Bat For Lashes: "What's A Girl To Do?" (Parlophone UK)
The recipe is delicious: One cup of Goldfrapp, 1/2 cup each of PJ Harvey and Kate Bush, a heaping tablespoon of Cat Power, and a dash of Peggy Lee to taste. Hailing from Brighton, UK, Natasha Kahn records under the nom de plume Bat For Lashes, and her debut album "Fur and Gold" is destined to be a classic, in fact it's already been nominated for England's prestigious Mercury Music Prize. This track is the latest single from the LP and it's sheer pop grandiosity masterfully evokes the sad wonder of lost love. Khan prefers to use genuine instrumentation over synthesized sounds, resulting in an exotic, orchestral backdrop that seems lifted from some dramatic, cinematic 60's girl-group record. The spoken verses recall the detached psychosis of Lee's "Is That All There Is" and the all-cried out vibe of the Shangri-La's "Walking in the Sand." The mood is decidedly dark, but without any cheeseball goth trappings, just classic crocodile tears rolling down the dewy cheek of a forlorn medieval maiden. Bat for Lashes are a truly magnificent proposition.
Annie Lennox: "Dark Road" (Sony)
In my book, the Eurythmics are one of the best acts of the '80's and they're not given nearly enough credit for their pop experimentalism and lasting influence. Granted, the reunion a few years back was a bit of a snore, but the original six albums are full of wonderful, well-written and edgy electronic-based pop. Her previous solo records saw her gradually treading toward Adult Contemporary irrelevance. Although it's not exactly cutting edge material, "Dark Road" sees the diva returning at least to an intriguingly listenable place of grace and high drama. If anyone had forgotten what a incredibly divine voice Lennox possesses, here is a not-so-subtle reminder. Her glossolalia ranges from ethereal mist to soul sister, often in the same phrase - she's all over the map here, and it's a pleasure to hear her go to town. Musically, this slow burner teeters between dull and snoozy, but the sheer impact of Lennox's voice and the power of her sentiment render the Glen Ballard produced backdrop fairly unimportant. As gorgeous as this is during certain moments, I fear the entire album will be filled with bombastic ballads like this, all too similar in tone and texture, rendering the whole affair useless and uninteresting. Maybe it's a little shallow, but I really hope she puts at least a couple of fun, upbeat dance tracks on there to remind us of the glory years.
Free - Terrarium / Mixed Media Piece Date: 2007-07-19, 11:02AM EDT
This mixed media piece by renowned conceptual artist Rummy La Rue literally captivates the viewer from across the street. The raw power of beaten blue collar wheelbarrow is gently masked by sensual green tides of common, CO2 eating grass. A master in the use of mixed-media, La Rue has captured the despair of the eroding American middle class with the hope of a better, greener future. The monsoons of the rainy season spring forth with limitless abundance of life sucking mosquitoes. The flat-tire exudes the weary exhaustion of the plow horse-lifeblood of the American breadbasket.
Limited edition (numbered 1 of 1), cannot be passed by the discerning collector. E-mail today to add this living sculpture to your front yard collection.PostingID: 377340521 Original Ad Link
I've never been much of hat person. I dunno, maybe it's just the shape of my head, but most of them usually look silly on me. In high school, I wouldn't have been caught dead in a baseball cap - too jock, too ordinary Everyday Joe. I always thought hats were so dorky. I had to be different.
I have owned the occasional black felt golf-style cap worn backwards - a look I could pretty much get away with. Those hats always seem get left behind on some cafe table or pilfered by friends wanting to just "borrow" it. Last winter, I found a nice cozy grey and black wool hat and amazingly, it looked okay on me AND it was a baseball-style cap. Yes, it took me until age 35 to find a baseball cap I actually liked.
Recently, my friend Mark gave me two baseball caps. He works down on the lake near Harrison at Hutton's General Store, which is owned by those evil but oh so loveable Gozzer Ranch millionaires who come to town to trample our flowers and create bizarre traffic snarls in their shiny white SUV's. Glamorous? Slightly. Rude? For Sure. Many people find these Gozzer folks detestable.
