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

Facebook

Fucking Facebook is the ultimate validation of popularity. I never felt that I was particularly popular, but I did at one point feel that people I know would respond somewhat (whether positively or negatively) to my attempted jokes and banter. There is nothing worse than typing up a quick soliloquy summarizing your agony, or posting a link that defines your sentiments concretely, and receiving absolutely no response, while Cool Girl 87 posts up “I love tacos” and gets 15 responses from her peer group, affirming that sentiment like she deserves a Nobel Prize. On Myspace, I felt that my relatively low friend count, made me selective, as opposed to pathetic. But with Facebook, that shit is ultra-tested to the max, as you can have tons friends (who don’t give a shit about you) and you basically bomb your audition to entertain them, every time a post goes unanswered. It’s a harsh-ass barge, and a high school-esque dose of reality ("Facial...Disgracial" to be muttered with a Valley accent).

Tracks this week are all courtesy of Fenster a.k.a. (DJ) Fenstar. Dude has an epic record collection, and I’m already hyper-stoked on the jams that we recorded the other day. Even back in the day, he was waaaaay ahead of his time; anyone who has seen the Pineapple Man freestyle homevideo knows that even as a teen, he was destined for great things. Today’s track is a dollar bin find, of synth geek Don Muro, and as a bonus, there's a Fatback track I've been meaning to put up, which if I don't put up now, I'll surely forget and then be wasting 8MB of space in my Divshare account (which would be wack, since I'm all about keeping that shit tight and tidy).
Don Muro - Squash
Fatback - (Are You Ready) Do The Bus Stop

Baño Con Carne

The bathroom at work smells like freshly grilled carne-asada again. Public bathrooms should not smell like delicious food: they should smell pine-fresh if at all possible, but unfortunately, they usually smell of excrement, urine, hobo, or that odd humid shower smell (or a combo of all). I should not get hungry upon entering, and then start ducking under the stalls to see if someone left their lunch around (no pun intended). Quickie post, as I got more important things to do on g-chat. Sorry blog.
Nate Dogg - Puppy Love
The System - Sweat
The System - It's Passion

R'n'R

Nothing says angsty cock-in-pocket rock'n'roll better than a drunk possum.
Sonic's Renedevous Band - Do It Again
Sonic's Renedevous Band - Electrophonic Tonic
Sonic's Renedevous Band - Sweet Nothin'
Sonic's Renedevous Band - Earthy

Music Reviews

I’m writing real music reviews again (without the pretense of comedy, unfortunately) which is the lowest form of scum that I can commit to text. I’m embarrassed, and I can’t think of a better way to get over it other than to rant about it on my pathetic blog. The only possible benefit that I see from a music review is just the information that the album/artist exist, and maybe getting some knowledge of the label and the genre. Outside of that, everything written to praise, rate, compare or deny the album is beyond subjective and relative entirely in sphere to personal tastes, experiences, and influences. How the fuck is anything that I have to say about an album even closely relevant for someone who is entirely obsessed with octave bass-lines. I think that shit is hack, but that’s not to say that I did not at one point enjoy it (electro-clash anyone?). The purpose of the review is to ultimately make you want to buy or avoid the album, right? I’ve probably wasted thousands of dollars in my lifetime buying crap that I read was great, which I ended up hating, dismissing, and returning. I’ve also probably avoided albums that I totally would’ve dug, due to 20 sentences written by some college-educated dipshit (like myself) with obvious comparative skills and feeble technical knowledge.

There are tons of bands that I’ve absolutely hated from the get go, which are revered by music dorks everywhere (like Yacht), and conversely bands that I love which get more hate than I think they really deserve (unfortunately none are coming to mind, but they do exist; maybe think along the lines of simple synthy 80s stuff). Also what happens when I am not familiar with the obscure band that the new band is blatantly ripping-off? Do they deserve credit for ideas that they did not even attempt to develop into something slightly more unique? Am I a shitty writer because I didn’t realize it? Yes. Oh, okay.
Wuf Ticket - Ya Mama
Wuf Ticket - Ya Mama (Instrumental)
S.O.S. Band - S.O.S. (Dit Dit Dit Dat Dat Dat Dit Dit Dit)
S.O.S. Band - Take Love Where You Find It
Pino D'Angio - Ma Quale Idea

Night Mind

Lately I have not been sleeping much, due to my mind racing out of control with brilliant ideas. At least they seem brilliant when I’m in that state, so brilliant that I will actually stay partially awake in bed developing them to intricate degrees. I fear in those instances that the act of getting up to write the stuff down, will prologue my sleeplessness, and instead I just opt to think the ideas through repetitively so that I’ll remember them in the morning (the act of which also prevents me from sleep). Often I do remember, but it’s always just a fragment of the general concepts, and all the real night juice and details are lost. Here is an example of some scribbled notes that I took after waking up:

"Night Mind, idea for movie/comedy about transgender lieutenant, lyrics to songs, restless lack of sleep, Avatar pact with America - James Cameron's balls come out in 3D for credits and IMAX theaters are equipped with salty mist so audience can simulate ball licking, pic of Ren with mind device."

I slightly remember having a dope title and most of the story worked out for the transgender lieutenant movie, and I know that I had written the lyrics to an entire song in my head that night, and all I was able to recount in the morning was “lyrics to songs”. I know that'd it would benefit me to actually get up and just hash it out, and just be at peace with it. Although actually opening my eyes and writing it all down, would prevent the Night Mind from further developing the concepts, so maybe at best I’d be able to capture what I’d just thought of, and quit then. What needs to be developed is the Helmet that Ren wears in the Space Madness episode, which records the Captain’s Log straight from his mind. That way I could just lay down and record the Night Mind in real time.
Drugs - Deep Down In The Dumps

Heart of Gold

Whatahhhhhha, Whataaahhhhhhhhaaa, Water. Can't sleep. Don't Care. Damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't but I love you. I'm talkin' Alan Parsons. I'm talking late night, drunk, cigs, spitting, dancing, rapping with cab drivers and getting their phone numbers. Fucking Avatar, and America and violins. Drunk post (obviously) and I told myself never, but I'll let it ride for the day after new years. If you are stalking me, then absorb this shit (right now). I run my 300 viewership to the fullest, heed my words. If you know me personally, then this is not a cry (for) to help (seriously, its ok). I'm talking listening to cds on my tv, laying down with the laptop on and the backspace key. This one is out to all my mates abroad, keeping shit massive, and the shirtless dude wearing elvis glasses that didn't think I was funny at the club (i was on point tonight dude). Ups to divshare, google images and photobucket, without you I'd be the same but without this international voice. Next track is mad gay, but Padded Cell sampled it, and even so, gay shit is cool.
Lime- I Don't Wanna Lose You