Still doing this. Since 2005.
the texas issue
AUSTIN CITY COUNCIL 20XX
Platform - Sustainable urban development - Cycling activism in city hall - Public transportation solutions - Promote green technologies - Transparency in local government
FOR LASTING PEACE
SECURITY FOR ALL
email to the directors Just want to say that in 12 years it's never cost 6.50 for a rum and coke at Club de Ville. We have raised some prices in those 12 years, but it was only so the terrorists who occasionally disrupt our supply chain don't win. Lone Star costs 3 bucks now, for the uninitiated, but considering Round Rock doesn't even carry Lone Star, it's a pretty good deal. See you at the next three sold out Toadies shows! -John Nordstrom
the Toadies could have played ten shows back to back. I mean, they're no Candlebox, but I still would have gone to every one.
(Editor’s Response) Just kidding about that! I have no idea how much drinks cost! I haven't ordered a beer in 5 years! I just flask it whenever I go out. With all the money I save, I can afford to pay my condo's mortgage on my meager Misprint salary. It's funny though. All my neighbors in the Red River Lofts™ are still too afraid to go to any bars on Red River. Even Club Deville is too scary. The only way they can work up the courage to go is to rustle up a bunch of their Round Rocker friends by talking up that hott new imported beer "Lone Star". I wish
(Editor’s Response) Thanks for your interest! Interning at Misprint is easy! Here's how: 1. Drop out of college. Move to Austin, Texas. Bring a bike, a guitar, 3 T-shirts, a pair of black jeans and your copy of Stranger in Strange Land with the pages stuck together. If you think you might get cold, pack a cardigan. 2. Take up residence in a house in East Campus. Ideally, it will be shared with 5 other dudes, two of whom will live in the garage and all of whom will have to stumble drunkenly through your bedroom 3 times an night to
Misprint editorial staff, Genuinely, I am so god damned interested in interning at your magazine. I am currently a student at Oberlin College. What do I do next? -Jackworth Smith
vol 04 issue 02 january 2009
board of advisors
L. Fauntleroy Jaye L. Baitt Callahan Oâ€™Callahan Adolph Curmudgeon Col. Alastair Tunbridge (Ret) Abelard Fiddlebits Jan Tschichold Yngwie Malmsteen JT Money
www.misprintmagazine.com firstname.lastname@example.org www.myspace.com/misprintmag Send us your free shit! Misprint Magazine c/o The Side Bar
Director of Co-Conspiritories
Chadwick Pennyrich III
Director of Visual Arts & Languages The views expressed here are strictly those of the authors, and do not represent the views of Misprint Magazine, which is kind of weird because the ideas of author and entity are actually entirely codependent of one another, but fuck it. This also applies to all our advertisements.
For inquiries, kudos, hate mail and the rest, e-mail Misprint at the above address.
continued vomit in your one working bathroom. These houses are easy to find and will set you back like $350/month tops, plus utilities. 3. Learn how to drink. Lone Star beer and Old Crow Whiskey. Also, start a half-assed band. Practice drinking more often than you practice guitar. 4. Become a student of pop culture. This means spending your idle days trolling shitmyjorts.com until you are absolutely sure you can tell the difference between Unicorns and Unicron. 5. Cultivate your love of nothing. Hang out in shitty rock clubs until the only bands you can tolerate are abba and Queen cover acts. This will take about three days. Turns out that garage rock revival and psychedelic folk actually ARE annoying. 6. Drink the Crow until you black out with your head on the bar at Beerland (711 Red River Street, Austin, TX). This is the start of your spirit journey. A giant squid will come to you in the desert. Follow her instructions closely. She will guide you to the path
of the Misprint Internship. Good luck. Actually, we do take interns, but only when they are nubile 19-year-old females who can help us steal prescription drugs from the pharmacy. You magnificent bastard! I picked up a copy of Misprint literally a week before I moved out of my shitty place off Enfield into an even shittier place in Houston. After reading the issue (The Grown Up Issue), I was sad for two reasons: 1) that I was leaving a town full of such awesome ennui; and 2) that I had not read the 'zine earlier because it would have helped me understand my jorts-wearing, Side Barworking neighbor so much better. Maybe in a different world I would have found Misprint earlier and been able to share a few Pabst Blue Ribbons with my neighbor while ironically listening to Kraftwerk. In other words, I love the 'zine and please never stop making it. -Katelyn (Editorâ€™s Response) Do you have 5,000 Euro we can borrow? PS: Kraftwerk sucks.
A few words from the Directors...
Chadwick Pennyrich III
"Everything is bigger in Texas," some asshole once said. And as far as the myth of this place, it's probably true. With a state full of cowboys, oil barons, space astronauts, the most fat people per capita in America, Lance Armstrong, tons of executions, the superconducting supercollider and people shooting J.R. it's not surprising that Texas pride runs strong. I mean, there's a reason why they don't sell tortilla chips in the shape of say, Maine, or (worse) Florida. And it's contagious. I have to admit I feel a twinge of anger when I see someone ordering a Svedka instead of a Tito's or driving a car instead of riding a horse.
