blown

blown

lethal weapon

I can't tell you how many times I've found myself in a position where I’ve had to warn a potential foe that "these hands are registered with the local police department as lethal weapons."

Apparently, the debate on whether or not to register hands as weapons is a hot debate topic on the message boards over at KarateForums.com...

For instance, Luckykboxer writes:
"Basically, if jo blo was to injure/kill someone in a brawl, under the self defence law, they would have more leniency than if a martial artist inflicted the same injury/death in the same situation.

well yes and no.

a trained martial artist will avoid more situations and will be able to keep himself out of trouble more then jo blo will… also will be able to handle small situations better then Jo Blo will… when it gets serious will have a better chance of coming out better then jo blo…. self defense is self defense no matter how you cut it.

the problem is when a trained martial artist has a situation under control then takes advantage of it to inflict harm when he could have safely walked away… i dont consider that self defense, i consider that assault. Now myself I feel that some people deserve it, but that still is against the law. if soemone chooses to break the law, they have to be ready to face the consequences."


Interesting point.

GCav states:
"OK, heres my two cents worth. I have been in law enforcement for a very long time, longer than some of the KF members have been alive. I do not claim to know every thing, but I have noticed several threads in different areas of the KF dealing with this subject and other LE stuff. So, based on many years of LE experience, and going to court 1000s of times, here we go:

NO, you do not have to register your hands as deadly weapons.
NO, you do not have to announce that you know MAs (for several reasons it is better that you don't).
NO, you will not be given a harder sentence for knowing MAs.
NO, police officers can not shoot an unarmed man 21 feet away for just standing in a "MAs stance". (from a different thread)
NO, there are no laws restricting what techniques an instructor can teach his/her students.
YES, as some have said, you must use the least amount of force necessary to defend yourself. Anything over that, by a MA or non-MA, moves your actions into the criminal area.

Now, the laws in each state are different on self defence and for what is a concealed weapon, deadly weapon, illegal weapon, and how you can carry your MAs weapons to and from your class, so I can not comment on that.

This post is not meant in a mean spirited or "I'm right your wrong" way, so please do not take it the wrong way. I'm only passing on my little bit of knowledge. :)"


Red J provides a hearty laugh for karateforums.com readers when he dropped:

"I must warn you that my hands are registered as lethal weapons with the FBI." -Ralph Malph - Happy Days


And 47MartialMan followed that up with and even bigger laugh when he typed:

F.B.I.?
I nthis case, the Federal Bereau of Idiots?

--

so, the debate still reigns...

KarateForum.com readers on are definitely on the fence about revealing their powers to local law enforcement, but seem to be in agreement that self "defense" is spelled "d-e-f-e-n-c-e."

KarateForums.com message board

Lez Is More, episode 3: "Take Off"

Lez Is More, episode 3: "Take Off" has been posted online.

Check it out here: http://www.effingcomic.com/lezismore.html

Le Experience

"Le Experience" is a social idea/game/movement that I did not create, but pinned a label to.

It occurs when one suspends all personal prejudice, judgment and attempts at control and allows a situation to play itself out on its own karmic wave. Occasionally it requires taking yourself out of your own comfort zone. Basically it means that you allow the scenario to play itself out while you enjoy the spontaneous ride and take something away from the experience.

I have almost never regretted taking a chance during a period of Le Experience because I have almost always been rewarded by the endeavor.

Friends who have discussed this movement and explored it on their own report similar positive results. Subscribers to the Le Experience movement find themselves being photographed for major department store catalogs... learning how to create computer animation after packing two suitcases and moving to foreign countries... writing advertisements read by 17 year old social misfit geniuses in the Middle East... drinking wine and smoking while staring at a full moon shining over the water and beach at the shore of the Puget Sound... laying in bed with incredible and beautiful women after intense, sweaty sex sessions...

There is however an aspect of Le Experience that must be strictly enforced: the participant must at all times understand that this is a ride and that there are parameters to this freedom. Although engaged in spontaneity, the participant must be of sound judgment and morals.

Basically, if you're some crazy bitch who has no game plan, doesn't follow time (and, in fact, questions "what is time?")... then you are not following Le Experience... rather, you are an unaccountable, irresponsible crazy person. Get a grip. This is merely a social idea/game/movement that I pinned a label to.

fixed gear

The Pista is light, solid (sturdy) and super fucking fast.

