ALERT! ALERT! CELEBRITY SIGHTING!

One of the greatest things about living in New York City is seeing famous faces allover the place. Growing up in the city is even better since after growing immune to the encounters you really just don't give a shit about people because of money, looks or popularity.
Still, I indulge:
today on avenue A between 2nd and 3rd (right in front of that ballin' stationary store and across the street from that overpriced organic food mart) I saw Luis Guzman with a bunch of people I presume were his family.
I was going to say "Hey man, dug The Limey" but he stopped walking and started patting his pants: the universal sign for "Oh shit where is my wallet" or "fuck I must have left that ________ back at the _________".
I decided he needed his space in the situation so I let him and his famous self worry about the lost item(s).
So, dear Luis Guzman, I do hope you find your wallet. Or whatever it was you lost. Godspeed.

Beautiful night

How's it going? Long time no talk. I hope you have enjoyed your holidays as much as I have. I enjoyed a wonderful Christmas with my wonderful family and am looking forward the new year. Everyone I know is buzzing with the excitement of change (be it going off to college, having artistic breakthroughs or just stretching yer eyelids open a but wider than they've ever been opened before so you can see more) and I am getting good vibes from all.
Tonight I had a wonderful experience. It wasn't a realization as I haven't really (and have no urge to) "understood" it yet. You see, dear friends, I had just left a movie with two friends of mine and found myself walking in the rain. It was cold, I was wet and all I wanted was to get inside ASAP. Somewhere on 4th street between 1st and 2nd walked down the middle of the empty street and actually felt the raindrops. Suddenly, I realized they weren't that bad. In fact, it felt really nice. The cold breeze became minty and I caught the moonlight/streetlight blend hitting a black car beautifully. The sidewalks had a reflection and the buzzing cars far off in the distance were softly humming. All of these things made me feel real nice inside. I realized that the rain isn't uncomfortable unless you make it uncomfortable. If you enjoy and embrace it, shitty weather on a dark lonely street can be a very, very beautiful thing.
Oh. I guess I just "understood" it.
Enjoy life however you have to my starlets. Just keep yer' eyes and mind open at all times. Wide.

My B

Sorry folks: the next episode of the Kevin Gannon Radio show is not going to be up this morning. Maybe tonight or tomorrow.
Why? Simply put my startletts I haven't the time for making radio shows just yet. I'm wrapping presents and cleaning all things cleanable. My B. I still love you for listening.
If you need a fix to hold you off for a while you can check out the following:

VECTOR RUNNER! The best game I have played on the internet since "Bloons".

OR


That is the entire L'age D'or by Bunuel.

OR

ALL of "Outfoxed"!

One of those will most likely make for a good sunday without Kevin Gannon Radio. All three would make for the best.
Enjoy

I want you to meet some friends...

Every so often when I'm feeling megalomanical I will do a Google image search on "Kevin Gannon" and see what comes up. Indeed, yours truly pops up in the 6th and 13th spots but there are many other Kevins in between. Some with higher Google rankins than others, some with more pictures yet all very magical. I have grown familiar with these other Kevin Gannons and thought I would introduce you to them here.

1. Kevin Gannon the aquatic explorer

One of these three dudes is a Kevin Gannon. My gut tells me it's the guy in the middle. All I know about this one is that he is an aquatic explorer and seems to have found some portholes that I presume were ripped off the carcass of a long sunken ship. That's us Kevins: always exploring.

2. Kevin Gannon the indie rock band photographer

This comes up as the second hit. Originally I inferred he was a "Kevin Gannon the guitar/bass/drum player" but a little detective work brought me to the bands myspace page where this Kevin Gannon got photo cred for the snapshot. Well done, Kevin. I guess good composition comes with the name.

3. Captain Kevin Gannon of the United States Navy

This gentleman comes up a couple times on the Google search. I'm not gonna' lie: he dominate the Google search. That made it pretty easy for me to find some info on our hero: he has command of 3,000 sailors and civilians. That's 3000 people who call a Kevin Gannon "boss". I guess fearlessness and authority also come with the name.

4. Kevin Gannon the horn player

Third from the right is Kevin Gannon blowing away on his trumpet. He plays for the Commodores Orchestra which has been in existence since the late 20's (their first gig was at the opening of the Bay of Quinte Club in Belleville, Ontario in 1928). Clearly this Kevin Gannon isn't from the 1920's but I'm sure he plays better than anyone back then ever could.

5. Kevin Gannon the champion bowler

This guy on the right is an award winning bowler. He's from Lakewood California and can really toss like a pro. I read his stats and though I don't know much about the game "Wii Sports" has taught me enough to be impressed. Bravo Kevin: keep it up.

6. Kevin Gannon the real estate agent

Kevin Gannon is member of the IREM (Institute of Real Estate Management) and is the president of the chapter 92 officers. All that's missing from this photograph is the "TIME" magazine logo. Kevin: yer' going places. In fact, you have already gone places. Now yer' gonna go to even more places. Send me postcards.

There you have it: Kevin Gannons from across the world. Diverse, successful individuals who give back to the society they love. I'm happy to share a name with these dudes (especially number 6).
Kevin Gannons: Renaissance Men.

HOLY, MOLOCH!

The dillema:


The solution:

Vitamin A? What are you fucking kidding me?

DO NOT SMOKE

Robbie, Carlos and I shot this in an hour on friday. It's for Robbie's health class and he quickly edited it in what seemed like 20 minutes. The titles are a little fast but how much can you ask for with 80 minutes of work? Enjoy.

REJECTION!

Sometimes it take a pretty shitty situation for us to realize how great other situations are. These events are crucial, as they teach us lessons we will keep in mind for the rest of our lives. As the old cliche saying goes "every rose has it's thorn". It's important for us to remember that it works the other way around too.
Today I got a letter in the mail from NYU. I applied early decisions and yearned more than anything for a very long time to go there. I loved the school but more importantly I love my city. It's part of my art and creating anything in any other city seems empty. This letter told me they just couldn't accept everyone and thanked me for trying. Bummer right? Well, yes. I have worked hard to get into the school and think I deserve it. The end? No.
Today a close friend of mine, Lex, told me something that meant a lot to me. At the time I brushed it off but reflecting on it now, I realize it's beautiful verity.
He said that when he left his old school he was bummed out. But looking back at it now, it was a good move because he met me.
I think about all the good times I have had with the kid and how, quite easily, we could have never known each other, a thought that seems ridiculous. A life without Lex? Who would teach me about Zappa and John Waters? That's no life worth living.

