For the third year in a row, it looks like the weather is going to be shit-tay for the 4th. Every other day of the 10-day forecast looks to be quite nice. Good thing we didn't continue the third annual booze cruise.
Friday, July 3, 2009
WTF, weather?
For the third year in a row, it looks like the weather is going to be shit-tay for the 4th. Every other day of the 10-day forecast looks to be quite nice. Good thing we didn't continue the third annual booze cruise.
Hipsterpalooza
Ever heard of We Are Hex, Wendy Darling, or Cymbals Eat Guitars? If you're not hip to the scene, then probably not. These bands have likely flown so far below your radar that you'd need a seismograph just to detect them. Only a true connoisseur of Pitchfork magazine would have the resources to drill so deep underground. Enter Burns of We Kure Burns fame. With a finger resting perpetually against the pulse of the Indy indie rock scene, Burns can detect the slightest of rhythmic cardiac anomalies. Last night, all vital signs pointed south towards the Vollrath tavern on the near southside of town.
With the handsomest of flannel shirts, the skinniest of jeans, and the laceless-est of Chuck Taylors, I, along with Neddawg and Klecknasty, drove down to Indy's Sacred Heart neighborhood. Having never been to this particular establishment, I was in for some pleasant surprises. Nestled within residential squalor, the Vollrath is the epitome of a diamond in the rough. Inside, patrons are greeted with low ticket prices, a solid beer menu, and a haze of pretentious smoke. As per the times, modern flatscreen televisions adorn the walls (albeit turned off for the duration of our visit) of the historic tavern. As a bonus, the main bartender was undeniably hipster hot...body ink and all.
The first act, We Are Hex, came on at about 9-ish in the PM hours. Led by a scowling singer/keyboardist, the local band rocked surprisingly hard. With Fraggle Rock inspired hair, the lead singer spun out into the audience on several occasions. Each time, strong whiffs of patchouli filled my nostrils as she staggered about directly in front of us. The Great Burns himself only had one qualm with the performance: why did they say "We Are Hex" at the end of the show? If they truly wanted to identify themselves as the band We Are Hex, shouldn't they have stated "we are We Are Hex"? I guess we can chalk it up to semantics.
After a short interlude, Wendy Darling took the stage. Hailing from the bay area of California, the band consisted of a female lead singer and three dudes playing instruments. They had a nice sound, but to be quite honest, the band wasn't my cup of tea. So instead of dutifully listening to the entirety of the performance, Klecknasty and I chatted it up about cycling routes and mountain bike trails. Like I said, the group had talent, but I had trouble getting into their groove, so to speak. Perhaps a patchouli induced spin through the audience would have helped their cause.
At 11:30pm, the headliners graced the stage. Describing the appearance of Cymbals Eat Guitars as unassuming would be an understatement. The Staten Island quartet looked like a collection of typical college aged guys; although, I must add that they had a subtle hipster flavored edge about them. In fact, only when the lead singer/guitarist took the stage did I realize that he was the guy I had chatted with in the line for the bathroom earlier in the evening. Needless to say, it would be tough to pick the band's frontman out of a line-up of one. In stark contrast, their performance was far from anonymous. The group had fantastic sound and great stage presence. Their set was short, sweet, and to the point. It was by far the best performance of the night and a band definitely worth looking into.
So what did I learn from this evening? As much as I hate to admit it, Burns knows a thing or two about music. I also learned that the terms underground and obscure don't always equate to high levels of sucking. Furthermore, dressing the hipster part greatly helped my ability to fully immerse myself in the scene. A simple flannel shirt and crouch-hugging jeans go a long way. In fact, I deduced that the degree of one's hipsterdom is directly indexed by the tightness of his/her slacks.
So what can the hipster and indie rock scene learn from me? Wearing compression socks and tights underneath jeans allows one's legs to feel fresh after standing all evening at a concert. After all, why stand when you can sit? Why sit when you can lay? Why lay when you can stand around wearing compression tights and listen to angst ridden youth bemoan their depleted CampusAccess cards? It's all about recovery.
With the handsomest of flannel shirts, the skinniest of jeans, and the laceless-est of Chuck Taylors, I, along with Neddawg and Klecknasty, drove down to Indy's Sacred Heart neighborhood. Having never been to this particular establishment, I was in for some pleasant surprises. Nestled within residential squalor, the Vollrath is the epitome of a diamond in the rough. Inside, patrons are greeted with low ticket prices, a solid beer menu, and a haze of pretentious smoke. As per the times, modern flatscreen televisions adorn the walls (albeit turned off for the duration of our visit) of the historic tavern. As a bonus, the main bartender was undeniably hipster hot...body ink and all.
