Review: No Age, live.

No Age, 7th St. Entry, Mpls, MN, 11/23/10-One would imagine any proper review of a No Age live show would end with line like, "While it may lack the insert big word of your choosing and insert synonym for the exact same big word of its predecessors, make no mistake about it, this is the punk rock of today."  Whereas, this one will simply end accompanied by a photo of jean jacket with a embroidered kitten on the back.  But before I do that, I'd like to bitch about all the people on cell phones at the show. 

Arriving at the Entry shortly before the second of two opening acts began, I surveyed the crowd, as is my wont, to discover the average age, even for an 18+ show was older than expected.  And by older I still mean younger than me.  I should mention that as a dedicated follower of fashion I was surprised to see some folks are still doing the bandanna around the neck thing.  I'm fairly certain this is dead.  And if not, should be.  In fact, I'm now from this moment forward declaring it dead. 

Anyway, you know how when someone tells a ghost story around the campfire they have to do that flashlight under the chin thing?  Well that's what everyone's face looks like at shows these days because everyone stares at their phones non stop.  In fact, the guy next to me was Facebooking on his iPhone during the entire set.  I was so annoyed by this and appalled that he was not making any attempts to disguise such embarrassing behaviour, that I wanted to grab the tall motherfucker by the ear-mom style-and pull him down to me so I could remind him he was in fact at a show. 

Eventually No Age took the stage.  I can't believe I didn't notice this before but the drummer and primary vocalist, Dean Spunt looks and sounds remarkably similar to a young Mike D.  He and guitarist Randy Randall (and touring keyboard player) move effortlessly from new songs to old ones and back again.  On record, the new album Everything In Between is an obvious move into a more palatable direction, just as Nouns was from Weirdo Rippers, but when songs from all three are played interchangeable, the difference in virtually unnoticeable.  It's undeniably, well, No Age.  Whatever that means. 

I wanted to spit my gum in the hair of the next person I saw looking at their motherfucking phone!   

About three quarters through the set they threw in cover of BLACK FLAG'S  Six Pack and thankfully the crowd up front acted appropriately. Of course this moment couldn't go un-Tweeted or texted about, so several people began furiously typing on their phones.  Unbelievable!  You're at a real live show, with real live people, where a real live band is playing right in front of you, and playing Black Flag no less, and instead of choosing to actually experience it, you're...argh! 

It was at this point that I could take no more.  I grabbed a handful of ice from an empty in front of me and began throwing cubes at everyone who was staring at their phones.  In retrospect, I'm quite surprised at myself for doing this, as I was alone, and as much as I hate on stuff like this, rarely do I actually do something about it.  I think everyone got the point.

One should not be surprised by this digital connectivity of the No Age audience, as they are a band whose popularity is in large part due to internet chatter.  But still, they ARE a visceral band.  Quite frankly you're doing yourself and those around you a disservice if you're in the physical location in which it's happening and instead you're Tweeting or Facebooking about it rather than actually doing it.  Fuck, maybe this is the punk rock of today, after all.  That's kind of depressing.

For those of us that kept our phones in our pockets, well, we saw a really good show. (-NO'B)

And now, without further adieu...

No Age, 7th St. Entry, Mpls, MN, 11/23/10


Review: Crocodiles

Crocodiles-Sleep Forever-CD- Second go-around for these San Diegans.  Although a slight departure from the previous sort-of-brash and unfinished sound, it is still in line with the dark dream pop 80s meets double aughts bedroom dance resonating on Summer Of Hate. And while not as aural or loud an experience, comparisons to MY BLOODY VALENTINE would not be totally unwarranted.  As well, Sleep Forever fits perfectly alongside other new releases by lo-fi indie contemporaries NO AGE, JAPANTHER and label-mates WAVVES.  Yes, that means the target demographic is most likely the all-encompassing, yet somewhat off-putting H-word.  That is not to say that this is not a good record for old guys like myself, looking to stay relevant and keep abreast of the "new shit."  Of particular interest are the hazy semi-garage rocker, Billy Speed and the closer, All My Hate And My Hexes Are For You.  The latter--which consists primarily of the title being repeated about a million times over an LCD-type beat--is infectious in a simple kind of way, and in my humble opinion, one of the better songs to come out this year.  Pretty good for some dudes from the city whose name means "A Whale's Vagina."-'10, Fat Possum (-NO'B)


Doomy G went to NYC

Song of Zarathustra and I go way back. They played at the first or second punk show I ever went to back home in about 1999. I’ve only gotten to know Travis (vocals) and Jamie (bass) over the past few years, but us Sioux City folk are tight, no matter what. I took my first trip out to New York City the weekend before last to go see the second incarnation of SoZ’s reunion show at the Cake Shop. I get cheap plane tickets through my mom and I had a bunch of friends going out there for the show - it seemed as good a time as any to make my first venture out there!

