We want Milk Days!

While I'm not a real big fan of hicks and bumpkins, Harvard's annual Milk Days Festival proved to be a lot of fun this year. While the celebration happens over five or so days, I only chose to participate in two days.

Friday
After getting off work a bit early, I hung around my house, cleaning up, and getting ready to play. We played at Windy's, a local bar. It was a good time, and we had a lot of fun, but I got one of my crippling headaches that happens when I drink too much without eating enough, all the while pushing myself with the singing. Whatever, we had a good time. My mom and dad were out there, which was excellent, and my mom got pretty well schnocked, which is hilarious to see, and yet also slightly disturbing. I'm not sure how many of you out there have gotten drunk with your parents, or just older people in general, but it's an odd experience, to say the least. Anyway, the restaurant right next to the bar is open 24-hours on the weekends, so Matt Fisher, Joe Fisher, Kevin Hinterlong and I stopped in and had a bite. When you live in a town full of folk, but not nescessarily full of teeth, you realize that when hicks get drunk, they get either rude, annoying, or both. Now, I understand that these traits are very common in a drunk individual, but there are also others, such as the quiet drunk, the preachy drunk, etc. Harvard seems to lack most of these drunks, and they just have the annyoing, rude drunks. Did I mention they smell badly, too? Anyway, so this is the only 24-hour establishment within walking distance of the bars, so it gets nailed when the bars close... and they only have one guy working the tables. Poor Jason, whom is the aforementioned solitary waiter, gets harrassed and harrangued by these assholes constantly. So I always leave him a big tip... I'm not trying to say "Here's some money, it'll take your mind off the jag-fucks that come in here constantly," but it lets him know not everyone's an asshole. Oh, and that night we played at Windys... well, the restaurant is actually attached to the bar, with a sliding glass door in between the two of them, so people can walk in and out, yadda yadda. So, we're on wireless systems, and we go walking in to the restaurant while we're playing, and talk to Jason and so on. The place was empty at that point, so we just yakked with him for awhile, then headed out to work the crowd.

Ya know what... who cares about all the details of the rest of my weekend? I don't. Here's a short recap:
The Milkdays parade was a lot of fun this year, but I think it's because I was drunk. Joe Fisher was a giant roller-blading hot dog in it, so I chased him down with a home-made sign that I had been wearing all day. Let's just say the entire town of Harvard now knows his name. The party at Greg's place was awesome. Good damn food, good damn people, beer... who could ask for more? Boyle really hit it on the head when he described Mr. Grabowski... he's an absolute delight to talk to. The whole family is. Anyway, that was cool, and I get extra credit for performing a full depantsing of Mike Clinton in front of his ex-girlfriend. I really should feel bad about it... but I don't. Wear a belt, would be the lesson here. Sunday was uneventful other than me being hungover, driving home from Greg's, and then immediatley being put to work on my cousin's computer. Gah. The fireworks show at Milk Days this year was amazing. They were firing them off about 300 yards in front of us, and the breeze was blowing in slightly, so the fireworks were going off right in front of us, and floating into or above us. It was awesome. Now when it comes to fireworks, I like the bright-flash, big-noise kinda fireworks, and they had a lot of them. There were some there that were just big-balls of fire and enough black-powder to take down most of Harvard. They were litterally setting off car-alarms every time they went off. It was AWESOME. Now, that was basically my weekend, with most of the painful minutea removed for both your pleasure, and the retention of my sanity. So, now then, on with the rantings.

The Interesting Stuff (?)

First, something that I thought was way overdue (story here). AC/DC could possibly get a road named after them in Melbourne, Australia. Hell Yes. Now, I'm not a real big AC/DC fan, seeing as I only own one of their albums, and I see them as somewhat of a novelty group, like the Ramones. (No diss on the Ramones, they were hip, they just weren't really hip.) Anyway, AC/DC may be a blow-off band for me, but damn can they rock. There is one thing I will give bands like AC/DC, and that's that they never stopped a' rockin... Yes, yes, keep on a rockin. So, you see, my logic here is that if you rock so hard for so long (1973 - 2004+), then you deserve a damn street named after you in your hometown... damnit. I don't know why they didn't have one after Back in Black came out, possibly one of the hardest-rockin' of the butt-rock albums that AC/DC continually churns out. Now, I don't use the term butt-rock as a deragatory term, per say, it's just a system of classification, and it actually happens to be very high in the rankings of ridiculous rock. It could be worse, they could be classified as choad rock, at which point they would probably be on the other end of my sarcasm cannonade. So, the point is, give AC/DC their damn street, cause they've earned it. Page 2.

Weird Al Yankovic is fantastically talented as a composer, as well as an arranger and lyricist. Now, Boyle would have told you that in a heartbeat, and his musical taste is usually something I trust, but when it comes to calling someone amazing, I really have to come to the realization myself. Now, I've had similiar awakenings recently about Stevie Wonder, and a new chap by the name of Raul Midon, and now I've had one about Weird Al. I've always liked his music, it's always a good time listening to it, but I just realized he's a hell of an arranger. What, you may ask, gave you this awakening of musical majesty? Polka Your Eyes Out. A wonderful tune which takes popular tunes from the early 90s (and late 80s), and puts them in a polka form. Now, it's not spectacularly difficult to take pop music, which is usually written with a 4/4 feel, and shove it into a polka format, which is a 2/4 feel, but it does take a bit of massaging, and Weird Al does it very well, and continued to do it well with The Alternative Polka, which is the only other one I remember very well. I know he did others, but those are really the two that stand out. If you haven't heard them, download them, or borrow the CD from a friend. I'll give you a clue which buddy of yours is likely to own a Weird Al CD: They'll be very comfortable with themselves, they'll have a hell of a sense of humor, and they might just be the hottest bass player you've ever met. *cough* Anyway, Weird Al does a wondeful jorb.

On the subject of polkas, if you're into alternative forms of music, check out Brave Combo. They're a fantastically talented group of gentlemen that I had the distinct pleasure of hearing on NPR, and I can honestly say I've never been more riveted or intrigued by a band on the radio before. They are very different, very talented, and tragically-hip. They also have a really hot sense of humor about everything, or so I've gleaned. I recommend you check out some of their music, although I will warn you, they are very heavily influenced by Eastern European styles, as well as a certain kind of Texas panhandle two step, thats like a polka with some chili peppers draped over it so the people of Texas don't have to feel any more self-concious about being asses. Wow. Sorry about that. Anyway, Brave Combo is awesome, and you should at least give them a good shot. Page 3.

On the inflammable subject of music, I would like to say to everyone out there who is horribly intollerant of certain musics... Fuck Off. Now, I'm not talking to people who say "Oh, I don't like that band/style because it doesn't speak to me (or something equivalent)." Thats fine. If a certain music doesn't move you, cool, find one that does. This message is for those cock-sucking sissy-marys out there who just don't like a specific scene that a certain style is associated with, and therefore don't like that style because of it. Punk Rock with lost souls, Jazz with narcotics addicts, etc. Well, you people can all eat my ass with a dirty wooden spoon. I don't even know if I have a proper punishment for people like you, other than perhaps paper-cuts on your eye-balls, followed by a 40-hour Yanni-thon. (Speaking of people who's music doesn't speak to me...) Would you like that, ya rod-yanking butt-sluts? I didn't think so. Stop being so intolerant. (And stop giggiling about the fact that I'm a hippocrite, or the irony of my final statement. You can eat me too.)

Ryan Boyle is a douche-nozzle. There you go Boyle, I have fulfilled all your wishes. Now Eat Me.

Post a comment if you've got some balls/ovaries.