Friday Night at the Empty Bottle

The one, the only, Jens Lekman.
Katy took this picture and touched his hand. I may be jealous.

As you may or may not know I really like Jens Lekman (follow the hyperlink for more details or stand pat with the knowledge that he is the Swedish King of Pop). You also may or may not know that last weekend I was in Chicago, You probably don't know that Mr. Lekman was also in Chicago. Seeing as how I have previously stated that I would fly anywhere in the Western Hemisphere to see Mr. Lekman perform one can assume my trip to Chicago was centered around the show. It was.

Details of Chicago and what not will unfold in the next week or two, believe me I have the time. Wedding work has completed and the benevolent overlord is in Egypt being heavily guarded (Yes I know what benevolent means and for those of you thinking that A) I don't or B) that you the reader does not then here is the definition). But first I would like to share with you my Jens experience.

First I must admit I was not the most enthusiastic person in the room that goes to the girl standing to the right of Daniel, to you unknown Jens fan I award the "Superduper amazingingly into it fan" award, cherish it.

Second I despise live DJing and people who seem to think its quote: AMAZING! :end quote.

Second.5 It probably is not a good idea to drop some ecstasy and then come out and play cds as your set, and then try to continually open bottles of beer with your hands that can only be opened with an opener and then upon failing to open it you hand it to your DJ partner (i find that having a DJ partner is odd) so he can open it with his teeth x5. I know, I too heard my orthodontist crying somewhere in my brain (crying out of pleasure of the money he was about to make or out of pain I don't know).

A couple of inebriated Swedes

Thirdly if you don't know more than the word "skål" for it's respective language(s) please do not shout it at the top of your lungs while you drink PBR, have an awful mustache, wear tight pants, flanel and a terrible trucker hat. In fact just go back to the hell in which you crawled out of and stay there, i'm sure they have pointlessly made bikes there as well for you to ride, after all they are forms of torture. I mean really gears and breaks were invented to make riding a bike easier and painless yet you choose to forgo them????

Picture this concept applied to a car.

That's what I thought.

I digress....

4th I witnessed a woman typing with one hand on her iPhone, people like that (and people who have the "sent from my iPhone" signature) are people who should not have them. I should have them, but one will do.

Cincoth All this aside I really really really like Jens Lekman and when the show started I was no longer tired from only getting 3 hours sleep the night before nor was I mad about anything. I really enjoyed myself, to put it plainly. In my short career of shows I have never anticipated a moment quite like this one and it did not disappoint, complete with new music that I liked and which featured parts of Paul Simon songs ( I like Paul Simon) to every song I would have wanted to hear (save Happy Birthday Lisa).

You should have noticed by now I am very bad at conveying happiness and appreciation through words or speech. In my mind it's simple; I either liked it or I didn't, albeit it in varying degrees. If I don't like it I can tear it apart and stomp all over it (as seen at the upper part of this post). If I like it then I just do (with a "really" or two thrown in there). Sorry if it appears that I dreaded the evening, because I really really really enjoyed myself (I must have liked it because you just got a really cubed).

Stock Photo of an excited Kevin

What I Just Read: An Arsonist's Guide To Writers' Homes In New England

Winner of the longest title of the year award.

Seeing as how I no longer have to write silly English papers and I am no longer required to know Spanish I thought I might read a few things of my choosing. That is of course until I start school again on Monday which includes Logic and The History of Boston, which may prove to be some interesting reading in itself. To the book!

An Arsonist's Guide To Writers' Homes In New England is one of the books that you are on the fence about until you come to the climatic scene and then the book is abruptly over. For the majority of the book I found myself struggling to pay attention and wanting to jump over paragraphs the author dedicated to stories the main character thought were the life stories of total stranger. While some were incredibly entertaining others were woefully drawn out and were simply delaying the inevitable ending of the book.

The book reminded me of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in the way that narrator is very simple minded and the reader tends to understand what is going on before the narrator does. The problem is in Loud & Close the narrator is a child and in Arsonist's he is a grown man, or as the narrator likes to say a grown ass man.

