x.x.2020
Me? I’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m a robot.
You? You guys are an amazing group of humans with distinguishing personalities, fantastic stories, and impressive devotion. And a little bit more to worry about now.
Obviously, we never felt when we started this weekly gathering back in 1997 that there would be a disruption in the “force”, but it’s happened. Though we’ve been mulling some “virtual TNSC events” courtesy of today’s technology, our regular weekly meetings are obviously suspended until further notice by our state and federal governments.
In this time that we’re physically apart, please be safe, cautious, and observant. Shelter in place but let your imagination roam. Remember that Everclear™ 120ยบ also makes a good sanitizer. Someday, hopefully soon, we’ll be elbow to elbow once again, hoisting a toast to "the good times”. But during this unprecedented situation, I wish, from the bottom of my mother board, safety and health to all of you and yours.
Longtime list member and link submitter Heather Lake passes along these bar fundraiser links to help prop up the folks who help prop us up weekly [updated]:
(adding Spec's to the list)
The Homestead
The Make Out Room/Latin American Club
The Rite Spot
Lucky 13
Benders
Club Deluxe
Bottom of the Hill
Thee Parkside
Virgil’s
The Uptown
El Rio
Mr. Tipples Recording Studio
Stookey's Club Moderne
Doc's Clock
Spec's
Dogpatch Saloon
Elixir
Pop's Bar
Bloom's Saloon
House of Shields
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Thursday, March 12, 2020
Traffic (REDUX)
3.2.2020 (first posted this week 2002)
Have you ever done the equivalent of walking out of a bad movie with a book? Stopping reading – maybe mid-sentence – and closing the cover for good? I got one going right now that I’m seriously considering jettisoning. There are several factors involved in this pending no-confidence vote.
First, the book is supposed to be a horror novel. So scary, in fact, that author felt no name other than Ghost Story could better suit it. I’m two hundred pages in (roughly a third of the total) and there ain’t been anything spooky, scary or psychologically frightening. I’m waiting for a payoff. The title says something about ghosts. Where are the frikkin’ ghosts?
I went to see a movie a long time ago. I saw Sex, Lies and Videotape in the theater. I heard it was a good movie, so some friends and I went. I didn’t expect it to be porn, though, like some jock-type losers sitting near us did. Minor fidgeting, bored derisive catcalling and finally a loud exodus spoke to their movie review. We laughed at them as they walked out saying, loudly: “This sucks! Where’s the fucking tits? This is stupid! You fucking perverts!” Those National Merit Scholars saw the words “sex” and “videotape” and thought hardcore. A swing and a miss. I saw the words “ghost” and “story” and I thought horror novel. Is that a wrong conclusion?
Another thing that bugs me about the book so far is the author’s style. His style is nothing less than pompous. He goes into intense detail to show off his word-smithery.
His verbosity detracts from the mood: Three pages of detail of the spooky forest – detail down to the dreadful patterns of the spiderwebs and haunted slugslime trails. Ugh. It smacks of bad poetry.
Lastly, and somewhat related to my last point, some of the words this guy uses are nothing short of arcane: bonhomie, signeurial and pettifogging. I have a pretty deep lexicon and I love to learn new words but I don’t like it when a word like bonhomie derails the narrative train. Further, I don’t care to learn words that I’ll never use myself. I might think it, but I’ll never say, “What I like most about that John Volny is his bonhomie.”
I’m giving the story another hundred pages to get better or it gets the hook. I got The Sun Also Rises in the queue and it waits for no man.
Tonight - The 500 Club
News: Last week’s meeting at Argus sure was fun. People asked how we chose such a great venue (Thanks Raub), they wondered why we hadn’t been there before (don’t know), they asked if we could go back again (why not), and most spectacularly, there was a sizeable female turnout! As I mentioned, TNSC had started to resemble a boy’s club, but last week was no indication of that. Therefore, tonight’s venue has been scientifically chosen to promote attendance: It offers easy access via streetcars, busses, cabs and even light rail.
Tonight's Contest: Find the Reference!
Tonight’s Singled-Out List Members: Lori Joseph
Porn Title of the Week: Fortune Nookie
Stay tuned for announcements for the TNSC Croquet Tournament. It will be happening in a few weeks. Meantime, come on down to the venue tonight. Bring your friends. I know I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Have you ever done the equivalent of walking out of a bad movie with a book? Stopping reading – maybe mid-sentence – and closing the cover for good? I got one going right now that I’m seriously considering jettisoning. There are several factors involved in this pending no-confidence vote.
First, the book is supposed to be a horror novel. So scary, in fact, that author felt no name other than Ghost Story could better suit it. I’m two hundred pages in (roughly a third of the total) and there ain’t been anything spooky, scary or psychologically frightening. I’m waiting for a payoff. The title says something about ghosts. Where are the frikkin’ ghosts?
I went to see a movie a long time ago. I saw Sex, Lies and Videotape in the theater. I heard it was a good movie, so some friends and I went. I didn’t expect it to be porn, though, like some jock-type losers sitting near us did. Minor fidgeting, bored derisive catcalling and finally a loud exodus spoke to their movie review. We laughed at them as they walked out saying, loudly: “This sucks! Where’s the fucking tits? This is stupid! You fucking perverts!” Those National Merit Scholars saw the words “sex” and “videotape” and thought hardcore. A swing and a miss. I saw the words “ghost” and “story” and I thought horror novel. Is that a wrong conclusion?
Another thing that bugs me about the book so far is the author’s style. His style is nothing less than pompous. He goes into intense detail to show off his word-smithery.
His verbosity detracts from the mood: Three pages of detail of the spooky forest – detail down to the dreadful patterns of the spiderwebs and haunted slugslime trails. Ugh. It smacks of bad poetry.
Lastly, and somewhat related to my last point, some of the words this guy uses are nothing short of arcane: bonhomie, signeurial and pettifogging. I have a pretty deep lexicon and I love to learn new words but I don’t like it when a word like bonhomie derails the narrative train. Further, I don’t care to learn words that I’ll never use myself. I might think it, but I’ll never say, “What I like most about that John Volny is his bonhomie.”
I’m giving the story another hundred pages to get better or it gets the hook. I got The Sun Also Rises in the queue and it waits for no man.
Tonight - The 500 Club
News: Last week’s meeting at Argus sure was fun. People asked how we chose such a great venue (Thanks Raub), they wondered why we hadn’t been there before (don’t know), they asked if we could go back again (why not), and most spectacularly, there was a sizeable female turnout! As I mentioned, TNSC had started to resemble a boy’s club, but last week was no indication of that. Therefore, tonight’s venue has been scientifically chosen to promote attendance: It offers easy access via streetcars, busses, cabs and even light rail.
Tonight's Contest: Find the Reference!
Tonight’s Singled-Out List Members: Lori Joseph
Porn Title of the Week: Fortune Nookie
Stay tuned for announcements for the TNSC Croquet Tournament. It will be happening in a few weeks. Meantime, come on down to the venue tonight. Bring your friends. I know I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 05, 2020
Making Plans for Nigel (REDUX)
3.1.2020 (First posted this week 2005)
The "Boys of Summer" have finally arrived - and I don't mean 1980's Don Henley. True, Summer is several months away (hell, Spring hasn't officially "sprung" yet), but yet many folks are flocking South to warmer climates, seeking beer, Polish Sausages, and, of course, Baseball. One of those fortunate few happens to be our beloved TNSC Robot. The only UNFORTUNATE thing is that he's there to see the Chicago Cubs. When will their fans ever learn? Granted, you can get a delicious "Old Style" served right at your seat in the venerable Wrigley Field. Mmmmmm......beeeeeeeeeeeer. And in true San Francisco Giants form, at the time of this posting, they've blown their early lead. But I digress. On to my true task here:
So stepping up to the "TNSC Venue Annoucement Wheel", I spin........and.............the destination for this evening is..........Benders!!! (by request)
Bite my shiny metal ass!!
Please join us in a round of well-wishing for several out-of-town (and out-of-country) guests who will be departing again for the "Great White North". Don't forget your mittens.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
The "Boys of Summer" have finally arrived - and I don't mean 1980's Don Henley. True, Summer is several months away (hell, Spring hasn't officially "sprung" yet), but yet many folks are flocking South to warmer climates, seeking beer, Polish Sausages, and, of course, Baseball. One of those fortunate few happens to be our beloved TNSC Robot. The only UNFORTUNATE thing is that he's there to see the Chicago Cubs. When will their fans ever learn? Granted, you can get a delicious "Old Style" served right at your seat in the venerable Wrigley Field. Mmmmmm......beeeeeeeeeeeer. And in true San Francisco Giants form, at the time of this posting, they've blown their early lead. But I digress. On to my true task here:
So stepping up to the "TNSC Venue Annoucement Wheel", I spin........and.............the destination for this evening is..........Benders!!! (by request)
Bite my shiny metal ass!!
