1.4.2016 (first posted this week 2004)
I like Provolone cheese. It is nice. The name Provolone sounds like a hockey player's name.
Expect longer nonsensical Venue Announcements to commence next week.
Tonight - The Homestead.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Goo!
1.3.2016
If you're into tattoos, fine. I'm not so much.
I went to meet a guy at a cafe. He didn't show. (I used to go to cafes quite often. I liked my corner cafe. I love coffee and friends, so in the days before the TNSC, my hangout was more often a cafe. In the days before TNSC, not everyone and their mother (and grandmother) had tattoos.) While I waited in vain, I guzzled a few cups of coffee. I had gotten a "coffee for here," so I had a ceramic coffee cup. On my second cup, I asked the barista what the deal for refills was, "is it a buck or something?" I said. He said it was full price (it ain't like the old days, brother) but I could go ahead this time. As I pumped another cup from the carafe, I noticed he was a tattoo enthusiast. No shock there, right? He didn't have full sleeves, but if his arms were my refrigerator, my two or three dozen magnets quite nicely distributed about the front of the thing would be like his array of tattoos.
One on his left forearm caught my eye. It looked like this, and I knew what it was:
It's Mr. Yuk, of course. It was from a poison awareness Public Service Announcement that played between Saturday morning cartoons in the 70s. I asked the barista if he was old enough to remember the PSA. He didn't know what a PSA was, let alone the Mr. Yuk one in particular. He said he knew its name was Mr. Yuk and that was all. I suggested he check the spot on YouTube, because I know it's there. He was a barista. Meaning, of course, I knew what I could do with my suggestion. I thanked him for the comped coffee. I make better coffee at home.
Anyway, like I said, I'm not really into tattoos. But if I were, I think I'd like to know something about them. Like who Mr. Yuk the fuck is.
All this being said, I recently found the image that if I were going to get tattooed, would be the image I'd have inked on me:
It's an image from the concept art from the film, Alien. Specifically, the alien egg pod that has a beastie within it that pops out and causes havok. What would a tattoo of it mean?
If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you.
Tonight - Orbit Room.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
If you're into tattoos, fine. I'm not so much.
I went to meet a guy at a cafe. He didn't show. (I used to go to cafes quite often. I liked my corner cafe. I love coffee and friends, so in the days before the TNSC, my hangout was more often a cafe. In the days before TNSC, not everyone and their mother (and grandmother) had tattoos.) While I waited in vain, I guzzled a few cups of coffee. I had gotten a "coffee for here," so I had a ceramic coffee cup. On my second cup, I asked the barista what the deal for refills was, "is it a buck or something?" I said. He said it was full price (it ain't like the old days, brother) but I could go ahead this time. As I pumped another cup from the carafe, I noticed he was a tattoo enthusiast. No shock there, right? He didn't have full sleeves, but if his arms were my refrigerator, my two or three dozen magnets quite nicely distributed about the front of the thing would be like his array of tattoos.
One on his left forearm caught my eye. It looked like this, and I knew what it was:
Anyway, like I said, I'm not really into tattoos. But if I were, I think I'd like to know something about them. Like who Mr. Yuk the fuck is.
All this being said, I recently found the image that if I were going to get tattooed, would be the image I'd have inked on me:
It's an image from the concept art from the film, Alien. Specifically, the alien egg pod that has a beastie within it that pops out and causes havok. What would a tattoo of it mean?
If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you.
Tonight - Orbit Room.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 14, 2016
My brain hurts a lot. alt. Stone Dead Forever.
1.2.2016
Well hi everybody, and Happy New Year!
I'm about sick of hearing news of brilliant Englishmen dying of cancer. I'm grateful for Lemmy's, Bowie's and Alan Rickman's talent and the art they shared with the world, but they were felled too young and by a horrible disease. It's no way to go.
The good news is there are tributes galore out there, and if you're a shut in, there are also tributes galore on the tube, radio and interwebs. Tune something in!
Tonight - Wooden Nickel
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Well hi everybody, and Happy New Year!
I'm about sick of hearing news of brilliant Englishmen dying of cancer. I'm grateful for Lemmy's, Bowie's and Alan Rickman's talent and the art they shared with the world, but they were felled too young and by a horrible disease. It's no way to go.
The good news is there are tributes galore out there, and if you're a shut in, there are also tributes galore on the tube, radio and interwebs. Tune something in!
Tonight - Wooden Nickel
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Oops. (REDUX)
12.3.2015 (first published this week in 2005)
I know how much it would suck to be friends with Brittany Spears.
It would be Thursday night and Alan would be in LA and the rest of us would be standing around having beers and trying not to stare at the TV behind the bar and Spears would walk in and we'd buy her a beer or mebbe she'd refuse because she got plenty of beers paid for by Lovely List Members the week before and she'd pony-up funds for beers and we'd stand around and drink beers and talk. SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the crowd and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage. It would be embarassing. "Yeh, she's with us. Yeh, she's drunk."
Or mebbe it would a Saturday night and we'd be at the bowling alley eating crappy pizza and drinking pitchers of Bud and rolling Turkeys and SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the strikes, spares and gutterballs and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on lane 22. Some times she'd step over the foul line. It would be a scene.
Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother and I are indoors watching the Cubs play the Pirates while we enjoy snacks and a shitload of beer. We'd be laughing or crying at the poor play of our shitty teams and she'd come over and within a few minutes she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the TV) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there next to the couch. Sometimes during commercial breaks we'd have to watch her. It would be excruciating.
Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother, wife and whoever else would be in the backyard, barbecuing burgers and dogs, drinking beers and enjoying the day. She'd come over, have a beer, enjoy a dog and soon enough she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the firestation next door) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on the lawn next to the Weber. At times we would fear her wild gyrations would knock over the grill. We hoped she wouldn't spill any more beer. It would suck.
Tonight - Last official meeting of 2015: Homestead
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I know how much it would suck to be friends with Brittany Spears.
It would be Thursday night and Alan would be in LA and the rest of us would be standing around having beers and trying not to stare at the TV behind the bar and Spears would walk in and we'd buy her a beer or mebbe she'd refuse because she got plenty of beers paid for by Lovely List Members the week before and she'd pony-up funds for beers and we'd stand around and drink beers and talk. SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the crowd and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage. It would be embarassing. "Yeh, she's with us. Yeh, she's drunk."
Or mebbe it would a Saturday night and we'd be at the bowling alley eating crappy pizza and drinking pitchers of Bud and rolling Turkeys and SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the strikes, spares and gutterballs and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on lane 22. Some times she'd step over the foul line. It would be a scene.
Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother and I are indoors watching the Cubs play the Pirates while we enjoy snacks and a shitload of beer. We'd be laughing or crying at the poor play of our shitty teams and she'd come over and within a few minutes she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the TV) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there next to the couch. Sometimes during commercial breaks we'd have to watch her. It would be excruciating.
Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother, wife and whoever else would be in the backyard, barbecuing burgers and dogs, drinking beers and enjoying the day. She'd come over, have a beer, enjoy a dog and soon enough she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the firestation next door) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on the lawn next to the Weber. At times we would fear her wild gyrations would knock over the grill. We hoped she wouldn't spill any more beer. It would suck.
Tonight - Last official meeting of 2015: Homestead
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)