MisterLorde

Just changed up my Twitter monicker. Don't be alarmed or something. ENMagnifico is so 2001-2012. #changeisgood
— Allan Lorde (@MisterLorde) September 13, 2012

Look at me! I've got my big boy pants on!
On the real, I felt it was time for a change. I'm still known as "El Negro Magnifico" at gigposters.com and other spots on the web, but "ENMagnifico" never had the same ring to it, and "MisterLorde" is closer to the truth. So, update your bookmarkage!
I'm MisterLorde on Twitter AND Dribbble.

Still On the Line

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but "Wichita Lineman" is among my favorite songs of all time. I appreciated it from a young age thanks to my mom―that's her signature on the single―but my admiration for this song has only grown. I don't know if it's the news of Glen's battle with Alzheimer's that pushed it to the forefront of my consciousness recently, but I won't look that gift horse in the mouth. All I know is that I can play it in my head while working, and everything is fine.
Can't front on that.

Related Links:
Glen performing "Wichita Lineman" on The Smothers Brothers Show
CBS Sunday Morning piece on Campbell's final tour (text and photos only, sadly)

R.I.P. El Negro Communicator

R.I.P. 2009-2012
iPhones and Johnson's Baby Body Wash do not fucking mix.

Sittin' On Busted Safety Glass

Consider my mellow now harshed. 

After attending the Mayer Hawthorne DJ set on Friday at the Pyramid Cabaret, I had the displeasure of seeing the driver's side window of my wife's Honda Fit busted open. Having talked to a few people about this incident, it's apparent that being the victim of a smash n' grab is an unfortunate rite of passage in this city. That kinda eases the pain, but only a little. Naturally, I blamed myself for what happened, and you can't tell me one fucking thing that I haven't already told myself:

Well, why'd you park so far away from the venue, dumbass?
Shit, I dunno. it was a nice night, and I anticipated a frenzied parking situation, so I parked a block away. Is that a fucking crime?  

It's your own got-damn fault for leaving your backpack in the back seat.
First of all, fuck you. Second, am I the only person in history that's left something in a car with the thought that mankind wouldn't mess with it? No. 

Shit like that has been playing in my head for the past 24 hours. They took the RCA cord that we plug our respective iPhones in with, and the also absconded with the cig lighter charger for said iPhones. Really shitty, but somewhat inexpensive to purchase again somewhere down the line. What really stings here is twofold:
The price of getting the window fixed. Don't get me started. This is a very unwelcome addition to the financial bullshit we've had to deal with this year.
My backpack. Gone. Along with my favorite drawing utensils and my barely-used sketchbook. I'd rather they kicked me in the balls instead.

October 4th, 2010: My backpack and its contents at the time. 

As I've told others, I'm past the emotional point of white-hot hatred and have settled into a begrudging acceptance with a healthy dash of brooding. Right now, I'd pretty much give anything to have the sketchbook and drawing stuff back. The sketchbook is where I kept notes and drew ideas. Yeah, I can think of more stuff, but that doesn't change the fact that I feel violated. At any rate, if you happen to stumble upon it, it looks like this:

 
I'd just like it back, no questions asked. Thanks.

My Reaction to the News of Three Hour Raw Episodes...

...via embedded tweets.

Shit. “@JohnCena: STARTING Monday Night July 23 @USA_NETWORK WILL BE ADDING A 3RD HOUR TO @WWE MONDAY NIGHT RAW - PERMANENTLY. #3hourRaw”

— Allan Lorde (@ENMagnifico) May 17, 2012

As a wrestling fan, I should be happy about a #3hourRaw, but anyone that's sat through one is aware that they can be a grind.

— Allan Lorde (@ENMagnifico) May 17, 2012

I just have a feeling that we're gonna be sitting through a lot of #3hourRaw episodes before they get any good.

— Allan Lorde (@ENMagnifico) May 17, 2012

#3hourRaw I watch the current-length Raw in one hour via PVR. Hate to be a naysayer...

— Allan Lorde (@ENMagnifico) May 17, 2012

I'm just gonna sift through it to get to the good stuff, as always. @wwe doesn't handle nuance well, so I won't miss much. #3hourRaw

— Allan Lorde (@ENMagnifico) May 17, 2012

@JensenClan88 As a former WWE writer, how would you have handled the news that Raw is going to three hours?

— Allan Lorde (@ENMagnifico) May 18, 2012

@ENMagnifico killed myself.

— Jensen Karp (@JensenClan88) May 18, 2012

@JensenClan88 I totally saw that coming.

