Too Toasted To Post It

One Man's Problem is giving you tomorrow's post today (sans any type of jarbled pronouncements or passages and straight to the meat). Blog is progressive.
Jerry Williams - Crazy Bout You Baby
Fresh Band - Come Back Lover
Patrick Cowley - Sea Hunt
Sweat Band - We Do It All Day Long
Sweat Band - Body Shop

Torture your Co-Workers

I work in a cubicle, and I listen to music at work on speakers, which means that everyone around me has to listen to it as well. They are cheapo computer speakers, which look like they are from the mid 90s (the brand is JUSTer, and they claim to be a HI – FI Speaker System), and they definitely aren’t anything great, but they get the job done considering that I can’t exactly bump. I don’t use headphones at work as they are much too restrictive: I can’t hear people walking down the halls, which is essential to me minimizing incriminating windows hastily. Plus they start to hurt my ears after an hour of pumping up the jams. Lately I’ve been listening to either disco/boogie/italo, stoner metal, or Wu – Tang, which means that all 3 people that work directly in my cubicle, and the 4 others in the adjacent one are listening to the same shit. Every other day, this one girl tells me to turn it down, but I am so nice and polite to her that it’s not really an issue; she asks me to turn it down simply because it annoys the shit out of her at that moment, and she tolerates it the rest of the time, so I really can’t complain.

I’ve been pondering how the music that I listen to in my cubicle, while I write these posts and sometimes do actual work, reflects what people think of me; specifically my sexual orientation, my habits, my lifestyle, how I spend my money etc. If I was Joseph or Gina Normal, and I heard a majority of disco coming from a specific office space, I’d probably assume gay without much hesitation. The Wu – Tang stuff, which is probably not appropriate for work, equals stoner with low ambition, and the stoner metal stuff obviously fits in a similar category. Which poses the question of which is more high brow? Who gets the promotion: the white guy at his desk, dressed in appropriate casual work gear listening to Wu, or a similar fellow listening to Electric Wizard? This may be rhetorical (but probably neither).
Pierre Henry - Psyche Rock
Dusty Springfield - Thats The Kind Of Love I Have For You (Disco 3000 Edit)
Dinosaur - Kiss Me Again (Original Edit)

Also, the pics in the post don't correspond to any of the content, and maybe I could have held off, untill I could relate something to car surfing, but I am very impulsive and have very little patience. I guess car surfing is kind of like ghostriding the whip for white people. Its both dangerous and entertaining, and if you have ever seen a ghostriding accident live (which I have, in the Fillmore on Fulton and Webster, and nobody died or got seriously injured, so it was officially hillarious) you'd know what I'm talking about. I know there are a ton on youtube.

Oh god, it goes nowhere

I’m not sure if I’m currently depressed or just bored, but my current lifestyle seems to be permeated by both. I don’t mean to lay a sympathy trip on anyone but, the successful, fulfilling, enticing life that we all dream of as kids sort of fades sharply when all you have to look forward to after a grueling day of work, is a 24 of Pabst, and a trip to the Laundromat. You can only put off that Laundromat trip so long until you have no boxers or jeans left; when your only option is to raw dog it in a pair of dress pants with mismatched socks, it’s time to do the fucking laundry whether you feel up to it or not. The Laundromat down the street from my house is basically a homeless shelter that closes at 10pm. There is literally a 2 x 3 foot crevasse between where the rows of washers end and the dryers begin, that is usually occupied by a bum (unrelated, but I just looked up the word “bum” to see if there were any cool synonyms, and while I was only supplied with the word “tramp”, the dictionary did grant me with a definition and sentence to illustrate the meaning/usage of the world, which is real gold: “Meaning: a homeless wanderer who may beg or steal for a living. Usage: I feel sorry for bums and occasionally give them money”). I assume that it is quite warm in there, but it’s also jackhammer loud, which likely makes sleeping near impossible. I guess part of being homeless, is learning to acclimate to your surroundings. As a relatively well-to-do member of tax-paying society, I can basically just buy my way into sleeping relatively comfortably, and even then I still do not sleep well regularly. Hearing any type of noise is legitimate ground for my mind to focus, ultimately keeping me actively awake (I don’t think I’ve ever passed out during a movie, except maybe out of sheer exhaustion). Part of being a good vagabond, is possesing the ability to sleep in any context.

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this, so I’m just gonna stop with whatever I was attempting to go for. Any good writer knows that it’s wise to ditch your efforts when you’ve procured absolute crap, but it’s hard for me to do that when I’ve spent a full twenty minutes developing a topic (even when it’s pointless). Additionally I'm not a good writer and it’s not like I have anyone to impress. Since I’ve accomplished relatively little (in terms of tangible things; I guess blog isn’t exactly tangible, but you can read it) if I were to get mauled and raped to death by a mob of stray leopards today, all that would actually stand out to embody my life is a 4 month old blog, and a couple mixtapes (and the fact that I was mauled and raped to death). In death, would my gibberish, suddenly be exalted (god, I hope not)? I’ve read portions of a couple books by famous dead writers, which should not have ever been published, but were solely based on the pulse of interest that accumulated with the arrival of their tombstone (usually someone finds a bunch of letters or a manuscript discarded among their belongings, and without any hesitation publishes it. Then I impulsively buy that book used, since I like the writer, read a little bit, and my image of this impeccable literary giant is diminished as a result.). For me, blog is probably the thing that should not be out there, but unfortunately I do not have any polished work that stands diametric to my prattle. Also this fantasy that I'm pondering where you feel completely insignificant, but then you die and suddenly you do matter (you fucking showed them!), is the trite fuel of millions of studio apartment losers and impulsive suicide cases. Worst post ever, sorry.

Also it was my intention to post a bunch of depressing ass music today, but since I'm at work, I only have mostly dance music, which doesn't exactly translate the sentiments of the post. I was able to dig up something non-dancey, but I wouldn't exactly consider it depressing, as much as inspired by fantasy, since all the music posted today by keyboard whiz Bo Hansson is based on the Lord of the Rings. I haven't had any coffee yet today, so I'll probably feel great as soon as I do, and feel sort of embarrassed that I wrote all this downer shit. If anything I hope someone gets a laugh out of it (and like all those motivational types always say, "If I can just get one person to smile then it was all worth it") :) Smiley.
Bo Hansson - The Black Riders & Flight to the Ford
Bo Hansson - ShadowFax
Bo Hansson - The Horns of Rohan & The Battle of the Pelennor Fields

TP Cruiser

So I received that box set, Love Train (retrospective of the Philly International Label ) the other day in the mail (for fucking $12.99 shipped by the way. I must say these recession prices are off the hinges, although my copy was unsealed and clearly defective, all the CDs work fine, which is alright with me), and although I dig it, I think that either they didn’t go to much length to pull out the stops to find the rarer stuff from the label, or maybe I’m just much more familiar with their stuff than I had previously thought. The tag line on the box set reads “Motown had the polish, and Stax had the grit, but Philly International had both”. Unfortunately both Motown and Stax are just superior labels, Zing! Alright, leaving that suuuuuper opinionated comment behind, Philly International did have some pretty unbelievable jams; most of which have obviously been kicked to death by radio, advertising and marketing. My major critique of many of the songs featured in this box set (and a lot of soul/R&B songs universally have the same problem across the board, especially in the 70s) is that they often extend for an extra 2 or 3 minutes longer than I feel they should (The Jones Girls’ song posted is a perfect example of what I’m talking about). The 3 minute pop song was created for people with ADD (like me), so that they wouldn’t get bored hearing the same hook over and over and over and over and over and over again. While I credit Gamble and Huff (and other associated musicians/writers on the label) to having an amazingly developed and cultured sound, they suffer from overzealously beating the shit out of a dead horse. If anything, you need to leave your audience wanting more, not skipping to the next track at the 3 minute mark. I am open to the possibility that people in the 60s and 70s, having not been raised with the expectation of instant stimulation, customization and gratification (like I was), were more relaxed, accepting, and patient with their music. Plus these songs actually mean something, many have lyrical character that relate to a specific sentiment that I cannot identify with, being middle class, white, a melancholiac and relatively un-experienced with any real oppression. Perhaps I am just the wrong audience for this type of music, even though I’d like to pretend that I can understand and identify with it.

There is another trend that seems to be present on a decent quantity of the songs in this set, which is that redolent speech, usually featured in the beginning of the track (but occasionally in the middle or at the end), that could last anywhere from 15 seconds to a full 2 minutes. This is the message, the whispering of sweet nothings, the sensitive truth, that absolutely needs to be directly narrated (I guess for fear that while any metaphor in the lyrics may potentially be misinterpreted, this passage, which sets the mood, is as sharp as a razor), before being pontificated by the ultimate explosion of crooning, emotionalizing the whole passage. Bobby Womack is probably the most notorious for this, but Marvin Gaye, Leon Haywood, Al Green, Barry White, Jimmy Castor, Jerry Butler, Joe Simon and countless others, are all guilty of evocative narraration (although it’s not a crime). Shit, I’d hire James Earl Jones to narrate the intro to my record. Nevermind, he has the voice, but lacks the feeling. Off topic, but how cool would it have been if James Earl Jones was actually the actor that played Darth Vader when he removed his mask in Return of the Jedi? They should have just left it completely unanswered that he was black and Luke white, and I guess it would go against all those prequels they make where Darth was white, but those should never have been made in the first place. Neeeeerd.

