Tender Loving Companion

So very much to be pissed off about in America these days, that it generally makes you feel weak, pointless and apathetic. Unfortunately this directly translates to the sentiments put forth in current music; a vacant void of steam with the lasting power of a sleepy ethiopian midget. To really step up and write the call to action for the current generation you'd have to be a supergenius. How do you harness and personify the rage caused by the lack of signal strength to the iPhone into just a couple stanzas...and will it even remain relevant when the iHelmet comes out? At this point, what lyric/chord combination will really fuel an angry mob to storm the Staples Center.
That Thing - That Thing
Gemini - Ain't No Love (Better Than Your Love)

Blogina

Oh yeah, crap, I remember... I had a blog, and I let him die a slow gruelling death in some neon graveyard in webspace. I used to look at some other blogs with content that I thought was pretty funny, informative, or inspiring, and see this trend where the last few posts would be this tapered effect: going from a few posts per week, to once a week, to once a month. The last post would occur after about 3 or 4 months of non-activity. I always thought to myself, "Not me, man", of course I'd still be writing the 90,000th post on my death bed - with 70% of the world's population following me...the sarcastic poet/laureate of my generation.

But now I've covered myself in my own blog's skin like Wild Bill in Silence of Lambs, only to stare out into a mirror (unfortunately my real audience) in full mangina, and ask them if they'd fuck me.
Midnight Star - Curious

Back n Forth

I'm in a mood and I have absolutely no intention of sharing it with blog (which usually isn't the case, as its actually more typical for me to share my exaggerated feelings with a small group of net lurkers).

So, I'll keep this short and informative. We got Grow Up going down again, August 4th, 2010 @ Madrone, with self-labeled "East Bay Acid Thugs" Party Effects, who may have the best website this side of 1995. Also Pat Les Stache, the brain behind the heavily influential American Athlete blog is our new resident DJ, so I should have no problems wiping away my frown, for the sake of getting down, once the tunes start to get pumped out. I think Nick Cave said something along the lines of that music can change your mood, and get you from a stationary position, to moving with abandon in a split second. I couldn't find the exact quote - which I'm sure is much more poignant than my recollection of it - as it was in some old issue of Mojo that is not easily accessible from a basic google search (but, i did happen to find this quote on practically every "quote" page, which sort of adhere's to my current mood, "I want to write songs that are so sad, the kind of sad where you take someones little finger and break it in three places." Ummm, back to square one I guess). Paaaarty!
Gene Dunlap - This One's On Me

Yippie

Some people just don't understand the physical consequences related to having a sense of humor. I mean, if I so happen to sip in a large gulp of my false marguerita-tini, and then I see someone basically solicit sex in real time without any regard to decency or tact, I believe that I am officially allowed to spit out my drink if its just been sipped up...and if, by chance, it happens to make contact with your dress (which is easily a size too small for you) then really, you shouldn't get mad. It was understandable to me...maybe?

The Tubes - God Bird Change

Look Dude...

I've been traveling around a little bit, as its summer, and that's what you are supposed to do (right?). You're supposed to endure the summer elements of heat, humidity, bug bites and long lines; things that as a spoiled Californian, I normally don't have to deal with. Of course that means turning my back on blog, and stashing him away in some far corner without much hesitation (sorry bud!). If only I had a super telephone, so I could stay connected to my internet mistress at all moments...

Thanks to DJ Rance, I was able to borrow a portable unit of technology to conveniently record the Grow Up 1 Year Anniversary. Included in today's post are sets from Chungtech and the Jonas Reinhardt DJs. I personally was in rare form (I was actually talking to people) as the incurred light-headedness of blowing up about 60 balloons before-hand mixed with a combination of every hard liquor I could synthesize, really did a number on me.
Jonas Reinhardt DJs - DJ Set @ Grow Up 7/7/10
Chungtech - DJ Set @ Grow Up 7/7/10

Grow Up 1 Year Anniversary, July 7th

The Grow Up 1 Year Anniversary is going down next week, Wednesday July 7th, 2010, the 188th day of the year (189th in leap years) in the Gregorian calendar. Now obviously since I have a vested interest in Grow Up, July 7th is therefore a very relevant date in my life. Let's take a look at some other important July 7s throughout history:

• 1923, University of Delaware invents "junior year abroad" (at Sorbonne)
• 1956, 7 Army trucks loaded with dynamite explode in middle of Cali, Columbia killing 1,100-1,200, destroying 2,000 buildings
• 1972, Dutch Minister decides to ignore soft drug usage
• 1973, 78 drown as flash flood sweeps a bus into a river, India
• 1986, It is reported Boy George is being treated for heroin addiction
• 1990, Bill Cullen, game show host (Price is Right), dies at 70 of cancer
• 2006, The Western Black Rhinoceros is declared extinct due to poaching

Now, 4 years since mankind realized that they'd forced the WBR into leaving the planet for eternity, the Grow Up 1 Year Anniversary just so happens to be going down (and what a fruitful lineage we have to follow). Big line up on this one, as members of Jonas Reinhardt are DJing, along with Oakland's Chungtech. Excitement!

In honor of the 1 Year Anniversary, I'm putting up one of my alltime, high-figure-fetching-if-its-even-there-on-ebay tunes. If need be, look up the relevance of this track on someone else's blog. I got this one from the comp, Maiden Voyage, on Compost records, which has along with it a gaggle of other really seminal and/or rare jams for those who like to boogie.
James Mason - I Want Your Love

Soul of the North

There is something that is well weird about the whole Northern Soul movement that has just been kinda blowing my mind lately. I mean a bunch of working-class white UK tough guys working in a coal mine all day in some depressing shit town, trekking 200 miles on a friday night to pop pills and dance till dawn in matching wifebeaters to a rare Judy Street track (that basically sounds like a sunshine show tune) doesn't really seem to be the most possible of outcomes. I mean, to use the vernacular of the locals, that is relatively poncy behavior. Surprisingly, if you look at the type of dancing that went down at some of these joints, its basically on par with the breakdancing that was going down in the Bronx in the early 70's, except by a bunch of cockney whiteboys in oversized trousers. The quality that I find so endearing about Northern Soul, is that it's a music culture that strove to highlight the creme de la creme of failed American R&B 45s, and ultimately ressurect the careers of a handful of soul singers; likely leading them to quit their jobs (the ones they pined to get back after previously quitting their jobs to do music the first time) to sail from the colonies over to mother England, enjoy about ten minutes of success from a bunch of people who speak the same language, but still, are basically unintelligible in interviews, and then ultimately go back home and remain as failures. A touching tale, I know.

Anyways, I don't really like blogs that post youtube vids, likely cuz my attention span is short, the internet is slow at work, the quality often sucks, and you can't download/steal the track and listen to it in other formats (which, I'll admit is very hypocritical of me to say). But I have to post this vid, for this specific post, cuz it's just too perfect. Record a song in 1973, make the video in 2007 (after attending your cousin's funeral). Makes perfect sense, and why not vary it up with 3 seperate locations all with in 30 feet of each other, and some striking shades. "Making Love on a Mountain...Drinking Love from a Fountain".

