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Ray Barbee Is the Happiest Man in Skateboarding

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Ray Barbee. Photo by Marc Falkenstein. Photos courtesy of Element

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When Ray Barbee made his debut in the classic 1988 Stacy Peralta video Public Domain, street skating was still a relatively new concept. Many pros of the day were trying their best to adapt their ramp and pool skills to curbs and flat ground, but without transition, their body movements were awkward and clunky. Ray Barbee's style, on the other hand, was fluid and graceful. His push—the essence of who a skateboarder is—was a thing of beauty. He seemed to glide across the Earth while others were forced to merely roll—a gift best exemplified in the timeless classic Ban This.

Fast-forward 27 years and today Ray Barbee is revered as one of the kindest, most beloved figures in skateboarding history. In the years since turning pro for Powell, there have been few documented instances where he has been seen without a smile on his face. There are more known photos of sasquatches than of an unhappy Ray Ray, and yet life hasn't always been easy for Barbee. Being black in the white world of Orange County, California, brought its share of racist run-ins, both from Nazi skinheads and his own African American community, who interpreted his love for skateboarding as him "trying to be white." Yet through all the ups and downs, despite all the ugliness that plagues our world, he has always maintained a positive attitude.

I caught up with Barbee at the pre-launch of his new Element apparel line at NJ Skateshop. In keeping with the theme of his collection, we spoke about getting "a wider view" on the topic of race in America and why it plays no part in skateboarding.


Photo by Ray Barbee

VICE: You've been a professional skater for what seems like forever. What's the secret to your longevity?
Ray Barbee: Honestly, the community and the industry. I'm really super thankful and tremendously blessed having the community saying, "We got you. We want you to still be around," for whatever reason. One thing I realized once I started being in the world of Instagram was that people don't let go of things. If something has emotionally affected somebody in some powerful way sometime in their life, that doesn't fade. If anything, social media kind of fans the flame of that and almost reestablishes that emotional connection. There's a deep emotional connection to the time when I came out in skateboarding. Street skating was still in an infant stage. Having the opportunity at that time to be a part of what I perceive as being one of the biggest skateboard brands, Powell Peralta, plays a huge part in reaching out and connecting with people.

The way you danced on a skateboard stood out to an entire generation. Even more so than Daniel Gesmer, it was poetry in motion to watch you skate, and as a young kid, I latched on to and fell in love with that fluidity and style. Aside from your skating, you stood out at that time as one of very few black pros. What was it like trying to make it in skateboarding in the 80s, when skating wasn't very accepted?
What I love about skateboarding was my experience was super, super simple—not unlike most other people getting excited about riding their skateboard. It was, "I want to ride this skateboard, and I want to have fun, and I want to learn some tricks." Yeah, along the way I hit little hiccups, racial hiccups, but those hiccups weren't within skateboarding ever. It was always the black community frowning on it because they thought I was trying to be white. To them, I'm trying to date a white girl. So that was the adversity, but that was kind of short lived and had no effect on me because I had friends. One buddy in particular, Izz Byrd, who was older than me, was black and was the best skater at our school and in our area. So to me, if he could do it, I could do it. You know how human nature is; you see it being done, you know you can do it. Izz showed me that you can be black and better than the white dudes. Skaters have issues, but color's not one of them. Ever. Not that I've experienced, and I love that.

Photo by Jake Darwen

Why do you think that is?
Because I think that skateboarding has you so engrossed that you don't have time to get caught up in that noise. It's just like music. I'm sure you've probably seen a lot of those documentaries that have been coming out the last ten years about Motown and all the old soul record labels and studios. Those dudes did not care about the color of one another's skin. They worried about whether they could work together and if they were helping to play a part in where the music was going. That's why it was so heavy when Martin Luther King Jr. got shot, because that was the first time that they had to deal with that within their confined safe place. They didn't have to deal with their reality of racism; they were a brotherhood. But when King got shot, they all struggled internally and that put a wedge within that community and what they had inside of that safe place, the studio. It's pretty heavy, but for the most part, they function much like skaters. The music helped them to see that we're all the same. There's no hierarchy. There's no getting caught up in all the typical pridefulness, "I've got to feel good about myself and push you down, and I have things to do that with," like skin complexion and what comes with that depending on which side you fall on.

You said you never got any slack from the skateboard community, but skateboarders, regardless of color, historically have taken shit everywhere they've gone. What was the story about getting pulled over by the police outside New Orleans?
It was a Vans trip, and we went to go trip out on what Katrina did. These local dudes told us about a spot that took us over this bridge into some other jurisdiction. Those cops in that jurisdiction were wildin' out. The dude said something to the effect of, "We have the Napoleon act over here. We don't have to go by those laws." Basically saying, we're on the wrong side of the track, and they'll do whatever they want. A bunch of us were in the van while Jamie Hart, sadly enough, had to be the dude out there getting interrogated and dealing with him. It was about a half an hour with him threatening us with going to jail or siccing the dogs on us. We're just sitting there asking if this is really happening? Checking the calendar, like what year is this? Thankfully, it was a lot of hot air, and we got let go. It was a reminder that racism is alive and well in a lot of parts of the country.

Photo by Ray Barbee

I'd say in most parts of the country. Right now, people seem to be waving that flag proudly. In a little over two months, we'll be picking one of two crazy people for president. One of them is pure evil and campaigning on a platform of hate.
Man is man. I don't put my faith in man. There are agendas on both sides. I'm not a big political dude at all, so I very rarely talk about any of it. I'm just trying to say my time is still in the Lord's hands. There's nothing, no insight, no wisdom that could succeed against the Lord's. He's in control. Things are going to go down the way they're going to go down, and he's allowing it for whatever reason. Because my faith is not in the candidates, I can ride the wave. Is it sad? All of it's sad, but even outside of that, there's sad stuff happening.

What does it take to wipe that smile off your face? I've never seen you without it.
A lot of what we're talking about. Hearing about another cop going free... politics. But you know how skaters are, our personalities. We try to find the up in things or downplay things to not be sitting in it so thick for so long. But a lot of it's the same. There's nothing new under the sun. A lot of these issues are issues our parents went through, and their parents before them, and their parents before them. My dad is from Arkansas. My mom is from Alabama. They met in the service, and I'm so thankful that when they were done, they got married and moved to San Francisco. That's where I was born. You think about the challenge for my parents and their parents being in Arkansas and Alabama. They had to deal with what we're talking about on such a different level. My dad's dad died when he was eight, so it was him and my grandma. He was tall for his age, so he had to start driving when he was nine. Imagine my grandma letting him go out into the world, at nine with no dad, at that time, in the South, having to work and make it happen. My grandma's my hero. Growing up, she was the biggest example of what Jesus can do with a person's life, just by watching her, being around her, seeing her love for people. I know that same faith I have is what allowed her to let my dad out that door in such a racist environment and trust that he's going to be OK. I have that same faith with my family. There's heaviness out there, but there's someone bigger than any of that. That's how I sleep at night and deal with those kinds of concerns.

More from Chris Nieratko's interview with Ray Barbee can be found on Element's website.

To check out more of Ray's photography, go to Element's site.

More skate talk can be found at Chris's website and Twitter.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.


Watch the Trailer for Nick Jonas’ New Frat Movie

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This is the last real weekend of summer so enjoy it while it lasts by watching some movie trailers and talking shit about lazy horror film directors.

Lion
Damn Dev Patel looks good with a beard. Based on a true story, Luke Davies adapted Saroo Brierley's book A Long Way Home about a young man who was separated from his family at a young age and then uses technology to retrace his steps back to India. It sounds a bit schmaltzy but the trailer is emotional and captivating and, I don't know, I cried.

My Blind Brother
This trailer has everything I want. Adam Scott playing another dick brother. Nick Kroll in an understated romantic lead role. Jenny Slate being Jenny Slate. This is like indie movie BINGO. I'm here for all of this.

The Disappointments Room
LOL. The best thing about this trailer is when the text, "From the director of Disturbia" appears. Ah yes, that masterpiece. Say no more. Stop the trailer immediately, I will watch this movie in its entirety at the theatre. The director of Disturbia? My god why didn't you just say so at the beginning of the trailer and save yourself some editing time? Anyway, as usual a creepy family moves into a haunted mansion without researching the previous owners and then they find a secret room and someone's gettin' killed. Please stop making this movie.

Goat
This looks at times, shot for shot, like the jaw-dropping Todd Phillips documentary Frat House. Shot in the late 90s, Frat House featured Phillips and his filmmaking partner Andrew Gurland pledging Alpha Tau Omega, a fraternity who had its charter revoked in 2000. The doc first played at Sundance in 1998, was bought by HBO but then never released. There was a lot of controversy around staged scenes but Frat House remains the wildest, most terrifyingly real depiction of frat "hell week" I've ever seen. I mean, Goat also looks fine but if you really want to know what it's like to live inside the minds of pledges, watch Frat House.

Mascots
What would we do without Christopher Guest? If not for the beloved Waiting for Guffman director's ongoing satirical take on society's cultural fringe we'd exist in a world without Parker Posey and Jennifer Coolidge and that would be wrong and disgusting. His latest Netflix-funded look at the competitive world of mascotting looks as fucking amazing as it sounds.

A Dog's Purpose
Just straight up, I cried the entire time I watched this bye. (Editor's note: She's not joking.)

Follow Amil on Twitter.

The VICE Guide to Right Now: Your Mom Probably Wishes She Named You Something Else, Study Says

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Photo via Flickr user Upsilon Andromedae

Almost 20 percent of mothers have regrets about their children's names, and not just the ones who used their kids to pay tribute to Game of Thrones, the Guardian reports.

In a survey conducted by the parenting site Mumsnet, 245 mothers were asked if and why they regretted the names they gave their kids. Twelve percent of the moms "always knew it was the wrong choice," and another 23 percent weren't as bummed about the name choice until their child started school.

The parents pinned the regret to a range of reasons, including one child's name being "taken by a terrorist group, soon after she was born." But a majority of the mothers just regretted the choice because the name is too common and didn't fully capture the unique special snowflake that is their spawn.

"Choosing your baby's name is one of the first things new parents do, so in some ways baby name regret is great practice for parenting: you do a lot of hard work and research, try to please several people at once, and end up getting it wrong." Mumsnet founder, Justine Roberts, told the Guardian.

Some of the names that parents most regretted giving their kids were Charlotte, Amelia, Thomas, Daniel, Jacob, and James.

Baby names aside, having a kid for the first time is basically like a nightmare without the luxury of actually sleeping—especially when you're young and broke.

We Asked British Muslims How They Feel About a Burqa Ban

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Photo by Chris Bethell

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

This week, a YouGov survey found that 57 percent of Brits were in favor of banning the burqa in public places. And hot on its heels was the burkini—46 percent would like it to be outlawed. It seems like the British people still aren't onboard with the idea that Muslim women are fed up of being spoken for, so with that in mind, I talked to some British Muslims to find out if they really do want your advice on what to wear. (They don't.)

Aliya*, 23

"I don't choose to wear the veil, but I stand up and support women who want to wear it. I believe any man or woman should be able to express themselves in any way they want. The veil might not banned in the UK, but it doesn't come as a surprise that Brits are in favor of a ban.

I think a ban is a slippery slope. Muslims who already feel under attack will feel even more marginalized. I can already imagine the conversations that will be happening: 'First they came for the veil; next they'll come for the headscarf.'

