http://alecbanks.com Alec Banks Thu, 04 Aug 2011 17:23:55 +0000 http://alecbanks.com en http://alecbanks.com/It-s-Always-Sunny http://alecbanks.com/following/alecbanks.com/It-s-Always-Sunny Thu, 04 Aug 2011 17:23:55 +0000 Alec Banks 1822057 The Gang gets involved in competitive eating, while Sweet Dee looks to shed weight at all costs. READ THE FIRST 10 PAGES The Gang gets involved in competitive eating, while Sweet Dee looks to shed weight at all costs. READ THE FIRST 10 PAGES http://alecbanks.com/Web-Work http://alecbanks.com/following/alecbanks.com/Web-Work Thu, 04 Aug 2011 17:22:53 +0000 Alec Banks 1822171 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/Screen Shot 2013-05-29 at 11.52.04 AM.png" width="628" height="411" width_o="628" height_o="411" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/Screen Shot 2013-05-29 at 11.52.04 AM_o.png" data-mid="30860852" border="0" align="left"/> As the popular aphorism goes, “the clothes make the man.” There’s something deep down inside a person that inherently decides on an outward appearance that is a direct reflection of inner turmoil, upbringing and value system. The result is an accoutrement of character – with stitches, buttons and cuffs serving as a sartorial road map as to how a person views the world. We’re undoubtedly in a golden age of television – a medium in which actors and writers used to take a distinct backseat to their film counterparts. Now, thanks to choice favorites like Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Sons of Anarchy, Boardwalk Empire and Game of Thrones, viewers are treated to a brooding hodgepodge of characters whose week to week trials and tribulations transcend the classic three-act structure. Sure, the clothes don’t actually make the man, but they do make the characters. From immaculate suits worn by Don Draper in the ’60s to the dark outerwear favored by Jon Snow during his time spent beyond the Wall, their character traits and costumes are easily translatable to current labels and trends. Fashion has always been reciprocal – even for those that inhibit a fictional world. READ MORE <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/Picture 2_25.png" width="633" height="496" width_o="633" height_o="496" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/Picture 2_25_o.png" data-mid="25376297" border="0" align="left"/> There’s something to be said for your career when can claim some responsibility for helping the Dude abide. And Academy Award-nominated costume designer Mary Zophres can do just that, with nearly 20 years of experience under her belt, including notable stops along the way with the Coen brothers’ Fargo, The Big Lebowski, O Brother, Where Art Thou?, No Country For Old Men, and True Grit — the last of which got her the aforementioned Oscar nod. Her latest contribution to the sartorial world of cinema comes with today's release of Gangster Squad, a noirish 1940s L.A. period piece from Zombieland director Ruben Fleischer. Read on for her thoughts on outfitting Gosling, Brolin, Penn, and the rest to fight (or perpetrate) crime in 1949 — plus her take on that fateful meeting with the brothers Coen, and what the modern guy should do if he's hoping to really “tie his look together.” READ MORE <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/Maxim-Feature_905.png" width="905" height="523" width_o="957" height_o="554" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/Maxim-Feature_o.png" data-mid="25376270" border="0" align="left"/> "Ever since I can remember, I've always wanted to be a gangster." Sure, a young Henry Hill is the one who said it, but certainly every man out there has considered what it would be like to actually live the lifestyle of a connected guy. In honor of the new movie Gangster Squad, which hits theaters this weekend, we’ve rounded up clips of the top 10 most memorable gangster movie deaths in the last 25 years. Now…go get your fuckin’ shinebox! READ MORE <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/keeping-score-the-danger-of-social-media-in-sports-1.jpg" width="620" height="413" width_o="620" height_o="413" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/keeping-score-the-danger-of-social-media-in-sports-1_o.jpg" data-mid="17420888" border="0" align="left"/> It was 1993 when Charles Barkley penned the infamous text for his now iconic Nike commercial where he proclaimed, “I am not a role model. I’m not paid to be a role model. I’m paid to wreak havoc on the basketball court. Parents should be role models. Just because I dunk a basketball, doesn’t mean I should raise your kids.” Clear, succinct and thought provoking, the words still hold weight in