The Big Green House

Friday, June 20, 2003

 
Hey kids � Science Girl and I are going to be taking a well-deserved vacation for the next couple of weeks. I�ll be back here July 7, give or take. Have fun, stay out of trouble, and go visit the folks over in the �linkage� section. Or take a look at the archives. Or not. Maybe you should go play outside for a bit, get yourself a little fresh air. It couldn�t hurt.

Aloha.

bmarkey 6/20/2003 06:32:00 PM

Thursday, June 19, 2003

 

A little off the, uh...

One more in the long list of things I neither understand nor want to know.

Sorry. I�ve been trying to think of something else to write about, but the fact of the matter is I�m still kinda flummoxed over the idea of people paying large amounts of cash to have strangers rip all the hair out of their swimsuit areas. $45 � $75 to get your coochie mowed? All so you can have genitals that look like they belong on a 10-year-old? Hmmm� think I�d pass on that one.

Also, I feel bad for the people doing the actual waxing. I mean, yeah, they�re gettin� paid for it, and I�m reasonably sure nobody is being forced to do it against their will. But still, applying wax to assholes, literally, for eight hours a day, has got to be a drag after the initial novelty wears off. Although it might liven up an otherwise ho-hum resume.

bmarkey 6/19/2003 05:37:00 PM

Wednesday, June 18, 2003

 

Scurvy-free in 2003

Around The Big Green House this summer, we�re beating the heat with mojitos. They�re cold, they�re tasty, they�re fairly easy to whip up provided you habitually keep limes in your kitchen (doesn�t everybody?) and they were approved of and consumed by none other than King Lush himself, Ernest �Call me Papa� Hemingway, so�s I can pretend to be all literary and stuff while actually killing off copious irreplaceable brain cells. What could possibly be cooler than that, I ask you in a rhetorical fashion, to which you reply �Alb�ndigas. �No te dije?.� Why you�ve suddenly lapsed into Spanish non-sequitors is something we�ll take up later, �cause right now we�re talking about the wondrous mojito.

There are approximately a gazillion recipes available on Google; you can check it out if you don�t believe me. Here�s how we make �em. You will need:

White rum (We�ve been using Myers Platinum White, but whatever�s handy.)
Lime juice (We�ve found that the juice of one lime per drink is about right. If you want to wimp out and go the half-lime route, I wash my hands of the consequences. Vitamin C is essential to ward off scurvy!)
Fresh mint leaves (Three or four per drink.)
Sugar (By rights, you should make a simple syrup; I am lazy & just crush three sugar cubes. Don�t think less of me. If that�s possible.)
Club soda
Ice

Ready? OK. Most recipes tell you to muddle the mint leaves in the simple syrup. Since I�m a lazy sod, as previously stated, I place the mint on top of three sugar cube and crush them with the back of a kitchen knife. (Note: Don�t try this at home, kids! If you are consuming the beverages, it might be best to use a blunt object like a wooden spoon instead.) Put the sugar & mint into a pint glass, pour the lime juice on top, and give it a good stir. Now fill the glass with ice. Add your rum � don�t be shy! Give it a healthy shot to a shot & �. Top with club soda & stir again. (Here�s where the simple syrup would be useful, since it�s gonna incorporate a little easier than granulated sugar.) Drink and enjoy.

Science Girl says that you could probably make a virgin mojito. We have never tested this theory; if you try it and go blind, or your head bursts into flames, or something equally unpleasant happens, don�t blame us.

bmarkey 6/18/2003 09:10:00 PM

Tuesday, June 17, 2003

 

From Blown Speakers

New Pornographers, Cinerama, The Organ, Showbox, 6/14/03
(OK, yeah, I know I said I was gonna put this up last night. It�s hot, I�m cranky, I had several unexpected jobs given to me last night, and, uh, the dog ate it. Anyway, here it is.)

