Carnivores!!!

I think this is a fitting post for Halloween. After seeing Carnivores at Vacation Gallery last night for yet another art opening, I now think of the band as a tighter, meatier version of Balkans. It's the bass. And their willingness to break it down just a little before swinging back into some hazy pop notion. Is crooner punk a new genre or do I need to go back to nerd school?

showing up late to the potluck

Let me apologize in advance for the poor quality of this entry. I've been distracted, absent, incapable, inept, and varying combinations of each. The copy below is slightly out of date and aging rather ungracefully, but in the interest of posting something rather than nothing, I give it to you now. In creative circles there is an adage so often bandied about that it's edges are worn and polished. I think it's a Paul Rand quote but the internet can't seem to make up it's mind about that. It goes something like, "If you can’t make it good, make it big. And if you can’t make it big, make it red."

To the Humble Reader:
First, let me congratulate you on your obviously notable humility. You have really come a long way from that uppity brat for whom a glance upon the printed word could summon a shower of "pshhh" and "ffffbth," and other largely dismissive onomatopoeia-taphs. You know who you are. As for the rest of you sullen monkeys, you may go and fry ice.

I really ought to have contributed more, of late, but the sum total of my recent bad ideas have been wrapped up in the kind of emolationship hogwash to which I utterly refuse to subject anyone but my closest friends. You know who you are; you have been savagely battered and bruised by my incessant whining and rejustifications thereof. I thank you for the use of your faces and ears. You really ought to wash up.

So what now? I think it's about time that I set some goals. Not just for myself, but for all of us. If I can't whip this tenuous set of permissions into a bully pulpit of some sort, then surely I'm a sorry excuse for whatever it is I'm purporting to be these days. Listen all:

We've all really got to pull together and help me get my life in order. It's 4 am and I've just come home from my workshop. It's taken me three evenings to fail to complete a project that I guessed would take a few hours. Dinner consisted of goldfish crackers and soviet cognac. I shit you not. Obviously the first goal should be to have my late-night fiascoes elegantly catered. I know we can do this if we put our minds to it.

Second, I'm really at my wit's end over money. I've been living from paycheck to paycheck for as long as I can remember, and old debts are going unpaid. To make matters worse, there are quite a lot of things I'd like to buy. Now, if each of us sets aside two dollars every three hours, and recruits three friends every seventeen minutes, then surely I'll be solvent within a fortnight (recruiting around the clock, naturally). Now if we multiply the system's output by a factor of ten, a funny thing happens. The number stays pretty much the same, except that now there's an extra zero at the end of it. I am in favor of this.

Finally, we should all make a commitment to improvement in the area of my puncutality. Specifically, I'd like to see improvement made to the public perception of my notion of punctuality as it currently stands. I'm a habitually late riser, and further inclinations toward time-keeping, showing up for appointments, and making guesses as to how long transit might take from point to point are viewed to be "unacceptable" and "disappointing" by a wide and varied swathe of the citizenry. This must come to a stop. I'm counting on everyone to take a moment out of their day to express to their proximal compatriot a sense of adoration for my dilatory ways. Practice the phrase, "It's really smart the way he avoids the first fifteen to twenty minutes of any given appointment." As for the follow-up rationale, I wouldn't dream of feeding you lines there. The sincerity of your praise will be judged by the authenticity detectable in your scrambling logic.

The hip that dare not speak its name

I can't hold it in anymore. If I hear one more person my own age smugly (and no doubt rhetorically) ask "what is a hipster?" I am going to, well, probably just stare at them in impotent rage. I might also instruct them to stop pretending to be so above the shallow vagaries pop culture that they are wholly ignorant of trends among other young people. Pretending not to know what this word means has become a bigger, dumber fad than the loose collection of harmless, charming, often-creative amusements that make up hipster culture in its current form. Pick up a copy of of Vice or an Urban Outfitters catalog and shut your beer hole. They're here. They ride fixed gear.
Get used to it. This guy in particular needs to relax.

Married in Mad Libs

This one comes from Sara in New York who recently made the most amazing wedding speech of all time. This is the kind of genius that made me start this blog in the first place. Click on the picture to enlarge.

For more ways to maintain your cool under matrimonial duress see: Gangsta Bride

More Like Brilliant Idea Potluck

The awesome Jamaal of Seattle sent me this zine he made. Its purpose is mostly just to keep in touch with friends. How cool is that?

He's a recent transplant to the city so he has plenty of people in other states wondering how he is and, like, if his roommates are cool. I know everyone is instantaneously uploading their whole lives to Facebook and Flickr these days but that somehow doesn't dilute the sweetness of receiving an illustrated guide to a distant friend's new life in a far-off, exotic city. 

I realize Bad Idea Potluck has been more about greatness than stupidity these days and I apologize for that. In my defense I think such times as these might call for it. I mean, come on people, Skyscraper just folded.

