![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
altivoBack about the summer of 1979, when I was working at DePaul University Law Library in Chicago, one of the reference librarians and I spent some time puzzling over a signature on a circulation card. (Yes, they still used signature cards in the book pockets.) The book had not been returned and was overdue. The best we could make of the signature was "John Bzza" which was not the name of any student or faculty member. For quite a while after that we used "Bzza!" as an exclamation of frustration or disgust. Eventually I even had a rubber stamp made that said "BZZA!" that tended to get used under mysterious circumstances. My friend even contemplated getting a vanity license plate for her new car with "BZZA" on it. Though I still see her occasionally, she claims to have no memory of this protracted episode, but I've never forgotten it. It was funny at the time, though perhaps you had to be there...
Gary is still being frustrated by both his excessive homework assignments and the baroque complexities of the Internal Revenue, so I made dinner again tonight. I decided on deep dish Chicago style pizza, which we used to make regularly but haven't had for quite a while. It turned out pretty well, though I think the garlic was a bit wimpy and I could have used more in the sauce. Anyway, my mind making odd and tortuous connections as it often does, it occurred to me that I should start a pizza parlor and call it Pzza! and of course have that painted on the delivery cars and the boxes or bags in which the food would be delivered. Only then I'd be constantly having to explain why the "I" was left out. I guess I could say that no one likes "eyes" in their pizza or something like that.
This elaborate daydream occurred while I was cutting up the mushrooms, onions, and green pepper, and was in the same vein as one that Gary had after friends sold their feeder hog barn and riding stable and moved to Florida. Gary had helped with the final cleaning of the barn, using pressure washers and all that. He dreamed that the new owners converted the barn into a restaurant called "The Spare Rib" and that customers would vie for the tables with a view (overlooking the pond that used to be a liquid manure settling basin... but of course they would have no idea about that...)
Gary is still being frustrated by both his excessive homework assignments and the baroque complexities of the Internal Revenue, so I made dinner again tonight. I decided on deep dish Chicago style pizza, which we used to make regularly but haven't had for quite a while. It turned out pretty well, though I think the garlic was a bit wimpy and I could have used more in the sauce. Anyway, my mind making odd and tortuous connections as it often does, it occurred to me that I should start a pizza parlor and call it Pzza! and of course have that painted on the delivery cars and the boxes or bags in which the food would be delivered. Only then I'd be constantly having to explain why the "I" was left out. I guess I could say that no one likes "eyes" in their pizza or something like that.
This elaborate daydream occurred while I was cutting up the mushrooms, onions, and green pepper, and was in the same vein as one that Gary had after friends sold their feeder hog barn and riding stable and moved to Florida. Gary had helped with the final cleaning of the barn, using pressure washers and all that. He dreamed that the new owners converted the barn into a restaurant called "The Spare Rib" and that customers would vie for the tables with a view (overlooking the pond that used to be a liquid manure settling basin... but of course they would have no idea about that...)
no subject
Date: 2010-04-13 11:28 am (UTC)