Picture Party!

So I haven't busted out with any new bloggage in quite a bit. Initially, it was my goal to keep it weekly, but you know how it goes. One thing leads to another...and the last thing you wanna do is sit in front of the computer relaying garage sale finds and how much I like the way a Boglin's skin feels. But it's fun. I like to write, and, to be honest, with such a cool banner adorning the top of this page, I can't NOT keep this thing going. I can't let the rock and roll mania die, I can't let such a rad art piece go to waste! Plus, it features one of my favorite things -- me!

Well, anyway. I thought I'd try something new. Mainly because I've got zero ability to muster up an essay about some junk I got at the dollar store (it's some seriously rad junk, I'll get back to it as soon as I can) but it's also an experiment in internetting. A legitimate test in surfing webbing web surf.

Okay, whenever I google myself (don't judge) all sorts of Calabrese crud comes up. This is good, although, it's usually a tie between a bunch of chubby Italians and pictures of me circa seven years ago. But currently, most of the time, pictures from this blog pops up. It's everything from hastily taken Star Wars toys to pints of beer in Tucson. This is fun and all, but I figure I'd try something new. If there's any way to tip the scales and even the odds when it comes to what's being shown on the first page of google, I'm gonna test it out. I'd rather pump up the web full of my face, if it's at all possible. You may call it narcissistic, I call it good promo. We recently played San Francisco with Strung Out, and a good buddy, Alan Snodgrass, took some rad photos of us, so here's what I'm going to do:

I'm going to post some of those photos.

Boring? Yeah, totally. The thinking is that not only will I knock out a decent sized blog (quantity over quality!) but maybe I'll finally be able to clog up the web's search engines with more than toys and booze when associating with my name. Next time you search Calabrese, you can forget about the Anthony Bourdain tributes...say hello to sweaty, God-like live shots!

Enjoy!

The Post Halloween-Sex Cigarette!

C'mon, you knew Halloween wasn't gonna be over on my blog! I've bought and made and spent on so much crap for a full month straight, I figured I'd do myself a favor and spend my money on significantly discounted crap. It makes sense in my head, not really written down. But trust me! I can't not take photos of my newly acquired Freddy Krueger doll without expecting to sleep troubled and hectic. Documenting all of my goods, well after the initial holiday and right after an even bigger holiday (my laziness knows no bounds) will be soothing for the both of us. Like a Halloween sauna in late December. We'll be dripping Hallow-sweat in no time!

I made zero effort this year to participate in any post-Halloween shopping, relying more on random impulse buys and accidental surprise surplus. I'm sure, if you're an avid reader, you already know this by now. It's my way of being slug-like, but still caring enough to have something to write about and to decorate my bathroom for the next few months. So I ended up stumbling into a single Walgreens. I entered with twenty bucks, I left with a bag full of holiday cheer and shame. Hey, you go and try buying Count Chocula lip balm at age twenty-five.

Hey, let's start with the best.



Freddy Krueger is cool. I'm not gonna lie and tell you how amazing the fedora wearing, goo-faced dude is, but I will tell you that his image has scared me at a very young age, allowing me to feature dreams of my own death by his knife-hands. Pretty brutal to actually have dreams where it feels like you're dying. I've felt in my own dreams, what I can only imagine death to feel like, the experience during and after. I think I need professional help. Cool!

But Freddy Krueger has always been a part of my childhood, even though the extent of my obsession has been his neat sweater and the question, "I wonder what it would be like to be sliced in the face?" I imagine it to be pretty painful.

You press a button on his boot and you're presented with a few "Nightmare..." movie quotes, crazy-Freddy style. Both his arms and head shake and move, upping the value and general entertainment quality. Personally, I'm totally pleased. Like I've said, I've never been a big fan, but this will look absolutely ace next to my Freddy glove above the TV. Hey, c'mon. Don't count that as a complete contradiction to my last statement about not totally liking the Krueger. I just so happen to like knives. And gloves. Together as one!

This was, at one point, twenty dollars. Normally, I wouldn't have given it a second glance at such a price. But when the discounts were rung up, it came out to be a quick five bucks. Yeah, fucking into the shopping basket you go.



