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! Tuesday, August 17, 2004 Remember in the beginning of that movie, Bladerunner, like when Harrison Ford the robot-hunting protagonist is sitting in a filthy little street-side café eating dirty greasy noodles out of a Styrofoam bowl and it’s late at night and raining and he’s in the middle of a dark and filthy city filled with modernistic human filth and futurist lighted blimp advertisements for futuristic products and crap? And he‘s all sullen and introspective, but at the same time wary and alert with a sense of grim determination about him because he’s supposed to go out and hunt some dangerous robots? That’s what I felt like today. Except I’m not the one hunting the robot. Rather, it’s the ROBOT who’s hunting ME. And also, it was actually pretty balmy here in Chicago today. This robot is a tough customer, too. And you can trust my judgment on this matter. You know I’m no push over. Shit. I mean, just this morning while I was scrambling my usual morning tofu scramble (it’s delicious) some evangelical ladies got all up in my apartment buzzer and they were like, (me pressing listen) “talk [something] you [something] Bible [something],” and I was like, (pressing talk) “I can’t understand you!” and then they were like, (me pressing listen) “talk [something] you [something] Bible [something]!” and then I was like, (pressing talk), “What?” After that they wouldn’t talk anymore when I pressed listen, even though I tried to say “What?” really politely, and over and over again while holding the talk button down. Then I snuck down stairs in my flip flops that my dad gave me to take on my first boy scout camping trip (as he told me, gravely, “son, you’ll need to wear these in the shower”) and I spied on the Bible ladies through the door from the stairwell while they pressed everybody else’s apartment buzzer and said something about the Bible. Then they walked away. That’s right. They walked away! At first I thought the robot was Stephen Hawking having called me to discuss the wonders of the cosmos - seriously, this robot sounds just like him. But this robot didn’t really seem to be into the wonders of the cosmos. All it wants is me to call some guy named “Al.” The robot says I “need” to call this guy named “Al” at some place. The robot indicated that it was very important to “Al” that I call him. “Al” had been trying very hard to reach me. Well, guess what, robot? You can stuff Al’s important message up your robot hole! That’s right, I’m not going to call Al! I didn’t even write Al’s 1-800 number down, even after you gave me time to go get a pen and some paper! You don’t even want to know what I was doing instead of getting pen and paper - it was something a robot can’t do, that’s for sure! Sure, you may have had the upper hand on this call, robot. I‘ll admit that I got a little flustered when you wouldn‘t answer my questions, and you just continued your message unflappably. That showed you had some guts. But I’ve been around the block a few times in this automated world, and you’re not the first robot that’s come after me. One time Blockbuster put robot on my tail for allegedly returning Deliverance a week and a half late. The Blockbuster robot finally caught up to me a little after dinner time. Sure, I eventually returned the movie. But let’s just say that THAT robot never called ME again! Brian 1:30 AM Comments: Post a Comment

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House of Noh!

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

Remember in the beginning of that movie, Bladerunner, like when Harrison Ford the robot-hunting protagonist is sitting in a filthy little street-side café eating dirty greasy noodles out of a Styrofoam bowl and it’s late at night and raining and he’s in the middle of a dark and filthy city filled with modernistic human filth and futurist lighted blimp advertisements for futuristic products and crap? And he‘s all sullen and introspective, but at the same time wary and alert with a sense of grim determination about him because he’s supposed to go out and hunt some dangerous robots? That’s what I felt like today. Except I’m not the one hunting the robot. Rather, it’s the ROBOT who’s hunting ME. And also, it was actually pretty balmy here in Chicago today. This robot is a tough customer, too. And you can trust my judgment on this matter. You know I’m no push over. Shit. I mean, just this morning while I was scrambling my usual morning tofu scramble (it’s delicious) some evangelical ladies got all up in my apartment buzzer and they were like, (me pressing listen) “talk [something] you [something] Bible [something],” and I was like, (pressing talk) “I can’t understand you!” and then they were like, (me pressing listen) “talk [something] you [something] Bible [something]!” and then I was like, (pressing talk), “What?” After that they wouldn’t talk anymore when I pressed listen, even though I tried to say “What?” really politely, and over and over again while holding the talk button down. Then I snuck down stairs in my flip flops that my dad gave me to take on my first boy scout camping trip (as he told me, gravely, “son, you’ll need to wear these in the shower”) and I spied on the Bible ladies through the door from the stairwell while they pressed everybody else’s apartment buzzer and said something about the Bible. Then they walked away. That’s right. They walked away! At first I thought the robot was Stephen Hawking having called me to discuss the wonders of the cosmos - seriously, this robot sounds just like him. But this robot didn’t really seem to be into the wonders of the cosmos. All it wants is me to call some guy named “Al.” The robot says I “need” to call this guy named “Al” at some place. The robot indicated that it was very important to “Al” that I call him. “Al” had been trying very hard to reach me. Well, guess what, robot? You can stuff Al’s important message up your robot hole! That’s right, I’m not going to call Al! I didn’t even write Al’s 1-800 number down, even after you gave me time to go get a pen and some paper! You don’t even want to know what I was doing instead of getting pen and paper - it was something a robot can’t do, that’s for sure! Sure, you may have had the upper hand on this call, robot. I‘ll admit that I got a little flustered when you wouldn‘t answer my questions, and you just continued your message unflappably. That showed you had some guts. But I’ve been around the block a few times in this automated world, and you’re not the first robot that’s come after me. One time Blockbuster put robot on my tail for *allegedly* returning Deliverance a week and a half late. The Blockbuster robot finally caught up to me a little after dinner time. Sure, I eventually returned the movie. But let’s just say that THAT robot never called ME again!

Brian 1:30 AM

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House of Noh!

Tuesday, August 17, 2004