If more guys would insist on the details of a wedding:
1) Invitations sent out in a tasteful camoflague
2) `80s themed weddings. Bridesmaids wearing Madonna outfits, groomsmen looking like Don Johnson.
3) Using phrases like "If our wedding table doesn't have one of those inflatable NFL chairs depicting my favorite team, this wedding is OFF!"
4) 3-tiered wedding cake by Krispy Kreme
5) No way the bride's wearing white, so he can show his crew he tapped that WAY before the honeymoon, boy!
6)The Wedding March as performed by Aerosmith
7) Matching cumberbunds on the guys? Bah - clean underwear is a good first step.
8) Stand-up comedy show before the service, bridesmaids tripping on X, and a 300 pound performance artist named Extreme Elvis performing after the vows. EE then drops trou and teabags a midget...oh, wait, that happened at a wedding I went to planned by a guy. Good times and merriment abound.
9) wedding gowns purchased at Hooters and
10) No Electric Slide - just lots and lots of lapdances.
Men! Demand your equal share! If she gets to pick out the flowers, you should pick out the strippers.
But, then again, I am a dreamer.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
War of the Worlds - Reviewed By The Five Paragraph Bitter Film Critic
What a waste of $8.50! For the same price of two frappuchinos, I would have quenched my thirst, my sweet tooth, kept money from reaching the grubby little girly hands of Tom Cruise AND, by virtue of a satisfying urination, gotten a better ending.
It's a summer movie, chock full of loud sound effects and visual treats. The plot - aliens attack, eat humans, and Tom Cruise and his clan want to make it from New York to Boston where Tom's ex-wife (no, not Nicole Kidman) is staying with her family. The movie's special effects range from below average to amazing. Tom Cruise isn't terribly annoying in this role, though Dakota Fanning's going to soon have the market cornered on creepy blonde girl roles. Tim Robbins plays a creepy resistance fighter who takes more than a passing interest on young Mizz Fanning. Tom's angry teenage son should have been vaporized when the division of M1A Abrams Battle Tanks next to him gets vaporized, but he miraculously survives when trained Soldiers next to him die.
The worst part of the movie, though, is Morgan Freeman, and that is a phrase I never thought I'd write. He plays the part of narrator, reading the first paragraph of the book and the last paragraph, and nothing in the middle. His voice helps set the tone for the movie - emotionally gripping, giving a sense of the impending doom - and then truncates a horribly short ending with a mere voice over. The ending is the worst thing about this movie - after two hours of gut-wrenching ass-clenching action, within three minutes, the aliens suddenly get sick and die, and Tom's former in-laws appear from their Back Bay brownstone looking marvelous and rich. Roll credits.
Apparently, according to Hollywood, aliens don't read up on the planets they're about to destroy. In this movie, they have the technology to blast anything and everything, and eat us humanfolk up real good. But they didn't count on bacteria, fungi and molds and other primative life forms that exist in our bodies and air. These aliens have the ability to break through dimensions and go from one end of the galaxy to another, but they can't swing by CVS and pick up some Glade Antibacterial Wipes. Those dumb aliens in Signs - they're allergic to water, so they invade a planet that's 75% covered in water, and eat humans who are over 85% water. Stupid damned creatures - wear some Gore-Tex, slap some Rain-X on the mothership, and try that invasion again, Zoltar! And those bastards in Independence Day didn't anticipate Jeff Goldblum and the power of a Mac laptop. These aliens need to go to a Suze Orman seminar, learn how to plan.
So, in summary, Tom's weird in real life, the aliens are dumb, and the ending sucks more than a porn star trying to pay for a heroin habit. Otherwise, a great movie! Two out of a possible Six Whammies.
-----###-----
It's a summer movie, chock full of loud sound effects and visual treats. The plot - aliens attack, eat humans, and Tom Cruise and his clan want to make it from New York to Boston where Tom's ex-wife (no, not Nicole Kidman) is staying with her family. The movie's special effects range from below average to amazing. Tom Cruise isn't terribly annoying in this role, though Dakota Fanning's going to soon have the market cornered on creepy blonde girl roles. Tim Robbins plays a creepy resistance fighter who takes more than a passing interest on young Mizz Fanning. Tom's angry teenage son should have been vaporized when the division of M1A Abrams Battle Tanks next to him gets vaporized, but he miraculously survives when trained Soldiers next to him die.
The worst part of the movie, though, is Morgan Freeman, and that is a phrase I never thought I'd write. He plays the part of narrator, reading the first paragraph of the book and the last paragraph, and nothing in the middle. His voice helps set the tone for the movie - emotionally gripping, giving a sense of the impending doom - and then truncates a horribly short ending with a mere voice over. The ending is the worst thing about this movie - after two hours of gut-wrenching ass-clenching action, within three minutes, the aliens suddenly get sick and die, and Tom's former in-laws appear from their Back Bay brownstone looking marvelous and rich. Roll credits.
Apparently, according to Hollywood, aliens don't read up on the planets they're about to destroy. In this movie, they have the technology to blast anything and everything, and eat us humanfolk up real good. But they didn't count on bacteria, fungi and molds and other primative life forms that exist in our bodies and air. These aliens have the ability to break through dimensions and go from one end of the galaxy to another, but they can't swing by CVS and pick up some Glade Antibacterial Wipes. Those dumb aliens in Signs - they're allergic to water, so they invade a planet that's 75% covered in water, and eat humans who are over 85% water. Stupid damned creatures - wear some Gore-Tex, slap some Rain-X on the mothership, and try that invasion again, Zoltar! And those bastards in Independence Day didn't anticipate Jeff Goldblum and the power of a Mac laptop. These aliens need to go to a Suze Orman seminar, learn how to plan.
So, in summary, Tom's weird in real life, the aliens are dumb, and the ending sucks more than a porn star trying to pay for a heroin habit. Otherwise, a great movie! Two out of a possible Six Whammies.
-----###-----
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Adventures with La Policia Numero Dos
Same trip, 5 weeks later. I'm driving from El Paso, Texas up towards Odessa-Midland. I'm in Texas, again, fairly solidly. Mexico is about 100 miles, 120 miles away. Again, another tollbooth-style roadblock. This time, it's a US Border Patrol station. My car is now full of California swag, LA headshots, mix cds, photography equipment, and the cat who bathes in the River Sytx. The border patrol agent is flanked by several other agents, one of whom is carrying a German Shepard and another with a hand-cannon.
The first agent asks me if I have picked up or encountered any illegals on my journey. Hearing him clearly, I say "No sir." My Maryland tags on the Iowa car plainly identify me as a flag-wavin' American, and I figure this will be quick. The agent with the German Shepard is allowing the dog to smell my car. Beazulkitty then decides that this is the perfect time to pop out of the back seat and look at the dog. The canine goes APESH!T, barking his huevos off, deciding that a cat is infinitely more interesting than a box truck full of Dominicans. Squeaky the Cat, having grown up around large dogs, is not scared of the dog, and swipes at him (but, being in the car with windows up, it wasn't an effective attack). The Border Partol agent with the hand cannon orders me to get out of the car NOW!! The other agent, not seeing the cat, opens the door, forces me out, which causes Cujo's maladjusted cousin to leap into my seat, trying to carpe feline.
Squeaky simply ducks under the seat into his cat-sized hiding space, and the dog and agents go rummaging through my car, with me waving and screaming "You're dog's going to eat my cat!" The agent with the dog yanks the canine out of my car, and -with guns drawn- search my 2000 Ford Focus sedan for any sign of Hispanic folks. The worst thing they find is a white cat scared sh!tless, my stinky clothes from living on the road for two months, and, as the only sign of any contact with Mexico, a half-finished bottle of tequila (which, seriously, was not mine, officer - I'd have FINISHED that son-of-a-gun). When they decide that my 4 door car with less trunk room than a Porsche Boxster is not being used as a tool to ferry migrant farm workers across the Rio Grande, they apologized for the dog/cat incident. No problem, I reply, but, anger and fright has been replaced by curiosity - why do you guys have a Border Patrol station 120 miles AWAY from the border? Y'all ain't called the Two-Hours-Inland Patrol."
Dude with hand-cannons' reply "We've given up on that part."
Moral of the story, kids - stay in school. Eat your vegetables. Don't drown your food.
The first agent asks me if I have picked up or encountered any illegals on my journey. Hearing him clearly, I say "No sir." My Maryland tags on the Iowa car plainly identify me as a flag-wavin' American, and I figure this will be quick. The agent with the German Shepard is allowing the dog to smell my car. Beazulkitty then decides that this is the perfect time to pop out of the back seat and look at the dog. The canine goes APESH!T, barking his huevos off, deciding that a cat is infinitely more interesting than a box truck full of Dominicans. Squeaky the Cat, having grown up around large dogs, is not scared of the dog, and swipes at him (but, being in the car with windows up, it wasn't an effective attack). The Border Partol agent with the hand cannon orders me to get out of the car NOW!! The other agent, not seeing the cat, opens the door, forces me out, which causes Cujo's maladjusted cousin to leap into my seat, trying to carpe feline.
Squeaky simply ducks under the seat into his cat-sized hiding space, and the dog and agents go rummaging through my car, with me waving and screaming "You're dog's going to eat my cat!" The agent with the dog yanks the canine out of my car, and -with guns drawn- search my 2000 Ford Focus sedan for any sign of Hispanic folks. The worst thing they find is a white cat scared sh!tless, my stinky clothes from living on the road for two months, and, as the only sign of any contact with Mexico, a half-finished bottle of tequila (which, seriously, was not mine, officer - I'd have FINISHED that son-of-a-gun). When they decide that my 4 door car with less trunk room than a Porsche Boxster is not being used as a tool to ferry migrant farm workers across the Rio Grande, they apologized for the dog/cat incident. No problem, I reply, but, anger and fright has been replaced by curiosity - why do you guys have a Border Patrol station 120 miles AWAY from the border? Y'all ain't called the Two-Hours-Inland Patrol."
Dude with hand-cannons' reply "We've given up on that part."
Moral of the story, kids - stay in school. Eat your vegetables. Don't drown your food.
Adventures with La Policia Numero Uno
A discussion on another forum about things to not say to cops prompted me to post this.
I was driving from Vegas to California in 2002 on my first cross-country roadtrip. I was about 40 miles into the state when I find a roadblock. Mandatory stop, no getting around it. So, I pull up with my Maryland tags on my Iowan car and my Satanic cat in the passenger seat and ask the guard what's up. He asks me, in a fairly odd accent, if I brought any produce from Nevada. It sounded like "are you the recluse from Aveda?" I didn't hear what he said, or, more to the point, after five days in Vegas at my crazy friend Doug's wedding, doing stand-up, car-bombs, sports books and watching a midget get teabagged by a naked Elvis impersonator, I didn't comprehend was he was saying, so I asked "excuse me?" as politely as my possibly-still-hung-over arse could. He said "produce!" like PRO-duce, not pro-DUCE, like "You need to produce that report now!" and I was simply baffled by his request. I asked "produce what? My license?" He then yelled "Fruit!"