Personal Blog Solipsism Showerin'

I tend to take two showers per day. It's the ultimate initiation to, and closure of each day, and I can do practically everything (other than poo and shave; which I do simultaneously out of the shower) that is needed in there: Floss, Shampoo, Soap, Brush, Rinse, Lather, Excrete, etc. Now I've heard that this isn't exactly the best practice as my skin produces oils which are meant to remain on my epidermis for a bit (as opposed to getting consistently washed off twice per day). I think that my body, has instead overcompensated for my consistent shower schedule, and overproduces these skin-specific oils. This became very apparent when the water heater for my habitation-unit crapped out, leaving the hot water function ragged and useless. I did not shower for a full day and a half (practically sacrilege!), and I noticed that not only was I particularly oily, but also unable to sleep and wake properly due to my lacking of ritualistic behavior. Proof that for me, shower is king. I hope you care. I may have already wrote this post or something similar to it...ah, the mind is goin'.
Sir Lord Baltimore - Hell Hound

Scoooooootch

There is something magical about the properties of scotch: it'll make you slap you best friend in the face, because they stated that Harry Nilson "doesn't do much for them". Scotch is like the fire to the flame of a poorly executed arguement. Its so fun to drink, especially on a Wednesday night when you should be at home doing something productive (or nothing at all, just not falling victim to the drink). Scotch turns my moderately sized nose a tad bigger, and often makes it red. It has accounted for some of the dumbest things that I have ever done, and I'm sure that I am not alone (ex: stealing alcohol from an open bar, asking out a women point blank without even speaking to her once beforehand and without properly constructed sentences, and some of the most mindnumbing two day hangovers in the history of liquid recovery). Regardless, it's still my favorite hard beverage, and even in my slow work coma state, I'm declaring June national scotch month. I don't even need to look for some dumb shit, as scotch simply makes the dumb a lot clearer.

Speaking of beverages, in looking for a pic to put up for this post I came across the following article. Apparently Andre the Giant was on a legendary alcoholic kick; I think its worth a read, despite the douchiness of a mag like Modern Drunkard.

Today's track is pretty straight ahead, with little metaphoric interference. It's about the lead singer Robert Brookins' desire to fill his female counterpart up with his love paint.
Afterbach - Wanna Fill You Up

Japanese Comments

For whatever reason every time I put a post, some weirdo leaves a comment in japanese with a link to japanese porn. As much as I adore japanese porn (despite the fact that it rarely delivers), I am curious if this is a problem that faces the blogging community. I know that spam is a nuisance across almost all internet platforms, but I'm curious more as to whether its a strictly japansese porn thing thats hittin' the blogs. Is it specific to certain types of blogs, is it omnipresent, or is it just my blog that seems to be targeted. Since I am not well connected in the blog community (whatever that is) I'll probably never get to the bottom of it, but since this spamming fucker is somehow targeting my pithy blog, 私は日本のポルノへのリンクであるコメントについて興奮することにうんざりです。 あなた自身とセックスしに行ってください。.
Kermit - The Rainbow Connection

Mantra

Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism. Hedonism.

UnRelaytEd, BUT wHen TEENage GURLZ tYpe LiKe thiS iT is REALLY TiTE! Also, it probably takes them a lot longer to think through the best ways to spell things wrong and capitalize random letters.

If Andrew W.K. did disco he'd probably do a song like this. He'd be great for the genre too, come join us Andrew.
Gary's Gang - Party Tonight!

Losing

Weird stuff is happening in my mind and body. I feel as if I've somehow graduated from anti-social to lurker, and my thoughts are getting streamlined and condensed; hammering repetitiously though my brain day in and day out. I need a light at the end of the tunnel. I need to set something on fire. Coffee and muffins no longer excite me and the disapproving looks that I'm receive while I mutter obscenities under my breath, are beginning to become more frequent. I've been watching people around me grab it and run with it; have they already attended that creative writing workshop in the sky? Does any of this make any sense? Are these rhetorical questions? At what point did the Motorcycle Boy drift from being a softspoken mystery-stud to a Joan Rivers nightmare? Can coffee throw you over the edge of sanity and into a pit of fast-paced and frequent bathroom trip despair?

Alright, so shit is messy and its clear to see that the cliff ends a few inches away. Luckily for me ebay has been the safety rope reeling me back in, and although my bank account would like to slap me in the face, bank accounts are not exactly tangible things that can act out on emotion and reason. Like a true American, I've found consolation in consumption.

The Whispers - Tonight

Keep It Alive

Alright, Alright. Gonna let blog breathe again. Caresse his clammy, regressed shoulder blades with lotions and oils in a candlelit room. All the bullshit that kept me from putting more than 5 minutes of effort into this thing per week has now (hopefully) ended, and although I still feel like a total crook for posting up MP3s, I guess I'm just gonna keep on. Blog feels naked and fragile without them; it's almost as if Mark Wahlberg doesn't have a penis, but you wouldn't know it because he's always wearing underwear, but the next thing you know, you are viewing a fully frontal Calvin Klien ad of him completely naked (and penis-less) with his underwear slung over his shoulder in a typical Brando pose. It'd be horrifying, sort of like the sex scene in The Man Who Fell To Earth, but it clearly makes more sense for Bowie to be neuter than Wahlberg. In the picture above, he clearly has a penis (as you can see, he is grabbing it, Edit: Photobucket apparently blocked the photo of Mark grabbing his cock, as it was just too lewd and crude, but here is an equally awesome one of him looking extra tough with a ciggy-rette and showing us some ink. Just search Mark Wahlberg on google images and you'll easily find the aformentioned photo), but I still think that my hypothetical parable still serves as a good example.
Shogun Assassin - Lone Wolf's Theme

Grow Up Self Promotion Volume 4

I know I've sworn off the whole blog thing for the moment, since I feel that with the new copyright laws around the corner I am A) encouraging illegal downloading and B) putting myself up on the chopping block to receive a $50,000 fine of sorts. Granted I am a very small fish in a very large pond, but my luck is horrible and erratic to put it mildly... I feel extremely guilty for contributing to a culture that no longer goes to the record store to search out the real deal; a culture that feels no guilt what-so-ever about straight jacking an album's worth of music from an artist, that is probably working 2 shitty jobs for a full year so they can have 2 hours of studio time. Or their label gives them a fat advance with out explaining to them, that all money spent on the album needs to be fully re-couped, and that they will ultimately receive no promotional help, and are now trapped into a manipulative contract for the next 5 years. Like blog, he is probably now starving to death, delusional, dreams ablaze; all faith for the future of music now charred and disgarded.

In happier news, Grow Up is this Wednesday, May 5th, 2010. Its Cinco de Mayo and we've got a Filipino male DJ (Marky) and a live set by a Polish lady (AmyWhoa). At least the flyer is festive. Maybe we'll tar and feather someone, but substitute the aformentioned ingredients with Guacamole and Chips. Is that a patriotic May 5th statement?

Still Breathing

Weeeeeeeez...cough..cough...(still breathing)...
Hey, its blog. Help Me! I'm fucking suffocating...dying...bleeeeech (sounds of blood bubbling and vomit), gargle...
Dexter Wansel - Theme from the Planets
Tik Tok - Cool Running

Late

Not even blog thought he was coming back from the grave today, and it sucks to provide him with a false sense of resurrection. He already threw in his cards, especially after I let that last picture run for a full week (sorry, that pic is messed up). I've pretty much given up at this point. Blog looks like Christian Bale did in The Machinist. It took me a full year to figure it out, but my opinion and thoughts on music, fetish culture, the workplace, smells, and young adult-angst, amounts to about 2 minutes and 13 seconds of time for 18 individuals, likely looking for something else entirely. So fuck you blog, all you've ever done for me is waste away the time at work that I no longer have available.
Skip Spence - War In Peace

Jerk

The only thing that I could potentially write about at the moment is how much of an asshole I can be when I am nervous. I don't want to write about that, even though it would likely cause me to confront my demons, and possibly work through/move past them.

