Colored soles for colored souls

Sorry for the un-P.C. title, but most think that collecting Nikes is "a black thing." Fuck you if you think that. It's about time that everyone becomes colorblind, you racist pigdogs. Anyways, I'm digressing and I haven't even started. What I was going to say is that the Tier 0 (hyperstrike, or otherwise under 500 or so limited) air maxes and trainers that Nike is putting out are fire, and they all have one thing in common - a colored sole. Scope what's coming in the mail, kid:

Zoom Air Moire Tier 0 - you can hook these things up to your iPod to track running speeds, distance, GPS, etc. Can your shoes do that? Better yet, can your car even do that? Didn't think so, biatch. These have the speckled cement sole that was first featured on the Jordan 4 (I think) back in the 80's, and a 3M lining behind the black lining so that you get some flossed out polka dots. Scope the 3M lizard skin dunks I posted last month to see why 3M should be a part of your life and clothing repertoire.



These are the Tier 0 Air Max '95's. Snakeskin, patent leather, and a blue sole. You're mad jealous. Your soul is green.

Buy my Evisu jeans and make your holidays cool, for once

Both of these were bought at Goods, the only licensed high-end Evisu dealer in the Pacific Northwest - you won't find one until you hit SF. Nordy's sells the price-line shitty Evisus, these are the Heritage denim, their nice denim. You're looking at some 14 and 15 oz denim, meaning this shit ain't gonna rip and tear or fade and wear any time soon. The red gulls fit a bit like a levis 505, looser in the thigh and butt, with a 9'' tapered leg (so you don't drag, but it doesn't look like a V at your kicks). The white gulls are a bit looser, also with a 9'' tapered leg so you don't drag. The evisu logo is hand-stitched (you can tell when you see them). Each detail on these jeans is ACTUALLY HAND MADE, and they are selling cheaper (thanks to me) than other shitty "premium" jeans that are cool for a week and then fade *cough*sevens,truereligions,joeys,rock&republics,faggots*cough*.
Without further adieu:

Red gull: red/white selvedge, hidden rivets, raw denim, worn a handful of times, retail $270
YOURS FOR $200





White gull: White/blue selvedge, hidden rivets, loose indigo dye, worn a handful of times, retail $360
YOURS FOR $200

Don't use the public bathrooms in Seattle

The subpost should read, "AIDS Hits the Streets of Seattle," or, "It's Going to be A Red, Dead Christmas." This is just fucking disgusting:

Thanksgiving with Dad + the fam

Thanksgiving came early, the blog came late. This was a big Turkey Day for me, though. This year marks the last Thanksgiving that will ever be had in my Dad's house, as he is moving to Madison, WI to finish up the ol' degree. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, peace.





It runs in the fam:

Wine > Beer

Get some class. F*ck PBR.

Happy birthday, Kerry!

W)Taps x Vans slip-on

The new HBC shoe. W)Taps and Vans put this out a while back. I slept on it, thinking it wouldn't be too coo. I was wrong. I finally got my hands on a pair of these for less than 150 bones ($79 actually) and now I am complete. They also came in a Sk8-Hi and a Chukka boot. I WILL get my hands on them. Until then, bask in the glory that is:

Happy Birthday, Jeff!

It was Jeff's birthday, so we went on the dinner train. It was dope. We got wasted. Jeff got older. The food was bomb. Shit ch'ea!

Get Hyyyyyped!

R.I.P.O.D.B / National Philanthropy Day Fiesta

November 15th marked the day of Ol'Dirty Bastard's birth, 2 days after his death, and National Philanthropy Day - so we celebrated with an Ol' Dirty Party. 40 oz's. of malt liquor, Braden and Laura's mac & cheese, cornbread, watermelon, and all the accoutrement necessary for a good time to honor one of the best rappers of all time. Russel Tyrone Jones, nicknamed Ol' Dirty Bastard, aka Dirt McGurt, aka Big Baby Jesus, aka Osiris, aka ODB, aka Old Dirty Chinese Food Restaurant, and whatever other aliases that transpired throughout the years, was an original member of the Wu-Tang Clan (founded by brothers RZA and GZA in the late 80's / early 90's) and his voice was laced throughout every Wu song (just about) until his death in 2004, and what a philanthropist he was. Started on a cheap Chrome Hydraulics 808 drum kit, the infamous Wu-beats first began making necks break on their '93 album, "Enter the 36 Chambers," the very album that defined why ODB was ODB - as Method Man said, "There's no father to his style." Since the early '90's this album has become a staple for any hip-hopper's CD repertoire, and for a very good reason: it's one of the first GANGST-ASS albums out there! From the slums of Shaolin (Staten Island), the Wu-Tang Clan brought it raw to countless people worldwide, proving that there were grimey ass folks in NY, and setting the stage for all gangster rap to come, and I believe that none of this could have been done without their very own chrome vampire-teeth'd rapper, ODB. Celebrate this day from now on, ya dig?

The new logo, take it and die!!!

