My World Tour Continues

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Yesterday, I met Uccisore in the flesh. I am happy to report that he is not a serial killer, which means, I suppose, that I am happy to report at all. Along with a friend of his, who, since I cannot divulge Uccisore’s real name, and since this friend has the same real first name as Uccisore, I will also call Uccisore, we met in the Border’s parking lot in beautiful Bangor, Maine.

Speaking of which, I will tell you that Ucci is a very discrete man himself - since his friend, Ucci was there, he insisted on calling me by my screen name, “faust”, rather than my given name of Faust. I guess you can never be too careful. Anyway, we browsed the bookstore (Border’s), and Ucci went on a bit of a binge, purchasing three volumes of Kant (for bathroom reading, he said), a book entitled “Stupidity for Dummies” (explaining that he wanted to spend more time on Mundane Babble) and “The Metaphysics of the 351 Cleveland Big Block”, which requires no explanation, of course.

And a couple of gentleman’s magazines, which he said were for use as gifts.

His friend, Uccisore, bought CD’s only, including a Smashing Pumpkins, a FooFighters, a Metallica and one that was unkown to me, “Trent Reznor Sings Winter Classics”, which includes such tunes as “Frosty the Snowman (My Bitch)”, “Let it Snow (In My Heart)” and “I Want to Defile You and Leave You for Dead in an Isolated Field in an Ice Storm”, which I hadn’t heard before. He said he would let me rip it.

I found a couple of books that I had been looking for, including “Building Underground Shelters on a Budget”, “Field Surgery for Dummies” (let’s face it, it’s a great series) and “Remote-Control Automatic Weapons for Underground Shelters on a Budget for Dummies” (see?).

Then, we supped. The food was outstanding, prepared with the utmost care, and the service was impeccable. Our waiter was named, er, um, uhhh, Uccisore (serendipitously) and he was just terrific. I was a little concerned at one point, because both Uccisore and Uccisore had to suddenly bolt to the restrooms at the end of the meal (just as the check arrived), but they said they were okay, and seemed to be, after that. Thusly fortified, we took in some culture.

We retired to the local cinema, which was a sort of an art house, screening that night a Fellini, a french psychodrama (is that redundant?), an Indie flick about a young man struggling against an indifferent universe and Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Beginnings, which turned out to be a delightful family classic. Uccisore, in particular, seemed to enjoy it, giving Uccisore and me some keen insight into the protagonist’s chainsaw technique. Seems Ucci, being a northwoods Mainer, is quite proficient with a Poulan himself. And then, all too soon, we parted.

We walked out to the cars, and chatted for a while. I felt quite tired, and unfortunately had to leave just as Ucci realised that he had a couple of chainsaws in his trunk, and offered to drive us to an isolated spot, where we wouldn’t bother anyone, and re-enact some of the scenes in the movie we had just seen. I just couldn’t do it. But I hope to meet with him and Uccisore again. He has invited me to the abandoned farm at which his avatar pic was taken. I’m just dyin’ to see it.

Thanks Ucci. And Ucci. It was fun.

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:laughing:

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Ok, now I believe that Ucci has replaced Faust.

Can anyone prove this to be untrue?

By the way, I think that it’s great that people “become” their screen names. I now that it’s not new, but I love it.

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Impressive (the cleverness I mean).

*[size=84]screening that night a Fellini, a french psychodrama (is that redundant?)[/size]
:laughing:

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Well, that was a good report, but I think there’s a couple of details that need to be cleared up just tad- it’s amazing the different interpretations that come about from the same event!

First, the name thing. Me and my friend Uccisore met faust in the parking lot. I guess he’d just gotten out of work, because he still wearing a Citgo nametag which read “Ryan”. I cautiously said “Ryan, is that you?” to which he replied, as best I can recall,

“You WILL call me faust, or I will visit the horrors of the Atheist God upon you!”

I acquiesced, after a brief but frustrating conversation where I tried in vain to convince him that the term “Atheist God” was strictly meaningless. I believe he said I was ‘being coy’.
Our time in Borders went pretty much as he described, with the minor detail that he forced me and Uccisore to pay for his books. It was no big deal, but that was a major trend throughout the evening, his insistance that since he had to ‘come all that way’, it was only fair that me and my friend pay for everything.

I have no further imput to offer about the food, other than to say it was well worth the money. The waiter, another Uccisore, was obviously a man of style and taste, a long time veteran of the ‘noble food-service profession’. “Noble food-service profession” is the term faust insisted on using in place of ‘waiter’, for reasons he never made clear. Also, we all decided that the next time we meet, it would be my turn to pick where we had dinner- this place was faust’s idea. I gently tried to steer him towards a place a little more high-brow, like Olive Garden, but he was quite insistant. Anyways, I welcome the challenge of trying to top his choice.

The film was good, though we took vastly different impressions away from it. Me and Uccisore (not the veteren of the noble food-service profession, he didn’t come) liked it quite a bit, but partway through I distinctly heard faust weeping. I asked him about it later, and he confessed that the film reminded him of our excellent dinner, and in fact he was still hungry. He said he had to leave, which was rather abrupt, but acceptable I suppose. We did see him pulling into the parking lot of the local Applebee’s as we hit the highway, though I’m not sure why.

