It's three days after Thanksgiving. In the past few days, with leftovers and whatnot, I've obviously eaten more meat, butter, cheese and sugar than normal. This is par for the course with Thanksgiving appetites, but I already eat a lot of crap. Maybe you're the same way, I don't know. Point is, I thought I'd take a look at the usual amount of bad food I eat through the course of an average week to figure out exactly how close I am to a heartattack. This all started after seeing this video:
My first thought when watching this was, "I could eat that, no problem." With friends, of course. Not by myself. I would probably die. The fat counter is a nice touch, too. Doing the math on the amount of calories and fat for stuff like that is enough to wear you out. By that I mean make you feel like a piece of shit, right before you buy and finish an entire pepperoni pizza by myself. Still, the worst thing I've ever eaten wasn't even a big meal. One time on a break at work, I had a McGriddle. Don't ever do that. If you've never had one, a McGriddle is basically a full pancake breakfast compacted into handheld self-hatred. My manager at the time had four, but he's out of his fucking mind. He had chest pains and felt nauseous afterward, and he's a big dude.
Anyway, let's list what I eat throughout a normal week. Anyone reading this, feel free to tell me if your diet is comparable, worse, or if I'm a shitbag for keeping this up for as long as I can remember.
1. Mornings before work, I'll start with something from Starbucks. Usually a tall hot chocolate and pastry. This might happen a few times a week.
2. For lunch, I'll go to In & Out across the street from my work and get a Double Double. This happens at least twice a week, always the same order.
3. Dinner can be anything from fettucini alfredo over rice or whatever to ordering a large pizza. The pizza is once a week, as is one pint of Ben & Jerry's, usually finished ASAP.
Now that's just the boilerplate stuff; the mainstays. In between all that are the random fast food or restaurant orders, various candy bars, a handful of sodas and eating cookies like they're going out of style. To recap: At least once every week, if not more, I have Starbucks, In & Out, pizza and ice cream. I'm 5' 4", 130 lbs. I weigh a little less than I did in my senior year of high school. My blood pressure is normal. Still, those aren't the only indicators of health, and I should probably get tested for diabetes. I'm still hoping my metabolism doesn't totally fail one day and fuck me in the ass when I'm 35. I guess I'll just watch what I eat from now on. He says.
UPDATE: Okay, I wrote this late last night with the intention of eating healthier from now on. I've since decided to run in the opposite direction and try any ungodly creation that is asked of me. I WILL NOT TURN DOWN A REQUEST. If you have an idea for something that may well kill me in the most delicious way possible, send it my way. I'm easy to find and always looking for ideas for posts. Thanks.
11.27.2010
11.12.2010
Top 5 Confrontational Frontmen
I'm not even sure I can put this in any particular order, because each entry has a different approach to what they do. Flag-era Henry Rollins would fight you, then cut himself up. Alan Vega would whip you with a long chain, send you out of the room, then start singing and freak you out. Steve Albini knows exactly what you are offended by, writes brilliant songs about those subjects, and occasionally gets blood thrown on him at shows for it. Lee Ving doesn't care about you. Fuck you. Wendy O. Williams did everything in her power to shock you into watching, and more importantly, listening to her. Remember, every one of these bands was seen in their time as scary or even a real threat to undermine the morals of American youth. These are the faces of that fear.
1. Black Flag-era Henry Rollins
"There's songs about cops. There's songs about killing yourself. There's songs about depression. The women who leave. The car has no brakes and we're flooring it. We're gonna hit something. So what? It's Black Flag."
Henry Rollins wasn't always an actor/terrible comedian. He used to sing for the most notorious hardcore band that ever existed. Already a huge fan, Hank joined his favorite band in the summer of 1981, moving all the way across the country for the opportunity to sleep on questionable floors and never have any money. On the plus side, he did get fucked with every night by fans who thought he ruined Black Flag, and by the cops, who thought his band was a menace that needed to be stamped out. If this was your everyday life, you can imagine what kind of outlook it would give you. Now sustain that for five years. Black Flag had often dealt with themes of frustration, anger, and depression, but Rollins introduced a loathing previously unseen. Many fans that were around before he joined the band found this new direction either confusing or unbearable.
