Flaming Pablum

Summertime Observations

Okay, it's the tail-end of June and I'm out here in Quogue with my little brood, squatting at my Mom's place. The sun has finally decided that it's okay to come out and it's just starting to feel like Summer. As such, herewith a few suitable items.

1. Don't get me wrong -- I was, am and will forever remain a massive Van Halen fan (my favorite album of theirs is their comparatively dark and criminally under-celebrated Fair Warning), but take a look at the bumper sticker on the rear of the flaming red Mustang in the picture above (click on it to enlarge). I should point out that here in Quogue, the local police department is basically just to the right of the Gestapo in terms of tolerance. As such, is the above slogan, "I can barely see the road" (a quote from the VH `84 standard, "Panama") really the most prudent thing to be proclaiming on one's bumper? Seriously, the cops here have been known to arrest people, handcuff them to radiators and beat them to a merciless pulp (well, so I've heard) for shoddy parallel parking. I'm just sayin'.

2. I'm old. Yesterday morning, after we dropped Charlotte (age 5) off for her first day of day-camp, we suddenly realized that she wasn't equipped with the right gear for the day. As such, I was summarily dispatched to run back to my Mom's place (approximately one mile) and fetch it. That's fine, but I was wearing Teva sandals. This is where things got problematic.

I never used to consider myself a sandal guy. For most of my adult life, my footwear adhered solely (pardon the pun) to Doc Martens and Chuck Taylors. The wife, however, convinced me to give Tevas a try a couple of years back. I reluctantly bought a pair and have worn them during the summer ever since. They're fine, but know this -- under no circumstances should you ever consider running in them. And that's precisely what I was doing.

Motivated by the thought of my little girl feeling like the odd man out, I hot-footed it back to my Mom's place is record time, grabbed the stuff and hopped in the car to drive back (why we didn't drive in the first place is beyond me). I completed my mission successfully, but ever since, my back and legs have been killing me (and not just because I'm largely outta shape). Once again, Teva sandals are not made for running.

3. On Saturday evening, my step-father came over for dinner. While we were having a couple of drinks in the backyard, he leaned up and said, "Now what kind of animal is that, do you suppose?" I turned around I spied a strange looking creature skulking around by the back hedge. Somewhere size-wise between a large cat and a raccoon, but with a white head and thin, rigid white tail, this mysterious beastie eyed me dispassionately as I slowly walked toward him. In no great rush, he turned and casually made his way out the back gate, looking a bit like the animal kingdom's answer to Peter Lorre. I did a bit of research on the `net and discovered that the beast in question was almost certainly a possum. The mysterious thing here is that possums are nocturnal. What this one was doing out and about in the early evening (when it was still very light out) is puzzling. Sick? Rabid? Who knows? I stupidly told my mother about the encounter, and she is now convinced that her property is under siege by a horde of venomous mutant-possums. Haven't spotted him again since, though.

4. On Sunday morning, my friend Christina posted a Facebook status update that a large ("25 ft.!") shark had been sighted disarmingly close to the shore at our local beach. Having spent countless summers out here positively straining to see some large-toothed wildlife, I was hugely disappointed to have missed it. Evidently, he swam slowly right in the surf, making his way gradually further east before dropping out of sight. No one's quite sure what type of shark it was, but he was certainly a big one. Later in the day, Christina forwarded the below pic that a friend of hers snapped with her phone. Awesome, right?

Back in a Little Bit

What's Cookin'

My second piece for ParentDish went up yesterday. It's an interview with my buddy John, the Stay-at-Stove Dad. You can read the piece here, and check out John' s website here. Bon appetit.

Stuff You Might Have Missed

Yeah, it's certainly been one of those weeks. 

Michael Jackson versus Kiss!!

Decibel puts Michael Jackson in sharper perspective.

More on the late, great Sky Saxon of the Seeds.

Stupefaction celebrates the mighty Jim Fouratt.

GVDP visits the mothership!

BRE finds a silver lining to the recession.

Happy birthday, Lance Loud (r.i.p.).

Crimes Against Music takes on the frankly ridiculous phenomenon that is 'Crabcore.'

Rest in Peace

Because the rest of the world is too busy ripping its eyeballs out over the death of Michael Jackson, I thought I'd reserve a little space to pay tribute to the late Sky Saxon of garage rock pioneers, The Seeds who also passed away today. Pour one out.

Run Away!

Courtesy of I Have Not The Words.

What a Crock of Shirt

I'm late to the table on this, being that both Jeremiah & Bowery Boogie hit it earlier today, but being that I posted a rant about the very same thing not too long back, I figured that I too should weigh in. Evidently, John Varvatos is now selling "exclusive" Bowery t-shirts (the design being a limp approximation of the fabled John Lennon NYC t-shirt made famous by Bob Gruen's photograph) out of his vulgar haberdashery in the footprint of the former CBGB. Still strenuously vying for some desperate form of credibility and/or caché, how much is JV asking for this flimsy garment?

