Great Chord Progressions don't come out of thin air:
2009/01/17
Strike up the band
Taka is cooking up something of great interest no doubt. If you haven't taken advantage of the 5 O'clock free crack giveaway, then get on it!
Status Quo from beyond the grave!
Status Quo from beyond the grave!
What you know can only mean one thing
Goddamn! It is so beautiful outside. I just woke up, and perhaps chugging tinto de verano was a foolish exercise at Miha's bday party last night. That said, I kind of forgot how much I love so many people here; last night was as good a reminder as any.
Two of my best friends here that are Spaniards work at the local music shop "El Ramblado"; these guys are fucking awesome, not only do they love real Spanish music, they have very open ears. Also they let me shred on the Brian May model through an Orange 50 watt Head from time to time; as well as providing me with clues as to how I might meet local musicians, they are also really really nice and occasionally jam on some pretty greasy blues that make me think that Tim Meadows is my favorite actor that ever was.
It's not habit forming!
Oberlin (my frame of reference for a much larger question), you are so far from Bolivia, but you do your part to help the meridian flow of narcotics, so kudos.
It's too nice outside to keep writing in my bathroom, but if you treat your blog post like you treat a daily poop (you got to maintain), then it becomes a comfortable, albeit smelly trick of second-nature.
Misfits Youtube track of the Day:
Teenagers From Mars
The insemination of little girls...oh Glen Danzig, don't you ever stop punching fans.
Two of my best friends here that are Spaniards work at the local music shop "El Ramblado"; these guys are fucking awesome, not only do they love real Spanish music, they have very open ears. Also they let me shred on the Brian May model through an Orange 50 watt Head from time to time; as well as providing me with clues as to how I might meet local musicians, they are also really really nice and occasionally jam on some pretty greasy blues that make me think that Tim Meadows is my favorite actor that ever was.
It's not habit forming!
Oberlin (my frame of reference for a much larger question), you are so far from Bolivia, but you do your part to help the meridian flow of narcotics, so kudos.
It's too nice outside to keep writing in my bathroom, but if you treat your blog post like you treat a daily poop (you got to maintain), then it becomes a comfortable, albeit smelly trick of second-nature.
Misfits Youtube track of the Day:
Teenagers From Mars
The insemination of little girls...oh Glen Danzig, don't you ever stop punching fans.
2009/01/16
Shannon
What a name; whether it elicits skinemax wet dreamz, 90210 related anxiety or, for no apparent reason, make you think of the song "Crimson and Clover", Shannon is a name that feels destined for the public eye.
Prince is pretty good; Super Bowl performance still confounds me to this day.
My god it's early in the morning; great time to be alive.
This ish used to come on VH1 at the ridiculously early hours of the morning that I always found myself up at when I was a young teen. Really makes you wonder why they don't put on cheerier shit for the insomniacs.
Here's a fun game to try with your friends; a conversation of total honesty.
Skeleton of the life plan is in place; now to fill in the flesh, like decay in reverse.
ok, admittedly, that was a tad indulgent to put this song on, but it was the only way I could comment on the problem I have with racist high school crowds at basketball games. If people are gonna heckle me and scream "Hey Yao Ming," then what can you expect them to pull out for someone who might actually be effected by these things. So is this song subtly racist or is that just the lens by which I view his release from the internal torture of his perceived neglect? Can you ever really overintellectualize when you don't know anything?
Prince is pretty good; Super Bowl performance still confounds me to this day.
My god it's early in the morning; great time to be alive.
This ish used to come on VH1 at the ridiculously early hours of the morning that I always found myself up at when I was a young teen. Really makes you wonder why they don't put on cheerier shit for the insomniacs.
Here's a fun game to try with your friends; a conversation of total honesty.
Skeleton of the life plan is in place; now to fill in the flesh, like decay in reverse.
ok, admittedly, that was a tad indulgent to put this song on, but it was the only way I could comment on the problem I have with racist high school crowds at basketball games. If people are gonna heckle me and scream "Hey Yao Ming," then what can you expect them to pull out for someone who might actually be effected by these things. So is this song subtly racist or is that just the lens by which I view his release from the internal torture of his perceived neglect? Can you ever really overintellectualize when you don't know anything?
Corrections
I recently claimed the Sergio Ramos was captain of the Portugese National selection, false! It's clearly Nuno Gomes...
What's up with Handsome Furs? I don't know anything about the other recording projects the dudes involved in Wolf Parade have released. With hope, with a little help from my friends, I'll learn more.
This has been the best weekend in January since Puerto Rico last year. In case anyone is wondering, Rafa Capo isn't playing fantasy sports this year to my knowledge.
I wrote of a first draft of a letter to a friend who I'm desperately worried about, mainly because I have childish separation anxiety from those I love, in which I hoped to enumerate a list of favorite albums of 2008. Looking back on it, there wasn't much worth regaling, let alone celebrate new musical releases that I didn't have enough time to properly explore as I desperately clung to the last empirical vestiges of state-sponsored youthful laziness.
I have always had a soft spot for this song; admittedly it used to be my entire upper-half!
Have you ever read the Big Book of Jewish Humor? Mom and Dad never kept any scripture handy, but clay statues of naked asses? You betcha. Needless to say, this book is the basis of every joke I've ever told at friend's Bar Mitzfah's; no this neither an ironic nor profound look in to 13 year old me, rather, the only way to explain just how Jewish and Big this book is.
