I have decided to star suggesting good things in NYC. Because unlike LA we can get as drunk as we want and go to as many things as possible cause’ we ain’t got no cars. Danny-boy still has some paintings up at Arts Tropical in Greenpoint. Barnaby Whitfield has a show opening tomorrow night, but I am more interested in the show he curated in the back “WARM, RED, SALT AND WET” at 31 Grand Gallery (located where its name suggests).There is a closing reception at Brooklyn Fire Proof, for the “Mixed Emotions” show curated by Sophia Dixon on Friday?
Then later on Friday night, if you enjoy fun, and welcome the the end of winter and the departure of its abysmal icy cool breathe (mint mojito) make sure you make it to the Redemption Center, because Bobo and Dj Wastes Muny playing together is basically like sharks communicating with luminescent skin, (see below).
Warning. If you are currently stoned, at all……your brain is about to be over. I am about to watch “After Humans” will give a full report later.
Well, another shuttle is launching and no one cares. Only the Japanese media. This is because the Japanese are the last people on earth who care about technology. Not just rockets and experimental space modules but they make robots. Robots that dance. Robots are awesome. Especially ones that dance.
This is a press conference full of Japanese reporters and ZERO Americans. Also no Canadians even though they have just as big of an impact on this mission as the Japanese. The Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency, JAXA, also had another very significant contribution to space this month. SPACE FOOD. I’m not talking about dry neapolitan cubes. I’m talking about sushi and noodles!
The space station becomes ever more international with it’s Canadians and Japanese and Russians and of course, our dear Americans. As of now, space is just full of a bunch of peace loving hippies. And they are all speaking english and eating Japanese space food. It’s exactly as I would expect a new colony in space to be.
Remember that Simpson’s episode where Homer goes to space, and they had an ant colony to sort tiny screws? Well they actually have that! Maybe not to sort screws but they have ants and grain and mice and fish. Gold fish. In water.
I saw the inside of the life size model of the experimental module and the fish were in a container that seemed to have gravity. But how would a fish tank work without gravity? If you took that gravity away, the fish would have to float in their container, in water globs. I wish I had a picture of that. But i don’t.
power=technology=space missions=space food=taste
I am putting together a series of interviews with curators responsible for compiling amazing online archives of cultural relics and sparkling gems of obscurity. My first interview was with one of the partners of the killer rare music blog Mutant Sounds, a constant source of brain-crumbling sounds.
- TEENAGEDIET: Me and some of my other music nerd friends here in New York have often speculated whether or not you guys at mutant sounds post this material from your own physical collections or not. So please, settle this score, do you actually physically posses all these records and tapes, or merely accumulate files from other ambitious collectors?
- ERIC: About 90% of what I post is from my collection. The rest is CDR’s of stuff I burned at some point or material thats contributed to the blog.
- TD: So how much space in your house does this stuff occupy?
- E: I Live in a large loft-like space. The collection occupies a decent portion of about half of it.
- TD: Is your spouse/significant other ever pissed off about this?
- E: Never once been an issue for me, fortunately.
- TD: Mutant Sounds is pretty consistently bringing its readers new material, how many hours a week do you spend on this project?
- E: The first year, it was eating up pretty much every moment of my spare time not dedicated to work in my band Vas Deferens Organization, but Jim and I were both behaving as men possessed and that’ll take a toll after awhile. The current rate of around 50-60 titles posted between us per month (I usually try to up around 25) allows both of us to continue our mission without risk of burnout, which we both trod pretty close to at one time or another before taking stock and learning to pace ourselves. It’ll usually take me around 8-10 hours to cull together and compose my spiel for a post of five albums.
- TD: Does the obsessive collecting and compiling ever cut into other aspects of your life?
- E: Inevitably. Obsessive is my middle name.
- TD: What was the first thing you collected as a kid?
- E: As a little kid? Matchbox cars. Age 10-12 or so, cheesy records. Age 13-14 the sort of stuff you see on Mutant Sounds beginning with New Wave via Devo, Oingo Boingo, XTC, and especially Pere Ubu, the band most responsible for directing me towards the kind of stuff I promote nowadays.
- TD: I live in Brooklyn where buying obscure music can be a pain in the ass, if you find anything great its owner knows it’s great and will charge you appropriately. Do you think the influx of readily available information takes part of the fun out of discovering new music?
- E: At least in respect to what Jim and I do, I hope it promotes a paradigm shift that offers a different but equal sort of fun to that of crate digging or ferreting through record dealer catalogues, and leaves a lot of minds blown through sensory overload in the process.
- TD: Lastly, you live in Dallas right? Do you have any recommendations of good record shops for the wandering audiophile?
