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I know it's been a week since I posted last, but I have a good excuse. This weekend I attended the annual Austin City Limits music festival in Austin. ACL 2008 provided me with plenty of material to write about though so open wide because I’m about to blog all over your face.
In order to demonstrate why I enjoyed ACL so much this year, I decided to give awards to the various bands/people who made the experience worth the time and money.
To start things off on a good note, the Surprise of the Year Award goes to Gogol Bordello, a band that I would describe as an Eastern-European Flogging Molly. They had probably the highest energy out of any band the entire weekend. Also, they were the only band whose act involved an insane moustache, a marching band drum, and a red bucket (it should be noted that several other bands had wicked moustaches and at least one other act had a marching band drum, but the real clincher here was the red bucket). Needless to say, I have Gogol Bordello’s entire discography now and I dig it considerably. Coincidentally, this was one of the bands that we just happened to see because they were closest to the food court at dinner time. He works in mysterious ways.
Runners-up: Fleet Foxes and What Made Milwaukee Famous (my attendance at both was intentional, but I enjoyed them much more than I thought I would).
The Perfect Timing Award goes to this guy:
The Kiss My Dick Award for ACL 08 goes to Vampire Weekend. Before ACL, I was most looking forward to seeing this band. As it turned out, they were this year’s Killers (Note: to my visually retarded readers who are having this read aloud to them, “Killers” in this sentence is not a good thing as in, “man, they killed that show!” Nay, it is a reference to last year’s ACL wherein the band, The Killers, closed out Friday night with what sounded like their CD was simply being played over a loudspeaker). Booooooooooooooooooooooring.
Runner-up: Flyleaf. I didn’t go to their show, but one of my best friends knew them in high school, he said they’re tools, and I have no reason to doubt him.
The “So THAT’S What a Rap Concert Sounds Like” Award goes to Del the Funky Homosapien. For a guy whose middle name literally is “Funky,” Del sure didn’t do much to move the crowd. I love rap as much as the next middle-class white guy, but I can’t stand when random guys shout sporadic words into the microphone as the main artist performs…all while the beat drops in and out to supposedly add effect to the words that you can’t understand…because they’re being shouted by three different people.
The Funniest Artist Award goes to Fleet Foxes for many reasons, but partly the following off-the-cuff conversation they had while on stage:
Fleet Fox 1: Who is Allison Krauss?
Fleet Fox 2: I think she was in Led Zeppelin.
FF1: Then who is Robert Plant?
FF2: I’m pretty sure he was one of the Doobie Brothers.
They also had plenty of jokes about Washington Mutual, the economy, etc. and they thanked Foo Fighters for allowing them to be an opening band (Foo Fighters weren’t scheduled to go on stage for another 32 hours).
Runner-up: Tegan & Sara for telling the story about how they had no sucking reflex when they were born. I dunno…I had a lot to drink at the time. Oh, wait, they’re lesbians, that’s why it’s funny.
The Best Overheard Joke Award goes to the large, red-headed stoner next to us at the Robert Plant/Allison Krauss concert. Some annoying beaver was on her phone trying to use other people’s banners as landmarks to tell her friends where she was. The closest banner to us had the Texas state flag on it. So the beaver says to her friend, “Not Texas, like the school…” to which the stoner blurted out “Texas like ha-ha???” Maybe you had to be there…
The Worst Attempt at Humor Award goes to Del the Funky Homosapien. His alter-ego, a redneck named Cletus, was about as funny as the following joke: A Jew walks into a bar and orders a scotch on the rocks. The bartender says “Did you want to open a tab?” The Jew replies, “nah, I only have time for one drink.” The bartender looks at him and says “Alright, well my name is Dave in case you need anything.”
The Show That Would Have Been Awesome If I Could Have Heard It Award goes to MGMT. Apparently, MGMT’s MKTG plan has been highly successful, as they pulled the most immense crowd of the weekend. The crowd was so large…HOW LARGE WAS IT!?...the crowd was so large that I could hear the band at another stage better than I could hear MGMT.
Runners-up: Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears (saw them in Dallas this summer and they were awesome. Would loved to have seen them again had they not been onstage during naptime) and Foo Fighters. Yes, that’s correct, we left town before the headliners performed. If it makes you feel any better, I kicked myself in the ass the entire walk back to our room as I could hear them rocking the shit out of the entire park.
