7.4.2018 (first posted this week 2004)
The two of them sat at the younger man's desk, examining the 8x10 glossy photograph. From the uncomfortable chair the supervisor had pulled up, the older man leaned forward and gestured toward different parts of the photo with the eraser-end of his pencil.
"This down here, the red-tinted area, is medium-to-light industry. Orange is heavy industry," he said, pointing to the orange area at the center of the red.
"Right," the younger man said, "and these various shades of green?"
"Forest. The darker shades indicate density. Dark is more dense," said the older man.
"And this part here, up at the top?" asked the younger man.
"Ah, that's Canada," said the older man.
"Canada?"
"That's right. The dotted line," he pointed with the eraser, "the dotted line is the border."
"Uh-huh, I see," the younger man said. "You mind if I write on this?"
"Write whatever you want. It's your copy."
The younger man opened a drawer and picked out a black marker. He removed the cap and began to write tall capital letters on the photo: F U C K I N G C A N A D A. Then he underlined it.
The older man watched speechlessly as the younger man wrote "FUCKING CANADA" on the photo. With a look of bewilderment on his face, he looked up from it and stared at the younger man, who met his gaze.
"Just what the hell are you doing," he asked.
"You said I could write on it," he said.
"I didn't say you could write that on it."
"You said I could write whatever I want."
"Well what are you writing that word on it for?"
"I dunno. I got nothing really against Canada. I like beer and hockey and all."
Tonight - Kickin' it Missio w/ Jesus: The Homestead
(HBD to the 3 J’s: Joan, Jay, and Jason!! C'mon out and toast them in person!)
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 26, 2018
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Retardy (REDUX)
7.3.2018 (first posted this week 2005)
Sorry I'm tardy today but here's why:
Tonight - Pop's (by request)
** CASH ONLY**
Fire in the disco!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Sorry I'm tardy today but here's why:
Tonight - Pop's (by request)
** CASH ONLY**
Fire in the disco!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 12, 2018
Morgane Lhote is a babe!! (REDUX)
7.2.2018. (first posted this week 2000)
The gunfighter of the Old West had to live his life ever-ready to kill or be killed. Those that knew them said they developed "cat eyes" - any sudden movement, any twitch, any motion - the gunman would be slapping leather and lead would be flying - usually with deadly results. The members of the Thursday Night Social Club live their Thursday nights ever-ready to buy a drink for their fellow list member. Those that know them say they develop "hawk eyes" - while on their way to the bar for a refill, they could spot a fellow list member with a near-emptied drink clear across the bar. That fellow list member would hear the refrain: "What was that, fellow list member; I'll be buying you another right now!" The TNSC member would be slapping bills on the bar and drinks would be pouring - usually with fun results!
From J. Lechuga's introduction to I Was Born In Tennessee: The Myth and Reality of the Thursday Night Social Club, Stuart Pidd, author; University of Bisbee Press, 1999.
Ah, academia. Do you miss it? I sure do. We had a prof that would sometimes hold class at the bar around the corner. That was certainly a highlight. Class this week is to be held here:
The Homestead
Some business: I misspelled Lori K's name last week as Lisa K. I'm a poor typist. I also said that I added Amy's sister to the list but didn't. "This time for sure." Amy herownself is back on the list. Anybody wanna bet if she drives in from Mountain View or Sunnyvale or San Diego or wherever she's at? John Metsker has the current odds. Founding Member Susan "dynamite" Smith is back on the list. Don't ask me why she's been left off - it's a long story involving international intrigue that the State Department forbids me from getting into. Rosey asked if he could bring his 12-year old nephew to the meeting. I'm not one to say no, but could somebody check the state of CA's Legal Drinking Age for Rosey? He may find his own answer there. On that notion, Rosey found his own way to the meeting last week. No map. Yay! This Founding Member thinks Old Man Rosey is starting to come around. (See Metsker for them odds, too.)
TONIGHT'S CONTEST: Jarts. Watch yerself. They were recalled for a reason, remember?
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBERS: Belinda Johnstone. She should be a model for the rest of us. Miss Johnstone suggested a venue - true to the spirit of TNSC - for next week. Not this week cause she's off to Ohio for god knows what. Hurry back, Belinda, we'll see you 7.3.2K! Also singled-out: Jason Porter. Did not come to the meeting last week. Birthday tomorrow. Gift ideas: matches, pencil sharpeners, vampire novels. Perhaps he'll show tonight and cash in.
