Thursday, April 25, 2019

Poot and Scoot (REDUX)

4.4.2019  (first posted this week 2003)

When I set an alarm clock, for whatever purpose, whether it's to drop everything and brush the fangs, turn on the tube to watch the game or to simply wake my sleepy ass up to shower and get to work, I set the thing to go off at an odd minute. Three past the hour. 17 till. That kinda thing. I've been doing this for years with no real reason. 
The other day I had to set an alarm to get up extra-early to trudge across town and give a cat a shot. I set the alarm for 6:33a. When it woke me and I shut it off I saw the display. 6:33. I thought to myself, "Wonder what other suckers are getting up right this moment. I wonder who got up a minute earlier and who got to sleep in a whole extra minute?" Taking it further, I wondered if I knew people who set alarms at specific minutes. I wondered how many degrees of separation from myself would find people setting alarms at six oh oh, six oh one and so on until 6:59a. So I threw out a little email survey. 
I sent the simple message: Send yr first name, yr city, what time you set your alarm in the morning and who sent you the message. I sent one lone email to my pal in Atlanta, GA. Within hours I received dozens of replies from all over the world. The strangest was from a dude named Santa hailing from North Pole. He sets his alarm for 6:14a. Don't know if it's legit or not. Don't know if there are more than one "Santa" livin' in the North Pole. Could be that it really was him. Whatever the case, my question of degrees of separation answered itself. "A lot." A lot of degrees of separation between me and folks setting alarms for specific minutes past 6a. My reasoning: Don't know Santa. Don't know Gordon in Philly (6:18a); Phoebe in Caracas (6:44a); Leo in Boise (6:55a) or Bridgit in Stockholm (6:23a). I have all the forwarding paths and whatnot, but the first 6-ish response was about fifty forwards. The second was somewhere around a hundred. I got fucking bored. 

Tonight - The Homestead

Birthday request.
Bring yr pals. I will. See you there! 


bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

Thursday, April 18, 2019

553-0123 (REDUX)


4.3.2019  (first posted this week 2002)

Ya have neighbors? You like them? Me, I live in a veritable sea of people and yet I feel rather invisible. It’s like they don’t see me. They don’t know I’m there. What’s more is that it seems that if they do notice, most don’t care. They'll hack one up and spit it on the sidewalk right in front of you. There’s a shocking lack of respect people pay to each other. I’ve been thinking about interacting with strangers lately and I’ve come to some conclusions. Sad conclusions. A couple of recent events got me thinking about it.

I was passenger in a car and we were circling on and around Chestnut street in the Marina district, looking for parking. If you know the area you might guess that the search was not going well. A few times around the neighborhood and some prayers to the Patron Saint of Parking (whoever that is … maybe it’s St. Homer), we saw a lady fixing to leave a big space. We pulled up, signaled our intention and waited while the lady checked the mirrors, her make up, various stock prices … she was taking her damn time, but that’s okay. It was an exercise in patience. Well guess what? Some piece of shit Dodge Neon pulls up behind the lady and also signals. We wondered aloud, “Is that dipshit thinking she’s taking that spot? Doesn’t she see our signal?” The Neon then pulls up to the lady in the spot (who is still taking her time) and asks her something. Probably if she’s leaving any time this year. She thinks she’s taking the spot. Well that doesn’t matter because we got there first. Rules of parking say it’s our spot.
Of course the goddang space is big enough such that when take-your-time-lady finally leaves, Neon “front parks.” Ugh. We pulled back and, as I was on the passenger side, I rolled down my window and said, “Get your fat ass outta that spot, asshole! Are you fokking blind? We were waiting for it!” Actually that’s what I wanted to say. What really came out was, “Hey Doll. We were waiting for that spot. We got here before you and you swiped it from us. Now c’mon. Fair is fair.” The pig squealed something like, “I asked her (take-your-time-lady) if you were waiting for this spot and she said no. So it’s mine.” Unbelieveable. “Hey Doll. How you figure she knows what we’re doing? Is this parking ritual new to you? It’s our spot. You cheated.” She was obviously entitled to the spot, though because she didn’t budge. I called her a bad, bad person and that she’ll get her’s from St. Homer. She said we were just sorry that we didn’t get our way. I said I was more sorry for her, as she was a pathetic parking-cheater with a crappy Neon. And she was ugly. (I kept that last bit to myself. I figure she’s known it all her life, no need to remind her.)

The other clear case of not getting along with other humans came in the form of a rampaging car alarm outside my bedroom window.

