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Tray: Ladytron LINKS: My Comix
Blogs: Mr Nosuch
E/N: Rat Patrol HQ
Archives (Some work, some don't): October 02
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28.6.01
I left out a crucial line in my script. Check it out below. With all apologies to my friends who are New Testament fans, I must suggest this link. It's just too much fun. 27.6.01
THE LABORS OF TESTAKLES SCENE ONE: The Parking Lot (MICHAEL ARIDFOX and J'KAR pull into the parking lot of the Ameriseum, and notice the circling van is being followed by YOUTH and OTHER YOUTH. YOUTH is holding a joint.) YOUTH: Dude, can we like, have your lighter? MICHAEL: I will give you a light... OTHER YOUTH: No, we like, need your lighter. MICHAEL: Uhh.... YOUTH: How about that lit cigarette? Can I have that? (MICHAEL ARIDFOX and J'KAR hurry into the elevator, where they meet 6-FOOT JERRY GARCIA. He is carrying a briefcase.) 6-FOOT JERRY GARCIA: You ain't seen my nephew around here, have ya? He's a little wasted and he might be causin' trouble. J'KAR: No... MICHAEL (whispering to J'KAR): What's a 6-foot-tall stinky-hippie Jerry Garcia type need with a briefcase? SCENE TWO: The 6th Floor (SHEPHERD, WORF, and TAKARA search for the rest of their group by going from floor to floor and listening for a ruckus. They hear one on the 6th floor. For a moment, they stand outside the door and listen.) TAKARA: That sounded like Shatuga. SHEPHERD: I swear I heard Kira! WORF: I'm not knocking, you knock. (SHEPHERD knocks. The door opens to reveal a packed, smoky hotel room.) SHEPHERD: Whoops, wrong party! PARTYGOERS: Come on in! SHEPHERD: Uhh, we've gotta go look for our party. (They scurry to the elevator) SCENE THREE: Newton's Room (NEWTON, TXARA, SHEPHERD, WORF, and TAKARA lounge in Newton's room and wait for the rest of the party to arrive from Navy Pier. They leave the door open so that anyone from their group can join them. KODO has just wandered a few doors down to his own room. In walks TESTAKLES. He is swaying on his feet, obviously drunk. His pajamas are light blue, and there are dark circles under his eyes) TESTAKLES: Hey, I'm a cool guy, can I party with you guys? SHEPHERD: Actually, there's a party on the 6th floor that would love to have you. TESTAKLES: Will you go up there with me? SHEPHERD: No, I don't know them. TESTAKLES: C'mon, lemme party with you guys! I'm a cool guy! I've got weed- I've got lots of weed! SHEPHERD: Now this is starting to sound like a bust. Your clothes even look like prison blues. (TESTAKLES looks down at his clothes. He starts to untie his pants) TESTAKLES: Hey, you guys wanna see my balls? They're really big, for a little guy. (TESTAKLES begins to reach into his pants to present his gorms. SHEPHERD grabs TESTAKLES by the shoulders and spins him around. He shoves him out the door, slams it, and locks it. TESTAKLES begins to pound on the door yelling, "WHAT'S UP WITH THIS BULLSHIT! C'MON, LEMME PARTY WITH YOU! I'M A COOL GUY!" Meanwhile KODO has heard the exchange and wisely remains in his room, listening. SHEPHERD calls hotel security. At some point, the WIFE AND FRIENDS of TESTAKLES corral him into his room, next door to NEWTON's. SECURITY GUY arrives seconds too late, but tells SHEPHERD to call him if he sees the guy again and he'll have the COPS there in 5 minutes.) SCENE FOUR: Newton's room, approximately 1/2 hour later (THE ENTIRE GROUP has arrived and is lounging in NEWTON's room. The story has not been told. TESTAKLES shows up at the door again. NEWTON and SHEPHERD go out into the hall to confront him. TESTAKLES' door is open, and the hall reeks of marijuana like Al Gore's dorm room) TESTAKLES (meekly): Can I party with you guys now? NEWTON: No, I don't think so. TESTAKLES: I can't believe you guys won't let me party with you! I'm a cool guy. SHEPHERD: Well, the security guy told me to call the cops if I saw you again. TESTAKLES: You would have that much of a problem with me? C'mon, maaaan! SHEPHERD: Tell you what. You knock on our door again, I call the boys in blue. (TESTAKLES looks at NEWTON as if to say, "Is he serious?". NEWTON remains silent, only nodding solemnly. TESTAKLES' shoulders droop and he shuffles back into his dope-den room.) NEWTON: That guy had a ring on- he was married. His poor wife. (curtain) THE END 26.6.01
 Crappy Contest II Prize Awarded Perkusi was awarded her prize for the Crappy Contest II. She correctly named the source of the sound clip for a Hooded Corpse's death, but didn't read the answer on the newsgroup. Her prize? A 24-can case of Coke II! Ah! Smooth, refreshing Coke II: If everybody else has Coke, you'll want Coke II. It's one better than Coke- in fact, it's twice as good!
A little less than half of the Coke II was donated to the group. It found its way into Jack and Coke IIs, Rum and Coke IIs, and possibly even some Coke II & XLIII.  From Hoover's: Red Bull, based in Fuschlam See, Austria, markets its namesake functional energy drink worldwide. The nonalcoholic drink contains the amino acid taurine, B-complex vitamins, caffeine, and carbohydrates (sugars). The company claims the body needs more taurine than is produced naturally during physical exertion. Taurine was first derived in 1826 from ox bile; hence, the Red Bull name. Mmm... ox bile.
No testicles in it? Why, then, is the taurine derived from ox bile and not bull bile?
Ten cans... damn... he's got me beat by six!
