Friday and my freelance work is complete, I’m heading out to hit some of the better thrift stores in town. Better meaning, those stores that are lodged in a remote area (ghetto) too far way (dangerous) to have been picked over by savvy design devotees. Smack in the middle of a rough neighborhood, the kind of place where you park your car as close to the building as possible, clutch your rosary and sprint as fast as you can while running a zig zag pattern. Signs of a good thrift store, bullet holes in the side of the building, tons of metal on the windows.

Trust me, I could give the National Design Museum an overhaul with the shit I’ve picked up, it reads like a who’s who of mid-century modern, from Eero Aarnio to Russel Wright. Sure those bastards at the Antiques Road Show have slowed my shopping a bit, but I’m still able to scout out the goods. Today’s objects of fetish include retro t-shirts, simplistic light colored pine furnishings, low wattage ambient lighting, chairs, tables that allude to the decade of the 50s, 60s, 70s, and can be ‘decade blended’ to create a pleasing decorative mood. Still searching for the allusive Jesse Jackson Special Olympics Tee.

…and the following appropriation makes me the bastard child of Douglas Coupland;

Meanwhile, I’m working on stocking up before I secure my anti-sabbatical, a job taken with the sole intention of staying only for a limited period of time (often one year), so I’m in need of a few items. Anti-Sabbatical you ask, the intention is usually to raise enough funds to partake in another, more personally meaningful activity such as watercolor sketching in Crete or designing computer knit sweaters in Hong Kong. (Employers are rarely informed of intentions). Freedom of or from choice, avoid option paralysis, the tendency when faced with too many choices to make none.

Happy Weekend, French Kicks, yay or nay, coffee, road trip, gym and so on and so forth. Can someone please turn the humidity down, Blah blah blah until Monday.

One entry in a NY minute. New York Subway sells station names. Talk about your outer outer burrows the next Brooklyn may be Berlin or even Barcelona.

MP3 Blogs, great stuff, hot shit, super white hot shit served up right, flung high flung low, lost then found considered and reconsidered. After the RIAA cracked down on file-sharing networks, the flood of free music available on the Web slowed to a trickle. P2P has been relegated to the Internet dust heap of noble ideas, and music lovers have continued to seek out tracks by other means. The MP3 Aggregator makes it easier to locate MP3s on blogs via RSS feeds. While that may sound like an acronym headache, it couldn’t be easier. Webloggers have taken to posting MP3 files on their blogs along with a discussion of the songs. This rockin’ community of bloggers uncovers rare, live, and forgotten songs and shares them with the world. But visiting each site daily for the latest tunes is time consuming, so this helpful site aggregates posts from a variety of MP3 weblogs and gives you a one-stop shop for your music-browsing needs.

Went to a party
I danced all night
I drank 16 beers
And I started up a fight
But now I am jaded
You’re out of luck
I’m rolling down the stairs
Too drunk to fuck

Nouvelle Vague gives this Dead Kennedy’s song a proper Bossa Nova makeover. A bit loungey and not unlike Tuesday Weld wearing Ambush and a French twist. Nouvelle is the French electronique project initialized by multi-instrumentalists and producers Marc Collin and Olivier Libaux. Collin can often be found recording under the guise of Fred Avril or Avirl on FCom, and Volga Select on Output Records.

More partisan bullshit; Will Farrell spoofs George Dubya for ACT you caught me mending my fences, one of the many things i do on my ranch… I know I know it’s from the dreaded Drudge Report, but the transcript of the very heated Michael Moore interview with Bill O’Reilly, is really great.

Jockohomo Stopping Crime Since 2:30 A.M.
Fucking thieving criminals tried to swipe my Mountain Bike last night. The incurable insomniac that I am, I busted the drunk ass fools stumbling around the property. Flashlight in hand I charged out the door, primed to open up a very special can of whoop ass. Suddenly realizing that I was outnumbered by 3, I ran back, and called 911 as the robbers scattered. I suspect some vigilante neighbor pulled a Gladys Kravitz, alerting the authorities earlier in the morning. The police quickly apprehended the suspects attempting to hide in a giant buckeye tree, whence one of the bandits fell to the ground stinking drunk, awaiting handcuffs, Damn fools.