Anyway, Hutton's General Store sells hats with their logo along with hats shamelessly emblazoned with the Gozzer Ranch logo. One night I ran into Mark, and he was wearing one of these priceless gems, and I had to harass him about it. Poor Mark has to deal with the Gozzer Geezers day in and day out, but he tells me he's gotten pretty good at plastering a fake smile on his face. I love that certain kind of sarcastic irony that comes into play when you wear something representing an idea or concept you really can't stand. It'd be like wearing a shirt with the Hagadone Corporation logo. It'd be kind of funny.
So Mark gave me the Gozzer Hat, but for now it's just going to hang on the wall - I'd actually fear for my life wearing it out too much in this town, but at least it's an amusing conversation piece. I think Mark knew I wouldn't actually wear it because a couple of days ago he brought me a Hutton's General Store logo cap, and I love it! I actually think the logo is well-designed and attractive, kelly green is one of my favorite colors, plus I can get in my reverse anti-Gozzer trip without being harassed by haters who don't get the joke. And, to my amazement it actually looks pretty okay on my big head. Finally, now I'm stuck on hats. Thanks, Mark!
Weird News Item: Couple Discovers Image of Jesus in Kitchen Cabinet
I always like good Jesus or Mary "appearance" stories, the pinnacle of which was the fabulous Virgin Mary Grilled Cheese sandwich that sold on eBay for $28,000. I've seen news stories where busy California freeways get blocked up for miles with people gazing at holy apparitions on the back of metal road signs. In 1993, I saw Joan Crawford's chalky, soul-piercing countenance appear on a Denny's pancake, but that could have just been the acid wearing off. These people have no such excuse. This story made the national news! Looks more like Chewbacca to me.
MANCHESTER, Conn. - A Manchester, Connecticut couple is convinced they have a very special piece of woodwork in their kitchen.
Malynda and Eric Smith say they noticed last Friday that one of the cabinet doors has an image of Jesus Christ in it.
The couple says they have lived in the house for about a year and never noticed anything different about the cabinet.
And they say it may be hard to believe, but everyone who looks at it sees the image.
Malynda says "my daughter came and said mom look it's God.. and I looked.. and there it was a picture of Jesus Christ. Then my son noticed it and my husband came in and noticed it. I just can't believe we hadn't noticed it before."
The family says, unlike others who have items bearing the likeness of Jesus, they are not going to sell the cabinet door.
They say that would be bad luck.
(A mystery lady came into my work yesterday and dropped off this letter for me. I had the day off, so I didn't actually have the pleasure of encountering her. I have a hunch that might be for the best. I actually have no recollection of her at all. At first it just seemed crazy, but the more I read it, the more I find it sort of cool. It's way better than the usual notes people leave me complaining about the nasty state of the rest area toilets.)
May I introduce myself as Mrs. Lisa Gispell? Surely you do not remember me. It was nearly two years ago that I was last here. I remember you very vividly. Together we shared a conversation about having red hair; the luxuries and disasters that come with having the scarlet mat of heat upon our heads. You did not only treat me with respect and courtesy, unlike many men in this world, but the information that was provided to me saved my life.
Brisk dew of the early morning soaked through my thin running shoes nearly instantly. parading through front lawn, the last of the minivan was filled with drinks and the three-week-old Doritos that my son requested. A blinding sun was peaking over the housetops telling me that our trip was off to a great start. I had no idea that it was the pinnacle of the toppling cake I now refer to as my "Trip to Idaho."
To compare Southern Utah and Northern Idaho is, in a nutshell, like comparing a dry arid desert to a green valley of tenderness. The transition from the rocky desert to the sagebrush filled vsalley brought little hope from the belittled divorce behind me in Utah. Eventually the winding highway brought me into vast green forests and rolling green hills. Idaho was becoming better and better. Soon enough I was entering a town with a name I could not pronounce. What the hell was Coeur d'Alene?
After a refreshing lunch on the lake with my son, we decided to continue north. Clearly I90 West does not take you north. An immediate turn around and a stop to your information post immediately set me straight. you said two things that I will never forget; red heads are the best kind (of course my ex-husband thought the opposite) and that Sandpoint is a quaint little pristine town.
I made my way to Sandpoint with the directions you gave me. A few days later my ex-husband Jim called me. He wanted to get back together. The way the man echoed for my company by his side was nearly enough to make me drive back down that second. But then I remembered the abuse. The way he spoke to me, belittled me with no concern. The lamps and plates that always needed replacing after they crashed into the walls. I could not go on with that. not again. I had to protect my son and our well-being.
