Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

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LordMortis
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by LordMortis »

Fretmute wrote: Mon Sep 17, 2018 10:36 am
Blackhawk wrote: Mon Sep 17, 2018 10:33 am I have no idea what that means.
It's from The Great Gatsby.
And an allusion to TS Elliot

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/ ... waste-land
Spoiler:
The Waste Land
By T. S. Eliot

FOR EZRA POUND
IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: “Stetson!
“You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
“That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
“Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
“Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
“Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
“Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
“You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”


II. A Game of Chess

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”

I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.

“What is that noise?”
The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
Nothing again nothing.
“Do
“You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
“Nothing?”

I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”

But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It’s so elegant
So intelligent
“What shall I do now? What shall I do?”
“I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
“With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
“What shall we ever do?”
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said—
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don’t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.


III. The Fire Sermon

The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck
And on the king my father’s death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc’d.
Tereu

Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.

“This music crept by me upon the waters”
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

“Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.”

“My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised a ‘new start.’
I made no comment. What should I resent?”

“On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.”
la la

To Carthage then I came

Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest

burning


IV. Death by Water

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.


V. What the Thunder Said

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?

What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
DA
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
DA
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon—O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
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Isgrimnur
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Isgrimnur »

There's a film version as well.
It's almost as if people are the problem.
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Fretmute
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Fretmute »

Isgrimnur wrote: Mon Sep 17, 2018 10:45 am There's a film version as well.
Several!
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by McNutt »

I always thought it represented God.
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Z-Corn
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Z-Corn »

Isgrimnur wrote: Mon Sep 17, 2018 10:45 am There's a film version as well.

Image
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LordMortis
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by LordMortis »

Z-Corn wrote: Mon Sep 17, 2018 1:47 pm
Isgrimnur wrote: Mon Sep 17, 2018 10:45 am There's a film version as well.

Image
Heeeeeyyy



Of course, I had a hard time getting through the novel as well and didn't really walk away with anything but a grade afterwards. I much preferred the way Flannery O'Conner tried to talk about many of the same US history -isms. As in I liked her work but not his.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Z-Corn »

I love the classics and I hated this book and movie.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by hepcat »

I love the classics and I love The Great Gatsby. It's essential reading, in my opinion. The movies I can take or leave though.
Covfefe!
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by GreenGoo »

I'm covered. I watched the family guy episode.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Daehawk »

Enlarge Image
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by GargoyleBoy »

Daehawk wrote: Tue Sep 18, 2018 8:16 am Enlarge Image
Ouch.
"Never write anything unless you wanted it copied and handed around. Don't speak to two people unless you are physically strong and fast enough to catch and kill both of them with bare hands." -Tareeq
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by wonderpug »

Though the monkey's paw grants you five wishes, each wish granted comes with a terrible cost.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by dbt1949 »

I tried doing that hand maneuver. No way.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Daehawk »

Same here. Nope. My wife is always doing weird finger bends that I cant do as she is double jointed. So when I do something she cant she just pulls out thumb moves and such. Not even she can do that one.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by LordMortis »

hepcat wrote: Mon Sep 17, 2018 4:44 pm I love The Great Gatsby. It's essential reading, in my opinion.
I swear to pancake you hold your misguided opinions just to torment me.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by hepcat »

Nope, simply because I love good literature, movies and comics. You, on the other hand, miss Hee Haw, books written by William Shatner and the comic stylings of Yakov Smirnoff.

...which is okay. Those of us with discerning taste NEED a way to measure that. :mrgreen:
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LordMortis
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by LordMortis »

hepcat wrote: Tue Sep 18, 2018 2:19 pm Nope, simply because I love good literature, movies and comics. You, on the other hand, miss Hee Haw, books written by William Shatner and the comic stylings of Yakov Smirnoff.

...which is okay. Those of us with discerning taste NEED a way to measure that. :mrgreen:
:oops: Never saw Hee Haw, though I do remember wanting to learn the Banjo with little color dots from the TV commercials, never read Shatner book, and the only I know about Yakov Smirnoff is the Russia.... you gag. :oops:

I can't even live up to your low brow expectations.

Now THIS. THIS I love

A year later I could still put this on repeat



That and I love interpretations of out a fantasy life, only to find out the protagonist is really in a fantasy moments before death.

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Post by Z-Corn »

True story, when Hee Haw would come on I would go to my room and plot how to run away because I knew these weren't my real parents.

When Lawrence Welk came on I would sneak into the kitchen and put ground glass in food because the whole family needed to die...slowly...
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by LordMortis »

Z-Corn wrote: Tue Sep 18, 2018 2:48 pm When Lawrence Welk came on I would sneak into the kitchen and put ground glass in food because the whole family needed to die...slowly...
I never saw Welk as a child either. I remember hating the idea of the show and I don't know why. Nowadays, if I happen to be channel surfing for television to put on the back ground and 1970s Welk or Soul Train or any of that comes happens to come up, I'm all about leaving that on as the sound track to video gaming or cleaning or whatever.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Daehawk »

Why does Yoda in that video remind me of Peter Giffith's pedophile neighbor?
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by hepcat »

Familiacide seems like a pretty strong reaction to polka music. Couldn’t you try to meet them halfway and only wound them if they switched to folk music?
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Post by Daehawk »

