In honor of all the football that has to be watched, and the multitude of the turkey that needs to be consumed, there will be no meeting for this Thursday evening. See you all in December.
Happy Thanksgiving!!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 27, 2014
You Jive Turkey!!
11.4.2014
In honor of all the football that has to be watched, and the multitude of the turkey that needs to be consumed, there will be no meeting for this Thursday evening. See you all in December.
Happy Thanksgiving!!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
In honor of all the football that has to be watched, and the multitude of the turkey that needs to be consumed, there will be no meeting for this Thursday evening. See you all in December.
Happy Thanksgiving!!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Cheese dick!
11.3.2014
It was the summer of 1990 that I became enamored of food trucks. I was driving a forklift at a plastic laminate warehouse for a summer job my dad set me up with. The fellas I worked with were salt-of-the-earth Chicago boys. Beer guts, foul language, Bears T-shirts and moustaches. I was the college boy with a summer job and this was these guys' careers. I knew it and made sure they knew I respected them. I knew they respected me when I shot down a huge moth with a pneumatic staple gun at 25 feet.
The food truck (they called it the Roach Coach or the Crud Truck - I called it the Twinkie Barge) came to the warehouse at 9:35 for lunch. Our shift started at 4:45, so that was about right for lunch. The food truck was typical of that era: Hostess products, Cokes, shitty coffee, shitty premade coldcut and tuna sandys, chips, chips and chips. This one was the smaller type which was a pickup with a special camper-like deal with ice-filled panels that opened on both sides of the rig. You know the kind.
I encountered a food truck the other day while at the garage getting my Jeep serviced. This truck wasn't one with a cute name and a $14 eggroll. It was the truck that filled the gap between the sandwichs and Twinkies on ice mentioned above and the "Me So Hungry" Asian food truck and the "Fist of Flour" pizza wagon and the no-nonsense "Philly Cheesesteak Truck." This truck was the Mexican Food Truck. They would certainly have the breakfast burrito I didn't know I needed.
They did! It was in the very small "American Food" section. I wondered why, for a second, and in hindsight, should have wondered longer. I ordered the breakfast burrito and got it in a bag, "to go." Ha.
When I got it home (I walked home from the garage - hey! I ain't from LA!), I dug in. Eggs, yep. Beans, yum. Onion, nice. Meat ... uh ... Meat ... what was that mystery meat? I ate a little more until I found another chunk of meat. It was about an inch long, curved and had a cut side and what looked like a skin of some kind-- Oh duh! It's "hot dog."
Yes, it was an All American Breakfast Burrito with sliced hot dog. Yum yum. I mean Yuck yuck. I like a good hot dog, but not with egg and bean in a burrito. I chucked it and didn't feel at all bad about wasting money, because this was from a normal food truck. It cost $3.50.
Tonight - Persian Aub Zam Zam
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
It was the summer of 1990 that I became enamored of food trucks. I was driving a forklift at a plastic laminate warehouse for a summer job my dad set me up with. The fellas I worked with were salt-of-the-earth Chicago boys. Beer guts, foul language, Bears T-shirts and moustaches. I was the college boy with a summer job and this was these guys' careers. I knew it and made sure they knew I respected them. I knew they respected me when I shot down a huge moth with a pneumatic staple gun at 25 feet.
The food truck (they called it the Roach Coach or the Crud Truck - I called it the Twinkie Barge) came to the warehouse at 9:35 for lunch. Our shift started at 4:45, so that was about right for lunch. The food truck was typical of that era: Hostess products, Cokes, shitty coffee, shitty premade coldcut and tuna sandys, chips, chips and chips. This one was the smaller type which was a pickup with a special camper-like deal with ice-filled panels that opened on both sides of the rig. You know the kind.
I encountered a food truck the other day while at the garage getting my Jeep serviced. This truck wasn't one with a cute name and a $14 eggroll. It was the truck that filled the gap between the sandwichs and Twinkies on ice mentioned above and the "Me So Hungry" Asian food truck and the "Fist of Flour" pizza wagon and the no-nonsense "Philly Cheesesteak Truck." This truck was the Mexican Food Truck. They would certainly have the breakfast burrito I didn't know I needed.
They did! It was in the very small "American Food" section. I wondered why, for a second, and in hindsight, should have wondered longer. I ordered the breakfast burrito and got it in a bag, "to go." Ha.
