Dreamhouse, Literally

Well, this probably would've qualified more as a tweet than an actual post, but maybe I'll elaborate. I'm only just beginning to type (dubious choice of words, I know), and it always seems to happen that whenever I want to be concise I end up having the idea stomped into the ground by the muddy sandals of the typing equivalent of "hearing oneself speak". See, I just did that.

What this post is about: constance. So few things remain unchanged during one's life it's like living with a different neighbor or cousin or something of the type, a different one each day, except it's you. Please excuse my pathetic forray into 2 cent philoshophy, I promise I won't do it again. Still, there's one of few things that stayed there with me, eversince I saw Alfred Hitchcock's "North By Northwest" for the first time, on a dark and stormy night, during my first years of cable tv: uber villain Vandamm's villa on top of Mount Rushmore.

Build me this and we'll be friends forever

Frankly, I could give a fuck less about all the Rushmore business, the house is where it's at. An almost Frank Lloyd Wright, perfect for those international spy, white tuxedo kinds of cocktail parties. If you haven't seen the movie, might as well stop reading here, not necessarily on spoiler grounds, but because it just isn't that fun if you learn this beforehand... My dreamhouse actually never existed. Could've fooled me... It was built entirely in an MGM studio, and really only consisted of bits and pieces that were put together so magically they can still fool the audience now, exactly 60 years later.

They were doing this 60 years ago. I feel stupid with my li'l photoshop and 3dsmax.

I must say it broke my heart to find this, and I have no idea how it never occured to me to google the Vandamm villa - I guess a tiny bit of the magic is gone with this acknowledgement, and at the same time my admiration toward film making more than half a century ago grew even more.

But enough synthesizing other people's much better written and documented artciles. I've borrowed the pics from and based this whole entry on this great and much more elaborated Jetsetmodern.com dedicated article that shed light on the situtation... great read, and very insightful as to what drove Alfie to make the location choices, etc. Don't miss it.

Alright, that's about it. Back to mid century modern daydreaming.

Obituary - Console me!

About two years ago, Tim Schafer's company, Double Fine, announced its latest game, Brutal Legend, would drop around 2009, exclusively on X360 and PS3. I was flirting with the thought of buying a 360 at the time, and that piece of news sealed the deal for me. I saved up, I eventually pried the devil's machinery from the cold clutch of Gates' claws about a year ago, blasting through average games - and the occasional excellent ones, paciently awaiting what was soon to become the BL launch date, Rocktober 09.

It was a race against time, my friends.

For those of you not familiar with the Devil's Apparatus, Micro$oft recently extended the 360's warranty to a whopping three years. That's due to 60% (SIXTY PERCENT, you read right) hardware failure rate in consoles produced '07-'08. Mind you, I had mine modded, and that inevitably leads to voiding some pretty-noticeable-if-meddled-with with seals. No soup for me.

For a year, it stood the test of time, occasional dust settling on it for a few months during which I had no time or disposition for gaming; I even bought it little cushion-feet to lift it of the dvd-player so it wouldn't overheat...much.

Sadly, what is in one's genes must come to fruition one way or another - the first few times it froze on me during Skate 2 sessions let me know of the terrible truth that was soon upon us...

My 360 was dying.



Three blinking red lights of death one late evening a bro came over to bruise up cops and hookers in GTAIV , and there went $350 , down the drain. It was fixed - temporarily - for 30 bucks, and I got to play Brutal Legend for about 3 hours. Then it died, and I think it's for good. In Pace Resqviat.

And it was so cute, with its prettly little xeno top gear I bought for it, shining green into the night. Never to be seen again. I am left unconsoled. Yes, it's a pun.

So, brothers and sisters that know and love me, and have some kind of whatever type of birthday/xmas obligation toward me, let me break down the motherfucker for y'all.

Between rent, buying an sm58, and trying to move into a place of my own, I'll be goddamned if I can save enough to play Brutal Legend in the AD. So please, listen to your pimp daddy. Don't be buying me no presents for my upcoming birthday, or xmas, you know, shitty stuff you hate to buy and I hate to be recieveing*. Instead, donate, as high or as low as you can go. It's no life saving matter, and yes I am a petty little bureaucrat bourgeois bitching about his precious toything getting broke 'cus he was dumb enough not to put a cooler the size of India inside it. But still - please don't buy me stuff, even if you're really conviced "hey, he'd really love this!". Nope. I'd just love a brand spanking new 360, thank you very much.