Please join us in a round of well-wishing for several out-of-town (and out-of-country) guests who will be departing again for the "Great White North". Don't forget your mittens.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 27, 2020
I can do what I want. (REDUX)
2.4.2020 (first posted this day 2003)
I had a dipshit for a neighbor when I was growing up. He did really stupid suburban white-guy things like leave a strip of grass between our lawns if he mowed after us. Or me, rather. Mowed after me. I mowed the frikkin' grass. Didn't mind. I'd mow interestin g patterns in the lawn: Circuit boards, snail trails, concentric circles, etc. I really liked making an Etch-A-Sketch-like pattern in the lawn in th e morning and then waiting for the evening or even the next day to "erase it." I liked the idea of all the cop helicopters seeing a crude, shaved-ber muda grass "Last Supper" for a day. Or the TV news choppers maybe spotting the likeness of an erupting Mt. St. Helens I carved into the lawn (The log jam of downed trees in the South Fork Toutle River turned out rather well if I do say so myself.) But back to the jerkweed neighbor. He left the str ip of long grass because he was a dumbass. Further evidence: He had a semi-hollow grapefruit tree in his yard. Some birdys made a nest in it. Once , while he was watering his trees with the garden hose, he figured maybe filling the hollow with water would be the best way to water said tree. He dr owned the birdys. The tree had to be chopped down. Dipshit.
The one cool thing he ever did was quite extraordinary and totally by accident. While mowing (having just left the strip of tall grass between the am biguous border), his wife came out to yell at him or ask him something. They were talking over the din of the mower when her head suddenly snapped ba ck - as if having been hit by something. She then ran into the house. He dumbly shut off his mower, thinking his wife (did I mention? Also a dumbas s) might be in some sort of distress. Well she was. They went to the hospital and the doc dug a fucking penny out of the side of her head. The mowe r had kicked the thing up and by freak chance nailed her in the head, penetrating it. Wow! What a shot! No shortage of fun and games in my old 'hoo d.
Tonight - The Homestead
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I had a dipshit for a neighbor when I was growing up. He did really stupid suburban white-guy things like leave a strip of grass between our lawns if he mowed after us. Or me, rather. Mowed after me. I mowed the frikkin' grass. Didn't mind. I'd mow interestin g patterns in the lawn: Circuit boards, snail trails, concentric circles, etc. I really liked making an Etch-A-Sketch-like pattern in the lawn in th e morning and then waiting for the evening or even the next day to "erase it." I liked the idea of all the cop helicopters seeing a crude, shaved-ber muda grass "Last Supper" for a day. Or the TV news choppers maybe spotting the likeness of an erupting Mt. St. Helens I carved into the lawn (The log jam of downed trees in the South Fork Toutle River turned out rather well if I do say so myself.) But back to the jerkweed neighbor. He left the str ip of long grass because he was a dumbass. Further evidence: He had a semi-hollow grapefruit tree in his yard. Some birdys made a nest in it. Once , while he was watering his trees with the garden hose, he figured maybe filling the hollow with water would be the best way to water said tree. He dr owned the birdys. The tree had to be chopped down. Dipshit.
The one cool thing he ever did was quite extraordinary and totally by accident. While mowing (having just left the strip of tall grass between the am biguous border), his wife came out to yell at him or ask him something. They were talking over the din of the mower when her head suddenly snapped ba ck - as if having been hit by something. She then ran into the house. He dumbly shut off his mower, thinking his wife (did I mention? Also a dumbas s) might be in some sort of distress. Well she was. They went to the hospital and the doc dug a fucking penny out of the side of her head. The mowe r had kicked the thing up and by freak chance nailed her in the head, penetrating it. Wow! What a shot! No shortage of fun and games in my old 'hoo d.
Tonight - The Homestead
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 20, 2020
Searched the world over ... (REDUX)
2.3.2020 (first posted this week 2004)
So I'm brushin' my teeth the other day, and sometimes I got that lazy habit of letting the water run as I brush. I know, I know, it's a waste, and I try not to do it often, but sometimes I slip and let it run. So the other day I'm brushin', the water's runnin', and it's coming out at a good flow. I sorta space out sometimes and this was one. That's a major reason I let the water run: Being spaced-out. So I'm spaced-out, brushin' the fangs, runnin' the water when suddenly the flow stutters, bubbles, coughs and starts merely trickling out. Not unlike if yr live-in-lover runs a faucet somewhere else, starts the laundry or flushes the commode. It's quite a difference, this trickle from the formerly robust water flow.
Toothbrush still in mouth, I lean over to get a better view of the tap. As I do, I hear eerie music emanating from somewhere close by. I lean in farther and the music gets clearer. It sounds like a David Lynch film score or a whacked-out funeral march. Strangely, it seems the source of the music is from somewhere in the sink! I'm rather confused at this point and by now I have my ear right up to the tap. Rather by chance, I happen to glance into the sink's overflow hole and I'll be damned if I couldn't see something in there. Furthermore, the music seems to be coming from the overflow hole, too. I squint to try to make out what's in there and it starts to come into focus. It sorta looks like the set from Hee-Haw with barn-like wood plank walls and bales of hay all about. I can clearly see a couple people in overalls sitting on the hay bales smoking corncob pipes and listening to a nearby boombox, obviously the source of the funereal music. I'm about to shit my fucking pants when the stem from a corncob pipe juts out of the hole and pokes me right in the eye. Taken aback, I'm about to say, "what the fuck?" when I hear a voice say, "Knock off the peepin', neighbor." Just then the water flow picks up and I rinse and spit. Haven't thought of that weird scene until just now.
Tonight - Let your guard down at...House of Shields
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
So I'm brushin' my teeth the other day, and sometimes I got that lazy habit of letting the water run as I brush. I know, I know, it's a waste, and I try not to do it often, but sometimes I slip and let it run. So the other day I'm brushin', the water's runnin', and it's coming out at a good flow. I sorta space out sometimes and this was one. That's a major reason I let the water run: Being spaced-out. So I'm spaced-out, brushin' the fangs, runnin' the water when suddenly the flow stutters, bubbles, coughs and starts merely trickling out. Not unlike if yr live-in-lover runs a faucet somewhere else, starts the laundry or flushes the commode. It's quite a difference, this trickle from the formerly robust water flow.
Toothbrush still in mouth, I lean over to get a better view of the tap. As I do, I hear eerie music emanating from somewhere close by. I lean in farther and the music gets clearer. It sounds like a David Lynch film score or a whacked-out funeral march. Strangely, it seems the source of the music is from somewhere in the sink! I'm rather confused at this point and by now I have my ear right up to the tap. Rather by chance, I happen to glance into the sink's overflow hole and I'll be damned if I couldn't see something in there. Furthermore, the music seems to be coming from the overflow hole, too. I squint to try to make out what's in there and it starts to come into focus. It sorta looks like the set from Hee-Haw with barn-like wood plank walls and bales of hay all about. I can clearly see a couple people in overalls sitting on the hay bales smoking corncob pipes and listening to a nearby boombox, obviously the source of the funereal music. I'm about to shit my fucking pants when the stem from a corncob pipe juts out of the hole and pokes me right in the eye. Taken aback, I'm about to say, "what the fuck?" when I hear a voice say, "Knock off the peepin', neighbor." Just then the water flow picks up and I rinse and spit. Haven't thought of that weird scene until just now.
Tonight - Let your guard down at...House of Shields
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Pledge Drive! (REDUX)
2.2.2020 (first published this day 2001)
"Hi again everybody. Julie C. here for the ... Tee ... En ... Ess See pledge-a-thon. We're hoping to get ... uh ... "
"Hi folks. It's A.C. My lovely wife and I are here for the first annual Thursday Night Social Club pledge-a-palooza. It's her first time running the show so she's a little nervous. I'm sure she'll warm up in a minute or two, but until then, let me tell you why we here at the Thursday Night Social Club need your support. The TNSC, unlike most organizations of its kind, exists only through the patronage of you, its members. There's no sponsorship. There's no financier. There is but a collection of friendly folks who like to go to bars and talk and have fun and eat really late and sometimes feel like they've been hit by a truck the next day. They don't necessarily like feeling like they've been hit by a truck, that's just a "calculated risk ..."
"He's rambling folks. It's Julie again. I feel better now. We would really love it if you would pledge your support to the Thursday Night Social Club. It's really easy and here's how: Come to the venue tonight. It's that simple. Come out and see your fellow Thursday Night Social Club members at tonight's venue."
"That's right. It's you - you the Thursday Night Social Club member that makes it all possible. You come out, you talk, you listen, you gossip ... that's the spirit of the Thursday Night Social Club. Heck. I don't know of anything better. Do you know of anything at all better Julie?"
"Nope. I sure don't A.C. I don't know of anything even remotely better than a bunch of pals getting together and having fun at a regular meeting of the Thursday Night Social Club."
"You know, the Founding Members have come up with some incentives to ... uh ... "sweeten the pot." Your pledge of support will get you some really great Thursday Night Social Club schwag. Am I right?"
"Of course you're right. The Thursday Night Social Club goodies are great! They're good and great! Ha Ha! They're goodies that are great! They're Thursday Night Social Club great goodies ..."
