Desipio Message Board

I'm just going to set this up, a thread for dreams. My imaginary ex, I thought, woke up, and I told her that her cat really liked Thousand Island dressing (I have to eat silently in the dark, and it was the nearest condiment to put on the chicken and tortilla), but these were the words she uttered.

Yes, we have no sandwiches, we have no sandwiches tonight. I mean, I could make one, but she's back to sleep. Hell, the hippie produce store is open till 2 a.m., but this cloth is called khaki.

...for President Harding, he'd still be alive yet.

Robert Bryan, the previously remaining half of Bert and I.

I don't know how I had been unaware of this melodrama. But, Steve McQueen. I refuse to watch The Rifleman.

Frequent and incomplete voiding of my bladder.

So, I get about 15 minutes of time absolutely to myself a day, when I get back from the cat gulag and sit in the park across from my imaginary ex's place, have a toke, reflect on the gig, and play human fog machine. And vape. I once tried to explain that, aside from the nicotine, I liked seeing the Navier--Stokes equations in action.

I gave this book to her as some sort of wedding present with the inscription "I love you like water." That one is nowhere to be found, lo these decades later. However, to my surprise, someone at thhe University of Washington has let it into the wild (warning: big honking PDF).

If you are of the sort to pour cream into your coffee and stir it, those two swirls are Kármán vortices.

The standard kilogram.

Scott Wilson, viz., Hershel.

My dad and I are trying to figure out how much Pink Hat Guy pays for his season tickets. All I'm finding is the four "club" prices, which include booze and so forth. But what about regular primo seats?

OK, it's G—le Translate, but ETA has given up the ghost.

Given that music is the only thing keeping me and one of the cats together, I am far past anything resembling normal behavior. Hence, Van Morrison at Winterland '74. The version of "Caravan" is not as good as the one from It's Too Late to Stop Now, but it's video.

Raised him from a seed, and now he's in the freezer.

Robert Pirsig, 88.

Maj. Gen. Albert Stubblebine. "Doctor" Rima is going to have to try harder than this on the whole "Great Culling" front.

Leonard Cohen.

Doubtlessly stale news, but I was having trouble coming up with a decent subject line with which to refer to the wretched Phyllis Schlafly, yet I still feel the need to express more contempt after she failed to deliver in an earlier DP.

One of the main reasons (many of you and) your kids don't have the the classic scar, smallpox eradicator Donald Henderson.

Yah, it's weak, but I'm on the board.

Kenny Baker.

[Edit.―Oh, wait, I already was.]

Sorry, but I suddenly had a cheerful moment.

What has replaced the Forkbox, "Squirtz!" or some other hip social-media pit of doom?

The VCR shall be no more.

This reminds me again today, though, given that Pete Fountain is also now dead (I couldn't come up with anything), that there was a time in high school – '87 or '88 – when the jazz-band conductor was raving the next day about one of Fountain's performances on the Tonight Show, which my memory tells me that I also saw, in which the program ran over on-air because the audience refused to let him stop. That's a recording I'd like to see.

Alvin Toffler.