the beautiful destruction™

2006-10-05T02:48:00.000-04:00

Transformers Trailer

OH, THE HORROR

2006-09-13T09:24:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Portrait of a working man pushed to his limits, Milton Waddams.

For months I've been teetering, tiptoeing, lightly skirting the fray of full blown workplace insanity. Oh, it would be so easy to have a meltdown, drop to my knees and begin screaming and shaking, spitting expletives from my froth-covered lips while simultaneously stapling paper and plant leaves to my legs. Could I get disability for something like this? How wonderful that would be. Though I'm sure my employer could find a way around that by propping me back up in my terribly uncomfortable chair, strapping me in and placing my heavy, seizure-frozen fingers on the crumb-covered keyboard. Oh, the horror!

Sure, I've unloaded my workplace frustrations on this blog before, but something feels different now. I feel more anxious, more antsy, more ready to escape than ever. Balancing life, work, family, and the unrelenting pursuit of my dreams has taken its toll these past couple months. I feel like I'm frozen where I sit, doomed to toil away at a totally fucked desk job for the rest of my years, no matter how hard I try -- and you must believe, I try so very hard to escape.

"I feel like I'm frozen where I sit, doomed to toil away at a totally fucked desk job for the rest of my years."

"Why vent now?" you may be wondering, "you've been shitting away your life at a plethora of desk jobs since you graduated college." Thanks for the reminder, but you see, I had this dream two nights ago that really cracked open my skull and left a large pile of rotten, radioactive shit. The only reason this dream was striking was 1.) I remembered it; I never remember my dreams. And 2.) I was extremely lucid in this moment, seeing my future, having opportunity placed before me in a twilight world, only to have it hastily snatched away as my eyelids popped open to find my alarm clock hissing at me, telling me to, "Wake the fuck up, it was only a dream dummy."

"I had this dream two nights ago that really cracked open my skull and left a large pile of rotten, radioactive shit."

In this dream, Michelle had a rich and eccentric uncle who was very excited about us (which in real life she does, but he's got no cash). However, in this dream, the role of Michelle's uncle was played by Martin Landeau. He was not himself though, rather, he was playing the role of antiquated Hollywood producer Bob Ryan, his role on the HBO series Entourage. As with most of the dreams I remember, only about five minutes were captured in my useless noggin. In this instance, Michelle's uncle drives us to an empty storefront on Forbes Avenue in Squirrel Hill. He invites us to come inside. Michelle and I are both wondering what the hell is going on, because her uncle is usually goofy, and we figure we're witnessing some sort of pyramid scheme or hustle unraveling before our eyes.

Pictured: Martin Landau (far right) as Hollywood producer Bob Ryan.

Once inside, we're caught up in the beauty of the space: two levels; hardwood floors; great lighting; tons of character; and spacious as fuck. As I'm walking around, taking the place in, Michelle's uncle (played by Martin Landau, remember) turns to us and says, "It's yours, here are the keys." And, as if that isn't reason enough for celebration, he then adds, "I just bought the whole building. I figured you could rent it out if your little idea doesn't work out."

The "little idea" that Michelle's uncle, or at least the wealthy bizarro version of her uncle, refers to in the dream, is a grand project I've had in mind for years: to open up a shop/gallery/workspace where I could centralize all my creative endeavors -- and do it as a fucking full time affair to boot.

Quickly, the sleep wore off as my alarm clock chirped its annoying chirp, and as I realized it was all a dream, I felt crushingly disappointed. It felt so absolutely real, I was actually holding the keys to the space in my fucking hand. But then, as quickly as it was handed to me, it all just evaporated. The disconnect between my waking and sleeping worlds is sometimes so very distant. But yesterday morning, these two very separate worlds of my concious and unconscious mind were co-existing in the same place. And they left that "place" a fucking mess.

"WE WILL CRUSH YOUR HEADS"

2006-09-12T10:19:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Saddam showing his softer side. Image lovingly swiped from Billy Watts.

With the mid-term congressional elections bearing down on us like an urgent, bean and watermelon-fueled bowel movement, it seems high time to interject with a dose of good old fashioned, bat shit crazy Saddam Hussein news. Yes, you may remember Saddam. He's sort of the reason American troops are thousands of miles away in Iraq right now, getting shot the fuck up, blown the fuck up, and freaked the fuck out. Well, he's still in court, on trial for the mass murder of hundreds of Kurdish villagers in 1987/1988 during Iraq's war with Iran.

Politics aside, I think we can all agree on the fact that Saddam hasn't slipped off his game one bit -- he's still out of his fucking mind. Whether you're a conservative right wing ideologue who gets off downloading man on animal, horse porn to his Blackberry while attending Sunday Mass; or a supposed left wing radical who buys his wardrobe of Che Guevara shirts at Kohl's (using his Mom's credit card nonetheless) in hopes of getting lucky with some skeezerish hippie chick because she thinks you're oh so very anti-authority -- Saddam's still a maniacal, trigger happy, beret-wearing, fatigues-loving, megalomaniac.

Anyhow, while making my morning news rounds, I spotted this interesting little article over at CNN.com, I thought some readers might find it compelling. My favorite piece of the article is when, in response to a Kurdish man's testimony recounting how he found his mother and sister's identification cards in a mass grave, Hussein kindly and compassionately replied: "You are agents of Iran and Zionism. We will crush your heads."

What a crazy motherfucker.

FOUR THE HARD WAY REVAMPED

2006-09-11T10:59:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Four The Hard Way main graphic.

The masterminds behind 12oz Prophet have revamped their online retail venture Four The Hard Way, and it looks killer. With easy navigation, either by brand or category, these folks offer a top shelf selection of books, magazine, and t-shirts, as well as a surplus of tools to unleash your inner vandal (i.e. some nice caps and the ever popular Krink from KR himself). The 12oz crew always comes correct in their approach, content, and presentation. We recommend you drop by to fulfill all your hard-to-find shopping needs.

Resources
Four The Hard Way
12oz Prophet
also known as

DEATH FROM BELOW

2006-09-07T09:40:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Sample artwork from Nicholas Di Genova's exhibition "Death From Below."

Nicholas Di Genova's first solo gallery exhibition in New York City, titled "Death From Below," opens next Thursday September 14th at Fredericks Freiser Gallery on W. 24th Street.

A few words from the artist:
"Just a quick note. On Thursday September 14th I'll be having my first solo show in NYC. If you are around the city, come on out. I've been working on the show for quite a few months now. I'm pretty excited, and terrified... mostly terrified. "Death From Below" illustrates some of the creatures from the Great Hades Geofront. Yup, new website launching very soon as well, before the show I believe. Ok, if you come out, fun times will be had."

Exhibition info:
"Death From Below"
Thursday September 14th; 6 to 8PM
Fredericks Freiser Gallery
536 W 24th Street
New York City
212.633.6555

Resources
Mediumphobic.com
Fredericks Freiser Gallery

NO PATTERN GETS A FACELIFT

2006-09-06T09:09:00.000-04:00

Pictured: "Our Meeting Went Well" t-shirt design for Threadless.

Chuck Anderson must not sleep. The latest clue leading me to this hunch is the facelift he's given to his website, NoPattern.com. Not only has Anderson put together a new book collecting some of his best work from the past several years, he's also revamped the content on his site to include some his latest design work as well as a host of new prints in his NP & CO online store. Check it out when you have a minute -- it'll be well worth your time.

Words from Chuck Anderson about himself: This site is an ongoing collection of my work both personal and commercial. I began freelancing at the age of 18 - less than a year after I graduated high school. Three years later, now 21, I have worked for clients like Nike, Microsoft, ESPN, Crispin Porter + Bogusky, and more. See below for full client list. In addition to my work, I've spoken at events and universities, am one-third of the online culture/lifestyle blog THE BRILLIANCE, and operate an online store where I sell my work and things - NP&CO. I was also a judge for the 2006 Art Director's Club 85th Annual Design Awards in NYC, a part of the always growing KDU, and won 'Best Artist' in 8th grade.

Resources
No Pattern
The Brilliance

BANKSY DOES PARIS HILTON

2006-09-05T11:39:00.000-04:00

Banksy is never one to disappoint. This time around the Bristol-based guerilla artist has concocted a way to subvert the UK release of socialite Paris Hilton's debut album. Repackaging approximately 500 copies with new cover and insert artwork as well as his own version of the music, Banksy once again reigns supreme when it comes to original ideas. Sure, it's a highly involved endeavor, but you have to give the man credit -- devilish cunning and attention to detail are what set him apart from the fray.

Read the full story here.

Check out the photos here.

RESERVE: OPEN HOUSE IN LA

2006-09-01T10:22:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Invitation to Reserve's open house this Sunday. Click image to view full size.

This weekend Naama Givoni and Rick Klotz, the masterminds behind the ever sharp Reserve boutique in Los Angeles, are holding an open house. The event also features a release for the book Russian Criminal Tattoo Encyclopedia II, which looks great as well.

If you live in the L.A. area, you should really check out the shop. However, if your a back east boy like myself, take a gander at the interior pix on Reserve's MySpace profile: click here.

Friday comes but once a week, so enjoy the post-workday bliss. My plans for the evening are extremely mellow (I am a dad now you know). Michelle and I are taking Ethan to get his picture taken--which will be his first--and then I'm looking to score a pair of new sneaks. I know, I better slow my lifestyle down or I'm liable to expire early. Ha.

CNN: TOILET TALK

2006-08-31T09:25:00.000-04:00

CNN anchor Kyra Phillips really shit the bed yesterday when she forget to turn off her mic while she was talking to a co-worker in the bathroom. Phillips' toilet talk ended up acting as voice over during President Bush's televised address regarding the one year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. However, Phillips' chatter is far more engaging than the president's. Especially when she begins bitching about her sister-in-law and what a control freak she is.

You need sound to truly enjoy this one. So turn it up.

EVIL DESIGN: WORKAHOLICS

2006-08-29T11:06:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Image lovingly swiped from Evil Design.

We received an email blast from our pal MCA at Evil Design the other day. The crew over there must really be burning the midnight oil, as they're either working on, launching, or involved with a slew of interesting projects. I've included MCA's email message below, as there are a number of great links not easily available on their website. Enjoy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
ORIGINAL MESSAGE FROM MCA/EVIL DESIGN
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just a quick rambling email to tell ya about a few things...

1.) We are having a show in Philly next Sat. Sept 2nd at Minnow Gallery. Gallery site: http://www.catchaminnow.com/
We designed the new 12” for Yah Mos Def - “Yah Mos Def is a Gang” so this show will be an art show / record release / YMD performance.
More info here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/evildesign/224874761/

We’ll have stuff on display & for sale
Stencil prints. Drawings, Custom Toys & other random stuff
Some stencils: http://www.flickr.com/photos/evildesign/225838019/

If you’re around the area – stop by and say hello.... (or pass info on to all yer philly friends).

2.) New ELDER APE produced by TOY2R out soon (Sept/Oct) http://www.flickr.com/photos/evildesign/221446017/ We’ll have some for sale, if your interested – let us know & we’ll email you when they are in

3.) 20” DUNNY for Kid Robots Paint Ball show check out: http://www.flickr.com/photos/evildesign/225468710/
Show info: http://www.kidrobot.com/paintball/
Should be a cool show & it’s for a good charity...

4.) HAACK THE WINGED WIZARD!!
the WZRD Crew will be hitting soon as part of the Red Magic Love Original toy project.
WZRD Forum here: http://redmagicstyle.10.forumer.com/viewforum.phpf\u003d35
Love Original info: http://www.loveoriginal.com/about

5) EVIL DESIGN x OWL MOVEMENT Owl Pillows! http://www.flickr.com/photos/evildesign/226167300/ edition of 106

6.) We’re still running a Girl shirt special for the rest of the month http://www.flickr.com/photos/evildesign/214515798/

That’s all for now, probably forgetting some stuff, but anyways, any thoughts/comments/questions are welcome...

Hope all is good...

MCA
Evil Design

PLUTO GIVEN THE PINK SLIP

2006-08-25T09:02:00.000-04:00

Pictured: An artist's rendering of Pluto.

While disgruntled science teachers and nit-picky astronomers have been debating its status as a planet since the days when I was sporting parachute pants and a puffy Michael Jackson mesh hat from Family Dollar, Pluto was officialy given the pink slip yesterday -- kicked out of the exclusive "Planet Club" and demoted to Dwarf Planet. It's a shame to see it go, but Pluto had a good run, especially amidst the years of debate over its planetary status since being discovered in 1930. Now, the galaxy looks a little different, at least as viewed through the eyes of the International Astronomical Union meeting in Prague this week:

"In the new solar system as defined by the International Astronomical Union, meeting in Prague, there are eight planets instead of nine, at least three dwarf planets and tens of thousands of so-called smaller solar system bodies, like comets and most asteroids."

There is a potential silver lining to all of this Pluto bashing. Perhaps all this spirited debate will next focus attention on the Walt Disney character Pluto, and we'll finally find out why so many Disney characters suck.

Resources
Vote Makes It Official: Pluto Isn't What It Used To Be (NY Times)
The International Astronomical Union
Pluto gets the boot (CNN)
Pluto on Wikipedia

THE ART OF ZACH JOHNSEN

2006-08-24T11:00:00.000-04:00

Pictured: "Family Portrait" by Zach Johnsen.

When we first stumbled across the work of Zach Johnsen, it was purely by accident. His illustrations and designs were gracing the t-shirts, prints, and accessories of a company called Tank Theory, which we later came to understand was a clothing line that he co-founded. From there we perused his online portfolio, which was, and still is, rather stunning to say the least. His illustrations evoke a sense of fantasy and mysticism, with hints of dark undercurrents that foreshadow the coming of bad things (note: see above illustration to better understand what we mean).

However, Johnsen is not solely limited to crafting images of the macabre. His keen eye for design is evident in the diverse clothing and accessory line released through his Tank Theory brand. Images of businessmen wielding chainsaws; business women brandishing Conan-like swords; and other oddities like his "Admiral Burnside" tee.

If you haven't had the good fortune of witnessing Johnsen's work (either in-person or via the ether of the Internet), we recommend that you visit the following resources. You won't be disappointed.

Resources
Zenvironments (Zach Johnsen's portfolio)
Tank Theory

CHANGE THE THOUGHT

2006-08-09T12:32:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Editorial illustration done by Cox for Rojo magazine.

Our pal, art director and illustrator Christopher Cox, recently freshened up his website by adding a super sharp online store. Check out the great t-shirt designs he's put together. My personal favorite is "Apathetic Revolution."

Resources
Changethethought online store
Changethethought blog and portfolio

NYC ART ATTACK THIS WEEKEND

2006-07-28T17:33:00.000-04:00

Pleasure Little Treasure
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
Stay Gold Gallery
ARTISTS: Hiroki Otsuka and Lisa Alisa
Opening Reception July 28th 7-10PM
July 28 – August 27, 2006
DATE: Friday, July 28th
TIME: 7-10PM
LOCATION: 451 Grand St., Stay Gold Gallery

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One Size Fits All: Artists’ T-Shirt Summer Blow Out!
Featuring Maya Hayuk, Kayrock and Wolfy, Ryan McGinness, James Morrison, and Adam Shecter.

Saturday, July 29th from 12:00 to 7:00 PM

Printed Matter Inc. is pleased to announce our first annual T-Shirt Summer Blow Out! which will take place on Saturday, July 29th from 12:00 to 7:00 PM—with a party featuring a raffle and house DJs beginning at 4:00 PM.

Printed Matter is located at 195 Tenth Avenue at 22nd Street. Hanging from the ceiling, the windows, and clotheslines draped throughout the store, artist-made t-shirts will take over Printed Matter for one day only.

Participants include a laundry list of today’s most exciting artists working on cotton: Maya Hayuk, Kayrock and Wolfy, Ryan McGinness, James Morrison, and Adam Shecter! All artists bring a unique sense of design and approach to the ever-expanding medium of artist-made t-shirts. James Morrison along with a few helping hands will be printing t-shirts made-to-order all day long. Come by and choose your color, design, and size and watch while the magic happens—then walk away with your individually designed t-shirt.T-shirts will vary in price from $20 to $100, and supplies will be limited to what is on hand, so come early! The sale begins at 12:00 and the party kicks in at 4:00 PM with Printed Matter’s house DJs and a raffle featuring one-of-a-kind t-shirts from the participating artists.

For additional information, please contact James Hoff, Director of Development at (212) 925-0325 or at jhoff@printedmatter.org.

Printed Matter, Inc. is an independent 501(c)(3) non-profit organization founded in 1976 by artists and art workers with the mission to foster the appreciation, dissemination, and understanding of artists' books and other artists' publications.Printed Matter, Inc. has received support, in part, through grants from the New York State Council on the Arts, the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs, Altria Group, Inc, the Milton & Sally Avery Arts Foundation, the Canadian Consulate General and the Government of Canada, The Cowles Charitable Trust, the CRH Foundation, Foundation for Contemporary Arts, The Gladys Krieble Delmas Foundation, the Fifth Floor Foundation, The Horace W. Goldsmith Foundation, LEF Foundation, Materials for the Arts, The Peter S. Reed Foundation, the Schoenstadt Family Foundation, The Starry Night Fund, The Roy and Niuta Titus Foundation, The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, and private foundations and individuals worldwide.

WONDERLAND

2006-07-22T01:44:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Ethan Harris Newton

Police blotter
Thursday July 20, 2006

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania -- On Monday, July 17, 2006 at 5:39PM EST, Ethan Harris Newton, the son of Matthew and Michelle Newton, was forcibly removed from Hotel Uterus for disorderly conduct which caused a one-of-a-kind "bag of water" to be broken. The 5lb, 4oz, 19" long Newton, who sometimes uses the alias "Monster," could not be reached for comment regarding the matter. Though Mr. Newton was prematurely evicted (six weeks early) from his hotel residence following the incident, no charges have been filed and he is being kept for observation at a nearby hospital. Michelle Newton, the hotel's owner and operator, is doing well and recovering from the incident.

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Author's note: There will undoubtedly be an ongoing journal of Ethan updates. The text above is simply a birth announcement circulated among friends and family. I already feel like my life has been forever altered. It's weird, my mom told me that there's this intamgible change that occurs when you become a parent. I never understood what she meant, until just moments after Ethan drew his first breaths outside of Hotel Uterus. It's late, and I'm not digging deep enough into this notion of indescribable change to properly explain. However, I tried explaining it to Michelle the other night, and it was best expressed as hope. Hope for all that you have ever wanted... to give, unconditionally, the best parts of yourself, and hope that the love you give will yield a life full of wonder, laughter, inquisitive thought, and of course even more love. Who knows, I'm certainly babbling, trailing off, as I feel somewhat drunk from the experience so far. But I also feel my life has been re-imagined... new day, new set of rules. Although Michelle and I have already trudged through tough times this week, I also feel like I'm walking through wonderland, intoxicated at the very sight of Ethan and his cherubic nose, dimpled chin, and soft, honest eyes. At this moment in his life, while he's set adrift in a sort of stumbling haze, gaining his footing and probably wondering where the hell he is, life is at its simplest. What seems most profound about this state, is that so many people strive to attain this same level of simplicity in their adult lives. But it's difficult to let all the daily shit you ingest fall by the wayside and just be. But I want to try... he makes me want to be a better person.

INTERNET MAGIC

2006-06-14T15:48:00.000-04:00

[CLICK IMAGE TO VIEW FULL SIZE]

So I stumbled across this fake advertisement while wasting precious time on MySpace. I have nothing to say about it, really. It just made me laugh when I saw it, and now I pass the fun along to you. Enjoy.

THE PAT ROBERTSON CHRONICLES PART 2

2006-06-12T12:11:00.000-04:00

Pat Robertson, the 700 Club mastermind and one-time presidential candidate, has garnered a great deal of press in recent years. The attention is due mainly to his foaming-at-the-mouth rants about his disdain for homosexuals (just watch any episode of the 700 Club), doomsayer speeches that warn of God's vengeful wrath on humanity (as retribution for our sins), and the comical/pathetic folies surrounding his rather public slip into what can only be labeled as the early stages of senile dementia (the latter statement is just an educated guess of course).

Last week, a little news story ran where Robertson made yet another far-fetched claim, boasting that he can leg press more weight than an NFL linebacker (I'm not joking). Though the story seems to have come and gone with little fanfair. I now assume most people either believe every word the man says, or have just tired of his nonstop insanity. Myself, I still find it all somewhat intriguing.

For those of you who are still interested in watching as Mr. Robertson slips rather loudly into senality, click here for the whole story.