Had to watch both HeeHaww and Welk as a child. HeeHaw I learned to put up with, even enjoy in small bouts. Welk I have a deep hatred for no matter what my dad said about how hot the girls were. Tiny bubbles my ass.
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Post by GreenGoo »

hepcat wrote: Tue Sep 18, 2018 9:12 pm Familiacide seems like a pretty strong reaction to polka music. Couldn’t you try to meet them halfway and only wound them if they switched to folk music?
Nip it in the bud. If it gets loose it might propagate and then you'll never stop it.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by hepcat »

Daehawk wrote: Tue Sep 18, 2018 9:22 pm Had to watch both HeeHaww and Welk as a child. HeeHaw I learned to put up with, even enjoy in small bouts. Welk I have a deep hatred for no matter what my dad said about how hot the girls were. Tiny bubbles my ass.
How can you hate Lawrence Welk? I would go with indifference, or annoyance at the very most. It’s not like Larry started off every show by kicking one of the dancers in the shins then hurling insults at the front row. He was Mr. Rogers for the over 50 crowd.

My parents watched Hee Haw every Sunday. I remember being impressed that they got Jonathan Winters to appear on the show.
Covfefe!
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Carpet_pissr
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Carpet_pissr »

Watching Hee Haw and Welk in the same household? That’s like loving the Beatles AND Elvis!
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GreenGoo
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Post by GreenGoo »

hepcat wrote: Tue Sep 18, 2018 9:51 pm My parents watched Hee Haw every Sunday. I remember being impressed that they got Jonathan Winters to appear on the show.
Hee Haw too highbrow for Winters, ya think?
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Post by dbt1949 »

When thinking of what people watched 50 years ago you have to take in consideration what was available and how many channels we had to watch.
Living in the Los Angeles area we had I think 7 channels, more than anywhere else I knew. I don't know how many New York had. But most places were lucky to have three.
In the air force stationed in northern Maine (early 70s) we had one station that broadcast whatever it wanted from all three networks and the PBS channel. That was it, 2 channels.Working the grave yard shift we all talked about the soap operas as that's all there was besides Sesame Street.
(talking in Bela Lugosi voice....We had one.......two. Two channels)
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Daehawk »

We had 3 clear channels (CBS,NBC,ABC) and one snowy fuzzy UHF channel.

At midnight they all went off the air after John Wayne recited the poem America - Why I love her.....or the other off air one High Flight with the Starfighter jet.

My wife lived behind a small mountain and thus was worse off for all she got clear was NBC.

Heres some memories for ya.........



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Post by Z-Corn »

Daehawk wrote: Tue Sep 18, 2018 9:22 pm HeeHaw I enjoy.
I knew this before you typed it.
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GreenGoo
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by GreenGoo »

Hee Haw was a parody of rural culture. It didn't take itself seriously. It was popular in both rural and urban markets. Making fun of Hee Haw because it was too "hick" is like making fun of Jeff Foxworthy for being a redneck.

"That's the joke, son"

Making fun of Hee Haw because it was terrible is another kettle of fish entirely.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by LordMortis »

2,4,7,9,20,24,50,56,62.

Though technically 9 was Windsor and 24 was Toledo, but they came in clear enough.

That would have been CBS, NBC, ABC, CBC, Detroit Local with a syndicated cult series and movies and by 76 or so became the first OTA pay station, Toledo Local, Detroit Local with a lot of syndicated classics and movies and eventually sports, PBS, Detroit really really Local with late night light porn, which I never understood how they got away with. On clear days we also go Ann Arbor's channel 11 and a few other odd UHF channels.
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Post by wonderpug »

LordMortis wrote: Wed Sep 19, 2018 9:28 am 2,4,7,9,20,24,50,56,62.
Image
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Post by Isgrimnur »

The numbers, Mason! What do they mean?!
It's almost as if people are the problem.
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Post by GreenGoo »

edit: Thought thrice about it.
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by dbt1949 »

i was talking about channels pre UHF. I think that came in the late 60s. We even had a bullfighting UHF channel where they killed the bull and everything.
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Post by wonderpug »

Let's see what my dusty memory can still summon up from my childhood...

2 - Fox
3 - NES
4 - NBC
5 - CBS
7 - ABC
8 - NBC
9 - PBS
11 - ABC?
14 - spanish
20 - local, then later WB
36 - weird local channel
44 - somehow I remember it was KBHK, but don't know if that was tied to a big network
54 - PBS?
60 - weird local channel?
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by LordMortis »

dbt1949 wrote: Wed Sep 19, 2018 3:02 pm i was talking about channels pre UHF.
And radio before that new fangled FM came and killed everything and they had to go and change records from cylinders to disks...(Though I have to admit I was always smitten with record cylinders)
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hepcat
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by hepcat »

I'll always associate the major networks thusly:

3 is NBC
5 is ABC
8 is CBS
Covfefe!
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Post by stimpy »

hepcat wrote: Wed Sep 19, 2018 3:28 pm I'll always associate the major networks thusly:

3 is NBC
5 is ABC
8 is CBS
2 is CBS
5 is NBC
7 is ABC
He/Him/His/Porcupine
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Re: Silly pics...what'cha got??....maybe NSFW

Post by Blackhawk »

We moved all over the place, but it was always NBC, ABC, CBS, and PBS.
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