As Canadians, we're grateful for all the Royal Family have given us, namely a holiday in May that coincides with warmer weather, and currency featuring the Queen, whose craggy visage youngsters can fold into creative shapes when they're old enough to earn an allowance.
We've also noted how gratifying it is to find a crumpled twenty in the pocket of a pair of slacks and included only one tale involving royalty in our who's who of drunks, The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery, and that concerned a footman who was adding whiskey to the water bowls of the royal corgis – an offense which, although funny, resulted in his demotion. According to reports, the Prince of Wales and Duchess of Cornwall were in Suffolk recently, sampling 'carbon neutral' beer (there are conflicting reports as to whether it was flat or fizzy) and arriving by helicopter as befitting such an eco-friendly event. Here are pictures of the couple testing the 'beer goggles' phenomenon they've no doubt heard so much about.
20 Worst City Names in North America: You Can't Beat a Dead Horse, Alaska
At the risk of never being given the keys to the city of Crapo Maryland, where you might not to want to open anything anyway, namely a business, there are some places that are just plain unappealing to the ear---as opposed to say, the state of Indiana*, which is unappealing to each of the other senses as well. [*Editor's note: It could be worse. It could be farther away from its main selling point---proximity to Chicago]
There are towns that for whatever reason struck 'appeal to tourists' off the local chamber of commerce agendas, watched the Rotarians rotate their wheels out of Dodge and whose mayors are currently in the process of decommissioning our welcome wagons.
These are places where a road sign pointing to them, even with the gas tank registering near empty, would have you lead foot it down the interstate and take your chances getting stranded somewhere while some maniac with a billhook muttering something about 'city folk' chops you into the next episode of CSI.
Now, at the risking of offending anyone outside Indiana state lines (a state so ugly it should be annexed, partitioned and sold off to the highest bidder--perhaps if a sultan in Bahrain needs somewhere to work out the finer points of his Ferrari's 5-speed transmission) we should note that we've never actually been to any of the offending towns on account of never experiencing break pad trouble anywhere in their vicinity, (though one of us sped through Gary quite quickly) but we're sure they're all lovely places.
1. Dildo, NewfoundlandThe stagette gift that turns party-goers into short-form improvisational comedians, and if the party is held at an upper end restaurant will result in a board of health citation, this device is also the most embarrassing item that can be seized at customs (doubly so if you're a man and with any sort of standing in the community, say the comptroller for Lizard Lick, NC)
2. Flushing, New York, Drain, OregonTwo names that refer to sending something through pipes, like say, E.coli through your intestines or a hole that attracts flies, these plumbing-themed dud names are a plunger and a snake away from causing serious water damage to your bathroom tiles and your psyche.
3. Bald Knob, ArkansasA particular sexual predilection detailed in the back pages of the Village Voice, or an insult hurled out the window at a chrome-dome trucker who cut you off.
4. Dead Horse, Alaska What more could we say about it without invoking the phrase? If your town is a 'one horse' one, better make sure the beast isn't glue factory-bound.
5. Hellhole, Idaho / Hell, Michigan 'Hell' might mean bright in German, but these name choices aren't. If Hell was at a lower latitude, instead of Michigan, at least in the summer it would lend itself to 'It's hotter than Hell", "No it isn't" repartee.
6. Crapo, Maryland Indeed.
7. Asbestos,Quebec Like Fleatown (below), don't make any long term plans to stay. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the asbestos kitchen. Can explain the high absentee level due to incarceration/death at your next high school reunion.
8. Red Lick, Mississippi French Lick, Indiana, Lizard Lick, North Carolina Larry Bird may have put French Lick on the map, but technical fouls all around and a clang off the irons for these burgs.
9. Dismal, Tennessee 1. obsolete : disastrous, dreadful 2: showing or causing gloom or depression 3: lacking merit : particularly bad
10. Hicksville, New York Probably not the most sophisticated center for learning and culture.
11. Boogertown, North Carolina One good thing about Boogertown, is that it's in Gaston County, Cito Gaston having captained the Toronto Blue Jays to back to back World Series wins. This may be a stretch, but why don't YOU come up with something for a substance a construction worker shoots out his left nostril.
