Weirdest. Cameo. Ever.

This morning, as I updated my site and a few posts here, I hopped on good old YouTube for moment, and saw a link to Rancid’s new video, and gave it a look… Good deal, good tune…

But….

Hang on….

…is that… ???

Body double! ...or just thinking too much?

…no way….

It sure as hell looks like Corey Feldman!

"Goofy's a dog. He's definitely a dog."

Awesomeness.

The Supper Car Club

…and yes, you read that right. “Supper Car” Club.

Why “supper”? Simply put, supper is the term usually used by my kids when refering to dinner-time here, and weekday dinners (or “supper”) are usually nothing over-the-top or spectacular, just a fill-you-up on good food moment in the day. A necessary part of the day, without a lot of fluff. Kind of fitting as you’ll see when we get to the cars that would be in this club.

I had stumbled across the supercar club idea back in 2000, and thought “novel idea”… but then dismissed it, and went back at my day job. This past week, the thought popped back in my head while parking at the Post Office to ship out some designs, and I parked next to a perfectly preserved Gremlin. (I know!! Bitchin’!!) How long has it been since you’ve seen one of those? Apparently, the three other folks checking it out had the same thought. (note to the owner of said ride: What I wrote on my card is serious. I want your car.)

If you’re into exotics, you no doubt know of organizations like Group 20’s incredible Super Car Club, or P1 Prestige and Performance Car Club, or a few others. The basic idea is a shared-access plan, wherein members have access to a number of exotics and luxury cars for about the same cost as owning ONE. Pretty slick, and not unlike shared-access plans for yachts, jets, beach mansions, islands and so-on. So, for like $30k per year, plus a $5-10k membership fee, you’re driving a number of cool cars throughout the year, insurance included. Nifty if you’re of the persuasion that can afford it. Me? Nope. I fall more in line with my nifty idea: The Supper Car Club.

Regular folks cruising regular (and occasionally rare!) cars. We’ll round up a group of investors, and purchase a fleet of hand-picked, basic transportation cars from the past and present (if you can get ‘em from the future, well, we’d like a word with you, too!). We’ll set up a membership fee based on the value of the cars, say $75.00 to join, plus like $300.00/year, and base it all on a points system, allowing everyone access to the cars. You may buy extra points, or trade points for allowing off-use days for cars, etc. Naturally, cruising the Cavalier rag top in June would be double he points of the Cimmaron with the broken A/C, but hey, this is about exclusivity.

I can hear it now– “Why would anyone want to drive a car like a Citation, or a Fairmont sedan, or an ‘80 El Camino with a broken tailgate?” NOSTALGIA. Unless you were some spoiled brat as a teenager, chances are that through college (or beyond if you draw cars for a living and have kids), you’ve driven some questionable-looking, as well as performing cars. And what always comes up in converations about those times past (or present… it happens)? “Man, I hated that car, but I miss it!” Admit it. That ‘79 Delta 88 with the door skins flapping in the breeze was pretty cool. You had FUN with it. I sure as hell did. And my friends still remember that car… even the ones I bump into so many years later… And think about it: If you’re into cars like I am, you check everyhing out. Like the afforementioned Gremlin. I was drawn to that like flies on… oh wait, bad comparison… but you get the idea. A car that hits home will draw as much, if not more attention than some exotic ride. (consider Playboy’s Farmer’s Daughters specials— I read it for the article on cobbler — was that a fluke? The girl next-door is always more approachable, and often more realistic. I bet they sold millions. Cars are the same way, I’ve found.)

Admit it: You had this poster right next to that one with the white Lamborghini.

