Thursday, December 22, 2016
My Wombat (REDUX)
12.4.2016 (first posted this week 2000)
I ain't giving any presents fer xmas this year. Instead I figure I'm just gonna party. I was out pickin' up some Christmas paper and I'm thinkin' I need to start getting things to wrap up with this stuff. I'm makin' up a list of folks and there's quite a few people I'm figurin' I ought to be picking something up for, but nothin' is jumping right out at me. That's when I figure out the party deal. So simple. Party. And race. Party and race. Dog? Nope. Horse! Them are two things you can do at the same time: Party and race. So that's it. You want a Christmas present? Sorry. You want someone to party with? Cool. I'm yer man. You wanna go to the racetrack? That's cool too. Too bad there ain't any, like, car or motorcycle races going on around now. Or bike races. That's a full day of fun. Goin' to the mountain bike races. Oh yeah ... I'll go skating too. Party, racetrack and skate. I know a bunch of people are clearin' out for Christmas and all, but there are going to be people about to party. So that's it. Let's kick off the partyin' tonight!
Tonight - Orbit Room (duh... it's the Winter Solstice. Get it?!?)
Also, last "offical" meeting of the year.
Everyday is frikkin' Christmas at this joint. Thanks to Tama for the venue suggestion. Any more news? I don't know. One announcement: If you're to enjoy winter sports, esp. alpine events, please be careful. Have fun, but safety first.
TONIGHT'S CONTEST: Refrigerator Art. (Art majors not eligible.)
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: The Rescue of the Andes Plane Crash Survivors. On this day in 1972, two members of the Uruguayan rugby team who had survived the crash of their plane in the Andes mountains led rescuers to the crash site and 14 more survivors. The plane had crashed ten weeks earlier and many passengers survived both the crash and the fierce conditions high in the Andes. These folks resorted to cannibalism to stay alive! Players: Raub plays the plane; Alan plays the Andes; Lori K. plays the fierce elements (!); Serena and Lisa W. play the two team members who led the rescuers to the crash site; Clova and Al play rescuers; Team Bjeldanes plays the dead folks and ... eeeewwww ... Bobo, Mark, Chef, Bishop, Jeremy, Robin, Sue, Dee and (nameless) play the CANNIBALS!
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER(S): Mr. and Mrs. Jim Rose. C'mon out.
Guess what? I used to rotate. Now I spin.
Lock them casters and climb on the TNSC experience! After all, it is the penultimate Y2K TNSC meeting! Bring a yule log and some mistletoe and knock back some nog at Orbit Room. Bring yer pals, I know I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Black and Deck Her (REDUX)
12.3.2016 (first posted this week 2009)
Witnessing righteous 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 - Wooden Nickel
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!
Witnessing righteous 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 - Wooden Nickel
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 08, 2016
Teacup (REDUX)
12.2.2016 (first posted this week 2005)
Growing up I had a friend whose folks were very, very wealthy and the things they bought and did, and indeed the house they lived in, showed it. Their house was more like a palace: It had a four-car garage, a pool with a slide built into the mountain they lived on, a shooting range in their basement and - best of all - a two lane automated bowling alley. IN THE HOUSE. Holy shit. Well, like I said, I was pals with this kid and when we were little, the Mexican maid would make us after school snacks and when were a bit older we would take a couple of the horses around the mountain preserve. Yeh. Some places have wetland preserves, others have forest preserves and the desert I grew up in had mountain preserves. Fulla cactus, dust and rattlesnakes. And certain days after school in 1985 or so, a couple dorky teenage kids on horseback.
I wasn't a total stranger to horses. I got kin up Oregon with a big 'ol ranch and they got plenty of horses. On vacation to the ranch my brother, sister and I would coax our cousin into saddling-up a couple of the horses and we'd ride. Fun. This rich friend of mine's horses were not ranch-style work horses. More like "prance around fancy-like" horses. Beautiful, well-fed and meticulously fawned over by their trainers if not their owners. All I did was learn how to saddle them, ride the mountain trails and brush 'em down after. Calm.
For a while.
1985 woulda made me and my pal 15 and being 15 woulda made a guy wanna smoke ciggys and drink slushys and horseback or no, we'd get it done. If it weren't for the Cubs cap, OP shorts and Black Flag T-shirt I woulda looked like the frikkin' Marlboro Man up there. Oh, and for the 15 yrs old part. And for the fancy horse. And Vans. And $5k saddle. And no guns. OK. I think you get the picture.