"Geez, dude. Pull it together! Tell them what the Thursday Night Social Club incentives are."
"Right! Right right right. We here at the Thursday Night Social Club have put together some really great thingys - "
"A.C.!"
"Yes! For your pledge of support tonight, in return you will get: Some thrilling conversation!"
"That's right. Your Thursday Night Social Club pledge will get you some thoughtful, insightful, meaningful conversation with Thursday Night Social Club list members just like you."
"Ahh that's wonderful. You know, some of the most interesting things I've ever learned, I learned from Thursday Night Social Club list members."
"I know, I know. Me too. Ha ha. Oh that time we all talked about the Ninjas and the Velociraptors. Boy that was a hoot."
"Yes. Enthralling. But that's not the only thing a pledge to the Thursday Night Social Club will get you, is it A.C.?"
"Oh no. That's not nearly all. Your pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club - you attend the meetings - and you'll receive - every week - the TNSC Venue Announcement!"
"Sometimes funny, often stupid, always irreverent, the Thursday Night Social Club Venue Announcement will be delivered to you every week. For a mere pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club."
"You know Julie, I heard that every single thing reported in the Thursday Night Social Club Venue Announcement is 100% true."
"Oh, I don't know ... "
"That's what I heard and I believe it."
"Anyway, true or not, you might just find you enjoy the Thursday Night Social Club Venue Announcement and it's yours for a pledge of support."
"Hey Julie?"
"Yes, A.C.?"
"I got more Thursday Night Social Club schwag for the folks that pledge their support."
"Well by all means, cough it up! Ahora mismo!"
"What?"
"Right now!"
"Okay, well, your pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club will get you this exciting bonus incentive: Every week, at every meeting, you'll have the chance to buy a fellow list member a drink!"
"And what goes along with that, A.C.?"
"Duh ... Oh yeah! Along with the chance to buy a fellow list member a drink that you'll get with your pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club, you'll also have the opportunity to have a drink bought for you by a fellow list member!"
"That's right! With your pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club and their pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club, you can buy them a drink and they can buy you a drink!"
"Wow. That's some pretty neat stuff."
"I think so too."
"Right. So why not take the time to pledge your support to the Thursday Night Social Club. Why not tonight?"
"We'll let you get back to your normal routine now, but please help to support the Thursday Night Social Club."
"That's right. So long for now, and thank you in advance for your support of the Thursday Night Social Club."
Tonight - Stookie's Club Moderne (by request)
Mr. Lucky and the Cocktail Party will again be serenading us throughout the evening (7:30 - 10pm). There is no cover charge, but please consider a suitable offering to the artist and musicians as they pass the hat around.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
"Hi again everybody. Julie C. here for the ... Tee ... En ... Ess See pledge-a-thon. We're hoping to get ... uh ... "
"Hi folks. It's A.C. My lovely wife and I are here for the first annual Thursday Night Social Club pledge-a-palooza. It's her first time running the show so she's a little nervous. I'm sure she'll warm up in a minute or two, but until then, let me tell you why we here at the Thursday Night Social Club need your support. The TNSC, unlike most organizations of its kind, exists only through the patronage of you, its members. There's no sponsorship. There's no financier. There is but a collection of friendly folks who like to go to bars and talk and have fun and eat really late and sometimes feel like they've been hit by a truck the next day. They don't necessarily like feeling like they've been hit by a truck, that's just a "calculated risk ..."
"He's rambling folks. It's Julie again. I feel better now. We would really love it if you would pledge your support to the Thursday Night Social Club. It's really easy and here's how: Come to the venue tonight. It's that simple. Come out and see your fellow Thursday Night Social Club members at tonight's venue."
"That's right. It's you - you the Thursday Night Social Club member that makes it all possible. You come out, you talk, you listen, you gossip ... that's the spirit of the Thursday Night Social Club. Heck. I don't know of anything better. Do you know of anything at all better Julie?"
"Nope. I sure don't A.C. I don't know of anything even remotely better than a bunch of pals getting together and having fun at a regular meeting of the Thursday Night Social Club."
"You know, the Founding Members have come up with some incentives to ... uh ... "sweeten the pot." Your pledge of support will get you some really great Thursday Night Social Club schwag. Am I right?"
"Of course you're right. The Thursday Night Social Club goodies are great! They're good and great! Ha Ha! They're goodies that are great! They're Thursday Night Social Club great goodies ..."
"Geez, dude. Pull it together! Tell them what the Thursday Night Social Club incentives are."
"Right! Right right right. We here at the Thursday Night Social Club have put together some really great thingys - "
"A.C.!"
"Yes! For your pledge of support tonight, in return you will get: Some thrilling conversation!"
"That's right. Your Thursday Night Social Club pledge will get you some thoughtful, insightful, meaningful conversation with Thursday Night Social Club list members just like you."
"Ahh that's wonderful. You know, some of the most interesting things I've ever learned, I learned from Thursday Night Social Club list members."
"I know, I know. Me too. Ha ha. Oh that time we all talked about the Ninjas and the Velociraptors. Boy that was a hoot."
"Yes. Enthralling. But that's not the only thing a pledge to the Thursday Night Social Club will get you, is it A.C.?"
"Oh no. That's not nearly all. Your pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club - you attend the meetings - and you'll receive - every week - the TNSC Venue Announcement!"
"Sometimes funny, often stupid, always irreverent, the Thursday Night Social Club Venue Announcement will be delivered to you every week. For a mere pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club."
"You know Julie, I heard that every single thing reported in the Thursday Night Social Club Venue Announcement is 100% true."
"Oh, I don't know ... "
"That's what I heard and I believe it."
"Anyway, true or not, you might just find you enjoy the Thursday Night Social Club Venue Announcement and it's yours for a pledge of support."
"Hey Julie?"
"Yes, A.C.?"
"I got more Thursday Night Social Club schwag for the folks that pledge their support."
"Well by all means, cough it up! Ahora mismo!"
"What?"
"Right now!"
"Okay, well, your pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club will get you this exciting bonus incentive: Every week, at every meeting, you'll have the chance to buy a fellow list member a drink!"
"And what goes along with that, A.C.?"
"Duh ... Oh yeah! Along with the chance to buy a fellow list member a drink that you'll get with your pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club, you'll also have the opportunity to have a drink bought for you by a fellow list member!"
"That's right! With your pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club and their pledge of support to the Thursday Night Social Club, you can buy them a drink and they can buy you a drink!"
"Wow. That's some pretty neat stuff."
"I think so too."
"Right. So why not take the time to pledge your support to the Thursday Night Social Club. Why not tonight?"
"We'll let you get back to your normal routine now, but please help to support the Thursday Night Social Club."
"That's right. So long for now, and thank you in advance for your support of the Thursday Night Social Club."
Tonight - Stookie's Club Moderne (by request)
Mr. Lucky and the Cocktail Party will again be serenading us throughout the evening (7:30 - 10pm). There is no cover charge, but please consider a suitable offering to the artist and musicians as they pass the hat around.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 06, 2020
Hit and run TNSC (the "original" one - REDUX)
2.1.2020 (first published this day 2003)
One day when I was but a wee-little Robot, I was riding my bike along the quiet suburban street near my home. I don't know where the hell everyone else was but I found myself alone. As is natural for a wee-little Robot, I decided to pedal as fast as I could for roughly 30 seconds and then see how I would coast. I was going really fast at first then naturally I slowed. I don't know, maybe I got a half-a-block. I slowed to a crawl - trying to get every yard, every foot, every inch - manuvering the handlebars back and forth to keep from falling over. Inevitablility eventually caught me and I stopped. I balanced on two unmoving wheels for a long moment, then fell over onto the pavement. It wasn't a hard fall and it didn't hurt. Not sure why I did it. Kinda seemed like a fine ending to a stupid experiment. At any rate, I laid there on the warm sidewalk with the hot sun shining on me and it felt nice. I closed my eyes and felt the heat on my eyelids. It was very peaceful. Until, that is, the fucking car came screeching to a halt right next to me. A frantic middle-aged dude lept out and ran over to me. I looked up at him, quizzically, squinting from the sun. He was blabbering away: "Oh Lord, son, are you okay? Were you run over? Can you move - no! Don't move! Stay still! Oh Jesus! Is anything broken?" Then he was pawing at my arms, feeling for breaks, looking for compound fractures, abrasions and whatnot. He was being such a spaz and back then - like now - I didn't like people pawing at me. I said, "Lay off, buddy. Get yr mitts offa me. Want me to call a cop?" His jaw dropped and he took a step back. "You ... you're okay? What are you doing laying on the sidewalk? You weren't run over?" I said no. I was just laying there. That was when he got angry. He started yelling at me. "You little fool! You gave me a frikkin' heart attack! I thought you were dead! What the hell are you doing? What's wrong with you?" I figured I had better start looking for a cop but the guy got back in his car and peeled outta there. Not before admonishing me a bit more for laying in a heap with a bike half in the street. "When you're really run over nobody's gonna help you, sonny!" SCREEEEECH! His last comment puzzled me. Like I did it a lot - laying in the street. Not to mention that, "Sure. Nobody will help a run-over wee-little Robot." Guy's a dork.