today’s contemporary athletic landscape, but for completely different reasons. Nearly twenty years ago athletes did as they pleased, only entering the public news scope if an off the court/field dustup was so monumental that the nightly news couldn’t afford not to cover it. Today, thanks to the advancement in social media with tools like Facebook and Twitter, athletes have signed up for a 24 hour a day news conference – forgoing filters in exchange for fuel that they add to a nightly stew full of politics, scandal and pop culture oochie wally. Athletes want the ability to make millions while still being able to crack off-kilter and slightly offensive jokes without seeing the number of zeroes in their paycheck affected. Unfortunately, that’s not how it works. Athletes may not be role models, but they’re certainly digital lightning rods. READ MORE <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/Picture 2_16.png" width="633" height="630" width_o="633" height_o="630" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/Picture 2_16_o.png" data-mid="17420836" border="0" align="left"/> June 2002 marked the debut of a television program innocuously called The Wire, which would eventually portray the world's most compelling cast of pushers, dope fiends, cops, dockworkers, and politicians. In Baltimore, of all places. Created by former police reporter David Simon, The Wire was grittier than previous police shows. It did not amass a huge following in its five-season, 60-episode run on HBO but it is now widely considered one the most influential shows of all time. To celebrate the 10 years since we first said hello to cussing characters like McNulty, Omar, Avon, Stringer, and Wee-Bey, we present 10 ways The Wire forever changed television. READ MORE <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/keeping-score-casting-the-nba-playoffs-1.jpg" width="620" height="413" width_o="620" height_o="413" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1822171/keeping-score-casting-the-nba-playoffs-1_o.jpg" data-mid="16651992" border="0" align="left"/> Summer blockbusters and heart pumping NBA Playoff action seem to go together year after year as if the 16 teams themselves personified the scripts being pumped out of Hollywood – each with the chance to capture gold hardware and the attention of even the most casual fans thanks to the improbable storylines that are written. The NBA playoffs: where heroes crash and burn and villains feel the cool shade provided by championship banners hanging from the rafters. The truth will in fact be televised, but the cast of A-List superstars is one that is forever changing. With this year’s playoff landscape becoming clearer and clearer, players and teams are being typecast for their run at a title. But the question remains: are some of the NBA elite here to save the day or rather are their motives more nefarious in nature? READ MORE As the popular aphorism goes, “the clothes make the man.” There’s something deep down inside a person that inherently decides on an outward appearance that... http://alecbanks.com/Mad-Men http://alecbanks.com/following/alecbanks.com/Mad-Men Thu, 04 Aug 2011 17:22:51 +0000 Alec Banks 1822156 Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce attempts to lure notable New York City crime figure Paul Castellano to the agency. Joan struggles with a recent loss. Sally gets a tell tale sign that she's growing up. READ THE FIRST 10 PAGES Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce attempts to lure notable New York City crime figure Paul Castellano to the agency. Joan struggles with a recent loss. Sally gets a... http://alecbanks.com/Killing-Marilyn http://alecbanks.com/following/alecbanks.com/Killing-Marilyn Wed, 03 Aug 2011 23:55:10 +0000 Alec Banks 1818938 After the sudden death of Marilyn Monroe, a private detective is hired to look into the events leading up to the world's most desired starlet's suspicious suicide, where the consequence for uncovering the truth proves to be equally shocking as it is deadly. READ THE FIRST TEN PAGES After the sudden death of Marilyn Monroe, a private detective is hired to look into the events leading up to the world's most desired starlet's suspicious suicide,... http://alecbanks.com/Bloody-Monday http://alecbanks.com/following/alecbanks.com/Bloody-Monday Wed, 03 Aug 2011 23:42:00 +0000 Alec Banks 1818905 Following a fatal car accident, rudderless Buddy Monday inherits a house that overlooks a popular suicide spot where he's determined to save but one person...the love of his life. READ THE FIRST 10 PAGES Following a fatal car accident, rudderless Buddy Monday inherits a house that overlooks a popular