“DEFORMER” Captures Bleak Reality

          Deformer is Ed Templeton’s high quality, smoothly designed coffee table photo book.  The volume also includes random notes, journal entries, and original art.  A former pro skateboarder, Templeton’s bold and intensely personal vision documents his dysfunctional childhood and the dark side of growing up in melancholy Orange County.   Templeton’s is a dark journey, yet one well worth taking.

          Possessing a grotesquely natural eye for the camera lens, Templeton takes photos of a detached pigeon head, a little girl holding a gun, dying handicapped people traveling bare streets on little motorized carts, a dead dog, a punk wearing a germ mouth mask, a homeless person, a white power sign, teenagers smoking, essentially the foreboding, bleak nature of life itself. 

          It seems Catholicism or Christianity or some other religion that worships Christ is scorned and mocked throughout the book.  Templeton’s photos make a striking statement about religion being forced on children, one that can be interpreted in a myriad of ways.  His photos, sometimes subtly, but usually in an in your face manner, have a throbbing energy and distinct ominous cloud aura.

          Templeton’s wife, Deanna, is featured throughout Deformer.  She is thanked at the end of the book as follows, “Finally, I would like to shower adoration on my wonderful wife, Deanna Templeton, whose bravery and constant support are the backbone of this project and my life.”  It’s interesting to see how Templeton documents their strong trusting relationship through images instead of words.

          One of the coolest pages of the book is nothing but ticket stubs.  The names of the different bands that played each show are on every stub.  This page gives rare insight into Ed’s and Deanna’s states of mind.  When you know someone likes a certain band and you like that band too, of course music provides an excellent method of bonding.  I identified with some bands and that made me feel closer to the book, and thus inevitably Ed and Deanna themselves.

          Deformer opens with lyrics to the song “Hidden Wheel” (1986) by the band Rites of Spring. 

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Is this the first time I’ve seen the size of these walls?

Is this the first time?

Yes.

Now I’m the angry son-

Everything I’ve learned was wrong

I’m the burning door-

Once I’m opened I can’t be closed.

            The Rites of Spring quote kicks the book off with volcanic message.  At the beginning of Deformer, Templeton explains the book as, “The shaping and misshaping effects of growing up a specimen in the suburban domestic incubator.”  It would be tough to find a more apt description.  Of course Deformer can be interpreted in multiple ways, yet of one fact there remains no debate, Templeton is a survivor.    

Christmas at 3rd and Fairfax

          I must admit, although it may make me look soft in the eyes of many, I’m proud to be a sucker for Christmas, always have been, always will be.  The holidays are definitely my favorite time of year.  In December, when I’m in a car, I always tune the radio to KOST (nonstop Xmas songs) and enjoy the carols sung by Bing Crosby, Michael Buble, Peabo Bryson, Lionel Richie, Mariah Carey, Josh Groban and Whitney Houston, plus many others.  Fact is, being bipolar, I’m pretty much depressed the entire year round, but during the holidays people at least try to be a little nicer to each other and that alone can lift my spirits even just the smallest bit.

          One of my favorite places to go around Xmas time is the Farmers’ Market and adjacent Grove at the corner of 3^rd and Fairfax.  Parking can be a bitch if you go at rush hour, but if you plan for later afternoon things seem to work out alright.  I take pleasure in the little things.  At the back of the Market is Bob’s Coffee & Doughnuts which was voted “Best In The City.”  I’ll order a medium coffee and a cinnamon sugar donut.  Sometimes l take my coffee black, sometimes with cream and sugar.  It just depends on my mood.  If your donuts are crusty and crunchy on the outside with a generous dusting of cinnamon on top, you’re psyched.  Look around, Xmas is everywhere.  Wreaths and toys abound.  There are lights wrapped around the trees.  Bennett’s sells their limited edition pints of Egg Nog ice cream (my favorite). 

