Coachella Run-Off Week.
The Coachella Music Festival was on April 29th and 30th this year, and being that it takes place only a short drive from Las Vegas, many Coachella bands headed down to the Vegas Valley, played some small-venue shows, and partied it up. It was definitely a great time, as good bands rarely play here...
Two side notes:
This blog was going to consist of pictures from The Subways show as well, but they cancled the show, and I'll be damned if I'm going to a Rock Kills Kid concert... So, we just had to make due with two days of footage rather than three.
Also, Josh (of Dentz Lentz Eventz fame) sat in with me on this writting session. I'm not sure who's joke is whose, but you get the point.
Enjoi.
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I always knew that I would meet my true love/soul mate at a place like the Beauty Bar, and I was right... Oh canned-Busweiser, my sweet, where have you been all of my life?
Since the advent of my new digital camera, Photographis Blogicus has taken long strides into the twenty-first century. Seriously, it has so many crazy features on it, the possibilities are limitless. I mean, it has about twenty built in filters alone that you can apply to pictures. For example, this picture is me running the first picture through the "Emo Filter." Pretty rad, huh?
Here's a free, Photographis Blogicus sponsered, sneek peek at the cover for Frank Miller's latest Sin City novel, That Soused Jerry. It's a swank tale of booze, dames, rock and roll, and booze. You can pre-order it on Amazon.com starting July 17th.
For those of you who don't get that, it's because Josh said that this picture looks like a graphic novel cover, because I look like such a fucking evil cartoon character, that I don't even look like a person. I was going to give it some gnarly photoshop effects to make it look handdrawn, but I think that takes away from the spirit of a photo-blog. So, whatever.
If my parents taught me one thing, it was this important lesson: It's important to respect other cultures. And in honor of that, we decided to form this totem-pole as a crude tribute to the Native American peoples that once made the Vegas Valley their home. In fact, here's a little known Nevada history fact... the proud Slapahoe Tribe once inhabited the very ground upon which the Beauty Bar was built, and it is in their spirit that we present our drunken totem pole (from bottom to top):
Nothing will better sum up this picture than what Josh said, "guess which one of these people standing next to me is a dirty hipster and which one is the lead singer of a band...can't do it, can ya, like playing three card monty..."
And also, I think it's kind of funny when you look at this picture from left to right, and your thought process is, "Man, that guy's hammered... no wait, that guy's trashed... no, no, no, look at that dude! He's fucked the fuck up! It's like one of those Russian dolls you keep opening up, and it keeps getting smaller... except this time it just keeps getting drunker.
This is a picture of Josh, Me, and Lillian Berlin, and it involves a pretty hilarious story, which I shall now relate...
As we came stumbling towards our cars, what should we see, but Lillian and his brother, Bosh--the drummer, just hanging out infront of the El Cortez. They must of been waiting for a ride, or some shit. Anyways, as we come strolling past, I pause to shake their hands, congratulate them on a show-well-done, and take a quick picture for Photographis Blogicus. I should note that, at this time, ridiculously hammered Josh, had no idea who the fuck I was talking to, despite the fact that he had a Living Things t-shirt cast over his shoulder.
Anyways, as this is going down, I say, "Hey, let's get a picture dude..." and Bosh, the drummer actually offers to take the picture, but I turn down his offer with a triumphant, "No, dude... you get in the picture too," and then proceeded to take the picture myself. In case you didn't notice, the drummer is not in this picture, I totally missed, and he was all like, "Ehhh, wanna do it again?" And I slapped him a high-five and said, "No, dude, we got it!"
Man, sometimes I can be such a dick by accident...
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There's some things in life you can't explain, like Shinaed O'Connor having a hair dryer, or why there's a Rio Tan franchise in Compton, or how me and Josh could be mistook for rockstars. But as in most myths in life, we believe because we want to believe. And sometimes miracles do happen.
Speaking of miracles, these wristbands, or "advaned ticket purchases," if you will, provided us with a gateway into the promised land. Yes, once again, I went out with the intention of not getting hammered, got mistook for a rockstar, and then got free drinks all night... and thus I failed. And by failed, I mean suffered liver failure.
