AMERICAN HORROR STORY.

We're about to hit the road on Wednesday, and I'm excited.  Now, it's a good kind of excited, as well as a "bad" kind of excited.  Lemme explain:

We play all the time -- everywhere from comic book shops to mini-conventions to bar shows down the street to worlds away in upstate New York.  When we do the BIG BOY TOURS (a string of shows that lasts more than a week and a half) I get nervous.  Four or five days in a row is nice and dandy, and when it's on the west side of the US, we're more than willing.  I'm cool, I'm collected.  But when the schedule demands two weeks of driving and playing and stinking up the van all the way up the east coast, it can get kind of hectic.  Generally, it's no big whoop, but...

I had to buy underwear.  And new socks.  I have to make sure I have a book that I'll actually read.  Are my jeans all fucked up and warped?  Should I put more stuff on my iPod?  I wait until the last possible moment to worry about these kinds of things, which, hey, is right now!

Fortunately, we'll be doing this all over again in a few short months, so I guess I'm decently stocked up and ready to go for round two.  The silver lining strikes again.  Another fortunate event?  Along with my Hanes and Stephen King novel I'll never look at, "American Horror Story" on Blu-ray found it's way into my shopping spree, too.

I picked it up last night.  I've been wanting to see it forever.  Usually, I do zero research for any purchase.  I have no idea if this show sucks, if it's awesome, if it's whatever.  I saw the commercial, a few stills on the internet and I've become hooked.  It feels like it's so ME.  How can I deny thee?

Yay!  The Blu-ray was used, too.  Somehow, this finger stained, used version was cheaper than the DVD new, so the choice was obvious.  Since the first season just came out, I find it weird that someone already bought it and returned it in a few days.  I'm torn between the idea that the person who picked it up wanted to see it REALLY BAD, but didn't wanna blow their entire cash flow, or that they watched it and were so disgusted with what was happening on their television screen that they returned it immediately.  I'm hoping for the latter of the two, and after a few episodes in, it's quite possible.  Never have I seen such gratuitous amounts of masturbation in a cable TV show.  It's really quite splendid.

So now it's now my goal to finish it tonight and tomorrow.  The timer starts now.  Will I do it?  Of course I'll do it.  What else do I gots to do?  Oh, I know!  Rubber Man fan art!

Both "People Under the Stairs" and "Pulp Fiction" helped pave the way for gimp costumes, but "American Horror Story" supplied the flair, finesse and inarguable charm of skin-tight, rubber creepiness.  I haven't hit the mark of truly understanding who or what "Rubber Man" is, but I've become a fan.  There is nothing more unsettling than him/it/her strolling across a haunted house in the dark.

I think I just gave myself the chills.

See you on the road!

You Know it's October When:

...your candy is pooped out of wind-up skeleton toys.

Gah, I can't believe it's already October.  To say I'm a little un-prepared is taking it lightly.  Not a ghostly, window clinger has been bought, not a can of candy corn flavored soda has been guzzled.  My crowning, Halloween achievement, so far, has been hastily walking through a Spirit, completely underwhelmed and slightly defiled.  Spirit has always been "hit or miss," though.  On one hand, I like the idea of a shop opening up around Halloween, catering to the trick-or-treaters and party goers during the blooming, holiday season.  On the other hand, I really fucking don't care about their truckload of dead baby props and ugly, "evil clown" masks.  Don't misread me, folks, I do like those things...when they're sparse and rare and not shoved in my face every October.  At this point, it seems so stock and manufactured, which, granted, is a really weird and harrowing thing to say about dead, rubber babies.

For me, clowns aren't that scary.  They can be, and most definitely have a good chance of scaring the tar out of a lot of people, but overall...I dunno.  Most of the masks at Spirit are too overdone with big eyes and teeth and tongues that stick out like snakes, never relying on the "creepy and weird" aspect of clowns.  It's the "Gacy" effect, if you will.  Which is a pound of white makeup and lipstick haphazardly smooshed onto your face.  Now that's fucking terrifying.

