Blogging on Meds

Pitchfork Media has been making and breaking bands for the past 10+ years. Some bands that don’t deserve all the credit they’re receiving - Arcade Fire, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Vampire Weekend, Destroyer, Colin Meloy Whatever from Whatever hyped Montreal Portland Oakland Brooklyn Austin Boston band. Pitchfork fully understands that they have wayyyy more control over the “indie” music world than is recognized. They have so much power, are able to realize it, and yet still review and rate horrible music as being good music. And then the trickle effect begins - Pitchfork rates the album with rave reviews, followed by the LA Times NY Times SF Weekly OC Weekly, then the little mp3 based music blogs and soon to be extinct printed music magazines - next thing you know, horrible bands are touring the world as the “best new band” of recent times.

Brooklyn - Crap Your Hands Say Yeah…

Montreal - Barcade Fire…

I’m not in a band or even closely tied to the music industry, so why should I even care? Because there are millions of bands out there that don’t get enough press, and few bands that get too much press. I’m sure that I’ve never heard my favorite band in the world yet and probably will never hear my favorite band in the world, which I guess I’m fine with that. But Pitchfork shouldn’t have as much influence on the independent music industry as they currently do. Pitchfork Media is to music is what Urban Outfitters is to fashion & clothing. Both are powerful, bland, and both need to go away.

San Francisco is having a big week. First with the Anti-China Protests and now with this awesome news… In San Francisco, Ca, there is a movement to change the name of the Oceanside Wastewater Treatment Facility, which is adjacent to the SF Zoo.

The new proposed name would be the “George W. Bush Sewage Plant.”

Join their movement.

No, this isn’t a band photo.

Being fashionable means being privileged and lucky, right? But as we all know in the fashion biz, there are trend spotters, trend forecasters and the worst term of all, Cool Hunters*. Hunting Cool? Really? That job itself, and job title even more so, gives me heavy brain pain. These assholes go around the globe looking to get a step ahead in the business of youth and teen culture/fashion. Whether it be Brussels, Barcelona, Beirut or Brooklyn, the current trends must start somewhere, right? So from what I understand, it goes like this… Find a somewhat fashionable, youthful, energetic city. Travel there. Look for all types of kids with “unique” style. Photo or Video them. Ask them questions about how they’d describe their style(vintage, rare, thrift, chic - whatever lame adjective), what bands they’re into, what websites they frequent, etc. Then these style-less forecasters go back to their stuffy Manhattan, London, Paris, Tokyo or Santa Monica offices and sort out what trends to pitch to their clients; Urban Outfitters, American Apparel, Coca Cola, Diesel, Quiksilver, Etc., Etc., Etc. Does this marketing scheme work? I’d say yes. Is Fashion important - even on a grand scale? Even on a smaller scale? I’d say yes, well kind of. If it makes people happy, then yes it’s important. Personally I care how I dress and look - to a certain extent. Do you care how you’re dressed? Really though, it’s a matter of taste and opinion, and if riding the L Train from Manhattan to Brooklyn in a pair of sweatpants is important enough to care about, then so be it. Would you wear sweatpants on a date? If so, you’re rad. Who the hell am I to be covering fashion? Lissa, punch me when you see me next.

*I do have two friends who have this type of trend forecasting job and it’s painful to talk to them about it. They honestly believe in their job, and feel as if they are contributing to New York’s fashionable youth.

** The people in the photo are very close friends of mine. I am NOT making fun of them, or their choice of shirts, just using them as an example of what happens in Brooklyn, (Williamsburg specifically) when something gets “cool” or revisited, and how it ultimately implodes on itself. These three friends had no idea of the other one wearing essentially the same piece of clothing - (which I must point out, this certain shirt is not a new shirt as we all know - this type of shirt is classic, flannel, rad) but they all ended up showing up at mega-hip, but “locals only” bar, Daddy’s in Williamsburg.

