Most comic book writers are white men who would get their asses beat even now if they went to the typical high school, the fuel that sparked their fantasies. But not only that, what does it say about our culture, when we are surrounded by the awful truth of petty criminals to powerful people controlling the lives of an entire nation – the world, and are so unstoppable, unreachable that the only recourse the common man has is to retreat into a world of make believe and the fantastic, when all the while people in the everyday world embody that spirit, yet go unnoticed until they wind up dead? It says to me, that we need a new paradigm. Direct Action.

Should Barack Obama take the Whitehouse, I for one will be on a plane, train or bicycle to show my displeasure the moment he fucks up. Not because I don’t support him, but no more sitting around waiting for good people to come to their common senses. Eight years of shit being put on the kitchen table and being told it’s good for you and still nobody has the guts to pick up a plate and toss it at the head of the chef. But if you turn on your TV, your radio, go to the movies or see someone playing a video game; it’s all about the superhero with unbelievable powers saving the day. My friends, they ain’t coming. We are on our own. And we have always been.

Preparation is the key. Prepare for the worst but live your life and love freely. The big one is due any minute now here on the California coast and other parts connected. I got my water stored away, several cans of tuna, dried cereal, multi-vitamins, a cache of toilet paper and garbage bags. If I have forgotten something please let me know. By the way, what have you got and where do you live?

Nylon

TALKS: The Birds Once Filled the Skies

Wed., February 27, 7:30 pm, free

The Spanish explorers reported a deafening din from the millions of birds that would ascend into the air from the bayside. Most historic wetlands and riparian areas have been destroyed or severely altered, but San Francisco remains a birdwatcher’s bonanza. 250 species can be seen in the city throughout the year! In the Presidio’s Tennessee Hollow and Crissy Marsh we see what is severely imperiled, and what is possible for the future of ecological restoration of wildlife habitat. Josiah Clark, Matt Zlatunich

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www.chriscarlsson.com
Fall-Winter Talks 2007-08: www.counterpulse.org/fall-winter-talks.shtml
The Nowtopian (my blog): http://www.lipmagazine.org/ccarlsson/
www.shapingsf.org
www.processedworld.com
www.fullenjoymentbooks.com Friday, Feb. 29th

The Ten Commandments runs February 29 to March 22, 2008; Fridays and Saturdays @ 8pm at the Dark Room Theater, 2263 Mission Street, SF, between 18th & 19th.  Tickets are $15 at the door or at brownpapertickets.com/event/26728.  More info: darkroomsf.com/ten or 415.401.7987.

The Exploding Carton of Milk

This revenge requires the weather to corporate with you. Get a small carton of milk, just a single serving carton. If you have the keys to the object of your derision, by all means head on in and place the carton under the seat, or in a crevice somewhere that it would not be found easily. Then wait. It might take a week, or more but that carton will eventually expand and explode. The resulting conclusion will be that of sour milk on warm vinyl and industrial grade carpet. That’s a smell that keeps on giving.

The Exploding Carton of Milk inside the Car Engine and or Air-Conditioning duct. You get the idea.

For The Birds (The Feeding Frenzy)

We all know someone who cherishes their car more than life itself and will run you down, run you over or claim that going three blocks out of his way to drop you off at your door is too much wear and tear on his delicate machinery. Well this is yet another vehicular slight. There is nothing birds love more than seeds, crumpled bread and lots and lots and lots of berries all spread out on a platter, especially when that platter is the roof and hood of your enemy’s car. Imagine not only the mess of having to clean up the remainder, but also the caked in bird shit.

