I'm Not That Drunk

By: Rana

"Dude, I'm totally cool to drive"

Everyone's been drunk at least once. If you haven't, maybe I should give you directions back to the compound (don't worry, I won't tell "leader" you've been on the internet). Whether it's the homeless guy drinking box wine under a bridge or the executive ordering bottles of Gold Label in the VIP area- you're gonnna get to the same place: Drunkenland. Many people have been there (though you're memory of it could be hazy) and it can be a fun place. Full of spinning rooms, awesome music, and everybody's really attractive- including you.

"Oh my god, this is my favorite song!"

Stories abound about cases of "drunk goggles", "drunk radar", and general shenaniganry participated in while inebriated. Although some might be far-fetched - like the time your cousin claimed he drank a whole keg, fathered Ashlee Simpson's baby, and cut a hidden track on the Mos Def album.

"Seriously, that kid looks just like me!"

Truth can actually be stranger than fiction when it comes to alcohol. What can I say, people love to get wasted.

Ever made a "beeramid"?

You thought eating the worm was bad. There are people out there that will literally drink anything to catch a buzz. Maybe you've heard of the delectable bum favorite, Thunderbird, which turns the lips and mouth black.

That's not ink.

Worse yet is what some folks resort to when even $1.00 is too pricey. These technically aren't even safe for human consumption:


I imagine prison is a terrible place, so it's understandable that people stuck there would go to great lengths for a mental escape. When it comes to drinking behind bars, the brew of choice (like they have a choice) is pruno.

"Really? Can I get a chaser?"

Not an urban legend- this stuff is made all the time by the "freedom challenged". Consisting of apples, oranges, fruit cocktail, ketchup, sugar, bread, and whatever else they can get their hands on, it will in fact get you drunk. All the ingredients are thrown in a plastic bag, hot water is added, and then it's just a matter of keeping it hidden long enough to ferment (though some guards, when they find it, just piss in the mixture knowing the inmates won't be able to tell the difference). Here are some visual references to what the taste has been described as:


Pruno's just not cutting it? How about hand sanitizer? That's right- Prisons which had installed hand sanitizer dispensers due to the swine flu outbreak, had to remove them because the inmates were getting drunk (and violent) on it.

I wonder if any bored kids have tried this?

Simply drinking alcohol is too mainstream for hardcore enthusiasts. I bet that at this moment there are loads of people trying to come up with new ways to get schwilly. Here's an array of whats been conjured up so far:


You're probably thinking I made that shit up, about the tampon soaking, but no- There have been several reported cases of it with the earliest documented use going back to 1999, when a group of girls from Finland were doing it so their parents wouldn't smell the alcohol on their breaths. Anyway, all the above methods are extremely dangerous and have been known to cause terrible side effects or even death. Much less alcohol is needed (so it's easy to overestimate) and the rate of absorption is much faster. So, basically, DON'T BE A DUMBASS!

This entry wouldn't be complete if I didn't bring up the most notorious of all liquors- Everclear.

aka Satan's breast-milk

I don't know if people actually drink it, or just keep a bottle around in case somebody loses a bet. Best known for: a way to get a date wasted really quick; standard tool in the college frat hazing arsenal; #1 go-to if you want to put a video on youtube but are low on ideas (the method here is to empty the bottle and fill it with water).

He's not fooling anybody.

Do not believe those people that say it's just like vodka- They lie! I've tried it (does that give me cred?) and it's like liquid fire. Your mouth screams "No!" the second it hits your tongue, and after that it's all about trying to forget the horror of what you just tasted. If you do decide to take the Everclear plunge, I suggest you drink it very slowly- There's a good chance you'll be drunk before you get to your fourth shot, leading to the unofficial Everclear motto: "2 to the bed, 3 to the floor".

"Damn bro, you're date is out!"

October in Polaroids

BY: POONEH

      So I realized I hadn't done that many (or actually, er, any) photo updates during the entire month of October. Kind of wish I did, seeing as October was a very eventful month for me: ACL, CMJ, a gajillion great bands strolling through town. Anyway, I as usual documented every step of the way with my polaroid (aka my third arm). Here is almost everything I shot, clusterfucked into one blog for your viewing pleasure (?).  Can't get enough? There's even more at my flickr, check it hommes: flickr.com/photos/pooneh

Alex Turner & Alexa Chung

Eugene Hutz // Gogol Bordello 

Phoenix

White Lies

The XX

Joe, Jared, Cole // Black Lips

Ian // Black Lips

Lovvers

Cold Cave

Pete and the Pirates

Dave, Jonny, Tommy

    Pete, Dave, Me, Mel

Maja // The Sounds

Jesper // The Sounds

Self // Ryan

more polaroids after the jump...

You Can't Buy Reason

By: Rana

A look into the future.

The economy is in the toilet. Businesses keep shutting down and unemployment rates keep rising. The word "bail-out" is now as well known as the word "bankrupt" and companies once thought to be solid are now owned by the government or bought out and merged with foreign brands. The stock market is still in a slump, foreclosures no longer even turn heads, and record numbers of people are defaulting on loans and credit. Even celebrities who were once considered rich are now finding themselves taking on work they would normally turn away just to make ends meet.

"Any chance you'll let me in on the trust fund Francis?"

