BY OWEN MORRIS
Dan, the blogger at Gone Mild, makes some great points about the importance of eating at local restaurants and keeping money within the economy. He suggests that people should start meeting in support of local restaurants and judging from the comments, he's got a lot of support. (Gone Mild)
You know, they used to call my roommate in college "Batter Blaster" but I don't think they were talking about pancake batter that you can squirt out of a can and make flapjacks with like KC Beer Blog is. Either way, I think it's kindof gross. (KC Beer Blog)
A look at endangered food in America that could soon go the way of the dodo and Toad the Wet Sprocket. I barely recognized any foods on the list which either tells you that these are really obscure foods or I don't know much about food. Probably a mixture of both. (Forbes)
Gordon Ramsey's flagship restaurant has been demoted from the number one restaurant in London to the number two spot. Taking the top spot away is his arch-nemesis Marcus Wareing. I'm sure Mr. Ramsey will take the news with a good sense of humor, a firm handshake and absolutely no cursing at all. (The Economist)
By DAVID MARTIN
Royals manager Trey Hillman acts like a dick on occasion, and the media arestarting to call him on it.
A few weeks ago, the Royals faced Boston knuckleballer Tim Wakefield. In preparation for the game, Hillman, an ex-infielder who fooled around with a knuckler in his playing days, tossed batting practice.
810 WHB's Nate Bukaty tried to engage Hillman in a light conversation about his knuckler. But Hillman was having none of it. His terse answers suggested a man who had just buried his dog and broken up a fistfight in the clubhouse.
By DAVID MARTIN
When Kristen Ball's Boston terrier, Buster, was a puppy, she found him dozing in his food bowl. Ball, a 28-year-old CPA who lives in Mission, reached for her digital camera and snapped a picture of the impossibly cute scene.
Because of Ball’s alertness, Buster now has his own Hallmark card. Ball entered the picture of Buster in a contest search for images of funny and endearing pets, along with a birthday sentiment.
by NADIA PFLAUM
Don't let anyone tell you it's nice out today. It's hot as balls. I was walking along on the Plaza, trying to think of other ways to describe the condition commonly known as "swamp ass," when I ran into Jessie, looking like a cool khaki breeze. In a sweater. The A/C on the Plaza is un-environmentally kickin', so I understood that she meant to spend a lot of time inside.
Jessie said that she likes to wear all different styles, as long as it's not constricting or tight. The girl likes comfort.
"If I had to choose, I'd say I go for a more modern hippie look," she said. She'd like to encourage Kansas Citians to look beyond the designer labels and trendy stores like Urban Outfitters on the Plaza -- where she got her dress, p.s. -- and explore Kansas City's vintage and resale shops for more uniqueness. "The styles from the past are what most of these designers are mimicking, anyway," she said, sensibly.
As for her style pet-peeves, her friends are the culprits. "One style that's definitely overrated is the skinny jeans and v-neck thing. It drives me crazy, it's all half my friends wear. They throw on Vans and Converse and they're done. I love American Apparel, don't get me wrong. It's cute, but it gets old fast. It's all my last boyfriend wore."
Aha, the ex's style. Well, that'll be anyone's pet peeve.
By ERIC BARTON
If you're debating between watching Barack Obama accept the Democratic nomination or catching the Chiefs in the final preseason game, here's a primer.
Fans expected to watch Obama speak at Invesco Field at Mile High Stadium: 76,273
Fans expected at Arrowhead Stadium: 27 (estimate)
First lady credentials at Mile High: A seasoned lawyer and mother, Michelle is an impressive speaker in her own right.
First lady credentials at Arrowhead: Kelli Croyle doesn't hurt the eyes.
Possible spoiler at Mile High: Hilary Clinton supporters continue to call for her nomination.
Possible spoiler at Arrowhead: The return of Trent Green, now playing for the Rams, overshadows the three backup-quality quarterbacks fielded this year by the Chiefs.
By FLANNERY CASHILL
What's remarkable about this cruddy, photocopied group shot of Iron Maiden?
