It's just me and Cliff-dog on this Friday night--700 miles away from most friends, with a few choice tunes, a little leftover BBQ chicken, and a cool buzz. That's when the thoughts roll in. So instead of talking Cliff's ear off about everything that's on my mind, I figure I'll just type 'em out...give Cliffy a rest. If my conversations don't include the words "walk", "park", "play", or "toy", he really doesn't seem to care too much.
* Aerosmith used to be a good band. Right around when I was born, they were putting out some great tunes. "Last Child", "Toys in the Attic", "Let the Music Do the Talking", and "Mama Kin" were pretty top-notch rock and roll tunes. But even though I don't watch American Idol, I am fucking sick of Steve. I was sick of Steve during "Dude Looks Like a Lady", throughout "Wayne's World", into "Armageddon", and now ending with the Idol and Oprah. The band pretty much started sucking three and a half decades ago, actually.
Tonight I'm jamming a little Aerosmith--pre 1980, of course--and although I'm digging it, the sound of Steve's voice just reminds me of how goddamn annoying he is. It's just something you just gotta block out, I suppose. You gotta power through Annoying Steve to get to the roots of good Aerosmith--which isn't an easy task.
* Beer. I'm enjoying an Imperial Java Stout brewed by Santa Fe Brewing Company right now. It might sound snobby, and to some maybe it is. But trust me Bud Lighters, I've put away more Diet Budweisers than anyone you know--except for Vinnie...and maybe Kevin. But not Bryan.
Earlier this evening I downed a Tecate. A couple days ago I had a couple cans of Olympia at the Old Man. I like Budweiser, I like Coors, I like microbrews, I like ales, pales, pilsners, stouts. I think there's a certain time and place for every beer.
When I visited Costa Rica I drank Imperial on the beach. After a long day of hoisting in enormous fish, I enjoy a beer on my tailgate. Sometimes it's an O'Dell 90 Shilling...sometimes it's a PBR. In the stadium parking lot, on a crisp morning, hung over from celebrating that we were tailgating the next day, I like to ease into the day by enjoying a red beer. That's 85% light beer, 15% tomato juice. If you use Bloody Mary mix, my wife will fight you.
* If I were to open a restaurant, I think that I would have tacos on the menu, regardless. "Earl's Sloppy Tacos". Not intended to sound dirty, but it certainly does. Easy and fun to make, you could have several different kinds, and I would think it would be a profitable menu item. I made some shredded chicken and green chili tacos last night and I thought they ruled. I would showcase those, plus pulled pork, badass beef, and spicy brisket. Mmmmm, it'd be like Chipotle, except good.
Then I'd have biscuits and gravy. That's about as far as I've gotten.
* I don't go to strip bars. Never been a big fan. I mean, I dig naked chicks, but I've never really gotten into the strip club scene. Not sure why--maybe it's morals. Maybe it's because I'm not a loser. Probably not.
But just now, while listening to the iPod, a tune came on that reminded me of a time back in the early 90s when my buddies and I hired a stripper to come to the house and dance naked for another friend of mine's birthday. She showed up with a duffle bag, a boombox, and a bodyguard. We provided the cassette, she used her boombox (this is not supposed to sound like a sexual innuendo). The song is entitled "Tattooed Dancer" by Ozzy Osbourne, and the reason we chose it (other than the obvious) was that it was a much longer song than your average four minute tune and we felt we were getting our money's worth.
Morals, you say?
Do strippers still do house calls?
* If you haven't listened to Van Halen's new album yet, do.
When Dave and Ed got back together in 2007 or whatever, I was the most sceptical one in the bunch. I didn't like Van Halen's music then, and Dave was embarrassing himself. It seemed like a big PR deal, which maybe it was to a point. And when they started touring, I laughed at the thought of going to see them. Washed up egomaniacs trying to make a buck. But due to some kick-ass free seats my wife scored through work, we went. And it fucking ruled.
To me, Van Halen represents fun. And that ended in 1985. So to hear these old bastards crank out epic tunes from 1978 was fucking amazing. It did NOT hurt that I had clubhouse access and free booze all night. That's how Dave would see me in concert.
Their new album, albeit very heavy, is a continuation of where they left off in 1984. Dave can't hit the screams anymore, and he's spandex-free and bald--but he's still Dave. Highly eccentric and kind of crazy, he's the one that brings the fun. Dave's lyrics and voice, along with Ed's guitar and Al's drums are the perfect combo platter.
Best VH album since I was in 4th grade. Ahhh, 4th grade...Van Halen's 1984, and my secret crush on Angie Cooper. Sorry Angie.
* Carlos Beltran needs to burn that giant goiter off the side of his face.
* I'm going to smoke a turkey this weekend. Brine, rub, smoke, eat. If you've never had smoked turkey--especially mine and April's smoked turkey--then you are missing out on one of the most important gifts in life (except for the one in Springfield--that one was an embarrassment). Hickory, oak, or cherry for six hours. April and I are just like the Neelys, only white. "Honey, stop fryin' that chicken and give me some sugar!!"
Know what goes good with smoked turkey? Scotch.
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