Blogging Beers and Other Assorted Oddities: Be Amazed!

Ahhhhh… Köstritzer Schwarzbier… Delicious.  I do indeed enjoy a fine German black lager.  I did not know this about myself until my honeymoon in October of last year.  You will be familiar with the fact that I dig Einbecker Schwarzbier and I do; but Gangsta Vicki discovered Köstritzer Schwarzbier and I must say that it is also quite good–though, much easier to find over in my hood than Einbecker.

Alas, this blog is not about beer–or at least, not a certain brand of beer.  Nay, this blog is about how beer is used; specifically by yer ole buddy Jas.  Don’t get excited… I imbibe it orally the same as you.  I’m not going to tell you that I delicately dip my delicate-bits into a dipper of the dark liquid delicately or anything like that… Nope, I do not get perverse with my beer; but hey!  If you wanna dunk your nuggets in your beer, then more frigging power to you, Brosephus!  I’m not here to judge or even to listen to you tell me about it; so do us both a favor and keep your hops-saturated bean bag on the low-low, ya heard?

Moving right on and forgetting what you just told me about yourself (don’t worry, your secret is safe on the internet… no one ever thinks to look there) let’s get back to my original paragraph… I mentioned that I was not aware that I enjoyed a nice German schwarzbier (as opposed to a nice Hungarian schwarzbier or an even nicer Zulian schwarzbier, amirite?).  As I came to this realization that I had made a realization, I realized that you don’t know a lot about me other than if you already know some shit about me–WHO FUCKING TOLD YOU?!!!!

Ahem…

Thus, I figured it’s high time and a good year for me to reveal some things about me and I also couldn’t think of anything else to blog about.  Therefore, this is going to be a nice random ass blog about whatever the hell I want to write about as I chill out and get some relaxation time.  Why do I need to chill?  Well, today is 6-24-11 and yesterday I had my first band rehearsal with my band mates Ken and Q (blog dedicated about them coming soon–rated R for graphic war images and some language) and it went very very well.  We play great together and the show is shaping up to be really tight.  I’m stoked for all of you to hear it and we’ll get to that too; but for now, I’m a tad on the tired side.

I’ve been in the studio every weekend for most of this month and I was doing band auditions and krav maga as many times a week as my musculature and skeletal system would allow every other day than the weekend and never mind the independent practice and writing of new music and business demands AND a day job; so yeah… I’m fucking tired, boss.  BUT, I’m tired in a GOOD way; so it’s not to complain, it’s just a nice half day off work and a few blogging beers is just what the doctor ordered.  (Vicki and I were going to go to a party; but that got cancelled so I just kept the half day off and figured what the hell, mayne?!  Lez gets us some dayam brewskis, dawg! –I often talk to myself in that manner)

And just like that!  We’re back on topic!  Blogging beers… Some of you have asked, “Jas, my good fellow, what exactly is it with the blogging beers?”  (precisely none of you asked in such a lovely or proper manner and exactly none of you gets the celebratory twinkie)  Well, my Dear Reader and intrepid bored-at-work, blog-perusing Person, a blogging beer is just as it sounds… A beer one enjoys whilst blogging.  I am a particular fan.  I also enjoy blogging wine.  Some of my favorite wines are I Love My Goat from Bully Hill Vineyards, Louis Jadot Pinot Noir and Louis Jadot Beaujolais-Villages and I like this box wine called Pinot Evil (a nice one, by the way–great packaging, check it out!)  That’s it, no real big deal behind it… Just beer/wine I use to get me in the sort of mode that is more favorable to making random ass Cthulhu references and utterly untrue (I’m only saying that so she doesn’t actually shoot me) statements about my wife being gangsta.

It’s a fine line, really… Too much blogging beer or wine and it’s “That’s it!  I’m done!  Time to play Warcraft!”  Too little and I worry whether I’ve said something I shouldn’t or offended someone… Yes, believe it or not, I don’t just spout random shit without wondering if I’ve said something I ought not to have said.  But let’s be realistic… Art with no apologies is FAR superior to micro-managed, sanitized art.  Sure, sure… Having some asshole standing over your shoulder critiquing your work does in some cases make for amazing art (see the entire Italian Renaissance in every form of creative output available to them); those poor bastards not only had the aforementioned asshole over their shoulder but also ran the risk of being fucking KILLED for saying something “naughty.”

I, thank Hephaestus, am not bound by these worries–but I also don’t wish to honestly make someone truly angry or offended without them realizing that this is a satirical blog and an overflow valve for pent up or unused creative outpouring.  It’s not meant to be taken as sacrosanct or even seriously for that matter!  It’s meant to be something that you can read at work while daydreaming about all the “3 cactus, one anus” you’ll be watching later–I mean, heaven frigging forbid you actually do some damn work, you lazy prick!

