I’ve written about Wilco, and hence Jeff Tweedy indirectly, before. So if you don’t like it why are you here? Yes, I’m going to write about Jeff Tweedy again.
I went to see Jeff Tweedy play a solo show in Montreal at L’Olympia. Just Jeff Tweedy and 6 or so acoustic guitars. It was seated (read shitty) but there was a bar (read double Jim Beams). So we proceeded to drink our way through the opening act, at the bar, and waited for the headliner. We were seated well enough in advance that we didn’t disturb the precious Mr. Tweedy.
Before I go on, a bit of historical perspective. Jeff Tweedy is well known as a curmudgeon (I know). In the past, he was quite acerbic about it (read when he was on painkillers) but now sort of comes across as funny. I say sort of because you always wonder if there’s a bit of F-You in there (there likely is). I read a review of the previous night’s show in Toronto and someone from the crowd yelled “turn it to 11!” Jeff Tweedy looks at his acoustic guitars and says “I don’t have anything that goes to 11.” Pretty funny, but you know he was thinking “screw you pal” on the inside.
So, knowing this, I was tempted all night to start some witty banter (read double Jim Beam) with Mr. Tweedy. Luckily, I refrained. However, he did play one of my favourite songs (I don’t recall which – double Jim Beam) and at one point I started clapping. Again, this is a concert, with people whooping, hollering and the like. At one point during the song, others joined me in clapping. I can keep time, trust me, I paid for the lessons to learn how to keep time. But I got bored pretty quickly, as I am wont to do, and grabbed my drink and stopped clapping. The song ends and Jeff Tweedy says “I’d like to thank…” and in my head the sentence concludes with “…Mr. Mills for joining me on this song as my percussionist.” Rather the sentence ended “…whoever got that guy to stop clapping, it was distracting.”
Come ON! It’s a concert and I clapped. Heaven forbid I have some fun at a show. At least, Mr. Tweedy, you didn’t get Jim Beam spilled on you like the guy, um, nowhere near me.
Showing posts with label Drinky Crow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drinky Crow. Show all posts
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Customer Dis-satisfaction Part Deux
Bad service happens, I know, and a lot of my friends are servers so I understand that shit happens. But shit can happen in a good way or a bad way.
Case #1
We're at a bar that I won't name, but it rhymes with goners. We arrived around 12:30 and ordered a beer. We frequent this place and don't recognize our server. She serves us one beer and brings the bill at 1. We're all "hey, we're drinking more, we don't want the bill." She says "Oh, sometimes people leave without paying so I thought I'd bring it just in case." Again, we frequent this bar, the other servers know us. We're not going to dash and even if we weren't regulars, she shouldn't just make that assumption. And even if she does, she shouldn't fucking tell us.
Anyway, small offense, no biggie. 2am rolls around and we have half a beer left, we've paid and tipped well. She comes by and says "If you guys aren't done your beer in a few minutes I'm going to take it from you." Not "could you finish up, we're closing", not "guys, sorry but you gotta leave soon." Not any of that. She freaking challenged us. Bad idea.
We sit around staring at our beer and the clock waiting to see what she'll do. She pops by again and I say "the bar is full, people still have beer, let us finish and we'll go." It's 2:15. She sighs and rolls her eyes then storms off. 10 minutes later, she yanks the beer from Greg, while others in the bar are still drinking.
I don't mind being asked to leave. But there's a right way and a wrong way to do it.
Case #2
(recounted perfectly by Rachelle, but I'll try anyway)
We went out for dinner at a restaurant in Chinatown that I won't name but it rhymes with Bang-guy. A couple of us were there early and it was empty. That didn't stop the server from taking her good old time to serve us. She was obviously new, so I wasn't really holding it against her. In fact, I felt for her because she seemed to be on her own with the exception of the bartender. Anyway, the night goes on and things get worse. I won't duplicate what Rachelle said, but I'll summarize in case you haven't checked her site:
Thankfully the nights in between at the Pump and the Murray Street were phenomenal as always. There is great service in this city, which is why bad service sticks out like a sore thumb.
