Despite the best efforts of the weather and the rioting masses, we have managed to complete our trip successfully and safely.
It was a bit touch and go at times, due to fire and the aforementioned riots, but it was still a great time, all things considered.
More later, just know that all is well.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Sid and Nancy World Tour 2007
We're off on our world tour, to a Paris that has ground to a halt, then onward to Florence to see Z!
Ciao!
Ciao!
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Why?
Why is it that, every time we plan a trip outside the US, something comes up to threaten our ability to get around?
The first time we went to Paris, it was riots in the outlying neighborhoods. There were soldiers everywhere, and burnt out cars on our trip into the city.
In Venice, a transit strike on the morning we were to come back forced us to find an alternate boat to take to the airport.
Now I understand that the Paris transit unions are on strike, with no intention of caving.
It's not even what I would call a great reason, either. The government said workers should work for 40 years in order to collect a pension, rather than the current 37.5. Why is that unreasonable?
Maybe I don't think it's unreasonable because we work longer hours for more years than countries in the EU. Or maybe it's just that I don't want to walk everywhere in Paris.
The first time we went to Paris, it was riots in the outlying neighborhoods. There were soldiers everywhere, and burnt out cars on our trip into the city.
In Venice, a transit strike on the morning we were to come back forced us to find an alternate boat to take to the airport.
Now I understand that the Paris transit unions are on strike, with no intention of caving.
It's not even what I would call a great reason, either. The government said workers should work for 40 years in order to collect a pension, rather than the current 37.5. Why is that unreasonable?
Maybe I don't think it's unreasonable because we work longer hours for more years than countries in the EU. Or maybe it's just that I don't want to walk everywhere in Paris.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Icemannish Things
Iceman is over, and the bikes are going in for an end-of-season tuneup (which is sorely needed for TFN's Hi-Fi!), so let's take a walk, shall we? It shall be long and convoluted, and may or may not pay off. Let's see what it's like when we get there, as this one is more about the trip than the destination.
This is Mika. Thanks to TFN, he is my current secret guilty pleasure. I don't mind sharing him, though. Go ahead and listen while we walk.
Iceman weekend started unrealistically well. We took Friday off, and I did some homewise projects, like putting patio furniture away, while TFN worked from home for a bit. We left for TC at noon, which was later than we planned but earlier than we hoped for, if you know what I mean (the time you plan to leave is always much earlier than the actual departure).
We made amazing time up to TC (I don't want to brag, but rumors that we made it from 16 mile in Troy to downtown TC in 3 and a half hours are apparently true), and got there in enough time to go to L Mawby (our favorite winery up there) for a tasting and several bottles to go. L Mawby isn't open on Sundays in the off season, so this was an imperative.
Wine in hand, or actually in the back seat, we checked into our hotel, and made our way over to the Grand Traverse Resort to register for the race, where we met up with ST and KayBee, who were just getting up to the TC as well. We were slowly assembling the group... Picking up one more (Mookie), we went to Minerva's for dinner, ran into some friends, and made our way back to the hotel for a beer and a mild case of food poisoning - which is sad, because I love Minerva's but I don't think I can go there anymore.
Iceman morning was cold but sunny, and we assembled at the gates with plenty of time to prepare, have that last ill-advised smoke of the morning under the baleful glares of healthier riders, and get ready to make a go at this thing called Iceman.
We all blasted out of the gates at a great pace, I know TFN and I were poised to blow our previous times out of the water - or the sand in this case. The temperature was perfect, and the sand was wet and packed.
At Williamsburg Road (the 17 mile checkpoint), I stopped to have a bananananana and talk to KayBee, our support person, for a second. As I did, ST caught up with me. He informed me that TFN, who was right behind me, had gotten a stick sucked up into her deraileur, and she couldn't hold any gears on the climbs.
I waited for her to get to Williamsberg. She was frustrated and angry. After I looked at her bike, I could see that something was out of whack back there, but it was beyond my limited mechanical intellect to make any repairs in a timely fashion. So I told her that she could bail there, or if she wanted to limp it out, I'd stick with her. She decided she wanted to finsh.
So we took off from there, hammering as fast as her bike would permit on the flats, charging up all the hills until the point where her bike went Kachunka-chunka-chunka! and her chain started bouncing up and down the cassette, without settling into a gear. Then we'd get off and walk.
For the most part, I provided pep talks as she forced her bike to limp as well as it would.
We finished last in our classes, but we had a great time, and we crossed the finish line smiling side by side. I'm buying that picture!
It was all about helping out a teammate and riding our bikes on a gorgeous day. I think it's something I'd do for any fellow Angry Monkey (you don't leave a man behind!), but with it being TFN, we actually had a lot of fun doing what the Hi-Fi would do.
Good times.
And there was a cooler full of Fat Tire waiting at the finish.
I want to thank my Fellow Angry Monkeys who raced with us that day. I want to thank the Angry Monkey Support Crew who drove our cars to the finish, cheered for us at the checkpoint, and had cold beer ready when we got to the finish. I guess I also want to thank my teammates once again for not drinking all of the Fat Tire before we finished. And I want to thank TFN for sticking it out, and deciding that she was going to be the toughest member of our team that day.
The official after party had a change of venue this year. The K&A faction had rented a suite, but when they arrived they found out the place had messed up and lost their room, so they instead opted to put them up in a 2,000 square foot condo. K made tacos for everyone, and we hung out there. It was a lot better than a bar.
The bummer was that Z was putting out fires at home, and couldn't make it out to party with the primates, but at least we'll be in Florence at the same time as her and the Mr. Z, duly note that your prescence is required at least once to have a drink or 20 with TFN and I!
Sunday was set aside for a BIG breakfast, several visits to wineries (L Mawby was open again on Sunday due to an event. Yayyy!), and the drive home. We stopped in Frankenmuth for a big dinner and our second mild case of food-related illness for the weekend (I blame this one on gorging myself, though). I do think that, in retrospect, Frankenmuth is a scary town and hopefully it falls into the ocean with rest of California (however improbable this may be, it could happen, God willing.
Now for an interlude, here's more Mika:
Are we ready to convolute? Good. If not, I'll wait. OK, are you ready? Let's go.
This should really go into another post, but I'm on a roll, so we'll just keep going.
Quicken Loans just announced today that they are moving downtown and bringing 4,000 jobs with them. This is amazing news for my Detroit, and if it's not entirely indicative of a turnaround yet, it's definitely pulling a nail out of the coffin. I would love to see this place keep it up, but I think it will still be a little stalled until Kwame gets out of office.
If things get better, I can see myself moving into the city. A few weeks ago, we went to Indian Village, and discovered that it's entirely realistic to buy a 6,000 square foot house in the city. We're not wealthy, property is simply that inexpensive there. Unfortunately, the taxes are crippling and include zero in the way of city services right now.
If Detroit doesn't get better, the next few years may see me... we'll just say elsewhere for now. That's all I have to say about Detroit for now, though. We'll hope it continues to improve.
Hmmmm... this was a pretty failed convolution as I am out of stuff to blather about.
OK, more later, and I also have some Halloween and Iceman photos to share at some point.
I'll be back soon.
This is Mika. Thanks to TFN, he is my current secret guilty pleasure. I don't mind sharing him, though. Go ahead and listen while we walk.