I�m not really sure what to say about The Organ. The vibe coming from the stage was one of incredible nervous tension � it was, after all, their first show in Seattle. They came all the way down from Vancouver, BC. They sound a bit like Morrissey fronting an amalgam of The Cure and New Order, if you can picture such a thing. As I see it, they�ve got two stumbling blocks in front of them at the moment: none of their songs venture far from the same incredibly slow tempo, and the band don�t move on stage, at all. Seriously. It was like putting on a CD and staring at a Colorforms rock & roll set. They sounded fine, but I found my attention wandering toward the end of their set. It doesn�t take musicians jumping around the stage like amphetamine monkeys to keep my attention (mind you, it doesn�t hurt), but it�s nice when the musicians look like they�re at least somewhat engaged in what they�re doing. There was no interaction going on anywhere � band with audience or musician with musician. Nada. The keyboardist looked like she was trying to remember which chord came next, the guitarist appeared bored out of her brain, the bass player was busy watching her left hand, the singer was stiffly androgynous (not a bad thing, necessarily � the androgyny, that is; stiffness is always bad onstage), and I couldn�t see the drummer. I dunno; maybe it was just nerves, or maybe that�s their act. That tempo thing is a killer, though. Slow slow slow is no way to pace a show.

Now, Cinerama is all about dynamics. Songs build and crash, starting quietly only to end in a frenzy of loudfastchords. It�s kind of like if you opened up the denser pieces of The Wedding Present, singer/guitarist David Gedge�s previous project, and let in a little more air. I personally prefer his more-tightly-packed sound, but intrigued enough to attempt to approach him at the merch table as we were leaving to ask which of their CDs would be a good place to start. Since there were two young (mid-twenties?) women in front of me, gushing all over Mr. Gedge, (who seemed very amused by it all), I was unable to attract his attention & consequently gave up. I thought it might be interesting to get the artist�s perspective on the question, but I wasn�t gonna wait around all night for it.

But that was after the show. We�ve still gotta get the New Porno guys through their set.

(I should mention, before we move on, that the female half of the Cinerama rhythm section prompted SG to mention that she wanted to be, and I quote, �a cool bass player chick with hair hanging in (her) face�. I think we can all get behind that sentiment, eh?)

Well, it was apparent that something wasn�t quite right from the first New Porn song. Both Neko Case and singer/guitarist Carl Newman were having trouble with their monitors, and as it turns out, their regular soundman wasn�t there. As Ms. Case said at the end of the show, he�d thought that the previous night was the end of the tour and flew back to Edmonton that day. While things were being adjusted, she and Newman improved some �spoken word� (�less rock, more talk is our motto�) culminating in their capping on both Henry Rollins (�Motherfucker�s got no neck. What can I say?�) and Jello Biafra (�It was a dark day for talking when he got beaten up; I was afraid to speak for days afterwards�) While I�m totally down with mocking Rollins, the Biafra stuff seemed a little over-the-line to me; it ain�t no fun getting the shit kicked out of you. Jello deserves some respect for The Dead Kennedys, if nothing else. Your mileage may vary, of course.

Once the sound problems were sorted out, the band took a few numbers to loosen up; by the end of the set, everybody seemed to be having a good time. Highlights included, well, just about everything. C�mon, it was three says ago and I�d been drinking. You expect me to remember every detail? Not without a paycheck, my friend. I can tell you that the set was pretty evenly split between material from their two albums, plus a cover of The Sweet�s �Action�, no less. The band was tight, as were the harmonies. And I�m always impressed by drummers who can sing (and harmonize!) while playing.

The first time I played The New Pornographers for Science Girl, she said that she could picture herself in a club, seeing them live and hopping up and down for joy. I�m here to tell to that the hopping was rampant all night.

So, yeah. Good show. I�d go see �em again.

bmarkey 6/17/2003 06:16:00 PM

Saturday, June 14, 2003

 
Hey, New Pornographers are playing tonight! If you�re gonna be there, stop by and say hi. I�ll be the guy with the big idiot grin on his face and earplugs in his ears; the astoundingly attractive woman to my left will be Science Girl. Buy us drinks and I promise to say nice things about you in this very space. Otherwise, look for a review, probably Monday.
bmarkey 6/14/2003 10:22:00 AM

Friday, June 13, 2003

 

That�s not writing; that�s just typing

As I believe I�ve mentioned elsewhere, my formal education was somewhat truncated in nature. I did attend college, but did not graduate. While I was there, I spent most of my time screwing around in the theater. (Not literally, I�m sad to report. My time in the theater was, by and large, a celibate time. Yet another reason why I quit.) The last English class I remember taking was, gosh, back in 1988, I think, at a junior college.

My writing is adequate at best. My knowledge of grammar, syntax and whatnot I�ve sort of picked up through osmosis from a lifetime of reading. For the most part what you see here are ever-so-slightly revised first drafts, with the occasional good line stumbled upon here and there. Because of time constraints and laziness, that�s really all I�m aiming for. This is, after all, for my own amusement.

