Took a supply trip to the big city (Ithaca) today for stencil materials and cigars and decided to bring my new stickies along for the ride. Unfortunately not all of them made it back. But thankfully I found them nice new homes all across collegetown and Cornell campus. Here’s a pic for ya hungry thieves out there needing proof.
Well let me tell ya, the proof is in the PUDDIN….

More to come…

As a kid, I would sometimes sit through an episode of The Brady Bunch, hoping beyond hope to get a glimpse of Marsha in her underwear. Unfortunately, that never happened. However, I do remember one episode that resonated with me. It was called “Bobby’s Hero,” which, for all of you keeping score at home, was episode 90 from season four. In it, Bobby develops a fascination with Jesse James. He writes a paper on the outlaw, and brings home a C+. But, worse than that, Mike and Carol get a concerned call from the principal. The Bradys discover that their youngest is worshipping a common criminal, one who built a reputation on shooting innocents in the back. The episode ends when the dire warnings of an old man prompt Bobby to have a nightmare in which his entire family is ruthlessly murdered by the black-clad Jesse James. Soon after, Bobby sees the error of his ways, and we end on the comfortable reaffirmation of our core family values.

The cynic in me says the reason I enjoyed the episode so much was because it was the only episode in which the entire Brady family gets gunned down. The only thing that would have made it any better would have been a close up of Greg’s brains splattered on the wall. But the quasi-serious academic in me can’t help but think that maybe there was an object lesson in there somewhere. After all, Bobby’s hero worship of Jesse James was hardly unique. Just about every culture and every time period has made a hero of its bygone outlaws. From Robin Hood to Bonnie and Clyde, outlaws turned folk heroes are everywhere. It makes no difference that an outlaw’s crimes fail to jive with their fame; they are heroes nonetheless. They undergo a strange alchemy that changes them from common criminal to champion of the dispossessed. As the poor and downtrodden masses, we identify with the romance the outlaw represents, if not his crimes. We thrill at the romantic adventure, the disguises, the escapes, the thumbing of our collective noses at those who hold power over us.

I’ve been thinking an awful lot about that alchemical process lately, and it occurs to me that the one common denominator across all those different criminals turned folk heroes, is the power of art. A song – specifically, a ballad – can turn the vilest crime into an act of charity. When Robin Hood’s men usurp the spiritual authority of the church, as they do in the ballad “Robin Hood and Allan a Dale,” or murder a police officer, as they do in “Robin Hood and the Widow’s Sons,” the crime itself gets buried in a clever rhyme. What takes center stage is the hypocrisy of the Medieval Church, or the unjust oppression of bad government. We fail to see the horror, the aftermath, the other side of the ballad. Instead, we see a symbol of our own liberation.

Kenedy, Texas: June 12, 1901

Located about 75 miles south of San Antonio, Karnes County is a rugged, beautiful country made up of rolling hills and clear running streams and dense forests of mesquite and oak trees. Its large pastures are thick with Johnson Grass, making it natural ranching country, a life which appealed to the German and Mexican families who settled it in the early 1800s.

By 1901, it was a small, but thriving, community based on corn and cattle. German immigrants grew wealthy, while the Mexican immigrants of the day lived as renters on their ranches. And one of the largest ranches in the area belonged to W. A. Thulemeyer. He rented out a small corner of his property to two young Mexican men, Gregorio and Romaldo Cortez. Both were married. Gregorio had four children; Romaldo and his wife had none. Though Romaldo was the older of the two, Gregorio seems to have been the more mature. It was Gregorio who first made the decision to settle down (the two had for several years worked as itinerant ranch hands throughout South Texas, dragging their families along with them), and it was under Gregorio’s supervision that their corn crops prospered. And it was Gregorio who was fated to become a folk hero of the Texas-Mexico border.

Trouble came to the Cortez brothers on June 12, 1901. A few days before, an unidentified Mexican man had stolen a horse in adjacent Atascosa County. The sheriff in Atascosa had tracked the thief to Karnes County and asked W.T. “Brack” Morris, the sheriff in Karnes County, to pick up the trail. Brack Morris was a former Texas Ranger with a reputation for being quite handy with a pistol. In 1901 he was serving his third term as sheriff and knew nearly everyone in Karnes County. He’d gotten word that Gregorio Cortez had recently acquired a new horse and went out to the Thulemeyer Ranch with a translator to make inquiries.

Morris’ translator was a man named Boone Choate, who seems to have had a higher opinion of his knowledge of Spanish than he perhaps had a right to. They arrived at Gregorio Cortez’s house mid-morning and found a clapboard house set back from the road behind a small, split rail fence. Choate climbed down from the horse-drawn carriage the two men had ridden in on and hollered toward the house while Morris remained in the carriage.

Sensing trouble, Gregorio told Romaldo to go see what the men wanted. Romaldo went out to meet the men. Choate asked if Gregorio was at home. When Romaldo said that he was, Choate told him to get his brother and bring him out.