Iceman weekend started unrealistically well. We took Friday off, and I did some homewise projects, like putting patio furniture away, while TFN worked from home for a bit. We left for TC at noon, which was later than we planned but earlier than we hoped for, if you know what I mean (the time you plan to leave is always much earlier than the actual departure).
We made amazing time up to TC (I don't want to brag, but rumors that we made it from 16 mile in Troy to downtown TC in 3 and a half hours are apparently true), and got there in enough time to go to L Mawby (our favorite winery up there) for a tasting and several bottles to go. L Mawby isn't open on Sundays in the off season, so this was an imperative.
Wine in hand, or actually in the back seat, we checked into our hotel, and made our way over to the Grand Traverse Resort to register for the race, where we met up with ST and KayBee, who were just getting up to the TC as well. We were slowly assembling the group... Picking up one more (Mookie), we went to Minerva's for dinner, ran into some friends, and made our way back to the hotel for a beer and a mild case of food poisoning - which is sad, because I love Minerva's but I don't think I can go there anymore.
Iceman morning was cold but sunny, and we assembled at the gates with plenty of time to prepare, have that last ill-advised smoke of the morning under the baleful glares of healthier riders, and get ready to make a go at this thing called Iceman.
We all blasted out of the gates at a great pace, I know TFN and I were poised to blow our previous times out of the water - or the sand in this case. The temperature was perfect, and the sand was wet and packed.
At Williamsburg Road (the 17 mile checkpoint), I stopped to have a bananananana and talk to KayBee, our support person, for a second. As I did, ST caught up with me. He informed me that TFN, who was right behind me, had gotten a stick sucked up into her deraileur, and she couldn't hold any gears on the climbs.
I waited for her to get to Williamsberg. She was frustrated and angry. After I looked at her bike, I could see that something was out of whack back there, but it was beyond my limited mechanical intellect to make any repairs in a timely fashion. So I told her that she could bail there, or if she wanted to limp it out, I'd stick with her. She decided she wanted to finsh.
So we took off from there, hammering as fast as her bike would permit on the flats, charging up all the hills until the point where her bike went Kachunka-chunka-chunka! and her chain started bouncing up and down the cassette, without settling into a gear. Then we'd get off and walk.
For the most part, I provided pep talks as she forced her bike to limp as well as it would.
We finished last in our classes, but we had a great time, and we crossed the finish line smiling side by side. I'm buying that picture!
It was all about helping out a teammate and riding our bikes on a gorgeous day. I think it's something I'd do for any fellow Angry Monkey (you don't leave a man behind!), but with it being TFN, we actually had a lot of fun doing what the Hi-Fi would do.
Good times.
And there was a cooler full of Fat Tire waiting at the finish.
I want to thank my Fellow Angry Monkeys who raced with us that day. I want to thank the Angry Monkey Support Crew who drove our cars to the finish, cheered for us at the checkpoint, and had cold beer ready when we got to the finish. I guess I also want to thank my teammates once again for not drinking all of the Fat Tire before we finished. And I want to thank TFN for sticking it out, and deciding that she was going to be the toughest member of our team that day.
The official after party had a change of venue this year. The K&A faction had rented a suite, but when they arrived they found out the place had messed up and lost their room, so they instead opted to put them up in a 2,000 square foot condo. K made tacos for everyone, and we hung out there. It was a lot better than a bar.
The bummer was that Z was putting out fires at home, and couldn't make it out to party with the primates, but at least we'll be in Florence at the same time as her and the Mr. Z, duly note that your prescence is required at least once to have a drink or 20 with TFN and I!
Sunday was set aside for a BIG breakfast, several visits to wineries (L Mawby was open again on Sunday due to an event. Yayyy!), and the drive home. We stopped in Frankenmuth for a big dinner and our second mild case of food-related illness for the weekend (I blame this one on gorging myself, though). I do think that, in retrospect, Frankenmuth is a scary town and hopefully it falls into the ocean with rest of California (however improbable this may be, it could happen, God willing.
Now for an interlude, here's more Mika:
Are we ready to convolute? Good. If not, I'll wait. OK, are you ready? Let's go.
This should really go into another post, but I'm on a roll, so we'll just keep going.
Quicken Loans just announced today that they are moving downtown and bringing 4,000 jobs with them. This is amazing news for my Detroit, and if it's not entirely indicative of a turnaround yet, it's definitely pulling a nail out of the coffin. I would love to see this place keep it up, but I think it will still be a little stalled until Kwame gets out of office.
If things get better, I can see myself moving into the city. A few weeks ago, we went to Indian Village, and discovered that it's entirely realistic to buy a 6,000 square foot house in the city. We're not wealthy, property is simply that inexpensive there. Unfortunately, the taxes are crippling and include zero in the way of city services right now.
If Detroit doesn't get better, the next few years may see me... we'll just say elsewhere for now. That's all I have to say about Detroit for now, though. We'll hope it continues to improve.
Hmmmm... this was a pretty failed convolution as I am out of stuff to blather about.
OK, more later, and I also have some Halloween and Iceman photos to share at some point.
I'll be back soon.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
I need beer. STAT.
This. Is. Simply. Awesome.
I know we've all had moments like this before, when the beer runs out. What is the guts vs. lack of brains ratio required to get call 911 to declare it an emergency?
Wow.
Fortunately, we are already collecting provisions for Iceman this weekend, so we will not be presented with such an emergency.
HEBRON, CT (NBC) -- It may have seemed like an emergency at the time, but a Connecticut man is now regretting his call to 911.
35-year-old Brian Poulin of Hebron was arrested Sunday after police said he called 911 several times and asked them to bring him beer.
Hebron was charged with disorderly conduct.
Police said he called 911 numerous times and told the dispatcher he was out of beer and asked them to pick up more for him.
Poulin was transported to Windham Community Memorial Hospital after officers arrested him at his home.
Police did not say what he was treated for.
He is scheduled to appear in Superior Court in Rockville on Nov. 20.
I know we've all had moments like this before, when the beer runs out. What is the guts vs. lack of brains ratio required to get call 911 to declare it an emergency?
Wow.
Fortunately, we are already collecting provisions for Iceman this weekend, so we will not be presented with such an emergency.
For The Love Of Trash
TFN's first date was to see John Water's Hairspray. That sparked an obsession that hasn't let up.
John Waters is an interesting cat. In the length of his film career, he has made movies like Hairspray, Pecker, Pink Flamingos, Female Trouble, and Crybaby. Through them all, he has created this perfect way of glamorizing seediness. He makes trashiness OK in a strange way. TFN got me hooked on his films, and we always thought he'd be cool to meet.
Now we're going to find out.
Next month, he's coming to the Crofoot to give a monologue. Not only did we pick up tickets for that, we got tickets for the meet and greet. I probably won't have much more time than to say "Thank You", shake his hand, and (hopefully) get TFN's picture taken with him, but it will be enough. It will totally be a real brush with greatness.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Today Forecast - Little Whirlwinds
I am a big fan of the time shift this time of year, just for the feeling that I have somehow managed to sneakily steal away both an extra hour of staying up and an extra hour of sleeping in.
Normally, that extra hour of delicious sleep on the first Monday back is also an extra-special joy. Not this year, however.
This year, I had to get up at 4 (but at least it was really 5 if you want to play the time change card in the opposite direction), to take TFN to the airport.
She’s in Bosstown for the next few days. The only funny thing about this early morning excursion to Detroit Metro was that the Dropkick Murphys’ song “Shipping Up To Boston” came on the radio just after I left her at the curb outside the departures entrance.
