Archive for April, 2007

A Letter of Appeal to Walt Stepp and Tom Herman (writer and director of The View Form K Street Steak, respectively):

Oh boy! Another scathing, satirical look at politics written and directed by ex- flower children who have become disenchanted with the results of their hippie revolution and now feel the need to spread the message that our government is fucked up beyond all belief.

Well thanks fellas, but let’s not forget it’s old acid freaks and coke heads like you, and good ol’ boy President Bush himself, that have made politics in this nation the horribly corrupt system that it is today.

Now, I appreciate a socio- political satire as much as the next guy. Hell, I love Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove and that movie is drier than the eczema in my Grandma’s ear.

But Gentlemen: political ideology, and comic taste aside you way over the hill potheads were so busy taking yourselves seriously that you forgot the Golden Rule of the entertainment industry: BE ENTERTAINING!

Granted, the concept is a sweet one: Revealing the seedy underside of the relationship between congress, the media and the stranglehold lobbyists have on both: nice! Sure, it’s been done before, most notably in the films Wag the Dog and Thank You for Smoking.

Yet, staging it all in the form of vignettes presented by a venrtiloquist and his dummy: very nice! Honestly, kudos on the concept gentlemen.

But then you had to go and ruin it all by trying to be so preachy and highbrow that you simply forgot the funny. Not a joke in the entire show garnered a laugh. Not even the one’s you boys cued with rim shots!

Okay, so I didn’t enjoy the show. Granted, it may be my fault: Afterall the promotional materials led me to believe it was a puppet show. (Yes, I am a moron… And a jackass.) Still, I know funny and this show weren’t it.

I wouldn’t be so bitter if it wasn’t for what I experienced during the intermission.

I stood in the lobby of the Altered Stages theater and drank my complimentary wine (thanks fellas) while Mr. Stepp hung out with a bunch of his geriatric cronies congratulating himself. His fellow retirees surrounded him and all confirmed what a genius he was.

He soaked up their syncophantic praise and reasserted to his nearly dead ex- Deadhead pals how funny he and his play are. He wallowed in their praise like a pig in shit.

They smiled and congratulated him, kissing his ass with their denture filled lips. But believe me kids, not one of these life hogs cracked so much as a smile during the performance.

In short, it was this little scene combined with the uninspired staging and script that now leave me in the unenvious position of declaring your show, the false idealism behind the script, the entire failed free love experiment of the 60’s and the absurd pomposity of your very existence: BULLSHIT!

Then again this is just one humble kid from New Jersey’s opinion.

Best of luck in the future,

Objectively yours,

-Venditto

for those of you out there who can’t wait to run out and catch this show before it closes, click here for more info.

“I think trash is beautiful,” says Krista Madsen, owner of Stain. Her penchant for salvaging rejected sofas, garbage-can lids, bricks, and other knickknacks makes the cozy Williamsburg bar the idyllic ambience for its crafting sessions. Every Monday, beginning at 5 PM and going until closing, artists, crafters, and barflies come together for PAINTstain, where they fashion art out of the bar’s ragtag collection of art supplies and found items.

Blonde hair cut into a sinewy bob, Krista settles into one of the deep couches as she goes on to explain that she thinks of Stain as “more of an arts lounge than a bar.” She opened the bar two and years ago in the artsy Brooklyn neighborhood, and uses the space to promote local artists’ work. One of the pieces currently hanging embodies the recycled-art aesthetic, repurposing ordinary items into art.

Art so often being a solitary experience, PAINTstain encourages those in the community to socialize and create side-by-side. Much of crafting is a repetitive process that doesn’t require a lot of concentration. Instead of sitting by yourself in front of a television to knit or doodle, you can surround yourself with friends and friends-to-be, trading ideas and supplies.

PAINTstain gives everyone a chance to be an artist. Even if you can’t draw a straight line, you can have fun at the Monday craft night. The bar offers a large supply of magazines and children’s books, crayons and markers, bottle caps and wine corks to rummage through. While collaging may have gotten Sonic Youth’s front man into a gallery, it’s not terribly difficult to cut and paste pictures, dried flowers, and pieces of netting into a masterpiece of your own creation. Encouraging shy artists and those who think they’re not good enough to come out, Krista says, “It’s dark in here, so you can’t even see.”

Like most book clubs, the craft night is really just an excuse for culture-savvy intellectuals to hang out … and, more than likely, drink. The menus—made out of circuit boards—peddle New York-made beers and wines exclusively. Beyond the typical, ashy Brooklyn Lager, Stain offers Diablo’s Blood, a concoction of red wine and black-cherry soda, and staingria, among its impressive selection.

