Out of Print: After Dark pt.2
On to matters at hand. As promised, here's the second installment in my After Dark series. You can read part one at this link or just scroll down, which would probably be easier. That'll give you all the background you need. If you're just too damned lazy to click or scroll, here's the elevator version: Trolling the North Loop vintage shops I found this stack of hilarious old mid-70's "New York Lifestyle" magazines for men. Which is obviously code for Mag-GAY-zine. I bought a few so I could scan 'em, snark 'em, and provide fodder for my rarely-brilliant, even-more-rarely-read interspace on the webbertube. Let's go!
The time: November 1976
The city: New York
The magazine: After Dark: The National Magazine of Entertainment
The event: DISCO FEVER!
For whatever reason, Editor Bill Como thought that the perfect accompanying graphic to their Disco Fever issue would be Broadway superstar (?) Chita Rivera in full "Cabaret" drag. What do these things have to do with one another, you may ask? Well, so far as I could gather from the issue... nothing. See for yourself:
Those eyelashes! The backlighting! The pancake makeup! Folks, this is the pre-Photoshop world right here. In the era before Photoshop Disasters, there were just plain old in-studio disasters. Run of the mill, but seem strangely refreshing in this over-polished age we live in now.
But if it's the Disco Fever issue, then where's the "dancing dudes?" Oh... right here:
I'm torn on the hotly contentious issue of Disco Fever. I musically came of age in the Disco-backlash 80's. When wearing bellbottoms and shaking one's "groove thing" was considered horribly passé, but tight-rolling one's Z Cavaricci jeans and teasing out one's hair to the New-Ro strains of Adam Ant was acceptable. That said, there are certain elements of disco that I can appreciate: Complex instrumentation, traditional musicianship, danceable beats. But my early memories of "cool" are Dr. Jonny Fever declaring that disco sucked and cranking some Pink Floyd. Isn't there room enough in the world for both? And have things really changed all that much? Can I not have my Andrew W.K. and my Jamiroquai together?
But a better question may be, in regards to the above photo, where did the defined gentleman above keep his keys, and did he take maracas with him wherever he went, or just to the club?
"I just get After Dark to read about great stage and screen artists like Agnes Moorehead... I honestly hadn't even noticed that picture of Greenwich Village Follies."
How many fellas told themselves and their "girlfriends" that tall tale? I shudder to think.
The statement was most likely later followed by hushed conversation over the basement phone to the Gate Theater to see if tickets were available for the coming Friday night.
There was a weird resurgence in Art Deco (referenced again later in this issue) during the late 70's and early 80's. Offering some good and some bad repercussions. Good: practical use of neon and lucite in design, attractive sportcoats, large-scale pattern motifs. Bad: Taco's "Puttin' on the Ritz," mixing too much coral and turquoise within singular designs, the design elements that informed "The Max," the soda shop where the kids from Bayside High would hang out.
This ad screams one idea loud and clear: Disco 76 has NO LADIES NIGHT. You have your choice of two types of guy that hangs out there: skinny pale guy in a tux, and skinny pale guy in a tux with a 'stache. 'Twas the 70's, that much you can be sure of.
Subtle.
The above-mentioned "From Peppermint to Poppers" story. I didn't reprint in full readable quality because... well, why? However I should mention that the story does reference a "soon-to-open club" downtown called Studio 54. My guess is that nothing will come of the place. The accompanying page photo:
And you thought Dirk Diggler was a fictional character. Yet there he is in his booty-shaking glory. I know it's sweat, but the fact that he looks like he mega-wet his pants... kind of a turnoff, actually. I mean some people might find it hot, but... um, no.
Paragons of disco. All aboard the airship BeeGee!
And Isaac Hayes, no matter what your kooky religion tells you to do, in my mind you will always be this scary outer space genie.
Anyone care to guess who the guy on the bottom right is?
Yeah, me either.
What do we have here? Some supergroup comprised of members of The Time and Kid Creole and the Coconuts? Nope. Although the guys on the right both kind of weirdly look like Morris Day. No, what we have here is Dr. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band. Apparently they were hot for about a month in 1976 with a little ditty called Cherchez la Femme. You think I'm joking? Thankfully YouTube will vindicate me.
There's one you never hear on the Jack-Bob-Fred "we play anything" radio formats. Wonder why? Probably because it sucks. They were truly the Cherry Poppin' Daddies of the 70's. (That isn't a compliment.)
And now the answer to the eternal question: are there tan lines in space?
Evidently, yes.
Obviously, this is two pictures haphazardly stuck together. On the left we have what Ursine Historians will come to refer to as a proto-Bear Run. If you don't know what that means, then you probably don't want to look it up. On the right we have what you normally only see once a year on a "pride" parade float in any medium-to-large American city. My question whenever I see anything like this: Did the guy BRING this outfit to the club, or did he WEAR it to the club? Also, where are his car keys? I just assume there must be keys, because I highly doubt he took public transportation in that outfit. Although, it IS New York. Here in Austin, they like to keep it just as weird.
But who was making the music that these sweaty spacemen were shaking their "what-what's" to?