Case #1
We're at a bar that I won't name, but it rhymes with goners. We arrived around 12:30 and ordered a beer. We frequent this place and don't recognize our server. She serves us one beer and brings the bill at 1. We're all "hey, we're drinking more, we don't want the bill." She says "Oh, sometimes people leave without paying so I thought I'd bring it just in case." Again, we frequent this bar, the other servers know us. We're not going to dash and even if we weren't regulars, she shouldn't just make that assumption. And even if she does, she shouldn't fucking tell us.
Anyway, small offense, no biggie. 2am rolls around and we have half a beer left, we've paid and tipped well. She comes by and says "If you guys aren't done your beer in a few minutes I'm going to take it from you." Not "could you finish up, we're closing", not "guys, sorry but you gotta leave soon." Not any of that. She freaking challenged us. Bad idea.
We sit around staring at our beer and the clock waiting to see what she'll do. She pops by again and I say "the bar is full, people still have beer, let us finish and we'll go." It's 2:15. She sighs and rolls her eyes then storms off. 10 minutes later, she yanks the beer from Greg, while others in the bar are still drinking.
I don't mind being asked to leave. But there's a right way and a wrong way to do it.
Case #2
(recounted perfectly by Rachelle, but I'll try anyway)
We went out for dinner at a restaurant in Chinatown that I won't name but it rhymes with Bang-guy. A couple of us were there early and it was empty. That didn't stop the server from taking her good old time to serve us. She was obviously new, so I wasn't really holding it against her. In fact, I felt for her because she seemed to be on her own with the exception of the bartender. Anyway, the night goes on and things get worse. I won't duplicate what Rachelle said, but I'll summarize in case you haven't checked her site:
- Appetizers do not get delivered
- Orders get mixed up
- It takes 30 t0 6o minutes to get drinks/apps/mains
- The server spills a beer in an entree and says "do you want me to do something about that?"
- The server, after spilling the beer says "it will taste like beer now."
- The server does not return to clear our table.
- The server does not return with our bill.
- The place fills up with people to see a strip spelling bee and the emcee says "I know people are eating and finishing up, we're doing a spelling bee so finish up." as we're begging the bartender to get us our bill so we can leave.
- The server returns, after being called by the bartender, with the bill and a plate full of fortune cookies (Rachelle put it best, and I'm paraphrasing, "It's much too late for that.")
Thankfully the nights in between at the Pump and the Murray Street were phenomenal as always. There is great service in this city, which is why bad service sticks out like a sore thumb.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Poltergeist
Poltergeist was one of my favourite horror movies as a kid. You had an ancient burial ground, creepy blond kid, creepier old woman performing a séance, and a little girl being abducted by a TV; what’s not to love? In retrospect, it also had Coach. Seriously. What’s not to love?
Problem is now I’m beginning to think I live with a poltergeist (or I have extremely bad luck and a lack of rest). It started with what the Irish call “the old hag”. You can look it up for yourself and correct me in the comments, but the gist of it is as follows: you are in a state of half wakefulness and half sleep, the brain being awake and the body asleep. You are aware of what is going on around you but you can’t move, you are paralyzed. This manifests itself as something holding you down. I now know this is just a common, natural occurrence. But in June of 2008, in a new apartment, I didn’t really know. So, it’s not really a poltergeist, just a lack of sleep. Or is it?
Occasionally, when I slept at night, I would wake up to the sound of a thud. I’d search the apartment and find the light cover in the entryway on the floor, unbroken. I’d simply reinstall it and it would fall off again a few days later. I had it replaced and it hasn’t fallen since. So no poltergeist. Or is there?
My door would fly open on its own on windy nights. You could push it open if it wasn’t locked, so a bad lock I suppose. Or is it?
