Searching for a horror film this Halloween that genuinely horrifies? Then fire up the bong, turn down the lights, and prepare to scare yourself silly. Here are ten overlooked horror gems that are guaranteed to leave you and your friends repeating: “It’s only a movie; it’s only a movie…”
By Paul Armentano
“You wanna see something really scary?”
-Dan Aykroyd, Twilight Zone: The Movie
Searching for a horror film this Halloween that genuinely horrifies? Then fire up the bong, turn down the lights, and prepare to scare yourself silly. Here are ten overlooked horror gems that are guaranteed to leave you and your friends repeating: “It’s only a movie; it’s only a movie…”
Before there was The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, there was Warlock Moon. Convinced that the makers of this similarly-themed 70s horror cheapo had ripped off their script, Chainsaw producers rushed to get their film in theatres before their alleged plot-purloining rivals. They lost the battle—Warlock Moon debuted in '73 while Chainsaw assaulted filmgoers in '74—but won the war. Warlock Moon rotted on the vine in distribution limbo while Texas went on to become one of the most prominent (and best) horror films in cinematic history. Thanks to streaming services, modern audiences now finally have an opportunity to assess ‘the competition.’
Available on: Prime Video, Shout Factory TV
Watch the full movie HERE
Watch the Trailer HERE
“Never has death become so savage or survival so hopeless,” promises the tagline from this 1975 obscurity. Traumatically, Devil Times Five delivers. A young nun and her ragtag group of prepubescent sociopaths—including a 12-year-old Leif Garret—torture and terrorize vacationing adults at a remote mountain lodge. Yes, really. Forget Stephen King’s The Shining, watching this malevolent exercise in misplaced morality as a kid gave me goosebumps for the next ten years. Devil Times Five remains hands down one of the most disturbing and mind-warping pieces of celluloid to emerge out of the sick and twisted 1970s.
Available on: Prime Video
Watch the full movie HERE
Watch the Trailer HERE
A new kid in town stands up for Central High’s adolescent dispossessed by exterminating the school’s loathsome bullies and insufferable ‘in-crowd’ in this long-forgotten 1970s horror-thriller. But when the once downtrodden prove to be just as nasty as their former oppressors, the new kid elects to off the entire student body during the senior dance. Think this plot sounds eerily similar to Christian Slater’s late-80s star-launching vehicle Heathers? Me too. Hard to find nowadays, but why not check out the DVD and judge for yourself?
Watch the full movie HERE
Watch the Trailer HERE
Shot and shelved in the early 1970s and then re-titled and repackaged in '77 in an effort to cash in on the success of Wes Craven’s infamous Last House on the Left, LHODES is arguably the most notorious and—if viewed repeatedly—brain-damaging of the '70s slasher flicks. A wannabe porn director decides he can make more money selling “snuff” than smut, so he and his film crew start slaughtering their ‘cast members’ in immeasurably cruel and vile ways. Strangely psychedelic, visually shocking and without any artistic or socially redeeming value, LHODES eventually gained an unlikely underground following among audiences who believed the fictional film to be too inept and incoherent not to be the real thing. LHODES has become the Holy Grail for connoisseurs of obscure and sleazy '70s horror.
Available on: Tubi TV
Watch the Trailer HERE
They say you can never go home again. Especially when your hometown is full of creepy fisherman with a bizarre affinity for black-and-white photography, voodoo and missing corpses. Hailed upon its release as “the most psychologically shocking and emotionally devastating film since Psycho,” Dead and Buried is a moody, first-rate thriller from former Alien creators Ronald Shusett and Dan O’Bannon. Why the picture still remains largely unknown among moviegoers is something of a mystery, but there’s no doubt that audiences fortunate enough to catch a midnight showing won’t be forgetting Dead and Buried anytime soon.
Available on: Shudder TV
Watch the Trailer HERE
The ultimate stoner fright-fest! Forget Army of Darkness (or virtually anything director Sam Raimi and ED II star Bruce Campbell have done since), Evil Dead II provides horror buffs with the first and last word in psychotropic cinema. Planning a party this Halloween? Raimi’s cinematic assault on the senses will have even your sober friends tripping. The DVD comes with loads of extras, why not reacquaint yourself this October with the high water mark of '80s horror.
Available on: Hulu
Watch the Trailer HERE
Sure we’ve all had dates from Hell but leave it to Japanese film provocateur Takashi Miike to make the single life truly horrifying. A long-time widower discovers in gruesome detail that not all girls are ‘sugar and spice and everything nice’ in this disturbing psychodrama about the shy, beautiful psycho next door. Though for the most part more reserved than some of Miike’s better known work (Ichi the Killer, Visitor Q), Audition’s gut-wrenching finale will leave you watching with one eye open and have your friends running for higher ground. You’ve seen The Ring, now let Takashi Miike introduce you to the true dark side of Japanese horror.
Available on: AMC+
Watch the Trailer HERE
This 2004 remake of George Romero 1978 classic goes for the jugular and never lets go. Sporting a superb cast (Ving Rhames and Sarah Polley star), clever direction, over-the-top special effects, and the most stomach-squirming opening sequence you’ll ever see, Dawn of the Dead is—for my money—the quintessential modern American horror extravaganza and sets the standard by which all future horror films should be judged.
Available on: Prime Video
Watch the Trailer HERE
Not a horror film per se, but this overlooked psychological thriller is one of the smartest and eeriest motion pictures to come along in years. Batman Begins’ once buff Christian Bale dwindles to an eye-popping 100 pounds (yes, really!) to portray an emotionally tortured sheet-welder who hasn’t slept in a year in this modern adaptation of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. Dark, unrelenting, and with a plot twist you won’t soon forget, The Machinist will hold you on the edge of your seat for 100+ minutes and leave your mind racing for long after.
Available on: Prime Video
Watch the Trailer HERE
Director Eli Roth knows what sells: in this case, drugs, gore, and beautiful women. Formulaic? Sure. Twisted, sick, and frightening as Hell? That too! Three friends backpacking across Europe in search of sex and drugs stumble upon a remote Eastern European village where torturing and killing Americans is considered high art. That’s when the real ‘fun’ begins. Perhaps the goriest studio film since Dawn of the Dead, Hostel remains curiously and perversely entertaining for those jaded few—and I do mean few—who can stomach it.
Available on: Prime Video
Watch the Trailer HERE
Paul Armentano is the author of Stranger Than Fiction: The 99 Cent Video Review Guide to the Most Bizarre and Intriguing Documentary Films Ever Made.
-------
Stu Helm's top 5 WTF horror flicks
Documentary's dark underbelly
The visual magick of Malleus Rock Art Lab
]]>
In the Mondo Cane films, the world is truly going to the dogs. One day, Fido is sharing Master’s own plate, the next he’s the main feast. Oh, yes, “you’ll shudder and gasp in amazement.” The filmmakers soberly take the viewer on a perverse journey to the far reaches of the globe, but this is no National Geographic special. Far from it!
As Mondo Cane sheds light on cultures and events rarely seen, it bewitches us into a strange psychological arousal as we witness increasingly bizarre scenes of everyday humanity.
Mondo Cane I and II, documentaries by classification, were directed by Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi. The first Mondo Cane was released in 1962 and spawned a new genre of shock documentaries or “shockumentaries” as they came to be known. It can easily be argued that the genre eventually mutated into the reality TV shows we find ourselves tuning into with outward disgust and inward glee. Do series like My 600-lb Life and Little People, Big World really satisfy anything other than our primal need to stop-and-gawk? And if titillating television is what Mondo Cane gave rise to, the original circus freak shows and human zoos are most certainly where it all began. Indeed the directors are the first to admit that their goal was to make an anti-documentary in response to their revulsion at the prevalent Italian filmmaking style of the time known as Neorealism—a paired down approach that presented the world “as is.”
In the opening scene of Mondo Cane, the detached voice of the narrator states that all that will be presented is factual. As passive observers, we are lulled into believing that what we see is real. In fact, the opposite may be true. The film takes off at a mad pace, void of storyline, juxtaposing, and contrasting and stoking disbelief. The directors navigate the viewer through a world labyrinth of odd ceremonies, tribal rituals and extreme religious rites. As Mondo Cane sheds light on cultures and events rarely seen, it bewitches us into a strange psychological arousal as we witness increasingly bizarre scenes of everyday humanity. And just as we get comfortable on our exotic trip, disbelief kicks in. Wait, this can’t be real! The filmmakers admit to re-enacting certain scenes but are others pure fabrication? This smacks of reality TV with its planned situations and creative editing. Even veteran film critics aren’t sure which scenes are real and which have sprung from the directors’ fertile imaginations. Jacopetti and Prosperi do concede to alternating between extremely shocking scenes and more light-hearted ones in order to keep the viewer watching, rather than turning away.
The Mondo Cane films launched a new style of filmmaking that would eventually branch out in many directions from the gritty Mondo Horror style including Faces of Death (1978) to today’s “fake news” journalism.
