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Odd People: Cranks, Eccentrics & Nutters

551166G said:
Gordon: "I tell the time but sometimes I get it wrong."

Except for the tramp thing, Gordon and I are the same*. I too tell the time but am sometimes wrong. WHERE'S MY HONOURARY WEBSITE?

[*Given a compelling reason, like the desire to make something special of poor Gordon The Tramp, people score the hits and forget about all the misses. Most people can reasonable guess the time. Urban settings have hundreds of clues: buses, lunch time crowds, store openings/closings, visible wristwatches, time displays on buildings, sun position, shadows, etc. Rural settings have fewer such clues, but enough, enough.. like the position of the sun/shadow declinations, etc.]
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Yeah, I'm not sure persons having this "superpower" really need to be honoured/recognized with a website (though I do not begrudge Gordon the Tramp his as it may have more to do with other aspects of his personality!).

I'm sure many people can guess the time and don't even know it (because they don't just let themselves come up with it, without making too much of an effort). We do have an internal clock (circadian rhythms and all that), and there is probably a syncing of this to external clock time in a majority of cases. I am always surprised when I guess the time, and without really thinking about it, in most cases hit on a time that's correct within a couple of minutes, if not dead on. I think it's more surprising if a person can't do it. (Maybe the innate ability atrophies as a result of always having watches/devices to consult?)
 
rynner2 said:
Chile pole dancer arrested

Police in Chile have arrested a stripper who was attempting to remove her clothes outside the presidential palace in the capital, Santiago.

Her arrest comes three days after she performed a series of striptease dances on the Santiago underground, the metro.

Monserrat Morilles told reporters that her performances were aimed at challenging the prudishness of Chilean society and that they would continue.

Chilean media has dubbed her "La Diosa

del Metro" or the Metro Goddess.

'Timid country'

Ms Morilles, 26, called her performances "happy minutes".

A professional pole dancer, she boarded the train at one station, and stripped down to skimpy underwear in time to exit at the next station.

"This is just a beginning. We are starting an idea here that will grow and be developed further," she told Reuters news agency as she was being taken into custody.

"Chile is still a pretty timid country," her manager, Gustavo Pradenas, said.

"People aren't very extroverted and we want to take aim at that and make Chile a happier country."

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7501015.stm
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I don't think Chile is unique in that regard. She should do a world tour (if she's still around) and convert the world's overly timid masses, until there are pole dancers on every street.
 
Swifty said:
I've found the fastest way to get rid of beggars is to reply with "I was just about to ask you for a quid!" .. they soon clear off. More often than not, someone's spotted me having a smoke and asks "Have you got a spare fag?" .. then I reply (with loads in my pocket) "Sorry, I've just blagged this one from someone over there." .. if a beggar's really cheeky they'll sometimes reply with "Can I share that one with you?" .. then i agree, smoke it until there's one drag left, hand it to them with a big smile and a "There you go mate!".
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This reminded of something that happened about a decade ago. I used to smoke: two cigarettes a day, smoked along with a caffeinated beverage at a downtown cafe with a heated (in fall-winter-spring) streetside patio. My city's small downtown core has a years-old community of beggars (mainly drug addicts) who are on the streets plying their trade every day. To give one a smoke or some coins even once means that from that point on you will be hassled by them all the time, when you are just trying to enjoy your smokes, coffee, and reading material in peace.

So one day I'm sitting there, and one of these fellows approaches and doesn't immediately ask for money, but starts a conversation: joking, flattering, complimenting me (we're both male, but this is done in a light, funny way that one can't take seriously). The man had a silver tongue, and it was only after a lengthy and very casual establishing of rapport that he finally broached the subject of a handout.

At that point, I was willing to give him some money, but I was there at that same spot every day at the same time, and I didn't want to become his daily benefactor. So I told him, I'll give you some money today, but you have to promise not to ask me again for a year. (I can't remember if I went into the details of my reason for that request...) Anyway, he agreed not to ask me for a year, and I give him some money.

A year goes by (I no doubt saw him in the street during that time, but he never interfered with my readerly absorption), and then in the 53rd week -- I knew because both times were the week of my birthday -- he approaches and launches into his usual jokes/compliments/flattery routine, though this time with noticeably less vigour and smoothness (maybe the drugs were finally taking their toll?). Surprised that he has returned for coin so promptly right after the year is up, I ask him if he remembers what I'd told him a year earlier. He remembers nothing! I was preparing to make my yearly donation, but just then he goes off on a racist rant to the Asian group seated next to me, and within a few minutes is sent packing by the management (so I never did get to contribute).

And that was the last I ever saw of him.
 
OneWingedBird said:
There's an old hippy floating around Leeds like that, only he says he purposely wears camoflage to be seen. :D He did also tell me once that a paradox was something you put down the toilet.
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I`ve been told I can shove my paradigms up my ass before, but this is the first I hear of paradoxes down the toilet!
 
