This work is satire. Any resemblance to any real people living or dead, or real restaurants living or dead, is either coincidental or purposely intended in the satirical vein. In other words, don't have a cow, man.
>From bkidder Sun Jul 5 22:33:34 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Where the franz are you, Ferd? Status: RO If you had finished in May like you were planning to, you'd be pulling into Vancouver right about now after a fun-filled vacation crossing the country in your brand new 1979 Plymouth. So why are you here?
>From bkidder Mon Jul 6 10:28:48 1987 To: daitzman Subject: If you had finished in May Status: RO Today you'd be hanging around Granville Island, eating Vietnamese salad rolls outside while watching the jugglers and sea gulls. No, you wouldn't be -- you'd still be at the island, but most of it's closed Mondays (or it used to be). Still, this is what you'd probably be doing today had you finished in May. Tomorrow I'll let you know what you'd be doing tomorrow, if only... Beats the number of the day, huh?
>From bkidder Wed Jul 8 12:09:42 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Re: Vancouver Status: RO You'd be hanging around the aquarium, and some kid would mistake you for a dead carp.
>From bkidder Thu Jul 9 12:04:00 1987 To: daitzman Subject: today's agenda Status: RO Since you left the weed with your spanking new degree, you always feel a twinge of remorse every Thursday, knowing that you can't your hands on the latest issue of Nroff Weekly. However, Gus's wife, noticing your despair, reminds you that the Buy and Sell comes out today, and it's chock full of car ads!! You rush out to the corner store, and bring it back, and whip it open to used cars (imported). And the following ad catches your eye: 1981 Honda Civic. 4 spd, new tires no rust, lo-mi. Pref. trade for larger U.S. car for hi-way travel, or $1200 cash. lv. msg 876-8862 for Eli You spend the rest of the day listening to Eli's phone ring, but no one answers.
>From bkidder Mon Jul 13 14:18:38 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Re: What I'd be doing today... Status: RO I see you already know what you'd be doing today, but you would have had an interesting Friday (the weekend begin spent dialling that phone repeatedly to get that 1980 Honda or whatever it was).
>From bkidder Mon Jul 13 15:43:06 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Re: What I'd be doing today... Status: RO Friday, you and Gus head out to UBC with the intention of going to Wreck Beach. When you get there, you see all these gorgeous babes already on the beach, but Gus says he has to go into Buch to work for fifteen minutes, and he'll meet you at the SUB. An hour later, Gus still hasn't shown up. You figure he's chickened out, and you don't really want to go th the beach either, but in case he shows up you figure you better go somewhere else on campus and take the bus back to Gus City. You head over to the computing building to have a look around, and, impressed by the nifty facilities and lack of interest in Eiffel they have, you apply for and are accepted into the PhD program. You start the day after Labor Day.
>From bkidder Tue Jul 14 11:29:22 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Re: what I'd be doing today Status: RO Someone finally picks up the phone at Eli's place, but it's a woman with a sibeliusy voice. You just say your calling about the car, and tell her about your Fury. She's interested, and asks you if you can make it that day. You can, except you have to take the bus because the car still has a flat tire. WHen you finally get there, you discover that "Eli" is none other than the Eiffel lady (Eiffel LadY), except she's forgotten who you are again. The car looks pretty good, but Eli wants another 100 bucks because of the flat tire, and you aren't sure if you're ready to switch to Japanese cars. You tell her you'll think about it, and head back home on the Broadway bus. When you get home, Nancy's whipped up a mess of hot dogs and Gus picked up "Flight of the Navigator" and "Clash of the Titans" at the 7-11 on his way home, so it looks like it's gonna be one rip-roaring evening. Later that night you can't find Eli's phone number anywhere, a new issue of the Buy & Sell has come out without her ad in it, and since all those stucco bungalows and numbered avenues all look the same on the southeast side, you're not sure if you'll ever see her or the car again. You fall asleep instantly.
>From bkidder Wed Jul 15 11:59:03 1987 To: daitzman Subject: It's not your other self, it's you Status: RO You made a trip down to Bellingham to stock up on Texican corn bread mix. Unfortunately, the customs officer seized them on the way back (you should have listened to Gus and just stashed them under your back seat, which is so mouldy they would never go near it), looking for cocaine, and they dumped all six bags onto the floor.
>From bkidder Thu Jul 16 10:20:49 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Joan Rivers sends her regards Status: RO Well, this morning you found the Eiffel Lady's phone number and gave her a call just to see if you could still trade cars. She brusquely told you that she had already found someone to swap cars with, her Honda for a snazzy 1974 Nova, and that furthermore she was shacking up with the guy and had a job ready for him in Athens as well, having nothing to do with Eiffel and a bit to do with geology. She also got this idea that your name was "Ferd", although you never gave her any name at all. You glumly hung up the phone, wondering what to do now. Fortunately Gus noticed your low spirits, and suggested you go hiking in the mountains. You thought checking out one of the North Shore hills would be good enough, but Gus insisted on heading up to Whistler. It would've only taken an hour or so to get up there, but Gus wasted 45 minutes looking for his special hiking socks, which he had never worn, and another hour at the gas station checking everything in sight. You also had to drive 30 miles out of the way to a gas station Gus knew of that charged 2 cents a litre less than the others. You finally got up to Whistler around 3, a little late to do a decent hike, but time enough for a bit of exercise. Unfortunately Gus stubbed his toe on a rock in the parking lot, and insisted on heading right back to Vancouver that minute. Your arrival back in town was timed beautifully, and you managed to get caught in all the traffic coming off the Nanaimo Ferry (capacity: 650 cars). You got back too late to tell Nancy to make dinner, and capped the evening off at MacFeed's, stopping at the 7-11 on the way home for a video (Tron). All in all, another eventful day had you finished your thesis in May. As you lay in "bed" (a sleeping bag on their living room floor), you wondered if you should show Gus and Nancy those letters you got from me. But then you realized that if you had been out of here two months ago, you never would have seen those letters and therefore could not possibly be entertaining such carnal thoughts. You quickly fell asleep dreaming about rocks and parking lots, geology and car sales, and the Eiffel Lady.
>From bkidder Fri Jul 17 14:02:50 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Today's antics Status: RO UBC called this morning and dragged you out of bed. They heard about your undergrad career and TAmanship and wanted to know if you'd be interested in doing some AI stuff at their vision lab, the foremost in the country. You muttered "I guess so", and they said great, and they'd have a supervisor they would like you to meet, and funding arrangements to work out. But they couldn't set up a meeting today, so you spent one of the best summer days in Vancouver (more or less like the one you'd be missing today in Waterloo had you ...) watching soap operas with Gus and Nancy (neither is big on the Contra hearings). That evening Gus drove down to the 7-11 (three blocks away) and picked up a box of Wheelees and Slurpees for dinner and two tapes: Pee Wee's Big Adventure and one of those Mad Max movies.
>From bkidder Sat Jul 18 19:16:38 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Re: What would I be doing today? Status: RO yeah, but if you _had_ finished in May, and were visiting Gus and Nancy right now, today's the day your personal room in their place would be invaded by Gus's in-laws, just in from Elkford. People have a different sense of privacy and personal propriety there, and you'd be spending most of today wishing you were in your own private little room back at the Rock School.
>From bkidder Mon Jul 20 14:31:43 1987 To: daitzman Subject: What ... Status: RO Had you finished last May, here's how you'd be frittering away today. You'd be getting up around 10, going downstairs, getting picassoed off at everyone for leaving a big mess, pour yourself some Pro Stars, get picassoed off because no one got the paper, eat breakfast, watch some CNN (anything to make you feel you're doing something constructive, wait for the mail, pounce on it when it arrives at 11, get picassoed off because it's all for Sandy B and Joe, go down to Fed Hall, get picassoed off because there aren't any jobs worth applying for, go over to the student employment center and get picassoed off at them because they seem to have this delusion that it should be a snap getting a job with a Master's in computing, go over to the department to work on your resume but waste a few more hours playing computer games (you've recently gotten into Stellar Conquest because there wasn't anything else to do). You go home around 2 (time sure don't fly when you're not having fun), and see a phone message: Maggie called. No number. You call her home number, and there's no answer, and you don't like calling her at work. Watch some more CNN, check an old copy of the Star for career ads, then turn to the classified and consider getting a job as a cook or something. Hang around the phone, burn a pork chop and rice, watch whatever Joe's watching, and go to bed. Aren't you glad you didn't finish your thesis then?
>From bkidder Tue Jul 21 10:12:13 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Today's blazing activities Status: RO Today you head out to UBC to meet your doctoral supervisor. You're all excited about the program. They're guaranteeing you 14,000/year up to four years support, expected to go up 10 % a year, and it looks like your NSERC is going to come up. You really like the UBC campus, and take especial satisfaction noticing that the area around the computer science building is far more attractive than near Buchanan, where Gus works. Not that you'll be seeing him much -- after yesterday's big argument with him (you missed hearing about it because of the special I-never-left-Waterloo-at-all day) it looks like you'll never speak to him again. Good thing you still have the Plymouth to sleep in, save on the money. So the future's getting to look bright. You saunter into the computer science building, and notice right away that it's air conditioned and not shared with the mining engineers (no, the electricals work there instead, I believe). You rush up the four flights of stairs to the general office, and there you meet the chairman of grad studies with his arm around your future supervisor, Ezra Earthtone. You realize that if you could have finished your thesis in May, Ezra could have completed his PhD dissertation by then. You say something about having a dentist appointment and slink back to the car, which has a bright yellow ticket waving from the windshield.
>From bkidder Wed Jul 22 15:20:24 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Once again, you're Vahid's only student Status: RO However, you wouldn't be if you had finished in May like you were expecting to. Here's what you'd be doing today... You found out the hard way that old Plymouths aren't the greatest thing to sleep in. So after waking up, heading out to the can at Green Lake State Park to wash up and shave, and grabbing a cheap breakfast at Glady's you called Gus up. Maybe MDA had called about your resume. Well, Gus was still picassoed off at you, but not much, so he joked around a bit. "Sure, Ferd," he said, "they called yesterday. But I didn't ask who they were, and just said something to the effect that there were only rat-hole outfits in Vancouver, you sure weren't interested in them, and went back to Ontario to do a PhD. Then she said something about it being too bad, because they thought you'd fit right in. Anyway, you can come back and stay with us, now that we're even." So you went to Gus's, didn't get mad, and spent the rest of the day plowing through the Classifieds thinking it wouldn't be that bad washing dishes or being a front desk clerk. That night's videos: S*P*Y*S and Battlestar Galactica.
>From bkidder Thu Jul 23 14:17:45 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Antics Pacifica (hypothetical) Status: RO So everything is copacetic again between you and Gusseroo. He's even proposed to spend the day driving around, taking the day off. So after breakfast (Eggos, because Nancy had to go to work early) and a good morning snooze (while you snuck off to watch the Contra hearings), you piled into Gus's car and headed off. Off to Surrey, that is. In search of B.C.'s only Artificial Insemination plant. Gus somehow had this idea that it would be an exciting place to hang around. But once you got there, you found out it was only for bulls, and got stuck in a tour with a bunch of giggling nine-year-olds from a local progressive day camp. You forgot how hanging around a bunch of oversexed nine-year-olds isn't much different from wading around a swamp in the escarpment, especially with Gus. But you kinda got into the tour, and even had a taste of their special soup in the subsidized cafeteria (need I say what kind it was?). Things didn't go so well on the way back. Gus lost his little map of Surrey that Nancy drew for him, and you forgot what you had read in Laszlo Syracuse's travellers' guide to Surrey. So you got lost somewhere around North Delta, and it's a long story, but ended up in a bungalow full of greasy 15 year-olds who wanted to try out Gus's car. You both got drunk on their mix of tequila and Southern Comfort (one of the girls was into Janis Joplin). Gus refused to drive home drunk, so the two of you ended up crashing for the night at this place. Gus thought Nancy would be worried, but she figured she had nothing at all to worry about, and went off for a rambunctious night with the girls. All in all, it wasn't so bad, although Gus was upset that they didn't have a VCR, or even cable (Cablevision had cut them off long ago), and you met some cute girl who said she thought she could get you a job with Microsoft's Canadian branch. Next morning: Ferd's first hangover ever, and how did he end up in this bed and who is that girl sleeping next to him? Meanwhile, Gus feels guilty about missing a day of work.
