10 new reasons to give up...

hot handed god of cops recording: day three

2009-09-12T22:37:51Z

More guitars today. I played a fender strat and Gibson SG and I used the SD2 dual overdrive for distortion. For various parts I used an MXR phase 100, ADA flanger, an Ibanez flanger, Boss chorus ensemble, and a DOD echo FX delay.

hot handed god of cops recording: day two

2009-09-12T22:35:45Z

We reconvened at the studio and began to lay the down the other four songs. Two of those songs were the hardest to play so we found ours selves playing them over and over again. But we got them. The drums were finally done.

We then set up my fender twin amplifier and mic’ed it up. After getting a good sound we started tracking the rhythm guitars. I ran through all ten using my Gibson SG, and the Boss sd2 dual overdrive for distortion.

hot handed god of cops recording: day one

2009-09-07T21:55:03Z

Day one is under our belts and was pretty productive. For those of you who are interested in the mundane details of recording here's the run down...

There are two basic ways to record an album. One is to set up everything like you would if you where playing a show and then record everything all at once. This gives you that "Live" feel. It can also be tough to mix and if anyone makes a mistake then you have to start over. The other way, and the way that we are recording, is where record each instrument separately. In this method you start with drums and build upon that.

By the time Jeff and I got to the studio Joey (the drummer) and Shawn (producer extraordinaire) where sitting up the drums and making sure that everything was sounding as tough and awesome as possible. This stretches beyond the normal tuning of drum heads and things such as that. Rattling and noise from any drums part must be detected and eliminated. The drum heads are taped to cut down on overtones and ringing. To produce a more pronounced kick drum sound, tape and a thin sheet of plastic was used where the beater makes contact with the drum head. After all this the mics are set up and sound checked.

Once the mics were set up, Nate (bass) and I (Guitar) plugged in so that we could be heard through headphones but not in the room itself and then we would play along with Joey to record the drum tracks. The scratch guitar and bass tracks were recorded for reference, but will not be used on the finished recording.

We warmed up and then rolled through six of the tens song we are going to put on the album. Not bad for the first day.

Hot handed god of cops is about to record!!!

2009-09-03T04:37:33Z

no witty subject line for this one...but it's still cool. HHGOC is heading into the studio this sunday to begin work on the full length debut. I'm pretty pumped up. We have ten songs picked out and ready to rock.

more to come on this....

double feature picture shows...

2009-08-04T04:48:42Z

Presented here for your viewing pleasure…a pair P. Roboto approved Double features. For me, this is a truly natural thing to do as I find a good movie does nothing if not leaving me longing for more. Upon finishing “There will be blood” I found myself wanting to re-watch “The assassination of Jesse James by the coward Robert Ford.” After watching “Harsh Times” I found I wanted to revisit “Training Day.” (These are natural to spring to mind as the former feature very similar cinematography and storytelling style and the latter were written by the same person.)

But that leads me wonder what should be the point of the double feature? Is it to follow an actor/writer/film maker from project to project? Do we instead want to pick movies that explore the same themes and subject matter or do we want to get super esoteric and just pick two movies and throw them together? In the end there is no real correct answer to this obviously. For the most part what I’ve done in picking the following double features are try to find a contrast between the two films in way were they have elements that work together but then they pull apart so that your not re-watching the same film twice in a row.

Number one: Horrifying and exhilarating moments in the fourth estate…

Ace in the hole (Billy Wilder, 1951) and All the presidents Men (Alan J Pakula, 1976)

The cynic double bill would be “Ace in the Hole” and “A face in the crowd” but I’ve decide to flip the script and offer up two different views of newspaper reporting via the dark manipulating power of human interest stories exposed in “Ace in the hole” and the truly potent power of investigative journalism in “All the presidents men…”

Ace in the hole (AKA The big carnival) tells the story of Chuck Tatum (Kirk Douglas) a shit heel, and down and out newspaperman. Upon being fired from a record setting seven different metropolitan newspapers Chuck lands in the sleepy little town of Albuquerque, where the local paper quickly hires him. Chuck has it in his head that he is one big story away from being back in the limelight. What he’s willing to do to get that story is what leads to the general fucked-upness of the film, which seems fresh even in an age where newspapers are practically extinct.

All the Presidents men is a suspenseful and paranoid retelling of Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) and Woodward’s (Robert Redford) investigation into the Watergate break ends and conspiracy behind it.

Both movies are available on DVD. If you want to make it a threesome also pick up: Shattered Glass (Billy Ray, 2003)

Number two: Teen angst and rebellion at 24 frames a second…

Over the Edge (Jonathan Kaplan, 1979) and Made in Britain (Alan Clarke, 1982)

The world is fucked. What is a kid to do? In the case of the two following films either take it over or learn to deal with the shit. Ahhh…to be young.

Over the edge drops right into the soulless land of 1970’s suburbia, where the parents are more concerned with property values and taxes and other bullshit to know or care about what their kids do. Left to their own devices kids party, “Do some crime” and hang out at the local REC center, all the while getting hassled by the man. But as the adults start to turn on there own children, and the cops begin to go to far, what will the kids do…well, it is called over the edge, right?