My all-time favorite artist on Philly International is Teddy Pendergrass. TP Represent! If we were in a room together and he sang me “Close the Door”, I literally would, and relinquish my flower to him if he requested it. I would “let him do what he wants to do” as alluded to in the song. He has that power in his voice, and I’m pretty sure that even though he is currently paralyzed from the waist down (and to the utter disbelief of the medical profession in general) he still gets rock hard erections. That picture of him that was on the cover of Wax Poetics (in the hooded fur coat with all the rings in the snow, see above), should be featured somewhere as a visual representation of the term “alpha male”.
Teddy Pendergrass - Close the Door
Teddy Pendergrass - Love TKO
Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes - Don't Leave Me This Way
The Jones Girls - Your Gonna Make Me Love Somebody Else

Haircuts

Haircuts are the bane of my existence. Unless I go bald, which isn’t exactly the route I’d like to go, I’m gonna have to get one every two or three months for the rest of my fucking life. I hate them so much that I always put it off until I have this horrendous mop of hair that covers my eyes; since my hair gets curly at certain lengths, wind and sweat cause me to get these forward curled bangs in the front with a fro pluming behind. I always wonder why people stare at me sometimes at the skate-park or bus stop (look, it’s often windy at the bus-stop), and then I get home or arrive at work and look in the mirror. After a few embarrassing encounters with my own “do” I finally throw in the towel and consider getting a haircut. En-route, I get these horrible visions of the ghosts of haircuts' past; my track record for a decent haircut is probably 1 out of 3, so you can imagine the fear that ensues as I arrive at Premium Clips with my fingers crossed. People have advised me to shell out $40-$60 bucks and get a hipster haircut somewhere, and honestly I’m such a cheapskate, that I’d rather roll the dice, and deal with the panic-attacks and fear associated, which makes my bitching null and void I guess (and the stylist would probably still fuck it up, but I’d look like Mugatu instead of Private Ryan). Usually it’s always the same situation that occurs which totally screws everything up. You tell them not to cut the sides too short or even short at all, and they take out the fucking clippers, fake like they are gonna cut the back (which is perfectly reasonable), and go straight for the sides (I think this a famous tactic used by low-end hair stylists, who probably learned the trade against their will in the armed forces, or following rehab). The other tactic is to just turn you around, so you can’t see yourself directly in the mirror, and then you can’t object to whatever is happening to your hair, because you can’t see it. Another negative that absolutely blows about haircuts, is having to talk to a 45 year old lady about your job or what you had for lunch. For a little while, when I got a talkative stylist, I’d just start making up shit about my life, just to have a little fun with procuring pointless lies. Nothing too outlandish: just make up another persona, that somewhat mirrors my life but isn’t me. Instead of being from Los Angeles, I’m now from Los Alamos. Instead of my current job, I’m now the manager of a fitness supply store, and although I really had a salad for lunch, fuck it, I’d tell them I had Pho. Stupid shit like that. One time this totally backfired on me, mid haircut, as the lady asked me where I was from (after I told her that my son was having his fourth birthday party tomorrow and I wanted to look good to impress his friend’s moms. That lie in itself was a huge mistake, as it is highly doubtful from my apperance that I have any attributes that would be considered fatherly). I told her I was from Seattle, and coincidentally, she actually was from Seattle, specifically from Maple Leaf. So I was totally fucked, having never been to Seattle, when she asked me what neighborhood I was from. Not knowing even one neighborhood in Seattle, I guess I could have replied Maple Leaf, which was safe, since she kind of paved the route with that one. Instead I told her, after pausing and thinking for 30 seconds, that I couldn’t remember (which illustrates my own failure to think on my toes), and then I sat there with her and shared this eerie silence for the next 10 minutes, while she gave me one of the worst haircuts of my life.
Alan Hackshaw – The Sound Of Speed
Cheech and Chong - Earache in my Eye

Sex vs. Power

Obviously Sexual Harassment is not a particularly funny topic, but I think that about 1% of my sexual harassment training could be interpreted as funny (to a certain extent, and as they say in the training, "different people often have quite different perspectives on harassment". True that). So, the following is funny to me. I assume this makes me a bad person.

Here are a few of the no-no’s I liked:
· grunts, wolf whistles, catcalls, hoots, sucking noises, lip-smacks and animal noises
· looking up and down (elevator eyes)
· winking, licking lips
· uninvited neck massaging
· stalking

Here is a really tough question:
For the past two years, Denise, a file room clerk, has been subjected daily to fondling, hugging and kissing from her supervisor against her will.
Ask yourself:Is this behavior severe, mild, or somewhere in between?
Then ask yourself:Would a reasonable person judge this behavior as sexual harassment?

Sadly, I got a kick out of this story:
First, we will consider Jan, the outgoing, older woman, who pays a lot of attention to Roy, the young man with a mental disability. Jan’s attentions include exaggerated flirting and even touching and rubbing against Roy. The young man is very uncomfortable with this behavior and does not reciprocate. Do you believe that Jan would behave in the same way if Roy were someone she considered her equal? Someone her own age and status, with no impairment and who may assertively tell her to back-off? It is unlikely that Jan would continue the aggressive sexual behavior toward such a person. It is only Roy’s image as someone vulnerable or helpless that gives Jan the feeling that she may continue the behavior, even when it is clearly unwelcome to Roy

The following are a list of emotions that one might feel after being harassed at work. Unfortunately I feel these emotions daily without that harassment:
· depression, anxiety, shock, denial
· anger, fear, frustration, irritability
· insecurity, embarrassment, feelings of betrayal
· confusion, feelings of powerlessness
· shame, low self-esteem, self-consciousness
· guilt, self-blame, isolation

I thought there would be more funny to put up, but apparently that’s it. That and all the pics posted are the extent of the chuckles of the sexual harassment training. The shittiest thing is its online and takes about 45 minutes to complete, but there is a required timeframe of 2 hours before you can take the test while you have to be logged in (and you can’t be on any page for longer than 3 min, so I’m writing this and switching pages every so often to kill the timer).

If you are in SF tonight and wanna get down to disco and boogie in a club full of low-lifes and hustlers, come check ME! ME! ME! djing with BT Magnum at 800 Larkin. ME!
Eddie Tour - Heartache (Instrumental Re-edit)
Jo Jo - Mind Games

Scale of Evil

Sorry to the two people who visited blog today but I’m again too busy for a legit post (that in itself has been a reoccurring theme, sorry dudes). I have to do my mandatory sexual harassment training, so I can learn how to proficiently hit on people at my work, without fear of getting fired or the establishment getting sued. Hopefully I'll learn how I can compliment someone's boobs in the most appropriate, proper and polite way possible.

I was invited to the following conference today, and I don’t really know why I find this funny, but:

Guest Speaker:

Dr. Michael Stone

Friday, November 20th, 2009
12:30-3:00pm

Dr. Stone appears on Investigation Discovery in a series called MOST EVIL

· He developed a scale of evil to rate serial killers, murderers, and psychopaths
· Maximum opportunity to meet with Dr. Stone and learn more about his research interests:
~He examines and profiles the minds of notorious killers
~Network with other faculty and students
~Ask the questions you’ve always been curious about

It probably has something to do with the part that mentions that he “developed a scale of evil”. Does it start at Snarf from the Thundercats and work its way up through greedy stockbrokers to eventually get to Jeffrey Dahmer, Pol Pot, and Ted Bundy. Also, not only do we get to learn about the minds of absolute and pure evil, but we get to network with faculty and students. I’m hoping snacks are provided. Shit, gotta go.

Toba – Moving Up

Alan Parson's Project - Mammagamma (Instrumental)

Ray Parker Jr. Bites

Ah coffee. I can feel it coursing through my veins. Pumping my heart rate faster, stirring my bowels, thumping my feet. Again short on a real concept for the day. I think I understand what musicians refer to as the curse of the 2nd album. You have every idea, song, and influence from life to use on your first album. If you are 25 years old when you record it, you can ultimately use 25 years of experience (whatever it is that you are able to remember of course, but I’m sure that there is a bunch of stuff that’s completely lost somewhere in your brain that is somehow able to contribute). So when you are done with that, you’ve completely exhausted yourself of everything contributing to that very point, and now you have one year or so to create all new stuff, having to start completely from scratch unless you want to rehash all your old tarnished ideas (which hopefully you don’t, of course there may always be room for remixes and improvements). I feel I’ve finished the metaphorical equivalent of LP 1 of One Man’s Problem; my general themes of coffee (which is a theme I will unfortunately always regurgitate, as it is my inspiration and fuel), the duality of being super arrogant, confident/timid, meek, and self-doubting, personifying blog like its a person, pointless insight into random topics and similarly pointless negative ranting concerning whatever the fuck I can think of (I hate this, I hate that, etc.). Maybe I should just end it at that.

