We Really Don't Belong Out Here

A Definitive Guide To Farting In The Shower

2011-08-28T21:31:00.001-07:00

Sorry I've been MIA for a bit. I've been in Tempe, Arizona following around the Tempe12 girls for a docu-reality show. They are all amazing girls who I am getting to know very well, and I hope when the times comes you will watch the show. To at least give you something to read, and assure you I am not dead, check out another amazing post from one of my favorite writers/bloggers, Riley Breckenridge:

Hello, Friends. We’d like to take this opportunity to share a secret with you.

Noted physicians and scientists have mastered the art of farting in the shower.

And we’re not just talking about “farting” as you’re used to it. We’re talking about making the most of your farts, and using advanced techniques to create a shower farting experience that will be so wonderfully rewarding and productive that you’ll surprise yourself, your family, your friends, and the World.

We know, we know, you’re saying to yourself, “Finally! I knew it could be done! Do tell, do tell!”

We’re about to.

You are so very welcome.

TECHNIQUE:
1. Turn the water on. The water is essentially the valve piston of your butt trumpet or the mod wheel on your synthesizer, if you will.

2. Lather up. This is like a compressor. It makes the peaks and valley of your performance a little more consistent, and we all know that “consistency is important”.

3. Turn your back to the shower head so that the water flow is hitting you on the upper butt/lower back area.

4. Do a quarter squat and place your hands on your knees.

5. Align the flow of water so that it hits your upper butt/lower back.

6. Adjust the angle of your back so that the water flows down the small of your back, into your butt crack, betwixt your butt cheeks, and over your butthole.

7. Imagine that the water is the gentle breath of a flutist. Err…actually, don’t do that. At all. Ever.

8. Fire at will.

9. Enjoy!

BENEFITS:

- Louder, more sonically diverse farts than ever

- Entertain yourself while you clean

- An exercise in multi-tasking

- Now available in Duck, French Horn, Hyena, Howler Monkey, and B#

- Odorously less offensive (Thanks, soap!)

- Child-safe

- Excellent sustain and decay due to the your bathroom’s natural reverb

- Fun!

POSSIBLE DISADVANTAGES:

- Built-in safety net (see: possible disadvantages)

- Attempts at record-breaking volume may lead to involuntary sharting (see: safety net-at least it’s not your bed)

- Slippery surfaces and excessive soap usage may lead to unexpected slippage which may lead to death

- Using this technique in jail may lead to rape

- Methane poisoning

- Failure to rinse properly may cause Itchy Butthole Syndrome (the other IBS)

- Wolves!

- Not available in left-handed

Now it’s your turn. Try it out at home. We give you our 100% guarantee that you’ll produce some of the most incredible sounds you’ve ever heard.

Happy farting!

Kids These Days All Play Synth And Become Tube Stars. So Sad.

2011-07-02T23:33:00.000-07:00

A tale of two moments…

I arrived at the venue in a completely déjà vu fashion. I crossed Sunset Blvd. amid Friday rush hour traffic. In an almost mirror encounter from five months prior, I was greeted by Tom Keeley from Thursday. After thirteen years, he now knows me as a regular at shows on both coasts. We discussed the last few days on tour in California, and I warned him of the weather awaiting the band in Tempe, Arizona.

As we approached the tour bus, a young woman approached us. She asks the two east coasters if we are attending tonight’s show. Tom and I immediately looked up from the clueless one, stared at each other, smirked to our little inside joke, and Tom awkwardly responded to her inquiry with, “Yeh, I think I’ll be in there.”

Then Little Miss Oblivious asked if either of us had any extra tickets, to which we both apologetically sad no. I actually had a spare ticket in my pocket, however, due to the young lady’s musical faux pas, I pulled a little snobbish move and rather than give her my golden ticket, I deemed her unworthy, and kept the extra all to myself.

As we parted ways, Tom wished me a happy birthday, and I called to him saying I’d see him inside, adding a little additional singe to the ignorant girl’s clandestine burn.

____________________________

I was twenty years old all over again.

Eight years ago, a year after releasing “Tell All Your Friends”, the five founding members of Taking Back Sunday split down the middle. “TAYF” could be considered in the East Coast, and more specifically, the Long Island hardcore scene, one of the essential and most important albums of the great emo/post-hardcore movement of the early 2000s. Adam Lazzara, Eddie Reyes, and Mark O’Connell kept TBS alive with several line-up changes over the next eight years, while John Nolan and Shaun Cooper went off (with John’s sister Michelle) to start the equally amazing Straylight Run.

Eight years we watched both parties enjoy incredible success, but nothing matched the earth shattering effect their combined efforts brought about back in 2002. I wasn’t lucky enough to catch the original line-up back then; they divided by the time I made my Taking Back Discovery.

Then last night happened.

History.

I was twenty years old all over again. Standing there I watched in amazing as Taking Back Sunday took the stage and the crowd proceeded to lose its fucking mind. It brought me back to the days of basement shows and VFW halls. People sang so unbelievably loud, it was reminiscent of The Beatles performance on Ed Sullivan.

I haven’t seen five gentlemen/musicians have that much fun on stage in a very long time. Adam Lazzara owned the stage, dancing around inch of it like a young, however morose Mick Jagger. He spun the mic around the room, either throwing it out over the crowd, before reeling it back in or letting it curl around his throat like an electrical noose.

On the flip side, John Nolan was the straight man TBS lost for a very long time; the calm collected counterpart to Lazzara’s psychotic persona. After hearing John and Shaun Cooper reclaim all of the hits, I’m finding it hard to go back and listen to the songs written in between their tenure with TBS. As I listened to Adam and John go back and forth on excerpts from “Where You Want To Be” and “Louder Now”, the lyrics seemed to take on a whole new meaning. “I’m gonna make damn sure that you can't ever leave… No, you won't ever get too far from me” now read as Lazzara assuring John he won’t let anything get in the way of their friendship ever again.

One of the more beautiful moments was when John and Shaun “lent” one of their Straylight Run songs to Adam, Eddie, and Mark, and the five brothers brought the house down with the re-imagined “Existentialism On Prom Night”.

Towards the end of the set, Lazzara ventured into the crowd, walking across spectator’s hands to the rear of the House of Blues Sunset, eventually scaling the sound booth to the balcony, screaming out “Cute Without The ‘E’ (Cut From The Team)” as he hung upside down, and the entire room, myself included, screamed along with him. I was twenty years old all over again.

Taking Back Sunday closed the night sending Adam abroad to the bar I was leaning up against, kneeling a foot from me, where he lifted up his voice to sing:

Best friends means I pulled the trigger… Best friends means you get what you deserve…

All Day I Dream About Sex

2011-05-28T15:12:00.000-07:00

Growing up attending Catholic school, I obviously received no professional sexual education. That is, unless you count a priest teaching young boys about jerking off in the shower (“If the fluid of life comes out, just enjoy the feeling”). During the winter months in grade school we did have a few health classes, which tried to introduce our young minds to reproductive organs, however we were never taught the proper way to use their organs or keep them in perfect working order. In such a repressive environment, where you have children revolting at a younger age, you need to explain that kind of thing.

It’s 2011, and now my generation is getting older, and having kids of our own. We know kids will do whatever they want no matter what you instruct them to do. Instead of just drilling it into young minds premarital sex is wrong and you’re going to hell if you do it, tell them premarital sex is not a bad thing, but rather something you should wait on until you're older, and can make rational decisions, allowing time for their hormonal, developing teenage minds time to mature. Maybe that would've prevented some of my classmates from being parents before their high school graduation. (Also, premarital sex is obsolete. It's a term that only exists in the fictional world of religion.)

Luckily, Answer and Rutgers University decided to take matters into their own hands. Sex, Etc. is “sex education for teens, by teens”. According to the website:

Sex, Etc. is on a mission to improve teen sexual health across the country! Each year, five million young people visit Sexetc.org, and over 45,000 read our national magazine to get honest and accurate sexual health information. We've helped teens with answers to their questions about sex, relationships, pregnancy, STDs, birth control, sexual orientation and more!

Sexetc.org features 17 topic areas plus the following sections

Stories written by teen staff writers and national contributors.
Your Voice, Your Rights, which gives teens the opportunity to create a profile, share stories about sexuality education in their schools and speak up for the sex ed they want, need and deserve.
“Take Action,” which gives teens the tools to advocate for comprehensive sex ed in their schools and communities.
The Sex, Etc. blog—Beyond the Birds and the Bees—which addresses timely sexual health issues that are relevant to teens.
Forums where teens can participate in moderated discussions with other teens.
"Sex in the States," which is a state-by-state guide to teens' rights to sex education, birth control and more.
Videos about sexual health.
A Sex Terms glossary of more than 400 terms
A mobile site that can be accessed on any phone with Internet access. It contains all of our FAQs, Sex Terms and Sex in the States information.

I was introduced to Sex, Etc. on this year’s Take Action! Tour. The tour’s proceeds are being donated to support the sex education movement and Sex, Etc. People are finally realizing the importance of instructing teens and young adults about being safe and realizing the consequences of their actions when it comes to safe sex. They’re no longer leaving the burden to be carried by lazy school systems and embarrassed parents. Sex, Etc. is giving teenagers a comfortable environment to go and discuss this new territory with their peers.

I find it unnerving to think in this day and age where sex is everywhere, there are still pockets of the country teaching abstinence as the only option. Teenage minds are constantly learning, exploring, and compiling information on the world, including being curious about their adolescent bodies. It’s inspirational to see a group like Sex, Etc. taking it upon themselves to not only give teens a place to go, helping them understand their curiosity, but also a space containing a lot of their sought-after answers.

And if parents don’t want to rely on a website and fellow teens to educate their children on proper sexual instruction and culture, maybe they’ll finally grow some balls, stop being so shy and self-conscious about it, and educate their kids their damn selves.

Shock and dismay, they affect what we say… We should bite our tongues, we should bite our tongues… 'Cause after all, it's only our lives anyway...

The Sweetest Place On Earth

2011-05-23T12:05:00.000-07:00

When did Central Pennsylvania become a hotbed for underground music? I remember going to see a few shows in small, makeshift venues growing up (i.e. Godsmack in the City Island lawn-mower garage), but nothing like the sort of underground, independent post-hardcore shows I began attending once I moved to Philly. Hershey, Harrisburg, Lancaster; we were never at a loss for live shows to attend, but recently it seems more and more awesome bands are starting to come out of the area (and surroundings) I grew up in. I mean, we had LIVE and Fuel (meh, I know) who came from our hometowns, but nothing of the sort of music I have grown to love and adore. Please check out some of the awesome acts which have been forming the last few years.

BALANCE AND COMPOSURE - Doylestown, PA

Neighbors of one of my favorite bands, Circa Survive, Balance and Composure have been fighting to fill the hand-me-down shoes of bands like Brand New and mewithoutYou. Their most recent release, "Separation" finally solidifies this group with a voice their own, and leaves them equals with their forefathers.

TIGERS JAW - Scranton, PA

There's more to Scranton, Pennsylvania than Michael Scott and Royal's swimming fans (4-1-4 what's up!!!). While a lot of indie rock bands are striving to be weirder and more out there, Tigers Jaw are doing exactly the opposite: they're writing classic, catchy songs, reminiscent of their late '90s influences.

KOJI - Harrisburg, PA

Hailing from the 7-1-7, Andrew "Koji" Shiraki grew up screaming his lungs out fronting several post-hardcore outfits around central PA. Now, at age 24, he realized it's not how loud you scream, but what you say that holds the most water. Still retaining social justice and politics as themes in his lyrics, he's using his music to inspire both inner peace as well as build a new peace in the world around him.

KOJI - Giants Sleeping from If You Make It on Vimeo.

TEXAS IN JULY - Ephrata, PA

I recently had the pleasure of catching Texas In July killing it as the first opening act on this years Take Action! Tour in support of Silverstein and Bayside. Carrying on the metalcore torch, TIJ aren't tackling any new ground, but instead, bringing small town aesthetic to it. There are a few risky (and risque, me-yow) moments on the band's full-length debut being released on Equal Vision later this year. Still, fans of metal both old and new will certainly enjoy Texas In July for years to come.

AUGUST BURNS RED - Lancaster, PA

Most of you probably remember August Burns Red from the adorable video of Charlie playing drums to "The Eleventh Hour". What you might not realize is ABR has been tearing apart the metal scene for eight years, leaving few survivors in their wake. They are known for the ability to weave flowing melody in with incredibly brutal breakdowns and off-meter riffs.

There you go folks. Listen and enjoy.

The day is soon coming when turning your back won't be an option...

Change Is A Sound

2011-05-09T19:46:00.000-07:00

I’ve been writing a lot about change over the last few months. The biggest reason is because over the last year I’ve been beginning to feel different. I’m starting to notice more about the world around me, feeling more grown up, but still keeping the “youth” aspect my family is known.

Change in a necessity in life; it helps people grow and become better people. If we always stayed the same, we’d run the grave risk of growing stagnant and uninteresting. I like when I notice a change in me, both positive and negative. Negative changes are obviously, not a good thing, but seeing these downward movements can often times lead to positive changes as well.

Geoff Rickly recently wrote about how the way he write lyrics has changed since he has grown up:

…I'm not a kid anymore and I don't think in the same ways that I used to. I don't push the band to go faster, use stranger time signatures or thrash harder. I write songs that turn inward now. Songs that rely on subtlety. Songs that are meant for headphones and car stereos. Songs that are experienced by one person at a time. Even when these songs are played in front of a crowd, everyone in the room will be listening to them alone.

Obviously, I’m not musician, but it’s weirdly comforting to see someone I not only look up to, but also consider one of my peers going through similar changes himself. I don’t have the musical platform he does to show off his growth and maturity and evolution. Personally, when I feel different, I like to make myself different. I get bored with who I look at in the mirror. I’m quickly approaching thirty, and I know I don’t want to hit July twenty-four with the same body I’ve had the last few years.

It’s time for a tattoo.

For me, as with most, tattoos hold personal meaning to the person who is getting their flesh altered. I like to take it one literal step forward: despite whatever the story is behind the artwork, the new addition acts as a reminder that at this moment in time, I am a different person. I am permanently changing who I am physically because internally I’m not the same Mallick who you hung out with last year. It’s an eternal timeline reflecting how many times I’ve gone through major transformations.

It’s almost an instinct when the times comes; my skin begins to itch, but it’s a bit stronger than the normal tattoo craving we are all warned about.

The world and it’s people are in a contact state of flux and you hope it’s moving in a positive direction, no matter what it make look like during the different stages of existence. Sometimes you notice these adjustments; the earth is forever altered. Sometimes its something so small it doesn’t have any noticeable effect; the person sports a newfound smile they only know the reason behind. I know when I begin to make a new impression and begin writing a new chapter in my life, I like to title page to have some nice artwork on it.

Reaching out for something, but we dunno what we need… As time slowly passes by, grey hair appears behind your eyes…

Your US Tax Dollars At Work

2011-04-09T22:33:00.000-07:00

We still don't have an approved budget. And by "we", I mean the United States Government. How is it mid-April, and we don't have an official breakdown for government spending? I have an idea: maybe it's because we spend "our" money on frivolous things, like sending FBI agents and Secret Service men to follow a few punk bands around on tour.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004 – Bad Religion was headlining the Electric Factory, one of the greatest concert venues in Philadelphia. Supporting, on their first national tour, was Rise Against, along with the fledgling band From First To Last, who were hand picked by Bad Religion to be part of the bill. The tour was called the “Rock Against Bush Tour” and was supported by Punk Voter.Com, an organization striving to educate young voters on the issues surrounding the upcoming election, and urge them to get out and vote. Oh, and they were trying to get those two dictators out of office as well.

Much like I have been prone to do in the past, I arrived at the show early to make sure I caught each act’s set in its entirety. I expected the usual when I approached the front doors: the men and women would queue in separate lines to be patted down. I would empty my pockets of their contents to make the pat down easier. I’d present my ID to get a wristband to enter the bar area, although I rarely ever drank at shows. I’d go inside, do a lap to see if any of the regulars were in attendance before finding the best vantage point to watch the opening acts and prime myself for movement into the pit.

This night, however, followed a different chain of events. The usual concert “Security” wasn’t guarding the door to the musical palace, dawning their yellow polo shirts. Tonight, there were men in black suits waiting to assist me with my concert experience. I felt a little uneasy. I emptied my pockets as per usual, but instead of being spun a hundred and eighty degrees for the normal frisk, I was told to put all my belongings in a bowl to be scanned by a metal detector. I was then asked to stand against a wall and “spread ‘em” (how cliché). I was examined so thoroughly that if I repeated the same routine outside of this situation, I would probably be slapped with an assault charge.

After I was stamped “safe” by a gentleman wearing sunglasses at night (who the fuck does that?), I was escorted to a table where I had to show my driver’s license to another man in a black suit. At this point, I realized something was up. My first thought was during a prior show, someone, somehow got a weapon in, past security, creating an unsafe situation, which served no legitimate purpose, and the E-Factory was taking all the necessary precautions.

I showed this next sir my driver’s license, which he wrote down every detail, asked me several times if this was my real address. It wasn’t technically; I still had my parents’ address on my license. I had to give them both of my parents’ full names before revealing my current residence. They tried to get as much of my personal information out of me before telling me to “enjoy myself.” I’ve never been more confused in my life. Why does the E-Factory care what my car’s license plate number is?

The show started and I put the weird greeting behind me. That was until Bad Religion took the stage. After their opening number, Greg Graffin addressed the crowd. He welcomed everyone to the show, thanked the opening acts, and thanked the masses for being in attendance. Who he thanked next brought everything out into the open and enlightened us all to what we were all a part of this particular night. He individually pointed out, by first and last name, each of the Secret Service agents who were keeping a close eye on the multitudes. I looked around each time he introduced one, feeling Big Brother bearing down on me more and more, and for the first time noticing the only yellow polo shirted “Security” working, manned the four corners and the front of the stage. Men in black suits had us surrounded.

Greg explained then-President (and I use that term loosely) Bush was worried the “Rock Against Bush Tours” (there were a few gallivanting across our country at the time) would insight riots; teenagers and young adults pouring out into the streets with (GASP) their own thoughts on politics, creating a world filled with anarchy. We were told Cheney didn’t trust the message Bad Religion, Rise Against, and Punk Voter were preaching, and had his men take down the names and personal information of everyone in attendance at these shows. We would all be put on a list to be kept watch over. Our “fearless” leader was scared; scared the youth would, for the first time in a very long time, stand up for what is right and just.

Newspapers and statisticians all claimed the tours had no effect at all on the young voter turn out from the previous election. What was left out, however, from all of these reports was the explanation of THE FACTS. The youth vote represented seventeen percent of the total votes counted, exactly the same percentage as the 2000 election. However, the 2004 election set a record for the greatest voter turn out for an election ever. To put it simply, seventeen percent of a greater number of total voters from the 2000 election, means more younger voters made their way to voter booths in 2004. I’d say whatever “we” did was a success. (And by we, I mean those of us wearing t-shirts sporting Bush’s ugly mug with “Not My President” printed underneath.)