If you’re unfamiliar with the Murphys, they’re one of Boston’s finest bands, a blend of working class irish music and blue-collar punk. I’ve been a big fan of these guys for years, but they really got their big break being featured in last year’s best picture, “The Departed”
But anyhoo…
TFN is gone until Wednesday, and bachelor time is usually pretty laid back around here, focusing heavily on loud records, microwave meals and tackling a few household projects. This one is somewhat the exception.
First off, we have come to the sudden realization that this past weekend was our last at home until December. Next weekend, we’re staging a two-wheeled attack on Zillaland, as the masses descend for yet another physical torture/drunken debacle of the type known as the Iceman Cometh Mountain Bike Race. So tonight, one of my projects will be to ensure that every bit of cold-weather gear for a wide range of possible weather conditions has been assembled.
On top of that, this trip marks thhe first time that Shane has gone to stay at the dog hotel. He’s an old-timer, and my kid, so I wouldn’t dare “kennel” him. This place is a full-blown dog hotel, where he’ll have a bed in his little room, with music piped in, and the hotel features a range of play areas, divided by dogs’ interests and activity levels. I signed Shane up for the “I like other dogs provided they are mellow like me. Playtime = laying down together on one giant dog bed.” He’s laid back like that.
Because of this, tonight we’re off to the vet for a Bordetella shot. This is apparently a vaccination that isn’t typically given to a dog, unless he goes and stays at a kennel, or a hotel in this case. Apparently, it’s also shot up the nose. Shane hasn’t heard about any of this.
After Iceman, it’s just a few days before we head back to Europe. Going back to Paris and Florence creates a vastly different feeling. The first time, not knowing if you’ll ever return, one is overwhelmed by this need to see everything and do it all. The second time, armed with the knowledge that we’ve seen the things we needed to see for the sake of seeing them, and equipped with the idea that some places are obtainable enough that one can seen them more than once, we want to experience the places, rather than simply see them.
I want to spend a full day on Mont Martre, not just a few hours. I want to smirk at the lines to certain museums, knowing that they needed to be seen once, but also that once is enough to, again, experience them. I want to… hell, I just want to take it at my own pace, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but not at the whirlwind pace of the traveler on the mission of sucking all the marrow out of an entire culture in four days (speaking of marrow… must find some oxtail as well… mmmmmm).
That is the extent of the leading edge of my upcoming whirlwind. I’ll leave you with a bit of trivia about Pablo Picasso (who had a little house on Mont Martre). His given name was Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Clito Ruiz y Picasso. How could he not have been destined for greatness?
Normally, that extra hour of delicious sleep on the first Monday back is also an extra-special joy. Not this year, however.
This year, I had to get up at 4 (but at least it was really 5 if you want to play the time change card in the opposite direction), to take TFN to the airport.
She’s in Bosstown for the next few days. The only funny thing about this early morning excursion to Detroit Metro was that the Dropkick Murphys’ song “Shipping Up To Boston” came on the radio just after I left her at the curb outside the departures entrance.
If you’re unfamiliar with the Murphys, they’re one of Boston’s finest bands, a blend of working class irish music and blue-collar punk. I’ve been a big fan of these guys for years, but they really got their big break being featured in last year’s best picture, “The Departed”
But anyhoo…
TFN is gone until Wednesday, and bachelor time is usually pretty laid back around here, focusing heavily on loud records, microwave meals and tackling a few household projects. This one is somewhat the exception.
First off, we have come to the sudden realization that this past weekend was our last at home until December. Next weekend, we’re staging a two-wheeled attack on Zillaland, as the masses descend for yet another physical torture/drunken debacle of the type known as the Iceman Cometh Mountain Bike Race. So tonight, one of my projects will be to ensure that every bit of cold-weather gear for a wide range of possible weather conditions has been assembled.
On top of that, this trip marks thhe first time that Shane has gone to stay at the dog hotel. He’s an old-timer, and my kid, so I wouldn’t dare “kennel” him. This place is a full-blown dog hotel, where he’ll have a bed in his little room, with music piped in, and the hotel features a range of play areas, divided by dogs’ interests and activity levels. I signed Shane up for the “I like other dogs provided they are mellow like me. Playtime = laying down together on one giant dog bed.” He’s laid back like that.
Because of this, tonight we’re off to the vet for a Bordetella shot. This is apparently a vaccination that isn’t typically given to a dog, unless he goes and stays at a kennel, or a hotel in this case. Apparently, it’s also shot up the nose. Shane hasn’t heard about any of this.
After Iceman, it’s just a few days before we head back to Europe. Going back to Paris and Florence creates a vastly different feeling. The first time, not knowing if you’ll ever return, one is overwhelmed by this need to see everything and do it all. The second time, armed with the knowledge that we’ve seen the things we needed to see for the sake of seeing them, and equipped with the idea that some places are obtainable enough that one can seen them more than once, we want to experience the places, rather than simply see them.
I want to spend a full day on Mont Martre, not just a few hours. I want to smirk at the lines to certain museums, knowing that they needed to be seen once, but also that once is enough to, again, experience them. I want to… hell, I just want to take it at my own pace, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but not at the whirlwind pace of the traveler on the mission of sucking all the marrow out of an entire culture in four days (speaking of marrow… must find some oxtail as well… mmmmmm).
That is the extent of the leading edge of my upcoming whirlwind. I’ll leave you with a bit of trivia about Pablo Picasso (who had a little house on Mont Martre). His given name was Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Clito Ruiz y Picasso. How could he not have been destined for greatness?
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Happy Anniversary
I know this is the wedding picture I pull out most often, but it's a fun reminder of the time that 65 clowns crashed our wedding reception - as if one needs to be reminded that something like that happened!
Fact is, a few years ago (eight to be exact), TFN and I were married.
Happy anniversary, baby! Thanks for putting up with me for yet another year.
Fact is, a few years ago (eight to be exact), TFN and I were married.
Happy anniversary, baby! Thanks for putting up with me for yet another year.
Friday, October 26, 2007
This is my day job...
For any of you who've wondered, this is a description of my 9-5.
I had no idea that Jack and I shared life in the trenches so closely.
I had no idea that Jack and I shared life in the trenches so closely.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Paul Raven
For people who haven’t been keeping up since the beginning, the world of industrial music is a convoluted, incestuous mess. If you were to look at a list of the lineups of any 10 industrial bands, you’d see that they shared all the same members in some shape or form.
The biggest part of industrial music was spawned out of Chicago, surround Wax Trax and Invisible records. These guys are bunch of like-minded people, all who have become underappreciated music legends.
One of those legends was Paul Raven.
Raven has played in sooooo many of the industrial heavy-hitters, it gets hard to keep track. His big start was with Killing Joke, but he also had a hand in Prong, Ministry, Godflesh, Murder Inc., Pigface… the list goes on.
To be sure, my first exposure to Raven was with Killing Joke's “Money is Not Our God”, which came out when I was in high school.
I got to interview Raven for my Web site a few weeks ago . It was an amazing phone call, we just chatted forever, about all the old great names in industrial music, who was what, etc. He even gave me his cell phone with a promise to connect when he was in Detroit with Ministry next year.
I think you see where this is going.
Shortly after I put the interview up on my site (two days later), I got an email from his PR Agent. Raven died of a heart attack in Geneva, where he was working on recording a project with Mob Research.
It was kind of stupefying news.
