Sunday, August 26, 2012

March 5, 1995



Small Talk

        Have you ever been to a cocktail party and tried to open up to someone about your problems, or a deep philosophical discussion got started. No. You haven’t. If you had, it would be interrupted by “Oh, Winefred, Hi! I thought I saw you. Who’s your friend? I’m Delores, Hi! Nice to meet you.”

        There are rules for such gatherings. Actually there really is only one rule to follow: You must engage only in small talk! That’s pretty much it! Anything else goes. Or at least there’s no hard and fast rule for anything else, merely a couple of guidelines. Such as, “drink moderately, don’t eat like a pig, and don’t vomit on the hostess.”  That last one is probably a rule too.

        Small talk is defined by the Woobster’s Dictionary of Unknown Origins as: Any conversation that has no substance and lasts as long as any of the speakers care to, and it must be completely interruptable by anyone, including the participants, if they so choose, with no hard feelings on anyone’s part. That Woobster! What a dictionarian!!

        Small talk turns out to be an art. If you even come close to mastering it, it will still exhaust you. Typical subjects engaged in are... how ‘bout this weather?; who’s that over there?; nice house isn’t it?; how ‘bout that [insert sport here] strike?; are those boobs of yours new?; and the old reliable guess who is sleeping with [insert co-worker or married friend’s name here] ? This last one is especially good if you want to drive someone crazy and you know you’re going to be interrupted in the middle of it. The person always finds you before the end of the party unless you are adept at hiding at social functions (another fine art worth learning).

        Sometimes you want to be the person who breaks away from the small talk and move on to some other person who isn’t so dull. Here are a few good exit lines: “Oh, the buffet line is down, I gotta eat, excuse me!”; “Look isn’t that your wife with [insert handsome town womanizer’s name here].”; “O’migod! I left my lights on in my car!”(It’s a good party exit line too); “Where’s the bathroom, I think I’m gonna hurl?” (This is especially useful if you are talking to the hostess).

        The most important thing to remember is that no one else cares what you’re talking about either. It’s a game. It’s like verbal bumper cars. You just go round and round and try to run into as many people as you can before the electricity stops!

        Whoops! Gotta run, I think I left the cat in the oven!

-dougg williams



O.J. Update #3

                        This weeks Update is brought to you by....”No Mé Recuerdo Tea.” Yes, if you want to relax on a flight, and not worry about impeaching testimony, try “No Mé Recuerdo” brand tea: You’ll forget all your worries! And by your local travel agents...who remind you to not to forget to book your flights to El Salvador early! Or you might get stuck on the witness stand.
            “Rosa Lopez, the Defense Team’s “alibi” witness played the Court TV Game this week! And she went home a WINNER! Don.....tell her what she’s won!
            “All right Your Honor, she’s won a week’s stay in a fabulous Hotel Hideaway! A secluded hotel with luxurious accommodations far and above her meager beginnings in El Salvador....with a TV in the room to watch without abandon a recap of the way things went during the game show. And since you can’t be in a posh hotel or a highly rated game show in just housekeeper clothes you’ve also won: a fabulous new WARDROBE! courtesy of “Defense Team Wardrobe International”....the court’s finest makers of dress ‘em up testimony-wear. And because you really don’t want to go through this again....How about a flight outta the country! To the exotic homeland of El Salvador! Yes all this is yours courtesy of the Dream Team: ‘If you’ve got ten million dollars, have we got a defense for you!!!’”
            And in case you didn’t hear Rosa’s testimony, here are a few highlights: “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” ”Sí, señor Johnny!” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.” “No mé recuerdo, señor.”

-Lois Lane
Daily Planet News Service


February 16 1995


CHRIS CHU

Chris Chu passed away on Saturday, February fourth.

Chris was an outdoors, physical guy. He loved the beach, boats, volleyball, and the female form. His wife of less than three years was perfect for him. Cut from the same fresh air and sunshine mold as he was. Always quick to make a commitment, Chris married Kim about three years ago after dating her for ten years. He told me he was nervous about getting married, but I told him that he was normal. (I had dated my wife for nine years)

He was always playing volleyball. At the Baer’s he brought in his volleyball net and we all played at morning break, lunch time and afternoon break. On the weekends Chris would play volleyball at Manhattan Beach. He would teach volleyball to anyone who wanted to learn and was patient with you until you got the skills down, then he would demand the best from you.

