HNY!
12.5.2k5
Secret Meeting!
Tonight - Owl Tree.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Special Guests from outta town!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Oops.
12.3.2k5
I know how much it would suck to be friends with Brittany Spears.
It would be Thursday night and Alan would be in LA and the rest of us would be standing around having beers and trying not to stare at the TV behind the bar and Spears would walk in and we'd buy her a beer or mebbe she'd refuse because she got plenty of beers paid for by Lovely List Members the week before and she'd pony-up funds for beers and we'd stand around and drink beers and talk. SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the crowd and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage. It would be embarassing. "Yeh, she's with us. Yeh, she's drunk."
Or mebbe it would a Saturday night and we'd be at the bowling alley eating crappy pizza and drinking pitchers of Bud and rolling Turkeys and SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the strikes, spares and gutterballs and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on lane 22. Some times she'd step over the foul line. It would be a scene.
Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother and I are indoors watching the Cubs play the Pirates while we enjoy snacks and a shitload of beer. We'd be laughing or crying at the poor play of our shitty teams and she'd come over and within a few minutes she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the TV) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there next to the couch. Sometimes during commercial breaks we'd have to watch her. It would be excruciating.
Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother, wife and whoever else would be in the backyard, barbecuing burgers and dogs, drinking beers and enjoying the day. She'd come over, have a beer, enjoy a dog and soon enough she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the firestation next door) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on the lawn next to the Weber. At times we would fear her wild gyrations would knock over the grill. We hoped she wouldn't spill any more beer. It would suck.
Tonight - Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
WARNING: This may be a very sparsly attended meeting as many regulars are out of town or booked. Go say hi to Annie and Tess if you can anyway.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
12.3.2k5
I know how much it would suck to be friends with Brittany Spears.
It would be Thursday night and Alan would be in LA and the rest of us would be standing around having beers and trying not to stare at the TV behind the bar and Spears would walk in and we'd buy her a beer or mebbe she'd refuse because she got plenty of beers paid for by Lovely List Members the week before and she'd pony-up funds for beers and we'd stand around and drink beers and talk. SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the crowd and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage. It would be embarassing. "Yeh, she's with us. Yeh, she's drunk."
Or mebbe it would a Saturday night and we'd be at the bowling alley eating crappy pizza and drinking pitchers of Bud and rolling Turkeys and SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the strikes, spares and gutterballs and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on lane 22. Some times she'd step over the foul line. It would be a scene.
Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother and I are indoors watching the Cubs play the Pirates while we enjoy snacks and a shitload of beer. We'd be laughing or crying at the poor play of our shitty teams and she'd come over and within a few minutes she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the TV) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there next to the couch. Sometimes during commercial breaks we'd have to watch her. It would be excruciating.
Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother, wife and whoever else would be in the backyard, barbecuing burgers and dogs, drinking beers and enjoying the day. She'd come over, have a beer, enjoy a dog and soon enough she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the firestation next door) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on the lawn next to the Weber. At times we would fear her wild gyrations would knock over the grill. We hoped she wouldn't spill any more beer. It would suck.
Tonight - Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
WARNING: This may be a very sparsly attended meeting as many regulars are out of town or booked. Go say hi to Annie and Tess if you can anyway.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Monday, December 12, 2005
Fe
12.3.2k2
Thursday, 19 December, 2002
I've been honored and humbled by the award I've received from some very close friends and notable professionals: "Best Shirt-Ironer (Non-professional), 700 block Taylor Street, SF." Winning caught me by surprise, really, as I didn't have a thought of winning the thing at all. Founding Member Alan J. Chimenti nominated me as a joke, or so I thought. "No, man, I've noticed the crispness of your collar and your paper-smooth sleeves for some time. And to think you don't use any starch at all! My goodness!" Alan blows smoke up my ass all the time, so his news of his nomination of me didn't rile me. "Uh huh," I said, "that sounds great. I'll share my prize with you." I didn't know there was a prize. Alan gets one of the cufflinks (iron-shaped sterling-plated pure pig-iron (the prize-determination committee was not without a keen sense of irony, it seems!)). We'll roll up the other sleeve.
Then the reporter the Chronicle sends over is a bulldog! I thought I'd answered all the relevant questions in the first five minutes, but this person had other ideas. She wouldn't take "no more questions," or "no comment," or "I'm forbidden to speak about that," or "remember the gag order," for an answer. Whatever. Stay tuned to the Chronicle for the write-up. Meantime, stay tuned to Annie's for this week's meeting.
