E-mail: Brian7Morris "at" hotmail.com Archives March 2002 April 2002 May 2002 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 current Blogs Mandapants farkleberries Uranium City Records The C.M. Sienko Foundation Storyteller Musings Solotarian Views Lynne Wiora Tek Poker News Blog Some Biscuits Evil Eye Emporium Niggling Doubts Pressure Release Sara as Mommy runswithscissors Defective Yeti Afternoon Delight trancejen The Terrarium Bird Nird Slipperily Tofu Hut Stereo Gum Links Fixed Gear Gallery Get Crafty This is Grand Featherproof Books Gapers Block Chicago Bird Watching	No one must know my terrible secret... House of Noh! Thursday, October 23, 2003 One of the good things about Chicago is that when pigeons build their nests in the eaves of the tin roof shelters over the El platforms, the CTA workers leave the nests alone, despite all the pigeon poop that must be continually scraped off the platform planks below the nests. It would be so much easier and more efficient, rather than every two days laboriously scraping pigeon terds off the planks, to take the broomstick handle of the pigeon poop scraper and knock apart the pigeons’ nest and chase off the pigeons. But the CTA workers don’t do that, and since early this spring I’ve had the opportunity to hang out with the pigeon family living in the Southeast corner of roof over the Southbound Sheridan platform. I was there for a few moments every morning in the chilly early spring and watched while the parents built the nest, and I watched the mother incubating the eggs - back then I mostly worried that somebody would dash the nest apart, and just seeing the pigeons still there each morning was a delight. Later in the spring after the chicks hatched I watched with a mixture of warm tenderness and disgusted horror as the mother retched her pigeon milk down the throat of her young with upward thrusts of her tail. I saw one morning that one young pigeon had tried to fly out of the nest and was clumsily trying to perch on a train rail, and I was worried that he wouldn’t know to get off the tracks in time or that he would never be able to fly back up to the nest again. That wasn’t the last time I worried about the young, apt as they were for committing childish and reckless acts, but each morning I always found all the young pigeons alive, roosting somewhere around their nest. As the summer progressed, I saw them take loftier and loftier perches and accomplish aerial feats with increasing skill. Now it’s autumn, and the young have moved out of the nest to join a rowdy flock of sky rats, spiraling overhead and bickering on the streets with their peers for crumbs. But the old mother and father are still there under the corner of the roof, perhaps preparing to raise another brood, or perhaps they are just content with their memories. There’s so many pigeons, it’s cool that I got to watch a single family raise its young like that. So that’s a good part about Chicago. A bad part is that the “Let’s Pet Puppies!” store on Ashland, whose shining beacon-in-the-night that reads “Let’s Pet Puppies!” has a much smaller sign posted to the inside of the glass of the interior entryway door. You can only read the smaller sign once you’ve been drawn a block or two out of your way by the “Let’s Pet Puppies!” sign to commune with one of the best and most pure experiences on planet earth, petting exuberant furry happy squirmy warm puppies. The smaller sign reads in harsh marker scrawl: “No touching of puppies allowed!” Brian 7:08 PM Tuesday, October 21, 2003 I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not saying that it was not a good idea to make a robot / man police officer out of a mortally wounded dude. And I KNOW that it must have taken some really gifted engineers and robotsmiths to make all Robocop’s robotic legs and arms and stuff, not to mention all the delicate nerve surgery /soldering action which must have been, like, totally difficult. Sure, it probably would have been nice to ask the guy, you know, before they made him into a robot, but I understand how government scientists get caught up in what they are doing from time to time. But about Robocop’s bullet proof robot armor, I think that perhaps somewhere along the way something might have been forgotten. Say, his mouth and chin? If I had been involved in the Robocop project, I would have given that guy a stainless steel eating portal and a titanium talking hole, but as it stands, his flesh and blood mouth is just hanging out of his armor, just flapping away there in the breeze. Maybe Robocop’s funding was cut mid-project, but isn’t his big thing being bullet proof and being able to withstand a hail of bullets? After all, it’s not like Robocop is quick on his feet. If I was a hardened criminal and robbing a bank or something