“Hey Pando,” Eddie called to me loudly from across our table, around which were seated various denizens comprising our local native wits, who were trying to enjoy Toni’s powerful overcooked and over-perked copper-colored liquid that she playfully lists as “coffee” on the menu of The Scruffy Dog Cafe. “Um, yes, uh, yeah, Eddie, whazzup?” I replied between sips. “You know how you’re always going on about the abysmal quality of
My neighbor is a concert violinist and tends to take extended trips during the summer. Among other things, I take care of her garden, making sure the grass and plants are watered, trimming and tending to the shrubs,and so on. Several years ago her red-leafed Japanese maple started its long death spiral. Here follows a series of email correspondence centering mainly on that poor tree. These are basically conversational with
Hi Pandora, I enjoyed your post about the outdoor theater. The reference to camping wasn't that farfetched. Check out my article about the death of camping here. We finally gave up on camping when a big RV arrived next to us at a quiet mountain campsite. The couple got their generator going then folded a huge flatscreen from the side of the camper and watched soap operas. Al Hi Al. Ha ha!
It was another lazy afternoon at The Scruffy Dog Cafe with a few of us regulars shooting the breeze at our unofficial table off in the corner, masochistically waiting for refills on what the Scruffy Dog’s owner generously calls coffee on his menu. Our favorite server Toni was over at the beverage station next to the kitchen pass-through window drawing a couple of cups of coffee. The bell hanging above
Galactic Federation Survey Report #25013 Civilization on Planet OGC 458-03 ("Earth") Submitted by: Knarf, Survey Anthropologist 2nd Class Customs and Rituals - Part IV [Background: For those who haven't read the introductory paper on this pre-starfaring civilization, a quick word: This world has a very high number of plant and animal species, of which the group known as "humans" have risen to the top of the ladder. As has occurred
“You fellas might remember that I was sent over to the IBM facility in Croydon, south of London” I began, as the customary reprobates were sitting around our usual table in The Scruffy Dog. Today there was Little Joe, still hiding from the sheriff, Lois, our guardian angel who helped keep the tone polite, Shortie, who worked at the Bar None ranch out of town and who was sloughing off
oni was passing a couple of orders to Judy at the kitchen pass-through window when the bell hanging above the entrance door tinkled, indicating someone entering the restaurant. “Oh lord,” sighed Toni as she spotted the newcomer. “What now?” asked Judy, The Scruffy Dog’s premier chef. “It’s Little Joe huffin’ and puffin’ like he’s running from the law again.” Even though it was mid-October and a bit crisp outside, Little