Bolus

Nancy Fiddler: Bolus Mom of the Year

For a noble act of maternal selflessness: selling the beloved family mastodon to free garage space for son's hot rod

Ball of the Day

From Captain Victory, Mother's Day special BotD: Chinese Child Ball!

Ball of the Day

Via Captain Victory: solar system ball chair.  "Your ass is on Uranus!"

Call Al Sharpton: Iowahawk called me the "M" word

My pal Iowahawk may not have known it, but that mutha' fucka' did worse than call me the "N" word. He took it to the next level and called me the mutha' fuckin' "M" word!

Oh no he didnt!

Oh yes he did--  and i felt like beating his ass like Reginald Denny for saying that shit.  You can talk about my Mamma, but don't you dare call me the "M" word.....

You see, we hung out a bit in Texas recently at the Lonestar Roundup and it was a good time. After we got home, he wrote all about it in his blog, and i was enjoying that good read, when i noticed the he referred to me as a person of  "MIDDLE AGE".

He may have not known it (and i normally wouldn't admit this "mid life crisis" embarrassment,) but those two words fucked with me. I still thought of myself as a youngin'. Hell, it wasn't long ago that i was fighting in the ring (im a retired Golden Gloves boxer / Muay Thai kickboxer.) I still skateboard. Damn it. Middle Aged?..... Fuck that, my glass isn't half empty!

Then this week the brief  mid life crisis ended and my viewpoint on life has changed completely....

On Cinco De Mayo i was noticing that my crap was looking funny-- black and tar like. From my past as a fighter (when i was knocked senseless and consumed so much blood into my stomach,) i knew it was old blood. I was also getting bad stomach pains by that night. Concerned, i reached out to my doctor-- and she told me to immediately get to the emergency room...

Yeah..... i'll admint it-- the doctor stuck his finger up my ass for a fecal sample. But that really isn't shit compared to what's to come....

After testing the sample and confirming blood, i learned i needed to get a tube down the nose and into my stomach so that they could pump my stomach & check for blood. Getting that tube sucked, and as it went down it triggered my gag reflex and i puked...... what seemed like a gallon of blood all over myself and others. I looked down at the blood, and the portrait of my daughter on my forearm-- and that was it..... i thought i was going to die. While i made my best effort of a brave face, inside at that moment i was thinking the worse-- and i was scared.

That night the bleeding stopped, my stomach was pumped and i was put to bed in ICU so that i could await the joy of the next days "camera down the throat" test to determine my destiny towards life or death (my fear was cancer.) I didn't sleep a wink, and i prepared myself for tomorrows judgment-- all the while listening to my roommate barely hang onto life.

My neighbor in intensive care was Don, a gentlemen who was about 80 years old. Cancer was deep into it's evil deed and he was here preparing for his last trip home to die. The next morning he was chipper and told me stories about his service in World War II. Later that day hospital staff closed the curtain between us so that they could talk to him about his "do not resessitate" paperwork before he went home. I cried as i heard him bravely say he was ready to go when god comes calling for him, and told his wife that she was beautiful and that he loved her.

The end was near for Don, and at the same time he prepared to die, i learned i would live-- i just had esophagus ulcers, and they can heal easily w/ medication and diligence.

Somewhere along in my world travels over the past year i caught the h.pylori bacteria and it's been secretly helping eat away at my lower esophagus. I had no idea of what was happening until this week, when it finally hit a large blood vessel and i started bleeding from both ends.

The next day i left ICU to stay in the "regular" part of the hospital. As i left, Don tried his best to smile and told me how great it was that i was leaving, because i sounded in bad shape the night before. God bless you Don. I don't even know your last name, but i will never forget you.

My next room mate was Eduardo, a 72 year old man with late state Alzheimer's. He took this trip to the hospital because his son and family can no longer care for him. He's now completely delusional and doesn't know who he is, where he is or who his family is. He's trapped in a dark world, afraid and the life he once knew was over.

Whenever someone tried to touch Eduardo, he'd panic and attack. I smiled for him as i watched him punch one lame hospital orderly in the face. He fought his restraints through much of the night. For 72 yrs old, his body looked healthy, but his mind was gone. We didnt bond like i did with Don (because i think he thought i was there to kill him,) but I'll always remember Eduardo too.

