Healthy approaches to living, presented by Dedleg. Today’s episode is featuring Charlie Brown and that friend of his with the oral fixation.
Peanuts and beer — a classic pairing.
Go figure, I knew the secret to life all this time and I didn’t even realize it.
My mom wouldn’t let me have a trampoline when I was a kid, always brushing my pleas aside with the excuse that “trampolines are too dangerous.” Sure, I knew kids who had slashed their faces with the exposed springs and broken their elbows from bouncing off the side and falling into the coarse gravel below, but that was all part of the fun. I never knew what she really meant until years later, when I realized trampolines are a gateway drug to parkour, or freerunning, and nobody wants that for their child.
Okay, I’ve made fun of freerunning a lot in the past, mostly because… well… it’s for dorks. But nobody ever told me that freerunning is basically just real life Mario training. Obviously, this changes fucking everything.
This is like gymnastics for secret agents.
See, the thing is, I never saw freerunning for what it really was — a means to storm a castle, should you so desire. Up until this time, I’ve always just assumed it was for people who liked making fools out of themselves. But now that I know the practical application of this shit, I totally get it. Good luck in your quest to rescue the princess, guys — and remember, if you run into a giant, fire-breathing turtle… uh… do a backflip over him or something.
Look, I know that worshiping the rich has been in for a while now, and god knows class warfare never really goes out of style anyway, but you guys do remember that whole Revolutionary War thing that happened a few years ago, right? They’re not our monarchs anymore. You can go back to caring about something equally insipid but at least slightly more relevant now.
And speaking of insipid…
Don’t really know what to say about this one… aside from, I guess, this is what happens when you get carried away in Photoshop with absolutely no plan or idea. Just winging it, seeing what materializes out of the pixels. And isn’t that what everybody looks for in a good designer? Haphazard execution and very little thought — those are the big trends of the day, if I’m not mistaken.
Dennis Busenitz just released the video part of the year and he’s already back on his grind. But that’s kind of the dude’s thing — you get the impression that he never really stops. Every line of his feels like you’re luckily observing him cruising, throwing out random tricks without any kind of plan or prior thought, even when that isn’t actually the case. Only the greatest skaters, like, ever (such as Cardiel or the Gonz) possess this gift. Like some kind of eternal spirit of skateboarding, Busenitz just pushes around at Mach 10 throughout the land, and if you manage to catch a fleeting glimpse on camera, well… upload a 43 second web clip since it’ll probably still be better than most people’s full parts.
Someone commented on the video’s YouTube page saying, “i fucking love him too he is a beast, especially when he skates really fast,” which, while hilarious — typical of dudes saying they love another grown man for being a beast — is overall a completely pointless observation. Especially when he skates really fast? Have you ever actually witnessed Dennis Busenitz skating in any other way? Thank you, Captain Obvious. Your contributions to the Internet’s considerable bloat are, as always, appreciated.
An extremely, ahem, simple drawing today, and a potent reminder at that… a potent reminder with its tongue sticking out.
Almost every illustrator and designer has come up with some visual version of this mantra at one point in their meandering path to pretty-picture-making zen. Yet the truth in the message is still far from exhausted. Perhaps making illustrative representations of this golden rule has become a cliché, but the statement itself is practically impervious from such a fate. It’s beyond a piece of good advice for graphic designers — it’s nearly a universal truth, part and parcel of Occam’s razor, the law of succinctness. Simply, it states that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. Now, my take on this little tidbit of wisdom is neither the simplest, nor the best example, but it is probably the most dedlegest, and that’s really what counts around here.
Feel like taking a trip to the Deep South but hate traveling, or, uh, Southern people? Well, you’re in luck, because New York City really does have everything, including a rural wasteland lost in a decades-old time warp. Introducing, The Hole, one of those quaint Brooklyn neighborhoods you don’t see a whole lot of around the nightlife blogs.
One of The Hole’s claims to fame, as well as stinkiness, is that it exists thirty feet below sea level — so close to the water table that local homes aren’t even connected to the city’s sewer system. Nope, residents of The Hole each get their very own cesspool, some of which are so old that they’ve long-since burst and have been leaking all manner of feculence into the soupy earth below. Basements and streets are often flooded, no matter how much rain the surrounding abandoned housing developments soak up.
This short documentary by Courtney Sell and Billy Feldman is a really fascinating look at one of the city’s fine “daytime neighborhoods.” Although, to be honest with you, I’m not entirely convinced I want to go there in the daytime, either. I guess at least that way you can see the dead bodies floating in the sewage overflowing from the cesspools and avoid defiling your designer kicks. Plus, I’m pretty sure Swamp Thing only comes out at night, so that’s also good to keep in mind.
In a rare occurrence, here’s a selection of strictly vertical compositions. I didn’t have enough from the bag of randoms these were pulled from to make pairs so I’m presenting them a little larger than usual, one by one. And frankly, I don’t even know why I’m explaining any of this considering I’m the king of this castle and it’s your job to kiss the ring and shit. But don’t sweat it too much, I’m pretty sure in Internet terms that just means you have to spend a considerable amount of your free time scouring Google for fake nudes of me.