Bee Movie? Come on guy, Tom Hanks is calling you a pussy.
So, yeah At Mount Zoomer refuses to be denied. It gets better with every listen.
Slovak dudes like breakdancing, finally met a second Hungarian named Laszlo, all is right, tonight, in this world (my head).
What's up with Handsome Furs? I don't know anything about the other recording projects the dudes involved in Wolf Parade have released. With hope, with a little help from my friends, I'll learn more.
This has been the best weekend in January since Puerto Rico last year. In case anyone is wondering, Rafa Capo isn't playing fantasy sports this year to my knowledge.
I wrote of a first draft of a letter to a friend who I'm desperately worried about, mainly because I have childish separation anxiety from those I love, in which I hoped to enumerate a list of favorite albums of 2008. Looking back on it, there wasn't much worth regaling, let alone celebrate new musical releases that I didn't have enough time to properly explore as I desperately clung to the last empirical vestiges of state-sponsored youthful laziness.
I have always had a soft spot for this song; admittedly it used to be my entire upper-half!
Have you ever read the Big Book of Jewish Humor? Mom and Dad never kept any scripture handy, but clay statues of naked asses? You betcha. Needless to say, this book is the basis of every joke I've ever told at friend's Bar Mitzfah's; no this neither an ironic nor profound look in to 13 year old me, rather, the only way to explain just how Jewish and Big this book is.
Bee Movie? Come on guy, Tom Hanks is calling you a pussy.
So, yeah At Mount Zoomer refuses to be denied. It gets better with every listen.
Slovak dudes like breakdancing, finally met a second Hungarian named Laszlo, all is right, tonight, in this world (my head).
2009/01/14
Ir de Compras
What's good with this Israeli-Palestinian conflict? Like, how are you gonna try and shock me with numbers from the most recent bloodshed? Of course we all want a two-state solution; I've got people I consider friends on both sides of this debate. Yet, something just seems like politics as usual; oh yeah, it's been same shit, different day for 2,000 plus years. Before you dismiss my last comments and paint me in the likeness of another verbose American fool (I am), bear in mind that this incredibly complicated, divisive struggle over little more than titular respect (oh, and clean water) will continue, because it isn't a truly national issue.
I guess now is a bad time to unveil my new signature dance called the gaza strip.In light of the new Al Franken era in Minnesota (I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and doggoneit people like me...), we should let Sasha Baron Cohen run shit in the middle east. He knows what the fook he's talking about.
How does Q Rich feel about international diplomacy?
The message is clear: the 'reverse' dunk on Nowitzki is a subtle jab at PM Andrea Merkel's rigid economic policies, her drug policies?
'nuff said.
Remember the short lived Deshawn Stevenson-Lebron James feud?
Yeah, uhh, borefest 2008.
On the other side, Darius Miles is set to "screw" over the cocky Portland Trailblazer front office; if he can do even a tiny derivative of this, then I say it's for the best. In reality it's the pass that makes this clip so fucking filthy;
I guess now is a bad time to unveil my new signature dance called the gaza strip.In light of the new Al Franken era in Minnesota (I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and doggoneit people like me...), we should let Sasha Baron Cohen run shit in the middle east. He knows what the fook he's talking about.
How does Q Rich feel about international diplomacy?
The message is clear: the 'reverse' dunk on Nowitzki is a subtle jab at PM Andrea Merkel's rigid economic policies, her drug policies?
'nuff said.
Remember the short lived Deshawn Stevenson-Lebron James feud?
Yeah, uhh, borefest 2008.
On the other side, Darius Miles is set to "screw" over the cocky Portland Trailblazer front office; if he can do even a tiny derivative of this, then I say it's for the best. In reality it's the pass that makes this clip so fucking filthy;
Old Habits Die Hard
For anyone that has yet to make it out to Amsterdam, be warned that you will be very disappointed if you're expecting to bang out one of these prostitutes raw; it's against the law.
There is so much cool shit going on in this world. When that band Vampire Weekend blew up, I was just another face in the crowd. Then I got to thinking about how silly white people are/have been/will always be and thought maybe I hated them for appropriating afropop sensibilities in to a decidedly milquetoast package. This ire was further stimulated by a chance encounter in Newton, Massachusetts with some dude named Julian who REALLY didn't like them; we played a fun word game where we tried to name as many animal bands as we could, turns out there's a lot.
Julian Chin's senior recital at Oberlin College was a real triumph, in my opinion. One of the real highlights was his rendition of the Animal Collective, and personal favorite of mine, "Who Could Win a Rabbit", unaccompanied on the piano.
Hey, remember that movie Pi? The same dude who did everyone's favorite movie about drugs, also directed the rather respected new vehicle "The Wrestler". I wonder when we will next see a movie that makes me think of Jorge Luis Borges without seeming to completely rip off the characters and plots that made his foray in to pondering the universe so unique. Oh my god, there's video of the man speaking; I think it fitting that his eyesight failed him as he advanced in age, it allowed him to gain a sort of Homeric quality to his works as he would have them memorized and then dictated to, at first, his mother then later others, I suspect.
NBA rant contd:
-Where is DeAndre Jordan when you need him Clipper fans?
-How many random surgeries/injuries must DJ White suffer before he can become the next in a burgeoning line of "undersized" big men who get the job done in style?
-Nenad Krstic is back from Russia, with love.
-Chicago native and Bull diehard Nick Monroe was hyping up Derrick Rose about 5 years ago, now THAT's saying something.
