Nothing turns my “everything’s horrible at work” frown upside down like going to the Bartender’s Olympics. My brother has performed in this annual event at his job for a few years, and he tends to be the most awesome. Bartenders at his place will perform and make a few drinks and the winner gets to go to another set of finals, and so it goes on to an international competition. The drinks made during the competition are then auctioned off, this year benefiting breast cancer research.
It’s at TGI Fridays, and every time I go there and see everyone have a boozy, good time I think “why aren’t we here ALL THE TIME?” Also it’s on Southside, and although my chances of seeing someone from high school are high, everyone is having more fun than we are in our dark basement bars listening to the Hold Steady. It was even endearing how everyone cheered and sang along to that “I Kissed a Girl” song. But also on Southside I am the best dressed and Richard kept getting compliments on his sideburns.
There is something satisfying about hearing a crowd of strangers chant my brother’s name (they call him “Chuck”). He won the most popular bartender, and was a huge favorite and raised the most money with his drinks. One drink went for $450! Suck it, everyone! Take that, cancer research! He placed second, though he gave a first place performance. Plus he gave us giant, free beers.
The first year I went to watch my brother compete, I came right after work by myself. I knew that there was an auction involved, and I mentally prepared my insufficiently- funded self that I would maybe bid $30 to him just so he would get a bid. But by the time finished (in a cow suit, which made the White Russian routine very amusing) I realized that my brother is basically the most beloved person on earth, and after every other bartender auctioned off their $50 to $100 drinks, my brother raised almost $3000, including a $1500 from a Chesterfieldian Nascar champ (whose name I am withholding for privacy and also because I don’t remember it). I mean, if I could rest a martini glass on my head while making said martini, I expect everyone to throw $500 at me, too.
So, kudos, big brother.
In other news, Richard and I are opening the bar TGI Mondays with fancy drinks with names such as: Taxes in the Office, Balancing the Checkbook in a Bathrobe, and Donating to NPR.
After the taped footage of the US Women’s Volleyball team justifying their competitiveness (”we want to kill them, but with respect,” something like that), cut to Bob Costas saying, “They want to kill you.”
My interview with Chris from AdHouse books came out today on rvanews. Richard and I interviewed him about publishing comics (he’s local, the artists are not). I don’t do the writey thing too often these days, but it was a fun conversation and I liked having an interviewing partner. It helped fill the gaps while I finished writing my notes. Plus Chris gave us a stack of free comic books. I am most excited about the “Project: Romantic” anthology.
I got a free copy of the Richmond Times-Dispatch at the grocery store the other Sunday and it didn’t have comics in it. While “Garfield Minus Garfield” and “Marmaduke Explained” are amazing, I miss the real thing these days.
This weekend kicked off what I assume will be months and months of showers, gifts, parties, parades, and general celebrations dedicated to me and my roommate. Our pals hosted a party for us and I became useless within the first ten minutes, however I had a ton of fun and I’m pretty sure Richard did, too.
So my gift to you in return, everyone, is this awesome bacon cooking style I picked up at the gym (which is true):
Preheat over to 400, put bacon on a cookie sheet (line it with foil — I thought that the bacon grease would be enough to keep it from sticking to the pan, but I was terribly wrong) and sprinkle with brown sugar. Cook for ten to twelve minutes and then cry at how delicious bacon is.
” Spaced” has been released on DVD. I like to think that my sister and I are responsible for its cult popularity in the states, having seen the first season years ago while flying home from England. But as it turns out we were merely our local representatives and not the only ones to have bootlegged copies of both seasons to pass around.
I like owning the legit version of it, and it’s been fun to watch with subtitles (although every time they say “couple” it’s spelled “coupe”). My associate and I are halfway through the first season, which I have watched 1 million times, but still think is funny. The set comes with extras, most annoyingly commentary with guests like Kevin Smith, Diablo Cody, and Quentin Tarantino. Ugh, WHY?
“Spaced” is a joy to watch. Though sometimes it’s referential to the point that you’re confused as to why they bothered remaking the story instead of using something original (like the “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” episode in season 2). But overall it’s funny, sweet, random, and the characters are awesome. Plus, Simon Pegg and Jessica Hynes (nee Stevenson) are the best and I love them. I know that’s sort of a half-assed review, but my point is that it annoys me that something already amazing and well-known on the other side of the ocean needs to be qualified in anyway with DVD cover blurbs from Kevin Smith and Judd Apatow.