Or so I keep claiming. The Big Green House is open to anybody with a modem, so things posted here are not exactly secret. Since I�m making it public, it follows that I want it read � otherwise I�d just scribble it down in a cheap journal stored at the bottom of my sock drawer.

Why the navel-gazing all of a sudden? My reasons are two-fold. First, I know for a fact that at least two professional editors read this bucket of tripe, one fairly regularly and the other maybe once a month. Naturally, this knowledge makes me a wee bit self-conscious from time to time. Not enough to actually clean up my act, grammatically speaking, but I am aware of my shortcomings in that regard.

Secondly, since I am shoveling these little nuggets of whatever-it-is out there for the world to feast upon and/or compost their mental garden with, maybe y�all could give me a little feedback every now and again. Everybody seems to be a little shy about leaving comments. Well, don�t be. I installed that damned Haloscan for a reason, so feel free to say something when you stop by. I�m not asking for my ass to be kissed, no more than I�m asking you to tear me a new one. Agree with me, disagree with me, just don�t throw me in that briar patch, whatever you do.

bmarkey 6/13/2003 08:31:00 PM

Thursday, June 12, 2003

 
This makes me sad. Matt Williams always came across as a likeable guy. There was never a lot of bullshit around him; I always got the impression, during the time he was with the Giants, that he showed up, played the game hard, showered and then went home. He and Robbie Thompson were my two favorite players from that era, for precisely that reason � they were both workhorses.

I�m glad that he�s leaving the game of his own volition, more or less. You hate to see a guy try to stick around when it�s obvious to everybody else that he�s long past it. I hope things work out well for him.

Geez, what�s with me today? First it�s hearing loss, and now a retiring ballplayer. I must be feelin� old or something.

bmarkey 6/12/2003 07:22:00 PM

 

Hope I die before I go deaf

When I was young and snotty and working at the record store, I tended to wear a few rock & roll related buttons, as was the fashion at the time. Personal faves included Elvis Costello, the Ramones, and Pete Townshend, if memory serves, as well as a few �humorous� ones: �Disgusting Mess�, �Buy or Die�, etc. Did I mention that I was young and snotty? The one that got trotted out just about every day said, �If it�s too loud, you�re too old�. Well, that one has come back to haunt me now.

I�ve had tinnitus since I was around 17 or so. Not as bad as Roger Miller�s case, but there�s been steady, high-pitched ringing in my right ear my entire adult life. Most of the time I don�t even notice it, unless I�m thinking about it. (Like right now.) With the tinnitus has come a loss of hearing in that ear. It started out small, but over the years, as I�ve been exposed to loud noises in various jobs and, of course, loud music, it�s gotten worse. It�s difficult for me to follow conversation if the person I�m talking with is on my right side, which makes driving interesting sometimes.

The upshot of all this: since I�d like to preserve what�s left of my hearing for as long as I can, I�ve started to wear earplugs at shows. I feel like something of a dork wearing them, but it is nice to leave a club and still be able to hear clearly (or at all, for that matter � the last couple of shows I attended without hearing protection left me pretty close to deaf on my bad side for almost a day afterwards). I should probably not use my Walkman so much anymore, either, but one thing at a time.

I�m not writing this to elicit pity or anything. What�s happened is of my own doing, for the most part. I will suggest, though, that if you spend a lot of time around the rock and the roll, it might be worth your while to look into some sort of ear protection, even if it�s just wadded-up tissue paper.

bmarkey 6/12/2003 06:10:00 PM

Wednesday, June 11, 2003

 

I may be out of it, but I�m still into you

Buzzcocks, Billy Talent, The Thermals, Showbox Theater, Seattle, 6/10/03

The Thermals are a prime example of why I like to catch the opening act. I�d heard them once or twice on the radio, enough to know that I liked their sound but not enough to remember what it was. When they took the stage, I remembered � kinda low-fi, stripped down power trio. Think Death Cab for Cutie, but rockin�. Nothing overwhelming, but absolutely charming, in a gawky, somewhat awkward way. I must confess that I developed something of a band crush on them, collectively. Nothing sexual, mind you. (There are two boys in the band, first off, and while bassist Kathy Foster is not unattractive, I�m very happy with Science Girl, thank you just the same.) I just want to bring them home and make omelets for them. Unless they�re vegans, of course. Um, maybe grits? No, wait, you need milk for grits�. Well, maybe peanut butter toast, I don�t know.

Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, the inescapable charm of The Thermals. Well, what is it that I find charming about them? I�ll tell you. 1) When we arrived at the club, the bass player was working the merch table* and the guitarist was talking to her and tuning up at the same time. 2) The extent of their stage banter: "Hi, we�re The Thermals, from Portland", "Thank you.", "Thanks", "We�ve got one more song", and "Thanks for listening". Apparently they�re cultivating a Minimalist vibe. It could use a little fleshing out, but they should definitely keep "Thanks for listening". 3) The tiny drum kit (one kick drum, one tom, and three cymbals) used by the tall, skinny drummer. (Duh � who else was gonna use it?). He looked like his arms were about seven feet long while playing, but he got the most sound out of what he had to work with. 4) Since all the other bands� equipment was on stage, they had a really small space in which to perform, and they were still more fun than The Millionaires.

Next up were Billy Talent. Not a person, but a band. Sonically, they�re a rung or two above generic corporate "punk" (and I never ever thought I�d be typing that description, back in the day), but what pulls them out of the shallow but wide pool of mediocrity is the entertainingly spastic nature of their frontman. Picture, if you will, Iggy Pop being channeled by Ed Grimley, backed by an ADD therapy group on a sugar binge, and you�ll have some idea of what was going on. I was going to come down on them a little more severely, but Science Girl suggested that I cut them some slack since they were working so hard. OK, fair enough. SG also said that she overheard someone in the women�s room say that, while she was glad that she�d seen them play, she didn�t feel the need to see them ever again. I�d go along with that assessment.

Which brings us to The Buzzcocks. Proof once again that old guys can still get the job done right. They play a mix of older stuff (�Harmony In My Head�, �What Do I Get?�, �Orgasm Addict�, �I Believe�, etc.) and a bunch of stuff I didn�t recognize which was probably from the new album. Pete Shelley was in fine voice; he broke three or four guitar strings over the course of the night, so he was either playing really hard or using light-gauge strings, or possibly both. He and Steve Diggle kept cracking each other up throughout the show. Diggle seemed to be having the time of his life, perpetually amused, grinning like a fiend and bashing the shit out of his Telecaster. The rhythm section was nice and tight, propelling the show ever forward with hardly a gap in between songs. All in all, a good night out.

With exceptions, of course. Here�s a tip for all you dipshits who think it�s �punk rock� to hurl your plastic cup full of ice (or, in at least one instance, a beer bottle) at the band: it�s not. It doesn�t make you punk, unless you mean in the jailhouse sense. Save that shit for your next kegger, dude. All you�re doing is showing yourself for the asshole you are, while endangering the musicians � those colored lights they use on stage to keep your tiny brain focused on the performance are shining right in their eyes, more often than not, so it�s difficult for them to track incoming projectiles. And for those of you who insist on spitting at the stage: not only are you an asshole, but you�re disgusting, too. Trust me on this one � despite what you may have read somewhere, that was never an acceptable practice. Believe it or not, no one actually enjoys being spit upon. Joe Strummer contracted hepatitis from it, fer crissakes. (8th paragraph) As Science Girl put it: if you want to exchange bodily fluids with the band, go see GWAR.

Those are actually real people up there, playing and singing for your enjoyment. Don�t try to live up to some mistaken idea of what�s expected at a show. Just try to act human and you�ll be fine. If you can�t do that, stay home with your frat brothers and leave the tickets for someone who can.

*When I went back to the merch table after their set, she was there again. I never know what to say in such situations. I wanted to let her know that I enjoyed their work, without seeming like I was trying to kiss ass. I settled on "I�m glad I got a chance to see you guys. You�re very good". She graciously refrained from laughing at me, said "Thanks", and sold me a CD**. And that�s my Brush with Stardom for this week.

**About that CD: kinda same-y, actually, after two listens. Not annoyingly so, but they were much better live. And who isn�t?


bmarkey 6/11/2003 06:24:00 PM

Monday, June 09, 2003

 
B sleepy. B no want to post tonite. B think about mentioning new Bangles album, which B has yet to hear. B think of massive amounts of derision that post would engender. B get more sleepy.