Made in Britain (AKA Tales out of school: Made in Britain) concerns Trevor (Tim Roth), an intelligent but completed fucked in the head sixteen year old skinhead who after landing in court numerous times has one last chance to pull his shit together when he’s sentenced to a detention centre instead of real jail. But is pulling his shit together something he’s even capable of doing?

These are both out on DVD, although Made in Britain is a little more obscure so…best of luck. If you want to make it a threesome: Class of 1984 (Mark L. Lester, 1982)

A Paul Roboto mission statement: newest of the new remix edition.

2009-07-18T07:23:18Z

This is like the “Chinese Democracy” of Internet postings. Who in their right mind would go two years without typing word one on their blog? Who would go two years without typing word one on their blog and then step up to the mike and say “Yeah, fuck it, I don’t feel tardy.” Who is that man? ROBOTO, son, that’s who. Don’t call it a come back…

Of course this may beg the question…why come back? Why step up to the grind? Why not step to the new hotness of twitter? The simple answer is…because. It’s as simple as that. I do this because I want to. I do this because right now more then anything else people need to read long-winded rambling self-obsessed bullshit. I do this because twitter be damned, I make my own hotness.

So what has been happening in the short time that I’ve been in semi-retirement? My band HOT HANDED GOD OF COPS is rocking that ass. I’m fixing to dip my toe into filmmaking by directing a script that I wrote. Also…I have grown a beard. In short… shit is about to get real.

10 NRTGU will still be my standard mix of curmudgeonly rants and pop culture references, a little about the band, and I’m sure a lot of stuff about trying to make a movie.

Welcome back. You’re dreams where your ticket out.

ladies and gentlemen...

2006-12-25T16:58:40Z

In super bring down news....the hardest working man in show business...mr. excitement...mr. please please please me...the sex machine himself...the godfather of soul...Mr. JAMES BROWN has passed away at the age of 73. fuck.

Now I know alot of less memorable stuff has happened towards the tail end of his years, the scandals, the appearance in Jackie Chan's The Tuxedo. But what we need to remember was an amazing showman and musician who crafted some of the greatest soul and funk ever. A Man who at the height of Vietnam took a small touring band and played concert for the service men because he received letters that they didn't hear enough (or any) good music in the shit. A man who played Zaire for free (rumble in the jungle...they were going to sell tickets...but when they made it free, he did stay on and kick out jams.) and a man who was so on it live that he could hear any wrong note that was being played and who played it. A man that was on the DR. Detroit soundtrack.

I don't know if it was a man's world...but i do believe it was co-owned by frank sinatra and James brown.

oh by the way...

2006-10-31T15:08:13Z

if you look hard enough today you'll totally find me once again wearing my "Miami Vice" costume. who says I hate recycling?

let me put this another way...

2006-10-28T15:26:48Z

I totally need a chainmail vest...and I need it for the cost of...say...on the house.

If I had a chainmail vest I would totally rock out the dungeon and dragons and drink mead from a flagon and listen to blind guardian and grow a duster mustache and write the songs that would make the whole world shred and wear a belt over it and ask people if they've checked their mail recently and if they said "NO" I'd tear off my jacket to revel the chainmail vest and then I would yell "Spam blocker, Motherfucker!" and punch them in the face and I'd stop all wars, unless they benefited my chainmail vest and I'd cure cancer and feed the starving children, unless they benefited my chainmail vest and Have a angry dance off with at lest two members on N'sync and I'd totally win because when you do the worm in a chainmail vest sparks fly off the pavement and I'd pilot an airplane and I'd write fan fiction about my chainmail vest and I'd entertain children's parties with my patented brand of political satire and build a false idol in it's image and I'd wear it to bed because it's always been my fear that sometime, late at night, an ork would creep into my room to perform the swoop and squat...and I'd totally buy a van and paint it to look like chainmail too and I'd do an american apparel ad wearing only my chainmail vest, the smile on my face and my fully exposed taint and I'd stop recycling, unless it benefited my chainmail vest and I'd write a hip hop cut about it and get dangermouse to produce and I'd go on "Deal or No Deal" and force a rubber glove over Howey's head and tell them that "no fucking deal is worth the vest, you hear me?! Your deals are bunk!!! Look at this fucking vest! Punch it! go ahead, you'll just hurt your hand, it's CHAINMAIL buddy. go back to Bobbies world." and I'd always pay matinee prices and everyday would be a friday and you could even speed on the highway and the world would be a brighter, shiner, happier place where the birds would sing and the possums would frolic and kids would laugh and laugh and sing and laugh and punch and get good grades and you'd get more pay for less work and it would be a utopia, unless that DIDN'T benefit my chainmail vest.

So....you know...think about THAT when you're doing your christmas shopping.

Meanwhile, early in the morning on an average day...