Good book, with a different take it could have been great. Not a must read but a good one no less.

I like the cover, for one it takes balls to go with an orange cover ( I would say as much balls as it took for me to wear a bright orange shirt to school once a week in 8th grade but I think that was more stupidity than anything else) and second the burning lady (not once, not twice but three times) was a nice touch. What I didn't like is the lighter orange around the title letters, too far man.

After much internal deliberation I have decided to forgo Daniel's favorite author Murakami and the beautiful looking Lullaby by Palahniuk for now in lieu of the more jarring book The Painted Bird by Jerzy Kosinski. As I understand it is very doable and desirable to read in a day; and seeing as how I have about 6 hours of bus riding tomorrow (to and from NYC) I like those qualities.

Old Computer + Free Internet = Endless Possibilities

It is said that one does their best thinking while in the shower, I am now one to agree with that statement, and you my dear readers will benefit from todays shower for weeks to come.

Daniel has been suffering from his Mac conversion for about a month now, and in the past days it has morphed into something much more deadly and disturbing; a Mac-Torrent problem with a side of Comcastarits. We have discussed many remedies but none of them are feasible.

What I am now going to propose is the nuclear option, one that I think will become a popular one in these days of bandwidth limiting, RIAA, high energy prices, and old computers. What is needed is an old computer (preferably one with wireless) and access to a free internet connection (preferably a College one because they won't prosecute). You also must be prepared for the event that this machine is never recovered.

What you do is find a good hiding place for the machine on campus, set up the machine, hook it up to the internet, set up the torrents and walk away. You are using the school's bandwidth, the schools electricity and have no way to trace it back to you if you wipe the computer clean enough.

If your expertise are good enough you could try to access the computer remotely and control it away from the hiding spot, so you don't have to ever go back accept to load some torrents on the machine and possibly turn it back on again.

Now some one try this and get back to me!

From The Archives: The Algerian

Today we bring you an updated and footnoted version of "The Algerian" which was posted at my old blog last spring. This will not be like past posts were I give you an unedited, verbatim copy with my comments on it. This one I have updated and rewritten for quality and factual purposes. Enjoy.

The Algerian: Remix

Imagine a big black rapper shouting Remix right as you start reading this.

Ready....

Set......

REMIX!

In Leuven, there is this bar called De Giraffe (made my top slot for Leuven Bars in fact), which I frequented often for it's Balkan Beats and "interesting" clientele. On one specific night I think I became, or at least came into conversation with said clientele.

On the aforementioned evening; Daniel, Nick, Katy decided to head over to De Giraffe for the laid back atmosphere and of course they have Maes on tap.

We're on the second round when this little Algerian (it should be noted that I deemed him Algerian, he probably isn't Algerian but for this story it has to work) man comes over and starts talking to Daniel. At the time the man was speaking with such poor English and in such a hushed tone that I could not understand a word that was being said, but I could tell by Daniel's facial expressions that it wasn't positive. Afterwords Daniel would explain that the man impressed upon him that he should not "look at people like that, you don't look at people like that." Daniel not understanding what is going on gives an awkward laugh and apologizes, normal policy for fucked up foreigners who are looking for trouble. Instead of pushing the case further, or even just walking away the Algerian hands Daniel a clove of garlic, stares at him and then walks away. I mean what the fuck? Garlic?

The Algerian disappears to the back of the bar for a few minutes, then reappears and starts to make his way for the door, which in turn means passing us again, when he does about €200 falls out of his pocket. He takes two more steps and proceeds to drop €300 more

I'm a nice guy (at least I like to think I am). Being a nice guy means you help people, in this case I decided within seconds that I was going to let this man know that he just dropped a serious amount of money on the floor. In retrospect I probably should have done what the rest of the patrons at the bar did, stare at the guy and then the cash at the floor and decide he probably isn't a guy whose money you touch.