This government action made me realize two things this night: 1). Bush & Cheney wouldn't have sent agents of the government out on this assignment if they honestly didn't think the "youth vote" was a serious threat, and 2). For the first time the power and drive young voters have in this country wasn’t underestimated.

Leaders, politicians, and power whores are in line to receive your choice… And you bet your ass, if you give it to them, they will gladly take your voice…

My Favorite Albums Of 2010

2011-03-26T20:51:00.000-07:00

It’s been an interesting year for music for me personally. In Riley Breckinridge’s blog Hermitology I have found a new music guru to aid in my appreciation and discovery of new music. I discovered a few new muses in 2010, which has led the reach of my musical landscape to expand. I have felt for a while my musical taste has been broad, but recently it has grown in leaps and bounds. It’s a good mirror of how I’ve changed personally during those twelve months. The spectrum of sounds I fell in love with in 2010 covers a lot of ground. There are many more “lighter” bands and albums on this year’s list, but don’t be fooled, they aren’t any less epic than the fist pumping, head banging LPs which are synonymous with my taste in music.

Circa Survive – “Blue Sky Research”

With their third release, Circa Survive has figured out how to write traditional rock songs while not losing their signature sound. It was a challenge for me to get through “Blue Sky Noise” the first time. I thought I lost another one of my favorite bands to the cult of the major label. Growth is a hard thing to deal with for sometimes. I am however, a victim of my quick judgment. In time, some of the things that I disliked about the album and the band’s “new sound” grew into an understanding of where the band wanted to go with their music, and laid out a clear path to where they plan to trek next. There's no putting a nose up to the fact that Clear Channel might have a band worthy of their bullshit airwaves. There's certainly enough passion in “Blue Sky Noise” to show the masses where rock and roll and great songwriting can meet in a traditional compromise everyone can enjoy.

Frightened Rabbit – “The Winter Of Mixed Drinks”

When I have a variety of people telling me to check out a band, I usually tend to veer away from ever giving their music a chance. It’s the music snob in me, and it’s a bad habit I am learning to break one day at a time. I started with “Midnight Organ Fight” as instructed, and quickly realized my preconceptions of this band were very wrong. The songwriting on “Winter” is sharp and witty throughout, and most of their songs – with themes of escape, freedom and reinvention – have extremely impassioned choruses made to be shouted from the nearest available mountain.

Lewis Black – “Stark Raving Black”

Much like a catchy song makes you want to tap your foot to the beat, Lewis Black persuades you to see society his way. Whether you agree with his position or not, by the end of every album, you find yourself at least understanding where he is coming from, if not completely giving in to his gospel. Black does it again on “Stark Raving Black”, recording seventy-five minutes of pure irritation and pure comedy. Lewis is brutally honest in his jokes, and not more so then when he declares, “Our two party system is a bowl of shit looking in the mirror at itself.” What makes Lewis Black the great topical comic he is (and my favorite comic period) is when he speaks, when you hear his voice, you not only hear the anger and animosity in his voice, but you become enraged yourself.

Underoath – “(Disambiguation)”

With their 2010 release, Underoath continues to progress. This is their first release without vocalist/drummer Aaron Gillespie, making it the first album screamer/growler/vocal beast Spencer Chamberlain has to helm himself. On first listen, “(Disambiguation)” seems a little out of place with the rest of the band’s library. The back and forth banter between Gillespie and Chamberlain is definitely something I miss. However, Chamberlain finds the balance in his own voice, volleying successfully between singing and low octave screaming, giving “Æ” a much darker feel. Underoath has evolved yet again. The more I listen, the more I find myself noticing the individual elements of the music, reminding me once more why Underoath is one of my favorite bands.

Good Old War – “Good Old War”

What makes this Philadelphia band so appealing, besides their classic folk sensibility, is the vocal harmonies utilized in their music. I had a crush on this band when they released “Only Way To Be Alone”, but now I am fully in love. The self titled contains songs like "That's Some Dream", which mixes solo vocals and group harmonies, a central acoustic guitar with an electric guitar coming in to play a solo in the bridge, and some honest lyrics, [“I know everyone would want me to say / That I'm not afraid to be alone / I'm gonna live, I'm all right / I'm gonna die, it's alright / I'm okay"]. “Good Old War” is one of the most real and personal collection of songs I've ever come across.

Norma Jean – “Meridional”

These Atlanta metal heads have found their niche. With “Meridional”, the band revisits their “Botch”-esque style the band often referenced at beginning of their career. It can’t be heard any clearer than on the album’s second track, “The Anthem Of The Dying Brides.” “Meridional” combines the more rock-style elements from Anti-Mother with old school “O’ God The Aftermath” they were playing at the beginning of their career. I believe Norma Jean finally found the “grown up” sound they were looking for, but realized getting older doesn’t mean forgetting the past, but building on it. This album can definitely hold its head up high right there with “Redeemer”.

2^ND RUNNER UP:

Menomena – “Mines”

I listened for months as Mr. Breckinridge discussed ad nauseum about how big a fan he was of Menomena and how he spun “Mines” forty-three times the first week he bought the album. After hearing a few tracks myself, I must agree, I was intrigued by the act. I went out and purchased the aforementioned album and after my first listen, I was as hooked as he was. Menomena exhibit creativity in their music not found in today’s musical gamut. Their previous outings can be compared to a child testing the cold water of a swimming pool, while “Mines” has the trio jumping full force into the freezing ocean. The band chooses each piece of the puzzle carefully before connecting them all in a completed song. Even the lyrics feel like they have been examined to the greatest detail. Regardless of how they're arranging their sounds, Menomena know how to balance them in a mix so that the listener can feel the spatial relationships between them. There's a lot of room for your ear to roam on “Mines”, and it is revealed over the course of your first few listens this is a very enjoyable album worth exploring and revisiting time and time again.

RUNNER UP

Bring Me The Horizon – “There Is A Hell, Believe Me I've Seen It. There Is a Heaven, Let's Keep It a Secret”

My first thought when I first spun “There Is A Hell…” was “Holy fuck. This album is really fucking good.” Everything about this band has improved on this album from the lyrics, to the songwriting, to the musicianship. As much love as I have for old school, I have give credit to Bring Me The Horizon for taking metal in an original direction. As young as they are, I've seen them live three times in the last year, and they can easily stand tall with the greats of heavy metal. A lot of heavier acts have grown into their own this past year and found their true sound, and BMTH have continued to build on “Suicide Season”, advancing further down the musical battlefield. One of the more surprising elements to this album is the guest-starring role of Lights on two tracks, “Crucify Me” and “Don’t Go”. You can’t really find two more contradicting vocal styles than Lights and Oli Sykes, but their dichotomy directly reflects the polarizing nature the album title suggests. Drew Beringer puts it best in his review on AbsolutePunk.net, “Debauchery was the general gist of ‘Suicide Season’, whereas some of the themes of ‘There Is A Hell…’ revolve around the consequences of that album.”

“There Is A Hell Believe Me I’ve Seen It, There Is A Heaven Let’s Keep It A Secret” will destroy all preconceived notions you had about Bring Me The Horizon. The aggression and passion bleeding from each track will stay with you for days, making this album an instant classic. This album cements the Brits' presence as one of the very best within the metal community.

ALBUM OF THE YEAR

Deftones – “Diamond Eyes”

The Deftones shelved their unreleased album, Eros, after bassist Chi Cheng was involved in a devastating car accident where he sustained serious brain trauma, which left him in a coma. The direction of the band was uncertain. Front man Chino Moreno stated:

[A]s we neared completion on Eros, we realized that this record doesn’t best encompass and represent who we are currently as people and as musicians… We needed to return to the studio to do what we felt was right artistically. Our inspiration and unity as a band is stronger than it has ever been before and we needed to channel that energy into our music, and deliver to our fans what you rightly deserve: the best Deftones record that we can make.

And they have done just that.

One of the reasons I love Deftones so much is because there is no other band like them. I haven’t come across one artist who I’ve ever described as “ sounding like the Deftones”. Along the same lines, I have heard many artists discuss their love of this band, but rarely have I ever heard anyone say they’ve tried to mimic the Deftones’ sound. Most likely: because it can’t be done.

The band produced an album that embodies the burden of a fallen comrade and expresses the aggressiveness and anger, which each member has to have endured over the last few years. Their take on metal continues to stretch the definition of the word. The soulful voice of Moreno effortless trades back and forth between ominous howl and bone shattering shriek. The flow of Stephen Carpenter’s guitar and Sergio Vega’s (Quicksand) bass makes one want to mosh and slow dance at the same time. Abe Cunningham’s killer drums and the beautiful fills of Frank Delgado’s samples and keyboards continue to push Diamond Eyes and the Deftones in a positive direction.

The members of Deftones could have done several things upon Cheng’s accident: called it quits, gone on indefinite hiatus, but rather, they chose to push on, creating maybe the best album of the career, and my choice as my favorite album of 2010.

To the edge til we all get off… I will take you away with me… Once and for all…

We Got Older, But We're Still Young

2011-03-20T22:43:00.000-07:00

Funny how things change when you get older. I spoke a little bit about what I was going through turning twenty-nine in a previous post. Now I am approaching thirty (an age I am more than excited to reach) and I am beginning to take notice of a few aspects of my life, which are aging with me.

The most recent incident was while at the Thursday/Underoath show I attended. (I’d apologize for using the reference again, but I don’t give a shit.) In preparation for the show, I got myself all jazzed up to make my way into the pit to mosh and dance. However, once it reached show time, I found myself enjoying the show more merely singing along, taking in every nuance of the performance. I’ve been doing this recently at shows, but this was the first time I noticed myself sitting back and taking it all in. (I did dance a little when “Understanding In A Car Crash” started.) It’s like, as I get older, I don’t mind NOT being all beat up and bloody after a show.

The other thing I noticed that night was how the members of my favorite band also we’re beginning to age. The six members are all about the same age as myself, but you could see them slowing down as well. The music they put forth was as pure and amazing as ever, but Geoff Rickly, the lead singer, wasn’t as animated as he was a decade ago when I saw him tear down the Starland Ballroom. This isn’t a bad thing, only an interesting observation of how time moves on.

Gearing up for the age of the thirty also makes me look at the shape my body is in. Honestly, I’m in the best shape of my life since I’ve been in since college (I earned my size thirty-two skinny jeans). I ran over five hundred miles training for this year’s marathon, covering several distances greater than ten miles, and doing in very quickly. Sadly, due to a possible stress fracture in my right ankle, I didn’t get to participate in the forty thousand meter race this morning. It was a tough decision to put myself on the disabled list, hearing ghosts of past coaches telling me to push through the pain, and my own pride calling me a lazy asshole. My body won’t recover as quickly as it could even five years ago. And I love, love, LOVE to run, so the last thing I would want to do is risk taking myself out of the game permanently. If I have to ride my bike for the next week, then so be it.

I’m not trying to say thirty is old either. I’m not my sister telling me she feels like an old lady at twenty-five. (I know she is exaggerating most of the time, she runs almost as much as I do.) I never would have guessed at my age I would be any sort of competitive runner, but I’m out on the streets every night. I scan myself into the freak show known as Gold’s Gym three nights a week to tone up. I’m also awake every Sunday morning bright and early with fourteen of my buddies playing softball. I’m pretty much as active now as I was when I was swimming four hours a day in high school.

It sounds so cliché, but obviously you are only as old as you feel. My dad at fifty-five still weighs the same he did in high school and goes on twenty-plus mile bike rides as often as he can. He also recently took up weight lifting again, which can only add years onto his life. I helped my friend’s dad get back on a bike at age sixty-one and now you can’t keep him off it. He’ll go crush thirty miles in the valley, then before bed, do another hour on the stationary bike in his office. I’m still waiting for my dad to come visit so I can see these two duke it out on Dad’s challenge: one hundred and fifty miles from San Diego to LA.

Also, I quickly wanted to touch on my whole cutting back on the booze. I’ve slowly started having a drink here and there, but only for special occasions. For the most part, I want to continue to enjoy most of my week alcohol free. I hung out with the boss and another producer friend for St. Paddy’s day, I think I can allow myself a beer or two between old friends. I’m mainly over the feeling like crap the next day and having to apologize for being an idiot, which can easily be avoided by enjoying a tall glass of club soda.

I’ve seen what it’s like to give up. There is a gentleman, who shall remain nameless, who frequents a certain drinking establishment, one, which I tend to spend, as some may say, a little too much time in. He is sixty, a mere five years older than my father, who looks like he’s at least twenty-five years older than pops. The short story is he never expected to live that long, so he has pretty much given up on trying to do anything with his life. I assume he’s retired and spends the majority of his waking hours just being. Not doing much, I occasionally see him riding his bike around, but I know when he’s at The Whaler, he sits there, not saying much, watching the world converse and move on around him. It’s a bit of a bummer. If my life ever comes to that, someone kick me square in the nuts.

Age is simply a number. Time moves forward. The world evolves. These notions are what make life interesting. If age, and time, and on a grander scale, life, were constant, then everything we’d hope to experience would have the possibility of being pre-determined.

I don’t know about you, but one I’ve learned is change is not only good, but also necessary. I think if I remained the same person, and never attempted to be better, or funnier, or learn a new skill, or look at things from someone else’s point of view, or lose weight, or question authority, or run from here to Manhattan Beach, then I would live a very boring life. And that sounds pretty lame to me.

[PS: Oh, and if dick and fart jokes ever stop making me laugh, someone kill me.]

We never grew out of this feeling that we won’t give up…

A Death-Grip On Yesterday

2011-02-26T00:24:00.000-08:00

Death is often a hard subject to talk about. Usually when someone I know passes away, I tend to avoid confronting the situation (living on the other side of the country helps). It’s a tough thing to digest, especially when you are close to said person. One moment someone is there, the next they’re gone. I grieved a bit when I lost my friend Alex, but haven’t come to grips with it yet, since I still get upset nine years later. I didn’t have time to prepare for it, and never got a chance to say goodbye.

I can remember a few years back taking a week’s vacation back home. My grandfather was still alive at the time. I can remember packing up my suitcase at my folks’ house, about to make the drive down to Philly to catch my flight back to LA. My grandfather wanted to make the drive with my dad and I; I wanted him to come to along as well because I wouldn’t see him again until Xmas. However my dad said due to Pap’s age, his sickness (cancer) and a weak bladder, he wouldn’t make for a smooth trip. Pap thought he was coming along, but I guess he wasn’t told he would be staying home. As we pulled away, I saw Pap standing on the porch, extra-large shorts and t-shirt draped over his now frail frame, waving goodbye. At that moment, I knew it was the last time I would see my grandfather.

*NOTE: I don’t believe in an afterlife; it kinda falls hand-in-hand with being an atheist. FYI: Only about 10% of atheists believe in absolutely no higher power. I think everything in the universe is connected. Knowing the time I have on this planet is limited helps me make sure I live this life to the fullest, and live with no regrets.

When the call came the following November saying Pap passed away, it came as no surprise. I had hoped for one last chance to see him over the holidays, but I knew it was a huge hope. Although I never took the time to pour out over his passing, I made sure to prepare myself for Pap’s trip to Valhalla. I never did get to say a proper goodbye, but when the time came, I was ready. I got up that morning and drove to MTV, took a half-day, and met Johnny at James’ Beach later to talk about all the good times we shared during my childhood.

I could see the future for my grandfather. But what if I was on the other side? What if you knew the end was coming, what would you do to face your own destiny? Or even crazier, what if you could control your own destiny?

Pap knew his time was short the summer before he passed. He and my Mom went to clean out his old house in Shenandoah, PA. When my grandparents got sick (Pap had cancer, and Gram has Alzheimer’s), they moved out of their house and moved in with their daughter and son-in-law, inheriting my old bedroom. Going through the attic, Pap found a stack of winter gloves he had been hoarding. He looked at my mom and said, “Over the years I’ve been saving these gloves just in case. Now look, I’ll never get a chance to wear them.” In a sense of foreshadowing, he prophesized his own demise. It was if he knew he wouldn’t make it to winter and have the chance to wear the gloves he’d been saving. Much like I knew when I pulled out of our old driveway, I would never see or speak to him again.

In a similar vein, my mom told me a story the other day about an afternoon she spent with my Great-Aunt Nancy. Aunt Nancy is getting on in years, and is very ill and can’t driver herself anymore; my mom usually has to play chauffer. My Uncle Frank, Nancy’s husband, passed away a few years back. On this particular afternoon, it was a bit warmer than usual, so they went and visited my Uncle’s grave. My mom overheard Aunt Nancy say something, which struck me. She said, “Frank, I think I’ll be coming to see you soon.” It was an incredible notion, assuming she might be joining her husband soon in heaven.

Besides knowing you’re time is approaching, is it possible to control your own death? (Naturally speaking of course. Suicide is another issue.) My swim coach growing up used to tell us a tale about our fellow teammate, and Olympic gold medalist, Anita Nall. We used to do meditation and visualization exercises before big races. He regaled us with a tale of Anita before a National meet, where she had a sore leg muscle, and through the power of meditation, she successfully willed the pain right out of her leg. Along the same lines, there were even times when I felt sick and continuously repeated to myself, “You won’t puke you won’t puke you won’t puke,” and never got sick. My coach taught me the mind is a very powerful tool. I think it’s possible to use this mental agility to not only heal thyself, but aid in your trip to the next adventure.

My friend Pascual lost his grandparents two weeks apart of each other. I believe his grandmother passed first, followed by his grandfather. At the time of the first passing, Pascual’s grandfather was completely healthy. When he entered the hospital, it was completely out of the blue, because he showed no signs of an approaching health complication of any kind. I remember talking to Pascual about it, and he diagnosed his grandpa death as the result of a broken heart. He lost the love if his life, and possibly willed himself to the next horizon. Is it possible he didn’t want to go on, knowing he had done everything he wanted to with his life, and with his partner gone, he spoke to the universe, and the universe took him away?

I like to believe everything in this world can be explained logically or scientifically, even if the cause and effect haven’t been discovered yet. Death can be as random as the lottery, but there are strong connections in this universe; powers we possess which we are all not aware of. When the reaper approaches, he gives us fair warning. Whether it’s the person moving on, or the family and friends being left behind. It’s up to us to see the signs and listen to the stories, and make sure we take the time to listen and cherish the few experiences we have left.

Here's to lowering caskets of old friends… Choice and consequence… We'll birth a new day with the death of an old…

A Letter To Anyone Who Cares, Written While I Listen To Alexisonfire

2011-02-11T23:15:00.000-08:00

[Fuck they are a great band.]

