Bebop (DA smokes pop)

(Photo Courtesy of Google Image Search/Realityrant.blogspot.com)

I can't pinpoint the exact moment top 40 radio's spell faded for me. Maybe it was when Martin started giving me mix cd's, maybe it was freshman year before basketball practice when Phil would enlighten me with Elephant 6 recordings, perhaps Sophomore year of college when one couldn't help but be knee deep in WOBC's at first overwhelming vaults (I wasn't an official member till way late in the game anyways). In contrast, I can't seem to pinpoint what makes top 40 stuff so popular these days; when your musical preferences are the social equivalent of living in a van down by the river, it should come as no surprise.
As far as casting music in to genres there are several other categories that confuse me to no end:

-Jazz: I've always been taught, whether from a musical or historical standpoint, that the essential element of Jazz is improvisation. What springs forth from "standards" is the virtuosic capacity to approach the same sheet music in an idiosyncratic manner that allows the listener to say, "Oh, this is a Wes Montgomery take on Green Dolphin Street," without sounding as clownish as I JUST DID! As an occasional bass player whose minimal musical literacy/Jew rhythmic skills has faded faster than David Arquette as a leading man, who was cast to utter perfection in Hamlet II, I have never felt a particular inclination towards playing Jazz, mainly because those who do tend to be rather passionate about it. There is an essence to Jazz that once obeyed the old color line of American race relations; there's a reason the old white lady, who plays Happy Gilmore's grandma, says in the O'Dweeds commerical, "I used to smoke this while listening to the Negro Jazz Music." That said, Benny Goodman was making the big band swing just as hard as any of his contemporaries; the clarinet is such a Jewish instrument it ought to come with a coupon for a free bottle of Gefilte fish.


-Folk: Most kids I know, who grew up in the US of A, learned to sing songs like "Oh Susannah" and "She'll be Coming 'round the Mountain" in school as youngin's. I am not exactly sure what the point was, other than being simple melodies and progressions by which to slowly develop the voices of disinterested, snot-nose brats who generally yelp them out with no regard for technique or form. I suppose that's exactly the point of folk music; it's all about the simplicity in delivering the message. That said, the Acoustic guitar does not connote folk music, yet time and time again I am seeing people call themselves some derivative of the folk genre; folk-rocker, indie-folk (huh?), etc. It's not like it really matters, but you can't be an American in the age of access and legitimately claim to play folk music (unless you're Bob Dylan, and no you are not Bob Dylan, yes I'm talking to you Cate Blanchett!).


-Tribute: The ABSOLUTE worst thing that happened to Darfur is the reckless carnage that has ensued, somewhat uninterrupted, for what feels like an eternity. In a close second place is that compilation of John Lennon covers that they tried to hawk to "raise money for Darfur"; first of all, what the fuck does that even mean? No apologies to anyone here, fuck Green Day, fuck U2, fuck everybody who claims to care, but doesn't do anything. Also, band-specific cover bands are such a travesty that I have to stop typing in fear that I will destroy my lovely computer.


It's really too bad they couldn't get the clearance to blatantly rip-off stairway, but as the old saying on Wayne's World went:

Why is Tia Carrere going gaga over three single coil pickups and a whammy bar; she's the frontwoman/bassist for an up and coming joan jett/asia carrera throwback band and she's excited about features that come standard on basically every strat ever? At least Mike makes a nice showing with the Pre-CBS banter...

Oh Damn!

Wikipedia has this brilliant new concept where it tells you as many of the samples used in famous hip-hop tracks as the users can figure out. Here's a great track that got used for 2Pac's "I Ain't Mad Atcha" and maybe also the track "American Dream" which I posted earlier this month when I, as Kate Mooney said (somewhat auto-referentially somehow), in "parody" of myself.

Well, I'm tickled pink that someone took the time to remix Johnny Cash songs, and the asshole's name isn't even Rick Rubin!

Best January of the aughts so far, by far.

Ranting, Raving Histrionics!

The pretentiousness in this article is spellbinding; for one, if you're gonna shit on Jack Johnson for even attempting to catapult himself in to the same league of musicianship as the late, great Nick Drake, then you gotta do it with some substance! Heath Ledger's agent is laughing all the way to the grave; same goes for the assholes who profited of Drake's untimely demise. That said, it's equally disappointing that Dave Grohl will be making an appearance, as he has yet to provide me with an inkling of justification for writing/performing quiet, introspective music. Eddie Vedder is toeing a thin line here...

Rudy Fernandez was somehow voted in by fans ahead of Russel Westbrook and Joe Alexander to the 2009 dunk contest; Bullshit!