The Gayest Banner Award goes to whomever is carrying this abomination:
The Most Surprising Announcement by an Artist Award goes to the lead singer of the Fleet Foxes for declaring that his favorite restaurant in America was a vegan restaurant. I would never have guessed that the unkempt, long-haired lead singer of a folksy band from Seattle would be vegan.
The Most Sarcastic Award Award goes to me, for that last one.
The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards go to:
The Mars Volta – I only stayed for one song, but it kicked ass. My lady-friend was tired, so we left for the night. I say I’m a nice guy, you say she wears the pants. Tomato, go fuck yourself.
John Fogerty – My friends overheard the following question from the village idiot: “Who was that old man who played all the CCR covers?” John Fogerty may be aging, but he had more funk in his red bandana than Del had in his entire entourage. Maybe Fogerty should change his name to John The Funky Fogerty.
The Raconteurs – Awesome, despite Jack White’s having a “disc in the wrong place” in his neck.
Okkervill River – When they played in Dallas, we left their show early (it was a school night). We made it through the whole show this time, and it was great…especially when they slipped into a dramatic and energetic cover of "Sloop John B."
Tegan & Sara – Solid show for the unfortunately small crowd.
Robert Plant & Allison Krauss – Probably my favorite show of the weekend. Watching people who love music play music is a hell of a treat. Plant and Krauss treated the audience to three altered but awesome Led Zeppelin covers which was three more than I thought we’d get while Plant’s rendition of “Nothin'” let him wail like only Robert Plant can. At one point, guitarist T-Bone Burnett took the stage by himself to perform probably the darkest song I’ve ever heard (and thus one of the coolest). Despite how good this show was, the most entertaining part might have been the aforementioned red-headed stoner dancing wildly throughout the concert, all the while donning flashing neon rabbit ears.
The Wasted High-Schooler Award goes to Philip:
This cat almost ralphed on us. I mean fo real, we were in the splatter-zone. Shortly after this picture was taken he fell backwards and landed partially on our blanket, which I promptly removed. The drunk UT dad behind us laughed and said “That’s cold, man, he’s not a leper!” No, but he was a vomiting idiot, and that’s worse in my book. The funniest part of this whole scene was the uninformed passersby who proceeded to plod through Philip’s pile of puke. Goddamn, that’s some sweet alliteration.
Thanks for attending the awards ceremonies. Buy your tickets for ACL 09 as soon as they go on sale so you too can be a part of the magic. $180 for 3 days worth of this much music and entertainment is worth every red cent. Hell, I’d pay $20 just to watch Philip piss himself again. Try taking that out of context.
This past weekend was the annual Gay Pride Weekend in Dallas. There was so much going on that I could probably write about it until next year’s Gay Pride Weekend, but instead I’ll just give you the real goods.
Leading up to Saturday, I had no real plans that were at all out of the ordinary. I wanted to eat fried chicken (something I do with alarming regularity, and yes, I plan it), I wanted to play tennis, and I wanted to get drunk. After all, it wouldn’t be a weekend in Uptown Dallas without tennis, southern cooking, gay bars, drinking with my friends, and Marco prancing down Cedar Springs holding a purple umbrella (NOTE: purple umbrella, to my knowledge, isn’t a slang term for anything, but it totally should be…any ideas?). No, this was just going to be a normal day in the gayborhood…or so I thought.
Because it was Pride weekend, the bars were PACKED. I actually like it when bars are more crowded, mainly because I dig the atmosphere. What I don’t like is how all the assheads crowd around the game room so you can’t play anything. I don’t care if the room is being used for a “Billiards is for Dicks” Chapter of the “Fuck Billiards and Anyone Who Plays It” Club meeting. Pool tables are for playing pool. They aren’t to be sat on. Or around. I need room to swing my stick (if you catch my drift). On a side note, I feel I am required by the laws of decency to tell you that towards the end of the night I myself used the same pool table as a gigantic coaster/beer net. Felt, as it turns out, is very absorbent.
Anyway, most of Saturday night is a haze. The only things I really remember are arguing with my friends over fictional military ranks (yes, ours) and my slam-dunking a full Diet Coke from MacDonald’s into the sink. In case you didn’t know, I fucking hate Diet Coke. Mainly because it splatters so damn much. Where’s a pool table when you need one? As I said, the majority of the night’s events escape me, but at least I didn’t get sick. On a scale from “completely sober” to “passed out naked in the bathtub” I was only “trashcan next to the bed…just in case” drunk. That kind of drunk makes for great nights, but terrible mornings.
