Tag Archives: humor

Plane Travel: Kinky Sex, But With Neither Kink Nor Sex.


Good Evening:

I’ve had it with flying.

I have reached the point where almost nothing can justify paying airlines vast sums of money in order to let them punish you to their hearts’ content. With the sole exception of family emergencies, this car-less traveller will stick to the railroad–an odd experience that offers its own intriguing strengths and weaknesses (and will become the focus of my next post). But tonight I vent. If you want rants, congratulations, you have reached the right blog post!

Although flying to Connecticut was agony, once I arrived, the trip became total enjoyment.  Presenting photographs of the beautiful town of Essex looking its best.

Although flying to Connecticut was agony, once I arrived, the trip became total enjoyment. Presenting photographs of the beautiful town of Essex looking its best.

My summer trip to Connecticut drove me past the breaking point.

Sold-out flights take forever to board and sure enough, this was another one. Stuck on board one of the newer models of jets does not make life better, it makes life worse. First, as usual, the seats shrunk again. I know they shrunk again; I lost weight over the course of 2015, and yet we had more tightly packed seats than ever, less leg room than ever, and less elbow room than ever.

20 Main Street, Essex, CT 21 June 2015

Combine the smaller with seat widths with seat belts that have not shrunk with them and you have serious bondage. Unfortunately, I do not like B&D. Even if I did, the airlines’ notion of kinky hijinks at 30,000 feet tying up people would not feel the least bit–ahem–“interesting,” for the lack of a better euphemism. As you might have guessed, the airline also stuck me in the middle seat.

Great fun. Especially with the overweight gentleman on my right.

Who was the lesser problem.

IMG_7605 DSCN0880

The other one was the bigger problem. He should have considered himself fortunate, standing at most five foot, six inches tall, of average build and sitting in the aisle seat. But when he arrived at our row, he drew himself up to full height, inflating himself with the sense that my sheer existence presented the most offensively existential effrontery of his entire life. He adjusted the sleeves of his expensive-looking silver silk suit as if preparing for conflict. Given his 50-ish appearance and salt-and-pepper goatee, I pegged him as a super-rich executive and wondered what he was even doing in the Economy (hah!) section.

“You’re in my seat.”


“Get out of my seat.”

“No this is my seat, the aisle seat must be yours.”

“Stewardess, get this man out of my seat!”

“Here’s my ticket-”

“Get him out of my seat!”

“-I have the middle seat-”


“-you must have the aisle seat.”

He glared at me as if no one had talked back to him since the previous dot-com crash.

“I. Purchased. BOTH. Seats!”

What on earth?!


The stewardess examined our tickets, and sure enough, the airline had sold the same seat twice. Policy dictated that she could not throw me off the plane, so she made arrangements for Mr. Glare (my nickname) to get a refund on his second seat. Mr. Glare, partially reimbursed, stood by his aisle seat one more time, glared at the human who had the offensively existential effrontery to sit next to him, and sat down, squeezing his five foot six frame against me as much as the armrest between us could allow.

He sat like that for the entire trip.

Except when he moved.

And when he moved, he always accidentally on purpose dug his elbow into various parts of my body.

But nowhere where I might have had him arrested for groping.


So I sat squashed between an overweight gentleman on my right (who slept for the entire flight and how did he manage that?) and Mr. Glare on my left. As usual, the airline food was overpriced, undersized, and pretty bad, but I had already brought my own meal with me. Sadly, so had Mr. Glare, and lifting his sandwich to his mouth gave him many opportunities to accidentally on purpose lift his right elbow almost to the left side of my face.

After a while, I needed a break from this incredibly important and great human being to whom I should have offered profuse apologies for my puny existence. Made my way to the back of the plane and suddenly suffered a grave and saddening epiphany.

I could never join The Mile High Club.


Sex on airplanes has never appealed to me because far too many things can go far too wrong, and today far too many things go far too wrong in front of far too many iPhones, but now you can’t do it even if you want lifelong Twitter humiliation. First of all, planes have fewer and fewer and fewer restrooms–this jet only had two. So you won’t have time because someone will soon knock on your door. Second, on this jet they were located inside the attendants’ work station, so you cannot sneak inside. Finally, in order to make more space to cram in ever smaller seats, the restrooms have also shrunk. I do not know how an obese person can fit inside one of these, let alone use them. How can two people get wild and woolly inside such a restroom?