He worked hard. When asked to stay to make a deadline, well...I can’t remember him saying no.
He liked a deadline.

He laughed a lot; Sometimes with you, but mostly he laughed at the foibles of friends. And he liked to tease. He teased the HELL out of Pat Joens. He liked to argue with Pat over whether Hawaii or Montana was the best place on earth to live. Chris sided with Hawaii, with a vengeance.

Chris vacationed every year, got married, honey- mooned, and always planned to live in Hawaii. He knew the islands and seemed to love Maui the best. I can’t think of Hawaii without thinking of Chris. He took his last vacation there just a few months ago.

I will miss him.

-dougg williams


O.J. UPDATE II

            In case you don’t have a program here’s how the game is played: The Prosecution team, with head coach Marcia Clark, believes O.J. Simpson brutally murdered his ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ron Goldman. They believe this because their team has scientific EVIDENCE.
            The Defense Team, headed by Johnny Cochran and touting many star players, believes O.J. Simpson is innocent of all wrongdoing and that evidence from the prosecution is made-up because the Los Angeles Police are really the Keystone Cops (“Facts? Facts? What facts? I don’t see any facts.”). They believe this because they are being paid by O.J. to believe this.
            Okay, now that you know the rules, enjoy the game. This week brought to you by: Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream! Their flavor of the month is Rocky Road. Melts in your mouth... not in your house!

-cub reporter, Jimmy Olsen

February 1995


A FIRST KISS

            “Would you like me to take you to the airport and show you how to say good-bye?” he asked. His intentions were far from honorable.
            “Oh, yes! That sounds like fun.” She replied. She was not naive. And a sporting woman at that. This piqued the hunter’s instinct in him.
            It was on this day that the maiden was to embark upon a journey to a wedding. Not her own, although that would have made it interesting, but that of her brother’s. The airport was Orange County’s John Wayne Airport. A small airport where you can stand at one end of it and see the entire airport, staff, visitors, cars pulling up to drop off passengers, and gates. There was only one gate open on this particular day: Gate 2.
            The couple did not travel alone, but were accompanied by friends. One of each of the lover’s friends came to chaperone. Although the friends did not intend to play that role, their presence had it’s effect. Our young man was getting cold feet.
            How could they come along. I can’t go through with this! he thought to himself. But he looked into the eyes of this new woman he sought. Her smile, her dimples, her golden hair that seem to shine from within. Her jeans...they fit so tight!
            His resolve had returned and the announcement of his lady’s flight led them all to Gate 2.
            “How much time until the last boarding call?” She wanted to know.
            “Just a few minutes,”  said the X-ray scan technician.
            She set down her purse at her feet and turned to her companion who had propositioned her. “It’s time for me to learn how to say good-bye.”
            I hope I can teach her something, he told himself. “Over here.” He showed her to a spot out of the way of foot traffic. Her back was to the wall. “Here’s how to say good-bye.” He kissed her. A long kiss. Deep too! And it went on.
            The two chaperones began to feel out of place. They didn’t like each other. It would have been ideal had they hit it off together. But that doesn’t seem to happen very often, and true to form they tagged along not wanting to be left alone with the other.
            The kiss continued.
            The friends were beginning to find they had something in common after all. They were feeling embarrassed.
            The kiss continued.
             And the chaperones realized almost simultaneously that they were being replaced as the right hands to their friends. No more movies together. No more, ”let’s go get coffee.” For a moment the two looked at each other and wondered....Naaaaa! It couldn’t work.
            “This is the final boarding call for flights 217 to Spokane, flight 406 to Denver, and flight 102 to Las Vegas. Flight 311(he said it ‘three-eleven’) to Dallas-Fort Worth is delayed approximately twenty minutes...............and if your interested KISSING LESSONS are being given at Gate 2 as you board the aircraft!” The announcement finished.
            The kiss continued, but they laughed into each other’s mouth. Flight ‘three-eleven’ was her flight. Twenty more minutes! For a second his mind flashed Raymond Chandler’s The Long Good-bye. He renewed his fervor.
            The exploration of another mouth is an art. When we are children we measure the whole world with our mouths. Everything we touch fits into two categories: things I can put inside my mouth, and things that I cannot put inside my mouth, no matter how hard I try. Science, though, explains this as an extension of your hand. It’s just another touching, sensory device. I don’t think we ever grow out of that phase. We just skip over it until adolescence.
            Then there was a pause in their kiss. The two people who had met only a week before looked longingly into each other’s eyes. His lips swollen, young Romeo turned to the X-ray guy again. “How buch mo’ time do we habb?”
            “About five minutes.”
            Juliet’s hand touched his shoulder and turned him towards her. They fell together. The announcement speaker cracked to life once more, “And there they go again!” The smoochers laughed into each other again.
            Finally, they parted at last call. She picked up her purse and flitted through the gate. Romeo turned to his remaining companions to see they had left him to sit away from the staring onlookers. They stood and said nothing as he approached. They were not happy. He was.
            On the way out the door, back into the blistering heat of the southern California summer, the sky-caps applauded. Yes, he was happy. His lips hurt, but he was happy. A romance had begun.