2006-03-13T02:05:40Z

It's early in the morning, as per usual, I find myself on a bus headed downtown. I have my ipod on and I stare vacantly out the window. "More of everything" by Gashuffer plays as we go over the bridge "Don't rat out your friends" by Orchid plays as we venture closer to downtown. "Loser" by Motorhead, "8th Light" by Blackstar...
It's right as "Fucking your ghost in chains of ice" by Leviathan starts to blair that I look up ahead and see that at the next stop, a smaller stop sandwiched between a busy downtown intersection and the already street parked cars of the people who are unlucky enough to work even earlier then me, not only is there a bus already park at that stop, but an ambulance as well. As we pull closer and the blast beats starts from the black metal, I see paramedics frantic-ly running around an older shirtless man who's laying prone. He's already on the back board and they're doing CPR on him, so obviously he's having a slightly worst morning then I am. Around that frenzy of activity half a dozen people are standing at the bus stop watching this whole thing unfold. Most of them are smoking, All of them look completely unfazed. We pull into the stop as best we can. As soon as we do people start streaming from the other bus like rats escaping a burning tenement and start filing on my bus. If the onlookers on the street looked unfazed, they most not have been on that bus, because all of those people looked like they saw a ghost, and not like a Scooby Doo, spacey space kook, smugglers blues-old man in disguise-type ghost. Clearly what ever happened happened on that bus and all those people saw it up close and personal. It also explains why they filed on to my bus...the other one had to stay there and wait to file a statement.
The bus is deadly quiet. Nobody wants to say anything.
Outside, the free show continues. As we pull away, A man walking his dog walks right passed the paramedics and their patient to get to a sidewalk tree to have his small rat of a dog piss on. Another takes one last drag of his cigarette and flicks it out into the street...but then we're a block away. "Try and Catch me" by Digger starts. Another Ambulance blows past us on the way to the stop we just left.
Nobody wants to think about death before their morning coffee. Nobody. So we all just breath in again, and go back to dreading on work day.

Fuck Curling...it's Broom Ball motherfucker!!!

2006-03-05T22:51:33Z

Ok, what the fuck is the deal, man? Curling? Word? Really...Curling? Has the god damn world gone fucking mad? everywhere I turn it's "hey, brah, it's curling!" or "word, son, he put on his slider and started sweeping the fuck out that shit and then the rock went right into-" Fuck that. If you're talking to me and you begin a conversation with a sentence that has the words "rocks", "slider", "Broom", "sweeping score", "TEE" or "stone" in it better end up either really disgusting or have absolutely nothing to do with Curling, because I don't play that shit. only two good things have come out of Canada and they're both the band Rush.

I'm not dead yet, motherfuckers.

2006-02-25T17:07:35Z

It finally occurred to me that it's been what some may call "a grip" (or maybe a octa-grip, deca-grip or the all elusive poly-grip. rimshot!)since I last wrote anything for 10 NRTGU. My bad. I've been a bit busy with the being a one man army at work, trying to write, trying to rock, and in general doing that damn thing. But fuck it, man, I'm back! The six of you that read this can go ahead and just mark it on your calenders and shit, because I'm going to try to beat my record of a post every two months with the new target of a post...I don't know, I don't want to paint myself into a corner here...Um, a post every couple of...Again, that's a lot of pressure to live up to, you know, me calling my shot and what not, because it can really only end one of two ways...I'm either Babe Ruth and call my shot and make it and run around and be fat and dead, or I'm Tom Berenger and I call my shot and then bunt and I run around and I'm all fat and dead...inside. I don't really want to be dead. I'm alright with being fat as long as I'm still light on my feet like Jackie Gleason, but dead...no. So, i guess, posts to follow.

also:
fuck boxing day. fuck new years. although as a pussy, i'm alright with valentines day. fuck mid-winter break. fuck the olympics (with the exception of the luge, bobsledding, and skeleton.) fuck the new jersey meathook. fuck the remake of "any which way but loose" with the rock. fuck mini-bikes. fuck the american news media.

Ok, that just about catches us up. late.

a christmas song I don't hear enough of...

2005-12-24T16:26:06Z

Times like these are fleeting at best
to hell with the rest
trust is like suicide
what I mean to say is you don't have a choice either way
some things were said but that's okay they needed said anyway
let's forgive and forget
I don't know how far the apple fell and through angry lenses it's hard to tell
but I'll be seeing you in hell

Fill up the parting glass
up off your ass it's time
to make what we have last
goodnight, I love you still
Turn out the lights the party is over
and if you sleep
Sweet dreams

Drink all night and sleep all day and i wake up just in time to work away
I'm out the fucking door - and I'm out of mind
love and sacrifice aren't the meaning of life
don't you see that yet? like you and me hand in hand and so far apart
my heads impaled on christmas ale and shadows from the past
warm thoughts full up cold hearts
like coats coming off at christmas mass

turn off the lights the party's over...

in worrisome news...