Missing the Bowl and Hitting the Tank

This is without a doubt, one of the more disturbing things I can imagine doing to someone. I hear that it is pretty common in rest stops in rural parts of the Mid-West and South. Instead of placing your bottom on the toilet seat bowl, you lift the lid of the tank and drop your little brown package. This is the one that bothers me the most because eventually, somebody will have to stick their hand in and clean it out, because 1,000 flushes are not enough. Now all this talk about pooping has made me ponder how we humans relate to our waste matter. Nobody likes anybody else’s shit. To all you teenagers still experiencing sweaty palms and heart palpitations of the object of your affection across the room, here is the harsh reality. If you were locked in the bathroom with them and they had to take a shit, would you still love them the same? Maybe you will, or maybe you will always think of that moment every time you think of them. No matter how in-love we get, nobody likes smelling other peoples shit. And I think it is a very necessary holdover from our ancestors. Shit and piss was, and still is used by animals to demark territory and some serious ass whooping if intruded upon. With this I propose that our Military Industrial Complex stop making self proliferating weapons of mass destruction and start spraying the boarders, north and south, east and west. Then if that doesn’t work we should turn every toilet in the country into funnel for making shit bombs, the kind that get air lifted in large brown paper bags and set on fire before they are dropped on any country, any state, any building to keep the masses in line. It is a more humane form of destruction and one that will galvanize the enemy into submission. Anybody can make bombs that blow up and tear you apart. But Imagine the Chilean air force sent a squadron north under the cover of darkness and laid some serious shat on San Francisco? Yeah, far fetched, but my friends, what would you do? What would you do? Just ask the monkeys at the zoo. They got it all figured out. Just a thought.

Speaking of WMDs, here are some pranks that can be defined as classic that almost every kid by the age of 17 should have gotten out of their system.

Classic Pranks.

The Burning paper bag of poo. Let me recommend cat shit over dog shit. You cat owners know which stinks the most don’t you?

The Flat Tire

Place a pebble inside the cap of the tire nozzle and wait a few hours for your victim to find themselves driving on a flat tire. Do this for several days, but not in a row.

Have a Piece of Chocolate.

Exchange X-Lax for candy. This one is tricky. It requires cunning and a slight of hand. Make sure your enemy sees you taking a bite of the real candy, therefore lulling any suspicion out of the equation. Better yet, to place a piece of candy in a wrapper and eat from said container. Remember; do not eat the X-lax.

Naan And Curry Dinner

Order the spinach and eat it all.

So last night I was invited to dinner party. I love dinner parties.
Anytime I can get together with friends and their friends in a
welcoming atmosphere, far away from the Bar and the booze and the
endless wasted nights in such establishments, is a triumph. And to be
honest, those days are long behind me and I only went there for the
music and to dance anyway. Now, when a gathering of friends involves
food and potentially meeting someone your colleagues think might be a
match for you, well hell, that’s icing on the cake. Expectations were
high. The eternal optimist flashed his winning smile. I didn’t think
of it at the time, but I was also wearing my jacket with the two
condoms in the sleeve pocket from New Year’s Eve. No, it didn’t even
occur to me. But there I was, anticipation was at a moderate level. I
had met this potential romantic interest twice now. Both times were
brief. She’s a looker and the right age, mid-30s.

Okay, so the night had a series of evolutionary turns, starting with
Jambalaya. Wonderful, food that fills the gullet. Then onto a game of
poker with 8 people, of whom maybe 1 and 1/2 knew the rules but
barely. This is where the collective wisdom of the group can always be
counted on to make a decision for good or bad. You decide. By the hour
of 10 and 30, it had become apparent that more people were invited to
this event than I expected, mostly the male variety and carrying a six
place (place generic beer conglomerate here) of your choice.

Now, I try not to be judgemental of people, especially when they are
friends of some people I tend to regard with respect, but at a certain
point, usually after beer number 2, fun is no longer fun but a slow decent into social hell as
those around you begin to show the effects of alcohol‘s poisoning and the
consumption of other mind altering drugs. For one thing, the
fundamental question I have to all drinkers, be they heavy or light
social sippers, is this. Why do you drink? No really. That’s it. Why
do you drink? Are you an alcoholic? If not, then why do you continue
to drink, knowing that the distilled spirits industry is as corporate
as shopping at the GAP, as corporate as buying the latest Celine Dion record; as corporate as putting
your hard earned credit card on the latest Hummer to roll of the
assembly line? Why do you think you need to drink? Who told you that you had to in order to relax around your own friends.
Without giving away all the details, let me say this was a mild
event. Even so, neighbors complained about the noise and the cops were
called to the house twice. But that’s skipping over the true nature of
my disdain for the drink.