I woke up Sunday with the intention of doing something productive, but instead I spent the day holding my head in my hands thinking “I fucking hate alcohol” and dreading spending my afternoon in the sun at the Gay Pride Parade. My favorite boss of all time once told me “parades rejuvenate the soul.” Well, they don’t do a goddamn thing for a hangover.
For those that don’t know, “parade” is an old French word meaning “to stand touching sweaty strangers while screaming at people to throw things to you for hours.” Nothing says “pride” like hurling rock-hard candy at someone’s face. Jawbreakers, indeed. I gathered quite a bounty of junk throughout the day, but the swag-snatching culminated with my going all Dennis Rodman on the drunk slobs around me and snagging a mini-beach ball out of mid-air. My moment of glory was cut short, however, as some jerk started yelling at me, “YOU STOLE MY BALL! YOU KNOW YOU STOLE MY BALL!” After accusing me of theft of a free item, she took a more reasonable approach and offered to buy this waste of plastic from me for $1. Now, I’m a stand-up (and clearly, when the situation demands it, a jump-over-drunk-slobs) kind of guy, so I just gave her the damn thing. I don’t live near a mini-beach, so the ball is probably better off in her menagerie of worthless shit anyway.
The rest of the day was a fuckin’ blast with more of the same, but I think you get the idea by now. Throughout the day, I texted Raoul regular updates of whatever ridiculous float was passing by. When the leather-daddy float came upon us toward the end of the parade, I intended to text two simple words: “assless chaps.” My phone, in its infinite wisdom, autocorrected me with “assless chaos.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.
NOTE: The most compelling argument I've ever seen for the existence of a benevolent God is that none of these gentleman are facing the other direction. And the church said, Amen.
I love mysterious monsters. In fact, I’m such a fan that I think it’s high time somebody lobbied for them to be called by a less offensive name. Modern society has embraced civil rights to such a degree that we now have to refer to all manner of bitches, whores, and sluts as “women.” If you ask me, it’s a damn shame that we don’t extend the same courtesy to these…these Creatures of Legend. I’m talking of course about Sasquatch, the Mega Hog, the Chupacabra, the Loch Ness Creature of Legend (it has a ring to it, doesn’t it?) etc. Sadly, the world doesn’t have enough of these evolutionary misfits around. Sure, this short list is a pretty impressive who’s who of fantastic beings, but just like everything else in life, once you’ve watched the Discovery Channel special on it, what more is there to learn?
So, in the interest of keeping the dream alive, I decided to create some of my own Creatures of Legend. Here comes one now!
Armed with a pig’s supersonic hearing, a tiger’s outrageous sense of style, a jackrabbit’s insatiable desire to fuck, and, well, camel hooves, the Canadian Camel-Hooved Pigerjack spends his nights in the Canadian countryside lying in wait behind outhouses for wandering cowboys or cowsluts…wait, sorry…cowwomen? that sounds just as offensive…anyway, the Pigerjack waits for cowpersons to stumble to the necessary room in the middle of the night so he can latch onto their lower legs and hump like his life depends on it (it does). The ferocity of the Pigerjack’s humping quickly breaks the legs of his victims, rendering them helpless and immobile. Once the Pigerjack has felled his prey, he devours them within minutes. All Pigerjacks are males. And there’s only one of them. There used to be a female Pigerjack, but she couldn’t catch any prey because females don’t hump (if there are any women who want to prove me wrong, I’m available at a moment’s notice to witness firsthand).
Cousin Eddie from Christmas Vacation described society's view of the Pigerjack best when he said, "You don't want him around if you're wearing shortpants if you know what I mean."
Don't get too excited about the above photographic "evidence." Noted Pigerjack expert, me, has determined the picture to be a hoax. The Canadian Camel-Hooved Pigerjack is nocturnal and would never be seen roaring in the daylight. Ever.
Around lunchtime the other day I drove to Burger King (or as Stuttering Abbie calls it, “Bur-gink-er…shit!”) to grab a quick bite to eat. I pull up to the menu, survey my drink options, and decide on orange soda. Only I calls it Minute Maid. After years of servers invariably asking “You mean Hi-C? Or do you want orange juice?” you’d think I would give in and refer to it as “orange soda” or even “orange drink.” But the menu said “Minute Maid,” and so do I.
“Welcome to Burger King, would you like to try our Whopper Value Meal today?”