NUMBER OF THE BEAST

2006-06-06T11:31:00.000-04:00

According to the predictions of fringe lunatics, run-of-the-mill Satan-worshippers, and fun-loving neighborhood doomsayers, we may all be nothing more than a smoldering pile of ashes by day's end. However, just between you and I, I really hope not, that would be a shitty way to start the summer. But you never know, it may very well be the day of reckoning, the apocalypse, the devil's version of judgement day, or just another good excuse for goth kids to buy even more black t-shirts emblazoned with blood-dripped pentagrams (Today's stock tip: Buy 100 shares of Hot Topic stock, then sell them before the witching hour approaches).

In honor of June 6, 2006... err, um, I mean 666, I thought it would only be fitting to compile a photo gallery commemorating the occasion. It truly is a once in a lifetime event. So, thanks to the magic of Google's image search, and the endless joy provided by amateur digital photography, Photoshop, and the chaos that is the Internet, let's get things started.

I think this is a man. However, it could be a woman. Either way, I think this hair style will be on the rise after the apocalypse, the "I'm a former sideshow clown who now wears silky warlock robes and answers only to Lord Satan" type look.

"Dude, fuck you, I'll totally have a pentagram burned onto my chest. Jah."

This photo is proof that you shouldn't believe everything you read.

Artist's detailed rendering of what humans may look like after the apocalypse. It appears we will walk rigidly, become half-man/half-animal type creatures, and our bodies will be extremely out of proportion (especially women).

What we will actually look like and the type of cars we will drive after the apocalypse.

This appears to be footage from a press conference John Kerry gave while visiting Hell.

And lastly, of course, this is the album we will listen to... forever.

MADE YOU LOOK™ | OH THE GLORY OF IT ALL

2006-05-01T12:53:00.000-04:00

Last Tuesday night, after traveling on far too many planes (big and small), and waiting for unreasonable amounts of time in several different airports (fuck US Airways), I finally returned home to Pittsburgh. As I tiredly trudged my way through the terminal and back to baggage claim, the cover of a book in the airport bookshop caught my eye. Now, admittedly, I was originally checking out the graphic design -- as I really love the design of the book's jacket. But once I began reading, I fell in love with the story, penned by McSweeney's editor Sean Wilsey.

Of course, I haven't completed the book yet (I'm actually only about a third of the way through it now). But the story, which is a memoir, truly has a unique voice. Wilsey powerfully straddles the fine line between satirical humor and heart-on-sleeve earnestness with what appears to be little effort. So yes, I recommend picking this book up, even though I haven't finished the damn thing yet.

Must get back to work...

WELCOME TO THE SHIT PARADE

2006-03-30T09:04:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Photo retrieved after typing "HBO" into Google's image search.

Winter in Pennsylvania—which is extremely long and usually cold enough to cause your nipples to snap right off your chest—is the perfect time to hibernate, whether you're a bear or a human. However, since humans cannot sleep for six months straight like our dirty, picnic basket thieving, cave-dwelling counterparts, we (the citizens of Pennsylvania) are forced to remain wide awake during this bleak, neverending season. The aforementioned weather, as well as my current disgust with eking out a 9 to 5 existence, are the reasons I've become a shameless entertainment whore (no, I'm not stripping at middle-aged womens' 40th birthday parties or hustling my "wares" for cash to crackheads downtown, though now that I mention the idea...). What I mean to say is, television has been my salvation this winter.

While I've previously confessed my love for TiVO, trash TV, and countless films in my posts, I currently have a grievance to file with my new arch nemesis: HBO. That's right, the folks responsible for such addictive television as Carnivale, Deadwood, and The Wire have really shit the bed when it comes to providing quality movies (or as they calll them, "Feature Presentations"). You see, I pay for DirectTV to be piped into the living room of my fortified woodland compound. Honestly, I'm happy to pay for it. I've got access to some great channels like IFC, Sundance, Cartoon Network, and oodles of others. However, I also have eight different HBOs. EIGHT DIFFERENT HBOs! All of which suck extremely bad.

Last night, after working late, getting home late, and eating dinner late, I decided to unwind by watching a bit of tube (this was the more responsible alternative to drinking myself to sleep). After flipping channels aimlessly for about 10 minutes, I decided to see what HBO had to offer. Now, as many of you know, HBO often plays the same two or three movies in heavy rotation. For example, last month, Ocean's Twelve played more times than I urinate in a 30 day period. Sure, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Catherine Zeta-Jones, I see the appeal of the beautiful people. But come the fuck on, why am I paying $12 a month for HBO when I could have rented the cursed movie for $4?

Which leads me to the current source of my rage. While flipping through my multiple HBOs, I stumble across a movie where a bizarre-looking and rather forgettable child actor is being followed around by a goofy and oddly animated Shaquille O'Neal. What the fuck is this shit? I think to myself. So I click the "info" button on my remote, which tells me the following:

Kazaam (1996). Starring Shaquille O'Neal, Francis Capra, and Ally Walker. Being a lone young boy in the "hood" is dangerous and unpleasant. This is what Max experiences when he fools a gang of local toughs who cornered him at school. The gang finds out that the key he gave them is of no value in committing a robbery, and they chase him through the streets of his neighborhood, bent on revenge. He tries to escape by slipping into the open door of an old warehouse, but they follow him there, too. While running from them through aisles filled with all kinds of stuff, he bumps into an old boom box. By doing that, he manages to release Kazaam, a genie who has been held captive for thousands of years. In order to stay free, Kazaam must give Max three wishes.

This is un-fucking-believable. I'm watching a terrible movie with Shaquille O'Neal that is a decade old and possibly the worst piece of shit I've ever seen, and I'm paying for this? HBO really needs to look at the big picture here. Why go to the effort of investing in all of these great original series just to subsequently shit on top of it all by playing tripe like Kazaam? Please HBO, stop the madness.

MADE YOU LOOK™ | CHRISTOPHER COX

2006-03-29T11:05:00.000-05:00

Christopher Cox is an art director and graphic designer whose currently doing some incredible work under the guise Changethethought™. I've had my eye on his work for some time now, always curious as to what his next step will be. I'm particularly digging the Black Sabbath t-shirt designs he recently did as well as his beautiful editorial illustrations for Rockpile magazine.

Mr. Cox recently updated his online portfolio, employing a rather stunning new design. Check it out by clicking here or the artwork above.

FRESHBAKED™ | MARCH 2006

2006-03-27T10:37:00.000-05:00

This month's installment of Freshbaked™—our monthly column reporting on all things fresh in music, art, culture, politics, and in between—comes on the eve of our one year anniversary. So, with that said, we've baked up an extra special edition for you, our loyal readers. We hope you enjoy.

The music of Ghislain Poirer (pictured above) is currently keeping me happy. The Montreal native pushes a beat-centered, cut and paste, sample-heavy sound, reminiscent of contemporaries like Prefuse 73, but with a whole new spin on things. Check out Poirier's latest LP, Breakupdown on Chocolate Industries when you have a chance. You won't be disappointed.

Artist David Choe, possibly best known for his surrealistic books Bruised Fruit and Slow Jams, always puts out beautiful and unorthodox work. Whether pencilling comic books, painting large installation pieces, or scrawling his larger than life spraypainted whales on California streets, Choe keeps things progressive and raw. If you haven't heard of this fella by now, you're missing out.

ARKITIP just dropped its latest installment, the Jose Parla issue.

Finally saw Capote this weekend and it really killed. I was enthralled by how interesting a time period this must have been, particularly as a writer. The birth of the nonfiction novel (i.e. In Cold Blood) and the technical difficulty of "fly-on-the-wall" reportage was truly brought to life with Philip Seymour Hoffman's portrayal of Capote.

Big Love, the new HBO original series centered around a Utah polygamist, is really holding my interest right now. It features an incredible ensemble cast: Bill Paxton, Jeanne Tripplehorn, Chloë Sevigny, Ginnifer Goodwin, and Harry Dean Stanton.

Well, that's all for this month's installment of Freshbaked™. Stay safe and enjoy the week.

BRITNEY ON BEARSKIN

2006-03-24T10:34:00.000-05:00

Before I saw the pictures, and before I read the artist's statement, I figured this must be a hoax. A "pro-life" sculpture depicting Britney Spears giving birth on a bearskin rug? You're fucking with me, right? No, I suppose this is serious—at least for artist Daniel Edwards it is.

While Britney Spears has become a punchline for late night television hosts' monologues, a steady paycheck for paparazzi (snapping photos of the pop star eating Ding Dongs, talking on her cell phone, and smoking fistfuls of cigarettes while driving), and an undying fixture in American pop culture, I'm not sure that justifies Edwards' decision to cast her in clay and proclaim her likeness be the silent spokeswoman for the pro-life movement. However, art is intended to encourage the expression of raw emotions and ideas, with each artist looking at life through a different, um, point-of-view, right? Also, as a personal aside, the look of this sculpture greatly echoes the work of art visionary Jeff Koons. But I'll leave that observation to the real art critics.

Titled “Monument to Pro-Life: The Birth of Sean Preston,” Edwards' sculpture will be unveiled during an opening reception at Capla Kesting Fine Art in Brooklyn, New York on Friday April 7th. Described as an "idealized depiction of Britney in delivery," the sculpture shows the: "Natural aspects of Spears’ pregnancy, like lactiferous breasts and protruding naval, [complimenting] a posterior view that depicts widened hips for birthing and reveals the crowning of baby Sean’s head."

Yeesh, Edwards' even took the time to include a detail like "crowning" in the sculpture? This guy is intense (mainly with regards to details that will haunt viewers). Now, if he would have sculpted the face of Kevin Federline peeking out from Spears' tattered birth canal (as an homage to K-Fed's dependency on his pop star ladyfriend) and added a Big Gulp and pack of Parliaments clutched respectively in each of Spears' hands, I'd gladly endorse this pro-life pop culture clusterfuck.

Resources
Capla Kesting Fine Art
Press release about the sculpture

INTERVIEW ROOM™ | PETER SUTHERLAND

2006-03-23T15:49:00.000-05:00

Peter Sutherland’s photographs offer candid glimpses inside lives and subcultures that fascinate and intrigue us. Whether shadowing New York City graffiti artists for his book Autograf, or capturing the trials and tribulations of NYC bicycle messengers for the documentary film Pedal, Sutherland always has his ear to the street and heart in the game. We took a moment to chat with a jet-lagged Mr. Sutherland earlier this year, after his return from a trip that took him to Australia and New Zealand.

Q: Please introduce yourself and tell the folks at home what it is that you do.

Hi, I’m Peter Sutherland, I shoot photos and make films.

Q: What initially attracted you to photography?

I always thought photography was useless as a kid, but I really liked motion pictures— movies are what really attracted me to photography. I grew up watching skate and snowboarding tapes, and movies like The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I would watch the VHS tapes until they started to turn funny colors. As I got older, I started to make my own videos—that inspired me to do photos. The first thing I ever tried to photograph was a swarm of gnats in my mother’s front yard in Colorado, I got some alright shots back and that was enough for me to get really into it. I was about 22 years old then.

Q: You just got back from Australia. What was it like and what took you there?

Australia was amazing. I was there to do an exhibition of the Autograf book at Someday Gallery in Melbourne. Someday is owned by Perks and Mini, or PAM, a super talented creative duo. Check them out, they make amazing clothing, books, fine art, and toys. The people there were very cool because they had an enthusiasm that made me feel welcome. Melbourne feels like a very young town, lots of universities and creative people. I also got to do a little road trip around New Zealand with my girlfriend Diana. It’s funny, many of the tourist maps are based on Lord of the Rings—watch out for the Orcs or whatever.

Q: Your photography is very people-based. What attracts you to a particular subject ?

When I originally started shooting I didn’t often use people as subjects, I was more into depressing landscapes and situations. As I’ve gone on shooting for the last few years I notice myself shooting people all the time. I’ve realized that one thing I really like about photography is access to a subject; it’s the personal, documentary, and voyeuristic stuff that I get really into. I tend to do projects about youth culture stuff; I think the individuals within a group are the most fascinating part of the group. There are always people that shine and become influential. I guess I find them the most interesting and inspiring to photograph. I like the challenge of photographing people in a way that compliments them or what they do.

Q: Last year, you released the book Autograf—a collection of portraits of New York City graffiti artists. Can you tell us about the book and the experiences you had while putting it together?

I had many unforgettable experiences. I met over 50 active graffiti artists. I went out one night with a [graffiti] crew to photograph them painting and we were arrested as a group and [spent the night] in holding cells in Brooklyn. I ended up getting three days of community service after being found guilty of criminal mischief. Being locked up for 18 hours opened my eyes to how much freedom I have and how lucky we all are. It also gave me insight into what graf artists deal with. Now I appreciate graf that much more and I know how risky it really is.

Q: Are you planning a follow-up to Autograf?

I have several projects planned or in-progress—some I'll finish, some will get shelved. The next thing to come out will be a book/DVD package called Road Work. It is a documentary project about bicycle messengers. The photos were taken at the 2005 World Cycle Courier Championships here in NYC and the DVD is a film I made called Pedal. Pedal is a documentary I made about NYC bike messengers; it came out in 2002, played at some nice festivals, and aired on the Sundance Channel from 2002-2004. This will be the first time it will be released on DVD, so I’m excited.

Q: What has caused you to gravitate toward documenting subject matter like graffiti and outsider art?

I look at what I’m interested in naturally. I like heavy metal, rap, soccer, cycling, graf, and so on. I feel like I could take any of those interests and make some sort of visual project from them. For me it’s a way to get deeper into something I am already fascinated with. I grew up with very specialized interests—I got really into stuff, I think this is genetic. Both of my parents seem to have addictive personalities and I think they passed that on to me. My mom once told me about how she started smoking cigarettes—she no longer smokes. She bought a pack of cigs, sat down in a diner with some friends to eat, she smoked one cigarette, then she smoked 19 more in the same sitting and then she was a smoker for the next ten years. My brother is pretty focused also. I can see the addictive qualities in him. I think a lot of the youth culture and outsider art stuff is created by people with special interests and refined sensibilities about what they are doing and that is forever interesting.

Q: I know you also work in film--specifically documentary-style projects. When did you become involved with filmmaking?

I moved to NYC in 1998. I didn’t know anyone. I was bored and lonely, girlfriendless, and working at a sucky restaurant. I really needed something to put my energy into. Mini DV was a big craze then and everyone was talking about how you could make your own films with these new cameras. I bought a Sony VX 1000 and started shooting skateboarders downtown. I did that for about six months and then started becoming interested in filming other things, which led to me shooting docs.

Q: Before we finish, do you have any closing words or sage advice for our readers?

If you want to do something, it’s up to you to do it.

Autograf is currently available from powerHouse books. For further information about Peter Sutherland’s work, visit www.petersutherland.net.

MADE YOU LOOK™ | ZACHARY FLAGG BALDUS

2006-03-22T11:53:00.000-05:00

For this latest installment of Made You Look, I'll keep it brief. Zachary Flagg's work really speaks volumes, so there's not much need to ramble on and convince you to dig deeper. His illustration is truly something to behold. Check out the link to his website below, or just click the artwork above. There's oodles of beautiful work to peruse. Enjoy.

Resources
Zachary Flagg Baldus
Meathaus profile

GANGSTER ADMINISTRATION

2006-03-21T13:18:00.000-05:00

With the one year anniversary of this blog fast approaching, I've decided to up the ante: High quality posts on a regular basis. Yes, I've said it before and faltered. However, I'm hoping to make good on the promise this time around. In anticipation of this anniversary, look for a collection of new material, greatest hits, and subtle design changes in the coming weeks. In the meantime, check out this killer video* I stumbled across during my Internet travels. You have to watch this with the sound on.

*Sniped from Newstoday.

RICK RUBIN & METALLICA

2006-03-21T10:29:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Russell Simmons & Rick Rubin; circa 1980s.

For their last album (the rather disposable St. Anger), Metallica attempted to attract old school fans by saying they'd returned to their roots and by having longtime artistic collaborator Pushead handle illustration duties for the album sleeve. Personally, I had no faith that the album would be good. The sound was stripped down and boring, much like everything Bob Rock (the architect of Metallica's commercial success yet critical downfall) has produced for the band. And, for the most part, I've not cared about a single Metallica album since And Justice For All.

With that said, I must admit my interest was piqued when I read that Rick Rubin is being brought on board to produce the band's next album [click here for the article]. While Metallica's decision making and artistic skills have been hindered for more than a decade, this could very well be their smartest choice since kicking out guitarist Dave Mustaine.

Rubin's vision as a producer is impeccable. While his choice of artists is not always to my liking (i.e. System Of A Down, etc.), the signature sound that he coaxes from his artists is a feat I've always admired. His most critically-acclaimed work in recent years had been his collaboration with the late Johnny Cash. However, he's also produced albums that have been overlooked by the mainstream music press. Of most recent note was Saul Williams' Amethyst Rock Star, released on Rubin's own American Recordings label in 2001.

Let's just say I'm cautiously optimistic about this new pairing. I just wonder why it took Metallica so long to consider working with Rubin. Slayer has known that Rubin is the cat's pajamas for the past 20 years.

MOB RULES

2006-03-20T09:46:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Mia and Maxx, relaxing in the sun.

Michelle and I recently convened a family meeting, as we had some changes and official business to discuss with our feline housemates. We decided it would be best to meet in the living room, since the seating is to our liking and the choice of location would raise the least amount of suspicion. Maxx curled up in his plaid cat bed on the far chair, and Mia of course joined Michelle on the couch, tucked neatly on her lap. At first, both cats stared at the television, but soon realized we weren't looking to entertain ourselves with the usual medley of sitcoms and trash TV. No, they realized something else was afoot.

"We called this meeting to discuss some news we have," I said, my knee nervously bouncing up and down. Michelle looked at me, her eyebrows raised, urging me to continue. "You see, your mother and I have been, for some time now, talking about expanding the family." Mia's gray and white speckled ears perked up at this point, her head tilting slightly to one side. In contrast, Maxx began snoring, as he's usually not interested in family business and viewed this as yet another opportunity to nap. Undeterred by Maxx's poorly-timed laziness, however, I continued.

"We always said that we wanted to see Europe before starting a family, which we kind of did this past September when we went to Germany and The Netherlands. But, after we got back, your mother and I discussed having a baby." Mia, obviously distressed, lowered her head and rested her chin on Michelle's knee. At the same time, the pink of Maxx's nose popped up from behind the cushy plaid of his bed and he glared at me for a moment with a look of concern, then fell back asleep.

"Come on people, what's the matter with you, this is exciting news I'm trying to tell you. You'll soon have a [fleshy] little brother or sister!" Mia stood up, stretched, yawned, shook, and hopped down from the couch. Maxx stayed sleeping. Michelle and I just looked at each other.

"I thought they'd be more excited," I said.

"They are cats," Michelle said.

"Right, right."

AMERICAN SPLENDOR: HARVEY PEKAR

2006-02-28T10:52:00.001-05:00

Pictured: Cleveland's own, Harvey Pekar.

Editor's note: While I had seen the book "American Splendor" on the shelves at comic shops much of my life, I never picked up a copy. For me growing up, if it wasn't a superhero title, I didn't care for it. But, after seeing the film American Splendor several years ago, I finally got to understand and enjoy the brilliance of Harvey Pekar. Also, as I get older, I have a much greater apprecation for the boundlessness of comics as a medium. With his writing, Harvey shows that the complexities of daily life are often as interesting as the elaborate, fictional worlds created in comics like Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, or Superman. So, this post is intended to introduce Harvey Pekar to those who haven't already become acquainted with his work. I hope you enjoy.

About Harvey Pekar:
*Text from Harvey Pekar's website

Cleveland, Ohio native Harvey Pekar is best known for his autobiographical slice-of-life comic book series "American Splendor", a first-person account of Pekar’s downtrodden life. The series has been published on an approximately annual basis since 1976. Pekar self-published the series until the early 1990s, when Dark Horse took over publication. In 1987, Pekar was honored with the American Book Award for the series. Dark Horse celebrated the 25th anniversary of "American Splendor" in 2001 with a special issue.

"American Splendor" is illustrated by high-profile artists such as Robert Crumb, Frank Stack and Joe Sacco. The comic strip's international appeal was also made evident through Pekar's collaboration with comic book illustrator Colin Warneford of Gateshead, England for the aptly-titled issue "American Splendour: Transatlantic Comics."

Pekar began his writing career as a prolific music and book critic. His reviews have been published in The Boston Herald, The Austin Chronicle, Jazz Times, Urban Dialect (a paper native to Cleveland), and Down Beat Magazine, among many other journals. His critiques are available on the Internet at numerous websites and dispersed amongst personal homepages from his devoted fans. Pekar also collaborated with his wife, Joyce Brabner, on a book-length autobio comic "Our Cancer Year" (Four Walls Eight Windows).