Go and wish Mathias a HBD. Go and wish yr fellow List Members a MC. Drink a few MHLs. Bring yr Ps. I know I W. See you T. bye-E!
whrr ... clik!
12.3.2k2
Thursday, 19 December, 2002
I've been honored and humbled by the award I've received from some very close friends and notable professionals: "Best Shirt-Ironer (Non-professional), 700 block Taylor Street, SF." Winning caught me by surprise, really, as I didn't have a thought of winning the thing at all. Founding Member Alan J. Chimenti nominated me as a joke, or so I thought. "No, man, I've noticed the crispness of your collar and your paper-smooth sleeves for some time. And to think you don't use any starch at all! My goodness!" Alan blows smoke up my ass all the time, so his news of his nomination of me didn't rile me. "Uh huh," I said, "that sounds great. I'll share my prize with you." I didn't know there was a prize. Alan gets one of the cufflinks (iron-shaped sterling-plated pure pig-iron (the prize-determination committee was not without a keen sense of irony, it seems!)). We'll roll up the other sleeve.
Then the reporter the Chronicle sends over is a bulldog! I thought I'd answered all the relevant questions in the first five minutes, but this person had other ideas. She wouldn't take "no more questions," or "no comment," or "I'm forbidden to speak about that," or "remember the gag order," for an answer. Whatever. Stay tuned to the Chronicle for the write-up. Meantime, stay tuned to Annie's for this week's meeting.
Go and wish Mathias a HBD. Go and wish yr fellow List Members a MC. Drink a few MHLs. Bring yr Ps. I know I W. See you T. bye-E!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Teacup
12.2.2k5
Growing up I had a friend whose folks were very, very wealthy and the things they bought and did, and indeed the house they lived in, showed it. Their house was more like a palace: It had a four-car garage, a pool with a slide built into the mountain they lived on, a shooting range in their basement and - best of all - a two lane automated bowling alley. IN THE HOUSE. Holy shit. Well, like I said, I was pals with this kid and when we were little, the Mexican maid would make us after school snacks and when were a bit older we would take a couple of the horses around the mountain preserve. Yeh. Some places have wetland preserves, others have forest preserves and the desert I grew up in had mountain preserves. Fulla cactus, dust and rattlesnakes. And certain days after school in 1985 or so, a couple dorky teenage kids on horseback.
I wasn't a total stranger to horses. I got kin up Oregon with a big 'ol ranch and they got plenty of horses. On vacation to the ranch my brother, sister and I would coax our cousin into saddling-up a couple of the horses and we'd ride. Fun. This rich friend of mine's horses were not ranch-style work horses. More like "prance around fancy-like" horses. Beautiful, well-fed and meticulously fawned over by their trainers if not their owners. All I did was learn how to saddle them, ride the mountain trails and brush 'em down after. Calm.
For a while.
1985 woulda made me and my pal 15 and being 15 woulda made a guy wanna smoke ciggys and drink slushys and horseback or no, we'd get it done. If it weren't for the Cubs cap, OP shorts and Black Flag T-shirt I woulda looked like the frikkin' Marlboro Man up there. Oh, and for the 15 yrs old part. And for the fancy horse. And Vans. And $5k saddle. And no guns. OK. I think you get the picture.
Invariably two 15 yr olds would run out of ciggys and need a neon green slushy and need to get them some so they'd ride them horseys off the mountain and down the road to the 7/11. Horseback riders were not an uncommon sight in the desert city back then. We'd get a lot of stares, a few honks and lots of room: Them pansy drivers didn't want anything to do with a big 'ol horse - prissy horse or no. 7/11 didn't accommodate horses anymore as they'd removed the hitching-posts a few years back when folks began to use the motor car. So either my friend or I would stay there in a parking space with both bridles while the other would go in for smokes and slushys. Twice, TWICE I tell you, when I had horse duty, my horse took a huge dump in the parking space.
The first time was the best: My pal goes in and I wait. A few seconds later my horse let 'er rip and I started laughing my head off. There was a small group of people gawking at the horses and they too began to laugh. My pal came out with the goods and the 7/11 dude came out too, initially to look at the horses but immediately noticed the giant pile of horse shit and his look of amused wonder became that of rage. "You - you - you clean that up!" he stammered. "What? No way," I said. By this time my pal was on his horse and he said the same. "No way, man." The 7/11 dude was pissed and took a step toward us and thought about it but quickly assessed his chances against two jerky teenagers on horseback and decided against it. "You never come back!" he yelled as we put the spurs to 'em and trotted on out of there. Ha! Well we did go back, often, and by the time he'd forgotten about the poop my horse pooped again. Makes me laugh 20 yrs later.