Let’s sum up. No free food. Tiny amounts of overpriced bad food. No room. Plenty of unpleasant travelers. Smaller and smaller seats. The unkinkiest of kinky bondage for people who don’t like that at all. No sex even you’re foolish enough to want it. Fewer and fewer restrooms with longer and longer waits in line.

And you have to spend how much money to pay people to abuse you?

And you have to spend how much money not to enjoy any of what you bought??

How much money???

So I’ve switched to trains. Plenty of idiosyncrasies, but overall an experience with which I can live.

As you will see in my next post.

Vonn Scott Bair

I’m Rich! I’m Wealthy! I’m an American Playwright!


Good Evening:

I received an email this weekend from the Helen-Jean Play Contest, to which I had submitted a one-act play:

Congratulations, your submission “The Land of Hope and Dreams”, has won first prize in our contest.  Your will receive a nominal check and a certificate in the mail shortly.

Yes! Not my first win in a competition by any means, but quite welcome all the same! Now the theater company involved will not actually produce LOHAD, as I call it, but they will send me $50.00. So I have fifty bucks!

Ah, not quite. The reading fee for this particular competition equalled five dollars. So I have forty-five bucks!

Ah, not quite. I promptly purchased $40.17 worth of underwear. So I now have $4.83!

Ah, not quite. At a theater event on Saturday night, I spend $3.00 dollars on a soda.

So I now have $1.83.

Which puts me approximately $1.83 ahead of 90% of every playwright in the United States of America for the year 2015.

But I still have $1.83. Not only that, I have a lot of clean new undies.

Perhaps that’s what really matters.

Vonn Scott Bair

Jocularity in the Portable Sanitation Industry on Haight Street, 7 November 2015.


Good Evening:

Or in simple English–toilet humor.


Of all the time you spotted a portable john, did the word “honey” leap to mind? Me, neither.

Vonn Scott Bair

Riddle of the Week! (Weekly Photo Challenge: Treat)


Good Evening:

Riddle: In the pictures below, do the humans receive the treats, or do their benevolent canine overlords?

DSCN2604 DSCN2845 DSCN2842 DSCN2817 DSCN2813 DSCN2809

Answer: Yes.

Welcome to Duboce Park, where the local businesses acknowledge the importance of dogs to the economy:


This fellow in black has quite a sense of humor. His pet human with the pink hat has just used that blue thing to throw the ball (small white dot in the distance). The dog ignored the ball. And ignored it. And ignored it. Finally, the woman went to fetch it, at which point her benevolent canine overlord with the impish sense of human promptly sprinted to the ball and snatched it away, forcing her to chase him.


A dog with a sense of humor. More anecdotal evidence that domestic canines have minds.

Did you know that dogs like apple cider?


Neither did I.

We grumble and groan. They have fun. So who’s really the intelligent creature?

Vonn Scott Bair

What the GOP Primaries *Really* Need: My First, Only and Probably Last Political Blog Post.


Good Evening:

I’ve shied away from overt politics in The San Francisco Scene–Seen!, because let’s face it, the vitriol and hostility in the online world has gotten a bit excessive. Only a little, but enough to dissuade me from participating. However, I recently sent a message to a group of friends, which a few encouraged me to repost elsewhere. So here goes. My first, only and probably last political blog post.

What the GOP Primaries *Really* Need.

Even with the recent departures of Democratic and Republican candidates, the number of people running in the primaries remains too great. Even worse, among the Republicans it can be almost impossible to distinguish amongst them, as they only seem to compete to have the exact same far right opinions as the other candidates, only more so. Most of them even compete to wear the exact same suit, only more so, compete to have the exact same American flag pin, only more so, and have the exact same hair, only more so.

And it’s so hard to get rid of them! Just look at one man who did drop out. Rick Perry kept his campaign going weeks after he could no longer pay his people (http://news.yahoo.com/perrys-cash-strapped-2016-campaign-stops-paying-staffers-154529015–election.html), in fact, his campaign was not yet doomed because he had a pair of Super-PACs to pay the bills for him. Who are these Super-PACs? I don’t know. One article only stated, “…A pair of pro-Perry outside groups, each with ‘Opportunity and Freedom’ in its name…”

So we have a bunch of vague looking white men competing for the GOP nomination, with a few exceptions. Interesting that Mr. Trump, Mr. Carson, Ms. Fiorina and Mr. Rubio, who look so much different from What’s-His-Name, What’s-His-Name, What’s-His-Name, et cetera, either have done well or are doing well in the polls.

