Music Video of the Day: Sleazy Remark on Her Whorish Dress Edition

This is "Backfire at the Disco" by Liverpudlian, dance-punk darlings the Wombats. They took SXSW by storm a couple of weeks back. Watch and see why.

"He disrespected us in the most horrific way."

Loyal readers of this Blog know cold4thestreets' feelings about America's Mayor. He's the worst kind of politician: power-hungry, shrill, devoid of ideas, nakedly, cynically exploitative of our worst fears. He's a dishonorable man and stands to gain more from September 11th than its perpetrators; he's never met a union he didn't want to bust up, a homeless guy he didn't want to drag to central booking, and yet I'm supposed to get all weak in the knees because he has some sort of passing grasp of reproductive rights. Finally, the other shoe's dropping. Members of New York's Bravest--maybe the most honorable people our country knows--are beginning to come out with their true feelings about Giuliani. Let's hope this is only the beginning...

and we ride on them things like everyday

tyler recently informed me that mayor shirley franklin of phatlanta proposed a $1 billion revitalization of peachtree street (not to be confused with peachtree avenue, circle, boulevard, post, etc.). the most intriguing part of this proposal to me, aside from the bike lanes, is that atlanta will be getting a streetcar line.

a streetcar! along one of the wealthiest and, let's face it, whitest neighborhoods in atlanta? racial integration on public transit isn't exactly atlanta's strongsuit. hello marta. as a pseudo-communist from canada, i was shocked to find that people disagreed on the necessity of public infrastructure, like, uh, sidewalks. i can't imagine that atlantans will be rushing to pay for this with their tax dollars, but that remains to be seen.

anyway, mayor franklin, i salute your efforts. traffic congestion in your city is ungodly and, not to mention, un-al gore. but please propose a superior slogan to "itsmarta."

on an unrelated note, i'm gonna don my flannel and go see sebadoh this weekend. long live the early to mid-90s!

Known Knowns, Known Unknowns, Unknown Unknowns

You know, what's weird? Those moments in life when you discover something that's common knowledge is unknown to you. Maybe, you've been pronouncing the word "oeuvre" or "Penelope" wrong, maybe you thought the Maldives are in the Mediterranean, maybe (like me) you thought Jennifer Lopez and A.C. Slater (pictured) are siblings in real life. Who knows, but the point is no one's ever corrected you. This happened to Jon Stewart a few weeks ago when he said "sang-gween" instead of "sang-gwin," and his guest, Jerry Seinfeld called him on it. The look on Stewart's face was classic: sheepish meets sarcastic, in keeping with his typical poses, but beneath the surface you could tell he was embarrassed. But this kind of thing happens to everyone. In fact I have a friend who's about the smartest person I know, and she thought I was mainlining Jack Daniels when I said so and so was making money hand over fist.

Anyway, I myself just now had one of these moments. Apparently, I have gone my whole life writing and saying "fin de siecle" for "piece de resistance." Bill Safire is going to be so disappointed in me. (Of course, he would never use "so" incorrectly as I just did.)

Ain't No Bar/Bri like California Bar/Bri...

Earlier today I attempted to go the the California Bar Exam website, but accidentally browsed my way to this site. The old .org/.com mix-up. Check out the lead picture on the second site--you have to click the link, since it won't let me poach it for some reason. What's up with that image? The .com site purports to be "for resources and information on Lawyers and California Bar Exam," and I know the California Bar is hard. I shit myself daily just thinking about it, but it doesn't really help matters when in attempting to register for it I'm met with a picture of a recent law school graduate who's obviously just failed, disappointed grandpa, and shamed himself in front of a group of nonplussed old people--that or he just got convicted for a DUI in the California Court of Senescence, which will seriously impact his moral fitness and character review.