All this financial ruin has left researchers trying to point blame at various sources, but there's really no point. Shows like "My Super Sweet 16" and "Fabulous Life" are growing in popularity as poor people have to resort to vicariously dreaming of being rich. It'll probably never happen though- The top 1% of households hold 43% of this country's total net worth. That's a lot of nets.

Nothin' but net!- okay, enough puns...

What do all these richies do with all their money? They already own everything and all those charitable donations are a tax write-off anyway. One method high-end salesman have come upon is to sell them the same shit they already have at a higher price. That way they can claim it's better to their rich buddies and have bragging rights.

"Looking good Mortimer!" "Feeling good Randolph!"

All it takes is a little flair. Here are some really over-priced things that are not only on the market but have been sold, to actual people, on Earth.

1. $50,000 sneakers

He needs a sneakerhead intervention.

These were bought by Big Boi from Outkast. Really they're just regular Nikes (they don't, like, give you ability to fly or fight crime) but they have 11 carats of diamonds outlining the swooshes on the side. Kind of useless considering he can never wear them. It's one thing to have your sneakers wear out, it's another thing to have your diamond sneakers wear out.

2. $600 coffee

The stuff in the glass- that's what it looks like coming out.

This coffee is the shit, literally. Apparently there is a weasel in Indonesia that likes to ingest coffee beans and then poop them out whole. The remaining product (called Kopi Luwak) is considered a delicacy to connoisseurs, being sold at some places for $50 a cup. They claim the flavor is unique, not bitter like typical coffee. Whatever- I'll stick to my mocha fraps.

3. $1.3 million cell phone

"Can I put this on my Family Plan?"

Dubbed the "Le Million" this phone is made of 18K white gold and 20 carats of diamonds. It's also got all the regular cell phone options plus a radio and mp3 player. Seeing how often people change their cell phones when new upgrades come out (especially rich people) combined with the frequency of cell phones getting lost, I wonder if this is really a wise investment. Does insurance cover, say, dropping it in the toilet at the bar? For that much money, it better sprout legs and come find me if ever lose it. Available by special order only (You mean T-Mobile doesn't keep these in stock?)

4. $125 bar of soap

(scrub, scrub)-"Still...dirty... on the inside!!!"

This 120 gram bar of soap is called Cor. It contains chitosan, sericin, four types of collagen, and silver. With all that, I bet it still doesn't smell as good as Irish Spring (only $4 for an 8 pack, take your chitosan and shove it).

5. $2 billion home

Just, wow.

Built for Mukesh Ambani, the fifth richest man in the world, his wife, their three children, and his mother. Mukesh decided to build this home with designers of the Mandarin Oriental Spa in New York after his wife went there and liked the interiors. The home is 60 stories tall and has 27 floors, a slight upgrade from their previous residence which was a mere 14 floors (I guess they got a new cat or something.)

"Precious needs room to roam"

It is 570 feet high (taller than the Frost Tower in Austin) and has 400,000 square feet of interior space. No two levels are alike in plans or materials used in the design. The first six floors are parking lots (for his 168 cars), followed by a lobby floor featuring 9 elevators. There are several lounges, a large ballroom, an indoor/outdoor bar, green rooms, parlor rooms, an "entourage room" and many other necessary areas-

"And we keep the bread in the bread room and the butter knives in the butter knife room."

The entertainment level features a 65-seat movie theater and wine room. The three health floors have a lap pool, yoga studio, separate full gyms for each family member, dance studios, a solarium, juice bar, changing rooms for men and women, and an ice room (which is made to escape the Mumbai heat and is dusted by man-made snow flurries.)
There's a four-story open garden, 3 heli-pads, and many other pools at the home, all maintained by a staff of 600 people.

MC Hammer only had 200 in his entourage.

The simple fact that this house even exists is disgusting, especially in a country like India which is actually the poorest country in the world with 76% of the people living on less than $2 a day. Ambani must be some kind of ego-maniac because a home that big is obviously only for show and his way of rubbing his wealth in other people's faces. Don't hate though- He's still Mukesh from the block.

Just not this block.

Hide the Dep, the Neo-Persh Males are Coming to Town.

By: Pooneh

Move over Big Mac, a rising generation of persian guys have got you outnumbered and outgreased. 

I come from a persian family, but unlike most Iranian girls, neither my sister nor I have ever dated a persian guy (contrary to our grandmother’s aspirations for it).

So why not give into the Eurasian Persuasion and date one of these fellas? It’s not like they’re notorious corner-lurking cannibals that feast on flesh in the night.  

 “braaaaaaains."

It is because they are by far (from our past experiences) one of the most self-obsessed breeds of male we have ever come across. I am not writing this piece based on just one or even a few bad experiences, rather because we both have had to grow up around this sociological atrocity for long enough (meaning our entire lives), and feel like we are perhaps the only two people we know who have noticed this idiosyncrasy slowly taking form.

“I’d kiss my own ass if I could”

They are uselessly rich (yet no one knows where the money’s coming from), always dying to show off their duds, and spend way too much time getting ready for parties (yet still manage to look like an army of escapees from the 21 Jump Street set). 

 “And then I said to him Greicoooo!”

We’ve created what we like to call the trifecta that is the persian guy anomaly. Let’s begin.

1) Looks

“does this come in matte silver?”

