BEND PRESS STICKERS

We've gone and done it. After 28 years we've switched from xeroxed paper stickers to startling professional vinyl ones. You can find them for sale in the Bend Store. FYI, one comes free with every order.

NICKNAMES: FIRST WAVE

The new set of Bend Given Names have been mailed and also listed in the column to the right. Thank to everyone who's participated so far. Bonus: I will give out free nicknames (certificate included — suitable for framing) to the first 5 people that comment on this post...

BEND #24 IS READY TO GO

Finally finished up Bend #24. It's a 8.5" x 7", 30 pager (+ plus cover and velum insert) that's loaded with a unique cross-section of creatives answering 24 questions each. I'm really happy with it and very grateful to the folks that took the time to be included. Here's a list of folks in the order they appear in the zine:

ED TEMPLETON
FERRIS PLOCK
KEVIN WILKINS
GEOFF McFETRIDGE
JASON POLAN
OTIS B.
THOMAS CAMPBELL
SHAWN STUSSY
JOSH HIGGINS
MEGAN BALTIMORE
TODD BRATRUD
BOB STEPHENSON
EVAN HECOX
MEL KADEL
MARK PENXA
JOHNNY KNOXVILLE
BENNY GOLD
CHERYL DUNN
GARTH MILAN
JERRY HSU
ERICA YARY
JASON CROMBIE
JOSHUA LINER
LORI DAMIANO
TRAVIS MILLARD
MARC JOHNSON
TOD SWANK

Rad line-up for sure. From actors to artists to company owners and more... you can get a copy of this one in the Bend Online Store. Hope you enjoy.

MISSED THE OPENING

Been sick for the last week, causing me to miss the Agents Provocateurs opening on Saturday. Bummer. But here are a bunch of photos from the event. Again, thanks to Seb Carayol for including me in this rad project. Here's a shot of  couple of my pieces from the show:

AGENTS PROVOCATEURS

I'm privileged to be in a show with some pretty amazing artists at the Subliminal Projects Gallery in LA. It is a sort of physical manifestation of Seb Carayol's book, Agents Provocateurs, which hit late last year. The opening is this Saturday night, and if you're in LA, it's definitely a To Do for this weekend. You'll be able to get signed copies of Seb's book and special show prints from some of the artists. Come see some amazing original art and the folks that made it.

BEND GIVEN NICKNAMES

The Nicknames are back. Years ago, we sold nicknames through Bend to whomever wanted one.
It was a rather successful campaign, dolling out more that 30 original names.

We’re doing it again.For $5 I’ll give you a nickname ­— it will be yours and yours alone. You may use it in any way you see fit and you will receive a Certificate of Authenticity (suitable for framing) along with your purchase. See the example below.
In addition, your name — and new nickname — will be listed on the Bend Press Blogspot.
Get them at the Bend Press Store. Thank you.
— Andy “Salty” Jenkins

JUST ONCE

"Take a seat," the man said without looking up.

'Why take a seat? Does he really want me to take it. Where would I take it?'

"Please... sit."

'Whoa. Did he read my mind?' As Archie began to sit, he became self-conscious. He refocused, but only to begin concerning himself about how he sat and how he was being observed as a sitter. He crossed his legs just so, but he wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands. Whenever he placed them on his thighs his thumb would eventually begin to feel as though they it were on the opposite side of his hand. That freaked him out, reminded him of school. Sitting at his desk in class, he would sometimes get the sensation that everything around him was growing. Just a little. By, maybe, 120%…  The people got bigger, the walls would expand, his desk grew. He would close his eyes in an effort to avoid the sensation, but even then, a smokey image of the things around him still felt bigger. 

Eventually he rested his left arm on the chair and put his right hand up to his beard. He stroked it. This looks stupid, he thought and quickly dropped his hand into his lap.

"So." Pause. "What brings you here today, Mr., ah…" flipping through papers clamped in a clip board. "Knowles. I noticed a few blanks in the paperwork. Do you mind if we fill them out now?"

"Sure." Had he forgotten to add some trivial insurance information? The number of his emergency contact, maybe?

"Sure, you mind? Or sure let's get them answered?"

That was dickish. "I'll answer them."

"Good, good. Let's see…" more flipping through papers in his clip board. "It seems you forgot to list your birth date here."

Relief. Was that it? "12/10/73."

