Mr. Toledano | http://bit.ly/iyA7MC
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HOW TO SUCCEED IN AMERICA WITHOUT REALLY TRYING By Tara Dublin | 11/17/10 | Tara Dublin Online
http://bit.ly/jCiXXj
I’m not famous enough, dammit. It’s not for lack of trying. Although, I’m pretty sure I’ve been going about it the wrong way. I think the problem stems from my incredibly strong work ethic. See, I’ve been working “real” jobs since I was 15 (save for the stay-at-home mom years, which we all know is a whole other kind of full-time, unpaid, unappreciated gig), right up until May 2009. Since then, ‘work’ has taken on a different connotation. My ‘job’ has become looking for work, like so many of the unemployed masses. Still, I keep looking, because I have this crazy notion that hard work eventually pays off. Here’s the thing though: in our country, it seems like you don’t really have to do all that much to get wicked amounts of money and recognition. Clearly, there’s a blueprint one might follow, if one has designs on gaining recognition for oneself—without putting in all those pesky hours of actual hard labor. If I’m to copy the current business model of the recently successful celebrities, I better get cracking, so I can be world famous within just a few weeks. There’s a whole lot of nothing to accomplish before I can start raking in all that dough. First of all, I need to get cast on a reality series. It doesn’t really matter what for, because nowadays, people don’t have to showcase any discernible talents to be on television. Since it’s way too late for me to become a “Teen Mom”and I’m not desperately seeking a telegenic husband, I should probably do a show where people hang around and do nothing but talk and maybe go out once in a while. It would be just like “Jersey Shore”! Except these days, I’m usually in my jammies by nine; and if I have more than one beer, even sooner than that. Also, I don’t have enough hair to “poof” it like Snooki, I would lose any dance battle at Karma, and the last time I was awake past three am, it was when my sons were newborns. So maybe a reality show isn’t the right way for me to go. Of course, there’s always the good ol’ Sex Tape Route. Look how well it’s gone for Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, and every other starlet who’s ever had their own show on the E! network. All I have to do is “accidentally leak it onto the internet” and I am golden. I’ll have my own perfume, clothing line, a pink Barbie Lamborghini, a book deal, and a boyfriend starring in a hit show on the CW in no time. You’ll glimpse me in US Magazine’s “Stars: They’re Just Like US” column with a photo of me in my Uggs and a hoodie, holding a venti Chai at Safeway, with the headline “They buy their own apple juice!” The only problem (only?) here is that, well, I’m not exactly built like a Hollywood bimbette. I’ve had two kids, who are now 11 and 7. Things move on my body that probably don’t yet on young Ms. Hilton. As a Woman Of A Certain Age (okay, 41), it’s more about ducking quickly under the covers than letting it all hang out. Aside from the fact that I am a LADY, I still operate under the wacky notion that bedroom antics should remain private, and therefore, not filmed. Also, I don’t take to criticism very well, and while I’ve never had a complaint from my darling boyfriend, I just can’t let the entire world see how I do the do. We all know it ain’t always pretty. Well then. Now that a drunken reality show and amateur lovin’ on film are both out, what’s left for me? I have no intention of running for office. I’m not about to start burning religious books or hollering about the rent being too damn high. I’m not physically coordinated enough to do dumb “Jackass”-like stunts on You Tube, and I’m not going to be the “other woman” in a high-profile celebrity divorce. I suppose I could go to some sort of public gathering and cause a stir while yelling “Don’t taze me, bro!”, but that’s really not my style. So what options are left to me, a 41-year-old unemployed single mom with a great sense of humor and just enough morality to keep me from publicly humiliating myself? For now, I suppose I’ll just have to keep my clothes on (which should bathe us all with relief), stay sober when out in public (ooh, toughie), and keep hoping I’ll finally land an agent who will get my book published (I might… just might have caught a break on that track, but nothing is set in stone as of this blogging. What can I say, I’m superstitious). Until then, I shall continue to keep plugging until I find something that will pay. I’m a tough broad like that. Hold on a second. “Tough Broad”… a reality show about a girl from New Jersey who hopes to make it big in the publishing world! Somebody pitch that right now! See? I never stop trying. PHOTOGRAPHY
Sivan Miller | http://bit.ly/js0oDJ
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WHAT DOES CHARLIE SHEEN HAVE IN COMMON WITH CHARLIE MANSON – BESIDES A FIRST NAME? By Vincent Barr | 4/01/11 | Times Union: Albany
http://bit.ly/kAFPNC
Some people claim they can taste the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Some other people claim they can explain the difference between irony and coincidence. I’m not concerned with either. I’m concerned with whether you can tell the difference between Charles Manson’s detached, esoteric ramblings and Charlie Sheen’s. It may be harder than you think; I actually had to doublecheck the source for one of the quotes after writing this, which is a touch startling. Who wrote… 1. “Because we have all the answers, we have all the gold, we have all the solution.” 2. “I got magic and poetry at my fingertips.” 3. “You have to hate everyone who is not in your family because they are there to destroy your family.” 4. “They look at me and they say, ‘I can’t process it!’” 5. “You have the right to kill me, but you do not have the right to judge me.” PHOTOGRAPHY
Jean-Francois Lepage | http://bit.ly/lqODMN
THE PAGE VIEW BASED ECONOMY INVENTED REBECCA BLACK, NOT US By Brandon Mendelson | 3/24/11 | White Man Says Outrageous Things For Attention http://bit.ly/ii1QMo I’ve been saying this all week on Twitter, but between The Awl’s Splitsider, Mashable, and Gawker blaming Rebecca Black on you and me, and pleading ignorance as to why she’s a phenomenon, I’ve had enough. These blogs, not us, are responsible for Rebecca Black. These blogs live and die off page views. That makes their advertisers happy. Without the advertisers, they’d be out of business. When they post about stuff that’s popular or being searched for (more on that in a second) that brings them even more page views. When they post about stuff the traditional media covers, which then fuels searches, that brings them even more views. When they post frequently throughout the day, about stuff people are searching for, Google rewards them with traffic and higher placement. That’s their business model. This isn’t a secret, and I’m not saying anything new, but aside from Gawker, the other members of the Page View Based Economy aren’t honest and upfront about this. So how do they get stuff to keep posting throughout the day? They sit on Reddit and other places, snap up stuff that looks like it’ll bring them page views, and then post it. The other members of the PVBE (AOL, Yahoo!, and thousands of smaller and mid-size blogs) then post the same thing. All of those postings fuel searches for what they’re posting about because, in most cases, few of these blogs link to the original source. Did you see Urlesque today not link to My Fox Boston for that story about the guy throwing money around inside a Starbucks? Or Buzzfeed upload the video to Youtube? That shit happens all the time. When you go searching, all of these blogs (particularly AOL which has a content management system, BlogSmith, that monitors Google trends) see the searches for that item. Then they go and post more about it. One blog posting more about it is a signal to other blogs to keep posting about it. In the case of a company like AOL, if one of their blogs post about it, their sister blogs will usually find some angle to post about it too. This cycle fuels us talking about it on Facebook and Twitter, sending these blogs traffic. That’s our only contribution to this nonsense. We didn’t create the meme and we didn’t spread the meme, they did. Then they see us talk about the thing they created, and they post more about it. This nonsense goes on until it either dies down (replaced by another meme) or the traditional media (TV, radio, print) picks up the story. Any time the traditional media picks something up, the PVBE blogs ALWAYS pick it up (because they’re covering a thing the PVBE created). Jean-Francois Lepage | http://bit.ly/ And so the cycle continues between the PVBE and now the traditional media until they’ve pumped the well dry. On Splitsider today, a place I’ve had my problems with, they said they didn’t know why Rebecca Black was popular. On Mashable today, they ran an op-ed about how we reward mediocrity and how the media only plays a small part. The other day, Gawker ran a story saying we were responsible for making Rebecca Black a millionaire. This is fucking bullshit. I don’t know what planet these people are on, or if they just think we’re idiots and don’t realize how their business works, but I’m not interested in being blamed for Rebecca Black’s success. Do we play a part? Yes, but we’re just puppets repeating what the PVBE and the traditional media give us to talk about. So, if you’re looking for someone to blame, you now know where to find them. It is responsibility of all to find a new world order in justice and reason.
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CASH CROPS By David Kaa | 3/14/11 | The Manwife Chronicles
PHOTOGRAPHY
http://bit.ly/mI4qZg
After the job rejection letters start to outnumber the companies in your metro area, you start to think of any way to make a nickel. Because no matter how much you will it, the mortgage company doesn’t accept a positive attitude as payment. “I’ll tell you what. You’ve been such a good sport through this foreclosure process that we’re just going to let you and your family stay in the house.” “Really?” “No.” You think of something, ANYTHING you can do to help make some money. “I was reading today that New Mexico has a model medical marijuana program. It’s very well regulated. You know… we could become growers.” The first reaction I get is “the mom” look. Because A) It’s a dumb idea, and B) It’s a dumb idea. “What? It’s legal.” “Do you really want to tell your kids you grow marijuana?” “It’s legal.” Same mom look, this time with flames shooting from her eyes. “I’m helping people. I’m a humanitarian.” We’ve been married almost 10 years, and at this point she realizes that anything she says will just result in me making some smart ass response that annoys the crap out of her. So, like the kids, it’s just better to ignore it than give it attention. That or use a hose. Children and husbands are a lot like cats—they don’t like to get sprayed in the face with water. She goes off to actually make a living, and the kids go off to school, better dressed than me. And I go off to research what it takes to grow medical marijuana. Surprisingly, the state has its act together. The program is very well regulated. Not any high school drop out, who passed the GED by drawing a pot leaf out of the answer bubbles, can sell pot. We can’t figure out how to get rid of the bubonic plague, which I didn’t even know existed, but medical marijuana—we’re all over that. “So, honey, I was researching medical marijuana and we can’t grow it. You have to get a license and have a doctor in the facility and all kinds of regulations.” “You were researching medical marijuana?” “Yeah, it’s legal.” “I can’t believe you actually looked into it.” “Well, I have to make money somehow.” “Maybe you should look for a job.” “I tried that. Apparently, no one wants to hire me.” “So you were going to grow pot instead.” “I’m helping people. It looks good on a resume.” Don’t judge me. At least I’m trying.