Fast forward to October of 2009. I break my ankle. This has nothing to do with the poltergeist (or does it). I just happened to live in the apartment when it happened. Is that coincidental?
Skip ever so slightly to November of 2009. I’m trying to do laundry with a broken leg and crutches because the night before, when I initially planned on trying to do laundry, the upstairs neighbour was doing her laundry – ALL 6 LOADS. This ordinarily wouldn’t bother me, but she remarked to me the next day that she saw my trying to do laundry and apologized for taking up the washer and dryer so long. To summarize, she saw me, hobbling on crutches, with a backpack full of laundry, trying to get in and out of the laundry room multiple times and continued to do 6 loads of laundry without even stopping by my apartment (which she does for more dubious reasons and she has to pass to get to and from the laundry room) to say “hey, I see you struggling with your laundry. I’ve got a ton to do so I just wanted to let you know so you don’t have to go back and forth 6 times tonight”. No she didn’t think to say that. Rather, the next day she says “Yea, Isaw you trying to do laundry last night.”
Anyway, where was I? Oh yea, the poltergeist. I’m doing laundry the next night, which is done down the driveway to the back of the house, and after starting the laundry a car hits my house (perfectly summarized, along with the broken ankle, here). So, again, you can’t really blame a poltergeist for this. Or can you? The guy lost his cat. Cats are evil. See the connection?
Problem is now I’m beginning to think I live with a poltergeist (or I have extremely bad luck and a lack of rest). It started with what the Irish call “the old hag”. You can look it up for yourself and correct me in the comments, but the gist of it is as follows: you are in a state of half wakefulness and half sleep, the brain being awake and the body asleep. You are aware of what is going on around you but you can’t move, you are paralyzed. This manifests itself as something holding you down. I now know this is just a common, natural occurrence. But in June of 2008, in a new apartment, I didn’t really know. So, it’s not really a poltergeist, just a lack of sleep. Or is it?
Occasionally, when I slept at night, I would wake up to the sound of a thud. I’d search the apartment and find the light cover in the entryway on the floor, unbroken. I’d simply reinstall it and it would fall off again a few days later. I had it replaced and it hasn’t fallen since. So no poltergeist. Or is there?
My door would fly open on its own on windy nights. You could push it open if it wasn’t locked, so a bad lock I suppose. Or is it?
Fast forward to October of 2009. I break my ankle. This has nothing to do with the poltergeist (or does it). I just happened to live in the apartment when it happened. Is that coincidental?
Skip ever so slightly to November of 2009. I’m trying to do laundry with a broken leg and crutches because the night before, when I initially planned on trying to do laundry, the upstairs neighbour was doing her laundry – ALL 6 LOADS. This ordinarily wouldn’t bother me, but she remarked to me the next day that she saw my trying to do laundry and apologized for taking up the washer and dryer so long. To summarize, she saw me, hobbling on crutches, with a backpack full of laundry, trying to get in and out of the laundry room multiple times and continued to do 6 loads of laundry without even stopping by my apartment (which she does for more dubious reasons and she has to pass to get to and from the laundry room) to say “hey, I see you struggling with your laundry. I’ve got a ton to do so I just wanted to let you know so you don’t have to go back and forth 6 times tonight”. No she didn’t think to say that. Rather, the next day she says “Yea, Isaw you trying to do laundry last night.”
Anyway, where was I? Oh yea, the poltergeist. I’m doing laundry the next night, which is done down the driveway to the back of the house, and after starting the laundry a car hits my house (perfectly summarized, along with the broken ankle, here). So, again, you can’t really blame a poltergeist for this. Or can you? The guy lost his cat. Cats are evil. See the connection?
Fast forward to November 2010. I come home from work and my door is kicked open. Some thieves have taken my TV, guitar, amp, glasses, universal remote, and cash. Not the work of a poltergeist, or is it?
