Pub Pressure: Punching a Plonker

A Man Man Concert Review


Rumours of the possibility of a bar brawl involving me are greatly exaggerated*. Sure, I was swishing saliva for the next encounter. And, yes, my fists were pressed for combat. But that’s about as far as it gets.

A month ago, when Sealed With a Kiss Productions started posting up bills for the Man Man concert, Graeme had just informed me that he was planning on once again dropping the Bloc Party ball of paying me back for promising to take me to their sold out show**. I thought, ‘these guys would make for good live entertainment,’ and pressed for a “trade” of sorts. Graeme, down with that, finally got around to picking up tickets on Saturday.

Between my initial expression of wanting to go to Man Man, and actually getting to Man Man, I dropped my BCID card outside of the Shopper’s Drug Mart on Granville. I don’t go to bars or many concerts or clubs, but for some reason, everyone else has dragged me out for birthdays or concerts since I lost my ID. I’m old, but not quite haggard looking enough to pass for over 18, apparently, and only government issued photo ID is the only way to prove my age. My first hurdle at Richard’s was to get in using only three pieces of government issued ID (no photos), and a student ID with a photo—the names are all exact. Dramatic pauses involving what my night will look like are likely to drive me crazy—worse still is that it’ll be close to two months before it is ratified. Short story short, I eventually got in.

After some shuffling of locations, and a mediocre and boring opening set, Grae, Scott and myself settled up in front of the stage (on my left hand side). One of the first signs of stupidity was the girl (literally), to my left applying the reddest of rouges on her mouth. In front of the stage. With her compact mirror. In between sets. I actually proclaimed to my concert companions ‘what the fuck?!” Scott said that girls smelled nice, and that ended the dispute over whether or not her behavior was rational or called for. This girl is going to need a name, so it is probably best if I give her one now. Tiffani (with an “i”) will cause me grief tonight. She’ll be drinking red wine from the bar, which you know is going to be plonk. Only the finest plonk is served at bars. It is only when I see her vat of black piss that I realized her need to cosmetically enhance herself ‘omg! right now!’: She has to put lipstick marks on her wine glass to distinguish it from everyone else’s red wine glasses at Richard’s. The vinegar scent is still fresh in my nostrils as that would be the scent of Man Man’s concert for me this night.

Aside from smelling bad, and kind of looking bad, she was also representative of “what’s wrong with the world today”. An exaggeration, perhaps, but I’ll let you be the judge.

Enter: Man Man.

Within the first song***, she had touched my head from behind three times to take pictures on her $150 digital camera from the Superstore. Twice were full on collisions, the third was merely the brushing on the hair that creates that tingle in your head that is not comfortable. She apologizes for one clocking and the brushing. The brushing will continue throughout the next song, until I finally decide “I can’t spend a whole concert twitching because someone has to have 300 pictures of the same set, angle, singers, etc.” and I pivot on my left heel and face her directly and ask her nicely to stop touching my head. She pretends to not see me, and I turn around knowing I had made my point very clear.

She will now use her time at Man Man to talk loudly about how mean I am. How much of a bitch I am for not wanting my head to be used as a tripod. I am a horrible, horrible person. It was so awesome when her yelling actually overcame the quieter parts of some songs. I wish I was more like her.