-Casual Warriors fan Saul Flores is infinitely more qualified than Robert Rowell to be running the show, and he lives in LA!
-The Hornets have James Posey, this guarantees them a spot in the conference finals.
-Hilton Armstrong is a chinky eyed black man, this is good for the NBA.
-Desmond Mason is still one of the 5 best dunkers in the NBA.
-I would not want to be standing under the basket if Russell Westbrook was driving down the lane.
-Ditto for David Lee.
-Kevin Love? Shave those sideburns Mattingly!
Who, but Matt Groening could have foreseen so many modern tragedies unfolding so prematurely?
There is so much cool shit going on in this world. When that band Vampire Weekend blew up, I was just another face in the crowd. Then I got to thinking about how silly white people are/have been/will always be and thought maybe I hated them for appropriating afropop sensibilities in to a decidedly milquetoast package. This ire was further stimulated by a chance encounter in Newton, Massachusetts with some dude named Julian who REALLY didn't like them; we played a fun word game where we tried to name as many animal bands as we could, turns out there's a lot.
Julian Chin's senior recital at Oberlin College was a real triumph, in my opinion. One of the real highlights was his rendition of the Animal Collective, and personal favorite of mine, "Who Could Win a Rabbit", unaccompanied on the piano.
Hey, remember that movie Pi? The same dude who did everyone's favorite movie about drugs, also directed the rather respected new vehicle "The Wrestler". I wonder when we will next see a movie that makes me think of Jorge Luis Borges without seeming to completely rip off the characters and plots that made his foray in to pondering the universe so unique. Oh my god, there's video of the man speaking; I think it fitting that his eyesight failed him as he advanced in age, it allowed him to gain a sort of Homeric quality to his works as he would have them memorized and then dictated to, at first, his mother then later others, I suspect.
NBA rant contd:
-Where is DeAndre Jordan when you need him Clipper fans?
-How many random surgeries/injuries must DJ White suffer before he can become the next in a burgeoning line of "undersized" big men who get the job done in style?
-Nenad Krstic is back from Russia, with love.
-Chicago native and Bull diehard Nick Monroe was hyping up Derrick Rose about 5 years ago, now THAT's saying something.
-Casual Warriors fan Saul Flores is infinitely more qualified than Robert Rowell to be running the show, and he lives in LA!
-The Hornets have James Posey, this guarantees them a spot in the conference finals.
-Hilton Armstrong is a chinky eyed black man, this is good for the NBA.
-Desmond Mason is still one of the 5 best dunkers in the NBA.
-I would not want to be standing under the basket if Russell Westbrook was driving down the lane.
-Ditto for David Lee.
-Kevin Love? Shave those sideburns Mattingly!
Who, but Matt Groening could have foreseen so many modern tragedies unfolding so prematurely?
Through The Fire
It's been a remarkable NBA season so far; so many storylines among the league's best and worst that blogging has become necessary! JA Adande wrote a piece on MJ's legacy that could easily be called cheesy by youth like yours truly (his depiction of the changing of the media guard was a tad skewed), but he spoke so candidly about the nature of the business that he has once again made espn the most relevant third party source for all things NBA related. There has been very little noise coming out of the pacific northwest, in large part because people really do have a bajillion (blagojevillion?) things to worry about these days without stopping to think, "fuck, Clay Bennet and that commie, jew banker David Stern took away one of the few outlets I had left..."; uhhh, let's go Mariners in '09...Do you think NBA twelfth men google their own names? If they're anything like most bloggers, the answer is yes. The fluctuation of status and visibility in the NBA hegemony is not so fluid as to allow young guns to rise up through the rankings, unless through undeniable merits, so it surprised me greatly when Sebastian Telfair was regailed with a trumpet fanfare as a "True" point guard at a time when the league was seemingly devoid of young talent who knew how to pass the ball; I got the chance to see him play as a (fellow) high school senior, and on a bum ankle he led Lincoln in basically every category; he definitely looked like he was ready to go to college for a year, but his swag was "phenomenal" as they (Gilbert Arenas and his various acolytes) say. He got drafted awfully high and had the expectations that come with that, but with that in mind, his first stop in Boston was a failed experiment; to be fair, there could not have been a worse roster than the pre-kg/jesus shuttleworth glory year(s?). So he gets shipped off to Minnesota in part of the blockbuster that allowed The C's to, in the words of Newhouse, "buy that large black fellow" (for all those that didn't find that last line hilarious, it's a joke with a hint of truth to it! If you don't believe me check out this book)SO now he's in Minny making little noise as backcourt mate Randy Foye is starting to play up to his potential a little bit by moving back to the slashing/scoring mold that made him so dangerous as a member of that vanillanova cerebrus (Allen Ray and Mike Nardi, of St. Patrick's fame, being the other bestial heads). One point that, this year in particular, is so chock full of historical irony that it warrants mentioning is how important Telfair's nba potential was based on his blood relation to the great Stephon Marbury; this was his golden ticket to the chocolate factory (uh-oh, got to start making better metaphors, but since I'm ranting you can all forgive me, I AM writing this from Spain after all...) So, when I was reading the scores and recaps from last night's contests, I felt compelled to post this AP photo.
Look's like the dude's having a lot of fun, fuckin eh' i would be too if I was getting NBA money to be playing CBA minutes...