So, great, this glorified tollboth collector is calling me gay.
I made the mistake of getting out of my car to ask "What?"
Step one, kids - don't get out of the car, ever.
He reached for his gun. Now, having grown up between DC and Baltimore, two of the more violent cities in the US, I've seen plenty of guns. I've fired a few, and while I'm comfortable around them, I'm not comfortable when they're loaded and being aimed at me. Never had any problems in DC, but had guns pulled on me in Des Moines, Iowa, and Nowheresville, CA. Yeah, this makes sense...
I go "calm down, Fife!" and put my hands up (Doug would have been proud). "I just can't understand a damned word you've been saying." He goes "Fruit! Do you have any fruit in your car?!?!? while holding his side arm. "Fruit?" I ask incredulously. "Nah, I'm allergic to it! Got a cat, though."
Apparently bringing the feline spawn of Hades into California is fine, but not a banana. Off I drove to LA. 30 minutes later, I realized I was pretty solidly into California when this happened. Obviously, California has ceded the 40 miles of state land near Nevada as a fruit-fly buffer zone.
I was driving from Vegas to California in 2002 on my first cross-country roadtrip. I was about 40 miles into the state when I find a roadblock. Mandatory stop, no getting around it. So, I pull up with my Maryland tags on my Iowan car and my Satanic cat in the passenger seat and ask the guard what's up. He asks me, in a fairly odd accent, if I brought any produce from Nevada. It sounded like "are you the recluse from Aveda?" I didn't hear what he said, or, more to the point, after five days in Vegas at my crazy friend Doug's wedding, doing stand-up, car-bombs, sports books and watching a midget get teabagged by a naked Elvis impersonator, I didn't comprehend was he was saying, so I asked "excuse me?" as politely as my possibly-still-hung-over arse could. He said "produce!" like PRO-duce, not pro-DUCE, like "You need to produce that report now!" and I was simply baffled by his request. I asked "produce what? My license?" He then yelled "Fruit!"
So, great, this glorified tollboth collector is calling me gay.
I made the mistake of getting out of my car to ask "What?"
Step one, kids - don't get out of the car, ever.
He reached for his gun. Now, having grown up between DC and Baltimore, two of the more violent cities in the US, I've seen plenty of guns. I've fired a few, and while I'm comfortable around them, I'm not comfortable when they're loaded and being aimed at me. Never had any problems in DC, but had guns pulled on me in Des Moines, Iowa, and Nowheresville, CA. Yeah, this makes sense...
I go "calm down, Fife!" and put my hands up (Doug would have been proud). "I just can't understand a damned word you've been saying." He goes "Fruit! Do you have any fruit in your car?!?!? while holding his side arm. "Fruit?" I ask incredulously. "Nah, I'm allergic to it! Got a cat, though."
Apparently bringing the feline spawn of Hades into California is fine, but not a banana. Off I drove to LA. 30 minutes later, I realized I was pretty solidly into California when this happened. Obviously, California has ceded the 40 miles of state land near Nevada as a fruit-fly buffer zone.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Best. Meal. Ever.
I went to Al Tiramisu's on Friday. Positively glorious meal. Top 3 I've ever had, and, perhaps the best. Mesquite-grilled calamari - wow. Desserts that were borderline perfect. The only way to improve the meal is to serve more of this fantastic food.
Thank you Tom Sietsma in the Post for the recommendation.
www.altiramisu.com
(and some people think I'm only a complainer.)
Thank you Tom Sietsma in the Post for the recommendation.
www.altiramisu.com
(and some people think I'm only a complainer.)
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
a theme park where the theme is "suck"
Over the Delaware and through the Jersey woods, to Six Flags Great Adventure we rode. To ride the newest World's Tallest and Fastest Roller Coaster - Kingda Ka.
One small problem with that goal - you gotta contend with Six Flags Great Adventure.
It is really a prime example of what happens when a theme park gets way too big for it's britches. The park's core, designed approximately 35 years ago, is a charming mix of shops, restaurants and boardwalk-style games. The decor is reminiscent of Candy Land, with sconces resembling ice cream cones and gum drops on the building facades. It is situated next to a lovely lake, that they use for a water skiing show. Ferris wheel. Carousel. Fully-grown trees offering shade. It harkens back to a kinder era.
The place has many roller coasters, most of which have been built in the past decade. It's obvious they spent some money on them, as they have all the latest styles - linear launch modes, suspended looping twisting coasters, twisters. They have expanded the park to accomodate these new large coasters, and seem to add a new ride every couple of years.
It all sounds pretty good. Or, potentially, pretty good. But for every Alpha, there must be an Omega. Every Everest has a Death Valley, every rose has its thorn, and every Kurt has his Courtney. Six Flags Great Adventure has more errors than Galludet University's baseball team and more flaws than 3 dollar pants at Marshall's Clearance Rack.
First - with all of the new construction, there are parts of the park that are off limits. I can understand blocking off a section around a ride that's getting demolished, but, they also closed off the adjoining walkway - thereby forcing a 20 minute walk-around when it would have ordinarily a 5 minute walk at worst. In another section, a fake paintball game blocks a walkway connecting park sections, forcing yet another long walk-around. Even the brand-new section, featuring the new Kingda Ka, has rather narrow walkways, with barely enough room to hold 8 adults wide. In theme park world, that's next to nothing. Bad, bad theme park feng shui.
Second - I know theme parks don't attract only med school students and suburban high school teachers, but DAMN there were some ugly fat hateful people there. One of the advantages of being a theme park halfway between Philadelphia and New York City is the ability to draw from a population pool of nearly 25 million people within a 90 minute drive. However, it seems only the people with missing chromosomes and bad body piercings were able to attend. The line for The Chiller was full of gangbangers and the women who love them. The midway area near the Great American Scream Machine featured large, flabby women screaming "oh no you DI' INT!!" to other large, flabby women when expressing disbelief in either the other large, flabby women riding the ride or even attempting to squeeze their gargantuan pooh banks into the ride's cars.
What is it about theme parks attracting the fat and ugly? I have to admit, that after a Saturday night full of seafood and Jaegermeister, I was feeling less-than-perfect at the park. Not looking nor acting my normal gorgeous self. After spending a day being surrounded by folks that the men's and women's grooming magazines have yet to attract, I felt downright loving and pithy. Five-foot-tall Jersey boys wearing New Jersey Nets hats, bandanas and jerseys. 400 pound women in tank tops. Greased-back crew cuts on mongloid pizza cooks still bitter they failed their Sopranos' audition. More fake bling than a Chinese street vendor. People with more tattoos than job prospects.
The scariest site I saw was of a disgustingly fat woman, walking by the log flum ride, walking with two other pure examples of delicate femininity, wearing a black lace top - I swear, it was a low-cut black lace wifebeater - with these two deflated, sprawling, sagging airbags that may have once upon a time been human breasts, hanging under her armpits, with two large, black Iron Crosses tattoo'd where there used to be cleavage. Happy Valley, this wasn't. Her fat demonic offspring ran in front of her, rushing to the log flume for his monthly bath, and probably, secretly, hoping to reclaim his birthright as the Satanic spawn described in the Book of Revelations.
Theme park rides are designed for people UP TO, not over, 6'3", 260 pounds. Europeans seem to be the best coaster designers - Intamin, AG comes to mind - and Europeans are usually smaller than us hearty Yanks. Anyone above that weight limit stresses the bolts, servos, gears, wheels, bearings and inborn sensibilities of any college-educated person who has to see these biped cows squeeze into size 6 spandex shorts. It looked like somebody was trying to smuggle a Bhudda under a camisole.
For some reason, I'll never be able to look at Pillsbury's cookie dough tubes the same way again.
Third - The park is dirty, and could easily be cleaned. When ya get to a theme park at 10:20AM, ya don't expect to see overflowing trashcans, but damn, if that's not what ya get at Six Flags, Great Adventure. Great first impression - trashcans overflowing into the bushes and flowers around the front gate.
Don't even get me started on the bathrooms. Apparently, people in New Jersey either don't know how, or can't be bothered, to aim. Suffice it to say, the bathroom scene in Trainspotting when Ewan McGregor dives into a toilet seems a little less disturbing.
Fourth - I had no idea it was so hard to be a roller coaster mechanic. Obviously, an advanced degree in complex Euclidian geometry and Newtonian Physics are needed to make sure wheels stay on a track. I didn't realize that a knowledge of quantum mechanics was required to be a mechanic. I'm sure they have to have basic ideas on hydraulics, machinery, collision avoidance - but shouldn't they work on the rides after hours?
I'm not talking about life-and-death type repairs, mind you. The whole day was marred with Cletus and Earl, who, if those aren't their names, then they should be - as they took their damned sweet time checking over the rides.
Cletus and Earl were watching the Great American Scream Machine - as the coaster goes through the first series of loops, it hits a flat stretch and a braking system is activated. For testing purposes, the ride is closed and the cars are emptied. On that flat stretch, the brakes were too strong, stopping the car. Apparently, Cletus and Earl were BAFFLED by this, and the idea of adjusting the brakes, or, adding weight to the car (where more weight would equal more momentum. Basic physics folks, try to keep up) were shocking to them. So, when the empty train hit the flat part, and the overactive brakes kicked in...the car came to a stop. So, either Cletus or Earl - couldn't tell, but it was one of them - had to walk up an access stairway, roughly 8 stories up, and push the train free. He then walked back down the steps; they launched another train, and forgot to adjust the brakes, thereby repeating the cycle.
And sadly, Stephen Hawking is the one who's dying...
MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE PARK - the park is filling up well-past-comfortable levels of New Jerseyians. The park simply was not prepared to handle the massive amount of people who would (shockingly!) visit a convenient theme park located with a 90 minute drive of 20 million folks with the world's newest fastest and tallest roller coaster on a lovely day. I can't see why anybody would go to a theme park on a 79 degree, sunny day. Which leads me to...
Fifth - if you're going to run a theme park, don't run out of drinking water. And, if you do, don't have your little peon employees snap at the customer when it's clearly the park, and not the customers', fault. I wanted a small bottled water - don't have the nerve to serve me a large water and charge me the exaggerated price. YOUR fault you ran out of stuff, not the consumers. Not cool. Which leads me to...
Sixth - if you're going to clear-cut the old-growth forest to make room for a new ride, thereby getting rid of the natural shade, how about supplying some? Direct sunlight, high sun angle - and you've got 1000's of feet of line out of shade. To quote Homer Simpson, S-M-R-T. That leads me to...
