There are few things I enjoy more in this world than a good anecdotal story. Hearing a skilled yarn-spinner recount the time he accidentally lit his date’s dress on fire during a rehearsal dinner brings me incalculable joy. I’m fortunate in that I have several friends particularly adroit in tale-telling.
Back in college, my friends and I would often watch Jeopardy! together. Ask any of us what the worst part of Jeopardy! is and you’ll likely receive a uniform response: The contestant interviews. The vast majority of these home-schooled brainiacs lack both the material and the elocutionary abilities to convey a captivating chestnut. Sadly, we often hear how Patty from Des Moines attained the rank of treasurer for her local chapter of the Audubon Society or how Delton from just outside Portland (Maine that is .. not Oregon) once lost his wedding band while washing his ’87 Buick Riviera, only to later find it at the bottom of a soapy bucket (incredible!!!). For years, I secretly harbored incredible angst that if I one day fulfilled my dream of appearing on the lauded quiz show, I too would appear a boring dolt. You see my friends, up until my very last semester of law school, I completely lacked any material that would allow me to tell a tale that would leave the studio audience and viewers at home in side-splitting hysterics.
I should clarify the above statement. Over the years I have accumulated multitudinous stories, which would leave all but the most grizzled fun-hater in tears. This is a function of two main things – the first being that my friends are completely ridiculous. A fact that, when combined with copious amounts of alcohol, often leads to bat-shit insane situations. The second being that I, for whatever reason, have a propensity for getting myself into trouble with the authorities (be they school administrators, hotel security guards, or the police). The problem with having stories that revolve almost exclusively around my drunken asshole friends and my arrests is that Alex Trebek would never let me tell them on air.
My predicament was forever solved after I finished taking a labor law final in May, 2007. I had only one final left and it was a take-home; it was smooth sailing from there on out. To celebrate, I stopped at McDonald’s on my walk home. I felt I had earned the right to spend $10.00 on horribly greasy, trans-fat laden deliciousness.* Upon exiting McDonald’s with a bag so saturated with grease any outside observer could literally see the double quarter pounder and chicken burrito stuffed into the translucent bottom, I witnessed something that changed my life.
I saw a business-type looking fellow, decked out in an obnoxiously pin-striped suit and all, motoring down the sidewalk on a segway. I immediately stopped to gawk, for even as a New Yorker, this was the first time I had actually seen someone riding a segway down the sidewalk. Almost as soon as I started watching, the businessman stopped the segway, dismounted the vehicle, and removed his blackberry from his super stylish hip holster. He began furiously typing away while his segway stood motionless next to him.
At this point, I noticed a gentleman, dressed in traditional homeless man garb with a traditional homeless man beard and, in fact, most likely homeless, walking toward the businessman and his segway. The homeless man, demonstrating great alacrity, quickly hopped upon the segway, pushed the accelerator forward and took off down the sidewalk. Yup, the homeless dude totally stole the businessdouche’s segway.
The businessman looked up, startled and confused. After taking a moment to figure out what had just occurred, he began running down the street, chasing vainly after the homeless man riding his segway. As the chase continued further away from me, my hunger got the best of me and I decided I wasn’t going to join in the chase to witness the resolution. For what its worth, I can’t imagine that the businessman caught up to the homeless man and his former segway.
This, my friends, is the best story I have. Its also the only Jeopardy! appropriate story I have. I have no idea what eventually became of either man. I can only hope the homeless gentleman sold the segway for a relatively substantial amount of cash and proceeded to turn his life around, while the businessman, formerly some douchey banker at Bear Sterns, is now an unemployed douchey banker.
In summation, the lesson as always, crime pays.
*If you never have, I strongly suggest spending $10.00 at McDonald’s and actually eating all that you just purchased. You will certainly not thank me later.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
Dream a little dream (i like the gay-ness)
[NOTE - something's fucked up .. this is Enis Appledarsh's post]
Well, I've done little to no work today. but that's nothing new. neither is the urge to get up, walk to my boss office's and quit. i, however am a coward. i'm a little bitch. if you thought Samir, Michael and Peter had shitty jobs, i dare you to spend a day at "The Dungeon" (Milliard Barber & Co., Inc.) and see if you can last 9 hours without getting the urge to pull a Michael Douglas n Falling Down. I hate my job. but that's okay because a lot of people hate their jobs, right?? yeah, but mine REALLY blows. i deal with d -bag customers who think they are the proverbial shit. All egomaniac dick bags it’s truly a pleasure to work with such douchey-ness.
i often wonder if I'd be happier living my life inside a minimum security prison. as far as i know, i wouldn't have to pay rent, i'd get free food, I'd get required outside play time and i think I'd get free cable too. i wonder if i could bring my Sleep Machine. Anywho...now granted I'm not being totally serious (notice how i said "totally") but it is fun to think about. the only thing preventing me from a committing an armed robbery (in order to get placed into a minimum security prison) is Glen Danger Esq. and his constant lottery playing. He assured me he'd give me some of the money if he ever wins (I'm thinking 3-4 million). He even got 2 numbers right in a lotto once, which is a VERY good sign that he'll win the whole thing sooner rather than later. I'm pretty sure I'd hang myself in prison with my bed sheet if Glen Danger actually won the lottery while i was away. That's just a chance i can't afford to take. So, I'll go on living and working in my shitty little life hoping Glen Danger Esq. wins the god damned lottery. It's the only thing that gets me up in the morning...
Now, what would i do if Danger won the lottery??? first thing I'd do is quit my job. i wouldn't even show up or tell anyone. I'd just never go back or speak of that place ever again. I'd then go on a serious 3 day drug fueled rampage getting as drunk as humanly possibly without dying. I’d probably try heroin too. It’s one of those things that everyone should try once. After sobering up, I'd call my parents and tell them of the good news. I'd then probably look to buy a sweet little pad in the east village area. why the fuck not? i could certainly afford it now. And certainly, I'd give my parents and siblings a little sumthin' sumthin. you know, for the effort. I'd then try as hard as possible to live out the rest of my days emulating The Dude.
A guy can dream can't he?