I blame Juggalos.  They ruined clowns.  And that's on record.

Now, dead babies?  They're just so done.  What else can I say?  You see one dead baby, you've seen 'em all.  Or something.

Every year, I really do wanna write about the Spirit Halloween Store.  I get so pumped thinking about it, but as soon as I set foot inside that makeshift, loosely put together circus-warehouse, I get the opposite of pumped.  I'm de-pumped.  I hate the word "pump."  I realized that just right now.

Alright, it's not so bad.  I only say this because I don't want to be THAT GUY.  I don't want to be a Grinch. I also don't want them reading that and putting me down as the "Worst Halloween Fan Ever" list.  Because I am a fan.  A BIG fan.  And it's supremely cool that they exist, and that they're giving it their best shot at making you buy fake blood and lawn attractions that jump out and spit on you.  I applaud you, Spirit Halloween Store.  See how quickly I flip-flopped?  I couldn't write a bad review to save my life.

Topic of the Day:

Presenting, from the catalog of Treat Street candies and delights, we welcome to you...

MONSTER POOPER.

I can't believe it boldly proclaims, "I Poop Candy!"  But I guess I can't be too shocked, since it is a "Monster Pooper."  Does the tag line, "Wind me up and watch me go!" serve as a shit reference, too?  What have we become as a society?

Load the little guy up with sugar balls, turn the key and let him loose.  It truly is a modern marvel in candy dispensing, if you wanted to get that deep and reach that far.  But what if this was applied to other foods and drink?  If anything, what about other holidays?  What if your turkey two-stepped across the dinner table and crapped out stuffing during Thanksgiving?  Would you like that?  Yeah, you would.  We all would.

The back tells me that the dispenser was made in China, and that the candy was made in Canada.  I don't like it when my candy lives more of a jet-setting life than I do.  Monster Pooper, you can take your damn candy and shove it up your oh you'll just dump it out later.

Happy October 4th!

I Went to Prescott, AZ and All I Got Was the Hangover From Hell.

It started off simple enough.  What was an attempt to hang out with friends, enjoy the local hot-spots and to partake in local cuisine turned into, essentially, the greatest/worst night off my life.

My buddy is selling some of his guitars.  I'm on a particular "buy any guitar I can" kick at the moment, so it only seemed appropriate to check 'em out, as well as hang out with said buddy.  I'd be catching up with old pals as well as walking away with a bright and shiny new axe.  What could go wrong?

EVERYTHING WENT WRONG.

To say "it went wrong" is kind of harsh.  It would be a direct denial of all the fun and excitement of the weekend.  It's a big, giant FUCK YOU to my day-cation experience.  But with any hangover, you enter a series of phases you must conquer to overcome and rise above this mind-warping, gut churning shit day.  Actually, there are multiple days.  If you're like me, you can pretty much count on being out of the game for at least seventy-two hours.  Sucks to get old, bro.

So, you drank your weight in evil.  Good for you.  Did you have fun?  No, you didn't.  Because you are now hungover, and everything before right now is pure trash.  Can you handle this?  Can you get through these chapters of agony and torment?  Yes, you can.  YES WE CAN LET'S DO IT.

Phase 1:

Pain and suffering, suffering and pain.

No hangover is complete without the inevitable cocktail of the worst physical pain ever.  It's an obvious one, so hold on tight.  Everyone has their variation of hangover symptoms.  Mine consists of body aches, chest pains and a remarkably upset stomach.  Never really a headache, as most people claim to get.  All suffering is directed into my intestines, where it feels like nothing will go in and nothing will come out.  My body turns into a black hole.  I'll drink water and barely piss, I'll eat half a Triscuit and feel like I'm about to blow up.  I'm at the point where I wish I got a headache.  A headache would be relief.  Hell, I'd never quit binge drinking if all I got was a little pressure in the dome!  Oh, well, too bad, 'cause I already quit drinking.  FOREVER.

Phase 2:

Regret, denial, depression.

