CALABRESE- Lust For Sacrilege Promo Photos

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Ashes Wednesday

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Ashes Wednesday

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Ashes Wednesday

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

 

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Ashes Wednesday

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Ashes Wednesday

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Ashes Wednesday

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Hi Res Calabrese Promo Photo — Photo Credit- Andy Hartmark

Reverend Guitars

Reverend Guitars is now a part of the family! Bobby Calabrese officially shreds on a Reverend Sensei RA, a great addition to his arsenal.

Check out Reverend Guitars: www.ReverendGuitars.com

This thing is weird and I like it.

My luck is strong. My luck is unique. I believe that everything I've worked towards has led me up to this day in time. Everything I've strived for has subconsciously guided me to this beautiful entity, this shrine to human awe and wonder, this terrifying thing:

Picked this little fucker up in Dallas, TX at a super-mega-toy-store. One of those stores that sells everything that was once covered in kid boogers and drool or certainly will be in the near future. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it lying there, pink and grinning. Between the Star Wars junk and the mess of forty-thousand loose MOTU figures was this thing just waiting for me. JUST BEGGING.

Four dollars later, I'm now the proud papa of a flesh colored, dildo with a face.

Turns out it's an alien from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." I vaguely remember a shitty bored game based off the film, but if you're anything like me, not only are you shocked that this even exists, but that they even bothered to base toys geared for children on a movie that showed little more than Richard Dreyfuss playing with mashed potatoes and a few freaky fucking aliens for a split second near the end. Which, now that I've talked myself through it, makes total and appropriate sense. 

Do they have a Richard Dreyfuss bendy, too? EBAY EBAY EBAY

And it bends! Did I mention it bends? Dear God, it bends. Completely ageless and timeless, this is the bendy toy of the most nightmarish space creep to ever grace cinema. Let me explain:

YES. You can argue the idea that there are, technically, scarier and more grotesque looking aliens in film. But what this provides is an even more delicate terror than, say, the forever-perspiring alien from "Alien."

This guy doesn't wear clothes. He has zero body hair. The limbs are longer than normal and it's head is the size of a watermelon, which sits on a thin and smooth neck. And behind it all lies a pair of HUMAN EYES. Even in toy form, they gave him doll eyes that, when prompted, twinkle in the sunlight.

He's even more fucked up looking in the bag. I guarantee you this is the ugliest sumbitch alien you've ever done see. And, coincendetally, the funniest fucking thing, too. Seriously, does this not make you giggle? Like, every time you look at it?

It's an unnecessary question, but it begs to be asked:

What does it all mean? How can this thing be so awful and amusing at the same time? (well, it does look like a dick, I mean, c'mon)

Where does life begin and end? Is this one of those ying and yang thing? Why does this toy alien make me...feel this way?

Why?

:/

"GIMME WAR" [OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO]

Bobby: “Gimme War’ is all out, loud and heavy. Very bare bones, but that’s the way I like it. This is the song that wakes you up in the morning when all you have to drink is decaf. We filmed in a junkyard during one of the hottest days of the summer, which I think helped the intensity of the video. We even did it in a single take. How can ya beat that? Crank your speakers to 11 and get fucking wild!”

CALABRESE "Lust For Sacrilege" Official Album Stream

(The Dark is Who I Am)
We wrote this one in the studio, it's one of quickest songs we've ever written and one of the coolest songs to date. We wrote it with Bog Hoag, producer madman, who laid down some really great synths and shaped it into the song it is. Heavily influenced by Goblin and Giallo soundtracks from the 70's and 80's.


(Down in Misery)
Understanding who you are is the smartest move you can make. It's freeing. It's not giving a shit. This song is kind of our "anti-hero song," it's about being a miserable person and liking it. Getting down into your own misery. Why not? No one likes you for who you are and what you do, but so what? Who cares? I think if you know, deep down, that you're a miserable person, it's almost like you aren't miserable anymore. It's accepting yourself on your own terms. Why be something you're not?


(Teenage Crimewave)
This song was originally intended for "Born With a Scorpion's Touch," so it has more of a garage-y, punk tone to it, which fit perfectly at the time. It eventually made it's way to the new record, which I think breaks it up a bit. Influenced by madmen, weirdos and crime spree thrill seekers. It's a bloodbath in the concrete jungle.


(Flesh and Blood)
A love song, plain and simple. Down to the core it's very animalistic, violent and strange.


(Lust For Sacrilege)
I wanted a song that could capture the entire mood of the album. Heavy drums, large choruses and an emphasis on evil. This is what we're about. It's about falling in love with death and destruction. It's about knowing who you are and your burning lust for sacrilege.


(Wanted Man)
Another lone-wolf song, we wrote this really quick and easily. It came out natural and really to the point. A lot of our songs are influenced by loneliness, depravity and just not giving a shit.


(Serpentflame)
I love New Orleans. Who doesn't dig New Orleans? We wanted a song that could capture the murky, creepy atmosphere of the city. It's about evil women, voodoo and death. It's got a very Cult-like vibe to it, which I think is great. The Cult are fantastic. Crank this jam to 11.


(Gimme War)
GIMME WAR is all out, loud and heavy. Very bare bones, but that's the way I like it. This is the song that wakes you up in the morning when all you have to drink is decaf. The solo is very Greg Ginn, whom I think is the coolest punk guitarists of all time. Dissonant chords and bizarre timing, it's total genius and totally shitty at the same time. Nothing gets better than that. All hail Black Flag.