Instead, lets close our brains, forget progression, open our ears, and strap on the jammy pack!
Billy Ocean - Another Day Won't Matter
Giorgio Moroder - Night Drive (from American Gigolo)

Massive Aggressive

Rain blows, with the exception of its rare byproduct, rainbows, which rule. Rain makes friends not see you DJ, and granted, it is a valid excuse (I too have used the rain to not go out, so, this is by no means a passive aggressive attack upon 95% of my readership). If only rain could somehow be limited to the 3am-6am time period and days where I need not be tempted outside by nice temperatures and activities... Anyways, Grow Up is this Wednesday, April 7th, 2010, at Madrone Lounge, and forecast is clear, with 9mph winds, 54F, and if that prediction holds its course, I expect to be emancipated from any of the weather related excuses mustered by friends who have guarenteed attendance.

So I'm gonna be upfront about it: I'm reposting up a track that I got off of the following blog, which totally kicks ass, Kefir80s. It's all in Russian, but it does have an autotranslate tab, which I might add is very progressive (OMP and most American blogs, alike to American citizens in general, assume that every visitor is gonna roll over for the English language, and to a certain extent that follows suit with a worldwide trend, which has been imposed upon you all by marketing, occupation, and whole host of other factors). I'd put Kefir80s up on that sidebar which shows all the blogs I dig, but I can't, since I only update my bitchass cry baby of a blog at work. The computer that I'm provided with is kind of a dinosaur (Dell Optiplex 210L), and it tends to crash whenever I open up any type of pop-up style window in IE. So I'll just shout them out and update it at some point in the future.

Some Library Business, re-edited by Alien Delon who runs the aformentioned blog. I'm gonna just leave up his tags on the tracks. Is that proper form in blog etiquette, or is it better to just link to the post? Who knows (who cares)?
Garnegy & Maties - Dominique Et Darina (Alien Delon Extended Edit)

Discount

It's nice to know that my Bachelor's Degree was utilized today to its fullest potential. I was asked to remove staples from a packet of 20 handouts for my superior officer! I was really able to put my motor skills to use! I love it how at work, when I am asked to do a relatively complicated task, they address me very professionally, with even a tad of respect, and direct me like a normal human being. However, when I'm asked to do something ridiculous and insulting, I am instructed to do so as if I am retarded. Like today, I was approached with this tantamount staple-removal task, and instructed at an ultra loud and slow pace, with every word enunciated to its extreme. I'D LIKE YOU TO REMOVE THE STAPLES...AND THEN...REMOVE THE LAST PAGE...AND THEN...RE-STAPLE THE PACKET...DO YOU THINK YOU CAN HANDLE THAT? Oh and also, can you please send us the budget update for the entire quarter, with all net gains and losses highlighted, and provide an explanation of the reason for any negative loss.

New edit up...some acidic business.
Mr. Lee - Pump Up London (Hotthobo Edit)

Sweaterfunk...MuhmuhMEEE!

Getting self-promotional up on blog again. Even when I'm not promoting myself as a DJ, I'm promoting my feelings or lack thereof, by spewing my soul out through my fingertips, here. Cathartic! (and trite). Not that feelings need to be promoted to random net surfers that I don't know. I'm getting off topic...

So, probably my favorite weekly night in SF, Sweaterfunk is having me DJ on April 4th, which is quite a task as well as an honor. The Sweaterfunk crew is composed of a bunch of "tightly knit" DJs, record diggers, and producers who know their shit so to speak, and I've always been impressed with the high level of rare expensive wax that gets thrown down, as well as the obscure dollar bin boogie jams, that only see the light of day (actually the dark of night, since its in the basement of the Li Po Lounge) at that spot. So, I gotta dig out all the jams that I think will both rock the party and impress the judges, which has reduced me to a neurotic and critical mess (but I'll pull through though). I'd seriously be there every Sunday if it wasn't for my robotic 9-5 work schedule, and the fact that I live on the exact opposite side of the city. Anyways, check the flier and come out to lay Easter Sunday to waste.

I'm putting up the A and B side of a jam that I'd love to play at a night like this, but won't, as it's too warped for me to really mess with (without having to pray that it doesn't become a skipping nightmare).
Master Jam - Dancin' All Night
Master Jam - Dancin' All Night (Instrumental)

Back It Up

So for the eight-billionth time, I needed to get on my skateboard to escape my life, and I wound up re-injuring my back (I was sort of aware this would happen, as, being down & out and impulsive, makes for having little to no self-control). Unfortunately, skateboarding and booze are my only two outs for current problems in my brain, and they both damage my body. What the fuck? In order to remedy one, I have to damage the other. Odd how that works, but I guess its fitting, in a very sick way (thank you God, I hope you are laughing). Buying stuff is another go-to method of coping, but that hurts the wallet, and actually doesn't really help the brain, unless your new material possession somehow tricks the brain into thinking that you are now somehow improved (this is the mind frame that capitalism feeds on; my insecurities ultimately make others rich!). Of course, music helps too, and I don't think that there is a much better tune to post up (that hits some of the sentiment expressed in self-healing, at least lyrically) than A Rock 'N' Roll Fantasy by The Kinks. For an extra added bonus, I've included another track of sheer sublime beauty, Jennifer, by Faust. These two are getting me through tough times of pain and anguish, so hopefully they'll do something for you.
The Kinks - A Rock 'N' Roll Fantasy
Faust - Jennifer

Other Blog & Mix Shout Out

So other blogs are better than this one. They write about the music, man. They don't go into personal psychosis and daily observation consistently. Instead they feature artists and DJs and do real interviews with them. This blog does not. Blog does not promote itself much, and when it does it is infrequent and unconfident. I've told him to suck it up, and lose some face. Whats the worst that can happen when you say, "Hey other blog, I love you so. I link you on me, perhaps you can link me on you". I guess they say no, or worse yet, nothing at all, and desecrate your soul. The world is tough, it is time to get used to it.

Just today I found some cool synthy mixes on better blogs/cooler websites with money:
Like this dude Tommyboy and his mix
Or another mix by Jonas Reinhardt
Or an older one from Altair Nouveau
Or this Gavin Russom one

Blog needs to up its game, and somehow convince a relevant artist to make a mix specific to it's internal parts. So if you are a relevant artist, and want to make a mix specific to blog, send over a 1000 word manifesto explaining your merits, and why you should be chosen to put up your mix on OMP. Really sell yourself! I mean, your gonna need to, in order to set yourself aside from all the other applicants.
The Crash Crew - Rock The Spot

Nada

I don't wanna write a post today, but I am, in order to let any devout OMP followers (there are currently 3 of you, world-wide) who frequent the blog know that I am down to go outside of my comfort zone, to blather solely for your (actually "my") enjoyment. I made a very impulsive late night choice over the weekend, which has prevented me from computing at normal speeds. Plus I've been substituting my normal dosage of coffee with toffee, so my energy levels have 5 minute bursts, and are now at an all-time low. There is nothing kicking about my feeble brain, other than that I can't think up anything to write about, so, that is today's topic. Nothing... Booooooo.
Tasha Thomas - Hot Buttered Boogie

