Marco McClean's Comments
Back in the middle 1980s when I was making little homemade radio projects, I tested transmitters with a scratchy LP record of actors reading from Lady Chatterly's Lover. I'd connect the antenna, turn on the transmitter, put Side 1 or Side 2 on the turntable, and drive around to see how far I could go before the car radio couldn't pull it in anymore. The main line that comes to mind now from that is where the narrator (as L-C's L) says, "What, you think a woman is soft like a fig down there? But I tell you the old rampers have /teeth/ between their legs." And then something with a peeved growl in his voice about how "They like to grind their own coffee."
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
I, for one, welcome the reign of the Dark Lord.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
Plus, Bellamy did not approve of mixing church and state. His pledge had no mention of God in it. That was added way later.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
That was one of the first record albums I ever bought. I didn't play the guitar yet, but I could tell something was wrong with that song right at the beginning. I found out later there's a weird guitar tuning with strings tuned way lower than can stay in tune when you bang on it like that. Their wonderful voices drown out the instruments and that fixes everything.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
I was just reading about IRN-BRU (say iron brew), the fluorescent-orange-medicine-BazookaJoeGum-flavored Scottish national creme soda. It sounds so interesting, I went to buy some to try it, but with the shipping its beyond my budget for a lark:https://www.amazon.com/s?k=irn+bru
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
"Hoi, hoi u embleer Hrair, M'salon ule hraka vair."
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
For a story told by Charles Nelson Reilly, who was there that day, go to YouTube and search for "The Life of Reilly | 13 Hartford Circus Fire"
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
"People just explode. Happens all the time." -Miller, in Repo Man
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
It's weird that I'm just noticing this now, but out of all the superheroes ever, my least favorites are these ones. My favorites are more like the latest teevee versions of Daredevil and Jessica Jones, and the movie version of Wolverine. The characters in the Sandman books and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen books, and maybe the Tom Strong comic books. The Fantastic Four's powers are not really desirable. They're like the unfortunate B-grade freakish power people in the Wild Cards book series. Ben, especially. I remember talking with my stepbrother at the barbershop after school, about what Ben's private parts might look like under his breechcloth-thing, and what it must be like for him to use a toilet, and what exactly would come out? Rocks? The stretchy woman in The Incredibles is nice, but the Incredibles is fun and funny. The Fantastic Four are trying to be serious. It's hard to identify with them. And the Invisible Girl is always being captured, and then Johnny and Ben have a stupid argument over who gets to rescue her.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
I don't like McDonalds' fries. The fries in the Safeway deli are pretty good. Big, thick, triangular cross-section, chewy, coated with something savory, not sickeningly salty. They used to give you ranch dressing free, to dip them in, if you asked, but you have to pay for that now. It's still worth it.
I don't like chicken-paste nuggets, either. Safeway used to have real breaded deep-fried chicken breasts (better than KFC), a cheap fresh salad bar (incl. cheese chunks, and sliced ham!) and a whole section of tables and chairs. For a couple of years I worked right around the corner from there, and every day I'd go there for lunch, spend ten minutes' pay on food, sit down for half an hour or more, eat, read the Anderson Valley Advertiser, or the whole San Francisco Chronicle (either for a quarter or from a pile of them other people left behind). The only bad time in all of that, besides eventually getting fired from that job, was: I forgot and left behind my favorite best coat ever, a beige-gray long, lined, cotton/linen duster you could use for a blanket if you ever had to sleep on a bench. I went right back for it, but someone had already taken it. It wasn't in the lost and found. I have never had another article of clothing I liked as much as that coat, and I've never seen another one like it except in noir films.
The best hamburger, for only slightly more than at McDonalds, is in Jenny's Giant Burger at the north end of town, next to the bowling alley that went out of business when the lumber mill failed, that before that was the champ of hamburgers: the grill in the bowling alley served up a juicy, crisped, peppered log of burger with fat slices of onion and tomato on thick sourdough bread toasted on the grill next to the meat. Kosher pickles. Fries. And squeeze bottles of ketchup, mayo and mustard on the counter. Except for Jenny's, that whole world is gone.