and Robocop tried to thwart my evil plans I’d shoot him in his Achille’s lips. It bothers me that nobody in the movie ever thinks about that. It’s just not realistic. Brian 8:21 PM Sunday, October 12, 2003 Check out this. Brian 4:10 PM Saturday, October 11, 2003 One of my favorite sayings is that sage colloquialism, “Don’t get in a pissing contest with a skunk.” First of all, it’s delightfully folksy. Also, it’s just plain good advice. When somebody tells you not to get in a pissing contest with a skunk, it means that you shouldn’t get into a fight that you’ve got no chance of winning. And in a pissing contest with a skunk, not only will you lose for sure, but you’ll end up covered with stinky skunk pee. The situation comes up, for example, when somebody does something objectionable to you. You COULD do something objectionable back, but if that person has a greater capability for doing whatever objectionable thing it is than you do, then not only will you lose, but you’ll have lots more objectionable stuff done to you. But, see, here’s the thing. Like, a skunk’s pee doesn’t really smell any worse than any other animal’s. The stink isn’t in the skunk’s pee, it’s squirted out of squirting stink glands in the skunk’s butt. I’ve looked this up on the internet and so I know it’s true. So, in a technical “pissing” contest, the piss stink factor between, say me, for instance, and a skunk is a wash. Plus, I’ve got the height advantage. Not to mention superior bladder capacity. If I got in a pissing contest with a skunk, I think, no, I KNOW that I would win. I’m going to teach that haughty skunk a lesson! Brian 8:32 PM Wednesday, October 08, 2003 I did a lot of mouse clicking today. If everybody hadn’t been ignoring me, I would have told them. I would have said, “my mouse clicking finger is worn down to a nub.” And then I would have slowly extended my index finger into the air in front of me, and then very slowly, with great concentration and a pained expression on my face, make a minute, almost imperceptible mouse clicking motion with it, and say, “Click.” And then I would have asked them, “See?” Brian 7:05 PM Saturday, October 04, 2003 I need to do something about my hair. For instance: the grocery store checker checked my purchases yesterday with marked hostility. I think she was angry at my haircut. I’ve also been noticing a lot of people lately walking around laughing and smiling. I think they are laughing at my haircut. And to top it all off, a few days ago the X-80 roared past me without stopping, even though I was CLEARLY waiting for the bus at an OFFICIALLY SANCTIONED X-80 bus stop. I had no idea why at the time, but in retrospect, I think the bus driver didn’t want to pick me up because of my haircut. I’d like to do something about it, but I’ve been having problems getting rid of this haircut I’ve got, because it’s like this thing, that’s on my head. Plan A, implemented and abandoned years ago, was to go to Bo-Rics or Supercuts and explain to the impatient hair-cutting professional how I wanted my hair cut (even though I didn’t really have a clear idea) by waving my arms around over my head and making tonal variation sound-effects that I felt should communicate exactly how my haircut should make people feel about me. This person was supposed to be a hair-cutting professional, right? But this doesn’t work. I learned this years ago. After ten or fifteen minutes of saying, “like this:” and then waving my arms around my head and making sound-effects, the barber at the Bo-Rics or Supercuts would always just nod his or her head like he or she knew exactly what kind of haircut I wanted and then he or she would just give me the same old stupid haircut that he or she gives to everybody. Now I’m onto plan B, which is to cut my hair myself. Formerly, I thought I was pretty good at the front part. I strongly suspected that I was not so good at the back, but I felt the back didn’t matter so much because the only time people see that part is when I’m walking away, and by then I’ve already made an ass out of myself. Regardless, in order to remedy my haircut situation I’ve been introspecting, and I’ve identified some deficiencies in my hair-cutting practice. For instance, where do sideburns end and head-hair start? See, these are things that I think I should know. I’ve also been scrutinizing other people’s hair when I sit next to them, trying to figure out both what kind of really cool haircut I should get, and also, how to accomplish it. Just a few days ago I found a picture of a guy on the internet who has a really, really cool haircut, and I’m going to use his haircut as my model. Now all I need is a Saturday night and a bottle of really cheap wine. Prepare yourself ladies! This next haircut will be my masterpiece! Brian 1:09 PM