Count Chocula lip balm goes without saying. I'd rather my lips taste like cereal than nothing, so it was so worth the thirty cents. It also presents a, "Hey, why not?" kinda scenario. I've never seen breakfast cereal themed lip junk, so hey, why not? The other is a door cover, a massive, plastic sheet you can use to easily turn your apartment into nearly 1/4 of a haunted house. You get around, say, 12 of these things and it'll look like you're either living among the dead or a group of robed Michael Jacksons. I totally dig this thing -- the art, colors and general, Death-y theme is way fun, even for it's original price ($2.99 ain't bad before discount) but after discount, you're practically stealing the dumb thing. I approve.

I love these things! I love the soft, purpley glow they'll soon be emitting all around me while listening to Type-O and slowly and methodically applying the aforementioned Chocula chapstick. Maybe I'll be crying, or pantless. Just to make the ordeal all that much more weird.

I think it came out to a bit over a buck, not too bad for a solid night of immediate, Halloweeny ambiance. I'll probably string 'em up outside, give the ol' patio a nice, grape-like glow. This is definitley a good deal, for those planning next year's discount disco party, since seven bucks seems pretty steep for a row of ten, hollowed out, plastic bats. Well, maybe not. Hell, what do I know? B+!

So I guess that's about it for this month's haul. Which is really two months ago's haul. I'm glad it's over -- definitely don't mean the holiday, but since I finally documented all of my findings, I can, once and for all, get this crap outta my face. See you crammed in and piled on an over filled and dusty shelf, Halloween Shit '09!

See ya next year!

X-Mas is Xwesome.

Whooaa, it's been a while since my last update. I'm leaving you on pins and needles, I know. But I'll make it quick, since I'm sure you're all dying to know what I've recently blown my money on, but mainly 'cause I'm about to watch that new "It's Always Sunny..." Christmas special. Did I just spend twenty bucks on a bloated, overpriced, forty-three minute episode? You bet!

Alright, so X-mas. I'm so into X-mas. I feel like it's Halloween, but instead of candy, you get videogames and remote controlled cars. Yeah, I'll skip the Twix for a robot that can turn into a breakdacing firetruck. Aside from getting a tree (which I've yet to do and probably never will be able to muster up to motivation to actually do it) I kinda just rely on impulse buying to get the ornament/decoration action done. If it ain't random and ultimately useless to anyone over the age of four, I don't want anything to do with it. Naw, that's not true. 'Cause I want everything! Yay Christmas!

I picked this up, I'm really into it. Action figures are fun, but action figures that are Snoopy and holiday themed are even more fun. I'm smitten when it comes to classics being updated for the season. I used to hate the idea, just fnd it absolutely cheap and ridiculous to see the once-a-month-a-select-few-months-outta-the-year bandwagon being so thoroughly jumped on, but it's grown on me. When it's Christmas, Chanukkah or whatever else ya got, I really wanna know it. I want the toy aisles in every store telling me it's Halloween time. I want cereals and televison shows and main street parades going absolutely nuts over Thanksgiving. When everyone is in on the holiday insanity, life seems just a little bit more bearable.

So. Snoopy. Action figure snoopy. It's a bit hard to really call it an "action" figure, as it's not really gonna be apart of any high-flying, epic toy battles, but damnit if that Santa outfit isn't the cutest. You come with a detachable beard and bright red, floppy hat, my friend? You are sitting at the head of the table in Castle Greyskull tonight, my man!


This was a last minute grab at Walgreen's. Nothing says "buy me!" like a Grow Bumble. NOTHING.

For two bucks, I'm given an opportunity to grow, by an astonishing six-hundred percent, a fanged Wompa. I still don't even know who Grumble is, and have always agreed that anything even resembling an abominable snowman has, and will, attack Luke Skywalker in a frosty cave. It feels more complete that way.

You know the drill, you drop it in an appropriate amount of water, go to bed and wake up to something the size of your fridge. In this case, I'm hoping I wake up to Wompa-Grumble cooking me breakfast and relaying the day's agenda. It almost sounds like I'm hoping for a gay, interspecies relationship with the thing. Hey, it's the time for Christmas miracles, right?


This thing's great, because not only I didn't buy it, but it's Yoda! I'm easily amused, so you give the little guy a candy-cane-cane and an oversized cranium, and I've got myself one hell of a couch buddy.

You see, I got this for my birthday via snail-mail -- it's one of the perks of being in a band. I'd imagine, for anyone else trying to complete their rock and roll image, a stuffed, Yoda doll probably wouldn't cut it. But it does me just fine. Especially since strippers are expensive and drugs make me feel funny. You go with what you know best!