Finally, last week. I wake up (admittedly hungover) and there is a broken glass all over my kitchen floor.
One of these things happening isn’t so bad, but combine them all together in the span of 2.5 years and that can’t be a coincidence. That’s it. I’m calling the Catholic Church for some help.
PS. Blogspot spellcheck isn't accepting contractions?
Finally, last week. I wake up (admittedly hungover) and there is a broken glass all over my kitchen floor.
One of these things happening isn’t so bad, but combine them all together in the span of 2.5 years and that can’t be a coincidence. That’s it. I’m calling the Catholic Church for some help.
PS. Blogspot spellcheck isn't accepting contractions?
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Why?
There's an urban legend out there about an exam question on a university exam. It was a bonus mark question that was simply "why?" The answer, according to the legend, is "why not."
I haven't been much of a blogger lately because I've become bored with writing. I was initially inspired by two things; an incident that inspired me and a friend who blogs who also inspired me. Since then I've been pissed off less and less. Hard to imagine, I know.
But something happened that killed my urge to blog. It was the question "why?" Specifically "why blog?"
I've thought long and hard about this over the last drunken 20 minutes. I've come up with four (I've changed that number numerous times) answers:
1. I want to be heard (i.e., I'm vain).
2. I want to educate.
3. I want to entertain.
4. It's cathartic.
The truth, as always, lies somewhere in between. No, wait, they're all true.
I do want to be heard. I want you to hear what I have to say, otherwise I'd just think these thoughts and carry on.
I want to educate. I hope to teach you things like "don't bike on the sidewalk."
I want to entertain. I can't say for certain that I do, but if you're here again, I can't help but think I do.
It is cathartic. I type this shit that I hope you read (i.e., to fulfill my need to be heard), that will educate you (that's up to you), and that is entertaining (I hope I didn't fail) and it feels good. I need to get this shit out. If you spend time with me, and I'm sure my 20 readers do, you know I'm opinionated. I need to tell it like I see it and this is a way to get it out without pissing you off face to face (not that I don't anyway). And after I type it, I won't bring it up in person and get into stupid arguments like why singing the national anthem at sporting events is stupid.
I want to blog more and I hope I do. But the "why?" still haunts me. I started out having fun with it and kept trying to one-up each post. Maybe I'm the problem. Maybe I don't' have to be better with each post. Maybe I just have to do it to feel better or to get shit out. Or, most likely, I'm drunk and I shouldn't be sitting in front of this keyboard right now.
I haven't been much of a blogger lately because I've become bored with writing. I was initially inspired by two things; an incident that inspired me and a friend who blogs who also inspired me. Since then I've been pissed off less and less. Hard to imagine, I know.
But something happened that killed my urge to blog. It was the question "why?" Specifically "why blog?"
I've thought long and hard about this over the last drunken 20 minutes. I've come up with four (I've changed that number numerous times) answers:
1. I want to be heard (i.e., I'm vain).
2. I want to educate.
3. I want to entertain.
4. It's cathartic.
The truth, as always, lies somewhere in between. No, wait, they're all true.
I do want to be heard. I want you to hear what I have to say, otherwise I'd just think these thoughts and carry on.
I want to educate. I hope to teach you things like "don't bike on the sidewalk."
I want to entertain. I can't say for certain that I do, but if you're here again, I can't help but think I do.
It is cathartic. I type this shit that I hope you read (i.e., to fulfill my need to be heard), that will educate you (that's up to you), and that is entertaining (I hope I didn't fail) and it feels good. I need to get this shit out. If you spend time with me, and I'm sure my 20 readers do, you know I'm opinionated. I need to tell it like I see it and this is a way to get it out without pissing you off face to face (not that I don't anyway). And after I type it, I won't bring it up in person and get into stupid arguments like why singing the national anthem at sporting events is stupid.
