Surf's up
FISH...@snydelab.delhi.edu
seemed ripe to catch up on the doings down at Sinell Beach.
Ay caramba. In no particular ordure --
Ahhht vs. THE ROCK vs CON AIR. [ Jayzuz H. Kael! Not too late to turn back.
But that would be wrong. ]
Shari in a constitutional clinch. Generous excerpts from her post-doc thesis,
"Brandeis and Hughes in a Crowded Theater: Does Hollywood Pose a Clear and
Present Danger?" Everyssing isss relatifff [except absolutism].
Sister Kristen gallantly takes the blame when Dixie mispels
"l-o-g-o-r-r-h-e-a." Quel LucasNoblesse-Oblige! [tm]
I'm shocked (2)! The Great Chicago Wind has once again farted in our general
direction. Delicate souls fall before the fetid breeze. Poopoo-Caca to you,
Medved! Fucksuckcuntshit, Dr. Laura! Eat this, Rush! Up yours, Balcony!
Somewhere, I'm sure, Dann-o the Kennechusetts Yutz is being fatuous about...
well, name something. [ Note to self -- switch filters back on. ]
Rittenberry! Where yo' been, boy?
And last, saintly Mother Sasha struggles to be charitable toward all, malicious
toward none. God bless ya, ma. Where did I go wrong?
Enough. Back home now to nap, and rejoin a recurring nightmare about Kubrick at
the Pearly Gates.
kjf
Sasha Stone
A belated Happy Birthday to you!
Were you waiting in the STAR WARS line? (OCC)
Sasha
FISH...@snydelab.delhi.edu
>
Naah, but my sister in Marin is thus encamped, pausing only to give birth to
her son, whom she named -- no kidding -- Rowan Lucas Craig. She's a *real*
fan.
kjf
Kristen Mahan-Moutaw
-K
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kristen Mahan-Moutaw
k...@TheCNI.org
Colorado Neurological Institute
Englewood, CO USA
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
>>> <FISH...@SNYDELAB.DELHI.EDU> 05/06 8:56 AM >>>
Ronnie Rittenberry
You're no doubt going to think I'm full of shit--ok, well, scratch that:
because why retrod old territory?--but I swear on, oh, I don't know,
HALLIWELL'S that I had a prognosticatory premonition the other
night--maybe Sunday night--of this very return. It could have had to do
with the extra slice of Giordano's pepperoni I had just before bedtime,
but the setting was ultra-surreal, as such prophetic dreamscapes are wont,
and but there you were, out of the blue (and black), after all this
time--after how many years?
FADE IN
EXT. A FLOATING STAGE -- ASEA -- DUSK
VOICE
My God, Fisher, man, where've you been?
KJF
You wanna see something permanent? Boom-boom-boom?
Hey, Ritt, you wanna feel something permanent?
(raises crusty cap, exposing knot on forehead)
VOICE
I got that beat.
(presents scar on forearm)
It's a moray eel--bit right through my wetsuit.
KJF
Well, Ritt, now, listen, I don't know about that, but
I entered an arm wrestling contest at an Okie bar in
San Francisco and, you see this?
(raises right arm)
Now, I can't extend that, and you know why? 'Cause in
the semi-final, celebrating my third wife to beeeee,
big Chinese feller, he pulled me right over. . . .
VOICE
So but wait: You've been in San Fran, then? All this
time?
KJF
Japanese submarine slammed two torpedos into our side,
chief. We were coming back from the island of
Tinnundelay--had just delivered the bomb--the
Hiroshima bumb. Eleven hundred men went into the
water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes.
Didn't see the first shark for about a half-hour.
Tiger. Thirdeen (sic) footer. You know how you know
that when you're in the water, chief? You tell by
looking from the dorsal to the tail. But we didn't know.
Because our bomb mission had been so secret, no
distress signal had been sent. heh-heh. They didn't
even list us overdue for a week. . . .
Very first light, chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we
formed ourselves into tight groups--you know, those,
kinda like ol' squares in a battle, like you see in a
calendar, like the battle of Waterloo. And the idea
was: Shark comes to the nearest man, and he starts
poundin' and hollerin' and screamin'. Sometimes
the shark go away; sometimes he wouldn't go away.
Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you, right
into your eyes.
You know the thing about a shark? He's got lifeless
eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes
at you, he doesn't seem to livin'--until he bites you,
and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah,
then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'.
The ocean turns red, and in spite of all the poundin'
and the hollerin', they all come in--they rip you to
pieces.
You know, by the end of that first dawn: lost a
hundred men. I don't know how many sharks--maybe a
thousand--I know how many men. They averaged six
an hour.
On Thursday morning, chief, I bumped into a friend
of mine--Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball
player, booze mate. I thought he was asleep.
Reached over to wake him up--bobbed up and down in
the water, just like a kind of top, upended.
Well, he'd been bitten in half, below the waist....
Noon the fifth day a Lockheed Ventura saw us; he
swung in low and saw us--he was a young pilot, a lot
younger than you--but, anyway, he saw us, and he come
in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes
down and starts to pick us up.
You know, that was the time I was most frightened,
waiting for my turn?
I'll never put on a lifejacket again.
So, eleven hunnerd men went into the water, three
hunnerd and sixteen come out, the sharks took the
rest, June the 29th, 1945. [pauses thoughtfully]
Anyway, we delivered the bumb.