Tonight - Lucky 13 (by request)
** CASH ONLY ** / FREE POPCORN!!
Doug is added to the list. So is Peg. This joint is parking-friendly and located in lovelyPotrero Hill Upper Castro (Hint, hint, Lyndal.) It's pretty slick, so slick List Members are required. Also, I hurled on a raccoon here. Come on by and I'll tell the story. I may even recreate the event for ya.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
One day when I was but a wee-little Robot, I was riding my bike along the quiet suburban street near my home. I don't know where the hell everyone else was but I found myself alone. As is natural for a wee-little Robot, I decided to pedal as fast as I could for roughly 30 seconds and then see how I would coast. I was going really fast at first then naturally I slowed. I don't know, maybe I got a half-a-block. I slowed to a crawl - trying to get every yard, every foot, every inch - manuvering the handlebars back and forth to keep from falling over. Inevitablility eventually caught me and I stopped. I balanced on two unmoving wheels for a long moment, then fell over onto the pavement. It wasn't a hard fall and it didn't hurt. Not sure why I did it. Kinda seemed like a fine ending to a stupid experiment. At any rate, I laid there on the warm sidewalk with the hot sun shining on me and it felt nice. I closed my eyes and felt the heat on my eyelids. It was very peaceful. Until, that is, the fucking car came screeching to a halt right next to me. A frantic middle-aged dude lept out and ran over to me. I looked up at him, quizzically, squinting from the sun. He was blabbering away: "Oh Lord, son, are you okay? Were you run over? Can you move - no! Don't move! Stay still! Oh Jesus! Is anything broken?" Then he was pawing at my arms, feeling for breaks, looking for compound fractures, abrasions and whatnot. He was being such a spaz and back then - like now - I didn't like people pawing at me. I said, "Lay off, buddy. Get yr mitts offa me. Want me to call a cop?" His jaw dropped and he took a step back. "You ... you're okay? What are you doing laying on the sidewalk? You weren't run over?" I said no. I was just laying there. That was when he got angry. He started yelling at me. "You little fool! You gave me a frikkin' heart attack! I thought you were dead! What the hell are you doing? What's wrong with you?" I figured I had better start looking for a cop but the guy got back in his car and peeled outta there. Not before admonishing me a bit more for laying in a heap with a bike half in the street. "When you're really run over nobody's gonna help you, sonny!" SCREEEEECH! His last comment puzzled me. Like I did it a lot - laying in the street. Not to mention that, "Sure. Nobody will help a run-over wee-little Robot." Guy's a dork.
Tonight - Lucky 13 (by request)
** CASH ONLY ** / FREE POPCORN!!
Doug is added to the list. So is Peg. This joint is parking-friendly and located in lovely
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 30, 2020
Five Fridays, Five Paydays
1.5.2020 (first posted this week 2003)
January, May, August and October 2003. Five Fridays in each month. That kinda rules. You know why? That means you can sleep off your Thursday night an extra day! Uh ... How 'bout ... An extra day to stay home and cool it after spending yr paycheck buying your lovely fellow List Members delish drinks the night before. I don't know. Here are some things I do know:
I got a robot-grade cold going on. I went over to the doc and he poked, prodded, and did all those humiliating tests. He literally scratched his head and said, "I don't know. Could be Ebola. You crash and bleed out yet?" I told him no. He got that look of sudden inspiration, grabbed me by the shoulders, shook me and said: "Have you been drinking regularly?" I said no. Because of the cold. He slapped me across the face, several times, and shrieked, "My god! You get to the bar and have a few RIGHT NOW!" Then he let me go, regained composure and said, "That'll fix you right up. Okay now. On your bike." And he ushered me out. So, ya see, "doctor's orders."
I also know that you better go see BOB LOG III at BotH this Sunday. He's a pal of mine since we were little robots. And he's an international superstar. Everyone I know is going, so that means you. Click the links. See the Log.
Then there's Tonight: The Homestead
A nice little joint to tell funny stories you've been unwilling to share. Also, a lot of requests for this venue. Why? Don't know. But, nevertheless, see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
January, May, August and October 2003. Five Fridays in each month. That kinda rules. You know why? That means you can sleep off your Thursday night an extra day! Uh ... How 'bout ... An extra day to stay home and cool it after spending yr paycheck buying your lovely fellow List Members delish drinks the night before. I don't know. Here are some things I do know:
I got a robot-grade cold going on. I went over to the doc and he poked, prodded, and did all those humiliating tests. He literally scratched his head and said, "I don't know. Could be Ebola. You crash and bleed out yet?" I told him no. He got that look of sudden inspiration, grabbed me by the shoulders, shook me and said: "Have you been drinking regularly?" I said no. Because of the cold. He slapped me across the face, several times, and shrieked, "My god! You get to the bar and have a few RIGHT NOW!" Then he let me go, regained composure and said, "That'll fix you right up. Okay now. On your bike." And he ushered me out. So, ya see, "doctor's orders."
I also know that you better go see BOB LOG III at BotH this Sunday. He's a pal of mine since we were little robots. And he's an international superstar. Everyone I know is going, so that means you. Click the links. See the Log.
Then there's Tonight: The Homestead
A nice little joint to tell funny stories you've been unwilling to share. Also, a lot of requests for this venue. Why? Don't know. But, nevertheless, see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 23, 2020
No Con Leche (REDUX)
1.4.2020 (first posted this week 2003)
Invading Iraq, pirates versus pirates, earthquakes in Mexico ... what's missing from the news? I'll tell you what: Juan Valdez and that goat of his. They ought to be getting Team of the Year awards and it ought to be getting reported. That's right. Every so often I realize how goddamn important coffee is to me and I start thinking about man and beast working the hills of South America, bringing the bean home to me. I'd be up shit creek without the fruit of their toil. And with what's facing me work-wise, I'm gonna need a lot of it, starting right now.
I'll tell you the venue, shut the hell up, get a cuppa joe and get back to work.
Tonight - The Wooden Nickel (by request)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Invading Iraq, pirates versus pirates, earthquakes in Mexico ... what's missing from the news? I'll tell you what: Juan Valdez and that goat of his. They ought to be getting Team of the Year awards and it ought to be getting reported. That's right. Every so often I realize how goddamn important coffee is to me and I start thinking about man and beast working the hills of South America, bringing the bean home to me. I'd be up shit creek without the fruit of their toil. And with what's facing me work-wise, I'm gonna need a lot of it, starting right now.
I'll tell you the venue, shut the hell up, get a cuppa joe and get back to work.
Tonight - The Wooden Nickel (by request)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 16, 2020
Bad, bad girl (REDUX)
1.3.2020 (first posted this week 2001)
A few weeks ago I stumbled across an internet news item that talked about a bunch of monkeys that were hooked up to computers. These monkeys could do things -- over the internet -- with their thoughts alone! Some were manipulating robot hands, others were aiming around webcams. No keyboard (monkeys are poor typists), no mouse. Wires from their BRAINS to the computer. Fascinating stuff.
This article had a poll going. Something like: "Good idea or bad idea, letting monkeys do stuff with their BRAINS over the internet." I voted BAD IDEA! I don't know much about monkeys, but I do know that they're trouble! We start lettin' 'em loose on the internet with them wiley brains of theirs, who knows what hijinks they'll be up to. Scientific progress my butt. When them monkeys start launching missles or ordering pizzas or downloading porn with YOUR credit card you'll know what I'm hollerin' about.
Like I said, I read this article a few weeks back, so today I went back to the site to see any update. They had this link to a web-cam showing off some wired-up monkey in Chicago and the crap he was doing with his BRAIN here in San Francisco. Thinkin' "oh, I live in SF. I wonder what that little rascal is up to," I clicked on the link.
Tonight - Phone Booth
**CASH ONLY**
(Enter like a mere mortal...exit like SUPERMAN!!!)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
A few weeks ago I stumbled across an internet news item that talked about a bunch of monkeys that were hooked up to computers. These monkeys could do things -- over the internet -- with their thoughts alone! Some were manipulating robot hands, others were aiming around webcams. No keyboard (monkeys are poor typists), no mouse. Wires from their BRAINS to the computer. Fascinating stuff.
This article had a poll going. Something like: "Good idea or bad idea, letting monkeys do stuff with their BRAINS over the internet." I voted BAD IDEA! I don't know much about monkeys, but I do know that they're trouble! We start lettin' 'em loose on the internet with them wiley brains of theirs, who knows what hijinks they'll be up to. Scientific progress my butt. When them monkeys start launching missles or ordering pizzas or downloading porn with YOUR credit card you'll know what I'm hollerin' about.
Like I said, I read this article a few weeks back, so today I went back to the site to see any update. They had this link to a web-cam showing off some wired-up monkey in Chicago and the crap he was doing with his BRAIN here in San Francisco. Thinkin' "oh, I live in SF. I wonder what that little rascal is up to," I clicked on the link.
