El Spiel des Jahres, el premio al mejor juego de mesa en Alemania, ha sido concedido hoy, 14 de julio, en una ceremonia en Berlín, alzándose con el galardón “CamelUp” diseñado por SteffenBogen y publicado por la editorial alemana PegasusSpiele.
Además del SpieldesJahres, también se ha concedido el KennerspieldesJares. Este galardón premia aquellos juegos diseñados para jugadores más “expertos” En esta ocasión otro de los títulos distribuidos por PegasusSpiele ha sido el afortunado; se trata de “Istanbul” del diseñador RüdigerDorn. El kennerspieldesJahres nació en 2011 para sustituir al premio del jurado. Dicho premio estaba dirigido a aquellos juegos que merecían un reconocimiento, pero cuyas mecánicas eran demasiado complejas para optar al SpieldesJahres.
Junto con el KinderspieldesJahres, que premia al juego infantil del año y que se concedió el pasado mes de junio a “Geister, Geister, Schatzsuchmeister!” (Diseñado por BrianYu y publicado por Mattel) estos dos premios son los galardones más importantes a nivel internacional del panorama de los juegos de mesa.
Spiel des Jahres 2014
Camel Up es juego de mesa donde nos convertiremos en miembros de la Alta Sociedad Egipcia con un único objetivo para divertirnos, apostar en nuestro hobby favorito ¡Las Carreras de Camellos! Dónde todo vale para convertirte en el más rico de Egipto.
Kennerspiel des Jhares 2014
En Istanbul, somos un importante comerciante en el gran bazar de Istanbul. Con la ayuda de nuestros asistentes, tendremos que apresurarnos a través de los estrechos callejones del bazar para conseguir los preciados diamantes antes que nuestros competidores. ¿Serás capaz de gestionar a tu equipo y tus mercancías para hacerte con la victoria en Istanbul?
Kinderspiel des Jahres 2014
En una oscura y terrorífica casa, cada sonido provoca escalofríos. Se abre una puerta ¿hay alguien ahí? Oyes susurros, pero nadie responde a tu llamada. Tus ojos y oídos pueden engañarte, pero el vello de tu nuca te dice lo que ya sabes: Aquí hay fantasmas, y no solamente uno ya que estos espíritus son legión
By CRACKED Readers Published: July 16th, 2014
It's become commonplace nowadays for the unwashed masses to scream at Hollywood about regurgitating the same concepts over and over again. But this is nothing new -- Tinsel Town has been ripping itself off for years, and most likely on purpose becaus
By David Wong Published: July 16th, 2014
This won't take but a minute, and I promise this won't be a waste of your time. It's three steps ... Step 1: Get out a pen and paper. You don't need much, an old receipt or something. Write down, in just a few words, what you did yesterday. Leave out
Peanut butter and chocolate. Pasta and tomato sauce. Beer and chicken wings. Bratwurst and gummy bears.
Some foods, just by nature's design, belong together. That's why it was inevitable that someone would combine the sweetness of gummy bears and the hearty saltiness of bratwurst. But it was Spencer Grundhofer who actually put them together, thus ushering in a new age of greatness for the human race.
Grundhofer is the owner of Grundhofer's Old-Fashioned Meats, a butcher shop in Hugo, Minnesota. Like the wheel, the transistor, and other revolutionary inventions, the gummy bear bratwurst was invented as a joke.
DashCon, a weekend convention organized independently of Tumblr by some enthusiastic fans, has already secured its place in history as a nerd catastrophe. The organizers, who have taken endless amounts of shit online, hit a snag with the venue on Friday night, when the hotel management demanded upfront payment of $17,000 they apparently didn't have. The situation worsened when the money snafu triggered a no-show from the event's most popular speaker. Attendees lost some faith in their hosts' competence, and soon a sad photo of a ball pit that was nothing more than a pretentious kiddie pool (see below) became the context-free symbol for the all-around failure of the event.
But was it really that bad if you were there? I spoke to Sarah Fetter, office manager of Sanshee a branded merchandise retailer that operated two vendor's tables at the event. She experienced the problems firsthand, and yes, they're hilarious, but in her estimation DashCon was a bumpy but worthwhile ride.
VICE: What’s the “dash” part in DashCon about? Sarah Fetter: I didn’t understand that until this weekend when someone explained it to me. So on the Tumblr homepage, you’re on something called the “dashboard.” So originally the convention was going to be called something like “TumbleUSA” or something, and Tumblr evidently said no because it’s not officially affiliated with Tumblr, and so they changed it to DashCon because you’re on your dashboard on Tumblr.
What was the first major thing that went wrong?
When I arrived, nobody could direct me to where I could get my badge, which was the only way I could enter the exhibit hall, which is the only way I could set up my stuff for the con that opened in two hours. And when I walked in to get my badge, the lovely woman that was working it couldn’t find my company. And that was the first inkling—everything else went wrong that morning, but that was the one thing where I went, “Oh God, just... oh God.”
And it just got worse from there?
Well, essentially you have some really lovely people, you have some people who are a little more... I’m trying to think of the most polite way to say it... They’re a little rude. I had a person trying to steal from my table. You have people who haven’t really done these kind of things, so they don’t really know how to interact and not be rude.
People were trying to steal from your table?
There was this kid who I guess was pretty sneaky because he started reaching for the Pokémon badges and trying to pocket them, and I was just like, “Dude, dude, no. Don’t do that here.”
What was the average age at this convention?
Probably 15 or 16. I would say I met very few people my age—I’m 24—the people next to me were in their twenties, the people on the other side of me, Novus Magic, they were probably 30s. I’d say that the higher ages came from the exhibitors and then the parents who brought their children.
So what happened when the shit really hit the fan?
We attended Tumblr prom, which is hilarious, as you can probably imagine. We were sitting there and this girl ran in and said, “They’re gonna shut us all down if we don’t get $17,000 right now!” and then ran away. That launched everyone into this mass hysteria like, “Oh no, the con’s gonna be shut down! Why would this happen?”
What we were told that night was that the hotel was used to a different level of people—that apparently they were used to model train conventions. So originally we were told that the hotel didn’t like us and were looking for a way to boot us out, which is where the $17,000 was from.
Later we were told—this was all the same night—that the hotel had gone back on their problem on accepting payments in short amounts throughout the weekend as they gained more people through gross sales. Then even later on we were told that basically they just wanted their money up front because they weren’t sure if they were gonna get it.
But the money did materialize, and that issue was resolved?