I have an idea for anyone who feels uncomfortable with a veiled woman: Next time you see a veiled woman, do the most un-British thing and strike up a conversation with her. You'll be surprised by how, underneath that veil, is a very normal woman who's as British as they come."

READ: British Muslim Women Discuss How It Feels to Be Constantly Spoken For

Hussein, 24

"I'm not surprised by the data—I mean, hostility toward the burqa (and it's not even a burqa) has been there since way before 7/7. And thanks to a cocktail of sleazy tabloids and stoked up patriotism, the burqa has basically become a symbol of everything that's anti-Western. Our current conversation pits women who wear burqas against women who wear bikinis as a way to characterize this supposed clash of civilizations.

Ultimately it's stripping women on every side of this 'debate' of their agency, and refusing to recognize that women can—and should—make their own choices without men using them as tropes to assert their own political position. I think the 'burkini ban' in France, coupled with the resurrection of the right in the West, does reflect a wider trend. Not just of curtailing women's rights, but namely the rights of women of color. The whole of Europe is going through this identity crisis at the moment, so I see the burqa as a symbol of those anxieties."

Omar, 26

"When I found out about people wanting the burqa banned, I was in denial. If we define the burqa ban as police running around ripping clothing off women by force, I don't believe a majority of British people want that to happen. I don't believe that a majority of British people want our police to be doing that. British people are better than that.

We should be open to the possibility that this poll is not completely reflective of Britain. I always wonder with polls who they talked to and how they framed the question. You've got to take into account how people understood it. If you understand the question as 'do you think the burqa is wrong,' of course most British people think that. Most Muslim people think that; otherwise most Muslim women would be covering their faces, but they're not. I'm going to do a Corbyn and put my fingers in my ears."

Asma, 26

"It's like it's almost become fashionable to attack Islam. Just take the Olympics. No one was bothered about Muslim men. They were much more concerned with what women were wearing and how they stood out.

As Muslim women, we're trying to participate in general life and maintain our modesty at the same time, but making it very difficult for us to integrate. Right now, I can't play professional basketball because I wear a hijab. We shouldn't have to sacrifice our religion. It's scary because I felt like I was comfortable living in England, and I thought I was accepted, so then when you see the poll, it's as if everything you believe is your life, and thinking everyone was accepting turns out that it's not actually true. You've been living a lie. It's almost like they want to liberate Muslim women, but a lot of it is just down to fear.

If I could say one thing to people who want to ban the burqa, if they wore something that they valued and they believed to be part of their identity and who they were and someone external asked them to remove that, how would they feel?"

Maryam, 23

"I wear my hijab, but I wear normal clothes, so I blend in quite a lot more than people who wear the burqa. Not knowing who's underneath the burqa is still scary for Muslims. I don't think people actually realize that. It's not something that I'm used to so it does still push me away from the person. For non-Muslims, it must be quite scary for them, too. Being brought up in a Western society, we've been taught to have eye contact and look at people's faces as a sign of respect. But I don't think there should be a ban because Muslim women are wearing more clothes. I think everyone should wear what they want as they please.

Do I feel that what British Muslim women want to wear is being curtailed? Of course. Even though I don't wear things that don't shout, 'I'm a Muslim,' I've still been targeted. If the media keep portraying 'this person is wearing a burqa and they could be a terrorist,' then more people are going to be targeted. And that's quite a scary thought.

If I could say one thing to people who voted to ban the burqa, it'd be: Don't be scared of us."

Follow Salma Haidrani on Twitter.

The VICE Guide to Right Now: Trump Supporter Warns Ominously of 'Taco Trucks on Every Corner' Unless Trump Stops Them

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It surely can't be easy to be a Latino Trump supporter after his latest immigration speech, which was so strident and aggressive that some Latinos who had backed Trump publicly reversed themselves. But Latinos for Trump co-founder Marco Gutierrez didn't do himself any favors on Thursday night, when he appeared on MSNBC and warned Joy-Ann Reid that, um, "My culture is a very dominant culture... and it is causing problems. If you don't do something about it, you are going to have taco trucks on every corner."

"I don't even know what that means, and I'm almost afraid to ask," replied Reid.

If it means what it seems to mean, well, a taco truck on every corner seems... good, right? Is the problem the delicious but affordable food? Is the problem that the immigrants are starting small businesses that no doubt create jobs and grow the tax base?

We'll never know what Gutierrez meant because the conversation moved on to other things, but it's actually very difficult to open a taco truck. It involves a lot of expenses and permits, and, as NBC News reported, usually requires loans that undocumented immigrants can't get.

The latest poll on the subject found that Trump's support among Latinos was around 19 percent. In 2012, Republican nominee Mitt Romney got 27 percent of the Latino vote.

Read: Can We Stop Pretending Donald Trump's Speeches Are Interesting?

Comics: 'Lucy's Crush,' Today's Comic by Akvile Magicdust

Sex Workers Explain How They Deal with Clients They Don't Like

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Illustration by Stephanie Santillan

It was July 20, and I had just arrived at my hotel in Washington, DC. I'm a professional dominatrix, and I had set high financial expectations for this work trip.

For my own sanity, I traveled with another sex worker. While I booked appointments, my friend flipped on the Republican National Convention. We're liberals and took comfort in knowing we'd find fewer diehard conservatives in the capital during the convention.

I called an older man from Virginia who had expressed interest in booking strap-on play.

"Sam," I intoned, "what time works for you tomorrow?"

"Baby, whenever you want me," he rasped. "As long as we don't miss our next president's speech. Are you watching? This disgusting woman just stood up waving a rainbow flag, disrupting the whole thing. What a piece of work. I can't wait until America is great again! Oh, and can you wear latex?"

I was only able to continue by imagining whipping Sam to tears while screaming at him about reproductive health rights. My imagination is my favorite coping mechanism for difficult clients.

Sex workers are often asked by laypeople how they navigate emotional vulnerability under trying conditions: clients who start sentences with, "I'm not racist, but"; those who won't stop talking about the "hideous" vulvas of other providers they've seen; guys who spend the entire time you're fucking them in the ass warning that you'd better not think they're gay. These encounters represent perhaps 10 to 20 percent of my clients. Most just want someone to listen to them, including conversations about religious, political, and ethical beliefs. So what happens when these conversations take a turn that sex workers are uncomfortable with?

"It's rare that a client and I hold similar life perspectives, which can be problematic, as clients like to be agreed with," said Jaden, a genderqueer sex worker in their mid 20s, who asked that VICE not use their real name. "Often I just quietly agree with their sentiments on how poor people are 'living off the government,' or how they, in their rich whiteness, are 'discriminated against.' These opinions strike an especially personal chord, as I grew up in a poor, single parent home."

Of course, not all forms of sex work require this kind of vulnerability. But for jobs like escorting, the emotional labor can be intense. Clients seek validation, affection, approval, and release. They're purchasing intimacy, and it takes an artist to sustain a consumable, believable connection—especially if they're someone you would hasten to escape a conversation with at a party.

"I was raised Roman Catholic in a small Midwestern town," Calliope Fire, a cisgender escort in her late 30s, told VICE. "Many folks with my background end up rebelling against religion, but I never thought twice about going into sex work while maintaining a strong faith. It's caused commotion with my sex-worker peers. I never thought it would be detrimental to my work, though—many clients have strong faiths.

"I have this MILF image going on, so I tend to attract younger men," she continued. "And sometimes their distaste for not only the idea of God, but for people who believe in God is disarming. I think they assume I'm a non-believer because of my work. I also can't do religious-themed role play—it's a hard boundary that I deeply resent having pushed.

"After dealing with a particularly troubling client, I try to essentially leave my negative emotions at 'the office,'" Jaden said. "I'll usually take time to journal once I'm home; then I often talk with other sex worker friends either in person or via online forums about my experience. I was raised—reluctantly—in fundamentalism, so if I encounter a client who is particularly religious and need to work through my sensitive feelings specific to religion after working with them, I have a group of queer friends who were all formerly a part of fundamental religions that I can process with. It's very healing."

While some sex workers loathe "teachable moments" with clients, others revel in the opportunity to engage in respectful dialogues with those who initiate them.

"Every so often, I get a client who is truly open to education," Ginger Snap, a cisgender escort and porn performer, told VICE. "But I have to judge both my client and the conversation in these moments. Will it be safe or beneficial for both of us to continue this conversation, on topics so near and dear to my heart? If this person is paying me money—for a specific experience—will this conversation fall under that purview?

"I have to be wary of everything from my language to my tone," she continued. "I don't want to seem condescending, nor like I'm lecturing, and I want to keep it light and fun. This is his time—it's my responsibility to ensure it doesn't become inflammatory. As an educator, I frequently have to switch off my 'angry activist brain' in favor of a more sympathetic and impartial approach with clients. It's practically a study in being non-reactive."

It's about deciding—with intention—how vulnerable we want to be, while understanding that vulnerability is not always something we can control. Sex workers must realize that it can be hard to be vulnerable with difficult clients and even compromise the quality of our services, which leaves lasting negative impressions of our work.

Acknowledging and appreciating the clients who do seek to use sex workers to broaden their own viewpoints can be refreshing and remind us why we do the work that we do. Clients who respectfully engage in dialogues with their sex workers, especially if our opinions are mismatched, and who recognize the incalculable value we bring to the world, are incalculably valuable. Let us, as sexual professionals, seek to manifest as many of these relationships as possible.

Andre Shakti is a sex worker, educator, and writer. Follow her on Twitter.


No, Ontario. You Don’t Want Weed to Be Sold in Liquor Stores

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Let's not add "weed" to that list. Photo via Flickr user Open Grid Scheduler / Grid Engineid Engine

"I love getting booze exclusively from the LCBO, it's such a great system," said no one ever.

Yet somehow, the provincially-run liquor system Ontarians love to whine about is still their top pick for where they want recreational weed to be sold once it's legalized.

According to a Nanos Research poll, 41 percent of Ontarians are in favour of that option, followed by pharmacies at 32 percent and "privately owned marijuana stores" aka dispensaries at 17 percent.

One of the primary concerns appears to be keeping weed out of the hands of young people, with more than 85 per cent of Ontarians in favour of ID checks.

"People are clearly more comfortable with restricting marijuana sales to spaces that aren't frequented by children," said Ontario Public Service Employees Union (OPSEU) President Warren (Smokey) Thomas in a press release, while OPSEU Liquor Board Employees Divisional Executive Chair Denise Davis said, "We have a system that we know prevents minors from buying alcohol. Why reinvent the wheel when the risks are so great?"

Honestly, how much skill does it take to check someone's date of birth and make sure they're of legal age? Convenience stores manage to sell smokes to adults just fine. Anyone who's completed grade school math can manage it. There are, however, legit reasons why selling weed at liquor stores is a terrible idea. Here are a few:

Read more: Here Are All The Weed Products You'll Probably Never Be Able to Afford

Poor selection
Medical marijuana patients have already complained about the lack of selection available through licensed producers, citing poor genetic diversity, and a complete dearth of edibles and extracts as a couple of the major issues. The LCBOs are bound to be more of the same. Weed is experiencing a golden era right now—there are even craft growers—but just like you're never going to find a rare bottle of Pappy van Winkle at the LCBO, you can assume they won't carry exclusive strains like God's Vagina 2.0 or Afghani Bullrider, let alone the many other forms of THC, including treats, oils, tinctures, pills, and concentrates. Unless you want to be limited to smoking the Molson's of weed, the LCBO is not a great option.