I was reminded of one thing we’d talked about in the interview. We had talked about William Tucker. Tucker was another one of the incestuous network of industrial musicians. We saw him in Grand Rapids playing an acoustic show with Chris Connelly, and TFN had hung out with him at Pigface shows. He was a stellar guy, who committed suicide shortly after the Reptile House.
When Tucker died, he and Raven had been working on a project together called Sons of Domination. According to Raven, a few of those songs were completed. I hope they get released someday.
Here’s one with William Tucker (and yes, that’s the same drummer in the striped shirt as was in the first video with Raven – this is the incestuous network I’m talking about).
During the interview, Raven said this about Tucker: “God bless that fucker. That’s all.”
I think that could apply to both of them.
Rest in peace, man. It’s a shame I never got to have that drink with you, but I hope you know I thought you were awesome.
If you’re in the mood, here’s one more with Raven. It’s Murder Inc., which features Chris Connelly, who was the person playing with William Tucker when I saw him, and Martin Atkins, the drummer from both of the previous videos in this post. Small world, made just a little bit smaller...
The biggest part of industrial music was spawned out of Chicago, surround Wax Trax and Invisible records. These guys are bunch of like-minded people, all who have become underappreciated music legends.
One of those legends was Paul Raven.
Raven has played in sooooo many of the industrial heavy-hitters, it gets hard to keep track. His big start was with Killing Joke, but he also had a hand in Prong, Ministry, Godflesh, Murder Inc., Pigface… the list goes on.
To be sure, my first exposure to Raven was with Killing Joke's “Money is Not Our God”, which came out when I was in high school.
I got to interview Raven for my Web site a few weeks ago . It was an amazing phone call, we just chatted forever, about all the old great names in industrial music, who was what, etc. He even gave me his cell phone with a promise to connect when he was in Detroit with Ministry next year.
I think you see where this is going.
Shortly after I put the interview up on my site (two days later), I got an email from his PR Agent. Raven died of a heart attack in Geneva, where he was working on recording a project with Mob Research.
It was kind of stupefying news.
I was reminded of one thing we’d talked about in the interview. We had talked about William Tucker. Tucker was another one of the incestuous network of industrial musicians. We saw him in Grand Rapids playing an acoustic show with Chris Connelly, and TFN had hung out with him at Pigface shows. He was a stellar guy, who committed suicide shortly after the Reptile House.
When Tucker died, he and Raven had been working on a project together called Sons of Domination. According to Raven, a few of those songs were completed. I hope they get released someday.
Here’s one with William Tucker (and yes, that’s the same drummer in the striped shirt as was in the first video with Raven – this is the incestuous network I’m talking about).
During the interview, Raven said this about Tucker: “God bless that fucker. That’s all.”
I think that could apply to both of them.
Rest in peace, man. It’s a shame I never got to have that drink with you, but I hope you know I thought you were awesome.
If you’re in the mood, here’s one more with Raven. It’s Murder Inc., which features Chris Connelly, who was the person playing with William Tucker when I saw him, and Martin Atkins, the drummer from both of the previous videos in this post. Small world, made just a little bit smaller...
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
It's All Horribly Wrong! (but not in a horrible way)
I have to say, I had a great past few days. It was a positively stellar weekend, made best by everything that didn’t work out.
Friday
As referenced before, we were headed downtown so that TFN could spend some quality time with her boyfriend. With that in mind, we settled in at the Loco Bar for some good food and beer with good friends.
The tickets stated: Doors at seven. Show at eight. Based on my mathematical skills, this meant that, if we head to the club at nine, we’d catch part or all of the Street Dogs (the second band), and then see Tiger Army.
So why was it, at nine, when we walked into St. Andrew’s Hall, Tiger Army was on stage? Not only were they already playing, but they were in their encore?
Apparently, the opener didn’t show up, so they rushed the Street Dogs right on stage.
The next fiasco, despite our being on the guest list and having a photo pass, the bouncer wanted to confiscate TFN’s camera – simply for the sake of getting into a pissing match.
While TFN fought with the bouncer, I managed to call up the tour manager, who came out into the lobby, told the doorstaff to cut the crap (thanks Cash!), and then took TFN down in front and put her behind the barricade to shoot the band.
So, even though she only got 15 minutes of show, she got to spend it five feet from Nick 13. She was happy.
And also, later we both confessed to each other and to the friends we were with that the most fun of the entire night was getting into a screaming match with the bouncer… and winning. We’re horrible like that.
Saturday
Saturday started with a 17-mile bike ride (those miles fell away so easily, too. I really think I am getting to be ready for Iceman!). Then, plotting our next move, it was decided that TFN, ST and Abi (all recurring characters) as well as KayBee (a new character) would go to a haunted house.
Going to a haunted house is a big production for us. It requires a series of preparations. It requires going home, reading reviews of all the houses, making fun of the bad ones before finally choosing the one we’d like to go. Then we have to go to the 7-11 for large coffees. Then we have to go to the liquor store for a bottle of Bailey’s.
Our designated haunted house was in Pontiac. It was one of those expensive ones ($19 to get in), but supposedly one of the best in the state. It was in a crappy neighborhood, but really, all of Pontiac is a crappy neighborhood.
We got there, and we got in line. This was the line to buy a ticket. After standing in line for 30 minutes, polling people who came out of the place (“It was OK” being the most common report), we ran out of coffee and reached to ticket booth.
Were we to but the tickets, we were looking at a two or three hour wait. Unless we bought the $27 ticket, which would put us in the 15-minute line, away from the plebian unwashed. That’s right kids, for a mere $8 more, you too can become a member of bourgeoisie! We’re against that kind of classicism, so we made the proper choice.
Neither.
We left.
What happens next is a true Halloween moment. Much of Pontiac consists of one-way streets. Making our way to the expressway proved difficult. Despite the fact that we were heading toward the expressway, following signs that said “To I-75”, we managed to drive around in a circle. A big circle. A circle that it took an hour to make. Eventually, we ended up in Troy.
Oh, also, this whole hour circular drive included having all the windows down singing along to the radio at top volume. All the hits. George Harrison, Prince, Rick James… man, when five people who can’t sing are piled into a Scion, singing together at the top of there lungs – screaming actually – it doesn’t sound as bad as you’d think. It sounds bad, yes, but not that bad. Bad in a fun kind of way.
Also apparently bad enough to ward off any carjackers while we ghetto cruised Pontiac.
We ended the evening in the bowling alley across the street from the liquor store and 7-11 where we started. And it was a perfect night.
Also, I bowled better than ST, but in his defense, he left his balls at home that night.
Sunday
So once you’ve done nothing at all productive all weekend, Sunday is the day to catch up. Run errands, clean house, do laundry, right? That was totally the plan anyway.
At some point after haircuts, the call came in, pointing out that this was quite possibly the last nice day of the year, and if we didn’t end up on the porch at the K&A Faction House, we would be making a dire mistake. One can’t argue logic like that.
It was a perfectly unexpectedly lazy way to end a weekend where nothing had gone as planned…
Friday
As referenced before, we were headed downtown so that TFN could spend some quality time with her boyfriend. With that in mind, we settled in at the Loco Bar for some good food and beer with good friends.
The tickets stated: Doors at seven. Show at eight. Based on my mathematical skills, this meant that, if we head to the club at nine, we’d catch part or all of the Street Dogs (the second band), and then see Tiger Army.
