Destined to Become a Holiday Classic

The Twelve Drives of Bledsoe...

On the first play from Bledsoe, my defense gave to me...
a pick that became a TD!
On the second drive from Bledsoe, my defense gave to me...
three false starts, two big sacks and a missed field goal for big D! (editorial note: there was holding on this series, not called, by D that should have never let them get to kick a field goal)
On the third drive from Bledsoe, my defense gave to me...
three tiny runs, two for no gain, and a weak little punt from big D!
On the fourth drive from Bledsoe, my defense gave to me...
four pass attempts, three penalties, two dropped balls, and another little
punt from big D!
On the fifth drive from Bledsoe, my defense gave to me...
A Yellow Holding Flag! two incompletes and a 24 yard punt from big D!
On the sixth drive from Bledsoe, my defense gave to me...
a pick with a de-clined penalty

And then, halftime.

On the seventh drive from Bledsoe my defense gave to me...
seventeen sack yards and a fumble that became a TD!
On the eighth drive from Bledsoe my defense gave to me...
eight more sack yards and a weak little punt from big D!
On the ninth drive from Bledsoe my defense gave to me...
Daniels third sack and a fifteen yard punt from big D!
On the tenth drive from Bledsoe my defense took a nap...

On the eleventh drive from Bledsoe my defense gave to me...
Daniels fourth sack and another three and out for big D!
On the twelfth drive from Bledsoe my defense gave to me...
three incompletes, two time outs, one intentional grounding,
and a pick that let the Redskins take a knee!

Thanks to Uncle Charlie

This Time I Really F*cking Mean It

Merry Christmas.

Bitches.

Being Wrong Never Tasted So Right

As Presi-editor-man of Wookiemania, I feel the need to address a couple of things pertaining to the site. I will also be practicing my rhetorical question dialogue exercises at the same time:

DUDE: Why haven't you posted more than an article a week in, like, two months, brah?

KING OF ALL WOOKIES: Wookies hibernate. Duh. Gotta get ready for the New Years run, right brah?

DUDE: Brah - Sick! You goin' to Panic in the ATL? What about John Brown's Body in Balti...

KOAW: (interrupting) Stay on topic.

DUDE: Totally, man. My bad.........OK...um, hang on, dude...What were we talking about?

KOWA: The Chernobyl Flying Donkey Dance Parade.

DUDE: Really?

KOAW: No. We were talking about Wookiemania.

DUDE: Really? 'Cause I heard they were gonna play the side stage at the 'Roo this year...

KOAW: ...

DUDE: Nah. Seriously, brah - CFDDP opened, like, four dates on...

KOAW: Shut up. Please. I hate the phrase "shut up". It's dismissive and cruel. In this case, however, please, shut up.

DUDE: Whatever, brah. You're such a hater.

KOAW: Moving along, fervent readers may have noticed that the subtitle on the header of the site is still a link to the Katrina donations page for the Red Cross. This is no mistake, and is actually extremely important at this time of year. The supply at food banks across the country is taxed this time every year, and the increased stress on the national banks who diverted so much of their resources to the Gulf Coast region in September will need extra income and food to meet the gap.

Dude: Hey, man. That was Ohhhhh K. Maybe your not so bad...

KOAW: Mikey Houser's guitar sounds better today than it did, say, I don't know...three years ago.

Dude: F*ck you.

Happy Holidays, wooksters.

Nothing Says 'Merry Christmas' Like Flagrantly Copying Brilliant Ideas

I don't care what kind of lawyers he has, I'm suing Ben Bradlee's corpse.

The following is a headline featured in a Most Recently Viewed Articles sidebar in the Arts & Living section of The Washington Post's website, which, up until 7 minutes ago, I was going to buy a lifetime subscription to:

"Cookie Mania Starts Right Here"

Cookiemania?

What am I to expect? A Sports Section supplement on this year's top first year players in the NBA? A published directory of gentlemen with whom one can place a sporting wager? A 7-page pullout tribute to that which Fred Durst...well...does whatever the f*ck it is that he does it all for?

They may have a better staff, building, business model, pension fund, team of security gaurds, and bathroom supply purchaser that I do, but my advice column is tops.

Right, Trey?

Never mind.

Robert Royal Must Die

I'm serious as a heart attack about this sh*t.

Outside of various clutch grabs in Madden '03-'06 vs. the Philadelphia Eagles, I don't think I've ever seen this guy catch a pass.

Holy God in f*cking heaven.

Finally - Mark Brunell, Santana Moss, Chris Cooley, Shawn Taylor, Joe Gibbs, Shawn Springs, LaVar, Joe Gibbs and a lot of other guys on this football team are really fun to watch.

And this guy Royal, who has been ripping my colon through my throat for f*cking years now, goes and drops three passes.

...

Go 'Skins.

NOTE: Wookiemania (TM) and its editors sincerely hope that:

a) Our audience understands the term "tongue and cheek" when reading about various acts of violence that individual contributors may or may not want to carry out on real persons, who probably do copious amounts of community service in and around the Washington D.C. area

b) Robert Royal has a happy and productive rest of his life, as long as it's lived out for another team. Preferably the Cowboys.

Let The Jenkins Roll Ya

The Nice Jenkins, a musical group of great import and character, will be playing the final show of their 7 city, 10 day tour of the Eastern Seaboard on Sunday night in Charlottesville at Atomic Burrito. They will be joined, as has become customary, by the warrior clan Truman Sparks (and You Are F*cked) - defenders of Trog.

When this tour was being planned, one of the musicians involved confided in me that he felt it appropriate for a band to travel only if they are missed and then welcomed home triumphantly. You, Mr. non-musician, have a duty to musicians and thusly to their wants. Consider yourself lucky. Last thing this guy asked for took some poor schlep 3 months to finish, was over 16 feet high, and was made almost entirely out of giraffe sh*t. Almost.

For any readers in Philly or DC, check the powerhouse at the Vaudville Cafe (tonite) or (and) The Grog & Tankard (tomorrow nite). Check your local listings for show times.

Dear Mom - I'm a Crack Addict

But it's not my fault.

You see, there's a epidemic in smallish Southern towns whose names begin with a "Ch", and it's called "Ingestion of a Substance Owing to a Kantankerous, Elderly Rapscallion Owner of Crack Cocaine".

Mother, ISMOKEROCC is hitting our streets like a like our streets were a prizefighter named Sally. While different than that one time that 'Sis tried pole dancing (Hey! In a club, with lots of other men watching...Don't be gross) to pay for "college", ISMOKEROCC is more soul-corroding because it bypasses free will entirely and involves putting a delicious crack pipe in your mouth.

Don't believe me? Think that I'm making this sh*t up? I'm not.

And I need, like, $4,962.62

Tomorrow.

For books.

Scenes from an Asian Dance Party

Normally, one could expect a post with a title like this to have links to really fun pictures that feature lots of really fun people holding Solo cups and leaning a various angles in an attempt to fill the frame of a really fun picture.

So - remember that picture of the beautiful sunset that I linked to (it's about four posts down)? Well, take that picture, stick your dead great-grandmother's eyeballs into your eye sockets, while filling your mouth with as many Pall Mall's as possible and lighting them simutaneously.

Zero visibility. A mist that dropped the temperature of our surroundings about 10 degrees from the already coldest-of-the-year temps that people on the city floor felt. This, of course, was before the thunderstorm. In October. T-H-U-N-D-E-R-S-T-O-R-M.

I figure that, at the very least, I paid for a large number of recent menial sins and maybe a couple outstanding larger ones as well.

To those who came - hope you enjoyed yourselves.

To those who didn't - ha ha. We came.

RIP Rosa Parks

Rosa Parks died yesterday.

I listened to an interview with her today on NPR and for the first time since I was in school, studying her era of American history did I hear the phrase "passive non-violent resistance". Where is the Palestinian Rosa Parks? Where is Africa's Rosa Parks?

Helps me remeber that even when repressed in the 1950's Jim Crow American South, the basic rights granted to (and soon after Ms. Parks, protected for) every American citizen are the greatest in the world. Also helps that the American people (sometimes only after being forced to listen like we were in time-out, over the course of decades and generations) will stand against prejudice, for their fellow countrymen.

RIP Rosa Parks.

God bless America.

A Haiku for Any and All Venturing to Carter's Mountain on Friday Night for the Katie Holmes Baby Shower Party

For those heading up,
I have just three words for you:
Asian dance party.


Click here for an idea of the landscape.
Click here for my idea of an Asian dance party.

Wookiemerican

Thanks to Vice King for the tip about Chewbacca (my cousin, different spelling) becoming a naturalized US citizen. His email to also included a funny bit about a wookie running for president:

Reporter: So, Mr. Chewbacca - what is your stance on abortion?

Wookie: rrrrrrrr

Reporter: OK...how about foreign policy?

Wookie: (rips arms directly off reporter's shoulders and begins to bludgen reporter with them)

Good bit, but we all know it to be completely preposterous.

You must be a native born wookie to become President of the United States.



The Nice Jenkins will be playing tonight in Charlottesville at The Mellow Mushroom. Be there.

Mas Brunch

On Sunday, I dined with three esteemed colleagues at the hottest ticket in town: Mas brunch.

For those of you not invited to either this or last Sunday's trial runs, well, I guess this is for you, as it was easier to invite one wookie than any combination of the multiple thousands of his daily readers. Or, unlike said literary juggernaut, you haven't spent half of an African protectorate GNP on dinner and cocktails at said establishment.

Just as Sunday was a "soft" opening, the following review of the brunch will be "soft" as well. And not in the "it was free and I was excited to be invited" sense. Since the food was free (the prices weren't even written on our menus), and there was no "Eggs Benedicto", I am unable to rate the restaurant on said quality and hence, I can not complete the "overall" category as well.