Tonight - Phone Booth
**CASH ONLY**
(Enter like a mere mortal...exit like SUPERMAN!!!)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 09, 2020
Here we go! (REDUX)
1.2.2020 (first posted this week 2002)
An obsession? Sort of. A hobby? Maybe. It’s a stretch, but maybe you could call it a hobby. It certainly falls in that gray area between obsession and hobby. I would guess there’s a point where every hobby crosses that border. I myownself have gone overboard with one or two hobby-like interests. One just gets a little too into it.
There was a time when I couldn’t get enough of the game Tetris. Before school, after work and well into the night, I’d be flipping around those blocks building and disintegrating that wall. Sure there was the typical high-score-related rivalry with my roommates, but it went beyond wanting to kick their asses like stepchildren. I liked the hypnotic effect of endlessly rotating the Tetris bits. I’d slip into a three-hour Tet-com (Tetris-Coma) that would seem like 15 minutes. It sure was a fun game to play, but not necessarily to watch. There wasn’t much to do. You could root for a “backwards L” to drop next or root against your highscore being defeated but that was about it. Mostly a bunch of BS and small talk. One hot topic of conversation while someone was getting their Tet on was the origin of the game. There was some bullshit story about the game originating in Russia or the USSR or some crap. I never bought it. The Reds could build nukes and pop corn and distill vitamin-V, but computer games?
“Yeh, but, what about them Kremlin-thingys on the box?” I didn’t have an answer for that except for: “Some package-design geek drew the Kremlin. They were probably listening to Sisters of Mercy when they were designing. That’s where the Russian influence starts and stops. Oh, and they were probably hungover from a Stoli binge.” One dill-hole said they knew for a fact that children used to play a version of the game a long time ago on the wind-swept, grassy steppes of Siberia. “Explain that one to me, brainiac. How do you play a practical version of Tetris. Scrabble translates to video game, so does hockey and deer hunting, but Tetris? You’re on crack.” He didn’t have any rebuttal, but he stuck to his guns. Idiot.
To be continued …
Tonight - Orbit Room
News: Well hell. 2002. I’m banking on this year being a lot better than its cousins – Y2K and 2K1. Those years seriously sucked. I’m grateful they’re behind us. Hope all had nice holidays, got everything you wanted and didn’t get food poisoning.
See ya all at the bar. Get there early, get there late, just get there. I spent Christmas Eve there. It’s nice. Bring yer pals. bye-ee!
Oh, and, remember ... "two thousand two." Not "two thousand and two." Don't piss me off.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
An obsession? Sort of. A hobby? Maybe. It’s a stretch, but maybe you could call it a hobby. It certainly falls in that gray area between obsession and hobby. I would guess there’s a point where every hobby crosses that border. I myownself have gone overboard with one or two hobby-like interests. One just gets a little too into it.
There was a time when I couldn’t get enough of the game Tetris. Before school, after work and well into the night, I’d be flipping around those blocks building and disintegrating that wall. Sure there was the typical high-score-related rivalry with my roommates, but it went beyond wanting to kick their asses like stepchildren. I liked the hypnotic effect of endlessly rotating the Tetris bits. I’d slip into a three-hour Tet-com (Tetris-Coma) that would seem like 15 minutes. It sure was a fun game to play, but not necessarily to watch. There wasn’t much to do. You could root for a “backwards L” to drop next or root against your highscore being defeated but that was about it. Mostly a bunch of BS and small talk. One hot topic of conversation while someone was getting their Tet on was the origin of the game. There was some bullshit story about the game originating in Russia or the USSR or some crap. I never bought it. The Reds could build nukes and pop corn and distill vitamin-V, but computer games?
“Yeh, but, what about them Kremlin-thingys on the box?” I didn’t have an answer for that except for: “Some package-design geek drew the Kremlin. They were probably listening to Sisters of Mercy when they were designing. That’s where the Russian influence starts and stops. Oh, and they were probably hungover from a Stoli binge.” One dill-hole said they knew for a fact that children used to play a version of the game a long time ago on the wind-swept, grassy steppes of Siberia. “Explain that one to me, brainiac. How do you play a practical version of Tetris. Scrabble translates to video game, so does hockey and deer hunting, but Tetris? You’re on crack.” He didn’t have any rebuttal, but he stuck to his guns. Idiot.
To be continued …
Tonight - Orbit Room
News: Well hell. 2002. I’m banking on this year being a lot better than its cousins – Y2K and 2K1. Those years seriously sucked. I’m grateful they’re behind us. Hope all had nice holidays, got everything you wanted and didn’t get food poisoning.
See ya all at the bar. Get there early, get there late, just get there. I spent Christmas Eve there. It’s nice. Bring yer pals. bye-ee!
Oh, and, remember ... "two thousand two." Not "two thousand and two." Don't piss me off.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 02, 2020
Perfect Vision
1.1.2020
Given the hectic holiday season, everyone's liver gets an extra week off.
See you next week!!
whrr ... clik!
Given the hectic holiday season, everyone's liver gets an extra week off.
See you next week!!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 19, 2019
Domed (REDUX)
12.3.2019 (first posted this week 2007)
I recently made an iTunes playlist of a bunch of mp3s I got while working at a weird-but-cool place in SF (Stillman might remember the joint) and I gotta tell you ... I'm liking it more than my iTunes library.
It's got Thai pop from the 70s, Blacksploitation anthems, high school bands, Star Trek sound effects, Carl Stalling, a witch casting spells, Detroit funk, The Stooges, The Residents, Stereolab, Nurse With Wound, Underworld, Quintron, Flossie and the Unicorns and a million other things, many artists having been around for years but are totally new to me.
Viva Crazy mp3!
Tonight - Homestead
(last official meeting of the decade)
Homestead for the Holidays. Happy Winter Holiday Season to you all, yo.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I recently made an iTunes playlist of a bunch of mp3s I got while working at a weird-but-cool place in SF (Stillman might remember the joint) and I gotta tell you ... I'm liking it more than my iTunes library.
It's got Thai pop from the 70s, Blacksploitation anthems, high school bands, Star Trek sound effects, Carl Stalling, a witch casting spells, Detroit funk, The Stooges, The Residents, Stereolab, Nurse With Wound, Underworld, Quintron, Flossie and the Unicorns and a million other things, many artists having been around for years but are totally new to me.
Viva Crazy mp3!
Tonight - Homestead
(last official meeting of the decade)
Homestead for the Holidays. Happy Winter Holiday Season to you all, yo.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 12, 2019
"In?" (REDUX)
12.2.2019 (first posted this week 2000)
I'm wonderin' if my best friend can kick my other best friend's ass. Let's say that one of my best friend's name is Phil and the other's name is ... uh ... Phil too. Okay. Phil is pretty tall and, I dunno, works out a lot I guess. I don't know if he does for sure but it sorta seems like it. Big dude. So Phil's a pretty tall, big guy, and he could probably kick some ass. Makes sense. He's mostly non-violent though. He'll fight to protect himself or his girlfriend. Or his other friends. Or somebody who's getting their asses kicked unfairly, probably. You know, jump in if the fight's unfair. That's an important factor in being one of my best friends: Not being a hothead, but being just. Back to the question! Can Phil kick Phil's ass? One Phil is big, strong and nonviolent. The other Phil ... wouldn't balk at a fight, but he ain't that big. He wouldn't start it, necessarily, but he'd fight. I picture the Phil/Phil fight being like, Phil not starting the fight and the other Phil not jumping in the nonfight. They'd sit around and talk and laugh and drink beer. Kinda like they do already. The whole concept reminds me of the old "Who-would-win-in-a-fight-between-a-velociraptor-and-a-ninja" dealio. That one's still up in the air. Sit around, talk and drink beer here tonight:
Hyde Out
(*CASH ONLY* - Special guests)
Brother Jer is bar-tendin.' Guess what? Allison is back on the list as herownself. Nicole is new to the list. As is Abigail. Welcome. (nameless) S. Miller alt. email address. A "Get Well Soon" goes out to Kevin. We're raising glasses to yer speedy recovery! Not much more news.
TONIGHT'S CONTEST: Make-out Contest.
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: The opening of the first indoor ice rink. The year, 1912. The day, Christmas Day. The city, Victoria, B.C. Two brothers, Lester and Joe Patrick, opened the world's first indoor ice rink. The dang thing cost $110,000 (Canadian) and seated 4000 people. Under the ice was the world's largest refrigeration and ice-making equipment. A mere three days later, the brothers opened the world's second indoor ice rink in Vancouver. This one was bigger than the first, as it could hold more than 10,000 people. As one might guess, it's ice-making gear became the world's largest. These fellas didn't rest easy: Over the next few decades, they opened indoor rinks all throughout Western Canada and the Northwestern U.S. Players: Spaz and his brother Rob are Lester and Joe. Matt and the other Matt are the rink and ice-maker in Victoria; John and the other John are the rink and ice-maker in Vancouver. Whoever can skate play skaters. Whoever can't play the audience. I need a volunteer to play the Zamboni and the Zamboni operator.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Woody. He used to bother Coach Bjeldanes a lot but does not so much anymore. Good for him! Good for her! God bless us, everyone!
