Amsterdam...birthplace of the ol' adage "that goes together like pot and prostitutes!.."
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Friday, August 20, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Pragueward, hoooooo!
Great few days in Amsterdam. What seemed at first to be a completely wild, untamed, intimidating city now feels like a manageable, comfortable place to live/visit. With the everpresent odor of hers truly, Mary Jane, wafting through the air, of course.
But, the time has come to move eastward toward that magical land of Praha, as the kids call it. We're taking an overnight sleeper train, which should be interesting, to say the least. I told Jaime I feel just like Tony Curtis in "Some Like It Hot"...except without the whole crossdressing thing. Of course, the day is still young...
Updated 'Dam pics - http://s104.photobucket.com/albums/m194/jasonf44/Honeymoon%202010 (will have to cut and paste this one till i get to a computer. Hopefully this will work...having issues with my pic posting recently. They might be wildly out of order and possibly include some from Prague and Vienna...not sure yet. Again, I blame her
Majesty the Queen. Respectfully, of course).
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But, the time has come to move eastward toward that magical land of Praha, as the kids call it. We're taking an overnight sleeper train, which should be interesting, to say the least. I told Jaime I feel just like Tony Curtis in "Some Like It Hot"...except without the whole crossdressing thing. Of course, the day is still young...
Updated 'Dam pics - http://s104.photobucket.com/albums/m194/jasonf44/Honeymoon%202010 (will have to cut and paste this one till i get to a computer. Hopefully this will work...having issues with my pic posting recently. They might be wildly out of order and possibly include some from Prague and Vienna...not sure yet. Again, I blame her
Majesty the Queen. Respectfully, of course).
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, August 13, 2010
We came, we saw, we FRINGED!
Edinburgh was an incredible stop on our journey...partly because of the incomparable Fringe Festival taking place, partly because it is home to a medieval castle on a hill, and partly because it is just freakin' cool, holmes. Eddie, we will miss you!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Goodbye Glasgow...Hello Edinburgh!
A lil' "Best of" vid I threw together QUICKLY summing up our first stop. Literally has taken days to upload this mother. No music this time...baby steps... Enjoy!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Piccies, love!
Rest of Edinburgh pics!
Have no idea why the Photobucket app puts later uploads BEFORE previously uploaded pics...I am sure Her Majesty the Queen has some thing to do with it...
Have no idea why the Photobucket app puts later uploads BEFORE previously uploaded pics...I am sure Her Majesty the Queen has some thing to do with it...
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
No Shmeservations
Call me a traditionalist. Call me practical. Call me...I don't know...a word that describes someone who follows and abides by the rules of life in the silly, naive, seemingly unfounded hope that his actions make easier either his or someone else's journey across this all-too-short bridge to the great unknown?
Call me any descriptor of that ilk that you will, but I feel that there are certain things in this life that are unflinchingly rigid. Or, at least, should be. And one of those things are reservations. Yesterday, however, I was informed otherwise.
We bussed into Edinburgh yesterday morning with high spirits and overflowing anticipation to see the sites, the city, the people, and of course, the pure, distilled insanity that is the Fringe festival. The ride there was partially rainy and partially sunny (as is the weather in Scotland...sometimes, oddly, at the same time), and concluded with a 20-minute long conversation with a lovely older Scottish lass during which I was turned around in my seat nodding and smiling as she went on and on about SWEET-MOSES-KNOWS-WHAT B/C I COULDN'T UNDERSTAND A DAMN WORD SHE WAS SAYING (but, bless her heart, she was adorable). We arrived at St. Andrews' Square, but you just as easily could have mistaken it for Times Square by how many people were squeezing their way down Edinburgh's narrow roads.
We navigated our way to the Royal Mile (covered with street performers doing everything from acrobatics to...well...a dancing man in a tuxedo with the head of a fish), found Blair Street, hung a right on Cowgate and soon arrived at the Cowgate Tourist Hostel, which looked fine and unassuming from the outside and lobby area. That is where we met George.
George seemed to be a nice enough chap...slightly spiky hair, chops, a piercing or two, random punk rock shirt, fun little accent. We presented George with our printed, confirmed, RESERVATION (cf. Shmeservation - (def.) a hollow promise given by jerks). George proceeded to inform us that while our shmeservation was good, we would not be in the same room. The conversation went SOMETHING like this:
JFro: Well, hididdlyho there, my good man. We have a reservation to stay at your fine establishment.
George: Right...so...we have you two here, but not in the same room...
J: Excuse me?
G: We're unable to put you in the same room. Because you made your [shmeservation] after the people who checked in before you, they have first priority.
