Musical Goodness

I've been a fan of Shel Silverstein since I was a kid. My parents exposed me to The Giving Tree, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Falling Up, and A Light in the Attic when I was first learning to read, since poetry, written without a lot of pretentious big words, is often great to teach children how to read. I've always loved Uncle Shelby.

So it was with amazement that a friend of mine at work told me of Silverstein's musical work. I had no idea, and I feel so sad at having missed out. I spent most of today listening to Freakin' at the Freaker's Ball and laughing myself silly at the irreverent humor of Stacy Brown Got Two.

Now I'm going to have to find everything that man wrote and read it, just out of general omigod-howdidinotknowthis.

News from the other side

I have big news.....but you're all going to have to wait a little while until I can tell you. It's a secret, see?

Until then, enjoy this.

Sad news

Kevin Dubrow, the lead singer for Quiet Riot, was found dead today. This really sucks.

My biggest memories of Quiet Riot are much like my memories of Twisted Sister....fond ones, of a group of guys with really big hair having fun poking fun at the more serious metal bands in the 80's. I'm sure there were lots of drugs involved, I never really looked past the music to be honest.

Still, it's sad. :(

Piano Man, and how not to run a restaurant

Red got me tickets for my birthday, over a month ago, to go see Billy Joel in concert at the Rose Garden in Portland today. First, let me say that the Piano Man certainly does not disappoint in his concert - a thorough mix of favorites going back to before I was born up to much more contemporary stuff, and at one point getting a member of his road crew up to do the vocals for an asskicking cover of Highway to Hell. Simply awesome.

But let's backtrack just a bit, for I have something about which I wish to rant.

Consider this. You run a restaurant which, on nights that the Rose Garden is actually doing something, represents the closest (and, for all I know, only) thing resembling an actual restaurant with real food within walking distance. As such, you are guaranteed standing-room-only attendance from people who, like me this evening, are hungry, and who, like me, want to partake of something with alcoholic content. One would think that, under such circumstances, one might make an effort to create an environment where people are interested in eating, with food people are interested in eating, and with staff capable of delivering it.

Sadly, this is not the case.

First, we came into the Rose Garden before the concourse was actually open. How we managed this, I'm not quite certain, but Red and I were chased off the "concourse" by an officious red-bejacketed harridan demanding to know what I was doing as I was walking by, as if it weren't relatively obvious that a) I was walking and b) I had no particular destination as evidenced by my inquisitive looks at all and sundry. I was told I could go into the above-mentioned restaurant, or exit the Rose Garden, but one way or another, my foray into the wild realm of Breaking The Rules was at an end. I felt like such a lawbreaker.

Anyway, so the restaurant was an option, right? I could go and get a drink, whiling away the hour and a half I had to await for the show with a beer and food. Ah, bliss!

Sadly, this was not the case. We didn't have a reservation. Lawbreaking denied, we were ushered toward the doors with all the hospitality of a dinner hostess toward a guest bearing a roadkilled possum as a door gift. Into the actually sub-freezing temperatures we went. Were there other options for food and drink, you ask? Well, no. Not so much.

25 minutes and approximately three frostbitten toes apiece later, we were permitted entry once more upon the concourse, somewhat chastened. We made our way to the restaurant, and waited in line for a table, were seated by a pleasant hostess, and then the real fun began.

Were I a waitress (and I'm not - I don't have the legs or the pleasant temperament for it), I would make an effort to learn the ways of fermented spirits; specifically, I would take the time to learn the difference between an amber ale and a cream stout porter. When asked for one, and given the wrong one by the bartender, I would not deliver it and ask with a blank gum-chewing look, "Well, that's whatcha wanted, dintcha?". No, see, amber ale is reddish/amber in color and transparent. Cream stout porter is as dark as strong coffee, and has a distinct creamy head on it.

Were I a professional cook (and I'm not, see above), I would not serve up a requested reuben sandwich with a) soggy, greasy marbled rye bread, b) enough mayonnaise that, if one were to wring it out, could be used to fry the accompanying fries in, c) a mere wisp of sauerkraut, and d) barely enough corned beef to constitute a halfhearted insult. The sandwich was vile in every describable way, and a few that can't be put in English. Not that I didn't try. Its sole redeeming feature was that it was hot, which I appreciated more than the revolting texture or cardboard-soaked-in-axle-grease taste. Were I a professional cook, I would also not serve up limp fries that had noticeably been fried in the same batch of nasty oil that had been used for deep frying fish of some unidentified kind.