12. Fleatown, Ohio Brought in from a curbside mattress. Don't make any hotel reservations.
13. Boring, Oregon Oregon town five-finger discount of Salt Lake's de facto title.
14. Ogle, Kentucky You may want to think twice about using the hotel pool. A creepy uncle at a 4-H jamboree, whose hugs linger on a little too long. 15. Hardup, Utah, Blueball Pennsylvania When it comes to new names, these towns aren't gettin' any and neither are you.
16. Spread Eagle, WisconsinA city that's tough on crime, but leaves you feeling compromised.
17. Rudeville, New Jersey A ten-cent tip town. 18. Lynch, Kentucky / Swastika, Ontario Not exactly doing wonders for the tourism industry, and hopefully not given to showing civic pride through parades.
19. Downer, Minnesota Dismal, TN's sister city.
20. Recluse, Wyoming Along with 'no fixed address' and 'loner' this term makes up the serial killer trifecta.
25 Horrible Bands Named after Places: Music from Hell and Elsewhere
Much like hypertension or obesity are predictors for cardiovascular disease, geography is a measure for determining whether a band's music will make you want to cover your ears.
Before you start penning a terse letter to your city councilor, we're not referring specifically to where a band might be from, but one whose name is geographic in origin.
Now, there is no question, there are a handful of talented place-derived bands in genres other than rock/pop. These include punk bands UK Subs, New York Dolls and MC5, soul bands like the Sugarhill Gang and the Ohio Players, not to mention traditional acts like the Blind Boys of Alabama or the Clinch Mountain Boys. However, with few exceptions, the vast majority of rock/pop bands at least, whose names reference a particular place are overwhelmingly and unspeakably awful. There are several reasons for this. First, if you're feeling less than creative when coming up with a band name, say, Julius & the Epileptic Caesars is already taken, the first thing that may spring to mind after a failed bid by the drummer to name the band after himself (The Tommy Hitzenberger Three), is a particular land mass or continent---especially if you were excited about tectonic plates in high school geography class.
Second, some bands are filled with a great sense of civic pride. The Doors, for example, whose version of Alabama Song received kudos in our Top 10 'Bar' Songs of All Time would famously be introduced: 'From Los Angeles, California, the Doors'. If an announcer isn't available, or for some reason your band doesn't believe in loosening up a potentially hostile crowd with whimsical banter, naming yourselves after a particular city works as this removes any doubt as to where you're from for future 'why don't you go back to __________ ?' heckling.
And thirdly, there are several bands, who for whatever reason, likely because they're fond of anything and everything ironic [see the book/site, Stuff White People Like: The Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions and for Sharkguy Chris's review of said book in this past weekend's Globe and Mail click here] go out of their way to name themselves after somewhere they're NOT from. Perhaps you'll find them on our next list, that is, if they have enough staying power and a big enough fan base to extend beyond Brooklyn or Chapel Hill.
Here, alphabetically then, is an in no way definitive list, (as awful acts sporting geographic monikers are sprouting up literally everywhere as we write this), of 25 of the most notable, and quite horrendous bands with geographic names.
1. Alabama: Not coincidentally, as far as your ears are concerned, this band hails from Fort Payne and brought us Christian Rock-like crossover hits like Dixieland Delight, proving that a taste for piss-poor country translates to a lousy taste in MOR pop.
2. All Saints: after All Saints Road, London. Pure Brit blasphemy
3. America: Their songs have elevated people, but unfortunately only in the context of entering, and pressing your floor. America's big hit 'Horse with No Name' is often mis-attributed to Neil Young--a guy who'd never pen anything like this. I mean, what good is a horse going to do in the desert? That's what camels are for.
4. Asia: A wretched prog-rock outfit whose keyboards were so large they'd likely need to be hauled off by Hercules jets.
5. Backstreet Boys, after Back Street Market, a shopping area in Orlando, Florida. If you name your band after a shopping area, what more can be said, other than your tunes will provide musical accompaniment to mall teen loitering. As far as their Youtube videos are concerned, embedding has been disabled by request, and not by us either. A big thank you to whoever that was.
