XMAS HAUL, 2013.

What, what did ya get?

Oh, that's great!  You really needed that, too.  It's definitely gonna come in handy.  And I always heard the life warranty on those things were fantastic.  So that's great, yeah.  Oh, what did I get?  Well, not much, this and that...a few little things to tide me over into the new year.

JUST KIDDING I GOT A KEURIG COFFEE MAKER.

The greatest and quickest way to make a single cup of freshly brewed coffee.  This is the Lazy Man's Brew.  This is modern technology!

For years I've scoffed at the notion of a Keurig.  Extra emphasis on the "eu" part, accentuating it's pretentiousness.  Actually buying expensive little plastic cups to brew expensive little plastic coffee?  Who do you think I am?

"It's ludicrous!" I'd shout.  "It's wasteful and tacky and lame!" I'd proclaim.  I've since succumbed to BIK (Believers in Keurig) because this is the best cup of coffee brewed in under forty-five seconds.

My mom has one, and I've always liked using it because you could make a single cup of Joe without the fuss and muss of grounding up beans or scooping out grounds from a tin can.  AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON FILTERS.  Unless you're using a French press or heating up water for instant, the whole damn thing is an exercise in exhibiting patience.  Yeeeeah I'm literally over blowing the whole thing because it really doesn't take that long to warm up a standard pot of regular coffee.  So then what the fuck is the point of a Kuerig?

Well, it is quicker, but it's also maddeningly convenient.  You know how you waste a full pot of coffee when all you wanted was a single cup?  Those days are gone, my friend.  Sure, it's definitely more expensive and there's probably a lingering chemical taste in each serving (the whole thing is a boiling machine of hot plastic) but it's totally worth it.  I'd assume this is great for single people or anyone who updates their Facebook with Bitsrips.  Because you're probably single.

It's good stuff.  It really did taste like burning plastic at first, but a dozen or so run-throughs and the stank is nearly non-existent.  Hell, I use so much half-and-half it really doesn't even matter what I'm drinking.

The only negative is strictly ridiculous and of my own accord.  I suppose I like the sight and smell of a Mr. Coffee drip.  A steaming pot of coffee is just so classic and vintage it reminds me of movies that take place in police stations and drunken late night trips to Dunkin' Donuts.  You don't get that with a Keuring.  But it's still cool.  Like, really cool.  This was a good Christmas.  I love Christmas.

See you next year!

Christmas Shopping Sucks.

I'm done I'm done I'M FUCKING DONE WITH CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.

Over the years, 

I still don't understand why it becomes so hard for me to buckle down and buy something for anyone.  It's not that I don't like purchasing gifts for friends and family, it's just that I gotta leave the house and really think about what people want.  And that's hard.  I could know you for ten years and still have trouble buying you lunch.  BUT I THOUGHT YOU LIKED GYROS.

I'm shocked that I wait until the day before Christmas Eve to do the brunt of all my shopping.  It's legitimately shocking.  I actually I'm completely shocked and aghast and disgusted with myself.  I mean, what's my problem?  I must be so lazy and demented and unsound that this actually seems like a good idea.  Because, truth be told, there's not that many people I have to buy for.

In my family, we've decided that you will buy something for the parents.  You don't necessarily have to, but it's unwise if you didn't.  You will also have a choice in purchasing goods for the younger generation.  This is also a choice.  Whether you want to be Bad Ass /Aunt/Uncle is entirely up to you.  And since there are so many siblings and in-laws, we've decided to each pull a name out of a hat and only worry about that single, lone person.  So what was once a shit-storm of gift giving has now been reduced to spending about twenty bucks on an older sister you barely see.  That's it, that's all, now worries and no mess.  You're in, you're out, happy new year.

BUT THIS IS STILL IMPOSSIBLE.

I can't think straight, there's too much pressure, I've got a headache and the smell of people is making me feel weird.  Someone brushed against my shoulder I think I'm gonna die!

And, of course, with blowing any wad of cash in one sitting, I instantly feel like I'm in financial ruins and will need to declare bankruptcy in the next twenty-four hours.  I don't even know how to do that or what that even means but yeah I spent a shit load of money.

OF COURSE there's a silver lining.  I wouldn't deck the halls with balls of holly and not get myself something, now would I?  I did all the dirty work so now I demand a treat.  The madness of a single Target the morning before Christmas Eve warrants delight.  I want a present, too!

Total impulse buy.  Waiting in the checkout line and thar she blows -- Topps' Garbage Pail Kids Sticker Cards.  A total classic, a time honored treat, a the light at the end of any tunnel.  I wanted to melt into the ground and disappear into nothingness at this point so the welcome sight of disgusting babies doing disgusting things calmed me into solidity.  I remained one mass.  I did not ooze.

I would have went nuttier.  I should have went bigger.  I would have bought something really dumb and useless, but time wasn't on my side and I really wanted to get back into my pajamas.  Stickers of gross kids popping zits and committing suicide is nothing to complain about, though.  I hate shopping and I hate buying things for other people but I sure do love these.  I finally feel calm and at peace during this joyous holiday season.  My Christmas is saved!

The usual suspects in a mess of mucus and pus.  I feel at home with Garbage Pail Kids.  First and foremost, I like how these things still exist in a modern world, secondly, I really like how these double as stickers.  Such barf-filled fun can be shared with the simple slap of a heavy hand.  That was just a fancy way for saying you can totally fuck up your friends' car windows with these things.

The search is still on for a "Bobby" Garbage Pail Kid for my guitar, but I ain't cryin'.  The hunt is way better than the catch.

Christmas shopping still sucks, but this Monday night I am at peace.

I'm calm.

I'm cool.

Oh, yeah.

BREAKING DOWN ALL CHRISTMAS BARRIERS.

I don't have a Christmas tree.  And do be honest, I don't even really want a Christmas tree.  Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas and if somebody bought and constructed a Christmas tree specifically for my living room then yeah, sure, I'll take a Christmas tree.  But actions speak louder than words because uggggh I don't want to go through the trouble.  Call me lazy.  Call me a Grinch.  Call me hesitant on putting up a hundred dollars worth of a big hassle just to tear it back down in a week.  That's kind of my fault, though, since Christmas is, like, practically tomorrow.  My bad.

Buuuut, if I can assemble something specifically for the holidays that can be used year round without question...why, that would be keen!

And so enters the Christmas Palm Tree.

I like this idea.  I like this look.  I've seen a lot of people do this over the years and it always seemed really cool and chic and hip.   There's an air of simplicity and nonchalance about decorating a palm tree instead of going the classic route with a big ol' pine.  To me it says, "I care...but I really don't."  BUT PLEASE UNDERSTAND that I do care.  I totally dig Christmas.  Besides, we live in the southwest so no one gives a shit about a palm tree just chillin' in your house.