B probably not post tomorrow, neither, since B and Science Girl go see Buzzcocks then. Maybe B post during day, maybe not.

bmarkey 6/09/2003 09:28:00 PM

Friday, June 06, 2003

 

Goo Goo Muck

OK, here we go with the first-ever Big Green House Concert Review:

Last night, Science Girl and I saw The Cramps, Quintron and Miss Pussycat, and The Millionaires at The Showbox, in Beautiful Downtown Seattle.

It�s always a pleasant surprise to see a band you�ve never heard of and be blown away. That�s why I usually try my best to catch the opening bands. I want to find that diamond in the rough. I don�t hit paydirt every time, of course; there are some really shitty bands out there whose only purpose is to open shows and make the headliner look good by comparison. So as The Millionaires took the stage, I found myself fervently thinking �Please don�t suck please don�t suck please don�t suck� over and over.

It didn�t work.

Look, if you�re a singer and you hit the stage wearing a top hat, dog collar, torn fishnet bodysuit and black G-string, your band had better be able to deliver the goods. Otherwise you�re gonna wind up looking worse than the biggest doofus imaginable, a runner-up in the �Ooh, I�m a decadent rock star, yes I am� sweepstakes, and clever music fans such as myself will have a great deal of fun at your expense, in a very public manner, at every opportunity. Such is the case with The Millionaires, purveyors of worn out Rock clich�s and second rate, third hand metallisms to a world that couldn�t give a fat rat�s ass. Ordinarily I take no joy in slagging off bands (well, not much, anyway), but I�m gonna make an exception in their case. I cannot stress this enough: they were the lamest, most boring openers I�ve ever seen in almost 25 years of attending shows, and I saw Cutting Crew open for The Bangles AND The Alarm open for Bob Dylan. SG and I both agreed that they would probably be much happier forming an LA Guns tribute band, or something else equally avoidable for the discerning concert-goer.

As for Quintron and Miss Pussycat� they�re essentially a parody lounge act, more or less. I dunno. I�m all for irony and such, but as far as I can see it�s not a big jump from �camp� to �kitsch�. Not really my cup of fur, to tell the truth, but as SG pointed out, at least they�re having fun while they�re performing. Points awarded to Miss Pussycat for her hat (what appeared to be a Koosh ball strapped to her head that wobbled this way and that) and the color-coordinated maraca cozies. Other than that, I didn�t get much out of their show, and the ten-minute puppet show at the end of their set was just a waste of everybody�s time.

Wow. This is really turning out nasty. Can�t I say anything positive? Well, yes. I�m getting to the good stuff, so just be patient.

First off, I�d like to say that The Showbox was much better ventilated than I remembered. Also, I�d very much like to thank the bartender who gave me a double bourbon and soda for the price of a single. God bless you, sir or madam. (It was SG�s round.)
But let�s just skip all that foofaraw and get down to what this is supposed to be about, namely, The Cramps. This is a band that knows how to get it done right.

SG and I were talking about the differences between The Cramps and The Millionaires this morning. There were many. Aside from the obvious ones like talent, creating their own act, and impeccable taste in covers (�Psychotic Reaction�, �Surfing Bird� and The Fabulous Wailers� �Hang Up� all in the same show), the biggest difference we could come up with was a sense of humor. Yeah, Lux Interior, at age 57, was bopping around the stage like a loon in vinyl pants, shirt and jacket (which would explain the torrent of what I can only hope was sweat that poured out of the leg of his pants while he was sitting on top of a stack of speakers during the encore � easily a pint or two), but he�s having fun at his own expense. He knows he looks goofy, and doesn�t care. Hell, he plays it up. The Cramps are cartoons, but in the same good way as The Ramones were.

And yes, the band does indeed deliver the goods. I don�t know who the rhythm section was � it seems to be sort of a temporary position, from what I can tell � but they were right where they needed to be all night. And Poison Ivy did her �I can melt lead at 50 feet with my deadpan stare� bit while ripping out one tuff lick after another from her hollowbody guitar. At one point during the encore, Lux removed both of her spike-heeled boots while she was soloing; she picked one up and used the heel as a slide. I�m reasonably sure that it was a scripted moment, but A) it played well, and B) it�s just the sort of silly goof that the self-important Millionaires would never have thought of, much less attempted.