It's quite possible that Jeff Vandermeer reads the FT, so maybe he'll see his own tweet here one day ...
https://twitter.com/i/web/status/1210934404605976576

Writing-wise, most ridiculous moment of decade was as writer-guest for a workshop held at someone's house. During the workshop, I got a massive headache & asked for aspirin. A woman gave me aspirin after which I began to itch. "Sorry--gave u my anti-itching pills by mistake."
The workshop itself was contentious and reaction to criticism over the top. I kept being told how I could curb my strangeness in my prose, too. Someone had the idea I liked diet soda and was upset when I didn't drink any. Workshop mercifully ended although I'm still itching.

Then, shown my room and handed a U.S. Postal Service Priority mail box. "Our dog is scared of the postman so use this to fend the dog off." The dog is an exuberant golden retriever and the door to my room doesn't close.
So the first half of the night, the dog smashes into the small room and I, half-asleep, rise holding the box, the dog gets scared and runs out. Repeat this scenario several times.

At 2 am, a knock on the door. The owner of the house, part of the workshop, has a copy of City of Saints & Madmen in his hands, with mark-up. It's been out 7 years. "I just thought I could show you some changes you could make if you wanted to become a more successful writer."
My reply to this kind offer in the middle of the night to critique a published book of mine that's received wide-spread acclaim is a very grumpy "fuck off." I resume my attempts to keep the friendly but huge and slobbery golden retriever out of my room.

IN THE MORNING, I bleary-eyed walk out to the curb to wait for my ride, to find another guest, who had been sleeping on the couch, has backed his huge car up to the garage of the house and is revving the engine, filling the garage with carbon monoxide.
When I ask this guy, who got a bad critique from the owner of the house, what he's doing, he says "I'm going to poison his whole house." And keeps revving the engine. While I am desperately hoping for a ride soon because this is too surreal even for me.
Whereupon owner of the house comes out & in a smug tone explains to the guy in car that he has three filtration systems & there is no way the whole house will fill up with carbon monoxide, so just keep revving. Which he does. Thankfully, my ride arrives & and I leave. (the end)
 
He was possibly the oddest looking person I'd ever seen, even after living in San Francisco for two decades.

I was heading home fairly late that night, and I cut down Stevensosn Alley between 7th Street and 6th. Standing in a loading dock on Stevenson, nearly fading into the shadows, was the personage himself. He was short and slight built, very, very thin, and very dark skinned--almost more like a Papuan or a Melanesian than most African-Americans. Balding, with short hair a short beard, and eyes that I noticed right away, because they were so big and dark and liquidly bright.

He wore nothing at all except for the scrap of a rag of a tatter of a bright red ballet tutu. The bodice and flouncy sheer skirt were so very ripped and torn and holed that it looked like he wore a net of holes instead of any garment.; it was literally more open space than fabric. Other than that, nada, not even shoes.

We made eye contact. I'd just been taking my loaded pot pipe out of my pocket for a few tokes to float me down the alley, and i stopped and asked him, "Sir? Would you like a hit off my pot pipe?" He just-barely-nodded and I handed it to him. While I was going in my jacket pocket for a lighter, he produced a lighter of his own from somewhere (I can't imagine where) on his person, clicked it aflame, touched the fire to the pipe and commenced to inhale...

...and kept on inhaling. I don't mean he started to yum down the smoke hastily greedily like taking advantage of the situation to rip me off; no, he drew in one single slow smooth inbreath for like a whole entire minute, without pausing. I had never seen the like. Wordless still, he handed me back my ashed pipe, then blew out all the smoke at once in a dense cloud around his head. He smiled very faintly, a gleam in his big eyes. Gave me another barely perceptible nod, and faded back into the loading dock's deep shadow.

I proceeded home bemused and a little awe struck.
 
His Extremely DeLux Self said:
He was possibly the oddest looking person I'd ever seen, even after living in San Francisco for two decades.

I was heading home fairly late that night, and I cut down Stevensosn Alley between 7th Street and 6th. Standing in a loading dock on Stevenson, nearly fading into the shadows, was the personage himself. He was short and slight built, very, very thin, and very dark skinned--almost more like a Papuan or a Melanesian than most African-Americans. Balding, with short hair a short beard, and eyes that I noticed right away, because they were so big and dark and liquidly bright.

He wore nothing at all except for the scrap of a rag of a tatter of a bright red ballet tutu. The bodice and flouncy sheer skirt were so very ripped and torn and holed that it looked like he wore a net of holes instead of any garment.; it was literally more open space than fabric. Other than that, nada, not even shoes.

We made eye contact. I'd just been taking my loaded pot pipe out of my pocket for a few tokes to float me down the alley, and i stopped and asked him, "Sir? Would you like a hit off my pot pipe?" He just-barely-nodded and I handed it to him. While I was going in my jacket pocket for a lighter, he produced a lighter of his own from somewhere (I can't imagine where) on his person, clicked it aflame, touched the fire to the pipe and commenced to inhale...

...and kept on inhaling. I don't mean he started to yum down the smoke hastily greedily like taking advantage of the situation to rip me off; no, he drew in one single slow smooth inbreath for like a whole entire minute, without pausing. I had never seen the like. Wordless still, he handed me back my ashed pipe, then blew out all the smoke at once in a dense cloud around his head. He smiled very faintly, a gleam in his big eyes. Gave me another barely perceptible nod, and faded back into the loading dock's deep shadow.

