Ghostface loves mothers

It’s Mother’s Day Weekend and there is nothing more I’d like than to make my mom feel special on this day.  She’d be happy with having her children around and nothing more.  No flowers, no cards, no Lexus SUV’s just typical L-U-V.  And I’m very grateful to have her around.  She’s my biggest fan and has given me nothing but support and encouragement on everything I’ve taken on in this world.

When thinking about what to give your mom for Mother’s Day this year, for those that are in the business of buying gifts, I encourage you to sit back and say to yourself W-W-G-D (What would Ghostface do).  Ghostface Killah, or Tony Starks as his family calls him so I’ve heard, loves his momma.  Who else can drive kilos up the Jersey Turnpike and not look suspicious?  I’m sure Ghostface cares about his mother’s protection, he’s probably bought her an arsenal of diamond-studded nunchucks, liquid swords, and AK-47’s to not only protect herself with but also to showcase her 2nd amendment right.  And who needs a bouquet of flowers when you can shower your momma with a bouquet of cash.  Glaucoma is no threat to Ghostface’s mother, he’ll have a dispensary at her dispense to rid any symptoms of this ailment or any other issues that may plague a woman as she ages.

For those in the Philadelphia area that can’t afford the finer things this year you have a special treat.   You can take your mother out to see Ghostface live at the Blockley.  What better way to celebrate the woman who carried you in her womb than to take her to a rap concert.  If she’s lucky, he may even pass her his Mother’s Day blunt.  Ghostface is always looking out.  And if you’re in Philly you should be on the lookout for a show that’s not to be missed.  An added bonus, DJ Golden Spiral and a crew of Philly’s Phinest emcee’s are opening up the evening festivities.  Stop by and witness the best of what this great city has to offer.  Iron Man may be dead but Tony Starks is alive and kicking; Wu Tang, Wu Tang forever!!!

-Ron Saratoga

Photos courtesy of http://nhakanhaka.tumblr.com & http://fuckyeahwu-tang.tumblr.com

Confection horror

Thousands of years from now, when humans who aren’t rich can no longer survive, smart people from other planets will explore the earth.  They’ll find robotic arms made of titanium, fish, volcanic eruptions, Playstation 3’s, and the giant gummy worm.  Guaranteed anybody that gets this monstrosity as a gift won’t eat it.  And even more guaranteed it will out survive us all.  They may even use it to find away to regenerate chromosomes.  But knowing our luck, they’ll forfeit it to a museum.  And since we’re still kicking, who wouldn’t want this resurrected in their own personal shrine to confectionery oddities.

-Ron Saratoga

Photos courtesy of http://splash-these-hoes.tumblr.com

Viva la imagination

I came across an old copy of Juxtapoz magazine* featuring Cebollero’s art on the cover from 2009 when I was cleaning out some old boxes. I’m really glad I did. Checking out his site really got me thinking about the way we view art.

As a little kid, I was constantly told that art wasn’t supposed to be fun. It had to be serious, overtly intellectual, lofty, subtle and ultimately boring. This disconnect between art and the public it’s supposed to serve has created a pretentious divide between those who were supposed to be taste makers and the rest of us.

While I spent years doing my best to give a shit about minimalist canvas’ dribbled with bits of paint, I constantly snuck around looking for my dirty low brow secret pleasures. Pleasures like old Cracked or Mad magazines*, Covers of Sci-fi novels, garbage pale kids. The great art that you won’t let your Art History teacher catch you looking at.

But now that social media has socialized creativity, the free form masses of pop culture has overwhelmed the institutions that told us that “fun” and “art” can’t be the same. Now painters like John Cebollero can take the stage with his bulb curvy women and next generation Garbage Pale Kids. Now I don’t have to hide my love for this stuff.

-Annette Garcia

Photos courtesy of http://www.johncebollero.com/

*Magazines are web pages made from paper that people used to buy.

Beyond cool

Remember the time when Adidas wasn’t a jinx but rather nothing more than a clever acronym to sell shoes? Probably not, in fact I’d lay a bet to know that 99% of worthy souls reading this post would not know the acronym without searching for it. Better yet, they wouldn’t even care. That’s what makes the Adidas Originals Superstars 80s mesh shoes worthy wearing in any high-rise while partying. They don’t care if you’re a lazy block captain or a rec-school fence enforcer as long as you make sure these Superstar 80’s Mesh’s don’t get engaged in any inner-city coed sport; they’ll stay clean and continue to be beyond cool.