Rollins had undergone a few changes as well. Henry had joined the band as an eager-to-please, lean, shaved-headed 20-year old. In the years since, he'd started a tough workout routine and covered his arms with tattoos. He also grew his hair long, began writing poetry and spoken-word pieces and performed wearing only a pair of black athletic shorts. Some found his newly-minted brooding stage persona exciting, even sensual or erotic. Many others, though, accused Henry of egotism and narcissism. To some extent, it did seem like he was aping Jim Morrison, a charge he would get repeatedly in the LA press. Fans criticized Henry's tattoos, claiming they were for jocks or rednecks, which is ironic, given the tattoo's popularity in punk rock today. Rollins got into fights on stage almost every night on tour. Oddly, the other band members did not receive the physical abuse that Henry did, leading some to believe that Rollins may have invited the confrontations. You be the judge:
2. Alan Vega(Suicide)
"I never heard anything avant garde. To me, it was just New York City blues."
Alan Vega and keyboardist Martin Rev formed Suicide in 1970. They were the first band to describe themselves as "punk music", taking the term from a Lester Bangs article. This band had no guitarist, no drummer, no bassist, yet still managed to be loud and scary on an almost primal level. Seeing them live for the first time, especially in their prime during the mid-70's, was like watching someone sleepwalk while going through night terrors. Alan Vega, already a working artist in New York, wanted to push the boundaries of rock n' roll as far as possible. If you wanted to watch this intensely original duo, you were going to be involved one way or the other. If the nightmarish music didn't do it for you, there was always the possibility of Vega pulling out a chain and whipping it at you and the rest of the crowd. Martin Rev, clad in black leather with a face devoid of expression as he drove the soundtrack to this bad acid trip, had about as much comfort to offer you as a cenobite to its next victim. Either you embrace what is happening, or run for your life. All this, and they had yet to record a single note before 1977.
Over the years, Suicide has slowly gotten the recognition they deserve as a pioneering band in punk and electronic music. All those New Wave and Synth Pop bands from the 80's? You can blame them for it. Soft Cell? They're just Suicide without the fangs. For September 2009's Don't Look Back concert series, The band was asked to play their first album in its entirety. I can only speculate as to whether Vega enjoyed this performance to an adoring audience with no one to intimidate. There have been a thousand pretenders, but the thing that really made Suicide different and menacing and creepy was Alan Vega. He wasn't singing to the crowd as much as he was screaming from the void.
3. Steve Albini(Big Black)
"Big Black is a way to get the old blood to boiling without having to buttfuck or garrote little boys, or hang around slaughterhouses."
Before he recorded all your favorite bands, before he played in Shellac or Rapeman, before he even formed Big Black, Steve Albini pissed a lot of people off. In high school, after being hit by a car and badly breaking his leg, he would get calls from jocks and rednecks telling him how glad they were that he was hurt. While recovering, he taught himself how to play bass. In college, while writing for various Chicago fanzines and furthering his provocative reputation, he got a hold of a cheap drum machine, a Roland TR-606. Walking around campus with the same unvarying beat piped into his headphones, he began gathering ideas for what would become the first Big Black release, Lungs. Initially solo, he soon recruited Naked Raygun's Jeff Pezzatti and Santiago Durango on bass and guitar, respectively, and the live version of Big Black was born. The band used to open their sets by setting off a brick of firecrackers onstage, presumably to piss people off, and because it was cheaper than actual pyro. Every song was counted off with the words, "1, 2, Fuck you!!"
Make no mistake, this band, more importantly its 98-lb-weakling singer, had no sacred cows. Taking this point almost literally, "Cables" is about kids who hang out at a slaughterhouse for fun. Murder, rape, child sexual abuse, arson, racism, and misogyny were just some of the topics covered in their songs, and that's just the first half of Atomizer. Having grown up in Missoula, Montana, Albini had no shortage of fucked up stories to pull songs from. Remember kids, boredom breeds either creation or destruction. If one isn't possible, the other becomes your outlet. It's no wonder the band seemed to play to destroy its audience. With Steve's reputation as a misogynist, racist prick from those who couldn't see the black humor in it all, those audience members were all too happy to give Albini the same amount of abuse right back. During the UK show recorded for their now-scarce Pigpile live video, a crowd member was throwing blood at Steve throughout the latter half of the show in response to the song, "Pigeon Kill". Love him or hate him, he did his job by getting a rise out of you. He wins. Here he is, now covered in blood.
