Rodrigo's Pension

He's Okay

2007-06-04T13:11:00.000-07:00

I Smashed My Aloe Plant

2007-06-02T16:21:00.000-07:00

“Have you ever tasted bong water by accident?”

Flaming Anonymity

2007-05-24T15:34:00.000-07:00

I I I I I I DOOOO THIIIIIIIIINGS!!!!!!! That felt good. See you later Gringos! More soon.

L,P

Never Sleep

2007-01-19T16:42:00.000-08:00

The Best Of 2006

2007-01-01T20:56:00.000-08:00

1. Arm-wrestling with, I think, Paul Anthony of Full Force (Front row, white headband).

Mass Appeal

2006-12-13T18:49:00.000-08:00

Is it at all possible that Jay-Z hasn't met DJ Premier? No way, right?

Please Save This Child

2006-12-13T14:58:00.000-08:00

Go here to save a person's life, for real.

J. Robbins, who's made or helped make some of the best rock records ever, has a baby boy named Cal with Infantile Spinal Muscular Atrophy. Insurance can't cover Cal's bills and the Robbins' need our help. So let's give it to them.

NO LCD

2006-12-13T08:39:00.000-08:00

French dude, Surkin has a great mix up at the Institubes blizzog today. As much as I love the Nike+LCD jazzercizery, this is more what I'm looking for in my workout tape: zero warmup, zero cooldown, super duper hyphyhyphy because, let's face it, exercise for me is just a 30-minute series of motivational insults. "You don't deserve to hold that Power Bar, you lumpy sack of shit! Work it, scumbag!" etc. There's no actual working out, just attempts to humiliate myself into working out. So, I need happy house and shit like that, which Surkin provides graciously. Thanks, man.

No bad news today. All is well.

Wassup Suckers

2006-12-12T19:23:00.000-08:00

I don't know about this "like you" shit, but 3-point-3 stars is most definitely not me. Yeah, Tulsa, Kids, maybe even Bully, I'm with you. Wassup Rockers, though, is Crash for cool kids. See for yourself because I'd really like someone to tell me how this movie isn't Larry Clark being total wanker hack. "We just came here to skate," and stuff. GOD! Larry, make a movie about saggy paunches and perverts, for once. Something from the heart. You've nothing left to say about children.

If you're determined to watch this movie, definitely rent Over The Edge, and let me know which you think is more poignant. Shit, rent Foxes! That movie is stoopid good. Or any of the following: Mi Vida Loca, Quinceanera, Mi Familia, Blood In, Blood Out. I don't know. Watch them all in one day while high or drunk, and maybe you'll remember enough parts of each for one epic film about kids in Los Angeles.

The thing about Rockers, not Rockers (<--awesome), is if it's Larry trying to be self-deprecating, commenting on white people's, and his own, laughable exoticization of brown people, it's not biting enough. If it's Larry being a hypocrite, then it's just annoying. Either way, wait for the Clint Eastwood part and tape your eyes down because they're likely to roll out of your skull. Michael Moore is more nuanced.

My point being, why can't someone just make a good movie about Latino skate culture in Los Angeles? Is there not a real story there? Larry seems to not think so, just a bunch of kooky rebels who face death daily and look at the world through big, sad brown eyes. BUT, they smile through it because they're from the ghetto and they don't care what we think. I call bullshit on you, Larry. A year too late, but I don't care what you think, either. The only thing Clark gets right is the fashion, but anyone can walk sub-Sunset and nail that. He ruminates on his young stars in the first part of the movie, when they're in said ghetto, but completely abandons their humanity when he takes them on a whirlwind tour of Beverly Hills. Hey America, did you know that rich, white people are obnoxious predators and insensitive assholes? I'll say! Clutching major pearls over here.

Tomato, Potato

2006-12-11T22:18:00.000-08:00

Hmm…

No ice at the North Pole by 2040.

UN downgrades man's impact on the climate.

Anyway, my friend Brendan sent me an email today with the subject: "We fly high, no lie, you know this." The entire body of the email was: "BALLING!" It was, without a doubt, the best email I've gotten in 2006, particularly because it assures me that my life on the internet is not all that disconnected from life on the outside.

Speaking of being outside, if you ever need to live in your car, here's how to do it.

If/when the oil runs out and cataclysmic weather destroys all liveable dwellings, this post will be invaluable. Except for the balling part. That's just for me.

Free Clipse

2006-11-28T09:13:00.000-08:00

We can actually buy Clipse's album today, and considering how long it took for that to become a reality, it would be wise if we did. Let's help Clipse spend rap money!

Stream Hell Hath No Fury on theirspace, then buy it and get a free Clipse remixtape assembled by DJ Benzi.
Amazon has it for cheap.
iTunes has it for less than a bag of soap shavings
Zune prolly has it, too. Go "squirt" it on a friend or stranger.

Reviews:
XXL gives Hell Hath No Fury a XXL
Pitchfork gives it a 9.1
And a bunch of suckers in between who aren't sure if they're allowed to love it or not. No time for them.

It's not about cocaine, people. Purchase.

UPDATE: CloudHopper, It is, and it isn't. Coke, crime and ruthlessness as metaphor for survival despite institutions designed or neglected to the point where young, black men are fucked to the fullest. Love, as in the absence of it, from anyone, except blood. Two brothers, each representing the old/new era of rap, conflict/no-conflict of talking foul. Coke as a rhetorical device, as it's always been in rap; could be anything, but coke has the best art history. Coke/crack sales a more disturbing, intentional and thought-provoking appropriation from the oppressor than "nigga." Crime as romance since the cave paintings. Respecting the artist as an artist. Bret Easton-Ellis is NOT A PSYCHO. Colin Meloy is NOT A MARINER. Tom Hanks is NOT AN ASTRONAUT. Hidden rap nerdery, rapping like Shyne on "Ride Around Shinin'". Cohesive statement: beats, rhymes, image. No club. No r&b. No Coldplay. No disappointment. Blah, blah, blah. (More…)

Humpbacks And Hunchbacks

2006-11-27T23:19:00.000-08:00

From Ms. Terry via Ms. Escobedo Shepherd:

"Remember to heed the words of Henry Thoreau: 'Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.'"

Okay.

Peace Is Evil

2006-11-27T09:45:00.000-08:00

Lisa Jensen hates the troops and/or Jesus.

And because I couldn't not post this…

We'll Succeed Unless We Quit

2006-11-17T11:48:00.000-08:00

Word is bond, Dubs.

In case you were wondering, we succeeded in Vietnam by getting tha fuck out of Vietnam, abandoning the government we propped up with cannons, ignored the oppressive regime for three decades, only to return when they offered to let us get stuff for cheap.

So in 2036, when President Bush III voyages to Baghdad to sign a trade pact with Prime Minister Zarqawi, we will have succeeded in Iraq, as well.

Be patient, America!

UPDATE: If you'd like to learn more about the lessons our leaders have learned from America's War in Viet Nam, watch the full March 31, 2006 episode of the Charlie Rose show on google video. Listen to the Army man talk about the low casualty numbers from March, and keep in mind his comments regarding the difference between Iraq and Viet Nam being a defeat in Iraq would destabilize the region and threaten our security in the U.S. when a defeat in Viet Nam did neither. Then, go rent Hearts & Minds, an invaluable 1974 documentary about the War in Viet Nam with interviews of politicians saying that defeat in Viet Nam would destabilize the region and threaten the security of the United States.

You Are A Racist If You Read This

2006-11-16T19:39:00.000-08:00

I would've thought this was obvious, and maybe it is. Maybe most people get it, and the ones who are angry just want attention. Nothing new.

But if not, if people really don't or didn't understand the motives behind Baron-Cohen's "Borat" character, then maybe people are dumber than I thought. That's hard to believe, though. Spend one minute on a messageboard of any topic that has no registration restrictions, and you'll find yourself neck deep in, eh, racially and sexually insensitive banter. There's no misunderstanding there. The anonymity is a release. Talking about video games or whatever is just a pretense. Ooh, you like that movie, too? You're just like me.

So check those boards. Or do what I do. Get a crappy job. Crappy jobs are the messageboards of reality, only the job itself is the pretense. You show up, keep your cards close, and eventually, someone will tell you how lazy black people are, how gays are preverts or how little girls are supersexy. And each time, the comment will be prefaced with, "Listen, I'm not a ________, but…"

Here's an example: "Listen, I'm not a racist, but I can't stand niggers."

Crazy, right? Nobody would say that. Except somebody did say that. To me! Of course, I was aghast, and I chided the offender with vigor. How dare he assume I would be receptive to such filthy ignorance? But here's the thing: that dude was fresh out of California Institution for Men, commonly referred to as "Chino", a prison where rioting is an acceptable form of rehabilitation. I was a non-black co-worker who ate lunch with him everyday. That was all the confidence he needed. So, although his comment was absurdly ignorant, it wasn't so much shocking that he would say it as much as say it so casually in a public place to me. But that guy was just a more egregious example of the kind of barely latent bigotry in most of us. Not you, of course. The rest of us. You love everyone equally. You had a gay black crack-addicted paraplegic hermaphroditic great-great-uncle-cousin with elephantiasis and a cleft palate who converted to Islam from NAMBLA, so you understand the plight of the afflicted.

But the rest of us hide our bad thoughts in little velvet boxes, waiting for someone like Borat to come along and give us a reason to shine our crazy ignorant diamonds, whatever their cut and clarity. Unfortunately, now that Sascha Baron-Cohen feels like he needs to apologize for his art and has to defend himself against litigation filed by people he forced to be themselves, our collective jewels just got clutched.

And I haven't seen the damn movie yet. Accepting invitations.

UPDATE: No, I did not work on Seinfeld.

Hell Hath No Fury

2006-11-15T15:35:00.000-08:00

Gas up, little babies.

Clipse and the Neptunes made the vilest rap record in a very long time. And I'm not guessing.

Go buy it on November 28th with your turkey money. Stop snatchin'.

Sorry, non-rap peoples. You should buy it, too.

Backyard Insurgency

2006-11-08T18:39:00.000-08:00

Hooray, Inc., etc. but let's not gloat. Push things forward. Still, sometimes the news, or the actions taken by world leaders covered by the media, intertwines with one's own life in a way that can be both hilarious and frightening. Case in point: yesterday, when President Bush, shoulders slumped and smile upside-down, announced Robert Gates as the new Secretary of Defense, I let out a whoop of shocked guffawkitude because I knew that dude. Not knew him like we worked together in Afghanistan or I washed his Town Car on Sundays, but knew him as in he almost had me killed one time. Now, I've been shot near and sort of at a couple times, but usually not on purpose, so I hold no grudge, nor do I use my experiences to get you stuck off the realness. Shit was scary.

However, if and when I get the opportunity to tell this story, I do, unless my mom's around because she would be horrified. But Mommy don't surf, so here we go. Back when Gates was director of the CIA, he lived in the same suburban Virginia neighborhood as one of my best friends. It wasn't a big deal. Almost every decent neighborhood in northern Virginia is home to someone important. But not every neighborhood backs up to an easily accessible, undeveloped, wooded area far enough from homes and roads for a handful of teenagers to party like it's a wedding reception with little fear of adult intervention. Gates and my friend's neighborhood did, and those woods were our high school Shangri-La. We would park a half-mile away, cross a creek and walk down a long path to a small clearing where we would sit around bonfires and drink the cheapest beer one of us could buy with his laughable fake ID (best we did was $5.99 for a case of warm Meisterbrau, which forever tastes like your first ever sip of beer). At one point, we found an old bathtub and humped it back to the clearing to use as a massive cooler. We would have small parties during the summer and make invitees promise not to use flashlights or play their car stereos too loud as they came and went so as to prevent detection. Pretty good time.

So one night, one of my friends invited these girls we didn't know all that well to the woods. We sat around for a while not really partying, just relishing being able to party if we felt like it. At some point, I had to get something from my car, so a couple of us walked back down the path toward the creek. When we got to about 50 yards from the trail opening, I noticed two strange lights in the brush across the creek. The lights were a dim green, closely paired like eyes, and they were looking right at us. Being teenagers, we smelled bustation, so we turned back and ran to the clearing. We told everyone about the lights, guessed they were night-vision goggles, probably the cops, and decided to get out. Like I said, it was my friend's neighborhood, so he recommended we cut up the hill through the woods instead of back out to the cars. We could go to his house and wait for the pigs to cool it, etc. So we did that.

We started up the hill with these girls, scaring them shitless, I'm sure. The lights weren't visible below us anymore, so we kind of relaxed but were still staying quiet and keeping our flashlights off. And then all of the sudden, a voice directly ahead of us said, "Stop right there!" I never knew until that moment that the "hands up" move was as involuntary as a blink. A bright, brightass light flashed in my face, and I winced. The voice asked what we were doing, and as I looked to answer, I saw the outlines of two big dudes holding two big guns. I think I said, "Nothin'" or something awesome like that, but before I'd even had the time to pee myself, the big dudes had lowered their big guns, realizing they probably weren't facing some rogue band of beerchugging terrorists. They led us up to the cul-de-sac that Gates lived on, making fun of how scared we looked the whole time, totally ruining any chance of shenanigans with our new ladyfriends. But whatever, I'll take sassy Delta Force over a missing skull any day of the week. Honestly, I think we all ended up making out anyway.

I can only imagine the bloodthirst of the security detail assigned to the director of the CIA, so I would like to thank those dudes for not wasting us. I would also like to thank the woods for being awesome. And finally, I'd like to thank Robert Gates for accepting a position I'm sure he didn't want and leaving a position I hear he loved (president of my brother's alma mater). More importantly, I'd like to suggest that he show as much mercy to the people of Iraq as he did with drunk teenagers all those years ago.

Have Faith

2006-11-07T07:16:00.000-08:00

But make sure to vote…

… because you never know who might win if you don't. (Thanks, Brendan.)

I Don't Know Everything

2006-11-05T08:44:00.000-08:00

Ahh, that felt good to type. I might put that on a business card. I might make it my new daily affirmation in place of "Uggh."

I'm going to ask you all to do something that I would normally never ask. Over the next three days, maybe four, will you please not watch television, read the internet, read the newspaper or listen to the radio unless it is absolutely necessary? It's a big request, I know, but I believe in you. Instead, go outside, or if it's cold, go to a museum or library(here's where to find one) or restaurant or whatever. Leave your home, and clear your mind. Talk to a stranger. Jump in a pile of leaves. Sit under tree or in front of a fire and reread a favorite book. Listen to one album you think you like until you know if you do or don't, and then do it with another one. Sign up to volunteer at VolunteerMatch (and then get offline). Ask someone out on a date (can't help you there). Hang out with friends. Go see some family. Work. Don't work. Stare at the wall. Do whatever. Then, on Tuesday, vote.

The idea is this: whatever it is you would like your politicians to do for you, you can do yourself. And you definitely don't need some asshole telling you how to do it or who is going to do it for you (/irony). Yes, you are all gifted, intelligent, enlightened minds-- I mean, you're reading this-- but sometimes even the most gifted, intelligent and enlightened minds need a simple reminder to live a little. For inspiration, watch the Einstein biopic, I.Q. a) because it is accurate and true, b) because it stars the proto-Bill Murray, Walter Matthau, and c) because Meg Ryan is maybe the most influential actress of the last 25 years. I'm not kidding. Oh, and d) Tony Shalhoub and Frank Whaley as mechanics. Tagline: "Think love." Get it?

Alright. See ya Wednesday.

