Propeller Skies

[As per usual, conversations are not verbatim and have been paraphrased, rephrased, and generally rearranged to make Smoove D sound far more funny and clever than he really is. Isn't the internet great? - Ed.]

“Thank god you answered, I have a dilemma. I like the blonde, but her brunette roommate is smokin’ hot. Which number should I get?”

“The blonde.”

Maybe I will get around to calling her.

A couple hours later.

“Your husband isn’t here?”

“Nope.”

“Awesome.”

Standing outside Kroger at 2:30 in the morning*, Smoove D is munching on some recently purchased** honey roasted peanuts and minding his own business. A minivan pulls up next to him.

“Can you tell us how to get to I-20 East”

“Man, I’m drunk. I don’t know.”

“Haha!”

This motherfucker is crazier than Horselover Fat. Good reading. I do hope he manages to get some hot biker chick poontang. This should be obvious, but as a public service for the legions of clueless: not safe for work.

“Don’t you know who I am? I’m the pool boy, bitch.”

My car is right where I left it. Awesome.

No tasty breakfast food in the ghetto fabulous apartment. Back through the Kroger with the riff raff again.

notes:

* Or maybe 1:30 in the morning, fuck daylight savings time. Fucking government.
** Despite the best efforts of the motherfucking goddamn U-Scan to prevent Smoove from actually checking out. Fuck Kroger.

Previously on Propeller Skies, I alluded to Old Chubb fucking your shit up. Hercules India Pale Ale (IPA) bends your shit over, nails it to a cross, and cornholes it like a priest going at an alter boy. I think Colorado is the promised land.

Hercules IPA is a fucking nuclear hops bomb*. After the hop explosion, an insanely powerful grapefruit flavor takes over and the beer finishes with a nice piney aftertaste. This is what an IPA should be. Great Divide Brewing Company has redeemed themselves with this beer.

notes:

* For the fucktard Republicans in the audience, that would be a nook-yoo-lur hops bomb.

Ed Voyles Acura provided me with a 2006 Acura TL 5AT as a loaner while my 2004 6MT was in for service. Driving a car exactly like mine, except minus a clutch, was rather surreal. I expected the slushbox would not be much different from my beloved whip. I was wrong. After enjoying the crisp responses of the manual transmission version for almost a year now, the automatic was like driving while trapped in a vat of gelatin. The trashmatic turns the Acura TL into a fogeymobile.

The other night I ditched Netparty and paid a visit to legendary Atlanta Italian joint Alfredo’s with recurring Propeller Skies characters Mizzo, Deezy, and The Photographer. Some undisclosed persons were also in attendance.

Alfredo’s angers me. The table shared appetizers that included (in alphabetical order, because I am anal like that), calamari, clams, and stuffed mushrooms. All three appetizers were superlative. For an entree, I ordered the Veal Parmesan, because torturing cows amuses me. The veal was exquisite, very tender, and flavorful. Nothing to complain about here. The meat came with a side of Fettuccini Alfredo, which was also excellent. Dessert was a supremely tasty Tiramisu. After dessert, we ordered a round of coffee for the table. I was excited, because the cream was curdled and I would finally have something to bitch about on the internet. Unfortunately, our waiter noticed, took away our coffee with the bootleg cream, and brewed us a fresh pot of coffee. This brings me to my last point - throughout the evening, service was exemplary.

Alfredo’s is smoove as hell. However, I highly recommend all five Prizzo Skeezy readers visit the slightly inferior Nino’s instead, because I hate waiting in line.

Thanks for reading everyone. Even though I have quit so often it deserves a category, this time is for real. I am taking time off to pursue other interests, like my new girlfriend.

After eating a delicious sandwich at Feast, recurring Propeller Skies character The Professor and I strolled through Decatur. We stopped at Java Monkey to sample a good* keg of beer from Old Savannah Brewing Company**. Unfortunately, Java Monkey’s keg cooler was dead. Fortunately, Java Monkey has an extensive bottled beer selection put together by someone with a brain.

As Saltation recommended***, I tried an actual imported from Belgium saison ale. I selected Dupont Saison Ale from the menu, as it is from Belgium and has the requisite champagne style cork. Dupont Saison Ale is mighty tasty and loaded with carbonation. The bright and hoppy flavor of Dupont Saison Ale made it great for quaffing on a scorching fall day in the Dirty South.