-Ron Saratoga

Photos courtesy of http://alexgeeh69.tumblr.com/

Shred’n heaven

Where in the world is Ralph Sphinx? Carmen Sandiego’s getting a tad bit jealous with the notion that his magenta ’94 Cavalier is a bit less ubiquitous than that Waldo fella. Mikey from Life cereal is turning in his Coca Cola con Pop Rocks infested cultural grave. Jim Morrison is lost in a Peruvian mountain pointing his finger at the newest Unknown Soldier while somewhere deep in the heart of some downtrodden West Texas town Andy Kaufman is finding out that there’s no basement in the Alamo courtesy of an old VHS collection he’s been keenly watching to catch-up with a world we all think he misses.

Yet I’m stuck with nothing more than an out of service house line and memories I can’t convince myself to forget. Long drives into school, crossing a bridge in days before EZ Pass, wishing I had a hippie deadhead to spark me up, or a short-skirted brunette babe to get my adolescence pumped. Unfortunately I was reduced to having to share my 45- minute commute to an all-boy school with a future accountant. A man who was born to be an accountant, from a family of accountants, and one day, a patriarch to future generations of accountants. He was a cheap man, or to be kind, a simple one; and a man whose favorite band lost one of its cornerstones today.

Jeff Hanneman was the guitarist for a band that probably gave a nickname to at least one or two kids in pretty much any suburban high school in the country. Everybody knew a ‘Slayer’ growing up. It’s as common as the drunk that yells Freebird at your typical rock show. What’s unfortunate is that while many knew the band from their intense blood red meme or by the outcast that sported any of their merchandise, most non-metal heads have never really sat down to appreciate the fine intricacies that went into their music, or to put it plain and simple, the shred. The guitar world may have lost one of its innovators today however the heavens have gained its newest proponent. Somewhere in this world or the next; Ralph Sphinx is popping in a Slayer cassette and getting lost in shredding heaven.

-Ron Saratoga

Photos courtesy of http://fuckyeahslayer.tumblr.com & http://obeythedevil.com

Bounty hunt with style

A long time ago, in a dorm room far away, I wrote a post for this site about one of the greatest fucking things I had ever seen- the Adidas Stormtrooper Helmet. Well, you know, there always has to be a sequel. Street wear guru and sneaker freak, Freehand Profit has reset his eyes on Star Wars again. This time he’s using his skills to recreate this dope Boba Fett Nike Helmet. I got nothing to comment on here. It’s just too good.

-Marcus Aubrey

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Photos courtesy of http://freehandprofit.wordpress.com

Chen-a-vision

I recently purchased a television.  Paid next to nothing for it.  It was made in China. Every night, late in the evening when there is no one awake, it evades my treasured dreams with its pre-paid infomercials and 70’s reruns.  I never knew Bea Arthur did anything before the Golden Girls.  And Suzanne Somers, when will I stop being into her.  I’m not talking about Three’s Company, I’m talking about all the infomercials she’s in.  If only she could see me at the other side of the tube.

It’s during these late nite forays that have actually brought a whole new crop of early morning dreams I never could have dreamt previously.  It’s like my brain floats in and out of consciousness with every laugh-track and cheesy 1-800 number announcement.  And as I flow into a dream state it’s as if the static conducts the distortion of night-time images.  Much to the same effect as the sculptures created by Chen Wenling, who like my television, is from China.

Something has to be said for what the Chinese have been drinking as they’ve become bigger capitalists and it shows in Mr. Wenling’s work.  Like his pigs, as people resort to not having to break their back to make a dollar and as they have the money to spend, they get fatter and fatter and fatter both literally and figuratively.  I think that same hint of capitalist gluttony which litters late night television has seeped into my own dreams.  And let me tell you, going hogging in my noggin has a whole new meaning after realizing what many of us deep down inside truly are, swine

Photos courtesy of http://www.chenwenling.com

A mother fucker can dream

Larry Clark is one of those artist’s that you either love or hate. The film maker- photographers a little to realistic depictions of underage sex, drugs and violence have had him walking a razor edged line for years. For many he’s wandered way over that like years ago.  I for one do not think so. There is dirty truth in our dirty reality. The new Skate Deck Canvas project SK8room is rapidly becoming our new absolute favorite and the fact that they’ve released not one but two signed, limited edition decks by Clarke just added to their cred in a big way. Teenage Lust and Billy Mann 1968 are both out of my price range right now, but a mother fucker can dream.

