Here I am a week deep in the new bay life.
I finally spent the whole day organizing every drawer and setting things up.
The vacation has ended and now I am on Craig's list looking for a good ol' job.
As per my goal of lraning how to get Hyphy (don't know? here's the link.) I picked up an energy drink in my local ghetto corner store called, "Hyphy" Grapple Flavored. That's right, Grape and Apple. I also purchased another one called " Mac Dre Hunid Racks" and I don't think I will open it. I think I need to save that one. It's all psycaldeleic and groovy.
I got a chance to see the whole bay from the top of the tallest building in Berkley. The view was the whole spectrum of the bay area. Oakland to SF to the Golden Gate to Marin and all the way down to the southern bridge. I felt like Simba looking out over the new sparkling kingdom. The tall dinosaur loading cranes at the docks, the hundreds of little white triangles having a saturday blast chasing each other around Alcatraz. "Sail Away Sail Away Sail Away!" The silver snake of vehicles, creeping throught the tall building grass. Breathtaking. When your rollerskating through, it's a bit grittier.
I took an eight wheeled spin to Berkley on monday. What an interesting place. It's filled with, a Shanzini puts it, Limosine Liberals, and college students. I am still on the search for the sick slick of pavement for an afternoon skate.
Spent last Thursday checking out some art galleries. Fixed a flat tire in twelve minutes. The geese have made it down from Portland and are flying above.
Ate an El Salvadorian burrito. Drank a few too many whiskey sours with the king fu family. Found a black jean skirt with gold and diamond bling on it. Caught a football that the neighbor kids were passing as I was riding my bike past. Those are three kids who won't be mugging me later. Gotta work on the rest of the neighbors now. The first day we got here my neighbor was worried as we were backing out the big ol' Budget truck that we would hit his Escalade with Muslim Masonic symbols all over it. He pointed to this tree in front of his house and said, "See that tree, that's for hanging white people." That kind of sucked. But according to Shanzini, that's how she finds the house, the white people hanging tree.
That's the last week in a nutshell.
More as the story develops.
Oh yeah. Shanon and I have a performance art gig!
On the 15th we will be doing two interpretive dance numbers throughout her friend, the fabulous Jack, piano set. He plays jams by Phil Collins, Journey, The Bengals etc. You get the idea. It will be alot like the time a few members of The Sprockettes secret sect, dance team elite, performed the last song for the last show of Team Dresch. We ended the set by crawling off the stage and slithering into the crowd. Along those lines. I'll tell you all about it!!
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
Ignite What's Next Tour!!!
UPPER PLAYGROUND HOSTS "IGNITE WHAT'S NEXT" ART TOUR
Portland, OR - Upper Playground Portland is proud to host the Portland stop on the "Ignite What's Next" Art Tour, sponsored by Sparks, Upper Playground, and Juxtapoz Art & Culture Magazine. The tour will showcase three of the world's top artists from the world of contemporary art – David Choe (Los Angeles), Herbert Baglione (Sao Paolo), and Saber (Los Angeles).
Live art installations will take place at Upper Playground in the afternoon of Wednesday, September 19th. Later that evening, the trio of artists will paint again at the inner-SE music venue Rotture, accompanied by a DJ set from former Portland resident, D.J.P.
David Choe is a painter and graphic artist, who is known as much for his exaggerated vulgarity as for his aesthetic sense, and whose inspiration for his art comes from international hitchhiking expeditions. His art graces all facets of urban lifestyle, from t-shirts, to shoes, to video games and even hotel rooms. Sao Paolo-based Herbert Baglione is recognized as one of the staples of Brazil's contemporary art scene. His work has been exhibited in galleries from Barcelona to San Francisco. Saber is a longtime fixture on the Los Angeles street art scene. He's best known for completing the LA River Piece, the largest graffiti piece ever created.
D.J.P is one of the pioneers of "blending," a style that has recently become commonly known as the "mash-up". He can mix Pat Benatar's "Love Is A Battlefield" over the Pharcyde's classic "She Keeps On Passing Me By" and turn it into a Drum'n Bass blend about love lost that gets everyone on their feet, even people who think they don't like hip-hop. P's mix CDs have become underground classics, featuring in several year-end critics polls (Village Voice and Rolling Stone, among others).
Wednesday, September 19th
David Choe, Herbert Baglione, and Saber
Painting at Upper Playground
23 NW 5th Ave, Portland, Oregon
3pm
No cover
Wednesday, September 19th
David Choe, Herbert Baglione, and Saber
Painting at Rotture
along with D.J.P (DJ set)
315 SE 3rd Ave., Portland, Oregon
9pm
No cover
Saturday, September 1, 2007
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Thursday, August 30, 2007
B.C.Clettes get chased by LAPD helicopters!!!
That's right, our sister bike dance team from Canada are finishing up a tour and their performance was lit up by LAPD helicopters. They said that the cops were doing their own kind of dance to herd out the terrible threat of a bike dance performance. HA HA!!!
bcclettes.ca
bcclettes.ca
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Saturday AUG.4th Aquachop with CHUNK 666
They have been doing this for a couple of years now.
That's right, amphibious bicycles on a journey from Chunk station Zebra to Ross Island.
I think this year they will have a sail bike. Booyah!
That's right, amphibious bicycles on a journey from Chunk station Zebra to Ross Island.
I think this year they will have a sail bike. Booyah!
Monday, July 30, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Sprockettes BADASSOSSITY Tour!!!!
Well, The Sprockettes are going on tour tomorrow and we are headed for California. We perform in San Francisco at the Tour De Fat in Golden Gate Park. Tell your friends and come say hi to us!! We will be in the bay area for a week and we are looking for bike gangs to roll with and parties to crash. Hit up our myspace if you have any hot leads.
We will be blogging our tour HERE
We will be blogging our tour HERE
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Of all the wierd coincidences....
Check this out:
I was on tour last year and we showed up in Ft. Worth just in time to load in and play a show. We had driven for 24 hours straight in the Pink Bannana. My body was cramped back into the fetal position because of how we had to sleep in our two foot sections alloted to us. Head on the seat in front, arms around my middle, in and out of conciousness. Dreams and reality were indescernable.
So we jump out of the van, pop all of the joints and load in the equipment with grey bloodshot eyes. The show was so-so but the place we ended up staying at held a secret surprise. Feast your eyes on the most amazing coincidence in the world. Our host had the same birthmark as me in the same place. Weird wierd wierd!
I was on tour last year and we showed up in Ft. Worth just in time to load in and play a show. We had driven for 24 hours straight in the Pink Bannana. My body was cramped back into the fetal position because of how we had to sleep in our two foot sections alloted to us. Head on the seat in front, arms around my middle, in and out of conciousness. Dreams and reality were indescernable.
So we jump out of the van, pop all of the joints and load in the equipment with grey bloodshot eyes. The show was so-so but the place we ended up staying at held a secret surprise. Feast your eyes on the most amazing coincidence in the world. Our host had the same birthmark as me in the same place. Weird wierd wierd!
