nodoctors.com archive april 0007 |
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posted by kevekev.com CANSAFIS FOOTE'S DAILY REMINDER:
posted by cansafis wednesday 4/25/0007 "FFYOU" Silent film festivals are a crock. UNLESS accompanied by live musics. Northwestern University, the band alma mater (hey that's 3/4 mater don't dis Goldy Gopher! -ed.), holds an event every year called SONIC CELLULOID in which musicians choose a silent film and perform music to it in front of an audience. Whoa! I just checked their website; seems like Lake of Dracula’s very own Weasel Walter is making it out there this time. Also playing: KK Rampage! I remember this band stalking NO DOCTORS over the internets a couple of years back, demanding Elvis pay reparations for dominating/ruining an open mic night at the local East Rogers Park rabbit-food-servin HEARTLAND CAFE with his BLACK STOOL set. Hot child in the city! For the 2003 edition of the fest, NO DOCTORS chose to perform to theoretical calculus applied to a hallway, or Ernie Gehr's "Serene Velocity" (I'll take both). An approximation of this can be found at this link, which matches the live audio recording to Gehr's film. CansaFis was the howler on this one, pulling the "Future Awaken Widen" barking trick from ERP SAINTS and the gymnastics of a biped hyena. Pat was on bass, so you had Elvis, Chx, and Pat on the floor staring up at this hallucination; CansaFis and I, Mr. Brians, stood at the sides while everyone and their mom's girlfriend's parents stared into this swirling projection that espoused simultaneity, time travel, and exit theory all in twenty minutes. A serious freaking jam, and one of our greatest recorded improvisations. Ana, my girlfriend at the time, had her parents over from Iowa, and this was the first time I got to meet them. I'm sure I made a great impression with this one because they bought me pizza shortly afterwards. The rest of the performers that evening crosseyeballed us, yet Marc Flury stood out with his presentation involving sonic response to visual oscillations. Nothing natural about it, really, and it was kind of lazy, which I liked. The Hawkwind impression on Mr. Flury is significant-- he is the living breathing "Orgone Accumulator " (mp3 link): "take a listen / do not panic" (note that M. Flury aka "Space Rock 20xx" actually performed the following year - stoned agin! -ed.) . The show was an agreeable success, we got paid, and we recorded it pro (cassette version OUT OF PRINT, pester MSG aka Scumtimes aka CEO Coke Limo about it). Well, fast forward to a year later: 5/22/04, our second & final SONIC CELLULOID performance. I wish we had some documentation of this because it is one of our lowest moments (if you don't include Halloween 2006, sorry if you were there!). Inspired by our good friend Johnny Rich (who owns an imaginary record label) and slumping record sales, the band managed to get a reel of the first documented studies of epileptics done by American doctors. The description of the film was pretty sparse and bare, and we did not think to screen it before presenting it in our performance (given the improvisatory nature of our attack). There was a full freakin house at the Block Cinema, and we performed first. What happened next was grotesque and weird (aka "awesome"). The print was on some really old film, and kind of looked like this: the greyest grey you've ever seen, scratches everywhere, alignment problems, total rad ness. Then up strolls a doctor in a perfect white lab coat. The footage becomes even MORE anachronistic because the doctor is walking very fast. Reel speeds were different back in the 1920s perhaps? Then the screen immediately cuts to the first patient, who is completely naked and lying horizontally on the floor. At this point I became nervous. Prior to this exposure, I was ripping off some drum tricks I heard the Liars do on THEY THREW US ALL IN A TRENCH AND PUT A MONUMENT ON TOP, and Chauncey was totally wankin' Neil Hagerty style, but as soon as the nudie came on there was a lapse that manifested itself in the music and in the audience as well. For a half-second the entire Block Cinema caught its breath. That moment sent me beyond ripping off the Liars; it was time to go apeshit on the drums, like when you realize you have a suspended drivers license or lose another friend to Americorps/Greenpeace. There were probably twenty patients filmed altogether, and each of their movements carried a perverse beauty that any other mo-ran would deem tasteless and call foul. Deep in the jam I thought to move my limbs over and on my drums in the exact way the epileptics moved theirs, and it sounded super rad. But despite such palpable discomfort and the bad kind of "wtf" pervading the audience like a nasty fart (more on that scent later), the punchline was yet to come: after eleven minutes of grey people seizing on the floor to our scholastic attempts at improvised rock and roll, the film STARTED OVER and we had to play through it again! Oh shit! Who saw that coming? It was reel footage too, and it puzzles me how the prankster in the projection room got it to repeat so quickly. We totally played on. Twenty-two minutes of such madness when even the band was only prepared for half that, let alone the audience. After this scary, awesome display of Man v. Nature v. Camera v. Flailing v. Audience, the lights came on and NO DOCTORS stood exposed, inarguably responsible for clearing over half the theater (not a record, by any means, but still respectable). I remember smelling faeces, and hastily concluded that the old people in the audience had voided, perhaps from seeing their parents in the footage. THAT IS ALL/AND SO IT GOES