It was just about 6 PM when I got to Stain yesterday, and the bar was empty. The gray clouds still lurking after splashing us with 7.57 inches of rain the day before seemed to be keeping everyone at bay. Krista said craft nights don’t usually pick up till around eight anyway. While she went to return phone calls from people interested in using Stain for various events, I got to work on my own collage. Quiet indie tunes like rain clouds dripped notes through the bar. By the time I left, an hour and a half later, only two other girls had come by to chitchat about boys.

PAINTstain is a great concept and Uncool Kids would love for some of the craft night’s regulars to tell us their experiences and stories. What’s the crowd usually like? What type of crafts do most people make? Any good memories of hanging out at Stain?

At a glance:
PAINTstain is free and occurs every Monday night, from opening to closing. Stain bar is located at 766 Grand Street in Brooklyn.

Dammit. I’m gonna be late.

Trains are fucked every weekend from now until who-knows-when and I’m on a street corner in Bed-Stuy. The rain is coming down at Fraternity-Pledge-Piss magnitude and I’ve got an hour and a half to get to the South Bronx.

Local livery cabs won’t take me there so I start hoofing it to Flatbush ave in black suit and fedora in the hopes that I’ll catch a yellow cab there, and all I can think is

God. What a perfect day for a funeral.

Ars Subterranea is a self described group of artists, historians, and urban explorers working to create an intersection between art and architectural relics in the New York City area. And coming from a New York City Tour Guide, they know volumes more about architecture throughout the Boroughs than I do.

The cab dropped me at the corner of 161st and 3rd ave and i looked around feeling, (perhaps a bit ashamed) rather lost. The invitation said this intersection at 3pm sharp. I was 20 minutes early, so I took a stroll.

As a Brooklyn native, the Bronx fascinates me as a doppleganger to my own land of heritage. The Bronx was middle-class when Brooklyn was still Blue-collar with wide swaths of ghetto. In the Bronx, the streets bend and coast with more freedom and ambition. The crackhouses are more graceful, built with a more grand design in mind.

I wander past Chinese food joints and check-cashing spots in the rain, wondering what grand spectacle is going to make itself known when the clock strikes 3.

Then, like an idiot, I turn around and see it. the 6-story solid block of Marble, planted on the odd-shaped sidewalk island like it had been there since the days of the Leni-Lenape Tribe. Inside the slightly open gate, I see two men and a woman in dark formalwear standing at the entrance and I knew:

This is the House of the Marble Mistress.

Picture from Satans Laundromat

Which is the sentimental name that Ars Subterranea had given to the former Bronx County Courthouse built by Oscar Bluemner and Michael J. Garvin from 1905-1915

What followed was a hokie, but mindfully planned and very faithfully executed wake for another piece of New York’s architectural ephemera.

And ephemera is right. Search Google. Search Flickr. Wikipedia. None of them have anything on the former Bronx County Criminal Courthouse. There are images of the hideous modern monstrosity that was built to replace it in 1977, but the Marble Mistress. Well, if it weren’t for folks like Ars Subterranea, perhaps it would be lost to New York for everyone except those who wandered the streets of the Bronx Hub.

My good friend S.D. who runs his own urban explorators site greeted me and asked if I knew the building well.

Not at all, actually

She’s qutie lovely, isn’t she? he replied.

We were kept in the entry to play parlor games, such as Murder and Trivia until they were ready. 4 at a time, we were blindfolded and led to a dark, dank room, lit only by votives. We were made to wait for 15 minutes or so with only the sound of rain-water gushing through the gutters, and the musky chill in the air to accompay us.

We were then led into the main room. A somber guitar player strummed a somber tune with a soprano singing something heart-breaking beside him. The guests were all introduced as we walked in one by one and then. . . the casket.

A full-size chrome (i think) casket was carried in by six pallbearers. Inside: Concrete and steel. And from the stairs in the corner, our theatrical Master of Ceremonies told us the story of the old Courthouse and Prison.

I wish I could relay some of this story to you, but I cannot. I couldn’t hear him over the rainwater and grew bored after ten or so minutes.

BAH! These urban sentimentalists! I thought They weep and moan for things long after their use has been exhausted. Would you stand in the way of all progress?? I wish to say, but hold my tongue. This is a somber occassion.

