V1.3

It was a drowsy, overcast afternoon as I checked out the gams and gigahertz looking back at me from the only decent chair in the office that hadn’t had my tukus warming it since the crack of noon, and I straightened my tie as an excuse to check for any clues as to the nature of my lunch cuisine while I contemplated which would give me more trouble: the Dame or the Dell - and would my poker face hold up if she says her name is “Megs”, because it’s a sure bet that a smokin’ hot redhead has always turned into 50 kilos of trouble I never could say no to, and even her keyboard was lookin’ mighty sexy in black as she opened the case, and the laptop, with a flick of her wrist and a cloud of ash that dropped to what passed for my carpet like an ill omen sprinkled through the text of a dozen bad detective stories, none of which had ever bothered to get my name right…

Thank you, Brenda, that’s what I was going for. I haven’t had this much fun with a post since Pay Toilets at 10,000 Feet?

As soon as I hit “submit” on the first post, I realized that it didn’t feel complete. The more I thought about it, the more ideas I had. I am still trying to figure out how to work the fur trim and the “red screen of death” into it. I think the third version was the best, but the system played butterfingers with it and I just got back from ratting it out to the tech people.

Edit twice, post once?

I love PHC too, but I also had two other inspirations in mind: The Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest and Nick Danger, 3rd Eye (Firesign Theatre)

We were all on the same train of thought, but they were sitting comfortably in a passenger car while I rode back in a boxcar with the rest of the baggage and a guy named Lecil, laying back against someone’s soft-sided luggage like a hobo who could no longer sleep without listening to the clickity-clack of steel wheels rolling across the arthritic joints of rails that had long squirmed under the weight of supply chains and the apathy of consumers lost in the Great American Dream of private transportation and only recently awakened to nostalgia by the sharp jab of $100/barrel foreign oil as the stewards of Big Oil try to herd Mr. and Mrs. America back onto the Ambien Express…

This is addictively fun!

It was a drowsy, overcast afternoon as I checked out the gams and gigahertz looking back at me from the only decent chair in the office that hadn’t had my tukus warming it since the crack of noon, and I straightened my tie as an excuse to check for any clues as to the nature of my lunch cuisine while I contemplated which would give me more trouble: the Dame or the Dell - and could I manage to keep a straight face if she says her name is “Meg”, because a smokin’ hot redhead has always turned into 50 Kilos of trouble I could never say no to, and her keyboard was lookin’ mighty sexy in black as she opened the case, and the laptop, with the flick of her wrist and a cloud of ash that dropped to what passed for my carpet like a bad omen smeared into the text of a dozen bad detective stories, none of which had ever bothered to get my name right…

It was a drowsy, overcast afternoon as I checked out the gams and gigahertz looking back at me from the only decent chair in the office that hadn’t had my tukus warming it since the crack of noon, and I straightened my tie as an excuse to check for any clues as to the nature of my lunch cuisine while I contemplated which would give me more trouble: the Dame or the Dell? and could I manage to keep a straight face if she says her name is “Meg”…

Tracy & Hepburn: pure nostalgia.
Big Iron: not so much.

Desk Set v2.0

Seed me. Feed me. Touch me. Heed me.

Tommy want a cracker? 8-D

Aren’t guys already accused of being octopuses? ;-)

I prefer being a tool-user to having extra limbs.

Think how long it would take to get dressed…
Where do you put all the extra elbows in an airplane or a movie theater?

From someone who made it through the 70’s: be kind when you rewind.

He was a boy, she was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?

He was a punk, she did ballet
What more can I say?

He wanted her, she’d never tell
secretly she wanted him as well.

But all of her friends stuck up there nose,
they had a problem with his baggy clothes…

Thank you, Avril.

Carrie and Willard go to prom.

communicable

capable of being communicated : transmittable [communicable diseases]

Why do diseases get to be communicable, but affection does not?

The mating dance gets new choreography. Lessons to follow.

Hi, Patrice. I do it the old-fashioned way - more than one VCR.

I don’t have cable, so the need for digital tuners complicates things.

Between a non-standard work schedule and a prodigious number of evening phone interruptions, I long ago fell into the habit of recording anything I actually wanted to watch. It also solved the problem of competing shows in a specific time slot.

By necessity, my motto has been: “If I don’t tape it, I don’t see it.”

Robert Rodriguez’s movie “Grindhouse” came out in 2007. Is this a sequel?

Go big or go home!