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I have overplayed Best Coast’s debut full-length from Mexican Summer, “Crazy For You,” to the point of nausea, since August of this year. I blast it in the car, listen to it in the bedroom, sing what words I can remember during my morning shower, let it seep through the speakers when I’m blogging about other bands. You might think I’m obsessed, but I would argue that it’s not about me. Something in the girly, silly, lazy, bratty, surfy, stony, gritty indie tuneage adheres to the brain and you kinda can’t shake it. It’s hard to imagine that anybody could.
In short, Best Coast is crack. And my stereo is the pipe.
There’s something about “Crazy For You” that takes me to a different place, outside of the eastside LA hood that I happen share with the band, a place somewhere in my memory: It’s the late nineties, I’m wearing a Cub tee and bright red lipstick, leaning against a beat-up mid-century office chair (the fruit of a good dumpster dive) on the floor of an artfully dingy Bay area dining room, inhaling the pervasive house aroma (a mix of Nag Champa, wheatgrass, clove cigarettes, dusty vinyl, rum and crappy Canadian weed) of my host’s charmingly shitty abode. The house is filled with friends that only seem to wear various shades of hemp. We’re ranking all the bands on Lookout! Records. I’m listing rockass chick bass players I wish I could be. We all just bought a bunch of used first-edition CDs at Amoeba. I don’t own a cell phone. Nothing in this moment is ironic. Nobody has ever used the word “hipster” to describe someone or something occurring after 1970.
It’s a fantastic escape. I feel light, like I did then–when a drive to SF, lap around Haight-Ashbury and $5 rock show was all a person needed to feel alive. But always, the album ends and I realize that I’m looking at my laptop, writing about famous assholes and dirty Continue reading ROCK OF ASIAN: Best Coast
Filed under: Bay Area, Best Coast, Best Coast "Crazy For You", Crack, Debut Album, Echo Park, LA Bands, Lookout! Records, Los Angeles, Memories, Mexican Summer, Nostalgia, San Francisco, Vinyl Records, Weed
It’s been awhile since I’ve talked to the guys in Rx Bandits, a band that once went by a clunkier name (Pharmaceutical Bandits) and pumped out lo-fi Orange County ska in the late nineties. Now settled neatly in Long Beach-ish (and their early thirties) the guys seem to have come into their own as a more-mature RxB—a dirty hippie dream with rock, prog, reggae, dub and acid influences that the kids absolutely seem to love (check out their well-received performances at 2007′s Bonaroo and this year’s Coachella festival for proof).
In the best possible way, they’re here, there and everywhere–angular guitar jabs are answered by falsetto vocals, unexpected horn lines meet aggressive drum beats, soft-spoken lullabies transform into high-energy anthems. They’re also musical poster boys for lovers of Mary Jane–spark up a sativa (Might I recommend the aromatic, and blissfully tart Trainwreck?) to rock out to electric-eclectic track “Hope Is A Butterfly, No Net Its Captor… (The Virus Of Silence)” or vape a nice indica and settle in for “March of the Caterpillar.”
I think I once made the mistake of claiming that the Bandits would be up in smoke before you could say “mother plant.” I’m rarely wrong about such things, but I definitely think I was all those years ago. What the hell was I smoking???
[Rx Bandits on MySpace]
Thanks, G Scott!
Filed under: Adding An Asian Band Member Does Wonders, Blowing Up, Cannabis, Dirty Hippies, Dub, Indica, Legalize Marijuana, Marijuana, Mary Jane, Pot, Prog, Reggae, Rock, Rx Bandits, Sativa, Ska Ska Ska, Smokin' And Tokin', Trainwreck, Weed
somewhere everywhere today, so you don’t want to read any more AMAZING LAUGH OUT LOUD FUNNY CRAZY SEXY COOL blog posts, do you? No, you want to get baked, put on the Discovery Channel, get more baked, eat some potato snacks, eat some red and green gummi bears (leaving the yellow and orange ones for when frenemies come over), get more baked, smoke a dozen couple cigarettes, coat your burning throat with a handful of Ricolas, find a taco truck, decide that the outside world is a little too scary at the moment, go back home, lay down in the middle of the living room on a fluffy rug, put on some old records–I’m partial to 70′s country, like Emmylou or Linda Ronstadt–get more baked, and pass out as the last light of the day creeps through the blinds, right?