Pekar began working on a freelance basis with the critically acclaimed, award-winning radio station WKSU on April 12, 1999. Since his debut at the station, he has been honored with two prestigious awards. In July 2000, he was awarded first place in the PRNDI (Public Radio News Director’s Incorporated) "Commentary/Essay" section for his piece, "What's In a Name." In March 2001, RTNDA (Radio-Television News Director’s Association) honored Pekar with a 2001 Regional Edward R. Murrow Award for Best Writing for his piece "Father’s Day." The piece was entered into the national awards competition of the same name.

Pekar has made two cameo appearances in films and appeared on "Late Night with David Letterman" eight times between 1986-1988. It was Pekar's interest in politics, and specifically NBC's affiliation with General Electric, that got him banned from the show. Eventually he was asked to return and Pekar made two more appearances in the early 1990s.

Despite keeping himself extremely busy with all of his contributions to various kinds of media, Pekar maintains a very low profile in Cleveland. In 2001, he retired from his job as a full-time file clerk at the local VA Hospital, where he had worked since 1966. He lives with his wife Joyce and they are the proud guardians of 15-year-old girl, Danielle.

Related links

Harvey Pekar's official website
American Splendor official film website
Harvey Pekar appearance on Letterman
R. Crumb official website
Joe Sacco's Fantagraphics profile

MADE YOU LOOK™ | LEMON

2006-02-27T10:58:00.000-05:00

Pictured: The debut issue of Lemon, from the creators of GUM.

This weekend, while perusing the magazine section at Barnes & Noble, and feeling very bored by everything that I saw, I spotted the corner of a magazine that piqued my interest. Tucked behind 20 other magazines, and so wedged in the rack that it was almost touching the florescent tube lights inside the shelf, I carefully slid the magazine out from what could have very well been its final resting place.

I anxiously opened up the book and began carefully leafing through the pages. This thing is fucking beautiful, I thought to myself. Not only is the magazine large format (12" x 12" at least), the cover has a stunning veneer with some sort of laser-cut icons on it. Plus, the interior is layed out and designed with the utmost attention to detail. And, what's most impressive, is that Kevin Grady and Colin Metcalf (the fellows responsible for Lemon) didn't skimp on content as so many glossy design-centric magazines often do.

The content includes a tribute to Bill Murray; a last page column penned by JT Leroy, Lemon's editor-at-large and now infamous literary figure; a special music section that's layed out like a comic book and features Aesop Rock, Annie and one other artist I'm forgetting; and a host of other great stuff. Oh yea, and there are Lemon-scented inserts throughout the book that act as guideposts/mini table of contents. However, these are the guys that put together GUM Magazine, so Lemon is only a natural progression. Impressive, most impressive.

Related links
Lemon Magazine
GUM magazine

DON KNOTTS | REST IN PEACE

2006-02-27T09:01:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Don Knotts as Barney Fife on The Andy Griffith Show.

On Friday night, comedic legend Don Knotts died of pulmonary and respiratory complications at a California hospital. While Knotts' career in show business spanned more than 4 decades, his most iconic role was as the hapless Barney Fife on The Andy Griffith Show. For the folks from my generation though, he'll always be remembered as Mr. Furley, the aging bachelor landlord from Three's Company.

Click here for an article about Knotts' life and career.

Related links

Don Knotts' official website
Vintage Dodge Adventurer ad with Don Knotts

BUSINESS AS USUAL

2006-02-21T18:18:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Bicyclist in attendance at the BFF; Photo by Peter Sutherland.

I've been keeping extremely busy the past month or so, hence the lag on fresh posts around here. My apologies. So it seemed only appropriate that, while I'm tidying up the content, I hit you off with a big update.

I just wrapped up a bunch of diffferent writing projects. I penned a biography for the gentlemen from Zombi (Relapse records), an incredible two-piece band that fuses the technicality of prog rock with dense, mulit-layered instrumentals. Check out the bio here and try to catch them live during their current Winter/Spring tour. My article about the Bicycle Film Festival, that I collaborated on with friend and photographer Peter Sutherland, drops in this month's issue of Anthem Magazine. It's called "Pedal-Powered Revolution." You can check out an excerpt by clicking here.

For the latest issue of The Drama (available now), I sat down and chatted with Detroit native and artist extraordinaire AJ Fosik, for a feature titled "Fables & Folktales." Fosik's work is rather incredible (see the related links for a peek at his work) and worth your time. Check out the new issue by clicking here. Lastly (at least for the moment), at the end of January I released a new zine called Dungeon through Poison Control. It's stocked to the gills with interviews, essays, and site-specific artwork, and it's only $3. Please email me at info@poison-control.com if your interested in purchasing a copy.

Well, I think that's all the shameless self-promotion I can handle for now. It's time to catch up on watching all the shit I've got on my TiVO.

Related links

Official Zombi website
Relapse Records
Anthem Magazine
Bicycle Film Festival
The Drama
AJ Fosik
Poison Control

SETH FISHER | REST IN PEACE

2006-02-21T16:40:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Artwork for Fantastic Four: Big In Japan by Seth Fisher.

Though I'm a longtime comic book reader, I only recently (last year) discovered the work of Seth Fisher. A close friend recommended I check out his work. I was really taken by Seth's distinctly original style. The lush colors, extensive detail, and inherent humor in his artwork was strikingly fresh. I was very sad to hear that such a young and talented artist (who was also a husband and father) had died. Rest in piece.

Here is a brief message, written by Seth's sister, about his untimely death:

"It's much too soon, but the Flowering Nose will flower no more. Seth has died (July 22, 1972 to January 30, 2006). Monday, January 30th Seth Fisher died accidentally from a fall. His death was sudden, swift, and a great loss to us all. His funeral and cremation occurred on February 2nd in Nagoya. Condolences can be sent to his wife Hisako and son Toufuu via the contact information on this site."

Related links

Official Seth Fisher website
Silver Bullet Comics interview
Comic Foundry interview

MADE YOU LOOK™ | SERGE SEIDLITZ

2006-02-07T15:04:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Teen Wolf by Serge Seidlitz.

Name: Serge Seidlitz
Classification: Illustrator
Official website: www.sergeseidlitz.com

Editor's note: When I first stumbled across Serge's work, my jaw dropped open, and a little bit of drool collected in the corners of my mouth. Not only is he a prolific artist, his work consistently conveys a sense of quality and craftsmanship. This shit is superb. Matthew Newton

An English/ German hybrid, born in Nairobi, Kenya in 1977, Serge grew up traveling between the UK and Asia, he studied graphic design at Camberwell College of Art, graduating in the class of 2000, he currently resides in London working as a full time illustrator. His website is updated as regularly as possible. *Bio sniped from Imperfect Articles website (linked below).

Related links
Imperfect Articles
Debut Art
PinPops
Flavorpill

CITY OF CHAMPIONS

2006-02-06T12:01:00.000-05:00

Pictured: One for the fuckin' thumb.

For anyone born in late 1970s Pittsburgh, it's safe to say that growing up in this city has been a strange but beautiful experience. While I love Pittsburgh, and still reside here to this day, the city has always felt like a town lost in the shuffle of modern society. After the city's major steel mills closed down in the late 1970s and early 1980s, and the Steelers stopped winning Super Bowls, it seemed as though the eyes of the nation stopped looking our way. I even recall, while watching one of VH1's multitude of "I Love the 70s" shows, a smug and tragically-untalented commentator saying something along the lines of: "After the 70s, we all just forgot about Pittsburgh." While the same nonchalant and condescending tone could be attributed to the underwhelming career of any commentator involved with VH1's programming, Pittsburgh and Pittsburghers in general are a far more resilent bunch.

That's what makes the Steelers Super Bowl championship so awesome. It completes a circle with the city's storied past -- i.e. the Steelers dynasty of the 1970s -- while looking forward to what we all know will be a bright and prosperous future.

Related links:
Post-Super Bowl win 1979

REBEL ALLIANCE | FRIDAY JANUARY 27TH @ 9PM

2006-01-24T11:52:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Dungeon poster by Owl Kahol Systems.

Rebel Alliance Friday January 27th at 9PM
The Zenith. 86 South 26th Street.South Side.
Tel: 412-481-4833

You are cordially invited to attend REBEL ALLIANCE, a new and ongoing event celebrating outsider art, renegade journalism, and avant-garde and experimental music. Here is a sampling of the evening's program:

[SPECIAL ZINE RELEASE]

Dungeon, a new quarterly zine published by Poison Control,features exclusive interviews, original essays, andsite-specific artwork from both emerging and establishedwriters, photographers, illustrators, and graphic designers.

[ART OF REBELLION]

Buda, sfaustina, Mike Green, Maya Hayuk, Jupiter 73, Kemical Phuture, Ladyboy, Jamie Matthews, Owl Kahol Systems, Poison Control, Tyler Stout, Peter Sutherland, Sophie Toulouse, and The Yok incite a visual riot.

[RADICAL READINGS]

David Cherry, Melissa Meinzer, Matthew Newton, and Matt Stroud fan the flames of discontent with their outlaw wit and razor sharp tongues.

[MUSICAL REVOLT]

Soulcialism deejays handle crowd control with an arsenal of Northern Soul.

For further information:
www.poison-control.com

MADE YOU LOOK™ | LISA ALISA

2006-01-10T13:07:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Artwork by Lisa Alisa.

Name: Lisa Alisa
Classification: Illustrator
Official website: www.lisa-alisa.com

Lisa Alisa's Art is metaphoric self biography at its core. All the girls in the paintings carry close resemblance to the author.

Her art has stirred up controversy on a number of occasions. Some criticize violence, and others are appalled by the young age of the models. To which Lisa replies:

"Life is a violent and beautiful thing, you die from it. My art is nothing but a portrayal of everyday life.

Every person has to do things they don't like. There is very little actual freedom in our existence, due to social and economical restraints.

Your soul, which is a young child forever, is exposed to suffering and anguish, whether you accept it or not.

My art explores the depth of horror, dreams of nonchalance, and aims to bring a catharsis."

*Biography borrowed from the artist's website.

Related links

Poison Control
Shooting Gallery San Francisco
Fecal Face interview
Vapors interview
Hoard interview

THRASHER x POISON CONTROL

2006-01-06T09:59:00.000-05:00

Thrasher magazine wrote up Young & Reckless in the "Zine Thing" department of their February 2006 issue. Thanks to Wez, the dude that runs that department, for a great review. I'll post the review in the next day or so.

KISS IT GOODBYE

2006-01-05T08:53:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Tim "Chef" Close in "party mode" on NYE at the Newton compound.

Sure, it would seem the statement "everything's more fun in party mode" is an obvious one. Who wouldn't love to be in perpetual party mode most of their days? However, please remember that in life there are two types of party mode: 1.) Intoxicated with lampshade on head, sock on penis, and trouble in your future and 2.) The Nikon Cool Pix version of party mode (please see Exhibit A pictured above). Ah, drunk people with digital cameras.

Happy New Year!

PS: New posts coming soon. I must first unearth myself from the post-holiday malaise.

DAVE CHAPPELLE VS. DARK CRUSADERS

2005-12-20T13:10:00.000-05:00

Everybody remembers Dave Chappelle, right? He had a great show on Comedy Central called Chappelle's Show -- which was brilliant. Then he supposedly freaked the fuck out, disappeared in the midst of taping the third season, and holed up in South Africa to get his head straight. Well, now an anonymous online author (come on, at least make up a fake name) has concocted an extremely elaborate conspiracy theory that basically implicates a who's who of black leaders and celebrities as the secret cabal (btw: according to the author, they call themselves the Dark Crusaders) that took down Chappelle.

The whole thing is pretty funny, even outlandish. Though I believe it's intended to be serious. Also, it's super fucking long. That's why I didn't bother posting the contents here.

Here it is, The Chappelle Theory.

WELCOME TO SLICKVILLE

2005-12-19T16:16:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Front page image on Slick's official website.

Not much needs to be said here. Slick is a legend. When I think of graffiti, and how I was first introduced to it, Slick's work provides the visuals to those memories. Even though he hails from L.A., and my friends and I were doing graffiti in Pittsburgh, Slick's pieces and elaborate productions were plastered on every graffiti zine you could pick up in the early 90s. His character designs are top notch, untouchable; his letters are equally as badass.

Slick recently launched his official website. Check it out for yourself here.

MADE YOU LOOK™ | BLAKE E. MARQUIS

2005-12-19T10:20:00.000-05:00

Pictured: "Bye NYC" artwork by Blake E. Marquis.

Name: Blake E. Marquis
Classification: Graphic designer, typographer, and illustrator
Official website: www.camecrashing.com

I first stumbled upon Blake E. Marquis' work several years back during one of my spiraling Internet scavenger hunts. It's strange how you can get lost in a maze of links when online -- it's like the ultimate example of attention-deficit disorder. Anyhow, I remember being pleased once I found Marquis' website. Not only did the domain name, Came Crashing, really strike me, but Marquis' spare yet salient graphic design and typography had such a fresh look to me. This weekend, after receiving a box of Swindle mags in the mail, I was pleasantly surprised to see Mr. Marquis' grill in the contributors section and pretty fucking happy to see his work throughout the book. Good work bro, keep it up.

In somewhat related news: If you're so inclined, and pick up the latest issue of Swindle (#5), you'll see that I have two pieces: One article, titled "Musical Graffiti II", is the latest installment in an ongoing series where I research the history of band logos and typography -- always a fun time. The other article, however, is the magnum opus of my writing career. It's an article titled "Eve of Destruction" and it delves deep into the Cambodian Holocaust of the late 1970s (i.e. does the name Pol Pot sound familiar?). I interviewed an incredible group of people and felt humbled in their presence -- especially the interview I did with holocaust survivor Arn Chorn-Pond. He's an extremely inspiring individual. If I could do important work like this every day of my life, I'd be an extremely happy person.

RELATED LINKS

Swindle Quarterly [Check out Blake's work in issue 5]
Arn Chorn-Pond

SAGITTARIAN SPECTACULAR

2005-12-14T11:59:00.000-05:00

This coming Saturday, I'll be reading an essay, along with an assemblage of other writers [see roster above], at Incredibly Thin's Sagittarian Spectacular at Brillobox. If you're in the area, please check it out. The event looks to be very exciting.

Here's the official word about the event from Incredibly Thin:

One fantastic night of READINGS! ARTWORK! PHOTOGRAPHY! PRINTWORK! FILMS! & MUSIC! by over 35 remarkable individuals at the Brillobox in Lawrenceville/Bloomfield. Come out and support local artists!

Related links
Incredibly Thin
Poison Control

WRITERS' BLOC [REVISITED]

2005-12-13T09:45:00.000-05:00

Pictured: "Writers' Bloc" cover story from the Pittsburgh City Paper.

My feature about Pittsburgh graffiti received a letter to the editor last week. Written by a local gentleman named Jacob Bacharach, the letter offers an entirely different perspective on graffiti. Although Mr. Bacharach's reply is wordy and spends a good bit of time stroking his own ego (it appears someone spent some time in academia), his veiled insults and the rare moments when a cohesive thought arises from the twisted wreckage of his sentences offers readers a counterpoint of sorts. Please feel free to include your comments about graffiti culture and/or Bacharach's response in the "comments" portion of this post. I've also included some seen and unseen photos from the story in this post.

Pictured: ONOROK freight; photo courtesy of PRISM.

Bloc heads

Were it not for the sympathetic fatuity of the Matthew Newtons of this world [“Writers’ Bloc,” Nov. 22], graffiti would now occupy its rightful place in the pantheon of visual mediums -- just above the works of Thomas Kinkade, just below the occasionally lovely works of our better painters-by-number.

Pictured: Force One wall piece; photo courtesy of Sesk.

Unfortunately, Newton isn’t alone in the delusion that illegality confers authenticity, nor is he alone in believing that historicity indicates legitimacy. He believes, as do too many other crass revolutionaries, that prohibitions of actions inherently commend them to practice. That most graffiti writers can at best manage black-line tags scrawled ad infinitum on squalid alley walls and street signs is irrelevant to such judgments. Merit is irrelevant. Newton sees the amateurish shadows on the wall and intuits himself to the perfect Platonic forms in the light near the mouth of the cave. In all the pieces featured in his story, the nearest approach to political content is the predictable transposition of “ph” for “f.” First Webster’s, then the world!

Pidtured: AZO 2 tag; photo courtesy of Sesk.

I’m generally a fan of rebellion against the behavioral strictures of the state, aesthetically and otherwise. Every decent observer of American culture since de Tocqueville has come away with the same caveats about the stultifying conformity of Americans’ social and cultural lives. But graffiti isn’t illegal because a sinister cabal wishes to quash a fountainhead of youthful creativity. It isn’t reprobated because it offends some imaginary bourgeois sensibility of the philistine masses.

Pictured: Prism wall piece; photo courtesy of Prism.

Graffiti is legally, aesthetically and culturally anathema because so much of it is so very ugly and bad.

Whatever political content and social relevance the form may have once possessed, it’s now devolved into the sort of asinine look-at-me-ism that wouldn’t be out of place on a second-rate hip-hop album. As for its aesthetic aspect, elaborate spray-painted graffiti was appropriated and subverted by high art and its expensive galleries before the end of the ’80s. It was never terribly original to begin with, and now, a couple of decades later, its callow and repetitive style is both empty and embarrassing. Note that in his introduction and the several pages of interviews that follow, Newton says next to nothing about the so-called art featured so prominently in the photographs. He fails to do so for a single overriding reason: There’s nothing to say.

Pictured: "Reunion" piece in Pittsburgh early 1980s (artist unknown); photo copyright Henry Chalfant.

In Pittsburgh, at least one gallery opened a show featuring many of graffiti’s supposed artists -- only to find its own exterior walls crudely tagged the next morning. Perhaps it was the Pabst. (Actually, it’s almost always the Pabst, which, like absinthe before it, is more useful to pretenders to an art than to actual artists.)

Graffiti isn’t art; it’s vandalism. What’s more, it isn’t vandalism for any political purpose other than the petulant, adolescent insistence that the standards of decent behavior toward one’s own community don’t apply simply because they’re standards. It’s childish and destructive, and to find such childish destruction trumpeted as a venerable tradition in the pages of a publication ostensibly concerned with the uplift of the city of Pittsburgh is most depressing of all.

-Jacob Bacharach, Lawrenceville

FRESHBAKED™ | DECEMBER 2005

2005-12-02T13:32:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Graffiti writers Badroc and Buda, early 1980s Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Photo copyright Henry Chalfant.

Yep, it's that time of the month again, where we hit you off with a big 'ol list of the shit we're working on or are currently diggin' -- music, books, art, everyday life type shit, whatever. This month we've got a laundry list/clusterfuck of things that have no rhyme or reason. But that's what it's all about right? So, without further ado, let's get started.

Though I'm no shredder like Joe "Satch Boogie" Satriani, I've been playing guitar since before I grew in my puberty mustache -- you know, the transparent catfish lookin' thing all teenage boys think looks good (btw - I never actually had one of these, err, really). Lately, I'm really liking the look of Gibson's SG Special Faded guitar. The "worn brown" wood version is just fucking beautiful. This would make a nice Christmas present... hint, hint, hint.

On a more art-oriented tip, my man Cody Hudson and his Struggle Inc. design studio are always worth checking in on. Plus, don't miss my feature on Cody in the latest issue of Straight No Chaser -- on newsstands now. Also, when you have a chance, you have to check out this PDF magazine called Candy -- it's a top notch affair. Great design, elegant layout.

Recently, I collaborated with my pal Peter Sutherland (photographer) on an article for Anthem magazine about the Bicycle Film Festival in San Francisco. A fella by the name of Brendt Barbur runs the festival, which celebrates urban bike culture in an entertaining and comprehensive way. Look for the article in the next couple months.

This one's precious: David Cross Vs. Larry The Cable Guy. It seems there is some sort of feud brewing, to which I was unaware. The aforementioned link is David Cross's lengthy rebuttal to some shit Larry The Cable Guy said in his autobiography. Git-R-Done Cross, Git-R-Done.

Last but not least, here's a link to an article I wrote for the local alt-weekly, the Pittsburgh City Paper. The article's titled WRITERS' BLOC and is a 25 year retrospective of Pittsburgh graffiti culture. The hard copy version has a nice spread of color photography and boasts several never-before-seen photos from acclaimed hip-hop and graffiti historian Henry Chalfant.

Until next we meet, stay safe.

xoxo

Mr. Newton

PS: Fuck Fox for cancelling Arrested Development. And, while I'm at it, and still unable to accept it, fuck HBO for cancelling Carnivale.

MADE YOU LOOK™ | SHAOLIN COWBOY

2005-11-29T11:39:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Geof Darrow's Shaolin Cowboy.

