KAMEN RIDERS!

I make it no secret that my tastes can sometimes border on ridiculous. Avant garde, I like to say. Of course, it's hard to keep something secret when you blast your weekly travels across the realm of the interwebs, but I at least make an attempt. Well, not really. But you know what I mean.

It's been a long tradition of mine to buy something. Anything. A piece of nothingness that will further my descent into hording and knick-knackery. I'd totally start labeling me diseased and weak minded, but I have some sorta boundaries to control myself -- anything that's cool. Maybe something I can fit in my palm. Collectable. Whether it be miniature, Animal Crossing cell phone accessories or a pile of baseball cards I have zero interest in whatsoever, I'll pick it up. I'll happily throw it into my life and then unhappily realize the uselessness of my purchase at a later, awkward time. What would I ever do with baseball cards? What could I do? Pretend they were Pokemon cards?! That just ain't right.

So one lazy Saturday, I stumbled into a Toys R Us. It's not unusual, and by no means shocking to anyone close in my life, to be galavanting in a department store meant for proud parents and 3rd graders. It's like the family not-so-secret, the sweaty, unshaven uncle who's always drunk, but hey, that's our Uncle Bob! Just replace booze binging with an addiction to make my desk, dusty shelves and coffee table look damn cool. Less terrible of an affliction, overall, but Goddamn you'll have a hard time making room for your ice cold beverages. Keep 'em close to you, and don't spill on the carpet. I hate that.

While making my nightly tumble into another game of Let's Throw Away My Money, I found something to throw away my money on:

Kamen Riders, from BANDAI. Not totally sure when this started existing, but I can get into it. BANDAI always has some pretty neat stuff, even though I never understand what I'm liking. I found them in the clearance aisle, behind the wall of WWE figures that no one ever buys (when the"F" in "WWF" took a hike, so did I) and the curtain of Star Wars swag. I willingly breeze by it these days, knowing full well that I don't need another Max Reebo, or the nondescript, plain looking guy running around in the background on Cloud City. Yeah, that guy. He's got his own action figure. Fuckin' weird.

I got two. Might as well, since I'm stepping up and braving the task of purchasing toys from the young, attractive chick working the cashier. I find it always helps to ask for a gift receipt. It insinuates that you're buying for another (your nephew, buddy's kid's b-day) and that you aren't a grown man buying robots at night. Always seems creepier to be in there late at night. Just screams, "I'm not wearing any underwear under these sweatpants." Oh well. Made my way out unscathed and here we go.

Story goes, these are warriors from Ventara, a parallel dimension from Earth, which you can access from the other side of any mirror. Their world, fabulous Ventara, is full of Advent Decks, the prime source behind a Kamen Warrior's abilities. Which is paying rent on time, or jumping really really high in the air. You choose!

But hey, the evil General Xaviax stole their Advent Decks. Now they're screwed. Except these Kamen Riders? Absolutely unfuckwithable. Somehow, some way, they've got their Decks intact, ready to elbow drop and katana slice their way to the top.

Man, all this typing of "Kamen" makes me think I'm really saying, "common." Or a slurred, drunk and horny version of, "come on." You choose!

"Blank Knight," on the left, looks like a fencing badass, if fencing were at all cool, and "Wing Knight," reminds me how well blue suits a coat of armor. It's intimidating, yet calming. The perfect match in a deadly battle of robotical nature and giant swords...which each figure comes with yay!

I really dig it! It's been a slow moving goal to amass an army of rad looking robots (anything authentic Japanese, really) so this helps. I think I'm now up to...four. Not counting any Transformers and only counting this huge, clunky plastic thing resembling a Gundamy Wing thing I got at the dollar store...it drops it down to one. One that doesn't even count, but it'll have to do. Clearly a Power Rangers meets any-fighting-robot-ever rip, but fun, nonetheless. It was discounted, easily fits into my life, and will soon fit into yours. And soon as you just let it into your heart. B+

So I'm gonna try to sneak in another post before I disappear into the cold, dark streets of Europe, so check back in a few days. After over sixty hours of flying, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna wanna hide in my cave when I get back, next to the warm glow of candlelight, shaking convulsively, sobbing ever so softly. Uh. What?

So tell your friends. And party hard!

