Happy Birthday, Jack

Today's Jack Kerouac's birthday! Huzzah!

Now go read something.

MSNBemo

Our friends over at MSNBC are having a hell of a time trying to figure out what emo is. Turns out, their music chart is fucking spot on. Good job, MSNBC. Good job.

Cheaper now than '78



I recently started eBaying old copies of Playboy (purchasing, not selling)--as well as a few other select staples of American publications—and was shocked when September, 1978's issue arrived in the mail today—not because of anything risque in the content of the magazine (in 1978, risque wasn't quite what it is now, of course) but by one of the subscription adds. In 1978 a year's subscription to the magazine was $14 dollars. Today's offer is $20 bucks. This is strange to me as I got my subscription (a little over a year ago) for a paltry 12 bucks. Cheaper than it was 28 years ago by two dollars, cheaper than now by eight.

At any rate, old magazines are a sort of fetish for me. Really, any media; old films do it for me, but we have DVD's now so it doesn't matter. Comics from 1978 are, for one, obscenely expensive and two, horribly written (in a comparison to today's current style—no matter how amazing the writing from those early decades of comics, each panel is still horribly weighted by exposition). But magazines? Playboy?

Like certain liquors, Playboy can stand the test of time.

I recently got an issue (December '74) which not only had fiction from Arther C. Clarke but, also, an article by Hunter S. Thompson and (get this) a pictorial by Salvidor Fucking Dali. Dali! Dear fuck.

Buy more old magazines. Whether from price friendly eBay or price-gouging specialty outlets. Just do it for the good of preservation.

Me? I'm gonna try to get a straight run. Or a straight run without Marilyn, whose issue's high-end price is a staggering $4,500.00. Compared to comics from 1954, that's tiny. But compared to Playboy? Not so much.

Downtown Magazine Price Guide

(P.S. : If you or anyone you know has any back issues of magazines they're looking to get rid of [and I'm talking clean magazines. None of your pubescent brother's issues of Penthouse] drop me a line. I'm interested in Playboy, Vanity Fair, any literary journal or Weird Tales-esque magazine, stuff like that. Life? Not so much. Time? Not so much [unless they have specific articles of interest, i.e. The Dylan article in Life]. Now, mind you, I'm not just talking to the people who may or may not stumble onto this site. I'm talking to you all. Luke.)

Funny stuff in old places

From afore mentioned issue of Playboy:
What Does “Good In Bed” Mean?

Alice Cooper, rock star
To be good in bed, you must be passionate, inventive, considerate, inexhasutible and an insufferable bastard. I always carry a big snake.

Chevy Chase,comedian
Sleep, a really good night's sleep. Oh, you mean like sex? Well, I've heard about sex, but never in bed. In a chair, anywhere else, but not in bed. Wouldn't you fall asleep?

I'd say never take metal objects to bed. And no smoking, of course. I know Alice Cooper says he always takes a snake; I always take a shit.

To all those who say they hate Ashton Kutcher

Fuck you.

Once upon a time the guy found a script and decided to produce and star in the film. That film, The Butterfly Effect (which was based on this novel), flew under my radar for a long time—I saw the trailers and kind of blew it off. Then, when I found the DVD kicking around at my parents house, I went to watch it. To my chagrin, the disc was cracked. It wasn't until just now that I caught it on Encore.

Holy fuck.

I defy you to watch that film and not be affected in some quintessential manner. Every time the curve shifted, my heart broke a little more. And the end! Fuck!

(I cried. I won't lie. If you think that that's a little extreme, I guess you can blame it on the fact that I slipped my meds for a couple days. But me, I'm going to blame it on the fact that I'm generally pretty unhappy about my love life right now. I was once in love, you see, and if I could change my life to make that love line up, I would; hands down, no matter the loss, I think I'd try to make it happen. Every time I've tried to find a love like it, it doesn't work. I guess that's what we get, right? The Chasing Amy conundrum. Fuck it.)

I'm in love with the film, actually; I think I'd probably buy it again and only really watch it during times when I needed to put things back into perspective. No more faking it, no more forcing it; I'm going to be happy one way or another, and that means no more fucking around—no more long relationships where I don't feel, no more petty crushes I can't flesh out.

And for that?

Thanks Ashton.

Why not me?

Last Night's Party has a set that looks suspiciously like something out of Ellis' Rules of Attraction (the dressed to get screwed party). Turns out that LNP is actually getting a good bit of press these days—the October issue of Rolling Stone, Luke tells me, has the Hot List, on which LNP's is listed. Rad.

I'm pretty sure that, when I return to Laramie, I'm gonna set up a Dressed To Get Screwed Party. Paige and I have talked about theme parties before, and they're always a big success (Brando's Brokeback Mountain party [which I was absent for] apparently scarred a good many young men who are, for lack of a better word, Chad homophobes). The Dressed to Get Screwed Party would have to have an ID check, I think, because we don't want underage drinking to pull the police to a party where everyone is, essentially, dressed as scantily as possible.

