Friday, 1 of June of 2012
It’s strange how and when ideas come to me for new designs, and today was a perfect example of that. I was taking a poop earlier and my brain shouted out ‘Oh yeah, scissor me!’, which came from an episode of South Park. Then my brain said ‘Scissors are doing it for themselves.’ So, I got inspired and whipped up these designs and put them up in the t shirt section of this site. Get one (or a bunch of them) today!
When I look back on my life and think of some of my favorite things, the tv special ‘Free To Be, You And Me’ comes to mind. I remember the first time I saw it, and what caught my attention (and brain) was the intro title song. It gave me goosebumps, and it still does even today when I hear it. First and foremost, it’s the melody that I find so appealing. But, even as a kid the words to the song struck a chord with me. I’ll explain after you read them:
Free To Be, You And Me
There’s a land that I see where the children are free
And I say it ain’t far to this land from where we are
Take my hand, come with me, where the children are free
Come with me, take my hand, and we’ll live
In a land where the river runs free
In a land through the green country
In a land to a shining sea
And you and me are free to be you and me
I see a land bright and clear, and the time’s comin’ near
When we’ll live in this land, you and me, hand in hand
Take my hand, come along, lend your voice to my song
Come along, take my hand, sing a song
For a land where the river runs free
For a land through the green country
For a land to a shining sea
For a land where the horses run free
And you and me are free to be you and me
Every boy in this land grows to be his own man
In this land, every girl grows to be her own woman
Take my hand, come with me where the children are free
Come with me, take my hand, and we’ll run
To a land where the river runs free
To a land through the green country
To a land to a shining sea
To a land where the horses run free
To a land where the children are free
And you and me are free to be
And you and me are free to be
And you and me are free to be you and me
Now, I will admit that on the surface those lyrics seem pretty hippy-dippy and a little too idealistic. But to my 9 year old ears, they made perfect sense and didn’t seem unusual at all. I actually BELIEVED them and felt that world that was depicted in the song WAS achievable and the time was indeed ‘coming near.’ Maybe it was due to the fact that the ghost of the peace movement from the 60′s was still floating around in the ether there in the early 70′s, or maybe it was just my lack of life experience. Regardless, I really did think that my future would be one of joy and harmony with the rest of the world, joining together to live in peace and be decent to one another.
Boy, was I wrong on that one!
But you know what? Even if the idea of having a world where people life in peace isn’t achievable in my lifetime (or ever), I can catch a glimpse of what I thought could have been as I watch this tv special again.
Does that make me a pussy? You know what? I’m ok with that.
Here’s a quick description of the show (from Wikipedia):
Free to Be… You and Me, a project of the Ms. Foundation for Women, is a record album, and illustrated book first released in November 1972, featuring songs and stories from many current celebrities of the day (credited as “Marlo Thomas and Friends”) such as Alan Alda, Rosey Grier, Cicely Tyson, Carol Channing, Michael Jackson, and Diana Ross, among others. An ABC Afterschool Special using poetry, songs, and sketches, followed two years later in March 1974. The basic concept is to encourage a post-60′s gender neutrality, while saluting values such as individuality, tolerance, and happiness with one’s identity. A major thematic message is that anyone, whether a boy or a girl, can achieve anything.
I had the recent pleasure to be one of the select few to get a sneak peek at the upcoming e.p. ‘The Ghost of Chivalry’ by the amazing tune smith PT Walkley. Here’s a quick review of each track so you can get a taste of what you are missing (and will have to wait to hear until the e.p. is released on 2/22/11, but you can pre-order it here).
Love You Dearly – The e.p. kicks off with a sugary sweet mid tempo number that immediately had me grinning from ear to ear as PT filled my cranium with a joyous barrage of ‘la la la la la la’s', and from the there the song builds to pure pop goodness. As it continues on the melody veers into Abbey Road territory (moody and slightly ominous), only to return to the snappy chorus of ‘la la la la la la’. This song is infectious, and will put you in a better mood than you were in before listening to it. Great stuff!
This Is The Sound – Ah, sweet perfection. This one immediately made me think of Mott The Hoople’s ‘All The Young Dudes’ when it hit the chorus, which is a good thing in my book! What the hell? An oboe in the bridge? One of aspects of PT Walkley that makes his music so rich is how he uses string quartets, saws, and a host of other instruments to create a rich, vivid environment on each of his songs. And for that I cannot praise him enough.
