Just like clockwork, another Monday has come to sit on our collective heads.
Just after writing the introductory sentence, I found that tracking down a suitable image of someone sitting on someone else’s head proved to be nearly impossible. Therefore here is a photo of Hoss with a hat and a bottle of brown firmly affixed to his own;
Anyhoo, as the backlog of kindly correspondences finally begins to dwindle, I stand here before you with a rake in one hand and a shovel in the other, ready and willing to start the spreading of goodness.
First up from Sheppard I received this;
As I replied to him, if stoners applied the ingenuity and energy into things other than new tools with which to get high, they could save the world.
From Mike I got this trailer for one of the most unsung heros in underground music;
When I was fifteen, Chi Pig sent me a very nice letter containing a piece of gum with a temporary tattoo of a monster on the wrapper. His correspondence with me meant a great deal, and I am pleased that he is finally getting some recognition.
And for those who might be wondering, I do have the original pressing of ‘And No One Else Wanted To Play’ with the unlicensed Diane Arbus photo on the cover;
Funny thing about that image.. My final year of college some friends of mine got a new housemate named Colin. He was a very average guy who I think bid jobs doing tennis court resurfacing for a living. Anyway, one night we were all sitting around shooting the breeze and very nonchalantly he mentioned that it was he who Diane Arbus shot that day. If he wasn’t a dead on (albeit 30 year older) ringer for the child in the photo it might have been hard to believe, but his description of the scene, as well as the refusal of her estate to acknowledge that it was in fact him in the photo was too difficult not to take as fact. Apparently her estate didn’t want to in any way be responsible for financial reimbursement, but as he said, he would have just been happy with a print.
In news regarding to ‘a day late and a dollar short’, the dirts from Soil Saloon had their three year anniversary on Sunday, but didn’t get me the flyer until Friday afternoon;
The quasi-irony here is that I facilitated the sponsorship through Swobo for the very first Soil Saloon event. Warpath asked if it would be possible that I throw some goods to them for this one, to which I felt an immediate obligation. These folks have been tireless in their commitment to organizing world class underground ‘races’, and I was proud to take part in the latest of their efforts.
Secondly, as this was a particularly special event in their history, I pulled out all the stops and procured the world famous Shitbike (or Sh*tbike for those with a broken ‘i’ key) on which to ‘compete’;
Keep your eyes peeled to BIKE Magazine for the full skinny on our (mis)adventures together.
And speaking of misadventures, a couple people sent me this item, the most recent of which was Bob;
Came across this interesting bit of information… nice to see it laid out all graphically:
Too bad the guy is a senior designer at Urban Outfitters…
Upon initially seeing that, I felt a burst of joy in my heart.
Then upon hearing that he was in bed with the devil, that joy was snuffed like a flame.
That said, if they were to go into production on one of these, I don’t know ifI could control my consumeristic impulses;
Finally from Lachlan I got the following bit of extraordinarily important information;
“Long time listener, first time caller.
A recent move back home from overseas has left me with my life in a backpack. With stupidish hair, I emailed my sister asking if she had a pair of scissors I could use to give me a home grown organic haircut. I shouldn’t have bothered. My life is now complete:
I just need to get a dog now to cut its hair too.”
There are a lot of things I have and eventually probably will put in and on my head.
That item is definitely not one of them.