Bucket (List) of Blood

Ah, October is upon us! And how to start everyone's favorite month to dress up as a slut or act like a pervert than with some monsters and mayhem! Last Saturday (see the prior post) turned out to be quite the spontaneous adventure…

I had the opportunity to catch Gwar performing at Club Firestone- a place I usually avoid at all costs unless it's a band that I like playing (usually 3 times a year). Since I am a huge fan of any hard rock genre, Gwar is a band that I've known for years even though I've never really listened to their stuff. They just happen to be one of those bands that makes your bucket list- their shows are legendary, and even if they don't ever make it to your iPod they are still a band you know you have to see at some point in your life. I made arrangements with a friend that was offering some free tickets, grabbed an old white t-shirt, and met up with my photographer friend Megan Schutz. She was all kinds of excited when she heard what we were doing before catching Night of the Living Dead at the Enzian Theater later.

Within the first 3 minutes of the band taking the stage, I was frozen in place with my jaw agape and my eyelids glued to my forehead. I couldn’t turn away! The split second that I did, a man either was decapitated by someone else or at his own expense, and by the time I looked back to the stage he was already spurting blood from his carotid artery onto the masses. Damn it. After I told Megan a few times that I couldn’t tell if I was genuinely scared (I wasn’t sober at the time) or if I was entertained, I grabbed her hand and we meandered around the side of the crowd and snuck into the front. There we were sprayed by the headless man, followed by something that looked like a mutant pig fetus.

I'm a firm believer in freedom of speech, so even when Oderus Urungus was proclaiming that an on-stage Sarah Palin shouldn't be in politics, but rather his own personal fucktoy, I couldn't really be offended. I knew what I was getting myself into when I went to this show; it would be as ludicrous to be upset over seeing Marilyn Manson tear a Bible up on stage- you know it's bound to happen! Even though I'm a firm believer in gender equality and I'm not a fan of Palin whatsoever, I kept my cheers (and jeers) to myself and watched in stunned amusement. This is why you go to this show to begin with, right? He then went on to chainsaw her in half, rip her severed hips and legs away from her spinal column, and she gushed blood all over the delighted audience.

Fortunately, I don't think that the people at a Gwar show are taking themselves too seriously. Most people who are watching a bunch of men pushing 50 wearing ripped fishnet stockings and spraying an overzealous crowd with faux bodily fluids aren't- if they were, they'd be running for the nearest free clinic. And if there are still people that are going to these shows and taking music-or anything- in its literal sense, then they are more impressionable than originally thought, and should be avoided at all costs. That’s how we could have avoided such events in history like Jonestown, duh.






Sadly, we had to leave about 30 minutes into the show to make it to the Enzian in time. This was the aftermath.






It ended up not being Night of the Living Dead that stuck with me the longest. The ride to work was nearly as entertaining as the concert. I thought maybe it would have been funnier to see a Kardashian ripped apart since a few years ago they killed off Paris Hilton, and then I started to think of all of the other catchy celebs that Gwar could mutilate on stage... That chick that can’t act from Twilight? Ke$ha? The entire cast of Jersey Shore? And then I found myself at work muttering to myself every time I hit the Send button on another email, "Now there's someone I would have liked to see get chainsawed in half on stage." Even better was when something went awry in the office and my initial solution to the problem was to rip someone’s head off and spray blood everywhere.

Run.

They're Coming to Get You, Heather!!

Its that’s special time of the year here in central Florida: that time where nature can’t decide to take the plunge from sweltering hot to what us Floridians call ‘freezing’. Mother Nature is a child teetering on the edge of a pool, dipping their toe into the water before building up the courage to commit. Someone needs to walk by and push this bitch in.