After living in Texas for almost 5 years, we finally became official native Texans. We even went down to the capitol building and took the exam to certify it. Actually, the test is pretty easy (all the answers are just "Texas"). The only hard part was finding Texas on the map because it's mixed in there with all those crappy other states and Mexico. But now that we're certified natives, we can start getting cannons and stars and the outline of Texas tattooed on our faces. And to celebrate we're bringing you the Texas Issue, chock full of 100% true Misprint facts and other utterly useless bullshit. Enjoy it while you can, because by the time you read this we'll be long gone. We're packing up this whole operation and moving south of the border. Misprint has been hit hard by the economic crisis and in order to stay afloat we need the tax breaks and lower production costs associated with Mexico, better known as "New South Texas". Just kidding, we're still rich. We're going for the cheap drugs. ยกAdios, mofos! Cheers,
Hard Times You don't really need to understand anything about money to know you have a lot less of it lately to spend on ridiculously large Lego sets and shitty tattoos. With the economy in a full blown recession you've probably noticed the wave of housing foreclosures, bread lines, stadium-tour cancellations and alcoholism sweeping through town. So unless you were one of the three people who got in on that east-east 6th St. bar development scene way early, you're kind of fucked right now. We're even cutting back at Misprint HQ. For example, the metallic in our brown ink from previous issues was made of crushed gold flakes. Now we've downgraded to fucking bronze, the poor-man's-gold. And if all our advertisers don't pay us this time, we might have to start feeding our giant squid frozen narwhals instead of the fresh ones he really likes.* Drink Specials
Since the bulk of your budget goes towards alcohol, tightening your belt here is probably the best bet in these uncertain economic times. That being said, getting less drunk or getting drunk less often is clearly out of the question. First, try stretching your bar tab by diluting your cocktails with an inexpensive and delicious neutral spirit like acetone. You'll feel the results on your buzz and your pocketbook immediately. If the airplane glue smell bothers you, try donating plasma before heading to the bar. You're saving lives, you're getting paid and every beer feels like a forty if you're a few pints of blood short. Finally, I recommend thumbing through your collection of Misprint back issues for information about a little thing called the Seven Dollar Challenge, where we prove once and for all how easy it is to get fucked up on a fiver and two ones. All it takes is hanging out at Touche' at 8 o'clock on one of those weird days of the week (like "Wednesday") and tipping at your own peril. Lean Cuisine
Many would argue that food is one of life's greatest pleasures, which is why it's super depressing to cut your weekly visits to Uchi and instead stay home and sear spam on a hot rock. I know it's hard to believe, but your body doesn't really need fresh produce from that local organic farmer or the manatee sirloin you can only get at Whole Foods if you know who to ask. I consulted a noted nutritionist/beard enthusiast and apparently the only foods you need to keep in the fridge of your eastside dudehaus are frozen pizzas, peanut * Come on guys, pay up. Think of the squid.
butter, Mad Dog and salt. I wouldn't recommend operating heavy equipment on that diet but turntables and bikes are probably ok. Free Shit We Got
Short of founding your own financially stable 'zine empire, there are still a few other ways to procure some free shit. Try checking out industry happy hours around town. They're the parties thrown by desperate vendors trying to score new clients through the power of open bars and hors d'Ĺ“uvres. Just last week I was a constitutional lawyer, a software engineer, a fine paper buyer, a two-star general and Dick Linklater. When you're asked about career specifics, just say you're a little distracted right now by your 10 grillion Euro budget. You'll get a free old fashioned in no time and maybe even some crab cakes, champ. Good Humours
Because you're reading this, you're probably a hairy, smelly dude. That means there's little chance of you selling your used powder-blue American Apparel briefs on the internet to some pervert. But don't despair â€“ just beneath your skin is a veritable gold mine of bodily fluids. With all the semen Misprint readers waste every day, sperm donation is an obvious and lucrative option for making rent. In fact, the hott new euphemism for masturbating is to say I'm "throwing my money away." This is serious, dudes. Also, remember that smart, goodlooking sperm is way more valuable than the dumb, ugly sperm you've got, so try to clean up a little and remember to double your sat score when you go to fill out the paperwork. h
Stuff in 2009 I'm Not Looking Forward To Radio Room
You know, I was just thinking there aren't enough places for bands to play in this town. With so many quality bands it's just been so hard to get booked at Red Eyed Fly lately. Fortunately, Transmission Entertainment is going to change that with their new, non-Native American themed bar called the Radio Room in the space formerly occupied by the much missed Bourbon Rocks. Listen guys, it's bad enough that you're blighting this town with another fucking venue, but I really liked those test tube shots. The Watchmen Movie
I'm already tired of every free weekly on earth writing fake academic features on the literary merit of the graphic novel and Alan Moore's deconstruction of the superhero mythos. But knowing director Zach "Tonight we dine in HELL!!!" Snyder's penchant for deep V-tapered obliques and naked male flesh, I have a feeling he's taking a few too many creative liberties with one of the most beloved comic properties of all time. After watching the trailer, I don't remember those scenes of Dr. Manhattan giving Rorschach a sensual massage or that fluteplaying man-goat flying the Owlship from the comics.
International Beard and Moustache Contest, Anchorage, Alaska
This traveling celebration of the hirsute brings together the hairiest men, the sexiest beard fetishist ladies and a few weird Germans who use wires and egg whites to sculpt their beards into scale models of windmills. This thing is probably going to be the biggest international gathering of beardos since sxsw, except there probably aren't a billion shitty bands or annoying marketing campaigns or dumb afterparties. Actually, that sounds pretty great. Go Beard Team Austin! Bryan Nelson beats Jack Passion in '09! Vol 5 Misprint Magazine
Another year of doing this stupid crap? You've probably noticed that most of this issue's content is just polished turds from our extensive catalog of back issues. In fact, I copied this whole article from "the Tough Issue", which in turn was copied from the long-lost "Gun Issue." With each new issue, it gets harder and harder to rip on all the dumb stuff that goes on in this town, not because there's less of it or it's less funny, but because I don't care and just want to raise bees in peace. We were about to throw in the towel, but when I saw that stupid Trail of Dead steampunk airship album cover I realized how much this town needs Misprint. So we're pressing on for another excruciating year of publishing.
It's Festival Thyme!
We are not looking forward to the following festivals: SXSW, ACL, FunFunFunFest, Texas Book Festival, Asian American Film Festival, Vegan Speed-dating/Eat Local Festival, Austin Gay and Lesbian Film Festival, ShitMyJorts Summer Party, Chaos In Tejas Festival, O. Henry Pun Off, Old Pecan Street Festival, Spamfest, Eeyore's Birthday, My birthday (lonely), Republic of Texas Biker Rally, Festival of Lights, Cocktoberfest and the Austin Celtic Festival. The only one I am looking forward to is the Zilker Kite Festival, because that shit is awesome. h
SHIT MY JORTS dot COM
we donâ€™t love to hate. we hate what we love.
Much has been made of the meteoric rise of the seemingly unstoppable internet sensation shitmyjorts.com. Wired Magazine recently called it "the blog that changed blogging forever," while SXSWi insiders are predicting sweeping victories in most major awards categories. However, not everyone agrees that the elusive masterminds of the shitmyjorts.com network, the pseudonymous "Jortmaster" and the mysterious "JortyLaForge" are really the right men to be defining the new face of Web 3.0. Some critics have called it "the lamest squid-fetish blog on the internet," while some conservative pundits have rightfully asked, "What the fuck is this shit? It's just a bunch of comic book jokes and dumb videos of animals riding Segways?" Love it or hate it, with the loss of productivity from reading shitmyjorts.com estimated to be up in the millions, this phenomenon simply can't be ignored any longer. Misprint journalists were able to track them to their fortified compound, the "JortFort", and finally set the record straight.