Picture what would emerge if you locked up the guys from Night At The Roxbury in an Armani Exchange for a week. Try to imagine what Kevin Federline used to look like when he dressed up for the fancy parties him and Britney went to. These don’t do justice compared to what these persian guys wear on a day to day basis. Armani Exchange must be mentioned again, because it happens to be the favorite clothing brand of almost every persian guy we know. We’re pretty sure they’re the only reason why that store’s still in business today, considering that most persian guys own every piece of clothing that Armani sells (and would probably buy the walls and the doorknobs if they could). Actually, if you bottled up air and said that it came from the Armani store, I bet they’d offer you top dollar for it. 

“This came from their LA store. It’s limited edition"

Step two to the persian guy (which will from now on be referred to as the “PG”) look is the hair. Ever heard of the forehead cowlick? It’s when the hair is combed forward and completely flat, except for the bangs which are combed straight up like that one creature from the Jurassic Park movie. 

Also, the hair is impeccably shiny, as though they used some sort of high gloss hair gel, car wax, or perhaps five jars of mayonnaise. I imagine on dark nights, blinded deer stop in the middle of the road and hopelessly stare at a PG’s hair when they catch sight of it.
Another note on the hair: it never moves. I’ve seen PG’s (which usually run in packs by the way, like migrating gazelle’s with Blackberries and lattes) on exceptionally windy days. Everything will be a-blowin’ BUT the hair. It stays tightly affixed, kind of like a well secured helmet or the hair on your childhood Ken doll (which was made out of plastic and thus, never moved).
One of our favorite celebrities has actually stolen the PG hairstyle and giving it an even worse name than it had before. 

“still looking for that gel..anybody?”

Along with the “just so” hairstyle comes the inevitable manscaping. PG’s have no shame doing such feminine tasks as: plucking their eyebrows, waxing, Nairing (I’ve seen it with my own eyes), and putting crazy designs into their five o’clock shadows.

”helloooo ladies”

Also, why does every PG smell like they just got finished taking a dip in a jacuzzi filled with Davidoff Cool Water? No other cologne, just Cool Water. And not just smell, REEK. I envision that somewhere there is an underground racketeering operation selling Cool Water in bulk out of the back of minivans...alongside some $8000 speakers and half-working DVD players. 

 “Another year on store shelves, thanks to your persian dollars”

So how do you know if that gelled-up metrosexual you’re spotting is actually persian? One distinguishing feature: GOLD. They love gold, anything gold. If they could eat solid gold everyday for the rest of their lives, they would. They like to wear big gaudy rings, much like World Series rings (but they haven’t won the World Series). They also take great pleasure in their multitudes of gold chains, and are quick to tell you their cracked-up tales behind said chains, like how they’re 3000 years old and passed down to them from the original shah (who by the way, every persian claims was their family’s best friend at one point).

“Shah is my homie”

Moving on...

2) Attitude

 


Only a few things can be said about a PG’s personality, being that 1) they’re always at “it’s 2 am and I just got out of a club” mode, 
2) they’re really loud, 
3) they like to proclaim (loudly) how drunk they are (even if they haven’t been drinking), and 
4) they’re only form of humor is making funny voices reminiscent to that of Gilbert Gottfried's. 
This vibe they portray can actually become embarrassing at times, especially when you’re accompanied by a PG or a group of PG’s (like I said, they run in packs) to a place where such boisterousness is inappropriate: a nice restaurant, movie theater, or god forbid, a library. I close this section with one piece of advice: if an overzealous PG is annoying you and you want to mellow him out, ask him to talk about his last trip to Tehran. Describing how low the wages are there, how bad the roads are, and how there was no Starbucks to be found anywhere (added to the fact that he now knows he has about 200 cousins that still can’t get their passports) will usually depress him enough to the point where he immediately crawls back into this shell and spends the rest of the night silently reflecting on the motherland.

 

“No Taco Bell either.”

3) Lifestyle

If you ever want to find a PG, look no further than their natural habitat...the ultra lounge. If the ultra lounge is closed, look in the general vicinity of the ultra lounge, because they’re probably outside waiting for it to open. Seriously, there are droves of PG’s who’s entire days..nay, lives..revolve around getting ready to go, amping up for, and going to the ultra lounge. If they live somewhere (perhaps Boise)where there is no ultra lounge within reasonable distance, they will transform their own homes into an ultra lounge. They will crowd their neighborhood parking lots for miles around, where other ultra lounge-needy PG’s will congregate and do such things as play overly loud early 90’s techno music (mixed in with whatever mainstream rapper is being played on MTV at that time) and bring along their cheesetastically white girlfriends who all have blond hair, incredibly orange tans, reflective glitter mini-skirts, and fake Louis Vuitton purses they bought in Laredo (don’t be fooled, they bought the tags off e-bay). You can tell one of these house lounges is being formed when your entire city is mysteriously out of Passion Fruit Smirnoff and Avis has rented out all of their red convertible Ferraris for the night. But you ask, maybe it’s the opposite and you have an abundance of ultra lounges in your town. At which one will you find the highest ratio of PG’s? Look for one thing: neon lighting. They are drawn to it like mosquitoes to blood.  Sidenote: My sister actually knew a PG from years ago who opened up his own ultra lounge and the entire building was lined with neon lighting. Top to bottom, the edges of walls, the sign, the doorways, probably his asshole. This love of neon lighting also extends to the PG’s cars, with some merely lining their license plates to others going full out, installing an entire flashing neon undercarriage.