Soon enough I was able to figure out that it is not Pen-d-or-ii-ell or Cor-de-lane-ee. I have an apartment that is quiet. No yelling or fighting. God has taken me into his hands and I am happy; thank you Patrick. Your kind words that day kept me driving. Driving towards this quaint little town called called Sandpoint, keeping my head high with gratitude I have never known from a stranger. I have no idea how to repay you. There is not much for me to offer but advice. Here are a couple of things I have learned over the years that I hope will help you on your way through this journey called life.
Sheep will always be better pillows than goats.
If you must dine-and-dash, at least stack your plates nicely for the bus boy.
Water-stills will enable you to filter the toxic elements of your urine so you can drink it in dire emergencies.
Gatorade is great for hangovers.
Never take cardboard for advantage. it can be used as a bed, a tent or even as food.
Always use a lawnmower.
If you throw a piece of meat at a dog barking at you, most of the time said dog will stop attacking or barking at you.
The biggest truck in Idaho weighs forty-eight thousand pounds.
Popcorn will make you sick.
Sand eats rock.
Desks can double for tables in the right situation.
There is so much knowledge I would like to share with you. I must cut this letter short in fear that I will reveal too much about myself. This is the least I could do to repay such a noble gentleman. Thank you and good luck with your travels as well.
A few years ago, when I worked the night shift at the front desk at the Days Inn, I had a gentleman come in from the snow looking for a room at 1:30 or so one morning. I was in the dining room doing my usual routine of folding endless bleachy white hand cloths and towels and watching "Design on a Dime" episodes on HGTV. I didn't hear a peep - no car pulling up or even the familiar swoosh of the outer door. He just seemed to pop up suddenly in the lobby when I was on my way back through to the dryer with the laundry cart. There was something eerily familiar about the man. I was too tired and mentally focused on getting all those damn towels done to give it too much thought.
As I was checking him in, he told me he'd driven all the way from Vegas that day on his way to a gig at a convention in Tacoma. I looked at the name on the credit card hoping for a clue, but the it was nothing special. Before I could ask for more details, he changed the subject. I handed him his keycard and wished him a good night and as he turned to retire to his room, he threw me a wink and a smile that was totally unmistakable. The gesture was exactly like that of everyone's favorite weed puffing, biofuel shilling, country singing legend Willie Nelson. The resemblance was uncanny, even down to the long reddish-gray hair pulled into neat braids under a red bandanna. "No way...couldn't be...nope..." I was tripping hard as I pulled a fresh, hot batch of crisp white towels from the huge dryer.
"Willie" silently popped up and startled me again about five hours later as I was setting out the continental breakfast. "Ah, my first victim, uh, I mean...customer of the day" I joked, and left him alone in peace to eat generic Raisin Bran with "hole milk"* and stale mini-muffins terrorized by Promise low-fat spread.
I went in the back in the laundry room for a few minutes to stack dozens of neatly folded towels on giant shelves where they could relax for a mere hour or two before the maids showed up and piled them on their little carts, thus beginning the whole endless cycle of hotel towels once again. I returned to the dining room and the gentleman was gone as quietly as he came. Up at the counter of the front desk, I found his keycard along with this very enlightening business card:
*"hole milk" was the phrase written by Paul, the undereducated but very endearing Days Inn maintenance man, in large black letters on the sign that hung above the spout on the serve-yourself milk machine during breakfast, as to distinguish it from the guests' other option of skim milk. As horrifying as the concept of "hole milk" might sound, no-one had the heart to correct his spelling, plus we all thought it was funny in an evil sort of way.
Weird News Item: Mysterious Lava Lamp Crop Circle Appears Near Soap Lake
This article caught my eye in the CDA Press just now. For some reason, I love crop circle stories and this is a pretty eerie one...
SOAP LAKE, WA. -- They’re talking about Soap Lake’s idea for a giant lava lamp across the universe now.
Soap Lake resident Brent Blake, who originated the idea to locate a giant lava lamp in Soap Lake and attract tourists into the area, said a farmer friend, who wishes to remain anonymous, alerted him to a strange object on one of his fields near Soap Lake.
The object was a crop circle in the shape of a lava lamp.
“I investigated, found this and was just was absolutely blown away,” Blake said, the twinkle in his eye apparent even during a telephone interview. “It’s clearly an alien object; how else could you describe something like that?”
