PERMANENT LIPSTCIK by Ginger Knoxx
It's Tuesday night. I'm past deadline (not uncommon) and am attempting to pull this particular piece of written entertainment out of my, ahem, diary between watching the Video Music Awards on MTV and Storm Large on tonight's episode of "Rock Star: Supernova." (She was kicked off last night.) It dawns on me that I have been sharing parts of my life and the lives of others (regrettably sometimes) with Weekly Volcano readers for a little over two years. In that time, many things have changed - that I can't write my column on time is not one of them. What I spew out each week for the lovely, patient Weekly Volcano editors is drawn from hungover, cranky, foggy memories. I try to get it right. If not, I hope at least I've been doing an admirable job of faking it. What I am baffled by is this - Beyoncé Knowles' performance on the VMAs was rehearsed, choreographed, planned, paid for, tested, airbrushed, (obviously) digitally altered, and still sounded and looked like crap. Truly baffling. Storm did a so-so performance of David Bowie's "Suffragette City" and then followed up with a chic friendly power rock anthem. Did anyone else notice how the fun bags were a bobbing? How about the quick lipsmack with brunette stunner Brooke Burke? Not a bad stint of television there.  Read the rest here.

Long gone are the days when you could sidle up to the bar and order a glass of merlot and feel halfway decent about yourself. Even if it's a nice merlot, such as a Montes Alpha from Chile, you're bound to feel like a heel thanks to Alexander Payne and his wine snobs in ''Sideways." In the ballyhooed film, Paul Giamatti's character nearly suffers a meltdown when told he'd be drinking the lowly merlot. Recently, weekly Volcano scribe Suzy Stump admitted to feeling sheepish about ordering it, as though she had asked to gulp a quart of Bartles & Jaymes' Orange Passion wine cooler (actually her taste in spirits). Thankfully, Vin Grotto Café and Wine Bar feels our Stump's pain. 
Owner Kris Blondin offers a spectacular 2002 Swanson Merlot, which Wine Spectator, or Wine Dictator as Blondin calls it, graced it with a 90-point rating.  The wine rests on Blondin's select list, and rests in your glass with concentrated but not jammy flavors of spice, wild berry and currant â€" very earthy.  This Napa Valley baby sells for $15 a big pour. Since Vin Grotto has anchored Tacoma's 1902 Rowland Building since Fall of 2003, Blondin and crew have always offered big pours.  The 2002 Swanson Merlot and Vin Grotto's spicy tuna wrap with grilled red peppers, red onion and capers were instant friends.
Oh, one more thing.  Vin Grotto hosts a "Hurray The Kids Are Back To School" wine tasting during Third Thursday Art Walk Sept. 21, 5-8 p.m.  Jazz pianist Al Gord will be in the house.  It's a steal at $5 per person. â€" Jake de Paul

Rock Wood Fired Pizza & Spirits (5400 Martin Way E.) in the Lacey's Regal Cinema Plaza offers a killer buffet, Monday through Friday, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.  For $7.99, you receive all you can eat pizza, salad, pasta and soup plus a soft drink.  Add $1 for a pint of microbrew. â€" Jason de Paul

Breathe in the scents of the Puyallup Fair. There’s something oniony and smoky meaty.  There’s that elephant ears fried sweetness, melding with the smell of ice cream cones or funnel cakes.  Breathe deeper, and smell the unmistakable carnie BO smell, just under the subtle notes of animal waste. 

Only not yet.

Wandering around the fairgrounds today, I breathed deep, I smelled ... fresh air, actually.  I saw â€" rather than crowds â€" cars, presumably for people setting up hot tubs (count ‘em, four hot tub sales booths in one fairground!) or artists bringing in their maritime paintings.  I saw a herd of electricians grazing on home-packed meals under a freshly pruned tree.  I saw empty food vending booths.

I wanted a latte. 

I made it to Sillyville, the fair’s newest addition, parched and in need of caffeine, hoping a coffee shop would materialize before my eyes.  That wasn’t to be, but I did get a preview of a well-designed area where parents and their wee ones can do their own thing out of the main hubbub of the fair.  It’s actually super cool, with a train, a mini-autobahn, and the mother of all huge slides, and actual lawn. I didn’t realize til I was struck by the presence of lawn that the rest of the fair is, like, 97.875 percent concrete.
The fair opens tomorrow, and I can’t wait to go see more rodeo action (Saturday!).  Cute boys, good smells, and a Sillyville?  I’m there. â€" Jessica-Corey-Butler

When I did my first triathlon, the butterflies waged war on my insides and I went to the restroom a lot.  This competition was no different, internally, but I had a really nice Shiraz as a coping mechanism, courtesy of the fine collaborative effort between Pat McDermott of King’s Books, and Pat Irwin, principal of Lincoln High School.