Thursday night: I arrived with Slyph to find Perkusi, Kodo, Drenn, and Newton playing cribbage, of all things. But, as Slyph and I had arrived and thus the party could begin, we went off in search of grub and pub. We chose McNally's, because (as Newton observed) it looked like Sor had drawn it, and their motto was "As Authentic As It Gets". They meant authentically Irish. Drenn had the Irish Nachos. I can't remember if anyone ordered the Irish Chicken Quesadillas. I had the Shepherd's Pie, of course. My pie. A few beers later, we had our first exciting revelation of a secret character. It was not to be the last. There was even an accidental almost-giveaway of one of mine, thank you very much Perkusi. Then the bill came just as Newton got his last Guiness, so he had to guzzle it. Hehehe. According to him, he was still paying for it on Sunday. Dehydration cannot be cured by drinking more alcohol, and there sure wasn't anything else to drink. I was in the restroom at the same time as Drenn when I used the paper towel dispenser, yanking out a huge piece of paper towel. Thus, when Newton used the restroom he had to wipe his hands on his plaid, because (as Drenn put it) "When Shepherd was in the bathroom he pulled out the long one". Oh my. Back to the hotel to await further arrivals. Drinking and chatting into the night. It struck me how rapidly I adjusted to these meatbags that my online friends are stored in. Nobody is exactly as you pictured, but you already know them so well that your mind just adjusts. Plus, it's a relief to get over that text barrier. That, and you can cover 10 times as much in the same time. Bed at about 5:30. Somebody remind me what happened that night. I remembered the next day, but worked hard the rest of the weekend to destroy those brain cells. In fact, I think I left my left hemisphere in Slyph's car.
Healery and Drenn have both put pictures of our gathering up. These are the pictures that will lend a face to all of us, for everyone we meet in Clan Lord who bothers to look them up. Last year's RQKC provided the images of my friends that I held in my mind for an entire year, until I met them face to face. This year's pictures will be no different for anyone else. Pictures of us, drunk, exhausted after staying up until 6 every night. Did they take any pictures the first night, when everybody was in their "first-impression" well-groomed mode? No, they got us after three days of drinking, passing out in other people's rooms, and wearing the same clothes. There is exactly one close-up of myself that I've seen so far. This one. He didn't warn me he was taking it so he could catch Txara... which means I didn't have time to put my glass eye in. Now everybody gets to see how gross my gaping, empty eye socket looks. And that will be the "me" in everybody's head for a full year. 25.6.01
Ahhh, much better. 24 nerds X 4 days X partying till 6 = happy Sheppie. More to come, of course, although you'll have to read many a website to get all the dish. Too many stories to be told. This sort of gathering always leaves me depressed, because of the fact that all these great friends are so distant. Sure I talk to 'em every day, but there's a lot more laughter and sharing to be had in person. However, I'm not sad now because this gathering was like roleplaying nitro to me... I'm eager to apply what I've learned to my game. I can't believe I spent 8 months in D&D mode, playing out my character but not actively directing any plots. Then I gradually came to care enough about the game to pay attention in hunts and worry about my character's relationships with others... now I'm chompin' at the bit to take this game by the short'n'curlies. Special thanks to PWC Shatuga for the lessons, though there was not a clicker in attendance who I didn't learn something from. Late last night, at 11:54PM on Sunday, the last day of the event, I clanned with another attendee. It's wonderful that we were all too busy hanging out and being real-life friends for a few days to play Clan Lord until the last five minutes of the weekend. 21.6.01
GENERIC FILLER POST Summaries of some linked blogs: A Clan Lord Journal- I am more than one woman. I sometimes have kids, and I sometimes buy lingerie on ebay, and I often do musical things. I play Clan Lord, and if i talk about anything besides the game, I get mad at myself. HWC Sleipnir's Diary- I play a knight in Clan Lord. In real life, I live in New Zealand, teach math, play in a band, and go sailing. Mostly sailing. Nosuch.org- I'm a whiteboy in NYC. I play Clan Lord, but not as much as I bitch about it. I'm also a kinkster, and I want to tell you allll about it. Lipstick and Lesbians- I'm a dyke who works at Avon, and I've got the most fucked up family life you'll ever hear. I don't play Clan Lord, but I know all the dirt about Shepherd IRL. Kira's Diary- I play Clan Lord and go to an eastern college. Last night, there was a lot of nakedness and drunkenness, but I can't tell you about it.
20.6.01
"Allison's leaving?" I asked my boss, "Oh no! If I'm the girliest one in this department, that means trouble!" "Yeah," said my boss, "Without Allison it'll be four testosterone laden guys... and you." 19.6.01
I wrote this huge post about the slump I've been in lately... it was all about the psychic toll of playing an unpopular character plus dealing with psycho clickers plus facing homophobia in-game plus the difficulties of expressing one's true personality through text... and of course Nutscrape tanked just as I was about to hit the post button. So, in its place, I'll leave you with this thought: Everybody you see, every person in every place on every day, is carrying around inside them a couple of pounds of shit. 18.6.01
Well, sorry to disappoint you, but there was no Tea with Slyph. Something about a broken nail. I know when I'm being blown off. It's the hair, isn't it? I knew it was the hair! 15.6.01
Johnny Payphone: So there's this sales guy here, Dan, he's the only one who looks and acts like your archetype sales guy. Johnny Payphone: You know, Sales Hair, sharp suits, expensive watch... Johnny Payphone: Sooper-cheesy Johnny Payphone: This guy goes down to Miami to pitch some sale... that night in the hotel he feels something biting on his toe Johnny Payphone: He rips off the covers and sees a giant hairy spider! So of course he pounds it into goo. Johnny Payphone: Just like Boris the Spider... Johnny Payphone: Well, he goes running the next day, and when he took his shoe off, his big toe was all big and swollen and black&blue.. Johnny Payphone: He comes back home and goes to the doctor. He had to wait for the weekend to end, so this is like 3 days after the bite. Johnny Payphone: The doctor takes a look at his big stanky swollen piggie, and starts going "mmm-hmmm, that's what I was afraid of.." Never a good thing to hear your doctor say. Emeritus22: aww man Emeritus22: Did he lose it?! Johnny Payphone: The Dr. lances the toe in three places. Two holes ooze out pus. The third oozes out this black chunky stuff, like caviar... Johnny Payphone: Doc goes, "Just as I thought. See that black stuff?" Emeritus22: AWWWW DUUUUUDE!! Johnny Payphone: "Spider eggs." Emeritus22: No Way! Emeritus22: gonna. . .pass. . .out. Johnny Payphone: ::claws at chest, whispering "dirty, dirty":: Emeritus22: I seriously think I am going to puke Johnny Payphone: That story just makes my toes curl Emeritus22: What kind of a spider? Johnny Payphone: He doesn't know. He atomized it. Johnny Payphone: Instead of keeping it, dumbass Emeritus22: This is a true story, and not an Urban Legend? Johnny Payphone: I think I'd cut off my toe, I can't handle the thought of spiders growing inside of me. Johnny Payphone: I could go over and look at the toe right now, I'm sure it's still nasty-looking. Emeritus22: Oh My God Emeritus22: I would take my leg off just below the knee Emeritus22: How does the doc know he got all the eggs? Johnny Payphone: Oh, they flayed his toe open and scraped it all out with one of those teeny sharp spoon thingies. Johnny Payphone: I would _not_ stand for spiders to be erupting from my rotting flesh. I would make damn sure they got every egg, torching my toe if neccessary. Johnny Payphone: AAAAAH! My sock just tickled my toe, made me jump. Emeritus22: ha! Emeritus22: Dude, I could have gone the rest of my life never having heard that story. 12.6.01
"When you get your cell phone bill, does it list the numbers you dialed?" Asked the Southern Liar. He is homeless this month, sleeping at his girlfriend's and carries her cell phone since he has no home to have a home phone in. "Uhh, maybe," I said. "Sounds like somebody made some calls he shouldn't have." "Yeah," he sighed. Then I noticed he was wearing the same clothes as the day before. Somebody's in trouble... 11.6.01
Friday was even more welcome than most Fridays. It had been rainy all week, then all the sudden it was a sunny Friday, so you know I was out the door before my computer shut down at 5PM on Fri. I met up with Brooklyn Mick, his girlfriend Mortgage-Brokra, and the Playeress to go to Blues Fest. As the Mick put it, "If I were in Chicago and didn't go to Blues Fest, I'd be asking myself what the hell I was doing in this city." Blues Fest was full of whiteys. Not a single brother to be found, except for on the stage or panhandling. Very odd, but not so surprising. Chicago government has a long history of systematically segregating black folk to the south side. No wonder they don't want to come to Honkyfest. I caught Ike Turner at the show. It's funny how not many people know that this guy even plays music- all people know is that Ike hit Tina with his shoe. That's fine with me, the guy should go down in history as an asshole. You reap what you sow. I'm sure his concert woulda been something special for old Ike fans, but I would have rather seen a Tina Turner impersonator in a drag club. As the sun set, Brooklyn Mick and Mortgage-Brokra decided to head home and cook dinner or something. The Playeress and I met up with Accountant-ra from work and headed to White Star, because hey, it's a discourtesy not to at least put in a cameo when you're on the list, right? Oh, I'm so city. Actually, it was my first time there, don't ask how I got on the list. Good thing, too, because the cover is $20. This was my first experience in a "city" club. It's the sort of place where the staff is very cordial, "welcome, come on in, let me take your jacket, have a great time" but the clientele are mostly assholes. There was such an atmosphere of conspicous self-awareness- like everybody was only there to see and be seen. Snore. I enjoyed myself only due to my persistent ability to bring the party with me wherever I go. Music was good, dance floor didn't even have breathing room. They have these tables set out next to the dance floor that are reserved for bottle drinkers. Basically you sit down and buy a bottle of liquor at quadruple the price, like say Absolut for $170. The only reason you'd pay so much is if you ordered it all in drinks you'd be paying $300. This is why I usually fire up before I hit the bar and only have one or two drinks there- it's the 600% markup factor. So the tables were there to sit and conspicuously show that you're willing to pay $170 for a $17 bottle of vodka. Nice concept- as more and more people make money these days, you always need ridiculous luxury items to make people feel better about being that much richer. Check out the Robb Report sometime- it's all geared towards helping those who have more money than they could possibly spend in their lifetime. There are ads in the back of that magazine for islands, for the love of Mai! I'm sure lots of people were looking with disdain at us, especially me. If you wanna be "city" you gotta dress all in black and it's gotta be expensive black. I, being unable to constrain my fashion sense within the bounds of one color, was of course much more flamboyant. I definitely wouldn't have gotten in if I'd just been out in the "pick me pick me" crowd outside. But I'm quite used to ignoring stares, and a bunch of snoots in a club are nothing compared to, say, trying to get through a metal detector at the airport with various below-the-neck piercings. People who too interested in others just don't have enough of themselves to satisfy them. I did attract the attention of a lady, though- as Accountant-ra and I ordered drinks at the bar. This colossal bitch (she was colossal in her bitchiness, she was of course as physically scrawny as all "city" women) grabs me, plants her hand on my chest, and shoves me backwards away from the bar. Then she elbows Accountant-ra in the gut and shoves her away too. Then she screams, "My seat!" and plops down on the stool next to where we were trying to get the bartender's attention. You know, I would have started with a "pardon me". Oh, well, instant asshole, just add cocaine. I would have had no qualms about cold-cocking her, as wimpy as I am, but I didn't feel like finding out what new strangleholds the bouncers had learned that night. I'll go to any length, including tolerating rudeness to a degree I've never seen, just to avoid getting in a fight in bar. It may be the state sport of Texas but I don't want to die of a broken bottle to the gut. Plus, would YOU risk these dashing good looks? ;) Accompanied as I was by two beautiful women, it was interesting to observe the receiving end of the ol' singles scene. I usually do my drinkin' in places where people are either there to drink, to drink and dance, or to drink and bowl. My only experiences in bars where the primary intention of the patrons was to hook up was in college bars, where it always goes the same: The fellas get increasingly drunk, causing them to simultaneously lessen their chances with oafish behaviour and asshole attitudes while making more and more desparate attempts at the long-shot mack job. The ladies also get increasingly drunk, so as the night goes on their standards get lower and lower until somewhere in the middle the two match. Thus I was surprised, at White Star, how things differed. Sure, there were drunk assholes trying to freak on the dance floor. This place had a screening process, but sometimes nice people just turn into losers when they drink. There were also couples sucking face all over the place, so much that I thought I might have stumbled into one of those touchy-feely clubs. Nah, it was just individual games of tonsil hockey. My companions didn't get approached until we took a break from the dance floor at