The first act, We Are Hex, came on at about 9-ish in the PM hours. Led by a scowling singer/keyboardist, the local band rocked surprisingly hard. With Fraggle Rock inspired hair, the lead singer spun out into the audience on several occasions. Each time, strong whiffs of patchouli filled my nostrils as she staggered about directly in front of us. The Great Burns himself only had one qualm with the performance: why did they say "We Are Hex" at the end of the show? If they truly wanted to identify themselves as the band We Are Hex, shouldn't they have stated "we are We Are Hex"? I guess we can chalk it up to semantics.
After a short interlude, Wendy Darling took the stage. Hailing from the bay area of California, the band consisted of a female lead singer and three dudes playing instruments. They had a nice sound, but to be quite honest, the band wasn't my cup of tea. So instead of dutifully listening to the entirety of the performance, Klecknasty and I chatted it up about cycling routes and mountain bike trails. Like I said, the group had talent, but I had trouble getting into their groove, so to speak. Perhaps a patchouli induced spin through the audience would have helped their cause.
At 11:30pm, the headliners graced the stage. Describing the appearance of Cymbals Eat Guitars as unassuming would be an understatement. The Staten Island quartet looked like a collection of typical college aged guys; although, I must add that they had a subtle hipster flavored edge about them. In fact, only when the lead singer/guitarist took the stage did I realize that he was the guy I had chatted with in the line for the bathroom earlier in the evening. Needless to say, it would be tough to pick the band's frontman out of a line-up of one. In stark contrast, their performance was far from anonymous. The group had fantastic sound and great stage presence. Their set was short, sweet, and to the point. It was by far the best performance of the night and a band definitely worth looking into.
So what did I learn from this evening? As much as I hate to admit it, Burns knows a thing or two about music. I also learned that the terms underground and obscure don't always equate to high levels of sucking. Furthermore, dressing the hipster part greatly helped my ability to fully immerse myself in the scene. A simple flannel shirt and crouch-hugging jeans go a long way. In fact, I deduced that the degree of one's hipsterdom is directly indexed by the tightness of his/her slacks.
So what can the hipster and indie rock scene learn from me? Wearing compression socks and tights underneath jeans allows one's legs to feel fresh after standing all evening at a concert. After all, why stand when you can sit? Why sit when you can lay? Why lay when you can stand around wearing compression tights and listen to angst ridden youth bemoan their depleted CampusAccess cards? It's all about recovery.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Backyard Trampoline
The backyard trampoline: a child's dream and a parent's nightmare. A few years ago, my sister asked my parents to spring for one (pun intended), and my parents reluctantly obliged. For this blog entry, I have taken the liberty of weighing the pros and cons of owning a backyard trampoline.Pros:
- A videogame alternative. For today's gaming generation of youth, the outdoor trampoline gives children the opportunity to simulate their favorite Super Mario Brothers game. Mind you, I wouldn't recommend that parents actually suspend concrete blocks filled with mushrooms, turtle shells, and fireballs above the trampoline. Instead, a little imagination and some brightly colored plumber outfits will bring the kids one step closer to rescuing the Princess from Bowser's castle.
- A form of exercise. I, myself, have spent a good chunk of time double-bouncing friends and family. Thus, I can definitely attest to the fact that a trampoline provides a deep yet delayed burn in the old legs. For all of you power junkies out there, I'm sorry to say that SRM and PowerTap have yet to unveil a watts-measuring device specific to the trampoline; though, I'm sure it's in the works. Fortunately, trampolines are compatible with heart rate monitors and compression tights.
- A potential lawsuit. A backyard trampoline is like a magnet for children. Similar to a tractor beam, a trampoline exudes a powerful attractant that lures kids toward inevitable physical injury. Jumping begins with simple verticle movements but quickly escalates to flips, extreme double-bouncing, and, ultimately, the trampoline-to-ground transfer. Unfortunately, most people's lawns aren't as forgiving as a trampoline.
