Respect Authority

The weather in the Windy City of late has been reasonably tolerable, which means little in a place where a few short months ago we were graced with -20 degree icy farts that Jack Frost routinely blew in our faces whenever we stepped outside. Nonetheless, it’s still a bit too brisk to convincingly call it “Spring” — in fact, I feel almost as if Winter is sadistically dangling its successor in front of my face, a juicy morsel of hope hovering just out of a starving man’s reach.

Fuck the April showers, just gimme my mother fucking May flowers.

Here’s the simplest Q&A ever conceived:

Q: Should I live in Chicago?
A: No.

Onions are by far my leading nemesis in the realm of the edible. Do you have any idea of how hard it is to love pork fried rice when you can’t stand onions? The Chinese people seem to have some kind of fetish for the pungent vegetable that I can neither explain nor support. And they’re not just infecting take-out — onions are fucking everywhere. It’s a tough life. Regardless, here’s an illustration I did the other day in honor of my hated rival, the fearsome onion, ruiner of many a cheeseburger.

Feeling a little uninspired today? Suffering from a bit of post-weekend malaise? The best advice I can give to you, the creatively barren, is to steal from those who are somehow immune to cases of the Mondays, free of this weekly torture either through an irritatingly positive outlook on life, happy employment at one of those fairytale jobs we were lied to about in high school, or a mild to moderate cocaine habit.

Robin Hood is considered a hero, as he went on to inspire President Barack Obama’s policies — but more than that, because he believed in fairness. Those with good ideas will surely have more, and surely they can spare a few to those of us adrift on a blank Photoshop canvas. Because after all, if you don’t have enough gum to share with everyone in the class, then you might as well not chew it at all.

This appropriate illustration featuring a fairly incredible quote by independent filmmaker Jim Jarmusch was tipped off to me by my friend and fellow designer Brandon. Now go recycle something, it’s good for the environment.

This isn’t supposed to be a column about photography of urban decay; it just so happens that images of decomposing modern ruins compliment dark visions of the future particularly well. Still trying to figure that one out.

Late last week, TIME ran a photo essay by Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre about Detroit’s golden oldies. This is the same glistening point on the map where earlier this winter a dead body was found encased in a block of ice inside an elevator shaft, where he had been for months. So yeah, Detroit… nice place to visit and all… only, um, not.

This was once Detroit’s main train station; today it has been converted into Detroit’s main source of tetanus. Seriously, no wonder Eminem is so pissed off coming from this place. Not only do you probably have cancer from the city’s proud collection of asbestos, but worse yet, there’s not even anything to do on the weekend.

In a way, Detroit functions as a sneak preview for any city in its decline. In a time when old industries and business models are showing their age and failing to keep up with technology’s exponential progression, any city that can not adapt to the demands of the present will inevitably regress exponentially.

And in a city that is increasingly resembling a ghost town, it’s hard not to believe in hauntings. Nonetheless, watching America’s ruins form before your very eyes is quite frightening all on its own.

Despite the fact that the company just leveraged its brand new headquarters to raise capital, the New York Times Co., parent of the eponymous newspaper, is still finding time to taunt us with an attention to detail that implies real to-the-bone layoffs have yet to truly affect the Grey Lady. 

Indeed, this week the NYT posted on its Web site an article titled “Speak, O Muse, of Fallen 401(k)s and Malignant Mortgages,” a compilation of reader-submitted poems about the economic downturn. No, I’m not kidding. Shockingly, and perhaps a testament to the fact that no one reads the Times for its poetry beat, only about 100 readers responded. Here are some choice excerpts, which vary from the smug to downright bitter: 

Those of us who’ve lost it all, 
Thought not about the cost at all.
Those of us who are content,
Gave thought to every single cent.
John Duvall, Hastings-on-Hudson, NY

(Apparently not part of any company-designated and uncontrollable 401(k) plan that invested in now-deteriorating mutual funds, thus costing said plan holder hundreds of thousands of dollars in retirement money through no fault of their own). Read More ›

Whatever brew of potions I fed my body last night combined with an earlier half-baked viewing of Watchmen including the new not-for-bedtime Terminator Salvation trailer made for an interesting REM cycle, to say the least. And while the grim reality of the reincarnated Terminator franchise is that Christian “I may, in all likelihood, actually kill a person someday” Bale will probably be the scariest part about it, I was nonetheless quite terrified while I dreamt, for what seemed like eons, of sugar plums and robotic apocalypse.