(New York Ripper)
I love the chugging riff to this one. It's heavy and melodic and sucks you in from the start of the distorted drums. The song is pretty self-explanatory. "Her dead body broken in the river." Pretty heavy stuff.


(Lords of the Wasteland)
We live in a desert, lots of dirt, dead plants and empty spaces. We're heavily influenced by the landscape in which we live, so a lot of our songs tend to reflect that. A lot of post-apocalyptic films and books definitely help. Everyone gets the feeling of living in a nowhere town, a black hole in the middle of a dead civilization. This song is for all you wastelanders.


(Drift Into Dust)
A lot of our songs tend to revolve around serial killers, I have no idea why but it always manifests it's way into our music. This song is no exception. It's Roy Orbison meets Chris Isaak meets Elvis Presley. It's about love and death and everything that leads up to it.

Purchase LUST FOR SACRILEGE:
(iTunes): https://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/calabrese/id261384
(Physical): http://www.spookshowrecordsstore.com/calabrese/

What's the deal with In-N-Out Burger?

What's the fuss about? What's the big deal? What's up?

I've never eaten at an In-N-Out. The last time I stepped foot into one was ten years ago after a Strokes concert, and that was only because I wanted to impress my friends with worldly knowledge. "Sure, I love this stuff! Been eatin' it for years!"

Everyone talks about it like it's a burger smothered in edible gold. They act like the fries don't taste like any other fries from any other fryer. THEY ACT SO HIGH AND MIGHTY.

I figure that's why I've steered clear. Because, don't get me wrong, I can always get down with a good burger. As soon as hype starts creepin' in, I'm instantly turned off. Or maybe it's my inherent nature to disagree with anything anyone has to say. Just 'cause it's fun and I'm bored tee-hee.

This is my first time trying In-N-Out Burger. I can't wait and wonder any longer! Curiosity has a firm grip on my bony shoulders. And it's shaking me hard and my neck hurts. "Eat it! Eat the food! Eat the Goddamn In-N-Out!" (that was curiosity speaking, btw)

I never realized everyone dressed like old-school burger flippers. I like that. Because if I had to work at an In-N-Out, I'd much rather be dressed as a retro-dork than an actual dork-dork.

There's a certain calmness to it all. The bright lights, the color scheme. It feels (and looks) like a McDonald's but way less hepatitis-y.

I'm already thrown off by the menu. Look at the prices! Look at the minimal selections!

I always remember a specific episode of Kitchen Nightmares, where  Gordon Ramsey was berating a restaurant owner about their menu. Apparently, they had way too many choices and options, causing the customer to become confused and flustered. "There's too many items! Keep it simple!" (that was G. Ramsey speaking, btw)

In-N-Out Burger totally must have seen that episode, too!

BECUZ THEY BARELY HAVE ANYTHING

And that's...good. It's actually good. It's legitimately smart. That episode of KN sooo paid off. 

Sure, they sell more than just hamburgers and fries. They sell shakes. And a choice of cheese on your hamburger. But when you're a fast food joint that mainly sells hamburgers and fries, you might as well just sell some damn good motherfucking hamburgers and fries. 

So the ante is up. The bar has been raised. Will they make the grade?

...but wait!

Along with ketchup, you can load up on peppers! Little, juicy peppers. Everyone knows them as peporoncinis, but I hate writing that word out because blogger always demands that it's spelled wrong.

I also wonder if the owner is such a big fan of the things that they specifically cut out mustard to only offer ketchup and peppers. "Who needs mustard when you have peporoncinis? I'll change the way the world thinks!" (that was the owner speaking, btw)

Well, it looks pretty good. I'm not a stickler, nor am I a snob when it comes to cooked meat, so I'm pretty sure I'm gonna like it. That and because I'm a pig. A dirty, rotten pig.

Overall, really good. I'd take another photo of it but I fear getting hamburger-juice on the phone more than the Devil himself. I already hate how my fingers smell like secret sauce and I swear one of those peppers dripped on me.

It's good, though. Trust me.

I'm gonna take a shower now.

The Story of Elvis Busts and Saved by the Bell.

Do you remember the episode of Saved by the Bell where Screech's mom is leaving town so the gang decides to have a party at his house? And his mom is really into Elvis? And has an Elvis bust? And they end up dancing and going crazy and knocking the Elvis bust into a million pieces? Of course you do!

All actual details aside, I've always wanted an Elvis bust because of that episode. Because of that show. Because of Screech's mom.

It's odd. But I know I'm not alone in this, either. A quick Google search and you can tell other people obsess about this weird, minute detail in television history, too. Hell, where do you think I stole this screen cap from?

So, there it is. Singing, smiling Elvis Presley. I think what I like more about it this is that it's placed on a really nice, golden pedestal. Screech's mom has a golden shrine dedicated to Elvis in their grape colored living room. How cool is that?

I've kept my eyes open for an Elvis bust (and a golden pedestal) throughout the years because of Screech's unusual ability to influence and dictate. Sure, I love Elvis as much as the next guy, but that scene really sealed the deal. I want that statue. I need that statue.