Dog Poison

Moving along haphazardly to generally recent releases, I just got to this full-length from Thee Oh Sees called Dog Poison. In another universe, bizarro-world Syd Barrett kept his shit together better and longer, formed a good band of proto-hippies and eventually recorded this messy treat. How these "Oh Sees" people got their hands on the tapes is just going to have be one of those Time Life Mysteries of the Unknown.

This club is better than your club.

They have such a mint logo so I'm kind of fascinated but I don't have a motorcycle so I probably couldn't hang. Plus, the building says "private club" right on it. I have a feeling they're totally unrelated to these guys.

Underwater Tea Party

The full name of this coffee place is Dr. Bombay's Underwater Tea Party. They sell chocolate and white chocolate handlebar mustaches on sticks. I'm sort of fascinated with it right now. They are so hardcore in their approach to whimsy that it becomes surrealist. They also serve ice cream. It's in Candler Park, naturally.

Atlanta has a few so-odd-it-might-actually-have-been-a-dream coffee shops but this one tops even ParkGrounds in Reynoldstown, which is a coffee shop with a patio that opens onto a dog park. It's a strange place to get coffee, especially when you don't have a dog, but it's also a pretty great idea.

Then there's Joe's near the EARL. They have a secret garden in back with a goldfish pond. But, right now, Dr. Bombay's is queen of my heart.

Equal Opportunity Clothing Swaps

Clothing swaps have gotten to be a habit in my social circle. So much so that my friend Sarah's boyfriend Andrew was recently moved to muse on the possibilities of clothing swaps for dudes. In my experience, the clothing swap is a largely female pastime. (I've held clothing swaps attended by dudes, but there was only so much good it could do them since they weren't looking for dresses.) This is a pity. After all, the clothing swap seems made to order for those dudes who dislike shopping.

To ameliorate this, Andrew and I  have worked out some rules for the dude clothing swap. Now all a dude has to do is take the initiative, invite dude friends over and trade those t-shirts and hoodies that someone close to them may or may not be trying to get to them to throw out. This way they go to caring homes. (The hoodies, not the dudes.)

Certainly, you can do a clothing swap in any way you want, or follow the lady-centric rules available on the Internet. But if you are feeling awkward about group nudity or showing open concern for your sartorial well-being these suggestions will smooth things over:

1. For each piece of clothing you take you have to shotgun a beer. (My friend Carrie objected that this could get dangerous fast, but, admit it, you are picky and your friends don't have that many good clothes.)

2. You can't drink unless you take clothes. (No sitting and watching, Pervo.)

3. For each article of ugly-ass-unlovable clothing you bring that no one wants you will have to remove a piece of your own outfit and go home that way.

4. If there is a dispute over a garment up for grabs, the dude who puts his crotch on it first gets to keep it. (I came up with this one. Andrew, whose idea this was in the first place, wasn't so sure. Maybe that rule should be optional.)

5. Send me pictures.

(As a side note, if you are a lady in the Atlanta area and you would like to host a clothing swap in accordance with these rules, contact me immediately.)

Sexual Assault Prevention Tips: Guaranteed to Work

I found this link to Feminist Law Professors on Last Plane to Jakarta, by which time it was already third hand. I'm re-posting it because I think as many people should read it as possible:

Sexual Assault Prevention Tips Guaranteed to Work!

1. Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.

2. When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!

3. If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them!

4. NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.

5. If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON’T ASSAULT THEM!

6. Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry, do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.

7. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.

8. Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.

9. Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake!

10. Carry a whistle! If you are worried you might assault someone “on accident” you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.

Oh, it's love

You should have seen my "fuck yeah" face when I played Betty Davis' Is It Love Or Desire for the first time yesterday. She was a legendary but mysterious figure to me until yesterday and she might have remained so if not for Light in the Attic putting out this previously unreleased album. Now I have to hear everything she's ever been involved in or connected to. That might mean some jazz fusion but I'm not afraid.

Seriously, I was listening on my headphones walking around Candler Park and I kept having this feeling that I was going to be arrested for listening to this stuff in public.

Consumerism: A Love Story

I go on jags of stalking ethical footwear on the Internet. The good looking, vegan, non-sweatshop sneaker is the holy grail of my quest. I tear my hair at the wasted opportunities represented by the heinous shoes from the houses of AdBusters and TOMS. Autonomie Project has sort of solved my problem as far as sportswear goes. Someone there apparently has both ethical vision and eyes. I want them to be the new American Apparel. (Does American Apparel make a sneaker? No. They don't.) I don't know when I'll be budgeting a new pair of sneakers, but just going to their website lowers my blood pressure. I like everything from Keep too. Mostly because they are made by a woman with women in mind.