2005-12-13T00:57:16Z

ninety five percent of my house is cleaner then it was since we've moved in, this is both deeply unsettling to me, and cause for some concern. Why? Why clean? Why now? How could this have happened on my watch? I'm dirty, that's what I do. I write from time to time, but mostly I produce waste. As A responsible american I try to produce two pounds of waste for every half pound I consume. This is a full time job, but I thought I was up to it. But, no. I'm not, because our house is really clean now. What the fuck?

Has the world gone mad?

another dead hero...

2005-12-11T02:39:34Z

Richard Pryor died today. that's really god damn weak. If you don't know about the ground breaking wit that was pryor...go buy his complete output. He was the man, and at 65 he was still to young to go. we'll miss you buddy, say hi to Bill Hicks and Andy Kaufman for me.

and that's why I love this city...

2005-12-08T00:22:49Z

I could have sworn that Link Wray had died, but I saw him today. Actually, come to think of it, he did look fairly dead, but I DID see him. Just today. Downtown, because they have movie shows, downtown! ...and apparently they have zombie Link Wray.

I was riding the number four bus, which for those who have never taken it, makes what has to be the scummiest tour of downtown yet seen on it's way to a only somewhat less scummy tour of first hill, when I saw him. He was standing at a bus stop smoking. His face was a wax covered skull, the color of an old book that had been left in the sun, or a hand that had held and smoked to many cigarettes. His hair was a greasy dyed black mess, piled into a tight pompadour. Not the pomp that you see from those psychobilly cats, or the duck ass of the Fonz, you know the sanitary version of the '50's hellion, but this was the real deal. The beautiful meeting of tough and oily. He was standing with his stick legs crossed into a very awkward "X" position, the left over the right, so that his right knee was digging into his left hamstrings. He had it locked in and he never moved from that stance the whole time I watched him. He had on motorcycle boots, with tight, yet dirty pegged jeans over them. To finish the look he had a weathered Leather jacket on. It's like high school was the grooviest fifty years of his life, daddio. The most disturbing part, after the whole seeing zombie Link Wray at a bus stop concept, was that his hands were either swollen grotesquely, or he was wearing large white gloves that never stopped twitching. When they weren't shaking up by his face as he took another drag of what had to be an unfiltered smoke if there's any justice in this world, he had them down at sides with the hands twisted up and to his back, like the arm position that snoopy had when he would do his little running man dance on top of the piano. He just stood there, being creepy. Being zombie Link Wray.

I bet he only had one lung...one lung and a transfer.

three things.

2005-12-04T22:11:30Z

one: it's been a long time since I've written anything...for this. i've been quite busy on other creative things, I can tell you that. P.S. writing a novel is hard. But fuck it, it will be done. It's just going to be done very slowly. Like, Thomas Harris slow. (just kidding, I hope.)

Two: Fuck christmas. There. I said it. Someone had to say it, and it was me.

Three: I have to change my vote for favorite beatles song from "eleanor Rigby." to "here comes the sun" which, I believe makes me a pussy. Oh, well. If it means anything my favorite Pig Destroyer song is a three way tie between "cheerleader corpses", "scatological homework" and "towering flesh." which, I believe makes me even more of a pussy.

rain.

2005-11-18T17:52:08Z

It always looks like it’s raining outside of her place. At night, when you look into the bright lights in the distance you see the curtains of rain falling hard and fast. Sleek and perfect the rain comes, shimmering soothingly in the too white light down the way. Not the yellow glow of street lights or the milky burn of a buildings security lamp, these powerful white spots are like fog lights cutting through the darkness as if to warn ships of a jagged coast, powerful in their desperation to save doomed passengers, but instead they get the thankless job of highlighting an endless rain. Rain you’d see in a Humphrey Bogart movie. Rain that X sings about, I’m talking Old Testament rain.

Has it been Forty days and forty nights?

Every night that you’d care to look, there it is. The rain. You look twice, and then maybe you say “wow, it’s really coming down out there.” But it’s not you see. It’s not at all. When you look down at the yellow glow or the milky burn, or the grey of the concrete below…it’s dry. There’s no rain at all. It’s perfectly clear outside, and besides, isn’t this Seattle? Don’t we get enough rain? The thing is, you know it’s there, in the back of your mind you do. If you want to see rain, you can, because it’s her place and it always looks like it’s raining outside of her place. But there are stars in the sky and what clouds there are have that ghostly green reflection of the hillside lights. There are so many better things to look at besides the endless sheets of rain. Really, it’s true.

But then you look out into the distance again…

note to the internet...