J: But, George, our RESERVATION clearly says we're supposed to have 2 beds in a 4-bed room.
G: Right
J:
G: But you made them late, so we put other people in the room first and we have to split you two up.
J: Ok, George, I think there might be a miscommunication here. See, we made a RESERVATION to be in the same room. The key to the whole reservation system lies in the ability of the reservation HOLDER to eventually stay in the room in which they have made a reservation. THAT'S WHAT A RESERVATION DOES. Otherwise, the reservation loses its potency. It becomes a meager request. But this isn't a meager request, IS IT, GEORGE?? NO. This is a RESERVATION. So what can we do about this?
G: Nothing, unfortunately. There's no more room anywhere else.
J: Ok, George, let's examine this situation one more time...
You can imagine how the conversation continued. Obviously, as I'm sure you have inferred from the beginning of this post, George won this battle. And, because the Fringe is going on, there are no other vacancies in town. Literally. I, however, am content in knowing that I will prove victorious in the WAR...if by no other means than verbally bashing this Euro-HOLE to the six people that regularly read my blog. Do NOT stay at the Cowgate Tourist Hostel in Edinburgh, Scotland. It is a dump sandwich. Dirty as hell, half of the lights/outlets/appliances don't work properly or at all. The beds are little more than coils wrapped in thin fabric (I got into bed last night and thought I was lying on my cell phone, until I realized it was on my bag next to the bed...). Everytime I flush my toilet it sounds like a NASA shuttle launch. Jaime's room smells like Gary Busey looks. But, on top of it all, the staff doesn't think twice about honoring their previously made commitments. And that, my dear friends, is just not right.
This is why my post is entitled "No Shmeservations"...as in, "reservations, shmeservations"...as in, "I don't give a rat's ass about what you THOUGHT/WERE TOLD/PAID FOR, you're getting what I want to give you because you're between a rock and a hard place, you hairy Yank."
Call me any descriptor of that ilk that you will, but I feel that there are certain things in this life that are unflinchingly rigid. Or, at least, should be. And one of those things are reservations. Yesterday, however, I was informed otherwise.
We bussed into Edinburgh yesterday morning with high spirits and overflowing anticipation to see the sites, the city, the people, and of course, the pure, distilled insanity that is the Fringe festival. The ride there was partially rainy and partially sunny (as is the weather in Scotland...sometimes, oddly, at the same time), and concluded with a 20-minute long conversation with a lovely older Scottish lass during which I was turned around in my seat nodding and smiling as she went on and on about SWEET-MOSES-KNOWS-WHAT B/C I COULDN'T UNDERSTAND A DAMN WORD SHE WAS SAYING (but, bless her heart, she was adorable). We arrived at St. Andrews' Square, but you just as easily could have mistaken it for Times Square by how many people were squeezing their way down Edinburgh's narrow roads.
We navigated our way to the Royal Mile (covered with street performers doing everything from acrobatics to...well...a dancing man in a tuxedo with the head of a fish), found Blair Street, hung a right on Cowgate and soon arrived at the Cowgate Tourist Hostel, which looked fine and unassuming from the outside and lobby area. That is where we met George.
George seemed to be a nice enough chap...slightly spiky hair, chops, a piercing or two, random punk rock shirt, fun little accent. We presented George with our printed, confirmed, RESERVATION (cf. Shmeservation - (def.) a hollow promise given by jerks). George proceeded to inform us that while our shmeservation was good, we would not be in the same room. The conversation went SOMETHING like this:
JFro: Well, hididdlyho there, my good man. We have a reservation to stay at your fine establishment
George:
J: Excuse me?
G: We're unable to put you in the same room. Because you made your [shmeservation] after the people who checked in before you, they have first priority.
J:
G: Right
J:
G: But you made them late, so we put other people in the room first and we have to split you two up.
J: Ok, George, I think there might be a miscommunication here. See, we made a RESERVATION to be in the same room. The key to the whole reservation system lies in the ability of the reservation HOLDER to eventually stay in the room in which they have made a reservation. THAT'S WHAT A RESERVATION DOES. Otherwise, the reservation loses its potency. It becomes a meager request. But this isn't a meager request, IS IT, GEORGE?? NO. This is a RESERVATION. So what can we do about this?
G: Nothing, unfortunately. There's no more room anywhere else.