Team Volcano (comprised of myself, Jessica C-B, and my friend, Amanda Morstad) arrived to the King’s Adult Spelling Bee last night to find that, well, people were serious.  A woman demanded the number one, because she would win.  I thought she’d do it, since she was hell-bent in attitude AND an English teacher. But she went out in round three, I think.  I don’t know for sure, since the who’s on what teams sort of faded into my own nervous twitchy energy as the competition progressed.

At the very beginning, Jennifer Zamira, School of Urban Literacy teacher at Lincoln, echoed my thoughts, as she said, “I’m scared.  I’m questioning my abilities.”  My partner and I exchanged nervous glances and laughter, and tried not to think about looking like dumbasses.

Then we saw other teams fall.  First team fallen was our friend Jennifer with her partner Heather Conklin (who would return with special education teacher Marty Wagner and last a couple of rounds). Jen stated, upon leaving the “smart pit,”  “Big Loser.  Bee Eye Gee.”  She flipped her number neck-sign around to her “failyur is impossible” message, and scribbled out the “im.”

I’m very afraid I laughed too much, made a spectacle of myself with my “end zone dances” and irritated a certain “real” reporter in the audience with my antics, like taking photos of the audience, photos of the caller Carolyn Linden (Lyndon?) and photos of the “smart pit” (see below).
I’m very much afraid that I enjoyed myself too much.  Being around smart people is a heady experience.  They are reading people, spelling people, intelligently-joking people, and they make me twitchy with joy.

And in the end?

Amanda and I WON.  Freaking WON. 

Words like “iridescent,” “diurnal,” “oscillate,”  “prurient,” and “acquisitive” fluttered about, and then round five “In which our minds begin to throb” brought us “connoisseur,” “ameliorate,” “milieu” and then, round six brought “bourgeoisie” (the word that took out the last men standing, principal Irwin and bookstore co-owner McDermott) and then came the tough words, words so unspeakably tough I can’t even recall them to type them.

Eventually only Team 23 (Yvonne Mickey and Diane Ayers) and team 25 (Amanda and myself) were standing.  If one team missed a word, the remaining team had to spell two in a row. Each team missed a word, and then Amanda and I were lucky.  Our winning word: “plebeian.”

I have to say, the $100 gift certificate from King's Book's  and then the $25 gift certificate for Calendula (for spelling gladiolus correctly), were a sort of sweet, sustaining, yummy, icing on the cake.  The cake part of it?  I was able to have some sort of cathartic experience releasing Mr. Robertson from the “ape” incident, and Amanda had a feeling of vindication. 

As of now? Amanda and I are the smartest people in Tacoma!

GO TEEM VAHLCAYNOE! â€" Jessica Corey-Butler

The Weekly Volcano's pal EJ reported that the Bob's Java Jive is struggling to stay open.  He stated it's our patriotic duty as a Tacoman to support the Pot.  I found that tough as the doors were closed last night. â€" Brad Allen

FatBurger, a California and now country-wide franchise since 1952, has slowly crept into the Washington state market but makes its South Sound debut soon in Federal Way at the corner of 320th & Pacific Highway.  They do milkshakes with real ice cream scooped not squeezed, the onions in the rings are real, and they fry in 100 percent cholesterol-free oil.  We'll keep an eye out for when the lights turn on. â€" Jason de Paul

Celebrating their grand opening in Tacoma last night, Hustler Hollywood stopped by downtown Tacoma's Varsity Grill for a little publicity. Hustler model Memphis Monroe and several Hustler Honeys grinded outside the sports bar in front of flashing cameras before stepping inside for multiple uplifting poses with the crowd (rimshot!).

