the smoking issue - Misprint Magazine

hate. we hate what we love.
If we
youdon’t
get love
mad,toyou’re
part of the problem.
SPECIAL INSERT
the
smoking
issue
2005 AUSTIN
SHITTY LIMITS
ON OFF-OFF-WHITE PAPER
volume 01
issue 03
SEPTEMBER 2005
A few words from the Director...
VOL 01 ISSUE 03 SEPTEMBER 2005
we don’t love to hate. we hate what we love.
VITALS
CONTACT
Kip Hollingsworth
www.misprintmagazine.com
hollaback@misprintmagazine.com
www.myspace.com/misprintmag
Director of Small Capitals & Expert Numerals
Harvey Merrybottom
Director of Co-Conspiritories
Chadwick Pennyrich III
Director of Visual Arts & Languages
For inquiries, kudos, hate mail and the rest,
e-mail Misprint at the above address.
2005 Misprint. Cover artwork by C.P. Additional art
and photography by K.H. and H.M.
©
LETTERS TO THE DIRECTORS
Were you trying to be funny with the bi
monthly? cause everyone knows you are
at least bi weekly... sometimes even daily...
somethimes you arent even into girls at all...
i figured i had to run that one to the end...
sorry if you read it all and it wasnt funny.
Jeffrey
ps. you are gay.
What’s wrong with eating Haribo gummi
bears (“Things to Do in Austin When
You’re an Asshole,” no.2)? I have extensively
sampled other brands– Farley’s... uh, some
other brand and some other one– and I can
honestly say, after massive data collection
and exhaustive crunching of said data (not
to mention exhaustive chomping of gummis,
which resulted in severe aggravation of a
jaw-clicking condition that may or may
not be TMJ or the early stages of tetanus):
Haribo is the superior brand. I direct you to
www.haribo.com and invite you to join us.
Room for one more.
Alanna
Kip Hollingsworth
PEOPLE OFTEN ASK ME, “KIP, WHY DID YOU START
Misprint?” I usually feed them a line about stand up
for the people, voice of truth, and punk rock whatnot.
Still, anyone with half a brain knows we’re in this for
the scene clout and free shit. So when FactoryPeople
offered to advertise in our September issue, we said
“Hell yes!” What does this mean for the reader? It
means that we can no longer make fun of the most
gentrified gun shop in Austin, at least until they pull
their advertising budget. Let this be a lesson to all
local businesses: if you don’t want us to make fun of
you, give us some money (or some free shit).
People also often ask me. “Kip, what’s your take on
the smoking ban?” Well, I will come right out and
say that I am, and have always been, in favor of the
ban. Why? Because without it we would not have
any of the awesome material that makes this edition
of Misprint so special. After reading, we think you’ll
agree that the ban was worth it.
Cheers!
Kip Hollingsworth
No Place
to Go
Mixology 101
Last Song? My Ass!
If you don’t have time to play the guitar, nor the connections to score massive amounts of narcotics,
playing a DJ set is the quickest way to gain status as an officially cool person. While it can be quite
expensive, being a DJ is neither difficult nor time-consuming. That is, if you follow these simple rules.
When the lights go down, the band strolls off the stage and the tool-shed in front of you muses as to whether
or not the band is going to come back on, be the first to answer with a resounding, “Of course they are, you
pathetic steaming pile of shit.”
Beat Matching
Following the last song, a guitar tech
immediately enters the stage and begins
tuning the guitars.
Telltale Signs the Band Will do an Encore
Learning to mix is completely unnecessary. No
one in Austin knows how to dance. Nor can
they tell when one song has ended and another
has begun, regardless of how poorly you have
blended one into the other. Just push the stop
button on one table and push the start button
on the other. People will think it’s some kind
of DJ trick. If you can’t manage that, just yell
unintelligibly into the mic while one song is
ending and another is beginning. The crowd will
think you are getting them “hype.”
Scratch It Up
“What is a DJ if he can’t scratch?” I don’t know,
but whoever said that is stupid (I think it was
Kool Moe Dee or something). Scratching is
useless. Most rap songs already come with
scratching noises included. All you have to do is
silently push the other record back and forth and
people will give you all the credit. If someone
actually calls you out on it (which I guarantee
they won’t), just say that you are mixing (see
Beat Matching, above).
