I’m going back, back, back to Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh. My goal: get a story out of why all the punks there love footbal. Well, and to have fun.
Just so everyone knows, the game is not being played in Pittsburgh. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve been asked, “Oh, you got tickets?”
Also, I finally saw “Out of the furnace and into the fire,” Jim’s article on Braddock, PA that included my pictures.
(The 15th House, 1.26.2009)
If I added up every minute I spent clicking here and there online, I would probably kill myself because of the sheer amount of time wasted. The one plus to losing countless hours I’ll never have back is lotsa links.
Here’s a photoblog and Web site for Tod Seelie, one of my favorite photographers. I feel like our paths should have crossed by now.
For more info on Seelie, here’s band photos on Thrasher, an interview, and another site I think is his.
Another site I’ve been checking regularly is Epicly Later’d from Patrick O’Dell, the Vice photo editor. Weird, I never would have thought this site would have two skate references let alone two in the same post.
Here’s a video of a street artists who makes collages out of subway ads. Do yourself a favor and don’t read the comments.
Lastly, perhaps the world’s first blog devoted to Region Rock. I’m excited to get home from work and start downloading even if it means purging the maxed-out iPod to make room for new music.
Not even waiting in a sterile, windowless lobby for two hours can diminish the anticipation of getting injected with an experimental anesthetic while blindfolded. But we’ve all been shot up with this or that countless times and this is hardly different: the expectation is always the worst part.
Unblinded a tiny square machine makes a perfect quarter-inch cut across my flesh and, again, it’s painless … until a Q-tip swabbed with rubbing alcohol touches the wound.
“We want you to draw a straight line on this graph to represent the greatest amount of pain you feel. Zero is absolutely no pain and 100 is the worst you have ever felt.”
A victim of nine broken bones, multiple concussions (I remember, once, being … sharper), assorted sprains, stitches and bruises, I draw right down the middle. As soon as my pen marks the paper the pain ceases.
In the crowded room a doctor-type man in a long, white lab coat asks questions and seems genuinely concerned about my well being even though it’s obvious that he feels ashamed to be doing this lowly of work. Two middle-aged female assistants with unrecognizable foreign accents carry out the grunt work. Three middle-aged men seated in the opposite corner, likely representatives of the pharmaceutical company, routinely glance my way while they discuss their excitement for a new reality TV show.
This is what prostitution feels like without the sex.
The procedure is repeated on my left arm. I’m in the room for 10 minutes. After that I kill half an hour before they check to make sure there’s no complications, but there’s no worry – everything always goes as planned. The entire routine is repeated the following week.
I gave up nearly six hours of my life, the vast majority of which was spent reading dated mens magazines, but the pay sure beats working a real job.
Pulling up in the driveway I could see Ben and Reda practicing their rewilding skills by skinning an animal that was hanging from the tree.
I didn’t think Penny was that bad of a dog. Sure she shits in the basement every now and then, but her perpetual cuteness makes up for it …
Oh. It’s just a roadkill oppossum – Reda’s spirit animal. She even has a tattoo to prove it.
Reminds me of an infamous story. Issue one of my zine contained the story and a review said it was the best written article about the punk subculture. Not sure about that one, but it was my first break. The one that gave me the confidence to write.
My Left Uterus sounds like equal parts Lightning Bolt and The Homostupids.
Like the former the group is a two piece (drums and bass guitar) and have a heavily distorted sound that alternates between a hardcore, metal and almost jammy sound.
Like the latter, My Left Uterus is confrontational to the point where you can’t tell if they’re really dicks or just fucking with you.
Both members were extremely talented and each time I switched who I was watching I felt like I was robbing myself of seeing the other incredible musician.
Usually I’m not a fan of noise shows at Skylab, but this was one of the better groups to play in sometime. Still, I don’t see myself ever listening to their recorded music.
Forest really caught my attention during the beginning of their set when they sounded more like a hardcore band. They lost momentum when they got all weird with the laptop affects, though I did like it when they looked like they could care less when the computer dropped to the ground.
I read somewhere that the members are from CCAD. If so, we’ll probably be seeing them around which isn’t so bad if they can limit the special effects.
(Rage Against the Cage @ Skylab, 1.21.2009)
Without the long hair, shades and flannels they might look like your prototypical young-man ensemble, but Rage Against the Cage provided a harmonous reminder that somewhere deep down inside we all have a guilty pleasure for grunge.
With an eight-person expanded lineup, the group hardly needed amplification as their bass voices echoed through the studio space at Skylab. Kurt, Eddie and Layne would have been proud.
The result: a smile on everyone’s face, plenty of pumped fists and shouted “oh yeah”s during and after each song.
Aaron Hibbs interjected between songs with lines like “some say our lines don’t mean nothing, well, the world don’t mean nothing.” By never breaking his grudge front man character, Hibbs showed that he doesn’t have to be hula hooping or slamming away at drums to be the best performer in town.
(Weird the group would end up listed here.)
I haven’t taken any pictures lately, I just finished stapling the last of the zines and I got a Nintendo 64 for my birthday (Diddy Kong racing is the video game equilvant to crack cocaine), so that means all you’ll get for a post is a shit ton of Columbus news I’ve been saving over the last month .
I’ve read their lyric sheet and I’ve heard plenty about them, but tonight is the first time I’ll see Rage Against the Cage. Expect photos of their newly expanded lineup tomorrow. They’re playing tonight after Sports Lab which starts at 7 p.m.
The Lantern kicking ass when it comes to covering salvia. Also, sure we drank a lot in 2008, but Columbus has always been an incredibly drunk city.
I was close to breaking the suspected serial rapist capture by complete accident with his robbery arrest.
Hello arena football, closure on a nearly incredible OSU football career. Also, an inside look about players I didn’t even know existed.
Not much going on nationally, something about an inaug-a-thingy. Oh yeah, Mr. 666 is officially in charge now.
All the day’s events played on a TV behind me and the overwelming theme, besides the generic ones of “hope” and “change,” I picked up on was religion, but Obama did give a shout out to “nonbelievers” at one point.
Finally a President that recognizes the largest unorganized minority in the country. Not sure if there’s much use for us these days, however. We’re going to need all the faith possible to implement his goals with the country in the shape its in.
Whether Obama is the Antichrist, agenda-driven Muslim, a good Christian like he says he is, or a closeted atheist (my guess, he’s too smart not to be), I’m just glad we don’t have to hear that bumbling idiot any more.
The only consolation after having Bush in office for eight years is how cruel history will be towards him.
As a white man who grew up in an all-white town, MLK Day used to only mean a bonus day off around my birthday. Last year it also served as a day of preliminary work for this site as I looked up which blog company would be best for The Black Cloud.
I’m sure it was MLK day because Samm made fun of me for researching blogs instead of watching Blaxploitation films with my friends.
Since we’re on the topic of race, here’s a transcript from a Richard Pryor SNL skit.
The best part about my job is getting to meet fascinating people you otherwise would never meet. Here’s a story I wrote about one of the Little Rock Nine members who now lives in Columbus.
*updated*
Bizarre story about the assination of MLK’s mom and its Columbus connection.
