Sunday, June 26, 2011

Phantom Summer.

On Saturday, June 11, I found myself in the middle of a proud parent's wet dream: clad in a black gown, a mortar board, and two handfuls of my own sweat, I made a ceremonious march to the sound of my name bastardized by a confident announcer. The gold ropes around my neck sashayed to and fro, flaunting the fact that I graduated from the journalism school with cum laude honors. I couldn't see shit among the crowd of family members. A small collection of giddy mothers brought flashing light sticks (I kid you not) and pep rally signs to ensure that their son or daughter could see them stand out from a sea of every other family relative who looks just like them. Somewhere within this puzzling madness, I'm sure my mother shed a tear and my post-high school graduate brother sulked in ambivalence and neglect, because that day I stole the spotlight.

via Tumblr. Stuck at home, plowing through schoolwork and GQ's coverage of men's fashion week. 2 a.m. and 5 hours on the computer = eye baggage.

Post-college life: today I am one week in my summer classes - four more weeks to go. Two English classes stand before me, waggling their fingers at my plead for absolute freedom and a chance to do a full dive into the real world. For a week I was euphoric; now I'm having major blue balls.

Mid-August is my official au revoir to Ohio. Until then:

_ Survive the summer courses with what's left of me caring.
_ Survive the next month and a half living with the 'rents.
_ Stop frequenting the social networking sites to alleviate my jealousy of friends' fabulous lives.
_ Make as much $ as possible. (Hard to find a one-month stint)
_ Create, create, create (and make $ off the creations). On that note, all items at the link are for sale unless otherwise noted. Please help me survive my first few months in NYC!
_ Yard sale. Empty out my room.
_ Spend a frugal birthday week in Chicago.
_ Make as much $ as possible; spend as little as possible (VERY TOUGH)

Survive. Work hard. Bank. Daydream. Survive. Work hard. Bank. Daydream.

Mortar board photo, Paolo Balboa

Friday, June 24, 2011

I want to be your shirt.

Some recent shirt surgeries. I've been rummaging through my parents' closets for tops I could alter and transform into my new favorite shirts. The best items in your closet are the ones that make you look good no matter the pairing, and that's certainly the first top pictured above.

I'm open to alter and transform your old clothes from bland to grand. If this pricks your interest, feel free to e-mail me with photos of some clothes you have in mind and I'll respond with rates and sketched ideas. You will be contributing to my ultimate summer's saving mission. Help me afford my move to NYC.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Sew Awesome.

Shameless cross-promotion. After 1 p.m. today I'll be done with my senior year in college. So I will FINALLY have time to resume with my accessories line: made for badasses by a badass. I think. Please check the site for updates by clicking the link below. A new post will be on it soon, I swear.
Austy Ana

Monday, June 6, 2011


My second visit to The White House in Columbus to check out yet another hardcore show. Summer's finally came out of its shell and spared us absolutely no mercy from perhaps one of the most sweltering basement shows I've experienced. If it was 94 outside, it was 100 degrees in the basement - and I'm sure that body heat wasn't taken into account. I spent the early hours of that day swimming next to a small flock of furry alpacas at a friend's farm. If only I could have pocketed and later enjoy that cool bliss at the show. Unfortunately God forgot to formulate that possibility when he created man.

Everyone literally warmed up outside drinking various tall cans of hard lemonade (and critiquing tastes of each one) before the bill finally revved into motion with Youth Attack/Columbus's own Vile Gash. Consider this set a warm-up for their West Coast tour (currently active) with Columbus cohort Nukkehammer. With the exception of some Pittsburgh visitors and Dayton-residing James Downing, a frequent of almost every Columbus punk show I've attended over the years, everyone planted feet and chilled with a few head lashes to the band's reverberating ripper of a set list. They apparently played some new tracks from their upcoming LP, including "Deluded." Joyously chaotic with a tighter grip on their brutality blasts - an improvement since I last saw them a while back. (Note: a long ass time due to my NYC-Ohio commutes and school.) Vile Gash ended their short set with a Crucifix cover (correct me if I'm wrong), and then everyone retreated upstairs to catch a hint of cool breeze.

