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

Conflict of Interest

1. I hate major-label movie soundtrack remakes of old songs that were good and now might as well have be featured in used car commercials.
2. I hate every product of the teen pop diva era, especially now that people are sick of their auto-tuned Swedish electronic drivel and they can do what they've wanted to do all along: Be truck-stop strippers.
   
3. I hate fake breasts. Seriously. I hate the stretched skin in between them. I hate the clear distinction between them and all other matter around them. I hate how they turn the breasts into two completely separate entities, when it the togetherness of the two that truly give them their power (yeah, I'm looking at you, Johnny-Boy...)
   

Taking all of the above into account, I should hate this brand new video from the upcoming Dukes of Hazard movie. (Thanks, Super.)

I don't.

Have a good weekend.

Mine will be spent reconciling my values with who I really am.

Update on the Charlottesville Pavilion

Based on this picture, taken today at 3:00PM, I'd say that things at the Pavilion construction site are going swimmingly.

Take a bath, Loretta!

__________________________________

That link doesn't work, but here's the picture. From Tuesday. F*ck.

Wookies In (Cyber)Space

The Chairman of The Blogosphere, Mr. Andrew Sullivan has recognized The Passed Out Wookie Delegation.

(Thanks, Dr. Chiachensbergersdorfstein for the hat tip, introducing me to the phrase "hat tip", and then explaining that it wasn't tipping someone $3.)

Mr. Sullivan, should your deep-seeded desire to know the wookies - to understand them - have led you here, I will pass on a piece of advice:

Stay away from the String Cheese wookies, for they are covered in Hepatitis-A.

Congratulations passedoutwookies.com!!! Grilled cheese, goo-balls, and a fist full of ballons for everyone!!! (OK, not you, Brooks, but everyone else!)

A Haiku For He Who Could Become the Greatest Free Safety In The History of Professional Football

Come back Sean Taylor,
I won't survive another
Six and ten season.

Ladies and Gentlemen (Waiting At the Beer Tent), We Are Cannonball Coming!!!!

Yes, wooksters and wookettes - Cannonball Coming - the greatest band ever to be named after a Caddyshack reference, will be playing on the sidestage at Nissan Pavilion at Stone Ridge on July 30th in support of Widespread Panic.

Now - let me be very clear here: I have, in the past, been known to say not terribly nice things about bands. I'm not saying that Panic was ever one of them, but just to be clear: From this day forward, I confidently pronounce that Widespread is the only truly great band out on the road today, and that we will rock our little hearts out to all of the people who are way early getting in to the show and are going to get a quick piss in before the show starts.

Cannonball Coming is back (again) and is going to rock so hard that, well, let's just say I'd recommend two pairs of socks and some tightly-tied shoes.

Check back for updates, kiddies.

Charlottesville Pavilion Countdown (Part II)

There is now a third act to be confirmed for the still-nothing-more-than-a-hole-in-the-ground Charlottesville Pavilion: Bob Weir's RatDog on August 7th.

Yes, for all you folks who think that "Bobby Fans Are People, Too" bumper stickers aren't funny (they are) your favorite short shorts-wearing sidekick to the stars will be trying to play a really gay "Dancin' In The Street" at the brand new pavilion.

That is, if it's not one big pile of dirt. Let's look at the scoreboard:

• Loretta Lynn - 54 days
• Bruce Hornsby - 76 days
  
• RatDog - 62 days (just added!!!)

Good luck, Captain!

Brunch - Trio Loco

To eat inside or outside? This pretty big quesiton looms weekly as we enter the summertime brunch season, which I decided to start at Mono Loco. Both Friday and Saturday evenings had been action-packed, so it was with short tempers and extremely empty stomachs that my party arrived around 1:45 and chose the air-conditioned inside to the umbrella-protected patio.

(Bloodys: 3 of 5) NOTE: Saying that you don't have Stolichnaya is akin to pissing into a customer's ear. This being said, brunch was not off to a good start. Water was poured immediately. Pro.

