Airport Blogging

So, I'm over here at the Incheon International Airport at the NAVER lounge (Naver is basically like the Google or Yahoo of Korea.  They are the go to website for any cultural or relevant news, they do email, internet searches, have movie times, like I said, they are basically the equivalent of a yahoo or google type page, only way more popular since this is pretty much the only website that offers these services over here.)  So far, the trip has been pretty good, albeit relatively uneventful.  The airport shuttle took way less time than I suspected, so I arrived to the airport an hour before I had anticipated leaving me with 4 hours to kill before my plane takes off.  Leaving me time to create this arguably superfluous post.

Here's some observations based on my short stay here at Incheon.

1. The airport is really nice and clean.  I think it was just renovated like 4 years ago or something and it is really tidy.  They have motorized ride-along brooms that essentially look like a those sit down scooters that geriatrics ride only with a swivel broom attached to the bottom.  These things zip around here at a pretty good clip, their drivers stoic and stern faced as ever.

2. All of the stewardess' have really great outfits.  Like Pan-AM circa 1965 great outfits.  They all walk around in little packs, like warring street gangs traversing their turf.  They all look very pretty and their are no over weight ones.  It's a little bit strange and slightly off putting, because you have to wonder if the airlines are using some sort of discriminatory hiring practices to get all of these skinny, homogenous looking flight attendants.  Their is a crew of flight attendants that wear this khaki colored outfit comprised of a secretary skirts and a tight fitted blazer with a really sweet red sash/scarf around their necks.  They all seem to have their hair in buns as well.  There is another click that has, what i think is the best get-up, a kind of pink and teal pant suit outfit, but very well tailored to each of the attendants.  I don't think I have seen a single male flight attendant.  I wish I could hook up my digital camera to this computer, but it looks like photos of the flight attendants are going to have to wait.

3. All of the American GI's stick out like a sore thumb.  They all have the same pasty white skin, stupid hair cut and terrible jeans.  They also seem to be magnetically attracted towards one another as they always seem to be chatting in pairs.

Gotta Go.  The plane is boarding.  Adios.

By The Time You Read This...

Hopefully, I will be doing this.

God Bless the Japanese bicycle

The bizarre phenomenon that is the maid bar.

Adios, folks.  I will return to the Shame Threshold in a manner of days bearing many photos and stories.  Be well.

xoxo

Kids Incorporated Mix Blog

Here's a mix of some of my favorite Kids Incorporated musical performances. Hope you enjoy.

DO IT!

The Kid (Rahsaan Patterson) had some of the best dance moves on the whole show and some killer pipes. He did a bang up job with the Michael Jackson covers as you can see above and below.

There's something about seeing a 12 year old boy sing a song about illegitimate children...

You can't tell me they didn't hit this one out of the fucking park. It's an 80's music video knocking off an 80's music video of Michael Jackson knocking off the Roaring 20's.

This Michael Jackson video was easily my favorite music video when I was a kid. I can't tell you how many times I watched this video trying to nail down those gay gangster dance moves. Oh, the thinly veiled homoeroticism of Michael Jackson videos. Man, I wanted to be the Kid so bad

.

Kids Incorporated had all the big stars.

Jennifer Love Hewitt

Fergy giving perhaps the finest performance of her career with this rendition of the classic 80's Jam, Locomotion

This one rules.

Girls DO just wanna have fun.

Wholesome 80's fun.

My 7 year old heart bled for Martika. She kind of had that same vibe as Jennifer Beals in Flashdance.

FUCK! I love Hall & Oates. This is easily one of their best songs AND you throw Martika into the mix... Say it isn't so.

This one easily had some of the best production value of any of their performances.

Man, and dig all those crazy flips, spins, and other whacky aerials. So cool.

These kids also pumped out some pretty legit Madonna covers.

Holy Shit. Urban Dance moves, J. Love Hewitt, Secret hand shakes, fist pumps, and early 90's post production... Get out of here.

All those great hits in under 3 minutes... Kids Inc. Will never die.

