With a ‘stache this rad, the truth is gonna slip

November 30, 2009 23 Comments read Live Shows, Reviews

On Saturday, Tristan & I went to see That 1 Guy on his ‘Mustaches and Laser Beams’ tour. Part of why I adore him is that it’s evident he just picks out some things he thinks are fun, like fake mustaches and playing with laser beams and doing card tricks, and incorporates all of them into his show–his attempts at breakdancing have now been replaced with a mustache-based quick-change show.

He also stopped in the middle of Weasel Potpie to talk to everyone about his biggest problem with the Star Wars prequels–not that they don’t have many problems, but one was glaringly bigger than the rest–so, in the third one, after Yoda is finished fighting alongside the Wookiee army that, y’know, we just found out about, he stops and says “It’s been an honor to fight beside you, King Chewbacca.” How, exactly, does he go from being king to Han Solo’s mechanic? HMM?

Yeah. You chew on that.

Since we both walked around in a bit of a eardrum-damage-induced haze the day after the Electric Six show, Tristan brought us fancy earplugs that still allow us to hear the music without being physically injured by the music, in the hopes that maybe neither one of us will be deaf by 40. The earplugs helped a LOT. It was novel to walk out of a show without my ears ringing, and for those of you who insist that earplugs are totally not punk rock, I will let you in on a secret: neither are hearing aids.

That 1 Guy had a performer who goes by the name Heatbox open for him, and through beatboxing and the help of some looping equipment, he put on a really entertaining show–I’d never heard anyone beatbox the tetris theme before. And when he came back onstage to jam with Mike in the encore, I’d never heard such a funky, rocking version of Hava Nagila before!

Any show that you walk into sans mustache and leave WITH a mustache, ladies and gentlemen, is a good show. Unless it’s a dirty sanchez. Fuck those kinds of shows.

I heard Boolia called Grandma a bitch. I HEARD IT.

November 30, 2009 13 Comments read Uncategorized

On Friday, I had another Friend Thanksgiving meal, hosted by the delightful Emily and her husband Tom; in attendance were Tonya, Anne & Jim, Boolia & Jason, Shannon, Chantal & her daughter Sophie, and I dragged Tristan along into the den of the harpies. I believe it was Boolia who cracked, “I love it when the guys meet one another–they give each other a look like ‘Oh, you’re a survivor, too.'”

We all ate entirely too much, given that Emily & co had prepared a staggering amount of food, which tested the limits of what a countertop could possibly hold, told stories, and laughed. After dinner, I learned that homes in finer neighborhoods come complete with ‘murder holes’ underneath for storage of bodies and extra tables and whatever all else you might need to hide in a jiffy. The contractors even left a chilling message written on the walls of the murder hole in case anyone was uncertain of their purpose:

Since murdering is a solitary business and four of us went down there which means alltogether too many witnesses, all of us made it back upstairs alive and proceeded to watch Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, John Hughes’ tribute to everything annoying about travel and other people in the days before the cell phone–my grandfather loved this movie and often laughed himself to tears watching it.

After the movie, we drank MORE wine, and played a full round of Apples to Apples before giving up on it entirely–eleven people might be too many, especially when there’s booze involved and attention spans are short to begin with, plus there’s pie yet to be had.

Then, because I wouldn’t recognize a holiday unless someone was crying, I ended up bursting into tears when I realized that my wonderful friends are the family I’ve made for myself, and while we might CALL it Friends Thanksgiving, I’m really calling it Family Thanksgiving as I had so many of the people who have made my life special around and none of the people who make me feel badly about myself. I can’t believe I just met most of these girls this year–it feels like I’ve known them forever.

And then when I finished being the world’s biggest baby, I wore Emily’s weirdo S&M cat like a stole.

Happy Spanksgiving!

November 30, 2009 2 Comments read Movies, Reviews

On Thursday, we had a friends Thanksgiving get-together; Tristan cooked a lot and I ‘helped’ by supervising and getting underfoot. My sole contribution was the vegetable tray, and while preparing this contribution, I discovered that I had purchased a demonic red pepper.

Not often in the history of time, space, and Brothers Grimm lore is evil conquered by being eaten, but I’ll have you know that on this day, good did prevail in just that manner.

After a game of Bang! (which is fast-becoming a holiday tradition), we then split up into three teams for the world’s closest game of Cranium. I experienced what might go down in history as the proudest moment of my life when Tristan guessed ‘tea bag’ from my incomprehensible eyes-closed scribbles that honestly looked more like a shovel being plunged into a steaming turd than anything else. If I ever contract glaucoma and go blind like my grandfather, clearly drawing pictures to communicate is not my best option.

To close out the evening, we watched the Rifftrax version of ‘The Room’, which deserves every bit of negative criticism it has received; it deserves it because in turn, it hurt me so very, very deeply inside. It is unfathomable to me that this movie cost six million dollars to make, in light of the fact that it had all of two sets, five ‘actors’ (I use that term very loosely), and clearly no one was paid to clean up the storyline or even edit it into a coherent piece. But you shouldn’t take me at my word–you should watch it for yourself. In fact, you should probably watch the trailer now. And then watch the related videos. I’ll wait.

Once you’ve experienced the torture that is The Room, the rest of life’s challenges will seem mundane by comparison. Public speaking? Not a problem anymore, nothing you do or say could hurt you more or be less coherent than The Room. Picked up by terrorists for torture for fun and profit? Waterboarding will be a BREEZE compared to The Room–it’s just a few seconds, compared to an HOUR AND A HALF of the worst sort of nothing happening! You can take up slap-fights, death-sports, eating glass, and recreational furniture made out of nails; nothing will hurt you more than The Room.