Invariably two 15 yr olds would run out of ciggys and need a neon green slushy and need to get them some so they'd ride them horseys off the mountain and down the road to the 7/11. Horseback riders were not an uncommon sight in the desert city back then. We'd get a lot of stares, a few honks and lots of room: Them pansy drivers didn't want anything to do with a big 'ol horse - prissy horse or no. 7/11 didn't accommodate horses anymore as they'd removed the hitching-posts a few years back when folks began to use the motor car. So either my friend or I would stay there in a parking space with both bridles while the other would go in for smokes and slushys. Twice, TWICE I tell you, when I had horse duty, my horse took a huge dump in the parking space.
The first time was the best: My pal goes in and I wait. A few seconds later my horse let 'er rip and I started laughing my head off. There was a small group of people gawking at the horses and they too began to laugh. My pal came out with the goods and the 7/11 dude came out too, initially to look at the horses but immediately noticed the giant pile of horse shit and his look of amused wonder became that of rage. "You - you - you clean that up!" he stammered. "What? No way," I said. By this time my pal was on his horse and he said the same. "No way, man." The 7/11 dude was pissed and took a step toward us and thought about it but quickly assessed his chances against two jerky teenagers on horseback and decided against it. "You never come back!" he yelled as we put the spurs to 'em and trotted on out of there. Ha! Well we did go back, often, and by the time he'd forgotten about the poop my horse pooped again. Makes me laugh 20 yrs later.
Tonight - Tempest (by request)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Growing up I had a friend whose folks were very, very wealthy and the things they bought and did, and indeed the house they lived in, showed it. Their house was more like a palace: It had a four-car garage, a pool with a slide built into the mountain they lived on, a shooting range in their basement and - best of all - a two lane automated bowling alley. IN THE HOUSE. Holy shit. Well, like I said, I was pals with this kid and when we were little, the Mexican maid would make us after school snacks and when were a bit older we would take a couple of the horses around the mountain preserve. Yeh. Some places have wetland preserves, others have forest preserves and the desert I grew up in had mountain preserves. Fulla cactus, dust and rattlesnakes. And certain days after school in 1985 or so, a couple dorky teenage kids on horseback.
I wasn't a total stranger to horses. I got kin up Oregon with a big 'ol ranch and they got plenty of horses. On vacation to the ranch my brother, sister and I would coax our cousin into saddling-up a couple of the horses and we'd ride. Fun. This rich friend of mine's horses were not ranch-style work horses. More like "prance around fancy-like" horses. Beautiful, well-fed and meticulously fawned over by their trainers if not their owners. All I did was learn how to saddle them, ride the mountain trails and brush 'em down after. Calm.
For a while.
1985 woulda made me and my pal 15 and being 15 woulda made a guy wanna smoke ciggys and drink slushys and horseback or no, we'd get it done. If it weren't for the Cubs cap, OP shorts and Black Flag T-shirt I woulda looked like the frikkin' Marlboro Man up there. Oh, and for the 15 yrs old part. And for the fancy horse. And Vans. And $5k saddle. And no guns. OK. I think you get the picture.
Invariably two 15 yr olds would run out of ciggys and need a neon green slushy and need to get them some so they'd ride them horseys off the mountain and down the road to the 7/11. Horseback riders were not an uncommon sight in the desert city back then. We'd get a lot of stares, a few honks and lots of room: Them pansy drivers didn't want anything to do with a big 'ol horse - prissy horse or no. 7/11 didn't accommodate horses anymore as they'd removed the hitching-posts a few years back when folks began to use the motor car. So either my friend or I would stay there in a parking space with both bridles while the other would go in for smokes and slushys. Twice, TWICE I tell you, when I had horse duty, my horse took a huge dump in the parking space.