And you, people of Indo China, the US, the Phillipines and other far, far away places I can't believe some of you read my bullshit from. I don't have a paypal account, but feel free to send me that brand new 360 you were gonna buy for yourself and forget about a month later. Not promising anything in return, but I just might love you a love letter and/or ballad.


It was a good 360.

Ok, it was a piece of shit 360 I barely even used, that ditched me in my time of need. It was a nagging whore of a wife that abandoned me kids screaming and bills needing payment and all. Assist this brother in his quest for a blonde, supple, teenage rockstar of a 360 I will love and cherish and put a big ass cooler in.

So there you are. Your chance to console me. Pun intended.

Act now. YOU can make a difference :D

And yes, I love you all. Now bring me the fucking money, you cheap bastards.

*Except all you loving people that got me presents I liked, or even the ones that got me presents I didn't like but I felt were from the heart. Discard all that. Gimme the fucking money.

The Achievement Of The Cat

Some beautiful stuff right here if you're a cat person.

" It is, indeed, no small triumph to have combined the untrammelled liberty of primeval savagery with the luxury which only a highly developed civilization can command; to be lapped in the soft stuffs that commerce has gathered from the far ends of the world, to bask in the warmth that labour and industry have dragged from the bowels of the earth; to banquet on the dainties that wealth has bespoken for its table, and withal to be a free son of nature, a mighty hunter, a spiller of life-blood. This is the victory of the cat.

[...]

Confront a child, a puppy, and a kitten with a sudden danger; the child will turn instinctively for assistance, the puppy will grovel in abject submission to the impending visitation, the kitten will brace its tiny body for a frantic resistance. And disassociate the luxury-loving cat from the atmosphere of social comfort in which it usually contrives to move, and observe it critically under the adverse conditions of civilisation— that civilisation which can impel a man to the degradation of clothing himself in tawdry ribald garments and capering mountebank dances in the streets for the earning of the few coins that keep him on the respectable, or non-criminal, side of society.

The cat of the slums and alleys, starved, outcast, harried, still keeps amid the prowlings of its adversity the bold, free, panther-tread with which it paced of yore the temple courts of Thebes, still displays the self-reliant watchfulness which man has never taught it to lay aside. And when its shifts and clever managings have not sufficed to stave off inexorable fate, when its enemies have proved too strong or too many for its defensive powers, it dies fighting to the last, quivering with the choking rage or mastered resistance, and voicing in its death-yell that agony of bitter remonstrance which human animals, too, have flung at the powers that may be; the last protest against a destiny that might have made them happy—and has not."

- Saki, "The Achievement Of The Cat" (excerpt)

Deftones Revisited

I decided to give the new Deftones a spin anyway.

In case you were wondering what new Deftones - I'm late to the party again - real late this time. Three years late ...but for a good reason.

I cannot stress how much in love I'd been with the Deftones for the most part of my late teens/early adulthood (my, that sounded scary). I remember first hearing about them back when "Around The Fur" was relatively fresh out the oven, and begging some dude in another town to lend me the LP - all I knew about them was that Chino was the awesome rapper in the Ice Cube "Wicked" cover KoRn had made on "Life Is Peachy". This outta town homie mistakenly (or was it?) puts the wrong tape in the ATF case, and there I am, in my homemade KoRn t-shirt, listening to Pro Pain's "Foul Taste Of Freedom" thinking "this isn't really what I expected but those horns are starting to grow on me". Yeah, friend, back in the days we didn't have fancy stuff like KoRn t-shirts, or food. We had to make that shit ourselves! (whoever caught the reference caught it).

Fast forward a few months and me and my best buddy / fellow numetal afficionado are in joint custody of the real (bootleg, horrendously recorded) deal, and arguing over it on the weekends like freshly divorced couples over babies. It's amazing how fast technology moves (am I a cliche factory today) - and kinda gets you thinking - some of these young bucks really have no idea what humongous leap forward being able to copy music losslessly, in digital, constitutes. Back then, if you somehow had the chance to get a so-called original on your hands, you'd quickly dub it to a fresh Raks, but crappy hiss filled copies of a copy like our Around The Fur - that wasn't even worth wasting precious allowance money. I mean, we were listening to music at the same audio quality our parents were 20 years ago, give or take, but dammit we had our standards! Color xeroxed covers and all.

