Is AI the David Lee Roth of the NBA? Is that kind of cross-racial comparison possible?
I can't be the only one who sees an AI quip like this and thinks, "I belive you..."
"I told my teammates that once we got to Utah, they would probably have to board up my windows and take all sheets out of my room because I would have killed myself if we had lost the game seeing I gave J.R. those three shots like that," Iverson said.
This song has been ruined in many ways by the NBA by taking it out of context for jumpballs; with that above comment AI has found a way to reinsert the "Suicide Solution" vibe in to a song that I always thought was a lot creepier than most top 40song ought to be (look how happy Eddie is in the video to just be there it seems; I guess you can't blame the guy when he reinvented lead playing in a way that I will never forgive him for)
This handsome devil once played college ball at UNC.
When I'm reading sports blogs on the web, lately, I've been coming across a lot of posts that forebode the inevitable decimation of the local newspaper. Princeton, NJ has two local papers; The Princeton Packet and Town Topics. One thing I have never considered is the possibility of either of them closing due to financial constraints; for lack of quality content (save Kam William's, local film critic who actually seems to believe in the concept of quality) perhaps. So what does this mean for the future if local papers start closing down like crazy across lower income areas? Well, I have no fucking clue, but I have a feeling that we are going to have a mcfranchise kind of development where the big boys try to regionalize their papers; the same way Burger King has a tapas menu in Spain, the disapora of local beat writers will try to approximate authenticity. For some sick fuck postmodern assclown advocate, most likely, we are imprisoned by the age of pastiche, wherein the spread of information's money (read: power) is gonna potentially approach some kind of dastardly oligarchic system.
Here in Spain, 'crisis' (pronounced 'Creases') is the buzzword of the late aughts; old people are going fucking crazy and young people are getting high, just like old times? There are two local newspapers here in Huelva, and, in typical spanish fashion, dedicate a single page of every newspaper to "international news" and about 30 pages to soccer/ham related ceremonies. I hope they both get sacked.
Greetings from Spain! I have a couple comments/somewhat absurd questions I thought I'd throw your way:
-I just watched the most recent Colbert Report online and Benicio Del Toro is wearing a Blazers T-shirt. -Why can't the Celtics exhume the corpse of Latrell Sprewell and recreate some of the magic of that 2003-2004 Twolves team that everybody loved instead of openly lobbying for Starbury? I feel like this team is doing everything it can to seem desparate (I can't spell) right now; unless that is exactly what they are. -What exactly is Sean Williams smoking?
Thought you also might find it humorous that former NBA rotation players Jiri Welsch, Mile Ilic and Curtis Borchardt were all playing one ACB game that I caught the other day where Borchardt (kind of a yutz in his brief, but tragic NBA career) was by far the best player on the floor.
Thanks for compilling the most thorough NBA blog out there.
-Alexander J Sugiura
The above is an email sent at approximately 5 in the morning EST from yours truly to Henry Abbott, ward of, to quote my fanboy e-mail, "The most thorough NBA blog out there". As any reader of Truehoop knows, Abbott is an unabashed Blazers fan and so I thought it would be cute if I e-mailed him and informed him of Benicio del Toro's appearance on the Colbert Report in which he had on a Blazers T underneath his suit jacket (and a fresh pair of Adidas Superstars on). I figured I'd at least get a little bit of credit for the find; I probably am not the only person to have pointed this out to him, he must get a butt ton of emails, but it kind of stung when I saw this posted at 4:05 PM EST.
At about the 15-minute mark of this Colbert Report, Benicio Del Toro shows up with his marvelous acting skill, his suave jacket, and his Portland Trail Blazers shirt.
So you just happen to be watching the Colbert Report online every night dude? Am I just being a brat here because I wanted to get a shout out from a writer I respect and admire in many ways? Oh well, I guess that's for you to decide, but the facts are clear in my biased, cold world.
It's amazing how easily a racist and the dude who birthed Ben Stiller can lift my spirits.
Sometimes you are trying to google image search Tyrone Hill photos while attempting to locate your prostate's pleasure zone with your offhand. Then, all at once, an orgasmic result is smeared all over the screen:
If this is in fact the age of access, as I will overuse because the New Yorker taught me that's the right way to introduce a new term by using it repeatedly in slightly varying contexts, then how lovely that we can live in a world when people who are not from Philly can write about missing the Spectrum.
Remember the Asian groundskeepers from Major League? Of course you do.
I couldn't actually find a clip with them in it; I wasn't looking particularly hard either. What I really want to talk about is how over the top and wacky Major League is, and how it is rather hypocritical that we blow up at Spain's borderline criminal racist displays by its athletes; Dennis Haysbert, el presidente on 24, played Pedro Serrano, an intriguing stereotype of several different West Indies cultures; he worshipped an idol called 'Jobu' (Joba Chamberlin foreshadowin?) and smoked cigars that might make Michael Jordan blush. The groundskeepers are inexplicably Asian and occasionally scream utter nonsense or celebrate in incredibly homoerotic fashion (not unlike the plethora of locker room scenes). The one 'uhmerikan' black guy, in an incredible coup by not-so-subtly racist Hollywood, Willie Mays Hays, is portrayed by two different actors in Major League 1 and 2 (Wesley Snipes in the first and Takeshi Kitano fan Omar Epps in el segundo) and is predictably more athletic, more graceful and less intelligent than his teammates; any movie where Tom Behringer's screen presence carries things makes me pine for the days when I could happily masturbate to scrambled porn.
So you have to ask yourself, sport reporter, where do we really draw the line of what is cultural relativism (blissful ignorance?) and what is a perverse, deliberate and blatant denigration of another race?