Seventh - if you're going to have lines with time estimates at the ride's gates, make them at least somewhat accurate. This leads me to Major Problem # 1 with SF-GA - The line at the Superman ride said two hours. We entered the line at 3:15pm, as the park was being examined by Cletus and Earl. Multiple coasters were shut down, and the lines became ridiculous all over. However, Superman, one of the few coasters that remained open, was running on ONE train. It took almost 8 minutes to load the train, launch it, let it ride, then disembark, and repeat. The train holds 32 people. The mental midgets who ran the ride allowed empty seats, not asking for single riders and double riders and those who just didn't care anymore if they wanted to ride, at least making the trip that much more bearable. One one loop, they let 7 empty seats on the train - and there were about 800 people in line.
Trust me on the numbers. I had time to count.
At the two hour mark, we were still not halfway to the station. People in line, who were either tired, sun-baked, thirsty and/or desperately in need of urination, were leaving and rejoining the line. It was an informal group rule to allow folks to do this - after all, we were in this together. Of course, SF's Security Guards could let no amount of common sense go unpunished. I watched at least three occasions where SF's Geshtapo berated young children and their parents for allowing them to go pee in a bathroom. One guard even got in the face of a 12 year old girl near us, telling her he could have her thrown out for this evil transgression. Bear in mind, we'd been in line for 3 hours in a 2 hour wait. Instead of apologizing for their lack of management and math skills, the Six Flags' vendors came through and gave us lemonade...at full price, and the ice was mostly melted, to boot.
At 7:25, we finally reached the platform. From our vantage point, we could see where various rides were shutdown, tested, and restarted. We were two trains away from finally riding this damned thing. Of course...they shut it down for maintenance. No estimated time for repair. We waited 15 minutes longer before leaving for a last shot chance on Kingda Ka.
Of course...that line was closed.
We managed to get on the Great American Scream Machine, of which it is none of the above, and cut our losses. Of course, in line for the Scream Machine...Superman reopened.
We had planned on 2 rides, Superman and Kingda Ka, with over 7 hours remaining in the day. We got on neither. Apparently, you need to schedule a week to ride these two.
What bothers me about Six Flags-Great Adventure, was the complete and utter lack of empathy or customer service that the staff related to the patrons. Having a crush of people is one thing - but not making sure lines are moving, rides are working, and kids aren't getting harassed when they need to urinate. I wouldn't be nearly as mad if the park did the little things right when the big things go wrong. In the normal world, when a business makes a mistake, it goes out of it's way to make the customer feel better. "Sorry we botched the time estimate - here's a free lemonade."
And, here's what REALLY galls me - my friend Gina, a recent transplant to DC from Jersey, after recounting my SF-GA experience to her, said that it's typical SF-GA behavior. The place gets dirty, the rides are always broken, and the water in the log flume becomes...oily during the course of the summer.
There are about a dozen theme parks within a two-hour drive of Six Flags. Granted, most don't have as many rides - BUT AT LEAST THEY WORK!!! I challenge all of the billionaires lining up to buy a stake of the Washington Nationals to please divert some of that cash into a REAL theme park in the area. George Soros, you liberal Republican-hating machine - you don't have a chance of getting on the winning ownership group. Take that 400 mill and build a theme park that works. PLEASE!!
So, chalk this up to a lousy day at the park. Six Flags, the Anti-Busch Gardens! Come to Six Flags, Great Adventure, and Leave Your Standards at Home! Six Flags - At Least Our Shows Aren't Broken. Six Flags - We're Closer than Kennywood!
However, The Cletus and Earl Follies sounds pretty good.
And Kennywood and Dorney Park seem better and better.
- out
One small problem with that goal - you gotta contend with Six Flags Great Adventure.
It is really a prime example of what happens when a theme park gets way too big for it's britches. The park's core, designed approximately 35 years ago, is a charming mix of shops, restaurants and boardwalk-style games. The decor is reminiscent of Candy Land, with sconces resembling ice cream cones and gum drops on the building facades. It is situated next to a lovely lake, that they use for a water skiing show. Ferris wheel. Carousel. Fully-grown trees offering shade. It harkens back to a kinder era.
The place has many roller coasters, most of which have been built in the past decade. It's obvious they spent some money on them, as they have all the latest styles - linear launch modes, suspended looping twisting coasters, twisters. They have expanded the park to accomodate these new large coasters, and seem to add a new ride every couple of years.
It all sounds pretty good. Or, potentially, pretty good. But for every Alpha, there must be an Omega. Every Everest has a Death Valley, every rose has its thorn, and every Kurt has his Courtney. Six Flags Great Adventure has more errors than Galludet University's baseball team and more flaws than 3 dollar pants at Marshall's Clearance Rack.
First - with all of the new construction, there are parts of the park that are off limits. I can understand blocking off a section around a ride that's getting demolished, but, they also closed off the adjoining walkway - thereby forcing a 20 minute walk-around when it would have ordinarily a 5 minute walk at worst. In another section, a fake paintball game blocks a walkway connecting park sections, forcing yet another long walk-around. Even the brand-new section, featuring the new Kingda Ka, has rather narrow walkways, with barely enough room to hold 8 adults wide. In theme park world, that's next to nothing. Bad, bad theme park feng shui.
Second - I know theme parks don't attract only med school students and suburban high school teachers, but DAMN there were some ugly fat hateful people there. One of the advantages of being a theme park halfway between Philadelphia and New York City is the ability to draw from a population pool of nearly 25 million people within a 90 minute drive. However, it seems only the people with missing chromosomes and bad body piercings were able to attend. The line for The Chiller was full of gangbangers and the women who love them. The midway area near the Great American Scream Machine featured large, flabby women screaming "oh no you DI' INT!!" to other large, flabby women when expressing disbelief in either the other large, flabby women riding the ride or even attempting to squeeze their gargantuan pooh banks into the ride's cars.
What is it about theme parks attracting the fat and ugly? I have to admit, that after a Saturday night full of seafood and Jaegermeister, I was feeling less-than-perfect at the park. Not looking nor acting my normal gorgeous self. After spending a day being surrounded by folks that the men's and women's grooming magazines have yet to attract, I felt downright loving and pithy. Five-foot-tall Jersey boys wearing New Jersey Nets hats, bandanas and jerseys. 400 pound women in tank tops. Greased-back crew cuts on mongloid pizza cooks still bitter they failed their Sopranos' audition. More fake bling than a Chinese street vendor. People with more tattoos than job prospects.
The scariest site I saw was of a disgustingly fat woman, walking by the log flum ride, walking with two other pure examples of delicate femininity, wearing a black lace top - I swear, it was a low-cut black lace wifebeater - with these two deflated, sprawling, sagging airbags that may have once upon a time been human breasts, hanging under her armpits, with two large, black Iron Crosses tattoo'd where there used to be cleavage. Happy Valley, this wasn't. Her fat demonic offspring ran in front of her, rushing to the log flume for his monthly bath, and probably, secretly, hoping to reclaim his birthright as the Satanic spawn described in the Book of Revelations.
Theme park rides are designed for people UP TO, not over, 6'3", 260 pounds. Europeans seem to be the best coaster designers - Intamin, AG comes to mind - and Europeans are usually smaller than us hearty Yanks. Anyone above that weight limit stresses the bolts, servos, gears, wheels, bearings and inborn sensibilities of any college-educated person who has to see these biped cows squeeze into size 6 spandex shorts. It looked like somebody was trying to smuggle a Bhudda under a camisole.
For some reason, I'll never be able to look at Pillsbury's cookie dough tubes the same way again.
Third - The park is dirty, and could easily be cleaned. When ya get to a theme park at 10:20AM, ya don't expect to see overflowing trashcans, but damn, if that's not what ya get at Six Flags, Great Adventure. Great first impression - trashcans overflowing into the bushes and flowers around the front gate.
Don't even get me started on the bathrooms. Apparently, people in New Jersey either don't know how, or can't be bothered, to aim. Suffice it to say, the bathroom scene in Trainspotting when Ewan McGregor dives into a toilet seems a little less disturbing.
Fourth - I had no idea it was so hard to be a roller coaster mechanic. Obviously, an advanced degree in complex Euclidian geometry and Newtonian Physics are needed to make sure wheels stay on a track. I didn't realize that a knowledge of quantum mechanics was required to be a mechanic. I'm sure they have to have basic ideas on hydraulics, machinery, collision avoidance - but shouldn't they work on the rides after hours?
I'm not talking about life-and-death type repairs, mind you. The whole day was marred with Cletus and Earl, who, if those aren't their names, then they should be - as they took their damned sweet time checking over the rides.
Cletus and Earl were watching the Great American Scream Machine - as the coaster goes through the first series of loops, it hits a flat stretch and a braking system is activated. For testing purposes, the ride is closed and the cars are emptied. On that flat stretch, the brakes were too strong, stopping the car. Apparently, Cletus and Earl were BAFFLED by this, and the idea of adjusting the brakes, or, adding weight to the car (where more weight would equal more momentum. Basic physics folks, try to keep up) were shocking to them. So, when the empty train hit the flat part, and the overactive brakes kicked in...the car came to a stop. So, either Cletus or Earl - couldn't tell, but it was one of them - had to walk up an access stairway, roughly 8 stories up, and push the train free. He then walked back down the steps; they launched another train, and forgot to adjust the brakes, thereby repeating the cycle.
And sadly, Stephen Hawking is the one who's dying...
MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE PARK - the park is filling up well-past-comfortable levels of New Jerseyians. The park simply was not prepared to handle the massive amount of people who would (shockingly!) visit a convenient theme park located with a 90 minute drive of 20 million folks with the world's newest fastest and tallest roller coaster on a lovely day. I can't see why anybody would go to a theme park on a 79 degree, sunny day. Which leads me to...
Fifth - if you're going to run a theme park, don't run out of drinking water. And, if you do, don't have your little peon employees snap at the customer when it's clearly the park, and not the customers', fault. I wanted a small bottled water - don't have the nerve to serve me a large water and charge me the exaggerated price. YOUR fault you ran out of stuff, not the consumers. Not cool. Which leads me to...
Sixth - if you're going to clear-cut the old-growth forest to make room for a new ride, thereby getting rid of the natural shade, how about supplying some? Direct sunlight, high sun angle - and you've got 1000's of feet of line out of shade. To quote Homer Simpson, S-M-R-T. That leads me to...
Seventh - if you're going to have lines with time estimates at the ride's gates, make them at least somewhat accurate. This leads me to Major Problem # 1 with SF-GA - The line at the Superman ride said two hours. We entered the line at 3:15pm, as the park was being examined by Cletus and Earl. Multiple coasters were shut down, and the lines became ridiculous all over. However, Superman, one of the few coasters that remained open, was running on ONE train. It took almost 8 minutes to load the train, launch it, let it ride, then disembark, and repeat. The train holds 32 people. The mental midgets who ran the ride allowed empty seats, not asking for single riders and double riders and those who just didn't care anymore if they wanted to ride, at least making the trip that much more bearable. One one loop, they let 7 empty seats on the train - and there were about 800 people in line.