-dougg williams
            

February 1995


 TOP TEN FILMATION
MOVIE TITLES

10. THE LION KING DOWN UNDER
  9.  BEAUTY AND THE WUS BOY
  8.  EUTHANASIA
  7.  101 DAMNATIONS
  6.  THE ABSENT MINDED PROCTOLOGIST
  5.  THE ARISTO-DOGS
  4.  THE LITTLE MER-GUY
  3.  THE COMPUTER WORE BIRKENSTOCKS
  2.  THE URBAN JUNGLE BOOK

...and the number one Filmation Movie title:

 1.  DUMBO AND DUMBER!

February 1995


O.J. UPDATE

            Well, the long awaited “Trial of the Century” has gotten underway. Yowza! Yowza! Like they’re dancing on air. Look at ‘em go. Y’know, it’s a pretty safe bet saying “trial of the century” in 1995. They went way out on a limb for that one, huh folks? But I don’t know,(heavy sarcasm here, don’t miss it) there are still six more years left in this century for something even bigger than this to show up on TV.  And don’t argue with me about the years (this year just started so it counts as does 2000).

            It’s been a long time since the circus came to town. What a pleasure. The clowns were the best. Sure you got your elephants, your big cats, your high wire and trapeze acts with those skimpy outfits and exotic foreign family names like The Flying Zamboni’s, but the clowns were the best. I love this one because it’s ALL clowns ALL the time! And they even have The Lying Attorney Brothers!

            This week’s update is sponsored by: McDonald’s Fast Food Restaurants! Yes if you wish you had an extra hour in your hectic schedule...try our quick and speedy drive-thru. You’ll have all the time in the world to kill!

            ...and by: Ford Bronco... yes, if you want to get away, escape in a Ford Bronco!

            So what’s happened so far? In a nutshell, the Prosecution opened with (I’m condensing a little):
 “O.J. Simpson is a controlling, philandering wife-beater, who murdered his ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ron Goldman.”  The Defense followed with: “O.J. Simpson is a kind, generous, child-loving, arthritic ridden, dyslexic, weak kneed wimp of a man who couldn’t harm a fly, and by the way Nicole was a tramp!”

            That took a week to say.

            Then, the witnesses started testifying. Here is, in my humble opinion, what a sample cross examination by the defense was like:

Cochran: Lieutenant, did you smell alcohol on Nicole Simpson’s breath?

Officer:    No sir.

Cochran: Did you perceive any odor of an intoxicating beverage on her?

Officer:    No sir.

Cochran:
Was there any aroma emanating from the throat of Nicole Simpson that could be construed as distilled spirits!
                 
Officer:    No sir.

Cochran:
Did your olfactory nerve sense the pungency of the chemical formula C2H5OH?

