The First Olympic Cyborg?

This summer South African runner Oscar Pistorius, after much controversy, will have a shot at competing in the Olympics. Why the controversy? Pistorius, known as “blade runner” (a name he rejects as “boring stuff”) was born without fibula. He has not had flesh, blood and bone below his knees since he was 11 months old.

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In January, the International Association of Athletic Federations ruled that his state of the art prosthetics were superior to human legs, and would thus give him an unfair advantage. Last month, that judgement was overturned. If he can cut his best times down by less than a second, Olympic competition will see its first cyborg. The future has arrived.

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Drink Your Sins, My Children

In a stroke of pure demented genius Kacper Hamilton has created a set of cups inspired by the Seven Deadly Sins.

These red wine glasses are based on the 7 deadly sins. Each glass encapsulates a sin, which is revealed through the ritual of drinking. The ‘7 Deadly Glasses’ are about celebrating passion and encouraging the user to be sinful in a theatrical fashion.

From their English laboratories straight to your chateau, these delightfully hedonistic goblets are made to order. Browse the entire set, below.


Too much is not enough for you, sir! You’ll gulp and slurp like a filthy pig while attempting to suck out the very last drops from the cup of Greed.


You enemies will truly feel your Wrath as you jab their jugular with this perilous object, then drink their sweet blood while they fight for a final breath.

Your Totem Animal, With You At All Times

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Somewhere out there, there’s an alternate Philip Pullman reality where Dust settles in the form of dæmons that take shape from the strands of hair on your head. They whisper in your ear, telling you which way to go, and talk to each other while their people stand still. In our world, they would consider hairspray, straightening irons and combs an absolute travesty. If I had one, it would be a hedgehog.

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Hair Hats by Nagi Noda, sent by Nicola via Jezebel/Neatorama

What Does “Alt Model” Even Mean?

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Yesterday, one of my favorite blogs, Sociological Images, picked apart amputee alt model Viktoria‘s appearance in Bizarre Magazine:

What makes Viktoria “bizarre”? Is it her amputated leg? Is it the fact that she has an amputated leg and is still incredibly sexy? Or is it that she has an amputated leg and still considers herself a sexual person? Is this empowering? And to who? Surely the disabled are desexualized in this country, so it’s nice to see that challenged even, I suppose, in a magazine about weirdos. And yet, I suspect her sexuality is acceptable, fetishizable, only because she conforms to expectations of feminine beauty. In the big scheme of things, does she reproduce the standard of beauty, unattainable for most women, that crushes women’s self-esteem and sense of self-worth? And will disabled women, most of whom (like most non-disabled women) could never dream of being so beautiful, actually look at her and be able to identify? Or will this just draw attention to another way in which they don’t match up?

Now really, I think that SocImages went a little overboard with Viktoria (especially when they dismissed her comments about sexuality as “standard porn star talk”). Maybe it’s because I know her little better than they do, but I think that they oversimplify the genuine place that she comes from in choosing to be a model. However, they do bring up an important discussion that’s been nagging me for some time. What is an alternative model, and what is an alt model’s role in visual culture? In my life, at various points, I came up with 3 different definitions. I believe in each of them, and I have a problem with each of them as well. Here they are below. Which one resonates with you? Do you think it’s a combination of the three below, or something completely different? Opinions, please.

1. The model who challenges society’s notions of beauty.

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L: Kenyan-born trans model Biko Beauttah R: Velvet D’Amour

I love these models, but the issue here is that, while they appear to push the boundaries of beauty in some direction, they usually wind up brutally reinforcing another traditional notion in the process. For example, trans models make us rethink gender/beauty, but with their self-presentation they usually reinforce the ideal of a sleek, hairless feminine figure, thus fueling the hair-removal industry. In fact, epilator-manufacturer Philips Norelco has already found a way to to capitalize on this to great effect – just watch this ad. And large models like Velvet D’Amour and skinny-by-comparison but still-considered-plus-size recent ANTM winner Whitney Thompson help to redefine weight in modeling, but what makes them “legitimately beautiful” in the eyes of the mainstream world is their “correct” bone structure, their blond hair. Without some “redeeming quality” of this sort, the world doesn’t recognize them as models, and wouldn’t even give them a shot at making a difference. Mainstream media often presents them as beautiful “in spite of,” not “because of.” While their individual messages are empowering (I love Velvet’s interviews), I don’t find our culture’s use of these models empowering at all.

The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack

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Young Flapjack embraces the carnage.