          In The Grove, more holiday music plays, there is a decorated trolley that drives the length of the grounds, kids can enter a huge gingerbread house, and a massive beautiful tree towers tall above the entire crazy scene.  People carry shopping bags in every direction, the mood is infectious.  And there is a film Multiplex too, in case you just feel like chillin’ and watching a flick.  Even the most staunch Grinches and Scrooges are forced to crack smiles.   

          One cool thing about The Grove is that there is a Barnes & Noble bookstore.  Amazon has basically killed the freestanding bookstore (except for a few) and now it’s rare to get the opportunity to flip through actual physical volumes.  B&N has an average art/photo book section for a mainstream store.  I’ll normally scan the shelves.  Of course, there’s no way to get a real feel for a book unless you’re holding it in your hands.  However, if I find something I like, I’ll wait until I get home and save big bucks by buying my copy on Amazon just like everyone else.  Oh well, I guess I’m part of the problem.  But really, truth is, I’m just into giving.  I love giving gifts.  I mean I really love giving gifts, especially at Xmas.  I don’t expect anything in return.  Giving gifts is just a way I like to express friendship, and perhaps spread some special holiday cheer. 

          Also, the Farmers’ Market is perfect for people-watching.  Suffice to say, you get a cross section of people from all races and religions, and from extraordinarily different cultural backgrounds, all sitting together in this awesome food village.  There’s holiday spirit in the air, take advantage of it!  Enjoy the food and drink!  There are more smiles on people’s faces now than at any other time of year.  Sounds silly, but it works for me, at least to a certain extent.

Such a Zero



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          I looked up the word “stupid” in the dictionary and found a picture of you.  You’re just another piece of driftwood floating along a sea of losers.  You’ve got nothing, such a zero.  Pathetic.  The word has such a harsh bite, but as they say, if the shoe fits.  I simply see you as sad.  Frequently people talk about “unrealized potential.”  They’re not talking about you.  I feel for your mother.  She’s too kind and protective of you to show her true feelings.  Instead, she cries at night in bed alone.

          I read your poor, inadequate screenplays and witness your constant failing attempts to break into Hollywood.  What can I say?  A bad joke!  Bottom line, you simply don’t have the talent.  Maybe you know this, maybe you don’t.  It doesn’t really matter.  You’ll drown either way.  I can’t stand the way you constantly ask me to read your mediocre work.  You always want my feedback.  What an annoyance.  I never knew friendship could be such a burden.

          Ya’ know how some people have mojo and some people don’t?  Guess which category you fall into.  It’s no secret they know you well at Kinko’s.  You’re on a name to name basis with many of the clerks.  They say hello when you arrive.  You reply back politely.  You get the “screenwriter’s discount,” still the charges build up rather quickly.  Ten cents here, ten cents there, again and again, wasted money!

Guess what happens when you send your screenplays out to the agencies.  I often wonder if you know where your scripts end up because, honestly, you seem ignorant to reality.  Check the trash can, the fireplace, the garbage heap at the city dump.  “We don’t accept unsolicited material.”  Don’t you know what that means?  Get a clue!  Even facing all this adversity you keep at it, you keep on keepin’ on.  Like Churchill said, “Never, never, never give up!”  But Churchill never met you.  He might have changed his tune.  Once in a while you, “take a meeting” or “do lunch.”  Your efforts are always meaningless and unproductive.  Deals are never closed because people don’t want to associate themselves with you.  You’re a thief of others’ time.  Wake up! 



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          You don’t even dress the part.  A loyal Top Ramen consumer, you sport second hand rags that disqualify you immediately, before you have the opportunity to utter word one.  You can’t hang with the heavies, this is the big time!  You’re strictly minor leagues, a sucker and a chump.  In this town, they do judge books by their covers and yours reads rather boring.  As soon as you show your face, doors slam.  People regret ever having taken your phone call.  You don’t have a warm glowing aura of success, that intangible amorphous quality that attracts.  Instead, you’re coated in mud, emitting the stench of a rabid skunk.