Tonight - Aces.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Best juke in town? Find out. Parking blows but so does sobriety.
DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE. EVER.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
12.2.2k5
Growing up I had a friend whose folks were very, very wealthy and the things they bought and did, and indeed the house they lived in, showed it. Their house was more like a palace: It had a four-car garage, a pool with a slide built into the mountain they lived on, a shooting range in their basement and - best of all - a two lane automated bowling alley. IN THE HOUSE. Holy shit. Well, like I said, I was pals with this kid and when we were little, the Mexican maid would make us after school snacks and when were a bit older we would take a couple of the horses around the mountain preserve. Yeh. Some places have wetland preserves, others have forest preserves and the desert I grew up in had mountain preserves. Fulla cactus, dust and rattlesnakes. And certain days after school in 1985 or so, a couple dorky teenage kids on horseback.
I wasn't a total stranger to horses. I got kin up Oregon with a big 'ol ranch and they got plenty of horses. On vacation to the ranch my brother, sister and I would coax our cousin into saddling-up a couple of the horses and we'd ride. Fun. This rich friend of mine's horses were not ranch-style work horses. More like "prance around fancy-like" horses. Beautiful, well-fed and meticulously fawned over by their trainers if not their owners. All I did was learn how to saddle them, ride the mountain trails and brush 'em down after. Calm.
For a while.
1985 woulda made me and my pal 15 and being 15 woulda made a guy wanna smoke ciggys and drink slushys and horseback or no, we'd get it done. If it weren't for the Cubs cap, OP shorts and Black Flag T-shirt I woulda looked like the frikkin' Marlboro Man up there. Oh, and for the 15 yrs old part. And for the fancy horse. And Vans. And $5k saddle. And no guns. OK. I think you get the picture.
Invariably two 15 yr olds would run out of ciggys and need a neon green slushy and need to get them some so they'd ride them horseys off the mountain and down the road to the 7/11. Horseback riders were not an uncommon sight in the desert city back then. We'd get a lot of stares, a few honks and lots of room: Them pansy drivers didn't want anything to do with a big 'ol horse - prissy horse or no. 7/11 didn't accommodate horses anymore as they'd removed the hitching-posts a few years back when folks began to use the motor car. So either my friend or I would stay there in a parking space with both bridles while the other would go in for smokes and slushys. Twice, TWICE I tell you, when I had horse duty, my horse took a huge dump in the parking space.
The first time was the best: My pal goes in and I wait. A few seconds later my horse let 'er rip and I started laughing my head off. There was a small group of people gawking at the horses and they too began to laugh. My pal came out with the goods and the 7/11 dude came out too, initially to look at the horses but immediately noticed the giant pile of horse shit and his look of amused wonder became that of rage. "You - you - you clean that up!" he stammered. "What? No way," I said. By this time my pal was on his horse and he said the same. "No way, man." The 7/11 dude was pissed and took a step toward us and thought about it but quickly assessed his chances against two jerky teenagers on horseback and decided against it. "You never come back!" he yelled as we put the spurs to 'em and trotted on out of there. Ha! Well we did go back, often, and by the time he'd forgotten about the poop my horse pooped again. Makes me laugh 20 yrs later.
Tonight - Aces.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Best juke in town? Find out. Parking blows but so does sobriety.
DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE. EVER.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Deluxe Funnel!
12.1.2k5
Well I quit my job. I had it up to here with the jerks at the plant, the tasteless lunches, the fatty snacks, the lousy (read: NO) coffee situation, the soul-sucking commute, the dangerous walk, the rickety bridge, the viscious dogs, the rabid beaver-squirells, the agressive panhandlers, the corrupt cops, the way-too-friendly street whores, the sub-average watering holes, the human, dog, and pidgey-widgey poop, the stiff toll, the "going-up-again" bus and train fares, the broken bike racks, the terrible wind, the ever-present clouds, the frozen mini-KitKats (which I like, mind you) and the stultifying conversations. I heard about a sexy new career on the radio, called the number it listed and showed up that day for my interview. I was hired on the spot! Hot damn that does a lot for a guy when he's havin' "One Of Those Days." I got a clothing stipend from my new boss (a sexy, silver-haired, 70-something granny), hauled ass to the Oakland Uniform Supply on Broadway, scored a sweet deal on what's known in the industry as "Car Salesman," WORE IT OUT OF THE STORE and hit the fuckin' bricks sporting my new gig: Reputation Consulting.
