12.3.2k9
Witnessing righetous mothering in action daily, what with my Little Wife throwing around mothering Ez Pez like a pro, I figure it's a good time to dig up a TRUE story of a mother doing some kick ASS mothering to combat a lousy mother's mothering from way back, nearly a meeelion years ago, sometime in the 1980s.
My neighbor's future convict, or "son," had a birthday and, being neighbors of the same age, I got to go give him a Chewbacca actio figure and get some cake and ice cream with a bunch of other little lunatics. It all went down like you can imagine: Screaming and yelling, cowboys and indians (or "coyotes and Border Patrol" as we played in the Desert Southwest), Jarts®, presents, and then cake and ice cream. I played the role of Milton from Office Space and, uh, got no cake and ice cream. Because I had a run-in with my neighbor's lousy mom a couple days earlier, I clammed-up and sat it out. No cake, no ice cream. No shit.
I must have casually mentioned the omission to my mom later that day. That's the only thing that explains why shitty-neighbor mom brought a slice of lousy cake and a scoop of melted ice cream over to my house. I think she asked why I didn't say anything at the time. I don't remember what I said, but I hope to fuck it was funny.
Tonight - Homestead.
Robots wish Happy Birthday Drinkys to H.Founding Member Mathias Alonzo Genser and Novice Member Gaelan Thomas Alonzo Mundorff
Oh and for you archivists out there (Alan), the neighbor lady mentioned in the VA is indeed the one who got a penny stuck in her scalp. Yay, lawnmowers!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Info only.
12.2.2k9
Peelin' tonight. $5 after 10p or some such. Have fun.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Peelin' tonight. $5 after 10p or some such. Have fun.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 03, 2009
ah hunnerd brrrrs annachos
12.1.2k9
If the Bears weren't lousy enough and if they weren't too painful to watch, I had quite a scare the other day. The RV pr0n in my neighborhood - the Bambi down the block - disappeared! Not only did I ride my bike past it every morning and evening, but I'd push Ez's pram up the block to gawk at it every Saturday and Sunday. Gone! I was sad.
Then, she appeared again! Back in her spot! What a relief. She's soooo purdy.
And this get's me to my conflict. I have such a glowing, festering hatred for thehomeless and their filthy circus wagons that I can't believe I'm so glued to Bambi. Some of thehomeless around Venice have add-ons to their rigs that look right out of Mad Max III. Festooned with "ARMY RANGER" stickers and peace symbols like one or the other should make people who work for a living figure they've earned their right to be pigs. ugh.
I'm going nowhere with this rant. Over and out.
Tonight - Mini Bar SF.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
If the Bears weren't lousy enough and if they weren't too painful to watch, I had quite a scare the other day. The RV pr0n in my neighborhood - the Bambi down the block - disappeared! Not only did I ride my bike past it every morning and evening, but I'd push Ez's pram up the block to gawk at it every Saturday and Sunday. Gone! I was sad.
Then, she appeared again! Back in her spot! What a relief. She's soooo purdy.
And this get's me to my conflict. I have such a glowing, festering hatred for thehomeless and their filthy circus wagons that I can't believe I'm so glued to Bambi. Some of thehomeless around Venice have add-ons to their rigs that look right out of Mad Max III. Festooned with "ARMY RANGER" stickers and peace symbols like one or the other should make people who work for a living figure they've earned their right to be pigs. ugh.
I'm going nowhere with this rant. Over and out.
Tonight - Mini Bar SF.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
My Apple Store
11.3.2k9
As an early adopter of Apple's .mac service (now MobileMe), I was able to choose and receive a simple three-letter account name that served as my email address, iDisk name, etc. No extra numbers or letters, just three letter, a dot, "mac," a dot and "com." Simple. Easy.
Too easy.
It seems that Apple's showroom-stores have display Macs that have live internet connections and an email account, because I have been receiving images from those Macs' cameras for many months now. The cute "Photo Booth" software snaps a pic -often with a COOL EFFECT applied - and the shopper ... uh ... mashes the keyboard with their whole hand and it magically types my email address. Then it sends me the image. Enjoy ... I sure do.
Tonight - Specs' 12 Adler Museum Cafe.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
As an early adopter of Apple's .mac service (now MobileMe), I was able to choose and receive a simple three-letter account name that served as my email address, iDisk name, etc. No extra numbers or letters, just three letter, a dot, "mac," a dot and "com." Simple. Easy.
Too easy.
It seems that Apple's showroom-stores have display Macs that have live internet connections and an email account, because I have been receiving images from those Macs' cameras for many months now. The cute "Photo Booth" software snaps a pic -often with a COOL EFFECT applied - and the shopper ... uh ... mashes the keyboard with their whole hand and it magically types my email address. Then it sends me the image. Enjoy ... I sure do.
Tonight - Specs' 12 Adler Museum Cafe.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
H1 N1 C30 Go!
11.2.2k9
I hear the swine flu vaccine is grown in hen's eggs. That's cool. I like to grow swine-related things in hen's eggs: BREAKFAST.
Just this morn I chucked some swine fat in a pan, then some onions once the fat melted. Then I heaved in about two cups of chopped pulled swine that had been on ice since I grilled it and smoked it a couple Sundays ago (when it was still light out at 5p, goddamn it). When the oniony swine began to sizzle and pop, I beat up some hen's eggs in the Tupperware® dish the swine had been in and let them join the snappycracklypoppy oinony swine.
I mixed that mess about with a wooden spoon, then hit it with some shredded chee - three-yr-ol Tillamook™ Anniversary Edition Extra-sharp Cheddar chee.
Then I chowed down. It was food fit for a bad hangover, but I was without. Yay.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
Not to be confused with the John Peel Show, it's Little Minsky's Peel Show.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I hear the swine flu vaccine is grown in hen's eggs. That's cool. I like to grow swine-related things in hen's eggs: BREAKFAST.
Just this morn I chucked some swine fat in a pan, then some onions once the fat melted. Then I heaved in about two cups of chopped pulled swine that had been on ice since I grilled it and smoked it a couple Sundays ago (when it was still light out at 5p, goddamn it). When the oniony swine began to sizzle and pop, I beat up some hen's eggs in the Tupperware® dish the swine had been in and let them join the snappycracklypoppy oinony swine.
I mixed that mess about with a wooden spoon, then hit it with some shredded chee - three-yr-ol Tillamook™ Anniversary Edition Extra-sharp Cheddar chee.
Then I chowed down. It was food fit for a bad hangover, but I was without. Yay.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
Not to be confused with the John Peel Show, it's Little Minsky's Peel Show.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Why we fight.
11.1.2k9
Alluded to in a past Venue Announcement was my little family's trip to the Pacific Northwest this past summer. Oh but some fun did we have, driving here, parking there, sleeping, eating, cooking, etc. We had a few mini-trips, a couple birthdays, requisite trips to hotdog stands and searches for fringe and baby beers. God but our dance cards were full.
But somehow amid the whirlwind I was able to attend and matriculate from a fake medical school that exists only in my head. I did it so I could prescribe myself fake Zoloft™ and I needed fake Zoloft™ so I could deal with the increasing dysfunction at the place I work. Suffice it to say that nothing worked quite right and very few things worked at all. Sure, there are great people that I work with, and I'm impressed by and proud of each one of the people in my department. But some other folks don't really cut it. Some of the technology is constantly fucked. The management, let's just say, moves in mysterious ways. A guy needed a fake mood-altering drug to wad it all up and chuck it over his shoulder, bear down and meet his professional responsibilities.
The goddang fake Zoloft™ worked great! Things that would whip me into a frenzy didn't anymore. "Fuck it," became my refrain. It was liberating. It was so effective that I took it for other things: The misery of the Cubs' 2009 season. The constant bad news about the wars and the economy. And even, gasp, my tendency to be a spelling/grammar and punctuation nazi. I still reel when a grown adult misuses they're, their & there, but ... "Fuck it." I choke when people assign an apostrophe to pluralize a word. "Fuck it." Moot. Mute. Fuck. It.
But I have to draw the line. I watch a lot of cooking shows and I've seen pro chef after pro chef say restauranteur. I don't give a shit if some people think it's all right to say it, but it's not a word. Fuck you. The word is restaurateur.
Tonight - Orbit Room.
Moss? Will ya come out?
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Alluded to in a past Venue Announcement was my little family's trip to the Pacific Northwest this past summer. Oh but some fun did we have, driving here, parking there, sleeping, eating, cooking, etc. We had a few mini-trips, a couple birthdays, requisite trips to hotdog stands and searches for fringe and baby beers. God but our dance cards were full.
But somehow amid the whirlwind I was able to attend and matriculate from a fake medical school that exists only in my head. I did it so I could prescribe myself fake Zoloft™ and I needed fake Zoloft™ so I could deal with the increasing dysfunction at the place I work. Suffice it to say that nothing worked quite right and very few things worked at all. Sure, there are great people that I work with, and I'm impressed by and proud of each one of the people in my department. But some other folks don't really cut it. Some of the technology is constantly fucked. The management, let's just say, moves in mysterious ways. A guy needed a fake mood-altering drug to wad it all up and chuck it over his shoulder, bear down and meet his professional responsibilities.
The goddang fake Zoloft™ worked great! Things that would whip me into a frenzy didn't anymore. "Fuck it," became my refrain. It was liberating. It was so effective that I took it for other things: The misery of the Cubs' 2009 season. The constant bad news about the wars and the economy. And even, gasp, my tendency to be a spelling/grammar and punctuation nazi. I still reel when a grown adult misuses they're, their & there, but ... "Fuck it." I choke when people assign an apostrophe to pluralize a word. "Fuck it." Moot. Mute. Fuck. It.
But I have to draw the line. I watch a lot of cooking shows and I've seen pro chef after pro chef say restauranteur. I don't give a shit if some people think it's all right to say it, but it's not a word. Fuck you. The word is restaurateur.
Tonight - Orbit Room.
Moss? Will ya come out?
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tooth and Nail
..2k9
Our new home, "house," has verizon's FIOS internet. OMG, is it fast! Woo!
So, to celebrate, I've been watching streaming movies from Netflix. I watched Vanishing Point, The Omega Man and a couple episodes of Fawlty Towers.
And the other night, to get in the mood for Halloween I started watching this filck:
... or so I thought. I watched about 20 minutes of this Unearthed. It was supposed to be the film above, produced in 2007 and that ran in the 2008 HorrorFest "8 Films To Die For," but it was the wrong one.
Since my little wife was off supervising focus groups, and since my little baby was fast asleep, and since I didn't have anything better to do, I called NetFlix to tell them they had the wrong movie linked to the streaming version of Unearthed. It went a little something like this:
NetFlix: Hi, thanks for calling NetFlix, what's up?
Me: You got the wrong version of Unearthed linked to stream.
NetFlix: Really? How do you know?
Me: Tom Savini isn't in the 2007 version.
NetFlix: Oh, I see here that he isn't.
Me: Yeah, I watched about 20 minutes of the wrong version only because he was in it. I also wasn't sure it wasn't the wrong movie for a while.
NetFlix: I'd watch it too if he was in it.
Me: You like Tom Savini?
NetFlix: Yeah! Where would horror movies be without him?
Me: Totally.
NetFlix: Could you describe what happened in the version you watched?
Me: I only watched part of it. It got really bad and I bailed out.
NetFlix: What happened in the part you watched?
Me: Okay, don't laugh at me for watching it. I only got as far as I did because Tom Savini.
NetFlix: Okay, I won't laugh.
Me: Okay. In this version of the movie, which had the title "Unearthed" in the opening credits, went like this: It opens in a cab parked in an alley at night, the fare talking about something and suddenly the cabbie whirls and blows the fare's head off w/ a funny-looking pistol. The cabbie jumps out and shoots three other jerks in the alley and then bails.
Cut to the next day and Tom Savini is a cop at the crime scene. They kick at the dead guys' exploded heads and make jokes. Then a black guy on a bike wheels up in the background, sees what's happening and tears off outta there.
Cut to a jerk with a mullet was a jerk lawyer telling a mousy-looking archeologist gal that her dig at a construction site in downtown Tampa, Florida that her dig was ordered closed by the courts and to clear out by 5 pm. In hurrying to finish the dig, they "unearth" a couple totally intact clay pots adorned w/ scary pictures. oooooh.
Cut to weird scenes of "Virtual Reality" (remember that?) sex w/ a lady in a scary mask. These cut to a weirdo in a VR mask moaning. These cut to this guy's weird green hands with clawlike fingernails. Back to nekkid mask lady in front of a mandelbrot. Then the black guy wheels up on the bike and navigates through a creepy, abandoned industrial site, finally reaching ... VR Claw guy's room. Bike guy pushes a button on VR Claw guy's VR mask and BANG! VR Claw guy grabs bike guy by the throat and hauls him up against the wall! "WHY HAVE YOU DISTURBED MEEEEE!!!!" he demands ...
I could go no further. I turned it off and called you.
NetFlix: Yeah. That's totally not the right movie. I can't believe you watched 20 minutes of it. Sounds really, really bad.
Me: It was. Tom Savini or not.
NetFlix: Yeah.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Our new home, "house," has verizon's FIOS internet. OMG, is it fast! Woo!
So, to celebrate, I've been watching streaming movies from Netflix. I watched Vanishing Point, The Omega Man and a couple episodes of Fawlty Towers.
And the other night, to get in the mood for Halloween I started watching this filck:
... or so I thought. I watched about 20 minutes of this Unearthed. It was supposed to be the film above, produced in 2007 and that ran in the 2008 HorrorFest "8 Films To Die For," but it was the wrong one.
Since my little wife was off supervising focus groups, and since my little baby was fast asleep, and since I didn't have anything better to do, I called NetFlix to tell them they had the wrong movie linked to the streaming version of Unearthed. It went a little something like this:
NetFlix: Hi, thanks for calling NetFlix, what's up?
Me: You got the wrong version of Unearthed linked to stream.
NetFlix: Really? How do you know?
Me: Tom Savini isn't in the 2007 version.
NetFlix: Oh, I see here that he isn't.
Me: Yeah, I watched about 20 minutes of the wrong version only because he was in it. I also wasn't sure it wasn't the wrong movie for a while.
NetFlix: I'd watch it too if he was in it.
Me: You like Tom Savini?
NetFlix: Yeah! Where would horror movies be without him?
Me: Totally.
NetFlix: Could you describe what happened in the version you watched?
Me: I only watched part of it. It got really bad and I bailed out.
NetFlix: What happened in the part you watched?
Me: Okay, don't laugh at me for watching it. I only got as far as I did because Tom Savini.
NetFlix: Okay, I won't laugh.