Tokyo-A-Go-Go

 In three short days I will make my debut in the Land of the Rising Sun.  I'm going to be in Tokyo from the 25th to the 1st and would like all of your advice on what I absolutely must see.  I think I'm going to to be staying around Shibuya for most of the trip.  I don't really have a strict agenda or anything, just some basic ideas on what I want to check out: Some Japanese Psych Rock, a Maid bar, Bathhouse, Record Shops, Harajuku fashion, and whatever cutty shit I can think of between now and then.  Please let me know if you can think of any activities of destinations that are absolutely not to be missed.  

The next few days are going to be pretty slow blog wise.   You can expect some choice youtube highlights (including a best of Kids Incorporated youtube mix) and then most likely a period of dead time while I'm on vacay.  Hope to hear from some of you.  

xoxo

One of the Greatest Psych Rock Outfits ever: Les Rallizes Denudes

Shibuya Crossing

Maid Bar

Gothic Lolita stylings in Harajuku

Bath Time

Japanese Accomodations

Thizzin

Just 'cause I can't get enough.

This is easily my favorite dance craze to sweep the youth of America.  Never before has getting zerked out and boogied down looked so good.

A cursory examination into the multicultural roots of the "Thizz Dance"

Side note:  What's up with midgets always having the most ripped quadriceps?  All the short ones have Mack truck sized legs, pure power.  They kind of remind me of the donkey children in Pinochio, those dudes always had major thighs.  Perhaps this is fodder for a future post.  Stay tuned.

Pacific Northwest Films 2

I'm going to keep this post brief because I'm sure everyone frequenting this here internet site is more than familiar with the hometown hero, Gus Van Sant.  Regardless, I can't help but harp a little bit on how swell I think his movies are.  I'll only touch on some of his older Portlandcentric films, but for the record I think that 90% of his output is solid gold.  He is among the best film makers currently working and surely the best in the Pacific Northwest.  Lets work backwards.

Mala Noche is a tale of gutter love on Portland's Skid row.  Taking place primarily in Chinatown and inner east Burnside to story is one of asymetrical gay love.  Based on a Book by Portland poet laureate, Walt Curtis, the story is one of asymetrical gay love.  The story is based on Walt's time as a clerk at a greek corner store in in Chinatown.  He become infatuated with one of the migrant, itinerant Mexican laborers that famously traveled through P town in the 70's.  Even though the object of Walt's affection does very little to encourage his advances, Walt remains steadfast in his pursuit of the young lover.  It is a bizarre interplay of the two characters continually trying to take advantage of one another,or simply trying to achieve the upper hand in the strange relationship.  It is a simple, poignant tale of love in the slums of the PNW.  I could say a million and one wonderful things about this film, but I'll resist.  If you haven't managed to catch this one, do so immediately.

Johnny

Movie Walt

Walt Curtis

It doesn't get much better for me than this one.  Drugs, Crime, 70's fashion,William S. Burroughs, road stories, and Portland.  This one has it all.  Based on the book by James Fogle, this one tells the story of a band of criminal dope fiends who traverse the Pacific Northwest constantly on the lookout for drugstores and hospitals to rip off and any other easy score along the way.  This movie is a wonderfully faithful adaptation of the novel, I mean almost shot for shot, word for word.  The film has some of the best montages ever comitted to celuloid (most memorable perhaps is the drug paraphenalia montage shot by the second unit in the first half of the film).  The dialogue is quick witted, informed, and extremely funny.  If you live in Portland, you'll immediately pick up on local landmarks like the old nob hill drug store on the corner of 21st and glisan that got closed down a few years back.  I've seen this one a hundred times and I never get tired of it.

Hippest crew of dope fiends this side of everywhere.

Loosely based on Shakespeare's King Henry the IV plays, this film is perhaps more accurately described as the tale of two street hustlers making their way through the sordid world of the Pacific Northwest's male prostitution scene.  Whether or not the film is finely acted is up for debate (I think it may be Keanu Reeves best role, but still, it's Keanu and you either like him or you don't), but what is not however, is the superb cimetography and excellent direction.  This film is chalked full of winning moments.  Great montages (the sex montage with Udo Kier is maybe my favorite montage in all of film), strange creative choices (the gay porn cover scene), wonderful fetish shots (The Dutch boy) and the fucked up face.  This movie will make you fall in love with River Phoenix, Portland, and male prostitutes.  Love it.

