Korrupt Yr Self Issue 6

2011·61.7 MB·English

Korrupt
Yr
Self
#6
–
Summer
2011

All
Content
By
Erik
Gamlem


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more
idiotic
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at:

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me
for
trades.
Street
Walking
Cheetah


I.


 ­I
like
to
walk
around
and
I’m
paid
to
stand
around


 
 “Public
Witness
Program”
by
Fugazi


I
was
sitting
in
my
comfy
shorts
and
a
t‐shirt,
playing
video
games
in

my
living
room
when
I
got
a
phone
call.
It
was
an
Albuquerque
number,

but
I
didn’t
answer
it
because
I
don’t
answer
my
phone
to
numbers
I

don’t
know.
I
should
stop
that
shit
here
in
the
Land
of
Enchantment

though
because
I
don’t
know
anyone
and
I’m
unemployed
and
looking

for
work.
This
call
was
from
Doc,
who
does
casting
of
extras
in

Albuquerque,
specifically
for
the
AMC,
Emmy
award
winning
show

Breaking
Bad.
I
called
Doc
back
immediately
and
we
hooked
up.



The
next
day
I
was
scheduled
to
be
a
pedestrian
with
car.
I
didn’t
know

what
this
meant
other
than
I
had
to
get
up
really
early
and
go
some

place
in
this
new
city
that
I
wasn’t
sure
of.
But
I
was
really
psyched.
I

didn’t
know
that
much
about
Breaking
Bad.
I’ve
never
had
a
chance
to

see
it
yet.
All
I
knew
was
that
it
had
Hal
from
Malcolm
in
the
Middle
in
it

and
was
about
meth.
Meth
is
a
big
issue
in
New
Mexico.
So,
I
guess
the

show
is
pretty
awesome.

But
mostly
I
was
excited
to
actually
get
some

work,
do
something
new
and
get
paid
for
a
new
experience.


I
was
up
at
4:20,
thanks
to
my
cats
beating
my
alarm
by
ten
minutes.
I

figured
I
would
check
some
stuff
out
on
the
internet,
eat
some
cereal

and
head
for
the
door.
I
had
packed
my
wardrobe
the
day
before.
I
was

to
have
two
alternates
to
change
into
as
well
as
what
I
was
wearing.

This
proved
futile
however,
because
when
I
got
to
the
parking
lot
I
was

told
to
go
to,
I
left
my
stuff
in
the
car.
In
the
dark,
which
is
crisp
and

purple
and
black
in
Albuquerque
in
March
at
5:30
A.M.
I
was
shuffled

without
questions
asked
or
answered
into
a
grey
van
and
off
to
craft

services.
There,
I
waited.


And
waited,
and
strolled
around,
and
waited,
and

pocketed
a
bagel
just

in
case,
and
waited
and
then
was
ushered
into
the
food
services
trailer.

Finally
some
people
started
handing
out
forms
to
fill
out
so
I
would
get

paid.
Then,
before
we
could
all
hand
it
in,
we
were
ushered
back

outside
and
into
the
grey
vans.
I
never
made
wardrobe
for
approval,

never
made
it
back
to
my
car.
I
had
managed
to
grab
my
Mastodon

sweatshirt
to
keep
warm.
However,
that
would
prove
to
be
futile
for

reasons
not
entirely
explained
to
and
understood
by
me.
I
didn’t
know
what
the
hell
was
going
on.
We
got
to
Background

holding,
which
was
in
a
warehouse
that
held
big,
old
archways
that
the

proprietor
was
selling.
A
big
group
of
people
were
all
just
sitting
in
the

chairs
they
had
set
up
for
us.
Nobody
was
telling
us
what
to
do,
so
we

just
sorta
sat
around,
drank
coffee
and
shot
the
shit.



Someone
called
for
pedestrian
drivers.
I
thought
that
was
me,
so
I

followed
this
lady
outside
and
on
to
the
street
with
like
four
other

people.
I
kept
following
behind
her
until
she
told
me
to
stand
on
the

sidewalk.
Later
on,
someone
came
buy
and
told
me
to
stand
across
the

street
and
take
my
sweatshirt
off.


I
moved
to
Albuquerque
because
it’s
in
the
desert
and
it’s

warmer
on

the
whole
then
Suburban
Washington
DC.
And
I
will
say
this,
on
this

day
that
I
was
a
background
extra,
it
was
warmer
then
it
normally
is
in

Virginia.
But
it
was
windy,
cold
and
the
sun
was
covered
up
by
clouds.

