4.5.2015
Have you seen a real drone yet?
No, not on TV or in a movie or museum, but a real, live drone ... droning along its way?
I have.
I look up at the sound of most aircraft. All helicopters, most jumbo jets (you can tell the difference between a triple seven and a Southwest Airlines 737 by the noise of their engines. And that's what gets me looking up. Sometimes I hear them and run outside to look up at them. Especially if it's a helicopter. There have been some brush fires around here lately and the big fuckin' Cal Fire helis are buzzing about.
I saw my first ever drone a while back. I had stepped out of the house on my way to pick up Ez from his after-school program. I heard a weird whine from above that sounded like a high speed fan, or even a few high speed fans. Looking up, I saw that it was indeed a few fans, four to be exact, and they were attached to a drone no bigger than a pizza box. It was flying parallel to Venice Boulevard, which is a short block away from me. I didn't see its controller, and didn't expect to. I just chalked it up to being my first drone sighting.
With what's being said about drones in the news, everything from drones raining Hell down on the fucking terrorists or Amazon.com planning on drone-based delivery, I wasn't surprised to see the little one I saw. Plenty of people fly them to shoot movie scenes or commercials, spy on people, just to fly a small electronic gizmo. I for one look forward to the day when my very own drone can "beer me" when I need a freshy.
Won't that be nice?
Tonight - The Homestead (the month is over already?!?)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Yahweh (REDUX)
4.4.15 (first posted 2005)
I knew my friend Jamee was going to throw out her decades-old boom box and I had an idea and then asked her if she'd heaved it yet. She said she did only to recover it from the bin moments later so to tune into the radio. But she did give it to me. She brought it over and explained that it wasn't just the radio program that compelled her to save it, but her odd habit of anthropomorphizing inanimate objects. I knew just what she was talking about.
Ever since I was very young, I've been assigning human characteristics to non-human and often times non-living things. As a child I had a gingerbread man that I named Oscar and kept for weeks. Every one of my bikes have had names, the two most recent being Sir Francis Gary Powers and the aptly named, "Chuck." The cars, hats and sunglasses have had names. My hot sauces, the steadfast soldiers they are, have names. My charcoal Weber grill is named, "Fireball." It's slightly compulsive, I know, but I don't give a damn. It helps me sort shit out.
So Jamee bid farewell to her trusty boom box and I gladly accepted it. She asked why I wanted the old thing. I told her I was going to tear it's bits out and Frankenstein me a outdoor speaker-system for my iPod. She was horrified. But she let me have it anyway.
Tonight - Holy Water (Bernal)
See you in church!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I knew my friend Jamee was going to throw out her decades-old boom box and I had an idea and then asked her if she'd heaved it yet. She said she did only to recover it from the bin moments later so to tune into the radio. But she did give it to me. She brought it over and explained that it wasn't just the radio program that compelled her to save it, but her odd habit of anthropomorphizing inanimate objects. I knew just what she was talking about.
Ever since I was very young, I've been assigning human characteristics to non-human and often times non-living things. As a child I had a gingerbread man that I named Oscar and kept for weeks. Every one of my bikes have had names, the two most recent being Sir Francis Gary Powers and the aptly named, "Chuck." The cars, hats and sunglasses have had names. My hot sauces, the steadfast soldiers they are, have names. My charcoal Weber grill is named, "Fireball." It's slightly compulsive, I know, but I don't give a damn. It helps me sort shit out.
So Jamee bid farewell to her trusty boom box and I gladly accepted it. She asked why I wanted the old thing. I told her I was going to tear it's bits out and Frankenstein me a outdoor speaker-system for my iPod. She was horrified. But she let me have it anyway.
Tonight - Holy Water (Bernal)
See you in church!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 16, 2015
STANDee's
4.3.2014
Of all the pub crawls I've ever been on, the day I turned 21 was the most memorable. I didn't get totally wrecked - not that I didn't try - but we did a lot of walking and I think the physical exercise helped mitigate the 20-or-so domestic light beers (and Old Styles®).
My goal was to have a beer at every bar in walking distance from my apartment. In Roger's Park, Chicago in 1991, there were a lot of bars fitting that description. My pals Phil and Phil (not my other pals Phil, Phil or Phil) joined me on the trek and we had a good time at the first couple stops, being that we'd been to those bars many times before (with fake or no need for IDs at these establishments). The farther out we got, the weirder it got, and as we made it to the outer edge of our trek, we came upon a memorable stop.
Entering, we made our way down the bar to the end near the pool tables and juke. There were several TVs around the place and whether or not the game was the Cubs on a West Coast swing or just replays of the day's loss, I don't remember, but the Cubs were on most of the TVs. The other TVs had hardcore gay porn on them. At about the time I noticed the porn, I noticed that guys that were dressed like girls were coming out of both the men's and women's restrooms. No matter. We're in their bar, after all.