Arriving in a pint glass with a gigantic celery stalk, the presentation was right on. The menu promised a special mix of "tomato juice and chili sauce" but fell short with a rather bland concoction that was way heavy on the pepper. So heavy that I had to reposition my straw several times to unclog the mess. The addition of a lemon wedge definitely improved the mix. Could have used more Worcestershire and a bit more horseradish.

(Eggs Benedict: NA / Food: 4.5 of 5) The only thing holding me back from giving a perfect score here is the lack of benedict. I mean, jesus titty f*cking christ...this isn't Afghanistan. I don't care what sort of "thing" you're going for at your place (Mono Loco is doing...um...Cuban?), you have poached eggs, you have hollandaise, and you have english muffins. It's called Sunday. You just do it.

This being said, my meal was EXCELLENT. The head chef sent out a plate of fried oysters on the half shell. One a piece - just enough fried food to get the stomach ready to really eat. The food couldn't have taken more than 10 minutes to get to us, and when it did...I had the shrimp and chili-powder biscuits. Just enough spice (no heartburn for the remainder of the day) in the sauce and the biscuits themselves. Now this was a clever way to separate yourself from the fray. Take a classic and turn it on it's head (see above).

(Desert: N/A) Let's just officially discontinue this.

(Service: 4 of 5) Our waiter was prompt and his work was augmented by two other waitresses. Our food was taken as soon as we finished and not a moment before. No pressure at any time, we lounged until 3:15 and were never made to feel unwelcome. The bartender was extremely friendly and helpful in my search for lemons.

Why not a 5, then? Because the two waitresses were gorgeous and we got stuck with the dude. You just gotta plan better. Gotta.

(Price: 3.5 of 5) $78US for 6 bloodys and three entrees. $8 is excessive for a bloody mary, but the food was right on. Actually left less than 20%, only because the wallet is runnin' a little close to E these days, folks. If the waiter / waitresses from the Loco ever read this - I know it doesn't mean sh*t, but I should have left more. I'm sorry. (On to step 10, right George?)

(Overall: 4 of 5) Within moments of arriving, the music was too loud, we were told there was no Stoli, and we didn't see Benedict on the menu. Things looked real bad. I was with a wookie who is on record as being unafraid to scoot on a brunch, belive me. However, all of the above began to settle in, half of the Nocturnal Transmissions rolled in, and a wonderful brunch began. As the staff is mostly new, Chewbakka say: Congratulations on a fine turnaround.

Mono Loco is located on the corner of Water St. and First St. in Downtown Charlottesville.
Phone: (434) 979-0688

James Graham Must Die v1.02

When my real name is Google'd, this article appears.

If the world were a fair and decent place (like Denmark) this, or something like it, would appear when you Google the name "James Graham".

In yesterday's post I mentioned the opening of the Corner Bodo's. Doing this unearthed an un-identifiable and terrible rage and anger within my soul. Soon, I realized that it was the memory of being sold out in the article posted above.

Back in 2002, I was a young man in the midst of training to become a bagel-master. Cream cheese was carefully applied. Every effort was made to assure a safe and even slice through the heart of the bagel. Starving college students were brought bagels to augment their brain-power diets of Ramen noodles and whipped cream cartridges. I was using the forces of good to leven the spirit of my community.

During my training, I was approached by a "friend" calling himself a "jouranlist." He was working for a struggling alerternative to the alternative weekly and he had an idea. An old adage, he told me, was that when distribution was down, an article on bagels and those who made them was a sure-fire stabilizer. Being a lover of my community and the freedom of the press, I agreed to be interviewed on all topics Bodo's.

Several days later James Graham appeared at my apartment with a tape recorder and a six-pack of beer. Deep into a mid-afternoon viewing of the original Shaft, I welcomed him in and the interview began. I answered questions ranging from "What's your favorite part of the job?" to the inevitable, "When will the Corner Bodo's open?" The interview ended shortly thereafter, and I went back to the blaxploitation calssic.