Romaldo turned to the house and said, “Te quieren,” which in Spanish is the familiar way to say, “Hey, get out here. These guys want to talk to you.”

Unfortunately, when literally translated into English, the phrase means “you are wanted,” which has an entirely different meaning to a police officer. This was the first of three disastrous mistranslations that put Gregorio Cortez on the path to folk hero status.

Gregorio came outside and stood in the yard behind Romaldo. Choate then proceeded to ask Gregorio about the mare he had recently acquired from another Mexican rancher in the area.

Unfortunately, Choate’s Spanish was not up to the task. Instead of using yegua, the Spanish word for mare, he used caballo, which means stallion. Gregorio was understandably confused. He didn’t own a stallion, and he told Choate as much. When Choate’s second translating mistake came back to Morris, it sounded to the ex-Texas Ranger like just another Mexican trying to get away with something. He dropped down from his carriage and ordered Choate to tell the two brothers they were under arrest.

Things get a little murky after that.

Apparently, Gregorio said something that Choate heard and translated as “No white man is going to arrest me.” An obvious threat, if you’re a cop about to the cuffs on somebody.

Later, at his trial, his lawyers said that Gregorio Cortez simply said, “You can’t arrest me for nothing.”

It’s not difficult to picture the scene.

The two brothers, realizing they were about to be arrested, got angry. “Why?” they shouted. “We haven’t done anything.” They were shouting. And Morris, who had no intention of taking any flak from a couple of poor Mexican farmers, went for his gun. Meanwhile, Romaldo advanced on the authorities, hands slicing the air in front of him like a wronged tragedian in a silent movie. Morris shot him in the mouth, wounding, but not killing, him. He then turned to Gregorio, fired, and missed. Gregorio returned fire, and his aim was truer. Morris fell to the ground, hit three times. And Choate doomed himself to villain status by turning and running to a hiding spot in the surrounding chaparral, leaving Morris to bleed to death on the road.

When the smoke cleared, Gregorio picked up the sheriff’s pistol, went inside his house, packed up the wife and kids, and loaded everything into the sheriff’s carriage and rode to Romaldo’s house.

What started out as a misunderstanding based on bad translation was now the murder of a police officer, resisting arrest, and theft of a carriage and two horses.

Gregorio Cortez had greeted the morning as a free man, but now the gallows was looming at his back.

After seeing to his family, Gregorio and Romaldo set out for the nearby town of Kenedy. Romaldo was feverish and fading fast, which left Gregorio with little choice but to deposit him with another branch of their family and set off on his own. He then began a nearly one hundred mile walk to the home of Martin and Refugia Robledo, who rented a home from a wealthy German rancher named Schnabel.

By all rights, Gregorio should have been safe there at the Robledo house. He had evaded several posses on the way, and was relatively sure that no one had tracked him through the rough country.

Unfortunately for him, the sheriff of Gonzales County, Robert M. Glover, was a very good friend of the sheriff Gregorio Cortez had just killed, and Glover was determined to get revenge.

While the other posses were busy wandering the countryside, Glover arrested the women in Gregorio’s family and interrogated them. Using what he learned from them, he organized a posse and headed for Schnabel’s ranch. Though the rumor was never supported with reliable testimony, it appears Glover and his crew picked up a bottle of whiskey on the way to Schnabel’s ranch and had themselves a bit of a wake for the dearly departed Sheriff Brack Morris. They were, in all likelihood, quite drunk when they converged on the Robledo house.

The approaching posse evidently made a great deal of noise as descended on the property, because Gregorio and Martin Robledo were outside, hiding in the brush, waiting for them.

The posse dismounted, with the exception of Glover, and charged the house. Glover rode around to the southeast corner of the property, and there he met up with Cortez. The two men started shooting at one another, and the battle went on until Cortez managed to hit and kill Glover. Cortez then hid, barefoot, in a briar-strewn field until the fight, which grew in legend to become the Battle of Belmont, was over. Then he quietly reentered the house, got his shoes, and fled.

Meanwhile, the posse had their blood up. They engaged the Robledo family and ultimately captured them, but not before Schnabel was shot in the face. He was killed instantly, and there is still some doubt as to who actually inflicted the fatal wound. Mrs. Robledo was charged with the crime, but convincing evidence was raised during the trial to suggest that the fatal shot actually came from another deputy named Tom Harper. But regardless of the cause of Schnabel’s death, the focus remained on Gregorio Cortez. He was now wanted for the death of two sheriffs, and every lawman in the state was itching to put a noose around his neck.

He fled to another friend’s house, where he was given a horse, saddle, and gun, and from there embarked on a mad dash across the state, bound for Laredo. Along the way, he became the subject of the largest manhunt in Texas history. At one point, a posse of three hundred deputies and conscripts (though contrary to legend, the Texas Rangers were not involved at that point) pursued him.

Cortez managed to elude them at every turn. For ten days he used tricks and courage and just plain luck to stay one step ahead of everybody before finally getting turned in by a friend to the Texas Rangers, who took him into custody without firing a shot.

