Any Cockledoo

I told you about how I used to ditch school and hitchhike to Santa Cruz as a teenager, right? Well, this one time two of my friends and I were doing just that, to score a vial of liquid acid. We punks three, posted up at the entrance to Highway 17 and stuck our resin coated thumbs in the air. There's nice enough folks in the area, so you'd usually get a lift within 15 or twenty minutes. It wasn't long before a white pick-up truck with a Black Flag sticker on the back pulled over and let us cram into the cab. Let's call this guy, Jared. So Jared seems like a cool dude. He's in his twenties, kind of a rocker/skater looking bro. We get to talk, and it turns out we have some mutual friends. We blaze. He asks us why we're going over the hill, and we don't bother lying. He's pretty stoked on the idea of tripping on some legit lsd, so he gives us his number and the ride was unmarked by any weirdness or misfortune. Jared drops us off by the Boardwalk, where he says he has some business to do involving his Dad's electrician company. We speedwalk through the flats, avoiding the cholos who are virtually shoving coke and heroin at us. Once down on the Pacific Garden Mall, we skip over to hippie corner and within minutes, a guy named, get this, "Christ", says he can hook up a vial (100 doses) for $75. This is pretty decent deal, so we go with it. Cut to us down at the levy eating full eyedroppers of the acid and smoking some of that lovely Santa Cruz Mountain goodness. Jump cut to a film of us stumbling down the mall doubled over with maniacal laughter. Faces red, pupils like dinner plates, waving cigarettes around like some twisted interpretive dance. We decide that Taco Bell sounds like a good idea. Maybe not to actually eat, but rather to just observe and discuss. Why does that guy in line look familiar? Oh, shit, he's trying to talk to us? It's Jared. I can remember that much, but my attention span is completely shot. I can't really hold up my end of the conversation. "So, I take it you guys got the acid?... ride back... trip, too." I know he's trying to tell me something, so I just nod and try in vain to keep a straight face. Speaking of faces, this dude is just way too close to me while he's talking. I'm outside smoking a cigarette. My friends are there, too, but they're moving across the parking lot. Oh, yeah, the white pick-up w/ the Black Flag sticker... We're headed back over the mountains. Jared is driving, it seems, way too fucking fast. He must have eaten some of the doses, because he's rambling about the skidmarks on the center divide looking like rainbows. No shit. The stereo is on and it's really loud industrial metal. But it's kinda groovy, too. Sweaty sounding. I know this sound, it's gotta be an Al Jourgenson project. There's a lot of kinky samples, and someone keeps repeating, I think, "Gee you're looking good." [The actual lyric is Linger Ficking Good - ed]. It's really fucking me up in the best way possible... great fucking peak whilst snaking through switchbacks. The evening fog rolling down from the summit is alive... this song is fucking crazy... good times, people. Stay tuned. I'm out for now, but let the Revolting Cocks fuck you up with their psychedelic blend of grunts, and groans, and malfunctioning equipment.
...maybe you're in need of a trip.

"It's a RevCo World" (DL)

Stress Builds Character

Seriously.

My life is fucked,
as is yours.

Go to work.
Pay your bills.
Do not question.

Stay asleep.
Marry and reproduce.
Stay in debt.

Put it on credit.
Wait until tomorrow.

This is what we get.
The end is now.

[This album is perfect. I can't believe you don't own a copy.]
(DL)

"So you think you've had a real good pizza?Well, not like this!"

[Thought I would give Carnie a nod. This is Food on Stoned] A long time ago, The Onion ran this article about a new "Pizza Lovers Pizza". Now, I know The Onion is a satirical paper, but I always held onto the idea of making a pizza with smaller pizzas for toppings. Last night, the neighbors came down and we set to work making this dream a reality. I can gladly say that we put to rest any notions that there can be "too much of a good thing."

The Ingredients:


Prep:


Baked:


Fantasy? Nope, Reality:


For one:


(Thanks Ben, Sarah, and Jennie.)

