So have you heard? We might be getting the old gang back together! Yes, there’s talk of a TechTV reunion show, tentatively scheduled for May 7, 2007 (10 year anniversary of the launch of ZDTV).
As we’re ramping up for that joyous occasion, the plan is to build some sort of Internet space where former TechTV associates can add, among other things, video content describing what they’ve been up to, or I suppose whatever they’d like. This was all mentioned on Digg.com, and within 24 hours the story had been Dugg over 6000 times. From what I understand, that’s way up there in the history of stories posted on Digg. Yeah, people inside and outside of the old TechTV seem pretty jazzed about this whole thing. It’ll be great to see the whole crew together again in one place, though if it’s anything like TechTV parties from days gone by, I’m not looking forward to the hangover.
Speaking of great memories from the past, my roommate and best pal from my Cornell days, a Greek fellow by name of Nicholas Michalopoulos, along with his wildly talented wife Lynn (he and she are on the right in the picture below, I don’t know any of those other clowns), has a band based in Philadelphia called Bebek. And I gotta tell you, Infected Army, they’re pretty gosh dang good, pardon my French! Real toe-tapping stuff! You must give it a listen.
Oh, sure, I used to hate it when Nick would practice that damn keyboard of his all hours of the night while I was trying to execute a vigorous new reading of Proust in my library-study. Over and over, my tortured pianist friend would unlock the fragile bird of song’s cage, letting the dulcet tones of Axle-F, or Debussy’s La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin, or whatever the fuck it was, fly about our chambers. Well, playing that nonsense four thousand times in one evening countless evenings in a row has paid off for old Nick, cause this band of his is heading to the top!
Finally, make sure you listen to episode 12 of Infected, now available. It’s our special Summer Edition, and we have an exciting new sponsor: poet/priestess/woman Maya Angelou!
Sadly, due to technical complexities this is an audio only edition, but that doesn’t detract from its shining luster.
Thanks for listening, and remember: Don’t get Ripped, by the Riptide!
I was just IM’ing with my old friend Stewart Engesser, an English fellow I used to pal around with when I was living on Michael Caine’s 1000 acre tea plantation in Sri Lanka (Ceylon). Stewart was a frequent houseguest of Michael Caine’s, and we would take Michael Caine’s muskets out into the jungles to shoot tigers together. Stewart used to own a business in Sri Lanka, but has since moved to Toronto. Anyways, this is the transcript of our conversation.
Martin: Remember Sri Lanka? Crazy times!
Stewart: Ahh, Sri Lanka. Just hearing the name of that bejeweled, though war-torn, island sends me reeling into a waking slumber, a moist revery of monkeys, green curry, the rattle trap rail trains climbing like fire lizards up the green hills, into the mists. And of course, I think of Greg.
Greg Bonaventure worked in accounts payable, in the back office of the freight forwarding service I owned in Colombo. And my God – he was the Lord’s own great shining jewel of an accounts payable person. His fingers were sunjagged bolts of glory, dancing across his computer keyboard. He spoke not words but in the magik-seeming spells of the numerically gifted. Nine, three, four thousand-five. Did he even know what a chair was, or understand English? No. Not as far as I could tell. He was pretty much retarded, I guess. But he knew all about math. And he often drooled. Also, he had one gimp foot. And there were
strange stories about him killing cats, eating them raw in alleyways, that sort of thing. Alarming rumors. But I am not a man who puts much stock in rumors.
But then one day Greg began killing people.
At first, I was all, OK, Greg kills strangers, people in stores, and sometimes representatives of authority, such as traffic police and, in at least one case, an employee of a zoo. But also, he’s very gifted at his job. Like I said.
But then I realized that Greg, my wonderful, gifted accounts payable rep, might one day try to kill me.
So I was forced to take action. I lured Greg into a cave deep in the jungle, with promises that I would show him a rare algae that grew there – a special algae that could be used as a recreational stimulant, if properly dried.
But there was no algae. There was just me, with a rock. And I brought that rock down upon Greg’s head, and indeed did I smote him a hellish blow, and it was one from which he did stagger backwards, and lo, friend, twas a stagger he never rose from, and even now the bones of Greg Bonaventure lie in the loose earth of the Mt. Pedro cave at the base of Pidurutalagala, in my beloved….Sri Lanka.
Martin: LOL. Yeah, Sri Lanka was crazy.
It started with Jason Lee’s simple, two-tone design.
You were inspired, and the digital Crayolas came out. Even the Perriwinkle. Yes, some of you got bored and started eating paste. But most made your muse proud. Damn proud…
Jason Lee continued to impress, tacking a second masterwork onto Martin Sargent’s Riesling-filled refrigerator.
If only we had gasmasks like that when Joey still lived in Los Angeles. His danglers may have been tiny, like dark, shiny BBs, but they radiated shit-stank like a galaxy of brown suns.
Oh, Joey! Our sad, downy-plumed revolutionary! May you find the social justice you seek in San Jose. And thank you, Chris Nation, for the design. You dumb Pinko fuck.
I’m perhaps most excited about starting a line of Rickey Kang products. Eyewear, satin jackets, training tapes, kendo sticks, basically a whole lifestyle. We’ll start with a t-shirt. On the front” “Quazi-toto.” On the back: “Never Stop Fight!”
Here’s more Kang, from Matthew Porter. Truthfully, you could fill a whole museum with Kang inspired shit. It’d be like an Asian Art museum, but without vases and faggoty little statues and pansy shit like that, just lots of fire, blood, and fear.
I like this next one, from Richard Rowledge, a lot! Except for the glasses I’m wearing. They make me look feminine, and that’s not fair to Joey. That’s his thing, and I don’t want to step on his tail, dig?
This one is also from Richard. I’ll bet this is Gator’s favorite. In fact, I’ll bet Gator’s staring at this picture right now, making strange gutteral noises but thinking he’s being quiet, and he’s in danger of waking up whoever’s house he busted into to get on the computer. Run Gator! But pull your pants up from around your ankles first, you’ll skin a knee or lose your glasses again! Gator’s blind as a shit bat. It sucks when he loses his glasses and you have to go pick him up in some weird place, like in a garden nursery in Van Nuys at 3am and he’s with this young, scared looking girl who doesn’t speak a damn bit of English. That was the last time, anyway.
This next one is based on a classic album cover. Can you name which one? Right! Reflex by Duran Duran. Matt Fields, the dude who designed it, thinks that’s Johnny O’Bannion at the head of the cross because there’s a guy named Johnny O on my MySpace Top 8 named Johnny O. But that’s not Johnny O’Bannion, that’s my friend Johnny Buss, from the family that owns the LA Lakers. There are, however, many similarities between the two Johnny Os, though I must point out each is unique. A brilliant, shining example of what an American should be. Though I don’t think the two Johnnies have ever met, I’ll bet they’ve crossed paths at an orgy at least once in each of the past three decades.
Well, that’s all for now. Have your own Infected logo design or t-shirt idea? Send it in! If you’ve already sent one and it’s not here, I’ll include it in an upcoming entry. I have to go. Magnum P.I. is starting. It’s the one where Higgins gets irked at Magnum’s antics! A classic….
Remember: Don’t get ripped, by the RIPTIDE!
