sodapop
Magazine #1 PEOPLE*MUSIC*LIFE*PHOTOGRAPHY*AND*WHATEVER*THE*F$%K*WE*WANT*TO*TALK*ABOUT
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SODAPOP IS ISSUE #1 I.I.MMXIV STAFF
Editor In Chief: Edwin Monico Executive Editor: Jessica Rodriguez
Contributors Writers: Mike Maniquiz, Byron Campbell, Jonny Blue Photographers: Mike Quintero, Jessica Rodriguez, Edwin Monico, Jonny Blue, Daniel Cantagallo
Cover
Photographer-Edwin Monico Model-Jenny Rusk
Back Cover Photographer:Adam Allen Model: Meghan Chadeayne
Photography and articles belong to their respective photographers/writers and are used by Sodapop Magazine with permission. No reproductions are authorized without permission from Sodapop. Any questions, comments, and/or concerns can be directed to sodapopmagazine.com
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CONTENTS PG. 4 A letter from the Jefe PG. 5 Sunday Mornings Mimzi
PG .6-7 3 Questions with Swimming in Paint
PG. 8 Urban Exploration PG. 10-11 The Objects in Clovis
PG. 12-15 Interview with Photographer
Erin Elizabeth Kelly
PG. 17- 21 A Moment with Photographer Adam Allen PG. 24 Sudden Death in Los Angeles PG. 25 #DOUBLES TA N DA R D PG. 26-29 OK to OAK
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A LETTER FROM THE JEFE
Photograph by: Jessica Rodriguez
This is our first issue and if you’re reading this then somebody probably bribed you or you’re being held at gunpoint by Tyler Durden. Either way, I’m happy that you’re actually reading something worthwhile. I’ve spent most of my life reading magazines because I love them, everything from Rolling Stone to Time to sneaking Playboys. I loved reading the articles, but the magazines never really spoke to me.. They were generalized pieces and
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only a select few will ever grace those pages. They were great, but I want this magazine to be something you can interact with. If you’re a writer, photographer, activist, or whatever, we want you to hit us up with an idea. Everybody at Sodapop will try and do their best to get you in the magazine. Nobody will be turned away. We’re open to everything because we like to talk about everything. This magazine will be an outlet for your views on
everything from social injustice in your own town to how to drink a proper whiskey. So without further ado please enjoy Sodapop. It was a labor of love for everybody involved in making this happen. Enjoy our sleepless nights and love for people, music, and life. -Edwin Monico
Sunday Mornings: Mimzi
Photograph by: Edwin Monico
SP: What is the most embarrassing thing you have ever done? Mimzi: Most embarrassing thing... I was adjusting my swimsuit at a party in the corner of the pool and I tried to be inconspicuous and not let anyone see. One of my guys friends came and basically yelled, “Holy shit I just saw your tits!� Then the guy who was having the party asked if he could see too since it was his birthday. SP: Do you have any addictions? Mimzi: Addictions... Uh. Cigarettes, tattoos, and food. SP: Any fetishes? Mimzi: BEARDS, thigh high socks, ice, and wax. Find Mimzi on Facebook: www.facebook.com/MimziDielle
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3 Questions with: Swimming in Paint Photograph by: Edwin Monico
Swimming in Paint is Arthur Koster
A
S
the present soaking up every-
SP:Fight club or Pulp fiction?
dvantageous love at its purest. Swimming in Paint
is a journey from the future to
odapop asks 3 questions:
thing from colors to life journeys. AK: Fight Club on the weekends Swimming in Paint takes a new
and Pulp Fiction on the weekdays.
spin on Folk music in what he
SP:Girls or women? AK: Girls to play with. Women to live with.
B
e sure to catch Swimming in Paint on their summer tour
and keep an eye out for their first
calls, “Mystical Folk.” Originally
SP:Beginnings or endings?
from California, Swimming in
AK: I prefer beginnings, there’s no
https://www.facebook.com/
Paint recently moved back from
such thing as endings.
swimminginpaint
New York.