Well consider this: I watch a lot of soccer. Don’t care where it’s played, don’t care who are the teams, I will happily watch a game. Now combine my (limited) knowledge of soccer with my (limited) knowledge of Rick Perry’s Super-PACs.

And that’s when it hit me–I know what America needs more than anything else during the Republican primaries.

Soccer jerseys.

Yes, soccer jerseys. Think of the last time you saw a soccer match. If it wasn’t a nation v. nation match, you saw something like Seattle v. Portland, a Juventus v. Real Madrid “friendly” (what a misnomer that is!), an Arsenal v. Chelsea UN-friendly, or similar. If you saw these teams, you saw their players. If you saw their players, you saw their jerseys. If you saw their jerseys, you saw the fronts of their jerseys. And if you saw the fronts of their jerseys, what did you see?

That’s right. You saw advertising. Advertising from corporations that forked over vast sums of money to sponsor the clubs so that you can see their names/logos on your 50″ flat screens.

And that is why the GOP candidates need to wear soccer jerseys. So Americans can know who sponsors them. Let’s face it: thanks to the Citizens United Supreme Court decision, so much money from so few donors will flood the election that nobody runs for Commander in Chief anymore. They run for Minion in Chief. And the time has long since passed when America needed to see the GOP candidates in denim overalls and goggles.

America deserves to know who will become the masters of the next Minion in Chief. After all, the Minion in Chief will work for them, not for us. To paraphrase Chevy Chase’s Weekend Update character from 40 (!) years ago, “Hello, I’m a billionaire, and you’re not!”

Therefore, soccer jerseys with advertising. At least we’ll know who’s running the Minion who’s running to run the country on behalf of the person who’s running the Minion.

There is no other way you can tell the GOP candidates apart.

We can wait for the general election before making either Ms. Clinton or Mr. Sanders wear their jerseys. Seriously, if you can’t tell those two apart… (hint: Mr. Sanders has only one pair of underpants)

You don’t have to thank me, but it’s all right if you do.

I sure hope this doesn’t get me into too much trouble.

Vonn Scott Bair

Sunday Night, Fun Day Done Right Day.


Good Evening:

Sunday night in downtown San Francisco could not have gone much better for culture vultures. The Playwrights Center of San Francisco sponsored a fund raiser in which 8 groups of playwrights, directors and actors wrote, directed and acted in 8 short plays. I happened to play a role in this project: aside from providing breakfast for everyone on Sunday morning, I contributed 2 of the 3 required elements for each play.

The required theme for each play was “Surprisingly Unexpected.” Didn’t come up with that one (my offering: “This Is the End of the World As We Know It”), but I did contribute the required noun and the required line of dialogue. The noun: “Escape Vehicle.” The line of dialogue: “But what about the strawberries?” Thought the poor playwrights would suffer. Thought very wrong. The show was great.

Think for a moment of what kind of play you might write with the theme “Surprisingly Unexpected,” the noun “Escape Vehicle,” and the dialogue, “But what about the strawberries?” Offhand, I can recall these:

  • An extraterrestrial crash-lands her UFO in a male Earthling’s strawberry patch.
  • Two zombie cheerleaders try to cash a check.
  • A mother accidentally reveals that she has lied to her daughter for 21 years–she does know her father’s name.
  • An Elizabethan woman asks William Shakespeare to pretend that he wrote her plays.
  • A nice elderly Jewish couple, both wizards, discover that their new human customer used to be their pet hamster. Not a misprint.

Surprisingly unexpected, aren’t they? And yes, they all included escape vehicles and strawberries.

San Francisco playwrights have excellent imaginations.

After an excellent show, maybe the best 24-hour playfest the PCSF has done, I wandered down to the cable car turnaround on Powell Street, where a gentleman with what appeared to be a 4.5 inch reflector telescope hosted a “Saturn Party,” wherein he offered free viewings of the planet. A little different, even by San Francisco standards.

Just around the corner, in front of the Gap store, stood Clare Means. Who? Clare is a tall woman with Pre-Raphaelite hair, an acoustic guitar, and quite a gift for songwriting in the genre some might call Americana. She currently has a curious sort of nationwide tour in progress: she travels from city to city, busking on the streets with her guitar and portable amp, performing songs from her two current CD collections, collecting dollars to pay for gas and food–basically trying to make a name for herself without a record deal and with an advertising budget of zero. Dropped a dollar in her guitar case and listened to “Look Who’s Lucky Now,” a great intro to her music, which you can find on iTunes. Have heard a lot of musicians and bands that deserved only the greatest success never came anywhere close. Clare Means is just the latest of the bunch, but it would feel pretty darn good some day to see her name on a Top 20. I mean, come on, Pre-Rephaelite hair. Dang.