How about a fierce looking Chaka Kahn:
Tell me something good? Okay, how about this: A film vehicle for Chaka Kahn and Pam Grier. They're two sexy assassins who stumble on a sex-slaves-for-cocaine ring. And they bust it up by unleashing a funk-splosion of pain on "the man"? I would SO watch this movie.
So remember above when I mentioned that the 70's had that return to Art Deco 20's opulent design?
Well, meet designer Charles Burke:
Charles was pretty edgy with his retro-futuristic designs. Evoking the 20's with a little 60's mod and Chrome-ified "House of the Future" action. Actually reasonably cool in a very ironic sort of way. But his work as a designer who works well with light (not to be confused with noted lunatic and "painter of light" Thomas Kinkade) got him some pretty fab acclaim back in the day.
Why he even got to hang with noted celebrities:
In case you missed, I noted where Charles Burke was rubbing elbows with the pre-Knight Rider Hoff.
Above that, my fellow nerds will recognize the light communicator-thing from Logan's Run. Although it's in like 30 seconds of the movie.
Amazingly, Burke's style mellowed a bit, and he's still designing. In fact, he was recently featured in Connecticut Cottages & Gardens. A far cry from After Dark, to be sure.
Now more fashion! Or should I say "fashion":
"Does this quilted pantsuit make me look gay?"
"No, of course not. Maybe the tambourine you're carrying does, though."
If you've ever heard the term "gay face," you now have a prime example.
Seriously, what the hell is even happening here? Was there ever actually a prevailing belief that there would ever be a "jumpsuit chic" movement?
Really? REALLY!?!
But wait...
We see here gayface in a velour... um robe-suit-type-thing. With a white silk cravat, lest you think this isn't dressy enough, accompanying a Debbie Harry wannabe wearing a garbage bag and, inexplicably, pantyhose with open-toe shoes.
Also whatever happened to the eyewear fashion movement that said sunglasses of the future would be made from silver casts of leprechaun protective cups?
I guess this harkens back to the earlier Logan's Run reference, where people of the fashionista-70's were preparing to wear jumpsuits and live in a mall. To an extent, that is sort of what happened.
Think the ironic t-shirt was the domain of the internet-ordering
Oh, no, kids.
From left to right, in case you can't read it:
Spank you very much
Empire Diner
SCAT (um... ew. -ed.)
All That Jazz
Gotta Sing Gotta Dance
Our Feature is Full Length and Uncut
Baby Beef Cakes
Basic Training
If someone, ANYONE, approaches you in a bar with a "SCAT" t-shirt on - unless you hear them saying "skib-illy-hoob-illy-doob-illy-bop!" - run like hell.
Who wears short shorts? Even these guys seem surprised as to how scandalously tight their shorts are. Seriously. It looks like their crotches were vacuum packed for freshness. Ironically, wearing them all night at a smoky dance bar, it will be ANYTHING but fresh in there.
When you think of the 70's, what new age conceits come to mind? Pyramid Power? sure. EST? yeah, that too. But let's not forget about the all-important Amulet/Talisman. Something to dangle among your chest pubes and show how deep you are. That Egyptian scarab says something about you: It says you wore a jacket without a shirt and your pants are coming off. The 1970's were not known for their subtelty.
So it's the post-sexual revolution 70's. Post Stonewall, etc., and men are starting to cut loose the 50's short hair and tie to the office mentality. And of course some of them are getting their ear pierced. Like tattoos and sleeveless t-shirts, the number of men who wear this look is disproportionately larger than the number of men who can pull off this look. For those who really want to "gay-up" their ear jewelry, there's these casts of people that you will have to explain who they are to whoever gets close enough/drunk enough/is stupid enough to ask.
Now THAT'S what I call an amulet (or talisMAN - wokka wokka). It's a guy pointing to his junk. Hilarious. Again, the subtlety of the 70's.
And dare you wear a man-thong? Most should not.I implore you, MOST. SHOULD. NOT.
Oh, you think Borat came up with the over-the-shoulder-thong chic? No-no, my dear readers. That "sex-sational" look has been around for a regrettably long time. I'm glad they found a guy with all the sex appeal of John Stossel to model them. Gah.
Remember the ad in the last After Dark for the Poop Deck? AMAZINGLY, nobody let them in on the joke and it was still open in '76, "catering" to a very unspecific "lifestyle" - which apparently has something to do with two guys staring intently at their own handshake on the beach.
A blogger people actually read (Joe.My.God) did a piece on the Marlin Beach Hotel that you should read here. Brill, as usual.
Looks like the building is still sort of there, although whatever it is now... hard to say.
International Male, purveyors of the poet shirt, a plethora of banana hammocks, and sporting the same photo of the swarthy "hot" guy in leather pants standing next to his motorcycle that they've been running for like 25 years. Oh yes, they were in business in '76, and business was good. It's nice to know that while gay hustler clothes may have changed (um... sort of) over time, at least the gay hustler clothiers have not.
In fairness, International Male has tried to update their image, and in retail business circles they made a pretty public gambit to bring fashion conscious straight guys back into the fold, but without seeing their numbers I'm going to guess it was with limited success. I'm still scratching my head why these guys didn't title sponsor Queer Eye. That could've done the trick. Hey, IM, if you're hiring a marketing guy call me!
What does a pair of Gainsborough's Blue Boy cufflinks say about you? That you appreciate irony?