Save The World – Nice! This one starts out with more strings and kicks into a guitar driven pop rocker, and veers all over the place until it reaches the chorus which is filled with a wall of horns! The vocal delivery kind of reminds me of the super great band XTC. The song continues to build with lumbering drums and a happy chorus. Another winner here!
This little gem of an e.p. is a winner! And it’s only $5.00, so your basically paying 1.67 per song. It’s worth it! Pre-order your copy today!
Thanks to PT for giving me the chance to hear the e.p. in advance!
As an added bonus, for those of you who are not familiar with PT Walkey’s music I’ll share with you 3 videos from his brilliant ‘concept’ record ‘Mr. Macy Wakes Alone.’ You can listen to the entire record here. Cool, huh?
it’s almost impossible to believe this, but i kid you not, my little kittens.
i don’t care if you don’t like cats, i’m not literally calling you a cat. it’s meant as a term of endearment, so don’t get all put out over it. it’s a compliment. why are you such an asshole?
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so, this all starts with a really stupid, litigious, woman, who has inexplicably made the news in the last couple of days.
she was texting while walking in a shopping mall and walked right into a large decorative water fountain.
this wasn’t an unfortunate accident! nobody pushed her on purpose or otherwise.
she’s a grown woman and it was her own willful neglect of her own safety that caused this. if you’re that stupid, and that unaware of your surroundings, don’t leave the house without protective gear. better yet, take a helper with you or just stay home.
free safety lesson: this part is serious.
walking into fountains is the least of your worries when you’re not aware of who and what is around you. there are real life human predators out there, just waiting for easy pickings like this. you might as well have a target on your back. i’m saying this to men too, but, unfortunately, ladies happen to be at a higher risk for violent attacks (sexual or otherwise).
i’ve seen quite a few serious injuries and had a couple of my very own. i’m not claiming to have any medical expertise, but life experience has taught me, that when you’re seriously hurt, you don’t get up and walk away, while doing an almost 360 degree survey of the area, as you’re simultaneously climbing out of the water. she looked a lot more concerned about her bruised ego, than any bruised body parts.
she wants to sue the mall, because some people (specifically security), laughed at her stupidity. she didn’t stop there though. oh no! she practically advertised how stupid she was all over the media, opening herself up to a hell of a lot more laughter, and then had the nerve to be shocked that many did not sympathize with her!
her feelings were hurt. that’s all. she wants money, because her feelings were hurt.
that’s ridiculous! you don’t deserve a windfall (or would it be a mall-fall in this case), for that.
i refuse to join her pity party. she’s an asshole!
there are, of course, no shortage of lawyers, ready and willing to step in and help her out.
(calm down, my warm and fuzzy little legal eagles; she has apparently already settled on one.)
whether she winds up actually needing a criminal defense lawyer or civil attorney (or both) remains to be seen, but i’m not going to get any deeper into that part of her tale, as it still seems to be developing and i feel myself starting to stray off topic. some of the legal issues are brushed upon in the first video of her, which is from a news report.
they’ve disabled the embedding, so you have to look at this part on youtube.
news report video: click here
the first thought that came to my mind when i saw her story was “Die Geschichte von Hans Guck-in-die-Luft” (english translation: The Story of Johnny Head-In-The Air”).
she is one person who i think could have benefited greatly from the frightening childhood tale that i am about to share with you.
i grew up with a german childern’s book called “Struwwelpeter” (english translation: Shock Headed Peter). if you’re not familiar with this now semi-legendary literary masterpiece, let me give you a brief overview here.
originally written in german by heinrcih hoffmann in 1845; it is basically, a collection of cautionary children’s tales.
just in case the carefully worded prose of his tales were not sufficient to help sink the message of terror into your kid’s soft, stupid, little, skull all by itself, he also filled it chock full of some of the most beautifully gruesome illustrations ever put to paper.
a book for children that has been scaring (and scarring) the shit out of them (or helping them hold they’re feces in, if they happen to be the anal retentive type.), for 166 years.
don’t get me wrong, there are some very useful tips for the unworldly and uninitiated young human, specifically surrounding the subjects of the most elementary laws of physics.
i was under the impression that these lessons were generally learned by a combination of trial and error and the helpful advice of your wonderful parents. if you still refuse to learn, or are just unable to learn, that you, as a human, do not happen possess the power to bend time/space/gravity etc. at your will, then here’s the book for you!
