hundred hundred, honey boat and sea monsters at the ‘flur warehouse.

The first show at the bellflur mansion (read: warehouse) featured honey boat‘s debut, sea monsters and hundred hundred. Shout out to the Capslocks who made it but didn’t quite make it, brother, hundred hundred’s shakespeare story, blake in the bathroom, will‘s awesome photography and tom’s musical dance moves. There was enough Wii, Jameson, oriental carpets, toddlers, animal masks and tunes for all. Groovy.

rockabilly in the burgh

in the dive bars of bloomfield the rockabilly scene is still alive a kicking. monthly rockabilly riots at howlers are packed with three generations of rockers. the music alone is worth the trip and make no mistake about it, the 50+ crowd brings some sick jitterbug skills. please take note of the accordion and washboard.

see this: maine in an american car.

After spending almost 700 miles in the Impala, I escaped the smoky chokehold of Worcester, Mass. bound for the purity I expected to find in the quaint vanilla charm of the state of Maine.  The state had always been a mystery to me – I had never been there and had never even met anybody from the land of lobsters and L.L. Bean – but I’d always felt a strange attraction to it.  My feet have spent winters warm inside the iconic Bean boots, and the Pine Tree State and I share the initials: ME.  My exodus from Massachusetts was further common ground, as Maine itself was an exclave of Massachusetts until 1820.  But Maine needed the Missouri Compromise to escape Massachusetts. All I needed was a Chevrolet.

I drove north at dusk while a thick blanket of fog formed over the coast, blocking my view of the rock littered shoreline of the open Atlantic.  I arrived in Lewiston after dark – to a dimly lit motor lodge 30 miles inland.  The woman at the front desk appeared shocked to see an unfamiliar face.  It seemed as though all the “guests” were actually long term tenants – living in a backward utopia of week to week rent payments and dinners warmed in the microwaves that sat atop the mini-fridges in each room.  The light fixtures were just low energy bulbs screwed akimbo into dual light sockets – naked to the open air with no lampshade to soften the glow or keep you from burning yourself.  I decided to spend very little time in the room.

nick veasey does x-rays right

we kiss goodbye and drink up some hours before the dawn.

because if nuclear winter hit and your lover was stuck in a different underground missile silo and you could only listen to one song while you were broken-hearted it would absolutely have to be this.

baroque but needs no fixing

editors at the University of Pittsburgh’s Pitt News got a little crafty for the cover of their anual sex edition. very sexy indeed.

Photo by Vaughn Wallace

incredible feats in a winter wonderland

a winter wonderland part 3.

Here in the district, we don’t have as much as snow as sixburgh, or as many picturesque snowy cottages as the swedes. But what we lack in snowplows, we make up for in PANIC! Snowpocolypse! Snowmageddon! It’s the END OF THE WORLD! The yuppies crowd whole foods and bash one another over the head with their recyclable bags to get to the last wasabi pea! The government is closed but the liquor stores are open! College students have taken to getting lush in the afternoon and pelting snowballs at the empty classrooms! People are putting up snow houses on craigslist! And it’s still fucking snowing! Excuse me for getting carried away, but we wish you were here. Too bad the airports are closed! Photos courtesy of awesome snowed-in friends.

a winter wonderland pt 2

Sweden is not the only part of the world totally buried in the snow.  Snowpocalypse ’10 (thanks  Michael K) has the city of Pittsburgh totally out of commission. In high school a snow day usually meant a couple extra hours of sleep. In college however, it meant making a beeline to the beer distributors as early as possible and drunkenly fashioning sleds out of anything available (we’re talking office chairs on skis). There were beer pong tables built out of snow drifts, snowboarders in the Boulevard of the Allies, and what snow day would be complete without drunken igloos?

(I may or may not have been too intoxicated to capture the activities mentioned above on film so I hope you enjoy the pretty pictures of Pittsburgh below)

punk rocker kitty

disclaimer: normally we do not shave our cat like this, but he got his hair all tangeled in a mess and couldn’t get loose. hence, he turned out to be the raddest cat around. i bet you’re jealous your kitty doesn’t have this kind of style.