4. Lee Ving(Fear)
"I've seen an old man have a heartattack in Manhattan. He died while we just stood there looking at him. Ain't he cute?" - "I Don't Care About You"
Lee Ving, or Mr. Boddy if you know him from Clue, is the only original member of Fear at this point. Everyone else was fired or quit because they couldn't take this fucking guy. What you see is what you get with Lee, and sometimes you got it in the teeth. Forming Fear in 1977 with bassist Derf Scratch, they found guitarist Burt Good and drummer Johnny Backbeat to round out the lineup. They recorded a single before replacing Good and Backbeat with Philo Cramer and Spit Stix. This lineup is widely seen as the best in the band's history, as all four had distinct personalities and could actually play well. Hinting at blues and jazz influences, they were always a great live band to hear. That is, if you could get past the wall of insults.
This band, and Lee Ving in particular, were masters of crowd baiting. They weren't serious, but a lot of people took it that way. Immortalized in The Decline of Western Civilization, their shows consisted of as many back-and-forths to the crowd as actual music. If someone took particular offense to, say, "Next time, don't bite so hard when I come," they might run up to the stage to get a shot at Lee. There were bouncers onstage, but that didn't stop everybody. Men, women, didn't matter. He'll fuck you up if you came too close. When they did manage to play, the insults were just put to a backbeat. Another memorable performance was when they managed to snag a spot as the musical guest on the Halloween '81 episode of SNL, courtesy of longtime friend and supporter, John Belushi...You know what, just watch:
http://www.wideo.fr/video/iLyROoafvXes.html (This video was hard to find, and an embed code seems to be impossible) As you can see, they were a great band and really hilarious if you didn't take them seriously. Here's another video of the band telling the crowd how much they love them:
5. Wendy O. Williams
"They ask us why we smash TV sets, drive automobiles into swimming pools, or blow them up; and today they ask me why I would jump out of a moving car onto concrete, so it can crash into an exploding stage, and I say well...somebody has to do it."
Wendy O. Williams is tougher than you, and she's dead. What did she die of? Being too awesome. She did everything people would brag about doing later on, first. The Plasmatics were the first American band to blend punk and metal, the first band to sport mohawks, the first punk band to blow up and chainsaw fucking everything they could get their hands on. She also did all of this damn near naked. Don't try any of this at home. You'll just embarrass yourself. Originally formed as an art statement by Wendy's husband, artist Rod Swenson, showing that the measure of great art is how confrontational it is. And how. There really isn't a bad Plasmatics release, it's just variations on the ratio of punk to metal. I would've killed to see this band live, if only to see what Wendy would do next. As it stands, she did plenty.
One example is refusing to change out of a revealing outfit for a taping on SCTV. They compromised and painted her breasts black. Of course her career was peppered with charges of assault and battery, simulating a sex act onstage, indecent exposure, obscenity, etc. She was always either fined or acquitted; she never served much time for any of it. After The Plasmatics, she had a solo career, garnering a Grammy nod in 1985 for Best Female Rock Vocal Performance. After retiring from music, she moved to Connecticut with her husband and became a wildlife rehabilitator and natural foods activist. On one talk show appearance, she accused Debbi Fields of Mrs. Fields Cookies of being "no better than a heroin pusher" for using so much processed sugar in her products. Years later, she attempted suicide for the first time by hammering a knife into her chest. The knife lodged in her sternum and she changed her mind, calling Swenson to take her to the hospital. She eventually killed herself with a self-inflicted gunshot wound in 1998. She was 48 years old. Watch this video, and if you haven't started yet, listen to The Plasmatics!!
1. Black Flag-era Henry Rollins
"There's songs about cops. There's songs about killing yourself. There's songs about depression. The women who leave. The car has no brakes and we're flooring it. We're gonna hit something. So what? It's Black Flag."
Henry Rollins wasn't always an actor/terrible comedian. He used to sing for the most notorious hardcore band that ever existed. Already a huge fan, Hank joined his favorite band in the summer of 1981, moving all the way across the country for the opportunity to sleep on questionable floors and never have any money. On the plus side, he did get fucked with every night by fans who thought he ruined Black Flag, and by the cops, who thought his band was a menace that needed to be stamped out. If this was your everyday life, you can imagine what kind of outlook it would give you. Now sustain that for five years. Black Flag had often dealt with themes of frustration, anger, and depression, but Rollins introduced a loathing previously unseen. Many fans that were around before he joined the band found this new direction either confusing or unbearable.