Well, I've done little to no work today. but that's nothing new. neither is the urge to get up, walk to my boss office's and quit. i, however am a coward. i'm a little bitch. if you thought Samir, Michael and Peter had shitty jobs, i dare you to spend a day at "The Dungeon" (Milliard Barber & Co., Inc.) and see if you can last 9 hours without getting the urge to pull a Michael Douglas n Falling Down. I hate my job. but that's okay because a lot of people hate their jobs, right?? yeah, but mine REALLY blows. i deal with d -bag customers who think they are the proverbial shit. All egomaniac dick bags it’s truly a pleasure to work with such douchey-ness.
i often wonder if I'd be happier living my life inside a minimum security prison. as far as i know, i wouldn't have to pay rent, i'd get free food, I'd get required outside play time and i think I'd get free cable too. i wonder if i could bring my Sleep Machine. Anywho...now granted I'm not being totally serious (notice how i said "totally") but it is fun to think about. the only thing preventing me from a committing an armed robbery (in order to get placed into a minimum security prison) is Glen Danger Esq. and his constant lottery playing. He assured me he'd give me some of the money if he ever wins (I'm thinking 3-4 million). He even got 2 numbers right in a lotto once, which is a VERY good sign that he'll win the whole thing sooner rather than later. I'm pretty sure I'd hang myself in prison with my bed sheet if Glen Danger actually won the lottery while i was away. That's just a chance i can't afford to take. So, I'll go on living and working in my shitty little life hoping Glen Danger Esq. wins the god damned lottery. It's the only thing that gets me up in the morning...
Now, what would i do if Danger won the lottery??? first thing I'd do is quit my job. i wouldn't even show up or tell anyone. I'd just never go back or speak of that place ever again. I'd then go on a serious 3 day drug fueled rampage getting as drunk as humanly possibly without dying. I’d probably try heroin too. It’s one of those things that everyone should try once. After sobering up, I'd call my parents and tell them of the good news. I'd then probably look to buy a sweet little pad in the east village area. why the fuck not? i could certainly afford it now. And certainly, I'd give my parents and siblings a little sumthin' sumthin. you know, for the effort. I'd then try as hard as possible to live out the rest of my days emulating The Dude.
A guy can dream can't he?
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Vonnegut was clever
Ladies and Gentleman, the latest masterpiece from Man vs Whiskey "Speak Nothing But Good of The Dead"
enjoy
Click here to watch "speakn1"
enjoy
Click here to watch "speakn1"
Friday, April 4, 2008
Drop That Hammer Young Man!
WARNING THIS POST IS ABOUT BASEBALL
Pitcher Phil Hughes made his first start of the year for the New York Yankees last night against a formidable Toronto Blue Jays lineup. As you may or may not be aware, going into the 2007 season, Hughes was one of the top-rated prospects in all of baseball and the top-rated pitching prospect by many. Hughes enjoyed a solid rookie campaign last year, although it was unfortunately shortened by a hamstring injury; an injury which he suffered while in the midst of pitching a no-hitter against the Rangers*. The injury kept him out for over two months and, after he returned, it took another few weeks to get his velocity back to where it normally is (sitting around 94mph). Yankee fans and baseball geeks everywhere have set relatively lofty-expectations for the 21 year old who the Yankees absolutely refused to trade for some guy named Johan in the offseason.
So far, its easy to see why the Yankees kept their young phenom. Hughes went 6 innings last night, surrendering 2 runs on 4 hits and 1 walk, while striking out 4 along the way (including future first-ballot HOFer Frank Thomas**). It was his first start of the year, so no one should read too much into the fact that his fastball was topping out around 91, typically sitting around 89-90. He’ll be back up to 93-94, touching 95, soon enough. Not that it matters all that much when a pitcher has the control, and more importantly the command, that Hughes possesses.*** Hughes’ impeccable command was on display during his relief appearance in game 3 against the Indians during the ACLS last year, an appearance I recall watching in mouth-agape awe with friends up at Cape Cod. Even our resident Indians fan, Hodge, was commenting on how Posada set his mitt in a location and never had to move it to catch Hughes’ pitches. While his command last night wasn’t quite as jaw-dropping, it was certainly evident to anyone who cared to pay attention. This isn’t even getting into the fantastic late movement Hughes’ manages to get on his 4-seamer. He stayed away from the 2-seamer last night, likely because the velocity would have only been around 86 given the speed of his 4-seamer.
All this is without even mentioned Hughes’ devastating hammer of a curve ball. His curve, which comes in about 71-72mph, has shocking drop and a fair amount of tilt. Righty Frank Thomas flinched in terror as Hughes’ curve seemed destined to clock him in the head, before it swooped back into the strike zone for a called strike. The difference in velocity between his curve and fastball made his 90mph fastball seem all the faster. He only used his change-up twice last night, both times very effectively. It ran about 82 and snaked back inside to right handers just as it should. Hughes claims to still be working on the pitch and there’s currently no need to over-use it, as its clear he can get by on his fastball and curve for now. Eventually, as the league catches up to him, the change-up will become an important and necessary part of his repertoire. Oh yeah, it should be might effective as well.
Hughes pitched against Dustin McGowan, a very promising young pitcher who throws a forceful heater with good movement and a nasty change-up. At one point, McGowan flat out made reigning MVP/best right-handed hitter I’ve ever seen, A-Rod, look foolish with a dirty, tumbling change-up. But this post isn’t about McGowan, its about Phillip Hughes and the blindingly bright future that lies in wait for the young man.
While we only have about 6 readers, 4 of which are the writers of this blog, I implore any of you who enjoy baseball to pay attention to not only Hughes but any pitcher while he throws. It’s the best way to truly appreciate a baseball game and just how fucking hard it is to locate a pitch from 60’6’’ away and how amazingly hard it is to hit a 95mph ball that’s moving all around. I simply marvel when I watch guys hurl gas towards the catcher’s mitt, watching the ball drop or tilt or simply blow right past a future HOFer.
In summation – go yanks.
Resident Phil Hughes Fan-boy - Dr. Danger, Esq.
*I should mention that I'm like 93% responsible for this injury. I'm the most superstitious person I know, yet for some as of yet unknown reason, I decided to call a fellow Yankee fan to make sure he was witnessing the Wunderkind pitching so brilliantly. Not 3 minutes after I made the call did Hughes pull up lame after tossing a curveball. I apologize from the bottom of my heart.