>From bkidder Mon Jul 27 12:29:52 1987 To: daitzman Subject: What you would have done over the weekend (quick synopsis) Status: RO Friday, July 25, 1987: When we last saw Ferd, he had just woken up in someone's bedroom in a strange house in North Delta next to a strange girl, with the most massive hangover he had ever had. Our story continues... As the world came back into focus, you noticed there was a girl next to you. In the same bed. Under the covers. At first wild thoughts sprung into your head, about going to the AIDs clinic for testing, and whether or not she had lost her cherry, and even if it would be proper ettiquette to ask her name (it isn't -- you have to stall and find her name by looking at some mail or waiting for a friend to call her from downstairs, which was what was just about to happen). "Hey, Tanya, let's get out of here!" some guy was shouting from the door, the sort of guy with tattoos on his tattoos. You thought this was going to be a big problem, but Tanya leapt out of bed fully dressed, and then you noticed you were completely dressed as well, except your shoes somehow got mixed up. "Snake" just laughed, but Tanya turned around and said, "See ya again, okay little Ferd? Maybe you won't pass out next time." Gus came by to get you, and on the way home he wondered what he would tell Nancy. He decided not to say anything, and she didn't raise anything, figuring you guys ended up in North Delta and got drunk, and so nothing happened. Gus had picked up a couple of videos -- Pretty In Pink and St. Elmo's Fire -- but Nancy just excused herself and went to bed early, a revealing tear cascading down her cheek.
>From bkidder Mon Jul 27 12:38:02 1987 To: daitzman Subject: saturday Status: RO July 26, 1987. You've gotten up early, all excited about going to the Grocery Hall of Fame, the only one of its kind in the world. It's only open Saturdays from 9 til noon, and you have a hunch this trip will be the highlight of your vacation. Around 9:15 you plan on leaving after a breakfast of Pro-Stars (all Nancy buys), but Gus stumbles into the living room and asks where you're off to. You should have lied, and said you were going for a run, but Gus got all excited, and asked you to wait so he could join you. You said he'd have to be five minutes, no more, and he said sure, just wait a couple of minutes. Well, you know Gus in the morning. Shower, then Nancy wanted a franz, then he figured he'd have to have another shower, then breakfast, and since you finished off the Pro-Stars, he had to run out and buy some more, and then he realized it was the 25th of the month, and he always does the bills on the morning of the 25th. You were getting impatient, but Gus said that you just have to get there by noon, but can stay until 1, and then you guys wouldn't have to fight the throngs of crowds that flood the place in the early morning. 10:30, and you didn't expect Gus to forego the Smurfs, did you? 11:00, ditto on the Care Bears. 11:30, and you hopped into the car. Gus's car. Big mistake, because he decided to check out a cattle auction, only 40 miles out of the way from the grocery hall of fame, but he said it wasn't worth going to the grocery hall of fame. That afternoon, you threatened to go back to Waterloo, but Gus said he wanted to introduce you to a friend of his from school. A female friend, so you thought it might be worth staying. Sunday, July 26: No answer at Gus's friend's place. You check the number, just to make sure it's not the same number as the Eiffel Lady's. It's not, in fact she's back at UGA and had you finished your thesis last May, you would not have run into her again during this trip.
>From bkidder Mon Jul 27 20:54:40 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Monday Monday Status: RO Well, you would've spent all day today hanging around wondering what to do about your newfound friend, Tanya. There wasn't much else to do, seeing how one of those interminable summer rainy spells had drifted off of the Pacific. But then you started thinking... First, this girl bore no resemblance at all to the Tanya you would have not known from your summer Rock School days, because you would have left before she turned up. Or is this wrong? Well, if you knew her, you'd know what she looked like and realized this Surrey girl was not your Tanya. And if you hadn't met her, you wouldn't know. Let's just say she guessed your name was Ferd. Anyway, you realized this was a different Tanya, and figured you'd head back out to Surrey in search of this girl. But you didn't have Laszlo's handy guide to getting around Vancouver's dullest suburb, and got stuck in a cul-de-sac around 240 St. (Scott Rd.) and 92 Ave., not far from Hjorth Road. After you finally found your way out, you recuperated over a cup of "coffee" and a microwave-fresh "burrito" at a 7-11. You would've picked up a video (Gus's been complaining that he always pays), but figured you'd never get out here again. How wrong you were, but then how could you know Tanya really digs guys who work with Compupros. You'd find this out once you met her later, but that would've happened much later, had you finished your thesis last May like you said you would.
>From bkidder Tue Jul 28 12:23:19 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Tuesday afternoon in the village at the end of the rain forest Status: RO Today was a big day alright! It was another one of those rainy days, and you figured it might be a good time to head back home to the weed, broke and disillusioned. But Nancy's mother and you got to talking. She was intrigued by your recipe for kidney teriyaki, and figured out what you had left out. Then she asked if you had ever heard of "Mah Jong". Well, you're no dummy, and said you thought it was some kind of card game. Then she pulled out her personal set out of the bundle of rags and odds and ends she and her husband had carried over from Elkford on the train, along with a few chickens and pigeons to make a stew of. To make a long story short, you caught on to this game, and actually liked it. Ninety minutes later you were winning consistently. "I've never seen anything like it in my life!" Nancy's mother said. "No wonder you finished your thesis four months ahead of schedule." You were surprised as she was, especially when you played for money and won 17 dollars and one pigeon. That night she took you to the Benevolent Society (really a Mah-Jong gambling den) that evening to watch. You didn't join in, but figured that you'd play with them soon enough.
>From bkidder Wed Jul 29 20:32:48 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Real Texican corn bread, hushpuppies, and ribs Status: RO Call it beginner's luck, but last night you (would have) won 600 buckeroos playing Mah Jong at the Benevolent Society! So, being the generous guy you are, you decided to treat Gus, Nancy, and Nancy's ma (her pa was off in Maple Ridge on business -- something about building a plant in one of those industrial "parks") to a fancy dinner, at a restaurant you had long been looking forward to going to, but Gus claimed was too expensive: "Johnny Rebs' Southern Smokehouse" just before you get onto the freeway. Although it was about lunchtime, Gus and Nancy still wanted breakfast and the sign calling for Southern Breakfast drew you to pull in. After experiencing such awful "food", namely those 7-11 burritos, you were pleasantly surprised to find real food so near to Gus's house (and so near to Burnaby too!). You were so pleased, that a few days later on your way back from New Westminster, you stopped there again for lunch. Looking back, you still feel the food was very good and wanted to recommend it for other visitors wanting real food. This place is at 150 E. Katella Ave (on the right, just before you get onto hiway 5) in Burnaby (714-535-REBS) about a mile or two from SFU or the Burnaby convention center. This location is a few weeks old, but they have another place in Crescent Beach that's been there a couple or 3 years. Gus and Nancy had breakfast -- "pig out" three buckwheat flapjacks (huge), two eggs, and one had bacon (nice thick-cut, real bacon) the other had sausage (two large patties of real sausage, maybe homemade?) -- $3.95 each. You had BBQ chicken ($4.25) and BBQ pork ribs ($5.95). Nancy's mother couldn't eat all of her chicken (a leg and thigh were left over) while you DID eat all of the ribs (there weren't many, 4-6 small ones). The normal BBQ sauce was ok, the meat very nicely smoked. They also offer North Carolina BBQ sauce which was interesting (very runny, vinegary, and nicely spicy). You also get a sample of Brunswick stew (a tad sweet, but very nice), homemade biscuits (yep, really made by them), and choice of two of Southern slaw/Cajun Rice/BBQ beans/ fries/greens. Between the two of you, you didn't try the fries, but everything else was great. On your next visit, Gus and Nancy had the BBQ Sausage link sandwich with BBQ beans and a sample of Brunswick stew ($3.75). You had the Lousiana seafood gumbo over rice with hushpuppies ($4.85) which was very good (lots of shrimp, fish and okra amongst the ingredients) and nice and spicy (You like it spicier, but...). Nancy's mother had the blackened red snapper (yup, she actually had something "blackened") which was very good, not at all salty, and nicely spicy with rice and hushpuppies ($5.75). Over the two meals there you also tried some of their cornbread (great, a nice huge serving), onion rings (hadn't had real homemade ones in a long time), and of course grits (they come with some breakfasts, but unlike some places you've been they don't force them with every dish). The coffee was actually good, with that nice flavor of chicory (or was it cinnamon?). You didn't try the desserts, but they claim their pecan pie and key lime pie are made right there! The mocha chocolate pecan pie sounded tempting, but you were full and took the leftovers with back to Gus's house for the dogs. The peanuts on the table and shells on the floor with the friendly atmosphere made it a nice place to eat. All in all, a very nice place at VERY reasonable prices (the most expensive meal would be the Bourbon steak at $6.95). In a wilderness of good food it was nice to find an oasis.
>From bkidder Thu Jul 30 16:22:55 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Visiting the Eastman Institute of Photography Status: RO Here's what you would have done today had you etc. etc. etc. Nancy's father found his ideal building site yesterday, and to celebrate both that and your recent massive Mah Jong winnings he chartered a plane to fly the whole bunch of you to Rochester, New York. He knew that you were into photography, and decided this would make the day worth remembering. You thought this would be great, and wasted no time getting ready, waking up Gus and Nancy, and feeding the dogs. You may be wondering what kind of plane anyone would charter to fly across the country for the day. Well, it was a DC-9, specifically Hugh Hefner's old Playboy jet. But when the whole family, still reeling from the joys of Johnny Reb's Southern Cooking, got on the plane, they noticed that the decor was still on the obscene side. The plane had just been returned by a bunch of Texas millionaires, who had rented it for a stag, and the owners had neglected to check it out. Gus, Nancy, and her parents were thoroughly disgusted, and would have nothing to do with it. You figured you could live with the problem, but Nancy's dad cancelled the agreement right there, and you all settled for another dinner at Johnny Reb's (which you actually heard about yesterday, if I'm not mistaken). So since you haven't finished your thesis, you get to see the Eastman Institute. And knowing you, you probably checked out the fixin's and chittlin's at that well-known soul restaurant in Niagara Falls. Aren't you glad you're still working then?
>From bkidder Fri Jul 31 13:45:26 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Ferd, thesis writer extraordinaire Status: RO You woke up bright and early today, the rain finally ending after six long, wet days. You weren't sure what you wanted to do, but figured it would be worthwhile stealing away from Gus and photographing the animules at Stanley Park. So you wolfed down your Pro-Stars and headed off in the faithful old, Fury. As you headed downtown (at least you thought it was downtown -- after some two or three weeks in YVR, you still hadn't really found your way around the place), you realized you didn't know where exactly Stanley Park was. You noticed that the road ahead was blocked up with construction. Not wishing to spend all day driving around aimlessly, you stopped by some friendly soul waiting for the bus to ask for directions. "Sure, I know where Stanley Park is," he said. "'Fact, I'm heading that way myself. Think you could spare enough room in your vehicle to give me a ride there?" You didn't like the looks of this guy, but your car could house a family of six, and there was plenty of room. And he was offering directions, which meant you were indebted to him forever. So you opened the door, and off you went. Because of the construction going on, Charlie, as he introduced himself, a former member of the Songhees Band, had you hit the side streets, turning left, right, and all over the place. He kept on looking out back, as if he thought you were being followed. Suddenly, he grabbed your steering wheel and shouted, "Okay, Clamface, get outa the franzin' car!!" You thoughtfully applied the brakes, came to a nice stop, opened the door and hightailed away. Charlie slid over to the driver's seat and was off to Stanley Park. You figured you could at least collect on the insurance, and headed off in search of a phone. Then you noticed the graffiti on the buildings (this wasn't exactly the nicest part of town, being about three blocks from the Burrard Harbor docks and consisting mostly of one-story warehouses, dilapidated frame houses, and bars, lots of bars). Eiffel Warriors of the Night Rule!! Milkweed saties! Lansing 87!! Compupro Turf Gang, June '87 Wrok Skool!! Liverboat!! Shut the franz up, Ferd! Thesis Headbangers Rule! (with a stylized "ZF" underneath) Yes, this place just scared the schuman out of you (although most of it was still in your car). Why did I ever think I could stop and ask directions, you thought in self-pity. How will I get back to Gus's? But while you were running away from that mysterious graffiti, you saw a bus come by, and flagged it down. "Do you go to Gus and Nancy's house?" you asked the driver, all flustered. "Sure do. Hop on, this ride's on me." And the driver dropped you off right in front of Gus's, even though he was driving a trolley bus and there aren't any wires on Gus's street. Well, Charlie made one of the largest heroin drops with your car in history, in Stanley Park near the aquarium to boot. The cops were suspicious, but you had them take you to where you stopped the car, and where Charlie had kicked you out. Good thing you didn't say anything about the graffiti, as it was all gone. Or were you on the wrong street? they all looked the same in that part of town. The car was a wreck, Charlie was in Nice, France (the town had twinned with the Songhees reserve, ever since Wolfgang, the reserve's hacker, had printed off all that fancy stationery with a Lisp machine he scored at the university), and the insurance company refused to believe your story but gave you $300 to settle on the spot. You signed, although the car was worth twice that. Now you didn't know what to do. You had lost your car, all your road maps and travel info from Saskatchewan and Manitoba (and you were planning on framing it one day), and some dirty laundry. Good thing I forgot to take my camera with me, you thought as you counted your fortunes.
