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!

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!

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!

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!

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!