The lights!  The magic!  Everything twinkles and sparkles and shines.  I've got eight-thousand "A Christmas Story" themed ornaments I've been dying to use, so I'm pretty stoked on that.  Throw a few hastily wrapped DVDs under the thing and BAM let's call it a day.  The DVDs will be for me, so I'm thinking "Cyborg" with Van Damme and "Men at Work" with the Estevez brothers.

I figure I can leave it up year round.  This is the catalyst for greater things to come.  There's nothing stopping me from turning my place into a den of total beach relaxation.  As you can already tell, my walls have been painted yellow in an attempt to recreate sunshine, happiness and fine, Mexican restaurant luxury.  All I need now is a hammock and a six pack of Dos Equis.  My older sister thinks Dos Equis tastes like tires but I disagree.  I can't formulate an answer that can properly deny this claim, but I certainly don't think it tastes like tires.  I highly recommend a slice of lime and salt to heighten the flavor, Older Sister.  Makes the world of difference.

Now, I'm thinking I wanna cover my couch in lobsters and king crabs but I figure that would be too much.  Anyone who would come over to hang out and have a seat would eventually move them and disorganize the entire setup and that wouldn't quite jive well with me.  There's a certain placement with this kind of thing, a definite feng shui to the underwater wild.  But I suppose that I don't want to get into too much of an underwater theme to the place -- no one likes SeaWorld that much.

I think what I have going is a good thing.  I watch TV and my eyes divert to the corner where the palm tree stands.  A warmth fills my body.  If that isn't Christmas cheer I don't know what is.  I hope your holidays are filled with merriness and good tidings and all that other shit.

All that good shit.

Christmas in a Bottle!

There's a few things I really like about Christmas.  First and foremost would be the presents.  Following close behind would be the food and, consequently, the smell of food.  And I guess the decorations and the music and any Christmas themed episodes of any sitcom ever.  So pretty much everything.  BUT PRETTY MUCH THIS:

I dabble in scented candles.  I really do.  I like potpourri, I like scented pinecones, I even like those trash bags that kind of smell like flowers.  I try to get the candles that can stink up entire rooms, but I've yet to come across any that work unless you're hovering a foot and a half away from the source.  And even then you're kind of just doing that "sticking your nose in the air for a whiff" thing.

AND SO ENTERS THE GLAD HOLIDAY TREAT SPRAY.

It's genius.  It's incredible.  It's vicious in it's simplicity.  Instead of waiting for the scent to go to you, you go to the scent.  You intermingle, you join, you become one.  You spray the damn stuff all over your furniture and literally sit in the stink of your own desire.  I figure there are other drizzle machines before the "Sweet Holiday Treat" version, but this is the first I've heard about it and this is all that counts.  It's Christmas and I really don't want to bake actual cookies.  I want it to smell like I did.

Ahh!  Sweet holiday treat!  Dulces para las fiestas!  What are you?  What secrets are hidden in your spray?  What darling confectionery will my nose be sucking in this holiday season?  What fragrance will dribble down the spout and forever stain my fingers with an unmistakable Christmas odor?

It's that!  It's that's thing!  The smell of cupcakes covered in a drippling of spiral icing!  Could that be chocolate?  Carrot cake?  Gluten-free red velvet?  Who cares!  It's Christmas!

Easy enough stuff, man.  Squeeze the trigger and go nuts.  Just don't point down.  Or in your mouth, even if you really, really want to.

It smells crazy good.  It's like cinnamon and vanilla and JOY.  It's overpowering, which I like, and it keeps the flavor of fun present for quite some time.  Definitely lasts longer than a few movies on Netflix.  Can't tell ya how long this sucker will be able to keep on doin' it's thang, but I figure it'll last all of December.  Assuming I'm humble with my spritzes.  So for what I can tell, this spray does the job and it does it well.  I cannot recommend this enough.  It's become my passion, my obsession.  I am a skunk in the wild.  A pheromone squirting animal.  I AM THE MIDNIGHT SPITTER.

A+

I GOTTA OPEN IT I GOTTA OPEN IT.

There you are, so fine and dusty, a plastic treasure among the ruins.  You are Hordak, a villain in the Masters of the Universe universe, a bone faced bastard with a super cool bat logo on your chest.  You've risen to the top in terms of looks, prowess and weaponry.  I vaguely see a crossbow and OMG is that a little red bat to sit upon an outstretched arm??? (Imagine a crossbow and a cute little bat -- I forgot to photograph it and I ain't going back.)

I've wanted to open you for many years, my friend.  For years.  I've struggled, I've abstained, I've kept my promise to serve and protect, no matter what the costs.  Others come and go, but it's always been you I've wanted to tear open and chew upon.  Skeletor has sufficed in the past, but there's more to life than Skeletor.  There's plenty of muscle bound skull-monsters in the sea.

I've had this stuffed away in my closet for years now.  I remember buying it at a comic shop selling new and used toys and there it was.  Hordak in his prime, sealed and signed.  The intent was to proudly display the treasure, either in a glass case or some sort of shrine with a single spotlight illuminating it's MOTU talent.  This did not happen.  So it has remained in bedroom-junk-pile-stasis until now.  Because it calls to me.  This very Tuesday afternoon, Hordak has called and I have answered.  Hi, Hordak!

A quick and simply observation reveals that the box is wonky and the edges are bent, but it's still preserved, it's still original.

BUT THE BOX IS WONKY AND THE EDGES ARE BENT.

It doesn't sit right with me.  I know the value has severely been decreased, but there's still hope, isn't there?  There's still a touch of vintage antiquity, right?  Please tell me there isn't cuz I'm gonna open this bitch.

I figure I might as well, ya know?  Just do it, just go for it.  YOLO, man.  YOLO to the cows come home.

There's nothing better than the crunch and smash of a newly opened action figure.  The sights and the sounds of this divine process invigorate even the coldest souls.  So much happy.  So much good.  So much fucking dust on this thing.

Hordak rules.  Hordak's Evil Horde is even rule-ier.  I'd argue that this was the greatest peak of monster-mania to ever rock the halls of a Toys R Us.  Bad guys with multiple legs, suction cups for heads and demons with bristly hair from head to toe.  And they all got together and did crazy shit and it was awesome.

Ah, what a beaut!  A fine example of smooth plastic and pro craftsmanship.  If you were to melt down a brick of gold and shape into a single, lone action figure...this would be that action figure.  It almost shines in the light.  I'll need a pair sunglasses to have playtime in Castle Greyskull.  I might even get a hat for the event, too.  I've always wanted to be a "hat guy."

He even comes with a cape!  It's not made of fabric, but it's blood red and that's good enough for me.  WELL worth the weak moment in YOLO-ing.