We’ll offer typical high school and college-year cars, and even a few hot rod-style versions… Maybe ‘78 Malibu with a severe rake, N-50’s and Jensen 6×9’s on the package tray, or even a hand-me-down LTD in powder blue… The kind of stuff you had back then. Imagine pulling up to your reunion in a Camaro with a dented fender, a Moroso decal and sheepskin seat covers, just like you had back in school? Talk about keeping it real. No rental Caddy for you. Just bringing back memories, much like your mullet and parachute pants. And for those who were in all of the musicals, or had weird parents, we’ll round up some used Volvos, VW’s, and the cream of the crop:

…it’s tres chic

(I’m showing the smaller cars so that we get the “green” folks on board. Fret not, my fellow size 34 EEE carbon-footprint friend, I’ll be battling you for points on the Granada with the bad valve seals and cracked rings. We’ll have a little something for everyone. AMC Eagle? We’ll have THREE.) All told, I think that once the trendies see Justin Timberlake pull up at the ESPY’s in the Monaco with the Keystone mags, bad paint and bubbling tint on the windows, this club will be hotter than some crystal and gold-leaf decoupaged Von Dutch hat in an LA boutique after seeing it on a video awards show. If you’re in, hit me up… This will be huge, and a total blast. I have a line already on a Volare’ wagon and a cherry Grand Prix…

More insight/design/lunacy over at www.problemchildkustoms.com.

Taking CAB’s Coupe for a spin…

…halfway around the globe, and finding a new home in Europe! 

Some time ago, I was fortunate to have befriended skateboarding legend, artist, and all-around good guy Steve Caballero. Like all of my artist and hot rod friends, his work and cars are inspirational, and it all kind of becomes like family. You grow attached to the paintings, cars and whatnot, and when a ride or canvas gets sold, you feel a slight twinge of sadness, and hope that the new owner will take good care of it (kinda like my old Chevelle… it’s comforting to know it’s being enjoyed and cared for!).

 

You have to imagine my joy, then, when CAB’s coupe was sold once more, and wound up, in all places, in the garage of a friend across the ocean! Geert (aka Von Skip), is a talented artist, and we hit off our friendship through our work, sharing a mutual admiration for one another’s style and technique. What this guy does on canvas is amazing (<a href=”http://www.vonskip.com/custom_car_art.html”>dig it here!</a>). He’s owned a number of outstanding cars, and when he saw the opportunity to grab CAB’s coupe, well… I became stoked on a number of levels. After all, what are the odds? Two talented artsists (and great people) as owners of the same great car? Two separate continents… and each sharing the same incredible car culture. (and you thought the Dutch were only into wooden shoes and windmills. Shame on you. They like hot rods and customs, too… so there.) 

The world really is a small place, and lately, I’ve come to the conclusion that all things happen for reason. Thankfully, for whatever reason, I made the connection with two incredible people, and one fantastic car, and I get to see how it all plays out in the grand scheme of things. 

…and, as if creating great art, collecting killer cars and just being an all-around cool cat weren’t enough, on June 2nd, Geert and Nanouk welcomed their beautiful baby girl, Moenza into the world! 

Congrats again, Geert!! Enjoy the ride, man…

While the cars are great…

…it’s the people that make this such a great racket. Case in point: last weekend Craig (fromMyRideIsMe.com) was rounding up hands to help in stripping his ‘63 Falcon wagon in preparation for a full-on makeover. And by golly, when the local boys call for help, I’m there. Occasionally, it’s good to put down the pens and stylus and turn a wrench or two… it keeps you grounded in the real stuff… the stuff that got you into this business to begin with.

…and there we were, a small group that would grow to over a dozen before night’s end, attacking the car with near-Overhaulin’ precision, save for the most stubborn windshield on planet Earth (more on my glass nemesis later). What was to be a simple transmission swap was quickly escalted to a “while we’re at it…” sort of project.. which means “look for some concept art soon”. 

That Craig sure knows how to pick friends, huh? From “Falcon Master” Mike (a walking encyclopaedia of all things Falcon and Comet-based) to Racin’ Dave (runner-up in Super Street this year at Fontana (and 0.054 seconds from a Wally!!), to the always handy and knowledgeable Rob (who brought his killer bobber truck over and aired it out, as if that thing needed any more attitude!), you’d think we had all bases covered.

Hardly. 

Dave and his charming wife popped in before heading to a graduation party to offer moral support, and before we knew it, there was Joe and Joel and Devin grabbing tools and jumping in. I mention all of these folks because it’s what makes this hobby so great: The people. All of us are from different backgrounds, lives, careers… Yet we share the common car bond. It’s that great equalizer, that certain “something” that brings people togteher and gets everyone reaching for a common goal. 