Let's take a look at a recent example in the news:
via Deadpsin.com: Rick Chandler ponders aloud, "So Spain, what's wrong with you guys? Was it all the mid-20th Century fascism, or is it that your athletes are just nuts? Please get back to me." In this case, Real Madrid defender/Captain of the Portugese national selection Sergio Ramos was dressed up in blackface for a parade celebrating the 3 wise men. From an American's perspective, in the Obama era we are beginning to enter, this is another example of poor taste and judgment by an individual with a particularly high profile; the thought being that athletes ought to consider themselves role models for the youth. This clearly isn't the first time that a Spain has been linked to this type of activity; whenever I do show up to work at the Elementary school 4 blocks from my apartment, I pay somewhat close attention to what they are actually teaching these little spaniards, and the truth is that they spend a lot of time trying to emphasize diversity through the lens of homogeneity. What I mean is that Spain is essentially a tiny island that has developed a parallel existence to many other cultures through the successful expulsion of jews, moors and whoever else didn't qualify under royal laws back in the day. Why is it proper grammar in English to capitalize proper nouns; I don't consider 'jew', 'christian', 'muslim' to be proper nouns. In a way their 'racism' is actually just their way of trying to decode the myth that there are in fact other cultures out there; some parts of Andalucía are more blanche than Helen Mirrin getting antiqued in a snowstorm. Also, when the kiddies were coloring the three wise men, the vast majority elected to use black crayons to color the skin of whichever one of them is supposedly darker skinned; I don't know shit about the Christmas story, perhaps there are perks to learning the Hannukah prayer and waking up late on the 25th because I was at an all night bowling party with a Jewish fraternity called Sigma Alpha Roe, whereabouts Nick Koenig and I cemented our legend in the lore of tri-state area jews by taking over the Stu-Gotts occasionally intriguing, punk-tinged, half-covers performance to set the peyos of every good boy and girl in a 5 mile radius ablaze with our technical mayhem on guitar and bass; local and often referred to douchebag, Peter Abram said it was an impressive showing; good enough for me. Just goes to show, racism isn't funny, but it is real; and who better than a member of Real Madrid to remind us of the most important lesson of Christmas; the dark dude gets the pimp ring.
I haven't been to my "job" in a heinously long time; part of this is my own personal goal to take it easy in 2009, but, at times, my pathological laziness worries me to no end. Am I supposed to laugh it off and just move on when I realize I forget my keys in my apartment and I have to take a shit? Maybe my mind/body just misses athletic competition and needs an excuse to get the adrenaline going. I see how working with kids really helps you realize that you are not one, and I love that aspect of going to work (when was the last time I was in a position to teach someone something besides where Paul Millsap went to college? [Lousiana Tech]).
I guess I'm just holding out for the day when Rafael Capo Garcia Rodón thaws his icy façade and starts recording commentary of nba games with me. I would be the Mike Breen of sorts; I would talk about what is happening while occasionally engaging my colleagues in some kind of jovial pop culture reference that relates in some abstract way to the game we are watching. (Example: Lousiana Tech's all time rebounding leader Paul Millsap grabs another offensive rebound over Kevin Love. Speaking of which, it's been over 40 years since the landmark album Forever Changes was released by the band Love. Judging by the rookie from UCLA's family ties to the Beach Boys, his uncle was a founding member, he might actually know what we're talking about.) Ian Eagle, a cosmic second least favorite voice in the history of broadcast television behind Fran Drescher, was the YES network's dude for a while and it made me hate myself for obsessing over the ambiguous nature of Aaron Williams' existence.
In Spain, at least the Spain I know, there is no need to discuss sports in general. Nobody really cares about anything but their hometown squad and ex-pat/international players with high profiles. In fact, in a roundtable discussion of sorts with a couple of the male faculty at my school, I learned that Spaniards value winning over anything else; therefore all of Spain LOVES basketball because the national selection is the second best in the world. The same rule of thumb applies to Tennis (Nadal, and the Davis Cup Champs), Formula One Racing (Fernando Alonso) as well as more peripheral sports like handball and oh right, Soccer.
I will not be the first, nor the last to post this piece of brilliance on the web. Let it just be known that the Starbury section of the freedarko tome was excellent and at times even enlightening.
Wow!
P.S.-Steven A. Smith went to FIT for a year to play basketball, maybe to get a BA in knitting, who knows...
Fair Warning: This is going to be a ramble, the likes of which I've never quite attempted. To keep things buoyant and let you breathe, there will be random video breaks that will have a specific order to them if you pay close attention; or maybe not.
Ok, it's over; the great high of the Aughts came to its heady conclusion in Amsterdam. After spending the better part of the decade smoking pot; it all boiled over in to this vacation on a houseboat in Amsterdam. Maybe the point of the blog is for me to post my pictures of pretty places, tell you about my FEELINGS, random youtube clips, inconsistent sports related opinions, random music, the occasional obtuse reference to Truan Savage, Darren Sproles, or, wait what was I talking about. So now, where to go from here?
I remember hearing an interview with Dave Chappelle where he referred (reefered?) to the writing, shooting, editing and releasing of Half-Baked as a result of the "Great High of 1998" as he dubbed it (great name btw); so don't think I'm trying to puff my chest up like a Robin in springtime to show off some stoner ingenuity. I recognize we live in a weird age, I'm not unlike any other. It got me to thinking; how much weed I smoked would leave merely capitalist/mathematical computations as to my query of the 'greatness' of a high; so, no, it is not necessarily the amount that was smoked/vaporized/vapoorized that put the experience in perspective. Rather it was, how much was consumed in each single session, the length of the sessions, the activities that came with it and the general loathsome qualities of Americans on holiday.