a table. The gentlemen who approached them just got nicer and nicer. Sure, they might have been trying to get some, but might as well be a man when you do it. They were considerate, attentive, polite, and respectful. When they caught the Playeress or Accountant-ra returning their sultry gazes, they would come over and introduce themselves, make sure that neither of the ladies was with me, and then buy us all a drink. Their conversation was directed at our group and not just the object of their attention. Just seeing those men behave redeemed the whole evening for me. Chivalry might be on life support but it's not dead, as Fraiser said in that episode where he picked up a hooker. The bar closed at a disappointingly early hour (2:30 or 3, I think it was) and we headed back to Accountant-ra's pad with three friends we'd made. It would have been the perfect situation, had I been "on the prowl", as the two objects of my companion's attention were roommates, and the third was cute, friendly, and amazingly down-to-earth. Oh, well, you don't regret lost opportunities when you're madly in love. I took my cue and exited gracefully when everybody started hooking up or passing out. It was 5 AM, and here I was out on the street trying to catch a cab, looking for all the world like I was doing the "walk of shame"!!! I hit it off pretty well with this one fella that the Playeress liked. We had some things in common, and I wouldn't mind hangin' out with him again. So I got to thinkin': If he goes and has this drunken hookup with my friend, that means I can't ever hang out with him without causing the Playeress undue embarassment! I think that's why I never did the random hookup thing. There's so much potential for friendship in those throwaway nights. However, the good news is, he's cooking dinner for her tonight. So this story has a happy ending after all, instead of closing with me stumbling home at five. Next week- High Tea with Slyph! 7.6.01
Crappy Contest II Results Well, J'nder was the first to send me the answer. It's up to her to be honest, though. Turns out somebody brought this up on the NG back in Feb... at which point Perkusi discussed how she stumbled across it accidentally. She sent me the answer second, so she's the runner-up. J'nder, I'm told, reads the newsgroup (shudder) but I can't imagine somebody reading every post or even every thread. That would be sick. So I'll give her the opportunity to decide whether she wants or deserves the crappy prize. Boy, she's gonna be disappointed! The sound of a hooded corpse dying is from that scene in A Fish Called Wanda where Kevin Kline eats a fish. Congratulations to J'nder, Perkusi, and Hawkthorn. Slyph and Alexis claimed to know the answer but didn't tell it to me. No crap for them! Next contest: Where the hell did thooms come from? 5.6.01
Gee, I haven't told many stories of late. Been ranting too much. So I'll give the public what it wants: Shepherd by the shitload! I'll tell you about my weekend. I gotta do it in parts, though, since I'm too lazy to belt it all out at once. Friday night, I went out with Brooklyn Mick, Playeress, and a few of her friends. We The venue is above a funeral home, and the entry corridor is full of portraits of The price is $5 plus the roll of a six-sided die. Entering the theater, you see thirty Then, bam bam bam, thirty plays in sixty minutes. Some were funny, some were sad, Saturday, I had an invite to a deck party at the Office Girl's. Office Girl lives with two women in a huuuge apartment in a really cracky neighborhood. His place is two doors down from the Aragon, where I saw Fatboy Slim a month ago. The alley outside their bay window is where the hookers do their thang. Huge apartments have huge decks, and this was a deck party. As with most buildings in that neighborhood, it's like a fortress for up-and-comers, with a big security fence around it to protect its precious wannabe-yuppie contents. Well, I poured a little too much vodka in my third Red Bull. The party started at four, so by 12:30 I was solidly fitshaced. I don't like to get drunk, I don't often get drunk, but lately I've been having two drinks and then losing all sense of judgement. Last weekend I had a few beers and decided to start drinking rum, which I'm very allergic to. I ended up puking all Sunday and broke out in a rash all over my body. This weekend, my lack of judgment told me it would be a good idea to step out for a breath of fresh air. I abandoned the Brooklyn Mick and his girlfriend, didn't even say goodbye to Office Girl (boy, will he be salty on Monday!) and stumbled out into the gritty streets. Well, I coulda been taken for an easy mark, since I obviously wasn't walking straight. I was very lucky. Very lucky. Before I could get robbed or bashed, a car pulls up, and who should jump out but a coupla kids from my hometown! It was the Quaker Jew and Arachnid Kid and Ms. Green! Ms. Green had an internship in town, and the Quaker Jew was up visiting. They had run to the video store to rent "Big", and happened to drive past my drunk ass. The funny thing is, the only reason they recognized me is because I was wearing my FedEx jacket. I never wear it anymore, because I got sick of people assuming I worked at FedEx (go figure). But I tossed it on that night and it probably saved my life. They took me back to their place and we chatted a bit. I skipped out after about 45 minutes because I had to crash. I left just in time, apparently, because soon Ms. Green's roommates and company returned, and they were messy drunk. Very messy drunk. Apparently there was some loss of bowel control. I'm glad I got out in time. I had to go back the next day, though, and present myself sober. I'd hate for them to return to my hometown and say, "Yeah, that [Shepherd] has really gone downhill since he moved to Chicago! He was drunker than a poet on payday!". So another visit Sunday morning (the befouled rug had been disposed of, thank Pan), and there you have my weekend! 4.6.01
Crappy Contest Winner! Congratulations! J'nder sent me the answer first! I'll just have to find out how she found out, and then I'll declare her the winner! Then I gotta ship this crap to England...
Crappy Contest II That's right kids! It's time for another crappy contest! The first person to email me the answer wins a prize even crappier than the one from the last contest! Here it is: From what movie is the sound effect for a Hooded Corpse's death cry taken? People who were told the answer, my sweetheart, and former GMs not eligible.
Here's some wacky Ronnie movie posters, submitted by The Gintleman (a lurker):
31.5.01
Ever since Vespa opened a store in downtown Chicago, having a scooter has become the latest bo-bo status symbol. This has embittered both vintage Vespa owners and the bo-bos who had kids, which are now yesterday's trendy status symbol. I saw a guy take it to the next level. He was whizzing through Chicago rush-hour traffic with a cell phone in one hand. I guess the only question is, where can I get a copy of the X-rays once he embeds that thing in his skull? 30.5.01
 These are just a few of many wacky old ads that Tom Tomorrow found while looking for stuff to use in his comics. Check them out, they're a laff! Then read Tom's comics and buy his books.