When I got it home (I walked home from the garage - hey! I ain't from LA!), I dug in. Eggs, yep. Beans, yum. Onion, nice. Meat ... uh ... Meat ... what was that mystery meat? I ate a little more until I found another chunk of meat. It was about an inch long, curved and had a cut side and what looked like a skin of some kind-- Oh duh! It's "hot dog."
Yes, it was an All American Breakfast Burrito with sliced hot dog. Yum yum. I mean Yuck yuck. I like a good hot dog, but not with egg and bean in a burrito. I chucked it and didn't feel at all bad about wasting money, because this was from a normal food truck. It cost $3.50.
Tonight - Persian Aub Zam Zam
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Another DC Scandal
11.2.2014
The place I work is a bit of a throwback-kinda place.
For example, they pay overtime. Yes, overtime. Time-and-a-half. We're working on a tight deadline and with the amount of work that needs to be done, everyone is "strongly encouraged" to put in as many hours as possible. They even pay DOUBLE TIME, if yr unlucky enough to be stuck there that long.
They also have a kitchen full of snacks, a fridge full of beverages and they buy dinner every night (and not from the same place over and over.)
All of these examples set the stage for the "DC Scandal" that headlines this post.
All of the artists, tech people, production people and staffers are exhausted. They've pulled so many hours they hardly know what day it is. They're propped-up on chocolate-covered almonds, Fritos® and gallons of Diet Coke®. They consume such mass quantities, they outpaced their weekly CostCo® delivery, and - you guessed it - ran out of Diet Coke®.
My workstation is in the nearly-vacant first floor work area (three or four dozen other people occupy the second floor work area). I share downstairs with a 19-year-old chihuahua and his dad, a delightfully friendly and generous 62-year-old compositor. Call him Jud.
Jud is so addicted to Diet Coke®, he has a USB-powered mini fridge on his desk that holds exactly one six-pack of Diet Coke®, and he drains it and refills it a couple times a day.
So when the Diet Coke® ran out, he ran out to the CostCo® (it's one short block away) and snagged a jumbo 32-can case and brought it back to our cavernous room.
We often had visitors down in our area. Several times a day our producers, supervisors and production assistants came down for updates or reviews. On one visit, our producer noticed the case of Diet Coke® and declared, "Holy shit! Here it is!" and started piling-up an armful, ranting about "us" hoarding it down here while Jud politely said, "I bought that. Help yourself." Our producer was too excited to hear him right away and piled and raved about finding the trove. Jud was insistent, though, and finally broke through. "Oh jeez," the producer said, while un-piling the Diet Cokes®, "I'm sorry, I thought these were the studio's Diet Cokes®. "Help yourself," said Jud.
This exact scenario repeated itself exactly one hour later, when our compositing supervisor came down. "Here's all the Diet Coke®!!!" she exclaimed, while she, too, filled her arms. I laughed as she went on and on about us being sneaky Diet Coke® hoarders and "we were freaking out upstairs," and the like. Jud tried to convince her that he trekked to CostCo® for them and when he finally broke through - truly a minute or two later - she apologized and unpiled. Jud told her to help herself. I laughed.
So when the facilities manager came down, found the Diet Coke®, yelled at us while piling an armful only to have patient Jud quietly telling him that he crossed the street and bought the case, Diet Coke®-Gate was born. The facilities guy finally came back to Earth and asked Jud where he got the case. "Across the street at CostCo®," Jud said. "Did you walk?" "Yes," Jud said. "Really?" asked the staffer. "Really," said Jud. "And you carried that back?" Jud nodded.
"LA is stupid," I thought.
Tonight - Vesuvio Café - old-skool North Beach at it's finest.
Beat you there!! (ugh)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
The place I work is a bit of a throwback-kinda place.
For example, they pay overtime. Yes, overtime. Time-and-a-half. We're working on a tight deadline and with the amount of work that needs to be done, everyone is "strongly encouraged" to put in as many hours as possible. They even pay DOUBLE TIME, if yr unlucky enough to be stuck there that long.
They also have a kitchen full of snacks, a fridge full of beverages and they buy dinner every night (and not from the same place over and over.)
All of these examples set the stage for the "DC Scandal" that headlines this post.
All of the artists, tech people, production people and staffers are exhausted. They've pulled so many hours they hardly know what day it is. They're propped-up on chocolate-covered almonds, Fritos® and gallons of Diet Coke®. They consume such mass quantities, they outpaced their weekly CostCo® delivery, and - you guessed it - ran out of Diet Coke®.
