Posted by MPB:

Is the whole twenty-something summer wedding circuit getting you down? Me too. It has really started to get ridiculous. I am making plans to go to my fourth and fifth weddings of the summer right now. As both of these are immediate family, skipping is not an option. I already skipped two other weddings for not-so-immediate family this year.

Does everyone else run into this issue? Seems like a large number of my friends are regularly just getting back from a wedding or going to a wedding soon. Now, I like to go drink on someone else’s tab while seeing friends and family as much as the next guy, but these plane tickets are really starting to add up. If more of my friends were getting married in places like the Carribean, I wouldn’t have an issue with it. But I’m stuck going places like Oklahoma and Kentucky. Please: stop getting married.

P.S. Yes I did just get married a few summers ago, and yes, I do recognize the hypocrisy in this post. Rant over.

-MPB

Posted by MPB:

I have an ongoing struggle with the indie-rock genre. Sometimes I think I just don't have the patience for it. For a long time most of my listening was devoted to punk and twangy alt-country exclusively. Somewhere along the line I started listening to more indie rock. Since then, I have amassed a relatively diverse and geeky music collection. Problem is, I'm not sure I really like any of it anymore. For example, I recently obtained a slew of new cd's from the Denver Public Library. The list is as follows (you're allowed to check out 7 at a time):

1. Broken Social Scene - Self Titled
2. Broken Social Scene - You Forgot it In People
3. Broken Social Scene - Bee Hives
4. The Rosebuds - Night of the Furies
5. The Twighlight Sad - Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters
6. The Besnard Lakes - The Besnard Lakes are the Dark Horse
7. I forgot the last one. because it was just. that. good.

Now, the reason I went and checked all these out is two-fold: 1. I am a rampant music pirater (At least I admit it, don't act so high and mighty!), 2. I read that each was the greatest cd ever, or of the first half of 2007, or out of Canada, or some such thing.

Aside: the DPL is the music pirater's best friend

Anyway, getting to the point (is there one?).... I listened to each of these cds and I can say that I pretty much dislike each and every one. Of the lot, only 2 have remotely grown on me so far. I think a big part of this is timing, some are ok in the morning on a long drive by myself. When I listen to them in the afternoon, no dice. And when I listen to them in the presence of my wife or carpool friend, that get turned off almost immediately (by the passenger).

Yet, according to an army of hipsters, each of these is brilliant, magical, or at the very least very good. I just don't get the connection. Maybe someone can explain it to me? Are there vast insights into the nature of life and humanity awaiting me with further listens, or can I just give up on this genre as a whole? I'm starting to lose patience....

Posted by MPB:

Does P-man even need pinch bloggers anymore? Methinks not. Ever since the summer began, he has been blogging quite prolifically. However.... seeing as he doesn't get out much anymore, I thought I'd blog in my two cents about happenings outside of the silver screen, so hear ya go...

Friday night I paid homage to drunken debacles past and went to see Reckless Kelly at the Bluebird in Denver. These guys used to play all the time in Austin, one of those bands you could probably see three nights a week if you were so inclined. And, as I had seen them a few times in Austin, they hold a certain nostalgia for me, as do many things Austin (Trudy's mexican martinis, the Greenbelt, and Barton Springs to name a few).

I'll be honest, they aren't a great band, but they are a good band, and they play loud and usually throw in cool covers. A local Denver band called the Railbenders opened up for them. I had seen them before, and enjoyed that show as well.

So, right off the bat, I noticed that the lead singer for the Railbenders was sporting a Reverend Horton Heat shirt. Nothin wrong with that. I had forgotten that they had sort of a rockabilly twist to some of their songs. They also have an upright bass thats painted bassboat red. Nothin wrong with that either. I also learned that the band members own this bar in Denver called Bender's (never made the connection). Bender's is distinguishable by its huge freakin mural of Johnny Cash on the outside of the bar. Mark that as three checks for this band before they even launched into the first song. Perhaps their most endearing trait is that they are unabashed rip-off artists. They have a song called "Whiskey Rain" thats alot like Willie Nelson's "Whiskey River", another song called "I-70 Westbound" thats pretty similar to Pat Green's "Southbound 35", and yet another song called "Southbound" that sounds alot like the Reverend. Perhaps their greatest contribution: a country cover of "Sweet Caroline". To be honest, they don''t get bogged down with "originality" or "artistic expression", they focus on the important things, like putting on a good show and keeping the crowd happy. I respect that.

