Photo Dump

It's Christmas season! And one other tidbit of crap

Tis the season for me to think I've the capabilities to make my buds incredible handmade wears. I won't talk about them on here, in the off-hell hath frozen over-chance they will look. I will be doing the hermit style lock-myself-up-in-my-room-with-several-bottles-of-wine routine in order to stop ignoring my creative side and just make some fucking shit already, and well, make some shit not only for my friends but for my Etsy store.



Also, I've gotten a wild over zealous hair up my ass that I can handle this leather tooling pattern I've drawn up

The picture sucks, indeed.

At any rate, I'm building a new Frenchie bike to replace my stolen one. And with this new project bike I've decided to go megtron custom(for me at least) and I will be tooling a leather top bar pad and handlebar grips; going along with the custom jade on cream paint job I've done.

Yep. Ambitious

This is really quite a boring post

Currently, I work in a oil smelling, wrench slinging, women insulting mechanics shop in the Mission of SF. It was the first job offered a mere two weeks of moving to Oakland and after applying to over 50 jobs, followed by a memory of a 3month jobless stint in Seattle; I took it and counted my blessings. According to the owner, my title is Office Manager or Assistant(I know not), but I think it's mostly just to make me feel important. I tend to think of myself as more of a Office Gopher Bitch. You know the phrase “go for this, go for that” but in my case, add on customer attitude receptacle; much like the vagina is the penis receptacle, except my version is a lot less fun or pleasurable. I know what you’re thinking, “you are doing customer service?” and thus piss your pants with laughter. Yes, surprisingly enough, I can be quite nice on the phone, must be the fact I’m getting up there in years.

I know enough about cars, thanks to my parents sticking a wrench in my hand sometime around 15, to keep my head straight working at a mechanics shop. I will say this about my place of work, they do have a mom and pop feel with bending over backwards for their clients. Case in point, we get the valued customer’s cars detailed if say, it’s really fucking dirty by the hands of filthy creatures called “kids”, or say you spent a decent amount of dough with us because you didn’t care good enough for your car to keep the oil changed, belts up to date and now it’s literally raping you in the wallet; call it a sympathy wash. The other thing we offer is free loaner cars-yes free. You drop your whip, we supply you with one whilst repairs are in order-nice, no? Now, I find this above and beyond mechanic shop duty. However, we get some self righteous entitled mother fucks that walk into this shop thinking they should get the cream of the crop while we thankfully kneel down and lick their taints. So when a particularly lovely specimen of a nose in air woman drops off her car I receive the following "is it clean?" -yes; "is it one of the newer ones?" -wouldn't dream of giving you anything else. Needless to say, when she got the diagnosis, she was none too happy and promptly picked up her shit wagon; dressed to the nine's mind you, in her fake fur vest, cloud of swamp smell perfume and loads of expensive jewelry. "did you wash my car?" -no, sorry, it was raining. To which I received a dirty look and slew of insults. The old me was just below the surface dying to tell her fat uppity ass to get down on our level and take the fucking bus if she doesn't like it. However, the mere peeling out the driveway of her exit was enough to make me feel better. Ding dong, the witch is fucking dead.

(if only you can see the half eaten sandwhich that was peeking out on the seat)

On another note, Mike Borden, rock drummer dude for Faith No More and other rock/metal bands, is a customer of ours. I don’t know about you, but when I think rock star, even drummer rock star, the first thing that pops into my head is stories of crazy sex-capaides and drug use. The second thing that pops into my head is wicked sweet cars that are 6 figures. This gentleman(because he rather nice) drives a Volvo…wagon. No Lambo with a busty passenger ornament or a Bently rollin on duce duces. Nope. A good ol’ family wagon with safety as the priority. I don’t fault him for this. I just sit at my desk, smile when he picks up his car and picture him zooming down the highway in a manual paddle shifting 400+ horsepower sporty number, while getting a BJ.

Rock on man

Mash Up

I should be doing homework right now...and although, I do have the screen up, with some reading done, an assignment submitted and subject matter researched, I...just...can't...focus. So I'll waste time with my blog-YAY!


This past weekend was decidingly sober compared to the weekend before where my good friends Amber and Brian visited from Seattle. That was a true shit show of epic proportions with a some puking, rallying, more drinking, too many shots consumed, too many asses pinched, shit talked, a now formed bluesy rock band with Amber and myself being the front women, food, more booze, some more food and not nearly enough sleep. So needless to say, I cut back this weekend on the booze…but not the music. The weekend really started on Thursday with the Black Keys and then Friday went to the de Young museum to watch Rupa and the April Fishes-a lovely little gypsy-esq band from San Francisco, then Arcade Fire on Sunday. This post is mostly just to get out some more puke, but of the photographic type from the hundreds of photos taken between then and now.