About Things:

[Warning, this is not a music post.] We moved to Culver City. Killer new Apt. right below our friends, Ben and Sarah. It's a way better place than our last one,there's even a swimming pool (not that I can swim). Friendly, chill neighbors. My favorite part has to be the dining room:


Yup, I can finally play my drums daily. Expect some crap home recordings in the near future. Oh, and it's only a mile away from this sweet young thing:


Also, I finally got a new turntable, so I can start posting from my vinyl collection, which is admittedly small, but it is 90% gems. Speaking of which: does anyone have ($free$) software they recommend for digitizing records? I have Audacity, but I was hoping for something more specifically purposed for transferring vinyl to mp3, with auto-track separation and all that rigamarole. I appreciate any suggestions. Thanks guys, see you soon.

Fed up.

I went to the skatepark in East Los yesterday, and really tried to give her, but damn was it crowded. Towards the end, I crashed up with some little kid and we both went flailing through the air. Then some dude got in my face, telling me not to skate so fast, because of all the children. Fuck? Anyway, I was inspired by the experience, and I now present to you my list of Universal Skatepark rules. These rules should be violently enforced, and no exceptions shall be made.
1. No bikes, blades, scooters, snakeboards, Heelies, soccer balls, basketballs, tennis balls, or any hybrid thereof. Skateboards only.
2. No buttboarding, kneeboarding, or ghostriding/kicking skateboards out willy-nilly.
3. No tea parties on the ramps. Do not stand or sit in the middle of the park, i.e.: on the pyramid, in the bowl, in the ride-up areas.
4. If you are not riding a skateboard, go sit in the spectator area. If you are a little girl carrying a puppy, you have no business in the skatepark proper.
5. Do not practice flatground, or play S.K.A.T.E. in the ride up areas. There is plenty of flatground in the parking lot, or pretty much anywhere else you go. So go work on your shitty flip tricks somewhere away from the roll-in.
6. Do not spill or slobber your sticky food and drinks in the park. Seriously.
7. Stop painting and scribbling your shitty attempts at graffiti on the park. Go look at some real burners, and then ask yourself if your skills are even close. If not, quit uglying up the landscape.
8. Look around you. Before you drop in, take a look around the park and be aware of people dropping in from other directions.

I'm sure I could come up with a few more, but these are dead simple, and should be understood by anyone. Maybe we can get these in people's heads, and then we don't have to think of them as rules anymore. They will just be common sense. Beat kids.

Radical Friends!

Started college today. My first day in a classroom since '97. Tomorrow I'm going to have to write a bum check to get my text books. C'est la vie, right? Oh, well, I'm supposed to get a financial aid check by next week to cover the balance. Hopefully a job someday, too.

Hey, there. You got ten minutes? Then listen to this awesome little E.P. that Head Wound City put out a couple years ago. It's like a hipster (I'm using that word to define all the people that use that word. Myself, too?)all-star band: Justin and Gabe from the Locust, Cody and Jordan from The Blood Brothers, and Nick from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I'm not ashamed to admit that the Locust are in my top five favorite bands, I've got a big ass tattoo to show it. Blood Brothers put out a couple good tracks on every release. And, I guess I missed the boat on the YYY's, but they aren't terrible, by any means. The Spike Jonze directed "Y-Control" video is actually really awesome and hilarious. I read an interview once, where they talked about asking Gabe not to play so many double bass beats while recording this, which he answered with a silent, contempt-filled stare. You can find an excellent band bio here, and then pick up a t-shirt from their Myspace. Three One G is sold out of this record, but you should buy something from their catalog, they're running a pretty honest operation, with some really good bands.


Blunt Force Trauma Town

It's such a shame, the kitten with no name...