To be honest, the Railbenders sortof stole the show. I went to see Reckless Kelly dredge up some Austin nostalgia but was successfully sidetracked by the Railbenders (pun intended). As for Reckless Kelly, they were only ok in my opinion. There were a few high points, including a cover of "Revolution" by the Beatles, but they never seemed to dominate the stage. Or maybe I had too many shots of Jack washed down with PBR (both were on special) by the time they came on (which is entirely possible).

In the end, I think the group I was with all had a whiskey-soaked good time. I lost my wife somewhere between the concert and my house (which is walking distance from the Bluebird). She came home to find me passed out on the rug in front of the front door snuggling with our basset hound Chloe. I think that says alot about how much fun I had.

So if the Railbenders are playing near you, go see them... and leave music snobbery at the door (they do own a bar with a Johnny Cash mural on the side).

-MPB

Posted by MPB:

So, looking at the concert calendar for this summer, I was pumped when they announced that the Old 97s would be playing at Red Rocks Amphitheatre outside of Denver. Red Rocks is a good place to see a show, and the old 97s are one of my favorite bands (I had a previous DBT-esque obsession with them), so what more could you ask for?

For the un-initiated, the Old 97s was one of those bands that were dubbed "alt-country", had one hit (Timebomb), told they'd be hugely famous, and then never heard from again as far as main-stream media is concerned. But they have quite the following, and they put on a fantastic live act. Its like they have two versions of every song: the so-so studio version, and the completely kick-ass live version. I've seen them in Austin, and left thoroughly satisfied, rather I mean thoroughly ROCKED, afterward.

So, pumped for the show, I look into it, only to find out they are charging 50 !@#$! dollars! I knew something was awry when I heard Starbucks was the event "Presenter". Something is seriously wrong when a coffee company is a concert presenter. Concerts go well with beer, with pot, with hallucinogenic drugs, but I've never heard of concerts going well with coffee.

To add insult to injury, the Old 97s are not only NOT the headliner, they are the second opener listed. So I'd be paying $50 to see one hour of the goods. Thats probably more expensive that the Police on a per-hour basis.

And Ryan Adams is the headliner! Ryan Adams! Doesn't he owe his musical existence to bands like the Old 97s? Ok, so I suppose their last two albums haven't been THAT good. But have they really fallen this far?

Apparently so.

-MPB

Posted by MPB:

So perhaps the title of this post is a bit on the err... dramatic side, but I had a reasonably unsettling experience this weekend. I went riding at a trail just outside of Denver known as Buffalo Creek, a nice set of trails consisting of fast, flowing, tight, singletrack. For some reason when I go here it always rains. I usually cut my ride short, only to have it blow over about the time I'm driving away. On Sunday, I decided to test my luck when the dark clouds rolled in.

On the first half of the ride, I did a little amateur weather forecasting and convinced myself that this too, would blow over. As they said in G.I. Joe "Convincing yourself is half the battle", or something like that. But alas, about half way into the ride, the evil looking cloud decided that I would be punished for my hubris.

Buffalo Creek lies in an area that was ravaged by a fire five or so years ago, so you often go long stretches with no trees around. It was in just such a stretch (of course) that the rain drops started to fall. Then, lightning cracked, and it sounded pretty close. I was in the middle of a long climb (of course), and looked around and the trees were still a good distance up the hill (yup). Now, I didn't turn around and go down hill to find trees, because then I would've had to ride back up again when the storm passed (I'm a genius). So instead I started pedaling my ass off to get to the trees (the threat of imminent electrocution is an excellent motivator) and the hail started falling before I got there. It started out pea sized and got bigger. I was wearing a sleeveless jersey and immediately regretted my choice of clothing. My amrs were bright red from the pelting. Various thoughts went through my head: "I'm glad i have a helmet on"; "I wish I would've brought a jacket", "Ouch, that hurt".

