Christmas Burger.

Recently, I've been getting way into the art of "the hamburger." Not sure why I put that in quotes, but I feel it elevates a certain flair I'm going for. I need something solid to grasp onto with this post. This is gonna be all over the place.

I've mentioned the place before, but I like to go to Four Peaks in Tempe, AZ. It's a typical bar/restaurant that doubles as a legitimate, full-blown brewery. When most places say they brew their own beer, they're full of shit. Because this place actually does. Unless most places do? I'm not sure how that works.

They really do create their own beer there, though, which is awesome to imagine jumping into one of those gigantic, metallic vats full of hops and barley and sticky stuff.

Four Peaks also has chicken burgers, nachos, sandwiches -- typical bar fare, but in my opinion, a cut above the rest. It ain't a chain restaurant, so I feel good about that. I feel like I'm supporting the community by supporting my insides with meat and cholesterol. My only complaint is that it's always packed. There's no way around it and there's no discernible conclusion as to why that it is, but Sunday nights, Tuesday mornings -- just jammed full of people. I know it says a lot about the great tasting food and drink, but I like a little elbow room every now and then, ya know?

Plus, it's a sports bar. Not as bad as most, but multiple TV's blaring football and baseball is not that great for a guy who barely knows what "sports" is. A fungi of sorts, no?

I usually drown it out. It helps when there's a family of eight with two crying babies to help you along, which is a common occurrence. Also a common occurrence? College kids. Don't even get me started on college kids.

What's my point? Hamburgers are good and it's Christmas so let's eat a hamburger.

It's a Christmas Burger! Because I have nothing else to talk about!

What's so Christmas-y about it? Not a damn thing. There's nothing to indicate holiday cheer and good tidings, but that's alright. If anything, I'll pretend the lettuce is mistletoe, then throw away the mistletoe because mistletoe makes everything slide around.

It's a Southwest Burger, one of my favorite selections off the menu. I always order it, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of ordering something that sucks ass. Stick to the classics and go with what you know, people.

The Southwest Burger is a juicy cut of beef topped off with a roasted, Hatch green Chile and a generous slathering of their fine, fine "secret sauce." To say that it's good is an understatement. To say that it's JESUS CHRIST THE BEST BURGER ON EARTH is an overstatement. To say that it's pretty delicious is an about average statement.

I usually substitute fries for a side salad, too. It helps ease the guilt, and is surefire display in dazzling food mathematics. Fresh salad + greasy meat patty = body of an Olympic champion.

Merry Christmas! Eat a hamburger!

For Christmas, I adopted a Tamagotchi.

I found this egg-like trinket in my endless pile of debris I've purposely left to die, but as soon as it was discovered I was shocked and insulted I even considered the thought.

This is a Tamagotchi. From 2004. The reign and popularity of these virtual pets hit their peak way before, I think? It's a question I'm not too bothered to resolve, because the bigger question is why I even bought this seven years ago.

I think I was bored. Or curious. I can't imagine being that desperate and lonely in my life where a digital animal would bring cheer and well-being, but you never know. Damn things are too cute.

Tamagotchi is a digital pet. You control, feed and entertain your pixelated pal with a few commands, the main goal in point being to keep it alive and healthy. It'll walk back and forth, jump a few times, shed robotic tears, etc. It is, essentially, a large and annoying task you've willingly created for yourself.

For anyone under the age of twelve, owning your own computer critter sounds like a blast. Hell, at twenty, I fell for it. Who wouldn't want something to love and to take care of? The perk is that you can throw it in your closet once the love runs out! Awesome!

Does kids like these things today? Not so sure. With handheld video games allowing you to play with dogs or shoot your friends in the face, it's pretty obsolete. Although the idea of covertly carrying around and keeping your New Best Friend by your side is comforting at best (for the good times and the bad) I don't think there's quite the demand anymore for a pixelated mutt you can keep in your pocket and be stressed out over.

Since encountering this lost treasure, I've been carrying it around with me on tour, just in case I got the wild urge to pull the tab and bring this beast to life. Say what you want, snicker and guffaw if you must, but when you're in a van for seven hours straight, tired, bored and crazed, a Tamagotchi is the greatest Goddamn thing on planet Earth.