When Doug (of Squeeg’s Rod and Kustom) popped in (with Sammy and Moose from the shop in tow, following a trek to Southern California to pick up a Woody), all of that “car guy” stuff became clear. Here’s a pro builder of the highest degree, wrenching on a local car. No glory in this, just stripping away what needed to go, and getting the ball rolling. It’s just that whole “you’re building a car? I’m THERE!” mentality that happens to come across between car people. It’s the late nights spent in a garage, covered in grease and bondo dust that creates memories, and makes it all so damn cool to be a part of… 

Anyway, this is where it sits for now… Look or more on this project as we build steam, and get the old girl rolling once more…

“That’s a lot of (expletive) magazines!”

One of my all-time favorite cars has always been the ‘57 Chevy known as “Project X”… That yellow, enlarged rear wheel opening-having, hoodless, blown kick-ass pile of performance parts and attitude that was put together in a far different age. Over many years, it was a test bed and ongoing project over at Popular Hot Rodding…. in the days before Pro-Touring… hell, even prior to Pro/Street. Of course, my favorite incarnation of the perennial magazine project car was circa ‘81-’82… the look featured in the movie “The Hollywood Knights”.

The car just had “the look”… Great color, great stance, and superb use of mag wheels. The way this car launched (what is it with my fixation of late with a car springing off the line? Who cares. It’s good.), and hell, even Tony Danza looked cool in it. Looking over some screen grabs from the movie, I came across this one:

…and couldn’t help but think (while peering at the background) that “that’s a lot of fucking magazines there.”

Ironic, considering the car’s tremendous amount of ink over the years. Art and life imitating each other. That may be the deepest thought ever written with regards to a movie that featured farting to “Volare”.

Savor the moment….

savor it….

…and we’re done here.

Boyd Coddington…

…has sadly passed on today at the age of 63.

Suffice to say, he was a true giant in the industry, and the first builder to truly inspire me to throw my hat in the ring, and do what I love. His approach and design sense changed forever the direction of the modern street rod and custom car, and will be viewed forever as the benchmark of his era. Cars like CadZZilla are world-famous, and his face was easily one of the most recognizable in the industry.

(CadZZilla and the Hirohata Merc at the Oakland Museum of California… sorry for cruddy pic.)

(…and speaking of CadZZilla, how ’bout a cool peek at a gathering of great talent during what just may have been the birth of that car?

Can you name these guys? –that is a young Larry Erickson on the right… only hint I’ll give)

Thanks to a guy who, no matter how hectic his schedule, took time to spend a few moments with me at a show, and review what I was working on at the time. Sadly, as large a page in hot rodding history as he will fill, there’s an equally big footnote with respect to the terrible PR his TV show brought on, the scandals, behind the scenes drama, the mis-management of business dealings…. All of the things that commonly plague uncommonly talented people. Hopefully, history will raise him to his proper place as the man who forged the future of the industry, giving rise to many talented builders, designers and more.

I recall a time when it was so cool to see a set of billet wheels… “Those are BOYD’S, man!!” One-off wheels for one-off creations… pieces of grand sculpture if ever there were such a thing. Hell, my first hot rod shop t-shirt was a Hot Rods by Boyd tee (with Thom Taylor’s killer artwork)… To call this man an inspiration in my career path would be like saying fish enjoy water. His aesthetic and ground-breaking approach to creating a hot rod will always live on, in some way, in all I create.

(how famous is THAT wall?!)

A sad day, indeed. Our sincerest condolences to his family and close friends. Godspeed, Boyd.

It Takes a Crue…

Some moron once said that it takes a village to raise a child. I say “bullsh*t”. What’s the first word that comes to mind when someone says “village”? “Idiot”. Exactly. Do you want an idiot raising your kid? I certainly don’t.

Henceforth, we have decided that our children will be raised in a progressive way, using music. Granted, there’s a lot to be decided here, at first glance, anyway. As we looked into potential sources for musical wisdom, we found that, for the most part, great songwriters are like philosophers and teachers, each expounding knowledge on situations you or I may run into every day. Bernie Taupin is a great example, as is Harry Chapin, Springsteen, and Dylan… All have a lot to offer in our musical child-rearing idea. However, amongst the good, we found some real crap, too.

