Wednesday, April 30, 2008

I met a man and I told him about the island

He asked me, "Babe, can I please come too?"
I said, "Some things are better alone for a woman.
And some times your romance is best left to fools."

Hark! The island, after five months I finally have landed. It was the best place, the greatest place, my only sad thought about it is that I wish I had slept on it, but I hadn't camped in years and had no supplies nor could I afford them. And I was afraid to go it alone. I wouldn't be now, but I was then. A friend told me I was brave to go on the trip alone and I never thought of it that way, only focused on the part where I wasn't so brave, to sleep alone on the island...but the hostel was bliss and I am happy to have been there, and staying there instead of a cheap motel in St Mary's across the water from Cumberland Island was brave enough for me.

I paid $12 and boarded the ferry. The other passengers were all older adults, a lot of them retirees and a father with his young daughter. I was the only passenger travelling alone.

The ferry ride was longer than I expected but the details weren't important. It was only magical in my anticipation. We docked and I ducked out of the offer for a tour and set out immediately on the path through the lazy trees breaking the sun straight ahead.

Cumberland Island

Immediately I saw four or five wild horses grazing in an open expanse of grass in between the palms. I'd read about them, been warned not to approach them, fully expected to see them, but I still wasn't prepared for them to be right there in front of me as soon as I got off the boat.

Cumberland Island

Cumberland Island

The three looked ancient, a prehistoric tumble jungle of self contained vines, each one it's individual forest.

Cumberland Island

Cumberland Island

As a child I went to preschool and summer daycamp on a farm. I rode horses every day from a very young age. When I grew too old for Prairie Hill, I went to sleep-away camp at a place called Camp Kitaki, a YMCA sponsored establishment run by a bunch of Christian hippies where we had to do vespers and trust exercises and take anti-drug pleges at the behest of stoner counselors. As soon as I was old enough I enrolled in the Ranch Camp program. We would get up at 6:30 am every day and saddle and groom the horses and get them prepared for the other campers to ride them. In exchange we were give our own horse for the session that we cared for and no one else rode. My horse was a gigantic stallion named Hawkeye, he was all black with a white star on his forehead, the biggest horse in the camp. I was given an advanced horse because I'd ridden so much in preschool and my early elementary days (I was about eleven I think when I had my Ranch Camp summer) but those were shetland ponies and this beast was beyond me. I didn't complain and spent the second half of camp with a gnarly bruise on my shin from where he kicked me but I still rode him and he let me. I got in trouble for bringing him to a full gallop when we were only permitted to ride at a canter and riding through the trails near those old pioneer gravesites I'd done rubbings of as a regular camper a few summer before is one of my happiest childhood memories. I was fairly tormented and teased when I was small and no one could touch me during those moments.

That child still in me was delighted by my first few minutes on Cumberland.

Cumberland Island

And then...my first armadillo!

Cumberland Island

A large portion of Cumberland Island was once owned by the Carnegie family. On it they built Dungeness a sprawling estate. They once owned 90% of the island and employed over 300, but as the years went by many left the island and in 1959 the mansion Dungeness burned.

Cumberland Island

The remains still stand on the island, though fenced off to explorers.

Cumberland Island

Cumberland Island

Cumberland Island

Cumberland Island

I headed down toward the beach, walking about a mile through the dunes along several paths and boardwalks before I found the water. It was completely silent. I only saw a few people on my journey and if I had been able to stay longer and walk further I know I could have had a whole stretch of beach with no one else in sight.

Cumberland Island

Cumberland Island

But I didn't take pictures of the water or the dunes or anything else. My camera's battery started running low and frankly taking pictures was distracting me from just watching. I walked along the beach for about an hour picking up seashells and listening to the surf before I had to turn back to catch the ferry. I didn't want to leave, cursed myself for not camping instead, but leave I had to. They only allow 200 people access to the island at any given time but it was the first day of December so I am sure there were fewer than that.

I waited with the other day-trippers and some exiting campers on the long porch of the ranger's lodge sitting in a rocking chair reading by the setting sun wishing I was alone.

One more night at the Hostel in the Forest then back to New York City.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Heavy Metal! Flames! Guitar Solos! Leather!

Sky Diving? Modern Dance!?!?!?!

I think I am in love...

Did I ever tell you about that island in my dreams?

Cumberland Island has been on my mind a lot lately. I recently told the story of my trip there and realized I never finished writing it down here.