The show wasn’t quite the spectacle that it was here in Minneapolis back in February - with the hometown crowd and all - but it was still pretty damn good. Late 90s hardcore isn’t exactly my jam. I find it kinda silly most of the time, but there’s something special about Song. There’s just this freakish energy that they all emulate when they perform together, even after all these years. Shit son, these boys are in their mid-thirties - but they can still rock out pretty hard. Personally, the most surprising aspect of the show was Jamie’s GIANT FUCKING BEARD. Not that it affects his bass playing or anything, I just never really saw him as the beard sorta guy. When I confronted him about it, he admitted that he’s never been the shaving sorta guy and he’s finally letting his true self shine through. I call bullshit.

Other than the show, New York was alright. It’s not really my thing. I get nervous around angry, smelly strangers. But I shouldn’t blame the people, the smelliness was probably due to the litter and garbage juice that was hanging out everywhere. I was seriously grossed out. I just took refuge in bars, apartments, and Chinatown.

Scratch that. I totally got lost in Chinatown.

I’d go back to visit, but I could never see myself living there. The smell seriously got to me and I grew up in a town that was notorious for its meat processing plants. That smell, my friends, is not pretty. On the other hand, I didn’t really explore the town that much. I didn’t bother going to any of the touristy spots. We pretty much just hung out in Brooklyn the whole time, but that was perfectly fine by me.

I'm Faster Than My Shadow


Review: Life Trap

LIFE TRAP-Solitary Confinement-E.P.-7inch-One of the better touring bands to play at Eclipse Records in the last couple years.  Hailing from Tennessee, these guys play ripping hardcore punk.  Like a tiny bit faster AMDI PETERSEN'S ARME' with vocals reminiscent of a slightly less snotty and certainly less irritating QUICNY PUNX.  Short, fast and loud, in the vein of, well, pretty much everyone that plays this stuff.  You know the drill: four dudes in jeans, sleeveless t-shirts and Vans set up on the floor in front of the stage and hammer it out for 15 minutes.  However, these guys stand apart from many of their peers, in that they are extremely tight and oozing genuine energy.  The lyrics--dripping with more f-bombs than an Eddie Murphy stand-up routine from the 80s--are that of the angered-and-disillusioned-bleak-societal-outlook variety, as evidenced by the title track, "The way my life is set up for me is like a fucking trap.  Made one too many mistakes; now there is no turning back.  Caught in fucking cage; my life is like a maze.  Now that I've got nothing to lose, somebody's going to pay."  Similar themes continue throughout, including on the closer, Wasteland, which one can only assume is about their hometown, Nashville, "Why can't you see you're just so full of shit?  Your life's so fucking plastic it makes me fucking sick.  Why can't you see I don't want to live here another day?  Why don't you just fucking go away?!"  Well dudes, although we have our fair share of plastic too, you can always come live here. And play lots of shows.  If records were meth hits, this would be the one that makes your teeth fall out.  A ripper indeed.-'08, No Way (-NO'B)


J-Sho went to Bragging Rights

Recently we asked our pal #J.Sho--longtime friend of HDD-the crew and longtime reader/sometime contributor/commenter to HDD-the blog--to interview Nathan/Nathen about being a professional wrestling fan for a #lifechangers piece.  Somewhere along the way, the interview got dumped, and J.Sho, herself, ended up becoming a super mark.  She started DVRing Raw, bought a PPV, subscribed to Figure Four Weekly and Wrestling Observer, and eventually, went to see the WWE live... 

I used to hate professional wrestling. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I kinda started loving it this past summer. I’m a 34-year-old female. Normal women my age don’t start getting into the WWE, they start to think about how much time they have left to have children. But, I’m not really that normal, and that is why I bought a ticket to the taping of the Bragging Rights PPV at Target Center. Notice that ticket is singular.

The details of the event are a bit fuzzy. Not because I was drinking or anything, but because of old age and procrastination. I can barely remember what happened on Smackdown last Friday, let alone the PPV two weeks ago. I’m a total procrastinator and put off writing this until I got an email from HDD telling me my deadline was last Friday.

The afternoon of the event I began to get nervous because it hit me that I was about to make a fool out of myself by attending this event solo, but once I got there my fears were put to rest. It was a total nerd fest! I felt right at home. At first, I was really excited to have floor tickets, but it turns out that having floor seats on the announcers’ side (six rows back and in the corner) meant that I couldn’t see and of the Superstars’ entrance (I love that part). Total bummer. Rookie mistake.

Even though I couldn’t see everything, I was excited for the matches to start. There was a dark match – Chavo Guerrero vs. MVP. MVP won. Since then, MVP has become the #1 Contender for the Intercontinental Championship. The title match vs. Dolph Ziggler will occur on Smackdown this Friday. Speaking of Dolph Ziggler, the next match was a Champion vs. Champion match: Dolph Ziggler (Intercontinental) vs. Daniel Bryan (United States.) I thought this match was the best one of the night. Daniel Bryan finally won after he made Ziggler submit via his LaBell Lock.