I don't like chicken-paste nuggets, either. Safeway used to have real breaded deep-fried chicken breasts (better than KFC), a cheap fresh salad bar (incl. cheese chunks, and sliced ham!) and a whole section of tables and chairs. For a couple of years I worked right around the corner from there, and every day I'd go there for lunch, spend ten minutes' pay on food, sit down for half an hour or more, eat, read the Anderson Valley Advertiser, or the whole San Francisco Chronicle (either for a quarter or from a pile of them other people left behind). The only bad time in all of that, besides eventually getting fired from that job, was: I forgot and left behind my favorite best coat ever, a beige-gray long, lined, cotton/linen duster you could use for a blanket if you ever had to sleep on a bench. I went right back for it, but someone had already taken it. It wasn't in the lost and found. I have never had another article of clothing I liked as much as that coat, and I've never seen another one like it except in noir films.
The best hamburger, for only slightly more than at McDonalds, is in Jenny's Giant Burger at the north end of town, next to the bowling alley that went out of business when the lumber mill failed, that before that was the champ of hamburgers: the grill in the bowling alley served up a juicy, crisped, peppered log of burger with fat slices of onion and tomato on thick sourdough bread toasted on the grill next to the meat. Kosher pickles. Fries. And squeeze bottles of ketchup, mayo and mustard on the counter. Except for Jenny's, that whole world is gone.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
Aurochs. You don't see that word every day. It's neat that the singular looks plural, which I didn't know when I was in grammar school, around 1970 and I wrote this cartoon poem:
An osprey virtuoso, inspired by his own clacking beak/ Ensorcelled an auroch (sic) and compelled him to speak./ He talked all that night, and some the next day,/ Then he smashed that bad bird and he went on his way.
An osprey virtuoso, inspired by his own clacking beak/ Ensorcelled an auroch (sic) and compelled him to speak./ He talked all that night, and some the next day,/ Then he smashed that bad bird and he went on his way.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
It's right-side-up. House on a lake with a short or foreshortened dock.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
There used to be a show on teevee where a man invited people who had problems to come to the set. He chatted briefly with them, drew out their story, and asked the viewing audience for money to help them. My grandparents loved that show. My grandmother said of the host, "What a wonderful man." In one episode, a small man with an Italian accent was a carpet-layer, and he'd had an accident that cost him one of his big toes. He explained himself, talked a little bit about how he missed so much work healing up (it wasn't just the toe; there was more damage), and there were bills and expenses, and he had a family to support, and he went back to work, but... He was shy and ashamed and trailed off. There was a pause. The host said gently, "I don't think people realize how much we all need that particular toe for balance. Missing your big toe must make it hard for you to work with carpets." "Oh, yes," the man said. "It's very hard. People /don't/ realize." The host said, "Well, I'm sure plenty of viewers out there have been moved by your trouble and will be happy to help out." He turned to the camera and said, "Won't you, folks?" This whole time, the station's telephone number was in the frame, on a cardboard sign on an easel. They cut to three or four commercials, and when they came back on, the host had been given a note that had the total amount of money people had called and pledged to give to help the man. I don't remember how much it was; it might have been fifty, it might have been five hundred, and it wasn't for the station, it wasn't like a pledge drive, it was for the man. The host shook the man's hand, sent him limping away, and a woman came on to talk about /her/ problem. It was a half-hour show. It was on every day. That was broadcast teevee, live and simple and perfect, available all over Los Angeles. I haven't thought about that for years, but the tone and value of that show is probably what made me want to do radio and make teevee shows in the first place... So, to answer you: any two toes but the big toes. I need those for balance; we all do. Maybe the two little ones on the outside, one from each foot. Tell your friend, take it or leave it.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
Oh, yes, thanks for asking, but I'd trade it and two toes for the aquablue Talbot-Lago, if you know someone who can set that up.
Abusive comment hidden.
(Show it anyway.)
One more thing-- I almost forgot: While the project was running, a nervous, wiry, surly little man with scars like a baseball seam on his burr-shaved head showed up one day in the restaurant where I was cooking. He claimed to be from NBC. I answered his questions, and he scoffed and left.