Misprint: Seriously, fuck jorts. Did you buy those at Marshalls? SMJ: These? They're custom. The denim is some old selvage stock from Japan. One of our very first commenters lives there. Then we sandblast them for an hour and bury them in iron ore for a few weeks. Once they're properly distressed, we cut the legs off with a chainsaw while wearing them. Wow, that sounds retarded. So, how high should the hem of my jorts be above my knees? That depends on how many speeds there are on your bike. Hardliners say 1 speed or less, 3 inches above the knee. Three to five, one inch. 5 or more speeds, two inches below the knees. There's also a lot of variables when you factor in hemmed vs. cut-off. So why do think anyone wants to read your stupid Oasis and centaur porn blog? Have you listened to the new Oasis? Thom Yorke has been crying himself to sleep after hearing that shit, probably because he's so bummed that a couple of drunk soccer hooligans can write better songs than him. As far as the centaurs go, it is not pornography. It's merely a celebration of the beauty of the horse-man hybrid. What's up with your shitty magazine?
Don't you guys know that the web is dead? You might want to give some thought to print. Print is too disposable. We're trying hard to create something permanent and meaningful. We didn't want to waste our time with ephemeral mediums like bronze casting or marble sculpture. If Ozymandias had any sense he would have hooked up some blogger.com action and post some timeless pics of steampunk vibrators or recently discovered species of furry crabs. Besides, now that Castro is dead, pretty much the only way left to change the world is by posting photos of some nerd's Lego Millennium Falcon on the internet. I'm thinking about getting a shitmyjorts.com tattoo. Any ideas? Something that's going to get you laid. That means it goes on your neck. I'd go for a Cocktopus* wearing octo-jorts. What's the workload like over there? You working through Christmas? Well, it's no grueling two issues per year schedule, but we do work the staff pretty hard. But everyone knows that coming on board. If you get granted posting privileges to shitmyjorts.com you have to be prepared for an emergency call at any hour of the day to update the site with more shit about pandas.
On the subject of pandas, don't you think a species like them, who seem utterly determined not to fuck, deserve the dignity of a peaceful and merciful extinction? Seriously? They would maul the shit out of us if it didn't mean the end of their meal ticket. Have you tried to rip apart bamboo without a machete? If pandas figured out how to wield one of those you'd shit your jorts. So, back to the shitmyjorts.com office. What's it take to get a job over there? Well, it used to take working knowledge of 8 languages, a helicopter license and an icy lunatic calm in the face of mortal danger. But nowadays we basically just hire nubile college freshmen who claim to have a working knowledge of css. If you're interested in applying, make sure to send a photo to email@example.com. No fat chicks. What's next for shitmyjorts.com? When the next round of venture capital comes through we're going to expand the empire. Jorts were a critical (and lucrative) first step because jorts are so ingrained in the collective unconscious. We're launching Shitmyports.com and Shitmytorts.com in q1, devoted to international shipping and personal property litigation, respectively. And we're following up in early 2010 with the groundbreaking Shitmyjarts.com. After the nuclear holocaust and the human race starts building underwater cities, who will win in a fight: A giant squid or a theoretical, submersible huge crane? Finally, you dudes are asking some real fucking questions. Your first instinct would be to say the squid, because it's jet powered and has a huge cock. But a theoretical submersible huge crane would have the advantage of not being attached to a building to operate. Can you imagine a crane that could tear up a 360ยบ environment? It would totally fuck up a giant squid. h *"Do you really need an explanation? Its a fucking octopus with 8 huge cocks instead of tentacles."
Jackalope As hip as: Slamming Helldorados with Dave Coulier. Comments: For decades the jackalope was considered a myth. But everything changed when amateur U.F.O. hunter and avid jackalope trapper Ronald Reagan came to power, shocking the world by hanging a mounted 8-point jackalope head above his desk in the Oval Office. Reliable sources have reported that during tense moments of their Cold War negotiations, Reagan (in his dumb western shirt) and Mikhail Gorbachev (in his stupid furry hat) would blow off steam by getting ripped on duty-free vodka and staying up all night intently watching their janky, Wile E. Coyote-style jackalope snare. Rating:
Red River Condo Owner As hip as: A Kitchenaid blender in digital camo. Comments: Next time you're at the Brohawk drinking a delicious 32-ounce Miller Highlife while enjoying a keyboard-driven band, you might notice a single, lonely, bare light bulb burning on the 3rd floor of those Emo'sâ„˘-branded loftlike dwellings across the street. Local legends say that condo is the ancestral home of 4200-yearold Austin media mogul Chas Attal. He wiles away eternity in a trance-like state meditating on the future of live music, checking the WMMF blog, smearing his feces on his designer kitchen and watering his stupid fern. Rating:
Barton Springs Salamander As hip as: Smashing your Lego model of Tokyo. Comments: Slumbering beneath the waters of Barton Springs lie Austin's Blind Salamanders. According to lore, they're 500 feet tall, scaly, fire-breathing and blind as all fuck. For millennia they thrived on the polluted waters of the aquifer, waking only once a century for yoga class and a night out in the Warehouse District. They're not malicious, but, being blind, have the tendency to accidentally crush the occasional bongo player or sno-cone stand. Honestly, this all sounds like bullshit. I'm not getting swindled by those hippies fundraising outside the springs to "save the salamanders". That money goes directly to Crocs and weed. Rating:
Killer Tumbleweed As hip as: Easy Rider II: Marfa Nights. Comments: After that second tab of acid, my totem squid-spirit told me to follow the tumbleweed west. I'm not talking about the regular tumbleweed like you see in spaghetti westerns and the weird parts of south Austin. I'm talking about the big suckers that skeletonized people in the now-classic Leonardo DiCaprio vehicle Critters 3. I just kept walking, following its grisly trail of death until I found myself at the Marfa Prada store, where a host of killer tumbleweeds gathered, worshipping at an altar made of handbags. It was pretty fucked up. Rating:
the mythical beasts of texas
LAME <-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------> AWESOME
Lady Bird Johnson
Sober Bartender As hip as: A polite doorguy. Comments: I used to work at Blockbuster Video, so I know a thing or two about being fucked up at work. Opening Lonestars ain't rocket science, kid. There's a reason bartenders give you that look when you and your girlfriends order a round of flaming purple sparkleberry mojitos: it's because they've been pounding shots of Jameson with cocaine chasers in the back office, trying desperately to get to that sweet spot where they can endure another shift full of obnoxious, indecisive drunks. Any bartender who tells you they do it because they like people is lying. Rating:
Chupacabra As hip as: A fox with bad mange day. Comments: No creature is more polarizing for cryptozoologists than the chupacabra. Marginalized by its status as an undocumented Mexican immigrant, the chupacabra has been forced to take on undesirable employment, jobs that Americans are simply unwilling to do. For most chupacabra, this means goatsucking, often for long hours, low wages and no benefits. Without education or a path to citizenship, it seems unlikely that the chupacabra will ever find work doing anything other that sucking goats. And the need for goat-sucking continues to grow. I mean, those goats sure don't suck themselves. Rating:
Austin Straightedge Band As hip as: Drinking a Shirley Temple in your utilikilt. Comments: Being straightedge in Austin is like being trapped in Beerland during the day for all eternity. Besides, any town that can sustain Misprint for 4+ years clearly lacks the integrity to succor a straightedge scene. If you're reading this, you're probably exactly like us and haven't gone longer than 6 hours without a drink since you turned 19. The last thing you want to see is a bunch of sexually-frustrated guys sporting vegan varsity jackets screaming about the brotherhood. Trust me on one thing, straightedge bros: margaritas are awesome and you are totally missing out. Rating:
The Hairy Man As hip as: A Google image search for "hairy man". Comments: Tales of Round Rock's Hairy Man date back to pioneer days, when a young boy fell off his stagecoach on a family trip to Super H.E.B. and his criminally negligent parents somehow failed to notice. Left to fend for himself, he was raised by squirrels. He grew a luxuriant head-to-toe pelt so he could better fit in with his squirrel brethren and basically ran around the woods hassling people. I don't know much about Round Rock, but in Austin this sounds like half the dudes I know hanging out at Beerland. This is just another example of the anti-beard prejudice running rampant in this country. Rating:
Centaurmadillo As hip as: The shitmyjorts.com sticker blitz. Comments: Part man, part horse, part armadillo, part trolley and all cock, they are the embodiment of the untamed Texas west. And back before the white men came, herds of centaurmadillos roamed the plains filming gay pornos with their Google-phones and posting them to shitmyjorts.com. Then they were hunted nearly to extinction by settlers to fuel the burgeoning European trade in centaurmadillo tails, which were a popular (though utterly ineffective) aphrodisiac. You never see live ones anymore, but you can still find their shells on the side of the freeway. Rating:
1901: Queso is discovered in Texas after a long search for oil. This "yellow gold", as it is called, fuels 97% of the world's Tex-Mex restaurants.
1836: Battle of the Alamo. The decision to defend the Alamo has gone down as one of Texas's most boneheaded blunders, on par with Emo's installing that stupid espresso bar. If it wasn't for David Bowie's (inventor of the Bowie knife) flowery, androgenous prose about the plights of the Texian defenders (including a young John Wayne and Davey Crockett in his stupid raccoon hat) no one would even care about this dumb fort. Biggest Texan fail ever. 1145: Shamans totally getting high. After a particularly strenuous day gathering rocks or chopping firewood or whatever nonsense people had to do a thousand years ago, some dude decided to eat parts of a cactus he tripped over. He called it "Peyote" and inadvertently kicked off the shamanist movement, where tons of dudes would trip balls all day long and make stupid art in their caves. 1887: Wagon Nuts. This controversial product was extremely popular among the early Texan wagoneers stuck in traffic on I-35. Despite its intention as a symbol of masculinity, they always seemed kind of gay.
1682: The Log Flume is invented. A small band of flamboyant French military officers accidentally set up a colony in Fiesta, Texas, thinking they were actually in Louisiana. In an attempt to combat the intense heat, the soldiers hollowed out a couple of logs, built a slide and made theme park history.
1801: World's first pizza cutter, invented in Abeline, Texas.
1974: Leatherface in Bastrop. Home to the most famous massacre of horny teens in chainsaw history, Leatherface and his crazy family of grave-robbing cannibals terrorized Texans everywhere until he died a peaceful death of old age. Leatherface is buried underneath the giant Oak Tree at Stubb's Outdoor Amphitheater.
famous forgotten beards o texas
Richard Coke (1829 - 1897) 15th governor of Texas
David G. Burnet (1788 - 1870) President of ad interim Republic of Texas
Richard Hubbard (1832 - 1901) 16th governor of Texas
The NASA Space Program. When the Cold War space race with the Soviets started, Texas was the obvious place for NASA to go set up shop. Mainly because Texans hate losing (see Alamo, Battle of). And despite the stereotype of Texans (and Houstonites in particular) being nothing more than backwoods mouth breathers, our space engineers have been building everything from bitching lunar landers to deadly laser ray guns to the set pieces for the staged Moon landing back in the 60's.
