Glorious Results of a Misspent Saturday
Apr. 30th, 2007 08:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saavedra77My Saturday plans entailed meeting Kat and Nicole in Fremont to go on the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation's annual Pub Crawl for a Cure. In one of several paradoxes attaching to this charitable event, the bar-crawling was to take place during the afternoon.
The unusually sunny, balmy spring weather exerted a nearly-undeniable pull toward the outdoors, though. So I decided to take a couple of hours to myself and walk from Cap Hill to Fremont, which was highly aesthetic and pretty much took care of my Vitamin D needs for the day.
We had a grand ol’ time wandering around Fremont trading in our drink tickets for beer, coffee, so-called “Vitamin Water,” and bar snacks: we hit the Nickerson Street Saloon, The Red Door, Dad Watson’s, the Triangle, ToST, and the Ballroom. (Dad Watson’s had the best food, you ask me.)
After a day spent drifting from bar to bar, it somehow seemed only natural that we should catch a ride over to the U District and watch Grindhouse, at the Varsity. Robert Rodriguez’ Planet Terror had to be the most singlemindedly, luridly trashy movie I’ve ever seen: strippers, zombies, severed testicles, machine gun prostheses, buckets of gore that looked suspiciously like cherry pie filling. I felt like Barton Fink in that scene where the studio sends him to see wrestling pictures. Only trashier. But go Freddy Rodriguez! Glad to see you're still workin'.
Actually, I thought the grooviest part of Robert Rodriguez’ portion of Grindhouse was his faux trailer for Machete, which promised to be sort of a Chicano migrant laborer’s version of Shooter. (Personally, to judge by the trailers, I think I’d rather see Machete than Shooter, if there were really such a thing as Machete ...)
Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof was the slicker part of the double-feature, though: in sum, homicidal mysogynist nutjob Kurt Russel makes the mistake of messing with a carful of babes who are way more badass than he is. What follows is maybe the first truly memorable car chase I’ve seen in years. (And Zoe Bell TOTALLY rocks!!)
Alas, then it was dark and time to go home and sleep off the day’s excesses ....
The unusually sunny, balmy spring weather exerted a nearly-undeniable pull toward the outdoors, though. So I decided to take a couple of hours to myself and walk from Cap Hill to Fremont, which was highly aesthetic and pretty much took care of my Vitamin D needs for the day.
We had a grand ol’ time wandering around Fremont trading in our drink tickets for beer, coffee, so-called “Vitamin Water,” and bar snacks: we hit the Nickerson Street Saloon, The Red Door, Dad Watson’s, the Triangle, ToST, and the Ballroom. (Dad Watson’s had the best food, you ask me.)
After a day spent drifting from bar to bar, it somehow seemed only natural that we should catch a ride over to the U District and watch Grindhouse, at the Varsity. Robert Rodriguez’ Planet Terror had to be the most singlemindedly, luridly trashy movie I’ve ever seen: strippers, zombies, severed testicles, machine gun prostheses, buckets of gore that looked suspiciously like cherry pie filling. I felt like Barton Fink in that scene where the studio sends him to see wrestling pictures. Only trashier. But go Freddy Rodriguez! Glad to see you're still workin'.
Actually, I thought the grooviest part of Robert Rodriguez’ portion of Grindhouse was his faux trailer for Machete, which promised to be sort of a Chicano migrant laborer’s version of Shooter. (Personally, to judge by the trailers, I think I’d rather see Machete than Shooter, if there were really such a thing as Machete ...)
Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof was the slicker part of the double-feature, though: in sum, homicidal mysogynist nutjob Kurt Russel makes the mistake of messing with a carful of babes who are way more badass than he is. What follows is maybe the first truly memorable car chase I’ve seen in years. (And Zoe Bell TOTALLY rocks!!)
Alas, then it was dark and time to go home and sleep off the day’s excesses ....