The Tag Team Championship match was next. The current champs, “Dashing” Cody Rhodes and Drew McIntyre came out and complained that there was nobody left in the WWE to face them because everyone was too scared. Cue the anonymous Raw GM and then cue the Nexus music. John Cena and David Otunga were sent by Wade Barrett to claim the title. The match ended when Rhodes tapped out to Cena’s STF. The next night on Raw Wade Barrett would make Otunga lie down and get pinned so that Justin Gabriel and Heath Slater could have the belts.

Next up was a match for the Million Dollar Belt: Ted DiBiase, Jr. vs. Goldust. The match ended with DiBiase pinning Goldust. Unfortunately, DiBiase did not make it out of the ring with his family’s belt. Instead, Goldust’s NXT Rookie Diva GF Aksana distracted DiBiase and Goldust was able to snatch the belt from DiBiase’s GF Maryse before heading backstage. DiBiase is still pissed about this. He even tried to stop Goldust and Aksana’s wedding on NXT last week.

The divas match was next and I went out to buy tshirts. I got this one and this one.

For the third PPV in a row Kane was trying to retain the World Heavyweight Championship from his brother, Undertaker, in a Buried Alive match. Big whoop. Undertaker looked like he had a difficult time here. Maybe he was up too late partying after UFC 121the night before. I think he actually had a legit injury and that is why Kane ended up winning. It looked like The Phenom was going to bury Kane until members of The Nexus came out and helped Kane bury Undertaker. I guess we’re going to find out what the true intentions of Nexus were in helping Kane in the coming weeks. I’m on the edge of my seat.

Then it was on to the match I was looking forward to the most: Team Raw vs. Team Smackdown.

I was kinda bummed that they had to wear their t-shirts, but at least there were some nice asses to look at (sorry, I’m a girl).

Team Smackdown won, probably to hype the show’s move to SyFy on Friday nights. Either way, I got to see my faves of the moment, Edge and Rey Mysterio, win the Bragging Rights trophy for Team Smackdown. Since then, Edge is the #1 Contender for the World Heavyweight Championship against Kane at the Survivor Series PPV on Nov 21.

Main Event: Orton vs. Barrett for WWE Championship with Cena in Barrett’s corner. Barrett tells Cena that he if fired if Barrett doesn’t win the match. Being such a wresting novice coupled with not being able to hear the announcers explain things to me made the ending of this one a bit confusing. I later figured out that a title cannot change hands by disqualification, and John Cena got Randy Orton DQ’d by giving Wade Barrett an Attitude Adjustment. A clever way for Cena to let out some of his aggression at Wade Barrett for making him fetch water for Nexus and probably clean their dirty jock straps, but not be fired from the WWE. I hope they wrap up this Cena/Nexus angle at Survivor Series when Cena is the guest referee for an Orton vs. Barrett title re-match. This time the stip is that Cena (as an impartial ref, of course) is free from Nexus if Barrett wins and fired from the WWE if Orton wins. Ha, it will be interesting to see what happens.

Sorry that got a little bit TL;DR. I can’t help it. It’s my new obsession. I just wish the PPVs weren’t so expensive because I need to see what happens at Survivor Series!



Review: Harry Balzagna & the Teenie Weenies

HARRY BALZAGNA & THE TEENIE WEENIES-Skate Army E.P.-7inch- I can't remember if I picked this one out of the West Coast Hardcore or Thrash box(Amoeba Records, L.A.)  Sounds like thrash but they appear to be from Costa Mesa, so I can't be sure.  Either way, that hardly matters now does it.  Crossover thrash ala MUNICIPAL WASTE or CROSS EXAMINATION but with less party & metal and more skate & punk.  Vocals reminiscent of the early DIOS MIO.  Very nicely printed sleeve with the standard old-school skate images; royal blue on white, with a shot of pink aerosol underneath for the D.I.Y. three-color win. The second to last song, Not My Kind Of Fun, is sort of a bummer.  "Was my youth a waste of time?  Cuz I didn't get wasted or fried?  Cuz I didn't find cheap romance or attend one school dance?  Did I miss out?"  Ah, I hate to say it man, but, uhm, well, YEAH!  Just what exactly were you doing?  They are redeemed though because they follow that song up with one about farting in class, called Breakin' Ass.  (Hey, that rhymes.)  Not sure if they are still a band.  If so, hopefully they have dropped the Harry Balzagna part of their name.  Wouldn't want them ending up in the Garage Rock box erroneously.  Seriously though; good shit.-'03, Snack Attack!/The World Is Square (-NO'B)


Thoughts on Eyedea

A few people have asked why I haven’t written anything about Eydea passing away. I guess I wasn’t sure what to say. When someone dies, people have a tendency to personalize it—make it about themselves. (I’m guilty of this. Anyone that’s been around here knows that I took the Jay Reatard thing kinda hard.) For the record, I did not know Michael Larson. I was purely a fan boy, in awe of his prowess rocking the mic as Eydea. I bought his records and I went to see him rap…many, many times. Eyedea was a major role player in making the Twin Cities the hip-hop powerhouse it is today. These are a just few I-remember-when moments that have come to mind over the past couple days. I’d like to share them with you…

Headshots Vol 6: Industrial Warfare mixtape
Eyedea’s freestyle recorded live in the 7th St. Entry, rapping about being too young to be in bars…while in a bar.

