CHOC-A-BLOC PHOTO SUPER TERRIFIC HAPPY HOUR
Okay, how's 'bout some pictures and respective captions since I want to put up something new but don't feel like being witty and/or deeply introspective? Hyah we go!
The last Spielerfrau show I went to was at Mercury Lounge -- "which I hate" (said in the voice of David Brent, of course). It was a sleepy Sunday and there weren't many people there. The lineup was completely at random, so it didn't lend well to people hanging around to see other bands. Mercury Lounge is like a barn, basically. They herd you in, make you drink out of plastic cups, and don't encourage people to hang around after the band they've come to see finishes. They also charge $5.50 for certain beers, and who the hell wants to carry quarters around? It's like they're begging for their bartenders to get tipped 50 cents instead of a dollar. I don't do that, though, because even though I want to, I'm too proud to look cheap.
The Mark Geary dude on the lineup sign was some Irish bloke who had a lot of Irish friends/family at the show to see him. He was just some singer/songwriter with an acoustic guitar, and that kind of voice that that other annoying Irish guy has. You know who I'm talking about. His song was in that Mike Nichols movie, Closer, and it goes like this: "I can't take me eyes off of you. I can't take my eyes off of you," etc., etc. Anyway, one of the friends to see Mr. Geary was a non-Irish guy who was really drunk, but in that way where they look and speak perfectly normally, but repeat themselves or say random shit every five seconds. He was outside smoking while the Spielerfrau boys were loading their gear into cars, and he kept saying shit like, "You guys are normal. I'm so drunk. I'm not Irish. I have lots of Irish friends. You guys are normal." The lads were all very civil, and humored Mr. drunk-but-not-Irish until they could jump in their respective cars and get the hell outta there. (He's on the far right.)
This is a typical scene after a show: loading gear into as many cabs as it takes to get everything home. Ah, there's nothing like the look on a cabbie's face when he pulls up all nice as can be, then spots all the gear, and is like, "No! No way! No heavy equipment in my cab." If I had a dollar....
This is a closeup of one of the many hand-made lights at Mercury Lounge. They have a strict "no filming" policy there, and I got caught out by a waitress who suspected I was filming one of the songs. I convinced her I had simply been taking still photos (which is allowed, for some reason) and she went away. Then later, as I was taking pictures of some of the lighting fixtures, a bouncer comes up to me and asks, "What are ya doin', girl?" All suspicious like. Sheesh! Mercury Lounge takes itself way too seriously.
I tried to take a steady picture of this awesome spot-lit gingko tree next door to Mercury, but my camera sucks ass. I love gingko trees, especially when they turn bright gold in the fall. I managed to get a decent picture of the place next door. I bet it was a bank at some point before it became just another East Houston nightclub.
I walked with my husband down to Rivington Street to drop his cymbals off at his little "practice room". I always manage to make a tacky joke about him "practicing" whilst miming the self-administered-handjob motion with my hand. Did you know drummers tend to practice in front of a mirror? Sometimes, when I come home, I can tell when my husband's been "practicing" in front of a mirror, and more juvenile jokes ensue. He's a good sport about it, though. In this picture, I didn't realize the flash setting was on, and I felt like a tourist asshole after having blinded everyone on the street.
This is the wallpaper in his practice room. I like it, is all.
While we were at the Rivington space, I said I needed to use the bathroom and my husband tried to talk me out of it. When I saw the bathroom, I understood why. There was mildew, filth, and general decay everywhere. There was also a disgusting mop that was propped up near the commode, and I shuddered to think of the germy stew that the super slopped around that place whenever he "cleaned" it. I took a picture of myself in the cruddy mirror (tastefully garlanded in silk flowers to detract from the filth). I don't look impressed, do I?
I put my camera in a plastic bag and tried to see what shower pics would look like. No, that's not my O face, and no, I'm not doing anything even mildly seductive. Everything came out milky-looking because of the plastic bag over the lens. Here's the "contact sheet" as it were.
And I just wanted to share with you a pair of shoes I have that drives everyone absolutely insane. Men, women, old, young, straight, gay, what have you -- you never realize how everyone across the board is a shoe whore/fetishist. People almost throw themselves on the floor at my feet when I wear them. Alright thrift store purchase! (You can kinda see the lil' rash on the top of my left foot, so just pretend you don't see it.
)
You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get a good shot of your own feet. I was sweating afterward. Whew!
And on a random note: The Yankees are out of the running for the World Series. Woo-hoo! I couldn't take another "Subway Series" between the Yankees and the Mets. It makes life in New York very difficult for all of us who try to pretend baseball doesn't exist.
(and so on and so forth with the emoticons)
Nite nite!