There is not a single NJ Net that should be in the All-Star game, I blame Yi Jianlin for all my problems, in fact, it's quite therapeutic, and I recommend you all try putting your frustrations and dissapointments all on a single person of, somewhat, high profile that you never have and probably might never meet in your life; or, since you are Uhmerikan after all, go buy a gun and shoot your TV.
Look's like the dude's having a lot of fun, fuckin eh' i would be too if I was getting NBA money to be playing CBA minutes...
There is not a single NJ Net that should be in the All-Star game, I blame Yi Jianlin for all my problems, in fact, it's quite therapeutic, and I recommend you all try putting your frustrations and dissapointments all on a single person of, somewhat, high profile that you never have and probably might never meet in your life; or, since you are Uhmerikan after all, go buy a gun and shoot your TV.
2009/01/13
In the Gross and Scope of my Opinion...
Paul Dawson opened my eyes to a lot of simple, but effective strategies; one that I hope to employ more often, and was recently reminded of while reading Lewis Hyde's Trickster Makes This World, is summing up.
So, without further ado, a whole bunch of shit:
-New links to check out; fer example I'm not sure why I like this so much, but it is brilliant.
-Old links to check out; Here, there and everywhere.
-Sex, lies and videotape: I want to have more guest posts, judging from the fact that no one really reads this hodgepodge of nonsense anyway. So, if you want to rant about anything in a somewhat flowing manner you can shoot me a line at alex.sugiura@gmail.com
-According to that feedjit widget, people occasionally dl the music that gets uploaded (or does it, that's right move along RIA...), this makes me happy that I can be of service, so expect plent more of this.
-Henry Abbot, I demand satisfaction!
Hello Tewksbury pie!
Kevin Martin teaches us the all important lesson that if you're objectively good at something, in his case, scoring a basketball at the highest professional level, then it doesn't matter how you are good at it. Remember this while you are reading your college friend's blogs at your work desk.
Elegant love song of the millenium.
So, without further ado, a whole bunch of shit:
-New links to check out; fer example I'm not sure why I like this so much, but it is brilliant.
-Old links to check out; Here, there and everywhere.
-Sex, lies and videotape: I want to have more guest posts, judging from the fact that no one really reads this hodgepodge of nonsense anyway. So, if you want to rant about anything in a somewhat flowing manner you can shoot me a line at alex.sugiura@gmail.com
-According to that feedjit widget, people occasionally dl the music that gets uploaded (or does it, that's right move along RIA...), this makes me happy that I can be of service, so expect plent more of this.
-Henry Abbot, I demand satisfaction!
Hello Tewksbury pie!
Kevin Martin teaches us the all important lesson that if you're objectively good at something, in his case, scoring a basketball at the highest professional level, then it doesn't matter how you are good at it. Remember this while you are reading your college friend's blogs at your work desk.
Elegant love song of the millenium.
2009/01/12
Something
Now that I've gotten the first guest post out of my system, I'm starting to wonder if I have anything left to write about. Fortunately, I just picked up a copy of Lewis Hyde's capitvating, Trickster Makes This World, an analysis of the role of the trickster; Hermes in Greek mythology, Coyote/Raven/Black Feet (the spirits have got me!) in Native American Lore, Loki in Norse Mythology and more contemporary artistic gadflies such as John Cage, Marcel Duchamp and Ron Artest, ok no Artest, but you get the point.
I'm only about a quarter way in, but I can already say that it is must read material for 2009; no, I don't use the online social network of goodreads.com, but I did just give them a free plug, so you'll just have to keep sifting through my junkpile style of prose to encounter other suggestions, some inferred, some explicit.
Racing Thoughts:
-Three weeks in to the no-shave game and I discovered I have a single red hair that grows on my chin; explain that to me Steven Pinker!
-Regina Spektor could never have come to be without Fiona Apple's crying coked out blackout blessing.
-Eric Mangini was once a ball boy for the Browns, now he's head honcho; I once met Romeo Crennel in a Phoenix, AZ airport, he had the softest hands...
-I was once disgusted by Drew Magary's utilization of the Nazi Shark on his deadspin.com column, but I've grown a lot since that moment. Props to a guy who can openly talk about his issues with parenting, berating pitchfork media (a la cult hero Samuel Crane Newhouse) and coming up with enough Darren Sproles nicknames to fill a 10cc vial (throwgasm is a brilliant witticism that has somewhat restored my faith in nfl faithfuls, somewhat).
-If I write a poem about Michael Douglas sucking my dick, I did, does it mean I have a problem or is it funny?
-Does an 8 am coffee always lead in to a 10 am coffee?
-Al loves the kids; insert humbert humbert reference here.
-The kids love Al; insert alchemist youtube clip here.
-The 2 euro Chicken Sausage contains trace elements of pork at the supermarket by my crib.
-That Jadakiss verse is on point in that Alchemist track.
-Brad Lidge owns a world series ring.
-Albert Pujols' last name is still hilarious
-Pusha T's verse is pretty fucking good too.
-Could Snoop make a later career push to become the next Nate Dogg? That is an inane and irrelevant thought I'm sorry.
-If there's one vagina that I'd crawl inside and die, if I could do such a thing, it would be yours mother earth; oops, that's actually what's gonna happen to me eventually.
-Favorite Big L line that I thought of in the last 30 seconds: Is Big L slow? Hell no! Bitches get fucked on the roof, if I ain't got no hotel though.
(Quick Note: I'm more partial to this than 2Pac's "I Ain't Mad Atcha", but that's some East Coast Bias if there ever was one.)