Tyler Shields | http://bit.ly/tylershields
PHOTOGRAPHY
Tyler Shields | http://bit.ly/tylershields
GLEN DANZIG: BAD NEIGHBOR By Pauly Casillas | 3/24/11 | Funny or Die
Andreas Waldschütz | http://bit.ly/jZUxI5
Andrej Glusgold | http://bit.ly/mJgQas
http://bit.ly/iFGRF2
If you may or may not know, there’s a Glenn Danzig parody account (here: http://twitter. com/NotGlennDanzig) on Twitter run by myself and two gentlemen by the name of Brendan and Vince from Filmdrunk.com. This tweet above is based on real events. What you are about to read is 100% true. Now to the Danzig fans of Los Feliz, it’s common knowledge that Danzig’s house had a huge pile of bricks in the front yard. There’s even a Misfits tribute band called “Danzig Brick.” You could even check out “Danzig’s Evil Bricks” here: http://evilbricks.ytmnd.com/. The bricks have since been removed according to this picture using Google Maps. Brendan is pals with Justin Halpern, creator of the famous @ShitMyDadSays Twitter account. It just so happens that Justin lives down the street from Glenn Danzig and knows how the bricks were removed. Here is the IM chat of Justin’s account of one sunny day on Danzig Street. justin: dude danzig lives next door to me in l.a. down the street and he is the worst neighbor ever dude, i have danzig stories me: NO SHIT justin: like, one awesome one yes dude i can’t believe you said danzig me: you realize this may be our #1 topic at work? justin: dude so, okay, here’s on danzig story me: we always say, “what do you think Danzig is doing right now?” justin: danzig lives in this SHIT HOLE house near me in los feliz about a hundred yards down the street his house is super run down except he has a fucking amazing jaguar in the backyard anyway me: its a place of eeeeeevil justin: so he just has this huge pile of bricks in his front yard and the house looks like an evil pixar house so anyway his neighbor was like “dude, danzig, please, you’re bringing property values down with these bricks in your yard.” and danzig was pissed so anyway, back and forth with this neighbor and danzig and finally one day i see danzig outside in his front yard and he’s hurling bricks into this dumpster and he’s screaming “HERE I AM MOTHERFUCKER, JUST CLEANING UP MY MOTHER FUCKING BRICKS BITCH.” just super loud to no one in particular for two hours it was amazing like, i couldn’t even think about other things because it was so amazing me: oh my god this is amazing justin: dude it blew my mind because it was danzig as just a really poor homeowner
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FEATURED BLOG — BEN TROVATO
Johanna Brinckman | http://bit.ly/lC9nf0 FEATURED BLOG — BEN TROVATO
BEN TROVATO When Marius Troy founded Ben Trovato Blog as a collection of images he found inspiring, he had no idea it would quickly turn into a platform for launching new talent into the competitive world of fashion photography. “I started off pretty primitive,” he explains, with just a basic site of pictures and text, driven by the belief that the market needed a place for young photographers to showcase their talent and make connections. With a Masters in Visual Communication from the prestigious Oslo National Academy of The Arts in 2009 and a full-time job as an art director at Apt AS, Troy was the perfect person to create that space—and his efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. Now one of the prime sources for industry professionals to scout new talent, Ben Trovato has grown from a project fueled by passion, to a website that offers exclusives in the fashion world and has photographers lining up two months in advance to be featured. Changes set for spring will find Ben Trovato expanding from what was once a one-man operation, to a full-fledged publication with offices in London, New York, and Tokyo. Troy was kind enough to take time from his busy schedule to talk about photography, the fashion industry, and how Ben Trovato stands apart from the crowd. BEN TROVATO
A CONVERSATION WITH MARIUS TROY By Hannah Faye
Jens Ingvarsson | http://bit.ly/mey3V3
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THE PRINTED BLOG (TPB): In your opinion, what does fashion photography have to accomplish in order to be successful? MARIUS TROY (MT): A lot of people would say that selling the clothing is the most important, but I kind of look at it from a different angle. Of course, selling the clothing is the sole purpose of fashion photography, but in terms of making a good picture, there needs to be something behind it. It needs to be planned well, to go together as a whole… have a good concept. TPB: What’s the difference between a good and bad fashion photo? MT: For it to be really good it has to have a strong concept, strong story, strong styling, and the photographer needs to be skilled. There are a lot of elements going into making a story or picture a good “fashion photo.” TPB: How large of a role does the model play in the shoot? MT: As I work with a lot of young photographers, I see that not all of them are really good at casting—and casting will make or break the shoot. All the pieces must work together, and if the model doesn’t work, the shoot doesn’t work. TPB: Working with so many young photographers, do you notice any major differences between the new generation of talent vs. the more experienced? MT: Good young photographers have no fear. Really established photographers out there have a tendency to play it safe, and I feel the talented young ones sort of have to do something different to stand out, to be acknowledged. To be recognized they have to have their own identity.
WWW.THEPRINTEDBLOG.COM | (312) 305-1000 | INFO@THEPRINTEDBLOG.COM | ALL CONTENT USED WITH PERMISSION FROM CONTENT OWNER
PHOTOGRAPHY — BEN TROVATO
Pino Gomes | http://bit.ly/iHNW4e
TPB: In the modern age where anyone with a camera can take pictures and have an online portfolio, do you think it’s easier or harder to gain substantial recognition or stand out? MT: There is a lot of competition, but I think a lot of creative talent sort of stumbles into photography because it’s so available, so easy. TPB: Where do you find the photographers you feature? MT: I used to spend hours on the internet, researching, looking through magazines, trying to find the ones I wanted to feature. But right now, I have enough just replying to the submissions that we get. I get in about 20-30 submissions every day, so there’s a lot going on. If there’s anyone else that I’ve missed or overlooked, I’ve got my scouts out there who will let me know. TPB: What’s the process for the photographers who shoot directly for Ben Trovato? Do you give them a concept, or is it free form? MT: Well, of course I haven’t got any money or a budget for shoots because I haven’t ever earned any money—I earned my first $300 for Ben Trovato Blog last month. We always give them the creative freedom to do whatever they like because, of course, we don’t pay them—so they need to have the freedom to explore their own ideas. I have photographers asking me everyday if they can shoot for us, so I’m so privileged that way. I never have to go out and ask anyone to do it. TPB: How does the communication between your contributors and the industry professionals work? MT: I know that Ben Trovato Blog is pretty popular among the professionals, agents and stuff like that; they look and keep an eye on talent there. But I also put people together. Like recently, I had a photographer in LA and he wanted to do a shoot for us. I know a lot of stylists in LA, so I put him up with stylists and I put him up with makeup artists. We sort of make teams like that because Ben
Trovato has grown to be a pretty big network of artists, so it’s really good that we actually got them together and that they’re actually doing projects together. TPB: What do you think makes Ben Trovato stand out? MT: There’s blogs for fashion photography everywhere, but there’s only us, and I think a couple more—they’re not as big as us—that are really doing that job for the young talent, the new ones, and giving them that space. And they really need that, because there are so many trying to make it in—the fashion business is so hard to make it into, so they really need that communication channel to make it out there. TPB: What would you like to see Ben Trovato accomplish? MT: For fashion photographers, it’s really hard to break through and actually make money. There are a lot of stylists, makeup artists, and photographers that work for free. So we will possibly create a platform where we bring the users or readers closer to the photographers and the teams, which would get them closer to revenue, so they would actually get paid for what they do. I feel like the fashion photography world and the magazine world is pretty stingy, you know what I mean? It’s very hard to earn the money now—so what we’re lacking is a platform where photographers can earn real money off their work. TPB: Would you ever have been able to predict that Ben Trovato would have grown to be this successful? MT: I think it was sort of a hidden dream. I didn’t dare to believe it because it was never important to me to be famous or for it to be so big—for me to get recognition for it. I just wanted to promote the photography and the photographers. I wanted to make something for the young, talented photographers so they could get discovered.
PHOTOGRAPHY — BEN TROVATO
Andrew Kuykendall | http://bit.ly/iC7Zgk
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PHOTOGRAPHY
LIFESTYLE
PLANNING A MID-LIFE CRISIS By Lucas Black | 4/05/10 | Sometimespace
http://bit.ly/j4Zbet
So I’ve just had my birthday and I realise that I don’t have a mid-life crisis planned. After tweeting with friends about mid-life crisis, I figure that a proper mid-life crisis must fulfil several criteria. If you make a change at mid-life that works for you, then it’s just a change of life, an improvement that could have happened at any time you decided to try it—but for a mid-life crisis, it must be futile, ill thought out, a desperate grab at a lost youth and go some way to alienating you from others… and generally be a short lived project before you return to what’s salvageable of your life after the crisis is over… With this in mind, the list was narrowed down into viable (even classic) mid-life crisis. Buying a motorbike. The whole deal, along with all of the tight leathers (extra points for tassels). It would have to be the biggest, most bejewelled and outrageous Harley custom (or similar) or a razors edge race bike with lots of Z’s and X’s in the name—and possibly ending with the initials ‘TT.’ This would only be ridden during sunny days and garaged the rest of the time—under a custom-made cover. All the extras would be purchased for it, the chrome bits, the carbon bits, the sporty loud exhausts. It would probably last a couple of years and then the iron horse would become a shelf for jars of nails, coat rack, old paint tins etc… The kit car. This is similar to the motorbike—although you never get to take it out of the garage. You get half way into the build… or maybe even just far enough to lean some wheels against the body shell to see what it will look like… and then you lose interest. The engine will sit in the corner of the garage, the expensive tool box will sit full of unused tools, the carbs will sit on the work bench you made especially for the project. The main body will sit for a few years in the garage before it moves into the back garden and rests under a fading tarpaulin. The larger spare parts will become one with the garden plants. Ponytail. ‘Nuff said. If you already had one, fair enough… but growing one does not make you Peter Pan. Form a band. Remember at school when you and your mates said “let’s form a band!” and then spent the next few weeks figuring out a name, have a rehearsal or two… maybe play an assembly… and then realise how it wasn’t such a cool idea after all…? Well 30 years later it suddenly comes back to you! Sure, this is a great idea! You’ve always had a guitar knocking around the place, and sure you play it competently (whilst sporting the ponytail, of course), so why wouldn’t you get together with a few other delusional mid-lifers to form a bad. Somehow you just know that the world needs more mediocre middle-aged cover bands to play at dodgy pubs and village fetes and carnivals (if you can reach those heady heights). That being said, there are some bloody good bands out there that started this way. ‘Some’ being the key word. If it lasts longer than 12 months, then it is no longer just a mid-life crisis! Xtreme sport. Nothing helps recapture your youth like an injury from an extreme sport (this can mean ‘jogging’ in some people’s cases). Usually it involves tripping over your skis whilst trying them on in your bedroom, but you can tell everyone at the pub that you did it on a black run trying to save this kid who was showing off… ah yeah, these kids! Fair play to you if you take something up for the right reasons—after all, you reach an age and you need to take up some extra exercise to keep yourself in shape—but Super-X moto racing, skydiving, surfing, street luge… these are not sports that you just go into halfway through your life… Try tennis or badminton… or the typical ones of golf or squash. Dress young, go clubbing. Remember as a kid how you used to laugh at the guy who was as old as your dad and was well embarrassing coz’ he tried to speak cool like the kids and he dressed like he thought the kids dressed… which inevitably meant he looked like The Fonz… with a beer belly… or a Ibiza DJ in Day-Glo shirt… with a beer belly… Well, that’s you now… Don’t do it. Whatever you do, if you do go down this route… don’t then try to ice the cake by then going clubbing. It makes the whole sad package a whole lot sadder… Buy a Porsche. Yup… nothing says ‘recaptured youth’ like a ponytail flapping in the wind behind a balding head in a soft top Porsche… Have an affair. Getting a much younger girl on your arm (and more) is a fail-safe, 100% fool-proof way to recapture that feeling of youth that is slipping through your insecure fingers. Hang on, what I meant was ‘having an affair is the fastest way to lose all the things you have managed to get up to this point in time, and piss the lot away, ending up with nothing more than even more regrets and the disrespect from your friends. You prick.’ Have a break down. If you don’t have the cash to spend on ill-fated hobbies, sports, tarts, dodgy haircuts etc, then you could just go for despair. Yes, life is slipping through your fingers, so let your stress build up and then strip naked in the middle of a shopping centre in rush hour and run around laughing. For added effect, cover yourself with your own filth. It’ll get it out of your system quickly, probably won’t lose you as many friends as some of the things already listed above—and it may even get you some paid sick leave off of work so you can have even more time to reflect on how it’s all slipping away and you haven’t done anything with your life and… and… where’s that kit car magazine? Don’t go too far though. Running around killing people isn’t going to help matters. Much like the running around covered in your own filth will only earn you more time to think about a wasted life, a prison sentence is going to give you WAY more of that time to regret your lost youth. Actually… A lot of mid-life crisis moves are simply either redoing what you already did at school to be cool, but gave up on when you realised it wasn’t really cool… or being financially able to do the things that you thought were cool at school, but didn’t have the cash to do them back then. In these latter cases the idea never actually died… it sat in your head for the next 30 years… and because it has always been in your head, waiting, it suddenly seems like a good idea as it fights for freedom in your middle-aged head… It’s not…