29.5.01
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago Take up our quarrel with the foe! -John McCrae 28.5.01
When it comes to technology, I'm a trailing-edger. My friends (well, the male nerds mostly) suffer from Latest and Greatest Syndrome- if they don't have the absolute cutting edge of technology, they feel like they're getting shafted. One guy, for example, just replaced his year-old DVD player because it wasn't a "progressive scan DVD", and he just couldn't stand the unacceptable level of crispness on the old DVD. Then he takes that super-high resolution and watches movies like Godzilla (the sucky American CGI version) and Lost In Space The Movie. I think I have my parents to blame. They were raised dirt poor and raised me to appreciate what I had. When other kids were playing their NES, I had an Atari. When Sega Genesis was the shit, I finally got an NES, cast off from some kid who'd moved on to the L&G. Then Genesis when it was Supernintendo, Supernintendo when it was Playstation, and now I've got a Playstation. I can't wait for the X-box and PS2 and all those time-suckers to come out- I've got my eye on a N64. Video game systems are just a small example. I only play video games about 1 hour a week (not counting a certain computer game ;). A better example is in my movie-watching technology. I watch VHS tapes on a Zenith Panorama. My nerd friends refuse to join me- they can't stand the hiss, they can't see the picture. I feel sorry for them, unable to enjoy an experience unless it's the "best" it can be. The Zenith Panorama isn't the biggest screen you can get. It sure was in 1986, and it's solid-state. Nowadays TVs are practically disposable- they weigh as much as an ice cream cone and last about as long to boot. The main reason I'm a trailing-edger is money. Technology becomes outdated so fast these days that you can save yourself 90% by waiting a month or two. For the price of a DVD, I can buy at least 10 VHS movies, maybe 20. My land line costs a fraction of what a cell phone would, and even better, I don't have to answer it unless I'm home. I've got this GREAT retro PDA- it's a lined pad of paper, with a high-tech little spiral of wire holding it together. Never goes down, never runs out of juice, and if I lose it I can replace it for 59¢. Another reason I don't go for the cutting edge, at least in media consumption, is that we're approaching the limits of human perception. I've got a decent stereo, probably cost me a couple hundred total, and you know what? Sounds just like a $2000 stereo. I know that the expensive ones are better, but I can't tell the difference and neither can the shmuck who paid $2K, though he'll never admit it. The third reason is that I take comfort in older things. As time passes, material goods are crapified in order to make them more affortable for everybody. I like to surround myself with things built back when quality was a consideration, and I plan to purchase new things at a greater expense if it means they'll last longer than a month or two. I like dialing my rotary phone. It's reassuring. Plus, when I get a recording I just "stay on the line" and get a live person sooner than I would if I sat there like an idiot punching buttons. Spend a half hour entering your social, your account number, your zip code, etc etc and when you get a real person what's the first thing they ask? "Social, account number, zip code please..." My old coffee machine might be a little more effort, but there's no substitute for the sound of percolation. Mr. Coffee sounds like he's got diarrhea. It's not that I reject all new technology. It's just that I don't switch over until I see a good reason to do so. Those disposable cell phones look pretty nice- it's impossible to dial in to them. They never ring in meetings, on the train, at the movies, at dinner. Maybe I'll get one of those. Also, I have a DVD player, since She's TiBook came with one. We buy a DVD if there's something on it that we'd really like to see. So, if you're walking down the street in 2020, and you see a guy who doesn't have the new Cyberlegs™ Automated Walking Augmentation, nor the LoJack™ 24-HR Gargoyle Net Connection, and it looks like he's going to the movie theatre instead of just downloading the latest SQUID™ Fully-Interactive Experience, that'll probably be me. You can cast a little of your pity on me, if you like. Or don't. I'll be doing just fine without it. 25.5.01
A Chicago woman embezzled $250,000 from her employer, Andersen Consulting. In court, she pleaded that she was addicted to shopping, and she needed the money to pay off her debts to Marshall Fields and Neiman Marcus. Among the crap she had bought was a $7,000 belt buckle. The judge didn't buy her excuse. Awww... too bad. 24.5.01
22.5.01
Pictures Of Gabey  Awwww!  Awwwwwwwwwwww!  He's so sassy! I tried to photograph Moses, but apparently devil-cats don't show up on film. Isn't Gabey so much more photogenic? 21.5.01
A Self-Defense Success Story Some guy on the south side picked the wrong woman to try to rape this weekend. She bit his balls off. Strolled into the police station, plopped them down on the counter and said, "I'd like to file a report of sexual assault against the owner of these." The cops found him in the emergency room. It was too late to reattach. Awwww.... too bad.
The Dish Well, I finally got up the guts and wrote SWC Slyph, asking for beer time. I'm inclined to communicate very directly with people, so I tried to be as nonthreatening as possible and explain that I merely wanted to get together to plan the upcoming gathering as well as for the heck of it since there are only 3 clanners in Chicago that I know of. This was not a date, I said, which should go without saying but I just wanted to be clear. I can imagine the offers that she gets. We spoke on the phone a few times. It's always interesting to talk to someone for the first time when you've known them for a year. Nobody ever meets your expectations. We seemed to get along alright, in that we're both goofy people. Initially we wanted to have High Tea, but by the time I got ahold of her on Sunday it was beer-thirty. She just moved into the city and was outside doin' work. We decided on the Goose Island Brewpub, because they have a stilton burger that's to die for. I gotta tell you, I had a lot of mixed expectations. Of course I thought Slyph was clicked by a guy- I assume that of any female player. But an OOC email and then a phone conversation quickly dispelled that suspicion. A female sylvan clicked by a woman- who'da thunk it? ;) So I assumed, naturally, that SWC would be the exact opposite of her character. After all, most people use CL to express the aspects of their personality that they're afraid to reveal IRL. I'm thinkin' she's gonna be some shy, mousy librarian-type who dreams of being a pushy, self-centered broad. Tiny, meek, geeky, quiet. That was my expectation based on what I know of CL clickers. Boy was I wrong. She strolls in there like she owned the place and everyone in it. I was waiting at the bar, and I had no doubt in my mind that this was Slyph. I'd seen the pictures on RQHL but they didn't really do her justice. She was gorgeous. Dressed like she was heading to Puff Daddy's party afterwards- I felt like a wreck in my jeans 'n' t-shirt. She had on this long dress (turns out she made it), huge fabulous shoes, gigantic