Which reminds me - the review. HOLY SH*T the oysters were good. Left untouched by two of our foursome for fear of "eating things that taste good", Dr. Eramicus von Slantensberg and I attacked the half-shelled gems. Basking in a tarragon-infused vinagres (sp?), they could have contained little spikes that shredded my internal vitals on their descent and I still would have made an effort to finish them.

NOTE: Mas's brunch menu, like it's dinner menu is in Spanish and all of the dishes have very long names. This is fine for tapas, where you mark the menu in the appropriate space, but when you have to, at brunch, tell the waitress what you want, you will embarrass yourself. I promise.

Didn't try the scone, but it looked pretty darn good. The biscuits and gravy looked excellent, but the pork was of too lean a hog to render a truly eat-it-'til-ya-die-then-eat-at-it-sum'more gravy...the true je ne sais quoi of the discipline.

The bloody marys were unremarkable. SKYY or Absolut is the rail, and while presented nicely with a full celery stalk in a juice glass, there was no need to get fall-down pissed simply to keep the taste in my mouth.

I had the salmon bocadillo (?) which was a little sandwich with goat cheese and spinach and it was excellent. Very light, which for me is a refreshing rarity on Sunday mornings. The hangar steak is server rare. Not medium rare, not rare-ish: cold-in-the-middle, that-thing-is-still-moo'ing, purple rare. I'd tell you how it tasted, but I wasn't offered a bite before it was slurped away. The french toast with fresh apricots and heavy cream were good, but creamier than they were sweeter, and it was no surprise that they sat largely untouched on my associate's plate.

I had a double espresso that kept me up all afternoon and never once gave me the jitters. Seriously - 5 of 5 on that sh*t.

Our server was lovely, and was augmented by anyone who happened to pass us by, which has always been the strong suit of Mas's service credentials. We were allowed to smoke inside, and although the AC was surely attempting to counteract the previous evening's devilishness and the music was too loud at almost every juncture, the setting of the meal was plush, and made the experience that much more enjoyable.

The brunch will run from 12 to 5-6 (not sure) and is intended to service the large number of service workers who are the true brunch mavens, but often find themselves timed out of an opportunity to enjoy it. Or too incapacitated to remember their mother's name. And also too incapacitated to not pick up the phone when she calls.

Tipped $40 (4 a piece) because it was free and our waitress was pretty. (You hear that, Carwile? I hope you did...)

Ed. Note - Listen - I am not above trashing a free meal at a restaurant I enjoy going to on a regular basis if it fails me. Or telling the people how wrong I was about a joint after it blows my mind. You hear me dining establishments of Albemarle? Feed me, don't f*ck up, and the world is your oyster.

A Very Special Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

Went to the Stones concert in Charlottesville. You didn't play with them. Wha happun?

-Allah Akbar (guy who called in the bomb threat)

Dearest Akbar,

Keef threatened to saw my dick off with his guitar pick if I got anywhere near the stage.

-Trey

Editor's Note About the Post Below

As King of All Wookies, it would be remiss of me not to say that I will be at the Stones concert tomorrow night, fingers crossed, hoping that Trey rocks out.

That's why they're practicing with my bass.

Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

Are you at all nervous about opening for The Rolling Stones in Charlottesville? There is a large concentration of wookies in that town, and I'm worried that it's a subspecies you may not be familiar with: the has-a-job-and-bathes-(occasionally)-and-really-wishes-you-hadn't-rotted-out-your-brain-and-replaced-it-with-the-notion-that-you-will-have-a-top-40-hit-whatever-that-means-nowadays wookie (wookius-bitterum). How do you think you'll be received?

-Mike, VT.

Dear Mike,

Thanks for the email. Glad to see I've still got some friends up there! Also - I appreciate your concern, but let me tell you - I know a thing or two about Charlottesville! My best friend Dave lives here, and his boss does, too. Actually, his boss is my boss now - kind of like that song, "The More We Work Together" you know? "...The Happier We'll Be..."? No?...rrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRR

F*ck it. I'm going on a bender, I'm going to carve up at least one or two classics on stage with the f*cking Stones, and I don't give a piss about the wookies, believe me, Mike. Have fun up there with Leo trying to tell freshman in Burlington that you were in Phish. I'm going back to the bus to look for...what?...hang on my cell phone just rang...

Ummm...my bass player forgot his bass, and it's the day before the gig and we need to practice...anybody got one? Really? Tell that kid Dee, or whatever his name is, that I really appreciate it.

Why Posts Have Been So Sporadic of Late (Part Duex)...

Caught a ballgame.

Why Posts Have Been Sporadic of Late...

Been busy with the ladies.

The Washington Redskins Are 2-0

And I will now ask that the rest of the world shut the f*ck up just long enough to eat a big fat dick.

The offense looked awful. If I'd-a seen another 13-yard hitch go incomplete, the samurai sword was coming off the wall. Couldn't run the ball; the Cowboys had 3 defensive linemen, 4 linebackers, 2 safeties, and Liv Tyler stacked as high as Michael Irvin in the box.

Who cares? We won.

The defense looked awesome. Sean Taylor's hit on third down of the last Cowboys' "drive" didn't make up for him falling down on the flea-flicker touchdown to Terry Glenn, but it did scare the sh*t out of every white person in Dallas.

Who cares? We won.

Patrick Ramsey, who I've defended since the day we drafted him, couldn't have thrown one, let alone both of those passes to Santana Moss. I hope he gets his trade and ends up playing for Baltimore. That way he doesn't have to drive so far after every game to have John Waters offer him counsel and some hot man on man sex (I'm trying to be more Google-able. Sue me).

Who cares? We won.

My fantasy football team lost to an Eagles fan who spends his days where most Eagles fans spend their non-food stamp-collecting hours - community college.

Who cares? (Me. F*cking McNabb) We won.

When the second ball went up and I stood on the barstool that I will be standing on for every Redskins game on this season, I felt something that I hadn't felt during a Redskins game in years: Faith. I knew that pass was gonna be complete. I knew we were going to win.

Who cares? We won.

"Hey, Brah - Didn't I See You Groovin' at The Spin Doctors Show?"

(NOTE: If you have named your dog after a Widespread Panic song, DO NOT READ THIS)

Widespread Panic is playing today at The Charlottesville Pavilion.

For the unannointed, Panic is the stupidest band in history. Like their Ohio-based brethren OAR, they regularly pack gigantic rooms with people who know nothing about good music.

Example - Your average Panic fan couldn't tell you the name of their favorite Beatles song. This is because they lack the chromosomes that allow the human ear to process songs with a melody, or anything but a moronic 4/4 beat.

Also - most of them can't stop drooling long enough to answer questions of any sort. Widespread fans are the people who can't understand Motown, offering you, with shock at anything but total compliance: "it's gay" (see: OAR fan). Are the lines getting clearer?

However, this means the Panic Wooks are in town, and you can only imagine the day to day-incompentence of these huddles of human flesh. Around 11:00PM this evening, I'll be leaving the show, (NOTE: of course I'm going...it's gonna be f*cking Mardi Gras...) walk one block over to what will be a piz-acked City Jail, sit outside on a bench, and let their beautiful wailing be the ear candle for the gigantic mound of sh*t resting deep in my ear canal.

"BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! HEADYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY"

Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

What what do you think of Coach Joe Gibbs's decision to pull Patrick Ramsey in favor of aging Mark Brunell as the starting quarterback for The Washington Redskins?

-Worried in Washington

Dear Worried,

You should be completely terrified of Mark Brunell. Last year, he was the NFL's worst quarterback. Hmmmm....worst....I guess that leaves some room for opinion...no, wait....it doesn't.

Oh, and he's not crazy either, as this snippet from his bio will show:

"Through faith in Jesus' death and resurrection, I realized that He had bridged the gap that sin had created. As I repented of my sins and allowed Jesus to become the Lord of my life, I experienced His love and forgiveness. I began to see a greater purpose for life. Jesus wants all of us to live at the highest level. We can only do that by allowing Him to be our Lord and Savior Jeremiah 29:11"

Patrick Ramsey was 7-12 for 120 yards in Sunday's game, converting three third downs on a single drive, after throwing one admittedly horrendous interception. This was before he was nearly decapitated by a Chicago linebacker, who was politely asked by the line judge to not commit any more penalities for the rest of the game and go on his merry way.

Brunell passed for 70 in a half and change. Had it not been for the running game of Portis and Betts (finally), The 'Skins were gonna walk away losers from this one. Instead, they're 1-0, as they've been for the past four playoff-less years. Their defense allowed only 141 yards of offense, and the Bears' touchdown was the result of a special teams fumble and pitifully short field.

Predicition for Monday Night Football: 'Skins 187, Dallas 9

Guilt

I promised myself I'd never do it again, and I've broken that promise.

From the day that New York City was attacked to the moment Saddam Hussein's statue was symbolically torn from it's moorings to the delight of litteraly dozens of cheering Iraqi men, I was consumed by cable news. That's roughly a year and a half.

I can remember watching the video of the latter with Dr. von Slantersberg (who's back at the blog - Hooray!). The sight of a tank bearing my flag doing what we were told was another peoples' bidding thousands of miles away churned something so vile from the pit of my stomach that I turned away and didn't look back.

Until yesterday.

I've spent at least five hours watching CNN and Fox News (hilarious!) since then, which is somewhat remarkable for a non-cable subscriber, and I will certainly watch more. The watching is not what bothers me. Aside for the media's complete side-step of the issue of race, the journalism, like what came from those embedded in the invasion, strikes a nice balance between compelling and informative.