“Yeah, it’s custom”

I regress...

Also want to put an extra emphasis on the techno music PG’s listen to, and how it is always 15 years behind whatever is currently being blasted on the radio. Oh, and the more references to things like rain, sand, and hands in the air, the more they like the song. They love this one:



So how do they fund all their Armani and overpriced ultra lounge drinks? That’s simple. Every single one of them has either an uncle, parent, or quasi-relative that owns a shop somewhere. These shops never seem to sell anything, yet still somehow manage to be very profitable and create an environment where not only do their children not have to get real jobs, but distant relatives, and even close friends mooch off of the sole breadwinner. Btw, you can always tell who the breadwinner is because he or she will be surrounded by a posse of people wearing thousand dollar outfits, luxurious shoes, and designer handbags, while said breadwinner is still wearing the same sweat-stained beige work-shirt they wore when they got off the plane in LA back in ’82.

The final attribute to a PG's lifestyle is the most important one. Pay close attention, because this is a very outstanding trait found in almost all PG’s and usually makes up a better part of their general cockiness. That is, they all think they’re exceedingly good at soccer. They’ll all claim to at one point sidelined or doubled for some obscure national league (obscure enough to where you won’t be able to check the actual lineup) like Luxembourg United or the East Wales National American League of Leagues. One of their favorite pastimes (when they have a break from the ultra lounge circuit) is to plan soccer picnics. They will commandeer an unsuspecting park somewhere, cook up an absurd amount of Iranian bar-b-que, then commence with a much anticipated and scantily participated soccer tournament. This soccer match usually only lasts about 15 minutes seeing as many PG’s are out of shape due to 1) aforementioned Smirnoff drinking, 2) an excess and overdose of red meat (a staple of every PG’s diet, I’m talking breakfast, lunch, and dinner), and 3) a general laissez-faire approach to their well-being, enabled by days spent sleeping in and lousing about. It’s funny the excuses they come up with as they one-by-one drop out of the impromptu soccer match: “I think I pulled my back”, “I think my wife’s calling me”, “I’m gonna go check on the grill”. After all the adults have dropped out, the ball will sit there abandoned for the kids to start playing with, and this will be their excuse to not take up the tournament again, saying “Oh, let them have fun.”

“soccer picnic: heavy on the picnic"

So if you’re ever wondering whether it would be alright to date one of these PG’s, be prepared because (from our observations) he will always love himself and his florescent orange Honda Civic fitted with Lamborghini doors more than he’ll ever love you. And don’t be surprised when, night after night, you find yourself dragged to the same club and listening to the same DJ Skribble remixes by the same MC, all while watching your PG date showing off his best soccer moves to the blonde chick sitting in the VIP booth next to you.

“Oh yeah- I totally know Beckham!"

Essential Cartoon Mix-Tape

By: Rana

No, you won't find any Simpson's stuff here. I realize that most people love them and that's fine. I just think they're a little too tame, and maybe a bit commercialized. What I like is really random, sometimes bizarre, or oddly identifiable references that pop up in the animated shows I'm into. The few I picked out as the best are exceptionally hilarious and I guarantee at least one will make you laugh until your face hurts.

-Family Guy: "The Griffin Family History" (season 4)



As criminals break into the Griffin house, Peter rushes tham all to his "panic room" and they pass the time listening to his distorted stories of the family's past. Meg gets the brunt of everything, as usual, with them sending her through a vent to get food, only to be found by the robbers. They mistake her for a boy and are grossed out when she implies they "have their way with her". The best part in this episode, and the reason I put it on here, is towards the end when Peter (who thinks they're all going to die) as a final statement says he didn't like the Godfather because it "insists upon itself". This is now a running joke with my sister and I, with us constantly suggesting different things that "insist" upon themselves (like self-obsessed emo kids and snobby Starbuck's employees). If you don't want to watch the whole clip, fast forward to the last two minutes and you'll see what I mean. It's freakin' fantastic.

-Sealab 2021: "All That Jazz" (season 1)



Captain Murphy goes through a series of security codes and automated doors that lead to a secret room with his own personal soda machine. After it eats his change, he begins shaking it violently, causing it to fall on him and he is trapped underneath it for a whole year. During this time he befriends a scorpion he names "Ben" and keeps losing his teeth as the malfunctioning machine kicks soda cans into his face. The only other company he has is the robot that periodically comes by to sweep up his broken teeth. I love how he becomes addicted to the scorpion venom and is happy when the critter lays it's eggs in his belly button. Look closely for the tooth necklace.

-South Park: "Die Hippie, Die" (season 9)

click here to watch video

A true classic, it puts a parodic spin on the common "disaster movie" theme (a disheveled scientist with a crazy theory is written off as a hack until his prediction comes true and, at the last minute, he's the only one who can save the day). Cartman, well known for his antics, is at it again as the self-dubbed "hippie exterminator" of the town. As groups of stoned-out tie-dye enthusiasts merge on the small community for a massive jam-band festival, he's called on for help by the concerned residents. Lightheartedly exploring nearly every flower-power cliche there is, like how they believe getting high and going to live shows is a great way to "change the world", I had a lot of reflective moments watching this. After living in California for several years, you can imagine I had many personal run-ins with actual hippie-types and quite a few really do behave in the manner they are portrayed here (Warning- Never try to take one to a McDonald's unless you feel like listening to a two hour lecture on their unfair labor practices, promotion of urban sprawl, and marketing to children). Don't miss the part about half-way through when the festival goers talk about creating a commune. Crunchy!

