Blogging on Meds

Adbuster’s Douglas Haddow has spoken! He’s unleashed a “scathing” review of the offensive, apathetic, materialistic, slacker generation dubbed “hipsters”. Cue up the Bob Dylan record because Doug is going to show you all how they used to do it in the underground when it meant something. I tried to send a letter to Doug but apparently the US Postal Service doesn’t deliver mail under rocks so I’ll just blog about it and be true to the “hipster manifesto”.

A brief summary: There is this new culture that sprung up recently that Douglas discovered by being kind of wired into the underground scene. He discovered that America’s bored youth have united and formed a new subculture, the members are called Hipsters. These kids are materialistic, egotistical, shun their wealth (I guess he looked at everyone’s tax returns to see what they were making before writing the article) and are into clothes and sex. Before reading the article I thought that was just the description of a teenager / twenty something American but after digesting this expose I realized the subtle nuances that create the hipster. Tight clothes, fake glasses, ironic gear and a need to party. These things have never come together before in culture, especially on such a powerful level. And check this out, these kids are so out of it on the cocaine that they don’t notice that they are being TOTALLY manipulated by the big evil corporations that just wanna sell stuff and make money.

Folks, this is a must read it’s scary, like how did this happen? Can Adbusters stop this? How do we protect ourselves and most importantly  what is a hipster and how do I know if I am one?

Doug’s no-holds-barred critique of these hipster zombies is punctuated by this battle cry, I can’t help but get a bit misty as I read it, I’m hoping Doug doesn’t just abandon us after blowing the lid off this subculture that is eroding the soil of the USA :

We are a lost generation, desperately clinging to anything that feels real, but too afraid to become it ourselves. We are a defeated generation, resigned to the hypocrisy of those before us, who once sang songs of rebellion and now sell them back to us. We are the last generation, a culmination of all previous things, destroyed by the vapidity that surrounds us. The hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture so detached and disconnected that it has stopped giving birth to anything new.

Aside from being several years too late on this Douglas is right that our culture as a whole has stopped giving birth to anything new and that’s not really that big of a deal. At some point doing new shit isn’t really that cool. Remember “funk-metal” , that was something new. Writing isn’t really that new, shunning corporations isn’t new either. Complaining about kids isn’t new either in fact all it really does is show your age or show that you’re totally fucking boring. Even using the word hipster is cringe-worthy. When someone I know says it I get the douche chills as if they were taking out a Barack The Vote or Everyone Loves a Jewish Boy shirt from an Urban Outfitters bag asking for my approval :

Gavin McInnes, one of the founders of Vice, who recently left the magazine, is considered to be one of hipsterdom’s primary architects. But, in contrast to the majority of concerned media-types, McInnes, whose “Dos and Don’ts” commentary defined the rules of hipster fashion for over a decade, is more critical of those doing the criticizing.

“I’ve always found that word [“hipster”] is used with such disdain, like it’s always used by chubby bloggers who aren’t getting laid anymore and are bored, and they’re just so mad at these young kids for going out and getting wasted and having fun and being fashionable,” he says. “I’m dubious of these hypotheses because they always smell of an agenda.”

That pretty much sums it up. Hipsters are good for the economy. It was a big deal when I was a kid to buy Air Jordans, now every kid has several pairs of sneakers, $150.00+ jeans, Mac Laptops, iPhones, what is the big picture really and who gives a shit? American means bigger and better, Hipsters are actually just patriots. Is this article telling me that kids are mindless consumers? No shit. Isn’t that the premise of Adbusters? Letting us know how totally dumb we are for letting Nike exist and how we should have a cobbler make our shoes from locally farmed cows where every inch of their corpse is used for something productive?

Hipsters or whatever the fuck dudes who wear v-necks and drink shitty beer are called are the first new culture to emerge since we all thought our computers would freeze on Y2K because someone forgot it wasn’t going to be the 19something forever. Most kids have now grown up having some type of web-profile their whole lives at this point. A kid into music can find the records you had to scour the earth for on mp3 in 30 seconds, they can digest a million things at once. If you wire a social networking site profile up to a doll Weird Science style a hipster comes out. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just the way the world is now. Unfortunately the humans who remember “what it used to be like” are jealous that they missed the boat. They spent their youth Lloyd Dobblering to get the attention of chicks hoping to have them touch their pee-pees , pretending to care about women’s “real feelings” and being sensitive and shit. They could have put up Barry Bonds numbers with the internet helping them get laid, that shit is steroids. Yup, this sounds like the old timer in the broadcast booth who got paid a total of 2 million dollars in his whole career bitching about today’s primadonnas. This is the asshole trying to convince me that Frank Sinatra was the definition of class and that I should take my hat off indoors.

The bigger problem is that we are in love with nostalgia, even Douglas, he’s yearning for that revolutionary spirit that gripped our forefathers and gave us subversive art like soup cans and something to believe in. It’s so tedious reading shit like this. Maybe everyone who isn’t washing organic cotton diapers right now just doesn’t give a fuck and is cool with that. If some people medicate themselves with Sparks and expensive denim who gives a fuck? I don’t listen to the radio to be inspired, I don’t want what I see everyday to resonate with me, I don’t want to live in a culture so motivated that we’re are all forward thinking radicals changing the world. I’m completely happy searching out what I want and tuning out the rest, it’s not that big of a deal really. Sure our homes are heated inefficiently, we waste a lot of shit, pop music suxxxxxx and politics are fucked up. I can’t believe I wasted my time reading a someone’s 10th Grade Social Studies assignment masked as an “article” by and adult about culture.