Collabos with Oddjobs
Whether it was his verses on Oddjobs records or the tape they did together, Bridges Over Hidden Whereabouts, whenever they teamed up it was on some next-gen shit.

Sixth Sense verses on DJ Abilities’ Finally mixtape
Something, something, “Can of Coke,” something, something, “Drinkin’ out the party ball.” (I don’t remember exactly how it goes. I’ll listen to it tonight and update.)

Overhearing him talking at Fifth Element
I was shopping in Fifth Element the first year they were open and Eyedea happen to be in there with his mom. I distinctly remember him talking about how he can’t go to the mall anymore because “these kids won’t leave me alone.” He was a senior in high school.

Battle rapping with Slug
The best live incarnation of Atmosphere was Slug and Eydea & Abilities. There was always a freestyle portion near the end of their set where Slug and Eyedea would battle each other. Eyedea dropped a verse on Slug one night that I will always remember: “Dude, you’re my idol. But you drink too much. Plus, I think you’re suicidal.” Doesn’t sound like much on paper, but when he rapped it, a sold out First Avenue went ape shit bananas.

Watching him watch himself on TV
After he won the freestyle Blaze Battle in Chicago, Ryhmesayers screened it at the Red Sea, followed by an Atmosphere performance. You could see it on the dude’s face as he watched it he was like, “Damn, I was up there with KRS-ONE.”

El-P yelling at him on stage
A Def-Jux tour rolled through town. El-P and Aesop Rock (or was it Mr. Lif?) invited Eyedea up on stage for a freestyle session. Every time the mic got passed to him, he would start talking gibberish and finally El could take no more and yelled at him, “Shut up and rap!” Then he killed them with a dope verse.

Him rapping
My favorite memories of Eyedea are just him rapping. Rapping and rapping and rapping and rapping. Countless times the dude would drop a verse that would have the whole place going “Ooooooooooooooooh!” Dude could rap.

I feel weird casually mentioning these things without much detail. But that’s all I really have in me right now. It’s a total bummer when someone dies so young. Especially someone as talented as Eyedea.


Life: Best Served Chilled

I love ice. It helps keep beverages cold and most beverages taste much better ice cold. However, I hate when all I want to do is take a big swig of my gin and whatever’s-in-the-house and I get a mouth full of ice cubes. Freezing cold ice cubes that make my teeth feel like they’re going to crack. Out of the three basic needs in life (eating, sleeping, and fornicating) I think eating might be my favorite. And that includes drinking, which of course includes adult beverages. My roommate yelled at me last night because I wasn’t really paying attention and I almost made a mixed drink with $40 per bottle whiskey. Boy did I feel sheepish! Lately I’ve developed a taste for fine scotch. Really fine scotch. Like, shit that’s so expensive you wouldn’t even dream of getting trashed on it cuz that would just be a waste of all those fine quarter-casked-single-malt flavors. Those delicious peaty smoky flavors… I’m starting to drool a little bit here… I just like to take a big whiff of the glass, then take the tiniest of sips and let it sit on my tongue for a bit. Oh God it’s great. What’s wrong with enjoying a few fine pleasures in life? I don’t get to do it very often cuz Lord knows I’m broke as shit. But to indulge, to sit back and smell the roses… or in my case, smell the scotch - it‘s nice every now and again. I feel like most people around me, myself included, are so stressed out about life. I take comfort in my quiet Nihilism; believing that in the end, nothing really matters. I just strive to be comfortable enough right now - fed, fucked, and rested. So whenever I’m feeling especially desperate, I try to relax. And shake my liquors so I don’t have to worry about damn giant ice cubes flooding into my mouth.

I'm Faster Than My Shadow


Political Correctness Is Really Harshing My Gig

The modern PC world has made it terribly difficult for me to swear. I remember my freshman year of college and I described someone as a “fag” because that was the best description of him I could muster and my “friend” was all “rrrrrealy?” Should I just expand my vocabulary?

I don’t think so. Maybe I just grew up in a special (like retarded) sort of bubble or something, but I’ve always felt “faggot” was a special term of endearment. We didn’t call just anybody faggot. You had to EARN that prefix to your name. C’mon, how are you gonna argue with Faggot

Feliple? (Way better than Famous Felipe… )

Cunt. So modern feminist clich├ęd… yet still so wonderful. I don’t find it offensive (because I have no soul). I just think it’s a beautiful, colorful word. Every time I’ve been called a cunt, I’ve laughed in the face of said name-caller.

