by Pandie Suicide

Today’s post on the music industry is going to be a little more ‘how-to’ than last week’s piece of mine on What it Means to Be a Woman in Heavy Music Today. We are going to cover that crazy, amazing, thing: the rock n roll tour, or the metal tour, or the punk tour, or the whatever kind of tour. Going on tour is one of the most awesome things in the world, if you are lucky enough to experience this fun time, even if it’s in a gritty van. It’s the chance to live the rock n roll dream, a different town, city, venue, crowd, every night. It’s parties and late nights, good drugs and alcohol, music, fans, fame, fortune, an escape from the normal ‘9-5’. It’s an excuse to get a little wild. And that’s why we love it. That glittering, dreamy thing…

But it isn’t all private jets and five star hotel rooms every night, Almost Famous-style…well maybe sometimes it is… the truth is a lot of times, no matter how much fun you’re having, tour can be a hard slog, which is why I’ve enlisted not only my own resources and experiences from touring myself, but also the help of a few people who ought to know a thing or two about a thing or two to come up with some practical, helpful little pieces of advice:

Top tips for tour survival:

Be prepared for anything.

Expect the level of gay jokes to go skyhigh within the first day of tour. And multiply by ten each day thereafter.

Remember that having to be inside a moving vehicle for hours on end does not always mix well with last night’s jagerbombs and tequila shots.

Grab sleep when you can, you never know when you might need it.

Cops like to pull over vehicles, they especially like to pull over vehicles full of suspicious looking characters, such as musicians. Do not give them any reason to pull you over, make sure all your registration, licence and vehicle maintenance is in order because once they decide to pull you over for a broken tail light or speeding,  you can bet they’re going to want to see what kinds of fun illegal substances, weapons, and other cool stuff that you may or may not have on board, and once they have a reason to get in there and  search, you’re pretty much screwed if you do, and even if you don’t it’s a lot of hassle to go through that  you just don’t need, so it’s best to avoid that situation from happening, in the first place.

Bring lots of snacks, or be prepared to live off truck stops, convenience stores, and fast food joints, unless that is, you are lucky enough to get catering, but even then, be prepared that you might have little to no food choices that taste good or are good for your body, so bring some snacks with you! I bring larabars in enormous quantities with me everywhere. They have saved my life many a time before.

Try to eat healthy. This may seem a bit of an oxymoron, especially with what was mentioned above, but if the opportunity for some fresh salad greens or fruit presents itself to you, jump on it when you can, remember you are what you eat, literally, and if you want to look  (and feel)  like a sexy salad on a stage, as opposed to a greasy burger, there you go.

While it may be hard to fit in any kind of regular workout, especially if you’re not staying anywhere near a gym, try to at least get some walking in each day, maybe a pushup or two wouldn’t go amiss either, when half the day you’re sitting down, and your only real movement is at night when on stage or carrying equipment around etc, it’s eventually going to be hard to perform at your optimum level if you’re not feeling fit and ready to go. A good little walk to check out the city you’ve woken up in today is usually a pretty good start to maintaining your fitness level, you don’t have to get crazy, but like I said the odd push up or stretch etc (also very good for a back/neck that is aching from sleeping in a bus or van!) couldn’t hurt.

If you do value your appearance, bring face wipes, skincare products, haircare products (all travelsize of course to save space!), toothbrush and toothpaste etc, the heat, the late nights, the alcohol, airconditioning, smoky bars etc, these all play havoc on your hair and skin driving them out, so even if you’re a tough guy, you’re probably going to want to look after your skin somewhat, and dental hygiene is sexy.

Drink lots of water, lotttts and lottts of water. And by water I don’t mean Red Bull. I mean pure clean drinking water, your body is going to need it from all the shit you’re putting it through. Trust me.

Bring a book, ipod, playstation portable, mini tv/dvd player, colouring book and crayons, or something, whatever will keep you entertained, there are some lonnng drives, flights, and periods of downtime on tour, and you can only fistfight with your bandmates so much before it becomes old hat.

If you had a boyfriend or girlfriend/ wife/husband etc before you left for tour and you still want to have said boyfriend/girlfriend/wife etc when you return, be sure to initiate contact with them often, to let them know you’re thinking about them to curb those jealousy issues. On that note,  some relationships are cool with being ‘open’ and involving others in them, but if yours is not like that, and you don’t want your boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/ husband to cheat on you, don’t cheat on them.  It’s a pretty simple but often overlooked rule of thumb. Karma can be a bit of a bitch sometimes.

Keep it together, remember drama is amplified by so many bodies living in such close quarters. When the urge to fist fight or lift baseball bats arises, breathe for a minute, assess the situation calmly including assessing how many alcoholic beverages and or other mind-altering substances you may or may not have consumed in the last 24 hours (are you mad because you’re drunk or hungover? Is the other person?), and then decide what course of action to take.  If someone’s got to be the better person here, then it might as well be you.

Similar to the tip above:  “Create Mutual Respect. It doesn’t matter if this is between you and the sound tech, you and the counter clerk at the convenience store or you and LaVonda the Waitress at the IHOP. Mutual Respect for our fellow human beings is essential. What if LaVonda is a rabid music fan and because you’re nice to her at the IHOP and you leave her with a copy of your cd (and a generous tip) she brings 20 of her friend to a show? Mutual respect pays big dividends. And it costs nothing.” The same goes for between band members and crew.