Judge Ito: Counsel, I think we covered that already.

Cochran: Sorry your honor. Have I told you what a nice robe that is. It really  sets off your beard.

            Court will take a five minute recess. Recess? Yay!!

-dougg williams


January 1995


THE INVISIBLE MAN

            A few weeks past, a wondrous event occurred while my wife and I were driving home from the store.  A man in the car next to ours was using two hands to pick his nose while simultaneously steering with his elbows. Two Hands!!!   I had never seen this sort of thing before on a suburban street.  Surely you’d think you’d have to go to a circus to see such dexterity.. And frankly, I believed I was witnessing an honest to God miracle.

            So I thought I’d share this with my wife (who believes the last miracle she witnessed was me doing the dishes and cooking in the same night).

            “Honey, look quick!! There’s a guy in the next car picking his nose with TWO HANDS and driving with his elbows!!! Isn’t that great!”

            She didn’t see it quite the same way I did, “Why do men do THAT?”
            “What?”
            “Pick their noses while driving! Do they think  no one can see them or what? It’s  gross! Why are men so gross?”

            These are the moments that I feel divided... between my love for my wife and her wonderful ideals, and being a representative of my entire gender.  It is a tough spot to be in. So I always feel it’s best to speak from the heart. Honesty is the best policy. 

            “Well, you see, the fact is that  men are not afraid of dark places... and uh... they manifest this by.... Well, men just like to work with their hands.”

            She wasn’t buying it. Yeah! So men have a tremendous capacity for grossness. They have a high gross-ability.  It really needs to be seen as an asset. Once viewed in this manner men can seem quite remarkable.  

            Women on the other hand also have the capacity to be gross. I believe they are gross more than we know.  My evidence is that I have seen women picking their noses while driving.

            Actually I’ve seen three. But for women this is “plenty.”  Based solely on those three women, and living with three sisters, and the time my mother accidentally belched so loud  at the dinner table that the air-raid sirens went off, and Mr. Bagley came running over from next door with his Civil Defense hat on, I have come up with a theory.

            Women hide it from men.  It’s like a great big club that all women belong to and one of the by-laws is that they all agree to hide gross bodily functions and the like from all men.  And they do this just to drive us nuts and make us seem more gross than we really are! But we’re on to you.  So you’d better watch yourselves. One slip-up and Wham! No mercy.

            Men do attempt to hide it too.  It’s just that we’re stupid.  We believe that when we’re in our cars we’re totally, utterly, Claude Rains without the trench coat, invisible.  It’s as if we are in a moving room with a 360°  view through one-way mirrors.  I know it seems ludicrous NOW.  But when we’re in there it seems to make perfect sense.  That should also explain the near accidents when a pretty woman goes by.

             “O’ what a work is man, how noble in stature...“  My wife doesn’t buy it either.

-dougg williams
            

December 1994


A BRIEFER HISTORY OF TIME


     A few days ago NASA released photos to the press taken by the Hubble Space Telescope (HST). These were photos of galaxies taken from further out in space (that final frontier) than ever before. We're not talking about your normal spiral shaped galaxies you remember from Nova and Star Trek. These are weird and odd shaped fuzzies on film.

     Apparently they make your average astronomer rush to the bathroom and freak out like that guy in "The Crying Game," but not for the same reason. These space monkeys believe... (hold on to your horses)... they believe that the reason these things look so different is that we are looking back into the beginning of time. I'll wait while that sinks in.
    
     Are you back from the bathroom? Okay. So what they are saying is that because the light from the stars takes so long to get here for us to see, we are seeing stuff as it was... the past. And it follows... the further out you can see, the further back you can see... see? I have no problem with this. It's this BEGINNING OF TIME thing that gets me.

     Their theory is that we (I'm sure this is the "royal" we) are seeing back to the BIG BANG!!!!! As if that's supposed to be it! The beginning of time... bah, Humbug! Even I, with my little compact imagination can say, "If at one 'time' everything in the universe were compacted down into the size of a maraschino cherry (without the stem), then what happened BEFORE that? I mean, there are a few theories that "guess" that before that was another universe... that we (royal) are a universe that will go on expanding until we've reached the end of the "rubber band" and re-collapse down to a cherry and then BANG-O!!! There we go again... New Improved Universe, with the non-stick coating.     

