Rock 'em Sock 'em Chihuahuas

Sitting on my couch, cover falling from either corner and looking like a dilapidated mess that you might find inside your neighborhood's crazy cat lady's house, I noticed that my iced coffee had run dry. Now, fully caffeinated and bored, I decided to make the greatest game known to man. Yes, it's like God almighty personally rifled down a lightning bolt in the form of an ingenious idea to my usually meager brain.

I had two small chihuahuas on either side of me and plenty of time at my disposal, so I picked each up in a hurried rush and instantly thought of rock em sock em robots. Chihuahuas, my friends, are like little puppets --possibly muppets but even cuter-- and as so, are at the whim of your greatest fantasies. My fantasy, being the respectable gent I am, strayed ever so far from the typical Appalachian menage-a-dog, and merely involved using my tiny creatures to box each other. Jasmine held Yeti and I held Lolo. We counted to three. One.. Two.. Three!

The dogs growled and growled at each other. With each second we held them next to each other, the decibels reverberated by their vocal cords reached dizzying heights. They punched each other, but to my dismay, no robotic head ever popped off. I learned a valuable lesson... Dogs are not robots. Nor are chihuahuas alien robot cyborgs.

It's been way too long since i've updated. So, my fellow nerdtron blogspot followers, get ready to hold onto your blasterpacks and soar into the world of a wannabe. I have a lot of pictures to put up and stories to tell, so I'll start with the most recent and backtrack. A camera's like a time travel device, flux capacitor and all.

Yesterday Jasmine asked me if I wanted to go to Warped Tour and watch Bad Religion . I immediately said yes with a giant smile (because if i didn't, my adolescent self would've run up and swiftly kicked me in the shins... all the while singing every lyric from recipe for hate and stranger than fiction). We drove over to Natalia Fabia's house to swoop up her and her boyfriend Jay. Jay just so happens to play bass in Bad Religion, so he pulled some strings, beat up a few babies, and held a gun to the tour manager until she let us in free of charge and adorned our wrists with VIP bands.

My inner 16 year old was gleaming with glee, radiating with radiant vibrant sunrays sent from the heavens above. My outer 23 year old was even more excited. And why is that, you might ask? Jasmine, Natalia, and I spent most of the day hanging around the tour bus drinking whatever elixers we could -- usually in the form of Budweisers or HonestTea and Grey Goose. (There were two bottles of jaegermeister conveniently placed on the foldup chair waiting for takers, but none of us hated our lives as of that point, so we refrained... Natalia, however, decided she wanted to hate her life later on and put one in her purse for later. Oh dreaded nights spent hovering the white porcelain toilet bowl, you shall haunt Natalia from now on)

On to the point! Gally HO!

Fat Mike from NOFX asked if we wanted to watch TSOL play, so we parted through the middle of the crowd. Upon entering the sea of Pomona folk, I noticed a distinct dichotomy of tribal tattooed bros clad in white baseball caps sprinkled with a hint of white arnett sunglasses on top and 14 year old raggedy Wassup Rockers -- I would've run with the latter in my adolescent hayday.

Stageside, I spotted the girls from the terrible "band" Millionaires and mistook them as pigs entering the feeding trough. Why anybody would support those heffer whores is beyond me. I'd sooner learn David Carradine's methods of auto-erotic asphyxiation than stick my weewee in those girls or let them stick their cd in my player.

We got to the stage too early or too late and missed TSOL. Looks like I'll blame the Millionaires for that one -- not that they actually caused me to miss the set, but because I'd rather blame somebody other than myself. Responsibility is a hard road to walk... ask Camus or Sartre.

With nobody left to play for 2 hours that we cared about, we rushed back to the tour bus to make more magical concoctions until it was time to rush on stage to watch Bad Religion play. All I have to say about the show is this: Jay did a full step bend on a bass line in Infected and sounded pretty sweet. Yes, they played well. Yes, they can still rock for mid-lifers. Yes, they played old songs! But YES OH YES! GOD YES! Jay bent the string!

I ended the evening with yellow curry and pad thai from the ever-delicious Thai Patio. I'll put pictures up when I'm less lazy or more motivated - whatever comes first. Good bye my fellow coca-cola drinking, mcdonald's eating corporate slaves.

the plimsouls

Sitting, no -- slothing -- on my couch, reading D.H. Lawrence and trying to increase my vocabulary, my phone rang. The screen lit up "jasmine." Who else would you expect? anyways, she asked me to open the gate to our apartment for her. I ran down, pushed the gate open, and what did my little darlin doll face surprise me with? A Plimsouls vinyl. that's right kiddos. The PLIMSOULS! The first album, no less. I swung her around gracefully, albeit violently at times to express my satisfaction with her. I hurried upstairs, plopped my treasured vinyl onto my record player, and nervously and anxiously waited for the stylus to hit. The first popping crackle of the needle finding its way to the groove forced my mouth upwards into a generous smile. I'm having the time of my life.