posted by mr. brian WHAT REALLY HAPPENS dept. I highly recommend reading this full piece by Mike Maloney. Ponzi schemes for dummies: On October 4th 2006, the Dow broke its old high of 11,750 set back on January 14th 2000, and from then on all you heard from the financial press was "Dow sets a new, all time, record high"… at least that's all you heard until the correction on February 27th, 2007. I just don't get it. How can anyone at this point in time (including the financial press) believe they are actually making gains being invested in general equities? On February 20th, the Dow hit its "brand new, all time, record high" of 12,795, and at the writing of this article hovers at 12,560, 6.9% above its 2000 high. A 6.9% gain over the entire 7-year period… hasn't anyone heard of inflation? Don't investors know that if their portfolio doesn't outpace inflation they are actually losing ground? The Dow is actually crashing, but if you have not yet educated yourself on the insidious ravages that inflation can have on your portfolio, you can't see it. This is a blind spot investors must be mindful of, and guard against, if they are to prosper. Many excellent graphs mapping the Dow against actual materialist indicators follow. posted by elvis TANKERTOWN plenty "t" very little "a", weekly for you, and you
posted by elvis LOCAL SCENE Student: “Do you believe in God, Khansahib?” Friday morning I awoke at 6 am to the sound of my cell phone alarm clock. I plunged headfirst into the routine: contacts, shower, shave, deodorant, dress, hair. Then breakfast: oatmeal, a splash of grape juice with some warm water and spirulina, a little Chinese ginseng and a touch of royal jelly. Straightened my tie and out the door and to the BART, to the job, the dreaded “day.” I’m at that point, where they want you to hang, pushing offers. I inexorably freeze before the dire sight on the horizon of soft, stable and trapped. Though the dough is a force I now embrace; I’ve shifted axes and having reached an apsis, easily reconcile realities and goals when burnt down to mere arithmetic. On the ride home, I thought about being old and defeated, how it might compare to youth and hope and energy and future. I embraced it like anything, as a moment in a quilt. My philosophy never allows me to shun breadth, and it compels me toward knowledge of the range of emotion through experience. I hopped off the BART and toward the post office, and this Mission sight is an especial no-no, as I know. In Rogers Park, I actually had it locked down. There was the POBOX right around the corner from our Lunt Ave apt, plus there was the secret post office on Clark St that nobody knew about, allowing full detour around the Devon trap. But here, no such secret have I yet to discover. I embody the sour, shamelessly. When I finally reach the clerk, it appears that the words I employ only serve to amplify the voices in her head. Grabbed a bite to eat and met Michelle and her friends from AIMC-Berkeley. It was somebody’s birthday and we headed to the Integral Yoga Institute near Dolores Park to catch Kirtan courtesy Jai Uttal and Daniel Paul. We ascended through the spiral staircase, many dizzying layers upward to the clean and fresh attic, and seated ourselves to the floor as the gentlemen entered. Uttal promised a remedy for the sing-o-phobia that grips much of our dear nation, and rendered it real amongst the crowd. The enthusiastic participation sans self-awareness was something that any self-respecting rock audience should have found edifying. His lyrical focus was sublime and succinct: a little Rama and Sita, a bit of Krishna and Radha, rounded out with the Great Mother. Hanuman lurked like a powder monkey as the maestro struck the match. Paul, though no Anindo Chatterjee, can certainly rip tal, and gracefully sustained cymatic bliss. Saturday saw some exercise and some rest, as it should be. I’ve been endlessly raagin’ and rollin’ since Michelle hooked up the digital raagini for my birthday (that and a sweet-ass CD by Richard Pinhas), blazing through bulwarks via numerous fresh modes. Anyways, we headed to the Warfield for The Stooges show, Iggy’s (61st?) birthday. Upstairs the men’s room reeked of piss and marijuana, but all in all I found it a fine venue. Michelle and I hung upstairs in the lobby, sipping our drinks and ogling the coterie of aged rockers and their remarkable fashion sense. The band emerged with Loose, and Iggy and the Stooges quickly proved their place as undisputable masters of psychic orienteering. Pop sang “I took a ride on the pretty music / And now I’m burning to you straight from Hell,” and the theater itself seemed a wicked inferno. Next came Down On The