J:
You can imagine how the conversation continued. Obviously, as I'm sure you have inferred from the beginning of this post, George won this battle. And, because the Fringe is going on, there are no other vacancies in town. Literally. I, however, am content in knowing that I will prove victorious in the WAR...if by no other means than verbally bashing this Euro-HOLE to the six people that regularly read my blog. Do NOT stay at the Cowgate Tourist Hostel in Edinburgh, Scotland. It is a dump sandwich. Dirty as hell, half of the lights/outlets/appliances don't work properly or at all. The beds are little more than coils wrapped in thin fabric (I got into bed last night and thought I was lying on my cell phone, until I realized it was on my bag next to the bed...). Everytime I flush my toilet it sounds like a NASA shuttle launch. Jaime's room smells like Gary Busey looks. But, on top of it all, the staff doesn't think twice about honoring their previously made commitments. And that, my dear friends, is just not right.
This is why my post is entitled "No Shmeservations"...as in, "reservations, shmeservations"...as in, "I don't give a rat's ass about what you THOUGHT/WERE TOLD/PAID FOR, you're getting what I want to give you because you're between a rock and a hard place, you hairy Yank."
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
I'm leeeeeavin'....on a Megabus.... (Jetplane, anyone?)
Had a ball in Glasgow, but it'sa time to head on East! Saw Glasgow Cathedral and the Necropolis before heading north to Auchentoshan Distillery, where we had a private tour of the facilities because we are THAT AMAZING (and no one else showed up for the tour). Then a walk around Sauchiehall Street led us to dinner at Bar Buddha, an Asian-themed restaurant serving international fare (go figure). Then off to Molly Malone's, an Irish Pub, followed by a few pints at The Griffin. Capped off our stay with two debatably unnecessary late-night pints from a beer vending machine in our hostel (SO getting one for my future man cave, btw...) that made us wake up feeling just as cheery as the overcast, drizzly weather in which we're about to trek. Now off to catch the Megabus via a Scotch tasting in George Square with our new friend James, one of the proprietors of this fine establishment. See yurgh in Edinburgh!
Summoreforya: http://s104.photobucket.com/albums/m194/jasonf44/Honeymoon%202010/
Summoreforya: http://s104.photobucket.com/albums/m194/jasonf44/Honeymoon%202010/
Sunday, August 8, 2010
OY...need sleepy...
My lordy we're tired. Great day, though :)
Plane from DC to London was not too bad aside from a couple turbulent bumps (still have Jaime's finger indentations in my arm) and not timing the movies right which resulted in missing the much anticipated "Shrek Forever After" (the multiple mini-bottles of free wine made up for it...thank you British Airlines). Plane from London to Glasgow was good...then took a bus to city centre and walked about 15 blocks to our hostel (video tour of room to come) took a nap, had a bite, had a pint, and now off to bed. Really..REALLY exhausted. Can't wait to wake up refreshed tomorrow for some good goings on in Glasgow. Gigitty!
Few pics from today: http://s104.photobucket.com/albums/m194/jasonf44/Honeymoon%202010/
Plane from DC to London was not too bad aside from a couple turbulent bumps (still have Jaime's finger indentations in my arm) and not timing the movies right which resulted in missing the much anticipated "Shrek Forever After" (the multiple mini-bottles of free wine made up for it...thank you British Airlines). Plane from London to Glasgow was good...then took a bus to city centre and walked about 15 blocks to our hostel (video tour of room to come) took a nap, had a bite, had a pint, and now off to bed. Really..REALLY exhausted. Can't wait to wake up refreshed tomorrow for some good goings on in Glasgow. Gigitty!
Few pics from today: http://s104.photobucket.com/albums/m194/jasonf44/Honeymoon%202010/
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
HOW DID I DO????? #@)*%)#$&%(#$&%!!!!!!!!!!!!
How did it go?
How do you think you did?
Did it go well???
DID YOU PASS??????????
I blame myself. It's my fault. I didn't let you know. I didn't tell you about the handful of questions that you're just not allowed...by law...under penalty of horrific, disgusting, bizarre, morally-reprehensible medieval torture...to ask someone who just sat for the bar. *Deep breath* It's ok--really, you didn't know. But, as a service to all those recently finished, weary-eyed bar-sitters who've yet to hear from good ol' Aunt Gerty and Uncle Bob--those loving relatives who will UNDOUBTEDLY pose one of the muscle-tensing questions listed above--please distribute this message as a preemptive public service announcement.
I. DO. NOT. KNOW. HOW. I. DID.
I know you want to ask. I know you're just ITCHING to ask! And, joking aside, I do know that it comes from the heart :) But, c'mon, people. Fo' surious. Are you really asking how I did on a 2-day long, 15-hour, poly-subject mixed-question law gauntlet that is designed to confuse, configured to fatigue, and rife with questions that elicit so much self-doubt it is no wonder that one of the test takers at my location actually had a stress-induced seizure midway through the exam?? (Follow-Up: after she stopped seizing, the seizee, in an act of extreme powerhouseness, CONTINUED TAKING THE TEST! Kudos to you, muchacha. Huevos Grande! Well...um...you know what I mean...)