2005-11-18T00:41:14Z

Man, I've finally remembered why I stopped going and posting on internet message boards so long ago. I guess it's like Lewis Black says about Candy Corn. You know it's awful and it's just going to come back and bit you in the ass, but after enough time has past you forget and halloween rolls around and you end up trying to eat it again...and it still leaves a shitty taste in your mouth. Well I'm done with that shit. Not the Candy Corn, although I am done with that shit as well, I'm talking about message boards. No more. I have to stand by some sort of code of honour on this thing, and the only way I can do that is to cut the ties right now. I'm not going to get into exactly what the straw that broke the camels back was...but it happened today and if you where on a bus over hearing that shit in real time you would totally have to bust out laughing or turn around and talk shit. Since I've tryed the shit talking route in the past and it's like trying to teach a monkey to perform open heart surgery...I'm getting off the bus, laughing all the way. Note to the internet:
just stick to the porn, you're good at that. thanks for playing.

oh, by the way...

2005-11-02T17:30:36Z

motherfucking Star Wars episode III is out and better then ever. Those who don't like it can insert my balls into their mouths, by choice. Revenge of the Sith is the shit, period. You heard me the first time. go buy it. now. go on. stop looking at the computer. go...come on, motherfucker, the internet will be here when you get back...just go...go...buy...

P.S. order 66. nice.

Halloween: a real american hero?

2005-10-31T07:07:38Z

It’s not that I don’t like Halloween. It’s not that at all. I’m down with it. I totally feel all that shit that Danzig was talking about…“dead cats hanging from poles…something something dynamoles, I remember hallo…um...twist of caino…my bathroom is black…ur…etc.” I feel that. Don’t flip the script, I’m totally with that shit. But it does put me in an odd position…and the odd position is this: I don’t want trick or treaters coming to my house, but I think that the whole neighborhood/mall safe trick or treat thing is super fucking weak.

Now…I know that a lot of you probably are thinking I’m a bit of a dick for saying that, so let me address that point first…fuck you, fuck all of you, thanks for playing. Sooo, now that that’s out of the way…

See the thing is this…when I was a kid (and I’m really not that old. I swear.) in Alaska, not only did we rock the unsupervised trick or treating, but we did it when it was really, really fucking cold, and really, really fucking dark. (Point of order: it was unsupervised after I was twelve or some shit. Before that…the folks were there…but we still rocked the hood…fuck a mall, and big ups to ma and pa Roboto.) That “land of the midnight sun” shit only applies for the months of June and July. By the time October rolls around the sun is sitting around, like, two in the afternoon…but, did that stop us from going out of our way to run around in the middle of the street in pursuit of candy and petty vandalism? Fuck no. We were troopers, man…and, not to make light of kids that do get fucked with, because that shit is fucked up, but as far as I know I never got poisoned, kidnapped, stabbed, set on fire, or dosed with blotter acid. From time to time I did get Candy Corn, which is kinda like getting poisoned or stabbed or set on fire, (although if candy corn is like any drug it’s probably cocaine, because if you have some candy corn, you probably paid to much for it, and any and all effects you’ll feel from it will only last five minutes and will most likely be a total let down. Sounds like cocaine to me.) but that’s it.

I think the mall walk/neighborhood trick or treat thing is weak because it implies that your neighborhood is so fucking repugnant that it’s totally safer to walk down the closest main drag or your local mall at three in the afternoon and panhandle weak ass candy from hair salons and toy stores then to knock on the door of the house next to yours. Word? Do you really think that if you go a crossed the street with your kid and knock on the door, that Frank Booth is going to answer, throw a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon into your trick or treating receptacle and then start talking about how “baby wants to fuck?” I don’t think so. You’ll just find people like yourself…and the occasional scumbag like me. (but if I’m even home I’m sure I’ll have all the lights turned out to deter fools from knocking on my door. This candy is mine, bitches, MINE! I bogard the candy in this mug.) So, don’t let the lifetime network scare you into missing the one night a year that you can legally and with total social acceptability bail up to every house in the neighborhood wearing a mask and totally bum from them with impunity. That’s the magic of Halloween. That’s what Danzig would want you to do.

So, for fuck sakes…spend a little time with your kids…or your inner child and, I don’t know, help build a little community spirit by meeting your neighbors. Unless you live by me, then fuck that. Don’t even walk by my house, don’t even look at. All hallows eve or not…that’s just how I roll.

Happy Halloween, motherfuckers.

when there's no more room in hell...

2005-10-30T23:52:45Z

the dead will walk around in Fremont.

Oh, by the way...

2005-10-23T18:48:21Z

For those of you who haven't seen Gogol bordello live, please to go see them as soon as possible. The show was somewhat off the chain, although I will mention that it was at Chop suey, and all ages, which, of course means that it was sold out, overcrowded and, like, a good eight thousand degrees in there. I may have sweet-ed out my soul. Luckily for me I drink gatorade, so I think that shit is scientifically designed to rehydrate and replace ones soul, preferably with one that's a little more corporate and a little more in line with the concept of synergy. I feel better already.

Also...Throw rag used the love boat theme as their opening music, and the singer came out in a yachting cap, which is fucking awesome. To me anyway.

P.S. 3 inches of blood are playing on the 31st with perennial thrash also-rans Exodus. That should be some good stuff.

