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