radio?
I'm really beside myself. I can't figure it out. Did they read the description? If they did, their questions were answered. If there had been one question like this, I'd politely tell them as much. But there were 15 - 20 fuckups asking "it a two-door or four-door?" I swear, calling them doorknobs is a disservice to the knobs on doors.
Help us, Jeebus.
Tonight - Shanghai Kelly's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Robot's brother's birthday is this week and he chose the bar. C'mon in outta the rain and have a bevvy. I know I will. See you there!
Props to MC 900 Ft. Jesus for the song lyrics.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Bedtime for Democracy.
11.1.2k4
You ever get that "board-upside-the-head" feeling? For example, mebbe you live in a country you love and you respect your countrymen and have confidence they are pragmatic, intellegent people only to have the fact that the vast majority of them are ... um ... "not?" That is the "hit-by-board" feeling. Yeh, well I sure had that feeling, just the other day. I had me an idea about something and all of a sudden - BANG! - right upside the head. Here's the tale:
Not too many weeks ago I heard a news radio report that there was a DRAMATIC shortage of pole workers in the US. I thought: How horrible! I also thought: "Workers?" Pole "workers?" Since when did they call themselves "workers?" Perhaps they formed a national alliance of sorts, much like the strippers did in SF when they "Unionized." (I wondered if, in their unionization, the strippers considered a name-change too, something like, "Suggestive Erotic Clothing Sheddists (SECS)" or "Onstage Lingere Peelers.")
Union or not, the country seemed to be in a bad way for professional pole workers and report after report went across the radiowaves explaining the fact. I heard one report that ladies as old as 70 or 80 were coming out of retirement to answer the call. I thought: Good for them! Then I shook my head and thought: Ye Gods! An 80-year-old pole worker? One, I bet the tips won't be pouring in, and two, she better be careful up there or she could fall and break a hip!
The radio reports continued to say that, while the volunteership had helped, there was still a great shortage and some communities would suffer. I though it sad. Communities SHOULD be supported by enough pole workers.
THEN! and here's where the 2-by-4 comes into the story, then I switch on the torture of Election Day coverage on the TV this time (not the radio) and lo, there's a report about the pole workers. Only this time it's not POLE workers, it's POLL workers. WHAMMMM-O! Right in the bean. Then I thought: Fucking homonyms.
Tonight - The Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Linkey-Loo coordinator and I had a terrible time coming up with the venue tonight. Hence the no creativity.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
11.1.2k4
You ever get that "board-upside-the-head" feeling? For example, mebbe you live in a country you love and you respect your countrymen and have confidence they are pragmatic, intellegent people only to have the fact that the vast majority of them are ... um ... "not?" That is the "hit-by-board" feeling. Yeh, well I sure had that feeling, just the other day. I had me an idea about something and all of a sudden - BANG! - right upside the head. Here's the tale:
Not too many weeks ago I heard a news radio report that there was a DRAMATIC shortage of pole workers in the US. I thought: How horrible! I also thought: "Workers?" Pole "workers?" Since when did they call themselves "workers?" Perhaps they formed a national alliance of sorts, much like the strippers did in SF when they "Unionized." (I wondered if, in their unionization, the strippers considered a name-change too, something like, "Suggestive Erotic Clothing Sheddists (SECS)" or "Onstage Lingere Peelers.")
Union or not, the country seemed to be in a bad way for professional pole workers and report after report went across the radiowaves explaining the fact. I heard one report that ladies as old as 70 or 80 were coming out of retirement to answer the call. I thought: Good for them! Then I shook my head and thought: Ye Gods! An 80-year-old pole worker? One, I bet the tips won't be pouring in, and two, she better be careful up there or she could fall and break a hip!
The radio reports continued to say that, while the volunteership had helped, there was still a great shortage and some communities would suffer. I though it sad. Communities SHOULD be supported by enough pole workers.
THEN! and here's where the 2-by-4 comes into the story, then I switch on the torture of Election Day coverage on the TV this time (not the radio) and lo, there's a report about the pole workers. Only this time it's not POLE workers, it's POLL workers. WHAMMMM-O! Right in the bean. Then I thought: Fucking homonyms.
Tonight - The Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Linkey-Loo coordinator and I had a terrible time coming up with the venue tonight. Hence the no creativity.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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