>From bkidder Sun Aug 2 20:12:21 1987 To: daitzman Subject: B.C. celebrates the August long weekend as well Status: RO ... not that you cared, because you were running out of things to do. Still, it was Saturday morning, 8:30 A.M., and you realized it would probably be your last chance to get to the Grocery Hall of Fame. So you jumped out of bed, showered and shaved, and tried to sneak out of the house before Gus could knock you for another one of his detours. You decided to sneak out the back door, figuring Gus would be in the front watching the Smurfs. But there he was in the kitchen, wolfing down his Pro-Stars, and asked where you were going. You thought quickly, and said you were going to hit the garage sales looking for baseball cards. Good answer -- Gus's eyes went kind of glassy, as they do with anything to do with sports, and you hopped out of there and headed to the bus stop. One whole hour to get downtown on a Saturday morning! You wished you had a car -- it would've taken only ten minutes, plus stops to hang around old bank buildings and to go into quaint little cafes looking for new sugar packets. But you finally made it, and found the Grocery Hall of Fame without any trouble at all. And it was open, and no long line-up of German and Japanese tourists like the previous week, when you were in Maple Ridge hunting down the cheapest gas station in the Lower Mainland. You put 10 dollars in the donations box, because it was the smallest bill you had from your stolen car settlement yesterday. Then you noticed who was working there -- Tanya from North Delta! You got all embarrassed, but she said, "Hi, Li'l Ferdy!" and patted you on the head and you turned even more red. Then she became much more business-like, saying she was sorry but many of the items in the museum were in for preservation now, but there was still some stuff worth seeing. So you walked in, and all there was in the whole Grocery Hall of Fame was a dumb box of Pro-Stars, behind glass. Tanya was chuckling, because you had wasted all that money and time and you were the only one that morning who she didn't turn away, saying the museum was closed. But then she saw you were sad and angry, so she invited you out that night. But she didn't get off work until midnight, so you just went back to Gus's, and said you'd wait for her there. Which means the big date didn't start until Sunday, technically, so I guess you'll have to read about it in the next episode of "Why Oh Why Didn't I Finish My Thesis Earlier Now That I Know It Wasn't All That Hard To Write After All?" Reading Comprehension Questions: 1. If the Grocery Hall of Fame is closed, why would Tanya have to work there for 12 hours? Is this contrary to the BC Labor Code? 2. How do you think Expo 86 affected the Grocery Hall of Fame's attendance record? 3. If you were in charge of deciding what to put in the Grocery Hall of Fame, would you use an unopened box of Pro-Stars or a used one? Explain your decision. 4. Do you think a good name for a thesis would be: "Why Oh Why Didn't I Finish My Thesis Earlier Now That I Know It Wasn't All That Hard To Write After All?" As a term project, design a generic thesis for any subject that can sport the above title. Test your results by enrolling in a graduate program in some area with which you are unfamiliar, and submitting a thesis written with your system. This should take about six weeks to complete. 5. If Lynden Worth III were to visit Vancouver, would he stand in line behind the Japanese tourists at the Grocery Hall of Fame? Defend your suppositions.
>From bkidder Mon Aug 3 13:21:04 1987 To: daitzman Subject: How you would have celebrated August 2, 1987 Status: RO By waiting around all night watching videos with Gus and Nancy is how. You were so uppity you wouldn't even play Mah Jongg with Nancy's mother, even though she was all ready to teach you the secrets she had mastered over a lifetime. But Tanya didn't show up during "Greystroke". She didn't appear while you were watching "Friday the 13th XXXVII". You sat through all of "Remo Williams: The Adventure Continues" while the wait continued. Around 6 A.M. you nodded off in front of "Star Trek III". Then the phone rang around noon, waking you up. "Ferd, I've been driving all around trying to find your house. You said you're on 68th Avenue." Tanya sounded mad. "I am," you yawned. "Well, I'm at Scott and Hjorth near the artificial insemination plant. How do I get to your place from here?" she asked. "What?!", your first witty repost of the day. "Where do you live??? Surrey, North Delta, White Rock, or where?" Then you realized that she just assumed you lived in Surrey, as no one, according to the suburban wisdom, lives in the city except for drug dealers and perverts. You told her that you lived on 68th in _Vancouver_, and heard the phone click. You went down to the grocery hall of fame later that day, thinking you could leave a note for her or something, asking for her phone number. But all that was there was a nondescript one-story office building, with one line of graffiti: Eiffel Raiders Strike Again! So you went back to Gus's, and placed a collect call to Mom, telling her about the car and thinking that you would be heading back soon. She wasn't really listening though, as she was busy sorting a new shipment of antique lamps and records.
>From bkidder Mon Aug 3 20:11:40 1987 To: daitzman Subject: What you did today Status: RO Yep, you got yourself a job!!! At Johnny Reb's Southern Smokehouse, your favorite place! You didn't plan on working there, but Gus did you a favor and submitted your name with a fake resume, mainly because he figured you were getting discouraged by the job hunt and needed to earn some cash so you'd be able to pay for the videos and pizza for a change. He told you it was a programming job, and that they'd train you to do whatever it was they wanted you to do. But when you got there, you found out that being a bus boy doesn't mean plugging wires on an S-100 board, but carrying dishes and stuff around. Most people are put off by this work, but you thought it wasn't too bad, seeing how you were dealing with food like grits, ribs, and corn bread that makes the Texican kind taste like cheap polenta. Unfortunately, at the end of the day you were fired and given the day's pay, $28.40 minus deductions. All they told you was that you were interfering with the image that Johnny Reb's tries to maintain for the public, but they thought there'd be a programming job in Saskatchewan. On the way home, you stopped and blew your pay on three videos -- Summer Vacation, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and Desperately Seeking Susan, two 7-11 burritos, a wheelie for Gus, and a frozen pizza. "I was just kidding about mooching," Gus would say.
>From bkidder Tue Aug 4 10:32:13 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Still a day behind ... Status: RO Here's what you would have done yesterday: White-water rafting on the Chilco River!!! It was a big surprise of Gus's -- dragging you out of bed at 3 in the morning, hopping right in the car, and doing the 300 mile drive in record time. I think his rushing had something to do with conveniently forgetting to tell Nancy where he was going. About an hour before the launching site he opened up a briefcase he had picked up in Chinatown while you were playing Mah Jongg. It was full of knives. "Which one do you like?" he asked. You just moaned, coming back to consciousness. "C'mon, Daitzman, which one do you like?" You pointed to some swiss-army knife-like one. Well, the rafting was fun, except the other five guys in your boat, these businessmen from Chicago, were real jerks. They kept on talking about these little companies they were planning on buying like they were going shopping. You thought they made Cal M. likable by comparison. The rafting was fun, if a bit scary at times. Suddenly, there was a big bang near where the businessmen were sitting, and you found yourself under six feet of roaring water. Fortunately, Gus pulled you to safety. He didn't seem to be upset or anything, but you had never known him to be athletic before. "Must be the adrenalin," he said. Unfortunately, the guide was the only other survivor. The RCMP deduced that the hole on the raft was caused by a boulder in the river. Well, the drive home was uneventful, except you noticed the briefcase was missing. "What briefcase?" Gus asked.
>From bkidder Tue Aug 4 11:47:16 1987 To: daitzman Subject: More job hunting in Lotus Land (some people never learn) Status: RO MDI called for you this morning, and asked you if you were able to come by for an interview. You had never heard of these guys, and thought they were MDA, but they said they weren't, lots of people get confused, and asked you to show up there for lunch. You had to leave right away, because it's about a two and a half-hour trip by bus, and Gus refused to lend you his car. But it took you only an hour as you caught the Richmond express bus going against the commuter traffic flow, and spent 90 minutes walking around. MDI is right near Vander Zalm's Fantasy Garden, which you walked to, but didn't feel like paying the $4.00 admission charge ($3.00 for card-carrying born-again Christians). You got back just in time, and met Mike, the personnel director, in the spacious lobby. He didn't look like the sort of person who works for a computer company. Nice stylish Italian jacket, no glasses, new-wavish haircut, and matching socks. You noticed a juggler performing in the background. The smells wafting from the cafeteria suggested Julia Child was their head chef. Then you asked him how they got your name. "You'll see at lunch-time. Then I'll take you on a tour," he said. At lunch you met none other than Sonny Breugelson. "Hi, Fred," he said, his little girl friend at his size just like he had never left Waterloo. "I heard from Gus that you were in town, and he said you were sort of job-hunting." You felt out of place, dressed like a weeb. Sonny made a half-hearted effort to conceal the Ralph Lauren label on his jacket, and tried not to stare at your shoes, which were scuffing up the floors. "I'm in charge of a project using Lips, and thought you'd be interested in writing the inference engine for it." You just mumbled something, thanked them for lunch, said goodbye to Sonny, and left, figuring that would be the end of your chances at MDI. On the bus home, which took 3 hours, it being the middle of the day, you realized that Sonny meant Lisp, not Lips, which you had written about for your thesis. That night's videos: Nancy's mother had picked them this time, as she was getting increasingly sicker of Gus's taste in film. She picked well, too, getting Hiroshima, Mon Amour and Last Year at Marienbad. Gus went to bed early that night.
>From bkidder Wed Aug 5 22:03:31 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Naked city, naked lunch Status: RO Nancy's mom decided she wanted to go windsurfing today, and since Nancy had to work and Gus said he needed to read another book for his thesis, she cast one of those glances at you and convinced you it would be worth doing. For a second you thought this may not be such a bad idea, as you had missed the first annual Windsurfing Geeks day (or you would have, had you only ...). So Nancy's mom dragged you out of bed, tossed some mushy corn flakes (a specialty their servants in Elkford used to make) down your gullet, and off you went down to Kits Beach. It's funny -- you woulda been in YVR for a month now, but you still hadn't made it to Kits. One of Canada's finest beaches, with great views of Georgia Straight to the west and Stanley Park and the West End heading north, the planetarium just around the block, and a few remnants of a funky neighborhood holding on to dear life on the steep hill behind you. And all over the beach, beautiful babes sunning their hides as if their life depended on it. You didn't know where to start. Nancy's mom did. "Over here -- this is where we rent them." Well, to make the proverbial long story short, it took you a while to get the hang of your board -- four hours to be exact. Nancy's mom picked it up in no time, and she was surprised it took you so long, considering how well you had done at Mah Jongg. But as you started thinking of those tiles, a sudden westward gust of wind caught your sail and you rode out into the ocean. The instructor yelled at you to just hang on and stay up, and they'd come out and get you. But their rescue boat had run out of gas. Not so unusual, considering that it was the first time they had to use it this summer. But you were actually enjoying the ride. The view, the sun, the waves, it was all really perfect in a way you had never experienced in the Weed. You thought about settling in permanently at Gus's, and maybe even trying your hand again at Johnny Reb's. At least they didn't want you to program in Eiffel there. Only once in a while, like about every ten seconds, did you notice that the power boat was still at Kits beach, and was starting to look smaller and smaller. And it didn't look like there'd be much land to be near in a few minutes. You wondered if they had Johnny Reb's over in Victoria, because that seemed to be where you were heading. Fortunately, the tide was coming in, and it swept you back towards the Kits beach side of the Bay, so you thought your troubles were over. But then as you rode in, you noticed that everyone there seemed to be wearing the same kind of bathing suit. As you headed to shore, you noticed that they were -- no bathing suit at all! Welcome to Wreck Beach. Noticing your lack of lack of apparel, the local welcoming committee greeted you with the customary chant, "Down with tan lines! Down with tan lines!" At first you thought they were talking about Tanya, but then caught on. People came by asking about the windsurfer, and if you had stole it. You were attracting a lot of attention, something you didn't really want, so you followed your instincts and disrobed. You finally started to relax, and began noticing the beach wasn't that bad a place. Lots of families, people drinking beer and smoking dope and playing music. Other folks were making the rounds selling food and beer and dope (you guessed, until some guy nearly shoved a joint in your mouth until you told him you were an off-duty cop). Then you noticed a familiar face coming towards you, selling gourmet ice cream. It was Lynden Worth III, someone you would have barely known had you finished last May. "What are you doing here?" you asked each other in unison. You explained to Lynden what happened, but before you could hear his side of the story, the power boat finally showed up, tossed the board and you into the boat, and took off. Your bathing suit was still on the beach, but you decided not to make a big stink out of it and hope no one noticed your state of undress. Luckily for you, no one did. --- Thanks to the Eiffel Lady for filling in some of the above details.