Negress…. I have no explanation for why I think this offensive term is so goddamn wonderful. It just sounds powerful and beautiful to me. Whatever.

And then there’s the vag. I challenge all of you to a vagina euphemism contest. I bet I would win all beat battle style




The new issue of HotDogDayz was supposed to come out this summer but, well, things get put on hold sometimes. Especially when you have too many hobbies. IOW, a heavy duty regiment of bratwurst, ice cream and Jersey Shore leaves little time for zine-making. Amirite, or amirite? It's almost finished though. We're so close to being done that we're in the dreaded second-guessing-ourselves/scrap-the-whole-thing-and-start-over stage. We promise it will be out by October. In the meantime...

Last month we quickly threw together an HDD preview slash supplemental mini-zine type thingy called Restore The Power, which is literally half the size of HDD. And then just yesterday we crapped out a preview/supplement to the existing preview/supplement called If You Stink At Getting Ladies, Call Me, which is literally half the size of RTP and literally one fourth the size of HDD. If HDD is the record, RTP is the e.p. and IYSAGL,CM is the single. And this shit is so lo-fi it's like your brain tried to take a nap right after your heart snorted a line and went to the dentist. Here is a preview of the preview(s):

As per the yuge, HotDogDayz is a non profit venture. We are still looking for someone we can donate the proceeds from the upcoming issue of HDD to. If you or someone you know could use a little help, drop us a line at thee.n.o.b@gmail.com or bnb@hotdogdayz.com and give us the deets. No poor-college-student or starving-artist shit though. We're talking real here. The last issue helped cover some medical bills for a person battling cancer, if that gives you an idea.

In the meantime, if you'd like a copy of either of the aforementioned fine preview/supplemental publications, please let us know. You can either donate a buck or two, via the PayPal link on the upper right hand side, or get if for free by doing one of two things: asking nicely OR *sending us a really nasty email that we can post on here.

HotDogDayz new issue out in October. PROMISE~!

*Preferred. You will remain anonymous unless otherwise noted.


i like it

i like it. Written last night in the LATE A.M.

There is only vinyl records. No laptops. Swing by Seven wouldn’t have existed without Song of Zarathustra. Sonic Youth/Beck split, there was only like, 500 made. Yeahhh…we spent most of the night listening to Cranford Nix. We had the most depressing sing-a-long ever...cuz yeah, you ever checked that shit? Fucking heavy. Then we popped on some old lps of local shiz. And I ran into an ex-boyfriend. One of two for the evening. The earlier one was terribly unpleasant. That dude was a DICK. The second one was quite nice. We hashed out shit we should have figured out like, a year ago. We’re both pretty fucked up really. But he’s a really really sweet dude who makes lovely music. We kissed and made up I suppose. Literally. I wanted to kiss him more, but that was a bad idea. He wasn’t drinking, so at least one of us had some sense.

Last night I saw the most amazing falling stars. Then I fell asleep on some concrete outside, amidst the tall grass. My forehead probably says something in Braille...damn mosquitoes. Those fuckers apparently viewed my face as an all you can eat fucking buffet. GROSS. But I survived. Shit, I don’t even know anymore. I’m really drunk. And I really enjoyed seeing that ex… I treated him like SHIT when we broke up. But we hashed that out...dammit I’m a sucker for a pretty mouf. Dammmmmmmit. Fuck this. Toooooo drunk. Gonna make my homeboys listen to This Heat in lieu of Gun Club cuz my iPod is deeeeead. GROSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. Totalllllllllllly.


I'm Faster Than My Shadow


Contents of My Purse, Post-Iowa

Our girl Doomy is contributing enough stuff that we're not titling it Reader Submitted anymore. She's pretty much a member of the team at this point. Well anyway, this time she took the advice of something an anonymous internet commenter said about not feeling pressure "to write to lowbrow humor or ironic sexism to impress us"...and still ended up impressing us.

This is meant to be an homage to a spoken word cassette tape my friend Levi gave me in maybe 2002. I can't remember the girl's name nor can I find the tape. She was all punk rock and told stories about being a punk in 70s and 80s New York or LA. It was pretty cool. She had some weird name like Patience or Melody or something...

Contents of My Purse, Post-Iowa

Wallet containing six dollars and some odd change.
Cell phone, mostly dead.
Half a pack of camel light.
Black Bic pen.
Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm.
Toffifay candy, one left.
Toothbrush and toothpaste.
Burned copy of "Egowar" by Audio Bullys and "Attention" by Les Maledictus Sound
Roll of quarters.
A set of size 3 double point knitting needles.
One white lighter.
Two bottle caps
A toothpick.

UPDATE: Whoa, no idea how I remembered this, but the tape was Ruined by Pleasant Gehman!

I'm Faster Than My Shadow


Reader Submitted Content: That One Time I Lived With A Lesbian

I’m straight. I can’t help it. Older lesbians would try to recruit me when I was in high school. Apparently I wasn’t aware that having soccer mom short hair instantly made me a lesbian. Fast forward to college and I was even known to kiss a girl or two. But kissing is fucking fun, so I’ll kiss whoever I want - and if it gives freshman boys boners, all the better!