So why was it, at nine, when we walked into St. Andrew’s Hall, Tiger Army was on stage? Not only were they already playing, but they were in their encore?
Apparently, the opener didn’t show up, so they rushed the Street Dogs right on stage.
The next fiasco, despite our being on the guest list and having a photo pass, the bouncer wanted to confiscate TFN’s camera – simply for the sake of getting into a pissing match.
While TFN fought with the bouncer, I managed to call up the tour manager, who came out into the lobby, told the doorstaff to cut the crap (thanks Cash!), and then took TFN down in front and put her behind the barricade to shoot the band.
So, even though she only got 15 minutes of show, she got to spend it five feet from Nick 13. She was happy.
And also, later we both confessed to each other and to the friends we were with that the most fun of the entire night was getting into a screaming match with the bouncer… and winning. We’re horrible like that.
Saturday
Saturday started with a 17-mile bike ride (those miles fell away so easily, too. I really think I am getting to be ready for Iceman!). Then, plotting our next move, it was decided that TFN, ST and Abi (all recurring characters) as well as KayBee (a new character) would go to a haunted house.
Going to a haunted house is a big production for us. It requires a series of preparations. It requires going home, reading reviews of all the houses, making fun of the bad ones before finally choosing the one we’d like to go. Then we have to go to the 7-11 for large coffees. Then we have to go to the liquor store for a bottle of Bailey’s.
Our designated haunted house was in Pontiac. It was one of those expensive ones ($19 to get in), but supposedly one of the best in the state. It was in a crappy neighborhood, but really, all of Pontiac is a crappy neighborhood.
We got there, and we got in line. This was the line to buy a ticket. After standing in line for 30 minutes, polling people who came out of the place (“It was OK” being the most common report), we ran out of coffee and reached to ticket booth.
Were we to but the tickets, we were looking at a two or three hour wait. Unless we bought the $27 ticket, which would put us in the 15-minute line, away from the plebian unwashed. That’s right kids, for a mere $8 more, you too can become a member of bourgeoisie! We’re against that kind of classicism, so we made the proper choice.
Neither.
We left.
What happens next is a true Halloween moment. Much of Pontiac consists of one-way streets. Making our way to the expressway proved difficult. Despite the fact that we were heading toward the expressway, following signs that said “To I-75”, we managed to drive around in a circle. A big circle. A circle that it took an hour to make. Eventually, we ended up in Troy.
Oh, also, this whole hour circular drive included having all the windows down singing along to the radio at top volume. All the hits. George Harrison, Prince, Rick James… man, when five people who can’t sing are piled into a Scion, singing together at the top of there lungs – screaming actually – it doesn’t sound as bad as you’d think. It sounds bad, yes, but not that bad. Bad in a fun kind of way.
Also apparently bad enough to ward off any carjackers while we ghetto cruised Pontiac.
We ended the evening in the bowling alley across the street from the liquor store and 7-11 where we started. And it was a perfect night.
Also, I bowled better than ST, but in his defense, he left his balls at home that night.
Sunday
So once you’ve done nothing at all productive all weekend, Sunday is the day to catch up. Run errands, clean house, do laundry, right? That was totally the plan anyway.
At some point after haircuts, the call came in, pointing out that this was quite possibly the last nice day of the year, and if we didn’t end up on the porch at the K&A Faction House, we would be making a dire mistake. One can’t argue logic like that.
It was a perfectly unexpectedly lazy way to end a weekend where nothing had gone as planned…
Friday, October 19, 2007
A boyfriend and some girlfriends...
Let me introduce you to TFN's boyfriend.
This is Nick 13. He's the guitarist and lead singer for Tiger Army.
We're going to see them tonight.
I am pretty stoked, even if TFN has a crush on him.
That's not really fair to do, though, so in the interest of equal time and humiliation, I will present you with some musicians who have, at various times, been my girlfriend.
Amanda "Punk Cabaret Is Freedom" Palmer (Dresden Dolls)
Next up, we have Kathleen "The truth ain't pretty like a pretty little girl like me" Hannah (Bikini Kill, Le Tigre), and Kim "We can still be friends" Gordon (Sonic Youth, Free Kitten). This video is actually Sonic Youth (there's a shortage of quality Bikini Kill videos from that era), and Kathleen is the girl with dark hair and pigtails bouncing around (That's right - we got two for one with this video).
There are a few more, but I made you look at enough video for one day.
Ah well, this was supposed to be a deep and poignant post on the nature of having crushes on celebrities, but I instead spent a lot of time watching videos with these ladies in them...
Who have been your celebrity crushes?
Also, if you are at home tonight, and you're into reality shows (two strikes against me), check out that American Band show. Local band the Muggs is one of the contestants. Very talented musicians, very cool guys.
This is Nick 13. He's the guitarist and lead singer for Tiger Army.
We're going to see them tonight.
I am pretty stoked, even if TFN has a crush on him.
That's not really fair to do, though, so in the interest of equal time and humiliation, I will present you with some musicians who have, at various times, been my girlfriend.
Amanda "Punk Cabaret Is Freedom" Palmer (Dresden Dolls)
Next up, we have Kathleen "The truth ain't pretty like a pretty little girl like me" Hannah (Bikini Kill, Le Tigre), and Kim "We can still be friends" Gordon (Sonic Youth, Free Kitten). This video is actually Sonic Youth (there's a shortage of quality Bikini Kill videos from that era), and Kathleen is the girl with dark hair and pigtails bouncing around (That's right - we got two for one with this video).
There are a few more, but I made you look at enough video for one day.
Ah well, this was supposed to be a deep and poignant post on the nature of having crushes on celebrities, but I instead spent a lot of time watching videos with these ladies in them...
Who have been your celebrity crushes?
Also, if you are at home tonight, and you're into reality shows (two strikes against me), check out that American Band show. Local band the Muggs is one of the contestants. Very talented musicians, very cool guys.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
An Open Letter To The Guy At Holiday Market Last Night
Dear Guy,
Last night at Holiday Market, I saw that you brought in your own canvas tote bag to purchase groceries. On behalf of Mother Nature, I'd like to say thanks! Bringing your own bag to the store helps offset the footprint you're making on the world. You are really pointing out that the best possible choice in the "paper or plastic" debate is "neither".
Plastic grocery bags, when they become litter, can take hundreds of years to break down in the environment. As they do, they leave little bits of toxic remnants in the soil and water.
Additionally, plastic bags drift far out into the ocean, where they strangle and poison wildlife. Seabirds and turtles mistake them for jellyfish and eat them, which can kill them in a variety of ways, none of them pleasant.
There is also the fact they are created from petroleum, a resource we are steadily depleting.
Although it's easy to villify plastic bags, we can't let paper get off scott-free. Paper bags are created from a renewable resource, but are not necessarily "greener". The production of paper bags creates more pollution than plastic. It also requires more energy and water, and takes up a lot more space in a landfill (although it will break down quicker).
So, grocery guy, by bringing your own bag to the store, you're doing a small part to reduce environmental stress, and it's something we can learn from. Every little bit helps, and if we all do this, things would be in a much cleaner state. I thank you for pointing this out, and the turtles thank you as well.
HOWEVER...
The fact that you are enacting and spreading this small bit of environmental awareness does nothing at all to offset the fact that you drove to the grocery store in a 10-mpg Hummer.
Go to hell, you self-righteous yuppie asshole. I hope you break an ankle hopping down from your high horse. People like you are the reason my generation has such a beef with the baby boomers.