>From bkidder Thu Aug 6 15:55:14 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Out of money once again Status: RO Wouldn't you be getting bored with Vancouver by now? Guess not, because you're still at Gus's, you got your picture in the paper after yesterday's incident (Crazed Beached Windsurfer Attacks Naturist Ice Cream Vendor with a Banana), and you're actually enjoying yourself. Except you're out of money again, so you started making some calls. But all the computer companies aren't talking to you, and Johnny Reb's says they don't hire perverts. Nancy's mom suggested you go back down to the Benevolent Association, and see about winning at some more Mah Jongg. You weren't sure if your previous success was just due to beginner's luck, but Nancy's mom got out her board and tiles, and you proceeded to play over breakfast (Pro-Stars, of course; what else were you expecting?). Needless to say, you won hands down, just watching the tiles shoot out all over the place. You threw your raincoat on (that sun sure is fickle over on the left coast), and rushed off to the bus stop. Just in time to watch the bus leave, and you spent the half hour wait (that's what happens when you put a bunch of used car salesmen in charge of the transit system) looking throught your Mah Jongg booklet. Except when you finally got down to Chinatown and headed down the small back alley to the little non-descript hutch the BA calls home, there were people working on it. Putting up windows in the front, and painting the building a nice, bright green not unlike that found on the 6th floor of the HiTek Center at Waterloo which you would be familiar with had you not defended last May. You asked some guy up on a ladder what happened to the Benevolent Association. "Dunno wutcher talkin' 'bout. Dis here's agonna be the new home for the Grocery Hall of Fame!" And he went back to work. And you went back to Gus's all dejected, even though the Grocery Hall of Fame was now going to be open six days a week from 9 to 6, 9 to 9 on Thursdays and Fridays. But you were out of money, and started to think more in terms of food banks than of food museums. Fortunately, Gus brought home a couple of cheerful videos to perk you up: Benji and Russ Meyer's Super-Vixens.
>From bkidder Fri Aug 7 16:10:06 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Here's what you woulda done today Status: RO While cat is grinding away, I might as well take this opportunity to fill you in. Gus gave you a twenty and sent you to the neighborhood Safeway to pick up some groceries for the weekend. He was planning a big party with all his UBC friends attending, and wanted to make a good impression. So off you went to the store, naturally leaving the list behind. You realized the list was sitting on the kitchen table once you got there. You hadn't really gotten a good look at it, but you didn't want to walk all the way back just to get it. You figured you couldn't get all that much for $20, especially for a party, so you just were going to get a few things Gus likes. The first thing you saw in the store were the video rentals -- you picked up five specials at 49 cents each: generic "VIDEO" labels, so you'd just have to wait until you put them on to see what they were. Then you remembered Gus and Nancy were out of Pro-Stars, so you headed over to the cereal section. As you were standing staring at the shelves wondering whether to get the family 4 pound size or the economy 6 pound size, a woman accidentally bumped into you while reaching for the two-pound size. "Oops, sorry. I was just so excited about getting this stuff, I didn't see where I was going." "It's okay," you shrugged, as you picked yourself off the floor. You settled for the family-size and headed off sheepishly down the aisle. Next you thought of getting some corn bread mix. You didn't know where they kept it, but figured if you wandered up and down the aisles you'd bump into it sooner or later. You considered asking someone for help, but the grocery clerk looked vaguely familiar, like the sort of person who'd steal your shopping cart, so you wandered off. You kept on running into the woman with the Pro-Stars -- you would blush while she just smiled at you and made a slight motion as if she was going to knock you down again. As you rounded an end-display of El Paso taco sauce you were suddenly face-to-face with one of the largest stocks of Texican Corn Bread mix in the Lower Mainland. And right next to you was that woman, her pupils dilated with the thought of biting into a fresh, warm slice of that good ol' boy, Carroll Shelby's own corn bread (I guess she didn't realize Kraft had bought the company). Well, you just filled your cart with the mix until you figured your twenty bucks were spent. "Hey, you must really like this stuff. It shows you've got good taste," the woman said. You flinched, but she just said she wasn't going to hit you anymore, and that sort of broke the ice. You two stood there for about an hour talking, and you were talking on and on about corn bread, Pro-Stars, what your thesis was about and how you managed to finish it last May eight months ahead of schedule (she actually seemed interested in Eiffel), how your car was stolen, and all kinds of other things about Milkweed and Rock School and Gus and Nancy. She suggested getting together tomorrow and going to Stanley Park. You gave her your address and phone, and she said she'd pick you up tomorrow at 2. On your way home, you realized that you never got her name or anything, you were so busy babbling about yourself. And then when you got home, Nancy's mom tore apart all the Texican Corn Bread mix bags, saying that where she comes from, they use them to smuggle little bags of cocaine hidden in the mix. She didn't find anything, but had made the whole mess look pretty unappetizing, so Nancy fed it to the dogs. And all the videos turned out to be the same: Nine To Five. Gus figures that when you have a bunch of lemons, you make lemonade, so he watched each tape once.
>From bkidder Sat Aug 8 14:14:06 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Re: Here's what you woulda done today Status: RO From daitzman Sat Aug 8 10:56:23 1987 Return-Path: <daitzman> Received: from siriusb.hood.uucp by hood.uucp (3.2/SMI-3.0DEV3) id AA23531; Sat, 8 Aug 87 10:56:21 EDT Received: by siriusb.hood.uucp (3.2/SMI-3.0DEV3) id AA14718; Sat, 8 Aug 87 10:56:22 EST Date: Sat, 8 Aug 87 10:56:22 EST From: daitzman Message-Id: <8708081456.AA14718@siriusb.hood.uucp> To: bkidder Subject: Re: Here's what you woulda done today Status: R Is this woman going to be a recruiter for the Moonies or some such cult? Well, you had to ask, so I'll tell you what you woulda done today, today being Saturday Aug. 8, 1987. No, she's no recruiter, but she is on the late side. So you ended up sitting all day around Gus's watching TV and waiting for her to show up. It wasn't such a waste, though. You caught Pee Wee's Playhouse for the first time. Gus doesn't like it, but Nancy's mother does, and insisted on watching it instead of some interminable golf tournament. Nancy's mom noticed your enjoyment, and said she had videotaped all 38 episodes, and asked if you would like to watch them. "Do bears schuman in the woods? Is the pope Catholic? Did I finish my thesis last May? You bet!!!" And the slimy visage of Pee Wee graced the Gus household for the rest of that afternoon. Five P.M., and your date still hadn't shown. A couple of other people had, though. Sometime while you were watching the 17th episode, there was a knock at the door. Gus got it, and found himself gazing down at a short, balding man with a briefcase and an important look in his eye. "Hi there, my name's Blue, and I'm in your neighborhood today to talk about SDI." You overheard this, and sure enough his was one familiar face. You and Nancy's mother jumped up on the dining room table and danced a little jig, singing "Snapper is here! Snapper is here! La-dee-dah, Snapper is here!" Nancy's mom even added a few ribald verses to go along with the chorus. Blue realized he was among supporters, and went on to find some other SDI-believers to show the light. Around the 23rd episode, one of Gus's married-couple friends, Buzz and Mollie, dropped by for some lunch. Buzz was ecstatic. Over fried pork rinds and jasmin tea, he went on and on about what he and Mollie had done that morning. "We went to this great little place downtown. It's called the Grocery Museum or something like that." "Grocery Hall of Fame, Buzz," Mollie said. "Yeah, you know I've driven by it millions of times on Hamilton Street--" "Homer, Buzz, Homer. Hamilton's one over." (Note to non-Vancouverites -- most of the streets in Van. proper are named after trees, British battles, a few Indian bands, numbers, and CPR executives of the mid-1800s.) "Yeah, anyway it's got this neat collection of things. Like some you take for granted, like Pam oven spray--" "Right, that was in the section of stupid products people buy anyway," Mollie explained. "Yeah, and how about those vintage boxes of cereal from the 1950s? You'd be surprized how much a box of Space Crispies is worth these days. Especially if it's unopened." Well, you sure were interested in all this, but Gus started babbling with Buzz and Mollie about Celtic studies gossip, and they stopped talking about the Grocery Hall of Fame. You wanted to ask them where exactly the Hall of Fame was, but they left with Gus and Nancy to go to the motorcycle races. You thought of going along with them, but remembered your date, and thought it would be better to stay at home and wait. Lots to think about, though. Well, your new friend didn't show up until midnight. A little late to take pictures at Stanley Park, but you were wondering if your little adventure at Safeway yesterday would be a one-time fling, and didn't say anything. Just as you were about to say hi, you realized it was after midnight, which meant it was Sunday, and so it would no longer be today and you'll have to wait to find out what would have happened.
>From bkidder Mon Aug 10 01:40:35 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Guess you're dying to know how things went Status: RO Well, the woman of your dreams finally showed up, and excused herself for being so late but she said a friend she had been trying to get in touch with had been out sailing for the day, but she finally found him, and tried rushing over to find you. Except she had gone to Surrey, naturally assuming that's where you lived because all the other computer people you knew lived there, except the ones who owned thriving companies, and they lived in Richmond or Ladner, which wasn't a whole lot better. But after circling North Delta aimlessly, she decided to give the city a try, and there you were. You explained how you didn't live there -- Gus did, and that if you did live in Van, you didn't think Surrey would be all that bad. Fond memories of your night there, it seems, had influenced your perceptions of the Vancouver area. Oh well. Well, Nancy's mom walked in, and asked who your guest was. You were about to blurt out something like, "I don't know -- if I ask her she'll steal something of mine," but she offered "Reesa. Pleased to meet you. Are you Fred's mother???" Nancy's mom giggled at the thought, and explained who she was and that even partial Elkfordites don't look like Fred at all, at least she had never seen anyone like that where she came from. To make a long story short, Reesa then pulled out a couple of fat joints. Gus and Nancy didn't care for the stuff that much, but Nancy's mom took one whiff and recognized the high quality of the weed. Her husband was off on another industrial-park hunt, so the occasions when she could partake were rare. They both insisted that you join them, and you put up your usual objections, but Reesa whispered something in your ear (it was too quiet for any one to hear), and you ended up shrugging your shoulders and joining them. Man, would you have gotten stoned! Completely blasted! Gus put on an old Supertramp album, and you were just turning in circles with the music. And you were rambling -- about radio magazines, pet rabbits, how to fix bicycles, jogging once a month, and jalapeno peppers. Reesa asked you if you'd ever been to Mexico. You said you always wanted to go, and then she said she'd been hoping to go but was waiting for someone to go with, and that it seemed the two of you would get along fine. Before you knew it, Nancy's mom packed your stuff and helped Reesa toss you and the suitcase in the car, and the next thing you knew you woke up severely dehydrated in a motel room in Bellingham, Washington. Fully dressed, once again.
>From bkidder Mon Aug 10 13:40:38 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Re: Guess you're dying to know how things went Status: RO From daitzman Mon Aug 10 09:44:27 1987 Return-Path: <daitzman> Date: Mon, 10 Aug 87 09:44:27 EST To: bkidder > Has Ferd been ripped off again? Was Reesa there when he awoke? Is this > "Reesa Donair" actually Donna Rice and has this screwed Ferd's chances > of ever becoming the Democratic party's nominee for President? Will he > ever make it to Mexico? Boy you're impatient, but also a little strange. I mean this is what really would have happened to you if you had been there, and you're asking _me_ what happened. I just say what the facts would have been if you hadn't let everyone down. Anyway, since you seem to be so skittish about it all, here's the latest update. But in answer to your questions, I don't know if your friend Reesa is Donna Rice, because I haven't seen her. You tell me. Yes, she was in the hotel room taking a shower, but I'll get to that. You can't run for prez because A.) You're Canadian B.) You'd be laughed out of the Iowa caucus. And the Mexico question is dumb, because that's the future, and I'm no better than Jeanne Dixon at predicting it. God, do you call up people like Tom Wolfe and ask them stuff as well? Anyway, like I said, you awoke in a strange motel room in suburban Bellingham yesterday with a powerful case of the munchies. You had heard about this bagel place there, and figured nothing would satisfy you except a dozen of their finest chewables. You were all dressed and ready to go, of course, but heard a shower noise from the bathroom, and remembered Reesa. At least she wasn't pushing you on the floor, you thought, and waited, wondering what would be next. Not the sort of situation you wanted to be in. But when Reesa emerged, she admitted as to how she was pretty hungry as well, and always went to the Bagelry. But when you got there, it was closed. Nothing else would do, so you just headed over to the nearest 7-11, ransacked the place, stocked up on videos (all her choice) and picked up a machine, and spent another night at the motel, watching flicks all night long. Monday morning finally rolled around sometime near 1 PM, and you and Reesa finally made it to the Bagelry. Reesa said she had to go buy a T-shirt, and you started wondering what you were supposed to do, reminding her that you were flat broke after getting robbed and everything. "I don't want to sponge off you, you know", you said, hoping that she'd say you could do all the sponging you wanted. "No problem, my daddy's rich, and if all you eat are bagels and Mexican food it won't cost that much. Mexico's cheap." So you asked her for some money so you could buy some clothes, as you didn't really want to wear the same "Fergles of the World Unite!" T-shirt all the way down I-5. Reesa handed you a 100, told you to keep the change, and you ended up going on a big shopping spree in downtown Bellingham. Reesa said to take your time, as she wanted to do some shopping herself. I guess Reesa's a bit like Gus as well, because you didn't leave Bellingham unil 6 P.M. She was hoping to get to Portland that night, but you ended up settling for Tacoma, Washington. Even then, you started complaining that when you drive, you don't just stay on the freeway and drive -- you like to stop, explore small towns, avoid asking people for directions and get lost. Reesa reminded you whose money was financing the trip, and you grudgingly watched the turnoff signs for Sedro Wooley, La Conner, Anacortes, Whidbey Island, Snohomish, and Puyallup fly by on the freeway. She wouldn't even pull into Seattle, claiming it was too boring, but as you pulled into your motel that evening, after dinner at Arby's, the excitement of Tacoma was lost on you. Now this time you were conscious, and it seemed that something big was about to happen in your life. Reesa said she wanted to get stoned before going to bed, and said she sure wasn't going to do it alone, so you said you'd take a toke or two. Well, you didn't say "toke", you said "puff", but she corrected you wondering what kind of weedy town you came from anyway. This stuff must have been more powerful than Saturday night's -- although you were getting to develop a taste for it, you passed out after one toke. She threw you into bed (not even taking off your shoes), and ended up settling for Dave Letterman and some Nickleodeon reruns of Dobie Gillis and Donna Reed. See what you missed... No more questions, cuz I just don't know, okay!!!