The island is what brought me to Georgia in the first place. I wanted so badly to get away, to go somewhere I'd never been. I thought of New Orleans or somewhere along the gulf coast but that seemed a trip better taken with friends who knew the way. I was travelling alone and I wanted to be somewhere deserted but safe. I wanted peace not fear. Mostly I wanted to go a few days without talking more than necessary in a place surrounded by beauty. I started looking up state and national parks. My requirements were simple, someplace warm, someplace beautiful, someplace when all was said and done wouldn't cost me more than $500 for transportation, room, and board. I found it. One $130 plane ticket to Jacksonville and a rental car later, the island was mine.

Initially I had made a reservation at a hotel but KP told me about the Hostel. As soon as I showed up I cancelled my hotel reservation and signed on for two more nights in the forest. But I've written about that magical place and I want nothing more right now than to be huddled in a screen porch high up in the trees reading by candlelight in my bunk. It is the ultimate place for solitude but would be equally as enchanting with a lover or a few friends.

But the island! Cumberland Island! And that cemetary in St Mary's! In the town where one catches the ferry there is a cemetary so old Revolutionary War veterans were buried there. I spent two hours in that cemetary while I waited for the ferry and drove back the next day to photograph even more. When I was small I went summer camp out in the Nebraska countryside. Near the campgrounds there was a cemetary where pioneer settlers had buried their dead. We would do rubbings of the tombstones, many of them markers of the graves of children who had died at the same age we were then.

This cemetary had a special section where all the graves of children were grouped together, it was particularly eerie.

Cemetary in St Marys

Cemetary in St Marys

Cemetary in St Marys

Cemetary in St Marys
"Baby Peanut" With God

Cemetary in St Marys

A lot of Civil War veterans were buried there and a group had placed Confederate flags by the graves of those who had fought for the South.

Cemetary in St Marys

Cemetary in St Marys

The cemetary was the most beautiful, serene place I went to that entire trip aside from the island itself. It was draped in willow trees. An lazy long expanse of brick, grass, and stone. It was here I felt the a measure of the soul of the South - quiet, proud, and sad with a dose of the arcane.

Cemetary in St Marys

Cemetary in St Marys

Cemetary in St Marys

Cemetary in St Marys

Cemetary in St Marys

But the island...oh the island! It was a comin' up fast.

Cumberland Island

Thursday, April 24, 2008

If I made you a mixtape would you care?

Mixtape Vol.1

Following the lead of Dave and Elizabeth I am hereby participating in a Lords of Blogtown ritual and posting my muxtape. Have fun, it's way less metal than you'd think, because sometimes I've gotta be a lady and listen to lady jams (not that TSOL or Danzig fit into the lady jams cannon.)



Pretty stoked that Dave Black is currently DJing my workday.

I fully dig this site, although I wish you could create additional mixes without creating additional profiles, but I am sure there is some legality issue with users uploading the MP3s.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Best Auction Ever.

bestauctionever

JNCO! The seller's screen name made me laugh for about 20 minutes.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Beach Blanket Bong Out minus the blanket and the bong...nevermind

Oh yeah, I totally spent a week visiting Jake and Ivy in San Diego. I could make fun of it and say that it was the worst dressed city I've ever seen and that everyone is a dude brah with tribal tattoos and monster trucks, but that's sort of what makes it secretly amazing. That and the used bookstore has the greatest selection of occult and conspiracy literature ever. And Rob fucking Halford calls it home. Any place that god dwells can't be all bad.

Best Place Ever?

Worst Place Ever? (Reminded me of my raver neighbors. I bet dudes who are really into giving chicks backrubs take their dates here before they descend into an evening of deep trance.)

Beach Scum
We went to the beach on St Patrick's Day.

Beach Scum
Jake triet to surf. He can barely swim.

Beach Scum
I caught some rays while Nicole made a tard face.

Beach Scum
This would be way more awesome if I didn't have hair in my mouth.

Beach Scum
I got to wear my awesome new bikini, you can't see but the bottom is a teal side-tie. Tried on the same on in different colors at Barneys for $180 and then cobbled together last season's version for $40 online. Score!

64 Dart!
I got to drive this '64 Dodge Dart for almost all of my vacation because Daniel was too drunk to drive every day. He bought it as soon as he got back into town after spending the last several months on a fishing boat in Alaska. Everyone deserves a bender every now and again.

64 Dart!
Seriously miss driving this thing.

Mammal Toe
Here's Jake channeling Lemmy more than any of us wanted him to. Those shorts used to be mine goddamnit. He acquired them for his Halloween costume and I knew I was never getting them back.

Beach Scum
A lifeguard busted my buddies for drinking on the beach but let us get away with it because, as he said, "You know, I'm gonna be cool brah cuz it's Spring Break and all." Yeah dude, that's us, your typical La Jolla spring breakers.

