ANIME EXPLOSION.

!!!

The best part of the Internet is expressing every inconsequential, boring and trivial filler you're currently thinking about at any given time.  Opinions are expressed, views are blogged, no one gives a shit.  Like, seriously.  When was the last time you read something on the Internet that changed your life?  When was the last time you posted about anime and was sent a twenty pound box full of burnt DVDs?  OH JUST TODAY THAT HAPPENED TO ME FUCK YEAH.

Joshua Byrd sent this to the Calabrese Manor, specifically addressed to me, specifically because he knew I don't have a life.  I suppose the Internet is good for something after all!

What you're about to see is movie madness, a sonic load of the ultimate collection of wasted time.  It's everything I've ever dreamed of -- a carton the size of a nightstand packed with movies, movies, MOVIES.  All I mentioned was that I was getting deep into the seedy underworld of violent and robo-oriented anime, and to my surprise, I was given it all (and more) in the perfect Halloween/early Christmas present.  This really is the best thing to have come into my life right.  Because I like surprise boxes.  That are just for me.  Jammed with mind-rotting films and television.

Too bad this is overwhelming as fuck.

No, really.  It is.  Because look at that.  Underneath the first layer of scattered DVDs lies three more rows of neatly and tightly packed DVDs.  I gave up after the fifty mark, but it's safe to say there's at least thirty-thousand discs inside this thing.

Essentially, Joshua did what I've always wanted to do -- own every single movie ever.  Admittedly, the idea sounds outrageous,  but once you start laying out a battle plan...things start to come into focus a bit more.  The impossible now seems vaguely possible.  How?  Well, thanks to Netflix, you can have a steady stream of movies sent to your front door on a near-daily basis.  All that would be required of you is that upon the arrival of these DVDs, you were to instantly burn them to another disc, send back the DVDs as quickly as you can and do it all over again the next door.  Or whenever they arrive.  Not sure how this shit works.

BUT this is what Joshua did, and this is what I've always wanted to do!  If you were to keep it up for years...dare I say you could own a solid portion of most of the movies ever made?  Or at least movies that have been released in the US.  Or at least in one, specific genre.  Fine, you'll definitely own more movies than all of your friends combined.  And that's about it.

But hey, it's a valiant effort in over-consumption.  I love the idea, even if it's offensively idiotic.

I fully intend to watch this box full of anime.  No, that's a lie.  I fully intend to watch all the best stuff.  I already asked what were some of the highlights hidden among the rubble, which were then promptly picked out and put away until further notice.

Each one is labeled and in order, which is such a nice touch that I hate to admit that during their journey from Joshua's house to mine, they dissolved into a scattered mess of plastic and frustration.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks, Josh!

Ancient Calabrese Artifacts Number 32: Old Dungeons and Dragons Pewter Figurines.

This is a good one.  A real good one.  It's even better because to get at it the ancient Calabrese artifact, you have to go through a used and dusty fanny pack.

Calling a fanny pack "used" is disgusting and equally confusing, so I apologize.  I'd also like to apologize for running through this quickly.  I think the whole "fanny pack scandal" put me in a weird mood.

So.

What's in that fanny pack?  You didn't read the title of this post, did you?  Please tell me you didn't.  YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE YOU RUIN EVERYTHING.

Let's take a peek!

I think some of that dust got into my mouth.  I'm too young to die!

Dungeons and Dragons pewter figurines!  These are D&D, right?

Got these from my own closet after a week of spring cleaning, which was originally stored away in my older brother's closet.  In the past, I've yammered on and on about the pure glory and magic that is an Older Brother's Closet, and today will be no different.

Growing up, there is nothing more sacred than the hidden treasures within these dark walls.  Once you've garnered enough bravery to breach the initial bedroom's entrance, you're free to roam inside this magic kingdom.  Dig deep, my friends, push past the clothing and sneakers and schoolbooks and you'll find what you've always been looking for:

Really cool fucking shit.

Broken skateboard parts.  Comic books with gratuitous violence.  Actual weaponry.

Alright, they were rubber ninja stars, but you know what I'm saying.