Welcome to Day #2.
Due to the fact that we received free drinks all night, we also defied logic all night... at least, that's the best explaination I can think of.
Seriously, take a time-out and really look at this picture, examine the fuck out of it. There's NO WAY it was actually taken. There sheer physics of how everyone is pictured just doesn't make sense... I mean, look at how everyone is positioned--fine. But then look at the angle of my jack and diet!!!! It defies both logic and gravity. The only explaination I can muster is that we were actually on the Gravitoron carnival ride.
After asking Josh how exactly he defied gravity in the previous picture, he slapped me in the face, levitated to the bar, "stole" three free whiskey-diets, and teleported back. After he teleported back, I asked him how much he tipped the bartender... It seemed as if this queston blew his mind, and as he did the extensive long-division in his head, I snappped this quick picture.
All booze and no work makes Chrstina go something, something...
Josh, angry at his friend, Tyler, for not being as belligerently retarted as the participants in the previous two picutes, attempted to give his friend a cigarette lobatomy, in order to catch him up in the special-olympics rankings.
Despite never wearing a condom throughout their sexual endeavors, this couple never experienced a single pregnancy scare.
This is a quick picture of me and my sister sipping on a couple of VIP-free drinks. But seriously, her new CD is awesome, The Duke Spirit's, Cuts Across the Land, can be purchased at Urban Outfitters, or your local record store. Check it out, seriously--do it... it's by far one of the better 2006 releases thus far.
At this point in the night, Christina and I realize that we are hammered, and we further realize that one of us has to go open the Bong in he morning. So, we came to the conclusion that the only fair outcome was a best-of-seven--royal rumble--paper, rock, sissors match. Winner takes all.
I lost.
This concert actually inspired Josh to write a blog about how totally, "Gay," Vegas is. Makes sure to check it out. But, anyways, the Nine Black Alps put on an amazing fucking show; One of the best I've seen... but unfortunately, I'm one of seven people in Las Vegas to actually see it. No wonder no one cool ever comes here.
True story.
After the show, we came up to Sam Forest to congratulate him on a great show. I think we may have been the first americans to do such a thing, and thus blew his mind... because he didn't really know what to say. I remember, I asked him if the merch booth was selling Glitter Gultch, their new EP, and he didn't really understand the question. Granted, he was probably way hammered, but still.
Also, Josh got all emotional and raged out on Las Vegas for not showing up to the show, and Sam Forest was just like, "Yeah, we never sell out." Which prompted Josh to exclaim, "Yeah, that's why America is a huge faggot!" I think Sam Forest thought it was a trick question, and laughed it off. Anyways, I thought that we freaked him out enough, snapped a quick shot, collected my drunken posse, and saunted off into the sunset. And by sunset, I mean: sunrise.
PS: Writting this just reminded me to order Glitter Gultch on-line. THAT'S how good of a show it was.
After the show, I ruckused off to the Red Hawk, to meet up some people, and what do I see?
It's Karim neckin with some breezey, let's get a picture guys!
Doh my God...I wanna scream with horror and explode with laughter at the same time. But I guess I'll just settle with the satisfaction of knowing that that's not my mom. Speaking of not being my mom, I guess this chick's daughter got two D.U.I.'s in one week, which is just amazing. If that's not a Guiness World Record, I wanna drink with the dude that holds that record!
After a night of being a member of the Beauty Bar VIP Free Drink Club, I just had to take this picture to make sure all this really happened. I would just like to take a second to note the look of concern on my face... although I can't tell if it's concern for my friend, Karim, or self-concern for smoking a clove that Pig Sout gave me, *shudder*! Either way, there's definitly something amiss in this picture.
In hindsight, when your friend walks up to you and says, "Hey, I had sex with a forty-seven year old mother of two," you are inevitably struck with a haze of disbelief. A disbelief that can only be countered by a picture of you carrying your friend to a station wagon, a station wagon piloted by the said forty-seven year old woman.
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On a final note, who noticed I fucking spelled my own blog's name wrong in the watermarks? Nobody? Good!