I want to blog more and I hope I do. But the "why?" still haunts me. I started out having fun with it and kept trying to one-up each post. Maybe I'm the problem. Maybe I don't' have to be better with each post. Maybe I just have to do it to feel better or to get shit out. Or, most likely, I'm drunk and I shouldn't be sitting in front of this keyboard right now.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Happy New Year
Wow, has it really been almost a month since my last post? Time flies when you're driving to Kingston every day to teach the business and charity world about Harmonization.
Happy New Year folks. Hope yours doesn't involve sitting for 3 hours in the Montreal airport tomorrow. If it does, meet me at Moes.
I've spent the past two weeks in my hometown for the holidays and, contrary to most people's expectations, I didn't end up bored for long. The first day I was bored about 1/2 hour after waking, so I called my cousin and next thing I know I'm staring at the giant axe in Nackawic walking into the rink for a hockey game.
What followed is 2 days of shopping, 2 days of work (boo-urns), Xmas eve, Xmas, Boxing (aka drinking and games) day, 3 days of Boxing day shopping/returning items, a day of four wheeling (w00t), a day of recovery, preparation for New Years, New Years Eve, New Years Day Levee, and a day of recovery. I know I'm an accountant and the days probably don't add up. If I've missed one it likely involved Picarroons Yippee IPA or Best Bitter and a game of Blockus (kind 0f like tetris, but table top with the intention of screwing up your opponents' plans).
All in all I had a great holiday home with the family. As always with theses visits, I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to and I'm sorry for that folks. I do miss you all and hope to see you all soon.
Have a great 2010, we're entering the teens of the 2000s, so don't worry about that pimple, you won't remember in in 2030.
Happy New Year folks. Hope yours doesn't involve sitting for 3 hours in the Montreal airport tomorrow. If it does, meet me at Moes.
I've spent the past two weeks in my hometown for the holidays and, contrary to most people's expectations, I didn't end up bored for long. The first day I was bored about 1/2 hour after waking, so I called my cousin and next thing I know I'm staring at the giant axe in Nackawic walking into the rink for a hockey game.
What followed is 2 days of shopping, 2 days of work (boo-urns), Xmas eve, Xmas, Boxing (aka drinking and games) day, 3 days of Boxing day shopping/returning items, a day of four wheeling (w00t), a day of recovery, preparation for New Years, New Years Eve, New Years Day Levee, and a day of recovery. I know I'm an accountant and the days probably don't add up. If I've missed one it likely involved Picarroons Yippee IPA or Best Bitter and a game of Blockus (kind 0f like tetris, but table top with the intention of screwing up your opponents' plans).
All in all I had a great holiday home with the family. As always with theses visits, I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to and I'm sorry for that folks. I do miss you all and hope to see you all soon.
Have a great 2010, we're entering the teens of the 2000s, so don't worry about that pimple, you won't remember in in 2030.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Halifax Trip
I've been really bad at posting lately. I'd like to say it's because I'm busy, but that'd be a lie. I just haven't been annoyed that much recently. Sure there are a few things here and there, but nothing that makes me want to go off on somebody or something. I am working on a continuing series of rants and I have the ideas in my head, I'm just having a hard time putting pen to paper.
Anyway, enough with the excuses. This post has a very small curmudgeon quotient but I had to share a few things with you from my trip to Halifax this weekend. It was my cousin Dr. DJ AA's stag party. We went fishing, played poker and drank copious amounts ofPropeller Pumphouse SOB (highly recommended). I have nothing bad to say about the event at all, though losing to SOB Dr. DJ AA with A-A-6-6-J to A-A-6-6-K spoiled the night until the next shot of Occidental.