A friend of mine once called his hangover "The Fear."  You damn well better believe "The Fear" exists, son.  Because soon after your body starts to calm down a bit, your mind decides to introduce you to "The Fear," an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame and disgrace.  You feel like every one's watching and judging you, you get the sense that what you did was the catalyst to your imminent demise, you fear fucking everything and you want to crawl into a hole and die.  Or puke.  Whatever you want, "The Fear" is yours and yours only.

Phase 3:

Overzealous promises and bullshit resolutions.

"I'm done drinking.  The truth, I swear.  Everything I've ever done in the past has been wrong and everything I must do from here on out will be clean, healthy and moral."  Of course, this is bologna.  Give it two more days and you're back at your favorite spot, ponied up to the bar.  I understand the concept of "moderation," but who the hell ever thought that was a good idea while you were drunk?  When you're drunk and having fun, for me, there's nothing more important than shoveling in more alcohol.  Water tastes like poison, slowing down even a teensy bit is a Party Sin.  The only ending to this story is lying face down in the street.

Phase 4:

You're back to normal.  Everything might seem a little off, but essentially, you're back to your normal self.  Things are good.  Just don't find yourself back at Phase 1.  Give it a week, at least.  Okay?  Okay.

Of course, I had a blast.  I didn't do a single damn thing I wanted to, but at least I got a solid glimpse at the friendly bars that litter Prescott, AZ.  We hit up a few of the "classic" spots -- bars that were in the movie "Tombstone," bars that Wyatt Earp and the gang hung out, bars that Doc Holiday got a hand job under the poker table.  Real historical stuff!

But then it went south.  Gone were the monuments and history and reliving the days of yore, welcomed were the dives and dumps and watering holes you'd expect to get stabbed in the bathroom.  Turns out, everyone in Prescott is dumb nice.  Like a super "everybody knows your name" kinda vibe permeated the town.  I met everyone from hometown bands to the guy who owned the best burrito shop in Prescott Valley, to the old guy who beat me at pool to the happy bar flies at the Eagles Lodge.  It was nuts, and outstandingly refreshing.  My body is now a wasteland, but yeah, totally refreshing.

This is how I feel:

There should be something more potent and effective to what you see, but nah.  I drew my head, I drew a bottle, the end.

And overall, I had a point to this.  It was leading into guitars, and what I play, and what I think about guitar maintenance (I don't think about it at all) finally pulling back the curtain on my rig and personal set-up.  It sounds like a good post, even if it's just to relay the message that I just don't care that much, and have been playing the same thing for fifteen years.

But we'll save that for next time.  When I'm not feeling so negative.  When I'm not dying.

When "The Fear" is gone.

Uggghh.

The Calabrese Thunder Express is Coming for YOU!

October 11th to October 21st, we'll be blasting our way through the greater east-coast are in our "Dayglo Necros LIVE!" tour, 2012!

Starring Jimmy Calabrese as "The Italian Tiger," Bobby Calabrese as "The Martial Artist Guitarist" and Davey Calabrese as "Davey Calabrese."  Special, live appearances of Space-Bob, an adoring audience and a lot of strange sweat!  If you love us at all, please do what you can to help spread the word.  Tell your freinds, warn your enemies, mark your calenders with an old pirate dagger, complete with an "X marks the spot" X.  And as long as I'm making arbitrary demands, I would also like for you to wear a costume to the show.  Any superhero will do, as long as your wearing uncomfortable spandex and a cape.

Just go to the show, man.  Just go.

BECAUSE THIS IS THE LAST TIME WE WILL BE IN YOUR AREA THIS WILL BE THE END OF CALABRESE.

Alright, no.  In fact, not only are we going strong, but we already have some pretty exciting tour news for early next year, which we're really looking forward to and eagerly waiting to announce.  But, yeah, if I can spare to spill any beans, it would be that we'll finally be making the rounds up the west coast and through the middle of the ol' USA.  Not a whole lotta east coast areas.  So these current October shows are, like, really good and perfect for you people from New Yawk and Bahston and Chicawgo.  God, you guys sure do talk weird.

