For Those About to Rock...

My evening was soaked in testosterone. First off, I went to see the movie 'The Goods: Live Hard, Sell Hard'. I'm not really a Jeremy Piven fan, but I can respect how he's elevated his douchebaggery into an artform. It takes a certain level of charm to turn sleaziness into an endearing character trait. This "charm" would be sorely missed during the second part of my evening however.  

Upon leaving the theatre, my friend and I decided to sneak into the AC/DC concert. As we made our way across Maroons Road, "Back In Black" providing the soundtrack to our extemporaneous decision, we noticed dozens of other people with similar thought in mind, each scouring for unmanned openings into the fortification and climbing various safe and (mostly) unsafe pillars, trees and other chassis in order to gain a better vantage point to watch Angus Young and crew. Instead of risking detainment or an overnight cell with an obese drunkard named Bubbles, we decided to perch ourselves against the southeast stadium wall and enjoy the unfettered view of the jumbotron at the side of the stage. A free show is always good. Doubly-so when you realize the person 10 feet away paid over a hundred bucks for it. 

I rocked out to all of my favorite tracks (was surprised Thunderstruck wasn't in the encore) and then came to realize that sometimes free comes with a price. An inebriated individual came over and stood directly in my line of sight. I shook my head and uttered some un-niceties to my friend that are better left unwritten. The man then turned around and muttered something to me. I assumed he was trying to sell me some illicit substance or other and shook my head even more aggressively. But then - oh, sweet Jesus! - then my friend pulled me away and I realized what exactly was going on. Inebriated man was urinating all over the place. On the wall. On the jeans of a fellow concertgoer. On someone's purse. A pouring rain, he took no prisoners. He spared no lives.

And I am now forever traumatized. 

Time for me to hit the sack. 

Vintage Advertisements

Waterbed advertisement copywritten by someone with issues:
(Rolling Stone issue 82, May 1971) 

"Bummers®":
(Rolling Stone issue 84, June 1971) 

Advertisement for recording label 'Good Records':
(Rolling Stone issue 84, June 1971) 


Vintage Advertisements

Himalaya brand "hairy" poncho:
(Rolling Stone issue 66, September 1970)

The Moody Blues 'Question of Balance' album release:
(Rolling Stone issue 66, September 1970)

Marijuana Plant Sale - 20" plant $1.50; 60" plant $22.00:
(Rolling Stone issue 66, September 1970)

 

The Magic Bullet

I only recently subscribed to the full cable television package through Shaw. Before this, my life was a miasma of bad reality programming and even more horrid 'Friends' reruns (I can't be the only one who dry heaves at the sight of David Schwimmer). Now I can't get enough OLN. Not only because it offers me a daily 'Amazing Race' fix, but because it is THE station for bad awesome infomercials! I guess physically active individuals in the 18-34 age bracket are the primary demographic for such innovative, time-saving devices like Slap Chop, Bumpits and this - the only product ever endorsed by swingers - the Magic Bullet.  

It begins not-so-innocently enough at a breakfast bar in a McMansion, which is curiously stocked like an all-you-can-eat buffet. "Berman", a used car salesman/alcoholic junkie, is one of the first overacted characters to arrive. He is offered a fruit smoothie to ail his woes, the previous night clearly having taken a toll on him. I suspect an anal probe was involved somehow, possibly as part of a Freemason ritual gone awry. As he chugs his pint of strawberry-banana deliciousness, more people enter the scene. The "bar" is filling with middle-aged spread faster than the Palomino club on a Friday night. Drinks are passed around. Omelettes served. The morning after is clearly time for post-coital celebration and product demonstration. 

They use this "Magic Bullet" to make a morning feast including freshly-ground coffee, muffins...did somebody say muffins? Holy shit! Who is THAT?! A muu-muu wearing, chain-smoking hag has entered the kitchen. It is never stated whether "Hazel" (said hag) is with Berman or was perhaps invited to the orgy in a blind date scenario with him in mind, but clearly they are OTP. Even though they are sitting on opposite ends of the room, I feel the unbridled passion - and shared lice infestation - between them. 