- E: Dallas is the pits for a serious collector. There’s not one shop out here that I would care to recommend. Aside from purchasing the bulk of several collections, I’ve primarily obtained everything else via mail order.
Thanks again to Eric, make sure you check out the site and stay tuned for an interview with Mutant Sounds partner Jim and an interview with Tim Barber from Tinyvices.com.
Funny Games will fuck with your mind. There are no surprises though. You know from about 20 minutes deep exactly whats going to happen. Nonetheless watching the thing is tortuous, because you’ve made a choice to see this thing, to keep watching knowing very well whats coming, and why? The implication is inevitably that, deep down, you’re just as sick and twisted as these two little shits that have brought all this horror onto an “innocent” family. This is not an easy realization to come to terms with. You may want to look away. Walk out even. Many will.
Michael Haneke shocks audiences nationwide, today, with his Americanized remake of his own German language original.
What are taste and power and what the fuck do they have to do with each other? What happens when they collide? For the purposes of resolving these riddles, I will be defining taste as “the sociological concept of expressing preferences deemed appropriate or inappropriate by (or for) society” and power as “the ability by a group or individual to make choices or influence outcomes bigger than it/him/herself.” To have both is to control what other people like, usually without them knowing. To have both is to be both the gatekeeper and the keymaster.
1: Tasteful Power – Count Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy
Tolstoy was a count who didn’t give a fuck. He was born in 1808 into one of the wealthiest noble families in Russian history, with plenty of power and no taste. This bothered him. His mother, father, grandmother, and aunt died when he was 2, 9, 10, and 13. This didn’t bother him.
When he was 19 he inherited his 4,000 acres and 350 serfs. This sucked, so he moved to Moscow, got drunk, and blew all his money gambling. He slowly sold land and slaves for years to pay his debt, and eventually had to cut down his forests, tear down his house, and even sell his watch. Legend has it that he didn’t give a fuck about money. He went to school at St. Petersburg to study law and Oriental languages. College sucked, so he quit. He volunteered in an artillery unit. War sucked (possibly even moreso than college), so he quit. He tried to free his serfs in 1851, a whole decade before the cavemen in control of Russia got the idea. His serfs didn’t take his offer because they thought it was a trap. (Note: slaves are stupid. Tolstoy started a school for his slaves’ kids a few years later to try to fix this.)
So Tolstoy travels all across Europe to see what it’s like, and realizes it’s a bunch of bourgeois pseudo-intellectual dooshbags. He starts to write the world’s most amazing stories about rich assholes dying. Then he freaks out because he can’t stop gambling and having sex, so he magically devises a new form of Christian anarchism, gets a bunch of disciples, and they start traveling around calling themselves Tolstoyans.
He threw away his financial power and slave-owning power and got a bunch of religious power and literary power out of thin air. The man had good taste, and knew what kinds of power mattered. He owned land, riches, bodies, and labor, and didn’t care. He wanted souls, and he wanted to control the world of literature, so he snatched it all up. Even King Pimp Dostoyevsky called him the world’s greatest living writer, and Nabokov called him the greatest writer in all of Russian history. And his religious works famously influenced Gandhi and MLK’s doctrines of nonviolence.
Also, he wrote into his will that anything he wrote before 1881 would be copyrighted by his wife and family, and anything afterwards would have no copyright whatsoever, and one time he shot a bear point-blank range in the fucking face. THEN he learned to ride a bike at age 67, was excommunicated at age 73, and died at 82 with thousands of peasants at his funeral in the middle of the woods. He invented ballin’.
2: Powerful Taste – Food that Tastes You Back
People need to eat to live, so controlling food means eternal riches. Australia is aware of this, while America is not. (Note: America is stupid. Maybe Tolstoy should have started a school over here to fix that.) From 1992 to 2003, Australia exported 20% of the world’s beef and veal, and America and Brazil were tied for 2nd place at 18% (or 1.1 million metric tons) each. Over this period, U.S. beef exports grew 85%. Then in 2003, something magical happened.
One Canadian-born cow in Washington state had mad cow disease, or as we call it on the streets: bovine spongiform encephalopathy. Most of the world immediately banned U.S. beef. Most of the world doesn’t want mad cow disease. 90% of U.S. beef was bought by Japan (the world’s largest beef-importer), South Korea, Canada, and Mexico, which all banned U.S. beef. Wuss countries like Canada and Mexico changed their minds soon and allowed poison meat into their homes. Japan, however, took this opportunity to finally get revenge for the uranium-fission and plutonium-implosion bombs of yesteryear and banned all beef that didn’t follow their new import laws. No beef would be allowed into Japan unless data was readily available regarding where the cow was born, where it died, every single place it lived, everything it ate, and every cow it lived with at every single location. America thought this would cost too much; Australia did not. American beef exports dropped from 18% of the world market to 3%. American beef exports dropped to 17% of their 2003 level. With one swift move, Japan handed over the world’s beef market to Australia (and to a lesser extent, Brazil). If you want health-guaranteed madness-free beef, go to one of those countries. If a country’s beef is good enough for Japan, it’s good enough for anybody.