The answer, btw, is this: NO ONE KNOWS...yet. There's no real way for the test-taker to gauge their performance until results are announced in November because the individual's raw score is ultimately scaled to reflect the collective results of everyone who took that state's bar. So, even if we wanted to answer your INANE...*ahem*...sorry...heartfelt questions, there's no way to give you an accurate answer. However, that's not the point. The point is that just about every student who left the test center last Wednesday felt like large amounts of SUCK after two days of being metaphorically Chuck Norrised in the brain. To then have to answer the ol' "How did it go???"......*shudder*....well, here, see if you can formulate an answer to at least one of the following "How did it go?" retorts and maybe that will give you an idea of where I'm coming from:
("How did it go," you ask?...)
How did it go the morning after you first learned about Jagermeister in college???
How did it go that time you took a line drive softball straight to the jugunga????
How did it go the first time your Mom caught you finding creative uses for a tubesock????
How did it go that time you got fired from your job after being accused of performing poorly AND smelling like Michael Moore after three hours of Jazzercize??????
How do you think you did?
Did it go well???
DID YOU PASS??????????
I blame myself. It's my fault. I didn't let you know. I didn't tell you about the handful of questions that you're just not allowed...by law...under penalty of horrific, disgusting, bizarre, morally-reprehensible medieval torture...to ask someone who just sat for the bar. *Deep breath* It's ok--really, you didn't know. But, as a service to all those recently finished, weary-eyed bar-sitters who've yet to hear from good ol' Aunt Gerty and Uncle Bob--those loving relatives who will UNDOUBTEDLY pose one of the muscle-tensing questions listed above--please distribute this message as a preemptive public service announcement.
I. DO. NOT. KNOW. HOW. I. DID.
I know you want to ask. I know you're just ITCHING to ask! And, joking aside, I do know that it comes from the heart :) But, c'mon, people. Fo' surious. Are you really asking how I did on a 2-day long, 15-hour, poly-subject mixed-question law gauntlet that is designed to confuse, configured to fatigue, and rife with questions that elicit so much self-doubt it is no wonder that one of the test takers at my location actually had a stress-induced seizure midway through the exam?? (Follow-Up: after she stopped seizing, the seizee, in an act of extreme powerhouseness, CONTINUED TAKING THE TEST! Kudos to you, muchacha. Huevos Grande! Well...um...you know what I mean...)
The answer, btw, is this: NO ONE KNOWS...yet. There's no real way for the test-taker to gauge their performance until results are announced in November because the individual's raw score is ultimately scaled to reflect the collective results of everyone who took that state's bar. So, even if we wanted to answer your INANE...*ahem*...sorry...heartfelt questions, there's no way to give you an accurate answer. However, that's not the point. The point is that just about every student who left the test center last Wednesday felt like large amounts of SUCK after two days of being metaphorically Chuck Norrised in the brain. To then have to answer the ol' "How did it go???"......*shudder*....well, here, see if you can formulate an answer to at least one of the following "How did it go?" retorts and maybe that will give you an idea of where I'm coming from:
("How did it go," you ask?...)
How did it go the morning after you first learned about Jagermeister in college???
How did it go that time you took a line drive softball straight to the jugunga????
How did it go the first time your Mom caught you finding creative uses for a tubesock????
How did it go that time you got fired from your job after being accused of performing poorly AND smelling like Michael Moore after three hours of Jazzercize??????
Pickenz up vas I'm puttinz down, ya? There is no good answer that you want to hear. And I KNOW you don't want to sit through my glorious description of how the only thing more frustrating than not knowing the answers to numerous formidable essay questions was trying to block out the ever-present fart stench coming from the table behind me (That's right, 'older-guy-with-the-IBM-compatible who didn't even give me a pity laugh when I attempted a tension-cutting pre-exam joke about fluorescent earplugs.' I know whatchoo did!!!)
In sum, unless you're aching to be on the receiving end of a good ol' stink eye, my advice is to offer a "Hey, congrats on being done!," then clap your hands once and walk away like a Vegas dealer who's shift just ended. It will be much appreciated, believe me. As long as I have you here, let me just thank you, in advance, for NOT asking me if I have received my results seventeen times before Nov. 5. And, thanks for NOT calling me up on Nov. 5 in eager anticipation of what you're "SURE" the results will be. AND, thanks for NOT reassuring me that the February test will be a shoe-in because I "already know what to expect." Basically, let's just not talk before next spring. Nothing personal. It'll just be safer that way.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Mateys and Grog
--ARRRRRRRrgyle!
