Not to be fucked with...

Night 2 in my beer tasting...This is a beast. Seriously, I think Anderson Valley's Brother David 's Triple inhabits that grey area where certain high octane beers start to take on the feel of hard liquor. Not that I'm complaining. Briefly, an initial mouthful of flavor with strong alcohol over tones, with no King Cobra or Country Club malt liquor after taste. Nice.

I'd recommend this brew to start off a winter evening. However... you shouldn't try to eat much or have more than one of these. Brother Dave is a full meal. I would follow it with an Inbev or Bud Light.

Speaking of which, WHEN ARE WE GOING TO THE TRAPPIST? How about Friday, December 5th at say 4 PM?

Duller

Its been awhile since Green Bay's Mystery Girls came out with a new lp. While I never thought these guys were original in any way, they had their moments. Moreover, I wanted to like The Mystery Girls if only bc they weren't afraid to write actual rock n roll songs sans irony or the safety of hiding out in low fi land. So it is with disappointment that I report their new album Incontinopia seems lacking not only orginality but also decent tunes. I counted just two good songs and several disturbing, failed attempts to break off into "rock" or pop territory. Even worse, there are two songs that are pure White album type filler. How can you be so short of material after its been at least 2 years since your last record?

In sum, me thinks this is the sound of 5 guys who ran out of inspiration after 2 records. At moments like these bands either break up or (rarely) come back with something new and inspiring. In either event, you can skip this one.

Dull

Sunday my wife dragged me to Whole Paycheck for groceries. In a lame attempt to express my resentment of being dragged away from the TV, I bought several microbrews. Tonight I sampled The Pig.

Feh. Not bad, but so what? At this point in the microwbrew revolution, anyone can make an inoffensive beer. I'm looking for something memorable. This ain't it.

Can't we just anoint Apache king of Glam Hill and get on with the show? The single destroyed all breathers and now the record, for all its rear view mirrorisms, can't worm its way off the turntable. This is fun rock, gentlemen. A soundtrack for the Graduate if Tuna owned and the uncles came by for calamari. Embrace the big sound and stop looking for worn grooves. Rock ran out of ideas thirty years ago, so if you care about the genre you only care if it sounds good. This does. Not each track. It ain't no classic. But thirty minutes later all three littluns are dancing and the pain in my back is background and tomorrow is just another day. The fun sound for Friday night. Get it on.

Obama's first mistake

Where is the upside here? Why is appointing Hillary so important that you're willing to take on the risks that come with Team Clinton? Obama came up with this all himself, too. No one was even thinking this a week or so ago.

The Happiest Fucking Place on Earth

I headed for the HAPPIEST FUCKING PLACE ON EARTH with some trepidation. Three small children, a hysterical wife and two impatient grandparents seemed a tall task for a hardcore alchie done in by late-night hockey and a head full of IPA’s. Wherein would the fun lie?

Everywhere, apparently. The greatness of the Shark Tank was topped and topped again by the stupid joys of riding rides and not only because I got to tilt my head poetically as my kids got kiddie high from getting high- I forgot how much fucking fun it is to drop at high speeds into troughs of water or to put on purple 3-D glasses to have hornets attack your lumbar region or for sheer speed to exhilarate you to the point of stupidity. Fun fun. What a middle-aged concept. I loved the Muppets movie and laughed through the soaking log ride. I screamed in hysterics during the Indy ride and contemplated acid during Space Mountain. I waxed nostalgic during Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and wept Soaring Over California. It was the cleanest fun I’ve had in ages. I don’t give a fuck about the Disney Nazi’s or the ridiculous food prices or the endless sea of fat chick tattoos. I was happy for 72 consecutive hours.

Who da thunk it?

Pete Newell, 1915-2008.

"Players today have increased physical skills, but basketball skills have diminished," he said a few years ago. "I resent the fact that many of them take the game for granted. It starts at the top, though. It's an overpriced, corporate-dominated business run by lawyers who have a bad product, and don't know how to fix it."

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/11/17/SPVFBT56M.DTL&tsp=1