I took the opportunity to wander the cracked and crumbling stairwells of the majestic old Courthouse with my friend M.G. and caught a sneak-peek of the celebration room, where a birthday cake lay in waiting! And some sort of strange contraption consisting of a razor-scooter-powered light and music projector

What’s this? I thought. . .

As urban planning would have it, the majestic Marble Mistress, was not being torn down, but renovated! Into what we don’t know, (Hmph! Probably Condos! one guest grumped cynically) but this is not a death, but a renaissance. And thus, we celebrated.

Ars Subterranea, in it’s many branched-out forms through New York and other cities around the world are a necessary collective:. To remember, to preserve, and to explore abandoned urban sites, for it’s intrinsic stories, memories and ghosts. For many involved, it becomes a passion. (Some say, an addiction. . .)

And of course, When Google fails you, there’s always someone on the underground to take those photos you’re looking for. Thanks for the heads up, S.D.!

Civil War was Marvel’s massive-multi-comic crossover, which they tend to do about once a decade.

60’s was, quite simply, the birth of the Marvel Silver Age In the 70’s, it was the Kree-Skrull War. The 80’s was Secret Wars. 90’s was Infinity Gauntlet (a cosmic, intergalactic war of universe-shaping proportions) and now for the ‘aughts, it’s Civil War.

See, the nature of superhero comics is fighting and violence. It’s bright, and flashy, and all scars fade, bones mend and bruises heal, and costumes are stitched up and seamless by the end of the story arc. We all know that War doesn’t really happen like that.

Which is why Civil War was such a brilliant reality-check that brought the fantasy of the Marvel Universe back into the world we live in. Civil War wasn’t a fight against an all powerful-cosmic being, or a universe-shaping weapon, it was over a law. It was over Civil Rights.

Brief synopsis: A team of untrained, glamour seeking super-heros take on some super-villains that they couldn’t handle. Massive explosion and over 600 residents of Stamford, Connecticut are killed. The public, and congress say: Enough. All super-powered or masked beings in the United States must register their powers and identities with the government and become an employee of the United States Defense Forces. Half the heroes get behind it, the other half claim its a Civil Rights violation and go rogue. And the Civil War begins.

If I start talking about Civil War’s effect on Marvel, I’ll never stop. All I want to say is that the 7-issue central Civil War story is now collected in one glossy TPB, available at any of your local comic shops. It’s the comic story of the year. Speaking of which:

KNOW YOUR COMIC SHOPS
Each will be given a 1-5 rating

1. Midtown Comics- 40th st & 7th ave The Big Boys. They got it all. shelves and shelves of TPBs, a discount rack, the biggest back-issue collection I’ve seen, toys, a massive DVD section and more. For your every and any, Midtown is your stop. 5 of 5

2. Cosmic Comics- 23rd st between Broadway and Madison Not as massive as Midtown, but also an excellent selection and because they’re nowhere near as crowded, the staff is more laid back, and very friendly. I try to patronize as often as I can. 4 of 5

NOTE: Both Cosmic and Midtown have member-bonus systems. Give them your birthday as a rebate number and for every $100 you spend, you get a $20 credit!!

3. St. Mark’s Comics- St. Marks pl between 2nd & 3rd aves Small, but good for your Wednesday-fix. Id probably go more often if the boss-guy wasn’t such a prick.

4. Forbidden Planet- 13th st & Broadway The Union Squre powerhouse!! Almost as wide a selection as Midtown, but less space. Which tends to make it crowded and hard to maneuver. Especially on a Wednesday. There’s a video-game section that i think could go, but that’s just because I’m not a gamer. Friendly staff though, very helpful 3 of 5

There you go! Now get reading!!

EXCELSIOR!!!

And Welcome to the introduction to Uncoolkids’ weekly comic book geek-out, hosted by your own Geek on the Street.

I must preface this with a bias warning: I am a Marvel Comics partisan. Marvel, in it’s recent format, is much more real-world that DC.

Where DC Comics relies mostly on mythos, cosmic and intergalactic conflicts and mining the same handful of heroes for as many knock-off characters as possible (The Superman “family” the Batman “family” the Green Lantern “Corps.” The same rehash since the 1940’s.)

Marvel, however, has stood on and expanded brilliantly from the four pillars of Stan Lee since the 1960’s: (Fantastic Four, X-men, Avengers and Spider-man) and focusses on the character in comics, and how these super-powered beings fit into a world of politics, militarism, prejudice, vulnerability, and the basic ethical dilemas of power vs responsibility.