You read it right: Reputation Consulting. The multiple-choice test I took in my interview indicated that I was a natural, so I wasted NO time. My walk took me by my favorite Donut & Things and I ducked in and told Pebbles (his real name is Hsiung, but he makes everyone call him Pebbles (Why I do not know)) I told Pebbles he has the reputation of having the best goddamn donuts and things this side of MLK Drive and he said no shit Sherlock. I asked him if he would like to talk about it and he asked if I would have my usual dozen glazed and mebbe a couple 52" duck-brown replacement shoe strings or some replacement cheap-o plastic dominoes or some various waxen numeric birthday cake candles or some really crappy dish towels or some likely toxic crayons or a shitty hand-held pinball game, or a grab-bag of toy barnyard animals or a flawed German-made coloring book or a pinata buster (with blindfold) or a Dick Tracy-themed 2-pack party hat or a 4-piece fruit magnet set or a 32-piece Jesus sticker set, or a garden knee pad or a 10-pack sponge hair roller or a metallic car dashboard sun shade and I said no! I was here to consult with him about his reputation and not donuts and, well, things. He said his reputation for donuts was great and I agreed. He said his reputation for things was great and I agreed with that too and so I set my sights on another couple peeps I knew needed a little reputation consultation: Linkey-Loo Coordinator, Porn Title of the Week Coordinator and, you guessed it, Lee, Lee The Musical Bee. They did not return my phone calls.
Tonight - The Homestead.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
NOTE: The above link will link you to Dylan's pub. That joint is gone and The Homestead is in its place. The new bar is owned by a Lovely Longtime List Member in good standing. C'mon out! Fok all that rain!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
(josh is STILL a dumbass)
12.1.2k5
Well I quit my job. I had it up to here with the jerks at the plant, the tasteless lunches, the fatty snacks, the lousy (read: NO) coffee situation, the soul-sucking commute, the dangerous walk, the rickety bridge, the viscious dogs, the rabid beaver-squirells, the agressive panhandlers, the corrupt cops, the way-too-friendly street whores, the sub-average watering holes, the human, dog, and pidgey-widgey poop, the stiff toll, the "going-up-again" bus and train fares, the broken bike racks, the terrible wind, the ever-present clouds, the frozen mini-KitKats (which I like, mind you) and the stultifying conversations. I heard about a sexy new career on the radio, called the number it listed and showed up that day for my interview. I was hired on the spot! Hot damn that does a lot for a guy when he's havin' "One Of Those Days." I got a clothing stipend from my new boss (a sexy, silver-haired, 70-something granny), hauled ass to the Oakland Uniform Supply on Broadway, scored a sweet deal on what's known in the industry as "Car Salesman," WORE IT OUT OF THE STORE and hit the fuckin' bricks sporting my new gig: Reputation Consulting.
You read it right: Reputation Consulting. The multiple-choice test I took in my interview indicated that I was a natural, so I wasted NO time. My walk took me by my favorite Donut & Things and I ducked in and told Pebbles (his real name is Hsiung, but he makes everyone call him Pebbles (Why I do not know)) I told Pebbles he has the reputation of having the best goddamn donuts and things this side of MLK Drive and he said no shit Sherlock. I asked him if he would like to talk about it and he asked if I would have my usual dozen glazed and mebbe a couple 52" duck-brown replacement shoe strings or some replacement cheap-o plastic dominoes or some various waxen numeric birthday cake candles or some really crappy dish towels or some likely toxic crayons or a shitty hand-held pinball game, or a grab-bag of toy barnyard animals or a flawed German-made coloring book or a pinata buster (with blindfold) or a Dick Tracy-themed 2-pack party hat or a 4-piece fruit magnet set or a 32-piece Jesus sticker set, or a garden knee pad or a 10-pack sponge hair roller or a metallic car dashboard sun shade and I said no! I was here to consult with him about his reputation and not donuts and, well, things. He said his reputation for donuts was great and I agreed. He said his reputation for things was great and I agreed with that too and so I set my sights on another couple peeps I knew needed a little reputation consultation: Linkey-Loo Coordinator, Porn Title of the Week Coordinator and, you guessed it, Lee, Lee The Musical Bee. They did not return my phone calls.
Tonight - The Homestead.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
NOTE: The above link will link you to Dylan's pub. That joint is gone and The Homestead is in its place. The new bar is owned by a Lovely Longtime List Member in good standing. C'mon out! Fok all that rain!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
(josh is STILL a dumbass)
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