          You’re standing in front of a brick wall, slamming your head against it, one, two, three times, continuously nonstop.  Skin is broken, blood starts flowing, but somehow you still don’t get it.  You seem oblivious to the pain even after you’ve cracked your skull and gray brain matter begins to leak out.  Everyone sees it but you, but nobody wants to tell you for fear of hurting your feelings.   Look at you!  No connections, you forever remain the outsider, desperate for a break, always denied access to the club.  You wonder why, you look for a reason.  Sometimes I think you’re blind.

          You probably never heard the one about Stevie Nicks’ assistant.  Back in the day, Stevie snorted so much coke she fucked up and mangled the inside of her nose until she couldn’t snort any more.  What to do?  I mean, talk about a serious predicament!  So, how did Stevie solve her dilemma?  She had her assistant blow the powder up her ass with a straw.  When I think of Stevie Nicks’ assistant, I think of you. 

Andy Behrman’s “ELECTROBOY” Documents Bipolar Madness

Originally published in 2002, Electroboy documents Andy Behrman’s downward spiral into a bipolar psychosis.  Behrman was born in January 1962, not far from New York City.  Being bipolar myself, I identified closely with his descriptions of various horrible depressions, ecstatic manias, obsessive compulsive and suicidal thinking. 

Behrman attended Wesleyan University and upon graduation went to live in NYC, hoping to start an independent film company.  When that opportunity failed, he went to work for Georgio Armani.  Armani was celebrating his first American flagship store in the heart of Manhattan.  In a world of chaos Andy played a key role in helping to ensure the store opened on time.  He served as a jack of all trades assisting VIPs from around the world or sometimes just going out to pick up lunch.



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However, the whole time Behrman was blitzed out of his mind with delusional thoughts dominating his brain.  The bipolar disease had taken over his thought process.  Soon he became a fully nude male performer at a homosexual dive, eventually lapsing into prostitution, becoming a whore himself.  Behrman welcomed every opportunity to do drugs.  Hey, wanna smoke some coke?  Great, bring it on!

PR was always Behrman’s first love, in one form or another, schmoozing at parties and art openings, creating street buzz out of thin air. One day he was scheduled to interview the non-artist Mark Kostabi, notorious for having other people paint his paintings for him, adding nothing more than merely his signature.  Behrman knew Kostabi was the flavor of the month “it” artist and wound up staying on to work in the bizarre “Kostabi World” which put him smack in the middle of the big money international art scene.

Except Behrman got a little too greedy.  He and a co-worker started forging fake Kostabis to be sold in Japan under the radar so nobody would notice.  Behrman loved taking flights to Berlin, flying by the seat of his pants, with no thought of any consequences.  Well, their plan failed and after a trial that made a scandal in the NYC papers, Behrman was sentenced to five months incarceration at a minimum security penitentiary.



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            All the while, Andy was juggling various shrinks, multiple mis-diagnosis, and tons of pills every day.  Eventually things got so terrible, the depression, fear and paranoia, it seemed there would be no end to the misery.  Finally, in a last ditch attempt to avoid suicide, Behrman turned to ECT (electroconvulsive therapy).  Behrman had nineteen(!) ECT sessions and now apparently lives mania free in the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

Learn more at www.electroboy.com

Kapuscinski’s “IMPERIUM” exposes Kolyma – Uncle Joe’s Arctic Gulag Death Camp

            Writer/renegade/death defying journalist, Ryszard Kapuscinski took the former Soviet Union by storm, transcribing his adventures in the smart, approachable, and definitely hardcore book, Imperium (1994).  That’s how RK refers to the former Soviet Union, as more than just a mere country, but as the colossal Imperium.  RK made it his mission to travel as far and wide across the Imperium as he could. 

            Starting Imperium are true stories about how RK, as a child, barely avoided being deported to the gulag from Pinsk, Poland, in 1939.  Fast forwarding to1958, RK relates adventures from his trip on the Trans-Siberian railway.  He made a point of personally experiencing almost every city/territory/province/village/mountain range/river/encampment in existence.  He writes of Argun, Unda, Chaychar, Chingan, Ilchuri, Dzagdy, Kilkok, Tungir, Bukachacha, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Kyrgystan, Uzbekistan, Chelyabinsk, Novosibirsk, and Krasnoyarsk, to name just a few.  Oh, and Moscow too.  Some people he encountered were Buryats, Kamchadals, Tunguses, Aynovs, Orochans, and Koryats.  Got the picture?



