T-Shirt Size: Awesome

Bullshit! Eateries that operate within the designated square downstairs qualify as food court, anything operating outside the said designated square

2010-09-19T19:57:00.004-04:00

square is considered an autonomous unit for mid-mall snacking.

Sorry I had to finish that quote. That quote rules. Brodie rules.

So very quickly I'm going to tell you the thing I learned about spending one hot, hot, summer being unemployed: it's FUCKING RAD. Ok. In lieu of telling you all the endless adventures we've been having, I'm just going to paraphrase with a short list of places I or we have broken the law in the last 3 months:

Detroit, Fox Theater, MGMT...
Muskegon
Holland
Blake's boat
Sharon's boat
Patrick's boat
Onekama
Frankfort (and subsidiaries, up there they get "towns" confused with "neighborhoods")
Indiana
Illinois, Chicago, thank you Eugene Hutz!!
DTE Energy music theater (fucking MAIDEN)
Good old GR

But what now, ladies? I know the weather is creeping up on “indoors” pretty quick, but seriously we want blood. So I'm going to give you some blood right now, with an ode to the man that made it look good. I know it was a month or two ago that this fallen maniac took his throne in Valhallah, but somebody asked me who Bob Probert was last week, and now I feel it's my civic duty to explain it. And to the idiot who asked me: I hope your teeth never grow back in, bitch. He will haunt your dreams.

Bob Probert was a Detroit Red Wing from '85-'94 and was the first serial killer to be completely state-backed and legit since Sir Francis Drake made a human shield of clerics in the 1500's. Bob Probert reinvented the ass-whooping. Bob Probert's mother was actually an Iron Maiden (the torture device, not the band), and his father was a Cannibal Corpse (like the zombie, not the band). Bob Probert carved Onterio out of a glacier with his bare hands and a beaver that he caught with the same bare hands and cranked his tail around real fast until the beaver's teeth started to chatter and not only was Ontario formed, but he invented the chainsaw. He later married that beaver and had a few little beaver/power tool babies. She also became a lesbian on her 60th birthday, but that's beside the point. Bob Probert once beat up a grizzly bear using a wolverine for a weapon. It was during this fight that he invented the over-the-head-jersey-punch, which was later gifted to Daren McCarty at a secret santa Christmas party. It was the greatest gift ever given. Bob Probert once beat the Kansas City Chiefs, the Cleveland Cavaliers, Northview High School's Varsity line, and Real Madrid in a football game. By himself. While he was drunk. And watching BJ and the Bear on TV. Yeah. That's who Bob Probert is, bitch.

There was a time before strikes and GAP ads (yeah I'm calling you out, Avery, you used to be tough), and pink panty-waist meltdowns, when a hockey player could skate back into the locker room at period break, and sit there for the whole time picking teeth out of his gloves and banging the visiting team's wives. Bob Probert was from that time. There was a time at the Joe where just hearing his name reverberating loudly down the concourse would send a stream of piss immediately flowing down every opponent's leg. There was a time when, if you just happened to have a game that night against the Red Wings, you had the choice between facing off against Kocur and Probie, or to bite a 45lb free weight in half. Many people chose that option, because they lost less teeth (on average) that way. That's who Bob Probert is, bitch.

RIP big guy.

She torched his Neil Diamond albums last night...she torched Neil...you're right she is a monster (both start playing guitar in Spanish outfits)

2010-09-11T14:14:00.005-04:00

"Thursday, August 24, 1972. A hot, sultry summer night, in California they call it earthquake weather, with the air hanging heavy over the open, glistening shell of the Greek Theater, over 4500 people comfortable in their broad seats, over the countless others, the "tree people", clamoring up the mountain and into the surrounding trees, casting eerie shadows against the walls, anything to have a glimpse of the stage and the man who will fill it. Hot August night, and many of the people had been there on Tuesday and Wednesday and will be there again on Friday and the nights after that because, after all, Neil Diamond has come back to the Greek.

Then, softly, the music begins, the lights dim. Slowly, the heavy fire doors roll back; the music rises, the stage is a smoky, opalescent jewel in the darkness. But one light shines brighter than the others, a white pool in the brilliance, and, for an instant, sound hangs suspended, only the air breathing.

Then he's there, the crowd exploding, Neil Diamond as casual as if it's the most natural thing in the world, those 5,000 people demanding his soul. And, for the next 107 minutes, he gives it to them, a spontaneous exhausting display of energy and sensuality. And the people are right there with him, screaming and cheering and applauding and beseeching, knowing all the words to all the songs but hearing them as for the first time, because that's what Neal Diamond gives them, singing as though he, too, were just discovering the heart and soul of the music, every number unique and exhilarating.

Too soon, almost before the moment is realized, it's over. The encore, the ovations, the bows-Neil Diamond has gone, in joy and triumph. And as the people begin to leave, reluctant, unwilling to relinquish the intimacy and the sensation, the silence again settles on the Greek, heavy and still until the next evening, when once again Neil Diamond will shatter the Hot, August Night....!"

Blam bitches! That was VERBATIM out of the cover of Neil's 1972 (you guessed it, Hot August Night) explosive live album on vinyl. I did not write that. Just in case there's still one of you out there that still doubts Neil's Majesty, DOWN ON ONE KNEE!Those people climbed mountains to see him. And then when they got to the tops of the mountains, they climbed trees. And when they reached the treetops they climbed the monkeys that were on the trees. And then the bugs that were on the monkeys. And then the clouds above but those people fell down the bugs and trees and mountains, cause, you know, clouds are just gas. Stupid tree people...And then they made eerie shadows and Neil played the shit out of some songs, and everyone went home all pie-eyed and glossy. It's all right there folks, covered. They must, have, had, a sale on, commas, though that day, or maybe, the, writer was still, stuttering, from the Glory of NEIL. I bet that's it.

Where the hell have you been? Oh me? Just around...

2010-09-03T06:52:00.004-04:00

Don't ask...it's been crazy. Let's just say, our absence involved Dinosaurs, some chest hair and well, other things inappopriate for children's eyes.

So it was Neil Diamond's half birthday a few days ago and I totally forgot to send you a card and fill your socks with Matzo ball soup in celebration. Hope you're not mad! Here's a little Neal to brighten your day anyway. This song makes me want to carry a torch barefoot into the night while the giant flag proudly waves overhead and the ocean covers the shore with huge foamy whitecaps and a majestic eagle soars and lets out a thunderous cry (CAAAAA!) and Neil's sparkly shirt guides all ships to safety and freedom. And liberty. And sandwiches that have chicken breasts instead of buns. God bless this country...

"Hey everybody, we're all gonna get laid

2010-01-11T15:37:00.002-05:00

Alright alright alright! We’re finally back. Who missed us? Who missed spontaneous and unnecessary curse words being directed at you for no reason, bitches? Who missed miles of long, rambling sentences, made-up words, and largely pointless, bulleted lists? Well we’re back for good and thanks very much to Justin Stover for telling us we really were funny, even though I’m still quite sure that through all that benevolence and heroic beard hair, it was probably just manners…that’s besides the point. So in lieu of our billions of awesome stories and emotional adventures, strengthening us both physically and mentally, shaping strong, fierce women in the face of every adversity (with the exception of race, gender, religious affiliation, education, upbringing, stereotyping, etc), I’m just going to paraphrase 2009 for you real quick:

You know what? None of your business. But we all had a little dick on our chins at some point. So there.

So 2009 is over, and six days in, 2010 already has a best film (according to the radio, its 9, whatever that is). Glad that’s out of the way. Now if I could just kick this existential life crisis we’ll really be cooking…but I wanted to kiss off 2k9 at least a little, because some of the shit that happened this year is really unbelievable. The Press acts like the biggest news story of the year is the divorce of Jon and Kate, sorry Obama! The Red Wings take a bone-broke single-season shame spiral, everybody almost gets to call in dead with the incurable death flu, Jack White plays the drums with his penis, and Stephtendo DS finally moves upstairs.

Get ready to get a little shame on your shirts (unless you’re wearing a shame bib or have a shameWOW!), here is a little list of things that were embarrassingly awesome about 2009:

• The Lonely Island Incredibad. T Pain, Jack Black, and Julian Cassablancas (how we’ve missed you!) back up the lily-white punk thugs from SNL for an excellent satire album, complete with behind-the-scenes Padme and why the Space Olympics is the best idea ever. Spurting catch phrases all over the place like “its all about the Hamiltons baby,” “Like A Boss,” and of course “I’m on a boat, bitch!” this album is everything Sandberg needed to cement a job when SNL stops trying to censor him. Check out “Boombox” for life-lesson joy. Shortay!

• The ubiquitous touch screen cell phone. Everybody has that shit now. Thank god, finally a way to avoid talking to or making eye-contact with your friends that are near you, when the ones that aren’t are far more interesting! No, I don’t want to see your new app that makes you even more annoying when you try to show everybody your new app.

• Jacob. At least if this Twilight shit never goes away the rest of us girls who don’t read the books and prefer their men with a little color and tone and hair that doesn’t totally suck will have something all underage and ripply to oogle all creepy like while our eyes are glazed over and drool pools in our lower lip as the media continues it’s relentless assault. Vampires totally suck. Now somebody get that poor kid a towel! He’s always so wet!

• Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. This just really had to happen. Now that’s what I call a happy ending!

• The giant blue dong in the Watchmen. The movie was so-so, but we got there late on opening night and had to sit too close to the IMAX screen…to this day when I close my eyes I can still see it glowing…

• Just Haven’t Met You Yet by Michael Buble. Besides the fact that I think he wrote that about me, this infectious little number is adorable and the video is adorable and Buble is adorable and just when you thought W-lite played xmas music all year…I warn you though…if you decide to YouTube this based on my recommendation, it will be plastered into your skull for the next three weeks minimum. It’s like the awesome Canadian version of Montezuma’s revenge. My last trip to Family Fare, all I got was an artichoke and a dirty look from a thousand year old lady for taking all her raisins or something like that…some bitches get everything. I don’t even like raisins…

• Good Little Friday. Day off, sunshine, bottle of El Toro, Bubba, KP, Stephtendo, the sprinkler, all-you-can-eat lake perch, Mad Libs, Busch Lite, karaoke, Little Feat, and Jake Busey. I don’t think I missed anything…but Bubba? (grabs boob, pushes up) I have some bad news…

• Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. Yes, it surprised me too. Picture this: 12:30 am New Years Day and the room is full of sweaty hammered hipsters wearing various levels of formal undress. They are dancing and blah blah blah, and the DJ plays this song. They went ape shit! Everybody was indeed throwing their hands up and bobbing their heads like yeah. Damn Miley! Your totally retarded party jam is actually awesome! Now how the hell does your cardigan make you a normal girl again?

• Star Trek the movie. Ha ha! You thought I was serious…nerd please.

• Sarah Palin. Man that bitch is rogue! I want to be rogue like her! She is so rogue and mavericky and stuff with her security and awesome five chapter manifesto about how magical it is to be rogue. Ready for her plan for world domination? A talk show. At least maybe the unwashed masses will be ready when the moose population of northern Alaska decide to annex Wasilla…just try it: Next time you sit down to a lovely plate of nachos or Hot Pockets or pigs-in-a-blankets, don’t just eat them, go rogue on that shit! Don’t just talk to the people at the bank, go rogue! Keep your cash in a coffee can under the floorboards of your trailer. The only way for America to move forward is to regress to the golden age of pioneering mountain men.

• Heavy Metal. I know it isn’t new, but you simply can’t beat watching your two dearest friends emerge from the pit SOAKED in blood and thirsty for more. GWAR ’08 was nothing compared to GWAR ’09. More blood, and more space jizz than you can see through. While, Cannibal Corpse is just like watching Dethklok live, and the etiquette within the pit is surprisingly civil. KP screams “Just Hit Me! AAAHHHH!” and these sweaty, tattooed crazy people are all like “sorry, sweetheart”. The balloon animals were just plain nice.

• Neil Diamond. He just is. And January 24 is his 69th (yeah!! fist pump!) birthday so we better see you all Diamond-And-Dashing and frolicking all over the West Side spreading the Gift of Neil to anyplace with a karaoke machine. Don’t forget your chest wig! More to come on this one…

• Scareyoke. I know we talked about this before so there is no excuse why we shouldn’t see you there. Just say the grossest thing you can possibly think of to your friendly server and there will either be a drink special or harassment case in it for you!

• ArtPrize.

• Our new kitty. His name is Soren and he is just an adorable little guy. We got him at Lollapalooza (thanks, Jesse!) and he’s blonde and wonderful. If you would like to send him a check, please contact us and we’ll hook you up with an address but we are in charge of making soup and knit goods for him, so please restrict your gifts to monetary items only. Thank you.

If you’ve made it all the way to the end of this list, you’ll be able to see why we needed TShirtSize:Awesome back…times is tough! Slim pickins! Well we’re going to try our best to recover some of the face that we lost in ’09 and make ’10 a little less super-lame. I have a list of nerds to pound that is 10 miles long. If you want to help me, jump on our little wagon and help de-lame this town! See you soon!

“Your highness, when I said that you are like a stream of bat's piss, I only mean that you shine out like a shaft of gold when all around it is dark"

2009-09-24T08:30:00.004-04:00

Hear ye! Hear ye! Good morrow strapping gentlemen! Stef and KP straighten their nerd caps, lace up thine olde (and stinking!) tights, and make haste for the annual Reniassance Festival in odious Holly Michigan. And it was Armed Forces day. And Biker day...didn’t see one soldier. Or biker.

Hath ye lain eyes on this creepy nerd shit? I didn’t even feel comfortable laughing because they were so for real. I choked down more giggles than the cast of High School Musical chokes down…nevermind. I’m just really glad we brought beer.

I feel like I should clarify a minute, we had an experienced escort. We didn’t just up and decide to go do this, and while KP might be a nerd, she isn’t even CLOSE to this magnitude. We knew a guy who could get us in. After a long night of no way!’s and nuh-uh’s in response to Austin telling me what actually goes on in one of these things, it was decided that in the spirit of adventure we make a day of it. Austin at 10am: we’re bringing beer. Driving up to the entrance of the fair, Austin had to comment to all in the backseat "Act like you belong here and don't laugh" which was promptly followed by me and Trotter giggling uncontrollably at the guy dressed like Merlin walking around the parking lot. We drag our sorry asses out of the car and head straight to the fair, we walk in and KP immediately goes "I need a beer right now".

And how glad I was that we did. Here’s the deal with the Holly Renaissance Festival: over four acres of permanent structures including a complete castle and fort, a children’s dell, bars, food venues, stages for all the various shows, and about 100 shops for craftsmen to sell everything from leather goods to battle axes to honey sticks. It has been operating for 30something years. It’s fancy. I was picturing a bunch of tents and booths with portable fairground food and chubby weirdos skipping around in corsets and tights. This was MUCH BIGGER, and oddly more real. These people went to the 9’s for this getup. There were about 1000 adults there (grown-ups, mind you) all dressed right to the hilt in these incredibly labor intensive costumes. Strange enough, I was expecting far more “tourists” like myself walking around and gawking at the freakshow. But there were a TON of people dressed to look the part. Maybe more than half. Now is time for a sip of beer. Try not to swallow funny when lord Grimmiere or something accosts you with a hand puppet of Queen Elizabeth and a 100% RIDICULOUS accent that he kept slipping in an out of. He’s serious when he says “good morrow!”, so you have to keep a straight face. Pbphhhhhhthh.

The shows were something in and of themselves. They pick the more convincing dorks to recruit viewers for Spanish dancers, comedy routines, sword fighting routines, sword fighting comedy routines, gypsy dancers, belly dancers, music…you get the drift. Poor Trotter (or Veronica, as he shall be referred to from now on) got dragged on stage by the popular Washing Well Wenches and had the dorks positively eating out of his hands. He was great. So between sips of beer and stifled laughs you meander over to ye olde giant turkey leg stand and have yourself a giant turkey leg (every bit as hilarious as it sounds. Delicious too!) and check out some of the wild life, maybe witness some horrible actors performing horrible comedy, or sword fighting, or sword fighting comedy or whatever that kid dressed in leather told us to watch. It’s damn hard for me to explain how real this all is. Then, when you’ve wiped the gristle from your chin and washed it all down with a few blessedly sedating meads, it’s time for the full-contact jousting.

Surprisingly, while it’s the biggest draw (where were all the bikers, Austin???) for the fair, the jousting was pretty lame, and very obvious about the staging. The knights were all in full mail (which was cool) but watching them take a foam-rubber staff to the chest going half-speed in front of some kind of princess in a tower (cause, you know, they had one built) could have been SO MUCH cooler than it actually was. Come on sir Auric, I want to hear some insults being tossed around! Gimme a little of thine medieval trash talking. Shut that swine-born strumpet up! Call him a lily-livered breath of dog! Call his mother a goat-mouthed whore! Don’t pick some little kid out of the audience to be your girlfriend (eew) and then proceed to get your ass fake-kicked in a poorly executed display of D-grade stunts. The jousting was kind of a bust.

And there was actually a queen, and a court, and witches and pirates, and an old white samurai, and barbarians and Mongols and shit. Okay. I am all for escapism. I like fiction and sweet action movies about dinosaurs and debating conspiracy theories and Jimmy Buffet and all that stuff, but this went a bit far. Why in the hell would you want to live in the middle ages anyway? there were no matches, mirrors, deodorant, Gameboy DS, helicopters, can coolers, weapons made out of bike chains, Crystal Pepsi, muscle cars, cutoff jeans, PEZ dispensers, temporary tattoos, record player/CD player combos, cheesy gordita crunches, snap bracelets, and Reebok Pump sneakers. They were savages. Sure, the kindly folk of medieval times lived in a land where magic was real and full of grandiose heroes and chivalry, mythical creatures roamed free and granted wishes to lonely travelers, virginity was still a virtue, and, oh yeah, more than 2/3rds of the population of England and eastern Europe was wiped out by the plague.

Alright. So I can’t completely wrap my mouth around the fair completely (yeah, I know…), I will say that we ended up having tons of fun. A pleasurable time was had by all, and while I’ll never go back, the company was top shelf and we ended up having a blast. Friends go see that shit, friends don’t allow each other to get involved (though they’ll probably send Mike an invitation by traveling minstrel, and the show shall forthwith be called the Washing Well Wenches and Veronica show). If you’re really into gross tits and primitive weapons, the Holly Renaissance Fair is for you. If you think the people who like gross tits and primitive weapons are funny, than the Holly Renaissance Fair is for you too. Just don’t laugh in their faces. And bring beer. Thank you, Austin, for making that day rule.

"Before we start, I'd just like to say the campers you're about to see suck dick! But nevertheless, please welcome them."

2009-09-04T08:39:00.003-04:00

Here it is….the girls of TShirt Size Awesome are back online!!! Bitches!!! And we’ve been busy!

So I know it looks like we’ve been in hiding since the Wings lost the cup (which we won’t even start to talk about…we seriously were in hiding for a while...even typing this is bringing me back to a very black place that my therapist told me I must not return to…oh god…) anyway, old KP and Stef were in hiding for a while but we finally pulled our black veils off and came outside (blinding! But why has it been so cold this summer???) and typical of us girls, did a bunch of awesome shit anyway. I don’t even know where to begin it’s been so awesome. Here are few of the lessons that we learned:
1) Unsalted Roasted Almonds. Unsalted. Roasted. Almonds.
2) Cadillacs and Dinosaurs. Just look it up.
3) The good people of Indiana really are not good people. They are really idiot assholes who can’t fix cars and are probably at home right now trying to fellache themselves even though it’s physically impossible. Indiana sucks.
4) Chicago, namely Millennium Park and Grant Park (Lollapalooza ROCKED) are cool, even if you have to drive through Indiana, which sucks.
5) The wings are gross at Quaker Steak and Lube. But the name is awfully clever.
6) Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. If you don’t read books, and especially if you think that Jane Austin was really just a propaganda ad produced by tampon companies to sell more tampons, than you should read this book. And remove your tampon because you could seriously use it to thwart the onslaught of the undead for long enough to put some serious steel between you.
7) I am undesirable unless you’re half-gay, and KP’s bf doesn’t have a car. Not a lot of wiener coming out of that equation…ah shit.
8) Don’t eat a 5/3rd burger. No matter who you are or who’s watching you on TV. I mean…gross.
9) Geocaching. Look it up because geocaching=superfun even though we only found 1 so far. Look up the one about how East Grand Rapids used to be a giant amusement park called Ramona Park that housed gambling halls, burlesque shows, and prostitutes as well as a big roller coaster and caramel corn stand. Take that, stupid lady in the black BMW van thing that cut me off in the parking lot of D&W the other day. It’s gonna cost extra for your stylist to get all that sin and depravity out of your hair. Ha!
10) Tequila during the day can be really fun (and will probably lead to you getting your picture taken with an E list celebrity who knows the surviving members of Little Feat!). Unlimited lake perch…not so much a good idea. The perch was delicious though. Ugh.
11) Probably you should pay your gas bill once in a while, loser.
12) It is really fun to spray Jesse with a hose.
13) David Bowie. Let that be a lesson to you.

And I’m sure there are others, but we aren’t really that good at…you know…learning things. Plus we were too busy sipping classic cocktails on a sandy beach or jetting off to the cliffs of Machu Pichu or whatever (working.) to really remember a lot. Or maybe it was the drugs. Ohh yeah…

You guys might not know this, but I consider myself a bit of a loner. I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack

2009-07-15T12:56:00.005-04:00

May 7th?!?!?! OMG WTF TXT?????????

Where the hell have we been? I was pretty sure that robot was just flicking me off but apparently he meant business.

Anyways, is anyone still out there??

Should we give you a little something, something??

Here's a quick what for as to where, what and who we have been doing in the last two months.

KP had a birthday
Stef is currently having a birthday (today!!)

KP has gotten herself a permanent John, one that some might actually call a boyfriend.
Stef's has just contracted a few more STD's. Her checklist of "Sexually Transmitted Disease I need to get before I die" has gotten significantly shorter.

The Red Wings lost the Stanely Cup, then lost Hossa, Conklin, Hudler, Kopecky and Samuelsson. Sad.

KP is taking a trip to Nerd Con in San Diego next week and will talk non stop about it afterwards.

Stef turned 42 today. Still lives at home with her cats, and still blatantly gropes teenage ass as often as she can.

Scareoke is still going strong.

Anything else?? What would you, our reader, like to know? Anybody? Hello??

"I'm freakin pumped! I've been drinking green tea all goddamn day!"

2009-05-07T06:44:00.002-04:00

I’m actually writing this one hour from Game 4 Round 2 and I’m predicting right now that Nedermeyer or that FUCKING REDICULOUS bald-headed troll-doll looking ref from Tuesday is going to have to be carried out on a stretcher or in several Petrie dishes by the time our boys get through with him. They should really give Marian Hossa a gun. Or a Samurai sword. Or a monkey with a Samurai sword and a gun. Badass. I actually wrote a song about it, in fact. Stuff like this is always better visualized in song, especially with sweet 80’s synth riffs.

Sung with a Swedish/Russian/Czeckoslovakian accent to the tune of 99 Luftballons by Nena.

You and I in a little pawn shop, bought Hossa a gun with some money we got
Set him free, game four, round two, with flack jackets just for me and you
In the locker room, home team’s side, Scott Neidermeyer sits with a gleam in his eye
Getting massage from a towel boy as 99 Detroit Red Wings skate by.

99 Detroit Red Wings, sharpening their hockey skates
panic boys, they’re warming up
up and down the hockey rink.
Ozzy stretches out his thigh
Rafalski prepares to punch someone in the eye
Hudler’s down for a little fun
And Marian Hossa has a gun.

99 Red hockey gods
break away two minutes in
Neidermeyer creeps around
to poach their shots behind the goal
two interferences don’t get called
an off-sides and a penalty
Hossa knocks one in off his glove
and the stupid ref says he doesn’t see.

99 Red Angry Men
Can’t believe they haven’t tied it
Datsyuk loses his freaking head
Zeterberg talks crazy shit
Pads are flying fans are crying
The ref was straight up fucking lying
Hossa reaches in his pants
As 99 Detroit Red Wings go by.

99 cops flooding in
ready for a hostage crisis,
it’s all over and we’re sitting pretty
in this shame-filled Disney city
when Hossa’s hand came from his pants,
it wasn’t heat that he was packin’
faced with his gigantic *censored *
they hung their heads and walked away…

in shame, of course. From what I hear it’s Hossa who should be called “the Mule.” You were robbed, buddy. Do you know what happens to people that rob people? Cause’ I do. I know what happens ‘cause I’ve seen both Kung Fu and Walker Texas Ranger.
Round
House
Kick,

that’s all I’m saying.

"You know how when you grab a woman's breast... it feels like... a bag of sand."

2009-04-25T20:13:00.003-04:00

Well well babies, let’s blow the lid off this playoffs season already! Way to school ‘em Red Wings! Check this out quick:

1) Welcome on board for 11 more years, Johan Franzen! Ken Holland, in addition to being a primo general manager and all around excellent awesome dude, is a total genius. Now give me Hossa! Maybe even Hudler!
2) Two words: beard season (siiigh)
3) Yes, there is a real picture of me and Darren McCarty out there.

But unfortunately for everyone, much, much, graver news has just crossed my desk (and by crossed I mean somebody just left it on there with no post-it note, referendum, or paper clip. And there is a coffee ring right on here. Temps, I tell ya). Virgins who just got married and seventeen year old future prostitutes who think they’re doing their “guys” a favor: listen up. COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE IS NO PLACE TO GET SEX TIPS!!! Not only are they the same exact ones every issue since the days when sleeping around was considered “modern” and to be kinky was to shave your beave down to a scraggly little patch, but they aren’t even good. Here’s a few from the most recent list of “ways to make your man melt” or whatever stupid vernacular they’ve managed to drool out this week:

Be Just as Gung Ho for Sex as a Guy
According to a survey in Australian Cosmo, 38 percent of readers have gotten it on with a guy within 24 hours of meeting." By thrusting your hips up and down, placing your hands on his butt, pulling him into you and kissing him hard, you can direct the action.. That's not to say you shouldn't go for a ride. Try pushing him onto a chair, unzipping his pants, going down on him for a few seconds, then climbing on. He won't know what hit him, but he'll be happy as hell. For the ultimate in rough 'n' ready fun, try one of Cosmo readers' favorite bed games, called the Randy Wrestling Roll. Start by lying on your side facing each other, with your thigh flung over his hip, and guide his penis inside you, then entangle your arms and legs and start rolling around on the bed or carpet as you thrust into each other. The goal? See who can end up on top most often — but in this game, everybody wins.

Seriously? The one tip that I didn’t already know from every film, television, and book I’ve ever seen featuring business time, that wrestling thing, that isn’t even sexy. Eew, in fact, no way. And that other stuff about grabbing his penis and kissing him hard??? There isn’t a culture that ever made it past two people in the whole world who doesn’t know that stuff. And there’s more.

Push Your Booty Boundaries
You can steam things up at home by moving outside the bedroom and doing it on top of a sturdy table kitchen counter, bathroom sink, or hood of a car that's parked in your garage. Things get even hotter in Greece, where they boldly go where most cultures are too shy to venture. "Both men and women here enjoy anal sex, and no one considers it a big deal," says deputy editor of Greek Cosmo, Margarita Michelakou. Like bringing sex toys to bed or using flavored lubes, anal sex is just another option for spicing things up.
Another giant duh. Spice it up by moving to the kitchen? Whoo boy! Lets not get carried away! Even if you’re observing the roommate rule and not getting busy where the other one eats/sits/washes dishes, I bet any one of us could come up with more exciting places. And sex toys? Even the oldest trick in the book isn’t that obvious. So, since this kind of stuff is what all you virgins and newlyweds have to go on when exploring what Mystery calls the “Venuvian arts” (man, what a tool), Me and KP here are going to do you all a favor and compile a little list of T Shirt Size:Awesome sex tips that might actually work (pardon me, this might be a little candid for any of you who might have had a shred of respect for us before):

1) Compare his performance in the sack to an animal. Loudly. If you’re pleased; a tiger, gorilla, alligator, or T Rex are good options. If you are displeased; a piglet, parakeet, or broccoli usually get the point across.
2) Flavored lube, blah blah blah. How about you try orange marmalade, sausage gravy, or Tabasco sauce, you giant baby.
3) Generally, a man will do your bidding if you emasculate him enough, both in public and in times of intimacy. Unless your bidding is for him to marry you. Or like you. Or take you seriously.
4) It is okay for a woman to initiate sex, but don’t give that shit away for free, girls. $25 dollars an hour is both reasonable and fair.
5) When you’re all in the middle of it, don’t ask me. Tell me. “Can I kiss you?” is completely sissy and inappropriate.
6) Every fella out there says they appreciate a lady who wants her hair pulled a little. So fellas? Don’t get weirded out when a lady tells you to pull her freaking hair already. Jeez.
7) While the occasional talking is expected to some extent, avoid chatter and Chit-chat. Don’t talk about dinner, doctor visits, or your partner’s sister's abilities in the sack. Not cool.
8) Some potential dinner conversations that might turn a lady on: your tool belt, your love of cooking, or that time you saved a thousand kittens from a burning orphanage (but it’s no big deal). Possible dinner conversation turn-offs: how awesome you are at everything, how wasted you got, how wasted you are, your mother’s cancer, and anything you ever read in Cosmopolitan Magazine.
9) Sex in the City isn’t anything like sex in the country. It’s dustier, grainier, and the people are less attractive.
10) While it’s nearly unavoidable not to picture Burt Reynolds in the throes of passion, don’t call him Burt Reynolds, unless he really is Burt Reynolds. Usually mentioning Burt in the sack ends in a conversation about how awesome Smokey and the Bandit is, which is fine, but again, not sexy.
11) The kitchen, bathroom sink, or the hood of a car are fine, but try these smacktastic locations: bait shop, preschool, port-o-john, or combination baitshoppreschoolportojohn.
12) Busting out of the bathroom dressed like Han Solo is A-OKAY. Busting out of the bathroom dressed like Chewbacca is A-OKAY. Looking like Chewbacca without a costume is a little yucky.
13) Names and the shouting of names can be sticky wickets. Write it on the back of your hand to avoid an awkward situation.
14) Hot dogs, hoagies, burritos, Popsicles, bologna, French bread, and pickles are all shaped like penises, so make sure your lady eats one of each on every date to get her all greased up and in the mood.
15) Please remember, a little uncomfortable is fun at first, and above all, you’re both already naked, so what is there to be shy about? You’re both there to, so have a little fun.

