New Band, Same Hair

Anybody remember that Whitesnake song Still of the Night? Particularly the part in the middle of the song when the cello (it was probably a synthesizer, actually) starts playing that part that goes . . . buhbuh buhbuh buhbuh buhbuh . . . bah buhbuh buhbuh buhbuh . . . and on the video David Coverdale is leaning way back in sillouette fashion and just belting it out? That was SO FREAKING AWESOME! Or at least that was what I thought the last time I saw it back in 1985. Oh by the way, I'm old.

But the point is this: When I was young I thought being a rock star would be a pretty cool occupation. And I doubt that, had I managed to become one, I would have been disappointed. I mean, at the very least, it seemed like a good way to get girls to like you, which was something I pretty much sucked at. Unfortunately, rock stardom was not in the cards for me. But I have only recently been fortunate enough to get involved in a band. And now, even more recently, I've gotten involved in a second band. I enjoy both bands, but they're different stylistically. The first band I joined plays music on the heavy end of the musical spectrum. And I totally enjoy it. It's not the kind of music many of my friends are into, but once upon a time I was really into it. I guess to a degree, I still am. Plus it's pretty fun to play in that "guitar hero" sort of way. The new band is different. We have one or two heavy songs, but they're kind of catchy. And that's really what distinguishes all our songs so far: they're catchy. Now, don't confuse catchy with poppy. Our songs aren't poppy, they're definitely in the rock and roll genre, but most of them have a pretty good hook. And for the most part we've chosen covers that have hooks, too. So even though we're still pretty rough around the edges, if I had to choose between listening to a recording of us or, say, a train slamming on the brakes and skidding for half a mile before ramming into semi-trailer full of coked-up howler monkeys, I'd pick us eight times out of ten.

Ringing endorsement, I know. Luckily, we're playing in a week, so for those of you who suspect the latter scenario (train, brakes, howler monkeys) would actually be preferable, now's your chance to find out for yourselves. How could you possibly resist after all this? Here's the scoop: Mario's Kellar (downstairs from the Gasthof in NE Minnepolis), Thursday, December 28th, 9:30. We'll play for an hour. If they don't kick us off the stage. Hope to see you there. Leave the monkeys at home.

Oh, My Aching Crotch

I've spent most of the last two days installing a ridge vent on the peak of my roof. This involves removing the top row of shingles, cutting away any tar paper from the peak, using a circular saw to cut an opening through the sheathing on both sides of the peak, nailing the sections of ridge vent into place, and then nailing new cap shingles on top of the vent. On houses with gently sloping roofs, it's probably not a difficult project, just time consuming. But my roof slopes pretty hard, and the only way to really work up there is to straddle the peak, crotch directly atop it and legs extended on either side. I suppose it's a little like riding a horse.

It wasn't horrible at first, just a little uncomfortable. But by the time I finished today after hours upon hours perched up there, in the cold, squeezing my legs against roof to keep from sliding down one side or the other, I'm feeling a great deal of pain in areas generally not exposed to such things. At least not since the time in elementary school when my friend jumped off the other end of the teeter-totter we were on.

Have I mentioned that my crotch really hurts?

Guest Blogger Forced to Get Own Blog

Not long ago I served as guest blogger for Strats on GotTheBonk while she was Armstronging it around France. I found I enjoyed it, so when she came back (to a grateful readership, no doubt) I decided to go solo. Welcome to Eye of the Beerholder.

First order of business: Strats! Happy Birthday and thanks for letting me try my hand at blogging at your readership's expense. It was a blast. I hope nobody held it against you.

And now, to blog . . . .

I am an idiot. An idiot and a dork. And I couldn't enjoy it more. Last night I went out with a friend after work for a few drinks. We sat at the bar and complained about work, contemplated the office hotties, discussed home improvement projects, and talked about how, back when we were young, we totally kicked ass in everything. It was an engrossing conversation. There were a couple gals sitting kind of off to the side that kept glancing over at us. Or so my buddy told me. He had a better angle. I couldn't see them without turning almost completely around. But he kept glancing over my shoulder as if there was something worth seeing.

Now, let me just say that I have approached women at bars barely a handful of times in my life. And those times have not gone well. It's not that I can't make conversation in a pinch, it's just that being so obvious makes me uncomfortable. And when I'm uncomfortable I say stupid things. Let me rephrase that. When I'm completely sober and composed I say stupid things. When I've had a couple beers and I'm uncomfortable I say things so stupid I get nauseous almost immediately. As do the people I've said them to. I think you can see where this is going.

Well, one of the gals gets up to go to the bathroom or smoke or something. My buddy is looking over at the other one and I decide, against the advice of my stomach, to go over there and attempt to strike up a conversation. I'm honestly not really that interested, but for some reason I'm convinced it will be fun. Plus, My buddy will think I'm a champ. This is how it went:

Me: "Hi. Um, are . . . are you going to drink the rest of that?"

Seriously. End of conversation. It's good thing I crack myself up, because apparently my particular awkward sense of humor does absolutely nothing for the opposite sex. Luckily, my dog thinks everything I say is pure genius, otherwise my self esteem wouldn't be able to withstand such witless attempts a social interaction.

Again, welcome to Eye of the Beerholder. Stay tuned for more tales of hilarity and humiliation!

Cheers.