While out and about early this morning,  I couldn’t help but notice South Reno was ablaze.  It looked as if a small bomb had gone off, as this wasn’t a normal forest fire.

Of course, it being midnight, my partner and I ditch our groceries and sped off in the direction of the fire.  Just like any small-town, bored idiots might be doing on such a July night.

Through the back roads, it was evident an apartment complex was on fire.  In fact, as we get close enough to see (as in image above…) it’s the so-called “luxury,”  Alexander Center apartment complex I had noticed a little while back between US 395 and S. Virginia Street just south of Winco.  They always struck me as quite the sardine-can type apartments, squeeze the most people in the smallest space for largest profits.  Hell, knocking on your neighbor’s window to say hello has its advantages!  I don’t think anyone had moved in quite yet, just in case someone was wondering.  I’m not sure what stage of building the project was in, but it looked pretty complete to me.  The close proximity had always made me shudder, not from fire, but from just general… closeness.  This is Nevada, not New York.  There is no reason to sleep with your neighbor.  Unless your neighbor is hot.  Not quite THIS hot, though.

Apparently, fire also has a love for such building.  I’m speculating, and purely speculating, either no one else liked the setup of these poorly-designed and located apartments, or someone ran out of money, and a crackhead got $200 to do away with the problem.  Sundowner condos, anyone?  Again, purely (coincidentally?) speculation.

I sort of remember similar fire hazards to be most evident circa 1906, area of, oh say San Francisco.   Have we learned our lesson yet, builders?   Well, have we?

This complex is probably a total loss.  I’m predicting a dirt lot and black dirt for the next five years… not exactly Reno’s finest building escapade.  I’m also predicting arson for certain.

We got bored after a while, but watched this impressive fire burn for at least an hour.  It was hot and huge, windows popped, 100 foot flames, it was a mighty fire.  I have only seen fires downtown in old buildings burn like this.  I really can’t believe modern fire codes are going to continue to allow such building to happen after this.

Hey,  something to do in the middle of the night.  I’m no better than the excited news crews covering this crap, nor was I any better than the yay-hoo kids and fellow idiots gawking on the disaster.  Cheap fun,  overall, considering the danger-to-fire ratio; I hear no one is injured or killed thus far.

On a serious final note, I do hope all of the firefighters dealing with this fiasco will go home safe, though.  Oh, and project managers?  Yeah, start giving us some space for our homes.  I don’t care how they do it in California.

GR

0 Comments

Empire Improv has show set up once again, August 6th and 27th

Head over to the Studio on 4th, 8pm, bring $10 ($7 for students), laugh.  It’s pretty simple!

Head on over to http://empireimprov.com if you want to know more.

- GR

0 Comments

Many, many people know I’m a novice but well-informed and oddly-tongued individual about coffee.  I know what roasts I like, I know what blends I like, I own quite a few different machines to enhance crappy coffee, showcase quality coffee and simply get one through the caffeine fix.

I’m also one of the few people who managed to at one point give himself caffeine poisoning.  Yes, I said caffeine poisoning.  It’s possible, it’s absolutely awful, and I don’t recommend it.  It also wasn’t on coffee, either.  It was on a special blend of Vietnamese black tea served at the Golden Flower, a pho soup joint I love going to.  Symptoms include 48 hours if 105′F fever, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, vertigo, insomnia, waking nightmares, stomach and other cramps, and high blood pressure to the point your eyes hurt.  A severe sensitivity to caffeine also develops, almost an allergic reaction.  I swear, some days even smelling coffee I would get buzzed, dizzy, and contract a headache.  It was short-steeped green tea from then on.  The occasional decaf espresso shot just for some flavor.

Once in a while, you figure, for your fix, would it be worth it to visit this again?  Well, “hell no,” is the proper response.  Then I was tipped off about a local coffee company, Blind Dog Coffee, and I found myself weaning away from decaf espresso.  I was goddamn sick of tea.  I like tea, but tea just isn’t cutting it at times.  Coffee also has this odd habit of getting rid of chronic heartburn for me– kind of odd, but it’s true.  Really, give me a reason to dust off my antique and weird percolators and espresso gadgets, spit-shine my elite grinder from Bibo.  I’m ready to take it on again.