Gym with Rick, mid-afternoon lift, usual array of muscle boys mainlining their image in the mirrors. I played king/queen of the dumbbell incline press, only lifting my shirt up once to check out the goods. Cell phones are now banned throughout the facility, hoooray! I could see through the steamy plate glass window that the Manatee Pool Party was in full swing (senior citizen water aerobics.) Their movements are slowed down, super slo-mo as if time itself suspending them in their aqua adventure. Pink puffy flotation devices on their arms, they bob up and down to every sexy senior’s favorite songstress, Barbara Streisand. Old people are so easily amused, and so am I.

Buzzdowns followed at the barber shop, La Rick got the 10 dollar holla leaving next to nothin’. I opted for the ‘usual’ .8 on the sides, leaving a little somethin’ for rough play on the top. Picked up some butch wax. We had lunch at Ray’s, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the directions read Lather Rinse Repeat isn’t that a subtle form of torture aimed at those afflicted with OCD, and doesn’t it trap them into an endless cycle of lathering rinsing and repeating? Just a thought before I return to editing the new book I’ve book working on; Daddy Drinks Cause You Cry.

Women on the Verge or The Wild Woman of Borneo and Why Republican Spin Doctors are in a Snit

Hoo Haa Democratic National Convention, wake me when you’re done. Not that I’m complacent but I’ve already decided who I’m voting for, not Bush. Hell, they could trot out Zippy and i’d cast my vote for him. Kerry/Edwards works for me, sure there are things I don’t like, but hell, think of the alternative. Think of another 4 years of not being represented in any way shape or form. Just vote, and send a clear message, empower yourself and participate. That said, I’ll spare going all Michael Moore on your ass, because I really wanted to talk about Teresa Heinz-Kerry.

It’s hilarious watching the frustration of the Republican party in regards to Mrs. Heinz-Kerry. The conservative spin doctors don’t know what to do with her, because she has a personality, and expresses an opinion…oh my God, she’s got a brain and uses it too, look out! Shit, a woman who thinks for herself, a wife, a mother who supports her husband but operates as her own woman?! What is this country coming to! Quick, check it out, isn’t that un-American?! The best the Republicans can come up with is that she’s out of control, she’s conflicted! Why is it that any woman who is successful is a bitch, and any woman that isn’t controlled by a man is ‘out of control’.

Let me see, Heinz-Kerry is the head of a large philanthropic network, speaks several different languages, sounds like she has some skills, great qualities for a future first lady.

It’s even more interesting when you examine the Bush and Kerry Families. On one hand you have the Bush tribe, escaping to the ranch in Texas every chance they get, which to me sounds like Bonanza on acid. They rarely travel the world unless they have to and even then, it’s for a global summit, which I suppose is mandatory. Consider the Kerry’s who are in touch with the world globally, and the various issues at hand. Wasn’t John Kerry’s Dad a foreign diplomat? Hmmmmm…leader of the free world, let me see, I cast my vote for…..Kerry of course.

more latra as the day progresses…

LA Punk Legend Alice Bag has a website and a tremendous weblog Diary of a Bad Housewife Wherein Miss Alice Bag Gets To Rant and Rave and You Get To Talk Back. More to follow wherein I’ll recount my early days in Punk Rock and discuss my ridiculous obsession with the Bag’s Babylonian Gorgon and Survive!

The International Sin Set
Rolling right along with my blasted midsummer update-o-rama, more stories about buildings and food, love, lust, destruction and the idea of electrical impulses from the upper cerebrum. Read on!

The chick from ASH bashes out THE pop song of the summer. Charlotte Hatherley’s tune Kim Wilde, isn’t just good, it’s great, a fucking storming summer pop juggernaut that will rock you off your ass. Sure things start out all sweet with the vocal in high shangri-la mode with some, ‘Ba Ba Ba Bahhhhs’, talking bout her baby’ He looks so good, my honey to me, Everything I want, everything I need, We got a good thing going; Feeling in my heart can only keep on growing.” But it’s a short honeymoon as Miss Charlotte kicks things into high gear, singing about running previously mentioned boyfriend over by mistake! I hear you hon’ I’d love to run a few choice boys over myself! It’s all fire and crash with bits of energy flashing, catchy as hell, and a free download, pinch me I must be dreaming.

