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!!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Time traveling bitches...Motley Crue, and Foo Fighter
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
My name's KP and I like to party
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!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Motley Crue Thank you!
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.
Monday, July 7, 2008
It's KP time...
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.
…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.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
T-Shirt Size: Awesome presents Movies
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.
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.
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