I'm reaching an age of tripped out euphoria on that shit.

It's like effortlessly running 28 miles an hour on air. Through city traffic. It's visually fucked up and very hard to describe. It's like zen. It's like channeling the force. I am a padawan learner who is slowly tapping into my abilities and freaked out by what I'm finding.

The bike is fuckin fun.

shellac with a wild cat... sideways... spike lee

I really like the production on this track M.E.D. - push.

--

I'm thick and sick with whisky and nicotine.

Holy shit! I should've taken the day off.

I got up late feeling like ass because I was out until 3 am with that super fucking hot crazy girl Sarah. We went to see Shellac play at Martyrs, and the shit was off the hook. Fuckin shit.

Shellac is a three piece headed by world-famous record producer Steve Albini. A Shellac show is an event because they play very infrequently and have no timetable with their releases. Shit, this 6'5" lumberjack looking motherfucker standing next to me flew in from Portland, OR. for the show. He wasn't disappointed. They fucking rocked this shit.

I'll see if I can dig up a stray mp3 file somewhere to post. Until then, pick up Shellac: At Action Park Check out the clip of "crow"... the rhythm section is super tight. I've always liked the way that Albini has recorded bass and drums. He mixes this enormous powerful wall of sound that has brought out the best sounding material from bands on records like The Breeders: Pod, The Pixies: Surfer Rosa and Nirvana: In Utero

The Onion interviews Steve Albini.

Anyways, it was a great rock show and I drank three or four pints of Jack and Coke. And Sarah and I killed a pack of Parliament Lights. And then we went to the Gingerman and closed that joint down. It's a bad idea to start the week like this. Who cares.

--

I saw the movie Sideways this last weekend, and it was super funny. Paul Giamatti is one of my favorite character actors now. He's very very good at freaking out on camera. And he's played some real losers believably... American Splendor is one of the best movies made in the past few years... his portrayal of Pig Vomit (image removed due to unintended heavy traffic to site which doesn't actually own image) in Private Parts stood toe to toe with Howard Stern. And he was barely recognizable - it was the make up - in Planet of the Apes. In short, to not even be nominated for an award for Sideways, Paul was robbed.

However, you don't hear Paul pissing an moaning like Spike Lee does everytime some piece of shit he releases is overlooked by critics, the media, and basically anybody with $10 in their pocket and two hours to kill.

But that's just me kicking Spike Lee for sucking as bad as he does and playing the race card every chance he gets. I should devote a post to Spike Lee, but why bother? I'll just bitch about him here right now.

Spike Lee is compelled to always include some sort of racial tension, usually ending in violence of some sort. I'm too bored with the subject of Spike Lee's films to list which ones include racial violence, it's basically this list.

Scanning this list the only movie I liked was The 25th Hour, and if I remember correctly, he was still able to include yet another montage of New York actors "rapping" about racial stereotypes. For every instance of Spike Lee screaming racism, he still manages to get his digs in against Italians and Jews... so, what the fuck is that all about?

And he sued the cable station SPIKE TV because he believed that whenever anyone heard "Spike TV" they thought of "that little punk ass bitch spike lee"... and not bad television.

Give it up Spike, YOU SUCK!

Larry King = LAME

Hotmail sucks. It's so fucking slow I can't believe it. Half the time the fucking send button doesn't work, and the other half of the time it says that the server is busy after I hit send and I have no idea if the message I sent actually hit the recipient.

--

I'm tired again. How boring is that?

--

I had to walk down Michigan Avenue this afternoon to go to the North Face store at the base of the John Hancock building. I had to replace this footprint for a tent that I borrowed last fall when I went camping. Everywhere I look I see two things: mid 20's (and up) women walking around with shopping bags from expensive stores and wealthy europeans who don't work.

That's one thing that bugs me: every girl in this city carries all of her shit for the day (an apple, maybe a newspaper, maybe her feminine products) in a fucking bag from The Limited, or Nordstroms, or Saks Fifth Avenue. What the fuck is that all about?

And another thing: The Red Eye and The Red Streak ARE NOT REAL NEWSPAPERS... they're condensed, edited down cliff's notes of real newspaper articles (already written at the 6TH GRADE level) for people who don't want to know shit about anything... except for the latest on the Britney Spears pregnancy watch.

Materialism is the bane of civilization.

"Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets."

