Anonymous Communist

I don’t get out much, so it was only recently that I visited The Pizza Machine for the first time.

Located in Vinegar Hill Mall, Pizza Machine populates the space once held by various clubs like the Atrium and… well, the Atrium is the only one I can readily recall.

The decor inside is obviously influenced by the City Museum, down to the dragon’s-mouth entryway and the conveyor rollers that make up the railings.

There’s even a slide for when the kids get bored/irritating:

I understand that if you get their big-ass pizza, the pie’s delivered on a train or crane or some such.

Speaking of pizza, our half cheese, half sausage-and-garlic pie was quite good. I would have liked a bit more cheese, and the sauce was a tad sweet for my taste. But the thin crust was excellent. Although I’d rate it the fourth-best pizza in town, it’s certainly worth going back for. And there’s a full bar and the aforementioned funky decor.

This is one of those one-of-a-kind, kooky local places that deserves our support. The owners have put forth great effort to make Pizza Machine a unique destination, and the food is worthy in itself. Plus, they deliver (in a big ol’ school bus), so there is no longer any reason to get corporate pizza.

I’m also looking for a partner to join me in their eat-the-big-ass-pizza challenge. I’d love to give it a shot. (UPDATE 12:45 p.m. 4-8-2008: Having read John’s post about the Pizza Machine challenge from a couple years ago, maybe I should reconsider.)

Sorry for the crappy photos; it’s sort of dark in there, and all I had was my cell-phone camera. For more/better photos, visit Springfield Photos’ review of Pizza Machine.

One of the stops on our weekend jaunt to St. Louis was the City Museum, which in the last post I described as “unspeakably awesome.” Words really can’t adequately describe just how much fun the place is. If you go, I do have one piece of advice: Wear sneakers.

The overriding theme of the museum is one of reclamation and reuse. Located in St. Louis’ former garment district, City Museum occupies the old International Shoe Co. factory. It’s basically a huge, multi-story, indoor/outdoor playground. Much of what makes up the museum and its attractions is salvaged from long-vanished buildings and unwanted objects.

The most striking attraction at City Museum is MonstroCity, the most fantastic, incredible, kick-ass jungle gym you will ever see in your life:

None of the photos I took Sunday can do justice to MonstroCity’s size, scale and dynamism. At the upper right corner of the photo is the tail of one of two aircraft fuselages you can climb in. There also is a couple of ball pits (one for little kids and one for “big kids,” which can get kind of rough), an old firetruck, a Gothic-style tower from what I’m guessing was a church and an enormous cupola salvaged from a demolished portion of the old St. Louis State Hospital, all of which are interconnected by a series of slides, staircases, bridges and catwalks.

Some of those catwalks also are perilously high off the ground, maybe 50 feet up or more:

(The Girl, pictured, had no problem zipping down the chute. I, on the other hand, was all too aware of how high up I was and was mostly concentrating on not soiling myself. It didn’t help that with every step down I took, my fat ass shook the entire thing. I’d do it again in a second, though.)

And if the weather’s bad but you still want to get your climb on, you can hit the Enchanted Caves. Built deep in the building’s belly around the shoe factory’s spiral conveyor, the caves are a playground for the imagination as well as for the body, with hidden passageways, enormous dragons, crystal formations, stairways and more of the museum’s ubiquitous slides.

If you’re not totally exhausted by those attractions, you can head upstairs to the no-skate skate park, which features actual Masonite quarter- and half-pipes and two concrete bowls, which you can run up and slide down (and tunnel under, of course). I must say that I am proud that The Boy has an instinct for proper sliding technique:

Whew! And I haven’t even mentioned the museum’s huge art-crafts room, the aquarium, the shoelace factory and other attractions. There’s so much to see and do that you could spend the whole day there and still not hit everything. Not that your body would be physically capable of such a task; it’s been four days, and I still have some lingering soreness from all the climbing and sliding.

You can’t really tell from this photo, but Toys R Us was freaking PACKED Friday morning. The back of the checkout line started in the Baby section, which is about as far away from the cash registers as you can get.

Mrs. Communist, having already been to Kohl’s at 4 a.m. (!) and Target at 8, asked me if I wanted to go. Shopping is not my bag (heh), especially shopping amid a sea of humanity. But for some reason, which currently escapes me, I agreed.