Scribble, scribble. "And here you didn't list anything on your history of illegal substance use," he said without looking up, his glasses resting on his forehead as he combed the paperwork.

Archie squirmed. He thought they would breeze right over that one. Should he tell the truth with the possibility of being turned away? Or should he lie and hope to not be caught up in it later?

"I'm not here to judge."

"Well, it's not like I've ever abused drugs."

"Like I said, I'm not here to judge."

How honest should he be here? Maybe total honesty wouldn't bode well in this instance. 'He'll judge me,' Archie thought. 'He says he won't, but he will. He'll think I was an idiot for climbing that lightpole in Dallas, or driving around in slow motion freaking out on everything in that strange, ghostly city — all while buzzing on mescaline. But only once. I only did it once.' Archie decided to start with something less… illegal.

"Well, ah, I smoked pot once." A few hundred times. Does he tell him about the first time, when he'd also been drinking? Does he tell him how he pissed his pants in the grocery store that night after kicking a loaf of bread down the aisles?

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "And I did acid once." Just once. At home. Alone. Powered by the tab, he figured out the hidden meaning of Captain Beefheart's, Trout Mask Replica CD and sat in front of an open refrigerator touching tomatoes.

"Continue."

"Ecstasy. Once." Only once. On his birthday at a Skinny Puppy show. That had been a fucking weird, shaky trip. He remembered the singer being pushed out on stage in a mucus and gore-covered rubber bubble which he eventually tore himself out of. Or had he? Details remain sketchy.

"Oh, and mushrooms, I did those tw…once — as well. Just once." Both times in the desert at Joshua Tree with a group of friends. On one trip they had laid on the piles of giant rocks, laughing, teary-eyed, until a ranger showed up and let them know they couldn't camp in that specific area. The crew piled into Paul's SUV and drove off. Archie was convinced they were going to be stopped by the authorities, so he had Paul pull over dispose of the evidence by throwing the bag of mushrooms as far as he could into the night. It glided about 6 feet, falling just inside a barbed-wire fence.

"So let's review; marijuana, acid, ecstasy and mushrooms," the man pauses and looks up at Archie over his glasses.

Pause. "Oh, and mescaline." Archie's thumbs were beginning to change sides.

"Just once, I'm guessing," he asks as he scribbles.

"Yes."

"Does that about cover it?"

"Yes. I believe so."

"You believe so, or you know so?"

He shifted butt cheeks on the chair. "Know so. I know so."


Bender. Originally published in issue #33 of Monster Children.

I'VE BEEN LYING TO MY PSYCHIATRIST

Her building is pretty non-discrete and sits amongst a crowd of hospital structures. She works in an office on the 2nd floor. And she has a view, which is nice. I often find myself looking out the window as she scribbles notes.

When I walk into the lobby, the fist thing I have to do is announce myself by writing my name onto a waiting list and pressing a button on the wall which let's her know her next appointment is in. Then, I grab a clip-board with a standard questionnaire attached to it. I have to rate, one through five, a plethora of personal questions. Well, they aren't even questions, they're just words:

Depression  1  2  3  4  5
Stress 1 2 3 4 5
Anxiety  1  2  3  4  5
Sleep 1 2 3 4 5
Restless Leg Syndrome  1  2  3  4  5
Diarrhea 1 2 3 4 5

Etc.

I finish it and wait. I get a glimpse of the other folks waiting. None of them seem outwardly depressed. Do I? I look through the magazines. Even ones I would never otherwise open. I Instagram one of the empty chairs.

There is an elderly couple beside me and they are talking very loudly about nothing in particular. The woman gets up to check on their appointment time. She farts rather loudly. Everyone pretends not to notice.

"Andy." It's her. She comes to the door herself to call her patients.

I get up and walk past her towards her office. She is tiny. I'm 6' 2". It always feels weird walking in front of her. My pants sag. In her room a beaten down cream-colored couch awaits. I hand her my questionnaire and sit.

Her: "How have you been doing since we last met?"

Me: "Good, good." Half truth. You know how it is. Pat answer. It's the same response we all give random someones when they ask "How are you, man?" Good just comes out of our mouths.

Her: "That's great to hear. How's your anxiety been?"

