Automatic Manual

This is "Automatic Manual" I once told my little friend in my little band that I wanted to try and manual* across the Golden Gate Bridge. He said it was impossible to do. My retort was that if I had enough speed (possibly towed by a car) and if I had a good sized skateboard, with REALLY good bearings, and like Bones 66 wheels, then it would certainly be possible. Wind and the natural arch of the bridge are factors too, of course. I would have to be going with the wind, and would need to account for the curveature/physics of the slope of the bridge. Many, many things to consider. I really want to try it someday, preferably before my old man back and knees are completely shot -- they are getting bad, I can feel it. So this would have to be done within the next couple of years.
At any rate, this piece here (part of the striped board series) has really nothing to do with actually "manualing" the GG bridge. Rather, when I was creating this piece, I was laughing to myself about how my little friend said that my stunt would be impossible -- sure, I'm old, bald, have freckles, wear glasses, make little money, have bad back, bad knees, flat-footed, bow-legged, etc...but Fuck a duck! I can still pull a goddamn fucking manual, and the day that I can't manual anything is the day that I expire, I mean really EXPIRE. Manuals were my very little claim to fame back in the day. And this stunt would sort of be my final "hurrah". Yeah, I am pathetic, I know. For now I will have to live with this piece, and use it for motivation when the time comes. That is, of course, unless somebody purchases it from me. Any takers?

*A manual is a trick performed on a skateboard wherein the rider jumps up (ollies) to an object and coasts across it on the front or back two wheels of the skateboard. Envision a "wheelie" on a bicycle. Manuals are a very satisfying stunt, they feel effortless when done correctly. They require good timing, balance, and patience. I have performed well over 1,000 manuals since 1989.

This is "The Fun Machine" I once saw an awesome band play live called Macha, and they had onstage a big, bulky organ called the "fun machine" I loved the way it sounded. This striped and vinyl layered board does not remind me of the fun machine used by Macha. But, nonetheless, this is a fun and colorful piece. In reality, this piece is not as shiny as in the photo here, but still radiates a nice healthy glow. Fun.  

Suck You In...

This is "Suck You In" a 14" drum head collage, similar to "Separator" in construction, but the feel is quite different. This piece contains a subliminal element; under the first layer of Modpodge I sprinkled down some hallucinogenic dust from Interzone. If you are familiar with W. Burroughs' Naked Lunch you know that once you take a taste of the rare and exotic aquatic centipede dust, you find that there is no return from Interzone. I found myself there a number of times wondering if I'd ever get out. While in Interzone (for a short stay, luckily) I was able to construct this piece. Suck You In is dangerous, and if you decide to hang it on yr wall, be careful. To some it is nothing, to others it is hard to ignore. The dust, yeah, it's that little layer of dust in there that the fiends can sense, they want it, they need it. Come by and get it.

Points of Departure...

This is "Points of Departure" a piece for Scott O. from the short lived band that we had in '96 called Droplet. I remember wanting to name a song Points of Departure, but Scott the shoegazer wouldn't have it. He said that it sounded too Jazzy, what?! Anyway, I name some of these pieces after rejected song titles by former and current bands that I'm in. You know the old addage: How do you make a drummer stop playing? Put a piece of sheet music in front of him! Hahahahaha...

This is "Static Tension", approx. 3' tall by 2' long (looks small in photo, but is actually kinda big). It is not meant to make you actually feel tense, but I think it exudes some sort of tension from within. This is not the greatest photo of this piece, but it gives you a basic idea of this OCD art. Ingredients: Flat green spray paint, first layer of Mod Podge, chartpak solid color tape (mattes and glossy), second layer of Mod Podge, matte finish spray to diffuse glare. That's it!