- Aqua Teen hunger Force: "Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past from the Future" (season 1)



ATHF has put out so much awesome stuff, I found it hard to pick one particular episode to feature here. I showed a few of my faves to Pooneh and she said this one was the best (it was my first choice actually and since it has Danzig in it you really can't go wrong). Carl, quite possibly the funniest character in cartoon history, is visited by a strange robot who tells him and his pool-crashing neighbors a series of drawn-out stories about elves, apes, and a robot war. Poor Carl, who by now is used to being screwed around with (you should really watch the whole series), shrugs off the news that his water supply will forever be replaced by blood unless he gets intimate with a space-gorilla. Deciding he's going to move out, a surprise rock-star puts an offer on the place. Most memorable line- "Is there any way we can get the blood to flow up the walls?" I challenge you to keep a straight face through this.

- Squidbillies: "Tween Steam" (season 3)



Great take on the "To Catch a Predator" phenomenon. Kind of speaks for itself. By the way- Early's trucker hats are pretty interesting. I wonder if anyone's actually tried to sell real versions of them
I bet this guy'd want one:

"I like to embarrass my wife on Twitter"

Saturday Night Shenanigans: The Horrors/Crocodiles @ Emo's (and photos)

By: Pooneh

I have to say, the weather this past Saturday was quite uncomfortably warm (even by Austin's standards), and paired with the brutally high mugginess factor, was causing me to be extra vigorous with my hair straightener. My Sister Rana kept complaining about how awful it was outside, yet still insisted on covering herself head-to-toe in black clothing...guess she really wants to be taken seriously, feel free to shove a pink t-shirt in her face next time you see her. I think her face would melt.
We started off the night with a forced trip to Kerbey Lane, where Rana's been adamantly trying for the past few nights to get seated in the section of her favorite waiter. You might have seen him, he's got the short black hair, kind of goth looking, very pale. She refuses to talk to him though, and resorts to creepy sideways glances with me giving an up-to-date report on his location every 5 seconds. As expected, we didn't get seated in her dreamboy's area. Rather, we were put in the dark rapist corner deep in the forgotten abyss of Kerbey Lane, facing away from the entire restaurant towards the window....for the second night in the row, might I add. Do they really not like our faces that much? Is there something in my eye? As you can assume, my sister was getting quite frustrated that it was now even harder for her to commence with any creepy sideways glances, thus made several fake bathroom trips in the hopes of him noticing her "timeless beauty" and obnoxiously long hair. After eating there for four nights in a row, I finally put my foot down and told Rana if she wanted to talk to him, she'll have to do it on her own. There's only so many Hippy Burgers I can eat in a week.

Following this mass of a failure at picking up a guy, Rana wanted to drown her sorrows in a frappucino at Starbucks, which proved to be yet another failure in the works. We bought our drinks, then headed off on our way to The Horrors/Crocodiles show that night at Emo's. Not too long after she started drinking her Venti Coffee Light Frappucino, I noticed she was making a lot of puzzling and peculiar faces as she stared down at her cup. She eventually spoke up and asked me "Is it supposed to taste like this?" When I acquired as to how it tasted, she said "It's very bitter, as though someone soaked a handful of cigarette butts in cold water and tried to pass it off as real food." I explained to her that mastering the art of a Coffee LIGHT Frappucino is a difficult task, and that this particular Starbucks we went to has been a repeated offender when it comes to making shiteous versions of it. Rana was very distraught at not getting her caffeine fix, and it should be said how during the entire first hour we were at Emo's, all she could moan about was how she wanted a Diet Coke. Rana also insisted on getting her Diet Coke from the Bratwurst stand outside the venue, seeing as how the soda inside cost as much as the beer...which to her, is just blasphemy. She had an interesting conversation with the bratguy. Apparently, he said that the first night he worked there, he saw four drunk frat guys who were being rowdy get tackled to the ground and maced in the eyes by the police. Moral of the story: don't be that douchey frat guy. ever.

Rana came back inside soon after, but with the all too well-known addictive properties of Diet Coke, only wanted another one 10 minutes later. She was also curious about this one vendor outside selling "fried gator on a stick", convinced that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and that we were fools to have missed out on it's wares (it's wasn't, this was a regular street festival, same food every few months). Anyway, I had my own dramz going on. My skinny pants were going particularly skinny on me this night, literally cutting off my breathing and causing me to cramp in body parts I never thought existed. I kept complaining about this, and my sister was shooting me with her unsympathetic stares, saying "You brought this on yourself, miss fashion." I think i've lost all ability to give childbirth. Thank you Urban Outfitters, they're still my favorite pair.
During all this, my friend Mel somehow lost her $300 Blackberry, and our attempts to find it proved futile...everyone was a suspect *squinty eyes*. Rana suggested that they get drunk together, and that she would hook Mel up with a random barfly (theory being that the regret that she would feel the next day would overpower any sorrow she felt from losing the phone). They then proceeded to do their little "Single Ladies" dance. Mel did have one beer, but Rana, up to her shenanigans yet again, drank herself to a buzz and started talking to some guys with absurd amounts of chains hanging off their baggy rave pants (she'll do anything for free beer...kidding...maybe). I should also mention that Rana was ecstatic at the presence of an obvious Sam Ronson looking cokehead lurking in the bathroom. She could not get over the fact that these kind of people still existed, going into deep description about the girl's shaking hands, big eyes, and mysterious tin can she could not stop fiddling with. We all became so interested that we actually made a trip to said bathroom to see if she was still there, but alas, she was gone. Damn.