There's so many ways to be a fancy lad here, I shudder to think. Somewhere in Minneapolis an entrepreneur said, "What's something I can market that is recognizable but nobody owns the copyright to?" while he was flipping through a coffee table "Introduction to Museum Art" book, and BINGO! This great idea was born.
(Not affiliated with blueboy magazine.) Which is pretty much exactly what you think it is. Gotta love old-timey disclaimers.
Finally, we've almost reached the end. And it's a doozy:
Edible Underwear.
Ed-i-ble-un-der-wear. Does any part of this even make sense?
Oh sure, it inspired one of my favorite songs:
(Which is available on iTunes, where I bought my own copy.)
But why would you wear a fruit roll up on a part of your body that is NOTORIOUS for heat generation? I'm all for fetish-ey behavior, and kinks and the whole nine yards, but with these how do you not just end up with "pants full o' jelly"? Even if you do just put these on for some bedroom fun time, wouldn't one ill-timed Dutch Oven ruin the moment (and more importantly the flavor) for every one involved? I'm gonna say yes.
And yes, penis pillows are a great novelty, but where do you put them the other REST OF YOUR LIFE WHEN YOU'RE NOT AT A BRIDAL SHOWER?
Oh and that big black man is, in fact, wearing a full body fishnet Freddy Mercury unitard-thing. And you can totally see his junk. I'm not sure what the practical applications are for this look, but feel free to postulate in the comments section below.
There you go, kids. A HUGE-NORMOUS post from After Dark. Again, sorry it took me so long, but I put this together in my free time over a couple weeks. So worth it, don't you think?
Me either.
Oh well, leave some love in the comments and I promise a shorter, more concise, and possibly even funny post next time.
Huzzah.
Scattered Thoughts from Epply Airport
So I'll tie up a few loose ends.
CONSUMER ALERT!
I got dinged by this, just like the author of this article. If you use your debit card for gas, beware. The QuikTrip near the old house in Omaha used to ding the card for $60 regardless of how much gas you actually got. Now that number has bumped up. It sucks if you get gas a few times in close proximity. Trust me, I KNOW.
COOL IT WITH THE VENTS!
(get it, it's a pun!)
Fucking seriously, people. Stop doing this. Stop it!
Stop sticking fake vents on your cheap ass cars. It's not road bling, it's stupid. Why are you drawing attention to a shitty stock Impala in the first place? This is a car you want to draw the eye AWAY from. And that goes for your Hyundai's, Kia's and '93 Ford Taurus' as well.
CHEER UP!
The news of Tim Russert dying this morning got me surprisingly down. He was a nice calm rock on MSNBC and even though I didn't catch Meet the Press all that often, I did appreciate his even-measured style. He'll be missed. Instead of mourning, I'm inclined to celebrate life. So here's a video of a guy wearing a green gift bag fucking a giant Cheetoes sculpture:
MORE LINKS!
Were you a highly strung youngster like I was? Then you'll love reliving the worst parts of your childhood at Kindertrauma!
How much stuff do you need? Probably just 100 things. Any more is overkill.
If you're like me, then you're 5'9", your name is Marv and you LOVED National Lampoon's Vacation (as in one of the all-time favorite comedies). Well some other ardent fan made a very faithful recreation of the greatest vacation vehicle of all time: The Wagon Queen Family Truckster in Metallic Pea. (What, you thought it was the Antarctic Blue SuperSportswagon with the CB and the optional rally fun pack?)
Mac Shareware goodness: Someone made a version of Stickies that's actually worth using.
For once I find myself wishing that print wasn't dead. Because sometimes it's wonderfully weird.
That's all for today. I was kind of bummed out by the lukewarm response to After Dark post one (I gauge popularity totally on comments). But I'll probably push forward with mags 2 & 3 nonetheless. If there's something specific you'd like to see from them let me know!
KTHXBAI! (and Huzzah!)
Out of Print: After Dark pt.1
And so I had. I hastily purchased three of them, at a seemingly steep $7 each, and set home to warm up my scanner.
I'll be doling this out in pieces so as to not spoil all the fun at once. Here are selections from After Dark May 1975. A seven month old me was at home, presumably in my crib, while all these wild goings on were... uh, going on. I give you, the cover:
Nobody wants to be the rude one who says, "Um dude, your balls are showing." On the cover of a national publication no less. I'm not sure who the cover character is, but I flipped through enough of the article to know that he was in a production of some high-minded Greek tragedy off-Broadway production where presumably most of the cast wandered around with their balls showing. Even the ladies.
The mag didn't have the cash to go color throughout, so it's a mostly b&w affair. But that detracts in no way whatsoever from the awesomeness of it. If anything it adds.
And speaking of ads, are you looking for the right swimwear to wrap around your "bobby-dazzler"?
Well you're in luck:
Already with the pornstache staring at you. This is magnificent: You have all three types of 70's guy on here. There's the pre-muscle beach boy, the scrawn-fit fella (with and without chest pelt) and then hair helmet McMacho. How important is his hair? Um, it's a 1/3 page ad for conditioner, for crissakes. A lot! He cares about his hair a lot, okay? Don't judge.
This man owned a mustache comb, I guarantee it.