Street, Iggy urging “I see a pretty thing / Ain’t no walls,” as though scripting the 109th Upanishad. I Wanna Be Your Dog intensified everything, Iggy intoning his lyric like a modern-day Diogenes as the audience succumbed to apraxia. The zeal was unreal. Next, the stoic Scott Asheton unveiled an uptempo Dirt, proving once and for all that he invented hip-hop. The house took on a hue of Heraclitus beneath Pop’s lamenting of the “fire / inside,” and Ron Asheton found space to escape the SSSSS that obfuscated earlier efforts at elucidation. His quad-stack was massive and meaty, and he made no bones about putting it toward a righteous end. New bassist Mike Watt is king of sasquatch-style, and presented himself as an essential asset on TV Eye. I may have witnessed him lurking the trees last weekend as I passed through Humboldt County. Before I had a chance to take a closer look, Steve Mackay made face on 1970, and all logical perceptions eroded. What strange force allows these figures to walk the Earth as men? Is it the Rock and Roll, or the Qi Gong, or merely Chaos and Charisma in a Meaningless Universe? In the midst of L.A. Blues, the Igster proffered this slice of pale blue poesy: “Sometimes I’m happy / Sometimes I’m not / Right now I’m not / Urghhhlm / Ugghghghgrrrm.” The fans got stage-freaky for some S/T hits. I might surmise that this is Ron Asheton’s least favorite part of the show, but he suffers his burden quite gracefully, nevertheless. After a birthday song and two encores, the band and audience were spent, though Iggy was still bubbling with pernicious volcanism. He pranced about in silence, beating his chest as though his fists were little mummy solids, before finally submitting his valediction. The effortless invoking of the crane calmed something in one of my bodies, though I must admit I was hoping for the Bowie-style crooner of a title track from their new LP. Despite the barrage of billingsgate propounded by the press, I have found The Weirdness to be quite enjoyable. Any man who suggests otherwise must, like the dude behind me yelling for “Seek and Destroy,” simply demand far more out of life than I could ever dare. Who can argue with lyrics like “She took-a my money / And didn’t say thank you / She took-a my money / I wanted to bank it”? Two BART stops later and the aleatoric acoustics of the rain upon my roof serves an alembic offering to my dyspeptic memories. I offer this effort to the Self in its moment of delusion. All this and a kitten, too. What a beautiful and beatific city, this San Francisco. What a beautiful, beatific life. posted by chauncey "no comment" dept. Noble Resolve, a series of experiments beginning April 23 in Suffolk, Va., is a follow-on to the Urban Resolve experiments JFCOM ran in 2006. The effort will bring together JFCOM, Northern Command, the Homeland Security Department and the commonwealth of Virginia to model responses to a terrorist attack. Scenarios involve a 10-kiloton nuclear bomb headed to Virginia from a foreign country. See also: an similar "excercise" of note in 2001. posted by elvis GOD IS BAR KING
posted by cansafis TANKERTOWN 'as the week turns' in other words, weekly
posted by elvis Elvis's Konspiracy Korner 14 April 0007 1140 CST I have been loathe to spend any time on the "scandal" revolving around an innocuous slur uttered by past-spent and never-entertaining "DJ Imus", but at the point of his double-termination at the hands of both of his korp masters (MSNBC & CBS, in chronological order), the matter has actually nagged its way into illustrative territory to me, and I would like to briefly discuss what is interesting to me about this particular entry in the achingly tedious cyclical clusterfuck that passes for something approaching "dialogue" in post-cultural/post-capitalist USA. The point of the double-termination is the threshold of interest because it is at this point that it becomes apparent that, regardless of all other variables, we are looking at a relationship between a (morally bankrupt & pig-fucking) publisher and an (morally bankrupt & pig-fucking) artist, and it is quite clear that a modest amount of the proper magickal noise from Sharpton & co. can both: make a lot of people pay attention to a subject they have never previously found a spare synapse for (DJ Imus); and, override rational materialist models that would sensibly influence an ologopolist publisher (the temporary drop in advertising revenue that would have inevitably returned after the aforementioned noise dissipated). To a modest degree, this is good news, as it would conversely allow room for the near-opposite trajectory of creative works with higher aims over the crass & unsustainable materialist models that dominate the ologopolist korps that overwhelmingly control the publishing interests of all relevant media at this point. Of course, the good-news degree is modest indeed, as what it more clearly illuminates is the incoherent but very potent confusion related to several significant problems across the current collective psyche: Aside from the prominent 'boner' of identity-politics-based discussion vs. actual rational discussion, which I, like any other sensible man, will address