Megastore
4.4.2k5
Ya like the sound of a diesel engine churnin' away? I sure do. Seems the crazy old aged hippy at the street end of my courtyard don't. When we were movin' in she asked the mover-boys if they would shut down the diesel engine on their mover truck. They said no fucking way: The lift needs the engine to be on to operate. She made a stink. I told her to go to the movies and come back later, as them movers - if left to MOVE - would finish up and scoot. She a idiot.
She's the one who tried to get the corner liquor store shut down. I think I mentioned her before.
She bugs the shit out of me.
Tonight - Route 101 Bar & Beverage.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
I love the word "Beverage."
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Yahweh
4.3.2k5
I knew my friend Jamee was going to throw out her decades-old boom box and I had an idea and then asked her if she'd heaved it yet. She said she did only to recover it from the bin moments later so to tune into the radio. But she did give it to me. She brought it over and explained that it wasn't just the radio program that compelled her to save it, but her odd habit of anthropomorphizing inanimate objects. I knew just what she was talking about.
Ever since I was very young, I've been assigning human characteristics to non-human and often times non-living things. As a child I had a gingerbread man that I named Oscar and kept for weeks. Every one of my bikes have had names, the two most recent being Sir Francis Gary Powers and the aptly named, "Chuck." The cars, hats and sunglasses have had names. My hot sauces, the steadfast soldiers they are, have names. My charcoal Weber grill is named, "Fireball." It's slightly compulsive, I know, but I don't give a damn. It helps me sort shit out.
So Jamee bid farewell to her trusty boom box and I gladly accepted it. She asked why I wanted the old thing. I told her I was going to tear it's bits out and Frankenstein me a outdoor speaker-system for my iPod. She was horrified. But she let me have it anyway.
Tonight - Eagle's Drift-In.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Beer is good on a warm day.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.3.2k5
I knew my friend Jamee was going to throw out her decades-old boom box and I had an idea and then asked her if she'd heaved it yet. She said she did only to recover it from the bin moments later so to tune into the radio. But she did give it to me. She brought it over and explained that it wasn't just the radio program that compelled her to save it, but her odd habit of anthropomorphizing inanimate objects. I knew just what she was talking about.
Ever since I was very young, I've been assigning human characteristics to non-human and often times non-living things. As a child I had a gingerbread man that I named Oscar and kept for weeks. Every one of my bikes have had names, the two most recent being Sir Francis Gary Powers and the aptly named, "Chuck." The cars, hats and sunglasses have had names. My hot sauces, the steadfast soldiers they are, have names. My charcoal Weber grill is named, "Fireball." It's slightly compulsive, I know, but I don't give a damn. It helps me sort shit out.
So Jamee bid farewell to her trusty boom box and I gladly accepted it. She asked why I wanted the old thing. I told her I was going to tear it's bits out and Frankenstein me a outdoor speaker-system for my iPod. She was horrified. But she let me have it anyway.
Tonight - Eagle's Drift-In.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Beer is good on a warm day.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 14, 2005
No Touch
4.2.2k5
When I was in my senior year of college, on Thursdays I had an afternoon class at the so-called "Lake Front" campus and an evening class 13 miles south at the downtown "Water Tower" campus. There was a dude named Dan that had both classes with me. He had a cool last name that I forget now but better still, he had a SHITBOX 1978 Olds Cutlass that despite being held together with duct tape and was nearly rusted out was FAST and chewed up southbound Lake Shore Drive like it was nothin' at all.
He gave me a ride downtown every week and on the way we'd swill coffee, smoke cigs and shoot the shit. He was a local suburbanite and had never been West of the Mississip. I blathered on about Idaho's Snake River Canyon, Washington's Snoqualmie Falls and Hollywood's Sunset Strip Hookers, many of whom tried to tempt me on my way to/from work at Tower Video that weird summer I lived in Hollywood. Dan was a big dude, a tough dude five-ten years older than me but my stories of The Wild West kept him enraptured the entire minute thirty-five it took to drive the 13 miles.
One Thursday Dan told me he was gonna have some pals over and grill meats for Da Bears game the following Sunday and invited me to come. Suburban Chicago kinda made me itch but he said Berkeley, Illinois was so goddang close to Chicago proper that it hardly felt like da suburbss. I figured I'd give it a go.
Following Dan's directions I got to Berkeley, Illinois and figured what he said was true: The place was closer to Chicago than O'Hare. Danny grilled up some fine meats, provided a cooler full of the good stuff and we ate the meats, drank the good stuff and watched Da Bears lose. His pals were good guys too. All of 'em were childhood friends of his and were his age - a little bit older than me. They all worked - Dan had worked with them but quit to go back to school - at the World Dryer Corporation, headquartered right there in Berkeley, Illinois. I said hot-fucking-damn! I knew Berkeley, Illinois meant something to me, it's where them hand dryers are made. Here are two micro-stories about the hand dryers made in Berkeley, Illinois:
Some models have a chrome nozzle that swivels. In grade school it was fun to swivel the nozzle to point up and then fill the nozzle with water. Then hit the button and laugh as electrified water sprayed all over the room. Ha!
At the gym I dutifully go to 3x times a day ... um ... at the gym in the men's locker room, near the shower there's a wall with 4x World Dryer hand dryers on the wall. Three right next to each other in a row and one roughly two feet beneath the dryer on the far right of the row. I wondered if that one was for midgets and thought that wwas a nice thing to provide those little fuckers when I WITNESSED this dude come out of the shower and blow-dry his NADS with it. Long as I live I never want to see anything like that again.
