Canaduh

Wow, this story is kind of ridiculous. I guess we're only used to the cartoon equivalent of mice and cats killing each other with explosives; I suppose it hits much harder when they don't just get burnt and frustrated, but actually die.

Merry Christmas JAPAN!

a sobering thought

slap bass playing is officially the least sexy thing of 2009, I'm declaring it right now, before some stupid motherfucker decides its ironic implementation would serve some sort of sinister purpose.

Somedays you feel like a nut...

Time to start drinking...

B-Ball's Best Kept Secret

Is it Brandon Roy, who torched the Suns (what an ironic postmodern age we live in) for 52 points last night? Is it Amir Johnson, who gets more "tremendous upside potential" love from freedarko than almost any other young forward in the league? Is it Worldwide Wes? No, it's actually a brilliant hip-hop compilation that dropped circa 1997 starring Dana Barros/Cedric Ceballos, but also featuring some work from Gary "The Glove" Payton, Shaq Fu, and Brian Scalabrine (not true, but thirty years from now, he'll be telling his grandkids all about it). Let's face it, there's no way someone like me could have uncovered this on my own, in fact I found it on a different blog, that I've linked to before and will again recommend you hit up.

Rambling Pines

When I was a kid, I was not one of the privileged jews who ran off to Summer Camp, and whatever premature coming of age eventfulness that came with it, but, looking back on it, this makes my parents look like geniuses in the sense that it has taken me an inordinately longer time to "grow up" than the average child. While this curse has swept up many of my generation, that the New Yorker stresses we refer to as "The Joshua Generation", I don't think I can speak with any accuracy concerning the coddled upbringings of other north-easterners, so I'll just stick to rants with an occasional music video interspersed to lighten the mood.



Life is really expensive, if you don't think this is true then you are either ignorantly blissful, incarcerated, or know something I don't (the latter is most likely truest, for the most obvious of reasons). If we think, for a moment, about the prospects of introducing socialist reforms in to the American economic system (something that is already somewhat occurring with every subsequent bailout), it often runs counter-intuitive to the hyper-competitive culture we foment in our fine land. It is also often emphasized that the Unites States of America also has an ever widening divide between rich and poor; this hinges on economic, cultural and ideological factors that worry me to no end; infrastructure reform, something Obama is ALL ABOUT, is entirely necessary to get us back on the right track.



Canada is a political nightmare right now, but I think they'll be okay, mainly because their milquetoast presence in the world makes them the most desirable place to be these days for disappointed left-leaning Americans, especially Neil Young fans.



Nick Kristoff's op-ed piece today on NY Governor, and all-around good guy, David Paterson fascinates me to no end; one, because he is speaking truth to power, but two because he is not to so subtly endorsing the consumption of diet colas, which while not carpooling on the diabetic highway do not seem to be the healthiest thing to be recommending. The soda industry is fucking HUUUUUUUUUUUGEEEEEE, worldwide, for christ's sake, you don't see the United Fruit Company killing native...oh wait, can you feel that residual implicit guilt Barack? Can you?!?!?! Word, go read a book.

Moz Def

Never Satisfied: A youtube playlist for the day

NJOI

Satisfaction

Books!

I just got my hardbound copy of "FreeDarko's Macrophenomenal Pro Basketball Almanac" and drank a 40; I also have skipped out on doing anything at work this week, but who can blame a guy whose friends have all deserted him for parts unknown (this of course with the rare exception of those lovely people who are also stuck in relative, languid isolation with me here, and also Jeru the Damager/Killer Mike who are my personal saviors/heroes/martyrs for making it out here so soon). By goodness, this book is worth every fucking penny I dropped on the international shipping charges (good looks a1books, a highly recommended seller on Amazon.com); it's been said a billion fucking times on the blogospferico, but I am going to shout its praises from the rooftops in here in Smellva (copyright, Lisboa circa one month ago).

I'll link to their book's website again, because it's really well put together, but hey hey, my my, go buy this shit (books are still important, even if you can just get a pdf copy of this shit, its weight just feels nice in one's hands)

I AM NOT GETTING PAID FOR MY LIP SERVICES, BUT FOR THOSE IN THE KNOW I'VE GOT SOME DSLs...

Wink Wink

W-WP

Bullish on Ween

White Pepper, which derives its namesake from The Beatle's Albums "S/T (White Album)" & "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band", is a fucking gem. You don't know exactly what to make of it, and by the time you think you've figured it out, you gotta turn the tape over and rewind that shit back (always a sign of the very best cassettes). In all honesty, the album seems to draw influence from other batshit insane works like Todd Rundgren's "A Wizard, a True Star", Meatloaf's "Bat Out of Hell" (Just Kidding), The Brian Eno/David Bowie collabs or even 10cc (the most direct influence one could conjure up, I suppose) or even some latter day Led Zeppelin (if you just threw your shoe at the screen, I hope you don't get incarcerated). When you look at the sentence I just wrote, you might think I'm giving this some serious hype, well, I am, it's that good.

Ween hail from New Hope, Pennsylvania; a town known for the juxtaposition of biker bars, gay bars, and Bucks County tranquility (my boy Adrian Pacia might stab me in the neck if I didn't mention Bucks County Fencing, but parentheticals are all I can offer). I read once that they worked at the Mexican joint called "El Taco Loco", where I once consumed some mediocre nachos (the utilization of "Nacho Cheese" will also elicit such a response from yours truly), but an excellent taco, or 3; I think it's often best to stick with items that are in the name of the restaurant when unsure what to order.