Thanks again.
Last night at Holiday Market, I saw that you brought in your own canvas tote bag to purchase groceries. On behalf of Mother Nature, I'd like to say thanks! Bringing your own bag to the store helps offset the footprint you're making on the world. You are really pointing out that the best possible choice in the "paper or plastic" debate is "neither".
Plastic grocery bags, when they become litter, can take hundreds of years to break down in the environment. As they do, they leave little bits of toxic remnants in the soil and water.
Additionally, plastic bags drift far out into the ocean, where they strangle and poison wildlife. Seabirds and turtles mistake them for jellyfish and eat them, which can kill them in a variety of ways, none of them pleasant.
There is also the fact they are created from petroleum, a resource we are steadily depleting.
Although it's easy to villify plastic bags, we can't let paper get off scott-free. Paper bags are created from a renewable resource, but are not necessarily "greener". The production of paper bags creates more pollution than plastic. It also requires more energy and water, and takes up a lot more space in a landfill (although it will break down quicker).
So, grocery guy, by bringing your own bag to the store, you're doing a small part to reduce environmental stress, and it's something we can learn from. Every little bit helps, and if we all do this, things would be in a much cleaner state. I thank you for pointing this out, and the turtles thank you as well.
HOWEVER...
The fact that you are enacting and spreading this small bit of environmental awareness does nothing at all to offset the fact that you drove to the grocery store in a 10-mpg Hummer.
Go to hell, you self-righteous yuppie asshole. I hope you break an ankle hopping down from your high horse. People like you are the reason my generation has such a beef with the baby boomers.
Thanks again.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Good News: Michigan is open again. Bad News: Hookers cost more.
So, after a few hours of being closed, the state opened back up. I didn’t notice, although I did stock up on smokes just in case. Really, not many people noticed, aside from the campers thrown out of the state parks on Sunday.
Now, with the new budget plan, we’re dealing with some new taxes. Income tax is going up, and service taxes are being levied on a few things that weren’t taxed before.
Some of the new things make no sense, like vending machines and payphones. First of all, I haven’t used payphones in forever, but I wonder if they are going to have to modify them to accept pennies. “Please insert 38 cents for the next three minutes…”
Fortune telling and astrology services are being taxed now, too. I wonder if they saw that one coming.
The one thing that surprised me the most, however, was hookers. Right there in the list of things Michigan is levying service taxes on… escort services. They are taxing the hookers now!
I wonder how many of these escorts are going to see themselves brought up on tax evasion charges, or on prostitution charges should they honestly report their income? It’s the Al Capone thing all over again. They can’t bust them for what they want, so they get them on tax evasion.
You can see a full list of the new taxed services here. (Apparently somebody still offers baby shoe bronzing, and it’s a big enough industry that the state sees a benefit in taxing it. Who knew?)
Now, with the new budget plan, we’re dealing with some new taxes. Income tax is going up, and service taxes are being levied on a few things that weren’t taxed before.
Some of the new things make no sense, like vending machines and payphones. First of all, I haven’t used payphones in forever, but I wonder if they are going to have to modify them to accept pennies. “Please insert 38 cents for the next three minutes…”
Fortune telling and astrology services are being taxed now, too. I wonder if they saw that one coming.
The one thing that surprised me the most, however, was hookers. Right there in the list of things Michigan is levying service taxes on… escort services. They are taxing the hookers now!
I wonder how many of these escorts are going to see themselves brought up on tax evasion charges, or on prostitution charges should they honestly report their income? It’s the Al Capone thing all over again. They can’t bust them for what they want, so they get them on tax evasion.
You can see a full list of the new taxed services here. (Apparently somebody still offers baby shoe bronzing, and it’s a big enough industry that the state sees a benefit in taxing it. Who knew?)
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Sorry, Michigan is closed for business
So, unless the people in Lansing reach an agreement by Monday, Michigan is gonna close. Well the government will, anyway.
What’s that mean?
No state parks. No mountain biking for Angry Monkeys. That’s the one I care about the most. That, and no booze.
There’s a ton of other stuff, too. No Secretary of State Offices, no Lotto, no casinos. Some schools will even have to shut down, because they won’t be getting state aid.
I sent a letter to my local representation. I got a form letter back that didn’t even address that they had read my letter far enough to find the proper form letter to send back. I’m not even sure what issue this form letter was meant to soothe me over, but it had nothing to do with my desire to keep the state parks open (or stay stocked up on booze – although I didn’t mention that in the letter).
Really, it’s embarrassing. When I was in college, we got the phone turned off at our apartment. It wasn’t my fault; it was the fault of our psychotic roommate who took the phone money and did hell knows what with it. But the fact is, the phone was turned off and it was embarrassing to admit I was living in a place where the phone had been disconnected for failure to pay the bill.
That’s exactly how I’ll feel about being a Michigan resident if this shutdown happens.
On a positive note, November’s vacation has been booked. We decided to revisit our favorites. We’re flying into Paris, spending a few days there, then taking an overnight train to Florence. After a night in Florence, we’re going to Siena for a night, then back to Florence for a few more days.
Maybe by the time we get back, the state will be open again. If it’s closed, we might end up having to sit outside until we can get in and get our stuff.
Michigan is hurting economically, and all this partisan posturing just makes things worse. We need to attract new businesses and money as the auto industry is failing us, and yet the gov’ment doesn’t seem to really be into helping us out.
All I know is that the only thing that is halting the mass exodus of Michigan residents right now is the fact that we can’t sell our houses. Given the choice, I’d be heading to Chicago, Austin or Seattle right away.
What’s that mean?
No state parks. No mountain biking for Angry Monkeys. That’s the one I care about the most. That, and no booze.
There’s a ton of other stuff, too. No Secretary of State Offices, no Lotto, no casinos. Some schools will even have to shut down, because they won’t be getting state aid.
I sent a letter to my local representation. I got a form letter back that didn’t even address that they had read my letter far enough to find the proper form letter to send back. I’m not even sure what issue this form letter was meant to soothe me over, but it had nothing to do with my desire to keep the state parks open (or stay stocked up on booze – although I didn’t mention that in the letter).
Really, it’s embarrassing. When I was in college, we got the phone turned off at our apartment. It wasn’t my fault; it was the fault of our psychotic roommate who took the phone money and did hell knows what with it. But the fact is, the phone was turned off and it was embarrassing to admit I was living in a place where the phone had been disconnected for failure to pay the bill.
That’s exactly how I’ll feel about being a Michigan resident if this shutdown happens.
On a positive note, November’s vacation has been booked. We decided to revisit our favorites. We’re flying into Paris, spending a few days there, then taking an overnight train to Florence. After a night in Florence, we’re going to Siena for a night, then back to Florence for a few more days.
Maybe by the time we get back, the state will be open again. If it’s closed, we might end up having to sit outside until we can get in and get our stuff.
Michigan is hurting economically, and all this partisan posturing just makes things worse. We need to attract new businesses and money as the auto industry is failing us, and yet the gov’ment doesn’t seem to really be into helping us out.
All I know is that the only thing that is halting the mass exodus of Michigan residents right now is the fact that we can’t sell our houses. Given the choice, I’d be heading to Chicago, Austin or Seattle right away.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Bachelor's Weekend
TFN is off to Chicago for the weekend, leaving me to a weekend of crazy bachelor antics.
Yep, beer, records and hanging out with the cat. I'm a wild man.