Four songs and countless glasses of grape vomit later, Tiffani’s still insisting that my head is fun to touch and my annoyance with her is unfounded. I keep turning my head slightly to express “stop touching my head”, until finally she reaches over me entirely to take what was inevitably her bestest shot ever! And so, tired of her antics, I decide, ‘fuck, I can block her lens and ruin any chance she has at getting any further shots; ruin my night, I’ll ruin yours.’ Sure enough, not half a song later she’s back on my head, and my hands go up to block the lens. Irritated and drunk, she screams, and shift her camera to my right. I block it again. She has a hissy fit, and I turn around to address her. Her eyelids are shifting closed now, as the effects of alcoholic’s vitamin C are weighing in heavily on her. Her babbles involved “I hope I make you feel good just by being here” and other promises her dirty old uncle would whisper to her. Her good friend, had the mind to take the camera away from her and aim it at me. At first, I was like “why are you taking a picture of me?” and then I realized after the fact that I was mad enough to have my fists clenched and likely raised. I began screaming about how I wasn’t infringing on her ability to enjoy her night, why should she feel she has the right to do it to me and other such logic based arguments that are so hard to resist when you’re drunk. Graeme turned me away before the flash went off, and her friend moved Tiffani closer to centre stage. By this point I was seething and began to build up spit for any repeat encounter she may have wanted.

The music was awesome and I got two very awesome buttons for my shoulder bag.

*if only to the disappointment of myself.
** that he still went to. I hold grudges about promises, people.
*** holy crap, they play fast.

Why Old People in Business Should Be Considered Obsolete

A question of whether or not consoles are obsolete.

I will agree that PCs are becoming cheaper and more likely to be in the home, but to have a graphically powerful computer that is capable of playing to top of the line games (or even anything new), you will constantly be upgrading the hardware. Considering the life span of a console (5-10 years), without any significant upgrades (microphones, dance pads and internet connectivity aside), programmers are given a set of stats they are to work with for an allotment of time. PC gaming, while allowing for independent programmers with low budget and even lower graphic resolutions to produce (which is starting to happen to console gaming as well), has a near-endless limit. Which, as awesome as infinity is, it's hard for a casual gamer (as the author of the above article mentions), to just say "I really want to play that new PC game" without having knowledge of their video card, RAM, O/S or hard disc space remaining. I think this kind of acknowledgement is important. Yes, our culture is geekier and more tech savvy, but ask the majority of those 35 to 55 year old women casual gamers what their processor speed is and they're likely to hit you with their purses.

I am not saying the casual gamer is incapable of knowing what their computer does while they are asleep (although this is also true), I am suggesting that these casual gamers are less likely to invest the large amounts (still) of capital required into casual gaming (computer + every damn upgrade when things aren't to the specs of a required game). If it comes preloaded on their Palm, BlackBerry or PopCap is emailed to them, they'll probably enjoy it and may seek out other online games. Ask them to pay $20, and some will. MacMommies will probably be livid that you need a PC, and PCGrannies will be upset that their grandson's old (and I mean old) computer doesn't have enough "sheeps or goats or rams" on her email box.

And here is where the console will thrive: no upgrades, no tech talk, plug it in (or sometimes, throw in a few batteries), put in cartridge, play.

Rather than software commanding the hardware market, consoles have established hardware that the software must conform to. If we look at Nintendo alone's journey into the software demanding hardware upgrades, we'll see the roadside littered with Super Nintendo's mouse & SuperScope, the 8-Bit's Power Glove, GameCube's microphone, GameBoy Advance's E-Card Reader and even the original light gun. But if we look at the DS & the Wii, we find two "gimmicky" ideas requiring software to adhere to the demands of the hardware; and two very large successes in casual gaming.

I won't pretend my readership knows me, so I will tell you now, I have never turned anyone a gamer by using a PC or Mac. I'm sure I could set up a casual gamer, but I sure as hell do not want to deal with the call about why World of Warcraft won't install.

----------------------------------

This rant comes courtesy of my father who, when having difficulties with his computer (likely because it's heavily fragmented and he would've installed Bonzi Buddy if it were still around), decided that it was time to buy and install Windows Vista in the opening weeks. The only reason my father even has a computer was because he wanted a camcorder that he could edit home movies on my mother's Mac. He bought one that was only compatible with a PC (although the salesman said otherwise). It was a Sony camcorder, so his solution was to buy a Sony Vaio. I hate these people, but love my father. A real dichotomy here. The amount of tech crap he's bought and installed (thank god he stopped buying Sony only products and has moved onto the Kodak line of thinking--diversity is good) reminds me of a Threadless shirt...