Finally, I made it to a fallen down pine tree (which still had most of its needles) for shelter. I hung out there getting pelted only slightly less often for about five minutes. I had an Espresso flavored GU, I waxed philosophically on my predicament. Finally, the storm blew over and I pedaled away, relieved, and vowing that next time I'd cut the ride short when the clouds rolled in (but I probably won't).

MPB

So I started writing up this long and detailed account of the DBT show I went to last Saturday (full of witicisms, poignant observations, and the generally high quality of writing P-man's readers have come to expect), but of course I forgot to save, so the computer gods rewarded me by having IE crash. Boo.

So here lies the abbreviated version:

* I went to see DBT in Boulder last Saturday at the Fox Theatre
* They are playing a new style on this tour referred to as "The Dirt Underneath"
* I am borderline obsessed with this band, a review of my Ipod play count reveals I've listened to "Women Without Whiskey", "Outfit", and "Decoration Day" a combined 250 or so times, or approximately 1 full day of my life devoted to just these three songs
* The show was awesome, they managed to rock even acoustic, and a good time was had
* Mike Cooley got so drunk on stage, he couldn't keep a rhythm for the 2nd half of the show
* Somehow this seemed appropriate
* The band never mentioned the fact that Jason Isbell left, nor played any of his songs
* Thats a shame because his songs are some of my favorites

That is all.

-MPB

The story continues....

So, after arriving at the Derby, we set off on our noble mission to achieve an appropriate level of intoxication for the affair - plastered. The JB was well utilized to this task. Sidebar: If you are going to try to smuggle illicit materials into such a venue, I highly recommend having someone with a serious injury to plant it on. It really works like a charm.

The day of the Derby includes 12 races, and the big show is #10. We arrived at race #4, by about race #6, we were all pretty well sloshed. The drinking certainly wasn't helping the gambling. I was making more exotic bets, sure I would hit the big payday eventually. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. I lost all my bets on the Derby itself, about $50 worth.

By this point, my mom (like I said, this was a family affair) was starting to get a little worried about little brother in the neck brace. He had apparently found the favor of one of the female bartenders, and she was making all his gin and tonics doubles at no extra charge. Which brings up another sidebar: there's nothing like a neck brace to get you some sympathy. The double gin and tonics, combined with the heat and humidity (it was like 85 degrees & 100% humidity), were beginning to take their toll on little brother. He's about 6' 5" tall, which only exaggerated the swaying motion. Luckily, he was coerced to sit down and made it out without incident.

After the big race, my older bro and I took a walk over to the Derby infield to check out the carnage. The derby infield is more like the bastard lovechild of a Nascar race and Mardi Gras than a horse race. The place is filthy, the grounds turned into one giant mud pit, with the walking wounded staggering around half clothed and fully drunk, often covered head to toe in mud. The Port-a-potties were overflowing in some places. It was just gross. Somehow, I think Queen Elizabeth skipped this tour.

We came upon a huge crowd of men circled around some figure, presumably some drunk chick about to flash. Apparently she was reluctant, because there was alot of booing and the crowd quickly dispersed. After about five minutes we decided we'd seen enough and headed back to the betting window over by our seats.

This is where the true genius of having 2 extra races after the Derby comes in. The betting windows were packed. All the winners were trying to parlay their success, while all the losers were making a last effort to break even. I fell into the latter category. My brother and I decided to place a wheels trifecta bet on race 12. essentialy, all of the following were neccessary for us to win: horse 7 had to win, either horse 3 or 5 had to get second, and any of the other horses could get third. Our minimum bet cost us $10. We went back to our seat and race 11 was starting. i looked down and noticed that our bet was actually for race #11, and not #12 like we thought. Then I looked up and saw that our bet was falling into place. Watching the horses come down the final stretch was pretty fun. As it turns out, we won, with a pretty nice payout. In the end, I won back all I lost plus a little extra. all betting on the wrong race.

by the time we got home, we were pretty tired from the sun and booze. we had grandiose plans to go out that never materialized. the older part of the group blamed it on their age, those of us with wives blamed it on our wives, and little brother with the neck brace just vanished into his room. in the end we were all in bed about 10 PM sleeping off the 12 hours of gambling and booze.