Down and Out in the Pacific Northwest

Many of my favorite films revolve around destitute, desperate, denizens surviving on the fringes of society.  Films about lost souls, survivors, and criminals.  Odes to freedom seekers and outcasts.  Stark portrayals and gritty depictions of life in the gutter.  Chronicles of the down and out.

For me, the best locale, the best stage to set these grimey stories is the Pacific Northwest.  Country that is beset by its own gloom.  A region where the clouds reign supreme from rise to set and the rain pounds the pot holes for much of the year.  Whether it's the omnipresent damp air or the domineering gray landscapes, or some other far reaching phenomenon, there is something about the PNW that reeks of depression.  It's as if the the old PNW is always looming high  over the heads of it's citizens, slowly blowing messages of despondency and desolation through the night skies.  The Pacific Northwest is more than a setting for these films, it is a character that infiltrates every scene of it's movies, every last corner of a thousand lonely hearts.

These films serve as an elegy to the Northwest, a reminder of so many of the things that make me miss this forlorn world.

This is one of my favorite documentaries that takes place in the Pacific Northwest.  It tracks the lives of several street kids surviving the streets of Seattle in the early 80's.  Everyone is beset by their demons, whether they be prostitution, drugs, lonliness, and/or destitute poverty.  These kids are alone at sea.  All they have are their wits, their alliances, and their dreams.  Tragically romantic.  The characters from this film are so intimately portrayed that you can't help feeling a genuine sense of loss and compassion for each character as they wander in and out of the film.  Also perhaps one of the best uses of the song "Teddy Bear's Picnic," performed by Baby Gramps, the famous Pacific Northwest Street musician.  There are also a couple of songs by Tom Waits, including the theme song for one of the characters, "Rat" that are not to be missed.  You can watch the whole film on youtube, but if your savvy enough, I sould suggest downloading the bittorrent.  I don' think this one has been put out on dvd yet, so your chances of finding a hard copy are pretty slim.

Jeff Bridges and Edward Furlong in American Heart

American Heart was inspired by Streetwise.  Pictured above is Tiny consulting on the film.

Glammed up street kids in American Heart

American Heart follows the lives of a desperate family comprised of an ex-convict and his street son.  The films is the dramatization of Streetwise and does an exceptionally good job at remaining faithful the the themes and mood of the source material.  Even though it' very clear which characters from American Heart are based on characters from Streetwise, the film does a great job of giving new life to the fictionalized characters, but still manages to avoid giving the characters a predictable hollywood slant and heavily moralizing their actions.  This one is absolutely not to be missed.  It is a superb story that is finely acted and remarkably authentic.

Tomorrow I will continue with a look at Gus Van Sant's depictions of life in the Northwest.  Stay tuned.

Wolf Haven International

This past summer I had the pleasure of going on a little post 4th of July vacation with Rachel and my good friends Lance & Erika to visit the beautiful capital of Washington, Olympia.  The vacation was a resounding success with much, antique shopping, thrift store perusing, and crate digging.  However, it was not the quaint city of Olympia that held the trip's highlight for me.  No sir.  It was a small town located some 13 miles off of I-5 and 20 minutes south of Olympia.  A small town by the name of Tenino Washington, which just so happens to be the site of one of the most amazing facilities I have ever bore witness to. 

 Now if you're a close personal friend, or just someone I happen to talk to on a regular basis, there is a strong chance that I have already smoked your ear off with talk of this enchanting locale, but either way, allow me (re)tell the tale of the ethereal, the enchanted, the amazing... Wolf Haven International

I first heard of this amorous fortress from Lance on the way to Olympia.  He very casually mentioned that he had caught wind of a sanctuary for wolves and if we were so inclined, we could easily visit it on our journey.  Not one to ever pass up the opportunity to clock some real live wolves, I jumped at the chance and immediately made my intentions of visiting this before unheard of destination known.

On the morning of our final day of holiday we pulled our alcohol poisoned chassis' out from bed and drove southbound to the land of redeemed wolves, all of us eager to discover the unique treasures of this only spoken of sanctuary.  Upon arriving we were greeted by the howls of wolves and this stately sign: 

Lance and I announcing our presence and paying respects to our four legged friends.