I’ve been a comic book stalwart since my tweens, in the era of the deeply psychological Spectacular Spider-man and Jim Lee’s X-men, but the late nineties were a sad, sorry downhill spiral for Marvel, A.K.A. “The House of Ideas” storylines bogged down with too much drama, over-hyped storylines and the endless piling up of unanswered mysteries.

After a nearly catastrophic downturn right about millenium-time, Marvel got serious about revamping its image, just in time for the blockbuster hit X-men. All glossy pages; condensed, easy to follow storylines; dialouge that you’d expect from a prime-time hit TV show, rather than a Sunday afternoon B-movie and: “previously in” page before each issue, to help neophytes learn the ropes.

And so, each weekly “issue” of PANELGEEK will have two features:

ONE: A piece about what’s going on in comics now (or an editorial)

TWO: PANELGEEK’S Book of the week (either a particular issue, or a TPB)

STARTING TOMORROW: PANELGEEK #1: Know your Comic Shops, and Civil War. . .

It’s fitting that Thurston Moore’s first solo exhibition, Street Mouth, is debuting directly across from the Knitting Factory, at KS Art. As it turns out, the Sonic Youth front man brings the same DIY attitude to his art that made him famous at the experimental-rock club.

In his own words, Moore is “utilizing some kind of punk Photoshop method” to make collages that showcase New York’s underground scene. Cut-and-paste style, he rips up vintage newspapers from the 1970s, fastening them alongside press photos and overlapping those with personal letters, without ever making a piece look cluttered. News clippings that could have easily been dumped in yesteryear’s trash suddenly become Art in the hands of someone infatuated with counterculture New York.

“I am basing the work on exercises I did as a teenager cutting out pictures from Rock Scene, Creem and Circus magazines and collaging them as an obsessive diarist,” says Moore. You can almost picture a pre-Sonic Youth Thurston Moore, awkward and uncool, rifling through stacks of magazines for the latest pictures of his favorite bands in hopes of someday making his own rock-star dreams come true.

In large (24 X 21 1/4 inches) collages, Moore the devoted rock fan creates montages of Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, the Ramones, and Patti Smith. He pairs his rock iconography with images of Allen Ginsberg, Anne Waldman, and Kathy Acker, nodding his head to the fact these downtown musicians hung out with the great writers and artists of their era. In places like St. Mark’s Church in-the-Bowery and Max’s Kansas City, the subterranean elite united, riffing off each other’s work and inspiring each other.

Now, all grown up and famous, Moore says, “I can actually drop myself and other referentials into the pieces [and it] has allowed me (starting) at age 47 to create an ongoing open-heart bio-historagophy.” The Sonic Youth clippings and personal letters that Moore pastes into his collages do not feel self-promoting. Rather, they seem like another page torn out of the collage-filled diary from his teenage years. He comes across as posing to be cool but really being homespun dorky in his letters, writing, “I’m going to the rodeo. I just had some fried grits, bacon and root beer. . . . I’ve been doing some boss water skiing.” Even placing Sonic Youth within the context of such legends as the Velvet Underground seems more like a kid sticking his unknown, local band’s bumper sticker on his guitar case next to famous acts’ professional stickers than an egotistic display of stardom. Despite being one of the most influential bands on the scene, Sonic Youth and its front man seem to stay true to their roots.

Street Mouth opened last week to a large crowd. “His mom even came,” said Kerry Schuss, owner and director of KS Art. Schuss assures the readers of Uncool Kids that he did not choose to exhibit Moore’s work simply because he’s a famous musician. He likes Moore’s collages and gave him a solo show after first showing his work alongside Jocko Weyland in 2005.

By now, Moore is no stranger to the art world.
This past February Moore curated Free Living Papers, an exhibit focused on the same sort of magazines that inspired his own collages. Meanwhile, his wife and band mate, Kim Gordon, is an artist with her own exhibit, Dead Already, on display this month.

Street Mouth will be on display at KS Art (73 Leonard Street, NYC) through May 12. The gallery is open Tuesday through Saturday, 11:00 - 6:00. Admission is free.

It’s exciting to see a young actor grow from childhood sitcoms to serious films, and I’m proud of the strong choices that Joseph Gordon Levitt is making.

From his hillarious romps with his fellow covert aliens in 3rd Rock from the Sun to his intensely powerful turn in the High School Noir film Brick, which I consider the sleeper of 2006.

And now he continues on that trend with the small-town, lonely winter bank heist film The Lookout

The film begins with beautiful tragedy. Gorgeous teens on prom night, driving down farm roads in search of a specific type of beauty that can only be found in small farm towns. Then tragedy strikes.

