iNtErLuDe: (----) in America — Semiotics of the Eastern Seaboard

(----) in Russia Vol.24--Special Edition: Deep Zeke, Part the Second

Whew. That was a long time between posts. Where were we? Oh, yes...the Russian balalaika solo.



And a Russian magician fail.




Inside this official-looking building at a park called VDNKh, which itself is kinda like a cross between the N.C. State Fair and, um, Russia, was a "Cat Expo."


Which consisted of a bunch of cats in soft cages hanging out while people petted them.


A screenshot from "The Howling 7: Kittens of Doom."


A monument to the Russian cosmonaut at VDNKh, as seen from below. While we were checking this out, a mysterious man in a suit with a video camera asked me to film him walking up to this slowly, pondering its greatness, then walking out of the frame (exit stage left). Luckily, only one take was needed for posterity.


The base of the monument, which features a rendering of Laika, the first dog in space.


If Metallica was pissed about Napster, I wonder what they would think of Hetfield's likeness being used to hawk musical instruments in front of a sign for yet another cat expo.


Cougin', Moscow-style.


Exasperated Girl Walks By Exasperated Child Clinging to Exasperated Dad Beach.


It happens.


A touching portrait of young love; you know it's love when she's willing to sculpt your mohawk in public.


Healthy living message fail.


And now, Ghostface Killah's Moscow performance. There were a shit-ton of Russian rappers that went on in pairs for a song or two each before Ghost hit the stage. This dude with his fist up brought the B-Real to the event.




Ghost.




He brought a group of Russian rappers up onstage to freestyle at one point during his set and encouraged the crowd to diss the ones they didn't like. (ed: video shot by someone else.)


Here's one for all those involved in that "Birth of Hip Hop" email string that has been going on for weeks.


"C.R.E.A.M. get the money."

Pre-blog Archive: Suggested Album Titles

Cleaning out my closet, I found a bunch of junk. Among the junk, was this list of album titles David suggested Sorry About Dresden use for our second album.

• Women, wine + regret
• The three amigoes
• Fancy rich people music
• Plethora of pinatas
• Swab me, i'm pink
• Argyle socks alone in the wind
• Trees full of felt shade my way
• Ugly People Makin' dollas (UPMD)
• hungry nights in the hungover months
• Horny!
• Beef, Beef, the dog named Beef!
• My Calves are Bare (The James Story) Lifetime Exclusive
• The parade of jerks through my bed.
• Unpronouncable last Names
• A woman named blister
• Hold Me, I'm Avante-garde
• Chide me!
  

This is really happening somewhere.

(----) in Russia Vol.23--Special Edition: Deep Zeke, Part the First

You know you're in Russia when shoes end up forlorn and unclaimed on someone's gate.


Zeke Graves kickin' it up in the lab, aka my windowsill.


Ok, so you guys have seen the sneak preview, presumably (if not, it's a few posts down). Context beach: Outside of the Novokuznetskaya metro station was this band called Akuly ("Sharks") that plays every weekend. They attract a large crowd of onlookers -- bums, drunks, policemen snapping photos with their cameraphones, distinguished gentlemen, teenagers, foreigners, etc. This dude, who our party dubbed "Splitso" for his ability to do splits upon command, was incredibly inebriated. He fell on his face at least twice while we were there, to the point that his face was bruised and bleeding, but he refused to let that stop him from splitting. Or stumbling. (P.S. to RB....there was a dog running around, too.)


Akuly in action.


There was also my man here, who apparently just got off the set of David Lynch's new movie. He had some extremely distinguished moves but unfortunately was super-creepy. When the one woman who would dance with him took a break, he wandered around the crowd attempting to solicit dances from any woman he saw. He sent a couple of 15-year-old girls screaming into the night after attempting to beckon them on the "dance floor."


"Oh! A female! No matter that she's already with some dude...I'll mosey my way in there somehow, Dracula-style."


These people were, amazingly, not drunk. Akuly's oeuvre of classic rock covers had moved them enough to get down.


Splitso and Dracula. Drac, being the distinguished gentleman that he is, noticed Splitso's injuries and suggested they leave together. Which they did. One can only imagine the strange uber-paternal bond they formed later.


Zeke and our friend Yegor debate the "sleeveless vs. sleeved" issue while our roommate abstains from the heated argument.

AND NOW....DEEP ZEKE TRAVELS TO ST. PETERSBURG:


This ad is for flooring. But it asks you to imagine your floor as the intro to a James Bond film, all busty and willing to unzip itself. In Russia, floor seduces you.


Nothing out of the ordinary here. Other than Dmitry Bedderhead looking for a handout.


.....


"Dudes roll."


Statue by a canal in Petersburg.


Zeke by a canal in Petersburg.


So we ended up at this bar called Fidel, where on a Monday night the place was fucking jam-packed, and the DJ was this really big dude with a ponytail who started the crowd off with the usual American Top 40 hits of the past few years: Britney, Rhianna, etc.


Then my man got really animated.


He started spinning Russian hip-hop, and the place went kinda nuts. Which was crazy, because the floor in this place was so warped that you would literally trip on it if you attempted to dance.


Asserting his superiority.


This is an ad for ice-skating bears.


This is the former throne of Peter the Great. I did jowl in front of it, but it was on Zeke's camera and it has not yet reached my grasp. Perhaps this is for the better, but I think not.


Obedience fail.


Truth in advertising.


What? The packaging had me at hello.

There's so much more, but not enough time (or patience on your part, I would imagine) to deal with it all in one post. Next time:
--Ghostface Killah
--Russian cougars
--Balalaika solos

Until then...

Let's Talk Kanye

So Kanye wrote a book. And he claims that he hates books. This quote right here from a recent interview kinda sums it up:

"Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed," West said. "I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph.
"I am a proud non-reader of books. I like to get information from doing stuff like actually talking to people and living real life," he said.

Me too, Kanye. Me too. Well, wait, not the "proud non-reader" part (as if to non-read is an active verb -- "Hey, did you non-read that book I loaned you?"). And I definitely don't want a book's autograph either. But I am increasingly subscribing to this guy's philosophy on Kanye.


I mean, even Pepper Keenan (above), formerly of Corrosion of Conformity, called Kanye retarded. Although, why he feels the need to weigh in across genres is a little puzzling. And also, shit, the bass player from C.O.C. was one of the most retarded individuals I ever encountered working at a rock club. I overheard him telling his girlfriend that the speakers of his bass amp were "where the sound comes from." And not in a condescending or confident tone; it was more of the tone of a child who is amazed at all the pretty colors coming from the TV. So I would consider Pepper an authority.

Discuss! Also, BACKGROUND WIN.