The Sausage Pad Rides Again...

Welcome back, fellas.

Yours Truly and Zack, ca. 1998

It had been quite awhile since the Sausage Pad - America's Greatest Band of Heroes - had last assembled, so Zack and I decided to muster up the troops and have ourselves a much-deserved hang-out weekend.  Like usual, Yours Truly opted to drive down to Kalamazoo - my old college stomping ground - opposed to other folks coming up here, seeing how there's way more to do downstate.

Leaving directly from work around noon-ish (gotta love half-days), I got in to K-Zoo around 3pm and stopped off at a local Meijer in order to pick up some booze ('cause whenever the 'Pad gets together, we tend to do a bit of that.)  After that, I drove a couple minutes down the road to Zack's, dropped off my car and all my crap, and then we headed out to watch his step-daughter's high school basketball game at some local school down there.

From that point forward, well. . . we did the usual.

So here you have it, folks - another go-round with the infamous Sausage Pad.

Let's do this. . .

After I had chowed down on some meat and cheese platter Zack had bought for the weekend (for sandwiches and what-not), we drove over to a local pizzeria to grab a few beers and kill some time before his daughter's grade started. 

At the basketball game, about an hour or so later.  It was arguably the ugliest game of basketball I've ever seen - both teams were straight-up garbage.  It was a looooooong hour-and-a-half. . .

The arrival of the legendary Damon Loftis.  He showed up about an hour into the game.  Lucky bastard.

After the game, we decided to go out and grab some dinner, so we ended up at Shakespeare's Pub (I was still full from my gigantor meat-and-cheese sandwich I had eaten at Zack's before the game, but I still had room for fries. .  . and three or four beers.)

Waiting for food and beers - the place was packed with hipsters and obnoxious college kids, which was surreal since this used to be one of our hang-out spots about, oh, fifteen years ago.  We ended up staying there for over an hour or two before ultimately making our way back over to Zack's.

We wanted to keep it chill on the first night, as we knew we'd be going out late on Saturday night, so we just hung around his living room and drank a few more beers while watching TV.  One thing we had all agreed to do this time around was kick off a Star Wars marathon, going in chronological order.  This meant, of course, that on this first night of us hanging out, we had to sit through the abysmal Episodes I and II - two of the worst movies in the entirety of the franchise.

I had picked up a sampler pack from Saugatuck Brewery (however the hell you spell that.)  Pretty good winter mix, with a couple 'meh' beers thrown in there.

The next morning, with Damon gone to do Christmas tree-hunting with his family - and Zack's family heading out of town as well - Zack and I decided to whip up some Bloody Marys for breakfast.  Smith makes a damn fine bloody mary, folks.

During 'breakfast,' we soldiered on through our Star Wars marathon, wrapping up Episode III (still horrible, but easily the best of the Prequels.)

They go all out for Christmas in the Smith residence. . .

The meat and cheese platter I had devoured the night before.  Also served as lunch.  I need to seriously keep one of these in my fridge at home at all times.

After we had showered and gotten some lunch in our systems, Zack wanted to kill some time while Damon was still out and about looking for a Christmas tree with his wife and kids.  His idea:  check out some enormous Arts & Crafts show held at the local hockey arena - the Wings Event Center.  I was down for whatever, so I agreed to it.  We packed our flasks, just in case. . .

Primed and ready for battle. 

There were four arenas this size, with vendors lining the hallways and waiting areas interconnecting all of them.  Thousands upon thousands of people, and lots of over-priced, worthless shit to be found.

. . . but hell, you could buy yourself a Two Hearted while you were there, so there wasn't too much to complain about.  While we were walking around this craft show, Kris called me to inform me that both girls had gotten head lice.  Abby had one or two eggs, nothing serious, but Alayna was grossly infested with buys and eggs, and Kris had to schedule an appointment with a specialty clinic to get rid of them.  I've never been more grateful to be away from my home and family than I was this afternoon. . . hooooooly shit.

After a couple hours at the craft show - the only thing purchased being about $30 worth of jerky and beef sticks Zack bought - we drove into downtown Kalamazoo in order to meet Damon at Bell's.

Bell's Brewery.  Arguably the best beer in Michigan (definitely in my personal Top Three, though I fancy myself more a Short's Brewing gentleman. . .)

Coordinating a rendezvous spot with Loftis.

Starting our afternoon occupation of Bell's. . .

We had this whole side room to ourselves, for the most part; there had been some young hipsters in there, but after I got on the piano and tried playing a few numbers, the group quickly left.  Serves 'em right.  Young whipper-snappers.

Awhile later, we headed over to the merch store to do some shopping.  I was convinced I was going to drop some serious bank in there, but I ended up only walking out with a bunch of the 'free' stuff they set out by the register - stickers, pins, etc.  I grabbed a handful of patches on my way out, too, but the other guys were convinced that those weren't free and I had, in fact, just shoplifted.  Also, in the parking lot, Zack made a friend with some random guy (shown here.)  Gotta love it when that happens.