gaudy costume rings, hair like Gwen Stefani. "I'll bet you're Shepherd," she says. "Yeah," I replied. "I could tell, " she shot back, "you look like you spend too much time in front of a computer." Well my skin color might be #ffffff but I'm not that much of a geek. And that 'yeah' was about the last thing I got to say the whole time. We got some beers, ordered our burgers, and I settled in for three hours of live, in-your-face, in-the-flesh Slyph. She immediately surveyed, then degraded every other woman in the room. It was odd. She obviously had nothing to prove but it seemed like their outfits personally offended her. We'd be talking about some abstract concept resulting from the game, I'd be revealing some deeply personal opinion and she'd just interrupt with, "Oh my god, will you LOOK at her squeezed into that dress! She looks like a can of ready-bake croissants after you pop it!" I couldn't get a word in edgewise- it was all about which CL clickers were bitches (all of you apparently, especially 'thea), what SWC was into, what SWC was doing that weekend, what SWC thought we should all do in June. If it had been a date, it would have been over. I'm not the type to put up with an obnoxious attitude just because I'm with a hot mama. However, we were there for a purpose, and it was definitely amusing to be in the presence of such a powerful personality. Beer is the great equalizer, and I'm not one to be so judgemental that I decline a free beer because of who it's coming from. ;) Sure, she'll probably read this. I get the feeling, though, that she's not the type of person to give a shit what anybody thinks. We talked about our expectations: She had expected me to be a boring, dim-witted, religious type because of the character I play. "Boy, I really defied your expectations, didn't I?" I exclaimed. "No," she said, matter-of-fact, "you're just like I anticipated." Sigh. In the end it was her who cut short our meeting. Oh, well, it was an interesting experience. I guess we just didn't click. Plus, she said, I laugh too loud. 18.5.01
 I'm disappointed by the lack of submissions from ROWYFO readers to The Roommate. What, you've all had nothing but wonderful, pleasant roommate experiences? Noone has ever done something truly evil, or had something evil done to them? Not even had a friend that did? I don't believe it. Get off your lazy asses and share that pain! Be sure to write theroommatesroommate@yahoo.com rather than put it in a discussion post and ruin it for all of us. P.S. You don't even have to get off your lazy asses to do it. 16.5.01
It occurs to me that not everyone out there has had the opportunity to visit White Castle. You can't miss it. For one, the burgers are teeny-tiny, and you're supposed to get a ten-sack or so. The teeny-tiny meat patties even have holes in them, to "let the flavor through". Secondly, they take Visa, so you could conceivably walk outta there with 100 burgers even if you're out of cash. But most of all, they have Chicken Rings. That's right, chicken. Rings. There's only one part of the chicken that I can think of that is a ring... 14.5.01
HWC Sleipy: Oooooo..... I was thinking of coming out to Chicago, too. Shepherd: Noooo... it's your life's purpose to avoid this place, remember? HWC Sleipy: Well.. yes... but to meet you and Slyph I think I would visit even Chicago. HWC Sleipy: I might learn something HWC Sleipy: Would I be able to sleep on your floor for a night? Shepherd: You wouldn't be the first drunk, stinky, violent mathematician to pass out on our floor. HWC Sleipy: How about the first drunk obnoxious vomit-stained musician? Shepherd:: Those are a dime a dozen 'round here. 12.5.01
BLOG OWNER WRAPS PRIZE FOR GUESS-THE-DEAD-PRICK CONTEST CHICAGO-Fans of the worldwide publication "Rock Out With Your Flock Out" were shocked today to learn that Shepherd, known in some circles as Johnny Payphone, had applied a festive outer covering to the prize that he will hand to the winner of the Guess The Dead Prick Contest. The contest, run some months ago, involved a picture of a grave and clues about the individual buried there. Scandal erupted when two emails arrived with the answer- one arriving first, then the other arriving with an earlier postmark. "How will the prize be distributed?" was the question on everybody's lips on this windy, sunny morning as Shepherd met the press. "The prize will require artistic skill to use," assured Shepherd, "And both [Guess The Dead Prick winners] Shamhat and Azriel can participate in its use." As the crowd sighed with relief, he added, "However, one of them will be stuck with the result. I propose a contest, with the loser gaining possession of the item." When asked what sort of contest he had in mind, he rattled off a variety of suggestions- a drinkin' contest, a shot-matchin' contest, a keg-standin' contest, and others. Shepherd plans to unveil the prize to Shamhat in person. -AP News wire 11.5.01
I was at my parents' house, and I decided to put on a little techno. "Sounds like the record's stuck," said Mom. "Oh, yeah! THAT's what old people say when they hear techno! Thanks, mom, I had forgotten!" 10.5.01
My Babies, Part IV When me and my parents moved into the house they currently live in, an ol' tomcat started hanging around. We kids named him Gulliver Morris Specklenose, because he looked like Morris, had a speckly nose, and traveled a lot. He was one of these cats where Tuesday he was Scruffles at the Johnson's house, Fridays he was Firefur at the Jacobs' house, and so on. But he seemed to like our place the best, because our dogs were the wimpiest. One of our neighbors said that the farmer who lived in their house before them had tried to neuter Gully himself, with half success. We thought that explained why Gully wasn't the smartest of cats. He wouldn't run away from our dog Toby, instead he would just flop down and let Toby chew on him until his fur was soaked in dog drool. Gully himself also drooled, a lot. If you petted him he'd start to purr and drip drip drip... if you let him sleep in your bed you'd wake up in a puddle. He was (and is) the best cat I've ever known, because all he wanted was to be held and petted. No sassiness in that cat. Well, one day two years ago a neighbor from across the gully came by for a rare visit. "Oh my god," he said when Gully strolled up, "Is that...? Where'd you get that cat?" "Oh, he just sort of showed up one day," said my mom. The neighbor's jaw was on the floor. "That cat was a full grown Tom who hung around our place when we moved in," said the neighbor. "That was 18 years ago." It's two years later, and Gully's still droolin' around. He's missing a fang, and his ears are notched from his many fights, and you can tell he never wants to go outside (even though he's not litterbox trained) but he's still purrin' on the lap of one of my family members at any given time. He's been "Unka Gully" to at least four cats and two dogs, some of which have been born and died since we've had him. I keep mentally preparing myself for the news of his passing, but that darn cat just keeps comin' back.
My babies, part III Gabey is a fryer. Mosey is a stewer. Every time they're bad, I remind them of this. /action licks lips. 8.5.01
Kitty Terms:Nicknames: Gabriel: Moses: She: Shepherd: Terminology: The Rips- When they go crazy and run around the house like demons.