This is MPB, (Mr. Pinch Blogger), once again I am stepping in temporarily to help out Mr. P-man in his time of need. I have decided to continue with this ridiculous nom de guerre on this blog for a few reasons: 1. I have a complete and utter lack of creativity when it comes to these things. 2. I have a sad attachment to acronyms stemming from the symptoms detailed in reason #1. This weekend I went to the Kentucky Derby, which seemed post worthy, so now you are all subjected to associated musings on the topic. Part 1 of ?

Part #1 - Morning of the Derby

Backstory: My extended family is from Louisville, so the Derby is a big deal to them. I'd never been before, mainly because it always falls on the first Saturday in May, which for me is traditionally reserved for either cramming for finals, taking finals, or having just taken finals and erasing the memory of them in a local bar. Now that my long and illustrious college career has (sadly) come to an end, I can go to the Derby. So there I went.

One of the first things I noticed on approaching the Derby is that Churchhill Downs is not exactly in the nicest part of town. It was an interesting juxtaposition to see stretch limo after stretch limo roll through streets lined with falling-down houses, littered with trash. The occupants of the limo seemed indifferent (if not a little scared) by the locals, which isn't all that surprising. We parked and made our way to the entrance.

Since drinks at the Derby are famously expensive, we made arrangements to bring in our own liquor to save some $$$. We hid a fifth of Jim Beam in a "floppy flask" - its alot like a Camelback bladder with a waist belt - on my younger brother, who happens to be wearing a hard neck collar due to a broken neck sustained snowboarding (perhaps another post topic?). The plan worked, and we arrived on the grounds JB in tow.

Immediately after entering, it became apparent that Derby attendees fall into two categories - drunks in normal clothes, and drunks in fancy clothes. We were striving for the latter category, me in a suit and the wife in a silk dress & Derby hat. We made our way to our seats, and started drinking whiskey & cokes (me) and mint juleps (the wife) ASAP.

To be continued....

Lately, I’ve been trying to reduce my consumption of tv (which has been tough, damn you network executives and your cheesy yet addictive programming!), and in turn have been doing some reading. I find reading provides two main rewards for me:

1. Sometimes I learn stuff.

2. Even if I don’t learn stuff I can at least take on an air of intellectual superiority since “I read a lot”.

The latter is probably the biggest reward. I think this is mainly because I delude myself into thinking that someday I’ll be able to walk away from this engineering gig and be able to write for a living. And for now, if I can’t write for a living, at least I can be on the other end of the literary world. Problem is, I’m not that creative (hence the engineering gig), so I’ve been reading a lot of memoirs, because memoirs seem like the most feasible genre for me. The problem with that is, I’m not sure my existence thus far has really provided a whole lot worth reading (as you are all painfully becoming aware of). Therefore, I’ll have to lie a lot, which goes back to the creativity thing. It’s a vicious circle indeed.

So, as far as literary works by actual authors go, I have recently read and enjoyed: Another Bullshit Night in Suck City (I know this is a “family” site, but hey, it’s the title of the book), Me Talk Pretty One Day, Running with Scissors, and just to mix it up a little The Genius and the Goddess.

Of the memoirs, I liked Me Talk Pretty One Day the most. David Sedaris is a funny guy, and has a way of making somewhat every day occurrences seem hillarious. Also, he’s quite the wordsmith without being pretentious with his vocabulary. I like that. On the other hand, I liked Running with Scissors the least. It had its moments, but for some reason I never really connected with the book. I think I just didn’t like Burrough’s wording as much. The Genius and the Goddess reminded me a lot of books by Herman Hesse. It had a sortof philosophical nature to it and a focus on internal human struggles, which I find interesting. I’ve read a lot of Hesse’s books as well, because “I read a lot”. See, I feel better already.