$98.00!!!!

If you buy one of these, you're pathetic.

Let's Skank Again

Yeah, it's another post about old bands, old t-shirts, old records, etc. Whaddya want from me?

I came across another cache of old t-shirts recently that I must have packed away a good two or three years ago for the purposes of creating space in our closets. On the top of the pile was a blinding yellow-gold Circle Jerks t-shirt in relatively pristine condition. Time was when I simply couldn't have too many Circle Jerks t-shirts. I've either since grown out of most of them or they've just ceased to function as wearable garments. In any case, I immediately donned this one, trying to remember the last time I 'd worn it. Featuring the band's scrawled, infantile logo over should-be-legendary cartoonist Shawn Kerri's signature "skank kid" design (a by-the-numbers Hermosa Beach hardcore kid in furious, limb-flailing mid-slam, resplendent in boots, spikes and shredded flannel, etc.), it's simply a classic.

Later this afternoon, as I was walking up University Place to go grab some lunch, a lady in her early 60s snapped at me, giving me quite a startle. "Circle Jerks?!?!," she barked, "that's repulsive!" As she huffed off, I marveled at the t-shirt's unlikely capacity to offend this many years after its design. Not that I would have expected this lady to know (or care) that the Circle Jerks are a storied American punk band, but in this day and age, the very name Circle Jerks seems like a remarkably tame thing to get all riled up about. I do, however, remember wearing a different Circle Jerks t-shirt (a white Wild in the Streets model) during high school and having a similar episode. I ran into the wife of Mr. Tambini, my freshman year history teacher, on the corner of 71st street & Madison avenue. We chatted amiably while her pre-teen daughter fidgeted in her catholic schoolgirl finery. Mrs. Tambini glanced at my shirt in mid-sentence, broke off from her thought and asked "Wait a minute ....what's a circle jerk?" Before I could answer, she grabbed her daughter by the hand and -- again -- huffed off down the street. Incidentally, if you're still in the dark, the name is an expression used to describe group masturbation. 

Anyway, if people still want to get humorlessly bent out of shape by the name of the band, that's fine with me (and probably the precise reaction vocalist Keith Morris had in mind when he christened the ensemble). Much like the case with Venom, I find it hard to imagine how anyone could still be offended by these guys so many decades after the fact. The `Jerks themselves stopped being anything more than an on-again/off-again going concern in recent years. Though inarguably one of the crucial names in American hardcore (right up there with Minor Threat, Dead Kennedys, Bad Brains, Black Flag et al.), their best days are invariably behind them. As I stroppily asserted back on this post in 2005, the debut album by the Circle Jerks, Group Sex is a veritable prototype. I was lucky enough to see them perform a couple of times in the mid-80s, and they were truly a mighty force to be reckoned with.

Beyond the band's music, though, my imagination was always fired by Shawn Kerri's illustrations, which appealed to both my love of punk rock and my roots as a comic book geek. Her artwork, simply put, was just sharp, kinetic and fun to look at. Along with her iconic Circle Jerks design, Shawn also designed several flyers that went onto become classic images of the genre (most notably her Germs flyer featuring the mohican skull). I'm not her only big fan either. I vividly remember seeing Murphy's Law at the Ritz (now Webster Hall) in the late 80s, and at some point during the proceedings, a hulking, shirtless skinhead bounded onto the stage. Upon his chest was a massive, painstaking tattoo-replication of Kerri's "Skank Kid." I also met this dude in Washington Square Park a number of years back, who clearly appreciated Kerri's work.

Not knowing much about the elusive Shawn Kerri, I've periodically googled her name, but nothing much ever came up. I was incredulous that she didn't have some sort of official website by this point. A more recent search turned up this authoritative blog entry, documenting as much of Shawn Kerri's trajectory as I've yet to find. I'm sad to report that all evidence seems to indicate that Kerri had a run of bad luck later in life and has since passed away, purportedly some time in the 1990s. I was also sad to read that she and the Circle Jerks nearly came to litigation over the rights of her images (before Shawn supposedly signed away the rights to Keith Morris to avoid any further bad blood). Lastly, I came across this blog entry, which documented a suitably star-struck encounter with the cartoonist, culminating in a customized portrait.

If Shawn Kerri is indeed dead, it's a tragedy that her work has not been elevated to a higher level of greater critical acclaim. But I was moved by one quote from the artist in a bio cited on that first blog entry: "I enjoy drawing cartoons simply because it's the most fun art form I know. I figure, if other people get a kick out of the stuff I'm doing, then I've succeeded."

If that was your goal, Shawn, your mission was handily accomplished. Pour one out for Shawn Kerri. May she rest in peace.

Outside The Gate

I just started doing some freelance blogging for a website called Parentdish. My first piece went up yesterday. Yay me. It's about the perils of 'gatekeeping.' What's 'gatekeeping' you ask? Well, you'll have to read it to find out. You can check it out by clickin' right here. Hooray.

Little Kids, Big City