From tob@cwis.unomaha.edu Wed Apr 28 10:48:43 1993
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Date: Wed, 28 Apr 1993 10:48:27 -0500 (CDT)
From: Tob Wood <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
Subject: Part II (fwd)
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...............................................................................
:I am a clueless newbie.    More info via `finger'        tob@cwis.unomaha.edu:
:.............................................................................:                                                                      

---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Wed, 28 Apr 1993 09:45:28 -0500 (CDT)
From: Tob Wood <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
To: New Subscribers <cdibble@acsu.buffalo.edu>, gt6877c@prism.gatech.edu
Subject: Part II


This is the rest of the `Tob in Chicago' story.  I suppose it should be
called `Me Eating Breakfast, But Not Really'.
The guy I went to Chicago with wrote a story about the trip for the newspaper.
It's really more about the concert itself, but it is kind of funny and offers
another perspective AND proof that I really was in Chicago (nobody
believes me).

...............................................................................
:I am a clueless newbie.    More info via `finger'        tob@cwis.unomaha.edu:
:.............................................................................:                                                                      

---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Thu, 1 Apr 1993 11:20:12 -0600 (CST)
From: Tob Wood <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
To: jfurr@polaris.async.vt.edu
Subject: Continued...

 Sorry about that, it was my sort-of girlfriend, the one in this story.
Now here comes the good part:  (where was I? oh yeah...)

So we're driving around looking for a place to eat breakfast (which is
something I don't normally do so I'm not really paying any attention) and
we eventually stop, park, and my friends tell me we are going to the 
"West Egg Cafe and Art Gallery" about a block away.  This is fine by
me as I believe every art gallery should have a restaurant (or at least
a bar) in it.  We eat.  Everyone has heuvos rancheros except me.  I have
an omelete.  It's one of those 'hip' yuppie type breakfast places with
pastel neon on the walls and light green umbrellas above the tables.  You
know the kind of place I'm talking about (if not, you're a lucky man!), with
antique barn wood cut out ducks 'n shit all over the place.  Decent food,
tolerable atmosphere if you can stomach this 'fake counrty' stuff.  I can
barely hold my water in these types of places; there must be at least
a hundred and thirty or so of them here in Omaha (BTW, I got a gift
certificate yesterday for one of them from my parents for my bday.  What
the hell were they thinking?!  Oh well, 25 bucks worth of free food...).
I read in some almanac that Omaha has the most restuarants per capita in
the U.S., even beating out Manhattan (where you can't spit without hitting
a restaurant).  We also have the most softball teams; go figure.
  Anyway,  I get done eating and decide to go look around in the gallery.
Saw some O.K. stuff and soon my friends joined me (they're not art lovers).
As we were walking out, we had to go by this souvenir counter with t-shirts
with logos on them and coffee mugs and that kind of crap (envision this in
your head).  I walk by and staring me in the face is a sweatshirt with A COW
ON IT'S HIND LEGS WITH SUNGLASSES, BANDOLIERS, AND BIG GUN (a la Terminator
style) ADMONISHING ME TO "MAKE IT'S DAY" BY EATING AT THIS RESTAURANT!!  I
freak out at this point blithering about Terror Cows and my companions (not
to mention the employees) are ready to hit me over the head with large
wooden objects while trying to apologize to the other patrons.  Man, I'm
telling you it was not a pretty sight, but my friends are used to these
kinds of outbursts (everyone pretty much thinks I'm a little off my bean).
I was spared the experience of explaining myself on the way out because
they just wrote it off as "another Tob thing".  However, it gets worse.
  We're walking back to the car and on the way past a bookstore window
I catch a glimpse of a book out of the corner of my eye.  It was a large
coffee table style volume with (what I thought was) a lemur on the cover.
Of course, I start pointing and screaming "Ah!  Ah!  Ah!" over and over
again while jumping up and down until I realized it wasn't a lemur; it
was a marmoset (which are cool, but hey, not as cool as lemurs).  I
calmed down while my sort-of girlfriend said things like "Godddamn! What
_IS_ your problem?!!"   I just frinked and rolled my eyes in such a way
as to convey "I really enjoyed sleeping with you last night", but I
knew it was lost on her and I could never explain any of this to anyone.

   All in all, it was a pretty bizarre weekend, and I'm still in a haze
about it.  People never believe me when I tell them weird shit happens
to me.  I wish a TV news crew would follow me around so I would have
proof of my life experienced.  On some days, my life could be prime time.

Tob
p.s. No, I didn't have sex with her that night; someone else was also
in the room.  But she is a spectacular cuddler.