Rollins had undergone a few changes as well. Henry had joined the band as an eager-to-please, lean, shaved-headed 20-year old. In the years since, he'd started a tough workout routine and covered his arms with tattoos. He also grew his hair long, began writing poetry and spoken-word pieces and performed wearing only a pair of black athletic shorts. Some found his newly-minted brooding stage persona exciting, even sensual or erotic. Many others, though, accused Henry of egotism and narcissism. To some extent, it did seem like he was aping Jim Morrison, a charge he would get repeatedly in the LA press. Fans criticized Henry's tattoos, claiming they were for jocks or rednecks, which is ironic, given the tattoo's popularity in punk rock today. Rollins got into fights on stage almost every night on tour. Oddly, the other band members did not receive the physical abuse that Henry did, leading some to believe that Rollins may have invited the confrontations. You be the judge:
2. Alan Vega(Suicide)
"I never heard anything avant garde. To me, it was just New York City blues."
Alan Vega and keyboardist Martin Rev formed Suicide in 1970. They were the first band to describe themselves as "punk music", taking the term from a Lester Bangs article. This band had no guitarist, no drummer, no bassist, yet still managed to be loud and scary on an almost primal level. Seeing them live for the first time, especially in their prime during the mid-70's, was like watching someone sleepwalk while going through night terrors. Alan Vega, already a working artist in New York, wanted to push the boundaries of rock n' roll as far as possible. If you wanted to watch this intensely original duo, you were going to be involved one way or the other. If the nightmarish music didn't do it for you, there was always the possibility of Vega pulling out a chain and whipping it at you and the rest of the crowd. Martin Rev, clad in black leather with a face devoid of expression as he drove the soundtrack to this bad acid trip, had about as much comfort to offer you as a cenobite to its next victim. Either you embrace what is happening, or run for your life. All this, and they had yet to record a single note before 1977.
Over the years, Suicide has slowly gotten the recognition they deserve as a pioneering band in punk and electronic music. All those New Wave and Synth Pop bands from the 80's? You can blame them for it. Soft Cell? They're just Suicide without the fangs. For September 2009's Don't Look Back concert series, The band was asked to play their first album in its entirety. I can only speculate as to whether Vega enjoyed this performance to an adoring audience with no one to intimidate. There have been a thousand pretenders, but the thing that really made Suicide different and menacing and creepy was Alan Vega. He wasn't singing to the crowd as much as he was screaming from the void.
3. Steve Albini(Big Black)
"Big Black is a way to get the old blood to boiling without having to buttfuck or garrote little boys, or hang around slaughterhouses."
Before he recorded all your favorite bands, before he played in Shellac or Rapeman, before he even formed Big Black, Steve Albini pissed a lot of people off. In high school, after being hit by a car and badly breaking his leg, he would get calls from jocks and rednecks telling him how glad they were that he was hurt. While recovering, he taught himself how to play bass. In college, while writing for various Chicago fanzines and furthering his provocative reputation, he got a hold of a cheap drum machine, a Roland TR-606. Walking around campus with the same unvarying beat piped into his headphones, he began gathering ideas for what would become the first Big Black release, Lungs. Initially solo, he soon recruited Naked Raygun's Jeff Pezzatti and Santiago Durango on bass and guitar, respectively, and the live version of Big Black was born. The band used to open their sets by setting off a brick of firecrackers onstage, presumably to piss people off, and because it was cheaper than actual pyro. Every song was counted off with the words, "1, 2, Fuck you!!"
Make no mistake, this band, more importantly its 98-lb-weakling singer, had no sacred cows. Taking this point almost literally, "Cables" is about kids who hang out at a slaughterhouse for fun. Murder, rape, child sexual abuse, arson, racism, and misogyny were just some of the topics covered in their songs, and that's just the first half of Atomizer. Having grown up in Missoula, Montana, Albini had no shortage of fucked up stories to pull songs from. Remember kids, boredom breeds either creation or destruction. If one isn't possible, the other becomes your outlet. It's no wonder the band seemed to play to destroy its audience. With Steve's reputation as a misogynist, racist prick from those who couldn't see the black humor in it all, those audience members were all too happy to give Albini the same amount of abuse right back. During the UK show recorded for their now-scarce Pigpile live video, a crowd member was throwing blood at Steve throughout the latter half of the show in response to the song, "Pigeon Kill". Love him or hate him, he did his job by getting a rise out of you. He wins. Here he is, now covered in blood.
