Now this is a tee shirt!
Via.
Comes complete with an 8 x 10″ art print, certificate of authenticity and custom box.
From the source material:
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Why Waltz When You Can Rock & Roll: travis@founditemclothing.com
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Why Waltz When You Can Rock & Roll: travis@founditemclothing.com
New at Chop Shop this week is an interesting design, 80’s Filmography, so titled because it distills 22 classic films from that decade into simple icons, all of which are arranged in — get this — a figure 8 (how apropos).
I’m struck by the clean lines, the understated color combos and the sparing use of text, all of which recall the safety inserts you might typically find on an airplane (a design quality that most of Chop Shop’s tees share…). The majority of images here are fairly self-evident (E.T., The Terminator, Goonies, et. al.), but a few continue to elude my immediate recognition. Which begs my next question: how many of these badges can you identify? Conversely, which ones give you trouble?
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Oh, the fucking humanity.
Jawbreaker. Mean Girls. The Sleepover. The Craft. Every bad girl subplot on Gossip Girl. None even come close to the dark surreality of Heathers, a movie that, to this day, no one will watch with me. Because at one point in my life — let’s say 1992 for convenience — I seriously watched this movie at least twice a week. It was in constant rotation for a while, along with Grease, Rock n’ Roll High School, and Barton Fink. Make of that what you will, and join me as I revisit a film that deserves a revival. (But, please, sweet baby Jesus, not a wretched remake.) Here then are 33 reasons why we love said film (arranged, conveniently enough, in the order they appear on screen, with one exception…).
1. SCRUNCHIES!!!! Nuff’ said.
2. Serious contouring blush. Look at Shannen Doherty in that opening croquet scene.
3. Why did “you’re beautiful” as an insult never catch on? It’s sort of spectacular (at 3:25).
4. Winona Ryder can’t act for shit, but her eye rolling is pretty epic. See clip above. Or this montage below, which demonstrates that she carries this proclivity with, from role to role.
5. This great slogan tee, which is glimpsed oh so fleetingly. Feeling inadequate? (Click to enlarge)
Sighted at :13 in.
6. Remington University (calling to mind Reynholm Industries of the IT Crowd, and also sounding like an off-brand razor blade).
7. “Greetings and salutations” as an introduction in Christian Slater’s mouth turns that whole E.B. White Charlotte’s Web thing into something wonderfully filthy. Yeowch.
I’m always up for a road trip, no matter how trivial. You want to drive 60 miles through central Kentucky to see a historical marker by the side of some windy rural highway (with no shoulder, natch)? Count me in. Make a hundred and thirty mile round-trip to get frozen custard and see the church where Joan of Arc allegedly heard the voice of God speaking to her, telling her to rise up against the English? Sold!
Road trips, in fact, have formed the basis of many of my closest relationships. When Mike (editor’s note: Erin’s better half) first moved to Portland, he was super excited to hear that we were only a few hours away from Astoria, Oregon, home of the house at the heart of The Goonies. When I confessed that I had never actually seen The Goonies (gasp! Truth be told, I hadn’t seen Star Wars until I was sixteen, either, and only when I had to watch it for an English class on archetypes. Yes, I was raised in a barrel…), he insisted that we rent and view it.
Another late night, chain smoking and drinking cheap bourbon, we hit upon the rather brilliant idea of taking a road trip to see the Goonies house. Not prepared to wait until morning, we hit the road at about three a.m. Did I mention that there was a massive storm brewing? (This is Oregon, mind you…) Well, there was. And we had rather inadvisedly spent the whole of the last week watching the first season of Twin Peaks, so we were already kind of on edge, thinking we saw Leland Palmer or Bob lurking around every corner. Driving through the dark, every rasp of branch or lash of rain against the car was, naturally, a sign that we were going to crash the car and have our livers eaten by a serial killer.
Highway 30 was pitch black, littered with the fallen limbs of pine trees that had cracked and been bashed to bits by gale-force winds. But, ever stubborn, we pressed on. Arriving in Astoria—and this was before GPS and iPhones and things that, you know, tell you where the fuck you are—we drove around in circles for a good hour before finding the house. The house! It was….truth be told, just a big ramshackle Victorian two-story. Nothing to write home about, I guess, save for the fact that it was the setting of that movie.
Having seen what we came to see, and quickly realizing that there was little else to do in Astoria at 4:30 in the morning, we turned the car around for the long drive back. But not before I had a chance to pee outside, next to a dumpster, behind a gas station (one that didn’t open for another three hours). Not exactly a hotbed of exciting city life, mind you.
Anyways, roadtrips? Awesome. But a bit of planning never hurt.
From the source material:
The gang’s all here:
Read more of Erin’s assorted musings at Up By Noon!