I tap the man on the shoulder and tell him that he just dropped half a grand in euro on the floor. He proceeds to clumsily bend over and "attempt" to pick it up. I say "attempt" because he was far to inebriated to organize his money into a stack and pick it up. So in my infinite wisdom, I decide to kneel down and help him pick up the money, which I do and I hand it to one of his friends who is leaning over me, big mistake. After about twenty seconds or so when we have both stood up and the money is back where it belongs the Algerian man looks at me and sticks his hand out and demands that I give him his money. I say in English that I gave his friend the money. He of course does not believe me and continues to stare at me with his hand out, while I proceed to say in every way possible that I do not have his money.

At this point his friends make themselves apparent and hustle him out of the bar while he continues to glare at me. Daniel now tells us of his encounter with the man earlier, which makes me feel so much better (not). We order another round to make sure the Algerian and his posse have cleared out of the area, and to calm my nerves a bit. I would say it took me 20 seconds to finish that beer.

Next think I know the Algerian man is in my face again, but this time his Arab friend in English says:

"Did you take his money"

I reply that I did not take his money, this includes me turning out all my pockets to show that I did not in fact pocket any of the money on the floor.

At which point the Algerian cuts me off and puts himself between me and the Arab and begins to wag a finger and stammer away in an unknown language. I say that because between the four of us we know Italian, Arabic, French and Spanish and none of us knew what he was saying, and there was no way it was Dutch. I am again turning out my pockets telling this man that I did not steal his money and that I would never steal his money. To which he replies in slow, broken, and drunken English.

"That I drug money, you don't want drug money."

Let's just say that made a lot of things including the clientele of the bar make a lot more sense.

Enter the Algerians white buddies who start talking about how they had to leave the bar and it was "either the money or the Marijuana," the whole time glaring at me.

I later learned that at this point Nick and Daniel were dead set on brawling, and were planning there means of attack in secret just in case the Algerian or the Arab laid a finger on me. As noble and as happy as that made me feel I have a feeling the police would not have been able to get there fast enough to save us from being knifed to death.

As the two of them are scheming over in the corner, I'm continuing to try to procure a large some of drug money from any orifice of my body. At which point I happen to glance over to the Arab man who i return gives me the international signal for "My friend is really fucked up right now so don't worry we don't want to rumble" which made me feel only a little better because this guy also had the Michael Corleone look of "Don't worry Fredo no matter what you do to me you are family" and we all know what happened to Fredo.

As I am turning back towards the Algerian to tell him for the 49,534,875 time that I did not take his money, he grabs for my hand and believe me when I say that that small moment held so much tension. I felt like the Commander of the Dallas in the Hunt for Red October just waiting for Sean Connery to open his torpedo tube doors (might have been a stretch on the analogy but let's just roll with that one), but it never happened. He told me that I shouldn't worry about it and that he had respect for me. He then proceeded to shake my hand, kiss Katy's hand and then took his leave.

It goes without saying that I needed a few more beers to stop shaking and looking over my shoulder for the rest of the evening.



----------
Well that night I did have some more beers and when I got back to my room I thought it would be a good idea to call my mother and tell her that I got into an altercation with a drug dealer. Word from the wise, when you think you might get stabbed by a Drug Dealer do not drunk dial your mom 3,500 miles away and tell her. Moms don't like that.

Top Five: Bars of Leuven

The Underling feels nostalgic for the days of yore, so today he gives you his first top five post (New Feature)! David Letterman does the top 10, The Underling likes to be more specific. If you have ever or will ever spend time in Leuven, Belgium, then heed the following top 5. If you do not plan on visiting Leuven, something The Underling considers to be a crime upon humanity, then just act like you know what I'm talking about.

For this top 5 I give no explanations as to why I like them (unless so posted), but of course the list is open for debate. And please feel free to make your own list and put it in the comments section (I am staring at you Daniel).

