saga

jargon (WPI) A cuspy but bogus raving story about N

random broken people.

Here is a classic example of the saga form, as told by GuySteele (GLS):

Jon L. White (login name JONL) and I (GLS) were office mates

at MIT for many years. One April, we both flew from Boston

to California for a week on research business, to consult

face-to-face with some people at Stanford, particularly our

mutual friend Richard Gabriel (RPG).

RPG picked us up at the San Francisco airport and drove us

back to Palo Alto (going logical south on route 101,

parallel to El Camino Bignum). Palo Alto is adjacent to

Stanford University and about 40 miles south of San Francisco.

We ate at The Good Earth, a "health food" restaurant, very

popular, the sort whose milkshakes all contain honey and

protein powder. JONL ordered such a shake - the waitress

claimed the flavour of the day was "lalaberry". I still have

no idea what that might be, but it became a running joke. It

was the colour of raspberry, and JONL said it tasted rather

bitter. I ate a better tostada there than I have ever had in

a Mexican restaurant.

After this we went to the local Uncle Gaylord's Old Fashioned

Ice Cream Parlor. They make ice cream fresh daily, in a

variety of intriguing flavours. It's a chain, and they have a

slogan: "If you don't live near an Uncle Gaylord's - MOVE!"

Also, Uncle Gaylord (a real person) wages a constant battle to

force big-name ice cream makers to print their ingredients on

the package (like air and plastic and other non-natural

garbage). JONL and I had first discovered Uncle Gaylord's the

previous August, when we had flown to a computer-science

conference in Berkeley, California, the first time either of

us had been on the West Coast. When not in the conference

sessions, we had spent our time wandering the length of

Telegraph Avenue, which (like Harvard Square in Cambridge) was

lined with picturesque street vendors and interesting little

shops. On that street we discovered Uncle Gaylord's Berkeley

store. The ice cream there was very good. During that August

visit JONL went absolutely bananas (so to speak) over one

particular flavour, ginger honey.

Therefore, after eating at The Good Earth - indeed, after

every lunch and dinner and before bed during our April visit

--- a trip to Uncle Gaylord's (the one in Palo Alto) was

mandatory. We had arrived on a Wednesday, and by Thursday

evening we had been there at least four times. Each time,

JONL would get ginger honey ice cream, and proclaim to all

bystanders that "Ginger was the spice that drove the Europeans

mad! That's why they sought a route to the East! They used

it to preserve their otherwise off-taste meat." After the

third or fourth repetition RPG and I were getting a little

tired of this spiel, and began to paraphrase him: "Wow!

Ginger! The spice that makes rotten meat taste good!" "Say!

Why don't we find some dog that's been run over and sat in the

sun for a week and put some *ginger* on it for dinner?!"

"Right! With a lalaberry shake!" And so on. This failed to

faze JONL; he took it in good humour, as long as we kept

returning to Uncle Gaylord's. He loves ginger honey ice

cream.

Now RPG and his then-wife KBT (Kathy Tracy) were putting us up

(putting up with us?) in their home for our visit, so to thank

them JONL and I took them out to a nice French restaurant of

their choosing. I unadventurously chose the filet mignon, and

KBT had je ne sais quoi du jour, but RPG and JONL had lapin

(rabbit). (Waitress: "Oui, we have fresh rabbit, fresh

today." RPG: "Well, JONL, I guess we won't need any

*ginger*!")

We finished the meal late, about 11 P.M., which is 2 A.M

Boston time, so JONL and I were rather droopy. But it wasn't

yet midnight. Off to Uncle Gaylord's!

Now the French restaurant was in Redwood City, north of Palo

Alto. In leaving Redwood City, we somehow got onto route 101

going north instead of south. JONL and I wouldn't have known

the difference had RPG not mentioned it. We still knew very

little of the local geography. I did figure out, however,

that we were headed in the direction of Berkeley, and

half-jokingly suggested that we continue north and go to Uncle

Gaylord's in Berkeley.