This article reads like a fucking Mad Lib. Plug in any “youth culture” and you have an article on current metal, hip-hop, skateboarding, graffiti. It’s all the same shit, kids communicate with their clothes. No matter what the “morals” behind the costume, people and kids specifically dress a certain way to project something hoping someone else picks up on their signal, provided it’s the right person. This even true of the anti-fashion person, same shit. Don’t try to tell me that the Punk movement or any movement had a different agenda. Once something rises to the surface it means that enough douches have latched onto it and watered it down to make it on other douche’s radars that’s all.

Puke.

Stuey is the dude squatting…

Holy shit, Aaron Stuart, former Piebald guitarist and current diesel to vegetable oil converter, is on the cover the NYT...Stuey and I grew up together in the Andovers of Mass. He was the only guy in Andover Domino’s Pizza history to have anal sex (with a female) while delivering a two large ‘ronis and wings.

July 31, 2008
On the Bus, and Off It: The Initiation of a Young Rock Impresario

By MELENA RYZIK
“Where’s the bus, where’s the bus, where’s the bus?” Sean Carlson fretted last month as he paced around a block in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, his BlackBerry buzzing a message a minute. He peered anxiously down the street, waiting. An hour later, he spotted it: an old Blue Bird school bus, painted white and powered by vegetable oil. On its wheels rode one far-fetched idea, months of work and, perhaps, a blueprint for his future.

A nascent music promoter, with a wardrobe of cut-offs and three well-worn T-shirts, Mr. Carlson had turned 23 a few days before and barely had a moment to celebrate back home in Los Angeles. He was too busy planning the next step in his evolving career: taking the independent music festival that he founded five years ago in Los Angeles on the road.

(more…)

Not all NPR Bags hang from hipster shoulders lacking muscle tone or definition bearing intellectual ephemera. This week’s bag, property of Owen Black is possibly the Yin to last weeks bag’s Yang (property of Ethan Snell). While Ethan’s virgin bag was a gift, flaunting his girl’s crafty vision and Gocco print handiwork, Owen’s bag was acquired by one of the oldest traditions in history, predating currency; he boosted that shit :

” I got this bag at Nike Town on 57th in Manhattan. I went there to buy one thing, and one thing only: white XL tennis shorts. For me, its a summer staple. But I noticed these racks with dozens of shopping bags ‘For your in-store use’. I took one look at my old NPR bag (not even going to mention the make) and knew it was time to upgrade. Took one off the rack from near the center, because many of them were battered from regular use. I ducked into the fitting room and stashed my new bag inside my old one, and I was good.”

Ray Cappo was wrong, photographs don’t lie amigo because in plain sight we see the following in vivid digital camera color translated from ones and zeros

L to R, in rows (As told by Mr.Black):
-pad of paper
-transparent document wallet (for leases, resumes, contracts, and other “important papers”)
-postcard advertising the peter beste True Norwegian Black Metal book release/kasher gallery opening
-ralph lauren private sale notice
-various work papers
-package containing birthday present for my sister which i finally gave to her this weekend, a little late though (March 1)
-the art of worldly wisdom by Baltasar Gracián that my friend Josh let me borrow. He is teaching english in Indonesia right now, and from time to time, requests a passage by number, which I then scan and email to him. its important to share wisdom.
-business cards paperclipped together. always important to have these on hand.
-pencil
-$50 AMEX gift check
-$5 watch
-my mother’s potato latke recipe as transcribed from a telephone conversation
-sketches from a class I took at NYU
-magazines
-umbrella
-key card
-license plate return receipt (not sure why this is still kicking around my bag, or why it isn’t in my document wallet)
-Tide stain erasing pen. If you carry any kind of bag and one of these isn’t in it, you aren’t batman.

Unlike Ethan’s happy-go-lucky, Obama-Pint-Glass-Half-Full enthusiastic tote, Black’s bag has a Jim Jones swagger, and Billy Idol sneer mixed with wisdom and foresight, much greater than the average man of his years. Amongst some playful decoys we see that Owen is prepared for the pitfalls of a loosely wrapped burrito (stain pen), a new chick dinner date (Mom’s recipe), and the printed credentials to quiet the fastest cocaine tongue (business card and key card), fuck he’s even prepared for an unplanned rainy walk of shame with the umbrella too. A true New Yorker. The only thing lacking is a little sun-block to avoid a cocaine sunburn on an all too bright walk of shame. The bridges to the boroughs can do a number on your nose and forehead without proper protection.

