Black Holes Resonate (In B-Flat, Baby!)

9 Comments read Live Shows, Reviews

Last Thursday, I went to see the thoroughly awesome Wisconsin band IfIHadAHiFi at The Funhouse.

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When you step into a bar with a malevolent clown looming atop it, one of three things could happen: someone’s going to get murdered, you’re going to run into a pack of Juggalos in the wild, or the clown could be the worst thing that happens to you all evening.

I don’t like clowns, you see.

Not because I think “Hey, that would be a cute quirk to cultivate”, oh no. Clowns bother me. Deeply. Really. The clown car tragedy gag on Reno 911 made me laugh myself sick for what were probably the wrong reasons. Luckily, there were no Juggalos, and as far as I know, no one got murdered, so the clown itself, watching, watching, always watching, was probably the worst bit of the evening.

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These guys were incredibly energetic onstage, though no shattered teeth this time due to basses being crammed where they have no business going. The audience was filled with ‘sconnies, and it was clearly dedication night, with yours truly being dedicated a song about Mars Cheese Castle, which is only right and natural, considering I spent the better part of 18 years 5 miles down the road from this haven of kringle and chudge.

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3868633879_e82d7eda59 Dr Awkward, aka hotshotrobot and The Amazing Lobster Girl!

My ears were ringing for the better part of the next two days. But in a good way!

Challenge the raging water of DEATH. Dare to discover what water is really made of! H2WHOA!

18 Comments read Attractions

Time for a song!

I want to go to Mt. Splashmore, Take me, take me, take me, take me now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Mt. Splashmore, take me there right now! Yay!

Yesterday, Jim, Anne, Shannon and I went to Wild Waves to soak up some fun, some sun (too much sun), and push from our minds whatever nastiness might be floating about in the watery depths. Last year, Anne had mentioned to her friend Denise that we were planning a water park outing, and she pulled a horrible face and said SHE would NEVER use a public pool as “the water tastes digusting, because of all those creams and lotions that fat people put on their skin.”

…I think Denise is a rotten bitch.

Last year, the day we picked for Waterpark Hooky ended up overcast and raining on and off, which was perfect in terms of being able to run up the stairs and slide down over and over again without having to wait for a tube, but by the end of the day, we were all really, really cold.

This year, it was sunny and bright without being excessively hot and it made the whole day much more comfortable with the exception of the very end when I realized I had turned into a crispy-skinned Peking duck.

We got on all of the tube rides at least once, we hit most of the non-tube slides as well, and on one of the high-speed slides, I rocketed down so fast and so far, I was afraid I would shoot right off the end. Apparently, standing next to the slide when I shot down it was a bit like visiting Shamu at Sea-World: if you are in the first 15 rows, you’re going to get soaked.

We spent a good amount of time in the wave pool, which is more fun than a regular pool by about one million points, and it’s even more fun, if, say, after half your party has departed, the remaining two people ogle hot swimsuited men shamelessly like contestants for the Guinness Book of Lechers from the deep end.

Like last year, we spent most of our time on the waterpark side of things, eschewing spinny rides that might make Jim vomit in favor of bumper cars, where I bore witness to one of the creepiest, most-wrong feeling, shudder-inducing moments I’ve ever had the displeasure of standing next to in line. Picture this: A shirtless, swim-trunk wearing man (perhaps the father, perhaps an uncle, perhaps the world’s creepiest stranger) who appeared to be in his late 20s or early 30s, holding a girl of about 9, with her legs wrapped around his waist, MOANING BACK AND FORTH “oh girl!” “oh boy!” “OH GIRL” “OH BOY”. At one point, this young girl began kissing this older man’s stomach. Nothing about this situation seems right to me. Nothing.

After the bumper cars, we thought we’d ride the wooden roller coaster. The female operator clearly hadn’t spent enough time on the waterpark side of things as she had so much sand crammed up her vagina that it resembled the Gobi desert, barking and huffing at people to “JUST PUSH DOWN AND PULL UP ON YOUR LAP BAR” and “GOD, I’M COMING”. THEN, it was revealed that someone had managed to break free of his lap bar on the last ride and was standing, and that a bolt had fallen off the ride somewhere but we were ‘free to hang around in case they found out where it came from’. No. No, thank you. OH HELL NO.

When is the bolt vigilance test?