Can I just say it was the most fabulous weekend of my last five years!!
The Brakes
The Crowd
The Sprockettes
Jerico of Cyclecide
The Derailleurs
KAZUM
Mysterious new dance team from Canada
Mellissa and Vanessa Vortex
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
This just in from the Sprockettes Bike Bash Weekend!!
More text is on the way but I can only do so much when I am at work.
Can I just say it was the most fabulous weekend of my last five years!!
The Crowd
KAZUM
Can I just say it was the most fabulous weekend of my last five years!!
The Crowd
KAZUM
Monday, June 23, 2008
Modern History of the Bike-Dance Team
A History of The Modern Bicycle Dance Team
The first inklings of bicycle dancing can be traced back to the dawn of the invention. The dance of mastering the steel beast, the shuffle of the rough terrain and the climb up to the top of a Lamplighter bike. There are many forms of expression on a bike, but for the sake of brevity, we will only discuss the modern history of street style from 1996 forward. This is when the 20" wheel dancing and team innovations really started to gain momentum.
In the year 1996, The San Francisco Bicycle Ballet united in an effort for a top-viewed Busby Berkeley-esque patterned performance on bicycles. Their show involved many cyclists, riding in formations that fold into each other and back out like a kaleidoscope. Their founder, Carla Laser, throws a near yearly show. She has some dancers return, and some new recruits each year. *1
Fast forward to the year 2003, in the green folds of Portland, Oregon's west hills, where a sect of female cyclists were hanging out in the woods above the city. On a group ride called Zoobomb *2, they looked around and realized they were fed up with the male-dominated bike scene. They needed something to bind them together, so they decided to make the Gravity Girls calendar*3. They took naughty pictures in elevators, re-enacted whiskey fueled bike crashes, and posed topless with a tied up Santa in North Portland Bikeworks. This camaraderie brought a new power dynamic to the west hills, and a female kinship was formed. At the end of winter, planning started for a two week bike event called Pedalpalooza*4. Agent Chaos was a Gravity Girl and she offered to organize a "bicycle ballet" for a fun event at the upcoming Multnomah County Bike Fair. She was unaware of the SFBB at the time, and Agent Shine, a school teacher and practitioner of capoeria offered to team with her after the meeting. At home, Chaos tells roommate Agent Trouble of the plan and they cackle about a team dancing like synchronized swimming meets fly girls from "In Living Color" meets 7th grade cheerleaders. The name The Sprockettes*5 seemed to be a great expression; a mixture of the Broadway Rockettes and the sprocket cog. It was time to get to work, and most Sprockettes knew nothing of dance. With the help of instructional videos on working out, belly dancing, and stripping, they met up each week to learn some slow motion moves in front of the TV.
For their first performance, The Sprockettes were the half time girls at The Multnomah County Bike Fair, jumping on the chalky fairway for a hot pink and black number in between slow races, bicycle eating contests, and the ever popular jousting. The fair goers responded with delight and asked when The Sprockettes would be performing again. They hadn't had any notion of going beyond that one performance, so this new idea thrilled them. This opened up pipe dreams like performing in other countries and having the five year goal of an International Bike Dance-Off. They booked shows for street fairs, benefits, house parties, and a mutant bike event called The Chunkathalon.
This new idea really surprised Portland dwellers, and the hot pink dancers soon inspired more and more bicycle fun. There was a one time performance by their male friends, each choosing a solid color and calling themselves The Different Spokes. Their show was for the North American Cycle Courier Championships (NACCC) and the highlights include synchronized moshing, all levels of bicycle, rear ends spray painted to spell out Different Spokes, and a puker on the dancefloor. They filled big blingin' chalices with glitter and shook their dreads to 'Lil John. That was the first and last of them. Some members have gone on to help with a new male dance team in Portland to be discussed later.
In September of 2005 The Sprockettes attended the Margaret Charles Chopper Collective's*6 (or MC3) bike event, Velomutations*7. The audience's eyes couldn't get bigger. The sweet hearts of Canada were extremely psyched and wanted to join. The Sprockettes encouraged the Canadians to form their own incarnation, and that next week The B.C.Clettes*8 were on their way to forming. They chose red and black as their power colors. They circled around the Vancouver bike scene with their burlesque wheel dances and bike tool acapella number. In no time, the contagious nature of pure bike fun reached their male friends and they found a choreographer and coach and began practicing. In 2006, The Brakes*9, without knowing of the Different Spokes, chose to adopt a single color for each individual. Green, Red, Yellow, Blue, Orange and Black. They rock hip hop moves and make the ladies wild with their bike strip tease.
This exploratory undercurrent reached across the Vancouver bay to Victoria during a pollinating bike event. There a group formed called The Velo Vixens*10, expanding the burlesque hotness of the BCClettes into a sideshow with acts, belly dance, fire, and surprises. These ladies chose denim and fishnet as their colors, and began to pull the boundaries of bike dance out in a new direction.
In November of 2006, The Sprockettes rounded up all of the known cycledancers for The Sprockettes Invitational Weekend*11, an international expose' on the evolution of the modern street bicycle dance. This event blew the whistle on the possibility of fun between your legs, and over 600 people attended the performances.
By the end of August 2007, a most surprising myspace search concluded that over the Atlantic Ocean there was a bikedance team in Machester, England, called The Spokes*12. They recieved the underground broadcast and began action, choosing green and black as their team colors. They have since performed at the London Bicycle Film Festival and other bike events like critical mass.
2007-2008 was a year of exponential dissemination as branches of modern cycle dancing popped up along the west coast and spotted in the eastern lands. For MiniBikeWinter*13, Chain Reaction*14, a long awaited Portland male dance team rocked tricky maneuvers and matching black t-shirts. Also in Bellingham, WA, Agent Vortex moves in and organizes a performance as an addition to a circus. News is heard from Seattle that purple and black is now in the color register with a team called the Bicycle Belles*15. Richmond, Ohio has a young lady organize a dance for her college project. March 2008 in Oakland, Agent Chaos and Agent Verve spring into action with new plans for The Derailleurs*16, bay area bike dance team. Agent Chaos' experience and Agent Verve's degree in dance, they find a flock of fabulous females and spend the next three months choregraphing song with original music by local artists. Agent Chaos finds the challenge enlightening and trying, because of lucky exposure to the rest of bikedance history.
June 28th, 2008, exactly five years after the inception, The Sprockettes hosted a Bike Bash afterparty for the Multnomah Caounty Bike Fair. This was the international bikedance-off pipe dreamed five years ago and that came to fruition. Teams from Canada, Bellingham, Portland, San Francisco, and Seattle were west-side-storying in a warehouse by the river. Where will the next leg of bicycle fun take it's adventurous riders?
************UPDATE:
Bottom Brackettes took the stage in 2008, from Eugene OR
GACHARINCO just added to the Bikedance Roster!
Japan's first street style bicycle-inspired dance team performed October, 2009, in Nagoya.
***********UPDATE: MORE TEAMS!!!
more to come, but check it out:
Heelz on Wheelz from NYC
Greasy Gears from Madison Wisconsin
Les Velobici from Bristol England
The Racketeers from Chicago Illinois
Multnomah County Bike Fair 2007
B.C.Clettes
The Brakes
Velo Vixens
The Spokes
Photo: J. Maus
Bicycle Belles
Bottom Brackettes
The Derailleurs
Vertical Momentum
Gacharinco
Les Velobici:
Japan's first street style bicycle-inspired dance team performed October, 2009, in Nagoya.
***********UPDATE: MORE TEAMS!!!
more to come, but check it out:
Heelz on Wheelz from NYC
Greasy Gears from Madison Wisconsin
Les Velobici from Bristol England
The Racketeers from Chicago Illinois
SF Bike Ballet
The Sprockettes
Multnomah County Bike Fair 2007
B.C.Clettes
The Brakes
Velo Vixens
The Spokes
Chain Reaction
Photo: J. MausBicycle Belles
Bottom Brackettes
The Derailleurs
Vertical Momentum
Gacharinco
Heelz on Wheelz:
Greasy Gears:
Les Velobici:
The Racketeers:
The Derailleurs perform "Sexy Bike"
Song by The Monkey and The Mermaid
performed live @ The Art of Bicycle show, March 31, 2008.