We've been adopted. At four o'clock this morning, we woke up to crying. Jennie got out of bed to see what was going on, and when she opened our front door, there was a kitten. She came back in, put some shoes on, and trailed it down to the basement, where it was hiding. By now, I was out of bed, and I came out to check out the kitty. What we got was an extremely filthy, but affectionate little, grey cat. We were unsure of what to do, and we didn't want to take her to a shelter, where she might be killed. So Jennie gave her a bath, fed her, and spent the night in the living room with her. We've been discussing getting a pet for a few months, but are still on the fence. Jennie wanted a cat, and I wanted a dog. Not that I dislike cats, I love any animal, but I have an allergy to felines. Plus, we are leaving town. We took the kitten to the vet,to see what kind of problems this stray might have, and were very surprised to find out that she has a perfectly clean bill of health. We got her first set of vaccinations, and were on our way. We scrambled to find a place to keep her. Luckily, one of neighbors said that she would feed her and such while we are gone. So, we have an adorable, 4 month old cat. She's very clingy, and seems to crave attention more than food or play. She even seems to be litter box trained. Hopefully she won't be too troubled while we're gone. Any ideas for a name? (Update: We've started to call her Fooly Cooly.)



P.S. We found a dog on pet finder that we may adopt, as well. So, it may be getting pretty crowded in here soon.

Vacation, all I ever wanted...

Alright, so I'll be out of town, and away from my hard drive for two weeks. I know, your sad, it's OK. Fetch yourself some cocoa, or better yet: some bourbon, and cozy up with a good book. I highly recommend "American Psycho" by Bret Easton Ellis. If you haven't read it yet, then I hope it's because you are illiterate. There's just no other viable excuse. It takes a while to get into the groove, and the first few chapters are just endless descriptions of what people are wearing, but it truly is one of the best novels ever written. Look up the word Psycopath, and that is exactly what you get with the character of Patrick Bateman. And don't think you know it, just because you watched the movie. There will be a test. Other books of note: "Brief Interviews With Hideous Men", by David Foster Wallace; "Guns, Germs, and Steel", by Jared Diamond; or anything by David Sedaris. I know those aren't exactly new releases, but I've got library fines, and I don't pay much attention to the new and hip.

Now, I know most of you are going to be busy during the holidays, so I'm not too worried about abandoning my post for a bit. But just in case your overwhelmed with free time, I am going to leave you with THREE albums to masticate while I am gone. Yup, I'm awesome like that. Well, not that awesome: Two of these are Rap albums (RZA got a decent response, so, why not?), and the other is an album you should have bought years ago.

First up I've got the "Blue Eyes Meets Bed Stuy" Mix tape, by DJ Cappel & Smitty. Hit em up, and buy a real copy. Who knew that Frank would get along so well w/ Biggie. I heard from a close friend, whom I'll refer to as "Nick", that these guys perform together every Friday night at a cabaret in Hell. Of course, you've got to be on pretty good terms with the owner if you're ever going to catch that show. I didn't even like Biggie until long after his demise. Now a days, I consider his work to be some of the only pure gangster shit ever created. This is a billion times better than any of those other B.I.G. tapes floating around, trust.


Next: Method Man's first solo foray, "Tical". The first of the solo Clan efforts after the "36 Chambers" album. This shit is so damn ill. Meth's voice cannot be topped, in my opinion. Even though he doesn't enunciate as clearly as a lot of cats out there, his flow is ridiculous. Nobody can touch this shit, for real. "Tical" will make even the most suburbanest, white kid feel like a god of underground funk. Sick.


Ah, the Denim Demons. The Apocalypse Dudes. The Saints of Semen. "Ass Cobra", by Turbonegro. Fucking, classic. This is the album where these boys really found themselves. No more blackface. Just Levi's and ass rockets. So many good songs on this. Like I said, you should have this already. This album and "Apocalypse Dudes" are the apex of Death Punk sensibility. Yeah, they reformed (I got to see them play, on the reunion tour), and yeah, they've put out some new albums. But this is the good shit, the china white of punk rock n'roll. Need I say more? Just get it already. Best wishes for the holidays, and I hope you all get what you want from the people you love and pretend to love, and that your greed is satisfied. Oh, yeah, all three of these are ripped at 320kbs.