**The called third strike against Thomas was probably a ball. Hughes threw the same pitch three times during the AB to the same location. The first time it was a strike, the second time it was a ball, Umpire Bill Miller decided the third time would be another strike. Thomas was not pleased, fairly so as Miller’s strike zone was eradicate all night. I, on the other hand, was thrilled.
***Control is a pitcher’s ability to throw strikes, as opposed to balls. Command is a pitcher’s ability to locate strikes to specific spots within the strike zone. See Greg Maddux.
Pitcher Phil Hughes made his first start of the year for the New York Yankees last night against a formidable Toronto Blue Jays lineup. As you may or may not be aware, going into the 2007 season, Hughes was one of the top-rated prospects in all of baseball and the top-rated pitching prospect by many. Hughes enjoyed a solid rookie campaign last year, although it was unfortunately shortened by a hamstring injury; an injury which he suffered while in the midst of pitching a no-hitter against the Rangers*. The injury kept him out for over two months and, after he returned, it took another few weeks to get his velocity back to where it normally is (sitting around 94mph). Yankee fans and baseball geeks everywhere have set relatively lofty-expectations for the 21 year old who the Yankees absolutely refused to trade for some guy named Johan in the offseason.
So far, its easy to see why the Yankees kept their young phenom. Hughes went 6 innings last night, surrendering 2 runs on 4 hits and 1 walk, while striking out 4 along the way (including future first-ballot HOFer Frank Thomas**). It was his first start of the year, so no one should read too much into the fact that his fastball was topping out around 91, typically sitting around 89-90. He’ll be back up to 93-94, touching 95, soon enough. Not that it matters all that much when a pitcher has the control, and more importantly the command, that Hughes possesses.*** Hughes’ impeccable command was on display during his relief appearance in game 3 against the Indians during the ACLS last year, an appearance I recall watching in mouth-agape awe with friends up at Cape Cod. Even our resident Indians fan, Hodge, was commenting on how Posada set his mitt in a location and never had to move it to catch Hughes’ pitches. While his command last night wasn’t quite as jaw-dropping, it was certainly evident to anyone who cared to pay attention. This isn’t even getting into the fantastic late movement Hughes’ manages to get on his 4-seamer. He stayed away from the 2-seamer last night, likely because the velocity would have only been around 86 given the speed of his 4-seamer.
All this is without even mentioned Hughes’ devastating hammer of a curve ball. His curve, which comes in about 71-72mph, has shocking drop and a fair amount of tilt. Righty Frank Thomas flinched in terror as Hughes’ curve seemed destined to clock him in the head, before it swooped back into the strike zone for a called strike. The difference in velocity between his curve and fastball made his 90mph fastball seem all the faster. He only used his change-up twice last night, both times very effectively. It ran about 82 and snaked back inside to right handers just as it should. Hughes claims to still be working on the pitch and there’s currently no need to over-use it, as its clear he can get by on his fastball and curve for now. Eventually, as the league catches up to him, the change-up will become an important and necessary part of his repertoire. Oh yeah, it should be might effective as well.
Hughes pitched against Dustin McGowan, a very promising young pitcher who throws a forceful heater with good movement and a nasty change-up. At one point, McGowan flat out made reigning MVP/best right-handed hitter I’ve ever seen, A-Rod, look foolish with a dirty, tumbling change-up. But this post isn’t about McGowan, its about Phillip Hughes and the blindingly bright future that lies in wait for the young man.
While we only have about 6 readers, 4 of which are the writers of this blog, I implore any of you who enjoy baseball to pay attention to not only Hughes but any pitcher while he throws. It’s the best way to truly appreciate a baseball game and just how fucking hard it is to locate a pitch from 60’6’’ away and how amazingly hard it is to hit a 95mph ball that’s moving all around. I simply marvel when I watch guys hurl gas towards the catcher’s mitt, watching the ball drop or tilt or simply blow right past a future HOFer.
In summation – go yanks.
Resident Phil Hughes Fan-boy - Dr. Danger, Esq.
*I should mention that I'm like 93% responsible for this injury. I'm the most superstitious person I know, yet for some as of yet unknown reason, I decided to call a fellow Yankee fan to make sure he was witnessing the Wunderkind pitching so brilliantly. Not 3 minutes after I made the call did Hughes pull up lame after tossing a curveball. I apologize from the bottom of my heart.
**The called third strike against Thomas was probably a ball. Hughes threw the same pitch three times during the AB to the same location. The first time it was a strike, the second time it was a ball, Umpire Bill Miller decided the third time would be another strike. Thomas was not pleased, fairly so as Miller’s strike zone was eradicate all night. I, on the other hand, was thrilled.
***Control is a pitcher’s ability to throw strikes, as opposed to balls. Command is a pitcher’s ability to locate strikes to specific spots within the strike zone. See Greg Maddux.
Friday, March 14, 2008
A Get-Together to Tear It Apart
I'd like to use the space to remind all 6 of our readers that one of the purest joys a post-college 20-something year old can experience is seeing live music. Obviously individuals' tastes will vary wildly and while the experience of seeing band A may elicit euphoria in person X, it may induce nausea in person Y. The point, however, is that something inherently exhilarating occurs while seeing a band perform live. It goes well beyond simply hearing a great song or two. The joy comes from watching the band perform and feeling the energy that only a large, crowded mass of bouncing bodies can generate. Part of the great thing about live music is turning to face a complete stranger as you both scream (moreso than sing),
"Cause baby, I'm an anarchist, you're a spineless liberal. We marched together for the eight-hour day and held hands in the streets of Seattle, but when it came time to throw bricks through that Starbucks window – you left me all alone .. all alone."*
Seeing live music is one of the few opportunities people have to let loose and lose themselves completely in music and their environment. It's easy to forget about how lame working is, how insanely in debt you are, or how Republikans are intent on destroying your rights of privacy by spying on this country’s citizens. No matter what genre of music you're into, 90% of the time, 100% of the time it will feel a thousand times better live and you'll get more out of the music than skipping around on your i-pod.**
I mention all this because Enis, Slim Charles, and myself (Dr. Danger, Esq. as always) spent last Friday evening at Terminal 5 here in good ol' NYC seeing The Hives with opening act, The Donnas (Norwood did not attend as his hatred for the Terminal 5 venue precluded him from doing so). I hadn't seen either band live before but I knew several things going into the show.
