I ate dinner at the Bambuddha lounge.  The Halibut was incredible.  I can’t remember why I stopped going there.  Even the Décor is top notch:  Modern, yet relaxed.  That’s a hard trick to pull off, I think, but what I know about Interior design couldn't fill a small something-or-other.

BTW, I never did get a date for the show. No, I didn’t try Banana Republic.     When I sat down for dinner at Bambuddha there was over eight girls at the Bar and no men to speak of.  I sat next to the one in a wife beater with a Proposition stamped across the front.  She had great taste in music (The only Furnace Fan I have ever met, actually), works for a local Radio Station, and wears an Old-Navy Jacket.   And I still had an extra ticket…..   Could I wrestle a mangled victor from the crooked, slobbering maw of defeat?  No.

But I’m going to the show anyway, damnit!

Fiery Furnaces opened up right on time at 11:15.  Eleanor comes on stage and from where I was standing --dead center back row,The neck of Rich’s Golden Triangle-- she looked a bit like Lloyd’s depressed friend from “Say Anything”: I expected her to start singing “Joey Lies when he Cries”. She’s got a feathered mop.  Mathews mop was unmolested. The basist and I were overdressed.

The first fifteen minutes of the show was all punk energy. All their meandering songs were condensed and strung together in a shotgun medley. She probably played bits from six of them, including Straight Street and ‘lost my dog’, before taking a breath and a drink of water. They sounded good, but they had squeezed all the air out of the songs. No one even knew she was playing Straight Street until she sangd “But I got there too late”, but by then if was of course too late.

I was thinking that this is good but not what I had hoped for.

But while she was taking that drink the band stretched out and you could feel the show start to change.  The drummer started playing the stems of his is cymbal kit during a protracted opening to a song and the next fifteen minutes was more representative of the BlueBerryBoat, with its shifting, meandering movements.  Unfortunately the crowd did the Standing Still the whole time. I tried yelling “Arrgghh!” like a pirate during the Pirate scenes, because Pirates are AWESOME.  I guess no else had thought of that one yet.

For the last 15 minutes they sent half the band off and played some of their stuff off their first album.

The whole show was shorter than their last album. I was hoping for a hi-fi, PJ Harvey like dramatic concert. Instead it was more straight-ahead post-punk New York Rock Concert, albeit with an energetic keyboard section.  It was a good show, but not Pirate good.

Here is parody of A. Huffington's new mega-celeb-blog.  Read down to the Entry from David Frum.     That's funney.

Ricky Jay is cooler that I thought.

The NRO crew is coming to Atlanta.  I wonder if I should bring up my gripe with NRO. Basically I feel that Movie and Music reviews on NRO are boring. People argue all the time over whether the Republican Party has become the true progressive party but there can be no mistaking that complacent nature of Conservative Culture pieces.

 The NRO staff’s political work-product is robust and lively.  Unfortunately, this same spirit doesn’t extend to its Culture pages.  Aside from the occasional symphony Review by the aficionado J. Nordlinger, NRO’s articles on Music and Movies tend to be quaint and un-ambitious.  The last ‘rock’ review I read was a tepid requiem for Iron Maiden.  Not to mention the nearly self-parodying fawning over an experimental Rock band named Spock’s Beard.

I understand that a Conservative magazine would service the tastes of the average American: Conservative thought, in shorthand, often reads “Just cause the majority of Americans’ like it, doesn’t mean it sucks”. But must we resign ourselves to reviews of REM and U2?  

If they really believe the Derb’s trademark statement “Pop Culture is Filth” then they should stop writing about it.  The only thing they managed to say about Million Dollar Baby was that it was pro-euthanasia. Which is like dismissing Life is Beautiful as Pro-American propaganda.   The culture section is all so Paleo. C’mon guys, get with it!

Joe is Back!  

Last night I went out for a quick bite. Walked to Luella and had the sweetbread salad. The sweets were great. The salad dressing had too much vinegar for me, but that's not their fault-- the lettuce was great.  Then I walked down to "Street" which was closed, so I flagged a taxi and went down to A16 for the tripe, which I had been considering since I ordered but wasn't served it, two weeks ago.

If I didn't know better, I would swear it was stomache lining. Goes great with bread. 

This was the first time I had ever tried Tripe, and it was exactly like I imagined.  But all week I told myself that there is no way its going to be like I you're imagining it, because no one would ever order it.       Well, there you go.

The whole time I was eating it, I kept looking over my shoulder trying to figure out if one of the two girls sitting behind me was Shireen.  It looks like Shireen, but she wasn't waving, or hollering at me.    Oh wait, finally she waved (She didn't remember my name).   I offered her some intestine, she demured.  We talked about sheep balls because thats really the only sensible topic after someone offers you gut.

This morning I went over to Karate One at 6am to try this.    It turns out that Tuesday is running day.    I did well, only heaving once. I loligagged back, cause I am at times a loligagger, and because no one told me that the whole group waits for the last guy before retiring.   So I felt foolish coming around that last corner to a bunch of cheers.   Tommorow I will be redeemed.