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            Kapusinski’s writing is a pleasure to read.  I never thought I’d be interested in a book on Russian history today (although I enjoyed Russian history in college), but RK, by relating his adventures through his grand, lyrical and brutal prose, has a way of making it fresh and new all over again.  He writes with incredible narrative power and evokes spectacularly the essence of Soviet life.  I definitely recommend RK’s Imperium.

            There is so much I could write about Imperium, but my favorite part was RK’s trek out to North Eastern Siberia (1989-1991) to see the former Kolyma death camp.  Stalin’s constant purges (1930s, 1940s) ensured Kolyma always remained full, even though many of the prisoners already at the camp were dying every day.  The lives of the prisoners were pure hell, reminiscent of those at Auschwitz, minus the gas chambers and ovens.

            The slave laborers had to deal with the following:  

            COLD – Clothed in wretched and thin rags it was common for prisoners to freeze to death in the minus thirty degree environment. 

            HUNGER – Often times, meals consisted of a crust of bread the entire day.

            HARD LABOR – Hungry and frozen, prisoners were constantly pushed past the point of endurance, digging ice, carting it off in wheelbarrows, crushing rocks and ice, and chopping down the forest.

            LACK OF SLEEP – Prisoners were afforded only a few bits at a time in icy barracks, on hard boards.

            FILTH – Prisoners were not allowed to wash and therefore were constantly covered in a dirt crust and sweat, stinking unbearably.

            VERMIN - Prisoners were constantly fighting off swarms of bedbugs, mosquitos, and terrible Siberian flies.

            GUARD SADISM – Prisoners were shouted at, punched in the face, beaten, kicked and even murdered for the most minor infractions.

            TERROR OF CRIMINALS – Violent criminal prisoners were constantly taking advantage of the rest of the prisoner population.

            FEELING OF INJUSTICE – The sheer psychological terror of simply being at Kolyma.

            HOMESICKNESS & FEAR – Scared prisoners felt that any day could be their last for any of the above reasons.  Sometimes sentences stretched to 25 years, absolutely crushing any hope of getting out alive. 

            All in all, over 3,000,000 died at Kolyma, so just sit down, shut up, and be thankful Uncle Joe isn’t your travel agent. 

J.K.’s Scrumpy is Hardcore Hard Cider

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“He that drinks his cyder alone, let him catch his horse alone” - Benjamin Franklin.

          Coming out of the Koan Family Almar Orchard in Michigan is delicious J.K.’s Scrumpy Hard Cider.  Scrumpy has been grown, pressed and fermented in Michigan since the 1860s.  Distributed in a twenty-two ounce bottle, the cider is the same traditional recipe that saved the family farm during the Great Depression.  Scrumpy is USDA organic and unfiltered, also gluten free with no sulfites added.  There can be slight variations in taste from batch to batch, just as nature makes no two apples alike.  However the ingredients still remain simple, only juice and yeast. 

          I found Scrumpy for sale at the restaurant supply store SURFAS in Culver City (8777 W. Washington Blvd.).  What’s not to love about Scrumpy?  The price, $8/bottle.  That’s a little pricey for me to become a regular nightly Scrumpy drinker, but make no mistake, this stuff is good, real good, gulping it cold, the sweet/bitter taste and then the slight kick at the end as it slides down your throat.  Scrumpy is 6% ALC/VOL.  I imagine it’s pretty easy to become addicted to Scrumpy, so be careful.  It’s no wonder the family orchards have been around for over 150 years.  With a product as fresh and thirst quenching as an ice cold Scrumpy, they couldn’t lose. 