- A symbol of white-trashiness (WT). A backyard trampoline by itself comes with relatively low levels of WT. On a seven point Likert-type scale ranging from low (1.0) to high (7.0), a brand new trampoline in an empty backyard carries a rating of 2.0. With the addition of other yard ornaments such as a permanently parked R.V. and/or an above-ground pool, the rating begins to increase. Moreover, the attire worn by bouncers may further augment the levels of WT. For instance, an oversized Tweety Bird t-shirt automatically fetches a minimum rating of 5.0 when coupled with a backyard trampoline. Wearing JNCO jeans and an airbrushed t-shirt from the State Fair scores no lower than 6.0. Moral of the story, accessorize carefully when purchasing a backyard trampoline.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Bush fast, Bush furious
Constructed in 1931, Bush Stadium has hosted its fair share of athletic teams. Whether it be the Indianapolis Capitols or the Indianapolis Indians, the venue has been an integral part of Indianapolis' sporting history. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Bush Stadium is no exception. In 1996 the Indians jumped ship for the newly built Victory Field, and ever since, the stadium has been in a perpetual state of disrepair. During the past thirteen years, the city has tried to repurpose the facility, but each attempt has failed miserably. For a while, it was converted into a midget car dirt racing track, but even the motorsports capitol of the world couldn't sustain the new format. Then in the early 2000's, the Indiana high school sports governing body (IHSAA) held the soccer state championships there. That didn't last either. Nowadays, grass grows up through the cracks in the parking lot, and years of pollution and acid rain stain the stadium walls. Every now and again, I hear about the occasional police and military training exercise that takes place on the property, but in general, Bush Statium sits vacant and unused.
Today while cruising down the White River bike path, to my surpise, I noticed new signs of life at the stadium. Positioned along the outskirts of the parking lot were two Driving Dynamics trailers along with several mid-sized cars. Looking closer at the trailers, I noticed the words "advanced driving program". These words intrigued me. Shifting my gaze towards the center of the pavement, I noticed orange traffic cones strewn about in a seemingly strategic manner. Finally, my eyes came to rest upon this solitary vehicle:
Looking closer at the side of the car, I realized that it was no ordinary machine; it was a "Driving Dynamics: Controlled Slide Car". How 'bout that. Apparently, this is what "advanced driving" is all about. A driver never knows when a controlled slide will be the most viable option; thus, said driver should be prepared for any such situation. Now, I'm no car or driving buff, but I'm pretty sure the controlled slide and the Tokyo drift are not mutually exclusive of one another. In fact, a Venn diagram would likely depict two circles overlapping as one. For this reason, I must assume that the person in the photo is either one of two people. On one hand, the presence of hair all but eliminates the possibility of Vin Diesel. Yet, his husky physique does resemble that of XXX himself. On the other hand, the comfort-fit jeans and XL polo lead me to believe he must be Paul Walker. Although, I must admit that he has put on a few pounds since the latest installment of the Fast and Furious franchise. Regardless of this man's identity, one thing is for sure: he knows how to grip it, rip it, and live it on the edge. Perhaps he is the saviour that Bush Stadium so desperately needs. Maybe the outside of the stadium is the new inside. Bare with me here for a second. Maybe, just maybe, the powers that be have had it all wrong. Why focus all of the time and money on repairing a historic landmark when the parking lot surrounding it holds so much potential. This mystery man holds the answer. If you Tokyo drift it, they will come.
Cue Kevin Costner, Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, and the team of ghost baseball players.
Enter turbo-charged Honda Civics stage right.
Perform choreographed Tokyo drift.
Fade to black.
And scene.
Today while cruising down the White River bike path, to my surpise, I noticed new signs of life at the stadium. Positioned along the outskirts of the parking lot were two Driving Dynamics trailers along with several mid-sized cars. Looking closer at the trailers, I noticed the words "advanced driving program". These words intrigued me. Shifting my gaze towards the center of the pavement, I noticed orange traffic cones strewn about in a seemingly strategic manner. Finally, my eyes came to rest upon this solitary vehicle:
Looking closer at the side of the car, I realized that it was no ordinary machine; it was a "Driving Dynamics: Controlled Slide Car". How 'bout that. Apparently, this is what "advanced driving" is all about. A driver never knows when a controlled slide will be the most viable option; thus, said driver should be prepared for any such situation. Now, I'm no car or driving buff, but I'm pretty sure the controlled slide and the Tokyo drift are not mutually exclusive of one another. In fact, a Venn diagram would likely depict two circles overlapping as one. For this reason, I must assume that the person in the photo is either one of two people. On one hand, the presence of hair all but eliminates the possibility of Vin Diesel. Yet, his husky physique does resemble that of XXX himself. On the other hand, the comfort-fit jeans and XL polo lead me to believe he must be Paul Walker. Although, I must admit that he has put on a few pounds since the latest installment of the Fast and Furious franchise. Regardless of this man's identity, one thing is for sure: he knows how to grip it, rip it, and live it on the edge. Perhaps he is the saviour that Bush Stadium so desperately needs. Maybe the outside of the stadium is the new inside. Bare with me here for a second. Maybe, just maybe, the powers that be have had it all wrong. Why focus all of the time and money on repairing a historic landmark when the parking lot surrounding it holds so much potential. This mystery man holds the answer. If you Tokyo drift it, they will come.