Skate or Die 2005: Rat City Roller Girls Championship

2005-10-18T18:06:49Z

I don't think it was my imagination...or the mescaline that I'd taken earlier, that was causing this feeling. There really was something in the air. You could feel it. It was in every nervous bouncer at the door. It was in the scampering of the volunteers, like stormtroopers on the deathstar, running around endlessly. It was in the way the players walked around... trying to casually talk to friends and love ones, but you could see it in their eyes. Hear it in their voices. It wasn't my imagination, I swear. It was all around the hanger. It was on the tip of everyone’s tongue. No Band, or beer, or grave danger hot tamales would be enough to even begin to dissipate this...It was too strong. To potent. I think that everyone knew that from the moment they entered the rock n roll parking lot of hanger 27. The only way this feeling would end...could end...was to take that lap with the trophy. Or to be the one cheering for your team as it takes that lap.

That's the feeling. That's what the championships are about.

It's hard to describe. Maybe I'm not good enough of writer to do it, or maybe it's something that can't be put into words...and maybe that's right. Unless you're there, unless you feel it in person, you're probably cheating yourself by thinking that any pronouns, or adjectives could really give you the same rush that being in that building would have given you. It's like reading about great sex when you could be having it. But just the same...

"Oh...if we're tied or ahead by the half, we'll win." He said before moving on down the growing line of people waiting, I won't say patiently, but...just waiting, I guess...for the doors to open. The he in Question was Beezlebubba, and he was referring to Grave danger, one of the teams playing in "the grudge match", (which is a very nice way of saying a battle for last place.) Some would dismiss this claim as pure salesmanship, or braggadocio...To be filed away with all the other taunts and boost that filtered down and through the crowd at a seemly endless pace, like influenza in 1918. "You'll see." he said with a wink, before having his voice drowned out by Rocketman Houllahan and his chants of "throttle rockets! throttle rockets! thro-" These were quickly answered by a cadre of women behind us yelling "dlf!" The crowd was starting to get it. It only took a season, but now they get it. (Of course I can't resist slaying a sacred cow or three, so I started chanting "hotdogs and beer!" which was meet with only mixed results.)

Going into the match Grave Danger seems to be in a somewhat odd position, as they are simultaneously loved and hated on. They are Loved in the sense that at the bouts they have some of the most vocal fans in the league. Early and often you can hear chants of "Danger!" from the crowd, win or lose, good play or bad. But all the same they have a bit of the Rodney Dangerfield syndrome, and have yet to get respect. The question was "Are they going to win that respect tonight?" ...their last chance to prove themselves this season...or would they fall to the Sockit Wenches, a team that in both size, speed and style of play is very much their equal. It’s Bizarro vs. Superman or Psychobilly vs. Rockabilly. There was no easy answers to this, Nor was there a clear favorite. (Unless you asked the fans...)

The championship bout on the other hand was a whole other bag, the battle lines where clearing drawn, and everyone was weighing in. But...despite all the posturing of Derby Liberation Front fans around the city, I do believe that as they waited in line there was a tickling fear in back of their minds. The Throttle rockets do possess an intimidating amount of talent. They have shown both a shockingly sith-like offense, and while DLF does have a slight edge in defense, the rockets are a very close second. It had to prey on them...if even for the slightest second...that on a good day TR has three or four jammers that can destroy you. They have pivots that can crush you if you even sleep on it for a second...and this isn't a good day. This is it. The last dance. This is where motherfucking stars are made. The darkside may cloud all...but as the doors opened and the crowd started to filter in, and that feeling...that feeling in the air as "the Final Countdown" blared out was that the two best teams were about to tear each other to pieces and that the vegas odds where on the Throttle Rockets.

That, of course, isn’t to say that DLF hasn’t proven that they are force to be reckoned with on the track. But was it weighing on them as well? As they suited up to bring the revolution to the people in roller derby form, were they too feeling the dread of facing, and more to the point stopping Dirty little secret, Valtron 3000, Astroglide and Darth Skater and every other bit of fire power that The Rockets could muster? We would have to see…

But first, the grudge match. The Sockit Wenches took their opening lap, looking confident in the outcome of the bout. Cooter announcing each name with exuberance, Each women skating around to the track to run right into…the mob of Grave Danger players on the sidelines wearing black executioners hoods. Some players seemed to be visibly startled by skating by a sea of Danger, stripped of their individuality, trading it instead for a solemn and clear message to everyone: “fuck our names, we’re motherfucking grave danger. Prepare to die.” To quote Rick James…that shit was cold blooded. Whether or not they could make the statement a matter of fact would remain to be seen.

Beezlebubba got on the mike, and one by one the hoods where shed, and the track was skated. Was the intensity shed along with the masks? We were moments from finding out. Finally the first jam of the night was called and the action could begin. From the opening tip, We saw that both teams were here to play. The lead bouncing back and forth, Tempers flaring, and both sides looking for that moment of weakness to strike and pull ahead. It seemed that they both preferred to set a slower tempo, letting strong defense work stifle the other team. It would be only a matter of time before things would explode, but it wouldn’t be in the first half as the clock ran out with the game tied at fifteen.