Lots of interesting info can be found at http://www.organicscrumpy.com/

"Under and Alone” Rides Deep Into Heart of Savage Mongol Nation

We are Mongol Raiders / We’re raiders of the night / We’re dirty sons of bitches / We’d rather fuck and fight / HOOAH! / We castrate the sheriffs with a dirty piece of glass / And shove our rusty Buck knives up their fuckin’ ass / HOOAH! / Hidy Hidy Christ Almighty / Who the fuck are we? / Shit Fuck Cunt Suck / Mongols M.C. / HOOAH!

Such is the Mongols OMG (Outlaw Motorcycle Gang) fight song. 

“Under and Alone” is the story of William Queen, the undercover ATF agent who, over a two year period, infiltrated and became a “full patch” member of the Mongols under the alias “Billy St. John,” in the largest most widespread operation ever taken against an OMG.

Just like traditional Cosa Nostra, The Mongols have a hierarchy of national officers, a constitution, bylaws, and monthly dues.  Just like FBI Undercover Agent Joe Pistone infiltrated the Mafia under the alias “Donnie Brasco,” ATF officer William Queen lived life on the razor’s edge.  Assignments just don’t get any more dangerous than his operation.  The background check on Billy St. John was extremely extensive, as the Mongols have numerous lawyers, private dicks, and corrupt cops on their payroll.  In light of all that scrutiny, not only did Billy St. John succeed in becoming a full patch member of The Mongols Club (after rising through the ranks as a “hanger on” and then a “prospect”) they named Billy Secretary/Treasurer of the San Fernando Valley Chapter.  Billy was often in positions where he had to drug up or gang rape or he might be killed, it’s amazing how Billy responded to direct orders to do drugs by other members of the gang.



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The Mongols OMG is the most savage in the world.  They hang scalps from trees.  Although they might not boast as many fully patched members when compared to other OMGs, the Mongols have never lost a fight, not even to The Hells Angels.  Originally the Angels forbid other OMGs from wearing the “California lower rocker” on their leather jackets, but after a twenty year war, the Mongols defeated the Angels through a series of deadly brawls, thus earning themselves the right. 

The Mongols motto is, “Respect Few, Fear None.”  Their lifestyle includes rampant drug dealing, gang rape, gun running, assault and battery, larceny, extortion, blackmail, numerous bike thefts, prostitution and various other criminal conspiracies.  The Mongols took their name from Ghengis Khan’s band of savages, no surprise.  Welcome to the world of “one percenters.” 

 What’s a one percenter you ask?  A one percenter is a badass who you want to stay as far away from as possible.  The term “one percenter” was born out of the 1947 Hollister, CA, motorcycle riot that inspired the film, “The Wild One” starring Marlon Brando.  As a result, motorcycle riders and even the American Motorcycle Association denounced the bikers who were ruining the reputation of “99%” of average American riders.  The OMGs were delighted having been singled out and have worn a 1% patch on their jackets ever since.

               Once while I was working the door at a strip club, two Mongols walked in.  One was a big burly white guy with a moustache, the other a wrinkly older Latino, both covered in tattoos.  I didn’t even think to ask them for money.  I just told them, “Enjoy the show,” and let them stroll right in, no doubt the safe and prudent move.

 “Under and Alone” will introduce you to characters like Evel, Crazy Craig, Little Dave, Rocky, Rancid, Domingo, and the most savage of them all, the swastika tattooed Red Dog.  Red Dog once told Billy, “If you turn out to be a problem, I’ll cut your motherfuckin’ throat.”  The Mongols are always drunk and smashed on crank and coke.  My favorite story of an OMG is when a certain member’s “ol’ lady” showed disrespect, she was crucified with a hammer and nails to a tree and hours later when she was let down, she crafted a necklace of the nails and wore it with a sense of new pride and devotion.

When Mongols go on a run one hundred strong, they truly live beyond the law.  “Under and Alone” is a real page turner, if you can devote a little time, you might be able to read it over the weekend.  I won’t ruin the end for you, but trust me, it’s intense.  HOOAH!