Cue Kevin Costner, Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, and the team of ghost baseball players.
Enter turbo-charged Honda Civics stage right.
Perform choreographed Tokyo drift.
Fade to black.
And scene.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
double the pleasure, double the fun
As evidenced by Dan's latest post, the best things in life come in pairs. Whether it be a pump 'n munch or a pump 'n dump, you just can't beat a multitasking establishment.
Sometimes two franchises join forces under a common roof. Take the Taco Hut, for instance. Question: What's better than Taco Bell? Answer: Taco Bell and Pizza Hut. If you're like me, nothing compares to a trip south of the border; that is, unless that border town includes a Little Italy. Gordita Supreme? Yes please. Would you like a PANormous Pizza to wash that down? Now we're talking.
Every once in a while, a rare breed of entrepreneur emerges; one that imagines the unimaginable. Such visionaries recognize a problem and provide society with THE solution. Here are a few exemplars:
Problem I: Killing time at a dry cleaners but missing out on some PTH (Prime Tanning Hours).
Solution I: Hop in a tanning bed while you wait! Chemically treated clothes AND skin cancer?!?!? Count me in.
Problem II: You find yourself running late for work. You have to eat, but you notice that a recent downpour has left your car with unsightly waterspots. You don't have time to make two stops.
Solution II: Head on over to Mr. Dan's Hamburgers Car Wash at the corner of 44th and Keystone. Never again will you have to make a choice between satisfying your gastronomical desires and waxing your blingin' Dodge Stratus. Have we reached nirvana? Almost. Is this Heaven on Earth? Nope, you're on the level my good friend. Here on the northeast side, we call it Mr. Dan's.
Sometimes two franchises join forces under a common roof. Take the Taco Hut, for instance. Question: What's better than Taco Bell? Answer: Taco Bell and Pizza Hut. If you're like me, nothing compares to a trip south of the border; that is, unless that border town includes a Little Italy. Gordita Supreme? Yes please. Would you like a PANormous Pizza to wash that down? Now we're talking.
Every once in a while, a rare breed of entrepreneur emerges; one that imagines the unimaginable. Such visionaries recognize a problem and provide society with THE solution. Here are a few exemplars:
Problem I: Killing time at a dry cleaners but missing out on some PTH (Prime Tanning Hours).
Solution I: Hop in a tanning bed while you wait! Chemically treated clothes AND skin cancer?!?!? Count me in.
Problem II: You find yourself running late for work. You have to eat, but you notice that a recent downpour has left your car with unsightly waterspots. You don't have time to make two stops.
Solution II: Head on over to Mr. Dan's Hamburgers Car Wash at the corner of 44th and Keystone. Never again will you have to make a choice between satisfying your gastronomical desires and waxing your blingin' Dodge Stratus. Have we reached nirvana? Almost. Is this Heaven on Earth? Nope, you're on the level my good friend. Here on the northeast side, we call it Mr. Dan's.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Prez-ploitation
For several months, a single Fall Creek Parkway billboard caught my eye. There it stood, juxtaposed against a backdrop of power lines and low-income housing. An all too familiar-looking silhouette adorned the rectangular canvas. The shadowy figure raised a single thumb in a Bill Clinton-esque salute. Without a doubt, the advertisement depicted our nation's first African-American president. At first glance, it looked like just another campaign endorsement. Even the caption echoed campaign rhetoric. It read: "Change you can believe in." Nothing strange or off-putting about that slogan, right? Wrong. Immediately to the right of the caption appeared the logo for Indiana Live! Casino. That's right...it was an ad for an Indiana casino. Apparently, President Obama's message of hope and change resonated not only in the ears of registered voters but also in the marketing department of Indiana Live! Casino.
Fast forward to last night when Mr. Gaz formally posted the guidelines for Blog Off Challenge 2K9. Knowing that I needed to start the competition off with a bang, I immediately thought of the Fall Creek Parkway billboard. I had it all planned out. After work, I would pick up some groceries at Trader Joe's, and on my way home, I would stop by the billboard and take a photo. The subsequent blog entry would pretty much write itself.
At 7pm this evening, my worst fear came true. The casino advertisement was gone...gone like N*Sync. With twilight approaching, I became desperate. I drove back to my apartment and jumped out of my car to unload the groceries. A Steel Reserve can laid crushed upon the pavement. By this point, I was in full out panic mode. For a moment, I even considered writing an entire blog entry about the demise and destruction of the beer can. I had to think of something fast.
