6/22/2005
Mmmmm....That's Good Solstice!
Yesterday was, calendar-wise, my favorite day of the year. The summer solstice. Longest day of the year. First day of summer. Call it what you like, there is no doubting it: June 21st is the coolest day of the fucking year.
For those of you who are lucky enough to live in the StL, or if you reside anywhere else on the 90th degree, noon yesterday was (and I'm sorry if I'm getting all Mr.Wizardy on you) the peak tanning moment of the year. So I got topless, lathered myself up in oil, and engaged in some lawn work/outdoor reading. That's when it hit me: It had been three years since I properly celebrated the solstice. Three long years.
Immediately, I sent out some e-mails, made a few calls, and went down to the market to get some supplies. It was official. The first BBQ of summer.
As far as I'm concerned, the summer Q is just like a sore dick. You can't beat it. Boys and girls sitting around the patio, enjoying burgers, beers, and each others company. Like a sweet little John Melloncamp ditty. Now that's American.
Per the usual, the celebration ended in everyone consuming way too many beers, making grand plans for the future, tossing out a few too many racial slurs (fucking wops), and being late for work in the morning. Good times.
Also, last night I decided that there are not enough lists in the world right now. Until I watch VH1 and Maxim Presents: VH1 and Maxim's The Top 100 Top 100 Lists of All Time, and/or E!'s True Hollywood Stories: VH1 and Maxim Presents: VH1 and Maxim's The Top 100 Top 100 Lists of All Time, I will continue to praise and celebrate lists, working towards that ultimate goal that one day everything which could ever be listed and/or categorized is.
Anyhoo...We were listening to some Skynyrd last night (and yes, I was drinking a Busch beer. And, yes, I am rapidly developing into a world class red-neck) when it dawned on me that the world needs at least a Top Ten Best Southern Rock Tunes of all time. I quickly started getting to work in my head, listing some bands and making mental notes. A few questions arose. Mainly, would In Memory of Elizabeth Reed really count as a southern rock song? I mean, yeah, it's by The Allman's and all, but it strikes me as more of a jam-band song. Whatever.
The list was definitely taking shape when I heard that first sweet fucking note. And that's when it hit me. If I wanted to make a list of Southern Rock Tunes, the only way it I'd be able to look myself in the mirror the next day is to make sure that The Ballad of Curtis Loew is number one on that list.
Since I already had a number one song, I stopped making the list and got another beer. Then I got a glass of wine. And you can probably guess where the night went from there (and if you guessed: drinking wine and eating your roomates cous-cous while watching a tape of the Illinois-Arizona game from this year's Elite Eight, you are a winner.)
Now I sit here tired, hungover, and poopy (literally, I'm crapping like every seven minutes today. Attractive, I know.) and I don't have a list to share with you.
And the scoreboard reads: Solstice 1, Al 0.
For those of you who are lucky enough to live in the StL, or if you reside anywhere else on the 90th degree, noon yesterday was (and I'm sorry if I'm getting all Mr.Wizardy on you) the peak tanning moment of the year. So I got topless, lathered myself up in oil, and engaged in some lawn work/outdoor reading. That's when it hit me: It had been three years since I properly celebrated the solstice. Three long years.
Immediately, I sent out some e-mails, made a few calls, and went down to the market to get some supplies. It was official. The first BBQ of summer.
As far as I'm concerned, the summer Q is just like a sore dick. You can't beat it. Boys and girls sitting around the patio, enjoying burgers, beers, and each others company. Like a sweet little John Melloncamp ditty. Now that's American.
Per the usual, the celebration ended in everyone consuming way too many beers, making grand plans for the future, tossing out a few too many racial slurs (fucking wops), and being late for work in the morning. Good times.
Also, last night I decided that there are not enough lists in the world right now. Until I watch VH1 and Maxim Presents: VH1 and Maxim's The Top 100 Top 100 Lists of All Time, and/or E!'s True Hollywood Stories: VH1 and Maxim Presents: VH1 and Maxim's The Top 100 Top 100 Lists of All Time, I will continue to praise and celebrate lists, working towards that ultimate goal that one day everything which could ever be listed and/or categorized is.
Anyhoo...We were listening to some Skynyrd last night (and yes, I was drinking a Busch beer. And, yes, I am rapidly developing into a world class red-neck) when it dawned on me that the world needs at least a Top Ten Best Southern Rock Tunes of all time. I quickly started getting to work in my head, listing some bands and making mental notes. A few questions arose. Mainly, would In Memory of Elizabeth Reed really count as a southern rock song? I mean, yeah, it's by The Allman's and all, but it strikes me as more of a jam-band song. Whatever.
The list was definitely taking shape when I heard that first sweet fucking note. And that's when it hit me. If I wanted to make a list of Southern Rock Tunes, the only way it I'd be able to look myself in the mirror the next day is to make sure that The Ballad of Curtis Loew is number one on that list.
Since I already had a number one song, I stopped making the list and got another beer. Then I got a glass of wine. And you can probably guess where the night went from there (and if you guessed: drinking wine and eating your roomates cous-cous while watching a tape of the Illinois-Arizona game from this year's Elite Eight, you are a winner.)
Now I sit here tired, hungover, and poopy (literally, I'm crapping like every seven minutes today. Attractive, I know.) and I don't have a list to share with you.
And the scoreboard reads: Solstice 1, Al 0.