E-mail: Brian7Morris "at" hotmail.com

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House of Noh!

Thursday, October 23, 2003

One of the good things about Chicago is that when pigeons build their nests in the eaves of the tin roof shelters over the El platforms, the CTA workers leave the nests alone, despite all the pigeon poop that must be continually scraped off the platform planks below the nests. It would be so much easier and more efficient, rather than every two days laboriously scraping pigeon terds off the planks, to take the broomstick handle of the pigeon poop scraper and knock apart the pigeons’ nest and chase off the pigeons. But the CTA workers don’t do that, and since early this spring I’ve had the opportunity to hang out with the pigeon family living in the Southeast corner of roof over the Southbound Sheridan platform. I was there for a few moments every morning in the chilly early spring and watched while the parents built the nest, and I watched the mother incubating the eggs - back then I mostly worried that somebody would dash the nest apart, and just seeing the pigeons still there each morning was a delight. Later in the spring after the chicks hatched I watched with a mixture of warm tenderness and disgusted horror as the mother retched her pigeon milk down the throat of her young with upward thrusts of her tail. I saw one morning that one young pigeon had tried to fly out of the nest and was clumsily trying to perch on a train rail, and I was worried that he wouldn’t know to get off the tracks in time or that he would never be able to fly back up to the nest again. That wasn’t the last time I worried about the young, apt as they were for committing childish and reckless acts, but each morning I always found all the young pigeons alive, roosting somewhere around their nest. As the summer progressed, I saw them take loftier and loftier perches and accomplish aerial feats with increasing skill. Now it’s autumn, and the young have moved out of the nest to join a rowdy flock of sky rats, spiraling overhead and bickering on the streets with their peers for crumbs. But the old mother and father are still there under the corner of the roof, perhaps preparing to raise another brood, or perhaps they are just content with their memories. There’s so many pigeons, it’s cool that I got to watch a single family raise its young like that. So that’s a good part about Chicago. A bad part is that the “Let’s Pet Puppies!” store on Ashland, whose shining beacon-in-the-night that reads “Let’s Pet Puppies!” has a much smaller sign posted to the inside of the glass of the interior entryway door. You can only read the smaller sign once you’ve been drawn a block or two out of your way by the “Let’s Pet Puppies!” sign to commune with one of the best and most pure experiences on planet earth, petting exuberant furry happy squirmy warm puppies. The smaller sign reads in harsh marker scrawl: “No touching of puppies allowed!”

Brian 7:08 PM

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not saying that it was not a good idea to make a robot / man police officer out of a mortally wounded dude. And I KNOW that it must have taken some really gifted engineers and robotsmiths to make all Robocop’s robotic legs and arms and stuff, not to mention all the delicate nerve surgery /soldering action which must have been, like, totally difficult. Sure, it probably would have been nice to ask the guy, you know, before they made him into a robot, but I understand how government scientists get caught up in what they are doing from time to time. But about Robocop’s bullet proof robot armor, I think that perhaps somewhere along the way something might have been forgotten. Say, his mouth and chin? If I had been involved in the Robocop project, I would have given that guy a stainless steel eating portal and a titanium talking hole, but as it stands, his flesh and blood mouth is just hanging out of his armor, just flapping away there in the breeze. Maybe Robocop’s funding was cut mid-project, but isn’t his big thing being bullet proof and being able to withstand a hail of bullets? After all, it’s not like Robocop is quick on his feet. If I was a hardened criminal and robbing a bank or something and Robocop tried to thwart my evil plans I’d shoot him in his Achille’s lips. It bothers me that nobody in the movie ever thinks about that. It’s just not realistic.

Brian 8:21 PM

Sunday, October 12, 2003

Check out this.