UPDATE: Yeah, sorry about this post. I had a weird reaction to Elizabeth Dole (R-NC) on "Meet The Press" this morning. I didn't really have a problem with the woman until today, but you know, I never really had a problem with hayfever until I helped mow the lawn when I was 4-years-old. I ended up sleeping in a bubble for a few days after that one. Uncomfortable, sure, but not on the level of this post. I mean, do all those things up there if you feel like it, but Jesus, "jump in a pile of leaves"? Do whatever, but first, watch this video…

Speed Rub

2006-11-03T15:07:00.000-08:00

Let's say you've met someone you like. I mean, you really like him or her. But he or she is not your usual type, and you're worried that your friends and family won't give him or her a chance because they have ideas of who would make you happy, and sometimes those ideas may not jive with your own ideas of happiness. Sometimes you're not even sure which ideas are yours and which are theirs. So you hide him or her from them, to protect him or her, and yourself. You steal your happiness from him or her instead of sharing it with the world. And, out of respect to him or her you tell him or her, but mostly out of fear of intimacy, you limit the physical relationship to light petting, maybe the occasional massage. But the guilt of your dishonesty and selfishness eventually drives a wedge between you and your special friend, and that wedge eventually splits the love built between the two of you. But before all of that, before the rift, in the midst of your private love, your nights with him or her are cherished things. You want to feel alive, to be alive every moment you are with him or her just massaging. So you buy some meth, right? You buy some meth because it helps you relax.

The Tears Of A Publicist

2006-11-02T08:02:00.000-08:00

Double-epic repost from Ms. J. Hopper, freethinker and staunch advocate. Don't let the ALLCAPS fool you, Teardrops is the truth. This is a must-go for anyone in NYC TONIGHT, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 2006. I'll even repost the cat. A MUST GO.

Also: Even if you don't roll with the baldytails and chicken marsala (courtesy J-Shep), please, please, please go check Lavender Diamond at Joe's Pub on Friday. I promise you will not be the same again.

Epic repost, but w/e. Teardrops is the folk (no s) who is putting out My Art Book. Barr, First Nation, No Age and Soiled Mattress is a bill honestly worth about $22 AND SHIZ IS FREE INSTEAD. Eff CMJ with 50 feet of dirty lawn hose, leave the Shins cover band jizz prom yr supposed to go to tomorrow, and go to this. Here, in all it's glory is the life affirming invite.

Beyond TEAM: such a moment! aNYthing/RockersNYC/teardrops/aNYthingGoes present:
PPPPlease join us as the coasts collide, the community unifies and the whole team (that is ALL OF US) triumphs!
...backstory so fast: CMJ is a moment when the independent and not-so-independent music worlds converge on NY, freaking out about "who is next" and
charge hundreds of dollars to people from all over the world for badges to shows with long lines that nobody gets into and everyone stresses on the hype... basically, everyone knows its fucking torture with diminishing returns... and its... this weekend!
but the flip side: if you are in a band- even the noble-est band- you kind of "have" to participate, so this means that among the bullshit there are real rad things/people/uits converging on NY at the same time... and sometimes these people reclaim and take advantage... THIS IS NOTTICE OF A NON CMJ TRIUMPHANT MOMENT!
Here it IS
This Thursday, Nov 2
BARR (LA)
First Nation (NY)
No Age (LA... and btw, it is actaully a known fact that this is the best band in LA)
Soiled Mattress and The Springs (NY)
...and DJs Rockers NYC (NY)
are all converging on 205 Chrystie St (aNYthing Goes... you know this!) from the early hours of 6:00pm-10:00 pm to perform and make a deffffinative document... produced by aNYthing! Yess! REAL TALK! Please come, its FREE! The show will be taped and super documented and and everyone there will play a part with their presence and energy!! It is early because this shit is major, like, too hott for full nite... quasi daylite... seriously, strictly from 6:00-10:00 but fully FREEE! and seriously, full disclosure, this lineup represents a probably once ever unifying of two cities' four most intense sub-teams! This is an event that people will look back on and just be all "whoah... that really went down? I'm glad there is s DVD!" ...So get your ass in the front row... or the background even! Show up to Show OUT! The bands will be there but the bands are nothing without the total team! These bands feed on fucking energy! PLEASE BRING IT! Its fucking ON! aNYthing is taking it there... the illest weirdo summit ever commited to video!
... and fucking bonus surprise... if you are there for this you will be guaranteed entry to that nite's Rub N Tug party that starts immediately after at 10:00 (and have you dealt with one of those door lines yet?) and the crazy ass Raf Simmons party after that!! BOO YA!
aNYthing/RockersNYC/Teardrops/Club 205 Chrystie (aNYthing Goes) present:
fuck $500 badges
this is free for everyone
This Thursday, Nov 2 6:00-10:00 pm
BARR (LA)
First Nation (NY)
No Age (LA... and btw, it is actaully a known fact that this is the best band in LA)
Soiled Mattress and The Springs (NY)
...and DJs Rockers NYC (NY)
first come first served, but show up early cause there is probably going to be a harsh line situation later on in the nite, but you don't wanna miss anything anyways, rite?

UPDATE:Straight from Becky Stark, lead singer of Lavender Diamond, a reminder of their show tonight, and yes, you will type your e-mails like this after seeing and hearing her sing:

Dear Friends,
Hello! Happy November! I hope you are well and feeling wild!
I am writing this special bulletin because TONIGHT this Friday, October 3rd, in
the Great and Grand City of New York(!) we are playing a very very very exciting
and and special show at an amazing place called Joe's Pub!! We know that You
maybe don't live in New York but if you do then you should come!! and if you
don't then you should tell a friend who lives in New York to come! Because we
have many songs to sing and we are feeling very strong currents of love and
these are breaking forward to share with you!
the show is at 11:30 pm-- the address is 425 Lafayette Street nyc 10003 and it
costs $12~
we hope to see you soon! thank you thank you thank you! don't forget to be as
kind as you can-
love,
peace!
-becky - lavender diamond- stark
ps- our tour with the decemberists has been amazing and outrageous! we are in
love* full report to follow***

Hippies Are Deadly

2006-11-01T19:39:00.000-08:00

Man, I step out to put a couple years on my liver and the whole world goes batty.

A major dude says the World will go to shit if we don't do something now, and the World says, "Noooooooooo!!!

Meanwhile, my Myspace profile views now stand at 2,850, a hundred of those this month. A relatively small number, sure, but how many views will be too many? 3,000? 5,000? How many views does my profile have to get before I decide to change the photo?

Furthermore, I've seen no less than 3 former Road Rules/Real World castmembers (2 in the last week!) on their way to or in the act of serving drinks, which makes me almost famous in some circles. And while I was sitting in a West Hollywood sports bar in a certainly-not-famous waitress' section, Jim James, of supposedly indie band, My Morning Jacket, sat two booths away with some dude who eventually whisked them both away in a Porsche SUV. Is that not worse than, say, a blog cashing in on Microsoft's desperation? Jim Jones has a beard for chrissakes. And long hair. In a ponytail. And he's riding around Hollywood in a fucking Porsche? A Porsche SUV? How many miles does that get to the gallon? I'll tell you how many, Jim: 14 city, 18 highway, that's how many. That's not good, dude. That's Hummer country, pal. You know what Dave Matthews would do to your record contract if he knew what you were doing? He'd sing a song about it. Something like, "There's wiiiiind calliiiiiing/And it says, 'Jones is falliiingeeeyeeahh'/Falling down like acid raaaiiiiin/On the cheeks of Mother Eeeeaaarrth/Mother Jones, I write this letter/To beg you to tell your son, Jim/To stop his Cayenne madneesssss/Before I hand the shreds of his future to hiiiiiimmeeeaahhhh!!! [wicked violin solo]." I'll tell you another thing while we're at it. You're no Jackson Browne, buddy. You might sound like him, all American and earthy and caring, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out you date blonde actresses who don't even chain themselves to trees. Tell me I'm wrong.

Anyway, the weather has been really nice here in Southern California lately, but it's starting to get a little chilly, so dudes, grab your mock turtlenecks…

… and ladies, wrap your dome…

… because I smell change on the Santa Anas.

Bindi Irwin Releases Kay Slay Mixtape

2006-10-23T21:57:00.000-07:00

Shit is real, son. I love Rassy as much as the next man, but mini-CrocHunter's gonna yoke that mark. I saw her on the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards, and she had slime all up in her eyes, and Terry, her mommy, was all "Are you crying? Are you crying?" and Bindi was like, "I'm fine! Hahahahaha!!" All crazy and shit. And like, all the Nickelodeon kids were trying to hug and coddle her onstage on T.V. because her dad just died and she was lookin' a little loony, and Bindi just shook 'em off and kept laughin'.

I myspaced Ras Kass for comment on the Bindi/Kay Slay collabo, and he sent me this letter which he claims appeared in his mailbox yesterday, postmarked Sydney, Australia:

I mean, it's like, Ras Kass is already a legend in the game, you know? He doesn't need to respond to this if he doesn't want to. It would be fine if, say, he moved to another town and didn't tell anybody.

Stay in Africa, Nino!

2006-10-20T08:22:00.001-07:00

You have never seen this photo before.

Wesley's in Namibia, ironically filming a movie about a slave rebellion in a country with no extradition treaty with the US aka The Country That Jails Black Dudes, and a Vietnamese immigrant running for Congress in Orange County, California sent out thousands of letters to Latino voters implying they would be arrested and deported if they showed up to vote (especially if they voted for the Latina Democrat running against him).

However, all I really want to say today is STOP DRIVING YOUR FUCKING CARS.

Seriously. This is why I don't like people. I'm going to be really pissed when I'm 90-years-old, and I have to think about my hypothetical grandchildren starving to death because my generation and my parents' generation were too lazy to walk or too stupid to ride a goddamn bus or train. Remember how awesome you thought your grandparents were? Yeah well, your grandchildren are going to hate you, and that is going to break your heart. Furthermore, all the grandchildren of the world are going to hate you, and that is going to break your bones. Think about how angry the angriest Columbiner is today, multiply that by a billion and imagine what kind of fun that planet will be. And what really sucks is that while I may be able to convince my grandkids that I tried my best to not kill Earth, every other grandkid on the planet will still think I'm an asshole. So thanks in advance, Everyone. Thanks for ruining my retirement, a retirement I won't even be able to spend in Miami because the entire state of Florida will be underwater.

Yes, it will take more than all of us parking our sweet, cherished Camrys to save our grandkids from global holocaust, but it's a pretty decent- and pretty easy- way to start. And guess what, you fat loser? Walking is good for you! And when you take public transport, you don't get angry at other drivers and you can read and talk to people! CuhRaaazayyyy!!!

Also, from Courtney, my friend who refuses to blog but loves to post links on the internet: Earth is putting our things in a box to the left.

Oh, and J-Shep is nice with the link but nicer with words. "Nigh one year has passed since I have mentioned Omarion Grandberry: an exercise in restraint." Love that and everything that follows it.

TGIF

Update: Sorry, if I was a little cranky earlier, it's only because it's 90 degrees on October 20th. As a conciliatory gesture, I would like to invite everyone to come to Los Angeles next Tuesday for Public Displays of Affection, an event to "show public transportation a little love." Take the bus or subway to Union Station. If you need help figuring that out, they are the long metal boxes on wheels that say "Union Station" on them. Secret Machines show for free with, uh, another Shepherd Fairey DJ set and a Cobrasnake photo exhibit. I might have a doctor's appointment that day, but you should totally go.

Update Again: Yes! Get ready for a slew of amazing Snipes vehicles in the coming years. Wesley is NOT going to jail– which is great news– but he has negotiated a "payment plan" with the IRS, i.e. indentured servitude, i.e. crap movies by Russian or Chinese action directors who are willing to shoot Wes a couple mil. It's gonna be awesome. Expect gangster werewolfs and ninja shortstops. Can't wait, can't wait. There are at least 5 or 6 films to come of this.

Go Buy A Stick

2006-10-19T20:52:00.000-07:00

If, while watching tonight's episode of "The Office", you responded to "Andy"'s question of "I wonder what ever happened to those guys?" (in reference to the Cardigans) by saying or thinking to yourself, "They put out a pretty decent album last year, actually," welcome to Totallyirresistabletotheoppositesexland, population: Me and You.

NSFP

2006-10-18T13:25:00.000-07:00

A few photos, from my review of the LA Weekly Detour Festival, deemed less-interesting than a crappy logo. Anyone want to buy a camera?

Zapped!

2006-10-16T09:10:00.000-07:00

Cruisin' for a bruisin'.

On Friday night in Houston, the cops shot some innocent white people down (with low-voltage tasers).

I, for one, will not abide by this outrageous treatment of white people. The boys in Two Gallants wasn't doing nothing wrong, just playing some good ol' time music, when the law brought the thunder down on their unkempt heads. Is a noise violation really breakin' the law? Ain't it my right to talk shit to the po-lease? Should be. I been watchin' Deadwood, sumbitches.

Thing is, I'm kinda confused like because I was on them Two Gallantses interweb site, and it's plain as day that they play that (c)rap music, so's they should expect the po-po's to be froggy when they come to town. I mean, dang, y'all named one song "Steady Rollin'" and 'nother "Las Cruces Jail"! I'm a rebel too, but I don't go around callin' what I do "crack bloggin'" or compare it to that gangbanger Warren G.

I reckon they should get that skinny fella to make a movie about this starring Bill Murray.

Aw hell, these boys are from San Fran-cisco. San Francisco?!

Assholes By Nature, "Fuck Wit Us". My favorite Houstonians, Z-Ro and Trae, wouldn't take shit like those California fancy boys.

Update: Some St. Lunatic's reaction to getting tasered 46 times: "My back is a mess."

A Totally Real News Photo

2006-10-13T08:41:00.000-07:00

Robert Durell of the Los Angeles Times, you have inspired me to go to the photo shop and buy a camera.

DipSkate DipSkate DipSkate

2006-10-12T07:27:00.000-07:00

Hey, I’ve got a big one for you, guys.

Recently announced by Diplomats Records CEO Jim Jones aka “Da Capo” (Italian for “Da Head”) is the label’s long-term partnership with NYC skate label B. Unique to form the DipSkate skate team. What a fabulous idea! In order to separate himself from Pharrell Williams, Jones decided to make his skate team the kind that rolls on blades not boards, saying in the team’s promo video, “you can do dirt on the skates and all that shit.” Hollaback, boy!

The team is represented by Ramelle Knight, who uses “his natural born talent to break stereotypes and misconceptions,” and Calvin Sayles, who “blew past the common way of living when coming from the hood.”

One time I saw this rollerblader do a trick where he jumped up on a pole, bent over, grabbed his ankles, and cruised all the way to the bottom. Shit was hot!

In addition to the skate team, Jones is scoring with young men all over America with his hit “We Fly High” and its rousing chorus, “Baaaaaallllllliiiiinnnn’!!!,” as well as his associated Myspace video contest, “Come Ball Out With Jim Jones.” A true hustler.

Check Still Listen To Gangsta Music for Jim's new album cover and Discobelle for the "We Fly High" remix.

In other news…
Google Strikes A Blow To Microsoft (no homo)

Update: If you're around D.C. this weekend, it's Howard Homecoming. Jim will be there hosting events and performing along with Ludacris, Diddy, Lloyd Banks, DJ Drama, Biz Markie, Paul Wall, and Asheru of local hip-hop group Unspoken Heard and host of the forthcoming Boondocks mixtape. I'm sure there will be some nice surprises at Yardfest, as well. Just stay clear of Cam's Lambo unless you need publicity for your blog.