Get Your Mind Correct

Presidential campaigns are really bizarre for a number of reasons, as we all know. In the course of seeking the presidency, your honorable military service can be torpedoed by a bunch of partisan zombies who didn't actually serve with you, your pre-Angelina adoption of a Bangladeshi orphan can cost you the South Carolina primary, and you might find yourself in Des Moines, going through puberty while screaming "Yeeeaaah!" into a microphone. These are examples of the kind of scrutiny you haven't invited on yourself. They're also known as smear campaigns.

But then, there's that other kind of scrutiny. The kind you seek out. Rudy Giuliani (pictured)--perhaps the most attention-starved man this side of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad--knows what I'm talking about: After all, as mayor of New York he saw fit to hold press conferences to decry suicide bombers in the Middle East and to announce the dissolution of his marriage (without consulting his soon-to-be-ex first). His media whorishness--which makes Chuck Schumer look like a wallflower--reached fever pitch of course on September 11th, when lo and behold, without him having to ask, the world's cameras voluntarily turned to him. His brave choice not to disintegrate into histrionics--which, as I recall, can be said of almost every other New Yorker as well--has earned him a Bush-style free pass. But I digress...

You run for President and everything you say takes on new import. Knowing that, why on God's green earth is Barack Obama opining about the civil rights of the three Duke lacrosse players. Yes, it's pretty obvious Mike Nifong, the Durham County District Attorney, hid exculpatory evidence in pursuing his case, violated North Carolina's rules of professional conduct with his inappropriate comments, and drummed up racial tensions so that he could win re-election. These kids were hosed. I have no doubt about that. But it's also pretty clear that they're members of a dishonorable organization, a team that's pretty comfortable with racism and misogyny. (Listen to the 911 calls). I am not saying you reap what you sow. Nifong's an asshole. But so are these kids (though they're not rapists), and in an age when scores of non-assholes have their civil rights routinely trampled on, how is this a cause celebre?

Obama, you need to stay out of this. If you want to be President, your plate should be full already, with things like health care, which you seem to have no imagination about. Ain't no votes in the rape case, son. Get your mind correct...

still beats david boies

wow, this is newsworthy enough for the times to waste its precious editorial page space on?? is this some sort of a meta-commentary on the vapidity of our culture? this is even worse than modern love! at least they're still running "the boss." best part of the times!

i gotta hand it to matthew fox: you've come a long way since my junior year when you gave a talk in the schapiro lounge! also, where is neve campbell?

and a shout-out to collin: "In conclusion, peace is good and war and oppression are bad." parents of cc'07, stick with charlie. nobel prizewinners may disappoint.

Roy Hibbert Eats Tyler Hansbrough's Nonexistent Children

In DC, this is how we do:
Georgetown 96, UNC 84.
Hoyas go on to the Final Four, where they will feast on Greg Oden.

because i could

speaking of pimps, any man who can transition from this to this deserves to be called pimp of the week. we salute you, bill!

of course, which do i prefer? i haven't been this conflicted since the fat vs. thin elvis debate of the 90s.

give me a break

ever since the times recommended shallow hal, i have learned to disregard their movie reviews. sorry to rip off your mantra, stosselini (and RIP nell carter), but are you kidding me over here, a.o. scott. looks like someone is projecting.

March Madness: Cricket Edition -- UPDATE

This news is just breaking, and bizarrely it's even catching CNN's interest: Bob Woolmer, Pakistan's cricket coach was, in fact, murdered.

My Favorite!!

Oh My! I'm a Casual Racist

I really like it when old people confuse casual racism with witty observation or old world charm. There is, for instance, that old lady from Arrested Development, who said to Gob, "You could charm the black off a telegram boy." She ends up choking on a piece of chicken. And then there's CBS sports chief Dick Enberg (pictured). During tonight's broadcast of the Southern Illinois-Kansas game the old-timey announcer attempted to praise the Salukis' Jamaal Tatum, a gifted player--a young black man--with a 3.64 GPA: The only C's he's ever gotten, said Enberg in chuckling disbelief, were in African-American Studies. Whoah! But he's black! How is that even possible?! Don't you get, like, a B just for having awesome dreads like Tatum? I wonder if Enberg thinks I should have done better in that Terrorism and State-Sponsored Violence class I took in college.