6. Bay City Rollers: According to legend, the Scottish 'Rollers' threw a dart at a map of the continental US and landed upon Bay City, Michigan. At least they really did put Bay City on the map.
7. Boston : Thankfully, a band that only puts out an album every decade. Right now, a radio station somewhere, is spinning More Than a Feeling and there's not a damn thing we can do about it, though we've mulled over every legal option.
8. Bush, after Shepherd's Bush, a district of London. The best thing this moribund outfit did, was attach itself by marriage to a successful one, Gwen Stafani/No Doubt
9. Chicago, after the city of Chicago (originally Chicago Transit Authority). Touted for their musicianship, horn section, as well as their consummate blandness, Chicago is one of the longest running and most successful U.S. pop/rock and roll groups of all time, something more difficult to grasp conceptually, than String Theory.
10. Chilliwack, after the town of Chilliwack in British Columbia, Canada. Their song 'My Girl', is not even among the top ten best songs called 'My Girl'. They've been 'gone gone gone so long' and hopefully there aren't any signs of an imminent return.
11. Danzig is the German name for the Polish city of Gdańsk, though the band got its name by way of Glenn Danzig. Either way, drift your eyes left, and you'll get a pretty good indication of what you're dealing with.
12. Europe was a living, breathing and sucking embodiment of the phrase 'all sizzle, no steak', and the sizzle in question here was hardly enough to start even a modest grease fire, however striking a match anywhere near any of the band members' noggins might have.
13. Hedley, after the town of Hedley, British Columbia, Canada. Hedley is one of the countless acts featuring songs under 3 minutes, lots of screaming, Major Key power chords, a bunch of skinny guys, spiky hair, tattoos, wallets on chains, and other signifiers of North American suburbia.
14. Kansas: Kansas is known for two epics, Carry on My Wayward Son and Dust in the Wind, that are no doubt being cranked to oblivion in an El Camino right now, somewhere between northern Maine and southern California, with air guitar accompaniment.
15. Linkin Park, after a park (now known as ChristineReedPark) in Santa Monica, California (spelling was changed from Lincoln to Linkin because the domain name lincolnpark.com was unavailable). One of the many 90s bands who merged hip hop and metal, a musical marriage more doomed than the nuptials of Liza Minnelli and that overtly gay guy whose name escapes us.
16. London Beat. When we listen to this, we can't help but think they deserve a good beat-ing. Actually, this could be its own category, as just about every band with London in its title is awful. Due to space restrictions, they're not listed here.
17. The Manhattan Transfer, after John Dos Passos's novel Manhattan Transfer, which is in turn named after the Manhattan Transfer train station in New York City, and this is all you need to know about them, trust us. Disclaimer: some really really bad dancing here
18. Marcy Playground, after the playground of MarcyOpenSchool in Minneapolis. The band achieved success ten years ago with Sex & Candy, middling 90s Nirvana-lite, sans shotgun blast.
19. Mannheim Steamroller, Mannheim Germany. We almost hate to do this to you good people, who were kind enough to stop by and enjoy our list, but here it is. The Steamroller doing a rock instrumental version of 'Joy to the World'. One of us has been to Mannheim, a lovely city, and it pains us to see the musical atrocities committed in its name.
20. Miami Sound Machine. This band helped launch Gloria Estefan, but not in a good way, like out the window of a sufficiently tall building.
21. Nazareth, after the city of Nazareth. Famous for a vocalist, who, like Axl Rose of Guns 'n' Roses sounds like Edith from All in the Family, they were known for this ballad, which is uglier than twinned cow arses, Love Hurts. Listening to this, it's clear something hurts, though it isn't love. They're also known for choice lyrics: Love is like a flame, It burns you when its hot
The above prompts the question, when is a flame not hot? Is there some aspect of fire we're missing here?
22. O-Town, after a common nickname for Orlando, Florida. Not to be confused with, the Big-O, an experience quite opposite to what you'd feel after having to endure any of this craptacular act's hits.