Stick To The Hits
Honestly, no one wants to hear that hot single
you just picked up off the new Rhymesayers
release. They want to hear crap they know all
the words to. Play that “In Da Club” song by that
dude who got shot nine times or, in a pinch, try
“Bust a Move.” People will go nuts. Save that
underground shit for your cousin’s high school
house party when your uncle goes out of town.
Apparel
Be sure to wear a t-shirt with screen-printed
vector art of a Technics SL-1200 turntable. If you
can’t find one (which you can, trust me), get
a shirt with a pair of headphones or the brand
name of your favorite needle company. This way
everyone recognizes that you are the DJ, not
some other non-DJ person.
Move The Crowd
Is nobody dancing? Uh-oh. This situation requires
action. What it requires is you, subtly dancing
to the rhythm of the song you are playing. This
confirms to the crowd that the track is indeed
“hot,” and thus worthy of dancing to. As new
people enter the venue, continue to dance, but
nod and point a finger to let them know that
you are aware of their presence and that you
appreciate them coming out.
Posture
While DJing, it is important that everyone
recognize that you are a professional. In order
to instill a sense of authority to your presence,
keep one ear cupped in a headphone at all times
and stare at the decks as if they were a pop quiz
in Calculus. Then, as the song reaches a refrain,
nod your head as if you have solved a problem.
In the minds of the crowd, you are a Zen master.
Word to the Mother.
The show is at Stubb’s.
The show is not at Beerland.
The singer announces, “This will be our
last song.”
The band is playing the exact same set as the
last time you saw them, which included an
encore.
The band does not carry their own
equipment.
You see the set list, it has a song prefaced with
the word “encore”
The show ends and the band has not played
that “when I reach for my revolver” song.
The show is sponsored by SBC and
Mountain Dew.
The show ends and the opening band’s EP
does not come on immediately.
The band’s name starts with an “L” and ends
with “os Lonely Boys”
What the Hell is Going on Back There Anyway?
Ever wonder what happens between the bands last song and the encore? We don’t, because we already know:
Wilco: Call Son Volt, see if they’re hiring.
Thievery Corporation: Press pause. Wait.
Press play.
Lyle Lovett: Continue to wonder how he ever
managed to bed Julia Roberts.
Arcade Fire: Thank God they got the fuck
out of Houston while they had the chance.
The Black Crows: Quickly review the lyrics
for “Hard to Handle.”
The Bravery: Imagine what it’s like to kiss a
girl. Throw up. Apply eyeliner.
Kaiser Chiefs: Make out with The Bravery.
Spoon: Read Misprint. Get mad. Get paid.
Jet: Try on each other’s stupid-ass hats.
Eisley: Continue to not sleep with any
member of the Misprint staff.
Rejected
Tour Pranks
with Okkervil River
(Documentations of discarded ideas)
Contrary to popular opinion, it turns out that the tour van of local alt-rock heroes, Okkervil
River, is more than just accordion bongs, beard growing contests, and pint glasses full of tears.
Recently, Misprint caught up with Will Sheff, where he filled us in on some hilarious tour pranks
that took place while on the road. (Translations by Misprint Staff.)
As Told by Will Sheff
Misprint Translation
In a bed that’s five days dirty,
I lie in the sheet’s outline of a lover’s arms.
But late you’ll find the inscrutable promises
of hope betrayed.
I was passed out after drinking a bottle of port.
One of the dudes from Earlimart warmed up a
hotdog, stuck it out of his pants fly and rubbed it
on my beard. When I woke up, I totally thought
it was his dong.
I have seen the color of dreams
and the substance of shadows.
I have felt the cold, hard shape
of this unreal city night coiled tight
around me. In some extant future
I can taste the walls and roofs
of famous places and smiling women.
As dawn breaks I wake to crying eyes.
One of the guys gave this chick some merch if she
would come up to me and ask if I was the singer
from Iron & Wine. After I said no, she walked off
dejectedly, making me sad.
Enough of this leash and this noose.
Enough of this time because it has expired.
Why must I hold my breath,
feeling older but no wiser?