We arrived during the middle of one of the hour long tours through the wolf sanctuary and so, after purchasing our tickets for the next scheduled tour, we were left to explore the surrounding grounds on our own.  We decided to first investigate the wolf nature trail, which unbeknownst to us would take us through the monumental wolf cemetery.

A stone statue commemorating one of the forgotten lives of some of earth's most dignified creatures.

RIP, brother.

The wolf sanctuary was nothing short of amazing.  It was one of the most touching tributes from man to nature that I have ever seen.  I was a very classy affair free of artifice and pretense.  All of the wolves who had at one time graced the grounds of Wolf Haven International were given a head stone and grave to commemorate their time on earth and at WHI.  The graves were gorgeous.  Very simple and clearly inspired by native american culture, they were adorned with dream catchers and headstones emblazoned with poetic epitaphs.  I was touched by the love and and care that was put into every single one of these many graves and couldn't help, but became a little teary eyed in their presence.

Good will and love.

Upon exiting the cemetery we ran across the Mani Stupa Stone pile as seen above.  Now, I am not one for religion or praying or anything mystical like that, but for some reason, perhaps because I was already feeling emotional from the wolf cemetery, the notion of spreading good will and positive vibes through rocks in the woods seemed overwhelming righteous and I couldn't help but partake.

Finally, our time arrived and we entered the gates of the wolf sanctuary.  Immediately, I was struck by the presence of greatness.  The wolves were everywhere, albeit behind cyclone fences. They were on all sides of us.  Never stationary, the wolves were always pacing and glaring, doing their super model walk, moving forward with one leg after the other.  In perpetual motion.  We saw many kinds of wolves, but perhaps the most awe inspiring and plentiful of these creatures were the Mexican Grey wolves.  It were these great beasts that the facility was charged with rearing and releasing into the wild.  After we had seen many a wolf and the tour was coming to a close, we reached the final enclosement.  At that exact moment the earth began to tremble and a distant roar began to permeate the tour's collective consciousness.  In precise concert with the quivering and thunder around us the wolves began to howl.  Every single one of them.  Some 60 plus wolves aimed their muzzles to the heavens and howled for what seemed to be forever. At that instance, everyone seemed to be struck by primordial beauty of these wolves on the mend.

On the way out we caught a glance of Sandy's Trike.  Immediately my mind ran wild with visions of an aging diesel dike entering the autumn of her days.  A woman rewarding herself after a long an illustrious career as a CO at the state correctional facility.  Finally, the day came when that first emancipating pension check came in the mail.  I would be spent on this bad boy, this symbol of freedom.   For the rest of her days she would answer to neither convict nor warden.  She would instead travel the great Northwest on her trusty steed.  Her riding partner would be the memory of her never forgotten and always cherished companion, Gidget.  

1500 cc's of freedom and love.

God bless Sandy, Gidget, and all the wolves at the haven.

Freedom.

Friends and Fond Memories Version 2.0

Work has been pretty brutal this week (We are preparing for the final stages of our Winter performance) and I haven't exactly had excess energy when I get to the house to produce new content.  I figured this might be a good excuse to post some older content, namely photos of some of my friends.  So here we are: for those of you who don't know, these people are my friends and for those of you pictured, who doesn't like to see photo's of themselves on the Internet?

The throwback continues tomorrow with a post from the past about one of my favorite destinations in the Pacific North West: Wolf Haven International.  Stay tuned.

My oldest friend, Jack.  One of my fondest memories of Jack was when he and I brought in 2006 (I think...) by throwing a 40'' tv off of a stoop in the Mission and almost getting beat down by 4 trill homies on the BART.  Awesome.

Karl is party vibes USA.  Always down to have a good time and get some.  One time Karl and I were driving from Portland to the Bay for Thanksgiving and the engine block in my Volvo cracked.  Like kapoot, broken, zeroed out with smoke flowing and oil pouring.  We had to get towed for like 200 miles into some bum fuck town about an hour north of Redding.  Despite being about 200 lbs overweight, our driver swore he was a pro stock car driver,  not NASCAR, but some other cutty semi pro shit.  Anyway, he told lots of crazy car racing stories and farted the whole ride.