Well, they had someone start announcing stuff and they had a little paper bag, like the kind you get when you buy candles and stuff, and said, “We’re taking money right now!” People literally ran at them and dumped money into the bag without thinking about it. I had a friend who dumped $400 into it, but there’s no tracking of any of this. The original announcement was around 9 PM, so a little after 10, supposedly the deadline, the con was saved and everything was kosher.
One hour between initial shakedown and actually coughing up the cash? That’s a pretty short period of time.
Yeah, it was pretty insane.
What was the hullabaloo surrounding the ball pit?
It didn't last long. We went to go see the ball pit on Saturday night, and it had apparently died—it was laid to rest on Saturday night because it was no longer there. And there were swimmers talking about things that had happened in it, apparently some people got too rowdy and it began to deflate, and evidently someone else peed in it? I have no idea if that actually happened—I want to believe it didn’t, but a couple of my friends who went into the ball pit said they believe that was true.
Note that the maker of this video wrongly blames Tumblr.
I read about offers of extra time spent in the ball pit if you donated certain amounts of money? Or was that just completely BS?
No. The whole reason the ball pit has become popular was because Welcome to Night Vale was used as a main draw for DashCon. A huge amount of people that I know went specifically because they wanted to see Welcome to Night Vale. I was told later that there were some verbal agreements and poor planning, and the shakedown happened.
Welcome to Night Vale apparently wanted their money at the start of the show, the con claimed they showed up 15 minutes late and then wanted to meet with a specific person from the hotel, and there was this huge delay and everything kind of collapsed from there, and ultimately Welcome to Night Vale decided that because the money wasn’t there—they wanted 3/4 of it in cash and the rest of it in PayPal—right then, they weren’t gonna do it.
After that happened, a swarm of people came into the exhibit hall super mad because Welcome to Night Vale wasn’t performing. And then I saw a notification on Tumblr where DashCon said, “Oh, we’re really sorry this happened, but as a consolation, you too can have an extra hour in the ball pit. And that was supposed to make up for the fact that a lot of people came specifically to see them. But hey, at least there’s a ball pit.
Did anything go wrong after that?
The vendor hours given once I arrived were very different from what I thought I was going into. So Saturday, our hours were 9 AM to 8 PM, which is fine if it’s San Diego Comic-Con or something like that, but in those long vendor hours, your first three hours are dead and your last two hours are dead, so essentially you’re sitting there shooting the shit with other people around you, which is not good for making money.
I’m not gonna say that they lied about who were going to be there—they estimated a much higher number of people were going to be there than what actually happened, I believe. I don’t know if they did a final count yet. But the number of people we were expecting and packed for was greatly higher than the number of people who were actually there. So I think that people were expecting to make a little more money than they did, but it’s a different client base.
So you took to social media. How'd that go?
I tried to keep it as separate from the company as humanly possible. I started tweeting it and tumblring it for fun, not because I was trying to get attention for the company, so I was surprised by the attention that it got, and it’s been crazy ever since.
So I noticed on Tumblr, someone at one point called you out for being transphobic? That was you, right?
Yes, that was me.
How come you’re transphobic? What’s your problem?
I was very very careful with pronouns that weekend, but I feel like everybody walked on the edge that weekend, because it’s a Tumblr con, you know? I sat next to someone who preferred she/her/etc., and I sat next to somebody else who had different pronouns, and so like, I’m not transphobic, but I made some comments about how someone threatened to stab someone else for not adhering to their preferred pronouns, and I was like, “That’s a little ridiculous!” I understand wanting to be called your pronouns, but stabbing somebody is not exactly the most valid response. And that didn’t make me any friends.
But there was another comment, a tweet that I made, about how I overheard someone wanting to talk to the girl at the front desk about how they didn’t have bathrooms for every gender. And my response was, please don’t do that, please please don’t do that. The hotel staff has no control over any of that.
You mentioned “anon-hate.” Was that a topic at the con?
Friday night as everything was going down, I was chatting with a few people at the prom, and someone said 4chan did it. I said, “I don’t think it’s a case of 4Chan, I think it’s a case of DashCon kind of hurting itself.” And then the moderators were like, “No, this is not 4chan,” and explained what happened.
4chan has been known to do things—I’m trying to think of a recent example; I haven’t been keeping up with shenanigans—I know they did something with Scientology. Basically when they want to band together and do something, funny things usually result. Sometimes it’s less than funny. Sometimes it’s a little more malicious.
[Ed. Note: The Know Your Meme page about the ongoing 2014 Tumblr-4chan Raids is a good read.]
How did the organizers do after all this went down?
The Q&A with the organizers was pretty funny in a terrible way, just because I don’t think they were ready for some of those questions being asked and they didn’t have answers.
Questions about the con itself?
Yeah, questions like “Are volunteers gonna get reimbursed for this that and the other? What happened with Welcome to Night Vale?” and they kinda tried to explain things, but I think they were also kind of blindsided by all of it. And they have not had an easy time with all this. I think they got blindsided with a lot of what happened, and to have that Q&A afterward was just kind of rubbing salt in the wound, as it were.
Would you go to another DashCon?
Yeah, I would. People look at me like I’m crazy when I say that, but after everything, I had a blast. Everything that happened was just utterly hilarious. As long as I had a good sense of humor about things, I had a good time
If you had the ear of the organizers of DashCon, what would you tell them?
Be careful of how you deliver bad news. If Friday night had been handled a bit better everything might not have just gotten worse and worse and worse. So how to deliver news would probably be the biggest thing, but I mean overall everyone in it was so nice, but you know, things happen.
The King George Brothel in Berlin opens at 4 PM, Monday through Sunday, excluding the Christmas Holidays. For €99 ($135) you can stay there until dawn, when the first street cleaners are passing, and drink as much as you like and have sex as much as you like with Klaudia, Katja, Petronella, Alina, Barby, and whichever of the 27 staff members are perched on the velvet stools or the leather booths beneath the many red lights next to the bar.
The King George is Germany's first flat-rate brothel. It's the sex industry's answer to the global recession. In Berlin there are about half a dozen of them. The brothels themselves prefer calling it "all-inclusive" rather than flat-rate. As owner Sascha Erben says, “This is sex after all; it's not text messaging or long-distance calls.”