And ladies? In reference to Cosmopolitan Magazine, ever notice that while you’re sippin’ on your double iced skinny soy with whip during a break from your profesh (we should totally plan a vacay by the way, me and my peeps need to do some serious chillaxin’) and flipping through this month’s totally amazing issue of Cosmo (referred to by themselves as “the bible”, if I EVER hear anybody I know do that, slap city, bitch) featuring some bland starlet with one hand on her hip and one hand on the top of her head, smiling blankly through her blonde highlights on the cover, that THAT MAGAZINE HAS BEEN EXACTLY THE SAME ISSUE EVERY MONTH FOR SINCE IT’S CREATION? Ever notice that? How the embarrassing moments and the articles about fun females (she totally works sixty hours and can somehow balance that with cribbing amazing threads, making her man melt, and drinking 300 appletinis per week!), clothes, and whatever else nonsensical fodder in between Candie’s ads is always the exact same shit every time? Do they really think that’s helping anyone? OMG!!!!

Saying things like “peeps” “profesh” “vacay” “crib” “amazing” “man candy” “nooky” “cannoodle” and “convo” do not make you sound intelligent, fun, or fearless. They make you sound ridiculous. Everybody else, you can thank me later. Love!

"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day."

2009-03-20T09:46:00.003-04:00

Well, well! it certainly has been a busy week for the girls at TShirtSize: Awesome! KP and I have been pleasantly busy attending hockey games and intelligent people discussion groups (which thankfully only last one more week and no, it’s not anything court ordered), Beth finds herself in the middle metro-sexual non-sexy youth sandwich, and ol’ Kasey seems to have gotten her tongue tied in a knot with some special John, enough to keep it out of other people’s, for a change. Way to go, Kasey. Beth, you’re a loser.

Special thanks to all our friends from (and the new ones that we made, Daniel, you are one creepy dude) the Annual St. Patty’s Day Pub Stumble, which had record turnout (and record staying power, we all did it!!) and record fun. Record temperatures and adorable servers also played a large part (all I’m saying ladies is go to Graydon’s Crossing) and fun and merriment and poor grammar was had by all. Cheers! Erin Go Braugh! That means “Go To Ireland, you wannabe lush!” in Gaelic. Hey, fuck yooo, Rosetta Stoone! Here are a few other things I’ve learned:

• The term “honeymoon” actually dates back to Babylonian times, when it was customary for the parents of the bride to supply the groom with all the mead he could drink for an entire month after the wedding. Moon=month, honey=main ingredient in mead, get it?? Ha!

• The word “cocktail” comes from the implements used to stir drinks during the early days of the American bar, when they used pheasant feathers to decorate the walls, and would pick said feathers off the wall to mix drinks.

• The cocktail known today as the ‘Tom Collins’ comes from a practical joke barmen used to play on each other in the Wild West, back when pride actually mattered to people. If you were looking to mess with a dude just because, you’d walk up to him and tell him that you just heard Tom Collins up the street slandering his honest name, you know, calling him lazy or his mother a ninny or Yankee-lover (or whatever they said back then), and the dude would fly out the door in a blind rage and beat to pieces the first city slicker he didn’t recognize, no matter if his name was actually Tom Collins or not. Funny, huh!?! Boy, what a good joke! Bet you didn’t see that one coming, innocent bystander! Here is (according to the Playboy Bartender’s Guide) how to make a Tom Collins:
2 ½ oz gin
1-2 tsp. Sugar
1 oz lemon juice
Iced club soda
Garnish with lemon slice, lime slice, or maraschino cherry (optional)

Here’s how (according to the Playboy Bartender’s Guide) to make a City Slicker:
2oz brandy
½ oz triple sec
1tbsp. Lemon juice
eew.

Here is how to make a shoe smell:
Your stinky feet.
Damn, I’m good!!!

And speaking of cocktails, I really want to let you all in on the best known secret and future tradition of the girlies of TShirtSize: Awesome and all of their 5,000 friends…Scarey-oke live on Wednesday nights from the most haunted bar/brothel left in Grand Rapids! Nick Fink’s in Comstock Park! You all should come! For serious! Hosted by suckah commentator and for real awesome dude Bubba (of BubbaHasSpoken, but he is actually really nice. Unless you’ve had a tracheotomy recently…) this bar seriously gives me the major willies because for the past 150 years it’s been a whorehouse. And they haven’t done much with the place, if you know what I mean. (Here’s the premise. It’s got velvet wallpaper, jet black leather booths, uneven floors, high back wooden booths and smells like vomit.) And what do we do when something gives us the serious willies?? Sing to it! Really well! There’s a lot of hidden talent and hilarious drunk hillbillies running around that joint, and no matter who shows up, it’s guaranteed to be a real blast. At least super entertaining. Just don’t even look at the beer list, or attempt to proposition any of the wildlife, contrary to popular belief, it is NO LONGER A BROTHEL. Except for me and KP. Who tend to bring the brothel with us…

Super double-special thanks to local legend and dynamic celebrity superpower Sam Kenny (remember? From the other post?) for totally tearing that shit up with high kicks, Michael Jackson moves and enough spins to make me dizzy. And seriously, Ryan??? Where did you come from, dude??

Not only is the clientele usually an adventure, but you’ll sound like Mel frickin’ Torme on the mike. Get on out there.

Nick Fink's, Wednesday nights, Comstock Park. Awesome. Terrifying. Awesome. Here’s a video interpretation of the excellence that Scarey-oke is:

And just a little reminder, today and April 10th are your last chances to come sit behind me and KP at Friday night Griffins games and get angry at our horn-blowing and throw popcorn in our hair. Or get really laced on dollar beers and slam 4 hot dogs for no reason. Boosh! See you in the playoffs, babies!

"So come up to the lab and see what's on the slab. I see you shiver with antici... pation"

2009-03-10T07:00:00.004-04:00

I’d like to, before continuing, pretend that that last post never happened. Here is a little list of things to think about so you can easily erase that last one from your memory:

• Puppies
• Tim Curry as Dr. Frankenfurter from Rocky Horror Picture Show
• A robot and a chimp becoming friends, slowly, after the robot earns the chimp’s trust by holding its hat and actually giving it back later.
• Things you’d name your chimp if you had one. I think I’d go with Ricky, or Patrick. I like Patrick.
• Ingredients that would be tasty in chili, even though they aren’t commonly found in chili, like Chicken Nuggets, fried egg, or bacon.
• Other things you could be doing besides reading this blog…
• Drinking, cause that’s what I’m doing. Must….forget….aaaah!
• Justin Stover

And speaking of Justin Stover, do we have some more excellent local entertainment for you! Justin combines sweet indy tunes with cheery pop and a little bit of funness (amen!) to create the beautiful, well-made songs that you can hear if you go to see him at Rocky’s or the Whiskey Lounge. And, he’s like the 2nd friendliest guy in this whole town, besides Sam Kenny, whom we also eagerly endorse. In fact, if you like Sammy, then you’ll enjoy Justin live too, and since it’s impossible to not like either of them, everybody’s happy, right?

For serious though, Justin has a fuzzy, sugary, slightly sexy sweetheart of a voice that compliments both songs and appearance deliciously, and is easy to get all gooey over both on recordings and live. Very rarely can I say that every singer/songwriter out there can be palatable and even enjoyable without a band behind him to fill in holes, but Justin is one of those guys who, stand-alone, will sweep you off your feet with adorability, sincerity, and talent. And, he has a rockin’ beard. Check him out at the Whiskey Lounge on April 17 or on MySpace HERE , and you might find out about Grand Rapids’ own version of Feist who’s another wildly talented pixie little thing, Sam Crane HERE

Note: This isn’t Motley Crue, folks. And while I’m sure Justin would appreciate a little flashie flash from the ladies who are feeling his sensitivity and intelligent-but-still-a-regular-guy song lyrics, please just sit there and sip your cocktail and appreciate the ambiance and rock out in your head. You can listen to KISS on the way home.

"Becoming a top fighter takes time, unless you're a natural-born kung-fu genius, and they're 1 in a million"

2009-03-02T08:59:00.003-05:00

"He once got our dead battery goin' by mixin' bird feces and spit, cause there's like acids in it, eh?"

2009-02-25T15:22:00.004-05:00

K so since we are now acclaimed on the NealNet and live in the Nealiverse, I’m going to: 1st) Shout out to my Japanese brothers and sisters and all our fans down-under! Blimey, mates! Domo Arigato!
2nd) Write something that has nothing whatsoever to do with Neil Diamond. Even though it kind of does, but not really.

10 REASONS WHY CANADA IS AWESOME (in no particular order. In fact, maybe you can put them in your own order, and we can discuss. I’d like that.):

1) Kyle Quincy
2) Mathieu Dandenault
3) Ed Belfour (yes I know he’s old now, but Damn!)
4) Kris Draper
5) Kirk Maltby
6) Darren McCarty
7) CHRIS OSGOOD
8) Steve Yzerman
9) Mike Babcock
10) Scotty “killabitchwithoutevenflinching” Bowman

Hahaha! How awesome was that sweet trick I just played on you! Sike!! Ok I have a different list of things that are awesome about Canada (again, in no particular order):

1) Some common stereotypes associated with Canadians: Beer, hockey, mullets, moose, beavers, political neutrality, and friendliness. Common stereotypes associated with Americans: obesity, arrogance, ignorance, extravagance, and McDonalds (I’m going to hear it for this one).

2) Thanks to their immaculate Nationalized Health Care system, all Canadian men are at least 33% better looking than everywhere else in North America. Ever been to Windsor? Even the border guys and bums got it going on. Hello, nurse!

3) The official food of Quebec is called “Poutine” and includes such delicious ingredients as French fries, gravy, and cheese curds. How are we still the fat ones?

4) Let’s be honest, while everyone really wanted high school to be like Sweet Valley and West Beverly, we all know it was really more like Degrassi.

5) SCTV, Kids In The Hall, You Can’t Do That On Television, Dan Akroyd, Mike Meyers, John Candy, Barenaked Ladies, Trivial Pursuit, Pictionary, Alex Trebek, Cirque du Soleil. Also, Canada has the longest designated street in the world, coming in at 1178.3 miles. Do those guys know how to party, or what??

6) The zipper was actually invented in Canada. Thank god! Buttons are a total pain in the ass.

7) Canadian bacon = ham. Canadian geese = bird more prominent in the United States than the bald eagle by far. Canadian tuxedo = jean jacket and jeans. This begs the question, are these things really of Canadian origin, or did the Canadians just take a bunch of sweet stuff and put their name on it? Either way, that took some thought.

8) “slap a bitch” is actually a legal term in Canada. If they actually had a dictionary there, I’d show you, but they don’t so if you want proof, just go ask a Canadian for a Canadian dictionary and they’ll, you know, prove it.

9) While to the rest of the world, Canada seems to enjoy peaceful neutrality, Northern friendliness, clean cities, and undisturbed wildlife, I just want you to know that Calgary is like the murder capitol of the whole world and there is so many miles of uncharted wilderness that no one would ever have even the slightest chance to find you if you went missing…you want to know how they stay so happy pal? Just test ‘em.

10) Ryan Reynolds.

*Bonus (because while my logic is impenetrable, there isn’t yet concrete enough evidence for the zealots): Jesus was actually born in Canada. Just think about it for a second: how many nativity scenes have you seen covered in snow? How often does it snow in the desert? Did you see that guy’s beard? I’ll bet there’s even a hidden passage in the bible that was lost in translation about how baby Jesus was laid in a manger lined with maple leaves and wrapped in Joseph’s (his friends called him “Broseph”) old flannel shirt and then the baby Jesus was visited by angels and they wiped a gossamer hankey on his widdle nosie, which they passed on to a group of trappist monks who took it back to Belgium (how do you think all those Belgians learned French?!?) and used it to make the world’s first (and to this day, finest) beer. I rest my case.

Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies

2009-02-23T08:53:00.002-05:00

So, the Academy Awards were on last night. I was able to catch the last 45 minutes or so of the show and it was ok. Kate Winslet blah blah blah, Sean Penn blah blah blah. I just noticed that, even though Mr. Hugh Jackman is a ridiculously attractive male specimen (and by ridiculous I mean RI-DAMN-DICULOUS, what was going on there? Couldn’t they have spread that out a little? Why give it all to one man for godssakes!), it feels as if he is trying to be like someone Stef and I are familiar with.

Someone with chest hair and perfectly coifed locks who sings like a god…

Play it now
Play it now, my baby

Cracklin rosie, make me a smile
Girl if it lasts for an hour, thats al right
We got all night
To set the world right
Find us a dream that dont ask no questions, yeah

The Grammy’s new what would make the ladies wiggle in their seats, the Academy could learn a thing or two!

Here are a few myths about Neil that Stef heard which only seem to make him cooler somehow…

o When he is in town, and he doesn’t know you personally, you are not to look Mr. Neil Diamond in the eye. He isn’t as bad as Prince, but he doesn’t want you all looking at him either. He’s just a man, folks.

o He wants his water at 27 degrees Fahrenheit. Not 26, not 31. God help you if that shit is room temperature.

o He must have fresh baked goods delivered to his room every hour on the hour as long as he is in town. Muffins! Now!

o He requires a whole floor to himself for a dressing room. He allows the band and crew a floor as well, but his must be on top because no one is above Neil Diamond

o He may be the Jewish Elvis, but he still leaves decent tips. And by decent I mean he’ll allow you to live as long as you don’t fuck up the modest 7,000 items demanded on his rider.

o Neil once starred in a film with Sir Lawrence Olivier (that’s Hamlet, to you) called “The Jazz Singer” in 1980 that was a re-make of an old Al Jolson film from the 20’s. Except instead of a black man crooning his way into the predominantly white world of high-end entertainment, he was a Jew breaking into the (predominantly Jewish…?) world of show business. Dude, that’s like, deep.

o Neil Diamond taught Chuck Norris everything that he knows.

"I am, I said To no one there And no one heard at all Not even the chair"

2009-01-30T14:18:00.001-05:00

Never Before Aired: Neil Diamond and Christina Aguilera - watch more funny videos

Saturday January 24th, 2009 was Mr. Neil Diamond’s 68th birthday. After the ceremony, the ritual sacrifice (it was a head of lettuce, Mr. Diamond may require a sacrifice, but he is not cruel), and cleansing at the temple, me and KP decided to celebrate the only way we know how, by making giant asses out of ourselves. Hilarity, and genuflecting, ensues.

First things first, you all owe a huge debt of gratitude to Mr. Neil Diamond. And a head of lettuce. But mostly gratitude.

Neil Diamond is one of those few American treasures who realized that he couldn’t hide from his genius, and ended up shaping the face of this country throughout the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and now. That’s some pimp shit. And I had no idea until only a few short months ago the cornerstone that this man is. Here’s kind of how it went:

So picture this, me and KP are cruising to the Bahamas in my sweet vintage MG convertible down Route 66 like back before it was just a highway and all those cool diners and shit were still there. I had my horn-rimmed kittycat sunglasses on and she was sporting a bitchin’ pink neckerchief, and we were a couple of wild and free career girls from the city, just enjoying our wildness and freeness. I had a Neil Diamond CD from the library that I thought I would, you know, just check out. Glory Road: 1968-1972. That’s like four years, and there were 50 songs and they were ALL REALLY BEAUTIFUL.

KP: can you please take that out, we’ve listened to it like 1000 times.
Stef: can’t you hear how great he is???

Have you ever seen rays of sunshine enter our atmosphere, travel millions of miles per hour direct from the sun and strike my CD player at just the right angle to light up the whole world? Yeah. It was like that. And now everybody thinks I’m crazy because all I ever talk about is how great Neil is. Well he is, just check him out.

Anyway, our impromptu round of Diamond and Dash (putting Neil songs in the jukebox all over town and then leaving before that Slipknot guy catches us. He’s scary.) took us to the Holiday Bar on the Westsiiide, and wouldn’t you know? They had karaoke.

Now what were a couple of chicks like us doing in a joint like that? I don’t know either, but within fifteen minutes we had all eleven people in that place singing Sweet Caroline and clapping along. The Karaoke master himself kept asking us to sing more Neil (by the way, no Karaoke master has ever asked us to do more songs, they usually try to take our spare change and ask us how ashamed we are to tarnish the ancient art and to please leave) he claimed not to know the songs, but sang along with us to such hits as Cherry Cherry and Cracklin’ Rosie.

He was cool. Plus, besides my new mom who TOTALLY ROCKED Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song and that guy who “couldn’t talk, but keeps trying to sing,” even the guy who was sleeping on the bench thing in the front was showing a little love for Neil Diamond. Around midnight we decided to spread the wealth elsewhere and tip our bartenders generously (after sharing whiskey shots with our new friend Timmy ? To Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show!), the locals were all “don’t leave! I put in another Neil song!” it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I mean, it was touching. It was like giving Christmas presents to little kids when it isn’t Christmas, or watching a puppy being born and then giving it a Christmas present after all the grossness has been cleaned away.

So please, next time you find yourself half in the bag and a little disoriented from the scenery, with a microphone shoved in your face and the command to Sing! still ringing in your ears, spread the gift of Neil. It really is the gift that keeps on giving. And check out the wildlife at the Holiday Bar sometime if you’re in the mood for adventure, you might even spot me and KP there, but please don’t tell my mom.

"Why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam? I swear to God, one of these days, I just kick this piece of shit out the window."

2009-01-28T11:31:00.004-05:00

I woke up this morning and there was about 2 more inches of snow on the ground. Why?? What the hell?? This shitty white stuff needs to stop.

This is what I hate

And this

Now you may ask, "Hey KP why don't you stop being such a dummy and move someplace warm?"

Well, my response is "I have a career thing started in this hell hole and I can't get out of it."

So I have spent most of the morning trying to figure out some new career options for myself as well as for Stef.

These are the job openings I have found that seem promising:

LUXURY HOME CLEANER (WEST MAUI)
Working at West Maui's luxury homes.
Experience picking up after rich people is a plus, but we will train you if you are a responsible, reliable person. Just don't steal.

+++Spiritual Caregiver+++ (GUAM)
Former exiled flamboyant Head-of-State seeks Spiritual Caregiver for longterm metaphysical relationship. Duties to include: sensual mental abuse, wanton disregard for personal space, and virtual cyber-bathing (only as needed). SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY! Compensation: VERY LUCRATIVE

Pest Control Route Manager (Cayman Islands)
If you have 3-5 years experience as a Pest Control Technician, or just want a job where you aren’t stuck in a cubicle all day, this is the job for you.

These were totally legit job postings on craigslist. NO JOKE!

"And here's something else you forgot to factor in - we're not that drunk."

2009-01-21T08:30:00.002-05:00

Stef and KP attend 101.3’s First Annual Brew Ha Ha. Needs more Brew, and definitely more Ha Ha.

First of all, beer and humor should go together. Humor doesn’t even have to really be humorous, as long as there’s beer involved. After paying fifteen dollars (plus a finski for parking) to get in and not be allowed back out for food, here are a few suggestions for making your own sponsored event worth the fifteen dollars and synthetic-cheezy nachos:

* If beer is advertised, especially in the TITLE OF THE EVENT, there should be beer present. Enough beer present for the whole night, and for everyone there.

* If you’re going to charge for “live entertainment” at the caliber of which was present, you’re going to need a lot more beer.

* A middle-age man running around making crappy gay jokes in a lavender leotard showing his ass crack is entertaining, but not entertainment. Even in the getup, that guy needs some new material. I know that gay men have anal sex. Got it.

* Demanding that I pay an additional 5 spot for a 12 oz. Micro brew is one thing, but do not insult me by taking my 5 in exchange for a ticket, that I immediately hand over to (insert generic adjective animal here) brewery guy only to watch him pour a bottle out into my glass. Just don’t. And please don’t tell anyone that I just gave up 5 for a bottle of Leinenkugel. Pouring a bottle in front of me is just a soggy “fuck you for even showing up.” Ouch. Blow me, then ouch.

* Beer tasting should be an experience, not whatever this was. These breweries should be proud of what they do. There should have been brew masters and sales reps present, not a bunch of DeltaPlex employees fumbling with caps and looking at you blankly when you ask if the double or triple is better. I don’t know shit about beer and I was getting blank stares. I should now be well-informed enough to only order your (adjective animal) beer from now on. But I’m not, so it’s back to Miller Lite I guess.

* If you’re trying to get your patrons all fucked up in order for them to enjoy the sub-par entertainment and not laugh in your stupid face that looks like a mix between Micky Rourke and chewed-up steak next time you charge $15 for anything, please make sure that this is your only goal, and there are other fun things for drunks to do than sleep in the
chairs where we were told there would be comedy. They should be drinking without knowing what’s really going on. I got duped into giving up my hard-earned bucks; now dupe me into having fun.

* Do you know how easy it is to make drunken people laugh? Duh! Everything is hilarious to a drunk person, hence we should all be pacing anxiously for next year’s event, and we’re not. Me and KP are practically retarded (especially after a few brewskis) and we still didn’t think that shit was funny. In fact, watching the Bimini Brothers was sad and a little uncomfortable. This was not a good venue for them, and sooner or later, boys, it might be time to hang up your shorts. Write different dick and gay jokes, at least. Instead of taking my top off and screaming for an encore of the “Levitra” song, I really just wanted to go home. Or watch the Wings lose to San Jose (after a commendable and valiant attempt, which we did), and it was still better than the first annual Brew Ha Ha.

Official verdict? LAME. You won’t see us next year. However I did find a nice Brown Ale that I quite enjoyed and KP liked the porter…

"Your answer is buck. Well, that must be your wager, so let's check your answer, futter. Hmmm, buck futter. I don't get it."

2009-01-19T11:21:00.002-05:00

OK so now that I’m all graduated and shit (mostly, anyway…), I would like to drop a little knowledge on you guys. I also want to know a little bit more about all of our readers for catalogue and compatibility purposes (shut up, dick, there are more readers than it looks like. Respond! It’s so easy!). After all, the countdown has started to WatchTheDogShow,DrinkTooMuchWildTurkey,AndTryNotToKillYourself Day is underway, and mama wants a date this year!
Here’s a quick list of my turn-ons:
1) Face/chest hair
2) Power tools
3) Plaid
4) 2 cans of Miller Light
5) Monster trucks
6) Sports
7) The analogical argument
8) Karate

There are so many more, not to mention the ultimate aphrodisiac: dirtball, shredding, ass-grinding rock & roll. Cock rock. Works every time. Wow, that was shameless. Anyway, in order to learn a little more about you guys, and maybe for you guys to, in turn, learn a little about yourselves, we at TshirtSizeAwesome have devised a little personality test for you to take, you know, so we can all pinpoint for sure why you’re not as cool as Chuck. Man, that guy rules. Here goes (you might want paper or a napkin or something):

1) You’re walking down a long hallway and come to a fork. Do you:
a) go left toward the bright lights and animal noises
b) go right toward the creaking door and ominous calliope music
c) step over it and continue down the hall

2) If your uncle was on fire, would you blow him out?
a) yes
b) no
c) depends on which uncle

3) Pandas or Koalas?
a) Pandas, totally
b) Koalas, totally
c) Mike Ditka, totally

4) You’re playing live stand-in for Ted Nugent’s band at the Pantheon during a thunderstorm while the pope is in town. What guitar do you use?
a) ’64 Telecaster with a double G and pink foil
b) Gibson vintage with whammy bar and snakeskin graphics
c) Sharkmaster 99 with triple chord pickups and testicles hanging from the fretboard

5) Which ingredient does not belong in a cake?
a) butter
b) sugar
c) woodchips

6) Which type of wood goes in Budweiser’s fermenting tanks to give it that fiber-y taste that is so appealing to hillbillies?
a) beechwood
b) cedar
c) morning

7) your friends have nicknames like:
a) Biff, Speedy, Wanker
b) Johnson, Jones, VanHelsing
c) Jimmy Steve, Jimmy Joe, Jimmy Jim

8) You’re at a Subway. You get
a) Meatballs with salt, pepper, and extra Parmesan
b) Club with lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers
c) On the subway

9) The train leaves station “A” going 75 miles per hour heading north/northwest. A different train leaves station “B” heading somewhere else completely.
a) Is it going to Boston? I like Boston and I’d like some chowder, yo.
b) Need more info. I didn’t go through eight years of evil medical school to be called “Mister”, thank you.
c) What?

10) Who would win in a fight between George Bush and George Foreman?
a) fair or prison rules?
b) Which one has the tank?
c) Mike Ditka

11) What is the first thing you always pack on every trip you take to Reno?
a) credit card and gun
b) leather bustier, chaps, and gun
c) burrito and gun

12) If you were walking down a beach and found a magic jinni, you’d wish for:
a) cold, hard, cash so you can buy Ryan Seacrest
b) a really sweet coffee pot
c) taco flavored lip gloss
d) that you didn’t just waste all this time on this personality test.

OK now for the scoring:
Mostly A’s: Robot. You are a robot from the future so don’t worry when the real robots take over, because you’ll be straight. I hope you like staples!

Mostly B’s: Dinosaur. You are a dinosaur, but one of those cool ones with the big plates on their backs and cool horns and stuff. With a grenade launcher, you’ve got a little rebel left in you. Robots or the possibility of another ice age? Bring it on!

Mostly C’s: Margarita. You are a margarita and margaritas are delicious. Whether or not you are blended or on the rocks is purely left to fate. Stick it to the man! Learn a few dirty words in Spanish, Punto!

Mostly D’s: Yeah but you can’t, jerkface. Ha!

1st Official Nerd Post of 2009

2009-01-13T10:58:00.004-05:00

Stef is going to be so mad at me after this but I don't care.

I have been bored a bit at work lately and a very interesting website has come to my attention. The reason I enjoy this so much is because, like Stef, I enjoy trash talking animals (mostly our cats) and inanimate objects.

So check it out:

Fuck you, Penguin!

Kyle Quincy saves the day once more!

2009-01-05T14:33:00.003-05:00

If you look at your timeline of Awesome (fig. 2.14 on p. 7 of your textbook), you will see (with the exception of Japan, who has pretty much been consistently awesome since the time of the Samurai. No piece of their pop culture that makes it over here is any less than completely adorable. Fruits Magazine! Pikachu! Dr. Do! Hello Kitty! Supa good time fun pleasure! Herro boy!) that there are definite ups and downs. In the 1100’s, for example, Awesome was in a lull because the Crusades and the Black Plague were decidedly not awesome. But by the 1500’s it was again riding high with male wigs, my man Bill Shakespeare, and the aforementioned Samurai. But when it comes to music, no generation gap caused an increase as enormous as the 1980’s, and a devastating plummet as tragic as the 1990’s. The 80’s were textbook Awesome. The 90’s totally sucked.

What’s my point? I found myself in the possession of a ticket to see the band Candlebox on a few Monday night's ago at the Intersection. After locating them on my timeline of Awesome and seeing them all lumped in the icy depths with the unforgivable suckage of Collective Soul, Toad the Wet Sprocket, the Verve Pipe (sorry, yo), and Creed, needless to say, I was not expecting much. But, it was a great show! They kinda rocked a little bit. Age hasn’t been much of a hindrance to these guys (especially the singer and lead ax man. Call me! Please! I’ll make you a casserole!) and there was enough gratuitous shredding and cussing that any dirtbag rock snob and aging groupie (like me) would get a little rock, in and around the mouth. Steph from downstairs was fun, the opening band A Verse Unsung channeled a little Beastie Boys rowdiness, and Grand Rapids’ own Fled 5 proved that they were more than just a dummy corporation set up to net ass. So for dinner that night, I had a little bit of crow with my chicken tenders and will officially go on the record to say that Candlebox does not, in fact, suck (except for that acoustic guitar thing. The song wasn’t too bad, but why stop the rock? You had me at “FUCK Y-Y-Y-Y-YEAH!”) like I thought they did. The 90’s in general though, still sucked balls. Write that down.

Me and KP were not, however, granted the luxury of Walking with the Dinosaurs at Van Andel a few weeks ago. Tickets were $80. What the fuck? How am I supposed to buy more drugs if I have to spend $80 every time I want to see a freaking dinosaur? Not cool, man. So here’s how I imagined it would be instead:

After the first T Rex (which was an adorable baby. Rhaa!) ate six children in the VIP seats, me and KP were exchanging nervous glances and thinking what luck that our seats were not front row and that KP finished her hot dog prior to the dinosaurs coming out of their dressing rooms (which were very big, indeed). It was actually a decent, quiet little showie show, until after half-time, when the carnage really began. Their marching band did a neat little medley of Queen songs and the dance team was actually pretty good (even though two of the velociraptors tore each other completely to pieces during “Bicycle”) but there was a pyrotechnics problem near the “We Are The Champions” finale that began the chain of events that eventually led to the part where me and KP were making out with a couple of hot fire fighters off-duty on a plane to Maui. Let me digress…

One of the strobes popped a fraction of a second before cue, which spooked the triceratops into spearing the rump of the brontosaurus right before it was supposed to do it’s one-man (lizard?) rendition of the car scene in Grease (this car is systematic…). It being a bit of a princess as it were, it refused to go onstage so the mastodon had to do it instead, which, you know, he was fine with until the brontosaurus got jealous and so he lumbered on stage, which is about the time when everybody (including the crew and roadies) realized that these were not robots, but actual dinosaurs. Oops! There was blood everywhere.

