OUTTAKES.

As you can imagine, any new album will bring a slew of new, sexy shots for a band. You need to get yourself out there, truly brand yourself with the go-to image of the band. Over the years, we've taken multiple routes, but we're slowly figuring that the best possible scenario is to get as many photos in as possible. Just give ourselves way too many options, allowing us to slowly add the cream of the crop to the interwebs.

We wanted "Motorhead," we got, "Walker Texas Ranger."

Yeah, we're right in the middle of a photoshoot. Another one. Andy Hartmark, our good friend and reluctant slave to our wild and inane backdrop/location ideas, took the helm and knocked out another solid set of photos with us. We twinkled our eyes, we pursed our lips in the highest, Jersey-Shore-form and we did it up. Did it up hard.

Now, I know I've done something like this before. It's a pretty cheap way to clock in this week's blog, but what can you do? This is a good chance to show the rest of the pics that never made it through, the ones we couldn't all decide on as a group. So yeah, you're absolutely right. I'm saying "fuck that!" and posting them now. I love my blog! Ha!

We took these photos at an Arizona scream park type deal. Andy, our main main with a plan, took these shots. So if you always thought this set sucked, blame him. If you think it's awesome, well then, blame me. I express myself through my eyes.
It was in the late morning, before it was to open up for the night, and was entirely deserted, save for all the props and costumes lying about. There were enough demon clowns and bloody entrails to last you a lifetime I'll tell you what. So what with living in Arizona, the entire place had that "western" feel to it, like a horror movie starring Billy the Kid as an axe murderer. It was pretty cool, and as you can tell, we took some shots in dusty saloons, old-timey storefronts, creepy-viney-walls, etc. Keep in mind, this was in the middle of the day, and with the sun burning our faces off, we nearly shit ourselves. Calabrese photos...in the daytime?! There was no way we'd be posing under, near or around direct sunlight. It just throws off the vibe, you know? Good thing Andy had an ace firmly up his sleeve. An ace called "post-editing Photoshop."
Enjoy!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

Darkness Warrior!

I thank Davey for this post. He kindly took it upon himself to wade through the aisles of the dollar store, stocking up on God knows what, thinking about the massive savings that were to come, but about me, too. He picked out some fun shit and gave me some great blog material with it. He gave me a reason to spend a Wednesday night staring into the computer screen. He gave me a Darkness Warrior:

Nothing says fun like a weird, cheap knock-off of...something you can't quite put your finger on! I've stumbled upon rip-off Spiderman junk, GI Joe crap and some Transformers-esque stuff, which has been some of my favorite. I got a really cool, shiny black robot the size of my head, that looked like a cross between Gundam Wing and a Decepticon riding in the Hell's Angels. It was a one of a kind find, which eases the pain after knowing my reputation has just been flushed down the toilet after referencing Gundam Wing. Well, it was a good run!

This product here, well, okay...this ain't an obvious recreation of another more popular series of toys. None that I can think of, really. Nope, none whatsoever.

Well, fuck me.

Honestly, I never even thought of the Skeleton Warrior figures (which is so awesome oh my God oh my God!) but yeah, total rip. But to save face, I was thinking more that this came straight from "Army of Darkness," or "Clash of the Titans." A dirty skeleton in Knights of the Round Table garb, set up with enough shields and plastic swords to give you and your demanding habit of cross-breeding your other toys' weapon arsenals a solid run for it's money. I so know I'm giving my Han Solo a barbarian, battle axe later tonight.

So it's settled. This clearly and easily wins, "Best Dollar Store Find."

Also, "Dollar Store Find I'm Likely to Quickly Lose on My Desk, Never to be Thought About Again."

I gave him two war-weapons, 'cause I never believed in that "shielding yourself" philosophy. Ah, not really. I kinda just feel a walking, talking bone machine of death needs two killing devices. It's more than a designer decision -- it just feels right. Who ever said I wasn't good at feng shui?

Hey Look, I Can Read! "Running Man" by Stephen King.

Right now I'm reading, "The Running Man," by your friend and mine, Stephen King. I can't truly justify this being the complete "rock and roll mania" type material I usually look for in blogging (drinking and puking usually make for excellent bloggage, I know) but as I once did before, I figured I'd go the intellectual route. Throw in a couple of book reviews, current political events, really just drive the point home that I'm more than a drunk. Oh hell, I'll probably end up scrapping the whole idea and claim that I was just in Jersey doing body shots with Ke$ha. Now that's juicy!

Last time I blogged about my currenty literary liasons, I mentioned a few books. To be honest, I didn't quite finish them all, so I feel like I'm cheating a bit. I realize now, that I did some weird, reverse review, where I didn't even read the book, and never ended up reading it in the end anyways. It's like the ultimate blog-black-hole. And I'm pretty sure, that, because of it, I somehow created time travel. You can quote me on that.