What I want to share with you is two of the craziest things I've ever seen at an airport and a warning about travelling. Dr. DJ AA(it may in fact be DJ Dr. AA, I'll have to ask him) was dropping me off at 10:30 am in the morning. I opened the door and got out of the Caravan (or Voyager, again I'll have to ask) and see a man standing just beside the van with his back to the airport wall. He looks like any other business traveller in Halifax; khaki pants, dress shirt, windbreaker coat folded over his arm, and luggage. Just as I step onto the pavement and am about to turn around to open the back door of the van I hear that distinctive psst sound of a beer cap twisting off a bottle. Then this typical business man begins to down a full bottle of Moosehead (green). I immediately hear Dr. DJ AA begin to laugh and I say "did you just see that" and he says "yep." Crazy. I can't believe I saw that. I realize it's not that hard to believe, but if you had seen it and just realized how business like this guys looked, you wouldn't believe it either. He was all business about getting that St. Saint John brewed lager into him too.
So I'm in the Halifax airport waiting in the security line and about to send a message about this crazy thing I saw when I see another crazy thing. I see a woman, likely in her 50s, walking to the security check. She looks like a business traveller as well. I notice she is pulling her wheeled luggage and see something sparkle. I check out the luggage and the thing has chrome wheels. I'm talking Xzibit pimp my ride chrome wheels. The chorus of "One of these things is not like the other" immediately chimes in my head.
Now for your travel advisory warning. You know when you are leaving a hotel room and you get that feeling that you left something behind. Do not just think "ah, it's nothing, if I did it's likely toothpaste." It could be your Ipod. You could have to call the hotel and arrange for someone to pick it up and send it back to you. You could have to pay what I like to call "the dumb-ass tax."
I hope your weekend was as good as mine.
Anyway, enough with the excuses. This post has a very small curmudgeon quotient but I had to share a few things with you from my trip to Halifax this weekend. It was my cousin Dr. DJ AA's stag party. We went fishing, played poker and drank copious amounts of
What I want to share with you is two of the craziest things I've ever seen at an airport and a warning about travelling. Dr. DJ AA
So I'm in the Halifax airport waiting in the security line and about to send a message about this crazy thing I saw when I see another crazy thing. I see a woman, likely in her 50s, walking to the security check. She looks like a business traveller as well. I notice she is pulling her wheeled luggage and see something sparkle. I check out the luggage and the thing has chrome wheels. I'm talking Xzibit pimp my ride chrome wheels. The chorus of "One of these things is not like the other" immediately chimes in my head.
Now for your travel advisory warning. You know when you are leaving a hotel room and you get that feeling that you left something behind. Do not just think "ah, it's nothing, if I did it's likely toothpaste." It could be your Ipod. You could have to call the hotel and arrange for someone to pick it up and send it back to you. You could have to pay what I like to call "the dumb-ass tax."
I hope your weekend was as good as mine.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
You Don't Care and You're Lazy
So I mentioned how Bluesfest won an award for their environmental efforts in a previous blog. It seems like every 20 yards or so there's a trash can/compost bin/plastic, glass and can recycling bin, and the cupsuckers. I don't know the exact figure, but I've never had to walk very far to dispose of my garbage or recycling.
Last night, after the Drive by Truckers, we went to grab a bite to eat and watched the people clear out of Lebreton Flats. After about 20 minutes, the festival grounds were pretty empty and I was amazed at how much trash was on the ground. You could barely take a few steps without hearing a beer cup or beer can crush under your feet. I was further amazed at trash on the ground right beside the trash can/compost bin/plastic, glass and can recycling bin, and the cupsuckers.
Are you that freaking lazy people? The organizers went a long way to place these things just about everywhere and you can't walk a few metres to dispose of your trash?
For shame people. For shame.
Last night, after the Drive by Truckers, we went to grab a bite to eat and watched the people clear out of Lebreton Flats. After about 20 minutes, the festival grounds were pretty empty and I was amazed at how much trash was on the ground. You could barely take a few steps without hearing a beer cup or beer can crush under your feet. I was further amazed at trash on the ground right beside the trash can/compost bin/plastic, glass and can recycling bin, and the cupsuckers.