Me: Okay. In this version of the movie, which had the title "Unearthed" in the opening credits, went like this: It opens in a cab parked in an alley at night, the fare talking about something and suddenly the cabbie whirls and blows the fare's head off w/ a funny-looking pistol. The cabbie jumps out and shoots three other jerks in the alley and then bails.
Cut to the next day and Tom Savini is a cop at the crime scene. They kick at the dead guys' exploded heads and make jokes. Then a black guy on a bike wheels up in the background, sees what's happening and tears off outta there.
Cut to a jerk with a mullet was a jerk lawyer telling a mousy-looking archeologist gal that her dig at a construction site in downtown Tampa, Florida that her dig was ordered closed by the courts and to clear out by 5 pm. In hurrying to finish the dig, they "unearth" a couple totally intact clay pots adorned w/ scary pictures. oooooh.
Cut to weird scenes of "Virtual Reality" (remember that?) sex w/ a lady in a scary mask. These cut to a weirdo in a VR mask moaning. These cut to this guy's weird green hands with clawlike fingernails. Back to nekkid mask lady in front of a mandelbrot. Then the black guy wheels up on the bike and navigates through a creepy, abandoned industrial site, finally reaching ... VR Claw guy's room. Bike guy pushes a button on VR Claw guy's VR mask and BANG! VR Claw guy grabs bike guy by the throat and hauls him up against the wall! "WHY HAVE YOU DISTURBED MEEEEE!!!!" he demands ...
I could go no further. I turned it off and called you.
NetFlix: Yeah. That's totally not the right movie. I can't believe you watched 20 minutes of it. Sounds really, really bad.
Me: It was. Tom Savini or not.
NetFlix: Yeah.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Chester's Night
10.4.2k9
I know the shitty economy has affected several Lovely List Members and I hope things have straightened out and you landed or you will land in a better place than where you were bounced out of. I dunno if it's the economy or the abject greed of the executives that run the biz I work for, but it's looking kinda dire around here.
They tore down the blimp hanger yesterday. All those airship commuters are outta fucking luck. The bike racks were Craigslisted. The posting price was $65 and some dick offered 16 bucks and the greedy scum jumped at it. Lucky I both switched to skateboard and didn't park in the bike rack, cuz the pedalestrians are outta lucko too. And next, I hear they're going to cut the zero-vis guide ropes that stretch to the beach and what with the fog we've been getting lately, the beach traffic is gonna end up in Santa Monica. They conceded the helipad to thomeless, and the three-story thomeless wagons are fifty abreast. God, the stink of them.
Thomeless smell really fuckin' bad, too.
Tonight - Lucky 13.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I know the shitty economy has affected several Lovely List Members and I hope things have straightened out and you landed or you will land in a better place than where you were bounced out of. I dunno if it's the economy or the abject greed of the executives that run the biz I work for, but it's looking kinda dire around here.
They tore down the blimp hanger yesterday. All those airship commuters are outta fucking luck. The bike racks were Craigslisted. The posting price was $65 and some dick offered 16 bucks and the greedy scum jumped at it. Lucky I both switched to skateboard and didn't park in the bike rack, cuz the pedalestrians are outta lucko too. And next, I hear they're going to cut the zero-vis guide ropes that stretch to the beach and what with the fog we've been getting lately, the beach traffic is gonna end up in Santa Monica. They conceded the helipad to thomeless, and the three-story thomeless wagons are fifty abreast. God, the stink of them.
Thomeless smell really fuckin' bad, too.
Tonight - Lucky 13.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Southpark did it.
10.3.2k9
A pal and i were on an onion ring kick and we tried all in the neighborhood and had to move out of the 'hood to try more. I had some surprisingly kickass 'rings while up in the PacNW this past summer, so I took us where I got the surprises: Denny's®.
Denny's®, and its sister, The International House of Pancakes®, are twin sisters. They are exactly the same. Trademark and copyright issues aside, their menus mirror one another. And their menus are the inspiration for this Venue Announcement: Their menus are awesome.
On these menus, the idea of the mashup was born. The venerable francheesie was born here. You want a reuben and a corndog together? They got it. You want the deliciousness of a Grand Slam™ breakfast with the convenience of a burrito? You bet!
You want hash and eggs but with hash browns instead of normal hash spuds? All with a layer of maple-goo? Yes sir! I swear, I've seen more crazy combinations on those menus that I thought that Doctor Moreau was real and he was working in the IHOP test kitchen. Then I learned the truth: They've got monkeys.
And not just any monkeys, they've got drunk blindfolded monkeys with darts. Here's the scoop: At the IHOP test kitchen, there's a large room with one wall covered with 8x8 glossy photographs of every simple food item on the planet IHOP. Plain cheesburger. Dish of cottage chee. Stack of pancakes. Dish of au jus. Garden salad. etc., etc. Also on the wall are 8x8s of cooking methods: Breaded and deep fried. Steamed. Pan seared. Baked. Roasted. Broasted. And they've got sauces: Red, white, cheese, caramel, chocolate and on and on and on. A food scientist gets the monkey good and liquored up, straps him onto a stool w/ a swivel seat, blindfolds him and hands him colored darts. The monkey throws all the darts and then the food scientist notes where the similarly colored darts found home, then the magic starts. A red dart on a bowl of spaghetti, meat sauce and a focaccia roll gets on the menu as a spaghetti sandwich. This is the method that brought the world the chillancakeucini: A blue dart on a bowl of chili, a short stack and a plate of fettucini. This is a true, verified story. And ...
And the onion rings sucked and I felt icky the rest of the day. The Grand Slamwich™ could have played a role in there too.
Tonight - Lone Palm.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
A pal and i were on an onion ring kick and we tried all in the neighborhood and had to move out of the 'hood to try more. I had some surprisingly kickass 'rings while up in the PacNW this past summer, so I took us where I got the surprises: Denny's®.
Denny's®, and its sister, The International House of Pancakes®, are twin sisters. They are exactly the same. Trademark and copyright issues aside, their menus mirror one another. And their menus are the inspiration for this Venue Announcement: Their menus are awesome.
On these menus, the idea of the mashup was born. The venerable francheesie was born here. You want a reuben and a corndog together? They got it. You want the deliciousness of a Grand Slam™ breakfast with the convenience of a burrito? You bet!
You want hash and eggs but with hash browns instead of normal hash spuds? All with a layer of maple-goo? Yes sir! I swear, I've seen more crazy combinations on those menus that I thought that Doctor Moreau was real and he was working in the IHOP test kitchen. Then I learned the truth: They've got monkeys.
And not just any monkeys, they've got drunk blindfolded monkeys with darts. Here's the scoop: At the IHOP test kitchen, there's a large room with one wall covered with 8x8 glossy photographs of every simple food item on the planet IHOP. Plain cheesburger. Dish of cottage chee. Stack of pancakes. Dish of au jus. Garden salad. etc., etc. Also on the wall are 8x8s of cooking methods: Breaded and deep fried. Steamed. Pan seared. Baked. Roasted. Broasted. And they've got sauces: Red, white, cheese, caramel, chocolate and on and on and on. A food scientist gets the monkey good and liquored up, straps him onto a stool w/ a swivel seat, blindfolds him and hands him colored darts. The monkey throws all the darts and then the food scientist notes where the similarly colored darts found home, then the magic starts. A red dart on a bowl of spaghetti, meat sauce and a focaccia roll gets on the menu as a spaghetti sandwich. This is the method that brought the world the chillancakeucini: A blue dart on a bowl of chili, a short stack and a plate of fettucini. This is a true, verified story. And ...
And the onion rings sucked and I felt icky the rest of the day. The Grand Slamwich™ could have played a role in there too.
Tonight - Lone Palm.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 08, 2009
My Little Pony (redux)
10.2.2k9
(flashback from 3 years ago)
I landed a job at a really big movie studio down here in LA and I'm pretty fired-up about it. You might have heard of it. It's called "DD." I like initials: ORD, MDW, PDX, dcb, CDJ, ttyl, and, of course (for Alan), FU.
The joint has been busy for many years, churning out Hollywood favs by the dozens. Perhaps you've heard of a few of them.
Transformers (2007) Can't wait! Movies about idiot cartoons are my fav! When ya think someone will make "Thundercats?" How 'bout "Galaxy Rangers?" "Underdog?"
Flags of Our Fathers (2006) Holding breath. Should be really good.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005) The original scared the shit out of me. Christ ... when that gal blew up into a giant blueberry I went runnin' for my little bed. Dad was already "sleeping" in it so I spooned my brother.
Cinderella Man (2005) Saw it in the lobby waitin' for my interview.
The Day After Tomorrow (2004) I had some pals who worked on this at The Orphanage. I demanded my money back from them.)
The Missing (2003) What's her name? That fairy queen? That spooky fairy queen from that long frikkin' movie with the midgets? She's hot.
The Italian Job (2003) Wasn't Ed Norton in this as a bad guy? Or was it Jerry Garcia? Tama, hep me on this.
Adaptation. (2002) Was this the one with David Duchovny and the aliens in Las Vegas?
A Beautiful Mind (2001) Jennifer Connelly is really cute in this and in The Hot Spot.
Vanilla Sky (2001) I used to like that grrrrl before she went for that boyband dope.
Red Planet (2000) I used to like Val before he went for that boyband dope.
O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) Quality.
Fight Club (1999) Weird enough to be good.
What Dreams May Come (1998) OK, who DIDN'T win an Academy Award for this movie?
Titanic (1997) I wanted to shoot self.
The Fifth Element (1997) Wasn't ready for it the first time through. Now I got two words for ya: Mil la.
Tonight- "time" to go "green" (ugh...) @ Doc's Clock
2575 Misso Street (x 21st & 22nd)
Be sure to say high to "Pooka", the friendly canine behind the bar.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
I like lists!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
(flashback from 3 years ago)
I landed a job at a really big movie studio down here in LA and I'm pretty fired-up about it. You might have heard of it. It's called "DD." I like initials: ORD, MDW, PDX, dcb, CDJ, ttyl, and, of course (for Alan), FU.
The joint has been busy for many years, churning out Hollywood favs by the dozens. Perhaps you've heard of a few of them.
Transformers (2007) Can't wait! Movies about idiot cartoons are my fav! When ya think someone will make "Thundercats?" How 'bout "Galaxy Rangers?" "Underdog?"
Flags of Our Fathers (2006) Holding breath. Should be really good.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005) The original scared the shit out of me. Christ ... when that gal blew up into a giant blueberry I went runnin' for my little bed. Dad was already "sleeping" in it so I spooned my brother.
Cinderella Man (2005) Saw it in the lobby waitin' for my interview.
The Day After Tomorrow (2004) I had some pals who worked on this at The Orphanage. I demanded my money back from them.)
The Missing (2003) What's her name? That fairy queen? That spooky fairy queen from that long frikkin' movie with the midgets? She's hot.
The Italian Job (2003) Wasn't Ed Norton in this as a bad guy? Or was it Jerry Garcia? Tama, hep me on this.
Adaptation. (2002) Was this the one with David Duchovny and the aliens in Las Vegas?
A Beautiful Mind (2001) Jennifer Connelly is really cute in this and in The Hot Spot.
Vanilla Sky (2001) I used to like that grrrrl before she went for that boyband dope.
Red Planet (2000) I used to like Val before he went for that boyband dope.
O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) Quality.
Fight Club (1999) Weird enough to be good.
What Dreams May Come (1998) OK, who DIDN'T win an Academy Award for this movie?
Titanic (1997) I wanted to shoot self.
The Fifth Element (1997) Wasn't ready for it the first time through. Now I got two words for ya: Mil la.
Tonight- "time" to go "green" (ugh...) @ Doc's Clock
2575 Misso Street (x 21st & 22nd)
Be sure to say high to "Pooka", the friendly canine behind the bar.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
I like lists!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 01, 2009
More notes from Sea View
10.1.2k9
What do ya call a street cleaner that has a mountain of street debris crammed somewhere up in it and every 20 feet or so disgorges a grocery-bag-sized load of it between the lines the ridiculous onboard goop sprayers laid down? I dunno but it AIN'T anything related to CLEANING. Goddamn thing made a frikkin' mess. It needs a friggin' CHASE-STREET SWEEPER to clean up after it. Or mebbe that little guy from the open to Peabody's Improbable History who follows the parade and picks up the horse and elephant shit and flower petals strewn about (by Tim.)
Also in the new hood ... the new bodega! I went there for beer once and got an 18-pack of ML for ... wait for it ... 18 bucks! Dude gave me a lime, too! Bonus lime and no CRV. Went back, looking for a green pepper and found MHL Camo Cans!
Remember to enjoy these beauties AFTER the adventure. ha!
Tonight - Mr. Bing's.
Remember to bring a shoehorn and some Vaseline™, cuz we're going to be packed into a small space. And watch you don't brain yrself on the neons.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
What do ya call a street cleaner that has a mountain of street debris crammed somewhere up in it and every 20 feet or so disgorges a grocery-bag-sized load of it between the lines the ridiculous onboard goop sprayers laid down? I dunno but it AIN'T anything related to CLEANING. Goddamn thing made a frikkin' mess. It needs a friggin' CHASE-STREET SWEEPER to clean up after it. Or mebbe that little guy from the open to Peabody's Improbable History who follows the parade and picks up the horse and elephant shit and flower petals strewn about (by Tim.)
Also in the new hood ... the new bodega! I went there for beer once and got an 18-pack of ML for ... wait for it ... 18 bucks! Dude gave me a lime, too! Bonus lime and no CRV. Went back, looking for a green pepper and found MHL Camo Cans!
Remember to enjoy these beauties AFTER the adventure. ha!
Tonight - Mr. Bing's.
Remember to bring a shoehorn and some Vaseline™, cuz we're going to be packed into a small space. And watch you don't brain yrself on the neons.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Eminent Domain
9.4.2k9
I got the Movin'-In Blues.
My little wife, Ez and I moved into a little house in the Mar Vista neighborhood of Los Angeles. It's a several steps up and to the side of our apartment which I continue to call "Broadway." (The new place is called "house.")
This part of Mar Vista (which I call "Sea View",) is mostly single-family homes and schools. Not a lot of markets or churches or busstops or, it seems, sidewalks. "House" is on a corner, and only one street edge of the two street edges has a sidewalk. Weird Beard. No lack of sidewalk will stop the denizens of Sea View from walking on the area a normal street-edge sidewalk would normally appear, though, and this has drawbacks: Ruffians in my yard!
Not that at this point in time it's much of a yard. The previous tenants didn't water it and there seems to have been a tree in the middle of it at some point and the only vestige of it is an oddly-shaped shallow hole. It's certainly not a lawn.