My original plan was to document a few of my birthday presents, but, along with my post-Halloween post, which has holy shit it's been forever and has yet to be posted, I will post it. In 2010. Post Power!

Oh, and I'll let you know how Wompy turns out, too.

Happy holidays!

KILTLIFTER!

I figure I might as well update/blog about something other than toys and...well, more toys. So I've got a running theme going on! No harm in that, right? Too bad, though, that this theme paints me as a thirty year old pervert typing out mini-essays on everything a thirty year old pervert might write about to perv it up with pre-teens. I suffer for my art.

Today on our list is beer. Good ol' beer.

I'm not gonna pretend to be the world's coolest alcoholic, but I can get down with some booze. There's no way I can smoothly order anything from the bar without pointing at it and going, "that one!" first, and I certainly won't be drinking something that smells like a mixture of gasoline and battery acid. Yeah, I'm a pussy. Anything that comes in a shot, bomb or you're-not-going-to-survive-this, I'm probably going to pass. Can't blame a guy for wanting to keep his guts and his most personal, disgusting secrets on the inside.

But beer! Glorious, delicious beer! How can you go wrong with that? It's sometimes smooth, sometimes skunky and yet it's always guaranteed to put a buzz on your brain and a smile on your face.

Now, let's get this straight, though. I don't drink swill. I refuse to drink anything even remotely reminiscent of Budweiser, and the whole Pabst Blue Ribbon/Miller High Life crew, after all that it's given to me and my blooming, glassy-eyed social life, can pretty much suck it these days. I don't think of it as being a snob, I think of how I'd rather spend a few bucks more when paying to damage my liver. Good beer is better beer, and piss-water rarely qualifies as something I'm gonna gonna enjoy now and enjoy later. Probably gag now, puke later. I prefer less gagging. Puking's still alright, though.

But like I said, I ain't no afficionado when it comes to the stuff. The only and greatest times to drink, for me, is right after playing a show. One might assume it to be of celebratory nature, but it's more economical (and sinister!) than that. After sweating all major liquids from my body for forty-five minutes straight, one pint of booze can really pack a punch. You're usually down and out after that, smoothly sailing the dull-eyed, speech slurring train for the rest of the night. Yeah, so one drink is all I'm sayin'. One measley drink! You get all that, March, 2010 east coast tour? See you at the bar!

Anyways, I'm a fan of a beer called Kiltlifter. Minus the fact the below photo is not Kiltlifter (sue me!) it's made in Tempe, AZ and is most delicious.

Now, there's not a chance I can describe its taste. It's like asking me what lies beyond space and time, or how a car works. Shit's way over my head. But if I HAD to describe it...I'd say nutty. Kinda hopsy. Brewed to perfection. Perfect head, with a slight, woodsy tone. Buzz-words and cliche phrases, anyone? Thank you, Sam Adams commercials!

If you check out http://www.fourpeaks.com/, you can see what all the hub-bub is about. Four Peaks doubles as a brewery, which makes and sells a whole line of other, fn named beers, and a really cool restaraunt that somehow manages to stay packed on every single day of the week it drives me mad why can't I find a place to sit. I'm destined to forever stand near the entrance looking confused, or sitting next to the woman who, in our hot, desert wasteland, absolutely prefers to keep the outdoor heating lamp on and above eight-thousand degrees. You gotta learn to roll with the punches. And the midday heatstrokes.

Another cool thing about Kiltlifter/Four Peaks is that it's a local company (well, to me it is) so you won't feel like such a corporate tool when drinking it. You'll only feel a little wobbly and more inclined to tell everyone how you're in love with them when drinking it.

Have fun!

Playmobil Zombie Pirates? Of Course!

I've never really liked pirates. Between the current (well, semi-current) obsession with Disney's most boring ride turned into three, boring movies, it's really left a weird, Deppy taste in my mouth.

Naw, I'm being too harsh. Pirates are pretty cool. Swashbuckling and pillaging and being a badass are all things I can support. But obviously, anything will turn into a stomach-churning, boring mess when it's overtly used in all sorts of mediums ranging from cliche tattoos to really weird, Steven Tyler mixed with Cyndi Lauper-esque fashion statements. Plus, the "Pirates" movies weren't that bad. Granted, I've only seen the first one and almost fell asleep in the second one, but it really did seem to lose it's charm quick.

Oh, what was my point? Ah, right. I found some cool zombie-pirates!