Top 5 Leuven Bars (In my humble opinion)

1. De Girafe (Balkan Beats and Drug Dealers)
2. Revue (Old Timers)
3. Cafe Alle (Meters)
4. De Blokhut (Pool Room)
5. Politika (€1 Stella)

Missed the Cut

Train Station Bar
Underground Bar below De Kauf (Forgot the name)

Note: If the Underling ever makes it back to Leuven he will take many pictures of the aforementioned bars and will post them along with many many words.

As always the above picture is provided by Ms. Katy Kobzeff

We Want Vampire Blood!

This Sunday I got to see Vampire Weekend at the Orpheum. I really, really, really like Vampire Weekend, and I don't think I could stress that enough. I like their slight African style and it makes me think of Paul Simon (who I aslo really like) when I hear them. I am incredibly happy that I got to see them live and the show ranks up there as far as my favorite shows (NIN still wins out though). But that's not why I'm writing this post because hell I'm no music critic, nor am I good at stressing why I like things or what they compare to. What I am good at is observing and commenting on life. In other words, I'm a life critic. So here goes.

To start I got to go to the show with Daniel, my former room mate from Belgium, who was the first person to turn me on to Vampire Weekend (something I can not thank you enough for Daniel). Anyway I'm very excited and it appears Daniel is as well, and it is fucking freezing out, I mean nose fall off your face cold.

We show up to the Orpheum and there are scalpers outside selling tickets, which is funny to me because these guys are 40 and probably have no idea what kind of show is going on inside. I comment to Daniel that they probably think its a Vampire show springing from the love of Twilight and True Blood.

Side Note: I work at Borders (details of which will come, I promise) and we have the trailer of Twilight running up at the registers all day. Really predictable storyline is all I will say.

After seeing the scalpers and talking about them we proceed inside. First order of business: buy a beer. Well last time we were at the Orpheum Daniel had the gaul to bring his Texas issued drivers license, acceptable at most drinking establishments as a form of ID, but apparently not the Orpheum. This time he came prepared, he brought his US passport accepted by every country on the planet as proof that he is who he says he is. Here is how I recollect the transaction going down.

Beer Gremlin: "Not so fast Mr. Slomka! Do you have a back up?"

Our Hero: "For my Federally Issued ID, accepted by all as the be all end all form of identification?"

Beer Gremlin: "I must have a backup!"

Our Hero: "I've gotten into Europe on an expired visa with this thing and you won't give me a fucking beer?"

Beer Gremlin: "I must have my precious second ID!"

Our Hero: "Do you think I faked a passport, which is a federal crime, to get a beer as opposed to getting a fake MA ID which would probably get me in far less trouble?"

Beer Gremlin: "Give me the ID!"

Our Hero produces his Texas ID and receives his Miller Lite.

Beer Gremlin: "That will be $9."

Our Hero: "First you call me a liar and now you rob me?"

With that dialogue (which may or may not be completely truthful) over with (I mean really $9 Miller Lite?) we move to our seats. Our seats which turn out to be in the last row of the balcony (not a bad seat though). We get to our seats just in time for the opener Black Kids (who really were not too bad, I recommend them if you like Vampire Weekend) Daniel and I decide to stand because sitting is not an option (legs won't fit) and we are in the last row so we can stand on our seats and lean against the back wall (that is why the seats were not too bad).

Well about 5 minutes later these two humongous guys (football players at one point, clearly) and their girlfriends (dressed a bit too nice in my opinion) waltz in, they proceed to dance in place and make out for the rest of the current song. That and one of the girls insists that Daniel and I chug our $9 Miller Lites which I respond with a "Not happening honey" to which she does that frowny face that girls do when they want you to do something, a face that they think makes them look cute, I choose to tell her instead that I paid $9 for a shitty beer that will not be chugged, she then turns around and makes out with her boyfriend the Ogre.

As the song goes "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong" these 4 did not belong here. If you didn't already know most Indie kids and people who like Indie bands look like Daniel and myself; skinny, with tight jeans, tight shirts and we don't work out much. These people were far from that. The guys clearly spent more time in a gym than most other places, had the classic preppy jock attire of Khakis and a button up and had the normal stupid smirk on their face. The girls were dressed like they should be at a club with dresses and lots of jewelry. Let it be known that they were not your normal Vampire Weekend fans by any stretch of the imagination.