I was reclining in the living room Sunday and through the front door screen I saw a woman walk her dog through my yard ... she cut the corner of the sidewalk-side to the no-sidewalk-side pretty dramatically and came only a few feet from my door. I popped up and said, "Hel-lo?" To which she replied, "Hi," and went about her walk. I wanted to say, "I didn't say 'Hello,' you skank, I said, 'Hel-lo?' As in, "What the Hel-lo are you doing three feet from my front door? This ain't a public highway, you know."
So, with visions of a piranha-filled moat, concertina wire, claymore mines, a staked pitbull, punji sticks, vietcong-style mantraps and a good-old whitewashed picket fence danced in my head, I plan my strategy of dealing with the neighborhood in my yard. Stay tuned for developments.
Tonight - Annie's Social Club.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I got the Movin'-In Blues.
My little wife, Ez and I moved into a little house in the Mar Vista neighborhood of Los Angeles. It's a several steps up and to the side of our apartment which I continue to call "Broadway." (The new place is called "house.")
This part of Mar Vista (which I call "Sea View",) is mostly single-family homes and schools. Not a lot of markets or churches or busstops or, it seems, sidewalks. "House" is on a corner, and only one street edge of the two street edges has a sidewalk. Weird Beard. No lack of sidewalk will stop the denizens of Sea View from walking on the area a normal street-edge sidewalk would normally appear, though, and this has drawbacks: Ruffians in my yard!
Not that at this point in time it's much of a yard. The previous tenants didn't water it and there seems to have been a tree in the middle of it at some point and the only vestige of it is an oddly-shaped shallow hole. It's certainly not a lawn.
I was reclining in the living room Sunday and through the front door screen I saw a woman walk her dog through my yard ... she cut the corner of the sidewalk-side to the no-sidewalk-side pretty dramatically and came only a few feet from my door. I popped up and said, "Hel-lo?" To which she replied, "Hi," and went about her walk. I wanted to say, "I didn't say 'Hello,' you skank, I said, 'Hel-lo?' As in, "What the Hel-lo are you doing three feet from my front door? This ain't a public highway, you know."
So, with visions of a piranha-filled moat, concertina wire, claymore mines, a staked pitbull, punji sticks, vietcong-style mantraps and a good-old whitewashed picket fence danced in my head, I plan my strategy of dealing with the neighborhood in my yard. Stay tuned for developments.
Tonight - Annie's Social Club.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
DMSR
9.2.2k9
I lived in this courtyard bldg in Chicago ... I was at one end of the horseshoe and one night - long after midnight - this racket erupts from the middle of the U ... I came to learn it was the song "Sexy MF" by the one-and-only Prince.
Srsly ... when the lyrics "You sexy motherfucker" emit from the inky black of night at high volume in high fidelity, asleep or not, it will get your attention.
Nothing else was going on. No lights coming from the place. No party going on. Just darkness and the dulcet tones of perhaps the raunchiest of raunchy Prince songs.
I have to believe someone was getting it on.
Tonight - "Two-fer Thursday" Starting off w/ Bingo at The Knockout, followed by $5 Makers Mark Manhattans (and other stuff) at the Argus Lounge.
See you there!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I lived in this courtyard bldg in Chicago ... I was at one end of the horseshoe and one night - long after midnight - this racket erupts from the middle of the U ... I came to learn it was the song "Sexy MF" by the one-and-only Prince.
Srsly ... when the lyrics "You sexy motherfucker" emit from the inky black of night at high volume in high fidelity, asleep or not, it will get your attention.
Nothing else was going on. No lights coming from the place. No party going on. Just darkness and the dulcet tones of perhaps the raunchiest of raunchy Prince songs.
I have to believe someone was getting it on.
Tonight - "Two-fer Thursday" Starting off w/ Bingo at The Knockout, followed by $5 Makers Mark Manhattans (and other stuff) at the Argus Lounge.
See you there!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, September 03, 2009
How do I love thee?
9.1.2k9
School's going fine, thanks for asking. But like you might remember, sometimes homework assignments requires one to enlist a little help. This was the case last night.
The assignment was one of my progressive school's typical assignments: A theme and a random subject. The theme was "Explain the Five-Step Process," and the random subject - which I chose by drawing a slip of paper from a hat with the subjects written on them - was "Rocking Out." The Lords of Random smiled on me was my initial thought, as I'm a champ at rocking out. Then I tried to explain my process and got stuck.
"Step One," I wrote, "Suck down several domestic lights." Fair enough, I thought, It is a typical beginning to a Rock-Out event. "Step Two: Don Headphones." I received a great set of Sennheisers from my little wife for Christmas a few years back and they're essential to a great Rock-Out. "Three: Flick on iTunes and Faders Up!!!" That was it. I looked at my Five-Stepper and noted I'd come up with three steps. Shit. I scribbled in, "Four: Hit play and commence rocking," but then erased it. I knew my instructor pretty well and could see that lame step four getting the dreaded red circle around it with a comment not unlike, "Hitting play and commencing to rock are connoted by yr expression "faders up" in Step Three. I needed to ace this assignment to keep up with Matt Baffoe, my main rival in the class.
I toyed around with a few other Step Fours, and, with a really shaky Four, proceeded to a really lame Five, but after having my previously mentioned little wife read them, ditched back to my solid Three Step Process when she tsked and walked off.
I was stuck. Little wife was through helping so I did the only other natural thing: I asked the guy who doesn't speak English.
"Ez," I said, "what is the five-step process to rocking out?" He looked at me for a moment then marched off down the hall. I followed. I observed. I took notes. I refined my notes and reviewed. He nailed it:
Tonight - Sutter Street Station.
** Due to this evening's Bay Bridge closure, this venue is TNSC-certified "BART-friendy", for all of our East Bay members ** (I said "member"... heh...)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
School's going fine, thanks for asking. But like you might remember, sometimes homework assignments requires one to enlist a little help. This was the case last night.
The assignment was one of my progressive school's typical assignments: A theme and a random subject. The theme was "Explain the Five-Step Process," and the random subject - which I chose by drawing a slip of paper from a hat with the subjects written on them - was "Rocking Out." The Lords of Random smiled on me was my initial thought, as I'm a champ at rocking out. Then I tried to explain my process and got stuck.
"Step One," I wrote, "Suck down several domestic lights." Fair enough, I thought, It is a typical beginning to a Rock-Out event. "Step Two: Don Headphones." I received a great set of Sennheisers from my little wife for Christmas a few years back and they're essential to a great Rock-Out. "Three: Flick on iTunes and Faders Up!!!" That was it. I looked at my Five-Stepper and noted I'd come up with three steps. Shit. I scribbled in, "Four: Hit play and commence rocking," but then erased it. I knew my instructor pretty well and could see that lame step four getting the dreaded red circle around it with a comment not unlike, "Hitting play and commencing to rock are connoted by yr expression "faders up" in Step Three. I needed to ace this assignment to keep up with Matt Baffoe, my main rival in the class.
I toyed around with a few other Step Fours, and, with a really shaky Four, proceeded to a really lame Five, but after having my previously mentioned little wife read them, ditched back to my solid Three Step Process when she tsked and walked off.
I was stuck. Little wife was through helping so I did the only other natural thing: I asked the guy who doesn't speak English.
"Ez," I said, "what is the five-step process to rocking out?" He looked at me for a moment then marched off down the hall. I followed. I observed. I took notes. I refined my notes and reviewed. He nailed it:
Tonight - Sutter Street Station.
** Due to this evening's Bay Bridge closure, this venue is TNSC-certified "BART-friendy", for all of our East Bay members ** (I said "member"... heh...)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
That you love and who loves ...
8.4.2k9
I remember speeding around South Phoenix and blasting the then-just-released "The Queen Is Dead" by The Smiths about as loud as it would go. "There Is A Light That Will Never Go Out" has a couple lines: "If a double-decker bus smashes into us / To die by your side would be such a heavenly way to die." Goddang as a teenager I thought that was a cool, dark and romantic lyric. I thought the same in my 20s. And the same here in my 30s. Everyone I ever met thought those lines were cool, dark and romantic. Then came K-Dub.
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard," he said. Then he mocked ol' Morrissey's croon. Aghast, I nearly smashed K-Dub in the face for his blasphemy. "Yer a dick, K-Dub," I said. "Yeah, yr a dick, K-Dub," SJ said in agreement.
"That may be, but those lyrics are stupid and so is that song. I'll give you "Cemetary Gates," though, that's a good, well-written song.
I agreed with that statement.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I remember speeding around South Phoenix and blasting the then-just-released "The Queen Is Dead" by The Smiths about as loud as it would go. "There Is A Light That Will Never Go Out" has a couple lines: "If a double-decker bus smashes into us / To die by your side would be such a heavenly way to die." Goddang as a teenager I thought that was a cool, dark and romantic lyric. I thought the same in my 20s. And the same here in my 30s. Everyone I ever met thought those lines were cool, dark and romantic. Then came K-Dub.
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard," he said. Then he mocked ol' Morrissey's croon. Aghast, I nearly smashed K-Dub in the face for his blasphemy. "Yer a dick, K-Dub," I said. "Yeah, yr a dick, K-Dub," SJ said in agreement.
"That may be, but those lyrics are stupid and so is that song. I'll give you "Cemetary Gates," though, that's a good, well-written song.
I agreed with that statement.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
New Era
8.3.2k9
I really don't understand anyone anymore.
Being a fan of professional sports, I can't help but notice the team-related gear people I see around town wear. In Chicago, the norm was easy: Bear, Bulls and Blackhawks all throughout the area, Sox on the South Side, and Cubbies on the North Side. In SF it was more confused: As, giants, 9-ers, raiders, some Kings, some Sharks, some Kings (other Kings) and very few GS Warriors. More lakers caps and jerseys than GSWs, actually. And speaking of lakers, that's the only thing these jerks here in LA can agree on. Sure, there are loyal dodgers (lose, dodgers, lose) fans, and loyal Gels fans, but there is a huge number of people that wear the caps, tshirts and jerseys of WHATEVER TEAM IS WINNING and/or TRENDY. Case in point, a random sample on a short walk.
A pal and I walked the route on the map below from the blue dot in the south to the red dot straight up Main St. and back to blue. All told, it's just over a mile roundtrip.
On the walk, we saw one bloke wearing a dodgers (lose, dodgers, lose) cap. We saw FIVE people wearing boston motherfucking red sox caps. FIVE! I don't know what the hell is going on with these people. They aren't fans. They CAN'T be fans. And to prove my point, consider this totally-not-bullshit story:
I was on a beer run to the Rite Aid cheap-beeratorium. As I approached the door, a dumpy looking guy emerged: grubby flipflops, baggy bermudas, dirty blue tshirt, unbutttoned, untucked yellow "dress" shirt ... and a Cubs cap. As a real live legitimate (read: sucker) Cubs fan, it's my duty to offer a high-five to every Cubs fan I meet on the street. Or in this case, the drugstore parking lot. I got closer, got my high-fiver in position and the guy saw me and cringed. "Dude," I said, "up top! Go Cubs!" "No way," dude said, "I'm a Mets fan." Dumbfounded, I stammered, "wh ... why ... whythefuck are you wearing a goddamn Cubs cap then?" And here's the proof I mentioned earlier: "Cuz it goes with my outfit." º_º I resolved then to not high-five any more Cubs fans. er ... for a while at least.
So yeah! These people don't know what the fuck. They wear the bo-sux caps for bullshit reasons. I bet none of them could name five current or past bosox players. I can and I hate them. Crap!
Tonight - 500 Club.
Bring yr dogs. It's "dive bar" Thursday. Or something.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I really don't understand anyone anymore.
Being a fan of professional sports, I can't help but notice the team-related gear people I see around town wear. In Chicago, the norm was easy: Bear, Bulls and Blackhawks all throughout the area, Sox on the South Side, and Cubbies on the North Side. In SF it was more confused: As, giants, 9-ers, raiders, some Kings, some Sharks, some Kings (other Kings) and very few GS Warriors. More lakers caps and jerseys than GSWs, actually. And speaking of lakers, that's the only thing these jerks here in LA can agree on. Sure, there are loyal dodgers (lose, dodgers, lose) fans, and loyal Gels fans, but there is a huge number of people that wear the caps, tshirts and jerseys of WHATEVER TEAM IS WINNING and/or TRENDY. Case in point, a random sample on a short walk.
A pal and I walked the route on the map below from the blue dot in the south to the red dot straight up Main St. and back to blue. All told, it's just over a mile roundtrip.
On the walk, we saw one bloke wearing a dodgers (lose, dodgers, lose) cap. We saw FIVE people wearing boston motherfucking red sox caps. FIVE! I don't know what the hell is going on with these people. They aren't fans. They CAN'T be fans. And to prove my point, consider this totally-not-bullshit story:
I was on a beer run to the Rite Aid cheap-beeratorium. As I approached the door, a dumpy looking guy emerged: grubby flipflops, baggy bermudas, dirty blue tshirt, unbutttoned, untucked yellow "dress" shirt ... and a Cubs cap. As a real live legitimate (read: sucker) Cubs fan, it's my duty to offer a high-five to every Cubs fan I meet on the street. Or in this case, the drugstore parking lot. I got closer, got my high-fiver in position and the guy saw me and cringed. "Dude," I said, "up top! Go Cubs!" "No way," dude said, "I'm a Mets fan." Dumbfounded, I stammered, "wh ... why ... whythefuck are you wearing a goddamn Cubs cap then?" And here's the proof I mentioned earlier: "Cuz it goes with my outfit." º_º I resolved then to not high-five any more Cubs fans. er ... for a while at least.
So yeah! These people don't know what the fuck. They wear the bo-sux caps for bullshit reasons. I bet none of them could name five current or past bosox players. I can and I hate them. Crap!
Tonight - 500 Club.
Bring yr dogs. It's "dive bar" Thursday. Or something.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
From Her To Eternity
8.2.2k9
About a million years ago, Linkey-Loo Robot and I, along with several others attended a Soul Coughing show at Great American Music Hall and we enjoyed the hell out of it. At one point Mike Doughty brought out a pea green guitar, possibly a Fender Coronado, played a few chords, took off the shoulder strap and handed it to a waiting guitar tech. He said, "the hell with that! She sure is pretty, but she sounds like shit." I know the feeling ... I'm a Cubs fan, remember?
The Cubs look DAMN good on paper. If that paper is a stat sheet listing the players' and the team's pre-2009 season stats. If ya look today - LITERALLY TODAY - it's quite a different story. We don't hit, we don't steal, we don't score. We don't get many men on, and when we do, we usually leave them on. We haven't gotten the clutch hit, the needed strikeout or popup or grounder. Our off-season trades gutted our team leaders and have not panned out. Our mid-season acquisitions have been inconsistent. We've been plagued with injuries. And worst of all, we kid ourselves that the worm will turn. I'm almost ready to hang it up and see ya in March in Mesa. It's that bad. And then something happens when we're getting pounded 12 to 1 that makes ya think we deserve it.