Are you that freaking lazy people? The organizers went a long way to place these things just about everywhere and you can't walk a few metres to dispose of your trash?
For shame people. For shame.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Freebird
I saw Steve Earle last night. I've been wanting to see Steve Earle for about 20 years, since I first heard "Guitar Town". We parted ways sometimes after the release of "The Hard Way", his fourth album. However, I rediscovered him when he released "Jerusalem" and went through his back catalogue to see what I missed. I missed a lot, some of his best work.
It was a great show. Just Steve, an acoustic and a harmonica, though the guitar was replaced by other string instruments from time to time. Steve just released an album called Townes, a tribute, consisting entirely of Townes Van Zandt covers. It's a beautiful album and makes for a beautiful show, soft, quiet and touching.
I hated being at that show last night. Not because of Steve or the music, it was a great show, hitting some classics like "My Old Friend the Blues", my favourite lyrical song of all time "Poncho and Lefty" and some of his renaissance songs like "Jerusalem" and "City of Immigrants". I hated the show because of all you one hit wonder lovers that can't just sit and enjoy a performance. You have to get loaded and yell out your request all night long. Note the singular use of the word request. Every drunk meathead at the Steve Earle show knew one Steve Earle song and felt like they had to yell at him to play it all night. Did you really think he wouldn't play it? Or, an even better question is; if you only wanted to hear one song, why did you even go to the show?
At one point during the show a particularly annoying drunk was yelling the title of the song he (and most other drunks) wanted to hear. Steve says "You better be careful man or you're gonna puke on that girl in front of you. I heard you the first time and I'm either gonna play it or I'm not." In other words, fuck you. That made my night.
Of course he played the song. My girlfriend noted that he didn't seem to enjoy it. I believe her exact words were "he looked like he was a slave to that song." He is. It's a fine song, but he's released 10 albums over the 21 years since that song has been released. It's time to move on.
It was a great show. Just Steve, an acoustic and a harmonica, though the guitar was replaced by other string instruments from time to time. Steve just released an album called Townes, a tribute, consisting entirely of Townes Van Zandt covers. It's a beautiful album and makes for a beautiful show, soft, quiet and touching.
I hated being at that show last night. Not because of Steve or the music, it was a great show, hitting some classics like "My Old Friend the Blues", my favourite lyrical song of all time "Poncho and Lefty" and some of his renaissance songs like "Jerusalem" and "City of Immigrants". I hated the show because of all you one hit wonder lovers that can't just sit and enjoy a performance. You have to get loaded and yell out your request all night long. Note the singular use of the word request. Every drunk meathead at the Steve Earle show knew one Steve Earle song and felt like they had to yell at him to play it all night. Did you really think he wouldn't play it? Or, an even better question is; if you only wanted to hear one song, why did you even go to the show?
At one point during the show a particularly annoying drunk was yelling the title of the song he (and most other drunks) wanted to hear. Steve says "You better be careful man or you're gonna puke on that girl in front of you. I heard you the first time and I'm either gonna play it or I'm not." In other words, fuck you. That made my night.
Of course he played the song. My girlfriend noted that he didn't seem to enjoy it. I believe her exact words were "he looked like he was a slave to that song." He is. It's a fine song, but he's released 10 albums over the 21 years since that song has been released. It's time to move on.
Monday, June 8, 2009
If It's Not Scottish It's Crap!
There's been a long fight between Cape Breton's Glenora Distillers and the Scotch Whisky Association. The crux of the fight is the name of Glenora's whisky; Glen Breton. The battle began nine years ago when the Scotch Whisky Association, a representative of Scotch Whisky distillers from Scotland, took action against Glenora for using the term "Glen" in its name. The Association is continuing the battle, asking the Supreme Court of Canada for permission to appeal a lower court ruling in favour of Glenora.