With the stated premise of putting forth the “show of humanity itself,” the directors keep the audience squirming on the edge of their seats as they jump from one disjointed but related subject to another. In one scene from Mondo Cane I, the camera shows French women force-feeding geese to produce fois gras. The aloof narrator specifies that the practice is far more humane now that they no longer nail the geese’s feet to the floor of their cages. Skip to Tabar, where young virgins held in cages are “stuffed with tapioca until they reach at least 264 pounds” and are ready to be offered to the tribe leader. Did they say 264 pounds? How did this primitive tribe arrive at this very specific ideal weight to bear the big man’s offspring? The contrasting realities and dubious facts may make you wonder whether the filmmakers are mocking their audience.
But wait there’s lots more shock for your curious mind. Cut to the pig feast. The narrator emphasizes that the feast only takes place once every five years followed by a period of near famine. Sounds a little hard to swallow. And do the natives really use their nose jewellery as convenient toothpicks? Lucky for the children the feast includes a pick up game of soccer using the inflated pig intestines as a ball. “Someone remembered the children and didn’t eat all of the intestines.” Huh? Didn’t the narrator say there was a famine?
The film becomes more and more shocking, to the point of ridicule, as it progresses. Viewers are left utterly bewildered trying to connect the dots that may or may not be real. Yes, it’s social commentary. The filmmakers were talented and had guts, winning numerous awards for their films. But have we been duped and if so does it really matter as long as we get the message? The Mondo Cane films launched a new style of filmmaking that would eventually branch out in many directions from the gritty Mondo Horror style including Faces of Death (1978) to today’s “fake news” journalism. Check them out as part of your cinematic education but never stop asking yourself, Is this real?
Watch the original 1962 Mondo cane here:
Mondo Cane 1962 from CLEØ CONCRETE on Vimeo.
]]>You booked your ticket, boarded your flight, and Oopsies! now find yourself quarantined in a soulless hotel room serving out a government-imposed confinement. What to do with all this unplanned downtime? Don’t feel sorry for yourself; try these 7 ways to pass the time with no extra equipment beyond the courtesy items found in most hotel rooms and the contents of your carry-on luggage. With a little imagination, these projects will transform your sad, lonely stay into a thrilling 14-day creativity retreat.
You booked your ticket, boarded your flight, and Oopsies! now find yourself quarantined in a soulless hotel room serving out a government-imposed confinement. What to do with all the unplanned downtime? Don’t feel sorry for yourself; try these 7 ways to pass the time with no extra equipment beyond the courtesy items found in most hotel rooms and the contents of your carry-on luggage. With a little imagination, these projects will transform your sad, lonely stay into a thrilling 14-day creativity retreat.
If you’re a fan of William Burroughs or John Cage, you’ll love this sort of artless art. The basic philosophy is to create something unintentionally: you just do the drudgery, and chance will provide the aesthetic content. Taking mundane sources such as local guides, in-house magazines, and yesterday’s newspaper, you can deconstruct the texts and imbue them with new meaning by reassembling them randomly on the page. Depending on your point of view, the result could be great literature, inspired nonsense, or total garbage, but with a bit of luck you’ll find some kind of bizarre logic in there somewhere.
Warning: The creator of this form of literature was notoriously inspired by his use of illicit substances.
Local guides and leaflets
Newspapers and magazines from the lobby
Hotel stationary
Fingernail scissors
Sugar glue
Cut random words and phrases from your texts and store them in a clean, dry coffeepot. Give this a thorough shake, and pull out cuttings one by one, sticking them neatly onto the paper in the order they come out—don’t be tempted to read them at this stage. Continue until you run out of words, paper, or patience. Now try reading the results. Weird, huh?
Sugar glue is the hotel hobbyist’s adhesive of choice, using a cunning formula that combines sugar (found in packages in most hotel rooms) and water (found in all but the most basic hotels) to create a strong glue. Mix two parts sugar with one part hot water to form a thick syrup that hardens as it cools.
The main problem with mind-numbing boredom is just that—if you’re not careful, your brain degenerates into a vegetative state in a matter of minutes—so it’s vital to keep the little gray cells ticking away. There’s no better form of intellectual gymnastics than a hard-fought battle on the chessboard—but how much more satisfying it is to play the game of kings with a set you’ve made yourself. Ok, you’re in self-isolation, so you’re going to have to play yourself, but some consolation is the rule that every time you take a piece, you have to drink.
Paper napkins
Felt-tip pen
Bottles from the minibar (use caps for pawns)
Scraps of paper
Toothpicks
Join four napkins together and mark the eight-by-eight chessboard with a felt-tip pen.
To distinguish between black and white, use clear bottles contrasted with brown or green, or simply play gin versus whiskey, for example. If it’s a problem finding all 32 pieces you can easily manage with 16 by using the caps as pawns.
Stick on scraps of paper and toothpicks to create the distinguishing marks for each piece—a cross for the king, crown for the queen, mitre for the bishop, pennant and shield for the knight, crenulations for the rook.
Grand Master Smirnoff (white) and Johnny Walker (black) do battle. This is the first time they have faced each other across (or under) the table. Expect a spirited match, Smirnoff moving like a well-oiled machine and Walker playing a very tight game.
Using sugar from packets on your coffee tray spread it out in an ashtray or soap dish to make your Zen garden and rake it with a fork. Make different patterns every day for the length of your stay, going for especially auspicious patterns to encourage a positive outcome for that important phone call for help to your local embassy, requests to your parents to wire more money, your teeth-chattering Covid chills to subside, or an agreeable airline to fly you out of the third world purgatory you now find yourself in. Place the finished garden in the appropriate corner of the room for the intended enterprise and make sure it has an uninterrupted, energizing light source.
Ashtray or soap dish
Sugar (brown and white)
Fork
Wealth: Southeast
Fame: South
Success: North
Love: Southwest
The yin/yang symbol is a great centering image for the jet-lagged and dislocated. If possible, use brown and white sugar to get a nice, balancing yin/yang thing going. Wet some of the sugar so it clumps into rocks. In the Zen tradition, rocks are used to signify treasure islands.
This game’s so old; they were doing it on cave walls in the Stone Age. You just need a light source and a wall to project onto. Close the curtains, switch on the desk lamp, and point it at a clear space on the wall, then make shapes with your hands. With practice, you’ll soon be able to make recognizable animal shadows. Add your own sound track and you have the makings of a great evening’s entertainment.
Desk lamp
Wall
Thought you’d be hitting the links on your trip south? Perhaps not as scenic, but olive minigolf guarantees a game whenever you want, and because you design your own course, you can play to your strengths or practice your weaker strokes. Another attraction is the eccentric aerodynamic characteristic of the olive. Any fool can play with a round ball, but it takes a real pro to cope with a knobbly oval—putting presents a particular challenge, especially on carpet.
Creamers and sugar from the coffee tray
Towel
Ashtray
Olives
Teaspoon
Coffee mixer
Toothbrush
Nail file
Good course design is vitally important to a satisfactory round of olive minigolf. The right mix of straightforward and tricky holes, scenic fairways, and interesting hazards makes all the difference. A nice touch is to place the final green just next to the minibar, so you can have a celebratory shot at the nineteenth hole.
Roughly map out a course around your hotel room floor. It’s probably a bit ambitious to go for the full eighteen holes, so aim for nine. Try to get as much variety as possible—different lengths, doglegs, etc.
Use the little creamers from your coffee set as holes, then add a few hazards. Use sugar as a sand trap, a towel for the rough, and fill an ashtray to create a water hazard.
Work out a par for each hole, and a name. Maybe give yourself a handicap (as if you need any more handicaps!).
Place an olive at the beginning of the course, and tee off. Use teaspoons, coffee mixers, toothbrushes, and nail files as clubs (you’ll soon discover which make good drivers, wedges, or putters).
Make your way around the course, keeping a scorecard. End with a sniffer or two at the clubhouse, recounting the tale of the near hole-in-one at the long sixth, or the incident of the pigeon on the balcony at the third green.
This has more to do with those “spot the difference” puzzles in newspaper fun pages than the card game Snap, but the principle is the same. First of all, you need to call an influencer in another room or hotel and challenge him or her to a game. You then take turns photographing stuff in your rooms, using the camera on your cell phone, trying to copy the image you’ve received. You’ll be amazed how much fun this is—especially the arguments over what constitute an acceptable true likeness.
Cell phone
Influencer or friend in another hotel room
Keep it simple to start off with, using things you know are found easily in any hotel room. This will lull your opponent into a false sense of security. But look around for anything unusual in your room (a void airline ticket, for example). Keep this up your sleeve until you’re ready to deliver the coup de grâce.
The goal is this game is to toss a sponge into a floating shower cap in order to gain points, wild applause, and fame—simple in concept but requiring patience, practice and perseverance to master. There are many different shots you can try out, ranging from the simple drop shot through slam dunks and bank shots, to over-the-shoulder lobs and trick shots bounced off the sink or toilet. And no need to shower after a hard game!
Bathful of water
Sponge
Shower cap
Open out a shower cap and float it upside down. Experiments show that bubble bath provides a good surface and keeps the shower cap from drifting. Bath salts are alleged to aid buoyancy, but this is not yet proven.