4. Lee Ving(Fear)
"I've seen an old man have a heartattack in Manhattan. He died while we just stood there looking at him. Ain't he cute?" - "I Don't Care About You"
Lee Ving, or Mr. Boddy if you know him from Clue, is the only original member of Fear at this point. Everyone else was fired or quit because they couldn't take this fucking guy. What you see is what you get with Lee, and sometimes you got it in the teeth. Forming Fear in 1977 with bassist Derf Scratch, they found guitarist Burt Good and drummer Johnny Backbeat to round out the lineup. They recorded a single before replacing Good and Backbeat with Philo Cramer and Spit Stix. This lineup is widely seen as the best in the band's history, as all four had distinct personalities and could actually play well. Hinting at blues and jazz influences, they were always a great live band to hear. That is, if you could get past the wall of insults.
This band, and Lee Ving in particular, were masters of crowd baiting. They weren't serious, but a lot of people took it that way. Immortalized in The Decline of Western Civilization, their shows consisted of as many back-and-forths to the crowd as actual music. If someone took particular offense to, say, "Next time, don't bite so hard when I come," they might run up to the stage to get a shot at Lee. There were bouncers onstage, but that didn't stop everybody. Men, women, didn't matter. He'll fuck you up if you came too close. When they did manage to play, the insults were just put to a backbeat. Another memorable performance was when they managed to snag a spot as the musical guest on the Halloween '81 episode of SNL, courtesy of longtime friend and supporter, John Belushi...You know what, just watch:
http://www.wideo.fr/video/iLyROoafvXes.html (This video was hard to find, and an embed code seems to be impossible) As you can see, they were a great band and really hilarious if you didn't take them seriously. Here's another video of the band telling the crowd how much they love them:
5. Wendy O. Williams
"They ask us why we smash TV sets, drive automobiles into swimming pools, or blow them up; and today they ask me why I would jump out of a moving car onto concrete, so it can crash into an exploding stage, and I say well...somebody has to do it."
Wendy O. Williams is tougher than you, and she's dead. What did she die of? Being too awesome. She did everything people would brag about doing later on, first. The Plasmatics were the first American band to blend punk and metal, the first band to sport mohawks, the first punk band to blow up and chainsaw fucking everything they could get their hands on. She also did all of this damn near naked. Don't try any of this at home. You'll just embarrass yourself. Originally formed as an art statement by Wendy's husband, artist Rod Swenson, showing that the measure of great art is how confrontational it is. And how. There really isn't a bad Plasmatics release, it's just variations on the ratio of punk to metal. I would've killed to see this band live, if only to see what Wendy would do next. As it stands, she did plenty.
One example is refusing to change out of a revealing outfit for a taping on SCTV. They compromised and painted her breasts black. Of course her career was peppered with charges of assault and battery, simulating a sex act onstage, indecent exposure, obscenity, etc. She was always either fined or acquitted; she never served much time for any of it. After The Plasmatics, she had a solo career, garnering a Grammy nod in 1985 for Best Female Rock Vocal Performance. After retiring from music, she moved to Connecticut with her husband and became a wildlife rehabilitator and natural foods activist. On one talk show appearance, she accused Debbi Fields of Mrs. Fields Cookies of being "no better than a heroin pusher" for using so much processed sugar in her products. Years later, she attempted suicide for the first time by hammering a knife into her chest. The knife lodged in her sternum and she changed her mind, calling Swenson to take her to the hospital. She eventually killed herself with a self-inflicted gunshot wound in 1998. She was 48 years old. Watch this video, and if you haven't started yet, listen to The Plasmatics!!
6.06.2010
The Thing That Should Have Been
Yesterday, I had the honor of being the best man at my best friend's wedding. I didn't write a speech, just sort of spoke from the heart and did okay with it. Still, as a writer(fuck off, I'll call myself what I want), I knew I could do a thousand times better if I'd prepared something. This is that something I should have said. Here goes.
Anyone that knows me knows I don't believe in fate. I don't like the idea that we are not in control of our own lives. As unsettling as that idea can be, sitting next to me are two living, breathing examples of it. I can think of no other way to explain all of this. How does a boy from Florida move to California, then meet a girl who lived in Ohio, studied in Georgia, who then also moves across the country, ending up less than 20 minutes away from him? What made them post on the same message board for the same show? How did they just...find each other like that? It boggles the mind, but to quote Ian Malcolm, "Life...finds a way." I remember the moment he told me he was going to meet her. Having planned a date for the end of the week on an hours-long phone conversation the night before, David sends me this text the very next afternoon: "I'm heading up to meet Liz. It...couldn't wait." Romantic, much?