Some asswipe in the bleachers dumped a beer onto the opposing team's center fielder as he was about to catch a sac fly. ESPN was covering the game and their cameras got it all, including the jubilant drunk celebrating his direct hit. That kinda shit is unacceptable. I truly hope the cops beat the shit out of him.
You can see the whole thing on YouTube. There's another video that comes up when searching "victorino & beer" on 'tube: It's some fuckin' kid who DESCRIBES the event. No screen grab, no hulu, not even a phone cam video ... no it's some jerkoff kid who just describes it. And worse, his description is terrible. And the lighting sucks. And there's too much headroom. And the camera's too low. And he's ugly. And he thinks the beer throwing is funny. ugh. I fear that -beyond the specifics of this particular video - YouTube will be filled with shitty videos by dumbass people just describing things instead of videoing the actual events.
You know, it probably already is.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
Burlesque!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
About a million years ago, Linkey-Loo Robot and I, along with several others attended a Soul Coughing show at Great American Music Hall and we enjoyed the hell out of it. At one point Mike Doughty brought out a pea green guitar, possibly a Fender Coronado, played a few chords, took off the shoulder strap and handed it to a waiting guitar tech. He said, "the hell with that! She sure is pretty, but she sounds like shit." I know the feeling ... I'm a Cubs fan, remember?
The Cubs look DAMN good on paper. If that paper is a stat sheet listing the players' and the team's pre-2009 season stats. If ya look today - LITERALLY TODAY - it's quite a different story. We don't hit, we don't steal, we don't score. We don't get many men on, and when we do, we usually leave them on. We haven't gotten the clutch hit, the needed strikeout or popup or grounder. Our off-season trades gutted our team leaders and have not panned out. Our mid-season acquisitions have been inconsistent. We've been plagued with injuries. And worst of all, we kid ourselves that the worm will turn. I'm almost ready to hang it up and see ya in March in Mesa. It's that bad. And then something happens when we're getting pounded 12 to 1 that makes ya think we deserve it.
Some asswipe in the bleachers dumped a beer onto the opposing team's center fielder as he was about to catch a sac fly. ESPN was covering the game and their cameras got it all, including the jubilant drunk celebrating his direct hit. That kinda shit is unacceptable. I truly hope the cops beat the shit out of him.
You can see the whole thing on YouTube. There's another video that comes up when searching "victorino & beer" on 'tube: It's some fuckin' kid who DESCRIBES the event. No screen grab, no hulu, not even a phone cam video ... no it's some jerkoff kid who just describes it. And worse, his description is terrible. And the lighting sucks. And there's too much headroom. And the camera's too low. And he's ugly. And he thinks the beer throwing is funny. ugh. I fear that -beyond the specifics of this particular video - YouTube will be filled with shitty videos by dumbass people just describing things instead of videoing the actual events.
You know, it probably already is.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
Burlesque!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Semper ubi ...
... sub ubi!
8.1.2k8
My love/hate relationship with basketball (Pro, College, PE class, watching, playing, etc.) went a little like this:
1970-1988 Hate (Couldn't play worth a shit / Suns sucked.)
1988-1993 Love (MJ / Bulls / Suns / Detroit loses / Lakers get beat.)
1993-present Hate (boring / organized cheating / Lakers win.)
Somewhere in the "Love" section above I worked at a post studio in Chicago so big that they had a full-service stage with a hard cyc, a light array and a giant loading dock. Of course somebody put a basketball net and backboard up so the grips could kill some time and, when the stage was not booked (or after hours), the studio staff could get drunk and play PIG.
PIG? Sure you know it. It's like HORSE, but with fewer letters so the game was mercifully short and jerks who can't shoot a basket can sit on the side, drink "for clients only" beer and watch. It was fun to watch because of the non-standard shots that we all attempted.
For example ... we had the "office rolly-chair triple-spin lay-up." Just as it might sound, the shooter would sit in a rolly office chair, get some speed, spin around thrice and lay the ball up. Fun. There was the "window of opportunity" shot, where one would stand in the loading dock, peer through the window of the door, hook an arm around the other, open door, and shoot a hook. And one day, there was the "drop trou" shot.
Mike was the initial shooter, and as some of the standard non-standard shots had become tiresome, he came up with a new one. He stood at the free throw line, dribbled twice, held the ball, un-did his shorts, dropped trou, dribbled once again and shot. He made it. I was next, followed by Roxy, then Salty.
As I have since, I was biking in to work back then and had black bike shorts on under my baggy bermudas, so I attempted the shot with the requisite dribbling and trou-dropping ... and missed. P I for me. Roxy looked really REALLY relieved. We asked why.
She said, "no, no ... it's not because I have a thong or no undies ... it's the opposite: I have super-wide granny-style undies on today. Laundry day, y'know."
Awesome. Haven't played PIG since.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
8.1.2k8
My love/hate relationship with basketball (Pro, College, PE class, watching, playing, etc.) went a little like this:
1970-1988 Hate (Couldn't play worth a shit / Suns sucked.)
1988-1993 Love (MJ / Bulls / Suns / Detroit loses / Lakers get beat.)
1993-present Hate (boring / organized cheating / Lakers win.)
Somewhere in the "Love" section above I worked at a post studio in Chicago so big that they had a full-service stage with a hard cyc, a light array and a giant loading dock. Of course somebody put a basketball net and backboard up so the grips could kill some time and, when the stage was not booked (or after hours), the studio staff could get drunk and play PIG.
PIG? Sure you know it. It's like HORSE, but with fewer letters so the game was mercifully short and jerks who can't shoot a basket can sit on the side, drink "for clients only" beer and watch. It was fun to watch because of the non-standard shots that we all attempted.
For example ... we had the "office rolly-chair triple-spin lay-up." Just as it might sound, the shooter would sit in a rolly office chair, get some speed, spin around thrice and lay the ball up. Fun. There was the "window of opportunity" shot, where one would stand in the loading dock, peer through the window of the door, hook an arm around the other, open door, and shoot a hook. And one day, there was the "drop trou" shot.
Mike was the initial shooter, and as some of the standard non-standard shots had become tiresome, he came up with a new one. He stood at the free throw line, dribbled twice, held the ball, un-did his shorts, dropped trou, dribbled once again and shot. He made it. I was next, followed by Roxy, then Salty.
As I have since, I was biking in to work back then and had black bike shorts on under my baggy bermudas, so I attempted the shot with the requisite dribbling and trou-dropping ... and missed. P I for me. Roxy looked really REALLY relieved. We asked why.
She said, "no, no ... it's not because I have a thong or no undies ... it's the opposite: I have super-wide granny-style undies on today. Laundry day, y'know."
Awesome. Haven't played PIG since.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Pad me.
7.5.2k8
The ubiquity of reality shows is really increasing and I figure they're gonna be with us until the Zombie Apocalypse claims us all (except the few "lucky" enough to survive). The shows are quite hard to avoid, especially if yr little wife fancies a couple of them and yr wee baby steals yr remote and changes the channel to a random channel that happens to be broadcasting one, which, as I've already noted, are damn-near all channels.
COPS is the original and still the best. Time was, when I was young and stupid, I'd find myself feeling good about life, society and values like kindness, peace and honesty. Stupid, but not stupid enough to forget that in a mere half-hour I could snap myself out of peaceful, easy feelings by switching on COPS and seeing liars, thieves, deadbeats and cops going at it. I'd use it as a reality-check.
There's nothing one could use the show about that whore from the tattoo parlor or those cunts in OC, Long Island, Jersey or Atlanta for but something to have on in the background while hanging oneself.
But there are some newer reality shows that are okay, and for the most part, I approve if the jerks on the show are doing something creative, like cooking or designing. The cooking show I like is Top Chef, and it's cool to see both what those chefs come up with and to watch them lose their shit at the same time. The judging on that show is cut-throat, too, and that's fun. The thing I don't get, though, is that the producers can't leave it as a good show - NO - they have to go and make a "Top Chef Masters" show and pit master chefs against one another. If making them speed-prep oysters, cook an egg with one hand tied behind their back or devein shrimp with their eyes glued shut isn't enough, they then subject their dishes to judges -- three of the biggest fucking idiots on the planet ... FOUR if you include the "who the fuck is this person?" host. Master chefs being told their meat was too raw or too salty or under-seasoned. Seriously, unless it's a whole stack of cash and these master chefs' businesses are in the toilet, I can't fathom why they'd subject themselves to scrutiny by those dopes.
Yeah.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
The ubiquity of reality shows is really increasing and I figure they're gonna be with us until the Zombie Apocalypse claims us all (except the few "lucky" enough to survive). The shows are quite hard to avoid, especially if yr little wife fancies a couple of them and yr wee baby steals yr remote and changes the channel to a random channel that happens to be broadcasting one, which, as I've already noted, are damn-near all channels.
COPS is the original and still the best. Time was, when I was young and stupid, I'd find myself feeling good about life, society and values like kindness, peace and honesty. Stupid, but not stupid enough to forget that in a mere half-hour I could snap myself out of peaceful, easy feelings by switching on COPS and seeing liars, thieves, deadbeats and cops going at it. I'd use it as a reality-check.
There's nothing one could use the show about that whore from the tattoo parlor or those cunts in OC, Long Island, Jersey or Atlanta for but something to have on in the background while hanging oneself.
But there are some newer reality shows that are okay, and for the most part, I approve if the jerks on the show are doing something creative, like cooking or designing. The cooking show I like is Top Chef, and it's cool to see both what those chefs come up with and to watch them lose their shit at the same time. The judging on that show is cut-throat, too, and that's fun. The thing I don't get, though, is that the producers can't leave it as a good show - NO - they have to go and make a "Top Chef Masters" show and pit master chefs against one another. If making them speed-prep oysters, cook an egg with one hand tied behind their back or devein shrimp with their eyes glued shut isn't enough, they then subject their dishes to judges -- three of the biggest fucking idiots on the planet ... FOUR if you include the "who the fuck is this person?" host. Master chefs being told their meat was too raw or too salty or under-seasoned. Seriously, unless it's a whole stack of cash and these master chefs' businesses are in the toilet, I can't fathom why they'd subject themselves to scrutiny by those dopes.
Yeah.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
feyone heyome!
7.4.2k8
Some things disappoint.
I was really jonesing a peanut butter sandy the other day and I was chained to my desk with a 50' chain. Its length allowed me enough room to reach the bread I usually have on hand for toast. It also allowed me access to my spare-change stash and the vendy.
The vendy was recently restocked and was within range. As was the change machine and I had a fin tucked away in my shoe (no joke ... if you believe I was wearing shoes ... ) So I did as any reasonable schlub would do and bought five bucks and my spare change stash worth of Reese's® PB Cups™, chipped away the chocky and smeared what was left on my proto-toast.
It didn't taste bad, but it wasn't right.
Tonight - Lone Palm.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Some things disappoint.
I was really jonesing a peanut butter sandy the other day and I was chained to my desk with a 50' chain. Its length allowed me enough room to reach the bread I usually have on hand for toast. It also allowed me access to my spare-change stash and the vendy.
The vendy was recently restocked and was within range. As was the change machine and I had a fin tucked away in my shoe (no joke ... if you believe I was wearing shoes ... ) So I did as any reasonable schlub would do and bought five bucks and my spare change stash worth of Reese's® PB Cups™, chipped away the chocky and smeared what was left on my proto-toast.
It didn't taste bad, but it wasn't right.
Tonight - Lone Palm.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
When Doves Cry
7.3.2k8
One of the things I love almost as much as I love my little wife and giant baby is cheese. Also coming close is beer, the Chicago Cubs, the Chicago Bears, the rest of my family, my bike, Chuck; my Jeep, Jailbreak; my cat, Porkchop; AC/DC and Camel cigarettes, even though I no longer smoke. But this rant is not about any of the above, with the exceptio of cheese.
On my recent trip to the Pacific Northwest, I had the privilege of visiting the Tillamook Cheese factory while in ... uh ... Tillamook County, Oregon.
I've eaten a meeeeelion pounds of Tillamook chee in my time, so it was quite thrilling to visit and hear their story. The factory is a creamery as well as a chee-production, aging and packaging place, so the ice cream available at the place was outta sight. However, in spite of how much I enjoyed myself, I witnessed something that ended a myth-like thrill I'd get sometimes when opening a fresh brick of Tillamook chee.
The thrill would happen infrequently, but happened enough times to make me eagerly anticipate it happening again: The Bonus Slice. I would rip open a brick and begin to slice or shred and - lo and behold - a bonus slice would be piggybacking the brick! Awesome! I considered myself the lucky recipient of the chee I paid for and a bonus slice, mistakenly put there by a near-sighted packer or a malfunctioning slicer. This was not to be.
Dig if you will the picture:
This gal is doing her job at the factory while simultaneously shooting to shit my dream of periodically being the lucky recipient of a bonus slice of chee.
She's taking each block off the conveyor and weighing each. For those that are too heavy, she deftly slices off a shaving (throwing the shaving in the bin screen right) and for those not up to weight ... ADDING A GODDAMN BONUS SLICE! FOK!
So as the ice cream melted in all the tourists' sugar cones around me in the viewing area, so did my dream of being sometimes-lucky-in-cheese. I'll never be the same.
Tonight - Lucky 13.
Happy Birthday Jason Chester Porter! It was a day or so ago, but celebrate tonight! Happy Birthday Joan Bittner! It's her bday today! Celebrate tonight!
NOTE: Don't click on the images above ... Blogger is fuct and won't load them in their own windas. It crams them in this one. Lame.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
One of the things I love almost as much as I love my little wife and giant baby is cheese. Also coming close is beer, the Chicago Cubs, the Chicago Bears, the rest of my family, my bike, Chuck; my Jeep, Jailbreak; my cat, Porkchop; AC/DC and Camel cigarettes, even though I no longer smoke. But this rant is not about any of the above, with the exceptio of cheese.
On my recent trip to the Pacific Northwest, I had the privilege of visiting the Tillamook Cheese factory while in ... uh ... Tillamook County, Oregon.
I've eaten a meeeeelion pounds of Tillamook chee in my time, so it was quite thrilling to visit and hear their story. The factory is a creamery as well as a chee-production, aging and packaging place, so the ice cream available at the place was outta sight. However, in spite of how much I enjoyed myself, I witnessed something that ended a myth-like thrill I'd get sometimes when opening a fresh brick of Tillamook chee.
The thrill would happen infrequently, but happened enough times to make me eagerly anticipate it happening again: The Bonus Slice. I would rip open a brick and begin to slice or shred and - lo and behold - a bonus slice would be piggybacking the brick! Awesome! I considered myself the lucky recipient of the chee I paid for and a bonus slice, mistakenly put there by a near-sighted packer or a malfunctioning slicer. This was not to be.