I know what you’re thinking, and believe me I thought the same thing, hey! Aren’t brontosauruses the sweet, lumbering, vegetarian hippies of the Paleolithic age? Weren’t they non-violent? Hell no! That thing was kicking some major ass until the mastodon’s crazy-eyed buddy stegosaurus came to his rescue and started talking some mad shit. Then all the dinosaurs got in on it and dino-wars was really cool for the first fifteen minutes, until they turned on the audience and started picking people out of the upper bowl like Skittles. We decided that we should probably bail. And lucky for me, KP had previous dino-wrestling experience because if it weren’t for her subduing that paleosaur at the last minute, we might have never made it out alive. Thank god the Van Andel made exits that were only big enough for people (in this case, the few raggedy, limbless survivors) and not dinosaurs because that gave us the precious time we needed to escape before they busted down all the walls and went on a rampage down Monroe Avenue.

And who do you think was currently checking into the Marriot Courtyard across the street on a trip to visit his buddies in Grand Rapids while on vacation from the L.A. Kings? Mr. Kyle Quincy! If you’re still breathing in the West Michigan area right now, you have him and him alone to thank. He, thanks to his Canadian upbringing, (with the help of KP and a few other trained dino-wrestlers they had to call in from Special Forces) was able to round up almost all of the marauding dinosaurs from the area before it was too late and they tore the entire town to bloody stumps and entrails. Mind you, I said most of the dinosaurs, most. The rest, about the fire fighters and Maui, you can piece together yourselves. Aloha!

"No exaggeration, I could not love a human baby more then I love this brush. "

2008-12-16T07:24:00.002-05:00

Yes, yes, it’s been a while since we’ve been able to post. I’ve had exams (sucky suck suck suck) and been doing a little soul searching. Plus, nobody reads this anyway so who cares if I post or not? Ill be shure to make plentee of mistak es, to,o so Luke SkyVodKa has somethin’ ta do instead of we!rk or ttry: to meat a gurrl.

My intense self-introspection has lead to three important things:

1) Sleeping more than five or six hours a night is unnecessary and only makes one lethargic and headachy. It is not easier to wake up early in the morning after nine hours than it is to wake up after a square five or five and ½. Plus one gets all sluggy and fat feeling. I had a dear friend once who (during exams) said, “Sleep is like cheesecake. If you don’t eat cheesecake, you don’t miss it. But if you have a little cheesecake, all you want is more.” He was a smart guy. Don’t remember his name, but he was smart. Just kidding, it was Mike. Cheesecake makes you fat. (Stef is also suffering from Heroin, cocaine, marijuana and meth withdrawal at this time. Her nonsensical talk about sleep and not needing it is because she has the shakes and can’t actually sleep. KP on the other hand is not. She functions just fine on 5, 6, 7, 8, or 12 hours of sleep. She likes to eat cheesecake too. And I’m pretty sure Mike was talking about sex, not cheesecake.)

2) Neil Diamond RULES. He is the greatest, hairiest, most prolific and, um, clever songwriter still currently alive. “No one cares at all, not even the chair.” So true! His voice is the audio equivalent of a double-tall almond mocha with an extra shot of espresso, served just a little too hot and covered with melty whipped cream and a little bit of honey, plus a cigarette, plus Jewish, plus Brooklyn, plus chest hair. This fascination started back in the fall, but it’s only grown and flourished. Street cred be damned, Neil Diamond rules. He rules bigtime. I have three words and one Roman numeral for you: Hot August Nights II. Reach out your hand, brother!

3) I think I might quit my job at the bookstore and become a kungfu master…but I’d be a Samurai too though, if I had a problem getting into China or something.

So I could tell you about all the excellent things us girls have been up to lately, I could make up some more COMPLETELY fictional tales about our MADE UP slutface friend Kasey, and the gauntlet of dick she’s been running from Grand Rapids to the Mason-Dixon line, or I could use this space to put up a bunch of my windbag opinions about highly debatable social topics and (hopefully) encourage equally narcissistic, self-indulgent and faux-intelligent commentary. But you can do that on every other site on the internet. Can’t we just talk? We never talk anymore. It reminds me of the time that fish called that guy at his desk and was all “what do you mean you’re not coming?” and the guy is like “I told you not to call me here” and the fish is like “but it’s Saturday.” The fish is right. I can do all three, but quid pro quo y’all, hollar back! And to the fish, you can call me any time.

For the cool things we’ve been doing, KP and Austin channeled Ike and Tina (sans the domestic violence, or so I think, she told me those bruises were from falling down the stairs into the garage where a bunch of blunt rusty tools fell on her arms and eyes) and taught Proud Mary a thing or two (it’s “pumped a lot of ‘tane,” not ‘tang. Ohhh oops). KP also channels, uh, Glenn Danzig during her version of “Purple Rain.” I assure you, if Price were dead he’d be rolling around in his purple-lacquered pink fur-lined coffin. It was awesome, though. Tried BrickRoad Pizza for the first time and unless you’re a vegan who is DEFINITELY, FOR SURE NOT A VAMPIRE, it isn’t worth the money. Why does everybody always link “artisan pizza” to “made up completely of garlic”? Jeez. Anybody want to make out?
We also started the Blue and Silver Car Club with our new friend Dan, who is the president because his car is a classic. KP and I are currently in deliberations over who will be available to take dictation.

Kasey, our 100% derived, completely imaginary, totally non-existent, earnestly illusory, fictional friend and her (also with no connection to reality) easy friend Beth want to go to Quebec for New Years, so we’ll resume the story there. Jean-luc-francois-paul-jean-patrice-antony-larry Du Cavallier, here we come! Donnez-moi gross bisses, mon Hercules Canadienne! Je suis tres facile!

And now for the forum topics: the lazy sub-language of cell phone texting and dateless nerdball gamers that is infecting the youth of this country is deteriorating the English language to illegible rubbish (please disregard the made-up words on this site, the freedom within the language to allow such flexibility is simply being exercised, that’s all). Can’t we at least keep letters and numbers separate? Don’t ever tell me to call u later, or ask me what I want 2 do 4 dinner. Come on. Besides, I just 8. Ridiculous. This is all Cosmopolitan Magazine’s fault. (Actually, KP blames Tiger Beat) Lemme just run this convo by my peeps, K? I’m ‘viewing for a new profesh so I can crib enough benjamins to jet to a real vacay with my guy and BFF. Let me just quick wipe the vomit off these Jimmy Choo’s. (KP: BTW, In defense of text messaging, they only give you like 160 characters. That is like totally not enough when I have to explain how Morgan, my new boyfriend, just broke up with me on myspace and now defriended me on facebook. I mean I have to abrev so whatev.)

Or maybe we could talk about Jurassic Fight Club instead? Is it really as awesome as it sounds?

Hockey, Friday night, 7pm followed immediately by Mega 80’s and some sweet flashdance moves by KP. Who’s down??

"Stop hatin', start participatin'. Come on, twinkle twinkle, baby, twinkle twinkle. Wanna take a shot at me kid? Do it. "

2008-12-02T13:10:00.005-05:00

It's mad lib time again. I was bored at work today, cleaned out my desk and found our road trip mad libs. Anyone down?? I'll start. Here is the blank one...

1. When you receive a birthday ________ (noun) or a wedding _________ (noun), you should always send a thank-you ________ (noun).

2. When you _______ (verb) or burp out loud, be sure to cover you _______ (part of the body) and say "I'm _________ (adverb) sorry."

3. If you are a man and wearing a/an ________ (noun) on your head and a/an ________ (noun) approaches, it's always polite to tip your ________ (noun).

4. When you are at a friend's _______ (noun) for dinner, remember, it's not polite to eat with your _________ (part of the body, plural), take food from anyone else's _______ (noun), or leave the table before everyone else.

5. When meeting your friend's parents, always try to make a/an _________ (adjective) impression by greeting them ___________ (adverb).

"It's like you got yesterday, today and tomorrow, all in the same room. There's no telling what can happen."

2008-11-20T09:39:00.003-05:00

Anybody ever notice that there is a two-month time lapse between Halloween and Xmas? I mean honestly, how did I miss that? Where the hell did November and December go, man? Now that Rocktober is, sadly, over and Rockvember is missing that clever *ting *, and, those of us unfortunate enough to have high-volume retail jobs this time of year, would rather it just not exist period. In fact, during these times of ridiculously long lines and cranky shoppers, who are most complimentarily described as “irrational” and “delusional,” all I’d really like to do is fling myself, guitar in hand, off the starboard side of a cruise ship in the Caribbean and take my chances with the sea, while “All These Things that I’ve Done” plays effectively in the background. But cruises are too expensive, especially for the suicide package, so I guess until I find me a nice library job where I don’t have to talk to anyone and just hole myself away in the stacks forever, I’ll just find some cool stuff to do around Grand Rapids. Unless you want to move to Canada with me, cause seriously, I’d leave tonight.

Now since most things no longer taste as good, or sound as good or smell as good, as they did before we saw GWAR, I think it would be a good time to discuss one of the very few things/people that’s awesomeness could survive a nuclear holocaust.

I would like you all to meet a friend of ours, Grand Rapids’ own Bob Dylan (only with a warmer, more coherent voice, and a WAY WAY better personality), Mr. Sam Kenny. ( Listen to Sam Here )He is a guitar wielding demi-god, most prominently found in the writings in the dead sea scrolls or at Rocky’s, whichever is more convenient.

You can see Sam Kenny all over town, and I recommend you do so because, even better than a decent alternative to suicide, Sammy is a pleasure. Nay, a reason to live. If nothing else, he is the maple syrup and brown sugar to this town’s porridge, the marshmallows to our collective candied yammies, or the frosting drizzle in a smiley face on Grand Rapids’ strawberry toaster strudel.

In addition to being all cute and stuff, Sammy does covers, he does originals, and he takes requests without even rolling his eyes or sighing deeply and looking at you like you just barfed on his shoe. For that (and for that Jimmy song that he learned so long ago), say thanks to him and shake his hand appreciatively, should you run into him anywhere. Then apologize for running into him. What, were you born in a barn?

He calls his original pieces “bathtub songs,” and I can see why. They are light and buoyant, warm and engaging folk songs sung in Sam’s strangely toasty voice, largely unlike the acts that we usually endorse here at T-Shirt Size: Awesome, but still awesome nonetheless. If you’re thinking it sounds a little sissy because you prefer to turn your amp to 11 and rip shredding riffs on your Fender Sharkmaster (hell yeah!), don’t fear. It is a little sissy, but Sam more than makes up for it with his hilarious (and often adorable) stage presence.

Just like the guy at the end of the bar who just came in for 19 beers because he got laid off from his job in the bikini-bottoms-and-cranberry-flavored-massage-oils factory, who is a little surprised to see Sam there in the first place and even more surprised at how much he’s enjoying it even though it isn’t the Bob Seger he was hoping for, you might find yourself extended into Sammy’s alternate, buttery reality even though you’re Van Halen, not Van Hagar. He sure is rockin’ to watch. He does a little dancing, kicking, and punching but I don’t want to give too much away because you can all go see him for yourself. Here’s how:

So put on your favorite cuddly sweater, order something dark and creamy, and see Sam Kenny wax whimsical. Maybe Sam will make you feel better about getting laid off, maybe he will say something funny to you during his set break and you will become fast friends, or maybe, upon checking out all the girls that instinctively flock to him like the salmon of Capistrano, you’ll put your plastic axe away and pick up a real guitar for chrissakes. Chicks love that stuff.

Sam is playing at the following venues on the following nights. GO SEE HIM!!

Friday, November 21, 2008 – Schuler’s Bookstore, Downtown 6:00 – 8:00 pm

Saturday, November 22, 2008 – Bull’s Head Tavern 9:00 pm

Thursday, December 11, 2008 – Putt Putt’s Bar 9:00 pm

If you show up to these shows, tell him you know KP and Stef and he will tell you anything you want to know about us, even if they are complete falsehoods and neither one of us ever did that, you know, thing he said.

"I don't know what it's called; I only know the sound it makes when it lies! "

2008-11-14T07:45:00.004-05:00

GATHER ‘ROUND FRIENDS, AND I SHALL SPIN YE ANOTHER TALE THAT I JUST HEARD FROM A FRIEND OF MINE WHO TOLD IT TO ME IN NO PARTICULAR CONFIDENCE AND I SWEAR THAT THE NAMES WEREN’T CHANGED AND THIS IS TOTALLY FICTIONAL. I PROMISE, THIS IS BASED ON NO TRUE STORY.

Because we are a non-emo blog of integrity here at TShirt Size: Awesome, and because we have received a request to hear more about KP’s wild side, I will instead tell you a completely fictional yarn about something that never really happened anywhere and has no weight or bearing in reality whatsoever. In fact, it’s such a farce that the following story I’m about to tell you came from the pages of an L. Ron Hubbard novel and NOT REALITY. Got it? This is so crazy that it might even come from the Old Testament. Crazyville, Nut City, man.

There once was a girl named Kasey, from Cry-Loaming. This girl Kasey was pretty cool until college, when she met this weird, decrepit, half-mummy librarian lady at Shmishigan Shtate (where she might have gone to college, nobody knows) that was so old that she couldn’t drive anymore, and all she could do was point ominously at people and speak cryptically. Seriously? The fact that her name was Suzie Oracle was a complete and total coincidence. So Kasey runs into her in the science non-fiction section (for all you nerds, this is the section of the library where not everything has magical protection properties and names to follow their descriptions. If you want the Shield of Neverending Light or whatever, you’ll have to go the science fiction section. Get it? See how we help you?) Anyway, this crazy old Mrs. Oracle sees Kasey and she starts pointing and shaking like she always does, but instead of a prophecy of doom like she usually delivers, she says nothing, but there is a set of car keys dangling from her gnarly old finger. They belong to the 1977 Buick Electra that she can no longer drive. They are attached to a “California Raisins” key chain that had one of the arms busted off but still looked sweet anyway. Wheels. The rest is destiny.

Kasey’s mission is still unclear as she fills the tank to 7/8ths full, procures at least half a pack of road squares, loads her after-market, curiously tasteful stereo with all the latest Danity Kane, EnVogue, Destiny’s Child, and Boyz 2 Men and sets off only knowing the direction: West; the destination: Sweet. That’s it. This is where it gets really crazy.

She’s been driving all night across several uninteresting moons and intense meteor showers, and she finally runs out of gas in a strange, detached climate called Benver, Tolorado. She’s wearing a pair of snakeskin overall-shorts, and huge, reflective aviators that she just purchased spontaneously, so you know she’s fierce. She smells a little like Slim Jims and gas station foam soap, but that doesn’t seem to bother the kindly folks of Benver, and she makes friends immediately.

Cut forward one night of wildness to the next morning when Kasey rolls out of the affordable and charming abode she rented for the evening, and re-names the car (it used to be ’77 Buick Electra) “Cocktober is the Month After Cocktember.” That was just its show name though, you know, for the papers, she just calls it the Dick-tastic Voyage for short. As she rolls out of Benver just a few minutes past noon, noticing for the first time just how much she doesn’t miss bucket seats and putting her feet on the hump, and rocking, crossing and uncrossing her legs a bit uncomfortably, she realizes that hospitality isn’t necessarily fried chicken upstairs while the ugly, deformed, misunderstood brother has to get shackled up in the basement so the guests don’t know he exists. It could be, maybe, something a tiny bit more personal, a tiny bit more sweaty, a tiny bit closer. 1977 Buick Electras rule. Benver, Tolorado rules. Polar Fleece rules. It was fine.

And then she totally made out with some dude named SteveDave by my car in the parking lot at the Dump. Gross, Kasey.

This part seriously is non-fiction though, I really did shake Mr. Aaron Downey’s hand, though we didn’t have a moment like Kyle Quincey and I did, it was still pretty hot, and I promise that though he seemed a little pre-occupied at the time, I will haunt his dreams. Look out, Aaron Downey, you’ve been marked. I can’t believe I told him: “Hi I’m stef and I totally saw you knock some dude’s block off a few days ago!” how stupid. I should have just poured a shot of tequila down my shirt like a real lady and had him lick it off. Maybe next time, buddy! Keep block-knockin!

" I've come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass... and I'm all out of bubblegum"

2008-11-04T08:11:00.006-05:00

So just to clarify, Halloween gets an official T Shirt Size: Awesome verdict right here: Best Holiday Ever. Except maybe National Kung Foo Dinosaur day, or maybe National Jack a Dude like a Pirate Day, but I don’t know when those are (but I promise that a) I will make it known to you all immediately, and b) we will be having a party for both. Bring yer booty!) so left standing, Halloween rules. Thumbs up.

Finding my Viking, Baby One More Time costume a little difficult to assemble three days before Halloween, I was forced to get creative and steal an idea from an un-named friend (who was not with us, by the way), which also proved a bit challenging to find enough stuff for, one day prior to Halloween. If you know where to find a WWII bomber helmet and anything closely resembling an unattached fighter plane throttle, can you please let me know? Perhaps my dream will be realized next year…I was an Asian schoolgirl instead. A bit unoriginal, I know, but I didn’t see any other ones and nobody really even knew what I was supposed to be, except the actual Asian girl who was adorable and dressed like a mail-order bride. She knew because she was an Asian schoolgirl last year, and better than me because she was actually Asian. Bitch. Hasn’t anyone ever seen porn before? No, fuk Yu.

But where KP’s duds also lacked a bit in originality, she more than made up for in authenticity. She was the best Sarah Palin out there. She might even be better than the real Sarah Palin. She was so good as a matter of fact, that I’d like to take this one minute and give an Official T Shirt Size: Awesome THANK YOU to craft-master and art expert George for the spot-on excellence of the John McCain puppet he made for KP.

Without it, she’d just be another power-abusing, under qualified, geographically challenged, six-pack soccer mom with terrific cans. She couldn’t have done it without you, George. Anyway, she looked perfect and out Palin-ed all the other Palins (excluding the guy that was dressed like her, but he was just funny), and looked positively patriotic cradling that cocked rifle next to G.I. Joe the Plumber. It brought a tear to my eye just to see. Take that, stupid Canada.

It was fun, you know, we went and had some beer, we went to a party with Chuck and the Super Mario Brothers, had a conversation with Beatlejuice about the merits of musical expression through playing and how I’m apparently bored. That guy was cool, even though I’d have rather been making out with him than talking philosophy. Oh well. Do you like the idea of having Halloween like once a month maybe? Do you think that instead of all these stupid bank holidays like Flag Day and National Boss’ day and president’s day that we could just substitute them for Halloween? Like, instead of National Boss’ Day, it could be National Dress Like Your Boss Day, and instead of President’s Day it could be National Have a Mistress and a Sweet-Ass Wig Day? Everybody on this band wagon! I’ll bring the punch! Grab Gogol Bordello on the way because I know that Eugene would be down with that and I haven’t forgotten our mission. How about having a National Relax and Join the Parade Day?? What’s more American than that??

I won’t say much more about Saturday other than, while KP visited with mom in the great white north, I witnessed renegade Whitesnake as a guest at an underground karaoke party. I’m not kidding you, either. Like underground cockfighting and underground mud-wrestling, these were bootleg songs in some dude’s (happy birthday, Ken! Fifty never looked so sexy) own homemade karaoke lair, complete with TV screens, several color-coordinated microphones, and all the illegal downloads you could bellow your little heart out to. All I can say about it is that I don’t know what to say. First rule of Fight Club is: don’t talk about Fight Club. Bubba, if what they say about the man with half of a nose being king of the land of the skunks, than you really, really rock. C’mon c’mon c’mon! I wish Gretchen Wilson would get sold as some voodoo doctor’s slave and move to Guam or something and just go away.

And I hate to do this, but, IF YOU’RE READING THIS ON NOV. 4th AND YOU HAVEN’T BEEN TO THE POLLS YET, GO VOTE!!!!! IT’S YOUR JOB!!!! THE GOOD GUYS ACTUALLY HAVE A CHANCE THIS YEAR, SO JUST FOR ONE DAY ACT LIKE A GROWNUP AND FUCKING VOTE. There, I said it. Love you guys!

"Man, I tell you something, if you live in my neighborhood and you're dressed like that, you'd better be a hotel doorman."

2008-11-03T14:10:00.006-05:00

Halloween...

It can best be summed up with the following pictures

That's all I have to say about that....

"The following tale of alien encounters is true. And by true, I mean false. It's all lies. But they're entertaining lies."

2008-10-31T07:28:00.003-04:00

Halloween is today, as you all know, and it’s Friday so there will not only be all kinds of private parties, but your favorite bar in town is no doubt having some sort of scareoke or alternately clever play on words-type-shindig, and there is no better excuse to make out with rainbow bright or Captain Jack, so you’ll need a costume, right? What?! You haven’t seen a calendar and have been so busy looking up “giant foam fist” on your Google that you didn’t even realize that Halloween is today and you can’t wear that clown costume again because now the cops know what they’re looking for?! Don’t worry, friend! We got you! If you’re only empty handed because your friend bailed on your sweet idea for Motley Crue costumes at the last minute, you’re in luck too (and I agree, a sweet Tommy Lee costume just wouldn’t be the same without an equally sweet Nikki). Here are a few easy, inexpensive, and slightly inappropriate costume ideas from us to you:

o Pink bubble gum makes for sweet fake nipples, you can put them anywhere, and people are a little put-off when you put them in your mouth. Eeeew.

o Pick anyone from the recording industry, especially if you’re of the opposite sex. Cross-dressing is a sure fire winner, and a guy version of Jessica Simpson or Lil’ Kim would be pretty easily tossed together and effective. Amy Winehouse is an easy and good one, no matter what sex you are.

o I saw a guy once that came to a Halloween party wearing only a pair of jeans and his sneakers. I said: “what are you supposed to be?” he said “a pre-mature ejaculation” I said “huh?” he said “I came in my pants” ahhh hahahahaha. I think
it’s been enough years that you won’t run into anyone else that saw that guy do that.

o If you can get enough of that scar tissue gum stuff to make your neck look like a vagina, you can be John McCain, or Jarod the Subway guy

o A bra outside your cloths, messy hair, pit stains, crazily applied lipstick smeared all over your face, and a gun, and nobody will ask you what you’re supposed to be because they’ll be too scared of you to talk to you. Cool.

o Find any suit that you have and pair it with a sweet fake moustache and Viking helmet (found at any Halloween store). This says that Vikings, just like normal people, are perfectly capable of getting a real job, too, thank you.

o McLovin’

o Though un-original, nobody can say “no” to a doctor, especially if you’ve got a clever name like Dr. Ben Dover or Dr. Harry Scrotum.

o Dress up as your best friend (a caricature version, you gotta rib him a little) unbeknownst to your best friend, just make sure that he’ll be wherever you go. See if he even notices.

o Nothing says “this only MIGHT be a costume” like an afro wig and tuxedo t shirt

o I saw a guy once that rolled himself up in a sheet, painted his face green, and went as a joint. We were way too high at the time to notice that it really wasn’t that funny.

That’s all I have time for now, because I have to get my own costume together, but any two things that wouldn’t normally go together works, so, you know, just throw some shit on, and get out there. Rock on!

Here’s a few really last minute Halloween destination for you chumps who don’t have anything better to do:

Billy’s Lounge- Pimps & Ho’s party
Founder’s- Halloween party featuring UV Hippopotamus (not the hip-hoppopotamus though) and Oracle
Mega 80’s (see our post on them) Halloween- Intersection
Monte’s – Halloween Slutfest 2008
Bob – Slutfest 2008 continued. Keep your hands off my hockey players, bitches!
Your mom’s Basement- Dungeons and Dragons by yourself while you think fondly on your 2nd grade art teacher and that one picture you painted her with a body fluid that wasn’t pee. Why was she so freakin’ put out by that? Jeez. I will NOT see you there.
1,000,000 random house parties- just jump on a wagon, dude. That’s what we’re doing! Who can say no to a Charles Manson lookalike who smells a little like lawn fertilizer and is twitching uncontrollably? It’s Halloween! See you at Chuck’s!

I really do love you, Austin!

"Certainly, in the topsy-turvy world of heavy rock, having a good solid piece of wood in your hand is often useful"

2008-10-28T16:33:00.004-04:00

Boy, did we have a weekend. We had one of those weekends that all you can really do once its over is lean back in your uncle Lenny’s duct-tapey EZ chair, un-button the top button of your elastic pants, and give one of those deep, watery, gratuitous sigh/farts of total, serene, pleasure. Sorry for that one, uncle Lenny, but don’t act like you never did that.

So Friday night we made it out of work early enough to get a couple of white t shirts. I got a white tank top and a white T, no-bra (shuddup Bubba, I was braless as promised), KP ended up bra-d but leaving golden tickets like KP’s braless either requires weeks of planning and an elaborate sort of pulley system, or the type of stones that even KP doesn’t have. Gall. Chutzpah, you know? Anyway, we chugged our little braless asses on down to the Intersection and saw us some GWAR.

HELL YEAH WE SAW GWAR AND IT WAS LIKE THE FUNNEST THING EVER!!!

When I saw the ad in Recoil at the beginning of the month, it seemed like something I should probably see once before I hit the old dusty trail and I knew that I wouldn’t be disappointed. Beavis and Butthead never led me astray before, but I didn’t know it was going to be as much straight-up fucking FUN as it was. They’ve got this whole concert thing down. Even though 23 years into it, it felt just a tiny bit half-assed (YouTube “Phallus in Wonderland” if you’d like a visual) at the Intersection, they still put on one hell of a crazy metal show.

Picture this: five oozing, gnashing, blood-soaked space monsters wearing nothing but 37lbs of foam rubber and makeup and t-bars rocking the shit out of you, tastelessly, with the amps turned all the way to 11. It really was that cool. They had this whole little act thing going on, featuring crowd favorite, “band manager” and magician, Sleazy P. Martini running for president on the platform that “90% of yous should be dead already”, John McCain being strangled with his own intestines at the hands of the Ninja Turtle-lookin’ thing aptly named “Bonesnapper,” and Hillary Clinton’s tits being ripped off by Oderous himself. Obama’s head was just swinging from the back of his blood-spurting neck cavity. Me and KP got totally soaked with blood and space jizz (see above picture that KP ganked from Bubba) from the giant dick gun. I can’t believe you weren’t there to see this. If you were (unless you were that guy hanging all crazily from his back skin on a couple of fishing hooks, what the fuck, dude?), it was great seeing you, and drop us a line if you’d like to share your experience, or if you know of any other metal shows like that one where we can get soaked in blood and space jizz ‘cause we will totally go there. It will be like a date, only braless. And way more metal. We want to make coffee more metal. We want to make everything more metal.

For those of you who were just born yesterday, or maybe you’re so creepy and home-schooled that you thought the end of Harry Potter 7 was too hard to handle, GWAR has long ago, along the veins of Spinal Tap, DethKlok, and Tenacious D, crossed the bridge from ridiculous parody to actually awesome. They were (as they shouted “FUCK KISS, FUCK LORDI, FUCK SLIPKNOT”, I knew that they were right) the grandfathers of this pilgrimage. They were ridiculous enough to be excellent back when only Burt Reynolds was ridiculous enough to be excellent. Back when people were still thinking that they were actually awesome enough that they didn’t have to laugh at it, much less embrace it fully and shoot it out of a giant dick gun onto all of their pie-eyed, zombie looking, blood spattered fans. This is why I love satire the way I do, and this is why you all should go and see fucking GWAR. It was so much fun I wish it were still happening right now.

Official verdict: more excellent than Dr. Phil coming totally unglued on Oprah and calling all of his half-retarded radish-looking Chia pet patients “half-retarded radish looking Fat Cows.” That would be pretty excellent though. That’s right, Dr. Phil, don’t let Oprah push you around any more! You can’t make a ho a housewife! GWAR was still more excellent.

So then (cause we can’t, we won’t, we don’t stop!) we hopped in my little blue (Nu)Porche and made it to Ann Arbor, a little hung over and fully rocked out, in time to tailgate with Kipp and his friends, who might be the GWAR of tailgaters. These dudes do it right. I’m talking satellite TV’s in the back of their HumVee’s, fifty men deep shot gunning beers every beer oclock and beer thirty, and a straight-up sports cooler filled with Jager bombs. They had the grill going, they had the chili, they had a megaphone that said “Don’t Be a Dick” that was manned by a guy that was a total dick. Again, I was surprised at how much fun we had. But once condom man walked by and our boys hoisted that tailgate trophy (I don’t even know if they knew who was playing in the actual game…who cares! Go Blue!*), it was time for me and KP to hit the bricks (conspicuous paragraph break)

and we booked it back to GR in time for the Griffin’s home opener, where they won 6-4, and our own little guy from Muskegon, Abdelkader, totally almost decapitated some guy. You go, Kid! Current Griff’s muscle and part-time Wings enforcer Aaron Downey (though he isn’t Quincy, siiiigh, it was still nice to see his mug) had a few juicy hits, and Oulahen (you single, buddy? I’m looking for a new hockey boyfriend…) knocked some other dude’s block off.

Just so you guys know, now that hockey season has had a substantial kickoff and we’re headed underway, this will likely be an integral but not consuming part of T Shirt Size: Awesome from now on. Griffins games cost next to nothing and you can sit really close (look for us, the two half-sleazy but not totally road-whored-out chicks screaming for blood in section 121), especially on home Fridays when they have $1 beers and dogs and if you hold up a sign that says “Blow Me, Zane” I will personally buy all of your $1 beers and dogs myself. I better see you all at a bunch of these things. They have our stamp of approval for sure.