What bothers me is that I want things to get worse.

Something in my subconscious yearns for another levee to burst, for a gang war to break out on the steps of The Superdome - something worse than the already catastrophic scenes I've witnessed. WHY?

Are the mothers right? Have I been desensitized? I don't think so, as my horror at a discussion on looting (that, again, tippytoed around race) last night would lead me to believe.

Perhaps I want to witness an event live, one that occurs while I'm watching, to validate my feelings about the flood. I've been trying to make an honest connection to a city that has welcomed me as many times as most I've visited, yet the helplessness I feel, watching this horror in this unreachable land, is palpable.


Then there is the twice aforementioned issue of race. I could sugar-coat this and say "99% of the people who have been filmed looting, paddling through the streets, or otherwise have been black." Bullsh*t. Everyone that was stranded is black.

What will linger in my memory long after the water is pumped away are the images of obese women and children, all of them black, who probably make up a good portion of the 30% of New Orleans' population which lives under the poverty line. It's hard for me to listen to reports on the increasingly criticized second-wave evacuation efforts and detach the lack of mobilization with the skin color of the people in the federal government's charge.

I saw President Clinton mention during an interview that the Prime Minister of Sri Lanka, one of the nations razed by the New Years Tsunami, had expressed his people's interest in helping the people they saw on television; people as unfortunate, before and after disaster, as them. Upon hearing this story, one of my closest advisors, in a cautious, semi-whisper deadpan replied, "Do you think they'll get as many donations, based on the faces of the disaster, as the Tsunami did?" Without waiting for a reply, she added, in the same hushed tone, "Wouldn't that be horrible?"


Perhaps I watch for a darker reason. A year ago, as Ivan roared through the Gulf of Mexico, many people were predicting a great flood would follow a direct hit of New Orleans. I don't remember exactly what I said or who I said it to, but it was something along the lines of "I'm kinda rooting for the hurricane to crush New Orleans". I guess I thought it would be kinda neat.

I will continue to watch in horror as my wish comes true.

Please make a donation, if you can, to one of the charities below or another trusted organization.

Donations -

The Red Cross
http://redcross.org
Info on how, what, and what not to donate-
http://redcross.org/article/0,1072,0_312_4498,00.html

Catholic Charities USA
http://www.catholiccharitiesusa.org/
Info on how to donate -
http://www.catholiccharitiesusa.org/donate/donate.cfm

WookieMania Fall Lineup

Come Fall, this wookie takes only one greatest professional sports team of all time seriously: The Washington Redskins.

Last year, the lair was outfitted with the great and mighty will-destroyer that is The Dish. This, in conjunction with the stalwart efforts of my BFF TiVo, allowed me to watch nothing but football all day Sunday. This meant watching other games during the commercials of the 'Skins game and being able to go back to it whenever I wanted knowing that if I waited a little longer I could rewind back to where the commercials ending and then fast forward through the next commercial break, and......whoa........dizzy.......

This is why I do not have The Dish anymore and I have sent TiVo to a far away land called "Arlington". However, I will need to watch the games somewhere, and seeing as none of my co-wookies like me ripping up their furniture, I will be heading to local eateries and giving them the WookieMania-over.

This will mean brunch for 1:00PM games, lunch / dinner for 4:00PM games, and dinner for Sunday or Monday night matchups. I will try and keep the schedule updated, as I can always use company. And someone to stick a spoon down my throat about, oh, let's hope...6 times this year.

Katrina's Wake

The people of Gulf states need help.

I picked up a copy of The Washington Post this morning and held it in shock. I listened to the medical director of a hospital in New Orleans on NPR. He calmly talked about flooded generators leading to the shutdown of peoples' ventilators and the months that will pass before the water left the city.

Water is slowly tearing away the foundation of The Big Easy. Cities like Gulfport Mississippi are gone.

As many people found out after the New Year's Tsunami, there is very little, if nothing, that one can do to directly help the communities affected by disasters like this. Direct aid to charities like The Red Cross are one's most potent weapon.

I've heard numbers in the billions used to describe the dollar amount neccessary for recovery, and those will certainly rise.

To Lousianans and Mississippians - My thoughts, prayers, and condolences. I will watch you rebuild, and I will see you again.

Donations - http://redcross.org
Info on how, what, and what not to donate - http://redcross.org/article/0,1072,0_312_4498,00.html

Haiku As Eulogy

Lover. Slobberer.
Two words can't define a dog.
Wait...I guess they can.

RIP Creation 2002-2005

Haiku for The Good People of New Orleans

God isn't pissed off,
It's just that he missed Flor-da.
Hope you all stay dry.

Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

Rumor has it that on your soon-to-be-released Columbia Records debut album Shine you'll be featuring a new drummer. Who have you chosen to provide the backbone to your major label debut?

Also, water ewe dune tonight?

-Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,

That's great that you knew my album was coming out! You must have, like, a Google Alert for my name or something...Anyways, yeah - one of the best parts of being me and having my job is that I get to meet my heroes, and sometimes even get to work with them. Kenny is the greatest, I mean - just look at him:


As for what I'm doing this evening: Going to see The Mother-F*ckin' Nice Jenkins rock your dick off at the Grog & Tankard on Wisconsin Ave. in DC at 10:30. Bitches.

Stupid Doctors

A couple of years ago, I went into my doctor's office and told him I was going to need "a bowlful" of Viagra for a party I was throwing that upcoming weekend. Feigning indignation, he used this as license to tell me that Viagra was only for men who were unable to achieve and maintain erections after trying all available options, most importantly dialoguing with their partners, and should only be taken under a physician's supervision.

Well - I exploded. I asked with great politeness and volume if he even had a TV, and if 'yes', had he seen the commercials on said TV that told me about Viagra? What kind of doctor was he if he wouldn't (more like couldn't) prescribe me drugs for illnesses I had the symptoms for? (Actually, I just wanted to have a really great party, and sometimes you gotta lie to a doctor or two) He responded to this by telling me that I was drunk, so I just happened to mention how cold his fingers...sorry, wrong word...pincher-things were to the waiting room on my way to my car.

You can imagine that I wasn't that surprised, then, when I saw that a doctor recently had the gall to tell a woman that she needed to lose weight. This jerk has NO idea what his little comment probably did to this woman's self-esteem. I read the article, and nowhere did I see that he was a licensed therapist, able to deal with people's insecurities and what have you. Sorry, but I've never heard of a "weightologist" or a "doctor of eating", have you?

Didn't think so. I hope Rosie gets that bastard fired.

6:53-7:37PM 8.23.05

It'd binna long day by the time I got up there. Not quite sure what I done, but I'd had plenty of time to think about it. And when I wasn't thinkin' about what I wasn't quite sure I had done, I was thirsty. Not thirsty like a drunk, believe me.

Well - wait. It was the kind of thirsty you can only be when you are drunk and it's three AM and you're stuck-together-dry mouth is tired-a snorin' so it tells your brain to wake up and (f*ck the lights, you don't need 'em) get to the fridge and drink a whole bottle-a water, or orange juice, or whatevers in the fridge. That headache'll kill you, though, which is why I learned from a friend to keep room-temperature water around at all times.

It wasn't hot, but it sure wasn't a cool autumn breeze either. I wasn't sweatin', but I was definitely pickin' up and flappin' the front of my shirt. Never let 'em see you sweat. Way off, the trees were blowin', but I got the feelin' that their tops'd be swayin' regardless, and I was higher up then them, and I didn't feel a damn thing.

Lookin' down at the city some, but mostly out west. Had to keep a hand over the sun sun 'til right before it went down, owin' to there not bein' any clouds-a substance out there. We gotta nice perch, but the powerlines to the barn get in your way, so you gotta walk down and then there's more powerlines, and before you know it, you're right up onna bush and then you gotta stand on the picnic tables, which, believe me, is a dicey venture at best.

But then it's real nice. Just you, and the sun, and the clouds on your left, and the clouds on your right. I had my cellphone out, braggin', naturally, and I started takin ' some pictures. I like this one on the right here a whole lot.

RIP Bob Moog

The King of All Wookies would like to send a post-mortem big ups to the King of All Beeps, Boops, Swishes, Swooshes, Bwaaaaaaaaaahs, and the Like.

On Sunday, Bob Moog died. His stable of synths include (among others) the Rogue, Source, Prodigy, MultiMoog, MicroMoog, and the analog synth that is and will always be the gold standard - The MiniMoog.

He also added a extremely important page in the rock snob dictionary. For the non-playing geek, a mention of Moog instantly brings up Dark Side of the Moon, Kraftwerk, and the fact that it was an ARP and not a Moog that was used to create the intros that bookend the tunes on Who's Next.

For musicians, Moog synthesizers are just about the sexiest things in the world. If you were to ask a working musician which would he rather have: a MiniMoog or a way to eat on a regular basis, the synth would win. Every time.

Musicians will always pronounce his name incorrectly (like the sound a cow makes with a "g" at the end), but it is upon that incorrect pronunciation that his legend will forever rest. People wearing recently purchased tight t-shirts may tell you that his last name was pronounced like "vogue". Hell - those writing his obituaries for "real" "publications" may try to sell you on that, too. The aforementioned have (a) never dreamed of owning a monophonic analog synthesizer created, numbered, and signed on the interior by the master, and (b) no idea how creepy their slightly erotic musings about school buses are.

RIP Dr. Moog.

Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

Where has WookieMania been?!? I've been trying to brunch for three weeks now, and guess where I've ended up?

Guess.

At a Waffle House, Trey. A f*cking Waffle House. Do you know what it's like asking for a bloody mary and an eggs benedict at WF?

Listen - I'm sorry. I'm not mad. I just want to talk to the wookie. I miss him. I miss the fur. I miss...his fur.