Dear Poor Decision Maker,

After being there through all the heartache, and witnessing all the bullshit you went through, why would you insert yourself back in that situation? It doesn’t make sense to me. The only thing worse is he could’ve had your parents killed. I don’t know if it’s a permanent thing or not, but still. I’m not judging your feelings, or any decisions you choose to make regarding your future. I’m not innocent enough to judge. God forbid I, of all people, tell someone not to follow their heart. I consider myself to be a forgiving soul, but you have a heart the side of Asia to jump that hurdle.

What really upsets me is how you introduced him into an environment you were invited into by someone who saved you at your time of dying. We were all there, and I know we all feel betrayed. To be upset with the person who took you in because the guest you brought is not welcome there is unforgiveable. You have no right. You know how much hate we all have for that boy because of what he did.

I’ve seen a change in you this past year; one I don’t fault you for. I believe it all stemmed from being tossed into a hurricane of emotion and not really knowing where you were going to end up once the clouds cleared. I can sympathize with that scenario. When someone is put to the test like that, the best outcome is to grow and learn and become better, faster, stronger than your previous self. Sadly, I feel you make have gone slightly in the other direction, and knowing he is most likely the cause of it, brings up new resentment knowing he has reentered your life.

Like I stated earlier, I am a firm believer in forgiveness when it is deserved. However, so little time has passed since the infraction, he hasn’t time himself to grow and learn from his major mistakes. He is no greater than I am, and the demons he possesses aren’t easily scared away, and it took me two separate years of growth to be the great member of the social society I am today.

All I can say for now is good luck. I’m not sure if I can be there standing and watching as this goes down. I hope the change you seek has come to be.

Signed with Much Love,

Ursus Rex

I stay in time and watch you pass by… I draw this line and hope you’ll take my side… You shouldn’t have to fight alone… It’s nobody’s battle but your own…

Fully Collapsed

2011-02-03T13:01:00.000-08:00

There are times you and your friends sit, reminiscing about the good old days and all the fun you had. There was the first trip to Tahoe, the limo ride from Tiki Bob’s to West Chester, and the time you busted in on your friend having sex. But then there are moments and experiences, which rip you from your current reality, totally placing your brain right back there, allowing you to relive the amazing moment again. One week ago I experienced one of these space-time continuum-bending moments.

I went to a concert. But not just any concert: it was the ten-year anniversary of the release of an album, which completely sent my life askew. Thursday’s FULL COLLAPSE. And the boys from New Brunswick played each delicious track from start to finish.

[Not to short change either of the other two acts I witnessed that night; Animals As Leaders is like listening to an epic movie soundtrack. You want to storm the castle and take on the whole Uruk-hai nation (look it up) while being bombarded by dueling eight-string guitars and a punishing drum section. Something so simple making the earth shake with the power of a thousand Orc armies. And Underoath constantly uping the ante with each year they are in existence, tearing through the rooms ear drums leaving each concert with a little less aural power. They are slowly perfecting their brand of metal, being led by the strongly poetic lyrics of Spencer Chamberlain, who is slowly becoming my favorite front man.]

The drums beats of “Understanding In A Car Crash” were the first thing to catch my ear. I remember stumbling through the dorm room on the second floor of St. George Hall. MTV2 was playing in the background as I packed my bag, preparing for my day of classes after an especially brutal morning workout. I almost tripped over the hand-me-down couch acting as the centerpiece of the living space I shared with my best friend Todd.

I heard the “snap-snap” of Tucker Rule’s snare drum, followed by musical chaos, reminiscent of At The Drive-In’s “Relationship Of Command” for which I discovered earlier that year. I had to stop and listen and watch the video; I needed to figure out what the name of the band performing on Todd’s television. I remember sitting there so intently, mesmerized by the live video. I couldn’t miss the info that would inevitably pop up on the bottom left of the screen, and inevitably change my personal musical landscape forever. I also recall this was the first time I really related to a band, on a personal level. The guys in Thursday weren’t gods who were out of reach to the common man, but rather average people my own age, playing music I love. I was listening to peers.

Until last night, looking back at the last ten years and at how much of this world I traversed (both physically and metaphorically), I never realized how much an affect this album had on me. To remember where I was when I first heard it and see where I am now. Growing and evolving along side the band and the music they have produced over the last decade.

Full Collapse dropped at a time in my college career when I was trying to figure out who I was, what I believed in, and Thursday steered me in the right direction, introducing me to a world void of major labels and the shit music and fashion sense being shoved down our throats. Each time I entered a new stage in my life, Thursday seemed to release a new album of post-hardcore goodness. Over the last ten years, I have changed both internally and externally. Still, through each major era in my existence, there was always one constant: Thursday and Full Collapse.

And I always go back…

Full Collapse

Released: April 10, 2001 on Victory Records

Track Listing:

1. A0001

2. Understanding In A Car Crash

3. Concealer

4. Autobiography Of A Nation

5. A Hole In The World

6. Cross Out The Eyes

7. Paris In Flames

8. I Am The Killer

9. Standing On The Edge Of Summer

10. Wind Up

11. How Long Is The Night?

12. i1100

It's the sound of your racing heart… That beats in time with every start… That reaches up and across the sky… It makes you want to rise…

These Go To Eleven

2011-01-10T23:55:00.000-08:00

I can easily say 2010 was the most interesting year of my life. It was definitely a year of polar extremes. I found out where my rock bottom was, but at the same time, it was the happiest year of my life. It was a year of change: two of my basic ideas I had about the direction I wanted to take my life flipped (a relation to my happiness). There were things and experiences in my life I never planned on happening, and now I want these things more than anything. It was a year where I saw my relationships alter. I made a lot of new friends, a few of which I am now very close with; I had a few friendships tested, seeing just how strong the ties we built were, and we either became closer or we slipped; and sadly I lost a few friends, either by choice, deception, or the natural fade into the oblivion.

After looking back at what I hoped to accomplish in 2010, I feel I did a pretty good job.

1) Run a marathon.

I have spoke at length about this in two prior posts, which you can check out here and here. I still can’t believe I ran one, and as I write this (and hopefully you read this) I am nine weeks out from marathon number two. I ran a few other races in there, a half-marathon, a few 10k’s, and a 5K or two. I am happy to say I am in the best shape I’ve been in since college.

2) Break my routine and try new things.

Check number two. Thanks in part to someone very important, I was taken out of my comfort zone several times. The biggest way I did this was by moving out of The Hotel. I got my own one-bedroom apartment, still in Venice. I was really scared to move out; I have never lived anywhere else since I’ve moved to Los Angeles, but I knew it was time. My biggest fear lies with the fact I have never lived alone. I have always had roommates, had someone to bullshit with when I came home from work. I wasn’t sure I could handle the silence. Strangely, after about two days in my new place, it felt like home. I still have moments where I get a bit of cabin fever and reach out to anyone I can find to talk to, but for the most part, I’m enjoying my own space.

3) Stop taking the beach for granted.

Well, this one could go either way. I only made it out in the water a few more times than last year, but I definitely made sure to utilize more than the ocean. I ran along the beach as much as humanly possible. I went and walked the boardwalk and said hello to friends at the skatepark and friends working at the bars and enjoyed what little nice weather we had. And I drank up and took photos of as many beautiful sunsets as I could.

4) Learn a musical instrument.

This is one I added by accident last year. I had an acquaintance teach me the basics about reading tab and I’ve been slowly teaching myself to play bass guitar. I had to take a few weeks off when I got hit by a car while riding my bike. I’m by no means a musician, but I can play a few songs start to finish, and it’s a cool way to kill some time.

2011

This past year I was definitely pushed to the extreme, both mentally and physically. I only hope what I learned this past year about my self, and the world around me, will help me grow in this coming year.

1) Make it back home more.

Sadly, with the price of flights and the airlines doing everything possible to make it awful to travel, this isn’t something I can start doing on a monthly basis. However, it would be nice to make it back more than just at Xmas. I’d like to make it back in the spring, maybe for my sister’s birthday or for the Dad Vail Regatta. It would nice to be in Philadelphia when the weather is nice out. There is also a “Row For The Cure” in October, which a few of my college teammate participate in. I do “Race For The Cure” every fall, and it might be cool to raise money for breast cancer in a different way for a change.

2) Cook more meals.

I got in the habit of eating healthy over the last few years, but sometimes that consisted of cooking simple meals. Last year I started off cooking a few nights a week very healthy meals for Lindsey and myself, and I loved it. Towards the end of the year, I slacked off in the good meal department. I already started cooking good meals, with veggies and proteins, and damn I missed cooking. I love cooking, and I like to think I am damn good at it.

3) Stick with the not drinking.

Part of what I think is keeping me as healthy as I am, is my lack of alcohol intake. I slipped a few times and I paid for it. My addictive personality kicked in and boy howdy, was it bad. I did a few stupid things again, and I don’t want to do that ever. I like who I am without booze, and I know I am a better man without it. Being the designated driver is a pretty good time; another way I can make sure I put my friends first. Also, I really don’t miss having hangovers.

4) Stay positive.

I got down on myself a lot this past year, and those of you closest to me know why. I’m at heart a very positive person, and as much as I tried to keep my personal shit from affecting those around me, somehow I don’t seem to very good at it. I need to take whatever is negative in my head and transform it into a fire up my ass.

5) Super secret resolution.

One last thing I want to do this year is something I need to tackle on my own. It’s not like an inner demon, nothing of that sort. I’ve taken a great deal of myself and put it into something this past year, something I believe greatly in. I need to figure out how to deal with it, whatever that means.

Watch it all change and watch it go away… Watch it all never be the same again… Watch it all, all be nothing like we thought before…

If You Need Bail Money, Give Me A Call

2010-12-30T21:00:00.000-08:00

In the last few weeks, I began posting on Facebook something called a “Random Start”. It’s an idea I stole from Riley Breckinridge’s blog Hermitology. Basically, my reason behind beginning this mostly-daily ritual was three-fold: to hopefully reintroduce myself to some of the music on my iPod I may have become estranged from, to maybe reintroduce some of my friends and followers to a band they have forgotten about, and finally (and maybe the most important reason) was to get myself writing again. I’ve slacked a bit in the creative writing department this year. (Honestly, I think somewhere along the line I lost my muse.) I noticed how RB writes a little bit each day about his “Random Start,” and thought it was a good way to get my creative juices flowing, even if it’s merely a quick little thought.

Since I began, twice (haha Thrice) Pearl Jam started my day. When “Faithful”, the second Seattle wake up call happened, it brought me back to my first Pearl Jam concert experience.

It was the summer of 2005 and I had recently begun working on Hack, my first paying job. The show took place at Hershey Stadium, and my good friend Suzanne was my partner in crime.

I have a strict concert policy I like to follow: No alcohol in my body. I don’t like to drink at shows. I get enough of a rush feeding off the energy of the live show and I want to remember every inch of what happens on stage. When I attended punk and hardcore shows, I didn’t want anything to impede my coordination as I crashed around in the pit. Suzanne begged and pleaded for me to go and buy some booze. After an intense verbal struggle, against my better judgment, I gave in and we went and bought 40s. See, Sue was a month shy of her twenty-first birthday, so I was the one of responsible drinking age who could legally make the purchase.

Hershey used to allow the occasional tailgating. I, trying to keep things as low key as possible, made sure were came prepared to the parking lot. We had opaque Y100 plastic cups and kept our bottles in a small cooler under a blanket on the floor of the backseat of my car.

We had a great time hanging out in the field turned parking lot across the street from the stadium. While we were drinking our first 40, we noticed a group of high school kids across the lane having a grand old time with a beer pong. At one point, two of the boys ventured out among the cars, presumably to track down other friends. Upon their return, Sue yelled to them, asking if they were two of the guys with the bong. They confirmed her suspicion and invited her to join. She declined, but not before a bicycle cop rolled up on the situation. Now is where the fun begins.

The cop makes the four of us line up and present our IDs. I, being legal, handed my driver’s license over no problem. They came Sue’s turn. I looked over and she was almost in tears. Damnit, I forgot: a month shy of turning twenty-one. The two other guys admitted to being underage right off the bat. Now, to the competent observer, you could easily draw the conclusion those two guys were not with us. They were yelling at us from several cars away. But no, this cop [read: pig] completely ignored the facts and began to ask me, rather condescendingly, why I would buy beer for my extremely young friends. My reply was simply the truth: “I don’t know those guys at all and I didn’t buy them anything.”

Officer Shitdick, “Bullshit, Don’t lie to me. I’m a cop. You know them.”

Oh, so we’re gonna play that game. I explained to the officer several times I didn’t know them, never met them, and in fact, still don’t know them. Literally seconds before he rolled up on his high horse, I didn’t even know they existed. Hell, I never even spoke to them. He didn’t buy it. Sue tried to explain it to him. The two high school kids explained it to him. Nope, still didn’t believe us. Finally, a second, female, officer rolled up on the scene and butted in. Lucky for me, she was a very nice woman who listened to my side of the story, and believed me. I think she assumed Sue and I were dating and wouldn’t be hanging out with younger kids anyway.

Seeing he was temporarily defeated, the first cop pulled me aside and began in on me again.

“Now obviously you and this chick here are here together, and since she is under age, you bought the booze for her.’ I agreed with his statement. I figured he saw our licenses and would give Sue and me a free pass since she was so close to being legal. Nope, wrong again Mallick. I always forget how much the law enforcement in Pennsylvania loves me. He started to threaten me with a thousand dollar fine and the possibility of three months in jail.

Oh, look, it’s my turn to roll the dice.

During his threatening speech, my cell phone rang. It was Josh Richards. I proceeded to cut him off and told him I needed to take this call. He stood there in complete shock, mouth agape, just cutting him off. Josh had called me, forgetting I was home for the weekend and not around to hang out in Philly for the night. I explained to him the situation which was unfolding. He laughed, and said to me, “Well buddy, if you need bail money, give me a call.” What a great friend. Love that man.

I went back to the cop, who had reteamed up with his female counterpart, and he was explaining to Sue the consequences of her actions. The male cop asked me who called. I told him it was my boss. “I hope you don’t get fired for getting arrested.”

“Nah, actually he thought it was pretty funny. I worked in television man. I could get busted with a pound of coke, and no one would give a shit.” I was so over this guy trying to belittle me with his inflated head. I then proceeded to have a lengthy discussion with the female cop about my job, getting all chummy. As it turned out, Hack was one of her favorite shows. She ended up giving me what was left of the high schooler’s beer; like a case and a half of Bass (who bongs Bass Ale?! amateurs) and their bong. All while the male stood there, fuming.

I walked away pretty unscathed from the whole situation. I got fined a hundred and fifty bucks and was charged with, and I quote, “Creating a situation that served no legitimate purpose.” That’s actually something pretty funny to have on my record. Sue got the worst of it: a couple hundred-dollar fine and a loss of her driver’s license for six months.

The moral of the story: most cops are dicks, but there are those few, wonderful little loopholes, which let you go with a slap on the wrist. Also, it gave me another really entertaining story to tell people.

Belief in the game, controls that keep us in a box of fear… We never listen…

Failure Leaves Such A Bitter Taste In My Mouth*

2010-12-09T12:31:00.001-08:00

“What would school have been like if you never had to worry about getting an F? Students at West Potomac High School in Alexandria, Va., are about to find out…”

A few days ago, I came across this article by Mira Jacob on Yahoo and it really got under my skin. To give you a summary of what is taking place in Virginia, school officials have done away with the standard failing mark, the “F”, and replaced with the letter “I” for incomplete. The argument the article is trying to address is if this is “…an inspired move to get those marginal students on track and learning, or just another way in which we’re coddling underachieving kids and hobbling the rest [.]”

I think we’re coddling the little fuckers. Failure should be an option.

Back in the day when I swam for the once glorious Mountain View Crawdads (my summer league team) there was a rule in the league stating if you team lost every meet, they were to move down a division. On the contrary, if you won every meet, your team advanced to a higher echelon. There has to be consequences on both sides of the spectrum to give incentive and make kids work towards goals.

There should be a threat of failure; no child likes to be left back. My junior year of high school, I almost failed my Honors history class; history was not my strongest subject by far. By the end of my first quarter, my teach informed me I should drop the honors class and take the standard Academic level course. I didn’t want to leave the entertaining and more advanced learning of the Honors level course, but at the same time, failing would have been a huge blemish on my academic career. This fear forced me to sit down and read my notes over every night; I rewrote every page of my notes until I remembered every word that was taught to me that day. I sat down with my folks and had them quiz me every night. It was probably the hardest I ever worked for any type of class in my life, high school or college. And by the time mid-terms came around, I was back on track, scoring “A’s” in the class.

By telling student if they fail, there is a chance to fix it, you’re teaching them a skewed life lesson. If I didn’t have the fear from my teacher, I might never have worked as hard as I did. I believe the notion of failure in a child’s development shows them life isn’t fair, that you have to work hard if you want to get ahead in this world. If students believe they don’t have to be their best to move on to the next grade, and there’s is always time to fix things, there will be no sense of urgency to better them selves.

If a student is really have trouble keeping up, the school should have different education levels. At Bishop McDevitt, where I did my time, there were three different tracks: Honors for the more advanced students, Academic for the average kids, and Basic for those who might have a little trouble grasping the material. I’m not saying one level is better than another. Everyone learns differently. This system gives students who absorb knowledge differently, options.

There is a flip side to my argument however, because of course, the world isn’t black and white. The problem is the threat almost gives you the feeling that if you mess up, your whole life is over. Parents and teachers like to stress that every decision and choice you make early in school has a rippling effect on your success in life and your career. This is obviously not the case.

I was asked at age fourteen, in my freshman Algebra class, what I wanted to do with my life. I needed to know, so I could plan the rest of my math and science courses correctly to be advanced enough before going away to college. I said I was interested in computers, so I had to make sure I took multiple math classes sophomore year, then I could take this other math class junior year, to make sure I was in Calculus and some other intense math class by my senior year. I hated math; I didn’t want to do that much math. So I said to my Algebra teacher, and I quote, “That’s a lot of math. Eh, screw it, I’ll work in television.” (Luckily, my teacher was a sexist drunk who had more heart attacks than letters in his name, so I didn’t get in trouble for saying screw it.)

You’ll never hear me say this again, but I think a little bit of fear does kids a favor. Learning from one’s mistakes and failure is priceless. The value of learning from losing is one lesson everyone should learn.

Be still and know that they won't lie to you every single time you're facing lies…

[*Easily one of my favorite song lyrics of all time.]

Within A Mile Of Home

2010-11-26T16:53:00.000-08:00

The staff of The Hotel arrived in Venice five and a half years ago, during the summer of 2005. When it came time for Thanksgiving, the three of us decided it would be better to stay in Los Angeles for the holiday. We invited old friends and new friends and hosted our very first Hotel Homeless Thanksgiving – a celebration for all those who either couldn’t go home to family or decided against to sit down and eat a very large meal.