Kevin “Plusdot,” Campbell, a local teenage industrial heartthrob, suggested I try this coffee originally.  It is available brewed at Walden’s, The Cheeseboard on California, Blue Moon Pizza and Klunker’s in Spanish Springs, but sooner than I could go to any of those places for some joe, I found myself at Raley’s.  There it was, Blind Dog logo and all, a modest rack of bagged coffee, whole bean and pre-ground (…off the subject, always, always buy your coffee whole-bean… seriously– or just get Yuban…) and lo, Blind Dog Coffee was available for a scant $8.99 per pound, an average cost for (what I hoped to be) really good coffee.  My selections included Grand Canyon Espresso, Sumatra, and Death Valley Roast, plus more, but I’ve come to my coffee snobbery to simply smell the beans, which is how I’d suggest anyone buy coffee.  If it smells good, you’ll probably like it.  There’s a one-way valve on most pre-filled, quality coffee bags.  This is to keep the beans in a stable environment, not too moist, not too “airy,” so they stay fresh.  It’s a perfect design, since ziplocks, freezers and all the other tricks, quite honestly, don’t work.  To finalize my digression, I keep my beens in the refrigerator.  This is due to the dry air rather than the temperature, as you’ll be sacrificing your butter to taste like coffee but your coffee will keep quite nicely.  A good trade!

I use a Bellman CX-series “espresso,” machine, which is a 1950’s design of basically a pressure chamber mixed with a percolator basket, accompanied by a steam wand for those interested in hot milk or froth.  Bellman products can be expensive, but they oddly turn up in thrift stores.  They aren’t a true espresso machine, but for the money and what it produces, it comes filthy close to coffee shop coffee, if not surpasses, once you get the hang of it.  It also can make crappy coffee taste good, and excellent coffee taste extraordinary.   I don’t automatically choose “espresso roast,” as packaging suggests, because there’s  a lot of debate as to what makes an “espresso roast.”  Some say it’s simply a French Roast.  Others say it must be of medium acidity and medium-dark roast.  Personally, I say, go with what you like, not what corksniffing snobs suggest.  If you want a light roast through your machine, go for it.  Coffee purism is total shit, as far as I’m concerned.  I get thrift-store French Presses and equipment, so who is to say where I come from on the subject?  At least I will not steer you wrong!

Where was I?  Ah yes, smelling beans.   I actually decided the Blind Dog Nevada Black was what said “espresso,” to me.  Their Grand Canyon smelled good, but there was a slightly acidic, sour note ever-so-barely-present that I feared.  Some may like it, I do not.  This is present in a lot of espresso roasts, so don’t just take my word for it.  A lot of espresso gives the sides of the tongue a lingering sourness, which simply isn’t my preference.   You may love the Grand Canyon, so try it!    One cannot account for taste, no?  Nevada Black suited me just fine.

I bought whole bean, because you get to control your grind.  Different coffee makers and coffee styles get different grinds.  My Bellman machines like an espresso-sized grain, a little finer than your pre-ground Folgers for the drip machine.  By the way, did you know drip coffeemakers extract the MOST caffeine and are usually higher in caffeine content than a cup of espresso, or the same espresso made into an americano?  Take that, caffeine.  Anyhow, Nevada Black ground smooth, the beans were of excellent consistency (none were too hard or too soft…) the roast was even (very few beans of alternate colors) and I wanted to just eat the unbrewed grounds.  I did not, though.   I fired up the Bellman, and put in enough water for four demitasse cups, or, one half cup of regular coffee if topped off with hot water (americano.)

Usually I buy coffee at Bibo.  Their espresso roast is straight-up excellent.  They serve good coffee, they buy good coffee.  It isn’t a 10 out of 10, because, I have never had a 10 out of 10 coffee.  They’re an 8.75 out of 10.  A tough comparison for Blind Dog Coffee to live up to.

They did.  I’m not going to talk about how it tasted, because it’s my tongue, and yes, I prepare my coffee “east coast,” style, lots of heavy cream and a kiss of sugar.  Sacrelige?  Well, you can go to hell.  Delivery and love making take their own routes and flaire.  Coffee is these two things combined.   Do them as you see fit.