Once we got there, it took mere seconds for me to regret my decision. This was my first time experiencing the so-called Black Friday firsthand, and now that I’ve done it, I don’t have to do it again. Sort of like watching a ballgame Wrigley Field.

For some reason, many of the unwritten rules of public social interaction are left in the car when there is Christmas shopping to be done. Things like “excuse me” and not running your shopping cart into the back of my ankle… those sorts of things. But it’s the shoppers’ world and I was just visiting, so I guess the problem was mine.

Why someone would choose to subject one’s self to this particular brand of torture is a concept that escapes me. Just think how much easier and less stressful it would be to do your shopping online. They have the Internet on computers now. You can buy crap without having to be around people AND have it delivered to your door, all without leaving the house. It’s a misanthrope’s dream.

I took The Girl bowling Saturday. It was the first time I’d been in a couple of years. I discovered that I am much better at bowling when it’s on the Wii.

I didn’t start out too badly, rolling a 140 in the first game. But repeatedly chucking a 12-pound sphere eventually will wear one’s arm out, especially one who already has a bum shoulder. My total in game 2 was 129, then in game 3 I rolled a sizzling 99.

This compared to The Girl, who at age 6, averaged 70 for her three games. She did have the benefit of the bumpers, but so did I. She asked to come back the next day, but my shoulder is killing me. I had to tell her “no” to avoid getting beaten in bowling by a 6-year-old girl.

On the way home, she asked me, “Dad, why are all those men on that roof?” I told her that they were probably working on the roof of the Walgreens going on at Koke Mill and Iles. Then she asked a question for the ages:

“Dad, why do we need another Walgreens?”

She’s an observant kid.

More than 36 hours after the show, my ears are still ringing and my throat still hurts. Those are signs of a kick-ass rock-and-roll show. (UPDATE 1:55 p.m. 10-20-07: The show is now up at Internet Archive. Tip of the Ween hat to Eric.)

We knew we were in for good times when, upon arriving at the venue there was a parking space open across the street from the door:

I believe our gracious driver called that Rockstar Parking. Because there was some time to kill before they opened the doors to the club, we all took advantage of the tanning salon next door. We entered roughly the color of the Canopy sign and emerged at a hue akin to the Classic sign.

Once inside, it was time to hit the bar, which was conveniently located just inside the doors. U-Huff and I got each got a pint of Dead Guy and walked into the auditorium:

This was my first time at the Canopy, and I came away impressed. Its former life was a movie theater, but the only seats that remained were in the back, balcony-style. There was a bar on each side of the auditorium, which was nice because we were in for a lot of standing around, waiting for the band to come on. It was akin to a rain delay during a baseball game; nothing to do but shoot the shit and drink beer.

Every so often, a small group in the crowd would try to start an exhortation but would give up after about 30 seconds when no one else would join in. The more we waited, the more fevered the anticipation: People were cheering the roadies who came out to tune the guitars. Our party entertained ourselves with beer and by messing around with our cameras and cell phones.

Finally, after what I’d guess was about 90 minutes (actually I have no idea how long it was) the boys took the stage, to the enraptured delight of those assembled:

Once the show started, I was too consumed with rocking out to take many more pictures, most of which were of the band onstage bathed in various colors of light. I did, however, get a couple shots of one particularly exuberant pair, which comprised the lead singer of Pantera and who I thought was his girlfriend:

But as we were laughing about it the next day, U-Huff insisted that they were two dudes. And upon inspecting further photographic evidence, it turns out that the person with Johnny Pantera indeed is a long-haired dude with wispy yet hirsute arms.

The show itself was, of course, great, it being Ween and everything. In between songs, I’d remarked to U-Huff that I’d always thought that people who brought a pen and paper to a show to take down the setlist were big nerds. Yet here I was, click-clacking the setlist into my iPhone, which is like 10 times more nerdy than doing it analog. So for all you Ween nerds out there, here ya go:

1. Exactly Where I’m At
2. She Wanted to Leave
3. Light Me Up
4. Piss Up a Rope
5. Learnin’ to Love
6. Take Me Away
7. Touch My Tooter
8. Piano interlude
9. Even If You Don’t
10. Just An Object to Me
11. Woman and Man
12. Zoloft
13. Buckingham Green
14. Bananas and Blow
15. Booze Me Up and Get Me High
16. Own Bare Hands
17. Frank
18. The Mollusk
19. Spinal Meningitis Got Me Down
20. Happy Colored Marbles
21. Spirit Walker
22. Don’t Get 2 Close 2 My Fantasy
23. I’ll Be Your Jonny on the Spot
24. You Fucked Up
25. I Can’t Put My Finger On It

The main set concluded with “Finger,” and at this point I really had to take a leak. So I let the other audience members do the encore exhortations and hot-footed it to the bathroom, where for once the ladies could come and go (if you will) as they pleased and the dudes had to stand in line. I had to go so badly that when it was my turn, three guys started and finished at the urinal next to me before I was done. Some people talk about intense exercise giving them a rush of endorphins; for me it’s draining a dangerously full bladder.