But in case you’re actually on the interwebz harshing your own mellow, here are a few choice 4/20 links:
420 MEANING: THE TRUE STORY OF HOW APRIL 20 BECAME ‘WEED DAY’ (HuffPo) – A long, rambling explanation of where the term “420″ comes from. Kinda like a stoned conversation, but with facts.
AP-CNBC POLL: MOST IN US AGAINST LEGALIZING POT (AP) – 55% of Americans oppose the legalization of marijuana. These are also the same 55% who oppose fun.
CHEECH AND CHONG HAVEN’T GONE TO POT (LA Times) – At 65 and 71, respectively, with a new concert film out and an ongoing comedy tour, Cheech and Chong are proving that olds still know how to party.
LEGAL CALIF. POT? SOME GROWERS BUMMED (MSNBC) – Legalizing marijuana in California? It’s all good. Unless you’re a pot grower in Humboldt County. Go figure.
KOREATOWN POT HOTEL OPENING TONIGHT, BUT IS FORECLOSURE IMMINENT (Curbed LA) – A “pot-friendly” hotel is opening tonight in LA’s Koreatown. Continue reading It’s 4:20 Everywhere
Filed under: 4:20, Cheech and Chong, Cheech Marin, Ganja, Getting Baked, Getting High, Harold and Kumar, Humboldt County, Just Say No, Kal Pen, Koreatown Pot Hotel, Legalizing Marijuana, Legalizing Pot, Legalizing Pot in California, Marijuana, Mary Jane, Medical Marijuana, Pot, Smoking Reefer, Stoner Films, The Big Lebowski, Tommy Chong, Weed
“Don’t Ram the Boobs” seems like a game that my boyfriend would invent after a night of Tecate, spicy pizza, medicinal pot, Cazadores, White Castle burgers, a round of Trivial Pursuit, three pot cookies, two quesadillas, Modelo Especial, a few rounds of “How Hard Can You Squeeze a Raw Agg Before It Cracks and Splatters Everywhere?”, a 32oz. of Miller High Life, one more pot cookie, an around-the-room test of “Who Can Eat a Tablespoon of Cinnamon?”, a plate of Thai larb salad, and three bottles of Pellegrino.
I can just imagine coming home to a very rudimentary setup of “DRTB” accompanied by the words, “But honey! All you have to do is wear this bikini and STAND THERE!”
For the “bong hit heard ’round the world,” Michael Phelps was forced to pay some dues: He apologized. His mom apologized. His bong apologized. His contract with Kellogg won’t be renewed, and in lockstep, Subway almost dropped him as well (Thankfully–now I can still order $5 footlongs when necessary). In order to keep Mazda from pulling their funds as well, the man with the golden stroke was even asked to submit this enthusiastic video apology to his “friends in” (read: all of) China:
Call me a derelict, but am I the only one that thinks all of this nonsense is much ado about bong hit? Phelps has been put through the ringer for a photo he did not pose for, because he was smoking weed (like most of you will do this weekend). I don’t care. I don’t want him to apologize! I want him to go home and polish his medals, and post some pictures of his abs to put up on Facebook.
Meanwhile, Chris Brown and Miley Cyrus stay mum about their recent bouts of questionable behavior, our 43rd President will probably never apologize for his crimes against humanity, and Anne Hathaway shall forever owe the world an apology for her insufferable acceptance speech at this year’s Critic’s Choice Awards.
Seems a bit off to me, but maybe I’m just baked.
Filed under: Bong Hits, China, Chris Brown, I Don't Get Anne Hathaway, Kellogg, Marijuana, Mazda, Michael Phelps, Miley Cyrus, Nonsense, Public Apologies, Subway, This is Bullshit, Weed, Weird American Behavior
What most of the news outlets neglected to report, however, was the note tucked neatly into the shaman’s front pocket, bearing the message*:
“Sorry, homes. I hit it already. It’s totally cashed.”