--

BK's Tender Crisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch ad is given a psychoanalysis.

--

Larry King's articles are asinine and poorly written... however very difficult to mimic. It's really kind of hard to write stream of thought lameness like Larry has created an empire upon. That and he's been married to the same looking woman about 17 different times... everytime they hit 45, he trades them in for a younger model. Larry's a talentless hack.

Socialist Saturday

Saturday I drove up to Madison with Rick to meet up with Lope. Lope is on a 26 day, 6700 mile cross-country fundraiser for his left wing radio station out of LA. He’s traveling with his boss, another gay boss and the gay boss’ gay boyfriend who’s acting as a videographer (he videotapes the events they’re attending) and to provide gay love for Lope’s gay boss in a mid-sized rented RV.

Let me preface this by citing that I have nothing against gay people, and in fact like Lope’s gay boss quite a bit (Rick and I took a trip out to LA last year and saw some good times with Lope and his gay boss) – I just think that it’s funny and power abusing to bring along your lover on a month-long cross-country business trip in tight quarters... especially if the “videographer” has zero filmmaking experience.

Anyways, Madison is about a 3 hour drive from Chicago and Saturday was a sunny 75 degree day. We pulled in about the same time that Lope pulled in. We hadn’t seen him since our last visit to LA about a year ago, and the change was definitely for the positive: Lope leaned down from his husky self, was in more playful better spirits and apparently has had a girlfriend for several months. The whole crew was tired as hell: they’re only left California on April 3rd and had already hit 4 events on their way east (they were next scheduled to attend an event in Philadelphia today). That’s insanity.

Lope had to do some setting up, so we went into the community center hosting the "socialist potluck." Judging by the aging long haired burned out "socialists" in attendance, the government has nothing to worry about… most of the socialists looked hand to mouth poor, were there for a free dinner (a bowl of potato chips and donuts), and – according to their leader – were "considering" placing their meeting minutes online… they’ll get around to that.

Radical!

One crazy ass looking woman in a winter coat cut off the guy at the podium with a "does anybody have a copy of the new civil rights law?" and then later took the open microphone and said:

"I want to start a group for vegan free thinkers… like, every afternoon. I don’t got no money for a place or anything, so we can just meet where ever."

Vegan free thinkers.

When all that socialist crap wrapped up we hung out by the RV and Lope told us about the geocaching hunt that they’re on with the GPS they brought along. It sounds like super fun.

The socialist head of the local left wing radio station took us to this joint called the Weary Traveler. It was way nicer than what I was expecting him to suggest. I figured we’d end up at some dive bar run by fat women with underarm hair, but this place had dark wood and was playing Guero.

It’s easy to catch up with Lope like no time has past. We talked about the kind of girls who say no but mean yes, and came up with a tag: "she smiles when she says no." Looking around at a few of the foxy waitresses and ladies in the room, it was easy to see which ones smiled when they say no. We sat down at the table with the rest of the crew and Rick talked about a girl we know who’s living in Cleveland with her sister who has abortions. We creeped out Lope’s gay boss when we each asked about the same time "how many abortions is too many? Four?" I miss Lope.

Lope’s gay boss and his gay boss’ gay boyfriend wanted to get gay with each other, so they were very enthusiastic about Rick and I taking Lope out for a few hours while Lope’s other boss hung with the local socialist radio guy. I took those two fools to an old haunt called the Paradise Lounge. I have history with the Dise. I first drank there when I was 19 and living in the neighborhood... I’ve had new years eves there... I’ve drank with girlfriends there... I’ve stolen mugs there (they look mason jars with a handle added) – I stole one for Lope that night (they’re great for brewing tea). The Paradise is a great rock dive.

We had a smoke, bought some smokes and drank heavily... someone tossed on Fugazi’s Waiting Room,.. ironic, seeing as Lope and I were really into that particular Fugazi CD nine years ago. I like the Dise because it hasn’t changed at all: they’re still playing old hard rock and metal, the joint is full of young punks and the lost, as well as a healthy population of middle aged to ancient drunks. Some old drunk bellied up next to Lope and, Lope turned to me and asked me if I thought that I could kick that old man’s ass. I thought about it for a second. He was an old, frail man. I told him with full certainty that I could beat him to a coma.

I figured that it would take seven shots:

1 – first tag to the face... let him know that I’m in front of him.