There was a bit of a lag in time before the show moved on - mostly because School Jerks and Culo were nowhere to be found. Because of this, Omegas, the Canadian headliner of the night, ended up playing second to keep things going. I found this unfortunate because the reception of their set wasn't as crazy as it could have potentially been if they instead got the last slot. Regardless, Omegas was making the hardcore slams rain with the lights off. In this situation I wish I wasn't so petite and frail, because I wanted to stomp across the floor with the big guys so badly. (Realistically, I rickashay off anyone who crosses my path.) So imagine how bummed I was when "Disgusting Fun" (side note: intro echoes "Straight Edge Revenge" to me) kicked in. Took a picture of the vocalist in his bucket hat and trench coat get-up, but post-development I realized my thumb got in the way. He was quick to point out that unlike the noticeably absents, they "arrived on time."

Culo: I've heard a lot about this band before this set. Heard about the infamous flag burning at My Friends, The Pit fest and an apparent group beat-up of a troublemaker in the crowd during their MFTP set. Personally, I just wanted to see all this myself because a) I really, really like the "Toxic Vision" EP and find it to be a very fun listen, and b) I always take all stories with a grain of salt. When given the platform, everyone has a tendency to build up even the smallest of conflicts. So boom, Culo happened. Literally, the set lasted 6 minutes. I was amused by the slight uneasiness I sensed from the crowd, especially during the band's banters on being a Chicago hardcore band and beating the woes of bronchitis in the name of hardcore to play hardcore. You couldn't escape harm when crowd drives were encouraged by both the band and some ecstatic moshers. But hey, it was about time I saw some aggressive monkeying in the tiny basement.

School Jerks closed the show that night, and the time transition to them was equivalent to my walk all the way to a United Dairy Farm and back for a needed tall can of Arizona Ice Tea. (Too miserably hot to slam beers.) Had I not done so, I would have dry heaved vomit into the upstairs toilet, because dehydration became the end product of the hot, crowded basement. I took a birdbath against the bathroom sink and returned to the basement, immediately covered in a second coating of sweat and dust. Eerily quiet, the only sound breaking the silence was School Jerk's frontman chugging a 40 of cold, Natty Ice. As Canadian band #2, School Jerks was snooty and punk as fuck. The unbearable heatwave at this point might have contributed to the chaos. 80% of their set involved the vocalist stumbling about, nose and mouth plastered in his own production of thick, gooey snot (eventually mixed with blood), and a chuckling grin I seriously cannot get out of my mind every time I think about this set. The crowd got real agro at this point. I remember seeing the back of the crowd demolished like a set of bowling pins. I was kind of bummed that the ultra snootiness of the vocals didn't transfer well live (listen to their stuff and you'll know exactly what I mean), but that may have something to do with the constantly cut-off mic and the vocalist's state of sobriety. That entire set was an adrenaline rush: you had to hold on to your dear self if you really didn't want to get hurt, and you had to play dodge-the-snot every time the vocalist whipped his head sideways. I walked away with a purple right boob and snot dangling off my hair.

Overall great show. Wish the dog was around when I needed the snot licked off of me.

Life in One Hour.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Bastards of Young

Conor and I have been friends since I was a freshman in college. In a nutshell, he's a charming, 23-year-old photographer who dresses sharp, works hard, and never turns down a crazy night out. He's certainly one of the most ubiquitous personalities on campus, and his works are equally so - but for all the right reasons.

His works have appeared on just about every visually driven publication on campus, and just last summer he completed a photo internship with Urban Outfitters in Philadelphia. Off-duty, however, he still keeps his imaginative eye and his collection of cameras busy. Conor's latest project is a book that contains a compilation of photos documenting what I believe he captures best (among other things): the wanderlust-minded, fashionable youth in their natural environment.

Titled "Bastards of Young," the book is available for preview at this website. If you fancy his works, you can own a tangible, visually compelling 8.25" x 10.75" copy for only $15. According to the website, it's a 46-page, perfect-bound book "inspired by The Replacements and American dirt." Oh, and I'm in three of the photos. (Shameless plug, don't care.) The collection of photos above are b-rolls taken from his blog.

You can check out Conor's photo page here and his Tumblr (which also contains music, film, and the occasional lols).

Photo credit, Conor Lamb.