Rocky Horror Picture Show - Live at the Admiral in West Seattle

Now I'm not here to lie to you and preach falsehoods, but the Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Admiral was a fucking adventure, to say the least. The trip into Transexual Transylvania was more like a trek filled with half-naked individuals, lewd comments, and lots of ass-grabbing (mostly me grabbing Grant's ass). As a heterosexual male to the core, I was a bit blasted by a tidal wave of homosexuality as I sat in my vintage 1970's movie seat, but I got over it after I witnessed a man deepthroat a whole banana - shit was funny! "Whatever," I told myself, "this is going to be rad!" And rad it was. Grant and I had a hell of a time eventhough we stood out like the Amish at Woodstock. Monthly patrons wait outside this theater for hours, dressed in drag, high, drunk, and ready to get vile, and that's just the start of it. Between the audience participation, the hilarious call-backs, and the dry sex (oh yes, there's lots of dry sex), the RHPS at the Admiral was by far one of the highlights of my Fall Quarter and here's why:

I met a "real" Jewish circumsizer, he even had the tools (he looked like Screech dressed up as himself in a bad costume):



The charm of the Admiral as one of the better vintage theaters:



Some monthly patrons, Bjork and a half-naked ICP head:



This dude was too hyped to function:



We look like the parents from Footloose:



They offer the RHPS kit for $3 cash before the show. It comes with rice, newspaper, toast, and everything else you need to make the experience memorable:



I met Quailman. He won the costume contest before the show, rock on:



My future ex-wife:



The man with magenta hair knew Grant and he got us in before everyone else (thanks for the hookup, by the way):



I look like an Arab in Texas. They called all of us "virgins" who hadn't seen RHPS performed live up on stage, and left us in blissful ignorance of the vile acts of debauchery that were about to ensue:



WAVE OF DEBAUCH 1: The "taking of the cherry":



WAVE OF DEBAUCH 2: The banana deepthroat. This dude put the whole fucking thing in his throat and closed his mouth. Grant and I could just scream, that was all, no talking, no laughing, just screaming. Screaming for the sake of screaming, screaming in horror, screaming in laughter, screaming in repulsion, and screaming in exaltation because I got to sit down before wave 2 hit like a ton of bricks, err, bananas:



It was raining in the theater:



I'm going to leave the rest up to you to discover, as I've given away too much info already. I'll leave you with this, the calling card of those who put on this production:



The first Saturday of every month; I'll see you there for the Science Fiction Double Feature.

Home cooked meals and J.J. Mahoney's Irish Pub

I was missing this summer's Ireland experience hardcore, so I asked the Mums and her man-friend, Jeff, if they'd mind getting together for a good old-fashioned home cooked meal for our Sunday get-together. They obliged with a recipe in mind: Jeff's famous Lemon-Herb Whole Chicken with Herb-potatoes and carrots. I was hyped. Having a home cooked meal reminded me of how much I missed being together as a family, and how much fun it is to have a real conversation over a self-prepared meal. With only few hours to prepare, Jeff and Mums got to work in the kitchen while I wrote about Aristotle and the virtue of Mildness. Eager to empty my mind and fill my stomach, I waited while the two made magic happen in the kitchen.

Watching these two go to work was incredible. They didn't get in a single fight the whole time, which is pretty hard to do in any kitchen setting with multiple people fumbling all over eachother:



Jeff's famous Lemon-Herb Chicken:



With a full stomach and a burning desire for celtic music, I headed out with Kerry to J.J. Mahoney's Irish pub located right by Bella Bottega. The fiddles could be heard fifty yards away, I was hyped again:



Stocked bar (this is only half):



One of four HD plasma screen TV's placed throughout the bar and restaurant, and the other half of the bar:



The X-Box 360, FREE TO USE BY THE WAY, with wireless controllers (I think that's the new X-Box standard):



Going to J.J's after the home cooked meal was the icing on the cake for me. I went home afterwards, blasting Flogging Molly and the Dropkick Murphys and thinking about my drunken misadventures in Dublin and Galway with my boy Dolsie. If you want a glimpse into a culture that is on the other side of the Atlantic pond, definitely hit up J.J's soon. Although the bar caters to the higher-end crowd, it definitely exudes the aura of a nicer location on Grafton St., Dublin. Stocked with a full bar, a DOPE menu (with things like a sauteed tofu pita and beer'd up mozzarella sticks) , all the Guinness you can stomach, good company, a REAL dartboard (none of that plastic shit), and an X-Box 360, J.J's is a spot that you should take your best mates to after the rugby game or football (soccer) match to get together and share some real time together. That's the lesson for today, kids: time. Spend it well. You only have so much of it in your life until the well runs dry. Spend a little bit of it at J.J's. Cheers.

Dia de los Muertos - Mexico comes to Seattle for the night

We all know that the day after Halloween is one of the biggest hangover days ever, but it is also the day of a Mexican fiesta: the Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos). This year, Mexico came to Seattle with a force. Marching over to the BLT function, all I could think of was, "Badges, we don't need no steenking badges," and the random events that were about to transpire. Thank you BLT, and thank you Mel Brooks, for making this years Day of the Dead memorable. Without further adieu:

Grant, T, Carol, and I saw "Native Son" down in Seattle Center. It was pretty good, but we were too hyped for the fiesta about to come:



The man, the myth, the legend:



The decor of the dead:



Dead chocolates:



Homemade peanut brittle, salsas, and a dead beer:



Dorothy even showed up, dead:



Beavis and Butthead are dead:



Tadie, the vibrating dog (he had some ill batwings on):



Meow:



Me and Bridge keepin' it tight:



Kat is almost dead for the night:



Got so fucked up we were kissin' dogs and shit. Braden and man's best friend:



T'was the Nightmare Before Christmas:



Braden and his damn Monster Mash:



Time to split:



As you can tell, it was a celebration bitch! BLT kept it real, and grant and I supplied the booze - that's the drill, Phil. If you don't, you should celebrate this fantastic holiday merely because I told you to. It's a great reason to get the gang together and party like Eric Estrada, and hell, what's a Wednesday night without a little liquid-help over that hellish hump of the week? Hopefully the Dia de los Muertos party will fall on a Tuesday night next year, it'll be interesting to see how we justify getting fucked off our tits on the most uneventful day of the week. Adios amigo!