You gotta stay either one step ahead, or four steps behind and you’ll be fine in the fashion world.

PARTY ON BRO! So apparently Matt Leinart, our favorite USC alumni, besides Carson Palmer, has recently got himself into some trouble with his NFL team, Arizona Cardinals. It’s reported here that Leinart and other kinda-not-really-celebrity-singer-guy Nick Lachey had a night of strip club fun, including multiple bathroom trips with a Jessica Simpson look-a-like (which I’m sure those aren’t hard to find in Arizona), under aged college girls, Jacuzzis and lots of canned beer. And beer bongs! Good work my friend. I fucking hate football and USC, but this is just ridiculous and funny, and makes me LOVE football and USC.

*Note Nick Lachey’s cocked cootered hat. Fucker dresses like a teenager that hangs out in the mall - grow up guys.

Okay. Hello. I still can’t tell if unorganized, unplanned travel into foreign land is serendipitous and adventurous or if it’s stressful and hopeless. Maybe a healthy mix of both.

Left U.A.E. on Wednesday around 4pm…but before that, went to the Dubai equivalent of the DMV and Mike had to get a U.A.E. drivers license - which took four hours, two different DMV locations, an eye examination in a grocery store, and three cab rides. Fuck that. So we finally hit the road south to Oman. Getting out of U.A.E. was a breeze, but after a three hour wait in line for customs, countless amounts of line cheaters (the Scottish were the worst - they were fuckin jerks - my heritage has some patience issues), we finally got into Oman after driving on Oman’s version of the German Autobahn - drivers going 200km per hour wasn’t a rare sighting. Also, Oman has probably twelve cops per one person - or sure seemed like it. But I have never seen this many cops. Not even in Times Square, or around Ground Zero. FINALLY made it to the capital of Oman - Muscat. Or Muskat, which ever you like. Lots of names here have many spellings. You know we have like Colour vs. Color. Or Shoppe vs. Shop. Here it’s Muscat vs. Mukcat. Or Tire vs. Tyre. Not Tyre Banks - Ali’s Flat Tyre Fix. Understand?

Sit down to eat at this restaurant and their menu featured some very special meals: “hotdog club sandwich”, “lambs burger”, “hotdog burger”, “chicken lollipop”, “shrimps pizza”, and just about every other nasty combo of sandwich that you could imagine. I asked some Swedes who walked out of McDonalds where they’re staying in Muscat - to get an idea of where to go - and this is where the madness starts - finally end up lost, like really lost. Like deep in the hills lost. Drove around for three hours, popping into every hotel - had no road map of Oman, no GPS, every hotel we could find, “Sorry, no rooms.” Okay, so we figure we’re gonna have to sleep in the car. Fine. That sucks, but there was nowhere else to go when you’re tired and having brain pain. We finally get into the old part of Muscat and these kids yell out, “Are you lost? You need help?” Then after figuring out what we were saying, they point to a building with a little hotel sign. Al Mina Hotel. Yes! 200 Dirham later, I’m in the sketchiest hotel room on the planet, without hookers. Cigarette burn holes on the sheets. Phone numbers written on the wall closest to Mike’s bed. A bath towel that was comparable to highly abrasive sandpaper. Now imagine the shower. If I could have paid $5000 to levitate, I would have. So anyways, slept decently there in this hotel for about 4 hours then woke up and walked around the souk in the morning hunting for Turkish coffee. But damn, what a beautiful city Muscat is. Almost nothing modern about it, in comparison to Dubai, which is a relatively new country (35 some odd years old and big big big everything). And by far the friendliest people I’ve encountered on this trip. Everyone says, “Welcome to Oman” with a smile and a hand shake. People bought us tea, coca-colas, water, Pear juice, talked about New York - just really nice folks. We left Muscat around 4pm and headed north back into U.A.E. Got to Fujairah, which is a super nice mix of beach and mountains. Very Southern California looking - actually central coast area. Oh, on top of it being a weekend (weekends here are Thursday and Friday) it’s Mohammed’s Bday which means, good luck getting a hotel. NOT A SINGLE HOTEL available. None. Happy Birthday Mohammed! After pleading with every hotel reception worker and getting denied, we drove another two hours back to Dubai to the villa. The owner of the villa that we had rented for two weeks, Marie, had thought that since we were “going to Oman”, it would be a good idea to rent our room out to someone else while we were gone - so we got boned. So guess where Mike and I slept? In the freaking backyard, on the ground, next to the pool, with one blanket per person. I woke up at 5am to loud prayer from the Mosque around the corner and the fucking roosters. And to the flies at 6am. And to a girl wanting to swim at 8am but saw two super tall, white dudes laying on the ground at a nice villa poolside. I wonder what she thought…fuck it.