flags over texas
rejected shapes of texas
Texas History Museum Ever since Frank W. Texas founded the state in 1974, all kinds of awesome shit has been happening here: Robocop was filmed in Dallas, a drunk pharmacist invented Dr. Pepper in Waco and (most importantly) Misprint was founded right here in Austin. Back in 2001, some oil-baron named Bob Bullock built a hulking museum dedicated to our state's colorful past with his dry, cracked, bleeding hands and a single hammer. As part of the exhaustive research for this issue, Misprint's crack team of fact checkers grudgingly visited this place so our readers wouldn’t have to. Sadly, Bobby B's version of Texas history, in addition to being almost entirely incorrect, is so fucking boring you shouldn’t even go if you have some good weed and an afternoon to kill. Here's what to expect if you ever try to compensate for those mandatory Texas History lectures you slept through in college. Getting There
Knowing full well that you'd be reading the same article whether we attended the museum or not, our first order of business was getting properly stoned. Then, miraculously, Benji the Hunted came on usa. We almost didn't make it to the museum at all, which would have forced us to make all this shit up. But what finally got us off the couch was not our strong sense of journalistic integrity, but the stark realization that we were missing a chance to turn one of our least favorite things, Texas Patriotism, into one of our favorites: talking shit. Besides, we already tapped out the library and the hospital cruising for smart chicks. The Velvet Rope
Getting into the Texas History Museum is a bit like getting into Qua on a Saturday; it's really easy, sort of expensive and probably not worth the trouble. If the attractive librarian-type at the desk offers to let you all in for $5 because you're good looking, keep it together; it's still worth trying to talk her down. Like any downtown establishment, if you're paying full price to go, you're doing it wrong. Bonus Misprint tip: Skip the audio tour. Trust me, it's five bucks and you definitely don't want to walk around listening to Wilford Brimley blather on about Sam Houston through what looks to be your dad's first car phone.
The ground floor is actually pretty badass. The mood lighting along with all of the weapons and armor and barbed wire collections sets this place up as the best afterparty spot since the pool outside your efficiency. There are a few worthwhile exhibits but, like much of the museum, they were riddled with inaccuracies. For example, a diorama of the Red River War completely failed to mention Chuck Attal’s bold purchase of the condo building across from Mohawk and didn't even bother to show Room 710! And they got the six flags of Texas completely wrong! The only other thing here is the imax theater which is showing the iconic Texas film U2 3D until the end of time. You haven't really experienced the power of Texas history until you've seen Bono's sunglasses, nose hair and sappy martyrdom 27 feet across and in 3-d. Other Shit
The rest of the museum will simply compel you to walk through it faster and is full of interactive stuff that doesn't work and awesome places to take naps or make out. There's also a sweet video about the '39 World's Fair, some plane that once flew in Texas, a space suit that an astronaut crapped in on the moon and a bunch of other shit I can't remember. The only real eye-opener of the visit was the look of complete disdain we got when we asked a curator if the café served alcohol. She quickly let us know that the museum is a "family learning establishment." We promptly and somewhat defensively informed her that she was "a total prude-queen" and ditched that place immediately to get lit up with Rick Perry at the conveniently located Cloak Room. In summary, skip this shit and stick to Misprint's version. Ours is shorter, way less boring and full of cocks. h
Misprint New Year's Resolutions More Misprint
Finish that novella
Shave my beard
Learn to play "Behind Blue Eyes" on the guitar
Don't wait to the last minute to publish an issue of Misprint
Get some motherfuckin' bees Skip Free Week Design more ads for the Mohawk More one night stands Cancel my gym membership because I'm throwing my money away Inflate my tires
Throw out the Jack-o'-lantern from Halloween Buy some pepper
Start smoking Memorize the Constitution Record all my Mp3s onto cassette tapes
Take bocce lessons Learn how to design using picas Find my spirit animal
Get a real job
Become a Freemason
Create a third competing second Sunday soul/R&B dance night
Find the Misprint benefactor
Laurie Gallardo Austin Music Minute Radio Without Borders ...because Texas Music Matters
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KUT 90.5 Austin KUTX 90.1 San Angelo www.kut.org Listener supported public radio.
The Misprint Creative Process If you've ever wondered how we put one of these shitty issues together, look no further. It all starts with a list, usually written 3 months before we ever get around to actually doing anything. It's full of a bunch of good intentions, considering we originally planned to debut this issue in October, 2008.
BATTLE OF FUN FUN FUN FEST
crappy local bands (1) ...Trail of Guys Their first show in 13 years at a venue other than their own bar, the Trail of Dudes made a pretty respectable showing, mostly because they went on at 3 and didn't have time to get drunk. In the backstage area, we got to see Conrad and Jason try on each other's brass goggles and top hats while they told us how stoked they were about steampunk finally hitting the mainstream. Afterwards, we all hopped in their dirigible and flew down to the Beauty Bar, where a trail of day laborers were ripping out that pink sparkly bullshit and installing a bunch of oiled wood, bronze gas-lanterns and extraneous gears.
Trail of Guys
(4) Grupo Fantasmo Those dudes are down with Prince, so you know they like to party. Too bad that stupid Prince symbol isn't in my InDesign glyph palette. (3) Shearwater This dude has really creepy intense eye-contact that totally freaks out my girlfriend. Plus he's a fucking orthinologist who spends most of his time counting endangered bird eggs on the roof of the Highland Mall. Still, for a weirdo bird-fetishist who writes songs about building nests out of string and regurgitating food to his young, this band can bring some rock. Good career move getting off the sinking ship that is Okkervil River. (2) Black Angels I never cease to be underwhelmed by this band, and this year's FunXFunFest was no different. On paper this band looks awesome: cool beards, a token cute girl and some serious drone action, but somehow consistently fail to deliver. Everyone else seems to be into it, so I guess the problem is with me. Maybe I should try their songs on Guitar Hero.
Trail of Dudes
irrelevant punk bands (1) Bad Brains Oh, man... I lost my job because I spent so much time watching Bad Brains videos on the internet getting stoked about this show, but it totally sucked. I mean, I know you guys are old and smoke lots of weed now, but Neurosis is in the same boat and they kicked ass last year. Sorry, H.R. you don't get any breaks for being H.R., either. (4) Integrity Integrity fucking named their band Integrity, which should tell you a few things. First, they can kick your ass and want you to know it up front. Second, the reason they never even bothered to play this town before is because Austin collectively cashed in all its integrity back in '94 for a topshelf 'rita and a handful of magic beans.
(3) Killdozer After taking a nice fourteen year break drinking beer, icefishing and eating man-sized amounts of cheese in Wisconsin, Killdozer was nice enough to drop by and wreck the shit out of Waterloo Park, growling and groaning through a punishing set that outplayed every 17-year old crust punk band in existence, brought about world peace and may have even raised the dead. Thanks, guys! (2) Cro-Mags (Jam) I don't even know what Cro-Mags(Jam) means, but I was pretty bummed that the lunatic old hare krishna guy with the giant dragon tattooed on his chest wasn't part of it. Also, there really wasn't a lot of jamming: no bongo solos, no extended synth riffing and no Freebird. All we got was a lot of lamentations for the dying hardcore scene and a non-compelling diatribe about 9/11 being an inside job.