Though I like Kevin Smith as a pop culture observer, his quote “Watching SPACED is kinda like watching a Kevin Smith film if Kevin Smith had any real talent,” makes me sad because watching “Spaced” is nothing like that. He at least admits that having good taste isn’t the same thing as having talent. And anyway, “Spaced” was out before anyone knew who Apatow was, and definitely after Smith stopped making good movies. I know it’s marketing, and I know that it’ll make people interested, but in a way I feel like my little show that made me giggle with all of its “Evil Dead 2″ and British junk food references is being exploited. It’s doesn’t need a stamp of approval from these other filmmakers. If anything, they can take a lesson about how something like “Spaced” can be funny without being vulgar and embarrassing to watch.
As everyone knows, my two greatest passions are being involved in things that require a separate photo ID and saving money. My associate and I are now proud owners of a Costco membership.
After months of everyone singing the praises of Costco we decided to finally go for it. We just went without really thinking about what to buy. It was an exciting idea until we finished our fancy, fancy lunch of a hot dog (for the gent) and pizza (for the lady) and went wild down all the aisles. We tend to buy the same thing every week, but spending $8 for a month’s (at least) supply of anything that I usually spend $3 on is very overwhelming. I got panicky and thought maybe we should get a refund. We had to force ourselves to buy things but I think next time we will be prepared, and maybe not go on a Saturday afternoon. Hopefully our $1million worth of four items means that we won’t need to go to Ukrops or Kroger three times during the week.
We had Costco (or “Price Club”) as a kid but I don’t remember buying anything except for soft pretzels and tires. Today was a unique experience, and I hope we get better at Costcoing. I have a feeling we will run into a bunch of people we know, and also eat a depressing/exciting number of meals there. It’ll be like the 821 Cafe of our grown up years.
As I have mentioned before, WordPress has a delightful option that lets me see what word searches lead readers to my site (for instance, ”who is the most awesome?”), but lately a lot of “big fat girls” and “big heavy girl” seekers have been routed to Burgerphone. These terms have consistently been popping up in the stats for about a week and now I’m concerned.
Two questions, Internet:
Why me, and what are you hoping to find with that search?
I have the opposite of whatever a green thumb is (a cold heart? Three grocery stores within walking distance?), so when my mom forced me to take another tomato plant with some green tomatoes already on it a few weeks ago, I really thought it would save everyone time and heartache if I just threw it out the car window on my way home. Still, I brought it home and put it on our back porch. Not only is it not dead, the tomatoes are finally ripening. I’m so proud of myself. I did very little but water it, so I’m blaming our sunless backyard at the old house for my previous agriculture failures.
In other news, my associate and I saw Wanted this weekend (we are a month behind in movies). I was bored/entertained unevenly throughout, though by the end of it I thought it was fun. Action movies are among my associate’s favorite things to see and I occasionally will watch them. When I saw another trailer for a Jason Statham movie I nearly cried. I’m not sure I can take another one right now. Oh, bald English action star. We get it, you will win in the end.
James McAvoy stars in Wanted,which is normally okay with me, but he has an American accent. Sometimes when I watch a movie and get disinterested I start working on my “three cent review” (even though they’re just called “notes” now) for Netflix. I probably missed some key plot points while attempting to clearly express how I felt about his change in dialect. Here is what I came up with: James McAvoy with an American accent is like throwing a fresh pizza in the trash. You know it’s there, but you can’t get to it.
Eh? I ended up not using it. If he spoke with his normal Scottish brogue and at some point took a determined walk through a grassy area, there’s a good chance I would have thought that this was the most romantic movie ever.
I appreciate value, especially now since fur and caviar prices are through the roof! What’s a fancy pants like me to do?
I have cut back. I only have steak dinners twice a week. I feed Ely and Milhouse once a month. I make Richard take showers using the hose out back while he waters my tomato plant at the same time (more on that — why did my mom give me a tomato plant? Does she hate tomatoes? DOESN’T SHE KNOW I WILL KILL IT? Remember those plastic electronic flowers with sunglasses that danced when you clapped? That died on me and that’s not even a living thing. I watered it too much, I guess), and I hotwire and steal other people’s cars to drive to work and save on gas. But I attempted to add a little value to the grocery store trip and I can’t help but feel burned.
Let me be your lesson to you: Don’t buy the Kroger brand version of Frosted Mini Wheats Strawberry Delight. Although it saves a $1 from the original, it’s not the same delight. It’s delite.
so on Southside I am the best dressed and Richard kept getting compliments on his sideburns.
