01 October, 2010

How do we begin October? By getting rid of our beard.

Yesterday, Janis calls me up after I get off the clock and asks if I want to go grab a bite. Me, because I have few needs in life outside of music, fucking, booze, and food, say, Sure, knowing I could satiate at least fifty percent of those needs.
We headed to Bryant-Lake Bowl and got there with fifteen minutes left of happy hour - and let me tell you that with Bryant-Lake Bowl's prices, you have to go there during happy hour. As we passed the hour that we were there, I became increasingly aware that this was a room full of beards. It was actually a bit disconcerting. And then a large caricature of a man sat down at the table next to ours and Janis remarked that she couldn't stop staring at his exaggerated mug.
Seriously. Motherfucker looked like Allen Ginsberg. It was then and there, on only the second beer, mind you, that I decided to scrap the beard.
Leave the sideburns, though.
I haven't rocked the sideburns in a while.
So we venture into October with a fairly hairless face.
Then I grabbed a twelver and Janis and I watched Bitch Slap. I won't spoil it for you. I'll just say it starts off like Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (then immediately goes down hill), imports some visual techniques employed in Sin City (but not as good), and casts a whole bunch of folks from the Renaissance Pictures stable (who play their roles to the hilt). The only bad thing was the soundtrack, a collection of overproduced nĂ¼-metal throwbacks to the age of hair metal. I mean it was fucking bad.
Well, there's a character named Kinki - a hyper-cutesy retooling of Go-Go from Kill Bill* - who has a cutesy theme song that's not unenjoyable.
Speaking of enjoyable, a guest from the UK just came in and gave me an English candy bar called a Double Decker. It's described as "Cadbury milk chocolate with a soft, chewy nougat top & crunchy cereal bottom". And then you ever see the nutritional information on some English food, man? They actually include an energy measurement in fucking Joules. Joules, man. Joules. You know what else they do? They don't bullshit you on the calories, either. You see, here in the states there's some legal allowance to label kilocalories as "calories" because calories are so tiny that, face it, if it were true, it would mean that, say, Diet Coke's old claim of "Just 1 Calorie" would have to mean "not having a Diet Coke". So remember that: Every time you see calories on some States-side food, multiply it by a thousand. English people have their shit together, though.

Pictured: 460,000 calories of delicious.

* Speaking of Kill Bill, as overrated as I thought it was, it was not without its charms.

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