The encore started as I was heading back toward our place on the floor:

1. Fiesta
2. Waving My Dick in the Wind
3. Reggaejunkiejew
4. Poopship Destroyer

The LP version of “Poopship” runs about 2 minutes; Wednesday’s version was extremely loud and extremely slow, running about 10 minutes. The last few minutes consisted of Dean (the guitar player) and Dave (the bass player) torturing their instruments and amps to wring every bit of noise out of them.

It’s a good thing we were able to park so close, because by the time the show let out, it was pouring rain. On the way out of town, I managed to snag a picture of the best street sign ever.

I actually have nothing interesting to report from our trip to the fair other than it was hot.

Seriously, Sunday was like the hottest day of the year, and most of our energy was spent trying not to die from the heat.

We went back Monday so the kids could ride rides. And because they’re young and therefore stupid, they don’t know to be totally petrified of heights and so beseeched me to ride the Sky Ride with them. “Be strong,” I told myself, “and don’t transfer your anxieties to your kids.”

Luckily, I spotted an old friend on the ground that helped calm me down:

Beer: The cause of and solution to all of life’s problems.

~|~|~|~|~

Illinois State Fair 8.12.07 [Flickr]

So we were walking around whatever they call the area with the fair rides the other night when the Tet Offensive a fireworks display broke out all of a sudden.

After determining we weren’t in mortal danger after all, we stopped to watch:

There’s still more picture editing to do, but I hope to get a full state fair report up soon.

I had the distinct privilege Saturday night to witness the public-performance premiere of Springfield’s first and foremost (and likely only) Billy Joel cover band.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Silly Joel:

“Pressure”

On vocals is Captain Jack…

On the cello is Downeaster Alexa, and tickling the ivories is Virginia…

And last but most definitely not least is Mr. Cacciatore on the drums…

It was my distinct pleasure, as adjunct member The Stranger, to read an excerpt of a Chuck Klosterman piece about one William Joel as Silly Joel played the intro to my namesake song.

Residents of Springfield, consider yourselves warned: Silly Joel is poised to rock this world. Go be their friend and they may show mercy.

Here’s one more song to whet your appetite:

“Piano Man”

If Saturday’s ball game was a little disappointing, the trip to the St. Louis Zoo on Sunday was better, if only because there wasn’t any baseball to distract me.

It was hot as balls Sunday. A popular destination was those misting fan things. I’m sure the animals and their fur coats would have loved having one.

Our first stop was the bears, and they were all pretty much lethargic. The penguins somehow were more perky. I’m thinking it was the 45-degree air-conditioning blowing into their enclosure. They were even nice enough to pose:

The polar bear next door was a layabout workslacker. I can’t imagine why.

The primates also weren’t in much of a mood for monkey business. The chimpanzees were alternately sawing logs and soiling themselves. The orangutans were a little bit more active, swinging about on their contraption until they saw the humans gathered at the window. The mother then gathered some straw for Junior to rest on, but all Junior wanted was to get his nurse on. He/she/it even engaged in a spot of peekaboo from underneath Mom, much to the amusement of the advanced primates.

The reptile house (or Herpetarium, as Virgil might call it) offered some respite from the heat. The Girl and The Boy both delighted in the “Eeeeewwwww” factor of the assembled lizards and snakes and whatnot. The Boy was quite taken with one turtle in particular:

And if one of this thing’s brethren is in our lake, we are in big trouble, dudes. The zoo’s Burmese python was probably 12-15 feet long. It wasn’t the same color as our Nessie, which has been rumored to be a Burmese, so I think we’re safe. For now.

While the rhinoceros was yet another lazy sack, the Asian elephants actually were active in trying to cool off. They’d take big slurps of water and spray themselves. The baby elephant was content in standing in Mom’s considerable shadow.

