I went back to the Vogue Friday night, this time to see Margot & the Nuclear So & So's.
It was pretty interesting. They have an eight-piece band and this is their story. They have a unique sound and I dig the exaggerated ensemble; seems like when bands crowd the stage with members it begets more of a party atmosphere. I just feel sort of bad for the band, however, since it's probably tough to make much cash when you're splitting the door eight ways.
Anyway, I can see them building sort of a cult following, although I didn't hear anything that screamed hit single in their catalog. But as I or any music aficianado will tell you, the best music out there rarely hits mainstream radio airwaves. Most noteworthy was that their keyboardist and singer is a chick - a very hot chick. A very hot chick who uses the f-bomb. Normally I find that to be a bit of a turnoff with the ladies, since it usually means they're not the type of gal you can take home to mom. But in this case, I might make an exception.
"Mom, this is my f-ing girlfriend... she's a f-ing ballbuster. I f-ing love her."
She was really hot.
After a nightcap at the Wellington and my usual hangover preventative (a naked burrito at Q-Doba), Tim and I retired. But not before meeting up with two attractive sisters, one of whom was married (naturally) and the other was just visiting from San Francisco (sure).
All told, it was a pretty nice little Saturday.
We lost our first round game of Wednesday's end of the season kickball tournament. It was very disheartening and a little suspect. We played in a co-ed league, yet the team we played only had 2 girls. Granted, we had them outnumbered in the field 11 to 9, but it seems askew. But since we're so dang nice, we let them count the victory. Perhaps karma will make us champions in life for this. Probably not.
Speaking of coaching, one of my pals is trying to get a friend and I to coach a little league basketball team with him. We would then film the whole season and make an independent picture out of it, which would probably look something like this. However, I'm not willing to ruin someone's childhood just so I can be featured at Sundance. And knowing my patience, or lack there of, with children, it could not possibly end well.
What's more, having served as a sports editor and editor in chief of a newspaper, I know firsthand what it's like to deal with parents. They are absolutely ridiculous. The only thing worse than dealing with people is dealing with people who are living vicariously through other people, which is what many parents do via their children's competitive activities. It's absolutely horrifying to watch from a distance.
However, I wonder what it would be like to coach a team of elderly folks. I bet it would be interesting. I'm betting I would get more out of it because I wouldn't have to deal with parents, and my team could teach me things - things like historical facts, antiquated technology, Ensure. But maybe there would be similar frustrations considering the team wouldn't always be able to physically do what's necessary to win: "Come on, Phyllis! Dick Butkus didn't need oxygen! You're better than that."
All told, I think my coaching will be limited to young and middle-aged grown-ups on the kickball field. Perhaps my rule of thumb will be: If I can't drink with my team after the game, I shouldn't be coaching them.
So Tim and I have this game we play (and by "game," I mean "pathetic indictment of our lives") where we walk around Indy's Monument Circle during our lunch hour and evaluate the ladies. If a woman is pretty enough to date, we assign her one point. We also give half points, but my mom reads this so I won't comment on what those are for. Once we've reached 10 points, we can head back to the office. To Indy's credit, it doesn't really take that long.
The question is: How sad is this? Answer: Pretty sad.
I think we're both pretty frustrated with our dating situations, but we're making strides to improve our respective predicaments. We're both pretty decent looking and smart, so one would think we're on the verge of acquiring a couple lovely ladies. However, some might argue we're not fat enough; see my previous post. I'm finding a lot of it is just getting the nerve to talk to beautiful women. All my pretty friends say regular guys rarely approach them; it's usually just drunken wanna-be's wearing crooked visors and coffee-stained wife beaters.
So, in lieu of this information, I've made a mid-year resolution to talk to beautiful women. I'll keep you posted on how it goes, and who knows, perhaps I'll find a one-pointer to call my own.
If you're young and live in Indianapolis and you haven't been to an IndyHub event, you're missing out.
Tuesday featured an event at the zoo where we could actually touch sharks swimming around in this huge tank. I opted not to, noting the proximity of my fingers to my primary arteries, but many took advantage. Apparently, the sharks felt like mushrooms - little angry, man-eating mushrooms. We were also privy to sea lions, penguins with punk rock hairdos (all named Johnny Rotten I through XXXIV), and a ginormous walrus who, despite his rotund appearance, was quite agile in the water. An interesting dichotomy, sort of reminded me of what it would have been like had John Goodman starred in "Splash."