Right now it’s a comfortable upper-sixties-something, and I have the A/C off and the windows open. Soon it will be back to the lower 80’s this afternoon, and my friends will start seeing who wants to carpool to the beach. 80-degree weather and pumpkin-flavored everything? Gotta love Florida in October! However, I should have gone home to New Smyrna Beach to take advantage of this last weekend I’ve got free of any predetermined plans but I’ve been running back there nearly every weekend for the last 5 or 6 weeks. I can’t remember the last time I went to Backbooth for Midnight Mass. The last time I went to Independent Bar with the usual group was probably around the last time I actually folded the laundry after getting it out of the dryer…

Either way, the fact that it is already well into October has me slightly freaked out. Everything has been going by so fast, as it does when you’re completely swamped with work and plans. No complaints here: it’s been a journey nothing short of amazing and I can’t get over all that I’m accomplishing here in the last 2 or so months. I recently started writing for Drink Magazine, published by Orlando Weekly (2nd biggest newspaper here in central Florida). I’m really excited about it as a side gig, and I’ve been in the September issue for covering a few great drinks at a few great bars as well as the one for October. It’s on newsstands now, so go pick up a copy and see what my friends and I think the most overplayed Halloween costumes are before you make a costume faux pas, because NO ONE wants to do that on Halloween… But really, I hope you read and have a chuckle. All of my friends have asked how I got involved with it. I just tell them that I went to enough of the monthly launch parties hosted by Drink, and found myself telling editor Meghan that I really, really, really, really wanted to be involved. After 3 or 6 free cocktails, you can find yourself confessing any desire to anyone, as we all know.

I’m also writing for NotNorthNews.org, a site that focuses on the Florida music scene. I’m stoked about this one because, like hitting up bars around Orlando, this gig fits my lifestyle perfectly. I have a ton of things that I need to be writing for the site. I’ve done 2 short pieces so far, and I have an album review, a few interviews, and maybe an editorial on the way. Halloween weekend I’ll be up in Gainesville for The Fest 9 covering it as press, if you will, and though I’ve never been I can safely chalk it up to nonstop PBR-fueled punk rock mayhem running amok in the streets of the city.

I. Can’t. Wait.

So besides being a total workaholic and having too much housework to catch up on, I’ve found another reason to keep me in Orlando this weekend- The Enzian Theater in Winter Park is showing a midnight double-feature of King of the Zombies, followed by my favorite horror flick ever Night of the Living Dead. Both are being shown in 16mm film. What a rad way to kick off the Halloween season! Some friends are all going to be at Spooky Empire with its celebs and whatnot, but I figure by the time I’m doing all that needs getting done around here it will be midnight and thus perfect timing to catch George Romero’s debut. A little pumpkin pie gelati from Jeremiah’s right down the street, a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks, or a pumpkin beer would make this night nearly perfect.

Decisions, decisions!

Died and Gone to Heaven

Lately I’ve been finding myself going back to my roots as I do from time to time. The last month has been full of hanging with old friends back in New Smyrna Beach, NOFX and Pennywise, and now a trip to the local record store to indulge in second-hand delights and rock and roll nostalgia. When I was in my early teens and figuring out what I was shaping who I was to become, I immersed myself in the past. My favorite subject in school was history, and I really gained an interest in cultural history. Every Friday I would go to the public library and take out books on the sixties and seventies and movies like Nosferatu, Rear Window, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I had pictures of Greta Garbo and Joan Crawford on my folders right next to my Pump Up the Valuum sticker and clippings of Slipknot from that month’s Guitar World. At night I’d light incense and get high on the poetry of Jim Morrison and Allen Ginsberg, and on weekends my best friend Kayla and I would be driven around town by her mom to the vintage shops in town.

Today I hung out with my new pal Lisa- an Orlando transplant hailing from Austin, Texas. We decided at some point in the day to hit up Twisted Bliss over on Ivanhoe Row. My favorite thing to get there is the chocolate brownie and peanut butter Italian ices, and since the weather is amazing now that we’re into October we hung out on the patio and ate our treats. Across the street is Rock & Roll Heaven, a place I’ve heard a ton about and always only end up driving past and saying, “Man, I need to go there soon!” Being the complete music junkie that I am, I knew that it would be a good afternoon adventure if I could ever find an afternoon to dedicate to flipping through all of the used records that I wish I had a player for.