From the considerable amount of time I've spent with them, I can say this with authority: These people were made for each other. You can say whatever you want about this idea, but it won't make it any less true. At least for them. Something brought these two amazing halves together to create some kind of flesh-and-blood Nocturnal Goatsucker. Vonnegut would be proud. In so few words, they are more awesome than you ever will be. Deal with it. These wonderful symbiotes represent all the potential that I or my peers could hope to aspire to when our respective days come. I believe that David and Liz were destined to do this forever. And that's all I have to say about that.
I love you both. Good luck in your new life together.
Anyone that knows me knows I don't believe in fate. I don't like the idea that we are not in control of our own lives. As unsettling as that idea can be, sitting next to me are two living, breathing examples of it. I can think of no other way to explain all of this. How does a boy from Florida move to California, then meet a girl who lived in Ohio, studied in Georgia, who then also moves across the country, ending up less than 20 minutes away from him? What made them post on the same message board for the same show? How did they just...find each other like that? It boggles the mind, but to quote Ian Malcolm, "Life...finds a way." I remember the moment he told me he was going to meet her. Having planned a date for the end of the week on an hours-long phone conversation the night before, David sends me this text the very next afternoon: "I'm heading up to meet Liz. It...couldn't wait." Romantic, much?
From the considerable amount of time I've spent with them, I can say this with authority: These people were made for each other. You can say whatever you want about this idea, but it won't make it any less true. At least for them. Something brought these two amazing halves together to create some kind of flesh-and-blood Nocturnal Goatsucker. Vonnegut would be proud. In so few words, they are more awesome than you ever will be. Deal with it. These wonderful symbiotes represent all the potential that I or my peers could hope to aspire to when our respective days come. I believe that David and Liz were destined to do this forever. And that's all I have to say about that.
I love you both. Good luck in your new life together.
3.21.2010
We Gotta Know
Apologies for not posting anything here in almost a month. I've been busy with band/work/life stuff. I'll bring you up to speed:
Last Sunday my band Wolves and Thieves opened for the Cro-Mags at Thee Parkside in SF, sans our lead guitarist Ryan who's recovering from knee surgery as we speak. Our friend Tyler from Early Graves filled in for the night and did a killer job of it. Getting to watch the Cro-Mags was amazing. The crowd went nuts for every song, even the questionable rendition of "Baba O'Reilly". Still, it was a blast, and there's more awesome shows/band news to come, so I'll keep you posted. I mean it this time.
In life news, I went camping with some friends for a couple days in Los Padres National Forest. The short, short version: Eating, daily chores, eating, guns, eating, hiking, consuming a lot of food. Didn't bring a camera, but the other guys did. Pics when I can get them.
Full version: My friend Matt asked me and three of his friends to come to Los Padres with him before he leaves for Germany to live with his soon-to-be-wife. After some initial sketchy feelings about the trip, I realized all the guys were really chill and helpful with any questions I had about anything. One of whom, Brennan, is actually a first assistant at the San Jose Big 5. All of them had been to this spot at least three times before, so they were able to show me what was where and how to make the most out of the area without damaging or polluting it. The campsite we used was a really nice setup: Next to a clean river to get water, plenty of dead trees for firewood, almost no ticks anywhere near the actual camp, and the weather was great the whole time. Not a soul in sight, so shooting was worry-free and completely safe.
Getting there was the only bitch of it. It's about 45 minutes past Salinas, then east through the mountains, making it about 3 1/2 hours of driving. Once we got to park at the official entrance to the forest, we noticed there wasn't a single person in sight except the park ranger, who really could have been just some wino in a ranger jacket for all we knew. After loading up the gear and guns, we hiked through the backcountry for a good few miles with some gnarly inclines and crushed rock in parts of the trail from whenever the last rockslide happened. Passing through a stream sizeable enough to make you wish there'd been a bridge there, it was about 15 minutes till we reached this secluded area with everything we needed, and set up camp there.
Like I said, roughing it. No cabin, no bathroom, nothing approaching modern amenities of any kind, including cell service. Everyone did bring really good food, though. Plenty of bacon, eggs, cheese, chili, potatoes, polenta, sausage, trail mix, etc. A lot of stuff. We even cooked and ate a small bluebelly lizard that Brennan somehow killed throwing a rock at it as it ran across a big boulder next to the river. Total one-in-a-million shot he didn't expect to happen. Figured we'd eat it and not just leave it there. Not kidding, tasted like seasoned chicken. Over the next couple days, I could relax, read and take in the surroundings, but there were also certain tasks to be done repeatedly. Set up the tents(well, that was once), collect firewood, build a fire, cook, wash dishes in the river, grab the purifiers and fill up our water bottles. Repeat. Everyone shared chores, and after learning how to do all this different stuff if I didn't already know something, I dove into the daily work cycle. Also, guns. Hella guns.