Given the dark visions of our own future conjured up daily by various analysts and other assorted modern day oracles, the thought of machines rising up and enslaving the entire human race is almost comforting — at least that way we wouldn’t be fighting each other anymore.

Perhaps the uncertainty of our times and the overall sense of dread looming on the horizon is what makes these photographs of World War II bunkers by Paul Virilio particularly haunting. The terrifying realities of their past staring into the terrifying potential of our future makes these silent, crumbling sentinels a sight as chilling as any army of machine gun toting T-800s. In fact, James Cameron’s description of his horrific children as “Death rendered in steel” has a certain resonance in these photos as well.
Read More ›

Good afternoon! I’m here to give you a new perspective on the word “awesome.”

In the immortal words of R. Kelly, “It’s! The! Remix!”

ThruYOU is the genius bastardization of all media through the cultural dream catcher that is YouTube by some shadowy, often pictured shirtless, character by the name of Kutiman. With a name like that, it sounds like the dude belongs in a fucking Pokéball if you ask me — instead, he’s busy ripping the entire Internet to shreds, and pushing mash-up culture’s overstuffed envelope just a little further in the process.

The results of his tireless mad science are no less impressive than they are innovative. Kutiman is the Girl Talk of streaming video montage, to put it one way. And just like the Pied Piper of neon-clad hipstards, Kutiman may not have been the first to attempt something like this, but he achieved it on a scale so much larger, and did it so successfully as to completely overshadow the clambering troglodytes that paved his way. And like in the best mash-ups, the end product is somehow more than just the sum of its parts. Kutiman makes rich, lush soundscapes out of zit-faced losers playing a cheap guitar for their webcam as if the 14-year-olds calling them a fag in the ensuing YouTube video’s comments actually care.

So I guess this is what it feels like to be living in Post Postmodernity.

…There is often a TV playing delightfully absurd rap videos and a box of half-decimated pizza nearby.

R.I.P. weekend.

Do you see him? If you squint a bit it even looks like he’s puffing on whatever it was that got me seeing faces growing out of the fucking street in the first place.

Who knows, it’s probably just Jesus or whatever.

Two days ago, artist and apparent soap fetishist Stuart Semple released 2,057 smiley-faced clouds into the miserable gray wash the British call “sky.” The clouds, made up of helium, biodegradable soap, and vegetable dye, floated past the Tate Modern and Southbank before dissolving into the air after 30 short-lived minutes. Frankly, I’m not sure if seeing a few of these hovering next to my face on the way to work would come across as anything other than smug. Like, “Hah hah, I’m a cloud, I never have to work! See things in me!”

The project, intended to inject a little cheer into the dreary London skyline, was certainly unique. However, the artist probably could have made people even happier if he just threw all the money these blissfully ignorant clouds cost into the air instead. Not as cute, maybe, but after using that free money to buy a few beers, everything else starts looking cuter anyway.

And while they may have elicited a few unsuspecting chuckles at the time, now just imagine if all of those little happy clouds had anthrax or nerve gas mixed into their sudsy solution. The clouds and even great Allah himself might be smiling now, but they’re the only ones!

So yeah, the clouds were a real gas. But only in time will we see which definition of the word really best applies. Smile, we live in such a wonderful world!

Normally I don’t subscribe to college humor-esque YouTube videos, but explaining the FUPA to countless people over the years (real actual adults excluded, since I can’t bring myself to say “pussy” without giggling), I have to respect that the term has gained enough prominence to merit multiple faux music videos. Here’s a juicy selection:

And here’s a camel toe for good measure.

Check it out, another self indulgent photography post!

The first two are actually pretty old, taken back in an evil time several months ago, a time that has now led me to believe that 28 degrees Fahrenheit is warm. Plus, as I work at home (baby daddy is a full time job, okay) one could say I wasn’t getting out a whole lot. One could say, “that Howard Hughes mother fucker on the sixth floor’s beard is starting to smell.”

But just like Josh Hartnett’s seminal role (What? He’s proof that vampires can have mustaches) in 30 Days of Night, my tale is one of redemption, and my long winter is showing its first signs of relenting. Only I don’t have to turn into ashes now that we have daylight past 4:30 pm again, which is, obviously, a plus. Read More ›