Don't expect to see crazy shit at the LCBO. Photo by Manisha Krishnan

LCBO employees don't know shit about weed right now
Chances are the freshman university student who works at the LCBO on the weekend and still smokes from a gravity bong doesn't know all that much about weed—and he's probably the most knowledgeable employee there. The fact is, whether it's legal or not, the cannabis industry is already massive, and full of people who can do a lot more than just differentiate between and indica and a sativa. They can tell you exactly what you need to treat pain, sleep better, feel less anxiety, increase a low appetite, be creative, or just get really fucking high. You've pretty much got to go into the LCBO knowing what you're looking for, which works out OK for alcohol. But when we're talking about a brand new substance that most people know very little about, a level of expertise beyond knowing how to handle cash and check IDs is necessary. They can claim they are going to train their employees all the want, but government employees are never going to have the savvy that passionate cannafolk have.

The hours suck
Anyone who has experienced the pain of desperately Ubering to a Wine Rack before a house party because it's the only thing open at 10 PM knows what I'm talking about. This isn't as big of an issue in provinces where there are private liquor stores—like BC and Alberta—but unfortunately those options don't exist here in Puritan Ontario. On the other hand, we do have drug dealers who tend to be more flexible. Locking up weed in the LCBO, with its rigid schedule, is probably the same as giving money to the black market.

Weed and liquor don't mix
Smoking a joint once you've been drinking is a great recipe for barfing all night. I've little doubt that selling the two substances together will encourage people to mix them. Sure, you may be heading to the LCBO to pick up a six-pack, but why not get some chronic there too if it's there. Even people who know better (like me) would probably be tempted to buy both if it was that convenient. As we all know, once you start drinking you make stupid decisions, which could result in a lot of people with the spins on a Friday night.

It's not really fair
This is more of a moral argument, but the entire legalization movement was basically built on the backs of medical marijuana patients—people who sued the government time and time again on the grounds that their access to medication was being illegally restricted. To now turn around and let the government have complete control of a market that they contributed nothing to just seems really unfair.

One explanation for the way Ontarians voted in this poll is that more than 83 percent reported never consuming marijuana. Hopefully people who actually know what they are talking about will have a bigger say once it's time to make real decisions.

Follow Manisha Krishnan on Twitter.


Watch the Premiere of 'Abandoned' on VICELAND

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On Friday night, VICELAND will premiere the first episode of our new show, Abandoned, where pro skateboarder Rick McCrank takes us on a tour through the forgotten modern-day ruins of ghost towns and empty malls around North America.

The show is part in-depth documentary and part travel log, with a healthy dose of skating thrown in as McCrank meets up with locals in various cities to see how these abandoned spaces are becoming unique skate spots for the next generation.

On Friday's series premiere, he ventures into some ghost malls to skate his way through the crumbling remains that once housed Claire's and Sam Goody and Cinnabon shops.

Check out the trailer above, and make sure to catch Abandoned every Friday night at 9 PM ET/PT only on VICELAND.

The VICE Guide to Right Now: This Guy Thinks Banksy Is the Singer From Massive Attack

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Teardrop on the fire, fearless on my breath. Image via Flickr user Tom Thai

British journalist Craig Williams believes he's uncovered anonymous street artist, and Disneyland hater, Banksy's true identity once and for all. Bored high school art teacher? Disenchanted investment banker? Nope, try a 90s trip hop musician.

Williams' hypothesis is that the man behind the stencils is none other than Robert "3D" Del Naja, founding member of Massive Attack. Yes, the band responsible for hits such as "Teardrop" and—okay, mainly they are known for "Teardrop".

Williams has documented the whole theory on his blog, transmissionglasgow, and it's extensively researched.

Here's the evidence: Del Naja—who's actually a known stencil artist himself—hails from Bristol, which is the city that first made Banksy famous in the early 90s. Massive Attack also got their start in Bristol, in the late 80s.

The theory goes deeper though. Williams has meticulously cross-referenced the geographic locations of international Banksy artworks with Massive Attack's touring schedule—linking tour dates in Melbourne, Los Angeles, San Francisco, New Orleans, Toronto, and Boston with key Banksy stencils.

"Around the time when six Banksy murals were reported to the press in San Francisco on the 1st of May 2010, including the famous 'This Will Look Nice When It's Framed' image, Massive Attack performed a two night stint in the city on the 25th and 27th April, a few days previously," Williams' blog post reads.

"Also in Toronto a similar pattern arises. Massive Attack played the city's Sound Academy on May 7th and May 9th in 2010, the latter being the day that three new Banksy murals appeared in the city."

In 2008, Williams says, Banksy stencilled walls all over New Orleans on the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. "Coincidentally", Del Naja helped write the soundtrack to a documentary about the city, Trouble the Water. Its premiere was perfectly timed with the appearance of the New Orleans stencils.

Massive Attack have been linked to Banksy directly—they were scheduled as headline performers at Banksy's Dismaland last year, but pulled out at the last minute due to "technical difficulties."

So the alternative, Williams admits, is that Banksy and the band are close friends—perhaps even touring together. The detective isn't willing to discount the long-prevailing theory that Banksy is actually a collective of stencil artists, either—one that's perhaps led by Del Naja.

By the way, up until this point, people thought Banksy was some unfamous middle aged dude from Bristol called Robin Gunningham.

Follow Kat on Twitter

Why We Got, and Why We Love, Our Video Game Tattoos

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Video gaming tattoos are hardly rare – I know a good half-dozen people with a Legend of Zelda image forever inked into their skin, and have seen my share of Dark Souls, Sonic series, Halo and Nintendo-related tats at both gaming conferences and on the high street. But that doesn't mean that they're commissioned without good reason, or that a little Mario hat on the shoulder is about to become as ubiquitous as the name of a first-born, or something in Thai script brought back from summer vacation that the owner thinks means "love" but actually, when you look at it more closely, really, really doesn't.

I asked six video game fans to explain the background to their tats of choice – and in some instances, the chosen designs are but one of several games-indebted images they carry with them every day.

ALEXIS, 25

"This tattoo is a picture of Lilith, from The Binding of Isaac – or, rather, from the game's Afterbirth expansion. I've played the game every day for over two years. Initially it was something I'd whip out on my hour-long commute to work, because it filled the time perfectly. It wasn't until my laptop broke for a week that I realised how important the game was to setting up my day. It's also my go-to for any days that are particularly dark for me, and definitely a source of stress relief.

"I introduced Simon, the artist, to the game a few months before I got the tattoo, and he fell in love with it the same way I had. We had a back and fourth for a month before settling on Lilith for the design. Nobody has really recognised it on the street yet, due to the switch in art style and the niche appeal of the game – although, the developers really loved it and one of them told me, 'Hey, I inadvertently scarred you for life. That's pretty awesome.' That's all the recognition I need.

"The style of the tattoo is created by having the needle hit the skin at a slower pace, giving the artist greater control of where the 'dots' are placed. This is great for me because it hurts a lot less, but since the needle is slower, the whole process is slower. This tattoo took 13 hours altogether. Because my other arm is dedicated to A Song of Ice and Fire, having something this large on show wasn't initially a problem. The biggest issue I've encountered so far was taking my coat off during a funeral, because of the satanic symbolism.

"In this design, Lilith is holding a spirit heart with the 'Brimstone' symbol inside of it, and has her familiars next to her. Her hands are placed in such a way to echo the game's Satan statues, 'as above, so below'. I wanted a devil deal pool item and an angel room pool item – the sacrificial dagger and the Holy Grail.

"I suppose my (gaming) tattoos aren't very mainstream, so they could pass as 'every day' art, but I'm always proud to point out their origin, if people ask. My academic studies actually focus on consumer culture in tattoos, so I might be a little biased here, but I think we're over the stigma of gaming being for 'geeks', somewhat. Most people who are indifferent to tattoos are generally swayed by quality and design over context. It also lends to the argument that video games are a form of art. If a game touches me again in a meaningful way, I'd absolutely consider getting a tattoo based on it."

EMILY, 27

"This tattoo is from Deadly Premonition. I played it soon after it came out in the UK, and it immediately clicked with me. It's not perfect, but the characters, setting and sense of humour really had an impact on me. Long after I'd finished it I was still thinking about it. It's a highly polarising game – you kind of love it or you hate it – and although I play a lot of games it's rare for me to fall so deeply in love with one. I spent a lot of time with Deadly Premonition, from a messy break-up to big life changes, like moving a long way from home for a job. I knew for a long time that I wanted to have some representation of it on my skin, but it took years to settle on exactly what to get.

"I got this tattoo about a year ago, in August of 2015. My artist had never heard of the game, but he did some research and ended up really excited about the piece, even though it's small and simple. He was pushing me to make it more elaborate, maybe use some characters, but I wasn't quite prepared to have Francis York Morgan on my leg in all his glory – maybe one day.

"Nobody, apart from my friends who know and love Deadly Premonition like I do, has recognised the tattoo. The symbol is taken from the game, but I worked with my artist on the design, so it's a little subtle and maybe not immediately recognisable as being from it. I wear clothes that display it as often as possible – it's on my left calf – so I live in hope that someone will recognise it.

"I don't think that getting a game tattoo is any different to getting one of something from a book or a film, but people have tended to view them very differently. I'm seeing a lot more gaming tattoos lately, and I think it's a really good thing. Tattoos are taken very seriously but I don't see them that way. I try to have fun with mine. If I see someone else with a gaming tattoo, it makes me feel like I have something in common with them, even if it's related to a game that I'm not a fan of. I definitely see people in a different light if I see that they have a game tattoo – it's a pretty good icebreaker.

"I have another games tattoo – a Dragon Age design – and I would like others. There's a handful of games that have stuck with me as much as Deadly Premonition, so it's just a matter of time."

LIAM, 20

"I chose to get Lightning from Final Fantasy XIII tattooed because I think she's a very cool character, and one that I found myself very attached to. I got it done in September 2014, just after my 18th birthday. I'd just completed Final Fantasy XIII, and had got a good way into XIII-2 at the time, and I really liked her design.

"My tattoo artist actually had pictures of Lightning in his studio, which was pretty cool; I think he may have also had a figurine. But to be honest the tattoo didn't have any greater significance for me, other than her being a character I really liked, until May last year, when I got to meet Ali Hillis – she's the voice actor for Lightning, and she signed my arm. It's since become a cool anecdote that I can tell people, when they ask about the tattoo. I get a few people asking about it at conventions and stuff, and the comments are very complimentary.

"I've seen people with tattoos of the l'Cie designs from Final Fantasy before, but nobody with another Lightning tattoo. In addition to this one, I also have a tattoo of Big Boss from Metal Gear Solid 3. I got that in February 2015, because I looked up to him, as well as thinking of him as a well-written and designed character.

"I think that, over the past two decades, gaming's become more mainstream, and more artistic. People like to show that off through body art, and I know that I have a few more in my head that need to be done."

DANIELA, 26

"This is a tattoo of Chester – full name, Otto von Chesterfield, Esquire. It's on my left arm, just above the wrist. He's an adorable NPC/object in the game Don't Starve, and is super useful. You find him in game by picking up the eye bone – my long-time friend Lucy had that tattooed at the same time as I had this one – and that summons him to you. If he dies, the eye on the eye bone closes until he respawns again.

"I got really into Don't Starve around the time it came out of early access, and have been playing it ever since. When Don't Starve Together – its multiplayer mode – came out, my friend Lucy and I started playing it on our Wednesday Twitch stream, as a monthly community play – we create a server and people in the chat can join and hang out/survive in-game with us while watching. There are a few jokes around Chester on the stream, and one of our regular viewers always tries to set him on fire for some reason.

