UPDATES/DOWNDATES

Lots to talk about. Couple things worth sharing.

The weekend is coming along just fine. Enjoying the time off. CINCO is in high swing, readying a ton of projects for final completion at the ASR tradeshow in San Diego. We’re heading down there late next week for a couple days of action. Looking forward to seeing the Nixon booth we built and a slew of low life fucks who I used to run with during my time in SoCal. You know who you are.

High level talks are slated with CINCO clients, funlance and friends. San Diego Schman Schmiego. No biggie. We’re working.

Here’s a shot from last year’s debacle, appropriately titled, "Not One Of My Finer Moments". Tall tales: Word is, I puked so violently, my lung collapsed. Something like that. Just kidding. I did a little drinking, and I'll be a herniated disc in a Jewish man's lower spine, it got the best of me, I was hung over in the California sun, left on the streets by Rose and Bridges. Thanks for nothing.

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MELISSA UPDATE: Her school papers are in and she’s “going to bat” in about three weeks. College. The Big Time. Very proud of the girl. It’s a big leap. She is gigantically fired up and I gotta say, “She’s gonna put a hurt on those classes.” Real good.

Dyed her hair deep red. Kind of likes her manager. Lots of dirty looks from the co-pilot seat of Big S. Always willing to debate all levels of the DDC. One big stupid-ass crush on the DDC. Enjoys a good glass of wine. Or a bottle.

ANGE UPDATE: Dyed her hair black. Hates her manager. Lots of dirty looks from the back seat of Big S. Always willing to take on all levels of the DDC. Lots of stupid-ass secret crushes. Enjoys a good glass of wine. Or a bottle.

So happy together....

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Lots of shirt orders coming in. Thanks to everyone who’s thrown the loot down. Patience is virtue/they are in the mail. For more info, scroll down, or click here, concerned consumer. They are going fast. Buy an "XL" and grow into it.

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DDC “Movie of the Summer”: Lots of tears shed this summer over different pictures. Some good ones, some bad ones. We won’t go into detail about the bummers. With September only three hours away, the summer movie season is coming to a close.

The votes are in. Our pick for the summer is "28 Days Later." Real good. Now, those previews are misleading and are designed under the “dumbest buy the mostest” principle. I thought this flick was gonna be some tear ‘em up/spit ‘em out horror deal. Not so.

Our review: Tastefully done, in all uses of angle, film grain, setting, language, action and character casting. The use of “cinematic restraint” is what made the scary moments that much more interesting and climactic. Very well done. Eerie, believable, exciting. Uh, “A Thrill Ride.” Seriously though, this one held our attention all the way through. No rolled eyes. No, “C’mon, you Hollywood fucks!” None of that. The English do it right. Same guys who did Trainspotting. All in attendance enjoyed the night out. Thumbs up from Melissa, Ange and Aaron.

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Sean sent me a copy of LINES down from Seattle. Hard to believe it is actually in my hands, and on my coffee table. Lots went into it. Much excitement. Go buy a copy and relive some classic moments in snowboard photography. We're proud of this one.

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Try this little flash wonder out. Lots of fun. Pretty amazing coding going on. Bloody, man, real bloody.

Hell, we even made our own, and man, it hurt. Have fun.

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Lance Dalgart finally got his site out of the gutter and it’s been turned on. Check out his work at a site that has his name as it’s title: www.lancedalgart.com

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All you Uncle Tupelo fans, click absolutely right here for the “Chickamauga” and “The Long Cut” motion picture videos. I bought Anodyne in 1993, already behind the times. By the time I was super hot on them I was out west and well, they were broken up and on to new stuff. These guys were it. I remember seeing their names in the Detroit papers, for shows at St. Andrew’s Hall and so on. I wish I woulda understood back then. Amazing. These songs mean a lot to me.

FROM A COUPLE NIGHTS BACK...TYPED ON THE TRUSTY iBook IN A CRAMPED SEAT, A COUPLE MINUTES AFTER TAKING OFF BACK TO PORTLAND FROM MINNEAPOLIS...

Flying over Minneapolis earlier this evening took the cake. Hands down, the most beautiful pass I’ve ever made by plane over the city. The sun was just a good 20 minutes away from setting so the big buildings had their nightlights on…lit up, golden orange, a warm city that still mesmerizes me.

There was the mighty Mississippi…twisting and turning, rising and falling, weaving through industrial might and urban sprawl. There was Hennepin Avenue and Central Avenue, and my first apartment. There was Washington Ave and it’s amazing warehouses. There was MCAD and hell, a couple blocks down was Ryno’s pad.