And if you didn't have your own hair:
Okay, lots happening here, so let's dig in. The "Headhugger" should not be confused with the "facehugger," which are the small aliens from Alien that latch onto your face and plant alien eggs in your guts. Although I think that option was available with these toupees. Also it shouldn't be confused with "treehugger," which is a pachouli scented hippie that latches onto your face and plants hair-brained schemes into your mind.
Are you a fan of cinema? Well you're in luck, because The Adonis is the Premiere Showplace of the Nation. How do I know their movies are good? Well, their logo has a boner, that's your first clue.
Gay porn titles have never been subtle, but at least back in the day they were whimsical. Spread Eagles? Wasn't that with Louis Gossett Jr.? (no.) Boys of the Slums, wasn't that Spike Lee? (no.) And what pray tell goes on in their exotic Grecian Lounge? If I have to tell you then you won't understand anyway.
Time for more pornstache!
Wow? Yanni? The guy who sings about Baby Beluga, the caviar all the kids love? (no.) This is another Greek thing. Yianni is, no kidding, the Greek version of the name John. Still, you kinda wonder what's going on under his hat, don't you? Pervert!
Hungry?
When in New York be sure to enjoy the tableside antics of the chefs at Banihana. They would love to make the same ancient jokes you just heard at the other table a minute ago. And when in Denver, be sure to be menaced by a dark eyed stranger with a super pornstache at The Broadway.
So remember, the Benihana in New York, The Broadway... in Denver. What the hell?
What's happening at Gypsy's?
Um, I don't know. Apparently NY mayor Mike Bloomberg in a a Pee Wee Herman haircut will try to tango with you. Gah!
But what's New York without taking in a musical?
Nice. Classy. In the words of its creator, Earl Wilson Jr.: "it is a musical revue about SEX... with some nudity and a lot of X-rated language. It was nominated for a Grammy in 1974 and has appeared all over the world. It is a really fun show that takes the attitude that everyone loves sex... when they are honest enough to admit it... and that we'd probably all be a lot better off if we were less uptight about it".
I sort of agree, I guess. But still, it's a little tacky.
Think it's just modern douchebag fratboys with puka shell necklaces? Don't be fooled.
On the same note, do you think Dov Charney's American Apparel is blazing any trails with its pervy gold lamé outerwear? I'm afraid not. The His Midas from Ah Men shows that with a chest pelt and stuffing your junk in a gold bag, confused heroin-chic ladies will lean on you for support.
Nothing new under the sun, I guess.
I scanned these pages a while ago and don't remember what I was going to say about all of them. But I would hasten a guess that it's about The Kokpit, which is by all accounts, THEE FUN BAR. Got that, Sweet Lips?
Ay ay ay.
Or would you prefer a bar that's named something even more "on the nose"?
Yep. The Poop Deck.
And what do you do with the Poop Deck? You rinse it off, spray some Lysol in the room, maybe light a candle, and keep going.
Oh, Fashion Section! I hope there's a naked guy in a Horatio Hornblower hat!
With cowboy boots to match. What I really admire about this guy is how he kept it classy and kept the legs together. Because once those things open up, "flop" on the ground. Then the magazine gets a brown wrapper, dig?
Everything that is good and bad about Godspell in one picture:
This photo wants so badly to be sexy, but it cannot be. It just cannot be. (BTW, it's not actually from Godspell. But you drama class nerds already new that.)
The Black Crowes called, they want their fancy tour outfit back:
Kind of a fantastic suit, actually. I wouldn't recommend wearing it to a funeral.
Well, maybe a clown funeral.
Ready for that giant Disco Sound?
Both of these ads are fantastic. I want to go back in time just so I can find out what the hell "The New! Sound Sound Machine" is. Is that the name of the bar? Or is the bar Giant Disco Sound? What's happening? Why is this ad yelling at me?!?
And then "How's this body for openers?" Um, the body is okay. The face, however, is a young Jay North from Dennis the Menace meets a scary albino. It's called cropping, people. And it was done, even back in the 70's.
There's a lot going on here, but it's all so worth it:
I won't even comment. Just enjoy it all for yourself. "For Sensualists" "The Ultimate Man and Woman" "Jungle Fever"
It's all so good.
And Beach Boy of New York is the only guy with some meat on him in the whole magazine. A sign of things to come (no pun necessary).
Oh Boy! Turquoise Jewelry!
Sexy? Scary? Both?
This was a 2-page ad pushing the very popular silver and turquoise look of the mid-70's.
And it somehow morphed into a punchline for an SNL sketch:
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Eh.
Stay tuned for issue two of more old school, porn-stachity fun from After Dark, coming soon!
Leave some love and ruminations in the comments!
Huzzah!
Photoblogging from Ruby's Bathroom
Now I'm not one of those "bashful bladder" types. I have used urinal troughs standing crowded shoulder-to-shoulder with the meanest of hombres. But allow me to tell you right now: there is no way in hell I was using this bathroom. None. It was essentially a black-painted cubicle with a porcelain bowl that you think is a hallway until you realize, nope: that's the men's room.
I'll skip the graphic over-description and get to the meat of the story (foreshadowing!). A member of what is fast becoming my Austin "runnin' crew" suggested that we adjourn to Ruby's BBQ for a post-Nasty's repast. I agreed if for no other reason than to use a bathroom that at least didn't appear to be out of a third world prison.