Three rifles and a .45 sidearm, and I learned to handle and shoot them all. My favorite was the bolt-action 8mm Mauser, a German WWII rifle. It's a real Nazi gun, so it's a bit beat up, but it still works perfectly. There was also a lever-action rifle that was super fun to shoot. A lot lighter than the Mauser, but still some kickback to it. Lever-action is the kind you'd see in some old western, with the hand grip underneath you'd move forward to release the shell and back to load another round. Total Wyatt Earp rifle. The .45 pistol I actually had the most trouble with. That thing comes back way harder than you'd think for its size. I took a few shots with it and called it a day. By that time, we were just about packed up and ready to leave anyway. Now that I'm back, I'm really proud of myself for going through with it and learning how to live like that for a little while.
We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming...
Last Sunday my band Wolves and Thieves opened for the Cro-Mags at Thee Parkside in SF, sans our lead guitarist Ryan who's recovering from knee surgery as we speak. Our friend Tyler from Early Graves filled in for the night and did a killer job of it. Getting to watch the Cro-Mags was amazing. The crowd went nuts for every song, even the questionable rendition of "Baba O'Reilly". Still, it was a blast, and there's more awesome shows/band news to come, so I'll keep you posted. I mean it this time.
In life news, I went camping with some friends for a couple days in Los Padres National Forest. The short, short version: Eating, daily chores, eating, guns, eating, hiking, consuming a lot of food. Didn't bring a camera, but the other guys did. Pics when I can get them.
Full version: My friend Matt asked me and three of his friends to come to Los Padres with him before he leaves for Germany to live with his soon-to-be-wife. After some initial sketchy feelings about the trip, I realized all the guys were really chill and helpful with any questions I had about anything. One of whom, Brennan, is actually a first assistant at the San Jose Big 5. All of them had been to this spot at least three times before, so they were able to show me what was where and how to make the most out of the area without damaging or polluting it. The campsite we used was a really nice setup: Next to a clean river to get water, plenty of dead trees for firewood, almost no ticks anywhere near the actual camp, and the weather was great the whole time. Not a soul in sight, so shooting was worry-free and completely safe.
Getting there was the only bitch of it. It's about 45 minutes past Salinas, then east through the mountains, making it about 3 1/2 hours of driving. Once we got to park at the official entrance to the forest, we noticed there wasn't a single person in sight except the park ranger, who really could have been just some wino in a ranger jacket for all we knew. After loading up the gear and guns, we hiked through the backcountry for a good few miles with some gnarly inclines and crushed rock in parts of the trail from whenever the last rockslide happened. Passing through a stream sizeable enough to make you wish there'd been a bridge there, it was about 15 minutes till we reached this secluded area with everything we needed, and set up camp there.
Like I said, roughing it. No cabin, no bathroom, nothing approaching modern amenities of any kind, including cell service. Everyone did bring really good food, though. Plenty of bacon, eggs, cheese, chili, potatoes, polenta, sausage, trail mix, etc. A lot of stuff. We even cooked and ate a small bluebelly lizard that Brennan somehow killed throwing a rock at it as it ran across a big boulder next to the river. Total one-in-a-million shot he didn't expect to happen. Figured we'd eat it and not just leave it there. Not kidding, tasted like seasoned chicken. Over the next couple days, I could relax, read and take in the surroundings, but there were also certain tasks to be done repeatedly. Set up the tents(well, that was once), collect firewood, build a fire, cook, wash dishes in the river, grab the purifiers and fill up our water bottles. Repeat. Everyone shared chores, and after learning how to do all this different stuff if I didn't already know something, I dove into the daily work cycle. Also, guns. Hella guns.
Three rifles and a .45 sidearm, and I learned to handle and shoot them all. My favorite was the bolt-action 8mm Mauser, a German WWII rifle. It's a real Nazi gun, so it's a bit beat up, but it still works perfectly. There was also a lever-action rifle that was super fun to shoot. A lot lighter than the Mauser, but still some kickback to it. Lever-action is the kind you'd see in some old western, with the hand grip underneath you'd move forward to release the shell and back to load another round. Total Wyatt Earp rifle. The .45 pistol I actually had the most trouble with. That thing comes back way harder than you'd think for its size. I took a few shots with it and called it a day. By that time, we were just about packed up and ready to leave anyway. Now that I'm back, I'm really proud of myself for going through with it and learning how to live like that for a little while.