Gonna stick around Dubai until Sunday and then leave mid-day for Musandam, Oman. Fjords and shit…can’t wait.

Go to Oman. But make sure it’s not Mohammed’s Birthday when you’re there.

Chicken Lollipops and Shrimps Pizza - Are you fucking kidding me?

The French Police were in attack-mode against these kook rollerbladers. The FRPI (French Rollerblading Police Index) is fairly high in the Summer, but considering this was Spring, it was unusual to see them out and about in flat out full force, in mass amounts - Five were spotted in ten minutes around the Louvre.

The Rollerblader Police ended up ticketing all of those kids.

What’s worse? Rollerbladers, or cops on Rollerblades? Is there a more awful combo?

No worries, it’s mellow here. Pretty much the same shit. Walked around today and met some rad folks and in true tourist style, photographed buildings. Construction, construction, and more construction. It’s baffling. Went kinda near The Burj Dubai which is a fucking neckbreaker of a building - 159 floors completed as of now, but they have 2 cranes perched at the top just to make sure that if another building sneaks past them in height, they can keep building higher towards where God lives. Imagine the World Trade Center in NYC - okay, so those were 110 floors. Imagine another 49 more floors higher, with the option of going higher - one guy told me that they’ll end around 175 floors but will have a massive antenna structure to boost it’s height. But Burj Dubai has some healthy competition - a building in Kuwait is going for 200+ floors. And another building in Bahrain is pushing for over 200 as well. The Burj Dubai is a beastly structure which will hold nine hotels, a handful of the top restaurants, a lake, commercial offices, shopping, and 30,000 homes for the fanciest of the fancy. A big fuck you to even the wealthy. Speaking of wealthy, I talked to a bunch of underpaid construction workers - who some get $150 a week. For work, some put up signs, some dig holes, some load steel on/off of trucks - most of them on their lunch breaks. Most of these people were Indian and Bangladeshi, and Iranian but some wouldn’t tell me. Or they would just say that they “came from India” even though they said they weren’t Indian. Not sure why that was what they told me…

Holler! Yesterday went and did some less touristic voyaging around older (you younger people might use thrift store terms like, vintage, rare, hard to find) Dubai - sarcasm if you get my drift… That started off with going to a mall that makes the island of Manhattan look small. It is the mall with 100,000 visitors every freakin day - no joke. Also the same mall in which you can ski - yes, snow ski - listen to awesome German techno, and watch a “shoe fashion show” which I did watch, and laughed. The Mall of The Emirates also has two full sized grocery stores, like five hotels (one of which is a chalet facing the ski area) and endless amounts of fine dining fancy cuisine restaurants. After that we had the unfortunate deal of getting in some sketchy cab and he drove us 45 minutes out of our way just to go about 5 kilometers. He would basically point out everything that I didn’t care to see… “on the left is the Dubai Creek Hilton, there’s the Marriott and the Hyatt Dubai, on the right is some other massive mall, and up ahead is another mall…” After making it clear to him that I wanted to go to the textile and gold souk and the shipping port in center city and the Dubai Creek (River), he finally said that he understood what I’m talking about. So finally I made it to what I imagine old Dubai to be 30 years ago before the crazy mass construction process began. Desert-ish, little market souk type alley ways all mazed together to finally dump you out into kinda way lower income less fortunate part of town than the new Dubai. Way less crowded than the Moroccan souk but also way different products being sold. Way less touristy (which seems more sketchy as a white American) but way more authentic and “real.” But the shipping dock area was unbelievable - so janky and a mess of crap everywhere - everything being loaded onto these boats like cars, car tires, AC units, jars of mayonnaise, etc. - but somehow these dudes were organized and on top of it.