I was also that loser girl who lived in the dorms all the way through senior year, but there was that one summer circa 2007 where I subleased a room in a house. I knew one of the guys living in the house, but not the other guy. And, of course, the other guy was this annoying vegetarian who didn’t have to pay rent because his daddy owned the house and still ate chicken flavored ramen noodles with the DEHYDRATED CHICKEN seasoning packet…because that’s what his fucking daddy bought him. And his annoying-as-fuck girlfriend (who desperately wanted to be that chick from Amelie) practically lived there too. She got mail there and would leave her laundry in the dryer and her SHOES ON THE TABLE. Not to mention their fucking dog that shat everywhere… ugh.

Enough about that. Things got real interesting when the “it’s okay to eat dehydrated chicken and call myself a vegetarian” guy’s sister moved into our happy, dog shit-filled abode. She was a lesbian, and she was in love with me. It wasn’t a big deal at first. She was super cool and we got along really well. She would say sexy sort of things to me occasionally and I didn’t mind, because I’m all open minded and shit. Granted, not open minded enough to go muff diving anytime soon, but still fairly open minded. She drank Bud Light like it was water and had a tattoo of a dinosaur on her arm that some drunk 15 year old gave her. I used to go the gay bar with her on Wednesday nights because there was unlimited pizza and keg beer for $5. With bitchy drag queens lurking around the corners and gay boys waiting to ironically grind on me to Cher(?), I was practically in heaven! That is, until my lesbian roommate decided that I was going to be her fake girlfriend. It was all because she accidentally drunkenly fucked this really gross girl, and the gross girl - surprisingly - fell in love with her and was pretty much stalking her. Any normal person would just confront the uggo and be like, “Sorry lady, mistake! Now leave me alone!” But this lezzie was no normal person. She decided it was a much better idea to say that I was her girlfriend and to constantly make out with me in front of the gross girl…. Why the hell did I go along with this? I can be pretty naive at times. It must be the whole Iowa childhood thing.

This cycle repeated itself for awhile, maybe a month or two. But things culminated one evening when we had some people over to consume massive amounts of Bud Light. I let a friend sleep in my bed because I thought it was a good idea to sleep in my lesbian roommate’s bed... With another dude... Because we were all gonna do it. Lezzie bitch passed out after a couple minutes, so it was just me and the dude going at it. We were making out, all was good and fun, but then the dude felt this warm wetness creeping towards him. That dumb bitch managed to piss herself and ruin my good time in her bed! Seriously! What a bitch! He decided that was a good opportunity to make his grand exit, so I stepped upstairs to see what was up. My friend was peacefully sleeping in my bed. WITH THE SHITTING DOG. Gross. So I went downstairs and slept on the couch. The lesbian had no recollection of the event and I kinda wanted to pretend it hadn’t happen. There were a few more gay bar adventures but it just wasn’t the same. I moved back into the dorms at the end of the summer and that was it.

But at least now I can say I’ve been pissed on by a lesbian.

I'm Faster Than My Shadow

Send you're RSCs to bnb@hotdogdayz.com


3 for 30

Last weekend I ran into an old friend who is totes birthing a turd baby because he’s on the verge of turning thirty. I realize it’s natural for him to have the panic shits about this stuff, but eventually I grew tired and finally told him to STFU about it already; and just follow these 3 simple rules:

Choose the right location.
College towns are no place for any self-respecting 30-year old. Now, that doesn’t mean any town that has a college. (For example, many cities have colleges, and I can think of no better place to turn thirty than in the city.) What it means is any town that is defined specifically by its college presence. Basically if you went to a state university, you’d best not be turning thirty there. You’ll have absolutely no chance of getting laid on your birthday or ever again because you just became the old guy that never left. And that’s the depressing kind of shit that college chicks hate. It’s weird because it’s just the opposite in the city. Girls in their twenties love dudes in their thirties. Which leads me to my next bit of advice…

Stay single or, if need be, get single.
There’s this big myth that once you turn 30 you should settle down and start procreating. Absolutely do not fall for this load of garbage! This age-old falsity was created by people that made that mistake and want everyone else to suffer for the rest of eternity because they did. There are so many potential having-the-time-of-my-life years that you can easily blow by participating in premature monogamy. Your early to mid-thirties are your last chance to summon the vigor of your youth and deliver the ferocious poundings that twenty-something women crave. The older you get the more your back hurts and the smaller your boner gets, so take advantage of time while it’s on your side. If kids are in the plans, wait until you’re like 38 or something and then find a woman that’s five to ten years younger than you. This way you’re not missing your fun-having window and she’s not missing her baby-having window.

