Bolus

Will this Van Start a Rockin' Again?

It's been about 20 years-- thus it's about time for the outlandish Vannin' scene to come back in. Here's some teasers of why i like the idea:

First of all, with most cars on the streets all looking like the same Toyota Prius'-- why wouldnt you wanna throw a little of this "Strawberry Jam" flavor into the mix...

Besides, the most fun with vans happen when they are parked-- thus no need to worry about gas mileage. Just park 'em by the park and enjoy some "Fun Truckin".....

Vannin' kind of guys never have much problems keeping their balls cool, as they always seem to be hanging out of their shorts. Notice the pre-requisite "tickler" mustache too. No wonder ladies couldn't resist...

Do you even have to ask what he's talking about on that CB radio? Yep-- something about a "beaver hunt," and he knows where the 10-20 is....

Vannin' chicks are way hotter than the Paris Hilton type women of today.

And you may drink PBR in your shitbox Rat Rod, but you'd never stray from Coors in the van, man...

Do you even have to wonder why they had curtains like this ?...

San Jose has always represented through the years. You can see why this van definitely earned it's name back in the day....

Snorting coke off of tits is a national pastime activity in the back of vans...

When your van has more fluff, you get more stuff...

Here's a link to my vannin' pictures on flickr:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/notebooms/sets/72157604823101767/

Yeah, they were outlandish.... but so was the action that went along with them.

Note to Trendster Car Guys-- you've probably already put away the flat black paint, and now you might have to put aside the metal flake jars. it's almost time for the air brush!

I'd love nothing more than to walk through a parking lot and see a van rockin'. I was a kid in the 70's, but never got to catch it in action (yet...)

-scott noteboom

Hell's iPod

Over the years the music industry has provided the listening public a treasure trove of musical excrescence, but only an elite few deserve recognition as instruments of torture.   I humbly offer a few examples of these Olympian earwigs. Please feel free to offer your own suggestions in comments.

Caution: not safe for work. Not safe for home. Not safe for anywhere.

Click if you dare.

UPDATE CAUTION: NOW CONTAINS 27%  RUPERT HOLMES ADDITIVES

White Plains -- My Baby Loves Lovin'

Terry Jacks -- Seasons in the Sun

Bo Donaldson & the Heywoods -- Billy Don't Be a Hero

Captain & Tenille -- Muskrat Love

Tony DiFranco & the DiFranco Family -- Heartbeat (It's a Love Beat)

Bobby Goldsboro -- Honey

Sammy Johns -- Chevy Van

Debbie Boone -- You Light Up My Life

RUPERT HOLMES UPDATE

For whatever reason (I blame trauma), I neglected to include the astonishing cannibalism-stalking-alcoholism soft perv rock oeuvre of Rupert Holmes in the initial posting. Consider it fixed, and you're welcome.

The Buoys -- Timothy

Written by Rupert Holmes and performed by the Buoys, the soft rock pride of Wilkes-Barre PA. Perhaps the finest cannibalism ballad ever to reach the top 20.

Rupert Holmes - Him

him HIM HIIIMMMM

Rupert Holmes - Escape (The Pina Colada Song)

Ball of the Day

From Steve Carlson:  "quantum-uncertainty ball."

Ball of the Day

Via Geoffrey Kransdorff: more volvox algae balls

Friday Funk Mix

Here is the latest baker's dozen from Cratedigger Labs, and so sorry for the delay in getting some hip grooves out to you all. Sometimes life gets in the way.

Once again this here mixed was mixed live on the 1200s, this time on a recent Friday night, with a couple of beers in hand. It's all vinyl all the time here at Cratedigger.

I truly hope you dig it.

Friday Funk Track list
01 Jan Jan The Fabulous Counts/ Moira
02 C'Mon And Swim Bobby Freeman/ Autumn
03 The Funky Judge Bull & The Matadors/Toddlin' Town
04 We've Got To Have Love Wilson Pickett/ Atlantic
05 (For God's Sake) Give More Power To The People Chi-Lites/ Brunswick
06 Watermelon Man Herbie Mann/ Atlantic
07 Want' A Do Somethin' Freaky To You Leon Haywood/ 20th Century
08 I Likes To Do It The People's Choice/ Phil-La of Soul
09 How Do Yeaw View You? Funkadelic/ Westbound
10 Anything You Do Is Alright The Radiants/ Chess
11 Clean Up Woman Betty Wright/ Alston
12 Get It (Instrumental) Wilmer & The Dukes/ Aphrodisiac
13 You've Got To Crawl The 8th Day/ Invictus

Download here

Originally posted here

Ball of the Day

Via Greg McCoy: Japanese football cars

Notebooms "Ball of the Night"

All this talk about balls everyday on this site is bringing back some post-traumatic stress.  Along those lines, i had a nightmare last night that i blame on Bolus-- thus my own "Ball of the Night:"

You see, im a retired boxer and kickboxer (last fight in 2003.)  About 5 years ago i was enjoying a fairly easy day in the gym, sparring a newbie in Muay Thai.  Being that this guy was a harmless FNG, i didnt even bother with groin protection... See where this lesson is going?