I'm glad to be home. I'm on medication that will help heal my esophagus-- the doctor said in about 3 months it'll be completely healed if i follow directions. In 5-6 weeks my red blood cell count will be back to normal (it's very low for a while, since i lost so much blood and refused transfusion.) I'm not going to die, like i thought i was 2 nights before-- and im on the mend to being back to my former, healthy self.

Sitting here thinking about my experience and Iowahawk's comment, i now have to say that I'M STOKED if i'm really middle aged and i'd love nothing more to be. Hell, i don't even remember 1971 when i was born-- and my glass of life could still be half full? Fuck yeah!

When you look at things via the right perspective, how could you not LOVE being called the "M" word ?

-scott noteboom

BTW: Disclaimer-- According to my Mamma, we've got color in the family tree. Thus, in this case i believe i gotta pass to use the 'M' word as necessary in appropriate places. Besides i just almost died and am still half way delirious. So, no need to beat ME like Reginald Denny....

New Girl on the Block

The Bolus Old Boys Club comes to an end today with the addition of LA writer Kim Morgan to our roster of contributors.  You may recognize her as America's Sweetheart of film criticism, with a raft of credits that include LAWeekly, MSN.com, Salon.com, VH1, The Portland Oregonian, E!, AMC, Huffington Post, Hollywood.com, plus a guest review stint on Ebert and Roeper. In addition to all that she operates a highly recommended film blog called Sunset Gun. Kim is also a confirmed gearhead with an impressive arsenal of hoopties (like the '71 Torino pictured above) and writes a regular column on cars & film for Garage Magazine.

Now, for some perplexing reason, Kim has graciously agreed to post an occasional bit at this seedy little corner of the intartubes. Thanks, Kim, and welcome aboard.

Ball of the Day

    Submitted by Martha McGrath: Vegetarian Swallow Balls!

Modesty Cruisers

When the topic of 1960s American cars arises, talk invariable turns to tire-shredding Motown muscle;  Boss Judge 596 Super Cobra GTXO/SS PolyHemis with the rare factory Meatgrinder 4-speed 8 track 12-pak trak-lok package, covered in Psilocibin Magenta Rallye stripes. Sure, we all love those. But what about the yin to that youth car yang? I speak of that genre of American automobile I call the Modesty Cruiser.

The story of the modesty cruiser begins in 1958. A mild recession that year, coupled with a gasoline price spike, caused the first postwar drop in new American car sales while creating a mini-boom for cheap imports like the VW Bug. In response, Detroit hastily designed a new generation of 4- and 6-cylinder economy compacts to compete against the looming overseas tide. The first to appear in 1960 was the Chevy Corvair, followed quickly by the Ford Falcon, Mercury Comet, Pontiac Tempest, Chevy II, Plymouth Valiant, and Rambler American. Unlike the riotous cartoon muscle cars on the other pages of the dealer brochures, these boxy, small, no-nonsense  commuter hardtops had a certain stoic nobility borne of  vinyl bench seats, rubber floor mats, blackwalls and dog dish hub caps.

With little appeal to drag racing Baby Boomers or status-conscious swinger adults, they tended to end up with equally no-nonsense owners; crewcut civil servants in Towncrest short sleeve dress shirts and clip-on ties,  stern spinster librarians in Dacron sack dresses. No flashy day-glo Hugger Orange here, thank you, I'll take mine in the light beige metallic.

As a result of that appeal, many modesty cruisers have survived remarkably well. Just ask my friends Mssrs. Coop and Jalopy, who have purchased a number of pristine specimens in the past few years. The hopelessly responsible Squares that bought them new in the '60s tended to keep them a very long time and saw to it they were meticulously maintained. Open the door and you're likely to find a service sticker in the jamb documenting a religiously-followed schedule of filter changes and wheel bearing packing; the interior will be spotless, with an official AAA compass and a litter bag on the vent window crank.

So here's an overdue salute to the American Modesty Cruiser, and the anal-retentive middle aged nerds who loved them. Now get off my lawn!

Ball of the Day

From Captain Victory: Victory Vegas 8-ball

Ball of the Day

From Bongo Radford:  Mother's Power Ball Washer

Ball of the Day

From Monty: ball lightning!

Numero Uno

Cinco de Mayo Lowrider Day continues with a repost from January

----------------------

I've written before about my admiration for lowriders and lowrider culture; but when it comes to chronicling the ranfla lifestyle, the real horse's mouth is Lowrider Magazine. After a humble birth in 1977 San Jose as a one-color mag distributed at area car shows, Lowrider has grown into a publishing institution with over 1.5 million readers worldwide, and spinoff publications like Lowrider Bike, Lowrider Truck, Lowrider Arte and Lowrider Euro. 

