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Well, the cat hated bassoons.Quote:
Originally Posted by pisteoff
Should I put that in the funny story thread?
I was setting up a bagpipe with a wah-wah pedal when I graduated and we went our own ways. One of the guys in the band was the lead on the Tacoma Dome construction.
Or the time I went to SeaTac in bathrobe, sequined hornrimmed sunglasses, cowboy hat and swimfins?
Do tell.Quote:
Originally Posted by Buster Highmen
A friend was flying in for a respite of pot, psychedelics and computer games from his PhD works on Postnikov Towers for Equivariant G-Bundles under Peter May at the University of Chicago circa 1984 (?).Quote:
Originally Posted by Meadow Skipper
So my housemate and I got on that get up, drove down there. parked and walked around the airport waiting for my friend. Several shadowy figures and not so shadowy boys in blue had their walkie talkies out (this was well before cells phones). Some kids thought we were the Blues Brothers. We found my pal after about 40 minutes of wandering around and being followed.
It just goes to show what a load of morons there are out there.
I can't remember the name of the house down in SE Portland, but it had a name and had been a Reed house for years.
Joe lived there. I knew Joe from around campus, in biology labs and he was an interesting polymajor in bio philosophy and he played reed instruments and had a bassoon. I had a nice alto sax I used to fart around on, so I'd go over to their house, get fogged and honk away.
So we named ourselves the Bassoon Attack Force or the Bassoon Detritum.
I had a vision about playing bagpipes, but I all the money I had went into tuition, food, housing and drugs.
I managed to find a cheesy little practice "bagpipe" that was just like a little bassoon and tried to run that through a microphone hooked up through some box to a wah-wah pedal. It didn't work too well, lots of shrieks and underwater worbles. We laughed a lot.
Joe's dad ran some huDge construction company and he was trying to finish his thesis in some polyglot topic of which the classicists @ Reed weren't too enamored.
I finished mine on Algebraic Topology (Stay High On The Ridges and You'll Never Get Lost - A Note on Homology Theory) and split Portland while Joe labored over the summer and ended up taking over the Tacoma Dome building project.
The cat was a red tabby.
Always doing her own thing............Quote:
Originally Posted by nutmegchoi
Attachment 214387
Stay High On The Ridges and You'll Never Get Lost - A Note on Homology Theory
sounds like a good read
No doll head scepter?Quote:
Originally Posted by Buster Highmen
Sent from my XT1650 using TGR Forums mobile app
It's starts out with short exact sequences of modules over commutative rings, a little bit on Hom and Tensor Functors, then develops Ext and Tor Functors with snazzy little proofs of the snake lemma to build up the long exact sequences of Ext and Tor.Quote:
Originally Posted by wyeaster
Then it goes into simplicial topology and builds up a homology theory by computing the cycles mod boundaries of a simplicial complex. That's where the Ridges comes in, aside from having seen the full title carved into a Pac Crest trail signpost down around Mt. Jefferson.
Next, The text goes on to develop CW complexes and their functors.
Completely useless shit.
No, but the Stinky House on Keystone in gVallingford was the house where we did the reverse shoplifting, buying a case of mixed pickles, some doll parts from a junk store on Greenwood, putting the doll parts in the pickle jars and leaving them at the Food Giant on 45th just down the street from Murphys where a lovely lass of a friend, Rosie, a waitress there, was tricked into wandering around that loud Irish tavern yelling for Mike Hunt.Quote:
Originally Posted by Viva
The Stinky House
Creaking open the door, the militant mildew laid it's lock on your nose.
The dingy, northern light seeped through window, green with molds. Large indiscriminant insects hovered next to the bathtub, rubbing their squeaky viola legs together, reminiscent of used car salesmen.
The bathroom was layered with legions of dirty towels that had to be beaten into submission.
The toilet was textured Jackson Pollack taupe and avocado green.
More than one phonecall to Ralph talking to God about Buicks had been made on that telephone.
The crown jewel of the installation were the mushrooms: several clusters of 4 inch long mucilaginous mycological monsters clinging to the bathtub tiles that truly defined the funkiest loo ever.
The living room was jumbled with an assortment of ripped couches, plastic milk crates, dilapidated chairs, reeking beer bottles and cigarette butts.
The couches were consistently strewn with one dirtbag chrysalis or another, exuding a transluscent, sweaty glow, wrapped in some once glorious 800 fill portawomb, a bag of partly smoked funkweed within reach.
It was fair game to attempt to lob a butt into the yawning maw of the unsuspecting snoozer.
The ceiling sported an intricate celtic knot, better entertainment than the battered TV with the coat hanger antenna where we watched Letterman and the Flying Circus, not to omit Benny Hill or SNL in it's early 80s heyday.
Chunks of plaster randomly bombarded the unaware.
Socks of the indigent littered the scene and were burnt in secretive piles in the back yard.
The dining room had a formica table. We had no utensils. Any "meal" involved beating each other with chunks of whatever beast was available and wrestling for the carcass.
An old Macintosh stereo inhabited the built-in china cabinet and stacks of LPs and singles from bands like the Residents or Bush Tetras slumped in the corners.
The kitchen was beyond dirty. Hazmat suits should have been required for the layers of festering cold cuts, rotted eggs, moldy bagels and creamcheeses.
It could've asphixiated a Frenchman.
It squelched any appetite, was rarely used and never cleaned except when Dean the Weirdo had a glass smashing tantrum and then only the shards of foot gashing glass were sought.
The cabinet doors had been victims of late night doodle fests and were wrought with intricately meaningless cuniform, curlicues, cartoons and porn.
Coupled with globs of wax, p-tex, and art projects: pickled dolls parts, hacked and reglommed plastic army men and circuit boards that had "YouAre Here-->" stenciled into them, it was home, a rainforest of new undocumented species.
Yup.Quote:
Originally Posted by KQ
My kind
I bet she’s a snowboarder, too.
hey i didnt say i was smart enough to understand it :)
hey i didnt say i was smart enough to understand it😊Quote:
Originally Posted by Buster Highmen
My female cat always has to jump in the laundry basket on wash day.Quote:
Originally Posted by KQ
Back on track, I got my hair cut and my beard trimmed.
I feel so pretty.
Reed, I think I knew that but forgot. Yeah, it all follows.Quote:
Originally Posted by Buster Highmen
That was my shitty undergrad deal where I was a teenage topologist,,,,,the stinky house was in Seattle after I lost my MIT grant.Quote:
Originally Posted by Meadow Skipper
I baked a cake and ate it.
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Well, I mean, obviously. But what have you done to prove your womanliness Today?Quote:
Originally Posted by Buster Highmen
He told a longwinded story with way too many details no one cares about?Quote:
Originally Posted by jono