Missing Home

2006-10-05T08:51:00.000-07:00

I've been fast slowdancing with my Lisa Bonet poster for 13 hours in a row to this one.
Jovan Dais- Gotta Get To My Baby

Est. 1979, CEO of Another Dais Entertainment, He's the King of Hearts, the Golden Voice Of Inner Emotion… He's Jovan Dais, ladies and gentleman. Coincidentally, I am the Golden Voice Of Outer Emotion, and I really want everybody to like me because I put a free song on the internet.

Jovan's from Atlanta, gotta a beat from Toomp and a Don Cannon mixtape called 24: Season II (I don't get it), so he's perched on the precipice of 106 & Parkdom, if he's not already there. How would I know? He's got some other spaceheaters on that there page, but I don't go on that site anymore because it's a good way to get killed.

Otherwise, a note to J.D. "Nancy" Drew and Jeff "Good Cop" Kent: I played catcher in 4th grade for a season, and even then, I could've tagged your sissy asses out. You gotta body that clown, dudes.

The Mighty Zero

2006-10-04T10:30:00.000-07:00

If anyone needs a pair of shoes, come see me. Right up the street from my house are two sneaker shops. Across the street from each other. Selling the same stuff. For lots of money. You could cop some rave pink AF 180's from one and be sliding your black card for a pair of rawhide Dunks from the other before the Korean dudes even knew your lane. Stop and get an Italian gelato on the way. It's fancy ice cream.

UK journalist Neil Boorman, formerly of Shoreditch Twat and Sleazenation, will hate you if you do and just might light your ass on fire, but you'll be able to run faster and jump higher than him because he's wearing bobos.

Like Neil, I hate paying for stuff, but it's because I don't have any money, not because I'm tired of stuff. Good for me then that Derrick Bostrom, original drummer of extremely awesome AZ dust-punks the Meat Puppets, decided to post a free bootleg of the band's 1987 Trenton, New Jersey show.

Meat Puppets-Live At City Gardens-Trenton, NJ- May 9, 1987

I Smell Cheap Cologne And Fried Chicken

2006-10-03T21:51:00.000-07:00

Dudes, I saw Uncle Phil for the second time since I moved here. You're probably saying, "It's Hollywood. Celebrities are everywhere." True. Except I live in Los Angeles, and the only other celebrities I've seen are the redheaded gal from Temptation Island tending bar and Judd Nelson on Melrose wearing Dockers (tucked into combat boots) asking people if they had his "doobitch." Unimpressive. Oh, I see that fat comedian all the time, too. But the first time I saw Phillip was in an interstate traffic jam three years ago, and this time was in a parking lot nowhere near Hollywood. Both times he was in his little Mercedes SUV. First time yelling at the "motherfucker" in front of him. Second, yelling at his dog. Shit is traumatic for me because I remember how hard he could be on Will, and that's where he was mentally both times. The breaking point. I mean, he just kept yelling at his dog to stay, but the dog was already on full stay mode in the backseat and the windows were up as hell. I don't want to judge, but what are the odds I catch guy on his two worst days? Just saying, if you're out there in Nowheresville thinking about coming to Hollywood and making it big, keep in mind that dudes like Uncle Phil are going to spit chewed up sushi in your face everyday because you ordered Anago instead of Unagi.

Sadly, the photo above was chosen by ac-tor James Marcell for the splash page on his website. You're better than that, Geoffrey!

America's Next Top Jihadists

2006-10-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

With little to no explication and culled purely from promo spots for NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams, I give you the following list of stuff from the title of this post:

The Top Ten:

11. Talibanistan- After we let the Taliban back into the government, pissing on Hamid Karzai's face, kick the Taliban's ass again following their inevitable wilding, giving the Taliban and Karzai something to cheers to (how we're such jerks), the Afghan people will finally be united.

9. Iraqi Policeman, Jr.- Boba Fett? Helloooo?

8. Illegal Laborers- Sure, these dudes are sweet right now, but as soon as the baby boomers retire or get fired, they're going to be pushing mowers and painting their own garages. When that happens, good luck getting into a Home Depot parking lot, cabrón.

7. Polacks- How many Poles does it take to get sick of being shot at in Iraq? 900. When they do, we'll call them pussies. Then they start beating up the two American tourists in Poland at any given time as payback.

6. Wal-Mart Employees- Access to weapons cache. Organized. Cranky from that nagging untreated condition.

5. Congressional Pages- Those who were propositioned because it made them feel weird. Those who weren't because it made them feel ugly.

4. Lupe Fiasco

3. Minutemen- They're protecting our homeland! And we don't even have the sack to thank them. (Willing to shoot women and children)

2. Evangelicals- This group could possibly emerge from and become a bigger threat than the Wal-Martyrs. They're only going to get angrier every day that abortions, dead baby farming, homo-nuptials, and satanic messages in the media aren't stricken down by the sword of governance.

1. Fat Drunks- Laugh now, cry later. Every gram of trans fat you take off the menu and every drag taken outside the bar away from the beer is accumulating in the plaqued synapses of this massive segment of the global population waiting to burst into a breathless, bloodthirsty mayhem.

Sincere apologies to the photographer who took that photo. You deserve more, more than I could give.

Turkish Delights

2006-10-02T22:10:00.000-07:00

Yeah, sorry. It was either that or "Jive Turkey."

Crossing the Bridge: The Sound of Istanbul came out on dvd a couple weeks ago. It's a documentary that follows Einstürzende Nuebauten's Alexander Hacke through Istanbul as he meets with and records a fairly diverse group of musicians. You could whip me with barbwire, and I wouldn't claim to know anything about Hacke or Turkey, but they're both actually pretty interesting. Hacke, like most aging German artists, is an accidental comedian, but his goofy hair and posturing are a good contrast to the intensity of the featured artists, who include this chap…

this dimepiece…

the murkle twins…

… and many others. Recommended.

That last girl, though, in her scene in the doc, seriously channels the handplay of a Queens semi-legend. Ladies, airbrush your jeans and breakout the halter-tops, cuz it's time to kick it "On The Smooth Tip" with none other than Sorta-Friend-of-Salt-N-Pepa, Sweet "Not Through By A Longshot" Tee…

The Four Horsemen of The Week

2006-10-02T17:52:00.000-07:00

White Horse- Weird Al's new album, Straight Outta Lynwood is as good as you think it is bad, and the video…

… includes Judy "The Love Goddess, Fashion Saint, Princess of Panty Shields" Tenuta at her blazingest. Seriously, if you can tell the diff between her and Madonna, you've a keen eye, old boy.

Pale Horse- Gwyneth Paltrow on Access Hollywood: "I went to Royal Albert Hall… to see Jay-Z… Jay-Z's my best friend." "JAY-Z'S MY BEST FRIEND," says GWYNETH PALTROW. Dear Rap Bloggers, you can start liking Nas and Kelis now.

Black Horse- New Clipse Album Penciled In For December. Haha. How in the name of Ras Kass has someone not leaked HHNF by now? I will sell it on my front porch and send Pusha and Malice 10 points on every sale.

Red Horse- Obvious.

And to tie it all together in wonderfully poetic and pessimistic prose is an 18-page spread on Kurt Vonnegut in the new Stop Smiling.

Kurt on what gets him up in the morning:

Sunlight.

Kurt on very rich people:

They're psychopaths. They have no conscience. They were born without a conscience… They don't care what happens next… One thing that's really scary about them– and this would be true of Bush and Cheney– is that they don't give a shit what happens to them. You could count on a guy saving his own ass. These guys don't do it.

Kurt on government:

We have no opposition party. We have only one party, and that's winners. It's people with money, and so they pretend to fight and argue back and forth.

Kurt on Nixon:

I wish Nixon were president right now. I could at least talk to him.

Etc, etc.

People more erudite than myself might say that Vonnegut is kid's stuff. I don't like those people, and I think they are dumb.

Journalists Hate Google

2006-09-30T09:50:00.000-07:00

This is from the President's press conference on Tuesday with Afghani PM Hamid Karzai, but I'm just getting to it:

We weren’t in Iraq when we got attacked on September the 11th. We weren’t in Iraq, and thousands of fighters were trained in terror camps inside your country, Mr. President (addressing Hamid Karzai). We weren’t in Iraq when they first attacked the World Trade Center in 1993. We weren’t in Iraq when they bombed the Cole. We weren’t in Iraq when they blew up our embassies in Kenya and Tanzania.

BUT, "we" were in Iraq in 1991 and based in Saudi Arabia, at which point a certain Osama bin Laden...

"became crazy and very angry"

AND...

"Saudi Arabia to him [bin Laden] is the most holy country on earth and it should not be befouled, he would say, by any external forces. That's his major objective."

Within days of the U.S. "invasion," bin Laden had amassed more than 4,000 Saudi supporters and took them to Afghanistan to begin training. Because the Saudi government had aligned itself with the U.S., it considered bin Laden's activities an embarrassing intervention and, after several warnings, eventually placed him under "house arrest."

...etc, etc.
It took me all of thirty seconds to find this information by typing the words "bin laden's motivation".

Finally, someone needs to tell the White House that the term "jihadist" is the equivalent of "patriot". Jihad essentially means "to struggle", slightly more specifically, to struggle against outside aggression toward your faith, your land. Not the best insult I've heard.

My God

2006-09-30T01:00:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I am in awe.

Nazarbayev and other Kazakh officials have sought to raise the profile of the oil-rich former Soviet republic and assure the West that, contrary to Borat's claims, theirs is not a nation of drunken anti-Semites who treat their women worse than their donkeys.

2006-09-29T23:02:00.000-07:00

If you've arrived here via Google search for "american virgin," please know that A. you are not alone and B. all you're going to get is a picture of Robert Loggia.

Peace In The Middle East.

Be A Little Of What You Can Be

2006-09-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

Geneva 2106

Hey, I know everyone is excited about Clinti v. Condi, but the real story is "How Bush wrecked the Army". With my pseudo-bohemian's knowledge of military affairs, I can't say that I know the specific code of conduct for an Army Chief of Staff, but it seems like a big deal that he's saying...

There is no sense in us submitting a budget that we cannot execute … a broken budget.

Over $300bn in Iraq, and we've been thrifty? That is truly awesome. Countdown to American military coup: 6 months tops.

Less importantly...

...if further global warming reaches 2 or 3 degrees Celsius, we will likely see changes that make Earth a different planet than the one we know.

Sweet! This Earth is lame. Countdown to New Earth: 100 years! And that's only if we continue to drive those faggy Priuses and hold at the current rate of warming which is 0.2 degrees Celsius per decade. Start burning tires in the streets, people! Times a-wastin'.

I'll talk about some stupid music tomorrow maybe.

Help Me Find A Place To Breakdown

2006-09-25T15:13:00.000-07:00

Super busy researching a suitable Third World country to host my midlife crisis (taking recommendations), but real quick...

Sarabeth and Matt (esp. Sarabeth) over at 1115.org are writing about my old hometown with so much fire right now. Might be my favorite thing to read at the moment.

Brendan Frederick at XXL gives Clipse's Hell Hath No Fury a XXL (a lot of stuff gets XL these days, huh?), all but conceding the album's permanent shelving. Sure seems like Pharrell could sink some of that chain & shoe money into an independent digital label and release some things. Also seems like Pusha and Malice could have held until Myspace opened its new storefronts, but that's probably oversimplifying the pimps-and-hoes situation over at Jive. Where's a Byron Crawford petition when you need one?

If you're not in a place right now to discuss certain things openly, consider visiting FourFour. Absolutely essential hilarity with regards to all things Tyra, pop music, and chunky gay men.

Pound for Pound ponders the age old question: How did we get here? We, of course, being Hip-Hop.

John Dickerson @ Slate makes perfect sense out of Clinton's fiery Fox harangue. Aside from his party politicking, Clinton still has a way of saying perfectly logical things and making them sound profound. That may have more to do with the current state of things, but still. Whoo Pig Sooie.

2006-09-16T10:50:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday.

War Goggles

2006-09-13T17:13:00.000-07:00

Both doable.

White House Press Secretary Tony Snow, September 12, 2006:

Well, and there was a relationship -- there was a relationship in this sense: Zarqawi was in Iraq; al Qaeda members were in Iraq; they were operating, and in some cases, operating freely from Iraq. Zarqawi, for instance, directed the assassination of an American diplomat in Amman, Jordan. But they did they have a corner office at the Mukhabarat? No. Were they getting a line item in Saddam's budget? No. There was no direct operational relationship, but there was a relationship. They were in the country, and I think you understand that the Iraqis knew they were there. That's the relationship.

President Bill Clinton, August 17, 1998:

It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is. If the--if he--if 'is' means is and never has been, that is not--that is one thing. If it means there is none, that was a completely true statement....Now, if someone had asked me on that day, are you having any kind of sexual relations with Ms. Lewinsky, that is, asked me a question in the present tense, I would have said no. And it would have been completely true.

So two presidents ignored bin Laden because they had bigger boners for someone else. It's not that complicated. Really.

2006-09-11T18:43:00.000-07:00

Five years ago I was working as a groundskeeper at an elite boarding school outside of Washington, D.C. I tended to the athletic fields, alone, and a large portion of my day was spent walking across acres of grass to check on this or that. It was the ideal job for daydreaming my way towards a disappointing life, and I made sure to let everyone know I'd rather be elsewhere. Everyone from laborers to teachers to security guards to random contractors got greeted by my signature shrug that, in my mind at least, said, "I don't know how I got here either." I knew precisely why, but that's something else. I'd already quit once, hauled off to Atlanta, been asked to leave Atlanta, and returned, only to be offered a promotion and a raise. Even cutting grass, it's possible to fail upwards.

By 2001, I was already a year past caring and would coerce passersby into deep, meaningless conversations or excursions to the dining hall for dixie cup coffee.

So one Tuesday morning, I was shuffling towards a field or a coffee break when I passed one of those random contractors walking briskly to his truck, so I said, "What's up?" Now these kinds of dudes are generally deadheads, too tired, hungover, or busy for chatter, but this guy stopped cold, looked me right in the face, said, "Fuckin' terrorists are flying into shit," and walked on. He looked fairly nuts, so I didn't inquire furthur, just kept on towards wherever.

To get there, I stepped off the green grass into the street, and almost immediately, I heard what sounded like a distant thunderclap and felt a slight tremor under my boots. Having just been told some cryptic news and seeing nothing but blue skies, I felt instant dread and began running toward the maintenance shop. I ran upstairs into the offices and turned to the conference room where I saw our entire staff standing in front of the television. These grown men, hard-drinking rednecks mostly, looked frightened by the images of two smoking towers. I asked what happened, and they all turned and offered a version of the same story. I watched with them until an anchor interrupted with breaking news that another plane had flown into the Pentagon. My father worked in the Pentagon.

We all ran over to the 4-story library as I tried to phone my dad, to no answer. We took the elevator to the roof and ran to the edge. We could easily see the towering plume of black smoke a few miles to the east, and I wanted to throw up or throw something. We stared at it for a few minutes. I don't remember anyone speaking. I kept trying to call my dad.

We came down from the roof, and I drove home to see if my dad was there. He wasn't, so I watched his building and the other two and kept calling. I talked to my brother and mother, neither of whom had reached him, so I kept watching his building and calling. I went out to the courtyard shared by our cluster of townhouses, most of which were home to government employees unreachable by their families as the news erroneously reported of explosions and more planes around D.C., and we offered each other hugs and encouragment.

A few hours later, everyone's missing father, mother, husband or wife pulled into the parking lot, including my dad. When I saw him, I ran outside, still dressed in my all-black uniform and steel-toe work boots, and I couldn't help but breakdown. A tough, stoic breakdown involving clenched jaws and cleared throats and pats on the back, of course.