I even found two dimes on the sidewalk.

Sunday night was that kind of night.

Vonn Scott Bair

Going Organic in the San Francisco Exploratorium’s Men’s Room, 8 October 2015.


Good Evening:

So there I was sitting in the only stall in one of the San Francisco Exploratorium’s men’s rooms tonight, minding my own business and ignoring the two men outside using two of the three urinals, talking to each other, clearly friends. A third guy came in and made use of the third one. I don’t know whether or not the first two knew the third, but the third young man started the conversation.

Weird Stuff You Can Do @ The Exploratorium.

Weird Stuff You Can Do @ The Exploratorium.


“Hey, guys.”
“Do you guys take drugs?”
“Wow, you really get to the point.”
“Seriously, I’m looking to do drugs, but I don’t wanna the drugs I use now.”
“What’re you using?”
“I’m doing pills, but they’re way too you know, they’re messing me up. I wanna do mushrooms, you know, go organic, that green lifestyle thing, but I haven’t found a source in this town yet. I want more like natural drugs-”

At which point, I flushed my toilet. When I emerged, the three young men were facing the wall, looking straight ahead, acting as if total strangers, speaking nary a word to each other.

More Weird Stuff You Can Do @ The Exploratorium.

More Weird Stuff You Can Do @ The Exploratorium.


People ask me where I learned to write such great dialogue in my plays and screenplays. I say, “Riding on public transit, and pooping in public rest rooms.”

Vonn Scott Bair

PS–All photos taken with an iPhone 6 Plus, unedited.

Now This Was a Kiss-Cam Moment!


Good Evening:

Do sports teams in other nations inflict this upon their fans? During a game here in the US, many venues do something called a “Kiss Cam,” “Kiss-Cam” or “Kisscam,” in which they broadcast live video of couples in the stands on a big screen. At this point the couples are pretty much expected if not required to kiss each other, while all the other fans cheer, hoot, and/or laugh at the involuntary smooching.

It’s supposed to be entertaining.

Late in tonight San Francisco Giants v. Cincinnati Reds game (Giants won 5-3, as starting pitcher Jake Peavy not only got the win, he added a home run to his achievements), the Giants inflicted the Kiss-Cam upon 11 couples.

Couple #9 was awesome.

The camera focused on a man and a woman who stared at the screen, baffled. She turned to his left to look at him, he turned to his right to look at her. Then he turned to his left.

And kissed his boyfriend.

Vonn Scott Bair

Eat Your Heart Out, Jackson Pollock! (Because You Can’t Eat Your Paintings)


Good Morning:

Given that the Little Griddle sits on Market Street diagonally across from Twitter and only two blocks away from City Hall, I suppose that lunch could cost a lot more than it does. Fortunately, they do an excellent job with burgers and you don’t have to pay extra for french fries (unlike too many places–it’s San Francisco’s worst culinary atrocity), so the Griddle does deserve the occasional visit. Esp. when the huge $12.75 Evil Knievel burger comes looking like this (all shots taken with my iPhone 6 Plus).


As it happens, I don’t dress my fries in salt and ketchup. Never have. Always preferred mustard and black pepper–seriously, you should give that combo a try, absolutely delicious. Lately, I’ve experimented with mustard, black pepper, and Mexican hot sauces like Chohula’s “Original” red hot sauce and various green habanero sauces. So when I finished off my lunch, the tray looked like this:



Using my last french fry as my paintbrush–seemed appropriate–I went all Jackson Pollock on my condiments and ended up with this:

A La Recherche Des Evil Knievel Hamburgers Perdu.

A La Recherche Des Evil Knievel Hamburgers Perdu.

Dang, I’m good. The gentlemen sitting diagonally across from me at the next table perhaps did not think so; he took one look at my efforts and spent the rest of his lunch studiously avoiding looking at me.

True genius has never received proper appreciation in its own time.

Vonn Scott Bair

Garden Gnomes Gone Wild!