As soon as I stepped inside, I knew why the store was named such. Everything you could think of was there- back issues of magazines, original-packaged toys and memorabilia, posters, and of course crates and crates of CDs and records. I strolled each aisle, sometimes twice, lovingly looking upon all of the records and wondering if they were original pressings. I saw so many things that made me smile! I spotted a Victory Records sticker on a glass case, which sparked brief conversation between one of the store clerks and I. There was Punk-O-Rama and Vol. 3- Punk-O-Rama Vol. 2 was actually my first taste of many of the bands I got into later on.

Though I didn’t walk away with them, I did get a few sticks of patchouli incense, The Way We Were on VHS, The Definitive Collection: Etta James on CD, and a free Victory Records sticker. Had I more disposable income that day, I would have walked away with the 2 Elliott Smith records I saw, the Dead Kennedys record buried deep in a stack in the Punk/Hardcore section, The Rocky Horror Picture Show on VHS, and the Me First and the Gimme Gimmes record I would have picked up for good measure to play on a second-hand record player.

What I Do

A lot of people ask me what I do for a living. I work in marketing and advertising. I am a copywriter, and I have been lucky enough to have commercials on radio and TV running for about a year and a half now, as well as publish a lot of web content for a variety of companies. I also got to help manage and implement a huge rebranding campaign for a well-known business in Orlando.

This video pretty much sums up that campaign, as well as many of the day-to-day things that I (and all of 'creatives') face in the workplace. Cheers!

I Still Love this Song

This song is, word for word, my life in a nutshell. Well, a decent chunk of it. Its amazing. And since this is way early Against Me! and Tom Gabel was still doing the punk voice, I'll post the words below so you can really understand their beauty.

I Still Love You Julie
Last night,
A room full, drunk,
Sang along to the songs I never had
The courage to write.
Given the chance
I'd stay in this chorus forever,
Where everything ugly in this world
Is sadly beautiful
In our desperate memories.
No, we're not
Gonna call everyone on their shit tonight,
Even though the half of you won't even smile
The next time we pass on the street.
Maybe somehow
This scam will still save us all...

Still save us all...

Then I saw you
Dancing at a punk rock show
And for a moment
We walked the streets that everyone else
Had given up to 4 AM,
'Cause promises
And spray paint marking
Everywhere we went
And every direction
Only going as far
As we let it.
There's so many things
We try to do truthfully.
By the time it's through with us,
It all falls apart.
Maybe somehow
This scam will still save us all.

Still save us all...

Bieber Fever

Its been far, far too long since I’ve posted on here! Times when I am inspired to write about the observations in my life paired with the time to actually sit down and think them into something worthy for you all to read are far and few in between. However, I was paired with such occurrences tonight, so here I sit with my laptop open and a Steak N Shake meal to my side. For the win!

Today at work was a nightmare. The manager of the IT department at work, my beloved friend boy (although it should be friend man, because he is probably a good 15 or so years older) Tom commandeered my computer to try to fix it. Perhaps it was all of the Justin Bieber that Tom and my coworker Pattie were trying to get me to listen to, but my computer wouldn’t work properly for the rest of the day- thus rendering me helpless as I scrambled to claim co-op advertising dollars and send out updated radio copy to stations in town. I personally take pride in the fact that, like Jersey Shore, I have never been exposed to any bit of a Justin Bieber song in its entirety. Maybe a minute or two, but once I wise up and realize that its not that Natasha Bedingfield chick, I quickly plug my ears with my fingers as if I were in the second grade and chant, “Lalalalalalalala!” Sexy, I know. Needless to say, my computer caught a case of Bieber Fever and quickly became useless and all I could do was mutter, "That kid sounds like Natasha Bedingfield..."

The only thing keeping me sane was my extracurricular activities that I had planned for after 5p. Though I was craving a dirty martini and a fatal head wound at this point, I still rounded up my friends Jamesson and Anthony to go roller skating at the local rink. Upon hearing my amazingly br00t4l metal voice that I’ve cultivated with Ricky Diamond, Anthony has become the Jonny Craig to my Jon Mess. Together we belted out some Dance Gavin Dance while Jamesson used my headphones to listen to his preferences.