Steven M. is a friend from my hometown who is currently studying to be a bang up journalist at SF State.  He's way into skateboarding and taking photographs of all sorts of wacky shit.  He's also a really decent dude.  Steven was also with Jack and I on the BART train on New Years.  He kept his head down during the whole confrontation and was pissed that Jack kept talking shit to the homeboys, increasing our risk of getting beat down. 

Tiffany on the left and Renato on the right.  Renato is one of my soul brothers.  I don't ever get to see him anymore, as he has a habit of disappearing deep undercover for month's/years on end.  The last time I saw him he was wearing some sort of hippie vest and telling me how he needed to smuggle his pet chickens into CA... I don't know dude.  I just hope you're happy and I want you to know that I miss you.  Renato is the best.  He is one of the only people I know who would always have my back.  Always.

This is Phil.  He is one of the best bar tenders in Portland and if you're lucky enough he'll serve you up some cutty prohibition era cocktail on the sly.  He always seems to be working on some new cocktail and will hook you up with said recipe if you're interested.  One time Phil and I went to this swank bar in the Pearl and had flights of single malt scotch.  It was tight, but we got over the vibe pretty quick and spent the rest of the afternoon boozin down on a budget at the Low Brow.  Phil seems to either walk everywhere or take a cab.  Although he hasn't said it, all other forms of transportation seem to be irrelevent if not obsolete to him.  I have Phil to thank for introducing me to Booker's Bourbon, Sazerac Rye, and Plymouth Gin.

This is Paige.  Sometimes she likes to make weird faces and wear my bike helmet.  I like this picture because it shows how much fun Paige can be, which is not as immediately noticeable as how stylish and pretty she is.

 One time Rachel, Paige, and I went to Value Village for some Sunday afternoon thrifting when all of a sudden, Paige informed us that things were beginning to get a little hairy in the guts department and that if it was all the same to us, she would prefer to get going.  Get going we did.  Unfortunately, on the way home things weren't looking too much better.  This became painfully clear to me when somewhere along NE 33rd my back was basted with a healthy dose of Paige puke.  This continues to be one of my favorite stories to tell anytime vomit enters the realm of conversation.  Sorry, Paige.  That's the price you pay for puking on me in the car.  

Palladino to the left, Carib to the Right.  Every wednesday, this pair, A. Harris and myself would get together and listen to records for hours.  We called it the Record of the Month club even though we met every week.  Getting together with a group of friends and listening to records may be my favorite thing to do.  Seriously.

Lance has a healthy sense of adventure and a sharp tongue.  One of my favorite things about Lance is that when he get wasted he gets this boyish grin on his face and you know it only a matter of time before he starts banging on whatever's around and begins to freestyle about whatever the fuck is going on in his sick, drunken mind.  He is also a really great guy to go on vacation with as he is surprisingly organized (dude can whip up an agenda like nobody's biz).

A. Harris rules.  I like playing basketball with him because he's all limbs (Like 6'4'' of them, the dude's tall).  He is a super nice guy and charming as a can be.  Women can barely resist him, I swear, I've seen it.

Morris makes awesome movies and is nice to everyone.  He is one of the only people I know who is really following his dream, so I've got nothing but love for him.  If you see him, buy him a drink.  You won't regret it.

Josh LOVES to have a good time.  The first time I met him we partied for like 30 hours.  Midway through I woke up on the floor of some house in Sellwood I had never seen drunk, and confused.  It was only a matter of minutes until everyone we were with piled into Josh's Impala (Which looks like a fucking bomb went off in it) and went to get breakfast.  Once we were comfortably seated at one of my favorite breakfast destinations (The Detour Cafe) we ordered our breakfast and decided to order a bottle of champagne.  One became three and I quickly knew I had made a friend.

Man I wish I was better friends with this Guy.  Scotty is one of the most awesome dudes I have ever met.  The dude used to be a straight hellion in his younger days, blacking out whisky drunk on the regular.  I once heard a story of some of his friends U-locking his neck to a cyclone fence when he had passed out.  Very excellent.  Scotty is really good at going undercover in the woods and looking like he is about 45, but really he's only like 26 or 27.  He can grow one of the best mustaches I think I've ever seen.  Scotty also used to have the most wretched dread heads I have ever seen on anyone, black or white.  In his drivers license he has the face of Spicoli and the dreads of a Marley.  It also happens to be from New Jersey.  This guy is made of good stories and party dust.