Joe vs. The Old Farts

So I found myself at the Albany Senior Center the other day for their annual "yard sale". It's funny 'cause there really isn't any yard at the senior center, just a few rooms inside of an old dilapidated building that was probably built at the turn of the century. The senior center is such a weird little place. The only other time that I had been there was to vote -- they are the local polling place in our community. I had voted in the past two elections at the senior center, and each time I went there were several seniors sitting around and assisting the voters, i.e., checking off names, handing people ballots, looking confused, making people confused, and scowling every time a younger person came in to vote. If all goes well, they hand you a little "I voted" sticker and then send you on your merry way.
So other than voting at this place and walking by it occasionally while noticing the now defunct shuffleboard area across the street, I really had no reason to go there, and frankly, the place radiates a kind of putrid decay, like something desperately trying to hold onto newer, faster times, even though that thing is old and antiquated itself, it still clings. It's kind of sad, really, because I can see it in the faces of the senior citizens when I have voted there before -- they look sorta desperate, like they are still "with it" but you know once they step out of those doors they seemingly fade right into the landscape. They are artifacts -- no longer needed and no longer viable in these modern times.
But I did manage to go to the senior sale, mainly out of curiosity, and also because Sarak once told me that senior sales and church estate type sales are some of the best places to find sweet deals on vintage clothing, records, and other little knick-knacks. I walked into the place and immediately noticed a big box full of bags and backpacks. I sifted through the pile and came across a nice messenger type bag. It was only $2 so I decided to buy it. I started walking into a different area with the bag when all of a sudden a little squeaky voice called out, "Sir, you can pay for that in here!" I looked around, kinda surprised, and then noticed a little hunched over lady speaking to me from a folding chair. I kind of laughed and said, "Well, I'm still looking around, but I do want to buy this before I leave". My first thought was that the lady thought I was going to steal the bag. I was certainly not going to steal it! I just wanted to hold onto it before somebody else grabbed it up. Some other people looking around glanced over when the old lady yelled at me, there was a mutual "I know that these old people can be a bit confused" look on their faces and mine. I was told by the hunched over lady that they didn't want different merchandise traveling into the other rooms, you had to pay for your stuff in each little section. So I sat my bag by the table and said I'd buy it before I left. The old lady frowned and said, "Alright then".
I proceeded to go into another room where there were bookshelves full of all sorts of interesting books. I began perusing them and eventually came upon a rather lare, hard-bound "Motorcycles of Britain" book. It looked really nice, and was in good condition. I instantly started to think how much bread I could get for it on eBay. I bet I could get at least $40!! I don't care about motorcycles, I just thought the book looked nice with full color photographs and what not. Some enthusiast out there would have easily paid good money for it. But again, seemingly out of nowhere, another barely audible, little, squeaky voice called to me "Sir, that isn't for sale!" I turned to find yet another hunched over senior sitting in a folding chair scowling at me. I thought to myself, "What the fuck is going on here?" The senior explained that the particular books that I was looking at belonged to the center. I was a bit confused, because these books were right out with all of the other stuff for sale. I could only think that maybe they could have put the stuff away that was not for sale, not left it out there for people to look at. I mumbled to the little lady, "Ok, no problem" and I put the book back on the shelf. Maybe coming into this place was a mistake.
I made my way into a large back room of the center and there were several folding tables with all kinds of junk displayed upon them. I was a bit perturbed because I noticed that a lot of the useless crap was way overpriced. I mumbled a little, "Tssk" and wandered around. I came upon a table that had a bunch of CD's stacked in several piles. As soon as I began sifting through one of the piles a middle-aged woman cut in front of me and rapidly started shuffling through another stack of CD's. She annoyed me from the start. I glanced over and saw that she had grabbed up the Nirvana box set CD, some Hole CD, and a Smashing Pumpkins CD -- all easy money on ol' eBay (don't get me wrong I like Nirvana and the Smashing Pumpkins, but I already have those CD's, and I know that I could get GOOD bread for them on eBay). But this fucking lady snatched them up. I thought, "What the fuck is she gonna do with a Nirvana CD??!!" I was a bit pissed, mainly just because I should have got those CD's, then I realized I was being a bit rash, and my many years experience with thrift store hunting and bargain shopping was getting in the way of my clear judgment. I just see deals and I HAVE TO HAVE them. Especially nowadays with the eBay factor, it is a very dangerous combination -- I'm constantly on the lookout for stuff that I can buy cheaply and then sell for triple the amount online. I have a problem, I think.
So I let that 50 year-old keep the Nirvana CD, big deal! As I was exiting the back room of the center, I happened to glance over at a big chalkboard on the wall. It read, "bake sale" and then had a listing of tasty treats and their prices. I noticed that they had egg salad sandwiches for sale, I love egg salad sandwiches! I almost contemplated buying one until I noticed the price, $4.80. Four dollars and eighty cents for some crappy, home made egg salad sandwich! What??
Who were these old farts trying to fool? I mean, that sandwich should be like $2. I then noticed that much of their food was way overpriced, and it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon as it sat there in the mid-afternoon, untouched, as small clusters of flies began swarming around it. Man, they could sell this shit much faster if they at least slashed the prices. What a waste. Old people are stubborn too, so I just assumed they would throw it all away if it didn't sell. I was kind of pissed at the way this whole place was ran, so to fuck with the seniors a little bit, as I was walking out of the room, I blurted out (quite audibly), "FOUR EIGHTY FOR AN EGG SALAD SANDWICH!?" Some old lady looked at me and said in a sassy sort of way, "Ahhh, but it's good stuff!" I responded with, "I hope so for that amount".
I had just about enough of these crazy old farts, I figured they had won this time, after all, I was on their turf. So as I made my way out I heard the same crackly, little voice from when I first entered the center call to me, "SIR, your bag, are you still going to buy it!?" With my head down, I whispered "yes" and walked over to the table and placed into the senior's weathered and arthritic hand my two dollars. Feeling defeated, I took my new/old bag and made my way out into the bright, bright, BRIGHT afternoon. It was going to be a long day...er...a long life.