Why must I climb these stairs,
going sideways but no higher?
The sound of Death’s cool kiss
echoes in the dark hall.
Right before we crossed the border from
Vancouver, The Decemberists planted one of Colin
Meloy’s dead prostitutes and a duffel bag full
of heroin in the back of the van. We spent three
months in a Canadian prison. I have to hand it to
them, that was a good one.
Elysium
ACL Taping
Redrum
The Parish
The Backroom
The Aquarium
Here are a few hand stamps from clubs that you’ll never see on your face in the morning.
SPECIAL INSERT ON OFF-OFF-WHITE PAPER
Good Riddance to Live Music
A smoking-ban editorial.
SO, THE SMOKING BAN HAS KICKED IN
and live music is now a thing of the past. I
think I can speak for us all when I say “thank
goodness.” Sure, you probably enjoy spending
some of your free time out watching people
play instruments. But, rest assured, your
vapid life will be one notch less meaningless
now that live music is a thing of the past.
I, for one, am excited about the money I am
going to save; money that would otherwise
go to pay cover for live bands. This is money
I can use for non-live music by bands from
other cities. For instance, I heard the new
Coldplay album is awesome, like the new
“Joshua Tree” or something. And they’re from
England. How sweet is that?
The money I save on cover can also be used
for alcohol, which I can now drink without
the annoyance of live instrumentation and
vocal showmanship. Or I can use the money
to purchase cigarettes, which I will gladly
smoke outdoors, live-music-free.
Come to think of it, my Chuck Taylors are
getting old. Now, with live music dead, I can
get a fresh pair of Japanese-imported New
Balances. Fuck yeah, yo.
CELEBRATE LIVE MUSIC
Austin Shitty Limits. 8 Stages. 200 Bazillion Dollars.
Still, if you get all nostalgic and actually miss
live music, there are ways you can recreate the
experience for yourself:
WELCOME TO AUSTIN, SUCKER, where 130 Coachella-rejects get together for 3 days of noise
pollution. We’ve created this special insert to help rationalize the cool couple-hundred bucks
you plopped down to experience the bastard cousin of SXSW.
Emo’s
How to Survive ACL
Turn your thermostat down to 52 degrees.
When you want a beer, stare at your
refrigerator for 15 minutes and silently mouth
the words “Miller Genuine Draft.”
Beerland
Earplugs
Art
Don’t buy any. You’ll never get close enough to
the stage to need them.
Go to the Art Bazaar early so you can score one
of those digeridoo things and carry it around all
day, cementing your status as a complete moron.
Water
Purchase a copy of The Ugly Beats’ “Bring On
The Beats.” Listen to it on full volume while
standing in a small closet. Smoke a pack of
Camel Lights.
Unless you’re into the whole heat-exhaustionfollowed-by-death thing, come with plenty to
spare.
Headhunters
Bring some. They are super-fun to schlep
around and useful for setting up and
abandoning someplace where someone might
actually want to stand and enjoy the music.
Dig up your old copy of “Ride The Lightning.”
Punch yourself in the face.
Redrum
Hang out in front of a gas station and ask
people to buy you beer while listening to
Audioslave on your iPod.
The Continental Club
Ask you friend for a beer and giver her your
credit card. Make sure she loses it within half
an hour. When you ask for it back, have her
get insolent and act like you’re the asshole for
her having lost it.
Folding Chairs
Blankets
Enjoy hours of entertainment giving people the
stink-eye every time they step on the $2 picnic
blanket you bought at target and strategically
placed within spitting distance of the beer tent.
Good job.
Food
Bring your appetite and your wallet. You’re going
to need both in order to enjoy miniscule samples
of the cuisine townies avoid every day.
Cellphones
Good luck hooking up with your out-of-town
friends that wanted to see Los Lonely Boys. Get
ready to do your best imitation of the Verizon
Wireless guy as you wander around with
reception that rivals a nuclear munitions bunker.
Complaining
Complain early and often, especially how you
saw the band’s local show, before they got “big.”
The Parish
Withdraw $40 from the ATM. Flush it down
the toilet.
Does anyone even know a hundred bands? As part of our coverage, Misprint sifted through the
line-up so you don’t have to. Here’s a handy legend to accompany our highlights (next page).