Okay, how's 'bout some pictures and respective captions since I want to put up something new but don't feel like being witty and/or deeply introspective? Hyah we go!
The last Spielerfrau show I went to was at Mercury Lounge -- "which I hate" (said in the voice of David Brent, of course). It was a sleepy Sunday and there weren't many people there. The lineup was completely at random, so it didn't lend well to people hanging around to see other bands. Mercury Lounge is like a barn, basically. They herd you in, make you drink out of plastic cups, and don't encourage people to hang around after the band they've come to see finishes. They also charge $5.50 for certain beers, and who the hell wants to carry quarters around? It's like they're begging for their bartenders to get tipped 50 cents instead of a dollar. I don't do that, though, because even though I want to, I'm too proud to look cheap.
The Mark Geary dude on the lineup sign was some Irish bloke who had a lot of Irish friends/family at the show to see him. He was just some singer/songwriter with an acoustic guitar, and that kind of voice that that other annoying Irish guy has. You know who I'm talking about. His song was in that Mike Nichols movie, Closer, and it goes like this: "I can't take me eyes off of you. I can't take my eyes off of you," etc., etc. Anyway, one of the friends to see Mr. Geary was a non-Irish guy who was really drunk, but in that way where they look and speak perfectly normally, but repeat themselves or say random shit every five seconds. He was outside smoking while the Spielerfrau boys were loading their gear into cars, and he kept saying shit like, "You guys are normal. I'm so drunk. I'm not Irish. I have lots of Irish friends. You guys are normal." The lads were all very civil, and humored Mr. drunk-but-not-Irish until they could jump in their respective cars and get the hell outta there. (He's on the far right.)
This is a typical scene after a show: loading gear into as many cabs as it takes to get everything home. Ah, there's nothing like the look on a cabbie's face when he pulls up all nice as can be, then spots all the gear, and is like, "No! No way! No heavy equipment in my cab." If I had a dollar....
This is a closeup of one of the many hand-made lights at Mercury Lounge. They have a strict "no filming" policy there, and I got caught out by a waitress who suspected I was filming one of the songs. I convinced her I had simply been taking still photos (which is allowed, for some reason) and she went away. Then later, as I was taking pictures of some of the lighting fixtures, a bouncer comes up to me and asks, "What are ya doin', girl?" All suspicious like. Sheesh! Mercury Lounge takes itself way too seriously.
I tried to take a steady picture of this awesome spot-lit gingko tree next door to Mercury, but my camera sucks ass. I love gingko trees, especially when they turn bright gold in the fall. I managed to get a decent picture of the place next door. I bet it was a bank at some point before it became just another East Houston nightclub.
I walked with my husband down to Rivington Street to drop his cymbals off at his little "practice room". I always manage to make a tacky joke about him "practicing" whilst miming the self-administered-handjob motion with my hand. Did you know drummers tend to practice in front of a mirror? Sometimes, when I come home, I can tell when my husband's been "practicing" in front of a mirror, and more juvenile jokes ensue. He's a good sport about it, though. In this picture, I didn't realize the flash setting was on, and I felt like a tourist asshole after having blinded everyone on the street.
This is the wallpaper in his practice room. I like it, is all.
While we were at the Rivington space, I said I needed to use the bathroom and my husband tried to talk me out of it. When I saw the bathroom, I understood why. There was mildew, filth, and general decay everywhere. There was also a disgusting mop that was propped up near the commode, and I shuddered to think of the germy stew that the super slopped around that place whenever he "cleaned" it. I took a picture of myself in the cruddy mirror (tastefully garlanded in silk flowers to detract from the filth). I don't look impressed, do I?
I put my camera in a plastic bag and tried to see what shower pics would look like. No, that's not my O face, and no, I'm not doing anything even mildly seductive. Everything came out milky-looking because of the plastic bag over the lens. Here's the "contact sheet" as it were.
And I just wanted to share with you a pair of shoes I have that drives everyone absolutely insane. Men, women, old, young, straight, gay, what have you -- you never realize how everyone across the board is a shoe whore/fetishist. People almost throw themselves on the floor at my feet when I wear them. Alright thrift store purchase! (You can kinda see the lil' rash on the top of my left foot, so just pretend you don't see it.
)You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get a good shot of your own feet. I was sweating afterward. Whew!
And on a random note: The Yankees are out of the running for the World Series. Woo-hoo! I couldn't take another "Subway Series" between the Yankees and the Mets. It makes life in New York very difficult for all of us who try to pretend baseball doesn't exist.
(and so on and so forth with the emoticons)Nite nite!
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Thank you for your detailed answer, it made my day!
I picked up - Campo Castillo 2004 Garnacha (Spain)
Moillard 2004 Hugues Le Juste Sauvignon (France) - $10 each