So, this time around...I actually read the book. I even went through a small phase where I wanted to at least write this up halfway through the novel, and just fake the rest. All of my "reviews" are of me either gushing over toys or letting everyone know how much that new Alkaline Trio record "made my penis soft." So I guess, in the end, we'll all be okay. And no, I never reviewed that album. I'm pretty sure it's a total bonerkill, though. THERE I SAID IT!

One of the main reasons I wanted to read this book was because I love "fugitive" stories. Anyone who's gotta escape, manuever and trick their way into avoiding capture. I'm all about the back-against-the-wall scenarios, the no escape/holy shit there's no way outta this scenario. It's awesome!

Another reason I wanted to check this out was because I love the movie. Yeah, that one. With Arnold and Richard Dawson and the spandex outfits and all that crud. It's more a fond, loving memory I have of watching the film when growing up, 'cause it certainly ain't going down in history for it's Oscar-worthy performances. It's right underneath all the Indy movies and "Cloak and Dagger." But just short of "Star Wars" and anything with a midget in it. These are the movies that shape our lives.

But really, at that point, I still wasn't not sold. Why would I wanna read something that spawned Arnie's futuristic, cinematic blowout? I love the movie, I love the idea...why not leave it at that? Well, turns out the book is absolutely, insanely different than the movie. And legitimately good, too. It's one of those books that you're told is not only different from the movie, but essentially the complete opposite of the movie. The only similiarities are that it's based somewhere on planet Earth, and there's a guy. Doing things. It's like reading "Salem's Lot," then making a movie about a dog that can read the newspaper, ultimately becoming a journalist and cracking the case on a big, political scandal. I dub thee, "Newsie Schnauzer."

Now I gotta read "Salem's Lot."

But yeah! There's explosions, death, anger, pain, evil and an assload of action. This is good. Very good. Also, I'm well aware of how awful a review this has become. I never really let anyone know what anything is about (did I not mention the premise or plot? Whoops!) and just let everyone know how great it is. So for my next book review, I won't even mention the title, author or that it's even a book. Man, I love to blog!

Recommended!

Picture Party!

So I haven't busted out with any new bloggage in quite a bit. Initially, it was my goal to keep it weekly, but you know how it goes. One thing leads to another...and the last thing you wanna do is sit in front of the computer relaying garage sale finds and how much I like the way a Boglin's skin feels. But it's fun. I like to write, and, to be honest, with such a cool banner adorning the top of this page, I can't NOT keep this thing going. I can't let the rock and roll mania die, I can't let such a rad art piece go to waste! Plus, it features one of my favorite things -- me!

Well, anyway. I thought I'd try something new. Mainly because I've got zero ability to muster up an essay about some junk I got at the dollar store (it's some seriously rad junk, I'll get back to it as soon as I can) but it's also an experiment in internetting. A legitimate test in surfing webbing web surf.

Okay, whenever I google myself (don't judge) all sorts of Calabrese crud comes up. This is good, although, it's usually a tie between a bunch of chubby Italians and pictures of me circa seven years ago. But currently, most of the time, pictures from this blog pops up. It's everything from hastily taken Star Wars toys to pints of beer in Tucson. This is fun and all, but I figure I'd try something new. If there's any way to tip the scales and even the odds when it comes to what's being shown on the first page of google, I'm gonna test it out. I'd rather pump up the web full of my face, if it's at all possible. You may call it narcissistic, I call it good promo. We recently played San Francisco with Strung Out, and a good buddy, Alan Snodgrass, took some rad photos of us, so here's what I'm going to do:

I'm going to post some of those photos.

Boring? Yeah, totally. The thinking is that not only will I knock out a decent sized blog (quantity over quality!) but maybe I'll finally be able to clog up the web's search engines with more than toys and booze when associating with my name. Next time you search Calabrese, you can forget about the Anthony Bourdain tributes...say hello to sweaty, God-like live shots!

Enjoy!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

The Post Halloween-Sex Cigarette!

C'mon, you knew Halloween wasn't gonna be over on my blog! I've bought and made and spent on so much crap for a full month straight, I figured I'd do myself a favor and spend my money on significantly discounted crap. It makes sense in my head, not really written down. But trust me! I can't not take photos of my newly acquired Freddy Krueger doll without expecting to sleep troubled and hectic. Documenting all of my goods, well after the initial holiday and right after an even bigger holiday (my laziness knows no bounds) will be soothing for the both of us. Like a Halloween sauna in late December. We'll be dripping Hallow-sweat in no time!

I made zero effort this year to participate in any post-Halloween shopping, relying more on random impulse buys and accidental surprise surplus. I'm sure, if you're an avid reader, you already know this by now. It's my way of being slug-like, but still caring enough to have something to write about and to decorate my bathroom for the next few months. So I ended up stumbling into a single Walgreens. I entered with twenty bucks, I left with a bag full of holiday cheer and shame. Hey, you go and try buying Count Chocula lip balm at age twenty-five.