pimp it up

sugarpockets just reminded me of my longstanding wish for her to pimp up some snacks. over the summer i stumbled onto this website, where (most likely stoned) brits make giant versions of their mysterious snacks. like what the hell is a scotch egg?

some of the pimped snacks blew my mind: the cola bottle, the tunnock's teacake and the all-american and all-delicious hostess cupcake. not to mention, look at that fool and his giant custard creme.

sugarpockets, c4ts and i tried to come up with our own pimp-worthy snacks: combos? milanos? in fact, most pepperidge farm cookies (i'm looking at you, chessmen) would be pretty good writ large.

on a legal note, the website was first called pimpmysnack.com until mtv sent them a cease and desist letter (c4ts, you and i can only dream about receiving such attention). the creators then changed the site name to www.pimpthatsnack.com. oh really, the "my" was misleading the masses? fucking lawyers.

Louis Vitton Makes Shower Caps?

Thanks to Commenter J for this...

teacher...mother...secret lover

ah television. often undeservedly vilified and maligned, my love for it began when my parents decided that it would be a useful way for me to learn english (not unlike madison - sqwak!!). of course, their benign, nay, innocent hopes, no surprise, had some unintended consequences as my amateurish game show and saturday morning cartoon watching metastasized into a veritable obsession. tv taught me many valuable lessons in life, e.g., an egg eventually will lead you to that secret party, fat dudes marry hot ladies and nothing's gonna stop us now.

when i see posts like this one i think, hey, i'm not alone in this world.

despite my personal philosophy that once anything becomes a job it immediately loses all appeal, i thought maybe being a tv critic wouldn't be so bad. then i found out you need a freaking harvard degree to make it around here. jeez.

March Madness: Cricket Edition

While we Americans take little interest in the world outside our borders, it should be noted that the cricket World Cup is currently taking place in the West Indies. This quaint tradition--a placeholder for the bad old days of colonialism--is of signal importance in households around the world--even as English dominance in the sport has faded and thrashing erstwhile colonial masters has lost some of its appeal.

In Pakistan talk of a resurgence had reached fever pitch the last few weeks: In the wake of ball-tampering and doping scandals, was this to be the year that our fearless (at least in the face of the proverbial extra donut) captain Inzamam (pictured) would lead us back to '92 glory? Sadly, no. Not only did Pakistan lose to the host team, over the weekend it lost to--wait for it--Ireland, a team from a country that disdains all things English; a team that is playing in its first ever World Cup; a team made up of, I shit you not, electricians, postmen, and delivery truck drivers, amateurs who must now look into requesting extra vacation time from their bosses just so that they can play in the Super 8's (the second round, to which Ireland will likely advance and to which Pakistan will not). "Without a hint of doubt in my mind, it's the lowest point in Pakistan cricket," said Initikhab Alam, the coach of the triumphant '92 team...but actually it wasn't. The lowest point would come just hours later when...

THE COACH OF THE PAKISTANI TEAM, BOB WOOLMER, WAS FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOTEL ROOM. An autopsy is scheduled, and I fear the worst--coincidence just seems like too much to ask.

In the end, Pakistan was on the wrong end of the worst upset in cricket history, and one way or the other--because of murder or shock--its coach paid for it with his life. That's cold. Cold for the streets, and makes basketball March Madness look like backgammon at the old folks' home.

kids say the darndest things

at the subway station this morning i was reminded of that cloying cosby-hosted show, as a girl (about 8 or 9 years old) straddling the armrest of those wooden subway benches yelled out to her dad, "daddy, my vagina hurts!"

for the awkward moments of our lives...part 3

they recently renovated my floor and have begun hanging up "artwork," i.e. things that resemble castoffs from a hotel auction from the 80s. photos of car interiors, paintings that look like those fruitopia ads from the mid-90s, pastel renderings of benign new york landscapes. heinous stuff.

i was walking down the hall with someone who's more familiar with these parts and i said, "[redacted], can't we get better artwork around here?" he replies a few seconds later, "E, you said it right in front of the woman in charge of buying the art."

