Here are some pictures from our recent Vegas excursion.
I really loved the MGM Grand lions, especially since I learned they didn’t actually live in that tiny habitat.
Common children’s names which warrant license plate production.
What kind of nerd would pretend a garbage can was a Dalek?
As evidenced by my pictures from the Raconteurs show, rock shows are hard to photograph unless you are right up close.
Luckily, there was more going on at Tuesday’s Yelle show at The War Room than just fun French pop. The Brunswicks delighted in tormenting a passed out man whose reserved booth we pilfered, with hilarious results.
I had a great time at Yelle for not knowing most of the songs and not being able to understand any of the words apart from “garcon” and “merci bouquet”. Naturally, she spoke with a cute French accent, which, for some reason sounded a little fake. Especially when she said things like “Do you know how to zsnap your fingeaurs?”. She also smacked the hell out of her giant drum. It was pretty enthralling.
The crowd was pretty eclectic, but it did have the overwhelming feeling of being in an American Apparel showroom. SO MANY T-SHIRT DRESSES AND BELTS!
If you’ve never heard of Yelle, check out her retro-tastic video for his biggest hit which she played twice.
I know I don’t normally like dance music, since I am such an atrocious dancer. But I definitely had fun shaking my uncoordinated tush to Yelle.
Pilfered from Slog. I wish I knew how to make these things. I could add the ones from The Brothers Solomon and The Devil’s Rejects.
On Valentine’s Day this year, B. and I went to a cabaret/variety show at the Jewel Box. One of the acts was a drag queen named Ultra lip syncing to a hilarious song I’d never heard before about what to do if you suspect yo man has been out carousing with hos. Now there is a video for that song and it’s totally viral. To aid in the efforts of spreading the Riskay virus, I present to you… “Smell Yo Dick”:
On Saturday, B. and I attended a birthday party/engagement party in the back room at the Spitfire Grill in Belltown. Even though it’s a sports bar, I have always loved the art in that place. They have this amazing ginormous painting of a dead sparrow, killed by an arrow to the heart, is being eulogized by anthropomorphic insects and other birds. It’s fascinating.
Anyway, I’d never been in the back room, but there was more interesting art back there including a trio of paintings of Ian Curtis.
I loved them immediately. I couldn’t stop staring at them. Out of happenstance, B. mentioned the paintings to the bartender; a chap named Zeb Ringer who was also the artist. Not only that, but the paintings were for sale. When B. told me this, I couldn’t help myself. I HAD to ask.
They were pretty reasonably priced, but still art prices. I asked the artist if he would sell one of them. He told me he couldn’t do that because they were actually a unified painting. He asked me to stand far back and look at the gray areas as one picture. I did. They were Ian Curtis’ face formed in the Manchester smog blanketing each painting. Incredible. I was sold.
Luckily, whatwith the poor state of my accounts, B. offered to buy them for us. He’s picking them up on Sunday. I am so excited! We have the perfect place for them in the front room. Come on over and see ’em!
Effed by the Wind 