See you on the road, Universe!

ANIME EXPLOSION.

!!!

The best part of the Internet is expressing every inconsequential, boring and trivial filler you're currently thinking about at any given time.  Opinions are expressed, views are blogged, no one gives a shit.  Like, seriously.  When was the last time you read something on the Internet that changed your life?  When was the last time you posted about anime and was sent a twenty pound box full of burnt DVDs?  OH JUST TODAY THAT HAPPENED TO ME FUCK YEAH.

Joshua Byrd sent this to the Calabrese Manor, specifically addressed to me, specifically because he knew I don't have a life.  I suppose the Internet is good for something after all!

What you're about to see is movie madness, a sonic load of the ultimate collection of wasted time.  It's everything I've ever dreamed of -- a carton the size of a nightstand packed with movies, movies, MOVIES.  All I mentioned was that I was getting deep into the seedy underworld of violent and robo-oriented anime, and to my surprise, I was given it all (and more) in the perfect Halloween/early Christmas present.  This really is the best thing to have come into my life right.  Because I like surprise boxes.  That are just for me.  Jammed with mind-rotting films and television.

Too bad this is overwhelming as fuck.

No, really.  It is.  Because look at that.  Underneath the first layer of scattered DVDs lies three more rows of neatly and tightly packed DVDs.  I gave up after the fifty mark, but it's safe to say there's at least thirty-thousand discs inside this thing.

Essentially, Joshua did what I've always wanted to do -- own every single movie ever.  Admittedly, the idea sounds outrageous,  but once you start laying out a battle plan...things start to come into focus a bit more.  The impossible now seems vaguely possible.  How?  Well, thanks to Netflix, you can have a steady stream of movies sent to your front door on a near-daily basis.  All that would be required of you is that upon the arrival of these DVDs, you were to instantly burn them to another disc, send back the DVDs as quickly as you can and do it all over again the next door.  Or whenever they arrive.  Not sure how this shit works.

BUT this is what Joshua did, and this is what I've always wanted to do!  If you were to keep it up for years...dare I say you could own a solid portion of most of the movies ever made?  Or at least movies that have been released in the US.  Or at least in one, specific genre.  Fine, you'll definitely own more movies than all of your friends combined.  And that's about it.

But hey, it's a valiant effort in over-consumption.  I love the idea, even if it's offensively idiotic.

I fully intend to watch this box full of anime.  No, that's a lie.  I fully intend to watch all the best stuff.  I already asked what were some of the highlights hidden among the rubble, which were then promptly picked out and put away until further notice.

Each one is labeled and in order, which is such a nice touch that I hate to admit that during their journey from Joshua's house to mine, they dissolved into a scattered mess of plastic and frustration.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks, Josh!

Ancient Calabrese Artifacts Number 32: Old Dungeons and Dragons Pewter Figurines.

This is a good one.  A real good one.  It's even better because to get at it the ancient Calabrese artifact, you have to go through a used and dusty fanny pack.

Calling a fanny pack "used" is disgusting and equally confusing, so I apologize.  I'd also like to apologize for running through this quickly.  I think the whole "fanny pack scandal" put me in a weird mood.

So.

What's in that fanny pack?  You didn't read the title of this post, did you?  Please tell me you didn't.  YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE YOU RUIN EVERYTHING.

Let's take a peek!

I think some of that dust got into my mouth.  I'm too young to die!

Dungeons and Dragons pewter figurines!  These are D&D, right?

Got these from my own closet after a week of spring cleaning, which was originally stored away in my older brother's closet.  In the past, I've yammered on and on about the pure glory and magic that is an Older Brother's Closet, and today will be no different.

Growing up, there is nothing more sacred than the hidden treasures within these dark walls.  Once you've garnered enough bravery to breach the initial bedroom's entrance, you're free to roam inside this magic kingdom.  Dig deep, my friends, push past the clothing and sneakers and schoolbooks and you'll find what you've always been looking for:

Really cool fucking shit.