Dreams Really Do Come True -- I Got a Castle Greyskull.

There's a few things everyone wants out of life. Maybe a real classy car. A jetpack. Hell, maybe even a million bucks wrapped around bars of gold like bacon. Me? I'll take any three of those, actually. But I'll have to settle for what's a tad bit lower on the list. And, you know, actually affordable. And plausible.

I got a Castle Greyskull that's cool too yeah!

I can't claim to be a kid of the 80's. The closest I came was at least being able to register my own existance in '89, allowing everything before that time to come in as hallucinogenic, dreamlike visions and confusing, life-defining moments. No, I'm not working up the courage to admit to being touched, but giving you all the sense that my mind has been warped and shaped by the stupidest, most inane shit. I can still remember getting the Max Rebo Band playset, complete with big, blue Rebo himself, and a hippo playing a flute, for one of my earliest birthdays. I'm still weirded out by my older brother's D&D toys and "Choose Your Own Adventure" books, all these years later. Something affected me at a young age. I'm gonna blame it on the constant flow of amazing yet oddly mature toys for young kids. I can't tell what's going on today with the youngsters, but it semmed that back then, everything was either based in talking skeletons to witches with giant swords to twelve year old spies shooting commies in the face.



I picked this up at a local, secure location I'm not yet sure I want to reveal. Whereabouts unknown kinda stuff, ya know? But the place in question doubles as a comic book shop and a yardsale, specializing in loose, superhero action figures and everything else a 4 year old boy would go nuts over. My kinda place, really. I'm sure you could find this magical hole-in-the-wall-treasure trove if you really cared, but that would require caring.

I usually end up with superhero junk and all that I can be tempted with that's buried in the glass case near the register. It's mostly anything old-school WWF or outright bug-like. Big, insectoidd eyes and those gross, feeler things are a plus. I do appreciate the bagging technique, though (all your purchases are thrown in either a used Target or random grocery bag) giving you the perfect camouflage to resume the day in un-embarrassed peace. Nerdcrap is a whole lot less stressful to deal with when it's hidden behind a disguise of normal consumerism. Don't worry, ladies! I was only shopping at Sharper Image! Or the weight lifting store! You may now resume loving me.

But this time! This time...I struck gold. Plastic gold.

I fondly remember waging battle upon battle inside these walls. It was never any He-Man figures doing the damage, it was usually GI Joe or Robocop versus a GI Joe. Robocop would always win, due to his exterior being made of metal, but maybe it was because I just favor shiny things. Either way, the Greyskull was Jimmy's. At least I think so. And at least I think he even owned one. It may have very well been a knock-off, or a chapter in one of my complete, dillusional and made up childhood memories. Which is possible, because as time goes by, I think I'm slowly starting to create my own backstory. I figure I might as well start making up some good shit then.

But either way, I still like to think fondly of this beast, or at least I like to think that I thank fondly of it. Thunked? Thankeded?

And the reason a Rancor sits atop the highest peak of Greyskull is a simple one -- because it looks cool. I totally picked that up, too, at the Mysterious Shop of Shame. Davey was over, decided it must be done, did it, and there ya go. The most sexy thing you've ever seen. It's just so beautiful. Tears of love.

I also picked up a crapload of figures! I finally got Hordak (yes!) and most of the Horde, including Captain SuckMouth, shown above. I'd picture them all, but I fear a complete blog implosion when the allowed, free bandwith runs thin. I've gotta be choosey when it comes to posting pictures. And I choose to showcase Captain SuckMouth. Captain SuckMouth, meet your destiny.

Best thing about having a blog? You can end it whenever you want!

Later, guys!

Oh, and check out the latest installment of Davey's late night, video-editing obsessions:

If you like straightforward, in your face Calabrese propaganda...you're gonna love this!;)

Tiger Beer! Devilman! AND MORE!

Yes! One of my favorite pastimes can easily be chalked up to drinking new beer. It's probably the worst things to get into when, down the line, you're pretty sure you don't want to look like a pregnant man.