Hordak, of course, will need a welcoming party, so perhaps a nice dinner and a few board games with the neighbors will be in order.  I'd suggest charades, but it's a little too "in the spotlight" for someone who really doesn't know anybody yet.

Oh, and BYOB.  Beer is cool but the hard stuff won't be shunned.  Don't tell too many people about it 'cause it's supposed to be pretty low-key.  Got that?  Good.

See you there!

Today We Will Slay the Breakfast Burrito.

Ho, there!  The breakfast burrito!  The illustrious breakfast burrito!  We are here today to honor the power, the refined magnificence and bold flavor sensation of the greatest food in the Kingdom!  Huzzah!

It is everything you want or need, wrapped up in a tortilla to form a log-like mush.  You are not worthy unless you consume this log.  This swelling lump of bacon, egg, cheese and potato is the true test into Knighthood.  To slay thee you will become one with the gargoyle, a mortal bond between man and grease.  Yes, there will be grease, young one.  You have been warned, you have been told of the consequences.  There is no turning back, there are no bathroom breaks and you will have a limited amount of napkins.

Are you worthy?  Do you dare enter the dragon?

Behold!  Within these paper walls lies an animal ready to pounce!  Do not disturb...unless you are ready for the challenge.  Are you hungry?  Are you not pregnant?  How tall are you?  Once you meet the requirements, you will be treated with respect and honor, for you have taken upon this quest with mettle.  Your courage is bright, but do not get cocky.  Thy monster is tricky, devilish swine not to be taken lightly.

Head forth!  Through the forest and into the dirty bowels of the local diner!  Good luck!

There it is!  The animal un-caged!  A wedge so delicately formed and molded into what will become your greatest friend...or greatest enemy.  Which will it be?  Whose side will you be on?  Do not fret, for the cavalry is here, your allies in a belly-battle have readied themselves at the helm -- miniature cups of green sauce, ready to be dipped at your service, sir!

Unwrap the beast, child, head forth into destiny...

The barbarian is loose!  Draw your fork!  Defend yourself!  Wait...you didn't bring a fork?  What is wrong with you, squire?  Do you realize what you've done?  No time for regrets, use both your hands to straddle and strangle the abominable creature!  That's right, both hand gripped tightly to seal off it's last breath!  Don't let go!  Whatever you do DO NOT LET GO!

Ah, it's bite is deadly and fierce!  It's teeth are bigger than we've all imagined, the mouth wide and gaping, a mixture of chopped up ingredients and lubricious hell-fire!

Damn you, beast!  No time to waste!  We must simply use the same tactics as the fiend!  Yes, you heard me...you must bite your way to victory!  YES!  There you go!  Your human fangs destroy and dominate!  You are victorious in this battle!  The realm is yours, The Kingdom is at your feet!  Women cry out your name, men applaud your triumph!  You are a fearless man, you are a champion, you are a true Knight at the Dinner Table!

Today I Will Frame a Poster.

When you get older, you really start to notice how dumb certain things are.  I can't really come up with any examples but my point is that posters look like shit without a frame.

When you're a kid you don't care about using thumbtacks to slap up a ripped, bent up piece of paper on your bedroom walls.  We've all done it.  Frames are expensive and besides, no self respecting teen would be caught dead in a crafts store.

But now we're older, we're wiser.  We want our valuables to be displayed properly, classier and just generally preserved-ier.  All my best toys are in glass cases, graphic novels are lined properly in slick bookshelves, VHS are specifically retro and unique.  We ain't foolin' anyone (nerds!) but it's a start.

I have a poster.  It needs to be framed.  I've been wanting to frame it for years.  Either I've been blind to this revolution, but I seriously see a huge influx in moderately priced frames for all the oddest shapes and sizes.  Sure, you're screwed if what you're framing is SUPER wacky, but who would of thought there would have been 11" by 17" frames, like, everywhere.  And easy to find, too.  I think I'm just bitter because OUR POSTERS THAT WE SELL ARE THIS SIZE WHY DIDN'T ANYONE EVER TELL ME.

So this is a solid size.  Good measurements.  Not too big and not too small, a great addition to add in between all the nooks and crevices of your boring, drab walls.  I've come to appreciate insane, overblown walls.  I like it when everything is covered in posters, flyers, records, etc.  I'm turning my entire place into a circus, yeah.  What can ya do?

Say, have you heard of Rocket From the Crypt?  Oh, you have!  Well, Rocket From the Crypt has been one of my favorite bands for the longest time now.  They called it quits a few years ago, but have only recently picked up their instruments to tour the world once again.  I've never seen them live, which is a cryin' shame, but until I do, their legacy lives on in the form of CDs, albums and a really cool tour poster of a scorpion.  I might have a thing for scorpions.

I'm only writing this just to publicly gush about them online.  Fine, it's been said.  There's always a tiny hope in the back of my head that one day, somehow, they will read this and extend a happy, helping hand to play alongside them.  I really hope they like gushing.  I'm good at gushing.

Their music rules.  It's everything I love in a band.  It's pure rock and roll at it's heart-thumping finest.  Great beats, cool image and a great singer/lyricist.  And by default, they win any award imaginable by including a horn section that doesn't automatically turn their band into terrible ska.

So yeah, check them out.

Well, I'll be.  Looks better than I imagined.  My expectations are exceeded, save for that little white string in the bottom right hand corner of the picture.  All expectations are now destroyed and I hate it to pieces.

I'm thinking of hanging it up in my bathroom.  I like it when bathrooms have a specific motif.  It can be a shrine to the band, a holy place to worship the Big Sound of one of the best bands in all the land.

A place to release a few "Rockets From the Shit."

...

Thank you and goodnight.

Holy Crap, Halloween

When we toured through October, it almost felt that we not only experienced Halloween, but we're weeks past it and it's already Thanksgiving.  I have no idea why that is.  Did I watch enough horror movies?  Will "Troll" and the multiple "Ghoulies" films suffice?  It feels like Halloween already happened and I missed it.

But wait!  I didn't miss it!  There's still time to redeem myself.  If all else fails, if you've done nothing but let the holiday roll on by and you had one last chance to accomplish one lousy thing for Halloween despite being a total ditch effort and in vain...well, that one last thing better be carving a damn pumpkin.

I went with a classic look.  It affords a little leg room for failure and always gets the point across.  I figure a little bit of vampire-teeth would win me some points for moderate creativity.  I also decided to get the smallest pumpkin available.  The idea of touching and scooping and scraping pumpkin guts MAKES ME SICK, so any way to minimize the process is alright by me.  Plus, these mini-pumpkins are so fucking adorable.

I've got my bucket of candy ready, horror films ready to roll, etc.  Kids rarely come to my place, but it's still fun to turn your front walkway into a haunted mess.  I've got the skeletons danglin' from above, giant skulls guarding the doorbell, zombie hands popping up from the ground.  I'm pretty sure not a single soul will be trick or treating my way, but you always gotta be prepared.  I've got the GOOD stuff, too.  Twix, Kit Kats, peanut M&Ms!  It's all here for the taking!