Stay young.
Most importantly, don’t abandon your youth. If you were one of the lucky ones who stuck with punk rock beyond 8th grade you already know this. If not, well then, perhaps it’s time you get reacquainted with your younger self. Find new music, enthrall yourself new artistic endeavors, pick up the guitar again (or for the first time,) learn Ableton Live, ride a bicycle, etc. In order to stay young, it’s also important to take time to reflect. You know; start a blog where all you talk about is the salad days.

Fuck, you’re only 30.

Also, it’s never too early to start a vitamins-fish oils-glucosamine-skin care-sleep-water and reverse missionary routine.

(pic-Portland, OR, early 00s)


Reader Submitted Content: Mad Love For The Mad

I love crazy people. I’m still fairly new in town and I haven’t met any people who are sufficiently crazy, but not too crazy, for my tastes. If you’re gonna ask me to play favorites, I think I like Bipolar Schizophrenics the most.

SamMy friend Sam is a good example of this. One time, when he was between medications, he had a psychotic episode where he walked into the local hospital back home and started claiming he had the power to heal. The staff put up with it for a couple minutes and then gently asked him to leave, but he refused cuz he was on a fucking mission from God! So they called security and that’s when he really flipped shit. He blacked out and punched a lady cop in the face, then promptly fell on his back and, according to him, “A stargate opened and my soul returned to me.” Then he went to in jail. He really is a teddy bear of a fellow when he’s properly medicated. I was talking to him a few days after the episode and he was like, “Yeah… the police report is actually pretty funny.” If you wonder where Sam gets his crazy, his dad is even worse. Pappa Sam is full blown Bipolar and batshit crazy to boot. He’s missing the tip of his left index finger and when he gets real riled up he calls it his “devil finger” and slams it on the table repeatedly in an attempt to get the devil out. He’s a fun guy to talk to, but you have to be very patient, especially when he tries to sell you a TV or something… even after you’ve repeatedly told him you aren’t interested. More often than not, he’ll try to play really bad country music loudly while you’re watching a movie too.

Fat Baby
Next on my list of all-star crazy friends is a cat named Fat Baby. I have no idea why he calls himself Fat Baby, but he has it tattooed down his forearm. For the longest time I thought it was just constantly scrawled in sharpie, but it was just a really bad tattoo. I’ve known him for a long time. He used to do dishes at this placed I’d got for brunch on Sundays when I was 16 or something. Then he did dishes at Perkins where I would hang out and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee cuz that’s what all the cool 17 year olds were doing. He somehow always managed to find me and talk to me about madness. I used to play bass in a punk band when I was 15 and he saw me play once. So he was always telling me what a good guitar player I was and how we should jam sometime. Ehh? Whatever. I always had to dodge that question. Then fast forward a couple years and he finds his way onto the scene. Most of us knew better than to let him do any drugs or drink any booze, but every once in awhile there’d be that kid who’d hand Fat Baby the pipe and then he would get craaaazy stoned. I’m really glad I missed the one night the boys let him try Tussin… aye. So anyways, one night he’s stoned out of his gourd and decides that I’m the only person in the room worth talking to. And he says something to the effect of “I have to listen to all the words that are coming out of everyone’s mouths all at the same time. You know why? Because it’s the voice of God speaking through everyone all around me.” This heavied the shit out of my poor 18 year old self. In retrospect, it isn’t all that bad, but it made me nervous. Especially when his crazy eyes were staring into my fucking soul. Or at my tits… one of the two. He also borrowed my ex’s bike and somehow managed to throw it under a train. We’re still not quite sure how that happened, but Fat Baby’s mind works in mysterious ways.

This guy was a real piece of work. He was obsessed with the local Catholic high school’s football team. He would frequently wear their football jerseys and occasionally wear the helmet to match. He also had a band called Motley Christ which had a different line up every time they performed. This was because he would ask people to play with him right before the show. I even performed once on some other girl’s bright pink guitar. He would sing songs about Jesus from lyrics he had written down in a beaten up notebook. The only one I ever remember was about how he wanted to find a girl who was willing to get down on her knees. And pray. I don’t think he saw the same humor in it that the rest of us did. He’s just always been around, as long as I can remember. All the way back to when I first started going to local punk shows at the tender age of about 13. I haven’t seen him in years, but I imagine he looks exactly the same. Fat, short, and bad. Usually pretty smelly. Still wearing that damn blue and yellow jersey.

God bless the crazies in my life. They keep things interesting. I don’t understand why they all have this serious God thing going on. Perhaps there’s a strong link between Christianity and insanity. Either way, I feel like they’ve made me more tolerant of all our crazy differences. Some folks are just more vocal about the madness that goes on inside of their minds. And those people are usually on lots of medication - and lots more fun than all the normal folk.

Send your RSCs to


Reader Submitted Content: Band Life-Scathing Sexpose!