Alina works the door. She's wearing this pink tube dress. It covers her body like a bun covers a hot dog. When she gets up from her chair, the dress zips up over her ass until she jigs it down again with her fingers. The rest of the girls wear the same dress in different grades of pink. It's like a house uniform. Zipping up and down, flashing bare bum and bits of crotch as they walk around on stilettos that make them look like those fishermen's houses built on stilts—the ones that don't outlast storms or oil slicks. They all smoke cigarettes. Marlboros or Chesterfields with health warnings written in Cyrillic. And everything inside, from the drink in your hand to the seat you lean on, smells like cotton candy.
As soon as I tell them I'm just writing a story, they take out their phones, start eating pizza, and pluck stray hairs from their bikini lines—the same things they would have done if I'd told them I was gay, I guess.
The layout of the building is an homage to the penis itself: A long narrow bar leads into two tight networks of small rooms with wipe-clean beds and showers and lighting that you'd never want to read a book under. Europop plays from tiny speakers, hidden high up in the shadows. I've never been to a nightclub in Dubai, but I imagine that beyond the mirrored dance floors, the Swarowski glasses, and the $5,000 table reservations, the DJ's got the same bad collection as the King George.
"Do you like the music?" I ask Alina.
"What music?" she says.
The majority of the women are from Eastern Europe. Klaudia is from Austria, and she's something of a celebrity in Berlin. Men request her for €200 ($270) an hour. Alina says she's from Napoli and that she misses the sea and her home. But Alina, I, and her accent know her home isn't Italy. It's probably Romania. The same goes for the girls speaking Spanish, like Petronella and Barby. They learn it growing up in Romania watching Spanish telenovelas, and they speak it because it's fun, she says. And it is fun pretending to be Spanish, but in Germany, where being Romanian is the only thing that makes people as mad as kiddie fiddling, it's good sense too.
Obviously they lie about their age. Someone who looks in her 40s is allegedly in her 30s, and the 30-year-olds are all 19. But I guess that's just a symptom of the dishonest premise brothels are built on. The women act like the men are interesting and desirable, and the men convince themselves they actually are.
The men start arriving as the factories and shops close for the day. They're in uniform too: steel-toe boots, Snickers work pants with some gray T-shirt tucked in so best to highlight the arch of their gut.
Erben knows his clientele well. “We cater for taxi-drivers, the unemployed, guys who aren't making much more than €1,500 [$2,040] a month.”
Erben bought the King George more than six years ago. It was a strip club before that. He grew up in East Germany, where his first taste of the oldest job in the world was renting out apartments by the hour for a family friend. When the Wall came down, Erben moved south to Bavaria before deciding on a return to Berlin. “A smile is the most important thing in a prostitute,” he says. “They don't have to be pretty; in fact it's often better if they're not. What you want is the sort of girl who can still turn on some charm after 12 hours sitting down with nothing to do.”
Erben comes across as likable. The girls support the argument. Klaudia tells me he's too kind. He loans the girls money. He bought her a €300 ($410) handbag. But you can't tell the other girls that.
But does he fuck them too? “No," Erben says. "The minute you do that, you're not respecting them as an employee. And it can cause problems between the girls.”
But whom does he fuck then? “I do have a girlfriend, but finding someone to build a family with me, considering my business, is hard.”
The girls have families, though. Klaudia has a 17-year-old daughter. She picks her up from work at night, and they go eat kebabs together. Klaudia is also a nurse. She's useful to have in the brothel, but less so in the real world, where she only earns €1300 ($1,770) a month. A good night at the King George gets her €600 ($815). She does OK as a prostitute. She holidays in Ibiza in summer, the Alps in winter.
“A lot of the money isn't even from sex. The men just want to talk or share a bottle of champagne with me,” she says. “I'll often have three of them here at once, sitting in the jacuzzi and laughing.”
It isn't just about sex. Erben's got it all worked out. The average flat-rate customer fucks 2.7 girls. The rest of that time, he's drinking at the bar, feeding coins into the poker machine, maybe even having a lie-down in one of the rooms on his own.
“Traditional brothels,” Erben explains, “are uncomfortable for a lot of men. They rush you in and out, and some guys get nervous and can't perform. Here, a customer can treat it like his own pub, and they have time to talk to the girls.”
The King George is open seven days a week, but the girls are allowed to work a maximum of five days a week. “To regenerate,” Erben says, “mentally and physically.”
A woman might have sex 20 times in a night. I can't and won't ever begin to imagine how a person regenerates mentally from that.
The girls leave and come back. Katja from Hungary has two children and is a qualified care worker who can't find work right now, so she's back at the King George for the moment.
Does she like it? “Sometimes, but not really. You're not supposed to like work, though,” she says.
Erben doesn't have a problem hiring. Some days there are even lines outside. “In other brothels a girl might not even make her cab fare,” he says.
There are more red lights inside the King George than all the junctions in Germany. On a bad night, a girl will come away with €100 ($135). For every euro that a customer spends, the woman make 50 cents. Extras—like blowjobs without condoms, anal, kissing—earn her extra. Because it's Germany and prostitution is not illegal, they will pay tax on that, and their contribution will go to building schools, hospitals, bridges, boots for German soldiers in Afghanistan. Hydra, an organization that fights for prostitutes' rights in Germany, estimates there are close to half a million sex workers in Germany. Two thirds of them are not German. Klaudia the Austrian is as close as it gets. She has a weathered tattoo on her shoulder. It was her first one as a teenager, and it says "Love."
Sexuality is one of our most basic drives, but it's also fundamental to our identities as people. Which means sex is the subject of a million cliches, and tons of terrible writing. Not to mention, stupid prejudice. The good news? Science fiction and fantasy writers have a special opportunity to look at sex afresh. Here's how.
Seth Rogen tweeted another look at the storyboard for the Preacher television pilot, and he keeps proving that they're hewing really close to the source material for it. This time, it's the opening song.
The first reads “Hamburger: $5,” the second reads “Cheeseburger: $6,” and the third reads “Handjob: $10.” As the man approached, a beautiful young woman dressed in an apron came out from the kitchen and asked coyly, “What can I do for you, hon?”
“Are you the one who gives the handjobs?” asked the trucker.
“Why yes,” answered the woman with a knowing smile. “Yes I am.”
“Well then go wash your fucking hands, because I want a cheeseburger.”
So he looks up the yellow pages and sure enough, there’s an ad for “Gorilla Removers.” He calls the number, and the gorilla remover says he”ll be there in 30 minutes.
The gorilla remover arrives and gets out of his van. He’s got a ladder, a baseball bat, a shotgun and a huge, ferocious looking dog.
