"It's a boy!"
the recurring chorus at Snapper Jacks on Folly last Tuesday, when local realtor Matt Loda rebirthed himself to celebrate his 30th birthday. As local rockers Dangermuffin drum-rolled a build-up from stage, a stripped-down Loda emerged from a lifeguards ring set on a table, reenacting his birth as several dozen friends showered him with amniotic fluid in the form of beer.
Pretty in Pink
Fiery calendar raises money for breast cancer research
Friday night at Torch was a celebration of street art and buxom beauties. The reason for the party at the swanky lounge? The promotion of Torch's recently released breast cancer awareness calendar, featuring 12 of the Lowcountry's most gorgeous gals. "All the proceeds go to breast cancer research," said brunette beauty and Ms. August, Shannon Bonville. You might have seen her before; Bonville often does promotions at Social, but when she met Torch owner Mike Vitale, she signed on to model for the calendar. "A couple of the shots focus on graffiti. One's on a roof top. One's at Folly. It's an eclectic group," Bonville says of the saucy images. Ms. June, Bonville's buddy Christie Trainer, was a newbie to modeling, but she proved a natural. "I was really nervous," Trainer said, "so we took our picture together." The models weren't the only ones flaunting their goodies though. As is the case at every Torch party, a body-painted lady was on hand to show off some skin. As for Bonville and Trainer (pictured above), these two calendar girls kept their clothes on for the evening. When asked if they would ever parade around the bar in nothing but bodypaint, the pair answered with a resounding, "Oh, no!" After all, these two gals know that something must be left to the imagination. And Bonville's charms evidently had the desired affect on two Citadel Cadets. When she strutted by in her pink cocktail dress, two cadets turned to each other and mouthed, "Damn!" And that is how you raise money for breast cancer: appeal to boobs and their biggest fans. — Kinsey Labberton
Got Your Goatboy
Jim Breuer stands up, his pap takes a nap
Apparently I was the only person in America who didn't know who Jim Breuer was. After seeing him at the Music Farm two Tuesdays ago, I learned that he was in Half Baked. About five minutes into his comedy set, I decided that he was still baked. I watched from the balcony as the former SNL star went on about his family and childhood, as well as himself. I was truly enjoying myself when the door to the balcony opened, and Breuer's father motioned for my roommate and me to follow him. We ended up in the green room — and for you fans of Half Baked, no, it wasn't that kind of "green" room. His dad, who is the cutest old man ever, told us that he had seen the show a hundred times and wanted us to watch his son from his seat. Naturally, we adapted well to our new location, which included drinks and munchies. (Seriously, it wasn't like that.) About five minutes after inviting us in, the elder Breuer dozed off. (Stop it. Just stop it. We're talking about his father.) For the remainder of the evening, the younger Breuer kept me laughing. His "party in the stomach" segment was a riot; it's sure to be forever etched into the minds of everybody that was at the Music Farm that night. —Melissa Xenakis
Of cell phones and the Wu-Tang Clan
Only at a Wu-Tang Clan concert would you see a white boy in the crowd attempt to discreetly hand Ghostface Killah (pictured above) a bag of weed. And only in Charleston would that bag of weed get denied after a sniff because it obviously wasn't up to Killah's Staten Island standards. The booze was flowing (and being tossed through the air), the joints were blazing , and the hip-hop hits kept coming. The majority of content came from the outfit's 1993 debut Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). Method Man stole the show with his energy, stage dives, and a speaker climb. His set rightfully tapped into a fair amount of his catalog, including "Da Rockwilder" and "Bring the Pain." The concert could've easily been billed as a Method Man show, featuring everyone else in the Wu — minus the RZA, who wasn't there, and Ol' Dirty Bastard, a.k.a. Big Baby Jesus, a.k.a. Dirt McGirt, who's, you know, dead — because the rest of the gang just hung around in the back. Ghostface Killah even decided to check his cell phone at one point while someone else was spitting the rhymes. (Just because your stage name is Ghostface, it doesn't mean that you're invisible!) Despite the other members' lack of charisma, they still dropped lyrical bombs with skill. —Susan Kamenar
Shuck It Up
Sucking down slugs at Boone Hall
In order to get to the Oyster Roast at Boone Hall on Sunday, I sat in traffic for what seemed like a couple of ticks shy of an eternity in exhaust-sucking hell. Once there, I spent nearly as long waiting in the lines of people (read: a disorganized mob) to get a beer. After these experiences, I was ready to throw in the towel and head home. But as fate would have it, the oyster chugging contest was just about to start. And it was well worth the torturous wait. During the contest, pre-shucked oysters were loaded into plastic cups, and competitors were given three minutes to suck down as many of the slimy slugs as possible. The saga that then ensued was unlike any other I had seen before: oyster sludge vs. the human gag reflex! It was fascinating stuff — enough to keep the attention of the not-so-sober audience. Of course, some of the inebriated were forced to look away, gagging and moaning about the inhumanity of it all. After the emotionally and physically exhausting contest, the contestants and the crowd needed a change, and Plane Jane provided it, capping off the fest with a set of crowd-pleasing covers that succeeded in attracting a whole mess o' Charleston women onstage. —Meaghan Stickland