I've come to the realization that there isn't anything Mr. Frumess can't do. So it should be no surprised that on top of his brilliant videos he creates, he also produces brilliant Podcasts with his production company, Video Business Media. 

When Mr. Frumess isn't out making the weather more bearable during these harsh winter months, warm up with some of his other amazing talents.

A Shot in the Dark...Knight

Now back to your regularly scheduled internal dialogue…..

At the red light I glance over at the bus stop to my right.  I see a white woman wrapped up in a parka, smoking a cigarette sitting next to a black man with uneven facial hair.  The woman is beautiful, her hair curled and her nails flawlessly painted.  The man looks as though he doesn’t fit inside the glass.  He sits with his legs crossed awkwardly and his head against the back window. 

The two are on opposite ends of the bench and I feel bad for the man.  I don’t think it is because he is black and she is white, but to be completely honest I can’t be sure. He looks at the street with a blank stare while the woman sits laughing into her cell phone.  He turns his head as she blows cigarette smoke into the uninviting morning air.  In my world, these two would talk to one another.  The woman would get off her cell phone and talk to the man sitting uncomfortably next to her.  She’d realize he felt forced to share her space in the bus stop and she would apologize for being so rude.  They would shake hands and talk about the weather. 

“Nice day, don’t you think?”  She’d smile, showing off her pearly whites.

“Actually, I think it is a bit chilly.”  He’d say as he pulled his scarf a little bit tighter around his neck.

“But what is a nice day?”  She’d say all philosophically.  “A day is a day and nice is what we make it.”

“Yeah, sure.”  He’d respond with a laugh.

The weather, though, would only be to start.  Once all the everyday small talk was out of the way, they would have gotten more personal.  They might have talked about love lives, children, childhood crushes, politics (gag), and crazy family members. 

“I’ve got a lot on my plate, you know?”  She says as she takes a puff of her cigarette and inhales deeply.  This reminds him of an old movie he saw when he was a kid, sitting on a torn up couch with his grandfather.  The woman in the movie did the same smoke inhale expression and the room had the same feel when she talked about her husband’s affair and her dog’s cancer. 

“Tell me about it.”  He says in response, hoping she didn’t realize he was writing her off as just another movie character.

“I mean, we haven’t been happy for a long time.”  She exhales the smoke once again into the air.  “I get that we haven’t been happy.”

He waits a few seconds, wondering whether she expects him to say something comforting or to simply sit and listen. 

“I would have never cheated on him, you know?”  She puts her cigarette out on the bottom of her shoe and pulls a new one of the pack in her purse.  “I have more respect for him than that.”

“He doesn’t respect you.”  He says involuntarily, and instantly regrets it.

“Yeah, no shit.”  She responds.  “I haven’t told him I know yet.”

“How did you find out?”

“The sheets.”

“The sheets?”

“Her scent is all over them.”

“He has had her at your house?”

“Yes.  In my bed.”

“And you haven’t called him out on it?”

“Not yet.” 

“Why?”

“Well, I’m deciding the best plan of action.”  She exhales once again, polluting the air.

“You should really quit that shit.”  He says louder than he intends.

“Quit what?”

“Smoking.”

“Tell me about it.”  She examines the cigarette butt lined in red lipstick between her fingers.

“So what are you going to do?”  He asks more calmly.

“I think I’m going to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yeah, leave.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well why don’t you just talk to him?  Maybe you can work something out.”  He tries to reason.

“Work what out?  I hate the fucker.”

“Then why are you married to him?”

“Because he knocked me up when I was seventeen.”

“So you have a child together?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, she was born dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“So why’d you stay with him?”

“Because we were already married.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Thirty years.”

“Thirty years?”

“Thirty years.”

The bus pulls up, flashes its lights, and opens its door.

“You getting in?”

“I don’t think so.”  She responds, lighting another cigarette.

“Me neither.”  He smiles and waves the bus on.