suicide spot where he's determined to save but one person...the... http://alecbanks.com/Branded-Work http://alecbanks.com/following/alecbanks.com/Branded-Work Fri, 15 Jul 2011 16:09:07 +0000 Alec Banks 1734743 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1734743/Picture 1_3.png" width="637" height="334" width_o="637" height_o="334" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1734743/Picture 1_3_o.png" data-mid="12363709" border="0" align="left"/> Photo journalist KC Ortiz has a track record of going places where no one else would consider setting foot, allowing the images that he captures to tell stories of corruption, violence and despair in the third world. In the past, assignments have found him embedded with Hmong rebels in Laos as well as capturing West Papuan freedom-fighters as they die at the hand of Indonesian rule. His latest work, sponsored by the always inventive clothing brand, LRG, found Ortiz bounding around Puerto Rico with graffiti standouts Vizie, Steel and Omens, of Mad Society Kings and Villains crew infamy, as they painted in the dicey La Perla section of Old San Juan. The result of their travails has been nicely packaged in a limited-edition run of 50 books, each hand-signed by Ortiz, and dubbed Los Salvajes (The Wild Ones). This completely black and white run features Ortiz’s signature photographic sensibilities, combined with handpicked artists from LRG’s stable of artistic heavyweights. KC Ortiz’s work will next be seen in an exhibition setting as he shows 12 new photographs of the West Papuan and Burmese armed struggles at LA’s Known Gallery along side Chicago-based artist, Pose, and dubbed Whitewash. Their must-see works are unveiled November 19 and run through December 10. Purchase your copy at Shop.l-r-g.com <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1734743/New-Era-Logo-psd3155.png" width="350" height="262" width_o="350" height_o="262" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1734743/New-Era-Logo-psd3155_o.png" data-mid="8531297" border="0" align="left"/> Client: New Era Campaign: Flagbearers/Fly Your Own Flag Subject: Jamal Edwards Client: New Era Call time: 10:15 A.M. Location: Dean St. Studios (http://www.deanst.com/studios/) Tech Specs: 1080HD, 24p Audio: Wireless lav or boom (no handheld mic) Camera should be on tripod for interview Theme of the Campaign “Run Your Own Show.” Jamal created his own online empire (SB.TV), and has gone from editing clips in his bedroom to owning his own record label, and capturing some of the biggest names in UK music. We want to find out just what it's like to be your own boss and accomplish all that he has at only 20 years old. About SB.TV SBTV GLOBAL LTD (aka SB.TV) is a new, innovative and exciting, ‘music and lifestyle’ media platform with a ‘Global’ reach, which to date, has amassed over 22,500,000 hits on the Smokeybarz YouTube channel. About Jamal Edwards West London resident, Jamal Edwards, is the twenty-year old man behind online broadcaster and independent production company SBTV Global Ltd (SB.TV). His YouTube channel (www.sbtv.co.uk) boasts over 21 million views, with 25,000 subscribers, and tens of thousands of online fans through facebook and twitter. What started out as a music channel, with an emphasis on London underground grime genre, the channel has spent the past year expanding out, and now features interviews and performances from some of the world’s most highly respected and recognized artists, such as, Tinie Tempah, Drake, Kelly Rowlands, D12, Tiesto, Kate Nash, B.oB, Sean Kingston, Wiley et al. Summary This 2-2:30 profile of Jamal Edwards, young media mogul, needs to focus on what makes him an individual, a one of a kind. Interview bites will mix with his recollection of launching SB.TV, and how it has evolved as a brand and he as trendsetter. You should shoot a proper, sit down primary interview where there isn’t any competitive branding or signage in the background.. Then, you can capture supporting b-roll of the city (basketball courts, park, streets, etc). Branding Jamal should wear his favorite New Era cap in the video. It’s very important to get solid product shots. Close ups that include the logo, etc. IMPORTANT: At some point in the video, we want to see the hat by itself. Not on his head. Perhaps he sets it aside as he checks his website on a laptop, perhaps it sits next to him on a bench in the park. We want to shoot some product beauty shots. Camera Notes Please shoot multiple angles on the interview. The majority of your interview should be medium close up, with him in the left or right third of the frame and speaking to interviewer off camera. But you should cut to a