Posts Tagged ‘people named Mike and S/Cindy who sleep together’

Milo Kustoms — Art, Photography, Gear, and More! with bonus musings on significance of the resurgence of a rat rod and rockabilly culture

December 2, 2009

I am lucky enough to have a rad bro and his equally rad ladyfriend as two of my great special friendohs, Milo Weasel and Cinder.


Left: Milo with their rad car; Right: Cinder and Milo at the Tattoo Expo at the Cow Palace a few years back.

Besides forays into painting, pin-up photography, and kickass custom-made merchandise through their amazing creative work on their official site, http://milokustoms.com, they also attend car shows with their superfly ride.


Brain asplodin-adorableness: Cinder is married to the sea! Photographed by Mike Wedel/Milo Weasel.

I was incredibly excited to get an email from Milo a few days back, sharing that his picture and car were featured in the magazine Amusin Krusin.


Milo is in the upper left. The caption reads, “It ain’t gonna fix itself, Skippy, no matter how much you stare at it.”

You can visit their site to view their gallery of work, contact them for custom work, or sound off on the site’s message board, which has lots of great pics of other cool cars.

The rockabilly and car cultures keep alive some of the pulpiest and most interesting facets of the initial pop countercultural movements of the ’50’s and ’60’s while thankfully thumbing their nose at some of the lamer (sublimation of femininity, racism, etc). As a cultural phenomenon, the resurgence of interest by this generation in the styles, music, and cultural symbols of that era I think represent an intersection between an acknowledgment of how the optimism and booming capitalism of that time failed our country, but also how it had grains of greatness in it. So chew on that, tease your hair, roll your cigarettes up in your shirtsleeve, and rock them billies, hepcats and kittens!


Baby, you can drive my car — Cinder-cat at the wheel!

Friends make it all better

October 19, 2009

Playboy: Isn’t there an old show-business rule about not acting with children or animals?
Tina Fey: That’s right. They will upstage you because they’re adorable. The same can be said of Amy Poehler. I shouldn’t have acted with Poehler. She climbs everything and curls up in your lap, and she’s cuter than babies.
Playboy: That’s a pretty bold statement.
Tina Fey: Amy Poehler is cuter than a baby and a monkey combined.

I did not much care for the movie Baby Mama; maybe my expectations of it were too high. Trouble is, my husband and I watched it on television a few days before we separated (come to think of it, it may have been only hours), so I can’t say anything for sure about my opinions of what I viewed during that time period. Except that Forgetting Sarah Marshall is NOT a good movie to watch when you’re waiting for the right moment to ask for a split — I am pretty sure that is a unilateral truth that we were merely unlucky enough to stumble upon the actual experience of but that everyone can agree is nonetheless for-sure-solid in terms of epiphanies, without having to personally go through it.

In the past few weeks, I’ve started talking to some of my friends — specifically Miss D and Jonohs because they are tricksie and ask the tough questions in mild and genuinely curious and empathetic enough ways that I don’t get startled and run screaming down to Mexico to avoid admitting that I actually feel Ways about Things — more about the separation, more about our time together, and even have talked more to my husband, and I’d pushed aside all those things for so long that I guess I must have started to fool myself that everything was okay.

It is not.

The horrible is beginning to set in as an all new breed of horrible, and congruently the panic is a different and infinitely deeper kind of panic. And I am afraid, and sometimes lonely, though it is self-induced isolation because it’s more like a desperate last-ditch effort at avoidance than loneliness. I can’t talk to my family about it because they are involved, and also frankly very pushy and aggressive people, and I tend to approach a problem far more tentatively than they do. To them, you just snap your fingers and you should know what you think and what to do next. I’m not that way, I need time before I am able to come to any conclusions about things. My feelings freak me out and I spook easily. I need a peaceful solo drive in the country or else a boisterous day of booze and ball to work through my emotions. Thank god a) it’s Autumn and my car is running. b) that the World Series is coming up. c) for my friends and their literally ’round the clock support of me.

I first wrote this looking back over my weekend and thinking of the time I spent with Paolo, Miss D, Geo, Corinnette, and Jonohs, and right then I was checking facebook for the first time in a day and was reminded that Panda Eraser put up a Batman on my wall for me, and Milo and Cinder keep inviting me over, and then I got a message from the Gentleman saying that if we change our minds and want soup, let him know, because kidlet and I are having a Sick Day. I am so ridiculously lucky to have such wonderful friends. If I’ve been avoiding anyone reading this or you haven’t heard from me in a bit, it’s probably because I was afraid if I talked to you I’d start crying and babbling about feelings, but if you don’t like getting avoided, then remind me I can suck it and better stop it! Make me talk, people, I’m a frigging powder keg over here.

Take yourself out to the ballgame: Baseball words o’ wisdom from a faraway friendoh

September 18, 2009

Master Beatie just phoned the house out of nowhere to drop some awesome baseball revelations of the night on me. He was having an extremely well-planned and, from all appearances, enjoyable evening down at the D’backs game in that there old Phoenix, AZ which began with happy hour specials at Applebees (always smart to inexpensively pre-party before hitting the pricey concessions at a major league stadium — attaboy!) and ended in $6 seats with strategically planned backup beers at the game. The boy is a planner, and you can do naught but learn from his skills. He laid the following hard-won wisdom on my none-too-perky but mood-improving-with-time ears:

  • “Admiration > Envy. Always.”
  • “Doesn’t matter who’s playing; as long as it’s baseball, it’s awesome!”


  • (Mikey Beatie photo credit, Location: Estadio Revolucion Torreon, Coahuila, Mexico)

    Support whatever local ball is around you, whether you are lucky enough to live in a town in the US with a major league stadium, or have some good old peanuts and crackerjack at a strictly AAA or AA team, or find yourself privy to an unexpected pickup game in the corner of a park or the back lot of a restaurant in South America or Japan.

    The crack of the bat, the golden sunset, the ads for local businesses — take yourself out to the ballgame. It is good for the soul.

    Hugs and kisses, Miguelito! Your wife will be there before you know it! I know you miss her and I hope a joshing conversation about beer prices at games in the Bay vs. the Gret Southernlywesternly is passin’ the time.

    (I have now written two journal entries in one day about couples I know named Mike and S/Cindy.)

    Per mi amico: Milo Weasel edition

    September 18, 2009

    “My dearest friend, if you don’t mind, I’d like to join you by your side, where we can gaze into the stars. And sit together, now and forever…”

    As requested, a valentine from me to you, posted at your birthday-time (8:31, get it? I’m slick like that)! And hellllloooo to my Cinder-cat, too! I have been thinking of you guys so much lately. Let’s do some damage to some PBR soon.

    Check out my supercool friendohs over on Milo Kustoms and browse their awesome art, wear, and gear. They are pretty special folks!