Enya, for instance. No way I’m allowing my kids to grow up thinking that world is made up of moody-ass sailors and stars and whatever the hell else this broad sings about in a mix of what might be French, might be Klingon. Any pop performer? No. Nothing you can learn about life from anyone like that. This Fergie broad? No. She used the term “fergalicious”. That’s just made-up shit there. My kids will have a sense of reality. So we hunted high and low. Blues? Yes. There will be Albert and Buddy, and BB and Stevie Ray and others… loads of great information to be gleaned from their experiences. But we needed more….

And then we found it.

Motley Crue is the band we have chosen. Their lyrics are incredible when you’re a teenager in the ’80’s…. And almost cryptic now. But I chose their “Dr. Feelgood” album as the new “Dr. Spock” of my home, and I’ll explain why:

First, we learn music appreciation. Any band that yells “guitar!” before a solo is a huge help. Prior to hearing this album, whenever I heard a guitar solo, I’d think “harpsichord? tuba? bongos, perhaps?” This is a big help.

Next, we learn about lyrics, mainly via bad examples. For instance, “hoochy-cootchie” is a phrase best left to Muddy Waters. In “Crue Land”, the women are beyond simple “hoochy”, and their “cootchies” are legendary. In fact, they are basically cootchie squared. (which led me to ponder the sheer logistical terror of any woman equipped with a square cootchie. I mean, beyond the simple “holy crap, what happened THERE?!” moment you’d certainly experience, is the nightmare of, well, for lack of a better description, pounding a round peg into a square hole. That just has “bad night” written all over it. Moving along, let’s take this song-by-song (see? we’re learning already! Rhyming is fun.):

It kicks off with “Terror in Tinseltown”. Right there, you have your “drugs are bad” speech. It’s further defined in the title track, as we learn about a dope dealer and his tough times. He drives a sh*tbox, hangs with lowlifes and eventually meets his fate. Good lesson in there. Don’t be a douchebag.

Next on the list: “Slice of Your Pie”. Here we have a nifty metaphor about eating right, with a subtext that can be used for the “birds and the bees” talk. We learn about moderation (Vince simply asks for one more slice… not three or four). We learn that even plain girls deserve attention in high school, as she turns out to be quite a piece of a** later on, and almost causes a neck injury when our narrator sees her later on. We also learn to appreciate women from all aspects (“…always walk behind you for the rear view”). Powerful stuff.

“Rattlesnake Shake”. Beats the sh*t out of me. Maybe exercise. Lots of posterior motion in this one. Good for the glutes.

Moving along, we have “Kickstart My Heart”, which basically says “get a f*cking hobby that involves cars, and go fast a lot.” Amen.

“Without You”. Appreciate the people in your life. Otherwise, they’ll leave, and you’ll write a sh*tty song about it.

In the catchy “Same Old Situation”, we learn that all women are basically the same whores. We learn that people say one thing, and do another. And we learn the value of safe sex, and that when you meet your lovely new bride’s old “friend” with the tattoos and long hair, that she probably didn’t learn that thing with her tongue from reading Cosmopolitan.

“Sticky Sweet”. Again, moderation. But we learn that a “fire in my pants” isn’t a good thing, and that longevity in the sack is a part of any healthy relationship. (furthermore, replace the lyrics with “she’s got stinky/got stinky/she’s got stinky feet”, and we learn that parody is fun, too)

In “She Goes Down”, we learn that life is misery, and the grass IS, in fact, greener on the other side. (and just how creepy that altered laugh is at the beginning, when you discover that it’s Vince. WTF??) We also learn that any girl who goes down this much will sleep with all of your friends. Sure, they’ll appreciate it, but see “Without You” above for the generally accepted outcome.

“Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)” teaches us that not everything lasts forever, and that hanging out with you buddies can solve any relationship issue (unless, of course, the little lady in question is the one from the previous song, and she’s doing what she does while you’re in the same room.) It teaches us that, in a delicate, nowhere situation, it’s OK to say “f*ck it, get out”.