I went back outside, but Rana (disgusted by the unrelenting heat) went to the indoors section of Emo's to cool off. There she saw what can be best explained as a one-man acoustic performance of awkwardly empathetic spoken-word Misfits and Metallica covers. We also had a run-in with Britt Daniel from Spoon later on. Thanks to some misinformation, Rana accidentally called Britt "Daniel Johns" during a conversation with him. How she did not think Daniel Johns sounded suspiciously like Daniel Johnston, and that something may be fishy in that respect, I will never understand. Yet another candid, drunken moment in the life of my older sister.

I eventually took my perch front in center with my camera in tow, while Rana hung out on the bleachers and engaged in deep conversation with the baggy pants crew until the end of the night. She somehow ended up going back to Kerbey Lane without me (don't worry, she got permission), getting a freak call from my mother at 3 in the morning, and was surprisingly sober when she lingered her way back to my apartment shortly thereafter. I say again, shenanigans.

Now for the show itself, yeah? Woven Bones was the first opening band. Never heard any of their stuff before, strange considering they're a local band. They had pretty much the same vibe as Crocodiles and The Horrors (the whole dark, lo-fi garage rock type thing). I really dug it, will definitely want to check them out again. Crocodiles absolutely blew me away, they were so much more energetic and powerful than I remembered them at SXSW. And The Horrors were of course the headliners, sounded great and had the whole crowd moving...or swaying, whatever you want to call it. Oh, and I also had an impromptu mini-photoshoot with Crocodiles before the show, Brandon (from the band) said it was "Hawaiian-Themed day". You'll be able to tell in my photos. Overall it was a fantastic night, fantastic music, and a great way to cap off the week before the heaping pile of crazy fun and sleepless nights that is ACL weekend hits us full on. Until then, check out some my shots from this show (covered for Austinist):

VIEW ALL PHOTOS HERE: THE HORRORS/CROCODILES @ EMO'S

Crocodiles

 The Horrors

The Horrors

Crocodiles

Tom // The Horrors

Top 5 Quasi-Celebrities Who Do Not Need to Exist

By: Rana

You know who I'm talking about. That person who, lacking any sort of talent, resorts to making a mockery out of themselves in some lame grab for attention. It's difficult to watch them as they unabashedly fame-whore their way into more and more media coverage, because you know that one day they will snap. After realizing that we've been laughing at them and not with them this whole time, they will most likely fall into a deep depression, become a recluse, and nothing will be left but rumors of a "spiritual awakening" and a lifetime of where-are-they-now type segments (see Steve-O, Tara Reid, Andy Dick, etc).

"What do you mean I'm not on the list?"

Let us explore what some of the worst have done with their 15 minutes.

1. JEFFREE STAR



I found out about this guy by way of a youtube link that popped up alongside the Chris Crocker video I was watching (I love me some C.C. *hair-flip*). Anyway, the sensory overload will forever scar my mind. As my eyes struggled to adjust to the Kool-Aid rainbow of colors, my ears were puzzled by his musical, er, "stylings". Consisting of monotone half-phrases spoken over unoriginal club-anthem keyboarding, obviously geared towards the untapped "coked-out stripper" market, I could get this same result by remixing a broken Speak-and-Spell with that song your local ice cream truck driver uses to announce his arrival. His appearance, on the other hand, tries so hard to be edgy that it goes right past kitsch and stops at Pennywise-the-Clown-esque tribute. Further research into his persona revealed that his favorite pastimes are talking about himself, getting plastic surgery, and trying to convince people he's not a joke.

"Will this look good on my myspace page?"

My sister told me he actually played a live performance back in August at Emo's in Austin. I wish I had known. I would have gone just to see how this trainwreck of humanity manages to do a whole show without laughing at himself and the audience for buying into it. There were probably a lot of latex bodysuits involved, sprinkled with some gratuitous vogue-dancing, and plenty of talk about "haters" and how they're "just jealous". Maybe next time, although I'll be surprised if he's still around this time next year.

2. BRANDON DAVIS

"Can I borrow your hair gel?"

What's worse than being famous for nothing? Being famous for being the hanger-on of people who are famous for nothing. Without any skills or artistic prowress to help him gain exposure, his plan of action consists of being in the background of every photo taken in front of whatever club in LA is hotttest at the time. No longer content with lurking in the shadows, he decided to take it to the next level with the now infamous "firecrotch" incident. Taking douchebaggery to never-before-seen heights, he shamefully exploited his defunct relationship with Lindsay Lohan and took full advantage of the fact that the paparazzi will film anything with Paris Hilton in it. If you haven't seen it, here it is:

The most ridiculous thing about this is that he's trying to make a joke about something obvious we already knew- Lindsay Lohan has red pubic hair. Big deal. Who cares? Feeling his little coined term is quite witty he repeats it several times in the short clip and Paris' purposefully audible (and annoyingly fake) laugh makes for a very trashy scene. Why not make fun of how she's irresponsible, an alleged cokehead-alcoholic, and has been on tv more for her crazy antics than her movies? Also, it's strange how he says Lindsay is "poor" because she's only worth $7 million. Brandon, who doesn't have a job, technically makes $0, and has freeloaded off his parents for years really has no room to talk on this subject. In a welcome twist of fate though, he's recently been cut off from his family's wealth, which is apparently non-existent anyway (his mom is hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt) and his socialite status is duly fading into the horizon. A lot of his old Hollywood club-rat buddies now refuse to hang-out with him due to his reportedly notorious mooching and generally deteriorating image.

