Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Breaking SAD.

I, like the rest of the world with Netflix, have finished the entire Breaking Bad series. And, I, like the rest of the world who has seen the show in it's entirely, am in a crippling state of mourning.

I'm being dramatic. Well, sort of.

You know the feeling. You know the grief. Countless hours stacked up only to be swiped down without the slightest hesitation. Again, way dramatic (the damn show eventually has to come to a close) but you know what I mean.

I didn't hate the ending. I didn't hate anything, really. It was an event. A black-hole of space and time that sucked me in from beginning to end. The emotional attachment towards the characters and situations have warranted an unwarranted bond with a fictional family on a television show about a dude who cooks meth and his kid has crutches and there's a lawyer and a fat guy and lot of murder but now I'm bummed it's over BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

You know exactly what I mean.

And I'm pissed because that through all this shit, this roller-coaster ride of this fucking show, this intensely addicting prison of a show...I have nothing to show for it. Nothing. Not a single souvenir. No "job well done," a pat on the back, a "go get 'em, kid!" All I want ALL I REALLY WANT is an e-mail from the creator saying, "thanks!" And maybe some of that really sparkly, delicious looking blue meth. Is that so hard?




Straight from New Mexico's very own Candy Lady comes the ultimate in faux drug paraphernalia -- BLUE CANDY METH!

Yes, there is a store in New Mexico that sells this stuff. Yes, it's candy and YES it's legitimately tied to Breaking Bad. The Candy Lady produced and supplied the show with what would become instantly recognizable as...well, that blue crystal meth on Breaking Bad. It's kind of weird to think they'd go through the trouble to create prop-meth with candy, though. I guess they figured they'd have a shit-ton of fake meth lying around after a shoot...why not be able to eat the stuff?

There is no greater joy than owning a dime-bag of crushed up, fake blue candy from a hugely popular television series. I feel even more connected than ever before. I'm part of this and now it's now a part of me. Because it's the simple things. We work, we play, we find comfort in candy drugs. And with this great discovery, this zen-like epiphany, a chapter in my life can close (and I can finally watch something else). It was a fun ride while it lasted. Thanks, Candy Lady. And thanks, Walter White and Jesse Pinkman. Thanks for the memories!


Wednesday, April 16, 2014

I really like bar mirrors.

I think it's because...well, I like bars.

We play in bars all the time. I'm constantly in bars. I couldn't escape a bar if I tried. Even if I absolutely hated bars, I still couldn't fight my natural attraction to low lighting and a place where the lone intent is to get fucked up. So I'm stuck liking bars.

Whenever we go on tour, whenever we play a wacky bar in the middle of no where, I always entertain the idea of swiping something off the wall for my own collection. Nothing too big, nothing like a giant cow skull or a chalkboard, but something minor and inconspicuous to take home and to help build my arsenal of weird, dumb shit. You know how some bars are just littered with dumb shit? Moose heads, cheesy beer posters, whatever. Stuff like that. 

It's bad, I know, but it's my dream. It's my calling. Naturally, I'm too much of a puss to actually do this, so I'm left with accomplishing the goal in my own, legal fashion. Wait, what's the goal again?

I dunno. To make my place look like a bar, I guess.

There's comfort in bar culture. I like bars. I like the way they look, feel and smell. Over the years, I've become so accustomed to the inside of these damn places that I want my damn place to look like those damn places.


I don't know how I got it in my head, but I really like bar mirrors now. They're just Classy, maybe? I don't know. Now, I've seen quite a few radical bar mirrors in my time (Elvis themed, that really cool Coors Light Beer Wolf thing, etc.) but most, unfortunately, are insanely overpriced. Who knew a mirror you can barely see yourself in would be so expensive? So you gotta understand my plight. You know the lengths I would go to (petty theft, irrevocable guilt, etc.) but I'm a bar-bum on a budget. And where do bums shop?

And so enters eBay:

It was cheap, which is good. It was one of those rare and exciting occasions where I actually won what I was bidding on. I figure no one gives a shit about flimsy, dirty Pacifico mirrors like I do, so the celebration seems a bit overzealous. Extra points because Pacifico is delicious BTW.

And I dig the way it looks! Wood frame, clean glass, every one's happy. While doing the shitty dishes, I can imagine that I'm on a beach with the sun above, the wind gently wafting through my hair while a raucous, two-on-two volleyball tournament takes place in the near distance. Winner takes home bragging rights and the hottest girl in school! Just imagine!

Believe it or not, I found this next piece in the dumpster. The fucking dumpster. I'm not one to knock the ol' occasional dumpster dive, though. In fact, I encourage it. Fantastic things can be found in dumpsters! Like a slightly dirty, possibly diseased Dos Equis bar mirror! Touch of paint a bit of elbow grease and she shines like a diamond. The mirror is so reflective you can make out every nook and cranny of that popcorn ceiling! 

That's about it for now. 

Of course, the hunt continues. 

The obsession grows.