Take a sponge, small enough to fit easily into the shower cap, and squeeze it dry. Devise a points system: e.g., 1 for landing in shower cap, 2 for bouncing off a wall first, 3 for two walls, 4 for ricocheting around the rim of the toilet.
Throw the sponge, trying to land it in the shower cap. Depending on how athletic you’re feeling, this can be done from a standing position. Experienced hobbyists generally prefer to remain horizontal in the bath.
See how many points you can score before the bathwater gets cold. There are, of course, penalty points for sinking the shower cap or getting your big toe trapped in one of the taps.
Cannabis strain pairings:
Anything you can get your hands on (legally). You're stuck alone in a fucking hotel room; it's no time to get picky about your weed!
Last word:
Back in 2005, creative-genius-on-a-shoestring, philosopher and soothsayer Marcus Weeks wrote Hotel Hobbies: 50 Things to do in a hotel room that won’t get you arrested. Sadly, this masterpiece of entertaining how-to wisdom is now out of print. Having reviewed the original book when it first came out in our print magazine, Heads Lifestyle contacted the author at the start of the pandemic. Here with his blessings, we bring you a few of our favourite hotel hobbies adapted from his book. Who could have predicted how timely these projects would prove to be, especially for those quarantined in hotel rooms rather than lounging on the beach in Cancun or some other sunshine destination.
]]>Connie and Lonnie from Far North Bushcraft and Survival are the creators of countless instructional videos on self-sufficiency in the Alaskan wilderness. Each episode contains nuggets of wisdom that will help you feel more prepared to deal with any crisis. Their soothing tutorials will lower your stress, increase your self-reliance, and may even send you down the path of personal discovery. So pull up a stump, roll a blunt, let’s get started!
Resiliency defined much of 2021. As we begin the New Year, many are looking to bolster their inner strength in the face of ongoing uncertainty. Enter Connie and Lonnie from Far North Bushcraft and Survival, the creators of countless instructional videos on self-sufficiency in the Alaskan wilderness. Let’s be honest, you may never find yourself alone in the woods with nothing more than a knife and a camp blanket, however, a few lessons in practical survival skills will prove invaluable in raising your preparedness to deal with any crisis. Hosts Connie and Lonnie are a genuinely nice couple with exceptional communication skills. Each episode of Far North contains nuggets of wisdom that will help you feel more confident whatever comes your way. Their soothing tutorials will lower your stress, increase your self-reliance, and may even send you down the path of personal discovery. So pull up a stump, roll a blunt, let’s get started!
If you’ve ever spent time in the Far North, you know that nothing beats the cold like a piping hot beverage, and Lonnie’s soft-spoken voice is as soothing as a steaming cuppa. In this episode, Lonnie asserts, “If you’ve never tasted spruce tip tea before, you’re in for a treat.” Indeed, warmth and comfort can be found in a mug of spruce tip tea and the effort to make it is so worth it. Our hosts demonstrate how to identify black spruce from other Christmas trees in the woods. Hint: It’s totally tubular! Black spruce is Lonnie’s personal favourite with its “good clean evergreen smell with a little bit of a citrus smell to it.” Sounds like a fine description of our strain pairing—Superglue showcases its strong piney tones and citrus scents with a happy, creative high. The perfect tea and toke marriage—just like Connie and Lonnie.
In this episode, Lonnie teaches us how to make a boreal shirt—a simple and relatively inexpensive project if you happen to have an old wool blanket lying about. Lonnie might not be a master tailor but when it comes to surviving the elements, he’s got his priorities straight: “I’m very pleased with how the size turned out as well—it makes me look huge!” Once completed, you’ll have a cosy bushman hoodie that can be worn for years and feels just like a warm bear hug. Pair with Animal Cookies for its earthy flavour, sweet aroma, and heavy full-body relaxation. It’s the perfect strain to smoke while snug inside your toasty anorak. You can even tuck a sandwich or two right inside the roomy front pocket in case the munchies hit. Clever!
Panic-buying during the pandemic had many us asking, “Now what?” when faced with empty store shelves. Fret not, life hacks from the Far North have you covered. In this episode, Lonnie makes a TP substitute from the very thing we use to make toilet paper—wood! A sharp knife, a green branch and a little elbow grease is all you need to make an all-natural bog roll. And don’t worry about scratching your fine foufounes, Lonnie promises, “This is real soft, real fluffy, and moist. You’re not going to get slivers off of this!” Pair with OG Kush for its woodsy flavour and proven ability to alleviate tummy trouble and boost appetite.
In this episode, Lonnie turns himself into a human burrito. Using a thick wool blanket, a canvas tarp and an insulated mattress, he demonstrates step-by-step how to fold and tuck your way to a warm sleep system. He emphasizes why proper technique is so important for a comfortable night’s sleep: “If you’ve ever slept underneath a wool blanket like I have, perhaps you discovered the same thing I did and that was—I froze. I froze bad!” Co-star, Buck the dog keeps watch (mostly) on his owner and delights as Lonnie emerges Houdini-style from his wrappings. Pair with a classic couch lock strain like Bigfoot Glue from Humboldt Seed Company with its earthy piney aroma. You may want to sleep with one eye open in case Sasquatch tries to crawl into that cowboy bedroll with you.
In this episode, Lonnie invites us to “pull up a stump” while his wife Connie rustles up some bannock pizza pockets. Cooking on a makeshift rock griddle, Connie fries bacon and onions, and stuffs them along with cheese, olives, mushrooms, and pizza sauce into bannock dough. The homemade pockets fry up crispy and golden in bacon grease, making our mouths water with a vengeance. It just goes to show that you don’t need a lot to make a very, very yummy supper. We sincerely hope Lonnie keeps his promise to “save a bite for ya.” This Far North cooking instructional is simple enough to try in your own backyard. And as Lonnie declares biting into his bannock pocket, it “doesn’t get much better than this!” Pair with GMO Cookies for its savoury flavour profile and relaxed attitude.
While it’s true that most common men will never need a tent wood stove, come along with Connie and Lonnie for a hypnotic look at the different types from lightweight breakdown titanium and stainless steel to affordable homemade units. In this episode, wife Connie expertly mans the camera while Lonnie imparts his savvy on how to make spending time in an extreme environment bearable: “In cold weather, I’m a fan of bigger is better.” We couldn’t agree more—go big if you can’t go home! And while you’re at it, roll a big blunt of something to keep you toasty like Dutch Treat. It smells just like a walk through a boreal forest with its strong coniferous scent. If camping in the middle of winter ain’t your trip, just sit back and listen to the balmy sound of Lonnie’s voice. It will lull you into a deep state of relaxation.
Lonnie and Connie, thank you for your thoughtful and information-packed videos. We appreciate you folks!
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so give it up for Girl in the woods for her playful—and spot on—homage to Connie and Lonnie from Far North Bushcraft and Survival. If you were wondering what Lonnie keeps hidden in his beard, Brooke magically reveals all the essentials. Pair this tongue-in-cheek video with Laughing Buddha for its giggle-inducing effects and herbal sage aroma.
“Lonnie and Connie, a match made in heaven.”
“Best beard on YouTube!”
“Connie seems like such a gentle soul.”
“Y'all are an inspiration to so many people.”
“Lonnie looks more and more like Gandalf. He is a treasure of the bushcraft community.”
“His voice is so relaxing and his energy is so gentle.”
Want more far North Bushcraft and Survival?
Check out the YouTube channel here.
Disclaimer: The views expressed within the content of this article are solely Heads Lifestyle’s and do not reflect the opinions and beliefs of the YouTube channel Far North Bushcraft and Survival and its creators.
-------
Take a toke then take a trip on these high-minded virtual rail experiences
Chris X tests the Bushman Suit
Cannabis, Rasta, Fly Fishing and the Scandinavian Way of Life
]]>
In days of yore, when marijuana was maliciously maligned as a most dangerous drug and hundreds of thousands of otherwise decent tax-paying citizens were arrested for simple possession, the black market ruled and stealth was its currency. Come harvest season, humorist Chris Barry flirted with joining the brotherhood of this underground economy but only if he could wear his unbelievably brilliant camouflage Bushsuit.
Autumn in the rural Northeast is truly a thing of splendour. The tourists come from far and wide to admire the foliage, the horror of frigid winters past are still a distant memory, and there’s plenty of cash waiting to be earned in the local multi-zillion-dollar pot growing industry. And while I’ve neither the guts or tenacity to try and harvest my own giant field of doob, I have been known to bury the odd clone out in the bush somewhere and, come October, return to the scene of “the crime” hoping for the best. Modest pot cultivation is a time-honoured tradition around here. So much so that a determined trek through neighbourhood woods will, almost as often as not, find you, ahem, “stumbling” upon somebody else’s plants. Doob truly is that ubiquitous in these parts.
Now I do not pretend to be a particularly honourable man. I once sold my cat Puff’s faeces to a Grade 8 kid in my school for top dollar, slapping a little black shoe polish on one of her turds and promoting it as an ultra rare variety of Persian hash called Puffapoo. I have done many things I should be ashamed of, but I can proudly state that whenever I’ve come across someone else’s reefer out in the bush I have always followed the righteous path and left it alone. Foolish perhaps, but I see it as a karmic thing: I won’t steal anyone else’s plants and with luck no one will steal mine.