Andrej Glusgold | http://bit.ly/mJgQas
ANXIOUS By Aunt Becky Sherrick Harks | 3/8/11 | Mommy Wants Vodka
http://bit.ly/j4DXsO
It dawns on me as I sit there, my left butt-cheek falling asleep, that I could be somewhere else eating a bagel. Like Paris. Or Detroit. Or learning the Swahili phrase for “pants are bullshit.” Or washing my car. Okay, maybe not washing my car. It was like 900 degrees out. Washing my car would be like that scene in the Terminator with the Nitrous Oxide and the robot. I smile, imagining my car shattering in the car wash, until I remember I’m probably sitting on barf germs. I hate barf germs. My iPhone isn’t getting any signal in here. Stupid AT&T. Should be named the iCAN’TPhone because I haven’t been able to make a phone call since I got the damn thing. Hm. I really could use some mindless interaction from The Twitter right about now. Or maybe a Vicodin-Chip cookie. Or some vodka. Because my heart feels like it’s going to pound right the fuck out of my chest. When the hell did this HAPPEN? When did I start feeling stretched as taut as an over-tuned violin string? Why did I feel like the pressure to do more; to be more, to constantly outdo myself was omnipresent? Like I couldn’t ever possibly manage to live up to my own unrealistic expectations? Like I had to somehow be everything to everyone. Like if I didn’t constantly prove myself, I would cease to matter. I would cease to exist. When did this start? And moreover: how could I make this stop? These anxious racing thoughts; this anxiety, this had to stop. Admitting that I had a problem the first step, I know from Al-Anon, and doing something about it was important. Hence the bagel-craving and the barf-germ-coated chair in my doctor’s waiting room. And, of course, the urge to flee so that I could learn Portuguese or Mandarin or really anything but admit that I had a problem. I’m so tired of problems. I’m so tired of having something wrong that I barely want to admit to myself that I have a problem. Between migraines and my lazy-ass missing-in-action thyroid and insomnia, I can hardly stand to be in the same room with myself anymore without wanting to punch myself in the teeth. Problems are bullshit. I hate problems. Maybe I can make a “Problems Are Bullshit” shirt. Because they are. Bullshit, that is. Maybe this isn’t ACTUALLY a problem. Maybe I can just ignore it and it’ll get better on its own. Except it hasn’t. Because that’s what I’ve been doing. And it’s not working. Clearly. Before I could do anything, though, the nurse poked her head into the waiting room, “Becky?” she trilled calmly, clearly unaware of my churny guts. I sighed, put my iDON’TWORKPhone back into my purse and followed her back. “What seems to be the problem?” she asked kindly. “Well,” I started, looking at my hands, ashamed to be admitting this to anyone but the people who live inside my computer. “It’s sorta like this…” PHOTOGRAPHY
DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF THE AUTHORITY ON FOOD? MUSIC? SHOPPING? AT KUMBUYA YOU CAN CREATE YOUR OWN DEAL COMMUNITY AND OFFER YOUR FANS AND FOLLOWERS DISCOUNTS ON THE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES THAT YOU KNOW, AND THEY’LL LOVE. YOU’LL GET PAID FOR ANY DEAL IN YOUR COMMUNITY THAT CLOSES SUCCESSFULLY, AND YOUR BLOG OR SITE WILL GET A CUSTOM COMMUNITY PAGE ON KUMBUYA. VISIT KUMBUYA.COM/ START FOR MORE DETAILS OR TO SIGN UP! Anka Bardeleben | http://bit.ly/m7lVCV
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SEX / LOVE
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THIS CHICK REALLLLY LIKES INANIMATE A DEATH IN ISLA VISTA By Stuart Goldman | 10/29/10 | The Man Who Tried To Stop Time http://bit.ly/ksomLw OBJECTS I killed this guy one time. It was weird. I was driving back up to school at UCSB late on a By Vince Mancini | 3/25/11 | Film Drunk
http://bit.ly/m8IrhX
I vaguely remember hearing about this, but I hadn’t watched it before today. It’s a documentary called Married to the Eiffel Tower, about a woman who has love affairs with inanimate objects, like bridges, and her bows (she’s an archer). At one point, she blames a poor performance on a lover’s spat with her bow, “Lance.” Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy… Bowfucker. FILMMAKER: When you say you date these guys, does it mean that you have sex with them? BRIDGE F*CKER: Oh, no. We never get to that point. Often times, they would say I’ll be the guy who will change your mind. And I never liked that attitude. I mean, I didn’t date a whole lot of guys, but the ones that I did, didn’t work out, simply because of the sex part. Oh right, that. It’s weird, everything was fine except for the part where I withheld the biological basis for relationships. Later, the filmmaker asks her about her bows. FILMMAKER: Mechanically, is it similar to a woman having sex with a man? BRIDGE F*CKER: I would say yes. So shooting a bow and arrow is mechanically similar to copulation? Hmm, I think you’re doing it wrong. Or doing it AWESOMELY, one of the two. Ok rather than saying she’s nuts, why not sit back and realize that some people are different. Some people are wired to love men, some wired to love women, obviously some people are wired to be in love with objects. And how do we know that the relationship isn’t reciprocated, perhaps people like that must look for different things in their relationships than we do. Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it. I just hope I never hear myself say, “I found myself losing interest in my archery career after I was legally married to the Eiffel Tower.” To me it speaks to the great capacity of humans. It’s amazing that a human being capable of speech, wearing clothes, driving a car, operating a toaster, etc., can still be in essence a monkey trying to f*ck a football. (*thinks to himself “what a wonderful world”*) PHOTOGRAPHY
Federico Cabrera | http://bit.ly/kVXf1f
JESUS RETURNS By Katie | 7/01/09 | Katie Blogs
http://bit.ly/ms7mw6
I came home from Crisis Center training tonight and noticed a beautiful fixture on the wall by the television. I’m big on details so I knew it wasn’t there when I had left. As I got closer I saw it was a statue of baby Jesus. As I got even closer I realized it wasn’t just any statue of baby Jesus. My dad went to Cape May for a few days, but I HAD to call him. “Where did the Jesus thing come from?” I asked him. “I went to your place today looking for my screwdriver that I leant you a few months ago. I found some stuff and thought I’d bring it over.” “What exactly did you bring?” “Some lotions, hand sanitizer, that statue out there and a crucifix for my room.” “Dad…” “You weren’t using it. It was in a drawer. That’s no way to treat a crucifix, you know.” “Dad…” “I don’t like this hand sanitizer though. It smells and it makes my hands slippery for like a long time. It won’t come off.” “Dad... please stop. I’ll talk to you later. Stay out of my apartment when I’m not there, please.” Some of you who have been reading for a while might know where this is going. I put the Jackhammer Jesus and the Butt Plug in my “special drawer” in my room at my apartment. Apparently, my dad thinks I keep screwdrivers in there, and he took it upon himself to go shopping in there. So now I have a Butt Plug in my living room, a vibrator hanging on my dad’s wall, and he’s carrying around lubricant in his car as hand sanitizer. I hate that whole F-My Life thing. But if this doesn’t deserve an FML, then I don’t know what does. If you want to catch up on this whole mortifying Jesus thing you can head over here to where it all started.
Sunday night. Right after you get outside of Oxnard, the freeway turns into Pacific Coast Highway. I was driving along—I can still remember the song on the radio... “Seven and Seven Is” by Love— and I felt this kind of thump on my car; it wasn’t a great big thump or anything like that. Just a normal thump. Then my front windshield cracked. I pulled over to the side of the highway and got out of my car. In the middle of the road I saw what looked like a pile of grey rags. My first thought was that I’d hit a dog or something. Then, before I had a chance to do anything, several other cars ran over the thing. I saw pieces of stuff fly away from the object. It was only then that it struck me that I’d hit someone. Things get a bit hazy after that. I remember a cop car pulling up, then an ambulance. It all went really fast. The cop got my name, my registration and stuff, then he said they’d be contacting me. That was it really. I got in my car and drove back to Isla Vista, where I was sharing a onebedroom apartment with another guy. When I got there, a couple of other people were in my apartment. I told them I had hit some guy on PCH, and I was pretty sure the guy was dead. For a minute or so, nobody said anything. Then we all started laughing. Not because it was funny or anything, just because it was so—well, weird. Then I started crying. That was the only time I ever cried about what had happened. In fact, that was the only time I ever really felt anything at all about it. I was in therapy at the time—my therapist was this real nice German lady named Mrs. Gottsdanker—and I told her about what had happened and all. I asked her how come I didn’t have any emotions about it. At the time, I remember, I was having a problem having emotions about lots of stuff. I figured when something like this happened, you ought to have some kind of feelings about it. Mrs. Gottsdankder was very supportive of me. She explained to me that since I knew nothing about the person I’d hit, that he effectively had no identity and so it was perfectly normal that I didn’t have a lot of feelings about it. “But I killed a guy!” I exclaimed. “Shouldn’t I be feeling something?!” “First of all,” she said, “you are feeling something. The very fact that you’re concerned that you don’t feel anything, means that you are feeling something.” “But… I don’t feel like I feel anything,” I retorted. “It’s quite possible,” Mrs. Gottsdanker explained, “that you’re in a state of shock. If that’s the case, you’ll probably experience a delayed reaction at some point in the future. She wrote out a prescription for Librium and told me my time was up. After that, I tried to find out something about the guy I’d hit so that at least I’d know who he was. After contacting the Ventura police department I got some information. His name was William Travers Holben. He was 35 years old; the officer I spoke with described him as “a transient.” Apparently he’d been drunk and was trying to run across PCH when I’d hit him. The officer I was speaking with told me that the accident was clearly Traver’s fault and not mine. Even before they told me that it wasn’t my fault, I’d already thought of other ways to get out of it… like maybe I’d just hit him but he wasn’t actually dead. It was the cars that ran over him after he was laying there that killed him—not me. But in my heart I knew that was bullshit. I’d dealt the death blow and I knew it. And even if the guy was a transient and all, he hadn’t always been one. He was something else once. He had a mom and a dad. He’d once been in love with someone. I mean, people just aren’t born bums… something makes them that way. It really bugged me that the police would just write him off like that. Anyway, who ever heard of a bum with a pretty name like William Travers Holben? Nobody, that’s who! I thought all kinds of stuff about the guy for awhile, but finally I guess I sort of just forgot about the whole thing. The only two real bad things about the whole incident were that the next day, I was washing my car off, and I saw that there were pieces hair and what looked like part of the guy’s skull stuck in my grill. I remember washing them into the gutter real quick. The other thing that still sticks in my mind was this weird thing that happened after I’d pulled away from the accident. I was driving along, just sort of numb; finally I came to a stoplight in Summerland, which is right outside Santa Barbara. This car pulled up next to me at the stoplight, and I saw that the man driving the car was trying to signal to me. I didn’t really want to acknowledge the guy, but he seemed real frantic about getting my attention, so finally I reached over and rolled down my passenger side window. I can still see the guy. I remember thinking he looked exactly like Robert Mitchum. Not just any Robert Mitchum though. I specifically remember at the moment that he looked like Robert Mitchum in Night Of The Hunter. I half expected the guy to have the words LOVE and HATE tattooed on his knuckles, just like old Mitchum did in the movie. Anyhow after I rolled down my window, the guy rolls down his window. “Do you want to go to confession?” he said. “What!?” I blanched. The guy looked at me and kind of half-smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile. “I saw what happened back there, and I want to know if you would like to ask God’s forgiveness,” the man said. “I’m a priest, and I thought I might be of help.” I just sat there looking at the guy. The next second, this huge black bubble of anger welled up in my gut. For a second, I imagined pulling the guy out of his car and beating his fucking face into the pavement until it was nothing but a bloody pulp. “No thank you,” I said. “I don’t believe I’d care to do that.” I rolled up my window and drove off. But then the really weird part happened. The guy started following me! He followed me almost the entire way back to campus. I remember thinking all these crazy thoughts, like maybe he was some kind of maniac or something. I thought all kinds of weird stuff. Then I thought maybe I’d gone into shock and I was just hallucinating the whole thing. Finally, when I got to Goleta, the guy pulled off the freeway. I watched his lights in my rearview mirror as they disappeared into the fog rolling in from the ocean. I remember my hands were shaking real bad. They didn’t stop shaking until I finally got back to my apartment. Like I said, the whole thing is pretty hazy. Sometimes I think I might actually have invented it. You know how if you tell yourself something so many times, sometimes you don’t know whether it really happened or if you just made it up? Anyhow, I never forgot that guy; in fact, I still think about him. Sometimes when I’m driving, I feel like some crazy preacher that looks just like Robert Mitchum in Night Of The Hunter is following me. I wish I wouldn’t think that stuff… but I just can’t seem to help myself.