Pork Chops on top of grits at Hibiscus(veg heads really don't know what they're missing)

Bri attempts to be dandy and use his celly while riding

Rupa and the April Fishes

Me Da thought we looked good together...."we're not dating dad, sorry"

chicken and waffles in Oakland-happy bday Bri

And with that, please enjoy this lovely photo of a woman durning rush hour on the Bart, picking her foot, while the blonde next to her is probably holding back vomit and texting her friend "my god, the smell of onion is overwhelming Becky!"

You're welcome

-M-

Arcade Fire-Greek, 10/3

As stated in earlier posts, Arcade Fire has a big significant bookmark in my life. Funeral came along when I struggled with my inner turmoil of self boredom, adulthood responsibilities, the society placed stigmas of where we should be at a certain age of life, and just an overall restless leg syndrome of long time placement in an area I desperately wanted to flee. (Side note: wowza-school is making me exam myself too much-say thankee). At any rate, “Wake Up” was a beacon of salvation-no, scratch that-it was a song in the soundtrack to that moment of life where the main character, me, makes the decision to do something about her situation; “fucking do something different. Loved ones will be there, even if they don’t understand, life will go on; your proverbial balls won’t recede; and further more, you will live.”

That little mental soul vomit aside…I first saw Arcade Fire in Seattle after the release of Neon Bible. They are easily one of my top ranked bands to see before you die. It was like being reunited with a mentor or hero after they helped you through a storm. This time I saw them at the Greek in Berkeley with Calexico as their opener. If you haven’t seen Calexico, I highly recommend it. They’ve got some smooth Latin inspired sounds that translate fantastically to the stage. As for AF, this band-all 32 of them- is a cracked out whore faced with the prospect of a ball playpen, filled with penises wrapped in singles.** Translation: so much energy that makes them run amok on a stage with props, instruments, and interpret dance. The heroin cracked out drummer boy that could? Yeah, he’s hypnotic, easily the most energetic of the whole band and you cannot help but let your eyes be a laser beam of intense Jeffery Dalmer watchfulness in the glow of his unicorn glitter farting glory. Oh yes, I just said ALL OF THAT! Recognize.

Having seen them before, I knew they were going to do an encore and I knew that encore would include “Wake Up” as its closer. So when they broke out with that song you could hear the whole audience singing along to the chorus...I literally had chills. Can you imagine 8,000 people fully moved by this song, singing along, and connecting? It was some made for TV movie shit; I tell you what.

They’re good, and they make great music that is easy to love…but I found myself in periods of lulls because I wanted the first album, the one that was my rock, my soundtrack and my soul mover. This show also felt a bit lacking in luster…Now, don’t get me wrong, this was one fantastic fucking show and I think everyone should experience these guys. And who knows, maybe my slight sliver of a ho-hum attitude was developed from the possible contact high I may have developed from the fat couple one row down from me, smoking some fruity smelling weed, the ENTIRE concert. Seriously, I would've been immobile after that much weed.

(Kimmay is walking the line)
**side note, this entry may or may not, have been written after some booze intake.

Black Keys-Fox Theater 9/30/10

photo by Tom Tomkinson Photography

ahhh fuck @#$%^AHSJ BLARG^$#BLOOP%&*!#FU <---yep, that pretty much sums up my brain after I saw Black Keys at the Fox Theater; mush. Finally after all the times of missed connections in seeing this band, I had my face metaphorically rocked off.

I had another alternate opening line to the one above but felt it too vulgar, but apparently not too vulgar to write it anyway: “If Patrick’s intense drumming faces reflect his passion for music; can you imagine the faces while he’s just in the moment of passion?”...my curiosity is peaked. And when it came down to it, the thought of someone in the throws of passions might be a bit of a turn off, depending on your kinks, of course.

On to the band portion of our episode…Although I’m 137% positive there are far greater fans than me who know every word to every song, the street addresses of Dan and Patrick's childhood homes or at what point they had their first kiss, I am still a fan on some level. And when they struck their first note, a line from Almost Famous popped into my head “have you ever loved a band so much, it hurt?”. I reckon there were a lot of those said fans at this show. For me however, my body just buzzed from the first cord struck until I tried to sleep later that night. You want success for a band you love but on the flip side, you want them to remain a small little secret kept from the world. But nevertheless, you’re happy for them when they do hit it big.