I found myself giving it a, “Well, fuck it. I’ll just go AWOL from the airport and go find a new life here. Hole up at Ryno’s for a couple days, pound the pavement in search of a new gig, secure some employment and then cruise back to get my goods in Portland.

The city was beautiful tonight. Rows ands rows of houses, green foliage, dead grass, concrete, streetlights. I have so many good memories of the place. Really liked it there.

I’m like a broken record: I’ll get back at some point. It’s just that, my current situation in Portland is quite possibly the finest tangle I’ve ever got myself into. A good gal, good work, good friends, good weather and a good flat to call home. Things are good out there, and I have a hard time lookin’ beyond it.

Man, Minneapolis looked so good, shimmering in the late summer evening's heat.

BACK IN TOWN

Back in town, you bet.

Stay tuned for a full report on all doings and wrongdoings while back in the DDC motherland.

Tall tales, of both love and heartbreak, as well as merchandise opportunites are on deck, so check back real soon, you dirty dog-lickin' motherfuckers.

DECADE

August 17th was our “10 Years Since We Left The Nest” Anniversary. Ten whole years!

Bry and I had “The Hawk” (a shit-baked 84’ Buick Skyhawk 2 door with an attitude) packed with a winter’s worth of gear, pushing off for big adventure out west. Hearts were broken…moms, dads, better halves. Hell, about 30 gals around the greater Northern Michigan area went into depressive states upon hearing news of my departure from the state. This change had to be made.

It was sad for those first couple miles. I remember “losing my shit” at the end of Barnes Road, big ol’ crocodile tears pouring down my baby face, splashing on the Hawk’s spit-shined, shimmering interior. Seeing my parents weeping really tore me up. A tough split. My dad really lost his shit. But then again, he cries easily.

This was the big jump. Our sadness quickly turned to excited apprehension. “Would the Hawk make it all the way to Oregon?”, “Would we be able to make it in Bend?” and most importantly, “When was the snow gonna fly?” were the topics of choice as we barreled west on I-90.

Our itinerary: Northern Michigan, Upper Peninsula, Mid-Wisconsin, Southern Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Idaho and finally, Oregon!

Our timeframe: Fast as fuck with no looking back.

Our budgets: Roughly three grand between the two of us, in cold card cash. We worked all summer long at a joint on the west bay called “Shitsky’s” or “Schlitzers” or something. Oh, it was “Sweitzer’s”, that’s right. (Thank Mom for the clarification.) I was a fry cook throwin’ perch pieces and French fries into boiling grease. I had this rule, concerning “getting burned”
and it went something like this, “If I burn myself three or more times, that’s it, I’m quittin’.” I remember the assholes I worked with, burn scars up and down their forearms from baked potato trays and such. No way. I wasn’t about to give up my flesh for that sloshed vampire who ran the joint.

Bry was bussin’ tables, so we’d cross paths and lock eyes with that sort of, “Soon enough, we’ll be outta here” kind of glance. He was my rock.

We made it out to Oregon in about four days. 600 miles a day.

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Thinking back: All the news friends, adventures, wild women, brushes with the law, advancements, set backs, kickers, miles, roadtrips, jobs, pow turns, heartbreaks, trips back home, sad goodbyes, new beginnings, shitty apartments, paychecks, enemies, triumphs, rigs and good times...

10 years later. Wow.

People come, people go. With news of sad passings, comes news of hopeful beginnings...

Chris and Gretchen Hötz (of NEMO design and SUGAR LABS haircuttin') are expecting a little guy, with the parent-approved name of "Eero." It's got a good ring to it..."Eero Hötz." Not bad, not bad.

Let it be known: Having the Draplindustries Design Co. as a colleague comes with a wealth of fringe benefits. We've been known to "go for it" when it comes to house warming, marriage and little-angels-straight-from-heaven gifts. Oh yeah, we come through in tough times.

Gretch and I go way back, a good decade or so. We've had adventures in Alaska, our share of mean landlords and pillaged through a laundry list of dudes & chicks between the two of us. What a trail of carnage.

Little Eero should start his little life well outfitted. We came to this conclusion after much thought. We put our ears to the ground and put the feelers out. We came up with the perfect gift for young, rugged little tyke who'll be sure to wear holes into the knees of his jeans: Carhartt Bibs, to fit little fuckers who fall into the ages of 12-24 months. We'll take solace in the fact he'll be clothed with the usual array of sleepers, diapers and such for those first 12 months, but man, after that, we'll sleep easy knowin' he starts–and ends– each and every goddamn day in these little canvas duck britches.

We even tattoed them with a motivational message–that, unless the little scholar learns to read in the next couple years–ma and pa will have to relay to him when he's of proper age.

We wish him the best, as well as his parents.