Back to the Windows Vista saga, his video card won't support Vista. His motherboard won't support a newer video card, and his solution? Buy a new computer.

Ask him about his Wii and he'll tell you it's never given him any troubles. Which is good for a toy.

Seven Months Later...

So, I've drank more Coca-Cola products than PepsiCo. brand, but I blame cherry flavouring for that. But PepsiCo. is the better company.

I have yet to be asked if I wanted to be on a test circuit for PD-1 suppressants, but I have learned that foreskin increases men's chances of HIV infection, and may lower a woman's odds. There's another argument for male genital mutilation for mysogynists to use. That, my friends, is called "irony".

Special juvenille bonus: The director of the World Health Organization's AIDS department is named Dr. Kevin De Cock.

The Crane Wife rose to the top of my favourite albums of 2006, but in doing so also put Decemberists fans at the bottom of my favourite list of 2006. How did they manage to get into the high schools? We must ban mixed tapes, CDs and iPods immediately to prevent good music from falling into immature hands! [/curmudgeon]

Another argument against the glass ceiling was released at some point in the past month: Boys are just as good at quitting as women. Take that Human Resources Departments! Equality in job hating! We have to start somewhere.

Making "men" technophobic?

Wired's Sex blog has posted a comment about robots that I found to have an interesting observation.

To suggest that men would fear being replaced by robotic counterparts seems rather unusual. Why would women not harbour the same "fears"? We've lived in a world dominated by sexvertising that has generally sold out the female form to everything from car parts to the very common toilettries market. Not to say that men have not been, but let's face it, men have done way more to "replace" women sexaully than women have of men. I don't imagine the first robots off the line for sexual purposes will be robots with phalluses. Call me crazy, but I have vivid, hauting images of men with too much money purchasing RealDolls (that link is not safe for work, even though I just clicked on it at work--thank god I'm a woman, I can probably get away with it).

Sure, a robot will do more household chores than the average man and be way more of a subservient (literally) slave, but do most people endure relationships for their use-purpose? I highly doubt that. I think the primary reason I, personally, stick to a relationship (without many of the robotic enhancements) is the companionship. An andrioid will represent a fiction; the human, non-fiction. Just as we can do some serious tweeking to fiction to fit our needs and ideals, an android's negative behavior can be reprogrammed. Human lives, on the the other hand, are required to live in a linear line and while some behavior can be modified, the majority will be met with comprimise and endurance (or disaster and heartbreak).

So, fear not the robots, men. Embrace them, as I imagine some will do.

The Battle for Cola Supremecy Has Been Won

After decades of battling it out for my loyalty, PepsiCo. Inc. has won my alliegence (as best as any soft-drink manufacturer can), by simply making itself a minority. With Ms. Nooyi coming in as the eleventh (that's a one preceded by another one) female CEO of a Fortune 500 company, it's no wonder women are feeling the sting of the idea of an imaginary glass ceiling.

Those who know me, know that I know that there are external forces that keep the glass ceiling in place that don't involve the oppressive man, but I'm finding startling (but not surprising) that women only account for just over 16% of corporate officers. Sure, lots of women opt to take a year off to make a baby or two and that makes our whole gender economically unreliable in the grand scheme of things (especially if they fall in love with pukeypookie and opt to stay home foreva!), but is there not a viable solution for investing in women in the workplace to allow for the possibility of trusting career-minded women? I'm seriously doubting that the mere admission that a woman does not want to pass a baby through her loins is ever taken seriously (speaking from my own experience: very few people on this planet take me seriously).

Back on topic about how I'll drink PepsiCo. Inc. products:

I realize that this is not exactly a difficult choice as I prefer Aquafina over salted Dasani and the rest of the sugary water all tastes the same to me, but now I'm going to make a concerted effort to support PepsiCo. Inc and their choice to appoint a woman in the seas of men.