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
9am Sunday Morning
Last Saturday my band had the pleasure of performing with one of my all time favorite bands, Japanther. It was at the aforementioned Mississippi:MAY art warehouse. What a neat-o setting for a rock show. Japanther set up in front of some cute little shanty's with a wheatpaste mural behind them. Some Black Label kids showed up from the bay area and brought their friends from Minneapolis and they played an opening set. I am looking for pictures to clue you in completely.
Show Me The Pink had a Beach Cruisin' Cruise on the way to the spot. People were dressed in bikinis and safety vests, krew vests and tallbikes. They filmed a video to be used for our first music video. We'll have to cut and paste me in because I was at work. If you, the reader, have any links to photos, I would love them.
dd/mm/yyyy played a rocking set, Japanther didn't play as long as I would have wanted them to. I was running around in circles that night, making sure people had stuff they needed. I had my hands deep in the organization, so by the time I was ready to play, I was sober still. Which is good, but not in this case. I screwed up so many of my parts. I forgot one of the songs that I made up completely. I just looked at this black and white pattern in front of me and was at a total loss. Holy shit. I played worse than when I first learned to play. It didn't help that every single boy I have a crush on or kissed in three states were standing in front of me with their arms crossed. I couldn't sleep that night. I had spent so much energy on making this event fly that when it came time to perform, I might as well have been a kindergartener standing in.
I couldn't sleep at all that night. I kept reliving the trauma-rama. I woke up at 9 am that sunday morning because my conscience was still throwing darts at my self esteem.
Show Me The Pink had a Beach Cruisin' Cruise on the way to the spot. People were dressed in bikinis and safety vests, krew vests and tallbikes. They filmed a video to be used for our first music video. We'll have to cut and paste me in because I was at work. If you, the reader, have any links to photos, I would love them.
dd/mm/yyyy played a rocking set, Japanther didn't play as long as I would have wanted them to. I was running around in circles that night, making sure people had stuff they needed. I had my hands deep in the organization, so by the time I was ready to play, I was sober still. Which is good, but not in this case. I screwed up so many of my parts. I forgot one of the songs that I made up completely. I just looked at this black and white pattern in front of me and was at a total loss. Holy shit. I played worse than when I first learned to play. It didn't help that every single boy I have a crush on or kissed in three states were standing in front of me with their arms crossed. I couldn't sleep that night. I had spent so much energy on making this event fly that when it came time to perform, I might as well have been a kindergartener standing in.
I couldn't sleep at all that night. I kept reliving the trauma-rama. I woke up at 9 am that sunday morning because my conscience was still throwing darts at my self esteem.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Mississippi: MAY
There is a large warehouse being transformed by a team of 30 artists and we will be opening it to the public 5/19-5/31.
Check it out:
MISSISSIPPIMAY>COM
myspace.com/mississippimay
Check it out:
MISSISSIPPIMAY>COM
myspace.com/mississippimay
Friday, May 4, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Fighting Evil Crime!!!
My homegirl's bicycle was stolen off her front porch. Flowers wilted that day as the terrorists won. She had just gotten it a few months earlier, a present from her lover. It was a work of art, with silver tassels and custom fenders. Oh the evil, evil state of humanity! If you read in earlier posts, I bitch slapped a famous artist because he admitted in front of me that he had stolen over 300 bicycles. I take these things personally.
Well guess what?
I was riding down Alberta Street and lo and behold, there is her shiny red pony, locked up to a pole. Shazaam! I quickly ducked into a phonebooth to change and flew over to the crime scene. I locked it up right quick with my own lock and called up the owner, Agent Trouble. I told her to find some bolt cutters and hurry on down. I knew to lock it up from a similar story by Megulon 5 of Chunk 666. He got his crazy freak bike stolen and someone had parked it in front of his work one day. Well he locked it up and put a note on it. So that's what I was going to do. There was a guy cutting the lawn around the bike, so I crossed the street to write the note in case Trouble couldn't secure some bolt cutters. I am mid threatening sentence when I hear a "What the...!" and I turn around and it is this older male trying to get going on her steed.
I strut across the street in a "gonna get down to it" sort of way.
I tell the dude that the bike isn't going anywhere and that it is a stolen bike.
He doesn't like that at all.
He says that it's his and he bought it for $50. Well, DUDE, that fender that got all scratched off, that glittery S on the headpost, that's my girls bike, so you need to go to whomever sold you this bike and ask for your money back. It's a stolen bike.
He looked me dead in the eyes and said, "I don't steal bikes, I murder."
I really wish that I had crossed my arms and returned the stare with, "Well isn't that a coincidence."
Well that's interesting is probably what I said, and he proceeded to rail me about how he's 53 and was eating at the senior citizens center and "you know this neighborhood" he needed a bike and had some money. I told him that it is very obvious that the bike was stolen, and he said,"Listen child, you don't know." Sort of thing, a little head wagging, and he called me a bitch.
I asked him if it crossed his mind that it was stolen when he purchased it.
He didn't say anything, so I went ahead and flipped my own bitch switch and said all sorts of things about how this "child" knows this neighborhood better than a sketchy dude calling himself a senior citizen and that if he wanted to murder me he should probably start trying because I have REALLY wanted to try out all this Kung Fu I have been studying (like the touch of death) and finally, don't call me a bitch or I will act like one. Huh!
So he has already unlocked the bike earlier when he was trying to take off, he he is just sitting there, waiting for Agent Trouble to come so he can scam her out of a few bucks. I told him she didn't have any money. But he was still waiting.
It got pretty awkward, me and him on opposite side of the red Sekai cruiser, arms crossed, shooting poo out of our stares to eachother. It was like ten minutes after I flipped my switch until she came. You can only tap your foot angrily for so long.
Here she comes down the road with two red handles sticking out of her backpack and the biggest smile on her face. Dude tries to get money, she says he can go ahead and shut up because it's her bike and he got duped if he really did pay any money.
I brushed off my hands and went back into the phonebooth so trouble and I could get some coffee as civilians. On the way home, she was telling eveyone. Random hispanic lady at the bus stop, guys on the corner, it was like a musical.
Well guess what?
I was riding down Alberta Street and lo and behold, there is her shiny red pony, locked up to a pole. Shazaam! I quickly ducked into a phonebooth to change and flew over to the crime scene. I locked it up right quick with my own lock and called up the owner, Agent Trouble. I told her to find some bolt cutters and hurry on down. I knew to lock it up from a similar story by Megulon 5 of Chunk 666. He got his crazy freak bike stolen and someone had parked it in front of his work one day. Well he locked it up and put a note on it. So that's what I was going to do. There was a guy cutting the lawn around the bike, so I crossed the street to write the note in case Trouble couldn't secure some bolt cutters. I am mid threatening sentence when I hear a "What the...!" and I turn around and it is this older male trying to get going on her steed.
I strut across the street in a "gonna get down to it" sort of way.
