The WDR 1 Year Anniversary Blowout Craptacular!

Wow, we can't believe that it's been an entire year since we polluted the internet with our demented worldview, but we've done it. We've gained more than a few readers during this long, strange journey, and some of them weren't even looking for "Banana Bread Rape" (an actual search term, and yes, I'm serious). Hopefully you've enjoyed reading as much as we've enjoyed writing this crap, and frankly, if you enjoyed it 1/17th as much as we did, then I guess we should be satisfied.

So, after over 250 270 (?!) posts, WDR has decided to have a little celebration. We decided to build a true Pong Table, in the spirit of my beloved Alma Mater, and we brought along a camera to document the process. I'm sure Werner Herzog would be proud of our efforts.

Our quest began with a trip to the Home Depot. which is so far out of the reach of civilization that it's next to the KOA campgrounds. Once there, we selected a gigantic piece of lumber, which turned out to be a rather large 8x4 board. We were originally going to cut it, but we said "Fuck it, let's go big." While not the dimensions of a true Pong table, this would be suitable for our purposes. Of course, we didn't realize we might have a problem fitting our awesome table in my minivan.



You can see we had issues. But we are nothing if not resourceful, and since Joe Reefer is some kind of engineer (let the record show that once this fact was brought up, Mr. Zhuang made the "drinky drinky" motion), we became unperturbed once again. Fuck it, we're strapping that shit to the roof of our car!



The minivan did look good with its new hat, but not nearly as badass as it did when the back bumper fell off. Now THERE was a car you weren't going to mess with. Next came the awesome task of spray-painting the giant board. We chose green, because, well, I don't know why. We of course took the job of painting very seriously.



While we were waiting for the paint to dry, we tackled the most important part of our quest: securing the beer. And secure we did, amassing quite the bounty of beer, ranging in quality from "delicious" to "goddammit, did we really have to drink a case of Keystone Light" (yes we did, it's tradition--plus, when you assholes got drunk too early and were so full from our good German beer, light beer sounded good, didn't it?).



So now that everything was taken care of, we were set to begin with The Playing of the Pong. We used my random potted-plant holders as supports for our Giant Board, which proved effective (until a drunken associate of WDR overturned the board 10 days later, then we made plans to reassess our options). As for a net, we used my trusty hockey stick, which had served us well in our New Years' celebrations for the past few years (we are fans of destroying piñatas in our celebrations, with said stick being our Weapon of Choice). And we of course had our ping pong equipment, complete WITH PADDLES. As I explained, this game is called Pong, it's not called "throw a ball into a cup". You can take that bastardization and call it Beirut, but never call it Pong (/rant). I eventually had all the rules explained, set up an excellent soundtrack for the party (Beck and The Thermals, so I must say that it was "bumpin'"), and then we played until the late late late hours, when the sun was shining in our face.



Who won? Yeah, I did. Every single game. But there are no losers in Pong, because we all got to drink.

I imagine this post, in true WDR fashion, will be viewable only after at least a week since it was "published". In the meantime, we're taking a much deserved break, and we'll be back warping your psyches in July. In the meantime, if you want to do something awesome like nominate your favorite post or author or comment, now would be a good time to do so. Or not. You know, whatever.

How To Drink Like A Greek

Greeks aren't especially known for their drinking (like say, the Irish), but reputation isn't everything. As anyone who has been to a Greek restaurant after-hours would know, we know how to throw a party down, courtesy of more than a few spirits. We're the kind of people that don't necessarily go all out and match you shot-for-shot, but at the end of the night we're the ones still standing and dancing and having your girl make eyes at us. In other words, we're marathon drinkers, not sprinters--but we'll beat you in sprinting if we have to as well.

So it comes as no surprise that in my travels back to the homeland that drinking made up a prime component. The country just lends itself to drinking at any hour in the day. You of course drink plenty with your meals, but say, it's just 2 in the afternoon--crack open another bottle. It's hot "as fuck" outside--time for a cold one. Bored? Not for long you aren't. All in all, I had more beer than...well, since a Tuesday night at Dartmouth.