Unless you don't.  You don't?  What I'm saying = everything in that closest was awesome.  Even if you didn't understand it, even if you actually quite feared it -- it was still unbelievably sacred and raw.  Like a dead kid on the side of the road next to the railroad tracks.  You will never be the same again.

What were these rated on the Cool Scale?  About a 7 out of 10.  At this point in my life, D&D was pretty gnarly.  Trolls, witches and the occasional frog with a pocketknife were the weirdest things I could imagine, so it was all I could do to expose myself to this nonsense as much as I could.  The manuals alone would be fascinating, along with the toy line and, God Almighty, the Fortress of Fangs.  These unpainted gems held a specific charm, too, though.  They were tiny.  And came in a box with foam divider pockets to keep things safe.  Worked for me.

I'm tellin' ya, kids toys back in 80's were THE BEST.  It seemed that everything that led up to that point was...alright.  As soon as whatever the hell happened to make it happen, all "boy toys" hitting toy shelves were monstrous, evil and nearly dabbling in the occult.  It seemed like everything either featured a demon with a gun, or a gun that turned into a demon.  It's possible that "He-Man and the Masters of the Universe" paved the way, and everyone latched onto the idea as quickly as possible, but it felt like that whatever you bought, it was covered in slime or featured a back story where the main character was in allegiance with Satan.  Or dated Satan back in college.   Whatever you wanted.

Movies catered to this idea.  Everything that made it big in the theaters and then as a line of toys was, I swear, about some really fucked up monster.  Or featured a fucked up monster.  Just think about it.  Then think about how that will never happen again.  Then cry in the shower.

Hell, even something as seemingly innocent and moralistically sound like GI Joe was a bunch of war-mongering terrorists.  And that's totally alright, because that's so fuckin' cool!  The lead terrorist wore a royal blue hood and talked like a snake!  You can't beat that!

So, anyway.

If there's one thing I go nuts on, it's that specific moment in time where all these memories stemmed from, where this endless nostalgia begins.  Later, the Ninja Turtles and everything else super-neon-extreme would usher in a new era of action figures, and although I would enjoy this decade, it just wasn't the same.  There wasn't any robed devils.  Just a lot of sharks in the street and motorcycle mice from Mars.

It's this specific time of being a bad kid and sneaking into my brother's wicked-sweet closet.  It's this longing for secret treasures.  Which, today, is a handful of little, unpainted figurines and shit.

These are my favorite of the bunch:

"Oh!" says the guy with toast strapped to his chest.  I think he's so upset because in act of trying to look tough, he cut deep into his left hand with this broadsword maneuver.  Now he's stuck in that position so no one will think any thing's the matter.  Because, naturally, they will mock and tease him for hurting his hand.  It's a tough life.

This is one Bad-Ass dude, as evidenced by the jutting lower teeth and helmet/hat made from a skull.  You'd want a lot of these types of guys, I'm sure.  But don't listen to me.  I have no idea how to play Dungeons and Dragons.

Witches, to me, were always pretty scary.  Pulled back hair, sunken eyes and the skin was always paper thin and vein-y.  And the idea that they would suck out your guts and poop into your heart.  Or something evil to that effect.

Did you just...?  Did you just hit yourself in the head with that mace?

Good, good times.  So good that I'm forced to stuff them back into their fanny-pack home and store them under my bed for the rest of my life.

Oh, nostalgia.

DragonCon, 2012!

So, here we are.  Weeks after our trip to Atlanta, GA for the loud, chaotic world of DragonCon.

First off, it took us a day to drive down there.  A day.  We were invited a month or so before the actual event, so we couldn't book shows to play leading up to the big bopper.  It would have helped with the pounding boredom and insane task of driving non-stop, but I'm not complaining.  Really.  DragonCon is well worth any sort of trouble.  I just wanted to let you know how hardcore we are.

A full day of driving.

Now, here we are.  The initial buzz has worn off, as well as any remaining "con-crud" inhabiting my body, so it's with great honor that I finally present to you...DragonCon, 2012!  If you made it this year, you know.  You just know.  You understand what it's all about.  But if you've never set foot inside a circus of comic books, cosplay and really big swords...here ya go.

Our booth was settled in the main hotel (this behemoth of a con spans across multiple hotels) and was open twenty-four hours a day.  For whatever reason, the bands were the only ones with this never ending schedule of hocking, selling and shilling, so you're kinda fucked if you're into that "sleep" thing.

