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Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beer. Show all posts
03 December 2007
19 June 2007
No Weakends Here: Part 3 - CAKE
(We resume tales of two weekends past. Have been busy with work wrapping up before vacation, the latter now blissfully affording blog catch up time.)
Post Summerfest Saturday afternoon, headed chez Cheek to clean up and collect Slomack to head down to the 99x Big Day Out affair at HiFi Buys Amphitheater to catch Cake. Cake is the reason Slomack was in Atlanta. Cake is Slomack’s reason for being. Cake, and Chuck Norris. He paid for the tickets just to have a concert consort – good thing he doesn’t read my blog or my mooching jig would be up.
Their set was great, albeit a brief fi’ty minutes:
1. Italian Leather Sofa
2. Meanwhile, Rick James
3. Stickshifts and Safetybelts
4. Arco Arena
5. Frank Sinatra
6. Love You Madly
7. Wheels
8. Never There
9. Short Skirt / Long Jacket
Kimplicated lent me a couple of Cake CDs for familiarization. Was bummed that they didn’t play my new favorite song,
“Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps”. The magic of YouTube yields this for your listening and guffawing pleasure:
George Takei would be thrilled. Wasn't he AWESOME as Hiro's father? But I digress. As is my wont to do.
The band signed autographs post-show. A drunk a**hole endeavored inappropriate queue insertion. We and our queue mates begged to gently differ, but his rejoinder was in the vein of "I gotta do what I gotta do." Well, miss young thang behind us went seeking staff and got the a**hole ousted. Girl gumption rocks!
Staying only for Cake's set, we departed, only to be rear-ended leaving the parking lot. Minor damage from bad driver chick's headlight nipples into Slomack's bumper.
Nickiemoto's was the Cake-head's dining druther. Funny. With his metrosexual hair I'd have thunk him a bit less sensitive to being in the thick of the gay rich men's Midtown, but to his credit, he gracefully wished our waiter the best of luck in departing the Atlanta ballet to seek out success in NYC.
Sunday morning breakfast sought at La Madeleine. Walked to dinner at Chicago's, where I recommend the Tilapia Mediterranean Style. Pub crawled to Charlie Mopps Public House.
Crawled further and slightly inside the Perimeter to 5 Seasons Brewing, where the Glenkevin "Wee Heavy" Scotch Ale was easily quaffed. Slomack was again thwarted by alternate lifestyle choices, as our beer maven was HOT but not of his persuasion. The long mosey back to chez Cheek was interrupted by a fall. Mine. Grace is not my middle name. A black asphalt driveway had the brazen audacity to be unlevel. Right knee planted, left hand braced the fall, right wrist bruised upon landing, left ankle same. Knee scrape wasn't bad, but the bruise is only now starting to fade, 2 weeks later.
Slomack is welcome back for more music, knoshing, and sloshing, but I'll need a designated walker with a flashlight. Those who know me well know that intoxication is not the factor here - it's rather one of genetics.
Post Summerfest Saturday afternoon, headed chez Cheek to clean up and collect Slomack to head down to the 99x Big Day Out affair at HiFi Buys Amphitheater to catch Cake. Cake is the reason Slomack was in Atlanta. Cake is Slomack’s reason for being. Cake, and Chuck Norris. He paid for the tickets just to have a concert consort – good thing he doesn’t read my blog or my mooching jig would be up.
Their set was great, albeit a brief fi’ty minutes:
1. Italian Leather Sofa
2. Meanwhile, Rick James
3. Stickshifts and Safetybelts
4. Arco Arena
5. Frank Sinatra
6. Love You Madly
7. Wheels
8. Never There
9. Short Skirt / Long Jacket
Kimplicated lent me a couple of Cake CDs for familiarization. Was bummed that they didn’t play my new favorite song,
“Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps”. The magic of YouTube yields this for your listening and guffawing pleasure:
George Takei would be thrilled. Wasn't he AWESOME as Hiro's father? But I digress. As is my wont to do.
The band signed autographs post-show. A drunk a**hole endeavored inappropriate queue insertion. We and our queue mates begged to gently differ, but his rejoinder was in the vein of "I gotta do what I gotta do." Well, miss young thang behind us went seeking staff and got the a**hole ousted. Girl gumption rocks!
Staying only for Cake's set, we departed, only to be rear-ended leaving the parking lot. Minor damage from bad driver chick's headlight nipples into Slomack's bumper.
Nickiemoto's was the Cake-head's dining druther. Funny. With his metrosexual hair I'd have thunk him a bit less sensitive to being in the thick of the gay rich men's Midtown, but to his credit, he gracefully wished our waiter the best of luck in departing the Atlanta ballet to seek out success in NYC.
Sunday morning breakfast sought at La Madeleine. Walked to dinner at Chicago's, where I recommend the Tilapia Mediterranean Style. Pub crawled to Charlie Mopps Public House.
Crawled further and slightly inside the Perimeter to 5 Seasons Brewing, where the Glenkevin "Wee Heavy" Scotch Ale was easily quaffed. Slomack was again thwarted by alternate lifestyle choices, as our beer maven was HOT but not of his persuasion. The long mosey back to chez Cheek was interrupted by a fall. Mine. Grace is not my middle name. A black asphalt driveway had the brazen audacity to be unlevel. Right knee planted, left hand braced the fall, right wrist bruised upon landing, left ankle same. Knee scrape wasn't bad, but the bruise is only now starting to fade, 2 weeks later.
Slomack is welcome back for more music, knoshing, and sloshing, but I'll need a designated walker with a flashlight. Those who know me well know that intoxication is not the factor here - it's rather one of genetics.
04 April 2007
Death, Canada and Taxes: No Such Things In Real Life?
Comics in this post are from Get Fuzzy by Darby ConleyYes, contrary to Bucky’s protestations, they both exist.
Forces are at work, bringing Canadians to constant recall. Scott Adam’s post today in the Dilbert Blog, for example, on imagining how reduced U.S. military resources could possibly make U.S. citizens less safe (they don’t). He imagines the totally plausible scenario where "Beer-soaked Canadians start throwing snowballs over the border and won’t listen to reason.".
Like that doesn’t happen all the time? And we never do anything about it. Beer soaked U.S. border citizens are just as drunk, just as deep in their snowball arsenal, and end the day inviting the Canucks by the fire if they’ll just share their better cheap beer.
American dreams, Canadian dreams, human dreams; they aren’t that different, really.
Recent conversation included reference to the SouthPark movie and the "Blame Canada" fake diatribe. I’ve a sticker saying such hiding in a box somewhere that used to have proud purchase on my desk, but since leaving Canadian employ there are fewer reasons to spy it and sigh in agreement. BioAsh’s recent "Enough Already" post certainly blames Canada a’plenty – sick stuff, man. Guess Greenpeace should update their Blame Canada vid accordingly until that policy changes as well:
And oh! my! gawd! The guffaws yielded from sharing this particularly swell xkcd offering with Mr. Pid yesterday produced much needed chortles. I lurve this web comic - it's so damn vivid!
Rumour has it my favourite Canadian will be in the Southeast in the coming weeks (no, those aren't misspellings of "rumor" and "favorite" – those are wacky Canuckian spellings). Sheena may have to be kidnapped for Atlanta revel rousing – her seasoned experience in things music and foodgasmic eats always packs cherry popping promise. And perhaps some cash exchange on the side?
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