Cortez was taken to San Antonio, where he was tried and convicted for numerous crimes. Despite multiple trials and attempts to lynch him, his death sentence was ultimately commuted by Texas Governor Oscar Colquitt. He was released from prison in 1913 and died three years later of pneumonia.

The Man and the Legend

It’s not hard to see why Cortez became a folk hero. After all, Mexicans living in South Texas, whether legally or otherwise, have long been treated like dirt by their white neighbors. For the thousands of Mexicans living in poverty, Gregorio Cortez was a shooting star. Here was one of their own making the assembled might of the white establishment look like a bunch of chumps. Like Robin Hood before him, he underwent an apotheosis at the hands of balladeers, who immortalized him in song.

Here is Hally Wood’s beautiful translation of “El Corrido de Gregorio Cortez,” which I found in Americo Paredes’ book With His Pistol in his Hand:

In the county of El Carmen
A great misfortune befell;
The Major Sheriff is dead;
Who killed him no one can tell.

At two in the afternoon,
In half an hour or less,
They knew that the man who killed him
Had been Gregorio Cortez.

They let loose the bloodhound dogs;
They followed him from afar.
But trying to catch Cortez
Was like following a star.

All the rangers of the county
Were flying, they rode so hard;
What they wanted was to get
The thousand-dollar reward.

And in the county of Kiansis
They cornered him after all;
Though they were more than three hundred
He leaped out of their corral.

Then the Major Sheriff said,
As if he was going to cry,
“Cortez, hand over your weapons;
We want to take you alive.”

Then said Gregorio Cortez,
And his voice was like a bell,
“You will never get my weapons
Till you put me in a cell.”

Then said Gregorio Cortez,
With his pistol in his hand,
“Ah, so many mounted Rangers
Just to take one Mexican!”

There are innumerable variants of the story, and each embellishes some element of the manhunt. Gregorio’s flight became a vehicle upon which the Mexican folk ballads of northern Mexico and South Texas, a tradition collectively known as corridos, heaped tale after tale of daring do.

This process seems to have started relatively early. The newspapers of the day show a great deal of divisiveness about Gregorio Cortez and what his punishment should be. In some cases, such as with the San Antonio Express News, articles would run side by side, one calling for the immediate lynching of Gregorio Cortez, the other praising his resourcefulness, his courage, his pluck. Mexicans, and a few Anglos as well, took up the story and made Gregorio Cortez into a local god.

The corrido tradition surrounding Cortez became so elaborate, in fact, that by 1958 Americo Paredes was able to devote an entire book to separating Gregorio Cortez the man from Gregorio Cortez the legend. Paredes’ book, With His Pistol in his Hand, remains the finest treatment of the Gregorio Cortez story. In almost every respect, it is a fair and honest attempt to get at the truth of what happened during those ten days in June, 1901. And it is also a loving tribute to the Mexican musical tradition of the corrido.

But in my mind Paredes’ book does take the logical next step and connect the role of art in making heroes out of criminals. Look at Robin Hood, immortalized in songs, novels and movies. Look at the gangsters, bank robbers and rum runners of the 1930s immortalized by the pulp fiction industry and Hollywood. Bonnie and Clyde are no longer reckless psychopaths; they are Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway enacting a modern fable of true love pitted against the cold, indifferent world. Robert Ford, who shot Jesse James in the back (an act that arguably saved a good many innocent lives), is now reviled as a coward and an assassin, lumped in with the likes of the Sheriff of Nottingham and King John.

It seems, ultimately, that crime can pay…as long as you have a soundtrack.

The Narcocorrido: An Afterward

Somewhere out there somebody is saying, “Yeah, but…Robin Hood, he lived a long time ago. His crimes have been whitewashed by time and circumstance and political irrelevance. Today we know the Medieval church stood in the way of scientific progress and that it committed more sins that it helped to prevent. The Sheriff of Nottingham was a villain, through and through. He deserved to meet up with someone like Robin Hood and his Merry Men. And besides, none of that applies to us. All Robin Hood is these days is a historical abstraction, like King Arthur. Lighten up, man. It’s just a story.

Even Gregorio Cortez, whose biography is fairly well documented, is from another time. The players in his drama have been dead for more than half a century, right? What’s the harm in making up stories about him?

Well, there’s nothing wrong with having heroes, to be sure. People need heroes. And they’re going to look for them among their own. Not only do heroes provide the sense of adventure I craved as a boy, but they validate one’s way of life. For the Mexicans in the smoky cantinas of South Texas and Northern Mexico, Gregorio Cortez was a literal expression of what could be, of what any of them could be. Robin Hood represented the same thing to the oppressed lower classes in England. So heroes, as a Platonic form, are not bad. Far from it.

But there is a danger here, depending upon your point of view. Art, after all, is not static. Just as communities change, take on new systems of moral value and new economies, so too do the stories those communities tell. And today, a good part of the South Texas border culture is wrapped up in drugs and illegal migration and violence. Yes, there are still good and true people living along the border, but to paraphrase Thoreau, they are living lives of quiet desperation. They are surrounded by drug cartels that openly engage the government, that kill indiscriminately, that piggy back off the migrant worker’s illegal border crossing quest for a better way of life. The reality of life on the border is one of violence and fear.

