Scotty Karate: Scotch Ale

I first became aware of the New York based (via Detroit) wild man by his appearances at the Good Folk Festival in Louisville (the Smacks! have routinely performed at these, as well as us schleppin' merch & yours unruly schleppin' fine, and not so fine, art by-products).

Not only is Scotty Karate (pictured above, above the other guy in the pic) a man of impeccable taste (like all great sages he understands the hat makes the man...often changing up his hats several times in a span of just a few hours), last year I bought a couple of his own brand of scotch ales from him, and that ale, as well as his tunes, remained in my memory. This year, Scotty was back and again brought the seasonal brew made in his honor by the Marshall, Michigain brewery, Dark Horse.

This time around, I was lucky and bought a four pack to take back to my lair with me. The alcohol content went from 9.75 percent up to an even 10. Scotty told me it was a particulary good batch this year (Dark Horse just does 'em up for the Fall/Winter season). I let 'em set in my fridge for a few days, but I got into 'em this past Wednesday, and the drink did not disappoint.

It's a helluva scotch ale, goes down nice, slow & easy (and goes particualry well, like a scotch itself, with a cigar). The kind of ale that's perfectly suited to sip and conversate with a few good pallies. Or ya know, pour a glass and put on your favorite Scotty Karate record and dig the landscapes of your own interior places. Sneaks up on you, too. Four of these, and you're already on your way to over-indulgence. And I dig that special.

Unfortuantley Dark Horse Brewing Co.'s distribution is limited at the moment, so I may not be drinking this until I see Scotty Karate in person again. It's too bad, 'cause if it was easy to get my paws on these, I have a feeling this would become a staple of my winter-time drinking habits.

--JTD

Fuller's Vintage Ale 2004

Well, it's not as pricey as The Black Oil, nor is it as mysterious, but Fuller's Vintage Ale does come in a fancy-ass box, is individually numbered, and produced in very small yearly batches. Each year's production differs slightly in various ways, which means if you're a beer collector, ya gotta git 'em all. Good luck on finding the 1998 - it's impossibly rare now, and the 2001 is disappearing fast as only 30,000 bottles were produced.

My box of 2004 turned up at, of all places, Whole Foods Market, for something like ten bucks, as I recall. That price, and for a bottle that's slightly over a pint, makes it a much better deal than the aforementioned Black Oil, if you're lookin' to gently stick your toes into the pool of boxed snob-brew.

The packaging notes that although they're legally obliged to state a "best before" expiration date of 2007, the ale in fact should be cellared like a fine wine, and will improve with age for many more years. The official JSH wine cellar, which is actually just my storage unit in the basement of the Garden Gate clubhouse, is already getting full to capacity, plus I am an impatient man. So I drank it now. And it's awesome.

Like Duvel, Fuller's is bottle-conditioned and thus a yeasty sediment forms at the very bottom of the bottle. Some people pour it carefully to avoid getting the sediment into the glass, and in so doing lose several tablespoons worth of the beer. Screw that. I drink it all, the sediment, everything. It won't kill you.

While the Black Oil is not really something you can buy by the case and serve at parties, Fuller's Vintage is more within reach for at least an occasional night of debauchery. Fuller's recommends it be consumed at cellar temperature, but I dunno about that, I like my beer ice cold. Whatever temperature you prefer, check out Fuller's Vintage, any year you can get your hands on.

- - JSH

Unfiltered: JT Dockery's Smokeout

In honor of the Great American Smokeout, I wanted to speak upon a subject that wafted through my head the other day as I was brushing my teeth. Not to sound like the scene in both the novel and film, Barry Gifford/David Lynch's Wild at Heart, in which Sailor and Lula discuss their brands and past of smoking...well, okay, I guess I will sound like that, we're going to talk personal smoking history today, children.

Unlike JSH, I am a cigarette smoker. While for a good stretch I smoked filtered cigarettes, I actually started with unfiltered Pall Malls (the old school motto, "Wherever Particular People Congregate" hit me where I lived). I ended up going back to unfiltered cigarettes after a few years.

That in turn quickly led to me hand rolling my cigarettes, at first, Bali Shag's "Golden Shag." As my pal Dave, who inspired this transition for me, once said about Bali Shag, "I figured that if I was going to do something that's bad for me, I might as well smoke the best quality tobacco available." And Bali Shag tobacco does taste good, like a cigarette should.

Fast forward a few more years, and I decided to make the shift to buying pouches of American Spirit organic tobacco. It's the most expensive roll your own cigarette out there, but it's still cheaper than buying "factory" cigarettes by the pack. And this ain't just "natural," whatever that means, it's certified organic, eliminating from top to bottom anything in the product other than tobacco.