I tell the dude that the bike isn't going anywhere and that it is a stolen bike.
He doesn't like that at all.
He says that it's his and he bought it for $50. Well, DUDE, that fender that got all scratched off, that glittery S on the headpost, that's my girls bike, so you need to go to whomever sold you this bike and ask for your money back. It's a stolen bike.
He looked me dead in the eyes and said, "I don't steal bikes, I murder."
I really wish that I had crossed my arms and returned the stare with, "Well isn't that a coincidence."
Well that's interesting is probably what I said, and he proceeded to rail me about how he's 53 and was eating at the senior citizens center and "you know this neighborhood" he needed a bike and had some money. I told him that it is very obvious that the bike was stolen, and he said,"Listen child, you don't know." Sort of thing, a little head wagging, and he called me a bitch.
I asked him if it crossed his mind that it was stolen when he purchased it.
He didn't say anything, so I went ahead and flipped my own bitch switch and said all sorts of things about how this "child" knows this neighborhood better than a sketchy dude calling himself a senior citizen and that if he wanted to murder me he should probably start trying because I have REALLY wanted to try out all this Kung Fu I have been studying (like the touch of death) and finally, don't call me a bitch or I will act like one. Huh!
So he has already unlocked the bike earlier when he was trying to take off, he he is just sitting there, waiting for Agent Trouble to come so he can scam her out of a few bucks. I told him she didn't have any money. But he was still waiting.
It got pretty awkward, me and him on opposite side of the red Sekai cruiser, arms crossed, shooting poo out of our stares to eachother. It was like ten minutes after I flipped my switch until she came. You can only tap your foot angrily for so long.
Here she comes down the road with two red handles sticking out of her backpack and the biggest smile on her face. Dude tries to get money, she says he can go ahead and shut up because it's her bike and he got duped if he really did pay any money.
I brushed off my hands and went back into the phonebooth so trouble and I could get some coffee as civilians. On the way home, she was telling eveyone. Random hispanic lady at the bus stop, guys on the corner, it was like a musical.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
A story...
It was a fateful summer night in Seattle, august fourth I believe.
The night commemorated the tenth annual Dead Baby Downhill Raceday. The Sprockettes (minibikedanceteam) came up to perform for emerald city. It was a momentous day because we were performing a song with the Vancouver BC bike dance team, The B.C.Clettes. This was a song we choreographed long distance through videos. God bless the information age. Cyclecide was there with their genius pedal powered inventions. The beer was flowing, water bottles being filled up from the keg by rockabilly chicks with big arms and perfect makeup, for free. I did not drink much because i knew we were going to perform. I needed to be clear of mind for our big once-a-year in Seattle. The sun had set and I took a curb to see the BCclettes for my first time. I couldn't help but squeal. It was unreal to see a bike inspired dance team from another country. Inspired by some wacky idea my roomate and i had in the throws of spring some years ago. The colors they chose were red and black, and they made a banner to hang while they danced in the dirty street in the brick warehouse district of Georgetown. The banner had a little pink and black heart in the corner as a shout out to us. They had more of a burlesque show, with bike wheels and jazz hands. It was awesome.
Then it was showtime. I went to the van, caked pink makeup on my eyes and down my cheeks, extra eyeliner, straightened my stockings, a rushed through the chaos of cyclists to set up the bikes for the first number. It went wonderfully. The music was so loud, people could feel it. That's the way I like it.
The next number was to M.I.A., our biggest workout. This song shows that we have come a long way from our first dances. At the end of the song, four girls hold up a bicycle, I get on top, and do a split kick off, and it's the end of the song.
What happened is the whole reason for the blog. I had a shaky dismount and when i looked down at there i was going to land, there was a person. So I am like a cat in the air, trying to get out of this predicament a story up in the air, but to no avail. I land, on the pavement and my elbow dislocates. A gruesome sight. This time it went out the side of my arm, not breaking the skin, and flopped around to the horror of the audience members right in front of me. Good thing that was the end of the song. The money shot.
Here's what it should have looked like:
I have had this injury once before.
It was three years ago near the traintracks on a normally deserted street, now inhabited with hundreds of cyclists, bike mutations, beer cans, and costumes.
It was an event called The Chunkathalon, put on by the famous bike gang C.H.V.N.K. 666 , originators of Northwest American mutant bikes. They throw an all day event that the devil himself is scared to attend. You have no idea about hardcoreness of bike culture until you see the Flaming Bikes O Death.
It was epic. I was at the height of my bike advocate days, a year er so after we started that Zoobomb thing, and I felt on top of my game. I had won one of the derby competitions earlier that day, I was hoisted on shoulders, and cheered for by a motley crew of degenerate bikers. The derby was a whole 'nother story too. This was before it wimped out completely. The audience was circled around the competitiors, the last one to put their foot down won. As more and more people get out, the crowd moves in. They are also avidly throwing objects at the competitors. Things like baby dolls, beer cans, bike wheels, helmets, 55 gallon barrels, barricades, you get the picture. By the time it was just me and the other competitor, the crowd had cinched in tight, and all the rubble cast into the circle was concentrated and we were offroading for our title. I think we both fell down at the same time, but I was heralded winner. Oh man did that put a wind in my sail.
When it came time for jousting, I thought I should just watch, but the pressure was on by a few friends, and my ego wanted to be the ultimate freakbikeculture championess.
And my opponent was the female ringer for the illustrious 666ers. Zoobomb had a friendly rivalry with the chunkers. Basically, they created mutant bikes, we thought that was keen, so we made fun of them to get them to react. We were such new jack toys back then. Maybe nothing has changed. Anyway, it was the female leader of Zoobomb against the female leader of Chunk 666. This was when ladies didn't joust as much as they do now (I'm proud of you girls!). So this little alley next to the roaring traintracks filled with dirty pedal pushers roared a 3..2..1....JOUST!!! and we were off. First time we both stood our ground. Second time the same. Third time, the tie breaker, no luck. We were steadfast to our tall steeds. After three it should be a draw, right? But the crowd wanted blood. The fourth time, my squire, dirty mike gave me a Team Team shirt for good luck, handed me my lance, and off I went. And off my bike I went.
Into the ground I went. Out of the socket my precious little elbow went. The crowd went silent. I stood up quick, looked at it, and jammed it into the closest thing I could call home. Instantly there was a weed pipe in my face, some arnica on my joint, some anti-inflammatories under my tongue and a slint made of the Team Team Tshirt. I went onto the HQ and laid down on a mattress in the middle of the livingroom. Inside was quieter. A few people would amble in, looking drunkly for a hidden beer. Outside the show was continuing. The end of my world was just a notch in the belt of the chaos that is the Chunkathalon. I lay there on the unsheeted bed, hand on my elbow, mind blank with the hard reality that I wasn't going on that Fat Tire Tour de Fat with Cyclecide next week. The random outburst of crowd affirmations of carnage, loudspeaker judges fighting with the masses, egging them on, drunken prolifery; it was all muffled by the curtained windows. I wanted to be out there. i wanted to just get up, do a handstand, and say, "Just Kidding!" I wanted to be a part of this most amazing apocalypse going on outside. It was all slipping away from me. The more moments I lay in the makeshift infirmary, the less I felt on top of the pillars. I had vigorously climbed to the top, and then I had fallen quite quickly back down. Oh the injustice! How terrible this humble pie tasted!