To my delight, Ruby's (which has very tasty BBQ, by the way) also has a men's room adorned with some of the most delightful found-art sharpie-drawn insanity that I've seen in a bathroom in ages. With iPhone in hand, I snapped a few choice images for you to enjoy here. Salud!
I would love to know how this drawing got started. Just a circle around a dot? Was it just one person who drew the crude "W" and then adorned it with bristling hairs? As a collaborative art project, "Dongs & Ballz" is a resounding success.
BTW, to any of those reading who are not intimately familiar with the male anatomy, it should not look like this. And if you happen upon some that do look like this, back away slowly.
You see... one does not own the chili. One merely rents it.
But for those of you who miss the nuance, there's a Cliff's Notes version beneath.
What candidate would a poorly-rendered legless Warner Brothers cartoon character endorse? The choice is obvious, don't you think?
Unfortunately, Wile E. Coyote is a superdelegate who has already backed Barack.
Somewhere out there a guy named Glen is thrilled that this masterful piece of prose can finally be enjoyed on the internet, where other guys named Glen who read it can stumble drunk into the bathrooms of their local BBQ drinking establishments and write it themselves. All of this made me wonder, however, why do so many guys go to the bathroom with a permanent magic markers?
This is the logo of my new favorite band. I don't know if they are a band, but I want to believe they are, because the logo is that awesome.
Actually, there is a band here in austin called Girl Fart, which is surprisingly poppy (read again" POP-py"), however they have named themselves in such a way that almost assures they will receive no radio play.
Sure, the request is whimsical, but it's also a little romantic.
Why don't we just go to a Sandals resort instead? It's basically the same thing.
For those having a hard time reading drunken nerd scribbles, this reads: Cthulu/Shoggoth '08, Why vote for the lesser of two evils?
In case you're not familiar, Cthulu and Shoggoth are characters from H.P. Lovecrafts Cthulu Mythos, which is some high-end mid century sci-fi literary nerdishness. Just the kind of thing I would expect in a restaurant bathroom on the edge of a college campus. If this were in a bathroom of a truck stop in central Kansas I'd be worried. It should be noted that in ball point beneath this political ad are the words "Fuckin Funny." I second that emotion, good sir.
For the record, I, too, would rather have the giant and evil Cthulu for president than John McCain.
To recap, if you're near 32nd and Guadalupe and want some good BBQ paired with some of the most entertaining bathroom reading available, stop into Ruby's and enjoy.
That's all for the weekend, kiddies.
Huzzah.
Cars, Music, and avoiding another trip to the desert
The most
interesting thing at the auto show. What the
hell?
In other news, or, miscellaneous things of no
import which I've been thinking about:
So I'm listnening to my XM Radio (whose service I
love) on my laughable Delphi SkiFi3 (a total piece of shit**) and catch the
last 2 bars of the new B-52's single! It was last
July when they trotted the song out for the first
time here in Omaha, priming the come-back pump.
And this song was great live even though they were
still working out the bugs. Here's a clip of 'em
playing it live from a more recent show:
So their first studio album in 16 years, also titled "Funplex," comes out in a few weeks. All the available deets here. I am, in a word, thrilled.
(image stolen from
some european site I won't be giving attribution
to)
Sure, the gang is looking
a little rough around the edges (even Keith is
starting to age a bit), but hey, it's been a long
time since 1979. And I can tell you first hand from
seeing them last summer, in 1990 and concert footage
from 1980, they haven't lost a thing. They still
pound through Strobe Light and 52 Girls like they're
rocking a smokey house party in rural Georgia.
Speaking of concerts, what the hell happened to
Coachella this year? The line
up is appalling. Early whispers of headliners like
Radiohead and Outkast with supporting acts like
the Breeders*, Beck and Broken Social Scene were
smashed Monday when they released the actual
roster. Jack Johnson? Roger Waters doing Dark Side
of the Moon? LOVE AND ROCKETS?!? Two parts
pot-fueled pop'n'album-rock to one part
one-hit-wonder? What the fuh? Indio,California is
a wonderful place to see a concert, particularly
at night. It's warm, there's a light breeze, the
stage set ups and art installations are
impressive, etc. etc. Plus it's full of little
surprises, like when we wandered into the
"electronic dance dome" and caught the DJ set of
Lady Miss Keir, as in "of Deee-Lite." She busted
out a wicked set of year and genre spanning tunes
while accompanied by her two tranny-dancers. It
was blissful.
Lady Miss Kier
busts out the funky beats at Coachella
2007
That's what makes this
year that much more of a let down. Last year was a
pleasant surprise after the parking hassles, the
standing in line, the wafty pot clouds and the $4
bottles of water. So Why would they derail it this
year with such a dull set. It's safe to say that I'll
be looking for another venue to enjoy Chromeo
sometime this year.
Oh, and in radio news,
apparently I'm mean:
Notes:
John Gibson is a big piece of shit. But you already knew that.
The Prez is a delusional douche-nozzle. But you already knew that.
You can now buy pancake batter in a pressurized can, ready to make. Seriously. No joke. It's called the batter blaster, and I'm going to sue since that was my screen name once upon a time.