>From bkidder Tue Aug 11 09:43:37 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Ferd gets gassed Status: RO Actually, you've started to notice the effects of smoking dope on the day after -- the Aftergrass, Reesa calls it, and you don't find it all that unpleasant. It gave you the gumption to ask her a few questions you'd had on your mind. After all, the narrator hadn't been much help on this count, but to be honest, folks, he finds this stuff about as improbable as our protagonist, and is only reporting what he hears about. But then, this would have really happened, if only.... "Okay, just what is going on here? I don't have anything worth stealing, so you're obviously not a thief. Why won't you tell me your last name? Just who are you anyway? Are we really going to Mexico? Or is this some Moonie plot? Do you think I'd make a good president?" Bad timing, Fred, as Reesa was feeling a bit horny as she stirred awake, but your sudden barrage of interrogation disspelled whatever feeling she was developing then. She felt like you were accusing her of some crime, didn't realize she hadn't told you her last name, and didn't see what all the fuss was about. "Look, I thought we'd get along -- you seemed like a nice guy in the Safeway, but you're just like all the others. No fun at all. Why don't you just hop a bus back to Gus and Allison's --" "-- Nancy. That's Gus and Nancy" "big schuman. Nancy. And I'll go pick up some blonde California hitchhiker and go have myself some spontaneous fun." But you had begun to think of yourself as a spontaneous guy, but you wanted to know her name. For some reason it was important to you. "Donair. My name is Reesa Donair. Happy?" Reesa Donair, you whispered to yourself. The name rang a distant bell, like listening to the Inverary chapel's noon bell from your office in Douglas. "Look, Fred, I hate to ruin your echo, but why don't we just try it a little longer. How about having breakfast and hitting the road. Okay?" "I guess," you said, and before you knew it Reesa had sniffed out a nearby Johnny Reb's Southern Smokehouse (without asking for directions!) and you were digging in to a mess of biscuits with gravy, jalapeno cheese, corn bread, and Pelican Punch tea (Reesa's idea). You were finally relaxing, but you noticed a group of four sallow-faced, clean-cut young Americans sitting with a bunch of bouquets of flowers, and they seemed to be SMILING at you. At first you thought Reesa was in on it, but you thought, franz it, be spontaneous for one more day. It didn't take long to be spontaneous. Some folks have been known to drive nearly the total length of I-5, the last link in Eisenhower's legacy of an all-American inter-city evacuation system free of traffic routes, from the Canadian border to Los Angeles in two days, but Reesa wasn't one of them. First of all, she wouldn't let you drive her car, as she refused to believe your story about your Fury and thought you had just smashed it up. Then, an hour out of Tacoma, she saw the billowing puffs of steam from the Olympia Brewery plant, and that was it -- she had to tour the place. You went along reluctantly, figuring things were getting shaky, and resigned yourself to another day you could have spent in Vancouver doing exciting things with Gus and Nancy. But it was worthwhile -- the free samples at the end of the tour opened Reesa up a bit, and back on the road (she insisted she wasn't too drunk, and once again you went along) explained that she had been a model, had gotten bored with it, and had been selling computers, and was thinking of going to university to learn more. That's why she was interested in you, you figured. You said you didn't know all that much -- like you didn't even know what "MIS" stood for. But she did, and it made her feel like she had the potential to become a crack programmer and earn about a tenth of what she had as a model, but at least contribute to society. Well, you rambled on and on about what you knew, and you didn't even notice that you were passing places like Centralia, Chehalis, Castle Rock, and even the turnoff to Mount St. Helens. You failed to notice that there was a county fair going on at one of the highway rest stops, and Reesa just seemed to be absorbing whatever you could drum up -- like why you like variable parameters better than fixed ones, and how you found a bug once after six weeks and it turned out that what you thought was a comment in your program was really a command wiping out the disk drive. It didn't occur to you to ask her to pull over so you could check out the twin cities of Kelso and Longview, and before you came up with the idea of sending Gus and Nancy a postcard from Vancouver, Washington, you were in Portland. Dining at another Johnny Reb's. (How did she manage to find them? Did she do this regularly -- kidnapping innocent townies from Canada and selling them into the white slave trade in Tijuana?) Checking in to a Motel 6 again. And lascivious thoughts started entering your mind, finding it unfamiliar territory. But you didn't really know what to do, and she just lay in her bed watching Nickleodeon -- Alfred Hitchcock, Outer Limits, and an old rerun of My Three Sons that you recognized -- the one where Chip stole a Corvette, smashed it up in a demolition derby, and Fred MacMurray made him go to the owner and apologize, and it turned out the owner had overinsured it and wanted it to be stolen. Suddenly, Reesa got up, turned off the TV, and jumped into your bed. And delicately whispered in your ear, "Fred, let's talk about Emacs." Well, you sheepishly explained that you hadn't really used it, and just used vi and the Eiffel editor, and before you knew it she was back in her bed and fast asleep. That's what you would've done today.
>From bkidder Wed Aug 12 14:55:04 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Is Reesa the Eiffel Lady? Status: RO You would've been asking yourself this morning. Maybe it came to you in a dream last night, but you saw this equation in your sleep: Reesa Donair === Eiffel Lady? It even used the Eiffel notation for equality, so you had ample reason to believe you had found your woman. But you wondered if you should ask, as Reesa, if that indeed was her name, and gotten comfortable enough with you to the point that, even if she wasn't sleeping with you, she was wandering around these crummy motel rooms naked, and had obviously spent more than one unlikely afternoon at Wreck Beach. Basically you were as confused as ever. But in the friendly confines of the local Johnny Rebs' Southern Cookhouse, enough ferdishness returned to you over the grits, hominy, black-eyed peas, and rib-eye bacon that you asked Reesa who the hell she really was. But she was all innocence. "Oh, do you know my cousin? We're both named after our grandmother, but no one else has ever confused us before? We don't really look that much alike. How do you know Reesa anyway?" You explained about the used car debacle, and Reesa said, "Oh! You're the jerk with the Fury? Boy, Reesa's gonna flip when she hears about this!" You decided not to mention the Eiffel conference, or she'd be asking you how come you haven't been sleeping all the time. Besides, you were embarrassed to admit that you didn't remember what Reesa from Athens looked like, except you had some vague sense that she could have been a model as well. But things started to make sense -- how Reesa knew about emacs, and why she wanted to get into computers for a change, and you all of a sudden didn't want to head back to Vancouver on a Greyhound. But Reesa was kind of subdued over her Texican Omelette and spicy beans. "Fred, I don't know about this trip. Maybe you should go back to Gus's where you can watch all the videos you want, and I'll just push on. We don't seem to be getting along all that well." But you did some fast talking, and suggested spending some time in Portland, and seeing how things went. And then you'd meet back at the motel, and decide what to do. Well, Reesa's face lit up with the idea, maybe the ferdishness was getting to her, and she handed you a hundred to go buy yourself some stuff. You felt guilty about taking it, but she said if you didn't it was back off to Gus's on the first Greyhound. Well, you discovered something millions of others have found out earlier: Portland isn't exactly America's most exciting city. Whether or not you ask people for directions, there aren't a whole lot of places to ask directions to get to. You ended up spending most of the day hanging around the bookstore buying cheap computer books, like Tannenbaum's Networks book for 59 cents, the Dinosaur book (2nd ed.) for 79 cents, the Dragon book for $1.29, and Knuth's two magnum opi -- the algorithms books went for a whole two bucks, and the TeX books set you back another $2.44 (all prices US not including Oregon Sales Tax, and there is no sales tax in Oregon). You couldn't believe your eyes, and walked out of the store in disbelief. You weren't going to lug all these books around town, so you did the only thing, and lugged them back to the motel. Walking, of course, you weren't going to hail a cab, sugar momma or no sugar momma. The lights were off at the motel, so you assumed no one was in, and just let yourself in, but heard a couple of noises, and saw some covers thrash around just as you turned on the lights. "It's okay, Lindsay, it's only the ferd," Reesa said, and you wondered what was going to happen next. Lindsay was a woman, and your first instinct was to head back to Vancouver on the next Greyhound. But Reesa and Lindsay were acting nonchalant, and you were getting really confused. Sort of like how you felt the first time you tried to run an Eiffel program. But Lindsay came over (as you were wondering if there was something about the Oregon air that kept women from putting on clothes in your presence) to check out your purchases. "Hey, I'm going to need all these books for my courses this year! Can I pay you for them, and you go back and leave us alone until dinner?" "I guess so," you shrugged, and made her go to her purse and pay you the $7.54 you said was your due. Reesa was getting angry at you, but Lindsay couldn't believe the prices. Reesa wasted no time in showing you to the door. When you got back to the campus, the sale had ended, and the prices were back to their usual highs. One of the clerks said that someone in the pricing department had gotten fired, and decided to play a little joke on the book store, but they caught what he had done, and hadn't lost all that much. So you spent the rest of the day walking around, moping, and trying to find the Willamette River, which seemed to be eluding you. You found the Greyhound station, and found out you did have enough to make it back to Canada, but decided to hang around with Reesa a little longer, and see what would happen. At least you wouldn't have to compete with any men for her attention, you thought to yourself. Dinner that night was kind of tense, though. Reesa and Lindsay were enjoying barbecue ham hocks, but you barely touched your ribs and okra. And then Reesa said that since Lindsay had the rest of August off, she'd be joining you to Mexico. "You'll get along with her great, Fred," Reesa said. "She's into Mexican food and going through small towns and everything as well." So you figured, why not, it couldn't be much worse than being in the Rock School or at Gus's. So you spent a fun-filled evening in the Motel with Nickleodeon reruns, finding out answers to all kinds of Amstel Cup questions, while Lindsay went off with Reesa to introduce her to the Portland bar scene. You got even, though -- Reesa left a couple of thick joints lying around, and they made The Virginian, Father Knows Best, and My Mother the Car turn out to be two of the funniest hours of your life. You were even getting a taste for her hooch, but told yourself it was only for that evening, and when she got back you'd show her who was boss. Reesa and Lindsay got back around 2 A.M., with another female friend who was into frolicing with razors with ferdish guys. They thought you'd get excited, but you were fast asleep, Nickleodeon beaming "You Asked For It" to a bunch of people who didn't need any answers (or were too zonked to come up with the question).