Comedic epiphanies are only as good as the people you can discuss such matters with; maybe what made Chappelle's great high so great was the organization of the ideas discussed in that period of time. What I mean is this; I hate that 70's show, but the clips of them getting high in the basement in a circle was a very good tool for demonstrating what most people do, just without the movie camera.
Then I thought about the Madvillain song "America's Most Blunted", one of my very favorite pothead opuses; it was the first song that revealed to me the seemingly unlimited depth of both MF and Madlib's minds. This is a song that intriguingly emphasizes 2 very important aspects of how I view pot smoking; -Connectivity: The title itself might immediately elicit visions of Tupac and Snoop back in 1996; by tying in other works, which is the very nature of sample based music, before a single note has been played. -America: We smoke pot differently than other places; that is to say, that I am looked at like some kind of junkie for smoking pot without tobacco. The Dutch Master cigar, for instance, has so much tobacco in its rolling leaf that adding any would be a silly waste of time. They even put cigarette tobacco in bongs here in the old continent; MADNESS! (madder than deleting all your Bob Dylan off your computer)
Then I got to thinking about "RMXs" vs. "Covers"; it has been bothering me ever since I sat down at my parent's Compaq desktop and downloaded a free, incomplete copy of fruity loops 3. One day in Geometry class, freshman year, Joel Backus, known in Princeton for being that dude who could do the Rahzel "If Your Mother Only Knew" beatbox and for having some of the longest limbs I've ever seen on another human being (marijuana and shot blocking have been the crux of Sean Williams' basketball career, why can't others see this as the path of least resistance?), asked me if I wanted to listen to some beats he had been working on. I was a straight A student up to that point; what came out of the headphones on full blast was digital white noise with a digital kick thumping in the background; it was LOUD and didn't seem to end nor begin at any particular point. So, he got me; I had to know how I could shape sounds in such a way, I had my own ideas obviously, and he told me that cursed name Fruity Loops. The cover song is a staple of all performers; the tasteful cover is a different story all together. It is utilized as a change of pace, most often times to surprise the listener by demonstrating the performer as a listener as well (empathy!). When you're jamming, it's inevitable that you will want to learn other people's songs to jam on (if not, you are a crazy asshole) and that you will do your best to incorporate the elements of the song that speak the most to you; this often times can result in outright failure (READ: Tribute bands/band specific cover bands[you've lost the point of the cover song!]) success (Radiohead covering The Smith's "Headmaster Ritual" sounded pretty fucking good)
The RMX (I'm speaking of course of the Al Gore/Sean Combs invention, "The Remix") is an attempt by studio musicians to take whatever aspects they see fit of any sample and frame the audience's perception of it by titling it as the original with any number of long winded parenthetical statements to establish just who it is that mixed it up. From what I can tell it was originally a technique for re-releasing tired singles that charted well, but for a generation that can mix on their laptop, every song is a new remix waiting to happen. The above track by Boys Noize is a "RMX" of Feist's "My Moon My Man", a song with a really heavy beat to it that received praise across the spectrum of fans that I met while at a small, liberal arts school in Ohio (I had to write that sentence after I thought about it more). So I don't know shit it seems, but I do know that remixing a song by adding a few theatrical tricks is outright lazy. I almost got expelled for giving away my answers on the geometry final, which I got a c+ on, which I only decided to do because I was getting paid and because I had stopped paying attention and instead chilled with Joel and Neil Strauss in the back of the room where I listened to them ramble about hip-hop, football and stealing snapples from the cafeteria.
It's not all dreary sadness in this big, big world of ours, is it? I had a talk with Avis recently, about gas, and if Spain was getting any in lieu of the crazy shit that has been going down with Russia bullying the Ukraine, other Eastern European neighbors and EU nations as well; read here. These motherfuckers have a resource advantage, now, but if it is any indication, the decline of Citgo's oil for poor people scheme leads me to believe that Russia will have some serious social and political questions to answer from both it's own citizenry (I guess we can include South Ossetia and other lovely tourist destinations)[can I just say that any time a train hits a landmine, something fucking crazy is going on?]. I sat next to a Ukranian girl on the bus back from Madrid; she had a potbelly, but was kind of cute, made me think that I should start some Eastern European boy bands up and plant my seed in the motherland; call me the Slavic Lou Pearlman, the Iranian Humbert Humbert, call me anything, but don't call me Shirley (or Chevy Chase for that matter you illiterate fucks).
-Your own shadow -The Red Light District of Amsterdam (Fake Titties and taped back dicks flying around like Wilsons at the nfl combine) -Shadowboxing in public -Military action in the middle east -Hank Paulson -Super AIDS (Not to be confused with super-duper AIDS, my christian rock band) -Gruff Rhys (in a good way?) -The rise of some new drug that we must fight before it gets out and floods our streets (jenkum (sic?)) [gives me a headache just pondering the notion) -Martin Raboteau (Is there a more threatening non-threat out there?) -Filipino legend Manny Pacqua (In the ring and in our hearts) -My poor timing, 3rd grade writing level and 5th grade comprehension. (I don't understand when, how or why one might utilize the parenthetical) -Incubus (I am trembling in fear) -Gary Numan (Movies!) -Bronze Sculptures (You know...) -Losing your kidneys in some freak accident (Booze is tearing away at the lining of my intestine) -Italian women (you will be the death of me in some form)
The next step in music made by animals for animals has arrived (2 years late); Candylion candyflouge.
The day I eat an egg and tofu scramble is the day I get ready to leave Amsterdam probably; maybe that means tomorrow, but who knows, we're cheesing.