As a joke, I put together a call sheet listing the day’s schedule and what everyone was bringing, in case any of our attendees didn’t know what was happening that day. It worked out pretty well and the meal and the event was a complete success. Johnny and I basted the turkey a little too much, and the pan overflowed and caused the gas stove to smoke up something fierce. We couldn’t even see a foot in front of our faces the smoke was so thick. This began the tradition of Johnny, Roger, and I hosting Thanksgiving every year since (the call sheet has since gone the way of the dodo). Every year we have had different dishes, different attendees, and different after meal activities, but there was always one constant: one giant as turkey. Johnny hunts down the biggest turkey possible, with no regard to how many people were actually going to partake.

Traditions begin and end every year. Grandparents pass away, children move, relationships change – there are many reasons why traditions are born and die. For us, it was to save money since we had only recently moved into the new apartment. Tradition is a funny thing, especially when you watch one change. Every year on Xmas eve, my family eats the same seven-course meal. It’s steeped in Polish religious tradition. Sadly, once my grandmother moves on, the meal might not be cooked again, being replaced with different foods, with the single remaining bond being that we all sit down together as an extended family and enjoy each other’s company and gorge ourselves until we pass out watching ELF.

This was the last Thanksgiving with all three original members still living under the same roof. However, the tradition we all share, gorging ourselves to the point of paralysis, will most definitely continue on. Nothing can replace the fun we have waking up early to lather up a thirty pound bird with fake butter, sitting around watching football all day, baking dairy-free pumpkin pie, and making dirty jokes involving a thawed out turkey neck. The tradition may alter itself in someway, maybe the location, or one of us will have a family, but the central core ritual will always remain.

May your day be filled with a full stomach, the love of family, and company of friends.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody.

But take my advice; you'll have to bury me twice ‘cause the first time I won't rest easily… But don't let die still wondering what it was I left behind…

More Than Flashing Lights And Sound

2010-10-31T23:50:00.000-07:00

(I started this piece back in September, but due to my emotional connection to this piece, it took me a little time to finish)

November 27, 1980 – September 19, 2001.

Nine years ago I lost my best friend – Alexander Randolph Spotts.

Around two in the morning, Alex decided to head home from a mutual friend’s house. He made a bad decision. He drove drunk. While on Devonshire Heights Road, he lost control of his Chevrolet Cavalier and slammed into a tree. The engine from his car was pushed up onto Alex’s chest where he slowly bled to death. He was pronounced dead at 4:58 A.M., dying less than a mile from my parents’ house. It is unknown if he was awake or unconscious during the hours the engine was resting upon my friend.

A few weeks before he died, Alex called with two tickets to see Stone Temple Pilots. Throughout high school, I rarely went to a show without him. This time I passed because I made the stupid mistake of going out on date with a really shitty girl. It was a completely forgettable person, and I say that because I honestly to this day couldn’t tell you her name.

I vividly remember the moment I found out about Alex. It was junior year of college. I was living in St. Theresa Court, which was at that point in La Salle’s history, the most “remote” part of campus. Around eight-thirty at night, I decided to call my good friend Suzanne to ask if she wanted to join me for lunch the following day. (Sue went to high school with me, so she knew Alex. She joined me at LSU, where I convinced her to join the rowing team. You’re welcome!)

Anyway, I called… When she realized it was me, she asked, “Oh hey, are you calling about Alex dying?”

“Excuse me?” I replied.

“Oh, you didn’t kno…” she trailed off.

I was walking out of the kitchen, where I froze mid-step. I was speechless. I lost all sense and went numb all over. I almost dropped the phone. I didn’t believe her. I spent the next hour calling every one I could think of to find out if it was true. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. It was.

As if the news and stories surrounding the passing of my friend wasn’t enough, when I got ahold of one of my best girlfriend’s Jenna (who was also a dear friend of Alex), I discovered her mom had passed away the same day. She went into the hospital for dehydration where she mysteriously passed away when her lungs willed with blood and she drowned.

I lost my best friend and my best friend’s mom the same night.

I spent the remainder of the night sitting on the couch, clutching my legs sitting upright in the fetal position. A 3 Doors Down concert was playing on MTV (I was in shock). Eventually I tried to get some sleep, but it was pointless. I laid on staring at the bunk bed above me, fighting off tears, trying to think of anything besides what had transpired that evening.

Not to push off any of what happened with Jenna’s mom, but I definitely felt the affects of Alex’s passing much more. In fact, nine years later, I still get upset each year as his anniversary begins to roll around. I'm still not over his death. I can't seem to forgive myself for missing out on that last chance to spend time with him.

Alex was an amazing friend because we always brought out the best in each other. He was the instigator; he was the spontaneous one and often made me do things very uncharacteristic of myself. (We used to get our folks to call us both in sick on the same day, and then when they left for work, we'd ride our bikes to the music store.) In his memory, each year on his anniversary I try to do something great, something which breaks the monotony of my life, something inspiring because he’s not with me to experience it himself. I also like to spend this time with someone, who is extremely important to me. I want them know how important they are to me; I would never want to miss out on the opportunity to tell those vital people the affect they have on me and my life.

I’m a lucky guy. I have a fuck ton of amazing friends in my life, and I always try to do right by them. My friends come first, and they always will.

Late night, brakes lock, hear the tires squeal… Red light, can't stop so I spin the wheel… My world goes black before I feel an angel steal me from the greedy jaws of death and chance, and pull me in with steady hands…

Transcendental Consequence

2010-08-28T15:12:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while since I’ve written. I really have no excuse; only I haven’t found anything I really wanted to post about. I was going to rant a bit about the evils of Las Vegas a few weeks back, but the piece I began writing somehow went missing, so I abandoned the endeavor.

I turned twenty-nine this year, a pretty random birthday for someone who spends a month celebrating this yearly landmark. This year, I had the pleasure of spending my birthday holiday with both my dad and my sister. I’m so close to being thirty, a major milestone in anyone’s life. I can’t wait to reach it. I did however take a moment, like I do from time to time, and look at where I am in the universe.

In a previous post I mentioned how I have finally discovered myself. However, during the last year, I seem to have forgotten who you are as a person is continually in flux. I know who I am at my core, but the person as a whole, will always be a work in progress. Obviously, the person I was in high school is not the same person I was in college, and that person is far from the person you meet now.

I’m a runner now. I’ve done a marathon, and continue to race any chance I get. I ran a 10K in Culver in June. I plan on doing a half marathon in October, most likely in Long Beach. If you would have asked me ten years ago if I even wanted to go for a run, I wouldn’t cringed. Now I go out for an hour and don’t think twice.

Among the personal changes I’ve discovered this past year is I realized something I believed very strongly in, has now changed. Stuff I've adamantly written about here I no longer adhere to. I like to think it’s a positive change.

The main revolution came when I met someone who I saw spending the rest of my life with, even wanting to marry. A situation I never thought I would find myself in, let alone even considering. (Although others apparently knew I wanted it all along.) I realized the option of marriage could be a possibility in my life. I also now understand opening yourself that much to a person, especially if things don’t work out, can really destroy you. It almost makes me want to guard myself more, even if it means holding back on letting a significant other in.

I hope I’m wrong about this situation, and I hope I can find happiness with this person again. I’ve always been of the school that if you believe in something strong enough, life will steer itself in that direction.

Last year when I settled on who I’ve finally become as a person, the person I always wanted to be, the person I am completely happy with, I guess I lost perspective and became lazy. I need to continue learning and striving to become a better person. It took someone else to remind me and reinvigorate me to explore life again. I’ve grown as a person a great deal recently, and I have this person to thank.

Sometimes it’s hard for people to forget who you used to be, and sometimes they don’t like the idea of that person going away. I know friends from home who always want me to be that lunatic who took on any dare, regardless of consequences. They want me to tell them every sordid detail of my relationships, while I’m the person who likes to keep stuff like that between myself and whoever I am with. Maybe I lost a little of my edge. Maybe I'm just growing up

I thought I knew who I was. I lived for myself, always strived to make myself better. If I only take away one thing in my twenty-ninth year, it’s that I learned to live for someone else and because of this person I grew exponentially.

In the great words of Abed from Community: “When you really know who you are and what you like about yourself, changing for other people isn't such a big deal.”

I guess it’s nobody’s fault now but my own...

Epitaph Reissues REFUSED: The Shape Of Punk That Came

2010-06-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

The following is an article in today's LA TImes. Refused's "The Shape Of Punk To Come" is easily my favorite album of all time. Epitaph has seen fit on this great day in history, to re-release this seminal album with a whole bunch of extras. If you've been living in a cave the last twelve years, read this great piece by August Brown on the band and the album which changed the punk rock landscape.

Refused wasn't the first punk band to incorporate drum machines and synthesizers (that would be Suicide), nor the first to turn hard-core's regimented song structures inside out (that would be the Minutemen). But they were the first to very seriously suggest that both of those things belonged in stadiums of thousands.

Released in 1998, "The Shape of Punk to Come" was as sonically ambitious as its title was fantastically arrogant. The album didn't just make room for free-jazz breakdowns, glitchy sampler wrangling and scalpel-sharp guitar interplay alongside Refused's noise detonations -- they made them inseparable and necessary to each other. But even more unexpectedly, the end result wound up sounding absolutely huge, maybe even with the potential of a "Nevermind" to bring brutal, innovative music to a very mainstream audience.

A three-disc reissue of "Shape," out today on Epitaph, underscores that potential, sadly never fully realized as the band broke up soon thereafter. "New Noise" still feels like a jock jam for Marxist eco-terrorists, "Summerholidays vs. Punkroutine" takes the dry-cleaned guitar licks of ESG and gives them Fugazi's fangs. The great irony of hard core is that, at heart it's an orthodox, conservative genre, and Refused was one of the few bands in that tradition that could capably upend it.

But the package's extras add some necessary context as to why Refused was both special and sort of doomed. The accompanying live album finds the band just demolishing a festival in its hometown of Umea, Sweden, while the accompanying documentary "Refused Are F- Dead" has a title as prophetic as that of "Shape." Ambitions like theirs often comes in a difficult personality, and singer Dennis Lyxzen is as flinty in person as his band is on record (and the band's members seem to know what fate awaits them the whole time).

That said, let this completely essential reissue be a hint to Paul Tollett's reunion-alchemy department that they would be really, really nice to have at Coachella 2012.

A naive young secret for the new romantics... We express ourselves in loud and fashionable ways...

Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums

2010-05-20T15:00:00.000-07:00

I want to tell you about Anarchism.

I want to tell you what Anarchism is, because I think it is well you should know it. Also because so little is known about it, and what is known, is generally hearsay and mostly false.

I want to tell you about it, because I believe that Anarchism is the finest and biggest thing man has ever thought of; the only thing that can give you liberty and well-being, and bring peace and joy to the world.

I want to tell you about it in such plain and simple language that there will be no misunderstanding it. Big words and high sounding phrases serve only to confuse. Straight thinking means plain speaking.

But before I tell you what Anarchism is, I want to tell you what it is not…

It is not bombs, disorder, or chaos.
It is not robbery and murder.
It is not a war of each against all.
It is not a return to barbarism or to the wild state of man.

Anarchism is the very opposite of all that.
Anarchism means that you should be free; that no one should enslave you, boss you, rob you, or impose upon you.
It means that you should be free to do the things you want to do; and that you should not be compelled to do what you don't want to do.
It means that you should have a chance to choose the kind of a life you want to live, and live it without anybody interfering.
It means that the next fellow should have the same freedom as you, that every one should have the same rights and liberties.
It means that all men are brothers, and that they should live like brothers, in peace and harmony.

That is to say, that there should be no war, no violence used by one set of men against another, no monopoly and no poverty, no oppression, no taking advantage of your fellow-man.

In short, Anarchism means a condition or society where all men and women are free, and where all enjoy equally the benefits of an ordered and sensible life.

“Can that be?” you ask. “And how?”
“Not before we all become angels,” your friend remarks.

Well, let us talk it over. Maybe I can show you that we can be decent and live as decent folks even without growing wings.

(Alexander Berkman, Now and After: The ABC of Communist Anarchism)

One of my biggest pet peeves is people assuming since I don’t align myself with republican ideals that I'm a democrat. I’d like to set the record straight: I'm not a democrat. I think democrats are just as idiotic and awful politicians as republicans. In the great words of Lewis Black, “Democrats are a party of no ideas and Republicans are a party of bad ideas.” I’ve even become disgusted using the term “liberal” to describe myself anymore because of the lazy, hippy-ish type of people it now refers to.

It is my belief the United States needs to do away with the two party system, or at least incorporate a few more parties into the system. There are great political principles in other parties besides the big two. We need to be more like England or Canada in elections. It would be nice to see an election between more than the two parties who have the most monetary backing. I’m not political science major, but there should be a way to even the playing field; it might be something as simple as limiting the campaign season to one month like England, instead of our year-plus campaign trail.

I was a strong opponent again the “never-truly-elected-president” Bush. In this last election, I was against McCain, but not because he was running on the Republican ticket, but rather because I didn’t agree with a number of his policies. (I can give the guy some props too for taking time to appear on “The Daily Show” and holding his own.) Now, Obama was a better candidate compared to McCain, but not necessarily the candidate I wanted to run my country. He had a few policies I didn’t agree with either (ahem, healthcare). I didn’t vote for either one due to the simple fact I didn't really want either to run our country (I wanted Ron Paul to win). I don’t want you to think I wish any ill will on Obama or his presidential term. It is great to see an African-American in the White House. I think it's a huge milestone in our nation's history and I can get behind what he stands for and represents.

When it all comes down to it, personally I don't think it matters who wins. The president is a puppet who has lobbyists and billion dollar companies calling the shots. We should as citizens of this nation take a step back and look at our political system and realize maybe the type of president isn’t the change we need, but maybe the change is in our political system as a whole.

Disconnect and self-destruct one bullet at a time… What’s your hurry, everyone will have his day to die…

My Favorite Albums Of 2009

2010-04-30T09:41:00.000-07:00

It’s that time of year again folks. It’s coming in way late, but due to last year’s lack of income, many of the albums I wanted to get under my listening belt didn’t make their way into my collection until early this year.

2009 was an amazing year for music. Many of the artists I listen to put out very inspiring albums this year, so narrowing my list down was a little more difficult than last year.

You may notice there are a few more popular acts not on my list. Rise Against’s “Appeal To Reason” is a decent album, but so far the least impressive in their catalogue. Hey, even Bad Religion put out an average album over their thirty-year history. Green Day’s “21st Century Breakdown” is a piece of shit. Easily the worst album they have put out; it’s almost as if the band members hoped their fans would forgive a sub-par album after their innovative “American Idiot.” I’ve been told the songs on the album make more sense when you go see the play based on “American Idiot,” but standing alone, it sounds like a group of junior high students wrote this album. It killed me not to put Kill Hannah’s “Wake Up The Sleepers”, Poison The Well’s “The Tropic Rot”, and CKY’s “Carver City” (which are all great albums) on the list, but after going over them several times, I feel like there was one little thing missing. To reiterate, there is nothing sub-par with these albums, I just didn’t feel like they stood out like the rest.

Much like last year, a couple of albums I listened to immediately caught my ear and rocked my mind, while a few others took a couple of spins to recognize their genius. This year I’m going to do things a little different. I’m going to give you a little review of each album on my list, supplying a little insight as to why they made my list, culminating with the runner up and album of the year. So without and further adieu, here are my choices for my favorite albums of 2009.

Whole Wheat Bread – “Hearts Of Hoodlums”

Utilizing the raw energy and cultural background these three African-American musicians bring to the table, WWB have released one of the best punk albums I’ve listened to in a very long time. Combining the spirit of Bad Brains with a slice of southern rap, WWB have changed the landscape of classic punk music. Instead of combining these two differing styles, WWB simply compose both style songs independently of each other, seamlessly bouncing back and forth between the two styles. Also, “Bombs Away” is easily the strongest opening track on any of the albums I will talk about this year.

P.O.S. – “Never Better”

P.O.S. does it again, pushing the boundary of what true hip-hop is. Flaunting his punk roots, within the first three minutes of “Never Better", P.O.S. takes stabs at the government, laughs at the recession, uses Macho Man as a verb, references The Dude, and shout-outs to his crew and his label. Like always, P.O.S. not only breaks the mold, but also shows the worlds of punk and hip-hop were never made in one.

Silverstein – “A Shipwreck In The Sand”

The last, great screamo band. I give Shane Told props for taking a massive creative step, penning the bands first concept album. Two paralleling stories weave through the album, one of a crew set sail on a course for the new world before getting lost at sea, and one about a family losing it’s dream of living in America when their house burns down. Silverstein does an amazing job writing aggressive and poetic music, bringing out the true emotion of the characters in the story.

Thrice – “Beggars”

I saw Thursday play last fall at the Glasshouse in Pomona. Geoff Rickly mentioned their band has been together for eleven years, equally as long as Thrice, and they promised to keep trekking as long as Thrice did the same. After the interesting concept album(s) “The Alchemy Index”, Thrice is back, pushing their sound to even greater lengths. You notice a definite grown up feel in “Beggars”, but Thrice draws upon a lot of the old emotion you felt on “Illusion of Safety” and “Artist In The Ambulance”. “Beggars” effectively showcases each musician’s talent greatly. If Thrice continues on this way (and brings Thursday along with them), they will definitely go down in history as one of the two greatest bands in the history of post-hardcore.

Alexisonfire – “Old Crows/Young Cardinals”

With three years off since their last effort, Alexisonfire is back as the powerful post-hardcore machine that they are. The one-two-three punch of vocals from George Petit and guitarists Dallas Green and Wade MacNeil has long-elevated Alexisonfire over many of their contemporaries, and “Old Crows” continues this long tradition. The most noticeable difference on this album is George Petit’s voice, which has been switched out from screams to a more grating vocal style. While at first, it’s a big jarring, but after a few spins, you find this new direction very comforting, and honestly, there is no loss of aggression or energy.

Converge – “Axe To Fall”

Hardcore at it’s finest. The melting of hardcore punk and metal, which Converge is known for, has matured greatly both lyrically and musically. Through everything that Converge brings to the table, there is a hint of order and meaning lingering in the background to each and every track, making for a remarkable album.

Every Time I Die – “New Junk Aesthetic”

ETID have done it again. I didn’t think a better, full-on fist pumping metal album could be written after “The Big Dirty”, but the boys from Buffalo pulled another one out of their ass. With each subsequent album, ETID has gotten better and better, and you think they can’t outdo themselves, and each time, they surpass themselves. Something about the energy ETID bring to both stage and album always drives me to thrash and run into a pit like a madmen.

Patton Oswalt – “My Weakness Is Strong”

It’s all there. Everything that made Patton Oswalt one of the best stand-up comedians of the last five years is all well accounted for on his latest album. There are moments of volatile enthusiasm and bewilderment that positively contradict his sense of bitter, aggravated disappointment with himself and the rest of the world around him.