SPECIAL INSERT ON OFF-OFF-WHITE PAPER
ALLMAN BROTHERS
Do you really need to hear the animated corpses of the Allman
Brothers play “Southbound” again? Do you? If that’s the case, you’ve
somehow managed to avoid twenty years of every house cover band
with bad haircuts on the planet. Either that, or you’ve got a pink polo,
khaki shorts, and enough Budwieser to think southern rock still lives.
BLUES TRAVELER
Even the preppy girls in high school
who gushed over this asshole while
they were driving to the mall got over
this shit ten years ago. Apparently
he got his stomach stapled and
is looking svelte. Ladies, don’t be
fooled, harmonicas are only sexy
when played by Bob Dylan.
JET
If we could only get this band, Mel
Gibson, and noted Broadway crooner
Hugh Jackman (except when dressed
like Wolverine) into the same plane
and send them all back to Australia.
It’s what the Brits did with their
dangerous criminals and social
outcasts years ago, why can’t we do
it today?
TEGAN & SARA /MATES OF STATE
How these cavity-inducing synth-pop drivel acts ever achieved an iota of hipster cred is beyond me. I think they
actually might be the same band. Does having a keyboard and messy haircut somehow obscure the fact that you
utterly suck? Please realize that this is not hip, experimental, or edgy and is really just oppressively boring pop
music. I can’t shake my booty to this. No thanks.
ARCADE FIRE
DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE
Thanks, but I already sold all my Get Up Kids CDs back to Cheapo’s.
KAISER CHIEFS
If you listen to the rock journalists, it sometimes seems like there’s a
new British invasion every week. This band is “buzzworthy” despite the
fact they are “eminently mediocre.” Better catch them now so you can
say you saw them before they were in heavy rotation.
WIDESPREAD PANIC
The only reason to be anywhere near the Widespread Panic stage
is if your marijuana was confiscated on the way in. Console yourself
with the knowledge that the security guards will be getting high for
weeks as soon as the festival ends.
FIERY FURNACES
THE BRAVERY
OASIS
In case anyone was still keeping track, Oasis did not
turn out to be the next Beatles. This is, in large part, due
to the fact that Liam Gallagher is easily one of the most
pompous wankers to besmirch the blighted face of this
planet. Consequently, their lasting musical legacy is
destined to be a series of Trivial Pursuit, 90’s Edition
questions; meaning they have a cultural relevance
somewhere in the neighborhood of the Gin Blossoms or
Toad the Wet Sprocket. But who are we to fly in the face
of popular opinion? They are the best selling artist of all
time (in Britain). So somebody out there must want to
see this.
The Bravery is a pioneering, genre-defining,
powerfully original band. You’ve never heard anything
like this before. This band makes me wonder why I
wasted all that money on Led Zeppelin and Black
Sabbath LPs.
JOHN PRINE
BOB MOULD
Sure, he’s old, bald, and cashing in. Sure,
he has a blog where he talks about his
PowerBook. But someday, we all will be
old and bald and cashing in, and we were
never in Husker Dü. This is going to rock your
face off. Besides, gay is the new black, and
there’s a open niche for gay-positive rockers
since Rob Halford doesn’t really resonate
with the well-coiffed hipster youth of today.
When I was a kid, I once found a John Prine CD
discarded on the ground in a K-Mart parking lot.
This is bad country for long-haul truckers.
LUCINDA WILLIAMS
BLACK KEYS
Despite the fact their last Emo’s show was a
sausage-heavy frat party, these guys can bring it.
I recommend listening to this band while getting
profoundly fucked up on Schlitz tallcans.
SOUNDTEAM / ZYKOS /
HAIRY APES BMX/GRUPO FANTASMO
These Austin bands fucking own. Too bad this is your last
chance to see them before they break up because of the
smoking ban.
FRANZ FERDINAND
I’m going to go out on a limb and crown Franz Ferdinand the “Franz Ferdinand” of 2005. Their debut was as
infectious as the Black Plague, not because that has a nice ring to it, but because their album will not go away.
Muthafuckas at Cheers Shot Bar were just dropping this new hot song called “Take Me Out” last week.