Fortunately, I've seen 'em come and I've seen 'em go. There are dozens of incarnations of this specific Elvis entity -- lamps, cookie jars, everything ranging from the outrageously detailed to the crudely painted, etc. Depending on the jerk seller, I usually see these bad boys priced at over a hundred bucks (fuck!) and, unfortunately, anything under forty bucks is usually 3/4 chipped or the size of a pine cone.

I once tried to weasel an awesome Elvis lamp from the owner of a bar in Erie, PA. I offered him cold hard cash for the treasure, the good stuff, cabbage, dinero, legal fucking tender! Sadly, he told me to fuck off. I wholly understand, it was definitely a nice piece. As it turns out, the bar doesn't exist anymore, so...I won?

This ol' dog always comes out on top, though.

YEAH BOY I GOT ONE

It's not the one, but eh it's close.

This is nice because it's "Hawaiian Elvis," and that's OK with me. Say what you will, but that was a fine time in Elvis History. Jumpsuits, colorful leis, endless buffets, the works.

The quest was fortuitous, though. I got this for a clean fifteen dollars and it's the size of a desk lamp. Someone must not have seen Saved by the Bell Season 2, Episode 5: "House Party" and accidentally didn't price this accordingly. What a loser.

Look at those sideburns! Those eyebrows! That smirk!

Kiss me, you fool.
xoxox

LUST FOR SACRILEGE

Quick and Crappy Coffee House Reviews: Gold Bar.

I've never been to the Gold Bar coffee shop. It stares at me from the sushi joint across the way, from the pizza shack or the other coffee shop right behind it. Fortunately, with all the restaurants and gas stations surrounding the area, there's a lot of traffic to be had for the Gold Bar, raking in a new and thirsty clientele at any given time. Unfortunately, that other coffee shop right behind it? Fucking Starbucks.

But the Gold Bar tries, Goddammit. They really do. I did a little research, found out they existed since 1994, so it's not their fault they've been cornered and pooped on by the biggest coffee conglomerate in the world. Wait, the world? Is Starbucks really that big? I already did my research. Through with the research for today.

If anything, the name alone is peculiar. It brings to mind an entire room molded out of gold, or instead of the building made of brick, bars of gold line the walls. Hell, the name makes you think it's a bar. There's so much confusion and disorientation, how can you not wanna stop on by?

Which I did, of course.

From the outside, you're not given much to go on, save for the fact that I'm a terrible photographer. If it's any excuse, I'm inside the safety of my car, and the angle was hard and all sorts of fucked up. Because there is no way I'm going to stand in front of the place and actively snap a photo, with thousands of gazing passerby looking in my direction. What passerby? That passerby:

Two dudes sipping on a cup of Joe. Not even sure if they're even doing that, but it doesn't change the fact that they're there, minding their own business, and NOT being bothered by a weirdo with a moderately modern smart phone.

Plus, the bald guy looks tough. In a "cut-off blue jeans" sorta way.

I went in, stood at the counter and carefully went over the menu. Coffee, standard mix of baked goods and desserts, whatever. I waited for a good five minutes, carefully deciding and planning.

And I waited some more.

Normally, the wait would be absurd, which it was, but the game instantly changed after that. Time was of no concern. 'Cause shit just got real.

My barrista, late and nonchalant, finally made her appearance...and was super cute.

I was taken aback. You can't expect everyone you run into to be a slob like yourself, but nothing makes you feel more like a slob like a hot girl in a coffee shop taking your drink order. I instantly thought of my clothes, how they weren't cool enough, my unshaven and pube-like facial hair -- it was a blast of instant regret for the last three weeks of personal grooming procrastination.

What-the-fuck-ever. I'm an adult. A grown man, I say! Someone like me doesn't revert to high-school antics by stammering and stuttering when face to face with a pretty girl. It's absurd! It's outrageous! It's exactly what I did!

Oh, well. I ordered a small coffee to go, loaded it with cream and walked out. Good thing I was befuddled enough to totally forget to take photos of the inside, right? Right!

Not sure what I did, or how I came off looking, but I decided the best route was to walk back in acting like "a guy who changed his mind on where to sit." Did a lot of "hmm" faces, looked left and right, stroked my chin and took a seat in the back, which was kinda the worst idea ever. From that vantage point, I couldn't get a single image of anything besides a wooden post and a tray, which also looks wooden. I was flustered, annoyed and getting the overwhelming sense that people thought I was up to no good.

Not pictured: comfy couches and many chairs in the corner, a section for a band to set up to play soft, coffee accompanying music, books and paintings and stained glass windows lining the walls. A total nook in every sense of the word, like a library you'd find lonely detectives and anyone who smokes from a pipe.

You can blame the lack of pictures on that girl, or the fact that I label this review as "quick and crappy." If there's one thing about me, it's that I stay true to my word. Crap is what I offered, and crap is what you'll get.

And is what you just got.

Oh, and the coffee was alright.  I mean, it was good, but it's just coffee.

Am I right or am I right?

I LIKE MONSTER MODEL KITS...sort of.

You know, everything I've been posting over the last year has, admittedly, been a poor excuse for a blog named "rock and roll mania blog!" I rarely talk about music, I never talk about anything outside of Pokemon and Christmas joy, and I'm always either complaining or flip-flopping by the end of the article. I'll hate something as soon as my fingers hit the keyboard, and fall magnificently in love with it when I'm done. There is no exception today. It's the perfect fodder for this blog, and yet...I hate it. I hate it so much that I love it.