Two side notes:
This blog was going to consist of pictures from The Subways show as well, but they cancled the show, and I'll be damned if I'm going to a Rock Kills Kid concert... So, we just had to make due with two days of footage rather than three.
Also, Josh (of Dentz Lentz Eventz fame) sat in with me on this writting session. I'm not sure who's joke is whose, but you get the point.
Enjoi.
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I always knew that I would meet my true love/soul mate at a place like the Beauty Bar, and I was right... Oh canned-Busweiser, my sweet, where have you been all of my life?
Since the advent of my new digital camera, Photographis Blogicus has taken long strides into the twenty-first century. Seriously, it has so many crazy features on it, the possibilities are limitless. I mean, it has about twenty built in filters alone that you can apply to pictures. For example, this picture is me running the first picture through the "Emo Filter." Pretty rad, huh?
Here's a free, Photographis Blogicus sponsered, sneek peek at the cover for Frank Miller's latest Sin City novel, That Soused Jerry. It's a swank tale of booze, dames, rock and roll, and booze. You can pre-order it on Amazon.com starting July 17th.
For those of you who don't get that, it's because Josh said that this picture looks like a graphic novel cover, because I look like such a fucking evil cartoon character, that I don't even look like a person. I was going to give it some gnarly photoshop effects to make it look handdrawn, but I think that takes away from the spirit of a photo-blog. So, whatever.
If my parents taught me one thing, it was this important lesson: It's important to respect other cultures. And in honor of that, we decided to form this totem-pole as a crude tribute to the Native American peoples that once made the Vegas Valley their home. In fact, here's a little known Nevada history fact... the proud Slapahoe Tribe once inhabited the very ground upon which the Beauty Bar was built, and it is in their spirit that we present our drunken totem pole (from bottom to top):
- Big Liver, Litte Penis.
- Doe That Does Not Drink of Fire Water.
- Horizontal Cabasa Head
- Eagle With Double-Beer Talons, and by Eagle With Double-Beer Talons, I mean: Balding Eagle With Double-Beer Talons.
Nothing will better sum up this picture than what Josh said, "guess which one of these people standing next to me is a dirty hipster and which one is the lead singer of a band...can't do it, can ya, like playing three card monty..."
And also, I think it's kind of funny when you look at this picture from left to right, and your thought process is, "Man, that guy's hammered... no wait, that guy's trashed... no, no, no, look at that dude! He's fucked the fuck up! It's like one of those Russian dolls you keep opening up, and it keeps getting smaller... except this time it just keeps getting drunker.
This is a picture of Josh, Me, and Lillian Berlin, and it involves a pretty hilarious story, which I shall now relate...
As we came stumbling towards our cars, what should we see, but Lillian and his brother, Bosh--the drummer, just hanging out infront of the El Cortez. They must of been waiting for a ride, or some shit. Anyways, as we come strolling past, I pause to shake their hands, congratulate them on a show-well-done, and take a quick picture for Photographis Blogicus. I should note that, at this time, ridiculously hammered Josh, had no idea who the fuck I was talking to, despite the fact that he had a Living Things t-shirt cast over his shoulder.
Anyways, as this is going down, I say, "Hey, let's get a picture dude..." and Bosh, the drummer actually offers to take the picture, but I turn down his offer with a triumphant, "No, dude... you get in the picture too," and then proceeded to take the picture myself. In case you didn't notice, the drummer is not in this picture, I totally missed, and he was all like, "Ehhh, wanna do it again?" And I slapped him a high-five and said, "No, dude, we got it!"
Man, sometimes I can be such a dick by accident...
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There's some things in life you can't explain, like Shinaed O'Connor having a hair dryer, or why there's a Rio Tan franchise in Compton, or how me and Josh could be mistook for rockstars. But as in most myths in life, we believe because we want to believe. And sometimes miracles do happen.
Speaking of miracles, these wristbands, or "advaned ticket purchases," if you will, provided us with a gateway into the promised land. Yes, once again, I went out with the intention of not getting hammered, got mistook for a rockstar, and then got free drinks all night... and thus I failed. And by failed, I mean suffered liver failure.