Gotta go, my food is about to come out of the microwave!
Yep, beer, records and hanging out with the cat. I'm a wild man.
Gotta go, my food is about to come out of the microwave!
This one's for Moose...
Moose asked Z, "Why don't people ride zebras?"
Why indeed?
Tell me that riding a zebra wouldn't look wicked-ass cool, especially if one were dressed right. I am thinking that one should either be decked out in a pin-striped zoot suit with two-toned patent leather shoes. I think one could also get away in a totally glam-trash getup consisting of other animal prints, like a leopard-print trench coat, or some other distinctive real (or imaginary) animal print. Plaids would be acceptable as well, as long as they were obnoxious enough. A distinctive wide-brimmed hat would be necessary as well.
That's right, in order to properly ride a zebra, one needs to either be dressed like a pimp or a glam rocker.
Unfortunately, even with the proper wardrobe, pimps and rockers do not ride zebras. Why is that? Surely, given the option, Ziggy Stardust-era David Bowie would have made more than a few appearances perched upon a striped steed.
So I consulted the Interwebs. Apparently there are two reasons.
One is that zebras have weaker backs than horses. They have the ability to carry a person, but it has to be a lighter person and it can't do so for an extended period. This still would have allowed for Ziggy Stardust to make brief trips to the pub on his zebra though, were it not for the other reason people don't ride them.
Quoting an expert, one George Hinkey of Nature Australia Magazine:
Generally, zebras are too cantankerous to ride. They are vicious and unpredictable and it takes a lot of effort to train them to a stage where you can saddle or harness them. That is why they have never been domesticated. Lord Lionel Walter Rothschild, however, managed to harness a team of four zebras to pull his carriage, which he rode from his zoological museum in Tring, in the English county of Hertfordshire, to Buckingham Palace.
I don't know why an Australian should be accepted as a zebra expert (they have kangaroos there, not zebras, and kangaroos really can't be ridden, even if they are nicer), but I am willing to accept that he knows what he's talking about. Perhaps he has tried to ride a zebra and saw firsthand how mean they are, or maybe he once attended a Shakespeare in the Park performance of Macbeth and sat next to a zebra who talked throughout the performance, and crinkled a candy wrapper during quieter moments of the production, and he made an educated guess that, given the zebra's rude behavior, it probably wouldn't like to be ridden.
And that's a fair assumption. I once went to a performance of Jesus Christ Superstar and at a climactic moment, when Jesus was dying on the cross and the entire theater was silent, a large woman about four rows back was tearing into a package of Reese's Pieces. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Based on that, I assume her to be rude, unaware of public decorum and probably rather opposed to being saddled and ridden to the grocery store.
That's how logic works. Even in Australia.
So, Moose, that's why people don't ride zebras. It's because they are not nice, have no manners, and say mean things about one of America's founding fathers, Teddy Roosevelt. I'm not sure what their problem with Roosevelt is, or even if they all have a problem with him, but I think there was at least one I heard say something about his moustache. That particular zebra also made fun of Gandi's bald head, so he may have simply been especially cantankerous.
I also have a cat that is stubborn and angry, and to this day has resisted any attempt to teach her to make a pot pie. So that would be an answer to the appropriate followup question: Has anyone taught a cat to make a pot pie?
No. No they haven't.
Next question?
Why indeed?
Tell me that riding a zebra wouldn't look wicked-ass cool, especially if one were dressed right. I am thinking that one should either be decked out in a pin-striped zoot suit with two-toned patent leather shoes. I think one could also get away in a totally glam-trash getup consisting of other animal prints, like a leopard-print trench coat, or some other distinctive real (or imaginary) animal print. Plaids would be acceptable as well, as long as they were obnoxious enough. A distinctive wide-brimmed hat would be necessary as well.
That's right, in order to properly ride a zebra, one needs to either be dressed like a pimp or a glam rocker.
Unfortunately, even with the proper wardrobe, pimps and rockers do not ride zebras. Why is that? Surely, given the option, Ziggy Stardust-era David Bowie would have made more than a few appearances perched upon a striped steed.
So I consulted the Interwebs. Apparently there are two reasons.
One is that zebras have weaker backs than horses. They have the ability to carry a person, but it has to be a lighter person and it can't do so for an extended period. This still would have allowed for Ziggy Stardust to make brief trips to the pub on his zebra though, were it not for the other reason people don't ride them.
Quoting an expert, one George Hinkey of Nature Australia Magazine:
Generally, zebras are too cantankerous to ride. They are vicious and unpredictable and it takes a lot of effort to train them to a stage where you can saddle or harness them. That is why they have never been domesticated. Lord Lionel Walter Rothschild, however, managed to harness a team of four zebras to pull his carriage, which he rode from his zoological museum in Tring, in the English county of Hertfordshire, to Buckingham Palace.
I don't know why an Australian should be accepted as a zebra expert (they have kangaroos there, not zebras, and kangaroos really can't be ridden, even if they are nicer), but I am willing to accept that he knows what he's talking about. Perhaps he has tried to ride a zebra and saw firsthand how mean they are, or maybe he once attended a Shakespeare in the Park performance of Macbeth and sat next to a zebra who talked throughout the performance, and crinkled a candy wrapper during quieter moments of the production, and he made an educated guess that, given the zebra's rude behavior, it probably wouldn't like to be ridden.
And that's a fair assumption. I once went to a performance of Jesus Christ Superstar and at a climactic moment, when Jesus was dying on the cross and the entire theater was silent, a large woman about four rows back was tearing into a package of Reese's Pieces. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Based on that, I assume her to be rude, unaware of public decorum and probably rather opposed to being saddled and ridden to the grocery store.
That's how logic works. Even in Australia.
So, Moose, that's why people don't ride zebras. It's because they are not nice, have no manners, and say mean things about one of America's founding fathers, Teddy Roosevelt. I'm not sure what their problem with Roosevelt is, or even if they all have a problem with him, but I think there was at least one I heard say something about his moustache. That particular zebra also made fun of Gandi's bald head, so he may have simply been especially cantankerous.
I also have a cat that is stubborn and angry, and to this day has resisted any attempt to teach her to make a pot pie. So that would be an answer to the appropriate followup question: Has anyone taught a cat to make a pot pie?
No. No they haven't.
Next question?
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Back in the Saddle
Believe it or now, there is for once a decent reason for my extended absence lately. I have been in the saddle. A lot. Somewhere between 120 and 140 miles last week.
There have actually been quite a few road rides. On evenings after work, we've been getting on our bikes and taking off, not returning until after midnight. It feels good to just be out there pedaling, putting mile after mile behind you.
Saturday, we did the Tour De Troit. 40 miles through the city. It was a really cool experience, with hundreds of riders...
A police escort....
And a beer by the abandoned train station when all was said and done.
So that's where I've been, and where I'll be until after Iceman.
I am getting stoked about Iceman, we have our hotel (with hot tub!), and are getting in prime shape for it.
I have a lot of things to be stoked about, actually. In November, we're going back to Italy. We're setting the itinerary for that now.
And I just found out that we've been approved to go to SXSW in March of next year! The cool thing about that is that we were able to get a hotel room downtown, by the festival, and we don't need to do what we did last year, which was stay at a hotel by the Interstate, rent a car, and drive into the city each day, spending a nightmare hour getting parking, then back to the hotel at 2 am, repeat each day. The hotel was expensive, but cheaper than a dumpy hotel and a rental car.