My Babies, part I She and I aren't just boyfriend and girlfriend. Those terms are too vague to explain our relationship. Plus, it sounds like we're in middle school, and I passed a note to Her that said "Do you like me? Check one Yes No Maybe" and she checked 'yes'. However, marriage isn't the route for us. I'd explain further but this post and the resulting discussion is about kitties, and not about marriage as an outdated social institution. We can debate that later. We are Catparents. We've made a commitment to each other for the lifetime of our two cats, who are brothers and have never been apart since birth for more than the occasional few days when the naughty one gets himself lost or stuck somewhere. More on that later. We adopted them from a no-kill (giving birth to them wasn't an option at the time) and we each gave our respective kitten our last name. Their first names are Gabriel and Moses, or Gabey and Mosey. Strangers can't seem to tell them apart, although one has significantly longer hair than the other. They are bicolor seal ragdolls, or at least that's their dominant breed, since we have no way of knowing their parentage. These two cats are a perfect example of Mendellian genetics: one has all the dominant genes, and one has all the recessive genes. Gabriel is the perfect cat. His lines are show-quality. He's loving, soft and fuzzy, and playful. He likes everybody. He got the ragdoll gene, too, which means you can pick him up any which way and he doesn't mind. He likes to ride about the house over our shoulders like a stole. He's also the troublemaker. It's hard to stay mad at him, because he's the cutest damn thing that ever purred on the planet (parental bias here). Gabriel belongs to She, since She is a dog person and has never had cats but Gabey is a cat even a dog person could love. She loves to give him squeezin's and he loves to get them. Moses is my cat. Moses is a cat only a catperson could love. He got all the recessive genes- his coloring is sporatic, his hair is different lengths in patches on his body, and he has lots of problems. While Gabey's eyes are an emerald green, sparkling with life, Mosey's eyes are a babyshit yellow, dull and frightened. Moses doesn't like to be held. He doesn't like to be petted, except by me. He's afraid of everybody. The first time I took them to the vet, the vet tossed a big ol' doggie-vitamin on the table to test their reaction speed. As Mose recoiled in horror from the pill, Gabey pounced on it and ate it. The vet said he'd never in all his years seen a cat eat a tasteless, quarter-sized dog vitamin. Gabey once busted out a screen and jumped out a second floor window because our neighbor was grilling hamburgers. Moses can't even eat treats you give him because he can't coordinate his eyes and nose with his mouth. When I give them treats, I pitch one into the next room, for Gabey to track down and kill, and then I drop one for Mose to gum at until he's fortunate to have some of it tumble down his throat. Mosey can't even groom himself right, so I'm constantly cutting off dreads. He refuses to be brushed, while Gabey loves it of course, since he's beautiful and he knows it. Gabey can easily jump to the top of the fridge. He moves with a grace only a cat can achieve, like something out of "Crouching Gabey, Hidden Dragon". He likes to do things like leap from the ground, up through the loop in my chair between the arm and the back, alight briefly on my mouse-arm and spring upward and onward to greater heights. Moses tries to jump up on my lap, but two feet is a bit much for him to handle so he usually just ends up digging his claws through my pants into my most sensitive of places and dangling there, struggling, as I scream in agony. Involuntary genital piercing is not something I would recommend- it's hard to stop the bleeding and you can't exactly stick a band-aid there. One time we took Mose to get all of his dreads shaved off by a professional. When I arrived to pick him up, they had done the front half, leaving him with big fluffy pants, before giving up. I had to have him sedated by the vet, they told me. The next time I called to have him groomed they said, "Sure! Bring him on in! What's the cat's name? Moses? (pause) Ohhhhhh, sorry, Moses isn't allowed to come back." Does anybody else out there have cats that are blacklisted from all the groomers in town? I hope there are others that share my pain. Gabey is a fetishkitten. He loves krinklies, as do many cats. He also looooooves water. I've heard this is not so rare among cats. When we go into the bathroom, he's there, hoping we'll take a shower. He plays in the tub when we're not using it, and when we do shower he sits down at the shallow end and bats at the water. He likes to be wet but not soaked, so he usually only stays in the shower for a little while. And if something is both wet AND krinkly, hoo boy! Better watch out. We'll wet a plastic bag and lay it on the floor, and he'll sit on it with his nicitating membranes closed in an expression of pure bliss. I could talk about my cats until non-cat-owners beg for mercy. I'll try to throw some pictures in here. Since it's my blog, and lots of my readers love kitties too, I think I'll continue to talk about my cats for as long as I like. I love them, they're definitely our surrogate children, and I don't know what I'd do without them. 5.5.01
Fatboy Slim is Fucking in Chicago I wanted to have my wits about me for this show. As fun as it is to lose yourself in music, various substances have various effects on both consciousness and memory, and I wanted to be awake for the whole show and remember every detail. So, to aid me in this, of course I turned to Red Bull. I downed two with my dinner, and stuck the rest in my pockets. Some backpacks, by the way, have a little Red Bull pocket on the strap. Gotta get me one of those. If I walk to the corner of Damen and Ravenswood, I can see the sign for the Aragon. It's about a mile. But I as you walk east, the neighborhood gets more and more cracky, and I would rather take the train than walk the distance in the dark. Even with my Red Bull-endowed super powers. I was all doled up, of course. I was planning to wear a clubby shirt, but at the last moment decided to don my beautiful red polyester cowboy shirt, the one with the mother-of-pearl snaps and two royal flushes embroidered on the chest. You know, the type with bendy arrows for pockets. It turned out to be a good choice. Hop off the train and the line to get into the Aragon stretched to the end of the block. I had bought my tickets from TicketBastard, willing even to stoop so low and make an undesirable dealing to ensure my entrance. Strolling to the end of the block, I saw that the line turned the corner and extended another half-block in that direction. I finished my third Red Bull in line with the other Red-Bull drinkin' fiends and stepped inside. They patted us all down, even going so far as to look in everybody's cigarette boxes. They didn't mind my wallet chain, though, which is fortunate because they always did in Dayton. Of course they found my last Red Bull, so I guzzled it and headed up to the ballroom, where Scanty Sandwich was already spinning. I had never been in the Aragon Ballroom. It's beautiful. The balconies look like a Spanish village, complete with a simulated night sky overhead, where the stars even wink on and off. The place is huge. You can imagine the scene- the DJ on a platform in the middle with two turntables, and hundreds of dancers bouncing on every side. Scanty Sandwich was a dork. That's a good thing, though. If you've been watching my tray, you know that I'm a big fan of dork bands. He was just your average white guy spinnin' records and he didn't act pretentious at all. Pretty rare, if you've ever met any DJs ;) He surprised the crowd, I think, with beats a little chunkier than expected from the opener for the opener. Now, you must understand something about me. I tend not to dance, because I can't. However, I have been diagnosed as being born with funk in my trunk. I can't help it. If the music is right, I'll