Overall, people are very friendly, as expected, but there have been semi weird vibes between the older Muslim men looking at my buddy Mike like he’s Ansel freakin Adams nature photographer with his crazy 50,000mm lens (looks like a fucking telescope from NASA). Kinda funny to see them look at him. I might go a bit more unnoticed, compared to Mike - not sure why, but I feel like he’s been getting vibed way harder than I have. Do you ever get vibed? Anyways, been trying to find falafel and it’s near impossible. Finally found a place today in Al Satwa and walk in this restaurant around noon and the guy tells us falafel isn’t served until 5pm. What? I fully understand that it’s unlawful to look at women too long, but no falafel until 5pm? You serious? It’s like saying I can’t have a bagel in Brooklyn until after midnight. Oh well. So finally decided that we’re not driving up the coast of U.A.E. and into Oman until Wednesday. Probably coming back Saturday or Sunday to Dubai and then we’ll have more time to experience more of what Dubai is known for, shopping malls, shopping in general, massive buildings, and Starbucks of course.

As you can see from reading this, I like these punctuation marks a lot ( ) - , which makes for great run on sentences.

So far, so good though. Really enjoying it. Time to adventure out again.

Til next time, with camera in hand, from Jumeirah Beach, Dubai.

Greetings from Dubai.

Holy crap. Not that big of a deal so far…except it’s freakin insane. So yes, it’s actually a big deal here. Trying to actually get the grasp of what’s going on here in terms of construction, massiveness, sprawl, amount of people, or maybe the amount of “Americanization” even in an area of the world where I’d not expect to see this. I’m kinda obsessed with how much American shit is here. Fast food, automobiles, clothing, music, faux culture… In a few days or so I’m getting out of Dubai and heading into the deserts of the rest of United Arab Emirates and Oman and see some sand dunes, sheppards, hawk trainers, a non mall souk, off roading in a 4×4, kids with guns, you know, the normal day-to-day gnarly stuff. Papa Persia told me directly via Melika to stay out of Kish (Iran) so I might take his word. Unless I have an Iranian entourage that will take care of me.

This place is CRAZY - did I say that already? It’s literally the most hypocritical, kinda ridiculous but awesome, playground for the wealthiest people (Arabs) on the planet - which doesn’t necessarily make it cool…but keeps it interesting I walked around all day today, went to the beautiful beach, walked some more to the souk (but it was a wack souk - not authentic at all), stumbled upon some horrific boat show in the marina and saw what I thought was the most expensive superyachts - the yachts in the marina here had price tags of upwards of 50,000,000 Euro., crazy hotels ($700 a night??) the most expensive cars zipping up and down Jumeirah Beach Rd., the most expensive this, the most expensive that - whatever - mean while, the Mosques are blaring prayer - contrasting the new Puff Diddy/Mariah Carey songs coming out of these super wealthy prince-like kids’ Mercedes Benz with 20 inch “dubs.” Such a shock for that reason alone. Pizza Hut here, McDonalds here, K.F.C. inside a Starbucks inside a T.G.I.Fridays over there (nah, kidding). I swear that where I am is a mix of Newport Beach mixed with Miami mixed with Beverly Hills mixed with old Iranian and Saudi oil money mixed with tons of German tourists mixed with Las Vegas mixed with the Upper West side snobbery mixed with Disneyland and a sprinkle/dash/pinch of slave like workers from Bangladesh, India and Malaysia. I must say, this city/country’s people have been very welcoming and very warm and open. But I’m starting to think that with a overall population made up of 80% of ex-pats, along with countless amounts of tourists, we (they) have completely tarnished what U.A.E. once had - culture wise. From what some neo-local’s have said, the U.A.E. is doing a good job of weening itself off of it’s oil money and instead opting for other means of capital. And in fact, the U.A.E. wants Dubai to be THE world hub, not A world hub - which makes sense that all this construction is happening not now, but right now.