Well, the tab's already been pulled. You know that tab I'm talking about, right? The one that keeps the battery from touching the other electronical parts and I hope you know what I mean because I can't for the life of me explain it. I'm not troubled enough to keep pushing the matter, but for all intents and purposes, it's the LIFE TAB. It's the piece of plastic that seperates you from mortal men. Once you take the step to become God, there's no turning back. Tamagotchi is born.

It's been bouncing around in my bag long enough to have the tab be pulled by itself, actually. And because of it, I feel like it's a sign. I feel like Tamagotchi wants, needs to be brought into existence. It needs me, as proud father and trusting, supporting confidant. We'll throw around a football and I'll let it drink a sip of my beer on it's birthday.

Also, it's Christmas. And in the spirit of Christmas, I'm doing all that is good and beautiful and saintly -- I'm adopting a virtual pet. I'm nearly on par with Mother Teresa.

So, hello, nice to meet your acquaintance. Ah, I see that you are still an egg. You aren't a mammal, and that's fine, because I never had a pet lizard or snake growing up. Which is fine, too, because lizards and snakes are scary and disgusting.

For the love of all that is holy, please be a Yoshi.

To make things more personal, you can enter the date, time and your name. Since there's only three buttons two sizes two small to punch in data, I had a hell of a hard time typing "BOBBY." I got far from close, which got me frustrated, which then allowed me to negotiate with myself and reluctantly settle on "COI." This, I swear, took about forty-five minutes. Which is about the same amount of time it takes for the little bastard to hatch.

I waited. I waited some more. I all but gave up on this entire update until...

...he was born!

Good thing Tamagotchi told me it was a BOY, otherwise I might've dressed him up in training bras and scrunchies, and that would be a plain ol' mess.

What is it? Hard to say. Right now, I understand that this is the beginning stages, and soon it'll start morphing into an animal of sorts. Now, if it does grow into anything more than an ink drop, I'll never know, because this has already weighed too much on my nerves and I haven't even fed it yet and it's going away from my face right now.

Oh, and for what it's worth, I named him "CHOOB." It's a cross between "poop" and "boob." Please don't let me explain myself.

Anyways, you press buttons. I think you can play with it, keep it company and yes, feed it, but I don't know how. It might be obvious, it might not be. All I know is that it beeps. A lot. When it's not consistently beeping, it's beeping. There is no end to the beeping. It's on a keychain, too, for beeps on the go.

Beep this, bitch:

That? That's my junk drawer. It's where CHOOB lives now. Don't feel sorry for CHOOB, he's next to the fridge and it's not like I won't visit him from time to time. He's in a drawer next to the bottle openers and forks, so there's more than enough reason to check in on him, even if I don't want to. Which I don't. But I guess that's the name of the game with Tamagotchi. You didn't come with a "reset" button for nothin', CHOOB!

See you next Christmas, little buddy!

It's a CVS Christmas.

Thanksgiving is over, and it kinda sucks. I'm not beyond crushed, since I feel Thanksgiving is a bridge to a bigger and brighter new era of fun, but still. Knowing that it's over convinces me that Christmas will soon be over, convincing me that I need to learn to grow the fuck up. Ughh.

My glass is half empty, and to make matters worse, I'm on a tight schedule, too. The strange and eccentric Richard Sucker has been confirmed as a major nuisance in my life, and I must attend to the desperate needs of stopping this bloodsucking menace.

You question my sanity, I understand. But have a look for yourself. Stare deep into the eyes of uncontrolled madness. Stare into the face of SUCKER:

You've seen him pillage the Calabrese Manor in hopes of recreating his own, personal Christmas, and will continue to do so for the duration of the holiday season. This will be stopped. Because now it's time to see me and the bros do some damage on that sparkle-faced twit. We're taking back our shit and we're doing it with force.

In essence = less writey, more fighty.

But hey, I ain't too swamped. In preparation, I've pumping iron and learning to not wince at loud sounds, and, naturally, to let my muscles and reflexes to grow, I'm awarded a break. Break be now. So here's something to tide ya over:

A normal trip to CVS for toilet paper has proven that I cannot leave any single stretch of area without a souvenir for the ride home. I could easily be in and out without a hitch, but the burning desire of worldly goods pushes me down dark and tinsel-y aisles. The warm glow of red and green lights offer a welcoming...glow of red and green lights. I'm trying to say that I'm gettin' down with Christmas, people.