Then the meds began to work, and in comes the man who started this whole chunking mess, Megulon 5. I had the biggest crush on him. It probably started as a professional crush, but went deeper. He asked me if I needed anything as I sat there, dazed but the realest I had ever felt, and I boldly asked for a kiss. He obliged and that was the beginning of my secret love affair with bicycle royalty.
I think Rev. Phil has the whole jousting fall on tape. If i can get it, i will upload it here for your own horrific enjoyment.
On a side note, if you liked this story, and you have your own stories of bike gang misadventures, i am compiling them for a history book. So feel free to submit them to me so we can determine the future representation of the mutant bike gang movement.
The night commemorated the tenth annual Dead Baby Downhill Raceday. The Sprockettes (minibikedanceteam) came up to perform for emerald city. It was a momentous day because we were performing a song with the Vancouver BC bike dance team, The B.C.Clettes. This was a song we choreographed long distance through videos. God bless the information age. Cyclecide was there with their genius pedal powered inventions. The beer was flowing, water bottles being filled up from the keg by rockabilly chicks with big arms and perfect makeup, for free. I did not drink much because i knew we were going to perform. I needed to be clear of mind for our big once-a-year in Seattle. The sun had set and I took a curb to see the BCclettes for my first time. I couldn't help but squeal. It was unreal to see a bike inspired dance team from another country. Inspired by some wacky idea my roomate and i had in the throws of spring some years ago. The colors they chose were red and black, and they made a banner to hang while they danced in the dirty street in the brick warehouse district of Georgetown. The banner had a little pink and black heart in the corner as a shout out to us. They had more of a burlesque show, with bike wheels and jazz hands. It was awesome.
Then it was showtime. I went to the van, caked pink makeup on my eyes and down my cheeks, extra eyeliner, straightened my stockings, a rushed through the chaos of cyclists to set up the bikes for the first number. It went wonderfully. The music was so loud, people could feel it. That's the way I like it.
The next number was to M.I.A., our biggest workout. This song shows that we have come a long way from our first dances. At the end of the song, four girls hold up a bicycle, I get on top, and do a split kick off, and it's the end of the song.
What happened is the whole reason for the blog. I had a shaky dismount and when i looked down at there i was going to land, there was a person. So I am like a cat in the air, trying to get out of this predicament a story up in the air, but to no avail. I land, on the pavement and my elbow dislocates. A gruesome sight. This time it went out the side of my arm, not breaking the skin, and flopped around to the horror of the audience members right in front of me. Good thing that was the end of the song. The money shot.
Here's what it should have looked like:
I have had this injury once before.
It was three years ago near the traintracks on a normally deserted street, now inhabited with hundreds of cyclists, bike mutations, beer cans, and costumes.
It was an event called The Chunkathalon, put on by the famous bike gang C.H.V.N.K. 666 , originators of Northwest American mutant bikes. They throw an all day event that the devil himself is scared to attend. You have no idea about hardcoreness of bike culture until you see the Flaming Bikes O Death.
It was epic. I was at the height of my bike advocate days, a year er so after we started that Zoobomb thing, and I felt on top of my game. I had won one of the derby competitions earlier that day, I was hoisted on shoulders, and cheered for by a motley crew of degenerate bikers. The derby was a whole 'nother story too. This was before it wimped out completely. The audience was circled around the competitiors, the last one to put their foot down won. As more and more people get out, the crowd moves in. They are also avidly throwing objects at the competitors. Things like baby dolls, beer cans, bike wheels, helmets, 55 gallon barrels, barricades, you get the picture. By the time it was just me and the other competitor, the crowd had cinched in tight, and all the rubble cast into the circle was concentrated and we were offroading for our title. I think we both fell down at the same time, but I was heralded winner. Oh man did that put a wind in my sail.
When it came time for jousting, I thought I should just watch, but the pressure was on by a few friends, and my ego wanted to be the ultimate freakbikeculture championess.
And my opponent was the female ringer for the illustrious 666ers. Zoobomb had a friendly rivalry with the chunkers. Basically, they created mutant bikes, we thought that was keen, so we made fun of them to get them to react. We were such new jack toys back then. Maybe nothing has changed. Anyway, it was the female leader of Zoobomb against the female leader of Chunk 666. This was when ladies didn't joust as much as they do now (I'm proud of you girls!). So this little alley next to the roaring traintracks filled with dirty pedal pushers roared a 3..2..1....JOUST!!! and we were off. First time we both stood our ground. Second time the same. Third time, the tie breaker, no luck. We were steadfast to our tall steeds. After three it should be a draw, right? But the crowd wanted blood. The fourth time, my squire, dirty mike gave me a Team Team shirt for good luck, handed me my lance, and off I went. And off my bike I went.
Into the ground I went. Out of the socket my precious little elbow went. The crowd went silent. I stood up quick, looked at it, and jammed it into the closest thing I could call home. Instantly there was a weed pipe in my face, some arnica on my joint, some anti-inflammatories under my tongue and a slint made of the Team Team Tshirt. I went onto the HQ and laid down on a mattress in the middle of the livingroom. Inside was quieter. A few people would amble in, looking drunkly for a hidden beer. Outside the show was continuing. The end of my world was just a notch in the belt of the chaos that is the Chunkathalon. I lay there on the unsheeted bed, hand on my elbow, mind blank with the hard reality that I wasn't going on that Fat Tire Tour de Fat with Cyclecide next week. The random outburst of crowd affirmations of carnage, loudspeaker judges fighting with the masses, egging them on, drunken prolifery; it was all muffled by the curtained windows. I wanted to be out there. i wanted to just get up, do a handstand, and say, "Just Kidding!" I wanted to be a part of this most amazing apocalypse going on outside. It was all slipping away from me. The more moments I lay in the makeshift infirmary, the less I felt on top of the pillars. I had vigorously climbed to the top, and then I had fallen quite quickly back down. Oh the injustice! How terrible this humble pie tasted!
Then the meds began to work, and in comes the man who started this whole chunking mess, Megulon 5. I had the biggest crush on him. It probably started as a professional crush, but went deeper. He asked me if I needed anything as I sat there, dazed but the realest I had ever felt, and I boldly asked for a kiss. He obliged and that was the beginning of my secret love affair with bicycle royalty.
I think Rev. Phil has the whole jousting fall on tape. If i can get it, i will upload it here for your own horrific enjoyment.
On a side note, if you liked this story, and you have your own stories of bike gang misadventures, i am compiling them for a history book. So feel free to submit them to me so we can determine the future representation of the mutant bike gang movement.