23. Rascal Flatts, after a geological formation in Oklahoma. Rascal Flatts is an embodiment of what country music, unfortunately, has become: your nouveau riche uncle who's moved out to the burbs and bought a speedboat that he likes to show off and needs musical accompaniment. Rascal Flatts are about as far removed from real country, as The Olive Garden is from a trattoria in Palermo.
24. Styx. Nitpickers might point out that this is a mythological place, but this doesn't take away from the fact that if there is a Day of Reckoning, these guys will have a lot to answer for, musically speaking. [see below]
25. The Village People, Greenwich Village, NYC. One good thing that can be said about them, is that unlike everyone else on this list, they never took themselves too seriously.
It's impossible to forget the first time your taste-buds are left smarting from a slap of Belgian beer.
Like most, I was weaned on traditional lager or pilsener, the kind of stuff 'Johnny Sixpack' might pick up in his, well, pick-up.
To make watching sporting events palatable, such as our failing local hockey team's perpetual first round exit from the playoffs, or as an adjunct to a post-work barbecue in someone's suburban backyard, our greatest concern was a six-pack that wouldn't tax the wallet---and would leave us comfortably under the $10-dollar mark to to grab a bag of Doritos and pay for the last bus of the night without having to scramble for change.
If any of these bargain garage sale suds strayed too far from having what we came later to realize was a distinctly "beer" finish, it wasn't uncommon to hear "it's got a bitter aftertaste" bellyaching. This was odd, given that whenever anyone would inhale a candy bar, you'd never hear a "isn't that a sweet aftertaste?"
Belgian beer, as I came to learn, not only has aftertaste, but a heady "before" and "during" taste as well, and furthermore, some types weren't bitter at all.
Like the first time I guzzled a Guinness and realized it wasn't a facsimile of orange juice, like a Corona, or the first time I took a belt of whiskey left out in the bedroom of an older acquaintance whose jail-bait sis was hosting a party for precocious 9th grade tipplers, I realized it was a flavor distinctly unlike I'd ever encountered.
Most people's experience with Belgian beer comes via Stella Artois, which goes to show just how damn spoiled the Belgians are as that is the worst beer they make.
However, their other, more interesting beers trace their origins back to monasteries from the Middle Ages, and the product was so damn good many a monk broke their vow of silence to say as much. Unlike a lager, where the yeast ferments at the bottom at cooler temperatures, or an ale, the opposite, where the bits of goodness rise to the top, Belgian 'Lambic' beers do so spontaneously within the bottle itself.
This is admittedly a bit weird, and leaves the drinker wondering if the little bits floating around in the bottom of the bottle aren't the result of the local bog water source, rather than natural springs. It's also closed with a cork, so that you couldn't give it to the guy who got straight A's in shop class to remove the cap with his teeth.
Lambic beers are also laid down like fine wine to age, and sparkle as well. One of the sub-types (Kriek) is given a second fermentation with sour cherries, and another (Gueuze), is sometimes called Brussels Champagne.
For a country with a population only slightly higher than that of New York City, Belgium has 125 breweries, and an eye-popping 1000 + brands. Having been recently wowed by fruit beers, not for sissies as it turns out as they often pack a 10 and 12% alcohol punch, I figured I'd make a beer pilgrimage to the land that makes, and it pains me to say this with a mother and grandparents who hail from Germany, the world's finest beer.
I visited the Cantillon brewery, and if anyone is interested reading more about the brewing process, you can do so here, as this is not the forum to bore you with minutiae. -- Chris
For more Shark Guy travels, check out what happened to Ireland's supply of a certain stout called Beamish when Noel visited the Emerald Isle by clicking here.
Literary Agents: Get Reputable Author Representation and Avoid Getting Scammed
Instead of the drunken shenanigans we usually chronicle, we thought we'd offer up a change of pace this morning. Since our book, The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery came out, we've dealt with various people asking us about the process of landing an agent. Hence, we thought we'd offer a few insights and share them here.
Finding the right literary agent can be a challenge. Here are several online and print resources to make the hunt less daunting.