wide at some point in the interview, even if you have to have him answer a question twice. Make sure he keeps the same line of focus. Tons of b-roll. Hold your b-roll steady. Shoot cutaways of his hands as he gestures, etc. Rack focus onto items, especially the hat. Questions from the Client - For those unfamiliar, how would you describe UK’s grime? - What were your initial goals for SB.TV? - At what point did you know SB.TV had really taken off? - How did your YouTube partnership come about? - What drives your work with SB.TV? - Did you think SB.TV would be as popular as it is? - How did you first come up with the idea for the site? - What other ventures are you involved in? - How did you first learn to film and edit video? - You’ve always been about shedding light on new artists. Where do you find them? - Who are some new artists your excited about? - Who’s the one artist you’d love to work with but haven’t? - How are the goals for the site now different than they were when you first started? - How important do you think fashion is in music? - What inspires you? - What was your first New Era cap? - Do you have a favorite New Era cap? - How many caps are in your collection? - Which artist that you’ve worked with has the biggest cap <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1734743/ray-ban-logo.jpg" width="425" height="210" width_o="425" height_o="210" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1734743/ray-ban-logo_o.jpg" data-mid="8531373" border="0" align="left"/> <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1734743/Picture 1.png" width="670" height="500" width_o="882" height_o="659" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/4/131472/1734743/Picture 1_o.png" data-mid="8531503" border="0" align="left"/> Photo journalist KC Ortiz has a track record of going places where no one else would consider setting foot, allowing the images that he captures to tell stories... http://alecbanks.com/The-Ugly-Quarterback http://alecbanks.com/following/alecbanks.com/The-Ugly-Quarterback Fri, 15 Jul 2011 15:38:37 +0000 Alec Banks 1734705 The thing about them. You know, them. Pig skin tossers. Flea flickers. Under center captains. Hail Mary juggernaut flingers. They’re all strikingly handsome like a lit match. From their All-American good looks to their tanned biceps, they make even the brightest star in the night sky envious. In this day and age it’s rare to possess natural good looks and inherent talent. Those are the people that we looked up to before reality television made the bowel movement the soliloquy of the 21st century. If there was ever a certainty, it’s that every small town high school quarterback was good looking. But there’s an exception to every tried and trued rule. Even for quarterbacks. For rocket armed Adonis’s. The hut one, hut two yard barkers. There was one rotten egg that possessed a golden goose arm. His name was Lance Brennan. The rule when naming a son is that his chances of becoming a star quarterback nearly triple if his first name was one syllable. Think of all the Brett’s and Colt’s out there really slinging it. If you really pressed Lance’s father, Chuck, he’d tell you that he had a dream on the night of Lance’s birth where a crowd was cheering “Lance Romance” at the top of their lungs. That dream would become of the recurring variety. As the years passed and got lost like mittens, Lance developed quite the reputation around their small Oklahoma town. People would say: “That kid’s gonna be a Sooner!” “He’s got a better arm than a backhoe!” “That kid can chuck it over the interstate!” But the most prominent thing people would whisper through before noon beer breath was: “That’s the ugliest kid I’ve ever seen in my entire life!” It was true, too. While Lance Brennan was every bit as advertised on the football field, he was just as ugly as everyone said that he was off of it. Before puberty set in like a plague of pimples and bad posture, Lance was a cute little pup. His blonde hair washed in front of his eyes that were blue and hopeful. His teeth were bucked, but everyone assumed that the tooth fairy or Jesus would sort all of that out. He was just like every other kid in the Great Plain states, except for the football. Legend has it, that during the Pop Warner championship game, and on his eleventh birthday, Lance threw for five hundred yards, seventeen touchdowns, and used his halftime birthday cake wish to save a bus full of seniors that was careening off a cliff. The very next year, on his twelfth birthday, Lance was responsible for thirty touchdowns in a single game. Tales began to grow about the pre-teen Johnny U. People would caravan from near