After watching this video, and doing some serious soul searching, I'm proud of Rudy for speaking English in such a remedial manner. Until I found this clip:


Embarrassing in new and original ways; Chris Andersen redux?



Well, I suppose he's got a long way to go til he does this:



The NBA where Reggie Miller dawns a wig and calls himself Cheryl...

Soccer Update...Psych!

Illest fashion news to come out of Milan since Beckham's transfer went through officially.

Today, a short essay on hazing with intermittent Tenacious D songs.

I never played on a girl's varsity sport team, so there was never any utilization of the pysch on game day; sure sometimes we used to wear ties and nice shirts, but that was mainly so we could look slightly respectable. I can recall every level of interscholastic sports, from the earliest middle school soccer clubs to Oberlin College Women's Lacrosse, finding some sort of inspiration through like-minded gift giving/banner making. In reality, I find this act of kindness from teammate to teammate rather endearing and, in general, good form.


Men's sports teams often engage in what is known as "hazing"; though generally harmless in nature, these rites of passage foment a culture of shame. Websites such as bad jocks, have been a source of entertainment and occasional outrage for many web denizens. To put it plainly, men of approximately the same age molest and harass each other to create a hierarchy and, often times, to amuse those with that inkling of power. There is an glint of cultural transmission, the recent unveiling of some particularly bad hazing incidents is not all that shocking in its historical context, that leads me to believe that Obama being in the white house doesn't do shit for youth sports; even if everyone with an outlet is writing lists and essays as to just what BH "Overdrive" Obama will do about how fucking fat a nation we are. Let me also say, that women's sports teams are often culpable of ridiculous initiation rituals; this isn't a gender issue per se.



In Fyodor Dostoevesky's last great novel, The Brothers Karamazov, the, perhaps, bastard child of noted buffoon Fyodor Pavlovich, Smyerdakov enumerates reasons why god as his opposers see it, cannot exist. Smyerdakov is the product of both a society and, concordantly, a family that has no use for him; his awareness of his seemingly expendable nature seeps over in to his ideas on theology, among other things. He is weak and powerless, but he is given a context by which to express great power; the power to hurt others, something that all human beings have. I believe many athletes have a certain "Smyerdakov" take on the nature of hazing; that it is an outlet for frustrations, both personal and professional(in the case of the student-athlete, often times their profession is more the latter than the former).



If we take a Hobbesian standpoint towards the act of hazing, that it is our nature to be horrible, selfish beasts, then perhaps it's better for us horrified moralist observers to let it be. Is it natural to coerce another human being in to drinking till he/she vomits while a group of individuals exercise some bizarre bukkake variant? I'm gonna say, unless you're Japanese, or had to put up with a Freshmen class as annoying as the Oberlin College Men's Baseball team of 2004-2005, the answer is most definitely no. I don't know where the pictures went of a much fatter me d-boing a tiki torch, but let me just say that our hazing was actually hilarious and so well deserved that I am a better man for it. So tell Thomas Hobbes we got another failed attempt, and remember that if you're gonna abuse somebody for no apparent reason, you might as well get paid to do it (Hello US Marine Corps!).



Now, time to casually masturbate to this.

i'm writing a paper

And not even for school, just for me motherfuckers...

The pillow situation in Spain has reached it's boiling point for yours truly. I'm not quite sure why Spanish beds are categorized only by width (ridiculous) or why pillows are designed to spread across that entire width (as opposed to offering a pillow half that size that would serve an individual's head as proper cushioning and support only can), but I cannot take it anymore! My drunk-misanthropic landlord can also go fuck himself for never fixing half the fuckups in the apartment; our shutters don't work, there's several broken tables and chairs, the water pressure is abysmal, but fuckin eh' this experience is too fun to let someone who "prospered under Franco"(his words) to fuck shit up.

Tortilla de Patata (Tortilla Española) is cheaper than flour tortillas; this runs so counterintuitive in logic that I have been deprived of a true burrito for 4 straight months. I suppose the mistake is mine for having visited Ana's Taquería in Brookline, Massachusetes during an August road trip; pressed cheese, my god pressed cheese in the tortilla...Speaking of which, Dave Sokoll created an elaborate high stakes bet to eat 7 super burritos in one day, he ate one and I forgive him; although 7 super burritos would make for superb drug mule training, something that i might consider to save up some money (hello DEA/Guardia Civil!)