Other theme parties to consider:

1940's elitism; come dressed as a upper-middle to upper-upper class 40's socialite, from débutante to highbrow art critic. (For a look at real-world débutantes in our modern world, Vanity Fair's February issue had an article featuring such rich and famous as Bush's Niece, Ashley, Steve McQueen's granddaughter Molly Flattery, and Andie MacDowell's daughter, Rainsford Qualley. Who knew?)
Famous characters from literature; whether it be the standard Huck Finn to Ellis' horrid Patrick Bateman, the key to this party is to never drop the act—party-goers must be the characters for the duration of the party. Especially the drunker they get.
Characters from Chicago; this is one that Paige was really interested in; the glamor from the film version of Chicago, this one cuts it close to the 40's elitism, but allows for whores and dancers.
Cross-Dressing Friday; this one kind of speaks for itself. The brave souls who dare attempt this one must come not only dressed in the clothes of the opposite sex, but must dress as far into the spectrum. Which is to say, men as feminine as possible, with woman working the masculine side of things.

Of course, these parties would have some sort of door prize (except, probably, the DTGS party, which will, most likely, end with few people even around—as the object, of course, is to get screwed).

If you're in the Laramie area and are interested in helping arrange, host, or attend these parties, drop a line.

Unruly

I got a copy of Unruly's first issue with my Mayem order, and was truly surprised. The journal is a smallish endeavor but it's jammed with interesting and great writing—from Kevin Sempsell's letter to the editor to the finish story, Bringing Henry Home by Pia Z. Ehrhardt. Not to mention a short by Alex Robinson (of Box Office Poison fame)!

So. Check it out. Or die.

Old Comics

I stumbled across some old comics of mine and decided to upload them so you could enjoy the bizarre nature of working the desk shift of a dorm from 3-6 in the morning during the summer. The comic was titled Kitty Vs. Robot, and I found them in a file tucked into my Image folder. The file was named 'Fuck Mark'. I don't even know why.

Primary sketches:









Actual comics:

Blog, Shmlog. Update, you prick

Hey, kids. It's been a long one—I just got back from twelve days of hard work in Sun Valley; now my dad's thinking about buying one of the 'affordable' condos up there so that we can use it while working, and my mom can go visit her sisters more often (they live in Twin Falls, Idaho and Some Place, Oregon, so Sun Valley is the half way point), and, also, a place for me to go in the summers and sit on the porch, writing and smoking. Yay.

Holy fuck biscuits, buy this

As it turns out, Suburban Home has an eBay store, which is chock full of rare and out of print LP's and what not. I've already spent way, way too much there—but, as a working man, I can afford it; the mass amount of records only adds up to two and a half days of work. If you'd like to see what I've got, here's a nice list that the Sub.Urb. Crew will be sending me in a few days time:

Onelinedrawing's Volunteers LP, which is out of print.

The Pixies, Surfer Rosa (on both CD and Vinyl; my CD copy is an old Chris/Jason Boat disc, and it's seen better days), Come on Pilgrim (LP), and Doolittle. Because a record collection isn't complete without these records.

These Arms are Snakes, both the This is Meant to Hurt You CD and 12”, and the LP version of Oxneers

Cave-In's Anchor 7” (I know, I know; it's their bad album—the major label one, blah blah. But still interesting.), and Creative Eclipses, which was limited edition.

Matson Jones' self-titled. These guys are from Denver, so it's pretty much an extension of my musical scene—I'm a little bummed I didn't get this one sooner.

Planes Mistaken For Stars' Fuck With Fire LP.

Kind of Like Spitting - Old Moon LP.

Murder By Death's beautiful sophomore album, Who Will Survive, and What Will be Left of Them?, which I've done nothing but rave about since I've heard it, on 2x10”.

Q and Not U, No Kill No Beep Beep on vinyl.

Blood Brothers' (whose website you should visit, because it's fucking sweet ass bitches) Burn, Piano Island, Burn (LP), March On Electric Children (LP), and This Adultery Is Ripe (CD).

Pretty Girls Make Graves' Good Health (LP), Sad 7”, and The New Romance (LP).

Heatmiser's Dead Air (LP) and Cop and Speeder (LP).

Sleater-Kinney's Entertain single (also, check out their blog).

The Mars Volta's 12” Single for Frances the Mute.

Old Man Gloom - Christmas (2xLP).

And, hopefully, that Gorilla Biscuits record Luke love so much—he doesn't have the vinyl version (and we're asshole completists, so he's gotta have it), so I'm gonna snag it for him.

All in all, that's about two-hundred-fifty dollars of plastic coming my way. Did I get screwed over? Probably. But I like to think that I saved some money—though some of the records which I thought were out of print turned out being still in print. Whoops.

Brown loves the Cutie

Jeffery Brown, who I've ranted about before, did a music video for Death Cab for Cutie. Check it out, yo.

Has this ever happened to anyone else?

After being gone for two weeks, I went to pick up the mail (I'm living with my folks right now, until this summer when I'm headed back to Laramie for some schoolin' and rockin', so I'm sharing a P.O. Box with them). Sitting in the box was a little card thingie—no address, no envelope, just a promo card—for Ghost Buffalo (a band whose card proclaims “for fans of Rilo Kiley, Cat Power, and Neko Case”, so, needless to say, I'm downloading it to see if it's any good). Yeah, a little promo. Fine.

But what is strange is that it was sitting free in the box—in small town Star Valley, Wyoming—where there were no indie letters or packages for me. Just some bank stuff for the parents. Where did it come from?