Also, we took the Bean to the vet Monday. Despite the fact that she went for the vet's face (yeah, she does that), he said her diabetes is improving, and switched her to one shot a day. Which means that she's easier to treat, and that, when we need to hire a catsitter when we go out of town, we only need to pay them for one visit/day.
Now, I just need to find a dogsitter... anyone want to watch a lazy, mellow husky while we're in Traverse City, Italy and Austin?
There have actually been quite a few road rides. On evenings after work, we've been getting on our bikes and taking off, not returning until after midnight. It feels good to just be out there pedaling, putting mile after mile behind you.
Saturday, we did the Tour De Troit. 40 miles through the city. It was a really cool experience, with hundreds of riders...
A police escort....
And a beer by the abandoned train station when all was said and done.
So that's where I've been, and where I'll be until after Iceman.
I am getting stoked about Iceman, we have our hotel (with hot tub!), and are getting in prime shape for it.
I have a lot of things to be stoked about, actually. In November, we're going back to Italy. We're setting the itinerary for that now.
And I just found out that we've been approved to go to SXSW in March of next year! The cool thing about that is that we were able to get a hotel room downtown, by the festival, and we don't need to do what we did last year, which was stay at a hotel by the Interstate, rent a car, and drive into the city each day, spending a nightmare hour getting parking, then back to the hotel at 2 am, repeat each day. The hotel was expensive, but cheaper than a dumpy hotel and a rental car.
Also, we took the Bean to the vet Monday. Despite the fact that she went for the vet's face (yeah, she does that), he said her diabetes is improving, and switched her to one shot a day. Which means that she's easier to treat, and that, when we need to hire a catsitter when we go out of town, we only need to pay them for one visit/day.
Now, I just need to find a dogsitter... anyone want to watch a lazy, mellow husky while we're in Traverse City, Italy and Austin?
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
No Ponies Here
Unlike some other people, my newest acquisition is not two ponies, or even one pony, or even really a zebra.
I got a new camera.
My little point-and-shoot digital camera that had been given to me by MM, and had done so well for a couple of years, has finally decided to opt for retirement. It's been heading that way for a while, requiring a thwap on the lens cap to get it to open and such. While that was cool and impressive in a "Fonzie bangs on the jukebox" kind of way, it was getting annoying, too.
So I went to the local Schmest Schmuy and bought another little point-and-shoot from a salesman who bore the distinction of being incredibly uninformed about any of the cameras available, but was, however, more than willing to attempt to talk me into a more expensive model that he knew as little about as any of the lesser expensive ones.
I like the new camera; it's compact, and as I discovered when we took it to the Detroit Zoo to play with it, it takes nice pictures, especially when TFN plays with it, as in with the little photo of Shane.
Sha also got something that she's pretty excited about this weekend. The Silver Spoon is a highly respected Italian cookbook - in Italy, which says a lot. It was first published there in 1950, and wash just recently published in English. It's like an Italian version of The Joy Of Cooking, and it demystifies a lot of Italian dishes.
If you're looking for something that explains the history of Italian dishes, or the regions the dishes come from, this is not the right cookbook for that. It was simply translated into English - not Americanized. As long as you're aware of that, it's an incredible compendium of recipes (there are somewhere around 400 billion recipes in here I think, give or take 400 billion), and based on making one recipe - gnocchi - it's going to be a lot of fun.
I got a new camera.
My little point-and-shoot digital camera that had been given to me by MM, and had done so well for a couple of years, has finally decided to opt for retirement. It's been heading that way for a while, requiring a thwap on the lens cap to get it to open and such. While that was cool and impressive in a "Fonzie bangs on the jukebox" kind of way, it was getting annoying, too.
So I went to the local Schmest Schmuy and bought another little point-and-shoot from a salesman who bore the distinction of being incredibly uninformed about any of the cameras available, but was, however, more than willing to attempt to talk me into a more expensive model that he knew as little about as any of the lesser expensive ones.
I like the new camera; it's compact, and as I discovered when we took it to the Detroit Zoo to play with it, it takes nice pictures, especially when TFN plays with it, as in with the little photo of Shane.
Sha also got something that she's pretty excited about this weekend. The Silver Spoon is a highly respected Italian cookbook - in Italy, which says a lot. It was first published there in 1950, and wash just recently published in English. It's like an Italian version of The Joy Of Cooking, and it demystifies a lot of Italian dishes.
If you're looking for something that explains the history of Italian dishes, or the regions the dishes come from, this is not the right cookbook for that. It was simply translated into English - not Americanized. As long as you're aware of that, it's an incredible compendium of recipes (there are somewhere around 400 billion recipes in here I think, give or take 400 billion), and based on making one recipe - gnocchi - it's going to be a lot of fun.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Look at that S-Car-Go!
If you read this site with any regularity, you're aware of my love for shellfish. Generally, this comes in the form of oysters, clams and mussels, which can all be purchased live and on ice at one of the various fishmongers in the area (they're not exclusively fishmongers, but I like that word).
This love of shellfish also includes snails, which don't live in the water and probably aren't shellfish at all, but they have shells, and I'm not sure how else to classify them.
I've had escargot at a few places, but always at restaurants. The best escargot I ever had was in Paris (go figure!), but I've had it in restaurants stateside as well, and it was always quite good.
A week or so ago, we decided to get frozen escargot from a local gourmet shop as an appetizer to a big Italian Sunday dinner of spaghetti and clams in white whine and garlic. (I know, you're either thinking "more shellfish" or "escargot is French! Why have it before Italian food?" Either response is fine, but it was our dinner so we're allowed to mix things up.)
I'd never had frozen escargot before (although I'm sure most restaurants in the U.S. probably use it, I'd never made it at home). It was quite easy; simply throw it in the oven until it bubbled, then serve it up.
Wow.
I don't know if you've ever eaten a petting zoo, but while I haven't either, I can only imagine that this is what it would taste like. It tasted like a bunch of dirty little goats running around, knocking children over, chewing on whatever they could get their mouths on and doing their business wherever they pleased.
That's not a good flavor. We pitched the snails without even making it through one.
Fortunately, the rest of the meal was exquisite.
I think we've decided that we will never again prepare snails in our house.
This love of shellfish also includes snails, which don't live in the water and probably aren't shellfish at all, but they have shells, and I'm not sure how else to classify them.
I've had escargot at a few places, but always at restaurants. The best escargot I ever had was in Paris (go figure!), but I've had it in restaurants stateside as well, and it was always quite good.
A week or so ago, we decided to get frozen escargot from a local gourmet shop as an appetizer to a big Italian Sunday dinner of spaghetti and clams in white whine and garlic. (I know, you're either thinking "more shellfish" or "escargot is French! Why have it before Italian food?" Either response is fine, but it was our dinner so we're allowed to mix things up.)
I'd never had frozen escargot before (although I'm sure most restaurants in the U.S. probably use it, I'd never made it at home). It was quite easy; simply throw it in the oven until it bubbled, then serve it up.
Wow.
I don't know if you've ever eaten a petting zoo, but while I haven't either, I can only imagine that this is what it would taste like. It tasted like a bunch of dirty little goats running around, knocking children over, chewing on whatever they could get their mouths on and doing their business wherever they pleased.
That's not a good flavor. We pitched the snails without even making it through one.
Fortunately, the rest of the meal was exquisite.
I think we've decided that we will never again prepare snails in our house.
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