Friday, June 13, 2008
HEYOL NAW!!!!! Awards:
Today's winner:
GETTING DOORED!!!
You want to yell and punch and steal wallets everytime this happens but somehow bikers end up being all out of it in shock and usually get screwed. I got doored in North Beach after being all zoned out after an accupuncture treatment, but I yelled at the guy and asked for money. He gave me $2.
Yeah.
Two MOTHER FUCKING dollars and my bike's brake is bent, prohibiting free movement from the tire.
I should have marched him to the nearest atm.
GETTING DOORED!!!
You want to yell and punch and steal wallets everytime this happens but somehow bikers end up being all out of it in shock and usually get screwed. I got doored in North Beach after being all zoned out after an accupuncture treatment, but I yelled at the guy and asked for money. He gave me $2.
Yeah.
Two MOTHER FUCKING dollars and my bike's brake is bent, prohibiting free movement from the tire.
I should have marched him to the nearest atm.
Friday, May 30, 2008
HEYOL NAW!!!!! Awards:
Can I get a big HELLNAW!!! for the Pussycat Dolls?
They fake feminism, are molded by a rich man megaplex, and are the undoing of girl power. Don't you wish your girlfriend was a twat like me?
They fake feminism, are molded by a rich man megaplex, and are the undoing of girl power. Don't you wish your girlfriend was a twat like me?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
New: The HELL NO!!! Awards
I think I will periodically say:
HELL NO!!
at things that be trifilin'.
Today's issues:
Greenwashing.
HELL NO! Shell is not doing anything to better the environment.
Dow Industries is not going to lower the atmospheric temperature.
Buying a motha fucking hybrid SUV is NOT going to save your ass from lack of oxygen in the goddam air.
2012: Bad Apocalypse
HELL NO! Let's change the status quo
with this one. I know all you cute little crusty kids and earth lovers
have been thinking that 2012 is the time when the earth will go into
shock and die. Or open it's mouth and swallow us. Turn that frown
upside down. Although it might be something out of the ordinary
doldrums of your job, life, box living, it is not something to bet on.
I have a solution. Hows about the full formation of Rad America? All
the good ideas and meaningful people getting together to reclaim our
stolen land. My genius friendLBC says, "Evil only wins when the good doesn't do anything about it." Let's have a festival (said in a lisp)! RADPALOOZA 2012! Four more years to get some real hyphy
bands and what not. When you think of 2012 you will look forward to the
great summer long party instead of electricity turning on us and robots
using us for batteries. Let's make it a goal that by 2012 we are well
into our new renaissance and the whole black/woman president thing
calmed down the nuclear weapons pointed at our heads. Or whence the country is suffering from zombies and dollar bill toilet paper, we are out on a secret island having a generator show that you needed a hot air baloon to get to so we could drop off the counter RADicals into the sharks food bowl. We need some real positivity people. Let's carebear stare a nice little nest for the RAD this upscoming apocalypse.
HELL NO!!
at things that be trifilin'.
Today's issues:
Greenwashing.
HELL NO! Shell is not doing anything to better the environment.
Dow Industries is not going to lower the atmospheric temperature.
Buying a motha fucking hybrid SUV is NOT going to save your ass from lack of oxygen in the goddam air.
2012: Bad Apocalypse
HELL NO! Let's change the status quo
with this one. I know all you cute little crusty kids and earth lovers
have been thinking that 2012 is the time when the earth will go into
shock and die. Or open it's mouth and swallow us. Turn that frown
upside down. Although it might be something out of the ordinary
doldrums of your job, life, box living, it is not something to bet on.
I have a solution. Hows about the full formation of Rad America? All
the good ideas and meaningful people getting together to reclaim our
stolen land. My genius friendLBC says, "Evil only wins when the good doesn't do anything about it." Let's have a festival (said in a lisp)! RADPALOOZA 2012! Four more years to get some real hyphy
bands and what not. When you think of 2012 you will look forward to the
great summer long party instead of electricity turning on us and robots
using us for batteries. Let's make it a goal that by 2012 we are well
into our new renaissance and the whole black/woman president thing
calmed down the nuclear weapons pointed at our heads. Or whence the country is suffering from zombies and dollar bill toilet paper, we are out on a secret island having a generator show that you needed a hot air baloon to get to so we could drop off the counter RADicals into the sharks food bowl. We need some real positivity people. Let's carebear stare a nice little nest for the RAD this upscoming apocalypse.
sidewalk rage
It's been about 8 months now since I have commuted on my 'lil pink skateboard. I have gotten the zen of the motion, the carving downhills, even practicing my kung fu stance while cruising. I feel very at home, can stop on a dime, but sure as hell can't ollie worth a damn. My friend at ArtNowSF thought I was a big ol' lesbian because of my buff arms and my skatephillic lifestyle. Many people get me confused here is gaysville. I guess it doesn't help that I call Hollis my wifey, a glorified term for BFF.This fact might make me look like I belong to different subculture than
I do. I am not aware if I am a punk ass skater chick like the textbook
case. I guess it might appear this way. But I digress. A few days ago I
was getting off work, one block away, scooting down the sidewalk on a
deserted 20th street. I pass this fellow, a girthy cholo and his "maybe had a past in meth because of the slow twitch" lady. I must have penetrated a three foot
personal bubble because he yelled at me to get in the street, that it
was illegal to skate on the sidewalk. I informed him that it's illegal
to skate in the street too. Sorry, this is much safer on a mostly
deserted sidewalk. Gruff voiced chick says,"She'll listen when she gets
a ticket, then she'll listen." As I push on I hear a thick pounding
behind me and dude is running. "I'm going to push you off and throw you
into the street you piece of trash! This shit wouldn't happen on Haight Street." Oh dear.
He gets closer and I jump the curb, dodging any oncoming traffic. He
stops. I think he just wanted to tell someone what to do. I looked back
at him from a safe distance and told him that I was sorry if he had any
problems with skaters in the past but I try to be respectful and I
watch out for old ladies too. I wish I had stopped and turned around,
maybe used some of my kung fu to deflect any punches he might throw and
make a 250 pound fool out of him. Nah. I just skated into the sunset
and worked on getting this heart from beating too fast. I don't need
physical stress from some vato with anger surrounding him. That's his deal.
I do. I am not aware if I am a punk ass skater chick like the textbook
case. I guess it might appear this way. But I digress. A few days ago I
was getting off work, one block away, scooting down the sidewalk on a
deserted 20th street. I pass this fellow, a girthy cholo and his "maybe had a past in meth because of the slow twitch" lady. I must have penetrated a three foot
personal bubble because he yelled at me to get in the street, that it
was illegal to skate on the sidewalk. I informed him that it's illegal
to skate in the street too. Sorry, this is much safer on a mostly
deserted sidewalk. Gruff voiced chick says,"She'll listen when she gets
a ticket, then she'll listen." As I push on I hear a thick pounding
behind me and dude is running. "I'm going to push you off and throw you
into the street you piece of trash! This shit wouldn't happen on Haight Street." Oh dear.
He gets closer and I jump the curb, dodging any oncoming traffic. He
stops. I think he just wanted to tell someone what to do. I looked back
at him from a safe distance and told him that I was sorry if he had any
problems with skaters in the past but I try to be respectful and I
watch out for old ladies too. I wish I had stopped and turned around,
maybe used some of my kung fu to deflect any punches he might throw and
make a 250 pound fool out of him. Nah. I just skated into the sunset
and worked on getting this heart from beating too fast. I don't need
physical stress from some vato with anger surrounding him. That's his deal.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Welcome back to West O!
Night I got back from the east my wife kidnapped me and took me to a slanted bar on Oakland Harbor. Home of Jack London er something.
Faces kept filing in, two by two. What a wonderful feeling. I realized the family I have here is older than the amount of time I have lived here. Such beings.
Then we went for a sleepover at Donna Wood's house. On our way there we passed, or rather they passed us, a scraper car rally. They had the matching fatty rims with the little thin tires and hella painted out and busting some jams and squealing and squirming all over the place. There were 8 scrapers and 2 minivans. It was just like in TrealTV with MacDre.