-Officially putting an APB out for Mcgruff...
-Flee the country to Argentina; leave it to Mason Betha to reference the Third Reich's diaspora circa 1946...
-Lowell George, lead singer of groove-heavy southern rockers Little Feat, is kind of like if Jack Black quit blowing so much coke, smoked opium all day while watching Gone With the Wind and replaced Kyle with some dope female backing vocals (huge mistake).
I just shit my pants, a masterworks 2? Cancel that, fuck these guys; masterworks 1 is the only one that matters; you can't usurp butt baby with live renditions of Pick of Destiny songs, not now, not ever.
I'm only about a quarter way in, but I can already say that it is must read material for 2009; no, I don't use the online social network of goodreads.com, but I did just give them a free plug, so you'll just have to keep sifting through my junkpile style of prose to encounter other suggestions, some inferred, some explicit.
Racing Thoughts:
-Three weeks in to the no-shave game and I discovered I have a single red hair that grows on my chin; explain that to me Steven Pinker!
-Regina Spektor could never have come to be without Fiona Apple's crying coked out blackout blessing.
-Eric Mangini was once a ball boy for the Browns, now he's head honcho; I once met Romeo Crennel in a Phoenix, AZ airport, he had the softest hands...
-I was once disgusted by Drew Magary's utilization of the Nazi Shark on his deadspin.com column, but I've grown a lot since that moment. Props to a guy who can openly talk about his issues with parenting, berating pitchfork media (a la cult hero Samuel Crane Newhouse) and coming up with enough Darren Sproles nicknames to fill a 10cc vial (throwgasm is a brilliant witticism that has somewhat restored my faith in nfl faithfuls, somewhat).
-If I write a poem about Michael Douglas sucking my dick, I did, does it mean I have a problem or is it funny?
-Does an 8 am coffee always lead in to a 10 am coffee?
-Al loves the kids; insert humbert humbert reference here.
-The kids love Al; insert alchemist youtube clip here.
-The 2 euro Chicken Sausage contains trace elements of pork at the supermarket by my crib.
-That Jadakiss verse is on point in that Alchemist track.
-Brad Lidge owns a world series ring.
-Albert Pujols' last name is still hilarious
-Pusha T's verse is pretty fucking good too.
-Could Snoop make a later career push to become the next Nate Dogg? That is an inane and irrelevant thought I'm sorry.
-If there's one vagina that I'd crawl inside and die, if I could do such a thing, it would be yours mother earth; oops, that's actually what's gonna happen to me eventually.
-Favorite Big L line that I thought of in the last 30 seconds: Is Big L slow? Hell no! Bitches get fucked on the roof, if I ain't got no hotel though.
(Quick Note: I'm more partial to this than 2Pac's "I Ain't Mad Atcha", but that's some East Coast Bias if there ever was one.)
-Officially putting an APB out for Mcgruff...
-Flee the country to Argentina; leave it to Mason Betha to reference the Third Reich's diaspora circa 1946...
-Lowell George, lead singer of groove-heavy southern rockers Little Feat, is kind of like if Jack Black quit blowing so much coke, smoked opium all day while watching Gone With the Wind and replaced Kyle with some dope female backing vocals (huge mistake).
I just shit my pants, a masterworks 2? Cancel that, fuck these guys; masterworks 1 is the only one that matters; you can't usurp butt baby with live renditions of Pick of Destiny songs, not now, not ever.
Guest Post!
Bang Bang you sons of bitches! (courtesy of borderbanger.blogspot.com apparently)
I can remember more than a handful of people in high school hating on Peter Abram for being himself; everyone's got their story, some more poignant/hilarious than others. That said, I'm all for taking a look at the other side of things (after all, I AM the epitome of judeo-christian grace) so with that said, I want to help show the world that sometimes, in between the pieces of corn-speckled shit and that carnival goldfish corpse, there's a diamond ring floating in the sewer.
You may have heard of Dan The Automator; dude's responsible for production on a long, long list of important hip-hop albums. We're going to be taking a look at as many of these as we can; starting off with the futurist/nerd-hop classic Deltron 3030 featuring Del The Funky Homosapien, Sean Lennon, MC Paul Barman and Kid Koala on the scratches.
Going back to my first point here (not finger-fucking on a boat, so more like point 1B), you can hate all you want on someone for any number of reasons, but since I have been given the proper agency to play devil's advocate, let me just say that Peter Abram introduced me to Deltron 3030 a year or so after its release. He bumped it early and often and many of the messages of this album had been lost on me until recent times, when old mental wounds had healed and I had some time to reflect and subsequently articulate why I slept on this record. So, before I go any further, let me introduce the first guest post on the port wine grind; Peter Abram's thoughts on Deltron 3030.
Flying cars. Kill or be killed in the arena, vast numbers of unusual weapons at hand. Should I grab the shrink ray or the gravity gun? Alien women, four forked tongues. Summer houses on Mars, complete with in-ground bromine pool.
Overpriced SUVs. American Idol, vast numbers of teenage lemmings. Should I sing "My Heart Will Go On" or "I Will Always Love You"? Prostitutes, forty dollars an hour. Summer houses on the New Jersey shore, incomplete.
There was a movie that came out in 1955 called "The Future Is Now" which tried to give us a glimpse of how we were going to be living at the turn of the millenium. But a short 5 months after Y2K, a hip-hop album entitled Deltron 3030 came out, telling us of similar notions of the future, just giving a more distant timeframe for its realization. The future isn't now, it's in 3030. The album tells us of all of the technological advances, but still resonates of standard human society.