Oh and dads, you should probably leave your little kids at home, UNLESS YOU ARE THE DAD FROM SATURDAY NIGHT, YOUR KID KICKS ASS. That little guy was like six (not much older than Darren Helm, I think…) and he was fist pumping, air drumming, and screaming “SHOW NO MERCY” all night long. Best. Kid. Ever. If you’re interested, dad, me and KP will totally babysitt him a few times a week just so he can trash-talk people who try to hassle us. “The lady said she wants diet, bitch. Yeah, you heard me grandpa, what are you gonna do?” Please, dad? If my kid isn’t exactly like that someday, I’m selling him to Douglas J. Wednesday I should have my list of sweet last-minute Halloween costumes out, so stay tuned.

*for the record, KP is a State alum and therefore cared immensely about the game. And she was balls deep in Blue territory, but she held her own like a champ. Stef didn’t really care either way, but wore Blue for camouflage, and a place to wipe her run

"Jocks only think about sports, nerds only think about sex."

2008-10-23T06:53:00.002-04:00

OH HOW THE EXCITEMENT OF THE ROAD TRIP CONTINUED WITH OUR TWO CHEEKY HEROINES AND THEIR ENDLESS AMUSEMENT WITH SUGGESTIVELY TITLED GAS STATIONS AND AXE MURDER HOUSES…The Entire Reproduced Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show Done all in miniature….

OK, I can’t in good consciousness finish this narrative and move on to better and awesomer things without first apologizing to all nine of our readers for that brazen display of unabashed nerdiness that KP displayed earlier with all that StarTrek stuff. She has nerd Tourette’s or something and can’t help it and didn’t mean it and PLEASE DON’T TAKE AWAY ALL OF OUR STREET CRED JUST BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T TALK TO ME (stef) BEFORE POSTING THAT. We want you to feel safe with the guidance you receive here at T Shirt Size: Awesome, we want this to be a place that you feel like you can come for a good dose of non-nerd excellence and honest cultural direction, so please, it’s okay, you can come down off that chair you’ve jumped up on, shrieking uncontrollably and incoherently mumbling about “ijasoscared….ahhhh,” it’s okay. She didn’t mean it. Say you’re sorry for scaring the reader, KP.

So I guess back to the road trip, if we still have any readers or even one ounce of credibility left, we were leaving Kansas for Denver and that crazy mutant animal farm and on the wide open road to Colorado (where the beer flows like wine). Turns out, me and KP really liked Denver. Actually, Denver (with the one MAJOR exception of the Avalanche, yeah if you happened to be in Denver on Sept. 26 then that was me with the dark hair and empty beer screaming “fuck the av’s!” down whatever street we found that Oktoberfest on to your lame whines of “fuck Detroit”. Didn’t see Stanley anywhere in Denver, bitch, and I looked for him. Gee...) is an awesome town full of kindly (very kindly, eh KP?) folks who like beards, beer, and live music just as much as we do. But just for you Bubba, who found the word “brevity” in the Microsoft Word dictionary (along with sci0list and skulduggery), instead of recounting cleverly and adjectivally our experience and adventures, I’ll just make you a list and you readers can choose which ones you want to hear about, if any. I hope this is easy enough to read:

The Hostel that was very nice and only $16 per night
Rosario Dawson
Tattered Pages
Oktoberfest
Our Lovely New Pals at North Face (hi guys!)
KP’s Adventurous Side that she didn’t admit to until like a week ago (come on, leave this up)
Omaha
Axe Murder House
World’s Largest coffee pot, covered wagon, and time capsule
The craziest Gas Station Attendant Ever

That should be enough to get you started, just let me know.

If you ever find yourself in Iowa, I’ll just say, before you go right to trying to kill yourself by dressing in black and jumping in front of one of the magnitude of semi-trucks even though the black seems kind of pointless because it’s the middle of the day and everyone can totally see you anyway, just know this: We had a ton of fun in Iowa. There is a lot of kitschy Americana there that is the very fabric of the awesome road trip, and despite the common misconception about Iowa, KANSAS IS WAY WORSE. That axe murder house was so cool and the guy that gave us a tour will be a fixture in all of my short stories from now on, finding that plow in the oak tree was neat and even the people who changed my tire at Wal Mart were a little bit salt-of-the-earthier than normal. Iowa was cool, there, I said it.

"I am a graduate of Starfleet Academy; I know many things."

2008-10-16T13:17:00.003-04:00

Ok so I have to display my nerdiness in full force today because when I got to work this morning I saw something that made me so excited I peed my pants a little.

For everyone who knows me, I am a HUGE Nerd! HUGE!! My biggest Nerd achievement is my love of Star Trek. The new Star Trek movie comes out next summer but they just released a few photos of the cast and what not.

IT'S AMAZING!!

Now beware, if you are like me, you just might have to change your pants after seeing these pictures. Try to control yourself.

How extravagant you are, throwing away women like that. Some day they may be scarce

2008-10-16T11:46:00.003-04:00

Ok this is the last of the wallowing in self pity that T-Shirt Size: Awesome will do about the loss of Kyle Quincey. For this to work, play the video below but replace the lyrics with the new ones that Stef wrote. Don't forget the Kleenex, it will bring a tear to your eye.

Goodbye, Kyle Quincey, goodbye (to the tune of “Take my Breath Away” by Berlin)

Watching every motion made here in this hockey game
Trying for the camera, void of any hint of shame
Ripping off your gloves, just to blacken some dude’s eye
Punching in slow motion as his chest cavity seems to say, oh Kyle,
Take my breath away.

When I heard you’re leaving I wasn’t expecting much
Figuring you’d stay, though you aren’t even Dutch
Didn’t have a chance to let you know just how I feel,
That day when you saw me, touched my arm and then you said, my love:

“I think you’re in my way,”

through your crowd of whores I saw you
somehow you slipped away
that douche from the Moose thought he caught you,
you turned to hear him say, ow ow ow ow hey!
That’s my trachea buddy! My solar plexus! Dammit! Arhhhhhhhh! Please stop!! Mercy!

Watching every minute of this stupid LA game
Now you’re not a Red Wing, probably you’re filled with shame
Watching on the line without a second of your face
As I change the channel, now I guess I’ll have to say

Jonathan Ericsson

Take my breath away

_______________________________________________

Seriously though, please come back to Grand Rapids, Kyle Quincy (PS: Is it Quincey? or Quincy?), I don’t think I can make it through another Griffs season without you. Rafalski can actually play, and Aaron Downey will be an ass-whooping pleasure to behold I’m sure, but it won’t be the same without you. Be careful of LA, Buddy, and if you ever date Paris Hilton, you will have ruined the entire sport of hockey, manhood, the holiness of the playoff beard, and the entire reputation of Canada. Come back and see me sometime! I’m a sure thing!

PS-if Sean Avery still played for the Kings your desertion would be one thing, but he doesn’t, and that’s a pretty big torch to carry, pal. Never do a GAP ad. Ever. In fact, if you ever see Sean Avery, you know, just hanging around with all his Versace model friends or whatever, clean his freekin clock on behalf of all that is or ever was bad-ass. Damn, I’m gonna miss you, Kyle.

Ah, sweet pity. Where would my love life be without it?

2008-10-15T08:08:00.002-04:00

Newsflash: Kyle Quincy will no longer be playing for a Michigan team. He has been picked up by the LA Kings. Let's all take a moment and reflect on our feelings...

Alright you Primitive Screwheads, listen up! You see this? This... is my boomstick!

2008-10-13T15:31:00.002-04:00

"Alright you Primitive Screwheads, listen up! You see this? This... is my boomstick! The twelve-gauge double-barreled Remington. S-Mart's top of the line. You can find this in the sporting goods department. That's right, this sweet baby was made in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Retails for about a hundred and nine, ninety five. It's got a walnut stock, cobalt blue steel, and a hair trigger. That's right. Shop smart. Shop S-Mart. You got that?"

HEY YA STINKIN’ BUMS!! ROCKTOBER UPDATE:

So this month has been no less than awesome so far. Kim (the girl, the legend, the high priestess of Detroit sports and angel of death to all smartassy clowns) and Rick (the man, the legend also, this is some Clash of the Titans shit, we on fiiiire!) got married on Saturday before a beautiful autumn backdrop, adorable and touching ceremony, and supremely fun reception. What is it about hearing a blushing bride, shimmering in her bright white gown with radiance and love, screaming “THAT’S RIGHT, BITCH! WHAT!” when the Wings win? Really brings a tear to my eye, I love you guys.

Also, we rocked out at Pulaski Days, Rocked out elsewhere, and rocked out when Sammy and our new friend Justinn played “Space Oddity” really good the other night at Schuler Books. Oh yeah, and our neighbor downstairs TOTALLY RULES (HI AUSTIN!!!) and KP ate fire, but I was too scared to put it in my mouth so I just touched it with my hand. AUSTIN YOU TOTALLY ROCK! So here’s what’s up for the next couple of weeks:

October 14, 2008 8pm
What: The Thing
Where: Wealthy Street Theatre
Cost: $3.50
Why: I think this will be tons of fun and who doesn't want to see Kurt Russell circa 1982 showing some baddy who's boss?? I rest my case.

Saturday Oct. 18- Electric 6 at the Intersection. Detroit rock hilarity. This ought to be fun

Friday Oct. 24- GWAR at the Orbit Room. I better see you all there!!! God What Awful Racket? Gay Women Against Rape? Who knows what it stands for, but this is guaranteed to be Rocktober-licious. Ladies: plain white tee shirt, no bra. Got that? I will see you all there. If you don’t know Gwar, quit sucking, and let us know if you need a ride. Seriously? Quit sucking though.

Saturday Oct. 25- UM/MSU, we’ll be in Ann Arbor that day trying to break up fights. If you want a ride, we’re leaving at the crack of ass. Thank you, Kipp. First ones there means first ones passed out, right? Then it’s back to Grand Rapids for the Griffins home opener, which you all should be at as well. Dude, Aaron Downey will be playing Griff games this year, and he’s a murderer. Like an axe murderer complete with frilly cuffs and tattered stovepipe hat. Creepy, but I totally love him and wouldn’t let that stop me from touching his pantleg inappropriately at a dinner party in front of his parents.

JURASSIC FIGHT CLUB on the History Channel. I’ve only heard about this, but it really does sound like the coolest show ever made ever and I’ll be whoring myself to anyone with cable just to see it. Premise: computer-generated dinosaurs (from antiquity) fight each other, just to see who would win. AWESOME! DINO FIGHT! I have my money on the aeliosuaur! That’s the whole show, seriously. Watch it.

DARK FLOORS- is the worst/best horror movie of the year, hands down. It has LORDI in it, for chrissakes. Lordi movie = awesome. Anything with LORDI in it is awesome. Especially if there is a haunted hospital, and creepy-ass kid who just wants “the red crayon”. Get this movie, please.

I went to a fight the other night and a hockey game broke out.

2008-10-08T15:15:00.001-04:00

I must disrupt the recounting of Me and KP across America, something far more gravitational has just come to my attention. Ladies? You might want to take a seat for this one.

The Wings are looking to trade Kyle Quincey. I may have a hard time getting through the rest of this…*weep* post.

A few words (sung to the tune of Cracklin’ Rosie):

Kyle Quincy got on board
Makin’ a ride of the AHL
You know, taking it slow
He wanted to go,
Punch a few jaws like a poor man’s Maltby

His *sorry his mom might read this *is called the Twilight Train
He got that name from a girl who wasn’t wrong
She threw him her thong
And then hit the bong
Having a time with the Detroit Red Wings, too

Oh I love my buddy Kyle
Him punching faces makes me happy
He and Wings they go in style

Kyle my boy, you’re a store-bought player
But you rock more than Pantera or Slayer
So hang on to us cause your contracts’ running out!
Play now,
Play now,
Play now, my baby

Kyle Quincey make me smile
And if it don’t last for an hour,
Than that’s alright, I’ll wait all night
in your bushes, right
long as you don’t mind that the camera’s filming, yeah!

Oh I’ll miss my buddy Kyle
Him punching grannies makes me happy
Even for a little while

Kyle my boy they don’t need more defensemen
But you can come with me and stay in my basement
And wait for Brett Lebda’s contract to run out!

Play now,
Play now,
Play now, my baby

Kyle Quincey makes me smile
If he’d just give me three minutes
That’s all I’d need, down on my knees
He’d be saying “please
Seriously can you let me out of these handcuffs?”

Ba baba baba…ba babababa ba bababa ba baba ba….baba ba

Please consider, Dave Lewis and Mike Illich, keep Quincey and trade one of those other defense guys like Rafalski or that one other guy that used to play for the Griffins, he’d probably get you a better trade, and Kyle Quincey owes me one. He does. Skating around here with his army of whores like he owns the place, touching my arm that one time and never making good on it, who does he think he is, anyway? He needs to stay in Grand Rapids so his head doesn’t get too much bigger than it already is, he can learn under the careful tutelage of Chelios and Maltby, and maybe next time when they win the Stanley Cup he can have actually contributed to winning it when he chugs beer out of it. Plus, I’m in love with him. Oh, Kyle, don’t stray too far…

And when wind whips through the hole where what giant D-bag Assistant Captain for the Manitoba Moose’s upper bicuspid used to be, the wind will whisper…Kyle.

Hey Bandit! This is Little Beaver... Put your foot to the floor, we got your backdoor and I'm clear!

2008-10-07T14:38:00.003-04:00

KP AND STEF ACROSS AMERICA! ACTION! ADVENTURE! AX MURDERERS, BEARDS AND MANY-APPENDAGED FARM ANIMALS
T SHIRT SIZE: AWESOME GOES NATION WIDE!*

Brief synopsis (you can skip if you like):

Our original plan was Munich, Germany for this week, to be present and show some freakin’ respect to our Bavarian brothers during Oktoberfest, but, as you can tell from my use of the word ‘original’, it didn’t happen like that. So we set our sights on Austin, TX for my rock n’ roll boyfriend Jack White and the Austin City Limits festival, and then Texas went all underwater and stuff and was in the newspaper (some people lost all their sporting equipment! How awful! Can you even imagine? All your hai lai and boxing equipment, lawn darts and poker chips, gone! I know, right?), now we’re on the fence. LP is KP’s kid sister and she got a job in the famous hub for the wild wild west, Dodge City Kansas so she enlists KP and me to help her move. To Kansas…to Kansas…ROAD TRIP!

*and if you’re wondering if we bought a keytar,
yes, yes we did.

Day 1 and 2: St. Louis, MO

So there we are at 3:30 am, pulling into the Comfort Inn (or wherever) after a very long, marathon hike from Kalamazoo to St. Louis that we didn’t even get started on until 8pm Michigan time. The GPS malfunctioned a little, and there were three of us in two cars. A scary wrong turn, KP seeing ghosts of blonde haired women, some police calling, then some more wrong turns. Much shit talking and searching the airwaves for name stations (ie: Max, Bob, Dan, Jack, etc.) was done on the phone to keep us focused. We made it. Thank you, Red Bull, corns, and Camel Lights.

Here’s what you need to know about St. Louis, MO. There is a GIANT beer factory there. I mean giant like it has it’s own gravitational pull, giant. You can take a tour where they brag about how delicious their not-so-delicious beer is, and then when it’s done you can sample the beer to see how not-so-delicious it is for real.

P.S: those horses have enormous balls, this portion of the tour is not for the faint of heart. Seriously? Those balls are huge and I bet they do that on purpose to emasculate all the sissy Coors drinkers. Big babies.

We saw the arch at night, Stef argued over whether that river was the Missouri River, the Mississippi River or the Nile, we had some not-so-delicious-but-well-deserved beer at a sweet oyster bar where there was a guy that looked like Dwight Yokam (Actually he looked more like the naked cowboy in NYC but Stef had no idea what I was talking about when I said that) and played the steel guitar and we were the only people in the joint. That is all you need to know about St. Louis, MO. We saw a magical used bookstore too, which was nice. Not a lot to pump your fist about in St. Louis, MO.

Day 3: Kansas Bound

Nine freaking hours in the car, which was pretty alright until we passed Wichita. Then I wanted to kill myself. Here’s my impression of Kansas after you get off of I-80 en route to the famous Dodge City. Ready? It’s like this:

there is absolutely nothing in Kansas and no reason to go there ever for any reason unless you either are really into masochism and hate yourself, or if you’re brave (and bored, Kansas means a level of boredom that I’ve never even experienced before, I was hoping for a tornado just for something to do to see if KP’s evacuation plan works) enough to visit Lisa and bring her a chocolate strawberry and some corns. She’d really like that. If you’ve just been drafted to the Kansas City Chiefs, consider being traded immediately to somewhere better geographically, like the New Orleans Saints or the Denver Broncos. More on Denver later. If it is your “career” you need to worry about, consider the New Orleans Saints, or the Denver Broncos. Do not consider the Detroit Lions, even if the only other option for you is the Chiefs. If this is in fact the case, consider a career change. I hear ex-football guys do quite well in used car sales or personal securities.

So we made it to Dodge City. Finally. The setting sun provided a breathtaking background to the meat-packing plants and kill yards that modern-day Dodge is known for. All this talk about meat-packing is getting me a little riled up and we’re in the famous gateway to the west, home of Gunsmoke, Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, Big Nose Katie the soiled dove (apparently, according to her plaque),

so let’s see some freaking cowboys! Right? We were boot-pulling, calf-wrassling, move-along-doggie, dude-ranch, licking BBQ sauce off of our fingers ready to hog-tie this town for what it was worth. I wanted to meet Sam Elliot. KP wanted Peter Fonda. I wanted to see Front Street and lose a poker game to a stranger with a curly moustache and whiskey breath, aces up his sleeves and the business end of a Smith & Wesson Peacemaker. Here’s my impression of Front Street:

Talk about a bowel-dropping letdown. A shattering, really. It wasn’t that there was nothing going on (even though there was nothing going on, despite it being Friday night and a small town smack-ass three-hours to anywhere middle of nowhere, shit, if it was my job to be at a slaughter house with a chainsaw, knee-deep in cow stomachs for 18 hours a day in a place like Dodge, all I’d want to do is self-medicate), there was just nothing there. Nothing. No cool old-timey (and pivotal to the growth and formation of this country, mind you) general stores and saloons, no wild sharp-shooter sheriffs fingering their pistols, no cowboys. Nothing. There was a statue of a giant bull and a wax museum that was closed. That was it.

While me and KP attempted to form choppy sentences around our slack jaws and wha? Wha?’s our surprisingly well-versed and knowledgeable tour guide (ps- Kristen and Ryan, while our impression of the city is less than sterling, you guys were great. Thanks for the spaghetti!) explained that during the seventies (as if Dodge had anything going for it even back then) the city tore down all that history because the buildings were “old”. Duh. Drive to Wichita and go to the local Barnes & Noble and find a dictionary (they are in reference, by the way, under the sub-heading of “dictionaries”) and look up the word “HISTORY” (hiss-tor-ee) and see what it says. Shit, use the Oxford or the Webster’s College, or even the Webster’s for kids. I guarantee the word “old” will be in every description.

Why the hell would you guys tear down a great piece of American history just to build a downtown equivalent of a strip mall full of dry-cleaners and un-busy Chinese restaurants? Come on! This is Gunsmoke for chrissakes! Own that shit! Dodge City, in addition to having the two largest meat-packing plants in the country, boasts also a summer full of giant rodeos and Frontier Days. Where the hell is all that cool stuff? Imagine: a young goat roper new to the circuit, no older than 18, thumbs hooked casually in his Wrangler’s, fresh from FriedChickensdale, Oklahoma or something, living out his life-long dreams of being a rodeo star and arriving all starry-eyed to the famous Dodge City only to see, well, this:

How I weep for the little guy, I really do.

Back to the action: me and KP sitting in the back seat of Kristen’s car wiping tears of epic disappointment out of our eyes and struggling to come to terms with the fact that, along with the wild wild west, the macho man is but a relic of better times. This means bar time. For real. Here’s how all that went, we arrive back at Lisa’s new pad and they decide that they don’t know where any bars are and don’t know any cowboys and don’t trust the Mexicans or something, so we’ll just drink at home. I’m already crushed with fatigue and disappointment to the point of submission, and KP is road-weary from nine hours of eyeball-bleeding boredom but trying to hide her anguish for Lisa’s sake, so we give in. We know how to get a party started, it’s me and KP, right? Me and Ryan get in the car (nine PM, mind you, not late at all) to track down some margaritas, only to find that Wal Mart sells no booze, had no mixers, and no liquor stores were open past eight. So sorry for bailing like we did, Lisa, but we were out of there by six am. Verdict?

D O D G E C I T Y S U C K S.

KP pontificates:

Words on Kansas (written on our way the hell out of Dodge):

*sighs * alright, Kansas.
little towns in the middle of nowhere?
that’s just how it is.
(shakes her head in disgust)

Witchita to Dodge City,
started to get excited.
Front street.
This is front street.
My heart hit
the floor.
All the Gunsmoke, all the Wyatt Earp,
red pink sunset over the milo,
Did you see that cow?
It’s leg, is just
flopping there.
It is so sad.

But after three hours of dawn over the prairie and a highway that doesn’t curve and no coffee or decent radio stations and a mood that could be best described as “cranky”, we did find one of those sweet road-side stops with a sign for “five-legged cow”. You know we had to stop. We actually waited for the place to open, paid the man six dollars and it was worth every penny. If you find yourself ever on I 80 in the middle of Kansas en route to Colorado, do yourself a favor and visit this roadside haven of bizarre, macabre, and weird. That guy was visibly crazy.

Here is a (bulleted) list of things that we saw at this particular trap:

 Raccoons
 Foxes
 A box of giant, real live rattlesnakes, kept indoors
 A two-headed calf, dead

 A five legged cow, alive

 A SIX legged cow, alive
 The worlds largest prairie dog, plaster
 The worlds cutest piggies, alive
 Exotic chickens
 Peacock
 Buffalo
 Wart-hog pig tusk thing, gross
 Jackalope, dead
 Coffee cup shaped like a lady’s jubbly
 Widdle goaties and birdies
 Two truckers from Jersey who were about as weirded out as we were

KP wasn’t afraid of the gigantic, sticky black cow tongue as I was, and she was way more into feeding the little goats and piggies and things, but she’s just cool like that and I’m a little nervous around animal mouths. But we made it, we hit the Colorado state line only a short time later, headed for adventure, mystery, the hottest server ever, and Oktoberfest. More to come when KP and Stef hit DENVER. Never go to Dodge City on purpose, please.

Mad Libs: I (noun), will (verb) everyday at the gym for at least (number) minutes

2008-10-03T09:04:00.003-04:00

Pulaski Days begin today!! It lasts all weekend so we better see you there! Here is just a basic breakdown of the events.

Friday: Check out all the halls on the West side. They will all be having live music and Polish Dinners. Yummy! Then stick around for some beer and some good old fashioned drunkeness.

Saturday: If you're up early enough you can make it to the parade at 11 am. Its on Michigan between College and Diamond. Then repeat steps taken on Friday night.

If you need a place to go, we will let you know what halls or whatever and you can crash it.

PS: Mad Libs are way fun!! Stef and I enjoyed choosing inappropriate words whilst on our road trip last week. Here's a taste!

Ya everybody! Is dat time once more, lederhosen, dirndls, lift yer stein it’s German time! Vat are you sinking?! Oktoberfest!

2008-09-24T07:23:00.006-04:00

Ya everybody! Is dat time once more, lederhosen, dirndls, lift yer stein it’s German time! Vat are you sinking?! Oktoberfest!

Hallo my German friends! It’s almost October (pardon, Rocktober) and you know what that means? Excellence! Excitement! Football! Hockey! I have to say that for not being summer, this is the best month of the year for all things lasses-faire and fun like tiny candy bars. And anything featuring the word “spice”. It’s the time of year where the air is crisp and everything is spooky and grown men dress like comic book characters and hit on slutty (insert noun here)s. Very romantic. But it all starts here, vith Oktoberfest! Ya! Yay!

Everybody pour the beer! When it comes to ethnic celebrations, Rocktober is also the best time to celebrate our Slavic/Bavarian/Germanic neighbors from the East. Believe it or not, you don’t have to be in Munich to enjoy the excess. Just imagine row after row of vomit-soaked picnic tables covered in food-slaws and various wursts, knocking mugs with fat guys and old dudes with puppets while an oompah band plays AC/DC into the night right here in your home town! This weekend John Ball Park will host the second annual Oktoberfest celebration for your boozy enjoyment. In case you happen to mistake the festivities for the actual zoo, Oktoberfest will be the drunk people under the tents, the monkeys and blind disabled bald eagles will be the zoo (extra points will be rewarded to those who can smuggle a monkey or blind eagle into Oktoberfest). Bring twenty dollars to sample delicious German beers from your favorite breweries and halls, Erdinger, Ayinger, and many more (ps-if you don’t make it to the tents, at least get yourself to HopCat for a magnificent glass of the radiant Hacker-Pshorr Oktoberfest. It’s so good it’s like drinking moonbeams and sunshine and tractor pulls and dwarf tossing in a glass), and your favorite heavy, gut busting delectables from Erika’s and more. If you ask for a Heinekin, Dolf Lundgren (he isn’t making a special appearance or anything, he just really likes these things) will jump out of an edelweiss bush and beat you with a schnitzel within an inch of your life. And it’s really fun! There will be German bands, accordions, tokens, and Frauleins who all need help tying their bustier. I believe they will let you in even if you’re not wearing long blond pigtails and a rucksack. I think…

But why stop there? Who else loves a good, drunken Westside parade? The Polish! So don’t blow your entire wad at the beer tent, next weekend it’s Pulaski days! Yesss, the best kind! Nobody, and I mean NOBODY knows how to throw and old fashioned throw down bacchanalski like us. Polish halls all over Grand Rapids open their doors to the general public and allow pretty much any nationality to cross our boarders and occupy our facilities, listen to our clown bands, and do our easy drunk girls. Hmmm…sounds like history…this is one of the best weekends to be in this town for sure. Who enjoys a good invasion more than the Polish? Dunno! Lots of food, dancing, classic rock and polka, in too many different places to go to stay in just one. It’s like St. Patty’s day only it goes for an entire weekend. Diamond hall, Eastern Hall, Kashuska, Sons and Daughters, Falcons, Little hall, really pack ‘em in there. So show up early and please, take getting wasted seriously, this is a national holiday commemorating Poland’s greatest hero. Roll out the barrels and join the parade, me and KP will for sure see you there, ya!

I’ll know a little more about where we’ll be for Pulaski days soon, but that should keep you drunk and getting laid by authentic Westside ass for at least a few weekends. Seriously though, there are a ton of other things to do this Rocktober, so stay tuned friends, this is just the beginning!

If your Uncle Jack helped you off an elephant, would you help your Uncle jack off an elephant?

2008-09-22T09:22:00.007-04:00

So, Stef, my little sister and I, are going on a road trip to none other than Dodge City, Kansas, where the buffalo have been replaced with prairie dogs and only the good guys can tell you to "get the hell out of Dodge". From my very little knowledge of the city, it was a major hub during the migration westward during the late 1800's and the TV show "Gunsmoke" was filmed there.

So, to get to Dodge City, we are driving to St. Louis, staying there for a day, then making our way to Dodge City. Once in Dodge City I will just push my sister out of the car and move on to Denver. Our goal is to see every "World's largest bottle of ketchup" and "World's largest ball of twine" between here and there. Anyone have any suggestions to add? Somewhere interesting to stop on our way through Iowa and Nebraska?

The most exciting thing for me will be on the way home, during which time we will stop in a little old town called Riverside, Iowa. Here is just a little taste of what is in store for us in Riverside

I think that picture speaks for itself.

So, in the spirit of the old west and Dodge City, I think you all might enjoy a little video that I like from one of the greatest Westerns of all time. It's Once Upon a Time in the West... Henry Fonda and Charles Bronson are gritty at its best! Unfortunately, if you have never seen this movie, it will most definitely ruin the ending of it, so BEWARE!!

Speeding Tickets, Farm Animals, and Amorous Gas Station Attendents, Another Trip to Detroit Ends Strongly in Our Favor. School’s In, Bitch.

2008-09-09T11:51:00.002-04:00

Speeding Tickets, Farm Animals, and Amorous Gas Station Attendents, Another Trip to Detroit Ends Strongly in Our Favor. School’s In, Bitch.

OK, so me, KP, and my darling wonderful Chuck hit the road the other day for the Michigan state fair in beautiful (and by beautiful, I mean disgusting) Detroit Michigan. We wanted to check out the animals, you know, pet a baby duck, laugh at the dog show (the cool obstacle course one, not that lame one where the dog just stands there and gets felt up by some crew-cut judge), maybe watch one of Detroit’s Finest face off with an actual pig (intensity! Drama! He almost lost!), witness a cow being born (ps- DO NOT YOUTUBE THIS. NO MATTER WHAT YOU’VE SEEN IN THE PAST, YOU ARE NOT READY), and oh yes, Alice, the original Motor City nutcase (sorry Ted), the king of the night, sleazebag, lacy, makeup-wearing sex god Alice Cooper. Man, was she good.

This was me and KP’s third time seeing this guy. He is my rock-n-roll father, and a respected hero, maybe even in my top 5 coolest rock stars of all possible time. And I’m not only saying this because he’s like sixty and still stabbing babies on stage and swinging his sword around and doing all the same stuff he’s been doing since (for real) the 60’s, I’m saying that because not only has he been terrifying audiences for so long and took the idea of parents-hate-it-so-teens-adore-it rock to the next level and the next level and the level after that, but the guy has been doing this TOTALLY SANE. He’s really smart. He has class. He’s a Christian Republican golfer (besides the golf thing, I personally am of neither persuasion, FYI) for chrissakes and he still hasn’t sold out. Half of his autobiography is him talking about why he found the church, all the cool Motley Crue rockstar shit he never did, and openly hawking Callaway golf equipment with not even a whiff of shame. By all rock standards he should totally suck. He is so bad-ass that he does not suck. He will never suck, it’s impossible.