Dig if you will the picture:
This gal is doing her job at the factory while simultaneously shooting to shit my dream of periodically being the lucky recipient of a bonus slice of chee.
She's taking each block off the conveyor and weighing each. For those that are too heavy, she deftly slices off a shaving (throwing the shaving in the bin screen right) and for those not up to weight ... ADDING A GODDAMN BONUS SLICE! FOK!
So as the ice cream melted in all the tourists' sugar cones around me in the viewing area, so did my dream of being sometimes-lucky-in-cheese. I'll never be the same.
Tonight - Lucky 13.
Happy Birthday Jason Chester Porter! It was a day or so ago, but celebrate tonight! Happy Birthday Joan Bittner! It's her bday today! Celebrate tonight!
NOTE: Don't click on the images above ... Blogger is fuct and won't load them in their own windas. It crams them in this one. Lame.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Blast From the Past
7.2.2k9
**Substituting for the TNSC Robot is one of his great posts from a few years back. Enjoy!! **
I'm finishing up a book that I have found utterly fascinating and while I don't make a habit out of recomending books I'm compelled to do so in this case. It's called World War Z. In short, it's a collection of interviews with the survivors of a worldwide zombie pandemic. In this holocaust, many BILLIONS of people are killed, many by zombies and in turn reanimate to stalk the living themselves. Aside from my love of zombie movies, comics, stories, etc., this book's undead protagonist could very easily be replaced by a mutated avian flu outbreak or SARS or such. It explores the political, geographical, military, personal and many other points-of-view so deftly and maturely that it's easy to see the fictionalized could manifest into the real if such horrors came to be. I've dreamt of the situations described, and I think of them throughout the day. It's creepy as hell.
I've also been bringing the copies of my Wired Magazine subscription to work after I've read them and ditching them in the restrooms for folks to paw through while taking care of biz. Some asshole has taken the last five issues home with them. I'd love to publicly humiliate them.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
It's the burlesque gals again tonight. Five bucks gets you in.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
**Substituting for the TNSC Robot is one of his great posts from a few years back. Enjoy!! **
I'm finishing up a book that I have found utterly fascinating and while I don't make a habit out of recomending books I'm compelled to do so in this case. It's called World War Z. In short, it's a collection of interviews with the survivors of a worldwide zombie pandemic. In this holocaust, many BILLIONS of people are killed, many by zombies and in turn reanimate to stalk the living themselves. Aside from my love of zombie movies, comics, stories, etc., this book's undead protagonist could very easily be replaced by a mutated avian flu outbreak or SARS or such. It explores the political, geographical, military, personal and many other points-of-view so deftly and maturely that it's easy to see the fictionalized could manifest into the real if such horrors came to be. I've dreamt of the situations described, and I think of them throughout the day. It's creepy as hell.
I've also been bringing the copies of my Wired Magazine subscription to work after I've read them and ditching them in the restrooms for folks to paw through while taking care of biz. Some asshole has taken the last five issues home with them. I'd love to publicly humiliate them.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
It's the burlesque gals again tonight. Five bucks gets you in.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Questio s.
7.1.2k9
What would be more awesome than winnin' the frikkin' lotto?
Is it possible to cook w/ an electric stove?
Will that cat ever shut up?
How many times should I turn this screw?
Why didn't I feel anything?
Doesn't it look nice in Chicago today?
Do I really need that thing?
Where do I buy me some ribs?
Can I get a ride to the bar?
Why did I ever smoke these lousy ciggys?
Is it three o'clock yet?
Oh. And is The Chief Robot a year older yet? Almost. So come on out and celebrate w/o him!!!
Tonight - Kickin' it w/ Jesus at the original TNSC stomping gound: The Orbit Room.
Sure it's lost a little luster (haven't we all?), and sure it takes forever to get a dee-licious cocktail, and sure it's cash only... but still... it's the Orbit.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
What would be more awesome than winnin' the frikkin' lotto?
Is it possible to cook w/ an electric stove?
Will that cat ever shut up?
How many times should I turn this screw?
Why didn't I feel anything?
Doesn't it look nice in Chicago today?
Do I really need that thing?
Where do I buy me some ribs?
Can I get a ride to the bar?
Why did I ever smoke these lousy ciggys?
Is it three o'clock yet?
Oh. And is The Chief Robot a year older yet? Almost. So come on out and celebrate w/o him!!!
Tonight - Kickin' it w/ Jesus at the original TNSC stomping gound: The Orbit Room.
Sure it's lost a little luster (haven't we all?), and sure it takes forever to get a dee-licious cocktail, and sure it's cash only... but still... it's the Orbit.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Coach
6.4.2k8
One meeelion years ago I was in a darkened room, lit only by a dozen CRT monitors. Only sounds were the clickity-clack of the keyboards, the tick-ticks of the mice, the cruel jokes about Greg's mom and the Dean-o drifting out of the yonder Tiki Suite. Then the phone rang. It was Tha Coach.
"I'm dropped off the thing at the place. Now I'm heading back but stopping at the joint. I'm bringing back yum-yums. Ask who wants one," she said.
"Coach is stopping by and picking up yum-yums for us. Who wants one?"
Two or three Freshys said yes.
"Three Freshys and me," I said to Coach.
"Copy that," she said, "four-plus-one yum-yums to go. How are we on Duck Sauce?"
"Duck sauce?" I said.
"That awesome hotsauce with the duck on it," she said.
"Anna," I said, "It's a rooster."
"Who cares," she said, "how much we got?"
"Plenty."
"Awesome. Inbound in twenty."
"Out."
We were on the phone. Fun to talk on phone like it's a walkie. Go!
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
One meeelion years ago I was in a darkened room, lit only by a dozen CRT monitors. Only sounds were the clickity-clack of the keyboards, the tick-ticks of the mice, the cruel jokes about Greg's mom and the Dean-o drifting out of the yonder Tiki Suite. Then the phone rang. It was Tha Coach.
"I'm dropped off the thing at the place. Now I'm heading back but stopping at the joint. I'm bringing back yum-yums. Ask who wants one," she said.
"Coach is stopping by and picking up yum-yums for us. Who wants one?"
Two or three Freshys said yes.
"Three Freshys and me," I said to Coach.
"Copy that," she said, "four-plus-one yum-yums to go. How are we on Duck Sauce?"
"Duck sauce?" I said.
"That awesome hotsauce with the duck on it," she said.
"Anna," I said, "It's a rooster."
"Who cares," she said, "how much we got?"
"Plenty."
"Awesome. Inbound in twenty."
"Out."
We were on the phone. Fun to talk on phone like it's a walkie. Go!
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Oscar Mayer
3.6.2k8
I'm not even a fan of the NBA anymore, and I shouldn't care, but this Lakers victory celebration seemed to me a joke on a colossal scale. First, I didn't hear a car horn, a yelp from a fan, a bottle rocket's report, a .38's report, a house party's eruption into elation upon their NBA Championship ... nothing. I heard not a thing from my apartment in Venice. Yeah, sure, they "really tore it up downtown," but having lived in a city when its team won the NBA Championship, ya don't need to be downtown or close to the stadium to celebrate. I was 15-20 miles north of Chicago Stadium when da Bulls won one of their championship series and we tore it up. We drank beers, banged pots and pans together, detonated M-80s and menaced a stalled cop car. It was great. It was city-wide.
Second, I've always hated the Lakers, even when I liked the NBA.
Now, I watch to tsk the obvious cheating in NBA games. I watch to ... er ... I don't watch NBA games anymore. It's too stupid. It's also stupid that I can hear the drum circle from the beach that's over a mile away but couldn't hear one little hint that the local team just brought home the cup. I think its stupid, but don't mistake that for caring.
Tonight - Edinburgh Castle.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I'm not even a fan of the NBA anymore, and I shouldn't care, but this Lakers victory celebration seemed to me a joke on a colossal scale. First, I didn't hear a car horn, a yelp from a fan, a bottle rocket's report, a .38's report, a house party's eruption into elation upon their NBA Championship ... nothing. I heard not a thing from my apartment in Venice. Yeah, sure, they "really tore it up downtown," but having lived in a city when its team won the NBA Championship, ya don't need to be downtown or close to the stadium to celebrate. I was 15-20 miles north of Chicago Stadium when da Bulls won one of their championship series and we tore it up. We drank beers, banged pots and pans together, detonated M-80s and menaced a stalled cop car. It was great. It was city-wide.
Second, I've always hated the Lakers, even when I liked the NBA.
Now, I watch to tsk the obvious cheating in NBA games. I watch to ... er ... I don't watch NBA games anymore. It's too stupid. It's also stupid that I can hear the drum circle from the beach that's over a mile away but couldn't hear one little hint that the local team just brought home the cup. I think its stupid, but don't mistake that for caring.
Tonight - Edinburgh Castle.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Colony Crime
6.2.2k9
My cheap-ass, no-good, Dixon Landing Road of a landlord nuked my beehive and all my bees are poisoned and dying. Motherfucker.
Tonight - House of Sheilds.
ooh ... Founding Members! ohhh ... Birthdays! ohhhh ... PBR!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
My cheap-ass, no-good, Dixon Landing Road of a landlord nuked my beehive and all my bees are poisoned and dying. Motherfucker.
Tonight - House of Sheilds.
ooh ... Founding Members! ohhh ... Birthdays! ohhhh ... PBR!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Bad Brains
6.1.2k9
I was recently commissioned to make a list of things I hate. That got me thinking about hate, because my first thought was, "easy! I hate a ton of things!!" Green Bay Packers. Hate them!! ... or ... do I? I hate losing to them, I hate when they succeed in my division (NFC North), but do I hate them? I strongly dislike them, but I don't think I hate them. I'll never, EVER root for them, but I don't think I hate them. If other things that "I fuckin' HATE" also ended up instead as "strong dislikes," this gig would be harder than I thought.
Then? A Cubs bullpen meltdown. Hate that. THEN! Chipper Jones game-winning RBI! Aaugh! Hate that!
I started to roll with it. I hate traffic. I hate warm beer. I hate republicans. I hate thieves. I really hate liars! Yes ... the Packers might be spared of my hateful wrath, but there's a lot to hate.
I think it boils down to: I hate things that suck.
Tonight - The Tunnel Top.
Nothin' but love for the Tunnel Top. Hi Bobek!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I was recently commissioned to make a list of things I hate. That got me thinking about hate, because my first thought was, "easy! I hate a ton of things!!" Green Bay Packers. Hate them!! ... or ... do I? I hate losing to them, I hate when they succeed in my division (NFC North), but do I hate them? I strongly dislike them, but I don't think I hate them. I'll never, EVER root for them, but I don't think I hate them. If other things that "I fuckin' HATE" also ended up instead as "strong dislikes," this gig would be harder than I thought.
Then? A Cubs bullpen meltdown. Hate that. THEN! Chipper Jones game-winning RBI! Aaugh! Hate that!
I started to roll with it. I hate traffic. I hate warm beer. I hate republicans. I hate thieves. I really hate liars! Yes ... the Packers might be spared of my hateful wrath, but there's a lot to hate.
I think it boils down to: I hate things that suck.
Tonight - The Tunnel Top.
Nothin' but love for the Tunnel Top. Hi Bobek!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Cryin'
5.4.2k9
Sometimes I miss SF. Not the bums, the urine-stench, the incessant cold ... no ... not the most prominent things in the city, but other things.
I miss my pals, the restaurants and the bars. I miss the proper TNSC. It's a drag to not be a big part of it anymore.
I mostly miss going to rock shows in SF. There ain't no good surrogate for The Fillmore, GAMH or Slims. Those three venues hosted so many of the best shows I ever attended it's impossible to count. LA has some pretty good venues, but none are terribly easy or convenient to get to. And FORGET about walking to them ... this place is too spread out. I walked to or from each of the SF places many, many times.
Enjoy the night tonight, I hear it's pretty typical weather. Yes, bring a jacket.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Sometimes I miss SF. Not the bums, the urine-stench, the incessant cold ... no ... not the most prominent things in the city, but other things.
I miss my pals, the restaurants and the bars. I miss the proper TNSC. It's a drag to not be a big part of it anymore.
I mostly miss going to rock shows in SF. There ain't no good surrogate for The Fillmore, GAMH or Slims. Those three venues hosted so many of the best shows I ever attended it's impossible to count. LA has some pretty good venues, but none are terribly easy or convenient to get to. And FORGET about walking to them ... this place is too spread out. I walked to or from each of the SF places many, many times.
Enjoy the night tonight, I hear it's pretty typical weather. Yes, bring a jacket.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Quinny Quinn Quinn
5.3.2k9
I subscribe to some spam here and there. I get spam from Peet's™, the Cubs, Da Bears and the Independent Film Channel. I got spam from IFC recently that delivered a facebook-like punch to the memory bean. And not unlike true facebook memory whacks, this one dates from what seems like a meeelion years back. During, in some respects, my former life.
I have a pal from school that I have loosely kept in touch with since we went to school together in Chicago. She moved to NYC at some point mid-90s, and I moved to SF a year or so later. While we were in school, and for several years after, we were pretty tight. We'd go to rock shows, movies, restaurants, race tracks and such. We even worked together for a time. We once rescued a Daniel Boone-like skin of fuckin' MEAD from her 1980 Olds Cutlass after it had been swiped by a gang and deliberately wrecked into their rival's ride. (Side note: An Olds Cutlass, even at moderate speed, will inflict some hideous damage to just about any rival gang's ride.) (Additio al side note: Mead is fuckin-A disgusting.)
Anyway ... some of you know my former GF, whom I refer to as The Previous Administration. She and I lived together for some time and that meant when her ma came to visit, she'd come and stay with us. I didn't mind her ma much. She was okay.
One time, The PA's ma was in town and my school pal came over to watch a movie. She said she'd heard of the great new French movie and that it was available at the local video store, so we walked over and got it. We threw it in the VCR and all got comfy. It was indeed a beautifully shot movie. And the story was pretty good: A super-hot French gal fell in love with a super-hot Chinese guy in what was formerly French Indochina. So what do two super-hotties do that love each other? You guessed it ... they got it ON! And ... on. And on. And on, and so on. At one point, he fucked her across the god damn floor.
Let me take a moment to remind you that it wasn't just me, my pal and The PA ... the PA's frikkin' MOTHER sat there with us watching a guy fuck a gal across a floor. I'm cool in most situations, but I draw the line at watching a guy buff the floor with a gal's ass in the company of a mom. It was so uncomfortable, I couldn't even get up and go out and smoke. I had to pretend I wasn't there. Better yet, I had to pretend I was asleep ... which I did. It was the only way out.