(raises tin cup in cheers, smiling like a 'possum)
VOICE
But, so, then . . . you *weren't* in San Fran?
ABRUPT FADE-OUT
I awoke puzzled and didn't know what it all meant until today.
On Thu, 6 May 1999 FISH...@SNYDELAB.DELHI.EDU wrote:
> Rittenberry! Where yo' been, boy?
Long story. Spent part of the time migrating northward. Got as far as
Chicago. If you've seen "Lost in America," you'll know what I mean when I
say that for a few days there I thought I *was* Albert Brooks.
And, no, you're right: Not pretty.
No one here has even heard of Rolando, incidentally.
Also spent part of the time working on the proverbial Great American
Novel. Lately I've thought of trying to broaden its scope so as to
make it the Great American AND Great British Novel. Feeling uniquely
qualified, I just spent a whole chapter examining the differences between
"asshole" and "arsehole," for example.
But what about choo? Really long fishing trip, or *what*?
RR
John Syron - Thomas Cooley Las School
There's a meaning here somewhere.
FISH...@snydelab.delhi.edu
> There's a meaning here somewhere.
>
A monogram, a sharp-beaked hunter, a legend, and a master of his domain. Not
just meaning, but profundity.
kjf
FISH...@snydelab.delhi.edu
> You're no doubt going to think I'm full of shit--ok, well, scratch that:
> because why retrod old territory?--
>
Not shit, surely, but certainly bilgewater. Part of your charm. Front, bow;
back, stern. You don't get it right, squirt, I throw your ass out the little
round window on the side. Come on chief, this isn't no Boy Scout picnic! I
see you got your rubbers! Ha ha ha!
Glad to see you've gotten over your JAWS fixation.
> but I swear on, oh, I don't know, HALLIWELL'S that
> I had a prognosticatory premonition the other
> night--maybe Sunday night--of this very return. It could have had to do
> with the extra slice of Giordano's pepperoni I had just before bedtime
>
Ah, there's the rub -- bad diet. Next time, try buffalo chips and anthrax,
washed down with sea water. I'm told it's quite tasty, and much funnier.
> Also spent part of the time working on the proverbial Great American
> Novel. Lately I've thought of trying to broaden its scope so as to
> make it the Great American AND Great British Novel.
>
Tom Jones meets Elmer Gantry aboard the Pequod. I like it. You may want to
avoid nautical themes, though, just for a change of pace.
> Feeling uniquely
> qualified, I just spent a whole chapter examining the differences between
> "asshole" and "arsehole," for example.
>
Hmm. What was that remark you made about pepperoni?
> But what about choo? Really long fishing trip, or *what*?
>
I don't fish, and I don't chew, and I don't go with the girls that do. (Name
That Tune.)
No, the truth is my VCR mysteriously went south last Thanksgiving when I tried
to show CRASH to the assembled clan. Those people have no sense of humor. I
suspect sabotage.
But sabotage or not, it's a Sony, it's only nine years old, and it shouldn't'a
broke. I decided to punish it. Instead of getting it fixed, I bought a
roomful of new toys (iMac, color printer, digital camera) and watched the
damned VCR rage with jealousy. Served it right.
Trouble is, that meant no movies, since I will not pay $8.50 to sit in a dark
room with the cast of DELIVERANCE and watch a dim fuzzy image while the
forest-people slurp and yakyak.
So it's been naught but TCM and AMC for lo, these many moons. I haven't even
seen GODZILLA yet. Besides, for the last year and a half, the news channels
have been more entertaining than any double feature I can recall.
kjf
Sasha Stone
>roomful of new toys (iMac, color printer, digital camera)
Oh, my sick with, green with, overcome by envy. An iMac? My Powerbook is
jealous as I type. Is it cool? Do tell. How cool is it?
I have a theory that when push comes to shove those will be the only
collectable computers in the future.
We'll see if I'm right.
Sasha
Ylm
Shari L. Rosenblum
It's like, ya know, what I was hoping for . . .
Shari
FISH...@snydelab.delhi.edu
> jealous as I type. Is it cool? Do tell. How cool is it? >
Let me count the ways. Ten years ago I bought a Mac Plus and a 40mb hard
drive for $2000. This January I bought the iMac (4gig drive), 32mb extra
RAM, an amazing Epson 740 photo-quality printer, and a 600x1200 dpi Agfa
scanner for about $1400. God bless progress.
On my old IIsi I'd call up a web page, make lunch, watch a movie, do some
shoppimg, mop the floor, and check back to see if the page had loaded yet.
The iMac reads my mind. The monitor shows every individual whisker on my
sister's cat's sullen mug. It seems to have been a sound investment.
> > I have a theory that when push comes to shove those will be the only
> collectable computers in the future.
> > We'll see if I'm right. >
All Macs have exceptional aftermarket value. My Plus makes a dandy doostop.
My IIsi is enjoying a second career as an aquarium. The iMac weighs about
60 lbs and has a handle. By 2001 it'll be a fine medicine ball.
kjf
FISH...@snydelab.delhi.edu
> It's like, ya know, what I was hoping for . . . >
Ohnono. I've inspired you to do *what?* May Allah forgive me. Please
reconsider. I hear the Coen brothers are channeling Kubrick's shade for
instructions on completing his aborted sci-fi project, "AI." Save your
sheckels for the real thing.