The barkeep came up and he looked the part: Old, grey, dirty and tired. He grumbled, "What'll ya have?" at about the same time my pal Phil noticed the TV with the porn. (This Phil was a real mama's boy who before moving to Chicago didn't really get out much and I could tell he was on the verge of being traumatized by the gay porn.) "What do you have on draft?" I said, "It's my birthday!" The keep said, "Happy Birthday and we only have cans." I said thanks and what kind of cans do you have? He said they're all aluminum cans and they have Bud, Miller, Coors and Old Style. And lights of all of the above.
I said, "I'll have a Miller Lite®, please!"
Phil said, "Miller Lite®."
The other Phil choked, "Miller, ulp, Lite®."
The keep, suddenly a big, happy queen, said, "Miller Lite®! Miller Lite®! Miller Lite®!" and tapped once on the bar in front of Phil, Phil and me when he said it. Then went to get our cans. Phil and I laughed hard while the other Phil continued to have a hard time with the gay pron.
Much later, I accomplished a feat I'd done only once before and once since: I closed the bar (another bar) at 5:30 am, went next door for pancakes, bacon, eggs and coffee, then went back to the bar when it opened again at 6 am. It was a helluva birthday.
Tonight - Virgil's Sea Room (as in "Sea you on the patio 'cuz it's nice outside!!)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Of all the pub crawls I've ever been on, the day I turned 21 was the most memorable. I didn't get totally wrecked - not that I didn't try - but we did a lot of walking and I think the physical exercise helped mitigate the 20-or-so domestic light beers (and Old Styles®).
My goal was to have a beer at every bar in walking distance from my apartment. In Roger's Park, Chicago in 1991, there were a lot of bars fitting that description. My pals Phil and Phil (not my other pals Phil, Phil or Phil) joined me on the trek and we had a good time at the first couple stops, being that we'd been to those bars many times before (with fake or no need for IDs at these establishments). The farther out we got, the weirder it got, and as we made it to the outer edge of our trek, we came upon a memorable stop.
Entering, we made our way down the bar to the end near the pool tables and juke. There were several TVs around the place and whether or not the game was the Cubs on a West Coast swing or just replays of the day's loss, I don't remember, but the Cubs were on most of the TVs. The other TVs had hardcore gay porn on them. At about the time I noticed the porn, I noticed that guys that were dressed like girls were coming out of both the men's and women's restrooms. No matter. We're in their bar, after all.
The barkeep came up and he looked the part: Old, grey, dirty and tired. He grumbled, "What'll ya have?" at about the same time my pal Phil noticed the TV with the porn. (This Phil was a real mama's boy who before moving to Chicago didn't really get out much and I could tell he was on the verge of being traumatized by the gay porn.) "What do you have on draft?" I said, "It's my birthday!" The keep said, "Happy Birthday and we only have cans." I said thanks and what kind of cans do you have? He said they're all aluminum cans and they have Bud, Miller, Coors and Old Style. And lights of all of the above.
I said, "I'll have a Miller Lite®, please!"
Phil said, "Miller Lite®."
The other Phil choked, "Miller, ulp, Lite®."
The keep, suddenly a big, happy queen, said, "Miller Lite®! Miller Lite®! Miller Lite®!" and tapped once on the bar in front of Phil, Phil and me when he said it. Then went to get our cans. Phil and I laughed hard while the other Phil continued to have a hard time with the gay pron.
Much later, I accomplished a feat I'd done only once before and once since: I closed the bar (another bar) at 5:30 am, went next door for pancakes, bacon, eggs and coffee, then went back to the bar when it opened again at 6 am. It was a helluva birthday.
Tonight - Virgil's Sea Room (as in "Sea you on the patio 'cuz it's nice outside!!)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 09, 2015
Non S
4.2.2015
Do ya like reporters? Me, I like'm just fine. We'd be shit-out-of-luck without them, I think, even though for every good reporter, there's a hundred or so that suck.
If you want to find a reporter, go visit a newspaper.
Or go to a restaurant catering to reporters. I did a few times when I lived in Chicago.
This joint had some newspapery name like, "The Daily Bugle" or something. Naw, that's the paper in the Spiderman universe. "Daily Planet." Nope, that's where Clark and Lois worked. "The Press Place." "The Press Cafe." No ... I got it now ... it was, "The Press Room."
I sat at the counter one day and I gotta impress on you how much of a cafe this was. Guys in the kitchen with dirty aprons, Formica countertops, waitresses in shitty uniforms and crappy haircuts filling salt shakers and Tabasco bottles ... coffee in cups with saucers. It was the real deal.
Anyway, at the counter, a waitress put down her salt shaker, took a pencil from behind her ear and her pad from a pocket in her apron and said, "what'll it be?"
The "Francheesie" spoke to me from the menu: "A hot dog with cheddar cheese wrapped in bacon, served with fries and a pickle." "I'll have the francheesie, pleasy," I said. She smirked and wrote it down. When asked, I said, "coffee."
