Date: Sat, 29 May 2004 15:48:08 -0500
Reply-To: Joel Walker <jwalker17@EARTHLINK.NET>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: Joel Walker <jwalker17@EARTHLINK.NET>
Subject: Re: Unsafe at any..(was Re: safe speeds) <too long>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
> P.S.: Why is it spelled Fryeday?
Once Upon A Time, there was this mailing list on the Internet.
And it was dull and boring. Even unto the end of Daze of the Weak.
And there was a Wize and Compassion-Eight List Administrator who saw
the dull and boring and was troubled.
and he spoke thusly:
"Lighten up, folks ... it's Friday!!".
and thus was started the Tradition of lightened-up fridays. :)
but wait ...
also on The List was a government employee without much to do (at the
time), but with a computer in his office. and thus was borne much,
much time upon the internet to alleviate the dull and boring of
government service ... and from that fetid and septic mind plowing the
keyboard, there arose the Follies: bits of pomes written in those
fleeting moments between hiccups and sneezes, and pushed out upon The
List in an effort to glean some chuckles or even a guffaw or two from
the few dozens of denizens of the Bus.
and since Friday was the last day of the week, and in the old Catholic
tradition of eating fish on fridays (can't exactly recall why now ...
but all through school we had only fish on fridays in the lunchroom),
and since frying was the quickest way to cook fish, then Friday became
Fryedaye. or maybe it was cause Stephen Fry was kinda neat at the
butler in Jeeves and Wooster on PBS. or i figured if i got caught
doing this stuff on company time, i'd get fryed? :)
anyway, it became the Fryedaye Follies.
followed by the Weakly Statz, a compiling of the number of buses on
the list and how many of this year and how many lived in CA or NY or
ID and so forth.
and for years, it was goode. and The List flourished. sorta. kinda.
somewhat. it got bigger.
then the government, as they always do, decided that goode wasn't
goode enough. and they changed the computer. :( and away went my
software on which the Weakly Statz were kept. and away went my easy
job of sitting and compiling hiccups, sneezes, and the occasional
brain fart. hence would Real Work be expected. oh, fie!!! and thus it
has been, lo, these many years now ... and worse is the world for it.
;)
in other words ... seemed like a good idea at the time. :)
and for those who don't know what the hell i'm talking about, stuff
like this used to frequent the Fryedayes ...
haiku (high-koo)
an unrhymed japanese verse form of three lines containing 5, 7, and 5
syllables respectively; also a poem of this form <compare to Tanka>
tanka (tank-ah)
an unrhymed japanese verse form of five lines containing 5, 7, 5, 7,
and 7
syllables respectively; also a poem of this form <compare to Haiku>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
--
Who Started This Mess??
From: "William R. Kennedy
I've been noticing cars that are like rolling haiku -- a whole short
story
in one car. For instance:
Spotless black 85 Cadillac Fleetwood. Red mudflaps on all four
wheels.
Navaho blanket covering the front seat.
Stick-shift Volvo station wagon with a dent in one back door.
Stickers on the
back window for Rice and Oberlin. Missing one wheel cover on each
side.
71 volkswagen bus, some rust but good shape. used to carry chickens.
smells bad.
Joel Walker
White knuckled vanagon driver hunched
forward on seat watching heat gauge
Will Self
Vanagon too hot,
Rebuilding engine again,
Hope this time it's cool.
Martha Rubin
Once again Friday
Vanagon list springs to life
Joel's list and a song
Ric Golen
Slow bus rolls along
Bumpy dirt roads beckon
Quiet backcountry bed
Dyer Lytle
There was an old hermit named Dave,
Who kept an old bus in a cave.
When traffic went fast,
He was always the last,
But think of the money he saved!
There was a young fellow from Kent,
Whose bus in the middle was bent.
With the steering he fiddled,
So he drove from the middle,
And it caused quite a stir down in Ghent!