Oh, but dress shoes are another problem. A lot of the vegan/ethical brands can be a little far over on the utilitarian side but yesterday I found a winner. Neuaura shoes are simply the sexiest non-fetish pleather to be found. Check it out.

Back in Black (and orange)

You don't need to push too hard to get me to dress up and pretend to be a rock star. So when I was invited to dress up like Angus Young and join an army of Angi for Stomp and Stammer's showing in the Little Five Points Halloween parade, well, I was there with "Hells Bells" on. (In the interest of bad pun prevention, I'll try to keep this short.) Unfortunately, I wound up looking a lot more like Max Fischer from the movie Rushmore, which is why I'm posting these other great pictures from yesterday's rad festivities.

I wanted to avoid Halloween because I have a lot going on right now. But I got invited to be in the parade and then I found a pumpkin in the parking lot after Where the Wild Things Are and now my friend Monica has picked out an awesome team costume for us and I have two Halloween party invitations. So it's like I don't really have a choice. I'll grow up next year.

Chatterbox

This laser disc case was found hanging above my friend Emily's stove. It encases a film about a woman with a talking, singing vagina. Holy mother of cow. It's on DVD. I have to see it. This was a neat blog post about it at Moon in the Gutter. I need a job so I can indiscriminately consume pop culture. This is all Youtube had for me:

Where The Wild Things Are

You know what happens. It's awesome. Go see it. Only one thing was weird though. All the Wild Things were from Los Angeles.

The Dutchess and the Duke

I couldn't deal emotionally with The Dutchess and the Duke's debut album. I loved every note of it but every note of nihilist folk-pop misery also made me want to crawl out of my own skin and under a rock. Or kill my parents. One or the other. Maybe it was because the sound was so spare: miserly percussion and acoustic guitar. There was hardly anything between me and the gouge-your-eyes-out beautiful lyrics

The lyrics are no better on their second album Sunset/Sunrise. "Never Had a Chance" and the title-ish track, "Sunrise/Sunset," definitely makes me want to die with words and music. But somehow I find the album overall a little easier to take than the first. Psych-folk magus Greg Ashley produced and contributed vocals and all kinds of things like keyboard that you didn't hear on the first album. I thinks it's his influence that led things in the direction (with strings and various studio atmospherics and a dash of girl-group cheese) of cushioning the fundamental psychological brutality of this band. Either that, or I've built up a tolerance. But no, "Scorpio" was previously released and this version just isn't as evil. Perhaps, some of the new song lyrics are more thoughtful but they are no less cruel.

Usually, I don't vote in favor of cushioning blows but Sunset/Sunrise is an absolute aesthetic triumph. And at least now there is a Dutchess and the Duke album I can sort of cope with.

Fluorescent Black

When I listen to hip hop these days it is to hear language turned into an exquisite percussion instrument. That, and maybe to hear a good story. Fluorescent Black by Anti-Pop Consortium fits the bill and is also perfectly named. It's dark, y'know, but it kinda glows.

Dumb name, sweet tunes

I get a lot of review copies in the mail lately, many more than a scatterbrained, sub-professional freelancer can manage to write about in print. Especially since my cat is on strike and I have to do everything myself now.

In particular, October has been a monsoon month in more ways than one. I got buried under a pile of October releases but I did make it out alive and I think the worst is over. The ones I'm about to review could keep me busy for the rest of the month on here and they were just the ones still clinging to me when I crawled out from under the pile.

The first one I should mention is Expressions by Music Go Music. I didn't want to listen because that is a ridiculous name for a band but it's just an insanely fun album. Its starts out like a pop-culture studies thesis paper on why Roxy Music, The Stones and The Supremes could have actually brought about world peace had they all collaborated on an album in the '70s. And possibly even prevented We Are the World. It quickly cycles through everything from glam to prog with a light auteuristic touch. Singer Gala Bell channels every '70s diva from Debbie Harry to Elton John through her soprano, metaphorically drowning the listener in sequins. Grandiose never felt so right. Or at least not for decades. I'll take MGM over MGMT any day.

I want to see this woman

Pam Ann (also known as Caroline Reid) is an Australian comedian, er, flight attendant. She says she is touring the United States to bring fabulousness back to flying and that she advocates glamour over safety. I'm in. She'll be at the Tabernacle Oct. 25. Oh, but the cheapest tickets are $30.

Put down the lip gloss. Step away from the mirror.

I don't know why, but I wasn't expecting much from Whip It. What I got was a great funny sports movie with coming-of-age themes that didn't make me grit my teeth and cringe. The roller derby action made me cringe and grind my teeth. But that was in a fun "I can't watch" kind of way that I enjoyed. And it's set in Austin, Texas. You could almost call it a star vehicle for the city. No one appraises me of these things.