Thankfully, he had the whole stage show this time. He had the crutch (my personal favorite), the whip, and the silver fencing sword (it once belonged to Errol Flynn, you know). He had the white top hat and tails, and the black leather/red silk combo. He had the corpse that he spoke to, whipped around, and threw off stage, and he had his vampire/dominatrix daughter dancing, whom he beat and strangled during a weird medley of songs including STEEEEEPHENNNN!!!! Straight jacket. Gallows. He totally hung himself. Backed by the setting sun and the tripped-out calliope lights of the midway, Alice Cooper played dutifully and expertly, the ferryman who ushered us across the river Speedwagon, and into his rock n’ roll nightmare.

He knows what he’s doing. The man’s been putting on variations of this show (and audiences have been eagerly lapping it out of his wrinkly hands) since the 70’s. The guy is good, no doubt about it. But I need to give a special shout out right now to Alice’s band. THE BAND WAS GREAT. The drummer (a fella by the name of Eric Singer who has played for KISS, and Black Sabbath) his one-million piece drum kit (for the second time this summer, homes) made Tommy Lee yet again his bitch with an ultra metal mega-cool drum solo at half-time while Alice received oxygen and defibrillation backstage. It was crazy. Watching the two guitar players switch almost by bar between lead and rhythm, all with a maximum of flair and 80’s-style righteousness had me wiping tears off my moistened cheeks and also my…never mind. They were brutal. They were beautiful. These guys are Keri Kelli (see here )and Jason Hook ( call me, baby!) and they are bronzed, immortal guitar gods, glowing radioactive next to one of rock n’ roll’s most prized possessions. You owe it to yourself as a fan, guitar snob, or groupie to check Alice out, if not only for the baby-stabbing-daughter-beating-Julius Squeezer antics of rock’s original dementor, but also for the head-banging rock contingent that makes up his band. That’s a real guitar hero.

How in the hell does a self-proclaimed conservative Christian in Scottsdale Country Club still get away with baby stabbing? How does he get away with having Barack Obama and John McCain making out on stage, while he prances around in leather pants screaming “I’m your man! I don’t care!!”? How does he hawk 3-rings for Staples, Big Berthas for Calloway, AA, the lord, and never have cheated on his wife of 30 years, all while simultaneously getting us to pound our fists and scream the words to “School’s Out” when school actually starts in three days?!? I don’t know! Neither will you, I’m afraid. We will never know how Alice Cooper still retains all his street cred while turning into the exact same guy he fought all those years. You and me? We will never be that cool. We will sell out and go soft and get cheesy and all that other stuff that should have attached itself to Alice long ago but didn’t. He isn’t an immortal like Sir Paul McCartney and he isn’t a rock zombie like Mick and Keith. He is a man, a dad, a golfer, a radio host (who’s show totally kicks ass and I email him all the time but he won’t adopt me. Jerk.) floating safely down a man-made river of dirt rock that he helped to build. I’ll bet he’s in some kind of pirate ship with black sails a la Pirates of the Caribbean, or even better, a battered Chinese junk boat with tattered sales and a lone lantern at the helm, shining sinisterly onto his made-up nightmare face. That would be sweet. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

Bottom line: he’s awesome, KP is awesome, and Chuck is awesome, so the show (and the fair) totally kicked ass. You have to go to a fair and mingle with the yokles if you get a chance. That is an official TshirtSizeAwesome recommendation, from me to you. I think we might have missed the Hudsonville fair (bummer), but there’s still the Allegan County Fair and the Ionia Free Fair (I think…) coming up soon so get your tickets to the demolition derby, always bet on #69, and look for me, KP, and Chuck wearing battered cutoffs and screaming through our walking tacos to SPILL SOME FUCKING BLOOD! Farm animals are hilarious. Always a good time to be had.

NOTE to the horrible people parked in front of us with the cigarettes who brought a ONE MONTH OLD BABY to Alice Cooper: What the hell, man? Your white trash kitsch was evident enough without ashing your stogie into your newborn’s face. This is a rock concert, assholes, leave your teeny, innocent, mentally and physically formative baby AT HOME. The one Alice Cooper tortures is fake (I’m pretty sure), which does not give you the right to torture an actual one. You guys suck. And if I see you in prison someday for child abuse and domestic violence, I’ll totally shank you, for your baby’s sake.

Things that are awesome that aren't supposed to be...

2008-09-03T11:24:00.005-04:00

Ok so this is partly to keep the readers and writers on the same page when we’re in our respective roles, and partly to absolve any residual guilt I might have for enjoying these things and still creaming nerds anyway, then taking their lunch money but giving it back right before lunch, you know, not to steal it but just to prove a point. The point being, don’t fuck with me. Even though nerds don’t usually fuck with me anyway, they’re kind of indifferent. I like to make them aware of me and then not to fuck with me once they know…ok I’m done. Here are a few things that seem like they should be not awesome when they actually are (in no order):

• Parking validation- sure it may hinder your ability to storm out of your average ramp-requiring situation (ie: dentist’s office, children’s hospital, your PO’s) all in a huff right after you’ve scattered papers in the receptionist’s face and tipped over her entire jar of jellybeans on purpose, but hey, who wants to pay $8 for stupid parking?

• Spice World- I mean the movie, not the channel you perv. For a bunch of semi-talented, average-looking chubby-ish British chicks who don’t really sing all that great, “write” that great, or perform that great, the Spice Girls are ADORABLE and have somehow found a way to break the linear progression of this dimension and come full circle from completely terrible to totally awesome. Now that’s Girl Power! *See also Puffy AmiYumi

• The Cosby Show- yeah I know that it went off the air fifty years ago or something and now Vanessa’s doing fat-roebics on VH1, Rudy’s slutting it up in Chingy videos and Olivia has somehow become the Disney Channel’s only 37 year old ‘tween star, but damn I wish Dr. Huxtable was my dad, for real. Would it still be creepy to have a crush on Theo though?

• Star Wars- ever tried to build the death star out of Legos? Of course you have. Enough said.

• Rush- predecessors to math and nerd rock, home to the world’s best and most neurotic drummer and a singer who sounds like Alvin and the Chipmunks on acid, completely indistinguishable and untranslatable lyrics and a rhythm section that cannot be processed by most human brains, they bring to mind that old Hemingway question, who’s totally psyching who out, man?

• Ray-Ban’s- from Buddy Holly to Warhol and Dylan to Ringwald to emo to Old Navy, for being hideous, these things aren’t going anywhere. Good call, Beck.

• Slip-N-Slide - Awesome no matter how much weight you’ve actually gained since you were six. Still pain-tastic after all these years. Thanks, Kipp!

• Children’s books- even after all the chapter books I’ve read in my time, Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, Frog and Toad Are Friends, and Diary of a Wimpy Kid (rules!) are surprisingly funny. You go Greg Heffley!

• Lost- I really didn’t even want to admit to this one, but I was actually putting my shoes on to leave when D-Rock started watching the DVD’s and I cancelled my plans for the whole weekend to watch this shit. Seriously. Causing a rift in the space-time continuum? Stop fucking with us, Desmond!

• Finnish rock superstars LORDI- straight-up cheese rock made even cheesier by their awkward, English-ish lyrics, Gwar-type costumes, and 2006 EuroVision award, these guys are bringing back the balls to rock for real. If Iron Maiden and DethKlok had a baby it would be ugly as sin and sound like Lordi. Youtube “Hard Rock Hallelujah.” Zombie cheerleaders? Awesome!M

• Metalocalypse- rarely does one come across a parody band that actually kicks real, tangible ass like Cartoon Network’s DethKlok. For being a cartoon spoof, they’re more metal than most actual metal out there. Think Tenacious D only WAY MORE BRUTAL. In the words of Nathan Explosion, “We found out we could just, you know, buy psychological validation. So you’re fired.”

• Bullet Points- (and numbering, KP loves the numbering)

• Yesterdog- hot dogs are the grossest of all food groups anyway and these ones especially look like they’re covered in baby vomit but I’ll be damned if they aren’t the best tasting food in all of Grand Rapids.

• Mika- well-bred London boy, classically trained in piano, lovely singing voice and flamboyant taste. I’ll break it down: Red Bull + jelly doughnut + Freddy Mercury + fat chicks + amphetamines + the Scissor Sisters + NoDoz = Mika. He is the cure for emo. Sounds like it should suck, right? My point exactly! (KP’s favorite lyrics include: “I said sucking too hard on your lollipop Oh, loves gonna get you down” and “Diet coke and a pizza please Diet coke I'm on my knees screamin, Big girls you are beautiful”)

• Clowns and magic tricks- but I’m still kind of on the fence about this one… (KP: I’m not…seriously what’s more awesome that a dude dressed up in all the colors of the rainbow, with paint on his face, making little doggies out of something phallic looking that he blew up. I love balloon animals!)

• Insect Violence - Fuck bees. I’ll punch a bee in the face. (Spiders are arachnids and, being deathly afraid of spiders, Stef will not come within ten feet of a spider, let alone punch it in the face, but I, KP, totally will, cause I enjoy punching things in the face)

• Alice Cooper- the guy is like 100 years old and a Christian, republican semi-pro golfer in Scottsdale AZ and he still hasn’t sold out. Even I can’t explain that one. Rock on, man. Buy the album Trash if you don’t believe me. (KP: The first time I saw Alice Cooper is concert, I was skeptical, I though he would have to be wheeled out in a wheelchair, but after he guillotined himself on stage I knew I was a fan for LIFE!)

• Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass- how the hell was this stuff ever popular? I know that no one likes to think about their parents getting laid, but unless your mom and dad were Tawny Kitaen and David Coverdale, you were more than likely conceived to one of these songs.

• The Coreys- no not now, please pretend they never made that reality show. I mean the Coreys from 1982. Seriously, didn’t Stephenie Meyers see Lost Boys? Those vampires were sweet. Why can’t Feldman revive himself with a little class like Neal Patrick Harris? Frog rules!! Lost Boys II! Oh… wait…

• Meg White- she doesn’t sing for shit, she doesn’t really have anything to say, and she hardly has to play the drums at all. Yeah, but she’s just so cool. Then she turns up in rehab for “anxiety.” How can I compete with that??

• Karaoke- possibly nothing makes less sense but is more beautiful in the whole world than expressing your emotion through somebody else’s songs. That Charlie Rich has nothing on you.

• Mortal Kombat- the more buttons they add, the more cool shit you can do on accident while you’re just jamming your fingers together and then saying “I totally did that on purpose, I got the code online.” Finish him!

• The Dirt by Motley Crue- I probably told you about this before, but they all tell chapters of their life stories in their own voices, dude. Mick is on another planet, Tommy is a hugably, adorable, little wife-beater, Nikki is unbelievably cognizant considering he was legally dead for eight minutes, and Vince is (surprise!) kind of an asshole. I didn’t want it to end. I stopped reading Brothers Karamazov to read this book. Either Neil Strauss is truly a literary genius, or these guys are the most loveable anti-heroes of all time. What up, Marvel? Where’s the comic already? (KP: I just read that they are making this into a movie, with *gasp* Val Kilmer as David Lee Roth and Christopher Walken as Ozzy. SHUT UP!!)

• The Dice Man- so I just watched the Adventures of Ford Fairlane for the first time (yes, Bubba!). Again, if you pretend the reality show didn’t ever exist, unbelievable!

• Leg Warmers- yes huh they’re cool, I wear them all the time. They look good with heels, flops, and low-top AllStars. Still don’t believe me? Ask Tiffany when you think you’re alone now. (KP: It’s true, and Stef pulls them off all year long, 12 feet of snow on the ground and you want to wear a skirt? Leg warmers! Everywhere we go, people are like, “Hey cool socks!”).

• Calling in sick when you’re not really sick- yeah I know it’s a shitty thing to do, but especially when it’s sunny and nice outside, work is a shitty place to be. Trust me, they’ll get over it. (KP: Other acceptable reasons include: Redwings Parade, not feeling like it, and just because)

• Anthony Bourdain- both his books and No Reservations on the Travel Channel.
Stef holding up a No Reservations DVD, “I’m going to marry him someday. Do you think we make a good couple?” Guy from the library “dude, how old is that guy?” It doesn’t matter how old he is, he could be seventy-five and he’ll still be the voice of our generation, only with the liberty to do and eat way more cooler stuff. This man is the definition of “living the dream” and he still has the gumption to complain about being on TV and in Nairobi eating beetles and intestine all the time. I love you, Anthony Bourdain.

• Tape - Duct tape, packing tape, electrical tape, double sided tape, gaffers tape. Every color, every size, everything you could ever need. It's there for you! Also, when I spend the day discussing the ways to adhere a 200 pound man to a wall upside down, without velcro, you cannot tell me that's not awesome!

That’s enough for now, but I know you’ve got a couple to add, so you know, message us back! I can’t tell you how much we love messages, even if they are self-inflated, over analytical, and rude.(KP: Those are my favorite,!) Holla back, yo! Tell me some things that people wouldn’t think were awesome but are actually awesome.

Hello Anonymous commenter on Stef's Microbrew Post!

2008-08-19T12:34:00.003-04:00

Anonymous said...
Hey Stef this comment is for your beer loving ass. I really enjoyed reading your blog about the microbreweries in Grand Rapids. Ive just started my journey into the world of microbrews. I'm 21 and have been a Budweiser and MGD drinker. I think its time to move on from that and start new. What would you recommend for a beginner like myself? Im up for anything. I hope you give me a sweet suggestion.
___________________________________________________________________
Hello my new, anonymous friend! I’m glad that you liked the beer blog; I’m glad that you like beer, and I’m glad that you asked! Here are a few clever tips on microbrew buying and being an amateur beer snob:

1) You first must distinguish which characters of the beer that you like best in consistency and flavor. Are you a light, bubbly guy? Dark and creamy? If you say you’re currently of the Budweiser persuasion, I’d probably go with something not too bitter and easy to warm up to for your first foray into microbrew, like an IPA (India Pale Ale) or wheat beer. However, some of those dark beers are absolutely pleasurable, so please don’t write them off just yet. If you’re like me at all, then you don’t like them too bitter, so try to avoid words like “rye” and “hops,” in beer words they mean “bitter.” Gross.

2) Speaking of beer words, it wouldn’t hurt to at least familiarize yourself with a few of the basics that you’ll be running into and (again) what it is about them that you like and don’t like. Look these words up: porter, lager, wheat beer, stout, pilsner, lambic, IPA, Ale, and Mead. There are more types, but these should at least familiarize you with what you’re ordering. You can get into how it’s made and the minutiae of taste later. Porter and stout are going to be almost black in color, creamy, and flavorful. Good for watching a fall afternoon pass by from your front porch, bad for keg stands and pitcher races. That’s what Busch Light is for.

3) Once you cultivate a general direction, it’s OK to ask the beer guys at a reputable establishment to make recommendations. They’ll understand that you appreciate honesty and if you know what to ask for (i.e.: I’d like some sort of porter or stout to try to impress a discerning but equally naive girl on my front porch at GVSU who is into hazelnuts, sometime this September).

4) I’d try to avoid microbrews that have an animal in the title, it’s creepy, and why is everyone always naming every bottle of alcohol they come up with after some sort of animal, anyway? They don’t make it with animals, and animals don’t like beer anyway. –Adjective animal- -verbing animal-. Knock it off already.

5) Cider is for GIRLS and GIRLS ONLY. Put the Strongbow down!

6) While there are many wonderful breweries within stumbling distance of Grand Rapids, and many more around the continental US, experiment with brewskis from across the globe. And I don’t mean Corona (though I do love it) or Labatt. You can pretty much count on Germany for any type (don’t let the German on the labels deter you; it’s easy to get the hang of it. Weiss=wheat, dart=dark, Heineken=hate) of lighter beer, and if your pants are made out of $50 bills and sewn together with thread made from the sort of relaxation that only a privileged life of leisure can afford, than go to Martha’s and buy anything with the word “Belgian” on the label. Not “Belgian style,” Belgian.

7) Belgian. Those crazy Trappist monks have literally been brewing beer for thousands of years and make it out of light, subtle excellence. A bottle of true Belgian (You have to go to Martha’s to find the St. Bernardus that had me on my knees for free, but Duvel, Chimay, and Delirium are good, easy to find choices) gets me as giddy as KP and every middle school girl in the area clutching their copies of Eclipse and jumping in a circle, totally hearting Edward while downloading copies of the latest Jonas Brothers and waiting in line to buy tickets to High School Musical 5 (OMG! Right?). Belgian beer is DELICIOUS but a bit expensive, so break it out on a special occasion. Again, not recommended for pong or flippy-cup. Also try English beer, but I won’t get into that now.

8) When buying microbrew from the store, here are a few good standbys that won’t do you wrong:
- Bell’s Oberon (of course) or Best Brown
- Magic Hat #9. It’s a teeny bit girly, but you can drink more than one without feeling like you just ate a whole turkey. Their darker brews however, not so much.
- Rogue Dead Guy Ale. Dark, but not too bitter. Slight coffee flavor. Their Vanilla Porter is also nice.
- Newcastle Brown Ale. This is better on tap but if you want something sweet-ish and delicious in a pinch, this always works
- Founder’s Dirty Bastard. Also better on tap, but not bad bottled and will make you very drunk quick * hick * ly.
- Boddington’s, delicious, light, and snobby. English, you know?
- New Holland Brewery’s Dragon’s Milk. Only if you’ve got the dough, this shit is premium. Exceptional, but pricey. Also it’s getting to be fall and that means New Holland’s Ichabod hits the coolers, which is nice.
- Ayenger. German beer, light and easy to put away, if you know what I mean

I hope that gets you started okay, but experimentation is the most important (and funnest) part of the microbrew adventure, so get a dryer (or more Bud Light) buddy to drive you to Hop Cat or talk to Dominic at Graydon’s and do a little damage. Don’t forget to make notes, educate yourself, and let me know what you think. Let me know if I can be of any more help, and Happy Belated 21st Birthday, buddy!

"One pancake. To do with, what they will. They can eat it, use it as a seat cushion. Uh, laminate it."

2008-08-19T07:45:00.004-04:00

Is it safe for me to go ahead and say that pancakes are the shit? ‘cause pancakes are the shit. The balls. Pancakes freakin’ rule. I like ‘em crispy a little around the edges with a whole bunch of melty butter and syrup. Maple. Classic. Whatever. I like ‘em with a little bit of bacon, you know, on the side maybe, or (gasp!) blueberries. Oh yes, right in there. Get ‘em in there. Hell yeah. You can do things with a pancake that you can never do with a prostitute even. You can dress ‘em up however you can imagine, from the depths of your black black heart they will be delicious. I bet even pancakes and tuna would be delicious. Or Steak. Tuna and steak.

Ok that was the creepiest paragraph about pancakes I’ve ever written (and that’s me personally, you remember when they released the secret journals of Paulie McPaulski, the ‘breakfast butcher’ shortly after his death by firing squad a few years ago? Now that guy was fucked up) but they are really good. And being so close to both downtown and Eastown like we are, we’re within waddling distance of some of the best breakfast joints in Michigan (and yes, I’ve eaten at every single one and still weigh less than 150. ohmygod I need to go puke) wanna come with? Cool. Here are a few reasons to get your lazy, unwashed ass out of bed and give a pancake a little love:

1) you could probably do that seriously, in a pinch
2) inevitable grease breakfast really is the best hangover cure (put the McMuffin down!)
3) if you’re anything like me, you’ll no doubt have some John in bed with you who wakes up not really remembering who you are or where he is, and thereby feels obligated to pay for said breakfast out of guilt for taking advantage of you and then a little self-pity for not being able to originally close the deal with KP instead.
4) Pancakes, butter, hash browns, sausage patties, chorizo, corned beef hash, and beautiful bacon are all proven mood enhancers, so go ahead, eat the pain away.
5) Mornings suck, except for breakfast. In fact, if you go to breakfast around ten am with that whiny emo girl from down the street and forget your sunglasses even though you made a point to walk there and order a garlic-and-holy-water omelet, you can finally prove that you’re not a vampire and she’ll let it go, already. Jeez.
6) Provides decent, neutral ground for mutually piecing together the events of the previous evening with your equally chemically abusive friends (holy shit, dude! I really don’t like you like that, I swear!).

Here are a few joints in the greater Eastown/East Hills area that are worth the drive for some serious morning grindage, if you’re not cool enough to walk there:

Wolfgang’s. Lake Drive and Wealthy. Grand Rapids staple when it comes to breakfast. We have to start with this guy. Matt Wolfgang owns the place and upon entry your first impression is that he is completely, obsessively in love with himself. This is true, but he really does do the beast breakfast in town, so his narcissism isn’t completely unfounded. They serve anything from portabella-feta-hollandaise-capers*-type artisan breakfast to your traditional eggs-and-bacons and you literally can’t go wrong with any of them. Their omelets are the same size as a newborn baby and the Mahoney Cakes are so sticky and covered with bliss that you’ll think for a minute that the waitress is trying to either murder you or proposition you. Do not misread her when she asks if you want more coffee, they’re trained to come around about 35 times an hour to make sure you don’t need a ‘warm-up’ or ‘refill’ or whatever. Semi-comfortable atmosphere, good service usually, smoking or non, under $10, but be sure to either get there early or plan on waiting because (especially on weekends) the place gets really crowded. Really. It does. We recommend the J.B. Combo with scrambled and patties or if you’re really into suicide, the Westsider with onions. It will Cliff Clavin your ass for sure. Get the English muffin toast; it’s the sexiest piece of toast in the whole town. Hell yeah.

Brandywine. Lake and Robinson. If Wolfgang’s is too busy and you’re starving more than the entire country of India and you just. Can’t. wait. You giant baby, Brandywine is just down the street and offers some breakfast deliciousness of their own. The dining room is a bit more comfortable and artsy (one whole wall is a sweet Matisse mural), and the owners (thankfully) haven’t plastered the place in pictures of themselves like at Wolfgang’s. In fact, they have a wall covered with pictures of loyal customers instead, lending a cozy, friendly, non self-adoring atmosphere, and their English muffin toast is also delicious. In addition to breakfast, which is mostly of the rustic-home-fries-salsa-skillet-with-tons-of-meat-and-sprouts variety, they’ve got a full menu of food for other times of the day as well, so stop in there any time for some greasy hippy spoon love. I like the herb chicken omelet with broccoli myself, but their pancakes are gigantic and delicious too. Try the cinnamon knots (which Brandywine is famous for) and anything with the word “skillet” in it. Under or about $10.

Gaia. Cherry and Diamond. This place is the quintessential hippie vegan establishment and has all the charm to boot. It’s been open for years and years and despite all the pretense and notable absence of requisite a.m. pork products is actually really f-ing good. They know what they’re doing. The serve-yourself coffee and tea counter offers almost any non-carbonated beverage (no Coke!) and they use lots of ginger in the things they cook for a kind-of spicy, pleasurable tingle. The plates tend to resemble giant (big portions, yo) compost piles covered with a tarp of melted cheese but the taste is awesome and unique and surprisingly un-boring even for vegetarian. They are also particularly skilled bakers so get a cookie or some of their amazing corn bread to soak up all the non-greasy, totally vegan magic juice from the bottom of the plate. Take your mom or your snobby North Face hippy girlfriend here to really impress them and show them that you’re not a) as closed minded and un-hip as they constantly accuse you of being, and b) don’t turn into a sniveling giant baby if there is no bacon. The food is all pretty similar but I recommend the veggie hash and corn bread, and any of their juices (order the suicide juice) are fresh-squeezed and full of love. The atmosphere can only be described as bohemian and totally unique. Under $10.

Cheri Inn. Across Cherry from Gaia. Traditional breakfast in the cutest little joint out there. If you’re looking for a good flapjack, they make one of the best in town. They keep strange hours and the dining room is very small but if Wolfgang’s and Brandywine are both packed, duck in here and let them surprise you. Also if you’re putting on airs at Gaia and you need your bacon fix, slip in because their bacon is peppered and GOOD. Older crowd, but only six people in town even know that the Cheri Inn is there so chances are good you’ll find a seat. I recommend the brioche and black coffee. C’est bon (that’s French for “learn French”)! Definitely under $10.

Marie Catrib. Across Lake from Gaia and Cherry from Cheri Inn. Delicious, fancy, artisan breakfast served in a kitschy, comfortable, adorable environment. These people take cooking seriously, for real. They make everything from scratch and feature a menu of interesting and clever breakfasts from over-the-top-sweetness cinnamon roll French toast to spicy, magical chorizo scrambled eggs (totally, honestly, good) and anything in between including vegetarian, worldly, and of course, pancakes. They use local produce and meat, so don’t always expect all the food to look or taste the same, but do expect top quality. I don’t really know how to explain the food other than whatever you pick will be complicated and delicious so please order something besides two-eggs-and-toast. I recommend the chorizo (I can’t remember what it’s called) eggs and home fries, and anything from their bakery. Also open for lunch and dinner but like Wolfgang’s, this place gets pretty crowded so be there early or don’t gripe when you have to wait. Local artist REB did the inside so the dining room is eclectic and cool. Good service. Not necessarily under $10.

Schnitz Bakery and Breakfast. Fulton and Fuller. The breakfast joint just opened not too long ago but the bakery has been there for years. This place is a little different from your traditional breakfast establishment because almost everything on the menu is served in sandwich form. This makes it perfect for on the way to work, on a hike, or protection in case you need to throw it at some bum from the liquor store next door. Also, the food here is REALLY REALLY GOOD. You can’t go wrong. The fact that all your breakfast favorites are tucked lovingly into some sort of sandwich makes it more exciting and the fact that foremost Schnitz is a bakery makes the bread killer too. All sandwiches are served with latkes (potato pancake) and sour cream and all of them are like $5 and under, making it the most affordable breakfast providence around. The coffee is slightly weak and if that doesn’t please you, or if you’re one of those fat guys who like to wash down your bacon sandwich with donuts and muffins and tiny candy bars instead, Common Ground Coffeehouse is right next door and they have ten kinds of free-trade coffees brewing all the time, so there. Get the strawberry French toast sandwich and elect to eat outside so the sun can shine on your face. So beautiful, you’ll want to get the adorable little eggs-n-bacon man on their sign tattooed on your shoulder, but please ask them first because it might be trademarked.

That ought to get you started, chubby. Deserving honorable mention (and outside the three mile radius of the breakfast belt) are the Grand Coney on Michigan, the Ritz Coney on Ionia, and the Garden Room café all the way out on 28th and Breton. When it comes to the best cakes in town, #1, el jefe (Spanish for “learn Spanish”), this place has them. If you have any more questions on the Garden Room café or any of the other establishments listed here today, please leave a post on this blog, or quit being so goddamn lazy and call them yourself. We’ll probably be at Wolfgang’s or Brandywine this Sunday after Bubba’s party, so we’ll see you there!

Vampire Prom, Team Edward and Team Jacob

2008-08-06T10:05:00.008-04:00

I'm just going to put this out there and let everyone know:

A) I *heart* Edward
2) Yes he is a fictional character but so was Prince Charming in Cinderella and I totalled *hearted* him.
#) I am very aware that these books are geared toward tweens but let's be honest here, I act like a twelve year old all the time, so it's fitting.

Now that we have that nonsense out of the way, I feel I should explain myself to those of you who don't have even the vaguest idea who Edward is and why the hell I would *heart* him. I came across a movie trailer a month or so ago on a message board that I frequent. This trailer was for a little movie called Twilight. It piqued my interest because I'm a sucker for cheesy romance movies about vampire and werewolves (see Underworld). Anyways, Stef said she would get the books for me and now like two weeks later I'm on the third book and completely consumed by the books of that soul eating succubus Stephenie Meyer. What a bitch...

I find myself unable to function in normal society and then utterly embarrassed when the topic of my reading habits come up. UGH!

I have just started book 3 and if my suspicions are correct, I will be seriously pissed off when I finish the series. The deeper I get into this dark emo world, the more I want to cut myself to ease Bella's pain (that's the seriously self depreciating female protagonist who really really really pretty please wants to become a vampire) I will let you know once I read Breaking Dawn if I need an alibi for the time around the massive fire that will consume Stephenie Meyer and her stupid vampire novel or if I still totally *heart* Edward.

WORD!

Oh and really adorable attractive British Fella Robert Pattinson aka Cedric Diggery, is playing Edward in the movie...AWESOME!!

Time traveling bitches...Motley Crue, and Foo Fighter

2008-07-29T09:29:00.005-04:00

A note on time traveling

1) In the Mesozoic period, the tyrannosaurus rex fuckin’ ruled.
2) In the 13th Century in Asia and what is now considered most of Eastern Europe, Genghis Kahn and the Mongol Hordes fuckin’ ruled.
3) In 1983, on LA’s fabled Sunset Strip, Motley Crue fuckin’ ruled.

Another interesting note, in an astonishing historical anomaly compared to other currently touring acts of their genre (dirt metal, bitches), Motley Crue still fuckin’ rules. Yeah, I know, I was surprised too. They kicked my ass and I wasn’t even expecting it. Thank goodness we were on the lawn and too far away to see any of ‘em up close, but from our position on the grass and at the bottom of a delicious $16 beer, they still even looked like Heavy Metal Sex Gods. Except for Mick Mars, but I think he’s cool with that. More on Mick later.