"It's all heat in this day and age."
Too many notions of the future believe that we will one day unite as a species and colonize other planets, find alien races, and essentially become naturally enlightened. Deltron 3030 is one of the many absurdist notions of the future which have gained momentum as of late, seeing as how even though time progresses, we do not. Israel is still a battle ground, AIDS is running rampant in Africa, and people all around the world just plain refuse to settle their differences. We are stubborn creatures and readily deny that accusation daily.
"Heathens will breed heathens so
Everybody's suspect I must check your ID"
We don't trust each other. And absurdist visions of the future say we shouldn't. There is no god, no great unifying force, no holy grail of knowledge, no Nirvana, no this, no that, just people. It puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Make us realize that the pinnacle of human existence is, well, whatever you want it to be. Still, we all strive to be remembered, to make a mark. The technologist future is 3030, but the sociological future is now. That's what Deltron tells us, place no faith in tomorrow. The best we can do for ourselves isn't all too great, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.
"When I vanish leave my spirit in a planet
On top of the surface my words and wit emerging"
-Pete
A High-Quality copy may become available on request. Until then, thanks youtube:
I can remember more than a handful of people in high school hating on Peter Abram for being himself; everyone's got their story, some more poignant/hilarious than others. That said, I'm all for taking a look at the other side of things (after all, I AM the epitome of judeo-christian grace) so with that said, I want to help show the world that sometimes, in between the pieces of corn-speckled shit and that carnival goldfish corpse, there's a diamond ring floating in the sewer.
You may have heard of Dan The Automator; dude's responsible for production on a long, long list of important hip-hop albums. We're going to be taking a look at as many of these as we can; starting off with the futurist/nerd-hop classic Deltron 3030 featuring Del The Funky Homosapien, Sean Lennon, MC Paul Barman and Kid Koala on the scratches.
Going back to my first point here (not finger-fucking on a boat, so more like point 1B), you can hate all you want on someone for any number of reasons, but since I have been given the proper agency to play devil's advocate, let me just say that Peter Abram introduced me to Deltron 3030 a year or so after its release. He bumped it early and often and many of the messages of this album had been lost on me until recent times, when old mental wounds had healed and I had some time to reflect and subsequently articulate why I slept on this record. So, before I go any further, let me introduce the first guest post on the port wine grind; Peter Abram's thoughts on Deltron 3030.
Flying cars. Kill or be killed in the arena, vast numbers of unusual weapons at hand. Should I grab the shrink ray or the gravity gun? Alien women, four forked tongues. Summer houses on Mars, complete with in-ground bromine pool.
Overpriced SUVs. American Idol, vast numbers of teenage lemmings. Should I sing "My Heart Will Go On" or "I Will Always Love You"? Prostitutes, forty dollars an hour. Summer houses on the New Jersey shore, incomplete.
There was a movie that came out in 1955 called "The Future Is Now" which tried to give us a glimpse of how we were going to be living at the turn of the millenium. But a short 5 months after Y2K, a hip-hop album entitled Deltron 3030 came out, telling us of similar notions of the future, just giving a more distant timeframe for its realization. The future isn't now, it's in 3030. The album tells us of all of the technological advances, but still resonates of standard human society.
"It's all heat in this day and age."
Too many notions of the future believe that we will one day unite as a species and colonize other planets, find alien races, and essentially become naturally enlightened. Deltron 3030 is one of the many absurdist notions of the future which have gained momentum as of late, seeing as how even though time progresses, we do not. Israel is still a battle ground, AIDS is running rampant in Africa, and people all around the world just plain refuse to settle their differences. We are stubborn creatures and readily deny that accusation daily.
"Heathens will breed heathens so
Everybody's suspect I must check your ID"
We don't trust each other. And absurdist visions of the future say we shouldn't. There is no god, no great unifying force, no holy grail of knowledge, no Nirvana, no this, no that, just people. It puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Make us realize that the pinnacle of human existence is, well, whatever you want it to be. Still, we all strive to be remembered, to make a mark. The technologist future is 3030, but the sociological future is now. That's what Deltron tells us, place no faith in tomorrow. The best we can do for ourselves isn't all too great, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.
"When I vanish leave my spirit in a planet
On top of the surface my words and wit emerging"
-Pete
A High-Quality copy may become available on request. Until then, thanks youtube:
2009/01/11
Bring Back Doug Glanville!
Bono wrote an op-ed piece about Frank Sinatra and other stuff; read here. In truth, I'd rather watch the old SNL sketch where they mock the duets recording sessions than pretend like I can even name anyone involved besides Stevie Wonder, Bono and Old Blue Eyes.
It DID get me thinking about New Jersey; many know that Sinatra came of age somewhere in Hoboken (the famous mug shot that I almost purchased a t-shirt of when I was 17[it was a very good year]), yet he is linked to his worldwide audience as an icon of New York City. The beauty of the track is that Sinatra is singing as an outsider who has managed to finagle his way through the seemingly impermeable membrane of the big apple. Sinatra related nostalgia aside (ok, I admit Bono is actually pretty legit, even if he comes off as clownish/condescending when he goes on world issue related diatribes), I can't help but miss certain aspects of the comfort of home while living abroad.