*Okay, maybe there was no note. But that is some oldass weed–don’t even think about it!
The NYT printed an article this week about an east coast high school in Jericho, NY, which is currently focusing its efforts on integrating and easing the road in for reluctant Asian parents that otherwise wouldn’t engage in much extracurricular school involvement (i.e. organizing PTA meetings, attending sports games and orchestra concerts–and not just the “important” ones!), all for the better education of the kids.
This–this just isn’t fair, okay? It just is not. I wanted my parents to help organize the homecoming bake sale. I wanted my mom to hold my hand through cheerleading tryouts. I wanted my parents to buy football swag and come with me to games and raise money for grad night and trade calls with my student council advisor. I wanted them to cheer for my performance in the school musical instead of just showing up to watch me accept shameful awards, to hand me Gatorade during Thursday afternoon cross-country races and not just show up to watch me humiliate myself during the 3200-meter Track and Field district championships. I wanted them to witness my Tony-award-worthy winter lip sync performance, even though they might not have been all that impressed by my ball-change-repeat-hop-two-and-kick move to the tune of “Bust A Move.” I wanted my AP Lit teacher to be like, “Oh my goodness, your mother is a doll!” instead of, “Wow. Your dad is… very different from you. Cool cucumber, eh?”
URGH!!!!!! IF I HAVE TO GROW UP WITH PITY-PARTY PARENT ISSUES, SO DO THESE JOKERS. I WILL NOT SUFFER ALONE!
Goddammit, I hope somebody’s mom finds weed in their locker.
Reigning Miss Teen Louisiana, Lindsey Evans, lost her crown yesterday–11 days early–after she dined ‘n’ dashed with three female friends in Bossier City, LA over the weekend but FORGOT HER PURSE IN THE RESTAURANT. Which, in addition to her ID, ALSO CONTAINED A BAG O’ WEED. (The bill, by the way, was $46.07 for 4 people.)
This is just lazy and stupid. Leaving your purse at a restaurant where you skip out on the check? That’s shamefully poor planning. Forgetting your bag of weed anywhere? What the hell kinda stoner is she? She either hasn’t smoked enough to understand its value or she’s smoked way too much to remember anything; whatever the case may be, her little pea-brain clearly can’t afford it. Also, what sort of pretty white girl can’t charm her way out of getting busted for not paying an inexpensive check and carrying a little bag of pot in her purse?
The only good news for Lindsey is that she won’t be needing brain cells in the future, where she hopes to become a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader. On second thought, I’m sure she’ll find a way to fuck that up, too. High-kicking in white boots and your underwear does require some basic motor skills and coordination.
Check out her mugshot. She looks like Tracy Flick’s dumb cousin whom Tracy is ashamed of and refuses to acknowledge in school:
Filed under: Asians Aren't Lazy, Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, Dine 'n' Dash, Dumb Blondes, Dumbasses, Lindsey Evans, Marijuana, Miss Teen Louisiana, Pot, Stupid People, Tracy Flick, Weed, Weird Louisianan Behavior
I don’t know why exactly, but this story amuses the hell outta me: “Police nab two cannabis growers in cemetery.” Two cemetery caretakers in Hanoi were busted this week for growing pot in an 82 square-foot patch o’ dead people right before their first harvest. Which makes me wonder: Are dead people good fertilizer for da kine bud? Is that what gives weed those yummy crystals? Do dead people give you a body high or a cerebral high? Is it the kind of Mary Jane that makes you wanna crash or rage on the D-floor? Does it make you more or less paranoid?
SO MANY QUESTIONS.
Paul Dhaliwal, one of the three victims of the Christmas Day tiger attack at the San Francisco zoo, has admitted to being drunk and stoned while yelling and waving at the caged feline. Likely agitated by the disturbance, the tiger apparently leaped over a wall that was four feet lower than the recommended height. It then attacked the three men, unfortunately killing one. On the day of the incident, the victims portrayed the situation as an unprovoked attack.
This story is just altogether sad and frustrating. The zoo fucked up, the guys fucked up–but the tiger got confused. So why is the cat the one that got the bad rap?