That's all for this week, kids.
Huzzah.
Oh, P.S. There have been updates all over docmarvy.com (megameme, BOTM, etc.) so feel free to look around.
**read the review from Broad Street Books that starts "Just an awful piece of junk..." It's hilarious.
(thanks to Hobronto for some of these fine links)
2007 Year in Review (Sorta)
Well, I have been.
I had to hit the ground running when I got back from Tennessee/Texas, and then there was Christmas, and then there was the McCune Family Band. It's been busy.
Me rocking with the
McCune Family Christmas Band. I rocked
balls.
But now it's 11am, New
Year's Eve-Eve, and I finally have a chance to jot
down some thoughts.
2007 was a pretty good year for me. I lost a few
pounds, got into a workout regimen I can handle, got
rid of a lot of clutter, tried to be a nicer person
(usually failing, but I give myself an "E" for
effort).
I relaunched docmarvy.com in July with the redesign
to rave reviews of all four of my regular blog
readers. I started some new features on the blog
including the DC Blitz (which coincides with my
political radio segment); That thing I do where I
scan old magazines and make fun of them... along the
way helping a random stranger who stumbled on the
blog connect a little bit with a recently-deceased
parent. So that was nice. I also chronicled my trips
to America's "Reinforced cradle of the morbidly
obese," Tennessee, and brought the pictures to prove
it. And I did one whole installment of my former
Weisenheimers Blogaverse feature "Holy Shit," where I
make fun of religion and the beliefs that people hold
near and dear to their heart -- because I'm a dick.
Yes it was a good year, or at least six months, of
docmarvy 2.0.
But would a dick wear a jacket like this?:
You bet he would,
and did. I don't know why American Apparel isn't
selling more of these.
I screwed up my fair share this year - and then
some, to be sure. Undeniably. I certainly bit it
for New Years Eve plans. Between Weisenhimers shows,
McCune Family Band-ing, traveling to Texas, Tennessee
and environs, Christmas and its associated
gifting/baking, etc., I didn't really come up with
anything better for the rockin' NYE than a crock pot
full of three bean turkey chili and a night on the
couch. That is, after I entertain the good people of
Blair, Nebraska. (Not to be confused with Blair Warner, the social
climbing blonde from Eastland boarding school for
girls.)
2008? Who knows? Work. Texas. New opportunities to
reinvent myself as a thinner, more muscular, more
sexy/confident mid-30's man of the new millennium.
We'll see.
Feel free to put your wishes, resolutions or
responses in the comments. But keep in mind, I'll
hold you to 'em.
Happy new year, everybody. Thanks for reading. In
2008 let's all try to hug a little more, be a little
better, rock out with our cocks out a bit more and
above all fuck fear.
Take it away Ukelady:
Huzzah, babies.
Photo Safari Redux
On with the freak show!
Hey, remember me? That's
right, it's your old pal the Rotating Display Case of
Poorly Designed Redneck Bumper Stickers! The eye is
drawn to the "If I Had Known This I Would've Picked
My Own Cotton" sticker. How could it not?
But check out some of the other classics here. This
is what Tom Tancredo sees when he closes his eyes.
I'm a little confused by the redneck mosquito with
the rebel flag wings. Is the inference that although
they are parasitic to northerners somehow this gives
the redneck mosquito the upper hand? Feel free to
explain.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
please welcome the prestidigitational presentation of
America's favorite magic duo, Cups & Balls! Not
to be rude, but I can't really claim that my
cups are magical *wink
wink*.
Continuing on that theme...
Come on.
They knew what they were doing. Is it safe to assume
that this was a term of endearment for William
"The Refrigerator" Perry? Golly
I hope so.
Do people just assume that Jesus would lack good
taste? Because if I were the messiah and I returned
and saw someone wearing that tie, I would punch them
in the fridgeballs. Also of note is the Red State v.
Blue State tie. Although I have a pretty
comprehensive tie collection I'm still not a fan of
event-specific neckwear. Particularly election day.
You have so few occasions to enjoy wearing a tie so
notably ugly.
Guess what? The As Seen On TV (Golden Eagle) Gift and
Souvenir store also had a food section. Of
course they do!
Prior to the ugly lawsuit
with the creators of Starsky & Hutch, Taste
Delight brand was poised to take over the world of
flavored ursine-shaped snack foods. Damnable lawyers.
In and of itself, liquid
cheese sauces are without any particular novelty.
What strikes me here, aside from the fact that the
veggie-juggling chef appears to be made out of cheese
himself, is the name. Eazee Squeeze brand. Try
shoehorning seven "e"'s into two words. It's a trick.
Please don't confuse this with Kraft's Easy Cheese
from the previous post, or EZ Cheez, which is a
popular liquid imitation cheese sauce. This is Eazee
Squeeze. The cheese? it's not so easy. But the
squeezin isn't just easy, it's EAZEE.
I appreciate Flying Super
Hero's rippling physique and atomic-age design
sensibilities, but I take issue with the fact that he
couldn't come up with anything more creative than
Flying Super Hero. If his ONLY super power is flying
(and looking great in a full body leotard) then he's
actually pretty lame. This was in a section of
nothing but flying, lawsuit-inducing toys. Birds,
planes, and of course... generic flying super hero.