I may have known of the Keys subconsciously beforehand but my true acquaintance with them began with a lovingly crafted mix CD. Nestled amongst the songs of intended affection, was the Keys’, “You’re the One”. It was a great introduction and we were well met. So for that, thank you Sam.

I am digging the new album Brothers but must admit, my fondness hearkens to the older more raw edged sounding albums with just the duo. I suppose it’s because of growing up listening to my father playing with his buddies. It was basic rock and blues with no frills, just the love of jamming and how that jamming makes you feel good. Not to mention growing up in the olden times where we had to read by candle light, as power was not invented yet(shit, was Edison even born?), it would stand to reason that I was raised on older rock and or roll, ya dig.

You could definitely tell the Keys picked up a bigger following with this release. I thought they mixed this show up well between the old and new songs. Starting with just the duo, then additional musicians for the more produced new album, back down to the duo again and so forth. There would be a lull with the crowd, except from older fans, until the new songs were played and then everyone just erupted. I heard a lot of: I don’t like the old stuff-blah blah blah; it sounds shitty-blah blah blah. The new stuff is just better produced and more poppy-blah blah blah. You could definitely tell where my alliance laid, by evidence of my exuberant shimmying to the older unrefined stuff that the crowd was bitching about. If my ears were a vagina, I would have been drenched 20 times over in wetness, from more than just spilt booze, from the love making they did to my ears.

Don’t ask me the set list, I don’t remember and I did not take notes. I only took one shitty cell phone shot of the band, as I was too engrossed to be bothered

(token shitty cell shot)

The black keys make some sexy music, like, seriously fucking sexy.

You're the one

"When I was 13
My mom said
"Son, you're the
one I adore"

Now I'm old and wise
When I see your eyes
You're the one I adore

Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh, ohhh

Will you be true?
Till life is up
Be the one I adore
Oh
You're the one I adore

Ohhh, ohhh"

Sketch Tuesday-Revenge of the art

Last night I fulfilled the age old prophecy of ‘Mel, The Stupid, inflicts pain through needle to septum”. Apparently, I am allergic to growing up and feel I must do adolescent things to my body. Along with the refusal to accept aging, I also acted the youthful fool by deciding to throw away perfectly good money on too many beers, instead of depositing it into my retirement home fund; so far $100 is not going to get me more than a weeks worth of geriatric dinners.

I will not, however, apologize to myself, my wallet or my liver for scoring some more great art at Sketch Tuesday. Jay Howell, Jason Vivona and a Christopher Kardambikis comedic doodle.

Jason Vivona

Jay Howell

Christopher Kardambikis

(an assassin who prefers a very tiny bow and arrow)

Matters of the Heart

find here

(maybe some day)

Cleaning out the phone

just a few collected shots from my phone

(I love the symbolism of my bike under the map)

What would I do without all these wonderful iPhone apps that make me look like a cool photographer?! The tagging is from toilet view of a dive in my neighborhood. The "stop here" shot was at work and a customer had dropped a diaper. I didn't move it, that's where it was when I saw it. Didn't check if it was used.

Fecal Face 10 year anniversary

I'm not quite sure when I became acquainted with Fecal Face but I do know it was before I moved to Seattle. How I came to know it? I'm not sure of that either; possibly through HiFructose mag or Juxtapoz. I just remember reading the website on a regular basis and thinking to myself "by golly, they throw some good shows".


Last Friday marked their party, the shit-show of who's who and lookers alike, that entailed their 10 year anniversary at the Luggage Store. I would be damned if I missed this and thus conned my friend into going with me, even though we both get angsty in big sweaty crowds. And speaking of sweaty, I had it running in ample amounts down my back and forehead, tre zexy. I think my tweet (yes, I'm a nerd) said it all: @fecalface 10 anniversary party is to crowded. As 500lbs women wrestling in 6ft room is to humid. All butt crack perspiration aside, it was an amazing turn out with amazing art, great people watching and the wine was flowing.

(And this was only 45mins in)

To the lovely husband and wife duo of Fecal Face: Thank you. You have introduced me to some amazing artists and I have learned much. Keep up the fantastic work


Sincerely
M





(this was an epic large piece by MARS-1)
(this is probably as close as I'll ever get to owning a Sylvia Ji piece)


(I believe this is Andrew and Ert's reaction to that MARS-1 piece)