Peter is just as cool as he looks in this picture.

My favorite Pete Fagin story involves the discovery of a questionable clear baggy, even more questionable bars, and Chinatown.  No further information shall be divulged.

Santi and Erica just playing it cool.  The first time I met Erika my eyes almost exploded out of my head.  Lance had been continuing a long distance relationship with her for like a year or something and would always talk about her.  Neither myself nor anyone I knew had actually seen her, so I began to have my doubts as to whether or not she actually existed.  I was really on the fence with the whole issue.  Turns out she is real and really awesome.  I like the way she sasses Lance around a say his name, "Lahhhhnce."  

Stevo to the left Devo to the right.

Steven can squeeze two dimes out of a nickel.  He is one of the most frugal, penny pinching dudes I have ever met and I mean that in the best possible way.  He never seems to have disposable income, but you can find him partying and having a good time just about every night of the week.  Truly admirable.  He is also a primo record nerd and common site at record stores throughout Portland.

Devo enjoys petting his cat Walter, driving his car Geoffrey, and making bitchin' stained glass art pieces.  He is also really pretty.

Danny, Joanne, and Nick

Nick is a talented architect that works for a hot shit firm downtown.  He loves playing music by himself in his room and drinking bud light until he passes out.  Dude has some sketchy bowels and sometimes needs to let deuce at a moments notice.  He calls his affliction "guts."  One time he got the guts so bad he had to take a shit in the little alley in between the little cyclone fence and the Plaidy on Interstate.

Joanne is my friend and former neighbor.  She would always stop by my previous place of employment and shoot the shit with me, keep me up to date on neighborhood gossip, and just generally wild out.  She used to call me "Arithmetic" because it always took me forever to count up her change and sometimes even then I would fuck it up.  I think she gave me another more charitable nick name at some point, but I nor anyone else can seem to remember that one.  Oh, and sometimes she wears one of those tall tees that has the body of a "sexy" lady in a bikini on it, so the person wearing it looks like they are standing behind one of those photo cut out things.  That shit rules.

Lima teaching Johnny to high five.

Johnny is a former classmate (is that the word?  I mean he went to my college, but we never had any classes together) that also used to live around the corner from me.  He is grade A smart ass who loves to talk some shit, which I love.  I think for the first 2 years I knew him I couldn't tell if he liked me or couldn't stand me.  Anyway, one of my fondest memories with Johnny was when we went on a Bar tour of as many shitty bars on Lombard as we could fit into one evening.  The next morning I woke up drunk in the front seat of my car with a case of stolen beer and two dirty pint glasses.

One of the few pictures of the elusive Rick Delucco.

Rick is a bang up artist and one of the nicest dudes I have ever met.  He often has work on display at Tender Loving Empire (NW 17th and Lovejoy).  He has made several children's books, countless awesome paintings and drawings, and all sorts of other cutty prints.  One time Rick got his Corolla stolen from right under his nose and 4 months later received a phone called notifying him that his vehicle had been recovered.  Miraculously enough, the car wasn't even that fucked up.  It turns out some teenagers had stolen it and just drank a bunch of beer and smoked in the thing until it ran out of gas.  I can't remember for sure, but they might have peed in it, too.  I don't know though.

Homeboy line up.

From Left to Right: Sean, Johnny, Mitch, Devo.

Miss you guys.

xoxo

World Report: Broken Bones & Trife Beards

One of my Super Friends busted up his wrist yesterday skateboarding down Mission.  I wish you a speedy, healthy recovery and would expect nothing less from an ox of a man like yourself. Remember, you just broke your wrist not your spirit, stay buck.  Here's to healthy bones and free painkillers.

The bone formerly known as Karl's healthy wrist.