Sometimes observers balk when I smoke. As if smoking a cigarette without a filter is just plain nuts. Living on the edge. Going into battle without a rifle. Humping a hooker sans condom. I take another perspective. Smoking with a filter is crazy. Without even getting into the argument that filters are actually bad for you, if you're smoking something that you think requires a filter, WHY ARE YOU SMOKING IT? "This tobacco tastes so bad I need a filter." That's just not a viable point of view, as far as I am concerned.

Imagine a hop-head saying, "Wowee zowee, this weed is so good, if I only I had a filter for this joint, it would taste perfect." No, you can't. It's only that we've been indoctrinated, whether you are a smoker or not, to think that tobacco cigarettes require filters. It's magic, people. Sleight of hand. Cigarettes that require filters are not good smokes to begin with. The idea of a filter for the taste of my roll your own American Spirits just seems beyond silly to me.

The one time I've been to the dentist since my switch to roll your own organic, the assistant actually asked me if I had quit smoking, that my teeth didn't have the stains she associated with cigarette smokers. Imagine, quite simply, if organic tobacco makes that much of a difference with the teeth, what the differences are to the system otherwise. Frankly, I don't care. I smoke, for better or worse, the choice has been made. But with the dangers, like my aforementioned pal Dave, I'm making the decision to at least smoke the top shelf stuff.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I am of a tradition, typified by figures from Herman Melville to Mark Twain, that equates tobacco use with higher levels of thought, the good life even. And I, for one, am a guilt-free happy camper. At least when it comes to tobacco. I'm working on the rest.

--JTD

Chapter "Thrity-One"

I've been on a Raymond Chandler kick lately, just having re-read his novel Farewell, My Lovely. More about Chandler will be written here later. At his moment I'm checking in just to mention the fact that in the Vintage/Black Lizard paperback edition I've been re-reading, chapter thirty-one is misprinted as "thrity-one."

For whatever reason, I noticed this (which I didn't the first time around with the novel years ago), and the fact has captured my imagination. In my daily routine, I see "thrity-one" as an image in my mind's eye, in various fonts and variations, several times during the course; I repose near slumber in my bed at night and the image(s) of the word "thrity-one" hovers in my consciousness, floating aloof like a cloud, like some inscrutable message or omen, perhaps a riddle, one that I can't figure. Or, even that the solving of the riddle is in the fact that it means nothing. Conversely, perhaps it means everything in its meaninglessness.

This conundrum (or non-conundrum) doesn't exactly bother me, however. As far as as an existential anxiety attack oges, it's more akin to chewing gum of/for the brain. My brain asks, "thrity-one?" My brain answers, "thrity-one."

--JTD

Chinese Democracy

This is an exciting time to be alive, and I'm sure you'll agree. This November, all Americans can be proud that we all lived to see such an awe-inspiring and truly historic achievement.

Obama's election? Yeah, yeah, that's cool, but naw, man, I'm talking about something that we all truly never ever thought would come to pass in a million years: the release of the Guns 'n Roses Chinese Democracy album.

1993: Axl reports a new GnR song is in the works, called "This I Love".

1994: GnR begins recording a new album as the follow-up to 1993's The Spaghetti Incident, but sessions are problematic because everyone has come to despise Axl.

1996: Recording sessions still going on. Slash quits.

1997: Recording sessions still going on. Duff quits. Matt Sorum quits.

1998: With an all-new band lineup, Axl starts all over again with recording the album. Geffen Records gives Axl a $1 million advance on it, expecting it will be released by 1999.

1999: The album never materialized, though Axl swears it's coming "any day now".

2000: Buckethead joins the band, and old parts of the album that have been sitting in the can for years must now be re-recorded to include Buckethead. By this time, most fans have given up on the album and it becomes one of the biggest jokes in rock and roll.

2002: The band goes on hiatus from recording and touring.

2004: The band returns to action, but Buckethead abruptly quits. Axl blames Buckethead's departure for the delays of the album.

2006: Still no album. Bumblefoot joins the band.

2007: The band announces the album is finally finished, but no release date is given. The "Chinese Democracy Tour" rolls out, even though there is no album to support.

March 2008: Still no album. Thinking it's a safe bet it'll never happen, Dr. Pepper announces it will give a FREE can of Dr. Pepper to every person in America if the band releases the album before 2008 is over.

October 2008: It's official: the new album Chinese Democracy will FINALLY see the light of day on November 23, 2008. And surprisingly, "This I Love" still made the track listing after all these years.

And it'll probably suck.

Oh well. But Dr. Pepper has announced they're going to keep their promise. Yee-haw!

- - JSH

KY 2008 House Bill 684

Heard about this? Me neither, until just now when I was surfing the great Kentucky Votes website:

FRANKFORT, Ky. (April 29, 2008) – A bill passed by the General Assembly and signed by Gov. Steve Beshear will make the growing sport of amateur mixed martial arts (MMA) safer in Kentucky.