"He's called Chester because he's basically a chest – you put items in his mouth and he follows you around, carrying them. Depending on what you put inside him, he can change fur, too. For instance, there's Shadow Chester, if you fill him with nightmare fuel at full moon time, which means his fur is dark grey and he can carry more items; then there's Snow Chester, activated by storing blue gems at full moon, which means he has white fur and he's better at preserving food, and any ice you store inside him melts slower.

"I can see that to someone who doesn't know the game, it just looks like a cute little monster, and I guess that's alright. But it also marks that fact that Lucy and I had this cool thing going on, at this moment in time. If someone doesn't know what it is, I'm always happy to tell them; and if they do, if nothing else then it's a conversation starter. I have other tattoos that reference pop culture, and they're all personal to me; they all represent when something changed about me, or a turning point, or something I want to remember."

Article continues after the video below

Watch 'The Sacred Art of the Japanese Tattoo'

ALICE, 26 (and three quarters)

"I've got this companion cube, from Portal 2, on my leg. I got it done a couple of years after the game came out. I tend to sympathise with NPCs and characters in video games a lot – possibly more than actual people IRL – and even more so with robots and AI, for some reason. That new Overwatch short about Bastion was very emotional for me. Thinking about it, a companion cube is the purest form of that: it has no arms or legs, or any way to express itself, and yet it has feelings and you're supposed to look after it.

"The text ribbon says 'ad lunam', which means 'to the moon', which I got as a reference to the end of Portal 2, but I thought it sounds like the kind of stupid inspirational stuff people get on tattoos, and it made me laugh.

"Because of where the tattoo is, it's only fully visible if I'm wearing shorts or a skirt, so people don't often ask me about it – although I think it's more to do with people thinking it's weird to accost strangers to compliment them, especially in the UK. I was on holiday in the USA recently, though, and I got more comments there. I bought a bottle of water in the airport and the woman behind the counter went, 'Girl, you are tatted up,' and asked me about them, because I have several others. If I'm in an actual conversation with someone, especially in a setting where we all know we're nerds, people might ask about it. Like in Loading Bar (London gaming bar), or something. And people with tattoos sometimes like comparing them, asking about artists and so on.

"The artist for this one was Lou Hopper, who is pretty well known now because she was on the first season of Tattoo Fixers, but left. The show has been getting a lot of shit from tattoo artists for being terrible, but Lou is a fantastic artist and I would recommend her to anyone. I don't know for sure, but would imagine she left because the show was terrible. She didn't know what the design was, but she's done a few pop culture things in the past, and she'd done a lot of stuff in this style before. She's proficient in a bunch of different styles, to be honest.

"I love tattoos. I'll be covered, eventually. Every time I get one I immediately want another one – the only thing holding me back is the expense. But with tattoos it's better to pay more, because you really do get bang for your buck. It doesn't help that every time I get a tattoo I meet more cool artists. The last one I got was by Keely Rutherford – she did this on my leg. One of the artists working at the same time was Matt Difa. He turned out to be well into World of Warcraft, and we talked about our character specs and the new film. He does a lot of geek stuff – games, comics, films and so forth – so I really want one from him now. I've wanted a Dragon Age one for a while, at least a year, but I'm knocking around what to get. Generally I get an idea and think about it until I have enough money to approach an artist. Tattoo artists themselves are usually great at interpreting idiot customer's ideas. This companion cube I was probably thinking about for eight months or so.

"I think tattoos can be lovely pieces of art. One of the artists who worked on my feet says she thinks of them like living in a house and putting some nice pictures on the walls, rather than leaving them blank."

STUART, 26

"I got this done in 2011, to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the Legend of Zelda series. It's on my upper right arm. To be honest, there's no special reason as to why it's positioned there – it just fits in well with another tattoo I have.

"This design is based on the end scene from The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past, which was the first Zelda game I ever finished. I was quite late to the series, but this game opened my eyes to all the other games in the series. It's my absolute favourite of all of them, though.

"I felt a great sense of achievement on finishing A Link to the Past. It was around the time I started making friends through sharing a common interest in video games, and I discovered so many, then, that I'd not heard of before. I guess this was when video games became a big part of my life.

"I like it that a lot of people know what series it's from. Because of its style, people tend to associate it with any 'retro' game, but I love it when people know it's from Zelda. It just immediately shows that I'm a massive fan of video games, and Nintendo in particular. People talk about games with me after they've seen it, so I guess it breaks the ice for what can still be seen as a niche topic at times.

"Other than my girlfriend's grandmother, nobody's ever said anything negative about the tattoo. Most people are actually really positive about it. The tattoo artist who did it, though, he didn't have a clue what it was, which I can understand. But he tried to remove the Triforce from the design – I had to explain why it was so important."

Related, on Broadly: Meet the Trans Tattoo Artist Witch Using Their Ink as Power

PERRIE, 24

"This is a Leshen, from The Witcher 3. It was my first experience of the series, and the lore surrounding it hit me like a brick. The way the monsters and your choices affected everything in the game had me immersed for far longer than I'd like to admit. The most important thing about a tattoo is that it is a piece of artwork you love, and I think the Witcher series has no shortage of stunning designs for its monsters.

"The idea to get the tattoo came as soon as I started the hunt for a Leshen. Walking through a dense forest destroying totems certainly set the scene. Then a forest spirit wearing antlers rises up for the undergrowth with a piercing groan, and all I could think was: 'Well, that's my next tattoo.' The decision was made maybe a little too quickly – I did the usual questioning as to whether this is something I would like on my body permanently but was never deterred.

"Not many people know what it is, but I always receive compliments for the detail of it. I've not yet seen anyone else with a Witcher tattoo, and nobody in my family had any idea what it was. Nor did the tattooist, actually, which I thought was surprising as we have very similar interests. He'd certainly never done a Leshen before, so I think he had a bit of fun with it.

"Games are packed with really cool ideas, so why not have a games-related tattoo? Why have some stars, or a rose, when you could have some Fallout power armour, or some grotesque beast? Personally, I'll always appreciate something original over something taken from the tattoo parlour wall. And I might well have more gaming tattoos in the future – I still have plenty of blank skin."

Read more articles about gaming on VICE here. Follow VICE Gaming on Twitter at @VICEGaming.

Comics: 'Little Prisoners,' Today's Comic by Michel Esselbrügge

Pictures of the Most Powerful People in the UK Looking More Silly Than Ever

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Christopher Anderson: 'Stump'

Hiii!!! Two people in London are putting on a political art show and I thought, 'Hold on a moment, a person who reads VICE might need to know about this,' so I spoke to them, and now you can.

Do you like politics? How about politicians? If you answered yes, you're probably a total square! So unless you combine that interest with art, no one is going to want to talk to you at any parties over the festive period. To help you, photographer Mark Duffy and writer and photographer Lewis Bush have co-curated an exhibition of political photography together at the Seen Fifteen gallery in Peckham, which opened Friday.

Mark has already done an interview with VICE about his hilarious/deeply pathetic (AS-level usage of the word there guys, just FYI) photos of campaign imagery in Ireland, which were turned into a book you should read. You should also have a look at Lewis Bush's satirical post-card series, "A Model Continent" (we interviewed him about that too). Together, they have gathered some of their favourite political artists and put on a show called "Images of Power" to mark the fucking miserable year of politics that the UK has just experienced. Expect: portraits of the 100 most powerful people in the country, beautifully captured head shots of politicians and journalists (ew) in their natural habitats, maybe alcohol and much more.

VICE: Hello, you two. What can I expect from your exhibition?
Lewis: You can expect a kind of chaotic and, in Mark's words, "sickening" array of images of politicians and powerful figures in the UK and beyond.
Mark: There are four photographers involved – myself, Christopher Anderson, Daniel Mayritt and Hans Poel, and we're all quite visually similar. Expect lots of extreme close-ups of very powerful faces.

Hans Poel: 'Petting Politics'

How did the collaborative curation come about?
Mark: I've never curated or got involved in any sort of curation before, but I didn't know why anyone else wasn't doing this, so I decided to make it happen. I had no practical transferable skills, so I approached Lewis and he got involved.
Lewis: We're quite different and that works well in terms of collaborating. Perhaps I'm more overtly political and I definitely have a more strident attitude towards politicians, but beneath that we wanted to do the show for similar reasons. It's a chance to put the boot in to the people who've led us both in to the mess of Brexit and lots of other messes over the year.

Daniel Mayritt: 'You Haven't Seen Their Faces'

Is the show concerned with presenting and ridiculing politicians?
Lewis: There are a mixture of different projects in the exhibition, and in Mark's work that's definitely true ­– the reality of politics is even more ridiculously sad than the satire of it. But then with Daniel's work, which is about the 100 most powerful people in the city of London, there's a serious point to make about these people who have a profound effect on all of our lives and yet remain almost entirely invisible. As much as power can be used to control your image the way the politicians in Mark's photos show, another power is the ability to be kept out of the public eye. So the different works do slightly different things, and that's what drew us to the four pieces.

Are you concerned about how some of the people featured might react?
Mark: Well, weirdly, I actually had quite a good response to my book from the people in it – they're politicians, so I guess they were happy to get any publicity – but I don't know if we'll get the same response here. We'll see. We're having an "MPs only" reception, so hopefully we can find out then.

Tell me more.
Mark: We decided to invite every single sitting MP to a special showing of the exhibition. When MPs want to reserve a seat in the House of Commons they have to fill out a thing called a prayer card, which is this little green card, so we based our invitations on those, hand-filled them out and sent them off.
Lewis: We've had a few rejections so far sadly, and I don't think we've had any confirmations yet. But there are still about 630 we haven't heard from... It's nice to be doing a show where there's not that much riding on it so you can afford to do things that no serious person would ever do. Like issuing a redacted press release with no information on it. We're kind of revelling in the absurdity of politics.

A press release, and a redacted press release

So I'm guessing humour is really important to the show?
Mark: Definitely. Humour can trick people into paying attention.
Lewis: Some people consider politics a kind of holy topic that's not suitable to laugh at and make jokes about, but I think the sign of a healthy democracy is one where you satirise your leaders and your higher ups.
Mark: A lot of the time, if people hear an argument going on they'll back away, but if you use humour they're more likely to get involved. Did you know that everything that happens inside the Houses of Parliament is broadcast and the footage is made available to anyone who wants to use it, but it's against the law to use it for purposes of parody or comedy? That's why you never see footage from the House of Commons on Have I Got News for You or anything like that.

Mark Duffy: 'Vote No.1'

I did not know that. I imagine there are lots of pieces of legislation like that hidden in dark corners in the hope that no one will ever notice them.
Lewis: People often praise British democracy because of the way it's congealed over a very long period of time, but in the process lots of very negative tendencies have also evolved into it. When it comes to my generation, I certainly feel that there's a feeling that a lot is broken in British Parliamentary democracy. If you look at things like First Past the Post or an unelected upper house, there's no significant will to correct those from above. I wonder at what point the will develops below and people actually start to get really pissed off about it. Parliamentary democracy in the UK has serious issues – we're not really drawing attention to those in the show, but we are drawing attention to some of the people who benefit from them.

It's very refreshing. Artists are often reluctant to directly engage with politics; why do you think that is?
Lewis: I think engaging with politics in art is often seen as kind of grubby and a bit naïve, and that actually an artist's job isn't to trouble themselves with this kind of thing. Peter Kennard, a photo-montage artist who does really political stuff, always says that actually what's naïve is not engaging with political topics and that turning away from them is a real failing.