Tonight - Sadie's Flying Elephant.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
You know where KQED is?
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.2.2k5
When I was in my senior year of college, on Thursdays I had an afternoon class at the so-called "Lake Front" campus and an evening class 13 miles south at the downtown "Water Tower" campus. There was a dude named Dan that had both classes with me. He had a cool last name that I forget now but better still, he had a SHITBOX 1978 Olds Cutlass that despite being held together with duct tape and was nearly rusted out was FAST and chewed up southbound Lake Shore Drive like it was nothin' at all.
He gave me a ride downtown every week and on the way we'd swill coffee, smoke cigs and shoot the shit. He was a local suburbanite and had never been West of the Mississip. I blathered on about Idaho's Snake River Canyon, Washington's Snoqualmie Falls and Hollywood's Sunset Strip Hookers, many of whom tried to tempt me on my way to/from work at Tower Video that weird summer I lived in Hollywood. Dan was a big dude, a tough dude five-ten years older than me but my stories of The Wild West kept him enraptured the entire minute thirty-five it took to drive the 13 miles.
One Thursday Dan told me he was gonna have some pals over and grill meats for Da Bears game the following Sunday and invited me to come. Suburban Chicago kinda made me itch but he said Berkeley, Illinois was so goddang close to Chicago proper that it hardly felt like da suburbss. I figured I'd give it a go.
Following Dan's directions I got to Berkeley, Illinois and figured what he said was true: The place was closer to Chicago than O'Hare. Danny grilled up some fine meats, provided a cooler full of the good stuff and we ate the meats, drank the good stuff and watched Da Bears lose. His pals were good guys too. All of 'em were childhood friends of his and were his age - a little bit older than me. They all worked - Dan had worked with them but quit to go back to school - at the World Dryer Corporation, headquartered right there in Berkeley, Illinois. I said hot-fucking-damn! I knew Berkeley, Illinois meant something to me, it's where them hand dryers are made. Here are two micro-stories about the hand dryers made in Berkeley, Illinois:
Some models have a chrome nozzle that swivels. In grade school it was fun to swivel the nozzle to point up and then fill the nozzle with water. Then hit the button and laugh as electrified water sprayed all over the room. Ha!
At the gym I dutifully go to 3x times a day ... um ... at the gym in the men's locker room, near the shower there's a wall with 4x World Dryer hand dryers on the wall. Three right next to each other in a row and one roughly two feet beneath the dryer on the far right of the row. I wondered if that one was for midgets and thought that wwas a nice thing to provide those little fuckers when I WITNESSED this dude come out of the shower and blow-dry his NADS with it. Long as I live I never want to see anything like that again.
Tonight - Sadie's Flying Elephant.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
You know where KQED is?
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Stupid!
4.1.2k5
Ever since the 1997-98 El Nino weather events I've been in LOVE with the definite article 'the.' During El Nino, most every weatherman and news anchor referred to El Nino as 'the' El Nino. This had me howling with laughter every time because the Spanish word 'el' is 'the' in English. Duh! So these lunkheads kept repeating 'the the nino.' I couldn't get enough of it so when the event subsided I began to use the definite article 'the' in front of every Spanish noun preceded by 'el' or 'la.' For example, one of our favorite bars 'el Rio' became to me, 'the el Rio.' That former NY Yankees-now-Chicago White Sox pitcher 'el Duce' became 'the el Duce.' With so much Spanish being bandied about these days, there is plenty of opportunity for me to chuck 'the' in front of 'el whatever.'
I started thinking about 'the' in other terms the other day when, searching through DVD's at The Borders, I seen the De-lux edition of "Passion of The Christ." Why the hell is 'the' in there? I get 'The Christ Child,' but 'The Christ.' That's just dumb. I thought about asking everyone to start calling me 'The Johnson' just for kicks. Then I figured that in one way or another many of you do already call me the equivalent of 'The Johnson,' if you catch my meaning. So I scrapped that. Then I did the obvious and said aloud while laughing, "The Passion of The Johnson" which CLEARLY treads on Tama's territory. If you catch my meaning.
Tonight - Crow Bar.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
The tour of North Beach continues!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.1.2k5
Ever since the 1997-98 El Nino weather events I've been in LOVE with the definite article 'the.' During El Nino, most every weatherman and news anchor referred to El Nino as 'the' El Nino. This had me howling with laughter every time because the Spanish word 'el' is 'the' in English. Duh! So these lunkheads kept repeating 'the the nino.' I couldn't get enough of it so when the event subsided I began to use the definite article 'the' in front of every Spanish noun preceded by 'el' or 'la.' For example, one of our favorite bars 'el Rio' became to me, 'the el Rio.' That former NY Yankees-now-Chicago White Sox pitcher 'el Duce' became 'the el Duce.' With so much Spanish being bandied about these days, there is plenty of opportunity for me to chuck 'the' in front of 'el whatever.'
I started thinking about 'the' in other terms the other day when, searching through DVD's at The Borders, I seen the De-lux edition of "Passion of The Christ." Why the hell is 'the' in there? I get 'The Christ Child,' but 'The Christ.' That's just dumb. I thought about asking everyone to start calling me 'The Johnson' just for kicks. Then I figured that in one way or another many of you do already call me the equivalent of 'The Johnson,' if you catch my meaning. So I scrapped that. Then I did the obvious and said aloud while laughing, "The Passion of The Johnson" which CLEARLY treads on Tama's territory. If you catch my meaning.
Tonight - Crow Bar.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
The tour of North Beach continues!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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