Between The Buried And Me – “The Great Misdirect”

The way Between The Buried And Me composed their latest album is almost symphonic. The composition is divided into movements rather than songs. They followed up their masterpiece “Colors” brilliantly, again showcasing the talent encased within BTBAM. Perfectly balancing beauty with brutality, BTBAM give us another faultless album. It is musically the best album of the year.

RUNNER UP:

Strike Anywhere – “Iron Front”

“Iron Front” brings me back to why I fell in love with punk in the first place. Bursts of pure energy fueled with the type of political lyrics making one want to get up and make a difference; change the world for a better place for future generations. Strike Anywhere have found their niche as a punk powerhouse, and with each album, continue to point out the foibles of our government and society. Lead by Thomas Barnett’s commanding voice, “Iron Front” begins with some harsh Amerikan propaganda, “The blood for your freedom / The horror that you taught to them / To kill all your sheep / In the fold your power fades without control” (Invisible Colony). Strike Anywhere have produced an album, which not only resonates with history, but also gives a new future generation looking for their anthem, a home.

ALBUM OF THE YEAR:

Thursday – “Common Existence”

I had to do it. Honestly, if this album didn’t drop, Strike Anywhere would have easily won this award. With “Common Existence”, Thursday continues to pushes a genre of music forward. Instead of trying to mature with this new album, Thursday went back over their career, and the careers of their peers, and wrote an album which brings it’s listeners back to the classic era of punk and hardcore (and post-hardcore), while still evolving as artists. Thursday has composed their best album since their masterpiece, “Full Collapse”. Geoff Rickly has again written some of the most poetic lyrics of his career. To find the “maturity” in this latest release, the New Jersey quintet branches out to include a powerful political psalm, “Friends In The Armed Forces”, and even invoke the spirit of the legendary eNVy with “Circuits Of Fever.” Even aesthetically, the album artwork is a callback to the model punk cover: simple, black and white, of two nuns walking through construction scaffolding. Thursday has produced the most diverse album of their career, which is at the same time, of the purest albums of their career. “Common Existence” is one of the best arguments I have for Thursday not only being my favorite band, but also one of the greatest bands of all time.

They want to know which side you’re on… But it doesn't matter because we're all being used… To train, to fight… To disregard all human rights…

John Stewart Beats Me Again

2010-04-23T00:11:00.000-07:00

Obviously I am not as timely and on the ball as South Park or The Daily Show. I wanted to write a rant targeting the group Revolution Muslim and their threat against Trey Parker and Matt Stone, but tonight's Daily Show beat me to the punch. Stewart covered every point I wanted to make, and did it in a way more entertaining than I ever could. Enjoy!

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

South Park Death Threats

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show Full Episodes

Political Humor

Tea Party

Booty And The Priest

2010-04-12T13:05:00.000-07:00

This aired on the Daily Show last Wednesday.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Pope Opera

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show Full Episodes

Political Humor

Tea Party

Now, in case you didn’t do all the extra work, here’s the story. The current leader of the Catholic Church, Pope Benedict, prior to his pope-ship, as Cardinal Ratzinger, he was the Vatican official in charge of child molestation cases in the church during the 1990’s. During this time, he refused to dismiss (read: fire) Father Lawrence Murphy, a priest at the St. John's School For The Deaf in St. Francis, Wisconsin. Murphy is known to have molested around two hundred boys between 1950 and 1974. He would call them to his bedroom, or visit them in their dorm beds late at night, jerk them off, and leave. Sometimes, if he felt frisky, he would abuse several boys in one night. Murphy was also known to hear their confession in a second floor walk-in closet in the boy's dorm and molest them there as well.

You’d think once the church found out about such a vast abuse of authority, punishment would be swift. Charges were brought up, but were dropped soon thereafter. Ratzinger looked the other way because of a very touching letter Murphy wrote to Ratzinger saying a trial wasn’t needed because (get this) he already repented for his sins. The Vatican deliberately chose not to act and allowed Murphy to go unpunished before his death in 1998.

Everyone knows I’m not a fan of organized religion, but if believing in a higher power helps you with your life, go for it. But seriously, how does a group like this continue to exist? And more importantly, how is a group like this allowed to exist? Where is the United Nations on this one? And it’s not like this is the first time. Continually priests are being caught for molestation and are moved to different parishes and hidden in new cities. Its mind-blowing crimes of this nature go unpunished. Can’t their tax exemption be retracted? Any secular individual who touches a little kid at the very least gets arrested. If I touch a little boy, my ass goes to jail to be used like a sock puppet.

The Buddha teaches us religion is merely a path to find the truth. Once the truth is obtained, religion is no longer needed. What truth is the Catholic “Church” looking for? I can’t even think of a comical comparison to use here which isn’t completely revolting to my female readers (assuming there is one or two).

Now, priests are coming up to defend Ratzinger and are upset by the media coverage of the case. What the church is most upset about is people finding out about the abuse, not the actual abuse itself. It’s like a wife being more upset with her husband getting caught cheating than the act of adultery. What the fuck?

I was brought up catholic and one of the things I was taught was when I make a mistake, or sin, I need to take responsibility for my actions and whatever punishment I have coming to me. When Ratzinger, now as pope, was confronted with this, you would think he would practice what he preaches. Instead, he merely brushes it aside. How can anyone follow what this man teaches if he doesn’t do it himself? Isn’t that why all your conservatives were upset with Clinton when he was president? Yes, he lied about it, but you couldn’t serve under a president with such a lack of moral fiber?

I am just appalled by this entire situation. Its things like this which make me wonder why anyone would ever wants to be associated with an organization like this. And more and more people are joining every day; either born into families and raised in this potentially hostile environment, or by finding god late in life and signing up. I can continue on with my anger and disgust, but Jon Stewart pretty much conveys the insanity of this event much better than I ever could.

There’s no justice… Just a cause and a cure… And a bounty of suffering… It seems we all endure…

First Place Desire In The Backwards Marathon

2010-03-29T20:29:00.000-07:00

I did it. Crossing the finish line sometime around one o’clock in the afternoon, completing twenty-six point two miles: my first marathon. The sense of accomplishment is indescribable, the array of emotions you go thru over the course of the race, it’s all something I’ve never felt during any other competition, and it’s something I don’t think you can understand until you’ve done it yourself.

However, I didn’t feel as good as I hoped during my marathon. As I stated in my previous post, I felt so ready for this, spending four months preparing, but there are a few factors which I feel inhibited me a bit making me do as well as I hoped.

My typical pre-race routine consists of stretching and meditating while listening to music blasting through my headphones, mentally preparing and getting myself pumped. (I’ve found artists like Rage and Rise Against and Strike Anywhere, bands of a political nature, get me the most energized.) This did not happen.

I had to make a mile trek to the starting line due to the massive back up on the 101/110 freeways trying to get to Dodger Stadium. I missed the start of the race while I was stuck waiting in line for my pre-race constitutional. I had to fight through the runners who had already begun because the first mile of the race was around the stadium and the startling line was in the center of the loop. As expected, my heart-raced, pumping adrenaline through the miles of my mile veins, a feeling I am rather familiar with from my time as a collegiate varsity rower. However, not being able to relax at the starting line before the race messed me up mentally a bit.

Since it was my first marathon, the training regimen was new to me, and I think I tapered a little too much before race day. I felt amazing when my long runs reached distances of up to twenty miles, but because my last week of training never broke the four-mile barrier, I think I lost my distance running edge.

I had to maintain my cool for the first five miles, which I spent fighting through the sixteen-minute pacers, to get to a place where I could get into a rhythm. The field didn’t really open up until about halfway though the course, somewhere around Hollywood and Highland.

My exhaustion kicked in around mile seven or eight, much earlier than I expected and way too early for the amount of training I did. Also, the important night sleep, two days prior to take off, didn’t really go so well and I didn’t sleep well or long enough.

Holy shit did I hit the wall. I was warned the hardest couple of miles usually pop up around the twenty-mile marker. For me it was mile twenty-one: The VA hospital. I needed to stop to use the rest room, and after I couldn’t move again. My knees locked and didn’t want to bend. I had to walk like a quarter mile to get the joints moving again. The fight to get my momentum back was brutal, climbing slowly up hill; the only thoughts in my head were, “Fuck this. I’m never doing this again. This is a once and done deal for me. I’ll finish this, but never again.” I felt like I was running though mud. I wanted to stop and walk and sit and crash right there on the road. I battled my way through mile twenty-two and twenty-three up hill on San Vicente. Our names were on our bibs, so people seeing the dismay on my face, screamed my name and supported me up the last incline.

Then something happened. Mile twenty-four. I was exhausted, beaten up, but not beaten. I made a promise to myself passing under the mile-marker I was going to finish strong, running across the finish line. I don’t know where it came from, but I must have had a secret stash of adrenaline, because my body kicked into gear. I practically sprinted those last two point two miles. I can’t believe my legs carried me the way they did.

After way over four hours of running, with sweat streaming down my face, a look of pure fatigue, my legs burning with lactic acid, and a fist in the air, I crossed the finish line.

I ran passed all six points: Dodger Stadium, City Hall, The Walk of Fame, The Sunset Strip, Rodeo Drive, and the Santa Monica Pier.

I ran from the stadium to the sea.

I ran across the entire city of Los Angeles.

I am still in awe of what I did last weekend. It’s pretty unbelievable and I actually did it. I ran a fucking marathon. The athletes who run them for serious competition, my hat is off to you (the men’s winner did it in a time of like two hours and five minutes which is stupid fast). Anyone who finishes a marathon deserves my upmost respect. It’s an amazing accomplishment, and it takes more dedication and heart than I ever thought possible. I am very proud of myself for going through all of the training and finishing the race. It’s something I never thought I would do, or could ever do.

And, goddamnit it, I want to run another one.

I have worked and will keep working... To keep the tradition of my one true motive in life... Music…

Prequel To The Sequel

2010-03-17T11:56:00.000-07:00

The modern marathon commemorates the soldier Pheidippides running from a battlefield at the site of the town of Marathon, Greece, to Athens in 490 B.C., bringing news of a Greek victory over the Persians. Legend has stated Pheidippides delivered the momentous message "Niki!" (Victory), and then collapsed and died.

During the first Olympic games in 1896, athletes invoked the legend of Pheidippides by completing a 24.85-mile (40,000 meter) run from Marathon Bridge to Olympic stadium in Athens. At the 1908 Olympic Games in London, the marathon distance was changed to 26.2 miles to cover the ground from Windsor Castle to White City Stadium, with the 2.2 miles added on so the race could finish in front of royal family's viewing box. Over the next sixteen years, over extremely heated discussions, the 26.2-mile distance was established as the official marathon distance at the 1924 Olympics in Paris.

This coming Sunday, thanks to my dear, dear friend, Bridget Blitsch, I will be invoking Pheidippides spirit and running in my first marathon.

Let me expound. Four months ago, during my involuntary hiatus from the TV business, Bridget had begun to train for the 2010 Honda sponsored Los Angeles Marathon. Over very few Facebook conversations and threatening text messages, Bridget convinced me to sign up and run along side her during this test of both mental and physical stability. Mind you, she has since (due to work her busy work schedule) withdrawn from the race and I am now running solo, with twenty-five thousand other people.

The last week of November I took my first steps toward completely this life-changing milestone. Training began rather well, however the future of my training was very uncertain. I had only recently begun to run again after about six months on the injured list with a bruised ligament in my right leg. My legs felt strong, but to be safe, I told people, “I plan on running, as long as my leg holds out.”

December arrived and workouts began to grow in length and difficulty. I began planning my trip home for the holidays and preparing for the eight days I would be outside running in the blistering cold of the Pennsylvania winter. I would have to be outside for five of the days I was home, and only one of those days would leave me in the cold for more than an hour. I could handle that. Easy. No problem. That was until I received a call from Joe Capital V to work on his new pilot for Spike TV with Bam and Dunn. Score!! Hiatus over. SHIT! Where’s that calendar? My eight days of training now extended to eight weeks.

I became nervous, recalling the winters from my youth, walking around in the cold for five minutes here or ten there, and thought there was no way in hell I would make it two months, six days a week out in frigid temperature of New York City. I was having second thoughts about the race, my job being first priority. If I couldn’t fit the training in due to long work hours, or sub-zero temperatures, then fuck it, I’m out. Thankfully (read: sarcasm), and I wish I could remember who said it, someone threw the ol’ Dodgeball reference at me: “Well, I mean, if Lance Armstrong could overcome cancer and win seven Tour’s, you should be able to invoke his spirit and make it eight weeks in the cold.” Goddamn it, I was in.

I went at it full force. Every weeknight, no matter how cold, I ran around Brooklyn. Every weekend, no matter how much the wind burned against my face, I crossed the Williamsburg Bridge into Manhattan. No matter how much snow, I walked the mile to the YMCA to do my secondary workouts. I felt stronger and more excited the faster I got, the longer I could run, and the closer I got to my goal.

I spoke to a lot people during my training and they all had awesome stories to tell me. A woman from Canada recalled the twenty-two mile marker of her first marathon when she came upon a woman, straining to make it that last four miles. Her husband, on a bicycle, beside her, cheered her on, “You’re doing great honey. You look beautiful. You look amazing.” The woman was deliriously exhausted already, so much so, she failed to realize she shit herself (that’s right folks, apparently it’s a common happening) and continued to run the race covered in her own excrement.

My dad regaled me with a story from Idaho of an ex-marathoner who ran a race with a number of pros. A fellow runner was hired to sprint ahead of the pack early on in the race, to make sure the professionals didn’t take the race lightly, much like a fake rabbit in dog racing. The normal job of the “rabbit” is to keep the pros on their toes (I rhymed, damnit) and die off somewhere around midpoint. Well apparently, the professionals, knowing about the hired gun, decided to take it easy and wait for him to quit. He never did. He sprinted the entire length of the course, winning the prize money, and embarrassing the professional runners.

Now here I am, five days out. How do I feel? Physically, I feel sluggish, but it might be due to the fact I’m tapering for race day. The longest stretch I am running this week is four miles (today) and my last workout is Thursday. Despite this, mentally I think I am ready.

Two weekends ago was my longest and most difficult workout. The one where all my training my meant to culminate: I had to run twenty miles; from my front door, to the Manhattan Beach pier and back. The previous weekend I ran eighteen and felt completely exhausted and defeated by the time I finished. This particular Saturday I was ready. I started slow, but after about four miles, I thought to myself, “The slower I run, the longer this is going to take to finish. I wonder if I begin running at pace now how long I can hold out before I die? It’s worth trying, and if I die, I die. At least I know. Funny thing. I didn’t die. I ran the next fourteen and some odd miles at my race day pace, and held it. Well, that is, until the last mile and a half or so the clouds bowled in, hiding the beautiful sun I had leading me, and began to pour. And by pour I mean dump, like monsoon rain. And there I was, so close to the end, worn out, and some how I had it in me to SPRINT the remaining mileage. I don’t know where it came from, but it was there.

Okay, let ask myself again: So do I think I’m ready? Hell yeh! It was a long four months, but an awesome four months. I’ve never felt this healthy or ready for a race in a long time. This is the going to probably be the hardest thing I have ever done. I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little nervous, but I know I’m prepared. I got my two rest days planned out with meals and massages. I’ve done the workouts, I’ve logged the miles, I’ve eaten healthy (you heard me), and drank a shit ton of beer (wait). I’m so ready.

Sunday March 21, 2010 is race day. Twenty-six point two miles.

I’ll see you at the finish line.

This homestretch… I've saved my last breath… I push full throttle, no rest till nothing's left…

The Answer Is "Haircut"

2010-02-21T11:43:00.000-08:00

I think I’ve pretty much had my fill of winter. I mentioned to my mom on the phone last week how my family needs to either start having Xmas in the summer or come to my place, because after spending the better part of the last two months in New York (and prior in Philly) I’ve had enough cold weather and winter to last me a few years.

Now, a lot of people might say I have developed the thin blood of a west coaster. Not true. Cold doesn’t affect me as much as my roommates in Venice, but spending day in and day out in freezing temperatures does take its toll. Remember, I spent the first twenty-four years of my life living through bitter east coast winters, but I had enough sense to move away to warmer climates. It’s not that I’m weak; I just hate being cold. Hell, I will always love Philadelphia, it’s where I grew up, but I would never want to live there again.

Sadly, I feel a lot of the negativity I have towards winter has tainted my view of New York City. I almost have the same feeling like I do when I go to Vegas. Vegas is cool for about twelve hours and then I’m over it; leave me enough time to see a cool show and walk through a casino to take some colorful photos, and I’m good.

New York is a great city. I’m having a lot of fun here with a grip of really great friends. I’ve had a great opportunity to see a lot of the wonderful things this city has to offer. Alas (and this may be due to the winter), I’ve had my fill of the big city and I am ready to head back to the beach.

New York just isn’t a city for me. God bless all of you who live here; I’m not here to berate and put down you place of settlement. There are a few things, however, which make it hard for me to get comfortable.

First, obviously is the weather. Fuck winter.

Second, the lack of “friendliness” which is running rampant in this city, and all of the east coast for that matter (another reason I wouldn’t want to be in Philly again). Now, I’m not saying people aren’t friendly, I’ve met and know amazing people who reside here, but I’m talking on a grand scheme. People are trapped in their own world way too much. I get on the subway in the morning and everyone (including myself) has his or her ear buds in, listening to whatever podcast or Indian hip-hop album, which gets them up and at ‘em. Now, I’m not a morning person. I like to listen to my Adam Carolla on my way into work and not really speak to anyone, but you’d think if you saw the same person every morning, eventually you’d start saying hello. Nope. I see the same woman every morning, even run in to her at the gym, she sees me, recognizes me, but doesn’t acknowledge me.

A variation on this is something I noticed last Xmas while I was home in Philly. No one really goes to the bar alone. In Venice, I have a tendency to stroll to the pub myself when I feel parched, and make friends when I get there. Of course, now, I know a number of people in my neighborhood, so I have friends waiting when I arrive. Here though, it seems you can’t walk in, saddle up to an interesting person, and engage them in conversation without them either giving you a strange look or ignoring you. Again, nothing wrong with it. It’s been saving me money because when no one goes out, I stay in and stay warm.

I have a theory: I feel people on the west coast have a skewed view of people from the east coast. Every time you meet someone from the east coast out in LA, they are super nice and friendly. Then when they come to see the east coast, the locals are a lot of the time total dicks. It’s almost as if all of the nice east coasters got sick of all the impoliteness and got the hell away.

Which leads me to this story: I was running in Manhattan my second weekend here. I came to a section of the running trail which is really only wide enough for 2 people to pass, and in front of me there were two gentlemen, one walking one of those tiny little shit dogs. Now, normal politeness would suggest one of the gentlemen step aside and let me pass. Not in New York. Neither person changed their gait or position, leaving me to squeeze by sideways, only slightly slowing down due to the assumption one would give me room. After I accidentally bumped the man without the dog with my shoulder, he gave me a nasty look and “pfffft”ed me, like it was my fault. Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was rude to have to squeeze by you while you took up both halves of the sidewalk. My fault, next time, I’ll swerve into traffic praying I don’t get hit by the salt truck, just so you and the rat on a leash you call a dog can continue on with your day. Hey faggot, go home and fuck your dog with a rusty dildo.