As luck has it, in my magazine stash I have a copy of that very first issue: Lowrider Magazine #1, January 1977. Return with us now to those thrilling Cheech & Chong days of yesteryear, and enjoy a few hits.

Cover: an anonymous cute muchacha shoots a come-hither glance in an embroidered London Fog coat.

Lovely fender candy.  Note the various carbon-dating cues of 1976: gaucho pants, high waist elephant bells, square headlights conversion.

When I look at this ad, I marvel at the amount of work that must have gone into it -- manual paste-up with Zipatone and Letraset, hand lettering. Five years later a new San Jose company named Adobe would revolutionize electronic publishing with software like PageMaker and PhotoShop. Call me a Luddite, but I like this better.

Lowrider cruise to Gilroy, CA, a/k/a "Garlic Capital of America."

Livin' la vida loca. It looks like "Charly" was pretty much in charge here, and the other girls were best advised to accept their second-billing Angelhood. I wonder where they are now; I imagine a few are grandmothers.

STONEDBROWN! That has to be the ultimate 70's band name.

"Santa Barbara Lovelies" gracing the fender of a '75 Malibu SS, next to an ad touting CBs and 8-track players. Awesome.

Two key NorCal lowrider clubs of the era: Thee Individuals, and Las Carruchitas.

"Calecia Biker." Young vato stays on the scene with a gangsta lean. A very early incarnation of the lowrider bike phenomenon - note curb feelers and wide whites.

All your friends in the joint will thank you.

"He's the dude on the corner, the vato chavo lowrider!"

Keepin' it real.

-----------------------------
Originally posted here

Take A Little Trip: Lowriders in Elysian Park

In the 1800’s, the Native American tribes of the plains began to brush up against the beginnings of American expansion into the West. Although having little interest in the “civilization” offered by the white man, they were eager to adopt the technology that civilization brought along with them. In particular, the rifles and firearms of the white man were important acquisitions. These weapons improved the tribes’ ability to hunt, as well as attack the very same civilization so intent on displacing them.

The tribes understood all too well the irony of this situation, and uncomfortable with using the tools of the enemy, took steps to give the weapons of the white man a character and soul more befitting their own civilization. The weapons they procured were altered and customized, decorated with beads, leather, and other items, until the spirit of the machine was Indian, and no longer white.

So what does any of this have to do with a lowrider car show? Quite a lot. Artist and hotrodder Robert Williams points to the example of the Indian longrifle as one of many instances of humans’ interaction with, and need to transform, the impersonal products of the Industrial Revolution into something more relatable, more human, something with a soul. Hot rodding and car customization are a part of this long history, too. Perhaps the most perfect example, in fact.

The history of the lowrider in Hispanic culture is long and storied, and parallels neatly with the history of hot rodding, sometimes intertwining, and sometimes traveling far afield. (My friend Iowahawk has done a far better job writing about this unique history here.)

I love these cars, and the culture around them. To me, they represent everything that is beautiful, crazy, and wonderful about L.A.

Ball of the Day

From Paul in Portsmouth. VA: "balls from the Norfolk VA. Botanical Garden. The phone photo doesn’t show the detail, but laser etched into the polished granite is the world and the ball itself floats on the water pumped out underneath and you can spin it, kinda cool."

What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Like all males in my age cohort, every day is a struggle to deal with the same angry, burning question: where are those jet packs we were promised in the 60's? Because let's face it: without them, the rest of our so-called modern technological "marvels" -- like nanobots, iPhones, and Roombas -- are merely the bitter fruit of Science's shameful legacy of failure.

But now, just in time for Cinco de Mayo, and on the heels of Earth Week, reader Brian Knotts forwards the latest in South-of-the-Border transportation technology: personal strap on Mexican rocket helicopters!

That's right -- honest to goodness personal flight technology from our science amigos to the south. Brian writes:

Technologia Aeroespacial Mexicana (TAM) has designed a strap-on  helicopter. Tiny rockets on the tips of the propellers eliminate the need for a tail rotor, making it possible for the device to be worn on a human body.

More about this marvelous apparatus here.

Longtime readers know that I'm an enthusiast of rocket-powered personal transportation, so you can imagine how happy I was to learn of this breakthrough. I suppose I was a tad disappointed the design utilizes a whirring, 2000 rpm rotor blade rather than pure rocket thrust, but science often involves compromise. As long as it cuts down my travel time to the liquor store, who am I to quibble?