“What are you going to do?” the homeowner asks.
“I’m going to put up this ladder against the roof, then I’m going to go up there and knock the gorilla off the roof with the bat. When the gorilla falls off, the dog is trained to grab the gorilla’s testicles and squeeze. The gorilla will be subdued enough for me to lock him in the cage in the back of the van,” says the gorilla remover and hands him the shotgun.
“What’s the shotgun for?”, asks the homeowner.
“If the gorilla knocks ME off the roof, shoot the dog.”
..and had to take it to the dry cleaners. She says “I need to get this cleaned” to the man behind the counter. The man who was hard of hearing replies “come again?” Lindsay responds “No, mustard.”
When Beethoven passed away, he was buried in a churchyard. A couple days later, the town drunk was walking through the cemetery and heard some strange noise coming from the area where Beethoven was buried. Terrified, the drunk ran and got the priest to come and listen to it. The priest bent close to the grave and heard some faint, unrecognizable music coming from the grave. Frightened, the priest ran and got the town magistrate.
When the magistrate arrived, he bent his ear to the grave, listened for a moment, and said, “Ah, yes, that’s Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, being played backwards.”
He listened a while longer, and said, “There’s the Eighth Symphony, and it’s backwards, too. Most puzzling.” So the magistrate kept listening; “There’s the Seventh… the Sixth… the Fifth…”
Suddenly the realization of what was happening dawned on the magistrate; he stood up and announced to the crowd that had gathered in the cemetery, “My fellow citizens, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just Beethoven decomposing.”
A man runs into the the Kremlin yelling, “The Premiere is an idiot the Premiere is an idiot.” The man was immediately arrested by the KGB and sentenced to 23 years in prison. 3 years for insulting a high ranking member of the party and 20 years for divulging a state secret.
On Halloween, a man shows up to his friend’s costume party in the nude carrying a woman on his back. His friend answers the door and shockingly asks, “What are you supposed to be?!”
The man says, “I’m a snail.”
With an obvious look of disdain on his face, his friend asks, “Well, who is she?”
When you drink vodka over ice, it can give you kidney failure. When you drink rum over ice, it can give you liver failure. When you drink whiskey over ice, it can give you heart problems. When you drink gin over ice, it can give you brain problems.
Apparently, ice is really bad for you. Warn all your friends.
…but she didn’t speak a word of English. They were having a great time, though, feeding each other, flirting, touching and giggling. After the meal is over, the woman draws a picture of a bed on a napkin and gives a sly wink. The man still can’t figure out how she knew he was in the furniture business.
… and the old man will not stop staring at him. The kid had a long, spiky mohawk that was different colors. His arms and neck were covered in tattoos, and multiple piercings in his nostrils and ears.
Finally, the kid, sick of the old man staring at him says, “What’s the matter old man? Ain’t you never done anything crazy in your life?”
Without missing a beat the old man replies, “When I was young I got drunk and had sex with a peacock once – I was wondering if you were my son.”
Three men are in Church one Sunday morning, one of them belongs to the local union. Before the service they complain amongst themselves of their various ailments and injuries.
Jesus hears them, and he appears before these gentlemen. “Tell me your troubles my children.”
“Lord. I can not stand up straight or go a day without pain, thanks to a back injury I suffered years ago,” the first man says.
“Be healed, child,” Jesus says. The man immediately stands stall and does jumping jacks, feeling true relief.
“Lord, I can barely see. I was blinded by a flash-bang in Iraq, I need these thick glasses just to function,” the second man says. Jesus takes his glasses away and they crumble into fine powder. The man can see with perfect 20-20 vision.
The union worker, seeing this, shouts “Don’t touch me! I’m on permanent disability!”
So you’re dating a Libra (born September 23 – October 22). Is it because they don’t want to break up with you? Libras hate conflict. Nah, I kid, I’m sure you’re the bee’s knees!
Libras love to have a good time, and will create a good time wherever they are. You could take your Libra to a post office for their date and they’d somehow find a way to get psyched about it – and if they don’t, they’ll never tell you. (They might tell Twitter, though.) Libras are like Elmo – agreeable little cuddly monsters who are curious about the world around them and deep down, want the best for everyone. So take them by their muppet hand and show them a good time.
Libras are the ones with the whole scale of justice thing, which means they tend to be indecisive. So when making plans with your Libra date, don’t count on them to offer any solid input. Just make your plans and tell them to come along. And because they hate confrontation, even if they don’t like your plans, they’ll go anyway. In fact, the more excited a Libra sounds about your plans, the more they probably hate them. But again, they’re not going to make waves, no – they’d rather stand on the shore, grateful that they’re not responsible for the tide. So don’t worry too much.
While on your date, set aside some time for you and your Libra to really talk. Libras love mental gymnastics. A movie is perhaps not the best choice of first date for a Libra, unless it’s one of those complicated movies with a twist ending that you can talk about for hours later. The Libra will decide the protagonist was dead the whole time, even though you’re sure it was obviously just a dream – and if you say so, they’ll probably just agree with you. Not only do Libras dislike confrontation, but they’re also very enthusiastic. They’re just happy to be here. But really, they like being mentally stimulated. They like reading. They like writing. They like being Libras. They like arguing – but a cheerful, muppety sort of arguing. Like Kermit, they’ll probably throw their wobbly arms around in the air, like they just don’t care.
But Libras DO care, about a lot of things. Just don’t expect them to come right out and tell you what’s on their mind. If a Libra looks pensive during your date, it could be about anything – from the food, to their upcoming dentist appointment, to pondering the lyrics of Pharell’s “Happy” – whereas if a Scorpio is pensive during a date, it’s probably because they’re wondering why you haven’t had sex with them yet. (Scorps, I kid. I kid because I’m one of you. Cheers.)
The best place to take your Libra date is a party, because they’re very good at socializing. Oh, sure, they may grumble to themselves beforehand, “I can’t believe I have to go to this stupid party and wear a stupid costume” but watch them wear the best damn costume and have the best damn time. They’ll be exchanging business cards at the same rate they exchange quips – rapid fire. Stand back when a Libra’s at a party. In one hand will be a drink, and in the other, the stack of business cards they accumulated from being their jolly selves, from patting people on the back and saying “hi”, to complimenting your friend Steve on his borscht.
And we all know how good Steve is at making borscht.
So good luck with your Libra date. You’re sure to have a good time. Just pretend they’re a muppet. In fact, pretend you’re BOTH muppets. It will all make so much more sense.