Beer Me

The other benefit of drinking in Greece is its relatively close distance from Germany. I had more delicious German beers than I could shake a sausage at, including ones that I had never heard of before in my life. I tended to stick with Kaiser, since it was a hearty lager that was available at just about every taverna, though at home I was free to explore whatever the local grocery store happened to have that day. That's not to say I didn't have some Greek beer. Mythos is the brand that is most well-known among the American tourists, and it's not surprising considering how it tastes like a less-pussy version of Budweiser. But the true Greek beer is Alpha, which is much more influenced by German brewing. It's not nearly as common, but worth seeking out if you have the chance.

Of course, the main attraction is not beer in Greece, it's Retsina! Nah, we don't even drink that most of the time. No, the drink of choice is of course ouzo, something that you would be inclined to believe that I know something about (hint: look at my name, jerkass). Unfortunately, most non-Greeks are unfamiliar with ouzo, so as a Concerned Citizen, I'm providing a quick lesson on the basics.

Choosing An Ouzo

Most people in the US are unfamiliar with the various brands of ouzo. This is not really their fault--most liquor stores only carry one, maybe two brands. And usually the brand that they carry is the completely awful Metaxa, which makes drinking gasoline seem like a great way to quench your thirst. Since this is the introduction to ouzo for many, you can see why ouzo isn't more popular. On the other hand, if you're lucky enough, you can stumble upon 12, which is much, much better than Metaxa. Plus, it comes from my mom's hometown, so there's some regional pride showing through.

However, when in Greece, you should get your hands on Plomario, which is the standard-bearer of ouzo. While 12 may be the equivalent of Grey Goose or Belvedere, Plomario is the Russian Standard of ouzo--there's a clear difference in quality, and it's not even that much more expensive. On the other hand, you're always welcome to try the various random offerings you'll find. Of course, you can always choose an ouzo based on the best-looking bottle.



Word to the wise: be careful when selecting the local ouzo when you're at a taverna. Not exactly the same 80 proof stuff you'll find in the standardized fare, I'll tell you that much. I guess just make sure you're not driving afterwards.

How to Drink Ouzo

Ouzo is not meant to be done in shots; doing that just proves you're an idiot, not a man. It's meant for summer days, it's meant for relaxation, so you sip it. Take your time, there's still plenty left for you to drink later. This way, you won't be dead drunk after 20 minutes.

Also, it's best not to drink ouzo straight. The Greek way is to pour it over ice cubes. Not only does this soften the taste of it, but you get the added cool factor of seeing two clear substances (ice, ouzo) combine to form a white drink. This will blow the minds of your (probably intoxicated) friends.

Well, now you're ready to drink like a pro--you're ready to drink like a Greek. Good luck, you're going to need it.

Hump Day Helper -- Keep It Simple Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Since we just had a review of a concert of a band that was the epitome of simplicity, might as well keep it going with this weeks video. Not only is "She" probably Green Day's best song, it is in fact one of those "three-chord songs". Efficient and brilliant use of the I-V-IV progression, it sounds fresh and exciting, and always gets me going. Simply, it's kickass.

Waiting for a sign
to smash the silence with the brick of self-control...

Don't Mess With Dex -- Live With Local H

What does one do when you've just flown for 18 hours halfway across the globe? Well, I know what I would do--hop in a car and drive an hour away to some dive bar to catch a band whose heyday was over a decade ago. And you do not regret this decision, though you do remain confused by your continuously shifting verb tenses.

I had heard for years that Local H were one of those bands that just brought a ferocious live show, so when the opportunity came to see them for only ten bucks, I had the inevitable reaction of "Sure, why not?" It's not like we had something better to do in ol' Salem Towne. And hey, who doesn't love "Bound For The Floor"?