Welcome to Day #2.
Due to the fact that we received free drinks all night, we also defied logic all night... at least, that's the best explaination I can think of.
Seriously, take a time-out and really look at this picture, examine the fuck out of it. There's NO WAY it was actually taken. There sheer physics of how everyone is pictured just doesn't make sense... I mean, look at how everyone is positioned--fine. But then look at the angle of my jack and diet!!!! It defies both logic and gravity. The only explaination I can muster is that we were actually on the Gravitoron carnival ride.
After asking Josh how exactly he defied gravity in the previous picture, he slapped me in the face, levitated to the bar, "stole" three free whiskey-diets, and teleported back. After he teleported back, I asked him how much he tipped the bartender... It seemed as if this queston blew his mind, and as he did the extensive long-division in his head, I snappped this quick picture.
All booze and no work makes Chrstina go something, something...
Josh, angry at his friend, Tyler, for not being as belligerently retarted as the participants in the previous two picutes, attempted to give his friend a cigarette lobatomy, in order to catch him up in the special-olympics rankings.
Despite never wearing a condom throughout their sexual endeavors, this couple never experienced a single pregnancy scare.
This is a quick picture of me and my sister sipping on a couple of VIP-free drinks. But seriously, her new CD is awesome, The Duke Spirit's, Cuts Across the Land, can be purchased at Urban Outfitters, or your local record store. Check it out, seriously--do it... it's by far one of the better 2006 releases thus far.
At this point in the night, Christina and I realize that we are hammered, and we further realize that one of us has to go open the Bong in he morning. So, we came to the conclusion that the only fair outcome was a best-of-seven--royal rumble--paper, rock, sissors match. Winner takes all.
I lost.
This concert actually inspired Josh to write a blog about how totally, "Gay," Vegas is. Makes sure to check it out. But, anyways, the Nine Black Alps put on an amazing fucking show; One of the best I've seen... but unfortunately, I'm one of seven people in Las Vegas to actually see it. No wonder no one cool ever comes here.
True story.
After the show, we came up to Sam Forest to congratulate him on a great show. I think we may have been the first americans to do such a thing, and thus blew his mind... because he didn't really know what to say. I remember, I asked him if the merch booth was selling Glitter Gultch, their new EP, and he didn't really understand the question. Granted, he was probably way hammered, but still.
Also, Josh got all emotional and raged out on Las Vegas for not showing up to the show, and Sam Forest was just like, "Yeah, we never sell out." Which prompted Josh to exclaim, "Yeah, that's why America is a huge faggot!" I think Sam Forest thought it was a trick question, and laughed it off. Anyways, I thought that we freaked him out enough, snapped a quick shot, collected my drunken posse, and saunted off into the sunset. And by sunset, I mean: sunrise.
PS: Writting this just reminded me to order Glitter Gultch on-line. THAT'S how good of a show it was.
After the show, I ruckused off to the Red Hawk, to meet up some people, and what do I see?
It's Karim neckin with some breezey, let's get a picture guys!
Doh my God...I wanna scream with horror and explode with laughter at the same time. But I guess I'll just settle with the satisfaction of knowing that that's not my mom. Speaking of not being my mom, I guess this chick's daughter got two D.U.I.'s in one week, which is just amazing. If that's not a Guiness World Record, I wanna drink with the dude that holds that record!
After a night of being a member of the Beauty Bar VIP Free Drink Club, I just had to take this picture to make sure all this really happened. I would just like to take a second to note the look of concern on my face... although I can't tell if it's concern for my friend, Karim, or self-concern for smoking a clove that Pig Sout gave me, *shudder*! Either way, there's definitly something amiss in this picture.
In hindsight, when your friend walks up to you and says, "Hey, I had sex with a forty-seven year old mother of two," you are inevitably struck with a haze of disbelief. A disbelief that can only be countered by a picture of you carrying your friend to a station wagon, a station wagon piloted by the said forty-seven year old woman.
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On a final note, who noticed I fucking spelled my own blog's name wrong in the watermarks? Nobody? Good!
posted by Tyler at 8:31 PM
4 comments