Trust me on the numbers. I had time to count.
At the two hour mark, we were still not halfway to the station. People in line, who were either tired, sun-baked, thirsty and/or desperately in need of urination, were leaving and rejoining the line. It was an informal group rule to allow folks to do this - after all, we were in this together. Of course, SF's Security Guards could let no amount of common sense go unpunished. I watched at least three occasions where SF's Geshtapo berated young children and their parents for allowing them to go pee in a bathroom. One guard even got in the face of a 12 year old girl near us, telling her he could have her thrown out for this evil transgression. Bear in mind, we'd been in line for 3 hours in a 2 hour wait. Instead of apologizing for their lack of management and math skills, the Six Flags' vendors came through and gave us lemonade...at full price, and the ice was mostly melted, to boot.
At 7:25, we finally reached the platform. From our vantage point, we could see where various rides were shutdown, tested, and restarted. We were two trains away from finally riding this damned thing. Of course...they shut it down for maintenance. No estimated time for repair. We waited 15 minutes longer before leaving for a last shot chance on Kingda Ka.
Of course...that line was closed.
We managed to get on the Great American Scream Machine, of which it is none of the above, and cut our losses. Of course, in line for the Scream Machine...Superman reopened.
We had planned on 2 rides, Superman and Kingda Ka, with over 7 hours remaining in the day. We got on neither. Apparently, you need to schedule a week to ride these two.
What bothers me about Six Flags-Great Adventure, was the complete and utter lack of empathy or customer service that the staff related to the patrons. Having a crush of people is one thing - but not making sure lines are moving, rides are working, and kids aren't getting harassed when they need to urinate. I wouldn't be nearly as mad if the park did the little things right when the big things go wrong. In the normal world, when a business makes a mistake, it goes out of it's way to make the customer feel better. "Sorry we botched the time estimate - here's a free lemonade."
And, here's what REALLY galls me - my friend Gina, a recent transplant to DC from Jersey, after recounting my SF-GA experience to her, said that it's typical SF-GA behavior. The place gets dirty, the rides are always broken, and the water in the log flume becomes...oily during the course of the summer.
There are about a dozen theme parks within a two-hour drive of Six Flags. Granted, most don't have as many rides - BUT AT LEAST THEY WORK!!! I challenge all of the billionaires lining up to buy a stake of the Washington Nationals to please divert some of that cash into a REAL theme park in the area. George Soros, you liberal Republican-hating machine - you don't have a chance of getting on the winning ownership group. Take that 400 mill and build a theme park that works. PLEASE!!
So, chalk this up to a lousy day at the park. Six Flags, the Anti-Busch Gardens! Come to Six Flags, Great Adventure, and Leave Your Standards at Home! Six Flags - At Least Our Shows Aren't Broken. Six Flags - We're Closer than Kennywood!
However, The Cletus and Earl Follies sounds pretty good.
And Kennywood and Dorney Park seem better and better.
- out
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
mangia mangia
Besides being Italian for "eat," it is also a term used in India to put glass shards and other sharp items on the string for their kite fighting competitions. Mangia is used to ruin the other kite's string, or the kite itself.
No wonder my two Indian coworkers shuddered when I told them "mangia! mangia!" when presenting them home made cookies.
Cookies of the week:
cranberry walnut
white chocolate hazelnut caramel
s'mores
chocolate chip A (white chocolate/chocolate swirled chips)
chocolate chip B (caramel / chocolate swirled chips )
+ surprisingly delicious low-carb peanut butter/chocolate brownies.
- Mr. Fields.
No wonder my two Indian coworkers shuddered when I told them "mangia! mangia!" when presenting them home made cookies.
Cookies of the week:
cranberry walnut
white chocolate hazelnut caramel
s'mores
chocolate chip A (white chocolate/chocolate swirled chips)
chocolate chip B (caramel / chocolate swirled chips )
+ surprisingly delicious low-carb peanut butter/chocolate brownies.
- Mr. Fields.
H2 Update
I parked on the top floor of the Largo parking garage today. Plenty of spaces on the level. Open space next to mine. H2 man was a couple of cars behind me. He parked in an empty space with plenty of open spaces around him.
Humans are so adaptable. See how they learn, and make changes according to the environment. Such a smart lil' thing!
Humans are so adaptable. See how they learn, and make changes according to the environment. Such a smart lil' thing!
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Riding on the Metro-o-o-o-oh
Every week or so, the DCPost does at least one chat session about commuting on the Metro system - a tangled web of train and bus routes that theoretcially get you from point A to point B in a relatively safe, efficient manner. The DC Metrorail system has only been in place for 30-ish years - the design of the trains emotes a certain 1970s Disney World - monorail vibe, and the orange, brown and yellow train interiors simply SCREAMS "post-`60s design hangover." But, the trains themselves are graffiti-free, kept pretty clean, and homeless people are kept to a minium.
Except everybody on these chats is just BITTER - spittin' bile over some slight that they believe the Lords of the Rails perpetuated on them, individually, to make them late for some event - either getting to work, going home from work, or making them woefully late for a Nationals' game. The questions are fairly repetitive in nature - "When will the Potomac Avenue stop get it's elevator repaired?" "Why can't Metro keep the escalator at Braddock Road working?" "What's up with the crowds at the Metro Center?" "Who's that cute Asian girl who gets on at McPherson Square?"
The chat hosts respond as best they can - Metro is woefully underfunded by the regional governments, that the system has tried in vain to propose to new lines in different parts of town, yes, some people have lousy Metro etiquette - or, Metroquette, as I'd propose.
Sadly, nobody seems to know about the cute Asian girl at McPherson Square. I only see the same scruffy mechanical engineer from the Pentagon City stop. And I hope he's not giving me the eye anymore.
As I first began my commuting opus to Crystal City last month, I marvelled at how effectively Metro can move thousands of people throughout the Nations' Capital. Trains arriving and departing every 5 to 10 minutes, not too shabby. Having formerly lived in such mass transportation hotspots like Boston and Chicago, where trains have been around since the Roosevelt Administration (Teddy, not Franklin), and most of the stations are woefully undersized and the rails are in only slightly better shape than George Wendt - those are cities that deserve to gripe about their mass transit systems.
Last week, however, I came up with my first real complaint about Metro - why oh why don't you have a bathroom ANYWHERE? It's bad enough that once the initial crush of rush hour traffic is done that they go on a 15 - 20 minutes per train schedule, but to not have a pisser, a spot-a-pot (a.k.a. a caibow for my Iowan friends) , a trough or even a dark corner - that's just mean. By the time my journey from DuPont Circle to Largo was over, it was almost 72 minutes of bladder torture. Every bump in the tracks between the Stadium/Armory and District Heights was like a stab in the spleen.
And now, this A.M. - again, at the Largo stop. I pulled my Vibe, Raider, into a parking space on the top floor, next to an open spot. There are dozens of open spaces near me. I open my door, and open my back seat door, attempting to fill my gym bag with all sorts of working-out goodies, like shoes. A man in a shiny new Hummer H2 starts to pull into the open spot next to me...where most of my open rear door and my arse are. I turn around and give him a look that says "I'll be done in a second."
He keeps pulling in to the spot...closer...closer...soon, I can feel the H2's air intake tugging on my pants leg. He guns his engine. Impatient, is he.
(do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been able to say I could feel the air from a hummer on my leg?)
I take this man and machine's passive-aggressiveness for an opportunity to give some active aggression. I get my torso out of my Vibe, Raider, and yell at him "Give me a second, would ya? Why don't you park somewhere else!" He lowers his passenger side window, and asks "what did you say???" I said, again "Either give me a second, or park somewhere else!" I continue with my packing.
He pulls in more. The H2 is about 3 inches from me. I can hear individual belts spinning in the engine. Gotta give them credit - the timing belt sounds good.
I slam my Vibe, Raider's rear door and start yelling at the guy. I walk over to the other side of my car, and finish my packing. At this point, it has taken him almost three minutes to park his SUV.
The idiot finally parks his Planet Raper, and walks by me saying "There was plenty of room." I asked him "Why didn't you park some place else? There are tons of spaces around here. You wasted your time and mine." He counters with "Why didn't YOU park someplace else? I'm going to be late." He starts walking closer to me while I'm in my car.
At this point, Radio Ray came back from hiatus...except not nice voice Radio Ray who did funny commercials, but Radio Ray who got fired for dropping the F-Bomb - twice - on one show...Radio Ray gets out of my Vibe, Raider, and into his face.
"Because, dumbass, I parked here first. Jesus, you've got the money to afford the Hummer but no common sense, shithead. You wasted a gallon of gas AND...(as I waited for Metrorail's distinctive 'ding-dong' to announce the departure of a train) *DING DONG* you just missed your train."
It was at that moment when I realized what he was. In Owings Mills, the guys who drive H2s are Baltimore Ravens and the guys who wish they were Baltimore Ravens. In Largo, the guys who drive H2s are about 5'4", 135lbs, and scared shitless because they just angered an obviously-unstable 32 year old, 5'9", 204 pound guy who physically dwarfed them. He hustled off for the elevator, muttering something.
There's a Metro garage camera system over there, one of those multiple camera set ups. I hope they got that on tape.
I was looking cute this morning :)
- ---####--- -
Except everybody on these chats is just BITTER - spittin' bile over some slight that they believe the Lords of the Rails perpetuated on them, individually, to make them late for some event - either getting to work, going home from work, or making them woefully late for a Nationals' game. The questions are fairly repetitive in nature - "When will the Potomac Avenue stop get it's elevator repaired?" "Why can't Metro keep the escalator at Braddock Road working?" "What's up with the crowds at the Metro Center?" "Who's that cute Asian girl who gets on at McPherson Square?"
The chat hosts respond as best they can - Metro is woefully underfunded by the regional governments, that the system has tried in vain to propose to new lines in different parts of town, yes, some people have lousy Metro etiquette - or, Metroquette, as I'd propose.
Sadly, nobody seems to know about the cute Asian girl at McPherson Square. I only see the same scruffy mechanical engineer from the Pentagon City stop. And I hope he's not giving me the eye anymore.
As I first began my commuting opus to Crystal City last month, I marvelled at how effectively Metro can move thousands of people throughout the Nations' Capital. Trains arriving and departing every 5 to 10 minutes, not too shabby. Having formerly lived in such mass transportation hotspots like Boston and Chicago, where trains have been around since the Roosevelt Administration (Teddy, not Franklin), and most of the stations are woefully undersized and the rails are in only slightly better shape than George Wendt - those are cities that deserve to gripe about their mass transit systems.