And, yeah, it's December, so now's the time to start hoarding Santas and Rudolphs and Grumbles before I remember that rent is due. I live on the wild side.

Today, a CVS Christmas. Found in the $2.99 end cap, I was drawn to the simplicity of the piece. Price, razzle and dazzle -- it's all trivial to what gets at you on a personal, emotional level. For me, that would be a tiny train and plump, para-trooping snowmen.


Like I said, I'm a bit busy with other things, so I'm gonna half-ass it today. I take no shame in this, for all the shame has been substantially used up by dressing up in a Dracula cape and calling myself "Richard Sucker." I suffer for my art.

So, enjoy.
Words words words words snowmen words words words look at those mittens! Words words green mittens words words words words words scarves are for hipsters and anyone born in the era of "A Christmas Carol." I think it was the mid-1970's.

Words words words words words words words how could this not work? Words words words the math is correct, the science is solid, what's stopping Frosty from free falling into mindless, Christmas joy? Words words words words here we go words words:

WORDS WORDS FUCK.

Blah blah blah blah the perfect size for a cockroach to take a joyride around the kitchen. Blah blah blah blah blah wish I never mentioned cockroaches blah blah blah nightmares for a week.

Blah blah blah blah blah ride around a tin full of cookies blah blah blah blah blah blah happy thoughts blah blah blah blah blah I can't believe the damn thing takes batteries, which I have none of blah blah blah blah blah blah blah CHRISTMAS IS RUINED.

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah I like to think this is Opposite Santa, where instead of coal to fuel the train, he uses gifts and presents and teddy bears. Then, naturally, Opposite Santa leaves coal under every body's Christmas tree blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah sounds like a shitty Vince Vaughn film.

Merry blah blah blah Christmas!

Happy Thanksgiving, 2011! Don't worry, this is still Star Wars related.

I'm hesitant to say that there's not a whole lot to report today, which is fine for me, and fine for...well, me. In fact, I may be outta the Blogging Game for at least a solid month. The reason? What may look like laziness is actually a secret attempt to create a unique batch of quick and exciting Calabrese webisodes, all which will be presented on December 1st, ending on December 25th, Christ-fucking-mas.

What am I hinting at? Well, for starters (and obviously) it will be Christmas themed. There is no secret or cover-up of any kind to shy away the public's attention towards my love for the holiday. In the past, I've even dared to say it's better than Halloween, and if perking up and giggling over just saying the word "Christmas" is any indication, I do not take back what I said. At all.

The wide cast of Christmas characters (Santa, Rudolph, Bumble) the terrible songs, the presents. It's all just so perfectly tuned in to what makes me who I am -- a greedy kid who likes a fat man to bring me toys once a year.

Also, the fabulous return of Richard Sucker!

I don't wanna get too detailed about the whole thing, but yeah, he's there. The weirdest vampire we know, all lined up to help us out on what may be our biggest and best webisode adventure yet. And by "biggest and best," I mean "short and satisfactory." I'm already not wanting to do it 'cause it's Thanksgiving and during Thanksgiving I don't like to do anything. Blame Thanksgiving.

So. I'm busy and not-busy. Lots of talking and being weird in front of a camera there, but not a whole lot of typing up words about things I like for an afternoon here. I think we'll all survive.

With that out of the way, I recently had a birthday over the weekend. We played a show in Las Vegas, which is both an example in perfect timing and damning frustration. You will not believe how bad I wanted to rage it up. But, we gambled a bit, ate at a buffet and didn't actually start playing until 1:30 in the morning, so I was so over Las Vegas I didn't care about pouring booze down my throat anymore. It wasn't my first priority. That, of course, was given to a mysterious bag with LEGO Darth Vader plastered on the front. Happy birthday to me, bitches.

I love Mysterious Bags. The cover art might have been a dead giveaway, but I was too caught up in what was inside the damn thing. It was bulky, medium in hardness and made the sound loose change would make if loose change was made of soft plastic.

A bag stuffed with original Star Wars figures!

"Fkhkdhvighds" is the only suitable word to describe this sight. I think it's Cantonese.