We had two opening bands that night, with one a promising new local band, and the other being a serviceable, well, opening act. I'll be keeping my eye out for Sharpening Markers, who had a great mix of punk energy and dissonant rock chords, with the vocal stylings reminiscent of Steve Bays of Hot Hot Heat (though for one song it shifted to Hutch Harris of The Thermals, and if you're reading this Sharpening Markers, keep doing this--it works well). My only complaint was the total lack of showmanship from the guitars--put some life into your performance, guys! As for The Photo Atlas, they had some of the better qualities of the indie/screamo movement, but they were noteworthy for the band members resemblance to people we know--the rhythm section looked like two goofballs we knew from high school, the singer like Trent Reznor's kid, and what was clearly Judd Apatow handling the guitar. We loved The 40 Year-Old Virgin, Judd!



Local H lived up to all expectations, as the two-man wrecking crew knocked through a blistering set, mixing in with the old and new. I myself was most intrigued to see how Scott Lucas's super guitar/bass combo actually worked--I had my doubts to the AllMusic story that he had installed a bass pickup in his guitar, but lo and behold, something on the internet was true. The group effectively mixed the old and new, showcasing cuts from the new album that fit in effortlessly with older classics, such as "California Songs", which brought the house down mid-show.

Perhaps the highlight of the show was the monologues from Scott. Sure, there were only a couple, but they were instantly memorable. As Scott's liquor began to take hold, he began to take issue with some audience member's idiotic requests:

"So you think you're old school, huh? You're about as old school as Will Ferrell?"
"Who the fuck do you think I am, Ian Mackaye?"
"If you keep this up, we'll just play M. Ward songs all night."
"Not even the good M. Ward songs, the ones with Zooey Deschanellanksd [unintelligible rambling]. Just the shitty ones."

Scott gets bonus points for the local reference, as M. Ward is a prominent fixture of the Portland music scene. As the drinks kept flowing (Scott: "It's her birthday, so I'm taking a shot!"), we heard the tale of a ruckus a few days ago in California.

"So I nearly got in a fight down in California a couple of days ago. Some guy had a problem with me, and as he gets more into it, asks me, "Do you know who I am?!?"
"I'm Dex!!!"

As for the music itself, well, the ending was spectacular. "Bound for the Floor" of course led to a massive audience response, but the mid-song shift into Chicago's "25 or 6 to 4" was genius, even if it left 99% of the audience clueless. It wasn't wholly out of character--they covered the song on their No Fun EP--but I ate it up, singing the missing horn parts in Joe Reefer's ear (thank you, pep band!). And wasting no time, Scott began a blistering cover of "Wolf Like Me" to close the set, proving what I had mentioned to Joe earlier that very afternoon: "I can tell you this at least: Wolf Like Me fucking rocks".

We're Going to Miss You, Lil' Russ

As many of you are aware, a titan in the field of journalism left us in Friday. Since our resident journalist Mr. Zhuang has been taking this pretty hard (he hasn't left his dormicile since he heard the news, except to toss out a bottle of Jack and grab a bottle of Grey Goose), it's up to me to say something that makes this all worth your while.

I for one will always remember Tim Russert as the consummate professional, the man who did the research and backed up his questions with the hard facts. Simply put, the man did the job he was supposed to do, which frankly in this day and age is more than we can ever expect from his colleagues. He was not the kind of guy that would make random broad statements just to get attention, unlike say Glenn Beck (who hencewith shall be known as "Gleck") or Laura Ingraham, who despite graduating from UVA Law doesn't quite trust the Supreme Court to deal with constitutional matters like in Boumediene. But I digress, there's no need to inflict injury on Tim's good name by accounting for the sins of his colleagues. Let's just remember the man for his sharp wit, his incredible skill, and his joie de vivre.

It'll be strange not being able to watch the man on Sunday mornings (or, in my case, Sunday evenings during the Meet The Press reruns, since I'm not a fan of waking up on Sunday mornings). Which makes it all the more fitting that NBC's tribute to this titan was to leave the [his] chair empty this week. Dammit Tim, we'll miss you.

Nic Ouzo Visits The Motherland

As I alluded to yesterday, you may have noticed my absence from the pages of WDR. I mean, I'm not just calling attention to myself when I say that my lack of activity was noticeable. There are hard numbers (and perhaps soft numbers, who is to say) that back me up on this. Not that any of you care, it seems--our visit count stayed right around average during my absence, and not one of you wrote a comment asking "what the hell happened to Nic Ouzo?" or "I need more vital information like this in my life". You're all assholes.

