Ursa Minor.
4.4.2k7
Everyone knows that I'm a big baseball fan, and I have an unflappable loyalty to my favorite team. Even when they're doing less than stellar. (at least they don't have the WORST record.
Even when they're made fun of in nationally syndicated comics.
But the best thing about your favorite team having a Thursday off... there's no way that they can lose.
Tonight. It's the last Thursday of the month, so that means - The Homestead.
Come on out and see "TNSC Boulder" representative John Stillman in all of his glory!
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Flying saucer tour.
4.3.2k7
What the FOK is up with the sudden popularity in cupcakes? I really can't begin to guess. Sure, they are delish, but $5 for a fuckin' cupcake with buttercream icing and sprinkles is a joke. And in the armpit of America where I live, LA, everyone from the spoiled-rotten brats and Porsche-driving, tit-job trophy wives and hip gangster wannabes that have "I'm the Coolest" tattooed to the chip on their shoulders queue down the block and around the corner for their turn to throw down five bucks per. I do not get it. Cupcakes. Cupcakes. People, please.
Tonight - House of Sheilds.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.3.2k7
What the FOK is up with the sudden popularity in cupcakes? I really can't begin to guess. Sure, they are delish, but $5 for a fuckin' cupcake with buttercream icing and sprinkles is a joke. And in the armpit of America where I live, LA, everyone from the spoiled-rotten brats and Porsche-driving, tit-job trophy wives and hip gangster wannabes that have "I'm the Coolest" tattooed to the chip on their shoulders queue down the block and around the corner for their turn to throw down five bucks per. I do not get it. Cupcakes. Cupcakes. People, please.
Tonight - House of Sheilds.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Imus
4.2.2k7
So I join the gym in Venice Beach USA and it turns out this is the place that bodybuilding became a ... ahem ... "sport." In no way am I there to build body ... I'm there to run some on the treadmill, run some on the elliptical machine, ride a bike for a five-mile sprint uphill or for 10 miles without stopping and to do enough weight work and stretching so that I'm not a total noodle man. I have to tell you that I've had several false-starts at gyms over the past few years, but for some known and some unknown reasons, this time seems to have stuck. I can address the known reasons, as the unknown are ... you guessed it ... unknown.
The birthplace of bodybuilding is a funny place to go. They're still doing it there - bodybuilding that is. You got the funny carnival strongman one-piece being sported by a huge bald guy with a handlebar moustache. The poster-boy strongman, yes indeed. There's one over there, another over there and four more throughout the place. I think it's hilarious. There's normal joes, like me. Not so funny, but kinda comforting, because in numbers, the skinny semi-in-shape folks aren't overrun by the guys that flex in the mirror, pausing only to talk to their biceps and sometimes kiss them. NO SHIT.
I'd say a lot of the big huge muscle-bound people are in some sort of trance to get big and stay big. Some might be pro or semi-pro athletes. Some that stretch themselves like pretzels are just showing off. Some might not be. More than half of the people draw attention to themselves by grunting, groaning, dancing around with barbells, shouting at the jerk they're spotting or some such related behavior.
I go anonymous by plugging into the iPod and whether it's on or off act like its on and don't respond to people that try to talk to me no matter what. I'm mostly not hassled by the cartoon characters or wannabe LA Clipper cheerleaders, but when they do open and move their mouths, I ignore. I don't even hear the front desk people say hello or goodbye. It's a strange hour of the day.
Hulk Hogan was there the other day. That was pretty cool.
Tonight - The Attic.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.2.2k7
So I join the gym in Venice Beach USA and it turns out this is the place that bodybuilding became a ... ahem ... "sport." In no way am I there to build body ... I'm there to run some on the treadmill, run some on the elliptical machine, ride a bike for a five-mile sprint uphill or for 10 miles without stopping and to do enough weight work and stretching so that I'm not a total noodle man. I have to tell you that I've had several false-starts at gyms over the past few years, but for some known and some unknown reasons, this time seems to have stuck. I can address the known reasons, as the unknown are ... you guessed it ... unknown.
The birthplace of bodybuilding is a funny place to go. They're still doing it there - bodybuilding that is. You got the funny carnival strongman one-piece being sported by a huge bald guy with a handlebar moustache. The poster-boy strongman, yes indeed. There's one over there, another over there and four more throughout the place. I think it's hilarious. There's normal joes, like me. Not so funny, but kinda comforting, because in numbers, the skinny semi-in-shape folks aren't overrun by the guys that flex in the mirror, pausing only to talk to their biceps and sometimes kiss them. NO SHIT.