Kenny Burrell has led over 100 albums in his long career and is the epitome of good taste and melodic swing, never playing a phrase that would be considered out-of-place or unworthy. He first recorded in 1951 with Dizzy Gillespie and was a major part of the Detroit jazz scene before emerging in New York in 1956. Burrell was one of the very first guitarists to be showcased in a pianoless trio, and when he was signed to Blue Note, he became one of the most influential guitarists in jazz.
1963’s Midnight Blue is considered one of the most exciting recordings of Kenny Burrell’s long career. It was a magical occasion that teamed Burrell with the passionate tenor-saxophonist Stanley Turrentine in a pianoless quintet that also..
…includes Ray Barretto on congas. With Turrentine (who is immediately recognizable within two sounds) infusing each note with an excess of soul and Barretto giving the blues-oriented music a Latin tinge, Burrell raises the heat and is heard at his most exhilarating and extroverted. His soulful playing on such songs as “Chitlins Con Carne,” “Saturday Night Blues” and “Gee Baby Ain’t I Good To You” is so greasy and emotional that it reminds one that both B.B. King and Duke Ellington often cited Kenny Burrell as their favorite guitarist. While Kenny Burrell has recorded scores of albums since this time, Midnight Blue cannot be topped and will always be one of the key recordings that he will be remembered for.
“Na etapa de infantil, as clases de galego son do 90,6%, porque no rural fálase galego e é obrigatorio que se vaia introducindo a outra lingua oficial para un equilibrio", di o conselleiro Jesús Vázquez.
O BOE do pasado sábado publicou unha modificación da orde ministerial de cesión do inmoble á Xunta en 2010, que só permitía usos culturais. O Goberno modifica a súa propia orde para permitir o proxecto hoteleiro
Que Ferrol es un sitio distinto al resto de Galicia es algo que nadie duda, en el habla también. Para muestra varios botones, :)
El Ferrolano no echa gasolina: la hace El Ferrolano no da vueltas sobre sí mismo campo abajo: se arrola.
El Ferrolano no es una persona: es un nacho/a El Ferrolano no se enamora: se queda enconado o aconachado El Ferrolano no se cae: se mete un ostión del quince El Ferrolano no sale con tías: sale con nachas El Ferrolano no besa a la nacha: le entra y se la papa El Ferrolano no bebe mucho: se rasca o se agarra el cagallón El Ferrolano no duerme en camas abatibles, sino en camas rebatibles El niño Ferrolano, cuando llora mucho, se coge una perrencha El Ferrolano no está en las berzas: anda con la troita El Ferrolano no te tiene manía: te tiene asco El Ferrolano no le pega a alguien: le mete (ejemplo: te voy meter una ostia) También puede amenazarte con "andarte con la cara" El Ferrolano no tiene un buen coche: tiene un perro coche o tremendo coche El Ferrolano no está cansado, está mazao El Ferrolano no se da prisa: apura El Ferrolano no sale de marcha: sale de carallada, de canfurnada o de parranda El Ferrolano no va de vinos: va de tazas o a tomar los vasos El Ferrolano no tiene flequillo: tiene perrera El Ferrolano no sale a la calle: baja El Ferrolano no se ríe de ti a carcajadas: le va mal de la risa El Ferrolano no se marea: le va mal El Ferrolano no huye: se pira por patas, sale mangado, cagando virutas o a fume de carozo El Ferrolano no viste mal: va con ropa de chollar (o es un bardallas) El Ferrolano no se arregla: se va a vestir El Ferrolano no llama conductor al del bus: le llama señor busero El Ferrolano no hace fotos: las quita, como también quita el carnet de conducir El Ferrolano no va a Coruña: va en Coruña o pa Coruña El Ferrolano no es tacaño: es cutre a mazo El Ferrolano no engorda o adelgaza, sino que sube o baja (ej. "mucho bajaste" "Boh, ya subí") El Ferrolano no va a trabajar: va pal chollo El Ferrolano no es reviejo, es redicho, y no es marisabidilla, es lercha Las niñas Ferrolanas no son marimachos: son peruchonas El Ferrolano no trabaja en Navantia: traballa na Bazán, o simplemente "dentro" El Ferrolano no se dirige a la gente con un "oiga por favor": te dice "oiste" o bien "oyó" El Ferrolano no friega los platos: friega de vertedero En Ferrol no te timan: te escalfan "Ese tío es un escalfón" El Ferrolano no saca la basura: baja el polvo (En Ferrol no hay recogedores, hay polveros) El Ferrolano no se pone en cuclillas: se escarrancha El Ferrolano no tiene mucho trabajo: se le acumula el chollo, y cuando no puede más, simplemente "no da hecho" El Ferrolano no va al hospital: va pa la residencia Al Ferrolano no le dan tirones en la espalda: simplemente queda preso El Ferrolano no deja comida para la cena: la deja pa la noche El Ferrolano no compra: coge. También coge novio o novia El Ferrolano no es un chapuzas: es un trapalleiro El Ferrolano no se quita el abrigo: se lo saca El Ferrolano no se hace daño: se lastima (????) El Ferrolano no cuenta anécdotas: cuenta detalles o sucedidos El Ferrolano no va a las tiendas: va a los comercios El Ferrolano no tiene preocupaciones: tiene ansias El Ferrolano no mete a los niños en el parque: los mete en el corral El Ferrolano no es quejica: es rallante o repunante El peor insulto para un Ferrolano es "mona, que eres un mona". También ofende bastante "cara de cona" El Ferrolano, aunque tenga un coche viejo, "anda a diola" Al Ferrolano no lo tiran las olas: lo zapatean (en la orilla, no fuera de calo) El Ferrolano, si no se fía de ti, te llamará "falso" (es otro de los peores insultos) El Ferrolano no pierde el balón: lo fondea Al Ferrolano no le pasan cosas: le tienen pasado cosas En Ferrol no hay policías: todos son guardias (o chepas, del inglés shepherd) En Ferrol no hay modistas: hay costureras El Ferrolano no está sin un duro: está a la miñoca o está arruchi. Cuando ahorra dinero se dice que "tiene un peto" El Ferrolano no te llama por teléfono: te da toques pa ke lo llames El Ferrolano no saluda: te dice: q pasa tio!!! El Ferrolano no se cae: se mete EL hostión del quince El Ferrolano no se enamora: se queda enconado El Ferrolano no trata de convencerte: Te raya a morir El Ferrolano no concierta una cita con sus amistades: queda con los kolegas El Ferrolano no es valiente: Tiene un buen par de cojones El Ferrolano no es malote: es un kiadas de la hostia El Ferrolano no sale con tías: sale con pivas El Ferrolano no liga con una piva: se la camela El Ferrolano no besa a la piva: le entra y se la papa El Ferrolano no se despista: se le va la olla El Ferrolano no te atraca: te da el palo El Ferrolano no bebe mucho: se talla (o taja) a mazo El Ferrolano no tiene suerte: tiene una flor en el bu El Ferrolano no llega borracho a su casa para que lo pillen sus padres: llega morao al kelo pa’ que lo sus viejos lo pillen. El Ferrolano no tiene prejuicios: Solo odia a los coruñeses. El Ferrolano no es que no entienda: es que no lo pilla El Ferrolano no va al carrefour a comprar bebidas: va al Alcampo q es mas barato q el Supercor El Ferrolano no te riñe: te las monta El Ferrolano no te da la espalda: Te dice pirate y dejame en paz. El Ferrolano no te llama la atención: Se caga en tu puta madre. El Ferrolano no se inmuta: hostia puta ya joder. El Ferrolano no te acaricia: soba El Ferrolano no molesta: Es pesado de cojones. El Ferrolano no se alimenta: va a jalar algo El Ferrolano no te da un puñetazo: te mete una hostia. El Ferrolano no te tiene manía: te tiene asco El Ferrolano no pega a alguien: le mete. El Ferrolano no va a un puticlub: simplemente va a INK El Ferrolano no orina: echa un regao o un meo El Ferrolano no huye: se pira por patas El Ferrolano no se dispersa del lugar: se pira El Ferrolano no se despide: dice "K TE KUNDA! El Ferrolano no duerme: soba El Ferrolano no te pide un cigarro: te pide una truja El Ferrolano no se ríe de tí a carcajadas: se parte la goma tuya El Ferrolano no se mete con alguien: lo putea El Ferrolano no es buen tipo: es un tio de la hostia. El Ferrolano no falta a clase: palma EL Ferrolano no va en coche: va en buga El Ferrolano no es un gandul: es un puto vago El Ferrolano no hace algo mal: la caga, o en todo caso mete la gamba El Ferrolano no en buen amigo: es buen colega El Ferrolano no se arregla: se va a vestir El Ferrolano no habla claro: te lo dice to a la cara El Ferrolano no se da prisa: se da vida El Ferrolano no te pide que vayas más rápido: te mete caña El Ferrolano no hace algo rápido: lo ace en cero coma cinco El Ferrolano no tiene grito de guerra: canta : al bote, al bote, coruñes el q no bote!!!!! El Ferrolano no bebe un vaso de vodka solo y de un trago: se priva un cubata de vodka a palo seco y de penalti El Ferrolano no esta cansado: esta axikadisimo El Ferrolano no viste mal: es un gualtrapas El Ferrolano no tiene estrés: esta hasta los webos El Ferrolano no ve a una chica poco agraciada: ve un puto trol El Ferrolano no disfruta: lo flipa. El Ferrolano no se enfada: se china a mazo El Ferrolano cuando ve a una tia wena no se queda callado: pero mira q etas buena!!! El ferrolano no huye: se pira por patas o sale fungando El ferrolano no dice Hola!: dice Opa! El ferrolano no se acojona: se aconacha El ferrolano no te da una paliza: te baja a hostias El ferrolano no despeja un balón de fútbol: lo fondea El ferrolano no regatea a alguíen: lo canea El ferrolano no echa gasolina: la hace. El ferrolano no es una persona: es un nacho. El ferrolano no se enamora: se queda enconado o aconachado. El ferrolano no te llama por teléfono: te hace perdidas pa que lo llames. El ferrolano no coge un cepillo: coge un brus. El ferrolano no friega con estropajo: usa un freganzo. El ferrolano no está de baja laboral: está rebajado. El ferrolano no va a toda leche: va a todo filispín. El ferrolano no es creyente: es cofrade. El ferrolano no te saluda: te dice: qué pasa meu! El ferrolano no se cae: se mete un ostión del quince o simplemente deita. El ferrolano no trata de convencerte: te raya a morir. El ferrolano no es un fantasma: es un quiadas. El ferrolano no sale con tías: sale con pivas. El ferrolano no besa a la piva: le entra y se la papa. El ferrolano no te llama cariño: te llama pinchi o pinchiño. El ferrolano no se despista: se le va la olla. El ferrolano no te atraca: te da el palo. El ferrolano no se quedó sin dinero: está arruche. El ferrolano no bebe mucho: se taja a cañón. El ferrolano no duerme en camas plegables: duerme en camas rebatibles. El ferrolano no usa cinta adhesiva: utiliza un fixo (ficso). El ferrolano no tiene prejuicios: sólo odia a los coruñeses. El ferrolano no es clasista: sólo que es de Bazán, o de la Marina, o de Caranza, o de la Magdalena, o de... El ferrolano no es que no lo entienda: es que no lo pilla. El ferrolano no es de aldea: es un jailán. El ferrolano no tiene frío: tiene pelete. El ferrolano no te tiene manía: te tiene asco. El ferrolano no pega a alguien: le mete. El ferrolano no tiene un buen coche: tiene un perro coche. El ferrolano no se enfada: se china a mazo. El ferrolano no esta cansado: esta achicadísimo. El ferrolano no se da prisa: se da vida. El ferrolano no se ríe de ti a carcajadas: se parte la goma tuya o se descojona. El ferrolano no se compra un perro: se compra un chuquelo. El ferrolano no te riñe: te la monta. El ferrolano no va a un puticlub: simplemente va a Ink o a Chévere. El ferrolano no sale de fiesta: se va de canfurnada. El ferrolano no huye: se pira por patas. El ferrolano no orina: echa un regao o un meo. El ferrolano no hace algo rápido: lo hace en cero coma cinco. El ferrolano no viste mal: va con ropa de currar. El ferrolano no se arregla: se va a vestir. El ferrolano no llama conductor al del bus: le llama señor busero. El Ferrolano no tiene amigos: tiene pandilla Al Ferrolano, si le quedan cortos los