-James Jarvis

Photos courtesy of http://defunctis.tumblr.com & https://www.thesk8room.com

Lists are life

The song ‘No. 9 (Rivised)’ by Electric Eel Shock has encouraged me to sit down and think about my 9 favorite things, with number nine being, of course, the best. What’s not around for a social hermit to love? Everything and anything is at my feet more than I care to dream about yet it is still enlightening to sit down every once and a while and rank them. For instance I’m sad to say that sex and partying didn’t make the list. While they’re both great there’s too much heartache and hangovers to go along with them. And none of my beloved sports teams made the list, while watching them win is fun and sometimes profitable, in this town the losses outweigh the triumph ten-to-one.

My first favorite thing is the newest pair of shoes I own. There’s a certain satisfaction with wearing a pair of shoes you just purchased. It feels like you’re literally walking on a cloud 24/7, especially as your feet break them in.

Number two is leaving a car wash. I love cleaning my car. And I love the new car wash scent. A clean car leads to good fortune.

As does my third favorite thing, walking into a newly painted room. I love the look of a room after it has a new layer of paint over it. And I live for hanging out in those kind of rooms when I’m so fortunate to have the chance.
Fresh mahogany is my fourth favorite thing. O Mahogany, so many watering holes rejoice in your presence. Being the bar enthusiast my taste in fresh mahogany qualifies my expertise in commenting on its grand textures. It’s better than oak or (pity) marble.

But it’s not better than my fifth favorite thing, unopened toys from the eighties, particularly rubber WWF action figures. I remember when I graduated from kindergarten and received King Kong Bundy as my graduation present. That was a big deal as it was around the time Bundy was challenging Hulk Hogan on Saturday Night’s Main Event. Anybody who was around during this time knows that WWF rubber figurines have a peculiar smell. It brings me back to Saturday morning cartoons and riding my bike in the woods.

Or hanging out on the beach on a sunny day, which you really don’t have to be a child to enjoy and also happens to be my sixth favorite thing.

I love to eat, but what I love more is anticipation. Nothing gets my tastebuds tempted more than the sizzling sound of sweet sausage on the grill with peppers and onions sizzling in the background. The only thing that could top this which is my seventh favorite thing is a good mix tape.

Now I know a mixtape (favorite thing no.8) sounds rather ambiguous but when you’re an album guy like myself any none studio album is a mix. Mixes are for cookouts and parties; studio albums are best for lying in bed or long walks. My personal favorite mix is an old doo-wop mix I listen to in my car. My go to song, ‘Daddy’s Home’ by Shep and the Limelites.

Now it’s down to my no. 9 favorite thing. It’s an umbrella. You never know when you’re gonna need one and it keeps me away from the thing I hate the most, getting wet in the rain. On sunny days it keeps the sun off you and if you’re into jinxing people you can rig them so your mortal enemies can open them up indoors and curse their luck. Nothing beats being the guy with the umbrella when everyone else is getting wet and acting miserable because of the lack of one. An umbrella is my number nine and I prefer my umbrellas black. Although if a Mary Poppins umbrella existed out there somewhere in this universe, I’m sure I’d make the attempt to acquire it a life goal in hopes of reaping the benefits of its magic.

-Lou Cervantes

Photos courtesy of http://www.electriceelshock.com & http://kushifornia.tumblr.com

Liberty glows

I want to be one with the fish. Apparently a diet of canned tuna, shark bites, and castor oil ain’t cutting it. I’d swim with them but I hate getting water up my nose. Better find a recent vibe and go to my local sneaker center and cop a pair of the liberty x nike air force kicks. They glow. And I can stand on high alert at my local aquarium and aggravate any jealous shark in the cage.

-Ron Saratoga

Photos courtesy of http://robotseatnachos.tumblr.com