Arroyo=Brook (Vocabulary lessons)

David Brooks says of Obama on inauguration day, "To an almost eerie extent, he exemplifies discipline, equipoise and self-control. Under his leadership, as Peter Beinart noted in Time, Democrats came to seem like the party of order while Republicans were associated with disorder."
What the fuck is eerie about being organized, other than a writer projecting his own insecurities about an accomplished, dedicated example of the American dream that has the courage to solicit the aid of the other party's top man? I can't shrug off the notion that these conservative op-edders are viewed the same way right now by their identifying constituency as I read Bob Herbert, who seems pretty centrist and level-headed, at least, in his opinions, or any other number of people who attacked Bush's policies based on some form of rational thinking; the problem is, David, that the Republican Party is STILL the party of "values", they project an image of some kind of moral superiority. Basically, it's gonna be a long 4 years for people who are still banging Bush's drum; Karl Rove will awake in the middle of the night doing some half assed "who's line is it anyway" rap and realize he's sleeping next to Ryan Stiles, Diedrich Bader, Drew Carey and Mimi, and that he lives in Cleveland.

Sophomore

Sophomore year of college was a great time for sophomoric humor. Thanks to two completely different people I learned two complimentary terms that occupy the better part of my mental space:
1)The booty-do (courtesy of Elyria high's 3rd most popular alumni in the history of the world, Joe Reisz), when a woman's gut sticks out further than her booty do.
2)The booby-do (courtesy of Highland Park beauty queen and identifier of psycho hose beasts 'round the world, Emma Kessler), when a woman's gut sticks out further than her boobies do.

I never thought I'd reach an age when I saw a combination of the two; like some kind of antithetical Apollonian perfection, it was a mere dream in the twitter feed of my twisted mind. Then, I went to Moe's bar here in Huelva. The bar maiden smiled as she handed me the 5 beers I ordered (1 euro beers, you gotta go big, plus pictures of homer everywhere make you want to drink); I could not reciprocate the pleasant exchange for long. Out of the corner of my eye were two beautiful Spanish lesbians showing their affection for each other; as I commented at a party on Friday, the phenomenon of hot women everywhere leaves men in a perpetual "semi-hard" state, and therefore nullifies much of the flesh arrow sporting that ought to arise from such sultry seductresses (and they say men are pigs...). So, I got way off topic, point is that Nico and I skipped out so he could roll a ciggie, but frigid temperatures were not so inviting. We sought shelter at the Super 8 bar next door. With somewhat mod lighting fixtures and the remains of cheap guitar jutting out of the wall, I figured this wouldn't be a bad place to do it. As Bloc Party's "Banquet" played on tinny speakers Nico and I airdrummed to our little hearts' content; we also made note of how influential the Cure's drummer is on bands like Bloc Party (if you don't know the song plastic passion then you can't understand why bands would say they cite the cure as such a big influence). I look up at the random denizens there at the bar and what do I see? Rotund perfection; a carpenter's acid trip; the head liaison of the itty-bitty titty committee had swallowed a balloon; the holy grail of the body-do. I was transfixed, mainly out of disgust, but luckily the music quickly went back to Spanish pop and I was able to snap out of it long enough to get outside and get a breath of biting fresh air.

Then I find out drunk bitch x is the girl of my dreams, but only through sleep.

MLK Jr. Day

Martin Luther King, rest in peace, they're appropriating your image for many of the wrong reasons, and for that I am sorry.

I did NOT get the day off from work here in Spain. As many of you damn well know, the last person who'd probably ever get recognized for his important contributions to civil rights is Martin Luther King Jr. I had the great fortune of attending an assembly as a youngin' in my elementary school where Jackie Robinson's widow came and talked about the man, his teammates and the game of baseball. I was so proud to be American back then, nowadays, even with Obama partying like it's 1999 (we all wish it was) and Roger Cohen rewriting Billy Joel "classics" (which I'm personally all for), it's a lot harder to maintain the wonder that I held for a hero like Jackie Robinson. For all those not in the know, he put up with a WHOLE lot of shit from the US Army, and became a commissioned officer only after the great heavyweight Joe Louis pulled some strings (with his beautiful hands...), he had his own mini-Rosa Parks like episode in which he was charged with a litany of crimes that he clearly had not committed. His baseball career started at 28, which is not all that late when you consider Ryan Howard's rookie campaign was at 27 (thanks Jim Thome...).

So, yes the President plays basketball; I like his form on the jumper. He also is an avid reader and, get this, writer. So we have mad shit to be proud of, but none if means anything if the most diabolical bank in the world is still fucking us over (Citibank has its hands in Target, Verizon, Yum Foods [KFC, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut] and a plethora of other highly visible institutions)

I don't know if it means much of anything, but check out this website.