Well Black Kids finishes up a song and is talking to the crowd a bit about the next song and at this moment Ogre 1 & 2 decide to heckle the band shouting "We want Vampire!" "Give me Dracula!" "I want vampire Blood" "Play some Dave!". Everyone in our section is cracking up, I mean who heckles the opener? Who pays attention enough to heckle the opener? They keep doing this for a few songs, as well as one of the girls keeps telling Daniel and I to keep drinking and to stop texting our girlfriends. She then proceeds to call me a pussy for not taking shots before the show (I was at work and yeah I hate shots). Then the boys left to do something (maybe give some poor indie kid a swirly) and at this point the girl who is not giving me shit (she has moved on to the guys next to us) tells me that they actually have no idea who Vampire Weekend is (shocker!) and bought their tickets for $5 each (saddening because I paid $15) because they thought it would be cool. To which I replied

"You do realize Vampire Weekend has nothing to do with Vampires right?"

Not as drunk girl: "Oh, no I didn't"

Me: "They are an Indie band from Columbia University in NY"

Drunk Girl: "So daddy paid for their college?"

Me: "No, I think they might just be that smart to get in there"

Drunk Girl: "So daddy paid for your college?"

Unfortunately Papa Doyle will not be covering the whole tab and I currently have three jobs, which I tell the drunk girl.

At which point the Ogres come back and join the conversation.

Not as drunk girl: "So who are they like?"

As I said earlier, I'm not good at comparing bands or critiquing them, not to mention these poor souls won't know anyone I mention so I say a few bands (Ra Ra Riot, Tokyo Police Club) names that I know come up in the What.cd artist web and then hope they will just think I'm stupid and then stop asking me questions. No, no they don't stop.

Not as drunk girl: "Can you name some more mainstream bands?"

Ogre #2: "Yeah like OAR?"

Ok let's stop it there for a second. Combined with the Dave comment earlier, this question if Vampire Weekend is like OAR just rubbed me the wrong way. I have no problem with OAR, they sound good, I just don't care for them Same with Dave, just not my cup of tea. The thing is, everyone likes Dave and OAR, if you aren't big into music you like Dave and OAR, all jocks like them, all preppy kids, everyone. And on top of that their fans love to insist that their shows are the best on Earth and "How can you not like them?! They are ssssooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo good!"

You know why I don't like them? Because you people insist that I should and act like these mediocre bands (yeah I said it) are amazing and everyone should like them. I don't want to bash your music taste, whatever makes you happy fine, but please don't insult my choice of a concert in a couple thousand seat concert hall, which you were able to scalp tickets for for $5 by asking me if they are anything like OAR a band that sells out 15k seat venues all over the country. No sir, I think my taste is a little more defined than Dave and OAR (on second read that sounds really bad. Let me clarify: I don't think Vampire Weekend is better than other bands nor do I think I'm better because I like them what I am trying to say is I try to find what I like in the music world and don't just settle on something that is easy to listen to. I pick a band because they get me going, put a smile on my face and make me want to move around, not just give me something to talk about when the subject of music comes around).

Well after that they left, ironically because of the Orpheum Gestapo and their drinking policy which wouldn't let them get their $9 Miller Lites. After their departure all of us in the section started laughing about them and talking about how happy we were to be at the show.

As for the show. Great show. Vampire Weekend is a bunch of goofy geeks up on stage who haven't gotten over the fact that people actually like their music yet. The venue was great (a little hot though) all the fans new every word and were belting them out, the place was rocking (literally, Daniel and I were a bit worried) which I would like to say I have never experienced.

In other words, I had a great time listening to a great band. I highly recommend them, check out their myspace, buy the album (or steal it) just give it a listen. No they don't sound like Dave or OAR, no they don't dress like vampires (dress more like college professors) and no you don't have to like them. But if you do, great. Learn the lyrics and next time they come by your city go to a show and sing along.