My father and I watched his building– the one completed just 16 months from its groundbreaking on September 11, 1941 to house the planners and pencil-pushers behind the Last Great War– collapse and crumble.

Later that night, I drove past roadblocks and Stinger-armed Humvees to meet with some friends, and we tried to grasp what had happened to our city as fighter planes and helicopters circled constantly overhead. A few of them were concerned about an old friend who worked in the World Trade Center and, like so many that day, hadn't yet called to say he was okay. That's him above in his high school photo. His name is Mark. He worked high in the North Tower and loved New York City. I met him a couple times years before when we were young and without a care, but he was a close friend of my closest friends. I've spent time with his parents since that day, and they are two of my favorite people on Earth.

There is no fading memory or better understanding now than there was five years ago. I'm just glad it's September 12th again.

The Wire Makes You Smart

2006-09-10T16:44:00.000-07:00

"You can't call the shit a war... wars end."

Unfortunately, that line was written by creator of HBO's "The Wire", David Simon, and not any of the folks in the L.A.Times' Sunday headliner: Is the U.S. Winning This War?. Not surprisingly, almost everyone asked actually has a 'yes' or 'no' answer, excluding former pass-fail student Henry "Hank" Crumpton, the State Department's Coordinator for Counterterrorism and former lead CIA covert operative in Afghanistan, who added, "It's hard for me to give it an A or an F. It's a real mixed bag." I give your quote a C-minus, Hank.

So watch "The Wire" tonight at 10PM or whenever it's rerun because it's better than real life.

Also, head over to XXL for Baltimore native Bossman's "A-Yo" for a taste of Charm City slanguage, and then go read Jon Caramanica's NY Times article on "The Wire"'s use of Baltimore rap in Season 4.

P.S. A brief suspension of the moratorium on profanity here for a heartfelt FUCK YOU to The Walt Disney Company and ABC for broadcasting "The Path to 9/11" on the fifth anniversary of 9/11.

Feel free to contact ABC, Inc. to let them know how classy, compassionate and responsible they are:

ABC, Inc.
500 S. Buena Vista Street
Burbank, CA 91521-4551
(818) 460-7477

Intimate Blogging

2006-08-17T16:51:00.000-07:00

Townes Van Zandt- Quicksilver Daydreams Of Maria

I have this friend Nate who doesn't have a blog (that's right) but insists on sending me interesting links. We've been friends for a long, long time, so when we get together we reminisce about the good old days when gas was under a dollar, Aquanet was blamed for holes in the ozone layer, and war was something America won in three days. It's fun. We might even pop some corn and watch a chick flick like Fog Of War. He does very well for himself and his family, and I am what some call "poor", and yet, neither of us can afford to move out of our rented apartments here in Los Angeles. Oh, the irony!

Today, Nate and I exchanged some links on IM that somehow led to me having a dating pool that consisted of illegal immigrant girls who ran through my yard en route to the great American promised land. Ah yes, now I remember.

It all began with this little diddy about the impending civil war in Iraq and our top brass losing faith in the democritization of that nation, even considering "alternatives to democracy", like say, a pro-Western dictatorship. Nate and I agreed that it sounded like fun in the sun over there, and we both probably thought about our friend Matt who is currently stationed in Al Hillah, in southern Iraq, as part of an Army unit assigned to aid the local government with infrastructure improvements. Matt is working specifically on agriculture, which he says is mostly focused, at present, on small residential gardens and schoolkids growing plants in containers.

All of which led me to reiterate my readiness to move to the middle of nowhere, which, in turn, led Nate to send me a link to a land and property sales website, which I will not link because I don't trust any of you. You'd probably go out there and build houses out of uranium siding. Anyway, after perusing the dirt cheap dirt lots on that site, I remembered that my family already has a perfectly good dirt lot in the deserts of Arizona, where I will be constructing a house similar in size to those described in this TIME Magazine article that Nate also sent to me.

Now, this is where it all comes full circle because, as I typed giddily about my future days of sandstorms and gunfight reenactments, Nate brought the realness and reminded me that I might have trouble meeting ladies out there in the desert. I had to admit I was discouraged for a moment, as this particular region of Arizona is indeed not well-known for its singles scene, but then I remembered the stories my sorta uncle/sorta friend of the family once told me about the water stations he'd built on his property for the immigrants who were frequently crossing his property under dark of night, weakened from days of no food or water. I thought, upon first hearing this story, that this uncle friend of mine was a damn fine human being, and now that I'd be a neighbor, it might serve a dual purpose to build one of these oases on my property.

It's a simple theory, really. First, I'd build the water fountain just out of the reach of my porchlights so as to not frighten off anyone who might be weary from run-ins with the Minutemen. Then, I'd set up a hammock or a weight bench on the porch and hang out there wearing a tank-top or some kind of mesh shirt. Once that's all done, it's like shooting fish in a barrel. I think any woman looking for the American Dream would see it sitting in the glow of some citronella tiki torches in the personage of moi. I'd probably have to sell that house after a month or so, what with all the feminine callers.

It's a pipe dream. I realize that. But pipe dreams make the world go 'round.

This Book Could Be Your Life

2006-08-14T21:16:00.000-07:00

Can someone please make a movie out of this book? You can cast Nick Cage as the old man and Will Ferrell as his wife, for all I care, just be faithful to the book. There is nudity, violence, action, black comedy, a love story, everything. It will make a billion dollars. I am not saying this because I think movies suck or actors suck or directors suck or studios suck. I don't care. People still watch movies: That is my point. Put it in the theaters. Don't screen it. Nobody cares. Get a mysterious billboard that doesn't mention it, a myspace page, an iPod-able trailer, a banner on Ultragrrl. Get Stephen Colbert to roast it. Get Dane Cook to talk about it with Jay Leno. Get Al-Jazeera to say it's imperialist. Get Zidane to headbutt it to the "Lazy Sunday" dudes. Get M.I.A. to rap about it with Paris and Nicole in a song called "Tell Me When To Go Blind" and put the video on Youtube. Have them all dress like Japanese dancehall queens. Get will.i.am on the remix. Put the Shepherd Fairey-designed logo on bags of grain and drop them on Darfur from Richard Branson's blimp. Get Shaun White to name a trick after it. Pump it full of steroids. Vote it into the Hall Of Fame. Tell Oprah it's a rapper. Tell Bush it's an Arab. Tell Kos it voted for the war. Tell O'Reilly it's black. Tell Kanye it's black. Put it in a pipeline and leave it there. Put it up your rectum and try to marry it. Paint it shades of brown and try to cross a border. Strap it to bird. Tie it to a foetus. Try to buy a thousand cell phones with it. Send it to an airport with a bottle of breast milk. Kidnap it. Behead it. Defend it. Say you'll stop if it does. Shoot its child from far away. Pin it on a drifting iceberg. Send it to the planet Pluto. Say it's made of crude oil. Say it's made of corn oil. Say it's got another one attached to it's torso. Say it wouldn't want to live this way. Open it in New Hampshire in a theater gentrified by Frank Gehry. Get the Cobrasnake to take pictures. Sell it simultaneously as a download. Leak it. Arrest it. Put it in jail unless it will go into chatrooms and talk about itself to other thieves and pedophiles. Have Stone Phillips catch it trying to meet up with a teen. Have R. Kelly meet up with it. Have Pam Anderson marry it. Have a Kennedy die with it, and give every living human 30 seconds to speak at the live broadcast of its funeral and then drop a nuclear bomb on them.

You can call it "World Trade Center II."

How To Swim Upstream

2006-08-13T18:16:00.000-07:00

The Sunday Funnies...

From Lewis H. Lapham's Notebook in the September 2006 Harper's Magazine:

For the friends of the free market operating in Iraq it doesn't matter who gets killed or why; every day is a payday, and if from time to time events take a turn for the worse- another twenty or thirty Arabs annihilated in a mosque, a BBC cameraman lost on the road to the airport- back home in America with the flags and the executive compensation packages, the stock for our reliably patriotic corporations rise with the smoke from the car bombs exploding in Ramadi and Fallujah- Lockheed Martin up from $52 to $75 between July 2003 and July 2006; over the span of the same three years, Boeing up from $33 to $77; ExxonMobil up from $36 to $65; Chevron up from $36 to $66; Halliburton up from $22 to $74; Fluor up from $34 to $87.

From Mick Farren's interview with Gore Vidal in August 10th, 2006 Los Angeles City Beat:

With democracy vanishing into the computer, Vidal sees Bush and his neocons only being halted in their tracks when the nation runs out of money. "We'll just default," he says. "There's really no way out. I think the financial collapse- which seems to me to be on its way- will at least stop the wars. We cannot go into the military adventures. Cost too much. We haven't got the men to fight the wars. Don't think we'll find them. I don't think we can hire that many Albanians, you know, to pretend they're American soldiers, but it will get to something like that."

From Will Dukes' Unhappy Scrappy

Newsflash: Most black people are just that—people. We catch cases (court case, briefcase, suitcase, cases of Chris) and read books and go to strip clubs (and church) and occasionally crack titty jokes. Just because we're not leaping over hot coals to entertain you with our "swagger" doesn't mean that we're "boring." (Actually, we as real live people reserve the right to be "boring" or "pretentious" like everyone else.) On the same token, the fact that some of us aren't leaping over hot coals to entertain you with our "swagger" doesn’t mean we’re trying to pass ourselves off as Martin Luther King, Jr. Please marinate on that. I’m done.

See you tomorrow.

2006-08-11T19:54:00.000-07:00

Waldorf- You're My Disco

If there's a song from the last millenium that makes me feel a bit light in the loafers, it's definitely Waldorf's "You're My Disco." Now, if I were a hip-hop blogger, this is where I would post a song from Trae's new album Restless (awesome) and say I was just trying to see which of you would out yourselves as Waldorf fans. But fortunately, this is a blog about nothing, so please, get your gay on!

Here's the twist... Waldorf are not gay, just Italian, and they have a record that you can buy called The Age Of Stupid, which I think is a fine summing up of our times. The album was co-produced by disco auteurs A Touch Of Class and former Swans drummer Roli Mosimann, and is called by the band's website, "an up-beat and danceable version of Pink Floyd's 'The Wall'." Heh. I don't know about that, but if it makes them feel good, so be it. "A disco Swans" might have been a better look.

"You're My Disco" is shameless dance music: corny, slightly embarrassing, and utterly irresistable. There is nothing "minimal" about it other than the minimal amount of thinking that is required to enjoy it. The Age Of Stupid has it's moments of pumping and thumping, too, but a lot of it is more like Air with a brainful of uppers and a hairy chest.

You can listen to the whole album at A Touch Of Class, but because I know you have tons of stuff to do, here's a song from the album that's like a prog opera starring Meatloaf as Steve Rubell...

Erlkoenig

2006-08-10T11:30:00.000-07:00

Serengeti- The Neeg

This is an AP photo of former Ohio State running back Maurice Clarett's front seat after he was arrested yesterday by the Columbus Police Department. Yes, it's disturbing that he had 3 loaded handguns and what, in my limited knowledge of firearms, looks like a freaking AK-47, but look just beyond the weapons cache, past the empty bottle of Goose and lint roller. Is that... is that a DMX cd? Here we go again, indeed.

So why post a song by some random Chicago dude, you don't ask? Because...
1. I'm determined to make people care about Serengeti
2. the outro to "The Neeg" is a stream of fake movie trailers featuring "Tom Sizemore as Russell Simmons" and "Barry Peppers as Coolio"
3. the beat is an August evening
4. the fact that grown men with the talent to be wildly successful throw it away and listen to DMX while they do it, I want people to listen to happy songs and let their moods be influenced by them
5. "The Neeg" makes me want to weave through the streets on my bike with a Kool-Aid helmet on
6. Chicago, top to bottom, is doing something special right now.

Buy Serengeti's Dennehy, an ode to Chicago, direct from Bonafyde Recordings.

2006-08-08T17:34:00.000-07:00

Ms. Aguilera- Slow Down, Baby- Premier embarrassing dudes with this beat (EDIT: including me because it's actually a Mark Ronson production! The man behind one of my favorite records this year, Rhymefest's Blue Collar.)

Being as much a Californian as anything else at this point, I feel I'm qualified to comment on the tragicomedy that is Arnold Schwarzenegger's governoringness. Last week, during a tour of the Golden State, Tony Blair hooked up with Schwarzenegger and British Petroleum CEO John Browne for a little photo op/constituency brown-nosery. Standing in front of a massive BP tanker docked in Long Beach Harbor, the three gleefully announced their desire to curb carbon emissions. Mind you, they did not agree to do anything more than agree that they were neck deep in political cesspools (in Arnold's case, the Pacific Ocean), and a vague, environmentally-friendly handshake agreement was a sly way of further distancing themselves from a constantly backslapping American President.

All that's fine. Political fear drives a lot of good policy these days, but nothing mucks up good publicity like bad publicity. Today, following that same John Browne's announcement that BP was closing their massive Prudhoe Bay oil field due to systemic neglect (like, they never cleaned anything), California collectively spit on the oil-stained pavement. Bad looks for everyone involved, but especially our Republican governor. I can only imagine his reaction looked something like this.

So, Los Angeles, with experts generously predicting a slight surge in gas prices-- which, as of this writing, already hover around $3.30/gal-- please consider the following options for the good of the keeeiids and your wallet.

Metropolitan Transit Services and Information for Los Angeles County- buses and trains for $3/day, unlimited usage. They might smell slightly uriney, but so does your breath.

Bicycle Kitchen - Los Angeles- bring a bike you found in the gutter, and they'll help you transform it into reliable transportation. Also, it makes your glutes look sick, bro.

LoveCraft BioFuels- Benzes that run on free waste vegetable oil. Tell them I sent you, and you get a month's supply of nothing.

Get a scooter. Get a skateboard. Get some comfortable shoes. Get a shopping cart, for all I care. Just don't get a Segway... you look like an asshole.

2006-08-02T20:54:00.000-07:00

DJ Shadow feat. dudes from Kasabian- The Tiger

Thank god someone made a new song about tigers, so I didn't have to post the Chameleons' "Paper Tigers" or Beat Happening's "Tiger Trap" to justify this post. Great songs, but only The New here, ever.

It's fair to say that Shadow's Endtroducing... is a great album and an achievement in sampling and ye olde art of sequencing. It's maligned now more for its influence on subsequent artists than for what it is, but in all honesty, he hasn't done anything as impressive since. Extremely hit or miss for someone who consistently places in the top 20 in albums of the decade, and maybe because of that, but he does usually provide a gem or two, if not more, on every project. Unfortunately for this post, and his new album, "The Tiger" ain't no diamond. It's one of the definitely-not-hyphy songs on The Outsider, and, as far as I can tell, is a forum for Kasabian to transition from Stone Roses Jr. to Radiohead Jr. But there's already one Muse too many in the world, so I'm not sure why they bothered. Also, "Rabbit In The Headlights" didn't thoroughly cover this territory? What about that weird loud song Shadow did with Badly Drawn Boy? Just saying, there's a rut filled with pasty white dudes with baggy trousers on, and they're all playing the same song.

But on to more important matters... Tiger Beer. The Americans reading are likely to navigate away at this point, so get on. You've already got too many choices anyhow.