A sign structure is in the shape of a lava lamp, the Lava Lite, currently sitting in pieces. The city of Soap Lake is working to put it up.
The crop circle takes the concept of the project into another world, Blake believes.
“It’s already spread itself across this earth, now it’s in outer space,” he said. “So it’s quite astounding and it took a lot of effort for this to be done.”
Blake believes the work could have been done by “a couple” beings with a certain amount of equipment.
“But I don’t know, you know, I mean, they could have been hundreds working simultaneously on this project,” he said. “But they clearly were doing it with a big smile on their face or faces and clearly, basically illustrating support for a local project which is quite astounding.”
Blake believes the lamp-shaped object, which was only in existence for about two days because the field had to be worked immediately, was about 999 feet long.
“That’s just beyond three football field lengths, which allows people to sort of grasp the scale of this thing,” he said. “It’s very difficult to see something at ground level that big and grasp the nature of what really happened there.”
Blake’s friend really does wish to remain anonymous.
“Earth was disturbed with a big plow and tractor, and created the shape, then we ground out the goo circles in the middle,” Blake explained. “From afar, especially from the air, it looks like it definitely is something from another world.”
Story Time: The Boy Who Didn't Have to Go to the Mean Mighty Fortress After All
There once was a boy who lived in a city full of magic trees next to a beautiful lake ruled by a very thin and very rich white haired man in an ugly brown castle with copper rooftops. One wintr'y eve in November, the boy decided to meet a few furry friends down at the local pub for a frosty pint of ale. Of course, that was followed by several more frosty pints of ale, as well as several doses of Witch Tessa's magic silly potion. Much mirth and merriment was had until the hour grew wee and it was that time when you don't have to go home, but you can't stay there.
Afterwards, the boy had hummingbirds in head and his thoughts were clouded by bubbles. He could have rode home on the back of a giant tortoise or even stumbled the short distance back to his bamboo lean-to. Instead, the boy was very bad and made the regrettable decision to drive his Model-T Ford home. As he was leaving the grassy knoll next to the pub, he was quite unable to see what was coming up the lane due to a giant rhinoceros standing right in the way and blocking his view. So, he slowly pulled out into the lane, not seeing the friendly police officer that was a stones throw down the way. The boy made it 20 feet down the cobblestone road before the friendly police officer turned on his merry flashing lights. The boy knew this meant that the friendly police officer would like to have a delightful chat.
The friendly police officer was very curious to hear all about the merry time the boy had that evening at the pub. The friendly police officer asked the boy to do a wee jig and say his ABC's and looked deep into his eyes with a jolly bright light. The friendly police officer decided it would be great fun to invite the boy back to his mean mighty fortress to take his picture and meet all the other friendly police officers. The boy was quite frightened because he had heard that the mighty fortress was a terrible place, with scary hairy monsters in bright orange jumpers. The friendly police officers at the mean mighty fortress made the boy play a strange plastic flute that made no music and asked him many wonderful questions.
In order to leave the mean mighty fortress, the boy had to call the money troll who lives in the big oak tree across the country lane from the fortress and arrange for a big bag of shiny gold coins to be sent to the friendly police officers. Several long hours later, after they had finally received the big bag of gold coins, they opened the gates of the mighty fortress and no trumpets sounded as the bleary-eyed boy was sent off back into the wintr'y night. The boy decided there and then that he would never again drive his Model-T Ford after enjoying pints of ale and Witch Tessa's magic silly potion.
Several moons passed and the boy was summoned to the dusty fusty Hall of Judges to
receive his punishment for driving his Model-T Ford after enjoying pints of ale and Witch Tessa's magic silly potion. His highest honor Judge Gottalottaneckties listened like an old hooty owl to the boy's tale of mirth and merriment and his unwise decision to drive his Model T-Ford. He then heard about the boy's fun adventure with the friendly police officer as told by a prosecuting attorney with big hair the size of a mulberry bush. Kind Judge Gottalottaneckties spared the guilty boy a long stay back at the mean mighty fortress and instead assigned him to 10 days of civic work duty in the city full of magic trees. Also, the boy was required to pay many many bags of gold coins to the she-gnomes that live in the dim cold basement of the Hall of Judges. His honor also told the boy he was not allowed to drive his Model-T Ford anywhere for many moons. The boy would have to pay many more bags of gold coins to the she-gnomes before he was finally legal to drive his Model-T Ford again.