Tips from a few people who know whats up:

• Don’t shit on the tour bus! (DangerRuss, co-host Poor Kids Radio/Glenn Danzig’s personal security)


• Don’t be a slob – try to be clean (DangerRuss, co-host Poor Kids Radio/Glenn Danzig’s personal security)


• Bring lots of water, babywipes and duct tape (Toxsick Trip – lead singer, Blue Felix)


• Buy a great set of headphones…then you can block out the world, snoring room mates, shitty support bands, and noisy airplanes full of kids.. (Gavin Downie, guitar tech)


• Forget about showering! Just get used to the fact you’re not going to be able to shower for days, sometimes….weeks. (Travis Neal – lead singer, Divine Heresy – currently on tour with Fear Factory)


• Have the absolute time of your life! (Pandie Suicide)

Feel free to comment here on suicidegirlsblog.com with more tips!

by Damon Martin

I was in my car today, listening to my iPod while driving to the movies, and put on a play list I made that put all my favorite Seattle bands together.  A little known Nirvana track that became popular a few years ago called “You Know You’re Right” popped on and it got me thinking back to April, 1994.

For my fellow grunge-age followers, we grew up on Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, and of course Nirvana. We rocked our flannel shirts, and all wanted to move to Seattle.  It seemed like everything changed on that spring day in 1994.

I remember I was sitting in my bedroom after school, and I think I was drawing at the time, but I had MTV on in the background.  You know, back when MTV used to have music videos on?  Anyways, a special report hit the air and Kurt Loder proceeds to tell us all that Kurt Cobain was found dead in Seattle, a victim of an apparent suicide from a gunshot to the head.

When I first started to put together an idea for this post, I put up on my Twitter account asking if people remember where they were when they heard that Kurt Cobain died. I was blown away that within minutes I had a ton of responses from people saying they remember sitting in their 7th grade classroom, to others being in college classrooms, and others driving down the street in their car when the news was announced on the radio.

It was a moment that everyone that loved music back then remembers.



I know at that point in my life I had lost a grandparent, and I’m sure there were other notable celebrities that passed away before that, but this is the first time I remember actually being in mourning for someone that I had never met, never talked to, or ever had any personal interaction with.  What Kurt Cobain was able to do was create music that moved us all back then.  He created a sound that was unique, even though self-admittedly he’d never call himself a great musician.

I think everyone has those moments in their life that they remember someone monumental in the music industry dying, that personally touched their lives through their songs.  For another generation it was February 3, 1959 when Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper died in a tragic plane crash.

Another generation felt the sting of death on December 8, 1980 when Mark David Chapman unloaded four gunshots into the back and shoulder of former Beatles’ leader John Lennon.

For my generation it was Kurt Cobain.

It was a sad day in my life, and even at 16-years of age I knew that something terribly tragic had just happened.  I remember watching in the days that followed the outpouring of fans in Seattle leaving flowers, records, pictures, notes, and anything else they could think of to honor Cobain. This was of course before the internet age so all of our information back then was by television, newspaper or magazines.

Truth be told, at that time and still to this day for all the Seattle bands of that era, Pearl Jam had always been my favorite “grunge” group, but we all had a connection with Nirvana, we all remember Kurt, and Dave, and Krist, and all learned to mosh by listening to “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

After listening to that song today, I came home and listened to the classic Nirvana “Unplugged” album, and remembered all over again what made Kurt Cobain great. His raspy voice combined with great lyrics (even if they all meant something different to everyone), and an ability to connect with anyone listening to them.

As I write this, I wonder what the music world would have been like if Kurt Cobain wouldn’t have died? I know this for sure.  The music would will forever be influenced because Kurt Cobain lived, and that’s something we can all hold onto, especially on days like this when he’s missed.

Amazon.com Widgets

Kemper Suicide in I’m Not Bad

• into: chihuahuas, sharks, puppies


• not into: children


• i spend most of my free time: Searching for the mythical clitoris

Get to know Kemper better over at SuicideGirls.com!

by Christine Dinh

You’ve already heard me bemoan that dating is hard to do. But you know what’s even harder? Finding the time to go on the first date.

In between juggling multiple jobs, after-hours networking events, reading comics, flying to different conventions, squeezing in time for my online and offline friends, making use of that xbox, searching the interwebs for deals on Hoodie-Footies and making sure peeps don’t spoil the recently-released movie, I’m certain I have negative amounts of time left over to dedicate to find Mr. Right, or even Mr. Right Now.

Well, if you’re on the same boat as I am, or if your personality sucks (just kidding! I heart you!), there are peeps out there who’ll make sure we’re on the right path to finding the one, or at least getting laid a fair amount each month.

It’s time we start outsourcing the work.

Could Virtual Dating Assistants be our modern day Cupid? Possibly.

For $600 a month, their snazzy writing skills guarantee you at least two dates, some insider tips and not much else.

While the self-misrepresentation and chunk of change you’d lose is enough to keep others at bay, it’s Virtual Dating Assistants’ mission statement and their sterile approach to dating that’s turned off this girl.

I would rather have lose a couple more hours in sleep mulling over my dating profile and writing and rewriting every message as long as I get to keep all the fun, excitement and nervous anticipation that comes along with searching for Wonderboy.

As I save those Benjamins for products of self-love, share with me in the comments section if you yourself have outsourced dating assistance or if you would or wouldn’t turn your love life over to a digital Cupid.