Then I found out that the police pulled a male rape suspect out of our basement while nobody was home and knocked down our fence. They didn't tell us until two days later when we called them about some wierd noises coming from the abandoned, burned out house next door.
That's when they informed us what had happened two days prior and how they had peep holes to watch our movement. Welcome back to West O!
Faces kept filing in, two by two. What a wonderful feeling. I realized the family I have here is older than the amount of time I have lived here. Such beings.
Then we went for a sleepover at Donna Wood's house. On our way there we passed, or rather they passed us, a scraper car rally. They had the matching fatty rims with the little thin tires and hella painted out and busting some jams and squealing and squirming all over the place. There were 8 scrapers and 2 minivans. It was just like in TrealTV with MacDre.
Then I found out that the police pulled a male rape suspect out of our basement while nobody was home and knocked down our fence. They didn't tell us until two days later when we called them about some wierd noises coming from the abandoned, burned out house next door.
That's when they informed us what had happened two days prior and how they had peep holes to watch our movement. Welcome back to West O!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Slaughterama 5!!!!!
Slaughtered it at Slaughterama!!
Well, the blur of Orange and Bling has settled into concrete in my middle. Everyone around me can’t move either. We let the television do the talking. Scratchy throats and circles under our eyes, the last 72 hours have been filled with adventures.
Let’s pull this string of memory and follow it to some sort of story.
The event officially started with a tall bike alleycat on thursday. Stories of pooh bucket fishing, teetertooter riding, and beer bonging were heard. Then we all met at a lookout park for the official Meet and Greet ride to the Byrd Theater for Rev. Phil’s screening of Pornography of the Bicycle. It was sweet to see all these familiar bicylistas from random events throughout the last six years. I saw a few folks I knew from living in Richmond 5 years ago, and other steel thighs from around the east coast. The most heartwarming is seeing the young bloods and their matching homemade crew shirts, their attention to details, and excitement in their eyes. Not long after meeting, the red and blue fury came chasing our tails with the wrong pickup lines, so we bolted. We waited across the bridge for the heavy boombox bike, the flat tired zoobomber, and the Rogue with the broken leg. Cyclists spilled out into the intersection, taking the time to light up another cheap Virginian cigarettes and scope out the opposite sex. This early in the weekend, the mystery of whom cupid aimed your arrow had yet to unfold, and the faces of the crowd were being sorted and categorized. We arrived at the theater in packs, piled up the bikes. Bike piles matched the crews temperaments. A small-bike pile from Zoobomb. A tall bike pile from Cutthroats, a mixed pile here, a track pile there. Like haystacks after the harvest.
A few drinks next door and the line begins to stack behind the velvet rope. We pile in to the beautiful room and let the heckling begin. Richmond loves to be lewd and loud. The Porno isn’t so dirty until the end, but it does pry wide open the concept of bicycle porn. I think there will be many innovations in the field in the future. A good night, the hugs from long lost friends, and a few dollars lost at ceelo, I headed home.
Friday was the big day for me, with a show at the Bike Lot and a pallet stage to build. The bike lot is awesome. In Richmond, rent is super cheap and there are many buildings vacant and awaiting inspiration. These kids own a bunch of garages turned into practice spaces and the clubhouse for the Cutthroats. They have been welding all sorts of fancy inventions, from a surf bike that is a giant surfboard on a bike that you steer with your foot that looks like a foot, to a car bicycle. There is a 9 foot bowl and sweet murals. Two big busses painted electric tourmaline made for transporting books and bikes to the people. We had a lot of help from other folks and made a really rad stage, sturdy enough for the raucus ramblings yet to come.
The bike lot was the last stop of the scavenger hunt, and by the time Show Me The Pink returned to the spot, those damn bikestacks were everywhere. More this time. AND the Muppet bus from Portland carrying 16 zoobombers had arrived! This is epic for me because Zach, the drummer of SMTP and I were founding members of Zoobomb, and he is the founding member of The Cutthroats, and I came out to Richmond for my bicycle missionary tour, attending the first ever Slaughterama as sole representation of Zoobomb. It was a huge circle that came back with back-up.
So the place was packed. Kids carrying around 12 packs and bmxers and skateboarders cheering eachother on at the ramp, boxing matches going on in the pallet ring covered in cardboard, musical jams coming out of the bookbus, and bicyclists of the Apocalypse assembled to create a new world, in their vision, in the name of F.U.N. The boxing matches brought the thunder and raised the adrenaline. Event goers raced around, bumping into eachother, stumbling around, and raising their fists to Cincinnati’s The Read, and freaking the heck out for Matt+Kim. I walked around most of the night, soaking it in, caught in a dream state. Then it was time to play. Oh my gosh I haven’t had that nervous belly ache in so long! The feeling where you thing you have to pee or throw up or have someone throw a water balloon at your face. Oh well. My ninja training has taught me to subside those feelings and tune into a normal heartrate. There was a Little Hug Chug (little hugs are plastic bottles with colored sugar water)before we started to determine the winner of the scavenger hunt. Competitive eating is always a great idea. Well, kind of. I had the trauma-rama moment like in seventeen magazine where I was ROCKING OUT and I slipped on the "little hug" rug. Flat on my back. Shazaam. I tried to pull it off into a back roll, but you can’t fake a fall. It was cool to have all the Portlanders there, singing the words when I handed them the microphone. They know all the words god bless em. Shortly after our set the red and blue came once again to chase us off into our beds.
The Saturday of Slaughter
I slept in until 1:30 pm because I was depressed. On the way home the night before I was riding my bike home, alone, at 3am, and my week elbow collapsed on me as I was crossing Belvedere. I had to cross the street with my arm all fucked up, until I could get to a safe place to pop the sucker back into somewhere it belongs. It scares the hell out of me. I cried on my bike all the way home, thinking about losing my lower limb, not being able to use it, the cost of surgery, the sadness of being in a place where I can’t go into the doc’s office for an adjustment because I spent $800 on a plane ticket here. It was hard to wake up in the morning. I mean Slaughterama is one of my most sacred and religious events, like all extreme mutant bike events. It’s magic will propel me through the year. It’s like getting money deposited into your bank account. And Oh My Gosh am I good at competing. I have either won or come in second to 7 out of 8 derbies I have ever tried. I have jousted and rodeo biked and won chickenfightdragracing the first time it debuted in NY. Last Slaughterama I attented, The Sprockettes performed a sweet show. I love these bike events. Now I have to come up with a different way to look at it. My little ego needs to take a nosebleed seat in the arena. Well, let’s take my recent obsession, chinese medicine, and see if I can’t help other fallen comrades in the ultimate bike battle.
I brought my dit dat jao, some analgesic pads, alcohol pads, gauze, sprain potion, essential oils, arnica, and light in my hands and vowed to circle the pack of rabid contenders to make me feel useful.
I rolled out with JK and I was eager to cross the Bell Isle Bridge, a rollercoaster leading to the meadow filled with spots of people with matching jacket clusters. The bridge offers an epic show, with a birds eye view of the hubub. Immediately I saw bmxers jumping up to my level, flying the bike to the side, flipping around, like swallows flying by to say hello. Then I heard a roar, the tinny directions from a loudspeaker, intermittent sirens, and see all the hundreds of gawkers and showsters, already tearing into cardboard reservoirs of cheap beer. The bikestacks today were adorned with clan flags and team colors. I went straight to the zoobomb pile. This was definitely my team. We were lucky to have Captain Fun, whom had won the St. Ratricks Day Belt Buckle in Chicago, the raucus Rev. Phil who is known for his voracity. Then we had the tallbike-Rat-in-zoo’s-clothing, Sauce. He’s no newby to the East Coast challenges. Then We have Dutch, a superhero with a baby backpack and a GO! motive, Shawn, the nimble ninja, barely legal Fiona, Dang ol Dogeye, Bringin’ It Buffalo Dave, Above all that, The Great Shanzini had snuck into a Cutthroats meeting like the secret agent that she is, and gleaned a plan of attack by knowing what Team Zoobomb was up against. She formulated the teams and spouted inspiration. She was a super warrior too. She competed in every event she could, repping her hot pink and black one piece spandex. I know that this team was of high caliber, and they had traveled the furthest to get here, so their minds had already melted together into one group pack, ready for torture.
