August 9th, 2010

The Week That Was 8.8.10

The iPhone4 craze is here. All you Apple fans out there won’t stop with your “anything your phone can do, mine can do better” babbling. Look, I get it. I ain’t mad. It’s not the number of apps you have, it’s how you use them. But I have one question that’s really been bothering me lately. Why are all of the iPhone4 ads on TV for the video chatting from the man’s perspective?

Besides the first ad that came out, which is from nobody’s particular perspective at all, the rest have been of a man holding the iPhone on screen and talking about whatever sappy subject that Apple has chosen to manipulate your wallet strings into buying their machine.

Video #1 - Father sings to get his daughter to smile and therefor show off the locomotive’s worth of steel she has in her mouth.

Video #2 - New father wants new grandfather (who amazingly is in touch enough with technology to own and operate an iPhone) to have his first look at the new baby.

Video #3 - Soon to be father is told by his lover that she’s pregnant (judging by his response of not throwing the phone across the room, they’re probably married).

Video #4 – Dude that wants to be the baby’s daddy of the girl on the other end has to deal with the unveiling of her new, Peter Pan haircut, without feeling like a pedophile for thinking it’s cute.

So is the message here that in order to not be a delinquent dad you need to buy an iPhone? I prefer to think that it’s something more to do with the fact that your potency levels go up after buying an Apple product. I have a 17″ MacBook Pro at home. Just to let you know.

Either way, if I’m the only person to notice this trend then I’ll slink back into my corner and won’t come out again until my next haphazard conspiracy theory arises. (But, if I’m right, remember about the laptop at home, ladies.)

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New Noodles (Paul)
Knowing of my relocation to the Heights, it’s nice that Jenni obliged me with opening a restaurant on East 20th. My cravings for Disco Dumplings and Super Fried Rice will not go unchecked now that the newest Jenni’s Noodle House has a home only a few blocks away. Thursday night, in the midst of planning out night photo shoot of some graffiti around town, my spotting partner and I stopped in on the new location to charge our batteries and the battery to my camera. Being the man of habit that I have portrayed to you, I did not disappoint on Thursday. I ordered the above from the menu and I liked it. The only thing that I really changed up on was grabbing a delicious limeade for my drink instead of a Sunkist Orange soda. Fueling up before going on a night street art hunt is a must, Jenni’s Noodle House makes that process that much better.

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Life Without Mexican Food Is No Life At All (Richard)
Friday night was family night, as my wife and I took the I-45 crawl south for some dinner well beyond the boarders of the Loop. La Casita has long been hidden in between Pearland and Friendswood, only whispered about in the surrounding areas. It’s rumored to have been frequented by Tom Hanks and Kevin Bacon, my guess would be while they filmed Apollo 13 in Houston. Celebrities aside, they offered us reasonably priced margaritas and Dos Equis Amber, so within the first 5 minutes of arrival, the restaurant had established its relevance in my stomach’s heart. The joy didn’t end there. Chicken fajitas, delicious salsa, nachos smothered in ground beef and cheese, all descended on our table at one point, nary leaving an unsatisfied appetite. It was worth the drive.

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Friday Night’s Alright for Singin’ (Paul)
I have a confession to make; a realization about myself that I’m finding hard to swallow: I’m a closet karaoke buff. Given the choice between a calm night slipping away into the bottom of a pint glass and throwing back shots and defiling “Only the Good Die Young,” the chances that I choose the latter are rising. Then again, I think the fact that Tea Jones has been at both instances of my ear-raping the public this year might have a little to do with it. After sitting in the corner of Under the Volcano’s back patio for a number of hours, our crew of four set about recruiting anyone we knew to make a trip to Glitter Karaoke. You might remember the last time we took the stage at the smallish, Midtown karaoke bar. My condolences if you happened to be there on Friday night. Within ten minutes of pouring into the venue, I was pulled up on stage for a rendition of George Michael’s “Faith.” And while I gravitate toward guessing it would be nice to touch your body, I know not everybody wants a singer like me. I’m not sure what the crowd of regulars and random party-goers thought of our show because it was one of those kinds of nights that a short attention span are a must and you don’t pay attention to anything that isn’t within your ten-foot bubble. It wasn’t my heart I was picking up off the floor on Sunday. It was certainly my brain that felt like it had been thrown on concrete and run over by a UPS van.

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Dirty Old Town, Dirty Old Town (Richard)
The white linen crowds were everywhere on Saturday night, more sweltering and invasive than the humidity itself. Don’t misunderstand me, I enjoyed the festivities and the celebration of all things Heights in this particularly sticky month of August. It’s Houston’s “how do you like them apples moment” to the heat. However, refuge at Waldo’s Coffee House in between the White Oak zoo and the 19th Street flood was more than welcome after the 4th hour of light colored fabrics. Quietly tucked away from the street in a dimly lit house lied our feets’ salvation.

As we walked in, the folk tunes of Hugh Morrison and Murder the Stout could be heard as 30 or more people stomped and clapped in what could only have been the living room of this house-converted-coffee shop. Hoping for beer, we made a bee line for the counter in the back. Ordering coffee instead as Waldo’s is a BYOB establishment, we lazily found a couple arm chairs in the corner and savored the jovially dark lyrics one can only find in Celtic tunes.

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What’s Cooler than Cool? (Marc)
After a getting our brains beat out on the volleyball court (I blame the forty minute rain delay) in the after rain humidity, there was only one place to go, back to the 80’s. Right, that wasn’t possible, but walking over to Snow Vice the new snow cone trailer on Washington Ave, and seeing their spray painted sign a la Miami Vice had me thinking of blazers with rolled up sleeves and shirts like these. Sitting under the pop up tent and enjoying my blue coconut ice, I was ice cold. Not a bad way to cool off after an afternoon in the sun, the rain, and then more sun. As an added bonus, the brain freeze went away in a few minutes unlike last week when I chose to cool off with a few too many brewskis.

— Paul

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