Last week, however, I came up with my first real complaint about Metro - why oh why don't you have a bathroom ANYWHERE? It's bad enough that once the initial crush of rush hour traffic is done that they go on a 15 - 20 minutes per train schedule, but to not have a pisser, a spot-a-pot (a.k.a. a caibow for my Iowan friends) , a trough or even a dark corner - that's just mean. By the time my journey from DuPont Circle to Largo was over, it was almost 72 minutes of bladder torture. Every bump in the tracks between the Stadium/Armory and District Heights was like a stab in the spleen.
And now, this A.M. - again, at the Largo stop. I pulled my Vibe, Raider, into a parking space on the top floor, next to an open spot. There are dozens of open spaces near me. I open my door, and open my back seat door, attempting to fill my gym bag with all sorts of working-out goodies, like shoes. A man in a shiny new Hummer H2 starts to pull into the open spot next to me...where most of my open rear door and my arse are. I turn around and give him a look that says "I'll be done in a second."
He keeps pulling in to the spot...closer...closer...soon, I can feel the H2's air intake tugging on my pants leg. He guns his engine. Impatient, is he.
(do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been able to say I could feel the air from a hummer on my leg?)
I take this man and machine's passive-aggressiveness for an opportunity to give some active aggression. I get my torso out of my Vibe, Raider, and yell at him "Give me a second, would ya? Why don't you park somewhere else!" He lowers his passenger side window, and asks "what did you say???" I said, again "Either give me a second, or park somewhere else!" I continue with my packing.
He pulls in more. The H2 is about 3 inches from me. I can hear individual belts spinning in the engine. Gotta give them credit - the timing belt sounds good.
I slam my Vibe, Raider's rear door and start yelling at the guy. I walk over to the other side of my car, and finish my packing. At this point, it has taken him almost three minutes to park his SUV.
The idiot finally parks his Planet Raper, and walks by me saying "There was plenty of room." I asked him "Why didn't you park some place else? There are tons of spaces around here. You wasted your time and mine." He counters with "Why didn't YOU park someplace else? I'm going to be late." He starts walking closer to me while I'm in my car.
At this point, Radio Ray came back from hiatus...except not nice voice Radio Ray who did funny commercials, but Radio Ray who got fired for dropping the F-Bomb - twice - on one show...Radio Ray gets out of my Vibe, Raider, and into his face.
"Because, dumbass, I parked here first. Jesus, you've got the money to afford the Hummer but no common sense, shithead. You wasted a gallon of gas AND...(as I waited for Metrorail's distinctive 'ding-dong' to announce the departure of a train) *DING DONG* you just missed your train."
It was at that moment when I realized what he was. In Owings Mills, the guys who drive H2s are Baltimore Ravens and the guys who wish they were Baltimore Ravens. In Largo, the guys who drive H2s are about 5'4", 135lbs, and scared shitless because they just angered an obviously-unstable 32 year old, 5'9", 204 pound guy who physically dwarfed them. He hustled off for the elevator, muttering something.
There's a Metro garage camera system over there, one of those multiple camera set ups. I hope they got that on tape.
I was looking cute this morning :)
- ---####--- -
Friday, April 22, 2005
Over the moon and under the influence
So, saw the Trashcan Sinatras last night at the Ram's Head in Annapolis. Intimate little place, and a nice change of pace from other clubs. I sat about 10, 12 feet maybe away from the band, and, other than one faulty monitor speaker that was quickly repaired, they sounded amazing.
It was funny to see them be funny. Francis, the bespectacled lead singer, was rather stifled the first two times I saw them. Last night - much looser. He was hilarious in parts, commenting on what people ate, complimenting the meals, and making a new Pope joke that wasn't really offensive. He made a small toast to the new Pope, and said "Here's a song he has no clue about." They launched into "What Women Do To Men," a tune about the befuddling, criminally sexual behaviour of these temptresses.
See, the band's primarily Catholic. That joke would be mean if it was done by System of a Down.
For those keeping score, this is the third time I've seen them in 7 months. Didn't see them for the previous 31.57 years of my life. This time, I actually brought money for swag.
2 t-shirts
3 CDs
1 autographed by the band.
1 of the guys recognized me from Austin.
For the old UNIX guys, @set me=!mad
I am a very, very content dude right now. I might also still be a little drunk from last night, and definitely hungry.
But oh so content!
- mi
It was funny to see them be funny. Francis, the bespectacled lead singer, was rather stifled the first two times I saw them. Last night - much looser. He was hilarious in parts, commenting on what people ate, complimenting the meals, and making a new Pope joke that wasn't really offensive. He made a small toast to the new Pope, and said "Here's a song he has no clue about." They launched into "What Women Do To Men," a tune about the befuddling, criminally sexual behaviour of these temptresses.
See, the band's primarily Catholic. That joke would be mean if it was done by System of a Down.
For those keeping score, this is the third time I've seen them in 7 months. Didn't see them for the previous 31.57 years of my life. This time, I actually brought money for swag.
2 t-shirts
3 CDs
1 autographed by the band.
1 of the guys recognized me from Austin.
For the old UNIX guys, @set me=!mad
I am a very, very content dude right now. I might also still be a little drunk from last night, and definitely hungry.
But oh so content!
- mi
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
That sound you just heard...
...above the din of bells ringing and smoke pouring from the Vatican's chimney, was the sound of thousands of Catholics shuddering at the prospect of Pope Benedict XVI. Feminism is a curse, priestly pedophilia isn't so bad, and, Mein Gott, descension shall not be tolerated! This guy makes John Paul the Sequel look open-minded. Women - it's a good thing Benedict XVI is 77, otherwise, y'all'd be all knock'd up and pregnut! The menfolks is goin' to the church! Take care of th' youngins'.
Personally, I think he should drop the dict and just go as Pope Benny. Sounds much friendlier, and would help him put a happy tone on his otherwise dour personality. He's got to do something - it boggles my mind at how the Vatican has turned a blind eye to US Catholics during this priest pedophilia scandal. Do they think this is just going to "go away?" Probably - that was their MO during the `40s,`50s and `60s when the majority of this abuse happened anyway.
If I ran any other religious congregation - synagogue, temple, strip mall worship center - I'd put out a sign "Any Catholics Looking for a Change? Come on in!" I'd have a big ole' lapsed Catholic open house, with bingo, hot cross buns and fish on fridays. To make them feel at home, I'd yell at them for being bad Catholics.
But let's face it - there is a huge gap between modern American Catholics and the uber-conservative tone the Vatican has taken over the past quarter century. We're jaded, bitter, and really would like to believe in our beliefs. Our beliefs are just not shared with the men who run the place. Let's do a recap:
1981
America thinks Iran is bad.
Vatican thinks Iran is bad.
America and Vatican are friends.
1984
America thinks Soviet Union is really bad.
Vatican thinks Soviet Union is really bad.
America and Vatican really are friends.
1991
America thinks Iraq is bad
Vatican thinks Iraq is kinda naughty.
America and Vatican are still friends.
2004
America thinks pedophiliac priests are really bad.
Vatican thinks pedophiliac priests are just "misunderstood."
That's the same fuzzy logic that galls me about Michael Jackson's supporters. Dude made three good albums 20 years ago, and has been diddling little kids ever since. At what point does "Thriller" even out the loss of a child's innocence and soul? One child? Two? Five? When do you say "No more kids for you, Michael, even if you did make "Smooth Criminal?"
Same thing with the priest scandal. If the pedophilia wasn't institutionalized, buried, repressed - hell - tolerated and accepted - by the Church, this would have easily been the case of a handful of bad priests with bad urges and bad actions. But when the whole organization is implicit in the scandal, what does that say about any of it?
So, welcome Pope Benedict XVI, of Germany, the country known for keen, progressive thought. Welcome to the current state of the Catholic Church, and please make some amends, otherwise it's going to be awfully lonely in that Vatican City apartment, with just a bunch of paintings and sculptures to keep you company.
--------------------------------
Benedict XVI - what does this guy think he is, a Super Bowl?
Personally, I think he should drop the dict and just go as Pope Benny. Sounds much friendlier, and would help him put a happy tone on his otherwise dour personality. He's got to do something - it boggles my mind at how the Vatican has turned a blind eye to US Catholics during this priest pedophilia scandal. Do they think this is just going to "go away?" Probably - that was their MO during the `40s,`50s and `60s when the majority of this abuse happened anyway.
If I ran any other religious congregation - synagogue, temple, strip mall worship center - I'd put out a sign "Any Catholics Looking for a Change? Come on in!" I'd have a big ole' lapsed Catholic open house, with bingo, hot cross buns and fish on fridays. To make them feel at home, I'd yell at them for being bad Catholics.
But let's face it - there is a huge gap between modern American Catholics and the uber-conservative tone the Vatican has taken over the past quarter century. We're jaded, bitter, and really would like to believe in our beliefs. Our beliefs are just not shared with the men who run the place. Let's do a recap:
1981
America thinks Iran is bad.
Vatican thinks Iran is bad.
America and Vatican are friends.
1984
America thinks Soviet Union is really bad.
Vatican thinks Soviet Union is really bad.
America and Vatican really are friends.
1991
America thinks Iraq is bad
Vatican thinks Iraq is kinda naughty.
America and Vatican are still friends.
2004
America thinks pedophiliac priests are really bad.
Vatican thinks pedophiliac priests are just "misunderstood."
That's the same fuzzy logic that galls me about Michael Jackson's supporters. Dude made three good albums 20 years ago, and has been diddling little kids ever since. At what point does "Thriller" even out the loss of a child's innocence and soul? One child? Two? Five? When do you say "No more kids for you, Michael, even if you did make "Smooth Criminal?"
Same thing with the priest scandal. If the pedophilia wasn't institutionalized, buried, repressed - hell - tolerated and accepted - by the Church, this would have easily been the case of a handful of bad priests with bad urges and bad actions. But when the whole organization is implicit in the scandal, what does that say about any of it?
So, welcome Pope Benedict XVI, of Germany, the country known for keen, progressive thought. Welcome to the current state of the Catholic Church, and please make some amends, otherwise it's going to be awfully lonely in that Vatican City apartment, with just a bunch of paintings and sculptures to keep you company.
--------------------------------
Benedict XVI - what does this guy think he is, a Super Bowl?
Monday, April 18, 2005
Parking by Braille
After spending half of my teens and all of my 20s auto accident free, I popped my car-smashing cherry last year in a spectacular spin-out on 695 near the B-W Parkway. Much like holding your urine at a night out, because you know what happens when you break the seal...I banged up my one year old car while attempting to park.
I was checking out a place Sunday in DC - nice place, near Cap Hill and a dog park. I was attempting to parallel park into a spot when I hit the car in front of me. How - I have no idea. I've been parallel parking since the Nixon Administration. I was born during the Nixon Administration. I have squeezed cars twice the size of my Pontiac Vibe, Raider, into spots half as small.
I have become, simply, a bad parker. I can not handle this.
My quarter panels and front bumper are scratched up. The car I hit has a scuff on the bumper. My car definitely took the brunt of the assault.