Lastly, Owen silences any whispers that his bag was an impulse steal, as he rattles off a calculated manifesto detailing why this carbon loaded tote accompanies him through his daily motions :

“I love my bag because when i hang it over my shoulder, it feels natural for me to loop my right thumb around the handles, which allows me to show off my rings and knuckle tattoo, but thats just me. The combination of ink and bling really catches a lot of women’s eyes on the subway. Their staring trail goes something like this: Me, elsewhere, me, my right hand, my right hand, my face, my right hand, my shoes, elsewhere, my bag, my jeans. I can tell by the way they look at me that they are liking what they see. I always wear sunglasses on the trains, so that I can stare at them back. I also love how large my bag is. Its so big that sometimes I lose my umbrella inside of it. If you’re a dude, certain things you own you want to be small, and some have to be big. Carrying a tiny bag around is not cool. Too easily construed as a purse. I am pretty sure I could fit like three babies in my bag. And its made out of synthetic woven thread, so even the one on the bottom could breathe right through the side of my bag. The only weakness it has is that it’s not waterproof, but, oh yeah, my bag contains an umbrella, and thats backup for if I forget to wear my rain jacket. My bag, my nuts, my umbrella, I’m covered.”

Owen is a true Duffel Bag Boy like Weezy, or at least a NPR Bag Boy. Look at all those fucking Weezy covers in the background for fuck’s sake. Someone kick Ethan Snell’s ass immediately. Game over.

“It shocks me that 90210 and Superbad are technically considered part of the same genre…no part of me watched 90210 and thought, ‘Yeah! that’s what my life is like!’ It seemed like a different planet. I mean, I like shitty movies as much as the next guy, I’m not a snob, but things like that had no guys like us in it - that was the point.” -Seth Rogen

“I was always picked last for teams, and it was devastating. I gravitated toward comedians, because they were the ones who were pointing out hypocrisy and lying. I needed someone to tell me it was O.K., because I felt really bad.” -Judd Apatow

Seth Rogen, since his massively successful Knocked Up, and Superbad last year, right now has eleven, (yes, eleven) movies in production. And as I write this, his scruffy podge-visage is plastered across cities across America for some movie called Pineapple Express.

To try and make any sense of this, let’s look back to 1999, the year I and many of my friends graduated from college is the same year Paul Feig created and Judd Apatow executive produced a series called Freaks and Geeks, a truly original show about a group of introverted Midwestern high school teenagers in the early 1980s. They were the typical crew of outcasts: the freaks, the stoner, the cute outcast girl, and the geeks: the ubergeek, the lovable genius. It lived less that one season, canceled after only twelve episodes, but not before it gained critical acclaim and cult following, standing out, as an accurate and identifiable portrayal of the loneliness of the sensitive loser, the nerd-hero. In this show, the hero was female, but there are endless examples of her male counterpart out there.

This was then. Freaks and Geeks marked the end of a film and TV era where the lovable, often cute, introspective geeks were celebrated as losers who never really win in life, but taught us a lot on their half-way to happiness. If they played their cards right (and they really had to work for this), they sometimes even won the girl. But something’s happened…and a terrible sub-genre is born.

Judd Apatow, a self-proclaimed geek, and the director of Knocked Up, producer of Superbad had fits and starts in his own career. Freaks and Geeks was canceled, his follow up to F&G; Undeclared didn’t last either. But since then, the school’s front doors have been yanked open for Apatow, hand in hand with his muse Rogen, who seem to have found a new platform for this geek-hero franchise.

But it’s precisely this new “brand” of leading man-geek that has become problematic, and sometime in between Freaks and Geeks and Superbad the wrong note was hit (or the wrong blunt was lit). We no longer look to the lovable heroes. Don’t get me wrong, Seth Rogen was great in F&G, but he’s now the central part of the new machine that’s created the worst kind of mutant jock-nerd hero. The stoner movie guy. This new loser is already the hero, and applauded for such. He never has to work hard to get the girl, he just farts and gets high, hangs out with his buddies and everything comes right to him. It’s like one long extended scene from the movie Say Anything where Lloyd Dobler at his absolute lowest gravitates toward the biggest losers’ (note–losers, not nerds) hangout, “If you guys know so much about women, then how come you’re here at like, the Gas ‘n’ Sip on a Saturday night, completely alone drinking beers with no women anywhere…?”

There is always that moment within a “movement,” that suddenly gives it mass appeal while simultaneously destroying the genre. For the “nerd hero” movie genre, I fault Napoleon Dynamite. Although it can be argued that Napoleon himself had to struggle to “get” his equally nerdy girl, since this movie, no leading nerd man has had to work to change one ounce of his core geek essence in order to find love, happiness, popularity, not to mention, what is redeeming about him in the first place? And like Jonah Hill’s character in Superbad, he doesn’t have to do shit to succeed in the end. Do these guys even follow a path? Fellow Medicine-r Anthony Pappalardo says of these new breed of dudes, “I don’t trust any white man who thinks having an afro is cool, there has never been a cool white person with one and there never will be.”

The reason for this: these guys aren’t even nerds. Napoleon Dynamite had more appeal to jocks in state schools than to geeks anywhere. Just look at who’s wearing the “Vote for Pedro” ringer T’s and quoting the movie. It’s the Austin Powers for the new millenium. It’s packaged and marketed using every possible “cool nerd” artifact and soundtrack. These new nerd-leading men think, just because they’re neurotic, fat stoners who love Star Wars, they must be awesome geeks. But they’re not. What happened to the real nerds? How did Judd Apatow go from Freaks and Geeks to Superbad? Doesn’t he realize that even though he may have found his way to the top in Hollywood, the jocks will prevail, and we’re forever picked last for the team.