It might be harsh to say that I don't really care if the Eagles win their playoff contest against the Minnesota Vikings, but it's true.
Here's a question; if I take my brain and draw a map of the globe on it, does it mean anything?
Why hold on to the vestiges of youth that serve no purpose; why you can stop listening to Sublime so fucking much all y'all.
Dogs love Cheese:
Goat's Head Soup
The Rolling Stones have made a lot of music. You can't possibly be expected to keep track of all of it without risking some sort of mental breakdown. Cheese works as an antidote to the formulaic 1970's cluster fuck of a record. Is "Angie" a highlight in the mind of anyone besides my host brother from Argentina, who endeavored to start an evanesence cover band in his own room. Ayo!
Minor complaint:
Rza caused a minor fury among people I talk to, amid interviews I read of his in a couple of magazines where he went super in depth analyzing the Beatle's track, "While My Guitar Gently Weeps", in particular referring to the importance in it's simplicity, it's 5 chord structure (?). Raekwon was paraphrased in some media outlets as referring to RZA as 'out of control' or a 'hip-hop hippie', something so impossibly corny that it shakes the very foundation of fandom that hinges my somewhat meager existence. So, why no love for Jimmy Ponder's rendition of the Harrison penned gem off of the Self-Titled, monochromatic, "White" album.
Mike and Eric detail their time with the Amsterdam prostitutes:
Q: How were the ladies? M: Mine, smoking hot, both of them. E: I mean, come on, they're prostitutes. Q: So, what do you get M: 55, standard suck and fuck, Q: with the rubber on, E: They're prostitutes... M: They never touch your dick, never touch it.
Redundant year that 2008 had ended up being; we are celebrating in the Capital of The Netherlands, aka Flanders (some, who enjoy Dennis Hopper's early successes, might refer to it a good idea of the American Dream in some decidedly foreign manner). It seems like a good time to mention that some amazing things happen in Spain: This Magazine gets published often (and on holidays comes with a free gift, sometimes, when supplies last!)
Kurt Russell, who I always use to confuse with Patrick Swayze, mainly because I never accepted Dirty Dancing as a legitimate film, is still ok; as far as I can tell, I don't read entertainment news enough to really be on the up and up with these things. I guess what I'm saying is, I really hope Kurt Russel, Patrick Swayze, the ensemble cast of Ghost, Roadhouse, Escape From New York, Escape From LA (if only for the oh so probable full floor length buzzer beater to escape getting shot)
I warned you about redundancy. Happy New Year!
Bienvenidos 2009 (Will Smith has damaged the legacy of Stevie Wonder's "I Wish", The Spanish Language, Gloria Estefan's once exciting legacy as some kind of dance diva crossover latina (Christina Aguilera was standing on the shoulders of giants when she recorded a Spanish language album and won some Latino Grammies) and I am as guilty as anyone of being complicit in this consequence)
More and more I've come to find the things inside my mind drive me wild with little extrinsic motivation. As the NYT website mourns the death of Polaroid, hipsters are not necromancers (more likely necrophiliacs), I, like so many others, am coping with some heavy losses in the spheres of influence by which we have gravitated in to. I was content to pile up some obituary links til I realized that might be the most depressing way possible to do things. At the expense of omitting some heavy hitting names, I thought it wise to embark on a quick jump on down to Hades to see what's boiling amongst the undead:
American Economic Dominance; like Bob Sagat on network TV, a thing of the past. With such grotesque, disturbing, and often times depressingly hilarious new lows hitting every other day, it seems like a somewhat foregone conclusion that we are in a crisis...
Oberlin College's Student Band Culture; not actually dead (yet), but I needed to write about the disturbing phenomenon of tribute cover bands forming at the school. It's not cool, unless it's Mini-Kiss, which is a perfect band to play at Oberlin, but only if Lez Zeppelin opens for them. Come on you fucks!
Professional Wrestling: The Wrestler gets its release in the US of A soon, and has been reviewed by two of the biggest douches in sportswriting today (not so coincidentally two of the best writers as well) Will Leitch Bill Simmons
If you read, and have ears, then you must already be a regular over at this fine website. If not, then head on over, check the place out, and leave some love.
Taka and I have begun working on some new tracks; Trimm Trab is our pseudonym, for obvious reasons.
Basically we hope to get you all listening. Hello Albuquerque!
Throwing doves like my name was Speak, the Hungarian rapper...
When Steven "Stevie Franchise" Francis burst upon the scene in College Park, Maryland he was regailed for his haymaker punch athleticism (dunks, dunks, dunks, and then some) and the Court IQ of a playmaking point. He was a star for the Terrapins, while bringing some great Gary Williams moments for all those who are, admittedly creepily, in to that sort of thing. Another Maryland star who was rising high above the competition, and bringing great NBA visibility to the program; whose latter day saints of the early aughts include Lonny Baxter (seemed indestructible during the improbably title run in 2002, especially with running mate Steve Blake showing off his below average athleticism), Juan Dixon, Steve Blake, Drew Nichols, and Nick Kaner-Medley (name seems blander than a bag of frozen vegetables, and thus my ideal of the pursuit of "quiet consistency"; NKM would make for a great 9nth man in D'Antoni's rotation). So NBA here he comes, but what's this, some fledgling expansion franchise selects him with the 3rd overall pick, and quickly the million dollar smile turns to pout; him and his agent hold out and use their leverage to secure SF safe passage through the underground railroad of the NBA out of the Canadian boonies that aren't funny, even in Puerto Rico. He began a stint with the Houston Rockets that will soon not be forgotten; ushering in the early Yao years, pairing with Cuttino Mobley for one of the first great high-scoring high-yielding unorthodox wing-point combos. Then, like Autumn leaves, the death knell told for his time served in uniform moved him to a new life with his running mate in Orlando; more high scoring, high-yielding results continued as the Franchise was like Stefan Marbury with a good attitude. This explains his strange exit and entrance on to the New York Knicks, under Isiah Thomas' stewardship; where he was given a fat contract to rarely play with his supposed tortured soul mate Starbury, alas he never provided what he was signed for an dissapointment led to possible medical retirement. Then, "New Life" with his old squad the Rockets, 13th man status, with his still somewhat useable expiring contract, has finally done the almost unthinkable. Now this, is too good to be true, for all you Vancouver fans who told yourselves, "We will have our revenge, in this life, or the next..."