So let’s get to some random shit, shall we..?

I keep making references to “2 girls, 1 cup” but here’s a bit of a truth nugget for you:  I have never seen it.  I know all about it.  I spend a lot of damn time on this fucking world wide webbernet, let me tell you–I kind of HAVE to, I’m a musician, remember?  Even though it’s getting back to the ability to stand in a room and really be able to play your instrument and sing (which I must admit I do particularly well, you should come see me if I’m in your town!  wink)  there’s still the fact that all clubs demand an internet presence and you have to show some sort of digital following to be able to put on an analog show.    I know, interesting, yeah?  But let’s talk about deviant porn again…

Yep, never seen that fucker.  If I am not mistaken, it’s two chicks and they puke and shit and eat it and all that, right?  It’s rhetorical–I don’t need a play by play, I get the gist.  Would I have ever watched it?  Sure, probably… I distinctively remember a dude in college obsessed–yes, dude was fucking OBSESSED–with a video of a woman performing fellatio on a horse.  He must have showed everyone he knew, multiple times.  It got to the point that even the most sex-starved and perverted of the dudes we knew (we’re talking HARD UP here, folks) were like, “dude, I’ve fucking seen it, alright..?”  Point is, I watched it.  I remember feeling particularly bad for the woman.  She didn’t look well.  She looked… Ummm… Pretty… Not-well..?  Dude, she looked like a crack-whore, okay?  I was trying to be nice… She just looked like she needed the money and I fucking felt bad for her.  I really couldn’t get what could possibly be sexually attractive or arousing about what I was seeing and I was a hornball of 18 years or thereabouts, I mean, COME ON!  Some shit just ain’t sexy unless you’ve got a mean streak.  Just that simple.  You can get off on cheese doodles placed in hard to clean places and it’s all gravy; but some shit is just mean spirited, ya dig?  I mean, I guess there are some people who would come straight from the beauty parlor and handle a horse’s needs–shit man, it’s ALL THROUGHOUT most of human’s history and human’s mythologies.  People just seem to be really really taken with the idea of a woman and a goat or a woman and a duck or some shit.

All I’m saying is, I don’t get it.  It ain’t my thing.  But we’re not talking taming the herds or animal husbandry (chuckle) or zoophilia here; we’re talking about a couple of girls, a cup and excretions… And now that I’ve said that, we’re done talking about it.

Next!

For lunch today I had chicken Florentine.  As I cooked my Florentine chicken, I paused to ponder as I often do when I’m not either actively talking or listening, and I began to think about the word “Florentine.”  Florence during the (mentioned above) Italian Renaissance was quite the hotspot for art, culture and all things FABULOUS!!!  The word “Florentine” became a pejorative term for which heterosexuals would cast aspersions on homosexuals as homosexuality was quite the vogue amongst the artisans of Florence at the time–OR so we believe.  Let’s be real here, home-slices, we weren’t there; we don’t know shit except what people chose to write down.  “Florentine” might have been a cool word and probably was within certain circles as it is today.  Remember, the one thing you can always count on is people are always people–believe it or not… Yep, those folks back then wanted to do the same shit you do.  They had no clue what a Nintendo Wii was; but you can bet they were all about some cold dranks and partying their ancient asses off.  You’d get along, trust me when I say that you would.

So anyway, I’m making my Florentine chicken and it hit me… “Florentine chicken…”  “Florentine” has the connotation of femininity within in a masculine frame of reference.  Are chickens feminine?  Are roosters masculine?  Yes and no… By definition they most certainly are… But in ESSENCE, are they?  Fuck if I knew, so as I stirred my chicken Florentine I stared off into space and continued to sift through the various ideas that sprang into my noggin.  I tried to picture a rooster more feminine and couldn’t do it without putting him in pumps and making him shriek little peals of delight or laughter–in effect I turned him into a rooster “queen” and therefore a stereotype and brought forth my own ignorance and infection of ‘common thought.’  You see, we’re all infected by the dumbshit tentacles of the internet and willful misinformation… We take what we hear from the biased and it becomes the definition.