Chris Pratt, played by Levitt is now, four years later, still re-learning basic sequential functions like remembering to grind the coffee before making it, and where to find, (and how to use, and what the hell is a. . .) can opener. He’s helped along with his clever, blind roommate Lewis, played by the always wry and brilliant Jeff Daniels.

Chris also works as the night custodian of the local bank. Which is just a coincidental convenience for the local seductively charming bad-boy. Gary

The bank-heist formula is familiar: patsy gets sucked in by Gary’s charisma. As well as the chance to somehow get out of this “trap” that the accident put him in, (because money solves everything. . .) and of course, the chance to be “cool” again.

The tender folds of a former stripper named Luvlee Lemons (named WHAT? hahaha) of course helped as well.

The bank heist unfolds as movie bank heists often do, and the writer/director Scott Frank doesn’t score any major points in that department. He really shines in his artistry in revealling how this flawed man, struggling just to keep up with the world and weighted down by his guilt can rise to the call of heroism.

The Lookout is a beautifully crafted and magnificently acted, if predictable film. In the deluge of celluloid shit that comes out in theaters from January through March, The Lookout might just be the first good film of 2007.

Although. . . if you’ve seen Momento, as I’m guessing Mr. Frank has many, many times. . . well, I’m just saying you might also experience a strong sense of Deja Vu. . .

The Forbes Museum is a wet dream for 8 year old boys and future billionaires with aspirations of world domination. It’s also a testament to the vanity and self- centeredness that lies at the disgusting rotted core of capitalism run amok.

TOY BOATS!

According to a sign all of the boats on display are toy boats, not models. The sign tells us models are, “precision made” duplicates while toys are actually working objects that are meant to be played with.

So what does Mr. Forbes do with these wonderful relics from the Golden Age of toy boats?

He locks them behind plexiglass where he can show them off to the public, far from where any child will ever get to lay their grubby little hands on them-Bastard!

One of the toy boats was the size of Gary Coleman and has a real working gasoline engine. I wonder if it has a soul.

MINIATURE ARMIES!

There are soldiers recreating Cortez crushing the Aztecs on a three foot high temple. There are lil’ Union soldiers slaughtering lil’ Confederate soldiers. There are itsy- bitsy Greeks destroying an itsy- bitsy Troy.

There are even miniature cowboys committing genocide on miniature Indians. It is an awe inspiring display of murderous war throughout history as recreated by children’s toys.

MONOPOLY!

A room dedicated to a game that in order to you win you must screw over every other player until you have destroyed them financially.

According to Mr. Forbes it helped him and his siblings, “whet their capitalist appetites.” I’m sure that for dessert they feasted on the hopes and dreams of the middle class.

WHAT THE FUCK?

This is a trophy room with a hysterical twist. They’re trophies NOT won by anyone in the Forbes family, but shit that they bought at yard sales. For example they have a piece of wreckage from the Hindenburg, and some dead dude’s swinning trophy.

I gotta be honest with you; I have no idea what the hell this room is all about.

Why the ENTIRE World HATES Us!

Finally there’s an exhibit called Silver of the Stars. This is a room of silver goblets, bowls, spoons and other gaudy displays of wealth owned by famous pompous jack offs.

One such object is a teapot owned by geriatric assbag and famed wife beater: Sir Sean Connery. I was less than impressed.

In Conclusion…

This is a museum filled with toys that will never be played with, and trophies displayed by a man who didn’t earn them, but could afford to buy them.

It’s a fantasyland where toy soldiers depict historic scenes of barbaric butchery, and filled with displays of such ostentatious gluttony that even Michael Jackson would blush, if he is still physically able to. But on the plus side: It’s free.

So if you can forget about the obvious horror inherent in this type of display I think you’ll have a good time- but you won’t be able to sleep at night.

Come See What’s Wrong With America:

60 Fifth Avenue
at 12th Street
New York, NY 10011
212-206-5548

Hours
Tues-Wed 10am-4pm
Fri-Sat 10am-4pm

There is no planned closing date for this museum. In fact it will probalby outlive us all!
p.s.: I swear I’m not a bitter person, I’m actually a republican, but this museum really pissed me off- also, I was sober.

Conventional thinking preaches that sugar and spice and everything nice are all that little girls are made of. Kimberly Hart in her exhibition, Open Season, reminds us that conventional thinking has no place in modern art.