Kind Judge Gottalottaneckties told the boy he had three months to complete his civic work duty in the city full of magic trees. The boy was very busy working the at the toll bridge over the sparkling purple river and finishing his studies in Art and Electricity. Also, the boy was quite anxious about the notion of civil work duty, afraid that he would be made to do something quite undesirable like sorting through stinky garbage or shoveling elephant dung at the peppermint patch. After putting his civic work duty on the back burner for several months, the boy finally worked up the courage to do it. Much to his surprise and delight, it really wasn't so awful. Several times the boy was able to help care for cuddly kitties and puppies at the Humane Society and another time he helped the happy villagers put together a mighty corral for the rainbow ponies and then they had a mighty feast of grilled cow and honeydew melon and he actually enjoyed the 105 degree weather that day even though he got a terrible sunburn.
The boy realized that the kind judge's deadline was fast approaching and that there was no way he would have all his civic work duty days completed on time so he wrote a letter to the kind judge meekly asking for pity and more time. The kind judge granted the boy's request but alas, the boy was painfully attacked by Cavity Creeps and then fell into the blissful trance of prescription narcotics, which rendered the boy useless for civic work duty. He was able to complete several more days, but he soon realized it would be impossible to finish by the new deadline. In a combination of bravery and desperation the boy wrote another letter to the kind Judge requesting another extension.
Weeks passed with nary a peep from the chambers of kind Judge Gottalottaneckties and meanwhile, the boy talked to many other villagers and wise lawyers who told him that they'd never ever heard of anyone being granted a second extension and that he should just get ready to show up at the mean mighty fortress to live for 20 days with the scary hairy monsters in orange jumpers. The boy nearly had a nervous breakdown thinking about who would water his venus flytraps and feed his piranhas and growly tigers. Would he have to quit his job at the toll bridge? Would he have to share a cement room in the mean mighty fortress with a toothless meth junkie or a bald blockhead named Bruno with confederate flag tattoos? Would he eventually get so hungry in there that he would have no choice but to finally break down and eat disgusting horsecock meat sandwiches? He never wanted to find out, but since weeks had gone by, the boy had pretty much resigned himself to the idea. His neck and shoulders were tense and he couldn't really sleep at night or enjoy his bowl of hot garmonbozia.
Then yesterday, the sexy postmistress brought an envelope to the boy's lean-to and it was glowing with white light. The boy's heart raced as he saw that the envelope was from the hallowed chambers of kind Judge Gottalottaneckties. He pulled a thin sheet of beige parchment out from within and read the words "Extension granted until August 31." The boy burst out with glee at the realization that he was no longer facing the threat of horsecock meat and burly Bruno for 20 days, he just had to spend more days caring for puppies and kitties and planting fence posts, much preferable to time in the mean mighty fortress.
The boy felt as if a mighty huge cloud of gloom and doom had lifted and disintegrated in the summer sunshine. He jumped with glee and reeled with the urge to send the kind, merciful judge delicious butter toffees or 14 purple roses as a token of gratitude and devotion. He celebrated with another visit to the local pub for frosty pints of ale and Witch Tessa's magic silly potion, but this time he left his Model T Ford at home and got a ride on the back of an Avocado Llama.
I was a little bleary last Friday morning when I woke up after nearly 12 hours of sleep. I haven't slept that long in ages and it made me groggy. So I was quite unprepared mentally to deal with the chaos that unfolded as I was getting ready to head out the door to work. I'd just gotten dressed and sat at my desk for a minute to pack up my laptop and a few other things. I keep a very small 1 1/2 gallon fishtank on the top shelf of my desk. Right now it has a tinfoil barb and a tadpole living happily together.
Gizmo the orange kitten often decides he's thirsty for some fish water and despite the fact I've told him "no" over and over, he still goes in for a drink all the time. Sometimes I just tolerate it as long as he doesn't harm the fish, but yesterday morning I wasn't in the mood for such naughty cat antics. I grabbed him to yank him away and he hooked his little claws firmly onto the plastic lip of the fish tank, pulling the whole thing over and spilling it's contents - water, rocks, fish and fishpoop - all over my desk below.