I've always liked Playmobil toys. It's kind of a creepy statement to make, since I've only actually invested legitimate time with the things since my teen years. Although, I remember Jimmy had a castle when I was a youngster, maybe, that was Playmobil oriented, which had a few knights with reallyreally neat looking horses, but I've never actually been knee-deep in the stuff. I can't tell you the history or origins of the toy company, but what I can tell you is that they make figurines and vehicles and buildings ranging from the most insane, outerspace and otherworldly, to the most mundane, boring, "why was this made into a toy?" design. You can snag yourself a moon-scavaging playset, or the group of figurines and vehicles detailing the inner workings of the airport. You into dangerous, underwater sea adventures? Or what about taxi drivers or the gas station attendant set instead? It's this idea, that nothing is too mediocre or dull that keeps me coming back for more. And yeah, I actually own that Playmobil taxi, complete with taxi driver. It even comes with luggage! For the taxi's trunk! Gleeee!

This blog is, essentially, my diary. My shameful, shameful diary.


Overall, pretty nice. They come with an array of battle gear, skeletal clothing (or is that they are, in fact, nothing but bones? You decide!) and one has frighteningly orange hair. I like that. But to be honest, one of the main goals I've secretly harbored while perusing the aisles of the Toys R Us was to demand countdown satisfaction during Christmastime. That, and to not look like a pervert while speed walking through the little girl/Barbie/stroller section to get to the good stuff. This good stuff:

Countdown satisfaction! I've wanted this for a while now, maybe this year I'll pony up the dough. Basically, starting December 1st, for every day, you open up a secret compartment, filled with a tiny, token of Christmasy fun (in this case, it's a pinecone or a dirty raccoon) leading up to the grand finale on December 25th -- Santa Claus and all the woodland creatures celebrating the birth of potatos. The cover and general marketing idea makes you think you'll be riding down the religious route, but as soon as you notice the basket of 'taters they're huddled around, you'll be able to rest easy, you heathens. Trust me.

Wanting this is quite the testament to my growing immaturity and willingness to easily throw away twenty bucks, since I'm destined to stare at the box lovingly, open it lovingly and then, quite lovingly, throw it in the hallway closet.

Merry X-Mas!

Them Crooked Vultures? Them Crooked Vultures!

This is a rad album.

It features Josh Homme of QOTSA, Dave Grohl of Foovana, and John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin. Musically, I'm sure you can get away with anything if you mention that ya got the bassist of Led Zep on your album. You probably don't even need a band at that point. Just casually insinuate that you're merely friends with the guy and you get away with selling t-shirts and stylized keychains.

Actually, I don't even like Led Zeppelin that much, so it doesn't do too much for me knowing that JPJ is slappin' duh bass. Granted, I've never given them a huge chance, but it always seemed that the kids in high school who listened to Led Zep were the drama kids/stoner dorks. Everyone who thought they were the coolest shit by wearing oversized Doobie Brothers shirts, watched Monthy Python films and had an endless supply of those circular, John Lennon glasses. It was a bit of a turn off. But hey, to each their own. I'm still appreciative that the dude is on this record, though. With such a massive career in music, a fanatical fanbase and endless inspirations for thousands and thousands of bands...it's a solid plan to ensure that yeah, this is probably not gonna entirely suck.


Turns out..it's pretty cool. I'm not going to sing it's praises atop a mountain, naked and demanding the musical truth be told, but I will listen to it. Occasionally. With fervor. It sounds kinda like you'd imagine -- Queens of the Stone Age smashed together with super-unmodern sounding-super-songs, like Cream/Clapton or anything you might hear a bunch of dudes playing in their garage after realizing that, yes, guitar solos should be long and technical! It's too much of a jam band to be rockin', yet too rockin' to be outright dismissed. I can get into it, if and when I'm in a slow, groovy mood, or when I totally wanna listen to Homme's pretty, falsetto voice. You're like an angel, Josh. Grohl's drumming seems a bit restrained, never blasting into heartstopping, mindblowing territory, though. Nothing to be ashamed of, though. Dave Grohl, you've still got my vote.

The bass is smooth, too. It's hard to really describe bass playing. Besides, "sounds like the guy from Rancid" or "Flea," you're left in the dark. This sounds...wet. There, a new and eerily gross way to describe a bass sound -- wet.

