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?
2009/01/14
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.
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