From tob@cwis.unomaha.edu Wed Apr 28 10:46:33 1993
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Date: Wed, 28 Apr 1993 10:46:10 -0500 (CDT)
From: Tob Wood <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
Subject: Simplemania (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 09:17:17 -0500 (CDT)
From: Tob Wood <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
To: New Subscribers <cdibble@acsu.buffalo.edu>, gt6877c@prism.gatech.edu
Subject: Simplemania (fwd)



Some background information that seems appropriate at this time.

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

---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Wed, 21 Apr 1993 18:47:02 -0500 (CDT)
From: Tob Wood <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
To: Devoid Meaning <dmanning@cwis.unomaha.edu>,
     King of the Wild Frontier <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
Cc: Kansas City Chung <echung@cwis.unomaha.edu>
Subject: Simplemania


   When I was a senior in high school, I used to be in a band named
"Simplemania".  People to this day (seven years later) still comment on
the name and inevitably ask where it cam from.  This is the story of the
origin of the word Simplemania, and every single word is true.

   Back in those days we used to hang out in our guitarists basement all
night for a lack of anything better to do.  We did this practically
every night; we would watch tv, listen to music, play Ms. Pac-Man and
generally do really weird stuff to keep ourselves entertained (some
of those anecdotes will be recounted later).  Some nights it was just
a few members of the band.  Some nights it was our entire entourage.
Usually it was around ten people.
   Chris' (our lead guitarist) brother Adam was basically the ringleader
and agent provocatuer, and he could get people to do anything.  He would
come up with ideas and then get someone to execute them.  I was game for
anything.  Pat (our drummer, now works for Sprint) generally would
participate.  Tim (our rhythm guitarist, now plays for 311) was shy and
wouldn't do anything alone, but he'd jump on the bandwagon with a little
coaxing.  Then there was Gene (keyboard player, now grad student).  He
was the craziest of us all and would do the weirdest shit with barely
any prodding at all.  The bizarrest stuff usually came out of Gene, who
we nicknamed `Crap' (and other variations on that theme) for a reason
that is lost to me now, but he didn't mind, and besides, it was funnier
that hell.   That was one of our main goals; to be ultra-funny, but in
ways nobody else would understand.   The scene is set.
   One night, probably after practice, we were doing the regular `Basement
Club' thing.  This was before we got any gigs and we still hadn't come up
with a name for our band.  We had some mediocre names (which escape me now),
but nothing definite that everyone could agree on.  We were bored as usual
and just sitting around talking about whatever we used to talk about.  At
about 2:30 or 3:00 o'clock in the morning, Adam says, "Hey Crapperbaby,
call Riyadh!"
   A bit of explaination:  Riyadh was Roger Al Rashid, a guy that lived
down the street.  His given name was Riyadh, but he didn't like it and
preferred to be called Roger.  So of course, we called him Riyadh all
the time.  It drove him crazy.  In fact, we used the name Riyadh in
conversation as much as we possibly could.  Riyadh this, Riyadh that.  It's
a fun word to say (try it).
   Now back to the story.  To clarify at this point, Adam is telling Gene
to phone Riyadh at three in the morning.  Riyadh still lived at home and
this really would affect his whole family.  We all start laughing and
Gene jumps up, grabs the phone and dials the number.  We all tried to
stifle our giggles, but we had no idea what was coming next.
   The phone must have rang for about thirty seconds before someone
picked it up (we found out later it was Mrs. Al Rashid).  Gene, in his
improvisational brilliance, says, "Uh, yes, is Simplemania there?"
   When everyone hears this, nobody can keep it in any more, but Gene keeps
a straight face and asks again.  Presumably Mrs. Al Rashid was telling him
that he had a wrong number.  Gene asked a third time, and then after a
pause, said "Oh, well just tell him Ammonia called", and he hung up.
   By this time everyone is losing it and most are literally rolling on the
floor (if this doesn't seem humorous to you, I guess you had to be there).
   Nobody could say anything for about five minutes, but finally, with
tears in his eyes, Chris said, "That's it!  That's it!  That's the name
of our band!!"
   This was voted in unanimously with screaming peals of truly hysterical
laughter that went on at least ten minutes.  Then someone would say
"Simplemania" again and it would start all over.  This cycled for about
an hour and there wasn't a person in the basement without tears streaming
down their cheeks and very sore stomach muscles.  Even as I write this I
grin at the memory of that night.
    
   I see Gene almost every day now as we go to the same university.  He
still comes up with some pretty twisted ideas.  If you think *I'm* bad,
strike up a conversation with Gene.  Ask him about his idea for a movie
called, "Wake Up and Smell the Coffee, George".  I'll warn you right now
it's about a group of guys who hang out in the basement of a wig shop and
plot to blow the nose off the face of George Washington at Mount Rushmore.
   And it only gets weirder from there.


                                                                   
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My life in a nutshell (or at least a UNIX shell) `finger' tob@cwis.unomaha.edu
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