A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Maiden Voyage - Pt. 2

"Are There Any Catholics in the Crowd?"

Part 1 can be found here

The three of us made our way to the Pavilion proper shortly before 8 PM, thus giving us plenty of time to miss the opening act. I'd like to say up front I have nothing against bass player and founding member Steve Harris' daughter Lauren and I'm sure she plays a...a solid set, but recent experiences have led me to be wary of rock star progeny.

Our seats were pretty rocking (when attending a metal show, all occurrences can neatly be divided into those that rock, and those that do not): 13 rows back on the (house) right side. It was apparent early on that the show was close to sold out, if such a thing is possible in the Woodlands (I've no doubt Ticketmaster is instructed to continue selling lawn tickets until breathing becomes difficult...and then sell 500 more).

We'd barely taken position when the lights went down and a brief montage of the tour to this point played. Immediately thereafter, we were treated to the familiar sounds of Churchill's "Never Surrender" speech, accompanied by visuals of the Battle of Britain. That can only mean one thing at a Maiden show: "Aces High" (all of these vids were taken and posted by someone on the opposite end of the arena, lest anyone be confused):

And like all good out-of-towners, Bruce borrowed an audience member's hat for a few verses.

It was almost embarrassing how gratified the crowd was when he put that thing on. I mean, anyone who remembers the mullet-sporting, leather pants and spiked armband-clad '80s incarnation knows the guy isn't very picky, clothes-wise.

But whatever. They went straight from that into "2 Minutes to Midnight" and "Revelations." Everyone still on their feet, the better to drink in the World Slavery tour era stage setup (hieroglyphics, statues of Anubis, and Eddie from Powerslave flanked by Somewhere Out of Time Eddie and Seventh Son of a Seventh Son Eddie).

Then came my personal favorite, "The Trooper:"

I'm not at all ashamed to say I threw more devil horns that night than I have since my last UT-A&M game. The next song was my favorite from Somewhere in Time, "Wasted Years." Then "Number of the Beast" and "Run to the Hills." The only semi-decent pic I got from the night was during the latter, capturing none other than SATAN in all his goat-y low-res glory:

After "Hills" came "Rime of the Ancient Mariner." Or as I refer to it, "Intermission." I cruised the vendor area for a bit, buying a shirt for myself and a...nightgown for She Who Shall Not Be Named with "The Evil That Men Do" on it. I took a nifty picture of it, but can't locate the USB cable for it right now. Trust me, she's as cute as a 4-year old in a black t-shirt with a devil on it can be.

After procuring beers for Thing and Joni (I bravely sacrificed my own thirst to the whims of the Pavilion's 2 beer per customer policy), I returned to my seat in time for "Powerslave," "Heaven Can Wait," "Can I Play With Madness?" and the long-awaited (though not exactly SiT era) "Fear of the Dark:"

Did I mention it was hot? Bruce said the stage thermometer read 120 degrees, and I believe it. Especially if Harris was any indication:

I haven't seen an English guy sweat like that since Hugh Grant. Dave was also pretty shiny:

Iron Maiden" was next, featuring the first appearance of mummy Eddie:

Here he is in better detail:

It was this moment that prompted TTTWLAM to note that the midgets and props from Spinal Tap's "Stonehenge" wouldn't have looked out of place, and as much as I love Iron Maiden, I couldn't really disagree.

The Irons' setlist doesn't vary much, owing to the emphasis on the theatrical and the fact that this tour is mostly a promotional event for the release of the 2-disc Live After Death DVD. As such, I knew the encore would include "Moonchild," "The Clairvoyant," and "Hallowed be Thy Name," which is when I'm pretty sure this pic was taken:

And that was all she wrote. Joni went back to the hotel room she'd smartly reserved right there on the waterfront, while The Thing and I returned to Baker St., ears ringing, for a final beer before driving our dehydrated asses back home.

I'm sure there are those that will laugh at the almost 40-year old going to such efforts to document an 80s era metal show, but Iron Maiden put on one of the most energetic and entertaining concerts I've ever attended. Sure, there's a certain tongue-in-cheek quality to watching a bunch of 50-something dudes wearing leather pants and playing songs about the End Times. And in the post-hair band generation Maiden - with their giant mummy and the "Somewhere In Time"-vintage Eddie that appeared briefly - can look a little goofy, but they leave it all out there on stage. The three of us had a blast, and I'd certainly see them again if - as they promised - they return to Houston.