But I’m also an idiot. Last year I planted six clones in various locations and come harvest only one of them had survived without being stolen. And the problem seems to be getting worse. In fact, my friend Dougie, a 300-pound ex-con currently on parole whose entire family lives the year-round on income earned from his impressive marijuana plantation, tells me that he lost more than half his plants last year to thieves. He thinks the crooks—most probably criminal bikers—are coming here from the city for the express purpose of ripping him off. Which may or may not be true. Dougie, albeit a nice enough guy, is arguably not the most brilliant of fellows and tends to be a little paranoid—no doubt the cumulative effect of 30-odd years of uninterrupted reefer consumption.
This year, Dougie says he’s taking no chances with his crop, consequently giving arise to a new employment opportunity in the neighbourhood—one that’s mine if I’m willing to take it. “All you’ve got to do,” Dougie tells me, “is for three weeks before harvest, just spend your nights out in the bush keeping an eye on my plants. It pays $600 a night.”
This, in my book, is pretty good money—a considerably more lucrative opportunity than spending all October in his basement cleaning buds with his pubescent children for $20 an hour. “No worries,” says Dougie, “I’ll supply you with some night vision goggles and a machine gun and if anybody comes around, you just shoot them. You’ll need to have a machine gun, of course, because if there’s more than one of ‘em, well, come on, a simple 33 calibre rifle just isn’t gonna do the job.” Which I suppose makes sense, assuming you’re prepared to kill people over reefer, that is.
Now as much as I like easy, untraceable money, I admit I have some reservations about taking on the gig. For starters, um… it seems a little dangerous. Like, what if the dope thieves have their own night vision goggles and machine guns? Will they shoot me in the back as I scamper as fast as I can through the woods in retreat? Might Dougie choose to garnish my wages should all his reefer get stolen on my watch? Or might he, upon learning of my cowardice, burst into a rage and kill me himself? Dougie being a man, unfortunately, with at least a little bit of murdering experience and unquestionably a character who makes for a much better friend than enemy.
But $600 a day, seven days a week, for three full weeks! That’s pretty damn tempting, and even with all the reefer robbing that’s been going down here lately, you’ve got to wonder what the chances are that I might actually be confronted with a “situation”—as Dougie likes to refer to criminal shoot-outs. I still don’t know what I’m going to do.
But the decision is starting to get easier. You see, I’ve very recently acquired this unbelievably brilliant camouflage suit called The Bushman. It’s intended for mercenaries and snipers, which I guess, if I take Dougie up on his offer, is pretty close to what my official job description will be. This unspeakably ridiculous looking suit is nevertheless incredibly functional. Seriously, you could sit yourself in the potted plants of the busiest Manhattan office building lobby and nobody would notice you, it’s that inconspicuous. I’m thinking that if I take on the job, should the criminal bikers decide one night to come steal Dougie’s plants, rather than shoot ‘em or run away I could just cower in the dirt. There ain’t no way in hell they would spot The Bushman.
And I know exactly how effective The Bushman is too. Last weekend I went to a nature park wearing the fucker just to see if I could creep up on people without being spotted. In the bright light of afternoon I crouched beside a busy walking path and waited. Maybe 12 or 13 people walked directly past me, almost right over me, oblivious to my presence. It was only when I finally stood up—not realizing there was anyone else around—and heard the horrified shriek of a middle-aged woman that I was alerted to the fact that I, The Bushman, had probably been spotted.
Which, of course, is another positive attribute about The Bushman. You can scare the shit out of people with it. Man, even the most hardened, heavily armed dope thief is going to drop doodoo should he come across this big furry Sasquatch-esque monster thing prancing around in the bush.
I promised Dougie that I’d give him an answer about the job by the end of next week. I’m thinking I’ll make my final decision based on how likely I feel any “situations” might arise while in the line of duty. But this much is damn sure: should I ultimately opt to risk life, limb, and liberty for the highly noble purpose of guarding Dougie’s marijuana, you best believe I’ll be doing it as The Bushman. Safety first, children, safety first.
Editor’s Note
In 2004, the year Heads Magazine published its 31st issue that included this humour column by Chris Barry, recreational cannabis was illegal in all 50 states and the black market produced and supplied the marijuana consumed in the United States. Before mammoth commercial cultivations took over legal markets, illegal clandestine grows operated under their own rules—rules often enforced with violence. Heads Lifestyle does not condone violence and supports the ongoing efforts to legalize cannabis on a federal level.
]]>
You’ve rewatched all eight seasons of Game of Thrones. Made it to the end of Schitt’s Creek—“love that journey for me.” And mastered making puddings since viewing ten years’ worth of The Great British Baking Show—scrumptious! You’ve watched drag contests, crime mysteries and docs on everything under the sun. Now what?
As many parts of the world enter a third pandemic lockdown, we’ll all be seeking distractions to pass the time. Fortunately for the cannabis community, we’ve got just the ticket to ease your stay-at-home fatigue. Get high and settle in for a mesmerizing journey on one of the most relaxing forms of locomotion—train travel! We’ve paired glorious cabview train videos with the best strains for enjoying the ride. Melt into the hypnotic clickety-clack of the rails or hit play on our curated Trains & Strains Spotify playlist. Now get comfy ‘cause the train is about the depart… All aboard!
To enhance your experience, we've created a custom playlist on Spotify to accompany your virtual voyage. Cue this up, mute the video and press play just as you are about to depart. Have a nice trip!
Heads Lifestyle: Trains and Strain Mix
The Bernina Railway links St. Moritz, Switzerland to Tirano, Italy passing through the Bernina Pass. It is the highest railway crossing in Europe and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
For summertime travel, we recommend pairing with 9lb Hammer for its deeply calming effects.
_________
The Sarajevo–Ploče Railway line connects Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina with Ploče, Croatia on the Adriatic Coast. If you seek thrills, this trip includes 99 tunnels and 65 bridges. Follow the picturesque Neretva River Canyon and then head over the Bradina Pass, while smoking GG4 for a fully euphoric experience.
_________
The Diakopto–Kalavryta Railway line joins the seaside town of Diakopto with Kalavryta in southern Greece. The steep climb of the cogwheel railway, inaugurated in 1896, takes passengers along the Vouraikos gorge, through tunnels and past the Mega Spilaio (Great Cave) monastery, one of the oldest monasteries in Greece. Enjoy the spectacular scenery and old-world charm with a classic earthy Afghani strain.
_________
The Nordland Line leaves Trondheim Central Station on an epic 728-kilometer journey through the stunning Norwegian countryside, pausing at historic stations, before passing through the Arctic Circle and arriving nine hours later in Bodø on the Norwegian Sea. If you have a little extra time, say 36 hours, try taking the route in each of the four seasons and watch as the landscape evolves. To truly capture the full friluftsliv experience, we recommend pairing your trip with Northern Lights.
For the full four-season experience check out this same ride during Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter
Source: NRKbeta.no
_________
The Wairarapa Line departs from Wellington, New Zealand, skirting the sparkling Wellington Harbour, before making its way through the Hutt Valley and the Remutaka Mountain Range. After passing through a long tunnel, the train is greeted by a spectacular view of Lake Wairarapa, as it continues through verdant farmland on to its destination, Masterton. Settle in for the voyage with Granddaddy Purple.
_________
This leg of the West Highland Line departs from Crianlarich, carrying you into the broad wilds of Rannoch Moor where you’ll float over peat bogs that stretch to the far mountains. Just after passing Corrour, UK’s highest train station, keep an eye out for a lone sheep on the tracks (1:01:46) and then Ben Nevis, Scotland’s tallest peak before arriving at Fort William. As you marvel at the daunting landscape of mountains, steep-sided lochs and heather moors, light up with Girlscout Cookies for a happy full body relaxation.
_________
If you love snow and want to experience the Alps wonderland, take the same Bernina Railway ride in winter and pair with Vanilla Frosting by Humboldt Seed Company for an uplifted mood.
]]>
By Chris Barry
It’s funny, it dawned on me recently that I haven’t been taking psychedelic drugs anywhere nearly as often as I used to. And I’m not sure why. I’ve always loved psychedelics, and regardless of what it suggests about the fullness of my existence, many of my very happiest moments on this God-forsaken planet have been whilst flyin’ on ‘shrooms or acid. I mean, giant scary purple spiders and the occasional melting face aside, the good times and laughter to be had from a $7 blotter of ‘cid just can’t be beat. Seriously, outside of the last time you sat through a weekend marathon of Check It Out re-runs, have you ever laughed as hard as you do on acid under any other circumstances? I know I haven’t, which makes my recent abstinence from the psychedelic experience all the more bizarre. A cause for concern actually. Like, what the hell has happened to my priorities that I’ve allowed such an important and life-affirming activity to take a diminished role in my world? It can’t only be that I have to drive a car every once in awhile, can it?