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FEATURED PHOTOGRAPHER - PHILLIP TOLEDANO
DAYS WITH MY FATHER My Mum died suddenly on September 4th, 2006. After she died, I realized how much she’d been shielding me from my father’s mental state. He didn’t have Alzheimer’s, but he had no short-term memory, and was often lost. I took him to the funeral, but when we got home, he’d keep asking me every 15 minutes where my mother was. I had to explain over and over again, that she had died. This was shocking news to him. Why had no-one told him? Why hadn’t I taken him to the funeral? Why hadn’t he visited her in the hospital? He had no memory of these events. After a while, I realized I couldn’t keep telling him that his wife had died. He didn’t remember, and it was killing both of us, to constantly re-live her death. I decided to tell him she’d gone to Paris, to take care of her brother, who was sick. And that’s where she is now. This is a journal. An ongoing record of my father and of our relationship for whatever days we have left together.
My father often tells me he wants to die. He says it’s time for him to go, that he’s been around too long. It’s odd because part of me wants him to go too. This is no life for him, living in the twilight of half memories. But he is the only really close family I have left. You see, I’m an only child. After him, that’s it. The other day, when he said he wanted to die, I told him that the problem was that he had exercised his entire life, and was in great shape. He looked at me, raised his finger, and said: ‘Next time around, I’m going to stay in bed!’
I love moments like these. For just a few minutes, everything almost feels normal again. My mum isn’t dead, and we’re not pretending she’s gone to Paris. She’s popped out to the store, and she’ll be back shortly. How sweet that would be.
I asked my father to look in the mirror, while I took his photograph. Now, you have to realize my dad was very handsome when he was young. When people talk about ‘Film star handsome,’ well, that was my dad. In fact, he WAS a film star (of sorts), in Hollywood, during the 1930’s. So when he looks in the mirror, he sees a man ravaged, a man no longer beautiful, and that upsets him deeply. You see, he’s still vain at 98. In fact, his vanity can be quite extraordinary. I tried to take him to the doctor a few months ago, but on the way out, he caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. He was so horrified with his appearance, that he refused to leave the house until I found a ‘black pencil’ to dye his white hair with.
Eating is often a miserable experience. I realize now why my mother cooked the same meals over and over, towards the end of her life. They were the only things my father would eat. The ONLY thing he’ll eat with any regularity is eggs. Scrambled eggs, egg salad, egg-drop soup from the local Chinese. He eats insane amounts of eggs. And yet, when I took him to the doctor recently, his cholesterol was down! Maybe there are health benefits to an all-egg diet.
SUBSCRIBE TO THE PRINTED BLOG AT WWW.THEPRINTEDBLOG.COM. I find these scraps of writing all over the house… Where is everyone? What’s going on? How lost he feels.
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My father is very funny. I put these little cookies on his chest, and he said ‘look at my titties!’ How can you not laugh?
My dad is an amazing storyteller. I’ve loved listening to him for as long as I can remember, and I’ve always taken pride in his Oscar-winning performances. If he’s in a bad mood, I’ll ask him to tell me a story. He embraces the role with such gusto, that his gloom dissipates instantly. Here, he’s telling one of my favorites: “The Italian Fishmonger” (judging from the spontaneous Sicilian accent). The man would say to my father, then a mischievous ten-year-old kid: ‘Don’t squeeze the fish—it makes the eyes bulge!’
I’d like to thank everyone who read this. I never thought it would interest anyone but me. I feel deeply honored to have touched so many hearts. I’ve read every e-mail, every comment. I know that if my dad had understood what I was doing, he would have been very pleased. He also would’ve wanted people to remember that his story is a story about life. My father had no time for growing old. He was like a river. Always in motion, flowing forward with loose-limbed vigor. Sweeping past every obstacle with a smile, dancing and shimmering in the sun. Every door was there to be opened. Every window to be peered into. Just last week on his 99th birthday, I asked him how old he though he was. Grinning he said: ‘22 and a half.’ Now he’s gone to Paris, to meet my mum.
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PHOTOGRAPHY
SEX / LOVE
THE ANATOMY OF A SESSION By john | 11/27/10 | Escort Lover
Andreas Waldschütz | http://bit.ly/jZUxI5 WRITING
ABYSS By Todd Rinker | 3/17/11 | Peanut Butter for the Roof of Your Brain http://bit.ly/k3a66u time can seem to crawl no more slowly than when you want to hear from someone. a second can seem like a decade. a minute a century. an hour; eternity. days passing by is a time frame too terrible to bear. every tick and every tock of the clock echoes inside of you like an earthquake shaking you to your very core. nothing could speed up time again like a word from your lover. but silence reigns and time still oozes on. uncertainty keeping you constant companion. you know there will be a breaking point at which the time stream will return to its normal pace, but it feels like you will never get there. it is like swimming toward a surface too far away and your lungs are beginning to burst for want of air. if only you could break through that surface and take in a lungful of her and never have to plunge back down into the watery depths of her absence ever again. but that is then. for now you must make your way breathlessly through the murk. that dark hole she has left. that abyss. PHOTOGRAPHY
Andrej Glusgold | http://bit.ly/mJgQas
Jean-Francois Lepage | http://bit.ly/lqODMN
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http://bit.ly/kHb2pV
Most of you seem to want to know exactly how a “session” or “date” with an escort comes about. Well, I will give you the run down of what it is like to see an independent escort (AMPs and SWs are different experiences, but I think I’d rather cover them on an experiential basis, since I have good stories about both) so that you can get just a little taste of how this underground world works! For starters, where in the hell does one find an escort? Believe it or not, there are a few sources that you can turn to. Prior to the internet, you either had to know someone OR you could look in the Yellow Pages. Yes, if you still get phone books, there WILL be listings for some agencies in there if there are any in your area. I’ve never gone that route, mostly because I’ve heard that they are much more hit-or-miss from the perspective of getting a “good girl” (yes, that is very rude). The 2nd option, and the one that I would venture to say is the most common way that guys and girls play in the hobby, is to go on Craigslist (prior to it closing the adult section down) or Backpage. For those of you who don’t know, Backpage is essentially Craigslist, just less well known. It still has dedicated pages for each city, and it certainly has all of the non-sex stuff that Craigslist does (though again, less known). But, it does have an adult section. If you were to go through Backpage (BP for short), you are best served going to the “Escorts” or “Body Rubs” sections under ADULT. You can find some other sex stuff in other areas, but for the most part, if you call a number off a page from those two sections, you are likely going to find what you are looking for. Now, there are a couple of drawbacks to using BP. First of all, you have no way of knowing if the woman is real or not. She could be an undercover cop, and you could be walking into a bust. Secondly, you have no idea how good this chick is, even if she IS who she says she is in (which is a crapshoot with BP girls). Something you may not know as a new hobbyist is that most BP girls are pretty boring lays and they have limited menus (i.e. things you can or cannot do with them sexually), and even though they ARE cheaper than the next method (and often you can get them to give you discounted half hour and “quickie” rates, which is rare to find for the next group as well), they often are really only desirable if you literally just want to fuck a warm body. To schedule with these girls, you usually just call or text their listed number, schedule a time, and then show up. They are usually good for last minute appointments as well, since the bulk of their business are one-time hits off of BP. The final group of girls you can schedule with, and the ones that are most reliable and valuable, are the “review board girls.” In the hobby, it is VERY important that you be selective with who you see. That allows you to be discreet, have a good session, and get the most value for your dollar. Well, prior to the internet, it was pretty much impossible to know which girls were good or not without knowing someone who had seen them. Then the internet came along, and you have review boards. Escort review boards are exactly what they sound like: they are a forum system designed to act as a central database for hobbyists and johns to review the details of their sessions with the escorts they’ve seen, to provide information to other hobbyists so that they can make an informed decision about whether or not to schedule a session with an escort. The more well-reviewed the escort is, the higher the likelihood of getting good value out of the session. The more poorlyreviewed, the less the likelihood (and also the less likely she will be reviewed at all after 2 or 3 poor reviews). Little-reviewed girls are often what are called “TOFTT girls,” standing for Take One For The Team, since they are unknowns and the session experience being unpredictable. Obviously, any escorts that are conscious of their image pay close attention to these reviews. Most sites won’t let the full details of a review be shared with the provider (often shared in a private section called “The Rest of the Story” for established/paying reviewers). There are often sections of each ERB where escorts can advertise, posting an updated pictures, updates rates/ services, or just to bring themselves to the forefront of any horny guy’s search for his next lay. I won’t post any links, but if you are interested, I may chat with you privately about these review boards. Look me up on Twitter (http://twitter.com/theescortlover) if you want. Often, with providers that post ads on escort review boards, I scroll through all of the ads, flag ones that I find interesting (I usually jot down their information—handle, ad menu/pricing listings, etc.), and then research them to see if they are legitimate options. I often am left with a list of several potential ladies to see, and I keep that “list” running until it’s exhausted (haven’t exhausted it in the 2 years I’ve been doing this, FYI, because I keep adding to it constantly by sheer circumstance). When I’ve decided on which escort I’d like to see, I usually contact them via the method they ask to be contacted by (e-mail, private message on that board, call, text, or screening through a 3rd party screening website—which I will discuss more in future posts or questions you can ask me later) to request an appointment. I prefer texting or e-mail, since I can do that no matter where I am very easily. Once I am screened (I can go through the “screening process” in later posts, like mentioned above), we usually set a date, and I call 24 hours in advance to confirm the date. It’s important to note here that, if a provider confirms they will see you at this 24 hour point, it is a HUGE no-no for them, reputation wise, to cancel your session after that for any reason other than an emergency (often unverifiable, so it’s hobbyist discretion whether to forgive and forget). Some hobbyists have tight windows (heh) under which they can hobby, due to family/ wife excuses, work scheduling, etc., so good providers always err on the side of caution at the risk of taking a reputational hit on these sites. Now, once you get to this point, the experience is ESSENTIALLY the same regardless of whether it is a BP girl or an ERB girl (I will notate any differences). About an hour or two prior to the session, you either call or text the girl, and she then gives you directions to her incall (the place where she is “working”). This place is often NOT her home, even if she lives in the area. If you are seeing a BP girl, you will 90% of the time be going to a hotel (a good majority of these girls are from out of town—traveling 2-3 hours so they aren’t working where people know them), with the other 10% being their actual home (since they are usually not responsible/ careful enough to know better if they live locally). If you see a ERB girl, she will often have an apartment (often shared with at least one other provider—I’ve heard of up to 6 before) dedicated to her “business” if she is local, or it will be at a NICER hotel if she is from out of town. A small grouping (i.e. the actual single girls that don’t expect much company) will use their actual home, as one 23-year old did for me last Saturday when I walked to her downtown high rise apartment. You will usually have a two- or three-call system: You call an hour before OR right when you are ready to leave, and she will tell you the general area to travel to (“call me when you get to the airport” “go up ::highway:: and call me when you exit ::exit name::,” etc.) and to call her when you get there. I like to keep in pretty good touch with girls prior to sessions, so I’m usually texting with them up to 3 hours prior just to avoid any communication breakdown. Then, once you are at the area, she will give you detailed directions to her apartment/house/hotel, and then give you the specific number/directions to her door once you are there (if necessary). For me, the most nerve-wrecking part of every experience is the minute from when I park in the parking lot/driveway to when I walk up and knock on the door. This is often the time I have a mini-panic attack and have to force myself to go through with the session (especially if the path is crowded i.e. people are around) anyway. Knock, knock, knock. The door opens, and there she is. The first impression I get when that door opens often will guide the session, and it would take a big swing either positive or negative to affect it after that. Usually an awkward pleasantry and hug is exchanged, followed by some menial chit chat. Etiquette says that you are supposed to place the “donation” (it’s illegal to pay for sex) in an unmarked envelope on a plainly visible surface, and not to mention it. This way, you are not going to get caught by an undercover provider in the act of soliciting sex (though obviously it will look bad just being there, but legally I’m pretty sure you are ok) from a prostitute, and the provider likewise doesn’t trap herself either. Most providers will not raise a fit if you don’t have an envelope. :)
