We’re on hold, interminable hold and the muzak on the line is meant to make waiting easier.
Today I wondered, finally, if the purpose of the muzak is to lull me into complacency. Life is good and the tummy is full, so it’s worked thus far. Only in the past week or so have I awoken from the slight stupor with that familiar, nagging urge to pay closer attention than normal.
The game, as they say, may indeed be afoot.
Come out and play.
Many thanks to the Evil Poodle forwarding info on these upcoming shows:
Tonight! 3.31 - Killswitch Engage @ the Fillmore
4.28 - Stone Sour w/Shadows Fall and Lacuna Coil @ the Fillmore
5.26 - Machinegun Symphony, Darker Days Tomorrow, Born in Winter @ DTC Marriott (show is a part of OPUS Fantasy & Art Festival)
6.1 - God Module, Darker Days Tomorrow, Datacode Division (venue? anyone? Bueller? Bueller?)
6.2 - z’ev w/Boyd Rice (ditto on the venue)
6.10 - True Colors Tour, where Dresden Dolls are with Cyndi Lauper, Erasure, and Debbie Harry @ Red Rocks
8.28 - Combichrist (venue TBA)
Also, the Frontline Assembly show (5/13) has 16volt and Acumen Nation opening!
Gonna be a long, hard summer.
I danced around you while you circled me, each of us unclear on who, exactly, was stalking whom.
After ten minutes there was less conversation and more innuendo. There was a look in your eye. It was (dare I say it) a challenge.
How rare and beautiful and downright adorable to have someone so young and nubile give me that particular look, the one I use when I stalk my prey. I recall thinking, “Oh, really. You think you can go there, much less take me along?” and giving you the same look in return.
Less than thirty seconds later, I made it clear what I wanted, straightforward, no innuendo, no games.
You accepted in a microsecond.
I know we went to my place, I know we did … things … that changed each of us forever. The details, however, completely escape me.
But it’s never about the takedown, the feasting, the satiation.
It’s the hunt, the attack.
Even now I stalk you like the prey you are and you still give your neck to me.
Nearly as easily as I give mine.
Adding to the concert list recently posted:
Friday, April 13 - VAST @ the Gothic Theatre
Wednesday, May 9 - Morrissey @ the Fillmore Auditorium
Tuesday, May 15 - Björk @ Red Rocks
Friday, May 18 - Nick Swardson @ the Paramount
Tuesday, June 19 - VNV Nation with And One @ the Gothic Theatre
Tuesday, September 11 - Underworld with Paul Oakenfold @ Red Rocks
I’ve not included the shows I’ll attend but am too embarrassed to mention here.
satire, n.; 1. the use of irony, sarcasm, ridicule, or the like, in exposing, denouncing, or deriding vice, folly, etc; 2. a literary composition, in verse or prose, in which human folly and vice are held up to scorn, derision, or ridicule; 3. a literary genre comprising such compositions.
In true WTF?!-style, twice this week - twice! - I have run across mention of Stephen Colbert in which he is described as a “conservative pundit.”
Ummm … I know the human race is pretty dumb; I’ve said as much many times, both in life and in this very blahg. But I was still working under the belief that most of us know what “satire” means.
Evidently it’s not just Grand Rapids with the problem understanding the term. Please forward the above definition to anyone and everyone who is unclear on the concept.
It probably won’t help, but it will make me feel better.
I can’t drink much beer anymore, as I’ve developed a bit of a sensitivity to yeast as I’ve gotten older, so years ago I started drinking Strongbow cider at bars when and where I can find it. It’s a British cider which is less sweet than American brands and a nice switch from the syrupy sweet, effervescent apple juice in a bottle called Hardcore.
When we were in London in January, we found most of the pubs served one cider or another, and most of those were Strongbow. Not a thing in the world wrong with Strongbow … until I tried my first Scrumpy Jack.
Oh, Scrumpy Jack! Your dry, crisp taste and clean finish have me attempting poetry in my blahg, which is so very wrong, but you are worth it.
I first tasted Scrumpy Jack on the second day of our 9-day stay in the UK and, from then on, any pub that served it immediately got our business. I memorized where the places that had it were located and we bought cans at the local grocer to keep in our tiny hotel room fridge. I drank Scrumpy Jack each afternoon after our busy, touristy mornings and had it with as many meals as I could in the evenings.
Cafe Netherworld here in Denver serves Strongbow on tap, which is one of many reasons I go there regularly. But when we got back home, I recalled that Pints Pub had Blackthorn cider on tap. It sounded really good to me, since I’d also discovered in London that Blackthorn is a perfect “between” for Strongbow and my newly-beloved Scrumpy Jack.
Pints Pub had switched their taps over to Strongbow.
Curses! Oh, where may I find thee? When will I swish a cider flavor other than Strongbow over my tastebuds again? Where or where is my Scrumpy Jack?!
So we went shopping. Applejack Wine & Spirits in Arvada is the largest store with the biggest selection we know of here, so I went in search of Scrumpy Jack, knowing I’d happily settle for Blackthorn if I could find it. I found Cider Jack, which is pretty close for an American brand (brewed in Vermont). I am enamored with K, a Brit cider that’s very, very close to what I’m looking for … but it’s like a Cuban cigar vs. a Dominican cigar: If you have experienced the flavor of both types, you know the difference.
Last week I found cases of Scrumpy Jack available online for about $36 (£18.30), but I could find no company that would ship it to the US. *sigh*
Then I discovered what the problem is, thanks (again) to everyone’s favorite reference site Wikipedia: Strongbow and Scrumpy Jack are made by the same company. Why pay to export two brands when one is doing so nicely on its own?
Next time I go to the UK, I’ll ship cases of the stuff to myself. It will go nicely with the McCoy’s Grilled Steak Potato Chips I’ll also be sending along to my own address.
The two flavors together was like a little slice of heaven on earth.
Each and every time I’ve been on a two-wheeled vehicle, from the banana-seated, purple Huffy girl’s bike I had when I was 7 to the multi-speed mountain bike I borrowed from a friend 15 years ago, I’ve fallen off of it. In fact, that borrowed bike was the last time I was on anything with less than three wheels.
Because a) I’ve forgotten about the myriad scrapes and bruises, b) the asking price was an absolute steal, and c) I am a glutton for punishment, I am now the proud owner of a Diamo Aero GTX 50 scooter.
Look out Denver … no, I mean it: LOOK OUT!
I, personally, think that this category is the best. Paradoxically enough, sexual liberation and indulgence can only bring you closer to purity.
AVOID: all but level 3 hellions like yourself. You wouldn’t want to ruin anyone, now would you?
Take the Sexual HELL Test here.
My handbasket, by-the-by, is royal blue.