It seems this logic can be applied to the situation I am in now. There are two reasons I won't let this knock me over. The first being that I don't need to be in any group of people to do what I want to do. I know what I want and would love as much help as possible, but whether I'm sleeping in a dumpster or in an Ivy League I will make the best out of whatever situation I am in. Call it devotion or call it resilience I, simply, don't need ANYTHING to be happy. Just friends and two eyes. No school can take that away from me. It's mine. That means a lot.

The second reason I won't get bummed out is because I am happy with two other schools that I am pretty certain I could get into. One is SCAD and the other is The Art Institute of Chicago. The latter is ideal for me and in many ways I love it more than I did NYU. Crazy part is, guess who wants to go there? Lex.
That's right, the person who taught me a very important life lesson wants to go to the school that, deep down inside, I think is better for me than NYU.
Do things happen for a reason? I have no idea.
Will I run out of Zappa tunes to listen to and John Water films to watch? No.

So, my dear dear friends I want to tell you this news. Everyone has told me they think I can get in and that means a lot to me. The fact you rooted for me means more than any acceptance letter anyone could write. I love you and want you to learn what I did today.
It takes strength to get to the top. It takes a man to get up when he's knocked down.
Stay up, fellows. Stay up.

So, I put my arms up (like in the picture below) and say "Eh, oh well".

Godspeed, starlets.

Dinner with yer' pal and his pal

NEW EPISODE OF THE KEVIN GANNON RADIO SHOW ALERT. That's right. The new episode featuring my boy Ludwig Persik (drummer of the Bones Royal) and a few steaks. Enjoy.

Fame, anyone?

It has been decided that episode 6 of the Kevin Gannon Radio Show (as in, not this coming one but the one AFTER that) will be the first get together with a theme: you wonderful people.
It's called "The Friends of Kevin Gannon Special". That's right, you get a spot in the limelight (which only recently has been growing and growing). Be it music, writing or you banging on cement with your forehead, if you send it to me I will play it or read it. If it's a painting I will describe it as best I can.
If yer' interested leave me a comment downstairs where it says "comment". OR you can go on the facebook group OR you can send me an email. Some dude keeps sending me stuff about my penis size and stock quotes so make the sure subject is as follows (in all caps): "KEVIN I HAVE ART FOR YOU". Then I can't miss it.
If any of your friends would be interested please tell them. Again: the show gets a decent amount of listeners so it would most definitely be worth your while.
Stay cool.
P.S
Here is a MIND NUMBINGLY CLICHE photo I took on my cell phone while stuck in traffic. The only reason I post it is because when I squint my eyes I see the hand of God wearing glow bracelets.

Till later.

Christmas!

Today I wrapped my first present of the season. It was a book I stole from the library. I don't know what that's going to do to my Karma but I think things should break even.
It's been a while since I have posted something of substance, between the radio show and my life it seems other beings suck out every drop of energy from my body.
I can tell you this now, however: expect (by the end of this week) "WAITING FOR MY DAD (BECAUSE HE HAS NO KEYS) SCENE TWO: SWEEP UP THOSE GODDAMNED CORNFLAKES" to be online. I am editing it as we speak.
Untill then I need to get back to stressing about presents for family members who think I am an asshole. I always found a good christmas gift every year is the best way to remind that distant cousin from Jersey that just because I'm an artist I'm not an insane homosexual.
Love you.
Till tomorrow:

EPISODE 4

Finally. Technical difficulties got nothing on me.

IT'S UP!

Finally I got the new episode of the Kevin Gannon Radio Show up.
The site I usually use seems to be down for a while so my boy Valera hooked me up with this one. Thanks, buddy.
Unfortunatly the new player makes things seem a little quiet so hopefully you can still enjoy it with a pair of headphones or decent speakers.
Cheers.

HELL YEAH, CHRISTMAS!

I decided to rip off a fellow blogger Elizabeth Reddy and post my christmas wishlist. It is very simple. If I were to get ONE of these things I would have the best christmas ever.

1. This bitchin' steel body Ukulele


2. A theremin


3. Colored 16 leader I could fuck around with


That is all.
Merry christmas,

Don't fret

it is Sunday and there is another episode of the Kevin Gannon Radio Show. A very good episode, actually.
Thing is: I am spending the weekend with a beautiful woman at Wesleyan College. That means I'm not going to put it up till I get home, whenever (if ever) that is.
We can get through this together.
Here: this should hold you off for a while:


--------------------------------------------------------------------
EDITOR'S NOTE:
Kevin just got home from his adventure. He has a shitload of homework to do and a lot of resting to catch up on. That means that there will be no Kevin Gannon Radio show posted on sunday (as in ten minutes it will be monday).
But, that does not mean episode number 4 will not be on-line tomorrow. It will be.
Also: he loves you.
-The Editor

BUSTED

As many of you know, I volunteer at the NYPL on 77th and york. I work in the "Book Seller" (the only used bookstore owned by the public library) and I'm in charge of the film, theatre, music and television section. It's really well kept and beautiful and I take pride in the fact that it's one of the most organized sections of the store.
Now, I usually go in there for two or three hours a week. That's all I need to finish my shit and it works beautifully. However, there is that odd day when I'll finish everything that needs to be done in about ten minutes. On those days I occupy myself by reading books that I can't steal because they're too big to fit in my backpack. Good deal, right? Wrong.
Every so often some militant asshole will see me doing nothing and make sure I get some other shit job for my remaining time. Breaking down boxes, sweeping up the storage room or putting those little plastic sleeves on the hardcovers. These I'm OK with. They all have their therapeutic charm and go well to some mellow jazz on the store speakers. What I hate, dear readers, is when they tell me to organize another section.
What this says to me is: "Kevin, you did a great job and continually do a great job maintaining your books. Some other asshole doesn't have your skill so it's your job to clean their shit up". In reality what they say is "Kevy wevy, could you organize the poetry section? Please?" Still it gets on my nerves.
Today I had to clean up the politics section and (appropriately) it was a train wreck. I did my job and STILL had time to kill, so I did what any other person would do: I un-did my job and did it again. And again, and again, and again.
"Wow" they would say. "Kevin's really cleaning up that section". It never fails.
Today however that same militant asshole who assigned me the job must have had one of his cronies spying on me, because he ran over and said: "DID YOU JUST ALPHABETIZE THOSE BOOKS, SHUFFLE THEM AROUND, THEN RE-ALPHABETIZE THEM?"
I really had nothing to say. I could see the Grand Theft Auto font floating over my head as a camera mounted on a helicopter flew away, keeping me in frame, rocking back and forth:
"BUSTED"
"Yeah. Sorry. I'm a little under the weather today"
The minute I said it I realized I had my bullshit excuses for fucked-up situations mixed up.
"SO?"
Again. Deer in headlights.
After a few beats of awkwardness I said:
"I didn't do that. I took these off the shelf because there was a book trapped behind them, you know that space behind the shelved books and the shelf itself?"
He stared at me, pissed off. I thought I was done for. After an even longer pause, he goes:
"OOOOHH. God I just hate that space. Good work." and waddled off.
Joy.