Everyone else, go find yourself some Tiger Beer, a smooth, yet robust and slightly sweet lager made proudly and with great care by the people of Singapore and widely available throughout Asia, and now Europe and North America. I had my first Tiger sitting on the curb in the thick heat of Ho Chi Minh City, waiting on a ride from the airport. The can was slightly cool, to be kind, but I knew, I knew, when that first drop hit my tongue that it was over for me. No more swill. No more cinammon or melon informed seasonals. An occasional 40 oz., no doubt, but no more beer-flavored water. I'm by no means a professional, but I'm no novice either. I know when it's time to settle down and commit (in some cases), and Tiger was my boo, my #1. Over the course of my two weeks in Viet Nam, I spent a lot of time with Tiger, good damn time. But, when I left I was ready to let go, let my time with Tiger be a thing of memory and sentiment. When I sipped my last Tiger, along with some homemade gutter wine courtesy my mellow Mr. Num (Five), it was sweet, not bitter.

After I returned to the States and would go into a liquor store, I'd pretend not to look for Tiger because I hoped it wasn't there, but then one day, a good friend appeared at my door with a sixer. I didn't know what to say. My mouth watered. My eyes welled. I drank all six as fast as I could. It felt wrong, too much too soon. Then I found two more sixers in Studio City on a tip from another friend. And then... I called Beverages & More, BevMo. They stock Tiger on the regular I was told. And now we're together for real, Tiger and me. Forever.

And I am not alone...
APB's Tiger Beer Teams Up With Spanish Soccer Club Barcelona
Man Fined For Undeclared Beer
Time For A Tiger by Anthony Burgess, author of A Clockwork Orange

Only problem is, in Viet Nam nobody drinks, but Tiger is sold every five feet by a vendor, restaurant or some random old lady, and so costs 50 cent at most. Here? 8 bones plus for a six! I'm not living like that, Tiger, so if you're listening- and I never do this- I'm your shill. Show me where to sign.

2006-08-01T22:54:00.000-07:00

DMX- I Don't Know (Bad Mutha)

This showed up as a song from the just-released and ingeniously-titled DMX record, Year of the Dog...Again (Again!), but it's not in the tracklisting. It's so good, it just might be a special gift from DarkMan to his most committed fans- a trigger, one might say, to pull in order to blow one's mind. When it comes to schizophrenic conscious rap, X really has no competition. He's peerless. And now that he's morphed into a delusional, driving-into-buildings, represent-yourself-in-court version of Kirk Franklin (collabo, please), he's even more fascinating on record. The title is not a non sequitur; you get the feeling he really does not know what's going on, why he does what he does, or maybe even where he is, but when he raps in this weary, self-analytical voice, he is among the most compelling personalities in music. Not to mention the random interview excerpt smack dab in the middle of the song, which I pray is part of the official song because it is brilliant. Add a mid-tempo beat with panning synth and a little wah-wah guitar, and you've got psych-rap perfection.

Update! I admit this was really just a post in honor of Mel Gibson, although I really do like this DMX song. Below is the piece I've been working on since I heard the news of Mel's arrest.

2006-07-31T21:43:00.000-07:00

The Mitchell Brothers- Fuck Me? Fuck You!

I like this song. I think it has a good message and a hot gangster beat. Someone at XXL Mag thinks it's tits, as well, maybe even the best rap record of the year. Better than Kano, at least. The Mitchell Brothers hang out with Mike Skinner, so they are pretty fucking cool and know where to get blow. They definitely know how to make titles for their songs. I like to play this song when I'm on iChat with someone who's being a stupid shithead, set my status to "Current iTunes Song" and give them a smack. Boh! Internet gangsta. I'm reading the lyrics now, though, and I think it's mostly a song about the two Mitchell Brothers fighting over the remote control. One of em's Teddy, one's Tony, and the chorus goes "Fuuuck Tooonyyyyy" or "Fuuuuuuck Teeeeeddyyyy." That shit is fucking stupid. But it's funny, too. And they talk about British soccer which is a pussy sport.

Okay, no more cursing until September, cockasses. I'm the Lupe Fiasco of this blog shit.

2006-07-27T20:24:00.000-07:00

This blog will be profanity-free for the month of August.

Too $hort feat. Snoop Dogg, Will.i.am (prod. Will.i.am) "Keep Bouncing"

Not sure, but fairly sure that the phrase, "My nigga Will.i.am in the house," uttered by $hort Dog means End Times. Regardless, Snoop is hilarious on here, curling an R under like he's from the CPT and sounding like somebody whipped his Pop Warner team's ass. $hort, I mean, what? If you don't already know what he's talking about and how he's talking about it, then you probably won't like this song. What's weird is that he cleans it up almost as much for Will.i.am as he did for Kelis (3 "bitches" v. 5 or 6, couple "dicks" and a bunch of "hoes," respectively). Take from that what you will. Will takes third verse and says "boobies" like MF Doom a lot. Drums are ridiculous, though.

Fuck Yeah Fest

August 18, 19, 20, Echo Park, California. Curated by Keith Morris of the Circle Jerks and major young dude Sean Carlson. Featuring every geetar band in the world.

2006-07-27T16:48:00.000-07:00

My apartment looks like this now, like Hell. Dallas Raines keeps saying it's going to be 80 degrees tomorrow. Tomorrow, always promising. I don't want the truth, can't handle it. I want Dallas to always speak and point at big H's and L's with that aww-shucks shit he does so well. "If only this dang high-pressure system would move off the coast, we'd get some cooler temperatures in here for you folks." That's it, Dallas. If only. I want to go to bed everynight believing that tomorrow is the day, Anniestyle, and wake up thinking, "Dang that high-pressure system. Dang it to hell," which, again, just means my apartment. So here it stays.

Meanwhile, Pharrell's got 91,737 friends, which isn't much considering, and wears pink shoes to parking lot parties courtesy one Mr. Murdoch. It's all there, and I can't be mad because a few hundred kids got to see Clipse destroy legends like Snoop and Luda, although I'm not sure if they knew that that's what happened. What I like about Skatey P is that even here, at an event concocted to market his long-anticipated album, he brought out as many guests as he could, let them do the songs he did for them. Maybe because he's insecure without Chad and them, maybe he's just a swell dude. I don't know. Kids, and I mean kids, got to see Clipse, Luda, Snoop, Slim Thug, and Ab-motherfucking-Liva on one stage doing hits. That's good no matter who put it together. What the kids didn't get to see, because they're too concerned with frontstage business and because I'm claustrophobic, was Warren G with a healthy belly either rolling something or playing with his Blackberry (it was dark) for a half-hour backstage, or T.I. (and Tiny) being treated like royalty before they slid out, or numerous unnamed sorta-celebs standing next to them. These are things maybe they didn't need to see, just Pharrell being Pharrell, not all the uncut boring stuff. While I was watching Warren G clip his fingernails, they were throwing their hands up in response to Slim Thug's question, "Where all my Myspace niggas?" So, I mean, who's the winner?

Side B: Cobrasnake was there taking pictures. Photos of Fishburn, 1. Photos of that kid from Malcolm In The Middle, a lot.

2006-07-25T11:41:00.000-07:00

Goddamnit, stop posting The Game's appearance on Change Of Heart. Entertainment Tonight seventy-eight years ago. Just because the whole clip is on youtube doesn't necessitate another fucking go 'round. Hey look, I found this uproarious clip of some news lady eating shit (actually, that is timeless.) How about this one of a cow falling down mid-stroke? This whole evisceration of The Game via dating shows and inept Photoshopping is probably the stupidest, laziest fanboy shit I have ever seen. Pawns in 50's marketing schtick. Oh my, 50 Cent has beef! You better choose your side. Have people not heard "How To Rob An Industry Nigga?" Plus, The Game provides so much fodder by himself that you could start a blog just documenting the weird shit that comes out of his mouth (blog catchphrase).

Youtube is not long for this world, youngsters. Appreciate it. Coddle it like a newborn because this moment will prove fleeting.

Especially because there's real rap shit on there like Jean Grae challenging David Cross to a dance-off...

2006-07-11T11:15:00.000-07:00

Ribery aime Zizou.

Good god, enough with the schoolmarm journalists scolding Zidane for his brilliant sonning of the hilariously filthy Materazzi. Yes, it's the World Cup, world stage, billions watching, etc. Unfortunately, most of those billions don't know of Materazzi's best work in the Serie A and EPL, nor did they pay attention to the handful of hard, intimidating tackles Materazzi performed on the French players prior to having his sternum cracked. It's what "The Matrix" does, and Zidane knew he only had moments to exact a bit of high-profile revenge. In fact, after Zizou's exit, Les Bleus went on attacking for the final ten minutes, and Trezeguet missed a well-taken penalty that he would have taken had Zidane been around for penalties anyway. That's the game. The French lost with the same grit and tenacity with which they reached the final, and it went to the team who made their penalties. C'est la vie, wha wha wha.

For the seagulls, the last man from Marseilles who politely objected to off-color comments just spent the last year as the face of Nike Football, so let's not mourn the tragedy too much. Far as I'm concerned, Zidane just cemented his status as a folk hero rather than tarnish it, but maybe I'll change my tune if the French youth start headbutting their moms in the chestplate over chores.

Still not even close to this, which occured during the World Cup that made me love Les Bleus in the first place.

update:From Canal+ interview:
Zidane: "I want to ask for forgiveness from all the children who watched that. There was no excuse for it," he said.

"I want to be open and honest about it because it was seen by two or three billion people watching on television and millions and millions of children were watching."

[Materazzi's comments were] "very personal and concerned his mother and his sister".

"You hear those things once and you try to walk away. That's what I wanted to do because I am retiring. You hear it a second time and then a third time..."

"I can't say I have any regrets about what I did because that would be like admitting that he had every reason to say what he said."

"I can't, repeat can't say that. He had no reason to say what he said. It's always the reaction that is sanctioned and not the provoker."

"I told him to stop pulling my shirt and that he could have it if he wanted at the end of the match."

"That was when words were said, very hard words and he said them several times."

"Words can sometimes be harder than actions. It all went very quickly and they were words that hurt me deep down."

"The real culprit should be sanctioned and the real culprit is him. He provoked it all."

"Do you imagine that in a World Cup final like that with just 10 minutes to go to the end of my career, I am going to do something like that because it gives me pleasure?"

So, there you go.

UPDATE: Just felt like this comment needed to be on the front page...

"In an imaginary world where Don Delillo cares about French post-structuralism, a jury would have been empaneled of Raymond Queneau, Michel Foucault and Jacques Lacan and they'd just discuss semiotics and the body politic.

If Judith Butler knew that sports existed, she'd be thrilled by the potency of language!"

courtesy Blackmail Is My Life

2006-07-09T20:58:00.000-07:00

Don't talk to me.

2006-07-04T08:34:00.000-07:00

W does rule.

Sheik ruler pardons US producer.

2006-07-03T15:34:00.000-07:00

Les blogs ont des yeux.

Long weekend, ghetto-tech surround sound installed on the patio, cords pullled over rusty nails, subwoofer on cement, spirit drained from accidental pear cider and intentional Sparks, decided to fill the iPod with white people to see what everyone was prattling about. Webprats. Bprats. Since Hip-hop/Rap is dying. No judgement, just sort by "Date Added," drag, hit shuffle, and sit under a large tree with eyes closed. Conclusions...

Shogun Kunitoki sound like Goblin and make certain people want to smoke marijuana while eating mushrooms and soaking tabs on tongues. Suspect it's the repetition and church organ, misinterpreting incense of Christmas Mass for incense of frosh year burner's dormroom. Wrote editor in half mindstate requesting import of the Shogun for his festival. Have yet to hear back.

Booka Shade's previously pleasant minimal is capable of inducing embarrassing movements when put on blast behind high fences but not totally out of sight. Witness to said 'dancing' has not invited me for drinks since. Booka to be played only in darkened bathroom from this point forward. (Aside: Broke free of years-long tendency to only move in rhythm to music in three-second intervals. It was like that.)

Growing recompressed spilled brains from Kunitoki and planted frantic pelvis in chair. Good things. Sobering. Three-notes-per sounds easy, but can't be. Ribs sank into organs for a moment, wheezed lungs with sternum briefly. Color wheels and rainbows not in evidence. Colorful rainbow from stomach possible.

Came back today. The game is the same.
Crack Is Found in Shuttle's Foam Insulation
Crack may be cause of water problems
Crack beauty brigade flies in
One man says trapping helps prevent overpopulation
Bill to stop trap & skeet opening tabled
Shooters hope to catch victories in trap
Lampasas Hosts Annual Spring Ho Festival
Craft Village for Ho

2006-06-29T09:06:00.000-07:00

Daft Punk's Electroma teaser

Just listened to the joint press conference between President Bush and Japanese Prime Minister Koizumi, and, not surprisingly, Koizumi speaks better English and tells better jokes. Asked by a member of the Japanese press if there was any particular action that made each especially appreciative of the other, Bush replied with an expectedly giggly avoidance of a singular compliment so as to not diminish the whole of Koizumi's efforts. Koizumi?

"Thank you for 'Love Me Tender'."

While this initially sounds like a particularly awesome zinger, turns out dude's just kinda nuts.

2006-06-28T16:33:00.000-07:00

Jive Records shipping warehouse

Not trying to turn this into a blog about blogs, but there are bigger problems in the world than Jive not releasing the new Clipse record. Namely, Jive is not releasing the new Kelis record. Nor are they releasing Outkast, although I don't think I care if they do anymore.

A quick perusal of the Jive roster reveals some truly sad truths about the label as a whole, not just its problems getting Hell Hath No Fury (like what?) on shelves. Petey Pablo is the wallpaper on their site, Donell Jones is in the "Spotlight," and the former Floridian cash cows (T-Lakes & Brit) are in various states of permanent hiatus. Which leads me to wonder what might provoke the label to push the release dates of its three brightest hopes for 2006 into the smoggy horizon, even while posting their newest singles on the label's website. With the dubious exception of Pink and Ciara, and Nick Lachey, I suppose, there don't seem to be any other artists burning up the charts or Jive's promotional dollars now or in the near future, so why not throw some summer money into three albums that at least have a modicum of buzz at the moment. "Bossy," "Mr. Me Too," and "The Mighty O" have caught the ears of the omnipotent tastemakers- not me- and to delay the albums only means Jive will have to push a second single for each artist by midsummer if they have any hope of building anticipation for late summer releases. Outkast's delay is more understandable seeing as they've tied the album to some sort of longform Smooth Criminal shit, which probably signifies more that the movie sucks than the album does, but really, nothing stands before Kelis or Clipse having a good three month run prior to the busy fall schedule other than poor management. Jive's inconsistency is simply frustrating. Can they not promote more than one or two albums at a time? Are Kelis and Clipse competing with Lachey for marketing? Do they not understand that they've already received loads of free publicity from sites like Myspace and Youtube? Sure seems like they get it. This is the label that gave the old dudes A Tribe Called Quest and Billy F. Ocean...

... but when T-Pain, Bonecrusher (Rick Ross's father), and J-Kwon all get albums released within months of big singles, it's bewildering why my baby, er, Nas' baby can't do the same. Don't get me wrong, I still listen to "I'm Sprung," "Never Scared," and "Tipsy" every night before I hit the streets, but every now and then I need a whole record to listen to while I'm embroidering or tending to the flower garden. That's not singles work, Jive.

Whatever, just saying my feelings are hurt, that's all.

So, another great song off the recently-pushed-to-August Kelis Was Here...

Emergency (feat. Raphael Saadiq)

2006-06-23T15:58:00.000-07:00

Hey, sorry about the previous post, but I like teh futbol. My parents made me play when I was an anklebiter cuz I guess they thought I was some sort of Mr. Glass-pussy klaat-crybaby hybrid and couldn't handle contact sports. Plus, it was cheap. Cheapskate parents. Here's some shoes. Go outside and kick something. Thanks, parents. Thanks for all the "faggot"'s as I walked past football practice in my shiny uniform. This is why I'm desensitized to the homophobia of rap, though, so it's peace.