And who are you to judge me, anyway? Jerks.

Up the Irons.

"Are you hugging the TV?"

Math Made Fun...or, How Pete Spent His Sunday Afternoon:

+





=

Now I know what all this high definition fuss is about. I had no idea sounds like that* could come out of my TV.

*The Feral Kid's boomerang lopping off Toady's fingers, for starters.

Maiden Voyage - Pt. 1

Heavy Metal Parking Lot Restaurant

Most of you are aware of the 1986 mini-doc Heavy Metal Parking Lot, which peeled back the mystique shrouding the world of metal to show us the cream of Amerca's youth. Shot before a Judas Priest show at the Capital Center in Largo, MD. It's a wonderful, all-too brief glimpse of Mullet Nation as it existed some 20 years ago.

My own hard rock recollections from that era are fairly numerous, though somewhat less vivid. From Cheap Trick in 1983 to Motley Crue ('87) to Slayer ('88) and many others, I hung out with more than my fair share of skinny teens with bad skin and anger management issues. To anyone who attended metal shows in the 1980s, HMPL wasn't a whimsical curiosity, it was a morbid reminder of the legions of homophobic sub-literates that populated the metal scene.

Wooderson?

These images came to mind last Thursday (5/22), when Iron Maiden's "Somewhere Back in Time" tour hit Houston. The Thing That Walks Like a Man and I were heading to Baker St. Restaurant & Pub in the swanky Waterway section of the Woodlands to meet Joni for some pre-concert beers. The two of us were both dressed in acceptable concert gear: black t-shirt and jeans/shorts, an ensemble that works for most musical events. But while we'd made a (conscious or not) decision not to be "that guy" by wearing shirts of the band we were seeing, we were definitely in the minority.

Baker St. had been taken over by the Iron Maiden F(an) C(lub) (I'm a member, but only for ticket presale purposes). For just like the Cap Center itself - demolished to make way for a mall - so too is the pre-concert parking lot experience only a distant memory. Fans wanting to get their drink on before paying $10 per Fosters in one of our nation's many fine corporate multi-purpose entertainment venues won't be welcome in the heavily patrolled parking areas. But that's okay, because the chain outlets like Baker St. that make up the larger business districts surrounding these arenas will welcome today's older, fatter metal aficionado with open arms.

At first, I felt kind of bad for folks wandering in for a random happy hour drink or an early dinner (and especially the older folks who were there for a birthday party), but the overwhelming majority of those in the bar were in their 30s, fairly well-off, and relatively docile. Many had also brought their own kids, for whom the act of attending an Iron Maiden show with Mom and Dad was probably such a lethal combination of ironic detachment and self-loathing they bled from the eyes for hours.

At least the token Ratt fan didn't appear to have any children.

Wow, my generation hasn't aged well. I suggested to a guy sitting next to us that maybe Messrs. Pearcy and DeMartini were opening for the Irons. His reply: "I fucking hope not."

All told, a full afternoon. Between trying to convince one particularly hammered "young" lady of the need to eat something before the show (she declined) and trying to convince Christine the waitress to take our extra ticket (she also declined, but only because she made the mistake of asking her manager), it was a pleasant, air-conditioned lead-in to the show itself. And nary a mullet to be found.

Next: Out Spinal Tapping Spinal Tap

For Your Review - May 23-25, 2008

There are a few other movies opening in limited release today, but Memorial Day weekend this year is all about Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. My review is up, and I finally settled on 3.5 stars

I understand the criticisms that have been made, but they honestly don't bother me that much. To wit; the endless bitching about the used of green screen and CGI. which people are shocked to discover in a movie produced by George Lucas. Speaking for myself, I was able to ignore most of it.

Except for the monkeys.

Anyway, I was happy to see Indy and Marion back in action. And Shia LaBeouf didn't annoy me...much, which has to count for a plus.

I'll have a write-up for last night's Maiden show once after I take a nap and get some IV saline.

Two minutes days to midnight Maiden

In less than two days' time, actually, I will be singing along to "Fear of the Dark" with TTTWLAM, Heavy Metal Wife Joni, and an attendee to be named later at the Woodlands Pavillion. And while the possibility of me being "that guy" are almost nil (I don't actually own a Maiden t-shirt), I have no idea what to wear.