Who is a pirate's favorite Thundercat?
--SnARRRRRff!
Where does a pirate go to sign up for his college courses?
--The registrARRRRRRR!
Where do you go if you're thirsty and don't mind risking getting stabbed/shot/romanced by a scruffy man in a bandanna?
...ASIDE from the area surrounding the Petworth Metro stop?...
The PIRATE BARRRR!!!
(actually named Piratz Tavern, but you can't "ARRR!" the word "Tavern." Well....I guess you could ...hmmm...let's see..."TavARRRRRn!!" Nope, definitely not as good).As hard as it is to believe, Silver Spring, MD was once but a lowly town north of DC, devoid of any excitement or distinguishable character aside from its reputation as a less-than-affluent, forgettable passageway between the District and the Beltway. But then, in 2006, The Pirate Bar landed on our shores and changed everything, instantly promoting SSpring's status to "Zack Morris Cool." Like a 17th century T.G.I.Fridays, Piratz Tavern is decked out with all kinds of scallywag paraphernalia from the somewhat ominous front entrance to the island-motif patio out back. The wait staff, naturally, are dressed head to toe as pirates (minimum 37 pieces of flair required). Sometimes the GUESTS even come draped in pirate garb (truth be told, I've only seen one patron dressed up. He was there both times I went. Kinda questionable. Honestly, I really wasn't sure if he worked there or not. If he did, then must have been on a nice long break...unless his job title was "Assistant Manager of Booze Tasting and Women Ogling." If he didn't work there, then he's just a regular guy...
...who frequently dresses up to go get a drink out on the town...
...in full pirate regalia...
...on a TUESDAY...
...
........
.............
................yeah, this is just screaming "restraining order," isn't it?...)
1) Approach slowly...introduce yourself.
2) Tell him that "JFro sent you."
3) Offer Kevin a beer (anything but Bud...let's be reasonable, now...)
4) Promptly return Kevin to Piratz Tavern.
5) Finally, offer Kevin another beer. And a grog. After all, he's had a hard day.
PIRATE BAR!!!!!!!!! See you there, friends :) GARRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
BEWARE: The sun and 90s alt-rock do NOT mix well.
It is going to be a veritable SCORCHER these next few days, folks. With a heat index boosting temperatures well over 100 degrees Fahrvergnügenheit, spending even a few minutes outside will make you sweat more than a pre-pubescent Bar-Mitzvah boy about to chant his Torah portion. The Metropolitan Washington Council of Governments has declared today a CODE ORANGE, which means the air quality is unhealthy for "sensitive groups" (does that include PeTA?). With all this in mind (and, after recently witnessing my beautiful, sweet, lovely Wife tan herself into a fem-lobster), I felt inclined to share a story that emphasizes the importance of staying hydrated on a day like today. Before I begin, please drink a glass of water. No, seriously...I'll wait...
For those of you old enough to rent a car and get kicked off your parents health insurance, you undoubtedly remember the birth of the HFStival, WHFS's annual multi-group concert event which took place predominantly at the glorious RFK Stadium throughout its first 10 years. It was THE rocktacular event of the year for the Nirvana-infused, grunge-embracing, rebellious high-schoolers of the 1990s, myself included. I...LOVED...HFSTIVAL. I looked forward to it more than my birthday, spring break, and Thanksgiving combined. I looked forward to it more than Catherine Zeta-Jones looks forward to Michael Douglas' monthly Viagra delivery.
The year of this particular HFStival was 1998, if memory serves, and our group arrived at RFK nice and early in eager anticipation of a 10 to 12-hour PARENTLESS extravaganza of loud, moshy music. We found our place on the lawn, laid claim to said spot by using the universal signal for concert land acquisition: throwing down a hippie blanket, and readied ourselves for the show by talking about which bands we were most excited to see and trying to identify animal shapes in the oddly-colored smoke cloud amassing over the general admission audience. The sun was out for blood that day, beating down relentlessly in a cloudless sky. But we weren't concerned. No, we didn't need to hydrate. Nothing could stop us from enjoying this day. After all, it was HFStival Day!
Ok, water break. Let's go. C'mon, chief. Chip chop.
