Marc
To promote the loyalty of local residents toward his barroom, the saloonkeeper often extended special financial privileges to the steadiest members of his neighborhood clientele. ... For example, a manufacturer in Joliet, Illinois, stated in 1908 that of the 3,600 paychecks his firm issued on one payday, 3,599 came back with a saloonkeeper's endorsement (the last one having been cashed in a grocery store selling liquor.) -- Madelon Powers, "The Code of Reciprocity in US Barrooms" in The Making of Urban America
One. I hereby will no longer put off lengthy reading assignments. The above was a no-brainer -- I certainly will never mind reading about the history of bars. But, the history of Japanese immigration into (and out of) the US is another thing entirely. I've always wondered why our names (Frank, Jack, Jim, etc) have always seemed so downright boring when compared to any number of Japanese names (Sugawara, Yamato, Hinata, etc). And, no, I was not making those names up.
Two. The Joe Strummer tribute band on the Grammy's this evening (Steven Van Zandt, Dave Grohl, Elvis Costello, Bruce Springsteen, the bass player from No Doubt, and that guy on drums) was okay. I say 'okay' with somewhat of a smirkish upturn to the corner of my right lip. What the hell was that noise right before the curtains dropped on them? Why were their guitars so low? And who decided to let the guy from No (fucking) Doubt play bass? Come on. We could've done better on this one, don't you think?
Three. Went out to dinner the other night and waited an hour-and-a-half for a table. Then I spilled beer on my shirt. Then I unbuttoned my shirt, as if to cover up the beer stain. I am a walking calamity, though I will admit that I pulled off the whole thing quite nicely, not pulling unneccesary attention to it until after the stain had dried and gone away -- thus effectively nulling it's "stain" properties. That's one thing I love about beer -- you can swim in it, basically, but as long as you allow yourself adequate time to dry, no one will ever notice. Except for the smell, I suppose. I really should think these thoughts all the way through, shouldn't I?
Four. This is actually a Blogger-less post. I guess they got bought out by Google or something, and have decided to put in more servers or something, and so the page is down or something, and I'm just kind of typing this as a "cooling down" type exercise before I head off to bed. Or something.
Come up to meet you/Tell you how sorry/You don't know how lovely you are.
In the batter's box: "The Scientist" by Coldplay.
On deck: "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley.
In the clubhouse: "The Rising" by Bruce Springsteen.
Riding pine: "Once Bitten, Twice Shy" by Great White.
To promote the loyalty of local residents toward his barroom, the saloonkeeper often extended special financial privileges to the steadiest members of his neighborhood clientele. ... For example, a manufacturer in Joliet, Illinois, stated in 1908 that of the 3,600 paychecks his firm issued on one payday, 3,599 came back with a saloonkeeper's endorsement (the last one having been cashed in a grocery store selling liquor.) -- Madelon Powers, "The Code of Reciprocity in US Barrooms" in The Making of Urban America
One. I hereby will no longer put off lengthy reading assignments. The above was a no-brainer -- I certainly will never mind reading about the history of bars. But, the history of Japanese immigration into (and out of) the US is another thing entirely. I've always wondered why our names (Frank, Jack, Jim, etc) have always seemed so downright boring when compared to any number of Japanese names (Sugawara, Yamato, Hinata, etc). And, no, I was not making those names up.
Two. The Joe Strummer tribute band on the Grammy's this evening (Steven Van Zandt, Dave Grohl, Elvis Costello, Bruce Springsteen, the bass player from No Doubt, and that guy on drums) was okay. I say 'okay' with somewhat of a smirkish upturn to the corner of my right lip. What the hell was that noise right before the curtains dropped on them? Why were their guitars so low? And who decided to let the guy from No (fucking) Doubt play bass? Come on. We could've done better on this one, don't you think?
Three. Went out to dinner the other night and waited an hour-and-a-half for a table. Then I spilled beer on my shirt. Then I unbuttoned my shirt, as if to cover up the beer stain. I am a walking calamity, though I will admit that I pulled off the whole thing quite nicely, not pulling unneccesary attention to it until after the stain had dried and gone away -- thus effectively nulling it's "stain" properties. That's one thing I love about beer -- you can swim in it, basically, but as long as you allow yourself adequate time to dry, no one will ever notice. Except for the smell, I suppose. I really should think these thoughts all the way through, shouldn't I?
Four. This is actually a Blogger-less post. I guess they got bought out by Google or something, and have decided to put in more servers or something, and so the page is down or something, and I'm just kind of typing this as a "cooling down" type exercise before I head off to bed. Or something.
Come up to meet you/Tell you how sorry/You don't know how lovely you are.
In the batter's box: "The Scientist" by Coldplay.
On deck: "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley.
In the clubhouse: "The Rising" by Bruce Springsteen.
Riding pine: "Once Bitten, Twice Shy" by Great White.
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