Now the audience was on the edge of their seats. We all knew what was to come. The moment that seven bouts and more then a year of work had coalesced into…The opening half of the deciding game of the season. The throttle Rockets looking ready, more then that, looking primed to detonate and demolish all that stood before them. DLF answered this swagger with an icy calm, and look of determination. I would hate to play poker against any of these girls, because I don’t know if they believed it, but they made you believe. In a blur the roll call and warm up laps were a thing of the past. We cheered for our favorite players. We were confused by the guy on the segway. We got up and quickly got more alcohol…but all that is just a tease. Here’s the main event:

The Throttle Rockets jumped out of the gate. DLF made great efforts to stop them, almost too great, really, as penalties keep their score low while TR’s kept growing exponentially. This is the game that The Rockets wanted to play and they got it, controlling the tempo and seemingly with little difficulty racking up a double digit lead. The Front worked hard to keep it from slipping away early, and managed to tighten things up in the last few minutes, making it only a six point game as the half came to a close. So far I was far from disappointed, as both the Sockit Wenches/Grave Danger and DLF/Throttle Rockets first halves where dynamite…and with the promise of the second half dangling in front of me, I felt that charge again. It was only a matter of time. Something had to give…

Half time. (Have a hotdog and a pabst and a smile.)

Grudge match…the next episode. If there was any doubt that the devil knows what the fuck he’s talking about, it was completely dispelled once Grave Danger took the stage for the second half. They played with a fire that can’t, won’t or shouldn’t be denied. Femme Fatale continued her hot strike from the semi’s, but more then that they completely strangled out any hopes of a Sockit Wench rally with some diabolical defense. I’ll put it to you this way…SW had fourteen minutes...and in that time they were held to just single digits. They didn’t break the “X” mark in that period. GD just steam rolled them. Now the hater-ade can stop, you’ve seen what they can do. With a little size added to this team, they could be champs. As they come into there own they are one of the better second half teams. (As witnessed by the 14 point come back in a close lost in the semi-final game, and this performance…etc.) With the game firmly sewn up, the season came to a close for SW and GD with a light hearted team dog pile and fist fight…marking the second time that fisticuffs had been resorted to in this match up. Now that’s info-tainment!

As good as the Grave Danger victory felt…of course it was standing in the shadow of What was brewing up to be war of attrition for DLF and The Throttle Rockets. The Rockets looked strong. They were playing the way they needed to, and forcing DLF to foul early…But with a point deficit that could easily be made in a single jam, It was still anyone’s game.

…And as the second half got under way…That anyone was Burnett Down. After DLF exploded with a first jam that pretty much tied the game, Burnett came and put in one of the most amazing and heroic single jam performances seen in Rat City to date. (sorry Darth and Femme) The rockets...suddenly finding themselves in the rare (for them) position of being down by double digits with around eight minutes to go, needed a Hero of there own…Darth Skater has played that hero in the past and would try to fill that role again…But Saturday was Burnett Downs’ night, and she would not be denied. As Darth step up to the line as jammer, Burnett, playing the position of pivot, mind you, took the risky and avant-garde move of hanging out at the back of pack and played some aggressive women on women defense on No III. The match up was brutal. Take downs of both the clean and not so clean natural were dished out furiously…as well they should be. With the clock ticking down every jam was critical. If the Throttle rockets wanted the ring, they would have to pull together to turn the tide. Darth skater, dashing at full speed, using all the skill she had, knowing that with the match on the line, this was the time to swing the momentum…once again collided with Burnett Down. But this time was different. Darth went down in pain, clutching her face…and for what seemed like an eternity she didn’t get up. The Medics rushed in. The announcers tried to fill dead air. The roller girls were on their feet looking concerned. Two thousand people held their breath.

…And finally she did get up, and as she was helped back to the green room, the crowd cheered for her.

But the bout had to continue. The crowd had been vocally in DLF’s corner all night, but since Burnett caught fire, and their team was up by near twenty, they were in a frenzy. Long jam after long jam followed, the clock ticking down, as anguish showed on the Throttle Rockets faces. It was all too much. The Front is probably the best second half team in the league right now on a normal night, but add to that a un-fucking-stoppably magical MVP performance, and that’s enough to rattle anyone. Throw in an injury to your team captain…

Everything that the Rockets tried was stonewalled. DLF was giddy as they seemly careened their way through to the last minutes of the game. They were firing on all cylinders, and they know it. Burnett Down continued to shine, as if Castro’s life was on the line instead of the trophy. Sometimes, in sports as in life in general, it’s just your night. Things roll your way, and as DLF prepared to maintain that “hot hand in a dice game” and take the trophy back to the compound…it looked like that in a night of stories, there was still room for one more…

Darth Skater emerged from the back, left eye starting to swell and put her helmet on. With almost two minutes left, she would be the jammer. Shocking disregard for ones own personal health will always rank as gutsy, and it showed how much heart she really has. But as play began it was clear, this was Burnett downs’ and DLF’s night. They would not be stopped. They couldn’t be stopped, and as time ran out and the bout and the season drew to close, there was absolutely no doubt in anyone who witnessed it’s mind that this was not only the best bout of the season, but a perfect punctuation mark for how far the league has come, from white center and a nervous opening bout to Hanger 27 and skillful and awe striking battle to the finish. It took a whole a season, but we all finally got it.