All in all, an excellent time. I hope we’re both in the area to do it again some time.

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Uccisore wrote:

On this much I concur. (Is that reduntant?)

Buwhahaha!

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Good reports =D>

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lol :laughing:

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There is poetry in accountancy.

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For some reason, I think they’re both not exactly telling the truth. There is poetic license, is there such a thing as poetic lying? :laughing:

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Yes, that’s exactly what I thought.

I said to myself: Faust and Ucci are yielding symbols, they are deploying allegories. And for that, their rendering is all the more charming.

Plus that stuff like

is always fun to read.

I look forward to my meeting any one of them, should such a gathering may ever enter the narrow specter of possibility.

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Well, now if I can just get my friend Uccisore to write something here, we can debate the inherent contradictions in the three Synoptic accounts of our meeting in perpetuity. Although, it really won’t have the same oomph unless you all wait until 40 years after the three of us have died to discuss it.

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Ucc,

Such a historic meeting of minds and burgers needs a written and published account. I’ll be happy to write a preface to the preface…

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Ah, Uccisore, see how the story evolves. Er, I mean develops. Now, we all had burgers. In fact, tentative, I had a quessadilla, of uncertain variety. I can attest to a cheese-like substance, but to no more than that. And the prequel to this was something resembling nachos, but also reminiscent of the contents of certain dumpsters I have seen outside other establishments. And what appeared to be Velveeta sticks, deepfried at the factory, and brought back to life through the magic of electronics.

I suspect transfats, by the way.

While I’m providing details of our sumptuous repast, I will tell you that the charming hostess, upon our arrival, asked us if we wanted to sit in the back of the room, near the kitchen, in an unusually high-sided booth. We declined, stating that we were philosophers, and that our appearance was no real cause for alarm. She led us to the nearest table, and hurried away, no doubt overtaxed by the midafternoon rush.

We quickly made friends with our neighbors, two ultra-middle-aged women, who suggested we order from the Weight-Watcher’s section of the menu, which we considered ever so briefly. They did not overburden us with conversation after that, which was, I thought, considerate.

We did, of course, discuss some intellectual matters. Uccisore wondered if Ben had rented the suit that he wore in his last avatar picture. I opined that tentative was not a pawnbroker at all, but that this was a euphemism for “dealer of used souvenir ashtrays”. And we both speculated on the meaning of Obw’s tag. I guessed that it stood for “Owned by (a) woman”, while Uccisore supposed it might be short for “Oh boy! Waffles!”.

Uccisore’s friend, Uccisore, good-naturedly conversed along with us, even though it was clear that he did not quite share our views, at one point exclaiming, “The keys to happiness are regular bowel movements, keeping your socks dry, and a bottle of Momma Moose’s Olde Maine Hot Sauce, you hopeless eggheads!” He later explained that “hopeless egghead” is, for him, a term of endearment. A man of few words, he chooses them wisely.

We chatted away until the manager asked us if there was anything else he could get for us. Well, he asked us three times, the last of these while picking up my jacket and handing it to me. And then we left to see the movie, which Uccisore described as “a film I could have made myself, but my lawyer told me not to”.

That’s it in a nutshell.

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I’m trying to come up with a preface, but all I can think of is Heinlein’s “A Stranger in a Strange Land” I’ll work on it. Mexican in Maine? You’ve GOT to be kidding!

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fausty,

You made my night. =D>

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Didn’t you pick the restaurant? And make them pay for it? You could have gotten better food.

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Yeah, Faust is a great writer when he tries. He has a good narrative.

Now Faust can do one of three things at this point:

  1. Respond and say “but I wasn’t even trying.”
  2. Respond and say “gee, thanks.”
  3. Respond and say “I don’t think it was good at all.”

Number two. Generally, Faust has a disposition of giving-back compliments but in a secretive smug way…it is a false return-- “aw, thanks!” This is a privilege for only those who are well written; the kind of people who can “write their way out of anything.” Because Faust has this capacity, his modesty is an innocent toungue-in-cheek, but it must pass without either person mentioning it (like we’ve done here) or he is foiled.

“Why they call it dope”

…is a front, folks. The joke is on us.

I petition Faust to solve the lying Spartan paradox manually here at ILP, without cheating and looking it up.

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Okay creation imperfect - we’ve lost you. Trust me when I tell you that it doesn’t matter.

Detrop - I’ve been meaning to ask you. How do you get that accent over the “e”?

Oh - How was it that the Spartan was lying down and erect at the same time? I’d answer, but it’s a family website. Hint: he actually did do this “manually”.

And, well, aw…thanks.

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éééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééééé

I point my finger and go “haha!” éééééééééééééééééé

The best quality of faust’s writing is his insider joking, fo sho.

And, we all gotta lower our egos to enable the points to hit, but faust
shouldn’t have to. We know he’s sincere, and I, for one, am majorly sucking up for my own ego’s sake.