I'm going to ring up my pal and thank her again for screening pr0n for my former girlfriend's mom. And I'll tell her the IFC spam I got said that the very same flick is going to be on their station soon. See for yourself: Guy Fucks Girl Across Floor Movie.
Tonight - A first!!! "TNSC Two-fer" Meet up for Bingo at 8pm at The Knockout, followed by a trek down Missio Street to the infinitely less "childish" (JPo's words, not mine) Argus Lounge around 10-10:30.
See you there!! I know I'll be!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I subscribe to some spam here and there. I get spam from Peet's™, the Cubs, Da Bears and the Independent Film Channel. I got spam from IFC recently that delivered a facebook-like punch to the memory bean. And not unlike true facebook memory whacks, this one dates from what seems like a meeelion years back. During, in some respects, my former life.
I have a pal from school that I have loosely kept in touch with since we went to school together in Chicago. She moved to NYC at some point mid-90s, and I moved to SF a year or so later. While we were in school, and for several years after, we were pretty tight. We'd go to rock shows, movies, restaurants, race tracks and such. We even worked together for a time. We once rescued a Daniel Boone-like skin of fuckin' MEAD from her 1980 Olds Cutlass after it had been swiped by a gang and deliberately wrecked into their rival's ride. (Side note: An Olds Cutlass, even at moderate speed, will inflict some hideous damage to just about any rival gang's ride.) (Additio al side note: Mead is fuckin-A disgusting.)
Anyway ... some of you know my former GF, whom I refer to as The Previous Administration. She and I lived together for some time and that meant when her ma came to visit, she'd come and stay with us. I didn't mind her ma much. She was okay.
One time, The PA's ma was in town and my school pal came over to watch a movie. She said she'd heard of the great new French movie and that it was available at the local video store, so we walked over and got it. We threw it in the VCR and all got comfy. It was indeed a beautifully shot movie. And the story was pretty good: A super-hot French gal fell in love with a super-hot Chinese guy in what was formerly French Indochina. So what do two super-hotties do that love each other? You guessed it ... they got it ON! And ... on. And on. And on, and so on. At one point, he fucked her across the god damn floor.
Let me take a moment to remind you that it wasn't just me, my pal and The PA ... the PA's frikkin' MOTHER sat there with us watching a guy fuck a gal across a floor. I'm cool in most situations, but I draw the line at watching a guy buff the floor with a gal's ass in the company of a mom. It was so uncomfortable, I couldn't even get up and go out and smoke. I had to pretend I wasn't there. Better yet, I had to pretend I was asleep ... which I did. It was the only way out.
I'm going to ring up my pal and thank her again for screening pr0n for my former girlfriend's mom. And I'll tell her the IFC spam I got said that the very same flick is going to be on their station soon. See for yourself: Guy Fucks Girl Across Floor Movie.
Tonight - A first!!! "TNSC Two-fer" Meet up for Bingo at 8pm at The Knockout, followed by a trek down Missio Street to the infinitely less "childish" (JPo's words, not mine) Argus Lounge around 10-10:30.
See you there!! I know I'll be!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Little Sneak!
5.2.2k9
If it were not for the deluxe lady I got my life would be sadly devoid of thrills these days and I know it. I can easily imagine my day-in, day-out if she weren't around to yell at me and it would be MONOTONY: Get up, go to work, come home, water lawn, have drinks, burp Ez, go to bed. Repeat M-F, throw in a few Cubs losses and that's it. yep!
Have discovered a small, almost insignificant treat that kinda rules, and I'm gonna have to remember it next time she's outta town.
Some time ago I told ya a couple storys about the Electric-aire restroom hand dryers. The storys aside, I got a love-hate relationship with them when I'm forced to use one. I hate that they take so goddamn long to dry one's hands, but I love the magic moment when the warm air so perfectly dries the last, minute amounts of water and leaves truly dry hands - not towelled, not 'moist' - dry. That's the only benefit of the hour it takes to use one them things.
So ... the thing that I've discovered that kinda rules is this: Lately, after washing my hands in the restroom at work, I paper towel-off the water, chuck the soggy nap into the trash - AND FINISH WITH THE ELECTRIC-AIRE. It's like cutting to the front of the beer line. It's like getting something for nothing. It's like having yr cake and eating it too.
Tonight - Burlesque!!!
"Little Minsky's" celebrates their 4th year at Club Deluxe.
Five buck-cover for them minsky peelers burlesque gals tonight. Go!
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Chicken balls.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
5.2.2k9
If it were not for the deluxe lady I got my life would be sadly devoid of thrills these days and I know it. I can easily imagine my day-in, day-out if she weren't around to yell at me and it would be MONOTONY: Get up, go to work, come home, water lawn, have drinks, burp Ez, go to bed. Repeat M-F, throw in a few Cubs losses and that's it. yep!
Have discovered a small, almost insignificant treat that kinda rules, and I'm gonna have to remember it next time she's outta town.
Some time ago I told ya a couple storys about the Electric-aire restroom hand dryers. The storys aside, I got a love-hate relationship with them when I'm forced to use one. I hate that they take so goddamn long to dry one's hands, but I love the magic moment when the warm air so perfectly dries the last, minute amounts of water and leaves truly dry hands - not towelled, not 'moist' - dry. That's the only benefit of the hour it takes to use one them things.
So ... the thing that I've discovered that kinda rules is this: Lately, after washing my hands in the restroom at work, I paper towel-off the water, chuck the soggy nap into the trash - AND FINISH WITH THE ELECTRIC-AIRE. It's like cutting to the front of the beer line. It's like getting something for nothing. It's like having yr cake and eating it too.
Tonight - Burlesque!!!
"Little Minsky's" celebrates their 4th year at Club Deluxe.
Five buck-cover for them minsky peelers burlesque gals tonight. Go!
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Chicken balls.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Lemon
5.1.2k9
What do you think about camping food? Do you settle for dogs and beans or do you make elaborate camping meals ahead of time for reheating outdoors like my mother used to make? I'd love to go fancy like that but more often I snag a mess of dogs and brats, buns, beans and corn. 'course ya got bacon and eggs in the morning but dinner is cooked over flamin' logs.
I was campin' years ago when I was in college. A few us fucked off down Southern Illinois town called Carbondale. Home of Southern Illinois University and Marion Fed. Pen. Got Gotti? Marion does. Had Gacy. He dead now. Anyway, Carbondale is a wonderful place to camp. Took a newbie camper with us (or he took us as he had the wheels) and boy was he un-fun. Fucking complained about the cold, the scary night noises, the rocks we threw at him and on and on. One night we were roasting some smoky links squewered on sticks over the fire when this fuckwit allowed his link to fall off stick and into fire. He quickly snatched it out only to make like he was going to heave it into the brush. Another pal stopped his hand, "What do you think yr doing," he asked. "It fell. It's got ashes all over it," he replied. I said, "then what are you going to eat, dummy? That's all you get. Wipe off the ashes and cover with mustard. It will be fine." He resisted, but realized it WAS his only dinner and complied. No big deal: I've eaten floor food many times.
So fast fwd to about a week ago when I'm on the patio of this bar w/ this babe enjoying some afternoon sun and an icy-cold adult beverage. The barkeep and some of his helpful pals were BBQing burgers and dogs for the patrons. Real nice. Then barkeep whips a pan of marinating chicken breasts to the grill's work area, only to place it badly and have it D R O P it on the pavement. Marinade, chicken breasts and pan. Barkeep's pals howled with laughter while barkeep visibly held back a full-on rage. Thinking quickly I yelled, "FIVE SECOND RULE!!" and barkeep's pals laughed a confirmation. Barkeep winked at me and picked the chicken off the pavement, paper-towelled off the 'bits' and threw 'em where jebus intended marinated chicken breasts to be: On the grill.
Catch Maggie Estep at City Lights @ 7pm, then cross the street and head to TOSCA for friends & cocktails.
Cash only. 25¢ for the juke box.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Happy belated Cinco de Mayo!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
5.1.2k9
What do you think about camping food? Do you settle for dogs and beans or do you make elaborate camping meals ahead of time for reheating outdoors like my mother used to make? I'd love to go fancy like that but more often I snag a mess of dogs and brats, buns, beans and corn. 'course ya got bacon and eggs in the morning but dinner is cooked over flamin' logs.
I was campin' years ago when I was in college. A few us fucked off down Southern Illinois town called Carbondale. Home of Southern Illinois University and Marion Fed. Pen. Got Gotti? Marion does. Had Gacy. He dead now. Anyway, Carbondale is a wonderful place to camp. Took a newbie camper with us (or he took us as he had the wheels) and boy was he un-fun. Fucking complained about the cold, the scary night noises, the rocks we threw at him and on and on. One night we were roasting some smoky links squewered on sticks over the fire when this fuckwit allowed his link to fall off stick and into fire. He quickly snatched it out only to make like he was going to heave it into the brush. Another pal stopped his hand, "What do you think yr doing," he asked. "It fell. It's got ashes all over it," he replied. I said, "then what are you going to eat, dummy? That's all you get. Wipe off the ashes and cover with mustard. It will be fine." He resisted, but realized it WAS his only dinner and complied. No big deal: I've eaten floor food many times.
So fast fwd to about a week ago when I'm on the patio of this bar w/ this babe enjoying some afternoon sun and an icy-cold adult beverage. The barkeep and some of his helpful pals were BBQing burgers and dogs for the patrons. Real nice. Then barkeep whips a pan of marinating chicken breasts to the grill's work area, only to place it badly and have it D R O P it on the pavement. Marinade, chicken breasts and pan. Barkeep's pals howled with laughter while barkeep visibly held back a full-on rage. Thinking quickly I yelled, "FIVE SECOND RULE!!" and barkeep's pals laughed a confirmation. Barkeep winked at me and picked the chicken off the pavement, paper-towelled off the 'bits' and threw 'em where jebus intended marinated chicken breasts to be: On the grill.
Catch Maggie Estep at City Lights @ 7pm, then cross the street and head to TOSCA for friends & cocktails.
Cash only. 25¢ for the juke box.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Happy belated Cinco de Mayo!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
George Liquor
4.5.2k9
I like guacamole but it doesn't like me. I'm kinda allergic to avocado, ya see. It's a crying shame, to be sure, but I can think of two or three things that would suck a lot more if I were allergic to them. Beer, coffee, bacon, Tabasco® Brand Pepper Sauce, among others.
I'm gearing up to construct a seven-layer Mexi dip, in honor of our southern amigos who've to the H1N1. Like many Mexi specials, a traditional seven-layer dip has guac as one of the layers. Not my dip. I pondered a while on the matter of a worthy substitution. Diced tomatoes? Nah. Onion? Nope. I got refried beans (1), crema (2), diced green chiles (3), jalapeno (4), salsa (5), shredded chee (6), sliced onion (7) ... waitaminute ... I got seven already. Sans guac. Who the fok made up this dumb recipe? Why is it known as "seven-layer" dip when seven layers makes up the core of the thing? I haven't even gotten to the crumbled bacon and chorizo layer.
Happy Uno de Mayo tomorrow.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I like guacamole but it doesn't like me. I'm kinda allergic to avocado, ya see. It's a crying shame, to be sure, but I can think of two or three things that would suck a lot more if I were allergic to them. Beer, coffee, bacon, Tabasco® Brand Pepper Sauce, among others.
I'm gearing up to construct a seven-layer Mexi dip, in honor of our southern amigos who've to the H1N1. Like many Mexi specials, a traditional seven-layer dip has guac as one of the layers. Not my dip. I pondered a while on the matter of a worthy substitution. Diced tomatoes? Nah. Onion? Nope. I got refried beans (1), crema (2), diced green chiles (3), jalapeno (4), salsa (5), shredded chee (6), sliced onion (7) ... waitaminute ... I got seven already. Sans guac. Who the fok made up this dumb recipe? Why is it known as "seven-layer" dip when seven layers makes up the core of the thing? I haven't even gotten to the crumbled bacon and chorizo layer.
Happy Uno de Mayo tomorrow.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Like to steal. Here's yr bill.
4.4.2k9
I beg you to go to Spec's.
I would if I could. I'm a Barbie Doll but I've got brains!
Tonight - Spec's.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I beg you to go to Spec's.
I would if I could. I'm a Barbie Doll but I've got brains!
Tonight - Spec's.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Alternative Ulster
4.3.2k9
I was once at the mercy of a Buzzkill. The Buzzkill was a licensed vehicle operator when I was just a wee robot. The Buzzkill would not let me or the other wee robots operate the tapedeck in his vehicle. The Buzzkill listened only to Scorpions Live and a tape of Stiff Little Fingers singles his brother made him. Thank Christ for his brother.
Tonight - ElixirSF.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I was once at the mercy of a Buzzkill. The Buzzkill was a licensed vehicle operator when I was just a wee robot. The Buzzkill would not let me or the other wee robots operate the tapedeck in his vehicle. The Buzzkill listened only to Scorpions Live and a tape of Stiff Little Fingers singles his brother made him. Thank Christ for his brother.
Tonight - ElixirSF.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 09, 2009
A Mule Eating Garlic.
4.2.2k9
I told several of you that I'd let you know how my sentinel chickens worked out. It was great, for a while. The little gals would let me know when the UPS guy was coming and whether he carried a package that needed a signature, so I could scoot home in time to meet him. They alerted me that the sprinklers were fixin' to come on and I dashed out to snag my solar hotdog cooker so it didn't get soaked and rust. They also got pretty good about knowing when Ez was going to burp just air opposed to spitting up his chow. They were great. I highly recommend you try them.
Problem, and I have to admit it, is that we live next door to gypsies. How could living next door to gypsies be a problem, you ask? Up till recently, I'd have been unable to tell you one good reason why it would be a problem living next door to gypsies, but now I can give you one. They "ate" several of my sentinel chickens. I wheeled up to the apartment and smelled delicious cooking meat - as one usually does when one lives next door to gypsies - but I became alarmed when only part of my flock flocked to me. "055," ""147" and "Beth" didn't come. I thought they were angry with me for chastising them when they didn't alert me that the parking jerks were coming to tow the boat of filth (so I could watch and cheer), but that wasn't it. No, they were on their way to lining the stomachs of our gypsy neighbors.
So I had to turn them back in. I told the service a marmot got in their cage and smoked a couple of them. All in all, though, they were great. Ez and I loved them. My little wife? Not so much. She only liked "Beth."
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I told several of you that I'd let you know how my sentinel chickens worked out. It was great, for a while. The little gals would let me know when the UPS guy was coming and whether he carried a package that needed a signature, so I could scoot home in time to meet him. They alerted me that the sprinklers were fixin' to come on and I dashed out to snag my solar hotdog cooker so it didn't get soaked and rust. They also got pretty good about knowing when Ez was going to burp just air opposed to spitting up his chow. They were great. I highly recommend you try them.