Do you equate freedom to drink and smoke pot as your inalienable right
to chose in a democracy? Who’s democracy anyway? Some company who
employs tens of thousands and spends hundreds of millions on worldwide
advertisement surely isn’t giving you a choice. You really don’t
believe you have a choice do you? Belgian beer. German beer. American,
Canadian, Mexican. Light beer for women. Tall smooth brew. Hearty
robust taste. Great Taste, less Filling. These are all slogans thrown
together by guys and gals with vastly superior education to the ones
you and I got in public schools, catholic schools, you name it. They
have our number and they play it ever day we wake up with a jingle in
our heads, before you reach for your morning (place corporate logo here) coffee
or tea. No, these aren’t the folks we used to give wedgies to in high
school. These are the George Bushes, the Rockefeller’s, the Geddy’s
and their offspring of the world keeping us in line, buying their
products to keep them on top. Sure, they got their business degrees
but only after they dropped out of art school and the family brought
them back into the fold, game them a job where they wouldn’t be in a
position to fuck things up. Now here they come slinging catch phrases
thought up in focus groups. No one wants to think of themselves as
sheep, especially if they are hipsters, yuppies, artists, outsiders,
insiders, the cool kids, the disaffected, the brainy ones, the
slackers, the slouchers the momma’s boys and girls, rich kids,
trustafarians, the disinterested, responsible fathers, single mothers,
rich, poor, marginal, overly educated, Christian, Jews, first generation, hyphen-American, generation come
and gone, X, Y, Z and next. We all are niche markets ripe for the
plundering of useless goods and services that only see us as a rich,
untapped fertile ground waiting to be culled.

I for one am ready to make my stance against drugs, drinking,
smoking one that is not just a personal choice anymore. Not buying
into the industrial alcohol and drug complex is no longer just a
personal choice. It is time to take my message to the streets and to
the airwaves. For one, I am sick and tired of you (the user) ruining
parties, gatherings, personal relationships, families, a good time
with your vices. Shit, eat more chocolate, have some cheese, eat meat.
I am tired of your instability, your constant need to consume. I do
not want to kiss your lips after you placed it on some strangers’
bong, which looks like it has never been washed, much like the last 3
people in the room who left their saliva and skin oil all up in the
orifice of said device. I know where I have been. I don’t know where
you and your phycotic roommate have been. Did you all just have a
conversation about doing crack? Jesus, am I here alone. Oh wait, I
don’t believe in you anyway so get out of my rant. Oh, man it’s time
to go home. Oh, hello officers. I was just leaving.

Next time you put that bottle you your lips, I wish you would ask
yourself. Do I really have a choice? Did I ever? Furthermore, do you even know how they make the stuff? Aren’t you curious? Did you ever think of making it yourself? Why not?

By the way, not one hand of poker did I win. Not one hand. But the
food was good. Oh, and I still have my two condoms. The eternal
optimist will have to wait another day.

Sir Millard Mulch – “How To Sell The Whole F#@!ing Universe to Everybody…once and for all!”

A long time ago in a galaxy called the 70’s, one could throw a stick at concepts albums being released left and right. Some artists tackled big ideas and had lofty goals. Many fell flat and came off as a sad and sorry compilation from a former creative writing classes, and failed in their attempts to be literate, topical or relevant. Well, here comes Sir Millard Mulch, formerly based in San Francisco and now living in Florida with his mother. Mulch’s “How To Sell The Whole F#@!ing Universe to Everybody…once and for all!”, is nothing less than entertaining in it’s scope. It is a two CD collection of music, comedy sketches, audio from sales seminar, and semi-autobiographical lyrics. If musical comparison is needed, think Weird Al Yankovich joins Frank Zappa and his band to play some Grind Core at the Landmark Forum. The Title alone should tell you that this is a mighty exploration into the high pressure world of sales, but more so, how to sell yourself. Song titles include “I’m and Artist and I Shouldn’t Have to Work For A Living”; “The Boy With the Perfectly Square Butt Hole Strikes Back”; “How to Pretend You’re Stupid Like Everyone Else So You Can Become Gainfully Employed and Enjoy Your Limited Time on This Fucking Useless Planet In Just Five-Zillion Easy Steps!”; “Dennis Rodman Fucking Basketball 1998″; and that’s on CD 1. The Second CD opens with “What Is The Concept Behind This Huge, Unlistenable Album?”