Well, until then.

Happy Halloween!

I'm baaaaack!

We're done.  We're officially done with shows for a while.  This is both awesome and disheartening because I could really use a day where I don't leave the couch, but now that means my days will be spent not leaving the couch.  If there's one thing positive and truthful about me, it's that when I say I'm gonna watch TV...I really fucking watch TV.

NETFLIX HAS RUINED MY LIFE.

But now it gives me an opportunity to spend more time online and with this blog.  I really like this blog.  It documents what really doesn't need to be documented and keeps my brain from slipping into a coma.  It's good to be writing the words.  Me think it stimulates brain.  Good brain fun words.

So.  The tour.  It was great.  We played all over, man.  It was the longest string of shows we've ever done before, barely any days off and absolutely zero sleep.  I mean, there WAS sleep, but it was mostly muddled and while intoxicated.

Every city we played was awesome.  Aside from three flat tires and the occasional piece of equipment shitting out, there wasn't too many bumps in the road.  We met new and old friends and fans all over the good ol' US of A, I ate like a pig and had a blast drinking Yuengling.  It was more fun to pronounce and to awkwardly repeat it at any time possible (Yuengliiiing!) but you get the picture.  The picture is beautiful and I painted it with blood, sweat and the sad remains of that really weird Mexican food we had in Arkansas.

Band Pro Tip: Never eat Mexican food in Arkansas.

Part of me wants to tell a story and recount a silly event, but I'm pretty sure I'd just be repeating myself.  The entire thing has already been chronicled online, what with Facebook and Twitter and Instagram leading the forefront of in-your-face and on-the-spot Calabrese action, so yeah.  I'll probably be posting a ton of all the greatest photos soon enough, though, to even out the ratio of Calabrese Stuff Online to Not Calabrese Stuff Online, so stay tuned for that.  I'm a firm proponent of Calabrese Stuff Online.  CSL for short.  Dig it.

Buuuuut I will post this:

Halloween is inching closer and closer, and my place is taking the proper steps in illuminating this fact.  Out come the paper skeleton cut outs, dusted off are the hanging spider lights and rubbery, severed hands AND HELLO THERE A HORRIFYING TWO-FOOT-TALL DOLL OF YOUNG MICHAEL MYERS.  In all Samhain celebrations, this is my pride and joy.  My go-to prop to set in the window to freak out anyone effected by clowns, short people or really short clown-people.

I picked this up at Texas Frightmare years ago, absolutely willing to dump seventy-bucks for a chance to keep this near me at all times.  It's almost become a security blanket with me.  It's just so unabashedly Halloween (I mean, yeah, it's a direct piece of merch from the "Halloween" films) but it's so much more.  It's a beacon of hope, a fog-shrouded lighthouse in the perfect storm of life.  Or it's just a really creepy doll and it's awesome.

So fucking awesome.

BORN WITH A SCORPION'S TOUCH

"Born With A Scorpion's Touch" is officially out now, online and in stores!  ROCK AND ROLL!

*Itunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/born-with-a-scorpions-touch/id715742486

*Official Web-Store: www.CalabreseStore.com

Shrunken Head Kids.

Every year, the Calabrese's gather from around the world to meet in one, predetermined spot.  Drinks are had, stories are told, everything we've ever hated about one another will soon be over in a few short days so don't worry.  It's always a fun trip, and I'm always stoked to spend some time with the fam, even if that means melting under the sun in the endless line for Space Mountain.

Trips vary, locations differ from year to year.  This time 'round, we went to Disneyland twice, hit up the beach once and threw in a quick trip to Knott's Berry Farm for the raw fuck of it.  Now, the beach was especially solid this year. A specific dream in life is to be a part of a "classic beach scene," where the sun is shining, girls in bikinis are playing volleyball and a game of Frisbee leads to an altercation when an off-kilter throw lands in some one's food.  Tensions would rise, a game of skill is settled upon to even the score.  We'd duel over a game of soccer or we'd arm wrestler.  Worse case scenario: I'd get horribly kicked in the face.  Real hard, but not hard enough to keep me down.  Lots of people on the four wheel dune buggy things, too.  And surfboards propped up in the sand.  I'd sulk away, plotting revenge, but you know how it is.  I'm a wuss.

What I'm trying to say is that the beach was really fun this year.

Now, Knott's Berry Farm was really really fun.  Haven't been there in over a decade so it was a nice refresher course in remembering how dirty the place actually is.

And sure, most of the rides felt like your bones were breaking and two siblings swore up and down that they almost died on two different roller coasters...but was still suuuuuper rad.  Looking back, I legitimately feel bad about thinking my sisters' near-death experiences were slightly based on panic and silly paranoia.  Since, ya know...a woman just died on a roller coaster at Six Flags two weeks ago.  My bad.

I've never been to Disneyland twice in a row before.  It allows an opportunity to fully appreciate every nook and cranny while not being forced to blow your load in a single day.  I'm pretty sure we only hit up one ride in a mind boggling four hours on Day 1, so it was nice to have a little bit of freedom to not feel too burnt that the Cars ride sucked total ass.

Indiana Jones, Pirates of the Caribbean, Space Mountain, etc.  These are the classics, these are the rides you must ride.  When you're all done with that, the natural route to take is straight on over to Disneyland 2.0.

What's the verdict on California Adventure?  Do we like it?  Despise it?  Personally, I think the place is great.  The food selection is better, the roller coaster is top notch and you can totally walk around the park with beer.  Not advisable if you were to ride said roller-coaster, though.  When you're all done with that, you either go home or go big.  If you're with me, and I know you are...you make it a priority to search out Trader Sam's Enchanted Tiki Bar in the Disneyland Hotel area.

Throw everything you think you know about the Tiki Room out the window.  If you have no idea what the Tiki Room even is, that's even better -- you're starting from scratch.  Trader Sam's Enchanted Tiki Bar, located just outside Disneyland Hotel, is not just a bar.  It's an outstanding trip into your wildest night of island-hopping debauchery.

Imagine everything you know about Hawaii.  Everything you've seen, heard or come to expect when you think of the place.  Because that's exactly what this place is.  Complete with bamboo walls, sinking ships in a bottle (like magic!) and outstandingly potent liquor drinks.

You can order food, yeah, but the real money is in those tropical drinks.  Of course, I don't remember any of them at this point, but say you ordered the "volcano themed" drink.  The lights go off, portraits on the walls featuring volcanoes erupt (more magic!) and the staff squirts water into your face.  It's so fucking cool.

AND OF COURSE you can buy the glass your drink came in.  Color me obvious, but I ordered The Zombie.  What, you wouldn't have ordered "The Zombie?"