Googling 'New York' and 'literary agent', surprisingly, is a good first step because within the Big Apple’s city limits beats the heart of book publishing.
However, even though the majority ply their trade in the Five Boroughs there are good ones everywhere. More important than geography, is that a prospective agent is part of a professional body.
The Association of Authors' Representatives
The Association of Authors' Representatives (AAR) not only insists its members abide by a canon of professional ethics (for example, not charging fees as agents earn a living from a percentage of an author's advance and royalties), but has a strict admittance criterion based on how often agents are able to sell author works to publishers within a given period of time. An author would not be well served by an agent who last sold rights to a book years ago.
AAR and similar groups also have comprehensive listings of agent members, who often have websites where a writer can submit their queries online, great in this electronic age so that one doesn’t have to agonize over self-addressed stamped envelopes and being at the whim of the postal service.
These agent sites detail what material they’re specifically looking for. The business is fiercely competitive, with some agents getting hundreds (!) of queries a month. If a writer specializes in historical non-fiction, they should only query agents open to that, rather than thinking their stuff is so brilliant that it would even entice someone who deals in crime.
If an agent website is found through Google, make sure the agency is a member of AAR or its equivalent across the pond, the Association of Authors' Agents (UK). Unfortunately, there is no comparable Canadian agent oversight body that we know of, perhaps due to the industry’s relatively small size.
If an agent is NOT a member of one of the aforementioned associations, it's due to the following:
1. They charge fees, or are engaged in other unscrupulous and unethical behavior
2. They are too new to have accumulated sufficient rights sales to be considered for accreditation.
3. They are mavericks or ‘lone wolves’ who often declare that they don't need to be part of any association.
Of these, only Number 2 should be worthy of a prospective writer’s attention. It's not uncommon for an agent to work in a big, successful house, and feel the need to branch out and start up their own agency, and have yet to amass any rights sales. Check for credentials and background. At MINIMUM, they should at least adhere to the codes and conduct set out by the AAR and should ideally be in the process of seeking admittance to it. Check out recent rights sales. If none are listed, that should be a red flag.
The Guide to Literary Agents
In addition to online agent sources, the annually updated book The Guide to Literary Agents, is a useful source, however the contact info is occasionally out of date by the time it’s been printed.
Writer Beware
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) operates a site called ‘Writer Beware’, (previously the slyly named, ‘Preditors & Editors). This is a great resource which lists complaints that have been raised about agent conduct. There are no guarantees and on occasion, complaints will even be levied against those who hold AAR membership. As the title implies, there are lots of shady people out there, looking to get 'reading fees' or miscellaneous ‘upfront or administrative fees’ out of often desperate writers. Some lawyers even fancy themselves book agents, as they know how to read and decipher contracts, but do not engage in proper conduct befitting a literary agent.
The typical baseball game lasts about as long as The Godfather parts I and II, with long periods of inactivity punctuated by short bursts to the bathrooms to piss out all the suds used to down all the peanuts in the gallery. In these cheap seats, especially during a "pitcher's duel" (baseball parlance for when even less than the nothing that usually happens, happens) the combination of heat stroke and freely flowing beer results in normally staid Toronto fans turning into warring savages in the upper deck.
Before the Jays moved into their cozy, retractable domed-roof confines, they occupied an outdoor stadium situated right by the lake, and on a typical opening day the "Boys of Summer" would be fielding ground balls in a snowdrift. During these lean years, it was nearly impossible to bear those temperatures without ingesting a Great Lake's worth of booze (picture the loogan in the accompanying photo clutching a stubby bottle of an aged Molson product and you'll get an idea of how 90 percent of the cheap seats looked in those days).
This season, in a bid to one-up church in the competition for the place with the fewest number of empty seats on a Sunday, the Blue Jays have started a $2 promotion for nosebleed seating. This drew the kind of crowd that is not overly interested in whether inter-league play truly was the most exciting development in baseball in the last 50 years, but rather those who enjoy punching in the head people who take opposing stands on such mundane issues. Some 100 people were ejected during the Jays' home opener, a development that president Paul Godfrey links to booze: "“It’s really unfortunate when some of them feel it’s a night club here." It should be noted that if the Rogers Dome were a nightclub, it would be the worst nightclub on the planet.
