The Sunday Suicide Ritual
Busy week for yours truly. Tuesday went to see V For Vendetta with the entity once known as Patella. I would normally link a movie for you, but this one doesn't deserve it. I'm so glad it was a free screening. You just can't take a scene seriously when someone is wearing a Guy Fawkes mask. It also didn't help watching the movie with that audience (a theatre full of university students). I don't know what it is, but watching a movie with the wrong audience can ruin a movie for me very easily. Blah, I'm just a bitter old man who has nothing better to do than gripe. Speaking of which. Natalie Portman? As a British girl? No.
Thursday night I went to the Backstage Lounge with Matt&Riss and Pat, for a $7 concert. I know, $7! Riss was invited to take pictures of one of the bands, so she invited the rest of us. There were supposed to be three acts, but one was a no-show, so we got out at the merciful time of 12:15am. The first act, Hybrahma, was actually half-decent. They were playing acoustically (their website seems to show more of a rock group arrangement), but it was just the two of them. Lyrically they were kinda rough ("a glass of water," for those of you in attendance), but their tunes were not too shabby at all.
The "headliners," if you could call them that, was a quartet of guys that couldn't have been older than any of us. Hell, the bass player, who played the hell out of that one string, looked like he was about sixteen. He actually reminded me of a really young Billy Corgan (if you don't know who that is you probably shouldn't be reading this because I tend to use "swears"), like the nerdy kid that was allowed to play in the band because he organised their shows. If I recall correctly, he actualy used all. four. strings. during one song. Only one, but that's something.
The lead singer suffered from what I will call "Front Man Syndrome," or FMS. Symptoms of FMS include, but are not limited to, gay-ass wavy hand movements, pained expressions while singing, and hamming for the cameras (yes, there were two). He was suffering from a cold, so his voice was a bit off, but still pretty good.
The lead guitarist kicked our asses. He didn't really seem to care about the cameras or the crowd or anything like that, he was just going way up high on the tiny strings and just sort of mashing his fingers on them. Not really, he was actually rocking that thing. Quite impressive, especially when the lead gave him a wet willy and repeated punches to the back of the head, but of which were taking place during what were, for all intents and purposes, guitar solos. How you can play crazy lixx whilst being cerebellum'd is beyond me.
The drummer was hidden way in the back thanks to the tiny stage and his enormous kit. He had a monster kettledrum off to his right that I swear he only used once. He also came up front for an acoustic song, which happened to coincide with the vacating of my bladder, so I missed most of it.
The long and the short: it was definitely worth $7. Once the yahoos that were there to party with and heckle Hybrahma were off doing whatever it is that fuckups do, the atmosphere was much better. The place is quite small, and we were right up front in nice comfy chairs, so it was a good concert. I'd like to make a habit of attending such shows, since I couldn't find hookers and blow on special for $7 anywhere, even if I went to Amsterdam. Or New Orleans. What, too soon?
Friday night was my first experience with hot pot. Hot pot, for the non-Asians in the audience, is a pot full of hot broth (ours happened to contain big-ass radishs, not sure if that's the norm or not) into which you put meat/veggies/noodles/eyeballs to cook. T'was interesting. The food is decent (we were able to convince our host to stay away from the tripe and blood cakes at the store), but the hot broth splashing everywhere as people dropped things they were trying to take out was the highlight of the meal. Unfortunately I was unaware of how such a meal would proceed, and neglected to bring my full face shield and oven mitts.
We also played some video games, I proved just how white I really am by sucking ever so fiercely at my first DDR attempt, and then later on, some poker. I was getting shit hands pretty much all night, and the few hands I won were for small pots. Mercifully we weren't playing for real money, else I'd be down a great deal.
Wow, crankin' out the laughs tonight I am.
What do you call a cow with no legs?
Ground beef.
Cough.
Saturday was such a nice day that a few folks from my ultimate team met up and threw the disc around. I've gotta say, it's great to have the sun back. I've been antsy to play ultimate for a while now, and these past few weekends have really hit the spot. My shoulder is giving me no end of grief, but it's all worth it. Being able to run around is helping me get myself back into a bit of shape, as I haven't been riding my bike to work lately. The weather's just been the shits during the weeks (and I'd much prefer it stayed that way, thank you), and the prospect of riding up that hill is rather daunting. I'm starting to get fat[ter] again, and it's depressing. Though Wendy's isn't helping. Damn you and your Big Bacon Classic! Why couldn't it be a small bacon classic? And don't you go flaunting your Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger. I'm not into younger burgers.
Today I continued what seems to be becoming my Sunday Suicide Ritual: ultimate in the mornings, then volleyball in the evenings. Today I was tired, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of it, I'm still awake and it's 11:00. Of course, I didn't play ultimate for five hours today, so I'm sure that had something to do with it. We've got two more weeks of volleyball (both of which are playoffs, oi), and then I think it's pretty much straight into the next season, when I'll be playing for a different team. Shortly after, ultimate will be starting (possibly on two teams), and then beach volleyball. No rest for the wicked, as they say.