I proceeded home bemused and a little awe struck.
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That is singularly awesome. His lungs must be HUGE!
 
I miss San Francisco!

There used to be a very strapping, joyous man in a leotard and sparkly fairy wings who demonstrated balletic roller skating on the sidewalk at the north corner of Sanchez and 15th. Alas, he is long gone.
 
IbisNibs said:
I miss San Francisco!

There used to be a very strapping, joyous man in a leotard and sparkly fairy wings who demonstrated balletic roller skating on the sidewalk at the north corner of Sanchez and 15th. Alas, he is long gone.
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This roller girl directs traffic:
angela.jpg


'Roller Girl' well known in Vancouver

Dawson is a familiar face in downtown Vancouver and on the city's Downtown Eastside, where she can often be seen in her trademark bright pink outfits and big headphones, whizzing around on pink rollerblades.

According to the tribunal's decision, Dawson was born intersex in 1968, but was given the name Jeffrey Allan Dawson and assigned a male gender at her father's insistence. She says she has identified as a female since her teens.

Dawson testified she fled an abusive family home when she was 16 and never graduated high school. She went on to rack up an extensive criminal history, involving violence, drugs and fraud.

She has previously been convicted of manslaughter and spent at least 10 years in a male penitentiary. In more recent years, Vancouver police have had numerous encounters with Dawson, frequently ticketing her for trying to direct traffic.

Roller Girl Wins Damages
 
IbisNibs said:
I miss San Francisco!

There used to be a very strapping, joyous man in a leotard and sparkly fairy wings who demonstrated balletic roller skating on the sidewalk at the north corner of Sanchez and 15th. Alas, he is long gone.
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I lived there with my family for a year in '86, I remember watching break dancers on one of the piers, pop locking mime artists with yazoos in their mouths, someone playing an electric harp, Chinatown, all you can eat sea food deals and loads of other stuff. I vowed to move there when I was an adult. I sort of did with Cromer.
 
Mythopoeika said:
Only you...
Yazoo-Milkshake-Flavoured-Milk-Drink-FULL-CASE-10.jpg
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hee hee .. seriously though, you remember the sound those little plastic things made? .. sort of like a mechanical motor? .. so they'd do the robot moves and blow through the yazoo at the same time to enhance the effect. You probably had to be there.
 
Swifty said:
hee hee .. seriously though, you remember the sound those little plastic things made? .. sort of like a mechanical motor? .. so they'd do the robot moves and blow through the yazoo at the same time to enhance the effect. You probably had to be there.
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Kazoo!
 
Swifty said:
I lived there with my family for a year in '86, I remember watching break dancers on one of the piers, pop locking mime artists with yazoos in their mouths, someone playing an electric harp, Chinatown, all you can eat sea food deals and loads of other stuff. I vowed to move there when I was an adult. I sort of did with Cromer.
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Cromer should be twinned with San Fransisco. I spent a few days in SF in 1980 - a fascinating place.
 
escargot said:
Years ago I read how men would smuggle letters into the Maze prison in Belfast.

The letters would be written on cigarette papers, rolled up tight and tucked into foreskins. Replies would be sent back the same way.
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Messages would always be on point. Roger that!
 
PeteS said:
Cromer should be twinned with San Fransisco. I spent a few days in SF in 1980 - a fascinating place.
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I've read that San Fransisco would be barely recognisable today to people who remember it from the 80's so I'd prefer not to go back these days to be honest. I expect people who lived there in the 60's feel the same way. I just remember how vibrant the different cultures, art, food and music were. I remember being shocked when we drove past a giant billboard advertising gay phone chat lines, something very few people would even notice or think twice about these days but Frisco didn't give a shit. I also tried to get lost in Chinatown as often as possible but my Dad kept finding me . I had ELECTRO 7 on cassette tape, I'd go and watch them break dancing on the pier thinking I was up to date but they were playing ELECTRO 13 ffs .. and some scruffy bloke was going round with a bucket collecting money for them .. except he wasn't, he was a crack head collecting money for himself as I was told but the breakers left him alone for whatever reason.
 
escargot said:
Years ago I read how men would smuggle letters into the Maze prison in Belfast.

The letters would be written on cigarette papers, rolled up tight and tucked into foreskins. Replies would be sent back the same way.
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It was literally only yesterday when, reading another forum, I realised the real target demographic for what I had previously dismissed, somewhat naively as simple novelties: miniature mobile phones. Note the thoughtfully rounded edges.
 
IbisNibs said:
I miss San Francisco!

There used to be a very strapping, joyous man in a leotard and sparkly fairy wings who demonstrated balletic roller skating on the sidewalk at the north corner of Sanchez and 15th. Alas, he is long gone.
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How long? I saw someone like this in Petaluma last year, made my day!
 
Long gone as in decades. But that makes me happy, that there is someone in Petaluma who carries on the tradition. If he's the same person, he's in his "Golden Years". Good for him, regardless!
 
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