Negative Trip

I’m in that mood, where I’d like to kill someone (and it is one specific person), but I’m too burned out to even really feel the rage. In reality I should be more annoyed and be able to just move on with it, but all emotion lately has turned to a sense of anger, which I’m luckily too subdued and lethargic to act upon. My feelings are very back-seated and piteous. This is a result of my coffee buzz wearing off, and I’m literally afraid to delve into the caffeinated zone again, since I absolutely need to re-energize for my extra-occupational tasks later today. I’m sorry, but having 3 large cups of coffee in one day is kinda disgusting in my mind. I once had a power-tie boss (I was working for his start-up outside of his real power-tie job) and was dealt the burnt end of his coffee addiction by just being in his vicinity at 6pm. By that time he was about 5-6 large coffees deep, with the most putrid coffee breath and body odor imaginable. Fucker loved to get right up in my personal space, and give rapid fire instructions, basically dressing me in his foul coffee essence. I don’t wanna be that guy, and I’m therefore living in this emotionally vacuous void, bordering somewhat on this new condition that I just learned about, called Alexithymia (which I guess is somewhat prominent in males). I’m not quite at that point yet, but I’m definitely somewhat abridged in the mental.

Ups to Jon Blunck from Sweaterfunk for clueing me into today's track by Halo.
Halo - Let Me Do It To You

MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

This is a me post, and I don't even want to pretend that its not. Me!!!!! Anyhow, Amywhoa and I worked on an edit of this weird song by The Seiko Brothers, called Children of the Universe, which she grabbed over in Scotland (solely cuz the record [a compilation called Exiled] had a cool logo). Pat Les Stache over at American Athelete put it up on his awesome blog, so go here and download it now.

Scumstache

There are a ton of little bullshit tasks that I wish I could somehow eliminate from my life without ever having to deal with any of the consequences. The ones that really seem to provide me with the most anguish deal primarily with haircuts and shaving. I’ve already provided blog with a long account of my hatred of haircuts, so now it’s time to rant about something that happens even more frequently, and granted, has less risk. I mean if you get a shit haircut, it’s the pits for at least 3 weeks, or until you buzz your head down to size. Shaving is more like a constant mosquito nipping at you ever two days, reminding you (at least in my case) that you could never grow any impressive facial hair other than a scumstache (thank you 25% french canadian heritage) or the dreaded neck beard. Plus blood will be drawn, occasionally, which always seems to happen before a wedding or a (court) date. I can’t foresee any time in my life that I would actually grow anything out and keep a mustache, beard, muttonchops, etc…; sideburns are the extent of the facial look for me.

I’ve actually considered getting the laser hair removal on my face, as the thought of not having to shave 120 times per year seems on the surface to be an nice advantage. However, perhaps having a neck beard will be the new scarf in 2020, and I’d hate to not be adequately equipped to participate in any fledging trend. Laser hair removal is pretty tight though. I mean, if I wanted to, I could permanently etch something cool and simple, like a music note, into my cheek, and people would say "Hey, that dude, likes music". All at once they would understand my bond with sound waves. There was this one dude at my high school, and I forget his name (but it was something epic like “Jazz” or “Turbo”), and not only was he mature beyond his years (both physically and mentally), but he could pull off an entire neon green Sean John jumpsuit with neon green Saucony Shadows (in the exact same hue), and also rocked cool designs in his facial hair, like half a basketball, or a diamond. All the girls loved him, he like, knew all the janitors by their slang/street names, teachers cut him slack, and everybody was giving him 5 at all times.
Golden Dawn - I'll Be Around

Weird Weekend Post

Selfish ass blog kept me up all fucking night, pouting about how he only got one post this week. I was like, "Shut it blog, don't even act like you didn't get two comments on that last post". I mean geez, that fucker gets so damn lonely sometimes that it borders on the pathetic, but regardless, he did manage to inject a strong dose of guilt through my membrane. Just enough to goad me into a very rare and uninspired weekend post (while doing the most cliched thing possible in San Francisco: sitting at a cafe drinking coffee, using the free internet whilst alone at my Macintosh laptop [in a sea of other Macintosh laptops] writing my super-unique blog. Ouch).
Special Request - Salsa Smurf

Plugs: Grow Up

The Monthly Shameless SELF-PROMOTION post has hit again. Yes lemmings, Grow Up is upon us, on March 3rd (2010 btw. 2011 and beyond people, take heed), at Madrone Lounge in San Francisco (and its free!). Maybe its best to just copy and paste the last post I did for Grow Up and save myself that extra bit of time (I just tried to do this by the way, but it turns out it'd be much easier to just write it). So this month we've got heavy-hitter Altair Nouveau (of super label DFA btw, and Solardisco) who will be doing his last DJ set here in SF, before moving to NYC to actually live his life to the fullest (we all know that you can only partially live it up in SF). Also guesting it up, is SF producer/DJ, The Beat Broker (SENTRALL, Flexx, Hands of Time) who has been on fire lately putting out a bunch of new 12"s. I'd like to point out, and this is entirely coincidental, that Myself (Hotthobo), Altair, Beat Broker, and Fenstar, are all (under)graduates of the University of California, Santa Barbara, at different points in time, from '97 - '05 (I think). So we've all experienced the negatives and positives that accompany living in a place comprised mainly of rich whites and working class Mexicans, with perfect weather and an intense, yet homogeneously flawed nightlife and culture. I'm sure this will somehow be reflected (abstractly) in our selections.

So, for this Grow Up, the same rules apply. If you show up, and I don't know you, and you tell me that you're attending Grow Up solely due to the blog, I'll be obligated to buy you a cheap beer. Last time, no one did, but people (I'd never met before) did introduce themselves, a few of whom, even told me that they'd seen OMP. This leads me to assume that either they were too modest to ask for a free drink, or they checked it out once, said "eh, whatever", and brought it up solely for the sake of conversation, not knowing that they could get free beer outta me. Either is okay with me. There are some rules though. Like once you get the beer from me, you can't tell all your friends it worked. Honor system applies people: I'm actually trying to save up some cash right now in preparation for taxes, so don't be fucking with my bank account in order to realize some sly hustle (that I'm calling out right now anyways). If you do that, its both trite, and rude.
Etienne Daho - Il Ne Dira Pas

Percentage Drop

According to Google Analytics, my fucking visitation percentage is down 0.28%. So I need to figure out a way to up my visitation without being a complete knob and buzz-wording my way into readership. That never really works anyways, as you get people for a split second, and then realizing that they’ve been duped, scoot the fuck outta my little slice of heaven, and back into hardcore bondage or whatever specificity they are actually seeking.