Now I don't know how to cook, but after watching this infomercial I have learned two things:

  • the Magic Bullet can do any job in the kitchen in 10 seconds or less, including stuffing a turkey and boiling an egg
  • every meal starts with chopped garlic

It appears you don't even have to wash this thing. For three easy payments of $33.33, I'm sold! You even get a second set free...I'd give it away, but I want the party to be at my house. Just bring your own strawberries...and bananas. 

 

Vintage Advertisements

The Guess Who 'American Woman' single release:
(Rolling Stone issue 54, March 1970) 

Pacific Gas & Electric 'Are You Ready?' album release:
(Rolling Stone issue 60, June 1970) 

I have to say, I've never associated America with poverty but to be fair, Bob Geldof wasn't around to enlighten these guys at the time.
 

Mendocino County, California land at $450-$800 per acre
Peace watches for $14.00 (available today at Dollarama)
Radio airtime for aspiring DJs at $20.00/hr ($10.00/hr after midnight):
(Rollling Stone issue 65, September 1970) 

Electric Avenue

While flipping through television channels the other day, I came across this video on Much More Music. I had forgotten how epic this track was/is. It sounds as fresh today as it did in 1983. This song needs to be revived: 

 

Vintage Advertisements

The 60s were a blur. I've just completed perusing old issues of Rolling Stone magazine from the decade on my Cover to Cover DVD archive. It's been quite fascinating to read through history as it happened; I can't help but imagine what it would have been like to come of age during such a magical era. Although I must say, as someone who doesn't partake in any illegal substances (heck, I don't even drink alcohol), I am slightly scandalized by the bi-weekly inclusion of a feature devoted solely to the positive aspects of drugs. Eat it, lick it, snort it, f*** it...can you imagine if the magazine did that today? It would inadvertently become a campaign for D.A.R.E.. No matter how hard you try, you can't Photoshop the ugly off a methhead. 

But now...onto some vintage advertisements. 

Telex 8-Track Recorder:
(Rolling Stone issue 47, November 1969) 

Globe Propaganda (coalition of album cover artistes):
(Rolling Stone issue 48, November 1969) 

Eric Andersen s/t album release:
(Rolling Stone issue 49, December 1969)

I plead ignorance in knowing who Eric Andersen is, but had to include this vintage advertisement for the cringe-worthy copy alone: "Anyone who looks as good as this, shouldn't sound as good as this." 

 

Migrate

I've always been a person with a plan. A strategy. A blueprint for matters of the heart, mind and soul. So it's unsettling where I now find myself, fighting the ebb and flow of physics and economics in my 29th year, questioning my beliefs, my future, my taste in music and men...unsettling, but also highly intriguing, for I am at a crossroads in the game of life and my choices now will forever inspire/haunt the person I am and the person I am set to become. The last time I felt this sense of urgency for change, good things happened. I feel the stars have aligned and are telling me "it's now or never". So I ask: should I remain in my hometown or move to the place where I actually feel at home? It's a superficial crises that rears its head every few years or so...the dream of relocating to the coast.

Winnipeg will forever remain in my bones. I enjoy it here but the predictability of everyday life has, in a sense, caused me to be complacent on certain things. I can't help but notice how rejuvenated creatively and spiritually I feel after returning from a trip...the excitement of new sights, sounds and tastes. Living in Winnipeg is somewhat like living the reality version of the movie 'Groundhog Day'. You can leave for a day, you can leave for a decade, and upon return will be met with the same ol', same old: sensationalized media reports of being the hard crime capital of Canada, tree building huggers protesting the demolition of every decrepit abandoned structure within the perimeter, and the faint hope that the Jets may return. Maybe. Possibly. Or not. In a way, we live in the past. My areas of choice, British Columbia or Nova Scotia, would provide, if nothing more, a change of scenery; and if nothing less, a much appreciated change of perspective.

That's not to say their magic will never fade either. I'm sure the coffee shops in Vancouver are filled with repetitive discussion concerning the rising cost of living and the drug problems plaguing the city. At the other end of the spectrum in Nova Scotia, the lack of employment opportunity cannot be ignored. But I'm evolving into a nomad. I crave change. I don't have a plan, as yet. And I don't plan on making one anytime soon. The wind will carry me home. Where I should be. Where I need to be. Wherever that is.