And the corrido has changed to reflect this new reality. A new form of the folk ballad has emerged called the narcocorrido, or drug ballad. These are polka-based dance tunes that tell the story of drug runners and border criminals. They are extremely popular. Early examples of the form date back to 1930s, but it wasn’t until the 1970s, when the band Los Tigres del Norte took the Mexican music world by storm, that narcocorrido rose to prominence.

Today, nearly forty years later, the narcocorrido is a mainstay of Mexican music. The ballads its practitioners write and perform contain the exploits of real people. They describe real crimes. And they are making heroes of drug dealers in much the same way as earlier corridos made a hero of Gregorio Cortez.

Except that nowadays the bands performing narcocorridos can reach hundreds of millions of people.

Go anywhere south of the Rio Grande with a picture of Los Tigres del Norte or Rosalino “Chalino” Sanchez, and you won’t have to look very hard to find somebody who knows all their songs by heart.

The implications are frightening. Tempers on both sides of the border are short enough as it is. People become rabid when you start discussing immigration. Add to that the very real threat of drugs and organized warfare sponsored by drug cartels, and you might as well drop a lit match into a powder keg. It will take us years, maybe even several generations, to heal the mistrust that has risen up between the United States and Mexico.

The narcocorrido, I think, will help to deepen that mistrust, rather than help to heal it. Looking back on Gregorio Cortez, we can view his story within the context of the racism of his day, a factor that goes a long way toward mitigating his crimes. We can root for him during his adventures because our modern sensibilities tell us that he was treated unjustly, that he was made a criminal just because he was a Mexican living in an Anglo world. But we can’t say that about the hero of a narcocorrido. When he kills a Los Angeles policeman and flees back to a little village south of the border, thumbing his nose at American justice as he runs, we don’t get to couch his crime in terms of human rights and a demand for dignified treatment. All we can see is a worm eating its way through our moral bread basket. And with heroes like that, who needs villains?

Just made these yesterday, simple but a good start I’d say.

Special thanks to the USPS:)

Just cut out the moose stencil, looks ILL. Hopefully throwin’ it up in the next week or so, pics to follow.

Stay classy

PS- FUCK the Twilight movies. So sick of hearin about that lame ass vamp. You want vampires?

Try Bram Stoker or the original Dracula, shyt it’s all been done before.

…I apologize for the random hatin, but I don’t think I’m alone here.

This kind of stuff is unreal, thought to only exist in movies. People like this take back a bit of the control and the power, at least for a moment in time, from the machine that runs the world. We set laws and rules in order to create social norms. But there will always be outlaws. Outlaw, per dictionary.com is a person who refuses to be governed by the established rules or practices of any group; rebel; nonconformist. At no point in this definition does this say that this person is necessarily a bad person, just a nonconformist looking to live by his own rules.

Make your own rules.

Shouts once again to Max G. at Wine&Bowties for the great story. Look soon for photos up from the Bobby Brackins show in Hollywood this weekend aka the reassembly of the titans.

Stories like this are mindblowing, just because they undermine a lot of what we believe to be true. 18 year-old Colton Harris Moore has been on the run from the law for 18 months, evading the FBI and police with surprising ease. His track record boasts three stolen planes, two speedboats and more than 50 burglaries, and his story has inspired a cult following, prompting t-shirts, Facebook fan pages and even offers from Hollywood studios to produce a bio flick. Decide for yourself what to make of the whole thing, but you can’t help but be impressed. I mean this kid? Full story after the MORE.

From The Independent:

Victims call him a one-man crime wave who ought to be in prison. Fans say he’s a misunderstood folk hero in the grand tradition of Robin Hood, Huckleberry Finn, and Jesse James. To police near Seattle, who are once more on his elusive tail, Colton Harris-Moore can be summed up in two words: most wanted.

The young fugitive is just 18, and has nothing to his name except a resourceful personality and an apparent inability to understand the meaning of fear. But for 18 months, he has led police, the FBI, and several divisions of Canada’s Royal Mounted Police on a merry dance across thousands of miles of the Pacific North-west. During the man hunt, Harris-Moore, who is thought to have committed at least 50 burglaries, has stolen three planes, two speedboats, and countless cars. He’s walked away from crashes that ought to have killed him, inspired a folk song
, got his face on T-shirts, and accumulated almost 4,000 “supporters” on the internet site Facebook.

Now, with Hollywood eager to buy-up his life story, police believe the juvenile delinquent’s odyssey has returned to where it all started: the dense forests that cover Camano Island, a 40sq-mile piece of land in the middle of Puget Sound.

A string of recent break-ins on Camano, where Harris-Moore grew up, and neighbouring Whidbey Island have convinced the forces of law and order that the troubled youth who became known as the “barefoot burglar” on account of his habit of leaving a footprint at the scene of his crimes, has managed to make it back home.