Problem, and I have to admit it, is that we live next door to gypsies. How could living next door to gypsies be a problem, you ask? Up till recently, I'd have been unable to tell you one good reason why it would be a problem living next door to gypsies, but now I can give you one. They "ate" several of my sentinel chickens. I wheeled up to the apartment and smelled delicious cooking meat - as one usually does when one lives next door to gypsies - but I became alarmed when only part of my flock flocked to me. "055," ""147" and "Beth" didn't come. I thought they were angry with me for chastising them when they didn't alert me that the parking jerks were coming to tow the boat of filth (so I could watch and cheer), but that wasn't it. No, they were on their way to lining the stomachs of our gypsy neighbors.
So I had to turn them back in. I told the service a marmot got in their cage and smoked a couple of them. All in all, though, they were great. Ez and I loved them. My little wife? Not so much. She only liked "Beth."
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Eatin' Dust.
4.1.2k9
If yr in the market for a car and you didn't buy before yesterday yr gonna get hit with the new registratio fee. Hop to it no more: Yr gonna pay even more for yr new ride. Man, I love fees. My favorite is the "convenience fee" that goddamn ticketmaster puts on its transactio s. It certainly IS convenient to snag tix on the intertubes from the comfort of my own home, but it ain't worth near the cost of the tix themselves.
I learned a while back to MAKE IT CONVENIENT to swing past the box office and procure tix ... do this by scheduling a trip to the Amoeba record store! There's a constant gravitatio-al pull from that store anyway ... why not submit to it every time there's an act at HOB or da Music Box you wanna see?
In other money news, the vendy that was randomly eating an extra quarter from me began flashing and blinking its internal lightbulb. I peered in to watch it explode (protective glass between it and me) only to be disappointed, as it didn't blow. I shrugged and chucked in two quarters and punched Q for a 45¢ sac of Chili-Chee Fritos®. My nickel clunked into the coin return and I stopped. It clunked. It usually clinks. I dug in and hauled out a handful of quarters, dimes and my nickel. Woo hoo. Old Man Vendy paid ME 6 bucks in quarters to snack a sac of Chili-Chee®. Day started right.
Tonight - Bacchus Kirk.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
If yr in the market for a car and you didn't buy before yesterday yr gonna get hit with the new registratio fee. Hop to it no more: Yr gonna pay even more for yr new ride. Man, I love fees. My favorite is the "convenience fee" that goddamn ticketmaster puts on its transactio s. It certainly IS convenient to snag tix on the intertubes from the comfort of my own home, but it ain't worth near the cost of the tix themselves.
I learned a while back to MAKE IT CONVENIENT to swing past the box office and procure tix ... do this by scheduling a trip to the Amoeba record store! There's a constant gravitatio-al pull from that store anyway ... why not submit to it every time there's an act at HOB or da Music Box you wanna see?
In other money news, the vendy that was randomly eating an extra quarter from me began flashing and blinking its internal lightbulb. I peered in to watch it explode (protective glass between it and me) only to be disappointed, as it didn't blow. I shrugged and chucked in two quarters and punched Q for a 45¢ sac of Chili-Chee Fritos®. My nickel clunked into the coin return and I stopped. It clunked. It usually clinks. I dug in and hauled out a handful of quarters, dimes and my nickel. Woo hoo. Old Man Vendy paid ME 6 bucks in quarters to snack a sac of Chili-Chee®. Day started right.
Tonight - Bacchus Kirk.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Jesus!
3.4.2k9
Wasn't too long ago I vowed to stop throwin' out food. I'd try harder to cook what I bought, then eat what I cooked. It ain't workin' out exactly as I had planned. Really good lookin' tomatoes find their way home with me from the store and a while later find their moldy butts in my trashcan. Same with luncheon meats, breads, cheeses and all variety of fruit and veg. Sucks. I hate the hell outta wasting foods. Funny how that bag o' chips and icy Coors Lights will get voted into Dinner Office when a perfectly good Deluxe Salad candidate get's Al Gored.
Tonight: Homestead.
Try to: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Treat them to the TNSC HQ's hospitality. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.4.2k9
Wasn't too long ago I vowed to stop throwin' out food. I'd try harder to cook what I bought, then eat what I cooked. It ain't workin' out exactly as I had planned. Really good lookin' tomatoes find their way home with me from the store and a while later find their moldy butts in my trashcan. Same with luncheon meats, breads, cheeses and all variety of fruit and veg. Sucks. I hate the hell outta wasting foods. Funny how that bag o' chips and icy Coors Lights will get voted into Dinner Office when a perfectly good Deluxe Salad candidate get's Al Gored.
Tonight: Homestead.
Try to: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Treat them to the TNSC HQ's hospitality. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Ventana
3.3.2k9
One or two of you might have heard that the Chicago Cubs are considering alternate sites for their future Spring Training home. Alternate to Mesa, Arizona's Hohokam Park, run by the Mesa Hohokam tribe of, uh, Hohokams.
I go to Spring Training every year (just went: It was great! Thanks!) and I for one (?) really dig the old-timey feel of Hohokam. I also like parking in the lot owned by the white-haired lady w/ the moustache. I like the freakin-49er prospector-looking old dude hawking tickets by the canal (I think he pans the canal for ’em). I also REALLY like making fun of Mesa – what a dump! I kid Mesa. Not really. Dump.
Anyway … I would be very unhappy. And not in the way our Cubs usually make me unhappy.
Tonight - Hemlock Tavern.
Jeremy? Hemlock? hint hint
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
One or two of you might have heard that the Chicago Cubs are considering alternate sites for their future Spring Training home. Alternate to Mesa, Arizona's Hohokam Park, run by the Mesa Hohokam tribe of, uh, Hohokams.
I go to Spring Training every year (just went: It was great! Thanks!) and I for one (?) really dig the old-timey feel of Hohokam. I also like parking in the lot owned by the white-haired lady w/ the moustache. I like the freakin-49er prospector-looking old dude hawking tickets by the canal (I think he pans the canal for ’em). I also REALLY like making fun of Mesa – what a dump! I kid Mesa. Not really. Dump.
Anyway … I would be very unhappy. And not in the way our Cubs usually make me unhappy.
Tonight - Hemlock Tavern.
Jeremy? Hemlock? hint hint
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Stretch
3.2.2k9
I got to read some of a letter from St. John to the Phillipians in front of a bunch of sad peeps yesterday. The planet Earth lost a good man and we said goodbye to him. RIP James Francis Herold III.
Here's one of the myriad stories of him:
We were in Phoenix for some event in 1998 or so, and we were taking the edge off something at a watering hole near the hotels we were staying at.
Jimi, for reasons we didn't know then and now will never know, wore a construction helmet festooned with decals of SAC/NORAD's 90th Strategic Missle Wing. Where and why he got it are also lost to the ages.
He was, as usual, very gregarious and convivial that night. He approached every table and offered greetings and salutations.
He saluted and toasted all, but when it came time for clinkeys, he'd bow his protected cranium and offer up his helmet for cheers. Steins, highball glasses, beer cans, beer bottles, knuckles and the like would clunk, clink, clank, clang, peal and thunk. All would laugh.
That was our man. That was our Jimi.
We have one meeelion great memories of him. The only thing that sucks is that there will be no more coming.
... but there's a lot in the tank. We love you, brother.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
Five buck-cover for them minsky peelers burlesque gals tonight. Go.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I got to read some of a letter from St. John to the Phillipians in front of a bunch of sad peeps yesterday. The planet Earth lost a good man and we said goodbye to him. RIP James Francis Herold III.
Here's one of the myriad stories of him:
We were in Phoenix for some event in 1998 or so, and we were taking the edge off something at a watering hole near the hotels we were staying at.
Jimi, for reasons we didn't know then and now will never know, wore a construction helmet festooned with decals of SAC/NORAD's 90th Strategic Missle Wing. Where and why he got it are also lost to the ages.
He was, as usual, very gregarious and convivial that night. He approached every table and offered greetings and salutations.
He saluted and toasted all, but when it came time for clinkeys, he'd bow his protected cranium and offer up his helmet for cheers. Steins, highball glasses, beer cans, beer bottles, knuckles and the like would clunk, clink, clank, clang, peal and thunk. All would laugh.
That was our man. That was our Jimi.
We have one meeelion great memories of him. The only thing that sucks is that there will be no more coming.
... but there's a lot in the tank. We love you, brother.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
Five buck-cover for them minsky peelers burlesque gals tonight. Go.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Smoke the world.
3.1.2k9
The world's a mess, it's in my Venue Announcemt! Wow but Lee Lee the Musical Bee and I had a goooooood time at HOB on the Sunset Strip with our old pals Helmet and Fu Manchu last night! What were you puppies and kitties up to?
Go get bleu cheese-covered fries here!
Tonight - Irish Bank.
citysearch blows
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
The world's a mess, it's in my Venue Announcemt! Wow but Lee Lee the Musical Bee and I had a goooooood time at HOB on the Sunset Strip with our old pals Helmet and Fu Manchu last night! What were you puppies and kitties up to?
Go get bleu cheese-covered fries here!
Tonight - Irish Bank.
citysearch blows
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Rosey
2.4.2k9
I don't really give a damn that I don't know my way around LA very well. I don't intend on staying here long enough to become an expert. So, like many of you, I bust out Google Maps to light my way when I'm going somewhere I ain't been before. This is usually a so-called "slam dunk," but when Goog starts telling me to "Flip a bitch," or, "make a U-turn" as some of you call it, I call bullshit. I had to take Ez to the vet ... er ... pediatrician ... and while I knew the back way to it, I wanted to know the fastest way.
So into Google Maps goes the starting point and the destination. It spits out the predictable route (the same way with a slight mod for my place to MY doc) but it says to take a right at Manchester, flip a bitch and continue the opposite way down Manchester - all this in the place of taking a LEFT at Manchester, a traffic maneuver I know can be legally made.
It took some fucking with the little blue line on the Google Map, but I found the magic zone that let the Google route take the left turn, so I knew that the Google Map robot was quick to suggest the U-turn.
Forward a few weeks and I'm going to my doc at his Marina office and as I haven't been to it before, I Google Map out a route. Sure enough, the route orders a U-turn at Mindinao. "Crap!" I declare and shrug off the suggestion, deciding to circle around west of the office, turn left and left again and thereby approach from the south. Sounded pretty good and worked up to the point that there was ... uh ... NO LEFT TURN onto Lincoln (my northerly left turn). On through the light I needed to turn at I went, and wound around the hospital complex and found another NO LEFT TURN. Farther and farther on before I could turn North. I had to then go pretty far west and eventually found myself on Google's suggested path ... to the point that I got to it's suggested U-turn ... which was clearly marked as a left-turn lane with U-turn privileges. One tire-squealing U-turn later and I'm right where I should be. At this point I felt not unlike the turd that had been circling the fuckin' drain for a while. Dammit.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I don't really give a damn that I don't know my way around LA very well. I don't intend on staying here long enough to become an expert. So, like many of you, I bust out Google Maps to light my way when I'm going somewhere I ain't been before. This is usually a so-called "slam dunk," but when Goog starts telling me to "Flip a bitch," or, "make a U-turn" as some of you call it, I call bullshit. I had to take Ez to the vet ... er ... pediatrician ... and while I knew the back way to it, I wanted to know the fastest way.
So into Google Maps goes the starting point and the destination. It spits out the predictable route (the same way with a slight mod for my place to MY doc) but it says to take a right at Manchester, flip a bitch and continue the opposite way down Manchester - all this in the place of taking a LEFT at Manchester, a traffic maneuver I know can be legally made.
It took some fucking with the little blue line on the Google Map, but I found the magic zone that let the Google route take the left turn, so I knew that the Google Map robot was quick to suggest the U-turn.
Forward a few weeks and I'm going to my doc at his Marina office and as I haven't been to it before, I Google Map out a route. Sure enough, the route orders a U-turn at Mindinao. "Crap!" I declare and shrug off the suggestion, deciding to circle around west of the office, turn left and left again and thereby approach from the south. Sounded pretty good and worked up to the point that there was ... uh ... NO LEFT TURN onto Lincoln (my northerly left turn). On through the light I needed to turn at I went, and wound around the hospital complex and found another NO LEFT TURN. Farther and farther on before I could turn North. I had to then go pretty far west and eventually found myself on Google's suggested path ... to the point that I got to it's suggested U-turn ... which was clearly marked as a left-turn lane with U-turn privileges. One tire-squealing U-turn later and I'm right where I should be. At this point I felt not unlike the turd that had been circling the fuckin' drain for a while. Dammit.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Fenestratio !
2.3.2k9
Fer better or worse, computers are quite crucial to my life. Communication, entertainment, research, news, "relaxation," and my CAREER have computers as the key component. I'm really happy with my home computer setup. I got a slick, fast, feature-rich PowerBook that runs a fantastic operating system. I got a huge storage drive that currently has about 50 days-worth of music. And I got a phone, a camera and another gadget that play nicely with the computer.
I'm not having the same joy with my work computer. Sure it's fast and the applications work as they're intended to, but dealing with the Windows OS has always bummed me out. Recently there's one particular thing about the Windows experience that kills me: The "Windows Button."
If you don't know of the "Windows Button," it's fairly simply explained. One button to the left and to the right of the spacebar is the "Windows Button." Pressing it one gets booted out of the application they are in and presented with the "Start Menu" that contains shortcuts to applications. Ok, on the surface it's a fine idea. A hard-wired shortcut that MS knows by god that its customers NEED. Realistically, though, it sucks. It sucks because when one augments their primary input device (in my case a Wacom pressure-sensitive graphics tablet and stylus) with the keyboard to quickly change tools, the "Windows Button" is strategically located to get in the way. My work demands attention, concentration, focus and precision. I cannot afford to break concentration by looking down at my keyboard, let alone be totally derailed by accidentally touching the "Windows Button" when trying to press CTL or ALT and being presented with a shortcut to MY DOCUMENTS. It's retarded. It needs to go.
So I'm putting a call out to a List Member. I can't remember who it was but they had a kid. A clever kid. A young lad that will be going places in his life. This kid modified his daddy's computer's keyboard. And I'm talkin' CUSTOM mod. And with a non-standard tool: His SHOE! This kid extracted the Z key from his dad's computer with his shoe. I need to rent that kid and his shoe to get over here and rid me of this "Windows Button."
Will no one rid me of this meddlesome button?
Tonight - The Attic.
Lori... that's in your 'hood!!
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
BART-friendly!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Fer better or worse, computers are quite crucial to my life. Communication, entertainment, research, news, "relaxation," and my CAREER have computers as the key component. I'm really happy with my home computer setup. I got a slick, fast, feature-rich PowerBook that runs a fantastic operating system. I got a huge storage drive that currently has about 50 days-worth of music. And I got a phone, a camera and another gadget that play nicely with the computer.