Now that the NBA season is officially one-third of the way kaput, some things are much clearer than back on that late October night when games got underway; We all know who got the best of the Jkidd-Devin Harris (+2 first rounders) trade, Dwayne Wade IS in fact one of the 3 best in the league, Chauncey Billups is still relevant, Matt Geiger is still retired and somehow this all revolves around the "Nash-like" emergence of Chris Duhon in D'antoni's system.
First Trimester Abortions:
This early in the season it was extremely difficult to judge the overall effect that these 6 head coaches were having on their seemingly lottery-bound franchises, but it seems that win-loss record was an important indicator. There was also an interesting piece I read recently where someone tried to highlight a specific game that served as the death knell for the following: -Maurice "Mo" Cheeks, Philadelphia 76ers -Mark "Interim Tag Removed Thanks to Incompetent GM" Wittman -Sam "anthropomorphic dinosaur hybrid" Mitchell -Reggie "Hang Time" Theus -P.J. "Open Secret; I can't coach young players" Carlesimo -Eddie "Thanks a lot Gil/Haywood, at least I look like Terrence Howard ate Marlon Brando circa on the waterfront" Jordan I find it amusing to see these 6 coaches playing musical chairs for open spots on the teams they have all recently vacated. Perhaps one of the big cable conglomerates will swallow some of these guys up for the purposes of having an insider voice who can really break down the 1st order questions that truly order the nba's infrastructure (note: a first order question, as opposed to a second order question, might be asking why effort is so eye-poppingly low on these losing teams; is it a dearth of talent, is it the wrong system, is it finding a guy who can connect with a bunch of over-inflated egos (seriously name one person who ACTUALLY wants to coach Rashard Mccants, besides maybe British Comedian Benny Hill (R.I.P.))
Because that's the only way to describe the farcical wheeling and dealing freestyling that can be proffered for the masses on youtube; Do you think he's copyrighted "Young, Black and Gifted" I always thought Sir Smoke A Lot's tribute to Sampson Simpson had that shit on lock!
First Trimester Success Stories (Why to like the Warriors when you're from New Jersey): -Anthony Morrow; one 37 point outburst, on a team full of guys who randomly have one big night, has this young gunner from Georgia Tech in the apple of the mainstream media's eyes. -Anthony Randolph, one (or two) dunks on Yao have catapulted this LSU favorite son in to the bloggo stratusphere, at least as far as the ones I read do. (Caveat: There are a million other reasons to like Anthony Randolph if you see his presence in the league leading to some intriguing developments in regards to the "positional revolution" or perhaps finding an appropriate answer to the question of "where and how do you play a 6' 10" beanpole rebounding machine [oxymoron?] who happens to stroke mid-rangers and dunk on everyone in a 5 mile radius?") -Devin Harris has an offense tailored specifically to his skill set. Lawrence Frank is the most non-threatening, pocket sized coach in the league. May they mire in mediocrity til death do they part, now kiss the bride! -Andres Biedrins, fantasy basketball mainstay, is putting up consistent numbers while improving his free throw %'s and putting Latvia/hair gel back on the map. Seriously though, hair gel was a phase in my life and I can't remember for the life of me why... -Nenad Krstic, wants back, and the Nets could still technically sign him up (hint, he's still a huge improvement over Lopez or Anderson, but where is Boone, and where the fuck is our very own up-in-smoke at?!?!?!?)
First Trimester Awards (chicago bulls only): -Funniest Freak Accident: Derrick Rose -Ugliest Beard: Joakim Noah -Person I'd most like to smoke a blunt with: Aaron Gray -Mostly out the door: Kirk Heinrich -Most Opulent: Tyrus Thomas -Most Scrumtrillescent: Thabo Sefalosha
Wow, this story is kind of ridiculous. I guess we're only used to the cartoon equivalent of mice and cats killing each other with explosives; I suppose it hits much harder when they don't just get burnt and frustrated, but actually die.
slap bass playing is officially the least sexy thing of 2009, I'm declaring it right now, before some stupid motherfucker decides its ironic implementation would serve some sort of sinister purpose.
Is it Brandon Roy, who torched the Suns (what an ironic postmodern age we live in) for 52 points last night? Is it Amir Johnson, who gets more "tremendous upside potential" love from freedarko than almost any other young forward in the league? Is it Worldwide Wes? No, it's actually a brilliant hip-hop compilation that dropped circa 1997 starring Dana Barros/Cedric Ceballos, but also featuring some work from Gary "The Glove" Payton, Shaq Fu, and Brian Scalabrine (not true, but thirty years from now, he'll be telling his grandkids all about it). Let's face it, there's no way someone like me could have uncovered this on my own, in fact I found it on a different blog, that I've linked to before and will again recommend you hit up.