“We’ve had some burglaries on Camano Island, and we’ve had them on Whidbey Island, and we’re investigating them, and that’s what I can say,” Island County Sheriff Mark Brown told reporters this week. “I’m just not going to comment on the on-going investigation, and I think you can probably appreciate why.”

Sheriff Brown is reluctant to add to the layers of mystique surrounding Harris-Moore. Raised by his single mother in a tiny trailer, he began breaking into local properties and businesses at the age of seven, and has been on the run since escaping from a juvenile prison several hundred miles away last April.

Sheriff Brown is also anxious to avoid saying anything that might increase public sympathy for the youth, whose crimes have been, perhaps unfairly, dubbed “victimless” – and who usually tends to to steal blankets, basic foodstuffs, and pieces of survival equipment that allow him to stay a step ahead of the law.

Among his many misdemeanours, Harris-Moore once pinched thermal-imaging goggles from a local fire station, so he could see police coming to arrest him at night. He also taught himself to steal and pilot aeroplanes by using an online flight simulator.

The Scarlet Pimpernel-like nature of his recent escapades is certainly compelling. After a troubled childhood, in which he was abused at home, he spent a portion of his teenage years living in the woods on Camano Island, breaking into local stores and deserted holiday homes in order to get food, petty cash, and occasional shelter.

He was eventually arrested when police noticed that he’d begun phoning for pizzas from his forest hideouts. They decided to dress up as delivery boys in order to capture him. But after serving a few weeks of his sentence, he escaped from Grifffin Home, a juvenile prison in Renton, Washington State.

That was 18 months ago. Since then, Harris-Moore has been more or less untouchable. He spent a summer living on Orcas Island, to which he initially fled using a stolen speedboat. Then, exactly a year ago, he stole a Cessna from a local airfield and flew to the Yakama Indian Reservation
, on the eastern side of the Cascade Mountains where he crash-landed and decided to stay for the winter.

In September this year, he returned to Orcas Island, apparently in another stolen aircraft, carried out a few burglaries, hot-wired another speedboat and drove it to Point Roberts on the Canadian border. He then made his way across British Columbia by foot and stolen car, carrying out a string of break-ins that saw him star in police “wanted” posters.

After pinching another plane, in Idaho, he crash-landed near the town of Granite Falls. “How he walked away from it is anybody’s guess,” Federal Aviation Administration spokesman Mike Fergus told the Los Angeles Times. “The wings were broken, the fuselage had a big crack in it, the nose was broken.” There were 10 to 12 gallons of fuel left in the tank.

Days later, Swat teams were called to woods north of Seattle, when they thought they had Harris-Moore cornered. A shot was allegedly fired by the fugitive. But three dozen agents equipped with search dogs and flashlights were unable to nab the elusive suspect. One officer said it was like he “vapourised”.

All the while, Harris-Moore’s hero status was growing. A range of T-shirts bearing his mugshot and the logo “Momma tried” were launched, and a tribute song released on YouTube. Hollywood producers have offered up to $100,000 for his life story. And his Facebook appreciation site has almost 4,000 members.

“People that are struggling with this huge economic downturn,” says the site’s founder, Zack Sestak, “feel let down by the system. And to see an 18-year-old kid that seems to be taking on the system and winning… it certainly strikes their imagination.”

Now he’s back on home ground, but he’s not coming home. He calls his mother, Pam Kohler, occasionally. “I’ve talked my head off, I’ve tried everything. But he’s the kind of kid who’s going to do what he wants to do,” she told Canada’s Globe and Mail newspaper. “If he taught himself to fly, I’m very proud of him. Next time, I hope he wears a parachute, that’s all.”

Review

Feature

• Color : Gloss Black with Starwings Design
• Adjustable Nylon Chin Strap
• Standard: DOT
• Material: ABS
• Lush Interior Padding for comfortable fit.

Overview

The ultimate half helmet featuring new shell design, awesome graphic designs, securely screwed in visor and a comfort liner all for a great, amazing low price. All Outlaw helmets meet or exceed DOT certification and are made to enhance any riding experience. This Exclusive helmet Starwings design can only be found here on the internet’s # 1 online leather store.

Specifications

Available at Amazon Check Price Now!

*** Product Information and Prices Stored: Nov 13, 2009 09:20:10

iPod Reviews

Detailed Gorean Accessories (Boots, Belts, Hats,…) and Outfit for any role (Vikings, Panthers, Outlaws,…).

http://slurl.com/secondlife/Myth%20Isle/111/32/22

Review

Feature

• Color: Gloss Black with POW graphics
• Adjustable Nylon Chin Strap
• Material: ABS
• Lush Interior Padding for comfortable fit
• Screwed in visor for a secure fit

Overview

The ultimate half helmet featuring new shell design, awesome POW graphics, securely screwed in visor and a comfort liner all for a great, amazing low price. All Outlaw helmets meet or exceed DOT certification and are made to enhance any riding experience. This Exclusive helmet can only be found here on the internet’s #1 online leather store.