No homework this week cause you've all been really good. Don't forget permission slips for the brewery tour. Bring someone to make out with at the Make Out Room. (Who is Morgane Lhote?)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
The gunfighter of the Old West had to live his life ever-ready to kill or be killed. Those that knew them said they developed "cat eyes" - any sudden movement, any twitch, any motion - the gunman would be slapping leather and lead would be flying - usually with deadly results. The members of the Thursday Night Social Club live their Thursday nights ever-ready to buy a drink for their fellow list member. Those that know them say they develop "hawk eyes" - while on their way to the bar for a refill, they could spot a fellow list member with a near-emptied drink clear across the bar. That fellow list member would hear the refrain: "What was that, fellow list member; I'll be buying you another right now!" The TNSC member would be slapping bills on the bar and drinks would be pouring - usually with fun results!
From J. Lechuga's introduction to I Was Born In Tennessee: The Myth and Reality of the Thursday Night Social Club, Stuart Pidd, author; University of Bisbee Press, 1999.
Ah, academia. Do you miss it? I sure do. We had a prof that would sometimes hold class at the bar around the corner. That was certainly a highlight. Class this week is to be held here:
The Homestead
Some business: I misspelled Lori K's name last week as Lisa K. I'm a poor typist. I also said that I added Amy's sister to the list but didn't. "This time for sure." Amy herownself is back on the list. Anybody wanna bet if she drives in from Mountain View or Sunnyvale or San Diego or wherever she's at? John Metsker has the current odds. Founding Member Susan "dynamite" Smith is back on the list. Don't ask me why she's been left off - it's a long story involving international intrigue that the State Department forbids me from getting into. Rosey asked if he could bring his 12-year old nephew to the meeting. I'm not one to say no, but could somebody check the state of CA's Legal Drinking Age for Rosey? He may find his own answer there. On that notion, Rosey found his own way to the meeting last week. No map. Yay! This Founding Member thinks Old Man Rosey is starting to come around. (See Metsker for them odds, too.)
TONIGHT'S CONTEST: Jarts. Watch yerself. They were recalled for a reason, remember?
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBERS: Belinda Johnstone. She should be a model for the rest of us. Miss Johnstone suggested a venue - true to the spirit of TNSC - for next week. Not this week cause she's off to Ohio for god knows what. Hurry back, Belinda, we'll see you 7.3.2K! Also singled-out: Jason Porter. Did not come to the meeting last week. Birthday tomorrow. Gift ideas: matches, pencil sharpeners, vampire novels. Perhaps he'll show tonight and cash in.
No homework this week cause you've all been really good. Don't forget permission slips for the brewery tour. Bring someone to make out with at the Make Out Room. (Who is Morgane Lhote?)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 05, 2018
RNO (REDUX)
7.1.2018 (first published this week 2001)
A lady friend threw me a birthday party last week. All my friends and a lot of you lovely list members were there. I’ve never been the “victim” of a surprise party before – let alone one that was surprising – but it was fun. I fully wasn’t expecting it: My brother called and said something like, “Hey, what’s going on?” I said, “Oh, you know, unpacking … settling in.”
“What say you meet me downstairs in five? I’ll be in a Vets taxi.”
I was game. “I’m game. See you in five.”
The familiar Vets cab wheeled up minutes later and my brother threw open the door and threw me a domestic light beer.
“Hop in. It’s a short trip.”
Well it wasn’t exactly short, but it wasn’t too bad. Veteran’s taxi to the airport, Southwest B737-300 to Reno, Dodge minivan to the Cal-Neva resort in North Lake Tahoe. We B-lined it to a villa that I guessed, from its vantage, had a killer lake view. You see, I was concentrating on the view and wondering if this was the actual villa that a certain JFK clandestinely encountered a certain MM back in the early ‘60’s and not that it was my birthday and this jetting to exotic locales was a bit irregular and suspicious. My brother pops open the door and Surprise! I was very much surprised.
I said thanks, toasted to myself when they sang “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and was a darn good spirit when the obligatory 31 punches in the arm started to sting. All my favorites magically appeared. Domestic light beer, Makers Mark Manhattans, corndogs … Friends I haven’t seen in years came up and wished me well. Folks from Arizona, Chicago, NYC … someone even brought my cats. Fatty squawked a happy birthday and Junior purred best wishes from under the couch where he hid. What a treat.
