Next weekend marks the annual GonerFest - a week-long rock'n'roll party put on by a local record store / label that features the best of local music, as well as some fantastic touring bands. My platonic soul mate Matt was supposed to come down next weekend so that we could go see Mr. Quintron and Miss Pussycat.
Friday morning, I had just gotten to work when I got an email from Matt asking for my address so that he could print directions to Memphis. I sent it, and got a reply that said "Great! I'm leaving now, see you in a few hours!"
This weekend wasn't Goner Fest. It wasn't anything special at all. I had no plans, so I didn't really mind.
When he got into town, we met some friends at the P&H for karaoke night. Normally, I try to avoid any singing in public, but something about Friday night took away most of the normal inhibition. It could have been the alcohol, it could have been that I was in a really good mood - I don't know. But what I lacked in talent, I made up for in enthusiasm.
During karaoke, I saw a flyer that said that Muncie favorites Everything, Now! would be playing at the P&H the next night. So Matt and I, bottle of champagne in hand, went to see them.
I've always had a weird fear of opening champagne corks. Maybe it was because once, I watched as one flew across the room and slammed into a picture frame, shattering it. Maybe I'm scared it'll shoot my eye out. So, I had Matt open the bottle, and somehow, half of the contents wound up all over his pants. The remaining was delicious, though, and we had a good time watching e,N!
The whole week was pretty uneventful - there was blues dancing, and Talk Like A Pirate Day. I celebrated the latter by going to the Buccaneer to hear a band called the Pirates. Before that, I went to the Deli. At the Deli, there was a boy who looked suspiciously like Craig Finn, who is almost the ultimate in dreamy. So, I passed him a note written on a napkin that read: "You look like Craig Finn. I think that's dreamy. We should hang out. Phone Number:" He never called. I mean, what sort of crazy person has the balls to hand a boy a note, but not really say hello. I suppose that person would be me, and maybe next time, I should say hello. Ah well - win some, lose some.
Today though, I'm exhausted. I wish I had more to say for myself, but there's not a whole lot going on. I'm sitting on my bed, watching Mad Hot Ballroom (thanks, Netflix!) and listening to a car horn that's gotten stuck in the on position. (oh wow - as I typed that, it magically stopped!) I'm also trying to find somewhere to watch the first part of the new Ken Burns WWII documentary. If you've got PBS, I've got homemade chili.
name and number,
Kerry
Showing posts with label Black Glasses Brigade. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Black Glasses Brigade. Show all posts
Sep 23, 2007
Sep 4, 2007
They Always Used To Read Us Our Rights
I'm back in Memphis after my Muncie Marathon Weekend. My apartment (which was sort of clean when I left) is now an explosion of dirty clothes, 45s and music magazines purchased from the News Cafe. And it was worth every mile on I-65, and every shot of espresso I took to stay awake for said drive, and every night spent throwing Kristin's tiny, hyper puppy off of the futon so I could get some sleep.
I left Friday as soon as work was over, and got into Muncie about 3:30 a.m. Kristin had notified the Black Glasses Brigade, and they were all at her house, watching the Muppet Movie and waiting for me. I had figured I would just get there and pass out, but the two espresso shots I had done at the all night Starbucks worked entirely too well, and after much talking, I finally fell asleep sideways on the futon between Matt and Andy.
The next morning, we all went to Eva's Pancake House for breakfast and sat at the same table that we sat at the morning I left Muncie for the last time. Matt and I made the mistake of starting a discussion about records that would last until the five minutes before I left town on Monday morning. If I were a dude, I would be Matt - he loves pop music like I love pop music. He understands the visceral pleasures of the Sunday New York Times. His favorite sound is that of a printing press (mine being the sound after the needle drops onto the record, but before the music starts).
But I digress.
Saturday night, I DJ-ed Village Green Records, which is the awesome record store owned by the lovely Josh Caldwell. He was nice enough to host the return of the dance party, which, despite some overzealous dancing knocking the needle around on the turntable and causing skips, was an awesome time. So many people came out, and it was great to see everyone. It was also great to have an entire room dancing to Fatboy Slim's "Rockefeller Skank" in a non-teen movie context. Saturday also marked the return of "Meat and Potatoes Cabaret Theatre", which is something that originally happened when my former editor and I should have been working, but were listening to Belle and Sebastian's "Meat and Potatoes" instead.
Sunday, after brunching at Puerto, I went to Indy to record shop and have dinner with Crotch Rocket Aaron. I bought Mirah's "C'mon Miracle" and the Silver Jews "Natural Bridge". Then I took some pictures:
When I got back to Muncie, I met the Brigade at the Heorot. They were all inexplicably dressed business causally, with the exception of Kyle, who thought he was wearing his only shirt with no holes (upon further inspection, this proved false). Since I had narrowly missed last call, we all went back to Kristin's to watch Big Lebowski. I use the word "watch" very loosely, because when Matt showed up, he showed up with some Anchor Steam and something called Ginger Tams.
A little back story - when I lived in Muncie, I had a small bottle of Rebel Yell at my house. Rebel Yell is made in Kentucky (which, I remind you, never officially entered into the Civil War), and it's about the nastiest excuse for whiskey ever. It makes Wild Turkey seem like something you'd actually want to drink. Anyway, I used to pass it around when I had people over, or it was a special occasion that required some bonding time (Valentine's Day, parties, etc.).