Biggie and Frank
Methodtical
Turboneger

Thug Life

So, yesterday started off with a bang. Actually, two bangs. Jennie and I slept in pretty late. When we finally got up, she took a trip to the 7-11, and I hopped in the shower. While I was soaping up my parts, I heard a gunshot. "Hmmm, I think that was a gunshot? Maybe just the construction noise?", and then another loud bang. "Nope. Those were gunshots. Shit, I hope Jennie wasn't anywhere in the middle of that." Luckily, she wasn't. She had gone to 7-11, but then decided top go to the Mercado on the corner after. She was in there when the shooting occurred, and everyone started freaking out. I guess a guy on his motorcycle witnessed the shooting, and ran in to use the phone. So, more than ever, Jennie wants to get the hell out of L.A.. I don't know any more details, but I'm guessing that it was fatal: the ambulance arrived with sirens and left silent. It's not the first time I've heard gunshots in the neighborhood, but I'm bummed that it happened so close to Jennie. Otherwise, I'm kind of indifferent. I'm guessing it was the usual gangster shit, and I don't think there's much I can feel about it. It happens. It's the city. One of the kids that worked for me in the back stock of American Apparel got shot and killed in his backyard earlier this year. I was bummed, because he was a nice enough guy at work, and he did a good job, without complaining. But, he was into gangster shit, and he got killed over some minor squabble. But, like most of the people I worked with, I don't have much experience in that lifestyle. All I know is that shooting at each other is common enough, and life expectancy is low. I attended an independent study high school my junior year, in San Jose. I was definitely the minority, a white kid with blue hair, and not running with any crew. Fights broke out daily between the other students. Almost weekly, they talked about friends that had been killed over whatever these kids get killed for. I was never in the middle of any conflict, one of my classmates told me that they assumed I was crazy. I kind of am, but I definitely would have gotten annihilated if any beef came my way. I don't know what my point is. I guess I'm just saying that my capacity for compassion is almost gone. I don't care about these things, and maybe I should. Not that I want to go volunteer with youth counselors, or anything, but I feel like I should be afraid when people are getting killed a block away. But... I'm not. I just don't care.

The Return

Alright, I'm back in town. I had some important family business to attend to, but things are back to normal. Good news: I got my scanner running again, so you can expect nice album art scans, and a lot of other crap. Like this here comic:



I started this series of comics a couple years ago, but never really tried to do anything with them. Most of 'em are far to offensive to be published anywhere, but you'll find that out soon enough. I'll also add pictures to the posts, for context. Oh, and I've got a bunch of ads from old skate magazines, as well. Like this:


I actually had that board, I remember it being a slick bottom. I am also a crappy artist, and I'll put up drawings occasionally. Anyway, it's good to be home.

To all my friennnndddssss...

This is just a quick update for my friends and family.

I'm still unemployed. I haven't worked since Sept., which sounds so much better than it really is. The freelance thing did not work out at all for me. I think it's the typical, "You don't have enough experience. And we're not going to give you a job, to get that experience." So, if you've got a job, I've got the time to learn how to do it. I am so tired of watching terrible movies on Netflix, everyday. I think Jennie is tired of me watching Netflix all day, while she pays the bills. So, hire me, please. Anything involving sound, recording, mixing, or design is a huge plus. You know, if you feel like teaching.

I start school in January. Yup, ten years later than most, I'm going to college. I'll be studying English and Writing. If everything works out, I'll be a teacher in a few years. Why I want one of the most notoriously underpaid careers is a mystery, even to me. Hopefully, I'll also be able to brush up on my writing skills and get paid to do what I love: tell stories.

My cell phone is shut off. All the more reason to check this blog, leave comments, and send me e-mails.

