For those who like GaGa

I wish to share with you some music. Dangers are a band from California. They play fast and unquestionably heavy. They sing songs that expose and challenge much of the stupidity and hypocrisy we are subjected to in mainstream, western culture. Just about every song contains social commentary of some description. Modern American family values, politics, the 'Hardcore music' scene, war, religion and more, come under relentless scrutiny, delivered creatively, and motivated by what seems like nothing more than passion for their music, their convictions and a fed-up attitude.

I don't necessarily agree with what some of their songs represent, however, it is so refreshing to hear music that is undeniably outside the box. That doesn't hold back and that sounds fucking cool even if you can't understand what the hell they're saying.

They recently toured the east coast of Australia, and obviously, I missed seeing them. Thats what spawned this post I guess.

Heres some of their lyrics to get an idea.

(Off their EP: Dangers.) From the song: 'I Like The Way You Look But Not You'

…Laugh and dance through sweet romance, and cherry-pop your way to popularity. Turn your tassels baby, and spread your tan-lined legs. Snort lines of coke through a plastic nose and purge purge purge away. Beauty so skin deep leaves only shallowness as the popular decay....

(Off the album: Anger.) From the song: Power Chord Blues

"What makes you think you have something to say that has not been said in a much better way? I’ve got power chord blues, ears jammed with feedback. Songs with no soul and even less of a sack. Went to the record store and what the fuck did I find? Thousands of records by thousands of kids with overpriced budgets but not one hint of a mind."

From the song: Half Brother, All Cop

…Got a “fuck you” brewing for a man that’s half of me. We used to be half-brothers but now all he is is LAPD. Went from bullying me to bullying the world. Just a bigot with a badge….

…A necessary evil but an evil just the same. The law’s on your side but that don’t make it sane. Code Blue! I’ve heard you say wetback. I’ve heard you say beaner. And behind my back you probably call me a nigger….

…In my perfect world there would be no police. Yet we would still function in relative peace.

For me, their heaviest (as in, heavy lyrics, not instrumental) song, is: 'War, What War?' This is it, in its entirety.

"Oh damsels, don’t distress! You’ll see your brave boys soon! They’re winning wars on Gulf War tours and staving off the doom! Hooah! Semper Fi! Oh pretty, pretty girls. Dry your sad, sad eyes. There’s terror still, we have to kill! The towelheads must die! Our guns. Just toys. For brainless soldier boys. Who bomb. Who maim. Who kill in my name. Kill in our name. Oh young strapping lads, with blue blood in your veins. You’ve shock and awed their savage gods. Only our glory shall remain! Oh glory! Hallelujah! God shed his grace on we: the proud, the few, the me’s and you’s, who pretend not to see. Our guns. Just toys. For brainless solider boys. Who bomb. Who maim. Who kill now in our name. There’s no honor in fighting voluntary wars. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. And really I’m no better than those camo-wearing pricks. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. I think less about this war than who’ll be next to suck my dick. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. When really I should break every trigger-pulling finger. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. Of every heartless, grim-faced, trigger-pulling fuck that thinks he’s doing me some kind of favor. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. You fucking assholes. Fuck wars. Fuck soldiers. Fuck yellow ribbons, too. Fuck authors and musicians. Fuck me. Fuck you. Presidents don’t pull triggers, so don’t blaming Capitol Hill. It’s hearty boys just like me that are signing up to kill. So fuck the Army, the Navy, the Air Force and Marines. The boys and girls that spill the blood that are just like me. Except the kill. And then they die. And I don’t care. We don’t care. I won’t. I won’t. We won’t take lives."

Check out the dangers website http://wearedangers.com/. Click the lyrics option and you can listen to every song off every abum/ep they've released.

Do it.

The interactive hour

What good is a blog without photos?

What good is a camera, if you don't have money to buy it?

And finally, what's the deal with the current state of Perth's climate? 1 measly degree every morning lately. Makes for shit times at work.

Aside from these revealing rhetorical's, I'm well. Thank you for wondering. I have my health, I've had dinner, there's a roof over my head and tomorrow promises a new day.

There's things I could share, but to be completely honest, all I really want to address is the word, 'Mortadella'. On a recent trip to Margaret River, James Kates and I discovered, that with the smallest amount of effort, you can use the word 'Mortadella' - to sound authentically Italian.

