I had to miss seeing Chuck Berry play a free concert in Iowa City on Friday night, on cause of Brewnost.
My parents saw Chuck a few years back at a theatre in Morristown, New Jersey. Apparently Chuck doesn't tour with a band, or any gear except his guitar, so he shows up to every show to a different backing band. The issue is that they have only a vague setlist, and that his songs don't employ your everyday simple blues chords, so the first 20 minutes of his sets are total fucking disasters - my mom used the word "avant garde."
My mom's employer is a patron of the theatre where the event was held, and there was supposed to be a meet and greet with Chuck post-performance. My parents showed up, but Chuck never did. After waiting for an hour they left, and as my Dad was in the car talking to me on his cellphone, I heard him scream, "HEY LOOK THERE'S CHUCK," and apparently there was Chuck Berry, ditching his ritzy meet and greet in order to pound some down at some scummy bar in Morristown. I heard my Dad yell "great show Chuck" and some muttering from Chuck's end, something like "hghhbhghhh." The dude films girls pooping, so I doubt he gives a fuck.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
I'm sick (fuck you)
A coworker of mine testified in court the other day against this guy. Apparently he was also on trial for stealing a Children's Miracle Network box from a countertop.
What this has to do with anything I know not, but what I do know is that tomorrow is Brewnost, a charity event which involves me pouring beer for the gentry of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. And being hit on by the bored wives of Cedar Rapids industrialists. Last year, when conversing with this crow-footed yet glamorous volunteer, it came out in conversation that I was Jewish, to which she responded "My ex-husband told me I could become Jewish via injection." I wanted to make some joke about Jewish doctors but was too stunned.
Not too many Jews in Eastern Iowa. I have been at least half a dozen peoples' "first Jew." One of those people was a girl from some four-corners town in Northern Iowa. When I told her I was a part of the tribe she screamed, hugged me, and shouted I was her "first Jew." She said that her father said there would be Jews in Iowa City, and that "they all had big noses and drove really nice cars," but I didn't have a big nose and "that was like so weird." Then I told her I drove a Ford Windstar.
What this has to do with anything I know not, but what I do know is that tomorrow is Brewnost, a charity event which involves me pouring beer for the gentry of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. And being hit on by the bored wives of Cedar Rapids industrialists. Last year, when conversing with this crow-footed yet glamorous volunteer, it came out in conversation that I was Jewish, to which she responded "My ex-husband told me I could become Jewish via injection." I wanted to make some joke about Jewish doctors but was too stunned.
Not too many Jews in Eastern Iowa. I have been at least half a dozen peoples' "first Jew." One of those people was a girl from some four-corners town in Northern Iowa. When I told her I was a part of the tribe she screamed, hugged me, and shouted I was her "first Jew." She said that her father said there would be Jews in Iowa City, and that "they all had big noses and drove really nice cars," but I didn't have a big nose and "that was like so weird." Then I told her I drove a Ford Windstar.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
For a few reasons:
1) I'm not writing anymore. I know this is a fucking blog and whatever but I'm not. Straight up reason # 1
2) Reason #2. So I was back in DC last week and I talked to some good people - old coworkers - to whom I haven't spoken in like a quarter of a decade or some shit. The last time I wrote them I wrote them an e-mail. If I remember correctly signed the STEPHEN MOTHERFUCKING SHERMAN. The e-mail was from when I was living on a reservation in South Dakota. I had no job and I was putzing around my girlfriend's one bedroom apartment, watching one of her cats be in heat. The other one was spade. Anyhow my coworkers suggested I start a blog. So thanks for the suggestion Elizabeth and Wendy. Yeah I'm starting a blog. Fuck you.
3) I miss it. I did this before - it was a means to communicate with old friends with whom I'd parted ways since high school. We all shared a blogging interface, linked to eachothers' blogs, and so I would know important info, like that Dan at St. Thomas Acquinas had a roommate from Long Island named Tiny who was 7 feet tall and had flip flops the size of a surfboard. I remember these things. I remember Tiny. Never forget.
So to start things off here is a story.
I am a manager of a liquor store in Iowa City. It's also a grocery store. One day a drunk CHUDly-guy shoved a ribeye down his pants and walked out the door. I remember when I went out the door to chase him I said to my coworker, "yo, that dude has steak in his pants."
...
That's not a very good story.
Any that's the guy who tried to shoplift steaks, using his pants. We did get the steaks back, for what it's worth. "What it's worth" is whatever the going rate for ribeyes which marinated in bum crotch.
This is going to be good.
2) Reason #2. So I was back in DC last week and I talked to some good people - old coworkers - to whom I haven't spoken in like a quarter of a decade or some shit. The last time I wrote them I wrote them an e-mail. If I remember correctly signed the STEPHEN MOTHERFUCKING SHERMAN. The e-mail was from when I was living on a reservation in South Dakota. I had no job and I was putzing around my girlfriend's one bedroom apartment, watching one of her cats be in heat. The other one was spade. Anyhow my coworkers suggested I start a blog. So thanks for the suggestion Elizabeth and Wendy. Yeah I'm starting a blog. Fuck you.
3) I miss it. I did this before - it was a means to communicate with old friends with whom I'd parted ways since high school. We all shared a blogging interface, linked to eachothers' blogs, and so I would know important info, like that Dan at St. Thomas Acquinas had a roommate from Long Island named Tiny who was 7 feet tall and had flip flops the size of a surfboard. I remember these things. I remember Tiny. Never forget.
So to start things off here is a story.
I am a manager of a liquor store in Iowa City. It's also a grocery store. One day a drunk CHUDly-guy shoved a ribeye down his pants and walked out the door. I remember when I went out the door to chase him I said to my coworker, "yo, that dude has steak in his pants."
...
That's not a very good story.
Any that's the guy who tried to shoplift steaks, using his pants. We did get the steaks back, for what it's worth. "What it's worth" is whatever the going rate for ribeyes which marinated in bum crotch.
This is going to be good.
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