and far to get a peek at the “next big thing.” The soon to be a Sooner. The throw it over the moon man. Lance wasn’t bigger than apple pie. He was apple pie. But then he turned thirteen like people turned green before they vomited. Puberty is never a gentle breeze. It blows in unannounced, save for the boners, like a tropical storm descending on helpless, dark skinned natives. Lance quickly sprouted up eight inches, so much so that his body could hardly tolerate it. He walked around hunched over just to be able to have a normal conversation with his classmates. His skin was peppered with BB Gun pockmarks that were filled with a spiked punch bowl concoction of oil and blood. His once sandy blonde hair quickly morphed into a dust bowl patch of prickly fur. He was “U-G-L-Y, you ain’t got no alibi, ugly.” While those changes were natural for any kid of that age, no one expected that he would no longer even resemble any of the smiling pictures that hung in Chuck’s trophy room. He now looked like a child molester capable of fondling and kidnapping his former self. But he could still sling the pigskin. Lance the Beast. Lance Vomit Dance. By the time he started his freshman year of high school he had scored almost as many touchdowns as he had made babies cry. When the local newspaper would report on the game, they’d run an attached picture of a burn victim with the name Lance Brennan below it. The ongoing joke was that God had been on a bender when he created Lance, and only woke up to pepper in the football talent like croutons on a shit salad. Part of the reason Lance enjoyed football so much was for the helmet. On game days, when other players would stroll around in their crisp game jerseys, Lance would march through the hallways with his helmet on. Even during P.E. showers, Lance would scrub his taut skin with his West Lake Broncos helmet on. While other kids his age would steal glances at the size of each other’s cocks, Lance would peer at the faces of his smiling classmates. He would have given up anything, including football, to look like a regular Joe. It was after his second straight high school championship that people started noticing it. That’s how good Lance was on the field. It took people two years to realize that Lance had stopped taking his football helmet off. Ever. He wore it every day. Everywhere. He even slept in it. In the morning he would brush his mangled teeth through the facemask. Chuck would kiss him on the scuffmark he had gotten diving for his fourth touchdown against Mumford Valley. People would even swear that they saw Lance sitting in Willy the Barber’s chair getting a quick snip through the ear holes. By his senior year, there were tenured people in town who had never seen Lance with his helmet off. When Mayor Templeton gave him the key to the city, he was sure to whack him over the head with it to punctuate his backhanded remarks. So long as Lance kept finger flogging the football, and kept the helmet on, the insults were kept to a library stack murmur. He was finally content. Finally. With the state championship just days away, Chuck died in a hunting accident. Lance identified the body with a visor installed in the helmet so that the coroner couldn’t see the tears. He pointed to Chuck’s face, then to his facemask, to indicate their hereditary relationship. The coroner would later describe the scene as something out of Star Wars. Lance would never say another word about his father. The state championship pitted the undefeated West Hills Broncos against the equally undefeated Jefferson High Patriots. It was dubbed Beauty versus the Beast in the newspaper because Chet Norman quarterbacked Jefferson High. Chet Norman had good looks like the summer days were long. He kept his mahogany hair trimmed to the exact length that parents approved of, but that girls still felt was rebellious. Through a strenuous weightlifting routine Chet managed to build muscle on top of muscle, on top of muscle. While Lance was a prisoner in his helmet, Chet found every opportunity to strip down to the bare minimum of clothing required. Hence the nickname, Chet “Bucknaked Norman, although people will tell you that the name came from his ability to juke defenders out of their skivvies. The championship game chatter quickly swallowed up all conversation so that a person couldn’t even order a bowl of soup without being reminded of the ramifications. Lance didn’t need to win this game he had to. Or else he’d just be that freak once again. On the night of the big game, fireworks popped while popcorn machines exploded. The extra bleachers brought in groaned at the added weight of fat back packed farmers in