Hello Sluggo:

I decided the world would be a much better place if we all had some nice Spam Musubi merchandise. So, a few weeks back, I flew to San Francisco and hired a crack photographer (okay, he was actually a photographer on crack whom I met stumbling along Fillmore late one night) and headed over to May’s Coffee Shop in Japan Center’s Kintetsu Mall for our shoot. After hours of searching for the right omusubi, we finally happened upon this one, and got a few shots of it before the temptation became too much and I ate it.

Now, you can own a piece of history with these spiffy new Spam Musubi shirts and other select items. And they don’t even say “Got Spam?” on the back—just unfettered Hormellian goodness on the front. Head on over to my Spam Musubi store and get yours today!

When I first went to Japan in March 2002, I was passed on a street in Shinjuku by what I thought was some lowered, blacked-out Yakuzamobile. I was pretty blown away by the box-like styling, seemingly putting a foot in the ass of the aerodynamic turds on the road at the time. A few days later I saw another Toyota bB (this one was not so bosozoku looking) parked along Kappabashi and snapped this photo.

What goes around comes around, and after returning to the states and telling everyone about this strange Japanese car, I read that it would soon be available in the US. And as we later found, in the rather dumbed-down form of the Scion xB. Alas,the honeymoon was over, as they say.

During my second visit to Japan in November 2004, I spotted another oddball Japanese creation that set my heart aflutter yet again: The Nissan Cube. Standing before Ginza’s Wako department store one day, a Cube drove by and made the corner, just the angle for me to catch sight of the asymmetric rear window, wrapping around one side of the car like a middle finger in the wind of conventional design.

Just like the first time around, I spotted another one a few days later in Asakusa. this time, Sharon snapped a photo of me with the car, in a pose I learned many years earlier from my friend, Rodrigo Peréz Nebel: Standing next to the car as if I were unlocking the door and preparing to drive away. A photo of two starry-eyed lovers, enjoying the sheer novelty of first touch.

Time-warp forward to 2009, and we see how history repeats itself. Nissan has released the Cube in the US, but radically redesigned. My former lover is not the same—She has given way to fake tits and Botox injection. I do not recognize her. Only the rear window remains untouched, but in concept alone. Her formerly angular lines have been rounded. Me no like.

A client brought in his new Cube this week, wishing to have his advertising graphics applied. I explained to him that I first saw the Cube in Japan in ’04, and in his best all-knowing manner (after all, he did just pay good green money for this car, so he oughtta know, right?), he looked me in the eye and said:

“No, this one is new. You’re thinking of the Scion.”

I politely explained to him that Nissan was producing the Cube in Japan as far back as 1998. He looked confused, as if the local Nissan dealer hadn’t divulged the whole history to him. Or maybe he was shocked that the design was not of good old ’merican bloodlines. At any rate, when we were back inside later, I dropped the photo of myself and my former love on him. His response (like seeing his new bride happily posing with an old boyfriend): “Oh.”

I’ve been a fan of Industrial music pioneers Throbbing Gristle for many, many years, and this morning I went searching for the lyrics to their classic piece, “Hamburger Lady.” True to form, the Internet dumbs down another cultural phenomena to the level of Britney ringtones and Hannah Montana lunchboxes as seen by the first link I found below:

You can imagine the shrieks of unfettered teenage girl glee when I saw that I could have Hamburger Lady as my very own ringtone! Following the link, I was greeted by this image of a young woman happily jamming to TG on her iPod:

This made me wonder if I was being duped… I mean, don’t you think this image is a little… misleading? I set about correcting this issue straight away:

There, doesn’t that seem more appropriate? I just hate inconsistency.  HA M B  U   R   G   E    R       L     A     D     Y  .  .  .

Kei: “Daddy, how did you put me in Mommy’s belly?”

Me: “Uh, I just rared back and put you in there.”

Kei: “What did you use?”

Sharon: “Ahhhhhhahahah…”

Kei: “What did you use, Daddy?”

Me: “Well, I um…”

Sharon: “Uh, he used his, uhhh, his magic!”

Me: “Yeah, I used my Daddy Magic!”

Kei: “Magic?”

(I have to mention here that “magic,” as it is called in our house, is whipped cream, specifically from a can, like Redi Whip. That was not the magic we were referring to.)

Sharon (laughing hysterically at this point): Hahahaha yeah, “Daddy Magic!” Hahahaha!

Kei: “Did you use your magic wand? Like my magic wand??”

Me: “Well, kind of, but, no, not really like yours…”

Kei: “Where is it? Where do you keep it?”

Me (Worried about painting myself into a corner): “I put it away, honey… I put it away…”

Sharon: “Hohohooooheeehaaaa…!!”

She’s three-and-a-half years old. I ain’t having that talk yet.

I haven’t figured out if God-Biscuit is swooping down to save the people of India or if he just likes a good curry. Anyone?

st. valentine’s day massacre!, originally uploaded by Sluggo.