Maybe I'll dig out the old argyle sweater.

What's in a name?

Since I can only assume my regular readership were shocked into jealous silence by my revelation that I've seen Indy 4, I figured I'd better post something encouraging more feedback. Specifically, naming this gal:

She's 7 weeks old. Mother was a Siamese, father of...indeterminate ancestry. Right now she's snoozing on The Wife's lap.

So we've kicked around a couple of names, but haven't settled on anything. The front-runners are Kali, Liffey, Sinatra, and Starbuck. Several other suggestions of mine were shot down. Probably for good reason.

For Your Review - May 16-18, 2008

My review of Prince Caspian (**1/2) is up. It's pretty enough, but at 147 minutes it's about one battle sequence too long. I also tend to think If they'd excised 75% of the scenes where the Pevensie kids look meaningfully at each other while contemplating the passage of time upon their return to Narnia, it would've come in under two hours.

Also, I have seen Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and deem it my favorite of the IJ sequels, though it falls well short of Raiders. And I knew I shouldn't watch those goddamn trailers. They don't give everything away, but a few things that would've been nice surprises end up somewhat diminished.

Finally, I'm glad I wasn't actually aware of comments George Lucas made about continuing the Indiana Jones franchise without the Indiana Jones character before I saw the movie:

Speaking to Fox News ahead of the film's Cannes Film Festival debut, Lucas said he wanted to shift the emphasis away from the Indiana Jones character for the next film.

"I haven't even told Steven or Harrison this," Lucas told Fox News. "But I have an idea to make Shia [LaBeouf] the lead character next time and have Harrison [Ford] come back like Sean Connery did in the last movie. I can see it working out."

Yeah, I can imagine what "Steven or Harrison" had to say about that.

I'm pretty sure Lucas is simply talking shit just to rile up the fanboys, because it's made rather clear in Crystal Skull that they have no intention of passing the whip to LaBeouf.

"What about JONES?"

I'm really quite disappointed I didn't make it to the Aurora earlier this month to see Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation (lousy family vacations). In case you don't know what I'm talking about, here's some more info:

The legend of the film is well-known in Indy circles. In 1982, three friends -- Chris Strompolos, Eric Zala and Jayson Lamb -- got together to begin a shot-for-shot re-creation of "Raiders," a film that had been released just a year before. Their ambitions were huge -- they committed to re-creating every single effects shot, including the giant rolling boulder at the film's beginning.

Hampered by the budget constraints of a 12-year-old's allowance and unhappy parents who learned they were setting each other on fire, the film was shut down and restarted several times over the course of seven years. In August 1989, the now 19-year-old friends finally had their premiere screening.

The guys are in their mid-30s now, and improbably, they've fashioned a bit of a second career touring the world with what "Hostel" director Eli Roth described as "the Ark of the Covenant of underground tapes." It's been much discussed, but outside of their occasional charity screenings, it's completely unavailable.

And it played in my town! As the meatiest of mea culpas, all I can offer is the following:

- This list of upcoming screenings

- My review, made possible only after I relentlessly hounded Chris Strompolos for a screener

- A collection of video links for the movie, the better to assure you that all the cool kids like it too

I can't sing enough praises for "The Adaptation." True, it looks and sounds like crap in many places (I think even the high school Shakespeare project peenman and I shot was on better quality tape), but there's enough love (and unhealthy obsession) at its heart that you really won't care. Had I any talent for directing, cinematography or set building, I might have attempted something similar.

"48 waist with the balloon seat, right?"

I'm gratified to report that, according to the fine folks at Mossimo Apparel, I no longer wear an XL swimsuit. I was all set to buy one at Target the weekend before we left on vacation, having had the old one for going on ten years, but something seemed a little...off when I took an extra large pair off the rack.

The Wife: That thing is huge.
Me: Is it? [holds suit up to waist] Jesus, I could fit a couple of naked...wives in here with me.
TW: Go for the large.
Me: You think? Gee, this is all so sudden...
TW: For Christ's sake. [throws size L into cart]
Me: Should I buy a few new pairs of shoes as well?

My glee was relatively short-lived, for after arriving in Galveston and plunging into the surf (the better to protect She Who Shall Not Be Named from the hordes of sharks lurking just offshore) I realized this particular clothing manufacturer must be having a laugh at our expense. The suit slipped off my waist so often and so...revealingly I realized I could've gotten away with a medium, which is patently ridiculous.