2 – second tag to the face... a little harder this time. I want him to show a bit of a response and hit me back (piss me off), but I also want him to know that I’m just warming up.

3 – third tag to the face... much harder this time. This one should cut skin and release blood.

4 – fourth tag to the face... full on out, this one should fuck up his vision and balance.

5 – fifth tag to the face... this one should knock him back, and then down to the ground.

6, 7 – sixth and seventh shots to the head are just a reminder to not get up... like “stay” (tag #6) “down!” (tag #7)

Soon, our night was over. We were fucked up and super tired. We picked up Lope’s other boss and drove them to the worst KOA campsite I’ve ever seen... it was a dirt field with parked RV's (it's outside of Madison, off County V in DeForest, WI. don’t stay there).

I don’t know when I’ll see Lope again, but that’s part of the fun of our friendship, it’s unpredictable and always fun.

greenery

First things first: I'm an extremely youthful (and young looking) single straight strapping 31 year old ass kicker. I work with a small pool of divorced 40 to 50-something women, and am now starting to catch hints of available old lady ass.

I can't say for certain that I want any of it. To be honest, they seem like older older women - like the older women that were friends with my mom when I was a kid. It's like my mom's friends are subtly coming on to me -- and I'm a kid -- and it kind of freaks me out.

I bring this up because this 45 year old designer just gave me a box of these rad pencils, patted my shoulder (letting her fingertips brush and linger) as she walked off with a smile (old girl), and took a comment from another old girl about how single I am.

A couple of these women have 20 year old daughters. Maybe I can work something out.

--

I talked to Rick about Bill and his disappearance from the Queens of the Stone Age show, and supposed arrest. It turns out that Bill told Rick that he was going to take a piss, and walked up to the back bar at the Vic. For some fuckin reason the bartender cut him off. Bill smarted off, because he wasn't drunk... and what the fuck?

Bill turned and accidently walked into some girl. A security guy told him to watch himself and kind of manhandled him. Bill told him to fuck off and pushed him away, which pissed off security... so four meatheads jumped him and dragged him outside and dumped him off onto some Chicago cops. The pigs then arrested him and took him to an area Police department and kept him in custody until 3:30 in the morning before releasing him on no charges. Fuckers.

--

I ran across the script for Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith online. Read it if you want to ruin the movie for yourself. The link is RIGHT THERE!! Read it if you want to fuck up the whole end of Star Wars experience! I bet you're scared. Pussy.

--

Quasimoto is the shit, and is going to explode this summer. Check out a new track from their forthcoming LP (out in May): "greenery"

Now go get lifted, fuckers.

crapshoot

I love pearl jam. To me they're the Rolling Stones... they're U2... they're the last survivors of the grunge scene of the early 90's.

I dug grunge. It was a potent mix of classic rock, hard rock, punk and metal... with a healthy dose of surf guitar and psychedelic.

Pearl Jam is still here and they keep putting out barely noticed, yet strong rock albums. They're just a tight rock band, and their live show is where the shit is at.

They've been writing new material and playing it live at small venues in Seattle. Check out an audience recording of crapshoot.

rawk.

queens of the stone age

Last night I went to Queens of the Stone Age at the Vic in Chicago with that crazy girl Sarah, my pal Rick and his brother Bill. I knew it was going to be a night of aggression right away when Rick called me to tell me that traffic was all fucked up. When Rick and Bill made it over they were engaged in some sort of slap boxing, smiling with clenched teeth. More than once I was subtly invited to break Bill's jaw, but I wanted no part of it. I just wanted to go get Sarah and then hit the show.

Sarah is fucking hot. A couple weeks ago she was looking a bit tubby, but all that was weighing her down is mysteriously gone. I don't get it. She has a grand attitude as well. Before the show we met up at Sheffield's because it's a block from The Vic and because they've got a great beer garden and because the beer garden's got this super thick tree that has to be at least 150 years old... which is remarkable considering that it's located in the center of the northside of Chicago... a neighborhood that has been highly populated for 150 years. I think that that is remarkable... chew on that for a bit and get back to me... and it was like freakin 77 degrees last night. So we're drinking a couple of beers before the show and talking about Michael Jackson, and I said that he's dropping a few million on attorneys, so I figured that he'd get off. Bill cut me short and turned to Sarah and said "what gets you off?" That was pretty funny because Bill has some mental issues and he's super weird. Sarah took it great and said "I don't think I know you well enough to give you an answer." Bill's about 25 years old now and I've known him since he was 17. It took me about three years to figure out that he wasn't kidding and that he's fucked up for real.