Geof Darrow is a badass -- he's always been a badass. The first time I stumbled across his work was in 1990, when he and Frank Miller teamed up for a comic book mini-series called Hard Boiled -- which followed a tax collector turned psychotic cyborg through an extremely violent and surrealistic world. Hard Boiled has always been a bench mark of sorts in my comic reading. So I was pretty excited when my friend Gregg informed me that Geof Darrow had a new comic called Shaolin Cowboy -- released through the Wachowski Brothers' Burlyman Entertainment. This time around, Darrow is the creator, writer, and illustrator. I have yet to locate the comic, but the previews I've been checking out online look incredible. The art appears to be top notch as always, and it seems there's no lack of bloodshed, violence, or cynical humor -- all of which is good stuff.

Related links
Darkhorse Comics
Burlyman Entertainment

SABBATH BLOODY SABBATH

2005-11-28T12:20:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Black Sabbath promo photo circa 1970s.

It's been a long time coming, but finally, a slew of important (and often commercially overlooked) bands are being inducted into the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame -- most importantly (in my opinion), Black Sabbath [Read the full article here].

Along with Sabbath, the Sex Pistols and Blondie will also be honored.

MADE YOU LOOK™ | JAMES JEAN

2005-11-21T11:41:00.000-05:00

Pictured: "Shinedown" illustration by James Jean.

Name: James Jean
Classification: Illustrator and painter
Official website: www.jamesjean.com

James Jean was educated at the School of Visual Arts in New York and earned his BFA in 2001. He currently lives in Los Angeles.

Clients include DC, the New York Times, the Washinton Post, TIME, Simon & Schuster, Warner Books, Scholastic, Atlantic Records, Elektra Records, Interscope Records, Mother Jones, NYLON, Playboy, Popular Science, Burton, SPIN, Men's Health, Men's Health Germany, Runner's World, Upper Deck, TOR Books, ESPN the Magazine, Columbia University Magazine, Future Music Magazine, Target, Baseline, Security Management, Archaeology, Society for Human Resource Management, TORO Magazine, Marvel, the New York Academy of Sciences.

Awards include Gold Medal Society of Illustrators LA, Eisner Award Best Cover Artist 2004 & 2005, Harvey Award Best Cover Artist 2005, American Illustration 22, 23, Society of Illustrators 45, 46, 47.

Related links
Polite Winter
Process Recess

MANIC MONDAY: ESCAPE FROM BEIJING

2005-11-21T10:30:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Bush foiled by confounded Chinese locks.

BEIJING — Irked by a reporter who told him he seemed to be "off his game" at a public appearance here, President Bush sought to make a hasty exit from a news conference but was thwarted by locked doors.

At the end of a day of meetings with Chinese President Hu Jintao and other officials, Bush held a session with a small group of U.S. reporters and spoke at length about religious freedom, the Iraq war and the value of China's currency.

The final reporter he called on assessed Bush's performance earlier in the day when he stood beside Hu in the Great Hall of the People near Tiananmen Square to deliver a statement.

"Respectfully, sir — you know we're always respectful — in your statement this morning with President Hu, you seemed a little off your game, you seemed to hurry through your statement. There was a lack of enthusiasm. Was something bothering you?" he asked.

"Have you ever heard of jet lag?" Bush responded. "Well, good. That answers your question."

The president then recited a list of what he viewed as positive developments from his meetings in Beijing, including cooperation on North Korean nuclear disarmament and the ability to engage in "frank discussions" with his Chinese counterpart.

When the reporter asked if he could have "a very quick follow-up," Bush cut him off by thanking the press corps and telling the reporter, "No, you may not," as he strode toward a set of double doors leading out of the room.

The only problem was that they were locked.

"I was trying to escape. Obviously, it didn't work," Bush quipped, facing reporters again until an aide rescued him by pointing him toward the correct door.

*Sniped from the LA Times [Click here for the original article].

MADE YOU LOOK™ | MATT CLARK

2005-11-20T07:00:00.000-05:00

Pictured: 'Big Game" illustration by Matt Clark.

Name: Matt Clark
Classification: Illustrator and animator
Official website: www.manbaby.com

Matt Clark is an illustrator. When he’s drunk, he also claims to be a fine artist. He was born and raised in New York but lives in Portland, Oregon now. His work has been featured in a wide variety of clout-wielding publications, and has been exhibited in Berlin, London, Barcelona, Madrid, Paris, Rome, Zurich, Tokyo, Seattle, and Los Angeles. Oddly enough, he has never had a show in New York, where most of his friends and family still live. Life is funny.

Related links
Robot The Robot

REAGAN ERA COMMERCIAL BLITZKRIEG

2005-11-19T09:00:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Skeletor's pissed.

Remember when the commercials for toys used to be almost as exciting as the cartoons and movies that spun them off in the first place? The golden era of the 70s and 80s might be over, but don't be alarmed, you can revisit those warm nostalgic feelings again.

Michelle ran across this link some time ago. It's for a site called X-Entertainment. I'm assuming it's one of those generation X references. Anyhow, the commercials are priceless. So get out your tissues now, as you'll be crying by the time you're done watching:

[Click here to view the commercials]

MADE YOU LOOK™ | LEAH HAYES

2005-11-18T07:00:00.000-05:00

Pictured: "Uh-Huh" illustrated by the illustrious Leah Hayes.

Name: Leah Hayes
Classification: Illustrator & musician
Official website: www.leahhayes.com

Leah Hayes is a freelance illustrator. She lives in Brooklyn. Her first book, Holy Moly was published last year by Fantagraphics. Her illustrations have appeared in The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, Punk Planet, McSweeney's, The Comics Journal, and many other publications. When she is not drawing pictures, she is making scary music and working on her second book for Fantagraphics.

Related links
Fantagraphics

CUBA IS THE NEW CANCUN

2005-11-17T11:32:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Cuban President Fidel Castro and Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev; 1960s.

The CIA, thanks to some secretive method of information gathering (that is their job you know), has reason to believe that Cuban president Fidel Castro may have Parkinson's disease [Click here for the full article on CNN.com].

However, when reading this news, what interests and concerns me more than learning that the 79 year old man may have Parkinson's, is contemplating what the fate of Cuba may be when the cigar-smoking revolutionary dies.

Since the Cuban Revolution in 1959, when the 26th of July Movement (led by Fidel Castro and Ernesto "Che" Guevara) seized power from Fulgencio Batista, the United States has kept a watchful eye on the small island state. In the 1960s, at the height of the Cold War, the U.S. was concerned with Cuba's close ties to the Soviet Union. Now though, after 43 years under U.S. embargo, and remaining almost entirely self-sufficient (save their relations with a handful of South American nations that supply the country with assorted goods), it's hard to see what threat the country poses. During the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, Castro supposedly offered to send a large staff of Cuban doctors to help tend to the victims. However, his generosity was met with silence.

Pictured: Fidel Castro with Che Guevara.

Honestly, I don't know enough about Castro or his ideologies to type up a brilliant comparison between U.S. and Cuban interests. I realize that Cuba was indeed a threat to America during the Cold War. But now, it seems more is at stake if Castro were to die in the near future. Knowing a good deal about Cuban music and art culture, as well as the resilience of the Cuban people, I just hope that when Castro passes away the small and steadfast island nation doesn't became a new spring break destination for rich white college kids. It would be a shame to see Girls Gone Wild founder Joe Francis landing his helicopter atop a Hilton in downtown Havana, asking 19-year-old girls from the University of Miami to show him their tits. Who knows though, in 5 to 10 years, Disney may own the whole fucking deal; ferrying families from Key West to the debut of its "Land Before Time" ride (housed in the formerly historic district of downtown Havana).

MADE YOU LOOK™ | BABEL

2005-11-17T09:41:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Babel. Photo sniped from our pals at YouWorkForThem.

The book Babel, which collects Philadelphia artist Jim Houser's astounding and unique artwork, is by no means new. However, it is one of my picks for best art book, scratch that, book of the year. By nature, Houser's work is so intimate that just looking through this book makes you feel like you're having a personal and candid conversation with someone.

A word from the publisher: Self-taught mixed media artist Jim Houser's creative journey began as a child when he started drawing in sketchbooks brought home to him by his father. Over the years, driven by impulse and inspired by words as well as the perspective that his childhood drawings provide, Houser developed a style combining words, phrases and existential story fragments with crisp, colorful paintings on surfaces ranging from canvas to walls to skateboards and more. Houser forces us to re-examine these often well-worn words and discover their lost, faded and even alternate meanings amidst visions of ten gallon hats, snaggletooth snakes, preternatural beings and visualized natural elements. Jim Houser is a Philadelphia-based artist who was a founding member of the collective Space 1026 and an avid skateboarder who designs skate decks for Toy Machine.

Related links
Space 1026
Ginkgo Press

MADE YOU LOOK™ | MEPHISTO JONES

2005-11-16T12:35:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Painting by Mephisto Jones.

MADE YOU LOOK™ is one of the many new features here at The Beautiful Destruction of Normalcy. You see, just like everyone else, we get downright bored while toiling away in our work cubicles. So we've decided to put our vast knowledge of music, art, culture—as well as our abundance of seemingly useless knowledge—to work for you: the people. With MADE YOU LOOK™ we'll be giving folks a heads up about artists, writers, bands, musicians, films, books, etc. that we're currently diggin'. So, without further delay, meet Mephisto Jones.

Name: Mephisto Jones
Classification: Illustrator & musician
Official website: www.mephistojones.com

Mephisto Jones* (aka Otis Chamberlain) was born in Christchurch, New Zealand (Aotearoa) in 1975 and currently resides in Wellington, NZ.

He has no real formal art or music education but has successfully wasted most of his time doing both since high-school.He is likes making stencils, paintings, posters, prints, tees, sketches, beats, riffs and large messes…He has created images for record labels, clothing labels, event promoters, authors, film companies, publishers, the street, friends, strangers, muses, and his mother.

He also enjoys playing drums and has performed with Police Lucipher, Seven, The RazorBlades, The Family Mallet 3000, The Organiks, Brojob, Lotus Hartley, Kora, The Bad Apple Orchestra, Afronesia, Village Of The Idiots, The Nomad, Optimus Prime, SwitchBlade and Jesus H. Chrystler. He currently drums with grindcore quintet Gomorrah, souljazz septet The Illphonics, and occassionally makes retarded noises with The Moodswingers.

He is inspired by various things such as skateboarding, phat and heavy beats, urban decay, toasted muesli, special herbs; and his peers, heroes and contemporaries in sight and sound.

*Biography sniped from Mephisto Jones' website.

FRESHBAKED™ | NOVEMBER 2005

2005-11-15T16:21:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Felt Good dolls by Cody Thompson.

So, here's some of the shit I'm diggin' as of late. A fella named Cody Thompson is making some incredible stuffed dolls called Felt Good. Don't believe me? Just check out the picture above, then visit his website. These things are crazy-looking and incredibly well done. On a similar note, some friends of mine, who have been making their own brand of "stuffies" called Friend or Foe, have a gallery of their creations online. Check 'em out here.

In other news, a fella by the name of Jonathan Keller, whom I interviewed several months ago for Swindle magazine, has an interesting blog project going on called Nothing New. His personal website, which features his incredible Boxbots (the topic I interviewed him about), can be accessed here.

While this news isn't exactly fresh, comic and graphic novel illustrator Liam Sharp has struck out on his own, founding Mam Tor Publishing, his own independent press whose Event Horizon publication is rumored to be a 21st century version of Heavy Metal. Also, for those interested, the crew over at Pixelsurgeon recently published a nice interview with Mr. Sharp. Check it out here.

Last but not least, my pal Rickey Kim, who runs the top notch webmag Evil Monito, has launched his own website, a blog of sorts, called Mr. Kim Says. That's it for the moment. Look for an exclusive Beautiful Destruction of Normalcy interview with maverick photographer Peter Sutherland next week. In the meantime, stay safe, keep your hands to yourself, and stop wasting time on the Internet (ha).

THE PAT ROBERTSON CHRONICLES PART I

2005-11-11T10:07:00.000-05:00

Pat Robertson is like God's henchman, a spiritual badass you might say. Sure, he's always been tough like The Fonz -- dissing gays and insulting folks who believe differently than himself. I mean, c'mon, that's the guy's job. You don't build a multi-million dollar televangelist empire by acting like a pussy, right? But he's really gone ape-shit the past several years, his delicate and decaying brain rotting like cheese left in the sun. I mean, at least he never ran for president -- now that would have been scary (author does quick Google search to confirm truth of said fact). Oops, nevermind.

Anyhow, here's the latest "business-as-usual" type talk from Captain Crazy-As-A-Shithouse-Rat aka P. Robertson: [Click here for the story]

My favorite pull quotes from the story:

"I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: if there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God, you just rejected Him from your city," Robertson said on his daily television show broadcast from Virginia, "The 700 Club."

"And don't wonder why He hasn't helped you when problems begin, if they begin. I'm not saying they will, but if they do, just remember, you just voted God out of your city. And if that's the case, don't ask for His help because he might not be there," he said.

NO SLEEP IS NO GOOD

2005-11-07T09:33:00.000-05:00

I've been awake for 25 hours. Holy fuck, what a terrible idea. I feel like somebody smeared warm shit across my face then forcefully slapped it back off while jamming a broomstick up my ass to poke my colon. This is wretthed, it's kind of feels like waking up from feverish nap then being punched in the stomach. My shoulders feel like they weigh 50 lbs each.

The lights here at work are making my eyes sizzle, what a terrible predicament. I need No-Doz... must not sleep, must soldier on.

PSNCTRL 2006

2005-11-02T08:55:00.000-05:00

Pictured: Artwork by UPSO for Fame & Misfortune, the forthcoming book from PSNCTRL.

Things have been crazy lately to say the least. I've been buried beneath a shitpile of work--both in my freelance and dayjob steez. I'm hoping to come up for air sometime next week, we'll see I suppose. I really hate it when daily life becomes so downright twisted up with shit to do. I could use some breathing room, some fucking oxygen. Oh well, I did it to myself, right? I really enjoy the stuff I'm working on, just wish I didn't have to split work with work... fun is a good thing too. I missed seeing my nieces and nephews in their Halloween costumes this week because of it, and have pretty much sizzled out my retinas from lack of sleep and too much time spent plunking the keys of a computer (how ironic, that's what I'm doing this minute).

My point for this post was to announce some things I've got cookin' for anyone who might be interested. As I've mentioned before around this joint, I run--along with help from the Mrs.--my own small press publisher called PSNCTRL. We just had an event this past Sunday [check out this post] and are continuing our momentum with another event, Handmade Arcade, on Saturday November 12th [see below].

We're also hard at work on our next large scale book project titled Fame & Misfortune. The above artwork is just one example of the high quality work that will be included in this new book. Keep your eyes peeled, 2006 is our year.

PSNCTRL @ HANDMADE ARCADE
Poison Control will have a table (#23 to be exact) at this year's Handmade Arcade at Construction Junction in Point Breeze. We'll be selling the remaining copies of our book Young & Reckless. This may be your last chance to buy, as the book is limited-run, so stop by and pick up your copy. We're also cooking up a special project that we'll release at the event... should be fun, we're excited about it.

Handmade Arcade
Saturday November 12th
11am - 7pm
Construction Junction
214 N. Lexington
Point Breeze
Pittsburgh, PA
www.handmadearcade.com

OFFICIAL UPDATE [NOVEMBER]

2005-10-28T11:23:00.000-04:00

PICTURED: INDUSTRY-APPROVED "OFFICIAL UPDATE" IMAGE; KING OF COMEDY, DON RICKLES.

In an attempt to deepen the content and scope of this site, as well as centralize my writings, I've begun to assemble a PUBLISHED WORK archive. Located on the right hand side beneath the INTERVIEWS and ARTICLES links, you'll find an extensive and soon to be comprehensive collection of my work from the past 5 years. This work is comprised of features, profiles, interviews, and personal essays. I'm still debating whether or not to include the myriad of album reviews I've done (not to mention the tedious hours of scanning that would involve). The more I write, the more I discover that everything I do is interconnected in such strange ways. This is particularly true in the realms of music, art, and culture writing. So I felt this would be an interesting way to catalogue things, even if it's only for my own amusement.

*NOTE: The INTERVIEW SERIES returns in November with several new discussions.

WHAT'S UP FATLIP?

2005-10-27T11:27:00.000-04:00

PICTURED: FATLIP, BACK FOR MORE.

WHAT'S UP FATLIP?*
Writer: MATTHEW NEWTON

In the candid documentary What’s Up Fatlip?, director Spike Jonze poses the Los Angeles emcee and former Pharcyde member this question: “Do you ever think about retiring from rap?” After knocking back a large gulp of Crown Royal, Fatlip, dressed in full clown suit and make-up, replies: “Every day.”

Fatlip (born Derrick Stewart) came up in the Los Angeles-area hip-hop scene of the early 1990s as a member of The Pharcyde -- a four-piece known for being the musical antithesis of hardcore West Coast rappers like Dr. Dre and Ice Cube. However, after releasing two classic albums -- 1993’s Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde and 1995’s Labcabincalifornia -- the group parted company with Fatlip, citing a myriad of “personal differences” as the reason for the ousting. Seemingly unfazed by the cold shoulder from his former bandmates, Fatlip regrouped in 2000 to release the brilliantly introspective single “What’s Up Fatlip?” -- which spawned the Spike Jonze music video and documentary of the same name.

Now, more than five years later, Fatlip is finally releasing his solo debut, a 19-song offering titled The Loneliest Punk (Delicious Vinyl). While the album has a few minor blemishes in the form of lackluster tracks, the bulk of the songs offer a fresh-sounding Fatlip, clearly up to task and obviously pleased to be back where he belongs.

Cementing his return with not only a new album but a cross-country tour as well makes the candid words that Spike Jonze captured in his documentary that much more prophetic.

“With the rap thing, I think I’ve ran my course,” Fatlip said, adjusting the red rubber clown nose on his face. “I had my time basically. I would quit, but what else am I going to do?”

*Article originally appeared in the Pittsbugh City Paper:
[CLICK HERE FOR A LINK TO THE ORIGINAL ARTICLE]

MEDIA SWAP MEET | OCTOBER 30

2005-10-26T14:06:00.000-04:00

MEDIA SWAP MEET @ THE MATTRESS FACTORY

October 30, 2005
6-11 PM, FREE
The Mattress Factory
500 Sampsonia Way
Pittsburgh Pennsylvania
15212.4444
T: 412.231.3169
F: 412.322.2231
E: info@mattress.org

Free parking located in the lot at the corner of Jacksonia and Brighton.

Co-sponsored by projet MOBILIVRE-BOOKMOBILE project and the Mattress Factory. Celebrate independent media at the Mattress Factory! This evening event features local zine-makers, book artists and cartoonists displaying and selling their wares, independent publications in a variety of formats, video animations and a new publication by Paper Rad, film projections, DJs, button-making, screen printing, handmade book-making activities, and more! For more information about the Bookmobile Project, please visit www.mobilivre.org.

Participate in a celebration of independent media at the Mattress Factory!

This event features tours and an artist talk with projet MOBILIVRE/BOOKMOBILE project members, local zine-makers, book artists and cartoonists displaying and selling their wares, and independent publications in a variety of formats.

Activites include: video animations and a new publication by Paper Rad, film projections by Gordon Nelson of Jefferson Presents, DJs David Pohl, Steve Boyle, Castle Castle and Bad Seed, comic books for sale by The Copacetic Comics Company, button-making with MF ARTLab, artist trading card activities with The Pittsburgh Book Arts Collective, bookmark-making with the Art Tech Altered Books Club of Greensburg, screen printing with Artist Image Resource, the Mister Roboto Project zine collection, graphic novels and activities with Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh-TEENS, audio editing with Pittsburgh IndyMedia/Rustbelt Radio, hero/villain mask making with SALT, and more!

Participating artists, projects and collectives include: The Big Idea Bookstore, SALT, Incredibly Thin, Unicorn Mountain, Castle Castle, Enclyclopedia Destructica, Jim Rugg, Mark Zingarelli, Tom Scioli, Jasen Lex, Paulette Poullet, Ed Piskor, Pat Lewis, Etta Cetera, Frank Santoro, Jessica M. Fenlon, Matthew Newton, and Poison Control. Artist David Pohl will play 78 records in the Museum's outdoor Garden during the event, and DJ Bad Seed will spin teenage rebellion records in the Museum Lobby.

projet MOBILIVRE-BOOKMOBILE project is a touring exhibition of artist books, zines, and independent publications. Traveling by way of a vintage Airstream, the BOOKMOBILE visits community centers, schools, libraries, festivals and artist-run centers. projet MOBILIVRE-BOOKMOBILE project explores the long-held tradition of bookmobiles as traveling libraries that promote the distribution of information. A traveling collection of 300 book works ranges from handmade and one-of-a-kind, to photocopied and small press publications. During Media Swap Meet, Bookmobile members will share the history of the project, and will discuss the ways that projet MOBILIVRE-BOOKMOBILE project fulfills its mandate of fusing community organizing and political activism with artistic production.