1) The Hives are excellent - a garage rock n roll band straight out of Sweden who has put out 3 very solid to spectacular albums and an absolutely phenomenal EP (Veni Vedi Vicious, Tyrannosaurus Hives, and The Black and White Album, with a.k.a.I.D.I.O.T. being the EP).
2) I was aware that the lead singer, Pelle Almqvist, was a maniac on stage and the drummer was fucking awesome.
3) I really really really dig The Hives' music.
4) I didn't really know much about The Donnas other than the fact that they are an all chick band, their popular single "Take It Off" was a decent song, and I had heard tell (courtesy of Norwood) that the drummer was hot.
The three of us arrived at the show (utterly saturated from the monsoon that hit the New York area Friday night) while The Donnas were more than half-way through their set. Immediately my ears perked up. The Donnas, it turns out, were far FAR radder than I had anticipated. Their music was more metal influenced than I was aware and the guitarist, Allison Robertson, SHREDS. She was pulling sweet metal riffs out from every angle and nailing them with precession. Beyond that, the guitar was loud – like really fucking loud, which was made more incredible by the fact that she was the only guitarist in the band. My sole qualm with the band's performance would be that the singer, Brett Anderson (female), didn't seem to have much vocal range and missed a few notes at time. It could have just been the night or she just might not be the best live singer. But truthfully, it didn't matter. Her singing was more than adequate and the band overall rocked and rocked hard. In hindsight, I'm genuinely upset that we didn't catch their entire set – lesson learned … show up early for The Donnas next time.
Once The Donnas left the stage, the three of us had a bit more time to assess our options as far as where we would stand for The Hives set. Terminal 5 is a fairly big venue, holding around 3,000 people in my completely unscientific (and likely inaccurate) estimate. The acoustics are absolutely awful. The problem with a large venue with terrible acoustics makes itself blindingly clear when the place is sold-out. We needed to get away from the bar and out from underneath the overhangs if we wanted to hear music as opposed to garbled, bassy noise. Unfortunately, there isn't really an interesting or exciting story that developed out of our quest to find a more amenable location to view the show. We simply pushed a little and ended up out from the sound dungeon that was the space under the overhangs and entered into the main crowd (allllllll the way in the back).
From the moment The Hives stepped on stage, everyone in attendance knew the show was going to be fantastic. Throughout their set, Pelle Almqvist was a nutjob – running around stage, executing crisp jump kicks, and singing in his perfectly honed Swedish impression of an American accent. The drummer had a much smaller kit than I would have guessed – very basic, a kick drum, a floor tom, another tom (there's definitely a more accurate term for this), a snare, and crash, ride, and hi-hat cymbals. How he manages to project such loud, deep sounds from a rather simple kit is beyond me, but made for a very impressive feat to see and hear. The other three members (2 guitarists and 1 bassist) contributed by either being fucking awesome (all of them) or moving about in hysterical manners (the 2 guitarists). Their song selection covered all 3 full length American-released albums and I didn't catch a single fuck-up. They spent the entire hour forty-five in a state of impassioned frenzy. Their performance unquestionably has entered into my top-10 live performances that I've witnessed list, joining the ranks of, inter alia, Joe Strummer '99 (Roseland), Rancid '02 (Roseland), the entire Ska Against Racism concert '98 (Montclair State University), and Tom Petty '00 (PNC Bank Arts Center) .. oh and of course every Hang the DJ show.
In summation, the show fucking rocked and I encourage each and everyone of you to try to attend more live music shows – you'll be a happy (and better) person for it.
* "Baby, I'm an Anarchist", Against Me!
** This probably doesn't apply to crappy top-40 bands, but I honestly don't really know.
"Cause baby, I'm an anarchist, you're a spineless liberal. We marched together for the eight-hour day and held hands in the streets of Seattle, but when it came time to throw bricks through that Starbucks window – you left me all alone .. all alone."*
Seeing live music is one of the few opportunities people have to let loose and lose themselves completely in music and their environment. It's easy to forget about how lame working is, how insanely in debt you are, or how Republikans are intent on destroying your rights of privacy by spying on this country’s citizens. No matter what genre of music you're into, 90% of the time, 100% of the time it will feel a thousand times better live and you'll get more out of the music than skipping around on your i-pod.**
I mention all this because Enis, Slim Charles, and myself (Dr. Danger, Esq. as always) spent last Friday evening at Terminal 5 here in good ol' NYC seeing The Hives with opening act, The Donnas (Norwood did not attend as his hatred for the Terminal 5 venue precluded him from doing so). I hadn't seen either band live before but I knew several things going into the show.
1) The Hives are excellent - a garage rock n roll band straight out of Sweden who has put out 3 very solid to spectacular albums and an absolutely phenomenal EP (Veni Vedi Vicious, Tyrannosaurus Hives, and The Black and White Album, with a.k.a.I.D.I.O.T. being the EP).
2) I was aware that the lead singer, Pelle Almqvist, was a maniac on stage and the drummer was fucking awesome.
3) I really really really dig The Hives' music.
4) I didn't really know much about The Donnas other than the fact that they are an all chick band, their popular single "Take It Off" was a decent song, and I had heard tell (courtesy of Norwood) that the drummer was hot.
The three of us arrived at the show (utterly saturated from the monsoon that hit the New York area Friday night) while The Donnas were more than half-way through their set. Immediately my ears perked up. The Donnas, it turns out, were far FAR radder than I had anticipated. Their music was more metal influenced than I was aware and the guitarist, Allison Robertson, SHREDS. She was pulling sweet metal riffs out from every angle and nailing them with precession. Beyond that, the guitar was loud – like really fucking loud, which was made more incredible by the fact that she was the only guitarist in the band. My sole qualm with the band's performance would be that the singer, Brett Anderson (female), didn't seem to have much vocal range and missed a few notes at time. It could have just been the night or she just might not be the best live singer. But truthfully, it didn't matter. Her singing was more than adequate and the band overall rocked and rocked hard. In hindsight, I'm genuinely upset that we didn't catch their entire set – lesson learned … show up early for The Donnas next time.