To further demonstrate how hard America fucked itself in the meat wallet, American cow tongue (the tastiest part if you’re a burrito fan like myself) went for $4.25 per pound before the incident, and as of July 2004 was down to 70 cents per pound, for a loss of $12.43 per cow head, as calculated by the U.S. Meat Export Federation. In Japan, cow tongue can fetch over $20 per pound. They cut it into thin strips and grill it in teriyaki sauce Korean BBQ style and it’s heavenly. If you find yourself in Japan, eat it. They call it gyutan. It’s Japanese for “cow tongue.”
3: Tasty Power – YMO and Beer
The best way to tie all these concepts together in a way you MTV/ADD-generation heathens can follow, is through an audio-visual example. I read that somewhere. Yellow Magic Orchestra, one of the tastiest groups to ever bless electronic music from 1978 onward, recently reformed (again) to rock out a commercial for Kirin Ichiban, one of the world’s tastiest beers, and my personal ex-favorite. (I quit drinking beer last year, in Japan. I’m so rad.) Watch as with the perfect match of fashion-taste and music-power, YMO control the dance floor, and all our hearts.
Alright, so I could spend plenty of time drawing the line from Cab Calloway and big band jazz through Chicago over the span of 50-70 years to the birth and apex of ghetto-house, juke music, and footworking (footwurking), but instead I just want to share these two puzzle pieces. And yes there are references to sex and drug usage but this is one of the less dangerous Betty Boop toons…trust me.
I’m sick of it all and i might as well end it. I don’t remember the last time I went to the doctor for any kind of illness. I remember breaking my nose when I was 12, but thats about it. Never missed school or work because i was “truthfully” sick. But since I have moved to Korea, I have been to the doctor 7 times. I had bronchitis for the first time, thought I was gonna die, had to be put on IV, was taken care of by hot korean nurses. I keep having to go back for antibiotics because of a reoccuring more than shitty cold that never makes sleeping enjoyable. This might be the best time to announce that I think I have ringworm. I spent 2 minutes looking it up and consider myself an expert/webMD and i have concluded that while I don’t have all the symptoms, i do have one, a ring on my back the size of which could probably fit my middle finger. It has been there for 3 days and has not gone away. I had to think back when i could have gotten something that I am pretty sure is a fungus. Perhaps it was staying in a sketchy Hotel on saturday and sunday because it had a bath big enough for 2 and i had company, perhaps it was the high end “Juicy bar” (whoreville) i visited on friday, maybe its something in the air (like the Yellow dust floating around the city that has just arrived straight from the Gobi desert, made more potent by Beijing’s smokestacks. KOREA!!! you bitch of the east!! I have defended you in the past and you have raped me in return, I am defeated. But whatever it is, if I have ringworm, i am gonna give it to every korean i know out of spite.
Even though a lot of things have been said about me, and some of the worst things really have been proven, I think you all should remember something. If you could just see past that, see a sort of funny place where we fit just right, like a clowny-clown town, where things’d go just how they’re gonna go, and a slippery street, on a tilt, and everything in the town’s gonna slide where it wants to, and some of the people that live there have a little meeting and they say: “well there it is, proof, this town’s goin in a way I like or that I dont like.” well-l-l-l I’d be that other guy that stands up, says “yeah, they’re right, ‘cept if it’s gonna go that way, lets fight fire with fire, lets slide so often down the streets of this town, that we weigh it back down, crush that tilt that’s been wedged in there, let’s grease up, go faster!” EVERYBODY WOULD AGREE!….. THEN after some time goes by, the folks that brought up the point in the first place would start to say “Hey this phun is getting boring, the tilt we were on isn’t there any more, and w’ere all still covered in gunk slippin’ and slidin’ all over the place, just stop all this clowning around! there’s no call for it anymore! Let’s just bury all this clowning we’ve done, dig a ditch outside of town!” Then I wouldn’t really be able to say anything about it ’cause the tide would’ve turned back around , and some more time would pass with everything just going fine for everybody…but the more serious and fine everybody got, the more the memory of the slick sliding days would come back, and then it’d be a story I’d just tell to my kids, and then there kids, and then one day they’d wanna find all that clowny gunk and phun they’d burried, and that’s the day when you’d come back to my kind, that’s the day when I’d be able to defend myself to all of you.