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continues… After that is done, I usually ask to use the restroom, where I wash my hands, among other preparatory actions. At this point, it really is a matter of who acts first. Since I have a really hard time initiating sex with someone personally (childhood issues), even if they ARE a hooker, I often will just chat with them and sit on the bed (BP) or couch (ERB usually) until they make the first move. Sometimes (and this happens almost all of the time when you are paying for a session that is less than an hour – half-hour or quickie), the provider simply starts getting naked, and this is usually your clue to also get naked, and you both jump on the bed. From there, you basically have sex (or whatever you paid for—you can pay for blowjobs only, or massages, etc.). The only quirks depend basically on their menu offerings. If it is a BP girl, you will likely be jerked off until hard, then she will put a condom on you, blow you until you are ready to fuck, and then lube herself up (honestly, watching a girl lube up is NOT hot…). Almost all BP girls are CBJ (covered blowjob—BJ with a condom). Ok, let me go ahead and give you a VERY BASIC menu rundown: Kissing: BP girls usually don’t allow it. For others, it varies between LFK (basically closed mouth kissing) and DFK (full on makeout), or none at all. Oral (her): DATY or FIV will often be listed if done (during review) or available (in ad). DATY is Dining At The Y (eating out), and FIV is Fingers In Vagina (fingers in vagina). There’s usually no difference between BP and ERB girls on this—totally woman dependent. Oral (you): HJ, CBJ, or BBBJ (BBBJTCIM, BBBJTCIMNQNS) are your options, if allowed. Hand Job is pretty obvious, and don’t think I’ve never seen it offered (it’s often not listed because it’s so necessary). CBJ was mentioned above, and this is a popular menu offering for BP girls. I would say that there is a strong correlation between CBJ being the only thing a provider will do and the amount of GFE (girlfriend experience) you will get—basically meaning you are often only expecting a fuck buddy or purely “get off” type of session. BBBJ, or bareback blowjob, is almost a prerequisite for any ERB girl. Most BP girls charge $200 or less per hour, and they often are CBJ with no GFE. For an ERB girl, you are often paying at least $180-300 per hour, and you can almost always expect BBBJ with GFE. ERB girls that do not offer both of these services usually end up being inactive on the boards, and revert back to BP. (Note: The prices I list are for MY AREA, which is considered on the higher side for my state. You would have to research your specific area to find out the comparable average rates.) Now, where ERB girls vary is on the issue of CIM (cum in mouth), CIMNQNS (cum in mouth, no quit, no spit—swallowing to be short), or none. It’s very rare to see a girl charging higher than $200/hr that will not at LEAST do CIM, though it’s pretty much nonexistent that a provider willing to take cum in her mouth will not just go ahead and swallow. I know of two girls in my area off the top of my head that charge $300/hr (on the high side) and do NOT do CIM, and both of them are probably in the top 5 looks-wise for this area, and also two of the youngest (<25 years old). Sex: Honestly, you know all the acronyms for this (what is CG? what is RCG? what is K9? You got it). I don’t know of any providers that have any vaginal sex positions that are off limits. I’d be interested to know if there are any. The only two things that I know will vary from provider to provider is anal sex and fetishes (hair pulling, slapping, bondage, toys, etc.). For fetishes, you really just need to check with the provider. I don’t think any that WOULD do a fetish would charge extra for it, but that’s not my scene. For anal, BP girls usually use their booty holes as a convenient opportunity to get an extra $50 or so from you (most guys into anal gladly pay), and I think it is free, though provider dependent, for anyone else. Since I’m not into anal personally, I can’t really speak on it. FINISH: CIM, COF, COB, CIV, MSOG—CIM already mentioned. As far as the other ways to finish, they imply that you would be uncovered when cumming (otherwise you just cum in the condom)—cum on face, cum on body (often you need to clear the area of the body, though), and cum in vagina. I don’t know of any providers that offer the option to let you cum inside their vagina uncovered. In fact, if there are any, they probably would not advertise it for fear of being identified as someone who is not safe. MSOG is multiple shots on goal, or cumming more than once per session. For most sessions that last less than an hour, you almost never seen MSOG offered due to the length of time it takes to get one pop (one time to cum), much less two or more. I have, though, seen MSOG offered for 30-minute “french” (blowjob only) sessions. BP girls often do not offer MSOG at all, and use the opportunity of multiples to upsell you. ERB girls typically will use the line “you pay for my time,” and will allow MSOG, especially to regulars. Since I admittedly cannot fuck for an hour (or even 30 minutes) without cumming, MSOG is often a very important menu offering that has to be offered (I have a funny story about this I hope to post eventually). Afterwards, the girl usually will take the condom off for you if necessary and give you a wipe or warm towel to clean up with, and then it is almost universally polite conversation while you get dressed (some girls stay naked, some put on just underwear, it varies) and ready to leave. Sometimes, almost exclusively for ERB girls, a shower is offered so that you can clean up in case you need to return to family/work. Upon leaving, you exchange hugs and a promise to visit again soon, and then you leave. So, that’s pretty much all there is to it. That’s the entire process from idea, to discovery, to scheduling, to session. If you are an ERB member, you may ask them if it is ok to review them (you get credits for reviewing that is used to give you free private access—some providers do not want public reviews). If you are a third-party screening site member, you may ask for an “okay” (to be explained later, if necessary). PHOTOGRAPHY
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Pierre dal Corso | http://bit.ly/kxag1Z
LIKE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED By Neal Boulton | 6/13/10 | BastardLife
http://bit.ly/jGBNV4
Trustworthy. At a sun drenched, rustic cafe in San Francisco’s North Beach, Lisa Wilson removes her glasses after ordering a caesar salad and slowly rubs her bright green eyes as if she’s groggy. I order the same. “It’s just a nightmare,” she says about it. But it’s not fatigue from a lack of sleep Lisa talks to us about, it’s exhaustion after learning about the two year affair her lover, Melinda, has been having behind her back. “I’m not sure if I can move on from this one,” she added. “It’s the trust. I don’t think I’ll ever trust her again.” When she returns the rich brown horn-rimmed frames to her eyes, she’s restored her solid, executive like composure. “My biggest question these days is, when will the wound heal?” Lisa is not alone we tell her, in fact, one of the most common questions we receive at BastardLife is the hardest one of all to answer, “When will I trust my partner after an affair?” Why one of the hardest questions to answer? Affairs, like domestic violence and other forms of abuse, are complex, often presenting symptoms far in advance, and often presenting, often ignored, dangerous behavior by the perpetrator. But it’s not about when you’ll trust Melinda again we tell Lisa, it’s about why you might not want to; not about why this happened, we add, but how—and how you can prevent it from happening again. Listening, Lisa removes her glasses again, anxious for our lunch to arrive so that we can change the subject. Denial 47% of victims of adultery fail to admit, even to themselves, that there is a “problem,” despite their suspicion, and their gut feeling that there is a problem. What’s more, people who suspect cheating, and who begin to see new behaviors like working later hours, working on weekends, and caring far more about their appearance than before—often offer excuses for their partner’s behavior and usually think, “It will go away.” Guilt When someone in a relationship finally acknowledges that there is a problem, 42% very privately consider themsleves responsible for it. In fact, these same people often feel, though rarely admit, that they “deserve” to be cheated on because they feel they have certain defects in character or that they have not lived up to their partner’s expectations. Enlightenment Only when a person in a relationship no longer assumes responsibility for their partner’s abusive treatment, can they recognize that no one “deserves” to be abused like this. Still, about 61% remain committed to their relationships post adultery and stay with their partners—hoping they can work things out, despite that they don’t trust them. 79% report that their partner’s cheat on them again months later. Responsibility Thankfully, an overwhelming 82% who have been the victim of adultery agree: recognizing the fact that your partner probably will not, or can not, stop their deceitful behavior, is the key to your freedom, and allows you to decide, once and for all, that you will no longer submit to it— from anyone—and start a new life. Wise, considering the fact that 67% of people who were caught cheating admit that they would have continued, had they not been discovered. What could be worse than that? 47% of Americans in 2010 have admitted to adultery. We couldn’t tell Lisa when she would trust Melinda again—or more importantly, if she should. But we could assure her that the wound she asked about would heal. Though, we couldn’t help warn her, as our salad dressing coated lunch dishes were cleared away, that in relationships, healing often means forgetting, like nothing ever happened.—R.T. PHOTOGRAPHY
Sivan Miller | http://bit.ly/js0oDJ
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3 WOMEN By Steven Kobrin | 3/12/11 | Cinethons
Karine Basilio | http://bit.ly/kUR4yg WRITING
HIS SHADOWY SIDE By Ryan Gibeau | 9/23/10 | I Rant So Far Away
http://bit.ly/ksRSdB
Let’s just call this an adventure of the third person. Mostly. You know his exterior. It’s a simple charm most find pleasant. You know his character, his style, his nice eyes and smile. Oh, what a nice guy. You don’t know his interior. It’s a complicated web most would find foul. You don’t know his dark tangled core, a mess of emotions he can’t control anymore. Oh, what a troubled soul. The story you’ve heard is of Jekyll and Hyde, but that story is fiction, where this is true life. You meet him, you know him. You see how he lives. What a life, what a world, what you wouldn’t give. In real life real people do real with their lives. He imagines great intentions but it rarely survives. The black ghost, the black cloud, the black mist, the black shroud, the black news, the black night the black howl the black spite. It defeats the real, the good, the light. It’s a dark hidden secret he’s trying to fight. A ‘how do you do’ while his thoughts of a knife plunge through salutations and take a life… I’ve felt your blood before meeting you. I’ve seen your fear before eating you. I’ve seen you dead while greeting you. I’ll tell you all this while I’m treating you… to a nice dinner at my home. So lovely isn’t it? I’ve got paintings on the wall, records and candles and knick-knacks and all. You’d trust me… even open your heart… Here, let me help, I’ll break your sternum and ribs to start. I like to date, but I’m not into long-term relations. I’d take you, for sure, on a longterm vacation. Let’s have a drink, a date, a screw. I’m a good guy… when I have my good eye on you. C’mon I’m a sweetheart! Allow me to show! I just have a dark side… but, who doesn’t, you know? PHOTOGRAPHY
Olivier Valsecchi | http://bit.ly/m6ipto
Olivier Valsecchi | http://bit.ly/