Let the games begin!
Beer Relay, Slow race, and Bell Isle Egg Race.
The Egg Race was super rad. 144 eggs. 75 participants. 69 eggs for hurling. Amazing. Not only did you have to circle the site with the egg intact, then you had to end with a foot down derby with the egg safe. One guy on a tallbike was carrying it in his mouth. The crowd was hurling the chicken periods. Exploding in a protien bomb.
The whiplash apparatus this year was the best I have ever seen. There is usually some bike tubes and tires with bungeess and lots of ties. Very janky looking. Half the events that feature this end up jimmyrigging the apparatus halfway through the event. Not this one. Cutthroat genius Evan had gotten some old GWAR props and made the bungees with a monster in the middle, so the two competitors were pulling the monsters arm when at the apex of stretch. It was effing metal.
I ran into the props guys from GWAR later that day and he complimented me on my performance the night before. OH mY GoD!! Then he gave me a small packet of blood to help others visualize the Slaughterama (GWAR is the source of the name Slaughterama!!). I gave him a calendar and thanked him. Then went to the zoobomb HQ to splatter it across Josh’s spandexed chest. It splattered all over me and my hat too. SAVAGE!!
Zoobomb had placed in the top three in each event, so then it came the championships. Jousting was equipped with handfuls of flour. Great innovation.
Then for the Chariot wars. The track is a figure eight, with the probability of crash the reason for the design. Holy cow. Great tragedies. Gabe and Shannon were at high performance. Gabe’s jam is the Chariots. He has held Chariot wars for two years in Portland, encouraging animosity and challenge. Shannon’s aerodynamic suit and understanding of the leaning, they took off. They took first or second, and the last determiner was the PiggyPile. Teams had to pile as many members on their bike as possible and travel 20 feet.
And the winner is.........ZOOBOMB!!!
That’s right. Number one. Trophy up in here.
Oh, and I met a cute boy who gave me a feather then a kiss. Swoon.
Gotta do taxes.
GO HERE:
http://www.everydayilive.com/slaughterama5
Tod Seelie is the best photographer I have met.
Word.
www.suckapants.com
You tube it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrjL6Ayn410
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4sN_vaI9oU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1HYtGNyK34
Well, the blur of Orange and Bling has settled into concrete in my middle. Everyone around me can’t move either. We let the television do the talking. Scratchy throats and circles under our eyes, the last 72 hours have been filled with adventures.
Let’s pull this string of memory and follow it to some sort of story.
The event officially started with a tall bike alleycat on thursday. Stories of pooh bucket fishing, teetertooter riding, and beer bonging were heard. Then we all met at a lookout park for the official Meet and Greet ride to the Byrd Theater for Rev. Phil’s screening of Pornography of the Bicycle. It was sweet to see all these familiar bicylistas from random events throughout the last six years. I saw a few folks I knew from living in Richmond 5 years ago, and other steel thighs from around the east coast. The most heartwarming is seeing the young bloods and their matching homemade crew shirts, their attention to details, and excitement in their eyes. Not long after meeting, the red and blue fury came chasing our tails with the wrong pickup lines, so we bolted. We waited across the bridge for the heavy boombox bike, the flat tired zoobomber, and the Rogue with the broken leg. Cyclists spilled out into the intersection, taking the time to light up another cheap Virginian cigarettes and scope out the opposite sex. This early in the weekend, the mystery of whom cupid aimed your arrow had yet to unfold, and the faces of the crowd were being sorted and categorized. We arrived at the theater in packs, piled up the bikes. Bike piles matched the crews temperaments. A small-bike pile from Zoobomb. A tall bike pile from Cutthroats, a mixed pile here, a track pile there. Like haystacks after the harvest.
A few drinks next door and the line begins to stack behind the velvet rope. We pile in to the beautiful room and let the heckling begin. Richmond loves to be lewd and loud. The Porno isn’t so dirty until the end, but it does pry wide open the concept of bicycle porn. I think there will be many innovations in the field in the future. A good night, the hugs from long lost friends, and a few dollars lost at ceelo, I headed home.
Friday was the big day for me, with a show at the Bike Lot and a pallet stage to build. The bike lot is awesome. In Richmond, rent is super cheap and there are many buildings vacant and awaiting inspiration. These kids own a bunch of garages turned into practice spaces and the clubhouse for the Cutthroats. They have been welding all sorts of fancy inventions, from a surf bike that is a giant surfboard on a bike that you steer with your foot that looks like a foot, to a car bicycle. There is a 9 foot bowl and sweet murals. Two big busses painted electric tourmaline made for transporting books and bikes to the people. We had a lot of help from other folks and made a really rad stage, sturdy enough for the raucus ramblings yet to come.
The bike lot was the last stop of the scavenger hunt, and by the time Show Me The Pink returned to the spot, those damn bikestacks were everywhere. More this time. AND the Muppet bus from Portland carrying 16 zoobombers had arrived! This is epic for me because Zach, the drummer of SMTP and I were founding members of Zoobomb, and he is the founding member of The Cutthroats, and I came out to Richmond for my bicycle missionary tour, attending the first ever Slaughterama as sole representation of Zoobomb. It was a huge circle that came back with back-up.
So the place was packed. Kids carrying around 12 packs and bmxers and skateboarders cheering eachother on at the ramp, boxing matches going on in the pallet ring covered in cardboard, musical jams coming out of the bookbus, and bicyclists of the Apocalypse assembled to create a new world, in their vision, in the name of F.U.N. The boxing matches brought the thunder and raised the adrenaline. Event goers raced around, bumping into eachother, stumbling around, and raising their fists to Cincinnati’s The Read, and freaking the heck out for Matt+Kim. I walked around most of the night, soaking it in, caught in a dream state. Then it was time to play. Oh my gosh I haven’t had that nervous belly ache in so long! The feeling where you thing you have to pee or throw up or have someone throw a water balloon at your face. Oh well. My ninja training has taught me to subside those feelings and tune into a normal heartrate. There was a Little Hug Chug (little hugs are plastic bottles with colored sugar water)before we started to determine the winner of the scavenger hunt. Competitive eating is always a great idea. Well, kind of. I had the trauma-rama moment like in seventeen magazine where I was ROCKING OUT and I slipped on the "little hug" rug. Flat on my back. Shazaam. I tried to pull it off into a back roll, but you can’t fake a fall. It was cool to have all the Portlanders there, singing the words when I handed them the microphone. They know all the words god bless em. Shortly after our set the red and blue came once again to chase us off into our beds.
The Saturday of Slaughter
I slept in until 1:30 pm because I was depressed. On the way home the night before I was riding my bike home, alone, at 3am, and my week elbow collapsed on me as I was crossing Belvedere. I had to cross the street with my arm all fucked up, until I could get to a safe place to pop the sucker back into somewhere it belongs. It scares the hell out of me. I cried on my bike all the way home, thinking about losing my lower limb, not being able to use it, the cost of surgery, the sadness of being in a place where I can’t go into the doc’s office for an adjustment because I spent $800 on a plane ticket here. It was hard to wake up in the morning. I mean Slaughterama is one of my most sacred and religious events, like all extreme mutant bike events. It’s magic will propel me through the year. It’s like getting money deposited into your bank account. And Oh My Gosh am I good at competing. I have either won or come in second to 7 out of 8 derbies I have ever tried. I have jousted and rodeo biked and won chickenfightdragracing the first time it debuted in NY. Last Slaughterama I attented, The Sprockettes performed a sweet show. I love these bike events. Now I have to come up with a different way to look at it. My little ego needs to take a nosebleed seat in the arena. Well, let’s take my recent obsession, chinese medicine, and see if I can’t help other fallen comrades in the ultimate bike battle.
I brought my dit dat jao, some analgesic pads, alcohol pads, gauze, sprain potion, essential oils, arnica, and light in my hands and vowed to circle the pack of rabid contenders to make me feel useful.