Good Evening:

The San Francisco Public Utilities Commission enjoys an obscure reputation among government agencies in general for our mildly racy advertisements and public service announcements (PSAs); at least, mildly racy by the standards of government agencies in general.

The SFPUC also likes to save money whenever possible, so they recently asked me–an employee there–to star in a YouTube PSA because I have the 16 or 17 credits in the Internet Movie Database and mostly because they wouldn’t have to pay extra for an actor. You can see the commercial here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXrhOZ3X5GU

Now if you want to see the proper way to confine and maintain your plastic garden gnomes, please refer to the photograph below (Castro near 24th Street in San Francisco):


If you look closely, you will see that all 3 gnomes are Giants fans. And yes, that is an American flag with a Giants logo in orange, white and black.

Vonn Scott Bair

Intervention at Disneyland.


Good Afternoon:

Every second Saturday of the month, San Francisco’s Exit Theatre hosts something called Saturday Write Fever, a fun little event of instant theater creation. I attended last night’s get-together.

The idea is simple: create a one-person monologue in 30 minutes. The overall theme for last night’s event: “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” Each playwright drew a piece of paper from an urn (not a chalice, an urn) that contained a line that he or she had to include in the monologue. Since I don’t swear, I can’t tell you exactly what mine was, but it was very close to “Who holds a f@#$king intervention at Disneyland?!”

Keep in mind that the writers have no idea which actors will read their material.

And yes, that does make things interesting.

After the writers returned to the cafe in which the performance would take place, we drew slips of from a chalice (not an urn, a chalice) with the names of the actors. I worked with the actor Rob Stern, who could not have looked or acted more well-suited for my little rant of a piece. Good thing, too: the quality of the writing and acting was the best I’ve seen at these Saturday Write Fever events, with not even one weak monologue or performer.

And so, I present “Intervention at Disneyland.” I have slightly edited the piece, adding <> to bracket and identify the new material. Incidentally, I was the only writer who not only included his/her line, I included the Theme as well.


“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” You know what I say, Terry? “Today is the last day of the rest of your life!”

It isn’t how you cheat on me with other men. It isn’t how you cheat on me with other women. It isn’t how you steal from your boss, steal from your church, or steal from me.

It isn’t how you lie to EVERYONE, most of all me.

It isn’t how you leave the toilet seat up.

It isn’t even how you drove me to drink.

So what is it that will make me kill you in the next five minutes, <turn myself in to the police, confess, plead justifiable homicide, and get acquitted by a jury of my peers>?

Today you had a doctor, a counselor, a social worker, and a priest AMBUSH me at an amusement part in front of our children because you think I have a drinking problem.

That’s why you die tonight.


Vonn Scott Bair

“Regrets and Farewells, from $98:” New Spam Scam Poetry, 9 June 2015!


Good Evening:

I like to take the spam that appears in my In Box at work and turn it into poetry (see here, here and here for just three of many examples). But the spam I received today posed greater challenges than normal:

All this time I was wondering if you were ever going to ask me. I know that you cant always be there but at least it was ok. Yesterday when you called me I thought you were talking about the other day when you were later. Im sorry if you think that way.


Move Door-To-Door From $98

We make sure your move gets done on-time and without headache. Whether you’re moving 1 mile or 1,000 you can move for less. View selected ads for best options. 

Pre-selected ads are featured.

Choose from a fleet that offers van lines or full semi trucks. A custom fit for your custom move with the right-price.

Move Wihtout Hassel, view top moving company ads in your area >

* Home and work relocations

* Packing Services

* Heavy and bulk items

* Senior moving


See the problem? There’s a huge change of tone after the first paragraph, an entirely different subject, ridiculous punctuation, and a lot of verbiage that probably cannot find a place in any true work of poetry. But I wanted to do more than simply delete everything after the first paragraph.

Finally, I came up with this:

Regrets and Farewells, Email Spam Poetry Edited by Vonn Scott Bair

All this time I was wondering

If you were ever going to

Ask me.

I know that you cant always

be there but at least it was


Yesterday when you called me

I thought you were talking

about the other day when you were


 Im sorry if you think that way.

Move without worry

From ninety-eight dollars.

Move Door-To-Door

From ninety-eight dollars.

Move Wihtout Hassel

From ninety-eight dollars.

Ah, such a sad and sweet and bitter and bittersweet ode from a lover whose love for the other remains, but the love between them has gone, moved away for ninety-eight dollars.

I hope I didn’t break too many hearts.