Please help us, Trey - You're our only hope.

-That really, really sexy actress from Rain Man & Hot Shots! (and Hot Shots! Part Deux)

Dear TRRSAfRM&HS!,

Never fear, lassie. The good Dr. is fine, resting quietly at his mountain estate. I know this because I paid him a visit yesterday. Granted, I got there at 4:00PM and he was still in his underwear...but think about it - He did all four of those Star Wars movies in nothing but a bandolier.

Anyways, he has sequestered himself on the mountainside so that he might find peace and clarity for the upcoming months - a most trying time of the year for him, indeed. He gave me a written statement and asked me to post it for him:

"Greetings, friends! I know that it's been awhile since I rapped at 'cha, and I must apologize for my sudden abscence and for not preceeding it with any warning. You see - I am about to enter into a time of deep and profound sorrow for all wookies of my clan; a seemingly endless gloom which is punctuated only by the fierce and bitter sting of reality scratched upon expectations that spring anew each year only to be swallowed, digested, and expelled by fate:

"Soon, the NFL season will start, The Washington Redskins will take the field, and the hope of a new day will be lost.

"Getting ready for this sh*t is no joke, too:

• Air conditioning. Hi-cool.
  
• Yes's Closer to the Edge five times a day
• maintaining a 3% bloodstream concentration of tomato juice, dijon mustard, horseradish (prepared), worchestire sauce, vodka, and a dash of pepper
• no cooking, cleaning, driving, turning on of ovens, riding in cars, and sure as sh*t no rolling

"This may look like fun, but it's a lot of work, so remember, kids: Wookie didn't disappear, he's in training. If your teacher doesn't believe you - screw her. She told me you were a little 'slow' last year at parent-teacher conferences.

"What? You don't believe me? You think any of your friends have the same teacher they had last year? Hmmmmm...think about it. While we're at it and I'm nice and fired up, wanna know why you're shorter than all your friends, too?.........Love, Dr. Chewbakka!"

(Ed. note: The "........." signifies about three more pages of manuscript, but let's leave 'em wanting more, eh, Doctor?)

So - to answer your question: The Wookie is back, and we should all show him how excited we are!

In really soft voices.

Haiku for A Friend How I Have Absolutely No Excuses for Not Seeing More Of

It's been awhile, guy.
Weird how much older we are...
Still - the Eagles suck.

The Staggering Genius of Clinton Portis

If the first day of training camp is any indication, the Washington Redskins will most certainly go undefeated this season.

Listen - I know. You're worried you've stumbled onto the journal of yet another hopeless 'Skins fan; a man whose love of team has created in him such a disconnect from reality that only his disbelief at experts' predictions of yet another double-digit loss season is real.

I am that man. (What? Would you rather stumble upon the journal of a guy who wants to know if you'll help him get something into his van or whether you're a size 6? That's f*cking weird. Who thinks of things like that?)

And it's not just quotes like the following that give me my great faith. It's the fact that quotes like the following came out on the first day of camp:

"(Greatest-NFL-Free-Safety-of-All-Times-To-Be Sean Taylor) shouldn't be worried. They knocked everybody else's trial back, so why would they make him come in September?" Portis said. "They put Michael Jackson's trial back, and he ain't got a concert anytime soon."

F*ckin' genius. We're goin' 16-0. Who wants the odds?

A Haiku for Mondays Spent In Offices

Wookie grows weary.
What surrounds him always has -
Now is time for change.

Real Men Wear Helmets Made of Real Animals

Back when I used to work in customer service for a certain "out there" band from San Francisco that has been touring for a good many years and has a Spinal Tap-esque rate of departure of its member, I came across a number of "out there" people.

There was the late alleged-Dr. Frank Milostan Jr., who could receive no "naked mail" (items sent to him not enclosed in an envelope or casing of some sort).

There was that guy in Ames, Iowa who used to call and ask for me by name every hour on the hour to inquire as to the location of his Steal Your Face bar stools that had not yet arrived for Christmas time, and remind me that I had ruined Christmas. Not just his Christmas, mind you - Chirstmas.

It really was enough to drive someone like me to their level of crazy during the other 16 hours of the day and weekends. Luckily, I had a good sense of humor about it ("Do you think that Bobby's short-shorts negatively affected his playing") and I had a beautiful, funny cigarette-smoking wookette sitting next to me. She ended up marrying some stupid doctor who, I swear this is true to the great Wookie in the Sky, had to go to Tennessee in order to pass his boards.

Well it wasn't but last week that I saw these two out at a bar (at, like 5:00PM - way to go, Doc) and, after boxing the completely-hammered doctor to the ground and getting him to admit that his wife didn't take his last name because she really wanted to take mine, but thought it would be awkward to explain to our children whom he would someday raise and send to college, whilst speaking of the good ole days, the wookette reminded me of my favorite crazy of all: Atilla The Helmet.

You're a Harley-ridin' chain-smoker who lives somewhere in Idaho with his bike, his booze, and his old lady - in that order (making you an average reader of WookieMania and a member of our target market). You say, "Screw helmet laws," don't you, tough guy?

WRONG. You embrace them and use them as an excuse to use an entire mountain lion to shield your dome. You then fly in the face of TheMan even further by buying your best girl a bikini made of beaver pelt.

Gotta run, kids. Christmas is only 150 days away.

Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

Is the (Charlottesville Pavilion) going to be finished by wednesday or what?

-Concerned Charlottesville Citizen

Dear CCC,

I'm assuming that by "what?" you actually mean "am I going to have to come all the way down there and drive the f*cking crane myself?"

The truly interesting word in your query is "finished". From what I understand, the Pavilion is going to be un-finished by most standards for the entire rest of 2005. The will be no bathrooms, only porta-potties. No seats will be anchored anchored in to the ground; only folding chairs, which I assume the people paying $350 to sit close to Lorretta Lynn will get to keep, will provide rest for the under-the-big-tent weary.

As of today, there is no grass or sod, meaning there is no lawn-seating. The final piece of the covering for the Pavilion, which was torn in half two weeks ago, will not be ready by Wednesday for Karl Denson, so you'd better hope it doesn't rain.

I have a bad feeling about it, though...

Have a question for Trey? Send your burning questions to asktrey@gmail.com

The Greatest Song of All Times

This, my friends, is the greatest song of all time. You will not see it on VH1's Top 100 Videos of All Time. You will not hear it, Memorial Day weekend, featured in ads for appliances or on KCOK's Hot Memorial Day 500 Countdown...with Mickey Cruze, countin' down YOUR favorite hits all the way to the top, top, top, top...

A video was never made for this song, and it was never in an A&R guy's bag of tricks when he came to diddle a radio station. The only machine propelling the rise of this tune were the plaid skirts covering the skinny, freckled legs of finest output DC's nunneries had to offer.

It's funny. Ten years ago, I'd be writing a eulogy to this song. It's master tapes and maybe a couple yard sale-hobo LPs would be scattered across the country; the only member of the recording session that produced the tune perhaps possessing a cassette with only a finite number of plays left on it before any semblance of the original song or tone disappear into a '78 Pinto's tape deck, but now it's digital. It's forever...

Jesus titty-f&cking christ, listen to me...it's only Passing Me By...(right click it to save it)

But it made me a god at 15...

Scotty - Beamed Up

RIP, James Doohan.

Greatest Piece of "Just Wanted to Let You Know" Mail Ever to Be Taken Out of My Office's Door Handle

Haiku for A Special Wookette

You don't disappoint.
As Hard as you may try to,
You still haven't yet.

Brunch - Hmmmmm. About That...

Nope. There was no joy in the lot of life this week, for the closest your friend Chewie got to brunch (read: decent meal) this weekend was a shrimp cocktail on Saturday morning.

At The Hard Rock Cafe.

In Atlantic City.

Yes, your intrepid hairball traversed not one, not two, but three states (and a f*cking District) just to celebrate the castration (editor's note: substitute "pending nuptials" in Wookettemania) of two old friends. And whom might these two "friends" be? None other than 2/3 of the debacle that was Annex Records: Guy Mysterioso and Sam Mason. Thats right, kids - The man that filled the 20-year-old mind of yours truly with delusions of rock 'n roll mediocrity and all of its trappings, and the man who would have happily embezzled it.

As with any large party where everybody is looking out for everybody else in the group and it's all about making sure that everybody has a good time - I was impressed by how quickly my cell had formed, detached itself, and begun inventory and syncronization. By the time I arrived and had my bags down, my introduction to the field consisted of little more than a nod and a point.

There was The Kid (looking way better than when I left him at The Ranch all those years ago), Ray Babbitt Jr., and Sir Terrence, who, upon shaking hands introduced himself as "the new me" began sweating profusely and showed me a cell phone camera montage of the 40-story OAR billboard (headshot by headshot) across from his office that helps him vomit when and if neccesary during his workday. A friend indeed.

Great. Now what?

The tables? Nar. Posted (or assumed posted...never really checked...) at every table was a sign that read: NO WOOKIES. Prejudiced against wookies? Can you believe dat? In 'iss day and age? A Casino...prejudiced against wookies?

I was, however, allowed to watch, and in doing so, delighted in Ray Babbitt Jr.'s exaction of my subconscious revenge. Blackjack: Winner! Roulette: Winner! Those two tiny little girls from the batcherlorette party: numbers for later in the City, right? Push! Slots: Winner! Our time at the tables was just like in Rain Man - Ray Jr. winning us tons of cash, and Valeria Golino sitting on my lap, begging me to marry her.

So that was it for the weekend. Me not gambling, and others doing so, but betting nothing past the original ten dollar principle that they paid down on Friday night.

End of story.