Christopher Anderson: 'Stump'

Well you are deeply engaging with them, so Peter will be very pleased. Has it been rewarding?
Lewis: I would completely question what use this exhibition of political photography is in the grand scheme of things... But it's a satisfying way to get our own back, however small.
Mark: Yeah, exactly – we're venting frustration and having a bit of a laugh with it.
Lewis: I think the next important question is finding ways to do things that do have an impact. It's fine to do this kind of stuff and enjoy it, but that can't be the end of the process.

Lastly, how do you want people to leave your exhibition feeling?
Lewis: "Oh my god, we give these people – these disgusting people – authority and let them control our lives? What are we doing?"

Ideal. Thanks, both!

"Images of Power" runs between the 2nd and 11th September 2016 at Seen Fifteen in the Bussey Building in Peckham, London

The opening party is on Friday 2nd September between 6PM – 9PM

All welcome! Details here.

@BertieBrandes

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The Labour Purge Won't Beat Corbyn, So What's the Point?

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Is University Still Worth It?: How Do People Who Didn't Go to University Feel About it Now?

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We've spent the last two weeks questioning whether university is still working for Britain's young people. For many, the debt and uncertainty that come with doing a degree are extremely unattractive. But if you decide not to be a student, what other options are there, and do you miss out on the much-fabled "university experience"? We caught up with the 20-somethings who took four different routes into work, to ask them how they feel about their decision.

APPRENTICESHIPS

Credit: Emile Adan

Until capitalism came along, apprenticeships were basically a way for older bakers to teach younger bakers how to knead dough, while only paying them in bread. Now they're a fully mandated government scheme that lets you work, earn, and get a qualification all at the same time. Stefan Price, 17, is doing a social media and digital marketing apprenticeship in Liverpool.

VICE: What made you decide to do an apprenticeship?
Stefan: Before I started my apprenticeship, I had no idea what one was. Just out of curiosity one day, I was looking on the internet about marketing and marketing jobs, then I came across a social media and digital marketing apprenticeship. It is basically as good as they make it sound, you can learn from experts and get paid while doing it. These reasons just made it the obvious decision.

Are you learning loads or do you ever feel you are basically cheap labour?
People ask this all the time and the answer is simple. Apprenticeships are not cheap labour, no matter how people try to spin them off like this. I get a qualification, expert knowledge and work-based knowledge, all for free, while getting a wage. You can't put a price on education and knowledge. We all have to start somewhere.

Do you feel like you missed out on the "university experience", getting smashed and sleeping around?
Not at all, if anything, the apprenticeship life is even better. We get paid, so every penny is ours to spend on whatever we want: clothes, holidays, nights out, anything. There was always a running joke in the office that I was "living like a king" because I'd get ASOS packages delivered every week. Every lunchtime I'd treat myself to something. I was always the envy of my mates. I've booked a two-week cruise around the Caribbean in September – I haven't missed out on a thing.

A cruise! So no regrets about university then? You made the right decision?
The biggest thing is probably living away from home - every young person wants that. Before uni, it seems like an amazing thing, having your own place, being able to do whatever the hell you want, but in reality, that soon ends. Who'd make my bed every day, wash all my clothes, cook all my meals? I rely on my mum for all this, and I definitely couldn't live without her at the minute.

Stefan. You need to start making your own bed. And thanks.

THE ARMY


Source: Sgt Brian Gamble/MOD

The army used to offer a way out for people wanting get out of their home town. Now, so all their adverts say, it's much more than that. You can be paid to study, get a decent home, travel abroad and be branded a hero at the end of it. We caught up with Jonny Sherwood-Eames, 28, an officer based in Newcastle, to find out whether skipping uni and going straight to Sandhurst suited him.

VICE: What made you decide to join the army?
Jonny: I left school with A-levels and I had two confirmed places at Leeds and Northumbria. I had decided to take a gap year and it was during that time that I chose to go into the army instead. I thought about what I want from life. I've always been very sporty and liked to travel and this paid well.

Do you feel like you missed out on the "uni experience"? I can't imagine there are a lot of drunken shenanigans at Sandhurst.
Probably. I couldn't comment on uni life, having not been. I've got a lot of friends who went to uni who had a cracking time, but the opportunities the army has given me have been fantastic – I've been all over the world, I've never been out of employment.

Do you think you missed out on the carefree side of uni life? The lie-ins, the messy rooms, the lack of structure?
We get 38 days leave a year, and having done operation tours that last months, you accrue time off, so I've had fantastic holidays. Plus room inspections stop once you've finished training, so your situation becomes very independent. You have your own space where you can relax. You're certainly not stood to attention at the bottom of your bed every day.

Any regrets?
If I had to go back and say to myself go to uni or join the army, I would do it the way I've done it. It's the best of both worlds. I've been paid well and I now own my own house, so I'm in a position to study more if I want to.

START UP LOANS

Source: Start-up Loans

If you've got a good idea for a business but no capital, the government offer start-up loans for first-time entrepreneurs. They operate in a similar way to student loans, with fixed interest rates and an easy application process. They also come with free mentoring to help your business get started. We spoke to Sonya Kumar, 21, who runs her own Indian catering company for private and corporate events in west London.

VICE: Did you consider going to university?
Sonya: I did think about it and teachers were putting a lot of pressure on me to go, but I didn't really want to do it. Studying for another three years just wasn't my cup of tea. I wanted to control my own finances and be my own boss so I set up my own business and came across start-up loans through a website I found online.

But do you feel like you missed out on the "uni experience"?
Oh yeah. I've definitely grown up quickly. I think about that when I look at my people from my year and where they are right now. It doesn't help to see others going out, partying at freshers' things, and there's me just trying to work my ass off to get the business going. It can make you depressed. I think you become more reserved than everyone else. You have to accept that it's a different lifestyle and it changes you at the same time. But I look at them and I've got more of a professional manner. They're going through things that I've already learned.

Do you regret your decision?
Yes and no. I have regrets, but then, not everyone has got something good out of uni. They might regret getting drunk, sleeping around and stuff like that.

JUST GET A JOB

Source: PEO ACWA

Transitioning from school student to worker bee may actually be easier than trying to get a job post-university at the same time as all the other recent graduates. We spoke to Tom Barclay, 30, from Somerset who's now a wholesale manager for an organic drinks company.

VICE: Did you consider going to university?
Tom: I couldn't find anything I wanted to get into debt for, so I looked for a job. A lot of my friends did, but I just didn't.

What was it like when they all went off to study?
Every night at uni sounds like the best night ever, but I don't know if it's really like that. I think about the people you meet through uni and what I've missed out on, but then I've made my bed.

You've got a good job now. Does anyone care that you don't have a degree?
A lot of jobs that I've applied for in the past say you have to have a degree. They won't even give you a chance, even when you have experience, even if you're overqualified. That's just how it is.

So do you have any regrets?
If I'd gone, I would definitely have embraced the lifestyle, and that does play on my mind quite a bit - the experience part, rather than getting educated and being in debt - but maybe it feels like it would've been better than it might have actually been.

@tessreidy

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Lowriders Are the Beating Heart of Chicano Culture in the American Southwest

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Sean Daly sits in his candied painted Chevy, which he affectionally nicknamed "Cochina."

All photos by Gabriela Campos

Outside El Santuario De Chimayo, 20 miles north of Santa Fe, New Mexico, Arthur "Lowlow" Medina leans forward on his wooden staff. The local artist and one of the pioneers of New Mexico lowriding motions toward his prized 1976 Cadillac parked just up the street from the Chimayo church, the spiritual center of hispanic/chicano culture in the Southwest.

"It's my Holy Week car," says Lowlow, 62, running his free hand over the the soft blues, pinks, and whites that make up a dazzling (if cluttered) candy painted canvas of Catholic imagery covering the car's exterior. "People come from all around to visit the Santuario" during the last week of March, says Lowlow. "And to see my car," he adds with a smile.

Lowlow's self-customized lowriders—tricked out vehicles with wire wheels, glittered paint jobs, and hydraulics—have been featured in magazines, art books, and academic journals. The lowrider tradition originated in the Mexican-American barrios of East Los Angeles in the late 40s, pioneered by young zoot suit-wearing chicano men who began self-customizing the American bombs and muscle cars of the time into "baroque automobiles." By the 1960s, the cultural tradition had made its way to New Mexico, cementing itself into the predominantly chicano/hispanic neighborhoods of the northern part of the state.

Donald Mascares drives his '85 Buick at the Show & Shine car show in Espanola. His car, "a hopper," is elevated onto two wheels through the use of a customized hydraulic system found in many lowriders.

From the beginning, lowriding was associated (often wrongly) with violence and gangsterism, mirroring the stereotypes surrounding the young chicano men who drove them.

"These vehicles were long viewed as something as marginal and anti-social, as lowriders acted outside of normative culture," says Andrew Connors, curator of art at the Albuquerque Museum. In recent years that has begun to change, as a growing respect for the self-taught artistry and cultural importance of these vehicles has emerged. "What else combines a self-taught knowledge of painting, upholstery work, and even hydraulics?" says Connor. "This is a pretty transgressive art form... in the best possible way."

For lowrider diehards like Lowlow, each whip is a canvas to display his culture, faith, and family bonds (his wife, Joan, and daughters, Anamaria and Marisol, help him soup up his cars), as well as a reflection of the evolution of the lowriding culture in New Mexico at large.

"For a long time anyone that had a lowrider was considered a gangster or drug dealer," says Sean Daly, owner of Straight Street Automotive—one of the preeminent lowrider customization shops in New Mexico. "Now our cars are in museums. The art and culture has come a long way."

"They represent the evolution of the culture," says fellow lowrider Rollan Salvas, noting how the Lowlow and the Medinas embody the family tradition now common in the elder lowrider generation. "We made it through our troublemaking days in Espanola and came out the other side. Now we have lowrider families."

Arthur 'Lowlow' Medina leans on his 1976 Cadillac lowrider, the entirety of the exterior covered in hand-painted Catholic imagery.

The Medina compound—part pastoral auto park, part art studio, part Catholic shrine—is located a few miles east of the Santuario church. Its interior is a cozy labyrinth of spaces—two garages, an art studio, bedrooms, and four separate prayer rooms. At home, Lowlow puts in countless hours working on his cars, often with the help of his family.

"Our house was built around these cars," explains Joan, standing next to a piece of glass where her girls had been practicing pinstriping. " is all about family, art, and faith. We do everything together."

Outside, nestled in nearly every corner of the yard, are some prized pieces of Americana: a 1967 Pontiac Grand Prix, a 1947 Chrysler Windsor, and a 1946 Jeep postal truck. "That's gonna be my lowrider ice cream truck," says Lowlow, who plans to turn the Jeep into a Mister Softee-style whip. "It's gonna be bad, bro."

"He's a lowrider farmer," jokes Joan, motioning toward the six cars that share the space with a few farm animals at the Medina's home. "They are like family members," says Joan. The family has had dozens over the years, but Lowlow's narrowed his collection as of late.

Joan, Marisol, and Anamaria Medina stand beside their father and husband's car, showing their support at one of the many lowrider events that Lowlow Medina attends.

"My daughters and their kids will each get one," says Salvas, speaking to VICE at the monthly "Show & Shine" car show the next day in nearby Espanola. "This is something I can pass down to my children and my children's children."