i personally wouldn’t recommend stories that end with the worst possible scenarios as a primer for my kids. then again, i don’t have kids, so who am i to speak on such subjects. i just know how it affected me.
the forceful, nightmarish way that these lessons were told and illustrated… well, let’s just say this, i’m sure i’m not the first person to mention this book in a therapy session or two.
please, also note, that this is probably the least gruesome of all the tales in this book, it was just the most appropriate for this post.
if you’d like your own brand new, physical copy of this great coffee table, conversation starter piece (great for a first date, boring party, nosy landlord, etc), please visit the beautiful bill shafer at hyaenagallery.com and he’ll take care of you.
you can shop with him online or visit the shop/gallery in burbank, ca.. just click the link above and the magic will follow…
there is a lot of phenomenal original art all over that place too!
ok. enough with the plugs for my pals. here’s the story:
As he trudged along to school,
It was always Johnny’s rule
To be looking at the sky
And the clouds that floated by;
But what just before him lay,
In his way,
Johnny never thought about;
So that every one cried out
“Look at little Johnny there,
Little Johnny Head-In-Air!”
Running just in Johnny’s way
Came a little dog one day;
Johnny’s eyes were still astray
Up on high,
In the sky;
And he never heard them cry
“Johnny, mind, the dog is nigh!”
Bump!
Dump!
Down they fell, with such a thump,
Dog and Johnny in a lump!
Once, with head as high as ever,
Johnny walked beside the river.
Johnny watched the swallows trying
Which was cleverest at flying.
Oh! what fun!
Johnny watched the bright round sun
Going in and coming out;
This was all he thought about.
So he strode on, only think!
To the river’s very brink,
Where the bank was high and steep,
And the water very deep;
And the fishes, in a row,
Stared to see him coming so.
One step more! oh! sad to tell!
Headlong in poor Johnny fell.
And the fishes, in dismay,
Wagged their tails and swam away.
There lay Johnny on his face,
With his nice red writing-case;
But, as they were passing by,
Two strong men had heard him cry;
And, with sticks, these two strong men
Hooked poor Johnny out again.
Oh! you should have seen him shiver
When they pulled him from the river.
He was in a sorry plight!
Dripping wet, and such a fright!
Wet all over, everywhere,
Clothes, and arms, and face, and hair:
Johnny never will forget
What it is to be so wet.
And the fishes, one, two, three,
Are come back again, you see;
Up they came the moment after,
To enjoy the fun and laughter.
Each popped out his little head,
And, to tease poor Johnny, said
“Silly little Johnny, look,
You have lost your writing-book!”
several years ago, i became aware of a very different, and quite brilliant band, called the tiger lillies, who put on a whole musical show, based on all of the stories in this book. here’s a video that includes a live version of ‘snip snip’, which also happens to be the story that scared me most of all. it still does.
i have so much more to say about all of the other issues that this whole ridiculous display raises about our collective sense of arrogance, entitlement, and devolution into textbook sociopaths, but i tried really hard to stick with my original idea here.
that is, to compare this incident with a great/horrible children’s book and to turn y’all on to a beautiful band of artists called the tigerlillies, a great writer named mark ebner; creator of “Hollywood Interrupted” (he inadvertently made me aware of this watery mess by posting a video).
i chose to use the english translation here, since the 10 or 12 readers that i have are mostly english speaking.
however, the english translated source includes the same disturbing illustrations as the coveted german one
that i still have sitting on my bookshelf from my childhood.
i have also included a link to the entire book (english translation) here, for your amusement, horror,
or anthropological studies.
Date: 02/15/2011
Categories: ART, BAD TOUCH, BOOKS, GOOD TOUCH, MUSIC, SCIENCE & TECHNOLOGY
Far be it for me to suggest getting a flu shot from an 80 year-old woman in a crusty blue smock stained with chocolate flavored Ensure standing behind a folding table offering $30 dollar doses of influenza remedy in the middle of a Walgreens, but one thing I enthusiastically request of myself: Eric, don’t mix entire bottles of NyQuil with Keanu Reeve’s films!
Read on, dude!
My head is on fire.