I’m in a band. Big deal, right? Me and 75% of everyone else in this damn town play in a band. I swear my band has more drama than any other band in town. Probably because my band has more members than any other band in town. At the rate of growth we’ve hit, we’ll be folk Polyphonic Spree in no time! The other source of drama is that we have boys and girls in the band. Boys and girls who all either want to fuck each other or are actually fucking each other. I know this breaks the cardinal rule of being in a band, but some of us have very strong libidos and little common sense. Some of us--meaning me, for the most part. It also doesn’t help that we’re a bunch of alcoholics. But c’mon, I think it may be illegal to play country music sober. I’m definitely the worst culprit when it comes to the intra-band relations. At least I’ve stopped trying to get into my bass player’s pants. He’s too busy being in love with the violin player so he always shoots me down. Unfortunately, she’s also dating his best friend from college. And has been for like, 5 years. They’re practically married for Pete’s sake! But he cannot seem to get over her or realize that she’s never going to leave him. In his defense, she does nothing to alleviate his lust. They hang out all the fucking time and she emails him every morning and I’m pretty sure she just loves the attention. But I’m not one to judge; I love attention just as much as anyone else. I do have a serious problem with drummers. We just acquired a new drummer and he is fucking gorgeous. He’s also dumb as a box of rocks. Remember the overactive libido I mentioned earlier? It also comes paired with very little self control. And I happen to have a soft spot for both drummers and stupid pretty boys. So he practiced with us for the first time this week and after a few too many beers, his cock mysteriously ended up in my mouth. And most of my hand up his ass! I love when super hetero guys take it up the back door. I’d be down for future violations of his rectum, but only time will tell, I suppose. Now that I think about it, I appear to be the source of most of this band drama. Maybe I should quit the band. Maybe I’m what’s holding us back from fame and fortune. Or maybe I’ll stick around and we’ll just continue to fuck each other until the inevitable band orgy happens. Then we break up and never speak to each other again. Oh the shame!

-name & band withheld at author's request

If you'd like to contribute something (words, pics, flicks, reviews or anything really,) send your submissions to: bnb@hotdogdayz.com, subject: Reader Submitted Content, followed by the title. Remain anonymous or use your internet handle or real name or whatever. Feel free to include links as well.


Reader Submitted Content: Record Review

Dear HDD,
Hey there, it’s me again. I had another session with my therapist and he said the writing seems to be helping. So here I am again, this time with an album review. It’s my first one ever, but hey, you’re audience really seems to get me, so why not debut it for them, right? Right.


I got off to a bad start with these guys. At first I wanted to hate them because I’m a Japanther fan and these guys—being a another two man band with Japan in their name—were seemingly more popular and thus were a threat to my self-created indie cool guy world. Don’t worry, that doesn’t make sense to me either. I’m not even sure I’m the one that wrote it. I imagine it’s how Minneapolis-St. Paul people feel when the world goes gaga for Vampire Weekend; meanwhile Vampire Hands had been creating far more original music and for quite a bit longer. Anyway, a couple months ago I was a pubic hair’s width away from murdering the internets because it wouldn’t shut up about Japandroids. Then for some strange reason, almost as if I was being controlled by a mind not my own, I went out and bought Post-Nothing. Shit, it is good. In fact it’s a holy fuck kind of good.

I read somewhere that Japandroids were like a Canadian No Age. Well I can confirm that they do in fact sound almost exactly like No Age (not a bad thing) but I believe an argument can be made that Japandroids are the more California of the two. For one, they sing about girls, and to best of my knowledge Canadians don’t even like girls; they like hockey and mayonnaise. And everyone in California likes girls. Even girls like girls in California. Does No Age even have any songs about girls? It doesn’t matter; Japandroids has like a million.

Listening to Post-Nothing is like riding your bike to work on a sunny Friday morning and deciding that today is the day you’re going to stop being such a pussy about consequences and go ahead and finally fuck that chick from the office. Probably not in the office, but like later, after a night of boozing and possibly cocaine. I assume fucking her in the office would be too dangerous; but how would I know, I don’t even own a bike.

All I’m trying to say is it’s a really good record. No it’s not. Yes it is. It’s holy fuck good.



The JUST KIDDING! opening reception last weekend was a pretty-sweet-ass-rad-as-hell-turning-out-better-than-one-would-have-thought kind of event. And as a result, some thank yous are in order...

To the Back Alley Gallery for hosting.

To Craig Drehmel and PBR for the beer sponsorship.

To Jason Austin for playing records.

To CokeWolf for killing our faces off.

To YOU all for coming out.


JUST KIDDING! will be up through the end of the Month. If you'd like to take a look at it, email me and we can set something up. A closing night reception may or may not be in the works as well...


Event Reminder: JUST KIDDING! Opens Tonight!

Tonight is night we're gonna make it right...

CokeWolf will be creating a wall of sound sometime before 10pm.  Earplugs will be provided. 

Myself and DJ Evil Twin (Jason Austin) will be spinning the soundtrack all night.  And what's this I see?  ET partaking in some impromtu art making for the show?
And a new mixtape (cd) called NO, SRSLY will be available for zero dollars.

Now, that's just too much to turn down. See you there!