The March of Madness...

I have always always argued that there's a really disturbing connection between blind jingoism and irrational sports allegiances. It's not an original notion. I believe it was Noam Chomsky who said that we, as Americans, learn chauvenism at an early age--screaming at the TV when an 18-year-old kid misses a three-pointer, painting our faces with our team's colors, spewing invectively when talking about a rival team. Because our dad maybe grew up in Riverdale liking Joe DiMaggio, we come to accept as truth that the Red Sox are the devil's minions--literally, an evil wrought upon this earth. Considering we get totally worked up about something as trivial as professional or college sports, it's easy to see how presumably professional people in our government can say to the Pakistani head of state: "We are going to bomb you back into the stone age," unless you cooperate with us. Our team is better; your team is made up of an indistinguishable mass of terrorists. There is no gray area.

Now, that said, to know me is to know how much I love watching college basketball, and how much I adore my team--the vilified Duke Blue Devils. And as unsettled as I am by this fact of my character, I too experience an unnatural joy when they win--which they haven't been doing a lot of this year. It's how I'm conditioned. But one thing I've never felt when thinking of Duke's rivals--Maryland, North Carolina--is disdain. That's something I just don't get. I mean irrational love is one thing, but irrational hate, well, that should give us pause; no matter what the form. Now, my Duke friends might say that to love Duke is to hate Carolina. But I don't see it. I want Duke to beat Carolina when they play, but when Carolina plays other teams I wish them well. They're Michael Jordan's Tar Heels. What's to hate?

Okay, okay. Maybe it's all in good fun. Those of us who have a connection to Duke or Carolina can talk smack about one another, but here's a real headscratcher: What is up with the random-ass people who detest Duke and love Carolina, but have absolutely no connection to either? What is that about? Homey, you went to Tufts or Santa Clara or wherever. You ain't gotta horse in this race. You couldn't find Franklin Street on a map of Chapel Hill. But yet, you do things like this: send vituperative emails to the Michigan Law School listserv denouncing Duke, address me with homophobic slurs at sports bars when I cheer for Duke, and post videos on YouTube, like this one--from my friend Nick's brother, which, my lecture aside, is actually pretty funny--though the "you even suck at rape" line is stunningly uncool:

trifecta!

oh, what a way to brighten my dreary day!

behold:
1) reminders of the halcyon days of the clinton administration
2) wall street journal hedcuts
+
3) JANET RENO DANCE PARTY

equals....THIS!

aloha!

is this blog anti-daylight savings time?

someone at work today revealed to me his love for magnum p.i. (for the record, i always thought magnum wore both a detroit tigers cap and a hawaiian shirt, but apparently that venn diagram doth not meet). thinking about hawaiian shirts reminds me of only one thing: trader joe's. i have an unabashed and unquenchable love for that place. it was the silver lining amidst those dreary days in ann arbor. sure it was snowing in may, but who gives a shit when you can hang with not only trader joe, but trader ming and trader giotto?

anyway, i was super-psyched when TJs decided to open an outpost in new york. i think this excitement lasted for about 2 months, when it dawned on me that the anxiety over whether i could reduce my trip to 8 items so i could join the express line, fighting off those pesky nyu kids buying nothing but cereal, going to a separate store to buy wine, then taking two trains to get home, oh, i dunno, seemed stupid.

joe, someday you and i will be reunited and it will feel so good.