Former Yankees Suck-man and NYC-er Jamie Manza has relocated to the Hudson Valley where he lives on a former dairy farm. Manza is currently taking the 200-year-old Blough Farm off-the-grid, meaning it will soon be self-sufficient without reliance on public utilities. Medicine is planning on documenting Blough’s progress in words, pictures, and video, in a series called Mr Awesome’s Awesome Adventure.

By Jamie “Mr Awesome” Manza
Blough Farm is a 76-acre property located in central Orange County, New York. The old dairy and hay farm stopped producing as an active farm decades ago, as old Orville Blough’s physical abilities deteriorated. Now, as the current owner and resident, I strive to make the once postcard-like setting vibrant again by raising pastured animals and organic produce.

Today, production of wholesome food only scratches the surface of my ambitions; self-sustenance is the goal. But I know that self-sustenance is more comprehensive than feeding oneself. To be truly independent of industrial capitalism’s reach, I’m striving to free the farm from the needs of “The Grid”. To do so, independence from municipal services is critical: no water, sewer service, OR ENERGY from outside the lines of the tax map.

As a developer (or antideveloper), I am R & D ing zero-emission homes and buildings that use only renewable energy captured on site.  I have the education and most of the resources necessary to accomplish this task of independent living.

The lacking resource en route to my goal is (wo)man power. If one asks why I do not hire some bulldozers, loaders and excavators, I answer, “They use too much f*#kin’ petro”. I’m also disillusioned by the impact (noise, collateral destruction and disturbance) these machines wreak on the sensitive microclimates. Basically I don’t want to scare away the herons, swans, hawks, and eagles that reside on and around my lake and stream.

My principles create an opportunity for like-minded individuals who share this passion for protecting ecosystems; I need people with whom I can collaborate. I am looking for people to share a solution-searching dialogue and who have an affinity for certain aesthetics: architects, artists, chefs, gardeners/farmers, to name some probable candidates. All should have a viable work ethic in order to be considered.

Integral philosophies of the process are community service andfree, public education. I want everyone to “steal” these methods and the finished product so the proliferation of ideas is a result. The sooner “everyone” achieves these goals, the sooner my work is done.

When writer/producer of that little HBO show, “The Sopranos,” Matthew Weiner created “Mad Men,” I expected another half-assed look at 1960s New York: shiny, glossy pages of LIFE magazine and the good ol’ boys at the office. Needless to say I was happy to find I was wrong about Mad Men, a completely refreshing take on this pivotal time for masculinity and America, its nudge-nudge message being, “well times certainly haven’t changed all that much, have they?” Yet the shows’ opening theme is enough to put me into a comfortable trance, ready to absorb the best show on TV this summer (if not this year).

Without giving too much away, please watch Mad Men and see for yourself: TV is not a dead medium. This show is a work of art, much like the burgeoning ad industry itself was in the 1960s. I have a tremendous amount of respect for Matthew Weiner, whose recent piece in the Times is worth checking out. I feel like any TV series I’ve REALLY liked in the last decade has gained “critical acclaim,” and then is usually canceled immediately thereafter. Luckily, Season 2 of Matthew Weiner’s “Mad Men” premiered last night and did not disappoint. This, combined with the three Emmy nods this year give hope to the little show that could (and should be on HBO).

The greatest part of the second season’s premiere, for those of you who have seen the show, is that it doesn’t just pick up right where it left off in October. Season one started and ended with a boozy bang, leaving us with remnants of ice in our glasses ringing for more. The show centers itself around the life of Don Draper, a leading man whose gravity is reminiscent of Clive Owen, only you get the feeling he may never be checked out for James Bond –he’s just too All-American. His swagger, his creative genius, his way with all women is interestingly left behind this season, and a palpable air of decay settles around his former bravado like cigarette ash. The supporting characters, most importantly his wife, Birdy (played by January Jones) and his geeky-but-staunch assistant, Peggy (played by Elisabeth Moss) also exhibit surprising transformations this season. All this nuance is packed into a startlingly well done background: the 1960s Manhattan ad agency. It’s all tied up in an unusual little bow, but makes for a completely satisfying TV experience. When was the last time you felt that?

The speech itself was nothing special. Obama didn’t really break any new ground or make any bold policy statements, but the fact that an estimated 200,000 people showed up to hear him speak in Berlin is pretty damn impressive, especially for a guy who’s not even the President…yet. Check out all the American flags waving in the photo…

Rainer Jensen/EPA

Compare that photo to the reception that Bush got in Germany in 2005…

Meanwhile, to counter Obama’s speech in Germany, McCain had lunch at a German restaurant called Schmidt’s Sausage Haus und Restaurant…in Ohio.

A British court awarded Max Mosley, the head of Formula One, £60,000 (about $120,000) in his privacy case against the News of the World paper. Mosley, who paid 5 prostitutes £500 each for a 5-hour sadomasochistic sex session, was secretly videotaped by one of the domintraices. NOW paid “Woman E” £12,000 to film Mosley’s spanking session, and then splashed photos of him on its cover, proclaiming that he was involved in a “sick nazi orgy.” Their basis for this claim was that he and the women reenacted a concentration camp scene where he played guard and victim. He also spoke German at times, and one of the women said “We are the Aryan race - blondes!” The judge’s ruling:

I found that there was no evidence that the gathering on March 28 2008 was intended to be an enactment of Nazi behaviour or adoption of any of its attitudes. Nor was it in fact. I see no genuine basis at all for the suggestion that the participants mocked the victims of the Holocaust.