Instead, I’ll try to post jams, and keep on unfettered. I’ll try not to shed a tear when nobody downloads the sickest Junior track (as a tip, search out the music video for this cut on youtube, if you want to see the groundbreaking technology employed in Who Framed Roger Rabbit shattered).
Junior – Mama Used to Say

Super Juice

Sometimes I get so fucking juiced up on an album that I actually get “happy”, and my legs go all dumb and jumpy. Someone today was like “What’s wrong with your face”, and I was like, “I’m smiling” (first off that is a bitten joke, and nobody has even talked to me today). So the album that has gotten me mega pumped up to the maxxxxx is Correlations by Ashra, formerly Ash Ra Tempel (remember how I used to write incoherently about music occasionally on this blog?). I read on the nets that Manuel Göttsching (lead guitarist and general creative force behind Ashra) basically set the tone for modern techno with that E2-E4 album of his (the one that has the minimal checkered covered and goes for a buttload of cash), but this is not that album. This shit is that pulsating, psychedelic, synthy, proggy, hypnotic, melodic, druggy, material that I wish I could have experienced the first time around in Germany, but instead I’m stuck at bar I fucking hate (like Amnesia in SF) going to see Jonas Reinhardt (which isn’t a bad thing, those dudes absolutely kill it regardless of the territory) do it 30-odd years later.
Ashra - Club Cannibal

Hate

Fuck you blog. I've got much better things to do with my life, like bend over backwards for a bunch of people I get paid to assist. When do you ever pay me? I've given you eveything, and you've given me nothing more than an outlet to a repetitive, simple activity (in an otherwise endless void). I'm starting to loathe the pointlessness of it all (anyone looking for ad space?), and I'm thinking that instead of spending time developing sentences, I should be bidding on abused puppies on the internet. Ya'know, start my own kennel: do something worthwhile.

In re-reading this garbage, I've realized that this should probably be posted in missed connections on craigslist instead of up here (even though it isn't a missed connection, crap like this gets posted there on the regular, with bad poetry, youtube links, dick pics, giberish, etc... I think thats why they created rants and raves, but nobody seems to check those out). Ahhhh, I'm running low on time and creativity today, and I'm sorta mad at blog for some reason. I've been told that winners don't make excuses...
Xavier - Work That Sucker To Death

Compromised Ethics aka Blog Sympathy

I post up music onto the blog and people do not even care. That is not to imply that people care about my blog either, as I feel that the only people that really frequent it, are people I actually know (and they probably only check it out, because I’ve referenced it and reamed it into their minds in the real world. Sorry about that, cohorts). Enough sympathy rambling for the moment, as there is an issue that I want to explore.

So I record a track or two off some album that I like from the mid 70s or 80s or whatnot, and feed it to the blog. In theory I understand that, without their permission, I am officially stealing and screwing over the artists by posting up their songs (if the albums they reside on are currently in print). Like, if you could buy the Wah Wah Watson album Elementary right now, brand new, from the record store, I’d be preventing a potential buyer from purchasing the album since getting a free taste might just compromise the impulse to make the purchase (especially the case if the whole album is available), even though the album as a whole is pretty amazing and recommended. I do agree with that concept, but, since his album is not currently in print, is it still negative for me to post up one MP3? I’m not putting up the whole album, and even if I did, the artist would not stand to make a penny from an interested buyer. That buyer would have to seek out the album (99% likely it’d be used) in a record store, or on ebay, and there is no chance what-so-ever that a dime from that exchange is going to get back to the artist.

So what does the artist prefer? The free promotion, to get readers interested to either find their albums used (which will get them no money), or to purchase reprints/current albums (which will get them some dough hopefully, based on how they negotiated their deals), or to have no tangible/downloadable auditory presence on the net, and simply be based in print. In my case, it does not matter much, since no one downloads anything off my blog anyways. It’s seriously pathetic how little people are moved by the shit that gets me into the boogie groove, chills me out, etc… It’s almost as if everyone just gets to the blog by accident and then reads a couple seconds of my bullshit and then peaces.
Change - Hold Tight
Wah Wah Watson - Good Friends

100

Well, One Man’s Problem, has made it to its 100th post!!!! Big fucking deal, right?!? Perhaps not to you, but for me, it’s like defeating that one level of Mega Man that gave me such a hard time as an adolescent. There were no significant changes in my life after the boss had been defeated, and it wasn’t like I’d beat the entire game; it was just a checkpoint that I could officially lay to waste. So, at this instant, if “wasting time at work” was a legitimate sport, I like to think that I’d be drafted into the minors, or at least on the radar of some respectable scouts. I mean there is something about the number 100 that is more significant and relevant than say 87. I’d like to say dignified too, but, I could’ve just dug up my 100th grave to have unprotected necrophiliac sex. So I’ll settle for significant and relevant.

On my way back from lunch, while brainstorming a topic to include on my 100th post, I was able to come across something a bit off topic, which I have to include, that I think holds true to many of the sentiments expressed here on the blog (mostly, how extremely depressing events [that don’t involve physical pain or destruction] that don’t relate directly to my personal life, often juice me up. I hate to say that I wallow in others’ sorrow, but if there is a certain sense of humor in that sorrow, where it becomes bittersweet, it just destroys me in the best way). As I just walked back to work from my lunch, I saw a bum in the corner of a packed parking lot, slumped over with his pants half off, singing (loudly and surprisingly in key) “Let’s Get It On” into a Schlitz microphone. I know it's messed up, but it couldn’t have made me happier: instant smiles, among a crowd of horrified tourists.

So, despite the fact that one of my least favorite holidays, Valentine’s Day, occurred over the last weekend, I was still able to have a relatively epic time here is San Francisco. V-Day is always, and I assume, will always, be a tough day to cope with, regardless of relationship status. It either affirms a sense of pathetic loneliness, creates guilt for any half-way, unfulfilling or strictly sex based relationship a person might have (which are either entirely doomed or pointless), and/or hustles one's brain and wallet in an intense rush to sheepishly meet any televised or government-ordained, neurotic Valentine’s Day criteria that has been consumed and accepted by lovers across this continent since birth. Regardless, I was able to spend some money on my true (and partially tangible) love at the KUSF Rock n Swap Record Fair. I could probably write a couple pages that outline just how weird I think these events are, and expand about all the record collector/reseller stereotypes and anomalies that you’d observe in the period of an hour. Perhaps I will in the future, and hopefully I can get that article published in Sweatpants Quarterly. I’m sure that I fit the exact mold of your common record nerd, with impulsive/feeble budgeting skills and odd neurological social ticks, and I could also expand on that. But, for now I’d like to just list a couple stand out moments from the two hours that I spent stimulating my eyes and ears with my so-called “peers”:
1. Watched a guy scratch his balls for a full minute while explaining his pricing system to me.
2. When I asked if the price could be negotiated for a particular record, some seller psyched me out saying he’d sell a $40 dollar record to me for $15 bucks. When I said “really?” with some excitement, he looked me dead in the eyes, paused, and said “No!” and snickered. For the record (not to get literal, waka, waka, waka) I’d never met or talked with this guy in my life before our little conversation.
3. Observing two nymphets (possibly aged anywhere from 15 to 22 years old) in short shorts and revealing tops pass by a table of ugly old men, and watching as all of them stopped whatever conversation or browsing was occurring, to focus their communal energy on staring at these girls' assess in unison.
4. The guy that told me that the DJs are the only ones who buy the “Queer” music off him.
5. The guy, who didn’t have a record under $30 for sale, who lectured me with a straight face (and without me even asking) that his definition of “VG” or “Very Good” condition trumped all other sellers in the building. To put it in his words, “My VG is everyone else’s Mint. Some of these guys wouldn’t know a Mint record if it was still sealed”. I assume he uses that line often.
6. Two jazz aficionados arguing loud and arrogantly about which label was the most relevant: Blue Note, Verve, or Prestige.
7. Lastly, the sweatpants/balding long hair combo, who dropped his piece of pizza, face down onto the dirty carpet (that everyone had been pacing around on all day), and then rapidly picked it up and ate it with no hint of remorse in front of everybody there.
The Three Degrees - The Runner (Loose Shus & Hotthobo Edit)
Incredible Bongo Band - Bongo Rock
Split Endz - Poor Boy
Dynasty - Here I Am
Dynasty - Revenge
Herbie Hancock - Magic Number