Specifications

Available at Amazon Check Price Now!

*** Product Information and Prices Stored: Nov 11, 2009 21:20:09

Textbooks Reviews

http://outlawconsulting.com/sites/all/themes/outlaw/pdf/GenYFinal.pdf

It’s always interesting, and occasionally upsetting to become aware of how we are perceived by others. It can be even more distressing when our character is determined by the generation which we belong to…a mere but professing alphabet (Y) that declares the story of our very existence, attitudes, and ethos. FYI, Generation Y includes those who were born in and between 1979-1997.

The link above is to a 31-slide PowerPoint presentation (which I suggest clicking through) from a marketing company called Outlaw Consulting, Inc. based in San Francisco. They are a qualitative research firm specializing in Gen Y and trendsetters. I’ll give it to them; their work and philosophy are incredibly intriguing. They claim that they are “in the club with hipsters one day and in the boardroom with marketers the next” (as cheesy as that is, it says so on their website) all in an effort to delve into needs of consumers everywhere.

Either way, this slide-show is post-worthy because it identifies many revealing facets of society and its citizen majority, Gen Y…dun dun dunnnn. Obviously, what I take to be true from this presentation is only what I can relate to directly or indirectly through the traits of those whom I know. How true is it to you? 

rotflmao :].
C

This weekend is combined in the one post.

Discussion on the technicalities of various trivial items with the boss’s partner was rudely interrupted when 50 metres down the road we noticed a young male running around the corner, closely followed by a young female minus her top. The boobs, they were large and swinging. They both bobbed down and we waited. Then he sprung up and began legging it across the other side of the street. At this stage, she had recovered her top and covered up, but she decided to pursue this man and in doing so, lost her strapless top again.

Having received this information before and met with the people in question, when we were advised that bikies were in town again it was of no major concern. In fact, while managing a ‘probie’ (his terminology) who got all tight around the neck with the news, I met the bikies for 10 seconds as the walked past. They are normal people with close friends who would do anything for them.

Still they come trying their best. Children, or girls who believe they look old enough to be with the women. Yep, another bunch of girls with ID’s that clearly state they are 17 (legal age here is 18). Only this time, instead of stating the obvious, I said “ok… you can come in” she looked at me with brightness in her eyes, then I continued with “next year, when you are 18!”. I couldn’t help myself.

This weekend is combined in the one post.

Discussion on the technicalities of various trivial items with the boss’s partner was rudely interrupted when 50 metres down the road we noticed a young male running around the corner, closely followed by a young female minus her top. The boobs, they were large and swinging. They both bobbed down and we waited. Then he sprung up and began legging it across the other side of the street. At this stage, she had recovered her top and covered up, but she decided to pursue this man and in doing so, lost her strapless top again.

Having received this information before and met with the people in question, when we were advised that bikies were in town again it was of no major concern. In fact, while managing a ‘probie’ (his terminology) who got all tight around the neck with the news, I met the bikies for 10 seconds as the walked past. They are normal people with close friends who would do anything for them.

Still they come trying their best. Children, or girls who believe they look old enough to be with the women. Yep, another bunch of girls with ID’s that clearly state they are 17 (legal age here is 18). Only this time, instead of stating the obvious, I said “ok… you can come in” she looked at me with brightness in her eyes, then I continued with “next year, when you are 18!”. I couldn’t help myself.

The Warrior Outlaw is the most basic stick out there, period. Nothing fancy, aluminum shaft, wide and rather stiff head. Ideal for anyone just starting out.

DLLDU means Double Layer Large Diamond Uncoated. Still mistified? Most mesh you’ll come upon is Nylon with various coatings that make them harder and more durable. The guys at stringersshack.com came up with the idea to make mesh out of composite material. That’s how Composite Mesh was born. Double Layer is thicker than Single Layer and is much thicker than any Nylon mesh I’ve come upon, even 6D. This gives it a lot of hold. Furthermore, composite mesh is practically 100% weather resistant and guaranteed to have consistent performance rain or shine. Perfect for any wet climate

On to the stringing. For beginners I like to do a low pocket. DLLDU makes for very good hold down low and for a consistent pocket. The pocket has some whip, just enough to feel when the ball comes out.

If you like my work or want to give Composite mesh a try, email me at laxmesheu. I have a variety of stringing materials available on hand and can order anything you might need in a matter of 2 weeks. If you send me a head, stringing is free.

Cheers!
PiotreX

The Revised Common Lectionary takes the church this week to Mark 12: 38-44, a.k.a. The Widow’s mite.

The story of the Widow’s mite is well translated above by Johnny Paycheck in the Outlaw’s Prayer.

Yum – it’s a fucking love story

Still Life with Woodpecker is not just “a sort of a love story” as suggested by its writer, Tom Robbins. It is a love story through and through as it threads the overflowing love of individuals expressing and experiencing it in different ways and in different circumstances.

The story revolves around two characters that came from opposite sides of the life spectrum in almost all aspects of their mortal life and the itsy bitsy idiosyncrasies of freaky individual characters in the sidelines of their world stage.

