The Land Before Time

Every girl that cared about in high school is in this picture. Every girl that I was into and was friends with... This was the Welcome to St. Pius X luau dance the first week of our freshman year, and it was probably the last time they were all together until graduation.

And yeah, it's like that...

On an aside, Stars Are Blind by Paris is mas o menos Tide Is High (closest to the Atomic Kitten cover!). RIP Danny.

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OMG, Like soooo Jealous!

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Negro Sunshine

I wish i could write paragraphs about the love and the hate i feel for YouTube... but I would sound way too much like Dave. Look for kate and for french cinema. Anything sixteen-year-old girls do is amazing (in life and on this silly lil website), so check out their remixes of pride & prejudice and lipsyncs to the cardigans and lisa loeb.

If you're a middle class homo and you're browsing the Furio collection at Target like you're on Robertson (checking for, ummm, stability), holding your cocker spaniel as if it were a tea cup poodle it's either time to find yourself a sugar daddy or let that AZT prescription lapse, 'cos honey, the race is over, the rats have won! An aside, maybe chez Target twenty-somethings aren't as fly as the kitson crowd, but their jammies are bangin! They make you wanna sit up and beg for butter!

I love los angeles. A lot. But every time I hear 90lb leotard-jeans-wearing emo shithead talk about the scene i want to snap his fucking neck like a twig and make his meth-face jewish brentwood bitch carry his teeth home in her faux chloé purse! To say that every kid in los angeles is going through an identity crisis is more than an understatement. I lived in echo park for a minute in 2001, before the art kids completely gentrified / williamsburgled the place... now it's like Watt Hall, north. I don't know what these kids' problem is, but I think it has something to do with wanting the cocaine of the 80s but the sloppy fashion of 90s (like some Theta somewhere ate her entire closet of junior high chic, from Fresh prince kicks and graphic tees to grunge to candy flipping raverfag gear before purging a pair of too-tight chords, pit-stained tees, and some iteration of the fedora onto these fuckers!), and the sexlessness of 1950s television. The girls all look like rejects from the VICE Don'ts page, pale, thin, blemished skin from laying in bed every day until 9pm, watching shitty tv that wasn't good the first time around, but now is like, soooo ironic!, on a steady diet of cyrstal and parliments because their west-l.a. or waspy parents have either written them off as an incidental or are so diluted, thinking their precious moments will someday make something of their lives because, after all they are living the scene. A few days ago a girl told me her mother set her up with someone via eharmony and asked me how she looked - she said the magic words - "be honest." So I told her, she honestly looked like an extra from Danced with Wolves. Just because your fuggo friends tell you it's okay to wear your greasy matted-down, blackened Uggs that smell like an oyster's cunt over your unshaved, blanco thunder-cankles and your stretched-out, frumpy, bunching Juicy pseudo-sweats and a petticoat doesn't mean the lawyer/doctor/turkish prince who's trying to shred your asshole is gonna appreciate trying to figure out of he needs to be treated for lice or for crabs!

But any way... these kids. going to an Echo Park art kid / hipster party is like going to a high-school valley party, but more dsperate! Everyone is doing their version of puffing out their chest, and playing some sort of too-cool-for-school but they're all scared shitless because they have no idea what they're doign with their lives. Having an impromptu thermin jam-sesh, talking about how they knew The Mae-Shi before they were big (didn't you know! you're not big until Animal Collective asks you to collab, and you're not indie 'til you turn down that offer from DIM MAK!). Like medieval aristocracy, it's an incestuous bunch of worthless kids, no one does anything and everyone looks the same as they desperately try to fit in while sticking out just enough to justify not hailing a ride from that that rusty hand-me-down volvo in the sky... I stood at one of these parties recently and asked my friend, "who are these people?! What do they do with their lives?" He snapped back quickly, "Quiznos, Dominos, Trader joes..." But at this show, in the court of ironic existence, they are the barristers. They are the twenty something [usually] male equivalents of teenage girls who cut... and the dudes look more like chicks than the fucking chicks. Ewww. Okay, I'm done.