Most guys pack up for the night and re-open in morning.  Unfortunately, we're not like most guys and have a truckload of merch.  We've been down this road before, so it was with a sadness in our hearts and a constant flow of overpriced, hotel coffee in our hands, we knew what we had to do -- stay awake for an entire Goddamn weekend.

We took turns throughout the day, and our dad stayed up through the night while we slept for a few hours.  Our hotel wasn't easy to get to, so it was all kinda in vain.  By the time we got to the place, we essentially just turned around and headed back.

Man, the first night we all stayed up, straight from the van and into the con.  I thought I was dying, my insides hurt, my brain was fried, etc.  But it was worth it.  I think.

And yes, people dress up.  IT'S THE BEST PART.  That's Jimmy and I with He-Man.  Just go ahead and say it.

"That He-Man's portly as all get out."

"He-Man?  More like 'He-Manatee.'"

"By the power of Twinkies, ho!"

There?  Feel good about yourself?  Can we move on now?

Most of the day I was super stoked and excited to shoot TONS of photos of us with anyone who dressed up as that guy from that sci-fi show or that anime no one's ever heard of.  These people are my favorite part of conventions.  It's just so much fun.  Sadly, the thrill was gone after any caffeine wore off, hence, lack of any of these photos.  I feel like I missed so much, but it's hard to care when you just don't care, ya know?

Fortunately, I had enough sense to take a photo with the "Kali-Ma Guy."  He even went the extra mile and pulled out a fake heart from my chest.  I then made a Diarrhea Face and it got weird.

One of the cooler parts of DragonCon is the artist gallery, where people sell anything that constitutes as art.  If you've ever wanted a centerpiece in your home that borders on confusing, tacky and brilliant, this is the place for you.  

BUT THE COOLER PART is all the comic book artists, and artists in general, who are there to shake hands, sign your shit and potentially be on the "Calabrese Artist Hit List."  These people are prime for the picking, and we buttered up quite a few associates.  We met Dave Baker, who we've always had our eye on for art, and who was really stoked on the idea for some possible collaboration.  I think the free CD helped.  

There's a guy who goes around drawing people, apparently for free.  I assume for tips, but I also assume that  Davey didn't bother.  Davey hates tipping.  Maybe that's why the guy drew him with lazy eyes and a beak.

This girl was great.  It's such a rad thing to meet fans, but it's even better when your fans are fans of other great music.  That sounds wrong and full of myself, I know.  It's, well...she like The Cramps, Subhumans, so on and so forth.  I like those bands, too.  They're the sensai and I'm the young student.  When someone likes us, too, it makes me feel legit, like we're finally leveling out with the top dogs.  Or something.  I'll shut up now.

Really, the only other photo with cosplay nuts.

Not necessarily because of these guys, but seeing everyone dressed as superheros, crime fighters and comic book villains, I realized how much I want to wear spandex.  I realized I never have, and if I don't act fast, I don't think I ever will.  It looks so free and comfortable and weird.  And I really wanna do it, some way, somehow.  Am I closet cosplayer?

And, of course, the show:

Thanks to everyone who came out to see us play, said hello and kept us occupied and entertained.  It was a hell of a task to pull off, but we did it.  We did it 'cause it's fun, exciting and because of any woman who dresses as Catwoman.  Good gravy.

Rock and roll commandos, man.  Get on it.

Shower Curtains.

Yes.

Yes.

They always say it's "the little things in life," and I stand firm behind this sentiment.

Currently, my shower curtain is unbelievably disgusting.  You know how it gets that white, soap-scum looking film?  And it ceases to deflect water in favor of being slippery and gross and kinda more yellow than white?  YOU KNOW YOU KNOW.

There's nothing better than a brand new shower curtain liner.  They're cheap, they brighten up your life and they smell like a plastic action figure the size of a doghouse.  I usually stock up on two or three, but two or three are never enough.  I like to feel secure in clean shower curtains.

I wouldn't say I'm a neat freak.  Or a clean freak.  Or a freak in general, for that matter.  But there are certain things in normal household living that just grate on me.  The feel of crumbs under your bare feet on te kitchen floor, a sink loaded with dirty dishes, weird smudges on windows, couch cushions that aren't properly aligned, fucking dust everywhere, etc.