Nightshades

I just found out that eggplant has nicotine in it. What the fuck. I seriously fiend for eggplant dishes on the regular, and get them in some format at least once (and often twice) a week. I had a baba ghanoush sandwich today, and a co-worker had to run her mouth about its nicotine content, with the intention of instilling the sentiment of the eggplant as my enemy. There was an episode of the Simpsons where a hybrid crop of tobacco and tomato was accidentally created (dubbed “Tomacco”), which is a hilarious concept, except for the fact that it’s predated entirely by the eggplant which harbors tobacco’s main active ingredient. Tomatoes, Potatoes, and Chiles, which are all categorized as nightshades, also contain nicotine alkaloids. So feel free to never, ever eat them again, and spend countless hours substituting other vegetables in to replicate the recipes that you love. Or, maybe, open a non-nightshade restaurant for all the other dietary cultists, who are also repulsed by trace elements of nicotine in their food. I mean, grrrrroooosss, right?
David Grusin - Condor
King Louie & Baloo - I Wanna Be Like You

Torture

What do you do when you tell someone (in a very professional setting) that what they did was uncouth, and they listen to you attentively, process it, apologize, swear it’ll never happen again, and then do the same fucking thing a week later? Do you throw a fit? Give them the cold shoulder? Do something equally fucked up to them out of spite? Maybe I should just dump a full canister of scalding hot coffee in their face, and pretend like we both just won the super bowl. Of course that would be a waste of coffee, but unlike boiling water, it burns, smells and stains. I’ll probably just hold it inside.

Sorry blog, I’ve got a date with Microsoft Excel today.
Brenton Wood - I Want Love
Brenton Wood - I Think You've Got Your Fools Mixed Up
Codek - Tim Torum

State of Shock

Again, no time for blog, but I’ll take a moment to rant in a caffeine induced frenzy. My job has bent me over, thrusting rapidly, and unfortunately there is no “safe” word that will bail me out. I’m just gonna have to take it until the job gets off, or becomes raw and sore. Not the most pleasing imagery, but it’s also not the most comforting situation, and I felt the need to use the “everyday man’s poetry” to describe my anguish. I’ve somehow become a pawn in a battle of employers and employees; people are acting extremely vague to lead me like a lemming into “traps” which will either justify or prevent the flowage of money from/to the aforementioned parties. I fear that I will be to blame regardless of the outcome (by the group that fails to benefit) and I have the desire to hide under my desk in fetal position, like it’s an earthquake drill. In true American fashion, instead of making a steadfast decision, I’ve just been pretending that the situation does not exist.

I'm putting up one of my alltime favorite Zappa songs (check the guitar solos: fucking EPIC), and make sure to check the bassline on Forgotten Town. If anyone has a dub or instrumental version of that track, lemme know.
Frank Zappa - Uncle Remus
The Christians - Forgotten Town

GROW UP

So GROW UP, the night that I co-promote with some friends, is back in effect, and I'm excited. This may be a repetitive notion, but promoting the night on my blog, will have no effect. The chance that someone from the Bay Area (that I don't already know) will stumble upon this posting and decide to go to the show is highly unlikely. Any Vulcan could tell you that.

So, Come to Madrone, Wednesday February 3rd, (2010, incase you are a year late or something) from 9:30pm - 2am. Special Guests, Loose Shus (Plant) and Pat Les Stache (American Athelete, Cabana Disco) along with residents, Sick Face, ME! (Hotthobo), and Fenstar will be providing the tunes. If I don't already know you, and you tell me you are at the club solely based on this blog, I'll buy you a drink.

Regardless, I have a disco mix that I made at least a month ago or so, which I didn't put up on the blog initially, because I thought that some other blog with higher readership would be interested in it. Ended up not being the case, due mainly to my own laziness and humility (and inability to cold email people the mix and suck on their knobs about how their blog is the greatest and how I'd feel super priviledged to have my mix up with their site's amazing content, yadda, yadda, yadda). So the mix is in its right place, here on One Man's Problem, available to the very few people that accidentally stumble upon the site, based on some combination of words they looked up on google.

Download my mix below!
Hotthobo - Disco Misco

Counter Culture

While at the video store the other day, I noticed that the clerk was moaning under his breath, as a couple near the register discussed whether or not to rent the movie A Mighty Wind. Dude, was fed up with all these fakers not renting the right stuff, and it was clear that he has that complex which a lot of peeps in the retail world have: no one understands me/you people are all idiots. I get it, as I had the same complex when I worked at a record store, and I’d have to ring up Radiohead CDs and listen to people spew about how Thom Yorke changed their lives. But dude, you gotta just step back sometimes and think, I work at the place that harbors all the things that I love, and while it may be an outlet for retards with horrible taste to cop “tip of the iceberg” cinema (or fill in the blank with a specific product), when they could dig for some real meat, it is still a haven for obsessives (like you) to geek out. So to all the underpaid ‘tards who work at places that foster the things that they are actually passionate about , perk up for a moment. You are where you belong, and if your boss and/or management are dicks, just start stealing. It really makes that abuse tolerable.
Kurupt - Calling Out Names

Acid Scouting

I’m so tired right now that I feel like I just gave blood. I’m seeing spots in the periphery, and certain things appear larger than normal, specifically people’s faces when they are talking up in my personal space. I have been in this state before, and it’s a mixture of extreme sleep deprivation and a sonic dosage of caffeine, mixed with a couple paper tabs of acid that I took in high school, which still occasionally affect me to this day. My first really bad acid trip, occurred a week before my Eagle Scout Review Board Defense, which made that experience a little more peculiar than normal. I was extremely paranoid and nervous that I would not pass the review for some reason, as ultimately you get grilled by 5 guys in their 60s regarding your devotion to Scouting and the important lessons that you’ve learning along the way.

In the middle of the interview, I got the saucer eyes going, and one committee members’ (who was asking me a direct question about my experience as a Patrol Leader at the National Jamboree) head swelled up to about twice the size that it should normally be, and it was sweaty, distorted, and bulbous. I had to ask him to repeat the question like 3 times to wrap my brain around what was being requested, and miraculously I pulled through. General warping and melting was going on around, weird smells and vibes were in the air, and that sense of total panic, where you feel as if your mental control has evaporated entirely into the void, had permeated my system. Just when I had internally given up all hope, and had generally accepted that I had to ditch the interview immediately, and roam the streets for eternity in a psychedelic/schizophrenic dimension, it came to an abrupt halt, and everything was as velvety smooth as upscale cool ranch dressing. Although I don’t remember what I muttered during my flashback portion of the interview, I do remember getting some very uncanny looks from these old geezers for the remaining few minutes of the defense.

Regardless, they passed my hippie-ass, ultimately promoting me to the upper ranks of the underground adolescent loser society.
Tommy James - Meet The Comer
Tommy James - Quicksilver

10 Minutes

Sorry blog, you get 10 minutes tops today. No brilliant social commentary, no sassy-frassy-lassie fat girl gossip remarks. Just pics I took from other peoples' sites, John Carpenter, and the Incredible Bongo Band.