Look at it.  Just look at it!  If I'm remembering correctly, the brew was a concoction of pineapple juice and whiskey and other things that wanna make me vomit just trying to remember it correctly.  Not terribly pricey, but they poured heavily, so it kind of made up for it.

They even had two dudes serenading the crowd with hula-dancing music, which made the whole night feel extra Forgetting Sarah Marshall-y.

Look at it!  Are you looking at it?  JUST LOOK AT IT.

Can't wait to do it again next year!

I HATE DUST.

A few days ago, I dug through a lot of my old stuff laying around the house.  I get these crazy urges to sift through my place in an attempt to gather up unwanted wares to be released into the wild.  For my own, personal freedom and for the good of keeping the clutter down.  Now, these urges or aren't entirely random nor animalistic.  There's a reason behind it, a shotgun blast of energy and devotion. It's usually caused by one of two things:

I'll sometimes watch a movie where the lead character will have this amazingly simple and elegant house, full of modern furniture and hip finesse, with stainless steel fridges and an eight thousand dollar dinner table.  I'll become jealous over this, because I want that, too.  Only the rich and fabulous have appliances like that.  Only the rich have mastered such minimalistic style!

The independence!  The walking space!  The chic-ness!  I want that!  I will light a match to my place, let it all burn down and start anew from the ashes!

The other reason:

I need more room for even more shit.

Ughghh, I hate to admit it but in the last week I've become obsessed with "vinyl art toys."  This could mean a lot of varying things to various people, but this is what it means to me:

Sadly, if you know anything about this weird, semi-underground culture, you know that these figures are molded, hand-painted and are sold for hundreds of dollars each.  Seventy/eighty bucks if you're lucky.  These specific mutants were done by someone/something called Splurtt, and are virtually nonexistent because that's how hard it is to buy one.  It's all so underground and seedy.  To me, this is total and absolute fun, and the idea that each piece is really rare and hard to acquire makes the entire package all the more enticing.  It's like dealing in drugs and not knowing where drugs are.  I don't know what's what and who's who...and I love it!

The price, I assume, is based on individual uniqueness, the artistic, human touch and limited availability.  It's a lot to ask for, and it seems like a giant waste of cash for anyone but they're just so damn cool looking.

I wanted to dump the stuff I don't look at, read or watch anymore to simultaneously make room and a few bucks towards my fresh and exciting endeavor.  The idea is stupid (really, a hundred bucks for one toy?) but I kept on keeping on.  I figured that if I was going in, I'd go ALL in.  Go big or go home, I say's.

And if I happen to lose interest halfway through, not to worry!  That's what I do best!

So I sifted, pillaged and sorted through bins, shelves and, yeah...my steam engine of excitement totally sputtered out.  I blame the adult realization (seriously, a hundred bucks for one toy?!) and a thick layer of white, death-dust for pumping the brakes on the fun like a sumbitch.

I understand the importance of dusting.  I do, really.  In fact, every week I make sure to liberally use my handheld Swiffer to eliminate that bullshit from the endless shelves of even more bullshit.  It's bullshit upon bullshit.  And I Swiff that shit up.

I was going through DVDs, books and those glass display shelves you buy from Ikea.  I swore that I dusted pretty regularly, but it was all that built up, locked away and hidden dust, ya know?  You know, the dust that's underneath the things I don't bother to pick up and dust under.  I so totally didn't get rid of anything but so totally got a load of dust to the face.

It's not like I initially felt dust collect into my mouth and into my body.  I wasn't all, "Oh, this is a lot of dust I should wear a mask or something oh yes!"  It was all so quick and sudden and meager.  It didn't look especially dusty, is what I'm trying to say.

I dunno.  I guess that dust is bad for you, because the next morning I woke up crippled.  I felt like a had the flu, was hungover, dead, etc.  I still feel like this, and can only imagine that this will last forever.  No exaggeration.  My throat hurts, my head aches, my bones feel brittle and wafer-like.  These will be my last words and will and testament and all that jazz.

Never again will I kick up dust.  Never again will I clean.  Never again will I bother!

I can't believe I wrote about dust.

I HATE DUST.

It's been a month and I haven't written a thing.

I have excuses, though.  Lots of them.  Some bad, mostly good.

The best excuse is that we went into the studio to record our fifth album, so I've been a bit low on time and inspiration to do anything that involved...well, this.  I was focused, locked in and primal.  NO TIME FOR NOTHING.

I've since loosened up and have moved on to different, pointless-y-er tasks, which is awesome because I hate the pressure of doing stuff that actually counts.  That's not to say that I hate writing and recording music, it's just that the pressure and anxiety mounts, the sleep dwindles and the second-guessing on everything you do becomes a ritual in insanity.  We've since finished the record, and at one point, I must have thought it was great.  Now, of course, I think it sucks donkey-dick.  What can you do?

Seriously, though, I think it's a great record and will absolutely rival anything we've done in the past, becoming the crowning achievement of our careers.  I'm paid to say that.

I was gonna go off onto something else, but why no keep going?  Pull back the curtain on the magical Musical Studio, revealing secrets and tricks and all the movies we watched when we should have been working.  Ideas, rules, guidelines, you name it and I'll reveal it.

How about the song titles?

1. There Is An Evil Inside
2. Mindwarp
3. Loner At Heart
4. Born With A Scorpion’s Touch
5. Danger
6. I Ride Alone
7. Only The Dead Know My Name
8. I Wanna Be A Vigilante
9. At Night I Am The Warmest
10. American Rebel Death Riders
11. Ride With The Living Dead

We've got a fun theme going on with this record, which seems pretty apparent with the song titles -- vampires, murder and motorcycles.  Because moms hate murder and chicks dig motorcycles.

We wanted to round out the record with a full, twelve tracks, but we were short on time and could only finish eleven songs.  I've been whining and complaining that it feels wrong.  Eleven songs?  Only eleven?  It goes above but doesn't hit beyond.  It seems unnatural.  There's an uneasiness about it.  It'll make you sick just think about it.  Are you sick yet?

This is what we do:

We work from nine to five, two weeks straight, setting up, recording and editing.  We occasionally get off track to talk about our favorite scenes from "Indiana Jones," or to look up weird videos on YouTube, but...that's about it.

I will admit, there's a definite "mystique" about recording in a professional studio.  You tell anybody that you're about to "record an album," you'll be greeted with a fair amount of fascination and importance.

It sounds so cool, ya know?  So respectable and noteworthy.  So rock and roll.

Unfortunately, thrills are rare and the glamour is nearly non-existent.  Unless you're U2 or Guns 'n' Roses, you're probably not going to be drinking champagne and eating chocolate covered strawberries while you lay down your vocal tracks.