"I gave my older daughter the Pontiac for her Sweet 16," says Lowlow, arriving at the show in a newly-washed Grand Prix, family in stow. "These are part of our culture," he adds, motioning toward the dozens of vehicles in the parking lot. "We took something from there and made it ours."

"Lowriders are the quintessential American art form," says Connors of the Albuquerque Museum. "It starts with a medium that didn't exist anywhere else but the US, and is taken in a direction that completely defies the functionality of the object. It's almost a surrealist approach to sculpture—a folk art tradition deeply tied to the culture, faith, and families of these communities."

Mascares sits in his car clutching a tiny customized steering wheel, another hallmark of a lowrider interior.

"I was six years old when I first saw a lowrider... I was hooked," says Sean Daly of Straight Street Automotive, speaking to VICE from his garage in Albuquerque. Daly, in his early 40s, is of a newer generation of lowriders, which comes across in the pristine, "radical" style of the cars found in his garage. "Six years of work and 70K," explains Sean, standing next to his glistening '63 Chevy Impala SS, nicknamed "Cochina." "I'm about doing new and innovative things."

When asked about Lowlow's style, Daly replied, "Religious-themed cars are more of a traditional thing. But any true lowrider appreciates different styles. We all respect each other."

Like Lowlow, Daly sees his cars as foremost a "canvas for self expression."

"These are not 'good' investments," he laughs. "They are passion projects. I think of them as my kids sometimes."

Some treat it as work of art, others as work of life," says Connors, noting the differences in the tradition. "As a folk art without regulation there is a lot of variation within the tradition. Those variations don't kill the tradition, they move it in different directions."

Lowlow lowrider's limo showcased at the center of his museum-in-progress. Lowlow hopes this museum can be a space to showcase lowrider culture, the catholic faith, and be used to teach kids the artistry of pinstriping and other vehicle customizations.

Back at the Medina compound, Lowlow ushers us to a long, rectangular building attached to the side of the house.

"I haven't shown anyone this before," says Lowlow, his eyes brightening as he opens the door to his lowrider museum-in-progress, a makeshift space that he hopes one day can be used to promote lowriding culture and teach kids about "cars, art, and god," he says. The interior is covered by dozens of his religious paintings. At the center of the room sits a beautiful 1988 Chrysler limousine lowrider with a busty naked blonde woman painted on the hood and trunk.

"I was younger when I did this," says Lowlow, noting with some regret a different period of artistry and identity in his life. "My daughters are older now. It's time to cover them up," says Lowlow. "Maybe I'll put wings on them. Make them into angels."

Follow Sam on Twitter and Gabriela on Instagram.


Things I Learned as a Naked Carny

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Me, at work. All photos via the author

Last year, I fell in love with a sideshow performer. As many can attest to, love makes us do odd things. The more he talked about performing strange acts of bodily harm for an audience, getting lost in midway games, and moving on to the next town every ten days, the more actually I wanted to give up the comforts of home for life on the road.

This summer, one of the largest Canadian touring carnivals happened to have some room on its lazy circuit across the country, so we packed up our own little ragtag circus/sideshow into a converted bus, and made our way across the western provinces. Inside our retired festival whip were six bunks: three for our showmates, one for our albino boa constrictor's aquarium, and two more for a rotating group of carnies that would rent in lieu of a bunkhouse on the carnival lot.

As you can surely imagine, we tended to draw stares when pulling up to buy gas, loading in or out of a venue, or parking anywhere slightly residential. The "Dragon Wagon" as we dubbed it, made her major maiden voyage with minimal incident—aside from the bus doors blowing open outside of Calgary, calling for us to tie them down so we could keep driving. (After experiencing this minor mishap, I encourage everyone to either join Boy Scouts or a Japanese rope bondage class—competent knotwork is a valuable life skill to master.)

If someone asked me what midway life was like, I'd liken it to a cross between prison, summer camp, and being a stripper. To the patron, it's a family-friendly fun environment that lends an afternoon's distractions. However, to the workers, under the bubblegum-friendly veneer, exists a set of complex social rules. It's anything but safe or clean, but once you get the hang of it, you realize that if society ever crumbled, and came down to mob rule, you'd probably fare well after a summer of being a carny. Like summer camp, you never know if you'll run into old friends or foes, and just like in stripping, it's hustle, hustle, hustle. Having navigated through most of a summer as a touring circus/sideshow performer, festival mermaid, novelty salesperson and midway games worker, I have a brand new set of questionable life skills to share.

ON LOT JUSTICE

There is a strict social hierarchy in place that is unspoken. It's not pretty, but the place polices itself, much in the same way the mob operates. When someone shows up a little too drunk to work, rather than bring it up to any larger authority, the ride and game owners deal with it in-house. Sometimes I would get pulled in to cover a game for one of these too-boozy carnies. This locks you in for lengthy hours, unable to leave for breaks. It's also how long-standing beefs can get started, which fire back and forth like the Hatfields and the McCoys until one of the larger bosses steps in and settles everyone's hash.

I'm not sure if that makes me feel more safe or more on edge—I thought it best to keep my head down, my nose clean, and just observe the posturing behind the scenes. But if it resembled anything, the affairs of state with regard to the midway lay somewhere between OZ and Game Of Thrones for drama. Like Trailer Park Boys with more rides and fried foods.

Tools of the trade

EVERYONE LOVES A FREAK

I used to be fairly socially awkward at parties, unsure of how to break the ice and loathe to make small talk until I started doing sideshow. Turns out it's easy to get strangers' attention when you're nearly nude, on fire, or draped in a large reptile. Our onstage sets give folks a chance to see strange physical feats up close. When you live primarily in a YouTube culture, the prospect of seeing a sword swallowed or someone balancing on a rollabolla atop a longboard of nails in person gives a vicarious thrill that no online video could reproduce. We have the habit of making selfies a little more interesting, #whatdidyoudolastnight and so forth. But now I have garnered enough tricks that I can enter any party and stir the pot by asking if they want to see a strong woman demonstration.

YOUR TIME (AND COLON) IS WORTHLESS

I came onto the midway part way through the season in Winnipeg, and was told I needed to help with set up. I wouldn't be paid, but it would increase the percentage of my commission on games, which was fairly small to begin with. At the end of the spot, if I didn't help with tear down, I'd not be eligible for a jump draw—a cash advance which most carnies use to get from one town to the other. A common reason for not giving a full payout is so the workers don't take their cheques and drink them right away before the next town.

Between draws and the points system, this helps to keep the carny folk always just barely equalling out, always indentured their employers. Breaks are every two hours for one hour, stretching working days from 10 AM to midnight, which skirts around labour laws, but ensures everyone is always vaguely exhausted from long days. After having to pay for their lodging (either hotel, bunkhouse spot or in someone's van), their own travel, as well as food on the road, it's difficult to keep afloat. One winds up eating on lot most of the time, at either the commissary or else on the midway. We pay carnival prices for carnival food, and it tends to eat up the last of our paycheques. However, after day two of a corn dog diet, I went on a mission and stocked up on bagged salads from Walmart, which turned out to be a godsend and spared my poor colon having to process ten straight days of deep-fried foods.

LEARN THE LANGUAGE

Like prison, the carnival comes with its own lexicon. In fact, since a fair number of the employees who work the carnival have spent some time at Club Fed at one point or another—you hear jail slang on the midway. I have since learned that you never call someone a goof, squid, or a rat, unless you are willing to take the impending shitstorm that accompanies it.

The older carnies might haze a newbie by asking them to go get the "board stretcher," "the key to the midway," or a "left handed screwdriver." This is usually requested in a barking tone, sending the fresh meat all over the carnival on a fruitless search for an imaginary item. When they return, empty handed and frustrated, they are then informed that there is no such thing and then told to get back to work.

Other carny terms include:
Fin = $5 bill
Sawbuck =$10
Double = $20
Half chip = $50 bill
Yard note is a $100 bill

TAKE YOUR SHOWERS WHEN YOU CAN

I went from not wanting to shower outside of home or a hotel room to lathering up on lot and letting the rain rinse me off, to bird baths in truck stops, and sponge baths at festivals. While shaving one's legs in a moving vehicle isn't yet an Olympic event, trying to do it and not accidentally skinning yourself with a Mach 3 razor is something of an art form I'm now a dab hand at. Lesson: when someone offers you their home to shower in, you take it. You take it, bring in your fluffy towel, your exfoliator, and maybe even hair dye for touch ups. You grab that offer with both hands, and get it in a mercy lock. If you do this, you will be much happier, and fairer of personal odour.

I got used to sneaking into the bathroom at Walmart and trying to discretely bathe in the sinks and do my dishes whilst not calling too much attention to my appearance, which, if it were the morning after the show could mean that I had leftover clown drag on, or if I was in my carnival uniform (yes, there is a uniform, which is the first job I've ever worn one) getting harsh side eye. That being said, the desire to be clean trumps the potential for appearing on People Of Walmart. Although, if that did happen, I'd likely try and use that as promo... 'See the fabulous circus sideshow sensation... As seen on People Of Walmart!'

Carny breakfast

PROFESSIONAL CATCALLING

I am a modern woman. I'm no stranger to being catcalled, and it sucks. One ignorant comment can throw off my entire day. Now, imagine a job where not only are you encouraged to cat call your clientele, it's expected. It's called "calling them in." You try whatever vocal technique you can in order to grab the attention of the public.

Depending on the day and who showed up wasted, I'd switch back and forth from being "The Guesser" where I would (literally) guess people's ages, weights, and birth months, over to a sling shot game where partons would fire soggy Angry Birds toys into holes in canvas behind me. Sometimes I worked "The Volcano" where it wasn't impossible to win... just really, really difficult. The only thing remained the same in each game was the same mandate: call as many people over to gather a crowd around your game, then extract all of their cash out of their pockets though the game.

It wasn't fun, it's wasn't pleasant. But the longer I did it, the better I got, and I saw my social boundaries slowly fall away. This is not a good thing. I had a little bit of a moral crisis when I found myself urging young impressionable children to go and fetch some money from their parents so I could play with them. It wasn't unlike the days I spent as a stripper when one would hustle for private dances. The aggressive people who browbeat the patrons in going for a dance were the most successful, and if you didn't keep up, you'd be going hungry. One had to shout the loudest, and draw the biggest crowds to get the best response. By the end of the third day, my voice had dropped two octaves and I was reduced to growling in a Lauren Bacall voice over my microphone to lure folks over, with something akin to a phone sex operator voice.

MEET CARNY PETE

In our travels, we headed through Golden, BC where we met up with a legend from the old days called Carny Pete. To other carnies he was just Harmonica Pete, but there you go with the human need to label folks. Carny Pete regaled us with stories of salty road dog carnies. Back then, the carnies sounded like Beetlejuice, their voices weathered by dry air, stale beer, and too many cigarettes and hours of "calling them in" to their attractions. Now, there midway is worked off less of a rogue's gallery and more with independent artists, like myself. Pretty soon there won't be anything left of the old days except memories of the old timers, and the reactionary safety regulations put into effect due to previous workers goof-ups.

Follow Tristan Risk on Twitter.

The Long, Strange Hunt for the Folk Singer Who Thought He Was the Next Messiah

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Craig Smith during his days as a singer, and Smith years later, after being arrested for assaulting his mother in 1973. All photos courtesy of Feral House

You don't know his name now, but there was a time when Craig Smith was on the path to becoming a star. In the early 60s, the singer-songwriter was in the house band on a popular variety show, wrote music that ended up being recorded by Glen Campbell, and eventually started a band called Penny Arkade that members of the Monkees helped produce in their home studio. Then, as quickly as his career took off, he disappeared.