     But wait! There's more! They (people with nothing better to do) also say that this has been going on, over and over and over. Is this some sort of sick joke or what? I don't like the idea that I'm on some "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride" that doesn't end. Do you? Of course you don't.

     I have my own theory... would you like to hear it? I knew you would.

     If, the further out we look, the further back we look in time, then it's possible, just possible that what we'll (royal again) eventually see is a gender non-specific, age neutral, deity type that goes by many names, and is wearing a New York Yankees uniform and is smashing the hell outta that cherry! There that's it. I'd like to say more, but I'm out of time and space.
-dougg williams

     

THIS SPACE FOR RENT

First published in Kitty Letter during the production of Cat's Don't Dance"


THIS SPACE FOR RENT

            Dr. Guy Manly leaned forward from his desk towards the eyepiece of the massive 36 inch reflector telescope. He was working on a tip. A mysterious phone call from a woman with a voice that oozed blue eyes, full lips, and long legs told Dr. Manly of a strange occurrence that she wanted him to check out. Her voice was warm enough to melt any man, and Manly was butter.
            The first he noticed of anything out of the ordinary was a little wobble in a star in the telescope at the McDonnell Observatory in Texas. “Moe, Larry, Cheese!” was all the Dr. Manly could say as he punched a key on his computer to check what his eyes saw. In astronomy, seeing isn’t believing. It never is. The instruments tell you if you saw what you saw. And then there’s independent corroboration to verify the findings. It’s a modern, technological form of “Did you see what I just saw?”
            There it was. Or, so it seemed. A fluctuation seemed to have occurred in the star’s brightness and size. And then it was normal. Out near the Andromeda Galaxy is a star which Dr. Manly was investigating.  A star in his viewfinder. . .  Nu Andromedae. . .  wobbled. There it was again. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It shows all the signs of something passing in front of it. Something big! A previously unknown binary? No. It couldn’t be. It’s too well known and doesn’t make any sense to suddenly have a twin orbiting it. It must be something else. Who was that woman? Manly would have to wait to find out.

At the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence, a phone rang. “SETI, . . .  Dr. Lee speaking. . . . Mmm. . . hunh. . . uh-huh. . . Okay, we’ll check it. And, uh. . . thanks, Dr. Manly.” Lee hung up. He picked up his glasses he used for reading, wiped them and put them on.
            He rolled his chair over to his keyboard and began a finger tap-dance on the keys. The massive satellite dish responded and turned slowly until it was aligned with the Nu Andromedae. At first nothing. Then a the noise graph fluctuated wildly. Then, just as quickly, it faded to normal. The star sort of wobbled.
            Lee didn’t “hear” anything all day after that. He checked the audio recording of the noise and it sounded like a digital version of pots and pans falling from the kitchen counter. But it was. . . organized chaos. As though there was some order to it., an underlying sense of. . . intelligence, Lee thought.
            On a hunch, Lee tried the keyboard again. The big dish moved. Nothing. He punched again. The dish moved a second time. Nothing. Moved again. Nothing. Again. Something! That noise again. The same, but not the same. A little different. Different pots and pans? He went to the phone and called Manly.

            “Manly here.”
            “Guy, I have something interesting here.” said Lee. “I got a noise. But, I can’t make heads or tails of it except that it seems. . . digital.”
            “Digital?”
            “Yeah, there’s a funny sense of order to it, but I can’t make sense of it. But, ah. . . I tried moving the dish around the star and, well. . . I got it again, southeast of the center of the star.. I went in three wider circles and kept finding it. It’s moving Dr. Manly.”
           