I rolled out with JK and I was eager to cross the Bell Isle Bridge, a rollercoaster leading to the meadow filled with spots of people with matching jacket clusters. The bridge offers an epic show, with a birds eye view of the hubub. Immediately I saw bmxers jumping up to my level, flying the bike to the side, flipping around, like swallows flying by to say hello. Then I heard a roar, the tinny directions from a loudspeaker, intermittent sirens, and see all the hundreds of gawkers and showsters, already tearing into cardboard reservoirs of cheap beer. The bikestacks today were adorned with clan flags and team colors. I went straight to the zoobomb pile. This was definitely my team. We were lucky to have Captain Fun, whom had won the St. Ratricks Day Belt Buckle in Chicago, the raucus Rev. Phil who is known for his voracity. Then we had the tallbike-Rat-in-zoo’s-clothing, Sauce. He’s no newby to the East Coast challenges. Then We have Dutch, a superhero with a baby backpack and a GO! motive, Shawn, the nimble ninja, barely legal Fiona, Dang ol Dogeye, Bringin’ It Buffalo Dave, Above all that, The Great Shanzini had snuck into a Cutthroats meeting like the secret agent that she is, and gleaned a plan of attack by knowing what Team Zoobomb was up against. She formulated the teams and spouted inspiration. She was a super warrior too. She competed in every event she could, repping her hot pink and black one piece spandex. I know that this team was of high caliber, and they had traveled the furthest to get here, so their minds had already melted together into one group pack, ready for torture.
Let the games begin!
Beer Relay, Slow race, and Bell Isle Egg Race.
The Egg Race was super rad. 144 eggs. 75 participants. 69 eggs for hurling. Amazing. Not only did you have to circle the site with the egg intact, then you had to end with a foot down derby with the egg safe. One guy on a tallbike was carrying it in his mouth. The crowd was hurling the chicken periods. Exploding in a protien bomb.
The whiplash apparatus this year was the best I have ever seen. There is usually some bike tubes and tires with bungeess and lots of ties. Very janky looking. Half the events that feature this end up jimmyrigging the apparatus halfway through the event. Not this one. Cutthroat genius Evan had gotten some old GWAR props and made the bungees with a monster in the middle, so the two competitors were pulling the monsters arm when at the apex of stretch. It was effing metal.
I ran into the props guys from GWAR later that day and he complimented me on my performance the night before. OH mY GoD!! Then he gave me a small packet of blood to help others visualize the Slaughterama (GWAR is the source of the name Slaughterama!!). I gave him a calendar and thanked him. Then went to the zoobomb HQ to splatter it across Josh’s spandexed chest. It splattered all over me and my hat too. SAVAGE!!
Zoobomb had placed in the top three in each event, so then it came the championships. Jousting was equipped with handfuls of flour. Great innovation.
Then for the Chariot wars. The track is a figure eight, with the probability of crash the reason for the design. Holy cow. Great tragedies. Gabe and Shannon were at high performance. Gabe’s jam is the Chariots. He has held Chariot wars for two years in Portland, encouraging animosity and challenge. Shannon’s aerodynamic suit and understanding of the leaning, they took off. They took first or second, and the last determiner was the PiggyPile. Teams had to pile as many members on their bike as possible and travel 20 feet.
And the winner is.........ZOOBOMB!!!
That’s right. Number one. Trophy up in here.
Oh, and I met a cute boy who gave me a feather then a kiss. Swoon.
Gotta do taxes.
GO HERE:
http://www.everydayilive.com/slaughterama5
Tod Seelie is the best photographer I have met.
Word.
www.suckapants.com
You tube it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrjL6Ayn410
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4sN_vaI9oU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1HYtGNyK34
Show Me The Pink's Magical All-Star Reunion Farewell Tour
Woops. I was supposed to fly out of Richmond on the 22nd, not the 23rd. That makes the total cost of my trip to the east coast double what it should have been. I paid twice both ways. I am stoked because I get to kick it in New York for two days, ride bikes, and practice kung fu on rooftops. Blessing in a three hundred dollar disguise.
THE TOUR WAS SO AWESOME!!!!!!
Every day was a different kind of pleasure.
Providence:
We played with our old friends, Polka Madre, a gypsytastic ensemble that totally rocks and knows how to party! I practiced my spanish in the schoolbus they traveled in while we drank whisky out of a bum jug. I go ape shizzy for klezmer rock punk stuff. And to top it off, WE PLAYED WITH A MARCHING BAND!! If you know me, you know that this is super exciting. I didn't stop moving the whole night. Our man JC set the whole thing up, and he played "Shoop" and I rapped along before our set. Then the next morning we went to The Modern Diner and ate great greasy grub, then took a picture just like we did two years ago. We always laugh a crap ton in the parkinglot there. We got back to HQ and played a game of memory dance chain and took off towards Philly.
Philly:
This hot hunk of a man lives in Philly and I couldn't wait to see him. It was a long trail over bridges and through the tolls. We stopped in NYC to pick up Japuncles Ian and Riley, and caravanned towards the city of brotherly love. The show was incredible!!! We rushed in, played a sweaty show, Cutthroats crowdsurfed and provided bottles of liquor. When Japanther played, the water pipes from the ceiling busted and it was like someone supersoakered the whole basement. Here is Santana crowd surfing amidst the water.
Here's the Dan's (whose house it was. The Dan's Party) holding up the pipes:
from sigur.rosenthal on flickr.com
New York:
Monday! Monday! Monday!
At this point the weekend was over but our weekend continued. I was anxious that no one would show to the show as it got later, but I forget that NY is a late night city. In one five minute time period, all of my friends from all over the country showed up at once. I got tackled by two Oaklandians while two Utahns were honking and screaming my name. When I got around to everyone with a huge hug, six bike homies showed including the secret hunk who said he wasn't coming to NY. I was so shaky. I spent the whole day forgetting about him and feeling empty, and BAM! surprise. Of course it all happens at once. I had to freak out and hide behind the van for some five element qi gong. Homies from Seattle, homies from Richmond, lots of blokes came out of the woodwork for the show.
Inside, Riley had installed his conceptual art series of life size drawings of the Golden Girls wrestling the Sex and the City chicks. That was the backdrop for the show.
images from dirty dirty finger on flickr.com
We went back to Lori40's house and fell asleep with cold fried chicken in our bellies.
Akron:
I haven't been to Ohio since I was 2 years old, so I was interested to check it out. We sure were tired from playing hard four days in a row, but we put on our whore make up and tightened up our tour version of a Sprockettes song to perform for the 80's night dance party. We had good times catching up with old friends, and I got my first shower of the week.
Cincinnatti:
Oh my goodness!! We roll up to the Bike Haus in the Golden Nugget and there is already a big party with couches outside, a grill in process, and a keg underway. These kids have so much flava! A group of them had just been exposed to extreme bike culture via B.I.K.E. the movie and their attendance of the Slaughterama. They had made a bike gang because they were sick of being called fags on their bikes. Then they saw the movie and one of their friends told them about his homies The Cutthroats and Evil Fool's Day. They came out and were totally blown away. Their energy was fabulous. First song into our set, the crowd broke the keyboard cord. Thrash city! I was really stoked because we had never been there before, but the kids knew our songs!! Mad Love!
Atlanta:
We woke in the morning with some mermaid coffee and hightailed it for Shannon and Zach's old town. Somewhere in Kentucky we get a call saying that we don't have a show at all. We devise a secret plan to show up anyways, act oblivious, and try to get on the bill. We show up and the booker shuts us down. We even left Zach in the car for the full femme effect. We talk to the manager and blame it on our pretend booker. The manager is the owner of The Claremont. Yes, the legendary strip club, and they can throw us on the bill. Shannon is so stoked, and we send word through a connect in Richmond to get the myspace word out. No show to a legendary venue. Tight! We got to put our whore make up on next to actual strippers. Shannon got to try on a skirtbelt thang to sexy up her outfit. We took shots of SoCo with the girls. The show was hilarious. Shannons mom and dad were there, stoked, and probably had kinky sex later that night. Emy channeled her inner stripper and was taking the stage to town. It was great.
We all went on a shopping spree in little five points the next day. I got a huge crystal and a cd. This is the first cd I have bought in like five years.