She laughs in the face of convention and shows us that little girls can be balls (ovaries?) tough, little bad asses that buck pre conceived notions and recreate social norms on their own terms. In this exhibit she’s unleashed an alter ego to counter Degas’ pink frilly tutu wearing prissy lil’ Daddy’s girl.

She has created a persona reminiscent of a modern day Scout,(Yes kids, that is a “To Kill a Mocking Bird” reference… you’re welcome.) a sequins clad warrior princess who could very well be the love child of Ted Nugent and a pre- felonious Martha Stewart.

A child who is,” an aspiring angler, a fortress defender and impudent enough to strike down her own pony.” It’s this audacious alter ego that has created the instillation on display at the Chelsea gallery- Mixed Greens .

 This is a collection of works that depict hunting scenes as only an adolescent girl could imagine them.  The largest piece, dominating the room, is an acrylic painting of a quiet, bucolic forest scene.  There’s a river with fish jumping out of it, there’s birds and ducks and butterflies, there’s even an 8 point buck and a unicorn.

Also in the upper right hand corner are four wooden shelves holding plaster busts of unicorns, crows and bunnies.  Placed in front of the canvas is a white stool with a pyramid of old- timey milk cans on top.

A nice enough piece of art on its own, but the genius of it, the slap in the face to Jane Austin’s “Little Women” fun of it is the dozen or so palm sized felt bulls eyes scattered throughout.  My favorite one is right over the heart of the unicorn.  It reminded me of the old light gun shooting gallery at Six Flags.

That’s just one example.  The other selections she has created are equally hysterical and uniquely girly in their depictions of traditionally non girly subject matter.  But that’s just part of what makes them so wonderful.

These are the works of an adolescent’s guilt free imagination.  Only a child could view nature and the hunt with such giddy macramed glee.  Only a child could create a piece of art with bunnies strung up by their feet above a puddle of blood made out of red felt, and have it not be about violence.

There’s no adult voice at work here.  There’s no fear or mean spiritedness.  There’s simply the vision of a lil’ tomboy rambunctious and wild with a runaway imagination.  This instillation is about the joy of childhood, the joy of LIFE, and that’s something we can all dig.

 WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW

• Mixed Greens Gallery- 531 w26th St- between 10th and 11th

• (take the C or E to 23rd  and walk west)

• Hours: M- F 10am- 6pm; Sat 11am- 6pm

• Closes April 21!

Who is Fluff?

A 6 foot 3ish fluffy-haired master of fun that knows positively EVERY event going on in NYC and has sometimes been spotted wearing a fuzzy black kitty cat hat with pink puffballs; basically, he’s really just a cool guy nicknamed Fluff (aka Geoff with a G) that really LOVES birthday parties.
He loves them so much he threw an Exploding Dinner Shindig for his own B-day at his fab little Brooklyn dwelling on April 7th. The “totally free House Party with love” decorations included colorful 80’s prom style streamers, duct tape, glowing Boo decorations and even the kitchen Virgin Mary was decked out in pink & aluminum foil letters reading “I Heart You Christ Love”.

Costumes were encouraged, backyard activities were complete with Kitty Girl Emmeline showing off her skilled hoopster moves, a little poi, exploding ice bombs, FIRE and Airwolf- whoosh! For curious minds- Airwolf was a home-made circus ride: just picture a grown man tummy down on a rolling office chair spinning out of control while blowing a leaf blower at the crowd- strange, yet freakishly entertaining.

There was plenty to do- like roasting marshmallows over an open flame (yum), playing old school teenage drinking games, avoiding the creepy guy, pounding the shit out of the Turtle Dude pinata filled with candy, condoms & unmentionables and taking shots from the popular Mobile Assault Ice Luge (MAIL)- a block of ice strapped to a clanky shopping cart sometimes attached to a child’s bouncy-horse pony.

Crowd consisted mostly of burners, tribe peeps, friends and weird-ass acquaintances. Co-event planner Paul/DJ Gay Bezerker was rockin out with records in the DJ booth, while we were sipping on sangria, munching on paella and getting our minds sucked secretly out of our bodies compliments of Electric Sheep.

My favorite question of the night was: who were the naked folks scrambling around in the basement? Seriously, who was that???

Overall: This party was so wrong it was right. Fluff left his own party at 6 AM. The evening was peculiar and outlandishly pleasurable! Thanks to the speed of viral advertising, networking sites & internet connections- Fluff was actually invited to his own party 3 separate times- Ha! Fluff, you are so UNCOOL! Party pics