Having lots of free time on my hands, my brain decided it was well time I stopped worrying about this thoroughly unacceptable situation and reconnect with my inner core again—the psychedelic me who laughs and laughs and occasionally even walks away with an enlightened perspective on the human condition. The end result being this past weekend I sat down and ate a good-sized handful of mushrooms. Sure enough, I was back in psychedelic mode. Within the half-hour, I was reconnecting with my inner being like a motherfucker. At which point I began to remember something I’d pretty well forgotten since the last time I’d taken psychedelics almost a full year ago: my inner core is something of an idiot. A tough revelation to grapple with, for sure, but perhaps as the years advance I’ve finally acquired the wisdom affording me the clarity to recognize that my inner voice is not to be trusted, that it is, indeed, as often as not, the voice of a ‘tard.
Within the half-hour, I was reconnecting with my inner being like a motherfucker. At which point I began to remember something I’d pretty well forgotten since the last time I’d taken psychedelics almost a full year ago: my inner core is something of an idiot.
Perhaps there’s no better evidence of the psychedelic me’s idiot leanings than the bizarre relationships I’ve formed with countless inanimate objects over the years I’ve spent high on psychedelics. Sure, I’ve had plenty of those drug-fuelled moments of creativity, or life-altering personal observations immediately forgotten upon coming down, but what does tend to stick with me long after my “trips” are over is the closeness and/or animosity I can retain with respect to… uh, for example, the 2x4 piece of plywood currently rotting on my porch, the one I only began conversing with the last time I took peyote. As it turned out, this particular piece of wood offered me quite a bit of eye-opening information about the world and my relationship to it, and to throw it out back now, after we got to know each other so well, like, I just can’t seem to do it. It’d be like sneaking out in the morning after an especially satisfying one-night stand without waking your lover up to say good-bye, or at least leaving a note by the bed with your phone number expressing thanks for the good times. Like, to pretend that piece of wood and I never had anything going now would be disrespectful, patently un-cool. Yet, um, it’s a piece of wood—and it’s rotting.
Nevertheless, the two of us got pretty close that winter-y Sunday afternoon. You see, this particular peyote trip was one of those relatively rare—for me, at least—psychedelic experiences where you come away feeling like you’ve learned something, like you’ve connected with something greater than yourself while flying around in that wonderful maze of sound and colour. Now, sure, it’s true, I can’t actually recall the exact details of what I learned anymore, but I do remember it seemed awfully profound at the time, and that it came to me via said piece of wood. You see, Woody (Hey, I already told you the psychedelic me is a buffoon. What? You expect me to come up with clever names for wood when I’m high?) understood (understands?) the mysteries of my universe and was able to relate this info to me telepathically—I guess. All I know is as I was putting my boots on to go out into the world that day, it caught my attention that the Woodmeister was glowing, something I’d never noticed him doing before, and when I would inquire as to whether he was trying to tell me something, his glow would flicker, like he was giving me a knowing wink. Awesome, I thought, I’d walk around the city today with my goddamned spirit guide in hand. How cool is that? Woody can make all the decisions, fill me in on what the people I come in contact with are really thinking, and who I can and cannot trust. A pretty sweet arrangement, we both agreed. So out into the world we ventured, a wild-eyed, totally fried me, with this big all-knowing 2x4 gripped tightly in hand. First stop, the mall. Hey, why not?
Awesome, I thought, I’d walk around the city today with my goddamned spirit guide in hand. How cool is that? Woody can make all the decisions, fill me in on what the people I come in contact with are really thinking, and who I can and cannot trust. A pretty sweet arrangement, we both agreed. So out into the world we ventured, a wild-eyed, totally fried me, with this big all-knowing 2x4 gripped tightly in hand.
“So, um, Woody,” I asked while closing in on our destination. “I was just wondering, um, am I due to die anytime soon? And, like, is this something I should be looking forward to?” “Wink, wink,” the Woodster replied in his unique fashion. “Wink, wink!? Wink, wink, what?” I replied. “Are you telling me I’m getting ready to die?” “Wink, wink,” came the answer again, but this time with a little more intensity, something I could safely interpret as being in the affirmative. “Yes, well, all-righty-then,” I thought, not especially concerned about my impending demise because the Woodmeister had just suggested it was going to be a lot of fun, but increasingly curious nonetheless. “So, um, how and when can I expect this to happen?” I inquired as we stepped into the mall. But this the Woodster didn’t seem to want to answer.
Now at the time I figured my spirit guide was just being a little aloof, fucking with me a bit, you know, the way spirit guides are want to do. I knew if I kept on him he’d eventually lay out the details of my final exit. Except I never got the chance. You see, curiously enough, an arguably deranged man walking through the underground malls of Montreal with a 2x4 in his hand has a way of attracting the attention of security, and Woody and I were confronted almost immediately upon passing through the revolving doors.
“No, no, he’s cool,” I told the first two security dicks that approached me. “He’s not looking to attack anybody, and me neither. We just want to look around a bit, maybe grab a sandwich or something in the food court. Yeah, it’s cool.”
You see, curiously enough, an arguably deranged man walking through the underground malls of Montreal with a 2x4 in his hand has a way of attracting the attention of security, and Woody and I were confronted almost immediately upon passing through the revolving doors.
But it wasn’t. And no amount of demented ranting about the relationship Woody and I were developing was going to change anyone’s mind. After what I vaguely recall as a relatively detailed exchange, in which I no doubt informed them I considered it sacrilege to abandon my piece of rotting wood/spirit guide outside, more anxious security people were summoned and Woody and I were promptly escorted out of the building. Personally, I didn’t really consider this much of a big deal. Hey, we could always just continue our walk outside. Except Woody must have been severely traumatized by the whole ordeal because after that he didn’t say a word. He was like a child who goes mute after witnessing their parents being murdered or something. But that was it. Woody stopped glowing altogether and started acting… well, like a piece of rotting wood. I stayed well high for many more hours, we continued our walk unabated, but even after we returned home, Woody was still too shaken to answer any more questions for me.
Which might have been just as well. After all, to the best of my knowledge I’m still walking the earth, and several other revelations Woody brought me that afternoon, the details of which I will spare you, have turned out to be similarly suspect. My inner core, as I’ve already told you, is not to be trusted. Nevertheless, Woody is still hanging out on my porch like he’s been doing for years. I can’t discard him now, like, maybe he’ll get over his trauma yet and explain why his last prediction appears so far to have been, uh, retarded. I try and prod him occasionally, like last weekend when my head was awash with ‘shrooms, but he remains dumb. And don’t think I don’t realize, friends, how ridiculous this is. But I keep Woody with me just in case he decides to someday come alive again and feed me more misinformation. After all, why not? Anyway, it doesn’t really matter if he ever does or not, because this past weekend I got to know my disposable cigarette lighter pretty well too. And even though it’s now out of butane, I have a feeling Bic intends on communicating with me again sometime soon. And if and when it does, maybe she will be able to give me some news about how Woody’s holding up in the world beyond. Then again, Bic will probably turn out to be as clued out as Woody. Still, one never knows.
Additional reporting by Woody and Bic
Illustration: Stu Helm
This article first appeared in Heads Vol.6 Issue 07 - May 2007
-------
Take a trip to the magical world of fungi
How not to look stoned in the cubicle jungle
Everything you need to know about recreational drugs
]]>
If the slow creep of lazy hibernation is sending you into an autumn stupor, don’t give in just yet. We’ve got five films that’ll leave you too spooked to sleep. Shock yourself out of that dull daze with these psychotherapeutic selections from our very own Stu Helm, the master of self-inflicted dread and horror.
If the slow creep of lazy hibernation is sending you into an autumn stupor, don’t give in just yet. We’ve got five films that’ll leave you too spooked to sleep. Shock yourself out of that dull daze with these psychotherapeutic selections from our very own Stu Helm, the master of self-inflicted dread and horror.
If you haven't seen the movie Mandy—good lord! Set aside all expectations of WTF a horror movie should be. Set aside all judgements of what the difference between pure brilliance and utter shit might be. Set your mind on pause, erase, and reboot before diving/giving in to the red, the blood, the fire, the mayhem, the metal of Mandy. Nick Cage is at his jaw-droppingly best and worst in this movie, in every minute of every scene, with every word and breath, he is both awful and awesome. Mandy was an instant fucking classic to me, and it is the only movie, besides Star Wars and Looking for Mr. Goodbar, that I have ever worn a T-shirt of. I'm wearing it right now. The power of Mandy compels me.
Pro Tip! Smoke an absolute FUCK TON of weed before watching Mandy. Seek therapy/comfort animals afterward.
Watch the trailer HERE.
If you haven't caught Bone Tomahawk—it's HORRIFIC. My jaw hit the floor, like, 20 times during my solo viewing of this stomach-churning retro-throwback-exploitation-style cowboy Western that will have you wishing for the rest of your life that you had never said to yourself, "Oh, Kurt Russell? This looks fun." Yeah, no, not fun. Horrible! Horrible things happen to every single person in this movie. The gore will make you go fetal position. The sense of dread and nerve-wracking anticipation will have you cutting lines of Xanax just to get to the end. And when—if—you do make it to the end, I can almost guarantee that—even after reading this—you will say to yourself, "What the holy FUCK did I just watch?" And possibly, "Kurt Russell, why did you do it to me?" And on top of all that, there is also a bunch of racism. Jesus fuck! Throughout every moment of the whole film, more or less, I was just waiting for the most awful things to happen. And then they did. "Recommend" might be too strong of a word for this review. Watch if your goal is to be horrified. And to gain a whole new level of WTF for Kurt Russell.