once there is a decent paycheck behind my time & efforts, two things come to mind as a segueway to the actual konsp-mongering this week: Scraps like these never fail to elucidate the widely-held misconception that having an fatherly hand slapped across your jaw by your korp master is somehow equivalent to "censorship", when in fact it is important to maintain the proper distinction between the two, regardless of how incestuous the state & korporate interests may be. Trust me, the Federal government may be well-influenced by various korp interests, but when it actually comes down (not for the first time- see Lincoln & FDR for solid previous examples in recent history) to conscientious state-censorship, we'll all know the difference. Similarly, the "censorship" talk rarely seems to acknowledge the basic aesthetic point that if you pretend that poisonous art does not in fact have poisonous consequences on the viewer then it must logically follow that the most gloriously transcendent & positive art does not have a similarly positive effect on the viewer. My first point here is far from profound. All of the above is a big incoherent mess: there is nothing rational or materialist about the korp publisher termination of an profitable artist based upon some indefinable threshold of "gotcha" noise being breached, and there is no reason in arguing that the fact that racist & misogynist poison is generally profitable and widely published in post-cultural USA is somehow benign, inconsequential, or somehow miraculously a consequence of a free-market in the absence of any such thing. My second point is that the pretense that similar examples of korp-muzzling are relevant shrivels in the face of what really happens when the massive korp-media organs actually operate in tandem with the monstrously violent Federal Government in all its various factions (all of whom, let us keep in mind, are actively against all that is just, beautiful, and sustainable in this human world). One case in point: the "Watergate" myth, or as it is commonly referenced in the contemporary American psyche: "Cub Reporters Take Down President, Save Democracy, & Make Some Dollars". You may be aware of Bob Woodward's recent shameful role in keeping the sordid Plame affair rolling along, but did you know that the millionaire Beltway-insider was a Naval Intelligence Officer prior to his Watergate "muckraking" for the Washington Post? Woodward's deep involvement in military and White House circles, while not exactly buried, raises many interesting questions related to the popular myth of a "free press" taking down President Nixon by exposing the coverup of the infiltration and surveillance of Democratic party strategists at the Watergate Hotel. Woodward's subsequent ascent to the highest echelons of the White House-friendly press corps and role in the extra-stinky "outing" of the supposed Deep Throat Mark Felt (after Felt was incapable of discussing (confirming) the matter) give further reason to examine what is commonly referred to as the "Moorer-Radford affair", which was most certainly Nixon's first major coverup as President, and very likely a thwarted attempt at a military takeover of the Federal government. Some of the most prominent & worthwhile writers on these matters are Len Colodny, Joan Hoff, and Jim Hougan, and I recommend digging into to all three. The story in brief is that in 1970 the Joint Chiefs of Staff, led by Admiral Thomas Moorer and Rear Admiral Robert Welander, decided to act on their growing opposition to the perceived engagement with the USSR and China by Nixon and National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger by creating a full-fledged spy ring to pilfer the files of the Kissinger-led National Security Council. The JCS were convinced that Kissinger was pursuing a diabolical konspiracy of his own: using the Council on Foreign Relations to ensure the continued control of global currencies by the Rockefellers as the Soviet Union inevitably emerged victorious as the world's only superpower, resulting in favorable positions for Kissinger & Nixon in the eventual one-world government (sound familiar? factions in power are often not too different from factions on the fringes). The factional espionage lasted for thirteen months, with the lead mole-role played by Navy Yeoman Charles Radford, who successfully snatched a "library" of documents from the desks & briefcases of Kissinger, Alexander Haig, et al, prior to getting busted and breaking down during a polygraph interrogation, spilling the proverbial beans. But Nixon decided to keep things quiet, afraid that engaging the attempted coup d'etat during an election year and amidst nascent engagement with China especially and the USSR as well (not to mention the Vietnam debacle) would just be a big goddamn headache. Here's the key: none of this made it out into the press until after the Watergate Hearings in the Senate were well under way and only seven months prior to Nixon's resignation. And it most certainly was not covered in the Washington Post. Well, actually, the day after the story broke in 1974 (c/o James Squire & Dan Thomasson in the Chicago Tribune & Sun, respectively), Woodward