We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming...
2.28.2010
strange and unusual
If I don't write at least something every day, I tend to get lazy. Doing this is part of my overall sense of completion, as it helps set a daily precedent for getting shit done. I realize it's just me talking to myself on the internet, but it helps. With that said, here's my Saturday night:
Listening:
Reading:
Watching:
Listening:
Reading:
Watching:
2.27.2010
It's too late.
Can't sleep for the life of me. Still, it's comforting to know that despite all the artsy-fartsy Godspeed You! Black Emperor-type bands I listen to while doing other things, I can still put on a band like Poison Idea and love every second of it.
Hopefully that will never change.
Hopefully that will never change.
2.25.2010
The Second Annual Report
Since writing solely about movies was getting boring, I started another blog for more personal stuff. Rants, recommendations, funny/horrible stories, outpourings from a man at the end of his rope. You get the idea. Happy reading!
Cell phone destroyed? Verizon cares not.
While looking for the receipt for my new cell phone so I can turn in the rebate and have some money to eat this week, I started flipping through the six-page service agreement that came with it. Everything looks straightforward until I get to the part about Payment Exclusions. Turns out my carrier really , really hates giving out new phones to any stranger on the street that also happens to have a binding service contract with them. Here's an excerpt from part three of said contract, Exclusions. Contract-speak is in italics:
We will not pay for Loss caused directly or indirectly by any of the following. Such Loss is excluded regardless of any other cause or event that contributes concurrently or in any sequence to the loss.
1. Nuclear Hazard, meaning any weapon employing atomic fission or fusion; or nuclear reaction or radiation or radioactive contamination from any other cause.
So if you walk into, say, a Verizon Wireless store, and tell them you need a new phone because your country was just nuked and you left it in your house, the ruins of which sit neatly inside the blast radius of the average nuclear missile, you'll likely be met with nothing but guffaws at your terrible plight/excuse, and a resounding "No." That's just not the way we do things in this country. Sucks to be you, Highly Irradiated Man Who Probably Just Gave Me Cancer.
But oh, how the tables will turn when the U.S. goes shithouse in the next few years due to massive civil unrest. What's that, Verizon employee? You lost your phone to one of the local militia demanding to be quartered in your house? Bummerrrrrrr...
2. War, including undeclared or civil war, warlike action by a military force, including action in hindering or defending against an actual or expected attack, by any government, sovereign or other authority using military personnel or other agents; or insurrections, rebellion, terrorism, revolution, usurped power of action taken by government authority in hindering or defending against any of these.
I'll stop here because the rest of the contract is actually plausible, i.e fraud, damage, normal wear and tear, etc. I just wanted to show you the first two(completely implausible) circumstances that came to mind in the Verizon board room when they were drawing up this legally binding agreement. Good lord.
We will not pay for Loss caused directly or indirectly by any of the following. Such Loss is excluded regardless of any other cause or event that contributes concurrently or in any sequence to the loss.
1. Nuclear Hazard, meaning any weapon employing atomic fission or fusion; or nuclear reaction or radiation or radioactive contamination from any other cause.
So if you walk into, say, a Verizon Wireless store, and tell them you need a new phone because your country was just nuked and you left it in your house, the ruins of which sit neatly inside the blast radius of the average nuclear missile, you'll likely be met with nothing but guffaws at your terrible plight/excuse, and a resounding "No." That's just not the way we do things in this country. Sucks to be you, Highly Irradiated Man Who Probably Just Gave Me Cancer.
But oh, how the tables will turn when the U.S. goes shithouse in the next few years due to massive civil unrest. What's that, Verizon employee? You lost your phone to one of the local militia demanding to be quartered in your house? Bummerrrrrrr...
2. War, including undeclared or civil war, warlike action by a military force, including action in hindering or defending against an actual or expected attack, by any government, sovereign or other authority using military personnel or other agents; or insurrections, rebellion, terrorism, revolution, usurped power of action taken by government authority in hindering or defending against any of these.
I'll stop here because the rest of the contract is actually plausible, i.e fraud, damage, normal wear and tear, etc. I just wanted to show you the first two(completely implausible) circumstances that came to mind in the Verizon board room when they were drawing up this legally binding agreement. Good lord.
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