LESSON ALL US GUYS HAVE LEARNED:  When you get kicked in the balls, you fall to the ground in the whole "uhhhhhhhh" pain, while you grab your testes in pain and cough to clear your throat of them.  Then you get up, limb around, catch your breath and your buddies makes jokes about it and everyone laughs.

MY "ADVANCED" LESSON  LEARNED:  Well, in a real testicular torsion injury (like i experienced,) you get up and continue on with your day just like the normal lesson learned above-- with one little exception...  The initial pain of "i just got kicked in the balls" goes away for a bit, but the testicle actually keeps slowly swelling...

I continued my sparring and went home.  On the drive home, i noticed a different pain down there was coming back-- a worse pain.  you see, my "Ball of the Day" was getting bigger.... and bigger... and bigger... and while it was getting bigger, the swelling was squeezing what was inside, oh joy.

By the time i made it to the emergency room, my huevo was the size of a mango (no joke,) and the pain was the size of Jupiter.  I'll never forget laying in the stirrups in the E.R., having what seemed to be every employee in the hospital coming in to inspect my injury for their own amazement. Never before had my impressive man assets shocked so many ladies dressed in nurses outfits like they did that day.

I busted a nut that day for real.  Bolus is obviously not letting me forget it either, with it's daily reminders.

-scott noteboom

Ball of the Day

From Geoffrey Kransdorff: Volvox algae balls

Toujours, Philadelphie

Departed Paris at noon Friday destined for home. 31 hours later I am currently begging spare change at gate C25 of Philadelphia airport, thanks to a stiff breeze in Chicago and the world-class competence of US Airways. I am led to believe I actually might make it home before 1 am Sunday.

Oh, well. At least Paris was a hoot. Thursday I met up with two Iowahawk readers for an evening of sophisticated imbibing in the neighborhood of Montparnasse. Our host and sherpa: Prof. Jonathan, an American ex-pat who has taught university English in Paris for 30 years. Joining us was Dr. Carlos, an Australian medico currently enjoying a half-year sabbatical in France.

What Montmartre was to the Bohemian age, Montparnasse was to the early 20th century: a cafe-saturated neighborhood of famous auteurs and artists like Jean Cocteau, Ernest Hemingway, Salvador Dali, Henry Miller, Joan Miro, Man Ray, et al.

Mmm, smell the tragic artistic brilliance...

We'll see if that reputation survives my visit there.  First stop: La Select, a restaurant favored by manyof  Parisian literary set in the 1920s. Bordeaux for Jonathan and Carlos, tequila for me, and we toast Hemingway.

From there, across the avenue to La Coupole, another Montparnasse Jazz Age institution with an amazing interior dominated by a large cupola (hence La Coupole) and pillars decorated by many of the 20th Century's  most notable artists. Bordeaux all around. 

Last stop of the evening: La Something Something de Lilas (sorry, I had my swerve on by this point). Like the other stops Prof Jonathan is greeted with great deference by the wait-staff, who set us up at a heated outdoor table. Another round of drinks and Americanly-illegal Cuban cigars courtesy the fine Professor. Ha ha! Come and get me coppers! The joint is quite swank, and each table features a brass plate commemorating one of their famous regulars. Sorta like the Broadway Deli, for suicidal artistes.

You know what to do whenever somebody says the artist of the day, don't you? Scream real loud! Aaaaah!

In short order the heater at our table has attracted three comely jeune filles, with whom the resourceful Dr. Carlos strikes up a conversation en Francais. Fille un is a wisecracking Russian-French-Turkish Kung Fu expert / art gallery owner (I am not making this up); Fille deux is her accountant, an expatriate Welshwoman; Fille trois is a something or other. All seem quite infatuated with the good Doctor.

"So vhat are you doink here? Are you artist or writers or zomesink?" laughs Fille un.

The Doctor and the Professor point at me. "He's a writer."

"Really?" they ask, enthusiastically. "Novels? Screenplays? Have we heard of you?"

I'm still looking around trying to figure out who they were pointing at.

"He's a blogger," offers Professor Jonathan. "He's.. well, sort of known."

The three filles  react to this as if they had learned I wrote school lunch menus or lawnmower warning stickers. Despite his revealed association with blogospheric scum, the filles continue their flirtation with Dr. Carlos, who deftly extracts a party invite for Saturday night. It's getting late, so I head for the Metro and bid my drinking companions a bien tot, and Carlos bon chance with scoring that rare & elusive menage a quatre.

Arrivederci, Paris!

Ball of the Day

Nominated by Joe Dunworth: AC/DC Big Balls