When I was a kid, I was not one of the privileged jews who ran off to Summer Camp, and whatever premature coming of age eventfulness that came with it, but, looking back on it, this makes my parents look like geniuses in the sense that it has taken me an inordinately longer time to "grow up" than the average child. While this curse has swept up many of my generation, that the New Yorker stresses we refer to as "The Joshua Generation", I don't think I can speak with any accuracy concerning the coddled upbringings of other north-easterners, so I'll just stick to rants with an occasional music video interspersed to lighten the mood.
Life is really expensive, if you don't think this is true then you are either ignorantly blissful, incarcerated, or know something I don't (the latter is most likely truest, for the most obvious of reasons). If we think, for a moment, about the prospects of introducing socialist reforms in to the American economic system (something that is already somewhat occurring with every subsequent bailout), it often runs counter-intuitive to the hyper-competitive culture we foment in our fine land. It is also often emphasized that the Unites States of America also has an ever widening divide between rich and poor; this hinges on economic, cultural and ideological factors that worry me to no end; infrastructure reform, something Obama is ALL ABOUT, is entirely necessary to get us back on the right track.
Canada is a political nightmare right now, but I think they'll be okay, mainly because their milquetoast presence in the world makes them the most desirable place to be these days for disappointed left-leaning Americans, especially Neil Young fans.
Nick Kristoff's op-ed piece today on NY Governor, and all-around good guy, David Paterson fascinates me to no end; one, because he is speaking truth to power, but two because he is not to so subtly endorsing the consumption of diet colas, which while not carpooling on the diabetic highway do not seem to be the healthiest thing to be recommending. The soda industry is fucking HUUUUUUUUUUUGEEEEEE, worldwide, for christ's sake, you don't see the United Fruit Company killing native...oh wait, can you feel that residual implicit guilt Barack? Can you?!?!?! Word, go read a book.
I just got my hardbound copy of "FreeDarko's Macrophenomenal Pro Basketball Almanac" and drank a 40; I also have skipped out on doing anything at work this week, but who can blame a guy whose friends have all deserted him for parts unknown (this of course with the rare exception of those lovely people who are also stuck in relative, languid isolation with me here, and also Jeru the Damager/Killer Mike who are my personal saviors/heroes/martyrs for making it out here so soon). By goodness, this book is worth every fucking penny I dropped on the international shipping charges (good looks a1books, a highly recommended seller on Amazon.com); it's been said a billion fucking times on the blogospferico, but I am going to shout its praises from the rooftops in here in Smellva (copyright, Lisboa circa one month ago).
I'll link to their book's website again, because it's really well put together, but hey hey, my my, go buy this shit (books are still important, even if you can just get a pdf copy of this shit, its weight just feels nice in one's hands)
White Pepper, which derives its namesake from The Beatle's Albums "S/T (White Album)" & "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band", is a fucking gem. You don't know exactly what to make of it, and by the time you think you've figured it out, you gotta turn the tape over and rewind that shit back (always a sign of the very best cassettes). In all honesty, the album seems to draw influence from other batshit insane works like Todd Rundgren's "A Wizard, a True Star", Meatloaf's "Bat Out of Hell" (Just Kidding), The Brian Eno/David Bowie collabs or even 10cc (the most direct influence one could conjure up, I suppose) or even some latter day Led Zeppelin (if you just threw your shoe at the screen, I hope you don't get incarcerated). When you look at the sentence I just wrote, you might think I'm giving this some serious hype, well, I am, it's that good.
Ween hail from New Hope, Pennsylvania; a town known for the juxtaposition of biker bars, gay bars, and Bucks County tranquility (my boy Adrian Pacia might stab me in the neck if I didn't mention Bucks County Fencing, but parentheticals are all I can offer). I read once that they worked at the Mexican joint called "El Taco Loco", where I once consumed some mediocre nachos (the utilization of "Nacho Cheese" will also elicit such a response from yours truly), but an excellent taco, or 3; I think it's often best to stick with items that are in the name of the restaurant when unsure what to order.
You could buy a copy of White Pepper here, if somebody really wants a copy leave a comment or something.
Now that I'm absolutely positive that noone at the school I work at reads English at more than a third-grade level, I can finally rest easy at night: when I was younger, I always wondered why the PTA existed, or why people had to lobby for membership, etc; now it finally makes sense that an active civil society is the crux of raising standards, matter not how artificial these constructs may be. Here in Spain, parents come to their children's schools only for emergencies, to sew costumes for Christmas plays or to chain smoke cigarettes directly in front of 4 year olds.
Noam Chomsky famously wrote, "Colorless green ideas sleep furiously", just to prove a point that language is ridiculous, I think; with that in mind, I invite anyone who reads this, above a third-grade level, to offer their own take on the absurd nature of written English. Winner gets a prize in the mail (Offer good thru 12/31)!
For those of you who don't personally know my father, let me just say I'm sorry you haven't had the pleasure of crossing paths with a man of such mirth. One particularly brilliant nugget of wisdom the old man dropped in my lap once was that the final days of the Roman Empire were marked by the importance of spectator sport amid the collapsing pillars of society (economy, military might, etc...); juxtaposed, America seems to be at an intriguing point of comparison, or not, that's for someone with a more educated opinion to decide (too bad Halberstam's dead).
That said, I can't help but sport some minor wood for two phantastic signings over the last week or so: Raul Ibañez and Chan Ho Park are signed on for the 2009 season.
Billy Crystal was an NBA referee in a movie, and played the token gay on the late, great SOAP. Let's take a look at some footage, and compare the characters:
There you have it; I think he's much gayer when he's an nba ref.
