Hit Me With Your Best Shit
We‘ve been busy over here reenacting Fiona Apple’s “Criminal” video. The stripping part was easy, but get real with us, coke monsters: There isn’t enough eyeliner in the world. So what if our weekend isn’t gonna beat Fire Crotch Lohan’s, we certainly gave it our best tequila shots. Fire away.
This Shit Is Plantains!
It really was bananas on Thursday at Palare and Gwen “The Good Witch” Stefani‘s takeover at the Tweeter. We think Gwen’s next single should be about vinaigrette or something that’s tricky to spell that would benefit third-graders everywhere.
You know we were freaking up Making Time like the Style Council if they were a real style council and not just a band. Our scan: High-tops? Check. Romper? You do, chick. Muscle tee? Dig. So we get to the door guy and play twenty questions.
“Are you here for Making Time?”
Uh, yes, some of us are straight. Thank you for pointing that out.
And the rest of you-Conrad, members of Pure, the gay-fabulous?
“Sigh. Just so you know, it’s Making Time tonight,” warns Mr. Door with a long-suffering look.
And we think just about all of you passed with flying colors. Except for the tall people upstairs who blocked out our view of the Faint. You’re lucky they don’t have segregation laws against you people still. According to that Harry Potter book we borrowed from Jayson Musson the other day, freaks like you get to be groundskeepers at wizard schools only if you’re friends with the headmaster. Watch yoselves.
[Photos: Lexie Lerro]
We rode the yellow mooncalf unicorn home and got ready for the next order of business: BBQ THROWDOWN. The summertime barbecue is truly one of our most beloved and mysterious friends during the humid months. Seems like just about everyone was settin’ off the charcoal this MemDay, so we broke down the cook-offs in this handy guide to the hottest grill-hangs.
The VBBQ Club: Usually held at Liberty Lands Park or on Lexie’s deck. Includes various faux items for grilling, plus the occasional stray turkey burger for weird omni friends. Has a sexy vibe because veg kids are more in tune with their dance moves and practice Italo Yoga in the kitchen. You may see strange things like certain guests dipping their gardenburgers sans buns in guacamole as though they were chips. It’s all about protein awareness, cuddling, and Frito Pie appreciation.
The Bike Punk BBQ: Lots of dirty carriers of the punk flame with tattoos. Will most likely turn into a “skid” contest where they compete to see who can leave the longest skid mark on the road. The beer will outnumber the food and be of poor quality. We’re gonna say there is usually 12 beers for every 1 burger. Or a High Life keg per person. Don’t not wear a t-shirt.
The Block Party BBQ: Drinks in red Solo cups. Someone will make a 30-layer dip that will convince you to stay even though you know you’re sweating off scene points by the second. You won’t know anyone except your friend’s uncle’s girlfriend who lives there or you’ll know everyone. Nobody will be able to identify where the music is coming from. Little girls will be running around in bathing suits. Expect open gambling in the street between barefoot men.
Is that Erik Bader? After holdin’ it down on Saturday at Lexie & Kate’s Jim Jam BBQ Slam, we passed the barbekeys to Conrad on Sunday. The beerbecue rager at Jason and Louisa’s house set new standards for the experience. It had all of the “eers”: beer, cheer, jeers. Oh, and not to mention stuffed tigers, Hall and Oates, sweaty dancing people, more beer, telling a stranger things that are really too personal, Wild Turkey, trips to get more beer, and if you’re doing things right, damn good foodstuffs. Set with all of the above and even more shit that will only be revealed when photos surface, The night ended up with a mass migration to the Khyber for Destroy Your Liver, which quite honestly, most of us had already done. And weren’t we shocked to realize that Destroy had turned into Glam Nightclub 2. Old City folk love $10 all-you-can drinks. But if you bring enough people to a shitty DJ night, fun can be had. Do remember, a good BBQ should start with burgers, climax with peeing on the bar at the Khyber (that’s what happens when the bathroom/c-room line gets too long), and need always end with dirty-fucked-up shoes. Period.
If you were like “Knock it off, rain” on Sunday night, you ended up at Key West for a last minute Memorial Day bash with Jhn Rdn, Diamond Girl, Kyle Miller, and Thom from Broadzilla. Because a lot of you are pussies, the turn-out wasn’t huge. But we’re gonna issue some rain checks and hope that the noise we hear about a possible monthly dance party with two of the above four deejays at Key West gets louder. Be on the flyer watch. Or you know, listen to us and we’ll take care of you.
Which reminds us, Cantina, we wanna grow old with you. You’re turning one today and even though the Royal was our first-born, we kinda love you more. At some point tonight, you’re going to make us proud with an hour of free drinks, and complimentary cake and ice cream. You’re like the perfect child. If anyone tries to molest you, we will fuck them up with the sharpest nacho we can find.
[Photo: Adam Jessamine]
Letters! We Write Letters!
Dear Vice,
You wanna use K-Thoms photo of the A-Sides? Of course you do, her snaps are incredi. But throw her some cash, some recognition, a what’s-up-miss-we’d-like-to-steal-your-work? She’s a lot nicer than we are. So even though we’re not a global mag, we’re gonna try to properly recognize you folks.
What Would Bader Do
Erik Bader’s great return to Philadelphia lasted all of six days before he hightailed it back to reasons we will never understand that exist in Portland/Not Philly. But whilst in town, we gathered his thoughts and invited him to our ‘cues, promising him fountains of internet fame and lager. It is during this time that we learned just what Bader would do…
If Clockcleaner dissed you in Vice?
Clockcleaner like me. Sharkey was going to do a column for the Daily Miltonian where he’d call out people he hated and invite them to come fight him. We were going to call it “Jump the Sharkey.”
If Hershey Park wanted you to host campfire story night with open fire s’mores from 10-11?
It’s a little far from my current apartment. I do, however, tell one helluva ghost story. Boo.
Catch Bader live at Daily Miltonian.
Scene Points
The Khyber
We heard about your little flood incident/oh-look-at-me slip on Saturday during Philadelphyinz. You think we don’t pay enough attention to you? That we focus on Sal’s because they’re the screw-up, wild child in our household? Listen, clubmuffin, lately we haven’t been talking about you because you’re doing well. You’ll never be gorgeous, but we’ve grown to accept you and your desperate bathroom situation. Please set a good example and release your frustration through another outlet. That is all. We still want to grace your floors, honeypie. There, there.
Confessions On The Dancefloor
“At Pig N Steak, you can get pig and steak.”
TrendFucking
Broken Cell Phones
So, yeah, all of the real chill folks have busted cellies. The weirdo thing about it is that they feel the need to billboard this information to us, even if their piece is functional and just has a couple of minor dings or a cracked what-have-youze. “Yeah, my phone is brokedddd ta shit, dawg. Call me.” Whatever do you wait for? Throw that thang at your publicist, and no regrets: A dead cell is just an iPhone waiting to happen.
Self-Birthday Promotion
How come, when it’s your birthday, you have to post a bulletin every five minutes trying to get people to come to your party? We get it, you’re SPECIAL. But if enough people really like you, you won’t even have to say anything. If they forget, they’ll just feel bad and buy you lots of drinks. If nobody notices, then you kinda know where you stand, but hey, go get yourself those new shoes. Maybe they’ll notice that. This is where we’re supposed to go, SAYINNNN.