So,
that
sweet
sweatshirt
with
the
awesome
shaman
shooting
light

beams
out
of
their
mouth
would
have
been
awesome
to
keep
on.
Plus,

seriously,
people
in
Albuquerque
are
into
metal.
They
need
to
keep
it

authentic.


Despite
the
cold
though,
I
was
really
excited.
For
one
thing,
I
learned

the
answer
to
a
question
about
movies
I
have
always
had.
You
know

like
when
your
on
a
public
street
and
there
are
cars
parked
on
the
side

of
the
road.
I
always
wondered
if
those
were
random
cars
that
were

just
on
the
street.
But
nope,
they
cast
for
cars.
Not
specific
cars,
just

cars,
that
they
can
leave
and
move
as
they
need.

Also,
they
get
more

mileage
out
of
a
location
by
changing
the
cars
that
move
on
a
single

street.
With
a
change
of
the
camera
angle,
you
can
get
a
lot
of
coverage

from
just
a
few
blocks.
So
there
I
was,
on
some
street
in
Albuquerque
in
the
warehouse

district,
freezing
with
no
idea
what
to
do.
Luckily,
the
direction
was

easy.
Just
walk
straight
ahead
until
you
hear
the
word
“cut”.
It
was

totally
easy.


II.



 ­
Drive
it
Like
You
Stole
It.


 
 “Behind
Curtain
#”
by
Discount.


The
thing
about
being
a
background
extra
is
that
you
don’t
do
anything.

And
because
you
don’t
do
anything,
you
don’t
actually
know
what
to
do.

There
were
a
great
number
of
Assistant
Directors,
but
mostly,
they
just

shouted
one
word
instructions.



So
the
second
scene
I
was
“in”
featured
a
stunt.
Not
by
me.
I
was
still

just
standing
on
the
street
and
walking.
This
time
I
was
paired
up
with

this
lady,
Denise,
but
still
heading
the
same
direction
as
before.
The
car

that
the
main
dude,
Walter
White,
Bryan
Cranston,
Hal
from
Malcolm
In

The
Middle,
all
bald
and
shit
and
not
really
on
set
too
much
because
it

was
a
stunt,
was
weaving
in
and
out
of
traffic
and
popping
up
on
the

curb.


Me
and
Denise
were
walking
right
towards
the
car
as
it
was
driving
up

the
street.
It’s
very
weird
being
told
what
to
expect
and
also
have
to
act

natural
with
out
actually
doing
anything
other
than
walking.
Watching

the
other
background
extras,
I
noticed
how
strained,
forced
and

repetitive
the
walking
was.
I
don’t
know
if
I
was
supposed
to
do
that.

No
one
really
told
me
I
had
to
have
continuity.


Sometimes
we
were
supposed
to
react
to
the
car
popping
the
curb,

other
times
not
so
much.
Or
maybe
we’re
supposed
to
do
it
all
the
time.

It’s
never
really
clear
and
there
are
so
many
A.D.’s
on
the
street,
hiding

in
nooks,
mulling
about.
Or
something.
I
don’t
know.
I
don’t
want
to

give
the
impression
that
they
aren’t
doing
their
jobs
or
that
they
have
it

easy
at
all.
They’re
in
charge
of
directing
regular
old
everyday
people

who
don’t
totally
understand
how
films
are
made.
I’ve
used
a
camera

for
photographs,
I
understand
frames
and
blocking
and
lighting
and
all

that
shit.
But
when
shit
is
moving
and
yr
doing
that
over
and
over
again

trying
to
get
something
really
bad
ass
and
you
have
a
bunch
of
mopes

hanging
out,
I
can
see
how
that
could
be
stressful.



No
one
yelled
at
me
the
whole
day,
so
for
me,
that
was
cool.
That’s
how

I
knew
that
whatever
I
was
doing,
trying
to
act
natural
and
surprised
by

the
on‐coming
car
I
knew
was
coming,
was
being
done
to
the

satisfaction
of
whomever
might
have
yelled
at
me
if
I
acted
over

surprised
or
not
surprised
enough.
One
time,
even
though
I
knew
it
was
coming,
watched
it
unfold
for
the

dozenth
time,
the
car
hit
the
curb
and
scared
the
crap
out
of
me.
The

driver
seemed
to
have
lost
control
a
little
bit
and
I
thought
he
was

totally
gonna
run
into
me
a
Denise
and
I
was
going
to
die
on
set.
I

wonder
if
I
would
have
gotten
paid
extra?


III.


I
am
fascinated
with
life
choices.
My
own
included,
for
obvious
reasons

I
think.
I
just
wonder
how
people
get
to
the
moments
of
their
life.
It

doesn’t
have
to

be
the
big

moments

either.
Big

moments
are

usually
come

by
through
the

pressure
of

major,

obviously

difficult

decisions.