My ride needs pimped.
I wonder what my Vibe, Raider, would be like pimped. I watched Xhibit do his thing once - I don't need a fish tank in the floorboards, but I would like a new quarter panel. Maybe a nice Thule roof rack would be keen. Uh...I guess I could use a XM receiver, and an iPod interface for the stereo. Put in a subwoofer while you're at it, X. If I'm moving to the city, I could use those urban steel bumpers that protect my delicate little Vibe, Raider. We could get some shrapnel from Iraq, glue it on. Wouldn't take much. Think about it, MTV - the pimping of my ride would be the cheapest of any pimps so far.
Pimp my ride.
I was checking out a place Sunday in DC - nice place, near Cap Hill and a dog park. I was attempting to parallel park into a spot when I hit the car in front of me. How - I have no idea. I've been parallel parking since the Nixon Administration. I was born during the Nixon Administration. I have squeezed cars twice the size of my Pontiac Vibe, Raider, into spots half as small.
I have become, simply, a bad parker. I can not handle this.
My quarter panels and front bumper are scratched up. The car I hit has a scuff on the bumper. My car definitely took the brunt of the assault.
My ride needs pimped.
I wonder what my Vibe, Raider, would be like pimped. I watched Xhibit do his thing once - I don't need a fish tank in the floorboards, but I would like a new quarter panel. Maybe a nice Thule roof rack would be keen. Uh...I guess I could use a XM receiver, and an iPod interface for the stereo. Put in a subwoofer while you're at it, X. If I'm moving to the city, I could use those urban steel bumpers that protect my delicate little Vibe, Raider. We could get some shrapnel from Iraq, glue it on. Wouldn't take much. Think about it, MTV - the pimping of my ride would be the cheapest of any pimps so far.
Pimp my ride.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Just call me "swami"
Read yesterday's entry, and then read this...
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A47814-2005Apr12.html (registration might be required)
Close on the Horizon, Plans for Taller Rosslyn
By Annie GowenWashington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, April 13, 2005; Page A01
Arlington County officials are backing a plan to significantly increase building heights in Rosslyn, making for a more dramatic skyline but raising concerns about airline safety and the future of the sweeping vistas along the Potomac.
At issue is a proposal to build a 39-story office tower in Rosslyn that would rival the Washington Monument in height and soar above the 300-foot-tall buildings that were equally controversial when they went up nearly 25 years ago.
(snipped)
I have my finger on the pulse of the region, baby.
- moi moi moi
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A47814-2005Apr12.html (registration might be required)
Close on the Horizon, Plans for Taller Rosslyn
By Annie GowenWashington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, April 13, 2005; Page A01
Arlington County officials are backing a plan to significantly increase building heights in Rosslyn, making for a more dramatic skyline but raising concerns about airline safety and the future of the sweeping vistas along the Potomac.
At issue is a proposal to build a 39-story office tower in Rosslyn that would rival the Washington Monument in height and soar above the 300-foot-tall buildings that were equally controversial when they went up nearly 25 years ago.
(snipped)
I have my finger on the pulse of the region, baby.
- moi moi moi
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Do I really miss Des Moines????
The short answer to that improbable question is, sussinctly, no. I don't miss sub-zero weather nor the 200+ mph winds. I don't miss the smell of cow crap everywhere. I definitely don't miss restaurants like Red Lobster being termed "exotic."
What I do miss (short of Cajun Prime Rib at Buzzard Billy's and super markets the size of Boston) is the affordability. I had a 2 BR, 1 BA apartment in a fairly pricy part of Des Moines in 1998 and `99. I paid $575 a month for it.
My fantastically cheesy rowhome in Canton (Baltimore, Not Ohio), circa 2001, was $675 a month. Other places in Canton (Baltimore, Not China) were renting for 800 to 1100 a month. Some fantastically-restored places were 1300 a month, but were usually 3 bedrooms.
I haven't found A SINGLE PLACE in DC or Northern Virginia less than $800. That was for a basement apartment. Slightly damp. The rental home's washer and dryer are located IN the basement apartment, meaning the other housemates need to walk through the basement apartment to use the laundry. The house is shared by two women, and we all know how the ladies are prone to doing a load of laundry every day. So...hmmm...I can smell the privacy concerns from here.
A single bedroom place can be found for 900-ish, but, here's the kicker - they have MAXIMUM INCOME REQUIREMENTS...so, if you make more than, say, 38k a year, you can't have this place. Where in any mathematical sense does this make any sense? Wouldn't a HIGHER income make it more likely for the tenant to be able to afford the rent? If somebody's making 38k a year, they're actually making 26k a year - let's be honest. And 900 a month is really 1000 a month. 12 thousand a year in rent, leaving 14 thousand for things like car, insurance, food...that's not much in an area where gas is almost as much per gallon as a Frappucino.
So far, I have not turned my status as a new Washingtonian (and my complete and utter lack of shame or self-awareness) into himboness. Though it would be fun. The embassies alone churn out enough single lasses to keep any self-respecting American male in the gym 20 hours a day to work off our diet of burgers and beer. And there's so much more - I could sleep my way through Washington's female power structure, from lonely Hill staffers to middle-aged lobbyists who realize their child-bearing years are fading away faster than the viability of Skeet Ulrich's acting career. The man's a dead ringer for Johnny Depp, people - somebody give him a role, please!
I'm not sure when DC became Midtown Manhattan, but it seems to have happened when I wasn't paying attention. It wasn't that long ago when people were moving out of the District faster than U-Haul could get trailers to the city.
DC's traffic sucks so bad because so many people couldn't even dream of living in the city, so they need to move 60, 90, 120 miles away just to afford a decent place at an affordable price. You wanna clean up the traffic and the environment in one fell swoop? Knock down 3 dozen strip malls and replace them with housing. With the multi-billion projects going on the Beltway, with the new bridge and the regroom of the infamous Mixing Bowl, couldn't a bit of those funds go to improve conditions WITHIN the Beltway? Try knocking down a crackhouse and putting up a townhouse.
And get rid of that stupid rule limiting building height to that of the Capitol Dome and the Washington Monument. That law may have been all cute when the area had room to sprawl. This is the 8th biggest metro in the US, and Madison, Wisconsin has taller buildings. Build some skyscrapers, put in 80th floor condos, and increase the population density. Voila' - problem solved.
You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one.
It's not like DC is *THAT* glamorous, either. New York, LA - they're both expensive, but you actually get something you pay for - in NYC, you get the joy of living in a city that never sleeps, with unparalleled culture, entertainment, excitement, Woody Allen and 2 baseball teams. LA - you get a chance to drink chai with George Clooney and be discovered while stopped in traffic. People are really pretty out there, and most of us would be willing to pay for better scenery. DC - let's see...you might run into a page from the junior Senator from Montana at a softball game. If you're lucky, you might get cut off by Alan Greenspan. You will be cut off by a bike messenger.
New York was home to Sex in the City. LA is home to Vivid Video. Washington has crowded Metro cars where you *might* get an accidental grab-and-poke, but it's even money if it's from a girl or a guy.
There's lot of single women here, no doubt, and many of them are foreign and spectacular. Here's the J.Lo - BUT all the hot ones have boyfriends back home. The ugly ones gripe about the lack of single men. The slutty ones write about their hook-ups on their blog, and turn their cut-rate trollopness into a book deal (this means you, Jessica Cutler). Every one of them fashions themselves as a policy wonk. The ticking of the DC area's collective biological clock is amazing - deafening, omniprecent, tangible. So many women concentrate on their career that they forget about social lives. They all wake up at 38 and go "CRAP!"
Their first question to a potential mate is "What do you do?" which is answered in Denver with "skiier" or "hiker" or "kayaker" and in Austin as "guitarist" or "drummer" or "acoutstic singer-songwriter." None of those would get you anywhere in DC., boys. The correct answers here are "lawyer" or "doctor" or "lawyer." Men in those professions are considered "good husband material." Anything is worthy of only contempt or a pity one-night stand.
Much like "Dr. Strangelove," Pickens is Slim.
The town is so pent up, so me oriented, so lost-in-its-communal-iPod that Craigslist's Missed Connections gets more hits than Elle MacPherson's webcam. Read the posts - I double dog dare you - you will see a town that thinks it is so powerful in its worldview, but powerless to say hello to an attractive stranger. Put down The Examiner and Examine her, Washington!
If I could work my mojo into free lodging, you know I would. When I find "Bitter Divorcee Night" at the Bethesda Yacht Club, I'm all over it. Otherwise, I'll just scan the rental ads like the Zapruder film and hope I fall into a dog-friendly place to live, close to work. And if that cute brunette I made eye contact with at Zola's the other night reads Craigslist's MCs, too, and recognizes herself, all will be glorious.
When it gets down to it...I just really miss Skeet Ulrich.
telecomic out.
What I do miss (short of Cajun Prime Rib at Buzzard Billy's and super markets the size of Boston) is the affordability. I had a 2 BR, 1 BA apartment in a fairly pricy part of Des Moines in 1998 and `99. I paid $575 a month for it.
My fantastically cheesy rowhome in Canton (Baltimore, Not Ohio), circa 2001, was $675 a month. Other places in Canton (Baltimore, Not China) were renting for 800 to 1100 a month. Some fantastically-restored places were 1300 a month, but were usually 3 bedrooms.
I haven't found A SINGLE PLACE in DC or Northern Virginia less than $800. That was for a basement apartment. Slightly damp. The rental home's washer and dryer are located IN the basement apartment, meaning the other housemates need to walk through the basement apartment to use the laundry. The house is shared by two women, and we all know how the ladies are prone to doing a load of laundry every day. So...hmmm...I can smell the privacy concerns from here.
A single bedroom place can be found for 900-ish, but, here's the kicker - they have MAXIMUM INCOME REQUIREMENTS...so, if you make more than, say, 38k a year, you can't have this place. Where in any mathematical sense does this make any sense? Wouldn't a HIGHER income make it more likely for the tenant to be able to afford the rent? If somebody's making 38k a year, they're actually making 26k a year - let's be honest. And 900 a month is really 1000 a month. 12 thousand a year in rent, leaving 14 thousand for things like car, insurance, food...that's not much in an area where gas is almost as much per gallon as a Frappucino.
So far, I have not turned my status as a new Washingtonian (and my complete and utter lack of shame or self-awareness) into himboness. Though it would be fun. The embassies alone churn out enough single lasses to keep any self-respecting American male in the gym 20 hours a day to work off our diet of burgers and beer. And there's so much more - I could sleep my way through Washington's female power structure, from lonely Hill staffers to middle-aged lobbyists who realize their child-bearing years are fading away faster than the viability of Skeet Ulrich's acting career. The man's a dead ringer for Johnny Depp, people - somebody give him a role, please!