Me: "Not bad." Again, half truth. For instance, right now, as I write this, I'm sitting in a chair, drinking coffee, tensing and un-tensing (is that even a word?) my legs, scratching my head and worrying wether or not this piece of writing is going to be worth a shit. At times I will get up and walk around my office. Just pace. Look out my door to see if anyone is noticing. I also have this habit of gnashing my teeth to the beat of whatever music is on. Right now it happens to be Ornette Coleman. I scratch my nose a lot.

Her: "When you say 'not bad' do you mean better than the last time you were here?"

"Uhm, well, I'm not sure." True.

"Think about it a minute."

Silence while I think. I look around her office. A fan, a tiny refrigerator (what does she keep in there? Her lunch? What does she eat? Drink?), a shelf filled with self-help books and covered in pharmaceutical flyers. The meds. Sales folks give those flyers to the doctors. I think about the sales people and the meds they pedal. "Worse. I think."

Her: "Do you think it's the fact that we reduced the (insert drug name here)?"

How the fuck should I know? "Ah, maybe. Sure, I think so."

She scratches on her note pad. I notice my file has gotten thicker and thicker. Have I been coming here for that long? Holy shit, I must really have a problem(s). "Well, let's up the (insert drug name here). What do you think?"

She's asking me what I think about meds? "I have no idea," I tell her. True.

"How's your exercising going? I see here you've lost 10 pounds."

"Pretty good. I walk the dog every day." Lie.

"How long are your walks?"

"30 to 35 minutes." Lie.

"Can you up that to 45 minutes?"

"Yeah, I think so." No. I love my dog, but 45 minutes a night?

I can't help but wonder what she's thinking, if anything at all. How many patients must she have? Is she curious why my t-shirt says "Listen to Gwar" on it? Does she ever wonder about me, or is she thinking about her next break when she can rummage through her tiny fridge for a yogurt? Wait, she doesn't like milk-based products.

Her: "How about diet? Are you eating the things we talked about?"

Of course not. "Ah, I've been trying. But I slip and have a burger on occasion."

"OK. But have you thought about erasing the carbs? Can you have the burger without the bread? Maybe just wrap it with lettuce…"

"Hmmm." That's dumb. If I have a burger, it has to have bread. I want to tell her about all the things my mom fed us growing up. Our closest thing to green food was Iceberg lettuce. But there's not time to look backwards here — that's for therapy. Which reminds me, I should set up an appointment.

The questions come rapid fire.

Her: "Hobbies?"

Me: "Does writing count?"

"Sure. Are you a writer?"

"Uh… I write things down." Does that count?

"How do you feel from a 1 to 10? 10 being great."

"You mean right now? Or yesterday? Or an hour ago?"

"Let's say, right now."

I hesitate. "Uh, a 7 and a half?" But I know I'll be at least an 8 after I leave her office. "Do you ever have anyone say 10?" I ask.

She scribbles a bit, "No." Hands me a prescription, "OK then. I'll see you again in 6 weeks."

Cool. That's about when my next Bender is due.


Bender. Originally published in issue #41 of Monster Children. 2013.

DRAWING STORIES

If you haven't figured it out by now, Travis Millard is one of my favorite illustrators. He's also a pretty funny story teller. Here, in Drawing Stories, he combines the two. Dig it.

WALLRIDE 29

It takes the Art Dump 6 months to compile the content for one of these catalogs. The bi-annual Wallride is out now... and for sale in the Crailtap store very soon. That's McCrank on the cover, Ben Colen photo.

ONE HOUR OF RANDOM, PART 3

iTunes random play : 3pm - 4pm

Archie Bronson Outfit “Dart For My Sweetheart”

Willie Bobo “Nessa”

Hunters & Collectors “Towtruck”

Band of Horses “Weed Party”

Tom Waits “The Part You Throw Away”

Jeffrey Lewis “Do They Owe Us a Living”

Screamin’ Jay Hawkins “Whistlin’ Past the Graveyard”

The Underground Railroad to Candyland “Next Stop, Coalinga”

Kutiman “No Reason For You”

She & Him “Sweet Darlin’”

Hank Williams “Your Cheatin’ Heart”

101ers “Steamguage 99”

Killing Joke “Change”

Tortoise & Bonnie Prince Billy “That’s Pep!”

Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band “Tropical Hotdog Night”

Le Tigre “TKO”

Queens of the Stone Age “The Vampyre of Time and Memory”