Quinne Suicide in Hands Down

• into: climbing to rooftops and cold beaches


• not into: missing people, feeling sleepy, being broke, divorce, soda, dog hair, cleaning, coughing, getting hit in the ear with a cold skipping rope, being sick, being scared, spiders on the inside of the shower curtain, taking the trash out, putting laundry away, wearing real shoes, feeling alienated or trapped, ginas, being lied to


• makes me happy: nebulas, people i like, being mean then being nice, good movies, laughing at people when they get hurt, good books, the beach, little lanterns, cooking, new music, dancing, meteor showers, the sound of the ocean, being loved, laughing, gardening, my dog, makin people laugh, learning, making out, road trips, pitchers of sangria, taco trucks, fried tofu, target, lolcats, scotty, spooking my dog, butterflies in my stomach, sunsets, wind in my hair, my family, smoothies, vegan/vegetarianism, the doors of my fridge, icky the hut, tfln, @shitmydadsays, fog, rainy days


• makes me sad: fort god and the jesus army, cramps, liars, the meat and dairy industries, animal abuse, bad friends


• hobbies: photography, reading, being awesome, breakin the law, cooking


• 5 things i can’t live without: bottle of water, lip balm, tortillas and franks redhot, my bike, leggings


• vices: drink, drug, boy… in that order


• i spend most of my free time: ruling, partying, riding my bike, cooking, reading, on bart, hangin’ with ick and b, on top of scotty

Get to know Quinne better over at SuicideGirls.com!

by Bunny McIntosh

Questions this week! Here we go, from you, the viewer…

Dear Bunny,
True story: I had a girlfriend. Girlfriend got cancer. She died.
Before shuffling off we had a few talks about what was to become of me
should she take the most dire turn. She had a fantastic sense of humor
and was serious when she told me I could use her demise as a sympathy
card to play when I felt like dating again. I personally have no
problem doing this. It seems a way still goofing off with my deceased
loved one, as well as ushering in a way to move on. But what of the
ladies’ who would/could be on the receiving end of this? In what way
should I consider them?
Ghost Girlfriend
NY, NY

GG,

I think you shouldn’t bother judging a woman who is on the receiving
end of your cosmic joke. If you get to know a new lady by using wacky
manipulation tactics and she falls into bed with you for it, consider
yourself lucky. Be nice to her, don’t string her along, and try to be
honest with the fact that you haven’t moved on.
Once you do get past the initial hurdle of intimacy with another
woman, back off with these tactics. They may be what you need at
first, but it’s unfair for your next potential girlfriend to be
competing with a ghost.

Just a reminder, SSRIs can be life-changing during a tragedy, and I am
a fan. If you feel hideously blue, run to your doctor as quickly as
possible.
Stay strong, and I’m really sorry for your loss.

ex oh ex,
Bunny




Dear Bunny,

I am in an open relationship. I currently have 2 boyfriends and they
are in the know about each other. I love them both very much, but in
very different ways. I am in romantic love with a man called Matt*. He
is the love of my life. Matt’s job requires that he be gone for long
periods of time, and he is ok with my relationship with my second
boyfriend Joe. Joe is a friend from college and I am extremely
comfortable with him and trust him deeply. Recently, Matt has
requested that I refrain from anal intercourse with Joe, as he wants
that to be something that I reserve for him and him alone. The problem
is that Joe and I have already had anal intercourse and it’s his
favorite. What should I do? I hate to be disappointing to either of my
men and I love Matt more than anything, but Joe keeps me from dying of
loneliness when Matt is away.

Sincerely,
Asstastic

A,
Hey hey hey: congratulations to you for being freaky deaky lady who is
honest about her sexual escapades. I hope you’re insistent upon safe
sex, but I’m not going to lecture you.
Logistically, unless Matt has a mini penis or something, anal sex will
probably feel the same for him no matter who you are doing it with.
The physicality is not the issue. Matt wants to feel special. He wants
something with you that Joe doesn’t get. Perhaps he is not all that
jazzed he’s sharing you with a man you admittedly love. Your actions
in the bed room with another man are probably speaking louder than
your words when you’re telling him he’s the man of your dreams.
I’d talk to Matt candidly about why you’re having sex with two people,
and consider whether or not you want to be. If Matt is not really all
that cool with it, I’d try to get to the bottom of that sooner rather
than later. He may worry he’s going to lose you if he demands you stay
faithful. Maybe he just needs emotional reassurance. You need to ask
him, because THIS broad doesn’t know.
If your relationship with Joe is purely a physical thing to satiate
some monster sexual appetite, then you shouldn’t care about
disappointing Joe in the sack. You’re not. He gets to have sex with a
wild woman who he is friends with and who he doesn’t have to be
committed to. Good for Joe.
The thing that strikes me most about this question is that you never
say what you want. You “hate to be disappointing” to either of them,
and anal sex is “Joe’s favorite.” What’s your favorite? Do you like
sleeping with Joe better than Matt? Do you even like anal sex? You
need to be a little selfish and stop worrying about who you will
disappoint in bed. Take care of your head and your heart first, and
your elegant bits second.

ex oh ex,
Bunny

If you need relationship advice, please write to me at meltingdolls@gmail.com. I will respond here to the best of my ability. I will keep all of your information anonymous and try to offer you a sincere and straight forward response. I might mock you if you’re a tool, but I will do so with a good, friendly nature.

And If I fail to relay something decent, don’t blame me, hot shot — you’re the one writing to the SuicideGirls for relationship advice…

by Jules Bleach

In the third grade we had to do a practical Life Exercise program, which just involved us bunch of rapscallions doing group exercises like drawing pictures and sharing the story behind them, medicine ball games, etc. One exercise we did involved the teacher telling us to act out certain actions eg – ‘Imagine you’ve just lost all your money on the dogs and your wife has left you’ except a more infantile version. As usual, I was well behind. The gap in the synapse points between my brain has always felt like a huge abyss, a giant cavernous gap through which the electrical impulses which form my thoughts are even terrified to jump. Most of the time, the thoughts don’t make it and just fall into nowhere. Somewhere in the basement of my brain are a bunch of old random thoughts collecting dust.