The only good thing about the old rave is that they never called it art

I came home last night after an epic 8-hour nerdfest with Brendan and Dave to find a fucking rave in my apartment building. For those of you not familiar with my homestead, I live in a loft building on Broadway. Nearly everyone I know in Brooklyn has been to a party in it's walls at some point in time. It has one of the best rooftops in the hood and is quickly becoming the Southside equivalent of the McKibbin dorms. I'm basically like the grumpy ass RA of the building.

About 6 months ago the loft below mine was occupied by a couple with an unfortunate fondness for electronica and an equally unfortunate selective hearing malady; the word "bass" and the phrase "too loud" do not compute when added together in the same sentence. I'm a pro at the weekly 3 am door-pound and actually find it strangely satisfying. My roommates also find it satisfying, mainly because they are too pussy to complain and would rather be kept awake all night than face the electronica duo downstairs.

I fucking hate techno. I hate everything about it. I think that any music that requires the ground to shake for it to be properly enjoyed isn't music. I only dance to rock 'n' roll and the occassional Jonathan Toubin Soul Clap getdown. The thought of a bunch of sweaty fucking apes pumping away to drum and bass makes me want to relive disco bloodbath fantasies of yore. The nu-rave is just the old rave with tight pants. When is ecstasy going to make a comeback? Let's quicken natural selection, turning all those greasy retards into e-tards. Can't wait! I've been saying it since I first heard the whispers from across the pond. FUCK THE NU?NEU?NEW?RAVE!

Anyway, last night, I am not sure what it was. I don't think it was nu-rave. I think it was a bunch of East Village holdovers from the first rave. Serious office job nerds with blogs even worse than this one letting loose in a wild and crazy Brooklyn loft! Yeah, I think everyone there was named Chad and was wearing cargo shorts. Yes...after three hours of trying to wait it out, I finally infiltrated the rave. I live on the 4th floor. I don't give a fuck if it's Saturday night or not. It's totally unacceptable for me to be able to hear and feel (my bed was vibrating) a party in the basement.

I walked down the stairs and was horrified at what I saw. A small yellow sign with bubble letters proclaiming "Raeve! $5" and another one with just the word "RAVE" and an arrow pointing the way to apartment 108. Okay...wait, am I not getting something? Is a "raeve" different than a "rave" Is that the new-nu rave? Next lev rave? I rounded the corner, passed through the doorway half blind as I had taken out my contacts hours ago in preparation for sleep that still hadn't come (despite two sleeping pills and a pair of earplugs) in my gigantic Shred Bundy shirt and made a beeline for the back patio for there was the open door that was leaking all the music outside of the basement where it ricocheted against the brick outer walls of the buildings directly into my window. Before I reached my goal I had two beers spilled on me and some bitch almost knocked me over. Still I perservered and managed to convince the dude who lived there to spend the rest of the party manning the patio door making sure that it stayed closed. Ha, I didn't even have to threaten to call the cops like I did when I busted up the rave on the 3rd floor at 7 am, which is pretty funny because seriously, like I would really call the cops? Give me a break, that's the most empty fucking threat in the world. I did consider threatening to call our Hassid landlord on Passover because I thought that would be funny but I doubt anyone would get the joke.

But seriously, what is happening to my life? How the hell are raves and epidemic in my universe? Something is seriously out of whack.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Dream a little dream

One of these years I have to go to Wacken Open Air - an annual three-day festival in Wacken Germany. I couldn't give a shit about most of the bands that play but where else can you see Iron Maiden, Kreator, and Exodus on the same bill? Plus even though I may not make the effort to see them alone I'm not going to thumb my nose at Gorgoroth, Obituary, Massacre, and Destructor. Too bad I am broke too short-sighted to save up my cash for such a venture. Omid and I used to plot about how we could get Vice to pay for us to go to thrash festivals and interview people but the Jesse leveled with us and said it was doubtful they'd pay for shit. I'm sure if we'd taken initiative we could have written about our exploits and gotten them published. Oh well, dream big, live small I guess, at least for the time being. YouTube will have to suffice.

One thing that makes my disappointment sting less is sometimes I feel like there are things that would have been better if I were still drinking and Wacken is one of them. I think after day 2 of being harassed and headbutted by wasted Germans I'd probably wanna hang myself. Still, a girl can dream.

Here's a French dude yelling about Hitler:


I've always wanted to see a Wall of Death successfully pulled off live. Municipal Waste tried at Europa but it was laughable.

Here is what a real one looks like:





Here's the Caliban wall of death at Wacken 2007



Same event, different video:



On second thought...maybe I should stay at home. Wait, fuck that. I want to be the asshole standing by the wayside filming this shit. Anybody want to buy me a ticket to Germany?

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Eff Southwestern

Aztec is the true next lev. Quezalcoatl and I are real tight bros


























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