In style is to be perpertually out of style
Show Me The Pink recently gaced the glossy pages of a questionable magazine, in the fashion section. That's right, in the Iraq Issue of Vice Magazine, our lovely band was featured as a fashion DON'T. Kick ASs!
They say lightning doesn't strike twice, but I just dug this up from the old archives. This may just be in the next issue.
They say lightning doesn't strike twice, but I just dug this up from the old archives. This may just be in the next issue.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Article about RAD America
Friendly, Friendly World: Rad America’s Third Supper with Show Me the Pink
November 24th, 2006 [4:30PM] Posted by: JASON SIMMS | 1 COMMENT
Starlet Archibald“…there’s gonna be about 50 people there, so bring a blanket if you have one because we’re going to be dining Bohemian-style. Oh, and there’s a turkey shoot too.”
“A turkey shoot?”
“Yeah, but all that’s covered in the pageant…”
See, the thing about Zach and Noelle Archibald of Show Me the Pink is that there’s really no telling about this “turkey shoot” Noelle threw out there over the phone when I talked to her about attending Rad America’s Third Supper for Friendly Friendly World day before yesterday. The couple in their mid-to-late 20s is generally sort of peace-minded and laid-back, so it’s hard to imagine them actually shooting a turkey, but, then again, they exude enough roots-American idealism (I’m talking like 1770s shit) that for all I know, turkeys are in fact hunted in the back yards of NE Portland in Rad America. If that’s the case, then I’m sure there’ll be some sort of entertaining and surprisingly touching speech metaphorizing the event.
A little background for those of you still living in Lame America or Sucky America: Rad America is a concept/nation developed over the last few years by SMTP, the now-displaced Nightmare Collective, and various members of the bike fun/bike activist community, among others. I interviewed the ladies of SMTP last summer about how they discovered pockets of Rad America all over the place on their national tour, but to sum up my personal favorite bit of Rad American thought, here’s one thing Noelle had to say in that interview:
One of the things we focused on was making your one square foot totally tight. It’s just the idea that there are a lot of things done in the name of our country that we don’t want to be a part of, and sometimes it’s hard to be proud of being an American. But you can make the space that you personally occupy however you want it to be, no matter where you are. If each one of us makes the square foot we occupy totally tight, eventually there will be that one person that shifts the tides and all of America will be rad again.
The rest is explained in the pageant. When I rode up to a very cabin-looking house, I heard some commotion in the back yard, so I parked my bike and went to check on the bird sitch. I spotted STMP keyboardist Shannon Palermo presiding over a young woman in an orange hunting cap and vest preparing to shoot the shit out of a cardboard turkey and various other targets with a BB gun. Hilariously, the person shooting had to wear the orange, “Safety first!” said Palermo. I got to shoot next: five shots at the bells and bottles, a ding wins two points and bonk chalks up one. Only scoring four points in this first round, I had to shoot the moon on the turkey and aim for the (bulls)eye, but came up with nothin’.
“Is four the lowest score?”
“No, I got zero. Thanks for bringing it up!” said Shannon, although at the Rad America First Supper in 2004 at the old Nightmare Collective warehouse in Forest Grove, Oregon, she apparently won the creative shot award for lookin’ like a crazed sportsman with a lazy eye, a pose that made the local paper, The News-Times (although it doesn’t appear to be logged online).
On the way inside, I notice some folks in a lime green school bus parked in the driveway. Inside is Zach Archibald, deep frying a turkey. He’s been deep frying birds for six years, but this year, he had a new trick up his sleeve: A devise he’d invented and named the Intactor. Apparently his Turkeys have had a tendency to break in half on the way out of the vat of boiling oil, so he constructed a wire net with handles that keeps the bird whole, keeps it from getting burned on the bottom of the pot, and allows him to stir the oil all at once. Peter, the night’s host, was also in the bus to observe the spectacle and hear Zach tell tales of a beef jerky business he once had in Atlanta that involved drying the meat in a box with hairdryers. Peter plans to save the oil to power the engine, which he’s working on converting.
Zach’s was only one of four turkeys at the Supper (which appears to be a holiday completely unrelated to Thanksgiving that happens to fall on the same day each year). There was also a roasted bird, and a “wimpy” seitan imposter, as well as an “extreme” habanero-seasoned seitan foul, which, in a secret ballot election, came out on top (though Zach came in second).
After dinner was pageant time, and the members of Show Me the Pink cleared a small area around the piano in the large, hanging-blankets, pillows-on-the-floor, Moroccan-style dining room. They sang of their “colonization” of the freezing cold Forest Grove warehouse which occurred right after the reelection of Bush. In these dark times, all were welcomed into the warehouse, and there assembled a group of free-thinkers, environmentalists, feminists, and generally non-judgmental folk. They sang, often in hilarious baritones, of how those folks seemed to multiply and how they continued to do greater and greater things together (the gigantic Sprockettes benefit that occurred just last weekend came to mind for me), and how all indications are that America is slowly getting radder because of them. They sang of “breaking old chains” and forming “new traditions.”
At the end of the songs, Noelle was handed her daughter, 14 month-old Starlet, who throughout dinner, had walked around the dining room greeting all her pals, mostly her mother’s fellow minibike dancers, the Sprockettes. I thought about how Rad America would be a hell of a place to grow up. The whole day was very welcoming—I had come alone and only knew a few of the guests from having interviewed them previously for stories or on my old radio show—but the pageant in particular displayed the sort of sense of tradition and community surrounding a holiday that I had only previously witnessed in religious contexts. I envied those religious traditions and those personal connections because they seemed to make people feel good and help them to fulfilling lives, but they were forever unavailable to me because they came with the baggage of, you know, believing in a specified God, believing in war, believing that gay people are going to Hell, believing something crazy in any case.
Zach, Noelle, and company have done something very valuable and very rare. They’ve created what seems to be a sane and affirming social group. In an age of Bowling Alone (Bob Putnam’s great book on the demise of American social capital), and the breakdown of secular groups (not a lot of bridge clubs these days…), Rad America represents something like a family of friends, and, as SMTP discovered on tour, one that can easily integrate with friendly folks worldwide.
Of course, since by common reckoning it was Thanksgiving, and therefore someone had to do something goofy in front of others, after the pageant and before the winner of the turkey shoot was announced, Zach told a story about how he had reluctantly used the BB gun to finish off a giant rat that had invaded the Archibald home and that might have eaten Starlet if not stopped. It was sort of graphic and hilariously contrasted all the highfalutin pageantry, and I’m glad Zach was there to do it since none of our uncles were around and it wouldn’t have been Thanksgiving without something like that. I probably wasn’t the only one reminded of the Regular American holiday: Shortly after the story, a lovely woman working on a photography project with the Sprockettes declared to me, “Best Thanksgiving ever.” Well, it was certainly the raddest, but it took me a minute to agree because it suddenly occurred to me that Zach’s story was sort of a Thanksgiving swan song for me. I think I’ll be having a Rad Supper wherever I am the rest of these years, and odds are at least someone at the table will be having it with me.