http://bit.ly/mep1Tr
It takes an incredibly deft and knowing hand to create the splintered, fragmented world of dreams on film in a way that is palpable yet honest. Seemingly identical in both nature and visual essence, one may conclude that dreams are the easiest of worlds to translate thoughtfully on film. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is the most complex of worlds to capture and most importantly… to feel. Let’s face it. We all dream, and although the nature of our individual experiences and process of dreaming may vary from time to time, the one constant that never changes is the fragmented haze of clarity within the dreams themselves. There is nothing in this life that is as elusive as it is explicit. As opaque as it is lucid. And so it must be said that dreams are contradictory, illusory and evasive by their vary nature. How the fuck can that volatile, multifaceted phenomenon of emotion, sensory experience and sleep-induced confrontation EVER be captured on film in a way that rings true? It may seem that movies, in all of their infinite elasticity, may be the only artistic medium by which to fully embrace the intangible quality of dreams. Seeming is not necessarily being. In other words, I believe the cinema has had a very difficult time coming to terms with dreams in a way that avoids the traps of fantasy. Fantasy and dreams are similar though, aren’t they? No. There is a visually dense and somewhat stylized quality to the two as they unfold, but beyond that, I find dreams to be much more like extensions or variations of truth and past experiences than fantasies could ever be. Having said that, can film ever get it right? Have there been instances in which it’s actually succeeded in finding the universe of the dream within the dream? The answer is yes. Christopher Nolan made a superb film last year called “Inception” (2010). It was actually one of the first pictures I wrote about here on this site. In that movie, we were insightfully presented a world in which it was finally made clear why we as dreamers can never actually SEE ourselves as we dream. In other words, the central point of view in dreams is as critical as it is consistent. Therefore, let us commend “Inception” at the very least for being wonderfully thought out narratively as well as being magnificently designed. But is that everything? Not quite. As much as I loved the film, and it was my second favorite picture of last year, I ultimately felt the picture was more accomplished as a Bondian type action-adventure than anything else. By embracing it on those artistic terms, the movie’s narrative threads and complexities became secondary. At least, that’s how it worked for me. So let me share with you the ONE film in motion picture history that truly FEELS and looks like it was made in a dream state, transporting us in ways that are as real as they are transcendent. It was one of the masterworks of the seventies, Robert Altman’s “3 Women” (1977). It’s impossible for me to be pragmatic or logical when it comes to doing a thorough and heartfelt analysis of “3 Women.” Logic, narrative arc and dramatic development are completely irrelevant here because the movie is just as much about the usurping of human identity as it is about drifting within worlds which may be real or imagined. Altman pulls off something here that is beyond masterful, and I question if ANY other director could have done it. He makes us accept the naturalness of each environment, regardless of how surreal or heightened it may seem. And so it must be said that he captures us from the opening frames of the film. The women of the title are the attendant of an old folks sanitarium in the desert (Shelley Duvall). The second is a new, seemingly bland and innocuous member of the staff (Sissy Spacek). The third and final woman is a painter (Janice Rule). She never speaks, but she puts her thoughts into her gorgeous murals, while also being pregnant and married to a philandering ex-stuntman (Robert Fortier). This movie is a deeply penetrating study, rather Ingmar Bergmanesque in fact, of these women and especially the first two. The newcomer develops a morbid fascination with the attendant and tries to emulate her in every way. At a certain point, she comes to believe that she IS the girl. This story of psychological dependence and transference is littered with so much dazzling imagery that it defies description. Yes, it requires much patience and absorbing to fully embrace its hidden meanings, but the picture remains one of the great cinematic enigmas ever made. Shelley Duvall was always a personal favorite of Robert Altman’s, and it’s easy to see why. Her minimalist style and gestures make her endlessly intriguing throughout. Altman’s eye for casting has always been impeccable, but she is a sight to behold here for reasons I can’t quite fathom. Perhaps I’m not supposed to? But just consider most of her work for the great director, “Brewster McCloud” (1970), “McCabe And Mrs. Miller” (1971), “Thieves Like Us” (1974), and is there a single actress on the planet who was destined to become the embodiment of an iconic role as much as Duvall’s Olive Oil in Altman’s own “Popeye” (1980)? As perfect as she is in “Popeye,” she is equally flawless here in “3 Women.” Sissy Spacek gives us an equally marvellous performance that is the complete emotional and archetypal flipside of the Duvall character. By contrast to Duvall, Spacek is insecure, diffident, childlike and unhinged. They are diametrically opposed to one another, and yet they theoretically transform themselves in a way that only two great actresses of this caliber could achieve through subtext and nuanced playing. Janice Rule is the wildcard here, but she is no less compelling or effective than the other two actresses. Supporting cast members Robert Fortier, Ruth Nelson and even Golden Age film director John Cromwell are wonderfully eclectic throughout. No other director in the history of motion pictures did more to create as diverse or unique a body of work than Robert Altman. Going as far back as “Countdown” (1968) and “M*A*S*H” (1970), he made it abundantly clear that he was bent on a different way of seeing. It was always his perspective, not his stories, that was going to make his movies unlike anything else. To this day, there is NOBODY who can capture the loose, freewheeling, yet incredibly specific and focused technique of Robert Altman. I’ve seen this picture about half a dozen times, and it puzzles me more every time I see it. I’m becoming more perplexed by its riddles as time marches on. The greatest movies ever made are the mysteries we will never be able to figure out. Curiously, I view this film as a metaphorical companion piece to one of Altman’s greatest pictures, his only real horror film called “Images” (1972). Both films deal with the vagaries of human emotion and fragile identities. What they both seem almost possessed by is this radical need to make us question whether the stories are real or figments/extensions of the central characters’ imaginations. In that regard, the films work incredibly well together. Deluxe Color has never been more ravishing than here in the fine work by cinematographer Charles Rosher. I think Altman actually colorcoded this movie more than any other picture he ever made. Wardrobe and interiors have never conveyed more narrative dimension through the psychological undercurrents of color than they do in this film. Robert Altman’s “3 Women” is a staggering reminder of why American cinema in the seventies can never be equalled or compared to any other period in World Cinema. It truly represents OUR greatest time ever where the movies were concerned. A picture like “3 Women” would never be made today. Not just because no studio would get it, but because only Robert Altman could have made it. Treasure him. Study his work. Never forget him. Seeing “3 Women” will definitely make you understand why that is so important in this day and age.
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THE STROKES ALBUM REVIEW By Adrian McCavour | 3/27/11 | Some Kind Of Awesome
http://bit.ly
An entire decade after the release of their debut album Is This It, The Strokes long overdue fourth LP Angles has finally been released to the masses of swooning girls (and guys) who have been waiting anxiously for this moment for five years. It’s been made public that the process of making Angles was long, tiring, and ultimately a shitty experience for the entire band. After all the disagreements and delays, the band is back in the limelight with a new album in hand, once again living like fucking rock ‘n’ roll kings. So, why is it that we’ve had to wait five years for the five New Yorkers to finally come together and make their fourth album? And after all this time is it even worth listening to? After the release of First Impressions of Earth in ‘06, the band itself basically went on hiatus, with Julian Casablancas, Albert Hammond, Jr., and Nikolai Fraiture all putting out solo works, Nick Valensi raising his child, and Frabrizio Moretti breaking up with Drew Barrymore (who would break up with her?!). It was clear that they all needed a break from each other, and the band suffered. When each of them finally came together in 2009 to start work on the album, things weren’t the same. It appeared as if the entire band wasn’t on the same page, especially Julian, who may have not been fully committed to the project. All of it made it seem like they could break up at any moment. It’s not surprising, really, as much of the recording process was done without Casablancas, or just him recording vocals by himself. It seemed to have worked, with Fraiture saying in an interview with Spin that “[t]here was a lot of back and forth. I don’t know if Julian had trouble being with us—I don’t know what was going through his mind. There were tensions. But it worked.” Albert Hammond, Jr. told Rolling Stone that the title Angles came from the fact that “[i]t’s what the record sounds like. It comes from five different people.” This is definitely true, as the album is easily the most diverse of the bands’ four LPs. It is very fitting that The Strokes unveiled “Under Cover Of Darkness” first, because, out of every song on the album, it sounds like it could have fit in on any of the bands’ previous albums. The rest of the album sees each band member exploring new sounds, new approaches to the signature Strokes style. The album opens with “Machu Picchu,” an 80s inspired track that takes classic Strokes style and blends it with dance grooves. The song is immediately followed by the incredibly upbeat “Under Cover Of Darkness,” showing the stark contrast between the traditional method that the band took to making songs and the new, experimental direction that most of the album follows. “Games,” for example, takes clear inspiration from Julian’s 2009 solo effort, Phrazes for the Young, with synthesizers adding a new element to a recipe that, previously, would have shied away from that sort of thing. According to Fraiture, “the band experimented with new instruments and more technology, including MIDI electronic samples and Farfisa keyboards. They also overdubbed more guitars, and Casablancas toyed with vocal layers.” This is entirely present in one of the albums most unique tracks, “You’re So Right,” in which Julian’s vocals take a direction similar to that of Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, Hammond, Jr. and Valensi’s guitar riffs are layered in a fantastically frantic way, while Fraiture, who wrote the song, and Moretti keep the track consistent and tight. It’s a track that displays the importance of each member, with all of them keeping each other in track, all the while playing off each other. Other than “Under Cover Of Darkness,” “Taken For A Fool” is the only other track that hearkens back to the old days of Is This It and Room On Fire, the major difference though is that “Taken For A Fool” feels like it is taking the old formula and adding to it. With tight vocals, concise guitar riffs, and an awesome hook, the song nails the classic Strokes sound and adds some much needed flavour. Other tracks, like the airy “Two Kinds Of Happiness” and the easy going anthem “Gratisfaction,” take inspiration from the golden age of rock, the 1970s. The former has Casablancas’ broadening his vocal range amidst vintage-esque guitar riffs, while the latter takes a stab at the pop rock style that Queen famously perfected in the 70s and 80s. The only moment where the album falters is on the track “Metabolism,” which sounds like it would find a better home on First Impressions Of Earth. Julian’s vocals are drowned out by the dark, heavy background portions, and a brooding Muse-like choir that makes the song feels out of place from the rest of the album. As with every Strokes album, Angles has to take a few moments to breath. “Call Me Back” is the calmest and saddest moment on the album, with Casablancas ironically singing that “wait time is the worst, I can hardly sit.” The song stands out because it shows the bands’ ability to sound amazing even in the simplest of circumstances. Despite only a guitar and keyboard backing up Casablancas’ vocals, the song is incredibly deep and rich. These moments where the band slows things down are often where they shine, and “Life Is Simple In The Moonlight” is definitely a shining moment. The song, written by Nick Valensi, is a moody combination of deep vocals, ethereal guitar riffs, and a fantastic guitar solo by Valensi. “Life Is Simple In The Moonlight” was the perfect way to end an album that is, for the most part, a return to form for a band that seemed like it could drift apart indefinitely. The fact that all five members ended up coming together to put this album together shows that they truly do care about the band and the music, and the risks that they took in terms of adding new elements to their old formula, as well as having all of the band members write songs, shows that they have matured and are willing to expand musically. Valensi stated in an interview with MySpace Music, “I really just want to make another album really fast after this one. I just wanna kind of focus on new music for the future and just getting something out.” Here’s hoping that it doesn’t take another five years for the follow up to Angles to be released. SCORE: 4.0 PHOTOGRAPHY