When Smith eventually returned to California, he was not the same clean-cut folk singer with a nice smile and combed hair. If you asked him, he wasn't even Craig Smith. The musician had left Hollywood to travel along the famed Hippie Trail with a head full of acid and a guitar slung over his shoulder. At some point on the trip, though, something changed in Smith, and he came to believe he was the reincarnate of both Christ and the Buddha. He began calling himself Maitreya Kali, had a black widow spider tattooed on his forehead, and was convinced he'd be king of the world by the year 2000.

Back in the States, the reinvented Smith scared his former colleagues, and both he and his music dipped into obscurity. He ended up homeless, likely suffering from mental illness, and died without any family in 2012.

It took writer and editor Mike Stax 15 years to make sense of the life and times of the artist formerly known as Craig Smith. Stax got interested in Smith after hearing a reissued compilation of music Smith recorded both with Penny Arkade and as the dark, unhinged Maitreya Kali, and the writer became obsessed with figuring out what happened to him. In his new book Swim Through the Darkness, out September 13 from Feral House, the author investigates the singer's surprising disappearance and self-reinvention, trying to prove that the potential star was more than just an "acid causality." VICE talked with Stax about his relentless pursuit for the almost-famous musician.

VICE: How did you get involved in researching and writing the story?

Mike Stax: It was the music that first hooked me. I acquired reissued copies of his solo records Apache and Inca. I didn't really know what to expect because the cover art was so mysterious, deranged, and disturbed. I expected some kind of spacey, incoherent psychedelic folk music, so I was surprised to find that the music was coherent, and the songwriting and playing accomplished. Musically it was all over the place. Some of it sounded like the Byrds or Buffalo Springfield, other tracks were desolate acoustic folk music—and then there were weird interludes with snippets of dialogue. I couldn't stop listening to it. I knew there had to be an interesting story behind it all, but there was no information out there, just some speculation among collectors. The only known fact was that this strange loner guy who called himself Maitreya Kali had originally been known as Craig Smith, born April 25, 1945. So I started to look for Craig Smith, and gradually began to piece the story together.

You spent 15 years working on the book. What about the project took so long to complete?
It took a long time because there are so many Smiths out there, and Craig appeared to have left few traces behind of his existence. nobody knew anything about this guy. The story I got was basically that he was just some dude who was once a promising musician, but did too much acid and then went off the deep end. I wanted to know where he was now and what happened, but the trail was cold because he ended up homeless. That brought out the detective in me. As I started to learn more about this guy, I really felt some empathy for him. It was very easy for people to say he was just an acid casualty.

His change around from this very wholesome, talented, happy-go-lucky guy into this very dark, almost Manson-like figure was absolutely fascinating to me. How did he get from being this to being that? That's what it was all about for me. I wanted to find the human story behind that, and once I started talking to people who knew him at different points in his life, I realized that it was really interesting because he was originally a very straight, middle-of-the-road kind of guy.

Craig Smith's senior photo in high school

What was it like hunting and trying to find Craig Smith?
Years passed, and I continued to track down and interview people who knew Craig at different points of his life. The first person I found that really kind of opened the door into his life for me was Don Glut, who was in the group Penny Arkade with Craig. He filled in a whole bunch of the story right there. From there, I got a hold of Chris Ducey, who was also in Penny Arkade. Like some of the others, Ducey didn't really want to talk at first because he'd seen Craig go from his best friend and musical collaborator to this crazy person he couldn't have near his family. I had to work on him, and eventually he said he would do an interview if I met him in person. Eventually, I found a guy in Studio City who occasionally saw Craig on the streets there. I felt like Jim Rockford, staking out the parks for homeless people and digging through court archives and prison records.I felt that if I could find Craig Smith, I could help get him off the streets, reconnect him with his songwriting royalties, and get him the medical help he needed. I felt the mystery would never be completely solved unless I talked to him. It was an obsession.

His parents were dead, and I made every effort to reach out to the remaining family, but they were reluctant to talk. At the time, I didn't know that Craig had badly assaulted his mother in 1973. The family wanted nothing to do with him, and didn't even want to claim his remains when he died, which ended up being something that I took care of myself.

In the book, you explain that Craig's life dramatically changed once he went on a trip through the "Hippie Trail." What happened to him there?
I talked to tons of people who knew Craig before he left—right up until he had a going away party at Mike Love's house—and he was fine at that point. Prior to the trip, he had been happy, outgoing, gregarious—a good-looking kid with a constant smile and an engaging sense of humor. But when he came back from that trip he was completely different. Nobody knew what had happened. He said a few things to some of them that he'd been attacked or something. But I found out that Craig's lawyer, Hal Kant, had to help Craig get back from Afghanistan, where he'd allegedly been put in a lunatic asylum and couldn't even remember who he was. He had changed completely.

What about him changed exactly?
He no longer wanted to be called Craig. He was now Maitreya, and he believed he was Christ and the Buddha reincarnate, the next messiah. His hair was longer, he grew a beard, and at some point he had a black widow spider tattooed on his forehead, like a malevolent third eye. His friends were deeply concerned about the disturbing changes in him. They tried to help him, but eventually they had to push him away once he seemed dangerous. Glen Campbell recorded his song "Country Girl" in 1969, and performed it on TV. But Craig, as Maitreya, now saw his music as having a higher purpose. That trip was the tipping point.

The album art for 'Apache'

Can you tell me about Craig's records Apache and Inca that he released in 1972 under his new identity?
The Apache and Inca albums compiled tracks dating back to the Penny Arkade sessions, along with newer solo recordings made after his transformation into Maitreya. Craig's mental state was so unbalanced that he had alienated all of his old contacts. Nobody wanted to help him. Reportedly, he managed to arrange a meeting with Mike Curb, who had been his high school classmate and was, at the time, president of MGM Records. But when Curb saw what Craig had become, he had him forcibly removed from his office. With no record deal possible, Craig decided to have the records pressed himself. He sold them on the street or gave them to friends and they were quickly gone.

It's my firm belief that Craig knew that his mental state was declining rapidly. For that reason, he wanted to gather all of his music together onto these records as a kind of last will and testament to the world, while he still had the faculty to do so. The records, combined with the elaborate covers, have a journal-like quality with dialogue between some of the songs and field recordings from his travels. That's a huge part of what makes them so fascinating even today.

Craig Smith ended up homeless on the streets of LA before he died in 2012. Why do you think everything transpired the way it did, and what has writing the book left you with?
Craig was inordinately talented, personable, and charismatic, but buried deep inside his mind there was some kind of flaw, a darkness that took over and consumed him. Had he not taken that trip down the Hippie Trail in 1968, he might well have continued to have a successful career as a songwriter and musician. The book became as much about my search to find Craig Smith as about Craig himself. When I started out on my search to solve the mystery of Maitreya Kali, I had no idea that it would take me 15 years to complete. Nor did I expect it to take me to so many dark places. It reminded me that the world is often a cruel and cynical place. Ultimately, I wanted to give Craig Smith a voice, and to tell his story for posterity. I hope I have achieved that.

'Swim Through the Darkness' is out September 13 via Feral House. Pre-order it here.

Follow Seth on Twitter.

Why India's Men's Rights Movement Is Thriving

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The crowd at the eighth National Men's Conference in Hyderabad, India. Photos by the author

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On August 14, 2016, a room of 170 men and a handful of women in the south Indian city of Hyderabad sat in rapt silence to the image of a bearded Texan man addressing them via Skype. The speaker was Paul Elam, the founder of A Voice for Men, perhaps the most popular website in the men's rights movement.

Elam—a sworn "anti-gynocentrist" and champion of the American men's rights movement—demurred that he was the student that afternoon.

"You guys are lightyears ahead of us," he boomed. "The Indian movement is setting an example for the whole world."

The Indian men's rights movement is thriving. What began in the early 2000s as a series of local support groups for aggrieved husbands fighting the supposed misuse of a law that protected Indian women from dowry-related crimes has grown into a network of men's rights groups with the basic anatomy of a political movement.

Unlike the American MRM, men's rights activists in India are viewed as fairly legitimate lc. In recent years, they've been featured on network news debates, lobbied judges, demonstrated at marathons, and delivered TED talks. Central to the movement, though, are the group meetings held every week in major Indian cities where MRAs council one another on how to stand up for their rights.

"You've really done a revolutionary thing," Elam congratulated his audience seated several time zones away on banquet chairs at the eighth National Men's Conference, an annual Indian MRA event, earlier this month. "You've come together for the benefit of men."

As the movement in India has grown, it has also styled itself closer to the American MRM, moving its focus away from countering specific "anti-men" laws into being a wide platform through which men band together.

One primary grievance was the "dowry law"—formally, Section 498A of the Indian Penal Code—which was created in 1983 to protect women from harassment, abuse, and violence in cases where a bride's family did not provide a sufficient dowry. Under the law, police could automatically arrest husbands and family members accused of committing dowry-related crimes. MRAs saw this as giving women too much power and lobbied to change the law. In 2014, the Indian Supreme Court took their side and removed the automatic arrest provision, purportedly to protect men against "disgruntled wives."

Since then, MRAs in India have embraced a growing number of issues that they claim plague men in the country today: gender-biased laws, a feminist media, and an internationally funded feminist agenda bent on dismantling the Indian family.

Watch: The Women of the Men's Rights Movement

"Feminists are doing certain things that are breaking our society and our world," Partha Sadhukhan, a software engineer from Bangalore in his mid 30s, told me on one of the conference's tea breaks.

Sadhukhan joined the MRM five years ago when a sticky divorce left him in search of brotherhood. It was then, he said, like many others at the conference, that he found the men's rights movement and woke up to the "condition of men in India."

Sadhukhan, who runs a popular MRA blog, calls himself a "human rights activist," and he stays away from dowry-law debates. Instead, he devotes himself to other pet causes, including one cherished by MRAs the world over—debunking rape statistics.

"These things," Sadhukhan said in reference to the fatal 2012 Delhi gang rape of a 23-year-old physiotherapy student, "they don't happen. It was a very one-off case."

Men gather in a group at the eighth National Men's Conference in Hyderabad, India.

According to the National Crime Records Bureau, India's only source for numbers on sexual crimes, 100 instances of rape are reported every day. Just over one-fourth of them lead to a conviction. Skirting some of the reasons why rape cases in India are withdrawn—coercion by family members, victim blaming, and severely backlogged courts—MRAs use this discrepancy to cry foul.

"The media is defaming our country by highlighting rape," said Barkha Trehan, a woman who joined the movement five years ago when a close male friend of hers was accused of rape.

"Seventy-six percent of rape charges are false. Do we ever talk about the acquittals? Do we ever highlight that the charges are fake?" she asked me. Trehan, a petite woman from Delhi with two kids, told me with delight outside the conference hall that she had raised these questions more than once "on the platform of Mann ki Baat," a radio show hosted by Indian prime minister Narendra Modi.

But according to Nandita Bhatia, a gender and violence specialist at the International Center for Research on Women, looking at rape in India only through the lens of numbers is troublesome because of the large number of cases that never make it to police stations.

"There is an overwhelming sense of shame and blame that follows rape victims in India and that cuts across all classes," she told me. "When you base your whole argument on cases that are recorded, you are a huge part of the problem."

Still, "false rapes" have become a raison d'etre for the Indian MRM while the conversation around sexual crimes in India continues.