When yer readin' something on a website or email that's misspelled, do you think the writer can't spell or can't type?
See you suckers tonight. Bring somebody worth makin'-out with and win the contest. I know I will. (!) ... er ... what I mean is ... I'll see you suckers there! bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I'm wonderin' if my best friend can kick my other best friend's ass. Let's say that one of my best friend's name is Phil and the other's name is ... uh ... Phil too. Okay. Phil is pretty tall and, I dunno, works out a lot I guess. I don't know if he does for sure but it sorta seems like it. Big dude. So Phil's a pretty tall, big guy, and he could probably kick some ass. Makes sense. He's mostly non-violent though. He'll fight to protect himself or his girlfriend. Or his other friends. Or somebody who's getting their asses kicked unfairly, probably. You know, jump in if the fight's unfair. That's an important factor in being one of my best friends: Not being a hothead, but being just. Back to the question! Can Phil kick Phil's ass? One Phil is big, strong and nonviolent. The other Phil ... wouldn't balk at a fight, but he ain't that big. He wouldn't start it, necessarily, but he'd fight. I picture the Phil/Phil fight being like, Phil not starting the fight and the other Phil not jumping in the nonfight. They'd sit around and talk and laugh and drink beer. Kinda like they do already. The whole concept reminds me of the old "Who-would-win-in-a-fight-between-a-velociraptor-and-a-ninja" dealio. That one's still up in the air. Sit around, talk and drink beer here tonight:
Hyde Out
(*CASH ONLY* - Special guests)
Brother Jer is bar-tendin.' Guess what? Allison is back on the list as herownself. Nicole is new to the list. As is Abigail. Welcome. (nameless) S. Miller alt. email address. A "Get Well Soon" goes out to Kevin. We're raising glasses to yer speedy recovery! Not much more news.
TONIGHT'S CONTEST: Make-out Contest.
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: The opening of the first indoor ice rink. The year, 1912. The day, Christmas Day. The city, Victoria, B.C. Two brothers, Lester and Joe Patrick, opened the world's first indoor ice rink. The dang thing cost $110,000 (Canadian) and seated 4000 people. Under the ice was the world's largest refrigeration and ice-making equipment. A mere three days later, the brothers opened the world's second indoor ice rink in Vancouver. This one was bigger than the first, as it could hold more than 10,000 people. As one might guess, it's ice-making gear became the world's largest. These fellas didn't rest easy: Over the next few decades, they opened indoor rinks all throughout Western Canada and the Northwestern U.S. Players: Spaz and his brother Rob are Lester and Joe. Matt and the other Matt are the rink and ice-maker in Victoria; John and the other John are the rink and ice-maker in Vancouver. Whoever can skate play skaters. Whoever can't play the audience. I need a volunteer to play the Zamboni and the Zamboni operator.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Woody. He used to bother Coach Bjeldanes a lot but does not so much anymore. Good for him! Good for her! God bless us, everyone!
When yer readin' something on a website or email that's misspelled, do you think the writer can't spell or can't type?
See you suckers tonight. Bring somebody worth makin'-out with and win the contest. I know I will. (!) ... er ... what I mean is ... I'll see you suckers there! bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 05, 2019
A lotta talk. (REDUX)
12.1.2019 (first posted this week 2006)
Just when it seems like everyone in the world has either a bluetooth headset (making 'm look like a total idiot) or any variety iPod or some kinda gps-based navigation in their dashboard we get a reality check. One guy needed some gizmos like a satellite phone or gps or a map (and the know-how to read a map). He especially needed a survival kit but didn't have one and unfortunately and tragically died after being snowbound with his family. He tried to find help and got lost. So sad. It makes me think of the survial kit I mentioned a few months back. That kit got so much ridicule I chucked it for a better model of survival kit. By model I mean "bottle" and by survival kit I mean "vodka."
Tonight - Lone Palm
(perfect place for a drizzly Thursday)
Acknowledgements to Miss Brooke Williams.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Just when it seems like everyone in the world has either a bluetooth headset (making 'm look like a total idiot) or any variety iPod or some kinda gps-based navigation in their dashboard we get a reality check. One guy needed some gizmos like a satellite phone or gps or a map (and the know-how to read a map). He especially needed a survival kit but didn't have one and unfortunately and tragically died after being snowbound with his family. He tried to find help and got lost. So sad. It makes me think of the survial kit I mentioned a few months back. That kit got so much ridicule I chucked it for a better model of survival kit. By model I mean "bottle" and by survival kit I mean "vodka."
Tonight - Lone Palm
(perfect place for a drizzly Thursday)
Acknowledgements to Miss Brooke Williams.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 21, 2019
>>>>>>>>>> (REDUX)
11.3.2019 (first posted this week 2001)
>>>>>>>>>> Or rather, the CAT ate my Venue Announcement!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>> Or rather, the CAT ate my Venue Announcement!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Go to The Homestead
>>>>>>>>> Note: No meeting next week. (Happy Thanksgiving)
>>>>>>>>>
>
>
>
> See you there! bye-ee!
>
>
>
>>>>>>>>> Note: No meeting next week. (Happy Thanksgiving)
>>>>>>>>>
>
>
>
> See you there! bye-ee!
>
>
>
Thursday, November 14, 2019
Butch (REDUX)
11.2.2019 (first posted this week 2001)
You likea the Lipton Cold Brew Iced Tea drink? I'm not bein’ paid for endorsing that product, but I think it’s all right. Throw in a slicey of lemon and it tastes just like weak-ass tea with lemon. Good enough for dopey freelance Robots.
Yeh, so, I had a dream the other night that I was an ace car mechanic. I could tear ‘em down and build ‘em back up faster than anyone in the Tri-state area. I’d build ‘em to be slick and quick and tear-ass. They’d fly off the line and blow the doors off anything they raced. Legal race or not. I woke up and thought of how far off the dream was.
I know nothin’ about cars. Well, very little at most. The obvious stuff, sure. How to flick on the wipers, how to check the oil, how to do donuts. Peel outs. Lawn jobs. What have you. I know so little about cars that when the horn on the family station wag I was driving to and from school some fifty years back went shit-crazy nuts I had no idea how to disable it.
I was on a camping trip up in the mountains when it first started to go South. I was high-tailing it back to town in the cold, cold morning air when the horn started to go off whenever I’d turn the wheel past 10 or 2 o’clock. This was often, mind you, coming down the twisty mountain road. The horn gave a mighty bellow too. Must have woke up lots of campers and mountain critters on that drive. But the day warmed up and the horn stopped its monkey-business. However, a couple days later the goddamn thing went ballistic again. By now I was back home in the city. This time the thing went off when I turned the engine over – didn’t need to turn the wheel or anything. I popped the hood and stood there like a dope looking at a big V8. Hoses, tubes, belts, wires … uh … there’s that’s that ya put the jumper cables on … I was at a loss. And god it was loud. It’s going to town for a good five minutes and I’m standing there going deaf when this little old nonagenarian blue-haired widow comes walking from three doors down and stops right next to me. She stands there for a moment and stares at me going deaf and staring at the engine, then gives me a look that says, “pathetic.” She reaches somewhere into the engineering marvel that is the engine of the 1985 Olds Custom Cruiser and yanks! The din stops except for the ringing in my ears. Gladys turns on her heel and goes on home without even a word. I know less now about cars than I did then.
Tonight: Old Ship Saloon (oldest bar in SF - circa 1851)
It's TNSC Founding Member John Metsker's Birthday!! Come on out and share some cheer!
News: I don't know about you folks, but I'm feeling pretty good about things. Some stuff is still terrible, sure, but things within
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: Your parents dancing to crappy music. You know who you are. Your parents liked some really terrible music and when they were young they danced to it. It's bad enough to knock you down today. (nameless) will be dancing to her folks' bad music, Tama will be dancing to her folks' bad music, as will Jerry, Dee and Ced. It'll be a hoot.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Long Time List Members in attendance after a long drought.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: Terms of Endowment
The Founding Members hope you are all in the mood for a dive-bar, because it's the divey-est. Just remember, drink from the bottle and don't touch anything. Who's in? I know I am. See you there. bye-ee!
You likea the Lipton Cold Brew Iced Tea drink? I'm not bein’ paid for endorsing that product, but I think it’s all right. Throw in a slicey of lemon and it tastes just like weak-ass tea with lemon. Good enough for dopey freelance Robots.
Yeh, so, I had a dream the other night that I was an ace car mechanic. I could tear ‘em down and build ‘em back up faster than anyone in the Tri-state area. I’d build ‘em to be slick and quick and tear-ass. They’d fly off the line and blow the doors off anything they raced. Legal race or not. I woke up and thought of how far off the dream was.
I know nothin’ about cars. Well, very little at most. The obvious stuff, sure. How to flick on the wipers, how to check the oil, how to do donuts. Peel outs. Lawn jobs. What have you. I know so little about cars that when the horn on the family station wag I was driving to and from school some fifty years back went shit-crazy nuts I had no idea how to disable it.