The dog and coffee (in a cup on a saucer) came and the dog looked great, but was cheese-less. The gal must have seen the look on my face and said, "Everything all right?"
I said, "There's no cheese on this francheesie."
She said, "The cheese is inside the dog, hun." It was. I felt like a dope.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
Tonight's venue comes by request and please remember there's a $5 cover for Little Minsky's burlesque show.
Also, raise a glass to the memory of the iconic SF barman, Jay Johnson.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Do ya like reporters? Me, I like'm just fine. We'd be shit-out-of-luck without them, I think, even though for every good reporter, there's a hundred or so that suck.
If you want to find a reporter, go visit a newspaper.
Or go to a restaurant catering to reporters. I did a few times when I lived in Chicago.
This joint had some newspapery name like, "The Daily Bugle" or something. Naw, that's the paper in the Spiderman universe. "Daily Planet." Nope, that's where Clark and Lois worked. "The Press Place." "The Press Cafe." No ... I got it now ... it was, "The Press Room."
I sat at the counter one day and I gotta impress on you how much of a cafe this was. Guys in the kitchen with dirty aprons, Formica countertops, waitresses in shitty uniforms and crappy haircuts filling salt shakers and Tabasco bottles ... coffee in cups with saucers. It was the real deal.
Anyway, at the counter, a waitress put down her salt shaker, took a pencil from behind her ear and her pad from a pocket in her apron and said, "what'll it be?"
The "Francheesie" spoke to me from the menu: "A hot dog with cheddar cheese wrapped in bacon, served with fries and a pickle." "I'll have the francheesie, pleasy," I said. She smirked and wrote it down. When asked, I said, "coffee."
The dog and coffee (in a cup on a saucer) came and the dog looked great, but was cheese-less. The gal must have seen the look on my face and said, "Everything all right?"
I said, "There's no cheese on this francheesie."
She said, "The cheese is inside the dog, hun." It was. I felt like a dope.
Tonight - Club Deluxe.
Tonight's venue comes by request and please remember there's a $5 cover for Little Minsky's burlesque show.
Also, raise a glass to the memory of the iconic SF barman, Jay Johnson.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 02, 2015
Stupid (REDUX)
4.1.2015
Ever since the 1997-98 El Nino weather events I've been in LOVE with the definite article 'the.' During El Nino, most every weatherman and news anchor referred to El Nino as 'the' El Nino. This had me howling with laughter every time because the Spanish word 'el' is 'the' in English. Duh! So these lunkheads kept repeating 'the the nino.' I couldn't get enough of it so when the event subsided I began to use the definite article 'the' in front of every Spanish noun preceded by 'el' or 'la.' For example, one of our favorite bars 'el Rio' became to me, 'the el Rio.' That former NY Yankees-now-Chicago White Sox pitcher 'el Duce' became 'the el Duce.' With so much Spanish being bandied about these days, there is plenty of opportunity for me to chuck 'the' in front of 'el whatever.'
I started thinking about 'the' in other terms the other day when, searching through DVD's at The Borders, I seen the De-lux edition of "Passion of The Christ." Why the hell is 'the' in there? I get 'The Christ Child,' but 'The Christ.' That's just dumb. I thought about asking everyone to start calling me 'The Johnson' just for kicks. Then I figured that in one way or another many of you do already call me the equivalent of 'The Johnson,' if you catch my meaning. So I scrapped that. Then I did the obvious and said aloud while laughing, "The Passion of The Johnson" which CLEARLY treads on Tama's territory. If you catch my meaning.
Tonight - Jay 'n Bee Club (by request)
Bring your friends!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Ever since the 1997-98 El Nino weather events I've been in LOVE with the definite article 'the.' During El Nino, most every weatherman and news anchor referred to El Nino as 'the' El Nino. This had me howling with laughter every time because the Spanish word 'el' is 'the' in English. Duh! So these lunkheads kept repeating 'the the nino.' I couldn't get enough of it so when the event subsided I began to use the definite article 'the' in front of every Spanish noun preceded by 'el' or 'la.' For example, one of our favorite bars 'el Rio' became to me, 'the el Rio.' That former NY Yankees-now-Chicago White Sox pitcher 'el Duce' became 'the el Duce.' With so much Spanish being bandied about these days, there is plenty of opportunity for me to chuck 'the' in front of 'el whatever.'
I started thinking about 'the' in other terms the other day when, searching through DVD's at The Borders, I seen the De-lux edition of "Passion of The Christ." Why the hell is 'the' in there? I get 'The Christ Child,' but 'The Christ.' That's just dumb. I thought about asking everyone to start calling me 'The Johnson' just for kicks. Then I figured that in one way or another many of you do already call me the equivalent of 'The Johnson,' if you catch my meaning. So I scrapped that. Then I did the obvious and said aloud while laughing, "The Passion of The Johnson" which CLEARLY treads on Tama's territory. If you catch my meaning.
Tonight - Jay 'n Bee Club (by request)
Bring your friends!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)