p.s. There’s a Tony Roma’s rib joint here. Not sure why that’s so funny to me, but it is.

p.p.s. There’s also a freakin ski slope in a mall. You can pay to ski, in the desert, in a mall. Not weird at all.

p.p.p.s. Dubai’s customs was a breeze. Don’t even worry about it.

p.p.p.p.s. T.G.I.Fridays here are called Where It’s Always Friday - I think because of the “God” in T.G.I.F.

Sorry, I’m so crazy over the Americana awfulness here.

I guess that’s really it for today. Kinda soaking it all in. Another update tomorrow with nicer pictures and not so much American shit to look at.

You know when you see that couple at a party, or at a nice restaurant, or wherever really, and you actually catch yourself saying either out-loud, or in your head, “look at how awesome they are - they are the perfect couple.” ?? So I spotted what I now deem to be the most perfect couple in the history of couples, in Philadelphia, yes of course on South Street.

Where and when did they meet? Probably mid 80’s, probably coked out and drunk, probably at a Van Halen (David Lee Roth) afterparty. Turning this issue into a selfish issue, it makes me wonder where/how I can meet a lady like this. Do I look for a girl who dresses like me? Who has the same hair cut? Who walks in a perfectly cadenced stride along side me? Is that possible to find this caliber of woman who is out there? And single? Well obviously this gentleman in the photo looked, and found, what seems to be a mirror image of himself, but in female form. Does that also bring up the question of narcissism? Whatever, who cares because we can all admit that she is beautiful, he is beautiful, they are as beautiful as it gets.

This certain boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife, brother/sister have to be the world’s hottest, sexiest couple I’ve ever seen, hands down. Period. End of question.

Dominos Pizza, apparently the world’s second largest pizza chain, assuming Pizza Hut is on top of the world’s pizza game, has just recently released a Brooklyn Style Pizza!?! Really? I just caught wind of this in Dubai of all places. I live in Brooklyn and haven’t heard a peep about this horrible pitfall of an idea, but once I leave my country and get to the Middle East, and I read a local English language newspaper catering to German tourists, commenting about the certain pizza. Is it foldable? Does that make it Brooklyn? Is it hip? Is it unfriendly and loud and dirty filthy? Does it have graffiti on it? What makes it Brooklyn style? As soon as I return to the States I’m going to order it, eat it, then review it.

According to Rob Weisburg, Domino’s vice president of precision and print marketing (What kinda made up bullshit job title is this? John does this job exist outside of Dominos?), said the campaign is aimed primarily at male college students across the country. How stereotypical…I guess that’s the world of marketing though… Speaking of stereotypical, oh those crazy male college kids…they sure love their fake accents, axe body spray and ruffies.

Brooklynites are also hating on this idea big time. I don’t blame them. The South would attempt to rise again if it were a Southern Style Pizza. What would the toppings on that be? A roadkill, moonshine, racist hatred pizza with a side Southern Baptist??

Thanks for calling Dominos can I take your order? - Yes, I’ll have a large Dumbest Idea Ever Pizza.