Once The Donnas left the stage, the three of us had a bit more time to assess our options as far as where we would stand for The Hives set. Terminal 5 is a fairly big venue, holding around 3,000 people in my completely unscientific (and likely inaccurate) estimate. The acoustics are absolutely awful. The problem with a large venue with terrible acoustics makes itself blindingly clear when the place is sold-out. We needed to get away from the bar and out from underneath the overhangs if we wanted to hear music as opposed to garbled, bassy noise. Unfortunately, there isn't really an interesting or exciting story that developed out of our quest to find a more amenable location to view the show. We simply pushed a little and ended up out from the sound dungeon that was the space under the overhangs and entered into the main crowd (allllllll the way in the back).
From the moment The Hives stepped on stage, everyone in attendance knew the show was going to be fantastic. Throughout their set, Pelle Almqvist was a nutjob – running around stage, executing crisp jump kicks, and singing in his perfectly honed Swedish impression of an American accent. The drummer had a much smaller kit than I would have guessed – very basic, a kick drum, a floor tom, another tom (there's definitely a more accurate term for this), a snare, and crash, ride, and hi-hat cymbals. How he manages to project such loud, deep sounds from a rather simple kit is beyond me, but made for a very impressive feat to see and hear. The other three members (2 guitarists and 1 bassist) contributed by either being fucking awesome (all of them) or moving about in hysterical manners (the 2 guitarists). Their song selection covered all 3 full length American-released albums and I didn't catch a single fuck-up. They spent the entire hour forty-five in a state of impassioned frenzy. Their performance unquestionably has entered into my top-10 live performances that I've witnessed list, joining the ranks of, inter alia, Joe Strummer '99 (Roseland), Rancid '02 (Roseland), the entire Ska Against Racism concert '98 (Montclair State University), and Tom Petty '00 (PNC Bank Arts Center) .. oh and of course every Hang the DJ show.
In summation, the show fucking rocked and I encourage each and everyone of you to try to attend more live music shows – you'll be a happy (and better) person for it.
* "Baby, I'm an Anarchist", Against Me!
** This probably doesn't apply to crappy top-40 bands, but I honestly don't really know.
Friday, February 29, 2008
My Lawn Wrangler Debut
As has been previously alluded to, I have been thus far absent on this here blog. Why? Well, see, I write for a living. I put my meager amounts of creativity into stuff that actually pays me, not writing on some shit site that only my roommates and maybe a couple friends read. It's not that I don't care about you guys - that's only part of it. The truth is, I just don't feel like giving it away. Do you think prostitutes take time out of their workday to give free handjobs? No f'in way. But, since I generally cave to even the faintest amount of peer pressure - in this case, the fact that my roommates have already been posting on this and they're assholes - consider this my free handjob to you. I just hope you're a fast reader because my arm gets tired. Get it? No? Fuck you.
Anyway, like I said, inspiration is a key part of my job and I've been lacking it recently, so I decided that instead of coming up with something original, I'll just take you through the things that have made me happy, angry, or confused this week.
Awesome Things That Don't Suck:
1. Baseball.
Ian already spoke of the Mets, but allow me to be a piece of repeatin' shit. Last season sucked for the Shea faithful, so now spring returns with a clean slate for baseball fans. This afternoon, I plan on parking my ass in front of the TV and watching Johan Santana pitch his first innings as a Met. Working from home is rough.
I'm also excited for wiffle ball games, as long as Glen isn't my teammate.
This also means that in a little over a month, I'll be attending games wearing the best purchase I've made in years. Mustache not included, unfortunately.
2. VH1 Classic
Ok, I know not everyone is into quality music these days, but if you think you are, check out VH1 Classic right now (channel 136 for you fellow Time Warner suckers). The best of the lot is Classic Albums, where they go through the history of a monumental record. Dark Side Of The Moon, Metallica's Black Album, Electric Ladyland, Motorhead's Ace Of Spades? Rawk!
The best part, they barely have any commercials, so you get near full hours of awesomeness. Then, just for shits, they'll put on a movie like Ghostbusters. Well played, VH1. Well played.
You've been informed. Now go.
3. White Russians
It's not secret that we in this apartment love The Big Lebowski. If you're not a fan, stop reading this immediately and go watch it another two or three times. Then come back. You'll thank me.
One of the best parts about The Dude is his love for Caucasians, or in the common parlance, White Russians. I had two last night and they're delicious. Rarely does a beverage combine the soothing qualities of chocolate milk and the potency to knock you on your ass. In the morning, they can cure hangovers. In the winter, they'll warm your stomach. In the summer, load them with ice and you have the perfect afternoon cocktail. Drink one at 11 PM on a Thursday and you'll feel like a million bucks. Fuck writing this - I'm going to mix one now.
Things That Pissed Me Off This Week:
1. Squirrels.
One woke me up the other morning and it really pissed me off. Yeah, they look cute and all, but wait until one of them gets in your basement when you're trying to write a 10th grade history paper and you have to get it out by trapping it in a plastic bin and it's surprisingly strong and fighting like it's rabid, so you have to really wrestle to keep it inside until you can get up the stairs to your back porch and, once it finally realizes that it's free again and runs away, you find that in its nervous state it shit everywhere inside that bin, so now you have to clean it up just like all the times you picked up garbage on your lawn because the little bushy-tailed assholes ate through the bag even though there are fucking tasty acorns all over your yard that just end up getting stuck in your lawnmower. Fuck.
Okay, sorry, that got a little out of hand but I'm really starting to think squirrels are the enemy. Need proof? Bam:
Not enough for you? Watch that stupid "Rock Me Gently" Jeep commercial again and see you how feel. Yeah, that's right. Embrace the anger.
2. Buybacks.
It seems like every other sales industry gives you some kind of reward for your loyalty, so you'd think something as sacred and intimate as the bartender-customer relationship would engender a little more gratitude. Wrong. Over the course of a night, I can spend a lot of money at a bar and while I'm not the world's greatest tipper - no steady income, ok? - I also don't stiff anybody, no matter how shitty the service, and I try to give extra to good bartenders. So, occasionally, throw a freebie my way and I'll come back more often and give you more money. There, it's that simple. It's like giving a treat to a dog. - they do something good, you reward them, and maybe they'll hump your leg for a while. Well, I'm the same way. Wait, that came out wrong. What I mean to say is, give me a free beer and I'll hump your leg. Glad we cleared that up.