About some of the participants, activities and featured projects on display and for sale during the event:

Paper Rad

Paper Rad is Jessica Ciocci, her brother Jacob, and their friend Ben Jones. Since the year 2000 they have created a massive catalogue of self-published and self-distributed comics, magazines, videos, cassette tapes, hand-painted t-shirts, stuffed dolls, audio CDs, and records. They present on-line projects through an eye-popping website: www.paperrad.org. Synthesizing and reprogramming popular material from television, video games, and advertising, Paper Rad works in an exuberant, neo-primitivist idiom of their own invention. Paper Rad has exhibited and performed at galleries and museums around the world including the 2004 Liverpool Biennial, Deitch Projects, the Institute of Contemporary Art, London, and The Tate Britain. Most recently, they completed two music videos for Beck and created a massive cardboard castle for Philadelphia’s Space 1026. Earlier this year, Paper Rad was named one of ArtReview’s 25 emerging artists. They are represented by Foxy Production and their video work is available from EAI and Printed Matter. Half art book, half graphic novel, Paper Rad, B.J. and da Dogs intersperses photographs, drawings, prints, comic strips, and junk by Paper Rad with two graphic novellas ("Space Ballz" and "Alfe") by Ben Jones. The two novellas are comically surreal takes on friendship, love, spirituality, and outer space, while the drawings and graphics recall luminous pop icons straight out of a Nintendo game. Printed on three paper stocks in fluorescent inks, this book conveys the energy and invention of one of the most vibrant constellations of artists working today.

Poison Control / Young & Reckless / Matthew Newton

Young & Reckless is an uncoventional anthology of personal essays and outsider art documenting the bygone days of wild and out-of-control youth. Born from the subcultures of skateboarding, hip-hop, graffiti, heavy metal, hardcore, and the like, contributors share tales of theft, vandalism, sex, fistfights, and scrapes with the law— all told from an older and seemingly wiser perspective. Handmade and limited-run, Young & Reckless is the first publication from Poison Control. Edited by Matthew Newton. Poison Control is an independent publisher and production house. Nurturing what some would deem an unhealthy obsession with printed matter and subculture paraphernalia — zines, books, postcards, prints, record sleeves, and stickers just to mention a few — Poison Control's penchant for small press publishing and handmade, limited-run goods prompted its formation in the summer of 2004. With a rabid DIY work ethic and fresh creative approach — representing a raw and candid, outsider's perspective — Poison Control ups the ante in terms of literary and visual aesthetics. And with a diverse roster of projects slated for release in 2006, this bleeding edge operation plans to take full advantage of its insomniac behavior — toiling away while the rest of the world sleeps. For more information, please visit www.poison-control.com

Encyclopedia Destructica

Encyclopedia Destructica is a self-printed, hand-bound zine produced in Pittsburgh that collects work from artists’ and writers’ sketch-books/journals. The goal of Encyclopedia Destructica is to provide a forum for an ever-growing primordial dialogue between artists in Pittsburgh and other cities within the United States and abroad. For more information, please contact zine@encyclopediadestructica.com

Unicorn Mountain

Unicorn Mountain is a comic anthology, a literary journal, and a music compilation debuting August 2005. The first volume focuses on over 70 of Pittsburgh's underground writers, illustrators and bands. In addition to featured contributions from established artists, Unicorn Mountain is a showcase for exciting new talent; submissions are encouraged! For more information, please visit http://www.unicornmountain.com.

Incredibly Thin

Incredibly Thin is a framework, a sort-of glue. Incredibly Thin is a collective, hoping to produce, publish, inspire and expose the work of Pittsburgh artists, to help translate things of the mind into things of the hand. For more information, please visit http://www.incrediblythin.com.

Salt

Salt is a Pittsburgh-based journal that publishes non-fiction articles, comics, and design. Each issue is organized around a theme--past themes include pirates, monsters, robots, and cowboys. The Spy Issue was released in August and plans are underway for the Heroes and Villains Issue. Salt can be found at saltstories.com or send an email to saltstories@hotmail.com

DISASTER STRIKES BACK

2005-10-10T11:47:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Survivors in Kashmir.

It would seem this is the year of the perpetual disaster show. Is someone trying to tell us something? I'm not exactly the God-fearing type, but after devastating Tsunamis, hurricanes that drown cities, and now an earthquake in Southeast Asia killing more than 30,000 people, I'm beginning to think this is it. You know, like, the end. I'm just waiting for the four horsemen to arrive next. Or, better yet, the locusts. Holy fuck.

PHOTO DIARY FRANKFURT

2005-10-07T12:21:00.000-04:00

PICTURED: PIECE BY UNKNOWN ARTIST (EMAIL ME IF YOU KNOW THIS DUDE).

After looking through my several thousand photos (yes, thousand) from my trip to Germany, I realized that I took a ton of pictures of graffiti and street art. Now, I really hate the term street art, as the influx of people doing street art in the past several years has been huge and rather varied. Also, it's become extremely trendy to call yourself a street artist. And frankly, alot of street art is garbage. Anybody and there mother can go to Home Depot, buy a package of stencils and make "art" with it. However, to up the ante and make art that is both skilled and thought-provoking, that's an entirely different story. With that said, Germany is riddled with street art and graffiti, from small towns like Freiburg to large cities like Berlin. I took a shit ton of photos in every city I visited. So I've decided to post the best of the best online here, for your viewing pleasure. So let's think of this as a photo diary of sorts. I hope you enjoy.

PICTURED: STENCIL BY MOSH.

Pictured: Mr. Newton stylin' in front of a 1970s mint green Chrysler... it just happened to be back in the courtyard w/ all this artwork.

Pictured: Michelle in front of the fountain by Frankfurt's opera house.

Pictured: Michelle outside VW's KING KONG display.

Pictured: Mr. Newton posing by the Honda Civic he can't have (only available in Europe).

DANGERDOOM

2005-10-06T08:18:00.000-04:00

DANGERDOOM, the collaborative record from MF Doom and Dangermouse, arrived in my mailbox the other day. The record's titled The Mouse and The Mask. I've been looking forward to hearing this record for awhile, but was really worried it might be lackluster. Not for any particular reason, but mainly because collabo records often disappoint (each artist usually gets too watered-down in the sharing process).

Holy shit, was I wrong.

This record is fucking incredible. First of all, it's got an Adult Swim (Cartoon Network's mature programming) theme threaded throughout. Now normally, I would be opposed to such trite product placement, but the skits between the songs (which contain appearances by Harvey Birdman attorney at law, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Space Ghost, etc.) are hilarious, well-written, and well-planned. I'd go as far as to say that Doom and DM have given new life to "The Skit," a comedic/dramatic device which has been a plague on hip-hop albums for more than a decade.

Now let's mention the music. The production is top notch. Dangermouse, with all the hype surrounding his abilities, hasn't let the pressure or praise go to his head. Coming off his work on the Gorillaz Demon Days, DM continues to hone his skills as a producer. The standout tracks on the album are "Sofa King," with its melodic melody, brisk tempo, and rock hard kick and snare pattern, and "Old School" with Talib Kweli--which finds he and Doom waxing poetic over memories of Saturday morning cartoons and rhyming over boombox beats while snacking on a bowl of
cereal. Good shit, extremely good shit.

Lastly, there's MF Doom. For The Mouse and The Mask, his skills have somehow gotten better. He's already been one of my favs for sometime now, but this record, its theme, and his ability to spin tall tales have all been elevated. I hate the term "next-level shit," but it really fits the bill in this case.

If this site were a reputable magazine, and we had a rating system comprised of stars, mics, or some other gauge of quality, I'd give this bitch a five. It's that good. I'll go as far as to call it a classic.

PS: Due to the rampant influx of spam I've been receiving, the comments sections on some of my posts have been removed. Most folks don't really comment on here anyway. But if you have something you'd like to say, feel free to drop me an email.

WHEREVER YOU GO, THERE YOU ARE

2005-09-25T01:34:00.000-04:00

Pictured: A contemplative Mr. Newton, reflected in glass, relaxing on a train bound for Cologne, Germany.

It's mid-morning on Thursday the 15th of September and the sun has crested the mountains that shelter the Rhine Valley. Alongside the river, ancient castles sprout from the hillsides, spying on the valley below; small villages are arranged like rows of neatly planted crops along the banks of the river. The train is quiet and fast. The air is thick but still. It's hard to imagine the freedom of two weeks on vacation (um, holiday). The pressure to make the most of your time, and partake in something incredible or life-changing is somewhat daunting. However, I'm up to the challenge.

Michelle, my wife, is my co-pilot on this trip. I was going to say she's the navigator, but I've discovered I have an affinity for reading maps and have been taking charge of our walking routes.

We're bound for Cologne on the recommendation of a fellow passenger, a young and friendly German woman, who insisted we couldn't miss seeing Cologne during our travels. She mentioned that we "must" see The Dom--a massive medieval church built before the time of The Crusades.

Pictured: The Dom in Cologne, as seen from the front doors of the train station. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the whole building in one picture.

One of the most astounding things to me about Germany (and Europe for that matter)is its sense of history. American culture is still relatively wet-behind-the-ears, a mere 225 or so years old. The history is palpable inside a building like The Dom in Cologne. Statues of knights line the walls, ornate stained glass designs glisten in the sunlight, and intricate mosaic patterns are embedded in the hard concrete floors. The remains of bishops and medeivel clerics are kept here for safe keeping. Centuries of warfare have somehow left the building unscathed. But also, the strange cultural juxtaposition in a city like Cologne is sometimes just as interesting as the history itself.

Several blocks from The Dom, there are souvenir shops, McDonalds (of course), and a host of German fast food spots. And life goes on, rumbling in the foreground of a city that, upon a quick glance, looks no different than any American city on an average workday. Morning commuters tear past in tiny cars, and pedestrians file through the streets, rushing to their next destination. Oblivious mothers wreck their strollers into your shins; businessmen talk on cell phones while walking, smoking cigarettes, and talking with their hands. Life among the living can feel cold, wherever your coordinates may be on the global map.

But, just as at home, warmth can be found in like-minded individuals. After walking a handful of blocks into the city, Michelle and I stumbled across a small vegetarian restaurant--the first we've seen so far. The woman working the counter was kind, speaking with us at length about the different food available. I ate chick pea stew and drank a small bottle of Coca-Cola (how American of me). Michelle opted for water and a bowl of split pea soup. The resaurant was cozy, part Bohemian, part art deco design. I felt relaxed.

GREETINGS FROM DEUTSCHLAND

2005-09-16T15:42:00.000-04:00

Pictured: German photojournalist I couldn't stop looking at... I know he has to have won contests with that crumb catcher of his... yikes.

Michelle and I survived the 8 hour plane flight stuffed in steerage (i.e. economy class), cruised through customs, and met up with an angry-as-fuck German cab driver once on the ground in Frankfurt. This motherfucker grumbled to himself, in German, the entire time we drove to the hotel. Very uncomfortable to say the least. The next several days consisted of work, work-related dinners, more work, a little bit more work, followed by some work, and topped off with a heaping helping of, err, work. Then the real adventure began.

We struck out on our own yesterday, leaving Frankfurt and the motor show behind. Frankfurt was nice, but somewhat drab. They've got a clusterfuck of addicts, whinos, and the like congregating around the train station. And the Red Light District, which was a block from our hotel, was sketchy at best. However, the motor show was incredible. The auto industry (worldwide) has far too much money to spend, and it shows in the cash they're willing to drop to wow journalists and consumers alike. Frankfurt did yield some good photography though. I stumbled across a stockpile of fantastic murals, graffiti, and street art (I'll post some pix as soon as possible).

The first stop on our journey was the city of Cologne--about two hours north of Frankfurt. Cologne was a sort of last-minute change of plans. A woman we met on the train said we HAD to see the city. So, luckily, we caved to peer pressure. As soon as you leave the train station in Cologne, you're greeted by the mammoth 12th century architecture of The Dom... basically, the largest church you'll ever see in your life. Its architecture is medievel, with tall spires reaching for the sky, dwarfing the rest of the souvenir shops, boutiques, and corporate offices that surround. We only stayed a few hours in the city, but managed to find a great vegetarian restaurant that served chick pea stew and some sort of pea soup thing that was awesome. And, I bought a Coke in a little tiny bottle--and it was actually cold (Germans don't care much for refrigeration, a lesson we've learned after drinking every liquid at room temperature since we arrived).

We're in Freiburg today, a city that requires me to post pictures for you to understand. Also, yestersay we were in Mainz and met several colorful characters. The old German desk clerk here has just asked that I stop using the computer so he can use it... he looks angry. I could probably take him in a fight, but don't want to cause an international incident.

More news from the road soon.

Matt & Michelle.

WISH YOU WERE HERE

2005-09-09T09:53:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Vintage postcard from Berlin.

Tomorrow at this time, I'll be en route to the Pittsburgh International Airport where I'll board a 747 bound for Frankfurt, Germany. Two weeks spent in the belly of the Deutschland, and ending in the hub (Amsterdam) of the Nederland... moo-ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.... sorry, it's hard to do a crazed and maniacal laugh without the aid of sound.

This trip really snuck up on me. Although Michelle and I have talked about and planned it for some time now, the past couple weeks have gone by at super sonic speed: Life has been busy, work has been intense, and freelance work has been even more intense. However, it's all been worth it. Sure, I've still got some work ahead of me--I'm writing articles like a man on borrowed time--but the spirit of adventure and the excitement of the unknown that lies ahead is wonderful.

I picked up a new journal the other day, and plan on documenting the trip in great detail. I'm actually doing an assignment for Vapors magazine while I'm in Berlin, checking out the Back Jumps festival. I'm hoping that I'll be able to post at least a couple entries here while I'm traveling. We'll see.

Once again, I apologize for my lack of entries these past couple weeks. Life has been way too hectic. I have several big projects in the oven right now (assignments that have really changed the way I look at things... okay, I'll spill it, I've become a Mormon... ha, just fuckin' jokin'... but really, I feel like I'm finally starting to do work that is actually important), so when I return, there will be lots to talk about. Not to mention, travel photos and travel stories.

Until we speak again, keep fightin' the good fight.

RECORD CLUB: THE BEGINNING

2005-08-30T14:45:00.000-04:00

Pictured: The Record Club players (RTM, Mshell, and Mikeast).

[CLICK HERE TO VIEW THE ENTIRE PHOTO ALBUM]

Several months in the making, RECORD CLUB held its inaugural event this past weekend. "What the hell is RECORD CLUB?" you're wondering. It's awesome, that's all you need to know. Ha. No really, it's a gathering of friends and like-minded folks interested in discovering new music and sharing their own finds with the people around them. Sounds nerdy, right? Well, sort of. But to make things interesting we throw alcohol in the mix and a substantial amount of dancefloor sizzlers.

There are rules too. Each guest has to bring two songs, and they better be good, because nobody likes to get booed (just kidding). Once the songs are all assembled the real fun begins: Everybody listens. It's kind of like a book club, just without all the reading... and with a substantial amount of booze.

The RECORD CLUB website with playlists, downloads, and photos will be up and running shortly. We'll keep ya posted. Until then... enjoy the photos.

Coming soon... RECORD CLUB 2: ROCKTOBERFEST

MOUTHFUL OF MISERY

2005-08-30T13:42:00.000-04:00

Pictured: The largest and most painful cluster of mouth ulcers I've ever experienced.

Some people are born with dashing good looks, a bottomless pool of creative skill, or even superior intelligence. Me? My story is different. I was seemingly dealt a hand of bent and tattered playing cards dealt from an entirely different deck (Possibly Beezlebub's personal deck?). You see, since I can remember (i.e. my whole damn life), I've been cursed with mouth ulcers. Eww. I know, disgusting right? Sure. When I talk about this with anyone, they usually grace me with the widely intelligent and moronically blatant response: "That's a form of herpes you know." Their face is usually scrunched up as they say it, and a look of disgust wells up in their eyes. Sure motherfucker, it's herpes. Great job. I'm sure your mother is proud of you; all that hard-earned money spent on schooling you and your sharp-as-a-spoon brain. Collect your prize at the door and please don't return.

Sure it may be a form of herpes, but I've been battling these bitches since I was a youngster. It's not like I'm some hobo who goes around sucking on loose change, snacking on urinal cakes, or randomly licking things that most people wouldn't pick up unless wearing a hazmat suit. Nope, I don't. Truth be told, I'm a fairly cleancut fella who just happens to have been dealt a stale, mold-covered misfortune cookie by the man above (or below... nevermind, scratch the God reference).

Last week though, I woke up to find that a colossal batch (yes, a batch) of ulcers was forming on the inside of my bottom lip. This is rather odd. Usually one ulcer pops up, then creates the perfect party environment and subsequently invites a group of its friends to set up shop and tear holes in my lip or cheek. But this, this was abnormal.

This all occurred while I was on a trip for work, a trek to Vancouver. My last night in town I drank a bit much, came back to the hotel and fell asleep (yes, I'm a wild man). Before I went to sleep, I had not one single ulcer in my filth-ridden cake hole. However, when I woke up, I had this fucking constellation of ulcerated masses on my lower lip, teeming with pain.

"How did it get there?" you may be wondering. I was thinking the same thing. That's when I recalled the night before, the alcohol and its wonderful numbing effect. Well, I used to think it was wonderful. After countless Heinekens and a flurry of Tequilla (To-kill-ya) shots, I was feeling rather OKAY, but a little tired. I had that nice tingley/numb feeling that you sometimes get after drinking whiskey. You know, that feeling when your skin seems impenetrable (to bricks, mortar, people's jaw bones), like some sort of force field is encompassing your body?

Well, it seems I must have been chewing on the inside of my lip as I slept that night. What did I care, I couldn't feel anything. I recall the iron taste of my own blood, the somewhat shredded skin stuck in my teeth. But the rest of the memory got misplaced during sleep, thrown out with the rest of the nocturnal trash.

The only evidence of this fleeting memory is my big puffy bottom lip -- the one that gets in the way when I eat, drools on its own accord, and winks at passersby as I desperately try to keep it tucked in my mouth. Co-workers stare at it, kind of like they're waiting for it to perform, bust out in song like Michigan J. Frog or some shit. No friends, these ulcers aren't the fun kind, they're not entertainers. Oh wait, no ulcers are fun.

Damn you minion-of-evil-who-created-mouth-ulcers! Here's a proposition: We'll meet in Hell and I'll arm wrestle you like Sylvester Stallone in the classic film Over The Top. And when I win, I'll get to drill holes in your bottom lip with a salt-tipped DeWalt hammer drill. Deal? I didn't think so.

SORRY SO SLOPPY

2005-08-26T11:55:00.000-04:00

So, I suck at updating this blog lately. I apologize. I'm in the throws of deadline insanity at the moment... literally not enough time to think, breathe, eat, or do anything fun in between. But, I will have an assload (yes friends, an assload) of interesting and exciting stories in print when it's all said and done. Let's just say there are some cover stories, monster features, exciting collabo projects, and yes, a new book in the works. Plus, I just did an interview last night that could very well be the origin of a book idea I've been wanting to do (legitimate style through a publisher) for a long time.

With that said, I'm planning on a rather substantial update soon. Michelle and I are heading to Germany in early September and I'm hoping to get some time to update this place while en route to castles, beer festivals, red light districts (just kidding, sort of), and other assorted and sordid destinations. We'll be on a whirlwind tour of sorts -- traveling from Frankfurt to Cologne, down the Rhine river into the Black Forest, over to Munich for the opening day of Oktoberfest, up to Berlin and ending in good 'ol Amsterdam. It should be incredible, and I'm rather stoked.

So, now that I've spilled my guts, I best get back to work. Enjoy the weekend, breathe in the fleeting warm air, and try not to piss on anybody's car door handles (really, I promise I've stopped doing that).

ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL

2005-08-24T15:42:00.000-04:00

[POISON CONTROL]

NEW WEBSITE RE-LANCHING SOON.

YOUNG & RECKLESS ALMOST SOLD OUT. BUY THE BOOK BEFORE ITS GONE FOREVER.

SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION, STILL FREE.

BIG UPDATE TO GET POSTED HERE SOON. JUST GOT BACK FROM VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA AND HAVE TONS OF PHOTOS.

PEACE [IS] OUT. WAR [IS] IN.

LISTENING BOOTH

2005-08-15T12:33:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Hood, a quartet of London boys made good.