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album. Go like
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Urban Exploration
Photograph by: Micheal Quintero Instagram: @ life_of_Evolve evolve.life.photography/FB.com
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The Objects in Clovis
Alex walked into my shop one day and talked about Clovis, which, to be quite coy about it, was memorable in a not-so-good way. His story was simple. He and his wife were at one of the antique malls that line downtown, ready to check out, but after being ignored for ten minutes by the old ladies at the counter who were supposedly attending to other things, they just decided to leave. Under ordinary circumstances this is not a big deal. But anyone who has lived in Fresno long enough knows all too well that if you’re like Alex, who grew up knowing his chancletas from his cinturon, there can be more to this than just awful customer service. Alex owns a loft in downtown Fresno. A photographer by trade, he dwells in the culturally diverse and artistic habitué that downtown offers. Why he wound up in Clovis is proof positive that he’s a transplant. Clovis is different from Fresno. The demographic differences—economically, politically, culturally—can be summed up by the fact that if people have to live in Fresno, they end up choosing to live in Clovis. Which happened to me. When I moved to Fresno, many of my colleagues from the University wondered why I chose to live in Clovis. It turned out they were coming from the same gratuitous concern that friends and kinfolk expressed years prior when I told them I’d be living in Kentucky instead of Los Angeles. What happened to Alex happened to me too. I was in
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By Mike Maniquiz
the same antique shop, not to verify Alex’s claim, but just to wander and hope to stumble into something good. As a collector, I’m fortunate to be at that stage where I can discriminate. I know what I want because I’ve focused on a particular aesthetic. This explains why I’m hardly ever in downtown Clovis. I remember my very first time there. After spending hours stepping in and out of antique malls looking for anything modern, I decided to finally ask a shopkeeper what sells in Clovis and without batting an eyelash, she said, “Oak.” (I really thought she would say shabby chic.) Regardless, I still wandered about because as any dealer would tell you, you never know what you’ll find even in the most unlikeliest places. Suffice to say, Clovis counts as most unlikely when it comes to modernist design. I happened to find a 12-inch bottle in the form of a light bulb. (More kitsch than collectible, really.) After scouring all the booths and finally deciding that I’ve seen enough, I walked up to the front counter carrying my find to the old lady bent over a box of Christmas ornaments. I waited for her. She didn’t stop her fiddling. So I waited. Then a phone rang and another lady answered it and literally turned her back to me right after answering the phone. And yet I still waited. And waited. Then a man walked through the front doors carrying a pile of WWI Liberty Bond posters, and almost immediately, someone from the back of the mall came up to greet him. Normally this wouldn’t have bugged me. But after hearing
Alex’s story, I could not help but be bothered myself. So I left. When someone picks up a Glen Lukens bowl, that person understands the simplicity of the bowl is the subI do not intend all this to be a sad refrain about Clo- ject, a statement against the pretensions of decoration vis. To say that Clovis has its own preferences for predominant in the late Art Nouveau and early Art what’s worth their time is reductive. I won’t go down Deco eras. What’s more, you can talk to them about that road. What I do know is that this experience has such concept (or conceit?) more easily than someone taught me more about objects than about the people who has chosen a WWII Marine helmet because her who sell them. There is a Chinese proverb that says, grandfather fought in the Pacific theater. The seller “Do not open a shop if you do not like to smile.” Like picked up that item knowing it is an a popular colall Chinese proverbs, this one works on different lev- lectible in the current market—nothing more—but a buyer picked it up because it brought back the past, a els. Let me choose just one. reality which no seller wants to be caught in, let alone Anyone who has been inside antique stores knows on a daily basis, with a buyer. And this pretty much that if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. There’s happens on a daily basis in antique stores. the Duncan Phyfe settees, Victorian style high back chairs (Eero Saarinen called them dreadnoughts), ta- There is a meeting of minds between the person who bles, lamps, and a smattering of objects that predates sells an Eames fiberglass shell armchair and the perintellectual design. Antiques by their very nature are son who buys an Eames fiberglass shell armchair. As sentimental accouterments. People buy them because a shop owner, I know this is true. Regardless, I find it they bring back memories. There is no intellectual hard to let things go. So I try to learn as much as I can aesthetic behind the purchase of an Edwardian con- about the person who’s going away with my stuff, not sole table. As a result, antique shop owners never be- on a personal level, but on an aesthetic level. The percome curious about what people choose to buy. This, sonal I keep to myself: I never take for granted that in light of the amazing fact that in just a few minutes the thing that was mine will now be part of someone’s after purchase, the thing that previously was on their home. Sometimes buyers will offer up a balm themshelf will soon find space in someone’s home. selves and tell me, “It’s going to a good home.” No affinity between shop owner and buyer is estab- And that makes me smile. lished because if curiosity is ever going to be present at all, it is not intellectual; rather it is personal. And no one wants to pry into someone’s life.