AWESOME MONSTER MODEL KITS!

Ya see, I am very so-so with monster models/kits, or anything you have to actually build with your hands, for that matter. I'm on the edge of abnormal gushing and absolute disdain with this kind of shit. I think it's a fear of commitment, or absolute failure of never coming close to what it needs to end up as. I want it to look exactly like what's on the box. In fact, I practically demand it. But my common sense and reasoning tells me NO FUCKING WAY. Thank you, sir, may I have another?

A friend of mine works at a used media store (books, games, DVDs) and every once in a while, some desperate dude might come in to sell his last, worldy possessions to probably pay for stupid things, like food or rent. I hate to stomp all over people's misfortune, but sometimes something comes in that would tickle my fancy. And, my friend, being the best friend he can be by fueling my horrible addiction, will usually pick this stuff up for me. Weird comics here, robot toys there, whatever. This time, he hooked me up. He did me a Goddamn SOLID. Two amazing monster model kits, a slobbering werewolf and that thing from "London After Midnight," which I had no idea was a vampire until right now. I thought it was, like...something else. I guess I should have known, what with the sharp teeth, cape and papery, pale skin. Ha.

Jimmy used to (or still does) build a lot of monster model kits. I've always liked the idea and, really, there's nothing cooler than building your very own mini-ghoul in a poorly lit garage. Complete with swinging lightbulb, those magnifying glasses that jewelers wear and a lit cigarette dangling from your mouth, of course. It all sounds great, right? But as any idea goes, just the idea is sometimes better than actually doing it. That makes sense, I swear.

So when getting a prize package of this sort, I'm uneasy, cautious and reserved. Do I even bother opening it up? I let my buddy know I was ecstatic, yet ready to point out that he just granted me a task. Thanks, man! Now I'm stuck in a happy/guilty limbo.

Should I just let it sit on my kitchen counter, only to be noticed when all the dirty dishes don't have any room to sit and not be washed for weeks? Because there's no way I'm going to attempt putting those two kits together. Zero patience = bad things happen.

Fuck it. You can always count on the box. Fucking kick-ass box art, baby.

Shivers. I'm actually trembling right now. I'm partial to the werewolf, given that the werewolf is way more menacing, while the vampire seems to be shocked, or grabbing the invisible tits of the world's tallest woman.

I'm looking at the intricate paint job done on the teeth, and the fucking sparkle in the damn thing's eyes, and I'm positive I'm never going to allow myself to abominate this with crayons and Sharpies. I'm certain they're using Sunglow or Laser Lemon for it's teeth. Good choice, box-art-painter-person.

I had to open it, I had to know what I was dealing with. Given that I've never actually seen a model before it was meticulously handcrafted into what it will become, I was kind of...shocked. Is that what model kits look like? The plastic is hard, which I assume ups the dollar amount and, at the same time, the sexual innuendos this blog needs to maintain a healthy level of sass. Hehe, he said "hard."

I like the heaviness, though, 'cause if I can imagine myself using anything I buy as a weapon to bludgeon other people with, I know I've done a good thing.

The limbs almost look like you just snap the shit together! Is it really that easy? Nope!

Directions, thank God.

Apparently, you use the sharpest X-Acto knife you have to shave and trim the extra plastic off, then snugly glue the pieces together. I'm uncertain as to why that's a step you even have to take, when they could have, oh, I don't know, not added the extra plastic. As if painting it wasn't hard enough, now you have to test your skills with a midget's spear. Nerves, I do not have them.

Overall, awesome. Although I won't make 'em pretty, they sure do look great on my shelf. If anyone asks why I haven't built them up, I'll tell them I gave up the dangerous Model Kit Making Game for safety and family, and haven't looked back since. Or to get the hell outta my house, jerk.

Nothing In Particular.

As mentioned in my last post, here's a bunch of random photos, taken with my beautifully new and stylish camera. See: cheapest one at Target.

I like it 'cause it's better than using the camera on my cell phone (even a dead monkey can figure out this new camera -- that's good) and has always been awkward to manuever in public, trying to look inconspicuous while snapping photos of all sorts of shit. I think I'm a pretty meek and mild photographer. I have no balls. I always feel someone's gonna turn around and accuse me of being a pervert when I'm taking a photo of a national monument. When I wanna snag a shot of a good looking plate of food (for the occasional restaraunt review) I can only imagine that someone's going to take offense or I'm gonna be questioned. How do you weirdos do it?

No need this time around, 'cause this time around...I never left the house.

With these "random" pictures, I really tried to get random. Seeing as how I never leave my place unless I have to, I'm left with going all papparazzi on my living room and any hallway closets. It kinda defies the purpose and general idea of "random," but what's done has been done. I should have written, "random shots of a one bedroom apartment." I'm not sure how magnetic and enthralling that description is, but the truth is the truth -- this may not be the greatest post, but it certainly won't be the worst. Maybe, like, second to worst.

First up:

For a brief moment in high school, I was infatuated with religious relics and icons, mostly of Buddha, and mainly in statue form. You can argue this, maybe even deny yourself my embarrassing revelation, but I was also into taking baths while pouring through Sears catalogs and drinking Coke until I pissed purple. I go through phases. Weird, confusing phases.