Vonn Scott Bair

San Francisco Food Trucks, 5 June 2015. (Weekly Photo Challenge: Vivid)


Good Evening:

When we discuss instant traditions only a few years old in San Francisco that have hung around since the 1800s (or something like that), we must discuss the Friday lunch hour food trucks that gather just across the street from City Hall. The tradition: the work week has almost ended, let’s get lunch and a side order of fresh air, sunshine, cool breezes, greenery and shade.

The challenge for the trucks: standing out in the crowd and drawing customers.

The solution: Colors. Really. Vivid. Colors.

For example (all shots taken with my iPhone 6 Plus):

HiYAAA! Food Truck, 5 June 2015.

HiYAAA! Food Truck, 5 June 2015.

Senor Sisic Food Truck, 5 June 2015.

Senor Sisic Food Truck, 5 June 2015.

Let Your Falafel Affair Begin.

Let Your Falafel Affair Begin.

I like the front of the Liba Truck:


Yes, that’s a mirror image of “FALAFEL” like a mirror image of “AMBULANCE.” Which makes sense: when hunger has become an emergency, falafels come to the rescue. The next truck look restrained by comparison, but when you look at what they sell, basic black is fine for Bacon Bacon.


Ah, but you, my clever and intelligent reader, you are asking a clever and intelligent question! “Does all this wildly colorful decoration-slash-advertising work? Do these bright and vivid colors draw hungry crowds to these trucks?”

Behold the answer:


Vonn Scott Bair

PS–If I have accidentally induced hunger pangs in anyone, I apologize. Unless I don’t.

Goofing Off on the Film Set, 26 May 2015.


Good Evening:

Normally, I don’t like to take selfies, and we didn’t use either the stunt knife or the fake slashed throat today, but everyone else on the set was goofing off with them, so why not?

A Bit of a Headache & A Bit of a Sore Throat, 26 May 2015.

A Bit of a Headache & A Bit of a Sore Throat, 26 May 2015.

Ah yes, the film shoot–the only place where you can hear someone say, “Don’t order blood from Amazon, they never ship it on time.”

Vonn Scott Bair

Blog Post #800: A Steve Jobs Hallowe’en Story on 12 May 2015.


Good Evening:

I auditioned for a short film role this evening (a man who years before had to kill his wife in self-defense after discovering that she was a serial killer–and a witch. Yep, typecast again) and found myself rehearsing lines with a young lady currently living in Palo Alto. Between scenes she made a remark about how Apple was “Apple-izing” the entire world and then she casually added, “You know, I used to know Steve Jobs.”


“Yeah, we lived a few doors down from him. He gave me one of the first of these like, candy-colored bubble-shaped computers, it was bluish-”

“A Bondi Blue iMac?! Steve Jobs gave you a Bondi Blue iMac?!”

“I don’t remember the name, I was only in fifth grade.”

(I’ll pause here while you suddenly realize just how old you really are.)

“He was really nice to all of the kids in the neighborhood, his house had the best Hallowe’ens, we always went there. He came to the door himself and he would say things about our costumes, and then he gave away full-size candy bars. Not those bite-size ones. Full size.”

(Ed. Note: They’re never too young to become customers for life.)

“Except one Hallowe’en, he refused to give candy to my brother.”

“Why not?”

“He didn’t have a costume. He didn’t yell at my brother, he just said, ‘Where’s your costume? You think I’m going to give you candy just because you walked around all night? Go get yourself a costume and come back here.”

(Suddenly I think of George C. Scott in Patton, always asking, “Where’s your helmet?”)

So her brother dashed around among their friends, borrowing pieces and scraps of various costumes and improvising something out of multiple characters.

She continued, “He went back to the Jobs house and knocked on the door. Steve Jobs came to the door, studied him for a minute, looking at my brother top to bottom, and he said. ‘I appreciate the effort.’ And gave him a candy bar.”

So there you have it, a perhaps lesser-known story about Steve Jobs. It sounds plausible to me, combining examples of his marketing skill with his attention to detail and obsession with critiquing and improving everything. Even the Hallowe’en costumes of other parents’ children.

What do you think? Sound plausible to you?

Vonn Scott Bair

PS–I used to feel so proud of myself for attending a BMUG meeting where an Apple rep let us see a prerelease Bondi Blue, back when no one cared what Apple did. But Steve Jobs never gave me one.

PPS–How appropriate that my 800th (!!) blog post should discuss the man responsible for the computer I used to create it.