(Unless you tune in for part 2 of 2: The Mysterioso / Mason Atlantic City Batchelor Party Is Filthy and Depraved)

Haiku for a Friend Who I Should Make a Better Effort to See More Of While I Still Have the Chance

Right now you're so close,
And soon you'll be gone. Again.
But, man....what a drive....

Charlottesville Pavilion Update: Not Gonna Make It

This picture was taken at 10:32AM, today - July 13th, 2005. Kirby Hutto, general manager of the Pavilion, has sworn up and down that structure will be ready by July 25th.

Intrepid wooksters - I know that it's difficult to tell from this picture whether what you're looking at is a day away or months away from being ready, but I'd suggest you just trust ol' Dr. Chewbakka when he says that the safest seats on are on the lawn.

Besides - I don't imagine the seats'll be ready, anyway...

(Tonight I'm Gonna Rock You) Tonight

Who: The King (of All Wookies) and his new band The Kitchen Stairs.

Where: Starr Hill Music Hall

When: 9:00PM - A perfect time to get rocked.

How: By any means necessary. Most likely guitar bass and drums, though.

Why: Because you've been a bad little girl.

Squeeze It

Download the latest single, "Squeeze It" from Bay Area pop stars Pants, Pants, Pants exclusively at WookieMania.

"To do what others cannot do is talent. To do what talent cannot do is genius." - Will Henry

"I squeeze it like John Stamos, because he was on TV
He squeezed with Kimmy Gibler, just between you and me
I squeeze like Danny Tanner, of this there is no doubt,
We squeezed with Uncle Joey, but he said 'Cut it out'." - Pants, Pants, Pants

re: Brunch

Little reminder about the way things used to be, from SuperKingofAllWookies:

The Virginian is not a place for brunch. The Virginian is a place to go for a steak sandwich with greasy onions, fries, a draft beer, and the Rolling Stones or Righteous Brothers on the speakers (Was it a jukebox?).

No, wait. That was 1965.

When the most popular places to drink near the U (aside from the hundreds of places to drink that were fraternity houses, apartments and dorm rooms) were the Cavalier and the Virginian, which were owned by the same guy. The Cavalier, located near the intersection of Emmet & University, had live music and served 3.2 beer to the 18-20 set. It burned down in the late 60s.

Brunch was not a popular Sunday thing. Sunday mornings were not generally popular. Stoli bloody maries were unknown, because (a) there was no liquor by the drink in Virginia (you still can't buy a drink in some counties), and (b) no one had ever heard of Stolichnaya.

Well, it's not like it was just a bunch of dudes...

Brunch - Taking My Time At The Virginian

Brunch on The Corner. For those not familiar with The corner, it is the strip of University Ave. in Charlottesville where students drink. You see, in Charlottesville, people don't tend to do much more than that when they go out. If there's live music (which there almost always is) of good quality (a staggeringly high percentage of it is) there's a 1 in 20 chance that the bar hosting it will be full. Then - of the full bars hosting music, 4 of 5 will be inhabited by the back-turned, hair-gelled du-du-dudes drinking Bud Lights and doing a very good job convincing the girls they're with that sleeping with guys in bands will make them poor.

Besides drinking, you can eat sandwiches, but little else, at most of the watering holes on The Corner. While discussing the potential brunch-of-choice for this week's entry I came to conclusion around 1:00AM Sunday morning (the exact hour when everything that makes it from my brain to my mouth is a stroke of sheer and incalcuable brilliance) and decided that I would check out The Virginian. Not only that, but about an hour later I called Tedo (pronounced: Michael Jackson's borther) and his wife, Tetette, and asked them to join me. At 11:00AM.

Oops.

I had forgotten, amognst all of the brilliance floating in my head at that point, that married people aren't late. They don't forget things either. And they wake up early. The combination of these three woke me up around 11:05 with the ol' "We're on our way to The Virginian. For brunch. The one you called us about last night. See you there. At 11:00. Like you said." This call was followed fifteen minutes later by the "Where are you?" call, which resulted in me apologizing profusely (and sincerely, I might add) and for the first time in my life, ordering an eggs benedict via telephony.

(Bloody: 2 of 5) 11:25AM - My arrival is followed by the prompt order of a Stolichnaya bloody. It appeared some minutes later garnished with a lime wedge, and I was excited by its appearance - hearty with a solid amount of horseradish and other particulate matter. Wrong. It was obviously made from a mix that contained potassium sorbate, and let me tell you: that sh*t will make any beverage finish like a Diet Coke and half a pack of sugarless gum. I've had it with that sh*t. Couldn't taste anything else in the cocktail, and I only got halfway through with it.

(Service: 1 of 5 NOTE: Yes, the benedict review comes here, but for the sake of full editorial slander, we go to Service) 11:45AM -

11:55AM -


12:10AM -


12:20AM - My eggs and Tetette's breakfast sandwich arrive. Tedo is placed on hold.

12:25AM - Tedo's benedict, which he told me was coming with a tomato instead of canadian bacon (Tedo loves animals. And trees. Trees more than animals, I think, and in a totally different way) a well done egg, and two extra english muffins as sides (so he can make an eggs benedict sandwich) arrives: Surprise, Tedo! Extra bacon! Or was it no tomato you wanted...? Hmmmmmm....Sent back.

12:35AM Tedo's benedict, now with tomato instead of bacon, arrives: Surprise! Tedo jiggles his eggs.

12:37AM Tedo's egg stops jiggling.

Follow the timeline, boys and girls. I don't know who to blame on this one. I got the feeling that our waitress, bless her heart, (you know it's gonna be bad, now) got the gig early one morning, and I mean early, after a manager had thoroughly gone over her qualifications. When she finally brought us the check, it had five voids on it. Wait - I do know who to blame. The management.

If you are employed by the food service machine, brunch sucks. I know this. I've posted this before, and once was even stupid enough to work it. Once. You have to find someone who, at least by resaurant standrads, wants to be there and knows what they're doing. In fact - you should only allow someone that has been to brunch work at brunch. And by "been to brunch" I really mean "nice legs".

(Benedict: 3.5 of 5) Since I didn't order my beney in person, I didn't see the rest of the available sides, but mine arrived with home fries and cheese grits, the latter being excellent. The egg was a tad undercooked and there wasn't terribly much hollandaise, but it was certainly satisfying. That's it. Not great, but certainly not bad.

(Price: 2 of 5) $7.00 for benedict (with two sides) - good. $8.00 for two large OJs - bad. $4.00 for a bloody - good. $2.25 extra for Stoli - bad. Now, the kicker:

$1.99 for coffee - bad.

But not too bad. I almost feel like their saving you some indignation by not making you pay $2.00 for a cup of coffee. Fancy places don't charge $2.00 for a cup of coffee. Don't charge $1.99, either. At least it wasn't the "f*ck you right in the face" $2.50 cup from last week...

(Overall: 2 of 5) Not highly recommended. However, on another day, what with the prices and basic quality of the food, I'd say that if you're stuck on The Corner after a late Saturday night and you're being told that you really need to get out of here before some dude / dudette comes looking for their University of South Carolina whitehat, it's better than eating dirt.

But not better than bring a paper bag full of the night before's vodka, buying some tomato juice, horseradish, worcester, and mustard at the Lucky 7, and eating outside of Bodo's.

Not that I've done that.

The Virginian is located on University Ave. on the UVa Corner.
Phone: 434.984.4667

The Nice Jenkins

Tonite at The Mellow Mushroom in Charlottesville, a band that I believe could possibly take over the world someday will be playing at 10:00PM

Their name is The Nice Jenkins. It's powerful sh*t. It's that band you go to see because your buddy's in it, and before you know it, you're not just impressed - you're a fan. Happened like that for me.

For all of you hipsters checking in from The Big Apple, they'll be at CBJB's tomorrow, Friday 7/8/05. Be dare.

Check out their website here.
Sign up for their email list here. Simply write, "Put me on the list" in the subject field.

An Open Letter to The Secret Organization of Al-Qaeda in Europe

We here at WookieMania would like to express our condolences to those hurt or killed by the London Bombings that occured today.

Who the f*ck are these jokers? Get pick last in rock-throwing? Sorry, Akbar. If you hurry, you can still get into basket weaving, or The Secret Organization of Al-Qaeda in Europe.

While in the midst of penning an open letter to this Al-Qaeda AA farm team, Dr. von Slantenstein (who's dirge about the tragedy is as moving as I am covered in fur) sent this one from The London News Review over, and I believe it does a much better job of conveying our sentiment. Oy!

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?

"This is London. We've dealt with your sort before. You don't try and pull this on us.

"Do you have any idea how many times our city has been attacked? Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work.

"All you've done is end some of our lives, and ruin some more. How is that going to help you? You don't get rewarded for this kind of crap.

"And if, as your MO indicates, you're an al-Qaeda group, then you're out of your tiny minds.

"Because if this is a message to Tony Blair, we've got news for you. We don't much like our government ourselves, or what they do in our name. But, listen very clearly. We'll deal with that ourselves. We're London, and we've got our own way of doing things, and it doesn't involve tossing bombs around where innocent people are going about their lives.

"And that's because we're better than you. Everyone is better than you. Our city works. We rather like it. And we're going to go about our lives. We're going to take care of the lives you ruined. And then we're going to work. And we're going down the pub.

"So you can pack up your bombs, put them in your arseholes, and get the fuck out of our city."

United Kingdom, f*ck yeah.
God Save The Queen.

Brunch - Costs Too Much to Fill Up Nowadays

Let me start this post out by saying that it took some dedication to do brunch this weekend, wookciples. The King's presence was required at a soundcheck at 10:30 on Sunday morning, but - knowing that sound, like a coat, can always be checked, I headed to Fuel around noon.