Alexey Sorokin | http://bit.ly/kWxSbu INTERVIEW
A.J. ALI By Hannah Faye | 15/04/11 | The Printed Blog One morning A.J. Ali, a philanthropist and marketing extraordinaire, woke up with the idea to create a television show, “To inspire and teach people how to love their neighbor.” From the title, Good Fellas of Baltimore, to the acronym M.O.B. (Mentors of Baltimore,) the entire project was laid out in front of him, all he had to do was carry it out. He began with approaching a few of his close friends, such as William Peach, who Ali described as “a tremendous force in the community—kind of quietly, behind the scenes, but always helping people through his real estate company,” and Steve de Castro, owner of several Ruth Chris restaurants and affectionately titled, “The Godfather.” “It’s people who I knew had the heart, and who had demonstrated it,” Ali says of the cast. Explaining to them their mutual love of community and willingness to take action, Ali pitched the idea of the M.O.B. as something, “Like the Fantastic Four, or the X-men; a group of people who came together to do good things.” The show grew from there. Using a network of advisors known as “The Family,” as well as taking suggestions from fans via social media, each episode of Good Fellas focuses on helping a family in need within the Baltimore community. Using a sort of “pass it forward,” concept, Ali says the program aims to encourage its benefactors to “become a part of the solution for another family,” adding, “If we’re not featuring them on the show, we’re doing what we can to set them up with people in the community who can help.” Beyond just suggesting families, Ali asserts, “We’re giving Baltimore the opportunity to really be a part of the solution every step of the way-not just the charitable work and the philanthropic work that’s being done, but even to the extent on how we define and shape the television show.” Launching the show to its full potential isn’t as easy as it sounds. Though Good Fellas has gained grassroots support, Ali is having trouble finding the funding from big organizations to pay for the production costs. But Ali welcomes the challenge. “The reality is the little guy has stepped up, so far to the tune of over $200,000 of contributions of cash, products, and services,” he explains. And they’re not stopping at Baltimore. “I’m not going to put any limitations on it,” Ali explains, “whether it’s Baltimore, or Detroit, or Los Angeles, or Chicago, or Washington D.C., or Rome… If there are others who are willing to support this sort of movement in another city we’ll go there.” “It’s about a willingness for us to have time for other people,” Ali emphasizes, “It really is the kind of thing that’s going to take everyone’s help. So if it moves your heart, become a part of it.” The result of his hard work in turning idea to reality can be viewed on Fox Saturdays at 1 p.m. EST. NEW SOCIAL COUPON SERVICE
KUMBUYA—SAY HELLO TO THE FIRST TRULY SOCIAL DEAL-MAKING SERVICE By Hannah Faye | 6/13/11 | The Printed Blog
Tyler Shields | http://bit.ly/tylershields
The team behind The Printed Blog is proud to announce its newest venture, Kumbuya (www.kumbuya.com), the first truly social deal-making service. WithJenny Kumbuya, you can Montgomery | http://bit.ly/ promote the businesses you love by creating and sharing your very own daily deals. Creating a deal is easy. You just fill in a quick sentence—here’s an example: “I’d like a 50% discount for a dinner for 2 that costs $100 at Marie’s French Bistro in Chicago, and I’ll get 50 people to join me.” Then you promote your freshly made deal to your friends, family, fans and followers! Customers get the deals they want from the businesses they already know and love, and those businesses get to build long-term relationships with customers both new and old (for a better deal than companies like Groupon™ and LivingSocial™ offer.) Kumbuya offers some amazing programs for bloggers. If you put the Kumbuya badge on your site, anyone can click it to initiate a deal. You’ll receive 25% of our profit on any deal initiated from your site that successfully closes. You can also create your own deal community. A Deal Community is a unique way to connect your website or blog with the deals that you create while establishing a personal presence on Kumbuya, beyond just having the badge. You still get 25% of our profit from all successfully closed deals, but you also get your own page on Kumbuya, complete with links to your site and social media networks, a description of your community, a news feed from your site, and little section about you!
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By Shini | 3/21/11 | Park & Cube
http://bit.ly/ih3nHh
So we all see now what happens when we try convincing sequins out of Ashish, he lets the wardrobe-moths loose. I must credit the man though, for the sweet juxtaposition of painstaking sequin application with casual destructed knit. I don’t know why, but I always say “meh” after his shows and then go home to find myself growing to love each of the pieces over time. It’s probably a sign that I take things too seriously and thinking that the only things that will ‘grow on me’ are bacteria and hair. I was going to say boobs but we all know… anyway. The spiderwebbed knees were quite the random and sometimes I couldn’t tell if the model was a dude or a dudess, but on hindsight sequins on colourful plaid was a real delight amidst the sea of ‘serious’ that reigned this season’s catwalks. PHOTOGRAPHY
Tyler Shields | http://bit.ly/tylershields LIFESTYLE
COKE DEPENDENCY By Wendi Aarons | 2/27/09 | Wendi Aarons
http://bit.ly/k9POxL
I love Diet Coke. Love it. It is my strength. It is my weakness. It is the Big Gulp swiggin’ monkey on my back. But Diet Coke really is nature’s perfect drink. No sugar, no calories, no nutrients—just a sweetass canful of chemicals that somehow managed to squeak by the FDA’s stringent approval process and now rests happily in the shaky hands of housewives everywhere. It’s manna from heaven, only in convenient 12-pack form. My relationship with Diet Coke began many, many years ago, right after I broke up with bitter bastard TAB and rejected his fake, lying ways. I was hurt, I was sad, I was pretty damn close to having a one night stand with that loser Mello Yello. But then, just when I had almost given up hope of ever finding true, no-calorie love, my salvation suddenly arrived, bursting out of a secret Atlanta laboratory and sending a river of tiny, caramel-colored bubbles straight into my thirsty, waiting mouth. It was my carbonated soul mate, my tooth-staining sweetheart, my knight in shining aluminum. And we, Diet Coke and I, were destined to live happily ever after. Almost. Because while I’ve been forever faithful to Diet Coke, straying only when I was pregnant and returning just as soon as the epidural wore off, unfortunately, tragically, Diet Coke hasn’t always been so true to me. Alas, DC’s been a bit of a playah. A hustlah. A no-good, unfaithful jackass comin’ home late with someone else’s lipstick on its sharp, metal rim. Yep, Diet Coke wanted to play the field. See what else was out there. Maybe experiment a little. So it began to betray me. First, it stepped out with Caffeine-Free. Then, cheated on me with Splenda. Then finally, one wild weekend in Miami, it went into a dark Cuban bar and hooked up with that brazen hussy Lime. Lime. But each time, each time it left me, I took it back. I said I understood. I said that I knew it was just trying to find itself and we were still meant to be together, right, baby? Right? But now, now Diet Coke has forsaken me again and this time, I fear my heart won’t recover. Because this time, Diet Coke is gettin’ its syrupy ass off the couch and joining a gym. It wants to be healthy. Fit. A little less carcinogenic, if you will. So now DC has added vitamins and minerals into its regular harmful formula and is calling itself Diet Coke Plus. Uh-huh. Vitamins and minerals. In Diet Coke. For the love of God, what’s next? Whole grain cigarettes? Anti-oxidant Miller High Life? Slim Jim Soy? While I’m sure that crap like niacin, B6, B12, zinc and magnesium is actually good for you, does it really belong in a drink that comes with a lid and a straw? That’s available in 72 ounces? That explodes when it touches a Mentos? Or should those nutrients instead just be found in, oh, I don’t know, food? I just don’t think that everything I eat or drink needs to be healthy-fied. After all, I’m a grown-up and supposedly know what’s good for me (fruit) and what isn’t (heroin) and should be able to choose, right? And my heart wants what it wants—that same ol’ no vitamins, no minerals, no purpose bad boy of a drink I first chose all those many years ago. So, listen up, Diet Coke and stop trying to change. I already know you’re no good for me. But baby, I love you anyway. PHOTOGRAPHY
Kate Bellm | http://bit.ly/lsZbWx
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YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS By Arushi Khosla | 1/20/11 | Bohemian Like You
Ben Trivett | http://bit.ly/mAxm7C
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http://bit.ly/ihk66V
Writing amid a tsunami of books and unfinished reports/assignments/presentations. Exams are around the corner and I am a royal mess, predictably. But what’s not a royal mess is this crazy awesome dress (ooh, fun little rhyme in there I’m such a dork) from Coal n Terry Vintage (hii, sponsors!). It’s bright green, has sleeves bigger than my head and is the cutest little thing to wear incessantly in spring. I belted it here for waist definition but it’s cute even without. I’ve been long obsessed with short, loose dresses so I have a feeling I’m going to be wearing this more than its fair share. Thought I should introduce you guys to my room. It’s pretty tiny but I like it. I’m working on finding a more suitable accommodation for my shoes because currently they’re just stacked at random in boxes in a corner. Also, that random shot of the crap I pile on my bedside table was just added to this mess mix because I just felt like I need you to know that the book House of Versace by Deborah Ball is an absolute must read. It’s the thoroughly riveting story of how Gianni Versace along with his siblings Donatella and Santo (daddy of Francesca Versace who seems to be the latest Versace on the design scene), brash Italian Southerners built an empire from next to nothing and how it all came to a standstill after Gianni’s abrupt demise. It chronicles the rise of the 90s Supermodels and celebrity culture and how significantly Gianni contributed to it, how they marketing their label into a mega brand, French VS Italian design, the age of decadence, etc. It’s a compelling read that anyone interested in fashion should pick up. Also, all of you interiors junkies out there have permission to have a meltdown because my room is relatively theme devoid. There are two hugeass posters above my bed, one of Audrey Hepbrun and the other of Kurt Cobain. It’s the oddest combination there ever was. But they’re both incredible so they had to be up there, being gold. And then there’s also the fact that I’m reading three books—(re) reading Lord of the Rings, The Fourth Hand (John Irving is one funny man) and (re, re, re, re x100) reading House of Versace. I’m also watching the OC reruns for the 9000th time in addition to Kingdom of Heaven because the Crusades are an interesting topic and also because, um Orlando Bloom is tasty. I’m a cultural clusterfuck, as is abundantly clear. Anyhoo, don’t forget to check out Coal n Terry Vintage to discover thrifted nirvana. Note: If you sign up for their mailing list, you receive an extra 15% discount! I’m working with The Printed Blog as Guest Fashion Editor for their upcoming issue. Exciting, exciting. Will keep you guys posted. Duh. Talk sooooon! XO
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CULTURE
THE MAX HEADROOM SIGNAL HACK By Steve Huff | 4/01/11 | The Mystery Report
http://bit.ly/kQ32b8
