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the beautiful destruction

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Transformers Trailer

Wednesday, September 13, 2006


Pictured: Portrait of a working man pushed to his limits, Milton Waddams.

For months I've been teetering, tiptoeing, lightly skirting the fray of full blown workplace insanity. Oh, it would be so easy to have a meltdown, drop to my knees and begin screaming and shaking, spitting expletives from my froth-covered lips while simultaneously stapling paper and plant leaves to my legs. Could I get disability for something like this? How wonderful that would be. Though I'm sure my employer could find a way around that by propping me back up in my terribly uncomfortable chair, strapping me in and placing my heavy, seizure-frozen fingers on the crumb-covered keyboard. Oh, the horror!

Sure, I've unloaded my workplace frustrations on this blog before, but something feels different now. I feel more anxious, more antsy, more ready to escape than ever. Balancing life, work, family, and the unrelenting pursuit of my dreams has taken its toll these past couple months. I feel like I'm frozen where I sit, doomed to toil away at a totally fucked desk job for the rest of my years, no matter how hard I try -- and you must believe, I try so very hard to escape.

"I feel like I'm frozen where I sit, doomed to toil away at a totally fucked desk job for the rest of my years."

"Why vent now?" you may be wondering, "you've been shitting away your life at a plethora of desk jobs since you graduated college." Thanks for the reminder, but you see, I had this dream two nights ago that really cracked open my skull and left a large pile of rotten, radioactive shit. The only reason this dream was striking was 1.) I remembered it; I never remember my dreams. And 2.) I was extremely lucid in this moment, seeing my future, having opportunity placed before me in a twilight world, only to have it hastily snatched away as my eyelids popped open to find my alarm clock hissing at me, telling me to, "Wake the fuck up, it was only a dream dummy."

"I had this dream two nights ago that really cracked open my skull and left a large pile of rotten, radioactive shit."

In this dream, Michelle had a rich and eccentric uncle who was very excited about us (which in real life she does, but he's got no cash). However, in this dream, the role of Michelle's uncle was played by Martin Landeau. He was not himself though, rather, he was playing the role of antiquated Hollywood producer Bob Ryan, his role on the HBO series Entourage. As with most of the dreams I remember, only about five minutes were captured in my useless noggin. In this instance, Michelle's uncle drives us to an empty storefront on Forbes Avenue in Squirrel Hill. He invites us to come inside. Michelle and I are both wondering what the hell is going on, because her uncle is usually goofy, and we figure we're witnessing some sort of pyramid scheme or hustle unraveling before our eyes.

Pictured: Martin Landau (far right) as Hollywood producer Bob Ryan.

Once inside, we're caught up in the beauty of the space: two levels; hardwood floors; great lighting; tons of character; and spacious as fuck. As I'm walking around, taking the place in, Michelle's uncle (played by Martin Landau, remember) turns to us and says, "It's yours, here are the keys." And, as if that isn't reason enough for celebration, he then adds, "I just bought the whole building. I figured you could rent it out if your little idea doesn't work out."

The "little idea" that Michelle's uncle, or at least the wealthy bizarro version of her uncle, refers to in the dream, is a grand project I've had in mind for years: to open up a shop/gallery/workspace where I could centralize all my creative endeavors -- and do it as a fucking full time affair to boot.

Quickly, the sleep wore off as my alarm clock chirped its annoying chirp, and as I realized it was all a dream, I felt crushingly disappointed. It felt so absolutely real, I was actually holding the keys to the space in my fucking hand. But then, as quickly as it was handed to me, it all just evaporated. The disconnect between my waking and sleeping worlds is sometimes so very distant. But yesterday morning, these two very separate worlds of my concious and unconscious mind were co-existing in the same place. And they left that "place" a fucking mess.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006


Pictured: Saddam showing his softer side. Image lovingly swiped from Billy Watts.

With the mid-term congressional elections bearing down on us like an urgent, bean and watermelon-fueled bowel movement, it seems high time to interject with a dose of good old fashioned, bat shit crazy Saddam Hussein news. Yes, you may remember Saddam. He's sort of the reason American troops are thousands of miles away in Iraq right now, getting shot the fuck up, blown the fuck up, and freaked the fuck out. Well, he's still in court, on trial for the mass murder of hundreds of Kurdish villagers in 1987/1988 during Iraq's war with Iran.

Politics aside, I think we can all agree on the fact that Saddam hasn't slipped off his game one bit -- he's still out of his fucking mind. Whether you're a conservative right wing ideologue who gets off downloading man on animal, horse porn to his Blackberry while attending Sunday Mass; or a supposed left wing radical who buys his wardrobe of Che Guevara shirts at Kohl's (using his Mom's credit card nonetheless) in hopes of getting lucky with some skeezerish hippie chick because she thinks you're oh so very anti-authority -- Saddam's still a maniacal, trigger happy, beret-wearing, fatigues-loving, megalomaniac.

Anyhow, while making my morning news rounds, I spotted this interesting little article over at CNN.com, I thought some readers might find it compelling. My favorite piece of the article is when, in response to a Kurdish man's testimony recounting how he found his mother and sister's identification cards in a mass grave, Hussein kindly and compassionately replied: "You are agents of Iran and Zionism. We will crush your heads."

What a crazy motherfucker.

Monday, September 11, 2006


Pictured: Four The Hard Way main graphic.

The masterminds behind 12oz Prophet have revamped their online retail venture Four The Hard Way, and it looks killer. With easy navigation, either by brand or category, these folks offer a top shelf selection of books, magazine, and t-shirts, as well as a surplus of tools to unleash your inner vandal (i.e. some nice caps and the ever popular Krink from KR himself). The 12oz crew always comes correct in their approach, content, and presentation. We recommend you drop by to fulfill all your hard-to-find shopping needs.

Four The Hard Way
12oz Prophet
also known as

Thursday, September 07, 2006


Pictured: Sample artwork from Nicholas Di Genova's exhibition "Death From Below."

Nicholas Di Genova's first solo gallery exhibition in New York City, titled "Death From Below," opens next Thursday September 14th at Fredericks Freiser Gallery on W. 24th Street.

A few words from the artist:
"Just a quick note. On Thursday September 14th I'll be having my first solo show in NYC. If you are around the city, come on out. I've been working on the show for quite a few months now. I'm pretty excited, and terrified... mostly terrified. "Death From Below" illustrates some of the creatures from the Great Hades Geofront. Yup, new website launching very soon as well, before the show I believe. Ok, if you come out, fun times will be had."

Exhibition info:
"Death From Below"
Thursday September 14th; 6 to 8PM
Fredericks Freiser Gallery
536 W 24th Street
New York City

Fredericks Freiser Gallery