Quote of the Day: March Madness Edition

On this, the eve of the most wonderful day of the year, I am reminded of something former Utah basketball coach--and current ESPN commentator--Rick Majerus (pictured) once said to his colleague--and former Duke hero--Jay Bilas. At the Maui Invitational in 2005, a pre-season event at which all, coaches and commentators alike, tend to wear--what else?--Hawaiian shirts, Bilas decided to be an uppity bitch and sported a polo instead. Majerus' response? "Jay, only a guy who gets out of the shower to take a piss would wear a shirt like that." And with that, my final Four predictions: Florida, Georgetown, Texas A&M, and Kansas--with Georgetown--my first love, woman or basketball team--winning it all.

better than thicke?

here go my hopes of ever getting a ticket to see them live.

heckuva job

i asked some friends today whether this plan to fire a host of AUSAs was evil. and dil, i think correctly, noted that this may not even warrant a footnote in the catalogue of evils wrought by this administration. i originally thought, really? attempting to decimate the DOJ because it didn't align with your master plan isn't evil?

then i came home and when the levees broke was in my mailbox. about 10 minutes in i grew increasingly depressed. where to even begin? i'm at a loss. fuck you, george w. bush. fuck you, too, dick cheney.

and this is a little disingenuous coming from a billionaire, but i'll take it.

A2, Brutus?

This is the 5-day forecast in Ann Arbor. It's a useful tool since it also charts the state of my happiness. Right now--at the time of posting--the temperature is 71 degrees with sunny skies, which means I'm like Drew Barrymore after 5 espressos. Behold as my joy rots and dies from within over the next few days: The forecast for Saturday calls for snow and below freezing temperatures--that is, a 50% chance of my morphing into Rep. Obey (D-WI) after being confronted with people who want him to vote against the supplemental funding for the War or, much to his chagrin, use a filibuster in the House, an august body, in which of course there isn't one:

randomtown

reader(...s?), i am feeling overworked and underinspired. and y'know, it hit me, if c4ts can have unlimited shoe-related posts, then i will not cease with my gawker-related posts. i should celebrate that which gives me joy. which do i love most - postsecret? this post about brunch? this train wreck of a post, which i simultaneously love yet loathe? i mean, it is terrifyingly classist, but how can you not remark on people whose weddings involve the following: 1) First dance is to Michael Buble's "That's All"; 2) Wedding song is "Unchained Melody"; 3) Guests made to sing Bob Marley's "One Love" as the couple walked down the aisle?

even though i now live in nyc, i still don't receive my new yorker until at least wednesday. i can't wait for this article. i hope it exhaustively chronicles his journey from tub o'lard with a fan to haughty manorexic. woot. and for those of you who haven't yet read last week's, definitely read the one about AIDS in south africa, joan acocella's article about the choreographer of edward scissorhands, and whichever louis menand article it was. otherwise, forget the one about chalk. snooze!

as a last tidbit, why do designers who push impossible ideals on us always wear the same thing? carolina herrera? tom ford? michael kors?

Kicks -- Part 2

Did your mom used to wear these too, back in the day? A heated argument ensued in the comments section of the earlier posted Kicks (Part 1), but we can all agree the shoes above are patently awesome.

Happy Birthday C4tS!

Happy Birthday, old man! I'll get the walker and reading glasses ready.

Kicks?

I'm thinking about getting these shoes. Are Campers lame? What do you think? What do you think Tim Gunn would think?

what are they smoking at the dc court of appeals?

would YOU give marion barry a gun? wtf?

Grand Ole Party

So, with the field of GOP hopefuls looking about as presidential as a fresh turd with a "Support the Troops" bumper sticker on it, now comes word of a new movement afoot. A brigade of lobotomized zombies hopes to draft Fred Thompson--former Senator from Tennessee, and, more important, Jack McCoy's boss over at Law and Order (jobs, by the way, which at one point he held simultaneously)--into making a quixotic stab at Bush's LaZBoy. The actor-cum- statesman-cum-irrelevant-lunatic fled Washington a couple of years back, frustrated by all the pork barrel spending, which, it should be noted, inspires no argument here. My feelings about the fruit of the swine are well-documented in these pages, but seriously, a grassroots movement for the guy from Aces: Iron Eagle III? This must be the hubris born of winning a fictional election for Manhattan District Attorney in spite of a Tennesse drawl.