If you’re reading this magazine and
attending ACL, you’re already going to
see this band, so it’s a waste of ink to
even mention them. Despite your innate
distrust of all things Canadian, you love
them for their earnest songwriting,
lush orchestration, pop sensibility, and
anthemic plaintive melodies. I love them
because I get to practice my overwrought
Pitchfork adjectives. Be there, because all
the cute scene girls will.
Sibling acts are played out like the New Kids on the Block, but
this band is so jangly, unpredictable, inventive, and just plain
weird that its almost enough to make me like pop music again.
SLIGHTLY STOOPID
You have no idea how hard it is to write Misprint. Waking up at
the crack of noon, occasionally bathing or feeding myself, then
spending a good fifteen or twenty minutes writing some shitty
article about bands that suck, guns or cigarettes. That’s why I
love it when bands make things easy for me and go ahead and
name themselves something like “Slightly Stoopid.” Therefore, the
remainder of this review is left as an exercise to the reader.
From afar, she appears to be redefining the singersongwriter tradition with her whiskey-tinged voice.
Close up, she appears to be a profoundly drunken
hippy spinster who forgets her own lyrics, which she
did at ACL fest ’03.
COLDPLAY
Chris Martin was just named world’s sexiest
vegetarian by PETA. This paints a vivid picture
of just how weak their ACL set is going to
be, as well as makes you want to punch him
squarely in his hummus-grinding jaw.
SPOON
Misprint Mag + Britt Daniel = 4eva!!!!!!
BLOC PARTY
Word on the street is that, when in Austin, Bloc Party likes to go
to Red’s Guns to shoot high-powered semi-automatic weapons.
Word is also on the street that they play British-style dance-rock.
In our book, these two facts pretty much cancel each other out.
SPECIAL INSERT ON OFF-OFF-WHITE PAPER
HOW TO GET IN FOR FREE
The Future of Austin, Texas
So your quote-un-quote killer connection didn’t pan out like you’d hoped and now you’ve got to
scrounge up the cash to buy ACL tickets with the rest of the peons. Don’t lose hope yet, here are a
few more back-up plans.
NOW THAT THE INITIAL SHOCK HAS DIED, much like the metaphorical snuffing of a delicious
cigarette, the guessing game begins. Pundits and patrons alike think it’s impossible to predict
just what the repercussions, or benefits, of the smoking ban will be. Not at Misprint HQ.
Quickly make a cross-stitch of a tank and
get a spot at the booth of the Austin Craft
Mafia.
The staff at Emo’s beats the Austin Ice Bats
in a game of pick-up hockey.
Yuppie families from Round Rock turn
Headhunters into “their spot.”
Karma, a smoke-free establishment since its
opening, celebrates its 3-year anniversary. No
one cares.
Lone Star tall boys become the hipster can of
choice for dippin’.
Have 3 notarized documents that prove
you love live music.
Stand behind a ’tween. Scream, “Hey it’s
Alexander Kapranos and he’s wearing a
cardigan!” Swipe her tickets when she
scrambles to look.
Go to Opal Divine’s the day of the show.
There is a 99% chance that some wanker
from one of the two hundred British bands
will be there, drunk as shit. Do whatever is
necessary.
If you’ve been waiting to cash in those “I’ve
slept with one of the Bush daughters and
will go public” chips, this is the opportune
moment.
Tell the high school ticket-taker that you
are the pedal steel player from the Allman
Brothers. He will have no idea what the hell
a pedal steel is or what the Allman Brothers
are, and will let you in.
Say you are a member of the Arcade Fire.
Actually, even if you are in the band that
shit won’t fly.
Desperately explain to security that you left
your badge up Liam Gallagher’s ass crack.
Cut everyone in line. When they bitch,
shout out “Fuck you, don’t you know I’m in
The Bravery?” Next thing you know you will
wake up in the ACL medical tent, having
suffered an ass-beating induced concussion.
Stumble out and enjoy the show.
Publish a witty and irreverent local
magazine that makes War & Peace look like
Mad Magazine. Wait, that one didn’t work.
SPECIAL INSERT ON OFF-OFF-WHITE PAPER
Patrons of the Hole in Wall are shocked to
realize the walls are actually UT burnt orange.