We were sitting around about 8:20 this morning watching TV with Kei when there was this sound like a sudden tornado in the backyard and then a big crash that shook the house a bit. Sharon was sitting on the couch where she could see, and she started hoopin’ and hollerin’ that the big old dead tree out back had fallen through the fence. I couldn’t see it from where I was, but I looked out the back door, and sure enough, chaos!

Glad nobody was out there when it fell… That could have been really bad.

It’s pretty funny, too, ‘cos I was just sitting out there a few days ago wondering when that tree was gonna fall. We had some really strong winds come through this week, and I’m really surprised it didn’t come down then. Probably loosened it up a bit. All I could do was laugh, because I knew exactly where it was going to fall.

It actually only took out one section of the fence. I bent the brackets back out and checked the posts, and I think it’s something I can fix myself. Getting that tree out of there is another issue altogether, though. Alberto (the tree guy) should be here anytime to check it out. Allstate wants us to wait for a claims guy to show up, but that could take up to three days. Oh, and did I mention the $1000 deductible? If Alberto can do it for less than that, and sooner, then I figger we’re better off. Oh well, that’s what tax refunds are for, I guess.

Update: Alberto wants $750 to remove it and clean up the area. Not a bad deal, considering the tree was about 35 feet tall. Oh, and Allstate has a “tree clause” in Texas, apparently, so we’ll get a check back from them for $250.

As for the fence, I need to get my tail moving to Home Depot and get everything I need to fix it.

My dad left his Airport on and receives dialogs asking if he wants to join a couple of open wireless networks. One is called “mindy” and the other is called “nastyniggasnetwork.”

I can’t help but be reminded of a certain frequently-quoted-by-white-folks black comedian’s comment: “Niggas love to keep it real… Real dumb.”

To make a very long story short, I know a guy who has recently become homeless. He has a group of friends who have been doing all they can to help him, but because of many personal issues, it is now on his shoulders to pull himself up, and he has entered a program to facilitate this.

That being said, we exchange text messages from time to time which can range from hilarious to downright scary. Here are a few choice examples, presented without explanation as I have received them. Make of them what you will. References to his program and location have been changed to protect his identity.

I am now being inducted into *** on Drs orders

Good squalor Fartjeans

Apd crack killah wassup

I stank erected

I got a rash & u dont want any

Celeb lookalikes @ *** : tom hanks. Stalin. Avery Schreiber. Chas Bronson. Wm Finley. Sam Jackson. Steven Speilberg. J Leguizamo

Bruce willis. The meatball from aqua teen hunger kids with a body. Andre the giant. Aiden brophy. De niro as scarface. Vannessa williams?

Tom baker. Johnny legend. David carradine.

John turturro. Paul mooney. Jimmy dean. Lou gosset jr. Al sharpton. Art carney. Bobby orlando.

Gary sinese. Herbert lom. Jay from Clerks.

Conan obrien. Levar burton.

G-zuz!

Best ho-made tshirt of the morning: ‘i dont bite just!!! hungry’.

*** is wireless. If-when i get an indoor locker i need my laptop here.

Yeah there’s a bro here who blames me 4 ALL his problems. More on that later.

EMS is here - the guy 2 bunks down is dying. Full blown HIV

Good news- the guy that appeared to have died last night made it to the hospital on time & is doing better

I’m at the clinic - constant interruptions but @ least i’m being seen. Hour behind as usual. Man the shit i have seen lately…

I have been shuffled around so much i’m not certain which msgs made it 2 u

Saw a guy shit on ***** street in the bright sunny traffic. A big dark fat turd in 2 chunks.

I have made a couple friends- there really are some decent struggling ppl there.

I have met some incredibly cool black folks & some real definitive moronic shit-ass niggers. Being homeless illuminates pain like LSD

I’m in the *** prog & that is going 2 save my ass provided i work hard @ it, like 2day.

4.75 hours wait for 6 minutes of doctor. These poor bastids are clearly not in it for the money

Crazy, truely scary shit.

Aside from the requisite 24-7 hustle there are a few noteworthy to be avoided @ all costs. I shall elaborate in person.

Bingo. The money some of these fools waste on crack, weed & cigs could house & feed them independently

Possibly more later…

This idea was put forth back in August by Andrew Wheeler, author of Eat Britain. I might be a little late on the draw, but I think I’m up to the challenge. Let’s see…

The instructions:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

(PS: The list has generated a lot of questions, so Andrew created an FAQ for it over here!)

Okay, so my score is 69/100. Not bad, but I would have done even better had he included a few other oddball things in the mix, like Whale, Natto, Shirako (fish milt, or seminal fluid sacs—yeah, fish jizz, raw even), pig’s ear, tequila con gusano, steamed pork blood, chicken feet, fish’s eyes, thousand-year-old egg and maybe a half dozen other things I’ve consumed before.