I’m posting up a flyer for a night that I co-promote and DJ, in the very off chance that anyone that checks this blog does not personally know me, lives in San Francisco/Bay Area, and likes to party. If you come to my gig solely based on the blog, I will not only be extremely surprised and grateful, but also very embarrassed that all you know about me is the shit that I write here. I don’t know if my writing actually reflects accurately on who I am as a person; I’d have to bribe someone else to query a third party that knows me intimately to get to the bottom of that one. I couldn’t just ask that person directly, as they’d likely sculpt their answer in order to not crush my psyche. Enough! Look at the lineup though, we have BT Magnum, a reputable DJ with a respectable blog, Beat Electric, headlining.

Raydio is the fucking shit. About a year ago I’d never heard of them, and all I knew about Ray Parker Jr. was that he wrote the Ghostbusters Theme (direct quote from the song “bustin makes me so proud”) which featured Run-DMC on lyrics apparently (I always thought it was just some no-name rapper). Parker was accused and sued by Huey Lewis and the News for that theme song ripping off “I Want a New Drug” which was settled out of court as a somewhat hush-hush affair. Regardless of controversy, Parker went on to win a Grammy for the track in 1984. In 2001, RP Jr. struck back, and sued Lewis “for breaching a confidentiality agreement forming part of their original out of court settlement which prohibited either side from speaking about it publicly. Lewis had implied in a VH1 Behind The Music special that Parker had paid a financial settlement as part of the original agreement.” In my mind this pretty much validates that Parker did in fact rip off Huey and the News, and later sued him out of embarrassment, and I totally understand, as Huey is both a genius and a pioneer of hyper elaborate chart topping musical composition. FYI I pulled all of this supposedly “insider” info off Wikipedia, which means that it may not be true, and everything I wrote is just a poorly summarized version of what was there. None of this has anything to do with the band Raydio, who were an operating unit well before any of the aforementioned crap went down. Expect more Raydio posts in the future.
Raydio - It's Your Night
Raydio - It's In the Groove

Not So Great

Depressed, tired and I don’t want to write anything. Even though blog has been waiting patiently for the weekend to end, he may have to wait some more for some real juice. This is just filler and I don’t want to pass it off as anything else. I’ve realized that the entry from a couple days ago, which was done in French, makes absolutely no sense at all. I used one of those online language translators to code all of my English into French, and I immediately just assumed that it was correct because it looked cool. A few days after posting it I decided to actually try to translate it back using the same translator I used in the first place, and all I got was a bunch of fragmented garbage that only hints at the intended concepts. Without the original English text around, I was basically unable to remember what I had written, and I felt small, dumb, poor, and cold. While this says a lot about my fore-sight and ability to reason properly, it also says a lot (or little) about the fucking translator. Online translators are like playing telephone with languages, but it’s a fucking computer, so it should be able to translate and revert the same text accurately. But it probably just waters down certain phrases and simplifies specific words during translation, and then does the same on the way back, resulting in a passage that looks like it was written by an 11 year old French immigrant with a dirty mind. In case you were curious the whole thing was about Manginas, as the title of that post suggests.

Today’s tracks are off the disco/boogie trail, as I feel that I’ve been getting a bit specific and homogenized when posting tracks lately. That is what all the great music blogs do, they pick a genre and/or genres (which are usually closely related) and juice the shit out of them. Fortunately for me (and possibly for you) One Man’s Problem is not a great blog, so I am completely unrestrained by any real guidelines, outside of my own mental boundaries (which are vast). I have no fans to please, so as long as I feel that I’m effectively wasting time at work, I’ve kind of succeeded in a way. All of these tracks below are produced and/or written by super-weirdo cult rock n roll guy, Kim Fowley, who has very scary eyes. I’ve seen a few interviews with him, and I always find myself hypnotized by his zombie-jellybean peepers, and I need to turn away often, so as not to get sucked into their tractor-beam void. Tony Robbins' teeth have the same effect on me. This is guy is responsible for a ton of great rock n roll tracks (from the late 50s to almost present day) that are beaten path material, and a bunch of hits too (Runaways, Cat Stevens, he produced a version of the first Modern Lovers LP, but they scrapped his recordings for the ones John Cale did. But they were later released on Bomp, and are pretty cool as a companion piece).
Kim Fowley - Animal Man
Kim Fowley - Bubblegum
Gene Vincent - Rainbow at Midnight
The Murmaids - Popsicles and Icicles
Cat Stevens - Portebello Road

Keyword

In looking at Google Analytics, I’ve noticed that the number of page views specific to any post is higher based on some search term from an outside source. My most popular page thus far is the one where I mention the phrase “leather fetish” and I doubt that any of the traffic to the site based on that search was satisfied with what they got. So as an experiment I was thinking about cheating and just posting a bunch of keywords to get people here. But in reflecting on that super original idea I realized that its a pretty damn lame tactic. I mean once people get here they’ll just think my site blows and peace out; I personally hate it when that shit happens to me. I’m looking for some mp3 or picture, or whatever, and someone has the audacity to intuit that I’m a) gonna be searching for it and b) that once I get to the site and I don’t find what I want that I’ll even give a ¼ of shit about what they are peddling. So fuck that shit, trying to lure people to my site to get fame is like trying to jump-start a revolution. Its just gonna happen naturally anyways. Lycos Google Hairspray Anal Sex Horse Cock Fetish Disco Thanksgiving Kermit Slavery Radiohead Online Poker.
Giorgio Moroder – Knights in White Satin
Giorgio Moroder – Son Of My Father
Ramona Brooks – I Don’t Want You Back
Paul Hardcastle - King Tut

Mangina

Donc je suis complètement hors des idées pour blog aujourd'hui. Je n'ai pas reçu de café encore et j'essaie vraiment de lutter contre le besoin comme je l'ai bu sans arrêt pendant quelques jours passés. Ainsi dans un essai d'être original sans concept général je vais avoir Internet traduisent mon poste dans le français. J'ai fait la même chose avec le poste que j'ai fait dans le code binaire, mais personne "ne l'a reçu" et a traduit les nombres binaires en arrière dans l'anglais. Je veux vous reprendre à une merde de type d'anneau de décodeur. Celui-ci sera sans doute beaucoup plus facile de trouver puisque les gens parlent vraiment le français (personne ne parle des nombres binaires sauf les robots et quelques programmeurs informatiques). Plus le français semble vraiment très frais copié et a la capacité d'allumer des filles d'une manière ou d'une autre. Si vous êtes une fille, j'espère que ce poste vous allume.

Ainsi si quelqu'un traduit vraiment ce poste et m'y appelle, je posterai en haut une photo de mon mangina sur le blog. Dans le cas où vous ne savez pas, mangina, est quand vous prenez votre pénis et boules et les glissez entre vos jambes donc il regarde (au moins du front) comme vous ont un vagin. Le Silence de Montre des Agneaux si vous avez besoin d'une référence. J'avais toujours l'habitude de prendre ces types de photos si je voyais jamais un appareil de photo attendre la fin non réclamé à un parti. Je glisserais la salle de bains avec l'appareil de photo dans le remorquage, prendrais la photo mangina et le remettrais ensuite juste où je l'ai trouvé. Je suppose, si le propriétaire de l'appareil de photo était un gars, ils pourraient devenir tout excités et ou ont réveillé le fait de se demander que le vagin la photo capturait et comment c'est arrivé là. Peut-être un admirateur bizarre le met là pour les recevoir considérant le sexe et le désire. Le type désolé, c'est juste moi avec dick entre mes jambes. Je ne sais pas qu'une fille penserait s'ils ont constaté que la photo sur leur appareil de photo au hasard, comme je ne comprends pas la voie les femmes pense (je ne suis aucun Mel Gibson). Appelez-moi donc sur ce poste avec un commentaire et je serai forcé à poster le mangina.

J'ai passé beaucoup de temps en essayant de trouver une bonne qualité mp3 la copie de cette chanson Brûlant En haut par le Skool Boyz et c'est devenu si baisant frustrant que j'ai juste dû dénicher l'album moi-même et le téléverser. Ainsi dans le de la chance que vous avez cherché cette chanson baisante aussi longtemps et durement que j'ai, vous êtes l'accueil.

Skool Boyz - Burning Up
George Clinton - Last Dance

Edits aka Me Me Me!