Of course, musical
disembodied dog head gumball machine in a vile sewage
brown. So macabre was this toy that I completely
missed the FloamBot Kit it was sitting next to. Is a
gumball machine a toy? If so, what is the nature of
how you play with it? Oh boy! I put in a coin and got
a gumball! I know understand the importance of money!
Now sing to me in your robot voice, dog head!
I heard they were getting
back together! In fact, they were in the Macy's
Thanksgiving Day Parade this
year. I saw just enough of it to know that there
are more than a few budding "Ricky Martins" in
that group, if you get my meaning. And I certainly
think you do.
Looking at these funky toy photos reminded me of the
last time I snapped some phone pics in the As Seen On
TV Store. It was with my lovable ol' Nokia (since
mutilated by Monty's Manos (the hands of destroying
my phone). I never had an opportunity to post this
little number, but now's my chance. And sure enough,
thanks to my digital pack rat-ism, I saved it. Check
it.
Something looks
suspiciously familiar between "The Jazz Man" and the
"Singing and Blowing G.I." At least I think that's
what it says. If so, this is the worst way imaginable
to support our troops. But I digress. Before he was
serving our country he was blowing hot saxophone
jazz... and his hands stuck that way. But hey, the
Army has to make recruitment quotas.
And finally, totally unrelated to the trip, before I
left town I checked out the new gallery attached to
Dixie Quicks. Their "Table Scraps" display is up, and
guess what I found:
The artist? Yours truly.
I was sketching out some phony Eames dots patterns
and overlapping 50's rhomboids around my hastily
scrawled logo for DQ. And now? I'm in a gallery and
my work is offered for tens of dollars. The art world
is so fickle.
That does it for me. I'm hanging out in the Austin
airport killing a little time as I compose this. It's
going to be a weekend of house hunting and hopefully
some sleep at some point. Because my ace is draggin'.
More later, kiddies.
Huzzah.
Tennessee Photo Safari
We begin our safari at the most evil place in the known universe.
If David Lynch and John Waters had a baby, then being at the Pigeon Forge Super Wal Mart would be like being trapped in that baby's brain. Trapped, I say!
Here's a Wal Mart
customer in the much-mentioned FPC. This was one of
the smaller ones, I couldn't take pictures of the
bigger ones... because I would've needed a wide angle
lens. *rimshot* Thank you, I'm here all week.
Seriously, though, there were some huge folks
scooting around.
In case you can't read
it, the sign says "GED Upstairs." Because in
Tennessee, getting your Graduation Equivalency Degree
is so important, they test you in the banquet hall of
an abandoned theme restaurant that sits atop the
recovering drug addict thrift shop. All true. Stay in
school, kids.
I got off the plane,
rented the car, drove the 40 minutes into town to
meet my folks at the park behind the mill along the
creek. (All true) Where they kept me waiting about a
half an hour, wandering around. There were all type
of waterfowl, some of which I photographed myself
with. Which you can see here. Apparently, my parents
were so excited to see me that they made me wait
while they went to the above mentioned Super Wal
Mart. Bleh.
This is my father doing
something that I requested he do while I take a
picture. I thought it would be clever. Upon
reflection, it is not.
You read it right. Dolly
has pumped major cashola back into this community. At
the "Day Surgery" entrance to the Fort Saunders
Pigeon Forge Mediocre Medical Center there's a whole
Dolly Parton birthing unit. Back in the day Johnny
Carson would joked about wanting to see Dolly
Parton's birthing unit. And that's why the man was a
genius.
What would a trip to
Tennessee be without photos of weird food? No trip at
all, as far as I'm concerned. At the Sevierville Big
Lots they have some discontinued test market food
failures. Case in point. I'll be the first to admit I
likes me some Easy Cheese. Cheddar and Bacon goodness
from a can on a Ritz? Man, back before I developed
sophisticated taste buds that stuff was the shizz.
Now? Nah sah muhhhh. Regardless, I like my shmear for
my bagel to be refrigerated. This is a can of "real"
cream cheese in a room temperature can. Maybe
Jew-Bot would dig it, but not
me, thank you very much!
Kids like snack foods,
and kids like that rap music. How can we tap into a
crucial cross-market? I have it! Rap Snacks! This idea is
fucking insane no matter how you parse it.
Basically how it works is relatively unknown
rappers attach themselves and their likeness to a
specific flavor of Rap Snacks, in this case
Stat Quo on Sour Cream &
Extra Cheddar, and somehow that will translate
into album sales. The only flaw in this marketing
idea is how insanely stupid it is and how it will
never work. And at the last minute, when they're
trying to figure out how to not have this snack
scare the shit out of white people from the South,
they decide to slap an inspirational saying on the
front. In this case, Pursue your college degree.
That's right, when Stat Quo isn't busting caps in
College Park, he's working on finishing up his
MBA. Then he can get a job where his "Extra
Cheddar" is going into is wallet, and not his rap
snacks. God help us all.
So that's all for now, kids. 30-some-odd hours from
now I'll be in Austin.
Show some love in the comments.
Huzzah.
On The Road (Metaphorically) Again
This first part is just a stream of consciousness rant. Feel free to skip to...