The bus driver looks annoyed and doesn’t return his smile. 

“So where were you going this morning?”  He asks her, growing more and more interested in this strange woman.

“I was going to get a hotel room and hide out for a few days.”

“Do you work?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.  I come from family money.”

“Must be nice.”

“Where were you going this morning?”

“To the unemployment office.”         

“So you don’t work either.”  

“No, I was laid off.”

“What’s your story?”

“I’ve been working in the steel mill since I was eighteen.”

“That’s hard labor.”

“Yeah.”

“And you got laid off?”        

“Yeah, after twenty-five years.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She looks down at her hands and sees she has forgotten about the cigarette burning between her fingers.  She lets the ash fall onto the pavement.

“So what are you going to do?”  He looks over.

“I don’t know.”  She closes her eyes and places her head against the glass.  “Am I your type?”

“My type?”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“What if we were to run off together?”

“Run off together?”

“Yeah.  What if we ran off together?”

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“I don’t like the ocean.  Water scares the shit out of me.”

“Okay, so no ocean.”

A car horn blares behind me. 

“Move your ass!” A man screams from the blue Chevy in my rearview mirror.

I give him an apologetic wave and make my right turn onto Warren Street, leaving the man and woman in their separate corners.

Shelly Wotowiec | Lakewood, OH | Age 26

For centuries, philosophers, scientists, and noblemen have long debated as to which is more beautiful: Ms. Wotowiec's words or Ms. Wotowiec herself.

I recently stumbled upon a website called Rattle, which is completely devoted to spreading the power and importance of poetry in the 21^st century.

“We feel that poetry lost its way in the 20^th century, becoming so obscure and esoteric that mainstream readers have forgotten how moving language can be,” they explain on their site. “ As a result, most people learn to find their feelings in music, movies, and novels, while poetry languishes on its lone shelf in the bookstores, waiting only for its annual cameo at a university workshop.”

With modern technology changing the way we communicate daily, it’s easy to get lost in the visual wasteland and lose sight of true art. Take a moment for yourself today and check out Rattle’s site – it has new poems daily that touch on a range of topics. Allow your mind to wander and you might find yourself inspired enough to go check out an open-mic night in your town or pick up a pen and joint down a few stanzas that have been spinning in your head and just need to come out. 

Get lost in a maze.

Fernando Carrillo | Vigo, Spain

Once sketched a picture of a television. The sketch can successfully TiVo any movie starring Tom Arnold.

Specializing in independent videos, Creative Control gives the artist complete control in the finished version of their project. Musicians, poets, and filmmakers alike have come to this company and have put together beautiful videos as they originally intended. There is no interruption between the source of the idea and the final cut by a corporate exec that has as much creative talent Kim Kardashian's singing abilities.

If the entire world had the same values as Creative Control TV, The Chappelle Show might still be on television and North Koreans would not believe Kim Jong Il actually shot 29 hole-in-ones in a row....he probably only shot 20 of them.

View videos as the artist originally envisioned.

Creative Control TV | New York City, NY | Age 3

Kim Jong Il was going to make a video for Creative Control TV, but built a time machine while fighting a dragon instead. 

Save & Close
With small traces of class hip hop artists like Foxy Brown, Ms. Banks reflects the hey-day of mid-90’s rap with a new spin that proves this genre of music is still evolving. Her music is as sexy as she is and I often find myself listening to “212” over and over.

My advice: turn off the children’s party karaoke clown rappers with less lyrical talent than your bowl of Rice Krispies, spitting nonsense about their style of bandana, and concentrate on spending time with Ms. Banks. In the end, you’ll walk away completely smitten.

Discover a new love.

Azealia Banks | Brooklyn, NY | Age 20

By the time you read this, she may have already gotten bigger the Nicki Minaj. 