To me, Logic was never logical. I’ve always thought in such a different manner, somewhere in between left-field and legally retarded, that it’s got me into much trouble over the years. If there were a God, Id be blessing him for allowing me to have such supportive people, friends and family, in my life who put up with me. People who, probably think I actually am retarded. I sometimes wonder in my lowest moments that perhaps I really am, and everyone is just too nice to tell me, like the way guardians condescend and pander to their disabled/elderly patients, and as a result I have just never been allowed to realise it. Then again, I have been called a retard on numerous occasions. Perhaps they were hinting at something…


When I was Thirteen, my parents took me to this scary brain clinic in Elizabeth Street. They were worried there was something wrong with the innards of my head wotsit. It never once occured to them that a teenage boy who doesn’t want to do his homework, listens to metal, and secretly is already developing a drinking problem, and spends most of their time drawing, doodling and drooling over girls, is actually pretty fucking normal.

There was no signs or windows, or even a logical entrance to this place, and it reminded me of the 33rd and 1/3rd platform thing from Harry Potter. Perhaps this was some kind of test. But then again, if you were smart enough to work out the entrance to this NeoNazi-esque minimalist you probably didn’t need to be there in the first place. Once we made our way up there, I was forced to sat in this cramped little waiting room, which was probably devised to drive you crazy, a bit ironic don’t you think?! The whole time I was crapping my pants, feeling like Winston Smith about to enter Room 101. They wrangled me in there, strapped all these wires to my head after applying some strange blue goo all over my ears and neck. They made me sit there, then asked me all these odd questions like “If Poodles pontificate suicide in the rain, are the more likely to wrangle pigeons in the summer?” It was downright bonkers, it was. Afterwards, I was called into the ol meeting room with Dr Boffin-head and my parents & after a whole bunch of hog-wash labelling. I was informed that I had a rare case of ADHD and as a result must take Ritalin three times a day.

Cut to me, back at school, attempting to appease my parents and keep everyone happy (as was my mission for most of my life, as I cant stand conflict, (until recently when I just gave up and became an assole, but thats a story for another time). I started taking the pills, and just felt like a fucking zombie. Its as if all the creativity and original thought had just been drained out of me. If this is what being normal felt like, then fuck it. Fuck it all. If anything it took me even longer now to develop some kind of rational thought. The synapses were probably firing faster, but the time it took for them thoughts to travel down the old noggin and through the voice hole in my face felt like a fucking eternity. As a result I was ridiculed by my mates. That is, until, thanks to the one decent thought them pills gave me, I decided to become an amaeteur drug dealer and started selling my Ritalin to my mates at about $5-$10 per pill. Little did my parents know. I just pretended to act like a ‘normal’ person which I guess I’ve been doing all my life, and used the profits, not very wisely mind you, not for savings, but for odd things like Mars Bars, coke cans, action figures, headphones. The thrill I felt for having ownership of these things whithout actually earning them was amazing. And hence, ends the story of my Broken Head Box. I turned from a bumbling absurdist nonsensical idiot into a self appraised drug pusher.

by Nathalie Moody

Are you someone that identifies themselves differently than the average guy or gal? Someone who stands out and stands up for their lovely different-ness despite the societal pressures to think, talk, and like what the major networks, movie producers, and corporate radio have to offer? Well I am asking you to stand up and take a bow!

The world should embrace normality as well as difference or what I like to refer to as your inner FREAK. Ya know, “a person who has withdrawn from normal, rational behavior and activities to pursue one interest or obsession; a devoted fan or follower; enthusiast, a hippie, capriciousness; whimsicality, unusual, odd”. ( Thanks Webster!)



Freak is truly meant in the most endearing way for those who may not have always been the most popular, interested or able to meet the standards of the masses, and just decided to go their own way by embracing who they truly are..This is definitely a life long process that for me seemed to break wide open when I went to college at Ohio State University 20 years ago (ouch that hurt to write).

Ahh the fond memories of the lush and large OSU campus where are the temptations of being truly on my own ran rampant. This was the place where through many trials and errors, my journey as a once angry activist, turned playful and casual feminist began. Where I truly began to sense my difference and indifference to someone else’s agenda for my life. At that time I became increasingly frustrated with my 20 years of thinking that there was something wrong with me when I did not meet the qualifications of the norm, whether it be my physique, beliefs or interests. I was exposed to the so many life altering experiences like the Sugarcubes, the Cure, Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr. shows, to mind-blowing television shows and films like “Twin Peaks”, “X-Files”, and MTV’s “120 Minutes”, films like “Raisin’ Arizona”, “Delicatessen”, “Erasurehead” and began my own experimentation in the arts with photography and writing. Although I have decided that anger and hatred are toxic and unproductive, I continue to keep a keen eye open towards the effects that education and socialization have on generations of people. I for one do not want to spend the rest of this short precious life trying to meet the terms of some bigger societal force’s expectations. As my Mom always said, “I don’t expect you to be and do anything. As long as you are happy, that is all that matters”. Well, 1 marriage and 3 kids later, I am still working this piece out and will always look at this world through slightly a cynical, yet open-minded pair of glasses.