So here's a big thank you to Brian and a grande gracias to Technologia Aerospacial Mexicana for restoring this hardbitten cynic's faith in the future. Andele! Arriba!

Bajito y Suavecito

Cinco de Mayo Ranfla Especial

Old School Chevy Bomb

Hey Ese, que paso? Me, still recovering from my annual May 5 transformation into a staggering gringo biohazard, courtesy of the good folks at Dos Equis and Taqueria El Norte. Whatever your view on the raging immigration debate, let’s face it: what’s not to like about a holiday that celebrates the kicking of French ass? Not to mention the significant contributions Mexican-Americans have made to our contemporary culture – the arts, literature, cuisine, music, wrestling, and especially cars. Now that the aspirin is finally kicking in, let’s take a trip down Whittier Boulevard and review the Chicano community’s glorious gift to the automotive canon – the lowrider.

Now it’s true that Mexican-Americans have been key players in the development of other American automotive subcultures. In a previous post I mentioned hotrodding pioneer Joaquin Arnett and his Bean Bandits club of San Diego, and no history of hot rods would be complete without noting engine guru Barney Navarro. Those contributions continue today, as witnessed by drag racing’s Pedregon brothers and talented young hotrod builders like Rudy Rodriguez and Anthony Castaneda.

Postwar Pachuco Bomb: Chevy Fleetline

But there is no denying that when it comes to the car, Chicano culture is inexorably linked to lowriding. Like hotrodding, it traces its roots to 1930’s California and blossomed in the postwar prosperity of the 50’s, but that’s where most of the similarities end. Where hot rods were about speed and danger, a ranfla (lowrider) was about cruising slow and looking sharp, the perfect accessory to an East LA Pachuco’s zoot suit. Hot rods were fenderless, fast, Ford, and with an aggressive nose-down rake. The Pachuco’s ranfla, by contrast, adopted a deliberate tail-dragging attitude, assisted by a trunk full of sandbags. Hot rods were minimalist, but the lowrider aesthetic emphasized ornamentation: curb feelers, visors, spotlights, headlight eyebrows, ice can window air coolers, baroque Tijuana upholstery, dingle balls, “flipper bar” and Olds Fiesta hubcaps, gobs and gobs of chrome. Today if you’re seeking topnotch plating or upholstery work, it's hard to beat the craftsmen in the local Mexican American business district.

Another lasting legacy of the early era was allegiance to the Chevrolet bow tie. For the original lowriders, the iron of choice was the ‘Chevy Bomb’ – a bulbous ‘37-‘41 sedan or ‘46-’51 Fleetline. These carras were cheap, and had a weak-but-reliable straight six that was less prone to overheat in traffic than a hopped-up Ford V8.  Plus, equipped with a split exhaust manifold and long 2” straight pipes, the Chevy Stovebolt would make a sinister and pleasing “rrrrrrrap” to announce your arrival. That early brand preference persists today: after 30+ years of publication, Lowrider Magazine has rarely featured a Ford on the cover.

Why the emphasis on slow? Sociologist believe lowriding is a modern incarnation of the traditional Mexican paseo (promenade), an ancient social ritual in which the unmarried adolescents of the village coyly circled the town square, boys on one side, girls on the other. East LA Cholos adapted this ritual for the automobile age, and begat a brand new American tradition –cruising the strip. When you ‘scooped the loop’ or ‘dragged main’ or ‘cruised the strip’ back in high school, you were participating in an echo of that South-of-the-Border courtship rite.

Joe Bailon's Livingstone Chevy

America’s first such car cruising appeared in the late 40’s along Whittier in East LA (immortalized in the lowrider anthem ‘Whittier Boulevard’ by Thee Midnighters) but quickly spread in the 50’s to Van Nuys, Tweedy, and Bellflower Boulevards, across California, and finally around the US. The action attracted kids of all ethnic and automobile persuasions, and fostered an era of cross-influence between gringo lead sled customizers (like Harry Westergard and the Barris Brothers) and barrio boulevarderos. The new look became sparer with less external ornamentation, focused on Ford coupes, and relied on radical metal work like chopping and sectioning. The new aesthetic was embodied in the work of Hispanic customizers like Joe Bailon (inventor of “Candy Apple Red” paint), and the Ayala brothers, Al and Gil. Between them they created some of the best-loved customs of the 50’s, like Bailon's 'Miss Elegance' and the Ayalas' Al Garcia convertible.