I'm pissed about this because I was given a buyback from a nice bartender this week and it made me realize that it had been a long time since that had happened. Maybe it's what I'm used to from Long Island - the Checkmate and Tara's are great about this - or maybe it's just my constant need for affection and reassurance, but either way, this doesn't happen enough around here. Once I find a place that does, I'll be there all the time.
Unless it's a gay bar or populated by these guys.
Finally, Things That Have Left Me Undecided:
1. Button Fly Jeans
I had a pair of these years ago that I had to abandon due to a lack of stability in the button region. Yes, that means that constantly my fly would be undone and that's just asking for trouble, especially with all the children that live in my area. And no, even though I love Lebowski and the Jesus, I'm not into exposing myself to 8-year-olds, dude.
Anyway, I recently purchased a pair of jeans that I knew to be in my size but mistakenly thought had a normal zipper. So, as I'm breaking them in, I'm slowly getting used to both the undoing and doing in the bathroom as well as the fact that I'm more susceptible to the wind chill factor as compared to my normal jeans.
The acid test will be tonight, when I'll be going out drinking and most likely becoming friends with a urinal. Maybe I'll even try some different strategies, such as top two buttons with belt buckled, top two and unbuckled, middle two only, or the classic "pull your pants all the way down like a 6-year-old in a stadium bathroom and make it awkward for the rest of us" method. Anyway, I decided that if I end up looking like this in a public space tonight, these jeans will forever be banished to sober duty only. What can I say? I give up easy.
Anyway, I'll report back sometime soon with the results of this evening, and maybe I'll even write some more stuff someday. Until then, beware of pickpockets and loose women.
- Dan
Anyway, like I said, inspiration is a key part of my job and I've been lacking it recently, so I decided that instead of coming up with something original, I'll just take you through the things that have made me happy, angry, or confused this week.
Awesome Things That Don't Suck:
1. Baseball.
Ian already spoke of the Mets, but allow me to be a piece of repeatin' shit. Last season sucked for the Shea faithful, so now spring returns with a clean slate for baseball fans. This afternoon, I plan on parking my ass in front of the TV and watching Johan Santana pitch his first innings as a Met. Working from home is rough.
I'm also excited for wiffle ball games, as long as Glen isn't my teammate.
This also means that in a little over a month, I'll be attending games wearing the best purchase I've made in years. Mustache not included, unfortunately.
2. VH1 Classic
Ok, I know not everyone is into quality music these days, but if you think you are, check out VH1 Classic right now (channel 136 for you fellow Time Warner suckers). The best of the lot is Classic Albums, where they go through the history of a monumental record. Dark Side Of The Moon, Metallica's Black Album, Electric Ladyland, Motorhead's Ace Of Spades? Rawk!
The best part, they barely have any commercials, so you get near full hours of awesomeness. Then, just for shits, they'll put on a movie like Ghostbusters. Well played, VH1. Well played.
You've been informed. Now go.
3. White Russians
It's not secret that we in this apartment love The Big Lebowski. If you're not a fan, stop reading this immediately and go watch it another two or three times. Then come back. You'll thank me.
One of the best parts about The Dude is his love for Caucasians, or in the common parlance, White Russians. I had two last night and they're delicious. Rarely does a beverage combine the soothing qualities of chocolate milk and the potency to knock you on your ass. In the morning, they can cure hangovers. In the winter, they'll warm your stomach. In the summer, load them with ice and you have the perfect afternoon cocktail. Drink one at 11 PM on a Thursday and you'll feel like a million bucks. Fuck writing this - I'm going to mix one now.
Things That Pissed Me Off This Week:
1. Squirrels.
One woke me up the other morning and it really pissed me off. Yeah, they look cute and all, but wait until one of them gets in your basement when you're trying to write a 10th grade history paper and you have to get it out by trapping it in a plastic bin and it's surprisingly strong and fighting like it's rabid, so you have to really wrestle to keep it inside until you can get up the stairs to your back porch and, once it finally realizes that it's free again and runs away, you find that in its nervous state it shit everywhere inside that bin, so now you have to clean it up just like all the times you picked up garbage on your lawn because the little bushy-tailed assholes ate through the bag even though there are fucking tasty acorns all over your yard that just end up getting stuck in your lawnmower. Fuck.
Okay, sorry, that got a little out of hand but I'm really starting to think squirrels are the enemy. Need proof? Bam:
Not enough for you? Watch that stupid "Rock Me Gently" Jeep commercial again and see you how feel. Yeah, that's right. Embrace the anger.2. Buybacks.
It seems like every other sales industry gives you some kind of reward for your loyalty, so you'd think something as sacred and intimate as the bartender-customer relationship would engender a little more gratitude. Wrong. Over the course of a night, I can spend a lot of money at a bar and while I'm not the world's greatest tipper - no steady income, ok? - I also don't stiff anybody, no matter how shitty the service, and I try to give extra to good bartenders. So, occasionally, throw a freebie my way and I'll come back more often and give you more money. There, it's that simple. It's like giving a treat to a dog. - they do something good, you reward them, and maybe they'll hump your leg for a while. Well, I'm the same way. Wait, that came out wrong. What I mean to say is, give me a free beer and I'll hump your leg. Glad we cleared that up.
I'm pissed about this because I was given a buyback from a nice bartender this week and it made me realize that it had been a long time since that had happened. Maybe it's what I'm used to from Long Island - the Checkmate and Tara's are great about this - or maybe it's just my constant need for affection and reassurance, but either way, this doesn't happen enough around here. Once I find a place that does, I'll be there all the time.
Unless it's a gay bar or populated by these guys.
Finally, Things That Have Left Me Undecided:
1. Button Fly Jeans
I had a pair of these years ago that I had to abandon due to a lack of stability in the button region. Yes, that means that constantly my fly would be undone and that's just asking for trouble, especially with all the children that live in my area. And no, even though I love Lebowski and the Jesus, I'm not into exposing myself to 8-year-olds, dude.
Anyway, I recently purchased a pair of jeans that I knew to be in my size but mistakenly thought had a normal zipper. So, as I'm breaking them in, I'm slowly getting used to both the undoing and doing in the bathroom as well as the fact that I'm more susceptible to the wind chill factor as compared to my normal jeans.