Spent this past weekend getting caught up on all sorts of things: odd jobs around the house, freelance work, planning our trip to Germany, and listening to all the free music I've compiled over the last several months. Out of about 100 CDs, I weened things down to a really good stack of about 25. As always, I'm inundated with hip-hop releases, most of which are not worth a listen. Not because the records are terrible, but because they are boring and formulaic.

Lately though, I've been getting some really good experimental and electronic releases from the likes of Warp, Mush, Schematic, Kranky, Ghostly, and so on. The list for this batch of work goes on and on. Though, my most recent (though not exactly a new band or album) favorite are The Books. This duo is so fresh, and their latest album Lost and Safe is truly the cat's meow.

However, the most refreshing album I stumbled across this weekend was from the band Hood. Now, I had heard of this band before, but in the context of my towering stack of free music, the album design looked more like that of a bad hip-hop artist than an atmospheric rock band with a penchant for writing catchy hooks and well-crafted melodies.

Hood's latest release, Outside Closer is really nice. It easily lends itself to the post-rock moniker, but has a great deal more energy than the likes of Tortoise or Sigur Ros. This latest album is on Domino. I suggest taking a listen if you're looking for something new to rock in the iPod or even your old-fashioned CD player.

FAREWELL MR. FERRER

2005-08-08T10:16:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Ibrahim Ferrer, deep in thought.

This morning I read that Peter Jennings has died of cancer at age 67. Which is, indeed, a sad bit of news. He's a familiar face, a prominent fixture in American life. However, as I'm scrolling through the remainder of the morning news, I see a small blurb that mentions a name I know very well: Ibrahim Ferrer. The headline made my stomach sink: "Singer Ibrahim Ferrer dead at age 78."

Sure, most people probably don't care or even know who this man is. But for me, he and his fellow musicians were (are) an incredible inspiration. Ferrer was one of the guiding voices of the critically-acclaimed, Grammy award winning Buena Vista Social Club album and film. Which, if you've never heard the album or seen the film, do yourself a huge favor and pick up the boxset.

I first heard the Buena Vista Social Club record in New York City, sometime in the summer of 2000. Michelle and I were visiting our friend Jen. It was a Sunday morning and we were eating breakfast when Jen put the record on. The opening track "Chan Chan" begin playing, and I was instantly hooked. The music was beautiful but melodic, full of fire. You could hear the history and the life experience in the vocals and raw instrumentation. There was heartbreak and sorrow, but also happiness and joy in the music.

Several years later, the music played at our wedding. It was that profound of an album. I still play the album in fairly regular rotation. However, as I write this, I realize it's been sometime since I last listened. To learn more about Ibrahim and the Buena Vista Social Club, please check out the links I've included above. The obituary from the Associated Press is slightly informative. However, I'm sure better, more fitting tributes will surface as the news spreads.

Farewell Ibrahim.

SHOP TILL YOU DROP

2005-08-05T09:30:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Actress Maggie Gyllenhaal posing for the camera just before dining on a Super-Pretzel at the Target snack bar.

Last Thursday, retail monster Target opened its Brooklyn store in a Hollywood-style, red carpet affair--complete with photo ops, a conservative selection of "hip" celebrities, and a noodly-looking band with funny haircuts [Click here for comprehensive clusterfuck coverage].

"What isn't wrong with this event," you may be wondering. And, if you are still thinking that way, good for you, I suppose. But don't think I'm going to allow you to cut in front of me in line the next time I see you at Bed, Bath & Beyond. And, if it's Christmas time and you try that shit, look for a knuckle sandwich to your windpipe. I mean c'mon, you're way of thinking is old-fashioned. If you ask me, every store opening should be a red carpet affair, complete with self-righteous soccer moms hitting into people with their carts and dads walking around with cell phone ear pieces and Greg Norman polo shirts. And sure, throw in some local celebrities and maybe even a kids charity drive for good measure (preferably a charity that doesn't deal with the mentally retarded, they don't photograph well).

Retail is the new social scene after all.

Shopping can solve so many problems, why can't you people see that? We all hate terrorists, right? Well then, get out and shop, buy stuff, support America. Nothing makes an Islamic extremist angrier than an American getting a good deal on a set of high thread count Egyptian cotton bath towels.

"Fuck you Bin Laden, I've got a 40% off coupon for Kohl's and I'm not afraid to use it."

Speaking of people who hate us and want nothing more than to see us suffer brutal and agonizing deaths, where will you be when the world ends? I hope I'm in the self-checkout at my local grocery store scanning my no-carb bread, trans-fat free muffins, and age-defying skin cream.

Wake up motherfuckers.

UNICORN MOUNTAIN

2005-08-04T08:57:00.000-04:00

My article about the upcoming comic/literary anthology Unicorn Mountain appears in this week's City Paper. The full story is included below.

Mountain's Range
Writer: Matthew Newton

An anthology, when compiled just right, is like a good mix tape. For example, if you were to arrange songs from Can, King Crimson and Yes in the perfect order, you’d strike art-rock gold; but cluster Sabbath tracks in a poor arrangement and you’ve prematurely blown your load -- soiling the potential for a stoner-rock mix-tape opus. That said, variety is critical. Without it, the listener -- or in the case of an anthology, the reader -- can become downright bored.

The creators of Unicorn Mountain, a new Pittsburgh-bred comic/literary anthology and music compilation, thrive on variety -- placing science-fiction- and fantasy-based comics alongside personal essays, true-life tales and a 20-song compilation CD.

“I got the idea to do an anthology last summer when a bunch of friends left Pittsburgh for Chicago and other cities to further [their] artistic pursuits,” says Curt Gettman, editor and publisher of Unicorn Mountain. “I wanted for there to be something that would give creative people artistic opportunity here and build a sense of community among local creators.”

Gettman, along with dedicated collaborators Joe Deferrari (graphic designer), Shahrzad Samadzadeh (nonfiction editor) and Tim Brown (compilation organizer), began work on Unicorn Mountain late last year.

“A group of us got together at Arsenal Lanes last fall and hashed out a 12-step plan for world domination,” Gettman (half-jokingly) says. “Joe and Shahrzad joined the editorial and creative team later and helped turn an ambitious ‘project’ into something a bit more real.”

Boasting contributions from more than 70 creators -- writers, illustrators and bands -- the debut volume of Unicorn Mountain is an ambitious project showcasing the work of both emerging and established local talent. Poster artist Mike Budai and writer Alicia Ledden contribute a story best described as “Home Alone meets Brothers Grimm:” Jeff Shreckengost illustrates an epic sword-and-sorcery tale; and Justin Cummings, who self-publishes the taxi zine Junket, offers a story of theft and late-night taxi driving.

The anthology -- which also includes musical contributions from such bands as Harangue, Midnite Snake, Vale and Year, and Conelrad -- is 130 pages long with a print run of 3,000 copies. And while the influence of artists including Jordan Crane and Brian Ralph, and publishers such as Fantagraphics and Drawn and Quarterly, is noticeable, the work in this debut anthology is startlingly fresh and strikingly original. Asked to describe Unicorn Mountain to the uninitiated, Gettman’s response is twofold:

“[Unicorn Mountain is] a mountain fortress towering 15 miles high over the valley of steel!” he exclaims. “Either that or a comic/literary/music anthology for people who like the idea of comics but think most of them are crap.”

Unicorn Mountain launch party. 7-11 p.m. Friday Aug. 5, Live music by Vale and Year, and Giant Squid. ModernFormations Gallery, 4919 Penn Ave., Garfield. Free. 412-362-0274

REBOOT THE SYSTEM

2005-08-02T14:20:00.000-04:00

This month's issue of Atomica features an article I wrote about experimental film and video artists Eclectic Method, Motomichi Nakamura, and Takagi Masakatsu. I thought some of the crowd here might be interested. Plus, I don't usually have a PDF of my writing available (Thanks Motomichi). If you happen to read the article, I'd like to hear your thoughts, as I'm thinking about putting up a section on the blog that acts as a sort of online writing portfolio.

Click here to download a PDF of the article.

COUNTING SHEEP

2005-08-02T01:19:00.000-04:00

Wide awake and the Tylenol PM still hasn't taken hold. The powder blue pills rarely settle my mind, but I try anyhow. All day it's been racing, my mind that is--hindering me at work, drugging me as I speed home on the Turnpike, distracting me at home. It's like I've got this nagging urge boiling beneath my skin, but I can't place what it is.

I'm troubled, bothered by something that's seemingly invisible. Sure, maybe it's the depression. I've felt awful lately, like something is hooked into me, anchoring me to the ground. Waking up has been increasingly difficult. The weekends are becoming shorter as a result. But I don't want it to be this way... should probably seek help. I almost don't care enough though. Oh well. Rumor has it that life's tough, so I'll try to stick it out.

Allow me to retract my previous statement regarding the Tylenol PMs I ingested. They are working. Finally. My eyelids are itchy from the incessant heat, and seem to weigh a pound or two each now. Everything is slowing down. I wanted to talk about my recent turmoil, my internal struggle as it were... been thinking alot about finding a pastime that yields more socially-responsible results. "Such as?" you may wonder. Maybe some work with the Peace Corps., or possibly an Amnesty International program of some sort. That's what I'm thinking... have to look into the matter in more detail though.

However, right now, sleep is what I need.

ROCK 'N' ROLL HIGH SCHOOL

2005-08-01T15:37:00.000-04:00

Well, not quite. But high school has been on my mind as of late. My 10 year reunion is approaching and I'm conflicted as to whether I should attend. I didn't technically graduate, as I dropped out in the beginning of my junior year, so I'm not sure that I'm actually welcome [which is a long and sordid story for another time].

My friends and I have talked about going, clowning all the people there, getting drunk, and acting like fools. But in real life, high school reunions are kind of like everything else--boring. When I imagine a reunion, I think about an event held in the gymnasium, not some pseudo-hip downtown restaurant. I picture my friends and I walking the halls, reminiscing, drinking 40's wrapped in brown paper bags, breaking into lockers, raising hell.

Who the fuck wants to pay $75 a dinner to hang out with people you didn't like 10 years ago? You stay in contact with the people you like and excommunicate the rest. I mean, seriously, what are we going to do, "network" with each other, exchange business cards, share pictures of our children, muscle cars, time shares, and above-ground pools? Fuck off.

People just want to talk in canned, adult language: "Oh, you really turned out well," "no kids yet?" or maybe "Wow, somebody packed on the pounds," "my kids are little monsters," or "Robert just got promoted to sales manager." I'm bored just thinking about it.

Our reunion even has its own website, what high-tech bitches we've become.

Last week, while visiting with my nephews, I looked through my sister-in-law's yearbooks (we graduated together). We all laughed at the peoples' haircuts, the ridiculous teams and clubs (rifle team?), and all the crazy-looking people we went to school with. But there was also an overwhelming sadness in those pictures. Revisiting that time period, looking at the faces of people I had all but forgotten, tarnished the golden nostalgia I sometimes assign to that time in my life. You want memories to remain fluffy and bouyant, full-of-fire. However, to view things in such a way, you need to lie to yourself, just a little bit. At least I do.

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

2005-07-19T07:56:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Artwork by incredible illustrator Matt Clark.

To say the weather as of late has been humid would be a massive understatement. It feels like I'm walking through some sort of cream-style soup out there. Fuck. I've never sweat so much in my life. I feel like I'm trapped in a perpetual glaze of my own perspiration. It's not exactly a useful tool for attracting friends. Good fucking Christ.

I've never really paid attention to all the talk of global warming, but maybe I should. Or, what about the hole in the ozone layer? Is that what's causing this suffocating heat wave? Is outer space just a really humid place and we're experiencing a trickle-down effect? Do we actually know that there's no oxygen in space?

Who knows, maybe the planet is plummeting into the wet and boggy crotch of some extraterrestrial giant? Speaking of crotches, does applying baby powder to your testicles actually help with the discomfort and jungle-like climate in one's pants? It's always seemed like such an outlandish idea to me--applying powder to one's nuts that is.

It's times like these that I curse myself out for not buying a house with air conditioning (or better yet, a house in an entirely different state). But, being as I live in Pittsburgh and it's only warm about 2.5 months out of the year, it shouldn't have been a concern. Wrong again Newton.

There are certain telltale signs that indicate the temperature around you has skyrocketed: 1.) Sweaty top lip or "sweatstache" 2.) Extensive chaifing of creased and hidden crevices 3.) A meat-scented odor, often leaking from your underarms or sometimes your "other" spots 4.) Noticing that your cats are draped motionless across the hardwood floor like taxidermied rugs 5.) Scantily-clad humans... for better or worse.

But once you've noticed the signs, what do you do? I've just tried to stay very still, hoping that the thick air will not notice or strangle me. But that hasn't helped. I've also considered packing my shorts with ice, but reconsidered when I thought of the pain it might cause to my nether-region (not to mention the puddles in the house).

I suppose I just need to "suck it up" or "play through the pain" as they say in the sports world. However, until this heat wave subsides, the neighbors will just have to get used to seeing me minus my clothes. Hey, it's not my fuckin' problem.

WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

2005-07-18T10:57:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Illustration by visual badass Travis Millard.

The last week has been intense. Work was and still is busy-as-fuck. I worked 50+ hours last week and still feel like I'm behind. Yesterday was extremely productive though. I got caught up on an ass-load of freelance business and now feel much less-burdened. I've got some cool projects in the works for a bunch of different mags. I'll post the articles when they're done.

Last week I did manage to get some work down on the website redesign for Poison Control. I'm planning to relaunch the site (with oodles of new content) by August 1st. I'll keep ya posted.

I saw a couple good movies recently. The best one of note though was Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. This movie is pure stupidity, but funny nonetheless. The lead actors do a great job and the comedic commentary on racial stereotypes is so well-done. Plus, there's lot of poop jokes, off-color humor, weed comedy, and a cameo by Neil Patrick Harris (Doogie Howser).

STRANGE BREW 001

2005-07-08T09:34:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Artwork from London's own Mysterious Al.

"Strange Brew" is a new addition to the website. Let's refer to it as a column of sorts. With the world turned on its ear, and life seemingly becoming stranger by the minute, there's a plethora of odd, alarming, and downright peculiar new bytes bubbling up at all times. It's sometimes hard to capture them all. So here's where we intend to boil it all down. Consider "Strange Brew" an attempt to neatly package the absurdity of 21st century life.

London's transportation system was bombed this week. And while this news is not strange, it is alarming. With the official death toll exceeding 50, authorities are still recovering bodies from the wreckage in The Underground. Unfortunately, it seems living with the constant threat of terror attacks and suicide bombings is now just another modern stress we must endure. It is quite a sad fact, and our thoughts are with our friends in London.

On somewhat of a lighter note (bad pun intended), Steve Vaught, a 400 lb California man who embarked on a 3000 mile weight loss pilgrimage from San Diego to New York City this past April, has just reached Arizona. However, I'm hard-pressed to say whether he's making good time or not. He has lost 50 lbs though.

Do you like porn? How about railroad hobos? Ever think about what some titles of hobo porn films would be? Me neither. But here's a a vital link [after Pixelsurgeon] to a Hobo porn film name generator, just in case you're curious. My favorite title so far: Hot Squat Hanky Panky.

BUSTED! I found this gem while perusing Arkitip's newsfeed the other day. The reactions on the faces of these poor people are priceless. Though, I think I'd probably look the same way if someone was unsuspectedly snapping photos of me getting it on.

Last but not least: A North Carolina man is auctioning off his beard, which he claims is possessed by the Devil or some dark spirit, on eBay, San Francisco-based artist Jill Miller is waiting for bigfoot, and new findings on the origins of Stonehenge.

THIS JUST IN: R&B singer Omarion is a douchebag.

Do you have an odd or downright absurd tidbit of news that you're eager to share? Drop me an email and I'll include your find in an upcoming installment of Strange Brew.

INTERVIEW ROOM™ | SOPHIE TOULOUSE

2005-07-05T10:33:00.000-04:00

Sophie Toulouse captures the beauty and uncertainty of life with her large-scale visual installations. Working from her studio in Paris, Toulouse is the quintessential digital artist, bringing lush graphic design to life on the stark white walls of galleries the world over. We took a moment to speak with Sophie about her work ethic, bad habits, and her ongoing Nation of Angela project.

Q: What initially attracted you to art and how has it kept your attention?

It's tough to know, my father definitely pointed it out to me then it followed its own path.

Q: How would you explain and describe your work to a blind man?

[Ornate], graphic, layered, [and] detailed.

Q: What do you see as the purpose of the artist in contemporary society?

Therapy.

Q: What is a normal workday like for you?

I work two hours at a time, rarely more. Then I go off for a walk or a chat or whatever I feel like doing. That's extreme luxury to me. I don't have [a] dime [to] my name but I feel free.

Q: What tools do you use to do your art?

Mostly [Adobe] illustrator.

Q: What do you hope to convey through your illustrations?

I hope to surprise and entertain.

Q: Could you discuss the Nation of Angela: what it is, when it was founded, the concept behind it?

N.o.A (Nation of Angela) is a utopian island where communal ideals coexist with fashion, glamour, and luxury.

N.o.A is a lost paradise, a utopia both on a personal and political level.
It's inspired by Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle, Guy Debord, it is the post-spectacle.
It's about the question 'What are you doing after the orgy' (Baudrillard; what is there to do when you can have it all).

The project started in 2001, on the Frying Pan [in] NYC—a boat at the Chelsea Pier [where] people would sign up to become citizens (super-model citizens of the superficial fabulousness).

Q: What influences and inspires you?

Victorian style, punk, art deco, pop art, etc.

Q: Would you consider yourself an optimist or a pessimist?

I'm a fairly happy pessimist

Q: Do you have any bad habits?

I find balance extremely boring.

Q: How do you translate your work from computer to gallery wall?

With a lot of money

Q: Your work is both beautifully dense yet also conveys a hauntingsense of reality. Do you try to convey specific themes in your work?

I think I've been working mostly on the culture of image and how to deal with it.

Q: What role does environment (i.e. urban vs. rural, indoor vs.outdoor, etc.) play in your creative process?

It has a direct influence on my drawings and my ideas (colors, themes, etc.)

Q: What projects are you currently working on?

I'm working on my next wallpaper and on an animation for another group show, at the institute of contemporary arts of fribourg, fri-art. It will still be on and about the Nation of Angela.

Q: You've shown your work in many galleries and group shows. What experiences were your most memorable?

The first show I ever had. I can't believe I pulled it off (I seriously kicked ass!)

Q: Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

I already chose my wall at the MoMA!

For further information about Sophie Toulouse, visit her website: www.sophietoulouse.com

INTERVIEW ROOM™ | THE YOK

2005-06-30T08:56:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the debut installment of our interview series—a new and regular editorial feature that promises to provide exclusive interviews with writers, graphic designers, photographers, illustrators, musicians, activists, and just about anyone else we can get our hands on. For our inaugural interview we decided to chat with Yok, a wheat paste, sticker, and gallery artist from Perth, Australia. So, without further adieu, let's get started.

Q: Let's start off with the usual line of questioning, as a primer of sorts for the folks at home. Who are you and what do you do?

I’m a bogan who likes to draw characters and stick them on walls.

Q: Wait, what's a bogan?

A bogan is someone who wears black jeans everyday, smokes weed, and listens to metal music in a large car. That was me in high school.

Q: Oh, okay. We used to call them "burnouts" where I come from. Bogan sounds better.

Q: What's the story behind your art? Or better yet, when and why did you get started?

The characters are loosely based on gargoyles. In medieval times, gargoyles were placed on buildings to ward off evil spirits. Borrowing from this thought I put my posters on city walls to ward off evil suits—picking rooftops visible from the streets below to display the paper gargoyles. This all started in Kenya where I spent 10 months working and going to an art commune that my Girlfriend joined; hanging out and eating big mumma's cooking.

Q: You come from a land down under [Australia], how does environment influence your work?

I come from Perth, which is a very isolated city. I think that has influenced the volume of work I do, as it is a little quiet around Perth.

Q: Do people there still like the band Men At Work?

Unfortunately.

Q: How about Midnight Oil?

Definitely, even Cold Chisel.

Q: Let's talk about Mel Gibson, the bigshot actor. Do middle-aged Australian women still swoon over him like middle-aged American women do?

Not sure, probably. I don't really know that many middle aged women. I think my Mum likes him.

Q: Okay, enough with the Australian references, I don't mean to get sidetracked. Where does your name come from?

I like the sound of the word YOK, and I'm into giving meaning to words that previously [had] no meaning. So now it's starting to mean "gargoyles" or "goofy posters" anyway.

Q: I know that you've done work for a magazine called Lucky. Could you tell me a little bit about that?

[I] just art [directed] a few issues on that one, and did a few covers. The guys that run it are crazy friends of mine. I love ‘em.

Q: Street art has really exploded on a global scale in the past 10 years. What's the scene like in Australia?