Well, hell.  I guess I am a clean freak.

Looks magnificent.  The other one is in the trash, the new one has turned my bathroom into a paradise.  The little things, man.  I swear.

But it doesn't feel right.  This doesn't feel right for my blog.

Oh, better.  Much better.

Oh, and DragonCon?  I'll get around to it.  Every time I think I wanna delve deep into the landscapes of a skewed memory, I get caught up in something else.  Mainly anime.  Did I mention I'm obsessed with anime now?

Don't worry, I'm not one of those guys.  The "anime crowd," if you will.  Nerdy, frumpy and the skin color of Cheetos.  I'm well aware of the giant library of celluloid I'd have to blow through to become an expert in the genre, so I've picked a few key staple to get me going.  Which is anything from the 80's, so long as that 80's stuff is about giant robotic violence.

God, it's such a beautiful thing.  I'm not sure how I got into it (again) but here I am.  DragonCon's endless vendors hocking the junk sure didn't help my cause, either.  And I only say "again" because this is my second bout into the genre.

When I was younger, I had a friend who was really into the stuff.  He knew all the shops to visit, all the videos to watch, all the Japanese soda to drink.  I had no idea what to expect, but since he was my only friend in middle school...I was right there with him.  And, boy howdy, what a trip.

The art is astounding, insane and neurotic.  I never saw anything like it!  So foreign, unique and loaded with animated boobs!  Battles hypnotize, the constant action is nearly mind-numbing.  I felt really...weird when I watched it.  But a good kind of weird.  I still get that weird feeling.  And ff I could somehow manage to write a record that made the listener feel what I feel while watching "Akira," I'd be set for life.  My music = possibly seizure inducing.  What's so wrong with that?

But yeah.  Stick with me.  DragonCon recap comin' up next!

Creeping Crud.

Just got back from our trip to Atlanta, GA for the yearly explosion of costumes, vendors sweaty armpits known as DragonCon. It was a long haul to Atlanta and an even longer haul back (I already read my only book) but, as any convention with cute girls in superhero costumes goes, it was well worth the trouble. We stood by our table for three straight days, played a show at precisely midnight and just took in all the sights and sounds of a wonderfully chaotic convention.

I love it. I love the absolute surrender to order and normalcy. You wanna dress as the dude from "Firefly?" What about Harley Quinn from Batman? A piece of pizza? A Fembot from "Austin Powers?"  A pimp version of Boba Fett? Starfox? Contestants from the Nickelodeon show "GUTS?"

GO FOR IT THERE IS NOW LAW THERE IS NO ORDER.

I'm gonna cut this short. Because. BECAUSE. If there's two things I don't like, it would have to be reiterating the same thing in different words (I'm gonna beef this one up in a later blog) and the thousands of disease-filled freaks touching, rubbing and either accidentally or purposely groping you. I'm not a germ-freak. Far from it. Unfortunately, my body suffers in this lack of giving a shit. 'Cause I came back with something nasty. I'm harboring a blast of juices and snot, a sore throat and a pounding head. I went to DragonCon and all I got was a case of the creeping crud.

So I'll have to finish this one up later.  With pictures and stuff.  And, of course, complaints.  What am I even doing here if I ain't complaining?

I blame it all on this guy:

More to come.

I'm gonna lay down on the floor now.

Chicken Goo.

For whatever reason, I've been enamored with chicken salad sandwiches.  The flavors, the design, the irreversible flaw of eating that weird tin of watery chicken.  Somewhere there is a question being asked, and it has been answered.

"Chicken salad sandwiches."

Amen.

Now, one of the reasons I like it so much is that it's delicious.  Plain and simple.  A potent mixture of canned chicken, celery, pecans, grapes and apples on toasted bread that will charm and delight.  Other people choose to add other ingredients, but I think I hit my "chopping up stuff into little pieces limit" with four.  I only have so much time to spare.