Forgive me father for I have sinned

Some shit that I have never owned up to and ought to if I'm going to ever move on:
-Andrew Cossard, I spilled beer on your precious rug the night I carved my face open with the steak knife while trying to open that fucking Carlsberg.
-PDS men's basketball team of 2003-2004 after our heartbreaking buzzer-beater loss to WWP-South, I spilled the chocolate chip cookies on the floor of the bus, picked them up and grinned with great satisfaction as you all commented on their deliciousness.
-Jeff Pence, I didn't read the shipping news and will hold steady in that regard.
-Sophia Yang, damn that was rough stuff...
-John Butts, I yelled a single racial slur at you after several full seasons of you being a total dick and saying incredibly hurtful things.
-Hot Indian hipster girl at Oberlin, I black out drunkenly screamed at you because I was scared. Or because Truan Savage brings out the worst in me, I'm not entirely sure which one.
-Sylvia Morse, I do a convincing jewish woman accent.
-Everyone from the 4 years of intramural bball; I never played well in the championship games, sorry.
-Rod Blagojevich, spelling your name wrong.
-Stuart Abram, you got that inbounds play wrong and Mosley pulled me from the game (I was finally getting rotation minutes), you fucking asshole. Just kidding!
-Drunk bitches, 2 years younger than I, that went to The Hun School, sorry for taking that case of Corona and 40 dollars in cash from the table, if it makes you feel better I was too hungover to run in to the endzone the next day when I had noone even remotely close to me for 20 yards.
-Pretty much every girl I ever fucked (over), sorry bout that but it's a two way street, ya know?
-And finally, the Junta de Andalucía, you keep writing checks and I'll keep doing my thing.

Three Hundo

All right, three hundred posts.

Before I get to rambling, read this interesting article about the inauguration; here.

I did not know William Kristol, NYT op-ed conservative (as he calls himself), was such a Jew. Not that these things matter, but how can you write that Bush's greatest triumph in 8 years was "winning" the Iraq war; this is reminiscent of the coddling given to the lone American trying to keep up with Europeans in a friendly game of Urban football (i can only speak from experience). How many synagogues say a prayer for the US and for Israel? (Answer: I don't do that shit, so I personally haven't a clue.) So Bush, despite the expendable aspects of his allegiance, gave so very much to Israel in times of crisis (there's that buttfucking word again). I think Tom Friedman wrote a little piece last week about how Israel's strategy is not surprising; he made it seem almost as if there was a pedagogical element to the strikes on the Gaza strip, that there was no longer room to be doveish with the political climate as such. The politicization of other people's facebook "status" in conjunction with the lack of organized dissent amongst the "Joshua" generation leads me to believe that we could have the first true armchair mormon quarterback win the BCS for BYU in 2014.

Number one concern for the immediate future? Making the most delicious lunch that 5 euro can make.

How i feel everyday

This is the seaside town that they forgot to bomb.

Taka, you are a genius for finding this back in the day

We are the time that we keep

Hello,

Sometimes, when the howling Huelva winds bow their blustery heads long enough to grant me a moment of acrid peace, I think I'm a lucky boy. The molasses like nature of the day to day here used to drive me wild; the first three months were a slow, painful deluge of bullshit bureaucracy and annoying Andalucían accents (lo que había pasado, tío, ya está) that, come Christmas time, had me seriously doubting my worth in the world at large. Having put those doubts to rest slightly by easing up, Spain has reciprocated the kind gesture; the trickle down effects of my workplace becoming somewhat less boring than before, coupled with a newfound appreciation for being able to play soccer in a t-shirt outdoors in January has me thinking twice about bitching like a little boy-o who didn't get EXACTLY what he wanted.

Number one comment I used to get from people in Oberlin when I explained that I was headed to Spain was, "Oh, you MUST be fluent by now to be doing that." The truth is that the vast majority of the people who hold the same title as me, myself included, do not speak, write nor listen at a wholly advanced level. That's really the nature of things in most jobs I realize; by being somewhat qualified, or in my case knowing a professor who took a shining to my new-school brand of braggadocio/idiocy, you are brought in to, over time, acquire and utilize the skills that you were supposed to have had with you all along. Like what the fuck is a resume? Computer skills? If you can't use a fucking computer and you graduated college in 2008, then you are wholly, unequivocally fucked. There are always people who don't seem to be working as hard as others, but yield a seemingly greater success within the same limits; it isn't easy for anyone, but being mired in the drudgery of doing something you don't actually enjoy, or having no true outlet for your passions, will lead even the most level-headed of people to find themselves jealous of those who are blissfully ignorant or mysteriously knowledgeable.