It’s a total cliché, but there are a lot of rude people in this city. Again, a broad generalization, which does not include anyone I know, but the stereotype that New Yorkers are rude, rings true. There are rude people in LA, and trust me, I point it out to them, but here I feel they vastly outnumber the civil population.

I feel it is often inconvenient to do things in the city; getting out to do things always seems like a chore. You need to take two subways, then a bus, and take a cab home because you don’t want to be drunk on a subway at three in the morning. Or maybe you use a car service, which is nicer, but you’re still spending money. Now, in LA, I have a horrible habit of never leaving Venice. It happens to everyone and I’ve discussed this before so I’m not going into too my details.

In New York, there is a little deviation to this concept.

New York has a great public transportation system, in theory. Subways are always running, but your stuck next to a thousand other people sweating in your winter coat for thirty minutes before pouring back out onto the streets, now back soaked in sweat, fighting off the flu virus. If the subway doesn’t run, you’re screwed. You can pretty much find a cab anywhere if you wait five minutes, but there’s always that chance you get a cab driver who has no idea where he’s going and barely speaks English, so you’re using your iPhone to look up the directions and tell him where to go. I don’t know about you, but if I have to tell the cabbie how to take me home, that negates your tip.

The last reason I am ready to leave The Big Apple, is the buildings. I love cities, I love going downtown LA, I love walking through Time Square, SoHo where the Capital V office lives is great. I love walking around, but at this point, I feel almost boxed in, almost as if I haven’t seen the sun in decades. I have developed a slight case of claustrophobia since I’ve been here. Downtown LA is great, but I get to leave it and go back to the nice wide-open beach.

These are all personal preferences of mine. And don’t let my rants deceive you. There are a lot of positives to this city. Although subways are a little cramped, the availability of public transportation is awesome. Also, being the center of the world of commerce, New York is the most culturally diverse city I can think of, which makes for such a clash of ideas and ways of life it makes your head spin and proud to be part of such a melting pot.

I know plenty of people who are happy living here and can’t get enough of winter and snow, and love taking the subway every morning to work, but for my dollar, I’ll take the ground not making me slip and fall down. And traffic on the 10 freeway with my iPod blaring, windows down.

Home… Now that I’m coming home… Will you be the same as I saw you last… Tell me how much time has passed…

So This Is Xmas? Look What You're Done

2010-01-29T07:58:00.000-08:00

Coming from someone who doesn’t believe in god, it seems odd I still celebrate the yearly holiday known as Christmas. (That is the last time you will see me use that spelling.) Outside the reality of my disbelief, I can give you a number of reasons why it couldn’t have happened, some of which being: the North Star only appears in the sky in that part of the world in the spring, putting Jesus’ birth most likely in May; the shepherds who apparently were hanging out would not have been in the fields in the middle of winter; The Bible never mentions Jesus was born in a stable, only a manger, meaning he could have been born in a cave for all we know; etc, etc.

The main reason we celebrate on the twenty-fifth is because it masks the pagan holiday of the celebration of the winter solstice. The twenty-fifth is the first day the Egyptians noticed daylight was getting longer after the solstice, December twenty-first. Still, despite all of the negativity surrounded by such an arbitrary holiday, I still travel home every Xmas.

I think for me, Xmas (and by a larger extent, the entire holiday season i.e. Hanukkah, Festivus) has taken on a new meaning, a meaning, which I feel more people should embrace due to the over-religiousness and the over-commercialization of the true holiday season.

For me personally, I think the holidays are less and less about the celebration of the birth of a fictitious character, but more about the celebration of family. It’s one of the few times each year I get to sit down with every member of my immediate family and members of my extended family and see each other and spend time together. That’s the tradition I want to pass down to my family, if I ever get drunk enough to get conned into one. It’s less about how many courses there are in the holy supper, but more about sitting together, wishing each other a great forthcoming year, and reconnecting for one day regardless of where we live in the world and what we believe.

Thanksgiving has become more about good friends who are far from home spending time together and sharing in a shit ton of food, but the holidays are always about family. The city of Los Angeles empties out and rush hour on the 405 freeway is nonexistent. Everyone goes home to the their family to celebrate in whatever way makes them happy to see each other. The looks on my grandmothers’ faces when I return from the west coast, talking video games and cycling with my cousin Shawn, doing shots of Boilo with my dad and sister, and an infinite list of other great memories are what makes the holiday season important to me and gives me a reason to celebrate the Xmas every year.

A very merry Xmas and a happy New Year… Let's hope it's a good one… Without any fear…

Ten Seconds Left Until Midnight...

2010-01-22T05:51:00.000-08:00

Okay, so we all have felt the effects of 2009. It was a shitty year for most, if not all of us. I know for me, despite working a good majority of the first part of the year, and getting to spend almost all of those hours working with some of my dearest friends, the year-end brought me back to a really tough place. Honestly, the only major, awe-inspiring moment of my entire year didn’t even take place in this country. Every day of this past year has kinda sucked in some way, except for the glorious alcohol induced euphoria I felt while in Ireland with Fever and Johnny.

However, I’m not here to dwell on the past. Well, yes I am. In the midst of all this crap hole of a year, I did stick to a few of my New Year’s Resolutions. Let’s recap:

1) Get my diet back into gear.

I was pretty successful here. I got it back on track, gave up eating pork, and amazingly, lowered my cholesterol to normal. My family has a history of high cholesterol, which I of course inherited from my dad, but I managed to eat well enough to fix it. Sadly, I put a little weight back on b/c I bruised a ligament in my right leg and couldn’t run for about four months. I began rowing again, but rowing a single just doesn’t recall the love I have for the sport of rowing. Find me a pair partner and I’m in.

2) Record a song/EP.

Okay, in all fairness, I’m going to say I achieved this one. I have written six complete songs and have another three or four, which are started. I am totally ready to record my album.

The reason it hasn’t been completed is because my good friend Pascual Murderface (who I was going to record with) was selected to be the new lead singer for the most brutal band, Pathology, and they recently got signed to my favorite label Victory Records. I say that is way more important than my bullshit, but once they are done in the studio this February, Mr. Murderface and I are going to start arranging the debut album from A War For All Seasons. (I copywrote that shit!)

3) Keep in touch with friends more.

I tried. It worked a little. Getting better. Gonna work on it more this year.

4) Ask Zooey Deschanel out on a date.

Never happened. I went to her yoga class to try to find her, but she never showed up. Oh well. I did have the most excellent pleasure of seeing her in concert earlier this year, and that was pretty awesome. And I’ll probably go see her play again this upcoming April.

But now 2010 has begun. It already has a better feel than last year. I was saying towards the end of last year that I needed a little break from LA, not like I’m over it, just felt like I needed a little rejuvination, and I got it. I am writing this post from Dooner’s couch in Brooklyn, New York, where I am working on a pilot with most of the Viva la Gang and a few new friends we’ve made along the way. I have high hopes for this year. So with no further adieu, here is my plan for the new year.

1) Run a marathon.

This is actually something I decided to do back in October. I am just about halfway thru my training. My good friend Bridget ran it last year, and she convinced me to give it a try along side her this year. My leg has healed, and I haven’t been this driven to compete in or complete something in a long time. I am so stoked on it, my training is going swimmingly, and not even the winter wind in New York can stop me.

2) Break my routine and try new things.

This is a little vague. One thing I promised myself when I moved to California, I was going to take up as many hobbies as I could and try things I couldn’t necessarily do easily growing up in Pennsylvania. Again, I acted on this one already too. I joined a softball team this year with a lot of old friends from Punk’d while making a grip of new friends along the way. Total Protonic Reversal was born and for once in my life, I look forward to Mondays. Maybe I’ll travel more, not necessarily aboard, but maybe more weekend trips, or maybe come home more. Just want to broaden my world a little bit more.

3) Stop taking the beach for granted.

Okay, I’m an asshole. I live four blocks from the ocean; seven minutes and forty seconds from my front door to the water’s edge. I was in the ocean twice last year. TWICE! And once was in Oceanside with the Holemans. That is sad. Growing up as the kid who would jump in the swimming pool on day one when the water was fifty-eight degrees, only to say he was the first one in the pool, it’s sad. Being the dude, who after the fall rowing season would go to the beach for a weekend and go body surfing mid-November, it’s no bueno. So this year I’m going to get off my ass, and do more than run along the boardwalk. I’m definitely going to relax and read more at the beach, take time to watch the sunset, definitely take the brand spanking new Magic Slipper to cruise some tasty waves, and soak up as much sun as humanly possible.

I think that’s a good start. Like last year, I’m sure I will end up picking up a few more things along the way to add to my list. But until that time arrives, I will push onward with my workouts, with my spontaneity, and with more frequent trips to the Pacific.

[My album reviews are on the way. Once I get some pesos from the job, I’ll go out and pick up all of the 2009 albums I’m behind on and I’ll give you definitive list. I know you are totally worried about my musical picks for best albums of this past year. Screw the Grammys.]

Nine chances to drown ourselves in black hair dye… Eight faces turned away from the shock… Seven windows and Six of them were locked… Five stories falling… Forever and ever… Three cheers to the mirror… Now there are Two of us…

Can we have One last chance?...

I Know I'd Rather See A New Glassjaw Record

2009-12-31T10:16:00.000-08:00

Last night I attended the annual Thursday holiday show at the Starland Ballroom in Sayerville, New Jersey. It was hands down the best line-up for a concert I have ever been to (Well, best line-up for a small venue show. Rock The Bells headlined by Rage and Wu-Tang was pretty fucking amazing).

Last night I had the immense privilege to witness United Nations, Dillinger Escape Plan, Glassjaw, and of course Thursday epically tear through hours of the best of the best New Jersey post-hardcore has to offer. However, the point of this post isn’t to bore you people with how perfect the night was for myself as a music lover. Most of you don’t listen to the same music I do, and there are only so many times I can talk about how great these bands are to see perform live. No, I want to talk about how a money-grubbing big business company almost ruined the entire evening for myself a number of other people attending the show last night.

First a little history about my favorite concert venue in the country. The Starland Ballroom opened December 6, 2003 with a performance by David Lee Roth. Before it was known as Starland, the venue was called the Hunka Bunka Ballroom, which operated as a dance music club in the 80s and 90s.

In its inaugural year as Starland, over one hundred and fifty thousand tickets were sold to events hosted at the Starland, enough to make the venue one of the ten largest concert nightclubs in the world. By year two, Starland sold over two hundred and five thousand tickets, making the jump to the fourth-best ticket-selling concert nightclub in the world. Not bad for a small warehouse on a back road in Jersey. Also, you should keep in mind this venue only holds about two thousand people to put in perspective how many events needs to held to accumulate those kinds of numbers.

Over seventy-five different acts have sold multiple sold-out concerts at the Starland, including a two-night event benefitting the December 2005 tsunami headlined by My Chemical Romance, Taking Back Sunday, and Senses Fail and raised over $150,000 for UNICEF and the International Red Cross. Again, charity came calling in September 2005 where Dashboard Confessional and Coheed & Cambria co-headlined an event and raised $80,000 for Direct Relief International's to aid the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

Sadly, On April 13, 2007, the building was purchased by AEG Live, one of the largest producers of live concert and sporting events in the world.

And last night, “one of the largest producers of live concert and sporting events in the world” apparently failed to understand and plan appropriately for the event, which was the Thursday Holiday show. Thinking more like a money making machine than a small punk rock venue, Starland oversold the show by almost one thousand tickets. I spoke to people working there (security, etc.) and no one was prepared for what was coming. What do you expect when you put Thursday and Glassjaw together in the same room with one of the best math-metal bands (DEP) in the world, and top it off with United Nations’ only show in America this year? They apparently expected only half of the people who originally bought tickets to the two-month-early sold-out show to attend, so AEG opened another thousand tickets to make sure the place was full. Then when EVERY TICKET HOLDER rolled in, the venue was short on bartenders, security, and most definitely space. It was like a frat party in the basement at Phi Kap: you could barely move. I watched as people poured over the barrier to the bar area just try to grab a drink before they hit the pit. I almost felt bad as three burly security guards fought tirelessly to try to hold back the throngs of people flooding into the venue. This is the fourth holiday show I’ve attended, and I don’t ever remember the Starland having trouble selling out a Thursday show.

Still despite the packed-ness of the venue, I managed to find a couple of a cool people, one of a which was a lovely young lady who had never seen Thursday perform live. We watched all of the acts, had a few drinks, and was “forced” by said young lady to drag her down to the pit so she could get a better view of the band.

I have to first thank the members of Thursday (Geoff, Tim, Tom, Tucker, Andrew, and Steve) for throwing another amazing party. And second, extra special thanks to Tucker Rule for hanging with (and remembering) me in Pomona and persuading me to change my flight and stay for this show (although, I am now stuck east coast until March). So glad I decided to attend.

And you were there… And I was every question that never had an answer... I see right through you…

Guest Blog: Power Violence Band United Nations Frontman Geoff Rickly Urges Followers to Drop Cameras, Pick Up Rocks, Get Active

2009-12-14T11:50:00.000-08:00

Geoff Rickly, for the Headbanger’s Blog on MTV.com, wrote the following article in September 2008. Geoff is the lead singer for United Nations, as well as my favorite band, Thursday. He is known for his powerful lyrics, which are a powerful extension of his personal beliefs. His ideas on the state of music today mirror those of my own. Read on, reeducate, and enjoy.

There is a vacuum in the center of our music culture. Whatever the genre -- metal, punk hardcore, dance, pop or rock -- the trend remains the same: leave your beliefs at the door. Our 21st Century promise seems to be that of a society in the advanced stages of decadence and social apathy. Not only has our music been stripped of any message that it might have had, but it's now packaged as being "beyond message" -- irreproachable in its indifference.

In the recent past, bands as diverse as Fugazi, Megadeath, Pearl Jam and Ministry all had songs that raised questions about political corruption, social inequity, personal responsibility and artistic freedom. Today, we see artists more concerned with friend requests on MySpace or wanting to "shake it" than with the problems of our lives. This isn't to say that there's not a place for celebration, joy, silliness and fun in pop music. That would be a frightening vision in its own right. We just have to ask ourselves, if we're not facing the big issues then who are we leaving them to? Politicians? Lobbyists? Maybe it's time to quit f---ing around and wake up.

Where did it all go so wrong? Although there seems be be a cavernous gulf between the glory days of Dischord Records to the vapid careerism of today's mall-centric punk and nu-hair-metal, the transformation took place in less than 25 five years. Were we all tired of being earnest? Was sincerity unflattering? Was a compassionate world merely a naive dream or is it something that we killed with in-fighting and ego-stroking?

It's quite possible that the dialectic of our progressive music movement was responsible for its own demise. The conversations in 'zines and at shows resembled the discourse of a University debate rather than the concerned talks at a town meeting. People were discussing the politics of language instead of volunteering at soup kitchens. Arguments over patriarchy and masculinity took precedence over starting women's outreach centers. The intellectual one-upsmanship became a rhetorical nightmare; many young kids came to shows energized and ready to start making a change and left feeling drained and humiliated. In short, we liked to talk about the revolution more than we worked for it.

Our own philosophies have been used against us. Canadian '70s media theorist Marshall McLuhan once famously contended: "At the empirical level of consciousness, the medium is the message, whereas at the intelligent and rational levels of consciousness, the content is the message." As a counterculture, the underground punk movement simplified this message to "the medium is the message" or "the music is the message" and adopted it to mean that the message and music were one and the same and wholly indivisible. It seems obvious now that the shortened version isn't the same. It's missing an essential word: content.

Various groups, including The Nation of Ulysses and Refused made a study of the aesthetic of revolution, and so did many underground artists such as Sheperd Fairey and Banksy. These artists explored the links between advertising, propagandizing, evangelism and philosophy. As a subtle and complex exploration of art, commerce and humanity these artists were very successful. Unfortunately, this may have been an important turning point in our culture -- the point at which the image replaced the message.

In the years since, we've been given bands that retain the sound and image of our counterculture but forget the politics and leave out the distasteful bits of reality. If Milemarker and Q and Not U put some dance into modern punk, it wasn't so that they would be replicated sans-politics by third rate impostors being blasted in every Urban Outfitters or American Apparel. There has been a domino effect: Political punk gets more accessible, accessible punk gets less political, punk becomes completely apolitical and irrelevant. The tiger has been declawed and we're all wasting time in our twenties pretending not to care about anything but ourselves.

Recently, the magazine Adbusters, published an article railing against "hipster culture," saying, "We've reached a point in our civilization where counterculture has mutated into a self-obsessed aesthetic vacuum. So while hipsterdom is the end product of all prior countercultures, it's been stripped of its subversion and originality." While this may be true, we need to investigate how we got to this point. We have to face facts. We have let the "hipsters" down. By not presenting a counterculture movement worth caring about, we've railroaded them into a subculture of not caring. We need to reach out to our DJ friends and organize events that are socially conscious. We need to inject a sense of urgency into all our mediums of expression. It's not like all hope is lost. Le Tigre has made feminism danceable. Verse put out, in the form of a record called Aggression, a political protest you can feel, not just think about. Darkest Hour and Lamb of God are continually blasting a message into the headphones of metal lovers around the world. And everywhere in the world, kids are starting bands in their basements and they are pissed off.

We have been attacked repeatedly as a generation and as a demographic. We have been derided because of our looks and attitude. At the end of the Adbusters article, the writer, Douglas Haddow, tellingly concludes, "I take a look at one of the girls wearing a bright pink keffiyah and carrying a Polaroid camera and think, 'If only we carried rocks instead of cameras, we'd look like revolutionaries.' But instead we ignore the weapons that lie at our feet --oblivious to our own impending demise."

Pretty glum. He writes something so insidious here, it's easy to miss: "...if only we'd carry rocks... we'd look like revolutionaries..." Maybe looking like revolutionaries isn't enough anymore. We have to start thinking like revolutionaries. The only sane response to criticism is activism. Let's get active

Contact me: www.myspace.com/unitednations and I'll write you back.

All your life you've been a sinking ship… It's time to make you rise… To make your mind up…

This Is Making Insanely Good Sense To Me

2009-11-21T13:14:00.000-08:00

It’s an argument and discussion, which has been going on as far back as I can remember. I can recall one specific time when I got trapped in the cycle six years ago during my senior year of college. Both sides make their points, both sides are valid, and yet, understandably, there was no outcome or decision on who’s correct. In fact, most of this article will be old hack for a lot of you.

The argument lies along the Mason-Dixon line of “hate-speech”. I put the phrase in quotation marks because the words which I will be speaking about in the following lines aren’t directed at anyone in particular, and if my typing these words offends you in any way, it means my side has already won.