So, now, let's recap. Here're your other hopefuls:

• There's the guy who fought terrorism by looking at the burning embers of the World Trade Center in front of television cameras on September 11th;
  
• The decrepit guy whose face looks like its melting off in slow motion--the same one who's hoping that primary voters in South Carolina have forgotten he adopted a brown baby;
• The gay-loving Mormon: fabulous and decaffeinated;
  
• The dude who wants to be President because he thinks the guy mowing his lawn's plotting to kill his grandchildren;
  
• The Ferris Bueller of the United States Senate;
  
• The guy who fought a savage war against Bill Clinton for favors received from Monica Lewinsky while cotemporaneously receiving the very same favors from his own mistress;
• And the dude who refuses to pay $667 in back taxes on a house some lobbyist bought him in exchange for his soul.
  
• Oh, and probably Chuck Hagel, but Cheney'll off him soon--a little scattershot to the face maybe because, you know, Hagel hasn't had enough of that.

So, that's it, Mr. Gore. Go get 'em.

Quote of the Day

"Life is fair. Some people have talent. Others get prizes." -- Julie Phillips, quoting the subject of her own National Book Critics Circle award-winning biography, science fiction writer Alice B. Sheldon, at yesterday's NBCC Awards.

we're gonna have pun tonight

most of my friends know that there is nothing i love more than a clever headline. not in the jay leno kind of way that makes one squeamish, i swear. some unforgettable ones:

1) KING OF SWING - ny post, the day saddam was executed
2) ROASTED NUTS - trenton trentonian, mind-boggling!
3) usher says "yeah!" to mtv movie - pretty self-explanatory
4) gimpy gal sues MTA - ny post, disabled woman sues MTA alleging they failed to hire her because she was wheel-chair bound

but gawker, once again, blew my mind in this lance bass related post. who are these people? i must befriend them, stat. some highlights:
A Life Lived Bass Ackwards
Lance: from Lame to Lamé
Stop Calling me Ellen
Basstronaut: If I Did It (Ghost written by OJ Simpson ghost written by James Frey)
Are You There Lou Pearlman? It's Me, Lance
Sorry, Gays, I Know You Wanted It To Be Justin

I Still Want a Huuuuuuuula Hoop

So, in the Oscars - Live Blog I wondered aloud who might be cast in a live-action, all-female version of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Answer: Maggie Gyllenhaal as Alvin, Reese Witherspoon as Theodore, rest to be determined. Anyway, that was just me musing aloud (atype? ablog?), just bullshitting about something that wouldn't come to pass, right? Not even the criminally incompetent, the imaginationally impaired czars of a Hollywood studio would greenlight that kind of crap, you say? Well, you're only half-right. Apparently, there will be a live-action (cgi-supplemented) Chipmunks movie coming out this Christmas--though not a gender-bending one, sadly. Banky/Brodie from the Kevin Smith movies (apparently, a television star now?) is going to play emotionally abusive, PETA-hating record-producer/slavedriver/profiteer Dave Seville--hopefully as some sort of cross between Phil Spector and Bob Saget. Meanwhile, enjoy the oldie but goldie below...

-Chipmunks Christmas song.mp3

She's Not. That. Innocent.

This is from today's New York Times piece about the Harry Potter-Equus thing--which, I know, is old news:

To make it clear what audiences are in for, at least in part, photographs of Mr. Radcliffe’s buff torso, stripped almost to the groin, have been used to advertise the production. It is as jarring as if, say, Anne Hathaway suddenly announced that instead of playing sweet-natured princesses and fashion-world ingénues, she wanted to appear onstage as a nude, murderous prostitute.