Those
aren’t
so

interesting.
It’s

how
those
big

one’s
lead
to

the
small
ones.

Why
do
people

ultimately
do

what
they
do

and
not
do

what
they
don’t

in
this
seamless

narrative?


It’s
evident
to
me,
on
the
set
of
Breaking
Bad
amongst
the
extras
that

most
of
us
have
had
decisions
made
for
us
that
brought
us
all
here.
I

didn’t
meet
anyone
that
had
full
time
work,
or
regular
work.
I
met
one

guy
who
was
a
carpenter
for
Smith’s
Grocery
Store
and
worked
during

the
off
seasons
doing
repair.
In
between
he
traveled
up
and
down
the

west
coast
picking
up
odd
jobs
and
fell
into
extra
work
on
Breaking
Bad

because
he
worked
as
a
carpenter
on
set.
I
met
a
woman
who
was
in
an

abusive
relationship
not
too
long
ago
and
did
what
she
could
to
make

ends
meet.
She
clearly
wants
to
be
noticed,
I
assume
this
from
her
make

up
and
manner
of
dress,
accentuating,
purposely,
her
womanly
wiles.

Listening
to
her
talk,
she
was
fairly
self
empowered
after
years
of

feeling
helpless,
weak
and
worthless.
She
probably
faces
a
sort
of
judgment
in
her
daily
life
from
the
stares
of
men.
But
it’s
clear
she’s

confident
in
what
she’s
doing.


I’m
in
a
new
land,
looking
for
adventure
and
new
experiences.
This
was

just
something
to
do,
a
story
to
have
in
the
stitches
of
my
life,
pulled

and
tightened
to
make
some
type
of
narrative,
or
picture,
or

impression.
Life
is
a
funny
thing,
and
when
it’s
random
and
free
of

restrictions
and
worry,
it’s
absolutely
amazing.
I
cherish
more
in
my
life

now
that
I
get
to
enjoy
it
then
when
I
slaved
behind
a
desk.
I
wish
I
had

made
the
choice
not
to
do
that
day
in
and
day
out.
The
stories
I
might

have
in
place
of
resentment,
anger,
frustration,
stress
and
depression.

Or
maybe
not.
It’s
all
chose
your
own
adventure.



My
life,
my
even
stranger
life
now,
has
taken
me
far
away
from
home,

family,
loved
ones,
good
memories,
bad
memories,
complicated

relationships
and
many
other
things.
Being
on
set
this
day
was
part
of

me
stepping
out,
stepping
above.



I’m
doing
what
I
love,
not
standing
around
and
walking
down
the

street.
Actually,
as
I
write
this
some
five
hours
after
we
wrapped
on
set,

after
12
hours
of
being
on
my
feet,
my
body
fucking
hurts.
A
lot.
It’s
the

most
mobile
I’ve
been
since
I
was
laid
off.
But
I
loved
the
experience.
I

have
no
idea
what
is
to
be
of
my
role
in
this
show.
I
have
a
feeling
I

wouldn’t
even
notice
me
come
summer
time
when
this
episode

appears.
But
all
day
I
thought
about
my
friends,
the
people
I’ve
worked

with
who
put
up
with
the
worst
of
me
and
how
I
was
making
money,

working,
doing
something
so
cool
and
great
and
how
I
had
been
given

this
opportunity
to
do
exciting
things.
I
take
it
as
a
responsibility,
not

only
to
go
out
and
do
this,
but
to
succeed
at
it.


By
the
time
the
day
came
to
an
end,
I
was
ready
to
go
home.
Badly.
My

cats
needed
to
get
fed,
my
arms
were
cold
and
dry,
my
throat
inhaled

enough
desert
sand
for
one
day.
Following
the
Footprints


I
woke
up
this
morning
and
listened
to
The
Weakerthans

Reconstruction
Site
as
I
looked
for
a
job.
As
of
this
writing
(and
that’s

the
thing
that
zine
writers
say
because
this
zine
could
be
published
a

good
three
million
years
from
this
moment
that
I
am
writing
it.
A
sad

fact
of
life
in
self
publishing
when
you
rely
on
the
ability
to
both
be

inspired
and
have
access
to
a
photocopier
to
make
the
100
copies
of

your
zine
of
which
fifty
pile
up
in
stacks
around
your
house.)
I
am

unemployed.
I
hate
looking
for
a
job.
I
don’t
want
a
job.
I
want
to
go
on

tour
with
my
new
band,
the
first
band
I
have
started
in
over
ten
years.