Nevada Black wins.  Watch out Bibo, because I like Bibo’s espresso (from Tahoe Roasting Company, I believe…) and I like buying coffee, and this new local kid in town has some good, good stuff.

So what about the company?  Just as important as the product, family-run Blind Dog Coffee has some interesting facts and background as well.  Located on 3055 Wilcox Ranch Road, the four workers Mark and Robin Berry, Katy Barnes, Samantha Moya roast their beans out in the Nevada desert near Pyramid Lake.  Mark, as it were, is actually blind himself, adding to the meaning behind the company’s interesting logo and name.  Mark also roasts and processes the beans.  I thought to myself, and even when talking with Samantha, wondered if most roasting is done evenly by sight, he must use smell to know when it is the ideal roast.  She mentioned that yes, smell takes a part, but also sound.  What an interesting concept.  I have never listened to coffee, but I certainly smell coffee.  This makes total sense to me, and perhaps lacking sight may well be the key to a near-perfect cup of coffee, using the sense that is more associated with its enjoyment!

(Watch the interview here…)

Blind Dog Coffee Company started about two years ago, and has no plans of slowing down.  Getting a local establishment is an obvious first step, but regional and even national distribution I’m sure would make the company and family pretty happy.  They are also associated with Angel Kiss charity, supporting them in various ways with donations and time towards a very worthwhile organization.

Blind Dog Coffee is available for under $10 per pound at local Raley’s, Scolaris, Whole Foods, Smith’s,  Savemart, Napa Sonoma on Moana, and Reno Homebrewer.  Again, you can try a cup at Walden’s, Klunker’s, The Cheeseboard on California, and Blue Moon Pizza if you want to sip some before you commit.

Blind Dog has an excellent retail webiste (click here!) where you can learn more about them, order coffee, cups and other things. Or you can simply go to one of the stores listed above!

It’s the first real coffee review I’ve done about Reno, and I’m totally behind Blind Dog Coffee. The people who run it are great, and hard at work establishing themselves, and their product is certainly ready to stand up against other local, regional and national brands out there. It’s extremely quality coffee by any standard, if you ask me.

Find yourself with a cup or a bag of it sometime soon, you won’t regret it.  I’m going to buy more, and probably even a coffee cup, because well, they look pretty neat!

- Gay Rodeo

1 Comment

0 Comments

Hello, and by the way, it’s good to really be back posting again!

I’ll get right to it, then!  I do hope this doesn’t make anyone too upset, but it needs to be said.  I own the following opinion, and if you ask me, it’s a goddamn good one.  It’s because I like my town, my townfolk (mostly!) and I also like proper thought and follow-through in said town.

I also like cyclists.  Not because I necessarily care about what they do, but I like the fact they do it.  I like the fact they can do it, more specifically.  There are very few cyclists I see out there who aren’t into what they do, while achieving some goal, saving some planet, losing some weight, going an extra pedal turn.  In fact, I usually sign petitions for expanding bike lanes, comment about how difficult Reno and Sparks make it for cyclists in general mostly from incomplete bike lanes scattered about, and how there really ought to be the choice for people to get out there and cycle if they so choose, because it is an efficient and fun mode of transit.

I, however, am not a cyclist.  I am a driver.  I’m not as fond of my fellow drivers compared to cyclists, because there’s a lot of them who I have proven time and time again aren’t very good at what they do, or aren’t considerate, or aren’t seemingly intelligent.  I have a bike, but it’s more a novelty than it is a mode of transportation.  I’m also not really interested in changing this fact for myself, because I like engines too much, and I also have enough back problems to never have found a bike that satisfies my pain-threshold requirements.  This doesn’t mean I don’t mind other people having this choice.  Choice is what makes life awesome.  It’s why I like Reno, it’s why I like Nevada, it’s why I like the United States.