Hey, let's start with the best.



Freddy Krueger is cool. I'm not gonna lie and tell you how amazing the fedora wearing, goo-faced dude is, but I will tell you that his image has scared me at a very young age, allowing me to feature dreams of my own death by his knife-hands. Pretty brutal to actually have dreams where it feels like you're dying. I've felt in my own dreams, what I can only imagine death to feel like, the experience during and after. I think I need professional help. Cool!

But Freddy Krueger has always been a part of my childhood, even though the extent of my obsession has been his neat sweater and the question, "I wonder what it would be like to be sliced in the face?" I imagine it to be pretty painful.

You press a button on his boot and you're presented with a few "Nightmare..." movie quotes, crazy-Freddy style. Both his arms and head shake and move, upping the value and general entertainment quality. Personally, I'm totally pleased. Like I've said, I've never been a big fan, but this will look absolutely ace next to my Freddy glove above the TV. Hey, c'mon. Don't count that as a complete contradiction to my last statement about not totally liking the Krueger. I just so happen to like knives. And gloves. Together as one!

This was, at one point, twenty dollars. Normally, I wouldn't have given it a second glance at such a price. But when the discounts were rung up, it came out to be a quick five bucks. Yeah, fucking into the shopping basket you go.



Count Chocula lip balm goes without saying. I'd rather my lips taste like cereal than nothing, so it was so worth the thirty cents. It also presents a, "Hey, why not?" kinda scenario. I've never seen breakfast cereal themed lip junk, so hey, why not? The other is a door cover, a massive, plastic sheet you can use to easily turn your apartment into nearly 1/4 of a haunted house. You get around, say, 12 of these things and it'll look like you're either living among the dead or a group of robed Michael Jacksons. I totally dig this thing -- the art, colors and general, Death-y theme is way fun, even for it's original price ($2.99 ain't bad before discount) but after discount, you're practically stealing the dumb thing. I approve.

I love these things! I love the soft, purpley glow they'll soon be emitting all around me while listening to Type-O and slowly and methodically applying the aforementioned Chocula chapstick. Maybe I'll be crying, or pantless. Just to make the ordeal all that much more weird.

I think it came out to a bit over a buck, not too bad for a solid night of immediate, Halloweeny ambiance. I'll probably string 'em up outside, give the ol' patio a nice, grape-like glow. This is definitley a good deal, for those planning next year's discount disco party, since seven bucks seems pretty steep for a row of ten, hollowed out, plastic bats. Well, maybe not. Hell, what do I know? B+!

So I guess that's about it for this month's haul. Which is really two months ago's haul. I'm glad it's over -- definitely don't mean the holiday, but since I finally documented all of my findings, I can, once and for all, get this crap outta my face. See you crammed in and piled on an over filled and dusty shelf, Halloween Shit '09!

See ya next year!

X-Mas is Xwesome.

Whooaa, it's been a while since my last update. I'm leaving you on pins and needles, I know. But I'll make it quick, since I'm sure you're all dying to know what I've recently blown my money on, but mainly 'cause I'm about to watch that new "It's Always Sunny..." Christmas special. Did I just spend twenty bucks on a bloated, overpriced, forty-three minute episode? You bet!

Alright, so X-mas. I'm so into X-mas. I feel like it's Halloween, but instead of candy, you get videogames and remote controlled cars. Yeah, I'll skip the Twix for a robot that can turn into a breakdacing firetruck. Aside from getting a tree (which I've yet to do and probably never will be able to muster up to motivation to actually do it) I kinda just rely on impulse buying to get the ornament/decoration action done. If it ain't random and ultimately useless to anyone over the age of four, I don't want anything to do with it. Naw, that's not true. 'Cause I want everything! Yay Christmas!

I picked this up, I'm really into it. Action figures are fun, but action figures that are Snoopy and holiday themed are even more fun. I'm smitten when it comes to classics being updated for the season. I used to hate the idea, just fnd it absolutely cheap and ridiculous to see the once-a-month-a-select-few-months-outta-the-year bandwagon being so thoroughly jumped on, but it's grown on me. When it's Christmas, Chanukkah or whatever else ya got, I really wanna know it. I want the toy aisles in every store telling me it's Halloween time. I want cereals and televison shows and main street parades going absolutely nuts over Thanksgiving. When everyone is in on the holiday insanity, life seems just a little bit more bearable.

So. Snoopy. Action figure snoopy. It's a bit hard to really call it an "action" figure, as it's not really gonna be apart of any high-flying, epic toy battles, but damnit if that Santa outfit isn't the cutest. You come with a detachable beard and bright red, floppy hat, my friend? You are sitting at the head of the table in Castle Greyskull tonight, my man!