Overall, it's cool. It's deliciously funky. And if you ever saw them live, well, you'd be seeing a triple-threat of cool dudes. Most likely, none of which would talk, acknowledge or even see my existance as worthwhile enough to glance in my general direction.

Rad!

Star Wars Toys! I Love it! YOU Love it!

I love Star Wars. It's a pretty fantastic disease I really don't mind carrying in my bloodstream. I won't go too far into why I love the films (I'll end up outright gushing about how Twi'leks are so really really awesome) but let's just say that every night I pleasure myself while wearing a Rebel fighter pilot helmet. Actually, let's not say that. In fact, let's forget I even typed that out.

I attribute it to being such a vast, intricate universe you can easily get lost in, like World of Warcraft, but less life-sucking and socially destructive. You've got yourself a rad storyline, face-slicing swords and a burning desire to collect, in action figure form, every character that made any sort of appearance in the films, whether it be a half an hour or a twelve second scene in the Mos Eisely Cantina. I can't deny that those scenes are my favorite (quick, character heavy monster fests) making any of your money going towards Lucasfilm all that more ridiculous. Do I really need to own a figure of the Rancor's sobbing, sweaty keeper? Yes. Yes, I do.

So I've been collecting and gathering and mindlessly hoarding this junk forever. I'd say it was a chemically lopsided obesession at first, but now more of a "casual fan" kinda thang. Casual fans still end up on the political stylings of Endor and how Boba Fett escaped the Sarlacc Pit to exact revenge on Han Solo, right?

Vintage figures. I'm literally wet right now.

Jimmy was lucky enough to be around when the 80's literally exploded with rad Star Wars toys. Over time, I've stolen them from him and have since claimed innocence. Awesome. When they re-released the films in theatres twenty years later, they also released the biggest wave of shit I've ever had the pleasure to be a part of. Davey and I spent our lives, our lifeblood making the rounds at Toys R Us searching for all the new, released toys to accompany the newly, updated films. All the added scenes in the movies kinda sucked, but I could seriously live with a non-original Lando update. All Lando is good Lando. It was as if I was finally living in a time where being a kid was awesome and toy aisles were littered with droids and Death Stars. I can't help myself, I'm gushing!

So I guess they have these new figures out. I've been out of the "game" for years now, but I couldn't help myself with this one. I've kicked the habit for as long as I could, but I just HAD to nerd out with my cock out. Under the "Legacy" collection title, there's a whole new gang of familiar faces. Kinda doesn't make sense, but you know what I mean. I assume these are the fan favorites, the best of the best, the crew of characters that absolutely need their 487th upgrade. Expect the usual Jawa, Ewok and IG-88, 'cause those guys are classically bomb, we all know this. These are my favorite finds of the latest, and definitely not last of the newest wave of rehashed fun. 'Cause that's what's it all about, people. FUN. And intergalactic robots. Yes!

Nien Nunb. Ohhh, you. You're the best. You're my favorite! And this is a cool figure, featuring the fish-faced bastard in his B-wing pilot gear, pre-"I'm awesome and I'm gonna help fly the Falcon later in the film." He's looking cool, he's looking slimy and he's looking fun. I TOLD YOU THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT.

This is Rum Sleg. Don't know who that is? Yeah, me neither. The back info tells us that he's a bounty hunter (I like, I like) that was at the Podraces that Anakin Skywalker competed in (I don't like, I don't like) Any scene with that little turd still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, so I've kinda let that entire film slip from my mindscape. As long as "Empire" still exists, I'll play dumb and won't complain.

But yeah, so far I'm pretty certain that Rum Sleg is awesome. He's got a few guns, a mysterious helmet and an outfit that screams "post-apocalyspe wasteland," a style I'm regularly wishing to have introduced to my wardrobe. I want to be Road Warrior, minus all the jew-hating and whatnot.

Major Panno is fantastic, and I can't pretend I immedietly knew this thing existed in the Star Wars universe. Apparently, he's a Dressellian who helped run a shield generator strike on Endor to take down the Death Star. From the picture on the back, yeah, it's legit...he had some screen time. I feel that his screen time was a a quick, camera-pan-to-the-left, but it's cool, I still like him. He looks like a turtle and has a cloth cape. Hell, I love him.

Alright, so I guess that's about it. I would have bought them all (there was a Yoda and a Stormtrooper and a Han Solo in Stormtrooper garb that I really wanted) but I need to eat. Unless...Star Wars toys...are edible?

Get on it, George!