Also I'd like to give big ups to La Spiaggia in North Beach for making me the best roasted eggplant sandwich in the history of my life today. I'd say it made top 10 alltime (not that anyone could give a shit), with a bullet.
John Carpenter - Chase Across the 69th Street Bridge
Incredible Bongo Band - Pipeline

Larry

Don’t ever name your child Larry. I think at this point people are pretty hip to that, but just in case, let this passage serve as a reminder. I don’t remember any contemporaries of mine named Larry in grade school, although there might have been a Lawrence or two (and they fucking preferred it that way). The Larrys I’ve known are at least 10 years older than me (for the sake of argument, around 40 years old or older), and always the sleaziest motherfuckers to claim hetero-male status. I think that the name sort of dictates the life events and decisions that ultimately derive you of morals or any sense of right or wrong. For example, one Larry that I (would prefer not to) know, is a friend of my parents and is probably about 60 years old now. When I first moved to SF 7 years ago, he insisted that my parents give him my phone number in case of an emergency (which makes no sense, as if anything went wrong, I would need his phone number and not the other way around). To put things into perspective, up to this point, this jerk-off had moved his entire family to Amsterdam (he was a consultant that ultimately made millions of dollars off of large companies, by doing basically nothing except trivial amounts of research) so that he could smoke weed all day, and get hookers. His wife and kids hated living there, and as a result, his wife developed a vicious drinking problem, and his kids stopped talking to him. After 2 or 3 years, she filed for divorce and took the kids back to the states. He also had to return to deal with the divorce, which is where I enter the story, at 22 years old, freshly arriving in San Francisco, and getting a phone call from some friend of my parents, that I had met maybe 3 or 4 times in my life (who was in his mid 50s) to “hang out”. At this point in time I didn’t realize that the name Larry itself would likely harbor negative effects on its subjects. Still I had no desire to hang with a 53 year old in San Rafael for no apparent reason. After a few months, and several weird phone calls (and a few which I had to duck), I ended up having to go over to the dude’s house to drop off some of his stuff which he had left (purposely?) at my parent’s house, which they insisted I return to him. Long story short, he invited me to jump on his trampoline, got me a beer, smoked me out, and then told me that he wanted to hit bars with me in the city and meet girls “closer to my age”. Sleaze!

Now, I’m aware that everything that I’ve just written relates to one person named Larry, which is no reason to tarnish the name, but, there are other Larry’s of recent history which also validate my sentiments: Larry Flynt, Larry the Cable Guy, Larry Singleton (Rapist and Mutilator), Larry Eugene Phillips (Bank Robber), Larry Craig (Vile Republican Senator of Idaho), Leisure-Suit Larry (it was a video game about a gynecologist, but I think the programmers really hit the nail on the head), the character Gary Shandling played on the Larry Sanders’ Show was pretty shady in his own regard, Cyclone Larry (a destructive category-5 cyclone in Australia in 2006, resulting in nearly $1 billion in damage and one fatality), etc… Even saying the name Larry aloud, conjures images of polygamy, connivance, and freaky sexual deviance.

In other news, I just checked google analytics, and it’s nice to see that the word “mangina” is still getting my blog a significant number of visitors.
Sister Sledge - You Fooled Me
Sister Sledge - Pretty Baby

Just Bad

My roommate just purchased a huge screen TV with the works, yet, we do not have cable, and the last movie that he bought was Beverly Hills Chihuahua (which is apparently “good”, according to a friend of mine, so perhaps I should not judge solely upon the title/cover). Such I've been subject to a bunch of flicks lately, and the last few I’ve seen, whilst being visually stimulating, also stimulate vomit to come up onto my lap (with the exception of District 9, which did make me want to throw up, but solely out of joy). That last sentence was cheesy, but not as cheesy as my last two weeks of movie watching (newest Star Trek and Avatar, fyi). Waka, waka, waka. Obviously the FX are the nuts, and the 3D boobs (or bluebs) on the aliens are procuring rock hard boners on 13-50 year old males world-wide (and after draining them, they’ll be saving up all their cash to get those hair tassel things implanted, so they can link up to flying pterodactyls), but the plots to these movies are sooooooo fucking cheesy that I almost need to regress mentally just to endure them. The wholesome and sociopolitical messages directed at the audience are so ludicrous that they are similar to a Care Bears Movie, where the power of a smile transforms pure evil into a shiny sailboat or something. Ah fuck, just like America I’m a clone, shamelessly blogging about movies and Avatar. That hurts, and while it’s true that I could forgo posting this, I’d rather just point out my lack of originality (which in itself is original, right?). I can only blame this on the fact that I drank tea today instead of coffee. Hmmmmmmmmm.

Let’s talk about sythnthesizers for a second (or more so, summarize some shit that I read on Wikipedia that I found interesting. I don’t wanna claim it like this is some first-hand info that I am privy to). For me, synths are responsible for some of the best non-traditional music ideas to come up in the last 40 years or so. I had always thought that the first synths were a product of the late 60s (I mean people credit Moog as being the first one specific to music, more or less), but apparently the first electric synthesizer was patented in 1876 by Elisha Gray (best known for his development of the telephone prototype, a by-product of which became the Musical Telegraph). Gray accidentally discovered that he could control sound from a self vibrating electromagnetic circuit and in doing so invented a basic single note oscillator. On December 29, 1874, Gray gave the first public demonstration of his invention for transmitting musical tones and transmitted "familiar melodies through telegraph wire" according to a newspaper announcement. This was the first electric music synthesizer using self vibrating electromagnetic circuits that were single-note oscillators operated by a two-octave piano keyboard. The "Musical Telegraph" used steel reeds whose oscillations were created by electromagnets and transmitted over a telegraph wire. Gray also built a simple loudspeaker in later models consisting of a vibrating diaphragm in a magnetic field to make the oscillator tones audible and louder at the receiving end. Basically the guy is an inventor/gangsta that paved the way for bands like Tonto’s Expanding Head Band to wreck shop on my speakers.
Tonto's Expanding Head Band - Tama
Tonto's Expanding Head Band - Cybernaut

Unggggggh, Na-nah Na-nah

Instead of thinking about/writing up a post, here are the lyrics to Make 'Em Say Unggggggh:

No Limit Studios, whassup?
Who dis is? Who dis is?
Nigga, this Rappin 4-Tay, who is this?
Oh dis P
P?! *said with disbelief*
Yeah dis P!
P?! (Yeah) If this P lemme hear ya say ungggggggggggh
UngnGNGYAHAHgngnnghh *voice cracking*
This ain't no motherfuckin P!
Man, hang the phone up

[MP] Ungggggghh, na-nah na-nah
[MP] Make em say UNGGGGGGH (UNGGGGGGH)
Na-nah na-nah (na-nah na-nah)

[Master P]
Nigga, I'm the colonel of the motherfuckin tank
Y'all after big thangs, we after big bank
3rd Ward hustlas, soldiers in combats
Convicts and dealers, and killers with TRU tats
Never gave a fuck bout no hoes on our riches
And niggaz come short, I'm diggin ditches
M.P. pullin stripes, commander-in-chief
And fools run up wrong, nigga I'm knockin out some teeth
I'm down here slangin, rollin with these hustlers
Tryin to get rid of all you haters and you bustas
Steppin on toes, break a niggaz nose
In the projects niggaz anything goes
Breakin fools off cause I'm a No Limit soldier
At ease now salute, this pass me the doja

Chorus: Master P and No Limit

Make em say UNGGGGGGH (UNGGGGGGH)
Na-nah na-nah (na-nah na-nah)

(repeat 3X)