Joel Walker
There once was a Volkswagen bus
that caused it's poor owner to cuss
til he fixed it again
and smiling said then
"I guess it's worth all of the fuss"
Richard Palmer
Klassical Po'try
The Craven
by Edgar Allen Whatzisface
Once upon a midnight frozen,
As I drove the route I'd chosen,
Sitting at the wheel until my butt was sore,
Suddenly, there came a tapping,
Tapping, as if someone rapping,
Rapping gently at my sliding door.
"'Tis the wind," said I to me,
"'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Onward through the night I traveled
As my confidence unraveled,
Thinking of the noise, the ill it bode.
Was it just a Sstone in hubcap?
Perhaps an unrefastened gas cap?
Or something worse to break and leave me stranded on the road?
"'Tis the wind," said I to me,
"'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
In the headlights, snow was falling,
Still that tapping noise was calling,
Calling all my senses back from whence it came.
Perhaps a cv-joint needs greasing,
And newer boots would make it pleasing.
Yes, that's the ticket! Now that's the one to blame.
"'Tis the joints," I sagely muttered,
"'Tis the joints, and nothing more."
And then, as if it heard my speaking,
The noise was silent ... my ears still seeking
Could find no trace of what I'd heard before.
On I drove, in silent waiting,
Waiting for the noise, restating
In my mind the causes I had thought ... and more.
"'Tis my mind," said I to me,
"'Tis my mind, and nothing more."
Throughout the trip, no noise resounded.
But always now my thoughts are grounded
In the causes of that noise I heard before.
Like a shadow cast by sunlight,
My wraith-like fears will follow; and might
I, from out that shadow, e'er be lifted?
... Nevermore.
Joel Walker
I think that I shall never see
An auto that appeals to me,
In shape or form, for beast or man,
As much as a Volkswagen Van.
It goes Where None Have Gone Before
And does it with just speeds of four;
It goes, and with you takes it all
For creature comforts, big and small;
It carries on, and ne'er complains
In Winter's snow or Springtime's rains,
Or Summer's heat, or Autumn's breeze,
Although at times, your butt will freeze;
It lasts the ages, passing down
From Old to Young, who've newly found
The sheer delight and sect's appeal
Of driving in a box on wheels.
Joel Walker
Stopping by a Bus on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frostbitten
Whose bus this is I think I know.
His home is 'cross the river though;
He will not mind me stopping here
To watch his bus be topped with snow.
My little bus must think it queer
To stop each time we get so near
To other buses that we see
Parked at the malls or stores, like here.
Its little engine idles rough
To ask if I have had enough.
The only other sound I hear
Is wiper blades on snowy fluff.
His bus is lovely, clean and bright,
A pleasing note of all that's right.
But I have traffic still to fight,
And miles to go this winter's night.
and lastly, about the list ...
Jabber-Jabber List
by Screwloose Feral
'Twas Fryedaye, and upon the List
Were Minds of fetid thoughts so bent,
Toward Topics of the rankest Grist,
That admins cringe, but Rules relent.
"Beware the Jabber-Jabber List!
"Of emails flowing without end!
"Of Subject: Rust and Heat and Tires,
"That like the Seasons come again!"
He paused his fingers o'er the keys,
In thought he lingered, half asleep ...
Then slow and painful typed the words
As came they bubbling from the deep.
And from the keyboard, one by one,
The clicking noise disturbed the Night,
Drove out the Silence of the Lateness,
Sounded like a cricket fight.
Vee, Hay! Enn, Hay! Gee, Oh, Enn!
The keyboard groaned beneath his strokes!
Til grabbed he mouse and with one click,
A message sent to email folkes.
"And art thou finished yet, My Love?"
Said Wife while filing on a nail;
"About damned Time! Then go to bed!"
But said Computer: You Have Mail.
'Twas Fryedaye, and upon the List
Were Minds of fetid thoughts so bent,
Toward Topics of the rankest Grist,
That admins cringe, but Rules relent.