To answer your non-questions about my absence, the title pretty much explains it all. You may ask, "what's the motherland?", and I'd smack you in the mouth, you petulant little shit, haven't you looked at my name? That's right, I spent the last two weeks relaxing in the country known for its olives and its startling lack of anything of value in the past 2500 years. We just bought a new house/condo/apartment/dwelling out there (I wasn't entirely sure what it was exactly--turns out the proper term may be "villa", but the Italians may sue over the use of that one), and I had to take a visit out there. Which meant I had to immediately drop my schedule of Not Doing A Fucking Thing, and instead go to a country where I speak 8 words (mainly, "please", "thank you", "cat", and "watermelon"--surprisingly, this helps in hundreds of conversations), and do all my nothing over there, on a beautiful secluded beach.



Unsurprisingly, that meant pretty much a total lack of internet, and therefore no words from The Nic Ouzo, Himself. I had to travel to the nearest two-goat village to be able to check my e-mail, and twenty kilometer treks by donkey are no walk in the park (they are in fact worse than 16 kilometer treks done via donkey). At some point in the trip, I was at the point where my thoughts consisted of "No TV and No Internet Make Nic Ouzo Something Something", but I managed. And despite assurances by my co-authors that either things would go smoothly here at WDR/they'd go nuts, I instead get a drunken post about a Cypress Hill cover, and that pretty much was it. Kudos you guys, you really earned your bonus this year.

In the end, I had a great time, and have a wealth of stories that I can share for the blog. I mean, what's not to like about beautiful mountains, fantastically clear blue water, awe-inspiring beaches, and...that German tourist is taking his girlfriend out from behind. Lovely.

Hump Day Helper -- Traveling Back In Times Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

You may have noticed a startling lack of activity here on WDR. That tends to happen when you take a trip to the far side of the world, and your co-workers decide that instead of picking up the slack, they're going to just watch old reruns of My Mother The Car. I didn't even think they had video copies of that series.

Tomorrow I'll be giving an update on what exactly happened, but right now, I'm as tired as fuck-all. I also believe that by traveling west I somehow broke the space-time continuum, and have no idea what time it is. Hence, the inspiration for today's video. It's always good to hear some Built To Spill, even if the sound quality is lacking. Something about beautiful guitar heroics makes it all worthwhile.

'Cause you could never know that
In a time trap
In a time trap...

Choke on this

The book to movie issue

So last week I found out that the first Chuck Palahniuk book that I bought, Choke, has been made into a film. Initially I was very happy with this news. But after a while I thought, "Is this movie going to live up to my expectations?"

And it probably won't. Most book to movie conversions end up this way for a variety of reasons. Having read Choke several years ago when it first came out and again this week, I knew that it wasn't going to live up to the book based on the fact that it's only an R-rated film. NC-17 would be the lowest rating this film could get and accurately portray what happens in the book. I mean, the book is about a sex addict who chokes on food to make money to support his dying mother. His mother is, well, anarchist isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind.

But I think the biggest problem I had, just seeing the previews for this film was the cast. Now, while I like the actors in the film, they don't really resemble the characters of the book much. The guy who plays Denny seems way to big for the role, Sam Rockwell is too old to play a 25-year-old guy and Kelly McDonald, who plays Paige Marshall, while I loved her in Trainspotting and, most recently, No Country for Old Men, she still just doesn't seem right.

But this is exactly what I mean by "a variety of reasons" to not like the film. But does that make it bad? Maybe I would have felt differently about Fight Club (one of my favorite films) if I had read the book first. I don't know. But then again, Jurassic Park was very different from the original book (and seriously lacking in the Malcolm drawings) but still kicked a lot of ass.

Well, WDR readers, I'll let you be the judge for now. I'm sure I will report back on this once I've actually seen the film, which should occur sometime in September when it's finally released to large audiences.