P.S. The writing, acting, cinematography, sound, and production values are all excellent.
Watch the trailer HERE
You'd better go ahead and schedule a Zoom meeting with your therapist now, because, holy shit, unless you are made out of actual ice and literal steel you will be trauma-fucking-tized for life by this movie. I oughta know—I've watched it three times. The fear-driven tension, the devastating violence, the all-too-imaginable-yet-incredibly-horrific cruelty, the unrelenting terror and abject sense of complete and total soul-crushing hopelessness that you will feel... in the first half of this movie... will be tripled in the second half... and quadruple-drippled by the end. Seriously, strap on a feedbag of comfort snacks and prepare yourself for an emotional roller coaster ride, made up entirely of all extreme downward plunges. No ups. I was shell-shocked after watching this one, all by myself, one sunny Saturday afternoon. And then again a few years later. And then for a third time kind of recently. After each viewing, even when I knew the whole plot and every scene, I was left with the worst, most dismal, depressing, and defeated feelings about humanity. It's one of my favourite movies of all-time in any genre, which brings up the question: WTF is wrong with me??? Why do horror movie viewers subject themselves to this kind of emotional torture? Who knows? Who cares? Starring ol' what's-his-nuts who played Loki in those Thor movies, and some chick I had to look up named Kelly Reilly, this flick is kind of underappreciated in America, even though it won some kind of Best Movie Ever award in Brit-land.
Here's the TRAILER
I've watched, aka put myself through the ordeal that is this movie twice... kinda. The original Austrian film was famously remade by the same director, 10 years later, in English, shot-for-shot, and I have watched them both. Each is excellent, and will terrorize the fucking shit out of you, for sure. The only real diff between the two films is that the English language one stars actors you will well recognize for the most part, or at least I did. And while they are good actors (for the most part), and the terror is not necessarily diminished by their famousness, I'm the type of person who can't help but see famous actors rather than movie characters when the actors in a movie are very familiar to me. Now, some people are gonna wanna see the stars. No judgements from me there, they’re famous for a reason. So watch the English language version if you prefer to see celebrities inflicting and being inflicted with relentless psychological torment and brutal physical torture. I myself prefer to watch anonymous European strangers kill and be killed. Not sure why. Maybe it feels less like a movie, and more real to me. Maybe Austrians, in particular, are just naturally scarier, because, y'know... Hitler. As far as the plot goes, I seriously don't want to describe even one little bit of it, because so much of the anxiety and fear is driven by not knowing what these horrible horrible characters are going to do next, and just dreading the fuck out of each and every upcoming scene, until all of your hope, and joy, and belief in the goodness of people has been beaten out of you with a golf club. Oh no! I've already said too much. Just watch the movie. Don't even watch the trailer.
P.S. To be clear: Hitler is not in this film.
P.P.S. Best use of music to shatter nerves of audience ever.
P.P.P.S. Strangely jarring (and much imitated) use of large and sudden fonts adds tangibly to the high terror factor. As a former and occasional graphic designer myself, I like that.
P.P.P.P.S. Fill your Prozac prescription prior to watching.
Watch the TRAILER
Giant monster movies can be thrilling, and even scary, and this one is both, but they rarely—if ever—leave me feeling traumatized afterward, like the movies Funny Games or Eden Lake did. After those I needed a shower, a cup of chamomile tea, and ALLLLL my stuffed animals. After watching Shin Godzilla, I just straight up watched it again, immediately. And then again. I’m a big fan of Godzilla. I’ve seen all the movies, most of them multiple times. I also love Mothra movies, Gamera movies, Kaiju movies of all kinds. I even like the Cloverfield series. ANYTHING with giant mother fucking monsters, I am down for, and that is because I am essentially a child.
Overall, though, I think Shin Godzilla is the best of the entire series, except for the first instalment, of course. The monster itself is the BEST and the most interesting take on Godzilla ever for one thing. It ain’t tryin’ to be all tough and scary, Mr. Muscles, like American Godzilla tends to be. At first, Shin Godzilla is just fuckin’ weird and crazy looking, but once it gets all grow’d up, yowza, look out. This is the biggest, most powerful, uncaring, and destructive Godzilla ever, and the destruction is AWESOME. Fearsome, even. I did find there to be some genuine scares in this movie. And more than a couple Whoas! and Holy shits!
Watch the trailer HERE
Disclaimer: Stu Helm’s opinions may not reflect those of other horror movie fans. Or people in general.
BIO
"Stu Helm was born in 1966 in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and has lived in Boston, Chicago, and now resides in Asheville, North Carolina. He has a BFA from the Art Institute of Boston, and worked as a fine artist, illustrator, and graphic designer for over 20 years, before making the switch to being a food blogger. Since 2013, Stu has been writing and taking pictures of the remarkable farm-to-table, Southern Appalachian, international food scene in the small city of Asheville, where he has become a very popular and recognizable independent media figure. Stu's reviews reflect his upbringing and sense of humor, and come with an adult language warning. His photos of food have been described as "beautiful," "epic," and "monolithic." He is very active on Facebook and Instagram as Stu Helm Food Fan, as well as on his web site stuhelmfoodfan.com"
-------
16 Post-Apocalypse shows to stream now!
Documentary's dark underbelly
The visual magick of Malleus Rock Art Lab
]]>
As the deadly spread of the coronavirus takes hold of North America, forcing people to shelter in place, Heads has compiled a list of 16 post-apocalypse movies and series to watch as you pass the time at home. They may be fiction, but you could still pick up a tip or two on how to survive the COVID-19 devastation. Get ready to fight Ghoulies, Titans, Clippers, Grounders, Vesps, nuclear fallout, deadly viruses, and your own imagination!
Josh Wheeler is a 17-year-old high schooler trying to find his missing girlfriend in post-apocalyptic California. Joined by an eccentric collection of oddballs, the series takes viewers on a Mad Max-style ride where Josh and company must overcome the terror of evil gangs of jocks and Amazonian cheerleaders, the zombie-like Ghoulies, and other threats to his quest.
Simone and Rasmus are siblings who were left hunkering in a bunker by their scientist father after a virus-laden rain nearly wipes out the entire Scandinavian population. Emerging six years later, they join forces with a group of young survivors as they search for safety and a cure.
The Rose family survives a zombie pandemic by sheltering in a houseboat in rural Australia. However, realizing his own contagion, the father must now seek a new home for his baby daughter before it’s too late.
Cut off from civilization in a Texas wasteland, protagonist Arlen must adapt to the unforgiving landscape of the Bad Batch. The young woman is caught by cannibals but escapes to the Comfort, a cult-like settlement headed by charismatic leader, The Dream.
Returning from a business trip, a mother quickly falls ill and dies from a mysterious infection. Her son is the next victim but her husband appears to me immune. This is ground zero of a pandemic that sees millions of people become sick as the world panics and falls into chaos. (Really, this is a fiction!)
Set on a space station nearly a century after a nuclear apocalypse wipes out life on earth, the inhabitants of the Ark are faced with a new challenge—overpopulation. In need of a safe home, they send 100 juvenile detainees back to earth to determine its habitability. Here the 100 encounter those who survived the destruction: the Grounders, the Reapers and the Mountain Men—hostile clans battling for power, and must learn to survive under the harshest conditions.
In a post-apocalyptic world ruined by war, a feudal system has filled the power void. In the Badlands, barons control monopolies of opium and fuel. They oversee large slave workforces of clogs kept in line by deadly warriors known as clippers. In a society with no guns, martial arts have become the dominant fighting style offering elaborate choreographed fight scenes.
After a nuclear explosion, the citizens of Jericho attempt to reconstruct their town. However, the townspeople soon become suspicious of the newly formed Cheyenne government’s oversized interest in their peaceful community.
Imagine The Swiss Family Robinson, only set 30 years in the future and in space. The Robinson family are en route to a space colony when their ship gets blown light-years off course. Their new shipwrecked reality means surviving in a dangerous alien environment with a couple of questionable outsiders.
This Japanese anime series is set in a world where humans must live in fortified cities to protect themselves from Titans, gigantic humanoid creatures who devour people. After a Colossal Titan breaches their hometown, young Eren and friends vow revenge by joining the elite soldiers of the Scout Regiment.
After a mysterious force wipes out most of the human population, survivors set forth to seek safety. The catch? The deadly entity kills you by assuming the form of your worst fear. A mother and her children hack the problem by covering their eyes and embark on the dangerous blindfolded journey.
After a team of researchers discovers and sets loose a deadly primeval species called Vesps that are blind and hunt by sound, the world is terrorized into hushed silence. The Silence follows the story of Ally, a deaf teenager and her family as they seek refuge in the remote countryside, but they encounter one deadly hurdle after another along the way.
Set in the near future, the world is frozen and survivors are living on a train called the Snowpiercer, which is divided into a class system—wealth up front, squalor in the rear. Curtis and a group of lower-class denizens undertake a revolution, battling their way forward with the goal of creating a more equitable existence for all.