pantalones, parece que anda a los panchos (pescar) El Ferrolano no marisca: anda a la almeja El Ferrolano no va a toda leche: va a todo filispín (full speed) El Ferrolano no juega a la peonza: juega al peón El Ferrolano tampoco juega a las canicas: juega a las bolas o bolinches (y esfonda los bolsillos) El Ferrolano no tomaba polvitos pica-pica: tomaba refresco o soda mojadito con regaliz chupada El Ferrolano juega al brilé (balón prisionero), a las lombas o a arriba facu! El Ferrolano no se la liga: panda, queda o agacha El Ferrolano no es un perezoso: es un maula. No finge, hace el maula El Ferrolano no hace pellas: hace la mica o palma a clase El Ferrolano no es empollón: es chapón La Ferrolana no usa leotardos: usa polainas La Ferrolana no usa combinación: usa falsilla El Ferrolano no usa jerseys de cuello alto: usa manis El Ferrolano no usa polos: usa nikis El Ferrolano no usa botas de agua: usa catiuscas El Ferrolano no usa babi: usa mandilón El Ferrolano no hace punto: calceta (????) El Ferrolano no se hace brechas en la cabeza: se hace guiches o fendechas. Luego sale la postilla. El Ferrolano no usa zapatillas de deporte: usa tenis El Ferrolano no aplasta o hace añicos: esmaga con el tenedor (del inglés "smash") El Ferrolano no te pide una calada del pitillo: te dice "¿me das la pava?" El Ferrolano no se va a la cama: se mete en cama El Ferrolano no toma una tortilla francesa: toma una francesa para acomodar el estómago Las heridas del Ferrolano no escuecen: layan El Ferrolano no hace encargos, sino encargas (empanada de encarga) El Ferrolano no coge el autobús: coge el coche de linea El Ferrolano no pasa el cepillo: pasa el brush (también del inglés) En Ferrol no hay nazarenos o penitentes: hay capuchones El Ferrolano no se examina de selectividad: hace el seletivo En Ferrol no hay pizarras: hay encerados No hay sacapuntas: hay afilas El Ferrolano no ingresa en la Armada: va pa la marina En Ferrol, las cosas no se estropean: se escoñan o escarallan, y no se rompen: se escachan. La comida que se echa a perder "se destraga" El Ferrolano no dice ojalá!: dice quién me diera! El Ferrolano no usa el estropajo: usa el freganzo El Ferrolano no te dice cariño: te dice pinchiño El Ferrolano no usa cinta adhesiva: usa "fixo" El Ferrolano no es un aldeano: es un pailán, un pailaroco, de Coirós o de Camouco El Ferrolano se tira purrús, que son pedos inoloros, cuando son cheirentos "se va de copas" El Ferrolano no te manda a la porra: te manda a rascar (as cachiñas cunha pedra) El Ferrolano no se hace el loco: se hace el de Cobas Al Ferrolano no se le transparenta la ropa: le visa El Ferrolano no se asombra: pampea, aunque cuando pampea también pierde el tiempo El Ferrolano no usa zapatillas viejas: usa lorchas La Ferrolana no es pija: es una fingidora (esto ya no se dice, qué pena) La Ferrolana fea es un grelo o un crollo El Ferrolano no toma un poquito de Fanta: toma una poquita Fanta El Ferrolano no dice adiós: dice "hala!", "abur" o "aburiño" En Ferrol no hay chavales: hay chonis (del inglés Johnny o Tony) En Ferrol no hay imbéciles: hay conachos El Ferrolano no salpica: chiringa En Ferrol no comemos gallos ni sardinas ni vígaros, sino meigas, parrochitas y minchas. También pichancos y barallocos El Ferrolano no da aguadillas: da caladas En Ferrol el pan no se pone duro: se pone reseso. La punta se llama corrosco o cornecho El Ferrolano no roba: manga (en mi barrio se dice "chora") El Ferrolano no es tonto: come de parrulo o está aparrulado El Ferrolano no coge un montón de cosas: coge una pilonada de cosas El Ferrolano no está en Babia, está en orsay En Ferrol no son gordos: son bochos. No hay bizcos: hay birojos El Ferrolano fetén exclama: "Gerule!" "Arre corcho!" "Corcio!" "Arre bicho!" El Ferrolano no dice tararí que te vi: dice "piriquí", pasando el índice por el cuello En Ferrol no hay delatores: hay chiletas. No se chivan, se chilan El Ferrolano no vomita: echa la mascada El Ferrolano no toma bizcocho: toma queique (del inglés cake) Al Ferrolano la ropa no le tuerce hacia arriba: le repicha En Ferrol a los marineros se les llama peludos El corazón de la manzana es el carozo, y si está podrido, está podre El órgano masculino del Ferrolano es la pirola En Ferrol los sitios no están lejos; están en casa de Dios La Ferrolana pichonera era la que quería aparentar, se ponía plumas de pichón en el sombrero en lugar de las buenas que eran de faisán.
Jonatan Sark. Está con nosotros desde el inicio del sitio y sus textos críticos, acidos y mordaces son marca de la casa. Conocedor de muchos entresijos entre bambalinas de la industria y el mundillo, sus pocos pelos en la lengua le hacen a veces insinuar más que decir directamente. Esto hace que al revisitar sus textos semanas después queden claras algunas puyas e indirectas que leídas en su momento no tenían todavía sentido para el populacho por no ser todavía conocido el derrumbe de la editorial tal, o la distribuidora cual, o la línea pascual. Eso sí, casi nunca se trata buenas noticias, esas tardan menos en saberse por parte de los interesados.
No sé si serán los mismos pelos de la lengua los que se le enganchan en los dedos al teclear tan rápido lo que hace que aglunas palarbas le queden raras, pero parte del encanto de leerle es ir encontrando los gazapillos sarkiles. Currante incansable, se ha echado a la espalda secciones de actualidad como los weekends adláter, el LigAdlo! o los pasados PicAdlo!s. Precisamente por el trabajazo que supongo que le supuso, por la colaboración estelar de mi admirado Efedito y lo redondo que les quedó, lejos de seleccionar algún tema de actualidad o texto enrevesado plagado de indirectas que hoy sí serían entendibles, he seleccionado uno que considero que debería imprimirse y guardarse entre las páginas del tebeo homenajeado: las Aleluyas de Watchmen. DisfrutAdlo!
¡Watchmen, Aleluya!