Revival Tour (1) These guys are hairy, tattooed and broken enough that they can actually pull off their whole Americana-roots rock shtick, instead of coming across like the aging, increasingly irrelevant punk rock frontmen of the late nineties they actually are. This shit was great, because Chuck Reagan probably really has been gargling broken glass and washing it down with Old Crow since Hot Water went on hiatus, and it totally sounded like it. Here's a math equation to plug into your graphing calculator: The Descendents â€“ Milo = L
YACHT (2) I'm through even hoping that rock is going to be dangerous anymore, but it takes something like YACHT to really depress me. This fey cloud jockey is about as edgy as a lukewarm cup of vegan green tea. There is nothing on earth less rock & roll than a Macbook Air. Ever. Except maybe designing your own signature Macbook Air coozie with rainbows and hearts on it and selling it at the merch booth. Oh wait, he did that too. Sorry YACHT, you lose.
Trail of Bros
So say you're a semiprominent rock band, maybe a little past your prime, maybe a little frustrated by a music scene that's dominated by keyboards and girls in tiny skirts. But by now you've got a mortgage and couple of kids and you need to make ends meet. You can either learn some Woody Guthrie songs and reinvent yourself as folk-punks or just hole up in Austin and open a bar catering to glamorous and promiscuous 19-yearold cocaine addicts. Banjos are pretty sweet and all, but we've got to give this one to the ...Trail of Dudes. Winner: ...Trail of Dudes
Miller Lite Coozie (unseeded) Even though my friends flake about turning up to any of the 100 rock festivals in Austin, I can always count on exchanging a few awkward moments with the Miller Lite girls. It only reenforces that I don't know how to talk to girls without tattoos, multicolored hair and face piercings. Oh well. At least I got a free coozie that was designed in PowerPoint, complete with the requisite glowing yellow gradient drop shadow behind that shitty FFF artwork.
slightly less crappy touring bands
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (1) ______________ is a group of wanker New York City college kids in sweaters who supposedly changed pop music forever with their "fresh sound" and "DIY ethic". They're still beloved by the hipster sheep despite the fact they ripped off the Talking Heads and had one of their dads pay for the record. I couldn't be more bored by this set. Frightened Rabbit (4) How the fuck do you name your band Frightened Rabbit? You may as well just call yourself Flaccid Cock.
Deerhoof(3) This band is sort of like Blonde Redhead but uglier and not as good and basically unlistenable. From a safe distance people might mistake them for Blonde Redhead and think that they're actually okay, but upon closer examination it should be clear that they are not twin Italian male models and are really just making an annoying racket.
The National(2) This band is sort of like a gourmet microwave lunch. You can usually count on them not to be terrible, but it's not something you're really excited about unless you're starving to death or happen to be a 20-year-old KVRX DJ. Congratulations on being sort of okay.
The award of our time
Most Gentrified Art Collective Opening Text + Object It's nice to see up-and-coming street art collectives taking cues from back issues of Misprint by theoretically talking about the art they sort of would like to make, rather than actually bothering to make any art. But come on dudes, a full-blown party at the Camel Lounge for two fucking t-shirt designs? Gimme a break. You'd have been making a way better statement by not actually having anything. Then the joke's on everybody else. Back to the Misprint JV squad you go. PS: For the record, t-shirt art isn't art.
Most Gentrified Power Trip Yelp.com
Awarding Austin's Exemplarily Gentrified : 2008
Most Gentrified Athletic Club Austin Music Gym The original concept had potential â€“ an exclusive gym for members of the local rock community who wanted to work out in peace, far away from the 'roided dudebros who heckle at their shows. Where Will Sheff could bench press in his tiny blazer and the Trail of Guys could play racquetball or do some neck curls. And I totally wanted to sign up for that amp carrying class! Oh well. It turns out it's just another shitty practice space for shitty Austin bands and the occasional after-hours Natty Lite foam party. Sorry guys. Dress it up however you want, but we still hate jocks.
Most Gentrified Open Bar Philips GoGear House As much as they claim to be proponents of local music, I highly doubt the marketing hacks at Philips are waking up hungover after the sweet Comanche Abortion show like the rest of us. The Philips engineers still haven't even figured out how to make their shitty GoGear device play Mp3s without freezing. I know people in this town are fucking sheep and will buy any product that gives them free booze, but renting a 3-story pseudo loft-like apartment with a sweet view of Wendy's is not going to push units. Throwing parties that are so exclusive no one even bothers to show up isn't the best idea either. Leave that shit to the pros, like Misprint.
I miss when you had to do something like drop out of high school and sneak onto Led Zeppelin's huge jet for 6 months in order to become a legitimate critic. But thanks to Yelp, there's a dedicated group of alpha-nerds who never go out but tell people who do go out where to go out. If half the reviews of Beerland are actually legit, I'll eat my typewriter, because I know for a fact that place isn't a "mom-friendly cabaret". Misprint's current 5-star review on Yelp is totally cool, though. Thanks, chubies!
Most Gentrified Tejano Bar Tie: Shangri La and The Good Knight After a 6-night bender on Red River, I looked forward to getting away from it all at a calm, quiet Tejano bar. There was something magical about places like Club Impacto where I could practice Spanish over an ice cold Tecate and never listen to Joy Divison on the jukebox. When they all started closing I was pretty bummed. But I realized those tamale carts and weird "Bebida Budweiser" signs aren't meant for this world, but something more familiar and gentrified is: delicious bacon-wrapped meatloaf and paintings of handguns.