But before I go on with my account of this magical rock-filled Canuck ridden evening, I just want to get one thing straight: shut up and admit that you secretly love gratuitous dirt rock. Admit that you love epic rock songs and cheesy hooks and hedonistic balls-out guitar solos and pyrotechnics and fake blood and shit. It’s impossible to hate. If you want proof just look at the recent popularity of Guitar Hero (PLEASE JUST GET A REAL GUITAR!). In fact, I’ve personally seen every one of you screaming right along to the chorus of “Wild Side” in your cars with the windows rolled up while you’re still in you’re work clothes and it’s hot as hell but you don’t want that guy in the Mazda 6 next to you to know that you’re dirt rockin’ even though he’s doing it too. And I know for a fact that your back arches in passionate freedom every time “Kickstart My Heart” comes on your iPod when you’re sitting in church on Sunday to appease your sweet but judgmental grandma. I know it’s not her fault, she was just raised in a different era. All musical integrity aside, it’s ok to like that stuff. It’s really OK. Have a little gratuitous fun once in a while, you big crybaby, even the guys from Arcade Fire own a Ratt album or two.

Aaaaaaaanyway, back to the show. It was at DTE Energy Music Theater (Pine Knob to all the T-Rexes that are reading this…), which is a lovely outdoor venue with accessible bathrooms, delightful landscaping, and excellent acoustics. They also have a great lawn if you don’t want to mortgage your house to afford seats. Or if you want to stand up, or if you want to smoke pot and tickle your best gal and not get caught. Parking is a real bitch and since there’s only one way in or out unless you’re a VIP, I recommend getting there a little earlier than you’re thinking because there will be a little (tons of, really) traffic to battle and don’t plan on scooting out of there any earlier than one hour after you’ve had your face rocked off because no matter if you have to work at 7am and are two hours from home, it ain’t happening. Parking there sucks.

The tour is called CrueFest and it’s in promotion of their new album Saints of Los Angeles. I recommend this album. It actually rules. Now that you’re cool with your inner dirtbag, check it out. The title track will have you shaving your head and pulling your Zubas off the back shelf of your closet in no time. The bill also included Trapt, Papa Roach, wicked awesome Crue bass player Nikki Sixx’s side project, Sixx: AM, and radio-romancing Buckcherry. You’re probably saying that you don’t care much about any of those bands except maybe Sixx: AM and you don’t really hate them like Creed hate them, you just don’t really care. That’s what I thought too, but Papa Roach was actually really good live despite having glorious sunlight in their eyes and a crowd too largely focused on getting chemically imbalanced to pay much attention. I even found myself bouncing a little on my heels to the f-bomb ridden, skinny jeans and tambourine queerness of Buckcherry. They did a fifteen-minute funked out version of “Crazy Bitch” and that guy wasn’t half bad either. Yes, the weather helped, it was 80 and sunny and it was my birthday and I had a beer and maybe wasn’t as discerning as I might have normally been, but this was a rock show after all. Good can mean a couple of different things.

Then, dusk came to relieve the legions of sweaty Detroit rockers and some guy showed KP and I how he attempted to sew his own nipple back together after he ripped out his ring earlier. He ended up having it professionally done at the dentist’s office where his girlfriend worked, but it was still pretty hard-core. We were coming out of the bathrooms and waiting for a couple of crazy Canadians to buy us beer when we heard the first couple of bars from the one-and-only Motley Crue. Go time. They opened their set with the radio smasher “Kickstart My Heart” which sounded amazing paired with the dusky air and the fat guys we were plowing through to land a decent spot. We got one, and we rocked, bitches. They sounded (and I hate to admit this cause I’ve seen how old these guys are and how years haven’t necessarily been gracious to them) really…sexy. They had a huge stage show and really tall boots and plenty of leather and Nikki Sixx looked like he was a hundred feet tall (as any T Rex should be). There was fire and video screens and some weird stripper angel that made out with Vince Neil (eew) onstage right about the time that he said “pussy”. It would have been really hard for even the emo-est angsty sad sack to not be carried away in the mayhem. Even Tommy Lee showed up in good graces, lively, beating the skins like they were Pam Anderson (ooh, sorry). I was hoping for one of his famous steel cage solos or at least for him to take his pants off, but no luck, even on the drums thing, which might be the only real gripe I have about the show. In fact, no more than one week later, renowned drummer so excellent that he sits in for the one and only Neil Peart once in a while, Foo Fighters drummer Taylor Hawkins made Tommy Lee his bitch with an absolutely ripping solo at the Van Andel that may have (contrary to the Crue) proved to be the highlight of their set. I mean, Tommy said “good night, fuckers” and that was it. I even asked nicely. Hey Tommy, aren’t you famous for your drum solos and giant crank? That is whack, yo.

And I’ll swear this right here and now: I will never ever say another foul word against Mick Mars again after seeing him live. Seemingly propped up underneath a long trench coat (he has some kind of crippling muscle disease)(Ankylosing spondylitis to be exact, I’m KP and I looked it up), Mick ushered his band in on a black, shimmering rainbow of brutality. He wasted any sense of coddling or (god forbid!) going soft with one jarring chord and never looked back. He may be half dead, but if the devil himself played the electric guitar in a metal band, he’d sound like Mick Mars. Shit, he’d even look like Mick Mars, who makes Alice Cooper look like a boyfriend on The Hills. He, like so many other undead axe wielders, has been pickled by the potency of rock, mummified by music’s most wicked achievement, Richards, Page, Tufnel, Young, Mars. Every song he had a solo, every riff he played better and better, as if it was actually Mick Mars that ushered the dusk into the night. Ok, that’s a bit dramatic I’ll admit, but when I say Mick fuckin’ RULED, I mean it. Vince didn’t sound as bad as I originally guessed, Nikki was a seasoned showman, fueling the crowd’s insane screams and forcing us all in love with him mid-show with what can only be described as Nikki-robics (everybody sit the fuck down and when I count to three, stand up and scream your fucking heads off until the song starts. It will look really cool, I promise!), Tommy was there and he said the f-word probably the most, but Mick Mick Mick. He was merciless. He was superb. We stopped mid-spasm and gaped at the beauty during every song. “Dude, Mick Mars is good.”

Get up and go see this tour on it’s second leg this fall. Get up and do it. If you’re looking for a little escapism, a good excuse to let the tats hang out, or catch a glimpse of the entire city of Milwaukee’s boobies, get a ticket to CrueFest. Dip your toes in the cheese, get a little firework on ya, have a little freaking fun. Yeah it’s not math rock, it’s not Minus the Bear or Harry and the Potters, but for being a bunch of old guys* they rocked our faces right back into our brains and left us desperate for more and flashing some hot but hammered eastsiders out in the parking lot on the way home. Couldn’t think of a better and more appropriate place to be ushered officially into the land of creepy old ladies than in the wrinkled (and in Vince’s case, Botoxed) palms of Motley Crue. ROCK ON.

*I would still totally do Nikki Sixx by the way, and KP says that she’s got dibs on Tommy. Nikki, bro, Kat VonD is a fox but she looks too much like you, dude. Give me a call sometime.

And then, KP comes through with the Golden Tickets and we find ourselves in the company of the real Rock n’ Roll Jesus…

What a totally different concert experience the Foo Fighters were. Where as Motley Crue played like they had something to prove (which they did, and they definitely proved it), the Foos didn’t give a fuck. They knew exactly what they were doing and who was watching them. Shit, Dave Grohl didn’t even know what city he was playing in (“What’s up…arena!”) and it didn’t matter because regardless of the city or the venue, Dave showed up for one reason alone, to rock it. He’s great fun to watch. He (unlike Mick, who beat the piss out of his strings) is from the Jack White collective of guitar playing, that is, the form that makes girls liken your playing to sex in their minds. Hottttttt. If you’ve never heard of the Foo Fighters before, than you’re probably from some kind of mud hut in Indonesia or something where no radio signals reach and no power chords are accessible. If this is the case, I think a big-budget rock show isn’t maybe the smartest method of integration into the twentieth century you could be taking. It can be a bit much. For everyone (and I mean everyone) else, even if you don’t think you know any Foo Fighters songs, you definitely know a couple of Foo Fighters songs. They’ve been a driving cultural force in American rock for more than a decade, with at least a dozen top 10 hits and radio mainstays. You might remember them for the awesome intro to “Hero.” You might remember them from a smattering of movie trailers and soundtracks, or their often-humorous music videos. You might remember them for Dave Grohl’s teeth. Those are some nice teeth, Dave. Whatever the motivator, these guys played for two hours alone and there were only one or two songs (including the Nirvana song) that I didn’t recognize. As Dave said himself, sweaty and beardy (yes!!!) and looking all crazy-like “I’m not a big fan of the bullshit.” No ego strokery and no acoustical whimpering, even the middle set, played with acoustic guitar and piano in the round, still rocked substantially. One of the show’s many breakout highlights came when Dave played their haunting and immediate classic “Everlong” solo style and every kid in there hung on desperately to his every utterance. It was intense. It was a song you could feel. Other best-of clips included Taylor Hawkin’s totally wicked, ass-chapping drum solo, their funny little back-stage prequel to the encore cheering thing, and pretty much any time Dave Grohl spoke or addressed his audience or his band, “The Pretender,” “Cheer Up Boys (Your Makeup is Running),”and the monkeys on the screen during (you guessed it!) “Monkey Wrench.” Some of the more disappointing moments came in the totally pointless appearance of ex-Foo guitarist Pat Smear, who just waved at people a lot and didn’t really do anything at all. They also had this weird fiddle chick that I found unnecessary and hard to make heads or tails of.

At the short end, they did a good job making the VanAndel Arena feel like an intimate little San Francisco venue and totally reminded us, the sweaty masses, why in fact they’ve commanded the lead for as long as they have. We were all the Foo Fighter’s bitches in a way, walking out of there slightly sweaty and slightly beer-y and exhausted from the intensity of one song after another. They aren’t international super hits for nothing, and they weren’t about to be satisfied until every one of us knew it. Grand Rapids (that is the town you were in, Dave) layed down like a submissive puppy at the feet of the Foo Fighters, without even putting up a fight.

Recommended (if you’ve made it this far) post-blog media:
The Dirt by Motley Crue and Neil Strauss. Never has media spin been handled so gentlemanly by a group of such unlovable heroes. In fact, I totally loved them all in the end and felt a little remorse when it was over. Well laid out (no pun intended) and well done. I was sadder to see this one close than Harry Potter 7.

Diamond Hoo Ha by Supergrass. These adorable Brits opened for the Foo Fighters and rocked the place at an unexpected pitch. This album (any of their albums, really) is a gas to listen to. Cheerie-O mates! Good Show, alright? Jolly good!

Oh and KP? I know for a fact that you don’t party.

My name's KP and I like to party

2008-07-23T12:38:00.006-04:00

To round off Stef's Birthday week, we scored some free seats to the Foo Fighter's concert last night. Minus my sister's Jackass friend who kept belligerently yelling "Detroit is better" randomly throughout the show, the concert was another face rocking experience. Seriously, Dave Grohl is an orgasm on stage. No Lie. More on the two concerts to come...

PS: Though I am seriously biased when it comes to Tommy Lee, the Foo Fighter's drummer Taylor Hawkins schooled the shit out of Tommy Lee's performance at DTE. Hawkins' mad drumming skills made Tommy Lee look like a tired old man. Word to your mother!

Motley Crue Thank you!

2008-07-17T13:13:00.005-04:00

Due to some extreme rock, sexy drums and, to quote Nikki Sixx, "Mick Mars playing the guitar like he just caught it sleeping with his girlfriend", KP and Stef have had their faces rocked off, leaving only their hair behind. Once the effects have worn off, more news on Motley Crue will follow. Our apologies.

It's KP time...

2008-07-07T07:06:00.002-04:00

WTF STEF, ALL WE EVER GET ARE YOUR KNUCKLEHEAD OPINIONS AND DUMBASS ANALYSIS, WHAT ABOUT KP? YOU THINK YOU’RE SO SMART… WHY NOT GIVE HER SOME FACE TIME? SHE’S GOTTA BE WAY MORE AWESOME, RIGHT? RIGHT? SPOTLIGHT ON…

…KP. She’s sort of the brains behind this operation (which will be a really big deal when we get popular enough to have summer celebrations and box seats and decals for our cars and stuff). I say “brains behind” because she actually knows how to use the internet machine and has put a link to us on her myspace and I don’t even know how she does it. I don’t even know how to look at my myspace, much less direct somebody someplace (turn left at the new gas station. Not the old one, the new one…yeah…no you went too far). Anyway, more about this wonderful bundle of intensity and emotion that is KP. *print off this page and memorize everything on it if you want to take her on a date ever. And please, bring you’re A-game. No shit, son. Follow through.

KP got her start young as a dinosaur wrestler and robot programmer in the muddy concrete highlands of Wyoming Michigan. As a child she was so stunningly beautiful that even her parents couldn't look directly at her face or they would freeze in a trance of awe that always lasted until way past eight pm. This pissed her sisters (less pretty, but then again, everyone is) off because this meant that they always had to make their own dinner. Finally after months and months of Tyson Chicken Nuggets and Mac-N-Cheese Cheerios Nutmeg casserole, and after the second time they had to load mom and dad onto a dolly and push them to the emergency room because they missed too many dinners completely, they decided to do what’s best for the family unit and ship KP off to Michigan State University, where hopefully everyone would be too drunk or studious to fall victim to her spell.

While in college, she took her guidance counselor’s advice and decided to hone her secondary skill as a dino-wrestler (second only to her undeniable skill and steady hand as a scientist). She quickly climbed up in intramural ranks at MSU and eventually joined the official team and helped them wrestle their way into the semi-finals. They would have taken their whole division if it weren’t for a fatal accident caused by a rogue mastodon biting a teammate’s head off. The teammate being professional film star Ryan Gosling (the man you see on screen is only a phony) and also KP’s one true love, she not only coined the best Mortal Kombat finishing move ever, she murdered that dinosaur right there on the mat, earning her the nickname “total raptor” (apparently). Her genius brain took over and she decided to split her time equally between dino-wrestling and robot engineering. Which took her altercation-free to the middle of her senior year. Of course, robots are still somewhat of an inexact science, and when her robots cleaned out all the dinosaurs in East Lansing (the great extinction of 2003), it could only be concluded as inconclusive, unforeseen complications. And, one hell of a fight (who gave those robots Samurai swords? I know! Right?). Having now no one else to wrestle and a few implications in “destruction of property” cases back in the EL, KP was forced to graduate and move to Grand Rapids with me (Stef). She graduated from Lyman Briggs college mega cum laude and was dubbed “best rack at Harper’s” in addition to Total Raptor.

Since Grand Rapids is a conservative town, they did not take too well right away to her radical ideas in the advancement of robot building. So she got a job at Blockbuster video and watched every disc there 6,000 times apiece until she knew everything there is to ever know about movies and the actors that ruin them. She became an expert, a cinematic ninja with nothing to hide and nothing to fear and practically re-defined the term “fast-forward through until you get to a good part.” When it came time to audition for the role of Princess Amidala/Padme in George Lucas’s big budget colostomy bag Star Wars I, she nailed it so completely that she ended up losing the part to Natalie Portman who’s acting abilities and (fellatio abilities too, apparently) were better suited to the stink-tastic Hayden Christianson. KP remains on his payroll today for taking a back seat and turning him into a star. She takes no responsibility for the lives he’s personally ruined since then.

She has now turned her attention to a freewheelin,’ pants-free secondary career (she does the tape thing during the week) at Extreme Sports. You know, hang gliding, right water crafting, skateboarding, ceramics…

If you want to take KP on a date (and you should, she needs it) here are a few guidelines:
1) have a job, you dirty bum.
2) take her to dinner but remember she doesn’t do spicy or foreign, unless it’s Chinese and even then it can’t be spicy. Even a little. Do not flinch if she orders a whole pizza and then refers to you as “bitch” later when she tells you that she’ll have lunch for tomorrow too. She’s razor-sharp like that.
3) She likes to dance, but unlike most people, she drinks less when she’s nervous, so that’s not necessarily your best plan of attack. However, she isn’t averse to making out with you at the bar if you happen to catch up to her when she’s already half in the bag and happen to have an Abe Lincoln beard (caution: do not grow an Abe Lincoln beard. No matter who you are).
4) SHE LOVES TO SEE MOVIES AND THEN TALK ABOUT THE MOVIES SO NO SLEEPING DURING THE MOVIES. Got it?
5) She doesn’t even really have to like you much to at least go out with you once but you better bring your sharpest sword and most finely polished armor and be all ambitious and tell her that the tape factory is actually very interesting. Props to you if you actually do find the tape factory interesting. Again, no sleeping.
6) Argue with her, but don’t be a dick. And keep control of yourself. And when you see her slouch back into her seat and smile a little into the distance and mouth the words “oh my god” while she crosses her arms, drop it. I’m serious.
7) Follow Through. She ain’t easy, but she not the Rosetta Stone either for chrissakes.
8) Nerds are OK, but don’t be a baby. No sleeping.
9) She literally just admitted to me while I’m writing this that she has an inadequacy issue so even though she looks all smart and tall and stuff with the glasses and the vest, she’s actually very nice and it’s OK for you to go up and talk to her. She won’t bite your face off unless she thinks you’re an idiot. Which you might well be.
10) Bonus points if you’re foreign. And no pretending you’re Australian for six months either, she’s heard that one before.

Now she doesn’t exactly look like it, KP is actually a closet emo so if you are also a closet emo or weigh 130 soaking wet even though you’re 6’9” and wear tight pants and sports coats, please ask her out and tell her about how you want to be a dentist even though you don’t know anything about teeth and maybe show her your sweet scooter. Wear a scarf. Watch Paris, Je T’Aime. You’re one step closer to learning the secrets of KP. She’s really smart, I’m serious.

2008-06-19T08:54:00.002-04:00

And Speaking of Fine, Hand-Crafted Microbrew Excellence…

For you beer lovers out there, we’re in a prime spot for delicious deliciousness here in Grand Rapids. Believe it or not, there are some fantastic home-brews right here in our back yard (or our neighbor’s backyard, which is way cooler and has a pool). And since we’re getting into summer a little bit, nothing goes better with sitting on your porches, patios, what have you (did you know some places even have a beer garden? Not quite as cool as they sound, but Frisbee-hackey-sack-legalize-it fun anyway) than a frosty glass/bottle of your favorite beer snobbery. If you don’t have one, get one. Here are some of my picks for a good pint:

Founder’s Brewery- downtown. They make the IPA. They make the Dirty Bastard. They make the Devil Dancer and the diabolic Red Rye. Anything they serve will get you making baaaa-a-a-d choices quickly if you’re not careful. Fair prices, good selection, awesome associate brewmaster. They just upped their kitty quite a bit and moved into a fancy new location, complete with a decent stage, space-age smoking greenhouse thing, and neat outdoor seating. I can’t wait until the summer when they roll those huge doors open and we can all chill Boulder CO style. For the warm weather their Rubeus is absolutely magical. Go see Sweet Japonic play there if you get the chance, they’re fun to rock to, their songs are all pleasing, and the singer is a stone fox. If you attempt to order a Bud Light, the bouncer will punch you, right in the nose.

Food: Yes. It’s a new thing. The sandwiches all have funny names, but I’ve never actually eaten there so I can’t tell you if they’re good. I’m sure they’re nature-tastic though.

Ambiance: Laid back. They have a lot of friendly regulars so make yourself a few friends once in a while. Small-town version of a big city brewery. Good place to take your dad or your well-traveled, slightly fancy step-brother (hey, Josh!) good place to find a real “breakfast beer.”

Music: Live often. They have a house jam band built in. there is usually a cover if there’s a band but more often than not, it’s worth the five-spot to get in. The jukebox is always dominated and full of random jam bands and Led Zeppelin and Beck and stuff. Good place to see your favorite off-jazz sestet, conga drum collective, or sensitive singer-songwriter live. Decent acoustics, interesting outdoorsy atmosphere, and if that doesn’t do it for you, remember that you’re standing in a literal forest of beer.

Bell’s Brewery and Eclectic Cafe- Kalamazoo. WORTH THE DRIVE. These guys know what the hell they’re doing when it comes to beer brewing. This is the Mecca of Michigan microbrews. Best Brown, Two Hearted, the Consecrator, summer staple Oberon, Expedition, HopSlam. There isn’t a beer that I’ve had that I didn’t love, both in the glass and the bottle. I’ve never been there when I didn’t have to pay cover to get in, but like I said, it’s worth the trip. They call the place Bell’s Eclectic Café during the day and it certainly is. The joint looks like Wonka’s factory from the outside and acts like it inside (no oompa-loompas or beer river, but there is a beer garden full of kids who want to buy drugs off of you). There’s a bunch of random shit in there including lots of antique cartoons, sineage, and some huge-ass bugs (under glass. Gross, I know). Oberon is a summer staple amongst the general population, and they made it good this year. Their Best Brown and IPA is also highly recommended. Actually, you can’t go wrong with any beer they serve. Anytime. Ever.

Food: Apparently yes, but who cares?

Ambiance: uh…eclectic? Two levels of seating even though the whole place is non-smoking. Lots of natural oak, chalkboards, fancy bar, very charming. The prices usually deter the wasted WMU students who crawl all over the place down there, so don’t worry about beer-pong nite or Lil Wayne jukebox picks. Lots of adorable men, but I’ve never seen a hot chick go near that place, unless you’re cool with that self-proclaimed “whimsy girl” who wears pigtails, is wry about everything, and always on her cell phone. OUTDOOR BEER GARDEN. Yeah it is that cool, it’s like Central Park all tucked into downtown Kalamazoo. Except this one serves you.

Music: Almost always a live band. More frequently now that their insubstantial step-brother Kraftbrau closed down. They can even pull some pretty big (relative, still no place for Gogol Bordello though) acts. Outdoor venue for when things get extra special. Heaven if you have a taste for fine beer and an open mind.

New Holland Brewing Company- Holland. Worth the drive if you spend the day at the beach. Worth the drive if you’re on a date with someone that you really want to impress/get drunk. New Holland is (near as I can tell) the one decent venue in all of Holland, so don’t plan on leaving once you get a seat, and considering all the wonderful selections you’ll be sampling, they’ll be pouring you out at the end of the night, anyway. New Holland Brewery is responsible for delectable Michigan staples like Mad Hatter IPA, Poet Oatmeal Stout (recommended if you like dark, creamy, not-too-bitter sexiness), summer Sun Dog wheat, and the commanding and panty-dropping Dragon’s Milk, who’s aroma alone will have you crying out for Beowulf to drive you home.

Food: Definitely. They specialize in food pairings at New Holland, your favorite delectables and their most precious alcoholic counterparts. Bring your checkbook though, it’ll cost you. Plus, they have pizza. Wood fired. Garlic and artichoke hearts and goose livers, whatever. Enough said.

Ambiance: small-ish and cozy but you must remember that this is Holland so lots of fancy make-up and un-admitted plastic surgeried-up wives with rocks that could pay for an entire tribe in Africa to go to Harvard. Lots of getting drunk under the table. Like I said, good place for a date, business dinner, or cheeky rendezvous with one of the guys who’s married to said surgeried-up wife. Nowhere else around to go, so plan on staying there. If you roll deep, make sure they can behave themselves in public, and have discerning taste for a good, crafted pint. Great outdoor seating.

Music: Never heard any there, but I assume they have small live acts once in a while. Not a place to seek out a rockin’ show. Check out their website for a bunch of cool beer-snob stuff going on this summer like beer brewing forums and cigar classes, and it is on the beach kind of, which makes up for the lack of harmonica.

The Hideout Brewery- Plainfield Ave, Grand Rapids. Haven’t been there yet so I can’t tell you if it’s any good or not. But what I can tell you is that the building used to be a Hubba Tubba and they were brewing something, but it definitely wasn’t beer. Man, I hope that’s not where they got the idea. If they have a beer there called “Used Band-Aid” or “Little Swimmers” run. Run run run. I can also tell you that they’ve changed names a few times in the few years that it’s been a brewery. I’m not saying anything, I’m just saying. However, we’ll probably try it before too long, so be on the lookout for an update. If there’s no jukebox, I’m gonna be pissed.

There are also a few choice little hamlets around here that don’t actually brew beer, but retain the honor of having beer snobbery be their upmost priority nonetheless.

I know I mentioned Hop Cat before, but they have one million different fancy microbrews right on tap and they actually serve it in the proper vessel for that particular beer (example: there is actually such a thing as a pilsner glass). Their menu is split into Michigan microbrews, USA, and international. Seem a little obscure? If you don’t trust your buddies to order for you, or you can’t (for whatever reason, ya big lush) read the poetic descriptions on the menu, ask your expert server for a recommendation. If you get the curly-haired French Canadian guy he’ll pick a good, honest selection with a minimum of heckling and eye-rolling, but the short bleached haircutted guy is surly. Look out for that guy. The food there is pretty tasty, the crack fries are 100% righteous magic, and the grilled cheese is verbatim, the best Juan has ever tasted. They also have fish tacos. So there you go. If you try to order a Bud Light, that surly guy will even get down off his pedestal, remove (in the surliest way possible) his white kid glove and slap your face, sir. Why don’t you check out chubby-chicks-in-booty-shorts night at McFadden’s?

Grayden’s Crossing- Plainfield and Leonard. This place is sweet, I’m not going to lie. Good place to meet friends, good place to take a date, good place to watch sports, good place to break up with/get dumped by your boyfriend and then try not to laugh while he takes a leak in the parking lot. Great patio area, and a whole chalkboard full of tasty brews. They’ve even got Rogue Brewery’s Dead Guy Ale, which is beautiful. Plus, most of the staff will tell you if the beer is actually awesome, or it’s just a clever title (the Dragonsmeade Under The Kilt is actually pretty good. If anybody wants to check that place out with me it’s on the East side of the state somewhere and I’m down). Graydon’s also has these beer cocktail things that are a little bit girlie but delicious and fun to drink (Guinness and cider, Guinness and lambec, etc), and all kinds of tasty vittles too. That guy from Germany loved the burger (everything is bigger in America, ya? Hi Hansi!) but they’ve got an interesting menu of Irish/English and Indian cuisine that’s discerning enough to foil even the highest-maintenance of girlfriends. There are dartboards and a crack-machine, probably Keno, and definitely this weird big door thing that doesn’t really serve a purpose but to ponder (we’re having a door pondering meeting next Thursday by the way, bring your Kirkegaard and join us. Why is it there? Where does it lead to?). Rumor has it even that they’re getting all satin panties on us and opening a restaurant in East Grand Rapids’ Gaslight Village. Mortgage schmorgage. Enjoy the crew team.

Martha’s Vinyard- Union Street downtown. Yes it’s a party store, but it’s more of an upscale delectables/wine/cheesecake/fancy mustard type party store than a Cheetos/Old Style/barf-in-the-dumpster type party store, even though I bet they have that stuff too. Martha’s is the type of place where you can get your Newport Kings with a side of kalmata olives stuffed with herring. It’s cool. If you’re new to the sprawling kingdom of fancy-pants beer, this is the place to go, cause the guys at the counter are trained to tutor your Bud Light ass in their image. Enjoy pick-and-choose single bottles of all kinds of Michigan and national beers. Marvel at all the German words and funny dots over the o’s. Spend the money on a bottle of St. Bernardus, it’s Belgian and when I had it the first time I was ready to settle down and move in with it. Thinking about kids and fences and lawnmowers and stuff. Then shuffle a couple of coolers down and reminisce about how you used to like the taste of Natty Lite. Ptooie, you’re in the good stuff, now. It’s not the best selection of bottled beers I’ve ever seen, but it’s the best within walking distance and that’s what counts because you can’t drive if you’ve had more than one sq. oz of brewski and its just plain foolish if you ask me. Speaking of that, ask those guys behind the counter what they’re into and not to bullshit you, or else you’ll walk out of there with a case of MGD, you’ll do it, you swear! They can order brews that they don’t have, and if especially you’re feeling the Bavarian/Belgian vibe, they at least keep it in stock. For a bunch of beer snobs and wine guys, they’re pretty nice. Downright friendly actually. I would advise against the pizza next door though. It may look fancy, but it’s crummy at best. Not even sexy a little bit. What’s the deal, guys?

And finally, for you brave (please say experienced) fellows out there, there is Siciliano’s Market out on Lake Michigan Drive who will teach you, cultivate you, and keep your shit in line if you’re interested in brewing a little soup of your own. This place is cool because you can see all the little parts of your favorite brew before you drink it. If you’re interested at all where this stuff comes from, the guys from Siciliano’s will tell you. Please be sophisticated though, and don’t order Bud Light. Large already-brewed selection available also, including the neat pick-your-own 6-pack feature.

T-Shirt Size: Awesome presents Movies

2008-06-17T14:42:00.002-04:00

For those of you who may know me well or even just a little, you know my obsession with movies. I (KP) work at a video store, and it is not because I need the money. It’s for the five free movie rentals a week and the ability to argue endlessly with ignorant customers about how the newest Rambo movie was not a good movie but a pile of human remains that Stallone threw together while he was high off snake venom. Movies are indeed an obsession of mine. I love everything about them. Now, please, do not ask me what my favorite movie is because that is a much too vague question. I have “favorites”, depending on the category of interest. I will admit I am a bit of a sci-fi junky, thanks to years of being forced to watch every episode of Star Trek: the Next Generation, Deep Space Nine and Star Trek Voyager. I will also admit that I hold a special place in my heart for those straight to DVD romantic comedy cheesefests that seem to appear every week on our shelves. I am also a disgruntled movie rental store employee. Any chance I get to piss off an entitled seventeen year old, I take it. I will also talk to you anyway that I choose so shut up and please don’t be offended if I tell you that your movie choice is lame or that you’re a dummy.