Admittedly, this picture is worth one thousand words, including "whoa," "holy shit," and "shit yeah, Maiden." Behold a band that can weather the atmospheric pressure of this bleak, alien landscape and still stand, arms akimbo, on the frontier of a new world. Behold the bullet belts, hovercrafts, and Nick McBrain's "Coke Is It!" visor. But most importantly, behold Bruce Dickinson, and his souvenir from the heartland!
BY OWEN MORRIS
Just in case you've missed the posters, yard signs and billboards advertising it, the KC Irish Fest starts at 5 p.m. Friday at Crown Center. It's your chance to eat haggis while watching the band Enter the Haggis perform.
And before the comments get nasty, I know haggis is Scottish, not Irish (many cultures have a dish made of sheep stomach, but I digress.) According to Irish Fest Board Member Laren Mahoney, haggis will be served at the event along with other authentic dishes like scotch eggs, bangers and mash and fish and chips.
If you're not particularly adventurous as far as food goes, then come for the beer. Besides that Irish stalwart Guinness, be sure to try the Cork brew Murphy's, a smoother stout than Guinness and one of my favorites. If you're not a dark-beer drinker, I recommend Magners, an alcoholic cider that beats the pants off competing ciders and off of you.
The gate opens at 5 p.m. and stays open until 11 p.m. Saturday and Sundays' hours are 11 a.m. to 11 p.m. Tickets are $10 at the gate but you can purchase in advance for eight dollars at any area Hy-Vee.
by NADIA PFLAUM
From the Comments:
wumble says: You know when you dream all your childhood about becoming a princess, and then you just happen to be rich, white, blonde, and beautiful, and then you become adept throughout junior high and high school at various sexual tecnhiques, often in cars parked behind Oak Park Mall, and then you pledge sorority at college and enjoy, with your likeminded sisters, your full flowering as a member of your class, and then you graduate and meet an investment banker and the suddenly, bam, he proposes, and you move off to Leawood, become his princess?
That's what I feel like today. I didn't just get what I wanted. I got what I fucking deserve.
(Except that Trevor showed up and was confusing.)
My beautiful suit of clothes: Whenever I go down to the Department of Health and Senior Services office for my WIC card, I wear my white tuxedo so nobody on the street will know about my dependence on state largess. Usually they don't even notice my flip-flops, if I walk quietly."Look at that fancy, fancy man," they say in my imagination, amidst the constant, imaginary murmur of voices talking about how awesome I am. "He must be stepping into the WIC office to pick up his social-worker girlfriend for lunch," they say. Then I have to make up a story for the clerks in the office, so they won't think I'm rich and cut off the free-flowing cheap tuna faucet. "It's a costume. I stand outside the tax preparation office and wave at cars," is what I usually tell them, implying that it's day-labor work. "None of the other guys at the Labor Ready office ever show up in a tuxedo."
The fancy clothes make the sexy man, and in this case, they're really easy to slip on because it's a super-sexy burial tuxedo I bought cheap from an undertaker — as it turns out, burial suits in the formal category aren't in high demand. It's open in the back so you can slide it onto a corpse, so it just pulls on in one piece, like a smock. This one time, I was being chased by the Green Apple Market security guard over some bullshit beef about some packs of batteries, and I got away by stepping around a corner, ripping it off with one pull and stuffing it in a bag. It's the best fifteen bucks I ever spent, and the reason I'm bringing it up here is that I fell asleep at the MAX bus stop at 20th and Main yesterday and somebody pulled it off of me and walked away with it. Now I have to go into the WIC office wearing my cargo shorts and my "LET'S FLIP A COIN, HEADS I GET TAIL, TAILS I GET HEAD" T-shirt.
After the jump, I am unavoidably compelled to write something about the 2008 Democratic National Convention, even though everyone else on the planet is writing about it. Seriously, it's like the internet has turned into the Dark Knight and Barack Obama box these days. I'm seriously thinking of taking up ham radio. Anyway, click here, or on this flyer I've been leaving under windshield wipers in downtown parking lots:
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