In the time between the interview and its eventual publishing, things grew dark. I was unable to smile as wide as I had for the previous year and a half. I could hardly eat a cup of soup and two bagels for lunch and sometimes dinner as well. A pall had been cast upon me, and I was unsure of its origin. One morning, instead of rising with the sun to bring the bagels to the people, I simply stayed in bed, waking restlessly several times to peek through my blinds at the day that would see the demise of my bagel knight-hood.

What had befallen me? How had a once loyal servant to the bagel-addled become so jaded as to deny them service? It soon dawned upon me that, perhaps, all was not well with Mr. Graham. Calls were not returned, emails were left unreplied-to. Was the developing pain in my neck the result of a voodoo pen molesting my word DNA and depositing the remains filthily on the page?

Yes. Yes, it was.

On the day I first returned since my dethronement to the bagelry, I walked in to a sea of weekly newspapers with bagels on the cover. This wasn't good. Picking one up from a co-worker I glanced at a page and saw:

"We're brainless helper monkeys. Just walking back and forth... 'Ooh, there's a ticket. Ooh, there's a bagel.'"

Funny how quotes are shortened to titilate, no? My answers to the interview questions, which oozed of devotion and profound respect, had been destroyed like whales and minks - the poacher taking only what he needed, and, unable to use the rest of the animal, discarding the majority of the great beast's remains. Apparently, my noble portrayal of the restaurant and those who ran it would do little to boost readership.

Pieces of them would look like the prettiest titties you've ever seen.

Graham denied my accusations of fraud, saying the tapes didn't lie and that he merely delved into the world of journalistic privelege when quoting me. He soon turned tail and left our peaceful hamlet for the tiny burrough of Williamsburg, evidently fearful of the legion of outraged citizens zeroing in on his location.

The moral of the story, folks: When you eat your delicious bagel from the new Bodo's on the Corner in only a couple more weeks, say this as you take your first bite:

"Fuck you, James Graham."

PS - He used to totally hit on my mom, too.

I Wonder What Type of Shot You Use to Take a Pig Out of the Air? or James Graham Must Die

Apparently, the Corner Bodo's is going to open.

I think that's f*cking great.

For those of you who have to dial a (434) before hollerin', Bodo's is a locally-owned bagel store with two locations in Charlottesville. They serve sandwiches or traditional bagels by the dozen with about as many cream cheeses to match (don't sleep on the olive CC on a salt bagel, son.)

The Corner has been helping Wahoo students get obliterated drunk (bless you, Google, for finding that link) for almost a century. There's been a "COMING SOON" sign on the Corner Bodo's window for as long as I've been here, and most people would probably tell you the same thing.

When the Corner Bodo's opens it will be a mob scene, a smashing success, and in direct contradiciton with my view of the future. You see, the very same publication that broke the Bodo's story once employed a cock-sucker named James Graham. (click here for a picture)

Ooops...outta time kids. But if you want some slander and libel, come back to tomrrow.

Believe me. You don't want to upset a wookie.

Wedding Brunch - Sort Of

NOTE: Although he denies it, Father of King of All Wookies was overheard at a certain wedding reception last weekend mentioning this site, by name, to a guest. Thusly I can not go into great detail on the ceremony or anything following it. I know - you can't let your parents run your life. But, come on...Do you have any idea how long it took me to become Dr. Chewbakka?!? (If you really want to know, ask the dude I live with. He's 30 and his parents are still paying for him to go to grad school.) I also run the risk of getting nothing for Christmas for the rest of my life.

So, to that end, I will simply post a picture of the one-man-band wedding singer whose rendition of "Old Time Rock and Roll" made my suit vomit.

Except he was wearing a tux.

Why Now, Deep Throat?

Could W. Mark Felt's admission have anything to do with the "anonynous source" scandal at Newsweek?

Probably not, but it is funny to see the most famous anonymous source of the 20th Century, who did his tattling to Washington Post reporters Woodward & Bernstein, reveal himself as a credile witness to wrongdoing only weeks after the Gitmo allegations had to be retracted because an anonymous source backed off the story.

Especially considering Newsweek is owned by whom?

The Washington Post Company.