Fresh from the Filipino press, the newest sensation to hit the East and soon (now) the blogosphere….Hamburger Art!

Catering and food art has long been a staple of contemporary social settings. Some may say the quality of an event can be judged on the shape, color, and variety of its passed hors d’oeuvre. Here to trounce the ice sculptures and inedible squash baskets are hamburger animals ranging from cute to fierce.

The series goes on to explore similar feats of craft with vegetables, sandwiches and “sandwich pictures.”

The publisher, Dreamland Publications, offer a variety of themed education and activity books. Let’s hope more of these make the trek from Delhi to the nearest Barnes & Noble.

Newcleus - Space Is The Place || Bellaphon

It is with great pleasure that we announce the two-year anniversary of the Sounds Of the APocalypse music/lifestyle/whatever blog. Wooooooooo. Two years of party recaps, bullshit trend info and analysis, armchair advertising critique and tons of quasi-obscure dance gems have been shared with the world care via our ever-expanding online hosting plan. Guest writers have come and gone with like the seasonal low-paying international jobs they held; events and concerts have been cataloged and added to the hazy psyches of our unpaid music snob ears. Our fascination with our worthless cat is now permanently documented for all the Internet to see.

Complimentary to our meager credibility increase (picked up on Elbo and Hype Machine, linked to by Philip Sherburne, what’s up), we find ourselves many steps closer to cirrhosis, early age hearing loss, carpal tunnel syndrome, and whatever its called when your eyes hurt from staring at a computer screen. And no better a way to celebrate these hardships than with another debauched tour of South Florida for Conference. Hope to see you all there.

Vangelis - Pulstar || RCA

SXSW is taking place right now, I know because every scamming, party-humping promoter is blogging about twittering about seeing what everyone is talking about. As the tidal wave of trivial information seeps into every email and social networking profile we solicit, the drunken, camera phone equipped Internet chatter only seems to alienate me from the collective experience of every BBQ and clever stencil in Austin’s sweaty streets.

Perspective is necessary to turn trivialities into context; without it, every text-fed update of “went to bathroom and ran into Benny from ______ ” (some random band) does not paint help paint a cohesive picture, it just seems like more feedback in a festival of amps. While we at SOAP have our own set of events and festivals we favor, we understand the importance of participating in these cultural endeavors first hand, not risking inadequate understanding of our generation’s indulgences care of the skittish minds of culturally-wired youth.

Which brings us to our next “must,” a triumph of corporate philanthropy and grassroots weirdness, The Red Bull FlugTag. A team will be fashioned, a structure will be built, and goddamnit, a beautiful story will be crafted to carry every reader through it. Sure, there’s no pulled pork sandwiches, record label showcases or emerging social media, but can any of that compare to people trying to fly?

Duke Lake - Do You || Memory

At last, scientific vindication among the widespread social belief that there is something positive about the arguably loose-net collections of people and ideas that constitute the blogosphere!

Australian researchers studied bloggers for two months to determine their social connectivity as compared to a control group of Internet browsing non-bloggers.

What seems most peculiar about their findings is that people who own or contribute to blogs seemed to have better (or at least think to have better) social support than those who didn’t. But the vast majority of bloggers don’t receive any comments from posts, so the social support they feel seems almost cathartic; it’s the action of speaking their mind, not the feedback of others, which makes them feel more connected.

Fred - All Rights Reserved || Tyger Label Records

A few weeks ago we were invited to a housewarming party in Brooklyn. The location was (for once) close enough to walk to, so we loaded up with mixers and citrus garnishes and celebratory kitchen house wares and wound our way into the Bushwick beyond the red brick tracks of the Boriqua Housing Authority. Though still a massive amount of land dedicated to Gotham industry, this tract of warehouses, factories and parking lots is slowing giving way to residential makeovers of the upper middle class variety.

Nondescript doors of nondescript buildings are now collaged with the markings of the New York artist recluse, a simultaneous artsy defense and badge of honor, keeping it real but self recognition of being the first.

Our favorite was the barbwire and baby combination lining the gate to a building near Ridgewood. Menacing and cute, this seemed to toy with the angst of the community with a sort of proud artistic intervention that makes me love New York and all the weird people who hide in its shadows.

That and, of course, seeing to-do lists like this.

C.O.D. - In The Bottle || Streetwave

*click on image to view full gallery

Holy F! I thank party gods that the Consumer Electronics Show had the self-awareness to keep putting on their annual show in Vegas. A brief rundown and photo expose from the road.