And after all that, the only thing I crossed off the list was “a fat cigar.” Sorry, tobacco products just gross me out.

The remaining 31 items on the list better be pretty damned good, or I’m gonna feel kinda ripped off by the time it’s all said and done.

I received a text from my wife yesterday that signaled the passing of a great man.

“Have you read the news that Dolemite died?”

I hadn’t. Jumping over to Dolemite.com, I read the mounting news reports of his death and remembered the couple of times I met him. Onstage, he was Dolemite, Shine, Petey Wheatstraw the Devil’s Son-in-Law and more, all rolled up in one big nasty package, but offstage, he was kind, thoughful, even going-out-of-his-way courteous to a crowd of people he didn’t know as they lined up for autographs and souvenir photos.

The first time I saw him perform in 1993 at the See You Later Lounge over on Montopolis Drive, he seemed to just be starting his “revival” after languishing in obscurity during most of the previous decade. A small crowd of Emo’s regulars (all white, of course) had come to the show, and RRM took enormous pleasure including a bit of friendly harrassment in his act that night, at one point asking if anyone would “eat a chitlin cleaned by this white bitch over here” (my future sister-in-law, Mary Ann) and even getting me up before the crowd to exclaim, “This big motherfucker look just like Pee Wee Herman, just fatter.You jack off alot don’t you, man?” And what could I say but, “Yes, Mr. Dolemite, yes I do!” For my good sportsmanship, I was rewarded with a copy of a porn movie entitled “Willy Jackoff’s Chocolate and Cream Factory: Black Thunder.” The crowd loved it. As I left the stage with my prize, he sent me off with “Here, take this… It’s horrible.”

In order to pay his way back to LA, he was selling posters and other Dolemite merch, plus some dubious non-RRM junk such as framed prints of huge stacks of cash and cheap VHS porn tapes and other junk, most of which he had nothing to do with. Upon asking him to sign the movie I had proudly won, he replied, “Man, I ain’t in that movie, I can’t sign my name to it.” He did, however, finally signing the box, “To John, You Pee Wee Herman Motherfucker.”

The second time I saw him was in 1997 at Catfish Station on Sixth Street. By then he was enjoying a rebounding career that brought high praise from the movers and shakers of the comedy and hip hop worlds. His act, as well as his gracious personality, was basically the same though, but this time I noticed his advanced age was surely catching up with him. I picked up a “Dolemite for President” t-shirt and some other memorabilia, and as he was signing the merch and chatting with me, he seemed to be looking right through me—he was probably already suffering vision problems from the diabetes that had plagued him for so long. He remembered the Pee Wee Herman comparison from years earlier, and thanked me “for being such a good sport up there.”

The lasting impression left on me by RRM, besides the fact that he was a funny motherfucker, was that he was the antithesis of the “take the money and run” stereotype of his contemporaries. If anyone deserved attention and respect for all that he pioneered in the entertainment world, it was him.

One of my photos from our 2004 trip to Japan has been used in a textbook, Marketing Management: An Asian Perspective, published by Pearson Education South Asia.

I was in Philadelphia recently for the School of Rock Festival which DEVO headlined on Saturday night. Through my devious Godfather-esque connections with the Austin chapter of The Paul Green School of Rock, I was able to secure a backstage pass for DEVO’s set on Saturday night, and got some great photos of their performance. After the show—and I mean right after the show—the sky opened up and unloaded a 15-minute downpour that had spuds scrambling for cover. Luckily, someone had discarded some strange yellow pants on a backstage couch which, with a hastily tied-off leg, served as a fashionable camera bag to shield my gear from the rain.

I hung around the dressing rooms with the rest of the meltable devotees until the spudboys themselves came out to sign a few autographs, and luckily got my new camera bag signed by Mark Mothersbaugh, Gerald V. Casale and Josh Freese. I would have gotten Bob2, but he was hustled away pretty quickly, so I lined up for Bob1, but he was busy talking to a woman who explained that he was her first kiss—an act I was not even going to try to follow…

I then recognized Michael Pilmer, DEVO’s webmaster and archivist, and asked if he needed photos for the show. He said he was worried that his photos that night were shit, so I got his contact info and sent him nearly all my shots from the show, some good, more awful… He’s since updated the DEVO live archive and used some of mine plus a shitload of other shots from that evening. I also posted the better shots over at Flickr, so check it out.

I guess you’re all wondering where I’ve been lately and why I haven’t been posting. Yeah, all of you. All of my loyal readership. Uh huh.

Let’s just say I’ve been busy with important matters of US security—Such as a recent summit I participated in with Iran’s Iron Sheik. He damn near had me defecting to the other side with his promises of heavenly virgins and all that crap if I would help him take out Hulk Hogan. in the end I had to decline ‘cos I like women to be a bit more experienced.

Sorry, Sheik. But you’re still #1 All-American in my book.