A while back, my talented chum Danny Cantrell landed a gig composing all of the music for a new animated children’s show, and he enlisted me to fiddle for it. The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack is the cracked brainchild of Thurop Van Orman (previously a writer for Powerpuff Girls). I’m at a loss to describe Orman’s vision properly, but if you were to picture Ren & Stimpy style shenanigans unfolding in a beautifully watercolored Treasure Island setting, you wouldn’t be too far wrong.

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Flapjack is an innocent young cuss with an unquenchable thirst for adventure on the high seas. He’s being raised by a somewhat overprotective blue whale named Bubbie, and his best friend/partner in crime is a scraggly, no-pants-wearin’ pirate with two peg legs who goes by Captain K’nuckles. Hilarity and high jinks ensue.

In addition to being gorgeously drawn and painted, Flapjack is rife with non sequiturs, uncomfortable silences and gross-out humor, so I thought you perverts might appreciate a heads up. We’ve been working on –and giggling over– this weirdness for months now. (Wish I could show you the Tentacular Lovecraftian Horror episode. So warped.)

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Nothing says quality children’s programming quite like a pair of hairy, floppy, tattooed man teats. Unless it’s fart noises. Flapjack has plenty of both.

The first episode premieres today on the Cartoon Network at 8:30pm, EST. Folks with cable and a hankering for “ADVENTURRRRE!!!” are encouraged to tune in and report back.

Fanfare for Shooby Taylor, the Human Horn

Whenever anyone I love is feeling especially gloomy, I have one very reasonable, reliable cure-all recommendation. It’s not exercise, or sex, or drugs, or comfort food. Simply this:

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Download “Stout-Hearted Men” by Shooby Taylor

These are the joyful and uninhibited sounds of Shooby Taylor, the Human Horn. It’s my opinion that anyone who doesn’t at least crack a smile listening to this singular scat musician is probably beyond all hope and should be taken out behind the barn and humanely dispatched.

Born in 1929, William “Shooby” Taylor lived in Harlem for the majority of his life, toiling as a New York City postal worker for 21 years. From a 2002 article in the NYT:

[His music] can be difficult to digest. As he tries to approximate the sound of a saxophone solo with his voice, he hits sour notes. He spits out nonsense syllables like a machine gun, communicating in a private language nearly impossible to imitate. And he rarely meshes with his background music, whether it is the skating-rink organ in ”Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing,” songs by the country singer Christy Lane or Mozart.

…In homage to his hero Babs Gonzales, who died in 1980, Mr. Taylor began honing his scat stylings in the mid-1950’s after serving in the Army. After his shift at the post office ended at midnight, he frequented jam sessions at Manhattan clubs, but most musicians shunned him.

For decades, Shooby persisted in following his dream, enduring endless ridicule and rejection. One day in the early 1980s, he walked into a vanity-press recording studio called Angel Sound. Located in sleezy, pre-Disneyfied Times Square, the studio had seen its share of feisty characters. Shooby proved one of the most memorable, laying down 14 smokin’ vocalese tracks ranging from jazz to country to show tunes to… unclassifiable

Versailles: Rock Out With Your Frock Out

Impeccable live sound, eye-poppingly elaborate costumes and hot ladies – what more could you ask of a Japanese visual rock band? Alright, so the ladies aren’t exactly ladies, but blast it, can they shred! These days, most old school visual bands have, for better or worse, abandoned their frills and velvet for a more modern and somewhat more masculine look. I didn’t think I’d ever get to personally witness the kind of gloriously indulgent showmanship as I did last night.


Versailles in full regalia. Click image for a large version.

As it turns out, while Japan’s visual rock scene’s been winding down for a long time now, some goodness is yet to be reaped. Yesterday this was proven once and for all at a sold out show here in Hollywood. My jaw hit the floor when Versailles, a supergroup formed last year from ex-members of Lareine, Sufuric Acid and Sugar Trip, entered the stage. I was a wee kid in a candy-shop as this straight out of an acid-tinged Anne Rice cosplay vision appeared before the shrieking audience. The hair? Huge. The outfits? Hand-beaded and perfectly gaudy. The singer? Oh yes, he wore a cape. And pantaloons. And heels. Where the hell was Poppycock?

They had this “visual” thing, undisputedly, down. It did not end there, however. Unlike another supergroup I saw live last year, Versailles worked it. There was no phoning it in for these poised professionals; not a missed note, cracked heel or torn hem – the show was excellent from beginning to end, powder breaks and all. Between Hizaki and Teru’s metal guitars, Kamijo‘s crooning and intense cape maneuvering I was reminded of Barry Manilow, Las Vegas and Lestat in all the right ways. Watch the ten-minute opus below and be transported to a darquer side of French royalty (had French royalty been Japanese and used flatirons) as you bask in the grandeur of Versailles.