Besides the dangerous act of using a cutting knife (shit's sharp, yo!) another reason is that it's simple to make.  Well, relatively simple.  I've recently put myself into a routine of making a huge ton of some kind of food at the beginning of the week -- it saves time, effort and the stress of finding something to feed yourself from day to day.  Believe me, it's the ultimate in pre-planned laziness and zero desire to step outside of my consumption boundaries.  No joke, when we're not on the road and at home, I've been eating this junk for at least a month and a half straight.

I dub my creation, "Chicken Goo."

"Goo" because, well, it's of a goo nature, and nothing weirds people out like mentioning you ate a "goo" for dinner the night before.  I usually like to complete the meal with a side of Colby cheese and Triscuits, but that's neither here nor there.

Really looks like puke, am I right?  Unfortunately, that's all I've got to say on that.  A bucket of goo.  Resembling a bucket of vomit.  Which I love to eat.

MY GOD IT'S BEEN A SLOW WEEK.

7-11 Monster Cups.

I like to drink stuff.  All sorts of liquids, sludges and beverages.  If I had my way, it would be from a crystal skull, as made apparent in the last post.  I will settle for monster themed cups from an early 80's 7-11.

There they are, stacked up and desperately needing a washing.  Been sitting in the corner of my room for months, and only now have I decided to pull them out for all of my cup needs.  And of course, I have zero proof that these are from the early 80's.  It's a logical guess, assuming "logical" meant "random" and "uninspired."

Yesss.

The history of these things?  No idea.  All I can tell you is that they bring a certain sense of 80's nostalgia to my household, even though I didn't even exist before 1984.  There's something about the goofy artwork, the soft, ugly coloring and the charm of simply having crude monsters plastered on a tall cup of Dr. Pepper.  Don't like Dr. Pepper?  Then these aren't for you.

I won't bother finding out why these were produced, or what event they were being affiliated with at the time, because it's better this way.  It's better not knowing/creating my own scenario.  It makes sense to me that these are simply existing in a easier, more relaxed time, next to junk food and crappy magazines.  These were invented out of a curiosity, a demand for fun in an otherwise shitty work week.  I want to think that at a 7-11 board meeting, with the President of the company in tow, while discussing the future of their various soda cups and Slurpee junk and other dumb shit, simply asked themselves, "Why the hell not?"  And that's how the universe was created.

All lined up in a row, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  Call it a certain vibe, call it my uncanny ability to get excited over electric green swamp trolls -- it all adds up to a thrilling Thursday night.

I want to take photos of every single cup and explain to you, in vivid detail, how and why I love each one.  But, if you've noticed, there are eight cups total, and this is, as mentioned, a Thursday night.  I've very busy on Thursday nights.  Maybe I'll show you my top three?  Top two?  There's just no time to article all eight, individual monsters OH FINE I'LL DO IT.

We'll meet in the middle.

These are my Top Four Monster Cups From 7-11:

I'd hate to be obvious and overt, but I had to go with "Zombie."  The red sun reminds me of "Dawn of the Dead" and his body looks like it's melting into a fine, Thanksgiving Day gravy.  That is perfect on multiple levels.

Did I mention each cup had it's own monster biography?  If all the imagery and scenarios swirling around in your brain wasn't enough, you're given a complimentary back story to fill in the gaps and plot holes.  Before, my zombie lived alone and worked at a hip restaurant.  He served tables well and achieved decent tips.  Now, he's cursed to wander eternally in the nether regions between life and death.  I like my version better.

Legitimately reading it through, it's a pretty cool bio.  I really couldn't have said it better myself.  Actually, I could, and can.  In a song for our next record.  I love you, 7-11 Monster Cups.

Number two on the list is "The Cave Thing," because he's so fucking tough he doesn't even have a proper name.  Unless it really is "The Cave Thing," like The Thing from Fantastic Four.  Then that's just lazy.

Why wouldn't I pick "Troll?"  Troll features multiple attributes I look for in a monster -- green, fauna-like skin, puffy lips and a puzzled, almost inquisitive look.  But angry inquisitive.  He is a monster, for God's sake.

I might be the only one who thinks the "Ghost Riders" are cool.  Even my younger self would have scoffed at the idea of a couple of skeletons riding dead horses, but then again, my younger self sucks ass.  Because these are skeletons riding dead horses!  Wearing scarves!  And cowboy hats!  I think I blew it on this one!

See you next week, dudes.