This was a last minute grab at Walgreen's. Nothing says "buy me!" like a Grow Bumble. NOTHING.

For two bucks, I'm given an opportunity to grow, by an astonishing six-hundred percent, a fanged Wompa. I still don't even know who Grumble is, and have always agreed that anything even resembling an abominable snowman has, and will, attack Luke Skywalker in a frosty cave. It feels more complete that way.

You know the drill, you drop it in an appropriate amount of water, go to bed and wake up to something the size of your fridge. In this case, I'm hoping I wake up to Wompa-Grumble cooking me breakfast and relaying the day's agenda. It almost sounds like I'm hoping for a gay, interspecies relationship with the thing. Hey, it's the time for Christmas miracles, right?


This thing's great, because not only I didn't buy it, but it's Yoda! I'm easily amused, so you give the little guy a candy-cane-cane and an oversized cranium, and I've got myself one hell of a couch buddy.

You see, I got this for my birthday via snail-mail -- it's one of the perks of being in a band. I'd imagine, for anyone else trying to complete their rock and roll image, a stuffed, Yoda doll probably wouldn't cut it. But it does me just fine. Especially since strippers are expensive and drugs make me feel funny. You go with what you know best!

My original plan was to document a few of my birthday presents, but, along with my post-Halloween post, which has holy shit it's been forever and has yet to be posted, I will post it. In 2010. Post Power!

Oh, and I'll let you know how Wompy turns out, too.

Happy holidays!

KILTLIFTER!

I figure I might as well update/blog about something other than toys and...well, more toys. So I've got a running theme going on! No harm in that, right? Too bad, though, that this theme paints me as a thirty year old pervert typing out mini-essays on everything a thirty year old pervert might write about to perv it up with pre-teens. I suffer for my art.

Today on our list is beer. Good ol' beer.

I'm not gonna pretend to be the world's coolest alcoholic, but I can get down with some booze. There's no way I can smoothly order anything from the bar without pointing at it and going, "that one!" first, and I certainly won't be drinking something that smells like a mixture of gasoline and battery acid. Yeah, I'm a pussy. Anything that comes in a shot, bomb or you're-not-going-to-survive-this, I'm probably going to pass. Can't blame a guy for wanting to keep his guts and his most personal, disgusting secrets on the inside.

But beer! Glorious, delicious beer! How can you go wrong with that? It's sometimes smooth, sometimes skunky and yet it's always guaranteed to put a buzz on your brain and a smile on your face.

Now, let's get this straight, though. I don't drink swill. I refuse to drink anything even remotely reminiscent of Budweiser, and the whole Pabst Blue Ribbon/Miller High Life crew, after all that it's given to me and my blooming, glassy-eyed social life, can pretty much suck it these days. I don't think of it as being a snob, I think of how I'd rather spend a few bucks more when paying to damage my liver. Good beer is better beer, and piss-water rarely qualifies as something I'm gonna gonna enjoy now and enjoy later. Probably gag now, puke later. I prefer less gagging. Puking's still alright, though.

But like I said, I ain't no afficionado when it comes to the stuff. The only and greatest times to drink, for me, is right after playing a show. One might assume it to be of celebratory nature, but it's more economical (and sinister!) than that. After sweating all major liquids from my body for forty-five minutes straight, one pint of booze can really pack a punch. You're usually down and out after that, smoothly sailing the dull-eyed, speech slurring train for the rest of the night. Yeah, so one drink is all I'm sayin'. One measley drink! You get all that, March, 2010 east coast tour? See you at the bar!

Anyways, I'm a fan of a beer called Kiltlifter. Minus the fact the below photo is not Kiltlifter (sue me!) it's made in Tempe, AZ and is most delicious.

Now, there's not a chance I can describe its taste. It's like asking me what lies beyond space and time, or how a car works. Shit's way over my head. But if I HAD to describe it...I'd say nutty. Kinda hopsy. Brewed to perfection. Perfect head, with a slight, woodsy tone. Buzz-words and cliche phrases, anyone? Thank you, Sam Adams commercials!

If you check out http://www.fourpeaks.com/, you can see what all the hub-bub is about. Four Peaks doubles as a brewery, which makes and sells a whole line of other, fun named beers, and a really cool restaraunt that somehow manages to stay packed on every single day of the week it drives me mad why can't I find a place to sit. I'm destined to forever stand near the entrance looking confused, or sitting next to the woman who, in our hot, desert wasteland, absolutely prefers to keep the outdoor heating lamp on and above eight-thousand degrees. You gotta learn to roll with the punches. And the midday heatstrokes.

Another cool thing about Kiltlifter/Four Peaks is that it's a local company (well, to me it is) so you won't feel like such a corporate tool when drinking it. You'll only feel a little wobbly and more inclined to tell everyone how you're in love with them when drinking it.

Have fun!