Get ready for Maggette! (Note: This phrase comes second hand to me, as a response to the somewhat well known phenomenon of "Who want to sex Mutombo?" A story itself that is worthy of a short explanation for the sake of those not in the know.)
As rumor has it, one fateful night at a popular campus bar, Hoya star center Dikembe Mutombo, and his 7'+ wingspan, entered to a reception of starry eyed, but somewhat hesitant co-eds; shy, but approachable, The "Thirsty One", as myself and a close friend have always referred to him, had to find a way to break the ice with the ladies. What came next is somewhat anti-climactic if you've read the above, and or don't know who Mutombo is, or what that name means in the context of an NBA game. (A quick side note: Mutombo is a noted philanthropist in his native Congo, where he has built several hospitals and, in fact, is a licensed medical doctor himself. He also speaks upwards of 13 languages, and was hailed at the 2008 state of the union by President George W. Bush as a great "American tale") This early incarnation of what was to be one of the greatest defensive centers in NBA history, spread his wingspan, cocked his head and simply proposed, "Who want to sex Mutombo?"
Ok, now that I've wasted a portion of your life with this story, check out this fantastic music video by two of P-ton's finest:
For more information on Mutombo, you may want to consult some of my early posts back in July. Also you can contact me at alex.sugiura@gmail.com, because I am not ashamed to admit that I could talk at length about this man's greatness (Mutombo for President of the African Union).
I had a legit cup of coffee this morning. Then the bartender, while attempting to consolidate the "tomate natural", squeezed the dregs of a bottle all over his Dolce & Gabanna T-Shirt. I don't think he got the joke when I smiled and said, "now you know how I feel everyday of the week."
I have been riding the NYT coattails hard this week, but for good reason. It should come as no surprise, then, that I will link to another great statistics-laden, but altogether endearing piece by one Charles Blow; best name in the biz as far as this japanese-jew is concerned (editors note: It's true, I'm not even remotely Mexican). READ HERE
-Some asshole thought it would be a good idea to green light a film about an awkward teenager who works at an amusement park where he has the time of his life before heading off to college. FUCK THAT! (Caveat: this is only because a good friend of mine has a much better idea of how to make the amusement park film. Hint: Slackers, pedophiles and contraband)
-Meatballs is still the best camp movie to get referenced in Wet Hot American Summer.
-Three worst teams in the NBA: LA, Boston and Cleveland. Wait, scratch that, it's the opposite, but still it felt good when I wrote it.
I think I try to title every post with that phrase and always back out at the last minute. Not today!
Before I start blabbing about things I know nothing about, I want to enlighten you with a link of great interest. Before that, though, I want to let you know that if you asked me which former Ivy-League educated, center-fielder for the Philadelphia Phillies would be writing an op-ed for the NYT, I would have said Lenny Dykstra, and I would have been completely wrong (I don't think he actually went to college, but deadspin.com will inform you handily about his post-baseball financial successes, even amid the crisis! [quick caveat; did anyone wad more tobacco in to their mouth over the course of 20 years than Lenny? I'm gonna say no]. Penn Quaker alum Doug Glanville would be the answer: why is he writing about Tyra Banks? Perhaps more important, why is it the featured op-ed on the NYT website? Life is a wonderful mystery sometimes: EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT
We are all very lucky people; in light of the recent economic 'crisis' that the world marketplace seems to be facing, it's nice to take a step back and laugh at how scared rich people are. What's going to come of Obama's presidency? There has been a substantial number of press releases from the "transition team" hinting at a serious initiative to restore the crumbling infrastructure of our fine country. Then Detroit got bailed out, and Tom Friedman put it best:As I think about our bailing out Detroit, I can’t help but reflect on what, in my view, is the most important rule of business in today’s integrated and digitized global market, where knowledge and innovation tools are so widely distributed. It’s this: Whatever can be done, will be done. The only question is will it be done by you or to you. Just don’t think it won’t be done. If you have an idea in Detroit or Tennessee, promise me that you’ll pursue it, because someone in Denmark or Tel Aviv will do so a second later.. My chief worry from the Obama white house, like Kennedy before him, is the pragmatic political shift towards the center; being centrist, while good in the short run, does not lead to innovative policy measures, which is exactly what we need.
Another recent NYT op-ed made open fun of the rise in popularity of briliant historian, Doris Kearns Goodwin's Team of Rivals =, which I believe is an important book, for giving us, perhaps, a false sense of hope for the strategy being employed, and for what it all means. Don't get me wrong, I think the president-elect has done an impeccable job with the transition to a new era, after 20 years of two families running shit it's amazing how he's breathed life back in to the executive branch with such alacrity and charm. Yet right there, charm, I again am worried that we are getting too enamored with an ideal president, instead of the real thing. This is why anyone who reads Team of Rivals should have to also read David Halberstam's The Best and The Brightest, which, through exhausting details (in the 20th anniversary introduction, Halberstam will proudly tell you in his own words) relays an amazing story of how so many brilliant minds could have corroborated on such a cluster fuck as our involvement in Vietnam. The Sam Rayburn quip alone makes the book worth buying, but maybe you might also get excited about a newer addition in which John Mccain writes a fantastic foreword.
That's about all the pseudo-intellectual garbage I can stomach, so everyone have a great weekend!
Also:
-Holy Shit! J-Rich, Jared Dudley and a future second round pick to the Suns!
-Antithetical reaction to the above: Javaris Crittendon to the Wizards! (dude had mad hype back in his ATL days, maybe you should all be patient with him since Arenas will probably not be back any time soon)
-And while we're on that topic, is there a more frustrating star in the internet age than Gil? Dude's clearly one of the most, if not the, fan friendly guys ever; even when he's blatantly stealing comedian's material (I guess shame on us for not calling him out on it immediately, or letting the guy who came up with the material in the first place speak his mind) or coming back too soon from his injuries to further stymie what was shaping up to be one of the most invigorating, idiosyncratic styles of play we have ever seen.