I'm not sure when DC became Midtown Manhattan, but it seems to have happened when I wasn't paying attention. It wasn't that long ago when people were moving out of the District faster than U-Haul could get trailers to the city.
DC's traffic sucks so bad because so many people couldn't even dream of living in the city, so they need to move 60, 90, 120 miles away just to afford a decent place at an affordable price. You wanna clean up the traffic and the environment in one fell swoop? Knock down 3 dozen strip malls and replace them with housing. With the multi-billion projects going on the Beltway, with the new bridge and the regroom of the infamous Mixing Bowl, couldn't a bit of those funds go to improve conditions WITHIN the Beltway? Try knocking down a crackhouse and putting up a townhouse.
And get rid of that stupid rule limiting building height to that of the Capitol Dome and the Washington Monument. That law may have been all cute when the area had room to sprawl. This is the 8th biggest metro in the US, and Madison, Wisconsin has taller buildings. Build some skyscrapers, put in 80th floor condos, and increase the population density. Voila' - problem solved.
You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one.
It's not like DC is *THAT* glamorous, either. New York, LA - they're both expensive, but you actually get something you pay for - in NYC, you get the joy of living in a city that never sleeps, with unparalleled culture, entertainment, excitement, Woody Allen and 2 baseball teams. LA - you get a chance to drink chai with George Clooney and be discovered while stopped in traffic. People are really pretty out there, and most of us would be willing to pay for better scenery. DC - let's see...you might run into a page from the junior Senator from Montana at a softball game. If you're lucky, you might get cut off by Alan Greenspan. You will be cut off by a bike messenger.
New York was home to Sex in the City. LA is home to Vivid Video. Washington has crowded Metro cars where you *might* get an accidental grab-and-poke, but it's even money if it's from a girl or a guy.
There's lot of single women here, no doubt, and many of them are foreign and spectacular. Here's the J.Lo - BUT all the hot ones have boyfriends back home. The ugly ones gripe about the lack of single men. The slutty ones write about their hook-ups on their blog, and turn their cut-rate trollopness into a book deal (this means you, Jessica Cutler). Every one of them fashions themselves as a policy wonk. The ticking of the DC area's collective biological clock is amazing - deafening, omniprecent, tangible. So many women concentrate on their career that they forget about social lives. They all wake up at 38 and go "CRAP!"
Their first question to a potential mate is "What do you do?" which is answered in Denver with "skiier" or "hiker" or "kayaker" and in Austin as "guitarist" or "drummer" or "acoutstic singer-songwriter." None of those would get you anywhere in DC., boys. The correct answers here are "lawyer" or "doctor" or "lawyer." Men in those professions are considered "good husband material." Anything is worthy of only contempt or a pity one-night stand.
Much like "Dr. Strangelove," Pickens is Slim.
The town is so pent up, so me oriented, so lost-in-its-communal-iPod that Craigslist's Missed Connections gets more hits than Elle MacPherson's webcam. Read the posts - I double dog dare you - you will see a town that thinks it is so powerful in its worldview, but powerless to say hello to an attractive stranger. Put down The Examiner and Examine her, Washington!
If I could work my mojo into free lodging, you know I would. When I find "Bitter Divorcee Night" at the Bethesda Yacht Club, I'm all over it. Otherwise, I'll just scan the rental ads like the Zapruder film and hope I fall into a dog-friendly place to live, close to work. And if that cute brunette I made eye contact with at Zola's the other night reads Craigslist's MCs, too, and recognizes herself, all will be glorious.
When it gets down to it...I just really miss Skeet Ulrich.
telecomic out.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
more slower thans...
... than an Iowan with a Palm Pilot
... than CVS in flu season
... than a government employee on break
... than a Pentium 133/16MB RAM trying to run SuSE Linux 5.3 ( I mean, seriously, who would do that???)
... than a Mexican restaurant during the Atkin's Diet craze
... than a ghetto movie theater playing "Sideways"
... than a redneck family wondering how they got a free trip to Chicago, only to be "shocked" when they appear on Jerry Springer
... that same family wondering why their trailer home gets punk'd by every tornado in a four state radius
... than a Georgian watching Dennis Miller
... than Muhammad Ali reading a limerick
... than a Colorado surfer
... than Samuel Beckett's sequel "Godot STILL Ain't Here Yet"
... than a drunk guy ordering at Denny's at 3:12AM
... than a stripper on Jeopardy!
... than a Star Trek fan on a date
... than CVS in flu season
... than a government employee on break
... than a Pentium 133/16MB RAM trying to run SuSE Linux 5.3 ( I mean, seriously, who would do that???)
... than a Mexican restaurant during the Atkin's Diet craze
... than a ghetto movie theater playing "Sideways"
... than a redneck family wondering how they got a free trip to Chicago, only to be "shocked" when they appear on Jerry Springer
... that same family wondering why their trailer home gets punk'd by every tornado in a four state radius
... than a Georgian watching Dennis Miller
... than Muhammad Ali reading a limerick
... than a Colorado surfer
... than Samuel Beckett's sequel "Godot STILL Ain't Here Yet"
... than a drunk guy ordering at Denny's at 3:12AM
... than a stripper on Jeopardy!
... than a Star Trek fan on a date
How Slow Is My DC Commute?
slower than...
1) a redneck in college
2) a Japanese taxi driver
3) an old guy in the buffet line
4) a fat kid in gym class
5) George W Bush in a spelling bee
6) Bil Clinton in a sorority house
7) Larry King in a marathon
8) a Jamacian bobsledder
9) a Nebraska slalom
10) a fire drill at a nursing home (slip-sliding away...)
11) an amputee doing sign language
12) Stevie Wonder speed reading
13) the Robert Blake jury
14) the keynote address at the NORML convention "Hey, man...who's hungry?"
15) Ozzy Osbourne doing math
16) a made-for-Lifetime movie
17) introductions at the first meeting of Stutterers Anonymous
18) Mexican Basketball League's Slam-Dunk Contest "it's day three and nobody's tall enough to touch the rim!!!"
19) You know that guy in the `86 Escort doing 20 MPH under the speed limit willingly on an other-wise empty road? Well, slower than that.
20) a stoned barista at Starbucks "A decaf maci-what, man?"
21) a southerner trying to give directions
22) a southerner in med school
23) an Amish rave
24) a turtle porno
25) pretty much any Kevin Costner movie since Bull Durham
26) Bingo night at the Tourette's foundation
27) a southern library
28) a Wal-Mart greeter
29) the relative airspeed of the Aruban horsefly in given revolution to the PRX-49 asteroid rotating in the 4th ring of the Van Claussen belt.
30) double-coupon day at Shopper's Food Warehouse
others...?
1) a redneck in college
2) a Japanese taxi driver
3) an old guy in the buffet line
4) a fat kid in gym class
5) George W Bush in a spelling bee
6) Bil Clinton in a sorority house
7) Larry King in a marathon
8) a Jamacian bobsledder
9) a Nebraska slalom
10) a fire drill at a nursing home (slip-sliding away...)
11) an amputee doing sign language
12) Stevie Wonder speed reading
13) the Robert Blake jury
14) the keynote address at the NORML convention "Hey, man...who's hungry?"
15) Ozzy Osbourne doing math
16) a made-for-Lifetime movie
17) introductions at the first meeting of Stutterers Anonymous
18) Mexican Basketball League's Slam-Dunk Contest "it's day three and nobody's tall enough to touch the rim!!!"
19) You know that guy in the `86 Escort doing 20 MPH under the speed limit willingly on an other-wise empty road? Well, slower than that.
20) a stoned barista at Starbucks "A decaf maci-what, man?"
21) a southerner trying to give directions
22) a southerner in med school
23) an Amish rave
24) a turtle porno
25) pretty much any Kevin Costner movie since Bull Durham
26) Bingo night at the Tourette's foundation
27) a southern library
28) a Wal-Mart greeter
29) the relative airspeed of the Aruban horsefly in given revolution to the PRX-49 asteroid rotating in the 4th ring of the Van Claussen belt.
30) double-coupon day at Shopper's Food Warehouse
others...?
Monday, April 04, 2005
Monday, March 21, 2005
SXSW Recap
Thumbs up:
1) I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness - an Austin 3 piece band that is scary good. And the best name in the industry.
2) Rudy's Barbeque - found in various gas stations in Austin, it's a hell of a step up from a McDonalds in a travel plaza `round here.
3) The Dears - the brunette in the band is wicked cute. Then again, meesa a sucka for Francais-Canadiennes.
4) The Salt Lick - all you can eat barbeque south of Austin. Three days later, and I'm still stuffed.
5) Apollo Sunshine - blew my mind
6) Trashcan Sinatras - heheheheheheheh
7) Of Montreal - didn't get a chance to hear them play, but they're really nice folks, and way too young to worship the Beatles so.
8) Gumbo's - restaurant in Red Rock that certainly doesn't suck
9) The Doves - why they aren't bigger will mystify...mystify me. (sorry, channelled INXS there)
Thumbs down -
1) Fry's Electronics in Texas aren't nearly as junk-filled as Fry's in California, and I like the junk.
2) Buck and Stretch - two mini-wiener dogs who treat every rug like a litter box.
3) The line @ Stubb's - all I wanted was Stubbs' BBQ, and a two-hour wait in the midafternoon is a little brutal.
4) Aimee Mann - gee, could you be a LITTLE more full of anger towards your audience? I mean, you're talented, but you ain't THAT talented
5) Austin East Side - why is it that most cities' east sides are the lousy sides??? Pick a city - Baltimore, DC, Des Moines, St. Louis, Denver, LA - the East Side is all nasty, and the West Side is nice. I don't get that.
6) The seven-person after-hours party. Wow. Contain the crowd.
7) Hipsters hipsters hipsters - really, be honest, how excited can you *REALLY* get to see a female Japanese bluegrass duo? And I don't mean sheer novelty value aside. There were hipsters who were legitimate fans of this crap. American bluegrass sucks enough; slap a Japanese girl in place of Earl Scruggs, and it don't get no better.
They were cute, though.
1) I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness - an Austin 3 piece band that is scary good. And the best name in the industry.
2) Rudy's Barbeque - found in various gas stations in Austin, it's a hell of a step up from a McDonalds in a travel plaza `round here.
3) The Dears - the brunette in the band is wicked cute. Then again, meesa a sucka for Francais-Canadiennes.
4) The Salt Lick - all you can eat barbeque south of Austin. Three days later, and I'm still stuffed.
5) Apollo Sunshine - blew my mind
6) Trashcan Sinatras - heheheheheheheh
7) Of Montreal - didn't get a chance to hear them play, but they're really nice folks, and way too young to worship the Beatles so.
8) Gumbo's - restaurant in Red Rock that certainly doesn't suck
9) The Doves - why they aren't bigger will mystify...mystify me. (sorry, channelled INXS there)
Thumbs down -
1) Fry's Electronics in Texas aren't nearly as junk-filled as Fry's in California, and I like the junk.