I'd say a lot of the big huge muscle-bound people are in some sort of trance to get big and stay big. Some might be pro or semi-pro athletes. Some that stretch themselves like pretzels are just showing off. Some might not be. More than half of the people draw attention to themselves by grunting, groaning, dancing around with barbells, shouting at the jerk they're spotting or some such related behavior.
I go anonymous by plugging into the iPod and whether it's on or off act like its on and don't respond to people that try to talk to me no matter what. I'm mostly not hassled by the cartoon characters or wannabe LA Clipper cheerleaders, but when they do open and move their mouths, I ignore. I don't even hear the front desk people say hello or goodbye. It's a strange hour of the day.
Hulk Hogan was there the other day. That was pretty cool.
Tonight - The Attic.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Vernon
4.1.2k7
I was riding my bike home the other night when I came across a couple teenage grrrrls throwing a pair of sneaks with the laces tied together up toward the telephone wire between two poles at an intersection. They had two or three shots at it as I approached, two getting close, but none staying up. I slowed. I said, "you know what that is supposed to mean, don't you?" They said no. They said it's supposed to look cool. I said, circling the intersection, "in some neighborhoods it means that there's a drug dealer nearby. It's a signal for people looking to score dope." They said they didn't know that. They were doing it for fun. I said, "now you know," and turned back toward home.
Mid-turn I noticed a guy on a motocross bike coming my way and I yielded for him. "Thanks," he said. I said, "sure." Then, "hey, you ride this street often?" He said yes, that he lived right up there, and pointed up there. I said, "how do you like the buttwipes that don't stop for the stop signs, you notice this street is pretty bad?" He said hell yes. He doesn't take the signs for granted that anyone will stop at them. I appreciated his attention and figured he's noticed what I noticed: That no one stops for the signs. I said, "good man. Gotta be careful around here." He said he always was. I said cheers and cranked home. The next second I heard a crash - not unlike a guy on a motocross guy wrecking. I looked back and indeed he had gone down. I turned around and rode up to him. A sixty-something black woman crossing the street toward him "Holy shit, dude, you okay?" He said yeah. "What happened," I asked. "I tried to bunny-hop the curb and I ate it. Damn." I asked him if he was really okay as he futzed with the chain on his bike. "Yeah, I am. Thanks for stopping." Then the black lady, who was passing, said, "there will come a time when you find yourself too old to try such things. They don't work out so well."
I stopped my bike and looked her square in the eyes. She stopped, turned toward me, put a fist on her hip and returned the look. I asked her, "what else we gotta stop doing when we get older?" She looked at me for a second, then said, gravely, "Honey, I tell you what all you gotta stop doin', you gonna be VERRRRY sad."
Tonight - The Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.1.2k7
I was riding my bike home the other night when I came across a couple teenage grrrrls throwing a pair of sneaks with the laces tied together up toward the telephone wire between two poles at an intersection. They had two or three shots at it as I approached, two getting close, but none staying up. I slowed. I said, "you know what that is supposed to mean, don't you?" They said no. They said it's supposed to look cool. I said, circling the intersection, "in some neighborhoods it means that there's a drug dealer nearby. It's a signal for people looking to score dope." They said they didn't know that. They were doing it for fun. I said, "now you know," and turned back toward home.
Mid-turn I noticed a guy on a motocross bike coming my way and I yielded for him. "Thanks," he said. I said, "sure." Then, "hey, you ride this street often?" He said yes, that he lived right up there, and pointed up there. I said, "how do you like the buttwipes that don't stop for the stop signs, you notice this street is pretty bad?" He said hell yes. He doesn't take the signs for granted that anyone will stop at them. I appreciated his attention and figured he's noticed what I noticed: That no one stops for the signs. I said, "good man. Gotta be careful around here." He said he always was. I said cheers and cranked home. The next second I heard a crash - not unlike a guy on a motocross guy wrecking. I looked back and indeed he had gone down. I turned around and rode up to him. A sixty-something black woman crossing the street toward him "Holy shit, dude, you okay?" He said yeah. "What happened," I asked. "I tried to bunny-hop the curb and I ate it. Damn." I asked him if he was really okay as he futzed with the chain on his bike. "Yeah, I am. Thanks for stopping." Then the black lady, who was passing, said, "there will come a time when you find yourself too old to try such things. They don't work out so well."
I stopped my bike and looked her square in the eyes. She stopped, turned toward me, put a fist on her hip and returned the look. I asked her, "what else we gotta stop doing when we get older?" She looked at me for a second, then said, gravely, "Honey, I tell you what all you gotta stop doin', you gonna be VERRRRY sad."
Tonight - The Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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