- I don't even see the woman in this picture. (Photo: Associated Press)
You know what's wrong with DC Beer Week? That I can't be drunk for its entirety. Just seeing those two words together — "beer" and "week," that is; I could take or leave the "DC" part — elicits a Pavlovian response, or just plain drooling, really. Alas, this thing called work stands in the way of my binge drinking. I take comfort, however, that many of my fellow Washingtonians are wetting their whistles.
And you know what's wrong with those old D.C. punk bands? They didn't get drunk enough (or at all). So argues Matt Ealer in "The Problem of Conveying Punk Rock in D.C.," published yesterday on The Awl. I don't know who Ealer is — he's one of those writers whose bio links to his Tumblr, which isn't very helpful at all — but I must say, I like his suggestion that, after the "explicit social consciousness" and "bleeding-heart-on-sleeve emoting" of the Dischord years, the D.C. music scene of the early '00s was ready for what he calls "beer punk": "Groups in the area were beginning to push back against the received wisdom of DC’s art punk past ... and in quaint little Fredericksburg, VA, a couple of kids came together to do push-ups over broken beer bottles."
And then the article narrows its focus to those Fredericksburg kids, The Points, and becomes an exhaustive (and somewhat exhausting) account of the punk band's reunion show (of sorts) at the Velvet Lounge this summer. Apparently, there was some beer present at the concert, and some of it was thrown through the air rather than consumed, which strikes me as a tragic waste of the two things to which I am enslaved: alcohol and money.
There were, of course, other things that happened yesterday that had nothing to do with beer. For instance, Trey Graham of the City Paper took the Kennedy Center to task for slipping press releases to the Post before the rest of us. I say to you, Trey: Be glad you got a press release at all! (And yes, that's a plea to kindly send film/music/book news to email@example.com. Muito obrigado.) At the very same metropolitan paper, Mimi Kirk, aware that TBD is threatening to dominate the cross-stitching beat, profiled a pair of graffiti knitters who together are called "The Warm and Fuzzies," but are known separately as "Pasta" and "Ruffles." Go figure.
Now that I've gone almost a whole paragraph without mentioning beer, I could really go for a pint at the moment. Hell, I'd even eat fried beer, just as long as it's made from Miller Lite or the like, because everyone now knows that full-calorie beer gives you psoriasis. In fact, I think I'll head over to the Continental for a low-cal cerveza right now, which, despite what the timestamp on this post says, is not at all unusual for the hour in which I am writing this. I swear.