Anyone who's ever met me knows I'm not a small person. I did learn from my recent physical that I've actually lost about ten pounds in the last ten years (at this rate I'll be down to my so-called "ideal" weight around 2039), no big deal. But thanks to America's apparel industry, which is cleverly misleading our rapidly inflating population by adjusting sizes downward, I'll be proudly sporting an 'S' by my 50th birthday.

Time for another McGriddle.

Bad TV Ponderings - Verminators

One of the things the Discovery Channel's new show Verminators has going for it is the way it allows the network to finally show humans wasting other animals. Sure, Deadliest Catch brings us the killing fields of the king crab, and Bear Grylls always ends up eating some invertebrate, but you know DC has been dying to get its murder on ever since the first Shark Week.

"There's nothing more humane?"
"I could drown him."

The lamentations of Geralyn, the animal lover in Episode 4, who somehow can't reconcile her leaving food lying around for the neighborhood animals with the giant attic rat keeping her up nights. I credit the producers for the classic move of showing her in close-up while amplifying the sounds of J.D. shooting the thing in the background.

But like all-time favorite Cheaters, the real purpose of the show is to make us feel better about ourselves. 'Hey,' you think, 'I may be and uptight asshole who's no closer to realizing my dreams of writing professionally in spite of the looming specter of my 40th birthday, but at least I don't have an inch of bedbugs coating my floor.'

Naturally, it's loaded with the same ominous, self-important score and the military-style graphics that plague all these programs, but I suppose it'll enter the semi-regular rotation of shows I'll watch after SportsCenter when I can't find anything good on HBO but want to stay up to have one more beer.

It's a pretty prestigious rotation.

On a side note, I think I figured out why Frank Caliendo's show is doomed to fail. Certainly, he does a fine John Madden impersonation (which merely comprises 50% of his stand-up act), and his George W. Bush is decent, but if you're a...somewhat heavy impressionist who doesn't bear a passing resemblance to a dozen celebrities, your voice talents better be top notch.

Unfortunately, that isn't the case with Caliendo. Honestly, I didn't know who his Al Pacino or Donald Trump were supposed to be until I thought about it. And even then, all that came to me was that he was playing a fat Al Pacino.

For Your Review - May 9-11, 2008

Sometimes great movies don't always strike you that way at first. Repeat viewings may be necessary, or perhaps a little time needs to pass before you can really appreciate the film's understated magnificence.

And sometimes they're just pieces of crap. Case in point:

What Happens in Vegas * - I've been to Vegas quite a bit, and I somehow always miss out on the magical experiences all these movie people seem to have. Of course, I'm neither as cute as Ashton Kutcher nor as leathery as Cameron Diaz. Fun fact: I didn't realize she has six years on Kutcher. Time sure has flown since The Mask.

Speed Racer **1/2 - I really didn't understand all the negative press for this. Apparently everyone else was expecting Pixar. And as obnoxious as it was, it was still better than the cartoon.

"We'll even provide you with a prescription bong."

"Do you want the wizard, or the skull?"

The Kingwood teenager's story of decapitating a corpse and using the head to smoke marijuana was so outlandish that at first Houston Police Department senior police officer Jim Adkins did not believe it.

Yet, Kevin Wade Jones Jr., 17, appeared almost indifferent as he relayed the bizarre description of his and two friends' activities at an Humble area graveyard, Adkins said.

"I just doubted it because it's very morbid, and I couldn't see anybody doing something like this," Adkins said Thursday.

Not until police went to the home of another Kingwood 17-year-old, Matthew Richard Gonzalez, did the officer believe the tale.

"He regurgitated in his plate of food when I asked him about it," Adkins said. "So I knew there was some truth to the story."
[...]
Houston police believe the teens disturbed the grave of an 11-year-old boy who died in 1921.

The child was buried at an unmarked cemetery believed to be reserved for black veterans and their families, Adkins said.

I knew some real winners in college, including a couple of guys I worked with who were in the occasional habit of making off with headstones from local cemetaries. Rumor was they'd eventually ramped up their desecration to actual corpse abuse, but by then I'd quit the College Republicans.

Can't you get human skulls online? And is it true that ones from India always have perfect teeth?