Dupont Saison Ale is premium as fuck. Additionally, Java Monkey is mighty smoove.

notes:

* On a recent visit by The Professor, Java Monkey staff informed him they had a good keg from Old Savannah, which should be sampled early and often, as kegs from this new micro brewery are extremely inconsistent.
** Alert Propeller Skies readers will recall I was less than impressed with Old Savannah’s efforts at the 2006 East Atlanta Beer Festival.
*** Saltation originally commented on Red Sky at Night Saison Ale.

Like the seventh Baller of the Week™ and ninth Baller of the Week™, this week’s player is a baller on a budget. However, he takes broke to the next level by adding chrome hub caps to the cheapest Nissan. Behold the power of fake ass burberry:

Since people are adding me to their press sections and shit, I need to start writing decent reviews. Motherfucker*. Decent is a pretty high bar, so this concert review will just feature more words than usual. Baby steps.

the set up

In the days of way back, my friend Chris Hoke**, mentioned he would be playing with Envie and I should check them out. I was super enthusiastic, because Envie featured a harp player. I figured the excitement would never end, because harps are just so fucking punk rock. Shit ain’t going to happen. However, because Chris is awesome, and alert Propeller Skies readers have probably figured out I was a huge fan of his now defunct band, I gave Envie a shot and condescended to show up for the concert. Probably this one.

i thought it was the end, i thought it was the fourth of july

Three months ago at recurring Propeller Skies character The Professor’s swank bachelor pad, I met Natalie. We spent some quality time hanging on the balcony chatting about local bands. I got her number and promised to call. Three months later, I finally invited her to a show. By email. Told y’all I was premium.

the sweetloves

I arrived at The Earl slightly early so I could grab a Rolling Rock*** and check out the gateway scenery. While sipping my beer that certainly did not taste fifty cents better, I caught the last few songs played by The Sweetloves. Despite the stupid name, they are pretty good. Sometime during their set, Natalie arrived.

envie’s new guitar player

The last time I saw Envie, Chris was still playing with them. About a year ago, he got all suburban and shit and moved to Birmingham. Hence, Renee found a new guitar player****. While Envie was setting up, Natalie mentioned the new guitarist was dressed like an accountant. I made a snide comment about him being the toast of the water cooler on Monday morning, because he was out playing in a band while all the other accountants were home counting their bean collections.

the envie show, fucking finally

During the first song, I began to suspect the new guitar player really might be an accountant. However, when the band launched into Passage***** I realized he could play. By the end of the show, we decided he really would be the toast of the water cooler on Monday morning.

Seeing Envie live is a treat, because Renee is precision controlled fury. Sort of like a Honda engine in the VTEC range - an exhilarating sense of power, tightly controlled to awesome effect. The only other singer as intense on stage is Sarah Hubbard of Sunday Munich.

A highlight of this show was the crack rhythm section. Kevin Wallace, who alert Prizzo Skeezy readers may remember from such bands as The Sudden Rays and Ruvolo, was holding it down with his usual skill on the drums. Susannah Barnes, who recurring Propeller Skies readers will recall from such excellent bands as The Black Kites and American Dream, was kicking ass on bass.

spare change

Alert readers, if there are any left after all these mind numbing words, will note that Envie’s non-performing member, Michael Overstreet, has been left out of this ridiculously fucking long review, so far. I suspect Michael writes lyrics, but I am too lazy to check the liner notes and find out for sure. Spare Change is my all time favorite Envie song, because of the premium lyrics. If Michael happens to also write things other than songs, I would appreciate more info via the comments section.

buy an envie cd

All five Propeller Skies readers are strongly encouraged to purchase a copy of Envie. Cheapskates can visit Envie’s Myspace page and hear some tunes for free.

notes:

* This does not mean I am not flattered.
** Guitarist and lead vocalist for legendary Atlanta band Thrizzle Dizzle to tha Fizzle Speezy.
*** I am not happy The Earl has raised the price of Rolling rock by fifty cents a bottle. Fucking gentrification.
**** Chris still plays on the album, which all five Propeller Skies readers should buy.
***** I think that was the second song.
****** Fuck all these words. This shit takes too long to write. We now return to our regularly scheduled two line reviews.

The other day, recurring Propeller Skies player hater The Professor and I went to Feast in Decatur for lunch. I had the panini (Italian for ten dollar sandwich) with meat*. Fucking worth it. Our sever was way cool, friendly, and a nineteen year old hot blonde Georgia State student.

notes:

* There is also a version available with only vegetables. Because vegetables are not food, I did not order it.
** For more details, see Feast Review - the chef has changed, but the restaurant is still mighty zesty.

This is a bad idea. Do not try this at home.