MIDWEEK MUSIC SPECIAL MADNESS!

It was requested I do a "midweek playlist" for those trying to get through their days but already listened to the last episode of the Kevin Gannon Radio Show.
Well, I present to you the first MIDWEEK MUSIC SPECIAL! It's mostly all music and it's awesome.
COMMENCE THE GROOVE!

Reading rainbow!

Right now I'm a tad more than half way finished with, what I think, is a brilliant book. Best part is: this novel came up and bit me in the ass. See, I have very strange taste in what I read. It's not that I'm snobbish, in fact its quite the opposite. I love a certain voice and I can only stand a certain type of storytelling. In fact, I would say it's the opposite of elitism. For all I know it may be a form of doltishness.
Finding books I truly dig is difficult. That's why when I found myself laughing out loud on the six train (which for some reason most commuters find odd in this day and age, isn't that sad and pathetic?) I thought I had to tell the world of this fantastic read. Then I thought: "Fuck that. Tell them about MANY fantastic reads!"
And so I will. Here is (in no particular order) Kevin Gannon's Suggested Winter Reading.

1. APATHY AND OTHER SMALL VICTORIES - Paul Neilan

This is what I'm reading right now. Let me tell you: go buy this. Steal it, I don't give a shit just read it. This cat writes in the style I dig but doesn't melt into that pot of the great minimalists where everything starts to sound the same. For Christ's sake; the book has a character who fucks his Guinea Pig. Exactly. Read it.

2. MEMOIRS OF A BEATNIK - Diane Di Prima

Almost over a year ago I was sifting through my dad's moldy books in the dusty third floor of our old house when I came across a box filled with novels from his youth. If you do the math you will realize his youth was just around the Beats' big debut. I started to read the greats and went through a very strange time of my life. You know: that cliche beatnik phase every asshole goes through. Now, with a few more hairs on my chin and a year or two of wisdom under my belt I sort of outgrew the Beats. Of all this books, however, one stuck with me. This one. It's sexy, it's disturbing and its real. This book is also proof, that STDs just didn't exist in the 50's.

3. BEING THERE - Jerzy Kosinski

Let me just say this. Kosinski wrote this book so god damned well that the film adaptation was EXACTLY how I pictured it. Why? Because there was no other way to picture it. If that makes sense, it should tell you how good of a writer this cat was.

4. THE VERIFICATIONIST - Donald Antrim

If Burroughs took as much acid as he did H, this would be the result. It takes place in a waffle house. That in itself is enough for me. To make it even more entertaining, a fight between two established psychologists goes down and one of them is bear hugged into submission. So much so that his soul floats out of his body, leaving him to fly around and mess with the lines of the material and surreal.

5. JESUS' SON - Denis Johnson

An ex-girlfriend of mine gave this to me and I never really thanked her for it. Mostly because I was supposed to give it back and "thank you" might lead to "here it is" which would lead to me not having it anymore. Also, I don't think she likes me very much these days.
Either way, It's one of my favorite books and least favorite films. I love to be complicated.

6. THE BIG SLEEP - Raymond Chandler

There aren't that many characters that I strive to be. Part of it's because I'm a megalomaniacal asshole but the other part is that I just don't dig yearning to be what some other megalomaniacal asshole created. That rule does not apply to Phillip Marlowe. A knight in shinning armor in a world of shit, I wish with everything I could be this man. At least for a day.

7. GEEK LOVE - Katherine Dunn

This is one of my favorite books of all time. It's about a traveling family of freak show attractions who were created by their parents intentionally by fucking with that precious nine months called pregnancy (the mother drinks chemicals, smokes cigarettes, even punches herself in the belly for good measure). One of these ill offspring is Arturo the Aqua Boy. He has no arms or legs. Oh yeah, and he is leading a cult that is taking over all of depression riddled America. how do you become a member? Well duh, you chop your arms and legs off. Read it.

8. JUNKY - William S. Burroughs

This is just enough Burroughs for me. It's like Naked Lunch after downing a nice mix of tricyclets and Valium. Not too crazy but not TOO sane. Juuuuuust right.

9. HOW I BECAME AN AUTHORITY ON SEX - Jim Moran
Now, this book I also found floating around the shelves of the third floor of my CT house. This is a bit of mystery to me. I read it a very long time ago and was blown away. I read it again. And again. And again. I don't know who Jim Moran is. All I know is this was written in 1973 and doing a Google search brings up nothing. It's as if the book never existed. I do know one thing, however: Jim Moran IS an authority on sex. And he's a fucking mastermind comic. It's one of the funniest books I have ever read and if you can find it you should read it.

10. HAM ON RYE - Charles Bukowski

The Buk is my favorite writer. Period. that is why it is difficult to choose which one of his novels would make it to my list. I decided on Ham on Rye because it is not only one of his longest but it's also about Bukowski's fucked-up, acne scarred life. Of all the books on this list, if you ever decide to read like Kevin Gannon, pick this one up. Read it then pick up every other book he's ever written. After that, go on through the other 9.

Well ladies and gentlemen: 10 books you must read before you die. At least according to me. Don't look for these in Oprah's book club. If you hate one you will probably hate them all. I hope someone will read one of these by the time they die. Then, and only then, will my life have not been lived in vain.
Peace, fools.

Snow!