The days of the radical lead sled were numbered, however. The customizers had shown that you could improve the lines on a bulbous '49 Mercury or a '51 Buick by lowering its roof or whacking 3 inches out of its beltline. Detroit learned the lesson, and by the late Fifties began producing what were essentially ‘factory customs’ - low profile cars with narrow body sections, low, glass-dominated rooflines and ostentatious fins. It was both difficult and redundant to alter the basic body dimensions of these cars, so customizer began focusing on other elements.

Bellflower-style Buick- Firme

A young gringo car painter named Larry Watson showed that you could radically alter a one of the new low profile cars with nothing but paint. Watson, a fixture at the Clock Restaurant cruise scene on Bellflower Boulevard, began experimenting with new car paints suffused with flaked metal and ground-up abalone ("pearl"), laying them out in abstract geometric panels.  His 1958 Thunderbird started an entire new school in customizing: mild body, wild paint. The "Watson" or "Bellflower" look would have a major impact on subsequent lowrider style, as Vatos began applying metalflakes and pearls in evermore complicated panel patterns of scallops, fades, fogs, lace, cobweb, and fish scale, a job that became easier with the adoption of of artist-quality airbrushes.

While the bar for paint and interior work kept getting higher, the standard for ride height kept getting lower. The old timer’s lowering method of sandbags was replaced by lowering blocks, cut spring coils, z’ed frames and drop spindles, as builders competed in a dizzying race to scrape the pavement. How low can you go? So low that many employed frame-mounted caster wheels as a safety precaution against speed bumps. Eventually this resulted in a regulatory backlash: the much-hated 1958 California Vehicle Code 24008, which outlawed any car having any part lower than the bottom of its wheel rims.

The car that started the hydro
revolucion - Ron Aguirre's X-Sonic

Code 24008, however, proved no match for Vato ingenuity. By 1959 a young Mexican-American customizer from San Bernadino, Ron Aguirre, had developed a unique solution. He had just completed the "X-Sonic," a wild bubble-canopy custom Corvette, and was en route to a show in LA when a traffic cop pulled him to the side of the freeway, itching to ticket him for a 24008. The cop dutifully measured its ground clearance, and began scratching his head. "Huh," Aguirre later quoted the perplexed cop, "I could have sworn this car was too low." What that confused patrolman didn’t know was that Aguirre’s X-Sonic was packing a secret new technology: hydraulic Pesco pumps and valves (scavenged from a surplus B-52 bomber) that allowed him to change ride height at the flick of a switch. Its debut at the Renegades show in LA later that same day caused a sensation, as Aguirre demonstrated his innovative adjustable suspension system.

The future of lowriding was, at that moment, ordained. Vatos across SoCal quickly began scouring for aircraft salvage yards in the high desert, seeking hydraulic treasure. The whereabouts of the X-sonic became unknown over the years; because of its important place in lowrider and custom history (it was also the first bubbletop show car, and Aguirre reportedly fabbed the bubbletop on Big Daddy Roth's Beatnik Bandit), it had become one of the auto collector's true Holy Grails. Happily, a reliable source tells me the X-sonic has been located and is undergoing a careful restoration.

The technologic stars were apparently aligned in 1958, because that year it saw the emergence of another item that would have a profound impact on lowriding – the Chevy Impala. Not only did it feature gobs of chrome and over-the-top syling, the new Impala featured an X-shaped frame that was almost preternaturally perfect for lowering and modification for hydraulics. The 1958-66 Impala remains today the quintessential lowrider, the 1964 model being the most cherished.

Hopper

Between 1960 and 1975, Cholos from LA to El Paso adapted and refined these new technologies -- GM X-frames, hydraulics, and airbrushing -- to create what we all recognize today as classic lowrider style. It wasn't long before boulevarderos learned you could coax tricks out of your hydros. The first involved mounting a skidplate on the rear bumper, dumping rear pressure it at cruise speed, and throwing a spectacular nighttime shower of sparks. With the emergence of safer and more powerful hydraulics paired with independent multi switch setups, they also learned that you could twist your ranfla up on three wheels, making it dance around corners. But the ultimate discovery was the realization that a heavy hydro system could launch the entire front end off the ground. By the mid Seventies formal car bounce competitions were organized to settle who had the biggest and baddest hydros, which sparked the creation of the competition hopper; totally unstreetable, with a single purpose of vertical lift. The current world record is an Olympian 140 inches. 