Weekend hook-ups sharply decrease, since
the “you have a light?” pick-up line becomes
completely useless.
All those cool scenesters at the Jackalope start
to look like average dudes.
All the bar ashtrays are hot glued together to
make a rock climbing wall for the sweet new
Red River spot “ClimbLand,” formerly known as
Beerland.
Club Deville follows suit and converts its
outside wall for rock climbing. A price war
ensues.
Austin’s punk bands perform 15.7 years longer
than originally expected.
Having no need to roll soft packs into their
sleeves, the Rockabilly types realize their biceps
are pathetically small.
The new star of the Austin Opera is that chick
from Young Heart Attack.
Applications for bike messenger jobs increase
by 150%.
Stevie Ray Vaughn comes back from the dead
to proclaim Pflugerville the Live Music Capitol of
the World.
SXSW
has a wildly successful year in El Paso, TX.
Casino El Camino adds a children’s menu.
Spot: Hooters
Spot: Bingo Parlor
Spot: My Car
Spot: Frat Party on Neches
As hip as: Using the word “hooters.”
As hip as: Japanther covering “B-I-N-G-O,” but with
swear words.
As hip as: Titty Bingo bumper sticker.
As hip as: an A Z Z outsider art party.
Comments: My car is a piece of shit. Still, there’s
nothing better than driving home from the bar while
smoking a cigarette and talking on my cellphone. Plus,
the music is always pretty good. Unless I’m listening
to Two Guy Trio. Then it sucks. Smoke of choice:
Two Free packs of Camel Lights.
Comments: On the surface, this one is choice. Free
beer, lots of bros, uninhibited banter, and females in
short skirts who know absolutely nothing about good
music. There’s just one problem: the pledge who
drank a whole pint of brother Goober’s “Special Brew.”
Apparently that meant all the ladies were his for the
night. Smoke of choice: Marlboro Lights
Comments: With such hot T&A bars like the Yellow
Rose and the Landing Strip/Flight Path, what exactly
does Hooters have to offer other than the exact same
jukebox as the Jackalope? You’ll spend the entire time
wondering what the waitress would look like with
bangs and tattoos. Smoke of choice: Newports.
Rating:
Comments: With such sentimental activities like
kickball and Uno already well-hipsterfied, bingo is
a cinch. You all laugh about the horrible clothes
people wear, how it gets tedious after an hour, the
scatterbrained music choices and its “wink wink” irony,
but then realize it’s just like a Thursday at the Whiskey
Bar. But bingo surely has the trump card: cash prizes.
Smoke of choice: Sky Dancer Lights
Rating:
Rating:
Rating:
Spot: Masonic Temple
Spot: Under the Bleachers at the High School
Spot: 15 feet outside of Beerland
Spot: IHOP
As hip as: Nepotistic Duke admission.
As hip as: Swiping tools from shop class.
As hip as: A retro “Keep Austin Free” t-shirt.
As hip as: Hanging out at the Peach Pit with Luke Perry.
Comments: Finding their secret lair is easy enough.
Just stare cross-eyed at the mosaic mural on East
11th Street for 30 seconds and a map materializes.
Problem is, once you get there you find out they don’t
run shit anymore, except for the secret tunnel to the
Longbranch Inn. Smoke of choice: Dunhills.
Comments: If you’re in High School, smoking under
the bleachers is glamorous, sexy and will get you laid. If
you’re out of High School, under the bleachers is a great
place to pick up girls who can easily be plied with alcohol
into coming back to your place. Smoke of choice: Your
mom’s Virginia Slims.
Comments: Standing outside of Beerland feels a lot
like standing inside of Room 710. In fact, that’s exactly
what it feels like. Which feels a lot like standing inside
Beerland, which you can’t smoke in either. Fuck. Smoke
of Choice: Camel Lights.
Comments: It’s beyond us why you can still smoke at
the IHOP. But we’re happy you can still avert a hangover
by chowing down on a stack of pancakes inspired
by exotic foreign lands, like Chocolatechipistan, and
smoking a gangload of Marlboro Reds. Smoke of choice:
Marlboro Reds.