We got to the show and the crowd was suprisingly sedate. Not that many women and not that many dudes who looked like they could kick my ass. That kind of disappointed me. When I go to a metal show I want to see a room of tattoo'd emotional disturbed fuck ups... not IT guys sipping a beer, sneaking looks at Sarah's body and giving me "please don't kill me" glances before turning away. Pussies!

The Vic is a great venue - built in the 1920's with a capacity of around 2,000. It's a grimy beer puddle of cigarette butts and one hitters that's perfect for a rock show.

The opening band sucked.

Queens rolled on around 9:45 and fucking rocked it. It was great to see a really good rock show. Midway through the set I noticed that Bill and Rick had strayed. I figured they'd moved down to the floor to jump into the pit. I didn't want to move because Sarah didn't want to go down on to the floor, and I was liking the view (Sarah's fine figure) from where we were at.

When the show ended Rick came over and said that he didn't know where Bill went and that we had to go back to Sheffield's because he left his bar tab open. We stepped outside and waited for the joint to clear. No Bill! Sarah told me a couple of times that Bill was freaking her out and that she didn't know that he was fucked up. I told her that it took me three years to figure out that he wasn't kidding. Rick did a loop and No Bill! We decided that Bill must've walked back to the bar. We went to the bar. No Bill! We had a couple drinks, and then walked Sarah home. We jumped the L and went back to my place. No Bill! Bill's car was still there but No Bill! Rick figured that he could be anywhere.

Rick crashed and I got him up at 6:30 to take the train back to the south side. After seven beers and about 38 cigarettes the night before I decided to kick my own ass and ride in on pista. I thought the sweat and exercise would cleanse me a bit. I was wrong, I still feel like a piece of shit. I got to work and checked my messages. Bill called my cell at 3:30 in the morning from a pay phone saying that he was in jail and needed a ride. I called Rick to get the story, but he was already on the road headed to Michigan.

That's fucked up.

nine inch nails live

I've like nine inch nails since 1990 when my friend Aaron shoplifted a copy of pretty hate machine. Woah shit... I thought it rocked. Especially for a product of Cleveland.

Trent Reznor took it in a metal direction with the broken EP, and then fucked it all up with the downward spiral (what was it? metal? goth? industrial? noise?)... a record made at the site of Sharon Tate's massacre by the hands of the Manson Family. And one that still scares me. Five years of tinkering in the studio produced the fragile... a two disc masterpiece (in my opinion), that was widely discarded to the used CD bargain bin.

Well, anyways, the motherfucker is back with a new album and a new small venue tour!! Thanks to the internet, you too can catch some of these shows. Like this one.

kick ass.

get real paid

Sorry about the lack of updates. I have been in mild recovery from my white trash experience of a couple weeks back.

So what's new? I saw Sin City on friday night... and holy shit, is it good. I don't think I've seen anything like it before. It is one of the most (potentially) offensive films I've ever seen, rivaling Natural Born Killers and Hard Boiled in the violence slash gore slash not for children category. It's basically a cartoon for adults. Go see it if Reservoir Dogs didn't make you wet yourself.

Saturday I was in Wisconsin to catch a ball game and see how much better than me my college friends are doing financially. I kick myself once a month when I get my paycheck. Why the hell did I think it would be a good idea to move to Chicago and bust my ass to find an opportunity to become an ad copywriter? What kind of insanity possesed me to think that this was a good career move? Why is it that seven years later I'm still getting my ass kicked over an ill advised and wholly ideological decision made when I was 24 - a year clouded by ganja?

Anyways, my friend Mark is about the goofiest fuck you could meet. He's a civilian Carrot Top. He went to eye doctor school after he couldn't get in to medical school, and now he's "DOCTOR Mark", drives a 05 Saab, just bought a Cape Cod house in a Milwaukee suburb, works nine to five (and doesn't work over-time), and is dating this super hot 23 year old named Carrie. She told me that mark took her to Breckenridge last week for a little ski weekend. Her eyes were sparkling and her smile was from ear to ear.

Question: why didn't I go to dental school? I mean, every stroke off that I see on a Harley is a dentist.

Johnnie Cochran's burning in hell

en fuego