Being different started young for me. I’ve been 6’ since I was 10. The only difference now is some weight gain, and evidence of womanly hips and breasts. Of course I am an extreme, with basketball player length arms and cycling legs on a swimmers torso with drag queen size feet. And I love every bit and part..most days. I still walk into clothes stores and sometimes wonder, “who the hell are all the styles and sizes made for?” At times, not one piece of clothing comes anywhere near fitting my wrists, touching ankles or getting up around my hips. I am suddenly experiencing an Alice In Wonderland moment, where someone has slipped a little something in my Americano on the way here and I begin to expand and fill up the dressing room. As far as popular culture, I sometimes turn on the major network TV channels or look at the latest movie previews and my head turns to the side as an expression of “Huh? I don’t get it” crosses my face. But to each its own! You like it, I don’t. And what I like you may not and that is okay with me. Hope its okay with you.

This isn’t meant to be a philosophical examination on the well researched and controversial topic of socialization and media influence. Although I have spent many years reconciling the expectations of what I am “suppose” to do versus who I really am and want to be, I am the first to admit of my own hypocrisy in what I watch, listen to, and believe at times. But awareness is the first step, right? All we can truly control is our attitude and reaction to this lovely little thing called LIFE.

My request? Embrace your lovely inner “freak”, with all of your physical and mental strengths, challenges and move on. I know I have wasted too much time beating myself up about what I am not and will never be. Now I just stand up as a 6 foot tall, angsty pierced brunette ex-jock social worker mom, who is a lover of all things comfy (pillows, hugs, duvet), a stalker of Nordstrom (Rack) to accumulate all size 11 sassy shoes and outfits en noir, and one who continually fluctuates from the “glass is half empty to the glass is half full” outlook based upon my hormonal fluctuations and amount of sleep.

So Get On With Your Freaky Self and Live It Up!!

Rambo Suicide in Dancing

• INTO: arts, crafts, psychology and animals.


• NOT INTO: negativity, irresponsibility, side aches on the treadmill, any kind of drug you snort.


• MAKES ME HAPPY: anything tiny, flowers, tea, art.


• MAKES ME SAD: animal cruelty, obscene wealth.


• HOBBIES: dancing, skating, working out, posing nude, watching tv series on DVD, riding my bike, drawing, cross stitching, making greeting cards, reading, and writing.


• 5 THINGS I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT:chapstick, phone, water, sunglasses and love.


• VICES: junk food!


• I SPEND MOST OF MY FREE TIME:watching movies, cooking, sleeping, playing with kitty, shopping, driving, and making arts & crafts.

Get to know Rambo better over at SuicideGirls.com!

by Andrew E. Konietzky

Let’s get straight to the heart of the film… John Cusack, Craig Robinson, and Rob Corddry play three guys who were all best friends in their ’80’s heyday but have since drifted apart. When Corddry passes out in his car while it’s idling in his closed garage, the other two take it as a suicide attempt and plan a reunion trip to Kodiak Valley, the ski resort where they once had an epic weekend in the winter of ’86. Cusack brings along his nephew, played by Clark Duke.



They get in their suite’s Hot Tub Time Machine[IMG|1x1]http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=suicblog-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B002ZG97XI[/IMG] and wake up the next morning to discover they’re suddenly, back in 1986. These guys have seen Back to the Future so they figure out that they have to do everything they did in ’86, or they will completely screw up the future. Cusack has to let his girlfriend stab him in the eye. Corddry has to get beaten up by a squad of evil jocks. Sweep the leg for a small spoiler my friends. Robinson has to sleep with someone, which he’s terrified about because he is technically married. And Duke – whose mom is also at the lodge figures out that he was conceived this weekend. He frantically tries to get them to stay on track, lest they change something that might cause him to cease to exist.

Hijinks ensue, and the movie succeeds in keeping the laughs and 80’s in-jokes high. All four leads have terrific rapport with each other, and are aided by Crispin Glover and Chevy Chase in recurring cameos. The only aspect I was greatly disappointed by was its failure to capitalize on Cusack’s presence. The film is brilliant in that it mimics the type of teen movies that made Cusack famous. Surprisingly, the movie ultimately belongs to Corddry, who successfully plays the “asshole” in a manner both charming and empathetic.

Grab your towel and enjoy the hot tub.

Amazon.com Widgets

by Tara Diane

So I’m sure most of you have heard of the Rasterbator, but I’m sincerely sad for those of you that have not!  Rasterbator is the most insanely easy and cheap decorating tool in the fricking world.  You take any small image and Rasterbator makes that shit gianormous!  Hells yeah, right?!



Anyways, here are some tips:

•    If you go to college, use the school lab.  If you work in an office, use your secret agent skills to stealthily use their printer (but you didn’t hear that from me).
•    Don’t do this shit on your own printer!  Not that I know from experience (cough) but you can easily burn through thee black cartridges in one project.
•    Measure ahead of time!  Mother Nature cries when you rasterbate, but she cries a whole lot more if you do it, fuck it up, then have to do it again.  Size DOES matter; take two seconds to see how you measure up.
•    If you throw temper tantrums, drink a beer first.  Chillax.  You will mess up, there will be a couple of crooked pieces, and you will need to check your ponytail and not throw a bitch fit.
•    Don’t use an inkjet printer.  The solid black pages may get soggy from the ink, causing the edges to curl.

Okay, here I am in action!  I used a stock image from Deviant Art (thanks Grant-Thomas!) but you can use any image your heart desires.

And yes, this IS my first time trying to use imovie, so shut it.



(Thanks for the music, Neon Cobra!)

Have a good day, ladies and gents.

Aleon Suicide in In The Clover

• into: Styling, modeling, watching movies, eating, pot, cleaning, and contemplating the meaning of life


• not into: Vanilla flavored people


• makes me happy: Sandwiches, movie nights, sushi, roller coasters, cuddling, my kitties, doing hair, driving around blasting my musaaac, spending time with my besties, family, and my amazing boy


• makes me sad: Stepping on snails


• 5 things i can’t live without: Vodka, eyeliner, cable, sushi, & the sun.


• vices: Cookies. All kinds. I can’t say no.


• i spend most of my free time: What is this thing you call free time?

Get to know Aleon better over at SuicideGirls.com!

What do you splurge on?

Good day, Gentlemen.

It is wonderful to see you all again. You are looking quite spiffy, although I do see a regrettable number of neckerchiefs in the crowd. I ask all of those who felt the need to keep their neck swaddled to stay after for some remedial instruction.

Today we are gathered to discuss Gentlemanly equipment and how to use them. Now, a Gentleman should be able to get by with nothing more than an issue Swiss Army Knife.



It has all the tools you need kill, clean, cook, and serve any number of small animals (or wild vegetables), and enjoy a bottle of Chardonnay, but I wouldn’t recommend that except in dire circumstances, particularly as the quality of Chardonnay has gone downhill over the last few years. We are trying to civilize you barbarians after all.

A basic list of Gentlemanly Equipment should, at the minimum, contain the following:

A pocket knife
A multi-tool
A corkscrew
A lighter
A fountain pen
A pocket notebook
A bag

The Knife

The knife is one of the oldest tools known to humans. There are thousands of uses for a pocket knife on a daily basis, many of which will not occur to you before they come up. And before anyone asks, zombie-fighting is not among the activities you should expect for your pocket knife. That requires more . . . Specialized . . . Equipment.

Choosing a knife is a matter of preference. The aforementioned Swiss Army knife is ideal for most situations; A large cutting blade, a bottle-opener w/flathead screwdriver, and a leather-punch (which is an excellent tool for punching a hole in the end of a cigar, if you are so inclined). There are other models out there, but they exchange sleekness for accessories. We must remember, anything that breaks the line of our pants is a no-no.

Other Gentlemanly pocket knives include the iconic 2-bladed Buck, and a wide variety of smaller lock-back knives. There are those who prefer a large sized knife with a pocket clip, more a weapon than a tool. And that is fine, for some circumstances. If I am doing ranch-work, or out in the field somewhere, I always carry such a knife. But walking into a dinner-party with a huge knife in your pocket is the equivalent of attending the opera at the Met cut-off jeans and a Nascar tank-top. Be aware of where you are when you load your pockets.

No matter what knife you choose, always follow these 3 rules: Keep it clean, keep it oiled, and keep it sharp! A dull, rusty, dirty knife is an invitation to self-injury.

The Multi-tool

There is a difference between a multi-tool and a knife. While all multi-tools come with knife blades, their primary purpose is to replace a variety of tools with one. A typical, and some may say PROTO-typical example is the Leatherman



Leatherman makes a large number of different tools, as do several other companies. With a pair of pliers, a hasp, a knife, 2 screwdrivers (flathead and Philips), a ruler, a can opener, a bottle opener, and in some cases a saw or even a hammer, these little gadgets are great for on-the-spot, emergency actions. But, and this is important to remember, they will never work as well as the tools they are based on. I learned this the hard way by installing blinds using only the screwdriver on a multi-tool. It basically tried to eat my hand.

I recommend keeping one in your glove-compartment in your car (if you have one) or somewhere accessible in your home. If you need to carry it, throw it in your bag; sitting on a large chunk of steel is never comfortable.

The Corkscrew

In the last few decades, the wine trade has changed. Fewer and fewer wineries are keeping to the old, natural cork. Many have switched to plastic, and some have even gone to screw-tops (I will not speak of boxed wine). But there is still a need for a good, solid corkscrew.



This particular corkscrew is sometimes known as the “waiter’s friend”. In the world of high-tech decorkers and mechanized systems, this is still the choice of most French professional waiters, who open dozens of bottles of wine on a daily basis.

The design is deceptively simple. The little knife is serrated for cutting through the foil that surrounds the cork. Cut just below the lip of the bottle and peel off the foil. This gives you a clean look.

Next, the pigtail. The highest quality corkscrews will have a hollow cut into the metal, which will prevent the cork from splintering and you from needing to suck your wine through your teeth. Screw it into the cork until the entire curlicue is embedded.

When you are done with this, push down on the tail of the handle, raising the metal part until it can hook on the tip of the bottle. Then, simply pull up on the tail. The metal part (which I am sure has a name that nobody but collectors care about) provides you with a base and allows you to use leverage to pry out the cork.

Certain knives may have a corkscrews on the back, but these require you to pull the cork with no leverage, which can have disastrous results, including a loss of wine.

The Lighter

Fire is one of the few tools to predate the knife. And having a way to create fire can be useful in many situations. Even if you don’t smoke, a good lighter can have its uses. I used to use mine to drive away an annoying boss. He didn’t appreciate the smell of burnt arm-hair that would follow him if he annoyed me when I was busy. A better use is to light someone else’s cigarette in a social situation. I recommend a traditional, small-size Zippo, unless you use yours several times a day. In those cases, get a large one.



The Fountain Pen

Fountain pens are not for everyone. They have to be refilled, they can bleed if you’re not careful, and they rarely work as a weapon to project ink into an adversary’s eyes, no matter what the movies say. But even if you do not use one on a regular basis, I do recommend learning to use one. Chances are, you will be hooked after practicing with one.


The main difference between a fountain pen and a roller is the tip. Balltips and roller-balls have a small ball in the tip that brings the ink to the paper. Over time, these require more force to bring out the ink. Fountain pens, instead, have a nib which, over time, will wear down to an ideal angle for your writing style. They require little pressure to bring out the ink. In fact, pressing too hard is a wonderful way to ruin a good fountain pen. A good pen will flow smoothly across the page.

Before investing in an expensive Cross or Waterman, buy yourself a $2.00 disposable to practice with. These are not refillable, but will get you started. When you get the hang of it, take some time and find the best pen for yourself. I prefer a Cross, but that is just me. A good fountain pen will last you for decades and eventually pay for itself in non-purchased Bics.

The Pocket Notebook

This just makes good sense. A small pocket notebook is always useful, for everything from making a shopping list to jotting down the number of a new “friend”. I keep a Moleskine Cahier with me at all times. It is slightly battered, but gives me a place to jot down any ideas that pop up. I know the new pocket-sized computers can do the same thing, but a notebook never needs batteries.



The Bag

Speak not of the “man-purse”. The masculine bag is sturdy, well-made, and an efficient way to keep your equipment safe, along with work papers and (hopefully) a good book to fill a spare moment or two. I prefer leather, but high quality canvas or hemp are equally good choices. Keep it simple. Enough space for what you need to carry without being bulky or so large that you can’t find what you are looking for. Remember that you are no longer a 12 year old child, so avoid bags with cartoon characters. A few good choices include:



Do not keep food or drink in your bag. Remember, the purpose of the bag is to transport and protect your possessions. A generous spread of Macaroni and Cheese with a Cappuccino chaser will not improve the presentation you have stored on a jump-drive. Just remember: Anything that CAN leak, WILL leak.

You will not always need to carry everything on this list. As I said in the beginning, most days a pocket knife will suffice. But as we simplify our lives with various new “improvements”, we simply don’t have the pocket-space for everything. So, instead of trying to load everything in your pants and jacket, clean it up and carry your gear like a Gentleman.

Earlier this year, I decided it would probably be a good idea to not be so damn fat. Getting healthier overall laid more seemed like a worthwhile possible side-effect as well. Naturally, I went about googling ways to not be fat, as I assumed it would mean more than just skipping my morning hot cup of butter-flavored Crisco. That googling led me to find out some truly startling mostly maybe possibly true information.

Bread is an asshole.

Yep, that's what the internet said to me. The internet wouldn't lie to me, would it? I mean, it brings me porn. Oh wait, hold on. I knew a girl in Sacramento who did the same thing and she turned out to be crazy.

Regardless, I decided to trust this whole "bread's a cocksucker" theory, in the interest of science, and consume a KFC Double Down. For the great unwashed, this new product from The Colonel is a sandwich that boasts about its lack of buns and judicious application of all things unhealthy.


KGC? Obviously this refers to their line of grilled products, but somehow to me it invokes imagery of communism, jackboots, and possibly Dolph Lundgren.

SPOILERS! (Click to view)

]
Ha HA! Now who's crazy?

This thing was wrapped up so tightly upon delivery, I was concerned it may be an omen of greasiness to come. Little did I know how right I was.


The last time I saw breasts this bare it cost me a dollar plus cover and a creepy hipster with Kanye West asshole glasses tried to score coke off me in the men's shitter.


Further exploration shows inside lies a gloppy combination of cheese, bacon, and The Colonel's "secret sauce". Cue the masturbation joke. All gloppiness aside, the structure of the sandwich is sound. I expected the two chicken chunks to slide around against each other like Rosie O'Donnell's ass cheeks in July, making handling difficult and awkward. This was not the case. At least not for the sandwich.


Upon first nom, I ran into a weakness. Rather than submit to my powerful jaws easily, the chicken was stubborn, tearing along its grain. I literally bit off more than I could chew. This tendancy is the sandwich's fatal flaw; the Death Star exaust port if you will.

But there also arose another issue:

A magnificent case of greasefinger. Only the lube-wrangler on the set of Ass Spelunkers #3 could top what results from the handling of this product. I recommend you fight the temptation to unwrap this thing unless you like your fingers to leave subtle meat-smelling fingerprints on everything all day.

But how does it taste? Not bad, really. If the bacon and cheese had been of higher quality it might have even been good despite its flaws. But they weren't, meaning this epicurean disaster can only achieve mediocrity. But, in a way, KFC seems to revel in that fact ... like the slow kid in class with mittens pinned on his sleeves who's way too proud about his ninth place t-ball trophy. Good try, KFC...good try.




6/10 flushes


SnakePlissken proudly sniffs his fingers after fried chicken.

Some people like sports, others collecting stamps. I like climbing to rooftops and walking through sewers.

Urban Exploration (also known as “UrbEx” or “UE”) is an activity in which participants seek out interesting man-made places that are normally unseen by or off-limits to the general public and document them. This usually includes, but isn’t limited to, abandoned buildings, cranes and building sites, rooftops, drains and sewers.

Entering these kinds of spaces usually involves trespassing – merely a civil offence here in the UK.



My first excursion was to a train station in the heart of Manchester that was abandoned and left to slowly rot in the 1980s. The low, midday winter sun shone through the platforms onto the old brick walls. Announcements from the tannoy of the busy (and very much in-use) railway station across the road can be heard in the distance – almost ghostly reverberations of the station’s past.

Since this visit I’ve been hooked. I was stood inside a living time capsule with people walking past outside completely oblivious to the history that was sealed up on the other side of the wooden boards nailed across the windows.



It’s not just the unseen history of these places that draws me into exploring. What’s stopping anybody from walking through a door marked “No Entry” besides social convention? A sign like that, or one that says “Authorized Personnel Only” may as well read “Interesting stuff ahead” as far as your average explorer is concerned. The door might hide service tunnels carrying steam pipes through the building’s arteries, or maybe even a network of tunnels built for moving coal through a building but relegated these days to guiding broadband cable. It might even be a boring old broom cupboard.

