Here Comes Another Weekend – Hope It’s Not Superlame

Man, today is going to be like a poke in the eye for me. I hate Friday days.

Tonight, the cuddly characters at Undergrounds Coffeehause will be creating new True Blood addicts by showing the first season. Although, if you ask me, the first season was horrible, and the only good thing about watching the first season is that it sets you up to enjoy the second season. UG is so cute. It’s a nice place to go and disappear for an evening. Coffee and boardgames!

Saturday, Ex-Norwegian, The Freakin’ Hott and Zombies Organize close out the opening week for Propaganda. You should know all of these bands webpages and music inside out by now. That will definitely be a great show. Tonight, The Pretty Faces will play with Band No. 12 and No Class Action. That will probably be a fun show too. It should be amusing to watch The Pretty Faces play side by side with these loud and wild bands.

Saturday, Cinema Paradiso celebrates the 40th Anniversary of Woodstock. Even though Broward Center is hosting Hippiefest on Sunday with actual artists from Woodstock, it’s just too darn expensive a cover price to celebrate an event that happened 10 years before I was born. Tickets start at $45. Guess the love generation really moved up in the world. What I want to know is how many of them voted for W. I was thinking about filling my bathtub with mud and burning incense to celebrate the festival, but if I celebrate it at all, it will probably be according to the event schedule to be run by the good and trustworthy people of FLIFF. There are a few other ways to celebrate the landmark hippie event this weekend.

Fischerspooner will play at Exit 66 on Saturday and it only costs $10 to get in, which kind of makes me like Exit 66 a little bit more than I did before. There’s something going on on A1A that I read about in the Sentinel. They’re shutting the street down or something crazy like that on Saturday night.

God and mid-week drinkers only know what Poor House is having this weekend. Probably something cool. I gotta go now and do some lame stuff. Darn.

Last Weakend: Down for the Count

Well, last weekend certainly wasn’t the most exciting weekend I’ve had recently. It was actually pretty f’ing weak. On Friday night I met up with my cousin, who was in town with some girlfriends for a chill bachelorette party — no penis headbands, thank you very much. There was a mix of personalities and fatigue levels, which usually results in a nightlife disaster, like it did this time. Everyone knows what they don’t want to do, but what they did want to do was contradiction: they wanted to be in a chill place with lots going on. I understand the notion. It’s the feeling that you want to be in the middle of the action without having to participate. Following on a suggestion that I had previously given my cousin to check out the gay wine bar Naked Grape in Wilton Manors, they headed off in that direction and decided that it was too crowded.

Then, because no one really had the energy to go downtown and because everyone was dressed in cute little dresses, my mom advised these out of towners to go to to Blue Martini — a place that’s tolerable for happy hour but a late night nightmare. We were inside for 10 minutes before it dawned on them that there was a huge, and I mean huge, age discrepancy between the men and women — which isn’t so much a problem in and of itself, but just a sign of disingenuousness and comfort with disingenuousness, which is worse — and that the drinks were extremely expensive and small and that all about them was not a good time but just an extended anticipation of a good time that never, ever arrives. So, fleeing from the singer, who was giving his all to the each horrible song, we went outside and sat down at a table and got frowned at by a waitress in a blue boustier until it was finally time to go. I dropped the girls off and headed home. On Saturday, I was not feeling too well, so I spent the entire day reading David Copperfield until Sweet Bronco came home and told me that Simon Pegg’s latest, Run Fat Boy Run had finally arrive from Netflix. As I am one who enjoys Sean of the Dead and Hot Fuzz immensely, I really thought that this movie was going to be awesome. What I did not know about this movie is that it’s David Schwimmer’s directorial debut, which SB only found out when he read the envelope because we were trying to understand how it was possible that a film could be so perfectly mediocre throughout — not at all funny or compelling, not one little thing that comes off the screen and nips you in the funny bone, not even for one moment. It was just pleasant and watchable and then over. Awesome weekend, right?