¡¡¡Acercaos, periñanes!!! Sabed que la hora se acerca de que encontréis en la puerta la charanga de Watchmen. Y conociendo el percal sin duda pensásteis mal y no quisísteis leer la obra en que se basa por evitaros la brasa o preservar espinazo, más no creáis que no hay caso. Pues como antes hicimos y como enseñó el maestro un espectáculo diestro hasta aquí os trajímos. Con los ripios en su todo, con su calidad de lodo y con unos monigotes que se sacó del escote nuestro Efe pintamonas. Así que buscad la zona en la que poder mirar la tragedia que contamos y que nosotros llamamos:
¡¡¡Watchmen, Aleluya!!!
-Es cosa nuestra, no suya-
1. ¿Quién mató al Comediante ese viejo vigilante? 2. Como Rorschar no se fía puentea a la policía. 3. Y visita enmascarados que se hayan reformados. 4. Primero Búho Nocturno, un señor muy taciturno. 5. Pues le aburre el contratiempo de no tener Pasatiempo. 6. Luego a Ozymandias visita aunque su presencia irrita. 7. Era listo desde chico y ahora es estirado y rico. 8. Le toca al doctor azul dejar de hacer el gandul. 9 Su novia es de Seda Espectro, ¡Mejor eso que no Elektro!.
10. Para el gobierno trabajan así que casi le rajan. 11. No se atisba aún el final, y mientras hay funeral. 12. Laurie no aguanta más y visita a su mamá. 13. Rememorando a los viejos pues sus tiempos quedan lejos. 14. Sólo el Comediante unía aunque nadie le quería. 15. Rorschar sigue diligente y persigue a un delincuente. 16. Moloch se ha personado, pero es un tipo acabado. 17. Mientras Rorschar cuenta patas, sale un cómic de piratas. 18. Entre eso y los anexos van salteados los hechos. 19. Pues a Manhattan acusan y de su paciencia abusan. 20. "Para la salud es malo" diz Plumilla Cara-palo. 21. Aburrido de mamones se nos marcha el sin calzones. 22. Y se establece en la Luna lejos hasta de la tuna. 23. Pero sin el azulejo la bronca se ve de lejos. 24. Contra Ozy tira un maloso pero falla el muy patoso. 25. Rorschar ya lo tiene claro: "Aquí pasa algo raro." 26. "Moloch sabe más que el hambre" Pero le encuentra fiambre. 27. Y es así detenido cual un vulgar pervertido. 28 A un psiquiatra le llevan a que le hagan las pruebas. 29. "Media cabeza de perro" dice haciendo de cencerro. 30. Y el doctor, que es algo lerdo, no sabe si es loco o cuerdo. 31. Rusia monta una sandunga; la cosa se pone chunga. 32. La gente sale a la calle ¡ya nada hay que les calle! 33. Búho y Laurie intiman pero muy poco se miman. 34. Pero es ponerse los trajes y fundir los fuselajes. 35. Salvan gente como prueba de que aquello les eleva. 36. Así que por Rorschar van improvisando un plan. 37. Pero luego el macropitufo aparece a su rebufo. 38. Y en visita inoportuna a Espectro lleva a la Luna. 39 Mientras el Búho original palma por nada en especial. 40 Manhattan, con dos cojones, nos explica los taquiones. 41 Que si ya no soy humano y que si mira mi habano. 42. Mientras tanto en la Tierra van bordeando una guerra. 43. Dreiberg y Kovacs no cejan algo les da en las orejas. 44. Pues de tanto investigar al culpable van a hallar. 45. Mientras gentes creativas son víctimas sucesivas. 46. ¡Detras de todo está Ozy! Parece raro más... pozi. 47. Suelta el malvado su plan, pero no es un periñán. 48. "No creas que es pastiflora, esto lleva media hora." 49. En eso llega el de azul que se da cuenta del ful. 51. Se ha traido a la chavala que con el Búho se embala. 52. Ni Doc, ni Kovacs ni nada ya está la suerte echada. 53. Ozy logra la unidad sublimando su maldad.
54. Pero su final se trunca, pues nada termina nunca.
55. Si queréis final completo, leeros el mamotreto.
On Monday, Tokyo Metropolitan Police arrested an artist who distributed 3D images of her vagina online.
The Guardian reported that Megumi Igarashi, aka Rokudenashiko (“good-for-nothing girl”), violated obscenity laws, which do not permit the release of photos or likenesses of penises or vaginas.
Igarashi, whose vagina selfies are intended to “demystify” the female anatomy, she said, believes her art is the opposite of obscene. She has received roughly $10,000 in donations on her website from fans who believe in her cause.
“I did not know what a pussy should look like,” she wrote in a recent blog post.
She has made digital scans of her vagina into different pieces of art as well. Here’s one example, where her girl parts are made to look like a kayak: Igarashi is not alone in her curiosities that intersect the vagina with art. In April, a naked woman in Germany squeezed eggs out of her vagina. In June, a college student got stuck in a vagina sculpture, but firefighters saved him.
On Tuesday as one million people paraded through the streets of Berlin celebrating Deutschland’s first World Cup victory since 1990 and toasting delicious steins of beer, police announced a caper of epic proportions was perpetrated over the Cup’s championship weekend.
“Has anyone noticed a large amount of beer?” police asked in perhaps the most understated news release of the decade.
During the weekend, thieves stole 300,000 liters of beer—the equivalent of 140,891 six packs.
According police a thieves broke through an unguarded gate at a beer storage facility sometime after 5pm on Thursday. They loaded multiple pallets of beer into a truck, made away with it, and then brazenly came back for more.
Over the weekend, even as Goetze and his teammates led Germany to glory half a world away, the thieves stole 300,000 of beer, the equivalent to what the entire nation of Germany drinks every 18 minutes and 22 seconds, according to Wall Street Journal.
Who knows why someone steals something like 300,000 liters of beer, or say, this guy who stole 42,000 pounds of cheese. It seems like a really inconvenient thing to steal compared with things like, say, diamonds.
But who knows—perhaps those million revelers celebrating on the streets of Berlin were unwittingly buying stolen beer, unwittingly lining the pockets of some mastermind who was rooting against them in the World Cup, serving his revenge the best way—cold.
(Photo: Grist)
(Photo: Rachel Hutton)
Kenny Burrell has led over 100 albums in his long career and is the epitome of good taste and melodic swing, never playing a phrase that would be considered out-of-place or unworthy. He first recorded in 1951 with Dizzy Gillespie and was a major part of the Detroit jazz scene before emerging in New York in 1956. Burrell was one of the very first guitarists to be showcased in a pianoless trio, and when he was signed to Blue Note, he became one of the most influential guitarists in jazz.