Inside the packed house of 20-somethings I noticed almost every guy go into "stripper stare."  This is where the guy does whatever he can to avoid looking directly at that most feminine of anatomic landmarks. He'll gaze dreamily into the stripper's eyes, comment on her shoes or make childish comments to his friends, but he won't look down, lest he appear to be a pervert. Beads of sweat will break out on his forehead, and his face will contort with the effort. At the Varsity, one guy sitting across from me on the sofa smiled, tried desperately to appear sincere, leered and licked his lips simultaneously â€" all while facing the impossibly long legs of one of the girls. His conflicting emotions seemed on the verge of inducing a seizure.

Funny, the media room screening the hilarious "Old School" was empty.

Afterward, I headed to the Monsoon Room where owner Laura Malone was tending garden on her bar.  She cared for multiple sage plants as the herb grabbed the staring role in last night specials.  I found the Crown, soda and sage served in a tall, thin glass to be smarter than the Hustler Honeys.  The Crown completely disappeared into the sage potion.  And I disappeared into the reggae/Latin/Lounge music swirling overhead.

Oh, my head today. ... â€" Brad Allen

Carnies and midway games-folk seemed pretty normal at the Puyallup Fair this year, though the crowd’s diversity and odd clothing issues made up for any lack of mirth at the expense of carnies.

The fair held good times for the Junior Miss and me this year, as well as some forgettable moments, minor though they were.

Treasures included the scones, which seemed to be flakier and more heavenly this year than I remembered.  Maybe it’s that “low carbing” I’ve been doing, I don’t know.  On the high-carb front, Sales’ curly fries fries were fresh, crispy, and oh-so-right, though eating next to a smoker made for a less-than-epicurean experience.  I think there’s a reason I like the smoke ban in restaurants. 

Also decent, though not orgasmic, the chocolate dipped ice cream bite I bummed.  I think the most off-putting about this particular food item was that while we waited to purchase said food, a dude with a wheelbarrow full of chicken poop was standing upwind of us.  That’ll help a person stick to a diet.

Non-food delights for me, were the rodeo â€" which was super fun, though my 4-year-old rodeo viewing date was bored at about the calf roping â€" and the whole Sillyville concept (with lawn!).  Now if they could somehow pair the kiddieland with a beer garden, I’d have been in heaven.  I’m thinking that might only be able to happen in English pubs, though.  Abby’s non-food delights were the funhouse with bad Indiana Jones picture (she went through it twice!) and the giant pumpkin carving.

Moments of fun came while viewing mohawks mingling with cowboy hats while a Manorexic pretty boy mingled in the same space as a dude in double-ponytailed crazy braids that made Snoop Dogg look mainstream.  More moments of pleasure came while inhaling deeply the fragrance of funnel cakes and barbecue. Moments of “only at the fair” full-sensory overload happened more than once: feeling the warmish air, seeing flip flops and cowboy boots, smelling the fudge in the grandstand area; and hearing the screams of glee when borderline insane people placed themselves onto rides like The Extreme Scream.

Exiting, I thought of all the things we missed, as we watched a true carnie geek breathing fire, sticking torches in his mouth.  I must return, will try to score tickets to the Real Men Wear Pink Rodeo Finals.  Because I want to breathe in the air of altruism in the name of Susan B Komen.
Good times, good fun, good fair. â€" Jessica Corey-Butler

David Lee Roth can still throw down like skirt-lifting riff-a-rama never went out of style â€" that is, as long as your definition of throwing down depends more on a plutonium-bright personality and vaudeville-sharp timing than a perfectly preserved set of pipes.

Trying to divert attention from his failed DJing career, Diamond Dave is on tour again singing classic Van Halen songs and a few bluegrass songs, including a stop at Emerald Queen Casino Nov. 4.

Bluegrass?

Did you not hear about Strummin' With the Devil: The Southern Side of Van Halen, a compilation of some of Van Halen's biggest hits done in an authentic down home country/bluegrass style released this past May? Roth only sings on three of the album's tracks â€" "Jump" and two versions of "Jamie's Cryin'" â€" and leaves the rest to bluegrass stalwarts Larry Cordle, John Cowan and the Nashville Bluegrass Band. 

Oh well, my man Dave remains the real deal to me â€" not to mention the only touring tongue-in-cheek vulgarian who's saved the life of a heart-attack victim as a paramedic (So when he yells "Jump!", you'd best reply, "Clear!").

Tickets for the Nov. 4 Emerald Queen Casino show are $30-$65 and are on sale now at Ticketmaster. â€" Suzy Stump