Most Gentrified "Most Fashionable Magazine" Award Recipient Misprint Sources tell me that it was a neck-and-neck race between Misprint, Tribeza and Austin Daze, the only three publications in town still operating from the Amiga in their publisher's dad's office. Only in Austin can a magazine be rewarded for doing almost nothing productive the entire year except throwing a party about cocks and parading around some dudes in beards. Thanks for encouraging us to do even less this year. h
Reasons to Move to Texas
Reasons to Move Out of Texas
Home of Misprint Magazine
Home of Misprint Magazine
Terrible techno scene
Terrible death metal scene
Need vitamin D
No easy goth girls
Searching for a Holy Breakfast Taco guarded by a 16th century conquistador
Really miss good bagels
Great drinking scene
Need liver transplant on the cheap in the Philippines
Looking for seasonal work
Hate goatsucking for a living
Zombie Extra in Robert Rodriguez movie
Crippling fear of Moon Towers
Starting a band
Band became successful
This New York thing just isn't working out
I just want to try out this New York thing
No more Austin Ice Bats
Want to put beans in my chili
No State income tax
Want to hang out with Britt Daniel
Looking for a place where giant beards are acceptable
Now that I've shaved my friends won't talk to me
The Ballad of Ben Thompson, Outlaw The old west is American mythology at its finest: a cast of larger than life characters that embodied American idealism. And no place better captures that myth than Texas. Though it's hard to imagine while you're segwaying to Rio Rita to meet your motion graphics collective, Austin used to be the honest-to-god frontier, a lawless cattle town where ugly dudes in dusters drank whiskey and shot each other for no reason. Thanks to Kurt Russell, everyone knows the story of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday. But amidst those famous gunslingers was Austin's own Ben Thompson. He was a quintessential Austinite: a little uglier, a little hairier, a bit more dour and a lot more alcoholic. He was also a mass-murderer, a gambler, a lawman and the greatest gunman to ever live.
Even as a boy he was a trendsetter, ditching Britain in 1851 to move to Austin and deflower the local girlfolk. He apprenticed to a typesetter, but quickly realized that print was dead and the life of a professional gambler was far preferable to that of a sexually frustrated typographer. At 19, he observed a Frenchman making unwanted advances towards an unescorted lady. This quickly escalated into a dispute over the relative sizes of Texas and France, with Ben emerging victorious in the subsequent knifefight. He was arrested, convicted and given the choice of prison or joining the Confederate army. Knowing he'd be surrounded by dudes in confined spaces either way, he decided the cut of the powderblue Confederate uniform made him feel jauntier. After the war, he had to keep escaping from prison because he was constantly shooting people. After a stint at Huntsville for shooting his brother-in-law in the face with a shotgun for having a shitty beard, he fled to Kansas to try out the ever-reputable business of bartending and opened the Bull's Head Saloon. He made fast enemies with that town's sheriff, a young Wild Bill Hickcock, after pious townsfolk took offence to his bar's giant logo: a detailed rendering of a bull's cock and balls. Tempers flared and the sheriff shot Ben's business partner dead and ran Ben out of town. Defeated, he spent the next decade traveling the plains playing cards and getting into bar fights. He was a bold gambler and quick-tempered, leaving a gruesome body count in his wake. Eventually he returned to Austin and used his winnings to open the Iron Front Saloon at 3rd and Congress, which was some kind of jungle safari-themed bar with a piranha tank in the floor. As proprietor he became
a local celebrity, getting into all the sweet parties because he could namedrop Wyatt Earp. He was notorious as a sharpshooter and wrote he was "the most dangerous man with a pistol who had ever lived" in the bio section of his blog. When Buffalo Bill Cody brought his wild west show to Austin, Ben (using a pistol) was able to out-shoot Buffalo Bill and his rifle in a target shooting contest. Ben was also drunk the entire time. Ben's skill with a pistol and fearsome reputation as a murderer made him a natural choice for Austin sheriff. In the 1880s, Austin was a city of broken drunks with corny facial hair and pearl-snap shirts wandering through downtown bars at all hours of the day and night, fighting, vomiting, listening to shitty music and urinating in public. Basically, it's just like today, except everyone carried heavier guns. Records show crime dropped off significantly during his tenure, though Ben still liked to get sauced in his own saloon and wander down Sixth Street shooting out the streetlights. Like most violent men, he died a violent death: shot in the back by an old enemy in a San Antonio porno theater. Austin gave him a lavish funeral procession of 62 carriages before laying him to rest in Oakwood Cemetary, just east of I-35. It's natural to wonder why a man with such an extraordinary life, a famously violent disposition and a lethal pistol didn't join his peers in Hollywood immortality. A historian said it best: marketability. "Thompson wasn't charismatic, he wasn't good looking. He had a shitty moustache. And listen: Billy the Kid. Jesse James. Wyatt Earp. Those are great names. Ben Thompson? It just doesn't have that ring to it." h
Free Shit We Got
A thinly veiled attempt, disguised as journalism, to score more free promotional hogwash.
Exposion White Denim
Early 21st century rock criticism will be remembered for not writing about rock music. Thank god. How can I even legitimately review this band, whose early claim to fame hung on the fact that their live shows were, technically, terrible? Even thinking about bands or live music makes my head hurt. As a Misprint rock journalist, I always begin my reviews by asking myself if my mom would like this band. The answer, in this case, is yes. But that's no slight, my mom's cool! She just got one of those iPhone killers and is now text messaging the shit out of me. She's probably already heard this band on Pandora. The fact that my mom has newer mobile phone technology than me automatically means she likes White Denim. Also, if you're into giant glasses, v-necks, beards with less than 6 months of growth, fixed gears, the Mohawk, blogging, neon yellow, asymmetrical hair, 17-year-old girls, boat parties, guest lists, Duck Tales and photobooths you will probably be super into White Denim. If you are into giant beards, centaurs, cat armor, working at the Side Bar, jorts, Legos, panopticons and bracelets with 9 inch spikes you will probably not be into White Denim. The Sad Sea Hotel Hotel
Here's a hot tip for all those struggling bands in town: there are two ways to get glowing praise in Misprint. The first is to open up a nice, bottomless bar tab for us (preferably somewhere that your band is not playing) and get everyone blindingly drunk to the point where we can actually tolerate listening to your record. The second, somewhat more reliable method is to package your hott new full-length in beautiful, handcrafted giant squid art. Seriously, this thing is gorgeous: a giant gatefold with a letterpressed Architeuthis ArchiteuthidĂŚ and a bunch of nice nautical touches. And it's 100% recyclable! These beardos know the score. After all, it can never hurt to associate your haunted-weirdo-violindriven post-rock with the well-hung, jet-powered, stone cold assassins of the seas.