The Philadelphia Eagles have been eliminated from the playoffs this year; hold up those heads iggles fans, it's been one hell of a storybook Mcnabb-phone calling, Andy Reid Bearded, Asante Samuel picking plum dicking run for the ages.

This reminds of the Nina Simone interview I posted a little while back

Those chickenheads are fucking yap happy in this clip.

Jesse Chappelle you're on notice

Didn't realize how much Chappelle links together the stand up material, but he does it in such a brilliant way that I had never considered (contrary to popular belief continuity is a sign of a real talent); using both the hey what makes you think I'm chinese, I am korean! AND the we don't get bent out of shape we just call those people police from For What it's Worth:

Drunk Bitch X

Looking for some awesome backup vocals recorded in the early aughts? Look no further than Slick Rick's verse off of "The Sun" on Bulletproof Wallets (oh my my my).



Don't get caught with your pants down singing that Ghostface verse in front of people, they will think you're singing some hymnal bullshit (especially when you have whiteboy ritmo, but, then again, take it away Frank Rich!) So it's Sunday morning coming down, and last night I smoked my brains. The weather outside is once again tremendous; football with the euros is a dangerous prospect for your man in the field.

Here's a question, how hard would it be to learn Welsh this late in the game? I just cannot get enough of the Super Furry Animals "Radiator"; I'm starting to think a Best of list should just include whatever the fuck you've been listening to and not require recentness of the releases.

Chris Duhon leads the league in minutes played (via gchat w/ Avis), this leads me to believe that he is officially the most likable Duke alumni playing starter minutes in the NBA; so, in summary Shane Battier, Elton Brand, Corey Maggette, and co. are losing some of their initial luster. I bet at least one of these athletic, abnormally tall gentlemen read this today and thought, "fuck."

The Knickerbockers also have two DePaul alumni on their roster in Quentin "Q" Richardson and Wilson "Wil" Chandler; apparently if you go to school in Chicago you can still play basketball in the Big East, although in Q's case he played in Conference USA. DePaul exists in my mind only because I once met a dope female coworker who was finishing up her philosophy degree undergrad; subsequent mentioning of her has resulted in regaling of the likability of many of the co-eds in attendance at said University for their love of "fashion" among other things.



So, I've never been to Australia, but the more women I meet from lovely Oceania, the more I think that I've just got to get down there (in every sense o' the word). When I saw Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright (with special guest Ben Lee) at the Borgata in Atlantic City with Mike Blumenthal, I was intrigued when the diminutive Lee ambled over to the lead guitar player and gave him a fat kiss on the lips; The Red Hot Chili Peppers have been in the onstage kissing game for mad long, and don't even get me started on Mitch and Mickey, but I digress. During an Australian tour featuring Folds, Lee and Ben Kweller, the three got together to record a quick 4 song EP; it got MTV attention, I can't quite recall if it was Kurt Loder or Sway who informed me of its existence. So, without further ado, a quick foray in to three of power pops finest songwriters of the last 15 years or so. All my farts smell like kebab sauce.

TB-TBEP

Dodo Bird flaps its wings aimlessly

What happens when you remember something that you used to like because your older brother would play it in his car during high school? You put up not one, but two clips; Thinking where I'm gonna be in 2007, either a house in the Hamptons or a house in heaven...I can still remember when that line seemed mad far off...



Enough reminiscing about distant veal-parm clouded memories, it's time to get real. Domenico thinks 2008 was a rough year for music in general; most people's best of lists were more painful to read than Jane Eyre in zero gravity. That most recent Adam Sandler movie, "You Don't Mess with the Zohan", is actually really funny; hummus related humor has had a real breakthrough as of late...but not as much as NBA players making music:




Lionel Richie on heavy rotation...

Dave Chappelle on Def Poetry Jam

Chappelle is a genius of all time! Also note the player hater line he drops; I don't know him and I hate his guts, brilliant.

Should I do drugs Dave?

Osanna

Sexy Sadie

Great Chord Progressions don't come out of thin air:

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!

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.

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?

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).

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;

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?

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.

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.

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.

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:

from the archives...

Mumia Abul-Jamal is still in prison, Bush Jr. it's time to pardon this man.

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.

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.

Morris Day

This song just gets it.

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.

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.

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.

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)

SFA on repeat

The fucking harmonies blow my mind on this song.

SFA on repeat

Nope it's impossible.

Why Stop

I ought to just put all these fucking videos in the same place. So I'm gonna give that a shot nowish.

New Theory

I think Ian Eagle blogsearches his own name on the daily. Just a thought.

Career Counseling?

FUCK THAT