A typical Sunday in Princeton can be spent waking early(crack o' noon) to get to the nearest possible purveyor of bagels and related goods; among the great ironies in this silly world that Pton jews have made for themselves is an unabashed love for Bagel Barn, a place that is clearly owned and operated by goys (they serve fish on fridays during lent, I'm no expert on these matters, but 'nuff said). This is followed by a sit down at the grand piano in my parent's kitchen where I'm good for at least 15 minutes of oft-interrupted seemingly random chord progressions, with the occasional familiar cover mixed in half-assedly. The Battlefield scenery has always reflected the season with aplomb; in the earlier years, back in Herrontown Woods, Sundays were more of a family thing when Dad would cook up some enormous (read: GINORMOUS) country style breakfast, while we (the royal we? I can't necessarily vouch for the distant memories of my older brother or my folks, for that matter) would stare out from our kitchen table unto (seemingly) endless oak trees.
Since my friends stopped going to church, Sunday has also become a day of chilling; there were many times when I used Sunday as a recovery day; this is what happens when you're a somewhat sheepish/primarily lazy teenager and your best friend happens to live under what can only be described on late Saturday nights as 'minimal' parental supervision. The Weekend NYTimes, I can't quite remember if the packet's fatter on Saturday or Sunday (the crossword puzzle is supposedly harder on Saturday, according to my former Yahoo! crossword puzzle completer and genius Karl Micka-Foos), lay on the table waiting to be devoured like Watermelon slices in August heat at some 4h/Italian Heritage fair in Somerset County. (Quick Note: Bagel Barn has a website, this bothers me more than it should)
Sidney Johnson is Princeton University's head coach now? That is awesome.
Non NJ thoughts:
-I just acquired a copy of the 1966 album Freak Out! by The Mothers, aka Frank Zappa's first band. It is considered by many to be the first 'concept' album, all the songs are linked together by a central theme (which in this case is The Mothers ejaculating somewhat goofy send ups to everyone and anyone in America during this time), even though often times The Beatle's Sgt. Peppers has been given that nod. It is worth noting, if you're a music nerd (has anyone who takes themselves even remotely seriously ever referred to him/her/zerself as a music 'buff'?) like me, that Zappa had a strong distaste for most things going on in the '60s and claimed that his work was accomplished without drugs (which is impressive, and then you remember that he named his daugher moon unit and you think he was just some crazy fuck who felt music in a way that most can only hope to), driving this point home with the Mothers release We're Only In It For The Money.
(Side Note: Paul Mccartney has been quoted as saying Freak Out! helped influence Sgt. Peppers. To be fair, what didn't influence that album before it came out, isn't that the point? Sure, everyone looks to Sgt. Peppers nowadays for how it continues to inspire and demand greater innovation from studio musicians, but the most important aspect was the approach me thinks.)
I gave up on the Philadelphia Eagles 2 seasons ago, because of this I will be unable to gloat when they stomp all over the Northern New Jersey Giants today circa 1 pm EST.
Oh, and this:
Three strings! Stay Tuned for my dissent in to madness as I try to put the pieces together on the quick ascent and even steeper fall of flamenco great Niño Miguel.
It DID get me thinking about New Jersey; many know that Sinatra came of age somewhere in Hoboken (the famous mug shot that I almost purchased a t-shirt of when I was 17[it was a very good year]), yet he is linked to his worldwide audience as an icon of New York City. The beauty of the track is that Sinatra is singing as an outsider who has managed to finagle his way through the seemingly impermeable membrane of the big apple. Sinatra related nostalgia aside (ok, I admit Bono is actually pretty legit, even if he comes off as clownish/condescending when he goes on world issue related diatribes), I can't help but miss certain aspects of the comfort of home while living abroad.
A typical Sunday in Princeton can be spent waking early(crack o' noon) to get to the nearest possible purveyor of bagels and related goods; among the great ironies in this silly world that Pton jews have made for themselves is an unabashed love for Bagel Barn, a place that is clearly owned and operated by goys (they serve fish on fridays during lent, I'm no expert on these matters, but 'nuff said). This is followed by a sit down at the grand piano in my parent's kitchen where I'm good for at least 15 minutes of oft-interrupted seemingly random chord progressions, with the occasional familiar cover mixed in half-assedly. The Battlefield scenery has always reflected the season with aplomb; in the earlier years, back in Herrontown Woods, Sundays were more of a family thing when Dad would cook up some enormous (read: GINORMOUS) country style breakfast, while we (the royal we? I can't necessarily vouch for the distant memories of my older brother or my folks, for that matter) would stare out from our kitchen table unto (seemingly) endless oak trees.
Since my friends stopped going to church, Sunday has also become a day of chilling; there were many times when I used Sunday as a recovery day; this is what happens when you're a somewhat sheepish/primarily lazy teenager and your best friend happens to live under what can only be described on late Saturday nights as 'minimal' parental supervision. The Weekend NYTimes, I can't quite remember if the packet's fatter on Saturday or Sunday (the crossword puzzle is supposedly harder on Saturday, according to my former Yahoo! crossword puzzle completer and genius Karl Micka-Foos), lay on the table waiting to be devoured like Watermelon slices in August heat at some 4h/Italian Heritage fair in Somerset County. (Quick Note: Bagel Barn has a website, this bothers me more than it should)
Sidney Johnson is Princeton University's head coach now? That is awesome.