It snowed today for the first time this year. I don't really like snow that much but wanted to take part in the experience. First I watched my friend trek through the mush and slush early in the morning from the comfort of my bedroom window. I felt like that wasn't enough so I made a snowball from the snow on my windowsill. The first (and perhaps last) of the season.

Didn't even have to put my pants on.

NEW EPISODE, FOOLS!

As you may have noticed the "Kevin Gannon Radio Show" poll was clear: you guys like the Kevin Gannon Radio Show.
As you may have also noticed it is sunday. That means it is time for yours truly to upload yet another episode. Now kick back, relax and let the mellow tunes and my doughy voice massage your ear canal. Oh yeah.

P.S: the levels are a little hot sometimes. Ludwig Persik is going to produce the next episode. That's Ludwig Persik of the Bones Royal .

Ballin in the windy city

I'm in Chicago right now. We rented out the ILLEST apartment I have ever been in. I will take pictures.

BE AFRAID

I really, really hate Rudolph Giuliani.
He is a sick person. He exploits horrors, he claims responsibility for other's triumphs, he is a hypocrite, he has no connection to humanity, to him poverty is a disease that can only be cured through decimation, he hates artists, he hates minorities, he set this city back socially twenty years. He filled the air with hostility between neighbors and hate between classes. He is an asshole.
I think about how horrible this last president has been. About the terrible things this country has done and how little we have gotten out of the 8 years.
Then I think about Giuliani as president. As hard as it is to believe, this man would be worst than the fool we have in office now. I guarantee you wars would wage and this nation would spiral to the dark ages.
This man turned New York City's Finest into pit bulls and that's something were still feeling today.
He took people off of welfare unless they worked like slaves, even if they were a credit away from a college degree.
This man denies that the volunteer workers at ground zero were never subjected to health threatening pollution. What he did with 9/11? Good god, don't even get me started. If he's gonna turn a tragedy into a cabaret at least do it with pazas. Watching him was like watching William Shatner rehearsing for a porno.
Jesus.
I hope with all my heart that this person never sets foot in the white house. If he does, I am moving. Where? Someplace warm.

Blogblock.

I"m sort of staring at a wall right now. Don't really have anything to say and the news was pretty boring today. Here, this will have to do:

BLAST YOU, INTERNET!

It's funny. A few years ago I often found myself tensing up and feeling short of breath when in shitty situations. I felt like doom was inexorable and thought that the wind's breeze was the proverbial breath of death gently tickling my nape. Some call them "Panic Attacks", I called them "Bug Outs". Whatever they were, they went away. I learned to stick my head between my legs as If I was attempting fellatio and thought about the beach. Problem solved.
UNTILL, of course, the assholes at Time Warner Cable ruined my life. Every few hours or so my Internet completely dies. So do the phones. Naturally, my entire family runs to me and I have to drop whatever I'm doing and fix it. Or try to. Whenever I see those lights flashing on my airport base, my blood grows thick and my heart starts racing a little too quickly.
Sticking my head between my legs and thinking about the beach doesn't really help.
Instead, I smoke a cigarette as I go out "to buy some milk" and sneak some whiskey in the coca-cola I bought because we don't actually need milk.
Today the Internet started working on every single computer except my own. I'm on some asshole's wireless Internet and it gets no reception anywhere except the coldest dustiest corner of my house.
Now, my computer has a sick sense of humor and likes to tell me that everything is sunshine and butterscotch when it ain't. That's why when I saw this image I had to take a picture and laugh.
I hope you appreciate it:

Sometimes, I hate Apple products.

p.s
If you haven't listened to my radio show you should. People seem to like it.

Kevin Gannon Radio

I am excited to announce that the first episode of the new Kevin Gannon radio show is FINALLY working. I hope.

Tune in and listen live right now! Just take a trip over to the sidebar
------>
and play that bitch.

Leave me comments if you like this or not. If enough people do I can make a Kevin Gannon hosted play list every month.
Now just sit back, relax and ride the sound waves into oblivion.

Things I always wanted...

...and never got.
Looking back at my childhood I had some cool shit. My folks were nice to me, people seemed to like me and I always had the new game consoles the week they came out. Now that doesn't seem like such a big deal, but back in the day to be the first person on your block with the new system (be it an NES, the N64 or Playstation 2) meant guaranteed cool points.
Still, there were some toys I yearned for but never got. I would beg relentlessly but always to no avail.
When watching television and the commercials came on, I would see the children playing with the object I wanted so terribly. I would see them smiling and giggling and practically inviting me into their blissful cathode world. All I needed was my parents to get me the ticket there. Unfortunately, the following are toys my Mother and Father never let me have. Toys I didn't even get to play with because my friends were all in the same dilemma. These toys represent my lost dreams...

1. Sock'em Boppers

A lot of people have the commercial's jingle memorized. I would say of those people, 80% of them have never touched a Sock'em Bopper in their life. I would also go as far to say that NO ONE ACTUALLY OWNED THESE FUCKING THINGS! I never met ONE person who did. Did you? Exactly.

2. Moon Shoes

Looking back at the commercial now I understand I would have been a tad underwhelmed with the Moon Shoes. Still, I can see myself having a lot of fun as a young boy convincing myself that I was jumping four feet higher than I actually was. I can also see my ankles snapping in half from this dangerous toy. Maybe it's best my parents didn't copp it for me...

3. Mr. Bucket

This puzzles me. I can find nothing wrong with this toy. It's happy, it promotes teamwork and it was only $20. I wanted it SO much and to make things worse, the commercial played ALL the time. Now why the fuck didn't my parents let me get this thing? There seems to be nothing wrong with it! Unless of course you take into account that the commercial says, and I quote: "The first to get their balls into Mr. Bucket wins, but look out! The balls will pop out of his mouth!" Maybe, just maybe, that had something to do with it.

4. Nickelodeon Sqand
I wish I could find the commercial, but for a while Nickelodeon made this shit that looked and felt like regular sand until it was submerged in water. Then it because a malleable silly putty like substance that could be shaped into great castles, horrid monsters or beautiful mermaids. When the Sqand was pulled out of the water *poof*, just like magic, it would be perfectly dry sand once again. Here is what it was like. This does not give it justice:


5. Tiger's Talkboy Tape Recorder

I don't have the strength to write about this. I just feel empty. I could have had so much fun...