RPG said "Fine!" and we drove on for a while and talked. I

was drowsy, and JONL actually dropped off to sleep for 5

minutes. When he awoke, RPG said, "Gee, JONL, you must have

slept all the way over the bridge!", referring to the one

spanning San Francisco Bay. Just then we came to a sign that

said "University Avenue". I mumbled something about working

our way over to Telegraph Avenue; RPG said "Right!" and

maneuvered some more. Eventually we pulled up in front of an

Uncle Gaylord's.

Now, I hadn't really been paying attention because I was so

sleepy, and I didn't really understand what was happening

until RPG let me in on it a few moments later, but I was just

alert enough to notice that we had somehow come to the Palo

Alto Uncle Gaylord's after all.

JONL noticed the resemblance to the Palo Alto store, but

hadn't caught on. (The place is lit with red and yellow

lights at night, and looks much different from the way it does

in daylight.) He said, "This isn't the Uncle Gaylord's I went

to in Berkeley! It looked like a barn! But this place looks

*just like* the one back in Palo Alto!"

RPG deadpanned, "Well, this is the one *I* always come to when

I'm in Berkeley. They've got two in San Francisco, too.

Remember, they're a chain."

JONL accepted this bit of wisdom. And he was not totally

ignorant - he knew perfectly well that University Avenue was

in Berkeley, not far from Telegraph Avenue. What he didn't

know was that there is a completely different University

Avenue in Palo Alto.

JONL went up to the counter and asked for ginger honey. The

guy at the counter asked whether JONL would like to taste it

first, evidently their standard procedure with that flavour,

as not too many people like it.

JONL said, "I'm sure I like it. Just give me a cone." The

guy behind the counter insisted that JONL try just a taste

first. "Some people think it tastes like soap." JONL

insisted, "Look, I *love* ginger. I eat Chinese food. I eat

raw ginger roots. I already went through this hassle with the

guy back in Palo Alto. I *know* I like that flavour!"

At the words "back in Palo Alto" the guy behind the counter

got a very strange look on his face, but said nothing. KBT

caught his eye and winked. Through my stupor I still hadn't

quite grasped what was going on, and thought RPG was rolling

on the floor laughing and clutching his stomach just because

JONL had launched into his spiel ("makes rotten meat a dish

for princes") for the forty-third time. At this point, RPG

clued me in fully.

RPG, KBT, and I retreated to a table, trying to stifle our

chuckles. JONL remained at the counter, talking about ice

cream with the guy b.t.c., comparing Uncle Gaylord's to other

ice cream shops and generally having a good old time.

At length the g.b.t.c. said, "How's the ginger honey?" JONL

said, "Fine! I wonder what exactly is in it?" Now Uncle

Gaylord publishes all his recipes and even teaches classes on

how to make his ice cream at home. So the g.b.t.c. got out

the recipe, and he and JONL pored over it for a while. But

the g.b.t.c. could contain his curiosity no longer, and asked

again, "You really like that stuff, huh?" JONL said, "Yeah,

I've been eating it constantly back in Palo Alto for the past

two days. In fact, I think this batch is about as good as the

cones I got back in Palo Alto!"

G.b.t.c. looked him straight in the eye and said, "You're *in*

Palo Alto!"

JONL turned slowly around, and saw the three of us collapse in

a fit of giggles. He clapped a hand to his forehead and

exclaimed, "I've been hacked!"

[My spies on the West Coast inform me that there is a close

relative of the raspberry found out there called an

"ollalieberry" - ESR]

[Ironic footnote: it appears that the meme about ginger vs.

rotting meat may be an urban legend. It's not borne out by an

examination of mediaeval recipes or period purchase records

for spices, and appears full-blown in the works of Samuel

Pegge, a gourmand and notorious flake case who originated

numerous food myths. - ESR]

[Jargon File]

(1994-12-08)