Everything was soaked, piles of paperwork, CDs, books, and most horrifyingly, my $1400 laptop computer. I saved the fish, screamed and yelled at the cat (who might not have realized how lucky he was that I didn't catch him before he fled out the back door), and pulled my computer out of a puddle. Water flowed freely from inside as I tipped it to and fro. I toweled up most of the mess, grabbed my computer and took of for work, steam still gently rising from out of my ears.
I got to work and plugged the poor wet laptop in and much to my surprise, it actually began to boot up. My smile faded, however, as the screen began to glitch out and display a twisted, mangled version of my desktop, as if it were a digital masterpiece by Pablo Picasso. Suddenly, a blue screen of death appeared, it's letters and numbers garbled and backwards in places. It stayed on my screen long enough for me to see something about a faulty BIOS, and the machine went ominously black. I tried every trick I could remember in PC Hardware Repair class 4 years ago, but I knew in my heart it was a goner. Official cause of death: fried motherboard. To replace a laptop motherboard is similar in cost to an entirely new computer, so why bother?
In a way, it was a relief. The dead computer was a Dell, and it really was a piece of garbage. People say terrible things about Dells and they're all true. I bought mine because they were the only company that would let me finance it with monthly payments (I just payed the damn thing off last month). In the year and 2 months I owned the beast, I had to replace the entire casing, the power pack, the keyboard (twice), the battery quit working on me after the first few months due to a faulty connection, and the mouse pad had gone tits up a while back as well. I decided not to spend the $35 a month for the extended warranty, so I was pretty much stuck with the defective beast the way it was.
Naturally, I cannot go a single day without the use of a PC, so I immediately arranged for a loan and headed up to Best Buy. After fiddling around with all the notebook PC's they had to offer, I decided upon a nice, shiny little $599 Toshiba Satellite that just hit the market last month. The salesman said he had already sold quite a few of them and had only heard good things, and so far none were returned by unhappy customers. I've had it for three days now, and other than the fact that I've finally had to adjust to Windows Vista (argh!), so far so good. It drags a bit, so next payday I'm going to pop some more RAM inside it. It's a very light machine compared to that beastly Dell, which weighed a ton.
All my photos and music and important docs were stored on my external drive, so I didn't lose anything like that, but I'm having to replace all the software that I had, and it's been a little rough. Most of the programs I had weren't purchased but *cough* acquired through other means, and I'm not having such an easy time finding certain things. Shhh, don't tell the copyright police. If anyone reading this is feeling charitable and morally loose, please let me know. Heck, if you help me out, I'll buy ya lunch. Basically, I'm still trying to track down Office 2007 (at least a serial number), Adobe Photoshop, In Design etc., Front Page, Sony Acid music software...maybe that's about it. God forbid I should have to break down and actually purchase these items, but I suppose it could happen...
The Rock Joint was thunderous on Saturday night with a "fetish party" in celebration of Miss Colleen's birthday. Her birthdays are always insane (one year I ended up naked in the pool of the Shilo Inn at 3 am), and with live VERY LOUD hard rock, and a bunch of people your parents were probably too scared to even let you know about, this year's party was one for the record books.
How wild was it? Let's just say I'd rather not discuss it here for fear the tales of debauchery might be seen by the wrong eyeballs (employers, parents, law enforcement, therapists, etc.) It might take everyone involved until her next birthday to recover. Here are some pix that are tame enough to post:
The birthday chica oozes attitude.
Christie gets fabulous at 4AM.
Ween's birthday shoes.
Jimmy's wings (they were pierced to his back).
The Miss Jenny Kelly.
Aww, it'll be alright, betch.
The polkadotted Miss Erin, brightly.
Anita couldn't quite decide what to wear, so she didn't wear anything.
I found this tucked in a copy of "German in 10 Minutes a Day", which I purchased today at the Queen of all thrift stores, St. Vincent de Paul. It's a polaroid photo of two junge Damen enjoying themselves while looking at another polaroid. As someone who loves taking pictures of people taking pictures, I can really appreciate the novelty of a polaroid of a polaroid. Even better, I'll bet the polaroid they're looking at is also of them, only taken a few minutes before this one. On the back is written "January 1985" in very German looking style of penmanship. The setting leads me to believe this photo must have been taken in what appears to be some kind of Deutsches Steakhaus right before the frosty steins of beer arrived and the girls proceeded to get blotto. Prost!