Leigh Cheri Furstenberg-Barcelona, a princess whose exiled parents, King Max and Queen Tilli, does not give her much choice but adapt to the American way of life. Leigh Cheri, the exiled princess who learned her life lessons quite early experiencing two abortions and being kicked out from school that led her to a celibate life and offered her service to help mankind through alternative lifestyle and being a future Ralph Nader groupie. (I have always been fascinated with Ralph Nader, the forever alternative candidate for the U.S. presidency. Last time I saw his shit was on MTV typing in an old school typewriter.)

Then there is Bernard Micky Wrangle, a.k.a The Woodpecker. The all-black clad Bomb expert. Anarchist. Outlaw extraordinaire. Lover of life and what ever it has to offer. The two met in Hawaii when Leigh Cheri’s lady-in-waiting Guiletta saw Bernard a.k.a the Woodpecker lit the dynamite fuse that wrecked a portion of the place where they were to attend a hippie cum new age type of conference. It was there where love struck them both melting their cold articulation of what love is into a “Love Kills” segue that made Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen get-off their fucked up world.

The Woodpecker sharply articulates his anarchist view of causing incidents, explosive most of the time, literally, to forward his protest against anything that has to do with what is happening in the world. His dynamite talks and the woodpecker walks. That’s what made Leigh Cheri unlock her chastity belt and offer everything she can offer the outlaw.

The outlaw can light his dynamite stick, shove it up his ass for show, but not to out mind his heart over what he felt and what he wanted, and that is not just Leigh Cheri’s ass, but her heart as well. He pursued her, just as she wanted him to be beside her all the time that led to his arrest. Wanted by the pigs, Bernard wanting to make love stay brought him to the pigsty.

It was during the times when Bernard was in the lam that made Leigh Cheri discover her potential for thinking freaky thoughts and theories by her meditating on a pack of Camel cigarettes. As a sign of her truthful love to the outlaw, she carbon copied her outlawed lover’s jail cell and lived just like a convict inside a cell, not going out, not going in, not going anywhere except inside her mind, and heart.

Just as Princess Leigh Cheri was planning to save Bernard the outlaw, she received a letter from the motherfucker spouting shit on her alleging that she capitalized on their love relationship as love struck people would also lock themselves up in clear imitation of what Leigh Cheri, the heir to the throne of the Furstenberg-Barcelona royalty, did for the sake of love.

A pissed Princess can do crazy stuff and that she did. She went out for her billionaire admirer and asked that a pyramid be made in honor of her before she weds him. Of course it was not a platonic relationship, dimwit. She learned to use her beauty and sex machination to maintain the steady flow of money, and liquid sex juice she deeply yearn to cum from the woodpecker. She was able to separate sex from what love really should be until she learned the death of the woodpecker that was able to leave prison by virtue of her lady-in-waiting Guiletta’s whim to release him. Guiletta by twist of fate was actually the next-in-line to the throne of the small kingdom! She is the older daughter of the King from his chambermaid or something. Anyway, Woodpecker was apparently killed somewhere in Algeria when he tried to follow Leigh-Cheri and rescue her from her vicious tragedy.

But it was not the case. By some dumb luck, the Woodpecker was actually alive and even met Princess inside the deepest chamber of the Pyramid on the eve of her wedding. No shit! Of course they tried to argue about the letter, about the camel pack, about the pyramid, but love, ah, love made them see through each others’ bullshit and made them hug. Then the jilted Arab saw them, and locked them inside the pyramid. They escaped in the end. Thanks to the ever present dynamite the outlaw carries almost wherever he goes.

Tom Robbins’ novels always, always reminds me of Ely Buendia and the Eraserheads’ witticism in writing lyrics to their songs. Almost all the Eheads album had that hippie flair consistent with Tom Robbins’ books. Both Robbins and the Eheads’ playful psychedelic shit bring thoughts of mescaline peyote induced hallucinations. Even Ely Buendia changed his name to Dizzy Ventura for sometime, a very suitable name for a Tom Robbins book. But it’s not about the Eheads, or the music scene. I just don’t know how to end this spiel, so here it goes motherfuckers.

I’m feeling very geographical lately. Perhaps it’s due to the discovery that Stacie (our Ursula from the recently-closed Much Ado About Nothing) has a condition called Geographic Tongue which I am now fascinated with.  I Googled earlier tonight to feed my curiosity, and it is so fitting that she has something that causes a map of some mythical, Middle-Earth-type land to crop up on her tongue when she eats pineapple. Stacie’s cool.

Anyway.

Whatever the cause of my geographic fixation, I found another town called Shakespeare, located here in the good ol’ states. Sadly, I can’t move there. It’s a ghost town.

Located in Hidalgo County, New Mexico, this is a place where some outlaws were lynched after being caught by a guy named “Dangerous Dan” Tucker. That was perhaps the most exciting thing to take place there, and now it’s a privately-owned ranch that opens occasionally for public tours.

