Welcome to The Tribe.
Your Humble Ruler, Rajah Cheech Beldone, King of the Gypsies.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Sometimes, in the busy rat race...

...of our everyday lives, it's easy to get caught up in things and neglect to really appreciate the wonderful things the world has to offer.

That's why, while we have these few moments here, I'd like to encourage you all to just stop whatever you're doing, for just a few seconds, close your eyes if you like, take a few deep breaths, and relax.

And consider, just for a minute...













OK, thanks, back to work.


AGAIN we have to do this...

My old man taught me how to spit shine boots, use a rifle and keep it clean, treat women right, and a whole bunch of other stuff.

Carson taught me everything I know about where good music comes from, and how to play a Dsus.

The Wee Irish Fella taught me a one-finger 1-4-5 in E that fakes a jazz chord sound, and whatever measley skills I have in Adobe software.

And Levon...

Well, Levon taught me the intrinsic value of history in artistic endeavour, that where and what you come from are always meaningful as long as they're the truth, and that being a gentleman isn't an important thing, it's about the only thing.

So long, Coon Dog.


Friday, April 13, 2012

Addicted to Love...well, ice cream, technically

Fuck me man, I am TOTALLY, like, crack cocaine-level

hooked on these fuckin deals here:

Nipponeser, of course.

I swear, I'm just stupid over these bastards.
What it is is like a bigass Belgain waffle, except the waffle is made out of ice cream cone stuff

(that's PROPER ice cream cone stuff, BTW, the kind with lots of air inside, not them fruity Sharper Edge yuppie-assed waffle cone deals), and each waffle square is filled with ice cream.


I'm fuckin having to strictly limit myself to one of these fuckers a fuckin week.

But every now and then, I feel myself slipping...I can hear them...across the quad in Family Mart...calling me...
Like I'm Ulysses...

or, if you prefer a more classical reference...

calling me, calling me...from inside the ice cream freezer...

Cheech! Cheech! Come and get us!! Pleeease!! It's sooo cooold here......

Ahhh, fuck.


Wednesday, April 11, 2012

It's all downhill after that

My wife is TOTALLY way hotter than that...and I got more hair on my ASS than that dude has on his head...actually, this looks NOTHING like us...
OK, so, yeah, like about 13 years ago, right after we brung the Ranette home from the hospital, we quit drinking proper coffee.

First off, it was one of those Dare To Be Great moments where you kind of sit yourself down and stare into your eyes and tell yourself to look deep into your heart and ask yourself if you can really warrant the expenditure. Now, bear in mind, this is before there were Starkacks all over the place and coffee beans were pretty fuckin pricey.
And yeah, to paraphrase the old Vegas joke

Oh, we got money for smokes!

Also, and while this may sound goofy, it was also a real concern, there was the issue of counter space. You know what things are like in yer average Taipei kitchen, and when you suddenly require room for a bottle sterilizer, a water jug, and all that other baby shit, having the coffee maker there just became less of a priority.

So, we went back to drinking instant coffee every morning, like when we first started going out.

Now I'm amazed at the number of people who, when I tell them we drink instant coffee in the morning, look at me like I just told them we crap in the fridge.
I get people getting all anusfaced, saying shit like "Oh I could never drink instant coffee!"

Yeah, eat me.
Trust me, flyface, you go without any coffee for two weeks, a cup of Nescafe is going to taste like fuckin ice cream.

Anyways, so it goes, and, you know, you get used to anything, right?

But then, last December, TG, my oldest Taiwanese buddy, comes back from an assignment, and as he often does, brings me back something, and it's a big fuckoff bag of real nice fucking Colombian coffee beans.
Here, look here and imagine the smell. I'll wait.

Yeah. Like that. Only fucking better.