The less said about Red's "Asian Salad", the better.

Were I an owner of an establishment, I would not charge $11 for the aforementioned sandwich and fries, and I would not be charging $8 for a 14-oz plastic cup of porter. The beer, at least, tasted okay, but that's probably because they had somebody from another company doing the tap cleaning and carbonation. I would have left a $.03 tip if I had had any pennies, but since I didn't, I left a note reading as follows:

"You have accomplished and served the most inedible food at the most unreasonable prices I've ever found. Congratulations on your achievement."

Just in case anybody wanted to know....

If you were curious about things I might want for Christmas, both of these rank right up there.

Update 11/26/07: These, too.

Weekly beer post

Well.

I was going to do a post this week about one of my favorites, the classic Guinness Draught. I was going to talk about how unique the nitro system is, the smooth chocolatey malted taste of it, etc etc etc. Now I'm not going to. Wanna know why?

I enjoy beer, and Guinness has been one of my favorites for years. About a year ago, they changed the formula, for reasons I can only guess at. Remember New Coke? Yeah, same thing - essentially, as I understand it, they changed the mix of the malts from using 100% really dark to about 75% really dark and about 25% caramel or lighter. The result is not unpleasant, per se, but it's definitely no longer the taste I'm used to. I've found a new love....or several, actually, and I've moved on.

The second thing is this. Look, I'm all for responsible drinking, and ensuring that kids aren't looking at inappropriate material. That's a good thing....but why in the name of all that's holy should I give my date of birth just to look at a site talking about their product??????

I suppose it could be a defense that they talk about actual brewing processes, how to make Guinness, etc, but come on. That stuff's not secret even in the most liberal sense of the word.

Anyway...goodbye Guinness. It was good while it lasted. I'll see you next St. Paddy's Day (can't drink anything but Irish beer on that day).

Disclaimer

Spambot comments will be summarily deleted without notice or apology.

That is all.

Weekend events

Well, I think I can confidently say I've fit as much shooting into this weekend as any other time I can recall. Wedding yesterday, glamor shoot today with the Matron of Honor from said wedding.....busy busy busy.

Photo editing to do - if I get a release to show them, I'll post. If not, you'll al have to suffer, wondering what might have been.

Cognitive dissonance

I'm sitting here watching somebody else reading my blog, over their shoulder, and I have my "Create New Post" page up on my laptop.

That's weird, in a cool, weird way.

Weekly beer post

Woops. I forgot my weekly beer post.

I don't have a new one to review, so since Kate's just doing salutes, I offer my own, a la Homer Simpson.


Mmmmmmmmmmm.....beer good.

Overheard

Exchange between Little Red (Red's oldest, 13 years old), and a Very Popular Girl That Should Have Known Better:

VPGTSHKB: (Little Red), you're such a nerd. You get straight A's, and you're always studying. I'm so much more popular than you, and I've got soooo many friends than you.

Little Red: Uh huh.

VPGTSHKB: I mean, like, I've got soooo many more friends, and I'm soooo much more popular.

Little Red: Okay, I'll tell you what. In twenty years, I'll remember you were the popular one, if you can remember to get me my pizza in thirty minutes or less.

Oompa Loompa?

Doopety doo.....He's got another riddle for you.
h/t The Smoking Gun

Cool!

Get a Cash Advance

h/t: Dr Helen

Criminy, what a week

Okay, so my last post was Monday.

Most of Monday and a significant amount of Tuesday was caught up with the housecleaning. Tuesday evening, I got food ready for children and skated off to Red's weekly meeting (I swear, I'll get to talking about her business....just gimme a minute, willya?). Got home kinda late.

Wednesday. Work....immediately following which was Red's big Open House for her business (the reason for the massive top-to-bottom housecleaning effort of the previous two days). It went well, but not as well as it could have. Dinner late, bed later.