A few things:

Jones claimed he and his friends used shovels to dig up the body and removed the corpse's head with a garden tool, Adkins said. Jones also revealed he and the other two boys took the severed head to the juvenile's home, where they used the skull as a "bong" to smoke marijuana, the officer said.

They would then use the marijuana to "get high," which would potentially lead to fits of "the giggles" and "munchies." Finally, the boys might listen to "Pink Floyd" before "passing out."

The three boys, all home-schooled, have also been charged in connection with the vehicle break-in.

Your dorsal ocelli are like limpid pools

Isabella Rossellini is doing a series of shorts for the Sundance Channel called Green Porno, in which she acts out the mating routines of various invertebrates. It is simultaneously one of the weirdest and coolest things I've ever seen (and I suppose it's technically NSFW):

In addition to snails and earthworms, you can enjoy simulated hanky-panky with such arthropod luminaries as the dragonfly, bee, and spider, peppered with informative commentary like, "My anus would end up on top of my head. Unfortunately."

Admittedly, I went straight for praying mantis, and was a little disappointed that the lovely Ms. Rossellini didn't play the female.

"Once you get twelve miles out, there's no laws at all. That's where they held the Tyson-Secretariat fight."

Silly Cedric, Lake Travis isn't international waters:

Former Longhorn running back Cedric Benson said he is innocent.

He was charged with Boating While Intoxicated (BWI) charges along with the resisting arrest charges on Lake Travis Saturday night.

Benson was arrested after a Lower Colorado River Authority officer said he failed a sobriety test.

Benson was operating a 30 foot boat with 15 passengers on it when he was randomly checked for a safety inspection.

It's unclear if the police were alerted to the presence of monkey knife fights aboard the boat.

But wow...15 people? I was on a 32-footer last week with four guys and we oft times had to maneuver in close quarters. Then again, we were usually casting from the same side of the boat.

Police said they used pepper spray to get Benson to a Travis County deputy's car.
[...]
Benson was the fourth pick in the 2005 draft.

As a fan of both the Longhorns and the Bears, I'm pretty qualified to describe Benson as a bust. In three seasons, he has less than 1,500 yards rushing and ten touchdowns. Unfortunately, as golden an opportunity as this is to cut him loose, the Bears would take a $6 million salary cap hit if they did so.

And however will they re-sign Cade McNown if that happens?

Beating a...

While we were at the "beach" last week (a perfectly serviceable sandy oceanfront surface, Angelo's snotty protestations aside), we discussed watching the Kentucky Derby. Circumstances - meaning She Who Shall Not Be Named's ongoing fascination with getting pummeled by surf - kept us away from the TV, which turns out to have been just as well:

Big Brown was pulling away from the field, accelerating with every powerful stride toward the finish line in the Kentucky Derby. The crowd of 157,770 was on its feet and cheering as the big, unbeaten, muscular bay crossed the line first, 4 3/4 lengths ahead of the filly Eight Belles.

Trainer Rick Dutrow Jr. was still celebrating, along with thousands of happy bettors, as Big Brown and the 19 other horses in Saturday's race galloped out around the first turn at Churchill Downs.

It took a few minutes to sink in, but anyone watching those horses soon realized that one of them had fallen to the track.

"It's the filly," someone whispered. She went down about a quarter mile past the finish line.

In just a few minutes, the joy of the Derby and the promise of a new Triple Crown season were upended when Eight Belles was euthanized by injection on the track.

She had broken both front ankles and could not be saved.
[...]
Dr. Larry Bramlage, the Derby's on-call veterinarian, said the filly's injuries were too severe to even attempt to move her off the track.

"She didn't have a front leg to stand on to be splinted and hauled off in the ambulance, so she was euthanized," Bramlage said.

Trainer Larry Jones paid tribute to his fallen filly saying, "She ran the race of her life."

Apparently so.

I'm not going to get all bunged up about another (the fourth high profile racing death in the last two years) dead horse, seeing as how I: 1) eat meat; 2) take my kid to the zoo, and 3) just last week went fishing with The Father in Law. But remind me again how horse racing is different from the Iditarod or greyhound racing or any other borderline civilized animal sport? Is it the veneer of respectability afforded by millionaire owners? The venerable tradition of races like the Derby? Thoroughbreds are prettier than greyhounds? The relatively low mortality rate?

Horse always tastes a little gamy?

Ah well. This will cease to be a story once the Preakness rolls around.