It was at some point during the first band's set that I started feeling an odd sensation throughout my body and decided I'd been sitting for too long and should probably get up and find something to drink. My skin was hot, mouth was parched, and my head felt a little heavier than normal. 'Must just be tired,' I thought to myself. I took no more than 20 steps toward the bleachers when all of the sudden everything turned to black and white. "Hmm....that's odd," I thought, my head becoming unusually heavy. Then, as if in some 60s music video, everything immediately began to GLOW in technicolor as I swooned and hit the deck. The feeling was unlike anything I had experienced before. Either someone slipped some sort of time-release hallucinogenic into my morning Raisin Bran and it only just then kicked in (picture a kid in a really cheesy commercial saying, "Thanks, Mom!"), or I was experiencing heat stroke. And seeing as how Mom always told us "No acid before lunch," I figured it was the latter.
What followed was a very scary and relatively amusing series of events--scary because I feared for my life, and amusing because I managed to view the situation from both a first AND second person perspective (explained later). After realizing that I was still alive and walking was NOT an option (Futility Equivalent = repelling down El Capitan with a rope made purely of Polly-O String Cheese), I scrounged up enough energy to pull...nay...SLURM my exhausted body to the closest discernible point of safety. Ironically, this came to be the side of a water vendor's cart near the edge of the lawn...the irony being that I was too fatigued from dehydration to stand up and kindly ask for an ice-cold bottle of this sweet sweet lifeblood! To boot, I left my wallet in my backpack on the blanket with my friends, who were way too enthralled with the rotund Greenday enthusiast dancing in front of them sporting a hideous and practically life-sized whale tail to notice their dying concert companion desperately signaling to them by way of forehead scrunching.
As I lay there deflated, watching people walk by and casting half-pitiful, half-disbelieving glances my way, I realized that I had been sitting next to a small pile of discarded ice. ICE??? Saints be praised!! I picked up as much ice as I could hold and, in an excited yet sloth-like manner, shmeared the cubes all over my face. OH, THE ECSTASY! OH, COLD WET WATERY GOODNESS!!
**Water break!** Go ahead. It won't bite. Unless it's DC tap water. In which case you should use a fork and knife.
After thoroughly icing my noggin', while still in an incredibly fatigued state, a little voice from deep inside my head spoke up. It seemed as if the voice was a person standing over me, shaking his head incredulously. "DUDE!" it said, "Do you see what you look like?! You're lying on the ground, you're half-covered in dirt, dischevelled beyond belief, babying your pathetic face with a handful of grassy ice. You look like Gary Busey for F**K'S SAKE!! C'mon...you have to laugh at this situation..."
And there, on the wet, dirty ground of RFK stadium with the distant sound of Everclear playing in the background, I had a lil' chuckle. I mean, the situation WAS laughable. I sat there for a while longer nursing myself back to a semi-normal state, got up, and IMMEDIATELY found a water fountain where I stood, hunched over, slurping like a starved pig at a feed trough until I resembled an 8-month pregnant woman. Well, my stomach, that is. I managed to retain the bosom of a 17-yr-old male, thankfully.
Ladies and Gents, the point of this long and drawn out story is this: DRINK MORE WATER! Save yourself the trouble and don't test your body's dehydration limits, especially on days like today and tomorrow. If you're thirsty, DRINK. If you're not thirsty, DRINK. Heat stroke is not fun and is not worth the experience just to be able to blog about it later. Unless, of course, you're into the whole Busey look. But, if that's the case, you have a LOT more to worry about than too much sun...
(Gary Busey, you rock. Point Break 4 Life.)
(Yes, I know, the mug shot is actually of Nick Nolte, not Gary Busey. But, hey, cut a brotha some slack...Busey didn't have a mugshot that worked as well. And, c'mon, let's face it...they're practically the same person, right? Point Break 4 Life.)
For those of you old enough to rent a car and get kicked off your parents health insurance, you undoubtedly remember the birth of the HFStival, WHFS's annual multi-group concert event which took place predominantly at the glorious RFK Stadium throughout its first 10 years. It was THE rocktacular event of the year for the Nirvana-infused, grunge-embracing, rebellious high-schoolers of the 1990s, myself included. I...LOVED...HFSTIVAL. I looked forward to it more than my birthday, spring break, and Thanksgiving combined. I looked forward to it more than Catherine Zeta-Jones looks forward to Michael Douglas' monthly Viagra delivery.
The year of this particular HFStival was 1998, if memory serves, and our group arrived at RFK nice and early in eager anticipation of a 10 to 12-hour PARENTLESS extravaganza of loud, moshy music. We found our place on the lawn, laid claim to said spot by using the universal signal for concert land acquisition: throwing down a hippie blanket, and readied ourselves for the show by talking about which bands we were most excited to see and trying to identify animal shapes in the oddly-colored smoke cloud amassing over the general admission audience. The sun was out for blood that day, beating down relentlessly in a cloudless sky. But we weren't concerned. No, we didn't need to hydrate. Nothing could stop us from enjoying this day. After all, it was HFStival Day!Ok, water break. Let's go. C'mon, chief. Chip chop.