And boy did I love the Deftones. Back in '97 I would have laughed in anyone's face that would've told me there was a better band walking the Earth, other than KoRn. Woe is me, the kings had fallen - Around The Fur did that, and Adrenaline sealed the deal, though without surpassing the former. Thinking about it now, it dawned on me that the melody lover in me just couldn't resist the musicality in the 'tones approach to alt metal - KoRn and Coal Chamber fed the need for rhythm, but the pure poetry of Chino's whining did it for the sensitive teenager in me. Plus, it's hard to relate to music about child abuse and fucked up parents when you have nearly no complaints about your own folks, adolescent as you'd be. I loved the equivocal quality to Chino's lyrics.

Plus, Chino had short hair. In a small town rock community where you weren't really in unless you were rockin' at least the local version of the mullet, this dude was living proof that I could live a life without using conditioner and worrying about hair related pharmacopia.

Now I'm growing the damn' thing again, and it's killing me. I look like a Bizarro instance of teenage me with (more) facial hair and that little pot belly Butch's french pupa loved so much. Like Madonna, when she did Lucky star. I am slowly turning into the hippie I always feared.

But oh, do I remember those summers of '98 and '99 like it was yesterday. Those were the days the trv metalheads we used to hang with cast us out. Must've been word on the streets about my Snoop Dogg tapes. Or the baggy pants. Who'll ever know?

And was it a long wait til 2000's White Pony! Worth it, though. A strange, bewildering feeling to take those eerie songs in and have little epiphanies such as "this is the musical equivalent of Twin Peaks", "I'm kinda happy, shouldn't I be listening to happier music?" "I know this guy isn't singing about being bound and gagged by a ho in a moving vehicle", "am I wasting my youth away?" and "Will my parents send me some money for the bus soon or do I have to hitch out of this horrid Cluj Napoca nightmare again, cuz I sure ain't spendin' no goddamned weekend here....".

Later edit - days later

Back on this.

I'd only listened to Hole In The Earth and Beware, but as good as the songs themselves were, this wasn't the Deftones I knew and loved. Not the pre-2000, numetalish rapcore one, not the coked up melodic eerie Pony. It's amazing how much the selftitled managed to drive me away from the band.


And it's incredible how awesome Minerva is, and I STILL couldn't give that album more than a couple (maybe three of four) spins. Given that, at the time "Deftones" was released (2003), they had been my definite all-time favorite band for at least 4 years.

Had the chance to catch them live in AMAZING shape (not physically, mind you) and even get autographs from Chino, Steph and Abe. All I had on me was a ballpoint pen and a poster - whoever thought I'd be getting autographs? - and there I was, crouched with the poster on my back so Steph could sign it, and boy does he have a heavy hand - that almost turned into my Deftones tattoo.... Anyway, Minerva was the most amazing song live. Amazing. I had tears in my eyes, literally.


Chino must've been like "These guys can't even afford a marker"


But I still can't really listen to the s/t album, 'cause it feels so repetitive and even... I guess low expectations kept me away from Saturday Night Wrist all this time.

The cool thing about the title - I thought it'd be something everyone besides me is in on, but as revealed in an interview, it's kind of obscure and funny - Saturday night wrist apparently is what doctors call it when you come home wasted after a boozed up night, fall asleep on your arm, and it stays numb sometimes for more than a couple of days.

I guess I was ready for the nerve condition.

So I put the album on shuffle on in the car and this song called Pink Cellphone ( I nearly missed a green light 'cause of trying to read the goddamn poorly lit display) is taunting me all the way home. I get Depeche Mode splattered all over my ears, and it's not that I don't like DM, I just don't like'm in my bowl of Deftones. Then this lady comes on and rants about butt fucking, how oral sex is forbidden, butt fucking residue and british people with bad teeth. At least that's what I caught while I was wrestling my laundry basket out of the car - not your favorite synaesthetic experience. I lose all will to listen to this album.

So here I go again. I wanna have faith. I hear Chi's recovering slowly and has been relocated to his house, and communicates by blinking. I wanna be blown away again. I'm taking the new one in. I'll be back with updates. I think.

It's probably vain to mention this, but it's nice to know my band is doing its tiny, infinitesimal part in helping Chi out via this One Love For Chi cd which Dj Hefe released, and is contributing to the substantial donations he's already made. Props to Hefe.

I'm sure you know about that all star song they've made, to help raise funds for Chi. Nice initiative, not much of a song, but what the heck, I can't help but agree with one blabbermouth comment - "write a fucking check and pay off his bills??!! for gods sakes, a percentage of the interest on one metallica members bank account alone would do the trick."