did run a piece in the Post, a front page piece that downplayed the espionage as relatively common D.C. in-fighting with no larger implications. Although there was a large photo of Welander accompanying the story, there was no mention that he was Woodward's Commander on his second ship in the Navy. Also unmentioned was the fact that as a Naval Lieutenant, Woodward was a briefer for Moorer himself, and was routinely sent to the White House to brief high-level officials as well. What did Woodward know, and when? Many knowledgeable observers have had a difficult time swallowing Woodward's confirmation that FBI second-in-command (under Hoover) Mark Felt was the sole source referred to as "Deep Throat" in Woodward & Bernstein's Watergate investigation. Upon closer examination, it appears far more likely that the pseudonym was used to refer to multiple sources in addition to Felt, the rest of whom remain unconfirmed. One very likely suspect is Robert Bennett, currently a Mormon elder and one of the richest Senators in Congress, and in 1972 the head of the Robert R. Mullen Co., a CIA front that played a key role in the Bay of Pigs operation and employed lead Watergate burglar E. Howard Hunt. In addition to feeding Woodward leads, Bennett was charged by the CIA to dissuade the press from pursuing any leads that may point toward the plot by the Joint Chiefs to topple Nixon. Another likely member of the Deep Throat collective is Alexander Haig, who Woodward briefed in his role as a courier as early as 1969, but Woodward has repeatedly denied meeting Haig prior to 1973. Colodny has three sources on the record confirming Woodward's meeting Haig during his role in Naval Intelligence. One of these is Moorer himself, who confirms that he sent Woodward to brief Haig in 1969. The Post has always denied the existence of this interview, even when it was confirmed once again by Moorer in the Washington Times. Why such secrecy so long after the fact? What is so sensitive about Woodward's history in Naval Intelligence prior to the Watergate saga, and what are the reasons for the continued obfuscation of the Deep Throat gang? Is all of this smoke-screening somehow intended to preserve the Watergate scandal and subsequent myth as a "limited hangout" on a massive scale? One immediate conclusion to be drawn is that Woodward was simply acting selfishly, remaining silent about the spy-ring to protect his career and his well-placed sources in both the military and civilian wings of the Federal government. But is it too far-fetched to see that one thwarted coup, a bit too unpalatable for mass consumption in the early '70s, was merely replaced by a second, successful coup, this time with the knife placed not in the hands of the Joint Chiefs, but in the righteous grasp of the impeccable free press, c/o Bob Woodward and his publishers at the Post? Allowing some room for this speculation, who is best served - cui bono - by the the popular myth of Nixon as it is currently understood? And how sensible is that myth in light of the subsequent actions of the Federal government, the korporate press, and Woodward himself? Is the role & fate of Woodward and the Post closer to that of a real muckraking journalist such as Gary Webb, or that of Judith Miller and her kin? Don't Sharpton & co. have bigger, more uncomfortable axes to grind? 'leven' (special tip o' th' konsp to Karl for pointing me toward the whole sordid mess after we saw Cockburn yak it up recently here in town; and I do again encourage you to dig on the primary sources: Colodny, Hoff & Hougan - they have plenty more where this came from) posted by elvis Elvis's Konspiracy Korner 14 April 0007 1145 CST The return of the konsp. I'm back on 4/14 & 5/5. Entries on the website to follow. Archive available here as always. Cheers to Willy Old Hack who dug up this uncannily accurate 'interpretation' of me doing the radio show:
posted by elvis Here are the front & back screens for the other, "Classix Clxps" t-shirt design. Again, many colors, all sizes available, from "modest" to "flaming". Keep those orders coming! posted by elvis
ITEM!! We have unearthed the remainder of the US OUT OF CA 0006 tour t-shirts and have many colors, available to some degree in all sizes (S-XL). Also available is a re-press of the original "Classic Clxps" shirt design. High-quality shirts hand-screened by the band on both front and back. $8 post-paid whatta deal! ITEM!! Our long-awaited third full-length LP will be out in June! You may notice a "tease" at the mp3/buy page. More teases to come between now and "release date". Fund my band, please!! posted by elvis After epic struggle and much popular demand, the lyrics for "Box Mots", "Joe Houdini", and "T-Bone" have now been added at the lyrics page. Enjoy. posted by elvis CANSAFIS FOOTE'S DAILY REMINDER
posted by cansafis RETURN OF THE CURSE OF THE BOOTLEGGER'S GHOST The irregular bootlegging of the king anti-blog 'anon' author behind the "Findings" page in HARPER'S now carries an extra-enthusiastic recommendation that you subscribe to their fine magazine, as they have now archived their entire fucking catalog online for subscribers. Still so cheap, now super-value size.