So, fun was had in the end, and whiskey was had up until then. I love a happy ending, don�t you?
bmarkey 6/06/2003 09:33:00 PM

Thursday, June 05, 2003

 
This is all the post you're getting tonight, as I am almost literally out the door for The Cramps show. I've got one or two errands to run & then Science Girl are off to see the Fiends of Dope Island themselves, live and in living color. Wish us luck; it is a hot day, will most likely be a hot night, and The Showbox is not known for it's ventilation system. I promise some sort of description tomorrow. The amount of detail therein hinges on how many beers are consumed tonight.
bmarkey 6/05/2003 04:25:00 PM

Wednesday, June 04, 2003

 

She has funny cars

It�s funny how some types of music seem perfectly suited to certain seasons, and occasionally even specific days of the week. Jefferson Airplane, for example, has always felt like a lazy summer Sunday afternoon. Actually, I think we could expand that to include most rock & roll released between, say, 1966 � 71 or so, probably due to my being a kid during that period. I just about always had my little transistor radio with me during summer vacation � I seem to remember strapping it to the handlebars of my bike at one point.

Anyway, while we were out and about this weekend, Science Girl and I stopped into Easy Streets records; one of the things I picked up was this new Jefferson Airplane compilation. (Not, I hasten to add, Jefferson Starship - or, as we so cruelly referred to them in the record shop I used to manage, Jefferson Wheelchair). Always a soft spot in my heart for the Airplane, although honestly I don�t know that much of their music. Maybe they balance my intense dislike of the Grateful Dead. At any rate, it�s a nice comp, and shows how they evolved from nice little folk-rockers (�Come Up the Years�, �My Best Friend�) to acid heads (�Ballad of You & Me & Pooneil�, �Greasy Heart�) to
upper-class �revolutionaries� (Volunteers�). Plus there�s �White Rabbit� and �Somebody to Love�, so no one gets disoriented. As I recall 2400 Fulton St. is a better, more complete anthology, but it�s also a two-disc set. If you�re just looking for a starter set, I�d go with the Platinum and Gold Collection.

(Somewhere out there on the intarweb-thing is a story about how Bill �Sputnik� Spooner of The Tubes was at a party where he�d heard that either Gram Parsons or Keith Richards, I forget which now, had referred to the Airplane as being, yes, �white punks on dope�, thereby prompting him to find the other writing members of the band and slap together the song of the same name. I spent the last hour or so trying to find it, but to no avail. I am a failure.)

bmarkey 6/04/2003 10:56:00 PM

 

I�ll sleep when I�m dead

Up insanely early this morning. (I�ve been up for about an hour; take a look at when this was posted, keeping in mind that most nights I don�t hit the hay until 1 � 1:30 AM.) Even with my beloved sleep mask, there was far too much light in the bedroom to stay asleep. And now you know why summer does a number on me every year.

However, there are a few mitigating circumstances: 1) I got my very first shout-out from a complete and utter stranger! Many thanks to Anne � go say hi, right now. I�ll wait for you; 2) one of the only useful things I picked up in my woeful college career was the ability to powernap. It�s not a replacement for a good night�s sleep, but it helps all the same; and 3) Yorkshire Gold tea. Each bag is meant to make two cups, or, in my case, one large cup that I could use for spackle in a pinch.

bmarkey 6/04/2003 09:05:00 AM

Monday, June 02, 2003

 

Hot fun in the summertime

Summer has arrived, and with it the attendant warm/hot weather, the insane increase in daylight hours, and the sharp spike in my irritability level. Yes, it has begun. I�m doing my very best to keep it out of here - and failing in a most spectacular manner, by and large, but I am trying. Crankiness can be entertaining, in the right hands, but A) I can�t tell if mine are the right hands (although I can tell you that I�ve washed them recently, so there�s that), and B) a steady diet of bad temper, even from the best of sources, can be very wearing. So, my promise to you is that I will do my utmost to curb my boundless summertime tetchiness, just as I will try to resist the urge to grab the next person who tells me �how lovely the weather is� by the throat, stuff them full of gumballs, string them up by the heels from the nearest tree like a motherfucking pi�ata, and beat them with a stick.

Oops.

On the other hand, the new stove is in at Science Manor and it is a thing of beauty indeed. Granted it is an electric stove, but as much as I would prefer gas it�s just not practical to switch at this point. That aside, I will have six burners to play with: four standard, two grill. I can�t wait to give it a test drive.

bmarkey 6/02/2003 08:06:00 PM