Only in Charlottesville could could this be one of the several gas stations that allow to gas up and grab some grape leaves and an oyster po' boy - for the dog. Fuel stands out from these other establishments because it also houses a fine-dining bistro and wine bar and is owned by the richest porn star in the world.

Don't believe me? Turn 18 and click here. Then click here.

Same chick, dude.

Anyways...

I met up with (and when I say "met up with", I mean my stomach had already canibalized itself and my intestines where about to poach off of the table next to me) some friends, including High Five - the greatest and most prolific high fiver in history, and a veteran of the wookie brunch - and the girl that has single-handedly set the standard for the "3/4 length skirt with tiny little ironic running shoes" look. Believe me.

(Bloody: 2 of 5) I ordered my "Southern Bloody Mary" with Stoli, but doubt that's how it came as it wasn't listed on the bill. (More on the bill later) I don't speak Snob, (which after the experience, I can safely assume is the native dialect) but apparently "Southern" means "boring". Came with a lime, with the top covered in pepper. No citrus. No horseradish. Just worcester and tomato juice and vodka with some pepper and a celery stalk in a lowball glass, which is whack. All natural, and if nothing else - highly drinkable.

(Benedict: 3.5 of 5) Well-poached egg, and good ham (which the waitress was nice enough to remind me came with the dish - Thanks, Shirley!....). Also, a nice lemon-y hollandaise. Not enough of it, though. Now, I'm sure that they make theirs at Fuel with the eggs of a golden f*cking chicken and pepper ground by the hands of authentic Indonesian child laborers, but I don't want to have to ask the waitress for more. (I make High Five do it)

Kind of a cool menu outside of the benedict. I will definitely be adding pesto to my scrambled eggs next time I eat breakfast. At home. And buy eggs. Probably should figure out where I'm gonna live...but seriously...pesto with the eggs.

(Service: 2 of 5) In the annals of truly clueless conversation I can tell you that our interaction with the server was history-shattering:

Having seen grits on the menu, I immediately asked if I could get them with my benedict.

"Of course."

High Five's special lady friend wanted the green eggs and ham, which came with the grits, and was politely told that they were out. Well, could she substitute over-easy eggs for the green eggs and have the dish that way? Did they have the grits and everything else?

"Of course."

They say that there's no better way to learn a foreign language than through immersion. (Don't they?) Well, I was up to my ears in Snob, so now I know that "Of course" = "No"

So - Special Lady Friend of High Five (SLFoHF) had to get something completely different. At this point, High Five and I, both getting the benedict, ask if the dish is served with anything. Most specifically, the potatoes.

"I don't know." (She's bi-lingual!)

Except for the fact that your job as server is to be the conduit, the communicator if you will, between the kitchen and the customer, I'm still trying to figure out why our waitress didn't:

a) run back to the kitchen and figure it out for us OR
b) KNOW

Fine. We ask to have the potatoes regardless of whether they were served with the dish or not.

They weren't. We didn't know this, as apprently there is no word, or words, with which to express this sentiment in Snob. We didn't find out until...

(Price: 1 of 5) ....the bill came. $3.00 a piece (?!?) for, as High Five (who is a chef at a 4-star restaraunt) said, unseasoned potatoes? If you're going to jack a check more than a dollar or two for an a la carte item, you'd better let the table know. Even if they asked for it.

The entrees were each $9, which is a solid brunch price. $6.50 for a rail bloody is $1.50 too much.

$2.50 for coffee. I'm going to lose my f*cking mind with this coffee thing. I know the guy that brews all this coffee. He's a great guy. The coffee is really good. But more than $1.50 for coffee (which the two ladies with us informed me is how much they charge at Michael's Bistro, which is wonderful, but doesn't serve brunch) is ridiculous. I'm at the restaraunt and I want coffee. I'm still going to get it. I'm just never going to come back.

(Overall: 1.5 of 5) By the time brunch was over, I was so horrified by the imcompitence that had just paid for, and High Five's Momento-style inability to remeber every five minutes that he had just asked us all if we wanted to sleep in an air-conditioned theatre with Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, which was playing at the beautiful and newly-renovated Paramount Theatre that I could hardly muster the strength to take my wookie-sized nap and rock the people's socks off at what everyone there was calling "the 4th of July party this year!!!!!!"

I think that's because it was still the 3rd.

Fuel is located on Avon St. next to the Wachovia next to the Avon St. Bridge
Phone: 434.220.0864

Deep Impact...hehehehe...or Wookies In Space

This July 4th, NASA's Deep Impact probe crashed into its target, the comet Tempel I, successfully completing one of the most scientifically advanced and improbable feats in the agency's recently bespeckled history. Obviously, your first question, intrepid reader, is:

Where does WookieMania stand on NASA?

Check it - I'm all for keeping space away from the private sector and slippery countries like Greece. At the current, space belongs to 'merica, which gives us patents on numerous inventions necessary for space travel that (who knew?!?) we couldn't live with here on Earth, the most obvious being freeze-dried ice cream.

The above are all excellent reasons to spend several billion dollars we don't have every year on NASA. They pale in comparison, however, to the best reason of all to send that money down to Houston: Saving the human race (again) from anihilation.

Oh, sure - we're spending all this money to shoot a probe at a comet, which (will, directly after said "probe*" takes one "picture" of said "comet", according to my calculations, vaporize the "comet", much like what happened to Alderon after the Death Star heard that said planet was overheard calling it "not a planet at all...a space station" and "prancy") happens to be "hurtling" "close" to "Earth".

Oh sure, the Illuminati is telling the nerds at mission control that they're studying the space rock, or that all they're doing is trying to hit the spaceship that runs across the top of the screen in a super advanced level of Space Invaders. Could you imagine if they told those NASA geeks that, if they f*cked up, there would be absolutely no more Star Trek, they would all die as virgins, and that they simply be moving in to afterlife apartments with their mothers? No pressure.

So remember - not only does your country love you enough to save you from certain doom, but for that part of the meager $16.2 billion they're giving NASA this year, your government employed the most brilliant rocket scientists in the world, who were given the most sophisticated computers in the world to give you the greatest fireworks display you never saw this July 4th.

America. F*ck yeah.

Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

I've been dating this guy for two years now, and we still haven't "gone all the way." I know in my heart that I love him and that we'll be together forever, but every time I try to take his pants off, he pulls them back up very fast and says, "I have an STD." What do I do?

-Sinful in Cincinatti

Dear Sinful,

Believe me - you can not catch an STD from having sex with someone. Unless you make that person wear a condom or threaten to tell that person's wife that you've been living on the bus since Raleigh.

Have a question for Trey? Send your burning questions to asktrey@gmail.com

Buckethead & Ol' Dirty Bastard

I was listening to Enter The Wu-Tang this morning and when "Shame On A Nigga" came on it made me think of only one person:

Buckethead.

Contrary to assumptions put forth the mountains of fan mail I try so desperately to read all of but sometimes can't because I have to concentrate on the ones from the really needy kids, (How needy? Tsunami-needy.) I haven't always been a semi-professional blogger and tennis champion. My most recent former employer was a online retailer for band merchandise (read: swag). What's that you ask? Were there perks? Oh yeah, there were perks - Cheap Trick wristbands, collectible Dave Matthews Band race cars, Carlos Santana votive candles - you name it.

But the best perk of all, the one that always got me really perky and helped me to feel like I was making a difference by providing an extremely small number of clinically-hardcore fans with a way to get what they really wanted - I helped run the Buckethead Store. For all of you non-Bucketheadheads out there, he's a guitar-shredder who wears a KFC bucket on his head and a mask over his face, and was most notably the guitar player on the failed G'n'R comeback tour. An excerpt from his bio speaks more about the man:

"One night, after he got to be this tall, somebody threw a bucket of fried chicken into the coop. Try as he might, Buckethead couldn't put the chicken back together again. So he put the bucket on his head, picked up his guitar and ran to the cemetery.

Buckethead was real sad but it seemed like he played guitar better than ever. All the grey people and angels in the cemetery listened to the music and it was so beautiful they just stood still and speechless. He figured the spirits of all the fried chickens he ever knew were channeling into him through the bucket, and he played until he collapsed.

Well it prob'ly won't surprise you to hear that eventually the sun came up and the rooster crowed. And some folks say Buckethead had chicken grease and barbecue sauce smeared around the mouth hole on his mask. Whatever happened that night, the bucket stayed on his head, and in the morning it was filled full of chicken bones."

Honestly, I can't stand BH's music, with the exception of.........wait........no, it's all terrible. The dub project is bad, the numerous shred projects are bad. The Viggo Mortensen stream of consciousness record is "is-that-blathering-idiot-the-famous-actor?" funny-bad, but only for about 47 seconds and then it journeys deep in to the realms of terrifying-bad. But I have always believed that music is the last true safe haven for the criminally insane, and Buckethead, and apparent safety of those around him, made me feel that was true. Meaning I was right.

I'll leave you with my favorite Buckethead moment: The day Ol' Dirty Bastard died, the front page of Bucket's website was all black and read, "Buckethead was very sadden by the death of ODB and did a tribute to ODB".

Here is that tribute.

'War of the Worlds' Is Good

Says Stephen Hunter, and not until he affirms the goodness of a movie will I pay money to see it in a theatre. Likewise, if he determines that the movie is filled with badness, Danny, it shall not be seen by these eyes. This has been the case for the past four or five years, and happily-spent my movie dollar has been.

Oh, and I heard that they added an extra scene to a sort-of blopper reel during the credits right before the movie was releases. It's apparently way at the end of the credits...so I'll spare you having to sit through them.