No, not that pink one in the West Village…

I actually never saw The Diving Bell and the Butterfly but instead I somewhat recently went to Julian Schnabel’s Montauk home. This guy has an outdoor painting studio! Who the fuck has an outdoor painting studio? Anyways, I didn’t get to meet him, but I got to meet his home. It’s broken up into three parts of the property - the main home, the living quarters for the interns/assistants, and the studio, which also includes a really nice pool with dog shit everywhere. Kinda not even important - as usual, but interesting nonetheless. His property seems exactly like him - totally random tandem bikes everywhere. Pink lawn couches in the middle of the yard, not strategically placed - but also not trashy, think classy outdoor furniture, classy chairs flanked on each side. Really weird shit going on - kids walking around everywhere. Bohemian artist intern types painting massive wanna-be paintings thinking they’re gonna be the new J.S. - maybe they will someday… Love him? Hate him? Whatever, it doesn’t even matter. He’s great.

This older dude’s outfit is definitely easy on the eyes. You think he’s color blind much?

Pink Gay San Diegian Grandpa.

Luckily (and recently) I was able to go to Morocco for work - Marrakech to be specific. Why North Africa and not Palm Springs when they were going for a desert scene - meanwhile trying to save money? Not sure, but I’m not complaining because I got a fucking rad, paid for trip with some friends in Africa. And I met some of the nicest people I’ve met in a while - so warm and friendly those Moroccans are. Enough sugar, more grit…work consisted of photo assisting a photographer who was shooting “lifestyle fashion” for J.Crew ads/catalog. Was actually surprised when I found myself looking at the J.Crew mens clothes and thinking, wow, these clothes aren’t half bad… seems like they got a new head of design. The clothes aren’t as crusty (catalog) as they used to be.

So the last day after the shoot we (the photographer Matthew, the other assistant Taea, the man model Will, and I) ventured into the main square of Marrakech also known as, Djemaa el Fna. Which literally translates to Assembly of the Dead - which is rad right? Inside the Djemaa el Fna, it’s pretty much any crazed shopping tourist’s wet dream when it comes to “North African shopping.” Those souks sell everything from scarves, tea kettles, Moroccan rugs, jewelry, antiques, hash (totally not legal), traditional men’s and women’s clothing, those pointy camel leather Aladin shoes, etc. Basically, anything a tourist can want, and need for a successful shopping spree. The Djemma el Fna is also the place where you’d see the snake charmers, the assholes who remove the fangs of the cobra snakes and blow their flute to mesmerize/charm the snakes for 300 Dirham (approx 30 Euro). I don’t get it. It’s actually not interesting and even possible that it’s actually quite boring. You’ll also see the dickheads who walk around monkeys on metal chains as leashes and basically throw the monkey on your arm, then charge 200 Dirham (20 Euro) if you even attempt to get your camera out and take a photo. Well, we gave in and took photos with the monkeys, and paid the asshole very little, at which time he started yelling at us. The man model almost pulled out his right hook - left jab combo, so he reluctantly walked away. Also, Marrakech’s nightlife is crazy - but mainly in the Djemma el Fna. A few discothèques were “going off” but those aren’t in the Medina, or the old historic part of the city. The clubs seemed more like gay clubs than anything else. Since the photographer we were with enjoys men, he wanted to sneak off and go to the discothèque. Sure enough, within an hour he had joined up with us in the Djemma el Fna. But remember, it’s pretty much a dry booze city, other than the discothèques, clubs and hotel bars. So if you’re there to party, keep it at the hotels.

Any ol’ way, the last day of my trip I had finally succumed to the pressure of getting rugs for gifts for Mom, brothers, friends, etc. After narrowing down the best rug stores for my liking, and after haggling down 3 rugs from his initial price of 4000 Dirhams (400 Euro - which is a fucking lot!!!), all the way down to 850 Dirham (85 Euro - which is cheap as shit!!!) he offered me some mint tea and a hash spliff. Well, why the fuck would I not smoke hash with a carpet dealer? This guy was amazing, and allowed us to sit there and drink his tea, sit in his lounge area for customers, get stoned, which i don’t smoke - hardly ever (3 times in since 2005).