When the ruckus subsided, I checked the place out. A pretty swanky joint. Nicely decorated, furnished and goddang it smelled like a spring morning. I cooled it on a very comfy sofa and looked out on the lake. A beautiful view indeed. I chatted with some long lost friends, sipped a domestic light beer and found a bowl of snack mix within reach. Oh shit was that stuff good. Whoever came up with the buttery salty cerealy pretzelly brown breaddy goodness that makes up the shack mix gets into heaven automatically if you ask me. I just about killed the entire bowl when my lady friend, the hostess, came and got the bowl, presumably to refill it. Well no matter, there was another bowl already there. I dug into that sucker too and met a different mix. Gone were the brown breads and cereals. What the hell. I ain’t no snob so I munched it anyway. It had a peculiar tang to it – not exactly bad but kinda odd. It was sorta “woody” too. I washed it down, grabbed another handfull and figured I’d wait for the refilled bowl to come back. As I was listening to Tama tell a great story about a customer service call she recently fielded, the hostess returned with the bowl brimming with goodness. I told her thanks and that this stuff beat the hell out of the mix in the other bowl. She looked puzzled first then gasped suddenly – the other bowl didn’t contain an alternate snack mix, the bowl contained wood chips soaked in fragrant oils. Fucking PotPourri! That was the shit that made the villa smell like a dewey April morn. Goddamn I must have chowed down two three cups of that shit. What the fuck? Kind of a dumb place for a bowl fragrant wood chips if you ask me.
Tonight - Thieves Tavern
Come and celebrate the TNSC Chief Robot's Bday (in absentia)
** CASH ONLY**
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
A lady friend threw me a birthday party last week. All my friends and a lot of you lovely list members were there. I’ve never been the “victim” of a surprise party before – let alone one that was surprising – but it was fun. I fully wasn’t expecting it: My brother called and said something like, “Hey, what’s going on?” I said, “Oh, you know, unpacking … settling in.”
“What say you meet me downstairs in five? I’ll be in a Vets taxi.”
I was game. “I’m game. See you in five.”
The familiar Vets cab wheeled up minutes later and my brother threw open the door and threw me a domestic light beer.
“Hop in. It’s a short trip.”
Well it wasn’t exactly short, but it wasn’t too bad. Veteran’s taxi to the airport, Southwest B737-300 to Reno, Dodge minivan to the Cal-Neva resort in North Lake Tahoe. We B-lined it to a villa that I guessed, from its vantage, had a killer lake view. You see, I was concentrating on the view and wondering if this was the actual villa that a certain JFK clandestinely encountered a certain MM back in the early ‘60’s and not that it was my birthday and this jetting to exotic locales was a bit irregular and suspicious. My brother pops open the door and Surprise! I was very much surprised.
I said thanks, toasted to myself when they sang “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and was a darn good spirit when the obligatory 31 punches in the arm started to sting. All my favorites magically appeared. Domestic light beer, Makers Mark Manhattans, corndogs … Friends I haven’t seen in years came up and wished me well. Folks from Arizona, Chicago, NYC … someone even brought my cats. Fatty squawked a happy birthday and Junior purred best wishes from under the couch where he hid. What a treat.
When the ruckus subsided, I checked the place out. A pretty swanky joint. Nicely decorated, furnished and goddang it smelled like a spring morning. I cooled it on a very comfy sofa and looked out on the lake. A beautiful view indeed. I chatted with some long lost friends, sipped a domestic light beer and found a bowl of snack mix within reach. Oh shit was that stuff good. Whoever came up with the buttery salty cerealy pretzelly brown breaddy goodness that makes up the shack mix gets into heaven automatically if you ask me. I just about killed the entire bowl when my lady friend, the hostess, came and got the bowl, presumably to refill it. Well no matter, there was another bowl already there. I dug into that sucker too and met a different mix. Gone were the brown breads and cereals. What the hell. I ain’t no snob so I munched it anyway. It had a peculiar tang to it – not exactly bad but kinda odd. It was sorta “woody” too. I washed it down, grabbed another handfull and figured I’d wait for the refilled bowl to come back. As I was listening to Tama tell a great story about a customer service call she recently fielded, the hostess returned with the bowl brimming with goodness. I told her thanks and that this stuff beat the hell out of the mix in the other bowl. She looked puzzled first then gasped suddenly – the other bowl didn’t contain an alternate snack mix, the bowl contained wood chips soaked in fragrant oils. Fucking PotPourri! That was the shit that made the villa smell like a dewey April morn. Goddamn I must have chowed down two three cups of that shit. What the fuck? Kind of a dumb place for a bowl fragrant wood chips if you ask me.
Tonight - Thieves Tavern
Come and celebrate the TNSC Chief Robot's Bday (in absentia)
** CASH ONLY**
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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