Will & Justice League; Practice and the Prole; Bloc Party; 702 soap opera
8/7
Will had no softball on Monday night, for once, so he came over and we watched some Justice League Unlimited, thanks to my Mac mini and BitTorrent.
8/8
Band practice, with the new gear for the first time. It facilitated much additional rocking. Stopped in at the Prole on the way home for a drink (with whom I'm not entirely sure; a safe guess is that Dan was there).
8/9
Bloc Party was one of the best acts at ACL last year, and the album managed an impressive showing at #7 on the top albums list last year. So, naturally, I'd been looking forward to their Houston show.
It was my first show in Warehouse Live's ballroom, and it turns out that it was the beginning of a burning hatred that I have for the place. I was none to fond of their "studio" room, but it looks great by comparison.
The acoustics were nothing short of awful. Huge amounts of reverb resulted in a frothy santorum of indistinct, mushy sound. There aren't many ways to ruin a show by such a kick ass band, but those fucktards at Warehouse Live managed it. It's not gotten any better, though ear plugs and being close to the stage result in slight improvements.
It wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't for the assload of good bands booked there. The Engine Room, the Meridian, even fucking Numbers are preferable venues. Hell, I might even prefer the damned Verizon and its atmosphere killing corporatism, seeing as how the sound doesn't suck there.
Plus, they have fucking bathroom attendants. For the love of God, let me piss in peace.
8/10
Will, as is his typical MO, managed to stretch the truth just so and involve me in it for the purpose of spending time with a girl. She was a waitress at Woodrow's, but also tended bar at 702.
So Will tells her that I'm trying to decide which bar to have my birthday party at, and that I'd like to come see 702. Which isn't quite true, since I've already picked Rudyard's, but I agreed to play along.
So we get there, and have some drinks. The place has some decent lounge-iness going on. Anyway, it's got a rectangular bar in the center of the room, and we're on one side.
On the other side are two guys in shirts and ties (presumably still dressed from work), talking to two girls. It's pretty obvious that the guy in the orange shirt is jumping on a grenade for the guy in the blue shirt. This goes one for a while.
Blue Shirt and his girl go outside. Cell phones come out, numbers are presumably exchanged, and they come back in. More talking.
We see Blue Shirt's girl walk back toward the bathroom, followed closely by Blue Shirt. They disappear into the men's bathroom. Char, his curiosity piqued, decides now's a good time to make a bathroom trip. Around the same time, one of the bartenders mentions this development to management, who goes in and tells the couple to get out.
More talking.
Pretty soon after that, Blue Shirt and his girl leave.
We figured that with the primary objective accomplished, Orange Shirt would leave to recover from his grenade-jumping-on. But soon, he and Grenade are making out. They leave together.
After an hour or so, Blue Shirt's girl returns, sits down at the bar alone for a while, and has a drink. Pretty soon after that, Grenade comes back and joins her.
Curtains.
It was much more entertaining in person, I swear.
Will had no softball on Monday night, for once, so he came over and we watched some Justice League Unlimited, thanks to my Mac mini and BitTorrent.
8/8
Band practice, with the new gear for the first time. It facilitated much additional rocking. Stopped in at the Prole on the way home for a drink (with whom I'm not entirely sure; a safe guess is that Dan was there).
8/9
Bloc Party was one of the best acts at ACL last year, and the album managed an impressive showing at #7 on the top albums list last year. So, naturally, I'd been looking forward to their Houston show.
It was my first show in Warehouse Live's ballroom, and it turns out that it was the beginning of a burning hatred that I have for the place. I was none to fond of their "studio" room, but it looks great by comparison.
The acoustics were nothing short of awful. Huge amounts of reverb resulted in a frothy santorum of indistinct, mushy sound. There aren't many ways to ruin a show by such a kick ass band, but those fucktards at Warehouse Live managed it. It's not gotten any better, though ear plugs and being close to the stage result in slight improvements.
It wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't for the assload of good bands booked there. The Engine Room, the Meridian, even fucking Numbers are preferable venues. Hell, I might even prefer the damned Verizon and its atmosphere killing corporatism, seeing as how the sound doesn't suck there.
Plus, they have fucking bathroom attendants. For the love of God, let me piss in peace.
8/10
Will, as is his typical MO, managed to stretch the truth just so and involve me in it for the purpose of spending time with a girl. She was a waitress at Woodrow's, but also tended bar at 702.
So Will tells her that I'm trying to decide which bar to have my birthday party at, and that I'd like to come see 702. Which isn't quite true, since I've already picked Rudyard's, but I agreed to play along.
So we get there, and have some drinks. The place has some decent lounge-iness going on. Anyway, it's got a rectangular bar in the center of the room, and we're on one side.
On the other side are two guys in shirts and ties (presumably still dressed from work), talking to two girls. It's pretty obvious that the guy in the orange shirt is jumping on a grenade for the guy in the blue shirt. This goes one for a while.
Blue Shirt and his girl go outside. Cell phones come out, numbers are presumably exchanged, and they come back in. More talking.
We see Blue Shirt's girl walk back toward the bathroom, followed closely by Blue Shirt. They disappear into the men's bathroom. Char, his curiosity piqued, decides now's a good time to make a bathroom trip. Around the same time, one of the bartenders mentions this development to management, who goes in and tells the couple to get out.
More talking.
Pretty soon after that, Blue Shirt and his girl leave.
We figured that with the primary objective accomplished, Orange Shirt would leave to recover from his grenade-jumping-on. But soon, he and Grenade are making out. They leave together.
After an hour or so, Blue Shirt's girl returns, sits down at the bar alone for a while, and has a drink. Pretty soon after that, Grenade comes back and joins her.
Curtains.
It was much more entertaining in person, I swear.
posted by L. Maxwell Ward at 2:30 AM