Non NJ thoughts:
-I just acquired a copy of the 1966 album Freak Out! by The Mothers, aka Frank Zappa's first band. It is considered by many to be the first 'concept' album, all the songs are linked together by a central theme (which in this case is The Mothers ejaculating somewhat goofy send ups to everyone and anyone in America during this time), even though often times The Beatle's Sgt. Peppers has been given that nod. It is worth noting, if you're a music nerd (has anyone who takes themselves even remotely seriously ever referred to him/her/zerself as a music 'buff'?) like me, that Zappa had a strong distaste for most things going on in the '60s and claimed that his work was accomplished without drugs (which is impressive, and then you remember that he named his daugher moon unit and you think he was just some crazy fuck who felt music in a way that most can only hope to), driving this point home with the Mothers release We're Only In It For The Money.
(Side Note: Paul Mccartney has been quoted as saying Freak Out! helped influence Sgt. Peppers. To be fair, what didn't influence that album before it came out, isn't that the point? Sure, everyone looks to Sgt. Peppers nowadays for how it continues to inspire and demand greater innovation from studio musicians, but the most important aspect was the approach me thinks.)
I gave up on the Philadelphia Eagles 2 seasons ago, because of this I will be unable to gloat when they stomp all over the Northern New Jersey Giants today circa 1 pm EST.
Oh, and this:
Three strings! Stay Tuned for my dissent in to madness as I try to put the pieces together on the quick ascent and even steeper fall of flamenco great Niño Miguel.
2009/01/10
Def Jux
I was reading Taka's blog and the link to the Blockhead blog post on Lil' Wayne led me to this RJD2 video that really grabbed my attention:
If you're looking for an explanation check out this clip.
If you're looking for an explanation check out this clip.
Don't Fuck With AI
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.
Dolph Schayes
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.
So, I breathe a sigh of relief when a friend enlightens me to a publication that actually writes about some real shit. In These Times is a worthy read for anyone who I consider a friend, and that goes double for mine enemies.
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.
So, I breathe a sigh of relief when a friend enlightens me to a publication that actually writes about some real shit. In These Times is a worthy read for anyone who I consider a friend, and that goes double for mine enemies.
2009/01/09
Resentment...Slight Resentment
Henry,
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.
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.
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.
2009/01/08
My Favorite Mogwai Song Ever
I actually just learned a couple days ago that Gruff Rhys (aka SFA's lead singer is responsible for the beautiful welsh-language vocals on this track)
Why Stop
I ought to just put all these fucking videos in the same place. So I'm gonna give that a shot nowish.
Whoa...
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:
Everything I've ever wanted to randomly find in a sports blog and more.
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.
Everything I've ever wanted to randomly find in a sports blog and more.
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.
Am I
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 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.
2009/01/07
Look out Boston!
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...
Wow!
P.S.-Steven A. Smith went to FIT for a year to play basketball, maybe to get a BA in knitting, who knows...
Huff
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).
2009/01/06
Oh Nine
So the new year is officially here, if you're running a week late like I am. There were no y2k bugs to fix this year (except Microsoft; oh sweet angel of progress, wing me down a zune).
Things to be scared of in 2009:
-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.
Things to be scared of in 2009:
-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.
2009/01/05
2009/01/04
Cooking with Josh and Keith
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.
Ultimate slacker event?
Eagles win; holy guacamole.
Music for Money!
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.
Ultimate slacker event?
Eagles win; holy guacamole.
Music for Money!
Suck and Fuck
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.
Today's activities:
Dogs love cheese.
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.
Today's activities:
Dogs love cheese.
2009/01/03
Mind Melding
The great high continues today with a volcano at homegrown to get the day going. Wish me luck mein people...
2008/12/31
New Year
Yeaaaaah Yeaaah.
Love from Holland.
Things that make sense, or at least just might one of these days:
"Make Love. Not Explosions."
DIARRHEA WATER
Wavy Ondulations
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)
Implicit Omnipotence-based Resolution(s) (You gotta make 'em to break 'em):
-World Peace
-Detroit making a comeback as a city (The Music is consistent as ever)
-Allen Iverson fading gracefully in The Elephant Graveyard of the San Antonio Spurs
-Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer getting his due by having yours truly try to translate his shit, under some pseudonym. (Pues, nada; mucha gente leen mejor que hablan; aficionados de Baudelaire, por lo general, les parezcen como puedan escribir y leer en idiomas extranjeras para entender el signífico más profundo.)
-Electric Guitar noise
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)
Implicit Omnipotence-based Resolution(s) (You gotta make 'em to break 'em):
-World Peace
-Detroit making a comeback as a city (The Music is consistent as ever)
-Allen Iverson fading gracefully in The Elephant Graveyard of the San Antonio Spurs
-Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer getting his due by having yours truly try to translate his shit, under some pseudonym. (Pues, nada; mucha gente leen mejor que hablan; aficionados de Baudelaire, por lo general, les parezcen como puedan escribir y leer en idiomas extranjeras para entender el signífico más profundo.)
-Electric Guitar noise
2008/12/28
Sevilla-Granada-Amsterdam?
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
Vaginal Scent:Goodbye forever natural vagina scent, I'll miss you so.
That about wraps up the calendar year 2008. Don't sleep on your moon.
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
Vaginal Scent:Goodbye forever natural vagina scent, I'll miss you so.
That about wraps up the calendar year 2008. Don't sleep on your moon.
2008/12/26
Takabeats...
Hello nice lady!
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...
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...
2008/12/24
Your Ghost Lingers...
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..."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