This afternoon, I was driving through the back neighborhoods of Zolezzi Lane and thereabouts, heading around Holcomb Ranch Lane, that kind of thing.  As I was going through the neighborhood, I notice this guy, a “cyclist type,” on a pretty expensive bike, wearing the insignia-laden spandex, no helmet, sunglasses, etc.   The reason why I noticed him was because I had come to a four-way stop, stopped, looked about me for obstruction, and proceeded through.  Three feet in front of me, doing about 40 MPH, was this man on his bike, right through the intersection.  I locked up my brakes.  He had no idea I had even almost hit him.  Ironically, I make a left and a right turn, and he did it again.  Since we were going the same direction, I said in no uncertain terms, “Hey buddy, you might want to use the stop signs.  You’ll last a lot longer.”  He sneers at me  yet says nothing, and of course, as we go opposite directions, the cyclist was man enough to start yelling an obligatory  “…fuck you faggot,” at me as we go our separate ways.   Yes, this a sad part of Reno, the “chicken shit tough guy,” routine, which I’ve come to laugh at quite a few times.  The fact he was able to say it at all was what was going through my mind.

This leads me to think, what had happened had I hit the guy?  I’m sure there’d be a bunch of  “I’m suing!” amongst the possibility there’d be no yelling at all, because his lungs were wrapped around his spine and spread out in a pancake fashion on the blacktop.  Could you imagine?  I sure could.  It was that close.  I’d be the one slapped with a manslaughter charge, probably have to serve community service time, probably have to face his family, and know that I killed a man who was so brazen, so stupid, so pig-headed about his own fucking life.   I’m a careful driver.  Not always within the law, not always considerate, but I make sure I don’t endanger myself, my passengers or others around me.  I’m of the school that good driving is aware and considerate driving, not to-the-letter-of-the-law-driving.  I have received one “rolling stop sign,” ticket in my lifetime, and had no accidents.  That’s it.  A testament to my awareness, if you must have something.

Another thing occurs to me as this event happens this afternoon.   I’m aware of a few groups of questionably vigilant-status bike riders about downtown Reno, those who assertively dodge through traffic, slap hoods and essentially put themselves in the path and danger of idiots in this town who aren’t familiar with bike riders.  Another unbelievable act of dire stupidity if I ever saw any.  Many of these riders haven’t safety gear, lights or any other things even legally required (let alone sensibly required!) to do such things.  They’re another accident waiting to happen, and they’ll lose.  Martyrs or not, someone’s family is going to be grieving, some not-quite innocent idiot is going to have to deal with the death of someone putting themselves in danger.  It’s kind of like someone playing on railroad tracks and trying to prove a point to a locomotive.  It’s pure, simple idiocy idealism, if that is indeed what they are trying to accomplish.  Even if this isn’t a proper group or ideal, you can kind of see how foolish this is for anyone wanting to achieve old age, or at least experience a few more days of this thing called life.

I recently moved out of the Wells Ave area, where I’d commonly ride my bike as well.  I have proper reflectors and lights.  I use the bike lanes.  I stop at stop signs and red lights.  I allow right of way.  I do not block traffic.  I ride with the flow of the traffic, not against it on the proper side.  About the only thing I won’t do is walk my bike across the crosswalk or wear a helmet.  Downtown and Wells is notorious for nailing pedestrians.  Usually they are dumb pedestrians, drunk pedestrians or a combination of both, either assuming or forgetting that cars may or may not stop for them.  I find riding across the street at appropriate times a quicker way of getting out of the way, if that makes sense.

The point I’m trying to make is, I have almost nailed plenty of little rocker kids, twelve-year-olds or dreadlocked burners about these neighborhoods when I am not only in my car, but on my bike!  Granted this is at night time, but do you know how foolish I think it is that I have a light, stop at an intersection, and almost hit another cyclist coming down the street 90′ degrees from me, blowing the stop sign, no lights and then yelling something like, “Watch out?”  In a car I can sort of understand, but then again, I’m in a car, not doing anything wrong (besides driving perhaps, which I believe insults some people), and lets face the facts here, if you hit me, or I hit you, it’s going to hurt you a LOT more.  I mean, Darwin’s studies are kind of evident in this rationale, if you ask me.