6. Crossfire

My friend had this and I was so good at it. His sprayed the loser with water which made for an even more unnecessarily tense game, fueling even more hate into our young veins. One thing this commercial did not depict is the fact that a game lasted about an hour and it often took 20 minutes for either side to score a point.

I realize now that I have a void inside of me where theses toys should be. I think I'm going to buy the Moon Shoes and the Sock'em Boppers and go at a few rounds with my pals who didn't have these toys either.
I promise ill film it and put it up.
Also, if you feel bad you are more than welcome to buy me any of these things.

Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
As a Gannon family tradition, we celebrate thanksgiving on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I don't know why, but it's what we do.
That always made for an interesting Thursday. I love Thanksgiving, but for me, Thanksgiving itself was never really on Thanksgiving. I get to watch the festivities on the television and read about it in the newspaper with a strangely detached attitude. It's actually very, very nice.
So, until my Thanksgiving rolls by I hope you have fun celebrating yours.
While you do, know I'm in Connecticut. Sipping on hot chocolate, reading a good book and listening to the soft tunes of Dr. Yo.
Enjoy.

Larrylicious

As you may know, yesterday was a tough day for me. Well, now I feel much better. I hung out with my cactus, Larry and I watered him. It was relaxing.
Life is back to normal. I'm digging the fact I have half a day of school tomorrow then get to escape to Connecticut for a bit.
Enough about me.
I want you to meet my dear buddy, Larry. I got him about a year ago It was the week before Christmas. I was in Chinatown buying my friends fake superman and poweranger toys inscribed with fragment sentences ("SUPERMAN COME TO SAVE WORLD!" was my favorite) and I saw a man selling cacti.
"Sir," I said. "How much for a cactus?".
I think it was something like 6 bucks. I bought one and took him home intending on giving it to a friend.
That night me and Larry really hit it off well. I decided to keep him and he has grown a solid five inches since then. Oh, Larry. I wonder what adventures lay ahead. Fun ones I hope.
Now meet my friends:

Don't ever leave me, bro. Don't ever leave me.

On the edge of the edge

I, dear readers, am minutes away from losing a very important battle.
For the past few weeks I have been victimized by an onslaught of pressures, deadlines, stale-routines and a general lack of satisfaction. I feel like I have been on autopilot for the past month and I just snapped out if it. My plane is nosediving into a playground of snot nosed kiddos and I (as pilot) am trying (very hard) to pull that phallic lever thing up. Not to save the kiddos. Oh no. To save me. And my Plane.
Homework's been a bitch. Going to school has been a bitch. It's dark whenever I get out of school. It's cold whenever I wake up and when I go to sleep (if I have the privilege). I'm tired of worrying (or pretending to worry) about colleges. I have late homework and unfinished or un-started films. I haven't been out on a Friday night in months. No more massive parties that I used to go to. At first I was really digging that and in many ways I still am. It's nice to get away from loud, drunken idiot teenagers for a while. A long while. Still, the transition is strange.
There isn't really a simple way of putting it: I'm tired. Mentally. Physically. I need to nap but my beds got sharp, dirty springs poking out.
What really pushed me towards the edge of the edge what happened to my camera today. Now, keep in mind, I have been Internet and phone less for a week. They finally started working but every hour or so the Internet turns off, my mother goes ape shit and I have to fix it. It's insane.
I thought my camera would be relaxing. I developed some photos today and came home to find my mother had found some old lenses kicking around. I was very excited to shoot some stress out through the ol' Pentax when to my horror I found that the poor thing had kicked the bucket. I don't know when, or how, but she just refuses to work.
I'm getting her fixed but that was the final draw.
Take my Internet, take my sleep, give me homework, break my phone, fail me, deny me, push me off the 6 train, overcharge me for a pack of cigarettes, tell me I'm too young to drink a beer then say "Nice shot" as I blow off an Iraqi kid's head, make my hands hurt from the cold, knot my hair up, read me the same headlines in different fonts for the rest of my life and shit on my face and say it's to make me a better person. Just don't ever, ever fuck with my cameras. That's just dick.
That message is for whichever god you worship.
Whew.
What a world...
I need to take a break. Out of the city, completly alone. Somehow.
It's that or:

FINALLY

Wow. The fools at AOL Time Warner left me without internet or telephone for four days. I would call and call and hear the same bullshit over and over again and eventually I just gave up. Things seem to be running back in normal order. Kind of.
One good thing about having no internet is the stupid shit that you do to keep yourself entertained. My pal Robbie Cline and I were stuck in my house on a friday night. We had to wait for my old man to come home because he had no keys. The following is a taste of what happened:

There is much, much more to come.
On a cool note, the "What Should I Do To My Hair" poll has closed. It was a close battle. Too close. It was a fucking tie. Thanks for voting anyway. You rule.

...and every student at Yale went "Oh shit"...

A study done in England has come to the conclusion that Ritalin doesn't do shit for kids with ADHD. If it has no medical purpose, it has no need to be on the market. In my mind, it dosen't seem that outlandish to just pull them off the shelves altogether. But wait, this poses a very, very serious question:
how will all the regular people get their work done?

Let's do a rain dance! Wait, nevermind, it's 2007

Recently the wonderful state of Georgia has been in a pretty gloomy situation: they are months away from completely running out of water. Simply put, people have (and excusably so) been going ape shit. I read on the drudge a while back that some guy killed his neighbor for watering his plants and restaurants won't serve water unless you ask or pay for it.
Now, the most disturbing thing is that apparently for the past couple years people have been saying: "Uhm, we should start conserving water. We might get deaded really soon..."
Knowing most of the loony Republicans who take the scientific method with a grain of salt, no one in Georgia did jack-shit. Well guess what? Now they are completely deaded.
If I were in charge I would say "My bad. Shoulda' paid attention to those guys in lab coats and done something. Well: now I will start and we can fix this problem".
Too bad I'm not in charge.
The Governor, Sonny Perdue, announced today that he's going to hold a massive prayer session between lawmakers and ministers on the steps of the state capitol. The topic: rain.

Now, there are two things with this that bother me:
1) The line separating church and state fading away faster than our nation's integrity
and
2) the fact that that it won't do anything.
It's time for those guys to buckle down. You want to know how to fix the problem? Two words: Kyoto Protocol .
Assholes.

Yes, William. Yes you are.