I was on a camping trip up in the mountains when it first started to go South. I was high-tailing it back to town in the cold, cold morning air when the horn started to go off whenever I’d turn the wheel past 10 or 2 o’clock. This was often, mind you, coming down the twisty mountain road. The horn gave a mighty bellow too. Must have woke up lots of campers and mountain critters on that drive. But the day warmed up and the horn stopped its monkey-business. However, a couple days later the goddamn thing went ballistic again. By now I was back home in the city. This time the thing went off when I turned the engine over – didn’t need to turn the wheel or anything. I popped the hood and stood there like a dope looking at a big V8. Hoses, tubes, belts, wires … uh … there’s that’s that ya put the jumper cables on … I was at a loss. And god it was loud. It’s going to town for a good five minutes and I’m standing there going deaf when this little old nonagenarian blue-haired widow comes walking from three doors down and stops right next to me. She stands there for a moment and stares at me going deaf and staring at the engine, then gives me a look that says, “pathetic.” She reaches somewhere into the engineering marvel that is the engine of the 1985 Olds Custom Cruiser and yanks! The din stops except for the ringing in my ears. Gladys turns on her heel and goes on home without even a word. I know less now about cars than I did then.
Tonight: Old Ship Saloon (oldest bar in SF - circa 1851)
It's TNSC Founding Member John Metsker's Birthday!! Come on out and share some cheer!
News: I don't know about you folks, but I'm feeling pretty good about things. Some stuff is still terrible, sure, but things within
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: Your parents dancing to crappy music. You know who you are. Your parents liked some really terrible music and when they were young they danced to it. It's bad enough to knock you down today. (nameless) will be dancing to her folks' bad music, Tama will be dancing to her folks' bad music, as will Jerry, Dee and Ced. It'll be a hoot.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Long Time List Members in attendance after a long drought.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: Terms of Endowment
The Founding Members hope you are all in the mood for a dive-bar, because it's the divey-est. Just remember, drink from the bottle and don't touch anything. Who's in? I know I am. See you there. bye-ee!
Thursday, November 07, 2019
SAILA (REDUX)
11.1.2019 (first posted this week 2001)
whrr ... clik!
Yeah I guess I’m sorta sick to death of them email surveys or questionnaires or whatever you call ‘em. Those unsolicited, invasive two-dozen questions that reveal the number eleven is behind every single bad thing that ever happened in the history of the universe. The 20 poignant queries that determine without a doubt that you are (or are not): A racist, a Commie, in love with yer ma, going to die within five years, too stupid to graduate from grammar school or if you are better suited as a career horticulturist.
I delete most of these emails unread, but sometimes I read ‘em through if they come from a creditable source (e.g., brother, girlfriend, etc.). I got one the other day and one of the questions was “Person least likely to respond to this email.” Their answer was “Josh.” Heh heh. The long string of bullshit questions reminded me of something that happened a long, long time ago.
A pal and I were driving around really late one Saturday night. The kegger we were at ran out of beer, or we were on a smoke run or something. The point here is that it was late and we were driving around. We happened down one street and were surprised to see lights on in a strip mall storefront. (The town I grew up in went to bed at 8pm every night. Even Saturday.) My friend and I (it wasn’t Phil) looked at each other and laughed because it seemed the scientologists were the only ones up this late aside from us. Not-Phil said, “Let’s go see if we can bum some smokes from the scientologists.” What the hell, I thought. I said, “What the hell.” So we parked and went in.
Three or four rather normal “looking” folks were sitting around chatting and not looking the least bit sleepy. “Oh, no. We don’t have any cigarettes, boys,” they said, “but we do have coffee. Would you like a cup?” I’ve loved coffee for a long time, even way back then, so I said, “Hell yeah, I’ll have some coffee.” The coffee sucked. I mean it was terrible. But I wasn’t expecting much. They asked us what we were doing up so late and we told them we were on a smoke run. I asked them what they were doing up so late, and they said they were reading over the new “questionnaires” that just got back from the printers. “Would you like to fill one out,” one of them asked. “Sure,” I said, thinking that it would be a gag: “Are you a scientologist, Y/N. Wanna be a scientologist, Y/N. How much money do you make, wink-wink, $ _____.” I would answer, “No, No, Nothin’,” and laugh. Well here we were being handed this booklet with more questions than the SAT verbal and math combined. Oh! And how queer some of them were: “Do you ever read the phone book?” (A: Yes.) “Do your neighbors talk to you about your yard?” (A: What?) “Have you ever stood on the top step of the ladder, even though it says not to?” (A: What the hell does this have to do with anything?) It was 25 minutes into the bullshit questions and the suck-ass coffee had gone right through me. I had to pee like a racehorse. So I didn’t even read most of the last questions, but I sorta mumbled interest and checked off Y, N, N, Y, N, Y, Y, Y, N, N, blah, blah, blah.
I jumped up and said, “All done, fellas, c’mon, Not-Phil, let’s beat it. S’gettin’ late.” I think he had the same idea as me because he was faking the last couple answers himself. The scientologists said they would calculate our answers and the scores would determine how much training we would need or some such nonsense. When asked for my address, I put down the address of the Catholic high school I was attending and as Not-Phil and I had been using fake names, I used that name on the “Attention to” line. This was funny because my fake name was a real person at my school who I didn’t care for and would most likely be asked by a priest why he was getting personal mail AT SCHOOL and more importantly why he was getting it FROM THE SCIENTOLOGISTS. Hardy har.
Tonight - Elixir Saloon. (since 1858)
News: Well the redesign of the site is underway. Soon there will be all sorts of interesting and fun things, but the design has been revealed. Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti reported that he had come to despise the Spartan layout. The aforementioned Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti is on a work-related hiatus from coordinating the weekly Linkey-Loo, so Longtime List Member and Porn Title of the Week Coordinator Tama is filling in.
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: The origin of the Hokey Pokey. While most people are familiar with the beloved song/dance, the Hokey Pokey, many do not know that the composer labored intensely to find the perfect body parts to put in, out, in, out and then shake all about. Tonight our players will demonstrate some of the tried and failed alternate body parts. Don’t miss this one. Really.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Any list member who was laid off this week.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: Nymphomercial
SATANIC WORD OF THE WEEK: had
Okey then. Here's the non-Spartan layout. Hope you like it. Or not. I sorta don't care either way. It was fun. Anyhoo ... Get your asses in gear and head on over to POW! for a pop. Bring your friends. I'm sure I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
I delete most of these emails unread, but sometimes I read ‘em through if they come from a creditable source (e.g., brother, girlfriend, etc.). I got one the other day and one of the questions was “Person least likely to respond to this email.” Their answer was “Josh.” Heh heh. The long string of bullshit questions reminded me of something that happened a long, long time ago.
A pal and I were driving around really late one Saturday night. The kegger we were at ran out of beer, or we were on a smoke run or something. The point here is that it was late and we were driving around. We happened down one street and were surprised to see lights on in a strip mall storefront. (The town I grew up in went to bed at 8pm every night. Even Saturday.) My friend and I (it wasn’t Phil) looked at each other and laughed because it seemed the scientologists were the only ones up this late aside from us. Not-Phil said, “Let’s go see if we can bum some smokes from the scientologists.” What the hell, I thought. I said, “What the hell.” So we parked and went in.
Three or four rather normal “looking” folks were sitting around chatting and not looking the least bit sleepy. “Oh, no. We don’t have any cigarettes, boys,” they said, “but we do have coffee. Would you like a cup?” I’ve loved coffee for a long time, even way back then, so I said, “Hell yeah, I’ll have some coffee.” The coffee sucked. I mean it was terrible. But I wasn’t expecting much. They asked us what we were doing up so late and we told them we were on a smoke run. I asked them what they were doing up so late, and they said they were reading over the new “questionnaires” that just got back from the printers. “Would you like to fill one out,” one of them asked. “Sure,” I said, thinking that it would be a gag: “Are you a scientologist, Y/N. Wanna be a scientologist, Y/N. How much money do you make, wink-wink, $ _____.” I would answer, “No, No, Nothin’,” and laugh. Well here we were being handed this booklet with more questions than the SAT verbal and math combined. Oh! And how queer some of them were: “Do you ever read the phone book?” (A: Yes.) “Do your neighbors talk to you about your yard?” (A: What?) “Have you ever stood on the top step of the ladder, even though it says not to?” (A: What the hell does this have to do with anything?) It was 25 minutes into the bullshit questions and the suck-ass coffee had gone right through me. I had to pee like a racehorse. So I didn’t even read most of the last questions, but I sorta mumbled interest and checked off Y, N, N, Y, N, Y, Y, Y, N, N, blah, blah, blah.