THINKING OF UNCLE LARRY

From the The Daily Mining Gazette.

I hope cousin Colleen and little Chase are okay.

Mom and Dad are heading up north to attend his funeral. I wish I could be with them.

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I'm excited to be going home next week. "D's Wedding Requests My Services," as well as "A Chance To See Mom And Dad A Bit" are the headlines. Can't wait to see them. Last time I was home was in February. Too many months in between those visits. Gonna put an end to that sort of bullshit soon enough.

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Noah and Naomi are getting hitched this weekend in Bend. Our hearts go out to them; young lovers...poised for many good things to come. Say it with us, "The Rosens."

A MOMENT OF SILENCE

My Uncle Larry passed away yesterday in Calumet, Michigan; way up north in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

Fond memories of snorts, chuckles, hysterics, indistinguishable words, mysterious phrases and possibly one of the most amazing, warm smiles to grace a man's face are with me forever.

After raising his family in Detroit, he moved back north to his hometown of Calumet. He was 78 years young at the time of his passing.

This one is for Uncle Larry.

MADE IT BACK, WITH A WAD OF DOLLAR BILLLS

Scenes from a bachelor party.

It was good to see Noah and the boys. Good conversation with Ross, Hasler, Marky, Scott and Pete...as "talented temptresses" strutted their organs and wares in our peripherals.

Strip bars are fucking slimy. Not much more to say about it. Pretty sad state of affairs, with the product and the consumer. No thanks. Not too much went down, 'cept stringy g-strings and such, so we split after someone took a picture, unleashing a contraband flash on a contraband camera. The goons confiscated the items in protest.

The drive up and down was nice. Calming in a harrowing sense. It's easy to haul ass across that high desert. Bend is 168 miles from Portland, a trip I've made probably 200+ times. Pre-Hood, Hood, the forest, the high desert, Indian Reservation, mexican community Madras, rancher community Redmond, pre-Bend and finally, Bend.

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Some business took place between Fink Ink and the Draplindustries Design Co. Favorabel results. All sides won in the transaction. Save those pennies...Official DDC t-shirts will be available soon. Thick inks on durable fibers.

MT. BACHELOR PARTY

Heading down to Bend tonight. Big plans are in order. Noah Rosen is currently enjoying his last day as a aimless, bumbling testosterone roman candle, free from the chains of marital union. A group of dudes–of questionable status in society–are coming together to celebrate one last hurrah for this 6-foot-plus Jew from Leucadia. Bachelor Party time, in the shadow of Mt. Bachelor.

Dinner is planned, as is a stop by Bend’s one and only “flesh general store,” a ratty joint that goes by the name “Stars.”

Bad neon, local meat, g-strings flossing weathered birth canals, Motley Crüe songs, hopeful dickheads, etc.

Last time I was in town, I was herded into stopping by for a lackluster stint, bored to tears with each “dance” and strained bits of “So how you been, man?” conversation.

I’m just rower on a boat full of dicks with Noah Rosen as our captain, guiding us for last night of freedom. This is what goes down. Anything could happen. I’m watching out for any number of things.

Fuck the “titty bar.” I say we take the sonofabitch out into the high desert, get him real drunk and ornery and then let him “survive” his way back to Bend, “Rambo” style. This way Noah is out of his element, forced to think like an animal one last time. Maybe we’ll get him arrested, forced to call his gal’s parents or something, all teary-eyed from jail? Lots of options. Big talk. We’ll share the recap after the lance dancer calls it a night.

ONE MAN'S TRASH IS ANOTHER MAN'S TREASURE

So I’m sitting there, lovingly waiting for Big S to warm up a bit–in the brisk August morning–and I look down the driveway to a rough lookin’ pile of trash that is scattered about around the recycle zone, and something catches my eagle eye.

Bold color, flames, logs, screenprintin’…

I climb out of the cockpit and make my way back to investigate. What I find next is starts my day with a smile.

There’s this fold-out cardboard fireplace set, complete with the most amazing little logs/faux firepit piece. Mindblowing craftsmanship, from the '50s?, '60s?…thrown out to the wind.

I manhandled the piece out of the wreckage and stomped away victorious.

Real good. File this gem under: “Treasures.” Item number: “DDC.FFF.684.”

This item enjoyed a full day of being "a bit hit in the office," warming up those cold-blooded greenhorns who complain about the CINCO Central Air System's heavenly BTU's.

BIG MONDAY NIGHT

10 minutes to go and the Monday night “American Chopper” Discovery Channel marathon starts. Fucking hooked on the show. Those macho Teutals…every word is so dramatic and over-emphasized.

Bunch of goddamm gorillas.