I found this particular libation while checking out an asian supermarket, either looking for Japanese cigarettes or really cool toy robots on a really boring Saturday night. It's been an obsession of mine to smoke what Guitar Wolf smokes, and to litter my place with authentic, straight-outta-Japan goodies. I've found neither in the course of manymany years, but I'm still holding out for that one, big jackpot of pants-wetting fun. I think it's kinda illegal to sell the smokes, and the general, Phoenix area doesn't quite feel the need to run a Robotech ring, hocking robo-dolls and boxes full of Gundams. Ooo, I shoulda went with, "run a Gundam Wing Ring." Woulda been more fun, and kinda cute. Eghh.

One of these days, my luck will turn. Because I know you're out there, Asian Store That Sells Cool Japanese Shit. I just know. Until then...I choose you, Tiger beer.

I can pretty much get down with anything, save for chocolate beers and coffee beers and anything that's added to beer to kinda dillute the taste of beer. Oh, and the cheap shit. I've said it before and I'll say it again -- if I'm gonna desecrate and destroy the insides of my body, it's gonna be going down with quality.

This ain't cheap. Well, it's probably piss over in it's native land, but what can you do? I think this is about eight bucks and isn't Milwaukee's Best. We've got ourselves a winner! So anyways, this is from Singapore, is a pale lager and comes in pretty bottle with a cool Tiger logo. I really hate to say I'm prejudiced, and just bound to enjoy this, simply based on the fact that it's called Tiger beer, as if an unpronouncable, German brand is less superior to that of a drink named after a giant, orange cat. But I'm a simple man, with simple tastes. I also like to think this is alcoholic tiger-blood. What? You don't?

The taste? Ah, the taste. In past posts, I've tried to describe beers before, and it never really works out in any way I'd hope for. I'm terrible at it. My go-to buzz words/phrases are always "nutty," "golden brown perfection" and "I got nasty fucked up on this one." I'm not gonna win any awards, I know, but I still like to take a small, tiny amount of pride in my work. I could compare it to other beers, but that's kinda like cheating, and sometimes even more confusing. Say I compare it to...oh...Guiness, but you've never had Guiness. We're back to square one, daydreaming about tigers and stuffs.

I say go for it. It's pretty delicious, light on yer guts and will help strike up any mild conversation with the domestic drinkers and annoyingly curious.

This kinda fits in with the theme:

During our two week, east-coast rock and roll stint a month back, we played the HorrorHound convention in Indianapolis. Mainly, we hung out at our merch table and sold our shit for an entire day (yes!) and had an opportunity to stare at hundreds of things we could have easily spent hundreds of dollars on (yes!) I made it my goal to at least get something, and I decided on that. A Devilman bottle opener.

Between Danzig and White Zombie's fascination with Devilman and my always growing fascination anything super-Satanic, I knew I had to have this. Maybe it just emanated off of me, 'cause as soon as I asked the lady behind her booth, "how much for this badda boy?" she replied, "Ehh, just take it." Christmas miracle in March. Good thing, 'cause it turns out it was fifteen bucks. I'd probably end up buying it, anways, but I'm jus' sayin' -- I really want you to know I've got my priorities straight.

I still have no idea who or what a Devilman is or does (besides looking so cool) but it does what it ultimately promises...which is to open beer bottles while emitting a loud, screeching wail. Yeah, Devilman screams when you pop the top off a cold, frosty one.

As a sidenote, and ultimately some great filler, I remember the day of the event, we decided to stop at the diner across the way. It had been a few days since we actually had any solid, warm food, so it was a welcome site. It was one of those places kinda like Denny's fused with an IHOP, with no actual direction in decor. Felt like you were in someone's empty furniture store, that kept the rug on, the chairs up and served you greasy food. I dunno, it was weird. And that feeling absolutely turned into pain, when soon after eating only a few bites of my BLT, I realized it was gonna be one of those nights.

The thing is, touring in a band and playing shows is absolutely the greatest and the worst thing you can do. Everything outside of being at the show, and actually playing that show can be a wild pain in the ass. Seeing the world is great, sleeping in a van can be fun, whatever. My main enemy, my arch-nemesis in the world of touring...is the bathroom. The Goddamn restroom. The toilet. The shitter! Well, more specifically, a dirty bathroom. Hell, no bathroom is a bigger problem. If the place just ain't outta toilet paper, the place simply doesn't exist. A double edged sword, except one side of the sword is a bit longer and sharper, 'cause you're crapping behind a dumpster. Put that in your pocket. So it's always a gamble, from venue to venue, to find a decent, private and moderately clean bathroom. It's unnerving, painfully stressful and yeah, the Goddamn worst subject matter to be talking about on a widely accessible, easy to find blog on the internet. Cool!