MPB

I think my brain is still hemorrhaging from Friday night. Holy crap. It went something like this:

As some of you may or may not (and probably don’t) know, I am an engineer. I mainly work on drinking water plants, but sometimes also work on wastewater (read: poop) plants. P-man calls me a poop engineer. I almost never refer to myself as such. When I meet people I call myself an “environmental engineer” or perhaps “environmental consultant”, but almost never do I say “I get the poop out of the water” or “I can explain in detail what happens to your poo”. Its just not appropriate intro material.

That said, the end of my work week conspired to send me into drunken oblivion this weekend. After two full days of writing an operations and maintenance manual (it IS as fun as it sounds!), I was ready to blow off some steam. My wife’s best friend (G) happened to be finishing her last day of school. In celebration, we undertook the time-honored tradition of getting her so intoxicated she couldn’t even remember what day it was.

We all met at the house, and in the absence of any beer, started making drinks. We were taxiing on the proverbial runway at this point (this is sort of a theme I’ll be running with for the rest of the story). Before we left though, the lock on my front door broke. My wife wasn’t leaving without the door locked. If you want to see high comedy, watch four half drunk people try to replace the lock on a front door in a frantic hurry to go get full drunk. This was a portent of things to come (I’m not sure how exactly, but it was).

Finally, we left for the Denver Nuggets game. Of course, we didn’t go straight there. We had to get “off the runway” first. Getting off the runway consisted of two mixed drinks, two shots of Jager, and a shot of Patron within the brief 30-minute window before the game started. Mission accomplished, we were flying.

As it turned out, G was able to score some free tickets for the game. Not only that, but they were also on the floor behind the baskets. The poor bastards around us paid probably $100 a ticket only to have to put up with our drunk asses the entire game. If any of you were there: I apologize. FYI: The beer cups at the Pepsi center are those annoying plastic where if you grip them too tight, they POP back into place sending a tiny fountain spray of beer flying out of the cup. Just ask the row in front of us.

The good thing about sitting in expensive seats is that apparently you can get away with a lot before you get kicked out. We never got kicked out, and got away with a lot. Someone started throwing popcorn, and then someone retaliated, and then someone spilled beer all over the guy in front of us. We were those people.

Post game, we stumbled over to downtown to continue the madness. We were at cruising altitude, everything was going well, J the doer of Stupid Human Tricks had just been reprimanded for climbing the walls in the bar. If you had met J, you’d realize I mean that he was literally climbing the walls. Its sort of his thing. He was on his second time making it all the way up to the ceiling when he got yelled at by the boucer. At this point, things started to unravel. G had some serious stomach pyrotechnics all over herself, my wife, and the bar table. The plane had crashed into the mountain.

The aftermath wasn’t pretty. There was puke in my car and several unsuccessful attempts at getting breakfast burritos Saturday morning. After realizing that we had all been sitting around for 4 hours, my wife, J, and G all went and saw Borat. It was good times. Then I went to Vail on Sunday, also good times. Life returned to normal. My hangover is finally gone.

MPB

Last night was my first foray into the world of gypsy punk rock, and I’ve emerged a completely changed man. Ok, maybe not completely changed, but at the very least recently entertained and to some degree hard of hearing.

The venue for last night’s show was the Gothic Theatre, one of many old Denver theatres (technically the Gothic is in Englewood {which you may recall is always up to no good}) renovated to be a live music venue. I’m a big fan of these types of venues. There’s a good sized area in front of the stage for group gyrations and a balcony where my vertically challenged wife can watch the proceedings: everybody wins.

J and G from the last post were scheduled to be in attendance as well, but J bowed out due to a claim of oncoming sickness. Something having to do with weakening his immune system over the weekend. Pretty lame excuse if you ask me. G was on board though, which was a nice surprise because she’s not much into the punk (or folk punk, or Ukranian folk punk for that matter) scene, but still very open-minded. Her previous experiences at the Gothic had consisted of filming for some death metal acts (also not her scene but you gotta pay the bills), so I applaud her for even returning after that.

We went to Genarro’s Lounge for pre-show activities. This place is awesome: great cheap Italian food, even cheaper beer, and a bunch of sociable regulars playing sad country songs on the jukebox. I can’t figure out why its not packed all the time.