Mother is an android tasked with repopulating the world using stored embryos after a global apocalypse. Her teenage daughter discovers life beyond their base and suspects that the outside world is no longer contaminated, leading to a confrontation between her and Mother.
Between is set in a ten-square-mile government-imposed quarantine zone that has been infected by a mysterious virus that kills anyone over the age of 22. With a node to Lord of the flies, the series explores what happens when the young inhabitants are left to rule themselves.
Set in a post-apocalyptic world too toxic for human life, young scientist Sam Walden is determined to not only survive but to save her beloved earth. While all others have abandoned the planet to live on one of Jupiter’s moons, her last human connection is a man named Micah who is racing to catch the last shuttle to IO.
Disclaimer: The following article is for entertainment purposes only. Smoking weed at the office is never a good idea unless, of course, you’re a cannabis sommelier and it’s your job to smoke weed at work. The strategies listed below, although generally useful for functional potheads, should never be used to mask office cannabis consumption. In short, don’t be an idiot!
Do you find yourself sitting in your cubicle at the office, counting the seconds ‘til you can get home and spark up a rehumanizing spliff? Are you tempted to light one up on your lunch break, but worried that your unreasonable, abstemious boss will sack your hide for being high on the job? Well leave the worrying to others, and bring your weed to work, because here are six infallible ways to partake in the pleasures of pot at the office, without letting anyone onto the fact that you’re completely wrecked off your ass.
In case you haven’t noticed, weed stinks. A lot! If you’ve ever driven on a country road near a place where a skunk has sprayed and turned to your friend and brilliantly remarked, “Hey, it smells like weed, man!” then you know what I’m on about. And until some freaky nerd living in his parents’ basement comes up with a formula for odourless weed, smell shall continue to be one of the biggest obstacles in not seeming stoned. Who knows, your tight-assed co-worker might smell the sacred aroma of ganja escaping from your lips and think you are some kind of drug-headed loser. So brushing your teeth or chewing some gum after consuming will take you a long way towards seeming not stoned. Wash your hands with soap and water after lighting up. But be careful of washing your hands too much in a day—you will succeed in hiding your stoned-ness, but people may start to think you’re a little bit obsessive-compulsive.
If you can’t keep your head in the conversation for too long, try to pick up on key words, like “Yes,” “No,” “Why are you staring at me?” or “Can you please get out of my cubicle?”
Nothing will give away your high-ness as much as laughing hysterically like a caged bird after your co-worker asks you if you’ve seen her coffee mug, or crying like a kindergartener about how you miss your deceased grandpa after you hear a great joke about an old man, a duck, a German podiatrist, and nail clippers. Awkward silences happen, but try not to break them with your high-pitched squealing imitation of a seal copulating with a defecating monkey. Really concentrate and focus on what the other person is saying to you, instead of counting the freckles on the inside of their nostrils. If you can’t keep your head in the conversation for too long, try to pick up on key words, like “Yes,” “No,” “Why are you staring at me?” or “Can you please get out of my cubicle?”
“Why are your eyes so red, Anderson?” “I don’t know, Boss, allergies, I’m tired, I’m dying, leave me alone.” Starin’ someone right in the face with your eyes so red they’re practically bleeding is a sure-fire way to show you’re stoned. Shades are a good way of hiding those bloodshot peepers—a good way, that is, if you’re in the park on a sunny day, in which case you’re probably surrounded by people who care more about pulling off a killer hack trick or pounding their bongo into a monotonous state of coma than the fact that you’re baked. Eye drops work well, but putting drops into your own eyes is about as easy as filling your own cavities. If all else fails, just try not looking people in the eye. That way they won’t care about whether your stoned or not, they’ll just think you’re really socially awkward and leave you alone.
Unless you’re about to go on maternity leave, ordering pizzas to your desk at 2:00 p.m. after you’ve just had lunch is a good way to let the office know you’re high. Try to limit your munchies to normally accepted human eating hours like lunch, dinner—all those socially restrictive times that have been set aside to control the masses and keep everyone following the same artificial rhythm, man! Avoid running through the office with starved, bulging eyes, licking the crumbs off people’s laps, sticking your head in garbage cans looking for a discarded Twinkie, and dipping urinal cakes into the year-old hummus in the fridge. Keep emergency snacks handy: a granola bar, veggie wrap, all-natural, sugar-free, organic wafers, cinnamon rice cake, or any such small, easily concealed, low-carb, protein-rich, conventionally trendy booster.
There’s no real way to hide the fact that you’re drunk, and what better way to hide the fact that you’re stoned! No one will be able to notice that you smoked a joint after you’ve had 12 beers. Falling over desks and tables, reeking of Sambuka, screaming and rambling like an idiot about how you’re one true soul mate was your grade 2 teacher, puking in wastebaskets, and ordering liquid cocaine shots from the janitor are definitely not the behaviour of a pothead. Sure, your alcohol-loosened lips might let everyone in the office know about that wet dream you had last night about a certain co-worker of the same sex, but hey, they can’t fire you for homosexuality anymore. Alcohol is also legal, which makes it more okay in the eyes of the masses—take advantage of this loophole in the law! Cheers!
There’s no real way to hide the fact that you’re drunk, and what better way to hide the fact that you’re stoned! No one will be able to notice that you smoked a joint after you’ve had 12 beers.
No matter how clean-cut your hair, how well-ironed your shirt, how sweet smelling your breath, if you’re sitting in the corner of the room, in a sub-catatonic state, mumbling to yourself about how good the music that isn’t playing is, yelling at the computer screen to stop staring at you, colour-coding the contents of your desk while smiling at your co-worker in the cubicle next to you, crying about how your cousin wouldn’t let you play with her hamster when you were eight, seeing how far your snot can run down your face until it falls off, or spending the entire afternoon stuffing as many staples as you can into your bellybutton, people will guess that you are stoned. So be normal, speak at a reasonable tone and pace, drink out of your mouth and shit out of your ass, and for fuck’s sake, don’t mention weed, man!
Illustrations: Stu Helm
]]>
Love 'em or hate 'em, stoner stereotypes have defined the culture. We’ve all known one, and some of us may have even been one in a not-too-distant past, the Earth Mama, the Radical, the White Rasta, the B-boy, the Dude or the Frat Boy. It’s okay to have a laugh especially when we’re making fun of ourselves.
]]>
Love 'em or hate 'em, stoner stereotypes have defined the culture. We’ve all known one, and some of us may have even been one in a not-too-distant past, the Earth Mama, the Radical, the White Rasta, the B-boy, the Dude or the Frat Boy. It’s okay to have a laugh especially when we’re making fun of ourselves.
Might be really hot, and into free love. Either way, she’s easy, and identifiable from the telltale hippie scent that emanates from her inevitably hairy armpits (this particular odour is made up of a blend of herbal deodorant that—surprise, surprise—doesn’t work too well, and of course patchouli). She wears lotsa hemp and flowery sundresses (probably no undies so pay attention when she does cartwheels, or gets herself into a real frenzy spinning like a whirling dervish). Good possibility that she’s renamed herself, rejecting the tag thrust upon her by mom and dad in favour of something that more appropriately describes her spirit, such as Karmafield or Starburst. Regularly stoned off other people’s pot, she plays acoustic folk tunes inspired by her inner child that make us all wonder if maybe her inner child should have taken more lessons.
Pastimes: Braiding hair, Astrology, Looking for a Miracle
Sounds: Sarah McLachlan, Grateful Dead, Joni Mitchell
Eats: Granola, Hemp, Ben & Jerry Peace Pops
Says: “Wow! You have a beautiful aura.”
Earth Mama Hall of Fame: Phoebe from Friends, Eddie Brickell, Janice from The Muppets
This guy has a bunch of really brilliant ideas about how to fix the world’s problems and most of them involve having all world leaders smoke pot. He argues that if they just mellow out, man, then they, like, wouldn’t keep, like, doing animal testing in Bosnia, and, like, force people to work and pay tax and stuff. This guy loves Che Guevara, especially in those days where he was the badass junkie-manager for the MC5 and leader of the White Panther party. He tries desperately to organize protests at the local university, but keeps getting ejected by the campus security guards, because he’s too stoned to find his student ID card and prove that he’s not just some fucked up kid out on a day pass from the loony bin. The Radical tries in vain to get a group of like-minded revolutionaries to help him boycott McDonalds for righteous political purposes, but every time he brings up the idea, the subject changes to “How fuckin’outtasite it would be if we had some McNuggets right now!”
Pastimes: Protests, Rallies, Public disobedience
Sounds: Rage Against the Machine, Dead Prez, Ozomatli
Eats: Caffeine and Nicotine
Says: “We’re gonna stick it to the man!”