I'm somewhere in the backwoods of Connecticut right now. It's freezing cold and my folks pulled into a liquor store to stock up on some booze and hamburger meat. There is literally nothing in sight of this place except unending woodlands . That's why when I noticed I was getting a wireless connection I was so very surprised. Now, guess what this wireless connection is called?
"William The Pimp".
Now, guess what I was just listening to literally moments before this mysterious wireless connection popped up?

Strange?
Indeed.

I call on you for help...

I am sick and tired of my hair. It's been the same for too long, and frankly, I'm bored.
Part of me wants to cut it but another part of me wants to spice it up. Maybe a highlight or two of a groovy color, dye it altogether or (and my current favorite) a bleached skunk streak ala Sweeney Todd...
Well my dear friends I call on your knowledge for help.
And Please, be honest.

Kid Nation Footage + Bordem =

"HOLY BANANA BREAD!"
I fell in love with the line. I needed to make something out of it. And so I did:

Hoops...my bad.

Stockfootage + Bordem + Brass Bands =

this:

It seems I will do anything on a monday night except homework...

Gannon vs Lewis

Today I bumped into an old pal of mine in front of Quiznos. I haven't seen my dear friend since he knocked "Iron-Man" Mike Tyson the fuck out. He looks good and we sparred a little bit. Even after all these years he's still got one hell of a right hook.

"Hey Lennox...that's not the camera"...

RATS!

If you are ever around the lower east side I'm sure you are somewhat familiar with "Rat Alley" (also known as 1st street between 1st and 2nd). Filmmakers may know it as the home of Pac Lab. Pre-pubescent children may know it as the home of Cosi ("the hookah bar that doesn't card") and those just out of rehab may know it as the home of one of the dirtiest halfway houses in town. Once the sun goes down the entire block is claimed by hundreds of huge, fat, disgusting rats. They swarm across the sidewalk, climb on bikes and jump out of trashcans as you get from points A to B. Whenever I am with folks from out of town I'm so certain that there will be rats out that I say: "Wanna see RAT ALLEY?" and show them a good time.
Now, I don't really have anything against the rats: I live a safe four blocks away, I hate the people at Pac Lab, Cosi's was never my scene and I lack sympathy for the sex offenders biting hard on their lips whilst watching "Hannah Montanna" at the halfway house. One thing that always pissed me off was that this block also houses a playground.
As if overpriced film developing, vomiting teens and drooling pedophiles wasn't enough for these children, through some fucked up way of life they have to wallow round' in rat shit.
You may say: "Kevin, why do you tell me this tonight?"
My answer is this: Because tonight I start my vendetta.
You see, dear reader, this morning on my way to school I was walking down rat alley and I saw an older Spanish woman looking around pretty nervous. She opened her bag and tossed four ears of corn and three apples into the grassy part of the playground and started walking quickly. I remembered a few months ago there being birdseed allover the sidewalk in the same spot. I presumed some asshole chose the wrong spot to feed the birds, but oh no. Some asshole was feeding the rats. And I was gonna call her out on it.
I said: "Hey lady, what the FUCK do you think yer' doing?" (I'm good at picking fights with people who are weaker than me), "This is a playground and your feeding fucking RATS?"
She started to say "no" over and over again and picked up the pace. I told her she was a sorry excuse for a woman. I told her (while tossing around some very dirty language I know regret) that someone should sew rats into her stomach and watch as they eat her from the inside out.
She got away.
Starting tomorrow every day on my way to school I'm going to look for this woman. If I see her, I will take her picture. Once that is done I am going to post it up allover the neighborhood. I'm going to send it to the times, the police and even the department of health.
This bitch exposed herself in front of the wrong guy.
Now she's going down.

To the public:

As many of you know, I won the "Best Costume" award this Halloween for my "Dog The Bounty Hunter" get-up. It really was perfect.
The same day I received the good news I heard some more disturbing news. Dog is not the loving puppy we all thought he was. In fact, he is quite the opposite. Apparently, the guy lost it on his Son and left him a diatribe on his answering machine (Dog: you fucking idiot) dropping the "N" bomb on some Nagasaki status.
Long post short, I want nothing to do with a racist. I choose Halloween costumes to celebrate characters. I always dug Dog and his show but now I don't. I don't want a prize for dressing up as a bigot. So, tomorrow in school I will make an announcement. My title is being passed on to Alexander Feldman for the most accurate Six String Samurai attire he sported.
As for Duane "The Dog" Chapman:

Go fuck a cat.

I'm back!

Howdy everyone. You may have been wondering: "Where is Kevin? Why have there been no awesome updates on this totally awesome blog?" Well, I can tell you why. For the past few days I have been here:

No, your eyes do not deceive you. That is Newark Airport. The closest replica to hell we have on earth aside from the Republican national convention. Ironically, my journey into hell was more of a stairway to heaven. After waiting in Newark for hours, I got on a small airplane and she flew down to one of the most beautiful places I have seen: Savannah, Georgia. Yee-haw.
Now, I don't know how many of you have been down there but it's really not like her surrounding southern states. I only saw one Confederate flag and I heard more people with new york accents than I did good-ol-boys talking about their GED programs. I didn't' sense any racists, my long hair, tight pants and ringed fingers didn't get a single head turn (damn!) and there wasn't that uber creepy "I'm going to say good morning to every fucking person I come across" southern hospitality. Well, maybe a little. But just a touch.
One cool thing I saw was this:

Yes. That is Phillip Marlowe's office.
Stay cool cats and kittens

It's coming...

Halloween.
The best holiday aside from christmas.
Usually I take this time of year very seriously but somehow this go-round I didn't. Well, to make a long story short I have yet to make my costume.
I think this year I'm going to be a piece of 16mm film. I have tomorrow to make it. Wish me luck.

What I do when I'm blue...

Well, the video really explains it all.

Amen

Mr. T really know what needs to be rapped about.

16, ink and paper.

Recently I have been painting on 16mm with some calligraphy ink. I was working on this piece of white paper (to keep my desk clean) and I was surprised at how beautiful it had become. Accidental art. My favorite.

Key Food

I saw this buying cereal:

I felt bad for the guy who had just bought the "Mediocre Tasting!" box last week.

Real fancy, eh?