Rating:
Rating:
Rating:
Rating:
Spot: Nursing Home
LAME <----------------------------------------------------> AWESOME
As hip as: Seeing the same old folks at the Carousel Lounge the next night.
Comments: A nursing home is the only place where a relatively anonymous, mid-level
hip kid can be an Austin rock god. Compared to the all the kindly residents, you get the
most sex, do the craziest shit with your friends, and you’re the only one to have Britt
Daniel acknowledge you at a bar. Take a nice long drag and relish the glory, my friend.
Smoke of choice: Lucky Strikes.
THE ONLY
PLACES YOU CAN
STILL SMOKE.
Ryan Adams
Colin Farrell
Dennis Leary
Rating Scale
Tom Waits
Keith Richards
Rating:
Confessions of a Camel Rep
Self-Righteous Meandering
Recently, Misprint sat down for a chat with one of the dudes that make even losers feel like they know
someone on Red River: The Free Camel Cigarette Rep.
A special correspondence by Callaghan O’Callaghan.
Misprint: So what do they really do with your
information?
Camel Rep: Its stored in a database for
marketing purposes.
M: Is that what they tell you to say? What
does that mean?
CR: It basically means they send you free shit
in the mail. Just this month we’ve sent out a
money-clip, a deck of playing cards, and a
set of shot glasses with blue lights in the
bottom.
M: Why the fuck do you need shot-glasses
with blue lights in the bottom?
CR: I have no idea.
M: What does that have to do with smoking?
CR: Drinking, cards, and money. Those are
all things which are improved by smoking our
delicious cigarettes. We also sent out a
cigarette case.
M: What’s that for?
CR: You put your cigarettes in it.
M: I once swiped a pack of smokes from
Jesus.
CR: I didn’t know he smoked.
M: He smokes Dunhills. So how many numbers
do you get a night?
CR: About 100. Sometimes more.
M: How many girls do you call?
CR: What?
M: Come on, you’ve got a marketing database
of all the cute girls. And their addresses. And
all their photos, so you can review them at
your leisure. You’ve got be calling all the hot
scenester girls!
CR: No, man.
IT’S TOO BAD you didn’t quit smoking earlier
this year, before it got so played. With the
onset of the smoking ban, the time is now
upon us for all the posers to start quitting. For
those with the tenacity or stubborn stupidity
to continue on their short ride to emphysema,
there is now the additional annoyance of the
new breed of self-righteous ex-smoker.
M: You do so. You go over to their houses.
CR: What?
M: You know, to check ‘em out.
CR: I do not.
M: You don’t? What, so you’ve got ethics now?
You give out deadly and addictive drugs for free!
CR: Okay, honestly...
M: How do you respond to people who claim
your cigarettes contain nanomachines?
CR: Nanomachines?
M: You know what I’m talking about. Nanobots.
Millions of microscopic robots.
CR: Uh...
M: I heard that once you smoke a pack of free
Camels, these little machines start setting up
shop in you brain. Once there, they receive
signals from satellites telling you what products
to buy. And they stimulate your pleasure centers
to convince you that smoking is glamorous and
sexy.
CR: ...
M: I heard it’s a big conspiracy between PhilipMorris, NASA, and the record labels. I think that’s
how Trail of Dead gets people to attend their
shows.
CR: Fucking lunatic.
M: Wait, wait...can I have some cigarettes?
Smoker: Hey, wanna go outside for a fag?
Ex-Smoker: Nah, I quit.
Smoker: What the fuck, you quit? I saw you
smoking last week at Dr. Comfort’s party. It’s
that smoking ban that made you quit, isn’t it?
Ex-Smoker: Look wanker, I thought that I
should just quit. You know, cigarettes contain
carcinogens ’n shit. Get off your Vespa and
stop calling them fags. Nice kerchief.
Smoker: Whatever. It’s a scarf.
Consequently, if you’ve somehow managed to
delude yourself into the notion that a smoking
ban in bars is going to lead to a kinder, smokefree world, don’t count on it. This quitting
smoking thing will just be Austin’s new
slap-bracelet. Face it. You know you can’t quit
because you’re weak. What else is going to
ease your pain about your credit card debt, or
how The Strokes sticker on your Astro Van is
fading? Stop using smoking as a crutch since
you don’t have the fortitude to deal with the
real problems life throws at you, like how your
Lagwagon tattoo isn’t as cool as it used to be.