I've mentioned it before, but I love me a big pile of Star Wars toys. I purposely keep an unorganized, messy heap of 'em on my bookshelf just so I can see it the way it must be presented -- large and chaotic. For some reason, it puts me in a certain mood. Relaxed, calm and serene. Limbs shooting this way, cloaks and capes shooting that way. The colors and smell are all so intoxicating, it's by far my favorite mountain of George Lucas mind-babies ever.

I just admitted to smelling my toys. I accept this.

Oh! And hidden among the madness was a few Micro Machines, or something pretty similar to Micro Machines. I was never that big of a fan, but then again, I've never been a fan of automobiles and anything else that have something called an "engine" in it. You can add football and lifting weights to that list, too.

Overall, a great birthday, and soon to be an even better Thanksgiving. I've already got enough food lined up to corrupt at least three vital organs, and as soon as I wake up from my coma, we will hit "record" and sail off into the webisode sunset on December 1st. Stay tuned, dudes.

And Happy Thanksgiving!

Tales of the Monkey-Wolf, a Halloween Adventure!

Well, here I am. Eleven days after Halloween, blogging about Halloween.

Don't lie, you know you love it.

Anyway, today, I'm letting you in on a little secret. You see, I now own a creature that's neither monkey nor wolf, but a delicate hybrid of the two. Yes, the rumors and accusations are true -- I'm the proud papa of a glowing demon-dog!

Now, let all of what I just said sink in.

Now, back story:

I usually buy a lot of stuff in preparation for October 31st, but what I'm about to unveil is the clear favorite of the pre-season/post-season lot. It's one of the better things I snagged on Halloween day, in a rush to pick up last minute decorations I won't take down until March. I feel like I didn't overindulge like I wanted to, so I went out and...well, overindulged. I bought extra candy I won't eat, more cobwebs I'll never open and 800 pumpkin pails for our Halloween show extravaganza. We filled these buckets with all sorts of candy, threw them out into the crowd and punted them into people's faces. Yep.

You see, both Davey and Jimmy were behind the unintentional, pumpkin pail violence, both events happening exactly in line with each other -- one was batted by a bass guitar and quickly and I mean quickly right after, the other was a makeshift soccer ball and the crowd was the goal. It was as if the whole world had stopped and all that was left was two, brightly orange bombs blasting through time and space to reach their ultimate and final destination. Which, ya know, was a little kid's head.

If I had any good left in my soul I would dare not say that it was the funniest damn thing I've ever seen.

But that's neither here nor there.

Because I got myself a "Lighted Werewolf," and all is glorious:

"Lighted Werewolf" is exactly as it says. A luminescent lycanthrope you can stake into the ground to either scare or bewilder all passerby. Ten dollars for this monstrosity ain't too bad -- add into the idea that you will soon own the weirdest looking werewolf holding a bloody heart and it's a friggin' steal.

I don't have a front yard to actually use this, but I love these things. I like the simplicity of it -- the idea of zombies or witches or a werewolf crawling out of your garden is wholly welcome and actively applauded. It's never a bad thing to get the morning paper, give a quick wave to your neighbor and dangerously trip over a pile of silver fuzz and plastic. It'll make gardening more of an adventure, and taking out the trash is coveted instead of despised when you have the chance to say hello to Marty the Mutant Mutt.

When I first saw this, I couldn't believe my eyes. I mean, we've already established that the thing as a whole is just plain weird looking -- it was now down to how weird it actually was.

Oh, it's weird alright.

If that image above doesn't speak to you on a personal level, you're not my friend.

Guardian of the Record Player, arise!

Out of the box, it looks even more impressive. Like a super-baboon baboon. More baboon than baboon, if you will. Because it looks exactly like a baboon to me. And that's quite the feat, considering this is supposed to be a wolf. Or a werewolf, or whatever, I dunno. I LIKE THIS AS A BABOON BETTER.

The fur is a dingier, grosser looking grey and my God, the heart actually beats! True, it's creative use of the classic "flickering light" effect at it's peak (no photo available, sorry) but there's nothing wrong wit dat.

All I expected was a fugly mutant, and now I have a fugly mutant who blinks a whole lot.

It's a true favorite in my household, and is still burning bright to this day. I'll add a red cap and a beard next month and I can squeeze even more time out of him. Because time is precious with this beauty. I've accepted my fate as keeper of the beast, and keep the beast I shall.

Anyway.