Broken skateboard parts.  Comic books with gratuitous violence.  Actual weaponry.

Alright, they were rubber ninja stars, but you know what I'm saying.

Unless you don't.  You don't?  What I'm saying = everything in that closest was awesome.  Even if you didn't understand it, even if you actually quite feared it -- it was still unbelievably sacred and raw.  Like a dead kid on the side of the road next to the railroad tracks.  You will never be the same again.

What were these rated on the Cool Scale?  About a 7 out of 10.  At this point in my life, D&D was pretty gnarly.  Trolls, witches and the occasional frog with a pocketknife were the weirdest things I could imagine, so it was all I could do to expose myself to this nonsense as much as I could.  The manuals alone would be fascinating, along with the toy line and, God Almighty, the Fortress of Fangs.  These unpainted gems held a specific charm, too, though.  They were tiny.  And came in a box with foam divider pockets to keep things safe.  Worked for me.

I'm tellin' ya, kids toys back in 80's were THE BEST.  It seemed that everything that led up to that point was...alright.  As soon as whatever the hell happened to make it happen, all "boy toys" hitting toy shelves were monstrous, evil and nearly dabbling in the occult.  It seemed like everything either featured a demon with a gun, or a gun that turned into a demon.  It's possible that "He-Man and the Masters of the Universe" paved the way, and everyone latched onto the idea as quickly as possible, but it felt like that whatever you bought, it was covered in slime or featured a back story where the main character was in allegiance with Satan.  Or dated Satan back in college.   Whatever you wanted.

Movies catered to this idea.  Everything that made it big in the theaters and then as a line of toys was, I swear, about some really fucked up monster.  Or featured a fucked up monster.  Just think about it.  Then think about how that will never happen again.  Then cry in the shower.

Hell, even something as seemingly innocent and moralistically sound like GI Joe was a bunch of war-mongering terrorists.  And that's totally alright, because that's so fuckin' cool!  The lead terrorist wore a royal blue hood and talked like a snake!  You can't beat that!

So, anyway.

If there's one thing I go nuts on, it's that specific moment in time where all these memories stemmed from, where this endless nostalgia begins.  Later, the Ninja Turtles and everything else super-neon-extreme would usher in a new era of action figures, and although I would enjoy this decade, it just wasn't the same.  There wasn't any robed devils.  Just a lot of sharks in the street and motorcycle mice from Mars.

It's this specific time of being a bad kid and sneaking into my brother's wicked-sweet closet.  It's this longing for secret treasures.  Which, today, is a handful of little, unpainted figurines and shit.

These are my favorite of the bunch:

"Oh!" says the guy with toast strapped to his chest.  I think he's so upset because in act of trying to look tough, he cut deep into his left hand with this broadsword maneuver.  Now he's stuck in that position so no one will think any thing's the matter.  Because, naturally, they will mock and tease him for hurting his hand.  It's a tough life.

This is one Bad-Ass dude, as evidenced by the jutting lower teeth and helmet/hat made from a skull.  You'd want a lot of these types of guys, I'm sure.  But don't listen to me.  I have no idea how to play Dungeons and Dragons.

Witches, to me, were always pretty scary.  Pulled back hair, sunken eyes and the skin was always paper thin and vein-y.  And the idea that they would suck out your guts and poop into your heart.  Or something evil to that effect.

Did you just...?  Did you just hit yourself in the head with that mace?

Good, good times.  So good that I'm forced to stuff them back into their fanny-pack home and store them under my bed for the rest of my life.

Oh, nostalgia.

DragonCon, 2012!

So, here we are.  Weeks after our trip to Atlanta, GA for the loud, chaotic world of DragonCon.

First off, it took us a day to drive down there.  A day.  We were invited a month or so before the actual event, so we couldn't book shows to play leading up to the big bopper.  It would have helped with the pounding boredom and insane task of driving non-stop, but I'm not complaining.  Really.  DragonCon is well worth any sort of trouble.  I just wanted to let you know how hardcore we are.