dance despite all of my objections. It's not a conscious thing- more like the state of my subconscious is shakin' booty, so when I'm reduced to my raw being by either music or joy or substance I become a living expression of inner boogie. I was handed three beers that night. Maybe it was the shirt, but I doubt it. I think it's just the sense of family that party kids have. Say what you want about their big pants and their Methylenedioxy-N-Methylamphetamine, but they are a friendly bunch. While there's some degree of snottiness among DJs, and increasing numbers of punk kids who think they're party kids, the pure group was created in the name of acceptance and harmony. Part of this is no doubt due to the effects of Ecstacy, but lots of 'em take the route I took that night and try to reach the same state that Vitamin E creates without a pill. I know I succeeded. So anyway I met lots of fun folks and a few of 'em bought me beer. This was on the dance floor, remember. So I'm drinkin' my first beer when Scanty surprised us by hittin' a groove, and I started dancing despite myself, spilling beer all over the place. I swear, I should receive SSI for being born with funk in my trunk. Darren Emerson took over without nary an interruption in the songs. He was your typical pouty, angsty eurotrash type. He spun a thumpin' record, though, and my spastic convulsions continued. He played some of Daft Punk's stuff, heavily modified of course. He even finished his set with an old Underworld tune. Then, late at night, when I thought I could dance no more, on came the man. The guy I was a fan of before I knew I was a fan of. I had two of his ablums already when I bought what I thougth was my first Fatboy Slim record. I had been following his progression as an artist without even knowing it. Years of fandom had not prepared me. He opened his set with a bass note that lasted at least a full minute. It shook us all down to the core and left us jaws agape and bones turned to jelly. Then, for the next few hours, he proceeded to whip the crowd into a frenzy. I danced until my clothes were fully soaked. Forget pilates- try dancing for six hours straight. I made sure to hydrate, too, because I'm a safe clubber. I swear I drank five beers and just as much water and didn't urinate a drop. Norman (Fatboy) would also write stuff on his album slipcovers and hold it up to the camera so that it would be projected on the requisite giant screen. It was interesting to see that his handwriting really looks like the writing he puts on his album covers. He sampled "Blue Monday". He sampled that song that goes, "Finally, it's happened to me". He also sampled many unreleased tunes, such as a Beck song that hasn't come out yet. He tweaked his beats to levels of chunkiness that I've never heard. Obviously no words that I could use could describe the experience accurately. What was most impressive was that he created such a mood of elation throughout the entire crowd. I didn't see a single person who wasn't having the time of their lives. I know that we couldn't ALL have been rolling. He ended with "Praise You", and I knew he meant it to us. Beer and Red Bull having long since worn off, I left riding on a cloud of pure joy. I guess that's why I've never gotten hooked on any substance I've used- I know that there are many ways to get high, and most of them don't involve putting something in your body. My new favorite drug is live Fatboy Slim. The CDs can be my methodone until I can get my next fix. Headed down to the near southwest side for a late-nite with some kids I met at the show. Some of them were very into the scene, and it was interesting to hear them dissect the performance with such knowledge. We grabbed a Philly cheesesteak at Clark and Belmont first, because my host said they were better than in Philly. I'd believe it, given this cheesesteak. Chilled at the late-nite for a bit until the birds started a-chirpin'. When I'm with my buddies, the birds a-chirpin' means it's time to go for brekfiss, but when I'm out on my own it means it's time to head home. I fell asleep in the cab but he was an honest guy, even woke me up when we got there rather than letting me sleep with the meter running. Stumbled inside, shed my soaking skin and crashed. It was 5:30. Lucky for me, I didn't wear too much makeup that night or I'd be looking like The Crow after all that sweating. Maybe I should have- despite all of my accessories, someone said to me "It's really great that you would be cool enough to come to this kind of show," as if wearing a ridiculous cowboy shirt meant that I was really a cowboy. I assured him that no, I wasn't really a cowboy, my parents aren't related. ;) Best show I've ever been to? Hard to say. It doesn't really compare well with concerts. It was definitely the best DJ experience I've ever had. I would have given anything to see him battle Armand Van Helden (who did some of the Blondie remixes, if you've heard them) back in 1999. You could tell that Norman loved what he did. He always had a big smile on his face. He looked just like the rest of us- like there was no place on earth we'd rather be. 2.5.01
Direct mailers will try anything to get your attention. I've got a trash can by my mailbox, and every day I toss out 10 or so envelopes that say "urgent", "dated material enclosed", "important documents enclosed" and so on. They'll try printing on the envelope in a font that looks like handwriting. Heck, I've even gotten them with a penny in a clear window, just to get you to open the envelope. Yeah right. Who reads this crap? Actually, my old dumbshit roommate (the one in the comics) used to give me all of my junk mail, including those full-color coupons on newsprint paper, despite the fact that I told him to pitch it unless it was addressed to me. He always gave me this look like I was crazy when I told him I wasn't interested in my junk mail. I saw a new tactic today. She ordered a trial subscription, two issues free with no obligation. Then, a coupla weeks after the last one came, we got a letter from a collection agency. At least it looked like a letter from a collection agency. Read the small print, and it was just an offer. They sent us a threatening letter requesting the full amount for a year's subscription, hoping we'd be dumb enough to pay off a debt we didn't incur for a magazine we didn't want. The sad thing is, the only reason we have direct mail (and infomercials, and spam email, and telemarketing) is that there's always one plonker out there who falls for it, so marketing considers it worthwhile to spam us all in hopes of squeezing some money from the numbskulls. Professionally, I've always thought that the way to increase sales is to increase the quality of the product and the relationship between the product and the customer. When I look for a bank, I couldn't give a rat's ass if they have free pleather checkbook cases, or a shiny pen with every new checking account. Do they charge me to talk to a live person? Are they nice? Do they act like my money is their money, or my money? It's all about the relationship. That's the only way small business can ever beat big business. There's a pet store on my block. Down the street, there's a SuperMegaHyperGlobalPetz. The mega-pet mart is shiny and huge, with everything you could imagine (catnip wine for cats? You gotta be kidding!). SuperMegaHyperGlobalPetz is cheap, because their volume. They're open 16 hours a day. The sullen staff of teens who work the register turns over every few weeks. The pet store is dirty and stinky. They have very limited selection. It's only open when the old fella can be in there. He knows more about pet birds than anyone in Chicago, I'd bet. I can only buy one brand of cat food. They only take cash. It's more expensive. The pet store has been there since 1861. The proprietor is the 5th-generation owner, father to son. Which one do you think I shop at? 30.4.01
Going Up...Here are the smells as you climb the stairs to my apartment: First floor Second floor Third floor Right side- No smell.
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