Rockstar of the week award goes to Amy! The TSA pigs pulled her over because she had a lil bit of residue of explosives from the Pirates show at Treasure Island got on her shoes and in her purse and she was able to keep cool as a creamsicle as they searched and questioned her, despite the magic unicorn dust she had pressed into her tits! No shit, that takes skills! xoxo! Moral of the story - Saving your stash is for Chipmunks and Squirrels! and / or Pirates and powders do not mix! Now get your ass back there Walter and get me a drink!

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Licentious Lisps & Salacious... ya know.

Happy birthday kiki you fucker! loves ya! xox

• To all the elitist queens who parade around with ego and pretension: Your number is coming up.
  
  
• Crotch trimming = effeminate? I trim because it’s comfortable.
  
  
• Just because I’m living with a successful wealthy older woman doesn’t mean I’m a gold-digger! So, next time you see us at the grocery store, don’t ask if she’s buying me organic baby formula!
  
  
• Reality Check! How can you sit in the chatroom telling me how I am wasting my life in a bar? At least I actually get out of my house and risk rejection in the real world. Unplug your computer and hold a real conversation, face to face, some day.
  
  
• Yes I have heard the word “professional.” Prostitutes are professionals, too, so it’s not about education or skills, it’s about how much you are compensated when you get fucked!
  
  
• Restroom tip #29: Ladies, before returning to the bar area, make sure your lipstick isn’t smudged and you've wiped the blow from your nose.
  
  
• How come when a woman is interested in me, she gives me her phone number? This is stupid. If she wants to ask me out or have sex, she needs to ask for my number and then give me a call. I’m not going to do her pursuing for her.
  
  
• I love seeing immaculate hiking boots on people. They’d have more character — and so would you — if they were actually used on a mountain trail now and then.
  
  
• People who use looks to judge their superiority often end up paying for a lot of plastic surgery to keep their illusion of superiority.
  
  
• Reality check of the day: There are older women who are assholes and there are younger women who are assholes. Stop limiting yourself to appearances and types. You are the only one who loses.
  

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Fake Plastic Palm Trees

postscript: Still the king of the one-hand wraparound self-portrait!

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Sofa Rocker Deluxe

These are my Adicolors. There are many like them but these ones are mine. My Adicolors are my best friend. They are my life. I must master them as I must master my life. Without me, my Adicolors are useless. Without my Adicolors I am useless. I must floss my Adicolors true. I must kick higher than my enemy, who is trying to kill me. I must jook him before he jooks me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: my Adicolors and myself are defenders of my country, we are the masters of my enemy, we are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace. Amen.

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An Honest Mistake

I shot this with a Yashica 635. I wish I could say that the lens flare was planned, but it's actually an [accidental] double exposure of the light shining through my blinds and the foliage outside of my door. You can see the individual blinds as light streaks to the left of the flare (and the texture of the wall aligning the right side of it).

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Taradise Lost

So I was just looking at the new Tara photo shoot. A lot of people were saying she looks pretty good in these, but i seriously, she looks like Bo Derek fucked Morgan Fairchild and gave birth to an alien. her giant boobs are okay, but we all know what her nipples look like, and it's worse that in this shot they're under under her armpits (I didn't read The Da Vinci Code but shouldn't they be like, kinda on the front of the boob?). Her stomach is completely deformed - it looks like she either had some kidneys or other organs sliced out, or like a couple of ferrets are constantly crawling around her tummy, and her eyes have more darkness in them than all of the Harry Potter movies combined. No love.

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As I Think Back Makes Me Wonder How...

Something about listening to Kool & The Gang's Summer Madness around this time takes you away to a Bartles & James advert or maybe to Sally Mann's idyllic summertime in the deep south... I wish i could say it's like melodic opium, but that sounds like something a confused glowsticky raver would say about a mark farina drum loop while sucking on a pacifier and trying to figure out why his parents don't love him.