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Interview with Photographer: Erin Elizabeth Kelly Photography by: Erin Elizabeth Kelly Model: Ellis Cooper Interviewer: Edwin Monico
So I must confess, I encountered Erin on Instragram and asked if I could buy one of her prints. One thing led to another and here I am interviewing one of my favorite photographers out of Europe. She is based out of Ireland, but works out of London. I hope you enjoy her photography as much as I do. Her photography is visceral, provocative, and tests my perception of imagery. So without further ado, enjoy the brief conversation we had over an email across the pond. Edwin: Sons of Anarchy or Breaking bad? Erin: Breaking Bad!! I’m just into the third series and I’m hooked!
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Edwin: So I’ve personally been admiring you for a few days now and will probably continue to do so. With that said, what are you currently infatuated with? Be it love, PS4, or a new lens. Erin: Thank you Edwin. I’m currently infatuated with whippets (a breed of dog), white nail varnish (for the girl in me), and my new iPhone. My old one was so slow and falling apart. I couldn’t believe how fast my new one is. It was worth it!! Edwin: I saw that Arsenic shared you recently on their Facebook. How do you feel about the current state of photographers? It feels really grass roots and small doesn’t it? Erin: It is so small, but yet so big! I think the internet has a big role to play for that – introducing artists to one another especially of the same genre. It’s great to talk to like-minded people and to eventually meet them! You always know somebody who knows somebody and so on. Almost six degrees of separation or less in the photography world! I definitely think it’s a huge benefit as a network. Even though you can meet somebody who is a bit of a snob, you definitely get to meet a lot more folk who are so lovely, down to earth, and very talented!! So be sure to stalk Erin’s Instagram: @erinelizabethkelly and visit her page http://www.erinelizabethkelly.com
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Photographer: Erin Elizabeth Kelly Model: Ellis Cooper
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A Moment with Photographer Adam Allen
Photograph /Article by Edwin Monico
I’ve had the pleasure of eating tacos with Adam before and let me tell you he knows his tacos, but what he knows more is photography. I would have to say he is one of the best photographers out of Fresno, California. So check out this snippet of his photography and visit his page http://www.adamallenphotoblog.com.
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Photographer: Adam Allen Model: Kristina Schroeder Clothing provided by: Misc Trading Co
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Photographer: Adam Allen Model: Kristina Schroeder Clothing provided by: Misc Trading Co
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Interested in advertising
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Sudden Death in Los Angeles
By: D a n i e l C a n t a g a l l o Instagram: @dancantagallo https://jimrooster.jux.com
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#DOUBLESTANDARD
By: Byron Campbell
In a society where it seems bad is the new good, sex has become as casual as it once was. Not from the “Free Love” stand point of the 70’s, in fact, I believe it’s quite the contrary! Women are making more money, feeling more aggressive sexually, and don’t feel society should dictate or enable the “double standard” dating regimen that most people feel the pressure of. Not needing a man for more than sex, now days, women’s rolls in relationships have gradually been shifting. Shifting to the point of I want vs. I need, which has had an effect on society as a whole. Hence, we have more sidechicks than ever. Through social media, an actual under current to society’s position on many levels, we see more selfies of women feeling themselves, because they know their stock is at its prime. Further propagating these belief systems through hashtags, we enter the age of the #SidechickSundays, #MCM, #TacoTuesday, #WCW, #ThirstTrapThusday, #FyouFridays, and #SelfieSaturdays! That’s one for every day of the week! (I just threw taco Tuesday in there because, well you get it, don’t you?) When you really look at it, I figure it comes down to MONEY, POWER, and RESPECT! Money, which is equal to if not surpassing that of men. Power, which everybody knows, pussy rules the world. And respect, those who have earned it, demand it! Just an observation from someone who is kind of paying attention! -B. Camp Find Byron cracking jokes out of Fresno, California and hustling. https://www.facebook.com/byron.campbell.129
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OK TO OAK Good day friends. My name is Matthew Wannamaker. I feel like my existence is equivalent to that of the fabled “Gingerbread man.” My credo has always been like that of the storied characters catch phrase. “Run, run as fast as you can... you can’t catch me I’m the gingerbread man.” Like him, I’ve always managed to diligently escape potential travesties and misfortunes, although I’ve had my fair share of both. This is partially because of my elite ability to communicatively manipulate my way out of any situation; domestic or international, along with good ole fashion luck, and some All American whit. You feel me? See, the truth is, I’m just like a component in a machine. An excuse making, justifying machine that was engineered to notify, and validate, any and all of my past and present transgressions and insecurities. For as far back as I can remember, I’ve always been a perpetual and habitual underachiever. It’s brutal, but truthful, and I can respect the vernacular I’ve labeled myself.