Last in line, we have “Time For Change”. This will be left off of our “Crue Raising Mix Tape of Life”, as we cannot begin to fathom what idiot kid would have been telling Vince that they “lost all faith in the world”. Unless they mean “there are no more hot chicks to discover, you have f*cked them all”, then we could understand. But, instead, they act as if this guy, at this point in his life was going to solve the world’s problems. Perhaps. Just maybe, if we all head to the bar and land some hotties, it’d be a better place.

In summary, this is our choice. It takes a Crue to raise kids, and, by golly, you may just want to keep yours away from ours a little later in life, should you choose some other, less testosterone-driven alternative.

 

Slightly O/T: Vampires

…yes, vampires. Late nights and store-brand coffee have taken their toll, and the mind begins to wander…

Sadly, I’m sitting here, thinking about vampires, and vampirism (actual word? Sounds all professional!) in general. I’m not thinking so much about the whole “feasting on blood” blah-blah-blah… but rather about the more subtle nuances of immortality. The stuff that books and movies never really touch on. (I am so writing this book…)

Consider: Almost all vampires have a steady stream of money pouring in. They’re financially set. You never see a vampire portrayed as waking up every day, and having to head off to work at some dead-end job. They always live in a huge, mostly victorian-era mansion with black painted everything and goofy-looking, Pier-1 derelect lighting fixtures. They never seem to have a crappy, one-bedroom apartment on the lower east side that offers parking eight blocks away. Certainly, you could argue that over the course of many generations of living and feasting on blood, that maybe they’ve gotten lucky, and made some cash… How, well, is beyond me. I mean, day trading is out by the very nature of BEING a vampire. You’re pretty much doomed to the night shift… and consider how often you’d need to change jobs… Not even so much from drinking your co-workers lifeless (who’d be left to send out memo’s?), but imagine if you chose to feast outside of work. What if you stained your shirt? Furthermore, someone would eventually pick up on the fact that you NEVER AGE. Hmmm….

Thus, I’m thinking you’d have to marry into money. Which opens a new can of worms: All vampires are usually very attractive. Why is this? Observe:

no need to work

possible zombie

Hypothesis: Good-looking people get dates, and meet other people. Simple fact. Unattractive people are lonely (and probably write about vampire life tribulations when not drawing cars), and do not live la vida Dracula. An attractive vampire can move up the corporate ladder easily, and amass fortunes by marrying into money, or having it thrown at them by other vampires. Unattractive vampires are usually portrayed as the lackeys, and are killed off by the stunningly handsome king vampires (or run over by holy water delivery trucks. They are to vampire life what anyone in a red shirt is to Star Trek: Dead in 20 minutes. — which is a great band name. Contact me for use…). Ponder the lonely, lonely life of an unattractive vampire. A lifetime of chat rooms and night shifts. Not a good thing.

You should also consider the hard times a modern vampire has at the supermarket, or even just eating out. “Is there any garlic in that? Oh, there is? S**t. I guess I’ll just have to lure you out back and drink of your neck. I mean, I’ll have the salad.”

Another consideration is renewing a driver’s license. “Age?” “744.” “Step over here for your eye test, Mr. Nosferatu.” “Can we, uh, do without the flash on the photo?”

Although, to punch a hole in that theory, you’d never be able to just go down to the DMV and renew, ‘cuz they close too early. You’d literally expire because your license did, wandering out in the daylight like that. Unless you did it online… which, of course, breeds the conspiracy theory that the DMV caters to vampires. (and why not? They obviously employ the living dead… but like the old-school living dead that move really slow and stuff. They need to upgrade to a more modern zombie… the speedy, efficient ones rule.)

I know, you’re thinking “So why the zombie talk now?”, right? I just thought that, well, if you’re too unattractive to be a vampire, I’d bet there’s a lot of work available in Zombie-ism. But that’s another thought for another time.