Bartles & James made way for Zima, and Lauren Greenfield became the new artchick du jour exploring female gender politics and innocence/sexuality (though in a completely different, completely inept way) - like shaq, zero of two. So it's even more impressive that after about a decade in the cellar, DJ Jazzy Jeff could take Summer Madnessto the next level with his Summertime. I consider the song much more his than Will Smith's, though it's without question the best thing Smith ever touched. On the other end of that list is WIld, Wild West - probably one of the worst movies ever made, its only artistic value is as the punch line to many jokes, the best of which is Kevin Smith's diatribe about Superman and Jon Peter's giant robotic spider.

But like so many other incredibly trashy things, the movie holds a special place in my heart. Almost to this day seven years ago I came to los angeles for the first time. I applied and was accepted to The University of Southern California without ever visiting the state, much less the school, and I remember stepping out of LAX for the first time, greeted with sunshine and palm trees and flowing blonde curlies and sexy silky soccer shorts (the woman's world cup final was being held at the rose bowl and the airport was teeming with hundreds of ridiculously cute teenage soccer girls!). I remember the super shuttle ride to campus past the oil derricks and supermercados, I remember walking through fagg park and into pardee tower to check in... i even remember the orientation advisor that signed me in, a dwarfish black art history major, spewing rehearsed college freshman / Trojan football jokes.

My roommate was this Jewish kid named eric (we didn't have Jews back home), a perfect facsimile of jonathan silverman circa Weekend at Bernies and a legacy Trojan - an evangelist, something I had never been exposed to as I was the first kid from my high school ever to go to USC. We hung all the time during orientation, but never again until Commencements at our graduation, when I attempted a drunken somersault between isles of students during a solemn keynote and landed a few feet away from him. I was trashed, but I remember saying something like, "Yo bro! Remember me from orientation?! College rules!," then ripping a fifty dollar hibiscus lei from his neck and stumbling back to tell a girl named Kate that even though I had never officially met her or talked to her, that I wanted to "fuck the dickens" out of her when we were freshmen. Funny how things work out sometime.

I remember my first crush at USC, a belle named Brooke from North Carolina. Tall, hazel eyes and carmel hair, she seemed incredibly sweet and mostly authentic, very cute and a lot of fun... i ran into her a few months later, a half-concious, fully transformed kappa being dragged down the row by some random spikey-haired shithead.

Our first night together, Eric and Brooke, Mike (a country kid and Better Than Ezra fan from small town Louisana), and Chris (the quintessential Boston kid), and Aaron and Omar (two kids I did hang out with at USC, one of whom gave me the name steazie and is currently playing in the NFL) and I all walked off campus to the university village theater to see... yeah... Wild, Wild West. It was crazy because this new place wasn't what i expected - it was like hanging out with a group of amazing friends in high school - like we had known each other for years. None of us were from Southern California, so los angeles as we knew it only existed between our dorms, the bookstore, the row, and Felix the cat on the corner of Jefferson and Fig...

   At the 2006 Harbor School graduation, taylor townsend closes her address with, They say there is no one older than a high school senior, and no one younger than a college freshman...we're about to find out.

Word up.
Bartles & James was created by yuppies in Modesto California and Sally Mann has been playing the new york art scene for a decade. At least Felix is standing strong and Jeff is still hip hop forever.

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Everybody Kick It Root Down

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Fuck the Downtown Yakuza

Some guy from Canada emailed me and asked me to use this photo in a magazine to represent los angeles. Which made me think of a simple contest. Can you think of anything more fucking banal?! Enter below...

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The Youth Gone Wild

The Youth Gone Wild!

I'm not white trash. I swear. And My hair usually isn't that gay.... but Kristin is ALWAYS that fucking hot.

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