As a really high Ethan Hawke said in Training day…”smiles and cries.”…their was a lot of both as captain (and co-captains) each skated up to receive their teams trophies, and with the crowd on their feet, the Derby Liberation Front was crowned 2005 Champions. They took their lap with the trophy, and regardless of whether we were all DLF fans or not, everyone cheered. There was that feeling in the air. They had earned it. That this was the way the night should end.

...And then it was over. The beer was half price, and the corpse paint was shed. The crowd slowly filtered out, some rushing home because they had to work early in the morning, some going to celebrate or commiserate with a pint or a shot at any of the many, many bars around town, some just went anywhere else. You see, that feeling was already starting to fade. That energy that had made the standing in line or waiting for the second half to begin, or even eating a hotdog such a difficult, laborious task, was already floating away right before our eyes. By the time I was in the car, being driven back to ballard, I had already started to forget what that feeling was like. Had it even existed? The answer, of course is yes, it’s real. It’s tangible. It’s alive. But we’ll all forget...time will go by and we’ll wonder what we got so worked up about. No worries though, by then, it’ll be Championship time again, and that feeling will grip us all as we walk into the arena. I have no doubt that as I do, I’ll say to myself “I don’t think that it’s my imagination…or the special K I took earlier, that’s causing this feeling…”

It’s not my imagination, I swear.

A Paul Roboto Mission statement:

2005-10-16T19:09:08Z

It's funny...because up until about two years ago I had never even heard the word Blog. Blag...sure, I'd heard that word. He's lead singer of the Dwarves. Blarge..the Subhumans' record label (the good UK subhumans...not the bad canadian subhumans. You can post all hate mail to...) but what the fuck it is a blog? Is that some grotesque sex act, like the blumpkin or the ice cream castle? (the latter being an act so repugnant that only Prince has been able to preform it...and that was back during the purple rain era. Even HE doesn't have the game to do that shit now, and he wrote diamonds and pearls.)Is it like the Kroger brand version of "sorry" but with a pop-o-matic bubble that's to small for the dice so you always roll a two? Is it an exotic meat product? what the fuck is a blog?

The first time I really heard the word was at a toy/novelty store that I used to work at that will remained un-named. On one of the first days that you work there they give you a nerd test. Yeah, I said it. I was skating through mine, I thought I was conclusively proving that yes..I'm a motherfucking nerd...then they get into computer shit. Now I'm at a crossroads. See, growing up, my family never had a computer that was more powerful then a atari 2600. (that's a joke, we nintendo in this bitch. holla!) So, in my pursuit of being as nerdy as I could possibly be I overcompensated by learning everything that could about everything else on the god damned planet. So I'm thinking ask me about the JFK administration. Ask me about obscure horror movies. Ask me about dark horse presents. Ask me about estonian metal...Let me play, motherfucker, let me play. But what I get is.."do you have a blog?"...a hush goes over the crowd. "do you expect people to read your blog?" Read it? I don't even know what that motherfucker is. That's like bailing up to ET and asking "do you have shins and do you expect to walk around using them?" He's just got knees, people! He doesn't know what the fuck a shin is. Blogs are to me as shins are to ET. Put that shit on a PSAT.

So now I'm like the utah jazz of nerds...people who see me know that I'm sick with this nerd shit, but because Computers are the Chicago bulls of dorkiness...I'm out a ring. Maybe I get into the hall of fame, but I'll still be that cat who doesn't know what "mudding? mugling? some M starting shit is?" So that just about makes me Patrick Ewing...and no one wants to be Patrick Ewing. Patrick Ewing doesn't want to be Patrick Ewing. (P.S. I know I'm mixing my sport team metaphors as it was stockton and malone on the jazz, and Ewing on the Knicks...but you can kiss the tip of my dick, thanks for playing.)The point is...I got to get into the game, son. I've been warming the bench for to long, I got to get into game! You think that I'm just doing this for my health, no, I need this wealth, because I feed myself. If you don't know, please refresh your ability to know about the before mentioned subject. This is the way they blog on the streets, motherfucker. On the real! You think this is a game. You think that this is a fucking GAME!!! (wait..I said it was a game earlier in the paragraph...shit...)

..Um..Ur..yeah, you know...expressing myself is cool...too...I guess...and this is a place...to..um...I don't know...fuck.

So here it is...The mission statement: Paul Roboto will talk a bunch of shit, alienate most of the people he knows, drop a ton of pop culture references, have really bad grammar and spelling, do most of his posts drunk, and in the end, get sick of this in a week and give up. Now that's the American way.