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Although it be tragic to some, I myself, currently have no plans to change, even though I am a 36 year old blue collared tradesman with no aspirations, except to be an aficionado of finely crafted ales
By: Jonny Blue
Don’t judge. It sounds better in the studio. So here’s my commentary on how I got from Checotah, Oklahoma to Maui, Hawaii via Oakland International Airport, California. It all happened a few months ago, when circumstance met opportunity. Here’s a few details that lead up to that. I got out of the U.S. Navy almost two years ago. Like Johnny Cash, I feel like “I’ve been everywhere man” . I’ve had a lot of adventures in life. It seems like adventure has been financed on little to no budget at all.
and a renown world traveler on a dime store budget. See, the truth is...(insert my original rap lyrics here) “Yo. You best stop frontin’ cause you don’t always have to be Hispanic or Latino for there to always be an open spot in construction, son!”
I had two weeks and one day to make it halfway across this great nation of ours to meet my flight from the East Bay to the beautiful rock on which I’m currently living. So I was ambushed with panic. I was leaving behind my own slice of the redneck pie. My land, my trailer, my boat, my ole Chrysler 300 Pearl...
My all American, lake front, redneck dream really. So needless to say, this was a huge life gamble.
Carolina. He was making his way west back to a commune up by San Francisco.
With Alex’s sweet ass van came a co-captain, Matt, a fellow CraigI got on Craigslist, went to the slist traveler, and his dog, Muffin. rideshare link and immediately Muffin was awesome because she started searching for anyone going was well disciplined. Matt was west, from any and all major cities awesome because he could kill east of Oklahoma, on interstate it on the aquatic that he traveled I-40. with. I found a guy out of Little Rock, Arkansas that was going to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Josh was his name and he was a gambling enthusiast. He loved the Indian casinos in Oklahoma. This enthusiasm turned monetarily prosperous when we exited Oklahoma $60 richer with no money invested. We had stopped and played free membership award points at every casino west on our way out of state. This was beneficial to my budget as I was traveling on peanuts. Josh and I made it about 100 miles west of Albuquerque. At that point, I had already procured a ride as far west as I desired to go and made the transition from Josh’s car to Alex’s cross country caravan. Alex and I met coincidently. We had prior correspondence, but were unable to connect due to scheduling issues. Alex was coming from Asheville, North
Muffin was so well-mannered and adorable, together they could panhandle the fuck out of commuters at busy intersections. I hope I’m not telling too much by saying Matt and Muffin made a lot of scratch, you dig? I stayed with Alex, Matt, and Muffin in the desert for four days. The whole time we were just chillin’ and panhandling so we could finance an oil change and a full tank of gas. I can’t remember the exact details, as there was a copious amount of alcohol procured with those panhandled dollars, but I remember the Latino manager of the Jiffy Lube in Albuquerque took the money out of his own pocket to pay for our oil change. He looked me in the eye and told me he wanted to do this for us, even after we all volunteered to pick up trash, wash windows, and scrub toilets and shit. So there we were full on fuel, oil, food, and booze. Next stop... Flagstaff, Arizona.
He sang this 15 minute folk style song about a whaler, that blew my fucking mind! This kid was clearly talented.
So we’re heading west on the 40 towards Arizona when we spot a hitchhiker. (Don’t ask, of course we picked him up.)