With this picture, I wanted to showcase my bathroom, which has taken on a much more grander, larger form than, say, a collection of wet hair piles and acne creams. That aside, you'll notice my "Asian theme," complete with dragons, sumo wrestlers, sushi wind-up toys and a wildly weak collection of Buddhas. While low in numbers, the main lot succeeds in quality over quantity, and is well justified, 'cause they can probably hurt if dropped on your foot. That's gotta count for something. Also, a blue shark. From Joe's Crab Shack. Duh.

This is a pile of DVDs. Stacks and stacks of movies overcrowding my little apartment. I've explained my problem before, but yeah, it's almost pointless to analyze it. Too much money thrown down the toilet, I will admit, but I absolutely love watching movies. In my mind, I have this ultimate goal of being able to watch every single film ever, or somehow coming close to it. My thinking is that the only plausible way to accomplish this is to single out specific genres or eras. I think I can call it a wrap on "80's horror flicks," closely seconded by "anything I've ever been in."

There's a few theories on how I can manage this, and here's one:

With the advent and rise of Netflix, OnDemand, whateverthefuckelse, it's almost pointless to actually buy anything these days. Pay your standard fee and get on with it. Nearly anything you want all up in your face. I have a hard time coming to terms with that, because...I don't know. I still feel the need to buy everything I watch. Sure, I'll go nuts over RedBox every now and then, but in my mind I have this nagging insecurity. I think it has something to do with the horrid thought of never finding that specific movie on DVD again, and everything with being haunted by never owning "Ghoulies 3" on DVD. My theory is full of holes, yeah, when you figure you can buy anything on the internet, from fluffy pillows to penis snowglobes for bachelorette parties. I'm readily able to admit my need for instant gratification, so my transformation into a conservative spender will have to be put on hold. You know what's not being put on hold? "Ghoulies 3," bitch.

Wait, did I not even mention how I'd feasibly watch every single movie ever? Ahh, too late now 'cause we're moving on here we go:

This is one of my favorite wall decorations, and believe you me, I've got plenty. From Van Gogh replicas to posters of a half-naked Danzig, I'm an advocate of anything that'll disguise boring white walls covered in oddball stains.

This "Camp Crystal Lake" plastic cutout/wall thing does just that. I'm not the biggest fan of the "Friday the 13th" series, but this is so amazingly cool. I've always liked fake set pieces to movies, like a Magneto helmet on your fireplace mantle or a group of plastic bananas from "Congo."

Good stuff.

It's no surprise that I'm nuts for coffee. I've also made it pretty clear that I'm stupid over Christmas, too. Dunkin' Donuts' "Mocha Mint" coffee combines the two in a cute, forest-green package, offering up enough holiday cheer to make it seem like you're not jumping the X-Mas gun, but not too little to pass up as another bag of beans. "Mocha mint" isn't entirely Christmas related, but it comes close, and keeps me from killing myself after an endless bout of post-Thanksgiving depression.

The snowman can sway opinions, but it's fine. I'm all for celebrating Santa Day as early as November first. I do not give a fuck that "thanksgiving isn't even over yet" before I put up the tree and it's billion, breakable ornaments. I do not give a fuck.

I've yet to actually taste it, but I'm sure it's pretty good. If it was based in categorization, I'm in the category of being too lazy to even press start on the Mr. Coffee, so this will probably sit on the countertop until June, or until it becomes a nuisance and gets in the way of something even newer and shinier. I'm still confused by flavored coffee, though, but I love it. Do they add sugar beforehand? Is there even sugar? Are they literally just coating beans in some minty, chemical infused syrup? Since it's sweet enough, it cuts down on half and half usage, and that's a good thing. Usually, my coffee looks like liquid piano keys. Now it'll look like dirty piano keys.

Ahh, a pile of Star Wars. Something like this (in my kitchen) is the type of thing that keeps life livable. It's like my go to Happy Place, a place of zen and good vibes and other hippie shit. Whenever I'm feeling down, I grab a beer and stare lovingly at a mess of Bossks and Gamorreans. It's dominating a nice portion of my shelf space, but I don't mind giving up such precious room for Star Wars. Did you know that I like Star Wars?

I spent a while trying to individually buy all characters, and over time, I came close. There was a few I could never find, those that were always overpriced and the red, Imperial Guard. That mother is so hard to get a hold of.

Again, I could have easily bought everything and more over the internet, but the chase is better than the catch, I 'spose.

When we played the Phoenix ComicCon, me and Davey spent that Saturday roaming the aisles and kiosks and upside down cardboard boxes full of comics and toys. It's pretty amazing, really, knowing you can close your eyes, spin around and run into anything that, when bought and taken home, will make girls never, ever like you again.

I found a guy selling loose figures for, like, a buck each. That was a Goddamn great deal, and I walked away with a grocery bag stuffed full of shit I didn't own, and shit I wanted multiple copies of. It was pretty amazing. I finished my collection in under five minutes, and all it took was warbling through one of the longest shows of my life. There is nothing worse than playing live with the beginning stages of a flu. Turns out it was just a regular, everyday cold. I'm such a pansy.

Hey! I guess that's it. Pretty fun, no?

"Androidz" Action Figures -- UGH I'M SO IN LOVE.