A Series of Stupid Tests

40 WPM, 45 WPM, what the fuck!? Typing tests. I hate 'em. I have considered myself a fairly decent typist for the past several years. I have no idea how fast I actually "punch the keys", but I manage to get things done, and put words to paper/blog. However, any company or prospective employer that is basing the hiring of myself on the speed of my typing can go straight to hell-in-a-handbasket. Fuck those people. Hey, you readin' this? How fast do you type, sucker? I bet you type about as fast as I do, huh? Ahh fuck it. Y'all got yr. $60,000/year jobs. Cool, yeah cool. I'm 33 (old bald man) and I bet I will never make more than $16 an hour.
I tried the other day to go out and get a new job, but both of the places I had interviews at had me do the same exact things -- take fucking stupid typist tesst, and spelling tests (which is easy, because I cannn speeeel reallies well. Yeah, yeah. So for instance, I bet if I get a job as a delivery driver they'll probably make me take a typing test. "So Joe, yes, we are interested in having you work for us as a driver, but why don't we go and set you up with a typing test first, and if you can type 80 WPM, we'll talk more." Do I look like a slow typist or something? Maybe I just look sorta slow, and people want to make sure that I'm not a complete idiot. Yeah, I'm losing my hair, and have a big forehead, but it does not say, "Insipid, slow man contained inside, please administer typing test before considering using." Fuck all.

MP's Mailart Chronology, In Real Time!

Once again, my dear friend MP has sent me another one of his randomly filled envelopes via the US Postal Service. Not the god forsaken shitty WA band, but the real deal, the actual thing, the tangible vessel of package transit permeating our vacuum-like American landscape.
As I opened the envelope with the return address indicating Matt "mindless philosopher" Pamatmat, I took notes on exactly what I first pulled out. I normally sift through the pieces, then put together a short history of what MP has been up to in the past month or so. But this time, I "pull out" then "put up", so to speak. This is in real time, yeah, like when you first wake in the morn' and knock things around for a little while, maybe yr brain is knockin' around in yr head too. But somehow everything slowly comes into focus, and you begin your daily routine. This is real, this is the time that I speak of. From the moment you wake 'til the moment you fall asleep, time just goes, and you can't go back and you can't go ahead. You are there, in the moment, dealing with life, life dealing you, maybe? Good, bad, happy, sad, every moment is something, and you live it. This is happening right now.

Fast band, white and cut maybe from MP's arm at some point. It could be that MP was at a show or some event that required his wearing of the "fast band", but maybe later MP was sick of the thing, so he ripped it off. Jasper may have slobbered on it a bit too. Who knows? Photo of three cats sitting around in a non-descript back bedroom located at 1055 Avondala somewhere in America. The names appear to be Frodo, Bertie, and Farmer Giles of Ham aka VDK (Virginia Ditch Kitty). The latter cat seems prissy and pussy. MP took Jasper down to the Petaluma Regional Library on 3/21/05 and checked out some Elmo books (or videos?) I don't know, but I do know that Elmo is not Emo and Emo means dyed black hair, spiked belt, too-short pants, and bad skin. Maybe from a cereal box, or some other such Safeway product, a top was torn revealing R2D2 saying the same thing as MP's return address. C3PO is nowhere in site, but a little feller I know says that I remind him of the golden droid. Taiwanese stickers with clumsy monkeys trying to skateboard makes me high. Scientology is for losers, but I guess Beck sang about being a loser a long time ago, and maybe he was trying to tell us something? But nobody understood his cry and now the guero gets his negative energies eliminated by taking frequent e-meter tests. MP does not agree with Beck's easy route to be free, and nor do I. Grandma, I'm a man, and when I got glazed last night Celeste made some mac & cheese. MP feels soul eyes and a dick, a long skinny dick. Remember that shitty, poser, hair-metal band called Night Ranger? Well, one of the douchebag members lives in Marin, but I think the whole band was from Sonoma County at one point. MP found a little article about this NR guy called Jeff Watson, and I don't know if that is the singer or what -- "motorhead, feels like I'm on fire" Well, that's what I thought that dipshit sang on NR's only hit song "Sister Christian", but I think this guy here is the guitarist for the band, and the stupidest paper ever, the Pacific Sun, ran the story, go figure. Lastly and most certainly deservedly, I pull out The Hairy One, and boy is he a site for sore eyes. This Saturday we go to the Hairy One's namesake bar in SF to try and get an autistic man drunk, and then maybe have the bar set on fire. We'll invite The Hairy One for some s'mores, then sail bottles all over the crooked streets of SF. A glorious time to behold, indeed.

This is "Separator" it kind of reminds me of the human cadavers that are plastecized and on display in science museums across the world (I think there may be currently in SF???). Anyway, I love this exhibit because all of these teachers take their classes to see it, and they think it is going to be some kind of really great discovery for the kids, but what ends up happening is that the kids get sick to their stomachs. They don't realize (and the teachers too) that these plastecized pieces are actually DEAD human beings, I mean real humans that have given their bodies over to science for study, etc... Kids need to get a little sick these days, too safe out there for them, danger is everywhere! Start by checking out the "Separator" one of these fine Saturday afternoons in the springtime. It's coming soon, or sooner than you want anything to come. Don't worry, though, no dead bodies will be found at my place. Hehehehe...  

Cocaine California it was called. And the many who viewed it would slowly succumb to its powers and feel the insatiable urge to delve into the white powdery granules. Like the hues of some California sunset melding with the stark, straight lines of the addictive undercurrents. This one is dangerous.