The acid test will be tonight, when I'll be going out drinking and most likely becoming friends with a urinal. Maybe I'll even try some different strategies, such as top two buttons with belt buckled, top two and unbuckled, middle two only, or the classic "pull your pants all the way down like a 6-year-old in a stadium bathroom and make it awkward for the rest of us" method. Anyway, I decided that if I end up looking like this in a public space tonight, these jeans will forever be banished to sober duty only. What can I say? I give up easy.
Anyway, I'll report back sometime soon with the results of this evening, and maybe I'll even write some more stuff someday. Until then, beware of pickpockets and loose women.
- Dan
Thursday, February 28, 2008
That's just like .. your opinion .. man
Well its been quite some time since Norwood, Enis, or myself (Dr. Danger, Esq.) have posted anything on Mindgrapes of Wrath (Slim Charles has yet to grace this small corner of the intraweb with his presence). Well faithful readers, the wait is over.
Those of you who know me know that I’m an avid music lover. No one genre defines my taste, although, as a general proposition, I certainly gravitate to certain types of music over others as a starting point. Bands like The Clash, Dead Kennedys, The Misfits, and Against Me! occupy a place in my heart located not too far from the residences of Sage Francis, Aesop Rock, and Mos Def. Take a quick right and you’ll find Manu Chao chilling with Lee “Scratch” Perry (who incidentally had earlier been getting high with members of The Band and Ratatat). Rush hangs around too, you should see Geddy Lee when he’s boozing with Dean Martin. And I’d be remiss not to mention my affection for Ween and They Might Be Giants (drugs can do odd things to one’s tastes). Hell, even James Taylor is more than welcome anywhere I’m rolling. Suffice to say, I have a broad and eclectic taste in music and am loathe to dismiss something without giving it a proper chance.
Now, like any other hot-blooded American, I have plenty of hate in my heart. It would be of no benefit to anyone to recount most of the bands I hate, as they are plentiful and, in my mind, fairly obvious. I can't believe that anyone ACTUALLY likes Creed, Counting Crows, or Cascada, so it seems unnecessary to point out that I too despise those … those … those … I’m at a loss for words … man those “musical acts” really blow.
Instead, I will now present to you the definitive list of the Top 5 Worst Bands of All-Time (worth mentioning)* - in reverse order:
5. John Cougar Mellencamp – I’ll admit a few years ago Cougar never would have made this list. Granted I was never really a fan of “Jack & Diane” or “Wild Nights”, but I’d simply change the radio station and be on my way. He manufactured mindlessly drivel-driven hits for years, but that surely doesn’t make him a lonely man. For years he was nothing more than a poor-man’s Tom Petty as far as Dr. Danger was concerned.
Everything changed once the 2006 NFL season began. Ever since then it is quite literally IMPOSSIBLE to watch a nationally televised sporting event in America without hearing “This is Our Country”. This song soared through the ranks of all time insufferable diddies, reaching a height previously unoccupied. I know there isn’t much need for me to further expound upon the crappiness of this song. You’ve heard it, you know its god awful, and I’m sure you can agree that this singular piece of musical construction is far more than enough to warrant J. Cougar Mellencamp’s inclusion in the Top 5 Worst Bands of All-Time list.
4. The Beatles – Look, I know. I know everyone disagrees with me. I know EVERYONE loves the Beatles. I know there are without question people who want to smack me for including the Beatles on any list other than the Top 2 Bands of All-Time list. Well you know what? Fuck you. While I readily admit the Beatles were an incredibly influential band and John Lennon was a cool motherfucker, I also readily admit that I feel like I’m having an aneurysm every time I’m subjected to listening to any of their songs.
I just can’t stand hearing them. John Lennon’s voice irritates me. Paul McCartney REALLY irritates me, his voice too, but mainly Paul McCartney … he is the definition of a complete sell-out douchebag. Take your billions and your one-legged ex-wife you prissy, no-talent hack. I believe Paul McCartney singlehandedly pushed race relations back 35 years with Ebony and Ivory – how could black people ever respect white people after that abortion of a collaboration?
Its not just Paul though; I truly believe ALL their music is bad. Their early bubblegum pop is grating and their later hippy-yogi-drug fueled music is unlistenable. I really can’t stand them. We’re moving on now.
3. Aerosmith – This band that has had a ton of success. I mean a TON of success. I would wager I could grab a person off the street and he could name me 5 Aerosmith songs off the top of his head. Interestingly enough, not one of them would be good. If John Mellencamp is a poor man’s Tom Petty, then Aerosmith is a poverty-stricken paraplegic man’s Rolling Stones**. Their lyrics are terrible and trite and they might as well wear corporate logos on stage like European soccer players wear on the pitch. Steven Tyler will never be Mick Jagger and will probably never get to bang his daughter, no matter how hard he tries.
2. Fleetwood Mac – Here’s a band that in any other universe would undoubtedly hold the number 1 position on this list. Now bear with me for a second. I love my father and really couldn’t ask for a better man to be my dad. For all his great attributes, there is one thing for which I will never be able to fully forgive him – he likes Fleetwood Mac. Consequently, I heard a lot of Fleetwood Mac growing up, and let me tell you something, they blow like none other. Slutastic Stevie Nicks should take her coked up asshole and use a fire extinguisher to drown herself; that is if she had any decency – which she doesn’t. Outside of people over 40, I don't believe I’ve met a single person who likes Fleetwood Mac. They are only “out-worsted” by one band ….. the absolute worst band of all-time:
1. The (fucking) Eagles – Jeff Bridges, while portraying The Dude in one of America’s greatest cinematic masterpieces, sums it up best “…I hate the fucking Eagles man”. Glenn Frey, Don Henley, Joe Walsh, and whoever the 4th guy is – YOU ALL SUCK. Witchy Woman … Hotel California … Desperado … Take It Easy … these songs are all unabashedly terrible. I cannot begin to describe the animosity I have toward whatever dumbfuck record executive allowed this group of talentless cheesedicks to release music into the public’s ear.
I could go on much longer about how much I hate the (fucking) Eagles, but I’ll save you the obscenity-laden diatribe. It wouldn’t even be very interesting, just a lot of swearing and repeated mention of how much I hate the (fucking) Eagles. Please, just do everyone a favor, if you ever see someone put an Eagles song on a juke box, break a bottle of Miller High Life over his head, drag him into the closest bathroom and give him a swirlie.