The first time was the best: My pal goes in and I wait. A few seconds later my horse let 'er rip and I started laughing my head off. There was a small group of people gawking at the horses and they too began to laugh. My pal came out with the goods and the 7/11 dude came out too, initially to look at the horses but immediately noticed the giant pile of horse shit and his look of amused wonder became that of rage. "You - you - you clean that up!" he stammered. "What? No way," I said. By this time my pal was on his horse and he said the same. "No way, man." The 7/11 dude was pissed and took a step toward us and thought about it but quickly assessed his chances against two jerky teenagers on horseback and decided against it. "You never come back!" he yelled as we put the spurs to 'em and trotted on out of there. Ha! Well we did go back, often, and by the time he'd forgotten about the poop my horse pooped again. Makes me laugh 20 yrs later.
Tonight - Tempest (by request)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 01, 2016
Nuts (REDUX)
12.1.2016 (originally posted this week 2002)
You ever stumble on a good thing and want to tell everyone? You figure out something that folks ought to know about and you're fired up to tell them but then something snaps! Why tell them and risk the new great thing being wasted, trampled, used up, abused and potentially destroyed? I'm sitting on a few gems right now that I think some folks would appreciate but I'm reluctant to share the info 'cause I don't want to fuck it up. The first thing, in all fairness, was revealed to me as something cool and I proceded to sit on it; didn't share with anyone else (it kinda paints me as a fucking asshole, I suppose). The item in question is the optimum lane on the Bay Bridge to take West to SF during traffic. A kind List Member revealed the secret to me and I saw the truth in it over several subsequent commutes. Why ain't I spread the good news? Well shit. I guess it's because I don't want everybody hogging the far- right lane from now on. Same with another cool thing: The poppyseed bagels at work are far superior to all the other shitty bagels. You can tell something sets them apart, as they come on a fancy plastic tray (fancy plastic?) and they're only served in the front (read: better) kitchen. Yeh, they've got too many poppyseeds on them, but all you gotta do is saw the thing in half and use the seedy sides as sandpaper, rub 'em together and get most of the seeds off. Toast, apply cream cheese and dang! After I discovered the great disparity between the myriad and plentiful "other" bagels and the poppyseed super-bagels, I shut my trap and never told a soul. Fuck. I'm beginning to see this as a character flaw. What a jerk. I'm sorry, officially. Go hog my bridge lane and eat up my fav bagels. They're special things and they should be experienced by everyone. Well, almost everyone. I can think of a few shitheads I don't want pawing at the bagels ...
Tonight - a "two-fer"!!! (by request):
venue 1 - Standard Deviant Brewing (they close by 10)
after that go next door to:
venue 2 - Armory Club
That said ... "See you at the bar." G'won over and hoist a few. Bring yr pals. I know I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
You ever stumble on a good thing and want to tell everyone? You figure out something that folks ought to know about and you're fired up to tell them but then something snaps! Why tell them and risk the new great thing being wasted, trampled, used up, abused and potentially destroyed? I'm sitting on a few gems right now that I think some folks would appreciate but I'm reluctant to share the info 'cause I don't want to fuck it up. The first thing, in all fairness, was revealed to me as something cool and I proceded to sit on it; didn't share with anyone else (it kinda paints me as a fucking asshole, I suppose). The item in question is the optimum lane on the Bay Bridge to take West to SF during traffic. A kind List Member revealed the secret to me and I saw the truth in it over several subsequent commutes. Why ain't I spread the good news? Well shit. I guess it's because I don't want everybody hogging the far- right lane from now on. Same with another cool thing: The poppyseed bagels at work are far superior to all the other shitty bagels. You can tell something sets them apart, as they come on a fancy plastic tray (fancy plastic?) and they're only served in the front (read: better) kitchen. Yeh, they've got too many poppyseeds on them, but all you gotta do is saw the thing in half and use the seedy sides as sandpaper, rub 'em together and get most of the seeds off. Toast, apply cream cheese and dang! After I discovered the great disparity between the myriad and plentiful "other" bagels and the poppyseed super-bagels, I shut my trap and never told a soul. Fuck. I'm beginning to see this as a character flaw. What a jerk. I'm sorry, officially. Go hog my bridge lane and eat up my fav bagels. They're special things and they should be experienced by everyone. Well, almost everyone. I can think of a few shitheads I don't want pawing at the bagels ...
Tonight - a "two-fer"!!! (by request):
venue 1 - Standard Deviant Brewing (they close by 10)
after that go next door to:
venue 2 - Armory Club
That said ... "See you at the bar." G'won over and hoist a few. Bring yr pals. I know I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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