"At first here only focused on the laws," said Uma Challa, an American-educated biologist who entered the movement 11 years ago. "What I realized interacting with men's groups everywhere is that the problems facing men are much deeper."

Challa joined men's rights activism "pretty much like everyone else," after she was implicated in a dowry-harassment case with her brother. While she was an early adopter of the MRM in India, Challa had spent years defending men's rights in the United States, where she told me she created a helpline for Indian husbands living overseas and "visited every office of every senator and house of representative" to rally against the signing of the International Violence Against Women Act.

Challa, an occasional contributor to A Voice for Men, holds little sympathy for feminists, calling her time in the MRM as a woman "a learning experience."

"Feminists are driving stupidity into people's minds, infantilizing women and demonizing men as a group," she beamed. "We talk so much now about Black Lives Matter. What I realized is, men's lives matter."

But for many others, the rise of India's MRM—among both men and women—is troubling.

"It is unfortunate," said Bhatia, "that the men's rights movement doesn't acknowledge the sense of hierarchy and power that men here have in every sphere."

Follow Suman Naishadham on Twitter.

How the Most Bizarre and Offensive Reality TV Show of All Time Got Made

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This article originally appeared on VICE US

The history of reality TV is littered with bad ideas, tasteless concepts, and shows designed to make viewers watch because they can't turn away from the ugliness. But even among the genre's trashiest programs, The Swan, which ran for two seasons on FOX in 2004, stands out as a particularly controversial low. It was basically a beauty pageant with a twist: All the contestants were "ugly ducklings" who would be transformed with the help team of three surgeons, a cosmetic dentist, therapist, trainer, stylist, and life coach. The premise was self-actualization by way of a scalpel, and it's remembered today with horror.

The Swan was supposed to cash in on the trend of sleazy reality shows like Extreme Makeover and The Bachelorette, but though the show was a hit, averaging 9.1 million viewers a week, it was also reviled by critics—USA Today called it "hurtful and repellent." Its reputation remains toxic, with one contestant writing a tell-all memoir slamming her experience; others have gone on record describing the ordeal as "absolute shit" that left them literally and figuratively scarred once production wrapped.

Though the show is remembered for its most shocking element, namely the extensive and accelerated use of plastic surgery, it was the contestants—16 in each season—who were really at the show's center, all at the end of their rope, desperate for change.

"The common denominator was that they were all stuck," Shelia Conlin, the show's casting directory, told VICE. "They felt they'd tried everything and didn't know what else to do. It couldn't just be really meant to them."

Cindy K. Ingle, now 45, went into The Swan wanting a tummy tuck, a breast job, and a new nose job to fix an issue from a prior one. By the time the show's finale aired two years later, she would be crowned second runner-up.

"I wanted so much stuff done, but I knew I couldn't get it on my own," Ingle recalled in an email to VICE. "This is what I needed to get on the right track. I figured I just need that jump start and then I could take care of it, emotionally and physically, for the rest of my life."

But while the women in front of the camera were eager, many of the professionals tasked with bringing them across the finish line remained skeptical of the show's transformative power.

"Reality TV is a slippery slope," said Randal Hayworth, a Beverly Hills-based plastic surgeon who was hired to be one of the show's in-house surgeons. During filming, Hayworth felt that the producers stifled his professional opinion in favor of what would make for good TV.

"You couldn't really express your actual feelings," he said of his time on camera."I was censored in saying things I actually thought. Instead of expressing different ways of thinking about the process or patients, they had us saying the same thing repeatedly." Hayworth specifically remembers instances in which producers would ask the surgeons to repeat the same comments to multiple contestants, often eliminating nuances or differences among the patients and their surgeries.

The producers also got psychologist Lynn Ianni to work with the women on-camera during their cosmetic recovery to build up their self-esteem and break down past traumas. During the six months of season one's filming, she conducted therapy sessions with each of the contestants twice a week. Though she knew to focus on what made each woman unique—where these women came from, the baggage they carried with them, the fears they had going forward—Ianni worried the rushed production wouldn't allow for enough time.

"I knew that I didn't have any creative control in the cutting room," Ianni said during a phone interview. "So the most important thing to me was that the girls feel really good about the work they'd done. My focus was to make sure it was going to be real, about helping and not sensationalizing."

Ianni was in many ways the most controversial part of the show. Jennifer Pozner, author of Reality Bites Back, a critical analysis of reality TV, cites Ianni and the show's flippant use of therapy as the single element that pushed The Swan past its contemporaries in both tastelessness and long-term danger. That the filmed therapy sessions attempted to go deeper than just appearances, while still explicitly stating or implicitly enforcing traditional beauty standards, was, in Pozner's estimation, the worst of the show's many grievances.

"The real depths of exploitation were in that psychological element," Pozner explained, "and that wasn't even licensed by an accredited institution." Ianni had completed her PhD in Clinical Psychology at California Coast University, which the show's critics are quick to point out is an online-accreditation program.

"I worked with the girls to the best of my ability," Ianni said. "We tried to go back to figure out their triggers and give them a new way to see themselves, so that by the time they shifted physically, they already felt different emotionally."

"These women were suffering from trauma that could not be fixed by a tummy tuck." — Jennifer Pozner, author of 'Reality Bites Back'

In an interview with The Huffington Post nearly ten years after the show aired, season two contestant Lorrie Arias blamed the series for her subsequent depression, bipolar, and body dysmorphia. Though she praised Hayworth's surgery work, she claimed that the show's deceptive use of behavioral and emotional therapy created more long-lasting problems than it did solutions. With no follow-up therapy sessions, the women were left to acclimate to the world at large with a new face and no support. Arias, who could not be reached for comment, said in the past interview that she still suffer from agoraphobia.

"These women were suffering from trauma that could not be fixed by a tummy tuck," says Pozner. "They had been actively victim abused by men, had battered women syndrome, they felt unworthy of living, and they were the ones chosen."

Some people involved in the show still defend it today. Even with his reservations, Hayworth still defends the process, and says the women were "adultsincapable of having been taken advantage of." Conlin, the casting director, commends the show for having helped de-stigmatize plastic surgery. Season one winner, Rachel Love, called contestants who criticized The Swan"crybabies." And Ingle, the runner-up, told me she would do it all over again.

"I came out of the show an improved me," Ingle said. "I was and still am happy with the results. I turn heads, I get complimented. There is nothing negative with my experiences to speak of."

Conlin is confident that The Swan could air today ("You have a younger generation getting boob jobs by 18," she said), and, for better or worse, Pozner seems to agree. "Misogyny is cooked right into the DNA of reality TV," she said, "so I think the show would maybe even last longer today."

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A Nice Chat with the Guy Who Invented a Device That Gives You 12-Hour Erections

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This is the thing you could be slipping onto your dick if its inventor has his way. Photo via Stays-Hard.

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

Imagine having a hard-on for 18 hours. Well, now you don't need to, because 70-year-old entrepreneur Richard Wylie has made that dream a reality with a product called Stays-Hard. There's clearly a demand it for it: Richard says it sold out in its first 24 hours and saw its fair share of overseas demand, with orders as far-flung as South Korea. As reported faithfully by the tabloids last week, you might just see the plastic and steel penis trap prescribed by a doctor near you: come 2018, if all goes to plan, it could be available on the NHS.

This isn't Wylie's first foray into inventions. He's developed a number of products that he tells me have been very successful. "We have one product that stops aggressive dogs attacking people, which is used by anyone that opens a garden gate and some Rottweiler is going to chew them to pieces."

I called the married, father-of-four at 8 AM on a weekday to chat about erections, the lies guys tell about their dicks, and why he's the man to save premature ejaculators around the world.

VICE: Hi Richard. Was it older men you had in mind when you created Stays-Hard?
Richard Wylie: About 30 percent of younger men suffer from premature ejaculation. There could be many reasons for that: some guys are pretty shy, don't have a lot of experience or have unrealistic expectations of how it works. Imagine you've met the girl of your dreams and they've got expectations of you—and if you can't fulfill your duties and satisfy your partner, then you get the old cliché: Is that all? It's a bit of a let-down. And if that happens a few times, it drives the problem forward. With Stays-Hard, a guy can put it on and because it keeps the penis erect, it stretches the penis. It means even if that guy only lasted 30 seconds, he could ejaculate but then he'd be able to carry on and satisfy his partner.

What made you create a tool of your own?
I used to work as a non-medical partner at a Harley Street clinic. We were dispensing absolutely massive prescriptions for Viagra. We also had a lot of guys coming through who had sexual dysfunction problems. I started developing six or seven years ago, then patented it about five years ago. I spent the rest of the time fine-tuning this wonderful product.

Where did you devotion to the cause come from?
I had this problem myself. I've had it for over 20 years, since I was 50. It was an unsatisfactory situation. I thought, What am I going to do? I talked to a number of urologists. One of them was extremely helpful and drew me a little design. I looked into it. We developed some prototypes initially and we got some small funding to develop further.

Could you tell me how Stays-Hard works?
It's a very snug fit. It follows the contours of the penis, so it's hardly visible. If you were some great guy who had some great reputation and all of a sudden things weren't "working" that well, you could disappear in the bathroom, put the thing on, roll on a condom on top of it and whoever you've met for that night wouldn't know you were using it!

Interesting. Several news outlets have led with the fact that it can keep you hard for 12 hours. Is that true?
Yes, it can give you a hard-on for as long as you want. Some may wish to make love all day and that's quite possible with the product.

Supposing a guy has a micropenis? Would it still work then?
We've got something that benefits all types, all races, whether people are short, tall, whatever. As much as guys tell you, "I'm built like a porn star," or whatever, they're not. If we were going to deal with gentlemen who have the largest dongs going, we can have a product made to a bigger size. Equally so, there's some guys who have micropenises, at a couple of inches. We can by exception help those people as well. But we wanted to make something for the average situation, around the range of 80 to 85 percent of men.

What would you say to people who'd suggest that staying hard for 12 hours is a bit of an inconvenience?
If your boyfriend said, "Do you want to bed for the whole day?" you might say: "Get lost." It's whatever suits the couple. Stays-Hard could be used for... rehab. If you broke your finger, they'd probably stick it in a splint, wouldn't they? It is possible to use this as a rehab device.

Let's talk about the $50 price tag.
I think it's a bargain. I've only had one customer who's cancelled one order. Stays-Hard is going to restore partnership harmony.

That's Richard, introducing the device to the world

I read that you've used it yourself...
Of course I have! I use it pretty regularly; I'd like to use it more often. I'm married to a lady in her 50s. We're not a honeymoon couple, we've had four sons. It certainly satisfies my needs and my partner's needs.

Do you think men and women would be comfortable with a plastic-covered steel tube going in and out of their bodies during sex?
Yeah, because it's hardly noticeable. It's not big, not bulky, it's lightweight, it fits snugly onto the penis. So if it was put on, not everything's visible. All your partner's seeing is, Oh wow that's a good-size erection. It allows blood to flow naturally.

Will you be creating anything for women?
Well, women can get very turned on by an erection and satisfactory sexual intercourse. So there's nothing that I've planned for women at the moment because I can't think of anything apart from, give them the product. A good 20 percent of the orders are women buying Stays-Hard. They'll probably give them to their partners in a nice way and say: 'Look, you've had a few problems. Use this.'

Where do you see Stays-Hard going in future?
Sex is a big industry. Not being able to have sex is a disaster. So if you've got half of the men over 40 that can't have sex, they're looking for some solution.

Thanks, Richard.
God bless.

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