I'm legally obligated to hate on this, but if you're in the middle of the country this week's end, you might want to attend.

Angeleans, I wouldn't normally recommend something like this, but I stopped by Secret Headquarters on a whim a couple weeks ago and the dude was super nice and hooked me up with my first comic books in about 20 years, the new G.I. Joe and Spawn. Not really. I got Shaolin Cowboy because it was pretty and Johnny Ryan's Angry Youth Comix because it has a picture of Jesus pissing on a guy's face while nailed to the cross. I really don't know how else to sell it to you. If you like nerdy shit, go there.

If you're here looking for musical insight, I've got none, but maybe Sunday. I've got a stack of treats for the bombing of North Korea and the French soccer team piling up on my desk.

2006-06-22T15:02:00.000-07:00

Thank God that's over.

Now American sportswriters can hang up their quadrennial column-filling schtick about how they "don't get it," how funny it is that the whole silly World cares about a sport in which nothing happens and you aren't allowed to catch the ball or wear a helmet or form-fitting spandex. Back to the baseball beat for ya, fellas. Genius stuff this year, really.

If US Soccer isn't the worldwide morale-boosting public relations conspiracy I believe it to be, the number one priority is to fire Bruce Arena. Hire a fat Dutchman like everybody else, or Juergen Klinsmann. He already lives in Los Angeles and transformed the notoriously boring Krauts into Brazilinho by cutting all the vets 'cept one and stealing a scorer from Poland. He's running the program like Suge Knight!

Then, send Freddy Adu, Eddie "Grown-Ass Man" Johnson and this dude...

... to Europe immediately. As Lando Donrissian proved this year, MLS is garbage.

If anyone's interested in saving Major League Soccer, I have a plan based on the 2000 Census that will blow your mind.

Now, go watch some world-class game, drink with foreigners, and check out Call Me Mickey for the thoroughest country-appropriate mpfree World Cup preview on the internet. Seriously, dude is putting in work and making music jokes all at once.

PS- Many thanks to Dr. Fennessey for the kind words.

2006-06-15T17:19:00.000-07:00

The reason legitimate music critics will stick around, despite the advertising johns curb-hopping for bloggers, is because most mp3 blogs are nothing but deluded street-teamers. I'm looking around today, and nearly every one of these dicks (or vaginas) has the new Beyonce/Jay-Z song up, touting it as a "summer jam" or some such nonsense. How desperate does one have to be for a little pool music to consider "Deja Vu" a jam of any season? Is it the banging Astley drums or the chancleta-rap that Jay bunts on this meatball? Hey guys? I don't believe you. Just relax. You don't owe anyone content. Your googleability doesn't make you a better person. Your editor does not exist. Put up something I can't get off some tween's myspace, or at least tell me why I might be wrong.

The problem with the summer songs is everybody's looking to the vets for the hit or willing mediocrity like Thick Ross's "Hustlin'" to jam status. Be patient. Or if you're going to reach back for Ross's hambone (watch your fingers), why not go back to something better from last summer? I mean, I know you're trying to find a song that pumps some optimism into your soul, that maybe, just maybe, this summer will not end up in a rash and a not-even-broken heart, that you will find a fling and a lottery ticket on the rooftop of some loft, right? All I'm sayin' is give it time; seasons aren't what they used to be anyway. Summer starts whenever you want it to and lasts until sandals feel silly (never).

In the meantime, ponder these and their corresponding hood dranks while I shake that hot Bey-Z from my pooter's pocket...

Mimalta*-->Kelis: "Like You" (first summer jam to use the word "cock")
Rollerita**-->Simian Mobile Disco: "Hustler" (closer to the kind of hustlin' you'll be doing)
Mint Two-Lip***-->Walkmen: "Another One Goes By" (borrowed from their buddies, Mazarin)

* talked about this one before; 40 oz. + OJ + empty stomach
** Country Time Lemonade Slurpee® + Pepe Lopez® tequila + rollerskates
*** mouthful of Altoids® + bottle of bourbon

Oh, and before anyone starts throwing black pots at me, this is not an mp3 blog. It is the diary of my spirit.

2006-06-03T13:54:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles is finally back to what it does best: sweltering, breeding ants, and encouraging mesh in outerwear. And that's just my Saturday. It actually reminds me of Vietnam, except the ants; Commies don't wanna hear about ants. Goggles says they do, but I was there and didn't see a single bug. Plenty of lizards and mopey dogs, but no bugs. Here, in the Land of the Free, it's Bug City and shitty smiley mutts who think they can crawl under the house whenever they feel like and make you lay in front of the crawlspace opening with a bag of treats babytalk coercing them to come out while the cholos hangbanging laugh it up across the street. Santa Monica Boulevard? We Love It! Hit it...

I know iHop just big-upped, but if this the beginning of the annual four-month meltdown, I'm putting the blog in mothballs. I'm drunk on my own body odor and antkiller, and that is not a good look for ye olde English. Outstanding look for ye Olde English, though. (Reader tip from Devo: add OJ to the capline, cover, and shake gently. Fruchtkuchenmalz!) I think I just made plans for the day.

Surprisingly good hot music: Phoenix, Ambulance LTD
Unsurprisingly: Fela

Completely unrelated: the neighborhood street fair is falling the fuck off this year. Isaac Hayes is slightly redeeming, only because the following could happen live and in the flesh.

2006-05-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

Did you know bloggers are already apologizing for posting too many youtube clips? It's 2006's "Sorry I haven't posted in a few days. (Insert complaint about miserable finals schedule here)."

Youtube is the new rock 'n' roll. Show some goddamn loyalty.

Above is the EPK for Teki Latex's upcoming dolo jawn (right?). Teki's French, and he's in TTC, which guarantees that anything he does is a tie at #1 with the Rappers Delight Club and Radiohead. Julianne got to hang out with them earlier this year, and our relationship has been strained by jealousy ever since. Produced entirely by the same guy who did Feist's Let It Die, Teki's album is going to suck in all the right ways (so homo), and if you can't appreciate that, you probably shouldn't be here.

Link Tally:

Pitchfork (2)
Myspace (1)
Youtube (1)

Get familial.

2006-05-23T13:58:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, along with a couple friends, I moved into an affordable neighborhood in the DC suburbs. On our first night there, the cops chased someone through our backyard with guns unholstered and mustachios flapping. One of the roommates thought maybe we should put up a taller fence to keep out the riff-raff, but we forgot to after drinking a ton of beers, I think. A few months later, this other friend of ours--a gent from out of town-- came to stay with us for the weekend. He ended up staying for, like, two weeks, ate all our homemade beef jerky, used all my toothpaste and got pubes on my soap. Uncool. I came home one day and was all, "Dude, I hate you." He cried and apologized and left that afternoon. Turns out it was the roommate who asked for the fence that was pubing up the soap and scarfing the jerky, but whatever. Half of all illegal residents enter the country legally (including Z. Moose, who O.B. Laden totally dissed today), so, you know, I think you catch my drift.

Speaking of which, Long-Arm-of-the-Law Alberto Gonzales is spending an inordinate portion of his work week being interrogated, no? Maybe they should let him focus on catching the guys who stole the downloaded files from the government. Somebody obviously needs to show our public servants how to hide their paper.

I nominate Lil' Wayne. He told me in a bunch of songs about all the cash he has laying around, and I'm fairly certain he's going to be the next Representative from the 17th Ward after his most recent mixtape, the DJ Drama-helmed Dedication 2.

Feel free to download "Georgia Bush", the last song on the tape, to take home and work on later. It is the most venomous, overtly political song to come out of the South post-Katrina, and gives master of the metaphor Tom Morello something to sink his teeth into. If you're not into rap, listen anyway, you Magnetic Fields apologist.

2006-05-22T19:30:00.000-07:00

If you've come here via Hurricane Hopper, prepare to be underwhelmed! Many thanks to her, seriously. The internet is a family, ya'll.

In celebration, Freedom Rock...

Damien- Champ Ultime
Phoenix- Long Distance Call (25 Hours A Day Remix)

I feel cheap.

Whatever you do, don't fall on the glove I made with steak knives.

2006-05-20T22:14:00.000-07:00

If you ever make it to Hollywood, be sure to visit Grauman's Chinese Theatre, where you can see movies, have some wings at the All-Star Hooters across the street (right next to the American Apparel), and maybe get stabbed by a Freddie Krueger impersonator. (no link yet) According to an eyewitness, "I've never seen Freddie get into it with nobody. I guess he went up to the guy, and he scared him. And the guy didn't like it, so he pushed Freddie and took Freddie's hat off. Freddie bent over to pick his hat up, and... uh... I guess he stabbed the guy with his hand... but it wasn't like he was trying to." Retribution? I'd say so.

And as long as we're rectifying old boners, Tommy Hilfiger just slapped up Axl Rose. That Transformers movie is going to suck, though, so it's all for naught.

PS- Being a horse is the the worst job ever.

2006-05-16T13:43:00.000-07:00

2005 saw a run on baile funk-– ramshackle Miami Bass and bluster from Brazilian teen MC's-- supported by very little context other than how well Edu K blended into Tone Loc. I tried, probably too hard. It's just music, maybe, but what can I say, I was trying to impress M.I.A.

In retrospect, her buddy Diplo-- who released his own favela funk mix-- is looking less like the hipster Oakenfold and more like the Alan Lomax of peoples on the verge. First, his dalliances with Ms. Arulpragasam put her sloganeering naiveté on blast, but backed her with a distractingly inventive mix of all things hot. Nerds loved it, loved her. And, because of a mixtape, people knew where Sri Lanka was. Arular came quick and doused the flames of internet hateration of her political convictions by revealing her as the estranged daughter of a Tamil freedom terrorist and not just some art school dilettante. Much easier to handle her raised fist when it's a tribute to Daddy and not, say, "Bulls On Parade." Ultimately, though, she was discounted for selling her music to Honda and not Apple, like a proper revolutionary, and this by critics who thought Eminem's "Mosh" was a bold political statement. Still, Arular was one of 2005's best, and that was before things got really weird at Dad's house. If she was green and gawky during her intro, let's see what age and worsening conditions in Sri Lanka might do to her approach. Maybe the Bomb Squad will come out of retirement.

As M.I.A. lays in wait, Diplo continues his run on Brasil, signing Bonde Do Role to his new label, Mad Decent (make sure to subscribe to his podcast), executive producing a documentary on Rio's favela music scene, and playing shows in Sao Paulo this weekend (April 19, 21). He should probably call his publicist on that last one. SP's been murkolating since last Friday, imprisoned gang bosses launching large-scale mayhem via smuggled-cell phone correspondences (What you know, Queen Bee?) as a reaction to the government's transfer of a gang leader and several hundred other prisoners to a remote facility. For perspective, this multiplied city-wide and this in every prison. Bodying cops and civilians, razing public buses, taking over penitentiaries, and holding hostages at shiv-point. All told, 115 dead, including 32 police officers, a handful of regular people, and a shitload of poor kids. In order to regain order and control of the city, SP police swept through the slums on Monday and Tuesday, killing 70 gang members and arresting another 113. The prison uprisings were also quelled, and all hostages were released. I assume the prisoners just went back to playing hackysack in the yard since the authorities didn't release any details.

Good luck, Wesley aka Diplodocus aka That Shook Dude in Brazil.

UPDATE: MIA denied entry into USA. I guess INS takes her lyrics more seriously than ILM.

And, realizing the Edu K reference was random, here's a video for the Solid Groove remix of his, "Sex-O-Matic." The unofficial video, with footage of bizarre avian mating rituals, is a clever enough metaphor and preferable to the ass-on-teenboy-face of the original, which gets really boring after 50 viewings.

2006-05-15T19:25:00.000-07:00

Also, me and my old lady decided to take the video camera to the park this afternoon. Check it out.

2006-05-15T12:55:00.000-07:00

Hearing a Def Jukie like Mr. Lif talk about girls is equiawesome to Cam'ron's attempts to co-opt prominent Right-Wingers as his rap aliases. I mean, how is this not the Golden Age of rap? Herein, Lif waxes monotonous about his lady's suspect personal hygeine and, separately, proffers his plan to put said lady's vagina in a Camel Clutch a.s.a.p. Maybe it's two different ladies, but Lif seems like a one gal type of guy. Check J-Poodlez for original commentary, but here are the songs in question...
Mr. Lif- Washitup
Mr. Lif- Long Distance

Speaking of the funny serious guys, the LA Times editors are the Lonely Island of print journalism. Witness the strength:

The Lazy Sunday edition included a front page feature detailing Los Angeles County's naughty habit of releasing violent criminals way early or not sending them to prison at all because there's not adequate bedspace for all of them. Recidivism, needless loss of life, election year alternatives, etc.

On the back page- one column away when the paper is laid flat- is an article regarding the U.S. military's policy of returning mentally unstable soldiers to the front lines. Recidivism, needless loss of life, election year alternatives, etc.

I thought maybe it was accidental humor, like those amusing skits on Jay Leno where an ad for lawmowers actually says "Dildos are fantastic," but today's LAT opts for the less-subtle approach, printing set-up and punchline side by side. First, the eye is led to a photo accompanying the story of Bo Stefan Eriksson, the Swedish gangster (?) who made news by walking away after splitting his rare Ferrari Enzo in half going 800 mph on the PCH. I'm pretty sure I remember him not being arrested because he was too awesome. Too much comedy to quote, but trust me, it's worth reading. Synopsis: Career criminal only gets in trouble for illegally entering the U.S. after he wrecks the $1 million car he stole from an English bank and smuggled into the country.

Now, the eds. got you roped, right? You're all, "this paper is funny," which is where most sloppy newsies would call it a day, but not the LAT. They go the extra mile, and that is what's called "selling it." Ask Galifianakis. So, right next to the photo of the paunchy and squatting Bo Stef (coming soon to rap lyrics worldwide), is the hammer: Bush Seeks to Assure Fox Over Border BAM! Your guts are busted, dude! Is it a story about the new chastity movement in fashion? No, it's a story about sending the alive guys left over from Iraq down to the Americo border to aim their guns at a different shade of brown people. Don't even have to retrain 'em. Synopsis: If you're going to sneak into the U.S. of A., do it in the trunk of a stolen Swedish Ferrari.

You're, like, one of those bad emcees

2006-05-14T20:23:00.000-07:00

The internets are always saying they can't find records that hit them in the gut like Cuban Linx or whatever, but that's because the internets are lonely men in their 20's. To fill the void, they might convince themselves that Rick Ross (whose either named after the biggest herb in crack history or the biggest herb in Scottish rock history from a band which took its name from Steely Fucking Dan. Sweet look, Rick.) is something more than horrible because he's a) fat b) bearded c) not rapping about food which has to be difficult for him and that kind of commitment to difficult stuff=good. Also, it is purported that he can "ride a beat." Proposing this as a criterium for judging rappers is damn near the equivalent of saying the intelligence community is doing a good job because no Americans have blown up recently (psst- they're blowing up in Iraq). Riding a beat is easy. My dad can ride a beat and he doesn't even know what a beat is. Case in point, the Rappers Delight Club(via sneakmove), a project from some character in Silver Spring, Maryland, who took the initiative of making really, really good rap songs with the elementary school kids he tutors/teaches/babysits, I don't know. I do know that "Hum" and "First Ladies Anthem" are going to be #1 and #2 on my Pazz & Jop poll this year, which I will be filing next week because it's not going to get better than this (#3 is whatever single Radiohead releases this year). Truly astounding is the rampant beat-riding on these tracks considering the rappers range in age from 5 to 12, and some of them are even chicks. Speaking of which, "First Ladies Anthem"'s beat samples Sufjan Stevens, which is the most appropriate use of his music since that Natalie Portman movie where everything is important. Not to mention, every song is like a Diplo mashup of the Juice Crew's "Symphony" and Hands Across America. Just sayin'. I know this is supposed to be some cutesy shit, but if anyone wants to convince me how it's not better than Rick Ross (or Papoose), please, share with me your wisdom.