I don't know about you stiffs, but I'm amused.

Say it with me now. Morrr-TA DelA. Use the letter casing and spacing to help guide you through the accentuation in the varied sections this glorious word holds.

The 'Mor' needs to be low and slightly drawn out - rolling those R's of course.

Then the 'TA'. You have to throw this one down. Its gotta' be, loud, abrupt and filled with passion. Its snappy. It comes from the heart. It derives from the same passion you see, when a Nona samples her home made pasta sauce. You'll feel it. Mortadella is taking over you. The tingling feeling in your pee hole/vagina and finger tips is totally normal.

DelA. Again. look at the casing of the letters. Its so animated, and thats how you need to spit it. Think of a roller-coaster going down a steep decent, only to rush back up hill to the same altitude. Thats what our voices are about to do. DelA!

Now all thats left is to get into character. Wince your face up. Hold your hand up to your chin with finger tips pressed together and the top of hand facing outwards... and simply visualise yourself as an old, authentic, italian woman. (rock the hand back and forth ever so slightly and hold the wincey, squint face and stare)

Struggling?

Try this:

* Pretend that the old woman version of you, uses the word 'Mortadella' as an insult. Then visualise looking at your authentic Italian husband, complete with huge mustache, playing backgammon in his tomato patch with Guseppi, the stereotypically Italian farmer from next door. You've called him in for dinner... twice. He snubs you, so you holla at the mother fucker "MORTADELLA" just like we learned. You really give it to the bastard. The insult, combined with your emphatic body language will see him wrap up his fucking game and get his disrespectful, ungrateful, bitch ass inside the fucking house to eat his fucking spaghetti.

I hope this post has been of value to you and you can now go forth and enlighten friends and family of the endless fun 'Mortadella' can provide.

You'll soon develop an alter ego, of the Italian variety, and attain the skill to transform any normal word, into Italian words!

Arrivedici!

Inspiration

You

Katesy

Riding In Cars With Boys

Firstly, I'd like to start this post by saying "fuck you" to Nokia. I had some sweet photos to accompany this post, but my phone wont allow them to be uploaded. (SHINFO)

Me and Adam, or, Adam and I, which ever way you like, went South last Monday/Tuesday. We met up with Ben Vietch, Dan Nicols and Trent Brown to gather footage and ride waves of the slabbing variety.

As the sun rose, we bounced down the 4 wheel drive track and arrived at the check spot, where we were greeted by an ocean that held a lot of potential for the day. Rons (the wave) was shaking off some morning sickness and starting to heave some nicely shaped kegs, probably 15 to 25 feet Hawaiian (6 to 8 feet). Ben, Dan and Trown suited up with haste, and were trotting up the beach faster than Adam could say, "I need to make potty".

While the boys began the paddle out, I stood and watched as the waves began to improve with every set, waiting for Adam as he excreted out demons of the lower intestine.

Adam returned and we'll never be sure if it was mid squat, or, during the numerous stumbles on the slippery cobble stones that his car keys fell out of his pocket. However, we are certain, that the keys were never to be seen again.

We scoured the area until a set hit and washed through all the rocks we suspected were hiding our access into the car. Like the keys, our hope washed away into the merciless deep blue.

Adam pondered briefly and then opted to man the hell up. He picked up a rock and smashed his back window, sending shards of glass everywhere and getting the ball well and truly rolling again. Unfortunately, my wetsuit was covered in the aftermath of the smash, and it wasn't until I begun paddling out that I realised there were small shards lodged in my suit. Funnily enough, the one shard that was actually scratching, was the one closest to my balls. Not that big a deal really when you consider Adam just smashed his own car window, a pricey sacrifice. What's a scratched nut anyway?

We got out there and had fun times and round barrels.

Later that arvo we went for an explore down a reasonably unfamiliar 4 wheel drive track. Adam, myself, Dan and now with us, Tom Obrien, in one car - Trown and Veitchy in the other. Trown has a brand new Rodeo, and he drives it like a fucking hell man. On the way back from a spot check, our car caught up to Trown's, not because he slowed down, but because he was bogged well and truly off the track. The front of his car was hanging of a small ledge and getting him out proved to be harder than we originally thought upon first inspection.