Mulch is a curmudgeon, a social commentator, a screw up and a fantastic musician. Just look at some of the people he tricked into playing on this far reaching work, Virgil Donati (Steve Vai), Dave Mero (Spock’s Beard); Nick D’Virgilio (Tears for Fears); Nils Frykdahl (Sleepytime Gorilla Museum); and more.

These CDs contain a staggering 64 songs and or audio pieces, some of which question the reason for even making this CD. Some of the songs are similar and sounds as if they were recorded in Mulch’s bedroom with a drum machine. His delivery is flat and very reminiscent of Zappa “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” throughout the album. One might be hard pressed to listen to both CDs all the way through, if so, give yourself a few hours to recuperate. It is likely you won’t hear anything else like this for a long time.

Check out www.sirmillardmulch.com

A  long   time  ago  in  a  galaxy  called the   70′s,  one    could   throw   a   stick   at   concepts   albums  being  released   left  and  right.  Some  artists  tackled  big  ideas  and had  lofty   goals.  Many fell  flat  and   came off   as a  sad and sorry   compilation  from  a  former  creative  writing classes, and  failed    in   their   attempts  to   be  literate,   topical    or  relevant.  Well,   here   comes   Sir  Millard  Mulch,  formerly   based in  San  Francisco    and now   living  in Florida   with  his mother.  Mulch’s “How To Sell The Whole F#@!ing Universe to Everybody…once and for all!”, is nothing less than entertaining in it’s scope. It is a two CD collection of music, comedy sketches, audio from sales seminar, and semi-autobiographical  lyrics.  If   musical   comparison  is   needed,  think Weird Al  Yankovich joins  Frank  Zappa  and  his  band to   play some  Grind Core at the  Landmark  Forum. The Title alone should tell  you  that   this   is   a mighty exploration   into   the high  pressure world   of  sales,  but more so,  how to sell  yourself.  Song titles include “I’m   and  Artist  and I Shouldn’t  Have   to  Work   For   A Living”; “The    Boy  With  the Perfectly Square    Butt   Hole   Strikes   Back”;  “How  to  Pretend   You’re  Stupid   Like    Everyone   Else So    You  Can  Become  Gainfully   Employed   and  Enjoy  Your  Limited Time  on  This  Fucking  Useless  Planet  In   Just  Five-Zillion  Easy  Steps!”; “Dennis  Rodman   Fucking   Basketball 1998″; and that’s   on CD 1. The   Second  CD opens with  “What  Is  The  Concept  Behind This Huge, Unlistenable  Album?”

Mulch  is a curmudgeon,  a  social   commentator,   a screw  up  and  a fantastic  musician.  Just  look  at some of  the people  he tricked into   playing  on this  far    reaching  work, Virgil  Donati  (Steve  Vai),    Dave  Mero  (Spock’s Beard);  Nick  D’Virgilio  (Tears  for  Fears);  Nils  Frykdahl  (Sleepytime  Gorilla  Museum);  and  more.

These  CDs   contain a   staggering 64   songs  and or   audio  pieces,  some of which   question  the  reason   for  even  making  this  CD.  Some of the songs  are  similar   and  sounds  as  if they   were  recorded  in  Mulch’s  bedroom  with a drum     machine.  His delivery   is  flat  and very reminiscent   of Zappa “Don’t Eat  the  Yellow  Snow”   throughout the   album. One  might   be hard   pressed   to  listen  to  both  CDs  all   the  way   through,  if   so,   give yourself a few  hours   to recuperate. It is     likely  you  won’t hear  anything   else  like  this for  a long  time.