2006-05-07T19:37:00.000-07:00

Some asshole went and shamed me for sitting alone in my apartment all the time, so I went son of berzerk this weekend. Friday night rode The Pearl to Islands/Why?/Cadence Weapon. Cadence and his pubescent DJ were, by far, the highlight, ingratiating themselves to the Unicorn-friendly audience with a set of songs that probably 99% of them hadn't heard. Why? was fine, but beyond playing multiple instruments simultaneously and having one of those drummers who looks about to seize at any moment, I'm not sure why? I'm supposed to care? That monotone anticon shit always drove me to bored tears even when the music was interesting. The girls seemed to dig it. Islands. Man, Islands, I don't know. That pic looks all cool and Loveless (toot), but whenever I see a Nick Diamonds performance, I feel like I'm really just not cool enough to be in his audience. They seem to be "having fun" up there, so good for them, but you know, Arcade Fire will be back in town someday, and they bang on each other's heads and shit.
Saturday afternoon, tried to rook the neighbor into a lift to the grocery store and ended up at a Daedelus in-store in Echo Park, where girls wear satin gloves in the daytime. It's that glamorous. Dude was using one of these, which I'd seen elsewhere but didn't quite get the illness of until I saw it in-person. He was using another, earlier version mostly, but in essence, they're both live sample sequencers that you punch-in and layer samples in real-time as the timeline runs across the face display. That's probably wrong and/or meaningless, but the thing is really, really cool. I'm going to get one and trigger samples of my dog's dream-barks.
Saturday night, my first Acid Mothers Temple experience. I'll link to their myspace because why wouldn't a bunch of fried old Japanese dudes who release a record/month have a myspace page? They're trying to meet Tila Tequila just like everyone else. I suggest you see these dudes on an empty stomach because it's a solid 2 1/2 hours of alternately exhilarating and nauseating shreddage. If anyone has an Amazon list with readings regarding how the atom bomb led to weird shit like this and buying used panties from a vending machine, please forward it to me.

Finally, while perusing the shelves, I saw a new record from these dudes, Supreeme, which I didn't get because I have a current low threshold for getting home and discovering I've just wasted three months' worth of ramen on a shitty underground rap record. But hey hey, myspace comin' thru. Supreeme is <--. Dudes kinda rap like sticman from dead prez, which is a plus, and the production is super, none of that boring fool's gold garbage one might expect.

Supreeme, "Winterfresh" off their album, Supremacy.

2006-04-28T01:32:00.000-07:00

The Goo Goo Dolls have achieved what many, many, if not all, bands have aspired to since Liberace hung up his cape-- seamless fusion of Sound and Vision. Their melodies wrap around your heart like a faded henley, basslines swaying like a streaked dreadlock weave. Johnny Reznick's vocals bulge from the mix, protruding fully bloated and colorless.

The band's recent performance of "Stay With You" on Late Night With Conan O'Brien freed the studio-version of its needless workingman's attire... ahh fuck it, the dude was wearing a shiny suit with no shirt underneath.

And now Keither Sutherland is wearing all denim telling me to support local bands like Rocco de Luca, which I can only take to mean "local" as in the United States.

UPDATE: For fuck's sakes, Googlers, I misspelled his name so you wouldn't come here looking for him, and you still come her looking for him. You guys are tenacious, and I love you. K-I-E-F-E-R.

2006-04-26T01:28:00.000-07:00

Hello,
I am sorry I was not able to make my first internet diary yesterday. It was very important day for us. I dedicate this next video song to Turkey, The Ottomans, and most Western scholars. And Marilyn McCoo.

I am not sure of this guy's country, but he looks like Armenian. I first hear this song on Mr. Wilder's album Don't Speak The Language which I thought was for learning English. This guy's a real big shot now after he produce album for band No Doubt. The first one, I think. No Doubt is band with girl who says she American, dress like confused person. I think she probably Armenian.

Thank you.

-Vaghinag

2006-04-23T18:38:00.000-07:00

I don't know, guys, this might be the end of it. I started Rod's almost a year ago with my sights set on the top of Blogshares and a corner office at Myspace HQ, and recent events indicate that it's a matter of days until I'm outta the bloghetto and into that elite club of highly-paid content providers. Soon you'll be noticing a familiarity in the About Me's of Uffie and Taking Back Sunday, and hopefully you'll remember your mans and wipe a tear.

So what makes me think I'm getting down like that? Oh, I don't know. How high do you rank on random MSN searches? Has anyone from Belgium ever found your blog looking for hangbangers? How about Nigerian identity thieves? They frequent readers? London WeightWatcher's blog link to your shit? I could go on for days, ya'll.

It's been a good run, but I don't think there's much else for me to do or say. I'll be leaving the keys to the kingdom with my Armenian neighbor, Vaghinag Dervishian. When dude's not digging up sprinkler heads he's blogging. Get ready.

I'm not good with goodbyes, so I'll do what I always do and let a poet speak...

2006-04-22T12:05:00.000-07:00

NYC, celebrate Earth Day with Pretty Toney.
LA, buy a turkey baby at the former home of Dogg and Pony.
Everybody else, watch Lebron "Freeway" James and Benedict Arnold get dethroned by The Biz.

2006-04-12T19:14:00.000-07:00

Whoever lived here owned scooters, just like everyone else.
This little bundle of mange sat strapped to the door of this antique dealer. You can spot an authentic antique shop in Hoi An quite easily. Just look for a heavy layer of dust on the goods. Nobody buys the real stuff because it's too expensive at $5 for someone's family heirloom.
But stuff like this? Hellz yeah. I can't decide which I enjoyed more, Americans unable to decide which Ho Chi Minh portrait they wanted, or the innumerable Westerners who'd pick up a trinket, look at the sticker on the bottom and say, "Ohh, it's Made In Vietnam!" Yes. Yes it is.
Dogs in Vietnam do one of two things: wander nervously or get tied to stuff. This was the meanest dog in Hoi An. He was the size of a fist and tied to coconut, which he could not move. I'm really proud of this piece because it was, as Cartier-Bresson called it, "The Decisive Moment."
On the road-- regrettably leaving the lovely Hoi An-- to Danang Airport, I saw this abandoned building in a dirt field. Seemed like a good idea at the time to take a picture of it.
From Danang, we flew to Hanoi, which sucked horribly after the long, lazy stay in Hoi An. I took no pictures in Hanoi because we were lost nearly the entire time while waiting for the late train north to Sapa. We did finally make it to a backpacker cafe in the Old Quarter, where we were able to leave our bags and have a drink. Here's the strange thing, in Vietnam "backpacker" means someone who travels with a backpack, not a really annoying dude who only listens to white rappers. Anyhow, the photo above was from the balcony of our $15 room at the Mountain View Hotel in Sapa. More on Sapa tk. In the meantime, for all the backpackers around the world, here's the new Statik Selectah remix of Busta Rhymeses's "New York Sh!t" featuring a collection of several "classic beats" from the "golden era of hip-hop." (courtesy Spine Magazine)

2006-04-05T21:56:00.000-07:00

Motherlode...
The minute you step out of Saigon's airport, it becomes very clear that the country is in a mad rush to catch up to its First World neighbors. Japan is financing a new wing to the airport itself, and massive LCD screens, provided by companies like Phillips LG and Samsung, broadcast loops of commercials for--you guessed it-- companies like Phillips LG and Samsung. Foreign companies are throwing money around like Nick Lachey at a strip club, and the government can barely keep its thong on, as evidenced by billboards like the one above which promise amber waves of gain. Meanwhile, the billboards block the view of the industrial village on the far side of the commodious river.
Out of Saigon and on to the bustling fishing village, Hoi An. What you see here is Trader Joe's: Vietnam. As you can see, the prevailing sales technique is to sleep until someone hits your arm, then wake up and yell "you buy something" at them, then go back to sleep. Just out of sight is the open-air meat market, by which I do not mean U. of Saigon frat bros grabbing ass, but old ladies cutting up every conceivable anatomical part of cows, chickens, and, eh, other things. Smelled something lovely.
This stock photo is from the Cham ruins in My Son, an hour's van ride from Hoi An. Pretty cool, though I'm fairly certain the tour guide didn't take us to the most intact temple sites. As far as I remember, he pointed out a couple "American bombholes" and told us to walk around for an hour. So we did. The ruins were properly ruined, but the real attraction was a roaming herd of socked-and-sandled German ecotourists who pointed at trees and said "Ya!" frequently. Disappointingly, there was no fresh Nag Champa for sale, but I did drop a fresh acapella of Chamillionaire's "Grown And Sexy" to the delight of the Germans.
I've titled this one, "The Shyest Chicken In Vietnam."
As is the not-so-subtly classist custom in most developing countries, women in Vietnam have taken to cloaking their bodies from sunlight to avoid the ever-so-trashy Farmer's Tan. At night, these women disrobe on corners to light the way for weary travellers.
Two chicks on bikes wearing hats.
On the left is the town jeweler. On the right is one of the thousand dudes selling the same t-shirts, and by t-shirt I mean a shirt cut in the shape of a t-shirt but made from regular shirt material. Quite comfortable, if you're used to wearing stickerbushes.

2006-03-29T20:59:00.000-08:00

Our hosts in Saigon employed round-the-clock guards- bloodthirsty pitbulls those dudes- and this was their post. As far as I could tell, they only sat on this bench- which faced the front gate- when there was absolutey nothing to watch on T.V. More on the guards later...
During our few days in Saigon, most of our time was spent wandering and adjusting to the pace and social climate of the city, but one place we made a point to visit was the Reunification Palace, the former HQ for the South Vietnamese government. As a shrine to their victory in the "American War", the government refurbished the Palace to its state on the morning of April 30th, 1975, the day the North took control of the palace and Saigon. If nothing else, the tour provided views of lovely mid-century modern furniture and a badass stuffed cheetah. Plenty of conference and meeting rooms, a couple parlors, a small movie theatre, a swingin' lounge, and a rooftop disco. It was from the disco dancefloor that this photo was taken. If you can't read them, the two red circles are markers for the two bombs dropped through the roof of the palace by a North Vietnam Army (NVA) pilot flying a Russian MIG (which is parked on the front lawn) on the morning of April 8th, 1975, a full three weeks before the South Vietnamese government surrendered. The American helicopter pictured was a replica of former South Vietnamese President Thieu's personal chopper, used for inspection tours.
Along the tour, our guide would stop inside each room and grab the mic. This made perfect sense since there were five of us on the tour, and we stood 2 feet from her the entire time. "THIS IS THE GARDEN ATRIUM. IT IS VERY RELAXING." This setup was my favorite because of wittle ewephant.
The last stop along the tour is the basement. Easily the best part. Room after room of wood-paneled, windowless bunker offices with nothing but a chair, a desk, and, I don't know, maybe 15 rotary phones per desk. The dungeon was also outfitted with a couple bedrooms and an eerie maproom with troop movements and numbers, but most interesting were the several communications rooms still filled with vintage equipment, as seen above.

More tomorrow. Feel the excitement build...

UPDATE! Had to disrupt the slideshow to post the new Clipse, "Me Too" (courtesy Thee Fader) because Pusha and Malice (and P, I guess) rap like them Viet Green Police guard shit, all slapping your hands out of your pockets and swinging guns at you for being ignorant. We'll see how it goes, but to come with something this entitled after 8 billion years of commercial silence is about the best thing they could have done. No Industry Rule #Whatever crybaby shit. Uncut eugck.

Viet Nam #1

2006-03-28T17:18:00.000-08:00

This is how it's gonna be for awhile. I'm still trying to not go to sleep at 4am and 6pm daily, so give it a rest. Three shots a day, as chronologically intact as possible, with short captions. If you want a Ghostface mpfree, buy the cd and burn it.
I know you can barely see this because I can't be bothered to fix the levels, but it's a little Japanese girl sleeping on the flight to Tokyo. She looked like a bog person, so I snapped a photo. Japan Airlines, by the way? Free and steady cocktails, hot "Japanese" food, and Ultimate Fighting on the private t.v. Tops.
If I remember correctly, this was the first photo I took in Ho Chi Minh-Saigon. If you can't see, that is a family of four on that motorbike (young girl napping on the handlebars, Pops, Ma Dukes holding a baby), and it was not an unusual sight. Multiply the number of vehicles in this scene by a million, apply zero traffic laws, and you get an idea of cities in Viet Nam.
This is where we stayed in Saigon, actually across the Saigon River from the city in a relatively new part of town. Note the pipe coming out of the opposite wall. I'm going to guess that it is the neighbor's sewer line, emptying directly into the river.

to be continued...

2006-03-02T17:18:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, I bloody mary and Ambien my way to Vietnam by way of Japan, so Rodrigo goes silent for a bit.

I'll grant you your schadenfreude when I get the bird flu, but in general, not a good look for Spring. The gifted have a truly awesome vindictive spirit. Good luck to the kid.

Stories and photos of cobras and shit TK.

Laters.

Keepin' my toaster in my shoulder holster

2006-02-27T18:39:00.000-08:00

Look, a rap lyric for a blog title. Anybody know where I can get a good shoulder holster? I'm on the 50 Cent float in Mardi Gras, and I don't wanna get caught looking stupid. Don't ask how that relates to this, other than 50 kinda looked strangé on the cover of GQ last year, but I do have a point. That point is, 50 Cent is gorgeous. I have another point. Grace Jones is the greatest human being ever not named Bill Clinton. Not only did she steal the show with Eartha Kitt in the aforementioned screen classic. Not only was she the greatest henchwoman in the greatest Bond film ever (Please argue with me--Walken as murderous Bill Gates-prototype; debut of Dolph Lundgren; Duran Duran title track; castmembers with real names like Papillon Soo, Manning Redwood, Joe Flood, Ron Tarr, Nike Clark; IMEANREALLY). But she is the Queen of Album Covers from now until whenever...

... and freaky ass videos

... and Franco-reggae-electro fuckjobs of other people's songs...
Walking In The Rain (no Oran "Juice", no Vanda, no Young)
Nightclubbing (no Iggy, no Bowie, no Shyne)

And I'm pretty sure she tried to get Adam Curry to lick her nana on MTV back in the day. God, what a woman.

PS- youtube may be down off that link. You knew it couldn't last, people.

2006-02-24T14:34:00.000-08:00

Steve Jobs is motherfucking insane. Here's the message, kids: pay a dollar for a song, and you get a scholarship to Juilliard. That's right, Juilliard, the school that only accepts 8% of the kids who apply, kids who are not only not dumb enough to download a song that even Clear Channel won't play anymore, but could probably play every song from Mario Brothers on the piano wearing a gotdamn blindfold. Although, I have to say that if there is an indicator of latent musical genius it is a taste for Coldplay, the kind of taste that does not blossom until nearly a year after most people have discarded "Speed of Sound" as mere pop music. But there's more! Not only does Doogie Brilliance get the Juilly ride, he cops a $10,000 gift card for iTunes, a 20-inch iMac and 10 fucking iPods. And the kid's like, "Yeah, my broke-ass parents wouldn't buy me a computer and my bitchy sister is already trying to bum songs off me, so I'm part-stoked part-bummed right now. What the fuck is Juilliard, by the way? I think my mom has a machine that does that to my french fries. I like french fries. And Coldplay. Yep."