And since this post's been all serious and shit, can't leave you without the hillarious Hungary interview, featuring Steph, Chi, and a dude that's really unsure about what exactly a mic is and how exactly you're supposed to hold it. "Don't tell him he's white!"

Bernie would have been 52 today

Probably my favorite stand up comedian of all time, Bernie Mac was born 52 years ago and died last year on August 9 from pneumonia-related complications. He was suffering from sarcoidosis, a rare autoimmune disease that causes inflammation in the lungs.

I remember first renting the Original Kings Of Comedy tape years ago and having to literally pause the vcr every 10 minutes to get a chance to catch our breath from laughing so hard . I think if I had been there in the audience it would have been straight to the hospital for my azz.

I don't remember how many times I've watched his part of the show, but it so happens that today, as firefox reminded me of his birthday and I was surfing youtube for Kings Of Comedy excerpts, I found one I have no idea how I've missed before. It's a deleted scene - I can sort of see why it was removed, but at the same time I would've kept it in if I were Spike, 'cause Mac's reaction was priceless. Rest in piece, Bernie - folks in heaven must be having a blast at your shows.



And as he always said,

I ain't scared o' you motherfuckers!

A Brave New Breed

There are those rare moments in life when you're seriously starting to wonder where humanity (as a majority) is headed. In my Sci Fi Crimes post I was praising the US industry for allowing talented bands to make it, regardless of not surfing waves of popularity and splashing dollars left and right. But boy does it also breed truly disturbing monsters, mamma mia!

Backstory: I was pointed to this coo' site that makes fun of scenesters by a facebook status of fauxhemian ( hihi ) Meropi - nope, didn't really fit in none of the categories, then again we're always behind on trends and whatnot around here - and made the mistake of reading the Crunkcore scenester description. Crunkcore. That shit sent me into an even bigger facepalm.jpg moment than seeing Kurt Cobain sing Public Enemy and Bon Jovi, night of the living dead gone wrong style.

It's exactly what you'd think/fear the name means: these motherfuckers are mixing crunk with screamo now.

Crunk with screamo.

For the not so up to date with musical categorization, crunk is what you get when you drain hiphop of all lyrical content, replace it with short outbursts of YEAHS and SHAKE YO AZZ BIATCH's, and attempt to completely replace sampling (which is the heart of hiphop) with lame ass european flavored synths and claps.

This is a crunk song.



As for screamo - bands that aren't quite gay and generic sounding enough to qualify as "indie", aren't afraid to use distortion on their riffs, and for some reason scream at the top of their lungs to make things more dramatic, as opposed to taking a minute and trying to have the lyrics do that for them. My one guilty pleasure that sorta fits in that category is the band called The Used, although they've fallen a bit off my radar for some years now. In the case of a '"proper" screamo band, the actual percentage seems to clock in somewhere at 75% incoherent, desperate they're gonna get me screaming and 25% singing. Which is still okay I guess, compared to other bands that are hip now.

This is a screamo song.



If you've watched both videos and are wondering, wonder no more.

CRUNKCORE

Here is the answer to you walking down the street and asking yourself "what the hell is the deal with these gender bending kids and their tight jeans and manga hair ?". I know I always ask myself whether I'm seeing some antisocial rocker type or an outgoing clubber dude - it's just so hard to tell with this new generation! Well, thank God for corporate America for managing to achieve what I thought no man could - here are good and evil, pussy and brawn, pink and black, united in holy marketing matrimony. Something for the whole family to enjoy.



I think at about the 2 minute mark we've just witnessed one of the defining moments in modern music, and pop culture in general. The implications and ramifications of that scene are so vast I can't even begin to analyze what's going on there. Godspeed, you uniters of nations you!

And it sucks even more cause I was gonna do the "what's next, X plus obviously opposite Y?" routine, but no matter what I put in there it was pale in comparison with the real deal.

The only appropriate words to end this with are Lil John's trademark ones.

HHHWHAT?
HHHWHAT?
YEEEYAAH!
HHOKAYY!

(Click for Chappelle spoof).


PS - on an unrelated note - yup, she still thinks you're a faggot.

Hands Held High

Hey world. It's 9/11! Well, has been, I'm late to the non-party as usual.

Not going to keep you for long, my friend Mike Shinoda asked me to post this video on his blog and advertise his band, he says there's a lot of hate pointed at them and I really don't see why, and since I'm such a voice in the industry I don't mind plugging kids who deserve it now and then.

Here's to hoping for the end of all wars. Or something like that.

"With hands held high into a sky so blue as the ocean opens up to swallow you"