So I'll wrap this up: basically, got kinda sick. Thank God, we played in a hotel with enough bathrooms to make a day out of testing each ones crap-ability. I base this out of toilet paper available, the seat's warmth and general feng shui of the room. The place was stocked up and ready for my hard-hitting, news editorial. So basically, don't go to that diner place in the same complex as that hotel. Or if anything, don't play a show directly afterwards. It's a matter of life and diharrea.

Laters!

Tale of Two Jawas.

Take a look at the above photo. What you see is my youth, in two, single Star Wars toys.

Recently, I've been hell-bent on collection as many vintage Star Wars toys as possible. To ease the quest's severity, I've decided to skip the vehicles, playsets and generally anything over the size of my index finger. Obviously, there's gonna be exceptions (see: rancors and wompas) But hey, I've got my limits. Gotta have limits.

One of the reasons I'm so into Star Wars is because of the huge impact it had on me growing up. The movies fused a subtle amount of horror, adventure and a weird, underlining creepiness that you can truly blame on life-like puppets and realistic masks. Something about it all, combined with a universe so vast and in-depth, really struck a nerve in Young Me. Don't even get me started on E.T.

Anyway, growing up, I essentially stole all of the coolest shit from my older brother, Jimmy. I begged for the current toys and I pilfered from a sibling's room. I had the best of two worlds, and nothing was gonna stop me from gaining access to the Treasures of the Universe. Which was any action figure made to have devil horns, a demon face or a skeleton head, really. Lots of the that stuff was flying around in the 80's.

So Star Wars. Had a lot of them toys, still do. It's like my comfort food, except you can replace deliciousness with hard plastic. Yes, I just admited to chewing on Uncle Owen's head to calm myself thank you very much. But that aside, I'll wholly admit to never truly understanding what the hell happened in any of the movies. I do know, jus' sayin', but yeah. As far as I was concerned, all three films were about snake-monsters and robo-men shooting (and missing) laser guns while flying huge, galaxy shattering space craft. It all went into my head, jumbled up to varying degrees, and made it's way into my young mind's conscious, allowing me to run the story to my understading. Things that were absolutely untrue were, well...truth.

Take that photo for example. I saw the movies countless times, I kinda new what was going on, right? Wrong. I really have no idea why I wanna blog about this, but hey, it's all I got. Plus, I, for some reason, just thought of this and was pretty amused at my Past Me:

You can blame the similiar outfits, but I really thought Obi-Wan was a taller Jawa. I thought he made it out of Jawa World a larger, more normal looking dude, while the rest of the pack was left behind in the dust and under three feet. I really thought they were connected somehow, as if the Jawas and Obi-Wan were best buds in the desert landscape of Tatooine. I really hoped they had a good relationship, kept in touch with eachother and worked out a pick-pocketing racket, with those nimble, delicate Jawa hands. I really do.

Man, I love Star Wars.

'Til next time!

Davey Calabrese Strikes Again!

Check it out! New video from Davey's own sick, twisted mind-balls!



I will admit my participation, though - my very own voice was recruited to help aid Davey's stop-animation madness. The D-Man did everything himself, from the lighting of the stage to the actual building and constructing of the stage, which, if you notice, is a small-scale version of one of our band room's walls, mainly noticable in Davey's previous video. My hat is off to you, brother.

Confusingly, I was told, "you gotta help me finish this c'mon let's go just say funny stuff," so I ended up playing the role of Skeletor (I refused to use my original, 80's Skeletor, so it was determined to use the more muscle bound, still-kinda-cool modern version) We ended up doing it in a few, quick takes, and apparently, unscripted and random will equate to hilarity. As soon as we decided to actually rehearse and think out our lines, it went straight to shit.

I've also realized I sound like a real, manly woman.

When all is said and done, it looks great! For under a week's time, nervously trying to beat out the clock, I'd say we have a winner. Reminds me of all the good times Davey and I had making stop motion films outta Legos, giant sized Gumby dolls and an "Indiana Jones" soundtrack. So maybe you'll see more of these videos in the future, maybe you'll see less. Oh hell, forget it. I'm already not into it anymore. Ha!