20oz Bottle Dr. Pepper
This Dr. Pepper was ice cold, sweet, bubbly and incredibly refreshing. Dark in color, this Dr. Pepper had a rich, loamy nose of chocolate, ginger and high-fructose corn syrup aromas with darker earthy notes underneath. In the mouth it was tingly, lush and slightly citric. Subtle hints of spice and chocolate blended with a gentle acidity held the drink together for a smooth finish. Dr. Pepper will pair nicely with fish tacos or maybe some Wendy's, and is best enjoyed far, far away from live or recorded music. I might go out on a limb and say this was the best damn Dr. Pepper I ever drank. Send us your free shit! Misprint Magazine c/o the Side Bar
For reals. Drop that shit off at the Side Bar.
Gossip! Gossip! Gossip! Emo's Lounge, aged 2, died this month in Austin, Texas following a long illness. The "Lounge", or Emo's IV as it was known by absolutely no one, was notable for its cocaine-friendly bathrooms and occasional after hours foam party mosh pits. It was diagnosed with terminal shittiness shortly after birth and enjoyed an agonizing, but mercifully short life. The lounge is survived by Emo's Jr., Emo's Sr., Dr. Emo's, Ego's and Baby Emo's. After turning down the chance to become Austin's newest alcohol-free Christian Rock club, the space is finding new life as the downtown home of the recent genty awardwinning Mexican joint El Sol y La Luna and presumably, a metric shit ton of mariachi bands. ----------------------------------------------------------In other Emo's news, Guilty Dave sent shockwaves across the rock & roll world by ordering his tongueamputated minions to clean the men's bathroom, including replacing the infamous trough. The old trough was sold at auction by Sotherby's in London for 8 figures, supposedly to a Dubai-based science cartel who plan to scour the old urinal for traces of Johnny Cash dna in an unholy plot to clone the Man in Black. If that doesn't pan out, they said they'll be forced to "settle for cloning the Meat Puppets." ----------------------------------------------------------Gallery Lombardi is also throwing in the towel after almost 4 years of being Austin's premier spot to hang around outside smoking and drinking free box wine while theoretically experiencing some low-grade outsider art. Scion and Carlo Rossi are reportedly super bummed. ----------------------------------------------------------Mock-turtleneck enthusiast/whiney Yankee shortstop Derek Jeter has been spotted all over town trying to score with Aerosmith-spawn Minka Kelly, a 30-year-old model who plays a sexy 14-year-old Pflugerville Panthers cheerleader on the hit series Friday Night Lights. After splurging on a few choice shows at Momo's and the Brohawk, the grillionare reportedly tried, unsuccessfully, to convince the Hot Dog King to move the entire operation to Manhattan to join his personal hot dog staff.
In an unrelated celebrity sighting, Bill Murray was recently spotted at Emo's outside bar wearing his Ghostbusters uniform doing Flaming Kamikaze shots with Houshang. Details to follow. ----------------------------------------------------------Everyone's favorite stone cold swan-killer BjĂ–rk and international robot-car enthusiast Thom Yorke have been in the studio together cutting a few tracks to benefit Icelandic birds. Lightning Bolt skinflayer Brian Chippendale was also involved, which means he was probably wearing smelly pantyhose on his head and refusing to set up his drum kit where anyone could see or hear him. When pressed for comment, no one involved with the project could explain the difference between Icelandic birds and regular birds, nor why they needed the money. ----------------------------------------------------------National mediocre restaurant chain/oldster dinner hotspot Denny's is the latest entry in the crowded afterparty scene. The marketing geniuses behind the "Moons Over My Hammy" breakfast have hit a proverbial Grand Slam with their new "Adopt-aBand" program. According to their press, Denny's lets sponsored bands eat for free while on tour and host ultra-exclusive afterparties at participating Denny's restaurants. Local synth wranglers The Boxing Lesson are graduates of the program and reportedly spent every night of their tour pouring syrup on the developing bosoms of their underage groupies while in a milkshake-fueled stupor. Waffle House has responded with a shot across the bow, tempting bands with free hashbrowns (prepared 53,134,543 different ways!) along with all the trucker speed their synapses can handle. ----------------------------------------------------------Talent scouts have been trolling Red River looking for rock stars to try out for Daisy of Love, the much-anticipated follow-up to Vh1's celebrity dating trainwreck Rock of Love. Bearded Austin barbacks take turns charming their way into the formidable drawers of Daisy de la Hoya, the out-of-work porn star/tragic Poison groupie rejected by Brett Michaels last season. Misprint operatives on the scene reported the audition looked "exactly like a Tuesday night at Red Eyed Fly, except Bob Schneider was there and everyone had their shirts off." h
This is what happens when The Mohawk lets Misprint design its ad.
FREE WEEK (free for over 21, $5 under, more TBA) 1/2 (out) Til We're Blue or Destroy, Calm Blue Sea, A.U.X. (in) Built by Snow, more TBA 1/3 Riverboat Gamblers, Harlem 1/5 Bridge Farmers, The Harlequins, The Bread 1/6 Frantic Clam 1/7 Tia Carrera, The Strange Attractors, The Tunnels 1/8 The Homopolice (Houston), Air Traffic Controllers (Gerard Cosloy and King Coffey), Dikes Of Holland 1/9 (out) The Laughing, Moth!Fight!, Golden Bear (in) Ugly Beats, Death is Not a Joyride, Dans La Lune, Many Birthdays 1/10 Frank Smith 1/13 The Donkeys, Deleted Scenes 1/15 Yo Majesty, Floetry 1/16 The Raven Tree, Jetsuns
1/17 1/22 1/23 1/24 1/26 1/29 1/30 2/1 2/5 2/6 2/7 2/12 2/14 2/21 3/05
The Paul Green School of Rock (early) The Nasty Clan, The Alice Rose, The Little Gentlemen This Will Destroy You, Balmorhea, Chief Rival Ume (CD release) Led Zeppelin (complete original lineup!) The War Against Sleep Magic Bullets MV & EE, Air Traffic Controllers Will Johnson (Centro-matic) Fashion Freakout, Au The Appleseed Cast Consider the Source White Ghost Shivers Valentine's Day Massacre Pop Unknown (reunion), Crash Gallery, Low Line Caller KOOL KEITH (DR. DOOM v. DOCTOR OCTOGON)