Athens:
We are set to play this show in an airplane hangar and the sweet kids reminded me of Portland real bad. Stinky farm punks rule. They made us a huge pot of spaghetti and we let everyone spray our stencils on their clothes. The first band gave me the warm fuzzies-I-want-to-cry-because-life-is-beautiful-lip-quiver thing. It just solidified my belief in RAD America. After the show we went to the Phag Pharm to stay on 30 acres of beautiful green country. We wake in the morning to a full spread of grits, eggs, biscuits and gravy, and coffee. We took a walk to the family graveyard and Zach got attacked by red ants. It was so refreshing to be away from the noise and chaos of the city. After a quick look around the town we headed out for our last show in Asheville.
Asheville:
It was raining and the sky was flashing red lightning. We showed up to the venue and there was a big bonfire and a screening of "The Colossus of the Rails" movie venerating the cowboy hat train moniker guy. I had him sign my book and Zach bought two of his stencils. We played a full octane show. We had so much to give. It was our second to last show ever and we had been amassing positive power the whole tour. I kept looking up from my keyboard and seeing huge smiles and being able to play harder and dance higher. The kids really liked our show, and many lamented our demise. I got to see Kirsten from Utah as a surprise and oh boy that was great!
Around 1am we pulled out into the fog for a night jaunt back to Richmond to relieve Zach's mom of babysitting duty. I slept the whole day. So did most of us, except the super mom Noelle, who took Starlet to the Children's Museum after driving all night. Trooper!
Monday:
Our last show and I felt hollow. How could such a cool part of my life be about to close? I had grown so close to everyone in that van, staying up late with the parents, and realizing that all my bandmates are the people who have been there for every cool crazy thing I have done. We have good mojo together. Well, at least we get one more blast. Polka Madre returns, bleary eyed from a four shows in two days jam in NYC. We drink a Sparks together and set up. The place is super small, and we have to set up in front of the doors, so as people showed up for the music, we had to let them in from back stage and shove them into the audience. It was neat. It was like they were in the band for a second. We played pretty well. I tried to keep looking up and soaking in the lovely faces that would be in my last show ever memory file. Then Polka Madre played and I ended up dancing on the bar in my high heels and prom dress. It was RAD! Then Noelle got my attention and it was obvious that she had talked to all the people around her, because she wanted me to crowd surf and everyone was looking at me with their hands up. I loved it! It was so exhilarating. I haven't really crowdsurfed since I was a teen. Tah dah. The end.
Now I'm about to go to New York for a couple of days for bike adventures and the gateway home. I am so stoked, because The Deralieurs are playing a show in two weeks and I still have to learn the choreography.
Life in the Fast Lane.
THE TOUR WAS SO AWESOME!!!!!!
Every day was a different kind of pleasure.
Providence:
We played with our old friends, Polka Madre, a gypsytastic ensemble that totally rocks and knows how to party! I practiced my spanish in the schoolbus they traveled in while we drank whisky out of a bum jug. I go ape shizzy for klezmer rock punk stuff. And to top it off, WE PLAYED WITH A MARCHING BAND!! If you know me, you know that this is super exciting. I didn't stop moving the whole night. Our man JC set the whole thing up, and he played "Shoop" and I rapped along before our set. Then the next morning we went to The Modern Diner and ate great greasy grub, then took a picture just like we did two years ago. We always laugh a crap ton in the parkinglot there. We got back to HQ and played a game of memory dance chain and took off towards Philly.
Philly:
This hot hunk of a man lives in Philly and I couldn't wait to see him. It was a long trail over bridges and through the tolls. We stopped in NYC to pick up Japuncles Ian and Riley, and caravanned towards the city of brotherly love. The show was incredible!!! We rushed in, played a sweaty show, Cutthroats crowdsurfed and provided bottles of liquor. When Japanther played, the water pipes from the ceiling busted and it was like someone supersoakered the whole basement. Here is Santana crowd surfing amidst the water.
Here's the Dan's (whose house it was. The Dan's Party) holding up the pipes:
from sigur.rosenthal on flickr.com
New York:
Monday! Monday! Monday!
At this point the weekend was over but our weekend continued. I was anxious that no one would show to the show as it got later, but I forget that NY is a late night city. In one five minute time period, all of my friends from all over the country showed up at once. I got tackled by two Oaklandians while two Utahns were honking and screaming my name. When I got around to everyone with a huge hug, six bike homies showed including the secret hunk who said he wasn't coming to NY. I was so shaky. I spent the whole day forgetting about him and feeling empty, and BAM! surprise. Of course it all happens at once. I had to freak out and hide behind the van for some five element qi gong. Homies from Seattle, homies from Richmond, lots of blokes came out of the woodwork for the show.
Inside, Riley had installed his conceptual art series of life size drawings of the Golden Girls wrestling the Sex and the City chicks. That was the backdrop for the show.
images from dirty dirty finger on flickr.com
We went back to Lori40's house and fell asleep with cold fried chicken in our bellies.
Akron:
I haven't been to Ohio since I was 2 years old, so I was interested to check it out. We sure were tired from playing hard four days in a row, but we put on our whore make up and tightened up our tour version of a Sprockettes song to perform for the 80's night dance party. We had good times catching up with old friends, and I got my first shower of the week.
Cincinnatti:
Oh my goodness!! We roll up to the Bike Haus in the Golden Nugget and there is already a big party with couches outside, a grill in process, and a keg underway. These kids have so much flava! A group of them had just been exposed to extreme bike culture via B.I.K.E. the movie and their attendance of the Slaughterama. They had made a bike gang because they were sick of being called fags on their bikes. Then they saw the movie and one of their friends told them about his homies The Cutthroats and Evil Fool's Day. They came out and were totally blown away. Their energy was fabulous. First song into our set, the crowd broke the keyboard cord. Thrash city! I was really stoked because we had never been there before, but the kids knew our songs!! Mad Love!
Atlanta:
We woke in the morning with some mermaid coffee and hightailed it for Shannon and Zach's old town. Somewhere in Kentucky we get a call saying that we don't have a show at all. We devise a secret plan to show up anyways, act oblivious, and try to get on the bill. We show up and the booker shuts us down. We even left Zach in the car for the full femme effect. We talk to the manager and blame it on our pretend booker. The manager is the owner of The Claremont. Yes, the legendary strip club, and they can throw us on the bill. Shannon is so stoked, and we send word through a connect in Richmond to get the myspace word out. No show to a legendary venue. Tight! We got to put our whore make up on next to actual strippers. Shannon got to try on a skirtbelt thang to sexy up her outfit. We took shots of SoCo with the girls. The show was hilarious. Shannons mom and dad were there, stoked, and probably had kinky sex later that night. Emy channeled her inner stripper and was taking the stage to town. It was great.
We all went on a shopping spree in little five points the next day. I got a huge crystal and a cd. This is the first cd I have bought in like five years.
Athens:
We are set to play this show in an airplane hangar and the sweet kids reminded me of Portland real bad. Stinky farm punks rule. They made us a huge pot of spaghetti and we let everyone spray our stencils on their clothes. The first band gave me the warm fuzzies-I-want-to-cry-because-life-is-beautiful-lip-quiver thing. It just solidified my belief in RAD America. After the show we went to the Phag Pharm to stay on 30 acres of beautiful green country. We wake in the morning to a full spread of grits, eggs, biscuits and gravy, and coffee. We took a walk to the family graveyard and Zach got attacked by red ants. It was so refreshing to be away from the noise and chaos of the city. After a quick look around the town we headed out for our last show in Asheville.
Asheville:
It was raining and the sky was flashing red lightning. We showed up to the venue and there was a big bonfire and a screening of "The Colossus of the Rails" movie venerating the cowboy hat train moniker guy. I had him sign my book and Zach bought two of his stencils. We played a full octane show. We had so much to give. It was our second to last show ever and we had been amassing positive power the whole tour. I kept looking up from my keyboard and seeing huge smiles and being able to play harder and dance higher. The kids really liked our show, and many lamented our demise. I got to see Kirsten from Utah as a surprise and oh boy that was great!