My workstation is in the nearly-vacant first floor work area (three or four dozen other people occupy the second floor work area). I share downstairs with a 19-year-old chihuahua and his dad, a delightfully friendly and generous 62-year-old compositor. Call him Jud.
Jud is so addicted to Diet Coke®, he has a USB-powered mini fridge on his desk that holds exactly one six-pack of Diet Coke®, and he drains it and refills it a couple times a day.
So when the Diet Coke® ran out, he ran out to the CostCo® (it's one short block away) and snagged a jumbo 32-can case and brought it back to our cavernous room.
We often had visitors down in our area. Several times a day our producers, supervisors and production assistants came down for updates or reviews. On one visit, our producer noticed the case of Diet Coke® and declared, "Holy shit! Here it is!" and started piling-up an armful, ranting about "us" hoarding it down here while Jud politely said, "I bought that. Help yourself." Our producer was too excited to hear him right away and piled and raved about finding the trove. Jud was insistent, though, and finally broke through. "Oh jeez," the producer said, while un-piling the Diet Cokes®, "I'm sorry, I thought these were the studio's Diet Cokes®. "Help yourself," said Jud.
This exact scenario repeated itself exactly one hour later, when our compositing supervisor came down. "Here's all the Diet Coke®!!!" she exclaimed, while she, too, filled her arms. I laughed as she went on and on about us being sneaky Diet Coke® hoarders and "we were freaking out upstairs," and the like. Jud tried to convince her that he trekked to CostCo® for them and when he finally broke through - truly a minute or two later - she apologized and unpiled. Jud told her to help herself. I laughed.
So when the facilities manager came down, found the Diet Coke®, yelled at us while piling an armful only to have patient Jud quietly telling him that he crossed the street and bought the case, Diet Coke®-Gate was born. The facilities guy finally came back to Earth and asked Jud where he got the case. "Across the street at CostCo®," Jud said. "Did you walk?" "Yes," Jud said. "Really?" asked the staffer. "Really," said Jud. "And you carried that back?" Jud nodded.
"LA is stupid," I thought.
Tonight - Vesuvio Café - old-skool North Beach at it's finest.
Beat you there!! (ugh)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 06, 2014
1990's (REDUX)
11.1.2014
(a classic election-themed post from 7 years ago on this day)
I've mentioned the skin-crawling voice of the Principal of the school across the street coming across the PA and sending chills through my body in this forum once or twice before. I heard him again this morning. It's garbled, and what he's saying is almost indecipherable, but any person ever having gone to elementary school would identify it immediately. It's the voice of ruthless authority. It's the voice of endless, soulless admonishments. It's the cruel voice of punishment.
The brute began again on the PA this morning but cut it short - his was replaced with a different voice: A voice of enthusiasm, of hard work and confidence. I turned off the NPR morning show playing on the radio and listened. I caught just a little bit of, "my name is Taylor Brittany Hannah Ashley Alyssa Kayla Brianna Montgomery, and I'm running for Class Vice-President. My goals for the Spring Semester include insuring adequate supplies of chocolate pudding in the cafeteria, longer recesses, renovated tether-ball courts and more field-trips." I had heard enough! I know now who has my vote come Election Day!!
Tonight - House of Shields (by request)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
(a classic election-themed post from 7 years ago on this day)
I've mentioned the skin-crawling voice of the Principal of the school across the street coming across the PA and sending chills through my body in this forum once or twice before. I heard him again this morning. It's garbled, and what he's saying is almost indecipherable, but any person ever having gone to elementary school would identify it immediately. It's the voice of ruthless authority. It's the voice of endless, soulless admonishments. It's the cruel voice of punishment.
The brute began again on the PA this morning but cut it short - his was replaced with a different voice: A voice of enthusiasm, of hard work and confidence. I turned off the NPR morning show playing on the radio and listened. I caught just a little bit of, "my name is Taylor Brittany Hannah Ashley Alyssa Kayla Brianna Montgomery, and I'm running for Class Vice-President. My goals for the Spring Semester include insuring adequate supplies of chocolate pudding in the cafeteria, longer recesses, renovated tether-ball courts and more field-trips." I had heard enough! I know now who has my vote come Election Day!!
Tonight - House of Shields (by request)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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