>From bkidder Thu Aug 13 15:49:57 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Playing with fate Status: RO You would've been woken up early this morning, Reesa shaking you awake trying to get you to regain consciousness. If the motel was in a nicer part of town, you could've seen the rising sun silhouetting Mount Hood in the distance, but as it was, all you heard were a few logging trucks trying to beat the traffic on U.S. 101., and saw Jane Pauley's silenced visage on the television talking to some nerdy ecologist wearing lederhosen and hawking some funny-looking light bulbs. Your eyes were still a bit bleary, but it looked like someone was juggling in the background of one shot. Once again, you were wondering what was going to happen next. You suddenly spouted a bunch of questions Reesa's way -- "Are you and your friends going to keep trying to entice me to joining you, but I'll always be too drunk/stoned/prudish to agree? And eventually, are you going to dump me somewhere outside of Tacoma and head on down to Tijuana by yourselves, leaving me by the roadside with 15 dollars in my pocket and all my clothes in your trunk (except the ones I'll be wearing, of course)? "Is that what's going to happen?" Reesa just laughed. "What are you, some kind of frustrated narrator? Anyway, we passed Tacoma days ago, but we're going to be staying here in Portland for a while. Lindsay's vacation ends today, so I'm going to move in to her house for a while. You're welcome to go with us, and later on we'll head down south. Okay?" "I guess so," you said later, playing absent-mindedly with your ranchos hueveros and cojones refritos, back at Johnny Rebs'. But when you got to Lindsay's place, you felt at home. A nice comfortable wood-frame house in the funky part of Portland (all three blocks of it), with stained-glass windows, an aquarium, a dog, and two cats, hardwood floors. The sort of house that makes a rainy west coast winter a little more bearable. There was only one bedroom upstairs, but Lindsay offered you the choice of sleeping in the other bed up there (guess they had gotten used to you being around) or the couch in the living room. You chose the couch, and it turned out to be Gus's couch from the Rock School. Yes, after you had left last June, Sandy B (who was just about to finish her thesis) turfed the thing out on the sidewalk for pickup day. And it had ended up here! You were sure about it, but decided not to say anything. Anyway, it would be nice to sleep with something familiar for a change. The old couch even made you resolve to give up your recently acquired habit of somehow ending up every day stoned out of your gourd. You really were in no rush to head back to Canada now. Turned out Lindsay was a gourmet cook, and whipped up a native Oregonian meal that evening of Sorrel-and-salal salad, oyster burgers, broiled jellyfish, and kidney teriyaki. With homemade blackberry wine and brownies (laced with a few state-controlled substances) for dessert. And she had interesting taste with the VCR -- you watched old Truffaut (The 400 Blows) and recent Von Trotten (Schwestern). Lindsay was a bit of a purist, and knowing six languages, had subtitle-free tapes her friends in Europe sent her. Well, the hash must have made you mellow out, because when you woke up the next morning you wouldn't be on Gus's couch. More of that tomorrow, though.
>From bkidder Fri Aug 14 14:39:04 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Guess you were wondering where you woke up Status: RO You might as well know what happened while you were asleep. Shortly after Lindsay's brownies carried you off to hash heaven (not the one at Morrison's), Freda, their blade-crazed friend dropped by. Seems she liked you because although she was into kinky stuff herself, the AIDs thing had driven her towards people with a prudish bent. But she found that prudishness usually came without ferdishness, and when she found out about you from Reesa and Lindsay, why she just up and went to her den and sharpened up her blades. Guess you were good news for her. But the two of you seemed to have some timing problems. When she was raring to go, you were asleep or passed out. And when you were awake, she had resumed her day job as a dental secretary and denied any such nocturnal activities. (Meanwhile she'd be swiping plaque picks and things from her boss. He knew about it, but didn't want to discourage anyone from carrying out their own personal dental hygeine program.) So this time she carted you to her place in her newspaper wagon (only down the block, as she lived in the three-block funky area as well), and when you woke up this morning you found yourself prisoner in her giant papier-mache Compupro. Freda had already gone off to work though, so it looks like you were too late again. After finally figuring out how to let yourself out of the Compupro (the secret was to throw this upside-down "i" outside a window), you found a whole fresh mess of Texican corn bread all whipped up. And a little note, where she thought maybe the blades had turned you off, and she invited you to her uncle's ranch in the back country for the weekend. You wondered about it, biting into a steaming, extra- spicy hunk of corn bread (and she made it with buttermilk, Fred! bought from the local dairy store -- seems you'd be meeting your kind of people out west if only you weren't still Eiffelling away). Nice to meet someone who put extra cayenne pepper in her Texican. You sure never found anyone in the weed like that. Well, you headed back to Lindsay's. Lindsay had to go back to work today, but Reesa suggested going to the Oregon Museum of Natural History. On your way there, you mentioned the note about the ranch, and Reesa said she and Lindsay were going as well. She was hoping you could go, and hinted that it would be a lot more fun than sitting on a Northbound Greyhound. You couldn't argue on that score, so you said "I guess so," and walked into the museum. It was an interesting place, with lots of neat postcards in the souvenir shop. The best part (at least for Reesa) was when some bratty nine-year- old on a field trip mistook you for a Darlingtonia. That night you, Reesa, and Lindsay all crowded in to Freda's car (a Volkswagen Bug natch!), and headed off into the ranch country for the weekend. A beautiful drive inland, and fortunately there was a lovely little Johnny Rebs' Southern Smokehouse in Salem where you all decided to celebrate and ordered the barbecued pig.
>From bkidder Sat Aug 15 15:31:28 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Yacc sure blazes when you tokenize the strings Status: RO Too bad it doesn't work though. However, it looks like things would be going a little better for yourself, out there in God's own little wet country. The drive out to Freda's uncle's ranch out near Madras was beautiful. Or, that should be it would've been beautiful if you had stuck to your guns. No, even then it would have been beautiful if you didn't drive it at night, since you would've hung around Johnny Rebs' after dinner laughing it up with everyone else who was there. There was even a writer from Interview magazine, covering the latest craze everyone seems to be going through -- spending as much spare time as possible at Johnny Rebs. You would've become no exception. But you woke up today to smell a hint of prairie rose in the desert morning. Amazing what a difference those mountains would have made -- and they do to those folks who finished last May -- but you felt you had arrived at your own personal paradise. Well, you took it easy today. Went horseback riding with the women, did some swimming and windsurfing at the reservoir. No current to worry about, no chances of running into Lynden Worth III anywhere, you were sure about that. The folks in Salem had given you a picnic basket full of fried chicken, okra chips, and dried spare ribs, but when you ran out at lunch you all headed in to town and chowed down at the local Johnny Rebs's Southern Smokehouse. You were starting to wonder again about checking out local eateries, but as Lindsay said, "Why pass up a sure thing?" Things were hopping at the local Madras outlet, but the atmosphere was different. There were lots of people there digging away at their gumbo (made with local crawdaddies) who seemed to recognize your recent friends. Very laid-back atmosphere, more in fitting with a health-food restaurant, although many of the Rebs' spots you'd been to seemed to go easy with the MSG. Anyway, people came over, and you thought you'd seen a few of them over in the funky section of Portland. Interesting folks, 1970s types, who wore ponchos and fringed suede jackets, granny glasses and floppy hats. You were wondering if, considering how everything else had been going lately, you'd end up like them. It seemed like Freda was inviting everyone over for breakfast the next day, and you started picturing some big orgy in the works. It seemed like this was going to be your fate, and maybe you'd better resign yourself to it. A couple of Greenpeacers came by, and thought they recognized you from the Direct Action project to build a human fence around the Hanford Plant up in Washington, but you said it might have been your brother -- you didn't know what he was up to. Anyway, they said they were having a party up in Antelope that evening, and you were all invited. You then shouted out, "You're all Neeshies, and you're going to kidnap me!!" Everyone in the restaurant stared at you, wondering how uptight someone could be, and explained that the Neeshies were long gone, and what was the problem anyway. Reesa pulled a Greyhound ticket out of her purse, waived it in front of your face, and you shut up. Lindsay admitted that she spent some time in Rajneeshpuram back in the good old days, but got out when all the heavies got in. Said she learned a lot about "life" though, and that she actually developed her early interest in computers there. "There were a lot of refugees from Silicon Valley up there, and they put some machines together. I didn't really know what I was doing, just hacked together some video games, a few puzzle-things, and a sort-of robot that went aound recognizing people. Nothing really exciting. I figure I'll learn something if I take some courses at university." You wisely decided it would be better not to say anything. Anyway, all sorts of people who overheard your conversation came by and told you to mellow out, the Neeshies are gone, and that you were in better hands with those three women (pointing to Reesa, Lindsay, and Freda) than you could ever be with some Greyhound driver. Even the manager of the restaurant told you to come by, and gave you a coupon good for dinner-for-two at his brother's Johnny Rebs' in Omaha, Nebraska. You then felt a lot better about yourself and everyone else, and finished your enchiladas and chile beans in peace. It turned out to be a nice mellow evening. A few of the local hippies dropped by, jammed on their guitars, and Lindsay whipped up Texican Pain de Maize Provencal, something she said she learned in Peru during an archaeological expedition. You were no longer wondering about anything people said, but the ferdishness was coming back. When the inevitable joints were finally rolled and passed around, you excused yourself from the activity, went up to your room, and crashed. Didn't even bother trying to figure out what was happening, or why these women weren't bugging you about not smoking. And where were Freda's knives. And why hadn't anyone (not) propositioned you??? Just what was going on? You looked out the window, saw a woman sitting cross-legged in the cow field under the full moon, turned away, and gently fell asleep while you were reading one of the 60-year-old radio magazines you found in the bookshelf in the room. Too bad Freda's uncle wasn't there.
>From bkidder Sun Aug 16 15:47:00 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Dissonant divergence Status: RO You're probably wondering how long it would be before you became ferdish, and in what situation you would jam out. Well, it wouldn't have happened today. It started early enough -- 5 A.M. to be more exact -- when all sorts of people came by to the ranch. Freda knocked on your door to wake you up (guess she would have had given up by now (note proper tense, and why I don't stick with it)), and it interrupted your dream of being a Hollywood producer for a talent show featuring nothing but jugglers who debug computer programs in between throws. But the aroma of corn bread wafting up from the kitchen was enough to drag you out of bed, although you wished you hadn't stayed up so late reading those old Radio Guide magazines. Down in the kitchen, you reached over for a piece of corn bread, but Lindsay smacked your hand away, saying "After." "After what?" At least these people would answer your questions once in a while. Reesa and Freda took you outside. There must have been at least 50 people greeting the sunrise in awe. They were wearing everything from old hippy costumes to Banana Republic sweats, and you wondered what was about to happen. Then Freda ran up to this guy wearing a plaid shirt, and hugged him. "Fred, this is my cousin, Salmo," she said. "Maybe you know him -- he's been living up in northern B.C. for the last few months." Salmo just shook your hand, and they went off to talk. You decided to mill around the crowd, as everyone seemed really mellow -- not the sort of people to steal your car or anything. You met some other interesting folks, like Salmo's friend, Bill, a stockholder who was hiding from the law because some scheme hadn't panned out yet, and yet another computer person who worked in the Tektronix office in Beaverton, a guy named Binny. But then, if you had finished last May, you would have wondered if he was any relation to the sociologist. But Binny sounded quite interested in what you were doing, he being in the field himself. When you told him what your thesis was about and how you had whipped it off in record time, he said that was no surprise -- he had bought a MacIntosh for his five year old daughter, and now, at 7, she was developing all sorts of interesting software. Including a recognition-network compiler for Eiffel, which she had personally transported to the Mac. She had done other stuff, and a few other new-age folks joined in the discussion, talking about what they had written in their spare time. Text-analysis programs, dialect generators, programming-environment generators, one guy had even written a generic thesis-generator, which he used to set up a lucrative company that sold theses to harried graduate students. When you said this stuff is hard to do, and people in the journals are always discussing approaches to these problems, Salmo just sneered "Academia! If they knew anything they'd be out in the real world." By this time the sun had risen, and you began to wonder what was going on. Everyone formed a circle atop a knoll, the sun a big red ball coming up over the hills, the birds and crickets chirping away. Then Lindsay appeared with the corn bread -- red to match the sun. It looked like she had dumped a whole load of cayenne in, you thought ravenously. During the chanting and the passing around of the corn bread (spicier than you could imagine) you turned to someone and asked what this was all about. They looked at you in disbelief. "What are you -- some kind of ferd? This day marks the end of the world as we know it. The ancient Mayan calendar ends at sunrise, August 16, 1987. Today is the beginning of the Harmonic Convergence." Standard or Daylight time? you should have asked, you would think later. "This day marks a change in all our lives. A chance for rebirth. The new age has come at last!" And the chanting went on, even if people started to look at you as if you were from some other planet. But they remembered from their preparatory seminars that they had to be kind to their fellow man, and realized that your presence had provided them with a golden opportunity to ready themselves for a new age. You led the group in a jig to greet the new age, and it reminded you of Vancouver. You figured that the way things were going Nancy's mother would be dropping in any minute -- it had become that sort of trip. But no such thing happened. It turned out to be one mellow day, except for Freda's cousin, who got sick from the corn bread and had to excuse himself every ten minutes. And you were thinking whatever sorts of things you were thinking when you were in a good mood. The land, the people you had met, the karma here -- you decided there you could become a new age hippy as well, stay out in Oregon, and live the life that was meant for you. You never payed much attention to that hippy stuff before, but things had changed. You spent the rest of the first day of the Harmonic Convergence in the woods, chanting next to a gopher hole. Reesa came to get you at sundown, but you were too late for the communal dinner, catered by Johnny Rebs', and had to go to bed with only a bit more corn bread and some cole slaw in your belly. You didn't care though. Things really had changed today.