I generally think people think it's all fun and games in the studio.  It can be fun, yeah, but I think it's mostly weighed down by the quest for an unattainable perfection.  But you can for-fucking-get about perfection.  Unless you already fully understand that whatever you're doing will end up like something else entirely in the end, you better start learnin', my friend.  Some songs that sound great at practice might sound totally different when recorded to tape, or vice versa.  The trick is to expect the unexpected.

Of course, you gotta have fun.  You gotta laugh and joke and pretend that it isn't actually work, and that you are, theoretically, paying a load of money to work.  I think it's all fine and dandy to screw around and have a good time and all, but...

1. Time is Money

You don't fuck around in the studio.  Really, you can, but it's all coming out of your own pocket (I assume) so if it's your prerogative, by all means, U2 the shit out of that studio.  Play video games, experiment with otherworldly sounds and percussion, get totally wasted and puke into the microphone, etc.  I can;t imagine a scenario where'd we'd have such an insurmountable amount of money to chainsaw grand pianos and shoot TVs with pistols.  I know there's a fine line with art, but I dunno.  So much power comes a great responsibility.  Just, like, spend that money on comic books or porcelain Buddha statuettes instead or something.  I know I certainly would.

2. Learn Your Songs

I suppose this can go under the "Time is Money" idea, and in fact, most of everything I say can and will.  There's little to no time to get everything you've ever imagined doing done, unless, of course, you're U2.  They're such a heated topic of debate in the Calabrese Manor.

It helps if you know what you're wanting to do.  Looking back, I totally shit all over my rule.  I forgot to add an "ooo" here and a slick, high-flying solo there.  Lots of gang vocals could have been put in, certain drum fills could have been spicier.  But you expect the unexpected, you forget the past and look into the future and in a few years, have a nervous breakdown over everything you've ever done while trying to fall asleep.

3. Pack a Lunch

It saves time and money.  You can only make so many trips to Subway before you wanna put a gun in your mouth.  And I hate Subway from the start, so there's an extra special troff of hate just bubbling around.

It's not so much the food, the service or the entire aesthetic -- it's the smell.  The raunchy, offensive smell of Subway.  I know what they do, I know what they're up to (bake the bread inside with zero regard for ventilation) so I know that it ain't no accident.  They want that smell roaming around, and by all means, it's an alright smell.  I don't hate the smells specifically, I hate the way that it sticks to my clothes, hair and body.  The instant I step into a Subway, I will smell of Subway for the rest of the day.  I can't even walk by the entrance without expressing caution.  I don't know if it's just me and a particular brand of extra smell-capturing skin, or if everyone has goes through it and I'm the only one who audibly complains in public, but I stand by my convictions.  Same goes for other sandwich shops (Blimpie's, Jimmy John's) sushi restaurants and BBQ spots.  Anything with a smokey and obnoxious grill set to blow smokey and obnoxious stank in my face.

We watched a lot of movies during lunch, too.  Nothing to really add to that, though, except "Killer Nerd" sucked and "Spontaneous Combustion" was fun.

4. Book Enough Time

We booked two weeks straights.  Overall, it might not have been quite enough time, but it's still a whole hell of a lot of hours to burn up.  Personally, I think less is more.  For every Calabrese record in the past, they've all been recorded in two weeks or less.  I think if you were offered more time in the studio, yeah, you could probably do some really cool things and figure out how to play something better, how to sing a note cleaner, etc., but then you'd tend to over think things.  It might end up a bloated, confused mess.  Less time will make you work harder and faster.  A little more rawer, if you will.  That's the theory, anyway.

But, hey, if you've got the time, totally go for it.  Just learn your damn songs.

5. Have a Large Bounty of Coffee on Hand

It keeps the energy up.  It helps hold your attention.  I drank my fair share of the stuff, Lord knows.  I'm still recovering and my blood is starting to return to actual blood.  And I know that Jimmy absolutely burnt the midnight oil on the last few nights, editing and laying down last minute harmonies well into the peak hours of the morning.  Without the help of such caffeinated brew, he probably would have fallen asleep on the console and died.  I'm pretty sure of that.

I figure that's about it.  The new record is done and we're really stoked for you all to hear it!  Which reminds me to remind you that you can expect a new lyric video for our new single tomorrow morning!  It's the ultimate Christmas present from us to you.  It's extra special because it's six months early.  Aren't we just the best?

BELIEVE IN ROCK AND ROLL!

Dayglo Necros Fan Art.

With the release of our newest music video for "Coffin of Ruins," it simultaneously reveals the outcome of our brave, daring heroes (us, Calabrese) and that weird, lime-green vampire (that weird, lime-green vampire, Dayglo Necros) while laying to rest the era of DAYGLO NECROS.  Ya know, that album we put out last year.

It's both sad and freeing, I suppose, 'cause it lets us move on to new heights of musical magic, without the lag of past endeavors...but saying 'goodbye' is hard.  I think Dayglo Necros is one of our finest albums, so it's gonna be a lot of fun to show you what else we have up our sleeves with the new stuff.  What new stuff?  The new album in October, of course.  You ask for new tunes, you demand for new jams, you angrily shake your fists...so we come bearing rock and roll gifts.  The Legend of Dayglo is behind us, blown apart in an explosion of stock footage insanity.  So let's move forward, mah friends, into newer, grander territories.  Like space.  Or something with motorcycles WHILE in space.  Hell, maybe a creepy lizard-man can attack and terrorize us, as long as he's decently green enough.

But, still...I'm gonna miss that guy.  That super green vampire guy.

Which brings us here today.

I love Dayglo Necros.  I love the character, the idea, the image, etc.  It's a fun little  mascot we've been fooling around with for a year and half, and although it's cool just to have us fight a super villian, I think it's even better that the super villian is just so outstandingly green.  I can't get over how green he is.  I really just like the green.  I like drawing that green beast even more!

So rest in peace, dearest Dayglo.  We've had a good run and I'll always cherish the memories, through old YouTube videos and cruddy, online art.  So...mind if I contribute?

SO GREEN SO GREEN I LOVE THE GREEN.

Now it's your turn!  Post any of your fun (and very green) Dayglo fan-art on our Facebook page, do what ya gotta do and have some fun.  Have that swampy bitch battling Calabrese, biting Calabrese, serenading Calabrese under the moonlight...whatever!  Because any Dayglo Necros is good Dayglo Necros!

www.facebook.com/calabrese666

"Coffin of Ruins!"

Here it is! The moment you’ve all been waiting for!   The last chapter in the Dayglo Necros saga!   Who will survive?   Who will perish?   Watch and find out!

Learn more about the video at Rue Morgue!: http://www.rue-morgue.com/2013/05/check-out-coffin-of-ruins-the-new-video-from-calabrese/  

Be sure to like, share, tumblr, tweet and blog the new video! 