“Nope, I’ll have a double cheeseburger, plain, with a Minute Maid, please.”
“You want a Hi-C?”
*Goddammit…*
“Ah, no, sorry, Minute Maid Orange.”
“We don’t have Minute Maid Orange.”
Bullshit. I’ve had it here before. It says “Minute Maid Orange Soda” on the menu. It has the logo and everything. I swear to God I’ve had it here before. I come here a couple of times a month and get it every time. Am I at the right Burger King? Am I even at Burger King? I bet the guy behind me is furious. “What’s taking this dickhead so long?” he’s thinking. “It’s supposed to be FAST food…it’s a burger joint, the menu never changes!” My thoughts exactly.
“Uhhhh, Sprite then, please.”
I drive my bewildered ass up to the window and peer inside the restaurant. The first things I see are the soda fountain and the words “Fanta Orange.” Seriously?
I used to be a dick to people in the service industry. Then I married one (a person in the service industry, not a dick). Since then I have been extra conscious of how I treat servers, cashiers, prostitutues, etc. I have even done my best to eliminate the “No wonder they’re working at Burger King” attitude, but this lady was pushing it. Maybe she thought I was extremely brand loyal or that I was a picky prick. Those close to me might say I’m both, but I don’t know this bitch and she don’t know me. Anyway, when she comes to the window, I says to her, “Oh, could I get a Fanta instead of the Sprite?”
She stops what she is doing, looks me square in the eyes, and snaps, “I already made the Sprite.”
Had I not been so astounded by her ability to “make Sprite” I would have told her “Well fuckin’ pour it out!” Instead I sat there like a slack-jawed idiot until my food came.
The moral of the story is: Don’t anger Burger King’s drink magicians. And by “drink magicians” I mean “lazy motherfuckers.”
After watching the movie Wanted recently, Raoul and I were discussing movies wherein Morgan Freeman acted as the villain. Raoul brought up The Bucket List and Driving Miss Daisy. Now, I haven't seen The Bucket List, but I can say without hesitation that Morgan Freeman reached the pinnacle of his career as the bad guy in Driving Miss Daisy. Nothing was more awesome than watching Jessica Tandy trying to figure out how to keep that bus above 200 mph AND defuse a bomb at the same time.
Despite having never seen the movie, mention of The Bucket List got Raoul and I talking about all the things we'd yet to accomplish despite our relative success in life thus far (read: we're still alive). What better time to record them all than now, before we actually do develop terminal illnesses? Unfortunately, Raoul gave me his 3-page, handwritten list at a gay bar, so it looked like I was reading a love note he had written me during class or something. Anyway, we figured starting the list early on in our lives should give us plenty of time to accomplish everything on it. For example, three down already.
(To give credit where credit is due Raoul is even and I'm odd)
Make a bucket list.- Find out what bleach tastes like.
- In a room full of people I just met, start a joke that I don't know the punch-line to.
- Seduce a geriatric and take her millions.
- Infiltrate an organization.
- Purchase a bear and a lion, lock them in a cage, see who survives (Editor's note: bear, obviously…see below).
Publicly reveal Morgan Freeman's true, evil nature.- Watch Roots in its entirety.
- Try a glory hole (either side).
- Create a diversion.
- Go to sleep at a decent hour.
- Perform a citizen's arrest.
Try life without thumbs.- Give a "shout out" on COPS.
- Throw something at this guy and see what happens: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBv79LKfMt4
- Object to a wedding (during the ceremony).
- Attend a popular movie and yell out the ending during the opening scene.
- Stick it to the man.
- Throw all the parachutes out of an airplane except for one (mine).
- Beat Mike Tyson's Punch-Out.
- Get rid of this goddamn headache.
- Anal.
- Stare at a solar eclipse.
- Violate my parole and all 3 restraining orders in one 24-hour period.
- Dispose of the bodies.
- Confront and destroy my nemesis/doppelganger.
- Point a loaded gun at someone.
- Hunt a human for sport.
- Use the phrase "gilding the lily" in a sentence (other than this one).
- Make it rain.
- Give peace a chance.
- Throw a Molotov cocktail (fuck peace).
- Make a deal with the devil.
- Steal a police car and use it in a high speed chase.
- Finish an entire Baconator in one sitting.
- Find out what all the fuss is surrounding autoerotic asphyxiation.
- Stick my dick in the mashed potatoes, regardless of what kind of party it is.
- Go out in a blaze of glory (Editor's note: for efficiency, combine with numbers 32 through 37?).