Whatever. All I’m saying, is go to Marrakech and visit. Those people are as friendly and funny as anyone I’ve met. They’re cuisine is as good as anything I’ve tasted. And it’s as beautiful as anywhere I’ve been.

Lots of photos…

Next week I’m in Dubai for 2 weeks. I’ll be camping in Oman for a couple days to get away from the Neo Las Vegas and hopefully go to Kish, Iran…which apparently is the only place in Iran where I wouldn’t need a visa.

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I’ve taken my deep breaths. I’ve walked around the block more than a few times. I’m getting stressed out. I’m getting butterflies. Am I going to freak out?

So to mentally remove myself from how “gnarly” this election selection is, here’s a couple slight distractions.

Fight for your right, to party.
I never actually thought that a possum (oppossum) could hold it’s ground versus a massively sized german sheppard mix. Well, this little guy was fighting for his life… and the results of the fight - both animals walked away untouched.

We all either love or hate Vice Magazine, right? I happen to love them for a few personal biased reasons. But I’m going out on a limb and thinking that most likely you’re in the hate VICE group. oh well.

More importantly than the general vice issue, is specifically their DOs/DONT’s section of both their printed magazine, and their online magazine. I’ve (un)fortunately had some photos of mine published in their magazine but my favorite image of these, which might possibly have the most public reader comments on it, was when (trust me, it was a joke) my friends and I dressed up as Cobrasnake, Steve Aoki and that other clown from Good Charlotte. I haven’t really looked at Cobrasnake’s site in quite some time, but this was when they all happened to be in a bunch of Cobrasnake’s photos from that era… think 2005… long time ago… oh well. So anyways, here’s me on the left as Mark Cobrasnake, Chris as the Good Charlotte clown, and Tina as Benny Hana Steve Aoki. The funny thing (to me at least) is that we went out on Halloween in San Francisco and literally nobody knew who we were except for a few people who were like, “wait, you’re that dude from Good Charlotte!” But no one understood the humor in dressing up as the Cobrasnake or Steve Aoki. Maybe I’m the idiot, hmmmm - yeah that’s probably right. But even Perez Hilton voted us 2nd best Halloween costume of the year.

And to be totally honest, I’ve never met any of these three. They could be a bunch of nice, reasonable guys, but I’m assuming they’re lame-o Hollywood donkeys.

other links to other DO’s/DON’Ts of mine…

cobrashank mark

my uncle david

viagra falls

Whahhhh. Dead cat in the bag.

Paris, France.

Q: Whats worse than assholes like me moving from California and every-fuckin-where-else to live in Brooklyn?

A: Assholes who pile-drive themselves into Williamsburg from New Jersey and Long Island for the night to get a taste of life out of the ordinary to them. Reeking of testosterone and Jagermeister, these Axe Body spray’d, frat jock fuckers come here driving these fucking unbelievably ridiculous, massive, Hummer limos, stretch limo this, stretch limo that, just to come and eat SEA (thai food) on North 6th St. and Berry. Then they pile out of SEA and head about a half block away to one of two all White Hip Hop type clubs called SYN (you can hear the same Biggie “Hypnotize” song every time you walk by this spot) or something horrible like that on Bedford Ave. and North 5th St. with all the other out of the neighborhood too-much-cologne, khaki wearing, pinstripe button up shirt wearing, homophobic, buff & fat fucks who do nothing but make loud noise, rude/crass comments meanwhile trying to hit on any and all girls who can walk. (damn, long run-on sentence - breathe now) I’m far away from the perfect citizen, but at least I’m not one of these fuckers. And my complaint isn’t against all Jersey or Long Island folks, just the ones (male 16-35) who belong at the Jersey Shore doing steroids and wrestling their buddies on the beach to get the attention of some trashy, urban outfitted college whores.

White people from Florida freak me out.