Sunday night, the cab to hotel, cab to 40/40 club, cab from 40/40 club. The sports bar ultra longe was dead, maybe no sports that interested the ultra rich that night. It was at the Pallazzo, which looks like the back alley to the Venetian. In fact, that’s the way most cabbies described how to get there, lacking enough aesthetic differentiation to stand apart from its more notable Italian counterpart adjacent on the strip.

After leaving 40/40 for the janitorial staff, we headed to the Hard Rock, for a massive, pulsing free-for-all of top 40 hip-hop mashups. Shit was intense. The Dj’s spastic mixing tore up rap from the 80s to the 00s, lingering on the newer dirty south tracks. Our convoy was even fortunate enough to see a staff-performance “Crank Dat” on the stair landing above the dance floor.

Indeed, Soulja Boy’s “Tell Em” was the song of the trip, and while the CES delegates may have not ventured as far off the strip as Hard Rock, there was no shortage of maligned Supermans in unpressed Banana Republic khakis all up in the clubs of Las Vegas Blvd during the rest of our stay.

On Monday morning, the Keynote speech assembled the tech press corps in a conference room to hear two primary speeches that kicked off the conference. First up was Consumer Electronics Alliance President and CEO Gary Shapiro, who passionately- if not melodramatically- espoused the importance of free trade. Referencing great pro-trade US leaders like Roosevelt and Clinton, Shapiro waived a finger at the current US administration and several presidential candidates for their regressive isolationist policies. Rather intense for a 9am kick-off speech; this guy was supposed to be the window dressing for Panasonic prez Sakamoto’s keynote.

Sakamoto came on to warm applause, delivering a well-tempered speech with moderate pauses, direct hand motions and delicate head nods. He unveiled several new technologies under the umbrella of bringing the family together, showing what’s in store for the upcoming HD age: Huge TV’s! Wireless connectivity! Touch-sensitive walls! On a grand scale, this represented the bulk of the CES offerings as a whole.

A few highlights of CES, the parties, and the people:

• Microsoft’s Surface, a touch screen coffee table that recognizes and uploads your personal devices.
• Intel/BMW’s F1 demo in the parking lot. Well setup, heavily staffed, lots of hands-on tutorials and periodic tire burnout demonstrations.
• Sony’s Rolly, a baseball-sized party to go
• LSU wins. Ellsworth wins bets.
• The Playboy suite at the Palms? Or near the palms? Or something?
• Toni Braxton’s massive building wrap ad covering the Flamingo Hotel. Who would have thought she still had it?
• Missed: What may have been the unexpected highlight of CES, a leapord print taser with a built-in mp3 player.

A few pics to complement the story, with lots of blurry pics of gadgets that I may or may not have been allowed to shoot. Enjoy

Tuff Little Unit - Join The Future || Warp

Full CES review coming, but first witness the coolest hybrid of electronics and nature, a full mile away from the conference center at the circus-inspired Wynn hotel:

Yes, this is an actual giant puppet/robot frog that sings “What A Wonderful World,” and does a decent Armstrong lip-synch.

Sadly, my hotel had nothing near as interesting; aside from the $50 NY steak I had at the bar amongst prostitutes and VC honchos. To be fair, it was a fine steak…

Xenon - Xenon Galaxy || Xenon

Las Vegas’ annual smorgasbord of electronic gadgetry that is CES takes place this coming week, rubbing elbows and silicone with the equally lively Adult Entertainment Expo, making for a packed week of high and low brow schmoozing that seems- fittingly- so quintessentially Vegas.

Who would have thought the startup starts of the Valley and the giants of Japan would have so many parties on the itinerary? There are a massive amount of invite-only lunches, dinners, and cocktail parties not unlike the social calendar of Art Basel, one need only substitute Wired for Vogue, Facehunter for Engadget, and Bill Gates for Larry Gagosian. I loathe the day when free drinks at massive events fail to entice.

Pictures to come of the smallest electronics I can find. Sadly no pictures of the latter half of the week, I’ll be back in NY.

Rockets - Some Other Place, Some Other Time || Rockland

Saturday

Few things compare to 80-degree weather in December, and we elected to lay in someone else’s lawn chair/umbrella combo until my lack of melanin forced me to take cover. For art, we stopped by the containers. Sandwiched in between the rows of long, skinny exhibition spaces was a skate park with a large bar and a stage for eclectic performances. No one was really skating or performing, and the DJ was playing overly energetic big beat early 90’s stuff to kids playing on the half pipe. The art was more interesting, if only in the novelty of its arrangement, one after another, feet from the ocean. Texture seemed to be a prominent theme throughout the exhibitions, with yearn, threads and tape draped throughout interiors, and walls with patterns vibrant to the touch.