Well here’s the story of why Matt and Muffin were such paramount players in the travel-on-a-dimestore-budget-game... Since Matt could sing like the amalgamation of Cher and Johnny Cash, and
Joe got in the van and we proceeded west. Joe was an older fella and pretty quiet. I found out that he was Navajo, so we connected on cultural interest.
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Matt impressed Joe with his 15 minute whaler song. Surprising all of us, Joe blew our minds with some deep ass traditional Navajo shit. Joe was a short amenity, as we only took him 100 miles. We dropped off Joe and the gang and I pressed on. We pulled into a Walmart parking lot in Flagstaff late that same night. We camped in the van, which at this point was routine as I had been with these misfit toys for five days. We stayed in Flagstaff for two days panhandling money and seeing if we got any hits on our Craigslist post. Turns out a girl hit us up needing a ride to Riverside, California. We picked up Karen (who was wearing an Easy-E shirt) in Lake Havasu, Arizona. She was super cute and I instantly got a school boy crush. She filled the van and we all headed to SoCal. It was really late when we made it to Matt and Muffin’s stop. They got out, we said our goodbyes, Karen pissed by a fence, and we sailed into the night. I’m not gonna deny the fact that I had some separation anxiety. That fucking kid could sing his ass off. In theory, he was a sort of a paid musician and his ole hound dog was just one hell of a classy gal. True facts.
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Down to Alex, Karen, and I. We’re getting low of fuel again. We have a tiny baby bit more gas to get us to where Karen needs to be dropped off. Then Alex and I are left to fend for ourselves for the first time without our aces Matt and Muffin. Let me reiterate the fact that they made murder-murder-mad money. And they were both extremely unconditional. If they got paid, we all got paid. That was awesome. You feel me? So we drop Karen off at her destination and Alex and I sleep in the van in the driveway. The next morning, I wake up early, explore my new surroundings, and meet Karen’s friend. She offered me a cup of coffee and some fresh fruit. I respectfully accept and we proceed to get to know each other. Everyone soon arises, we high five and shit, then kick rocks north towards Los Angeles. Alex had been solid this whole time. Like a rock. The closer we get to LA, and the more signs of pollution and urban sprawl that are revealed, the more Gary Busey bat-shit crazy Alex becomes. Let’s just say, shit got weird and intense for about 100 miles. We made it to Santa Barbara where I had some friends that were hospitable enough to let me take my first shower in exactly one week. I was grimy! Alex left the next morning and I stayed with my friends for a couple days. After my visit with them, I had my buddy drop me
off on PCH (Pacific Coastal Highway) just north of Santa Barbara. From there, I started hitchhiking up the I-1 toward Pismo. I got picked up by this really attractive mixed race Australian girl and her equally handsome fella. They were AWESOME! In fact, most Australians are fucking awesome! We had lunch in Pismo and proceeded on to Santa Cruz, but made a stop to go beach glass hunting in Big Sir. I got some good glass that day. I got dropped off at a gas station in Watsonville and my really good friend Coach Mason picked me up. See ole Coach owned the top of a mountain outside of Santa Cruz that over looks the bay. On that mountain top, there is an organic farm that needed tending to. Ole Coach and his gal just had a baby. While Coach was busy managing that part of his life, he respected the fact that I could aid in helping him out with some things that needed to be tended to. So I worked and stayed on ole Coach’s mountain top with unlimited access to what I harvested. Needless to say, I was a very happy camper. (With the munchies of course). I camped on the mountain top for four days while actively helping Coach manage his property. Coach broke me off with some dollars and about a half once of some dank, dropped me off in Santa Cruz, and sent me on my way. I got a twelver of Coronas, two Swisher Sweets Cigarillos, and then hopped the train to Oakland International.
inside, staked the joint out, then plotted my squatting spot for the night. Once I got situated, I went into the bathroom and rolled two fat ass blunts. I then took my gear and went outside to get as high as Jesus off that sweet, sweet California Kryptonite and as drunk as Cooter Brown. I left what was left from my yield on the bench in hopes that the next guy will appreciate what I sacrificed. The next morning, I caught my flight and landed in Maui, Hawaii and I have been here ever since. I almost instantly got a job in construction, so you best stop frontin’. -Jonny Blue
I got to the airport the night before my flight. I went
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Photographer: Adam Allen Model: Meghan Chadeayne 32 SODAPOP