It was the night of November 22, 1987 and many Chicago residents were watching a sportscast on WGN. Probably, what, eating brats? Snogging a piece of pizza pie like a lover? Perhaps sniffing their mustaches and drinking brewskis, just like Ma used to do? Whatever sports fans were up to that particular night something hilarious and strange went down on the airwaves of a couple of Chicagoland TV stations, and the mystery of who brought the weird is unsolved to this very day. It’s my favorite unsolved mystery that doesn’t involve ghosts, missing people, murder or whether the dealer is always the smeller: The Max Headroom Signal Intrusion. THE HACKS The first hack hit WGN’s 9 p.m. newscast. During a Bears-heavy segment viewers suddenly saw a guy in an outsized Max Headroom mask, positioned in front of what appeared to be a sheet of corrugated metal. There was no audio track, just an electric buzzing. Some quick-thinking engineer at WGN flipped a switch and the newscast was back to normal. The puzzled newscaster said, “Well, if you’re wondering what happened, so am I.” Nearly 2 hours later Chicago public TV station WTTW was airing the Dr. Who episode, “Horror of Fang Rock.” The “Fang Rock” episodes of the long-running BBC sci-fi series were interesting in their own right as they were based on a real-life mystery that occurred in the British Isles at the beginning of the 20th Century. That mystery, however, didn’t involve flyswatter spankings. See, this time the signal hacker went for broke. For some 90-odd seconds hydrocephalic fake Max Headroom performed a skit heavy with soda, rambling nonsense and bare-assed naughtiness. The pirate signal cut in with a minimum of static and breakup and as the hyper, bobbing masked man rambled the corrugated tin swayed in the background in a seasick imitation of the digital effect that appeared behind Max Headroom on his eponymous TV show. His voice weirdly distorted, Big Head Max said, “That does it. He’s a freakin’ (or frickin’) nerd... Yeah, I’m better than (WGN sports reporter at the time) Chuck Swirsky, freakin’ liberal... Oh Jesus!” Big Head Max then held up a can of Pepsi and said, “Catch the wave.” “Catch the wave” was New Coke’s slogan. New Coke, one of the most infamously wrongheaded product revamps in history, was often criticized as tasting just like Pepsi. Big Head Max continued, “Your love is fading,” then began humming the theme to Clutch Cargo, a 50s TV show. He said, “I stole CBS.” His rambling continued unintelligibly for another few seconds. This was probably just as well, as he hadn’t proven himself an eloquent revolutionary up that point. Big Head Max was understandable again in a moment, moaning, “Oooohhhhh, my files! Oh, I just made a giant masterpiece for all of the greatest world newspaper nerds.” He held up a large woolen glove and said, “My brother is wearing the other one... (but?) it’s dirty.” There was a jump cut and Big Head Max was now in one corner of the screen and he appeared to stick his tongue out through the mask. He said, “They’re coming to get me!” and turned away to reveal his white bare butt to the already gobsmacked Chicago Dr. Who fandom. A second player in this final scene, a costumed woman, began whipping Big Head Max’s alabaster rump with a flyswatter. “Come get me, bitch!” shouted the most audacious broadcast signal hacker in history, “Oh, do it!” And just like that, Dr. Who was back on the screen. And we future people fond of irrational performance art were perhaps a bit sadder for it (Except for die-hard Whovians, of course). MAX HEADROOM Max Headroom/Wikipedia Any effort to understand the Max Headroom Hack needs a little background. Max Headroom was a sci-fi TV series starring Matt Frewer that aired on American television from March, 1987 through May, 1988. The show’s basic premise seemed tailor-made to attract the attention of the kind of folks with both the knowledge and motivation to pull off something like the WGN/ WTTW signal hacks. From IMDB: 23 minutes into the future, the world has become imbued network-television. It’s illegal to turn off your tv, and televisions are given to the needy. In this world, Network 23 has a highlyrated news program with a roving reporter named Edison Carter. But Carter gets caught in an experiment to create a computer-generated personality, and “Max Headroom” is born. Together, Max and Edison, along with Edison’s controller (Theora), their boss (Murray), their boss’ boss (Ben Cheviot), and Network 23’s boy-genius (Bryce) combat crime, placate sponsors, defeat rival networks, and turn in stories. The show was a Spring mid-season replacement and initially made a big splash, especially among critics. Max Headroom became what we’d call a “viral” star today. He shilled for Coke on billboards and in commercials, even showed up on the cover of Newsweek. Along with conversation, Max generated controversy. An AP article published in what were apparently some unusually bad news doldrums in August of ‘87 spoke of how offensive the character’s “stutter” might be, and how it could provoke children to make fun of kids who stammered. At the time, few people knew anything about computer glitches that can cause digital media to jitter and jump. From a news article about the show’s cancellation Stutterers had the last laugh anyway. By mid-October that year Max Headroom was canceled due to low ratings (remaining episodes in the can when the show was canceled were aired off and on through Spring of the following year). Show producer Peter Wagg told the AP it was sad “that any time a producer with a great idea that is slightly different, that is challenging, that is possibly slightly ahead of its time will get turned down, because they’ll say Max didn’t work.” Just over a month later, Big Head Max aired his weird little spanky show for perplexed Chicagoans. THE LAWS As funny as the Max Headroom Signal Intrusion Incident of Spankery and Soda might seem to us today—hell, as funny as it was when it happened—it was a crime. According to Alan Bellows, writing at DamnInteresting.com, the laws of the day “allowed for a maximum penalty of $100,000 and one year in prison for such signal piracy.” That’s why the FCC and the FBI launched an investigation aggressively seeking an unknown cult TV fan (or fans) with an affinity for terrible homemade skits, spanking, soda AND enough technical know-how and income to override the broadcast signal of TV stations in one of the top American markets, a list of qualities that probably looked pretty inelegant on a Most Wanted poster. They had no luck. The feds concluded the signal was pirated when a more powerful beam overriding WTTW’s uplink signal was pointed at the station’s transmitter, which was atop the 1451-foot Willis Tower (then known as the Sears Tower). Powerful equipment fit for the job could have been purchased for well over $20,000. It also could have been rented for a few thousand bucks, though either way it would have been an awful lot of money to throw away on such an impenetrable and juvenile stunt. As for location, investigators believed the prankster(s) either did the deed from a nearby rooftop or used an exceptionally strong transmitter on the ground. Tech-minded and curious folks posting to online bulletin boards—essentially early message boards—had a few ideas of their own. In an early online magazine, Tolmes News Service, magazine editor Dr. Hugo P. Tolmes called them “modemers” and quoted posters chatting on a board called “The Slipped Disk”: 87Nov26 1:05 am from Capt. Zap My thoughts on the jamming of the Chicago stations comes down to one simple thought. It takes no massive amounts of power to jam a signal to any receiver. The ability to trace this type of jamming is going to be very difficult since it was a line of sight interception and over-powering of the signal. Now I have a few ideas that would make such actions possible. Think about the use of standard microwave ovens with the basic wattage of 300 to 500 watts. Now inject your standard
continues… video/audio signal into this giga-bandwidth of space. Wattage + directed targeting at something that is so open and un-protected allows for all sorts of jamming and over-powering with ease. [A few posters disagreed, one wondered if it was “an inside job.”] 87Nov30 6:02 am from The Chamelion Hardly an inside job. They just aimed their transmitter at the same transponder that WGN uses, and used a higher power. It doesn’t even have to be significantly higher. Just more, and the WGN signal will cancel out. As I said before, it’s one of those things that doesn’t work out on paper. But it works. Welcome to Earth—Where everything you know is wrong. “The Chamelion” also believed the Max Headroom hacker was one of his own kind: a disgruntled fan of the just-canceled show: 87Nov24 6:18 am from The Chamelion This morning of ABC’s World News This Morning, there was a story about all the broadcast overrides. We’ve gotten WGN, WWOR, and the superatation out of Kansas, KTAT, I believe. He said “The FCC is looking into how someone could intercept broadcasts.” I’ve studied this for a long time, and believe me, it’s not hard. Especially overriding superstations. They showed a videotape of what was transmitted. It was [...] A homemade Max Headroom. It was pretty neat. We’ll strike again. I can guarantee it. Sadly, for anyone who enjoys real-world eruptions of absurdist comedy, it didn’t happen again. There have been other broadcast intrusions in the years since, but none of any significance over American airwaves. WHO It’s been 23 years since the Max Headroom Incident and the chances anyone will be arrested or come forward grow slimmer each day. It’s that rare mystery that in a way, I don’t want to see solved. There was something joyfully anarchic about the effort put into a pointless act and somehow the idea of that person (or those people) going on with their live(s) while hiding that one big, strange secret makes me giggle. At least one person has said he thinks he knows who did it. Using the screen name bpoag, he posted the following on the influential link aggregator Reddit in early January, 2011: “I believe I know who was behind the “Max Headroom Incident” that occurred on Chicago TV in 1987. A bunch of people have been asking me about this lately, so, I figured I’d do a coredump AM(almost)A.” Other Redditors picked the poster’s contentions about his suspects apart in their usual thorough way, and he really didn’t seem all that sure he was right in the first place. Still, his amateur profiling of the kinds of personalities that could conceivably be involved in such shenanigans was pretty interesting. His thumbnail sketches of the brothers he felt were capable of such a prank: K was a quiet guy. Even though he lived in this apartment with his girlfriend, he often took care of his older brother J who still lived at home. The degree of J’s autism was such that I doubt he could ever hold down a job, even a part time job. J, despite having fairly severe autism, and coming off as basically... crazy, was actually kind of funny. His sense of humor was sort of disturbing, sort of sexually deviant in nature. He wasn’t very personable, but he was funny. The sort of person that you would feel kind of uncomfortable sitting next to as a kid, but he would grow on you after a while, and you would accept him as one of the group after realizing that his mannerisms were odd but basically harmless. No eye contact, ever, but the dirty jokes were funny, at least to me as a 13 year old at the time. The brothers did sound like the sort of team who might conceive of such a stunt, but ultimately bpoag’s story was missing any concrete statement as to why it might have been done or whether “K” and “J” had the wherewithal to do it. I worked in the broadcast television industry for more than a decade, mostly behind the scenes, in engineering. I was an operations guy, running the machines and doing the clerical work that ensured the right programs and commercials aired at the right times. I got to know many TV engineers and they were, to a man, an odd bunch of dudes. The first time I encountered the video of the Max Headroom incident, I immediately thought of the man who was my supervisor at a public TV station for 4 years. He was a decent guy, but quirky in a way that didn’t always seem benign. I didn’t think he was the prankster, of course, but it has occurred to me that whoever pulled off the Max Headroom hack was probably a lot like him: an engineer, with real knowledge of the way the mechanics of broadcasting worked, an in-depth knowledge of signal flow, power levels and the like, but also off-balance and not all there, with a head full of strange ideas he happily pursued the moment he left the station each day. My former supervisor filed patents for all sorts of inventions and frequently sued others whom he felt had stolen his work. He was a soft-spoken man who could hold a perfectly normal conversation then start spinning off into a world of his own, a world that could only be described as mildly delusional. He was basically socially competent, but you didn’t have to work with the guy long to see that he had a thriving little aquifer of insanity underneath his rational engineer’s veneer, and that aquifer could bubble up anytime and inspire him to do brilliant things or even brilliantly crazy things, if the time was right. The mind behind the Max Headroom Hack was surely a lot like that: sane and rational enough on the surface, technically proficient in the necessary ways, full of bubbling weirdness underneath. Not long after that last flyswatter slap died away, I’m certain the hacker probably had more than a few co-workers looking at him sideways, maybe even joking, “if anyone could do that, you could.” I like to imagine the King of Signal Hackers simply smiling as if they were sharing a mildly amusing joke and moving on, quietly humming the theme from Clutch Cargo. ADDENDUM The spirit of the Max Headroom Incident lives on today. While hacker collective Anonymous developed independently in the early 2000s, a video they posted addressing Scientologists back in 2008 seemed like a respectful nod to one of their spiritual forefathers, the Max Headroom Signal Intruder. Big Head Max, the hydrocephalic spanking fan, achieved that which Anons today always seek: flawless victory. He loosed his crazy on the world and scampered away, uncaught. PHOTOGRAPHY
Marlena Bielinska | http://bit.ly/iBmLcE
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