>From bkidder Mon Aug 17 11:28:17 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Celebrating the end of the age of chaos Status: RO Today, over a breakfast that would have consisted of mounds of southern biscuits smothered with gravy, tortillas, and lime fried rice, you were talking with Binny about how you liked Oregon and didn't want to go back to the weed. He said that there was a new job opening up at Tektronix, and that he thought you'd be perfect for it, giving you a friendly pat on the back. So you packed up your stuff, hopped in to his car, and zipped off back to Portland, waving goodbye to Reesa, Lindsay, Freda and the gang, wondering if you would ever see them again (You can, anytime you want -- just look at the back cover of this week's Rolling Stone magazine). The trip was great, and you got to see all the desert scenery you missed on the way out, travelling at night. You weren't sure if Binny putting his hand on your knee was part of the job description, but you finally told him about your sibeliusual preferences, and he laid off, lighting up a joint to make the rest of the trip go by a little smoother. After smothering your munchies at the Johnny Rebs' in Beaverton, you walked across the street to the Tektronix building. You were impressed that there was a Rebs right there, but Binny explained you'd rarely have to go there, because Johnny Rebs catered the Tek cafeteria, and that it was subsidized for employees. In fact, it was free. Anyway, you got the job, as everyone was impressed with the fact that you got your thesis done in record time, and spent the rest of the day working on Eiffel programs. They even gave you the key to the Eiffel lab. You weren't sure where you were going to stay now, as you didn't think it was a good idea to stay at Binny's house (and he had a wife and two kids!), and it seemed that Reesa, Lindsay and Freda were still up at ranch. But it wasn't a problem, as there was a cot in the office, and the cafeteria was open 24 hours. As you SEQed and PARed the night away, you wondered how much you were getting paid for your efforts.
>From bkidder Tue Aug 18 13:08:08 1987 To: daitzman Subject: mixed-emotions Status: RO I'm Bored. Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bore red, Bore Bored, Bore Bored, Bored, Bored, Bore Bor red ore red Bor red Bor Bor red Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor Bor ed, Bor red Bor ed, Bor red Bor Bor ed, Bored, Bore Bor ed, Bored, Bore Bored, Bor ed, Bor red Bor ed, Bor red Bor Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor ed, Bor Bor ed, Bor red ore red Bor ed, Bor Bor red Bored, Bore red, Bore Bor ed, Bored, Bored Bored, Bore Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored.
>From bkidder Tue Aug 18 13:13:26 1987 To: daitzman Subject: 'Camming away Status: RO That's you, or that would be you. You would have spent the last 24 hours hammering away at your Eiffel programs, just stopping once in a while for a Texican corn-bread and jasmine tea break. Looks like Binny picked the right guy, because you approached your work here with the same dedication and enthusiasm you brought to your thesis. The only time you stopped working was when you got too many corn bread crumbs lodged in your keyboard and you couldn't use the "!" key. You noticed that some of your colleagues in other cubicles had taken breaks, and came back to find a few phone messages on these pink "While you would have been out" slips, but you never got any. You thought it might be nice to see if Reesa still wanted to go to Mexico in a month or so -- too bad you didn't have her phone number. Anyway, you were enjoying yourself too much at your new job to fret about not continuing the trip.
>From bkidder Tue Aug 18 23:53:58 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Tomorrow's agenda today! Status: RO Or something like that. Anyway, you know what would have happened today. After some 40 hours of non-stop Eifelling, Binny came in to have a look at what you'd been doing, and how you were enjoying life at Tek. He obviously meant life, because you were eating there, sleeping in your cubicle, using their washroom facilities, and without a phone or a key to get out of your workstation area, you were kind of stuck. You asked Binny how much they were paying you, and he said he was thinking of giving you a Juaquin Andujar for your first week's work. A what? you asked. And Binny explained that Tek paid its employees in baseball cards. You asked him how they expected their employees to live on baseball cards. He explained that they would be worth a lot of money some day (unlike stock options), and that Tek was paying for your room and board. Besides, most of the employees made lots of money from their private software businesses, and he assumed you had something going in Canada just reeling in the dough, like an automatic igloo defroster. Well, you kept on complaining, and then Binny pulled out a little plastic packet, the kind the cayenne pepper comes in with the Texican corn bread mix, and flipped it onto your desk. Then he said he'd see you tomorrow, and pulled the door shut. And you were left with a strange little pouch filled with some kind of white powder. You thought it might be cocaine, and tasted it to check. Didn't seem that bad, and you thought you should try a bit more; it couldn't really be cocaine. Yes, it was. And already, in between SEQing and PARing away at your code, you wondered when he'd be back for more. You even missed lunch -- chicken fried steak drenched in mushrooms and collard greens. From hood!utcsri!utgpu!utzoo!mnetor!uunet!seismo!rutgers!labrea!decwrl!pyramid! ptsfa!hoptoad!well!edixie Wed Aug 19 13:17:32 EST 1987 Path: hood!utcsri!utgpu!utzoo!mnetor!uunet!seismo!rutgers!labrea!decwrl!pyramid! ptsfa!hoptoad!well!edixie >From: dixie@well.UUCP (Elgin S. Dixie) Newsgroups: comp.graphics,rec.food.cooking Subject: Re: "real" food found in Anaheim! Summary: This is really it: Good Southern restaurant found (long) Keywords: good Southern restaurant Anaheim Disneyland SigGraph Reply-To: dixie@well.UUCP (Elgin S. Dixie) Organization: Whole Earth 'Lectronic Link, Sausalito, CA Lines: 72 Xref: hood comp.graphics:647 Posted: Sun Jul 26 16:22:42 1987 Status: RO Don't know what happened, but the 1st posting missed, here it is: My family and I just spent a long couple of days at Disneyland eating what can only loosely be called edible. When we left, we were headed to San Diego and encountered a restaurant called "Johnny Rebs' Southern Smokehouse" just before we got onto the freeway. Although it was about lunchtime, the kids still wanted breakfast and the sign calling for Southern Breakfast drew us to pull in. Maybe we had experienced such awful "food", but we were pleasantly surprised to find real food so near to Disneyland (and the Anaheim Convention Center). We were so pleased, that a few days later on our way back from San Diego, we stopped there again for lunch. Looking back, we still feel the food was very good and do recommend it for visitors wanting real food. This place is at 150 E. Katella Ave (on the right, just before you get onto hiway 5) in Anaheim (714-535-REBS) about a mile or two from Disneyland or the Anaheim convention center. This location is a few weeks old, but they have another place in Long Beach that's been there a couple or 3 years. The kids had breakfast -- "pig out" three buckwheat flapjacks (huge), two eggs, and one had bacon (nice thick-cut, real bacon) the other had sausage (two large patties of real sausage, maybe homemade?) -- $3.95 each. We had BBQ chicken ($4.25) and BBQ pork ribs ($5.95). My wife couldn't eat all of her chicken (a leg and thigh were left over) while I DID eat all of the ribs (there weren't many, 4-6 small ones). The normal BBQ sauce was ok, the meat very nicely smoked. They also offer North Carolina BBQ sauce which was interesting (very runny, vinegary, and nicely spicy). You also get a sample of Brunswick stew (a tad sweet, but very nice), homemade biscuits (yep, really made by them), and choice of two of Southern slaw/Cajun Rice/BBQ beans/ fries/greens. Between the two of us we didn't try the fries, but everything else was great. On our return trip, the kids had the BBQ Sausage link sandwich with BBQ beans and a sample of Brunswick stew ($3.75). I had the Lousiana seafood gumbo over rice with hushpuppies ($4.85) which was very good (lots of shrimp, fish and okra amongst the ingredients) and nice and spicy (I like it spicier, but...). My wife had the blackened red snapper (yup, we actually had something "blackened") which was very good, not at all salty, and nicely spicy with rice and hushpuppies ($5.75). Over the two meals there we also tried some of their cornbread (great, a nice huge serving), onion rings (hadn't had real homemade ones in a long time), and of course grits (they come with some breakfasts, but unlike some places I've been they don't force them with every dish). The coffee was actually good, with that nice flavor of chicory (or was it cinnamon?). We didn't try the desserts, but they claim their pecan pie and key lime pie are made right there! The mocha chocolate pecan pie sounded tempting, but we were full and took the leftovers with us. The peanuts on the table and shells on the floor with the friendly atmosphere made it a nice place to eat. All in all, a very nice place at VERY reasonable prices (the most expensive meal would be the Bourbon steak at $6.95). Sorry this was so long, but in a wilderness of good food it was nice to find an oasis. If you followup to this article, think carefully about which groups to include. I've sent this to the newsgroups I thought would be most interested especially with SigGraph happening right there. Elgin Dixie Email me if you go, I'm curious if our palates were deadened by all of the awful "food" we had on our trip. My wife and I discussed it and decided it really was a good place and would go back again
>From bkidder@esu.edu sargasso% mail tenney@well.com Subject: Siggraph question Just wondering if Johnny Reb's in Anaheim is still around. I got your review off the net and it looks pretty good. -- Bill From dixie@well.com Fri Dec 6 13:20 PST 1996 >Return-Path: <dixie@well.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 Date: Fri, 6 Dec 1996 13:20:29 -0700 To: bkidder@esu.edu (Bill Kidder) From: "Elgin S. Dixie KOTJ" <dixie@well.com> Subject: Re: Siggraph question At 1:18 PM -0700 12/6/96, Bill Kidder wrote: >Just wondering if Johnny Reb's in Anaheim is still around. I got >your review off the net and it looks pretty good. I heard that they closed the one in Anaheim a few years ago, but that the one in Long Beach is still open. Sorry, but that's about all I know... --- Elgin >From silver Wed Aug 19 19:35:00 1987 To: bkidder Subject: cow field Cc: daitzman Status: RO On Saturday August 15th you wrote: "a woman sitting cross-legged in the cow field ..." Nobody but nobody has a cow field. There's no such thing. There are cow pastures and hay fields, but no cow fields. Aretha S. >From silver Thu Aug 20 09:18:48 1987 To: daitzman Subject: cow pastures and hay fields Status: RO From bkidder Wed Aug 19 20:20:55 1987 Return-Path: <bkidder> Received: from siriusc.hood.uucp by hood.uucp (3.2/SMI-3.0DEV3) id AA10111; Wed, 19 Aug 87 20:20:53 EDT Received: by siriusc.hood.uucp (3.2/SMI-3.0DEV3) id AA07236; Wed, 19 Aug 87 20:20:55 EDT Date: Wed, 19 Aug 87 20:20:55 EDT From: bkidder Message-Id: <8708200020.AA07236@siriusc.hood.uucp> To: silver Subject: Re: cow field Status: R In Eastern Oregon, where the rain doesn't fall all that often and people never know whether or not the Neeshies are going to come back and poison the water supply and stack the elections, where people are used to preparing for a hail storm only moments after a tornado passes over (and the national media ignore it), where there is no shortage of land to grow on but a shortage of people strong and hardy enough to coax a living from it keeps it barren and deserted, yes, in this part of Eastern Oregon, they have cow fields.