In Perth, it's okay, [there’s] alot of very talented local people: The Ayem Crew, (watarush.com); Melbourne Stencils are going nuts; Sydney is also good. Melbourne [though] would have to be the best place to see peoples’ art on other peoples’ walls.

Q: The characters that you illustrate are quite a motley crew. Do they each have names and stories? Or are they just anonymous city dwellers?

I guess they are loosely based on friends and past bosses and girlfriends, but they are all gargoyles.

Q: Wheat-pasting and stickering can be quite adventurous I'd imagine. What's the most incredible bombing tale you can tell?

Not really… just good times sitting on roofs drinking beer, except for that time when I was arrested ‘cuz they thought I was breaking into the building.

Q: Could you discuss your creative process?

I use pens mostly—pencils and markers to do the original designs—then use the computer to refine them. For canvases I paint with brushes and acrylic paints. For bigger works ill use spray paint.

Q: Describe your typical day.

Eat muesli. Go to work. Go out for some dinner. Come home, draw something or paint something or go skating or visiting. Go to bed.

Q: I've seen your work pop up in magazines and even on album covers. Has your street work helped attract clients? And do you dabble much in freelance design and illustration work?

A little bit here and there. Royal Elastics was kind enough to take me to Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Japan this year to do exhibitions. I love those guys as well.

Q: What projects are you currently working on?

www.kingbrownmag.com and www.theyok.com

Q: Do you have any exclusive Yok news you'd like to share with us? If not, how about some celebrity gossip or a recipe or something?

No news yet, it's all still in development. As for recipes, I can't cook very well so I eat out a lot.

Q: Any closing words for the people?

Turn off the TV.

For further information about Yok, check him out on Al Gore's World Wide Web at: www.theyok.com

NIKE: A MAJOR THREAT

2005-06-30T08:11:00.000-04:00

Nike Skateboarding, the youth-oriented and supposedly "plugged-in" branch of the sneaker empire has taken its latest branding campaign a bit too far. Hoping to capitalize on the iconic album imagery of long-defunct D.C.-based punk legends Minor Threat, the offending sneaker pimps have tarnished their strategically-engineered street cred. Here's Pitchfork Media's telling comparison photo.

Pictured: Nike's supposed "homage" to Minor Threat. And I thought the image wasn't available online anymore. I found it with ease.

The company did issue a public apology and stated that all its "Major Threat" promotional materials would be pulled immediately. However, it seems that Nike has shown its hand. It will be interesting to see if there is any additional backlash. Or will the legions of hipsters and sneaker fiends hungry for "artist edition" and classic reissue Nikes gloss over this blatant disregard for tact--continuing to line the pockets of Nike's founder Phil Knight.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

2005-06-29T13:22:00.000-04:00

Please note: This message was posted to address an infestation problem we were dealing with. All is well now. So it's back to business as usual. Thank you for your patience.

So, let's talk about the statistics counter on the website. It's the little black box in the bottom right corner of the navigation bar, the one with all the numbers. Well, get this: it provides me with very basic information, kinda like constructive criticism for the site. When I view the reports I can tell which pages are popular (or not), where visitors link from (helpful to know how people learned about the site), how long they've spent on each page, how many times they've viewed the site, and even down to the IP address.

So, why am I telling you this? I'm not sure, but it just seems like certain repeat visitors might want to know. Did I mention that the stat counter even lists the company name with the IP address? Hmm. And I thought these certain people didn't like me. I guess I was wrong. For as much as they check the site, it seems like we'll be sipping beers and chatting about old times real soon. Err, maybe not.

STRESS TEST

2005-06-28T09:35:00.000-04:00

Whatever the assorted causes may be, life has been stressful as of late. It''s often hard to discern what exactly it is that's got my nerves all tensed and twisted. I've been doing alot of freelance work lately, spending long nights seated in front of the computer. So that, as one contributing factor, can take its toll.

Pictured: Team Sleep (L to R): Chino Moreno, Rick Verret, Todd Wilkinson, Zach Hill, & DJ Crook.

But the work has afforded me the opportunity to talk with some interesting people. And not to do a laundry list here, but it's more a personal checklist for me to visualize what I've churned out these past couple weeks:

Team Sleep interview: Just wrapped up this feature for the local alt-weekly City Paper. I interviewed Todd Wilkinson, Team Sleep's guitar player. Although I was somewhat hesitant about the album at first, it's really kinda grown on me. The track with Rob Crow from Pinback is really good. The article was fun to write (once the writer's block subsided) and I'm stoked to see them play live. [article drops weds.]

Last week I finished up a feature article for UK music/culture mag Straight No Chaser. I cover outsider art for Chaser and interviewed my pal Florencio Zavala. I also help coordinate the gallery section when I contribute. So Flo hooked up a real nice two-page spread of Christian Marclay--his personal musical hero. [article drops in July].

Just prior to that, I interviewed a talented fella named Jonathan Keller for Swindle Quarterly (the new mag by Shepard Fairey & Roger Gastman). Jonathan makes these incredible robots from empty cereal cartons and cracker boxes, creations he aptly refers to as: Boxbots. [Not real sure when that one drops].

And, I also have a feature in the latest issue of Atomica, the "cinema" issue. Experimental cinema and projection artists were the subject of my piece, and I interviewed and interesting group of folks: Eclectic Method, Motomichi Nakamura, and Takagi Masakatsu.

That's all for now. I had more to say, but have to attend the staff "copier training" session down the hall. Because, as you know, it's incredibly difficult to make copies, so training is recommended.

STONERS RULE '89

2005-06-23T12:39:00.000-04:00

Metallica used to be a giant in the speed metal world. You couldn't walk the halls of my junior high school without catching a glimpse of at least a half dozen burnouts wearing faded Metallica concert tees or jean jackets emblazoned with Ride The Lightning or Master Of Puppets backpatches and pins.

Pictured: Cover artwork from Ride The Lightning, a Metallica classic.

Before I knew who Metallica was or first heard their music, I wasn't all too impressed with what I thought I knew about heavy metal. However, my exposure to the genre had been minimal at best--seeing videos from the likes of Ozzy Osbourne, Dokken and Cinderella on MTV's "Hard 30" (remember that pile of shit mid-afternoon video show). But the first time I heard Metallica (during 6th grade), which happened to be when I saw the video for "One," I felt oddly compelled to watch and listen.

Previously, I had never really listened to the "hard stuff" and it felt very taboo, as this was during the era when parent groups and specifically Christians were claiming that heavy metal was the devil's music. I already felt pretty badass about my musical preferences--Van Halen, Def Leppard, Guns N Roses. I remember delivering newspapers (Pittsburgh Press R.I.P.) and listening to my Walkman, rocking out to Pyromania and High N Dry by Def Leppard and Women and Children First and 1984 by Van Halen. I was hot shit, cruisin' down the street mid-afternoon, white jean jacket littered with rock 'n roll buttons and pins, mullet fluttering in the cool suburban breeze. I had it all under control, err, maybe.

Pictured: ...And Justice For All was Metallica's swansong as speed metal pioneers.

I purchased my copy of ...And Justice For All from Tapeworld in Monroeville Mall. Yes indeed, there was once a store called Tapeworld, and it was fucking awesome. I subsequently purchased the majority of my metal catalog [throughout junior high and high school] at Tapeworld--from D.R.I. and The Accused to Slayer, Death Angel, and countless others. Buying a new tape became a weekly ritual for me. Another way that I built up my catalog of tapes was by sending away to BMG... you know, that 25 tapes for a penny deal they used to run. When the boxes of tapes arrived, it felt like Christmas morning. A selection of speed metal gems delivered to my doorstep: Metal Church, Nuclear Assault, Testament, Flotsam and Jetsam, Overkill--it was insane. I remember wrapping Christmas presents that year while listening to No Place For Disgrace by Flotsam and Jetsam.

Anyhow, Metallica was the band that got me hooked. I also think that, since I had just started playing guitar at that point, the technical guitar work really appealed to me. I remember how people would always say that metal was just noise. What a farce. Metal was loud, but it also boasted some of the best riffs and intricate solos ever recorded.

Driving into work this morning, I listened to ...And Justice For All The album is well-produced, but still very menacing. This is before producer Bob Rock became involved with the band and transformed them into a rock band (and before James Hetfield's voice became a caricature of itself). Each song is nostalgic, each guitar line. I remember listening for hours on end, mimicking Kirk Hammet's picking techniques and James Hetfield's tight and powerful rhythm lines.

As I sit here in my cubicle, surrounded by deafening silence, I rise my optical mouse (sorry, I don't have a lighter) to the sky as "Sanitarium" plays in the background [in my brain that is... no music allowed at work].

Scientology 101: Unraveling L. Ron Hubbard's Sci-Fi Cult Pt. 2

2005-06-22T16:05:00.000-04:00

The wrong thing to do about any given circumstance or situation is to do nothing.
—L. Ron Hubbard

People can be downright strange. For example, Scientologists. I am only knee-deep in trying to find out what the hell Scientology is and I already feel like I stumbled into
a cameo role on some poorly-written Sci-Fi channel original series. For starters, you'll want to read the following statement [Taken from an AP newswire report dated Thursday, September 19, 1997]:

Scientology was founded 41 years ago by science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard. It views the individual, rather than a supreme god, as the spiritual being and believes that man's spiritual problems stem from an intergalactic holocaust 75 million years ago.

-Associated Press

Let's take a look at this excerpt. Sure, it may sound a bit egocentric deeming yourself, rather than a supreme god, as the spiritual being, but it's a notion that I'm sure many people would glady buy (particuliarly the Hollywood set who so readily endorse the religion). But wait, did I also read a little tidbit about an "intergalactic holocaust" that occurred 75 million years ago? Wow. I didn't realize such a catastrophe had taken place. Naturally, I turn to Google to answer my questions and set my mind at ease. A quick search of the phrase "intergalactic holocaust" and "intergalactic holocaust 75 million years ago" proves to be very fruitful. However, that's if you consider finding even more disturbing information about Hubbard's intergalactic-minded, sci-fi cult to be fruitful.

Every mention of the above-referenced phrase is either 1.) a Scientology-related website or news article or 2.) Science fiction (in the sci-fi community, "intergalactic [insert noun here]" happen(s) all the time... that shit's commonplace). However, here on Earth, people go to school for many years to become scientists and spend their entire lives researching, studying, and searching for clues to find the answers to questions like: How, when, and where did life originate? And, us common folk even go as far as to constantly argue over things like the notion of evolution versus the idea that God created the world in six or seven days, whatever the "accurate" number is supposed to be.

So, with an intergalactic holocaust as the explanation for Man's spiritual problems, let's move forward (if that's even wise), and dig a little deeper into the brains of these Scientologists.

At the end of my last report [click here], I had just taken the Church of Scientology's (CoS) toxicity test and discovered that I was in dire straits (according to CoS standards of course) and just short of needing to quit my job and enter a detox facility. However, since I was and still am apprehensive to call the Scientology hotline (no really, there's a number to call), I decided I would ease into this bubbling cauldron of crazy a bit slower. So with that said, I've decided to click on the What Can Scientology Do For Me link. It seems harmless enough.

Testimonials by credible personalities like Kirstie Ally, Kelly Preston, and Ron Code the motorcycle instructor flash across the top portion of my monitor as I scroll through the long list of benefits that Scientology offers--and what a smorgasbord it is. Of course, these benefits are not just doled out for free, like say, a normal church would do. They each carry a suggested retail price that requires a real credit card in order to purchase. But let's not get sidetracked, as we have a great deal of shit to swallow, err, knowledge to absorb.

Since I'm a willing guineau pig, and interested in discovering what Scientology can do for me, I read through some of the highlights. Not only can Hubbard's religion teach me how to improve my communication skills and better maintain relationships with those around me (because I'm definately unable to do so on my own accord), it also promises to teach me morals (which I'm sorely lacking) and how to live a drug-free life (this is a big concept in Scientology).

After reading through these principles, it's still hard to truly understand what Scientologists believe. From what I've read, it sounds less like a religion and more like an ongoing self-help seminar. So, for clarity's sake, let's review what exactly Scientologists believe:

A "Supreme Being" exists. The church is not Christian and does not worship any god.
Humans are reincarnated, spiritual beings.
Ever-higher states of spiritual enlightenment can be attained through courses and "auditing," which is done with the use of a lie detector-like device called an E-Meter.
People are weakened by harmful experiences engraved in mental pictures called "engrams." Through auditing, this "reactive mind" can be eliminated. Past lives are audited, too.
Disembodied spirits implanted with false memories and sent to Earth 75 million years ago by Xenu, an evil galactic warlord, cling to humans and create unhappiness and strife.
Seventy percent of illnesses - including arthritis, migraines, asthma and ulcers - are psychosomatic and curable without doctors

*List originally appeared in The Buffalo News [January 30, 2005] in an article by Mark Sommer.

If you're even more confused by the list above, don't be alarmed. Scientology is tough. Have you ever watched a really bad science fiction film or television show and been terribly confused by its far too complex plot? That's kind of how Scientology works, minus the mindless entertainment value. However, it does have an elaborate backstory, just like Star Trek or Star Wars, but without the Klingons and Wookies. And, just as Star Wars has "The Force" which exists in every living being, so too does Scientology. But their version is more complicated and confusing and it's called Dianetics.

To be continued...

Next report: Dianetics, "advanced spiritual technology," and a frightening handwritten document by Hubbard himself called the "OT III" (which better explains Scientology's skewed world view).

The Beautiful Destruction

2005-06-20T08:53:00.000-04:00

Editor's note: The following essay is as close as this journal [blog] will come to having a mission statement or manifesto. It was written for an anthology I released back in January of this year titled Young & Reckless. I thought it may be of some interest to readers, so I've decided to make it available online (in it's unedited form) as well as in print. I hope you enjoy it.

We’re crammed together in a car, speeding—like clowns en route to a performance that’s already begun. The gold Chevette that we’re driving rattles and clinks as we barrel toward the crest of a hill. The noises are troubling. It sounds as though we’ve left a litter of parts in our wake—hubcaps, bumper, muffler, and an assortment of nuts and bolts necessary for fastening important things together. But as I look over my shoulder, surprisingly, our rusty and battered car appears intact, aside from the occasional puff of black smoke being spit from the tailpipe. But that’s normal.

As we rumble along the winding suburban streets, the neighborhood emits a mechanical almost hollow feeling. Though the pseudo-sidewalks and artificially green lawns are bubbling with activity—children riding bicycles, adults in ridiculous outfits power walking, dogs barking, sprinklers popping on—this place feels more like a Xerox of real life than the pumping (and somewhat congested) heart of America’s middle class. But maybe all neighborhoods feel this way at one moment or another— small, insular, and sometimes inescapable.

Our driver accelerates, pressing the gas pedal until it’s flush with the car’s floorboard and its dirty, cinder-infested tan carpet. The Chevette’s tiny engine is working hard, struggling to pull the weight of its four passengers up and over the sharply angled hill. And just as the rickety 4-cylinder reaches the peak, we each hop a bit in our seats, then breathe a collective sigh of relief as the car bounds down the other side.

Looking over his shoulder, Keith, our driver, appears confident, almost giddy—his day-old stubble looking like catfish whiskers sprouting from his chin and upper lip. He’s wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball cap that he “borrowed” from me several months ago. I don’t think I’m getting it back.

Deemed the unofficial designated driver, however begrudgingly, Keith carts our mischief-making, terminally bored crew all over Pittsburgh’s eastern suburbs. Today’s setting: scenic Garden City, a housing development located about 20 minutes from downtown.

Whirring past an odd assortment of ranch, split-entry, and Cape Cod style homes, each of us periodically looks out the back window in nervous anticipation.

Maybe they gave up? Maybe we lost them?

Keith suddenly swerves off the road, pulling into an empty driveway, loudly jerking the car into park as we each lunge forward like a band of top-heavy children tumbling headfirst to the ground. Slightly stunned, we stare at each other for a moment, no one speaking a word. Why is he stopping here?

A red Pontiac Sunbird, driven by a plump woman and her wiry male co-pilot, quickly darts past. We didn’t lose them. The Chevette, still running, is shifted into reverse. Keith jams the accelerator to the floor and speeds out of the driveway—backwards. Quickly shifting in to drive and spinning the car’s nearly bald tires against the pavement, he makes a desperate dash to close the gap with the speeding red car.

He loves this technique, the one where the person being chased becomes the chaser. He should have pursued a career in stunt driving. He could have been like Lee Majors in The Fall Guy or maybe a 21st century version of Evel Knievel.

The rest of the crew is now bubbling with joy, acting like a bunch of socially retarded goons on an unexpected summer outing. We love this part, always have (“This part” being the portion of the chase where we feel like we’re in a movie, each assuming the starring role of backseat driver—Turn here, pass her up, cut them off, what are you doing, you’re losing them!). We’re at once bossy and indecisive. I dunno where that road leads. Speed up. Hopefully the police don’t see us. Run the red light! We must be terribly obnoxious.

As Keith navigates the twisted, nonsensical streets of Garden City, the rest of us just enjoy the chase. Gregg is riding shotgun, as always, his window rolled down, screaming at passersby as we motor along. He occasionally looks back at us, seeking peer approval for his hell-raising antics—of course we all silently nod: Job well done. Keep up the good work.

I’m seated behind him, legs squeezed up tight (remember, it is a Chevette), head angled out the window, struggling to yell and make a scene as bugs and the rushing air pummel my face. My normal spastic, shock-inducing phrases are getting lost in the gushing air—spilling out of my mouth and disappearing behind us with the smoke from the tailpipe. “Hey lady, nice nose,” I scream, along with the classic, “Jesus had gonorrhea!” The power walkers, postal carriers, and small children of the neighborhood do not appear to be impressed.

Seated to my left is our friend Jim. Reluctant to antagonize, he’s content to fan the flames, maniacally laughing as the chase becomes more heated—his abnormally large and sharp-looking eyeteeth protruding from his mouth.

The pursuit becomes more delicate as we close in. Keith carefully keeps his distance, trying desperately not to ruin the surprise too early. We always want the person we’re chasing to be shocked that we’ve outsmarted them at their own game, snuck up from behind just when they weren’t looking. So far, the scenario is playing out like a low-budget Hollywood chase scene—just as we had hoped.

The red Sunbird is still speeding erratically, its driver bent on finding us, her plump fingers choking the vinyl covering on her steering wheel. She carelessly rolls through stop signs, only slowing to inspect side roads and any other possible escape-routes.

But wait. What’s this?

In the midst of a rolling stop, the chubby woman’s brake lights pop on and the car abruptly jerks to a halt. She must have caught a glimpse of us in her rearview mirror. Usually, the driver will speed up and play along, thinking the joke is funny. Not this woman. And the timing is bad. We’re at a busy four-way intersection and our car is trapped. She’s parked in front of us and cars are quickly lining up behind us. People are beeping their horns, wondering why traffic has come to a standstill. That’s when the driver’s side door swings open and we see the woman’s plump, tennis-shoed foot plop onto the pavement.

* * *

This moment is critical: the moment when this woman, frustrated and ready to boil over, stopped her car and decided to raise the stakes. We probably deserved whatever it was she had planned for us, but I wonder what thoughts stumbled through her mind as she slammed her foot on the brake pedal. I’m sure my friends and I feared we would be eaten by this gigantic woman, or we at least laughed and joked about the notion—the idea that this woman would tear our arms and legs from the sockets, munching on them as though she were devouring a bucket of sickly, undercooked chicken. Then she would say: “These taste like shit, but they’ll do,” her voice deep, muddy, and followed by a long rattling victory belch. But I’m certain that wasn’t her intent. Her motive was much simpler—revenge.

Imagine you are a severely overweight woman, stopped in traffic at a red light in a busy intersection. You’re starving. You’re always starving—even though you just ate lunch a couple hours ago. The summer heat is driving you mad. You’re uncomfortable, sweating like lunchmeat left in the sun. Your crevices are chaffed thanks to truant beads of perspiration. But still you’re focused on one thing and one thing only—dinner.

Resting on the seat of your ‘91 Pontiac Sunbird (complete with broken air conditioning and a side view mirror held on with duct tape) is what you desire most—a brown bag of McDonalds hamburgers and assorted side orders, blotted with grease stains and stocked to the top with condiments.

Your dirty, unattractive, thin boyfriend is seated next to you. You think to yourself: He doesn’t give a shit if I dig into this bag of burgers—he hates eating, just look at him! The struggle persists. Binge on burgers now or wait until you get home? The aroma of over-processed, Grade D meat is distracting you, calling to you, questioning your allegiance. But I just ate, you plead. Tonight I’ll use my Stairmaster, burn off the excess calories. But the false justifications don’t work.