Or how the Real World made Austin look like
a weak-ass version of Panama City Beach.
Plus, you would have already quit smoking
if you had set some goals in your youth, like
being the next Nolan Ryan, John Wayne or
L. Ron Hubbard. You should continue to
smoke because your decreased lifespan is
ultimately inconsequential. You aren’t going
to accomplish anything of substance beyond
banging a freshman you met while taking a
pizza order, silk screening a poster for The
Sword, or perhaps writing for some worthless
local ’zine.
Be one of the first 15 people to email us at hollaback@misprintmagazine.com and we’ll
send you some pins to clip on your man-purse. Maybe we’ll throw in some stickers.
Surprise: You’re Dead*
Media Planning
CONTEMPLATING ONE’S OWN MORTALITY pops up at the most random times, in this case while
taking long drags off of cigarettes outside of Misprint HQ and thinking about dying of lung
cancer. This led us to reflect on permanence, and why so many of our peers are obsessed with
tattoos. Sure they are “permanent” and such, but really, when you die your tattoo goes with you.
But not your headstone. Your headstone exists for all eternity. If your final words are sloppily
left until the last minute your heirs might begin to think you were never cool.
Dinosaur Jr.
Green Mind
Cali Swangin’
Platinum Collection
It’s hard to imagine there being much longevity
to a genre that, by definition, prides itself on
looking completely terrible. It’s so self-defeating.
But being the flash in the pan that it was, grunge
rockers, with their flannels and ripped jeans,
have somehow become the darlings of rock
critics everywhere.
I went to I Love Video and explained to the clerk
that I was having a “crunk” party and that I
wanted to have a video on in the background. He
immediately recommended Cali Swangin’. I have
to say, he’s a wise man.
Garage bands like these, without enough distortion
to hide utter guitar playing incompetence and with
vocals resembling a speech-impeded mongoloid
belting out up-tempo Dylan covers, are actually
quite dangerous. The legions of craptastic pop
punk acts on the telly inspires every talentless
16-year-old to dye their hair and make with the
1-4-5 chords. (Director’s note: the first 10 Sonic
Youth records are also to blame).
I hold that smelly hippy J. Mascis personally
responsible for every droning crooner cock-rock
opening act with the distortion and reverb turned
all the way up. Well, Misprint likes to view itself
as being part of the solution, rather than part of
the problem. If you are sixteen or you think your
band has an “edgy, lo-fi sound”, don’t waste
your time. Instead, sound like The Bravery. It will
get you more chicks, and the world needs more
bands that sound like them anyway.
While not really “crunk” in the dictionary sense
of the term (there are few gold teeth, no visible
pimp-chalices, and Lil Jon is definitely not
in the video), Cali Swangin’ delivers on the
entertainment scale. The cover pretty much
sums up the whole deal. This video is completely
comprised of bumping lowriders and the thongclad booties that ride in them. There is some
music but, lets face it, West Coast rap has been
lame since 1992. And the dialogue is either
completely nonexistent or unintelligible. Turn
down the volume and bust out a copy of your
Ludacris CD (shut up, you know you own it) and
you’ll be much happier.
Overall, Cali Swangin’ is a success. Much like
Misprint, they seem to have covered all the
ground they can cover in the first volume, so I’m
not sure if there is any point in the other volumes
of the collection. But if they released volumes
about smoking or gentrification, that would rule.
I’M IN A
PLACE MORE
EXCLUSIVE
THAN YOU.
AT LEAST
I’M NOT AT
THE DIZZY
ROOSTER.
I KNOW WHAT
HAPPENED
TO ELLIOTT
SMITH.
IF YOU LIKE
DANCE PUNK,
THEN WE
SHOULD
SWITCH
PLACES.
IT WAS MY
IDEA TO RAISE
THE TICKET
PRICES AT
EMO’S!
EVEN MY
COFFIN IS
SCREENPRINTED.
* Director’s Note: We just want to mention that this is a title of a Faith No More song. According
to the 20-year retrocycle, they will be cool in about 4 years.