It was at some point during the first band's set that I started feeling an odd sensation throughout my body and decided I'd been sitting for too long and should probably get up and find something to drink. My skin was hot, mouth was parched, and my head felt a little heavier than normal. 'Must just be tired,' I thought to myself. I took no more than 20 steps toward the bleachers when all of the sudden everything turned to black and white. "Hmm....that's odd," I thought, my head becoming unusually heavy. Then, as if in some 60s music video, everything immediately began to GLOW in technicolor as I swooned and hit the deck. The feeling was unlike anything I had experienced before. Either someone slipped some sort of time-release hallucinogenic into my morning Raisin Bran and it only just then kicked in (picture a kid in a really cheesy commercial saying, "Thanks, Mom!"), or I was experiencing heat stroke. And seeing as how Mom always told us "No acid before lunch," I figured it was the latter.
What followed was a very scary and relatively amusing series of events--scary because I feared for my life, and amusing because I managed to view the situation from both a first AND second person perspective (explained later). After realizing that I was still alive and walking was NOT an option (Futility Equivalent = repelling down El Capitan with a rope made purely of Polly-O String Cheese), I scrounged up enough energy to pull...nay...SLURM my exhausted body to the closest discernible point of safety. Ironically, this came to be the side of a water vendor's cart near the edge of the lawn...the irony being that I was too fatigued from dehydration to stand up and kindly ask for an ice-cold bottle of this sweet sweet lifeblood! To boot, I left my wallet in my backpack on the blanket with my friends, who were way too enthralled with the rotund Greenday enthusiast dancing in front of them sporting a hideous and practically life-sized whale tail to notice their dying concert companion desperately signaling to them by way of forehead scrunching.
As I lay there deflated, watching people walk by and casting half-pitiful, half-disbelieving glances my way, I realized that I had been sitting next to a small pile of discarded ice. ICE??? Saints be praised!! I picked up as much ice as I could hold and, in an excited yet sloth-like manner, shmeared the cubes all over my face. OH, THE ECSTASY! OH, COLD WET WATERY GOODNESS!!
**Water break!** Go ahead. It won't bite. Unless it's DC tap water. In which case you should use a fork and knife.
And there, on the wet, dirty ground of RFK stadium with the distant sound of Everclear playing in the background, I had a lil' chuckle. I mean, the situation WAS laughable. I sat there for a while longer nursing myself back to a semi-normal state, got up, and IMMEDIATELY found a water fountain where I stood, hunched over, slurping like a starved pig at a feed trough until I resembled an 8-month pregnant woman. Well, my stomach, that is. I managed to retain the bosom of a 17-yr-old male, thankfully.
Ladies and Gents, the point of this long and drawn out story is this: DRINK MORE WATER! Save yourself the trouble and don't test your body's dehydration limits, especially on days like today and tomorrow. If you're thirsty, DRINK. If you're not thirsty, DRINK. Heat stroke is not fun and is not worth the experience just to be able to blog about it later. Unless, of course, you're into the whole Busey look. But, if that's the case, you have a LOT more to worry about than too much sun...
(Gary Busey, you rock. Point Break 4 Life.)
(Yes, I know, the mug shot is actually of Nick Nolte, not Gary Busey. But, hey, cut a brotha some slack...Busey didn't have a mugshot that worked as well. And, c'mon, let's face it...they're practically the same person, right? Point Break 4 Life.)
Monday, July 5, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Step aside, DUTCH...
(Cue the "movie voice")
IN A WORLD where the humans are the hunted...
A now-jacked Adrian Brody leads an unwitting group of killers through an alien planet with one mission...
It's been 13 years since---WAIT, wait...are you still doing the movie voice? If not, please resume.
It's been 13 years since Detective John Kimble and Apollo Creed battled the invisibility-cloaked jungle beast off the Guatemalan coast. Now, a new group of gun-totin' miscreants is giving it a go in this seriously eerie sequel (say that 5x fast, dare ya). See for yourself below:
Ladies and Gents......PREDATORS!!! (actual trailer starts at 0:41)
And, by the by, doesn't the Predator look just a little bit too much like both Aughra from The Dark Crystal and Mama Fratelli?
Disturbingly ugly...or Euro sexy? Discuss.
IN A WORLD where the humans are the hunted...
A now-jacked Adrian Brody leads an unwitting group of killers through an alien planet with one mission...
SURVIVE
(and maaaaybe hit up TBell for '4th Meal'...mmmm.....444444th meeeealllll...)
