I loved the Harlem Globetrotters and had this poster on my bedroom wall for a very long time. The other two panels not shown here have Curly and Twiggy my favorites along with Meadowlark Lemon. Their moves were awesome and I was always convinced that they could kick any teams ass in fine style. I kinda wondered why they didn’t just join the NBA and destroy all the teams like the team they toured with and beat every night. The amazing thing about the Globetrotters was that as awesome as they were the anonymous team took the beating without looking too weak.

Imagine knowing you will lose every time you step out onto the court, even if it is only a demonstration slash entertainment style pickup game, it still would be a tough gig. Wouldn’t you wanna just once break out and slam dunk the ball?

What is not to like about this awesome promo picture from the days when the Expos played ball at Jerry Park. The yellowed paper and shrink wrap are great, but the strange font that was not kerned is pretty sweet, and so is the overall casual vibe of the whole photo shoot; this could be a high school photo! The players seem like a team more than anything. With their faces all shaded out by their hats they seem to dig their privacy. There are some great names in the ranks like the rockstars Bob Stinson and Ron Wood. I seem to remember getting popcorn in a cardboard orange megaphone that I could yell GO EXPOS into once it was empty.

This is a great plate glass window that flashed the hood before it was junked! A failed restaurant briefly moved in and used a silhouette of the watusi girl on their menu as a nod to the history of the building. I think the place was called the auto bar in the olden days. I’m glad I snapped some pictures before the image was destroyed forever. If you know the name of the artist who painted this window please hit the comments button below the post and clue us all in. I like the graffiti beard on the girl it seems kinda perfect and the 7up sticker in the lower right corner.  The shattered glass adds a special touch also, moments before the dumpster strikes. Sometimes the past winks at you if you pay attention.

Here is an example of something I was trying to hit on with the ugly murals post. This font which shall remain nameless is as hideous as a typeface comes and yet it is as widespread as the common grackle bird which overpopulates Austin. I almost understand using this font for a cheesy hair salon with an egyptian motif but to cut thru one inch thick metal trying to imitate the way ink bleeds on parchment paper is so ridiculous it almost elevates it to high art. Like the ugly murals that have a hint of high art in the terrible execution and weak conception. A fluke in a way creating something great by being clueless. Kinda makes you wanna keep your punk rock on!

The year is 2018 and all service stations are pretty much moth-balled. The air is fit to breathe again and everyone zips around at the speed of electricity. Plugging into big box retail three prongs for some extra juice, while the huge propellers labor and spin. The sun kicks down some extra power for the lights and we are living large in the age of space.

Remember when you could get a clean windshield and oil check free of charge. I’m sure there is a perfectly good reason why we need to tip the homeless for a service we should be getting free of charge. I guess the 9/10ths of a penny surcharge per gallon also makes perfect sense. If I buy half a gallon will you round down the amount and let me keep my shiny penny or will you pocket that bad boy? Nevermind nickels and dimes Pegasus wants my pennies.

Do you recognized all of these monsters? What terrible events lead them to be such ruthless dictators and cold-blooded killers. Could a mild course nudge here or there on their life’s path have spared humanity the cruelty of their vile leadership. Were they nothing more than dressed up street thugs parading as men of courage. Will we ever be able to graduate from these monsters grabbing power while hoodwinking the people so effortlessly with the same old routine; thump the nationalist  drums of war, blame the economy on the most vulnerable elements of society, and amplify the propoganda to a stifling roar.

Can you think of anyone whom you would like to see added to this collection of petty fools, or are you happier with your head in the sand?

These barriers caught my eye in NYC because they are much sexier than their concrete cousins. I was struck with the answer before the question as to how they stay put, they are full of water. Would Gyula Kosice regard these as hydrosculptures? If you were to T-bone one with your car would you be creating a hydrokinectic sculpture during impact?

Many questions abound like what happens to the water after they are done, and do you see a future like Gyula Kosice where art and science blur and we move into a utopian paradise in outer space.

Gyula Kosice —Born 1924 Kosice Hungary (Slovakia) present Buenos Aires

Do you ever stop and take a closer look at all the poorly rendered murals throughout Hollywood? Both James Dean and Marilyn Monroe take an unholy beating. Luckily we streak past these icons and our mind’s eye fills in the blanks where the artist left off, substituting in the archetypes for the missing eyes and small ears and whatever other flaws are staring us in the face. Imagine if all it took to represent you was a brush cut and a fag dangling from your lips and of course the all powerful catus patch location and you would be good to go. Now that’s some seriously deep etchings into the collective mind.

This mural is from a section of Hollywood just east of Fairfax, and the Russian flavor seems to percolate thru James Dean as he cops some of that hard-ass Russian mobster tude. My favorite offender is the ill-conceived Marilyn Monroe at the 101 Cafe, featuring a pair of punk rock eyebrows.

Did I make this fakery in photoshop or is this the real deal? Could I be trying to impress you with the wizardry of my blending skills or is this a brand that was updated from the days of yore. Zoom in close with your info eyedropper and inspect those pixels for clues. Do you trust the products you use and believe the words you read? This is one brand that keeps em coming back for more.

My brother Michael died 22 years ago on this day in his prime at the tender age of 24 years old like James Dean. One always wonders how things could have been different without this senseless loss but there has to be positives that spring from a painful loss. I like to think my brother learned his worldly lessons sooner than the rest of us and shuffled off this mortal coil on his merry way to his next plane of higher evolution. I miss his chipped toothed grin and devilish ways and sometimes swear I feel his guiding presence looking out for his brother from that higher plane. Now go call your brother and have some fun just hanging out.

Michael Friesen 1962—1986