Up early Thursday morning, more of this "work" thing I'm supposed to do in exchange for the ability to continue paying my exorbitant mortgage. Right, lots happening there, very busy day, covered a coworker's desk and kicked much hiney. Came home, discovered the power source on my desktop computer has apparently decided to go off to wherever it is that dead electronic components wind up, leaving me with my laptop. Did something after work involving something from work, I think....it all kind of blurs together. Oh, I meant to have a beer and forgot. How depressing. In bed somewhat late, woke up halfway thru the night for something that was well worth getting up for (heh), and then up a few hours later for....

Friday! Hallelujah, more work. Back to work, busy busy gogogogogogogo day in which I discovered much ineptitude on the part of other people, which I fixed and spread sunshine and happiness.

Now I am home. The kids are gone for the weekend with their dad. I am having cold pizza and a colder beer whilst sitting in my living room using my laptop.

*sigh*

Busy weekend ahead, too. Hopefully, I get to sit down for a little while on Monday of next week, but I'll bet it won't happen.

Weekly beer post

This week's review is Full Sail Brewing's seasonal fall entry, called simply Wassail.

I have somewhat more mixed feelings about this entry - for one thing I'm not so into hops, and while this winter ale isn't bitter by any stretch, it's definitely not a sweeter ale. There's a sharp spicy taste from the hops and from the four different malts used in brewing.

Wassail, traditionally, is a hot and spicy punch, cider, or mulled beer served around the Yule season. Without being hot, this ale does a creditable job. It's spicy, and is exactly the sort of thing one would be drinking around a fire after a long day skiing. It isn't a dessert ale or beer at all....more of an accompaniment to dinner or something just to be enjoyed on its own merits.

Overheard

The Bike Owner: aaaaargh
The Bike Owner: I got a Megatron and I can't for the life of me figure out how to transform it.
WG: lol
The Bike Owner: The instructions are horrid.
WG: Are they in engrish?
The Bike Owner: No words, just really ...bad... instructions.

Morning Fog

Ok, that was a first.

I've never had somebody call me to tell me they sent me an email to tell me that they came into the office to leave me a message telling me that they'd just dropped off something for me that I don't particularly need.

At least, not within the space of about two hours, anyway.

An interesting point

The Advice Goddess raises a good point:

It doesn’t take much for domestic violence against men to be taken seriously…usually, just a chalk outline where a man’s body used to be. The rest of the time, people tend to shrug it off or even find it cute: “Well, well, well, she’s quite the firecracker!” Granted, male abusers can do much more damage with their fists, but put a heavy object in a woman’s hands, and good morning brain damage! (Just wondering…has your husband gotten the ashtray out of his skull, or does he have to hang around smoking areas with his head bent down so people have someplace to flick their ash?)

I've been mulling over whether or not to get into the debate about feminism since I started writing this blog (yes, all three months of it....lol). I couldn't ignore this one.

My ex-wife is, or at least was, a staunch feminist of the "women are oppressed and always have been" stripe. I want to be clear about this: she is entitled to her opinion, and I am not going to say it doesn't have any merit. I do, however, happen to disagree with that viewpoint; this is largely because there are abundant examples of women who have chosen, for whatever reason, to stand out from the crowd and take some kind of action on their own behalf.

Therein lies the problem. Men, as a rule, have a strong tendency to see productive action as validating. Be successful, do something important, take action.....don't just sit and talk about it, for God's sakes....you'll never get anywhere that way. The problem with this point of view, and again, it has merit, but I'm not necessarily agreeing with it, is that it discounts all of the things that women seem to be naturally wired to do, which is networking and social interaction.

The feminist movement is, largely, exactly such a network. If men have a valid point that the cards are stacked against them in a domestic dispute with a woman, then one has to think a bit about why the deck is on the table that way and who's doing the dealing. This didn't happen by accident; the feminist movement going back to Sappho has focused its attention on changing the world to reflect its own agenda.

This, in concept, is not a bad idea. The problem is, things have gone too far.

How have we gotten in this country to a point where police responding to a domestic dispute immediately assume that the typical picture of woman = victim exists? Not all cops think that way, to be fair, but a great deal of them do based on experience. Presupposing the situation's details aside, in my opinion that's much like assuming that dice have a memory or that the stock market is always predictable - there are simply too many variables at work in peoples' interactions to assume that because a) has happened before, and often, that a) is also automatically true unless proven otherwise.