So, you know, I took a look around.
Noted duly that, as it turned out, the bottle steriliser had been retired for quite some time, as had all the other baby shit.
Then I went diggin and, discovered that, way way in the back of the cupboard, our trusty old Braun KSM2W

Seriously, do you know anyone who doesn't own one of these??

had managed to survive the Ranee's tri-annual purges.

It was determined that, based on the fact that I had barely been even a little naughty all year, I was certainly deserving of a bit of Chrimbo/Hannukal joy.

And here's where things get really interesting.
I present to you pretty much the coolest fucking thing I own that doesn't make music or fire, me fuckin Bialetti.

Honest to fuck, I love this sumbitch.

Never mind how exquisite it is just to look at, especially if you're into that whole post-WWII European machined design thing, and the absolute simplistic perfection of its function.
And yeah, that handle is actually Bakelite, the Wonder Compound.
Never mind all that.
Just pay attention to this:

On the weekends, or holidays, I'll get up at me preferred time (since there are going to be anywhere from two to four or even fucking five women staying there, it's incumbent upon one to exploit their inherent weakness of character and attendant propensity for sleeping late, in order to enjoy the only time I'll actually have some peace all fucking day), and put the thing on the deal, fill up the thing, do three spoons into the thing there, screw the deal onto the thing, and put it on the, you know, thing.
Go and execute a few minor ablutions, turn on the computer, add some hoodie/socks/long shirt as necessary, and then it's Magic Time.

I decant the rich blackness over two spoonfuls of coarse brown sugar and add in a wee bit of hot water.
It's good.
It's so good, you know you take that first sip? It's so good that you cancel plans to set the cup down and return for two or more immediate follow ups.
It's so good that, invariably, I say something out loud.
Something like "Oh boy" or "Jeez" or Holy cow that's good."

So out on the Promenade Deck, we rejoice in the glory of the ambroisial brew whilst enjoying the day's first fine locally produced tobacco product.
This is generally about sunrise, and for the next 10 to 15 fucking minutes...

The world is perfect.

35 bucks on eBay, and I get to start the day feeling like Anthony




I don't FEEL tardy...

Holy crap, 9 fuckin days without a post.


Hey, you know, there's about a mungogingillion different tunes that are PERFECT for the drive in to work.

Here's one of the fuckin best ever.

No fuckin kidding, Core.


PS Shit, man, these guys were my FAVOURITE band in the WORLD for years, then they broke up...guess they back, yeah?

Monday, April 2, 2012

I might not know much,,,

but I'll tell you ONE fucking thing.

Them Irish??

Mad fucking bastards,

every one.


Fair Warning

This morning is Monday, yes? The morning when we, among other things, gas up the (world's most wicked awesome cool) Zippo.

So, on my way in, I’m preparing to spark my one allotted smoke for the drive.
I’m sitting at a light, and there’s a taxi RIGHT next to me on my right.

I didn’t really notice, but his window was down, and he was so close I could have conked him in the head just by sticking me elbow out.

ANYWAYS, I’m lighting up, and, as so often happens the first couple lights after a juice-up, there’s a massive vapour lock and it won’t light, but it’s full enough that I get some fluid on my thumb.
So I give it a quick sharp blow into the chimney, as one does, and it lights.

BUT there’s this big ball of vapour there, AND me thumb has fluid on it, so my thumb ends up with a flame coming off it (are you thinking what I'm thinking?

You should be).

It’s nothing, first off it’s just fumes so it burns off in a nanosecond, second, the skin on the ends of me fingers is so thick it would probably have to cook for 20 minutes and then get flipped over and basted

before I’d feel it.
Anyways, just as it happens, I actually light me smoke OFF THE END OF MY THUMB, which I then give one brisk shake and it’s out.
I’m kind of chuckling at this when I realize this taxi driver has been watching the whole fuckin deal, and is literally staring at me with his mouth hanging open.
The light changes, and I say to him, out loud

“That’s right, motherfucker, you just fuckin remember that when you try to cut me off at the next lights” and I take off.