>From bkidder Thu Aug 20 22:08:21 1987 To: daitzman Subject: squiggly Status: RO This actual day's almost done, so I better give you an update on what you would have done on this hypothetical day. Apart from meeting Kate (not her real name), you busted loose from Tektronix. Binny came by your cubicle this morning, at first to ask you how you were doing. He was impressed that you had nearly finished your Eiffel III compiler, complete with user- defined types, recursive routines, unlimited parallelism, and a pretty good coffee maker attached. You thought he'd be open to getting you some money, but instead he asked you if you had taken your urine test. "No, I guess," you guessed. That was the wrong answer. Binny led you into a bare room, and asked you to strip for the urine test. You claimed you weren't going to smuggle in any pee, as you didn't even know you had to take the test, and thought of asking him what the point of even doing it was if he had been giving you cocaine just a day or two before. But then you thought, what if it wasn't cocaine, and I was just getting ripped on talcum powder? Then I'll sure look stupid. I could quit, but the compiler is almost ready, and then maybe I can make some money. But before you could utter one protest, you had already passed a fine yellow sample into the jar, and as soon as Binny dropped a few flakes into the jar, the whole thing turned red. He apologized, and said it was company policy, not his, but he was going to have to let you go, and you could pick up your pay at the comic book and baseball card shop across the street. You left rather gratefully, actually, looking forward to freedom again, and thinking that you could just take what you had done at Tek and finish it at Waterloo for your PhD. You thought of heading back to Reesa and Lindsay's, but the guy at the card shop wouldn't give you more than a couple of bucks for your cards, Vance Coleman (1983), Buddy Biancalana (1985), and a very common Pete Rose (1986) batting, managing, and gambling all in one shot. You figured they'd be worth more, but settled more the offer. You could always take the bus back, you decided, it couldn't be that bad. And you spent that afternoon discovering once again why, no matter where they live, Americans drive. Four hours to go eight miles -- you could've walked it. Anyway, Lindsay was surprised to see you, but Reesa gave you a knowing wink. You said why you had to give up your job, and Reesa started laughing. She said that you may not have been so chipper about the whole thing had you known that the flakes Binny poured in were designed to test for jalapeno pepper residue, not cocaine, and that he had been using those flakes to gain various favors from both his subordinates as well as his bosses. She had called him up, and said that you were one of the best programmers up in Canada, where they don't have software companies, and since you had nothing else going you were out for Binny's job. "He didn't believe me at first, but then I asked him what you had to lose by not trying for his job, and he realized what a threat you posed to him. Thank god for Johnny Rebs', huh Fred?" You were just about to say that you guessed so, but then you noticed Lindsay was making some Texican corn bread. And while you talked to Reesa about your Eiffel code (too bad you didn't realize how much she knew -- she paid enough attention to what you were saying to publish it in Eiffel Monthly and dash all your hopes of doing a PhD), you watched Lindsay open up a few other bags of Texican. You thought company was coming by -- maybe some of those people from the Ranch -- but she just reached in, pulled out the little pouches of cayenne pepper, opened them carefully, and emptied them into the mix. You were about to ask her why she just didn't use cayenne pepper from the jar; there was one sitting right in front of her. But then she casually reached over, dipped a spoon into a box, and carefully refilled the cayenne pouch with some kind of white material and plopped it back in the Texican bag, sealed the whole thing up, and made it look like no one had gone near the thing. Reesa interrupted your reverie -- "But Fred, what do drugs have to do with amoebic Compupros?" "Huh, what? Oh, nothing." And then all three of you sat around the kitchen in a swoop of silence. "Would you like some Texican Corn Bread, Fred?" Lindsay asked after a few seconds that seemed like hours. All you could ask is why everyone was so obsessed with drugs down there. Reesa explained that there was no rich daddy, that in fact he was an alcoholic living in a trailer outside Rock Springs, Wyoming, and that she hadn't talked to him in ten years. Lindsay and her had made enough money to do whatever they wanted, and they thought you might be able to help them to enjoy life. Something had been missing. Something ferdish, they had thought. You started to say that they could do whatever they wanted as long as they didn't get caught, and Lindsay laughed, explaining that most of the Portland police force had been long-time fans of her special mix of Texican corn bread. And that you wouldn't have to worry, even if something did happen, because no jury would convict you. But then Reesa suggested that maybe it really was time for you to head back to Canada. She helped you pack, gave you a parting gift, and within an hour you were sitting on a Greyhound pulling out of Portland Central Terminal reading "Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers." There wasn't much to look at out of those green windows, and you didn't think the bus driver would be interested in stopping in all those neat little towns that you had missed coming down, so you started to read your book. And quickly fell asleep. You missed Seattle once again, and pulled up to the border around midnight. The border guard took one look at you, waved you on, and strip-searched the two refugees from a motorcycle gang behind you (members of Bikers For Greyhound, it consisted of a bunch of beer-drinkin', belchin', mean mozart-franzas who were convinced that riding the 'Hounds was the only way to go), and eventually you went on your way. The Grouse Mountain lights came in to view, then the downtown, and as the bus headed down Homer Street to its final destination, you barely made out a small sign pointing out the "Grocery Hall of Fame" hidden in the pre-dawn shadows. You gathered up your stuff at the depot, and walked back to Gus and Nancy's.
>From bkidder Fri Aug 21 13:54:27 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Texican Gold!!! Status: RO ... is what Nancy's mother would have shouted out as you struggled up Gus and Nancy's front steps and reached for the doorbell. Nancy's mom helped you with your suitcase, gave you a nice hot cup of tea, and tucked you into your sleeping bag on the living room floor. Then she opened your bag and spread your "gift" from Reesa out on the dining room table. You didn't really know what she was doing, and just drifted off to sleep. The dogs finally woke you up about 1 P.M. Everyone else was gone -- Gus to UBC, Nancy to work, and Nancy's mom's husband was off somewhere buying some industrial properties, as usual. Nancy's mom welcomed you back from your trip, asked you how it was, and then called a cab for you, and threw you and your suitcase into it when it came. "Take this guy down to the Traveller's Hotel," she told the driver, a shaggy-haired, sardonic guy who had put up a couple of pictures of greaser jugglers on the dashboard. You asked if you couldn't take the bus -- save the money -- but Nancy's mom said that the trip was on her, and you could get the bartender to pay the cabbie. You asked what you were going down there for anyway -- you didn't even know where it was. But Nancy's mom gave the signal, and the cab took off. The Traveller's isn't the sort of place where your average family visiting from the Alberta foothills visits, but you didn't expect to be greeted at the front door by Charlie -- the guy who had stolen your car. "Hi, Ferd," he said with a leering smile. "Sorry about what I did to your car. I'm an Eiffel programmer now, and I just got my paycheck. Here, let me pay for the cab," and he handed the driver a ten, waving away the change. "And this is for your car. Buy a new one on me," and he handed you a thick envelope. And then he conked you on the head, took your suitcase, handed the driver another 10, and told him to take you back. And he smiled again, saying to himself over and over again, "Texican Gold, man! The genuine, FDL-99 stuff! Amazing!" You came to back outside Gus's house, and Nancy's mom was happy to see you back so soon. She took the envelope, and said half of what was in it was for you. You still didn't really know what was going on, and then she explained the whole thing. How her friend, Reesa, was trying to export their products -- high-grade cocaine (99 %) and Sensimilla from Eastern Oregon -- to Canada, but had found out that the custom's agents were on to their scam. Their stuff in the States was renowned throughout, and people could just walk into their local Safeway and pick out the Texican Corn Bread mix with their distinctive trademark hidden on the bottom. Grass instead of mix, cocaine instead of curry, plus a $1.00 off coupon good at any Johnny Reb's. A deal no one could beat. You were about to ask what happened to all the corn bread mix, and then you realized why you had been eating so much of it on the trip. Anyway, Reesa thought you sounded like a good courier, and the problem was how to get you to bring back about half a million worth back home without getting caught. While she was tracking you around Vancouver, with her portable graffiti and building signs, she figured you'd be a good candidate. She put you through the final test on the way down there, and you passed admirably. She hadn't expected you to actually get a job at Tektronix, though, and that sort of held things up. For a while she was worried that you'd stay there for good, but knew how to pull the right strings, and get you out of there. There wasn't much you could do about going to the cops, Nancy's mom reminded you. After all, you were the one who did the smuggling. If you talked, you'd be taking an involuntary trip back to the Weed at the government's expense, and this time there'd be no Rock School to stay at. "I guess so," was all you could muster. Nancy's mom spread the bills out on the table, upon which stood only two bags of Texican instead of the previous batch. You had never seen so much money before, and she got out her pencil. At first your share was a cool two hundred thousand (CAN$), but then she deducted the expenses you incurred. Reesa had sent up a list of all the gas bills, motel bills, meals from Johnny Reb's -- you were expected to pay for it all, her share included. She also deducted a year's worth of mortgage payments on the ranch, and Nancy's mom reminded you that you weren't really in any position to complain. When it was all over, you had earned yourself $2,000. Better than nothing, you figured, and you at least did get a nice trip out of it. You could even go buy yourself a new used car. As soon as Nancy's mom had cleared away the table, everyone else came back. They were all happy to see you, even the dogs. Gus asked how Mexico was, and Nancy's mom said that you had just been telling her what a good time you had down there, and how sad it was that you had to rush back to Vancouver, but you had run out of pesos. You all capped the week off with a nice dinner -- Nancy defrosted five Johnny Reb's frozen Big Bayou Gumbo with hushpuppies -- and Gus brought back a couple of videos from the 7-11: Gotcha and Cheech and Chong's Next Movie. Enough to make you think that you kind of enjoyed the excitement of what you'd been through, and maybe you should head back to Oregon instead of going back to the Weed. As you were about to mention that to Gus, you found yourself drifting off in front of the TV. Not the most auspicious end to one of the biggest drug smuggling coups in Canada's history, but it would have to do.
>From bkidder Sun Aug 23 13:59:29 1987 To: daitzman Subject: Farewell Status: RO So long, everyone. Yesterday would have been quite an exciting day for you. You got up in the morning, to find that Gus had been up since 6 A.M., picked up the latest Buy & Sell at the 7-11 while returning some five weeks of rented video tapes, and actually gone through the car section and circled a few likely prospects for your $2,000 cut (which you had told everyone came from a big Mah Jongg game you cleaned up in at Puerto Vallarta). Anyway, let's keep this short and just let everyone know that within four hours you had showered, shaved, and became the proud owner of a 1978 Hornet. Quite a snazzy one, too, white with green and brown stripes along the rear of the body. You _were_ feeling a little guilty about how you had come into the money, and then Nancy's mom took you aside and explained the rest of the story to you -- how she was a part-time undercover agent for the CSIS (Canadian Security and Intelligence Service, or something like that), and had been involved in the start with the Texican Corn Bread ring. They needed someone to infiltrate the ranch in Eastern Oregon, as well as the funky part of Portland. Someone who could go there, blend in, and not raise any suspicions. She didn't tell you any more than that, and wouldn't answer your questions about who else was involved in the ring, or who had been busted. But she explained that you wouldn't have to give back the money because your reward came to $2,000, and you had earned every penny of it. Then she swore you to secrecy, and suggested you should forward your resume to CSIS, that you never know, they may need a good townie again. Gus and Nancy and Nancy's dad all came in, were excited about the new used Hornet, and figured you'd be heading back to the Weed. "I guess so," you said, stressing the "so" in a rare burst of enthusiasm. Nancy's dad suggested going out to celebrate your farewell trip, and you all found yourself sitting around the head table at Johnny Reb's, the one out on Katella Dr. halfway between Burnaby and Disneyland. "Sorry, we're temporarily out of cornbread. Our suppliers missed a shipment, and we only use our special home-ground corn meal," the server apologized. You and Nancy's mom just passed surreptitious winks to each other. But the rest of the meal was as good as ever, and afterwards, over cigars and sherry, Nancy's dad asked you if you were going to miss eating at Johnny Reb's. "Well, maybe they can start them out East. They'd do pretty well," you said. "My thoughts exactly, Fred. But the secret to being a success in life is to never say 'they', always say 'we'," Nancy's dad said with years of success and good fortune backing up his weighty comments. "Oh, are you going to open up a Johnny Reb's out east?" Gus asked him, one of few times Gus had spoken to his father-in-law without asking for a sizable sum of cash. "Well, I bought some areas out there that are ripe for industrial park and commercial development, and I think I know just the place. Fred, how would you like to manage a Johnny Reb's? I know you can do it, and I've got the franchise rights and everything picked out. In fact, the restaurant's scheduled to open next Thursday." Turns out that all the industrial park sites Nancy's dad had purchased in the last three years were all the proud locations of a new, and successful, Johnny Reb's. Your eyes just gleamed with delight. And just at that moment, Tanya just happened to drop by, sat herself down, and said hello to everyone. And by that next Thursday, she and you would cut the ribbon for the first Johnny Reb's in Ontario, situated right by the riverside in beautiful suburban Kapuskasing. "Southern food for the Northern climate" was your slogan, Tanya was your assistant manager (she hired a bunch of her rowdy friends from Surrey to wait on tables, cook, and wash the dishes), and you were the exclusive corn bread cook. Within a month, both the MacDonald's and Burger King would leave town, and you'd become quite a wealthy guy, although you never could quite shake your taste for those illicit drugs. And every day, as you fell asleep, faithful Tanya by your side (well, most of the time), you'd say a silent prayer of thanks that you finished your thesis last May.
>From bkidder Mon Dec 9 13:59:29 1996 Subject: Update Johnny Reb's Southern Roadhouse Visit our second location! 16639 Bellflower Blvd., Bellflower. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. An authentic Dixie Roadhouse, lively, fun, friendly, serving peanuts -- toss shells on floor. Enjoy salty slabs of country ham, biscuits, grits, smoked BBQ, catfish, hushpuppies, hot cornbread, cajun rice, fresh mashed potatoes, blackened prime rib, fried chicken, moon pies, peach cobbler, Dixie beer and fried green tomatoes that might inspire a book. All-you-can-eat specials Sun.-Thurs. We cater. Open 7 days, MC/V. 423-7327, L.B.: 866-6455, Bellflower. $$ No area code given, or state. What's the point of going on the web anyway? And what about this book?
Looks like every link I put in here is now dead. Anyone who knows the west coast feel like going through this and inserting some cool links, contact me.
Number of people who couldn't be bothered to write to me:
