Snob

Dorkly has an article that details the similarities between the TV shows Game of Thrones and Arrested Development. There are certainly a lot of them. Is this one of those uncanny resemblances or would you be able to draw the same comparisons between any two series with large casts? I’d love to hear from someone who is well familiar with both shows.

It's not the first time the comparison has come up. There’s an entire site devoted to matching dialogue from Arrested Development with Game of Thrones images called Arrested Westeros. That’s a site that almost requires you to follow both shows to get the joke.  

Hechizo total (Simon Hanselmann). Fulgencio Pimentel, 2014. Rústica. 19 x 26,5 cm. 176 págs. Color. 21,80 €

Supongo que como mucha otra gente, yo no sabía quién era Simon Hanselmann hasta que Fulgencio Pimentel anunció la publicación de su obra en castellano. Y resulta que Hanselmann es un autor australiano de treinta y pocos años que practica un underground ortodoxo en sus historias de Megg, Mogg y Búho, recopiladas en la edición española en un primer tomo titulado Hechizo total.

El plantel de personajes no tiene sentido, o sea que es un punto de partida perfecto, claro. Megg es una bruja de color verde, Mogg un gato parlante y Búho un búho antropomorfo. ¿Por qué el gato tiene pinta de gato y el búho parece un señor disfrazado? No importa. El mundo de Hechizo total es así, y de hecho hay más personajes raros, aunque también hay humanos más o menos normales. Todos viven en un suburbio típico australiano, que dibujado por Hanselmann tiene cierto halo extraño, de lugar indefinido, al menos cuando los personajes salen de casa, lo cual no sucede a menudo.

A pesar de estos mimbres, lo cierto es que el poso autobiográfico se atisba, y eso le da un calado a la serie más interesante, porque no es lo mismo reírse de ciertas cosas si te son ajenas que si te han sucedido. Este grupo de freaks marginales que sólo vive para drogarse, follar ocasionalmente —uno de los mayores logros de Hanselmann es que no nos extrañe ni repela ver a un gato acostándose con una mujer— y reírse de las putadas que, drogados, se hacen unos a otros. Han parado el tiempo y todos los días son ya iguales. Búho, por tener de vez en cuando remordimientos y querer escapar de esa vida, por medio de un trabajo o un ligue normal, es el más patético de todos, y Megg y Mogg se ceban con él. Nada importa, no hay salida. ¿Nihilismo? No lo creo; nihilismo era lo de Buddy Bradley, esto es otra cosa.

Tal vez de la misma forma en que artísticamente Hanselmann se sitúa casi en la posvanguardia, moralmente podamos colocarlo en un lugar equivalente. En Odio, Buddy entendía de política, y había reflexionado sobre muchas cuestiones: tras su escepticismo había ideología. Pero ni Megg ni Mogg parecen poder formular demasiados pensamientos coherentes, sensación que se refuerza por la narrativa de Hanselmann: poco texto, muchos primeros planos de los rostros, viñetas pequeñas y regulares… Casi parece que se han visto arrastrados a esta vida de ritmo perezoso y subsistencia precaria.

Hechizo total puede ser muy divertido; la competición de pies feos, la visita al videoclub, la historia de Peyote… Pero en la medida que los propios personajes se dan cuenta, en momentos puntuales, de su chunguez, también los lectores lo hacemos. Hay algunas historias que son directas y duras, y que, entre tanto cachondeo etílico, impactan mucho más, especialmente el último par de historias del libro. El retrato generacional no juzga, y por tanto no es moralista, pero sí pone las cartas sobre la mesa cuando hay que ponerlas. Y por la manera en que lo hace lo considero muy superior a otras historias de juventud, drogas y desenfreno que al final vienen a ser el mismo rollo paternalista de siempre —y lo dice alguien que lo más fuerte que se mete es una mirinda—. Hanselmann nunca llega a decirnos, explícita o implícitamente, que no nos droguemos. Solamente parece querer expresarse a través de sus tebeos, dar forma a lo que siente, usarlos, casi, de terapia.

En ese sentido, la facilidad y sencillez con la que plasma experiencias alucinógenas son admirables. Hanselmann tiene esa cualidad tan preciada en un historietista de hacer fácil lo difícil, y conseguir resultados sobresalientes como, por ejemplo, «Las uñas atascadas». Es uno de esos grandes dibujantes que parecen quitarse importancia deliberadamente, relajando las normas clásicas del dibujo porque puede permitírselo. Bajo su aparente sencillez, hay en Hechizo total algunas soluciones verdaderamente brillantes, y con esto me ha hecho pensar en Phoebe Gloeckner, otra dibujante mejor de lo que parece.

La edición de Fulgencio Pimentel tiene una cubierta osada y preciosa, y una traducción tan afinada y arriesgada como siempre, algo que creo que se ha convertido ya en una de sus señas de identidad. La recopilación está hecha con cabeza, y da forma a un libro al que uno tiene la necesidad de volver cada poco, para hojearlo, para leer una historia suelta, para reflejarse en esas miradas enturbiadas que nos lanzan Mogg, Búho o Megg. Hay algo en sus páginas que atrae y es difícil de explicar, a menos que lo llamemos…  hechizo.

Hace unos días, mientras caminaba de noche por la calle Montalbán, cerca del Retiro, una chica agarró del brazo a su amiga despistada. «¡Mira! ¡Se pueden ver las estrellas!». Y los que pasábamos por ahí levantamos la vista al cielo, algo extrañados. ¿Estrellas en Madrid? Qué cosas.

Esto es Madrid. Una ciudad donde se contemplan las estrellas con cierta extrañeza, como a ese pariente lejano al que solo ves en bautizos y comuniones.

Llevo diez años viviendo en Madrid. Conozco sus lunares, su olor, su luz, sus secretos y sus cambios de humor. Y hasta una vez vi a Victoria Beckham comiendo jamón. Y aun así hay veces en las que se me antoja como una completa desconocida. (Madrid, no Victoria Beckham). Como si acabara de poner el pie por primera vez en Gran Vía convencido de que a la vuelta de cualquier esquina me van a atracar.

La mejor época de Madrid empieza ahora, con la temporada de fresas, los días largos y las tardes con el cielo de color violáceo. Cuando se empieza a vivir más de noche que de día. El joven Pla, al llegar a Madrid, escribió que lo que más le había sorprendido había sido la ajetreada vida nocturna de la ciudad, hasta el punto de que tenía miedo de que cualquier día le citaran para una reunión de trabajo en el Café de Puerto Rico entre las tres y las cuatro de la mañana.

Una vez me dijeron que Madrid es como un cigarro que da placer, te va consumiendo poco a poco y no se apaga nunca.

Y creo que eso es lo más bonito que se puede decir de una ciudad.

Supongo que aún arde Madrid.

Ocho de la mañana

Despiértese pronto. No importan los excesos de la noche anterior. Madrid no tiene memoria. Quand on est jeune, on a les matins triomphants!

El amanecer en Madrid es un amanecer importante. Decía Luis Carandell que el amanecer de Madrid lo pintó Velázquez. Y el día, Goya. Las casas de los ricos, los jardines, los paseos, los edificios púbicos y los bares elegantes son de Velázquez. El Rastro, los mercados, la Casa de Campo, los domingos, la Puerta del Sol, San Blas, el metro y las tascas, de Goya.

Madrid debe de ser la ciudad en la que se consume más litros de café con leche per cápita del mundo. Y a pesar de esto, suele dejar bastante que desear. Hay una cortina de humo en torno a este hecho. A los madrileños no les gusta que se metan con su café. Pero es la cruda realidad. Los italianos residentes en Madrid sufren verdaderas penurias por el nefasto café que les sirven, a pesar de sus detalladas explicaciones a los camareros, y viven en un estado de permanente agonía. «¿Café? ¡Aceite de motor!» suelen gritar indignados con una mueca de espanto al ver una piscina de café lechoso desbordando su taza.

Pero no arroje la toalla. El mejor café lo puede encontrar en la calle La Palma, en Toma Café. No caben más de diez personas, huele siempre a mañana recién estrenada y la luz y la música suelen estar perfectamente moduladas. Además, la calle La Palma es una de mis favoritas de Madrid. No es la más guapa del mundo pero juro que es más guapa que cualquiera. Siempre que voy, silbo una canción de McEnroe. Reflejos pavlianos, supongo.

Caminando junto a ti,
amanecía ya en Madrid
por la calle La Palma.

Once de la mañana

A cinco minutos andando de Toma Café puede dejarse caer por dos de las mejores librerías que podrá encontrar: Panta Rhei y Tipos Infames.

En Panta Rhei puede perderse entre los libros más originales, bonitos y difíciles de encontrar. El paraíso de los buscadores de perlas.

Tipos Infames es una librería y vinoteca en la que uno, si se descuida, tiende a pasar mucho tiempo. Tal vez demasiado. Mezclar libros y vino en la misma tienda. No sé cómo no se le había ocurrido antes a nadie esta genial idea.

Un recorrido rápido pero de calidad por el Thyssen merece mucho la pena. El libro de su director, Guillermo Solana, con los cuadros del museo explicados a ritmo de tuit, puede ser una buena guía.

Una del mediodía

La hora del aperitivo. Al igual que el viejo pirata retirado de Conrad, que se conformaba con ver los barcos desde su hamaca en el puerto mientras soñaba con aventuras que ya nunca viviría, en Madrid, a falta de mar, nos anclamos en las barras y vemos la vida pasar mientras pimplamos como viejos corsarios. Sí, somos animales de barra. Nos gusta ese ambiente, comer de pie, las barras metálicas y las servilletas por el suelo.

Un lugar de obligado peregrinaje es El Cangrejero, enfrente de la Plaza de las Comendadoras, donde dicen que se tira la mejor cerveza de Madrid. Lleva funcionando desde 1932 y para conocer la edad de su mobiliario habría que seccionarlos transversalmente para contar sus anillos o someterlos a la prueba del carbono 14. Antiguamente vendían cangrejos vivos y cucuruchos con quisquillas y gambas. Ahora tienen las mejores conservas de la ciudad (altamente recomendables sus mejillones, las anchoas con alcaparras o la melva canutera) y sirven un vermú estupendo.

Otro sitio estupendo en el que hace parada y fonda es el Cisne Azul. Su especialidad son las setas. Siempre suele estar abarrotado de gente pidiendo sus boletus con zamburiñas, los níscalos con gulas o un plato de trompetas de los muertos.

La mejor ensaladilla rusa, tema muy delicado este y siempre objeto de virulentas disputas, la podrá encontrar en Rafa, fantástica barra con un producto excelente. Sitio clásico, con camareros extraordinariamente eficientes y discretos, como mercenarios a sueldo, vestidos siempre con impoluta chaqueta blanca y corbata oscura, y mucha solemnidad a la hora de servir la ensaladilla rusa. No es para menos.

Si lo que le apetece es un bloody mary con el que combatir los efectos de la resaca, el mejor de la ciudad lo preparan en La Bomba Bistró. El truco está en la salsa diablo. Combínelo con unas ostras guillerdeau al natural si se ven con espíritu. La mejor mezcla del mundo.

Cuatro de la tarde

Elija el sitio preciso, la baldosa exacta, de la calle Alcalá, entre el Banco de España y el Círculo de Bellas Artes, desde donde se ve empezar la Gran Vía, como un costurón surcando la piel de Madrid. Y quédese un momento contemplándola.

Antonio López tardó en pintarla cinco veranos. Bien merece la pena dedicarle cinco minutos.

Seis de la tarde

Si el tiempo acompaña, darse una vuelta por El Retiro, rematando con un refrigerio en La Latina tras gastar suela, siempre es un plan imbatible. El Viajero y Juana la Loca son paradas fundamentales en La Latina para el pertinente avituallamiento y descanso del guerrero.

Nueve de la noche

Si el hambre aprieta, pueden ir a probar los tacos más auténticos en la Taquería Mi Ciudad. Esto me lo soplaron en el jardín del Celler de Can Roca, mientras esperaba a sentarme a comer un día de Navidad. Y ahí fui tan pronto como volví a Madrid. Y me enamoré. Se trata de un local diminuto, siempre abarrotado y extremadamente barato en el que los tacos van y vienen a un ritmo vertiginoso. La Taquería Mi Ciudad corre en dirección opuesta de palabras como refinamiento, comodidad o sofisticación pero sus tacos y sus margaritas hablan por sí solos.

Un sitio divertido y canalla. Un sitio de Madrid.

Medianoche

Lo más bonito que se ha escrito de un bar fue este haiku asonatado que Luis Alberto de Cuenca dedicó a Balmoral cuando cerró sus puertas.

Se nos salía
el amor por el borde
de nuestras copas.

Un trago rápido y letal. Como un dry martini. Como un cuchillo disuelto, que diría Alcántara.

Mientras los noctívagos guardan luto por el cierre de Balmoral y se santiguan al ver el Museo Chicote agonizando y el viejo Shuzo recién retirado, siguen en permanente búsqueda de nuevos guaridas y cuarteles generales en los que echar los tragos. La coctelería Santamaría nunca falla. Es un valor refugio. Estupendo su gin fizz con clara de huevo. Martínez es otro de los más frecuentados. El Cock, con ese aire a salón de club londinene y sus techos altísimos, es una de las paradas obligatorias. «El Cock es algo más que una búsqueda postrera del alma, es el último refugio espirituoso de Madrid» escribía Jorge Berlanga. El 1862 Dry Bar en la siempre fascinante, divertida y ruidosa calle Pez. Si quieren un sitio tranquilo, semiclandestino y en el que incluso poder comprar los mejores destilados blancos, vodka y ginebra, su sitio es Adam & Van Eekelen.

Las cuatro de la mañana

El Toni 2 es donde acaban todas las balas perdidas de la ciudad. Este piano bar tiene un toque decadente de Las Vegas, trazas de coctelería clásica y ciertas reminiscencias de karaoke, empapado todo en alcohol. Y por eso nos encanta. Sobra mucha luz en el local y el pianista no se sabe canciones de Loquillo. Pero es donde los que no llegamos a crooners jugamos a emular a Sinatra.

Las seis de la mañana

Silencio, luz difusa, despedidas, papeles, ceniza y polvo.

Subirse el cuello del abrigo, buscar las llaves y tiempo de batirse en retirada.

Y, si tiene suerte, de encontrar alguna estrella.

Creo que he encontrado el espécimen más peculiar de webcamer porno. Esta señorita de generoso pecho y melena rojiza tiene 26 años, es italiana y su fetichismo por lo vampírico es quizá lo menos extraño en ella. La tipa luce una bandera alemana tatuada en el hombro y una estrella judía de David a la espalda, y las siglas WTF en hebreo, y sus shows van de la mera masturbación a beberse su orina con su leche materna o hacer malabarismos de faquir con un condón en las fosas nasales. Un encanto de chica.

MinutePhysics explains how, no matter how bad your eyesight is, you can see things properly focused, by basically using your hands to create a small pinhole and looking through it.

Mr. Lovenstein

Depressed Alien

By J. F. Sargent  Published: April 29th, 2014  The best part of adapting a pre-existing story into a movie is that you've already got a whole bunch of fans who are pretty much guaranteed to buy tickets (yay!). The worst part is that you have to stick to the ideas that already existed in the origi

An Inside Look at the Making of Wes Anderson's 'The Grand Budapest Hotel'

Larry Tamblyn is one of the original members of the Standells, a group that recorded what many consider to be the first punk song, “Dirty Water,” a 1965 ditty about how Boston is a shit hole. Larry is a great guy who grew up in LA in a showbiz family—his brother Russ was a movie star who appeared in West Side Story, The Boy with Green Hair, Gun Crazy, and alongside Elizabeth Taylor in Father of the Bride. Russ also choreographed Elvis Presley in Jailhouse Rock, which led to Larry obtaining the King’s home phone number, making him extremely popular with the girls at school.

In honor of the Standells spring 2014 tour, Larry and I chatted on the phone about band’s roller-coaster ride of a career. If you’ve never seen the Standells live, write down the tour date that’s closest to your house and then go see them play. You’ll be glad you did.

THE GIANT RAT OF SUMATRA

I was a graduate of Polytechnic High School in Sun Valley, California, and shortly after I graduated I was introduced to a couple of guys, Tony Valentino and Jody Rich. We formed this group. I came up with the name Standells because we were hitting a lot of booking agent’s—and doing a lot of standing around, ha, ha, ha, and that’s how the name arrived:

So we finally found a booking agency and the first major gig they got us was at the Oasis Club in Hawaii. It was me, Tony, Jody, and a 15-year-old kid named Benny King. It was my first time away from home really. I was 19 at the time and it was quite an experience. The Standells alternated with a complete Japanese floor show that had comedians, musicians, dancers—and the Standells came on right after the stripper.

The stripper’s name was Mickey Moto—they brought all the entertainers in from Japan, and I learned years later that that they were using the girls as hookers. The club would lock them into their apartment and we would sneak them out and get them into our rooms, ya know? It was really a high for us to be able to sneak the girls out [laughs].

We were over at the Oasis Club for four months. During that time we went through a lot of transformations—the most dramatic one being that Jody, who was this little guy and the brains of the outfit—turned into this Napoleonic type of character.

Jody was about eight years older than the rest of us, and he was married. He was really jealous of the three of us because we had a lot of girls running in and out of our apartment on Waikiki Beach. Jody didn’t have a lot of the freedoms that we did, and he seemed to want to punish us. So he clamped down on us and implemented a curfew for us to be in at a certain time every night and he made us spit shine his shoes. It was awful!

Tony and I roomed together and Jody and Benny roomed together, and we used to bring girls up there all the time—but the problem was is we found out we had another tenant there—a rat. And he’d always make his appearance when we had girls over, and I’m not exaggerating—he’d always come right out when the girls were there—and they’d scream and run out of the apartment. So you can just imagine how pissed off we were at this rat, ya know? Not so much for eating our food, but for scaring the chicks away.

We finally named the rat Fred, because Fred rhymes with dead, as in, “Fred you’re gonna be dead.”

Anyway, this went on for a good month where Fred would make his appearance and just chase the girls away. So one night, at about two o’clock in the morning, I came back and turned on the radio and Fred must have thought we had girls over there because he kept running out. But this time there was no distraction—and I proceeded to chase him around the apartment and finally he runs into the bathroom and he gets to the tub and he can’t go anyplace—so he turns around and I am kneeling down, in my skivvies with a butcher knife and I’m looking at this rodent and all the sudden he flashes his incisors at me and I go, “WHOA!”

So I back out, and I leave the door cracked open a little bit so I can watch Fred while I’m rethinking my strategy. So there’s a Kleenex box next to the toilet and he jumps inside the Kleenex box—and I go running in, grab the Kleenex box with Fred in it and throw it in the toilet. Now I’m looking at him and saying, “Have you suffered enough or what? Hasn’t this been a great pay-back? We’ve tortured you, like you’ve tortured us!”

Well Fred looked up at me with these really sad eyes and I’m thinking, “You know what? As much as he’s done, I can’t do this—I can’t kill ‘em.” So I grabbed a towel and went in and grabbed Fred and took him a good distance from the apartment and let him loose. I never saw him again, but boy, I could sense his presence on several occasions when we had chicks at the apartment!

Anyway, as time went on, Jody just started going crazier and crazier—he would take amphetamines and stay up all night and come up with these insane ideas about doing songs and they didn’t jive, ya know? So what happened was—Jody was high on Bennies and he had long since just intimidated the poor drummer, really browbeat him until he went home to his parents. So we had to get a drummer and actually we got the drummer from the Japanese show, he did double duty. And as Jody was getting more and more difficult—he was just impossible—and one night he blew up and he fired Tony and me.

So we said, “Okay,” ya know?

Basically, what he was doing was firing himself, because he no longer had a band. So what was he gonna do? Jody got back with us, but he didn’t apologize or anything, he just said, “Well let’s just stick it out…”

And we did, but as soon as we got back in the States, we parted ways with Jody.

THE MUNSTERS

When we got back to the States, we reformed the group and brought in Gary Leeds and Garry Lane to replace Jody Rich and Benny King. Then we started playing in this nightclub in Hollywood called the Peppermint West. The club was kind of a franchise of the Peppermint Lounge in New York, and then Gary Leeds left us—he gave us some bullshit story about how he was trapped and was going into the army. But that was nonsense—he formed a bunch of groups before he became “Gary Walker” in the Walker Brothers.

So when Gary left, we auditioned drummers, but none of them were quite the right, until this young punk came walking by the name of Dick Dodd. Dick was with a couple of surf groups and he heard about Gary leaving the Standells and he came in and auditioned for us. We’d heard he was a former Mousekeeter, ya know, on the Mickey Mouse Club on TV and he really got razzed about that. But then he sat down behind the drums and just blew us away with his drumming. Then he sang—and that even blew me away more! I just said, “WOW!”

Dick had all of two weeks to catch up, learn our material and he did a great job. But he was kind of a young punk; he had a bit of an attitude, with a lot that punk style, before there was even a name for it. But we razzed him about being a Mouseketeer before we heard him play, and he was pretty embarrassed about it, but he wasn’t a regular on the Mickey Mouse Club. Interestingly, there was another guy on that show by the name of Jimmy Dodd and people thought he was a relative, but Dick wasn’t. They just happened to have the same last name. Coincidently, I also became friends with Cubby O’Brien—who was a regular Mouseketeer on the Mickey Mouse Club—and was also a great drummer. Cubby sat in with me one night and played drums way back when in the 50s—so the Mickey Mouse Club provided the world with a lot of drummers, ha, ha, ha!

So we razzed Dick about being a Mouseketeer until he sat down behind the drums and man, did he kick ass, our mouths dropped open. He was so good!

Dick was such a good singer that that he kind of overshadowed me there for a little while, but that was okay. I was always looking out for what was best for the group. I did almost all the lead singing on our first album, The Standells in Person at PJ’s, and Dick sang a couple of songs on that—“What Have I Got On My Own,” and “Help Yourself,” which got some airplay as well, ya know?  

We did The Munsters back in 1965 before we were ever had a hit record, and, by then, the Beatles had hit big and the producers were looking for a group like the Beatles to be on the TV show. For me, doing The Munsters was the biggest thrill ever, cause I was a fan of The Munsters, I used to watch it every week! I loved that show!

Originally were gonna have us be a fictional group, but then decided that they’d just use the Standells name. It’s probably one of the most famous Munsters episodes ever and we played ourselves and we got more notoriety from that show than “Dirty Water,” cause it’s just constantly coming up.

The plot of the episode was this big rock group, “The Standells,” wanted to find a place to get hide from our fans, so we picked the Munsters home on 1313 Mocking Bird Lane because it was already run-down and we were getting charged too much money for destroying hotel rooms.

So the Munsters rent their place out to our manger and go check into a hotel for the weekend—and we move in and decide to throw a party with a bunch of hippies—but of course, they’re a bunch of beatniks really, they made them look more like beatniks than hippies, ha, ha, ha! As I said, this was 1965, and hippies weren’t as well defined then as they would later become.

One guy was playing the bongo drums, and they’re doin’ poetry; I mean, that was beatnik, rather than hippie!

So Munsters get worried about their home and decide to come back and check on us, they find there’s this big, wild party that’s going on and they’re outraged! The Munsters come in and are really going to let us have it—but they’re welcomed instead of frightening everybody. That was the twist—that everybody loved ‘em and Herman was referred to as “The Jolly Green Giant.”

So Herman Munster was asked to get up and do a poem and he got up and it was just the most ludicrous thing you’ve ever heard, since he made it up as he went along. But they had the camera on us and we had to all look like we were just really into what Herman was saying.

Actually both Herman and Lily Munster were asked to contribute something to the “hippie” party, and Lily actually sang with her own voice. Yvonne De Carlo, who played Lily, was a big Broadway star and she had a great voice. Both Herman and Lily, played by Fred Gwynne and Yvonne De Carlo were just really wonderful. Fred Gwynne was terrific, you find that a lot of established actors are really good people, ya know?

But we did not pick out the songs on The Munsters, they told us what songs to sing, and a lot of comments were made about the fact that we did, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” but that was their decision, not ours! Although we loved the Beatles dearly, it was just an odd thing to do another groups song, but we did it—plus another song that was written by Pat and Molly Vegas, “Everybody Ringo,” another song that referenced the Beatles, cause everyone was crazy for them.

I had a speaking line on that episode where I was meeting with our manger and they wanted me to eat a banana for some reason at the same time. Somehow the banana and me just didn’t jive, and I just couldn’t get through the lines. It got so to where I was putting the banana, not in my mouth, but on my nose, ya know? I probably went though at least half a dozen bananas before we finally got that scene done and I was really sick that night.

I'M GONNA TELL YOU A STORY ABOUT MY TOWN

When we met our producer, Ed Cobb, he really seemed to have a feel for what we were into, so he collaborated with us. Ed had this song that he wrote and he presented it to us, but we weren’t too impressed with it. It was called, “Dirty Water,” and it was just a standard love song, ya know, a 32 bar blues song.

I never heard directly from Ed what the song was about. He was very private and didn’t talk a lot about personal things, but we heard though a lot of people that he had actually gone to Boston and gotten mugged there, as the story goes, and he wrote about it, so that’s what “Dirty Water” was about.

So we said, “We’ll tell ya what, Ed: let us take it and work with it and rearrange it.”

And so we came up with all these things. What really made it a hit was the guitar riff that Tony came up with that starts the song off—that famous guitar riff that everybody knows. And Dick Dodd actually wrote a lot of the lyrics—he wrote all of the famous asides like, “I’m gonna tell you a story about my town, I’m gonna tell you a big fat story baby…” He wrote all that—but none of us got any writing credit!

Then Ed Cobb listed his friend, Lincoln Mayorga, as doing the musical arrangements on the record, and didn’t list us! And Lincoln never set foot in the studio! Except, back then, it wasn’t a studio, it was a garage. It was Armon Snyder’s first studio that he built in his garage, and it was a funky place with fiberglass on the walls that weren’t covered. We recorded it on three track and we ping-ponged all of the instruments. You know what ping ponging is?

Ping-ponging is when you play back one track and you record along with it onto another track, so all the instruments were doubled. And the second time though, Dick actually played mallets on the bass drum, so that’s why we had that wonderful base drum sound. Then we added the background vocals and the lead vocal so it was all done on three tracks, in a garage and thus, “garage rock” was born. Armon Snyder had more hits out of that garage—Paul Revere & the Raiders early stuff was done there and a bunch of other 60s groups.

About a month or so after we finished recording the single, Dick Dodd left the Standells. I can’t tell you why he left the group, I guess he wasn’t too happy with the way we sounded, and he was always complaining about Tony Valentine’s guitar playing. I don’t even think he even told me he was leaving. He told one of the other guys, I don’t remember him telling me directly. He joined some other rock group called the Ravens, and whatever they were doing was where his head was at.

See, after we recorded it, we completely forgot about “Dirty Water,” we just thought it was going to be another recording. We had no idea it would take off like it did and it wasn’t until months later—about nine months later—that the song really started getting action. It was sometime around late 1965 or early 1966 that the song started getting radio airplay—and as soon as it started getting attention, of course Dick wanted back in the group.

I’d brought Dewey Martin in to replace Dick Dodd, and Dewey had a great voice—a real ballsy voice. Dewey would later become famous as Buffalo Springfield’s drummer, and I really liked him, but the other two guys in the band didn’t care for him that much. So the other guys were happy to have Dick back because they didn’t like Dewy. But I wasn’t happy to have Dick back because there was all this kind of animosity between him and the guitar player and I didn’t wanna be in the middle of it anymore. And Dick always seemed to have an attitude about something. Even though later Dick became my very good friend, back then it was kind of tough, because he really had this punk attitude—so I wasn’t really glad to see him back.

I had to tell Dewey that Dick was coming back. I said, “You know Dick’s on the record, and “Dirty Water’s” starting to happen,” and that he was out of the group. Dewey was pretty cool about it. So he left and Dick was there the following night. So it worked out.

We were playing at a nightclub in San Jose when all of this went down, the club was a biker bar and it was kind of a wild place—there would be fist fights every night. And the president of the local chapter of the Hell’s Angels in San Jose was in there every night with his fellow gang members—and he and I became friends. Believe it or not, the president’s name was “Fuckup,” and how I happened to become friends with him is that I saved him one night from getting hit over the head with a beer bottle. There was a fight one night—there were fights there every night—but on this night I got Fuckup’s attention before this guy was going to hit him over the head with a beer bottle.

So Fuckup and I became friends and he gave me his business card that actually said, “Fuckup, Hell’s Angels,” and he said if you ever get into any trouble you just show this card. So I put his card in my wallet and forgot about it. Well, years later, I was standing outside of a recording studio and a couple of these biker chicks came up and started hassling me. I thought they were going to roll me, they were big chicks—they were tough biker chicks and I didn’t know what to do, ya know?

So I pulled out Fuckup’s card and I showed it to ‘em and they just bowed down; they were in awe! Fuckup, he was a legend to other bikers! So instead of instead of mugging me these girls became my friends! That was my “Get-Out-of-Jail-Free” card!

TOURING WITH THE STONES

I think we were in LA we heard “Dirty Water” the first time on the radio. No, I take it back; we were on tour back east when we heard it. See, it went to Number One in Florida—in Orlando and then straight from there to Miami and that’s where it started getting noticed. It wasn’t even on the charts yet, hardly. So we went from playing the Esquire Club in Seattle, ya know, we went from playing gig to gig—to arriving in Orlando on a plane with a screaming mob of teenagers waiting for us.

You talk about a shift, I mean, we went, “WOW! Are they here for us?”

They were all screaming, tons of kids and disk jockeys waiting for us and that was quite something. We toured up and down Florida: Miami, Orlando, Jacksonville—I mean all over the place. The highest “Dirty Water” showed on the Billboard Charts was Number Eight, but there were other magazines at that time that showed it higher, like Cash Box showed it as Number Eight too, but Record World showed it as Number One. They all just had different ways of measuring sales.

The single of “Dirty Water” was recorded in 1965 and the Standells album, Dirty Water, was recorded in 1966. See, when “Dirty Water” started rising on the national charts—it broke in Miami, and then spread from one state to the next, so it was then decided that we had to have an album to capitalize on the success of the single.

So Ed Cobb flew up to Seattle where we recorded the Dirty Water album. We hadn’t recorded with him since the single, so we were glad to see him. We went into Kearny Barton’s Audio Recording Studio in Seattle, the famous studio where some of the Sonics records were recorded. We did the Standells first album in about three days and it was probably a four track studio. We were presented with a lot of the songs by local artists like Jim Valley, who wrote “Little Sally Tease” and eventually joined Paul Revere & the Raiders.

Once “Dirty Water” became a hit, we toured with both Paul Revere and the Raiders and the Rolling Stones—and the Stones were a great group back then and one of my favorites. We flew in this charter airline with the Stones and the plane could have flown without the engines because they were so high. The Stones really lived up to their bad-boy of rock ‘n’ roll image, especially Mick Jagger, I’m surprised he’s lived this long.

On one of those flights we were up around twenty thousand feet, in a two-engine jet, and the pressure window on the plane cracked. You never saw a bunch of guys that were so stoned sober up so fast! The pilot put the plane into a steep dive, at about a 45-degree angle, because the air pressure dropped—and I wasn’t frightened as much as amused—as I watched the Stones sober up real quick.

We did some concerts in stadiums with the Stones where the kids just went wild. In fact, they had riots at the Boston concert that we did with them. The Stones were up there playing and the crowd started rushing he stage and the security people fired tear gas at the kids and it was pretty scary. That was probably scarier than when the plane went into that steep dive.

And we were caught right in the middle of this riot!

We had to cut the concert short and we were on the bus—the Stones had a limousine—but the rest of us were on buses. It was the Standells, the McCoys and the Tradewinds who were on that tour with the Stones—and we had to drive through that tear gas—and I wanna tell you that was pretty potent stuff. It was like a warzone.

When the Stones flew, they were just alone with the roadies. They never brought along girls, but they certainly had a number of them waiting for them at the different stops. There were literally thousands of groupies running around the halls of our hotels—and, as a matter of fact, we used to call it the “Groupie Stampede!” You could here their little feet running after us, like “Chhhssssss,” so getting girls for anybody was not a problem cause they pretty much threw themselves at the groups. So there was never a case where they took one of those girls with them on tour.

I was invited to dinner with Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Brian Jones one night and they ordered these London steak dinners, but I was still in my 20s and I used to pour ketchup on everything. So we’re all sitting around their hotel room and they brought the food in and I asked for some ketchup and poured it on my steak. Mick Jagger just looked at me and said, “Fuckin’ Yank!”

But the three of them pretty much kept to themselves. I was a lot closer to Charlie Watts and Bill Wyman. And I was a lot closer to the McCoy’s, who had a hit with “Hang On Sloopy.” One time when we were on tour, we went to New York and we thought we’d buy some new outfits at this store in Greenwich Village. So we went into the store and we said we’re looking for some outfits, and the clerk grabbed some suits and said, “I have the perfect thing, these just came in.”

And we said, “Did any other rock group get these suits?”

The guy said, “Oh no, you’ll be the only ones. These are all we have.” So we bought them and we board the plane and in walks the McCoy’s with the same suits! I was good friends with Rick Derringer and Randy, so we arranged for a schedule where we’d wear the suit jackets one day and they would wear them the next.

It was on that Stones tour, where we went from rioting, screaming crowds, with teenagers running up on the stage and trying to grab at you—and then we played in Salt Lake City, Utah, and as radical as those wild shows were, this was completely opposite. The Stones were met with polite applause and Mick Jagger started cussing the audience, saying, “Fuckin’ Mormons!” Yeah, he was really pissed off about it, because his whole act was very sexual. I know that he would put something down his pants to make him look like he had a lot more equipment than he did.

TRY IT

“Try It,” was about our fourth recording, it was right after we did “Riot On Sunset Strip” and Billboard Magazine had picked it to be our next big hit. We thought for sure it was going to climb the charts, but right about that time, this man from Texas, by the name of Gordon McClendon, who was the owner of radio station KLIS and a big company that programmed for a number of radio stations, decided to form this committee to judge record lyrics and for some reason he picked out song “Try It” for being obscene and encouraging young girls to have sex.

Gordon was very conservative, and a born-again Christian, I believe, and he went on national campaign about our record “Try It,” saying, “This record is a classic example of what we call obscene, and we’re not going to play it on any of our stations and we advise other radio stations not to play it as well.”

That stopped the record dead cold, it mean it was number one on a lot of markets and all the sudden they refused to play it anymore. In Los Angeles for instance, it was number one on KLRA, and KHJ refused to play it—so it stopped our song dead in it’s tracks. I mean, it was probably no more encouraging to a girl to have sex than “I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” ya know? The lyrics were, “By the way that you look I can tell that you want some action / Action is my middle name / Come over here pretty girl I’ll give you satisfaction / But two are needed for this game / I’ll give you sweet love you’ve never had before.”

How tame is that?

At this time, Art Linkletter had a TV show called House Party and he had a segment on it called “Let’s Talk,” where he’d have on different factions debating each other on issues and had the Standells on debating Gordon McClendon. We were really pissed, to say the least because we thought it was going to be a hit record, and so did everybody else and we were just beside ourselves. Anyway, Art Linkletter heard about him banning our record and decided to have us on the show debating McClendon and we were pretty well prepared and we went on the show. They had this debate at the Hullabaloo Club, which was a big teenage nightclub that was very popular back then and later became the Aquarius Theater, and we used to play there with the Buffalo Springfield and other groups.

The place was chocked full of teenagers; so you couldn’t ask for a better audience for the Standells. Word got out to all those kids, I don’t know how, maybe through our manager about some of Gordon’s misdeeds and during the debate, somebody would shout out, “What about the baseball games, McClendon?”

And his face would get all red because it was known that his radio station did “live” broadcasts of baseball games that the announcer’s didn’t even go to. So we massacred him in this debate, and literally made him look like the fool that he was, because it was so ludicrous. We brought up the fact that the Rolling Stones had “Let’s Spend The Night Together,” what does that mean, ya know? But I really got him when I said, “What about the song ‘Birds Do It, Bees Do It’? What does that mean?”

Immediately everybody roared, and I said, “What are they referring to, ‘Birds do it, bees do it, let’s fall in love?’”

He couldn’t answer that, of course, but they cut that out in the editing, but everyone who was in the audience knew we massacred him. I mean his face was red throughout most of it. He came marching in the building with what looked like Secret Service Agents surrounding him, all these guy dressed in suits with the ear pieces, an army of bodyguards.

But it was all for naught, the record was destroyed—people just wouldn’t play it even though it was selling, and, I think, that was probably the beginning of the end for The Standells.

 

Catch the Standells on tour this spring:

4/27- Tremont Music Hall – Charlotte, NC 
4/28 – Local 506 – Chapel, Hill, NC
4/29 – Black Cat – Washington, DC
4/30 – BB King's – Lucille’s - 2 shows – New York City, NY
5/2 - Open Arts Stage - Bordentown, NJ
5/3 - Brighton Bar - Long Branch, NJ
5/4 – Iron Horse Music Hall – North Hampton, MA
5/5 – Brighton Music Hall – Boston, MA
5/6 - Cafe Nine - New Haven CT
5/7 - The Brickhouse - Dover, NH
5/8 – Lovin Cup – Rochester, NY
5/10 – Beachland Tavern – Cleveland, OH
5/11 – The Magic Bag – Ferndale (Detroit), MI
5/13 – Mayne Stage – Chicago, IL
5/14 – Shank Hall – Milwaukee, WI
5/16 – Knickerbockers – Lincoln, NE
5/18 – Herman’s Hideaway – Denver, CO
5/21 – Cheyenne Saloon – North Las Vegas, NV

 

Back in 1975, Legs McNeil co-founded Punk magazine, which is part of the reason you even know what that word means. He also wrote Please Kill Me, which basically makes him the Studs Terkel of punk rock. In addition to his work as a columnist for VICE, he continues to write for his personal blog, PleaseKillMe.com. You should also follow him on Twitter: @Legs__McNeil.

Previously: Scott Asheton, Iggy Pop's Brother in Noise

 

Las muertes son parte muy importante de Juego de Tronos, la serie de televisión que en estos momentos tiene más fans en todo el planeta Tierra.

El canal HBO, que emite esta serie, ha pedido al ilustrador Robert M. Ball y a su equipo del estudio 360i que dibujen las muertes más significativas de las casi cuatro temporadas que lleva la serie. Episodio por episodio, podéis rememorar los momentos más sangrientos de esta producción.

The post Las mejores muertes de Juego de Tronos, ilustradas appeared first on Teenage Thunder.

by Judith Dry

What makes a cult classic? A critically panned movie that garners a small but devoted following and rides that wave all the way to a revered place in film history. But why do we name it a “cult” classic? As far as I know (and I would), there are no meetings of the cult of Barbarella, unless you count every Duran Duran concert. (Little known fact: the band is named after Barbarella’s evil nemesis, Dr. Durand Durand.) My favorite “cult classics” could more accurately be named “camp classics”: meaning films that feature over the top satire and sport low production budgets with offbeat and often bizarre humor.

Though Ryan Murphy and RuPaul are keeping camp alive and kicking on television, theirs are bubble gum versions of camp’s greasepaint grassroots. Somewhere along the way from Stonewall to same sex marriage, gayness shed the stigma that made it so dangerous to put on a pair of size 12 high heels. With that, popular culture lost the kind of winking inside jokes and subversive humor that elevated camp classics to cult status. In 1999, Vermont became the first state to legalize civil unions between same sex couples. The decade leading up to that historic moment marks the last time moviemakers had to find creative ways to skirt around gayness. Which is why I nurse an embarrassing nostalgia for late ‘80s and early ‘90s comedies, the last of the low down and dirty camp films worthy of reaching cult status.

Of course, camp in the form of drag has been around a long time: in early comedies such as in Sylvia Scarlett and Some Like it Hot, and later in Victor/Victoria and Tootsie. At the same time, drag was often a villain’s trait as in Psycho, Dressed to Kill, and Silence of the Lambs. The New Queer Cinema emerged in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, led by a new generation of gay filmmakers like Derek Jarman, Greg Araki, Todd Haynes, Jennie Livingston, and Gus Van Sant. The New Queer Cinema was like the Prague Spring of the AIDS crisis: gay artists who had spent most of the ‘80s either dying or fighting the Reagan administration’s outright ignoring of the epidemic were finally free to create again. Indie hits like My Own Private Idaho, Poison, and Paris is Burning led the way for mainstream Hollywood to embrace out gay characters. Hollywood began making campy comedies featuring non-threatening gay characters who laughed at themselves first: Mrs. Doubtfire, The Birdcage, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, and its American remake To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar.

Wherever camp goes, queer follows. Queerness can pop up in the strangest places, but Disney’s track record is pretty good. Like in that shining example of an ‘80s camp classic, Disney’s Who Framed Roger Rabbit?. Ostensibly a children’s movie, it contained plenty of adult jokes and embraced subversive views on sexuality. The screenwriters were either oblivious or geniuses to have pulled this one over on Disney. Perhaps no one who made that film knows just how queer it is. The film stars once overlooked character actor Bob Hoskins as Eddie Valiant, a grizzled private eye hiding a heart of gold whose drinking has stalled his once thriving career. He lives in an alternate Hollywood that borders ‘Toontown, where ‘toons are actors with real lives offscreen. Eddie hates ‘toons (“‘toon killed his brother”), but is forced to work with Roger Rabbit. What begins as a simple case of a two-timing broad turns into a farcical whodunit with Roger as the patsy.

There’s nothing campier than genre parody, and ‘toon noir is a great combination. Noir is exploited for its melodramatic campiness; a haunting horn plays as Eddie pours over photos of his dead brother, tips a few and face plants onto his Murphy bed. His fast talking moll, Dolores, is a bartender who packs a revolver. Camp can be an invaluable way to lampoon society, do it playfully enough and the viewer won’t realize until the lesson has been learned. Who Framed Roger Rabbit? uses ‘toons as proxies for the downtrodden. ‘Toons, like queers and people of color, are disrespected and made to work for (actual) peanuts, but they get to stick around Hollywood because they make money, like freaks in a freak show.

The most exploited ‘toon is Jessica Rabbit, arguably the sexiest cartoon in history (“I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way”). She is a highly stylized, hyper-feminized, carefully constructed exaggeration of the ideal woman. In other words, a drag queen. On top of that, Jessica has chosen the goofy Roger Rabbit as her beloved husband. Eddie reminds us that nobody sees what she sees in him when, mouth agape as she and her curves slink onstage, he asks incredulously: “That’s the rabbit’s wife?” Like queer people, Jessica doesn’t conform to society’s expectations for her sexuality. She explains to Eddie that she loves Roger because he makes her laugh. Perhaps the queerest — and by extension, campiest — thing this film asks the viewer to imagine is Roger and Jessica engaging in their preferred form of foreplay: patty-cake. If that’s the fore, what must the play look like?

Detractors will say anything can be interpreted to achieve a desired outcome. Those are the Michael Eisners of the world, living out their boring lives without ever donning those queer-colored glasses that show one the infinite spectrum of love and color. Isn’t it more fun to join the ranks of the perverted and enlightened, winking knowingly at Roger Rabbit, the schlubby little bunny who’s schtupping the most buxom dame in all of ‘Toontown?

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Anne Gus here, and unlike you I’m creative.

A few nights ago I was getting a couple of classy drinks with a few gurlfrrraands. Gemma was there, cuz Mae Bae Lynn and Jane have kinda started talking to her again (um ewww!?). Anyways we started talking about our Nice Guys, how many we have, what we can get them to, like, do for us, etc. or whatever. It got kinda like competitive, cuz we all wanted to prove that we had the best Nice Guys and stuff.

Anyways, this totes got me thinking about creative ways to get the most out of your Nice Guys. So yeah, here you go bitches.

1. Get A Free Ride

Need to get to this totes banging party but you don’t have a car and can’t be bothered to walk (it’s 2014, who walks anymore anyways)? Call up one of your Nice Guys and get it to give you a ride. It’ll be really happy to drive you, but just to make it even more excited, throw in a kissy face emoticon, that way it’ll think it might get lucky. If it tries to get into the party with you, just wave it away and go in and get FUCKED UP yourself. You’re totally worth it.

2. Venting

Okay so naughty-licious Tyrone or the totally hawt Jason guy, who’s been in prison TWICE (OMG<3), is being a total douche and not returning your calls or whatever. You’re like so emotional right now, and you’re making sure everyone knows it, but they like don’t even seem to care. Why not use one of your Nice Guys to vent, and totally get it all out of your system? I have all of mine in a group of contacts on my phone and there’s one Guy I saved as VENT, (I can’t remember its real name lol) cuz it totally listens to my problem and is really sweet. When you’re done just, like hang up and watch Pretty Little Liars; you’ll feel SO much better.

3. A Fine Dining Experience

Related Thought

Why Do Nice Guys Get Friend Zoned?

It's a question that too many guys end up asking.

Are you a little short on paper but want a luxurious meal that you know you’re entitled to as a strong, independent woman in her 20s? Go through your texts and Facebook messages and look for the best offer from a Nice Guy. You’ll probably have a few hundred from the past week, but it’s totally worth it to be REALLY thorough because sometimes when I’ve like just been ready to reply to a Guy, I’ve discovered an invitation to an even more expensive restaurant in another inbox. When you’ve picked the restaurant you like best, just like reply, and they’ll come pick you up. During dinner they can be like really creepy and give you compliments and stuff, just try to ignore them altogether and focus on your DELISH oysters. Afterwards they might get really creepy and try to kiss you at your doorstep, so like be ready to get inside as fast as possible. I got around 70 Nice Guys in my current inner orbit, so I never have to go hungry. lol.

4. The Purchase of Contraceptive Precautionary Matériel AKA Rubbers

So you got this hot date with a cute and totally naughty boy who makes you totally melt, but like you don’t want to get pregnant and look totally bloated, so you need to buy condoms. You know boys NEVER have them, so you’re gonna have to get them yourself. Gooosh, that’s SO embarrassing, going into the store yourself and shit. Fret not ladies, a White Knight is nigh #Shake-a-spear #intellectualgirl. Send a Nice Guy a text telling it to buy condoms for tonight. They get really excited by this. Trust me. Then tell it to come to your place, pick you up and drive you to the location where the hot boy lives. At this time they usually seem a bit confused, it’s totes adorable. When you arrive, just go up and let the hot boy bang your brains out. Sometimes the Nice Guys stay for a bit, really confused and other times they run away like sad, haha it’s so cute.

5. Totally Cute Gifts

My girlfriends and I agree that this is one of the absolute best uses of your Nice Guys. Did you see a cute pair of shoes, a totally chic top, or a MUST-HAVE necklace? Call one of your Nice Guys. Make sure you pick the old ones, like 28-year-olds, cuz they have more dough, then have a shopping day. They’ll get you anything you point at if you touch them enough on their shoulders, (I know they’re icky, but dat Sace bag doe). I don’t feel the need to say more about this one.

Related Thought

Why Do Girls Not Like Nice Guys?

These girls hate it when guys try to make plans with them and constantly compliment them on their personalities.  Just let that sink in for a moment...

So there you have it, an essential guide for all strong independent ladies out there on how to turn that mass of faceless, nameless nobodies into something good in your life. Just be wary of NGMs, “Nice Guy Meltdowns.” Almost all Nice Guys have an expiration date; how long they last depends entirely on their quality. NGMs will involve them calling you, yelling “you’re a bitch, I’ve done everything for you,” and crying. This is where you end ALL contact; that cow is milked dry, so to speak. Just get a new one. Lol. Sometimes a Nice Guy might get a little uppity, but never let it objectify you. You’re better than that.

Lastly, just have fun girls, live laugh love.

What do you use your Nice Guys for, any tips? Tweet under #NiceGuyUses

Alas! Although Ser Pounce’s appearance on this Sunday’s “Game of Thrones” was met with great happiness and joy, it seems the regal feline–whom the deceased King Joffrey once threatened to skin–will not be making any further appearances this season. However, if we are really lucky and send all of our fervent prayers to the Seven Gods, he may come back in later seasons, given that he does make an appearance in later books. I think we can all agree that probably this thing should end with Ser Pounce sitting atop the Iron Throne anyway.

Rock Band Icons is a project by Spanish graphic design group Tata & Friends in which popular bands are illustrated with funny minimalist graphics.





More - after the jump





via

Grandes cuestiones de la humanidad.

El programa comenzará en mayo para escolares y el público en general se incorporará desde junio

The impact of "unfriending" on Facebook.

The first study found that the top five kinds of people respondents unfriended were:

High School friends
Other
Friend of a friend
Work friends
Common interest friend

Photo by Chiaki Higashino

Photo by Carly Lesser & Art Drauglis

Whether it's the constant fretting over Miley Cyrus' influence on school girls or the growing (and troubling) tradition of Purity Balls, it's clear that society has a fascination with young women's sexuality — especially when it comes to controlling it. But what are we actually teaching today's girls about sex? Fueled by outdated ideals of gender roles and the sense that female sexuality is somehow shameful, there seem to be certain pernicious myths about girls and sex that just won't die. That sex education in America has gaping holes in its curriculum hasn't helped much, either; in a recent Centers for Disease Control (CDC) report just 6 out of 10 girls said that their schools' sex ed program included information on how to say no to sex. This lack of personal agency was reflected in a forthcoming study by sociologist Heather Hlavka at Marquette University as well, which found that many young girls think of sex simply as something that is "done to them." Knowledge is power, and we can promote a healthier relationship with sex by encouraging a more open dialogue, teaching girls to feel comfortable with their sexuality and, most importantly, emphasizing that their bodies are theirs and theirs alone.

But first, we're going to need to stop perpetuating the following 17 myths about female sexuality.

Normalizing Sexual Violence: Young Women Account for Harassment and Abuse
Despite high rates of gendered violence among youth, very few young women report these incidents to authority figures. This study moves the discussion from the question of why young women do not report them toward how violence is produced, maintained, and normalized among youth. The girls in this study often did not name what law, researchers, and educators commonly identify as sexual harassment and abuse. How then, do girls name and make sense of victimization? Exploring violence via the lens of compulsory heterosexuality highlights the relational dynamics at play in this naming process. Forensic interviews with youth revealed patterns of heteronormative scripts appropriated to make sense of everyday harassment, violence, coercion, and consent. Findings inform discussions about the links between dominant discourses and sexual subjectivities as we try to better understand why many regard violence a normal part of life.

by Bradford Evans

Last night's episode of The Simpsons didn't do so well in the ratings. According to EW, the episode was the show's lowest-rated ever for a regular episode on a Sunday night and it received only 3.4 million viewers and a 1.5 rating from adults 18-49, which, to be fair, is still better than the average ratings for a lot of primetime shows these days. The Simpsons, currently in the tail end of its 25th season, has been renewed for a 26th set to premiere this fall.

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Have you ever smoked weed with your buddies and spent an inordinate amount of time making stereotypical “we’re stoned, bro” jokes centred around completely cartoonish and unrealistic inventions? If you have, you may be familiar with the part of the conversation when some dude invariably says, “You know what’d be great? A robot that gives you blowjobs,” and the game ends because you’ve reached the pinnacle of the ridiculous and stupid and far-fetched and comically weed-y. Well, thanks to a new product called the Autoblow 2, you’re going to need a new dumb weed joke zenith.

The Autoblow 2 is billed as the world’s preeminent “realistic robotic oral sex simulator for men.” It comes equipped with a motor built that lasts over 500 hours, a removable mouth-shaped sleeve made from artificial skin, adjustable speeds (duh you need adjustable speeds), and is "super easy to clean." The Autoblow 2’s website specifies (emphasis theirs): “The feeling of having your penis inside of the sleeve while the spring-loaded beads stroke up and down can best be described in two words: surprisingly good.”

Earlier this year, Brian Sloan, a former lawyer and the creator of the Autoblow 2—as well as other adult entertainment products like the original Autoblow, Mangasm, and Ladygasm—realized that despite investing over $100,000 into creating and testing the product, he was still $45,000 short of having the funds necessary to complete the project. This led him to launch an IndieGoGo crowdsourcing campaign, which has become something of a viral success. With 16 days left in the campaign, the Autoblow 2 has raised over $40,000.

I found the concept and crowdfunding success of the Autoblow 2 fascinating, so I decided to give Brian a call in China (where he’s based) to discuss what his law school buddies think of his new career choice, the other names considered before settling on "Autoblow," and why sex toys should work like kitchen appliances.

VICE: OK, let’s start with the most obvious question: why?
Brian Sloan: [Laughs] Why not?

I think that if you asked men what their ideal masturbation-improving device would be, many would say, “Something that does it for you and you don’t have to do anything.”

I’ve just always had this idea that it would be the ultimate fetish toy. In a way, it can improve people’s lives, you know?

Ever since I started making toys, I always thought the Holy Grail would be an awesome, automatic machine.

The Autoblow 2 sleeve. Photos courtesy of Autoblow 2.

You were a lawyer before getting into your current gig. Do you remember the moment that you decided, “This is nice, but I should quit and start making sex toys in China”?
During the summer between my second and third year of law school, I had a job in a fancy law firm. On the weekends, I would make up a map of garage sales at six in the morning, then I would hit this route of sales during the day. I was making more money buying and selling garage sale goods than I was in my fancy law firm job. I came to China because I was trying to see if I could pay for my trip by solely buying antiques and selling them on eBay. I tried it once and it worked. Then I started meeting more and more people here… and I figured, Wow, I just want to move here and start a business.

I fell into the adult market because I was a bit obsessed with eBay and I knew what sold well in different categories, and there wasn’t really many people selling latex fetish wear and bondage equipment. I found out in China where I could get rubber suits made, and then it took off from there because I was able to make custom sizes—especially for bigger people—for a much lower price than they were used to.

What is the Autoblow 1 like?
The Autoblow 1 is a stroker. There were similar strokers to it before it, but it’s battery-powered. It’s on our original website, RoboticBlowjob.com. With the Autoblow 2, the concept is the same but the execution is much different. Basically, other people sell similar products to the original Autoblow, but no one ever went all out and made something that’s the quality of a kitchen appliance that’s a male stroker, like we have for the Autoblow 2.

I mean, if you bought a sex toy and it broke a few months later, you wouldn’t say, “Aww, I can’t believe it. That’s outrageous,” because you sort of expect it to break. But if you bought an espresso machine for your kitchen, you’d expect at least a year or two of functioning.

There are female toys built that are built at the quality level of a kitchen appliance. But, until now, I think, there are no male toys that are an item that you would consider a home appliance, not a toy.

Autoblow is a fantastic name. What other names did you guys bandy about before you settled on it?
Good question. Whenever I’d mention this product to some old-timers in the industry, it reminds them of a product that existed in the 80s called RoboSuck. The old-timers told me the RoboSuck was a machine that plugged into the cigarette lighter in your car that was popular with truckers.

But basically, we were considering names that had to do with robots and sucking. That’s why we originally named the website RoboticBlowjob.com. I wasn’t big into domain names at that time and I probably wouldn’t have named it such a funny name if I could do it over again. It’s so ridiculous—and maybe that’s why it’s good—but I would never do that again.

Oh, and we considered using the name Suck It, but ultimately decided against it.


The Autoblow 2, without the inserted sleeve.

Why should people use an Autoblow 2 over, say, a Fleshlight?
I think there’s two considerations about male sex toys. There’s how it feels on your penis. And there’s, "Does this feel real?"

These are related but separate concepts. I don’t think anyone would say, Oh the Fleshlight doesn’t feel good. The Fleshlight feels really good. And it replicates a pretty good, sex-like feeling. But because it’s not automatic, you’re still sitting there, jerking off with your hand. You’re just improving the feeling part. You didn’t improve that much on the realism side. I think that toys—especially for men—are going to move towards a direction where products don't just feel good on your penis, but they feel like the real sexual act.

The difference with the Autoblow 2 is that it’s automatic so you can just put it on your penis. You can either hold it or leave it there, and I think the sensation is totally different, since you don’t use your hands. You can watch your movie or do whatever you’re going to do, and it really feels like someone’s giving you oral sex you because you’re not touching yourself. It’s kind of a surprising experience.

I can’t say that the feeling on your penis is so much better than the Fleshlight’s, but I can say that it feels good like a Fleshlight, but it’s also different because it’s realistic. You’re not jerking off.

You’ve done really well with this IndieGoGo campaign, raising $40,000 of your $45,000 goal. What kind of messages are you getting from the fans of the Autoblow 2?
Interestingly, I’m getting messages from disabled people and people with MS. I'm also getting a lot of emails from a bunch of Iraq War vets, who have various mobility problems who have been looking for an automatic device. Vets tend to email. And we’ve received word from other people who are just giving us support, telling us that they think the concept is cool.

And there are people from the industry reaching out about doing some kind of projects together. So, it’s been really interesting. A lady reached out to me whose friends with a lot of porn stars and cam models and she wants to do a product together. So many things are happening that I thought would never come from the IndieGoGo.

How does the Autoblow 2 compare to real thing?
The real thing is different. The feeling is very similar to the real thing because with the real thing, you don’t exactly use your hands. But you also don’t have to talk to the Autoblow 2 when you’re finished. You don’t have to form an emotional bond with the Autoblow 2, and there are many guys that that's a benefit for.

I think a lot of guys who actually use it are married and don’t have sex with their wives anymore. Or they’re single and the emotional part isn’t important to them.

Physically, it’s different. I mean, it’s a machine. But for some guys I think that has some benefits.

Last question: Do you use the Autoblow 2?
I would say that I have tested the Autoblow 2, but I’m not a diehard masturbation toy user. I mean, I think of it in the same realm of thinking as, "Should an alcoholic run a bar?" Maybe not. I've made the Autoblow 2 as good as it could possibly be, and frankly, the only way to do that was by testing. When I see friends who do a business because they love something about the business, they always pick the wrong business for themselves because they’re blind to the realities of the industry. I can’t say that I’m like the biggest personal user of masturbation products, but I can say that I understand exactly what men want. And I think I’ve delivered it to them.

To donate to the Autoblow 2 IndieGoGo, click here. To learn more about the Autoblow 2, visit Autoblow2.com

Follow Jordan Sowunmi on Twitter.

Turning taxidermied animals into a compelling curiosity was Walter Potter’s specialty, and his wondrous animal creations allowed the once lively animals to play on for the rest of their afterlives.

Walter Potter became interested in taxidermy at an early age, and by the time of his death in 1890 he was a household name among taxidermy enthusiasts, and nowadays Walter's pieces can fetch as much as $35,000 apiece at auction.

Walter’s whimsical taxidermy dioramas feature animals doing everyday things like playing croquet, taking notes in class or joining their fellow rats in a game of dominos, and the figures are posed so perfectly you can almost see their little furry arms moving and their expressions changing as they play the day away.

-Via Beautiful/Decay

Lebowski Fest, the long-running tribute to the cult classic comedy The Big Lebowski, came to Los Angeles for yet another trip down cinematic memory lane. These bizarre conventions happen periodically in 30 cities across the English-speaking world. People who have seen the movie a bunch of times get together to behave like the Dude and Walter: Dress shabbily, drink, go bowling, and yell catchphrases. Some also wear costumes.

In Los Angeles, on April 25 and 26, it was clear that there's been a weird arms race of costume obscurity going on since these started in 2002. A classic Dude getup, a well-executed Jesus-the-child-molester costume, or a nihilist in black with stuffed ferret may have once been good ways to get recognized for your effort, but not anymore. Now you have to dig deeper into that barrel to come up with something memorable.

No, deeper. Now scrape. Now you're getting it.

Maybe you'll recall that there is briefly a dog at one point in the movie, obscured by a carrying case. So a thing you could do is dress as a dog, and then, the whole night when people ask "Why a dog?" remind them that there was a dog, and they'll probably remember.

Both of these Asian guys had the same basic idea. Think about it for a second. Give up? They're the Chinaman who took Lebowski's legs in Korea! One wore a period paramilitary outfit. The other decided to be truer to Lebowski's account of events, and opted for what would probably be an elderly Purple Heart recipient's recollection of the hated Chinaman.

I asked if this lady was wearing a photo of a marmot, a-la the Dude's misidentification of the nihilists' pet ferret. Nope. That's a beaver. It's a beaver picture, because Maude Lebowski refers to a porn movie at one point as a "beaver picture." Remember? While I was talking to her, a guy suggested he take my camera and get a shot of both of us. So that's me with the lady wearing a beaver picture.

Was there a Soviet guy in the movie? No. But remember when they mention Lenin? That's this. Thing is, when your costume is someone who's been immortalized in millions of statues, you have to have the face shape for it. And granted, he took a stab at the goatee, which is the honest way to do a costume, but if it were me, and the day were coming, but I still just had stubble, I'd head to a costume store. Like Lincoln, the costume doesn't work without the exact right facial hair. 

If you can easily recall the five seconds of the movie where Maude Lebowski is being lifted off her crane painting apparatus by two burly guys in overalls, this is a great double costume. If not, it's just overalls.

If you google it, you'll find out that "Branded" was a real TV show, not something made up for the "Is this your homework, Larry?" scene. You'll also find out that the main character really should have on a cavalryman's uniform, at least for the opening sequence. Again, that's if you google it.

This isn't so much a costume as a memorial on a shirt that this guy made. The one thing I was hoping to see at Lebowski Fest was a really excellent Brandt costume in honor of Philip Seymour Hoffman. It would be hard, because clothes-wise it's just a conservative suit. But the right blond hair and nervous bluster would have really sold it. Oh well.

Does this have something to do with the "Over the line!" standoff scene? Close, but no. In between the memorable "the Chinaman is not the issue here," and "Dude, Chinaman is not the preferred nomenclature," Walter says something about drawing a line in the sand.

Next to him is a guy in a "Sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes, well, he eats you." costume, which I also liked.  

Sure, why not balls? My first guess was that this is what would remain after the nihilists cut off Lebowski's johnson. Think harder though. You'll have to recall what makes a man, according to Lebowski: "Is it being prepared to do the right thing, whatever the cost?" to which the dude replies: "Sure, that and a pair of testicles."

What had captured this guy's imagination was the scene where all the porn stars in Malibu use a blanket to toss that topless lady into the air. He's dressed as one of the guys, and because apparently he didn't have someone willing to dress as the topless lady (skin-colored suit?), he brought a prop lady. He had to carry his prop lady around all evening, and leave her lying face up on the table while he bowled. Make of that what you will, grad students.

These fun, chatty guys flew out from Australia for Lebowski Fest, and they dressed this way because "everything else had been done." I assumed they were the nihilists in negative, after the battle in the parking lot toward the end of the movie. I didn't give it a second thought, until I overheard something about them being a rash. There is a line about a rash.

Costumes show off the thing about yourself you want people to notice. You can draw attention to your good looks, if that's where your vanity is, or, through attention to detail, you can draw attention to your geekiness if that's what you're most proud of. The least successful costumes at Lebowski Fest—the embarrassing outfits that you have to constantly explain—are the ones that show the closest kinship with the characters in the movie.

Good on you if you're into that sort of thing.

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