Disco Edits currently take little to no talent to do. It is safe to say that because I’ve done them, and I have little to no talent. Back in the day, it was a pretty serious process, where you’d have to record the track to a reel to reel, then physically cut out the sections of the track that you wanted to use, and tape it to the other cut out sections in the order that you prefer. Anytime you wanted to loop or repeat a section, you'd have to re-record from the master and cut it out. When you are done, you'd just record your doctored tape reel and you have your edit. Understandably there were a lot of really crummy edits from the late 70s and 80s, partially due to the headaches of having to physically cut and arrange all that tape. There was no “Ctrl Z” to redo any of your mistakes, and I’m assuming it would be easy to spend all night in a coffee fueled haze, cutting and taping shit up repeatedly, only to find out that it doesn’t sound sonically believable or make sense in context to the rest of the song, or that some of your cuts are a couple milliseconds off, making it sound dodgy and amateur.

I think that they do serve a good purpose though; which is to make tracks more dynamic on the dance floor, and to remove the bits that the editor deems unsuited for the crowd or their own personal tastes. Basically juice up all the best parts with Gatorade and re-arrange them sensibly in the cliched dance-track format. Often times edits just make tracks mixable for djs, by just giving them a quantized intro and outro, and leave the meat of the track relatively unfazed. I get that, as I have a few cuts that are literally un-mixable, and therefore I pretty much would never play them. A lot of times the edits are totally pointless and do nothing but loop a couple sections and rearrange a few things with no regard to the impact that these changes will have on a listener, and the original basically takes a shit on its imitator.

In a recent interview, Juan Maclean deems disco edits to follow in suit with an “undercurrent of homophobia in the dance music scene”, and that the songs are then “de-gayed” and just the tough parts are left in. The edit that I'm putting up today is definitely de-gayed to a certain extent, but I left some of the gay in, as I wanted it to appeal to all sexual orientations, and I wanted some of the lyrical character of the song to remain for those that have heard the original. There is a certain type of threshold that I have with disco and club songs, where I can take a certain level of campy-ness, but once it eclipses that point (and it’s not that I no longer like the song) I just can’t really play it for people with a straight face. If that is considered musical homophobia, then I plead guilty. Maybe to make up for it, I should make two versions of any edit: do the version that I’d normally do, which would probably be about 50% as gay as the original (if the original is gay, which is not always the case), and then do another version that only uses only the gayest parts and make a “Megay-mix”. So posted below is the edit I did of Infatuation by Up Front. ME!!!!!! Ups to the drummer from Jonas Reinhardt (Damon, I think) who told me what it was when I heard it at a club, to any of the folks that have blogs that posted up high quality copies of the original so I could get it for free, Loose Shus/AmyWhoa for mastering help, and to Ebay for letting me score a copy for $6 so I didn't feel like a total fraud.

Also I put up a cool edit done by Danny Krivit of Dance to the Music by Sly and The Family Stone. It would be hard to say that this edit de-gays the original as the original isn't exactly gay, (its a funk track, not disco, not that funk can't be gay, but... I posted another Krivit edit of You Got Me Running by Lenny Williams a few posts back and you can test the de-gayed theory on that one). This is one of those impressive old school razor-blade edits which, when done properly, deserves much more kudos than anything done in Pro Tools.
Up Front - Infatuation (Hotthobo Loooooong Edit)
Sly and The Family Stone - Dance To the Music (Medley)

Really Slow Day At Work

Today, I’m gonna post a couple pics that I have no reason to post other than because I wanna write about them. They’ve been sitting in the My Pictures Folder of my work comp for a while now, marinating, and rather than force them into the context of some other idea, they’ll just be the idea, which will also be forced.

I like this photo more than any photo I’ve snatched off the net in recent times. When you are about 8 years old, it’s cool to imagine that you are actually a super hero that fights crime, and run around your house body-slamming your dog, who against his will personifies your imaginary nemesis. I guess this is what happens when you are an only-child, and you obsess and idolize Calvin and Hobbes. But growing up in NYC, you can actually take it to the streets and at least attempt to realize your full potential. What I absolutely love about this photo is the fly-on-the-wall nature of it, which is very true to the Spiderman persona. Additionally it makes more sense for Spiderman to be small in stature; spiders are small creatures, and the resultant hybrid of man and spider would likely be closer in the size range of the kid in the picture, than Tobey Maguire. So technically he is that much more authentic.

With Halloween upon us, I’ve been considering a few costumes and nothing has really hit me like a ton of bricks. This happens every year…I tool around with a few ideas, and I’m usually too cheap to actually put in the money, and too lazy to actually put in the time. I pull something out of my ass at the last minute, and ultimately feel diminished and small by my procrastination. When I go out to Halloween parties, I cower in the company of great, thought-out costumes. Usually a day or two after Halloween I have that great costume epiphany, get mad that I wasn't able to put it together earlier, and swear to remember my idea for the succeeding year. About two months later it's totally forgotten. The following picture is not a great costume. This musician from the future of the 80s (see checkered guitar strap, power glove, color-blocked TV) is at a major loss, as his costume is not fucking believable. In what type of future do you have to plug all your shit in to normal outlets (I guess we still use the same type of outlets that were used in the 50s, but come on). I call bullshit. The future is at least cordless (as is the present; I saw a great blue-toothed couple the other day: he was rocking it in the right ear on her right, and she was rocking the left ear to his left. They had great symmetry!), and there is no way that you are triggering MIDI with that Playstation joystick.

This pic is the back cover of the self titled LP by the group Disco Circus. When I saw this album at the record store a couple months ago I really wanted to buy it based solely on the artwork, which represents one of those great Disney fantasies, where during the day all the animals are totally normal, and then under the cover of night, their true alter-human personas are revealed; in this case they are racy, alcoholic, party “animals”. On the front cover, there is a slutty female elephant wearing a super revealing dress dancing next to “Saturday Night” Cheetah. Unfortunately I was unable to find a working pic of that, since the only working version is tagged/ruined by discomusic.com [fucking cock-blockers], but here is the back cover with a leisure suited Gorilla getting down with a hoochie giraffe wearing “fuck-me” boots and a tube-top. Just look up “Disco Circus” in Google images and you’ll find the other pic; it’s worth doing just so you can view the detail they put into illustrating the elephant’s nipples. I fucked up pretty hard not buying it, as I was too cheap to shell out $7 for the LP (since I didn't really dig any of the tunes). Later I realized my mistake, and went back to claim it for my wall, but it was already gone (sob). I guess the message that can be derived from this tale is that if you are gonna have great artwork for your album, you might as well make the music good too: then it's a sure sale. In doing research about this album I realized that on the Discogs website, you can make a virtual record collection, by finding and adding the records you claim to own to your “collection” (you can also make a want list, which is actually a handy tool, as it seems like a pretty convenient way to remember all of the records you randomly look up, and Discogs is a pretty thorough site). Is having a large virtual record collection cool? Fuck, is having a virtual content site (blog) cool? No. Ahhhhhh, soooooo embarrassing.
Carrere - Discotheque (Disco Special)
Ronnie Laws - All For You
Rainbow Brown - Let's Go Another Round (Tom Moulton Mix)

No Relation

In re-reading blog the other day, I realized that I am talking too much about the music lately, and I need to get the fuck outta that mind-frame. Nobody gives two shits that I think Prelude is a good label; thats pretty much a no-brainer if you are into this type of shit anyway. So, in other news (if you can call my mundane life news), I hurt myself skateboarding and have recently been receiving vicious middle of the night muscle spasms in my cavs. The kind that feel like your muscle has suddenly decided warp drive into a black hole and implode. About 30-40 seconds later, it realizes that it can't and slowly relaxes, leaving you drenched in sweat, praying that you never again experience that level of pain. I didn’t actually hurt my cavs though, I just bruised my heel, and I’ve been walking on my tippy toes for the most part to avoid pressing down on top of it. This attempt to sidestep heel pain has ultimately triggered cav pain and I don’t really know what is worse now, as I have to settle for both. I’ve been rubbing Icy Hot gel on the back of my cavs (do they have a front?) before I go to sleep, and last night I made the mistake of not washing my hands afterward, and then nonchalantly rubbing my balls with my Icy Hot hands. It is hard to fall asleep with fire balls. I should have been much more aware and weary of this predicament, as I was once present when a friend lathered his balls with Ben Gay after losing a bet. Within 5 minutes he was pacing around, cringing and hyperventilating, and eventually took his balls to the sink and attempted to wash the stuff off (which didn’t really work). This was truly a jarring experience to behold, so you would imagine that I’d be more careful around the stuff.