House Bill 684, sponsored by Rep. Steve Riggs (D-Louisville), extends regulations enforced by the Kentucky Boxing and Wrestling Authority to amateur MMA bouts. Previously, only professional MMA matches were covered. The bill also establishes a medical review panel for the authority.

The authority’s rules help ensure the safety of participants by requiring a medical exam for each competitor, requiring a ringside physician for each match and mandating prompt access to an ambulance, among other measures.

“This was needed legislation, and we are glad it has become law,” said Larry Bond, commissioner of the Department of Public Protection, which includes the boxing and wrestling authority. “The legislation will allow some regulation in a contact sport where amateur MMA competitors were exposed to risk and injury by competing in unregulated matches.”

The medical review panel, which will consist of three to five physicians, will consider medical issues that come to the attention of the boxing and wrestling authority. Among their tasks will be examining the medical records of competitors and making recommendations to improve health and safety.

Okay, that's how this bill (House Bill 684, to be precise) was described in the State Government's own press release. It's all about safety, it says here. Hmmm. Okay. And yet, here's how Kentucky Votes describes it:

Introduced in the House on February 28, 2008, to require licensing and expand taxation of boxing, wrestling, or martial arts shows.

Oh-HO! Licensing, eh? Expanded taxation, eh? Funny, they forgot to mention in all this in their self-stroking press release.

Mind you, I don't give a fuck about "Mixed Martial Arts" and anything that helps to contain and supress the growing MMA cancer is fine by me. But when you add undue regulation and taxation to boxing, which already has one foot in the grave and needs all the room to breathe it can get, you're startin' to raise grandpa's ire.

I'm still trying to sort out what it all means for the amateur boxing industry in Kentucky, but you can read more info here. You can also check out the new website of this grand adventure in unnecessary bureaucracy by clicking here.

Call me old-fashioned (audience: "you're old-fashioned!!!") but in my head, I still live in a world where two men are allowed to hit each other while a third man charges a sawski to watch it. Period. No other outside entities, snoops, finks or laws needed.

I will continue to live by the rules of the world in my head rather than those inside somebody's else's head. In fact, I'm already thinking up a new routine in which boxing and wrestling are transported safely to the anarchic venue of theatre and performance art, safe from the prying stinky fingers of bureaucrats.

"Relax, sir, it's not real boxing, it's theatre! This is a short play, in twelve rounds, ah, I mean acts. Twelve acts."

"But.... but... Mr. Holland, that man's really bleeding! That's not stage blood!"

"Oh, yes, well, ha ha, sometimes they ad lib. You know those crazy actors!"


- - JSH

What IS a Transylvania Gentleman?

Believe it or not, it's only a few weeks away from the one-year anniversary of this blog. And after nearly a year of being asked "so, uh, what IS a Transylvania Gentleman, anyway?", I'll try to elaborate somewhat.

First, formulate in your mind's eye the image of the classic old-school "Kentucky Gentleman" mythical archetype. You know, the string tie, the cane, the hip flask of bourbon, a silver cigarette case in one inner coat pocket and a silver cigar tube in the other. Perhaps a fancy Zippo in another pocket, and a deck of cards and pair of dice in yet another. And maybe a tin of British snuff, pocket knife, today's racing form, condoms, and a little black book. (Obviously, Kentucky Gentlemen need a lot of pockets to lug around all their gee-gaws and guy-goods.)

Now, fold in the concept of Transylvania, which is what this area used to be called before a bunch of crooked bankers and politicians stole it fair and square from pioneers Richard Henderson and Daniel Boone. Many Kentuckians today look to Transylvania as a symbol of Kentucky's former frontier glory days, much in the same way the Weimar Republic is viewed as a symbol of more glorious times for Germany before World War II.

Combine the two concepts and you've almost got it. But it's important to throw in a little philosophical line-drawing in the sand:

First of all, this is a boy-blog. Though Professor Dockery and I are hardly textbook examples of macho, we recognize a certain value in the concept of the private gentlemen's society, from the Knights Templar on down to the Little Rascals' He-Man Woman hater's club. Think of it as Maxim magazine for Kentucky louts and oddballs, or the early Playboy magazine, which filled a real void in the 1950s by presenting men with discerning tastes with info on where to buy the coolest new shit.

Secondly - and I can't stress this enough - you don't have to be wealthy to consider yourself a Transylvania Gentleman. The point is that, even if you live in a trailer in Brodhead, even if you're homeless, you are dead convinced of your own worthiness to have cool shit and lead the good life. That's self determinism, Jack. And the hallowed fraternal Old Older of Transylvania Gentlemen is here to tell you to that you deserve to drink fine liquor, smoke fine cigars, have cool toys, and wonderful women. You deserve it, dear reader, dude, as dictated by ancient decree from forces greater than you and I understand.