We left for the Y-3 party in the design district, where a large projection in their event space played video art from Shigeko Kubota, John Baldessari, Lawrence Weiner and Joan Jonas. The design district was packed. Design Miami was across the street. ESPO had a store up around the corner at a Deitch pop-up, but the air conditioning was really hot, and Grolsch beer just isn’t the same when one is not properly acclimated.

I should mention that at this point that we were approaching critical mass of roving trend photography. There must have been at least 15 different photographers encountered in the past 24 hours, all shooting pictures for websites for people who like to look at fashionable people. One of the better ones is StyleSightings, who captured the entire weekend here.

Photography, outfits, and scenes kept their momentum surging towards Saturday’s main thing, the Colette party, which, for the many people stuck on the outside of the velvet rope, meant staring at a very French door girl with a clip board while they waited in the rain. Despite my prowess for French, my one-liner about being this really famous New York dj who plays with all these people blah blah blah wasn’t enough to get me in. Thankfully, our group was more resourceful than I, and after breaking into little groups, we made it in.

The club looked like it had the night before-loud music, beautiful people- but something was different.

Wait for it….

wait….

Ok. As it turned out, the club had been double booked for the evening, the night’s early engagement a birthday party for a Staten Island gangster and his bottle popping, table dancing entourage that seemed to be running further and further beyond its due time. The club was literally wall to wall with gold chains and sunglasses; the irony was sweeter than the mini bottles of white zinfandel that we snuck in. Thankfully, Andrew+Andrew were dj’ing, wearing matching ray-ban, which pretty much had the whole place going nuts, peanut butter jelly style.

Sunday

The official last day of the fairs. Again, it was tough to leave the beach. We ended up seeing the main fair briefly, then headed over to the Standard, which recently changed their poolside cascading waterfall into from cold water to hot, basically permanently altering the lives of those fortunate enough to experience it.

Rumor had it Justice was playing a private party at the Shore Club. Unfortunately, it really was private, and i/we had no juice at the door, so we headed over to Rok Bar where the party was to continue. Here we saw, incredibly, Sam Keller and this incredible Samoan delight, at the same party!

Finally, Justice rolled through and I think took over for A Touch of Class to close out the closing party. Alas, I had neither the energy nor the patience to see Justice blow up the club and freak people out. Maybe if they were freaking out the “bottles of Cris” crowd from the night before, but it was all, finally, enough.

In all, a great time.  Enough art?  No, certainly not. But there’s always next year, in some form.  While the art world seems unsure as to Art Basel’s next steps, what Art Basel has spawned- the graffiti kids-cum-ironic designers-cum-gallery stars and the djs/trend hunters who love them- seem confident that some other hotshot party destination can sprout up somewhere to keep the party train alive.

Giorgio Moroder - Valley Of The Dolls || Casablanca

I spent last weekend in Miami, amidst people disposing of disposable income by day and night. As a non-buyer this year, whatever precious resources I didn’t exhaust on the beach between 8th and 9th or the Spa at the Standard, I left following in the clubs, lounges, and terraces where the bulk of the mingling took place.

Friday

What’s up with the sideways sleeting rain snow that seems to be the mode for New York winter fashion in 2007? Newark, potentially the icing on the cake of New Jersey’s existence, shone even brighter at the airport after three hours of delays. Luckily, the bartender coaxed my time-sensitive order of a small domestic beer into a double shot with a beer back, so remained iced until takeoff.

I arrived, miraculously, in time to head over to what would be my first of several nights at Le Baron, Andre’s celebrated international party train, which makes what seems like annual stops in Miami during Basel. South Beach politics unknown, this year’s event calendar iteration was held at RokBar- yes, one of the Tommy Lee certified ultra lounges with no ‘c’ and all ‘k’ ‘cause they’re really hardcore, a modest step down from last year’s parties at indoor/outdoor wonderfest Rain.

Anyways, on Friday, at least until 10, RokBar had an open Belvedere bar. We ran into a few people and headed over to The Florida Room, a basement cum-super lounge at the Delano designed by self-marketed revolutionizer Lenny Kravitz.

The door was really strict, as it was the preview party for Visionaire’s Sound Issue, and the club was still brand new. Persistence led to alternative entry, and after our group parceled back together inside for the free drinks, we happened to see Owen Wilson and Woody Harrelson wearing what looked like the entire Tommy Bahama catalog. Sadly, neither Lenny Kravitz nor the revolution was there.

Artefact - M.A.E. || Celluloid