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In 1998 I was in love with Ministry. They were the only band I had ever cared about, a love unrivaled by any band since. I’d wear this  shirt with a guy waving an american flag with bloody meat dripping down his head, the cover to their sixth album, Filth Pig. I’d walk around my High School campus with that shirt, a pair of  jnkos, and my discman, blasting hard metal scrapping against synth. Nine Inch Nails was for sellouts, Marilyn Manson was just a kid playing dress up, Deftones were cool, but if you mentioned Korn you were dead to me. I still listen to The Land of Rape and Honey, MInistry’s first departure from the goth synth scene, and think about the old days.
Since high school I mention Ministry with a sense of embarrassment. Their last few albums have been awful and age has not been nice to their rocking. But I found out that they’ve called it quits today, I can’t lie,  I got  emotional. And embarrassed or not, I’d still recommend watching some classic ministry videos.

stigmata
same old madness
land of rape and honey (live)
NWO
Revenge

The Microphones were my first venture into the tactile realms of music. I’ve always been a tech junky, I had a mp3 player before I had any mp3s. But there was something about the Glow Pt. 2 that compelled me go  to the Laney College flea market and buy a record player, along with 40 or so albums on beat up vinyl. Vinyl probably bought, and sold by college school students in a two year cycle, after realizing the Velvet Underground isn’t good enough to warrant lugging around a 90 lb box of records. But I kept my Microphones records, that might be a testament to my love of the Microphones, or my hatred of the Velvet Underground.
Mount Eerie who evolved from the Microphones have just released a new album, a collaboration with Canadian singer, Julie Doiron, and is  the prettiest albums i’ve heard this year. Voices in Headphones was so well crafted It made me want to bury my ipod, dust off my SLR, and take over-exposed pictures of dusty puddles.  Listen to it staring at your ceiling, picturing clouds casting shadows on rickety wooden houses, and pondering your existence. If you hate it, its only like 20 minutes, so stop complaining.

In Oakland I had a lot of people cutting my hair. I can’t remember paying more than a pack of cigarettes to trade for services rendered. I got some pretty good haircuts from my friend Kara Joslyn, she’d spend 4 hours on it every cut, which was nice for a free haircut, but tedious when you’re trying not to fall asleep while she’s trimming around your ears. After that, my friend Monica Canilao (pictured above) cut my hair for website services. I think she was the best because she’d bake me tator tots for after the haircut. She had this pair of old fabric scissors that she’d drag across my head. The pain was intoxicating. The sound of hair ripping gave me chills, and I can’t get a razor cut anymore without asking if they might have a duller blade somewhere.

When I moved to New York, I was shocked that no one was offering me haircuts for cigarettes. With New York cigarette prices, I can’t say it’d be much of a deal. So I went to this place that a friend was working at, his name was Brian, and I’m not going to say where, but he raped my head with his sleazy scissors, and charged me 190 dollars for a bowl cut and a salon phobia. I eventually found some guy named Wesley at Kropps and Bobbers, and he did an amazing job, but at 90 dollars, it was no steal.

Now back in Los Angeles, I dreaded finding a place to get my hair chopped. I’ve been going to Rudy’s on Sunset, for a 24 dollar haircut that looks like it cost me 40, or the Vidal Sassoon school, which i’m still a little scared of. And though I’m happy with the reasonable priced chops here, I’m still sad that the barter barber scene doesn’t extend much outside of Oakland. I got a haircut in Portland once, and they gave me a free pabst while I got my hair snipped. Its those little gestures that make an experience. So if anyone in Los Angeles wants take a crack at my head, I’m ready and willing. And if you want some money, make sure you have some tator tots and a PBR waiting for me.

I love Spam. Its not an ironic, fetishistic infatuation. Its a true appreciation for the meat; its resourceful flavor, and its indestructible enclosure. Its not because I’m asian, and I loves things that come with right angles, encased in steel. Its not the novelty of canned luncheon meats or the cult status that it somehow achieved. And I’m just tired of defending Spam to people that will never let themselves experience the wonder meat.