If you are thinking about purchasing a Sonic Care toothbrush two-pack at Costco for yourself and your girl/boyfriend (which really is a great deal in comparison to the normal retail price), it is imperative that you consider the time frame of your relationship. The two-pack only comes with one charger, so when your relationship folds and you have to move out, you will only have about a month or so (if fully charged) before you realize that your toothbrush is completely out of battery. One solution is to go on Ebay to find the right charger. Unfortunately there are a myriad of model numbers of the Sonic Care, and not all chargers work with all of the models. Since they do not clearly list the model number on the actual toothbrush, it leaves this ambiguous feeling of doubt: do I really want to take a chance and drop $30-plus on a charger that might not work with my brush? You may find that instead you are using the Sonic-Care as a regular toothbrush for the next month and a half, while scamming to find a way to bribe the Ex’s new roommate to let you come over undercover to charge it up. Basically I have another month before I’ve gotta figure out that situation again. If only they could make a battery that was powered by negative energy like the slime river in Ghostbusters II. I have plenty of that to dole out, and I’d probably feel way better in the end being able to divert my shitty moods and sentiments to the powering of electronic devices. That way, I could actually be proud of my anger and sulking (and harboring any type of negative feeling), and then build a bench with my newly powered drill.
Holzer - Pure Love
Love International - Dance On The Groove (And Do The Funk)
Pretty Tony - Fix In The Mix

Metro Blasting

When I listen to music on the bus during my commute to work in the morning, it’s usually at a somewhat moderate level on my headphones. Most of the time, it’s doubtful that anyone in the vicinity can tell what I’m listening to; I use a pretty nice pair of Sennheisers with minimal leakage (at normal levels). It’s not a pair of those ghetto rigged earphones you hear sometimes (especially on the bus), which basically have speakers pointed in the opposite direction of the owner’s eardrums, so the whole bus can hear the high frequency range of the latest Messy Marv album. At that point you might as well just play the shit on your celly’s speakerphone (which people also do, especially on the 49, 14, 19 or 22 buses. For the record I’ve overheard some of the nastiest phone conversations on the 14 bus. I think a good deal of call girls with those back of the newspaper sex/escort adverts ride that bus since it transports them from the hood to the hotels. I think the 19 may have a similar situation, but I rarely ride that one. It’s scary). But on the way back from work it’s a different beast all together. I feel all angst-y and fucking hate everyone, so I often turn my shit up to 11, where it is sometimes painful. I'm aware that people have to hear and consequently be annoyed by that shit, especially if I’m listening to my angst-bus jams, like Cock in My Pocket by the Stooges or Accelerator by Primal Scream (seriously this maybe one of the loudest songs ever recorded). I do get shitty looks from some people, but seriously, die, it’s time to hate-fuck the bus with music (hate-fuck concept stolen shamelessly from Patton Oswalt: you should all buy his new album). This does have advantages though, as sometimes I get a two seat section all to myself, and the rest of the bus is completely packed! I own an iPod shuffle so I really have no control over what is going to play next, and often the volume range from track to track can be staggering. Also I usually have the iPod in my backpack, so I can’t exactly get to it easily (especially if it is crowded) to change the track or turn down the volume if needed. So, it’s always a bit embarrassing when the volume is blasting and fucking D Train comes on and suddenly I’m not sounding or looking so tough.

D Train has got to be my favorite band on the Prelude label, which says a lot, since Prelude released quite a few seminal dance LPs and 12s (and a bunch of crap too, but generally good shit). That being said, they are one of those groups that I always feel really guilty for liking in public. Like a lot of stuff outta the 80s the lyrics are just complete cheese sometimes (and the best type of cheese, a good brie or piave; listen to the lyrics in The Shadow of Your Smile), and this is especially true on their second, somewhat overlooked album Music, which is where I derived today’s posted tracks. On You're The One For Me from the first LP, I though the dude was saying "Bust a nut on a cloud and shout out loud, you're the one for me". I guess he wasn't though (was he?).

D Train - The Shadow of Your Smile
D Train - Keep Giving Me Love
D Train - Don't You Wanna Ride (The D Train)

The Rock Is Gonna Get You

So Fucking Hung Over. Urgggggh. I just got coffee. I put the necessary amount of sugar in, then put in the soy milk, forgot I had put sugar in it, and put more sugar in it. Great. So this post will likely not make much sense. Speaking of sugar (super obvious foreshadowing, and I'm sorry but when you line it up like that...) I saw Sugar and Gold play last night and they were damn good. The keyboard player, Nick, actually talked to me for a while about stuff and he didn't even seem to be bothered by that. Yippie!

I don’t think that I should be included in conversation when people are discussing whatever amazing band they love and or saw live cuz then they start looking at me, waiting for me to chirp in and agree/approve (OMG, I just saw the Arcade Fire live and it was the greatest experience of my life. That type of thing). Now I tend to just plead the 5th, or if I feel that they really want my approval, I’ll lie and say “yeah, I know, right!” I used to be kind of vocal about how I felt about these bands, and I’m pretty sure that my stance about them is lame, but I can’t fight it. My basic position is that right when something first comes out it’s a clean slate or “tabula rasa” (I learned that in high school). New and ready for processing and enjoyment (or not), unhampered by society, culture, etc (of course there is always promotional advertising, the stigma of the label putting it out, and any other previously released tracks by the artist/members, any articles or shit you’ve heard about the band. So just shelve all of that for a moment). I listen to it, and it’s categorized in my mind; you’d think that the books are pretty much closed on how I feel about the music. Obviously I can revisit it later, notice things about it that initially I may have missed, start to realize some of the clear influences, downright rip-off-age or sheer originality/brilliance, and put together similarities to other music which may change my original opinion. But there is another thing that can and always does taint my tastes: the outside influence of the radio, media, advertisers, the way people act when talking about said band, the type of people that they are in my mind, and the image that the band presents. I think it is best to use a real band/song as an example, to explain my thought process. I was (and still sort of am) really into LCD Soundsystem. Not to toot my own horn, but beep beep, me, me, me, I had the Losing My Edge single on Output (before DFA was technically a label mind you) and the Give it Up 7” (god I was soooooooo ahead of the curve), and I thought the fucking world of the production on a few of the songs, and the vibe was witty. So a year or two later when they were greeted with open arms by MTV, radio, and pop music, I gave them the benefit of the doubt, and continued in my support. I used to work with this douche bag sales guy at a boring computer job I had a few years back, who drove a leased Audi TT convertible and once fucked a girl (very hard) in the same room I was trying to sleep in at 2am (we shared a hotel room at a convention in Miami). You can imagine how crushed I was to hear Daft Punk Is Playing at My House blaring out of his car when he arrived at work one day. I was never a fan of that particular song, but he clearly had the whole album and even tried to make conversation with me about it, and it just hurt that now Douche-America loved the thing that I felt so closely connected to. While this doesn’t cheapen the actual tracks they’ve written in anyway, it just kills all the excitement. I’ll still probably buy the next album when it comes out, and feel like a douche when the clerk rings me up. When that song Hey Ya by Outkast (who were already a huge pop phenomenon) dropped, I thought it was pretty awesome. I think I was only 20 years old at the time, but the same thought process applied. So for the first two weeks of its debut, it was catchy. Then, you start to hear it two to three times a day just by default, from just being in the supermarket, in the car, etc… it’s in the lamest commercial on TV, it’s at the party, its everywhere. You have no control over its influence and presence; it’s pushing you back and kicking you in the face repeatedly. People that I judged as lame simply by the way that they dress or act (after writing that I feel like a debaser), still could not get enough despite its omnipotence, and they were doing the dance from the video in public. They’ll are boogie-ing down to it at the house party or requesting that I play it instead of whatever I thought would make them dance. It’s around this point that I absolutely hate the song but I don’t think that it inherently makes the song lame. It’s just that the circumstances of repetition, marketing, and money make it so I’m personally offended when I hear it or have to talk about it. Give any song those circumstances, and it will no longer rank. Is that too (ice) cold?

Again, I’m a total hypocrite as my rhetoric doesn’t always apply. I am big fan of the Rolling Stones, who are possibly some of the biggest whores to ever slang out their tunes for commercial purposes and I still get juiced every time I hear Jumping Jack Flash. I mean pop music is meant for consumption en-mass, and it’s ridiculous to fight that. I know that I shouldn’t let other people have any influence on my own tastes, but they do and that’s that. After thinking about it the repetition and advertising things are probably the only legit arguments that I really have going for me. Hearing a track repeatedly against you will, is going to eventually suck regardless if it’s Britney Spears or The Fugs. If that same track is being used to sell you some shit other than the record of the same name, then it cheapens the experience even more. That is not to say that I expect musicians to turn down thousands of dollars for simply licensing out their music. Actually, I take that back; if they are not totally broke, and it’s for the new Boost Mobile commercial, they kind of should turn that shit down.