Once inside my apartment, I channeled my mind bullets and looked for a suitable target. Praise be to Allah that I have a pet rabbit named Theodore "Ted" Bunny. I perched that little guy on the windowsill, and voila, I had an end to my story.
Fast forward to last night when Mr. Gaz formally posted the guidelines for Blog Off Challenge 2K9. Knowing that I needed to start the competition off with a bang, I immediately thought of the Fall Creek Parkway billboard. I had it all planned out. After work, I would pick up some groceries at Trader Joe's, and on my way home, I would stop by the billboard and take a photo. The subsequent blog entry would pretty much write itself.
At 7pm this evening, my worst fear came true. The casino advertisement was gone...gone like N*Sync. With twilight approaching, I became desperate. I drove back to my apartment and jumped out of my car to unload the groceries. A Steel Reserve can laid crushed upon the pavement. By this point, I was in full out panic mode. For a moment, I even considered writing an entire blog entry about the demise and destruction of the beer can. I had to think of something fast.
Once inside my apartment, I channeled my mind bullets and looked for a suitable target. Praise be to Allah that I have a pet rabbit named Theodore "Ted" Bunny. I perched that little guy on the windowsill, and voila, I had an end to my story.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Ladies and Gentlemen, it's a blog off!
My esteemed virtual opponent has issued the challenge to end all challenges.
At approximately 8:46pm EST on Friday, my mobile device commenced in a rhythmic trembling that reverberated through the furthest reaches of my soul. Sensing a life altering event, I carefully unsheathed the cellular transmitter from its denim holster. I wiped my brow of cold perspiration and allowed my eyes to focus. A rush of adrenaline coursed through my body. My heart beat furiously. As I accessed the recently received SMS, the sender's name emerged from the pixilated screen. It was one that I knew all too well--Dan Gaz. His message was foreboding: "Want to have a blog off?" Not one to cower, I rattled off a text message of my own. The quickness of the reply exuded confidence but its content revealed fear: "Yes, name the time and topic...it's on like that video game monkey!" Upon striking the send key, I realized my mistake. My quip underscored a seemingly failed attempt to conceal my anxiety. Why oh why did I make an allusion to a video game gorilla? Moreover, the reference was cherry picked from a friend's Facebook status update. Amateur and plagiarized...a suicidal combination. Assuming a humiliating reply, I made preparations for seppuku. With my blade readied, I knelt and summoned my courage; only with self-sacrifice could my honor be restored. Suddenly, my mobile device erupted once more. Contrary to my initial intuitions, my esteemed virtual opponent had spared me ridicule. I released the blade and burst to my feet in exhilaration. His message was clear yet ambiguous, stoic yet elusive. It read: "I'll post the challenge." Not wanting to repeat my previous mistake, I promptly thrust the phone from my grasp to avoid further incident.
Now I await the specifics of the challenge...anxiously but with confidence restored.
Let it be known that only one individual is qualified to judge a blog off of such caliber. David Bowie, let your final decision be known.
At approximately 8:46pm EST on Friday, my mobile device commenced in a rhythmic trembling that reverberated through the furthest reaches of my soul. Sensing a life altering event, I carefully unsheathed the cellular transmitter from its denim holster. I wiped my brow of cold perspiration and allowed my eyes to focus. A rush of adrenaline coursed through my body. My heart beat furiously. As I accessed the recently received SMS, the sender's name emerged from the pixilated screen. It was one that I knew all too well--Dan Gaz. His message was foreboding: "Want to have a blog off?" Not one to cower, I rattled off a text message of my own. The quickness of the reply exuded confidence but its content revealed fear: "Yes, name the time and topic...it's on like that video game monkey!" Upon striking the send key, I realized my mistake. My quip underscored a seemingly failed attempt to conceal my anxiety. Why oh why did I make an allusion to a video game gorilla? Moreover, the reference was cherry picked from a friend's Facebook status update. Amateur and plagiarized...a suicidal combination. Assuming a humiliating reply, I made preparations for seppuku. With my blade readied, I knelt and summoned my courage; only with self-sacrifice could my honor be restored. Suddenly, my mobile device erupted once more. Contrary to my initial intuitions, my esteemed virtual opponent had spared me ridicule. I released the blade and burst to my feet in exhilaration. His message was clear yet ambiguous, stoic yet elusive. It read: "I'll post the challenge." Not wanting to repeat my previous mistake, I promptly thrust the phone from my grasp to avoid further incident.
Now I await the specifics of the challenge...anxiously but with confidence restored.
Let it be known that only one individual is qualified to judge a blog off of such caliber. David Bowie, let your final decision be known.
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