And always…BELIEVE IN ROCK AND ROLL!

www.CalabreseRock.com
www.facebook.com/calabrese666
www.twitter.com/calabrese666
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Family photo of the gang. 

Micheladas.

It's hot out.  Like, really hot.

I don't know what to do!  I want to leave the house, but I don't want to die.  Admittedly, I enjoy the summer.  I like hot dogs and pools and wearing cool sunglasses.  I like inflatable palm trees and beach balls and hot pink bikinis.  A fantasy of mine is to be in an 80's, summertime house party.  I want there to be big, drunk jocks with short cut football jerseys that show their greasy bellies (why did they even do that?) and girls with big hair doing that weird, spazzy 80's dance.  The one with the flailing arms and that kind of skipping thing.  You know what I'm talking about.  Just think about it.  You know exactly what I'm talking about.  There has to be a guy wearing a lampshade, too.  Oh, man, never forget Lampshade Guy.

I don't know where I'm going with this so I'll get to the point ehhh:

I really want to try a "red beer."  What exactly is a "red beer?"

Well, it varies and depends on personal taste, but from what I've gathered, it's a Mexican lager beer mixed with hot sauce, lime and anything else that doesn't sound too appetizing in a beer.  It really is like a Bloody Mary, whereas you substitute vodka for beer. 

Today, I want to try a variation of this concoction -- I'm going to make myself a michelada.  It easily falls under the "red beer" umbrella, featuring a heart helping of hot sauce, beer and little, green limes.  I went with a michelada because the preparation is a little more thorough and delicate than, say, dumping a glob of salsa into a Coors Lite.  Plus, I really like saying "michelada."

Online recipes dictate that to make a michelada, you'll need hot sauce, Worcester sauce, soy sauce, salt and lime.

I want to play bartender, but I don't want to play "guy who buys the stuff for the bartender before the bar opens."  A role like that is too much to handle.  I can only imagine myself lost in the supermarket, aimlessly wandering the aisles, a hollow, shell of a man as I try to figure out what the hell Worcester sauce even is.  So I'm gotta cut a few corners and skip a few steps, blah blah.  It'll still be good.  TRUST ME.

Step 1: Pour beer into a chilled glass.  Preferably, a Mexican lager.

I got Dos Equis.  I like Dos Equis.  My older sister once told me that she thought Dos Equis tasted like tires, which has always made me think of drinking tires when drinking Dos Equis.  Which, oddly enough, hasn't deteriorated my consumption.  I suppose I like the taste of tires?

Step 2: Add a dash hot sauce, or, like...anything that would make the beer red.

I'm gonna use this V8 Spicy Hot, because I want something with a little more oomph than a few drops of hot sauce.  Plus, I don't have any hot sauce on hand. 

I've always been hesitant with V8 (tastes like shit) but the spicier version adds a whole new level of excitement.  It's not as shitty.  The spice masks the shit.  Overall, though, V8 does have it's merits.  In fact, I like knowing that if I drink a small can of the stuff once every six months, I'll absorb all the vitamins and nutrients I'll ever need.  Because that's what it does.  That's what it does for your body.  V8 is magic.

Now, I've seen people use Clamato before, too, which would be nice, but I've already hit my Diarrhea Limit for the week.  Sorry.

Actually, I think that would taste kind of...fun.  An interesting test of taste, if you will.  Hell, Budweiser offers their own "Budweiser and Clamato" in a can, so it can't be that bad if an idea.  But probably is.  I'll save it for next time.

Step 3: Admire and enjoy.

Well, there we have it.  I, of course, didn't bother with Worcester sauce, soy sauce or a salted rim.  It would absolutely make this more interesting and exciting and delicious, but the priority wasn't high enough, I guess.  Fortunately, as is, it tastes pretty alright.  Sure, it's like sipping on watered down, fizzy pizza sauce, but it has a merry, summertime feel to it.  I only use the word "merry" because I'm getting a distinct Christmas vibe with this drink.  I like that.

I like you, michelada.

Small, Chewy, Green Dude.

Ashley Beach has great taste.  She has great values.  She's a cool person.

She reads this dinky blog and likes it.  She shops at flea markets and recognizes the insignificant junk that I would like.  She puts in the time and effort to then send that junk to me.  Ashley and I should become best friends!

Presents are always welcome at the Calabrese Manor.  So thanks, Ashley, for the box o' fun and for carefully excluding the other two guys by specifically sending only me something.  That takes finesse and a bold style I can truly get behind and support.  We really should be best friends!

Let's pop it open:

Well, well, what have we here? 

Initial reaction: interested, curious, instantly at ease.  In the note, Ashely made clear mention of why I would enjoy this green-thing.  She made a lot of great points, both accurate and undeniable.  I'm like an open book around here, no secrets shall be kept, no story unmentioned.  Basically, I'm totally one sided and she figured me for an idiot who likes tiny, green toys that I can hide in a shoe. 

So it's out of the box and sitting on my desk.  I've been staring at it for half an hour now, doing that "tapping a pen on my lips" move, figuring out it's specific charm and it's magic.  Because there is charm and there is magic.  Can't be certain I'll be able to explain why or how, but I'll give it a shot.  Enjoy your time in the limelight, little dude.

Here are three reasons why this little dude is awesome:

1. Small, Quaint, Collectible.

Perfect for your back pocket, front pocket or in your mouth (we'll get to that later).

It also works for me because it is, obviously, a skeleton in a bathrobe pulling off his own head.  Could even pass as that "ghost face" mask from "Scream," or that screaming asshole from that one painting.  I sense a lot of pain within.  Lots of heavy vibes going around, man.  But rad vibes, too, because it's a crazy bastard pulling off his own, skinless head.

I'm not really sure what this is officially from, or what it does, but I figure that adds to the mystery.  I wanna say an off-shoot of Monsters in My Pocket, but one can't be too sure.  It even looks like some kind of pencil-eraser topper, but it's butt isn't hollowed out for the ass-end of a Dixon Ticonderoga.  Don't matter, baby.  Don't matter at all.

2. Neon Green, Looks Like Candy.

I'm like a bird.  A bug.  I'm a young child in a highchair.  I like shiny, brightly lit and colorful things.  Let me be clear, though: there are two sides of this coin.  Never once did I get into tie-dye, but I was a definite, feverish fan of Lisa Frank folders in grade school.  Soaring dolphins, shimmering sunsets and dogs with their tongues sticking out.  All manner of animal.  It's still really hard to come clean about this.

This is a perfect example of what I'm attracted to in this handheld, miniature goody.  Plus, it looks like candy I'd be inclined to pop into my mouth.  It's rubbery and bendable, so I further the fantasy with thoughts of it being very gummy-like.  I like candy, I like this.

Oh, God.  I need to eat this thing ASAP.