There was bondage, beating and domination which seem to be typical of S&M behaviour. But there was no public interest or other justification for the clandestine recording, for the publication of the resulting information and still photographs, or for the placing of the video extracts on the News of the World website – all of this on a massive scale.

Of course, I accept that such behaviour is viewed by some people with distaste and moral disapproval, but in the light of modern rights-based jurisprudence that does not provide any justification for the intrusion on the personal privacy of the claimant.

So, the NOW invaded his privacy, but the judge ruled that the paper held an honest belief that the session had Nazi elements, so it didn’t award Mosley “exemplary damages.”

All in all, a good day for s&m lovers everywhere.

Welcome to the first installment of What’s In Your NPR Bag?, a weekly column where we ask the fashionably green what the fuck they are carrying around in their canvas bag.

Fellow Mediciner Rachel Elder brought it to my attention that the proper name for this phenomena sweeping the nation and specifically Brooklyn was the NPR bag. I’ve noticed a massive spike in men carrying these bags, this can be attributed to several factors :

1. Perfect size for record shopping.

2. Says that you care about the environment but not in a hippie way, unless you have a yoga mat poking out.

3. Less “faggy” than a really corporate Murse® aimed at the metro / Details mag set but still nothing that a jock would carry chewing tobacco or energy drinks in.

4. Another surface to communicate your likes and dislikes, you’re a walking beacon for whatever you choose to promote or disrespect.

I hate even carrying a wallet or keys so I was more interested in what could be in a dude’s NPR bag. Call it coincidence but I ran into long time friend of Meds, Ethan Snell at small party in Brooklyn and picked his brain.

“My NPR bag? Ohhh my tote, yeah man fuck this one is brand new, my girlfriend screenprinted these for an indie craft fair and I just started carrying it a few days ago, it’s so convenient and of course I’m a huge fan of her design work so that’s a perk!”

Though the bag was brand new there was a dusting of Drum tobacco already lining the bottom where some pens, lighters and keys rested next to some freshly signed paperwork for a brand spanking new Condo on the park (co-signed by Dad, I peeked sorry!) Congrats though Ethan, a copy of the New Yorker, a few of those nasty free subway condoms, a Luna bar wrapper and an empty Kombucha bottle.

“Yeah I guess I’m ready for anything with bag” Ethan remarked “though I still need to get a few bare essentials in there, gum, iPod, The Believer and my journal, I’m a designer and I’m constantly inspired by my surroundings, you see so many interesting images and graphics in Brooklyn, in a bodega, a tag on a wall or even just some of the interesting looks you see in Williamsburg, it’s like a constant living breathing reference book so it’s essential to make notes in between brunch and happy hour!”

Thanks to Mr. Snell for letting me snoop around your NPR bag.

This is rich. Apparently, Bjork’s music might cause a revolution:

Foreign entertainers who have taken part in activities that China deems a threat to its sovereignty will not be allowed to perform here, according to new rules posted Thursday on the Web site of the Ministry of Culture.

…

The rules on performers may have come about after an outburst in March by Bjork, the popular Icelandic singer. She used a concert in Shanghai to advocate Tibetan independence. She shouted “Tibet! Tibet!” after performing “Declare Independence,” a song from her 2007 album, “Volta.” The outcry drew sharp criticism from Chinese Internet users and praise from international supporters of an independent Tibet.

AP

I’m not going to condone felony hit-and-run on the 55 in a monster truck. Nor am I going to make light of driving said monster truck (complete with a giant picture decal of yourself) down the wrong way of a crowded Balboa street “causing pedestrians to flee in terror.” Running red lights, crashing into cars, driving on the median and almost killing innocent people in Newport Beach… none of these things constitute normal behavior. I can’t even begin to speculate on what caused the UFC and PRIDE fighter, Quinton “Rampage” Jackson to freak out like this last Tuesday, but I sincerely feel for him.

It’s easy for even the most compassionate people to dismiss a guy like this. He beats people up for a living, he’s testosterone personified, a giant ego with a giant truck to match… I get it. They attribute his actions to steroids and/or drugs and claim it was his choice but don’t bother ask if there could be a bigger, more complex problem that not only made this possible but even probable.

I met Quinton after I moved to Huntington Beach, California around early 2000. I was running my gear company, called Next Level – designing and marketing merchandise and starting to sponsor fighters. I was also training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu almost full-time and backstage at a lot of fights. A bunch of gyms at the time were either in location limbo or wrapped up in partner politics, so I was a constant visitor to several simultaneously around Orange County and LA. Quinton had moved to HB recently as well, his goal was to become a professional fighter but he was basically living in his car he was so broke. But he was always a nice guy that never complained, he was never too good to learn from anybody smaller or less experienced than him, never too prideful to ask for help, never too egotistical to see his own flaws and never too tired to work. He got hyped when you caught him in a knee-bar and was quick to congratulate you, but he would only let it happen once (true story). When it became pretty obvious that all the pros were buzzing about him and those top pros that visited were starting to get their asses kicked by him in training, he still talked humbly about his aspirations and his kids. He later beat almost all of those pros in Pride and UFC rising quickly to the top.