“Beauty simply represents the truth and the celestial power of purity and love. It elevates, awakens and transcends our spirits connecting us with our divine being, present but hidden, in all of us." - Parish Kohanim

Parish Kohanim | Ageless | Atlanta, Georgia 

 His work is on the cover of Professional Photographer Magazine . . . seriously go look.

www.partishkohanim.com

Sometimes I just want to walk away from it all; shattering the mold that deftly defines the upward path that my middle class, suburban, upbringing silently pressures me to subscribe to.  Having spent the better part of the last five years living in bi-annual lifestyle contradictions in various locations around the world, I have found myself with copious amounts of time to ponder the following question: What moments in my young life have truly made me feel alive? Frequent bouts of boredom, contrasted with the dangerous trappings of nation building conflicts, and overexposure to extreme poverty tend to manufacture these types of self reflected musings. The contradictions are evident on my mental bookshelf of “life plans” with “Plan A: Intellectual Pursuits and Fiscal Security” living right next to “Plan B: Buy a Sailboat and Head South”. 

My occupationally induced periods of self reflection have led me to conclude that the answers to my question, in my mind, are the moments infused with a travel induced sense of adventure. I have come to find the same type of “alive” feeling rolling down the streets of a Baghdad slum as I have cliff jumping on the Italian Riviera. Call it man’s inherent, soulful curiosity for all that this world has to offer, but nothing makes me feel more alive than a loose plan, a new destination, or the life experience that getting intimately close to another’s culture provides. Good, bad, and the ugly. Maybe this is why I so often feel the pull of the family, love, and relationships that this life has so fortunately brought my way, in direct competition with the urge to strap a surfboard to a beat up van, and navigate the Pan American Highway to its end 6,000 miles south of San Francisco.

Yet this is exactly what best friends Yvon Chouinard, and Doug Tompkins, of Patagonia and The North Face fame did in a 1968 expedition of un-surfed coastlines and untouched mountain ranges to the Patagonia region of Chile. In 1999, Jeff Johnson, a young adventurer from California discovered the previously lost footage of their trip and spent the next decade dreaming of following in their footsteps. In 2007, Jeff put his life on hold to fulfill this dream. Hitching a ride on a boat sailing south from Mexico to Patagonia, Jeff gets temporarily ship wrecked off the coast of Easter Island where him and the crew proceed to spend their days surfing and repairing the broken mast. Eventually making it to Chile, Jeff links up with Chouinard and Tompkins in an attempt to re-create their ascent of Cerro Corcovado.  

All of this is chronicled in the documentary film, “180 Degrees South: Conquerors of the Useless”.

The documentary’s main message is intended to be a cautionary tale of the effects modern man is having on naturally raw areas such as Patagonia, as well as Chouinard and Tompkins efforts to preserve it. However, what “180 Degrees South” serves to remind and inspire in me is to continue striving to fill my life with those experiences that make me feel “alive”. We all have our obligations to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, however I urge you to watch “180 Degrees South” and break the mold. Imagine a year of adventures envisioned in your own sense of the word's meaning. With each passing mile, you will trade Tweets, texts, tea parties, occupations and all the background noise of modern America for a renewed sense of life and the satisfaction that comes with attempting to “read the whole book”.

The first session was held in Brooklyn, New York, back in 2005 and soon spread like wildfire around the globe. The brainchild of artist Molly Crabapple and A.V. Philes, Dr. Sketchy’s was not your mother’s art school. Inspired by the neo-burlesque revival of the mid-1990s – where women of all shapes, sizes, and colors, learned to shake their money-makers in retro and pinup inspired costumes – Dr. Sketchy’s also brings together performers from all walks of life from circus stars to drag queens, aerial artists, and burlesque performers.

Photos by Kate Black

Now the school has expanded far and wide with chapters in the Philippines, Australia, and throughout Europe. With the popularity of these events throughout the world, it is safe to say that the quest to capture the female form in all its perfections (and wonderful imperfections) will continue for decades to come.

Check out when Dr. Sketchy’s is going down in your city.