With that said, I’m going to spend some time each week talking about both movies in theaters and movies that just came out on video for all you lazy people out there who can’t seem to take the time to read the back of the DVD box or sit through a two and half minute trailer. Movies can be ranked in many different ways so at times I may give them a number and then other times I may just say this movie is bad. Either way, I will break it down and let you know what I think. This way, I take the guess work out of deciding between that Lindsay Lohan movie you just picked up that looks like she’s dancing on a stripper pole and any other movie in the store because any other movie in the store is better than a Lindsay Lohan movie.

Last night, my sister and I decided to see the movie The Happening. Though I read many reviews saying this movie wasn’t very good, I always want to see a movie anyways, just to form my own opinion. I say that now, but if I’m truly honest with you I would tell you the real reason I wanted to see that movie was simply Mark Wahlberg. Big, beautiful, broad shouldered Mark Wahlberg. Now, M. Night Shyamalan, who wrote, produced and directed this movie, has a bit of a wobbly track record. He started out strong with Sixth Sense and Unbreakable, peaked at Signs, then steadily gave himself more credit than he deserved with The Village and the Lady in the Water. Though the plot lines of these movies were often intricate yet sometimes too easy to figure out, I found that they were still entertaining, especially if you had no idea what the movie was about. Sadly though, The Happening falls miles short of every other movie he has ever done. The story was his most far fetched and plot twists were uneventful and preposterous. The acting done by Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deshanel was stiff, unemotional and incredibly disappointing coming from two actors whom I know have it in them to pull this off. Shyamalan’s movie was the whole crap package. The musical score was inappropriate, and he did so many close ups on the characters faces that I could tell where the make up lady missed a spot on Deshanel’s face. There was no suspense, no creepy shadow under the pantry door, no cold breath in the dark night, nothing at all to warrant the horror movie label that I have heard thrown around. I walked out of that theater feeling more disappointed than that time I build a robot and it got more dates than me (but that was only because she had bigger boobs than me). All in all, don’t waste your time, but if you want to see a movie pretty similar and far better made, go rent The Signal. It’s got the same amount of gore and violence with a bit of silliness and a whole lot of “what the fuck?!?” moments to boot.

Since it is Tuesday, I’m going to break down a few movies that come out on DVD today.

* Be Kind Rewind – Starring Jack Black, Mos Def and Danny Glover. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this movie but I was pleasantly surprised. Most people will be disappointed if they go into this movie thinking that the humor is going to be like Tenacious D when it’s really more like School of Rock. It’s a very heartwarming movie, with quite a few funny moments with Jack Black. The chemistry between Mos Def and the female lead played by Melonie Diaz is wonderful, especially towards the end of the movie. I would suggest this movie to grandma’s, soccer mom’s, and anyone who likes School of Rock, It’s a Wonderful Life, and Big.

*Fool’s Gold – I have nothing to say on this movie except that if you want to see Kate Hudson in a bikini or Matthew McConaughy shirtless, rent this movie. Otherwise, move on.

*Chaos Theory – Starring Ryan Reynolds. This movie will be hit or miss for most people. If you liked movies like Jerry Maguire or Office Space and are feeling open-minded then I would suggest renting this movie. Reynolds portrays the same character he always does, just an adult version of it (see Van Wilder or Just Friends) and not as humorous. It has a few funny moments, and the plot is slightly interesting. This is the kind of movie you get when you have nothing better to do and no other movie to watch.

I have a lot of movies to tell you about so be ready.

2008-06-10T15:10:00.001-04:00

STAND UP BITCHES, ALL HAIL LORD STANLEY, ROTTING OCTOPUS CORPSES, AND 70’S PORN ‘STACHES! GET ANGRY LIKE VIKINGS! JONATHAN ERICSSON, KP’S GOT SOME CUPS FOR YOU, BOY.

First, before anything else, I’d just like to shout out to my boys in red, the heroes, the golden gods, the Detroit Red Wings on their 11th Stanley Cup Victory. Take that, Sergei Federov. Take that NHL and your obvious favoritism and crooked-ass referees. Thanks to Fleurry’s awesome ass-goal on himself, Kronwall, you are absolved. But I’ll spare the details on their symphonic victory because I’m sure you all saw it. Yesssssss.

Thankfully the weather cleared after a whole day of rainy crap and the sun came out to welcome one of the most awesome bands to use the phrase “heyaaaaawwwww, huh!”, to Grand Rapids for the first time (near as I can tell, they never ever come around here). The clouds parted, the breeze tingled, the oldest security guard I’ve ever encountered refused to check my ID for beer, and Cake took the stage.

I have to admit, my hopes were really high for this band. I’ve been captivated by their weirdness since the eighth grade and would have lost all faith in the quirk-rock genre (Primus, like I never knew thee…) if they were too wasted or disconnected, or (god forbid!) went all soft. They didn’t. In fact, they were the weirdest band I’ve ever seen on stage and that is exactly how it should be. Their weirdness wasn’t saturating like Riverdance, overwhelming like (insert any punk show here), or creepy like that time I saw Billy Bob Thornton open for Willy Nelson at Red Rocks. It was just a little bit of all of these things, framed by the rolling greenery and barefoot carelessness of the Frederick Meijer Gardens. They were confusing. They were subtle. They were perfect.

They took the stage channeling 70’s porn stars, all beard, chest hair and aviators, which was startling and creeped me out pleasantly. Singer John McRhea’s T Shirt said “Satan Is Real” and that said it all. His beard glowed beneath his Sinatra-esque fedora and his voice didn’t crack one time. It was almost too much like the studio version. No wonder they don’t put out a live album. Their total lack of enthusiasm (except the rhythm guitar guy, he looked like he was doin’ it with his enormous, gigantic, massive guitar) came off ideally and with just the right amount of arrogance thanks to the odd little dances the singer was doing, which consisted of (this description does no justice to the actual dances, by the way, they were too subtly awesome for words) lackadaisical points at nothing, hand raising, sliiiight foot stomping, and intermittent acoustic strumming. He barely moved but wasn’t boring even a little, even for one minute. They started their set with a deadpan version of the Waylon Jennings classic “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love To Town” and moved through such nuggets of bizarrity as “Sheep Go To Heaven,” “Stick Shifts and Safety Belts,” and “Wheels.” No drum solo, no pyrotechnics or flickering video screens, no axe shredding. Despite their ten years of experience and steady record sales, these guys have never sold out. I can’t think of many bands that can hold on like that (Dave Matthews, I’m looking in your direction…no matter how you justify it, if you put Julia Roberts in your music video, you sold out, dude). Case in point: during a sort-of lull in the music, the band gave some lucky audience member a tree. They gave her a tree and told her to take pictures of it as it grew and to send them to cakemusic.com because the tree would grow and flourish and she would shrink and rot. I felt stoned just watching it.

I understand after re-reading this that the most incredible thing about that show was it’s perfectly tweaked subtlety. Their weirdness doesn’t translate well to paper. What I can tell you is that I walked out of there grinning like an idiot, satisfied to the center and in desperate need of a shower. Not because of the heat either. My happy heart felt dirty for no apparent reason and I kind of enjoyed it. Cake the band was so flawless that it was hard to differentiate the live version from the album version. No ad-libbing, jamming, wandering solos, even the delicious little hey-oh!s and Yah!s were per recording. I can’t think of another band that I’ve seen ever that rolls like that. Yes fans, they did “Arco Arena.” They did “Comfort Eagle” and an interesting cover of Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs.” The trumpet/vocals/maracas/keyboard/secondary percussion guy was spot-on and that trumpet especially was so tasty, poured over the layers of fantastic-ness that it covered the amphitheater in sticky, creepy, honey. Delicious. Go see Cake. Go buy up all their CD’s, hop the next flight to Austin TX or San Francisco CA and see them for yourself. Tilt your head slightly at the gauche-ness of the whole production. Enjoy the guitar guy. Enjoy the horn. Enjoy the feel of the breeze on your skin (?).

Here are a few words of description to help you along:
Pleasant
Uncomfortable
Technical
Heroine
Beard
Brass Balls
Tree

But on to the real review: the amphitheater at the Frederick Meijer Gardens. Rule #1: never buy tickets to an event there. Every major act (and they get some decent names) can be had free of the exorbant prices their box office asks (Lyle Lovett is $65, whatever). If you can think of a parody group of guards, this place has them. The lady that took our tickets/ID’d us for wrist bands/checked our purses for cameras and explosives was more than one hundred years old. Even if you’re not into old-lady-tackling don’t worry about it, all you need to waltz into the gate unpaid is a wristband. If you feel like buying a roll of your own for your personal soirées and BBQ’s and what-have-you’s, they are the American Flag ones and readily available anywhere that sells rolls of tickets and bulk plastic ware and frilly toothpicks. Gordon Foods or Kent Novelty I’d recommend. Still don’t feel like spending the $6.50? Our wristbands (which were acquired only after she asked what year I was born, and refused to look at my ID) were so loose that we could have had that place at half-capacity off of only two wristbands. A ten year old kid could drink there (seriously dude, we were both a little sloppy so if you don’t tell your mom we totally made out I won’t tell her about the Wii porn you had bootlegged from Japan. Deal?) if he had enough allowance left to buy a beer.

The acoustics are solid if not a little cloudy, the setting sun made for a beautiful and sweaty backdrop, and the crowd was fuddy-duddy at best. Why do people sit down for this stuff? This was a crazy, one-in-a-million session of bizarro intensity and you’re all camped out on your folding chairs full of picnic dinner. What the fuck? This isn’t the Pops, this is a rock show and a good one at that. Stand up a minute, shake all the laziness off your flabby ass and get into it. Don’t even worry about the little drunk kids stumbling all over the place, they’ll all be passed out later and you can just grab yours on the way out. Hell, they can guard your deck furniture. So for a jazz ensemble, choral concert, or snivelley female singer/songwriter piano player I wouldn’t rule it out but for a rock show that wanted so much to be rowdy, this ain’t the venue. He told us to act like angry Vikings for pete sake. If it’s Cake you seek, opt for a dark smelly barroom. If you’re down with the outdoors, go to Founder’s when they have their doors open. If you like sitting on the grass and interrupting the performers with your crinkling Jimmy John’s wrapper, see Bela Fleck at the zoo. Don’t pay all that money for the Meijer Gardens when you can sneak in just as easily, and don’t bother with your crappy fake ID, who’s terrible production and obvious inauthenticity would be lost on the blue-hair who’s job it is to detain you. Lest you want to insult him, save it for the Korean beer-lord out in Wyoming. Now that guy is a worthy adversary.

The rock-show killers at the Meijer Gardens are the Meijer Garden Members. They pay $60-$100 a year to get passes to the gardens and opportunities for early-buy tickets to the summer concert series. They are family folks and old people and D-Rock (who was kind enough to use his clout to get me and KP tickets, thanks, Bubba) and generally they (besides D-Rock, he’s aiight) clog up the lawn with their patio chairs and coolers. They bring their little children, and generally don’t condone any rocking out whatsoever. They like to oogle the little freaks gathered in front of the stage. Being one of those freaks, it’s uncomfortable. They see the front of the stage as a place for little kids to twirl around until they make themselves sick and Uncle Karl to look like an ass while he tries to dance with them. Again, if you’re going to see a show at the Gardens, chose it wisely. And don’t worry about buying a ticket. Or being 21 to get beer.

THEN AT 3:30 AM…
We hopped in my little, gas-efficient car and took off for Detroit and the Stanley Cup Victory Parade. But don’t tell my work, they think I was very sick that day (cough!). Just know this: if you happened to see the weather report for West Michigan that day, you will have seen that the whole state was covered with a thunderstorm, except the city of Detroit. For the first time ever. Even the cloud of perma-gross that lays over that city like a dust blanket lifted long enough for the georgeous sun to burn a few cheeks, half-cook the raw octopi in attendance, and kiss the Cup along with Saint Osgood, Cheli, and Drapes. This is proof that Jesus loves the Stanley Cup. Millions of people showed up to show their support, collect free collectables, (in me and KP’s case) whore themselves out, and boo unpopular Mayor Kiwami Kilpatrick, who had the stones to stand up and speak anyway. Kip, Kim, Bubba, my hockey buddies, whatever will we do until October? If anybody out there wants to go hide in the bushes at training camp with me in Traverse City, let’s get something together. I hear that’s how Kim wants to spend her Bachelorette party. I think I feel more food poisoning coming on (cough!)…but until then, here’s a few things that are going on right here around town.

Waterfront Film Festival in Saugatuck- June 12-15, Saugatuck MI. No better way to kick off summer than by sitting inside watching movies. But, if that’s what you’re into, this one is supposed to be pretty cool. There’s a parade on Thursday, and a Rick James cover band, which will pretty much rule. The downside? Your buzz will be blown when you realize that the climax is supposed to be watching movies. Filmmakers and award-winners from all over the world. Artists, film snobs, potheads. Oh yeah, and bring your wallet. Bundle passes are in the hundreds and films and seminars are $10 a pop. Have fun with that one, Howard Hughes.

Eastown Bizarre Bazaar and Reed’s Lake Art Festival- June 21st 9-5pm. Check out the randomest of all that Eastown has to offer. Live music of the jass/folk/ethnic variety, spicy food, and lots of art for sale but mostly just secondhand stuff. Get a henna tattoo on your foot and pay that wacky lady $5 to read your fortune with a bundle of sticks and a bell. She will dance around you and not tell you anything you really want to know. This is like a pre-street fair, not a bad way to blow your afternoon. Then you need to keep walking down Wealthy till you get to Reed’s Lake, where you will find tents and tents of artists with overpriced merch. But if you’re really lucky, you just might get to see the horse door. It’s definitely the highlight.

Leon Russell at the Intersection- June 15. I don’t care who you are or what you think you’re doing, this is sure to be a strange and excellent show. The grandfather of psychedelic piano rock and all that Elton John strived to be before he got all Disney is entombed in Leon’s luxuriant beard. GO TO THIS SHOW. IT WILL BE EXCELLENT. I’ll see you there.

Billy and Sammy at Putt Putt’s Bar- June 19. Bill Kenney is back temporarily from Arizona and these guys together are so much fun live that you can consider yourselves reconciled for going to Putt Putt’s Bar in the first place. In fact, maybe this will be the Westside bar safari I was telling you about? More to come as soon as I figure this out…

Festival

2008-06-05T16:37:00.000-04:00

OK Everybody, Lace up your All-Stars and Polish your Ray-Ban’s, it’s Outdoor Entertainment Time! Free Stuff! Fried Food! Underdressed Fat Guys wearing “No Fat Chicks” T Shirts! Yesssssss!

It’s almost the first weekend in June and if you live here (I don’t know why you’d be reading this site…) you know that it’s time for the Festival of the Arts downtown! Get ready, this is one of the few things Grand Rapids does that is hip so you all better show up and bring your paychecks because you’ll be supporting local non-profits and weirdoes dressed like Hans Brinker and shit. And there’s lots of free music/hula dancing/back-flipping from Grand Rapids talent. And cute dogs wearing bandanas. And you can make fun of the goth kids repercussion free. Sweet.

The Festival of the Arts is a festival where the city celebrates the arts (I know! Right?). It used to be Michigan’s largest volunteer-run festival but because of funding it’s been smaller in the past couple of years thanks to the Man. The Man is always ruining the arts. Boo. Available to you on a variety of stage and pavilion locations are any matter of exhibitions and shows, from first-grader ballet to karate demonstrations to jazz bands to metal acts (usually you have to come in the evenings for those). If you can think of a nationality or group learning event, there is a representation somewhere on stage. Dancing, fighting, rocking, chilling, poetry reciting, acting, not acting, you know, whatever you’re into. Unfortunately no Domestic Problems or Fancy Thermos this year (sucky) but you might get a few of Sam Kenny’s bathtub songs, and maybe Sweet Japonic if we’re lucky. Outdoor concerts are always just a little bit awesomer than indoor ones, and the cultivated mix of decent and shitty bands makes for one interesting time. It goes Friday afternoon through Sunday evening so there’s plenty of room to fit around your busy schedules. Which is lame ‘cause we all know that you don’t have busy schedules anyway. Bring a blanket and enjoy the complimentary Slavic Folk Dancing, Broadway show tunes, and Interpretative Ballet.

Don’t feel like deciding between the +60 country cover band and the GR Women’s Association psychotherapeutic poetry reading? Pull up a curb, dig into a walking taco, and people watch for a while. Free events in general tend to bring ‘em out of the woodwork, but this one has “arts” in the title so it’s mostly just real weirdos (this isn’t hate by the way, me and KP are really weird too). Check out your third grade teacher in a tube top, grinding her hubby to some cover band doing AC/DC songs. See that police officer that just pulled you over getting chili all over his Hawaiian shirt and knee socks. See that standoffish bank teller guy dressed in drag, working his shit in 4” heels. Your doctor verbally abusing his wife. Your mail guy hitting on the Jenison High School marching band. Your bosses’ boss singing “Sweet Home Chicago” in a barbershop quartet. And emo kids. Lots and lots of emo kids. It’s worth the afternoon, no matter how you stack it up.

Then on top of all of these great chances to rock out or not rock out, there’s about 600 booths set up all over the place selling food. There’s TONS of food. All kinds of it. This is where the non-profits get to set up shop and make a few bucks. There are a lot of churches and marching bands and the like, and most of them wear stupid costumes and sell everything from Greek Kebabs to waffle cones to crepes to those strange and gross Scottish Egg things. Most of them are staples served from year to year (your elephant ears, Saigon Sate, pickle-on-a-stick, what have you), sometimes there are lovely newcomers that lack organization, but there is guaranteed something (anything, apparently non-profits are all about getting you fat) for everyone. Sorry, no beer tent but if you just gotta stop all the bars around there will keep appropriate hours you big lush. Maybe you should think about stopping at the AA tent? Maybe bring a flask like a real champ?

But what about the art art you say? There are a couple of tents you can walk through on the Calder plaza where you can purchase almost any portable piece of sculpture, jewelry, blown glass, metal, clay, or painting Grand Rapids can produce. Looking for a sweet windchime or wicked silk scarf? These are the tents to go to. It’s actually worth a trip through if you’re into crafts or “whimsy.” Not too much by the way of actual art (nothing really out there, I mean, the ones that present don’t usually deviate much from the “impulse buy” sector). Also during Festival (and this is the first year with the new GRAM being there, so we’ll check and get back to you) but several places are opened for either free or reduced prices, so you can get cultured right in the face. PS- the GRAM is worth paying the money to see anyway. Walk around a bit outside the Festival limits. Check out downtown, it’s actually pretty nice and local merchants like to bring their A-Game for Festival too. I bet even stupid Kendall College will have some kind of special exhibit going on.

There is always a random good time to be had. For the kiddies and stoners, they open up that big huge tire swing on Calder Plaza and have a massive side-walk-chalk mural, a place where you can make hats and wooden things, and get a rainbow, balloon, Popsicle, or any manner of ambiguously gay symbols painted on your cheek. Still not sounding like your thing? Bring your sign and argue with goth and emo high schoolers from all over the city about Jesus and G-Dub. Watch for MacNaughton Boulevard, La Famiglia, Bless You Boys, and Really Bad British Accents if you’re down for some boss tuneage. Don’t get cotton candy in the neighbor kid’s hair, don’t give one of those Hari Krishna guys money for their books, and don’t fill up on cookies from the blood bus. I tried that once and I think my cookie had a fingernail in it. Probably that’s just good life advice all around, don’t accept food (even cookies) from a bus that’s filled with blood. If you would like a cookie that badly, come see me (Stef) and I’ll get you one, body-part free. You can thank me later.

If you pay the Calvin College student $5 she will give you a henna tattoo on your foot. If you pay the Grand Valley student $5 she will get pissed and tell her boyfriend. If you tell her you have pills, she will blow you in the parking lot behind the courthouse. I’ll see you guys there. Unless you don’t like adventure, then I won’t see you cause you’ll be too busy filling your desperate minds with ideas of false grandeur and getting hooey all over your plastic guitars. Green, yellow yellow red green. So lame. Get your sunscreen and come on out. Come have meat-on-a-stick and hit on a high schooler. It will be awesome, I promise.

SUPER-SPECIAL ADDENDUM: CAKE IS PLAYING AT THE FREDERICK MEIJER GARDENS THURSDAY, MAY 5. I REPEAT, CAKE WILL ACTUALLY BE FURTHER EAST THAN ARIZONA FOR A SPECIAL SHOW AT THE MEIJER GARDENS ON THURSDAY, MAY 5. YOU SHOULD ALL CASH IN ALL YOUR FAVORS, MAYBE EVEN DO SOMETHING YOUR MOTHER WOULDN’T NECESSARILY BE TOO PROUD OF TO GET A TICKET. I CAN GUARANTEE THAT EVEN THOUGH ITS AT THE GARDENS (more about this later) IT WILL BE AWESOME. A W E S O M E. Maybe if this show goes well, the guys from Cake will run into the guys from Gogol Bordello at some excellent event in Austin TX and tell them how rad Grand Rapids is (I know! Right?) and maybe they’ll talk to their manager after a few too many Rolling Rock/Vodka Herrings and maybe play a little showie-show right here in our little hamlet after all. GET OUT THERE!

Ode to Beards

2008-05-29T07:08:00.002-04:00

The T Shirt Size Awesome Ode to Beards (except this one won’t rhyme all the way through, I promise, I’ll try and avoid it I will, honest).

The beard. The luxuriant, multi-textured, ever evolving piece of chin majesty. The maker and destroyer of worlds, the ultimate symbol of machismo, the pleasant face-chapper of any lucky enough to make out with a guy with a good one. Man, these things kick ass. More than just an accoutrement, more than decoration, more than a sign of laziness, the beard has throughout the centuries been a great power-harnesser and protector, source of earthy wisdom and major bad assiness.

A man with a beard is so much more than a regular man, a grown-up boy, a pre-pubescent dummy praying and massaging his face so he’ll look old enough to buy a beer. A bearded man understands his carnal essence, and lets it grow and flourish all over his face (exception: the sculpted chin-strap face-necklace popularized by the Backstreet Boys’ AJ McLean, who was somehow the hottest one anyway…?). Be it a long and scruffy one or a patchy, blonde attempt at greatness, the male beard says not only that you’re a physical force to be reckoned with, but also an intellectual prizefighter, only with humility to boot. Either that, or you’re a homeless guy. Or a lumberjack. Or just really grizzled.

Now I’m not talking about that carefully cultivated vagina chin soul patch thing that Brandon Inge refuses to re-grow, I’m talking about the beard in the biblical sense. A full-on face full of man hair that starts with the chops and ends with some delicious baby running her manicured nails through it admiringly, purring about how she so likes her men strong. Case in point:
Famous beards in history (no particular order):

Rasputin Bob Seger
Walt Whitman Bea Arthur
Mellville Crockett
Santa Clause Mr. T
Abe Lincoln Jesus
DaVinci Dave Grohl (who is an allstar, his is great)
Moses Zeus, Thor, Ra, that troll guy from Lord of the Rings
Dumbledore Brett Favre
ZZ Top Blackbeard (duh)
Julius Cesar Paul Bunyon
Obi Wan Kenobi Papa Smurf
King Arthur Kenny Rogers (both)

All under an undeniable protection, all cultivating an unequivocal source of power. So what, women can have babies and daintiness and wit, men can grow beards. Damn. I’ve been trying to grow one for years. I got nothing. Thinking about giving it a shot yourself? Thinking about finally growing that bitch to everything Chuck Norris ever wanted it to be? Who says you have to look like Chow Yun Fat to be a martial arts master anyway? Ha! Here are a few variations to try on before committing to a format:

The Full Frontal
The Fu-Man-Chu
Goatee (chin pubes)
Soul Patch
The Santa Clause (manicured, loooong)
The Biker (looooong, wild)
The William Shakespeare (also known as the Scaramouche)
The Hulkster (more like a wicked handle-bar moustache, also see American Chopper)
The Yahweh (full frontal paired with long hair)
The Chin Strap (you be careful with this one, most cases it will loose you street cred, unless you’re Abraham Lincoln or Amish)
Bad-Ass Chops
The Custer
The moustache/soul patch combo (I’m not sure what this is called)
The Uni-Brow (reverse beard)

There are many more, so don’t be afraid to get a little creative, and be sure to let us know if you come up with anything sweet in the meantime. Check this guy out (http://www.dyers.org/blog/beards/beard-types/). He's spent years achieving every type of beard known to man. Thanks Nathan Explosion.

At this time I would like to give special credit, a T Shirt Size Awesome version of a standing ovation (if you will), to the Playoff Beard. (To see the beards in action, check http://www.playoffbeard.com/ ) This is the best possible type of beard. Started as a tradition by cave people and wooly mammoths during the formative years of the NHL, superstition prevents players from shaving until they get knocked out of the post season by the Detroit Red Wings and are forced to end the season with a good, old-fashioned shut out (ooh, Avalanche, sorry guys) and leave the arena with bowed heads and baby-soft chins. The Playoff Beard is not for sissies and only seasoned fans are encouraged to attempt one. I’d recommend even learning some hockey beard fun facts and stats so nobody can call you out. Ladies, if you’re looking for a picture of facial-hair excellence, look no farther than the Detroit bench. Now that’s team spirit! They glow like a force field to protect them from losing. Keep working on it Sidney Crosby, growing a beard will be much easier once you’ve hit puberty. Until then, try to sleep even though the faces of Kromwell and Holmstrom haunt your nightmares, buddy.

Even James Bond had a beard in that sweet one with the diamond-face guy and the invisible car, right after he got released from the North Korean prison where he was tortured for fourteen months straight and still didn’t give up any secrets because his brain was protected from the scorpion venom and vicious beatings by one hellacious beard. And don’t even get me started on the beard’s impact on rock n’ roll. Everyone from Lemmy to Elton John’s rocked that shit. Just ask Leon Russell how his beard is working out, it will form a fist and clean your clock because he’s too busy getting felached by a bunch of Miami Heat Cheerleaders. Yeah. Qui es mas macho? That’s what I thought.

To check out some cool beards around town, see (in season, of course) the Griffin’s bench, that Beard Core guy from Gardella’s, any patron taking advantage of the $2.50 pitcher special at the Meanwhile, Shaggy (if he ever comes back), or the statue of John Ball at the zoo. Maybe even take up a collection of photos. Take time to talk to the beards and hear their stories. It’s inspirational. Be on the lookout for a coffee table book or calendar or something in time for the holidays. And seriously, give the ladies a shot sporting a beard, we’re helpless against their power, just ask Colin Farrell. Just think of a door and it will open for you.

Where do you think the word beer came from, anyway? The German word for beer is “bier” which is clearly a derivative of “bierdenmeister” which is German for bearded master. Look that shit up. Also see the skeleton of the fiercest of all animals, the Beardosaurus Rex, and also the terror of the seas, the Great White-Bearded Shark. Even Bear Gryllis at the bottom of a can of Red Bull couldn’t take one of these bastards on. Even with MacGuyver’s help. Or a gun. Here are a few words that rhyme with “beard” just in case you’re thinking up an ode of your own, and kind of to prove a point:

Reveared
Engineered
Speared
Weird
Feared
Smeared
Cleared
Sexy

So Beard me up, Scotty, to beard, or not to beard? Oh warr-r-r-r-riors, come out and shaa-a-a-a-ve. Never! Think pirates! Think lumberjacks! Anything you’ve ever seen in your life that was tough-guy, kick-ass, or “totally awesome” was brought to you in some way by a beard! Come on and grow one, Nancy! Then let me or KP make out with you by the merchandise table at a rock show. I don’t want to hear any pink-panty song about “mine grows in all funny”. Does not. Now stop crying. The only reason Sinatra never had one was because his beard hairs were too terrified of him to show up. Either that or they were too drunk. Or maybe his beard was in reality so amazingly beautiful that it couldn’t be handled by most human eyes. And a great big thank you to all the guys out there currently rocking one, even though it’s getting warmer out there and pretty soon it will really be summer. Thanks for fighting the good fight, brothers.

47 things that are delicious in Grand Rapids

2008-05-27T13:39:00.004-04:00

Hey DUMMIES, GET OFF YOUR TV’S!

Here we go now, in observance of Springtime, and the complaint that there is nothing to do in this town but sit at the bar. That in fact, is true, but here’s a list nonetheless.