In other completely unrelated news, I am one month deep into my annual beard growing saga.  So far this year is shaping up fairly well and looks to be an improvement on last years record setting performance.  This year my beard has several factors working in it's favor to make this year another record shattering spectacle.  First and foremost, I don't give a fuck. I have vowed complete commitment and have no self conscious thought about growing at all.  Last year I was a little taciturn and didn't really fully commit to the endevour, perhaps a little bit too self conscious about my lackluster facial hair.  Last year I set a goal of 8 weeks of full on growth.  I believe I made it about 6-7 weeks with several trims inbetween.  This year I have no goal in sight, I simply exist to grow.  No trims, as I simply do not have beard trimming equipment at my immediate disposal.  I really believe that there are no limits to this beard and could foresee it's continued growth for 3 maybe four months... who knows really.  Anyway, hear are some photos, as a few of my regular readers have privately expressed interest in this years beardathon.  No Fear.

Four weeks deep.

Patchy, yes, true.  That's just my style.

Current beard inspirations include my good friend Rick Delucco, Bears (The gay kind), Lumberjacks, Dennis Wilson, and Thelonius Monk.  Really though, I would be happy with a Keanu Reeves level of patchiness. 

Ideally, and I think this may be within the realm of possibilities, I would like to sport a V. Gallo level beard, circa the photo below:

I don't expect you to understand, Lilly.

To my Portland readers:  It has just been brought to my attention that Three 6 Mafia played a show recently at the Roseland.  Did any of you attend or know anyone who did.  Let me know the scooped if you've scooped it.

Alright folks, that's all the news worth knowing.  Let me know what you think about the beard good, bad, indifferent, I'm feeling unflappable, so don't hold back.  Again, Karl godspeed.  All us here at the Shame Threshold (Me) wish you the best.  Can't keep a tough customer down.

Dear Momma

About 2 years ago I was visiting my Pops and I asked him if he had any old pictures of he and my Ma from back when they were my age. My Pops is a class A pack-rack and amateur archivist, so it was only a few moments later that he returned from the garage with a large shoe box filled with old photo prints. We went through probably 200 old pictures and slides from the 70's and 80's all the while tossing the gems into a small pile. When we were done he put the pile of gems in another shoe box and handed them to me, "Here, you should have these. I don't want them anymore."

 That small cardboard box and it's contents are among my most prized worldly possessions. I look at them often and think of the times when my Ma and Pops were young and wonder if the problems and pleasures they met then were not unlike the ones I a greet today.

Anyhow, here are some pictures of my Ma in her younger days. I miss her.

Ed. Note: All of these were uploaded using the macro setting on my little digi point and shoot.  No scanner folks, sorry.

This is my Ma and my uncle at the zoo.  I think my ma was only about 16 or 17  in this one.  I really love her jacket and hair style and the old school pop corn bucket aint bad  either.

I think my Ma is repping her engagement ring in this picture... or she might just be drunk and dipping in her chair.  Very cool shoe/dress combo.

It's nice to have a picture that you can look at and think to yourself, "Oh, my parents actually were cool once."  I think this one is from Hawaii when my Pops was in the Navy and they still let you look like a rad sailor.

Ma must have been about 18-19 in this one as I think it was from a wedding practice session.

From left to right: 1. My pops sister, Patricia. 2. My Ma's older sister, Norma.  3. My soon to be wed Ma.  4. Above, my Ma's younger sister, Leticia.  5. Below, My Ma's oldest sister, Gloria.

From left to right: 1. My cousin Paul.  2. My uncle, Bernie.  3. My Ma's pops, Bernardo.  4. My Ma.

I really dig my Ma's ribbon tie in this picture.

Just chillin on the grass with a mystery man.

Ma and a mystery relative on the coast.  Fitting the High waist.

This is my uncle Manny (one of the most awesome people in the world.  He used to tell me funny stories about him and my pops getting drunk and getting into trouble around El Paso.  He was also the only person on my Ma's side of the family who never talked shit about my pops.) and Ma.  I think Manny is wearing the same wrangler pants that I rep like everyday.

Ma and her dog, Sundown.  Love the ensemble, Ma.

Here I am coming on the scene back in 1984.

Just kicking it in my red Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls with my Ma, who is unafraid of the horizontal stripes... and a flock of flamingos.  We aint scurred.

Million Dollar smiles.  That 2 millie if you're counting.

Accesorizing

White sun glasses, a blue Great Outdoors day pack, and the critical accesory- Propeller hat.  Thanks for spending the 15 bucks and indulging me on that one, Ma

Call your Mom's folks, you know they miss you.

xoxo