I know, I know… I’ve probably got some of you up in arms and believe it or not, I’m not stumping for anyone–one side or the other.  Before I go a second further, I will take the opportunity to answer the question you want to know, though.  No, I do not give a shit where another human being places their genitalia.  Nope, I’m not going to qualify it either.  I’m not going to say, “as long as they stay away from me…”  I’ve had a lot of wonderful friends who were homosexual and I could give a shit whether a person is straight or gay.  I honestly care more whether the person is interesting, fun, funny and has bought my album (kidding). BUT  I do care that sex is between two consenting adults of the human species–no fucking chickens or cats and most assuredly never with someone unwilling or too young.  But I am for gay marriage and I am against bigotry of all stripes–so if me having a different opinion than you is grounds for us to not be friends or for some reason “colors” my music than I bid you farewell.  And if you’re mad at me about that, then you can absolutely, with all the love in the world, fuck right off.  But with my best wishes.  Truly.

Now that THAT silliness is out of the way… Honestly, what does it matter what I think?  I swear… Sometimes… You know that I’ve had people say they couldn’t be my friend just because we thought different things about a subject..?  Isn’t that odd to you?  I mean… I like asparagus and enjoy a good Brussels sprout; does that mean we can’t ever talk EVER?  I just don’t get it…

I just want to say, right here, right now, that I love all people in the world and I want us all to collectively unfuck ourselves and work towards a better SUSTAINABLE future for all of us and our children’s great great great great great great grandchildren.  I want us to work towards better technology that doesn’t rape the environment and I want us to put great efforts into the colonization of other planets (a single planet species has a survival rate of ZERO) and I want us to embrace the creative and productive aspects of our personalities.  That being said, I hate all of you in traffic and I think you all drive like shit.  You see?  The duality of humankind.

Meh, you’ll call me naive and I grow bored… Let’s talk about Florentine chickens.

So I’m sitting here stirring lunch and I’m thinking of fabulous chickens… I’m really stuck on this masculine rooster, feminine hen thing so I try my best to really break down the actions of a hen.  Is it feminine?  Not especially… It’s more the actions of a bird.  Kind of sans gender, ya feel me?  Henulin.  Roostuline.  The brain started going weird at this point… I think it started to drift into anime action heroes that were of the fowl origination; so it’s best to move on at this point…

(What?  You wanted resolution?  I TOLD you… this is a pointless ass blog and meant for me to drink beer and chill–unfortunately, I got all annoyed with the homosexual versus heterosexual thing up there and I had to try to bring it back to chickens!  Wow… You heard it here, folks!  Yeah, I’m fucking weird… There is no goddamn hope for me, apparently.)

So as I write this out and near the 2500 word mark, I realize what this blog is awesomely good for and that is it allows me to cultivate my word-smithy ways while purging my batshit-nuts brain farts and thus saving the eloquence for my songs.  Therefore, by reading this, you are in fact making me a better songwriter.  Good for you!

(Incidentally, I believe I read somewhere that is called “pure writing”–meaning that I am simply pouring out whatever the hell comes into mind without doing the Sixth Sense bullshit of moving the pencil without looking at it kind of thing.  I’m honestly terrified of what might come out if I were to just let the subconscious loose… I might find that I don’t really like cheeseburgers or something!  -shudders-)

Here’s one that always amuses both Gangsta Vicki and me–ratings on movies.  What the fuck does “some language” mean?  Okay, okay!!!  I know what they THINK they mean; but break that shit down for a minute.  Some language means exactly that… SOME FUCKING LANGUAGE.  What makes up the rest, asshole?  Interpretive dance?  Sock puppet orgies?  Naughty pelican typing?  You see?  Some language simply means there is some language in the movie.  The rest could just be guttural noises made by placing cheese between your ass cheeks and jumping on a trampoline.  It’s silly.  Of course there’s SOME language in the film.  Why not say, “there’s some words in this movie that part of society thinks are no-no words and therefore you should blush and cover your mouth and pretend you don’t say it every time you’re boning your Boo or you’ve just slammed your little winky in the toilet seat?”

Random thought:  “Florentine” in cooking means to cook with spinach.  Pro tip:  Fuck with your server next time and ask them if they make spinach Florentine.

So, I’m looking at the word count.

I’m looking at the blogging beers.

I’m looking at the time.

I’m drinking the blogging beers.

I’m beginning to ponder the wisdom of this blog–which means there wasn’t enough blogging beers…

-pauses to take a sip-

hmmmm… Another sip is needed…

-half a beer later-

Well, I guess creativity is satiated as I no longer smell what the rock is cooking, homies… In other words, I want to go gank noobs in a BG and shit, ya feel me?  (translated from gangsta warcraft speaks–TIME TO PLAY WARCRAFT!)

Seriously, though… I’m always entertaining you!  How come you never invite me over for a BBQ?  Hell, I’d bring my own BBQ beer and my guitar!  How come you never write a blog for me?

You don’t love me anymore… That’s what it is…

-too many blogging beers-

End of line.