What sparked this sudden interest in roller skating you ask? One of the things I’ve always wanted to do was join a roller derby team. What better way to practice for recruitment than to hit up the local skating rink on budget night where for $4 you can dodge little kids that keep falling down and get whizzed past by people who probably skate better than they walk. Isn’t that roller derby in a nutshell?

The three of us hadn’t been on roller skates in close to a decade. Jamesson was by the far the most graceful- we are blaming it on the PBRs and whiskey that he downed before we got into the car. Anthony gave it a fair run, having only fallen down 4 times. Surprisingly enough, I made a clean sweep tonight. That’s not to say that I didn’t take down a small child when I lost my balance at one point, however.

The music was a happy mix of retro hip hop circa 1993 as well as some newer stuff. I’m not sure why, but they kept on playing what sounded like Natasha Bedingfield. When I took a breather with Anthony, we took note that all of the women were starting to act… Strangely. They were getting excited, with a wild look in their eyes, and their lips forming the words Oh, My, and Gosh. The boys seemed unphased. Anthony quickly deducted that we had fallen subject to a Justin Bieber attack. All hope had been lost. I was going down, but not without a fight. “You mean this isn’t Natasha Bedingfield,” I shrieked in horror. “But I have a record to maintain! Never have I heard a full song of his! I can’t get out of here fast enough!” Quickly, and in what could be considered my most br00t4l metal voice rendition yet, I looked at Anthony and howled, “BIEBER FEVER!”

Anthony followed suit, and then we skated up to the railing of the rink and roared it as Jamesson skating by. Jamesson just looked at us with a blank, transparent stare as he rolled away. Later I skated up to him, and he asked what it was we were saying. “I don’t subscribe to that agro bullshit you listen to,” he said as we skated along to the sounds of Bieber.

Then he added, “Wait, that wasn’t Natasha Bedingfield?”

America- FUCKYEAHHHH!

Nothing says America more than Ed Hardy tattoos and pickles. Well, according to my good friends Cindy and Tiffany. After thoroughly enjoying the first 2 nights out on the town with my friends to kick off the 3-day holiday weekend, we all decided to take the 4th and keep it low key. Tiffany was gracious enough to host a few of us over provided that we all brought a multicultural dish. I was glad that I didn’t have to put much thought into it. Tiffany asked me to bring hummus and crackers, and I easily said, “Done!”

Since I didn’t get up and moving about until 1:30p (gross, I know), I didn’t really have much time to make anything. I needed a shower, to get my stomach under control because I mixed liquor and beer the night prior, and to make it to another house party beforehand with Jamesson. Fortunately, I’m a fan of always keeping a few staples on-hand for time when you’re in a pinch. I generally always have garlic, lemon, rosemary, olive oil, and a can or two of white beans in the pantry. When you blend them all together, they happen to make one of the best dips in existence. Not quite hummus, but close enough.

The spread at our potluck was quite… Interesting. We had wine from Chile, pineapple to embody Brazil, and Cindy’s signature queso dip to round out south-of-the-border representation for Mexico. For European influence, we had cheese and crackers for France alongside bread with sides of marinara and alfredo sauce for Italy. Although my white bean dip was more Italian (I did snag the recipe from Giada di Laurentiis), we decided to give a random shout-out to India.

And what for America? When I got to Tiffany’s and saw the spread, I just saw a random jar of pickles. Upon further examination, I saw some stick-on tattoos haphazardly lying next to it. “Hmmm,” I said. “Ed Hardy tats. Nothing more American than that… But I’m pretty sure that pickles come from Europe.” After a few cocktails, I decided that there was actually nothing more American than bad tattoos in even worse places. Enid got a black widow and barbed wire tattoo around her arm, a la Pamela Anderson. Cindy got one down her inner thigh. Tiffany and I got them on our boobs.

Then there was karaoke. After watching the fireworks display over Lake Eola from Tiffany’s balcony, we all thought it was a grand idea to go to Cindy and Chaz’s favorite haunt Big Daddy’s for some singing. Doesn’t get more American.

P.S. I finally did lose my karaoke virginity… The girls and I sang along to Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice Ice Baby’, which happens to be the song that I sang to keep my mind off of the pain when I broke my ankle skateboarding.