I can feel giant drops of perspiration gathering against the surface, growing too heavy to withstand the pull of gravity and one by one they tumble over my brow and slide down my nose like obnoxious children. They fly through the air, laughing, until they crash like a dozen Humpty-Dumptys on my chest spraying tiny egg shell shrapnel everywhere. I wipe the front of my head in an effort to stem the flow of sweat and my skin sloughs off my skull between my fingers. It gathers against the palm of my hand like slices of lunch meat and it’s not really fair because I am quite hungry for some soup and a sandwich.
Sand Witch. Sorceress of the Spice. Wind swept tresses of black hair flowing out behind her, from underneath and out of a hat that cannot match the striking shade of midnight that grows from her scalp. Pale white skin of the moon that cannot be tainted by the sun that tries its best to burn her to cinders with no trial nor pyre. She pays no heed to its efforts as she skillfully navigates a Spice worm through the vast desert dessert with a pair of eyes like sugar frosted green gum drops…
Wait.
I can’t feel my feet.
I look down towards the ends of my legs to make sure that I still possess them and let out a small sigh of relief to find them when a strange sensation passes through my skin and my legs begin to grow longer and longer and oh, how nice of the room to go right ahead and stretch along with them so that they will have enough room instead of of just coiling up against the wall like tendrils of vanilla ice cream. And my big purple bed is an even bigger, purple-er bed, as it grew in proportion with my legs. I’ve always said that it is quite accommodating, now I have ample evidence.
My torso just turned into a Play-Doh Fun Factory.
I wonder if…wait, let me check.
Nope, of course not. Well, neither did my arms and my head seems to be of the same width and breadth as it was a few minutes ago. Oh, and I forgot all about that whole “no skin nor scalp” thing. That was weird. I thought for a moment that perhaps I had shaved my head again, but I’ve never been able to get it that smooth. I knock on it a few time just to see how hollow it sounds, and I’m not all that surprised to hear someone knocking back, yelling at me to keep the noise down.
Sorry.
I pick up the crumpled mask that was my face and put my hand inside of it and try to make it talk like a puppet. Eat drums. Eat drums! EAT DRUMS! GAAAHHHH! I poke two of my fingers through the eye holes and wiggle them back at my eyeballs, but I quickly pull them back through and drop my face to my side as an intense fear grips me as I wonder if my fingers were going to manifest themselves inside my skull and skewer my actual eyeballs on the ends of my fingers. I swallow hard imaging that my wrist is pressing against my larynx.
Larry Nix.
Wait, who’s wiggling my toes?
I look back down to find that someone’s hands are operating my feet like sock puppets. They’re making silhouette aminals against the wall of my bedroom and I watch as they contort my big toe away from the rest of my toes like the ears of a rabbit. I watch them moving back and forth across the wall, their shadows playfully cavorting together in an amicable fashion. I feel a slight tug at the end of my ankles and I quickly glance back to the source of the puppetry to find that both of my feet, with an audible pop, have disconnected themselves from my ankles. They’ve grown paws and tails and noses of their own. Big wondering eyes that keep shifting through the secondary colors of the wheel.
Two argyle bunnies that are hopping around on the edge of my bed.
Who, I demand, are you, and what have you done with my feet!
They both stop and stand up on their hind legs, testing my scent with their noses and walk right back towards me, up and over my knees. Each of them strolling up the length of their previous locale with an air of nonchalance.
I’m Peter S. Cottontail, Esquire.
I’m Rod “Rodentia” Lagomorph.
And together we’re WYLD RABBYTS!
They begin playing air guitar on the edge of my bed, their ears spreading wide from the tops of their heads as electricity starts climbing up to their tips like a Tesla coil. Sparks are flying from the tips of their fur and dancing in the air all around us and I can hear the mystical magic of Kip Winger’s fretwork making my ears ring. All the furniture in my bedroom is turning into hedges as the music gets louder. My green glass lamps shatter on either side of me. They twist and crunch as they grow roots and a trunk. The trunk sprouts branches that grab the emerald shards of glass right out of the air and they transform into burnt orange leaves hanging from their ends that cast shade over my hardwood floor that grass is now growing up from and covering the entirety of the walking space.
My bed has turned into a collection of rocks covered in purple lichen.
The rabbits high five each other and with a later bro! they hop across the floor towards a hole that has appeared in the corner of my room just to the side of one of the hedges and they both dive into it and disappear. I listen for about a minute waiting to hear an echo of them landing safely, and I hear a faint observation floating up from the depths.
Dude, this is a totally deep hole…