Brian 4:10 PM

Saturday, October 11, 2003

One of my favorite sayings is that sage colloquialism, “Don’t get in a pissing contest with a skunk.” First of all, it’s delightfully folksy. Also, it’s just plain good advice. When somebody tells you not to get in a pissing contest with a skunk, it means that you shouldn’t get into a fight that you’ve got no chance of winning. And in a pissing contest with a skunk, not only will you lose for sure, but you’ll end up covered with stinky skunk pee. The situation comes up, for example, when somebody does something objectionable to you. You COULD do something objectionable back, but if that person has a greater capability for doing whatever objectionable thing it is than you do, then not only will you lose, but you’ll have lots more objectionable stuff done to you. But, see, here’s the thing. Like, a skunk’s pee doesn’t really smell any worse than any other animal’s. The stink isn’t in the skunk’s pee, it’s squirted out of squirting stink glands in the skunk’s butt. I’ve looked this up on the internet and so I know it’s true. So, in a technical “pissing” contest, the piss stink factor between, say me, for instance, and a skunk is a wash. Plus, I’ve got the height advantage. Not to mention superior bladder capacity. If I got in a pissing contest with a skunk, I think, no, I KNOW that I would win. I’m going to teach that haughty skunk a lesson!

Brian 8:32 PM

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

I did a lot of mouse clicking today. If everybody hadn’t been ignoring me, I would have told them. I would have said, “my mouse clicking finger is worn down to a nub.” And then I would have slowly extended my index finger into the air in front of me, and then very slowly, with great concentration and a pained expression on my face, make a minute, almost imperceptible mouse clicking motion with it, and say, “Click.” And then I would have asked them, “See?”

Brian 7:05 PM

Saturday, October 04, 2003

I need to do something about my hair. For instance: the grocery store checker checked my purchases yesterday with marked hostility. I think she was angry at my haircut. I’ve also been noticing a lot of people lately walking around laughing and smiling. I think they are laughing at my haircut. And to top it all off, a few days ago the X-80 roared past me without stopping, even though I was CLEARLY waiting for the bus at an OFFICIALLY SANCTIONED X-80 bus stop. I had no idea why at the time, but in retrospect, I think the bus driver didn’t want to pick me up because of my haircut. I’d like to do something about it, but I’ve been having problems getting rid of this haircut I’ve got, because it’s like this thing, that’s on my head. Plan A, implemented and abandoned years ago, was to go to Bo-Rics or Supercuts and explain to the impatient hair-cutting professional how I wanted my hair cut (even though I didn’t really have a clear idea) by waving my arms around over my head and making tonal variation sound-effects that I felt should communicate exactly how my haircut should make people feel about me. This person was supposed to be a hair-cutting professional, right? But this doesn’t work. I learned this years ago. After ten or fifteen minutes of saying, “like this:” and then waving my arms around my head and making sound-effects, the barber at the Bo-Rics or Supercuts would always just nod his or her head like he or she knew exactly what kind of haircut I wanted and then he or she would just give me the same old stupid haircut that he or she gives to everybody. Now I’m onto plan B, which is to cut my hair myself. Formerly, I thought I was pretty good at the front part. I strongly suspected that I was not so good at the back, but I felt the back didn’t matter so much because the only time people see that part is when I’m walking away, and by then I’ve already made an ass out of myself. Regardless, in order to remedy my haircut situation I’ve been introspecting, and I’ve identified some deficiencies in my hair-cutting practice. For instance, where do sideburns end and head-hair start? See, these are things that I think I should know. I’ve also been scrutinizing other people’s hair when I sit next to them, trying to figure out both what kind of really cool haircut I should get, and also, how to accomplish it. Just a few days ago I found a picture of a guy on the internet who has a really, really cool haircut, and I’m going to use his haircut as my model. Now all I need is a Saturday night and a bottle of really cheap wine. Prepare yourself ladies! This next haircut will be my masterpiece!

Brian 1:09 PM

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