There’s a lot of signs, bumper stickers and even shirts that say “Share the Road.”  They have pictures of bikes, cars with bikes, bikes with bikes, people with dogs with bikes, all of that.  I’m confused, because I think some people assume that it means “Bikes Have The Right of Way.”  Well, they don’t.  Neither do cars.  That’s called, well, um… sharing.  I’m just as apt to yell at some dumbfuck using the bike lane as a turn lane as I am a bike using the left lane as a leisure cruise at 10 MPH and obstructing traffic… both are just as illegal and citeable.  For good reason too… neither of these things are sharing.

So to you cyclists, and drivers, out there, maybe “sharing,” means different things to you.  I don’t care if you came from a Tea Party with your Hummer and fish symbol shined up and want to take up three lanes, or if you came from a vegan pot luck listening to your girlfriend’s sister play the acoustic guitar and screaming into a megaphone for an hour.  Once you saddle up or get in the seat, it’s time to pull your head out of your idealistic ass, or your common sense, whatever might be obstructing your anal cavity (even if it is yours truly), and realize the elemental level of this:

This “sharing,” thing, this obeying of law, and ultimately as common sense.  Go home to your family, without the guilt of blood on your hands and your tires, and not leaving behind a mangled Gary Fisher and tight, skinny jeans intertwined amongst your pancreas.   Everyone should go home alive, go home well, and be happy.  I don’t want to mow down any cyclist, and a lot of it is on you guys, too.  I’m not sure which are worse, the dumb drivers in this town or the dumb bike riders.  It’s a recipe for disaster, and playing games means someone will lose, and that is NEVER fair, especially when there are those of us out there unwilling or unwittingly playing the game.

Sensibility will make sure there are less injured or dead, and less potential for vehicular assault out there.  This applies to 100% of the road users out there.  This really isn’t about pride, laws, or philosophy, we’re still alive, and most of us don’t want to kill anyone, nor do (I think) we want to be killed.   My loved ones wouldn’t want me killed, nor would they want to know I’m a killer.   So yes, if this seems to make sense to you, please, if anything, truly share the road.  Thinking helps, too.

- Gay Rodeo

4 Comments

It is hoped at this time that the reader was not offended by the title of the post casting light upon Blackyear, the Reno band referred to in a previous post.  You see, the title of that post was “Cry Yer Frickin Emo Heart Out, Reno”, which was a travesty on several levels, but perhaps the most glaring thing is the word “Emo”.

Emo it seems is a word that refers to a particular style of music and fashion perpetuated by a particular type of individual.  I’m kind of addicted it turns out to music that I call Emo – which I’m not sure everyone else would since I just go ahead and broaden the definition to include any music that evokes an emotional response.  That silly video in the previous post is a good example of something that will do that to you perhaps if you like Reno – and are willing to forgive shots of the Vegas Strip cut in as locations (we can hope they’re not supposed to be Reno.).

So it actually turns out that the implied ironic tone of the piece might have been off-putting – it was a short post in superlative and didn’t communicate much.  The message:  These kids are good at playing their instruments right when the tape’s a-rollin’, and that’s important for a group of musicians who want to evoke an emotional response from the audience.

And if they fail at that on some songs, most songs will impress anyone listening for technical detail.  Such – extraction of emotion through songwriting, and in those cases where that doesn’t work, some well-executed musicianship – is what shines through on Blackyear’s Strength Over Callous, which was released to not nearly enough fanfare just this last week.

The RN&R calls this “Post-hardcore” and quotes a few bands you might not have heard of.  I’ll try to go one better.

The vocalist, Chris Lashelle, is singing an interesting combination of vocal styles that takes him into a kind of meta-style that spans pretty much every spacey but hard-ish rock band of the past decade and a half or so, and has the thick quality of a Peter Gabriel mixed in for fun.  The guitars are all over the place.  On some of the songs, it’s not out of place to compare to something like The Cult or even early Cure but the songs are not easily categorizable all at once like that.  They go heavy on the acoustics on a few tracks, but are never without some effects.  At all times, as the N&R says, the rhythm section is keeping up quite well.  Orchestral instruments will be found in some form in many songs.  Syncopation, time signature changes, and effects are to be had in abundance.  It’s Reno rock thus described, so you should not be surprised to find that Chris Lashelle also likes to scream once in a while.

This is solid indie prog power pop with some occasional screamo.  It’s worth a listen, if you can tolerate that kind of thing.

0 Comments