Photo: Starlet Archibald for Rad President 2048.
The interview about Rad America.
My review of the Sprockettes Invite.
Show Me the Pink on Nerd Space.
www.sprockettes.org
www.bowlingalone.co
November 24th, 2006 [4:30PM] Posted by: JASON SIMMS | 1 COMMENT
Starlet Archibald“…there’s gonna be about 50 people there, so bring a blanket if you have one because we’re going to be dining Bohemian-style. Oh, and there’s a turkey shoot too.”
“A turkey shoot?”
“Yeah, but all that’s covered in the pageant…”
See, the thing about Zach and Noelle Archibald of Show Me the Pink is that there’s really no telling about this “turkey shoot” Noelle threw out there over the phone when I talked to her about attending Rad America’s Third Supper for Friendly Friendly World day before yesterday. The couple in their mid-to-late 20s is generally sort of peace-minded and laid-back, so it’s hard to imagine them actually shooting a turkey, but, then again, they exude enough roots-American idealism (I’m talking like 1770s shit) that for all I know, turkeys are in fact hunted in the back yards of NE Portland in Rad America. If that’s the case, then I’m sure there’ll be some sort of entertaining and surprisingly touching speech metaphorizing the event.
A little background for those of you still living in Lame America or Sucky America: Rad America is a concept/nation developed over the last few years by SMTP, the now-displaced Nightmare Collective, and various members of the bike fun/bike activist community, among others. I interviewed the ladies of SMTP last summer about how they discovered pockets of Rad America all over the place on their national tour, but to sum up my personal favorite bit of Rad American thought, here’s one thing Noelle had to say in that interview:
One of the things we focused on was making your one square foot totally tight. It’s just the idea that there are a lot of things done in the name of our country that we don’t want to be a part of, and sometimes it’s hard to be proud of being an American. But you can make the space that you personally occupy however you want it to be, no matter where you are. If each one of us makes the square foot we occupy totally tight, eventually there will be that one person that shifts the tides and all of America will be rad again.
The rest is explained in the pageant. When I rode up to a very cabin-looking house, I heard some commotion in the back yard, so I parked my bike and went to check on the bird sitch. I spotted STMP keyboardist Shannon Palermo presiding over a young woman in an orange hunting cap and vest preparing to shoot the shit out of a cardboard turkey and various other targets with a BB gun. Hilariously, the person shooting had to wear the orange, “Safety first!” said Palermo. I got to shoot next: five shots at the bells and bottles, a ding wins two points and bonk chalks up one. Only scoring four points in this first round, I had to shoot the moon on the turkey and aim for the (bulls)eye, but came up with nothin’.
“Is four the lowest score?”
“No, I got zero. Thanks for bringing it up!” said Shannon, although at the Rad America First Supper in 2004 at the old Nightmare Collective warehouse in Forest Grove, Oregon, she apparently won the creative shot award for lookin’ like a crazed sportsman with a lazy eye, a pose that made the local paper, The News-Times (although it doesn’t appear to be logged online).
On the way inside, I notice some folks in a lime green school bus parked in the driveway. Inside is Zach Archibald, deep frying a turkey. He’s been deep frying birds for six years, but this year, he had a new trick up his sleeve: A devise he’d invented and named the Intactor. Apparently his Turkeys have had a tendency to break in half on the way out of the vat of boiling oil, so he constructed a wire net with handles that keeps the bird whole, keeps it from getting burned on the bottom of the pot, and allows him to stir the oil all at once. Peter, the night’s host, was also in the bus to observe the spectacle and hear Zach tell tales of a beef jerky business he once had in Atlanta that involved drying the meat in a box with hairdryers. Peter plans to save the oil to power the engine, which he’s working on converting.
Zach’s was only one of four turkeys at the Supper (which appears to be a holiday completely unrelated to Thanksgiving that happens to fall on the same day each year). There was also a roasted bird, and a “wimpy” seitan imposter, as well as an “extreme” habanero-seasoned seitan foul, which, in a secret ballot election, came out on top (though Zach came in second).
After dinner was pageant time, and the members of Show Me the Pink cleared a small area around the piano in the large, hanging-blankets, pillows-on-the-floor, Moroccan-style dining room. They sang of their “colonization” of the freezing cold Forest Grove warehouse which occurred right after the reelection of Bush. In these dark times, all were welcomed into the warehouse, and there assembled a group of free-thinkers, environmentalists, feminists, and generally non-judgmental folk. They sang, often in hilarious baritones, of how those folks seemed to multiply and how they continued to do greater and greater things together (the gigantic Sprockettes benefit that occurred just last weekend came to mind for me), and how all indications are that America is slowly getting radder because of them. They sang of “breaking old chains” and forming “new traditions.”
At the end of the songs, Noelle was handed her daughter, 14 month-old Starlet, who throughout dinner, had walked around the dining room greeting all her pals, mostly her mother’s fellow minibike dancers, the Sprockettes. I thought about how Rad America would be a hell of a place to grow up. The whole day was very welcoming—I had come alone and only knew a few of the guests from having interviewed them previously for stories or on my old radio show—but the pageant in particular displayed the sort of sense of tradition and community surrounding a holiday that I had only previously witnessed in religious contexts. I envied those religious traditions and those personal connections because they seemed to make people feel good and help them to fulfilling lives, but they were forever unavailable to me because they came with the baggage of, you know, believing in a specified God, believing in war, believing that gay people are going to Hell, believing something crazy in any case.
Zach, Noelle, and company have done something very valuable and very rare. They’ve created what seems to be a sane and affirming social group. In an age of Bowling Alone (Bob Putnam’s great book on the demise of American social capital), and the breakdown of secular groups (not a lot of bridge clubs these days…), Rad America represents something like a family of friends, and, as SMTP discovered on tour, one that can easily integrate with friendly folks worldwide.
Of course, since by common reckoning it was Thanksgiving, and therefore someone had to do something goofy in front of others, after the pageant and before the winner of the turkey shoot was announced, Zach told a story about how he had reluctantly used the BB gun to finish off a giant rat that had invaded the Archibald home and that might have eaten Starlet if not stopped. It was sort of graphic and hilariously contrasted all the highfalutin pageantry, and I’m glad Zach was there to do it since none of our uncles were around and it wouldn’t have been Thanksgiving without something like that. I probably wasn’t the only one reminded of the Regular American holiday: Shortly after the story, a lovely woman working on a photography project with the Sprockettes declared to me, “Best Thanksgiving ever.” Well, it was certainly the raddest, but it took me a minute to agree because it suddenly occurred to me that Zach’s story was sort of a Thanksgiving swan song for me. I think I’ll be having a Rad Supper wherever I am the rest of these years, and odds are at least someone at the table will be having it with me.
Photo: Starlet Archibald for Rad President 2048.
The interview about Rad America.
My review of the Sprockettes Invite.