East Coasters: A healthy amount of "To be honest with you’s” and “I gotta tell you’s” litter each and every breath. Heartfelt bunch of guys, even as tools fly overhead.

I don’t even like the bikes all that much, but I gotta be honest with you: I really dig the fabrications and I gotta tell you; the painstaking steps they take in each creation are inspiring.

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Gotta get myself ready for later on. The feared DDC Black Balls have a match at the bowling alley, and well, things are expected to get real ugly. The “Heart of Hawthorne Hipsters” (better known in simple terms as Melissa and Ange) are challenging us, and we accept.

Fuck ‘em…heads will roll, as will balls.

(NOTE TO ROD: Get the fuck up here. You are going down.)

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CINCO is back up to the “Defcon Apeshit” level with our daily hum. Lots of items going out the door here and there keeping things up to snuff.

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A big, hairy pile of projects are in the works on the DDC Factory Floor. Leaps and bounds. Stay tuned.

MOVER OUTERS

Melissa and Ange left the DDC Factory Floor today once and for all.

Somewhat sad, somewhat liberating, somewhat of a new start, etc.

They have a cute little joint–approved by the DDC Housing Committee–up on Hawthorne and 36th, full of little nooks and drawers and closets. Nice hardwood floors, big windows, and in a instance of luck, towards the back of the complex. Maybe the final line item constitutes a fitting label of “low key.” Hope so. These girls look tough, but are pudding in the hands of strangers. I’m glad they are set back from the hustle/bustle of the busy street.

That section of Hawthorne is pretty busy. Saturday and Sunday morning/afternoon combos are pretty populated. They seem to be fine with the volume. I have a hankering it would drive me goddamn crazy; hoards of hippies, hipsters, mallrats and parents shopping it up, all day long.

I’m staying put, in the dark recesses of basement life. Stays cool down here. Not too much traffic outside the joint.

Good for them. They both have jobs locked down within blocks of their apartment, have ample supplies, have each other and have one of the meanest son-of-a-bitches known to humanity holding shit together down the street on the Draplindustries Design Co. Factory Floor. I'll be watching over 'em.

LATE FRIDAY NIGHT

Spent way too many hours watching Thomas Edison’s "moving pictures" from the late, late 1800's. Absolutely amazing. Those times seem so static and almost...”lifeless” or something. Maybe it's the fact EVERYTHING is accessible in our times. Every event or change is captured. Our lives are just one big digital dump...recorded and rerecorded and stored somewhere.

Albeit gritty, Edison captured his times. I remember going to Greenfield Village as a kid, my favorite stop was Edison's Menlo Park labratory. They moved the whole building, contents and all from New Jersey. You make yer way in, and up the stairs to his studio, and there sits a chair, nailed down in the same location where he sat as he tested his first lightbulb. History, folks. The place was magical. Walls of powders and potions, table after table of thingamajigs and doohickies and such. I remember getting cattle-herded back down the stairs, as other groups of bored fucks needed to aimlessly pace by the exhibit.

(Speaking of Greenfield Village....one can't help but mention the Henry Ford Museum that is connected to it. For fuck's sake, they have the rocking chair Lincoln was assassinated in...blood stains and all! Once again, history.)

To see his movies gives life to that period. Check out how the people dress and react. A different time. Imagine if he was around 50 years earlier...

I poached the link from the extraordinary Coudal Partners site. I drop by each day to see what they've uncovered...and man, I'm hooked. Intriguing stuff, to say the least. Lots of "command-D'ing" going on from our end, if you know what I'm sayin'. Coudal looks like a cool joint. Chicago guys. Interesting ideas.

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NOTE of APPRECIATION: Special thanks to Dad for those summer forays to the Dearborn museums. I remember one summer–say, '85 or something–where he bought a "summer pass" that allowed us to go each time we were down in Detroit. We went a bunch of times and checked out everything. I miss those days.

AUGUST AND EVERYTHING AFTER

A new month. The rent is due, as is the car payment. All that shit is in order, so breathe easy.

One more month of summer. I can smell a nice, wet fall right around the corner. It's been a nice summer.

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Melissa and Ange locked down a place. Just a piece up Hawthorne, up around 34th or so. Real good. Excited for them. Even more excited to see those cats off. I love them and all, but man, they are little troublemakers...scratching, shedding and climbing. I'm not a "cat person."

I'm a "My-clothes/things-don't-have-white-and-black-hair-all-over-them" kind of person.

Their move will be better for all of us. Most importantly, the "dyamic duo" will have their own joint, for school activities and make-out parties and shit. I'll have the Factory Floor. Dark and mean. Melissa brightened up the joint, she'll be missed.

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CINCO enjoyed a somewhat mellow week.