-Other players who were unique flowers, but never got rings:
"Pistol" Pete Maravich Tom Chambers Tom "Gugs" Gugliotta Arvydas Sabonis Jorge Garbajosa
-Now that Obama is president-elect, can we make cross-racial player comparisons?
Does anyone who reads my blog read freedarko? That shit is baffling me as of late, not that it ever made any sense anyway, but the illusion used to be so titillating and now they just reek of a crew that is resting on their laurels after writing a rather impressive book (which you should buy, because your trust fund can take the 15 dollar hit and because we'll be talking about in 20 years). They can't keep name dropping Halberstam and expect me to blindly follow their slacker tendencies; all I'm saying is there is no fire at all in their rhetoric, their generic take on the Mchale-Wittman carousel was reminiscent of the time George W. Bush choked on a pretzel; so many opportunities for liberal wit to shine, but instead we get nonplussed nonsense.
While we're talking basketball here's some things to consider:
-I was serious in the earlier post about voting in the all-star game; even if Yi and his cohorts get their way, we can at least say we tried, even if Jemele Hill is ALWAYS RIGHT; although can you really trust anyone who compares a figure in sports to Adolf Hitler (unless it's Adolph Rupp, then it might be somewhat warranted)?
-The Nets play the Knicks tonight; while it's certainly not on par with a Bobcats-Timberwolves matchup, I, for one, am excited to see D'antoni get dookied on by Lawrence Frank, by far the nerdiest looking head coach in professional sports.
-Dwight Howard is part of a continuum of "Big men who are able to dominate through a devastating combination of athleticisim and bulk". Amare Stoudemire reminds me of Dominique Wilkins; every day that jumper is going to improve. Also he's got a 32" waistline, that's a great way to preserve one's sexy.
-Life After Death is directly inspired by All Eyez on Me, discuss.
-Paul Millsap is a hero of mine.
-Blake Griffin, Oklahoma University's hulking, mullato (is this un-pc?) power forward, is a consensus top 3 pick in next year's draft. The comparison that continually arises is a freakishly athletic Carlos Boozer. Does anyone remember watching Boozer at Duke, and thinking the guy was a fucking mongoloid? Am I crazy? God, I hated those teams; even if everyone felt a little bad when Jay Williams got in that motorcycle crash, I was actually pulling for him to make the Nets roster this year, but alas Keyon Dooling's calling card is taking up empty space.
-Mabyner Hilario will never be called "Nene" on this blog, NEVER.
-Spencer Hawes can dunk, apparently. This is news to me. Just kidding, I think this kid is actually deserving of his top-ten pick status. Call me crazy, but he will have a much better career than the Nephew of the guy who founded the Beach Boys.
-Jerry Sloan is a lot like the Canadian power pop group that bears the same name; the look on your face is telling me you don't believe me. Might as well get to learning about this band that you ought to know about anyway: One of Canada's finest.
"When I turned the ball over, I'm so used to coming out of the game," guard Rashad McCants said. "Then I looked over and saw him clapping and saying, 'Come on, get the next one.' It gives you confidence."
-I have become the master of smothering loaves of bread in olive oil, thyme, chopped fresh basil, a pinch of salt, pepper, and (1 out of every 5 times) some chopped garlic in our shitty easy-bake oven and eating it when I get back from work.
-Todo el mundo está fucking loco por cerdo frito! (Rough translation: Everyone is going fucking crazy for fried pork in these parts!)
-No pacific islander group is more marginalized in the eyes of the Spaniards then our fine friends the Filipinos. What's that? You don't know anything about the Philippines? For shame, for shame my friend.
-Taka you can make fun of me all you want; Kate Mooney, and her theoretical co-conspirators had a brilliant fucking idea. Read about it here.
AYAYAYAYAYAY: Yi Jianlin might get voted in by China as a starter for the Eastern Conference in the All-Star game. I am no jingo, hell I barely got my absentee vote in the mail on time, but I'll be damned if I will remain mum about the ludicrous nature of the all-star game in the globalized age of the NBA. Let's stop this from happening, one vote at a time (maybe you should all tell your grandparents about this, it could be like Obama 2.0 (2.5 if you count the Al Franken debacle, yes I said it let's find new and exciting reasons to be American) GET OUT AND VOTE PEOPLE!!!
More important is his utilization of the film Roger Dodger to illustrate his point about struggles with relationships. That movie really hit home hard for me; a verbose male protagonist, prone to selfish delusions, takes his nerdy nephew under his wing for a night of debauch in NYC. The results are much darker and less slapstick than the average viewer may hope; but to quote Newhouse, "my humor is darker than [that of] the starting center for the Celtics." (that would be Kendrick Perkins)
Getting away from the dirty provincial capital over the long weekend was a real pleasure; Córdoba is kind of a piece of shit town itself, nobody picks up after their dogs, but what are you gonna do?
Banagher is an "Irish Pub" located a short walk outside of the center, where Theo, Pablo and myself enjoyed several delicious drinks consisting of blackberry liquer, red wine and coca-cola; I'm pretty sure there is a white, powdered equivalent of this drink that I nay cannot afford on a teacher's assistant salary.
There is a delicious dish known as a "plao" that consists of basmati rice, salad, falafel and sauce; best 3.50 euro I spent all weekend.
WHY HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN PHIL HARTMAN WORLD?!?!!? WHY?!?!?!