Vladimir Putin Gets What He Wants and Does Not Say 'здравствулте!'

Apparently, Robert Kraft, owner of your Superbowl Champion New England Patriots, got his 2005 Championship ring lifted by Russian President Vladimir Putin.

"...Kraft showed the ring to Putin — who tried it on, put it in his pocket and left..."

Just by looking at how mad ol' Vlad is at himself in the picture below, in addition to the fact that he has a black belt in judo and still has the firing codes to at least a hundred nuclear missles (which, when coupled with the fact that Russian leaders have a bad history of going crazy from syphllis, makes you wonder how safe your stadium (read: state) is after your meeting, ring or no ring) makes you probably say, to Putin's back, "That's cool, man. You keep it."

Stupid F*cking Dell...

Sorry campers...the PC swiped all my Firefoxes at once, including the one where I was telling you, the wookie, about my brunch at Rapture, and it's time for me to go.

Tomorrow, kids. Until then, the doctor prescribes another viewing of the Tom Cruise v. Matt Lauer on the Today Show video, again.

Pete on MJ

Remeber how I said that I really liked piling on? Normally I'm able to separate the actions of my heroes from the enforcement of my otherwise airtight morals.

Pete Townshend called Michael Jackson "something of an angel".

Since I know Pete's reading the 'Mania today (it is Friday, after all) I would now like to speak directly to him:

Dude...come on...you wrote Tommy. You wrote Who's Next. I know - you're the sensitive artist, but take a lesson from ol' Rog and grow a pair:

When asked asked Who bass player John Entwistle's death in 2003 - "Ask any man what he would prefer--to live to a ripe old age and die alone or to go out shagging your b-lls off with strippers in Vegas? Come on, let's be honest. It's not a death that any man should be ashamed of."

You used to be one of the most quotable figures in the history of rock and roll, and now you're going to let the stuttering pretty boy out-quote you? Buck up, old man.

Perhaps Pete doesn't have all the facts from the trial...

Holy Sh*t. Tom Cruise Is Completely Insane

Dude.

I love pile on. I really do.

Based on that, I'm having the time of my life watching this Tom Cruise interview from The Today Show.

Pull up, Maverick. Pull up, dude.

Brunch - Shebeen Better

I thought this brunch thing was getting easy.

The past two weeks have yielded a 4 of 5 (Mono Loco), and a 4.5 of 5 (Cassis). It's always nice when you find your work to be enjoyable. I do hope to maintain my relative anonymity, though I am realistic. It is rather difficult to do, what with the tallness and the fur.

This week's brunchscapdes occured at Shebeen, which is located in the corner lot of a shopping center near downtown Charlottesville. I traveled with Dr. von Slantensteiner, who was trying to recover from a night spent deciding whether to stand in the grass or the on walkway of our friend's front lawn. Having ended the evening without finding his balance, there was a tangible need for moral support. I think that I was there for him, but it's tough to tell. He's half-Indian.

We arrived and immediately sat at the bar, as we both wanted to get right to the point, and the bartendress was not unattractive. It would turn out that she had apparently traded a head of pretty blond hair and a very cute smile for the ability to hear what anyone was saying and an idea of what she was doing, but more on that later...

(Bloody: 2 of 5) Bland. Severed in a 12 - 16 oz. glass with a celery stalk and and two olives. The consistency was good but there was nothing distinct, or distinctly good, about it. There is, however, a play-doctor-with-your-bloody bar equipped with celery salts, horseradish, pepperocini, and almost any other accoutrement you could think of. This is a great idea, but I've got a better one - Make a better bloody, buddy. It's Sunday. I'm a tired little ball of fur at this point.

Water upon request.

(Benedict: 3.5 of 5) The benedict came relatively quickly and was presented wonderfully on a large plate with a piece of asparagus draped across each egg. The tarragon-hollandaise sauce was excellent, but there wasn't enough of it on the eggs, which were perfectly poached. Each was individually covered in the sauce, and there was none more, meaning the muffin didn't soak, leaving it a bit tough. Mi amigo got the Eggs Neptune, which substituted salmon for ham, and were quite delicious.

When we ordered from the above-mentioned waitress-turned-barkeep, she asked us what sides we wanted. F*ck that. See above mention of it being Sunday. Who knows if my choice of the pub potatoes where what made the beney less than a 5 of 5? Note to owner / manager: It's your restaurant. Figure out you are going to serve, call it your "menu", list it on a piece of paper, and serve it to your customers.

(Service: 3 of 5) It was the after-brunch that redeemed our little princess. Water was consistantly filled, ashtrays were emptied, and the check came promptly and without pressure. She was, at every turn, as polite as she could possibly br, but lacked experience and proper training to be a true brunchtender.

(Price: 1 of 5) $41.78 for two bloodys, two beneys (one was $2 more for salmon) and a $2.50 cup of coffee. Left $50.00 ($8.22 or 19.7%)

$10.95 for an Eggs Benedict is unacceptable. Thank god for my slowly-waning state of alertness, as $2.50 for drip coffee has certainly led to people's arms being ripped out of their sockets; wookies have been known to do that. There was nothing to munch on before the meal arrived, either. The bloody mary was only $6, but see above for its lack of spectacularness.

(Overall: 2 of 5) If you are looking for somewhere with good food, and good-enough service on a Sunday morning, Shebeen may be the place for you. Dr. S and I had planned to go to The Omni, but we were told brunch was over, and looked like a buffet, anyways. Buffets tend to upset wookies. Wookies then tend to upset buffets.

If you missed my first brunch review, please, don't think that the author would rather trash a sh*tty brunch than recommend a great one. I love brunch - but I am willing to sacrifice, so that you, gentle reader, might have better brunch in the days ahead.

The one thing that could have saved Shebeen from all of the above is a former member of None of The Above, my father, SuperKing of All Wookies. While the tremendous value that I find in eating out on a Sunday morning may seem foreign to him, I hope that he sees himself in every well-turned phrase I use to describe it.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Next year, let's do brunch.

Sheeben South African Pub & Braai is located in the Vinegar Hill Shopping Center. (Click here for directions)
Phone: 434.296.3185
Website: www.shebeenpub.com

King of All Wookies vs. Head Honcho Hippie

So - Bob Lefsetz is a former entertainment industry lawyer and the author of The Lefsetz Letter. Should you follow the above link want to receive the letter, you will be sent a (sometimes twice) daily rant about / insider's look at the current state of the music industry. From Celebrity Access:

Bob Lefsetz, Santa Monica-based industry legend, is the author of the e-mail newsletter, "The Lefsetz Letter". Famous for being beholden to no one, and speaking the truth, Lefsetz addresses the issues that are at the core of the music business: downloading, copy protection, pricing and the music itself.

His intense brilliance captivates readers from Steven Tyler to Rick Nielsen to Bryan Adams to Quincy Jones to music business honchos like Michael Rapino, Randy Phillips, Don Ienner, Cliff Burnstein, Irving Azoff and Tom Freston.

I don't know about all of that fawning, unless "intense brilliance" is code for "ability and willingness to use UPPERCASE letters as his ONLY means of EMPHASIS.

I get the letter and read almost every one I get. Friday of last week, this little gem popped up in a letter about The Mars Volta.

"Fans want to be touched, fans want to be moved. And no
band (The Mars Volta) has reached its fans like this since...maybe the Grateful Dead.

"Oh, don't talk to me about Phish. Don't talk to me about the Dave Matthews Band. Those are frat rock bands. They're made for people wearing Timberlands, for people with money, having one last hurrah on Daddy's money before they've got to enter the real world. They don't have that one key element of rock and roll. Darkness." (Read the entire letter here)

What kind of monarch would I be if I didn't take personal offense to that statement? How could I peer through tufts of hair at myself in the mirror with anything but disgrace if I didn't stick up for my subjects? The King of All Wookies does not take being compared to a fan of The Dave Matthews Band by a bald hippie lying down*.

"...generalizing the Phish fanbase (incorrectly) has always been people's favorite way to come after them. Of course a good deal of the kids out there are on break from college, and dad's Amex is putting gas in the Grand Cherokee, there are far more wookies (the patchwork hippies) and young-corporate-types who, after spending thirteen of a possible fourty-five hours a week at the office emailing and reading message boards, could manage to turn two days off anda weekend into five nights of music." ( Read all responses here)

Yo, Bob - You ain't never been to Deer Creek, don't ever come to Deer Creek.


*The entire response was featured in a list-only email, and does not appear on the Lefsetz Archive Page.

The Future of (Newgrass) Music

Will be appearing in Charlottesville tonight (Friday, 6.17) at Starr Hill Music Hall.

Old School Freight Train has been around as long as I've been in town, and they've always been the serious ones, the ones that took their music REAL seriously, the ones who stuck it out through a couple personnel changes and dry spells with gigs, and have come out ready and firing. They're all smokin' hot pickers, but amongst them, the banjo-ist Ben Krakauer will blow your mind the furthest from your shoulders.

Between them and King Wilkie we've got some of the best new and old bluegrass in the country.

They're fresh off touring with David Grisman and doing an album with his label, Acoustic Disc Records. Check it out:

I always knew Santa Claus was a Jewish hippie. See you at the Hill, wookie!

Pavilion Update in Pictures

For all of my hemming and hawing about the Charlottesville Pavilion, and its seemingly impossible-to-meet construction deadlines, I've yet to show you what a disaster the site is.

No more:



(Thanks to The HooK for the picture, click on the link for their latest story on the gigantic hole in the ground.)

The Future of Music

Well, at least as seen through the eyes of Sysop and Ted Dancing, is Pants, Pants, Pants.