I'm including one of my all-time favorite disco jams in this post, The Rock Is Gonna Get You by Gordon's War. I'm assuming that the group was named after the movie, which is about a soldier who comes back from Vietnam to Harlem, only to find that his wife has become a heroin addict and has died of an overdose. In order to seek revenge, he then rounds up a bunch of Vietnam Vet buddies to take back the neighborhood and eliminate all the pimps and pushers, using all the tactics that they learned when they were in the shit. Grace Jones even has a small role in the film as a drug courier. I remember this movie being really boring, and I think that I turned it off before the end. It does have a bad ass soundtrack though, with all tracks performed by Badder Than Evil and vocals by Barbara Mason and New Birth. Unfortunately I don't have any of that shit to post. In researching this, I came across this post which is saying very similar shit to what I'm saying, and posting the track too, so my originality level is pretty low on this one. I would like to point out that it doesn't take a rocket scientist to pull a parallel between two things with the same name. Also I disagree with the Ghetto Disco people (but I do like their blog) saying that the movie had nothing to do with band. I think the band saw the movie and named their band after the title. Otherwise they'd be called J.R. Bailey's Disco Band or something like that.
Gordon's War - The Rock Is Gonna Get You
B.B. & Q Band - On The Beat
Kleeer - Tonight

The Cure For Cancer

I never thought that blog would help me at work, but that fucker devised a plan so ingenious that it’s scoring me points left and right. So, all I do, is type out my posts in a word document, and put a title at the top of the document, like “Cure for Cancer” and then drink some coffee and start vigorously typing about my problems, music, and whatever else it is that I write about. People in my vicinity can hear me clacking away, and they’re thinking to themselves, “wow, Hotthobo is really working super hard” (fyi, no one calls me “Hotthobo” at work. And I’ve always hated it when people who clearly know my name call me by my dj moniker, unless of course we're already tight, and it’s a sarcastic type of thing). My boss or some other authority figure sneaks up on me and sees my screen, well, no big deal. I'm only working on finding the CURE FOR FUCKING CANCER!!! So I’m a hero, my blog gets his fix, and I’m left feeling only slightly guilty about the time I’ve used to dupe everyone. Pretty much a win-win (if I could sleep at night with a clear conscious).
Hall & Oates – Sara Smile
Pool - Jamaica Running
Lakeside - From 9:00 Until

Entering the Big Leagues

Do you ever walk around your office aimlessly with papers in your hand so it looks like you are doing something important, and with purpose? I don’t do that ever, I just thought it might be interesting if people do. It seems kind of pointless to do that really. I mean get to work already.

I’m actually proud (and I don’t use that word often) that One Man’s Problem now has a logo. People should take notice that amateur hour is officially over. There is a new sheriff in town, the same sun that melts butter hardens clay, you just gotta bang the drum, “insert something else that sounds clichéd and hack”. This slice of sunshine comes courtesy of my buddy Amy at http://www.amymade.com/, who also handles design for the Grow Up parties that I am involved with (yes outside of blog, I do occasionally accomplish things, although my writing suggests otherwise). She also does real work for real clients (as opposed to fake clients like me) and she makes tight beats as AmyWhoa (www.myspace.com/amywhoa).

I’m putting up some tunes from one on my favorite piano playas (spelt wrong on purpose, cuz I'm so street), Ramsey Lewis. I’d say my top 3 are him, McCoy Tyner, and Ahmad Jamal. In a fight, I think Ahmad would destroy them both. I’m assuming that McCoy would drop first, since he is a bit more abstract, and those types tend to be waifish and frail. Ramsey would probably stay in for a least a couple rounds, and put in a good fight until being absolutely beaten to a pulp. It would probably play out like the end of Rocky I.
Ramsey Lewis – Bold & Black
Ramsey Lewis – Uhuru
Ramsey Lewis – Wanderin' Rose

Exclusive!

I’ve noticed that I am pretty susceptible to the cold. I went to an outdoor thing with a ton of people in Golden Gate Park recently, and I was shivering and doing these little tourettes’ style body jerks while people wearing shorts and t-shirts were chilling out in my vicinity unfazed. For the record I was wearing a beanie, a jacket, pants and a long-sleeve shirt. I was also stoned and drinking cold beer which makes me very susceptible to the cold (especially wind). It’s a sad excuse, as everyone else was also stoned and drunk; I guess it just depends on how your individual neurons fire. My neurons obviously fire some pussy-ass signals, as I am frequently reminded by my brain to be cold, doubtful, anxious and sleepy.

So let’s talk about music for a second. This blog was intended (at least in its initial stages) to be a music blog, and not a raging, sarcastic, look at life in doubt. I sort of got on that level with the last post, so I’m going attempt to continue the trend at least for a moment.

I really dig that dude Dam Funk on the Stones Throw label. I’ve seen him play and dj a couple times now, and I really feel his vibe. When he djs, he name drops every track he plays, lets you know the year it came out and the label. At this point with blogs, bit torrent, and that program Shazam on the Iphone, it’s pretty fucking easy to find at least a shitty copy of the song that you heard at the club in some format and for free. A lot of djs used to be into the exclusivity mentality by guarding their prized finds and often covering the labels of their records so that trainspotters (like me) wouldn’t figure out whats playing. I’ve actually politely asked a couple djs about tracks, right after a mix (so technically they shouldn’t be too busy at that exact second) and been told, “sorry, I can’t tell you”, or “I don’t know” in that asshole, dismissive tone. You know what the fuck you are playing dude, and if you didn’t you’d be like “actually, I don’t know, it’s this German import white label that I found when I was in London, etc, etc, etc”. In my opinion, a lot of blogs do that too: while they may be a bit holier than the asshole dj, as they do give you access to the song, often times the quality (bit-rate or recording) of the track is so god awful, it’s like being handed a premium sandwich made with moldy bread. The meat and veggies are quite appetizing, and that shit’s got prosciutto so you know it’s gonna be the jam, but the bread is so moldy and foul, that there is no way that you are gonna put it in your mouth. Crap, I got off topic slightly. Anyway, as opposed to being a prick about his record selection, Dam Funk goes the extra step to just let everyone know exactly what he is playing. That shit is fair game now, go find it and enjoy it (which is how music should be to a certain extent. I’m all for artists getting paid for their wares, but I don’t see why any tracks should be exclusive to certain people or djs just because they are privileged enough to have stumbled upon it). He also sings along to his records and tracks live, G-Funk style, which I am very fond of (if done properly). You have to be a certain type of person, with a certain type of voice and a certain type of look to really pull that shit off (luckily, he looks and acts like Pootie-Tang). That being said, a couple tracks available in this post are by the group Loose Ends. If you were to take the vocals out of these tracks, they could easily be mistaken for the new Dam Funk 12s”, and this shit came out in 1985. I know that the retro deal is his deal, but I’m just sayin.
Loose Ends - Hangin On A String (Contemplating)
Loose Ends - Let's Rock
Loose Ends - Dial 999
Midnight Star -Night Rider

Stink

The train’s so crowded you can’t even think/Oh man, somebody stinks/ I said stinking on the train is a lowdown shame/ messing with my nose membranes/Harry in your pocket, Harry in your pocket/ You better buy a lock for your pocket and lock it/ Lock your doors and your windows too and buy a dog that’s bigger than you.

These are lyrics from the 2nd verse of the Boogie Boys’ song City Life, which is featured for download in this post. This track is super sing-song-y, with a really basic syncopation and meter; very reminiscent of how TV shows in the 80s, in an attempt to get down with street culture and relate to adolescents, would incorporate these super cheesy raps into their programs. I always used to think that this happened because executives or composers (who generally knew nothing about the rap scene, or were afraid to push the envelope in anyway by making anything seem grimy, dirty or realistic), just took an uneducated stab at it and created some nursery-rhyme-esque beats and lyrics. I was of course entirely wrong as the Boogie Boys are not only from Harlem, but put out three legitimate albums with Capitol Records. Perhaps they were the model for the rap scene in the movie Teen Witch. I can't front (hip hop lingo!), as I do truly like this song. Sometimes, music can reach a level that is so fucking tacky, that it transcends being worthy of any legitimate judgment, and just becomes entertaining and hilarious. I think that Skid Row and David Lee Roth fall into this category (although, DLR does purposely try to be comedic to a certain extent, which might eliminate him from the running. Check out a page of his quotes here). Note in the lyrics I transcribed above, the line “Harry in your pocket” is a reference to a pickpocket. That had me confused for a little while, so I figured I’d pass on the knowledge. I also really like the line "You better buy a lock for your pocket and lock it", as it goes the extra distance to suppose that if you buy a lock for your pocket, that you need be reminded to actually use the lock.

The line “stinking on the train” got me to thinking about the smells that often come from bums. On the exterior of the building where I work is a little square section that cuts into the outer wall, sheltering the area from rain and wind. It’s generally useless (it’s probably a fire escape for a portion of the building that I didn’t even know existed) and I have never seen it utilized for any building related purposes. As you could expect, its exclusivity coupled with its sheltered hideaway attributes make this space an excellent asylum for the homeless. This spot is always vacant during the day when I roll by: I work in a touristy area, so I assume it is patrolled during business hours, plus they also wash the sidewalk (including inside that crevasse) every other day, so it’s strictly a night spot for bums. Regardless of the fact that no one is there during my brief passing, there is still this unbelievable stench that messes with my nose membranes. You’d figure that smell is something that travels with you and is only exists within a particular proximity of your body. If I shit my pants on a train (which would be a lowdown shame), and I kept my accident in my pants, when I got off the train, the smell would slowly dissipate from the air and after 10 or 15 minutes, new passengers on the train would have no idea what had just gone down. So what I am failing to understand, is how the putrid smell of bum BO (it’s not a urine smell either, because I know that smell, and pee is clearly a tangible thing that would stay on the concrete) is able to hang out constantly in this little section without there being any visible grime or a bum to accompany it. Even right after the area is scrubbed down by the sidewalk cleaner, it is still just as pungent and putrid, only now with a soapy essence. Creepy.