Miss Kids in America is a popular name for a song title. Back in 1989, the German punk band Feeling B released their track Kim Wilde on their album ‘Hea Hoa Hoa Hea Hea Hoa’. They were working in the German Democratic Republic (East Germany back when the country was still split in two) a few years before and after the wall came down. More and another free download.

Gym, go heavy, go hard, go often, eat right, Flintstone chewables, supps and pro-hormones, a trainer and plenty of hardwork! My arms have gotten HUGE and my clothes no longer fit, I’m ripping out the backs of nearly every shirt I own, and it’s great to eat whatever the fuck I want, argh! Although I have yet to reach Kapler size.

New is old, old is new, skinny ties for men are back in a big big way. Praise Allah, we no longer have to walk around in fat ties and striped shirts looking like anal-retentive Felix Ungers. On the iPod plenty of Italo-Disco; Radiorama, Atrium, Latin Lover, Scotch and I might even throw in Canada’s Lime and Trans-X. Shirts, shoes and hats, anything and everything designed by Icr Vs Deth Killer of Brunswick, I know, the name alone! Come on back to Body Map! Oh, and please pick me up something nice at the Chrome Hearts Store on 64th St. David Sedaris was a great summertime read, but this is really grabbing my attention.

CUM is the Ghent Based erotic street art crew that I wish would make some hardcore gay art. CUM in the streets is naughty and I like em’. Although I’d like to see more dicks and less chicks, the images are startling when thrown out into the streets.

French things are cool. Old french things are cool. French films are cool. Therefore, old, french films are really really Cool. Get over the Muybridge guy already, and stop watching those reruns of American Bandstand on VH1. The French had it down years ago with the Scopitone. Scopitone films are the early 1960s precursers to today’s music videos. They were distributed on 16mm film with a magnetic soundtrack, and were made to be shown on a Scopitone film jukebox. Their golden age was short 1962 to 1965 making them rare and all the more cool. Watch Francoise Hardy nuff’ said.

Fuck, break time over, back to work on the weblog…allow me to jump right in;

Passing through downtown Akron, Ohio U.S.A. I feel compelled to speed. I’m not quite sure what’s happening to me, perhaps it’s the hypnotic call of the rubber city that causes me to slam my foot on the gas. It’s totally without explanation, and before I know it, I’m roaring past the other drivers. That old Firestone Tire plant was a complete blur as I pulled a 120 in a 55, problem was, the city cop I blew by was not so amused. I could see ‘Barney Blue’ was built like a brick shit house sans strawberry blonde flat top and aviator sunglasses, now that’s a gay look! I made him slightly uncomfortable licking my chops, staring at his crotch while I got the standard lecture on erratic driving. Luckily I had my hand dandy get out of jail free courtesy card when he nabbed me. I could have racked up some serious fines! The copper grew weary of getting the once over twice, niceties were exchanged and I promised once again, to be a model citizen, ahhhh shucks.

Hey hey hey now, still here, taking a bit of a break, back soon. Meanwhile listen to a replay of the BBC Broadcast Native Love-the music of queer artists and icons. Heavy on the Divine, Dead or Alive, Smiths and to round things out, Judas Priest’s Hell Bent For Leather.

From this hour, freedom!
From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute,
Listening to others, and considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
I inhale great draughts of space;
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.
I am larger, better than I thought;
I did not know I held so much goodness.
All seems beautiful to me;
I can repeat over to men and women, You have done such good to me, I would do the same to you.
I will recruit for myself and you as I go;
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go;
I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them;
Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;
Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me…
Walt Whitman Song of the Open Road Leaves of Grass 1900

*To all good beginnings, the leaving of the soul to free itself, and faith that you will find what never tires. Back in a few days.

Heading up to Montauk for the fourth of July holiday, while I’m gone titillate yourself by oogling Brad Fullmer, the infamous workout photos are back up. Not your thing? Check out the beef my bud gets to tackle as part of the Boston Ironsides Rugby Team.