Origami Yoda Mondays!

It's been a while since I've posted here because I've done very little Hoffencharding as of late. Luckily, coworker Marcie had a birthday on the same night as the No Way Jose reunion show so that meant an end to my Hoff post drought in addition to ending my drunken debauchery drought. Let the good times roll? Of course. The evening started off innocuously enough. I wet my whistle with a vodka tonic as I watched the end of "House Of Satan" while scanning the results of Tour of Flanders online. Paul Sherwen's verdict: "Cancellara raped Boonen's tender, nubile, cycling asshole." Well, can't say I like Sherwen's colorful "word picture", but you can't argue with the result! A few V&T's later, I skipped over to New Brookland and offered up Birthday greetings to Marcie and her male companion Burt from Atlanta. They were holding hands like young lovers are prone to do so I found a particularly feculent spot at the bar and ordered my first ice-cold PBR tall boy. Local indie schlockers Mercy, Mercy Me were cranking up their set. One of the their guitarists broke his pelvis (!) the previous week falling off the roof of New Brookland in a drunken stupor. Needless to say, their "new " line-up of just guitar and drums with scream/singing was lackluster at best. "These guys aren't the White Stripes. Goddamn, they'e not even Godheadsilo! Fuck me, they're not even The Spinnanes!?" In an effort to flee the infernal racket, I ran outside and chatted with some kids who had just finished the April Fuels alleycat. One of the prizes was ONE Soma Everwear tire. ONE??? For Pete Seger's sake! Just give beer or Food Not Bombs patches or whatever those animals like instead of random bits of componentry. Lots of weirdly built fixed gears and correspondingly weirdly built hipsters leaned against railings smoking tobacco and making ironic comments about 80's sitcoms they were too young to have watched. "So, you were watching "Small Wonder" and "Silver Spoons" when you were a fetus? Get tha fuck outta here!" I felt the cranky old man brewing up inside me. God bless Hulu. I ran back inside, listened to Mercy, Mercy Me desecrating six centuries of western musical culture and ordered another tall boy.

(Hammered)The Yankees/Red Sox game was on so I pretended to be momentarily engrossed while people jostled for precious little bar space. Marcie and her lady friend Jaime were fairly plastered by now and sadly, I was well on my way to joining them as Mercy, Mercy Me 's set got progressively worse. I ordered yet another tall boy and turned back to watch the game. I felt a hand aggressively grabbing my right buttock and it was my friend CP. We played in a few bands together back in the day (CP had just quit this band for no good reason) and were now just two grown men who like to grab each other's buttocks in public. CP sold his car last year so he rides everywhere on his bizarro Raleigh single speed. Somehow, he totes his drums to gigs by bike but refused to tell me how. Chris and I debated the merits of my new 311 cover band (365 Chiba Fiendz, look for our debut 7" this summer), Early Hall and Oates versus PBS -TV- Special Hall and Oates, and various buttock grabbing techniques.

(No Way Jose in color coordinated, over-sized tank tops)No Way Jose were prepping for their set so we took our spots right-center for maximized rocking. Holy mother of Yoda. They built up the key-tar rock edifice and then completely destroyed it in 35 minutes of string shredding supremacy. Easily fits into my top 5 show of the year list. Think 8-Bit Nintendo with Superchunk with Drive Like Jehu with Six Finger Satellite. Drenched in sweat, we went over to the bar and toasted to the rock greatness with Coors Lights and more cigarettes. It was good to be in a beer-soaked hell hole at 1in the morning on a Sunday. The good news? More free shows at The Whig later this week and with the warm weather and Ole Blue sporting a new purple KMC chain, you can expect more posts about non-cycling adventures! Ciao ciao