The picture above is from the album Sooner or Later by Larry Graham (two tracks from the album are posted below). I don’t really like to display the album cover of the track that I am posting, but this one in particular really got me juiced, and I shouldn’t fight it based on a stupid blogging principle I dreamt up. I know I just went on a tirade about dressing up, but I think I also mentioned that doing so around Halloween is obviously acceptable and encouraged. This Halloween I want to be Larry at this photo-shoot (he is mid collar pop by the way, check the pic). The crummy thing is that there is no way that I will be able to pull this off so that I’ll actually look like that, and even if I did, everyone would probably think that I am Tubs from Miami Vice. I’d have to explain to everyone that I am not Tubs, I’m actually Larry Graham from the cover of Sooner or Later, and for me, part of having a cool costume, is not having to explain it to everybody. I doubt anyone would get the reference unless I happen to be hanging out with a bunch of other blogging nerds like me. I think it’s pretty safe to assume that he got a lot of pussy.
Bernard Wright - Move Your Body
Lafayette Afro Rock Band - Hihachi
Lafayette Afro Rock Band - Darkest Light
Boogie Boys - City Life
Larry Graham - I Feel Good
Larry Graham - Sooner or Later (Instrumental)

Leather Vs Love

How come normal people in San Francisco feel this need to act weird when there is a music or street festival for them to attend. I’ve noticed for most of them, acting weird is actually acting “weird” (use your fingers to make the quotes and say it slowly) in the most clichéd way possible: fluorescent or neon wig, American Apparel 70s track and field knock offs, slutty disposition (if you are a lady) and zany make up. This may not be specific just to SF. I have a feeling that most of college-age/college-mentality (I guess you can be any age to fit that category) America and beyond (I’ve seen some Glastonbury pics too) have somewhat adopted this style, when trying to be odd. That might have been considered a bit off-kilter in the fucking stone-age, but it's now 1999, we are on the cusp of a new millennium: notch your shit up or return to wearing your normal party-time fashion apparel. Do not half step. There are more than enough real weird people here in the Bay Area that will naturally outshine every contrived strange action that you would have to mentally and physically force out. I have no problem with you attending the street festival or public party and enjoying the activities that are offered to you, and if you want, you can still get just as drunk, stoned, loud, and/or embarrassing without looking like the ghost of Hollywood Blvd attending a rave. If you absolutely must dress up to feel wild and crazy, then at least put a little thought, money or creativity into it. This default outfit is getting a bit trying (unless you are being super sarcastic by dressing as a wild and crazy dude in the signature "weird" outfit; even then its probably not worth your time, as you'd have to explain it to everyone). Luckily,if you like to dress up, Halloween is right around the corner (but sadly, even Halloween frowns on your lackluster apparel)! If you absolutely need to don the gear with your cohorts, I grant full permission (since I’m the fucking authority on what you should and should not do) to throw costume parties on your own property. You can even bill them as “Clichéd American Apparel 70s Track Gear Parties”, just to keep everyone well informed that the same normal rules apply to your supposedly bizarre theme. It’s probably best to let people know that acid freaks, hobos, and grown men covered in real black market after-birth and latex will be turned away at the door.

I am writing all of this in response to San Francisco’s version of the Love Parade, which occurred last weekend. I did not attend, but I did see people dressed up at the bus stop and in the street, which was enough to remind me of other San Francisco events which produce similar decoration and behavior. Other examples are Bay to Breakers, and pretty much any street fair in the city, with the exception of the Folsom Street Fair. That one is truly in a league of its own (any fair that is devoted strictly to fetish and has an excess of public masturbation is on some next level shit).

Let’s talk about the Folsom Street Fair for a second. Although I have seen the movie Crusin’, I would not consider myself much of an expert on the leather scene. I would probably be scolded by a real leather daddy for even referencing that movie, since it’s probably an unfair depiction of the gay-leather subculture (regardless, it is absolutely priceless to see a young Al Pacino go undercover into the New York S&M scene of the late 70s). The Folsom Street Fair is advertised all over the city on bus windows and streetlamps in some of the most obvious commercial areas. I personally believe that it’s pretty tough to intuit the types of things that one might see at this public street fair based on its logo, which I am now aware is based on the leather pride flag (see both pics).

Even the artist/creator, Tony DeBlaise stated the following about the leather pride flag, “The flag is composed of nine horizontal stripes of equal width. From the top and from the bottom, the stripes alternate black and royal blue. The central stripe is white. In the upper left quadrant of the flag is a large red heart. I will leave it to the viewer to interpret the colors and symbols”. That basically means that it is impossible to even get close to deciphering anything about the culture of the flag based on the way it looks. This is okay when we are talking about various countries’ flags, because generally we are taught what they reference in school. Obviously when I see the Mexican flag, I do not interpret the flag’s symbols to keep me weary of nearby snake-eating eagles residing on cacti. Unfortunately for some, they do not teach the meaning of the leather pride flag in school, and I don't believe that it is common knowledge in the streets (I think it depends where you are, and your disposition). So if you can sense that a red heart with black, blue, and white stripes equals leather pride, you exist in an advanced and yet freaky dimension. Even as I type this right now at work, I have these pics up on my computer screen for all to see, and I'm sure that only about 10% of the people that have passed by my cubicle now think I am an "otter", "chaser" or "pocket bear". Imagine an average family of tourists in town for a week: they are most likely unfamiliar with the leather scene. I mean, they may know that the leather scene exists, and they may be perfectly fine with other people experiencing it, but generally it’s not something that they plan for the family to experience on vacation. They’d probably rather come to Pier 39, get some clam chowder, maybe a churro or two, and get a thrill from the world famous Bushman (RIP). Randomly during some shopping downtown, the son spots the Folsom Street Fair banner outside of Old Navy, mentions a street fair to the family, and it piques their collective interest. If they were fortunate enough to research the fair and check out the website, they’d know instantly that this isn’t a family friendly event. Unfortunately, they've decided to just take a cab, or walk, since its close to their hotel, and upon arrival, they would quickly discover that they’ve made a huge mistake and probably flee the scene immediately. It’s doubtful that anything too risque or earth-shattering (for a child of course) would happen in a few minutes (while they realize exactly what type of fair they are attending) and they’d probably be able to walk away from the event without seeing too much graphic material. As a parent (and I’m not one, but I think I can understand) it would really suck to have to answer all the questions that you’re kids would be asking you over the next couple of days. If you are lucky it would just be a couple awkward questions (Daddy, why were those men wearing make-up? Isn’t it too hot outside for leather pants?), but at the worst, your 5 year old daughter may have to take in the sight of public masturbation or some simulated fetish. All I’m implying is that they tweak the banner, or put some type of a warning on it, like “don’t bring your kids”. I remember my own personal surprise when I went to visit it (not knowing what the fuck I was getting into) when I was 22 and had just moved to San Francisco. Yes, I did see some public masturbation, and maybe I was mature enough to handle it. Still, someone or something could have at least let me know that the fair was probably not gonna be my scene, because the red heart with colored stripes somehow didn’t drive the point home.

Here is some terminology of the Bear Scene which I found in my research for this post. This doesn't really relate to Leather Pride unless you are a "leather bear", but I figured that its kinda interesting nonetheless. I pulled all this crap from Wikipedia so hopefully its correct.

Some terminology relating to the Bear community includes:

• Admirer - a term that refers to someone who is sexually or romantically attracted to Bears (this term is often used in various communities to describe an outsider who has sexual attraction to people within that community). Also often referred to as a Chaser. Admirers/Chasers can be of any weight, hairy or hairless and any age.
• Bear - a hairy man with a stocky or heavy-set build and facial hair. Can be clean shaven and of any age.
• Behr - A bear with a mustache but not a beard
• Bear run - a gathering or circuit party for Bear/Cub types and their Admirers.
• Black bear - an African American Bear
• Bruin - Athletic bear
• Chub - a heavier bear
• Cub - a younger (or younger looking) version of a Bear, typically but not always with a smaller frame. The term is sometimes used to imply the passive partner in a relationship. Can be hairy or hairless.
• Daddy bear - is an older guy sometimes looking for a daddy/son relationship with either a younger Bear, Cub, Otter, Wolf or Chaser.
• Ewok - A short bear.
• Goldilocks - a female, often heterosexual, who is often in the company of bears (a bear's fag hag).
• Koala Bear - A bear with light blond hair
• Leather bear - a bear with a leather fetish.
• Muscle bear - a muscular version of a Bear. A muscle cub is a younger or smaller, yet muscular, version. Can be hairy or hairless and of any age.
• Otter - a man who is hairy, but is not large or stocky - typically thinner, or with lean muscle.
• Panda bear - a bear of Asian ethnicity. A panda cub is younger version.
• Pocket bear - a short Bear.
• Polar bear - a silver- or white-haired Bear.
• Red bear - a red-haired bear. Also known as a Ginger Bear.
• Red Panda - A straight bear.
• Wolf - similar to an otter, though more aggressive.
• Woof - a greeting used when a Bear sees another Bear in public and wants to express physical attraction

Breakwater - Do It Till The Fluid Gets Hot
R.J.'s Latest Arrival - Feel Desire
The Bar-Kays - Freaky Behavior

I Hate Mondays

I was reading back through some of my posts to make sure that I am not making a total fool of myself with the blog. I’ve realized that I would never use my own blog as a promotional tool to impress anyone that is not already familiar with my own obsessions, theories and demeanors. If anything, this blog can and probably will hurt me somehow, or prevent me from some great opportunities. Someone, will have heard something positive about me, google my shit, eventually find my blog, find it ridiculous and pathetic, figure I'm unstable or peculiar, and ultimately move on having made a final decision (if my parents ever read this shit they will likely cry!). The last thing I would do if I was attempting to get a job (djing or writing) or impress a someone (who wouldn’t be impressed by page long posts about googling myself and finding out how sad my internet presence is), is give them a link to One Man’s Problem. Once you are in my comfort zone, then maybe I would feel unperturbed letting you view my public blog (which anybody can currently access). I think I need to mentally prepare myself for the nightmare that blog fame will unleash on me.