I wanted "A Journey" to really stand out.
After trying desperately to make an attractive banner in Photoshop, I admitted defeat.
Then I saw a pen and a piece of paper and said "oh hey, I remember those!" and drew a picture. Just like the good old days.
Sometimes keeping it real is the only way to go.

AAAAHHHHH!

Tonight I was hit with a sudden wave of anxiety.
I realized that the computer literally sucks my emotions out and replaces them with shitty(er) ones.
Whenever I'm online it I constantly check my mail, respond to my mail, check my facebook, check the headlines, check the blog, check other blogs, check youtube subscriptions, check the headlines, check my email, respond to my email on and on and on and ON.
Well: fucking A.
I need to relax from the cyber world. Sit down, drink some chamomile and read a good book.
Night.

Lets go outing!

In honor of J.K. Rowling's annoncing that the character Dumbledore is gay, authors, writers, and even actors across the world have been inspired to let their creations live open and comfortably.
Here are a few I thought were worth mentioning:

1. Bullit

To many, Steve Mcqueen's character is the paragon of badass copness. To me, he's a fairy.
I mean, lets look at the guys outfit. Creme colored turtle necks? Not to mention he's married to one of the most beautiful women in the world but we never see them do the deed? Comeone. What really sold me was a deleted scene I saw in which Bullit refers to his Mustang as the "olive green ford".

2. Tony the Tiger

The cats got a red stole.

3. Francis Buxton

This one really supprised me, but the more I think about it the more sense it makes. Anyone remember the bathtub fight between Pee Wee and our hero? Well, an easy ten minutes could have been cut out of that. It's almost as if Francis WANTED to grab crotches and tumble underwater intwined in Pee Wee's arms. He also had a very, very good taste in decor.

4. John Mclane

I could not believe my ears when I heard John Mclane was gay. Though it leads to some plot holes (as most of the films are fueled by his love for his wife and children) I'm still proud of him for coming out. Let Mclane remind us that no matter which way you swing, you can always swing via telephone lines over a huge explosion and land barefoot on shards of glass.

5. Klaatu


Aparantly under his suit was a leapord print pair of panties.

6. Willow

Turns "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"'s Willow is gay...wait a minute...

7. Sam

This was the most shocking. All I can say is I'm glad Sam got out of Vichy France when he did. A gay black american surrounded by Nazis? Hey, Sam, can you play "Let's get the fuck out of here"?

Well, I'm happy to live in a world where fictional characters, who's sexuality have little or nothing to do with the plot progressing at all, can live comfortably with who they are.

Having cool shit is so hard sometimes...

Steve Jobs, you have failed me.
I have spent so much money on your stuff in my life and I love you.
But hey, my man: nice job building a Laptop that DOES NOT FUCKING WORK.
This thing turns off whenever the hell it wants. When it decides to stay on I hear it's loud death rattle and it gets so hot that, really, there is no witty way of putting it. It just gets really fucking hot and it shouldnt because it's supposed to be on my lap.
I refuse to go to the "Genius Bar".
The people at the "Genius Bar" can kiss my ass.
The people at "Tekserve" can kiss my Macbook where it hurts and make it feel better. Whatever they have to do...
Apparantly I'm not the only person with this problems.
Hundreds of websites devoted to this computer's terribe performance have sprung up in the past few months. Thousands of people post and read them on the regular.
With numbers of this magnitude, could it be possible that early week Macbooks are defective?

Well, if it is, let's hope Mac has a huge ass recall so I can get a new computer and wipe my ass with this one.

Happy birthday, Klaus...

Today is Klaus Kinski's birthday.
Had he not died in 91' from a busted ticker and untamable rage, he would be 81.
Him and Werner were on fire for a little while. No one could touch them. In fact, to this day, Kinski's style has yet to be replecated. Part of me hopes a young cutting-edge actor will tap into Kinski's adroitness. Another part of me dosen't.
Klaus: Who the hell knows where you are. All I ask is that you don't start too much trouble.
Ah, fuck it.
Go nuts.

$2.50?

If you take the train, you know the MTA is planning another fare hike. Well, really, this type of thing is not something I usually bitch about. I mean, I don't have to pay for the train anyway because of my student metro card and even if I did two bucks out of my pocket is not the end of the world. At all.
However, today I had my face in a tall man's armpit, my crotch nuzzled against a fat woman's bottom and some asshole leaning on my backpack like I was his personal stanchion. It was here in this bizarre yoga like train ride, it dawned on me:
"Do they really expect me to pay more for this?”
Are there no other options? Like, what about expensive tolls on the bridges and tunnels? Oh yeah. Did that. Didn't we just have a fare hike? Yes.
I guess this town is just one expensive cluster fuck of the rich and the poor. Still, both groups gather on the 6 train and bitch about .50 cents.
Beautiful.

Notes taken in Health (9:45):

His breath smelt of whiskey,
fingers of cigarette butts.
Yellow tar stained his fingernails,
his teeth,
eyelids and tonsils...
He's rotting these days.
Worms just made it into his brain,
skin smells
turning grey.
Waiting in line to cash a scratch-off everyone sniffs round', think:
"What's that smell?"
He hears their thoughts. He always could
No one seemed to care. They ignored him, him listening to them not listening,
he was convinced he could help mankind,
or that he was a scientific miracle at the least,
but that was a long time ago.
Now he's rotting in line with the other living corpses. Dead but not enough to take it lying down...
He died a while ago. Roun'd 14. Woke up one day and his life was different...
It became a big wait.
The feeling of sitting in a waiting room, the smell...
It was with him from the morning to the night, day after day,
forever.
He knew what he was waiting for but didn't know what it was called.
It was a feeling.
Maybe not.
There were no words to describe it. None that he knew.
Maybe somewhere,
someone did.
But chances are Cats like that don't hang around the local OTB.
So he waits in line,
rotting.

Werner, I tried.

Today I saw something disturbing on "Break.com", which is just another video site that shows people faceplanting, vomiting or getting kicked in the go-nads.
I don't know why I watch these videos. Really, the reason I visit the site is to read the comments left by ignorant, racist, self centered fools who (and I hate to stereotype here) all live down south.
Today I was shocked to see that a clip from Werner Herzog's "Even Dwarfs Started Small" made the homepage.
They took a scene of a laughing Dwarf and a camel, pulled it out of context and shat allover Werner's shit (not to mention all the copyright laws they broke).
So, me being the Herzog fan I am wrote a comment. I told them at Break how foolish they were, and that their ignorance has insulted the film and art worlds alike. This is what the fine people had to say to me:

"I think its great that they did! I got a good laugh and was able to make a witty comment. I also got to read a douche bag comment from you and reply to it telling you how bad you suck."