I'm not having the same joy with my work computer. Sure it's fast and the applications work as they're intended to, but dealing with the Windows OS has always bummed me out. Recently there's one particular thing about the Windows experience that kills me: The "Windows Button."
If you don't know of the "Windows Button," it's fairly simply explained. One button to the left and to the right of the spacebar is the "Windows Button." Pressing it one gets booted out of the application they are in and presented with the "Start Menu" that contains shortcuts to applications. Ok, on the surface it's a fine idea. A hard-wired shortcut that MS knows by god that its customers NEED. Realistically, though, it sucks. It sucks because when one augments their primary input device (in my case a Wacom pressure-sensitive graphics tablet and stylus) with the keyboard to quickly change tools, the "Windows Button" is strategically located to get in the way. My work demands attention, concentration, focus and precision. I cannot afford to break concentration by looking down at my keyboard, let alone be totally derailed by accidentally touching the "Windows Button" when trying to press CTL or ALT and being presented with a shortcut to MY DOCUMENTS. It's retarded. It needs to go.
So I'm putting a call out to a List Member. I can't remember who it was but they had a kid. A clever kid. A young lad that will be going places in his life. This kid modified his daddy's computer's keyboard. And I'm talkin' CUSTOM mod. And with a non-standard tool: His SHOE! This kid extracted the Z key from his dad's computer with his shoe. I need to rent that kid and his shoe to get over here and rid me of this "Windows Button."
Will no one rid me of this meddlesome button?
Tonight - The Attic.
Lori... that's in your 'hood!!
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
BART-friendly!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Beer Bong
2.2.2k9
One thousand bloggers have blogged about cell phone etiquette and the lack thereof. I'm not going to bark about any of those tired subjects, but I will bring up a cell-related behavior I've noticed about many people: Some people answer the phone with an inquisitive "hello?" even though their phone's caller ID reveals the caller's identity. Why? Why do people do this?
Is it a holdover from simpler times when the rotary phone and its real ringer rang and it was anyone's guess whether it was Aunt Jenny or that fucker selling time-shares? I can't imagine it being anything but that. My smarty-pants phone even displays a picture of the caller, so even if I'm bleary-eyed, I know it's Linkey-Loo Robot calling me with Tonight's Venue (I'll get to that in a minute). My phone rings, it's Linkey-Loo Robot, I answer and say, "Hey, Linkey-Loo." Not, "Hello? Who is calling, please?" No.
Look ... even when the phone rings with someone not in its address book, I don't answer it with an interrogative ... I know it's that fucker selling refinanced mortgages, so I say, "State your business, and make it good," or "If you're calling about a mortgage, I'm a renter," or "This better be good." More often, though, I decline from answering.
So ... if you're one of the few who's not in my address book ... you can always find me here if ya need me.
Tonight - Lucky 13.
You lucky devils!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
One thousand bloggers have blogged about cell phone etiquette and the lack thereof. I'm not going to bark about any of those tired subjects, but I will bring up a cell-related behavior I've noticed about many people: Some people answer the phone with an inquisitive "hello?" even though their phone's caller ID reveals the caller's identity. Why? Why do people do this?
Is it a holdover from simpler times when the rotary phone and its real ringer rang and it was anyone's guess whether it was Aunt Jenny or that fucker selling time-shares? I can't imagine it being anything but that. My smarty-pants phone even displays a picture of the caller, so even if I'm bleary-eyed, I know it's Linkey-Loo Robot calling me with Tonight's Venue (I'll get to that in a minute). My phone rings, it's Linkey-Loo Robot, I answer and say, "Hey, Linkey-Loo." Not, "Hello? Who is calling, please?" No.
Look ... even when the phone rings with someone not in its address book, I don't answer it with an interrogative ... I know it's that fucker selling refinanced mortgages, so I say, "State your business, and make it good," or "If you're calling about a mortgage, I'm a renter," or "This better be good." More often, though, I decline from answering.
So ... if you're one of the few who's not in my address book ... you can always find me here if ya need me.
Tonight - Lucky 13.
You lucky devils!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Can your pussy do the dog?
2.1.2k9
I had a great Venue Announcement ready to go about sneaking into the bus depot across the street and gender-bending their ice sculptures with some ironic adds here and take-aways there, only to be emotionally, spiritually, psychically and physically derailed by the sad, sad news that one of my rock heroes, Lux Interior of The Cramps, has died. It took the VA right away from me. Console one another at the bar. Rub up against the rock stars that will be there tonight. Stick out your can.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I had a great Venue Announcement ready to go about sneaking into the bus depot across the street and gender-bending their ice sculptures with some ironic adds here and take-aways there, only to be emotionally, spiritually, psychically and physically derailed by the sad, sad news that one of my rock heroes, Lux Interior of The Cramps, has died. It took the VA right away from me. Console one another at the bar. Rub up against the rock stars that will be there tonight. Stick out your can.
Tonight - Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Here:
1.5.2k9
Man I need some time off. That must sound funny coming from a guy whose commute to work is approximately 10' from my bed to my computer. It's the truth nevertheless. I'm a busy mofo.
I got calls to make and calls to return. Emails to read, emails to write. Things to buy, things to sell. Things to pack and things to chuck. And on top of all this ... I got a cat's ass to shave and a lot of poop to clean up.
In breaking w/ traditio , we'll be skipping our regularly scheduled venue (Raub said that it's okay), and instead heading here:
Tonight - House of Shields.
Bow to it. 100 years old and still going strong. And if you need any more of a reason to go there, this is it.
Five TNSC meetings this month ... how many did YOU attend?
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
1.5.2k9
Man I need some time off. That must sound funny coming from a guy whose commute to work is approximately 10' from my bed to my computer. It's the truth nevertheless. I'm a busy mofo.
I got calls to make and calls to return. Emails to read, emails to write. Things to buy, things to sell. Things to pack and things to chuck. And on top of all this ... I got a cat's ass to shave and a lot of poop to clean up.
In breaking w/ traditio , we'll be skipping our regularly scheduled venue (Raub said that it's okay), and instead heading here:
Tonight - House of Shields.
Bow to it. 100 years old and still going strong. And if you need any more of a reason to go there, this is it.
Five TNSC meetings this month ... how many did YOU attend?
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Didja make'r blue?
1.4.2k9
Moonface ... er ... Ezzard woke us up this morning at 3 moanin' about something. My little wife applied a bottle to that screamin' maw and it didn't make a sound for another three hours. 6 am is still a kick-to-the-nuts for a guy that likes to sleep in until he's almost late for dailies. Then I remembered ... COFFEE!!!
If coffee and beer had a war and I had to pick a side, I'd be in big trouble, as they are two of the best things in the universe. (Moonface and my little wife are a couple others ... )
Yes, I remembered that I was a few minutes away from enjoying a delicious cup or ten. I ground up the last of my Peet's™ whole-bean Costa Rica and, as exciting as that was, remembered that my next bag is a new Peet's™ offering ... Sumatra Blue Barak or some kinda thing. Came in a cool blue-purple Peet's™ sac and everything. I have enjoyed each and every offering that Peet's™ has produced and trying this new one was a no-brainer.
It's 3pm, and you know what that means: Three O'Clock Coffee!! I'll be drinking my three-oh-oh and thinking of the Indonesian treat I'll be enjoying in the morning. I'll let ya know how she goes.
Tonight - Cantina SF.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Moonface ... er ... Ezzard woke us up this morning at 3 moanin' about something. My little wife applied a bottle to that screamin' maw and it didn't make a sound for another three hours. 6 am is still a kick-to-the-nuts for a guy that likes to sleep in until he's almost late for dailies. Then I remembered ... COFFEE!!!
If coffee and beer had a war and I had to pick a side, I'd be in big trouble, as they are two of the best things in the universe. (Moonface and my little wife are a couple others ... )
Yes, I remembered that I was a few minutes away from enjoying a delicious cup or ten. I ground up the last of my Peet's™ whole-bean Costa Rica and, as exciting as that was, remembered that my next bag is a new Peet's™ offering ... Sumatra Blue Barak or some kinda thing. Came in a cool blue-purple Peet's™ sac and everything. I have enjoyed each and every offering that Peet's™ has produced and trying this new one was a no-brainer.
It's 3pm, and you know what that means: Three O'Clock Coffee!! I'll be drinking my three-oh-oh and thinking of the Indonesian treat I'll be enjoying in the morning. I'll let ya know how she goes.
Tonight - Cantina SF.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
12 minutes to the LOOP
1.3.2k9
Thank Christ I don't drive in LA. Not only are the drivers distracted, most are terrible at driving. Most, despite a law prohibiting it, are on the frikkin' phone. Most are the only occupant in the car. I avoid driving in LA as much as possible, and I'm really, REALLY lucky that I can ride my bike to work.
When I did drive in LA, in 2006 for three months, I had a "reverse commute." Although it was still an average 32-minute trip - which to me is a lot - it woulda been a LOT worse had I been driving in a non-reverse commute. The side streets I take to and from work these days are usually a "solo commute," with no one driving down the streets I choose, except for the garbage, recycling and street cleaner trucks each Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, respectively.
But guess what? In LA, if one thing happens, even sleepy side-streets become choked with cars. Much like my commute last night. Not sure what happened up on Lincoln Blvd (CA 1), but something big enough to close the goddamn street happened, and desperate commuters invaded my sleepy commute.
It's not unlike seeing a city bus full of passengers on a side street. I was on such a bus, one summer afternoon in my beloved Chicago. It was a 13 mile ride south to downtown from my apartment, and the bus chugged along Sheridan Avenue, following the lake shore, until a point when it entered Lake Shore Drive itself, for the haul onto Michigan Avenue, downtown. But at the time of the neighborhood incursion, we were way way up in my neighborhood, Rogers Park. Sheridan Road, southbound from Rogers Park, takes a left turn at the neighborhood called Edgewater. If one is on Sheridan and doesn't turn, one will find oneself on Broadway Street, which is what our bus driver did. It took less than a second for damn-near everyone on the crowded bus to moan and say out loud, "wrong way!!!" The bus driver must have shaken her head and figured that she'd haul through the neighborhood to hook back up with Sheridan Road, so after a block or two, she took the left down a narrow street.
I happened to have a window seat, and it being summer, and hot, the window was open wide. The bus came to a stop sign and stopped. Two kids who were drawing on the slate sidewalk with big pieces of chalk, looked up at the city bus, clearly out of place. They caught my stare and I said, loud: "We're lost!" The two kids, god bless them, did not hesitate to jump up, heave their chalk at us, give us the finger and yell, "FUCK YOOOUUUUUU" as they took off chasing us, as we had started moving again. Those little fuckers chased us for three blocks. I laughed my ass off the whole way downtown.
Tonight - Doc's Clock.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thank Christ I don't drive in LA. Not only are the drivers distracted, most are terrible at driving. Most, despite a law prohibiting it, are on the frikkin' phone. Most are the only occupant in the car. I avoid driving in LA as much as possible, and I'm really, REALLY lucky that I can ride my bike to work.
When I did drive in LA, in 2006 for three months, I had a "reverse commute." Although it was still an average 32-minute trip - which to me is a lot - it woulda been a LOT worse had I been driving in a non-reverse commute. The side streets I take to and from work these days are usually a "solo commute," with no one driving down the streets I choose, except for the garbage, recycling and street cleaner trucks each Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, respectively.
But guess what? In LA, if one thing happens, even sleepy side-streets become choked with cars. Much like my commute last night. Not sure what happened up on Lincoln Blvd (CA 1), but something big enough to close the goddamn street happened, and desperate commuters invaded my sleepy commute.
It's not unlike seeing a city bus full of passengers on a side street. I was on such a bus, one summer afternoon in my beloved Chicago. It was a 13 mile ride south to downtown from my apartment, and the bus chugged along Sheridan Avenue, following the lake shore, until a point when it entered Lake Shore Drive itself, for the haul onto Michigan Avenue, downtown. But at the time of the neighborhood incursion, we were way way up in my neighborhood, Rogers Park. Sheridan Road, southbound from Rogers Park, takes a left turn at the neighborhood called Edgewater. If one is on Sheridan and doesn't turn, one will find oneself on Broadway Street, which is what our bus driver did. It took less than a second for damn-near everyone on the crowded bus to moan and say out loud, "wrong way!!!" The bus driver must have shaken her head and figured that she'd haul through the neighborhood to hook back up with Sheridan Road, so after a block or two, she took the left down a narrow street.
I happened to have a window seat, and it being summer, and hot, the window was open wide. The bus came to a stop sign and stopped. Two kids who were drawing on the slate sidewalk with big pieces of chalk, looked up at the city bus, clearly out of place. They caught my stare and I said, loud: "We're lost!" The two kids, god bless them, did not hesitate to jump up, heave their chalk at us, give us the finger and yell, "FUCK YOOOUUUUUU" as they took off chasing us, as we had started moving again. Those little fuckers chased us for three blocks. I laughed my ass off the whole way downtown.
Tonight - Doc's Clock.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Date
1.2.2k9
People who go apeshit for celebrities get me wondering: Why bother? They're bums! Well, most of 'em.
My little wife came home from the Whole Paycheck the other day and said, "that midget from "The Hobbit" was shopping with his bodyguard." I said, "Do you mean "Lord of the Rings?" She told me to eat it. I said, "Elijah Wood?" as I looked it up on the imdb. She said yeah. "I saw him at least three times throughout the store. I think he was stalking me." I said, "Who wouldn't?"
She said, "Who wouldn't what? Stalk me? The fuck is that supposed to mean?" "You are kinda stalkable. Stalk-worthy. It's not out of the question that someone would stalk you through Whole Paycheck. You know," I said. She said: "Are you on dope?"
DUH!
Tonight - Lone Palm.
Convenient large ashtrays out front. Trees grew outta'm over tha years.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
People who go apeshit for celebrities get me wondering: Why bother? They're bums! Well, most of 'em.
My little wife came home from the Whole Paycheck the other day and said, "that midget from "The Hobbit" was shopping with his bodyguard." I said, "Do you mean "Lord of the Rings?" She told me to eat it. I said, "Elijah Wood?" as I looked it up on the imdb. She said yeah. "I saw him at least three times throughout the store. I think he was stalking me." I said, "Who wouldn't?"
She said, "Who wouldn't what? Stalk me? The fuck is that supposed to mean?" "You are kinda stalkable. Stalk-worthy. It's not out of the question that someone would stalk you through Whole Paycheck. You know," I said. She said: "Are you on dope?"
DUH!
Tonight - Lone Palm.
Convenient large ashtrays out front. Trees grew outta'm over tha years.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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