While I am still unsure of how my ravings read to people that either don’t know me personally or have only met me a few times, I did notice a lot of reoccurring themes that are starting to make blog like a Garfield comic strip. 75% of the time Garfield’s subject matter revolves around sleep, food, hating Monday’s, and being lazy. There were a couple other frequent topics that Garfield visits (like Odi’s lack of brain power, I think there was a girl cat that Garfield either dated or hit on, torturing the mailman, etc…), but the ones that were initially mentioned were likely the themes that hammered constantly through Jim Davis’ battered brain as he repeatedly encountered solitude in his heartbreakingly lonely and pathetic daily life. I’m pretty sure that Davis polished off a few family sized lasagnas in his boxers well past midnight in his heyday. Judging by his picture (see above) I have the feeling that I am correct on this one, at least until the comic strip became famous, he became rich, and people thus judged him on his success instead of his appearance and abnormalities. I guess the nice thing about a comic strip (and a blog) is the fact that you can hide behind it. The internet informed me that “Davis as of 2007 resides in Albany, Indiana, where he and his staff produce Garfield under his company, Paws, Inc., begun in 1981. Paws, Inc. employs nearly 50 artists and licensing administrators, who work with agents around the world managing Garfield's vast licensing, syndication, and entertainment empire.” This type of infrastructure is very impressive for something as specific as Garfield (side note: it must be hell to work there with Garfield décor everywhere [pictures of Garfield with Bill Clinton, and foreign dignitaries, movie posters, funniest comic strip 1988 awards, and don’t forget Jim Davis’ ugly mug all over the place too]. In addition people probably talk about Garfield like he is a real actor; and pose all these rhetorical questions on Garfield’s behalf. “Would Garfield really want to introduce the award for best new actor at the European Union Movie Awards?”), and I’m hoping that I can model blog to become the same type of cash cow. My main themes of coffee, manic self-praise/self-depreciation, hypocritical bombast, and boogie/disco music will slowly infect the inter-world. All I need to do is capitalize on it when the time is right, brand that shit, and it’s clear skies and pina coladas for the remainder of my years. Do you see the irony? What was initially “One Man’s Problem” has now become one man’s felicity and payoff. Fingers crossed!

Big hard on for synthrock/pop today. I think its also referred to as new wave, which is a omnipotent catch-all term that is applied to everything and anything slightly abnormal that happened in music from the late 70s to the 90s. I think the problem with naming anything "new" is that you cannot later change the name to "old", once your music/band is dated, tired, or expired. Here is some dated "wave" music. Sadly its still better than a lot of current "wave" music coming out now.

Gary Numan - M.E.
Heaven 17 - (We Don't Need This) Facist Groove Thing
Heaven 17 - Penthouse and Pavement
Japan - Adolescent Sex

Men's Column

I think that last post could've made it into Maxim magazine. That's the kind of advice I should be giving to a nation full of confused 20-something men instead of a handfull of (ficitcious) internet surfers. Again I'm fucking busy and this time I actually mean it so all I can do here is put up some tracks to check out.
Dexter Wansel - Its Been Cool
Fatback Band - This Is The Future
Fatback Band - Finger Lickin Good
Fatback Band - Up Against The Wall

One Man's Solution

Somebody was trying to give me relationship advice the other day, and the shit was pretty fucking weak. I’m no Rico Suave, but to follow the sentiments of Kenny Powers, a rock could probably give better advice than the anonymous person that attempted to set me straight in my ways (fucker actually told me to wear cologne; he said it’s a sign to women that “you are trying”. For the record I did not request advice from this person, it was just given to me, after I complained about something). So screw that shit, here is the real down low, from a winner’s loser, or loser’s winner, depending your levels of optimism. This guide pertains mainly to potential time/life wasters (i.e. mates) whom you deem out of your league and/or girls with which you have no common interests to initiate fluid interactions with (the types of girls you should be dating). I’d like to include a disclaimer that even as I write this, I find the idea of anyone taking my relationship/dating advice seriously to be absolutely ludicrous. Have you read any of my other posts? If not read them first and then come back to this one so you will better understand the bullshit that my brain sends to my fingers.

First off, if you want to mack on a girl it’s probably a good idea to remember their name. Maybe it’s cool in that off putting I don’t care/I can’t be bothered to remember it kind of way, but I don’t think most girls are up for the challenge if the name thing becomes constant, and if that does give them a charge then they are to be avoided anyways. Next you have to choose your tactic. Always be yourself to an extent: i.e. don’t say things that you will have to retract later once (or even before) they know the real you. By lying and/or divulging yarns, you then have to remember them for eternity; this shit is very hard to do, especially if you have a history of drug use. You do have to act “greater than” who you actually are, as most girls are uninterested in the loser’s winner as is. The most important part of the process is to choose your path. There is that school of thought among some men, that the more of an uncompromising (yet witty) asshole you are to them, the more they view it as a personal challenge to change something obstinate. Or maybe it’s a test of their charm, confidence and sexuality, but it’s one of the two or both (I will get into this later). Who knows, I’m sure it differs from person to person: some like the games and some hate them. The other tactic is just to be there constantly without seeming like a stalker. I remember attempting to annoy a girl into hooking up with me, by simply being overwhelmingly persistent. Basically you just annoy, guilt trip and invite them to everything you are doing, to the point where they either have to tell you to go screw, or they come just to get you to shut up. The key is to never complain when they don’t show, don’t bring up past events of your own accord, and if/when they ask you how it was, always reply that it was great (of course, you may have to lie here, as things are rarely actually great) unless it was really, really bad, and then its best to be brutally honest for sympathy points. This may not be the best tactic, but it may be your only option if the asshole one doesn’t fit your persona. Often you can chisel repeatedly at their veneer till they are utterly helpless against your unyielding tactics. Being slightly funny and poignant the whole time is also a must, as solely being persistent can be tiring. My demise in this situation, related directly to the fact that I grew tired of my own tactic, and at some point just decided to flip to the asshole route unexpectedly. I don’t have the unwavering upbeat personality and tenacity needed to really see it through and that somewhat defeated me, so being an asshole actually came naturally. Speaking from experience, you have to choose one route and stick to it, you can’t just flip it 180 degrees in the middle because things are not going your way. Instead use a complimentary tactic that goes hand in hand with the annoyance. Sometimes by just ignoring them, they start to wonder “what happened?”, and this often has more to do with their own insecurities than anything about their desire for you (unfortunately, but this is real life). You were there routinely, and now you are not; this is either a relief or a cause for concern, and often they will now come out of the woodwork to see you even if they don’t really think they care. This is the point where you are not supposed to become the asshole, just be nice and let them do all the work.

Now, if you do choose the asshole path you've got to perform that role unwaveringly. This path is not for everyone, as it helps if you are naturally an asshole, or have young Brando good looks. Of course if you have young Brando good looks then you can probably do whatever you want anyway. By being a total asshole, the girl will either hate you, love to hate you, or love that you hate her and make it her personal mission to weave herself into your life to the point where you are no longer an asshole to her. The unfortunate part is that if you do reach that point, you still have to be an asshole to her just to keep her interested. If you soften up, she has reached her own goal, and now has nothing to pursue. Sadly, if you continue to be an asshole, this will ultimately wear her down to the point where your relationship is based solely on your abuse, and you will routinely act abusive and cruel out of habit. Having written all of this I feel dirty, old and jaded (this feels like some advice that Coach McGuirk would give in Home Movies). I should post up No Pussy Blues by Grinderman, so I could make a relevant post with some type of literary/audio connection. I'll probably just add that track tomorrow. For now:
The System - Groove
The Sytem - Didn't I Blow Your Mind
Roy Ayers - Midnight After Dark