My
life
is
on
youth
reset,
only
I
have
to
pay
my
own
rent.
A
reality
that

will
probably
have
caught
up
to
me
by
the
time
I
publish
this
issue.
Or

not.

I’m
no
fortune
teller;
I
lack
any
and
all
possible
mystic
powers.


I
didn’t
find
a
job
I
wanted.
I
put
on
Cheap
Girls,
who
are,
again
as
of

this
writing,
the
greatest
band
that
no
one
is
paying
attention
to.
Their

album
Find
Me
a
Drink
Home
is
a
bit
of
genius
that
is
totally
lacking
in

so
much
music.
The
songs
are
direct,
well
written,
a
little
somber
and

the
lyrics
are
great.
The
vocals
on
this
album
are
so
sullen
that
I
want
to

cry
every
time
I
hear
them.
They
remind
me
of
another
great
band,
one

that
you
can
dispute
all
you
want;
one
in
which
I
will
dispute
said

statement
in
this
here
zine.
But
we’ll
get
to
that
in
a
minute.


Aaron
Cometbus
is
haunting
this
zine.
It’s
really
not
that
cool
to
be
a

struggling
zinester,
six
issues
in
and
have
this
obsession
with

Cometbus.
The
thing
is,
he
is
directly
responsible
for
me
wanting
to

keep
doing
this.
I
wasn’t
even
sure
I
was
going
to
do
more
than
one

issue,
and
then
Cometbus
fell
in
my
life.
Now
it
seems,
I
get
a
new

Cometbus
around
the
same
time
I
get
the
bug
to
write
shit
down.
It’s

also
in
very
poor
taste
to
admit
all
this
and
then
tread
directly
in
the

footsteps
that
Cometbus
threw
down
in
a
recent
issue.
I
don’t,
quite

frankly,
give
a
fuck.
All
50
copies
of
this
zine
will
fall
into
who
knows

what
type
of
hands.
If
the
only
reason
that
happens
is
because

Cometbus
makes
me
want
to
write,
well
then
I
have
nothing
to

apologize
for.


When
I
was
in
high
school,
I
used
to
be
into
skateboarding.
I
had
a

skateboard,
I
hung
out
with
skateboard
kids,
I
could
drop
in
on
ramps,

ollie
pretty
high
and
do
sick
manuals.
I
liked
ridding
mini‐ramps
and

slashing
large
banks.
In
about
1992
skateboarding
sort
of
changed
from

the
DIY
style
I
was
used
to
into
this
very
technical,
acrobatic
and

beautiful
sport
that
it
largely
is
today.
I
couldn’t
hang,
but
that
didn’t

curb
my
love
and
interest
in
skateboarding.
So
I
watched
a
lot
of

skateboarding
videos.


One
of
those
videos
was
the
beloved
Questionable
video
by
the
Plan
B

skate
team.
See,
the
thing
about
skateboarding
is
that’s
how
I
learned
about
music
back
before

the
internet.
I
lived
in
the

suburbs.
Zine
culture,

even
Maximum
Rock
and

Roll
didn’t
even
occur
to

us.
But
skateboard
videos

did.
Amongst
the

montage
part
in
the

middle
of
the
video
was
a

song
by
a
band
called

Green
Day.
The
song
was

“Disappearing
Boy”
for

those
of
you
who
need
to

know
such
things.
We

were
all
pretty
hooked
at

that
point.
The
song

wasn’t
listed
in
the

credits,
but
someone

managed
to
figure
out

who
they
were
shortly

after.
Copies
of
39/Smooth
made
the
rounds
as
one
of
my
more
clever

friends
ordered
the
cassette
from
Lookout.



After
a
few
weeks,
I
kind
of
forgot
about
this
band.
Then
Dookie
came

out
and
all
hell
broke
loose.
By
then
I
was
driving
in
cars,
getting
knee

deep
in
DC
punk
rock
and
reading
the
occasional
MRR
though
I
found
it

mostly
didactic
and
covering
a
slew
of
bands
no
one
really
cared
about

that
weren’t
very
good.
Dookie
landed
in
my
hands
from
some
of
the

same
skate
rat
kids.
The
album
took
our
little
group
by
storm.
It
was

full
of
all
the
misanthropic
bullshit
that
suburban,
American
kids
are

subject
to.
Comparative
to
the
rest
of
the
world,
though
we
didn’t
know

it
at
the
time,
it
wasn’t
all
that
bad.
But
like
I
said,
all
hell
broke
loose.