I'm trying to skate at least twice a week. Lord knows I am full of excuses, though. Too hot. Smells like burning outside. School kids are out, and the park is going to be too crowded. No money to get in to the park, etc. By the way, I pretty much stopped street skating. I'm all about bowl-riding these days, because I don't feel like hucking myself down stairs and being chased out of spots. But shit, if you skate, and you live in L.A., hit me up. It's hard to get motivated on my own. On the same note: if you want to jam, and you've got the place to do it, I'm always down to play music. I can bullshit my way around with a guitar, or drums. Just saying.

Oh, and I'm finally learning how to get fat! I mean, not really. I still look like a twelve year old girl, but I'm getting a belly. That's what the munchies and cheap beer will do after 15 years, or so. Now, if only I could figure out how to grow facial hair, I might become a man, yet!

We got violence!

I 'discovered' punk rock when I was eight years old. I had been skating for a couple years already, and if you recall, board graphics were pretty much uniform in design. Skulls, skulls, and more skulls. (Check out Sean Clivers' book, "Disposable" for the insider's history of skateboard graphics, it rules). My first deck was a Powell Peralta, Mike McGill, with the VCJ skull and snake. Well, actually, my first board was an Alva, which I stole from some kid down the street, and spray painted/stenciled a Batman logo on. (Sorry, Jesse Goodyear). But, the first board I got at a shop was the McGill. Point being, my family soon realized that anytime they were obligated to buy anything for me, it only needed to have a skull on it, and I would think it was 'radical'. My mom had a similar affinity for morbid imagery, and had bought herself a Misfits - "Die, Die, my Darling" Tee. Which I received as a hand-me-down in '88. Curious as to what the Misfits were all about, I bought the "Legacy of Brutality" cassette. It was awesome! A few years would pass, and I would pick up a couple of other punk tapes, as well as the usual crap that's marketed to kids. Yeah, I had the "Can't Touch This" single. Yup, I liked Vanilla Ice. Uh-huh, I wanted to be in the Beastie Boys.



By '94, though, I had restricted my musical tastes to Punk and Metal. Mostly the former, as I learned that if I liked the latter, I couldn't be "punk". Headbangers, Dirtheads, and Hessians were to be ridiculed, and if your hair was past your chin, you couldn't be in the Maximum RNR-Fun time-Circle of Punx. It would be a long time before I realized what a load of shit I was falling for, but little kids are dumb, and eager to fit in. Even if it means trying your hardest not to fit in. So, yeah, 1994. I discovered Mail-Order. There was a catalog from Subterranean Records, out of San Francisco, and they had everything punk/thrash/HC/surf under the sun. I ordered about six records the first time. One of them remains a favorite to this day: Apocalypse Hoboken's "Jerk Lessons", 10".

If you don't know, Apocalypse Hoboken were from Chicago, and apparently played about a million shows at the Fireside Bowl. Me, I missed all of them. I was here, on the left coast, never venturing east of the Rockies. They released a handful of albums, and a bunch of E.P.'s and 7"s. Many of the singles and E.P.'s were collected on CD, and they released a four-disc box set in 2004, in a limited quantity, only available through the band. Oh, how I have tried to track down that box set. The thing is, I have never met anyone who has heard of this band. Not in person. I don't think they really had any fanbase outside of Illinois. Why? Beats me, because I fucking love these guys. Perhaps its due to Todd Pot's love 'em, or hate 'em, snotty vocals. Maybe it's because they took some chances, and expanded their sound throughout the years. Maybe it's just that people like me haven't tried hard enough to spread the word. I've chosen to post the "Now Is Not a Good Time", 10". Why? Because no one else has. Finding this album is damn near impossible. It's not my favorite release (that would be "Easy Instructions For Complex Machinery"), but it does have one of my all-time favorite songs, "You're Momma's a Time-Bomb". Enjoy it, because if you don't, I don't think we can be friends anymore.




"She's a woman now, and its breaking my heart" [re-upped 06/10/10]