Around 1am we pulled out into the fog for a night jaunt back to Richmond to relieve Zach's mom of babysitting duty. I slept the whole day. So did most of us, except the super mom Noelle, who took Starlet to the Children's Museum after driving all night. Trooper!
Monday:
Our last show and I felt hollow. How could such a cool part of my life be about to close? I had grown so close to everyone in that van, staying up late with the parents, and realizing that all my bandmates are the people who have been there for every cool crazy thing I have done. We have good mojo together. Well, at least we get one more blast. Polka Madre returns, bleary eyed from a four shows in two days jam in NYC. We drink a Sparks together and set up. The place is super small, and we have to set up in front of the doors, so as people showed up for the music, we had to let them in from back stage and shove them into the audience. It was neat. It was like they were in the band for a second. We played pretty well. I tried to keep looking up and soaking in the lovely faces that would be in my last show ever memory file. Then Polka Madre played and I ended up dancing on the bar in my high heels and prom dress. It was RAD! Then Noelle got my attention and it was obvious that she had talked to all the people around her, because she wanted me to crowd surf and everyone was looking at me with their hands up. I loved it! It was so exhilarating. I haven't really crowdsurfed since I was a teen. Tah dah. The end.
Now I'm about to go to New York for a couple of days for bike adventures and the gateway home. I am so stoked, because The Deralieurs are playing a show in two weeks and I still have to learn the choreography.
Life in the Fast Lane.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
I want to memorize this dance!!
Bob Fosse was the forfounder of popin' and lockin' back in the deezey.
Check this out:
Check this out:
Friday, March 14, 2008
Zoobomb Downunderground
I came across this operative in Australia spreading the Zoobomb way. Here is a trascript from Johnny Payphone:
Zoobombing in Australia is called ROO BOMB!
So I put roo bars on this lil' sweetie to take down the mountain. 666 meters of vertical drop over 12k
Zoobombing in Australia is called ROO BOMB!
So I put roo bars on this lil' sweetie to take down the mountain. 666 meters of vertical drop over 12k
Hood translations of the news.
Street conversion of the news.
And today in news: New York governor dude fucks $4,000 hoes and leaves an email trail.Other suitn’ties say its not that bad a crime ’cus they do it too. Dude is toe up because earlier he was mister clean and narrow and he went an upped the penalty for John’s busted purchasing tail. And he be using New Yorkers money. $80,000 damn. I could go to college and learn some knowledge wit dat. Imagine all the chron you could get. Irony sunk his battleship. Then the elections in Florida needed to be recounted again. Trifilin’! In other news the nation goes vegan after shocking video scandal shows fools twisting tails and shoving "downed" cows too weak to stand into the slaughter line. The poor vatos have to work all day killing things. Thug life por vida, S.A. Beef stock goes down as footage of blasted patties pile into the recalled dumpster. Can we get Fodd Not Bombs on the phone? Oh yeah, and military leader high in the homie squad quits because he doesn’t want beef with Iran. He couldn’t wait one more year. My cousin Jesse has to wait one more year to get out a the pen. Go git yo’self some mo’ gold chains cuz the dolla dropped like it wasn’t so hot. Lowest against that fine, sophisticated ass of the euro. Start burying some food and clippin’ your gats if yaddamean peace out.
UPDATE:
143 Million pounds of beef have been recalled. Then I saw this from Johnny Payphone:
Cow Jumping
How did we get so twisted?
And today in news: New York governor dude fucks $4,000 hoes and leaves an email trail.Other suitn’ties say its not that bad a crime ’cus they do it too. Dude is toe up because earlier he was mister clean and narrow and he went an upped the penalty for John’s busted purchasing tail. And he be using New Yorkers money. $80,000 damn. I could go to college and learn some knowledge wit dat. Imagine all the chron you could get. Irony sunk his battleship. Then the elections in Florida needed to be recounted again. Trifilin’! In other news the nation goes vegan after shocking video scandal shows fools twisting tails and shoving "downed" cows too weak to stand into the slaughter line. The poor vatos have to work all day killing things. Thug life por vida, S.A. Beef stock goes down as footage of blasted patties pile into the recalled dumpster. Can we get Fodd Not Bombs on the phone? Oh yeah, and military leader high in the homie squad quits because he doesn’t want beef with Iran. He couldn’t wait one more year. My cousin Jesse has to wait one more year to get out a the pen. Go git yo’self some mo’ gold chains cuz the dolla dropped like it wasn’t so hot. Lowest against that fine, sophisticated ass of the euro. Start burying some food and clippin’ your gats if yaddamean peace out.
UPDATE:
143 Million pounds of beef have been recalled. Then I saw this from Johnny Payphone:
Cow Jumping
How did we get so twisted?
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Yo!Peace
I stumbled upon an art show at the Jack Hanley on 15th and Valencia while on my way to Thrasher's Skater of the Year Awards. There was supposed to be free bar at ye ol' Great American Music Hall while some dude get annointed by the golden skateboard saber and then bands would rock out and the thrash would commence. It was more mellow than that. Booze was la8ers and the leeches were exiting to exploit something else. The bands played to a pacified crowd with blunted eyes. Oh my god am I drinking Hateraid? I know there are diamonds in the rough, I am just sick of the sludge.
Anyhow, the art show beforehand absolutely got my eyes to sparkle.
It was a group show of posters questioning "What Happened To Peace?"
There were some political poster kingpins like Emek, Mear 1, and Shepard Fairey, as well as enraged designs by artists from around the world. This event was celebrating the release of Yopeace.org's release of their book YO! WHAT HAPPENED TO PEACE?
The bright colors in the flock of posters created a visual disturbance, many a poster designed to be screaming. I saw a many new takes on our depressing past and dismal future. A comical print boasted our modern day world leaders in the "evil" category sharing bongs on a couch and Osama Bin Laden casually eating chips out of a bag with his missing face printed on it. Or you have the stark oil drilling silouettes, the delicate beauty of an enlightened soul nurturing nature, and the sheer ugliness of mindlessness. Check out the prodigous list of artist who are involved in this project at YOPEACE.ORG
Talked to a nice fellow, Yem, who came up from L.A. for the show. He was full of smiles and positive affirmations. He has been around LA like a wall virus. We talked about how important it is to support your fellow artists, because the economy you are in will immediatley swell. The significance of a healthy community is imperative in our wan world state of affairs. He has a music project under the name Abraham Jones.
About Yo!Peace:
Yo! What Happened to Peace? was started in 2003 with 14 prints and an opening hosted by Cross World Connections in Tokyo as a response to the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Committed to highlighting the beauty of hand-crafted printmaking techniques as a method of visual protest, the show has traveled the globe continuously adding new artists and artwork. In the spring of 2007, a Yo! What Happened to Peace? book was published, featuring 144 color pages of over 200 prints from the show, a die-cut stencil cover and an introduction by Winston Smith. Currently based in Los Angeles, the show is put together by John Carr (curator), Katherine Kirby (coordinator), Ra (operations), and Caton Volk (producer).
During the opening, a few fellas were doing a live silkscreening. Spoke to Ra for a minute about the tour. They are going around, prying the hole in our consiousness just a little wider. The book has a stencil cover for immediate use. These fellas went out of their way to inspire immediate action and creativity. The amalgamation of the iconic artistist of our turmoil times is far reaching. International viewpoints on our sticky little situation. The urgency in the messages was a rewarding outlet for internal stife and sadness at injustices. Express yo'self hay hey hey hey. They are so officially members of RAD AMERICA.
I ran into Big Daddy of Cyclecide and he informed me that there will be a movie screening featuring our fine freaky friends next weekend, January 26th in Alameda. There will be a shuttle bus for each of the two showings. The bus will leave from Ritual Coffee in SF, stop by another spot in the East Bay, and go to the Alameda viewing spot. Adventure City!
Head Trip
A documentary film by John Law and Flecher Fleudujon
Showing at The Roxie New College Film Center
3117 16th Street, San Francisco, CA
Part of the Pranks Filmfestival.
Anyhow, the art show beforehand absolutely got my eyes to sparkle.
It was a group show of posters questioning "What Happened To Peace?"