Dr. Helen had an article at Pajamas Media not too long ago that I found thought provoking, asking whether marriage is a winning propositon for men. The answer from her commenters was overwhelmingly no, that a man getting married is giving up far more than his freedom, he's opening the door willingly for a woman to take advantage of him in every way imaginable. Is this true? Have we really reached a point where the prospect of marriage's drawbacks outweigh its benefits?

Feminists have a point that there's a glass ceiling in a male-dominated workplace. I happen to work in an environment that is nearly the exact opposite, however - there are virtually no men at all in lower to middle management of the agency I work for, except if you go looking into IT. Other than that, one has to go further up into the upper echelons to find men. At my level, it's even more lopsided - my workplace numbers something like 40 women and 7 men. It's not quite 10:1, but it's close. Is this evidence of a glass ceiling, then, or it something much more pedestrian? The industry I work in doesn't attact a lot of men, and since the ranks of management are largely drawn from the pool of talent already in the agency, it would tend to make more sense.

Going back to the question of domestic violence, though, brings me to my last point (at least, as far as this post goes...). Men are encouraged, generally, to be emotionally repressed; thinking a problem through, reacting logically, taking whatever action is appropriate, these are all what men are "supposed" to do. For men to actually put the drive to "do" aside, and spend time networking, talking, and thinking the problem out, is hard, in part I think because it isn't generally encouraged (ie. not "masculine"), and in part because generally we have so little experience at it. Men - and I'm speaking largely for myself here - generally fear ridicule or mockery of their failures more than just about anything else, and not taking the somewhat more usual path of problem --> solution --> action --> resolution leaves one open to precisely that kind of shame.

In other words, expecting the person that's supposed to be "strong" to open up and discuss gooshy feelings is on a very basic level very counterintuitive. Personally, I think it takes a lot more strength to talk about one's problems than pretend they don't exist, but not everybody sees it that way.

I think Human Resources people read this comic

In particular, I think the last two panels pretty much sum up how they see those of us that do the honest work.

The Travelocity gnome's friends have landed

I like gnomes as much as the next guy, but I think I'd be a tad creeped out with 75 of these little fellas staring at me. I'm just glad I don't live in Springfield. :)

Followup to previous Metallica post

Okay, I had no idea they could do this. Metal done with acoustic drumset and cellos...how many bands would even try that? Wow.

Ok, now I have to see these guys live the next time they're out this way.

Redefining breakfast?

Ok, I'm all for food that's easy, quick, simple....but there are things you just don't mess with, and a man's pancake breakfast is one of them. ICK.

I want a CCP permit

I wonder how much a Carry Concealed Pickle permit would cost? (h/t Absolute Moral Authority)

You there, yes, you.

There is a new book out. You must own it. Go purchase it. Now.

That is all.

Overheard

The Bike Owner: I can't summon up a good give-a-damn today.

WG: I could, but it would require candles, a sharp knife, and a sacrificial victim.

If I were a Rock Star

I'd definitely put subliminal messages into my songs.

Brush your teeth, and floss.
Use soap.
Wipe.
Bathe regularly.
Take your vitamins.
Eat your vegetables.
Don't climb into bed and put your cold feet into the hollow behind your husband's nice warm knees.


I'm just sayin'.

All new appreciation

Metallica is awesome. I've liked them for a long time, although I'm by no means an "original fan" like a lot of metalheads, Red included. No, my exposure to Metallica came with the Black album, like a lot of more mainstream types. I haven't added to my collection of CD's, largely because I'm cheap.

So last week The Bike Owner sent me an mp3 of Metallica's Fight Fire With Fire, and bade me listen to just after the guitar solo. Here's a live version. Listen to the double bass drums that Lars Ulrich has going at around 3:23.....that's going at the same speed the guitars are going.

I started thinking about Lars as a drummer earlier today at work, after I'd kind of switched my brain off and was working on autopilot, when up came Metallica's One, again played live. Here's another video; the sound's not as good, but watch the beginning. All of that is the drummer, aside from the pops of the pyrotechnics.

Just....wow.