I’m going out on a limb here and assuming everyone who reads this has at one time or another used one of these words to insult one or several of their friends; or used one of these words on me. I certainly have called people assholes, bitches, cunts, shit stains, and (in the instance of this piece) fags. Obviously, I use these words to describe my friends. Not to be taken in a menacing manner. When I call Joe Child a bitch, I’m not insinuating he’s a female dog, nor is he a spiteful woman. He’s being a bitch: a guy with a weak backbone. I would never use this to describe a woman. Who hasn’t called that dick that cuts them off in traffic an asshole and not meant it in the literal, anatomical terminology?

Last Wednesday, my good friends Trey Parker and Matt Stone wrote a little treatment for their award-winning television show South Park to attack, rather, discuss the stigma surrounding the infamous word: FAG. I feel they did an excellent job with the issue, pointing out the absurdity of a word whose definition constantly changes and its usage in every day life when it doesn’t pertain to hate-speech against the gay and lesbian community.

Unfortunately, the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Again Defamation (GLAAD) doesn’t feel the same as I do:

Though this seems to represent a well-intentioned effort by the creators of South Park to de-legitimise a vulgar anti-gay slur, the fact is that the word is and remains a hateful slur that is often part of the harassment, bullying and violence that gay people, and gay youth in particular, experience on a daily basis in this country.

This is a slur whose meaning remains rooted in homophobia. And while many South Park viewers will understand the sophisticated satire and critique in last night’s episode, others won’t – and if even a small number of those take from this a message that using the “F-word” is OK, it worsens the hostile climate that many in our community continue to face.

First off, all of you should know by now, South Park’s bread and butter lies in pointing out the absurdity (read: stupidity) of life by pissing off every faction of the community. There have been episodes I have watch which have offended me, but still make me laugh. Like the show says, you either make fun of everyone, or you make fun of no one.

This has happened once before when the “Church” of Scientology tried to get the “Tom Cruise Will You Please Come Out Of The Closet” episode pulled. They laughed at the episodes which bashed Catholicism, or the point in every episode where Cartman berates Kyle for being Jewish. That’s okay, but when their cult loving followers are attacked, that’s off limits. Which is probably why the creators made an entire season to poke fun at the false religion, capping it off with the Family Guy two-parter. (If you haven’t seen the episodes, watch them, I’m not explaining everything, and besides, you should be watching the show anyway.)

With GLAAD publicly coming out (no pun intended) against the episode so strongly, they are giving South Park more power. They’ve won. Parker and Stone have won.

Second, the word isn’t rooted in homophobia. The word originates in sixteenth century England and described an old or unpleasant woman. Then in the nineteenth century, the term referred again to the old women who made a living gathering firewood, such as in the phrase "faggot-gatherer”. Later, the term faggot evolved to describe the actual bundle of sticks, and more specifically, a bundle of sticks meant for burning, as in at the stake. There is no history of homosexuals being burned at the stakes for their sexual preference, but it is believed the modern, negative connotation of the word comes from the idea women who were believe to be witches were burned at the stake, accused of homosexual behavior.

In the case of the South Park episode, Parker and Stone, and their bratty animated counterparts, use the fag to describe “[a]n extremely annoying, inconsiderate person most commonly associated with Harley riders”. Sans the Harley riders part, the way I, along with many of my educated contemporaries, use the word fag (and faggot) in the way the previous definition dictates.

Finally, you must remember these words meant for use by adults. To paraphrase Lewis Black, if there was a hurricane, you wouldn’t get upset and use the word “pussy feathers” to describe how you feel, you would most likely say, “holy fucking shit!” Swear words or cuss words or whatever you like to call them, are words meant for educated adults. (I use the word educated because only an ignorant fuck would use any of these words to be truly hateful to a fellow human being.) Plus, just remember, they are just words. Unless you give them power, they are meant a collection of letters put together phonetically. Until you place hatred and spitefulness behind them, they are just words.

As Louis C.K. states: “I would call a gay guy a faggot if he was being a faggot.” It’s not meant negatively toward the “gay guy”; if a homosexual is being an extremely inconsiderate person, he’s going to let him know. And if any of you act like faggots, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Freedom is slavery, and war is the peace that I know…

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Silence

2009-11-15T01:16:00.000-08:00

Finally, after eight years, I had the distinct pleasure to be in the same room as Daryl Palumbo, Justin Beck, Durijah Lang, and Manuel Carrero, better known to the layperson as Glassjaw. It was an experience, rivaling some of the best live shows I’ve seen.

To get the crowd in the right headspace, the RX Bandits opened the show. Trapped somewhere in the Bermuda triangle of Mars Volta, Bob Marley, and The Who reside the RX Bandits. Sadly, a description like that doesn't do the Bandits justice, mainly because after fifteen years, they’ve earned the right and honor just to be mentioned by name to my fans (ha!) and you should all know the awesomeness that is the RX Bandits. I close this quick paragraph by saying the RX Bandits sounded perfect.

But now to the men of the hour (or actually two hours, because that is how long their set lasted).

Their set list was a blur. Renditions of Mu Empire, Pretty Lush, Tip Your Bartender, and The Gilette Cavalcade Of Sports, sprung forth like gospel from the speaker system at the little independent record store warehouse in Pomona, California better know as the Glasshouse. Nothing during my two-hour drive through side streets on my way to Pomona could have readied me for what GJ had in store.

Known for their habit of canceling shows since Palumbo’s diagnosis with Crohn’s disease, I was constantly worried my dream of seeing GJ live might not come true. I’ve been a fan of Glassjaw from the moment I first spun Worship and Tribute on my old CD player in college. Having gotten cancelled on when I was living back in Philadelphia, I had yet the privilege to see these, dare I say, legends of hardcore in the flesh.

On November 12, 2009, this night, the dream finally came true. And Glassjaw did not disappoint. From note one Glassjaw was on point, and for the next two hours I lived and breathed every inch of madness, which spewed forth from that stage. Palumbo’s voice was all over the place, as it should be, ranging easily from a calming croon to an eardrum-shattering scream. Justin Peck’s guitar work was superb. I was a little weary the songs might lack something with only one guitar in the mix, but not one detail was missed. Lang and Carrero filled out the remaining noise with tireless perfection, layering each song with the right amount of backbone and power.

Against my better judgement, I took my aging body deep into the pit. I’ve been avoiding the pit my last few shows because my body can’t recover as fast as it used to after the massive pounding it usually takes. However, after missing my chance to dance last time around, and unsure of when the next dance will come, I ran immediately to the center of the recently awakened giant. I pushed and shoved with the best of them. I made a few passes in the mosh pit, luckily receiving only one fatal blow during the last moment of the last song, a quick elbow to the nose signifying not only the end of the show, but possibly the end of my career in the pit crew.

It could not have been a better time to call it quits. I emerged from the Glasshouse, hair matted down like I just broke through the surface of a swimming pool, shirt soaked to the core such as after a hard days labor, and shoes once colored purple and blue now remain the cool color of sludge.

My body ached, my neck killed, and my shins are bruised.

And it was all worth it.

My Turkish prison is knowing I fit in… And, and, I fit in…

I Gotta Fart, So I'm Gonna Come Over And Stand Next To You

2009-11-11T22:04:00.000-08:00

Twenty-Five Random Things You May Or May Not Know About Me.

Like my most influential albums composite, this is another list I’ve wanted to jot down for a while. My good friend Ed (the master of flavor and texture) came up with his list a few months ago, and I meant to respond to it, but had a hard time coming up with enough things. So in my time off, I’ve finally completed it. Here goes…

1. My sister is my best friend and the most important person in my life. Fuck with her, you die.

2. If I were only allowed to wear one shirt for the rest of my life, it would be my “Outback Steakhouse All-Stars” T-shirt.

3. I still collect CDs. Nothing can replace the excitement, fighting through the plastic wrap to see the album artwork for the first time.

4. I don’t believe in reincarnation. If I’m wrong, in my past life, I believe I was a grizzly bear.

5. I fall in love really easily, but falling out, not so much. I get my heart broken often.

6. I have very few friends from childhood. I’ve left most of them behind. I don’t miss them, but I do thank them for all I’ve learned from them and the good times we had.

7. My favorite food is pierogies. My second favorite is my grandmother’s meatballs, which my cousin Shawn and I compete to see who can eat the most. I always win.

8. Music is what powers my life. It’s moves me more than any other force on earth.

9. I’ve been in one real fight in my life, and got my ass kicked.

10. I collect key-chains from all over the world. My favorite is from Japan.

11. I have a good friend from college named Charles Charlesworth. Seriously.

12. I never lie and have a bad habit of being too honest. It messes things up more than you think.

13. I love crappy TV dramas, and I don’t care you all think they’re awful.

14. I have a fear that if someone touches my belly button, it will become untied and all my guts will spill out.

15. Running is my meditation. There is nothing that helps me unwind more than a nice five-mile run.

16. I celebrate my birthday for twenty days. July Fourth begins my “birthday season”.

17. Is scared of going bald, mostly because I look like a tool with short hair.

18. I’m not really all that concerned with the future. I know what’s going to happen. The adventure lies in how I get there.

19. I accomplish more when people tell me I CAN’T do something. I love being the underdog.

20. My favorite TV shows as a kid were The Honeymooners and I Love Lucy.

21. I've never had a problem which either PBR, great friends, or a good concert couldn't solve.

22. I hate being alone; it makes me uncomfortable. I thrive through my relationships with others.

23. I don’t remember anything before the age of fourteen except kissing a girl in kindergarten and about ten minutes of my first day of first grade.

24. I am a detail-oriented person, yet the biggest decisions of my life have been made on a whim.

25. After twenty-eight years, I am finally comfortable in my own body, truly believe I have completely discovered myself, know exactly what I stand for and believe in, and am very proud of the person I’ve become. I can’t wait to share this with somebody special.

If a leader preaches worship to the sheep within the valley, who'll be riding in a tank that says "just married"?...

Proper Propaganda

2009-10-20T14:17:00.000-07:00

Wednesday.

12:36 AM.

I can’t sleep. The following random thoughts are bouncing around my head. Uncut, but rearranged.

A revolution through the looking glass:

Independent and underground labels are where the masses are finding their music. The internet has leveled the playing field and knocked the old major label kings from their thrones.

I find this music, from hardcore to hip-hop, from Norwegian metal to screamo, from Sunny Day Real Estate to Atmosphere, to be where the real emotion and fire lives. There lacks a passion in radio today. You need to dive deeper to find the true spirit of music.

You think the masses are following Nickleback with such dedication? You think those pricks give a rat’s ass about their fans, or only about the big cash prize getting awarded to them when they sell out to be the background music in a “Go Army” TV spot?

Tomorrow's armies are forming in the basements; at the record store concerts. Buying albums from independent labels and web stores instead of Best Buy. My generation is getting older. A generation who gave up on the geriatric liars in Washington and tried something new. I assume one day I'll be in my sixties, and the codger generation of politicians will be long gone, and standing in congress will be the kid who gave me the bloody nose at the Thrice show at the E-factory, or the next senator to be elected will be spend his drives to work listening to speed metal, or our new house representative will have a certain afflication to Mos Def and P.O.S.

Gone are the days of stadium powerhouses. Slowly, our generation is rising and making its voice known: from the basements of New Jersey to the rec halls of Orange County.

These musicians might not be made up of the most talented artists, but the power and thrust behind the most simple of songs can carry the strongest message.

We will all be standing together, fists in the air, and we'll all scream in unison...

Your voices sound from underground… Your dreams endure ‘til days shall be no more…

Driving Up That 101, I Can F*cking See Why

2009-10-03T22:45:00.000-07:00

We’ve all bitched about it. (Those of us in Los Angeles anyway.) We’ve changed plans because of it. We’ve made excuses due to it. It’s so far to go to that party, or go visit that friend who you haven’t seen in five months, or god, really, I have to drive to get to your house? How often do you think to yourself: “It’s Friday at six o’clock. Screw it. I’m gonna continue to sit here and watch the Bones marathon and then hit the gym.”

I, along with my other Venice Hoodrats, get poked fun at for not venturing past Lincoln. We get comfortable in our little bubble, but everyone does, no matter what area of the city you call home. I have friends who never leave downtown. I have friends who never leave Ventura. You get stuck.

The nice thing about LA is each section of town has everything you need. Bars (yup, necessities first): there are at least sixteen of them walking distance from my house. Barber: I ride my bike a whole four miles to Santa Monica, but the closest one is three blocks. Groceries, make you choice: Trader Joe’s, Ralph’s, Albertsons; the furthest I have to drive is fifteen minutes. Football: okay, I gotta go fifty feet past Lincoln to watch the Eagles, but hey, like I said, necessities). I’ve made a lot of friends here. They don’t replace my oldest and dearest friends who live all over this fine city. However, I sometimes selfishly make my plans based on the proximity to my house.

It’s a damn shame too. Back east I wouldn’t think twice about driving two hours to hang out with friends; out west the decision to cross county lines takes more planning than the invasion of Normandy. The time it takes to cross this city even the shortest distance arms me with such disgust sometimes, I easily go months without seeing my closest friends. Guys, which when I lived on the east coast, I would see at least once a week. Now, who knows when our paths will cross?

This issue can’t be better illustrated than with the help of my friend AJ. AJ used to work on Viva la Bam with me. We used to hang out all the time. I crashed with AJ, who had since wrapping Viva relocated to Santa Monica, for a few weeks before I found and moved into The Hotel. Since that time, AJ has moved to North Hollywood. I might, MIGHT, see AJ two or three times a year. That’s pathetic seeing how we pretty much grew up in the same area.

AJ moved into a new apartment with a fellow Dakota Pictures employee, Jeremy, who shares AJ’s love of Xmas. And if you know AJ, you know he looooooOOOOOOOvvvvesss Xmas. If you could only see the massive miniature village he put up at his folks house every holiday season, you would see just how deep his yuletide love goes. Anyhow, for his housewarming, AJ threw a “Xmas in July” party, complete with wreath shaped cookies and killer eggnog.

Now, if I was back in Philly, driving from my old apartment to AJ’s folk’s place is about forty miles away, maybe a forty-five minute drive. A drive I think nothing of making to participate in his awesome holiday extravaganzas. In our City of Angels, AJ lives a little over twenty miles away, but it could take anywhere from thirty minutes to ninety minutes to drive there, depending on the time of day.

And you must go alllllllllll the way over the hill to The Valley to get there. Making a trek like this takes planning, days in advance. You can’t drop what you’re doing and take off for The Valley on a whim. You gotta make sure you have time, you can’t drink because you have to drive so far home and the cops are sure to bust your ass, and god forbid the party starts late. I mean, shit, anything after ten at night and my ass is parked on the couch if I have to go anywhere further than walking distance from my house. All of this leads to you getting more comfortable in your hood, and results more often than not in a lack of mobility.

When you come from a small town, you take certain aspects of friendships for granted. Living in city like Los Angeles, you can’t. As we all age and grow up, and move out, and change cities, and make new friends, you need to realize these friends might not always be right there, just a bike ride away. We all make and have friends spanning this globe. Some of these friends you get to share a pint with once a week, some you’re only lucky enough to see once a year. The important thing is no matter how comfortable you get, to never put aside friendships because of time or distance, no matter how close or far they are.

This is how we stay so connected… So connected over space and time…

I Want My Grave To Read:

2009-09-18T22:52:00.000-07:00

As I get older (and aging so amazingly I might add) I sometimes get disheartened when I attend concerts. Ever since I really got into the independent music scene and began going to smaller concerts, I, along with many like-minded fans, would get arrive at the show for “Doors Open” to watch every band on the evening’s bill. In a time before MySpace where now you can click on a band’s site to hear new music or discover groups, you would have to get there early enough to discover the smaller up and coming acts.

I’ve come to notice music fans presently, especially the younger generations (who most of the time have no appreciation for the music which influenced the newer bands), arrive late to the show, just in the nick of time to catch the headliner. They don’t show any respect to the other bands on the bill.

Nothing instilled a stronger hatred towards my younger compatriots more than at Taste of Chaos earlier this year. While Pierce the Veil was on stage, the lead singer Vic Fuentes, kept telling all of the band’s many teenage minions to make sure to stick around to watch Thursday. He dedicated his band’s success to Thursday’s influence and contribution to music. What happens however before Thursday (the tour’s headliner) took the stage? Half of the crowd leaves. These ignorant little bastards took a sold-out show at the Palladium in Hollywood and left the grandfathers of post-hardcore feeling as it they were of no importance. (I’m assuming since the drummer Tucker Rule was in the crowd with me watching the earlier acts.) It really upset me.

However, last night gave me a glimmer of hope. A trip to the House of Blues on Sunset Blvd. brought me back to the good old days, watching an ocean of kids/fans/music fanatics standing in line for “Doors Open”, anxiously awaiting to bust thru the door. The House of Blues was practically a full house from the drop of the first note that was pounded into the crowd’s skulls.

From the opening breakdown served up by Architects (UK), stretching into the Andrew W.K.-esque antics the lead singer of Oh, Sleeper mirrored, followed by the immediate Wall Of Death mind fuck which is Bring Me The Horizon, and ending with the quadruple cranium crush bestowed on us by Every Time I Die, the crowd, ranging from teenage scenesters to myself and my fellow seasoned veterans, kept the energy alive for a solid four and a half hours. Pure metal at it’s finest.

Needless to say, this eye-opening experience renews my faith in the younger generation of concertgoers. It was a good night.

Rather be forgotten, than remembered for giving in…

I Was Going To Sign It "Berries And Cream"

2009-09-05T13:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a pretty momentous day. I spent my afternoon in Oceanside, California, hanging with two amazing people: JP and Andrea Holeman, the co-owners of Holeman Surf Designs. The Holeman’s home / HSD shop is a rad little spot walking distance to the ocean which they share with Andrea’s cousin, Derek, and their vicious guard dog, Lola. But don’t let the size of the HSD headquarters fool you, their clientele reside everywhere from Southern Cali locals to as far away as the East Coast.

I met the Holemans during my recent stint producing Season 3 of Rad Girls (Andrea was my amazing assistant during our tour through San Diego). During my mini-vacation (back) to O’Side, I had the extreme pleasure watching the berth of my first custom surfboard.

The first part of my day was spent in an electric-blue shaping room. It was awe-inspiring seeing JP take something as simple as a slab of Styrofoam and shape it into an instrument of wave domination. Unlike industry giants like Rusty who use machines to shape their boards, JP shapes each board by hand. I spent about two hours in the air-conditioned chamber, watching and snapping photographs of JP carving, sanding, and pretty much covering the two of us in a fine white powder (no). Seeing someone with such talent and skill work up close and personal is pretty amazing.

What makes this board even more special for me is JP basically created a new design for my board. Holeman’s bread and butter is building short boards; he informed me in the shaping room in the beginning HSD made primarily long boards, but has since evolved.