We showed up for the show around 8:45 expecting to catch the two opening acts (advertisement said doors at 7 and show at 8:30). The place was already packed and I had no problem selling J’s extra ticket at a hefty profit of $0.75. I think I have a future as a scalper. To our surprise, the second act, Valiant Thor, was already winding down their set. As I had already seen them once it was no big deal (they really aren’t very good minus the schtick), but this had to be the first time in history that a punk act was actually going on early. Gogol Bordello showed up on stage around 9:30.

So… I can’t provide a set list since I am completely unfamiliar with any of their material. As such, the fact that I was totally blown away by them is all the more impressive. The lead singer exuded energy from the very beginning. After the first chord the floor exploded into an energetic (but surprisingly conscientious) pit. Immediately, I was pushed into the crowd and flailing to the beat with everyone else. Good times, great times in fact. The lead singer kept egging the crowd on and they kept responding with more energy. Overall, the band’s stage presence was impressive.

Musically, they reminded me of a Ukranian version of Flogging Molly, which isn’t a bad thing. The fact that folk tunes have had people dancing for hundreds of years is no coincidence, and the addition of a few electric guitars and an insane front man can only help things. The lead singer was really animated and involved in the show, even when he wasn’t playing or singing, and his dialogues with the crowd were funny. The Bordello girls weren’t really all that impressive. Personally, I still prefer Satan’s cheerleaders. And there were no Elijah Wood sightings. For a minute there I thought maybe a little rapper dude that came out was him, but no such luck.

The radio DJ who introduced them said all the new people at the show should prepare to have their “minds warped” during the show. I think they should avoid his introductions in the future. That’s just a tough billing to live up to. If Bordello girls dancing around in funny costumes and a lead singer banging a bucket on top of a microphone is mind-warping, then perhaps he was right. But I just didn’t see it. But I still had an awesome time and left mind fully intact.

Besides me, both G and my wife, neither of whom are into punk, also had a great time by all accounts. I can highly recommend Gogol Bordello should they be in your town. They definitely bring a lot of energy and in Denver they had a big group of loyal fans, which I think always helps the atmosphere. No mind warpage needed.

MPB

Hi, my name is Mr Pinch Blogger and I will be “helping” our friend P-man here for a while whilst he is mired in the throes of law school finals. You can call me “MPB” if you’re into the whole brevity thing.

P-man and I have much in common. While P-man chains himself to his desk for hours at a time to study, I am also chained to my desk for hours at a time by the man, with the proverbial chains being monetary reward, or more specifically, the ability to pay my mortgage. Deep stuff I know. I worked on that for hours. And its just a taste of the deep intellectual content you can expect (or dread or ignore) during what is sure to be my brief tenure as MPB.

But before delving into P-man and my similarities from a philosophical realm, I’ll ease into things with the more superficial topics. I like bikes, as does P-man. And, also like him, I have amassed a large collection that I somewhat rarely ride, and when riding, usually get smoked by everyone from casual riders to geriatric old men on cruisers. My overall lack of physical prowess on the bike doesn’t stop me, however, from practicing bike snobbery and praising the virtues of steel frames, singlespeeds, and the like. Of which I own none, of course.

Similarly, I have been accused of music snobbery as well. Unlike P-man, however, I have no musical talent whatsoever, and have never performed either, save the occasional drunken wailing of “Sweet Caroline” or “To All the Girls I’ve loved Before” (the Willie Nelson / Julio Iglesias version thank you). I leave that up to the professionals, and in this case, I am looking forward to a show next week in Denver featuring Gogol Bordello and Valient Thorr. I haven’t seen Gogol Bordello and am only mildly familiar with them, but hear they’re good live. I have seen Valient Thorr, and look forward to seeing them, as they hail from Venus (it’s a long tour) and feature a lead singer who resembles a balding, overweight early 80’s era David Lee Roth (complete with spandex). All that spandex can’t contain the rock though, and they rock hard.

Ok, so going back to work for the man beckons. Till next time, nice to meet y’all.

Mr. Pinch Blogger