But how are you to know without turning the door’s handle and peering into the unknown?



The thrill of simply being in these places is enough for most explorers. After taking what must have been ten minutes, contorting every which way possible, a friend and I gained access to one of Manchester’s historical listed buildings by squeezing through a six-inch gap. Having done our research, we knew that parts of the building were alarmed. We stood at a doorway and warily shone our torches into the room, scanning the ceiling for the infra-red sensors that might lead to our downfall. Deciding that there was no immediate danger to us, we went in. We were only one step into this room when the loudest, most obnoxious-sounding alarm began to sing. As the siren fired up, the rush of adrenaline that I felt was powerful enough to make me think that I was genuinely about to die. I’d completely forgotten what I did for my third birthday until this moment.

As we made an about turn and ran to our entry point, we realized that there was another obstacle in our way – the six-inch gap we struggled to climb in through. This time it was above head-height too. I was sure that as I struggled to pull myself through that hole, a security guard would grab my ankles. Beyond learning that the colour of adrenaline was brown, we also learnt of the superpowers that it can give you, since we were both out of there quicker than you can say “Definitely no alarms in here… Oh shit!”.

Looking at these places is a purely innocent activity. We needn’t be as scared of getting caught as we were when that alarm went off. Explorers live by the saying “Take only photographs, leave only footprints”. Criminal damage and theft are frowned upon within the community. Explorers just want to see the places and take photos.



Most of us are nerds swapping tips on the most powerful torches, the best value waders and how to get that killer photo. Taking photographs of the beautiful places we find is as much a part of Urban Exploration as hopping over fences and evading security guards. Some explorers take their photography very seriously – most underground pictures are taken without flash simply because a long exposure with torchlight usually produces a more aesthetically pleasing picture than one bleached by a sudden, bright explosion from a flash bulb.

Walking through the city with an explorer’s eye could be considered a blessing and a pain in the arse. For example, you’re out doing some shopping, but you can’t help but look down every alley that you pass and think things like: “I could move that trash can, jump on top of it, and then I’m as good as up that fire escape”. But without that lateral thinking and problem solving, we wouldn’t see the things that we see.

A lot of people will sit at their kitchen table with a screwdriver dismantling any number of mod cons for the sole purpose of getting a better understanding of how it works. Explorers do exactly the same thing with cities. You get a much better understanding, and maybe a deeper love of the city you live in by seeing its foundations – its ugly side.



The world’s first industrial city, Manchester, is full of hidden tunnels, underground canals and beautiful Victorian sewers. Today’s Manchester is full of the same charm but in different places, be it the multitudinous array of high-rise rooftops dotted around the city or the machine rooms on hidden hotel floors. These two cities co-exist with each other and with the third city – the one that most people see. Nowhere is this more evident in Manchester than where an Art Deco theatre, backing onto a Cold War communications bunker, sits fifty yards from a Neoclassical library, which is across the road from the site of a slaughtering of protesting workers in 1819. This area is surrounded by office blocks full of drone workers completely oblivious to the exciting world beyond the door that ominously commands: “Do Not Enter”.

Hopefully I’ve been able to give you an insight into our hidden world. Maybe you’ll even think about what’s behind that door, or where that manhole leads the next time you see one. Chances are, given the number of people who explore the unseen side of Manchester on a daily basis, that it’ll be one of us with our cameras on the other side.

Yes children, your old uncle Satan is unemployed again. And you know what that means? More reviews of movies that will make you wish your parents had never fucked at all!

This week, we'll be looking at a modern classic in the "midgets in creepy suits" genre. That's right, I'm talking about The Garbage Pail Kids Movie. If you've lived overseas your whole life (as some of you have) or if you've been in a vegetative state for the last twenty-odd years (as most of you have), the Garbage Pail Kids were trading cards popular in the mid-80's as gross-out parodies of the then-popular Cabbage Patch Kids (which in retrospect, seem WAY creepier than the cards making fun of them).

Anyway, here's the trailer:



As bad as the trailer makes the film seem, I can guarantee you that the final product is much, much worse. I'll explain.

The basic plot centers around a young teen named Dodger, who works in an antique shop with the quasi-magical Captain Manzini. Dodger is in love with the proto-cougar Tangerine, who is easily five years his senior. Unfortunately, Tangerine is the girlfriend of local hood Johnny Somethingorother. It's not really important. What's important is that the Garbage Pail Kids get released from their "intergalactic ship" (a garbage can, of course) and hilarity ensues.

Well, it's supposed to ensue. What happens instead is a soul-fucking cinematic root canal that will leave you so angry you could easily punch a puppy. We learn that the Kids have a hidden talent of sewing, Dodger is an idiot, this movie has more plot holes and inconsistencies than Battlefield Earth, and that even the most peace-loving hippie pacifist will be capable of choking the shit out of the person sitting next to them if they see this movie.

This movie was so terrible, not even Crim and I making fun of it on an average of every six seconds could make it tolerable. When it was mercifully over, it took every ounce of willpower we had not to beat each other to death in a bare-knuckle Fight Club-style brawl. Instead, we spent the next seven hours complaining about the emotional scars this movie left behind.

In summation: copies of The Garbage Pail Kids Movie ought to be liberally air-dropped over Iran, North Korea, and the Afghani-Pakistani border to save us all time and tax dollars. While this may violate most of the Geneva Convention, if they could sneak waterboarding past, they should be able to slip this "movie" by as well. Don't watch it unless you hate everything, including yourself.



MisterSatan is always looking for suggestions for Movie Sadness, so if you have one, let him know.