*9.6 out of 10*
Can I get the
*9.0 out of 10*
Yo, if you go see Blade Runner 2049, leave a comment about your thoughts on the movie. It’s almost three hours long, but it’s fast as fuck– You got to pay attention though, because the movie is all dialogue and random bird-eye view shots on dystopian LA and some desolation and shit.
There a bunch of sexy robots and allusions to the Immaculate Conception.
If you feel confused by the end of the movie, I don’t blame you, it’s fucking confusing as hell—Ryan Gosling flying a Peugeot and drinking robot liquor—how’s a robot drink liquor? You ever watch Futurama? Bender drinks all the fucking time. It’s crazy that robots can become alcoholics, but like, in reverse or some shit. Anyway
Harrison Ford kills it
If you don’t really understand the movie, there are some pretty good recaps in Variety and NPR, so check those out—oh, and there’s some on YouTube, but there are spoilers if you’re not careful. Don’t check out “Blade Runner Original RECAP – Everything You need to Know Before Blade Runner 2049” by New Rockstars if you haven’t seen the first movie but still want to see Blade Runner 2049 but are too cheap to rent the original Blade Runner but plan on watching it at some point. It’ll ruin the whole experience and you’re going to want to punch yourself in the dick afterwards.
So check out the new movie
Get there early with you and your buddies, maybe a few margaritas deep, and spend some money on some irresponsible bullshit. Get a large popcorn with extra butter sauce and some Sour Patch Kids™ but make sure all of that shit is well integrated. You’re already spending more money than you should on shit you could get at the grocery store for much cheaper, so if you get that gritty shit at the bottom of the bag, you might as well have an aneurysm and sue the shit out of the theater goddamn it
Get your tickets
Preferably in IMAX
IMAX is fucking amazing
How do they do that?
3D movies are trash though. Whoever
*7.8 out of 10*
Abstract: Though at first a tenuous argument, there is a comparison to be made between Chance the Rapper’s 2016 mixtape, Coloring Book, and Allagash Brewing Company’s Hoppy Table Beer. Both are both modest in content and approach—Chance’s album was free and widely available. Fantastic in every sense of the word, it also deals with humbling topics while being very lighthearted. Allagash released a similarly fantastic beer the same year despite the hype of huge haze bombs, and— echoing Michael Kiser, here— could have called it a session Belgian pale ale/IPA. However, they went another route because it wanted to be accessible to a wide audience and be true to themselves, the beer itself, and its image. Plus, the beer drinks well with the album. I’d want to meet Chance and Rob Tod equally for the same reasons. In this article, I will provide evidence of this esoteric relationship and prove that two different creative paths can converge in one beautiful destination. With an open mind, please consider the following.
BIG UPDATE GUYS
Check out the new handle on the shitter!
2016 was spent mostly drunk, stumbling through suburbia underneath the lampposts. The tall green oaks stretching over and above as stalactites, the nocturnal world was a cavern of summer hell. The creatures of the night, the specters of regret, slept in strangers’ beds or on sidewalks.
What used to tingle now went numb
As the sensation of subversion now became
Sitting in the taproom, on the barstool yet to be broken, listening to Coloring Book, a sermon was delivered.
Ain’t no Twitter in Heaven
The sun bled into the room like over-salted stirfry, pungent and nauseating.
Always good at hungover
A gift of gab
Thin and sharp
The puffed up
Get the fuck out of my bar
And you ain’t slick either
4:30 and the seesaw plateaus
Head upon the picnic tables
Bottle in hand.
Chorus blaring a
Gold as straw and so mellow
Yellow haze, white and sticky
Using words like effervescent
Like it means something
Pineapple and cat piss.
Like it means something.
Juicy fruit gum.
That’s more like it. Light pine and grapefruit.
Slight bandaid, but not to a fault
Classic latex glove.
Sterile, yet so dirty.
Pine. Peach. Pear. Dry Tonic water
—so, quinine and lemon?
coriander comes through, mostly towards the end.
That unmistakable, indescribable
and tropical all at the same time.
I’m telling you guys, the toilet works great!
*9.5 out of 10*
*9.9 out of 10*
I suppose there are musicians who have aged into their art gracefully. Ironically, when I started writing this, David Bowie was still alive.
Even more ironically, near injuriously, there then are musicians who have aged like bananas,
And Keith Richards still tours.
…Something else about Ice Cube and Are We There Yet.
Then what’s left are the pajamas-in-the-daytime set.
These are those whose appeal you equate with spending the day sipping coffee until 1 in the afternoon, milling about, before driving 5 blocks up the street to the discount grocery store where you buy five potatoes, one beer, maple syrup and toilet paper while glaring at the couple in North Face apparel in a strangely classist manner.
Does life still have the same meaning under fluorescent light?
You stand in the checkout line, becoming itchy beneath your fleece, wondering if it’s psychosomatic. You’re captivated by the smell of fried resignation coming from the deli department. The chicken carcasses dance their post-mortem pirouettes. They glisten, all pretty and clean. They exist fondly as they do formerly. Soon, you wonder this of yourself. The high school sophomore who rings up your groceries asks for your ID. You pause, momentarily; shocked that you realize you have memories older than she is. She sulks and heaves her uncaring arm forth, demanding legal rectitude in the form of a seemingly meaningless magnetic plastic totem.
This robot of a person has never been haunted by heartbreak or the inevitability of death. Or, maybe she has, and you’re just too cold as to exist beyond the confines of your hollow, garbage vessel.
You know: those artists you feel just awkwardly comfortable approaching when it comes to their latest endeavors, like Morrissey, or Dr. Dre.
So, yes, I guess I am saying that Founders Azacca IPA is sort of like Morrissey or Dr. Dre. I guess that sounds pretty great.
…but it’s pretty yeah.
Since the day Mike Stevens and Dave Engbers founded Founders, they have at least attempted to brew along the cutting edge. The question now is: ArE They FUKin 2 Old 2 BrU?
Well, they are at least using a new, fresh hop in their attempt to stay relevant.
…In a glass, it resembles 4C iced tea clutched in the fingers of an angry aunt, smoking a pack between a kid and the delicate cycle. Translucent to transparent, it carries a slight haze with an off-white inch of head that recedes to a soapy film.
Sparse bubbles rise slowly from the bottom of the glass. Congratulate them.
My nostrils aren’t necessarily arrested, but perturbed by suggestions of orange sherbet, apricot, some sort of bullshit earthiness like wet leaves.
there’s something else. Something I can only describe as peach chutney follows.
let’s just call it Ritz crackers with some Smuckers’ orange marmalade on top.
I taste orange, melon—cantaloupe, light mango, grapefruit. There’s a grape characteristic distinct enough to the point of being reminscent of grape pop rocks. It tastes… irresponsible. It hearkens to the reckless abandon of one who pisses on walls of city hall, of one who bothers arguing that it’s in the name of liberal values, shouting, “I READ THE NEW YORK TIMES! I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING! I’M ALIVE! WAKE UP WORLD!”
…but I’m not necessarily saying this is a good thing.
The mouth touch is clean, yet not exceptionally thin—somewhat watery. Therein lies a medium to light mouth touch, dry, astringent finish.
I don’t know. I appreciate what Founders is doing, but with a beer like this I can’t help but feel they are sort of like the cool mom who claims to like Kendrick Lamar because she heard he was a Grammy nominee, but cannot get his album title right (“Pimping a Butterfly?).
I’m not expecting you to understand.
*8.3 out of 10*