Another down-side to modern-day vampire life is underground night clubs (especially those converted from old churches — a popular thing to do in France I suppose. I’ve seen movies. I’m hip to what’s cool over there.). Obviously, to be a good vampire, you need to enjoy the club and rave scene, and develop a tolerance for crappy techno music and blinking lights. And fog machines. I wonder if the REALLY old vampires sit around and complain… “In my day, we’d take the ladies out under the stars in our coach, and seduce them with song and poetry and sonnets… and then we’d chomp into their necks and have Jeeves bury the bones. Not this thirty bajillion beats per second, dry humping crap. Whippersnappers… wouldn’t know an honest day’s bloodlust if it bit ‘em in the neck.”

…and don’t even get me started on the wonders of combining cannibalism and vampirism. It’d be a time-saver for the vampire on the go… and makes good food for thought.

Give her the big “O”…

…and by that, I mean Oxy Clean. Or any other variant chemical product from Billy Mays.

That guy is a cleaning madman. He’s like Ron Popeil, but like so far removed from reality that you just have to wonder if he suffered a brain injury from having his head caught in a Space Bag. Which makes me wonder why the Space Bag doesn’t come with the “Space Iron”, ‘cuz it sure seems to me that once you release that mass of negative pressure, that you’re gonna have some serious wrinkles to contend with. Pardon my French, but I just don’t want my comforter looking like a 119 year-old vagina that’s been left out in the sun. (…and I’m thinking that if you have a 119 year-old vagina and are leaving it out in the sun, you may be ripe for a book deal) Anyway….

So… I get to obsessing over the Oxy product lineup, and wondered where all of the stuff comes from. (“Orange Glow brings wood back to looking like new!” Really? Does it replace the bark and everything? Awesome. Visitors to my house would be all like “nice tree you have there. It looks like those roots are a bitch to vacuum around.” and I’d be all like “no, that’s my coffee table. I used Orange Glow”, and they’d be all like “why do you keep saying ‘all like’?” and I’d be all like “I have no idea.”) It seems that Billy just went on a mission to see what stuff in nature could have the power to clean even the nastiest of soap scum/urine, blood/oil/whatever… And it obviously brings him pleasure. Oh, wait, that sounded bad. But not bad enough not to explore further….

“New Orgasma Clean! It’s a cleaner, it’s a lubricant, it’s a fabric starch… hell, it’s even an adhesive if you leave it there long enough! Using my patented, all natural process, I’ve distilled new Oxy Spooge 6000 (yes, it’s so good, we re-named it during this commercial) right from the source, by drinking a mixture of vinegar, alcohol, apple juice and ammonia for 11 weeks, and created a product so versatile, you’d crap yourself just pondering the idea. The secret is in the unique pump and squirt tube. Careful! You don’t want that getting in your eye! A few spurts on this chest, and you’ll squeal with delight. Look at that! It’s, um, gee…. it’s… well…. it’s a fucking mess is what it is… Normally it takes a few more pumps… You get that cleaned up while I grab a sandwich. Speaking of sandwiches, what the hell is the point here?”

Anyway, I just wanted to pay some homage to the guy who has brought us everything from cleaners to storage devices to bizarre wire hooks that’ll probably keep drywall repair going strong well into the 38th century, to, well, all kinds of crap. The man is proof that there is a niche for every product…

”Tired of wiping your ass after a big shit? Try my new Ass Weasel 4000! Simply insert the brush on this spinning base….”
”Too lazy to breathe? Try the Sternum Stomper! By pushing down on your chest with 35 pounds of pressure — that’s over 11 TIMES what you need to breathe! — you can avoid exerting ANY energy at all…”
”Dead hookers an unsightly problem in your basement? The Corpse Chopper Elite not only chops up the body into more manageable, smaller pieces for transporting to the woods, but grinds the teeth!” (too far? …you should hear the one that diddn’t make the, uh, “cut”)

My major concern with any of these infomercials, though, has to be the state of unclean they find the example bathroom/carpet/whatever in to begin with…. if your bathroom looks like that, well, I’d say it’s time to shut the fucking TV off, and grab a can of kerosene. Unless your bathroom is at a gas station, train depot, or an abandoned house, I’d say it pretty much has no hope of looking that bad. If it did, would you clean it? Hell no. You’d break out the Space Bags and high-tail it outta there…