For Alex, you earned it, son.

2006-02-24T11:52:00.000-08:00

J-Hops connects to an early diamond of video-hosting today, another version of which is here. She makes notice of the surprising inactivity of the fellows involved, but I see something else. Of course, when someone says to you, "Hey bud, wanna see a video of James Brown, Michael Jackson and Prince on the same stage?" you're going to let your mind run wild with fantasies of Mothership explosion funkgasm insanity, a real-life uber-mashup-- cuz that's what dreams are made of, mashups and tiny black men-- but that doesn't happen. What goes down here is not so much singing, or guitar playing, or dancing, but the kind of wanton egomaniacal performance that reached its apogee in the early 80's pop explosion. These three kings of soul are filled with such exuberance for each other's art and gift that they can only express it in raw bursts of their own distilled personalities. James Brown shouts and exhorts. Michael Jackson coos and moonwalks. Prince jerks off a guitar, rips his tiny shirt off, and does the splits. Box the footage up, break it out in 100 years with a note that says, "These were THE DUDES in the 20th Century," and the reptilian, dirt-eating humanoids of the future will be like, "Totes.org."

(Photo of giddy coca farmers courtesy nadir.org

2006-02-22T16:36:00.000-08:00

While numbskulls around the world get clobbered with their own weapons by vigilant shopkeeps, a gang of Brits posing as Bobbies robs the Bank of England for $70 million in the middle of the night, proving that all successful heists-and cocktail parties- start with a simple plan. Their's was, jack the bank manager in a staged traffic stop coinciding with the kidnapping of his wife and child at their home under the guise of "there's been an accident with your husband." Show the wife and child to the bank manager. Make sure bank manager understands the consequences. Gain access to bank thanks to bank manager's newfound sense of courtesy. Tie up bank employees. Steal shitloads of cash, all federally insured. Dance around to Mr. Scruff or some shit. Launder cash in Bahamas. Disappear. Get caught drinking Hurricanes on a palm tree-shaped island in Dubai with Rachel Stevens. Spend remainder of days as prince of comfy English prison.

(image courtesy Banksy)

2006-02-20T19:37:00.000-08:00

The boys came today. The ones I adopted. I totally forgot because nobody called ahead and I throw mail directly into the garbage. So when they showed up, I pulled the shades and turned the t.v. off. I laid on the floor, watching for them to leave under the crack of the door, when they suddenly started yelling, "We can hear you breathing, Dad!" Fuck! Calling me Dad and shit to make me feel guilty or stupid- can't decide which- but tou-fucking-che, boys. I shot the one up front with a rubber band, but he blocked it with his visa. I even let the dog out the side door and threw some meat over the fence, but the bigger kid threw it right back. I'll name him Luther. And the runt shall be Steve. Luther and Steve, my sons until I sneak out in the middle of the night with their Child Services stipends.

It's a daddy thing.

2006-02-16T12:07:00.000-08:00

Crawling out of the doldrums thanks to an intensive care package, only to find out the world is ending soon. But I just re-subscribed to The Source!

I'm not trying to say our current Administration might be a tad triggerish or that maybe a little constructive criticism might help, but when a Russian general is talking beef squashing, maybe you should listen. Dudes aren't necessarily recognized for their measured diplomacy.

If only Cheney had come out on his Fox News interview and said, "I'm so emotional. I love my glock," things would've been totally cool, but he's being all coy. It's obvious they were all out drankin' and shootin', and ol' Whit ran off at the mouth. BLAM! "Don't get your motherf#¢king head popped off, Whit." Simple as that. Dude's been looking for a reason to retire. Don't give him one. Shooting people by accident can be very stressful.

2006-02-11T11:29:00.000-08:00

There is a difference between dying for hip-hop and dying because of it. Say what we will about the disparities of the underground or commercial rap, Dilla transcended it by creating music from his soul. He was making my favorite songs before I knew who he was. There's something to be said for that. He was the man behind the curtain for the last decade plus, and his legacy is heard everywhere from Kanye to Pharrell to 9th Wonder and beyond. Don't feel bad if you don't know his name; he was never about that. You knew his work. We feel his absence because his music was interwoven with our memories, and, for that, my condolences to Hip Hop.

Some of my favorites...
Copywrite- That's A Wrap
Jaylib-Starz

No words...
De La Soul- Stakes Is High
Pharcyde- Runnin'
Common- Love Is

And...
The Last Donut Of The Night

Running tribute broadcast. Hold on for the five-part interview.
From Ahmir ?uestlove Thompson:
Being the strong and dedicated mother that she is, Mrs. Yancey temporary
relocated to
Los Angeles in order to care for her son J. Dilla during his lengthy
illness. On behalf of
Mrs. Yancey we ask that in lieu of flowers, any heartfelt donations be
made payable and sent to:

Made Payable to:Mrs. Maureen Yancey
Donations can be mailed to:
Maureen Yancey
132 N. Sycamore Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90036
Bank Wires can be sent to:
Wells Fargo Bank of Los Angeles, CA
Routing Number: 122000247
Account Number: 6043250676
1-800-869-3557

Please note that donations made to Mrs. Yancey are not considered a
charitable deduction. This will be considered a gift of help.

Thanks to everyone..........

?uestlove's myspace blog about the memorial service. It's happier than you think.

2006-02-07T19:22:00.000-08:00

"Hurry up and take the goddamn picture."

Ayo, real quick... how exactly do we lose our capabilities in the wire-tapping biz if the press talks about it? Are the terrorists going to trade in their phones for winged pixies to deliver their messages of global jihad? It seems to me that there is absolutely no way to avoid the eye of the United States' intelligence community, so you might as well just come out and shake your tailfeather over all the glorious unsung victories you've won with your super-duper secret phonebugs. We all know you're doing it. We just don't like to think that a joke to our mothers about "dropping bombs" because of her lasagna is going to redflag our lines. I understand it's a total bummer of a hassle when people like the liberal media and meddling Congress want to know what you're doing, but it's right there in that dadgum Constitution. As long as you're stuck in the White House, you gotta play by the rules, no matter how heart-cloggingly pesky they may be.

PS-Jim Lehrer is that dude. Never has a newsman taken a budget cut so personally and made it so infinitely enjoyable to watch. I expect his body to be found in Rock Creek Park any day now.

2006-02-06T14:39:00.000-08:00

Not having any luck convincing my peers that Serengeti's new album--which is FREE and legal--is worth the dogshit on an ugly kid's shoe, I've decided to take man's cause upon my narrow shoulders and put 'em up. Go to the site, download, listen. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong, but dude is doing something different. Everything the underground used to be--homestyle beats, eccentricity, good-humored--but hasn't been since it decided its platform was pro-whine, anti-creativity. Serengeti's got a raspy, conversational style and lines less jokey than legitimately funny. Signposts are major, not Native (Geto Boys, NWA, Skid Row), and I'm going to give time to anyone who drops a Bo Jackson shoutout on a song titled "Stutter."

Otherwise, I got the flu and feel like death:

People die a lot in my neighborhood. This post is interesting not for any revelations but because the guy tracked the homicides on Google Earth or some other satellite map. After reading, I went to LAPD's site and tracked homicides from a wider swath. Red-dotting my neighborhood gave me an awesome feeling in my stomach, but the fact is this has been a violent area for decades. I watch Colors and try to spot friends' houses. Training Day is not-so-loosely based on my friendly neighborhood police officers from the infamous Rampart Division (The fine fellows implicated in the murder of Notorious B.I.G.) While I appreciate the guy's sentiment, it is a bit naive to suggest that these are recent developments, to just take notice of the last 18 months. The gangs on this side of town-namely SL13, 18th Street-have been here as long as the hipsters. Neither holds eminence. Along with the gay community, we all coexist. I hear close shots, I see helicopters directly overhead, and I've been privy to some gnarly shit, but I'm not maudlin over it. The same dudes that sell the shit that brings bad news to my street are the same ones who stop and talk shit about Kobe. It's a waste of time to sit around lamenting over stains on the sidewalk, you know? People die all over this city. In fact, a lot more people die not far from where we shed tears of guilt into our lattes. I don't know, man. It seems to me like we all better get our heads straight before the real gentrification begins, when a lot of us are faced with some shitty situations, and things get a lot more hectic than this.

Whatever. All I'm saying is I'd rather live next door to a dude with some sketchy sources of income that doesn't fuck with me than some dickbag producer who calls the cops when my dog barks.

PS- Apparently, I invited a time machine and fell asleep in it. Tonight, Los Angeles is the hippest town in America! A feast for your ears...

The Fugees play Hollywood & Vine. The event is free (and depressing and probably not including Lauryn past the first ten minutes)
OR
Black Eyed Peas! Erykah Badu! India.Arie! Q-Tip! at The Henry Fonda Theatre. Eighty yards of styled dreadlocks and that guy from Poetic Justice!

I know what you're saying... where does the fucking party go from there?

LL Cool J! Live at the House Of Blues! Tuesday Night!!!

2006-01-09T11:35:00.000-08:00

(edited for unreadability) tomorrow, february the first, retaking the fucking block.

2005-12-22T19:52:00.000-08:00

Silver Lake to...

... Arlington

aka LA==>DC
(photos courtesy first page of Google Image Search)

Part I

2005-12-20T22:43:00.000-08:00

Didn't make the cut, and I can't tell you why... actually, I can. Only a few people liked them.

Weezy, "Oh No"

Edan, "Promised Land"

Juan McLean, "Love Is In The Air"

... to be continued

2005-12-20T20:52:00.000-08:00

I'd be remiss if I didn't link to the best sketch to come out of SNL in, uh, I don't know, when did Will Ferrell leave?

The Chronic(les) Of Narnia

Tom Breihan over at Status Ain't Hood explains why you probably already have this in your inbox.

2005-12-19T19:51:00.000-08:00

After poring over my blog taps, I feel it is in the country's best interest for me to comment on the film, Syriana, "starring" George Clooney. But first, since it's that time of year, Clooney's 11 best character names:

11. "Booker Brooks"
10. "Seth Gecko"
9. "Rick Stepjack"
8. "Kip Howard"
7. "Mac"
6. "Remar"
5. "Dr. Gouache"
4. "Chic Chesbro"
3. "Major Biff Woods"
2. "Ace"

aaaaaand... wait for it...

1. Lip-Syncing Transvestite

Now, Syriana. Agreed with the esteemed Ms. Shepherd that it is only in the advertising that Clooney, however deep my love for him, is the star of the film. He brings a certain gravity to an otherwise schlubby Everyman, but in this cast of heavyweights (not a pun), it is the relative unknowns who bring the muscle to the story. Firstly, I'm just gonna say that Jeffrey Wright is the best living actor. I mean, seriously. Name a second from his filmography that isn't mind-blowingly virtuosic. Go 'head. Even in John Singleton's crime against humanity aka Shaft, Wright's "Peoples Hernandez" was a hair-raiser (Seriously? "Peoples Hernandez"? And I gotta be even on dudes like Papoose and Posta Boy? You named yourself after a fucking baby sling, man. Why not Swaddles?). In addition to Wright, at least three of the film's other unheralded players overshadow Ocean boys Clooney and Damon. Sonnel Dadral, as a boyish, wide-eyed Muslim, delivers his performance with a heartbreaking mix of youthful swagger and passive loyalty. He is one half of the soul of the film, the human casualty in a story of overwhelming soul sacrifice. The other half, Alexander Siddig, portrays the mythical Arabian Prince Nassir Al-Subaai, the personification of the West's ideal of a regional panacea, who dreams of both democracy and profitable oil contracts. For a dude who used to treat boo-boos on the USS Enterprise, Siddig fills the screen with the sort of large-eyed intensity that Adrien Bro-dy wastes on shitty Coke commercials. And finally, in a mano y mano Method showdown, Mark Strong puts Clooney in a ten minute thespianic Cobra Clutch, with Cloons looking like a bloated hillbilly by scene's end. So there you go. If you're going to hand out an award, Clooney wouldn't even make the podium.

As for the film itself, for anyone who pays even the remotest attention to world affairs, it can be a bit obvious. But for a major, award-nominated film to portray the transparent insidiousness of the global race for oil dominance says something about the state of affairs, and the state of unrest, in the United States. Gaghan's script is as serpentine as Traffic, but his eye is not yet on level with his pen. Despite locations around the world, the film rarely gives you anything to ponder visually, most of its scenes set in offices and homes and crowded rooms. The cinematography of Robert Elswit, who seems to play up to his directorial competition, is straightforward, hand-held documentary and rarely contributes to the emotion of a scene.

So the film is being rewarded for the timeliness of its content and the proposed bravery of making such a statement. Its strength is in its truth and its ambitious composite of the last great power grab, but as a work of art, it's mediocre. Unfortunately for all its participants, the objects of Syriana's ire continue to write the book on which the film is based.

UPDATE! From anonymous: "Alex Siddig was never on the enterprise, he was on DS9. Step your trekkie game up." True enough. My trekkie game is sub-Bledsoe. Apologies and corrections.

2005-12-15T14:19:00.000-08:00

I usually avoid commenting on Hollywood because it's like staring into the toilet after taking a crap. I don't want to know unless it's really unusual. Plus, there are fine people taking care of business already. Hollywood business, not excrement business. Although, there are people doing that, too.

Okay. Anyway, the streets of the 'Wood are buzzing with the revelation that the lovely Rachel McAdams (formerly pictured above)-who I wouldn't have known was famous- recently walked out on Tom Ford's Vanity Fair cover shoot because he expected her to pose nude. That crazy skirt-chaser, Tom Ford. Good for Rachel, though. Not that it wouldn't have been not unpleasant to see her sans accoutrement, but if being classy is the new being whorey, then I'm all for it. Remember when it used to be a scandal when a famous actress posed in the nude? Yah, me neither, but my grandfather used to talk about it after tennis matches. By showing a distaste for "art," McAdams seems to understand the benefit of elusiveness to a movie star, or maybe she was freaked out by Ford's eyebrows. I don't care. What I'm saying is, if her new publicist (she instantly fired her old one after the VF debacle) is worth the blood under her fingernails, she will run with the "good girl" thing because after a couple years of scrupulous behavior Rachel would be the gleaming madonna of Hollywood, and men and women the world over would shell out big money to see her movies for very, very different reasons. Lower-cased madonna, by the way.

2005-12-14T09:15:00.000-08:00

Thinks Jeezy is a trick.

Okay, ten or so days before Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa, etc. (Just missed Bodhi Day and Diwali) Also, Eid ul-Adha, the Muslim tribute to those completing their pilgrimage to Mecca, a celebration of charity, and a remembrance of the Prophet Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son at God's command is on January 10. It is now acceptable to begin acting like it's a special time of year, even though most people are already burned out on mall runs and XBox assaults. Regardless, great holiday, if only for the sight of your parents crunked on nog. If you are not one who celebrates, cool with me. I haven't been to church in God knows how long, but this is a great time to make peace with any beefers from the past year. So, corral that nemesis of yours under some mistletoe and whisper into his/her ear, "I wish I knew how to quit you." Then make a reference to the "lump of coal in your stocking," and the beef is pretty much deaded.

Anyway, here's a yule log o' links:

Christmas Music Radio Stations Live on the Web(best one IMO is the SkyFM webcast, no DJs, no commercials. Tons of awful music.)
Top Ten Christmas Movies for Cynics. I forgot what was on this list as soon as posted this.
50 Cent's Game is hard, but good stocking stuffer.
What Your Christmas Tree Says About You
Santa busted hauling snow.

Unrelated: Whoa. I don't speak Spanish, but I hope they're saying, "We love black people!"