A "Big Bag of Bugs." I got a big bag of bugs, too:

In one's life, everyone deserves a chance at owning a big bag of bugs. You say you don't like bugs? Well, fuck you. You're getting a big bag of 'em.

They were intended to be thrown out at our Halloween show, but I didn't have the heart to get rid of them so easily. One minute they'd be in my hands, and the next minute they'd be thrown haphazardly into the darkness of a rock and roll show. I liked the idea that, mixed with all the candy we were dumping on people, a few of those nasty looking spiders and long worm things would end up in people's hair well past the show, and offer up a post-Halloween show trick, courtesy of Calabrese. However, I liked the idea of keeping them on my kitchen counter top even more.

It was a Halloween trick double cross!

BAM!

Me like the Goat-Man.

Me like monster heads. Me like wear rubbery constriction over nose and mouth. Me think is fun!

Me went to Bubbles of Joy, a Halloween goofy shop catering to goofs like me. It's no Spirit, but that's a good thing, because me think Spirit sucks. Way too many dumb clown things and evil babies. Me want something raw and powerful and furry.

Me found monster mask to end all monster masks. It be really spine-chilling and unnerving, and makes you question your belief in God. It's the greatest Halloween disguise in the world!

There be no love like the love I have for the Goat-Man:

Even me be scared! It's a shocking sight of teeth and horns and wet stuff covering outer layer of nose. Like Goat-Man sneezed and didn't wipe. Me understand that Goat-Man is busy, but hygiene and cleanliness is very important around my place. Number Three Rules in Me Apartment: wash hands after pooping, cover the mouth when you do the coughing and sanitize your entire body after eating at Subway. Me think Subway smells annoying.

Some might say the mask be overkill, but me say it's perfect Halloween trick to haunt little kids' brains while they sleep. I want to hurt people mentally and linger in their minds well past the season of the Halloween. Me just watched a lot of the Freddy Krueger movies, so me very excited by all this idea.

Time to put it on my head and become a part of the beast! Let the animal inside of me go wild and do the things that are crazy! Me be one with the Goat-Man!

Good to go! Halloween, here I come!

Me almost got nervous for beer -- it almost didn't make it into my mouth hole. Being super smart I found a way to doctor problem, as well as a way to spill half of bottle down my shirt. Goat-Man was not made for partying, only frightening the young and easily alarmed.

Me even got hairy gloves to seal the deal, but most people think they're me regular hands.

Me sweaty and hot and uncomfortable, but me have the face of Satan and things couldn't be better. Halloween do not suck this year! Halloween cool!

Yay Halloween that happened two days ago!

Happy Halloween, 2011!

It's Halloween! It's here right now!

I didn't get to post everything I wanted to, but at this point...who cares? It's Halloween! Besides, my entire life is pretty much Halloween based, so I think I'll manage blogging about evil candy and bloody masks in late January. No worries.

Now, I've already eaten way too much junk food and drank way too much monster themed alcohol, so today I'm taking it easy. Both aren't inherently wrong activities, but mixed together over hours and hours of Halloween socializing, day in and day out, the gooey things inside my body have started to go a teense bit sour.

Because of it, I feel altogether very lazy and homely tonight, but it's not to the point where I can't get off the couch to answer the call of the trick or treater.

I'm not feeling guilty about it, though. I did my time, I put in my creepy hours. I've done way more than I initially thought I would, and it's been a blast. I wanna say that I'm sad that tomorrow is the end of the Samhain season, but eh. Halloween and I are kind of sick of each other.

We played a great show, I bought an insane Halloween mask that intimately disturbs anyone who comes in contact with it and I just quickly carved up a pumpkin tonight. Like, really quick.

So if I were to die tomorrow (which I won't, because I refuse to die) I will die a happy man.

Oh, yeah, that pumpkin? Check it out!:

This is the first time I ever used one of those "pumpkin carving kits," which uses a lot of tools that poke, prod and saw. Normally, I'd free hand my creation, but with a little patience and a flimsy, paper guide, simple pumpkin carving turns into serious art.

I chose the "floating ghosts" design, if only because it looked the simplest and quickest. I had to clean, cut and proudly show off my prized pig before Halloween was over. Which is, ya know, tomorrow.

Way spooky!

Kind of looks like Arizona cacti, or pickles. Not sure where I'm getting that, but yeah. Pickles.

Happy Halloween, guys!