Your jumbo-sized Coca-Cola, wedged in the car’s petite cup holder, is sweating, dripping into the ashtray below where a stack of discarded cigarette butts teeters precariously. I told him to empty that ashtray a week ago. You look over at him, a sensation of disgust swelling in your gut. Unfortunately, he’s temporarily preoccupied, lighting another cigarette using the dwindling embers from the last. You take a long look: his greasy hair, his tattered t-shirt, the dirt under his fingernails. Why am I with this guy?

You can feel the fajitas you ate for lunch rolling over in your stomach, a stew of hot sauce, tortillas, and orange Fanta inching its way back up your esophagus. Your blood pressure bubbles. Why doesn’t he get a car or better yet, a job? He flicks the burned out butt onto the road, takes a long drag from his fresh-lit cigarette and looks over at you with his crooked smile, blue smoke slowing twirling from his nostrils. This has got to be the longest red light ever.

That’s when you crumble. Just one burger for now, you tell yourself. At that moment, you plunge your plump hand inside the greasy McDonald’s bag, fishing around for the first available quarter pounder with cheese. Hamburger… no. Your fingers walk around inside the bag, inspecting, searching. Fries… no, chicken McNuggets… ah, success. It’s in your hand, the prize. By now, the smell of lukewarm meat has permeated the car, tested your wits. Your top lip is sweating. Your hair smells like stale cigarette smoke as you brush the feathered, hairspray-glazed bangs from your face. As you fiendishly remove the burger’s wrapper, and prepare to sink your choppers into the delicate sesame seed bun, your aggravating co-pilot chimes in:

“Slow down babe, them burgers ain’t getting’ away.” Before you can even respond to his stupidity, there’s another interruption.

Honk! You look for a car in the rearview mirror, nothing. The light’s still red.

Honk, honk!

What the fuck?

Hooooooooonk!

That’s when you discover the source—a group of teenagers in a beat up gold Chevette, sitting next to you at the light, pounding the car horn, staring at you, making faces, and saying something. You struggle to hear them.

“Oh, is that good?” says the blond-haired teenager in the passenger seat, mimicking the way in which you just desperately unwrapped your quarter pounder with cheese. “Nummy, nummy,” he adds before biting into an imaginary hamburger.

At first you feel embarrassed, maybe you are a pig and this kid has a point, however crude it may be. Then you feel ashamed, the way you often react after catching a glimpse of your profile in a mirror or storefront window. But finally, finally, you settle on anger—fist-pounding, animal-mutilating, shoot-your-gun-in-the-air, punch-your-scrawny-boyfriend-in-the-dick, drive fast-as-fuck-and-maim-these-teenagers-or-die-trying, anger.

* * *

The situation is about to escalate. A second plump, tennis-shoed foot thumps down on the pavement—followed by two large, pasty arms thrusting forward, hands clenching the Sunbird’s doorframe with what appears to be the strength of a small rhino. The woman then quickly and angrily hoists herself from the Sunbird’s bucket seat. The car instantly lifts up, temporarily relieving the suspension from its arduous, active duty.

She quickly turns and marches toward our car with her hands balled into fists, arms swinging violently at her sides, blood-drenched rage spilling from her eyes. We’re all hysterical—displaying a mixture of extreme fear and uncontrollable laughter. And, as if we shared the same brain, we each lock our doors at the same time and begin rolling up our windows. We soon learn the woman is not interested in all of us—just Keith. I suppose that’s a burden the driver automatically assumes when engaged in a car chase.

“You son of a bitch!” she screams, quivering with anger as she approaches the driver’s side of the car. Keith continues to laugh while he frantically rolls up his window, unsure of what she’s planning to do. That’s when she unravels—swearing and punching the glass countless times with her round, cushioned fists. After the window loses its appeal, she raises her arms above her head and noisily pounds on the roof of the car like some sort of giant. Then she targets our windshield, which sounds as though it may crack beneath the strength of her punches. Meanwhile, back at the Sunbird, her scrawny, cigarette-chomping boyfriend does nothing. Though, I suppose his services are not required. From where we’re sitting, his girlfriend seems to have things under control—though she’s starting to look tired. As a final lesson to us, and in between sucking deep gulps of air, she pounds her fist into our hood, leaving a grapefruit-sized dent in the faded gold finish. Now, appearing exhausted and somewhat relieved, the plump woman trudges back to her car, sits for a moment then drives away. The traffic jam we created begins to wind around us, the drivers honking their horns and angrily shaking middle fingers as they pass. Our Chevette stays parked. And, for a moment, we’re all silent.

Unfortunately, this type of situation was not new to us. We’d encountered countless angry and ill-humored people throughout our teenage years—most of whom wanted to either do us harm or arrest us for our actions or supposed wrongdoings. But how could we be blamed for these peoples’ lack of wit or inability to laugh at themselves? Our mischief, for the most part, was benign, the bi-product of seemingly endless days spent addicted and strung out on the euphoria of youthful bliss: doing graffiti beneath railroad trestles, getting drunk on stolen booze, giving bad directions to strangers, shooting bottle rockets at neighbors front windows, throwing pennies into crowds just to watch people scramble, rigging up fishing line with sinkers to remotely knock on people’s front doors—primitive but satisfying deviance, a legacy we proudly established for ourselves one mishap at a time.

But personal identity can manifest itself in such strange ways. And however reckless and insensitive we acted, disregarding the feelings of those on the receiving end of our jokes and disruptive behavior, the motivation was, for the most part, innocent. Our perspectives and our roles seemed to be predetermined—each of us an outsider in his own way. We each found joy in dismantling both the idiocy and mundane routines that surrounded us—whether it was school, the conservative mindset of the community we lived in, the limitations our parents imposed upon us, or the seemingly mediocre aspirations of suburban life. We responded the best way we knew how, with a simple and unspoken agenda: The beautiful destruction of normalcy.

DeLorean: Guts & Glamour

2005-06-17T14:09:00.000-04:00

Last night, as Michelle and I were driving through the neighborhood behind our house, I spotted a DeLorean parked in someone's driveway. I can't recall if I've ever seen a DeLorean that wasn't on film traveling through time in a Back To The Future movie.

Pictured: Back To The Future-modified DeLorean illustration.

It was dark, so I didn't get to examine it too much. But I was impressed by how unique the car still looks and how unconventional it must have been for its time (seriously, think about some of the other cars produced during the 1980s... boxy, clunky, ugly).

So I did a Google search for DeLorean this morning and discovered that the car is actually extremely rare, with only 9,000 models produced at its factory in Northern Ireland before the company went bankrupt in 1982. John Z. DeLorean, the brilliant automotive executive turned failed glamour car entrepreneur, actually died this past March at the age of 80 [click here for a detailed obituary].

Pictured: Another Back To The Future-modified DeLorean illustration (Note the flux capacitor).

DeLorean's obituary reads like the quintessential "American dream" tale. He came from a working class neighborhood in Michigan; his father was employed as a foundry worker for Ford; DeLorean attended school to pursue business and engineering; he then worked his way up through the ranks of Detroit's booming automotive industry where he climbed all the way to the position of GM vice-president. And it was just at the peak of his success, as he was being groomed to take over as President of GM, that he departed the company to pursue his dream of designing and manufacturing his own line of automobiles.

Sure, there are rumors that DeLorean sold cocaine to fund his ailing venture (although he was acquitted on the charges). And he was supposedly known as quite a name-dropper, rubbing elbows with Hollywood's elite, garnering financial support for his company from the likes of Jonny Carson and Sammy Davis Jr. to name a few. Or maybe he was just a good businessman. That is, until the bottom dropped out.

Scientology 101: Unraveling L. Ron Hubbard's Sci-Fi Cult Pt. 1

2005-06-17T09:38:00.000-04:00

Scientology Aims: A civilization without insanity, without criminals and without war, where the able can prosper and honest beings can have rights, and where man is free to rise to greater heights, are the aims of Scientology. — L. Ron Hubbard

Pictured: The Scientologists are coming! The Scientologists are coming!

Scientology: What the fuck is it? Here's the short and simple version: Scientology is a religion founded by science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard. Okay, now that that's out of the way, let's really figure this one out. You see, Scientology has absolutely frightened me ever since I drove through downtown Los Angeles in 2001 and saw it's main military, err, spiritual headquarters--which, by the way, looks like the fucking Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas after an all night bender on growth hormones.

Most of us have heard of Scientology thanks to celebrity endorsements from devout Scientologists like John "Battlefield Earth" Travolta and Tom "Mental health treatment is for pussies" Cruise. Sure, there are other celebrities who frequent the house that Hubbard built [click here for a list], but as of late, Tom Cruise has been the most vocal spokesperson--drawing attention to himself like a deaf person singing in a library. Sure, we've all seen the clips of him jumping up and down on Oprah's couch, proclaiming his love for Katie Holmes. And you've certainly seen the photos where Cruise is forcefully kissing Holmes, gripping her face like a polar bear tearing the jaw off a seal. But the latest news--word that Holmes and Cruise are engaged and that she has adopted Scientology and is enjoying her "lessons"--is what prompted me to find out what exactly this sci-fi religion is all about.

First things first, I visit the Scientology website. I figure this is as good a place as any to get started. After snooping around a bit, I stumble across a link that reads: How toxic are you? Okay, I'm intrigued Mr. Hubbard, lead on. So I take the test. I mean, it's only 10 questions (these Scientologists must be operating at a highly advanced diagnostic level to determine my toxicity with just 10 questions... but wait, what the hell does "toxic" have to do with religion?). Anyhow, a moment later, I get the results. To my surprise, I'm toxic. Not only am I toxic, I'm apparently pretty bad off, answering "YES" to eight out of the 10 questions provided. Great, just great. Now what do I do?

The website advises that first I need to purchase a copy of Clear Body Clear Mind, by L. Ron Hubbard. Supposedly, not only will this book help me to clear my toxic noodle, it will also increase my IQ. Not bad for only $49.95. The website also kindly provides a three-step method for purging my drug-tainted (even though I never mentioned taking drugs) and under-developed mind:

3 STEPS TO CLEAR THINKING

1. On the Purification Program, a person runs for a period each day to get the blood circulating faster and the system warmed up.

2. Running is followed by sweating out the drug residuals in a sauna. Profuse sweating helps purify the system of toxic substances.

3. Regular nutrition and supplemental nutrition in the form of vitamins and minerals is an important part of this program.

Purification Program can improve personality – and IQ!

Pictured: The "before" and "after" effects of applying Hubbard's Scientology methods.

But now what? I feel so conflicted. I'm toxic, my wallet is $49.95 lighter, and I'm exercising like a man possessed. But I still feel lost, disinterested in what people have to say, and mentally and spiritually deadened. My trusty Scientologic companion, the website, advises that I now have three options (everything appears to come in threes with Scientology):

1. Find an organization near you.

2. Read more from the website.

3. Speak with a live consultant about the program.

Since I'm still not convinced that Scientology is the answer to all my problems (although it's sure looking good right now), I opt for option # 2. It's the easiest option since I still feel lethargic and sitting behind my computer is easier than visiting the local Scientology shop or picking up the phone to speak with a crazed psychopathic Scientologic telemarketer.

To be continued...

Hubbard's Quote of the Day®

"The only time anyone has ever gotten into serious trouble was when he decided he could do nothing about something."

—L. Ron Hubbard (Dianetics 55)

Cassette Culture

2005-06-16T17:06:00.000-04:00

I love cassettes. Some people call them tapes. Either way, they're like gold to me. Since it's summer and Michelle and I are on the yard sale/garage sale/flea market/estate sale/white elephant circuit, I've been keeping my eyes peeled for these little gems.

Pictured: The most compelling cassette image I could find using Google's image search.

It's a good time for cassettes too. Just this past Sunday I stumbled across a surplus of classics, 25 to be exact--from RUN DMC's Raising Hell to Metallica's Master of Puppets--and I only paid 5 bucks for 'em all. The other night I found even more chromium dioxide booty.

"Them don't sell," a colorful and somewhat toothless woman employed at the local Goodwill told me as I took a stack of gold off her hands (AC/DC, DIO, Yngwie Malmsteen, Yaz, ZZ Top, etc.). Oh well, your loss my plump little friend.

After I amass an impressive tape collection, I'm planning to feverishly compose mixtapes--based on themes like metal mania, high school heartbreak, terrible b-sides, and the list goes on.

I'll post some photos of the collection soon. It's only in its toddler stages at the moment... but it's growing, oh it's growing.

Have You Tried The Virus-Laden Poo? It's The Shit.

2005-06-16T10:25:00.000-04:00

As if climbing a mountain wasn't already dangerous enough. Now the adventurous men and women who scale these peaks have to watch even more closely where they step [see what I mean].

Pictured: An Ansel Adams' photograph of Mount McKinley... pre-virus-laden poo era.

You would think (at least I would) that a mountaintop would be snowcapped and cold, pristine and virtually untouched by modern man.

Ah, nope.

That's right, even climbers have to take time to relieve their bladders and move their bowels. It's actually the latter of the functions that's causing all the problems though. Virus-laden poo is today's secret word. Yes indeed, climbers are "dropping the kids off at the ice rink" and it's creating an infectious wonderland on mountain peaks the world over. Why not dig a hole and poop in there? you may be thinking. There is a reason.. everything is frozen. So it would seem the poo is almost being preserved. Yum.

Think of it like this: One day you wake up with the urge to collect something. But what to collect. You're down on your luck, don't have much extra cash. So baseball cards, beanie babies, or exotic spoons from around the world are out of the question. So naturally, you have an epiphany of sorts: What not collect my own feces and store it in the icebox for preservation and presentation purposes? Next thing you know, you're pets are all dropping like flies, you're wife has left you due to your new and odd-collecting habit, and you have a poo-induced rash that looks like a cross between chicken pox and poison ivy (hypothetically speaking). The point here being... it's a bad idea.

But what's the answer: Poop in a bag and throw it down the mountain? Have everybody poop in a pile then set it on fire? Poop into your backpack and bring it back with you? I don't know the answer... really, I don't. And I'm not real worried about it, I'm not climbing a fucking mountain anytime soon.

HIT THE GROUND RUNNING

2005-06-15T12:00:00.000-04:00

Back for a quick update and a shameless plug. As you can see, the site redesign is underway. I'm still working out a few bugs and hoping to put up a new banner in the next couple days.

Pictured: Young & Reckless: Poison Control Vol. I

In the meantime, I thought I'd mention that I still have some copies of Young & Reckless available for sale [Click to buy]. So don't sleep. I also updated the Poison Control site with a slew of upcoming news. Something I forgot to add on the site, we're traveling to the city of brotherly love in July for the Philly Zine Fest. So stop by the Poison Control table and check out our ware(s)... yea, we only have one book at the moment.

Things should be finalized and operational here soon. When I switched blog templates I lost a bunch of stuff and screwed up some crap, so I'm working that out now. I'm a baffoon. Anyhow... laters.

Can't Stop Trying To Fix This Cursed...

2005-06-14T14:21:00.000-04:00

I'm a nerd when it comes to design. I can even be a bit obsessive. So, as you can see, the blog is under construction. I was bored of looking at the design I had... I felt it was too busy, too theme-oriented, or something like that. So I'm reworking it to make it more simplistic and focused on the writing. So, I apologize for any speed bumps or goofiness you may experience on here in the next day or so.

-Management

Enjoy the Perks

2005-06-11T00:55:00.000-04:00

The dayjob has its perks--namely, a paycheck. However, there is also the fun of driving press cars. Yes, that's right, I get to drive exciting cars that I would quite possibly never be able to afford in my lifetime. Since I started this job, I've tried to snap photos of each of the cars--for posterity's sake.

Pictured: Console; Porsche 911 Carrera S Tiptronic... ah, fast.

However, I'm not always sucessful in remembering to do so. But it seemed only right to share some photos, and allow any car geeks out there to live vicariousy through my rather excellent job perk. Not that I'm gloating, I really want to share this info, because it's fun.

Pictured: Michelle in her "big pimpin'" pose, at one with the Porsche.

Okay, I just realized, I really don't have many photos of these cars... ugh. I've got a Land Rover LR3 this weekend, so I'll make sure to snap some shots. It's a terribly inefficient car--14 miles to the gallon. However, it's big and comfy, like a beanbag chair. I would certainly win in a head on collision too, that's for sure.

Oh well, it's late and my eyelids are heavy.

Time to say goodnight.

WWJD

2005-06-09T10:40:00.000-04:00

Pictured: Here's a pic I snapped in good 'ol Braddock, PA. Almost the whole town is boarded up, but they still gots a church.

Feel The Burn

2005-06-09T09:59:00.000-04:00

I'm a little burned out on writing. I guess that's what happens when you sit in front of a computer all day, retinas glazed over, a steady burning caused from staring at the screen in front of you, forgetting to blink. It's just that this freelance writing hustle is feeling tired as fuck right now.

Pictured: The desert in Green Valley, Arizona (outside Tucson).

I went to bed way too late... like close to 2am, because I was checking email and trying to finish this story I've been working on for way too long. But instead of making progress, I just sat there writing and re-writing the same sentences. I'm in a fucking rut. I just don't feel like writing lately.

Pictured: The desert (again). Yes, there was lots of it.

Oh well, occasional disenchantment is to be expected I suppose. Writing is still work, no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise. Lately, I feel like a change is in order... a big change. I'm planning on how to better spend my time, concentrate on what I really want to do.

Pictured: Cacti in the desert... yes, quite enthralling.

I'm thinkin' about gettin' out of this freelance game and focusing more on my own book project. I want to do something satisfying and maybe, just maybe, something of some value. As much as I enjoy music and art, profiling artists and musicians can be downright fuckin' dull most times.

Pictured: Open Range isn't just a bad movie with Kevin Costener... these signs were everywhere, though I never saw the cows/steer in question.

Every once and a while, I get the opportunity to interview somebody who is truly interesting or a character or at least someone entertaining. But most times, boredom begins setting in as I speak with them and I just slip into auto mode.

Pictured: I spotted this stencil in downtown Tucson, which was extremely cool by the way.

Oh well... boredom is setting in as I speak. I've got oodles of shit to do here at the work piece, so I must bid you all a fond farewell.

By The Time I Get To Arizona

2005-06-01T11:07:00.000-04:00

I'm shipping out this afternoon for Tucson, Arizona. Rumor has it the temperature is around 96 degrees--a little better than the 100-110 degrees I read about last week. I'll be covering a mini baja competition for the magazine I work for.

Pictured: Glen E. Friedman photography of Chuck D and Flavor Flav for the album "It Takes A Nation Of Millions..."

It seems like it may be somewhat interesting, we'll see. While gathering my things here in Cubesville, the phrase "By the time I get to Arizona" popped into my head. Now, for those who dig Public Enemy, you know that's a track from Fear of a Black Planet. And then I thought, what's going on with Public Enemy? Flavor Flav and his fifteen minutes of reality TV fame are just about up. And Chuck D seems to keep busy with his radio show, speaking engagements, etc. But why don't we hear more from them musically? Who knows, maybe that newer work they've done is good, but what I've heard is kinda mediocre. It seems like they've slipped, lost their edge. I know hip-hop could sure use the prescence of a intelligent and politically-charged emcee like Chuck D.

It would be a fresh change of pace to have controversy in the rap/hip-hop world that was centered around a group (i.e. PE) that was making waves for its subject matter instead of beefs between rappers and everyones' incessant quest for fame and money. Commercial hip-hop is at an all-time low. At its core, hip-hop is more than music, it's culture, and very influential at that. But it seems to have gone astray over the past 5 years. "Concious" hip-hop, like A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Pharcyde, etc. used to be a respectable sub-genre. Now, those types of groups are either retired, broken up, or desperately attempting to remain relevant.

I'm not sure where my rant here is headed. Certainly, there is tons of great new music being released, but it has become harder to find the "good stuff." I receive oodles of advance music to review for magazines. Much of which is hip-hop. While there are always the handful of artists doing groundbreaking work (i.e. Madlib, Prefuse 73, MF Doom, Boom Bip, and the like) there is far more crap being shoveled down listeners throats...er, jammed in their ears, whatever fuckin' jumbled metaphor applies.

Maybe my feelings have to do with getting older, feeling farther and farther removed from my younger point-of-view. Recently, I've found myself almost coming full circle. Black Sabbath is in heavy rotation again, I'm fiending for some old Metallica ala Master of Puppets or Ride the Lightning and I've been getting into some post-punk stuff again. Who knows... it's just this whole idea of band/rapper/musician as pre-packaged goods that just keeps becoming more toxic and encroaching on the days when going to a show or concert was fun. But maybe that's life. It always gets harder, never easier. So maybe my suspension of disbelief, my ability to diconnect, is too tarnished to purely enjoy what is offered up as music.