Check  out  www.sirmillardmulch.com

DJ Nylon’s partial Contribution to Pirate Cat Radio this Month in no particular order:

Tomihira – Big clean and slightly overdriven guitars, lots and lots of melody, laid back vocals and even more driving beats and guitars. Indicative of a certain subsection of the San Francisco, Bay Area the Indie pop scene. These are children of the 80s who listened to alternative bands from that era and are reinterpreting the music they love. Imagine if the Cure rocked hard.
Elephone – See Tomihira
Terese Taylor – She catagorizes her music as “Folk”, but don’t expect to hear strumming on an acoustic guitar and mandolins and violins all day long. This body of work is a fuzzed out rocking jaunt into the backyards and back woods that is at times dark and beautiful. Terese’s voice can be delicate enought to convey loss, longing and hurt, but never do you get the sense that it overwhelms. In fact these songs are a testiment to someone who survived.

Koozito – One of my Favorite CDs to come out in 2004. I found myself listening all the way through. This is what Album Oriented Rock was all about. Letting the artists creative a body of work that not only gave you some solid songs but also too you to places you never thought you wanted to go. Some songs are free form, almost improvised on the spot, yet other’s like Hindsight is a fused with melody and drips with sustained angst.

Black Bird Stitches – Another standout CD that came out in 2004. This is what attracts people to Heavy Metal. The “darkness” of it all. But make no mistake, this is not a Metal album. Black Bird Stitches is a one woman jaugernautt with a voice that can peel paint and can wail as much as it can whisper. Percussive, melodic, aggressive, detuned and exotic. At once the voice stands out, then the guitars, all acoustic and sometimes even service as percussion. Castanets, hand drums and other found sounds sometime act as rythmn section.

Andalusia – Shoegazing is alive and well in the Bay Area. Big, lush guitars and slow grooves that swell and swoon while a female singer wails.

Astral – Part of the Shoegazer revolution, but very reminiscent of Echo and the Bunnymen, but with just guitar bass and drums. See also Tomihira and Elephone.

J. Neo Marvin and the Content Providers – What happens when a Punk grows up, grows old and chronicles the lives of the people and the world around him? J. Neo Marvin. This is music that tells stories good and bad. Not folky at all but matter of fact. Gone are the cranked up amps, the wailing drums and wall of angst ridden youth. What is left is a lifetime of living, sometimes out living your friends, but optimism abounds.

The Harbours – More along the Indie pop side but also, see Tomihira, Elephone and Astral.
Petracovich (2 CDs) – Music for a quiet rainy day. Delicate vocals and piano with fleshed out orchestration. Each song is never too much or too little. Electronic as much as it is acoustic.

Lisa Dewey And the Lotus Life – The high priestess of the Bay Area Shoegazer movement. A cross between Everything But the Girl and Cocteau Twins, but rocking like neither of those bands ever did. See Tomihira, Elephone, Astral, The Harbours.

Marc Moreland – What happens when a Punk grows old but does not grow up? Marc Moreland has a way to go but his songs are still bitter. See J. Neo Marvin.

Bethany Curve – Could I please have more echo in my delay. As if to say, make no mistake, we are a Shoegazer band and that is that, Bethany Curve’s CD sounds like the speakers, no matter where you place them, are down the street and around the corner. Lush, indecipherable. If they were confessing to something you wouldn’t know what it was. Beautiful and lush, all the same. See, Astral, Andalusia, Lisa Dewey.

Angst Mute Envy – Part of the Shoegazer movement with one exception. They are angry and so is the music. Up front and not at all trying to be lush or beautiful. It it happens great, but don’t count on it.

Scrabbel – Indie pop at it’s best. See also The Harbours, Tomihira.

Ellis Eddy O’Farrel/Michael Mathias – Quirky and fun but unlike say Frank Zappa, accessible.

Ultralash – Acoustic, urban, electronic Blues.