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Save Gas. Drive Blood Car.

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In the bleak, bleak future, gas prices have become so insane that no one can afford to drive. Crusading inventor Archie Andrews, a vegan schoolteacher, labors tirelessly to change all this by building a car engine that will run on plentiful, clean wheatgrass. But one night he makes a discovery — wheatgrass won’t power an engine, but human blood will. He gets seduced by a girl named Denise who loves cars. The government gets involved — and everything just goes to hell from there.

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That’s the premise for the Blood Car, a brutal, brilliant and damned laugh-out-loud funny flick from Atlanta director Alex Orr. Working on a shoestring (the special effects budget was $200 and the Blood Car got towed), Orr managed to create the best kind of fringe movie — scathingly satirical, ludicrously bloody and eminently quotable — with an ending that actually manages to shock.
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I was fortunate enough to stumble on it while recruiting for Asheville’s film festival last year and it still remains the most fun I’ve had at the movies in a long time. It’s out on DVD now and still winding its way through the festival circuit. If you’re fortunate enough to be where it’s playing, absolutely do not miss it — this is one film made to be experienced en masse.

Thanks to the wisdom imparted by this movie, I now believe that, exo-skeletons be damned, tarantulas — deadly tarantulas — in vending machines are the future.

Bring Your Home To Life With Coffin Couches!

Coffin furniture has long been within reach around the ‘wub. At Casketfurniture.com the macabre enthusiast will find beds, coffee tables and a private coffin phone booth called “The Edison”, no less. Coffinitup.com even offers a coffin computer desk! Unfortunately much of what’s available today isn’t particularly attractive and has too much of a novelty feel. But now there is something to make even the pickiest of decorators salivate. Behold!

For those not fond of woodgrain and longing for a sleeker look coffincouches.com offers custom couches made from 18 gauge steel coffins, upholstered and finished to your every whim.

We approached funeral directors with the attitude of recycling. These coffins are not used for burial due to slight cosmetic inconsistencies. They are reconfigured and modified resulting in a finished product – a unique one a kind coffin couch. If you notice (although it may be too small) the six cast iron heavy duty legs are embossed with the universal biohazard insignia. The reason we utilize this sign is because safety is our utmost concern. If you are not aware, once a human body is placed in a coffin it is considered biohazard tissue. The legs have the embossed insignia for precautionary reasons in the event body fluids are exchanged on these coffins.

Golly, they’ve thought of everything! And for $3,500 + shipping you too can own one of these exquisite pieces. Not a bad deal, I say.

A Room Forever: Listen Carefully

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The oft aforementioned musician/filmmaker Joshua Zucker is a bit of a hero around these parts, thanks to his Roadside Picnic radio podcast (the most recent episode, “Solemn/Nostalgia” is one of his best yet).

Zucker’s considerable talents as a dj and curator tie directly into more personal reasons why I adore the guy: I’ve never met a better listener or a more relentless seeker. It has always seemed to me that Zucker’s primary ambition in life is to make this lonely world more beautiful –and therefore more bearable– through tireless creative striving. His latest, arguably most stunning offering yet is A Room Forever:

A Room Forever is an art project realized as a curated series of limited edition 12″ record LPs. Packaged in a custom-made box with high quality digital c-print covers and letter pressed inserts, each record features and original musical composition on one side and a field recording on the other.

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Pressed in one-time editions of 300, A Room Forever takes a unique and personal approach to the vinyl record LP. Conceived as a physical manifestation of the Roadside Picnic Radio Podcast, the project draws upon the rich history and mythologies of audio recording to produce a final object of art that will resonate uniquely within each listener.

More than anything, A Room Forever is inherently about the act of listening.

My copies of the first three records arrived in the mail today. Machinefabriek & Matt Davies (EVP – 001), Svarte Greiner (EVP- 002) and Koen Holtcamp (EVP-003) are all huge talents working in relative obscurity, but with worshipful cult followings. Each edition is beautifully designed and printed, featuring exquisite photography by Kurt Mangum and individually hand-stamped/numbered.

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Cover for EVP-002, featuring work by my favorite Norwegian, Erik Skodvin (under his Svarte Greiner moniker). In keeping with Zucker’s fascination with the haunted history and mythology of audio recording, the abbreviation for this series is “EVP”. A wee hint to those who already own one the records: look closely for the mysterious messages etched into the vinyl. My hair stood on end when I realized what they were.

The LPs are selling out very fast. Order them now from Aquarius Records, Boomkat, Other Music or Forced Exposure. Painstakingly well made, rare, and imbued with a sense of mystery and longing, A Room Forever is one of the most collectible limited edition vinyl runs you are likely to see for years to come.