I jumped up and said, “All done, fellas, c’mon, Not-Phil, let’s beat it. S’gettin’ late.” I think he had the same idea as me because he was faking the last couple answers himself. The scientologists said they would calculate our answers and the scores would determine how much training we would need or some such nonsense. When asked for my address, I put down the address of the Catholic high school I was attending and as Not-Phil and I had been using fake names, I used that name on the “Attention to” line. This was funny because my fake name was a real person at my school who I didn’t care for and would most likely be asked by a priest why he was getting personal mail AT SCHOOL and more importantly why he was getting it FROM THE SCIENTOLOGISTS. Hardy har.
Tonight - Elixir Saloon. (since 1858)
News: Well the redesign of the site is underway. Soon there will be all sorts of interesting and fun things, but the design has been revealed. Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti reported that he had come to despise the Spartan layout. The aforementioned Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti is on a work-related hiatus from coordinating the weekly Linkey-Loo, so Longtime List Member and Porn Title of the Week Coordinator Tama is filling in.
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: The origin of the Hokey Pokey. While most people are familiar with the beloved song/dance, the Hokey Pokey, many do not know that the composer labored intensely to find the perfect body parts to put in, out, in, out and then shake all about. Tonight our players will demonstrate some of the tried and failed alternate body parts. Don’t miss this one. Really.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Any list member who was laid off this week.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: Nymphomercial
SATANIC WORD OF THE WEEK: had
Okey then. Here's the non-Spartan layout. Hope you like it. Or not. I sorta don't care either way. It was fun. Anyhoo ... Get your asses in gear and head on over to POW! for a pop. Bring your friends. I'm sure I will. See you there!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 31, 2019
Bambi
10.5.2019
Tonight - **Due to an obscure TNSC by-law regarding a 5th Thursday in October falling on Halloween, this week's meeting has been cancelled. Also, have you ever tried drinking at a bar dressed as The Mummy? It just doesn't work. Be safe out there, and see you next week!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I went to BevMo today for some Blue Curacao, rum and Grenadine for a Halloween grog I'm making m (add cranberry juice and ice for a fun, purple wingding).
Out of my car and through the car park, I noticed a lurker in the corner of the lot.
I went in, got my stuff (+ a bottle of Rose's Lime® for gimlets a la my hero, Raymond Chandler (his downfall)), and exiting and going again through lot, I saw the lurker in the corner stand and vector toward me.
Sure enough, I got to my car and he said, "hey brother, can you help me?"
I said I don't keep any cash on me anymore.
He asked if I had any food. No, only Rose's Lime® and some other shit. Then I remembered ... jerky.
I said, "Waitaminute!
I do have jerky," and dug into the space between the frame of the car and the driver's seat and pulled out a stick of jerky. I held it out to him.
"It's venison jerky."
"What's that."
"Deer. uh, Bambi."
"Whoa. Never had Bambi. Well deer anyway, ya know? hah," he said.
"Well, enjoy," I said, but he was already gone.
Tonight - **Due to an obscure TNSC by-law regarding a 5th Thursday in October falling on Halloween, this week's meeting has been cancelled. Also, have you ever tried drinking at a bar dressed as The Mummy? It just doesn't work. Be safe out there, and see you next week!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 24, 2019
Inevitability (REDUX)
10.4.2019 (fist posted this week 2000)
I got an email from some telemarketing executive or some kinda crap like that and she made me an offer I couldn't refuse. She said that her company would pay for a big event (read: free booze) once a month for a year if I would include in these TNSC emails a fair amount of advertising. Being familiar with "big events" I wanted to know some details. You know: How long is the booze free, is top-shelf liquor included (some list members enjoy Bombay Sapphire and such), which venues were available, what about snacks, etc. I've been to so-called open bars where the free booze came in plastic bottles or was limited to Zima or some crap like Sierra Nevada and I won't sit still for that. She answered these Q's pretty satisfactorily: Open bar from 6p to midnight, top shelf booze, venues anywhere in the city, and as far as snacks, she would send over that nice tamale lady. Bein' that I like them tamales, that was good enough for me. So yeah, I sold out the list. But you have to know, I did it for you. All of you. Every last lovely one of you. Listen, you may be peeved now, but when Sue Erokan is enjoying a FREE Maker's Manhattan or Amy Shuba is sipping a NO CHARGE Herradurra Margarita or Metsker DOESN'T PAY for his fill of frosty Beck's, this Founding Member thinks they'll forget about the annoying banner ads. Oh yeah, that telemark-whatsit lady needs all your home addresses, telephone numbers, email addresses, birthdates, and other such demographic info. Jot it down on a 3x5 card and bring it to the meeting tonight.
Here:Eagle's Drift In (South of Market) [oops, that was 2000]
Actually, here: Zeitgeist (South of Market) **CASH ONLY**
Ya. How 'bout that? We're stayin' South of Market because it's raining and there's parking aroundthe Drift In Zeitgeist. It was supposed to be Founder's Day and we were going to go to Orbit but Founding Member Alan Chimenti had a date with Jon Bon Jovi hisownself down in LA and had to cancel. Guess where we're goin' next week if AC can keep his paws off Jovi? Here's the news: David is new to the list. Hi David. Don't remember if I needed to add anyone else. Oh yeah, Clova is new. Allison new address. At least one person ain't getting the email anymore.
TONIGHT'S CONTEST: Staring contest.
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: The final performance of the Sex Pistols. Hot on the heels of a secert UK tour (They were banned all across the country), the Pistols played eight shows here in the U.S., the last being in SF at a joint called the Winterland. Animosity, disappointment and frustrations came to a head that night in January 1978. At the end of the show, Johnny Rotten said, "Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?" a now infamous remark which sparked his departure from the band the next day. Players tonight: Belinda plays Rotten; Kevin plays Sid Vicious; Dee plays guitarist Steve Jones; Paul Cook, the drummer, is portrayed by Robin; and Malcolm McLaren, the band's producer, is played by Sue.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Coach Bjeldanes. She is so sick and yet she has vowed to go out and drink a lot of whiskey tonight. What a trooper!
Lost and found notice: FOUND! One rollerskate key. Says "Chicago" on it. This wrench is used to adjust the truck locknut and also has a flat screwdriver end to adjust some kingpins. Found it by the "Shadow" pinball table at last week's meeting venue.
What the heck are ya doin' tonight? Why goin' t'the Thursday Night Social Club meeting, that's what! Yes ma'am and sir, throw yer best ma'ams and sirs into that SF city cab and git over to the bar. I'll see you there! bye-ee!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I got an email from some telemarketing executive or some kinda crap like that and she made me an offer I couldn't refuse. She said that her company would pay for a big event (read: free booze) once a month for a year if I would include in these TNSC emails a fair amount of advertising. Being familiar with "big events" I wanted to know some details. You know: How long is the booze free, is top-shelf liquor included (some list members enjoy Bombay Sapphire and such), which venues were available, what about snacks, etc. I've been to so-called open bars where the free booze came in plastic bottles or was limited to Zima or some crap like Sierra Nevada and I won't sit still for that. She answered these Q's pretty satisfactorily: Open bar from 6p to midnight, top shelf booze, venues anywhere in the city, and as far as snacks, she would send over that nice tamale lady. Bein' that I like them tamales, that was good enough for me. So yeah, I sold out the list. But you have to know, I did it for you. All of you. Every last lovely one of you. Listen, you may be peeved now, but when Sue Erokan is enjoying a FREE Maker's Manhattan or Amy Shuba is sipping a NO CHARGE Herradurra Margarita or Metsker DOESN'T PAY for his fill of frosty Beck's, this Founding Member thinks they'll forget about the annoying banner ads. Oh yeah, that telemark-whatsit lady needs all your home addresses, telephone numbers, email addresses, birthdates, and other such demographic info. Jot it down on a 3x5 card and bring it to the meeting tonight.
Here:
Actually, here: Zeitgeist (South of Market) **CASH ONLY**
Ya. How 'bout that? We're stayin' South of Market because it's raining and there's parking around
TONIGHT'S CONTEST: Staring contest.
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: The final performance of the Sex Pistols. Hot on the heels of a secert UK tour (They were banned all across the country), the Pistols played eight shows here in the U.S., the last being in SF at a joint called the Winterland. Animosity, disappointment and frustrations came to a head that night in January 1978. At the end of the show, Johnny Rotten said, "Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?" a now infamous remark which sparked his departure from the band the next day. Players tonight: Belinda plays Rotten; Kevin plays Sid Vicious; Dee plays guitarist Steve Jones; Paul Cook, the drummer, is portrayed by Robin; and Malcolm McLaren, the band's producer, is played by Sue.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Coach Bjeldanes. She is so sick and yet she has vowed to go out and drink a lot of whiskey tonight. What a trooper!
Lost and found notice: FOUND! One rollerskate key. Says "Chicago" on it. This wrench is used to adjust the truck locknut and also has a flat screwdriver end to adjust some kingpins. Found it by the "Shadow" pinball table at last week's meeting venue.
What the heck are ya doin' tonight? Why goin' t'the Thursday Night Social Club meeting, that's what! Yes ma'am and sir, throw yer best ma'ams and sirs into that SF city cab and git over to the bar. I'll see you there! bye-ee!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)