After being mildly disturbed by a felon-turned-father and his prison tattoos, we ducked into the bug house to cool off a bit. The indoor butterfly garden was pretty impressive. Amid the wonderful sights and smells of flowers were dozens of butterflies, one of which seemed to have a death wish, circling our feets a few inches off the floor:

Stupid bug.

After the butterflies, we made the long hike to the Red Rocks exhibit where the savanna-dwelling animals chilled. And by “chilled” I mean broiled in the oppressive heat. The Boy had been craving him some giraffe the whole time, so we saw those guys first. I’m not sure why giraffes; he’s more of a dinosaur kid right now. But whatever… he got his giraffe on in full effect.

Finally we made our way to what I had been waiting to see all day: the big cats. Anytime there’s a Wild Safari Kingdom program on, I always root for the cats. In other words, I’m an antelope hater. At first, he was bashful, but then I yelled “Look, defenseless babies!” and out he came:

This one’s for you, Mom.

The lions didn’t bother making an appearance. They were holed up in a cave sort of thing, napping. And that’s all The Boy wanted to do after five hours at the zoo. He fell asleep in his mom’s arms as we waited for the train back to the entrance.

It was a hectic weekend as Mrs. Communist accompanied her crabby children and even crabbier husband to St. Louis.

We didn’t even set out down Double Nickel Road until almost noon Saturday. The word of the day was procrastination. As I-55 splits off into three lanes near Troy, traffic came to a near standstill thanks to construction. It took us almost an hour to go about four miles. The silver lining is that I learned that the TravelAmerica truck stop out there has a wireless Internet connection, not that I’d ever stop there anyway.

Our first stop was the Magic House, one of The Girl’s favorite places. Its full name is the Magic House, St. Louis’ Children’s Museum. Note to the teenagers and adults: Let the little kids go first. The place is for them, not for you. Several exhibits Saturday were monopolized by clueless big people. Jerks.

We spent a few hours there until it was time to head downtizzle for the Cardinals game.

It was The Girl’s second Cardinals game and The Boy’s first:

“Hey, The Boy!”

“What do you think of your first Cardinals game?”

“Uh, The Boy?”

“Oh, well I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

He had no clue about what was going on on the field, but he was digging clapping along with the other fans and yelling “Charge!” and whatnot.

I, on the other hand, was having less grand of a time. When I go to a baseball game, I’m there for the baseball. If it were up to me, it would be just me, a hot dog, a Coke and my scorebook.

But having a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old with you tends to take one’s focus away from the baseball, no matter how hard you try to concentrate on what’s happening on the field. I even told Mrs. C to wait in between innings before I’d turn around for a picture:

Clearly, I’m thrilled to have my attention taken away from the field. And this was about at the high point of the evening, which soon degenerated into the kids whining about being hot and arguing with each other. After seven innings, I’d had enough, so we headed back to the hotel.

Did I mention that I was a bad father?

Coming soon: the zoo.

OK, so it’s taken a bit longer than I expected to file my report from Saturday’s Brewhaus prom. I had to be at work at early Sunday, which caused me to crash out early Sunday night.

The truth is that there’s not much to report. It pretty much was your average night out at Brewhaus, except most of the people in attendance were dressed up, in varying degrees of formality/silliness. Mrs. C and I leaned toward the latter.

We were totally petrified before going in, mostly because of the way we were dressed.

I also felt a bit tool-like simply because I was a decade older than most of the peeps in there. See, I used to be With It. Then they changed “It” was. And what is “It” seems weird and scary to me.

Probably the most intriguing aspect of the evening was that we unknowingly sat next to Dave of The Eleventh Hour the entire evening. The following photo may or not contain his image:

At various points during the evening, I’d just stick my camera up in the air and wave it around like I just didn’t care and take random photos. The 1.5 dudes and the one arm at the bottom of the photo were at the table next to us, where Dave was sitting.

There was a prom king and queen named (not us), and if they had an award for best outfit, the dude at right would have been a lock.

As far as I could tell, he just had a regular suit on. But that hat is powerfully awesome. I found myself unable to not say “Arrrrhh!” every time he walked by.

Entertainment for the evening was provided by The Damwell Betters, who are fine musicians and whose music is quite good. But Brewhaus is just too small for live music to be that loud. Turn that noise down, you kids!

More photos from the evening will eventually find their way to Flickr. But you’re just going to have to be patient for now.