Show Me the Pink on Nerd Space.
www.sprockettes.org
www.bowlingalone.co
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
CycleSlaughterama 3 Richmond , VA 2006
I found these pictures by Tod Seelie.
I am utterly amazed at how he was able to capture the action so well.
Check it out at everydayilive.com
I am utterly amazed at how he was able to capture the action so well.
Check it out at everydayilive.com
Thursday, March 15, 2007
The warehouse insdustrial complex.
A couple of years ago, a few friends and I got together for our burning desire to have an art warehouse where we could explore and create. We found one, but it was forty miles away, in the country. It was called The Nightmare Collective because the building was on Elm street. It had two acres of land and it was near a river. It was in a little town called Forest Grove.
It was a fun time in my life. Many of us still had jobs in Portland, so we would have to take the bus to the MAX station, then another bus to where we were going in the city. It took two hours to get there, but it was accessible by mass transit. I would be on my way to Sprockettes practice in the park, and the weather would be stormy, then I would hop on the metal worm and warp zone to the city just in time to watch the storm crawl over the west hills.
We had a bunch of projects out there in the two years life span.
We converted a bunch of busses and vehicles to run on vegi-oil. Happy Cow studios set up a recording booth and sound studio. We had a depressed garden that didn't get watered enough, but the native plants grew like crazy. We built a two level "personal art studios" with a rope bridge. We called it Ewok Villiage. Before the "PAS's" got built, we had settlements called Shantytown. We would stake out parts of the greasy, oil covered floor, and we also all slept in the communal closet. Yeah, a communal closet. This one cat Leah would sleep under the place where all the clothes were hanging, with the many dresses and costumes brushing her face. I think it comforted her.
We had a sweatshop set up, a couple sewing machines, a serger that broke on the first day, and mounds of scrap fabric.
Two of the kids are in the Halloween business. They really put the nightmare in our collective. Cody wold sculp these very realistic baby faces out of clay, cast them in latex, and put them in pneumatic coffins that caused the decrepit baby to pop up out of the coffin. He made foam wrenches and swords and creepy old man faces. It was really neat to see the process.
For a while we had a blacksmith who moved in his forge. We made knives and fences and he even had an anvil. He was hella metal too.
The second summer we had a bunch of circus folks find our warehouse after the Autonomous Mutant Festival. One day, six buses showed up in the back yard. All these kids were from the SPAZ collective, and they set up a wireless zone instantly and were all on their fancy californian laptops. We had clowns teaching us stilt walking and juggling and trapeze. We kept the big doors open in the warm summer nights and played with hula hoops or had gypsy jazz jam sessions.
Every new person that came into that warehouse taught me a little skill, or in some cases, taught me how not to act.
Well, this is a really long intro to my original idea for this post.
There are currently two warehouse projects focusing on the arts, healing, and creation. We have enough creative class in portland to fill both of them up with art making machines that will benefit society.
One is called The Watershed Project and the other is called The izVilliage Complex.
I will keep you posted on future opportunities.
There are many shows and fund raisers going on as we speak.
It was a fun time in my life. Many of us still had jobs in Portland, so we would have to take the bus to the MAX station, then another bus to where we were going in the city. It took two hours to get there, but it was accessible by mass transit. I would be on my way to Sprockettes practice in the park, and the weather would be stormy, then I would hop on the metal worm and warp zone to the city just in time to watch the storm crawl over the west hills.
We had a bunch of projects out there in the two years life span.
We converted a bunch of busses and vehicles to run on vegi-oil. Happy Cow studios set up a recording booth and sound studio. We had a depressed garden that didn't get watered enough, but the native plants grew like crazy. We built a two level "personal art studios" with a rope bridge. We called it Ewok Villiage. Before the "PAS's" got built, we had settlements called Shantytown. We would stake out parts of the greasy, oil covered floor, and we also all slept in the communal closet. Yeah, a communal closet. This one cat Leah would sleep under the place where all the clothes were hanging, with the many dresses and costumes brushing her face. I think it comforted her.
We had a sweatshop set up, a couple sewing machines, a serger that broke on the first day, and mounds of scrap fabric.
Two of the kids are in the Halloween business. They really put the nightmare in our collective. Cody wold sculp these very realistic baby faces out of clay, cast them in latex, and put them in pneumatic coffins that caused the decrepit baby to pop up out of the coffin. He made foam wrenches and swords and creepy old man faces. It was really neat to see the process.
For a while we had a blacksmith who moved in his forge. We made knives and fences and he even had an anvil. He was hella metal too.
The second summer we had a bunch of circus folks find our warehouse after the Autonomous Mutant Festival. One day, six buses showed up in the back yard. All these kids were from the SPAZ collective, and they set up a wireless zone instantly and were all on their fancy californian laptops. We had clowns teaching us stilt walking and juggling and trapeze. We kept the big doors open in the warm summer nights and played with hula hoops or had gypsy jazz jam sessions.
Every new person that came into that warehouse taught me a little skill, or in some cases, taught me how not to act.
Well, this is a really long intro to my original idea for this post.
There are currently two warehouse projects focusing on the arts, healing, and creation. We have enough creative class in portland to fill both of them up with art making machines that will benefit society.
One is called The Watershed Project and the other is called The izVilliage Complex.
I will keep you posted on future opportunities.
There are many shows and fund raisers going on as we speak.
Happy thought...
My morning starts with the 'mericano at 1:30 from the coffee shop, riding my black Hercules cruiser to work. Moist outside, the cold, damp air making my hair curl even more. Riding no handed down Vancouver street (By the way, the best rollerskating route to Downtown Portland. It's smooth like butta.).
The darndest thing was that the white plastic to-go lid was singing a tune.
Just like a bottle. How sweet.
Then that got me thinking about the funny stuff bike commuters do on their steeds on the way to work.
Cars have the rearview mirror advantage, but have you ever put on makeup while biking?
On the way to the show, some black eyeliner, even better if it's messy.
What about the warm nights that smell of Portland cherry blossom and you have too much clothing on and so you have to take it off, with your over-the-shoulder bag to deal with. Still pumping in a rhythmic fashion, the shirt is off and in the bag before the next block.
Or have you ever text messaged while biking? You had memorized how many times to push the key to spell it out, going through intersections while texting.
What about stretching.
I have done that.
You get in a rhythm and after you can't pedal faster, you lift the leg up and let go of the handlebars.
Or what about the "surf on your seat" while going downhill, kind of like superman.
Killer.
But that's besides the point. Can you read books and bike?
Definitely sing and bike. Off and on I will feel some deep down soul and just kick it out over the four miles stretch of northeast to the river.
My roomate Thomas and I have this tradition of singing really loudly on the way home from the bar. It always turns into middle eastern hip-hop stuff. I wish I had a recorder.
One time I was taking a trumpet somewhere for someone and used the time to try and learn to play it. It was a great plan, because nobody had to listen to the terrible sounds coming out of it for too long. Nonetheless, I took a little different route than I normally do.