It's been 13 years since---WAIT, wait...are you still doing the movie voice? If not, please resume.
It's been 13 years since Detective John Kimble and Apollo Creed battled the invisibility-cloaked jungle beast off the Guatemalan coast. Now, a new group of gun-totin' miscreants is giving it a go in this seriously eerie sequel (say that 5x fast, dare ya). See for yourself below:
Ladies and Gents......PREDATORS!!! (actual trailer starts at 0:41)
And, by the by, doesn't the Predator look just a little bit too much like both Aughra from The Dark Crystal and Mama Fratelli?
Disturbingly ugly...or Euro sexy? Discuss.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A Phishy weekend at Merriweather
As Bar prep is making it exceedingly difficult to crank out even a short blog
posting these days, I humbly present:
The QUICK AND DIRTY on Phish's recent 2-Day stint in Columbia, MD!
6/26/10
First set was...you know, I hesitate to say "bland." Buuuut.....yeah, that's what I'm going with. Wasn't much to it that you haven't seen before, and the song selection left a little bit to be desired. A head bob-worthy AC/DC Bag, rather traditional Stash, and a pretty decent Suzy Greenberg were the reluctant highlights of an rather uninspired first set.
Now, we all have heard the band members are on the clean and sober these days. But, they must have chiefed some ooey gooey purp slurp during intermission because the second set was quite the departure from the first...in a good way. Page kicked off the set with a great version of Rock&Roll that made the sides of your mouth curl northward and fed right into a fist-pumping Free. Tweezer was energizing and kept everyone dancing through standard and fun versions of SITM, Wolfman's, and Slave until a POUNDING Tweezer Reprise capped off the second set. SICK Tweeprise!
6/27/10
We arrived on Sunday giddy with excitement, ready for whatever was in store. Feeling like Saturday was but a prelude to a brain-vaporizing second night, we found our place on the lawn, felt the electricity in the air, and waited for the pied pipers to take us away. First set started out with a zany Walfredo; Trey on keys, Mike on guitar, Fish on bass, and Page on drums. First couple songs were soundly shoulder-shakers, but when Trey played those first few chords of Divided Sky, we knew the night was ON. The band continued with a sweet-sounding Tela (first time heard live) and then a bouncing My Soul which got everyone, including the grey-haired Jerry Garcia incarnate near us, dancing and howlin' as the sun began to set (more on faux-Jerry later). A fun Sample set the stage for one of the best Bathtub Gin's we've ever heard (a particular fav of the Wife), followed up with an always-pleasant Brian&Robert. The Antelope that closed the first set was clean and sprightly, leaving us in great anticipation of the set to come.
The final set of the weekend could only be described as GRITTY...in the best way possible :) They opened with Wilson, the initial notes of which were so power-chordy that it sent chills down my spine. Wilson went right into a Japanese lyrics-infused Meatstick and then into I Saw It Again (which came to be the running gag of the night, as Trey randomly substituted other songs' lyrics with "Saw it Again!") A quickly-escalating, powerful Piper w/ jam led into an always groovy Ghost. And then, in quite the unexpected move by the band (of course, knowing Phish, they might not have known it was coming, either...), they played a seemingly impromptu and VERY rockin' version of Jumpin' Jack Flash!! And the crowd goes wild!! JJF led back into a second coming of I Saw It Again and petered into an arm-waving head-tilting Contact sing-a-long (which I do not now and never will consider a "bathroom song," thangyaveddymuch). But, nothing throughout the whole night compared to hearing those first few notes of the closer...my favorite song...the song of all Phish songs...the majestic, the timeless, the mysterious, the monstrous...YOU ENJOY MYSELF! YEM (vocal jam included "I Saw It Again" lyrics) marked the end of a second set that both exemplified why I love Phish and put the perfect finishing touches on a weekend of great music and celebration.
One last thing...
At some point during Rock&Roll, my eyes were drawn toward a gentleman to my left sporting a grey beard, wearing a tie-dyed shirt, and doing what can best be described as 'jamming out like no other.' I mean, he was REALLY rockin'. After he finished a fierce air piano solo, I knew I had to meet this Jerry Garcia-inspired jam band vet and maybe catch a few stories of the old days. After introducing himself as 'Grateful Ed ' (fantastic, right?) he told me there was a story behind how he got into the jam band scene, as he wasn't always fond of the stuff of hippies. Here's his story...I encourage you to have a look: Grateful Ed's Story
JFro and Grateful Ed...bridgin' the gap.
(NOTE: Yes...I realize that was neither "quick" nor "dirty." So I took it upon myself to waste a lil' more time and crank out a few extra paragraphs? What's it to ya, patchouli breath!)
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