35,000 feet above what I'm going to presume is Michigan on the first leg of a trip to see my parents for a week then a few days in my future home of Texas, I'm trying to pretend that the tiny tray on the jam packed tiny plane I'm on is big enough to open my laptop and hammer out a blog post. But it isn't. I'm so cramped that I'm having to constantly type and retype almost every word. That and after deadlifting yesterday my back is too tight for me to get comfortable in the seat. I'm being pretty generous here, it's not like I'm some super powerlifter. More likely there is no way any normal shaped person could be comfortable in these iron-flat-ass seats with the concave backing to give the illusion that you have some room. Although, it's particularly bad here since I ended up on a tiny plane with some particularly freakishly tall and/or fat people. A whole collection of Herman Munster's and Ralphie May's. Is it indecent to ask that if you're booking your flight online that you put your size info in and that will be a factor so they don't put too many ginormous people on one flight? I mean we've already give up so many personal freedoms (along with our dignity) when we go through TSA. It instills almost no faith in the administration that is in place to provide safety for travelers when, as you stand there waiting for your three different bins so you can grab your belongings, the TSA agent manning the X-Ray guffaws to his coworker that when he tried to move the monitor he accidentally hit the power button and turned it of "haw-haw-haw!" Oh, we have good times humiliating people for a living...
[The bell to turn off all electronic devices goes off here, it picks up after I make my connection]
Squeezing onto a Canadair Regional Jet with some more abnormally large people the guy sitting next to me in 9-A said, "This jet is Canada's revenge against the U.S."
I just smiled and said "yeah," because I didn't know how else to react. Now, several hours later, I have no idea what the hell he meant. Canada's revenge against us? For what? For having a more temperate climate? Then getting up to let the guy next to me get out, I clock myself on the bulkhead. It was really loud and embarrassing and the guy a row back said "watch your head" after I did it. I didn't want to make waves so I just let out a stifled "thanks" through clenched teeth. How clever, I will watch my head NOW THAT I KNOW IT'S CAPABLE OF SMASHING INTO THE CARRY-ON STORAGE.
After hours on the tarmac and many gallons of gooey green wing de-icer I stepped off the plane into 68 degrees of humid Tennesse warmth to find that the TSA befouled my bags with what looks like fluorescent green chalk dust, then dragged them under the plane the whole way. But I'm here, in the mountains, driving my rented Chevy Equinox and preparing to fast tomorrow in solidarity with my father who is getting a colonoscopy on Wednesday. I'll be sure to post pictures.
Actually, I will be trying to take some pictures of the local flair that makes this place so outrageously retarded.
Stay tuned, kids.
Huzzah.
It all spills out
[If you’re not a Mac Nerd, or you just don’t care to see how the sausage of docmarvy.com is made, then skip down to the next set of brackets and start reading there.]
Beware the Upgrayedd
After waiting a couple weeks to see what bugs emerged and allow for patches and updates to be released I figured it was safe to move on up to 10.5 (Leopard, to you and me). I did so without doing the crucial research on some of my most-used software, primarily RapidWeaver. As you may have seen me mention before, Rapidweaver is the software I use to run docmarvy.com. It’s an efficient, easy-to-use app that is community-developed by a bunch of Mac developers and devotees. Because of some last minute sparkle magic Apple decided to throw into the official release of Leopard that varied oh so slightly from the early release developers version, a bunch of apps turned to poop. RapidWeaver’s most recent release (3.6.4) was one of those that went to poop town. So I was stranded, unable to update until 3.6.5 officially came out, which it did and you can know that for sure because you’re reading this now.
So, lots to catch up on because of my time on the digital beach. Lots and lots. Let’s dig in, shall we?
[Non-Mac Nerds Continue Reading Here]
The Stars Shine Bright in the Middle of the Night (clap-clap-clap-clap)...
So guess what. Sometime in the next 90-120 days I will be shaking the dust of this little town off my boots and heading South. Like, to live... as in, for the foreseeable future. Yeah. I know. I’m a little taken aback as well. But recent developments are beckoning me to Austin, Texas. Bush country. Ironic on so many levels.
Omaha, which has been my home for 33 years, unless you want to count the year I lived in Lincoln while going to UNL, is about to be “where I’m from” instead of “where I am.” Strangely, I’m okay with it. I had to wrestle with the decision for a long time. The ramifications of moving seemed impossible to even wrap my head around. Here I am, a guy who has achieved some level of acclaim as a local media scenester what with my comedy troupe and sporadic radio appearances. Omaha, has sort of become this extension of me and my personality. It’s my town and these are my people. But deeper thought on what that meant allowed me the freedom to reconsider. How much have I really accomplished here? And more importantly, what am I depriving myself of achieving by staying? I know the answer to the first question, but the answer to the second question I can never know, nor can I un-ask it. So there it is, gnawing at me. My brain is fully aware that it’s easier to stay, but my heart is telling me that I have to go. So sorry brain, this time I follow my heart.
Besides, I’ve been to Austin a couple times. I loved it. It’s a surprisingly progressive town in a state that’s known for shitkicking of both the country and western varieties. And you know me, I love dichotomies.
Here’s a list of positives about Austin. Feel free to continue the list in the comments section.
- South by SouthWest
- Huge Comedy Scene
- Culture out the wazoo