By: TIM BREWER, Guest Blogger/Mean Drunk
I recently returned from a vacation to Maine, New Hampshire and New Brunswick, Canada. I joined my college buddies, one living in Canada and the other living in Washington D.C., to catch up on old times and act irresponsibly for five days, just like our president.
We visited seven breweries during our road trip, took in some hiking and were blown away by the amazing views from Mt. Washington. All seven breweries were interesting, as Moosehead Breweries gave us the cute public relations tour woman and Oak Pond Brewing in Maine used a backwoods chicken farm building to craft their beers. Oak Pond’s dunkel beer was my favorite sample. Yes, I had many samples. The chicken farm set up still blows me away. Apparently, Foghorn Leghorn is quite the brew master.
Trip highlights:
* Dave constantly quoting Buddy from Elf each time he belched by saying, "did you hear that?"
* My love for lunchtime wraps reached out of control status.
* All of us at a Canadian bar cheering for the American team against the Canadian team during the Stanley Cup Finals. We hate hockey, but we wanted to irritate the locals. Mission accomplished. Good lord, they truly have nothing else up there.
* Me regularly asking myself why I live in Indiana instead of the mountains.
* Dave and I asking Drew (he is half Japanese and half German) what the Chinese symbols meant each time we drove by a Chinese buffet.
* Spotting a running moose in the wild and naming him "Chad."
* Dave skipping a rock in the Salmon River so far that I labeled it the "Jesus Rock," as it walked on water.
The vacation was fun, refreshing and as always, a learning experience. Thanks to Northwest Airlines and my cancelled flight from Detroit to Indianapolis, I had to downgrade my overall vacation from A to A-. I’ll travel by stinky donkey to my next destination before I ever step foot in Detroit or fly Northworst again. Sorry Eminem – we ain’t that tight, dawg.
Had a great night out on the town Saturday and we ended back at one of my favorite bars - The Chatterbox on Mass Ave. They have myriad jazz talents come through their doors throughout the year and I strongly suggest, if you have any interest in that type of music, you should check it out.
If memory serves from my music studies minor at Indiana University, jazz is really the only truly American form of music. To me, that makes sense because it's sort of a microcosm of the organized chaos that makes this country the best in the world. It's usually structured, but there's an element of devil-may-care improvisation that I find exciting. And to me, the beauty of instrumental jazz is that the lyrics are whatever you want them to be. Instead of literal or figuritive descriptions of love and social revolutions, jazz communicates to you with a collection of beats, sounds and feelings. It's quite something, but I think it's something you may not pick up on until you've had at least 3 beers.
After living in Wyoming and Iowa for 3.5 years, things like this really make me appreciate the culture that Indy provides. It's a scene that is constantly growing, and I ask that you join me in attempting to keep it that way by getting involved on local boards and organizations. Or maybe just buy that "Celebrate the Arts" license plate the BMV offers - that should do it.
At any rate, I strongly recommend grabbing a few friends and getting lost in the beats of our fair Chatterbox. Kick back, have a few Jamaican beef patties (no matter how much you've had to drink or how hungry you are, don't eat them right out of the oven or your tongue will blister), down a few brews, and celebrate some serious virtuosos at work.
Just don't take my seat, cats.
Political discourse has hit the proverbial fan: 'Crushing' the system
At any rate, Barack Obama is currently perceived as the "sexy" candidate, so novelty videos such as this probably won't do anything to help or hurt his image, most likely. Don't let Hillary's early lead in the Democratic polls fool you, this will be a tight race as people get to know him and it becomes a run-off. And I actually like Obama, but I'm not yet sure who I'm going to vote for in 2008. It could be the Democrat; it could be the Republican. To be honest, I could very well be voting Libertarian for my third presidential election in a row. (I'm hoping Starchild clears the primary this year.)
I see videos like this and I wonder if we should be proud of ourselves because of all that we've accomplished in terms of cultivating technology, the fact that we're afforded freedoms to be so cavalier about the process, or even the fact that this wonderful country can produce women as hot as the one on the screen. Or would our founding fathers be spinning in their respective graves that this is how our young people approach politics? Is this an indictment of our collective society as a whole?
I really don't know, but I'm waiting for the pro-Hillary retort video. Perhaps a rap tribute featuring the lyric:
I produce left wing votes
like a vote distillery
Just please dear God
let me get a date with Hillary
Alright, Hillary's a tough rhyme, people. Cut me some slack.