"Their unending list of exploits include a man- sized otter reciting spoken word, vocal parts cell phoned in from a singer in the audience, and a cover of the video for "Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm" by Canada's beloved Crash Test Dummies."

Click on the "media" link at the bottom of their site, and you can sample four tunes off their brand new CD - Pop Songs to Make Us Famous.

Play "Squeeze It" and you will dance.

Play"Hovercraft Traffic Music" and you will remember an old friend, his younger sister, and why you haven't talked to your friend in a while.

Play "Dance" and you will squeeze it.

See your future. Be your future.

\/\/ WELCOME TO THE BRAND NEW AND VASTLY IMPROVED WOOKIEMANIA \/\/

You're home now.

Pavilion Update: Interview with Man Working Construction for The Charlottesville Pavilion

Intrepid Wookie Reporter: "Say man, off the record, is this thing gonna be done by July 30th?"

Anonymous Construction Worker: "Sh*t nah, man. They still gotta (points) put that thing up an..........sh*t nah, man. Ain't no f*ckin' way."

IWR: "Thanks."

The Golden Ticket or Episode III - Redemption of the Graham'd

"If revenge is a dish best served cold, I've got to know, Martha: How long should I leave my redemption in the oven?"

Well, first you must remember that things happen for a reason. Things like betrayal at the hands of a former drummer who smeared your colorful narrative all over the pages of a once-struggling local weekly newspaper. That article turned out to be a big hit and helped improve circulation for the paper.

My ire over that incident, until now manifesting itself as a poorly-told story with watermelon-sized holes, has become "a taught, well-cited must-read for the 2005 summer blockbuster season"- USA TODAY. It also made me read and re-read the article that James Graham wrote three years ago, and it's really good. This wookie would like to write like that some day.

I also got a chance this morning to shake Brian Fox's hand as his first customer at his new store. This meant a good deal to me, as I always thought of Brian as an excellent boss to all of his employees, and I don't think that sentiment came across in The Hook in 2002. Bodo's is a fantastic place to eat and to work, and I am still close with a good deal of the staff to this day, becuase of that.

As I was leaving, I looked for my camp-out gear, which Brian told me was out back. Next to the trash. Where he had put it. We got a good picture together for the paper. We even answered a couple questions. Together.

So, now, I will bury the phrase.

After saying it one last time.

F*ck you, James Graham.

THE END

Congratulations to Brian Fox and everyone at the Corner Bodo's. Except for those chump-assed members of the staff who await a most vengeful and purient demolishment this fall in Football Frenzy IV.

Here it is, wookies. My proof.

I'm #1

Yes, ladies and gentlemen...it is The King of All Wookies, the good Doctor himself, that possesses the ticket from the first order ever at the Corner Bodo's.

I will shortly post the #1 ticket, from 7:01AM. I may save one or two of the two dozen bagels, you know, to throw at cars, but the rest are a feast that I invite all to attend.

The hole story will also be posted later in the day, but I have selected an excerpt from the memoir that I am especially pleased with:

"F*ck you, James Graham."

Late-night Lindsay Lohan

So, I guess the editors of Elle Magazine don't read The Superficial...

I do. Every day.

And I saw the Elle cover in a convenience store. Buying lighter fluid and whole milk. Got it?


(Thanks to SuperiorPics for the cover image.)

Welcome Back, Little Piggy

Having recovered from whatever seriously debilitating condition it was that kept him from putting finger to keyboard, it looks like PigJamboree is back to somewhat-regular posting.

Look for excellent reviews of mediocre wine and check the archives for some of the funniest leading-up-to-the-election writing that is now very sad.

Bodo's. Corner. Open. Tomorrow.

You had better sure as sh*t believe that I'm gonna try to be the first one in there, too.

And you know what I'm gonna say as I bite down into that #1 bagel?

(You do, don't you, faithful reader. You know that I'm gonna say:)

"F*ck you , James Graham."

Be there to witness it at 7:00AM on Wednesday, June 15th.

Michael Jackson

I just thought that we should take a look at some King of Pop pictures that have been sent to me today.

Together. With some Jesus juice.

Your boss won't mind. Tell him / her that it's like the day after the OJ verdict when you went home and cut your ex-wife's head off.

WARNING!!!!!!: The second of the two images contains profanity.

And while we're talking about the 2nd one, don't you think that Mike could have found a "No fat chicks" sign and, you know, changed the "chicks" to "8 year-old boys"?

OK. The first is a shot of Jacko and "Blanket" where the formerly accused is being told the joke, "What's the best thing about having sex with an eight year-old girl in the shower?"

A Haiku for Sprint

After all these years
I'm done trying to escape.
I am free of you.

Ladies and gentlewooks: I am proud to announce the new official wireless carrier of WookieMania is Cingular Wireless.

Best part: Wookie ringtone.

Rock, Paper, Saddam!

I saw this awhile ago, but the new video of Saddam's testimony made me think of it again.

Rock, Paper, Saddam!

Tiger Claw!

Brunch - Cassis de Resistance

I didn't think that it would get tough this early...I was excited that I would be travelling instead of stagnant, hopefully inspiring others to join me. My quest to find (for the benefit of my faithful readers) the best brunch possible was a noble quest that would compel the faithful along with me in venturing to new lands, seeking out new experiences.

Man, was I f*cking wrong.

One person agreed to brunch with me on Saturday night, and upon approach of the agreed-upon destination, I spied the turncoat sitting at last week's review, giving me a sheepish look.

Traitor: (Looking at friend)"See, I told you the wookie was going to be mad..."

They insisted I join them. I could have. They are wonderful company, and last week's brunch was a very nice experience. But then I thought of you. The reader. It's your hard-earned money must be best-spent on only the finest brunches. I set a mandate that this blog be the brunch-Zagat's of Charlottesville and I wasn't going to let a couple sirens convince me otherwise.

I went to Cassis. As planned.

Located on Water St. near the Downtown Mall, Cassis is primarily a wine bar / bistro with what I have been told is excellent Fren...excuse me, Freedom-Food. The brunch menu was posted on the door, and if I looked at brunch menus past scanning them for the benedict, I would have been impressed.

I was sat by a fantastically nice hostess, who let me know that I had the entire dining room to me lonesome. I told her, upon being seated, that I didn't need a menu, just the bloody and the beney. She returned a moment later to let me know about the "special bloody"...

(Bloody: SPECIAL HOLY GOOD CHRIST IN F*CKING HEAVEN, WHAT NOBEL PRIZE WINNER THOUGHT OF THIS!!! AWARD - 6 of F*CKING 6) Ladies and gentlemen, I have seen what is good. It comes in a pint glass with a full celery stalk, loads of horseradish, a lemon (not a lime - for bonus points, my god) and the kicker: two skewered jumbo shrimp with two pieces of Smithfield ham between them. The whole thing must have weighed two pounds, and it made me want to work harder during the week so I feel like I deserve something like it on the weekend. Perfect acidity balance, spice, sediment, and booze.

Also, I was served water upon sitting down. I can not stress the difference this makes in a dining experience. Especially a brunching experience. AND, I don't know why, but I decided against a cup of french-pressed coffee. This place rules the beverage world with an iron fist.

(Benedict: 3 of 5) When my bloo....I'm sorry, I just passed out thinking about the blooooo....Okay. Consciouness regained, icepack applied. I'll continue.

I was served challah with butter when my "beverage" arrived. The bread, along with the water at the table, is so overlooked at most places, and it makes all the difference. A couple of slices in, my eggs arrived. Now - it may not be fair to call it Eggs Benedict, the restaurant didn't use that nomenclature, because they were served on biscuits with, again, Smithfield Ham, and two adorable little jars of jelly that I didn't touch. Because they were adorable. My doctor told me I should stay away from things like that as to maintain my already septic levels of adorability.

The eggs were poached perfectly and the hollandaise had just enough lemon in it, which is something you're not likely to find very often. The biscuits and the ham, were a little tough, and a tougher knife probably should have been employed. I felt like there was simply more matter on the plate than neccessary, and that the kitchen, in preparing it as such, was challenging me to digest it all. (Editor's Note: The menu commands "No substitutions, please" for all to read, which is a credit to the management. This makes the life of the server and the kitchen employee ten million times easier, and reduces the number of whiners at the tables. Whiners not including amatuer-hack food critics who just want a f*cking English muffin...) With company, I'm sure the biscuits would have disappeared, and the excess hollandaise would have as well.

(Service: 5 of 5)

• My water was always full.
• My plate was gone before the check arrived. Before it did, the harlots arrived (sweaty, I might add) and when they sat down, they were immediately asked if they wanted water.
• When the check did arrive, my compatriots and I were told to take our time, there was no rush.
  
• At every encounter, my waitress smiled.

These are all simple things, and they make all the difference in a dining experience.

(Price: 5 of 5) $22.58US for a bloody and a beney. For a swanky place, a $9 bendict is hard to come by. The bloody was $12, with Stoli, and it was worth every penny. Left $28 (exactly 24%, - Thanks, Mrs. Race - 5th grade math teacher)

(Overall: 4.5 of 5) Remember, folks: we're rating the bloody mary / eggs benedict dining experience here, and even with the Kingdom of Heaven bloody mary and the exemplary service, the beney just wasn't good enough to warrant a five. However, the harpies told me that the rest of the menu looked awesome, and that they were (surprise) going to eat there next week.

Meaning...I am again alone in my travels. Although I don't terribly enjoy spending my Sunday morn-afternoon engrossed in an article about a methadone clinic, I have to wonder if sometimes you get good service becuase the folks feel sorry for you. Then again, people do know better than to give bad service to a wookie, methinks...

Cassis is located on Water St. in Downtown Charlottesville, across from the Charlottesville Ice Park
Phone: (434) 979-0188