— Allan Lorde (@ENMagnifico) May 18, 2012

'Nuff said.

R.I.P., MCA.

Like it or not, Adam Yauch – as director Nathaniel Hörnblowér – made fisheye lenses cool. At least in my eyes, anyway.

I first saw "Shake Your Rump" on Much's Soul In the City, preceded by Kool Moe Dee's "I Go To Work" (so the two are forever linked in my mind). I taped that episode and watched "Shake Your Rump" over and over again. I did the same once I copped the Skills to Pay the Bills home video. Not only was the song dope – a killer set of drum breaks, punctuated by a funky guitar lick and a synth hook, wrapping their rhymes in a blanket of badass – but the slinky rooftop performance, captured by three cameras, captivated me. Through fisheye lenses, they looked a little otherworldly and warped just right. Combined with the sounds, they also became something other than those "Fight For Your Right to Party" guys. They just looked so fucking cool.

Sandwiched between the rooftop shit was the random video footage: the naked girl dancing, the Schlepper's moving van, the kitten on a turntable, and more. You can bet I looked at those parts in slo-mo, trying to make sense of it all. I really think that was the beginning of their mystique, coupled with the scattershot pop culture references. It added layers to the puddles of beer and juvenile delinquent behavior.

So yeah, that video is fucking magic to me. Before that joint, I found the Beasties amusing, but nothing special. I bought Paul's Boutique before I copped Licensed to Ill. Hell, I think I bought Check Your Head before I bought their debut (when I finally purchased it, it was a used copy on vinyl from Pyramid Records on Portage. There were no liner notes).

My hat's off to you, Mr. Yauch. A deft hand on the mic, and the creator of a truly arresting visual. Rest in peace.

I've Been In a Dark Place...

...and I still am. So here's a picture of a very tasty smokie (thank you, Awesome Dog) to brighten things up. Ain't been going out, being social and all that stuff. I've got some stuff to work on. When I say "stuff", I mean me. Things will improve, I figure. This is as confessional as I get online now. It's healthier that way.

ManDate III: The Reckoning!

Me, Chris, and Jeope got together again for good times. Last time, it was for my birthday and talking shit. This time, it was about drawing and talking shit.
I really have to remember how good it feels to draw for fun. It's easy to forget, sadly.

BONUS: Here's a closer look at what Jeope did!

Lookin' That Gift Horse In the Mouth

Top: March 2nd. Bottom: March 11th.

Coming off the wackest (unseasonably warm, that is) winter in my memory, we're dealing with a late March that feels like mid-spring. It doesn't make a got-damn lick of sense. However, just like when I was confronted with a piss poor winter wonderland, I'm choosing to embrace the situation rather than complain. I'm not whining about the thawed dog shit, or bitching about the garbage that the snowbanks hid. The day I took the picture on the bottom, I drove to my son's daycare with the window down and the tunes blaring, observing the city's early renewal with pleased eyes.

Whether it's winter to spring, or winter to spring, I see Winnipeg in a new light and at a different angle. As mid-sized as we are, I always see something new. That's kinda what keeps me here.

With all that said, I will look that gift horse in the mouth and remember that global warming brought us here. All I can do is recycle, conserve energy, and pray that things will get a little (or a lot) better by the time my son is a man. I'd kinda like Dante to know what a real Winnipeg winter feels like.

In the meantime, I might put some music in my ears and walk 150 pounds off in this weather. You never know.

Tokyo Trashville

 A cover that's truly hard to ignore. 

What you're seeing above is the CD booklet to the Au Go Go Records compilation, Tokyo Trashville, and it's among my favorite covers of all time. When I first laid eyes up this in the mid-90s, I was truly in awe. I had two questions:
"Why is that sweaty lady humping the Eiffel Tower?" (I didn't realize it was the Tokyo Tower), and "Who the fuck is Rockin' Jelly Bean?"

That last question had me on a hunt, because I had to know who this magnificent bastard was, because he was obviously talented. In 1996, RJB didn't really have a web presence, and Alta Vista (remember that?) searches turned up random, barely translatable Japanese sites with broken links and references to Petty Booka, a duo he did work for. Any images I did find were often small and rather poor.

As the years progressed, I kept searching for stuff, and more RJB shit started to appear on the web, until he finally got his own nifty site and a great little store in Harajuku, where I copped this dope poster for his band Jackie and the Cedrics.

To think my admiration started with this sweaty-ass cover. Truthfully, that may have been the last time a cover blew my mind.