*This list is neither definitive nor shall it be construed to represent the opinions and/or thoughts of Norwood, Enis, Slim Charles, the Lawn Wranglers as a collective entity, or any contributor to Mindgrapes of Wrath. This list is the brainchild of Dr. Danger and Dr. Danger alone (although it is pretty much the definitive list).
**Also monster, mammoth sell-outs who also will probably start wearing corporate logos as attire on stage in the very near future (hattip to B-rizzy for observing that I should note this)
Those of you who know me know that I’m an avid music lover. No one genre defines my taste, although, as a general proposition, I certainly gravitate to certain types of music over others as a starting point. Bands like The Clash, Dead Kennedys, The Misfits, and Against Me! occupy a place in my heart located not too far from the residences of Sage Francis, Aesop Rock, and Mos Def. Take a quick right and you’ll find Manu Chao chilling with Lee “Scratch” Perry (who incidentally had earlier been getting high with members of The Band and Ratatat). Rush hangs around too, you should see Geddy Lee when he’s boozing with Dean Martin. And I’d be remiss not to mention my affection for Ween and They Might Be Giants (drugs can do odd things to one’s tastes). Hell, even James Taylor is more than welcome anywhere I’m rolling. Suffice to say, I have a broad and eclectic taste in music and am loathe to dismiss something without giving it a proper chance.
Now, like any other hot-blooded American, I have plenty of hate in my heart. It would be of no benefit to anyone to recount most of the bands I hate, as they are plentiful and, in my mind, fairly obvious. I can't believe that anyone ACTUALLY likes Creed, Counting Crows, or Cascada, so it seems unnecessary to point out that I too despise those … those … those … I’m at a loss for words … man those “musical acts” really blow.
Instead, I will now present to you the definitive list of the Top 5 Worst Bands of All-Time (worth mentioning)* - in reverse order:
5. John Cougar Mellencamp – I’ll admit a few years ago Cougar never would have made this list. Granted I was never really a fan of “Jack & Diane” or “Wild Nights”, but I’d simply change the radio station and be on my way. He manufactured mindlessly drivel-driven hits for years, but that surely doesn’t make him a lonely man. For years he was nothing more than a poor-man’s Tom Petty as far as Dr. Danger was concerned.
Everything changed once the 2006 NFL season began. Ever since then it is quite literally IMPOSSIBLE to watch a nationally televised sporting event in America without hearing “This is Our Country”. This song soared through the ranks of all time insufferable diddies, reaching a height previously unoccupied. I know there isn’t much need for me to further expound upon the crappiness of this song. You’ve heard it, you know its god awful, and I’m sure you can agree that this singular piece of musical construction is far more than enough to warrant J. Cougar Mellencamp’s inclusion in the Top 5 Worst Bands of All-Time list.
4. The Beatles – Look, I know. I know everyone disagrees with me. I know EVERYONE loves the Beatles. I know there are without question people who want to smack me for including the Beatles on any list other than the Top 2 Bands of All-Time list. Well you know what? Fuck you. While I readily admit the Beatles were an incredibly influential band and John Lennon was a cool motherfucker, I also readily admit that I feel like I’m having an aneurysm every time I’m subjected to listening to any of their songs.
I just can’t stand hearing them. John Lennon’s voice irritates me. Paul McCartney REALLY irritates me, his voice too, but mainly Paul McCartney … he is the definition of a complete sell-out douchebag. Take your billions and your one-legged ex-wife you prissy, no-talent hack. I believe Paul McCartney singlehandedly pushed race relations back 35 years with Ebony and Ivory – how could black people ever respect white people after that abortion of a collaboration?
Its not just Paul though; I truly believe ALL their music is bad. Their early bubblegum pop is grating and their later hippy-yogi-drug fueled music is unlistenable. I really can’t stand them. We’re moving on now.
3. Aerosmith – This band that has had a ton of success. I mean a TON of success. I would wager I could grab a person off the street and he could name me 5 Aerosmith songs off the top of his head. Interestingly enough, not one of them would be good. If John Mellencamp is a poor man’s Tom Petty, then Aerosmith is a poverty-stricken paraplegic man’s Rolling Stones**. Their lyrics are terrible and trite and they might as well wear corporate logos on stage like European soccer players wear on the pitch. Steven Tyler will never be Mick Jagger and will probably never get to bang his daughter, no matter how hard he tries.
2. Fleetwood Mac – Here’s a band that in any other universe would undoubtedly hold the number 1 position on this list. Now bear with me for a second. I love my father and really couldn’t ask for a better man to be my dad. For all his great attributes, there is one thing for which I will never be able to fully forgive him – he likes Fleetwood Mac. Consequently, I heard a lot of Fleetwood Mac growing up, and let me tell you something, they blow like none other. Slutastic Stevie Nicks should take her coked up asshole and use a fire extinguisher to drown herself; that is if she had any decency – which she doesn’t. Outside of people over 40, I don't believe I’ve met a single person who likes Fleetwood Mac. They are only “out-worsted” by one band ….. the absolute worst band of all-time:
1. The (fucking) Eagles – Jeff Bridges, while portraying The Dude in one of America’s greatest cinematic masterpieces, sums it up best “…I hate the fucking Eagles man”. Glenn Frey, Don Henley, Joe Walsh, and whoever the 4th guy is – YOU ALL SUCK. Witchy Woman … Hotel California … Desperado … Take It Easy … these songs are all unabashedly terrible. I cannot begin to describe the animosity I have toward whatever dumbfuck record executive allowed this group of talentless cheesedicks to release music into the public’s ear.
I could go on much longer about how much I hate the (fucking) Eagles, but I’ll save you the obscenity-laden diatribe. It wouldn’t even be very interesting, just a lot of swearing and repeated mention of how much I hate the (fucking) Eagles. Please, just do everyone a favor, if you ever see someone put an Eagles song on a juke box, break a bottle of Miller High Life over his head, drag him into the closest bathroom and give him a swirlie.
*This list is neither definitive nor shall it be construed to represent the opinions and/or thoughts of Norwood, Enis, Slim Charles, the Lawn Wranglers as a collective entity, or any contributor to Mindgrapes of Wrath. This list is the brainchild of Dr. Danger and Dr. Danger alone (although it is pretty much the definitive list).
**Also monster, mammoth sell-outs who also will probably start wearing corporate logos as attire on stage in the very near future (hattip to B-rizzy for observing that I should note this)
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