It may not be the most thrilling discovery I’ve made in a while, but the fact that a guy named “Dangerous Dan” Tucker lived there is reason enough to be interested.

oOutlaWw: Virre du mår mer dåligt själv liksom
oOutlaWw: tyck synd om din son tex
oOutlaWw: saras men det har jag drömt å tydligen ?
oOutlaWw: joo den johan eller vad han heter värka vare en sjön prick

It might seem that I’ve been awfully quiet lately, but actually I’ve been running (mentally) around like a chicken with my head cut-off. I’ve been asked to join the Outlaw Craft Show here in Vancouver on November 28th. This is a smaller, juried craftshow showcasing the talented artists in Vancouver, WA and some from the Portland Metro area.

So I’ve been scrambling trying to get inventory ready, a booth set-up, business cards, etc. I have a good friend working on my solution for displays. I’ve been buying yarn right and left, and knitting like mad. I’ve recruited my good friend Gayle to crochet scarves for me. I’ve also been haunting the thrift shops for high-quality sweaters to felt and re-purpose.

I need to take photos and upload to Etsy the six items I’ve finished, but haven’t had the time. If my husband weren’t working on a book right now, I think I’d be teaching him how to knit… okay maybe not. But I’d  teach him how to felt the sweaters, I have to felt by hand because we own front-load washers (worthless for felting).

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Starting Oct. 26, using hand-held devices while driving in Ontario will be illegal.(Canadian Press)

It will soon be illegal in Ontario to text or talk on a hand-held cellphone or any other device while driving.

The new law comes into effect on Oct. 26.

The province’s Ministry of Transport pushed for the ban citing statistics that showed driver distraction is a factor in 20 per cent of traffic accidents.

The new law means drivers who use their fingers to dial cellphones or send text messages will be liable for a maximum fine of $500.

The province says it won’t start handing out tickets until Feb. 1 ? until then police will just be giving drivers a warning.

Toronto taxi driver Ravi Singh spends more than eight hours a day in his car.

He’s been driving the streets of Toronto for more than a decade and has seen his share of drivers distracted by technology. He says its easy to tell which ones are holding a cellphones while driving.

“Every time a person is trying to make a left with no signal, you know, that person is on a cellphone,” said Singh.

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The hand-held ban means Singh will have to upgrade his own cellphone so it’s compatible with hands-free technology, but he says he’ll gladly do it in the name of safety.

“That’s a pain in the neck, but you know what, you got to obey the law and the law is good. On the whole it’s going to benefit everybody,” he said.

For others, the change in the law has meant an increase in business ? especially stores that sell hands-free devices.

Bill Edmonds, who sells electronics in downtown Toronto, says the Bluetooth system which operates by using voice commands, is a popular item.

Over the past month, he says, they’ve been flying off the shelves.

“It’s just been insane the last three or four weeks,” said Edmonds. “We were selling a lot before but now there is a sense of urgency, people are saying I have to have this, not I want this anymore.”

Ontario now joins more than 50 countries and jurisdictions around the world that have banned cellphone use while driving ? including Newfoundland and Labrador, Quebec and Nova Scotia.

Similar legislation has been introduced in British Columbia.

Airport traffic pickup will be slow: DBRSNashville airport I-40 east exit to close Tuesday night; detour required

One of the teams with a lot of expectations around is the Portland Trail Blazers. After winning 54 games in the last season, the team from Nike land suffered with their inexperience on the playoffs and was explored by Yao Ming and the Houston Rockets.

In order to improve and to add somebody with more experience, Portland signed veteran Andre Miller in free agency. Miller wasn’t the Trail Blazers’ first choice and it’s also not the right choice. Although he played PG in Philadelphia, in modern basketball he would be considered more of a combo guard, playing better adapted with a shooter by his side which is not Portland’s case. Miller likes to hold the ball, so does Roy and that could be a problem because Roy is the better closer, so in clutch time we should see Roy with the ball, Blake spreading the floor and Miller on the bench and we don’t know how he’s going to feel about it.

The acquisition of Miller could be considered more depth than need. We could make the case that the Trail Blazers are a pretty complete team. Steve Blake is a nice PG, not an elite PG but an OK PG. He’s also a very good shooter which helps to stretch the floor when Roy has the ball. Brandon Roy took to the next level of his career and became a premier closer. Nicholas Batum is a good defender who is very athletic. LaMarcus Aldridge keeps improving from year to year and is becoming a force inside the paint on an Amare Stoudmire way. We’re still waiting for Gregg Oden to be a dominant Center on the NBA but the way Joe Pryzbila helps on the defense event, Oden may have to prove himself playing on the second unit. Portland is also deep on the bench with guys like Rudy Fernandez and Travis Outlaw who are always consistent scorers.

A lot of people doubt that this young Trail Blazers can take the jump to the next level and challenge the Lakers and the Spurs for the top of the West but I think they are ready. Maybe the PG controversy could be a problem however all those young guys on that locker room seem to get along. They match really well against LA and could easily out leg SA, so they could be closer to the big stage than we think.

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