OI OI OI

Been listening to this band Milburn for the past few days. Apparently they're from the same town as Arctic Monkeys, broke on the scene around the same time, if not earlier, and have almost the exact same sound - heavily accented vocals, reverb laden guitars reminiscent of dick dale or scott walker, scorching tempos, and a knack for clever word play. They even toured with their townmates. For some reason though, they never blew up -- i guess there was only room enough for one band with that sound. but what the hell!! These guys are awesome, totally deserving of as much credit, if not more. Do your scummy selves a favor and support these now broken up assholes from Sheffield. I recommend the album "These are the Facts." DO IT NOW MY BLOODSUCKING MINIONS!

Gary Baseman

La Noche de la Fusion: Carnivale meets Gary Baseman



Last Saturday, we cruised over to the Gary Baseman art opening at the Corey Helford Gallery in Culver City. At first glance, the opening seemed more like a rave than an art show -- a sea of hiply dressed scenesters with bottles of Stella in hands danced, mingled, and drank. Techno and House music blared at deafening decible levels while lights flashed with each pulsating beat. A line of hopeful teenagers looking for some kicks on a Saturday night stretched alongside the gallery for a block or so. Indeed, there was a peculiar air about this show.


















Baseman wore a long black ceremonial robe, hinting at the finale of the show -- a performance piece that displayed the metamorphosis of his beloved chou chou out of a coccoon. For those who don't know what a chou chou is, here's a picture:



I wasn't too familiar with Baseman's name prior to a month or so before the show, but instantly recognized his work from features in Juxtapoz and even the boardgame Cranium; Baseman exemplifies how an artist's style transcends his name. Baseman's drearily vibrant artwork slaps his viewers in their faces, recalling the best moments of Ren and Stimpy. Baseman reminds his audience that they are never too old to believe in comic book worlds full of wacky cartoon characters and vibrant colors. 10 girls walked amidst Baseman's Tinseltown as props, dressed in wardrobes inspired by his work, physically bridging the gap between our world and his.

Weasling my way through the sea of people, I finally stepped inside the gallery. Polychromatic paintings graced the bare white walls. It was delightful to see sketches and paintings of the characters that roamed outside. A sacred shrine to a chou chou even stood in the corner of the gallery, suggesting that we, like Baseman, ought to worship the whimsical worlds and characters we create.

Back outside, I gravitated toward a set comprised of a fairytale-esque tree, another one of Gary's characters, and a photographer. I happily stood with my girlfriend, struck a pose, and collected a free polaroid.

If this show were any premonition of what's to come from Baseman's imaginitive mind, then I'd rather live fulltime in La Noche de la Fusion than the good ol' U, S, of A anyday. Hell, I don't think there's a happier place on earth than La Noche de la Fusion. Disney CEO Bob Iger could learn a thing or two from Baseman. Screw Disneyland, I'm going to Carnivale this year.

EXTRA EXTRA!! Duck Molestors Running Rampant!

Apparently there's been an outbreak of duck molestors. I mean, who could resist -- those perfectly supple breasts, gorgeous sleek feathers that shimmer in the afternoon sunlight, those "fuck me eyes" that shine like opals from miles away. Ok ok you get the point; ducks are beautiful birds. But that's it people! They're birds. We must not molest non-human entities, no matter how enticing they might seem. IN FACT, we must not molest even the most tempting of boychilds. Why? Because molesting is wrong. And although you might argue that the Greeks loved many a prepubescent wonderboy, my sick and delirious reader, I may take it upon myself to argue that the Greeks also visited many a vometorium to purge themselves of their atrocious ways. Next time you see that duck parading around in the skimpiest of outfits, refrain from unbuttoning your drawers, and lordo oh lord, please also refrain from unbuttoning their's.

zoolander

had to do a shoot yesterday for something in norway. it was fun. only got to snag a couple photos on my phone. so here they are. since when did kevin become a cool guy you ask? well, my friends (in john mccain's nasaly obnoxious voice), when he decided that he ought to get paid and eat free delicious food for doing as little work as possible. I guess it pays off to have orange mocha frappuchino gasoline fights.

The girl's name was nicole. she was super nice. This is us hanging out in the wardrobe trailer like idiots. I sat in this trailer and ate a lot of free food for an hour or so.

Dawn and Ramon would fix our hair every couple minutes. I'm glad my nice tits and great ass could make me a diva. thanks guys.

Here's setup for production.

That's all my gentle minions. until next time.