Tonight a good friend of mine (we'll call him 'Raoul') asked me 'Which animal would win in a fight...a lion or a bear?'
In order to answer the question, I had to first disregard the obvious fact that if two such awesome forces ever met, they would refuse to fight out of mutual respect for each other's prowess. Next, I tried to imagine a ridiculous scenario in which the two creatures would actually meet. After failing to do so, I simply dropped the two of them into as neutral a backdrop as I could imagine...an icy plain on the edge of a grassy plain. Also, to be fair, I chose the largest specimen of each species I could find in a two-minute search on the internet. This would turn out to make the match slightly less than fair as the official bout would be between a 700 lb African Lion (Panthera leo) named "China" and a 2,200 lb Polar Bear (Ursus maritimus) named "Michael Phelps."*
With the stage set, it was time for the battle to begin. Aside from what I believed would actually happen (lion approaches bear, bear stands on hind legs, lion shits itself and runs), Raoul and I went through several different scenarios to try and determine a winner. Right off the bat, I chose bear. Now as I've said, Raoul is a good friend, so for the sake of his mental stability I hope he was merely playing devil's advocate as he chose the considerably outsized lion.
Raoul first suggested that the lion would charge the bear at 30 mph and knock it on its back. Considering that lions can reach speeds of up to 50 mph, I would say this is a serious strategic miscalculation on the lion's part. At any rate, Raoul believed this would give the lion easy access to the bear's throat, thus ending the conflict. My rebuttal had the bear standing on its hind legs, ready for an attack. Raoul countered that bears 'aren't all that sturdy.' I'm no expert on bears, but I'd say 2,200 lbs of ANYTHING is pretty goddamn sturdy.
In the interest of sportsmanship I conceded the point and changed the bear's position to standing on all fours in an attempt to create a lower center of gravity. Raoul's response? "When was the last time you saw a bear get into a 2 point stance like a linebacker?" Again, I had to concede as the last time I saw a lion and a bear in a fight, the bear did nothing that even slightly resembled a football player.
Clearly a change of strategy was in order. "Enough of this horseshit," I said to myself, "It's time to end this once and for all..." Surely, I thought, the bear wouldn't simply stand still and wait for the lion's charge attack. Now, not only was the bear on all fours, but he was charging right back at the lion in what can only be described as bear-lion chicken.** This feral joust essentially reduced the argument to Freight Train vs. Race Car and I think we all know what would happen in that situation. Checkmate.
Raoul sat there with his jaw on the floor.*** He was speechless. His precious lion had been demolished. My bear had won! Feel free to weigh in if you have a different opinion/scenario, but based on the picture below...case closed.
NOTE: No animals were harmed in the making of this picture. The lion is either sleeping or he's just been slapped silly by a polar bear that weighs ONE, FUCKING, TON, in which case he most certainly was hurt, but he was asking for it.
*Probably not the real names of the specimens being discussed.
**Since this sounds like a new version of paper-rock-scissors, but with animals, I tried to think of who would beat who. It goes without saying that bear pees on lion and lion makes fun of chicken, but unless bears are especially susceptible to salmonella, I don't think it really works out.
***I wasn't actually with Raoul when we had this conversation. This bit of narrative was added for dramatic effect. I'm guessing the only thing of Raoul's that was on the floor at the time of our discussion was his pants.
The other day I tried for about 30 minutes to see what life would be like without thumbs. I know what you're thinking...'Why?'
Well, say you and I were in some horrible accident and our injuries were minor except for our thumbs being completely severed. Who would be more prepared? That's right, me. Again, I know what you're thinking...'Yeah I probably couldn't pick up cups easily or brush my teeth very well or hitchhike or thumb wrestle, but I could manage.' Luckily for you, I understand the severity of the situation and I'm willing to share the findings of my experiment.
Here now is a list of some of the common, everyday things you can wave goodbye to with your new 4-fingered hands:
- Playing video games
- Twiddling
- Masturbating (grip hand)
- Saying 'What has two thumbs and loves blowjobs???'
- Giving urban handshakes
- Masturbating (anus hand)
- Shooting rubber-bands
- Stealing people's noses
- Telling Iranians off
- Making shadow puppet dogs that have ears
- Enjoying suspenders
- Determining the fate of gladiators
Unfortunately, that's all I could attempt during my half-hour of thumblessness before deciding to give my thumbs two very enthusiastic thumbs up.