            On the World Wide Web, Sheila Weintraub, an amateur astronomer, X-Files fan, and firm believer in extra-terrestrial life, gathered up the activity from the McDonnell Observatory and SETI. Sheila may be an amateur, but she was no dummy. She knew the routine. If something was going on, scientists have to confirm and coordinate to verify. All she had to do was wait and pick up the information like she was standing on a corner and overhearing a conversation. Gotta love the internet. That night, Sheila and several dozen other bystanders on that same corner would be tracking the noise as best they could from the coordinates of Dr. Lee’s.
            They weren’t sure of what they were tracking. Sheila saw another wobble in a star in the Constellation of Lacerta, the Lizard, and by morning, another wobble in Cygnus, the Swan. Sheila, and nearly all of the eavesdroppers now had a speed and direction of. . . something. Something big, and something they couldn’t see unless it passed in front of a star.
            Sheila called up Dr. Manly. She confirmed with him her own new findings, that he and Dr. Lee and other astronomers around the globe were mutually corroborating: something large and unseen was passing through our galaxy at a speed that boggled the imagination. And if Dr. Lee was right. It was intelligent. Sheila didn’t listen to Guy’s protestations that she not jump to any conclusions.

            Within days, it made the papers. And when it seemed just incredible enough, it hit TV. CNN did a half hour on the object. All four major networks devoted their weekly news-magazines to it. Several hosts hinted that the object was heading for earth. Only “60 Minutes” had any appeal to reason and that was on Andy Rooney’s segment. Since the show was slipping in the ratings, very few people saw it.
            The whole world began a nightly vigil––––watching and looking with telescopes, radarscopes, binoculars and just gazing up at the night sky. Something was up there. And everyone wanted to see it.
            Large groups of people began appearing on mountain tops with even larger signs saying “Welcome to Earth!!” From Washington, extreme liberals began expressing the need to welcome the visitors and that we have bi-lingual trans-stellar education for the visitors. They took to wearing their old E.T. buttons. The right wing extremists complained that we should never have slowed the spending on defense and that Star Wars should be revived. They continued wearing their ID4 buttons.

            When Dr. Lee was showing the varying noise graphs to a US Navy code-breaker, a man that deciphers military secret codes, they got a clue. Emil Dickens, Captain, US Navy found a word. After seventeen scrambles of the noise he had located a word.

            “Hello, Manly, this is Dr. Lee.”
            “Yes?”
            “Emil’s got it!”
            “Shalzbot!” exclaimed Guy.
            “Uh. . . Dr. Manly have you been watching TV at all lately?” asked Lee.
            “Well, frankly no.” said Guy. Being an incredibly busy and popular scientist I’ve no time for TV. Why?”
            “I think we’ve been duped Doctor.” Lee said, leaving the empty static of the phone line pregnant to the point of bursting.
            “What are you saying, Lee. Spill it!” shot back Guy.
            “Well, it seems that this thing is moving pretty fast. A long trip. . . . if the speed we’ve calculated is on the money. But, something else if we’re wrong. And we are.”
            “But how can you be so sure?” Dr. Manly shifted the phone to his other ear. Sweat beaded up on his forehead.
            “Well,” answered Lee, “it seems, that we’ve been so led on by speculation and wanting to believe, we missed an obvious fact. This thing is not out in space at all, but right here in our own atmosphere. Manly, where did you get this “tip” that started this whole thing?”
            “I don’t see why that’s important., Freddy! It was uh. . . very reliable, I’m sure of it.” That voice had been haunted Manly’s dreams. Who was she?
            “Not after what Emil told me. That noise, it’s a message.”
            “For God’s sake! What’s the message?” screamed Manly. “We could get the Nobel Prize!!”
            “Enjoy Coca-Cola®,” said Lee. “It’s a damn ad.”

            Dr. Guy Manly let the phone fall to it’s cradle. It was over. The hope, the glory, gone. He’d learned his lesson.The door creaked open behind him. He wheeled around and faced a pair of legs with a blonde on top. She was smiling and holding a bottle of Coca-Cola®. Guy asked, “And you/re? . . .“
            “Sue,” she said.
            “I see.” he shot back.
            “I see you saw what I said you should see!”
            “That was you, Sue?”
            “Sure! . . . You sap!” she said, and strolled over to where he sat.
           
            Looks like it wasn’t going to be a total waste. Manly stood up and knocked his can of Pepsi® into the trash.

-dougg williams