There were some political poster kingpins like Emek, Mear 1, and Shepard Fairey, as well as enraged designs by artists from around the world. This event was celebrating the release of Yopeace.org's release of their book YO! WHAT HAPPENED TO PEACE?
The bright colors in the flock of posters created a visual disturbance, many a poster designed to be screaming. I saw a many new takes on our depressing past and dismal future. A comical print boasted our modern day world leaders in the "evil" category sharing bongs on a couch and Osama Bin Laden casually eating chips out of a bag with his missing face printed on it. Or you have the stark oil drilling silouettes, the delicate beauty of an enlightened soul nurturing nature, and the sheer ugliness of mindlessness. Check out the prodigous list of artist who are involved in this project at YOPEACE.ORG
Talked to a nice fellow, Yem, who came up from L.A. for the show. He was full of smiles and positive affirmations. He has been around LA like a wall virus. We talked about how important it is to support your fellow artists, because the economy you are in will immediatley swell. The significance of a healthy community is imperative in our wan world state of affairs. He has a music project under the name Abraham Jones.
About Yo!Peace:
Yo! What Happened to Peace? was started in 2003 with 14 prints and an opening hosted by Cross World Connections in Tokyo as a response to the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Committed to highlighting the beauty of hand-crafted printmaking techniques as a method of visual protest, the show has traveled the globe continuously adding new artists and artwork. In the spring of 2007, a Yo! What Happened to Peace? book was published, featuring 144 color pages of over 200 prints from the show, a die-cut stencil cover and an introduction by Winston Smith. Currently based in Los Angeles, the show is put together by John Carr (curator), Katherine Kirby (coordinator), Ra (operations), and Caton Volk (producer).
During the opening, a few fellas were doing a live silkscreening. Spoke to Ra for a minute about the tour. They are going around, prying the hole in our consiousness just a little wider. The book has a stencil cover for immediate use. These fellas went out of their way to inspire immediate action and creativity. The amalgamation of the iconic artistist of our turmoil times is far reaching. International viewpoints on our sticky little situation. The urgency in the messages was a rewarding outlet for internal stife and sadness at injustices. Express yo'self hay hey hey hey. They are so officially members of RAD AMERICA.
I ran into Big Daddy of Cyclecide and he informed me that there will be a movie screening featuring our fine freaky friends next weekend, January 26th in Alameda. There will be a shuttle bus for each of the two showings. The bus will leave from Ritual Coffee in SF, stop by another spot in the East Bay, and go to the Alameda viewing spot. Adventure City!
Head Trip
A documentary film by John Law and Flecher Fleudujon
Showing at The Roxie New College Film Center
3117 16th Street, San Francisco, CA
Part of the Pranks Filmfestival.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
New Hype Ma'am for Art Now SF
Hype Ma’am Shazaam!
This just in:
My Street Credits transferred from the Hipster's Bank of Portland to The Scenester's Bay Area Bank. I am now a proud intern at ArtNowSF. This is particularly exciting because it is the next level of what I was doing with Upper Playground, minus the folding of t-shirts. We work with Juxtapose Magazine and set up music, art, and fashion events featuring up and coming artists. We are constantly looking for submissions. Check out the myspace here.
Here is what is in store soon:
SUITE JESUS LOVES THE LADIES!
This Friday @ 111 Minna SF
This just in:
My Street Credits transferred from the Hipster's Bank of Portland to The Scenester's Bay Area Bank. I am now a proud intern at ArtNowSF. This is particularly exciting because it is the next level of what I was doing with Upper Playground, minus the folding of t-shirts. We work with Juxtapose Magazine and set up music, art, and fashion events featuring up and coming artists. We are constantly looking for submissions. Check out the myspace here.
Here is what is in store soon:
SUITE JESUS LOVES THE LADIES!
This Friday @ 111 Minna SF
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Great in 08!
This has been quite the different ending to the long year.
In multiple years past I have spent my XXXma$ in some fabulous paradise city on the Mexican coastline. This year it was just West Oakland and me. No jugo fresco or tacos pescado. No Malecon with spanish clowns and native beaded power bracelets. I still feel like I'm in paradise. As I slowly twist awake I peer out the window and see the palm tree exploding in the blue sky, and my omnipotent lemon tree bursting with offspring. The air is comforting and moist, with a slight sea chill. "I'm on vacation, I'm sure of it." I lay my head between the folds of the down comforter and my pillows and drift into perfect happiness. For the next ten minutes, that is, until I hear the techno galloping of my ascending alarm, not nearly threatening enough to actually get my ass out of bed. I squeeze my phone until it allows me back in through the gates of slumber. I run through instantly. I can spend hours of good dream time in this ten minute state. This week I was immensely tardy for my duties at work because I spent each day sleeping for three hours in 600 second chunks. I should figure out a way to use the ten minute intervals to program my mind to lucid dream. Or get my butt out of bed so I can be on time for my dear, understanding job.
Around the solstice I bid farewell to my dear friend Shannon. The Great Shanzini and Agent Pulse were leaving for their sexy single world tour. We held a marvelous dinner with wheat-free chocolate cake with pomegranite sourcream frosting. It was absolutely the best cake I have ever eaten. Hands down.
The fine lady in the picture is the creator. She is Hollis, and that fateful night our roomate, Rev. Pasteurized (see also,
lil' B) married Hollis, Shannon, and myself to eachother. It was raining and we had two witnesses hold umbrellas over us. We vowed to be non-sexual life partners and always have each other's backs. We didn't make up this cultural ceremony. Many of my female friends down here in the Bay have female NSLP's. There is a whole Wifey network down here, where the lines between marriages are severely blurred.
The weeks before actual XXXma$ day were spent galloping like a young reindeer through the Christmas spirit circuit. Many a new friend out here happens to work for Burning Man, so I was invited along to the Department of Works Holiday shindig. Many people were dressed like santas, plenty of booze, some dusty, playafied bottles from the clean-up shenanigan's. This was so exciting to me. I felt like a detective, piecing together the story of this "Burning Man" phenomena. An outlaw city in uninhabitable space, filled to the brim with artists and craziness. These were the garbagemen and the problem solvers and the gate inspectors for this semipermanent autonomous zone. I am virgin to the "playa" experience, but with the successful artistic and social experiment now unavoidable, I start thinking about how the thing works. Who does what. I feel especially intrigued due to this years history making chapter involving the "bostonia tea party-esque burning of the man early" thing. That's not a light thing to bring up at a DPW party. In my excitedness towards the anarchist offering, I forgot that these were the people who had to work around the clock for 72 hours to restore something that was destined to burn. They weren't so stoked on Paul Addis and his antics. While walking to the party, I was trying to imagine what BMHQ would look like. Fuzzy walls, metal revolving zoetropes? Witchy fire pit performances or double loud techno? There weren't any crazy fire spider glow in the dark shit, just offices, festive trees and garlands, and a lot of beautiful freaks scattered among norms. It was raining and all the smokers huddled under an exhibition awning atop pallets to avoid the mud. I finally met thee mister Johnny Payphone, which was very pleasant. He is an historian that has been delving in to mutant bike culture and is now in Australia scooping things out. He hails from the Rat Patrol on Chicago and has seen the rise and fall of
A few days later I went to Cellspace for a party. I got in free because I vowed to help make cookies. Cellspace has been a model for creative space for my chronies and I when we were working to set up our own art village. Last year the founder died in a car accident and I think the space is sailing through rough waters. Anyhoo, it was really, really, really fun to spend a big ol' DJ dance party baking cookies looking over the crowd, sending wafts of delicious holiday cheer throughout the sweaty night.
On Christmas eve I found myself alone at the house and I was feelin' Hyphy.
So I decided to document it.
"HYPHY HOLIDAZE from West Oakland"
For New Years I went to Slab City. It was nice to have the solitude of the desert. I was there for threeish days, drove down on the bus. Played in an impromptu band at a stage some folks set up. Soaked in the questionable hot springs. Did whatever I wanted. Helped some stupid kid who sat in the fire while consumed by a psilocybin demon. That moment, the first few long moments of '08, I decided I need to know more about nurse style activities. Here's to the challenge of knowledge!
What a breath of fresh air.
This year shall be a good one.
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