It turns out the Fiery Furnaces are playing two shows in San Francisco this weekend. I just bought tickets to the Friday show. Now I need to buy a date.    I mean, find a date.

This is going to be fun.

I saw Sideways last night. It lived up to my expectations, but didn’t surpass them.   I was irked right off the bat when the first win they mentioned, Sanford’s Pinot Noir, happened to be exactly what I was drinking at that moment, and my favorite wine to buy give as a gift.  I had just brought another bottle to the Andy’s as a housewarming gift.

Gorgeous Matt in Milwaukee had recommended it to me three years ago, but now that it’s in the movie, and everyone’s heard of it, I’m going to have to find something else.

The movie was excellent though. I don’t think Church (The Wings guy) was amazing, but he did a good job.  Giamatti was incredible, but I kept getting distracted by the fact that he is a perfect blend of Ricky Jay and Chris Elliott.  Every possible characteristic, from their age, to their looks, their hair, their personality, he falls right in-between. It’s uncanny.   Ricky needs to do more movies.

The money scene, him eating a burger after running into his wife, was perfect. I love the misdirection—the  foreshadowing earlier in the movie. The scene is so understated that it’s more awesome in retrospect, which might be a failing of the movie as a whole. I suspect people aren’t on the tip of their seats, enjoying every moment; they are instead looking back at each scene in admiration.  Of course the patio exchange, about his love of Pinot, and her love of wine, was pitch perfect. Right through his clumsy, Graduate-like advances (Hoffman gropes Breast, The Graduate).  The dialog was lucid and real, but yet was some pretty heavy prose.

I had a conversation like that once with a girl. What were we drinking....?  We had Imperial Porter at "Walk The Dog", and listened to Gish on the way home. Those whole days were just like this movie.   Dave, you were there,  what were we all drinking?

I bet we drank Pinot. 

She got hit by a bus.  Dumb luck, that.

On the way to S. Cal Friday I passed this woman, doing yoga in the Bart Station.  

Obviously this got me thinking about my Yogi friend, Gina M, Which got me thinking about exhibitionism.    Not that Gina is an exhibitionist.  Not that she isn’t, either. Just go take her class, its fun. She’s currently doing a seminar that concentrates on Pelvic Thrusts.   Email me, and I'll send you the invite.

Just the day before, on Thursday, I was tempted to post an email from a girl I had been sometimes-seeing. In this email she tells me, with remarkable clarity, that she is tired of our sometimes-relationship and that I am never to contact her again.    Good judgment caught up to me, and I decided not to post her message here, or email her my one-word response:  “Quitter”.

Update:  I just added some photo albums.  Under the Calvon picture.

I can't stop laughing.  Media Bistro is giving the full-lileks to David Shaw.  Shaw's  reminds me of me, in the emails Vivian sends to deflate me when she thinks I am acting pompous. 

Compare Vivian's mockery

Sean lifted a limp wrist dramatically to his forehead, nearly swooning as he bidded his valet behind him to follow him.  "Goddamnit, Nigel!  Hurryup!  What are ya, a candy ass?  You're only carrying [my] 24-carat gold ski boots and platinum ski poles for chrissake!  I'm sweatin' here!"

To David Shaw

Given that the average cost of wines in my home cellar is probably about $40 to $45, under what circumstances and to which guests do I serve any of the handful of high-end wines I purchased at auction before prices skyrocketed - say, my '75 Petrus or '90 La Tache or '67 Yquem? And when do I serve an $18 Chianti? Those can be difficult, sensitive questions.

 Thanks to Catherine Seipp for pointing it out, here.  Read the last few chapters at least.

Makes me want to be very carefull about what I write.

Last night I ended up drinking 5 beers and playing Robotron at Riley James.  Its a clothing store, with a Keg-o-rator and all the Classic Williams' games.  They were having a preparty before  the  Digital Underground concert.  I was supposed to go, but heh, its Robotron and I had allready drank too much.

What's the deal with the Tanks. The tanks own me.

Poker game at the Guarnera's tommorrow. Ladera Ranch , Californa.

Its definately not Austin City Limits, or Cochella, but the Wakarusa Festival will feature Wilco and Son Volt.

 The last I read was that the Old Son Volt guys decided NOT to regroup, so I suspect that it will be Jay and some new guys, playing Son Volt Songs.  This will be nice since he seems to avoid those songs when he plays solo.

The real draw, as the folks at Pitchfork point out, is the odds of a Uncle Tupelo Reuinion.  What with Son Volt stabbing at it, Dinosaur J and the Pixies actually doing it, all bets are off.   You can still bet on which deathmatch tag-team would win though, Tweedy/Mascis vs.  Barlow/Farrar. 

Well, even if Farrar shuffled onto stage and the band kicked out a few bars of WhiskeyBottle, the crowd will probably be too stoned to appreciate it (Did you check out the lineup?), which would piss me off.

 I have allways regretted not seeing Tupelo and Son Volt. And this is in Kansas to boot. Maybe someone will let me drive a tractor!

I posted some of the old "Reports from the Pitch".   You can get to them by clicking on the image of Kelvin, running with the soccer ball.