Regardless, sports fans who want to support their home team for $2 bucks, get drunk, and knee their fellow sports fans in the face hopefully got enough of that in during the home opener because the organization plans to ban beer salesin the ultra cheap $2 upper deck seats, and is even considering ending the two-buck promotion due to the drunken brawling. Violent though it was, the cheap seat punch-ups marked the first time that Jays fans have enjoyed themselves at a baseball game since the team's back-to-back World Serieswins.
Since getting faced in the cheap seats was one of the few fun things remaining about baseball, expect the tumbleweed to be blowing through the upper deck of the Rogers Dome and for the unruly fans to be exhibiting their Labatt lunacy in the comfort of their own homes.
On Monday, we covered the growing movement in the US questioning the logic of why someone who is legally able to ruin their lives in so many ways – ie get married, fight in wars, shoot off firearms, vote, star in a porno and obtain a mortgage – is not allowed the freedom to legally get drunk and bemoan the terrible choices they have made in these areas. We support the lowering of the drinking age in the US even if it means that our border towns in Canada will no longer be overflowing with American college students tearing a path of destruction through our hotels and getting to know the lap dance providers at strip clubs on a first-name basis.
The drinking situation in Britain is at the complete opposite end of the spectrum. Eighteen-year-olds there can belly up to the bar, order a whiskey straight up with no ice, and put up with the laughter and derision of the hardened drinkers around them as they choke it back – and it’s all perfectly legal. Beer at the supermarkets is cheaper than bottled water there and what’s more a law granting 920 supermarkets, 470 pubs, bars and nightclubs “24-hour licenses” will stay in effect following the completion of a study that says crime has lessened since the bill was enacted. Basically, the place is a paradise for youngsters looking to mature into heavy drinkers in as little time as possible.
Previously, last call had been at the ridiculously early hour of 11pm, which is usually about the time we wake up and head off to the bar. Pub crawlers forced out of the bar at 11pm would then fill the streets, and in a state of frustration brought on by the desire for more drink, they would punch one another in the face. (Editor’s Note: Not everybody behaved in this way – some went home to sip a cup of camomile, while others overturned police cars.)
It had been hoped that the 24-hour pubs would prevent drinkers from spilling out onto the streets at the same time. While the government study shows that crime has lessened with the advent of 24-hour pubs, critics say that it has instead giving drinkers a goal to attain – drinking all night long before pouring out onto the streets en masse in a state of oblivion between 3 and 6am.
It could be argued that left to his own devices in one of those Hobbesian states of nature, man shouldn’t need to consume alcoholic beverages beyond 4am. Most people, barring a spat with a loved one, getting slugged in the face, or being the victim of food poisoning, will generally go home of their own accord around two or three anyway. The key here is to get a quality drunk under your belt before that late hour so you can go home, drink and dial a loved one and upload embarrassing photos of yourself on Facebook. From that perspective, it would seem that New York and Chicago have it about right with their 4am last call.
But what about shift workers and insomniacs? Alas, when it comes to matters of booze procurement, the more freedom the better. We commend Britain for deciding to keep this enlightened policy in place and not being as tight-assed about closing times as our native Toronto, which deigns to extend bar hours only during the Toronto International Film Festival (presumably celebs can be counted on to be more sensible when blasted than the rest of us).
We Shark Guys hold two Canadian passports, which we’d be more than willing to part with if the right offer came along. Of course we kid and proudly fly the flag wherever we go, expressing our patriotism through the most underhanded of means—on the backpacks of our seeing stars and stripes comrades to the south to tourist hot-spots around the globe.
In addition to these important documents, (for which official photos now require that the applicant no longer smile, somewhat undermining our outwardly friendly and polite, if dull global image) we also hold two bus passes. Though only one of us resides in Toronto year round, (while the other stops by occasionally for an orthotic in-sole fitting, or to load up on airport souvenirs), we're both familiar with hopping a turnsti, er, paying full fare and experiencing those heady subterranean smells or brushing elbows with the great unwashed on a bus.