I'm a real soft touch for "be your own hero" sentiments so I should have realized I'd get sucked in directly. I was getting misty eyed moments into the film but once the real derby action started I got my head in the game. The fine soundtrack featuring gems from The Ettes and Jens Lekman helped with that. So did the breakneck camera work and accurate portrayals of both roller derby and Austin. All the people in the movie looked, or were cleverly made to look, like real Austinites who had been binging on Lone Star beer since middle school. I especially appreciated the way they got the derby girl look down for the likes of Drew Barrymore, Eve and Juliette Lewis: kinda busted but murderously glamorous.

It's too early to tell, but Whip It might meet my criteria for a favorite movie. I have to be able to watch the film over and over again at any time no matter how cranky or cynical I'm feeling. This might be one of those. It has corny/hilarious dialog, lots of thrills and eye snacks and a (subtly presented) moral I can't remind myself of often enough: It's totally okay to get hurt.

Speaking of Awesome

We all helped make a fort to enter this contest on Booooooom. I think this is the best of our pictures. We are looking at a book of unicorn photography. You heard me.

Where I Get it From

In keeping with the style jag on this blog I decided to post this to preserve it for posterity. If you ever wonder where I get off copping such an attitude, it's because I have the coolest t-shirt of all time and I found it in the trash. I don't wear it out very often because it's getting thin from washing and because I'm afraid people will rip it off me. That, and I was reluctant to reveal the true source of my powers. It's the Nasty Boys shirt. No, you can't have it.

The Owls Are Not What They Seem

The other day, over beers, a good friend asked me if my blog had a theme. I think maybe the theme is not discernible. Either that or it is not a very good theme. So I have been fooling around with the recipe a little. Don't get upset, but that means I've been hoovering up fashion blogs for inspiration. Among many others, I found The Owls are Not What They Seem. One of the lady bloggers made the necklace above and she is giving it away in a contest! It might not be as edgy as the bat brooch but this I could wear anywhere. If you are reading, and you want the necklace, go to the blog.

Free Beer

This month's beer is actually a beer but it is not a beer I have been able to drink yet. Copenhagen's Free Beer is the world's first open-source beer. The recipe, now in version 4.0, is posted on the website and all are encouraged to brew some Free Beer and even print up the labels also provided on the website and published under a Creative Commons license. Anyone can make it and sell it so long as they adhere to the rules and publish the recipe including any improvements they make. I am adamantly against the inclusion of guarana "for a natural energy boost," but intrigued by the high-concept of this beer. I'd love to tell you what it tastes like but I'm not a brewer and it may take me awhile to find any stateside. Blast. On the other hand, since anyone can make it, its taste probably varies a lot from batch to batch.

I Understand and Wish to Continue

For this month's dudecake I'd like to direct you to one of the sweethearts of my blogroll. Ligerbeat!
They will soon be changing their name (copyright infringement!?!) but I couldn't wait one second longer to let you know that someone out there is doing exactly what I have been seeking. They are highly focused on dicks, dick jokes and pictures of nice looking young men.

It doesn't get much better than this except that it is only on the blog and this old print edition. I hope someday soon to see these people make a huge multimedia website, a coffee table book and a touring musical revue. I won't be completely happy until they have built a damn media empire under whatever legally sound name they assume. In the meantime, the first issue is pretty sweet and contains, as advertised, what may actually be the world's first midcoitus interview. True story.

Seriously, this is the best indie porn I have yet laid eyes on. Beats the pants off Sweet Action. (I'm always punning on accident. Sorry people.)

Mail Satan

I have found the Goth-est Shop on all of Etsy. I'm a little afraid of the woman behind Mannaia Designs and I think her jewelery may lie on the other side of a boundary that I can't quite cross. Fascinated as I am with macabre reliquaries and Victorian mourning traditions, I might be too superstitious for wearing the bones of someone I didn't know. She says it's all perfectly legal and sanitary, but it's her delicate sense of design that leaves me questioning my ethics. Yes, that's a bat-head brooch.

S 'n' M/Rock 'n' Roll

Maybe this is turning into the Vacation Gallery and Boutique blog, but whatever. The rest of Atlanta just needs to step up its game. Vacation just happens to be where Hunx and his Punx was playing. It's also where Zombie Edie Sedgwick hangs out. This is not my fault.

Balkans opened and spread the sweet crooner punk around. They crawl a little deeper under my skin every time I see them.

And then Hunx and His Punx is pretty much the point of everything. As you can see the radness was a little hard to capture on film. That's how intense it was. It was the punkest pop music ever. And the really hot audience members were treated to the kiss of Seth Bogart's dainty leather flail. (Not pictured.) Threesomes were planned during the set. There's an LP out now. I didn't have cash for it so I'll have to take my chances on finding it elsewhere. Still, my life is now complete.