A full day of driving.

Now, here we are.  The initial buzz has worn off, as well as any remaining "con-crud" inhabiting my body, so it's with great honor that I finally present to you...DragonCon, 2012!  If you made it this year, you know.  You just know.  You understand what it's all about.  But if you've never set foot inside a circus of comic books, cosplay and really big swords...here ya go.

Our booth was settled in the main hotel (this behemoth of a con spans across multiple hotels) and was open twenty-four hours a day.  For whatever reason, the bands were the only ones with this never ending schedule of hocking, selling and shilling, so you're kinda fucked if you're into that "sleep" thing.

Most guys pack up for the night and re-open in morning.  Unfortunately, we're not like most guys and have a truckload of merch.  We've been down this road before, so it was with a sadness in our hearts and a constant flow of overpriced, hotel coffee in our hands, we knew what we had to do -- stay awake for an entire Goddamn weekend.

We took turns throughout the day, and our dad stayed up through the night while we slept for a few hours.  Our hotel wasn't easy to get to, so it was all kinda in vain.  By the time we got to the place, we essentially just turned around and headed back.

Man, the first night we all stayed up, straight from the van and into the con.  I thought I was dying, my insides hurt, my brain was fried, etc.  But it was worth it.  I think.

And yes, people dress up.  IT'S THE BEST PART.  That's Jimmy and I with He-Man.  Just go ahead and say it.

"That He-Man's portly as all get out."

"He-Man?  More like 'He-Manatee.'"

"By the power of Twinkies, ho!"

There?  Feel good about yourself?  Can we move on now?

Most of the day I was super stoked and excited to shoot TONS of photos of us with anyone who dressed up as that guy from that sci-fi show or that anime no one's ever heard of.  These people are my favorite part of conventions.  It's just so much fun.  Sadly, the thrill was gone after any caffeine wore off, hence, lack of any of these photos.  I feel like I missed so much, but it's hard to care when you just don't care, ya know?

Fortunately, I had enough sense to take a photo with the "Kali-Ma Guy."  He even went the extra mile and pulled out a fake heart from my chest.  I then made a Diarrhea Face and it got weird.

One of the cooler parts of DragonCon is the artist gallery, where people sell anything that constitutes as art.  If you've ever wanted a centerpiece in your home that borders on confusing, tacky and brilliant, this is the place for you.  

BUT THE COOLER PART is all the comic book artists, and artists in general, who are there to shake hands, sign your shit and potentially be on the "Calabrese Artist Hit List."  These people are prime for the picking, and we buttered up quite a few associates.  We met Dave Baker, who we've always had our eye on for art, and who was really stoked on the idea for some possible collaboration.  I think the free CD helped.  

There's a guy who goes around drawing people, apparently for free.  I assume for tips, but I also assume that  Davey didn't bother.  Davey hates tipping.  Maybe that's why the guy drew him with lazy eyes and a beak.

This girl was great.  It's such a rad thing to meet fans, but it's even better when your fans are fans of other great music.  That sounds wrong and full of myself, I know.  It's, well...she like The Cramps, Subhumans, so on and so forth.  I like those bands, too.  They're the sensai and I'm the young student.  When someone likes us, too, it makes me feel legit, like we're finally leveling out with the top dogs.  Or something.  I'll shut up now.

Really, the only other photo with cosplay nuts.

Not necessarily because of these guys, but seeing everyone dressed as superheros, crime fighters and comic book villains, I realized how much I want to wear spandex.  I realized I never have, and if I don't act fast, I don't think I ever will.  It looks so free and comfortable and weird.  And I really wanna do it, some way, somehow.  Am I closet cosplayer?

And, of course, the show:

Thanks to everyone who came out to see us play, said hello and kept us occupied and entertained.  It was a hell of a task to pull off, but we did it.  We did it 'cause it's fun, exciting and because of any woman who dresses as Catwoman.  Good gravy.

Rock and roll commandos, man.  Get on it.