Christ, this is not good.

I found what I was finally looking for. Like, honest this time. Everything else has been a sham. Everything I've said that I loved on this blog has been a lie. Because that was all bullshit, and this is all ANDROIDZ:

Backstory:

I usually spend any day that I'm doing nothing exactly that -- nothing. I'll try to pick up a videogame controller, fuck around on youtube, whatever. It never seems right at the time. It feels awkward and confusing. If I had anything important to do, I'm glued to the PS3 like a motherfucker. But when I'm one-hundred percent free of any obligations, having fun sometimes seems...not so fun. I think that's kinda masochistic. I feel weird now.

But I was watching TV, and a commercial came on for these mobile, brightly colored...things. Tghey were moving, forming army alliances and smashing into eachother. What was it? Why was I so consumed with what was happening? Why did Androidz fuck my shit up?

As I do with anything day to day, I quickly forgot about it all.

Fastforward a week later, I find myself in a Toys R Us. Surprised, you say? Shuttayoumouth.

Anyway, I'm there. I see them, nestled in between questionable UFC toys and the always strong and infinite line of Power Rangers shit. Kids like intergalactic space-police in shapeshifting machines as well as near-naked dudes grappling and thrusting on top eachother, apparently. There's something to the fact that parents even let their kids watch UFC, but that's neither here nor there.

But then again, I'm a twenty-five year old adult still shopping at a toy store. For myself. I'm gonna guess there are others out there doing the same thing. And actually, now that I think about it, there's always that other guy in the store. A bit older, either unshaven or shockingly clean. You might guess he was shopping for his son or daughter, maybe for a birthday or a simple "better get your grades up" bribing. But there's always something...off. Why are they looking through the Transformers section so intently? Do they really need to rifle through the Star Wars figures so feverishly?

We never make eye contact. We always stay at least five feet from eachother. Because we know. We know what we both really are. We're both fuckin' dorks.

Alright:

I am a slave to anything that can fit into a coin purse. A fucking slave. If it can fit into the palm of my hand and come in seventy other colors and shape variations, I'm so sold. "Androidz" does exactly that, and with an "alien race exploring the galaxy" backstory and a whole lotta robot shit going on, the entire situation is golden brown. Collectible, cute as a button and questionably/maybe cheap, too. Six bucks for a pack of two? I ain't gonna shout my love for all things robo at the peak of a mountaintop just yet, but I will kiss them all. Quite lovingly.

So aliens are searching the universe for life. They end up on a dead planet, to refuel and maybe stop in for some beef jerky and Vitamin Water. Soon, they start picking up signals from a strange and mysterious planet called "Earth," and to understand these messages better, begin to replicate life in robotic form. Through this and through that, you now have yourself "Androidz," mechanical versions of life on Earth.

It's kind of a weird way to set up a toy line of tiny robots on wheels, but I like it. I like thinking that before their current version, they were slug-like or maybe even gaseous forms, like a ghostly fog from outerspace. Hell, maybe they were originally human beings, then they went into space, then they forgot they were humans, and then without knowing they were replicating human life (remember, they're already humans) they replicated humans. Ah-ha!

To be honest, I'm overjoyed right now. It'll soon be eclipsed by reality and the daily dregs of human existance, but for now, I've got a desktop covered in thumb-sized robo warriors. It's like Micro-Machines mixed with Monster in My Pocket and a helicopter. Did you see that one up there? It's a Goddamn helicoptobot!

Names like "Devil Dog" and "King Commando" really add to the charm, too, giving them an individual personality and something to have your Jawas curse the night sky with. You best believe those two are gonna be at war.

My favorite. Probably because of the Twizzlers colored arm-rocket, but who knows? And yeah, you can argue that they all look like miniature Robotechs, which I find that to be a win-win situation. I'm not even gonna pretend to understand what the hell is up with Robotech, what Robotech does or even what a Robotech is, but they look cool and have super awesome gun-swords. Now I can have a Robotech of my own, but not as shelf-consuming. Or do they more closely resemble Gundam Wing? I think I should buy a few more packs to be on the safe side.

Overall, a lot of fun. I barely even scratched the surface, 'cause I can go on and on about their personalized bunkhouses and playsets, each sold seperately. It almost makes the Ewok Treehouse seem obsolete. Almost.

Oh, do ya like my new camera? In some DIY fantasy of mine, I really liked the idea of always using semi-shitty, grainy cellphone pics to plump up my ramblings, but once that kicked the bucket (hello, toilet water!) out of necessity, I used an actual camera. I was gonna go back to my old ways, but I think it looks damn good, and using something with actual buttons and settings was a lot easier to manuever and toy with using my spindly, skeletal hands. My next blog is sooo gonna be of pictures. Of everything.

DEADSHOT IS COOL.

I really like comic books. It's been a growing obsession since I can remember, and even now it still seems to be getting larger and more monetarily sinful. I try to hold back, but nuh-uh. I'm in it to win it.

Okay, in high school, I was never a fan of the superhero stuff. Fittingly, I was way into any and all indie comics, local shit and everything that was about how much life sucked. It was my boring way of trying to be cool by trying to be depressing, minus the fact that it was neither cool nor all that depressing. Sleeping a lot and continuous spins of any Smiths record woulda been better, but that's just boring. I was more a part of the "active sad-goth lifestyle."