So Matt proudly produced the bottle of Ginger Tams, which his well-meaning sister had brought back from a trip to Scotland. The bottle described it as "Extra Strength Liquor", and damn, were they right. I could tell from the smell alone that it was going to be extra strength. I could not tell, however, that it would taste so bad. The bottle also described it as being ginger and honey flavored whisky, illustrated with a drawing of a cat that looked like it was being electrocuted so badly that it's tail had split in half.
So, I took a sip, and holy crap, it was the single nastiest thing I've ever put in my mouth. The liquor of my ancestors is disgusting, plain and simple. I don't reccomend it - the Ginger Tams is a Big Scottish Bad Idea. It will, however, make the rest of the evening just a little more fun.
That night, I slept on the futon again, crowded with Andy and at least two of Kristin's pets, surrounded by my favorite people in the world. I didn't realise until I left Memphis what an insane past few months I've had. Between graduating, and moving, and getting a job, and ending the relationship that was part of the reason I had moved, there have been a lot of changes. But you know, they're not bad changes, and I'm actually pretty happy.
Coming up later this week - the Millington Goat Festival. I'm going to be going to this fabulous event (which includes an anvil shoot - doesn't that sound like the worst idea ever?) and writing about it here. There's also blues dancing on Thursday, as well as a meal with someone I haven't seen in four years that should be pretty entertaining. Check back soon for more photos, stories, and bad ideas.
Little Scottish Bad Idea,
Kerry
I left Friday as soon as work was over, and got into Muncie about 3:30 a.m. Kristin had notified the Black Glasses Brigade, and they were all at her house, watching the Muppet Movie and waiting for me. I had figured I would just get there and pass out, but the two espresso shots I had done at the all night Starbucks worked entirely too well, and after much talking, I finally fell asleep sideways on the futon between Matt and Andy.
The next morning, we all went to Eva's Pancake House for breakfast and sat at the same table that we sat at the morning I left Muncie for the last time. Matt and I made the mistake of starting a discussion about records that would last until the five minutes before I left town on Monday morning. If I were a dude, I would be Matt - he loves pop music like I love pop music. He understands the visceral pleasures of the Sunday New York Times. His favorite sound is that of a printing press (mine being the sound after the needle drops onto the record, but before the music starts).
But I digress.
Saturday night, I DJ-ed Village Green Records, which is the awesome record store owned by the lovely Josh Caldwell. He was nice enough to host the return of the dance party, which, despite some overzealous dancing knocking the needle around on the turntable and causing skips, was an awesome time. So many people came out, and it was great to see everyone. It was also great to have an entire room dancing to Fatboy Slim's "Rockefeller Skank" in a non-teen movie context. Saturday also marked the return of "Meat and Potatoes Cabaret Theatre", which is something that originally happened when my former editor and I should have been working, but were listening to Belle and Sebastian's "Meat and Potatoes" instead.
Sunday, after brunching at Puerto, I went to Indy to record shop and have dinner with Crotch Rocket Aaron. I bought Mirah's "C'mon Miracle" and the Silver Jews "Natural Bridge". Then I took some pictures:
When I got back to Muncie, I met the Brigade at the Heorot. They were all inexplicably dressed business causally, with the exception of Kyle, who thought he was wearing his only shirt with no holes (upon further inspection, this proved false). Since I had narrowly missed last call, we all went back to Kristin's to watch Big Lebowski. I use the word "watch" very loosely, because when Matt showed up, he showed up with some Anchor Steam and something called Ginger Tams.
A little back story - when I lived in Muncie, I had a small bottle of Rebel Yell at my house. Rebel Yell is made in Kentucky (which, I remind you, never officially entered into the Civil War), and it's about the nastiest excuse for whiskey ever. It makes Wild Turkey seem like something you'd actually want to drink. Anyway, I used to pass it around when I had people over, or it was a special occasion that required some bonding time (Valentine's Day, parties, etc.).
So Matt proudly produced the bottle of Ginger Tams, which his well-meaning sister had brought back from a trip to Scotland. The bottle described it as "Extra Strength Liquor", and damn, were they right. I could tell from the smell alone that it was going to be extra strength. I could not tell, however, that it would taste so bad. The bottle also described it as being ginger and honey flavored whisky, illustrated with a drawing of a cat that looked like it was being electrocuted so badly that it's tail had split in half.
So, I took a sip, and holy crap, it was the single nastiest thing I've ever put in my mouth. The liquor of my ancestors is disgusting, plain and simple. I don't reccomend it - the Ginger Tams is a Big Scottish Bad Idea. It will, however, make the rest of the evening just a little more fun.
That night, I slept on the futon again, crowded with Andy and at least two of Kristin's pets, surrounded by my favorite people in the world. I didn't realise until I left Memphis what an insane past few months I've had. Between graduating, and moving, and getting a job, and ending the relationship that was part of the reason I had moved, there have been a lot of changes. But you know, they're not bad changes, and I'm actually pretty happy.
Coming up later this week - the Millington Goat Festival. I'm going to be going to this fabulous event (which includes an anvil shoot - doesn't that sound like the worst idea ever?) and writing about it here. There's also blues dancing on Thursday, as well as a meal with someone I haven't seen in four years that should be pretty entertaining. Check back soon for more photos, stories, and bad ideas.
Little Scottish Bad Idea,
Kerry
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