First, some background. Whisky can only be referred to as Scotch whisky if it is distilled in Scotland. This is similar to how only sparkling wine from Champagne in France can be referred to as Champagne. Glenora does not refer to its whisky as Scotch whiskey, they refer to it as a Canadian single malt whisky. But the Association fears that including "Glen" in the name of the whisky will mislead potential international buyers into thinking the Whisky is, in fact, Scotch.
This is stupid on many levels. First, the word "glen" has no direct link to Scotch other than the common, and, to be fair, almost specific practice among Scotch whisky distillers to name their product Glen something; Glenmorangie, Glenlivet, Glenfiddich, Glendronach, etc. But a glen has no specific link to Scotch. A glen is a valley. So why should Scottish distillers have a monopoly on the word "glen"? There are glens all around the world. A quick Wikipedia search will show you glens in New York State, Ireland, Canada, and Australia.
Next, the reason they are objecting makes zero sense to me. Scotch drinkers are notoriously snobby. They are the snobbiest drinkers I know. They generally won't buy a bottle of blended Scotch whisky let alone a bottle of whisky that isn't even Scotch. While this may not be true for all Scotch drinkers (and especially the cheap Mills'), most Scotch drinkers take their whisky very seriously. They know exactly what they are buying before they buy it. They can even tell you the difference in flavour and aroma between two Scotches from different regions. It is very unlikely that they'll mistake a bottle of booze from Cape Breton for a bottle from Scotland.
But to make extra sure that a buyer isn't confused, the label on the bottle specifically identifies the contents as Canadian single malt whisky. Caveat emptor anyone? Buyer beware. If you are stupid enough to think a bottle of whisky from Cape Breton is Scotch, then you deserve to buy the crap. I have yet to try Glen Breton, but I assume it's crap, because it's not Scottish.
Is it misleading to call a Canadian single malt whisky Glen Breton? Well, I suppose if you have no idea about Scotch, you may be mislead, but then again, you probably won't be buying Scotch anyway. So I see no harm whatsoever.
First, some background. Whisky can only be referred to as Scotch whisky if it is distilled in Scotland. This is similar to how only sparkling wine from Champagne in France can be referred to as Champagne. Glenora does not refer to its whisky as Scotch whiskey, they refer to it as a Canadian single malt whisky. But the Association fears that including "Glen" in the name of the whisky will mislead potential international buyers into thinking the Whisky is, in fact, Scotch.
This is stupid on many levels. First, the word "glen" has no direct link to Scotch other than the common, and, to be fair, almost specific practice among Scotch whisky distillers to name their product Glen something; Glenmorangie, Glenlivet, Glenfiddich, Glendronach, etc. But a glen has no specific link to Scotch. A glen is a valley. So why should Scottish distillers have a monopoly on the word "glen"? There are glens all around the world. A quick Wikipedia search will show you glens in New York State, Ireland, Canada, and Australia.
Next, the reason they are objecting makes zero sense to me. Scotch drinkers are notoriously snobby. They are the snobbiest drinkers I know. They generally won't buy a bottle of blended Scotch whisky let alone a bottle of whisky that isn't even Scotch. While this may not be true for all Scotch drinkers (and especially the cheap Mills'), most Scotch drinkers take their whisky very seriously. They know exactly what they are buying before they buy it. They can even tell you the difference in flavour and aroma between two Scotches from different regions. It is very unlikely that they'll mistake a bottle of booze from Cape Breton for a bottle from Scotland.
But to make extra sure that a buyer isn't confused, the label on the bottle specifically identifies the contents as Canadian single malt whisky. Caveat emptor anyone? Buyer beware. If you are stupid enough to think a bottle of whisky from Cape Breton is Scotch, then you deserve to buy the crap. I have yet to try Glen Breton, but I assume it's crap, because it's not Scottish.
Is it misleading to call a Canadian single malt whisky Glen Breton? Well, I suppose if you have no idea about Scotch, you may be mislead, but then again, you probably won't be buying Scotch anyway. So I see no harm whatsoever.
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