Now best known for getting banned from bars, being spotted awkwardly alone at random parties, making racist comments, and stealing from the few friends he has left- the clock is definitely ticking on this wanna-be. Thank goodness too- I think we've all had enough of his cocky swagger and smug face.

3. RACHEL ZOE

The thing that annoys me the most about her is how useless her job is. She probably knows how ridiculous it is too, which is why she has to try so hard to sound relevant. Making a point to emphasize something in every sentence, she reminds me of a drunk valley-girl. Oh, and just because people pay you to do something doesn't make you important. Sorry Rachel Zoe- no matter how much weight you lose or after-parties you crash, you'll never be considered an equal to your famous clients. Case closed.

4. JON GOSSELIN

"Fuck birth control!"

I don't keep up with his show (because I don't find child labor amusing), but what I have seen from this guy is the moral equivalent of swimming in a slimy marsh. After having a small army of kids, he leaves behind his wife to date a significantly younger woman, and now they're supposedly engaged. He travels the world with this trailer-park prom-queen, showering her with gifts he buys with his dirty tv money (shouldn't that be going to his children?) and doing everything for her he never did for the one who bore his offspring. The ex-wife spends her days sitting at home and raising the children, another abandoned single-mom, while he only shows up for scheduled tapings. He likes to say things like "I'm a good father" and "My kids are my #1 priority". Yeah, right.

I wonder how often he thinks about his kids while posing for photos and hosting events geared towards slutty college co-eds. His ill-timed mid-life crisis is going to cause irreparable damage to his children's psyche and the party-girl he's with now will surely leave him once the show is canceled (who wants to marry a guy with eight kids?). I wonder how his ex-wife tries to explain his absence to their kids without hurting their feelings. It's got to be hard for her tell them daddy is out getting drunk and living it up on a yacht in another country with a girl who could easily be mistaken for their babysitter, while they sit down to another lonely meatloaf dinner and a night of dvd's. The only comfort I get is thinking of the day when it all hits him- All by himself, washed-up and digesting his ramen noodles, he'll cry himself to sleep thinking of all he's lost- a loyal wife, a loving relationship with his children, and the respect of every human being on earth.

Was it worth it?

5. SPIEDI (aka Spencer Pratt & Heidi Montag)

"Wow! I totally didn't even know there were going to be cameras here!"

These two only actually count as one entry because they are essentially the same person (zombie-smiles, bleached hair, and uncontrollable desire for any kind of attention). After forming a staged-for-ratings relationship on the scripted reality show they frequented, this couple really stood by their story and actually got married. After a failed attempt at a music career by one, and numerous funny beard jokes made about the other, where do they go from here? They've cheesed it up for the paparazzi so many times that they're about as credible as the craigslist ad you read about a "handsome single student looking for a ltr (I'm real!)" Their plastic personalities and over-enthusiastic pda's tickle my gag reflex and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one ready to send them to the vault:

As for their "loving and perfect" relationship (they've actually said that), I wonder how long it'll last after the buzz around them has worn off and they become another pair of played-out has-beens clogging the wheels of the ever-turning Hollywood meat grinder. Can you just see them, sitting across the table from each other, no more camera flashes going off, the jig officially up and both knowing that as the informal ongoing jokes of America they will never be able to get a decent job in entertainment no matter who they bribe? Ha! I'll be counting the days.

Beware the cheesy-couple curse!

Feel free to print out and draw devil horns, silly moustaches, and pin donkey tails on any of these leeches-sucking-on-the-taint-of-mankind. It's more than they deserve.