I love giving artists freedom to do something original which gets them exited. When it comes to my tattoos, I give DaveR a simple idea (“I want a bear on my arm.”) and let him design and apply to my skin what he wants to see. He gives me a completely original piece, and I get the thrill of having the artist be as excited doing the work as I am watching what unfolds. JP shared the same artistic thrill. He was not only shaping a length of board he hasn’t done in a while, but he also fashioned a new style for the Holeman line (in theory) called the Magic Slipper. And I have the first of its kind.

To cool off after our stint in the blue room, I skipped down to the beach with the two lovebirds, taking my first dip in the Pacific Ocean in 2009. (Yeh, how fucking sad is that. I live four blocks from the water and I have YET to get wet. I have no excuse. I’m an asshole.) We did a little body surfing while keeping our eyes peeled for sharks. (Apparently a woman was mildly attacked about two miles south of where we were.) The water was super clear and a comfortable seventy-three degrees; warm enough to keep your testicles the proper size, yet cool enough to still be refreshing.

Post dip, we returned to home base and I sat down with Andrea, the artiste who does all of the artwork for the Holeman surfboards. Andrea whipped out a seven-inch thick color swatch and I picked out a slick little color scheme of Electric Blue and Sunbeam Yellow. Also, Andrea is going to take the Holeman logo, the silhouette of a phoenix, and trick it out with a lot of flair. So stoked.

I never want to take for granted the people in my life who share their amazing talents with me. I love to give credit when credit is due. I live to support my friends in all of their ventures, be they in development or already established in their line of work. The anticipation I have waiting to see the final product when Andrea and JP drop my brand new, original, custom surfboard off at The Hotel is only surpassed by the excitement leading up to catching the first wave on The Magic Slipper.

I’m falling down, but I should find my strength in this… A light that burns to reconnect my heart for what it’s meant to give…

"You're Putting People's Lives In Danger," She Screamed

2009-07-18T19:49:00.000-07:00

There were only a few Fridays left on Parental Control, and Walter, our location’s guy, finally had a slow enough workday, he could go grab lunch. He still had a lot of work to do closing out his paperwork on all of the houses he scouted this season, so we opted to go someplace close to eat instead of my usual Friday grubbery, The Whaler. We settled on Barney’s Beanery on the Promenade with its New York Time’s length-ed menu.

We were immediately seated at the outdoor patio facing the impending action, which was about to unfold in front of us. Our waitress flew right into to take our drink orders. We ordered a pair of Pabst Blue Ribbons (because even without the blue ribbon, it’d still be Pabst… HA!). Before she had a chance to leave the table to bring us our order, the most alarming phrase was heard:

You’re putting people’s lives in danger!

Everyone on the patio craned their necks around trying to see where the “dangerous” warning came from. There was an elderly woman screaming as a homeless (or just completely insane) guy who was throwing shit into the tree right next to the Beanery’s Patio.

What the hell are you doing?! You’re putting people’s lives in danger!

Again. What the hell was the guy doing? Was he throwing a brick into the tree, leaving the woman afraid it would crack someone in the skull leaking their brain matter all over the sidewalk? Nothing that intense. The guy continued to launch a water bottle into the tree until a basketball-size bees’ nest crashed down and exploded on the sidewalk, unleashing an army, nay, a horde of bees into the air.

I can see why a lunatic woman might yell “You are putting people’s lives in danger;” a lot of people are allergic to bee stings. We could have had a record setting number of people going into anaphylactic shock right in front of us. Or if I played “Shout” we could have had a record number of people doing the “gator” from Animal House.

A few people looked nervous about the bees, but for the most part, they flew around a bit and then dissipated to regions beyond.

But that’s not the best part.

The woman continued to scream. And then something awesome happened. This portly passerby walked up the rabid homeless man and asked him why he would do something like that and “put people in danger.” The degenerate’s only response was to grab the innocent passerby by the collar of his shirt. The passerby said calmly to the loon, “Let go of my shirt” several times before the homeless man took it upon himself to take a swing at the nice man.

Next thing we all knew, they were rolling around right there on the Promenade like two sixth graders fighting after school. And they went at it for a good ten minutes before any kind of authority figure showed up to break it up.

First on the scene was a Promenade security guard, and thank god, because someone with a “badge” needed to be there to keep on eye on things until the real police arrived.

Shortly after the real police showed up, they pried the two wrestlers apart. The now enraged homeless man made what could be interpreted as an aggressive move toward the cop, so the cop did the most rationale thing he could think of: zap the fucker with a taser. And wouldn’t you know it, that crazy old man just wouldn’t go down. The officer had to offer up a second helping of juice before the bearded madman finally went down.

The cops then drug him to the other side of the sidewalk for no apparent reason except to make it harder for the patrons of Barney’s to watch the man get handcuffed. Fuckin’ pigs.

I mean, could that lunch get any better? I say only if the waitress had brought up our beers instead of going to call 911. Oh well.

I watch the stars as they fall from the sky… I held a falling star, and it wept for me… Dying…

I Might Actually Have To Go See The New Twilight

2009-07-08T22:19:00.000-07:00

My thirteen year old cousin, Daniela, lives in Italy. Recently she had the pleasure of being an extra in the upcoming sequel to the Twilight movie, New Moon. She wrote a piece (an extremely long piece) about her experience and I found it very interesting. She really wants to become an actress. I posted her piece here for you all to check it out. Sit back and relax, grab some peanuts and some carrot juice, maybe a beer, this may take a while (this is longer than anything I've written to date), and enjoy the tale of Daniela's day on set.

Everything started in Denmark… (yeah… pretty strange…)

Mom was reading the magazine “Io Donna” and she read an article on the sequel of Twilight: “New Moon”, that was going to be set in Tuscany. Since I love acting and since I absolutely LOVE Robert Pattinson (main character Edward Cullen) she asked me if I wanted to go and see the filming and I said yes!!! (Who doesn’t want to see Robert Pattinson?!?!?)

I was so excited!! But, like in all Italian stuff, there wasn’t a lot of information, in fact they didn’t say when they were filming. So I/Mom made a lot of phone calls to the Town Hall of Montepulciano to get some information. The people were very nice and they told me that it would have been better to do the casting to have more of a chance to see the actors than to go just as a fan…As the security would be very tight, and all access to the town banned, if you did not have a set pass.

So we got other information and me and Mom went down to Montepulciano at end April to do the casting. We stayed there for 2 days but it would of taken longer if it wasn’t for Maurizio Cusano, the director of the casting, who was staying in our same hotel!! (what a coincidence!!)

So the morning of the second day of the casting we met Maurizio at breakfast. The first day 1600 girls showed up, the most ever in history, we think. So we smartly went the 2^nd day. We talked a lot at breakfast and he said to meet him at the casting at 9.00 am that morning so he would let us pass in front of all the other people.. (ha ha).

The casting wasn’t as I expected.. I don’t know how to explain.. it was quick and boring. We went there, we signed many forms and authorizations, as I am a minor, and a parent has to be with me at all times, we handed in my resume, stating I am bilingual, I took 2 photos with a number in front of me, and that’s all.

After that we drove 5 hours back to Milan waiting for the CALL… (this is what got the casting director’s interest, that we drove 5 hours to get there…in fact he took another girl who was staying at the hotel with her Mom, as she too drove 5 hours from the South of Italy to get there, and get this, they are a Polish family living in Italy, so two Polish blooded girls got in together—must be divine intervention of our Polish relatives, they prayed a lot in the olden days, Mom says.)

The days passed the phone didn’t ring..

But on Wednesday, 13^th of May my phone rang and the number was a 0578, that means it’ calling from Montepulciano… yeah! I was soooo excited!! I was screaming!! I had to calm dawn before answering. I picked up the phone… they said that I was in the movie!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Than they asked to talk to Mom… and while she was talking I was jumping up and down, crying, laughing, rolling my self on the floor… I even talked to the casting director, he said he kept his promise, which he did. Mom sent him a thank you case of wine…

I was so happy! The filming started on the 27^thof May, but we had to send the forms to Rome for Monday, 17^th… so we had to rush and fill out all the forms, authorizations from the doctor, the school and from my parents as, I’m a minor. I was a complete chaos that weekend. But on Monday we sent all the forms to Rome by courier with written on it PRIORITY in CAPITAL LETTERS. And in fact it arrived the same day at 2.00 pm.

Mom and I left for Tuscany on the 25^th, even if the filming started on the 27^thbecause it’s a six hour drive and you get really tired and your butt gets squared. We had so much luggage you can’t imagine…as we were staying for a week. The trunk was completely full and even the back seats were full! Thank goodness we were only in two people!

The trip was horrible!! We got lost near Piacenza because there was an accident on the highway and 8 km of traffic back up… we couldn’t get on the other side of the Po river because the bridge had actually fallen down, (this is Italy, bridges fall down, and stay down) and we had to go all the way around Piacenza to get an other bridge… we lost an hour. Finally we got on the other side of the river and we went down to the town of Reggio Emilia BUT then we got a flat tire so we had to go out Reggio and look for a mechanic. There we lost an other hour… So we thought it was destiny not to get there, thank goodness we arrived one day ahead of time, to be able to catch our breath.

After those terrible moments we finally arrived in Montepulciano at 10.30 pm!!! I couldn’t take it any more! We didn’t stay in a hotel but in a apartment so the owner came at 10.30 to show us the house. It was a huge, beautiful house with a very big garden an a huge terrace. Thank goodness we had one day to recover, otherwise I would of slept on the set!

We were able to walk around the town the day after, and see what was going on, where to go, and we got the phone call that day, for the next day, we had to be on the set at 7 am! The life of a star is tough! Others had to be there at 4 am to wait in line and give their names, details, etc,, can you imagine, but since I am a minor, we got off easier.

Finally the day of the filming came! I was so excited!! At the casting I met the Polish girl that they also selected, so I met with her on set and we had really fun together!

The first day I started filming at 7.00 am!! First we were sent to the costume room, and we got our red wool capes and then we went on set. We walked out of the cast holding area, and that was neat each time we did it, as there were hundreds of screaming young girls, taking our picture and asking us if we saw HIM (meaning Robert). It felt like being on the red carpet at the Oscars. Bouncers and security everywhere….holding back the flood of girls.

There was at least 500 people not counting the directors & co… in the main square. It was so hot, almost 30 degrees and we were wearing wool capes!!! ☼☼☼

That day we waited and waited under the sun but the director forgot about the minors so we didn’t film that day… (very sad). But fun anyway, just to be on the set, as we got to watch them film some scenes with Bella, the main girl character. A lot of waiting around, and then the director says, Silence!, Lets Roll! Action! And then you hope he waits to say Cut, as you have to do the same scene 20 times. And a scene lasts about 30 seconds. So all of this preparation, hours of waiting, for a short few minutes of filming.

Then that evening Dad arrived by train, and then the following day we started filming at 2 pm, which was better, and until 4.30 pm we didn’t shoot, but we saw a lot of actors!!

Finally they called us, and they placed us on the set, and we started filming! WOW!! I didn’t do too much, but sit where they told us and be silent, (however, it was VERY EXCITING), but it was still a big thing for me, as we were surrounded on the set by the huge cast and all of the movie technicians and the directors!! They shot the same scene several times, in the morning and in the evening, to have different lighting effects, but we don’t know if the scene I am in will be selected or not, till we see the film. While we were filming we had to keep our hoods on and just look at the saint’s statue and wave our hands and smile alot.

When we finished the directors took a lot of photos and we even did a video that, the directors said, will go on the extras of the DVD. Wow!! Sort of like the end of the film GREASE, where everyone is on the set and says goodbye. That was the best experience of my whole life!!

But the adventure doesn’t finish now!!

The next day a friend of mine came to visit me even if I wasn’t filming any more but Bella, the main character, was filming right down my street so we went to see her…

We ran all around Montepulciano to see the filming and finally we stopped right in front of her hotel and we got squished in the barriers waiting to see the star. I had ready my camera and my notebook for autographs and then she came out of the hotel!! Everybody was screaming and then she started signing autographs…. And SHE SIGNED MINE TOO!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OMG I was shocked when I saw it!!! That page is worth a fortune!!

I have to thank Mr Cusano for this great experience, he is a really nice guy and a good friend, he even came to our house one night, to hide out from all of the people bothering him, as he was always being asked if he still needed any extras on the set each day.

Since there was the weekend and then there was the 2^nd of June long weekend holiday, we decided to stay for a few couple of days more. We visited a lot of beautiful Tuscan cities like Siena, Cortona, (famous now for the setting of the book, Under the Tuscan sun, by Frances May) San Gimignano, Pienza, etc. Tuscany is a wonderful, magical place. Living history. The cities look as they did in olden times; and the landscape is just sooo beautiful, rolling hills, tall cypress trees, vineyards, cheesemakers, farms, etc.

Then after 3 lovely days of touring, it was time to pack up and go home on June 1^st.But there was one little problem, the luggage! Now there were 3 of us, and we had even more luggage! Mom and Dad sat up front with more space, I think, while I (the star) was squished in the back with no space for legs of rest of body!! I had to do 5 hours drive with the computer on my lap, with food under my feet and praying that the big suitcase wouldn’t fall on me!! Awful! But worth it! Finally, we arrived home without a flat tire or without getting lost in the countryside!!

This was one of the most beautiful experiences in my entire life and I hope to do another film someday! There should be a good possibility, as I am now on a casting list, and have this experience of one film. And now I have done a theatre piece in June, at then end of my acting class, a humorous version of Cinderella. And I will attend an acting camp in the USA in July. So I can compare movie making to theatre.

It was very interesting to see the movie set from the inside, and how the entire filming process really works, and now I can understand better why movies have such huge costs and take such a long time to make. And why they need so many extras and doubles for the main characters. And yes, I met and got autographs from the doubles, they have become famous in their own right.

The film comes out on 17 November, so mark your calendars, to go and see it.

Oh, I forgot to say, for those who do not know, it’s a nice love story between two teenagers…..he is an 18 year old immortal “good” vampire and she is a 17 year old girl, who is “normal”. But they are different, he lived his 18 years for 180 times, and she lived her 17 years for the first time.

There are 2 more films after this one……Called Eclipse and Breaking Dawn.

The books are better. (I say… but you’ll be the judge..)

I love trying to make conversation when I could care less of what you are doing...

Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers In Your Hair

2009-06-29T21:12:00.001-07:00

I haven’t written in a few weeks, so I feel like I really need to get something posted up here. I haven’t come across any annoying articles or politician’s remarks lately to write about anything of real merit. I could always comment on all of the celebrity deaths, but I feel that should be left up to assholes with pink hair that get punched in the face.

What I would like to comment on, however, is my recent work-trip to San Francisco. Work related stories aside to protect the innocent, I think I found my new favorite city (outside of Philadelphia).

I feel what makes the city so great is how pedestrian friendly it is. It was actually more annoying to drive around SF in a car than it is in LA. San Francisco may have the best public transportation I have seen in any city; New York City’s subway system being it’s only rival. What mode of transportation do I even begin with?

I love walking around cities I visit, and people love to walk around San Francisco. There is so much to see, the architecture is beautiful, the bay is gorgeous, and the towering Bay and Golden Gate Bridges are mighty bookends to the skyline. It made my five-mile runs each afternoon around the Esplanade so much more enjoyable.

After reading this bit, you all should know how much I enjoy bicycling. Again, there was no shortage of cyclists cruising around not only for enjoyment, but you’d easily see pelotons (yeh?) of sport jacket and tie-wearing business men with cuffed pants cruising to the office on any given day. Cars were giving cyclists the right of way. It was a breath of fresh air to see cyclists not having to constantly cut in between passing motorists.

All I need to mention about the busses is they are zero emission. That’s right. A massive grid of electric wires crisscrosses and spider-webs its way across the SF landscape. Each bus has a spire attached to this wiring system, which allows the busses to operate solely on electricity. For all you tree-huggers out there, zero-emission busses are a brilliant idea.

Finally, my favorite mode of transportation is probably the historical San Francisco Cable Car; not to be confused with the trolley, which is also a fun little way to jaunt across town. Like taking the chocolate factory “tour” at Hershey, I had to take a ride using the Cable Car system in San Fran. So cool to see the conductor actually have to grab the cable (duh) running under the street to make the vehicle move. We learned an actual fire is started as the Cable Car braking system grabs the cable to slow down.

All and all, whoever designed San Francisco did a most excellent job and I hope lots of people bought that person a beer. (I could probably Google who the city planner was, but I’m going to be lazy and let you all go on a little adventure of your own.) The citizens were great to be around, and I am confident to call all the working contacts I made while I was visiting, friends. I had a blast exploring this great city and I look forward to going back there very soon.

You don’t want to see this. If you did, you’d surely disbelieve it…

Home Is Where The Heart Is... On The Bus

2009-05-27T00:07:00.000-07:00

What is home? I mean for me. Home is where I grew up: on the edge of a neighborhood called Westford Crossing adjacent to Beaver Creek. A lot of you hear me call “The Hotel” home, my west coast Shangri-La. I know I tell my roommates all the time I will see them at home. But for me, when people ask where I came from, where do I go when I “go home for the holidays,” I always say Philadelphia.

Now, I hold no grudge against either Harrisburg or Hershey where I spent my childhood. I had neighborhood kids I hung out with, we regularly had neighborhood barbeques, I know I loved the swimming pool I spent every summer at from the age of six on up, and god bless wing nights. Unfortunately, that place doesn’t exist anymore. Thanks to wonderful urban sprawl, the farmland I used to ride my old Huffy mountain bike through is now covered in strip malls and town-homes. It’s not the same place I grew up (except for the Eagle Hotel; it still has the best buffalo wings I’ve ever tasted).

I always say I’m from Philadelphia because the person you know and love today is from that city. I was Mike (god I hate that name) while growing up in the suburbs of Harrisburg, but once I got to high school and I began going by Mallick more and more, and then graduating and leaving that world behind when I went to college, that’s when I became the well-adjusted alcoholic you all know and love today.

See, growing up with my folks and my sister, I was always in my parents house. I grew up there, but it was their house, their rules. Once I was away at college, I was on my own.

Philadelphia is where I discovered all of the great music I am in tune with today. It’s where I met my college buddies, some of the closest friends I have today. It’s where I developed my ideas about religion, or lack there of. It’s where my career in television began, and where it spring boarded with the help of a little town called West Chester. From Big-5 basketball, to the Phillies and Eagles, to cheesesteaks, to the Schuylkill River, everything about Philadelphia is what shaped, and literally created, me.

I have always been of the school of thought, which believes a person is in constant flux. The person I was in grade school is different from my high school persona, from my college party machine, from my young professional relationship in Philly, from the “adult” who now resides in Venice Beach. Still, I feel the basic, underlying character was forged during my tenure in the city of brotherly love.

Again, don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret or loathe anything about the eighteen years I spent outside the “Sweetest Place on Earth”. But each time I look toward home, back to where I came from, the memory, which always crosses my mind, is the picture of my life in Philadelphia.

I want you to show me the way…