Clearly I am about as wicked as one can get without being arrested.
Thursday night I went to the Backstage Lounge with Matt&Riss and Pat, for a $7 concert. I know, $7! Riss was invited to take pictures of one of the bands, so she invited the rest of us. There were supposed to be three acts, but one was a no-show, so we got out at the merciful time of 12:15am. The first act, Hybrahma, was actually half-decent. They were playing acoustically (their website seems to show more of a rock group arrangement), but it was just the two of them. Lyrically they were kinda rough ("a glass of water," for those of you in attendance), but their tunes were not too shabby at all.
The "headliners," if you could call them that, was a quartet of guys that couldn't have been older than any of us. Hell, the bass player, who played the hell out of that one string, looked like he was about sixteen. He actually reminded me of a really young Billy Corgan (if you don't know who that is you probably shouldn't be reading this because I tend to use "swears"), like the nerdy kid that was allowed to play in the band because he organised their shows. If I recall correctly, he actualy used all. four. strings. during one song. Only one, but that's something.
The lead singer suffered from what I will call "Front Man Syndrome," or FMS. Symptoms of FMS include, but are not limited to, gay-ass wavy hand movements, pained expressions while singing, and hamming for the cameras (yes, there were two). He was suffering from a cold, so his voice was a bit off, but still pretty good.
The lead guitarist kicked our asses. He didn't really seem to care about the cameras or the crowd or anything like that, he was just going way up high on the tiny strings and just sort of mashing his fingers on them. Not really, he was actually rocking that thing. Quite impressive, especially when the lead gave him a wet willy and repeated punches to the back of the head, but of which were taking place during what were, for all intents and purposes, guitar solos. How you can play crazy lixx whilst being cerebellum'd is beyond me.
The drummer was hidden way in the back thanks to the tiny stage and his enormous kit. He had a monster kettledrum off to his right that I swear he only used once. He also came up front for an acoustic song, which happened to coincide with the vacating of my bladder, so I missed most of it.
The long and the short: it was definitely worth $7. Once the yahoos that were there to party with and heckle Hybrahma were off doing whatever it is that fuckups do, the atmosphere was much better. The place is quite small, and we were right up front in nice comfy chairs, so it was a good concert. I'd like to make a habit of attending such shows, since I couldn't find hookers and blow on special for $7 anywhere, even if I went to Amsterdam. Or New Orleans. What, too soon?
Friday night was my first experience with hot pot. Hot pot, for the non-Asians in the audience, is a pot full of hot broth (ours happened to contain big-ass radishs, not sure if that's the norm or not) into which you put meat/veggies/noodles/eyeballs to cook. T'was interesting. The food is decent (we were able to convince our host to stay away from the tripe and blood cakes at the store), but the hot broth splashing everywhere as people dropped things they were trying to take out was the highlight of the meal. Unfortunately I was unaware of how such a meal would proceed, and neglected to bring my full face shield and oven mitts.
We also played some video games, I proved just how white I really am by sucking ever so fiercely at my first DDR attempt, and then later on, some poker. I was getting shit hands pretty much all night, and the few hands I won were for small pots. Mercifully we weren't playing for real money, else I'd be down a great deal.
Wow, crankin' out the laughs tonight I am.
What do you call a cow with no legs?
Ground beef.
Cough.
Saturday was such a nice day that a few folks from my ultimate team met up and threw the disc around. I've gotta say, it's great to have the sun back. I've been antsy to play ultimate for a while now, and these past few weekends have really hit the spot. My shoulder is giving me no end of grief, but it's all worth it. Being able to run around is helping me get myself back into a bit of shape, as I haven't been riding my bike to work lately. The weather's just been the shits during the weeks (and I'd much prefer it stayed that way, thank you), and the prospect of riding up that hill is rather daunting. I'm starting to get fat[ter] again, and it's depressing. Though Wendy's isn't helping. Damn you and your Big Bacon Classic! Why couldn't it be a small bacon classic? And don't you go flaunting your Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger. I'm not into younger burgers.
Today I continued what seems to be becoming my Sunday Suicide Ritual: ultimate in the mornings, then volleyball in the evenings. Today I was tired, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of it, I'm still awake and it's 11:00. Of course, I didn't play ultimate for five hours today, so I'm sure that had something to do with it. We've got two more weeks of volleyball (both of which are playoffs, oi), and then I think it's pretty much straight into the next season, when I'll be playing for a different team. Shortly after, ultimate will be starting (possibly on two teams), and then beach volleyball. No rest for the wicked, as they say.
Clearly I am about as wicked as one can get without being arrested.