3. Rubbery, Bendable, Chewable.

Chew toys.  This is a chew toy for me.  Almost literally, but not really at all.  Because I couldn't, in good conscious, bite down on this dirty, delicious prize...but I so totally would.  There must be some weird, carnal urge to want to do this (something from my past bubbling up?) or it's because I'm an idiot. 

Yeah.

Thanks again, Ashley!

Coconut Water Tastes Weird.

I've been hearing about the benefits of coconut water for a while now.   Everything from profound claims of extreme re-hydration to making your entire insides a perfect, moving machine, one might think this was the untarnished solution to all of life's problems.  Every one's problems be damned.  All I care about is one thing:

Apparently, coconut H20 is really fucking awesome for a righteous hangover.

We all get the Hangover Blues.  It's an essential part to drinking, and one must truly understand and acknowledge the ying and yang of this exchange to overcome this obstacle.  I'm at a point where anything can give me a headache or an upset stomach, so once I throw booze into the mix, it's game over.  But I understand this.  I accept this.  I take full care and extra precaution in avoiding the shitty yang to my happy time ying.  And so enters coconut water.

I've tried it.  I hate it.

Yes, there is a semi-distinct flavor of coconut, which, by all means, should equal deliciousness.  Unsure if it's the fact that it's composed of water, too, that dilutes the taste or that I've never really had true and blue coconut before.  It's such a shock to my delicate pallet.  I'm confused, embarrassed and mentally beaten.  Is this what every one's been raving about?  Could this actually be the almighty Water de Coconut?

One of the worst attributes of coconut water is that it's absolutely the weirdest and grossest color I could ever imagine a drink to be.  For the love of God, for all things holy...the damn thing is milky.  Never shall a drink be called "milky."  Never shall that adjective be brought up in any conversation ever, now that I think about it. 

If you can get over that, though, you've won.  You win the coco-contest.  You rule!

All cons aside, let's focus on the pros.  Does it actually hydrate more than, say, Gatorade or actual water?  Does it beat all competition in the impossible hangover category?  It's hard to say, or to really judge, because I don't want to be a grump.  My gut reaction is to answer "HELL NO IT DOESN'T WORK," because, well...hell no it doesn't work.

But let's not be unfair.  The hangover is a tricky beast, and we all pretty much know there ain't no solution, so yeah...there's that.  Buuuuut I still want to whine:

Because this is coconut water!  The savior of us all!  Am I doing it wrong?  I'm probably doing it wrong.  Maybe I should have drank two?  Three?  Poured in a little bit of vodka, V8 and topped off with a stick of celery?  Would that have helped?

Well, fuck it. I'm led to believe that it does something, by God, so I'm going to drink it.  Even if it does taste like dirty water and looks like jizz.

To my surprise, a trip to 7-11 has confirmed my belief in that all good things good come to those good and those who whine.  Is that the phrase?

This couldn't be more right for me.  Coco Café brings us a "cafe latte coconut water espresso."  All the superstitious notions of otherworldy and powerful benefits of coconut water combined with coffee!  The magic juice that doesn't taste like poop!

More importantly, it ain't milky.  In fact, it's the color of a chocolate milkshake.  Hell, it tastes like a chocolate milkshake with a hint of coffee.  And I like coffee, so, yeah.  This is good.

Real good.

I like coconut water now!

Wacky Wall Walkers!

The search is endless.  The treasure unattainable.  There was a time in my life, a simpler time, of all things wacky, wally and crawly.  Where has my life led me?  Whatever happened to you, Wacky Wall Walkers?

Wacky Wall Walkers were an instant hit in my household growing up.  It's not hard to understand why, once you factor in the main selling points:  One, you get a sticky octopus that can fit in the palm of your hand.  Two, you get to throw it at a fucking wall.

We always seemed to have a never ending supply of the damn things, or at least a constant flow of varying incarnations of the idea.  At the time, every company seemed to have their hand in the "sticky thing that tumbles down walls" pot, so it was only fair we snatched up every single thing that would do the trick.  As long as we got to watch something hang from the ceiling for a few seconds, we were golden.  When will it fall?  How long will it stay up there?  The suspense was maddening, let me tell you!

Wacky Wall Walkers, I believe, were outstandingly popular.  I only say this because I didn't know a soul who didn't own eight-thousand of 'em.  They were cheap, fun and shaped like a baby octopus.  I don't know how to put more emphasis on that.  That bulbous, brightly colored head is just really cool. 

An octopus.

There.  That'll do the trick.

Throughout my life, I've been attracted to that moment in time where the plain joy of pitching an underwater sea creature against your closet door was the greatest show on Earth.  I crave for that wonder.  I've been craving for it, and today, things have whirled into a cacophony of bright, new opportunities.  I've found my wacky, walky Holy Grail.  I'm on the brink of personal salvation.  I'm primal!

Introducing Creepeez! 

Sticky, tumbly fun!  We're here!  We've made it!

Yeeeeah, there already exists a thousand of these things today.  I'm sure the trend has never let up, and in fact, a quick Google search has guided me to sites that sell retro, easy to buy versions of the original beast.  So he (she?) never really left my life.  I just haven't really cared until...well, right now.

But that's alright!  I can't let the energy come to a grinding halt!  I can't undersell these exclamation points!  It's too late to turn back!

The packaging has dubbed him an "Outlaw Alien."  He ain't no octopus, but he comes close.  Harboring six legs, two of which are really teeny and cute, and a single, leering eyeball, he certainly can pass as one of you squint just right.  The eye is a nice touch, though, which seems to be looking up.  Perhaps he's scared of heights and this is his trick to overcome his fear.  I'm in the same boat, pal.  Fuck heights.

I even like the idea of this guying starting off as an innocent eyeball ripped from some one's innocent face, thrown into a vat of mutant goo and transformed into a walking, crawling monster from space.  Maybe he was originally an astronaut.  A scuffle ensued, things went sour, eyeballs were snatched.  I think I've done over thought this thing.

I like how he's green, too.  If you're a bug, you should be green.  They've excelled in this requirement.

So soar, my little friend!  Stick to the surface of my kitchen cupboard!  BE WACKY!

Pictures don't do it justice, but he crawled.  It was actually pretty cool, and brought back a lot of memories.  It's hard the explain why I care, and what Wacky Wall Walkers mean to me, so you'll have to excuse the gushing.  Wacky Wall Walkers and the like are good natured fun, unbeatable in their ability to turn something pretty stupid into an enjoyable experience.  If you weren't there, you don't know, man.  You just don't know.

So go out and buy one.  Feel what I feel.  Check the end sections of Toys R Us and the cheap-o toy area of Target that sells plastic dinosaurs and crappy puzzles.  Buy it and don't look back.  Revel in it's stickiness, marvel at it's...whatever.  It's a bug that walks down your walls! 

No regrets, baby!