Four Nights, Four Shows, One Photoshoot

By: Pooneh

The Monotonix show last night at Emo's was very eventful, with Rana getting wasted for the first time in five years and unwillingly figuring out the meaning of "drunk radar". In case you don't know what a drunk radar is, it's when a guy(s) at a club locates the most shitfaced girl he can find (because she will supposedly be the easiest target) and try to score one. Rana got hit on not only by one guy, but also two of his friends and a married fella who we're pretty sure was trying to pick her up for his wife. Five Lone Stars and one Jager shot later (which was bought for her by this lurker who looked like an escapee from the Clockwork Orange movie), and Rana was radiating...little did she know Jager is the Rohypnol of the liquor world. I couldn't help but notice how much this Alex Delarge wannabe was feeling up her back, and leaning in closely whispering everything he said into her ear. Being in her inebriated state, she was very lucky that I (being sober) was there to clear up her drunk goggles and inform her that the man hitting on her not only was twice her age, but had an outstanding creep factor. He left for a while (probably to use the bathroom or amp himself up in the mirror), which was when I informed her of my observations. We quickly skiddadled out of there after Montonix's set finished, and somehow managed to get Rana home without her vomiting all over the dashboard or getting a Bugs Bunny tattoo on her forehead ("It's a great idea man, we should both get one!"). She is now nursing a hangover that is one for the books, and keeps asking for a puppy to cuddle as she cradles in a fetal position on my bed. This morning she woke up declaring how she wanted a spicy burrito, then mentioned how I looked very tasty wrapped up in my blanket on the couch. She probably would've poured some red sauce on me and put on a sombrero if I didn't stop her. On top of that, she nearly fell asleep in her soup when we went to Jason's Deli this morning, and had this look on her face that can only be described as a cross between "I feel like a bloated goat'"/"I'm gonna puke"/"FML". So, lesson of the day for Rana: Always make sure you have a sober friend when you're at the club to make sure you don't go home with anyone over 50. Lesson the of day for me: Always make sure I'm with Rana at the club to make sure she doesn't go home with anyone over 50. Here are my photos from the band's set last night (covered for Austinist). It was everything and more than you expected from Monotonix, one of the best live bands around right now.

VIEW ALL PHOTOS HERE: MONOTONIX @ EMO'S

In addition to the Monotonix show, I was given the opportunity to assist a fellow photographer Randy Cremean (with Soundcheck Magazine) at a photoshoot for The Pains of Being Pure At Heart earlier that day at The Mohawk. I had so much fun helping him out, and it's made me really excited at the thought of doing more photoshoots and stuff along this field in the future. He let me take a few polaroids with the band after he finished shooting: 

 Earlier in the week, we went to the White Denim/Harlem show at Antone's, then did the Ra Ra Riot/Maps & Atlases show at Emo's yesterday. At the Ra Ra Riot show, there was another opening band called Princeton, that Rana went mildly fangirl over seeing as they reminded her of everything she notoriously likes about 80's music. She kept poking me in back saying things like, "Wow, they're really cute" and "I really like this song". They reminded me of something that would happen if the extras from a John Cusack movie did a soundtrack for The Breakfast Club 2 while attending an Ivy League school. Here are my photos from the show (also shot for Austinist). Sorry there's only one Princeton shot (taken by and for Rana, as you can assume):

VIEW ALL PHOTOS HERE: RA RA RIOT/MAPS & ATLASES @ EMO'S

To cap off our four-day streak of back to back fun, it's The Horrors/Crocodiles gig tonight. Fellow Austinites make your way over to Emo's with your leather jackets and your best 'staring ar your toes' dance. Hope to see you there!

This is not happening!

By: Rana

I just saw this on the Billboard site:


That's right- the aforementioned Alphaville cover song that never should have happened actually debuted in the Top 100 list. The only explanation is that somewhere there is a colony of tone-deaf Jay-Z fans that buy everything he puts out without even listening to it. Either that or irony just decided to slap me in the face today. (shakes head in disbelief)

Crocodiles

 By: Pooneh

I first came across the band Crocodiles when they played a SXSW day show at Emo’s back in March. I’d never heard of the band or any of their music, I just remember my first reaction to lead singer Brandon Welchez's look being “Wow, either I'm hallucinating or Bob Dylan circa 1965 is walking onstage right now.” I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. A few songs into their set and I was convinced this band was pretty good...actually, they were really good.

Not sure what to say about the San Diego based duo that hasn‘t already been said before. Crocodiles emits a kind of tenebrous joy, like a synth punk, reverb soaked, lo-fi, psych-post-indie-dance-garage rock conglomeration of sorts (shutup, i’m bad at these things).

60 seconds into their song “Summer of Hate”, and my sister agreed that this band had an undeniably strong 60‘s vibe, alluding that it was giving her visions of some young neo-hippie cult sitting in a circle somewhere in a smokey downtown SoHo loft dropping hits of L. She then quickly ran into my closet, wrapped a bandana around her head, and did the Ashlee Simpson SNL jig on my zebra-striped rug. Far out.

In my opinion, if you tone down the “epileptic goth dance”-inducing spirit of Joy Division, mix it with a Brian Jonestown Massacre vibe, throw in a bit of Suicide, and put on a pair of black leather boots, you get Crocodiles. In all honesty, this band sounds like so many different things at once, that it’s really hard for me to even compare them to anyone else. I don't mean that in a bad way though. My sister mentioned New Order, Liam Gallagher’s voice, The Libertines, Debbie Gibson. I would bring up the Velvet Underground comparison, but seriously who doesn’t get compared to Velvet Underground these days? I know Crocodiles in particular has gotten it quite a few times. Wait, did I just compare them to Velvet Underground? Moving on..

I missed Crocodiles on their last two stops here in town, when they were opening for The Faint/Ladytron in April (actually went to this show but arrived right after their set finished. Awesome.) and Holy Fuck in June. This upcoming Saturday will be their fourth venture through Austin this year (opening for The Horrors at Emo’s ourdoor stage). I will be there in all my dancing-but-really-just-awkwardly-swaying-to-self glory. If you see me, feel free to laugh.  But until then, check out these videos and enjoy:

"Summer Of Hate"

"Neon Jesus"

"Soft Skull (In My Room)"

Also check out their LP, Summer Of Hate, which was released on Fat Possum Records back in April.
Crocodiles' Myspace