It’s
not
entirely
Green
Day’s
fault
that
the
greater
world
found
punk

rock
and
DIY
culture.
It’s
also
not
their
fault
that
the
luxuries
that
the

indie
rock
record
labels
use
to
afford
are
no
longer.
For
every
Merge

Records
with
Grammy
Award
winning
artists
there
are
the
same

number
of
Teen
Beat
records
who
still
exist,
but
struggle
to
have

relevance.
For
every
No
Idea
records,
who
exist
as
the
prime
example
of

what
a
punk
rock
label
should
be,
there
are
the
Lookout
Records,
Green

Day’s
indie
label,
of
the
world
who
squandered
their
good
name
with

piss
poor
management
decisions
and
screwing
over
a
ton
of
great

bands.


As
quickly
as
my
hard
on
for
Green
Day
came,
the
inability
to
get
it
up

for
them
set
in
just
as
fast.
Within
weeks,
every
other
kid
in
my
school

was
dying
their
hair
green
and
listening
to
Dookie.
Suddenly,
kids
I
fucking
hated
were
asking
me
about
punk
rock
and
trying
to
get
me
to

listen
to
Bad
Religion
and
Operation
Ivy.
Back
then,
I
thought
I
was
cool

and
that
really
pissed
me
off,
that
my
little
world
that
I
had
carved
out

was
invaded.
Seeing
them
at
Lollapalooza
that
summer
was
the
icing
on

the
cake.
I
don’t
think
they
played
anything
off
of
Kerplunk
or
Smooth

except
for
“Knowledge”
which
was
by
Operation
Ivy
anyway.
No
“At
the

Library”,
no
“Disappearing
Boy”,
no
“One
of
My
Lies”
or

even“2,000

Light
Years
Away”.
Oh
sure,
there
was
“Welcome
To
Paradise”
but
that

hardly
counts
and
should
have
been
the
writing
on
the
wall.


I
turned
my
back
on
Green
Day.
I
was
one
of
those
kids.
The
irony
of

hating
on
a
band
at
Lollapalooza
went
completely
over
my
head,
and

now,
as
an
adult,
I
realize
I
was
being
childish
and
stupid.
But
we
love

the
things
that
we
love
so
much
when
we
are
young
that
we
have

absolutely
no
leeway
when
we
think
something
or
someone
personally

betrays
that
love.
Even
the
people
making
it.


But
I
didn’t
know
shit
about
Green
Day,
and
by
that,
I
mean
the
people.

And
still,
I
can’t
fathom
what
the
hell
their
lives
must
have
been
like
or

how
they
felt
about
the
terrible
backlash
from
17
year
old
suburbanites

like
myself.

All
I
know
is
punk
rock
changed
forever.
Even
in
a
post‐
Nirvana
world
I
had
found
a
musical
language
that
I
felt
I
belonged
to.

All
that
changed
post
Dookie.



Green
Day
and
I
didn’t
really
talk
for
a
long,
long
time.
That
was
pretty

true
of
most
people.
For
a
good
ten
years
or
so
I
wasn’t
so
in
touch
with

what
they
were
doing.
The
song
“J.A.R”
was
pretty
awesome,
still
one
of

my
favorites
actually.
But
Insomniac
and
Nimrod
left
me
cold.
At
the

time
Insomniac

felt
like
the
band
was
trying
too
hard.
The
frustration

was
honest,
but
the
application
came
off
as
entirely
false.

Today,
I

understand
that
album
a
great
deal
more.
It’s
an
unsung
gem
to
behold.

Nimrod
I
still
don’
own.
I
don’t
even
think
I’ve
heard
much
off
the
album

except
for
the
insufferably
overplayed
“Good
Riddance
(Time
of
Your

Life)”
acoustic
number
that
seems
to
act
as
the
link
between
Green
Day

punk
and
Green
Day
Rock
and
Roll.


Warning
truly
piqued
my
interests.
It
sounded
like
the
boys
listened
to

a
lot
of
Wood/Water
by
Promise
Ring
and
applied
their
very
pop

sensible
stylings
to
it.
It
was
a
great
album
without
having
to
be
a
Green

Day
album.
Everything
sounded
relaxed
and
chilled
out.
The
album
felt

more
like
demo’s
recorded
by
dudes
in
their
garage
who
bought
a
lot
of

recording
equipment.
It
was
the
story
of
a
bunch
of
guys
who
just

wanted
to
write
some
songs.



That
wasn’t
really
enough
to
draw
me
back
in.
By
then
I
was
working

for
the
man,
living
someone
else’s
dreams.
Green
Day
hadn’t
sold
out,

not
really.
Not
by
any
measurable,
true
standards.
After
all,
they
were