Eventually, I gained an appreciation for superheros and the multiple universes they live in, however tremendously pointless that all is. I really do feel knee-deep in the world of DC, mega-hellbent for Marvel this-and-that. I'm all consumed with following and understanding character storylines and individual, extensive backstories. I need to know every X-Man around, I have to fully grasp as to what makes Clayface who he is, or my life won't have any meaning to it. I'll walk endlessly through time and space, unaware and afraid, sick and lonely.

But in all seriousness, you ever wish you were a superhero? Like, seriously? I'm pretty sure I run through this scenario in my mind at least five times a day, but now let us indulge this idea together. It's easy to imagine being a "Batman" type guy (yay, he's just a regular dude!) but I'd totally wanna have invincibility, flight, super strength, whatevs. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than knowing I can throw my forehead into a brick wall, fly to Russia for cocktails and visit the girls locker room for some xxx-ray vision naughtiness. Yeah, I so just outted myself as a perv.

I lied. It's not only easy to imagine yourself as Batman because he's a regular guy, but because it's the only logic you and I have -- if you really want to consider yourself a candidate for superhero-dom, you have to look at the facts. You have to account for what isn't and what is. Question:

Do you have superpowers or have been given temporary superpowers through wearing a specific object or objects or through magic you've mysteriously or not so mysteriously have encountered? No? Well, you're fucked.

That's why you're given, as you have with Batman, a semi-logical excuse to maybe be a part of something that's impossible. Joker's human, too, right? That's cool. Wildcat, Punisher, Catwoman, Green Arrow, they're all human. Just a couple of nutjobs with big guns and even bigger balls. But my favorite...my sweet, sweet favorite:

Floyd Lawton, DEADSHOT.

So good I need two!

Yeah, all theorizing goes go to hell when you figure that Superman can vaporize your bones from across the planet or even Swamp Thing...fuckin' Swamp Thing...can kill you dead before you even notice it. But hey, that's the fun in comics. ENDLESS AND MINDLESS DEBATING.

So, Deadshot is a mercenary for hire. He works for the likes of Suicide Squad and the Secret Six, always taking any job as long as it pays some decent moola. Can't blame him there. He's somewhat bad, sometimes good and always an amazing marksmen with any and all weaponry. He's fought some serious heavyweights, metahuman and nonmetahuman, so he ain't no puss. He's got a cool mask with a red sight thing, a badass gun-thing on his forearm and a really sweet mustache. Thingy-thing.


Not gonna lie, I really want yellow leather gloves now.

Also, Deadshot smokes. Now, I'm not gonna sit here and tell you how cool smoking is, or why it makes you look like a genuine rebel without a cause, but it works for this guy. It works for this character. Ya see, along with being a regular shmuck with fantastic aim and no hesitation to kill, he's a regular shmuck with fantastic aim and no hesitation to kill who smokes. By smoking, it makes it seem plausible to do what he does, charred lungs included. If he can go up against the entire DC Universe as a chain-smoking, average Joe, why can't I? It makes me feel like he's one of us, like one of the people.

Christ, I need to get out more.

Oh, yeah yeah. I've totally been missing for, like, a month now. I know this, and I know that I suck. So because of this suckiness, I feel I need to address this issue. I need to make a statement:

It's because I'm lazy.

But hey! I'll try to SUPER BLOG this entire week, which could either mean that it'll be so-so good, or shamefully dissapointing.

You can count on me, world!

PHOTOS 3.0!

Ahh, it's that wonderful time again! My absolutely perfect, go-to-when-out-of-ideas, cheap and effective post! I practically don't even have to try! I've done it before and I'll do it again:

PHOTOS WE HAVEN'T USED BUT TECHNICALLY NOW ARE BEING USED.

Ever since I finally found out how to add tags to my posts, I'm pretty psyched about this ongoing, blog-tradition. These aren't the greatest photos ever, but I like the idea of someone googling "satan evil star wars" and happening upon a page full of Calabrese glamour shots.
Also, this is kinda the most perfect month for updating with all the nonsensical updating I do. What better time of the year that October? A month totally tailor-made for me and my obsession with loopy paragraphs and blurry cell phone pics. I mean, c'mon. It's Halloween. Fucking Halloween, people. This is me, man. THIS IS ME.

Sorta.

Truth be told, Halloween isn't my favorite holiday. Yeah, confession time all up in this shit.

In theory, and in practice, Halloween is amazing. It's unstoppable. It's fucking legit. Monster masks, candy, spooky decorations, it's all there and perfectly molded to fit any mood and situation I'm ever a part of, inside the month of October and out. It's all encompassing, full of peanut butter cups and costume party sluts. But hold on there for a sec...what about...what about Christmas?

I fancy myself a lover of all things. DVDs, booze, anything that'll clutter my entire living space, you name it and I'll enjoy it. So don't be surprised when I say that I enjoy receiving things, too. Yeah, a pillowcase of sugar is always nice, but all that work involved just ain't cuttin' it for me. How about let's get a tree, full of lights and popsicle stick ornaments, loaded with presents underneath that are actual fucking presents and not just Almond Joys and Starbursts? Yeah, Xmas > H-ween.

