Buns and Boutonnière

Tonight, I will not get into much detail. I was reminded to post something as I find myself, several months later, in the same coffee shop the night the Russian youth descended. Dbrovnik to everybody!

This photo that you see right here is of a boutonnière I had made for me to wear while interviewing tomorrow in beautiful-if-only-you-could-see-it-under-the-mass-of-snow Madison, Wisconsin. The job for which I’m interviewing may have something to do with ketchup, relish, mustard, and buns. Also, it may be considered one of the most post-college jobs.

It’s not that I want to get all of your hopes up, but let me tell you, I’m pretty excited about this opportunity. I don’t want to turn this blog into something personal. That blog will come later and depends on how I do with the interview.

Note: If you have any incling as to what I’m doing, don’t post it! Shhhh. ‘Tis secret!

If it’s Friday on Maui, the dance floor at Moose’s Lahaina is NOT the place to be (unless you’re over 40)

Just in time for making weekend plans, here’s my synopsis of Maui’s number one last resort hotspot.

Moose McGillycuddy’s sets the benchmark for bars on Maui. Having been a sort of panoptic presence on the north part of Front Street Lahaina since 1983, Moose McGillycuddy’s is a time-tested landmark known for its cheap, decent eats, an early bird breakfast and dinner that help offset the cost of getting to and staying in Hawaii, and its relaxed, not quite down-to-earth atmosphere. I’m not sure what exactly one is to expect from “going out on Maui,” but the restaurant/bar lives up to just that after hearing the locally produced commercials Maui’s radio stations.

Don’t get my wrong, I appreciate Moose’s mastery of all that is kitsch. Alone, it gets mildly annoying and the commercials are that bad. That is the material that sets the bar for going out in Maui and it is also what I had to deal with one recent Friday night.

If there is one word to describe that experience it is not what you are probably thinking right now. Everything mentioned actually could actually be fodder for a slightly tacky, reasonably fun joint. Instead of going that route, it’s as if all that was meant for good revolted and created a beast. And that beast is dangerous.

Sadder news on the Coachella front.

Evidently, a certain Mr. Bronson has taken issue with the rumored lineups.

He has dashed all hopes for My Bloody Valentine and David Bowie. I just hope that I’m not being to optimistic about some of the others. But Justice and Portishead should make for a couple of good shows.

Without Bowie or My Bloody Valentine, the festival has little chance of outdoing itself this year.

Coachella 2008 rumors dissected

The rumors about Coachella 2008 are starting to fly. In addition to Goldenvoice’s rumored back east music festival (via Idolator) there are Coachella posters floating around the Internet. I got a peek at the first one in a post that came through my RSS reader but once a friend sent me a second, mostly different one, I decided that it’s about time to take a look at these things.

Because Coachella poster tend to vary only slightly stylistically from year to year, and each year, there seems to be a hot bunch of about 30 acts that ends up attending about 70% of North America’s music festivals, the posters and lineups are easily faked.

Ever since 2001, the posters layout have included the Empire Polo Club field and palm trees in the foreground at the bottom with the backdrop being the Coachella valley and the sky above being illuminated at different times of day. The 2007 poster featured a late-afternoon/early-evening sky so it makes sense that the time of day move forward an hour or two. Both do so, but I find the night sky in the second poster to be a little ambitious.

 

Update to the Mr. Yoo saga

Attn: Facebook users
For the must current revisions, click the link above to head to real blog

Okay, I’ll admit it, the Mr. Yoo saga might not be much of a saga. The last few days have yielded absolutely no Yoo sightings so I have no proof of his exhibitionism that I mentioned in the last blog on the subject. Sadly, despite some certain goading, I’ve heard nothing from his domicile.

I had cast some bait in the form of a letter to the editor. I wrote it on the second and it was published the Sunday after. Thus far, no bite. At least not yet. I might need to assure somehow that he reads the letter.

If you’re interested, you can go check out the slightly edited version online. Aside from inserting an unnecessary comma, removing a couple words and messing up an instance of subject-verb agreement, changing city to county in reference to ordinances (I intentionally used city because that’s specifically what the neighbor said, neglecting that Maui has a county government), and editing out a beloved semi-colon, the published version isn’t that much more exciting–it’s only The Maui News.

But for those of you deciding you’d rather not click the link to mauinews.com or who would like to compare versions, I’ve included the original text:

Good to meet you, Mr. Yoo (or is it You?).

Upon arriving at my parent’s home in Maui two weeks go and at heading to my old room the first time in nine months, my mom gave me a warning that we had a new next-door neighbor and that this old man has a penchant for hanging outside his house and wetting himself down right in the view from my window on the second floor of my house. Since the, the shuttered blinds on that side of the room have been a reminder of his all-bearing presence. But during my New Year’s Eve celebrations, the notion of having a next-door neighbor was the furthest thing from my mind.

Overall, the man has been a mystery to my parents. Then I met him. I met my new neighbor in what I believe to be the worst way possible, save for him throwing the new neighbor pie back in my face. Now, I’ve come to not expect much from the residents of the house next door. The first impressions of the the man living next door upon my family’s move the house in which I grew up was poor; he took issue at nearly everything my family, and in particular, I, would do. His house stood as the lone mess in our properly manicured neighborhood. Somehow, I devised the metaphor that his house was a barf bag, pardon me, an air sickness bag. Oh, how it irritated me when the spiders would creep from his house through the palm tree barrier that separated us from him. To continue with the metaphor, our house was a pristine paper grocery filled with the most delectable treats and his bag quite often tainted our bag–no, house. Regardless of the state of his abode, if there was something bothering him about my family and our practices, he would call. If I was practicing my trombone and it wasn’t too his liking, he would call, even if he was thousands of miles away in Canada to yell at my mother and demand that we stop torturing demented elephants or else he would call animal control on us. If our dog was making even the slightest noise, he would call, yell, and threaten to sic animal control on us, which, in retrospect, would have been a great way to rid ourselves of that wretched pomeranian.

Where are product recalls that really matter?

Putting all New Year’s festivities aside, I come to you with something that has wrought unending trouble to me. Today, I was at Whaler’s General Store, helping my sister pick up some tourist garbage for her to give to friends and I came across this interesting specimen.

It’s not the lead paint that undoubtedly coats this charming little dashboard ornament that concerns me. No, there is something infinitely more disconcerting.

Please, whoever designed designed poor Ku’uipo, tell me why she’s playing the violin and why she does not have a bow.