[Fiend]
Fiend exercisin this right, of exorcism bustin out the expedition
Bullets choppin haters business to about the size of prisms our mission
They heard we scary, No Limit mercenary
No tellin how bad it get, because the worst'll vary
I heard you make em worry, that this for the loot
They intimidated by the rounds that the tank shoot
Tank Dogs salute! Every robbery in store, cause they know
everything Fiend know, mean mo' money mo'
Little Fiend still want the greens, the cornbread and the cabbage
In your hood, remindin you bitches of who the baddest
Definitely the maddest, so the crime gon' stick em up
My UNGGGGGGH went twice (ungh, ungh)
And ended with nine, get em

Chorus (2X)

Make em say UNGGGGGGH (UNGGGGGGH)
Na-nah na-nah (na-nah na-nah)

[Silkk the Shocker]
P gon' make ya say UNGGGGGGH, I'ma make you say OWWWWWWWW
I'm not Eric B but guaranteed to Move this motherfuckin Crowd
I stay on like light switches, money, cause I like riches
Hittin nothin but tight bitches, call me, I might hit ya
Nigga make em say nah-nah-nah, don't trip
After I bust yo' shit, then after that say na-nah-nah-nah
I hang with niggaz, I do my thang with niggaz (unggggh)
They wanna know if I gangbang, cause I hang with a whole gang of niggaz
So when, we connect bitch better respect this, I step quick
Cause I got a, vicious right hand but ya know what? My left is quick too!
Silkk, you the type of nigga that promotes violence? You might be right
cause I'll step in the club and say somethin
to get that motherfucker start to, fightin!! (Bout it!!)
Bad as vogues, I'm cold, extra see through
?P-G? never fuckin knockin niggaz cause I make em all see 3-D
And P-D's the game that I spit, No Limit Soldiers got my back
I run this motherfucker, TRU niggaz
And I, betcha y'all niggaz ya say, "Bet!"

Chorus (2X)

Make em say UNGGGGGGH (UNGGGGGGH)
Na-nah na-nah (na-nah na-nah)

[Mia X]
We capitalize and monopolize on everything we see keep pistols drawed
and cocked, we got the industry locked, we can't be stopped, too hot
Check the spots that we got, on Billboard
This Tank can set up roadblocks, we fadin all you hoes
Want some mo? Then let's go, stretch you out like elastic
Zip that ass up in plastic, have ya folks pickin caskets
We drastic, our tactics is homegrown in the ghetto
So feel the wrath of this sista, it's like you fightin 10 niggaz
Forget the baby boys, it's the biggest mamma Mia
The Unlady Like diva, lyrical man eater, believe her
Or see her, and get that ass embarrassed
If you're a decision maker, guaranteed you'll get carried away
So stay in yo' place, when ya hear mamma speakin
Cannon spray, clear the way, when ya see The Tank creepin

Chorus (2X)

Make em say UNGGGGGGH (UNGGGGGGH)
Na-nah na-nah (na-nah na-nah)

[Mystikal]
Hi
I'm that nigga that rappers look up to when they won't know how to do it
You could be the little bitty skinny motherfucker with the braids in his hair
Usin limos on Tchoupitoulas
I done paid my dues, but still played the blues
Nigga play me like you was scared to lose
I'm still a fool, you ain't heard the news
I was a No Limit nigga, makin major moves
I won't stop now, bitch, I can't stop
You can't stop me, so bitch don't try we
We TRU soldiers, we don't die
We keep rollin, na-nah-nah-nah-nah
All aboard, bitch it's like a choir inside
The group goin hallelujah
Niggaz goin to war, got to fightin and shootin inside rumors
Bitches be sayin he there, we there, BEWARE!!!
C there, Silkk there Fiend there, Mamma there, P there
Ain't no salary cap, on top of my dollars
I roll with nothin, but them No Limit riders
I gets down nigga, I hold my tank up high
Watch how many bitches get wild, na-nah na-nah

Chorus and fade

Make em say UNGGGGGGH (UNGGGGGGH)
Na-nah na-nah (na-nah na-nah)

Brothers Johnson - This Had To Be

See It, Feel It

The idea for today’s post is complete garbage and I know it. Usually this would be more than enough incentive for a person to move on to something more productive, but wasting time is the name of the game today: this may be the most productive that I get. Besides I need to write this out so I can stop thinking about it; it has plagued me all morning, and I really need to advance my train of thought to something above a 9th grade stoner level.

Sooooooooooo, I think that people should be able change the MPAA rating system of movies when they are zooted, as a precautionary warning for those whose brains are in a delicate state. For the most part, if a movie is PG-13 or above, you can push it up a rating (like from R to NC-17), and if its PG or G, you can push it down (so a movie like the Swan Princess becomes G ÷ 2, unless the main character’s father dies. Then it gets a bit emotional, and you can actually reverse it, and even push it up to PG). Had I known that the amount of violence and gore in certain movies would be so rampant, I probably would not have taken bongloads in my buddy’s civic in the parking lot of the Tarzana AMC in ’99, especially before going to see a movie like Payback, with Mel Gibson. They hammer off his fucking toenails one by one in that movie; can you imagine the horror I faced internalizing how that would feel. I mean the whole point of that movie is to watch Mel Gibson get the shit kicked out of him (to the point where he would die about 10x over from internal bleeding) and while Gibson is currently at a point in his no-one-can-touch-me-anti-Semitic-power-Christian-career, where that type of thing would be more enjoyable to watch, at the time I was somewhat rooting for Mad Max and whatever his character’s name was in Lethal Weapon. Maybe there should be a warning in the previews, like do not see this movie impaired, you will internalize the pain and own it. Some violence is the funny kind which I can handle without any problem. For example a movie like Kill Bill, where Uma Thurman slices open about 300 ninjas in the span of ten minutes, is somehow hilarious to me on the reefer. I think the difference is that the pretext for over the top gore and violence is set up to be funny, or to reference some classic movie/scene. Since it’s an homage to older kung-fu and samurai movies, where blood and guts are pretty fake looking, and blood sprays out of a dead ninja’s neck like a fire hose, the brain does not fire the message to your own neck, making you cringe and feel that slice. Movies based solely around gore and violence, which are created with the sole intention of making the audience grimace (due to its supposed believability), become like kryptonite to the stoned (while Payback is not a believable movie in anyway, the pain displayed is somehow tangible). Watching Payback stoned is on par with watching open heart surgery sober.

R.I.P. TP Cruiser. I know all the other blogs are writing out lengthy, thought provoking eulogies and posting up your shit. I chose instead to write about Mel G, Payback, and being stoned at movies, and I’m gonna own that choice. Besides I already posted about you. That being said, your jams touched me, and you’ve got some of the best intros in the business. Just ask Mobb Deep (From the Cradle to the Grave, creepy).
Fat Larry's Band - Here Comes The Sunshine
Hydro feat. Lorna - Stop Your Teasing

Photo

Looking at personal photo blogs by decent photographers in LA makes me feel pretty insignificant. They have photos of relatively cool underground celebrities and musicians that they can use to tell celeb-infused stories to girls at parties (nonchalantly, without any pretense) and all of their normal “close” friends are disgustingly stylish and beautiful. Plus they are constantly travelling the world on someone else’s dime, and they are always the nicest, most down to earth, superior, sensitive people of all time. If only I had photo talent, I could officially end any perspective clouds in sight.

Here is some more audio heat from Fenster’s collection.
Nytro - Atomic Funk
Nytro - Where's The Party