ALSO! New banners! Spread the word!

The Sword!

New band alert! Okay, not really a new band...but new to me. Check this shit out:

I picked this up after hearing they played a bad-ass, rockin', Black Sabbath-esque style, something I'm realizing is always a good thing and never bad. It's an odd notion to wanna listen to other bands that sound near identical to your other favorite bands, but I guess that's life for ya. You tend to stick to what you like. You don't order the salmon when you hate fish. Get it got it good.

So right off, no, this record isn't a tour de force of Black Sabbathisms. You can hear the influence, from the tasteful sludginess to the wail of the dude's voice bordering on pure Ozziness. And it's great! I love it! Lately, I've been into the stoner-rock, 70's vibe, musically. That heavy, gut-dropping rock and roll is highly addictive, once you're knee deep in it's flavorful grooves. Yeah, it totally sounds like I just made an accidental confession in pot use. Ain't true, mofo!

Anyway, I'm pretty into that sound, that delicious, vintage rock and roll tone. Honestly, the only other band I like in this weird, weed-fueled sub-genre is Electric Wizard. I've looked up other bands in the same vein, but they all suck. Shitty vocals, guitar riffs almost hitting a happy vibe...it's just not right. Electric Wizard, as is the Sword's first album, really hits that special-pleasure-button of mine. The guitar is high-flying with riffs-galore. The vocals are audible, fuzzed out and super Sabbathy. I guess, really, what I'm trying to say is that I'm liking the bands that sound too much like Black Sabbath, too much like an era now gone. Hey, if you're gonna rip off a band, why not do it better than the actual band?

Plus, the cover art and lyric content is awesome! The damn thing looks like a cross between Conan the Barbarian's sisters' favorite magazine and the front page of a D&D role-playing book. I think I heard the phrase, "spider priests!" in one of the songs, too, making it a winner! Such a fucking winner!

Oh, and as soon as I could, I also picked up this:

Their second, more recent album. I'd try to match this image with the smaller image above, but that's how google images is rollin' tonight. Kinda makes me feel all funny, like things aren't lining up right in the universe. Forgive me?

Review of Above Album: yeah, total crud. To be fair, it's different. Which means it doesn't even come close to their debut, which is weird, and a highly unfair and snap judgement by yours truly. But hey! They seemed to ditch the grooviness for a more modern sound, so it's their fauly. I dunno, I hear a lot of boring riffage going on with total lack of rock and roll. The first album had that punch, that swagger, like Motorhead mingling with the Rolling Stones. To be honest, I'm just sick of metal these days, really. Cookie Monster vocals suck, over-produced earsplosions suck, trying to sound as beyond grind-y and brutal as possible sucks. I'm still confused as to why people like Mastodon so much. Have you actually heard that dude's voice? Like, actually listened to it? Like, seriously?

So I guess that's why I'm so bummed with their second offering. You blew it, guys! I know you're reading this, too. So yeah. You blew it!

But alas, I should probably give it a few more spins before I spin this mother right into my garbage bin. It's like hearing the first Danzig album followed directly by Danzig 5, "Blackacidwhatthefuck?" throwing you for a total mindscrew. The sound that would escape your body would be an eerily silent, astral-projecting cry of despair. Believe you me.

But yes! Check it out! To me, the first album is really cool. And that first album is all this bad bitch needs. Yes.

Special Message from Davey Calabrese! URGENT!

He wants you, the universe, and everything in/around/near the universe to heed forth...and buy the new album. Yeah. F'reals!

This is pretty cool, and definitely something we're gonna make a habit of ever since Davey got one of those pretty lookin' flip-cameras. Aside from the usual "behind the scenes!" nonsense like touring, band practice, etc, we'll be making weird, oftentimes unecessary videos of whatever we deem absolutely the most hilarious thing in the world when we're drunk together. Yeah, you know it's gonna get good. Nasty good.

Friends, we're doing it for you. Okay, and we're doing it for ourselves and our ever-growing egos, too. Who doesn't wanna see themselves on youtube?!

This segment, though, is really begging to be called, "Davey's Corner," or "Intimate Sessions with D. Calabrese," or something. Oh man.

Les doo eet!