Some inconsiderate jerk set their car alarm to a hair trigger and every time a pidgeon farted in Alameda the thing would start wailing. It went crazy for a good ten-fifteen minutes before it shut off. It was really annoying.
Sad thing is that the car was a pile of junk. Nobody would be interested in it because it looked like it hardly ran. The thing showed up on a Sunday and started its sonic assault right away. By Monday, the alarm had gone off all night and the car had amassed a few notes on the windshield. I peeked at a few: “My bedroom is right across the side walk. Your alarm goes off and I can’t sleep. Please turn it off!” “Turn off your alarm, F*&(^%$ER!!! Or I’ll KILL YOUR CAR!!” Tuesday: Alarm. Wednesday: Alarm. I had had it. I called the SF PD’s non-emergency number, described the car and its location and the really sweet telephone copper said she’d send someone out. It must have been a really slow day because the fuzz showed up moments later and parked. The cop got out, went to the car, read the notes and apparently phoned it the wrecker. After a few minutes the No. 12 Folsom came down the hill and that alarm went bonkers. Proof.
Soon enough, I hear the alarm going off yet again, look out to see the wrecker pulling that sucker into the street and jacking it up to haul it off, still screaming. I waged a war against that car on behalf of my roommate and cats and won without nary an effort.

My point: It takes a special kind of inconsiderate jerk to set their alarm to such a sensitivity and never checks it when it goes off. I know of no one so thoughtless. I figured that I could arrange a little message that his tricks ain’t so funny and get his car ticketed and towed for him. I hope it cost a lot to get it back.

Tonight - Wooden Nickel

News: The Jamie Lee Curtis 14, Presidio Softball League Champions, is regrouping for another campaign. Good Luck! They are recruiting players, however, as several have gone down both to injuries and to, well, "Under." Get it? "Down Under?"

Last Week's Contest Results: No contest last week, but Moss won the previous' week's contest. He barely edged Founding Member John Metsker.

Tonight's Singled-Out List Member: Woody. He's challenging all List Members to pool tonight. You win, he buys.

Porn Title of the Week: Splendor in the Ass. Goddang that one makes me laugh.

Satanic Word of the Week: its

Umm ... Bring your friends, I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!




bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

Thursday, April 11, 2019

Sorry Folks ... (REDUX)


4.2.2019  (first posted this week 2002)

There ain't no official TNSC Venue Announcement today. The moose up at the front should have told you. Seems Robot had to make a choice of seeing Panic Room or writing the Venue Announcement last night and Jodie Foster won.

Meantime: House of Shields

See you there. Bring your Mooses. (??) bye-ee!

bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

Thursday, April 04, 2019

Synonymous with asphyxiation. (REDUX)


4.1.2019 (first posted this week 2006)

On the airplane up from LAX the other night I sat next to the biggest fucking douchebag I've seen in a while. He had the emergency exit row seat I wanted and I was sitting one row back and right of him, so I could see it all, no matter I didn't want to. Here's his highlight reel:

During the Emergency Procedure demo he waited until the flight attendant (doing the demo right in front of him) showed us how to click the metal parts of the belt together before dramatically clicking his belt together. He then said, "Did I do it right?" to the FA. She smiled a fakey and said, "good boy." He smiled a doofus and looked pleased. I wanted to choke him.

His goddamn phone rang during takeoff. He dug it out and only then turned it off. I wanted to throttle him.

He whipped out his laptop and a CD case, selected a disc and stuck it in. It was Rocky II. Some shithead watching a two hour movie on a one-hour flight is one thing, but in a darkened cabin, in a seat right in front of you so you can't avoid seeing Mr. T beating the shit outta 'ol Rocky is another thing entirely. It's a fucked thing. I wanted to strangle him.

It's kinda picky, but he LOOKED like a total jerk: alligator shoes, business slacks, a yellow dress shirt w/ white pinstripes, cuffs and collar, a fugly tie, glasses, an earring and a ponytail. I wanted to interfere with his breathing.

He had to be told to turn off Rocky II TWICE durning approach. I wanted to compress his throat.

He whipped out his iPod and 'phones AFTER being told to shut off electronics, turned it on and then turned on the overhead to see the display, presumably to find a song. Guess he didn't know about the backlight. I wanted to constrict his windpipe.

Then, finally, we were on the ground waiting for our gate to open up and after a few minutes he rang his overhead and the FA came over. He said, "I thought you weren't allowed to move about the cabin." She said, "I am. You are not. What do you want?" "Why aren't we moving?" "The captain annouced that there is a plane at our gate. We wait." He said, "A two hour delay at LAX and now we wait on the ground here? I've got an hour drive home." She said, "We've got to pick up the people at that gate and take them back to LAX. It's a long night for all of us." I wanted to garrote him.

It's always fun on Southwest Airlines. One day I will tell the tale told to me by a gal I know. She's unique because she likes bacon even more than I do. Imagine that.

Tonight  - Sutter Station Tavern

Workin' at home ... ain't what she used to be!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!