What bothers me is that so many people are fine with hot dogs, probably the most processed meat product ever created. Hot dogs are made with the real scraps, blended in a vat the size of a grain silo, encased in synthetic wrapping, then painted orange. Spam has always gotten the short end of the culinary stick. What people don’t realize that Spam is a simple blend of ham, pork shoulder and pepper. There’s no ears or anus, that goes to the hot dog plant. Spam does not stand for “snouts, penis, and misc…”, its a simply abbreviation for “spiced ham”.

I know I’m being defensive unprovoked, but I just wanted to tell you about my friend, that happens to have a bad reputation. If you’d like to read more in defense of SPAM, read this hillarious essay, and look for Paul Theroux’s theory of the pacific islanders fascination with said meat. And if you get curious, try some of these recipes. If you don’t trust me, trust the experts.

For some odd reason, AMC has been playing alot more Death Wish these days. 5 years after Charles Bronson’s death, theres really no reason for this sudden interest in the series. Especially since 3 out of the 5 are too terrible to watch.
But Charles Bronson still stands as my favorite face in cinema. When I heard that Sylvester Stallone wanted to reprise the role as the gun wielding vigilante, it made me sad. Charles Bronson was the ugly uncle we all had. Vaguely Asian/ Mexican looking; He taught us, you fuck with me= you die. Uncle Bronson wasn’t Rambo, he was some schmuck with a big gun. Kinda short, and super creepy, if Uncle Bronson took you out to the park, he would not play with you, just stare at you from 600 feet away. But if you got into a sticky situation, you could always count on Uncle Bronson’s aim.
So when you see the trailer to the upcoming Death Wish remake, don’t forget where it all started: at the cold end of a great man’s gun.

I think we’re always at ends with our emotions. I’m constantly fighting between what I feel, and what I know is right. I hold these feelings back so I don’t appear crazy or temperamental. The eternal fight between the mind and the heart has ripped apart the brains of geniuses, and the souls of saints. Its no wonder, I’m always thinking about Robocop city.

Located somewhere in the middle of Iowa, lies Robocop city. Robocop City’s main appeal is its complete lack of crime, due to its populous made completely of Robocops. Unlike most Police Departments, there is no racism, in Robocop City you are judged on your aim, effectiveness, and willingness to comply. Since there is no crime in Robocop City, the police force is severely underfunded. Many Robocops have had to pick up jobs on the side. A popular second job is working in the baby food factory, or writer for the local newspaper, The Roboexaminer.

My uncle says that Robocop City Women are the most sexy women in the world. They’re smart, strong, and very knowledgable with power tools. But he also says they smell like an arm after you take a cast off it. He couldn’t get over it, but i have a severely deviated septum, and haven’t been able to smell for decades.

Coming back to Los Angeles, i ate nothing but mexican food for the first 3 monthes. New York knows it’s food, but could never get its head around Mexican. Almost all the East Coast Mexican restaurants were run by Chinese people, and the food made you long for sweet, sweet abortion. Tacos represent more than just a little bite of joy, they incapsulate the spastic energy of the human experience, all for about a buck.

From the first Spanish taco orgies of the late 1500’s, the taco has been a staple of youth culture. decadent and humble, cheap yet powerful, these delectable morsels transcends class, creed, and color. No one knows this better than Paul Bellezza . His taco blog, good going dot com, tracks his taco-centric voyage into wheel’d restaurant heaven. It hasn’t been updated in a while, but its still a good enough read.
shirt by Seibei

My new site has just launched, and I’d like to thank you for your time. Please feel free to contact me about anything your cute little brains think of. Ryan Graber is here for all of you; eat me up.
A big part of illustration, at least for me, is waiting. Waiting for a job, waiting for feedback, waiting for inspiration…. During these times i usually watch tv, letting my arm atrophy, and my skills rust. So, out of necessity, this is going to be a drawg, a fully drawn blog, with very poor grammer. i’m really bad at writing.
When i think about blogging, it gets me really self conscious and confused. with a personal blog, i don’t understand whether this thing is supposed to be a diary or a news feed. So before starting this thing, i sat down and made a list.

my blog should have…
consumer electronics
rants
hipster girls
drawings
sexy animals
fried chicken thighs
vietnamese food

Sound good? Please send me pictures, stories, and anything else you think, i’ll think, is interesting, and i’ll draw it.