What’s that? You haven’t seen any of the infamous Dedleg fake nudes yet? I’ve got a folder full of them right here on my desktop that I look through pretty much every few hours. They leaked on the Huffington Post weeks ago now, with the headline, “Unknown blogger kills men, women.” As it turns out, they were speaking metaphorically in reference to my breathtaking abdomen, but it did temporarily cause me some concern as to whether or not anybody was going to stumble upon all those bodies I piled in the garden out back.
How many self-proclaimed artistes do you think have taken a picture of the TV in the guard booth at the Bedford Avenue stop? I don’t even want to hazard a guess — I’m just putting this up so I’ll fit in.
That’s some serious picture-in-picture shit right there.
The sign on the wall says, “Please do not move my biKE.” Interesting choice of capitalization, but otherwise a simple, to-the-point message. Don’t move their bike, dude.
And you know I had to sneak a sunset in there.
At the risk of turning Dedleg into the unofficial Beastie Boys’ fansite, I’m posting a streaming version of their new album Hot Sauce Committee Part Two, which isn’t due out until May 3rd. This way you can listen to it ahead of time before you decide if you want to buy it… haha, yeah, or like, waste the 2 minutes searching for a download on Mediafire.
As I mentioned in my write-up about Fight For Your Right Revisited, MCA’s long-form music video which premiered in support of Hot Sauce Committee Part Two’s release, I was a little disappointed when I finally managed to watch the film. The hype seemed to get the better of the final production, and even the angelic face of Elijah Wood could hardly outweigh the haphazard pacing and groan-worthy stretches of self-indulgent, improvised dialogue. Fortunately, my lowered expectations seemed to work completely in favor of the album’s debut, which is probably the most back-handed compliment I could have possibly written about The Beastie Boys, aside from maybe, “oh fuck, these guys are so old it’s surprising they were able to put out something this cool.” Er…
Hot Sauce Committee Part Two is the trio’s first full-length effort since 2007’s all-instrumental project, The Mix-Up, and their first true hip-hop album in seven years. I haven’t had enough time yet to fully dissect, digest and subsequently discard the album, so I can’t provide any kind of real review, but I can say that so far I’m really enjoying it. The album was produced by The Beastie Boys and mixed by Philippe Zdar, and initially, the beats and instrumentation really stand out. This album is perfectly poised for summer domination — heavy reggae and funk influences mixed with psychedelic production, distorted vocals and a diverse array of samples make this album first and foremost a delight to listen to, but as a related side effect and close second, it’s some serious blunt-smoking music.
Naturally, people are probably wondering how The Beastie Boys themselves are holding up on this, their eighth full length, 25 years on the heels of the seminal Licensed to Ill. From my standpoint, their flow sounds as refined as ever — they’re faithful to their classic back and forth style, and take plenty of opportunities to pay homage to their older material. But at the same time, the album doesn’t sound dated, thanks in part to the fantastic production, but also due to The Beastie Boys’ own aging voices. They’ve all taken on a rougher timbre which adds a degree of authenticity and helps them not sound like a bunch of 45-year-olds trying to be 19 again.
As an initial impression, fans casual and hardcore should find plenty to love on this new album — personally, I think it’s their strongest material to come out in a long time. It comfortably braves the treacherous territory between fuzzy, retro B-Boy kicks, head-banging guitar riffs, and tripped-out sections that are reminiscent of their classic sound but also rejuvenated and, more importantly, fun. I’m definitely looking forward to beating this shit into an overplayed pulp in the months to come. Check out the full stream above — the perfect sound track for New York’s first 80 degree day.
Colorful, abstract, and utterly meaningless — if that’s not the definition of good art, I don’t know what is. No, seriously you guys, what is the definition of good art?
Seriously seriously though, this was more of an experimental exercise than anything. And no, I’m not talking about the kinds of experimental exercises you might have done with the theater club in college. For as weird as I am / aspire to become, that’s a particular variety of the dark and strange that I’d rather avoid. Plus I’m allergic to both eyeliner and pleather, so they wouldn’t let me in their stupid club anyway.
It seems like getting behind a video titled Toxic Turdz should be undesirable in principle, but when it turns out to be a local project out of Richmond, Virginia boasting the tantalizing Gilbert Crockett as its headlining act, one starts to forget about the ridiculous, fecez-with-a-z name.
Young master Crockett really seems to be coming into his own recently. For example, if you look at this ad for long enough, the fabric of time will rip in two and you will, in fact, see the face of god.
The kid’s got great style and is one of a small batch of up-and-comers who combine loads of creativity with sheer power and massive amounts of pop. The fact that he’s a sharp dresser doesn’t hurt, either. Okay, creepy, pedophilic bromance over — I’m going to go find the address of the nearest playground, and then go as far away from it as possible until I feel less like a diddler.
Just a few shots to start off the week. And they’re probably considerably less effective at doing so than a few shots of espresso, but this isn’t a fucking Starbucks. Yet.
Enough photography for now, let’s get back to that espresso idea. Personally, a caffeine injection is in dire need considering I spent my Easter weekend resurrecting my liver. And I don’t really know if that makes any sense or even means what I intend it to, but I don’t care.