It’s fair to ask if steroids or drugs were involved when it pertains to the mixed martial arts world - steroids are fairly common throughout the professional social ranks and the in-crowd of hobbyist fighters in the United States and even more in countries like Brazil and Japan where the sport is absolutely huge and winners are national heroes. Up until somewhat recently, MMA was considered an outlaw’s sport in the U.S. with ex-military fighters from fallen third-world countries (where drugs and roids are plentiful) and old-school juicers dominating the top international levels of the sport. Sympathizers of Baseball’s (or cycling’s) steroid problem take notice - all excuses apply, ie: the pressure is too much, everybody’s doing it, can’t be competitive without it, we’ve got hungry mouths to feed, etc. The most serious painkillers are around too; you just have to ask anybody on the mat if they know a good sports medicine doctor and you’ll soon be drugged up enough to giggle through arm-lock training with your torn rotator cuff.

See Mark Kerr shooting up opiates in the HBO documentary “The Smashing Machine” or Rico Rodriguez’s first episode on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew for good examples.

A couple of weeks ago, Quinton lost the UFC Light Heavyweight Championship to Forrest Griffin. Then Tuesday something we don’t yet understand obviously triggered Rampage to freak out. We don’t know if it was drugs, roids, depression or some other serious problem but in time we will find out the truth. If you’re so quick to judge Rampage as guilty of his own vices and condemn him to bad karma, you should have your “compassionate” card pulled.

Dana White, President of the company that owns the UFC was on a plane reportedly in 17 minutes to help. To the best of my knowledge, companies don’t usually show that kind of love for their employees and that might just be what this industry and many others need. After being released on $25,000 bail on Tuesday, Quinton was 5150’ed (committed to a mental hospital) for a three-day mental evaluation on Wednesday. White mentioned that Quinton been fasting - drinking only energy drinks and effectively not sleeping for a few days straight.

Before we move on to labeling Quinton “crazy” let’s just slow down and compare this to other famous freak-outs. If Quinton were a comedian, where would your prejudices lean? After Dave Chappelle walked away from like $50 million with Comedy Central and went to Africa, the press and the public called him crazy only when they weren’t alleging hard drug abuse. After the dust settled, Dave came back for an interview on Inside The Actor’s Studio where he used the example of Martin Lawrence to put this subject into perspective. “The worst thing to call somebody is crazy, it’s dismissive,” Chappelle said. Dave asked how Martin Lawrence, having survived great success and a stroke with a smile ended up screaming on the street waving a gun? Seems like a valid question to me.

“These people are not crazy. They are strong people. Maybe the environment is a little sick.” Chappelle said

Indeed, my forecast was correct. LiRon were on NY’s Lower East Side last night. It was the couple’s first public appearance since Lindsay’s (semi) official de-closeting earlier in the week via Mark Ronson’s girlfriend and Life and Style Magazine. Here are some are pics from the event (Sephora 10 Year Anniversary Party—an orgy of really bad outfits saved by lesbian beauty). People can hate Lohan all they want, but having one of the most visible young actresses on earth acting unashamedly gay is a net positive for America. Homophobia is the lamest concept, especially considering how many of the very same straight men who hate the gays are into anal sex with their wives, and I hope LiRon take this chance in the spotlight to showcase lesbianism as a healthy, normal lifestyle—one that even saves druggy starlets from career suicide.  

172 Norfolk, the haunted house of Richard Price’s Lush Life, hosted LiRon last night…

Breaking the law at Beatrice

Did you know you can only legally dance at 181 places in New York City? Yup, the lamest and most violated law ever (besides pot’s illegal status) may finally end. Mayor Bloomberg’s office is moving to reverse the 1926 Cabaret Law that requires any venue with “more than three people dancing” to have a permit, called a cabaret license, of which there are less than 200.

In a city with 10,000 bars and 8 million insane horn-dogs, dancing’s illegality always made zero sense. Let’s all get drunk at 3am and…stand around staring at each other or talking about nothing. Drunken convos are so overrated. Of course, it was only after Rudy G’s “Quality of Life” campaign that the Cabaret Law started being enforced.

Cheers to Bloomberg! The end of the Cabaret Law would offer many more DJ gigs and cut down your pointless drunk conversations by at least 60%. Soon, I may never have to hear about the company or magazine or “eco-friendly sustainable co-op” you’re (not) starting—I’ll be able to just dance away.

Via NYDN:

“We either want to eliminate the license or establish a different license so that it would be less onerous for people to engage in dancing,” said a source close to the mayor.

The 82-year-old license “as it exists doesn’t offer a reasonable opportunity for New Yorkers to dance at clubs,” the City Hall source said.

As the 1926 law stands, three or more people can’t dance unless a bar or restaurant has a cabaret license - even if music and liquor are allowed.

There are 181 licensed cabarets in New York, according to Consumer Affairs, and most are limited to techno-thumping clubs in Manhattan.