Radical Hall of Fame: Patty Hearst, Thomas Forçade
Now, the White Rasta, of course, would have you believe that she’s in this whole thing for the love of Jah Rastafari, and she’s always willing to explain the philosophy and history of Rastafari. According to the White Rasta, the movement can be traced back to the time when Halie Sellasse first demonstrated to Bob Marley the proper method for rolling a spliff. Truth is, she once heard that Rastas can smoke da herb legally since it is an integral part of their religious philosophy, so she figures, Hey, if Babylon ever show up and try to bust me, I’ll scream religious persecution! Bambaclat! Let’s hope for her own personal safety that if she ever does make it to Jamaica, she doesn’t set foot outside of Club Med. She wears a Peter Tosh T-shirt to emphasize that she knows of another figure in the entirety of Jamaican culture other than Marley.
Pastimes: Drumming, Hair twisting, Growing the sacred herb
Sounds: Reggae, Dub and Dancehall
Eats: Ital, Jamaican patties, Jerk chicken
Says: “Jah people, we are one.”
Whasta Hall of Fame: Soma, Drexl Spivey from True Romance, the albino twins from The Matrix Reloaded
The B-Boy is very difficult to understand as he employs an ever-evolving vernacular incorporating the newest slang and wordplay to communicate the simplest of ideas. His threads, while a few sizes too large, are covered in pot leaf designs, and do a good job of outwardly expressing his love of da herb. While the ingestion of marijuana might put most people in a more relaxed state, the B-Boy is not susceptible to this most adverse side effect—quite the opposite, puffin’ root keeps him in a state of heightened readiness, and he can quickly anticipate incidents that will require his situational awareness and coordinated actions. These incidents include but are not limited to: being cut off by another driver on the road, disagreements over the merits of hip-hop artists, and people stepping on his new sneakers.
Pastimes: Graffiti, Spinnin’ and Getting jiggy
Sounds: NWA, The Beatnuts
Eats: Anything that can be supersized at the finest fast food joints
Says: “Yo-Yo” and “Bling-Bling”
B-Boy Hall of Fame: Vanilla Ice, Flavor Flave
The dude says “dude” quite a lot, because it means so many different things, like “I’m really glad you just rolled that huge joint” or “How could you accuse me of hitting on your girlfriend, we’ve been pals since we were ten years old?” He flirts with veganism, digs Phish, loves the ladies and the ladies love him. He’ll smoke anything, anytime, any place, and, although he seems like he can surf, he doesn’t really have good enough motor skills. He’s usually standing on a slant, just kinda groovin’, wearing sandals on his blackened crusty feet. He often sports shades, but when you see his eyes, you can detect years of damage from staring at a 3-D poster of Jimi Hendrix in his basement. He still lives with his parents, but it’s cool, ‘cause they never come down to the basement.
Pastimes: Surf, Skate, Snow
Sounds: Phish, Long Beach Dub Allstars
Eats: Taco Bell, Count Chocola cereal, Poptarts
Says: “Dude” “Stoked” and “Bro”
Dude Hall of Fame: Jeff Spicoli, Pauly Shore, Keanu Reeves
Beer is his drug of choice, but he loves weed because when girls smoke it after they’ve been drinking it transforms him into an intellectual super star. Never without his buddies, him and his buds use buds to get in that special zone where you can excel at important things like video games, beating up nerds, or thinking of awesome ways to break things. While the Frat Boy is willing to smoke from anything, he prefers turning the act of getting high into some kind of competitive game that will result in the loser throwing up all night or being sent to the hospital for detoxification.
Pastimes: Keggers
Sounds: AC/DC in public and The Smiths in private
Eats: Beer, KD, Pizza
Says: “Booya” and “Food Fight”
Frat Boy Hall of Fame: Bluto Blutarsky, The Alpha Beta jocks from Revenge of the Nerds
]]>
Tell a joke. Elicit a laugh (fingers crossed). Repeat. For decades, this has been the script that comedians have stuck to. And, it’s worked. But in a time that’s increasingly turbulent and verging on, if put lightly, unfunny, comedians are dialling down the funny and becoming serious. If you tune into comedy for a good giggle, you don’t have to despair just yet. The funny folk aren’t omitting laughs altogether. But they are upending traditional notions and challenging standard comedic devices by addressing more pressing topics like mental illness and racial injustice.
The funny folk aren’t omitting laughs altogether. But they are upending traditional notions and challenging standard comedic devices by addressing more pressing topics like mental illness and racial injustice.
Can comedians, whose job it is to make us laugh, really be taken seriously?
Neal Brennan: 3 Mics (2017), a Netflix comedy special written and performed by Neal Brennan, was one of the first to take on the challenge in an innovative way. In the eponymous special, Brennan alternates between three microphones—one for one-liners, one for more traditional comedy and another to recount stories of childhood and his struggle with depression. Not only does Brennan flip the conventional stand up formula by using three mics, by cycling through the three devices, he plots comedy against mental illness in stark contrast. Gratefully, the comedian’s one-liners provide an outlet for the discomfort he invokes during his gritty personal storytelling. This is exactly how Brennan makes his special thrive by getting us thinking while soothing us with a laugh.
Across the globe, Australian comedian Hannah Gadsby announced in what may or may not be her final comedy special Nanette (2018) that she is contemplating retiring from stand up. Frustrated with the self-deprecating and humiliating positions comedians often put themselves through in order to get a laugh, Gadsby didn’t take her final bow without first starting a dialogue. The beginning of her special takes off slow but gradually turns into a crescendo of anger and sadness, where she touches on everything from sexual assault to her experiences with coming out and systemic homophobia. In this revolutionary piece of social commentary, Gadsby leaves us reflecting on a whole host of social ills including our desire to be entertained at any cost.
This paradigm shift in comedy isn’t exclusive to those behind the mic. Comedic actors have also moved towards drama in film. Jordan Peele, known prior to last year for his work on the comedy sketch series Key and Peele, has made history as the first African American to win an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay for his horror/thriller Get Out (2017). In addition, Peele was nominated for Best Motion Picture of the Year and Best Achievement in Directing. In Get Out, Peele tackles prejudice and racial discrimination black people feel everyday at every level, even in a seemingly liberal climate, with terrifying stakes.
Swapping comedy for drama is a big leap of faith, especially for those who have only ever known how to make us laugh.
Funnyman Steve Carell has steadily made the transition to dramatic roles. Far from his comedy days as a correspondent on The Daily Show and as beloved Michael Scott on The Office, Carell’s recent work has included playing convicted murderer John du Pont in Foxcatcher (2014) and high-stakes investor Mark Baum in The Big Short (2015). His latest role as David Sheff, the father of a son dealing with a methamphetamine addiction in the just-released drama Beautiful Boy (2018) has solidified Carell’s undeniable place in dramatic acting. Carell’s portrayals are all the more effective because we find credence in whatever role he disappears into. This deviation from comedy can be explained by the pressing need to tell narratives about weighty topics like the addiction crisis. To viewers, comedians often feel like a trusted friend, someone you could talk to.
For over two years, comedian Bo Burnham took a hiatus from the stage, to instead focus on making his writing and directorial debut with Eighth Grade (2018). In the movie, Burnham projects his struggles with anxiety onto his 8th-grade heroine Kayla, who deals with her own insecurities against the backdrop of her final week in middle school. In his last Netflix comedy special, entitled Bo Burnham: Make Happy (2016), Burnham dwelt on the paradox of the performer. On the one hand, the task of the performer is to “perform” for his audience and make them happy. On the other hand, Burnham doesn’t want to compromise his artistic integrity simply to delight his fans. In Eighth Grade, Burnham solves the dilemma by crafting a film that values his vulnerability and creativity over the expectations of his audience.
Swapping comedy for drama is a big leap of faith, especially for those who have only ever known how to make us laugh. And yet, whether it’s behind the mic, behind the camera or on film, comedians and comedic actors alike are embracing the sensitive underbelly of drama.
For these creative minds, comedy is a gateway drug to drama; a spoonful of sugar to help better process the often difficult but crucial take-home messages from their sets.
Behind the mic, instead of resorting to the formulaic self-deprecating humour that is sure to elicit a few chuckles, Brennan and Gadsby chose to be honest about their struggles. Intermittently, between revelations, a few jokes are tossed in with subsequent laughter. For these creative minds, comedy is a gateway drug to drama; a spoonful of sugar to help better process the often difficult but crucial take-home messages from their sets.
The same can be said for those who have turned towards dramatic acting and filmmaking. Given more breadth and freedom, comedians like Peele and Burnham are able to convey their own imperfect narratives in their films with a silver lining of humour. No longer bound by traditional structures of comedy and removed from the pressure of a live audience, these forays into the dramatic are a cathartic way to disclose their personal experiences whilst simultaneously drawing attention to uncomfortable, but not unfunny, topics.
Trevor Noah, the current host of The Daily Show, said: “I always believe that funny is serious and serious is funny. You don’t really need a distinction between them.” In the last year, this seemingly contrary approach to humour has taken centre stage. Comedians are asking for your attention, but more importantly, your understanding in order to speak their truths and be heard. In doing so, they help countless who have also been stigmatized, silenced and marginalized from society. When your favourite comedian, whose favourite thing in the world is to make you laugh, stands up and delivers an urgent message, it’s your job to take them seriously. And hopefully, once the lights have been shut off and the applause has faded, you’ll act differently.
And with that, thank you. Goodnight. You’ve been a great audience.
]]>