My favorite part of this dilemma was when we tied two towels together, then connected each end to the tow balls of the cars. Who would have thought a towel couldn't pull a bogged in, 3 tonne Ute. Not us. Fail.

Nearly 2 hours passed and we ended up going for a drive, finding a house, borrowing some rope and getting the job done properly.

The next day we got good waves at a new spot and all in all a fun, eventful couple of days were had.

Friends, the swell forecast is suggesting another South Coast trip could go down quite soon. I fear that perhaps another post, recounting a tale of tribulation will be up sooner than I care it to be. I wish myself luck and you who've read this, a pleasant week with good fortune.

Empties like these make you forget about having glass cutting you near your penis. (photo: Geoff White)

Me (photo: Geoff White)

Adam (Photo: Geoff White)

Tribute

Originally I was going to do a post on the car that I recently purchased, here in Perth. A 1993 Toyota Camry Wagon. An exchange of 1000 shiny gold coins was made and my independence and mobility enhanced, significantly, as a result.

So I bought a car. A mediocre, A to B type vehicle. Who fucking cares, I thought to myself?

Maybe I should speak of the East Coast trip I did last week, scoring fun, uncrowded, Black Rock or how I did fucking terrible in the Soldiers Beach World Tour/Aussie tour event. Fun waves, bad results, travel times, road trips... it should be cool, but to be honest, nothing that cool happened during the trip, apart from the key points I just listed.

This again, left me wondering, who fucking cares?

My parents... sure. My house mates... probably a bit. But there is one man who genuinely cares, above all those who are obliged to. A nobel, hard working man, humble to the bitter end. An AFL enthusiast, a bodyboarding veteran, a South Curl Curl local. He returns my calls, replies to my emails and has a genuine interest in my trips, whether they be successful or a disastrous voyage.

So I figure, this post goes out to you Marcus Cobon. HB Distributions', Bicep. The man of few words, but wise ones at that. Your a 'good egg' Marcus, keep doing what you do.

My new car. Bought off Dane, and known by many as 'The Camdeasy'

Check Danes band if your not a pussy: Mandalay Victory

My travel companions for the east coast trip. Honeybone, Garner and Veitchy.

Me. So angry at my comp result I begun to radiate heat, hotter than the sun

Garner consulting the Mentor

Cobon an Veitch- down time. GET IT? Down time......lol

Marcus and Wez (top right). 2 of the finest

EXCUSES EXCUSES EXCUSES

Yeah, I know! I haven't posted anything in a ludicrous amount of time. Shut your face and listen to some solid excuses for neglecting my blog to the brink of no return. So, that Pride/Hb trip I made a post about last, was good. We did tow outs everyday and Rod Owen shot it. As I'm driving home from it I get a call from my mum telling me that my dad has just had a brain hemorrhage and is in intensive care. Needless to say, there was a plethora of complications and close calls for a good part of last year. Dad pulled through. And to show us how good he was feeling after his rehabilitation, he wrote off his motorbike and broke his back! GO DAD. He has since recovered from that and assures me he has 7 lives left. Such a charger.

In amongst all this, other things went down; I completed my diploma in Media Communications, did some trips to SA and abroad, finished in the top 16 on the Australian Tour and have just moved to Perth, the most isolated city in the southern hemisphere.

PHOTO TIME

From the South Coast trip I said I'd show pics from in an earlier post. (Photo: Shadbolt )

Ben Vietch: Friend, Team Rider, Optimist, Tall Person. (photo: Me, on my tippy toes)

(photo: Rod Owen/Pride)

Vert. (photo: Rod Owen/Pride)

Chris Wilson: Friend, Underrated Bodyboarder, Gangster Rap Enthusiast, Chair Rookie

You walk across this

To Surf this. No one out. Just me Damon and the Sharks.

Slotted in Knights Beach Wedge, SA (Photos: Arandelovic)

Im very aware that these excuses do not justify the length of time I have spent away from this blog, nor do I care. You can now count on regular updates of wild times and the sickest shit, all year long. That, my friends, is my promise to you, the 4 people that have possibly glanced at this page by accident.