People Send Me Things. I Like That.

It's near Christmastime, so I think this is a fitting idea to explore -- people buy me things, and I like that.

As I've mentioned in previous entries, being in a band has it's perks. No, we're not being fed drugs and whores...more along the lines of monster masks and anything you'd find in a third graders backpack.

People buy us things, send stuff to us, etc. And really, it's the ultimate compliment and good hearted gesture. It's hard to not sound like a douche when talking about all the wonderful, expensive things people throw our way, but I'm trying. Lots of handmade stuff, artwork inspired by our music (an amazing feeling, by the way) so on and so forth. And honestly, we still have everything anyone's ever given us -- each and every trinket to massive paperweight, from small to large, is put in our band room on one, magnificent shelf. We draw power from this shelf. This shelf is magical.

Now, we're loaded down with so many goodies for so many reasons at so many seemingly random times, but we really hit paydirt when one of our birthdays comes up. See how douchey this all sounds? Fuck.

Getting off track a bit, I love birthdays. This statement should and will be etched into my tombstone. Well, let me be more clear -- I love my birthday. So much that I demand a week before the date, as well as a week after the date of b-day inspired partying. If I'm not drinking and eating at fancy restaraunts and spending money I don't have on things I don't need, I'm not satisfied. I kinda take it to an extreme, but hey, we're all dead in 2012, right?

So birthdays and Christmas. How perfect? This blog entry is about the items that people have recently given me, simply because both Santa-Jesus and I were born. I finally got off my ass, snapped a few pics and set up an online shrine for the fine, fine people supporting me and not Calabrese. This is PART ONE of our journey (the second half will be out next week) of all the personal gifts solely to me. I'd spend the rest of my life if it was everything we ever got, so I had to narrow the playing field down a bit.

This is my ode to you, people -- FUCKING THANK YOU.

I know, it's supposed to be the season of giving...but ah, suck it. Gimme them presents.

This is from a Melissa Gonzalez, who has been feeding me with enough gifts and suprises over the last few months to make me feel like the Queen of Sheba. This is just a handful, but truly the best. Plus, I was uncertain as to how to successfully photograph anything more than booze coffee and bobbling Wolverines. It would just make the photo cluttered, and I really can't have that on my conscience.

Wolverine Bobblehead: This is cool. I know Wolverine's usual garb is a tank top and jeans, but I can't help shake the feeling he looks more like a wife slapping guido than a superpowered mutant. Either way, his head moves like he's in a Will Smith music video and he sits on top of my fridge. You really do need to know that.

Bobbleheads, really, are inherently fun. It's easy entertainment! No work on your part, save for a good table pounding or a sharp gust of breath. So make a fist, lay off the Pall Malls and have some fun.

Also:

Dollar Store "Wild West Action Figure": This will go nicely in my Castle Greyskull, combining the past with oiled up muscle men with really big swords. Also, it will fit quite well in my "Probably Offensive to Someone" pile.

Jack Daniel's Gourmet Coffee: I think she knows me too well. Like, seriously? Booze flavored? I don't know whether to jump for joy or puke in my mouth a little bit. It's all too much to handle, yet I'm no doubt going to try this. Lord help me from just enjoying the bags they come in, too. They just look...good. If anyone asks, I'm gonna say it's BBQ sauce and ketchup flavored coffee.

This was given to me by a young lad in San Marcos, CA. It was a pretty quick exchange that went something like this:

Dude: "Hey, man! You like Japanese stuff, right?"

Me: "Totally!"

Dude: "THIS IS YOURS NOW."

I'm a little reluctant to take anything that looks like I'll be brought down to the police station under charges of child porn, but hell, I'm a taker of presents. It's what I do.

This is cool, though, even if it's not under my usual umbrella of comfort. Truthfully, my mind was racing towards vintage robot toys from the 70's, not pink-haired, vixen statuettes usually reserved for innocent young girls into harmless manga and that other guy. You know that guy. He's the guy who's into Sailor Moon for all the wrong reasons. He's the guy who has a shelf full of pink-haired, half-naked female manga shit. I hate that guy and I hate all that shit!

In all fairness, I like it. See how fast I flip-flopped? Man, I'm good.

I'm not sure what this is or where it comes from, but it's Halloween flavored and the pentagrams and jack-o-lanterns fit my general world views. I also favor the box art of swirling colors and swishy designs. If you can't find peace in knowing that your action figures now have a wonderful backdrop for their prom night photo booth, you're better off dead.

This is an interesting one right here. People send me stuff for special occasions, yeah, but every now and then I'm offered a piece of material to be written and yammered about, specifically for this silly blog of mine. Well, it's only happened once. By a close family member. Case in point: my older sister.

I feel important, like I have a purpose now. I finally feel justified in owning this blog, in providing a closer look into everything and nothing. I feel all shimmery and bubbly now! The sun is out, my outlook is new and I'm now the prized owner of a postcard with three heads on it.

So she sent me a card from 1994, something she made sure to point out, and a quick blurb on how I should mention this gift of hers (a postcard featuring escaped prisoners from Alcatraz, most famously brought to light by the film, "Escape From Alcatraz") This is all fine and whatever, but little did she know that I fucking love that movie.

Maybe it's the absolute futility of prison and the "what would I do in that situation?" question that draws me in, or maybe it's how Clint Eastwood dumps the dirt from his pant leg to get rid of the excess escape-hole-rubble. There's just something watchable and curious about the film. Did I mention the dirt part? 'Cause I really like that part.

But this is pretty cool! Tilt it a little over on it's side and there ya go:

If you haven't seen the film or read up on the escape, you should. Because I'm not about to summarize it. And, really, I can't remember anything other than "they escaped from Alcatraz." Sorry.

Not the easist thing to photograph, but you get the picture. When turned this way and that, a horrifying, terrible lineup of three papier-mache heads is at your disposal. I had no idea arts and crafts could turn anything seemingly innocent into such frightening fare, but it does, and now I want to immediately take arts and crafts. First order of business: papier-mache kittens and pullover sweaters.

Also, for this recent birthday, she just sent me a Burger King giftcard with the demand to "enjoy some crappy food!" You're the best, Favorite Older Sister Who Is Making Me Eat Diabetes.

Next up:

Alexis and her boyfriend, from California, came to a show in Santa Cruz and suprised me with a little somethin'-somethin' for my b-day. To show how slow and dated I've become, this was from a full year ago, and Alexis and her boyfriend have long been broken up. I don't know why I know this.

At this point, I think it's one of those things where neither one will ever go to a Calabrese show in fear of seeing one another (haven't seen 'em since) and I don't blame them. I'm the exact same way. I'm experienced in avoiding ex-girlfriends, former high school friends I haven't talked to and don't ever want to talk to again and really big insects.

I also have a feeling that it may be weird that I'm writing so blatantly about them, too. I'm also excited to think that they might find this blog, see the shirt, read their names (and minimal dating history) and be completely fucking disturbed (hi, guys!)

So yeah, they got me a t-shirt with myself photo-engineered into a scene from "Twilight," with the bold proclamation of "I'm in Twilight" to boot. This is easily the most thought out, well executed and gravely insulting birthday present I've ever got. Naw, it's not bad, in fact, it's pretty amazing. I take no prisoners when it comes to being the best at looking like "that vampire guy!" I've had everyone call me everything from Edward Cullen to Bill Compton to Blacula. That was a bad summer at the beach.

I wish they didn't choose a photo of me making such a pervy face, but a quick scan of my facebook and myspace would prove that in all of my photos I'm making a pervy face.

Thanks, guys.:)