But dancers have long complained the license process squeezes out small venues that might offer swing and salsa and even sued the city last year to reverse its Prohibition-era ban on social dancing.

The strange tale of Max Mosley, the head of Formula One, who was caught on video in a Nazi-themed sex orgy with five prostitutes, gets stranger. He’s suing the News of the World, which secretly videotaped the orgy, for an invasion of privacy. Mosley claimed that he was doing something in private with five consenting women, and the only reason he’s under fire is because his father was the leader of the British Union of Fascists and Hitler’s friend.

Mr Mosley was caught on video by the News of the World with five women in an underground “torture chamber” in Chelsea, where he spent several hours allegedly indulging in sado-masochistic sex. The Oxford-educated former barrister, who is president of the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), reenacted a concentration camp scene in which he played the role of both guard and inmate. Speaking in German and brandishing a leather whip, he beat the women after allowing himself to be subjected to a humiliating inspection for lice and an interrogation in chains.

In his defense, Mosley said that he could think of “few things more unerotic than Nazi roleplay.” Clearly, he’s never heard of stalags.

Last night Jigga headlined the biggest greenfield music festival in the world and decided that he’d start by responding to the irrelevant and bloated Noel Gallagher for saying that brothers shouldn’t be rapping at this storied fest.

First video footage of Noel’s remarks dissing Jay lit up the greens and then Hova rolled out with a shit eating Joe Camel grin “playing a guitar” (in the same way Weezy plays a guitar) doing his rendition of the Oasis hit Wonderwall. He was off-key and smirking but it was a nice fuck you and tribute. I ended up at a party above the Spotted Pig about 2.5 years ago that was essentially an empty living room with 5 record executives, 20 white chicks, two sistahs and Jigga. I guess it was to celebrate something, we shouldn’t have been there but myself, Karaoke Ryan and Galle® ended up at this private party where Jigga was putting on a clinic, dancing with chubby white chicks, leading the Electric Slide and playing favorites from his iPod including Coldplay, Phil Collins, and Amy Winehouse , complete with waving his finger that looked like a black tree branch for the “No No No” refrain and also rapping over his own songs to the small crowd. He also dropped his own verse over Mims’ This Is Why I’m Hot, my white brain couldn’t believe that I was seeing Jigga spitting in front of me, literally spitting on white dudes as he rambled and flowed.

I did my best to hide the Michael Mann-esque light my cell phone emits mid-text messaging but I had to fire off the details of this encounter to at least have a breakdown of what I was seeing if vodka and piff clouded my recollection the next day. There was one moment of struggle that night; in my head I’m an honorary member of Dipset since I’ve chosen to side with them over 50’s Vitamin Water empire. I felt slightly guilty for being there since Cam’s diss of Jay and his open toed sandals was still buzzing in my speakers. I scanned the room and noticed that there were no body guards among the small crowd, maybe I should text message Killa, maybe I should call the Goons? Jigga was easy prey for my favorite rap conglomerate. The problem with being an honorary member is that you don’t have anyone’s actual number so I convinced myself I was a DIP-SPY keeping tabs on old head and I’d report any suspicious activities to Jim Jones’ myspace if necessary.

Wonderwall was the closer, it was Papelbon irish jigging his way to the mound that night. Jay queued up the iPod and a familiar jangle came out of the speakers, he parted the crowd and motioned towards the only “rock niggas” there which happened to be the three scruffy honks that shouldn’t be there. The nostrils were flared, lungs pushing out strained notes with a grin and a battle cry of “ROCK N ROLL NIGGAZZZZZZZ” was unleashed as I stood there, arms draped on my comrades trying to detune my vocal chords so I was out of tune in unison with Jigga as a show of unity.

We split after that because honestly unless Giselle came in and gave me a foot-rub while Tom Brady told me I had a stronger chin than him there was nothing left to do.

As I’ve said before, Jay is a performer now, his records only have a few good songs now but if it’s a vehicle for him to put on spectacles like this I will continue to pay retail for them. The guitar, the head bobbing to Coldplay with Ricky Gervais are ridiculous, semi-embarrassing but ultimately cool somehow and much more interesting that some recycled grumbling from a guy named Noel who can’t write a good song anymore, he can’t even guest on a tune and make it cool.

Roc Boys in the building. Peep it here.

Jay-Z Kills Wonderwall

One of Med’s contributors, Anthony Pappalardo, has been working for years on the definitive monograph concerning American hardcore’s aesthetics. Radio Silence: A Selected Visual History of American Hardcore Music (MTV Books) saw its  Amazon listing go live last night. Awesome! So everyone, pass this around and get the pre-orders buzzing. From Amazon:

Book Description
“Each scene was a reflection of its time and place. It was organic to each city.” (Dave Smalley, DYS, Dag Nasty, All, Down By Law) Hardcore music emerged just after the first wave of punk rock in the late 1970s. American punk kids who loved the speed and attitude of punk took hold of its spirit, got rid of the “live fast, die young” mindset, and made a brilliant revision: hardcore. The dividing line between punk and hardcore music was in the delivery: less pretense, less melody, and more aggression. This urgency seeped its way from the music into the look of hardcore. There wasn’t time to mold your liberty spikes or shine your Docs; it was jeans and T-shirts, Chuck Taylors and Vans. The skull and safety-pin punk costume was replaced by high-tops and hooded sweatshirts. The Jamie Reid ransom note record cover aesthetic gave way to black and white photographs of packed shows accompanied by bold and simple typography, declaring The Kids Will Have Their Say or You’re Only Young Once. This new come-as-you-are attitude attracted skateboarders, surfers, BMX’rs, metalheads, and graffiti writers, with each group adding their diverse influences to the scene. This cross-pollination helped to create an eclectic cross section of bands like Bad Brains, Negative Approach, SSD, Big Boys, and 7 Seconds. Radio Silence documents the ignored space between the Ramones and Nirvana through the words and images of the pre-internet era when this community built on do-it-yourself ethics thrived. Without funding, distribution, or exposure, the scene had to be self-sufficient in order to grow. Everyone involved from bands to fans took it upon themselves to book shows, photograph bands, broadcast pirate radio shows, start record labels, design album covers, publish fanzines, or just offer a place for a band to crash. Authors Nathan Nedorostek and Anthony Pappalardo have cataloged private collections of photographs, personal letters, artwork, and various ephemera from the hardcore scene circa 1978-1993. Unseen images accompany to handmade T-shirts and original artwork brought to life by the words of their creators and fans. Radio Silence includes over 500 images of rare records, T-shirts, fanzines, photographs, and illustrations presented in a manner that abandons the aesthetic clichés normally used to depict the genre and lets the subject matter speak for itself.

About the Author
Anthony Pappalardo wrote for Slap Magazine from 1997 to 2002 and has been published in Alternative Press, Mass Appeal, and Magnet. He’s toured and recorded albums for the hardcore bands Ten Yard Fight, In My Eyes, and Get Down, and has produced for other bands including The Explosion.

Many of the monograph’s photos were taken by Erik Lee Snyder, whose work led the Getty Pavilion at the 2008 New York Photography Fair and has appeared in ESPN the Magazine and Surface among others. Below, a Dischord Records collage and portrait of Minor Threat’s Jeff Nelson…

I don’t have much time to write about this and I couldn’t do it even half as well as others currently are, instead here’s some videos from one of the greatest comedian and social commentators we’ve ever had. A genius.

The Pogues “Just Look Them Straight In The Eye and Say… Pogue Mahone!!” Box Set has finally been released. I won’t properly “review” it due partly to personal time constraints, and partly because no amount of my adulation and praise will likely get you to drop the price of a tank of gas (at current prices) on a 5 CD box set unless you’re already obsessed with the band.

That said, if you do happen to be a Pogues fanatic, your year has been made. 111 songs. An absolute goldmine of demos, outtakes, live, rare, unreleased, thought missing, cover songs, and the like that span the entire Pogues career (pre-Red Roses to post-Shane) — I only bought it yesterday, but during a once-through listen of the entire thing my jaw continually dropped; BBC Sessions, “Hell’s Ditch” outtakes, “If I Should Fall From Grace…” outtakes, Joe Strummer-fronted covers of The Clash songs, Peel Sessions, their contributions to the “Sid and Nancy”, “Straight to Hell” , and “Garbo” soundtracks, covers of “Maggie May”, “Do You Believe in Magic?” (a “Poguetry in Motion sessions outtake), “Eve of Destruction” (made famous to some by Barry McGuire, others by Johnny Thunders), a dub version of “Young Ned of the Hill” (!), the original demo versions of later Shane MacGowan solo songs (”Victoria”, “Aisling”, “The Donegal Express”), early demos of “Fairytale of New York” which showcase the musical and lyrical progression of the greatest Christmas song ever written, the list goes on and on and on… Philip Chevron wrote the liner notes, the songs and their provenance are exhaustively cataloged and the proper credit given, and a number of non-Shane-centric pictures are included.

For the uninitiated, it’s easy to overlook the Pogues greatness by concentrating on the stories of drinking and drugs, fights, affairs, and toothless gentleman. This Box Set will remind you of their songwriting greatness, proficiency of execution, and the simple fact that they are one of the best rock bands of the last 30 years. If nothing else, it’s comforting to be reminded that Pete Doherty and Amy Winehouse are utter posers compared to one of the world’s all-time great substance-abusers… this dude:

We used to trade these 10th generation copied VHS tapes of old shows (there’s some embarrassing ones out there.) We’d watch them in the office at Equal Vision Records during some BBQ that Steve and Kate Reddy were hosting. Then we’d talk about fighting for like 5 hours.

This video is back in the day at it’s absolute best in quality and substance - easily one of the best videos that exists of Youth of Today. First generation encode of YOT live at the Anthrax 1988… the whole show. (Right after Ray’s first trip to India - damn he was good.) The videoographer tells me great stories, but I’m sure you’ll read about them some time soon on DOUBLE CROSS. He’s got many tapes that are going to start popping up on Youtube soon.

Speaking of YOT. I heard today from the Executive Producer of a 21st Anniversary Revelation Records Tribute compilation, on Revelation, of course. Death By Stereo is doing “Break Down The Walls” and Scott Vogel and Terror must have been so stoked to record a Side By Side song.

I’ll get you more info on this comp soon.