We then headed across the street to Hopcat, right in the middle of downtown, which we all agreed would be a solid place to eat dinner.  And have a few more beers, too.

These two got meals, but I was fine with grabbing some fries:  the fries at this place are my all-time favorite, I wasn't about to tour Kalamazoo and NOT get myself some Hopcat fries. . .

After an hour or so, Smitty finally rolled in.  By then, I had back across the street to Bell's merch store again to double-check their wares - still walking away with nothing - and Zack and Damon had finished their meals.  We ordered a few more rounds before paying our tabs and setting off once again.

Next up on our agenda was our regular game of Risk.  Zack already has, like, seven sets of the game already, but wanted to buy a wooden one that they sell at the store he manages, so we stopped off at Meijer on our way to his house.

Can't forget the lotto tickets. . .

Mixing up some drinks and grabbing some food before hitting the game table.

Some of Smith's jerky haul from the afternoon craft show.

Settin' up Risk 2019

This was a pretty solid IPA.

Zack, burrowing into his beer fridge

This porter was so-so - I'm more of a 'stout' guy myself.

Meanwhile, in our ongoing Star Wars saga, we were on Solo, which takes place about twenty years after Episode III.

A little while later, working our way through world domination and Rogue One (which leads right up to Ep. IV - A New Hope.)

Shortly after this, we started Ep. IV, and then Yours Truly fell asleep and Damon went home.  The other guys managed to get all the way through it, then started Ep. V - The Empire Strikes Back, but that's about as far as they got.  Smitty went home at some point in time during the night, and in the morning, Zack and I watched Ep. VI - Return of the Jedi before I ultimately started my long drive back to Midland. . . and a devastating outbreak of head lice.

- Brian

The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. XXXV

Hi, Internet.  Let us dust off another Holiday train wreck, shall we?

Album Title:  Favorite Christmas Carols

Album Artist:  The Caroleers

This was a Radio Wasteland score that I picked up for a buck about a month ago, for the sole reason that it looked like it had potential for being comically terrible.  I definitely have some issues with this LP and its ridiculousness, but I think this is the first time I've been let down by a record not sucking more.  I was hoping for a shit sandwich, and instead I got soggy cereal.

Stare into the Face of Evil, America. . .

The artwork on this album definitely says it all:  there's no liner notes on the back, no legal information, no 'From Our Home to Yours,' campy well-wishing message that one so often finds on the back of 1960's Christmas records.  Nothing.  Just the same image that's plastered haphazardly across the front:  some wicker/glitter/dollar store monstrosity that some half-blind grandmother threw together for her church's Bazaar.  I think it's supposed to be a sleigh, actually. . . but I highly doubt this is the work of some skilled craftsman.

And why would the people who produced this album choose that image as the cover art in the first place?  Who the hell made this call?

You know what?  Nevermind, I know who it was.  It was the same creative director who designed the cover art for this shiny turd.

Anyway, drunken art direction aside, the music on this LP is pretty bizarre, but not outright terrible.  The first song, 'Hail Christmas' sounds like something from Christmas with Hitler (okay, I just made that up, but I'm sure even that asshole celebrated Christmas.)  German march-singing, beer hall accordions, and the repeated shouting of the word 'hail' - it doesn't take an overactive imagination to picture tens of thousands of Nazis in Santa hats shouting this song while saluting the Fuhrer.

The beer hall accordion plays pretty prominently throughout this album, too.  So does the church choir singing every written verse on each of these carols.  You know how popular recordings of Christmas Carols feature the two or three famous verses in the song, and if you go to church they sometimes spring an additional two verses on you that you didn't know existed before?  And you're all like, "Jesus, this song seems long - has it always been this long?  I don't remember this verse in 'Away in a Manger. . ."

That's exactly what we have here.  On every song.

And we even have a few moments of pure, Tennessee Ernie Ford-inspired terror on this LP, too.  Half way through 'Go Tell It on the Mountain,' the '60s kitschy folk-singing suddenly stops, and a deep, demonic baritone voice begins chanting ominously.  One can only expect this is the It on the Mountain - some horrible beast that lives on top of the Mountain that everyone is going and trying to tell things.  The whole thing makes for a real weird Christmas song, but hey - I'm assuming the It is more like the Abominable Snowman from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and you just gotta give homeboy a chance.

VERDICT:  4/10 - Borophyl  (Germanic drinking music, scary baritone voices, and a never-ending hoo-hah of '60s folk singing unabridged versions of Holiday carols. . . all wrapped up in what could be considered the most depressing arts-and-crafts piece ever created.)

- SHELVED -