Either way, my blog will feel pretty damn cheap if I don't cram as many posts in as possible during the Halloween season. It's my time to shine. It's my thing, you know? So with that, expect around one and half more posts and a lot of backtracking and excuse making in November. But here's a start:

These are photos we have locked up and hidden in various folders located in folders buried in other folders on my computer. It's like hiding porn from your parents back when the internet first started and you didn't dare think of deleting all your thumb pics. Not just yet, anyways. Wow, did I just out myself?

First three. Can you feel the rage in this? Can you taste my darkness? And yes, that will be the title of my upcoming solo album.

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

Over and out!

WELCOME TO MY SECRET MEAT PALACE.

Whoo boy! Lobby's! Have you heard of it? Yeah, me neither. But there it is...and here I am. This is going to be delicious.

Not sure where I first heard of this place, but I think I must have googled it after continuosly driving by a place called "Lobby's." Wasn't it a hobby shop? A long, empty lobby? I had to find out...and finded out I did!

Judging from the storefront, you know what you're getting into. Well, besides a triple-bypass. From reading my findings through extensive googles searches, this is a Chicago style joint specializing in...you guessed it: the worst foods on earth!

You're entering a meat paradise! A hot dog heaven! A cheesesteak hullabaloo!

But before I go on, I must get this off of my chest:

I wouldn't call myself a "foody," but my blog has certainly been painting me as one in the last few months. I just really like to eat. I enjoy putting new things in my mouth (hey, watch the dirty humor, buddy, watch it...) trying weird flavors and consuming as many animals still left in the Kingdom. I've been told I should sign up for yelp or urbanspoon, where I can review restaraunts and greasy diners in all the well categorized/organized glory I can handle, but naw. I'd rather do it here. Ya see, I don't ever wanna be a "foody." I hate the bougie way people describe wine, I shiver when someone makes a pile of oysters seems like a nerve-shattering orgasm. Granted, oysters are absolutely delightful, but you don't need to close your eyes, delicately moan and then buck in your chair as soon as it hits your tongue. It's food. Sexy, sexy food. Where was I again?

Oh yeah! HOT DOGS!

I walked in, scanned the area and made my decision -- "I will eat here," I told myself.

"I will bust my gut," I promised to the Gorge Gods*.

"And I will enjoy it," I dramatically whispered as a closer.

Along with everything from hamburgers, cheesesteaks, bratwursts and the you-always-gotta-have-'em-everywhere-you-go french fries, they serve hot dogs. I've never been to Ted's, I have no idea what a Wienerschnitzel looks like on the inside and aside from ballgames and American holidays, I rarely eat the damn things. You can cover them in chili and drench 'em in ketchup, but it's never right with me. It doesn't appease and delight me the way it should. Why? 'Cause it ain't Chicago style.

Yeah, I'm sure you can get them anywhere (probably the above mentioned fast food spots) but fuck, there needs to be some drama for yo mama in here. But the only other place...the only other legit place I can find Chicago styled hotdogs is in a little shop next to a venue we play at in Flagstaff, AZ and in...well, Chicago. I'm uncertain on the origins of the glowing-green relish and the giant slice of pickle just thrown on top of it in what I wanna assume is lazy anger, but I absolutely love it and wouldn't have it any other way. I could have picked anything, but I chose you, Hotdogemon.

And it was great! Cheap, too. Like, 2 bucks and change for one. Recommended.

Okay, out of respect for not looking like a fat slob on brightly lit stages, two dogs is my general limit, and was set in place during this week's adventure. But I totally would NOT mind another one for the road. But hey, don't worry, I'll be seeing them again in two hours time.

The place ain't too shabby, I mean, it's not gonna win any awards but c'mon, their biggest selling point is a giant slab of greasy beef. The dude seen above was totally going to town on the Italian sub, I think, and seemed to be enjoying it. It was my second choice, but I'll spiritually and vicariously live through him and his feeding. He sat alone and in total silence -- you could almost hear his delicate, poignant chewing. Really kinda creepy, once you think about it, but once he was done and throwing away his papery remnants, he offered the most amazing bit of clarity and calm in this wacky, upside-down world we live in.

The lady behind the counter asked, "How was it?" in reference to his meal, and without missing a beat, he goes, "Ahh, it was alright." Nothing seemed more honest and perfect in all of restaraunt dining critiques. Not too brash, definitely not an opinion hidden behind niceties, just right there and in the open, take it or leave it. I certainly took it. And laughed.

*"Gorge Gods" is a term I just came up with for this bit. It's ridiculous, but "gorge" and "gorging" has been a pretty hilarious term for me and my siblings while growing up. In the early days, our parents used to take us out to the Old Country Buffet, an excercise in overconsumption and angry accusations of being a puss and not eating enough. We used to laugh at others eating like pigs, at us eating like pigs and the general insanity of seventy-five people going nuts over crab legs and buckets of ranch dressing. They even had a giant machine that dispensed milk chocolate! Fuckin' aye.

Anyway, we always used to joke about us being a group of bloated-belly maniacs, never giving up and never leaving a plate of food full. This was before we were aware of the other weirdos in the world who had the same idea and got into competetive eating, but we were a crew, a posse, a TEAM. We even had idea's for a team jacket, with a picture of a deep, cavernous hole. Ya know, a gorge. We were Team fucking Gorge.

Just thought ya should know.

Oh, the bathroom at the bar across the street. Thought it was funny. Ha.