denim. There was more room in a single serving ketchup packet than there was in that stadium. During the pregame rituals the West Hills coach brought in a preacher to speak about faith and resiliency. Just as he began his speech, Lance butted in. Outside of calling the plays in the huddle, Lance never spoke, so his teammates were intent on absorbing the words leaking from his chapped lips. “Fellas. Here’s what we’re gonna do tonight. We’re gonna kill Chet Norman. We’re gonna stomp on his face until his mother sobs in the stands and his perfect cheerleader girlfriend chokes on Pez, thinking that it was cyanide. That’s what we’re gonna do. Amen.” The locker room exploded with primal grunts and overhand high-five collisions. The Broncos stormed through the tiny corridor, leaving Lance alone with his thoughts. He gingerly made his way over to a scuffed mirror that had become home to eraser scrawls about which girl gave the best blowjob in the tenth grade. Then, he pulled a crumpled newspaper clipping from his pants and taped it to the mirror. It was a picture of a smiling Chet holding a trophy as if a championship bass caught in a treacherous lake. He studied the intricate makeup of Chet’s face, from the chiseled cheekbones to his sturdy chin. Lance raised his golden right arm and reached for the chinstrap that had been buckled tightly for years and pulled it until it popped and swung open like a broken toll bridge arm. Lance slowly inched the plastic helmet over his ears which had been pressed flat so long that they looked like burnt pancakes. Once over the fleshy hurdle, he eased the helmet completely off. His hair grew wildly and untamed in places. Other patches were void of any vegetation like an overused t-ball field. Lance’s face bore deep sadness lines that irrigated his face in acre sections. The acne had since blossomed into boils with heartbeats of their own. If it was possible, Lance had grown infinitely more grotesque. When Lance emerged from the tunnel and onto the field it was more like when they released the lion in ancient Rome then it was like when the gladiator surfaced. People rooted for Lance like they wished rain on people’s parades. But once Lance took a few steps onto the field, the fans grew eerily silent. Every couple steps he took someone would whisper, but by the time he reached midfield for the coin toss, the entire stadium was pin drop quiet. It was dead silent, like when someone referenced 9/11 or the Twin Towers. Lance stood opposite of Chet Norman completely void of his security blanket. His helmet. Chet immediately puked his pregame carbohydrates at the sight of Lance’s face. When he picked his head back up Lance greeted him with a devilish and mangled smile. It truly was beauty versus the beast. The Jefferson High Patriots won the coin toss but proved ineffective on their first series. Chet spent more timing gawking at Lance on the opposing sideline than looking for open receivers. After a less then stellar punt, Lance took the field. Helmetless, like the day he was born. That free arm freedom fighter. That short pant savant. Lance assumed his regular position in the middle of the huddle like usual and called the play. “Twenty four, x out, z robber, bait, on one. The referees looked to one another like confused zebras but neither protested. Lance was playing in the most savage game in sixty counties without vital protection. With a hut, hike, Lance pulled away from center with a smooth five-step drop and surveyed the scene. The x receiver was blanketed like a nursing home so he quickly twisted his head and spotted the z. He pulled his arm back to load up for the forty-yard heave just as the opposing defensive end lined him up for a hit. The ball twirled through the air in a perfect spiral before Lance was clobbered with a combination of a forearm and shoulder hit to his head. Blood shot through his nostrils in a gesundheit o-negative transfusion. The boils on his face simultaneously popped like bubble wrap unleashing a stench that would reach the plush mascots on the sideline. The air that had been knocked out of his lungs soured upon passing over his hairy tongue. Finally, the ball landed in the arms of the open receiver who hardly had to change his breakneck speed stride. He crossed the goal line as Lance lay on his back with various facial oozes kerplunking on the manicured grass. The rented JumboTron showed a close up of Lance’s car wrecked face. Lance never did pick up his head to see if the receiver had caught it. The cheers said it all. The thing about them. You know, them. Pig skin tossers. Flea flickers. Under center captains. Hail Mary juggernaut flingers. They’re all...