The Toronto Transit Commission, or TTC, which as youngsters we dubbed ‘Take the Car’, is responsible for ferrying around a million or so residents daily by subway or bus who cannot afford cars, all over the fair city, minimizing gridlock and ensuring that we do our part for Al Gore.
‘Drunk Bus Fight on the Vomit Comet’ (shown here) is pretty self-explanatory if you possess basic reading and comprehension skills and is one of a slew of videos showcasing the worst public transit has to offer, a cautionary tale of what happens when a surfeit of stinking drunk passengers is squeezed into a tight, enclosed space and why the authors, funds permitting, will hop in a cab and risk depositing an all day Mexican breakfast repast in the backseat.
In boxing parlance, a fight that takes place ‘in a phone booth’ (for younger readers, a box that used to enclose a phone attached to the ground) is one in which the combatants (as seen here) wail away on one another in the tightest of confines, with no room for movement and little or no fancy footwork. Though not exactly conjuring up the 'Louisville Lip', Ali in his prime (or even Will Smith's punch drunk mimicry in the eponymous film), the fellow with his back to the camera undermining our national reputation as peacekeepers and not heeding his girlfriend's piercing screams, seems to be getting the better of the two combatants down below.
Beer prices up! German consumption falls! Stay calm folks
In our spare time, the odd hour of sobriety as well as professionally, we're not only "festive boozing consultants" (with carefully hand-crafted-in-the-garage business cards to prove it) but self appointed industry analysts taking the sector's pulse and checking for slow, shallow breathing of the type the gentlemen pictured here might experience if they kept up this activity for a protracted period.
With the buzz from 2007 wearing off and the promise of a brighter and more prosperous 08 (our jobs have yet to be outsourced to humorists in India) we Shark Guys were ready to stagger into the New Year without tripping and falling on the panic button. However we’ve just smashed the protective glass case and wrapped a towel around a hand to stop the bleeding. This is the same hand that would’ve ordinarily been extended— palm out, to demand a traffic cop-like halt to a disturbing trend post haste, or slapped down in a Jeopardy-style buzz-in: "What is beer?: the correct response to the clue: ‘hops and barley prices have risen sharply over the last year, affecting the cost of this vital, lifeblood if you will, consumer staple.’
Our pulses quickened, and we experienced lightheadedness that could not be explained as the result of too many push ups when we confirmed that beer prices were indeed on the rise. This recently caused one of the biggest manufacturers, Anheuser-Busch, a sector benchmark, to raise prices of its mass-market undrinkable swill, Budweiser, to counteract the rising cost of ingredients. This will affect our bottom line, in terms of housewarming gifts, but also because of the trickle down effect to the makers of the high end stuff we ourselves consume.
Speaking of which, in another disturbing trend per-capita beer consumption in Germany, once the world's largest consumer of the drink (and home to a world record, 1284 breweries), fell yet again—the eighth decline in the last nine years. This is of special concern to us, not only because their beer is tops in our book, figuratively speaking, but because its country folk figure so prominently in our actual book, The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery. The country's Brewery Association managing director predicted the decline would begin to have a negative impact as Germans are inexplicably turning to more non-alcoholic beverages, which does not bode well for us in terms of amassing as wide-ranging a compendium of stories for a sequel.
And what's the situation in Canada you ask? (as writer's block and a spontaneous bout of delirium tremens is preventing a proper segue). Well, AOL Canada recently purchased a limited edition Stella Artois for $15,000 in what the Financial Post reported was "the most expensive six-pack in the world", and across our great land, per capita consumption of our fave legal drug has increased more than 11 per cent over the past decade so perhaps things aren't as worrisome as they appear. Knock on that wooden bar top...A toast to a heavy beer swillin' 08 with this Irish proverb!
"It is better to spend money like there's no tomorrow than to spend tonight like there's no money."
Robert Goulet: The "T" is silent and, sadly, so is he...