It is your Transylvanian heritage, young Jedi.

There's more yet unsaid, but truth is a four-dimensional cheese that must be approached carefully by three-dimensional rats.

- - JSH

The Last Rolling Stones Album

I've been in a Stones mood ever since Dr. Dockery's post about Exile On Main Street back on Hollerween, and especially digging on Undercover, which I regard to be the last and final Rolling Stones album. Everything they did after this feels like a different band, a shadow of its former self, populated by imposters. Very good imposters, but imposters nonetheless.

I remember late one night seeing the amazing video for the song "Undercover of the Night" for the very first time in 1983. Shot on film rather than tape, it felt like something The Clash would have done (and in fact, several scenes were reminiscent of Don Letts' shot-on-film video clip for "Radio Clash"). Totally changed everything for me from that day on. Both the song and the video were more violent and political than anything the Stones had ever done, or have done since. Keith Richards as an international terrorist shooting up the place with a pistol and a Dia De Los Muertos mask on his head, shit, you don't see Aerosmith doing that! (Keith got to wield a chainsaw for the album's third video, "Too Much Blood")

That standard-issue seventies-Stones tight-riffed choppy chooglin' sound that they first discovered on Sticky Fingers with "Brown Sugar" and "Bitch", and then had refined to a science by the time of Exile is here on Undercover in its undistilled form for the final time, in songs like "She Was Hot", "Too Tough", and "All The Way Down". This comforting sound is contrasted with dark and sinister lyrics, probably the darkest of their career, even more so than during their Jack the Ripper period in the late 60s.



I'm not gonna dissect the album too deeply here because I suspect most people reading this haven't even heard it, or at least haven't in quite some time. Suffice it to say you should seek out this last great hell-ride of a hurrah before the boys descended into the tarpit of solo albums, mediocrity, and the loss of Bill Wyman. I regard it as the last true Stones album, because the weak and anemic albums that followed the subsequent three-year disappearance of the band lacked the indescribable something that they had in spades (That's not to say they haven't squeezed out a few more good tunes since then - "One Hit To The Body", from Steel Wheels, probably does belong in the pantheon of true Stones classics, and the live album Stripped has some great moments).

I should also add that Mick and Keith hated each other at this point in their lives, Charlie Watts was full-blown junkied out, and Bill Wyman was pursuing his well-reknowned sex addiction (before they called it that) at a feverish pace. I think this chaos contributed to the album's excessive excellence.

- - JSH

They Put Them Up, I Take Them Down

As you may know, I'm big on getting rid of plastics in our environment, since they have a bad tendency to slough off plastic molecules and in so doing, are poisoning our ecosystem.

So it should come as no surprise to anyone that I have been waging a personal vendetta against "guerilla advertising" corrugated plastic signs that glut roadsides all across our fair nation. Not only are they ugly, but they're literally harming the environment. 99.9 percent of these signs are never retrieved by the people who disseminate them; they usually end up being taken down by city employees or, more often, they just fall down or blow away. I've found dozens of these things littering roadside gulches, laying flat and covered in mud and weeds.

Not only that, but the vast majority of these signs are illegally placed on someone else's property, usually public property. I'm not talking about a small business that puts a plastic sign out in front of their own store, or even in the median of the road nearby; I cut some slack for instances such as this, even though the plastic aspect still irks me. Nothing wrong with trying to advertise a sale for your store near your store, but most of the plastic signs out there are from businesses that chose to blanket the entire county and beyond.

And then there's the worst offenders of them all: national companies that cover the nation with the same stupid plastic signs. These are usually weight-loss scams, suspicious "job opportunity" announcements with toll free numbers, religious proselytizing, predatory lenders, and "We Buy Houses" real estate moguls. Then there's all the political campaign signs that never get taken down from all the places they were illegally stuck in the first place.

So, I've made it a habit of plucking these signs whenever I see them. Usually it's on an as-encountered basis, and I've often raced out of the car at a red light to snatch plastic signs off poles and from intersections, toss them in the back of the car, and throw it back into Drive with seconds to spare. Other times, when I'm feeling particularly onamissionfromgod, I'll drive around late at night and clean up the city of these wretched things.


Which begs the question, what the hell do I do with them now? I have a huge collection of signs, hundreds in a spare bedroom at home and hundreds more in storage. I don't really want to throw them away because they'll end up in the dump and pollute the groundwater. Most likely, I'll do the same thing I did with my leftover Project Egg eggs: when in doubt, turn 'em into art. Not sure what sort of art project I will come up with to incorporate these signs, but I'm sure I'll think of somethin'. Meanwhile, dear readers, I beseech thee to help keep Kentucky beautiful and help nip these signs in the bud whenever you encounter them yourselves.

This guy is my hero. So are these folks.

- - JSH