Stylistically, the lowrider look evolved throughout the 60s and 70s. Long before the 'Dub' and spinner wheel craze of today, Lowriders recognized the importance of a sharp pair of shoes on your car. The wide whitewalls and hubcaps of the Chevy Bomb era were superceded by “pinner” 2-inch whites on chrome 5-spoke Supremes during the Bellflower era. The new look was wire; then double-striped Vogues on Tru Spokes and Skylarks, then chubby little 13" whites on Dayton gold wires. Chrome, welded chain-link steering wheels appeared, along with twist tube grilles. The 'pimp style' cars of 70's blaxploitation films certainly had an influence on the new look, and Tijuana interiors evolved from white Pleat-and-Roll to button tuft velour and velvet.

Religious devotion on '63 Impala

Paint sophistication grew during this era as well, propelled by the "Brown Pride" movement of the 60s and 70s. Young Chicanos co-opted the derisive stereotype of the lowriding Mexican "beaner" and turned it into into an expression of cultural heritage and pride. During the early Seventies there was a resurgent interest in traditional Mexican art genres, including the public mural. Talented car painters used airbrushes to adapt this traditional mural aesthetic to car metal, often emphasizing surprising depth about serious topics: history, life and death, family, and devout Catholic religious iconography.

Together, these cultural and technological trends slowly transformed the lowrider from an automotive curiosity to an important community cultural symbol. Increasingly, lowriding became a familial activity, passed from generation to generation. Kids too young to drive got into the act by lowering Schwinn Stingray bikes to mimic the older guys' Impalas, and these too evolved into incredible sculptural showpieces. Today the lowrider bike is every bit as iconic as their automotive counterparts.

Since that heyday of innovation, lowrider culture has grown to encompass other automotive genres like trucks and imports. It's even become a successful component of America's cultural imperialism; believe it or not lowriding has become a major phenomenon in Japan. The Japanese demand for tricked out gas-guzzling, skyhopping, Mexican-flavored American iron has grown so large, in fact, it has spawned a lucrative cottage industry of California lowrider shops who sell only for export. Maybe General Motors should ask these Vatos for a few lessons.

So next time you’re out to celebrate the 5th, remember to hoist a cerveza in honor of these true pioneers. Praise the Lowered!

originally posted here

Ball of the Day

Submitted by Richard Warner: Lichtenberg ball figure. He adds: "made with custom high voltage equipment, which seems like a hot rod with rock and roll thing to do."

Ball of the Day

From "Bongo" : "Here’s a really hot big ball surrounded by other, cooler balls."

Acid Reflux

In 1943 Albert Hoffman,  a Swiss scientist working at Sandoz Pharmaceuticals, accidentally touched his fingertip on an experimental compound he had synthesized named lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD-25.  Thus began the first acid trip.  Over the next 60 years Hoffman dropped acid hundreds of times, and synthesized several other hallucinogens like psilocibin and psilocin. The cumulative  impact of all that dope abuse finally killed Hoffman this week, at age 102. Let that be a lesson to you youngsters!

Hoffman may have passed into that big prismatic fractal pyramid eye in the sky, but left an important (if checkered) societal legacy. As my colleague Mister Coop noted a few weeks back, LSD had a profound and hilarious impact on music.  But let's not forget it also had a brief and equally hilarious impact on film. Evidence below.

So here's to you Al Hoffman. All is forgiven, and may you find peace out there in that big recursive  universe within a thumbnail molecule within another bigger universe.

The Hallucination Generation! In 1966 Technicolor acid trips were still in black & white.

Movie Star, American Style or LSD, I Hate You (1966)

Hippie Revolt (1967). Hippies are revolting!

Roger Corman's "The Trip" (1967). Featuring an all-star cast of Hollywood acid casualties - Fonda, Hopper, Dern!

And awaaaaay we go! Jackie Gleason trips out in Otto Preminger's "Skidoo" (1968)

The Monkees get sucked out of Victor Mature's hair in "Head" (1968)

And the shocking film that, along with Altamont, ended the Age of Aquarius: "A Very Brady LSD Special" (1970)

Ball of the Day

Sent in by S. Loftin: Iron Butterfly Ball

Ball of the Day

Nominated by Scott Parker: Dyson Ball vacuum cleaner