What about you, the reader?
The darndest thing was that the white plastic to-go lid was singing a tune.
Just like a bottle. How sweet.
Then that got me thinking about the funny stuff bike commuters do on their steeds on the way to work.
Cars have the rearview mirror advantage, but have you ever put on makeup while biking?
On the way to the show, some black eyeliner, even better if it's messy.
What about the warm nights that smell of Portland cherry blossom and you have too much clothing on and so you have to take it off, with your over-the-shoulder bag to deal with. Still pumping in a rhythmic fashion, the shirt is off and in the bag before the next block.
Or have you ever text messaged while biking? You had memorized how many times to push the key to spell it out, going through intersections while texting.
What about stretching.
I have done that.
You get in a rhythm and after you can't pedal faster, you lift the leg up and let go of the handlebars.
Or what about the "surf on your seat" while going downhill, kind of like superman.
Killer.
But that's besides the point. Can you read books and bike?
Definitely sing and bike. Off and on I will feel some deep down soul and just kick it out over the four miles stretch of northeast to the river.
My roomate Thomas and I have this tradition of singing really loudly on the way home from the bar. It always turns into middle eastern hip-hop stuff. I wish I had a recorder.
One time I was taking a trumpet somewhere for someone and used the time to try and learn to play it. It was a great plan, because nobody had to listen to the terrible sounds coming out of it for too long. Nonetheless, I took a little different route than I normally do.
What about you, the reader?
Friday, February 23, 2007
Dear David Choe,
I am not sorry for December 15th.
I didn't plan on bitch slapping you, but you deserved it.
We had a great time talking. It was phenomenal to meet my painting style guru.
You have no idea how your grafitti quickness translated to painting has helped me in my own painting styles. I gave you a calendar of my minibike dance team, signed and everything. Then you said you have a confession.
You have stolen over 300 bicycles.
My hand met your cheek before I could think about it.
It wasn't just for my own disdain, but I felt like the hand of the bicycle world raised mine to your face.
I heard the gasps in the room.
You said you deserved it.
I hope it made and impression.
If you left Portland with anything, I hope it was the message my hand delivered you.
I have a feeling you like it.
I wore my rollerskates to your art show.
Someday I should tell you about my rollerskates. I have a feeling you would like it. To say the least, they have rolled all over the country, just like you have.
Next time you are in town, let's have a sketch off.
Yours truly,
Agent Chaos
I didn't plan on bitch slapping you, but you deserved it.
We had a great time talking. It was phenomenal to meet my painting style guru.
You have no idea how your grafitti quickness translated to painting has helped me in my own painting styles. I gave you a calendar of my minibike dance team, signed and everything. Then you said you have a confession.
You have stolen over 300 bicycles.
My hand met your cheek before I could think about it.
It wasn't just for my own disdain, but I felt like the hand of the bicycle world raised mine to your face.
I heard the gasps in the room.
You said you deserved it.
I hope it made and impression.
If you left Portland with anything, I hope it was the message my hand delivered you.
I have a feeling you like it.
I wore my rollerskates to your art show.
Someday I should tell you about my rollerskates. I have a feeling you would like it. To say the least, they have rolled all over the country, just like you have.
Next time you are in town, let's have a sketch off.
Yours truly,
Agent Chaos
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
This time last year....
A year ago today Show Me The Pink kicked off our Rad! America tour.
We played 48 shows in 56 days. It was incredibly fun and taxing. Here are some pictures.
This is in a cave on 6th Street in San Fransico. Day 6 and we were really smelly by then.
We ate at Tu-Lan before the show. God Bless greasy, greasy Tu-Lan.
Las Vegas
Denton Texas pinking it up to high heaven.
What! What! Sprockettes representing at the Evil Fool's Day Cycleslaughterama.
Shanzini's Birthday in Texas.
Tricked out minis at Stonehenge in Eugene.
We played 48 shows in 56 days. It was incredibly fun and taxing. Here are some pictures.
This is in a cave on 6th Street in San Fransico. Day 6 and we were really smelly by then.
We ate at Tu-Lan before the show. God Bless greasy, greasy Tu-Lan.
Las Vegas
Denton Texas pinking it up to high heaven.
What! What! Sprockettes representing at the Evil Fool's Day Cycleslaughterama.
Shanzini's Birthday in Texas.
Tricked out minis at Stonehenge in Eugene.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
MINIBIKEWINTER IV
The weekend of events usually includes shows, rides, movies, dance parties, and the ever insane, Olympics. This year they have further expanded the theme with the Chariot Wars calling for a day themed Roman, followed by the Greek themed day with the Zoobomb Winter Olympics.
Here is a link to the weekend of events starting tomorrow with:
The Dropout Bike Club's freakbike ride meeting @ 20th& Belmont at 8pm.
Freak bikes of all shapes and sizes are welcome.
Monday, February 12, 2007
My Sprockettes Blog
The Sprockettes are an all-female minibike dance team.
You might think this unusual, but since our inception in June of 2004, there have been four other bike dance teams spring up into existence.
So here's a roster of the synchronized bike dance teams by now:
*The Sprockettes, Portland, OR June 2004
colors: Hot Pink and Black
*The Different Spokes, Portland, OR 2005
colors: all one color, like the brakes.
These guys got together for a performance with the Sprockettes for the N.A.C.C.C. (North American Cycle Courier Championships. They had all kinds of bikes from minis to tallbikes. They performed to Lil' John's "Are you fucking with me" song. That was their only performance.
*The B.C.Clettes, Vancouver B.C. August 2005
colors: Red and Black
*The Brakes, Vancouver B.C. 2006?
colors: Each has their own color (ie. green, yellow, blue, orange, red)
The Velo Vixens, Victoria, B.C. February 2007
colors:Denim and Fishnet
The B.C.Clettes and The Sprockettes on the stage together for the first time @ MC3's Pedal Play bike event.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Funny video by Vitche from Sao Paulo
This dude makes art and shows it at my work and this is in Clarion Alley in SF. He's silly.
Some pictures...
Newspaper box chick sits and waits for summer.
The Sprockettes had a weekend Invitational in November. Thugs from out of town came out with their tall bikes and their gang jackets. The weekend was all about bicycles, so I strapped on my rollerskates.
Show Me the Pink does the double crab stack with me as the keystone at the Children of the Revolution Festival this last January.
Blogstradamus
Welcome to my very own blog.
Damn, remeber before caller ID?
Remeber when only drug dealers and ceo's had cellpohones the size of a brick?
I've got Digi-talis.
Well I hope to use this blog to sort out my head and promote some ideas.
Hope you (whoever the hell you are) enjoy it.
Please feel free to comment and shit.
Damn, remeber before caller ID?
Remeber when only drug dealers and ceo's had cellpohones the size of a brick?
I've got Digi-talis.
Well I hope to use this blog to sort out my head and promote some ideas.
Hope you (whoever the hell you are) enjoy it.
Please feel free to comment and shit.
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