You could buy a copy of White Pepper here, if somebody really wants a copy leave a comment or something.

Another buttfuck hipster I find myself becoming...

Ok

Now that I'm absolutely positive that noone at the school I work at reads English at more than a third-grade level, I can finally rest easy at night: when I was younger, I always wondered why the PTA existed, or why people had to lobby for membership, etc; now it finally makes sense that an active civil society is the crux of raising standards, matter not how artificial these constructs may be. Here in Spain, parents come to their children's schools only for emergencies, to sew costumes for Christmas plays or to chain smoke cigarettes directly in front of 4 year olds.

Noam Chomsky famously wrote, "Colorless green ideas sleep furiously", just to prove a point that language is ridiculous, I think; with that in mind, I invite anyone who reads this, above a third-grade level, to offer their own take on the absurd nature of written English. Winner gets a prize in the mail (Offer good thru 12/31)!

Phallix

Oh Shit!

For those of you who don't personally know my father, let me just say I'm sorry you haven't had the pleasure of crossing paths with a man of such mirth. One particularly brilliant nugget of wisdom the old man dropped in my lap once was that the final days of the Roman Empire were marked by the importance of spectator sport amid the collapsing pillars of society (economy, military might, etc...); juxtaposed, America seems to be at an intriguing point of comparison, or not, that's for someone with a more educated opinion to decide (too bad Halberstam's dead).

That said, I can't help but sport some minor wood for two phantastic signings over the last week or so: Raul Ibañez and Chan Ho Park are signed on for the 2009 season.

Billy Crystal was an NBA referee in a movie, and played the token gay on the late, great SOAP. Let's take a look at some footage, and compare the characters:





There you have it; I think he's much gayer when he's an nba ref.

Princeton heads making moves

Get ready for Maggette! (Note: This phrase comes second hand to me, as a response to the somewhat well known phenomenon of "Who want to sex Mutombo?" A story itself that is worthy of a short explanation for the sake of those not in the know.)

As rumor has it, one fateful night at a popular campus bar, Hoya star center Dikembe Mutombo, and his 7'+ wingspan, entered to a reception of starry eyed, but somewhat hesitant co-eds; shy, but approachable, The "Thirsty One", as myself and a close friend have always referred to him, had to find a way to break the ice with the ladies. What came next is somewhat anti-climactic if you've read the above, and or don't know who Mutombo is, or what that name means in the context of an NBA game. (A quick side note: Mutombo is a noted philanthropist in his native Congo, where he has built several hospitals and, in fact, is a licensed medical doctor himself. He also speaks upwards of 13 languages, and was hailed at the 2008 state of the union by President George W. Bush as a great "American tale") This early incarnation of what was to be one of the greatest defensive centers in NBA history, spread his wingspan, cocked his head and simply proposed, "Who want to sex Mutombo?"

Ok, now that I've wasted a portion of your life with this story, check out this fantastic music video by two of P-ton's finest:



For more information on Mutombo, you may want to consult some of my early posts back in July. Also you can contact me at alex.sugiura@gmail.com, because I am not ashamed to admit that I could talk at length about this man's greatness (Mutombo for President of the African Union).

Happy Mondays you white motherfuckers.

It's begining to look a lot like Christmas...

Yikes!

Supreme Cream Dream

I look forward to getting a letter from google.

Here's Jack Black at his absolute finest in a scene from the Mr. Show movie,Run Ronnie Run.

Bribery

I had a legit cup of coffee this morning. Then the bartender, while attempting to consolidate the "tomate natural", squeezed the dregs of a bottle all over his Dolce & Gabanna T-Shirt. I don't think he got the joke when I smiled and said, "now you know how I feel everyday of the week."

I have been riding the NYT coattails hard this week, but for good reason. It should come as no surprise, then, that I will link to another great statistics-laden, but altogether endearing piece by one Charles Blow; best name in the biz as far as this japanese-jew is concerned (editors note: It's true, I'm not even remotely Mexican). READ HERE

In other news:

-Mehmet Okur will hopefully, one day, elicit offers similar to those extended to Visanthe Shianco; via deadspin.com.

-Some asshole thought it would be a good idea to green light a film about an awkward teenager who works at an amusement park where he has the time of his life before heading off to college. FUCK THAT! (Caveat: this is only because a good friend of mine has a much better idea of how to make the amusement park film. Hint: Slackers, pedophiles and contraband)

-Meatballs is still the best camp movie to get referenced in Wet Hot American Summer.

-Three worst teams in the NBA: LA, Boston and Cleveland. Wait, scratch that, it's the opposite, but still it felt good when I wrote it.

-Drunk jews all dance like a Costanza:

New Campaign

Let's get David Brooks fired and get Doug Glanville to write weekly columns in the NYT Op-Ed:

no offense DB, but you've fallen off worse than Raja Bell over the last couple of seasons.

Like, seriously, what the fuck is this?

Today's Op-ed.

Oh Baby

"Hollywood" Cole Hamels has this to say about the New York Met's performance over the last couple of seasons:

They are "choke artists"