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

This could be a great novel

I hate navel-gazing fiction. I like fiction that places its characters and themes within the context of a living, breathing world. With that in mind, I suggest you read this non-fiction article regarding our current financial crisis by Mr. Liar's Poker, Michael Lewis. After you are done, ask yourself why American writers aren't creating great "of this age" novels based on the people, events and lives here and now.

http://www.portfolio.com/news-markets/national-news/portfolio/2008/11/11/The-End-of-Wall-Streets-Boom#page9

That Nobel Prize person from Sweden was right. Our novelists are self-absorbed pussies.

Round up

Part 2 of the Carducci interview here. The fey NYer food issue is out, but it's got this piece on Texas BBQ and another on Dogfish beer; both probably suck, but Calvin Trillin can be funny. This Wednesday WFMU is having a History of LA Punk show from 6-9am Eastern Time. Learn something. Saw some pics of Carrie Underwood and it strikes me that she is pro-sodomy and likely a demon in the sack.

This blog sucks lately; someone do something obnoxious or else kill it. I miss mass email communication. Barf.

Don't mention the war...

Here is the link to Looney's Smokehouse, which is apparently the happening spot. I will venture to this joint in a couple hours and report back. Meanwhile Princeton University Press publishes some great/grand titles that have always cost too much. Now they are having a 10-80% off sale, so buy me something, and maybe something for you. Carducci interviewed here. Good night nurse....

Guardano is a PUNK!

discuss...

CW Nevius, arms folded, looking like a lizard-man...

Get with it, man!

You have no idea what a pain in the ass it was to find out about these bands and get their records. They are my favorites so far for 2008.

The Feeling of Love is for Oblivian fans. Except they're French. Crazy ass distorto blues stuff.

Magnetix are also French and a part of the whole current frog p-rock scene. Except they're more moody and dare I say it, atmospheric.

Movie Sar Junkies are wops from Turin who are similiar to Magnetix.

Brimstone Howl and Forbidden Tigers are essentially the same bands with the same members. the Howl are kinda Kim Salmon-y and The Tigers are raw almost japanese like p-rock. These folks are from Union Station, Neb. So go fucking figure.

I got a big order in for a whole bunch of new stuff. At the end of the year I suggest we burn CDs with your favorite songs on each and trade them. It can be like the old mix tape thing.

love and abasement

Even before the whoring revelations, Naipaul's first wife, a middle-class woman named Patricia Hale whom he'd met while he was a student on scholarship to England, had known about a prior mistress--but only because Naipaul himself decided one day to tell her, explaining the violent acts he enjoyed with the woman, some of them memorialized in photographs he brought along to aid the explanation.

The woman's name was Margaret Gooding, and Naipaul met her in 1972 in Buenos Aires. French's new biography of Naipaul, The World Is What It Is, quotes extensively from her letters: unbearable scrawls that read like clinical case studies drawn from the pages of Leopold von Sacher-Masoch. She begs, moans, despairs, and pleads for Naipaul's "cruel sexual desires." She calls him her "god," her "black master." Her multiple abortions of his children sicken her, but she offers them up to him as proof of her love and abasement.

Insert sexy Kate Winslet photo here...

Eca de Queiroz' Cousin Bazillo is almost as good as his The Relic, James Wood's How Fiction Works was interesting for a handful of chapters, but then even he lost his thesis, or simply could not adequately defend it, Crowley's Little, Big still amazes after a third read, Naipaul's A Writer's People bored me, Yates' Young Hearts Crying is pretty good but I'm only half way in, I still can't stop thinking about Indignation, which might be the book of the year, Chesterton's The Napoleon of Notting Hill is a riot, like laugh outloud (he makes fun of west coast hippies--this is in 1904; that my friends is foresight), I've stalled in my quest to read through Anthony Powell's cycle as it makes me sleepy, I enjoyed McEwan's Atonement while reading it but like it less the more I think on it which means I'll have to revisit it soon.

In other news, in case you haven't used Google Books you need to get on it. A ton of public domain works scanned into .pdf and available for naught. Not that I'd ever pay for a digital book, but I do enjoy stealing; plus I really need 6 versions of The Moon and Sixpence. David Thomson knows more about film than I do and he has a new book out, a companion to his NBDOF. This one is about individual movies, more in depth than Kael's 5001 Nights. I'm not paying $40 for a book, but I will steal it when available.

Nicely done...

"When I die, they'll say 'he couldn't play shit, but he sure made it sound good!'"....