We here at TheSharkBook.com momentarily paused with our drinks in mid-air on Tuesday, took in the news that Robert Goulet had passed away, finished what was remaining in a single gulp and, once the next round was served, raised our glasses and said “To Goulet!” (We then retired to our respective homes and shot up our television sets).
Our ties to Monsieur Goulet are shaky: one of us has a French Canadian background and the other is a fellow graduate of the University of Toronto who also studied at the Royal Conservatory of Music (and ruined more than one soprano’s sense of pitch with less than inspired noodling on the oboe – eschewing the electric guitar, following a less than reputable source’s suggestion that woodwind guys get all the chicks). Yet we thought it fitting that we mark Goulet’s passing on to that great hotel, resort and casino in the sky (the “Foxy Boxing” in Heaven is rumored to be superb) by doing what we do and paying tribute to an incident involving Goulet and alcohol, which as William James once noted has the “power to stimulate the mystical faculties of human nature, usually crushed to earth by cold facts and dry criticisms of the sober hour”.
Despite the average American citizen hearing the national anthem constantly throughout years of schooling and at every public event they attend apart from charity car washes, some of that country’s most famous citizens have managed to botch the lyrics or otherwise sully the ditty in front of thousands on numerous occasions. Roseanne’s turn at a San Diego Padres game is the first to come to mind, but there have been others including an embarrassing outing for Michael Bolton (check that out here and note the intensity of the booing when he forgets the lyrics and how it seems to go beyond mere patriotic zeal and enter into “We just don’t like Michael Bolton” territory), and even Bobby Vinton (click here for his botched version of the anthem – capped off by a Polish joke from the commentator). Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler thought he’d come up with a brilliant flourish when singing the anthem at the Indianapolis 500 by closing with “and the land of the INDIANAPOLIS 500!” The war veterans in the audience led the chorus of boos and Tyler later apologized. And for some inexplicable reason, someone figured it would be a good idea to ask gold-medal Olympian Carl Lewis to sing the anthem before an NBA game (it was not).
Surprisingly, none of these incidents involved alcohol consumption, as far as we know. However, our favorite tale in this regard, and the one in which Mr. Goulet took the central role, did.
Goulet was hired to sing the anthem prior to the Muhammad Ali-Sonny Liston fight on May 25, 1965 in Lewiston, Maine. Though born in the US, Goulet was raised mostly in Canada and had not performed the anthem publicly prior to that booking (whether or not he serenaded passengers on buses making the border run between Niagara Falls and Buffalo is not mentioned in wire reports). Still he was a big fight fan and the gig meant a pair of free tickets, so he accepted.
Goulet had dinner with the governor of Maine prior to the big fight, leaving occasionally to go out on the porch and “practice” – i.e. drink wine.
Later in the evening, all of the under-card’s talent had slugged it out and it was Mr. Goulet’s turn to fire the crowd up with a bit of nationalistic fervor to mix in with the bloodlust. He botched the opening line, singing “Oh say can you see by the dawn’s early night” (some wondered about Goulet’s powers of prophesy as it was indeed an “early night”, with the controversial main event not lasting a full round). Journalists at the time also insisted that he made a second mistake later on in the song, singing “gave proof through the fight”, though Goulet himself only owned up to the first gaffe. An eyewitness account referenced in this story, which suggests that Goulet was off-key and out of synch with the organ accompaniment, but that he “managed to slur his way through it”, suggests that the great Goulet’s powers of recall are not to be trusted on this point.
Goulet would go on to provide the silky baritone soundtrack to more than one Las Vegas evening, however this story never left him and whenever he was at ringside during a big match at Caesar’s Palace, some wag would be sure to pipe up with: “How’s about a few bars of the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ Goulet!”
To his credit though, Goulet braved this early drunken shaming and made it up to Americans by delivering dozens of note-perfect renditions of the anthem at all sorts of sporting events, as well as singing the Canadian anthem at
As Canadians, we're grateful for all the Royal Family have given us, namely a holiday in May that coincides with warmer weather, and currency featuring the Queen, whose craggy visage youngsters can fold into creative shapes when they're old enough to earn an allowance.