47 things that are delicious in Grand Rapids (in no particular order):

1) Marge’s doughnut den. Yes I know it’s a dutch thing but it’s gooood.
2) Founder’s Rubeus when it’s warm outside

3) Sami’s Pita House, Sami’s with lots of that sexy sauce and red spice, whatever that is

4) The short drive to Holland’s tunnel park

5) The fact that despite all the churches all over the place there is still a successful burlesque show

6) The senior PGA tour that used to be held annually at Egypt Valley. Freddy kicks total ass.
7) Chuck lives here
8) Breakfast all day at Brandywine
9) Everything about Festival downtown. 1st weekend in June. Except that deep fried beef egg thing, I don’t think that’s delicious at all.
10) Sitting in section 121 for the Grand Rapids Griffins. Hockey town West!
11) The beards. There are a lot of ‘em here, I think they trickle down from Canada maybe?
12) French Quarter at Kava house
13) Blueberry pancakes, Two Eggs, the Westsider at Wolfgang’s (for the fullest pleasure, see #2 first)
14) Sweet Japonic
15) The little stickers they give you at GRAM (mine tasted lemony!)
16) In preparation for their current tour, Motley Crue making a public apology for the all-over crappiness of their Circus of Pain DVD, which was shot at Grand Rapids’ own Van Andel Arena.
17) Motley Crue’s Circus of Pain DVD
18) Al Green spent his formative years here
19) Mango salsa/chutney whatever they call it at Grayden’s Crossing
20) Mini p’s (about the size of a CD)
21) Captain Sundae (en route to Holland’s Tunnel Park)
22) D-Rock’s mom’s oatmeal cookies
23) Kafta and mint iced tea at Osta’s in East Grand Rapids
24) Old Style and cigarettes in East Town
25) Calamari at Leo’s, and at Louis Benton (I think it’s the same recipe?)
26) Mark at Bull’s Head Tavern (make sure he’s fresh though)
27) Blues on the Mall (as long as its not Country on the Mall, boo)
28) Eddy Money calling Grand Rapids a “sexy town” while he was hammered at Celebration on the Grand
29) Burritos at the Grand Villa Dungeon (or the Beltline Bar if you are looking for more deliciousness)
30) Eating burritos at a place with a name like that (see #29)
31) Yesterdog, Yesterdog, Yesterdog. See #24
32) Michael Buble calling Grand Rapids a beautiful town because of the FCC’s current ban on “sexy”
33) Boy’s track season in East Grand Rapids
34) Veggie hash at Gaia
35) Some guy from New Orleans who has apparently never been to New Orleans telling me that Eastown is just like New Orleans
36) News 8’s Juliette Dragos wasted at Ucello’s saying what a (*hick*) sexy town Grand Rapids is, not catching the irony that she was, in fact, doing an unintentional Ron Burgundy impersonation
37) The bartender at Gardella’s with the Dylan Thomas tattoo, even though the verdict is not officially out on if he actually knows Dylan Thomas, or he just got that line off an episode of CSI
38) They (to my knowledge) have never filmed an episode of Animal Precinct here
39) Cottage Burger at the Cottage Bar
40) The amazing artwork of the amazing Tom Otterness scattered around downtown a few summers ago, that was the best idea this town has had so far, bring ‘em back!
41) WMCAT
42) The Medical ½ -mile (soon to be full mile, I assume), the fact that they can build a world class, state-of-the-art hospital/research facility in twenty minutes while you watch, before you’ve even finished your $12 soup from Urban Mill
43) When Prince came for 2005’s Musicology tour, the employees of Van Andel Arena were not allowed to swear or smoke in or near the building, and when he was personally escorted by way of motorized Prince-mobile and a team of burley, axe-wielding Viking bodyguards, they had to turn around so as not to look at him. He did not call Grand Rapids a sexy town, but implied that if it was dark and he was really drunk, we might have a shot
44) 50 year old German beer at Martha’s Vineyard, and the sign on it that says “you can’t handle her”
45) right when it starts to get warm like this
46) the Gilmore concert series (Google it)
47) Tshirtsizeawesome.blogspot.com

Karate

2008-05-21T13:05:00.000-04:00

Man, all the sweet things that have been happening to us!

This past weekend has been crazy! Intense! Awesome! But since everything on our itinerary included VIP passes bottle service, and Blender Magazine photographers (could you believe that the guys from Maroon 5 are really big jerks? Man, I did not see that coming!), I’m sure we didn’t see any of you there so I’ll instead fill this space with a list of things that would be cooler if they had karate:

1) Grand Rapids district court
2) The Golden Girls
3) Waiting in line at the Post Office/Bank/Unemployment Office/Hot Dog Stand
4) Working (unless you are Stephen Segal, and if you are I’m sorry I offended you sir, nothing could make you cooler than you already are)
5) Punctuation, bitch!
6) Soccer, that shit is so lame
7) Karaoke
8) Tigers
9) Spontaneous song and dance numbers
10) Oil changes
11) Life coaches
12) Mike Ditka
13) Dunkin Doughnuts
14) My furniture, for their deathmatch with my appliances (I’ve got my money on the stove)
15) The Jonas Brothers (what do they actually do, anyway?)
16) Tacos
17) First dates
18) An army of antsy first graders with stomachs full of Fruit By The Foot and a Boom Box full of Billy Idol
19) A gorilla with a shark strapped to it’s back, wearing a pit bull codpiece
20) Barack Obama (can you smell what Barack is cookin?)

Feel free to expand on this list. Now, here is a list of things that wouldn’t necessarily be any cooler with karate:

1) Karate

Just give it a try sometimes, you know, a little karate. Do a little chop next time some idiot asks you who’s playing in the hockey game you’re watching. Give em a little choppie next time somebody tells you that they really love books but don’t actually read them. Chopparoo next time somebody tells you they’re not gay eleven times in ten minutes, or attempts to insult you with a “hey, the eighties called, they want their glasses/loafers/piano key necktie back.” Anytime you see a tribal tat or some douche who thinks he’s being funny by cutting his hair into a mullet. By inserting something so simple*, elegant, and more indiscrete than punching him/her in the face, you’ll be letting them know not only that they suck, but also not to get their suckiness on you because you know karate, sucker.

*for a similar effect without actual contact, also see the head-fake. If you’re not familiar, see YouTube, Mark the Goalie, or any Master P video.

Bar Guide

2008-05-20T12:58:00.002-04:00

The Official TShirtSize:Awesome Bar Guide

Let’s face it kids, if it weren’t for the bars, we’d have nothing to do around here at night than make up homework assignments, write silly, self indulgent blogs, and refer to playing video games as “band practice.” Come on now. This guide will hopefully help some of you find a place to develop your malnutritioned social skills, some of you drink on the cheap, some of you even get laid maybe. Pay attention*.

Come Friday and Saturday night, bar awesomeness can be quite a crap-shoot. It’s guaranteed that there will be a line, cover charge, and at least one drunk D-Bag wearing sunglasses inside almost everywhere downtown, so on the weekends it usually isn’t a bad idea to venture into new territories. Unless you want to try to do a wasted (like barf on your upholstery, crying over some other guy, wanting you to meet her mom wasted) GVSU student, I’d avoid the big ones.

For weekends (if there aren’t any concerts), I’d personally recommend an impromptu jukebox-hogging shuffle around the little-frequented gems on the Grand Rapids Westside. Putt-Putt’s, Joey’s, the Flamingo, the Holiday, Triangle, Monarch, Kale’s Korner, Kuzzins, etc. (bonus points if you have an in at one of the Halls). These are the places where the bikers, townies, hoboes, and off-duty cops meet to slam beer out of cans, shoot pool, and (if you’re really lucky) rock a little karaoke. They don’t give a shit what the dress code is, they don’t give a shit about what you ordered, they don’t even care if you’re underage, near as I can tell. You can get totally schnakered, crack an inappropriate gun joke to a Law Enforcement Officer, make out with somebody else’s mom/dad, and whine your put-out sober friend into driving you home (take the way past McDonalds, dude!), all for like $12.50. This is the plan, if you’re the up-for-anything type.

I’m thinking something like Official TShirtSize:Awesome Westside Scavenger Hunt 2008 this summer maybe? I’ll keep you posted.

*The exception to this generally is Eastown. There is ALWAYS something going on in Eastown. Get your blues/hip hop/rock n’ roll/DJ/80’s on at Billy’s Lounge. Get your nose broken at Mulligan’s. Come see me and KP at the Meanwhile. Have a bottle of Old Style. Bring your friends.

Weekdays are a whole different barrel of fish and monkeys. Feel free to add as you see fit, if you happen to know of some cool goings on that we haven’t heard of. Which are none, but go ahead and try. Here’s the schedule for weekdays*:

Monday- Open Mic night at Billy’s Lounge. $2 microbrews, eclectic local talent, a guy who sings a song about why you should come fuck the manatee (only 25 cents!). NOTE: this is an open mic night meaning there aren’t any auditions or rehearsals or anything, so please make sure in advance that the act you’re watching is actually a comedy act before laughing at them.

Tuesday- O’Toole’s Pub (kind of Westside, but not really). $1 pints of Bud Light and Labatt Blue, cheap appetizers, peanut shells, Jim (what up?), Connect Four. Bring people with you ‘cause it’s a little snooty. I think the special ends at eleven. Also apparently at Monte’s next door there is karaoke with a live band and additional drink cheapness. Get all lubed up with the engineers at O’Toole’s and get out there, you sound just like Pat Benetar, I swear (I have never been to Monte’s for Rockstar Karaoke, so I won’t say whether or not its cool).

Wednesday- J. Gardella’s Tavern downtown. ½ off whatever you like until 11, cheap food, the dirty, smoky, impossibly hip basement. Lots of rock music and girl jeans, more than likely somebody you know from the neighborhood, (in season) the Grand Rapids Griffins and their relentless army of whores. Maybe even one of the few Douglas J students who are of age, but I’m not making any promises. Plus, $2 wine night at the Meanwhile. Mmm…discount wine…

Thursday- the Drink Ultra Lounge downtown. Totally 80’s night. $1 Old Style, Highlife (the champagne of beers), PBR, awesome haircuts, DJ Jeff Leppard (he only sounds like a douche because he is, but he has his moments and plays other Violent Femmes songs besides that one). Don’t show up until 11 at the earliest. Dance like a total maniac with all your favorite cross-dressers and 80’s night disciples from all over town. Watch awesome 80’s footage and music videos from an entirely happier (and more asexually eyeliner-d) time. Try to confirm once-and-for-all if that Dee-Lite song really was 80’s or 90’s (I think 90’s). Hang out with some of your fancy new friends from Wednesday night. If you’re not down for the 80’s like us, check out Mulligan’s for Thirsty Thursdays. Sweet drink specials and the bartenders like to make their drinks strong which is a welcome change.

Sunday- currently under investigation because we hear that they’re not doing Reganomics anymore, and that was hands-down the best 80’s night ever. Best bar night ever, even though we all have to work Monday mornings like a bunch of lame-asses. So what? BRING IT BACK! Knock off all that stupid “favorites from the 70’s 80’s and 90’s” business. $1 Old Styles and Mystery Shots all night (unless they changed that too). Hell, call up Jeff Leppard. You know he’s not busy.

If you’re on a date, or these places don’t suit you, or if you’ve been banned or have peanut allergies or an over-sensitive palette or something, get a little classy at Hop Cat downtown. This place is chill every night of the week. They have like 100 different beers on tap from microbrews (especially Michigan) all over the world, including some of our favorites from Breckenridge, Bell’s, New Holland, Rogue, and Delirium. Toned down ambiance complete with eclectic artwork, fancy brass, and a neat smoking lounge upstairs. This is as close to magic as it gets for beer snobs, so save yourself the embarrassment of ordering a Bud Light and drink Warsteiner like a real man. Plus, they change their cask every Wednesday, and are always organizing beer tours and festivals and stuff. Their servers are mostly foxes, and their Crack Fries are awesome.

For those needing a cosier environment, I suggest checking out Graydon’s Crossing on Plainfield. With deep, high backed booths, amazingly presented Irish food, and an eclectic array of beer and wine, it’s definitely the place to go if you want to impress the ladies. Plus, once the weather warms up, you can head out to the patio and sit under some elegantly placed vines and lights.

Also worth checking out any old time: Founder’s if you like live music, River City Slim’s if you can find it (seriously, ‘cause I can’t, and I want to know what it’s like), Z’s if you like sports, and the Meanwhile if you like sharks.

*All subject to change if the Wings are playing.

Our Personal mission here at TShirtSize:Awesome is not only to keep you all cool despite all odds, but to prevent the spreading of the disease called LumpySadSackery and get Gogol Bordello to play the Intersection. We need to show them that Grand Rapids can be fun despite all the Dutch People (you know what I’m talking about). How are we going to do that if we’re all a bunch of griping, yawning, crybaby go-to-bed-early pantywaists? If booze isn’t your thing get out and see a show, go dancing, get a cause, play Frisbee golf, walk your puppy, drink a Redbull. Anything? How about now?

2008-05-01T08:03:00.001-04:00

I don’t know what it is about 80’s music that gets people goin’ all crazy…

You can see the Mega 80’s at least once a month at the Intersection downtown. I recommend you do this. All of you. This Friday, 10pm, $10

These guys are really living the Guitar Hero dream, shredding righteously to songs written by other people in front of an audience teaming with frenzied screaming girls, rocking the costumes, synthesizers, and (in the second set) hair to the max, except these guys actually have real guitars. They’re usually really packed, everyone from emo kids to aging secretaries, and enough douche-bags to satisfy even the most discerning drunk GVSU girl. It’s like a bacchanal that plays Duran Duran covers. It is even encouraged that you get all dolled up in your favorite polo and stretch pants, spill drinks on your boss, bump ass with your college advisor to Rick Springfield and shout at the devil every word in the second set (which is sweet sweet dirt rock). Still doesn’t sound fun? The guy even sings the Go Go’s in a weird, nasaly falsetto. Even the most image-conscious self-depreciating shoe gazer gets his/her dose of the Cure and turns into a dancin’ machine by the time our heroes move into classics like Devo’s “Whip It” (with the hats and choreography) and Tommy Two Tone in the first set. Those are the songs that even your underage girlfriend who doesn’t speak any English and was raised in an Amish convent can sing along to. The second set is one bodaciously long tribute to the Hair Metal that your parents hated but secretly rocked out to in high school, they do everything from the Scorpions to Europe, and people go bat shit for it. It’s stupid, gratuitous fun, bringing the decadence and cheese of the 80’s back to the people who’s fire happened to not get put out by the miserable drivel that was pop music in the 90’s.

Stef usually ends up getting felt up by some sub-concious Cory or Cody while she’s trying to remember the words to the second verse of “Mama’s Fallen Angel.”

KP usually runs into people that she knows. And then ends up getting felt up, scooting up on stage during the grand finale (sung in the style of Def Leppard), and listening to all the shot-propelled horned-up dental hygenists tell the Asian skinny tie-wearing bass player that they “totally want to fuck you.” But then again, something about Skid Row sung out-of-key by a guy in a wig and a belt made of real life bras just does that to a lady.

Call it what you want, silliness, escapism, a good excuse to drink too many Miller Lights and make a bad descision or ten, Mega 80’s is a low-down, old-fashioned hoot and you should all just leave your independent-label alt-country on the shelf, peg roll the shit out of your jeans, and get on out. Be you more Pete Wentz or Robert Smith, you can even leave your eyeliner on (Pete, by the way man, that guy from Kajagoogoo rocked the hell out of that stuff, while you look like that babysitter I used to have who called our cat “cousin” and wanted to file her teeth into points).

Verdict- awesome. While fun almost killed the drummer from Def Leppard and Nikki Sixx was clinically dead for eight minutes, he came back to life and that guy learned to bang the drums one-handed, it didn’t kill them completely and they’re both (twenty years later) on tour this summer. Have a little once in a while, you big crybaby.
*DISCLAIMER- while most of the music I’ve listed here has been in good spirits, my having a sweet time listening to it does not reflect or degrade my taste in music in general. So back off, and just try to admit honestly that you never owned a Wham album. Go ahead and try. -Stef

Dirtbag Rock n' Roll

2008-04-18T06:32:00.009-04:00

Special ‘KP and Stef do Something Awesome’ Report: Go See a Dirtbaggy Sexed-Up Rock Show, Bond with Adorable Neighborhood Burn-Outs, Times Were Unexpectedly Good.

The Show: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
The Day: Wednesday night.
The Place: the Intersection.

I can’t believe we even hemmed and hawed about whether to see this show or have porch beers and watch the Wings play. I’m not saying rock bands over hockey all the time, but this particular band was worth it, especially since somebody Ryan knew kept us up on the game (thank you, whoever you are). What’s up with that Total Recall-style metal door at the Intersection anyway? Not that I would have wanted to leave during BRMC (they played for like 6 hours or something) but they didn’t even give me a choice. We were all penned in there like a bunch of tipsy, asymmetrically hair-coifed, pierced and tatted-up farm animals or something. I wanted to keep up with the Wings, Door Guy: I don’t approve.

But like Ryan said as we shifted weight restlessly and I (Stef) whimpered pathetically about what to do, the worst that could happen is that theWings end up 2-2. He was right, and they’ll win on Friday, so F-you Jordin TooToo. McCarty is coming for you, buddy, and he’ll kick your ass right back to the Wheat Kings.

Moving on, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is a band full of seasoned Rock n’ Roll veterans of a caliber that Bret Michaels (the lamest “rocker” ever to claim that he’s still a “rocker”) could only rub his nipples privately while stroking his guitar all night and wish and hope but never achieve. They played the shit out of all eleven guitars (Les Pauls, near as I could tell, at least the one guy, think the cover of Baby 81) on stage. I must say that it wasn’t what I expected from their albums. This show almost reminded me of the Cure live, dark, filthy, almost goth hotness complete with a permanent fog-machine haze and strobe-heavy (a little too heavy, since most of the audience was more stoned than Bob Dylan in the back of a groupie van at a Grateful Dead show in Hana-Lei) light show. They kept playing forever and ever (2 ½ hours with no set break, not including the two bands that went on before them) slow-rolling cotton-mouth jams with heavy guitars and sparse rhythm of the dirty, almost scary (think those mountain men from Deliverance, sans sodomy) variety. And they weren’t a couple of drunked-up Rock n’ Roll train wrecks like I expected either, they were tight and together, and despite a (debatable, it could have been on purpose) microphone malfunction, they sounded great.

The stage show was okay too, mostly the two guitar guys backlit in silhouette while a spot light shone directly onto the drummer’s (who had a platform, which is always excellent) exposed, glistening chest and throat. That not only made it feel a little more goth, but the guy looked like a bronzed tattooed demon rock god wearing a hoodie made of Lapis and some kind of talisman that only could have been given to him by John Bonham’s agent during BRMC’s last tour in Hell. I’m not saying he was nearly Bonham-quality, much more from the Meg White school of moderation (Meg, I so love you), but he and his glistening chest, that could have been the cover of a Rock n’ Roll Harlequin Romance novel if only there was a busty, scantly-clad princess (somebody call Lita Ford!) clinging to his ankle, were my personal favorites.
They played a little from Baby 81 and a few from Howl, only one that I recognized from the amazing Take Them On On Your Own and a bunch of songs that I didn’t recognize, which was awesome and much appreciated because it’s easier to get a clear taste of what a band’s meat-and-potatoes are if you’re not always comparing them to the studio versions (live should ALWAYS be better, write that down).
I wiped tears of joy from her eyes and yelled “yeah” at the top of my lungs on all the riffage and vocal distortions, and stared mostly with bright eyes and flushed cheeks while dancing a little by myself and reflecting how, like a good wine, Rock n’ Roll is better and more full-bodied with age (with the exception of Black Lips, go buy their albums). This filthy dirtbag Rock n’ Roll shit gets us off and it’s only a plus if the band is actually good.

Verdict: I might be biased because I am in love with live Rock n’ Roll, but AWESOME. I don’t know if they’ll roll this way again but it was worth the twenty bucks and playoff game to let ‘em guitar the makeup right off my face for a few hours. Thanks guys!*
Recommended: Howl by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. This is smarter than garage rock and better than Wilco, twangy and sweaty and lyrically no better than clever, which makes it perfect for this summer when you’re riding by yourself with the windows down in a pair of mirrored aviators trying to look like a bad-ass.

*Special thanks to the thirty people that actually showed up! It was good to see all of you supporting music, and tell your lame friends to get off of their lay-z-boys and get to a show once in a while so the Intersection will gain notoriety, the bands will start telling each other what a rockin’ crowd Grand Rapids is, and we can eventually (through your cooperation, you big babies) coax Gogol Bordello to play here once in a while.

**If you aren't sure what to do from here, at least two bands next week are appearance worthy. The first is Tuesday April 22 with The Bravery. This is an Indie band with a bit of electronica mixed in and a lead singer whose haircut alone will fog up your aviators. Definately worth the $15 at the door since there should be about 3 opening bands, two of which hail from England and are very indie and then a Michigan band.
The second is Friday April 25 with Lucero. KP saw this band in London and had never heard of them before, so she dragged along this random guy from South Africa with her. Standing outside the Underworld (yes that is the name of the dirtbag infested basement in the heart of British punk town where KP saw Lucero) KP met two longhaired obsess-a-fans. These two fine young gentleman had every logo and every signature from Lucero, tattooed somewhere on their bodies. If the two motorhead wannabe's from Bristol are any indication of what the fans of this band are like, hitting this concert up should be interesting. Not to mention the fact that the lead singer can turn out his best performances when he's the most intoxicated person in the room. If your in to some hardcore rock and alt country music, these are the guys to see.

***Other special note- Juan, I don’t know if you read this but your show was great and your photos looked really nice. I’ve never seen that graffiti-wall-hand colored one before, and (as usual) I liked it. You’re surrounded by top-notch talent (including you) and it was nice to see support like that for a place like that. You guys are really doing a good thing. If you get a chance check out the staff art as well as some wonderful student art at WMCAT (98 East Fulton) until the end of May.

Cheap Haircut, Free Gossip, Glad Hand-y with the Eyeliner

2008-04-07T13:21:00.002-04:00

Cheap Haircut, Free Gossip, Glad Hand-y with the Eyeliner. Learned what a “Lipover” was, Opted to Pass. Maybe that’s why nobody makes out with me…

It went like this:
KP: Oh, that’s Douglas J, it’s a haircutting school.
Richie: I was driving around by the DAAC and I saw this line of like twelve hot girls all walking out of there. I was wondering what that was…

Douglas J Salon is a high-end cosmetology school downtown where the students get two heads a semester (the hair is real!), graded under the careful watch of Instructor, a guaranteed job at any Aveda Salon if they graduate. Sound treacherous? Just get ‘em talking about each other.

For the ladies: thirteen-dollar haircuts by your favorite ex-bartenders and eighteen year old asymmetrically coiffed Lowell HS graduates, complete with full wash and scalp massage.

For the Fellas: at least thirty teased-up, blown-out foxes who don’t pass unless they rub their fingers through your hair, regardless of its condition. Not recommended unless you’re looking for something of the hip, layered, combed-over-one-side-of-your-face variety. That might be the only one they know.

For the Pervs: Thirteen-dollar rubdowns by obvious minors. No questions asked, except “What is your favorite thing about your hair?” Careful though, there is one dude who works there who is kinda small but might try to kick your ass. Or at least slap you bitch.

So Stef gets a haircut: I went in there a little too close to shift change, I think (4:30 pm). I get my hair washed, oiled, all that good stuff, and she asks what I want. What the hell, right? This is haircutting school, bursting with inspiration, talent, heavy-lidded enthusiasm for style and creativity. I say: knock yourself out. Do whatever you think would look good, Misty (that probably wasn’t her name). I asked her if she liked attending school there. She proceeds to tell me which ones of the other girls had fake boobs, hair extensions (except the one that was bad, apparently, that one she called a “straight-up weave”), and which ones were banging rich guys. She said girls can be kind of bitchy, and slammed her hand over her mouth, I told her I didn’t care, and she kept going. It took her about 45 minutes, and she called over an Instructor (also a hot chick) who appeared to be doing this to serve mandatory community service for a first-offense DUI or something. She walked around with a clipboard and a ruler, and I could tell “Misty” was scared of her because she stopped saying nasty things about the other people as soon as she came around. Instructor rounded out the hour by turning my chair so it faced the mirror. Surprise! She’d taken about three inches off of the bottom, that’s it. Instructor spent a fair share of time correcting in places, trying almost visibly to ignore the fact that I could have just done that myself with the old whack-off-the-ponytail trick. Oh well, Instructor was putting her jacket on and Misty had to get to her other job as a server at the Grandville Max & Erma’s or whatever. Later, I had to go back and have it corrected, which was a slight improvement and used up another hour but they were nice about it and didn’t charge me. They gave my sister a really good haircut though. I recommend taking the tour, it’s hilarious.

KP gets a haircut: the tiny girl whose special talents included the straightening iron and the teasing comb leans over KP’s shoulder (again, she doesn’t do much to the hair except tease it and straighten it) and whispers almost inaudibly over various hair-drying apparatus, “this city…scares me.” KP then proceeds to tell the poor girl about the time she got mugged in front of her apartment. Anyways, the better KP haircut story is about the Douglas J in East Lansing, where she met a guy (that worked there) who was more dolled up than she was, swore that he wasn’t gay and then took her and his grandma out for margaritas at Don Pablo’s. KP’s tour included the break room, washer and dryers and the back door (ooh…).

Verdict: Cool, especially if you’re a boy who’s looking to defend himself to his buddies about how he’s really not emo for a while, or a rock star. I’ll bet that if you know how you want your hair cut, they’ll do a good job on you too. If anything, it’s good for a few laughs (how much are the movies, again?), no way can you put that many pouty-faced youngsters in the same room and expect them to share barrel curlers without fireworks. The thirteen dollars was worth it but I’m not sure about the two hours…

Here we go, T-shirt size: Awesome #1.

2008-03-31T11:53:00.008-04:00

We didn’t do anything really cool this weekend except for have beers and burn CD’s illegally (bite me, iTunes).

We’re just going to start off with a list of things I (Stef) would do to get next to a certain semi-pro not-famous-by-any-means-maybe-skated-next-to-Chelios-but-aint-no-steve-yzerman local hockey player tough guy who just happened to touch my arm the other day. Followed shortly by a similar list of things that KP would do to subsequently get next to the guy who wears girl jeans (rocks them, rather) and works at the coffee shop by our house. In no particular order:

1) Sleep my way to the position of head suit fitter at the Men’s Warehouse in Kentwood (or even Wyoming), just to get a better look at that in-seam. I understand that the competition at Men’s Warehouse is cutthroat, but I’ve also seen the movie Wall Street. Assistant Store Managers, consider yourselves fellached.
2) Learn how to grill $2.50 cheeseburgers because apparently he likes those. I know now that when you cook beef you can put the grill (foreman or otherwise) on “high”, so I’m already half-way there. I’ll be winin’ and dinin’ in no time.
3) Privacy-check his sauna, and by privacy check I mean find the best place in there to hide a video camera.
4) Actually learn hot-chick self defense so I can pound all of those silly bitches who just want to date him for his Grand Rapids semi-pro salary. Since I don’t wear much makeup normally I’ll be lighter and considerably more agile, not to mention have a wider line of vision and won’t have to stop all the time to re-apply. If it’s prison rules, I think I’ll have a pretty good chance.
5) Befriend his mom. There ain’t no getting around that one, Buddy.
6) Punch a granny. Especially if she was in his way. "Is the fact that granny is walking near you bothering you? Huh? She is?" Pow to granny!
7) Buy a dog. That way I can walk said dog in front of his house as many times a day as needed to "accidentally" run into him on his way to his car.

For the coffee-shop girl jeans guy, KP would (she didn’t write this, but she honestly would):

1) Survey her closet and after a careful piece-count of every shirt that she owns that has stripes on it, finally (tearfully) admit her emo-ness, break down and buy that Paramour CD that she’s been secretly eyeing.
2) Become well versed in the world of the printed word, covet the precious journals and poetry books that probably litter his bathroom floor, embrace Plath and Bukowski completely, in other words, actually read a book once in a while.
3) Become one hell of a baker. I mean a gingham aproned, chicken-shaped oven mitted, poppin’ fresh loathing, dutch-doughnut master baker, just because this guy looks like he could really use a cupcake.
4) Get all scientific on his ass with an article about the physical rules of unspoken attraction and how it’s detrimental to the body to not act upon such urges, in public bathrooms or back-offices or walk-in coolers, etc. and get it published in one of those science magazines that they sell. Yes, there will be charts and graphs.
5) Privacy-check his bedroom, and by privacy check, make sure no one else can see when he goes in there at night and puts eyeliner on and photoshops a picture of himself over the picture of Jared Leto on the cover of the 30 Seconds To Mars CD.
6) Befriend his mom (see item #5 of stef’s list). Knowing KP, his mom would freaking love her after fifteen seconds. Brother, you’re goose is cooked.

I'm sure more will come things will be added to the list over time...stay tuned

In the beginning...

2008-03-31T11:29:00.004-04:00

Ok first of all, I know what you’re thinking and before you write this off as just another two chicks who feel like their opinions are so important and so relevant that they need to put them up all over the internet, only furthering the notion that the internet is no longer the source for valid information and honest partnership that it once was, and more and more is becoming some dump site for bullshit and silliness know this: mine and KP’s opinions really are that important, we are always right about everything, and we actually are the end-all-be-all of cool and not cool.

Period.

So, before you clear your screen and crack your knuckles and go back to responding to your desperate high school guidance counselor and mail order bride internet friends from the safety of your mom’s basement, bookmark this shit and thank the Gods of Awesomeness that you no longer have to make decisions by yourself.

You’re in good hands now and you can trust us completely.

IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS BLOG IS NOT EMO, SO WHEN WE SAY SOMETHING SUCKS, IT ACTUALLY DOES, IN FACT, SUCK AND WE’RE NOT JUST SAYING THAT BECAUSE WE THINK EVERYTHING SUCKS.

Ok, credentials. KP is a tall, hot, chick scientist/movie renting genius and a recovering dutch person with a college degree in Awesomeness Studies and affinity for punching people in the face. She is kind of emo and probably won’t date you. She is right about everything, all the time.

Stef is a self-imposed hippy and future librarian/perverted old lady with a penchant for beer, hockey, and dirty rock music. Her degree is in advanced def jam. She is not emo at all, and has low enough standards that she might date you, but probably not. She has never been dutch in any way, and is also right about everything all of the time.

Now for the contributors. They are just that, contributors. They are those who fancy themselves elitists of some sort, think they can hang, and are mostly sucka free. They most definitely will date you, and probably will take their tops off at the slightest whiff of anything with alcohol or barbeque sauce. I promise, all suckas will be appropriately labeled.

So this is how this thing will work. Me and KP are going to review all kinds of stuff around this little slice of purgatory known as Grand Rapids, so you all will know for sure this time whether whatever-it-is truly is cool, or whether the person who told you about it is actually not cool. You don’t even have to thank us, but feedback is always appreciated so if there is something that you want to know in complete confidence that the reply will be nerd proof, non-biased, and 100% accurate, please let us know. And remember, we’re always right about everything, and we are here to help.

I can imagine we’ll need to explain ourselves better for this one…