2) Buck and Stretch - two mini-wiener dogs who treat every rug like a litter box.
3) The line @ Stubb's - all I wanted was Stubbs' BBQ, and a two-hour wait in the midafternoon is a little brutal.
4) Aimee Mann - gee, could you be a LITTLE more full of anger towards your audience? I mean, you're talented, but you ain't THAT talented
5) Austin East Side - why is it that most cities' east sides are the lousy sides??? Pick a city - Baltimore, DC, Des Moines, St. Louis, Denver, LA - the East Side is all nasty, and the West Side is nice. I don't get that.
6) The seven-person after-hours party. Wow. Contain the crowd.
7) Hipsters hipsters hipsters - really, be honest, how excited can you *REALLY* get to see a female Japanese bluegrass duo? And I don't mean sheer novelty value aside. There were hipsters who were legitimate fans of this crap. American bluegrass sucks enough; slap a Japanese girl in place of Earl Scruggs, and it don't get no better.
They were cute, though.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Austin Rocks and Rolls
Came down to Texas' capital city to see me some rock and roll. Have only seen a bunch of power pop so far, but hey...week ain't over.
Have seen Kevin Hearn and the Thin Buckle (he's the dude from Barenaked Ladies) and hung out with him until the wee hours. Saw Duncan Shiek, and gave him crap for fookin' up Oasis lyrics. He's short. Nice as hell, though. Saw the Ocean Blue. They're still good, still slightly aloof. That was day one.
Yesterday was The Marbles (a.k.a. Apples in Stereo guy Robert Schnieder) and he's funny. Hung out in line with Of Montreal (they're so much younger than I expected) and talked about the aforementioned Robert with them. Saw the Trashcan Sinatras at point-blank range. Had a beer (or two) with them. Saw Clem Snide, who do a good combo of alt.country and alt.rock, and I saw The Dears, a Canadian band who have a lot of buzz and a great sound.
But was frickin' blown away by Apollo Sunshine. Four guys from Boston, multi-instrumentalists, swap musical styles like Oprah swaps clothing sizes, and they completely rocked the house. Lots of hipsters were there to see Clem; couldn't believe Apollo Sunshine. I talked to the lead singer en route to the pissers. Told him that was the best set I'd see so far, and he was actually geniunely touched, saying "But there are so many other great bands here, that means a lot. Thanks!"
*sniff*
Not only do they rock, but they get *it* - and that's something else.
- me
Have seen Kevin Hearn and the Thin Buckle (he's the dude from Barenaked Ladies) and hung out with him until the wee hours. Saw Duncan Shiek, and gave him crap for fookin' up Oasis lyrics. He's short. Nice as hell, though. Saw the Ocean Blue. They're still good, still slightly aloof. That was day one.
Yesterday was The Marbles (a.k.a. Apples in Stereo guy Robert Schnieder) and he's funny. Hung out in line with Of Montreal (they're so much younger than I expected) and talked about the aforementioned Robert with them. Saw the Trashcan Sinatras at point-blank range. Had a beer (or two) with them. Saw Clem Snide, who do a good combo of alt.country and alt.rock, and I saw The Dears, a Canadian band who have a lot of buzz and a great sound.
But was frickin' blown away by Apollo Sunshine. Four guys from Boston, multi-instrumentalists, swap musical styles like Oprah swaps clothing sizes, and they completely rocked the house. Lots of hipsters were there to see Clem; couldn't believe Apollo Sunshine. I talked to the lead singer en route to the pissers. Told him that was the best set I'd see so far, and he was actually geniunely touched, saying "But there are so many other great bands here, that means a lot. Thanks!"
*sniff*
Not only do they rock, but they get *it* - and that's something else.
- me
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
utterly random minor celebrity sighting
So, I am in Northern Virginia the other day, and, as is par for the course, I got wicked hungry. I decided to try one of those new mandarin orange/chicken salads at Wendys. I picked a relatively inauspicious location right off US 50 and 495.
I walk in and face a fairly sizable lunchtime crush. Unlike most fast food establishments, there was a crush of women in line, most with digital cameras or waving their picture phones around like Charlie running through the village with his Golden Ticket.
They were aiming their devices at a white guy behind the counter. While considering most fast food establishments in Northern Virginia have more racial diversity than a Bennetton ad, but fewer white folks than a gangsta rap label, I too was shocked to see a honkey. This honkey was different, though - he had spiky hair, and a goofy smile. He looked rather out of place amongst the typical Wendy's crew. Manager trainee, perhaps? Corporate partner visiting the unwashed masses? A trim, 6-foot tall white guy in a sea of spanish-speaking immigrants - dude stuck out like Yao Ming in day care.
I asked one of NoVA's typical women - mid-30s, overstyled hair, a mamma can wedged into sorority girl pants, snotty attitude - who is that guy? She looked at me, and in a voice that's a combination of Fran Drescher and a Valley Girl (and any guy in the metro area knows she's not the only one with that voice), says "You know what? That's Bill Rancic." I said "Oh, ok..." She cut me off "You know? The first season winner of the Apprentice?" She breathed in that disgusted manner endemic to snotty bitches all over the globe, and finished with "He's so handsome." Several other women like her nodded in agreement, and immediately synchronized their cycles.
Now, Bill Rancic won the Apprentice, and he gets to hang with Donald Trump. He was on a tv show, made some good coin doing it, and is now working at a Wendy's. Well, the dude who played Oswald on The Drew Carey Show was on TV, made some good coin doing it, and might be working at a Whattaburger on the Sunset Strip for all we know. Oswald, though, has had a relatively decent career in commercials, movies (Office Space, baby!) and a few other guest spots on TV shows. He has residuals to fall back on. Bill Rancic is now handing out Bacon Cheddar Classics and Frostys in Virginia.
As luck would have it, as I waited in line, I just happened to end up in Billy Boy's line. He's a tall guy, and his spiky 'do adds a couple of inches. Gray suit jacket, unbuttoned collar on a white shirt. Big smile, really trim, and he took my order. Seeing as how all these women were ovulating in his presence, I knew I had to take my chance. I had to show these women that the cult of celebrity is not worth worshipping. I had to stand up for those of us men without a reality show to boost our fame and exposure. I looked him dead in the eye, and said "Man, I knew the job market was tough, but couldn't they have made you an assistant manager, or something? You coulda called, I'd get you an interview somewhere, sheesh..."
Zinger, baby. Zinger.
He laughed, and not entirely in that fake Hollywood way, either. He said "No, it's not that bad. We're filming a commercial here today. What would you like for lunch?"
I then noticed the BIG cameras. I meekly ordered the orange chicken salad thingy. I'd have felt weird ordering a burger and fries in front of the Apprentice. Wouldn't want him to get on the hotline to the Trump - "I have the smartass targeted, sir...No, he ordered the burger and fries... He didn't biggie size it, though. What's that, kill him anyway? Yes sir. Rancic out."
He turned to get my diet soda, and his handler said to him "That actually was pretty funny" and Bill said "yeah, that was. Funny." in two sentences, fully secured my lid on the soda, a rarity in any establishment, and processed my order correctly, succinctly and efficiently. He smiled as he gave me my meal, and told me to have a nice day. I thanked him, and wished him luck avoiding the throng of NoVA career women. He laughed again, and processed the next person's order, correctly, succinctly and efficiently.
I gave him a 100% for service on my comment card, but commented that he was out of uniform.
- me
I walk in and face a fairly sizable lunchtime crush. Unlike most fast food establishments, there was a crush of women in line, most with digital cameras or waving their picture phones around like Charlie running through the village with his Golden Ticket.
They were aiming their devices at a white guy behind the counter. While considering most fast food establishments in Northern Virginia have more racial diversity than a Bennetton ad, but fewer white folks than a gangsta rap label, I too was shocked to see a honkey. This honkey was different, though - he had spiky hair, and a goofy smile. He looked rather out of place amongst the typical Wendy's crew. Manager trainee, perhaps? Corporate partner visiting the unwashed masses? A trim, 6-foot tall white guy in a sea of spanish-speaking immigrants - dude stuck out like Yao Ming in day care.
I asked one of NoVA's typical women - mid-30s, overstyled hair, a mamma can wedged into sorority girl pants, snotty attitude - who is that guy? She looked at me, and in a voice that's a combination of Fran Drescher and a Valley Girl (and any guy in the metro area knows she's not the only one with that voice), says "You know what? That's Bill Rancic." I said "Oh, ok..." She cut me off "You know? The first season winner of the Apprentice?" She breathed in that disgusted manner endemic to snotty bitches all over the globe, and finished with "He's so handsome." Several other women like her nodded in agreement, and immediately synchronized their cycles.
Now, Bill Rancic won the Apprentice, and he gets to hang with Donald Trump. He was on a tv show, made some good coin doing it, and is now working at a Wendy's. Well, the dude who played Oswald on The Drew Carey Show was on TV, made some good coin doing it, and might be working at a Whattaburger on the Sunset Strip for all we know. Oswald, though, has had a relatively decent career in commercials, movies (Office Space, baby!) and a few other guest spots on TV shows. He has residuals to fall back on. Bill Rancic is now handing out Bacon Cheddar Classics and Frostys in Virginia.
As luck would have it, as I waited in line, I just happened to end up in Billy Boy's line. He's a tall guy, and his spiky 'do adds a couple of inches. Gray suit jacket, unbuttoned collar on a white shirt. Big smile, really trim, and he took my order. Seeing as how all these women were ovulating in his presence, I knew I had to take my chance. I had to show these women that the cult of celebrity is not worth worshipping. I had to stand up for those of us men without a reality show to boost our fame and exposure. I looked him dead in the eye, and said "Man, I knew the job market was tough, but couldn't they have made you an assistant manager, or something? You coulda called, I'd get you an interview somewhere, sheesh..."
Zinger, baby. Zinger.
He laughed, and not entirely in that fake Hollywood way, either. He said "No, it's not that bad. We're filming a commercial here today. What would you like for lunch?"
I then noticed the BIG cameras. I meekly ordered the orange chicken salad thingy. I'd have felt weird ordering a burger and fries in front of the Apprentice. Wouldn't want him to get on the hotline to the Trump - "I have the smartass targeted, sir...No, he ordered the burger and fries... He didn't biggie size it, though. What's that, kill him anyway? Yes sir. Rancic out."
He turned to get my diet soda, and his handler said to him "That actually was pretty funny" and Bill said "yeah, that was. Funny." in two sentences, fully secured my lid on the soda, a rarity in any establishment, and processed my order correctly, succinctly and efficiently. He smiled as he gave me my meal, and told me to have a nice day. I thanked him, and wished him luck avoiding the throng of NoVA career women. He laughed again, and processed the next person's order, correctly, succinctly and efficiently.
I gave him a 100% for service on my comment card, but commented that he was out of uniform.
- me
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