posted by elvis TANKERTOWN -- "cont"
posted by elvis Happy birthday Chauncey Chaumpers.
posted by elvis TANKERTOWN rolls onwards, weekly towards 'novel'
posted by elvis "THIS IS SHARKS TERRITORY" Elvis and I saw a Sharks game on Sunday in their native icy clime of San Jose CA. It ruled, and beyond the haze of cheap coffee ($3 a cup at the game) and whisky (Cutty Sark and Jameson's - normal price at STORE), we gleaned an clear and unique insight into the culture of Downtown San Jose and professional corporate Ice Hockey. I deliver the data-riffic highlights in easy to follow numeric bullet points:
1) Tickets are pricey and consequently there are many uptight people you will find at a "professional" hockey game. In my experience pro sports equate to physical activity, and even the fans are encouraged to "get vocal" and express themselves in movement (see: flopping, fist raising, shouting, foot stamping, etc.). I would assume such behavior to be encouraged, if not by the authority, at least by the proletariat (and harriet). But alas, two minutes into game time this assumption was 'shnuffled' by a lady with a skinny chin, big head, and enormous body. Elvis leaned in to watch the game, and though he's a wee lad, and there is no way that he can obstruct a view at that awesome stadium (not a bad seat in the house), the chin-girl was not happy with his decision. She insisted we lean back. Her figure implied a great & vast knowledge of the art of sitting so we concurred for fear of revolution and of getting beat up by a big girl (actually only I was afraid of her physical wrath - Fis was just in direct "eyesight" of the smell. --ed.) . Her skinny chin implied a great and deep seated anger. Her colon stank of of venison resin. But I digress. 2) Don't expect to be provided ice in a glass any larger than a shooter. Unless of course that ice is in the rink. At that point consider the microcosmic possibilities of your iced shooter in comparison to the rink, and further, yourself as a giant...shooter.
3) The coolest thing at a Sharks game (outside of the sweet sounds of grunting, blading, and pucks being hurled very very fast) is the gigantic shark head the players skate through to start the game. I need the "Spielberg money" to make jaws 5 which I will entitle JAWS THE BIGGEST and tagline THIS TIME JAWS IS REALLY REALLY...HUGE!! I will also have scenes from inside JAWS's head where you can hear his thoughts. For example: "Unnngngngh", and "Unnnngngngngh". If you want to know more send me an e-mail.
4) 3rd period is when you can usurp the rich seats. Do so by first 5) These Band-Aids are awesome (note, we unfortunately receive no advertising moneys from BANDAGE KORP --ed.) , I sensibly stabbed myself with a knife in preparation for shark madness (blood in the water, and all that) and these things basically meld with your skin. Also as you can see from there clever advertising photo, these band aids help you do yoga as well. SWELL!
6) Seeing someone on ice skates smash into a window four feet from
your face is awesome. In the future we should make a theater 7) All the violence and the sheer velocity of the puck made me ask the question: what if one of those things flew into the stands? would I die if it hit me? My answer lies here. Brutal.
8) In inspirational news, TANKERTOWN fans should be excited to hear that at some point in this lifetime you will witness the unveiling of a totally new & never before conceived character/strip: "ICE HAWKY". Cross my teeth. 9) Lastly, a thank you to the brother LARS KNUDSON, who manages the GOOD KARMA VEGAN DELI in downtown San Jose when not documenting all kinds of local shows up & down the peninsula with his excellent photography skills. The food was great (good chana and very good vegan baklava), and it was cool to hang out with hockey wonk Lars prior to the game. Also: attention Acousticos, they have music nights.
In true drunken CalTrain spirit, we made comics in a hockey shark feel during the return journey. ENJOY!
posted by cansafis |