"The only thing that "makes me blue" was your long ass post"

"Yeah good one ass chump, fucktard! "

"well ... you're a douche."

Ah, god bless America.
And bless you too Werner. Bless you too.

But wait, theres more!

You think I'm the only one who looked like an asshole as a kid?
Oh no.
My buddy Ludwig rolled deep in it too.



If only we knew how many beautiful women would be in and out of that house drinking stellas and taking no prisoners.

TIME MACHINE TIME

I came across this.
I remember now how great it was to be a kid.
It seems like I was high all the time without having to pay any money.



You like that, I got a WHOLE lot more coming.
Godspeed.

Tomorrow it all ends.

After months of my ball busting tomorrow I take the SATs.
I can't even comprehend the hours I have spent cooped up inside practicing in increments of 25 minutes as the world partied without me.
Well no more shall I have to select between Friday or Saturday to live a little.
Raj Mahal? OH YES.
When? EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.
So my dear friends, wish me luck.
Tomorrow night I'm going to paint this motherfucking town red.
Who's with me?

Hail to the king, baby.

People read?

Shit.
That's insane.
I love you.
Here:

Fall, how beautiful.

Ah, what a wonderful season.
I love when all the life around me dies and atrophies.
Fall, I love you.

"Oh no...oh my god!" (29 sec. in)

Lemme get 3 in brown please.
Cheers.

Oh...what the F$@!*?

Lets jump into our time machines and go to yearbook picture day, last year.
My buddy Robbie and I always like to do something special. We had just won our first RECYouth award and thought it would be cool to have it pictured in the yearbook with us. Easy.
Well, no. It's my turn and the photographer says to me "You can't have any props in the photo". I, puzzled, said "No it's O.K, don't worry about it, just take the photo". She gets mad. "SIR YOU CAN'T HAVE ANY PROPS IN THE PHOTO". I get mad. "LISTEN, LADY, I'M PAYING $60 FOR THIS AND I'M GETTING MY GODDAMNED PROP IN THIS PHOTO". She counts the money and says "...Sir you are only buying the $40 dollar package". This, of all comments made me the angriest. "only" 40 dollars? Sweetheart, 40 dollars can get me a bottle of champagne at the Raj, some scratch off cards, a cab up to my girlfriend's house and a back massage. "Just", just won't describe it.
Now, I will admit. How I handled the situation was a little innapropriate. I yelled something along the lines of "oh, well shit, only $40 dollars? People line their panties with that. You are not a photographer. You are a mean, cold bitch" as I tossed the trophy aside. She told me to smile. I did. Big. FLASH. I leave, making sure she hears every profanity I know as I pass.
NOW.
Lets take that crisp trip in our machines to the present.
I have forgotten of the incident alltogether.
Then I open AOL and see the top story: "Teen Can't Hold Flower in Yearbook". Apparantly some young woman wanted a rose in her yearbook photo and the company laid down the same 'no props' rule. Now, why the fuck does Melissa Morin, 17 of New Hampshire get a blown up photo and a featured story on AOL and I don't?
If my math corrects me, this happened to me first.
Blast you Melissa, you stole my story. You WILL pay.

P.S here is the article if yer' curious. Check out the kid with the boomstick.
http://news.aol.com/story/_a/teen-cant-hold-flower-in-yearbook/20070911093409990001?ncid=NWS00010000000001

9.11

It's strange to think 6 years have gone by.
Still sucks like it was yesterday.

Hmph.

There's a party in his pants...

That's right people, the one and only Apollo Braun.
I'm lucky enough to say Apollo's store is directly below my building, which means I can see him whenever I want.
Group hugs and discounted t's aside, he really is a talented cat.
We worked on a film together while I was taking a class at NYU and there is defenitly much more to him and his story. There is another film dying to be shot.
Untill then, however, Apollo proposed something quite interesting to me. He was offered by Logo (www.logoonline.com) to show a video for his hit single "Party in my pants". The day he called me I had just got back from Kodak with 10 rolls of tri-x. Something clicked and I decided the next Broke Toe Production will be a long awaited one. Finally, the moment I and many have been waiting for.
Apollo Braun.
Super-8.
Glory.

P.S
If you haven't seen the short film I did with him, dig this:

YOU LOST!

At 10 seconds left, look at the little smile he cracked.
Then, think of him cracking the same smile while getting a rimjob in a filthy public restroom from a young boy.

Back to school!

Well boys and girls, that time of year has fallen upon us again.
Finally we can start waking up early to have people belittle, maim and begrudgingly compliment us in six hour blocks.
We can go home and yearn to break free and do something really different with our lives as we look up from the textbooks and calculators that eat our night away and slowly rip every muscle in our backs to bits as we tug them across the city.
For the first time in two months, we can't do absolutely nothing.
We need to drag our dead rotting corpses out of the grave every morning and make that god awful trek to the deepest pit of hell. When we get there, someone will tell us that we're not trying. That's cool, cause I'm not really. I just do it to bum stoges off of people.
Keep yer' heads on guys.
If I can do it you can.
Just remember: They can imprison yer' body, but not yer' mind. Well that's bullshit. Let me re-do this.
Just remember: There is always copious amounts of alcohol waiting for you during the weekends.
Eh. One more.
Just remember: I love you.
Godspeed.

Bling

For the first time in my life, I actually have common ground with Ice Cube and Mike Epps. After Kodak so generously gave us money for film, we all got very excited and anxious to shoot the next project. However, they did not give us enough money to get the film developed. After that, since we don't have any splicers or moviolas, we need to get a really good looking frame by frame transfer.
Now, even if you are a neophyte to the scene, it's obvious this all costs money. Not a huge sum, but certainly not minuscule.
That is why Broke Toe is starting it's "Please, you know we're good for it..." money drive 07'.
We figure if all of our friends give us at least $5 we should have a decent amount.
We also figure if we write letter to all of our family members who hate us, they can help us out.
So, Broke Toe needs money. If you have ANYTHING, please, PLEASE find it in yer' heart to toss it our way.