Umm no. That wouldn't be jarring at all, dumbass, as any of the bajillion people who saw Brokeback knows. In that film and in another one as well she goes topless. Bill Keller needs to get Sewell Chan to start writing for Arts & Leisure because that joint is falling apart. That, or make sure the fact-checkers' blow isn't being cut with Arm & Hammer.

stop making sense - part 2 : Grody to the Max Edition

Blogger E, Usually I would just comment on your post, but I found it so interesting that I am inspired to post in response. You see, I have been waging a long and arduous linguistic battle myself, though this one with hipsters, taste-makers, cultural elites--you know, the bourgeoisie. As our silent partner sugarpockets knows, what I want is to reinfuse our common idiom with my favorite phrase/exclamation of the 1980's: "Grody to the max!!!" Much to my chagrin though, this campaign has been in vain. I had expected to find my cause championed by the likes of Noam Chomsky and William Buckley, but no such luck. So, here's to you, Punky Brewster (pictured). You might have grown into a fetching and buxom young woman (pictured), but in my heart, you will always be the cute, befreckled kid with the mismatched socks whose friend accidentally got locked in a refrigerator. Next time I see a rat crawling on the subway platform at East Broadway, in your honor I will proclaim, "Grody to the max!!!"

stop making sense - part 1

business terms and phrases i've learned to despise:
1) anything involving "circle," e.g., "let me circle up with my team and get back to you," "we'll circle back and let you know."
2) "bandwidth," when people mean capacity

vast right-wing conspiracy

scene: 3 olds in the cafeteria at work. i'd say they were born circa-johnson (andrew, not lyndon)

old 1: did you hear scooter libby may go to jail?
old 2: i wish they'd send hilary instead.
chorus of olds chortling.

Televising the Revolution

You will remember Ludacris and 50 Cent's dust-up with Oprah last year, but in case you forgot, here's a reminder: After appearing on her show to promote Crash, Luda told GQ, "What I got was that by having rappers on her show, she feels like she is empowering in them..I don't see why Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle, who I am huge fans of, it's OK for them to go on Oprah. They speak the same language as I do, but they do it through comedy, so I guess that's acceptable to her." Now, Luda--whose lyrics, granted, are insanely misogynistic--did have a point: Why the free pass for the non-corn-rowed comedians? Why the total absence of any MC's on the Oprah show?

Well, that moment seemed to pass, but now comes word that Wynton Marsalis (pictured, err, depicted) also hates hip hop, except, unlike back-pedaling Oprah, he's not equivocating. This is the salient bit from his recent interview with the Guardian:

Old school minstrels used to say they were 'real darkies from the real plantation'. Hip-hop substitutes the plantation for the streets. Now you have to say that you're from the streets, you shot some brothers, you went to jail. Rappers have to display the correct pathology. Rap has become a safari for people who get their thrills from watching African-American people debase themselves, men dressing in gold, calling themselves stupid names like Ludacris or 50 Cent, spending money on expensive fluff, using language like 'bitch' and 'ho' and 'nigger.'

It's clear that there are generational and class divisions at work here, and far be it from me to opine about an issue that goes to the heart of contemporary black American society, being that, well, I'm not black, but still why is it that Marsalis, Oprah, Bill O'Reilly and others seem to think the paragons, the torch-bearers, of an entire genre of music--an entire aesthetic, an entire culture (not subculture, mind you)--are its worst offenders?

Okay, that's a rhetorical question. I can imagine what Nelly's album sales look like when compared to Jurassic 5's, but once, just once, I'd like to hear what universally renowned musical geniuses like Wynton Marsalis have to say about Mos Def's Black on Both Sides or Tribe's Low-End Theory or anything Viktor Vaughn's released. Hip hop may include all of the things that Marsalis hates it for--all of the things that I too hate about it--but, still, I know I'm not alone when I say, it's the greatest artistic invention of our lifetime.

In that spirit, and in honor of today's news that Scooter Libby is likely jail-bound, I give you Akon and Styles P's "Locked Up," which includes this gem, "Locked up, they won't let me out/ And I had a long day in court. Shit stressed me out."

sports cap

this "play" magazine that the times sometimes slips into my sunday paper seems to be the print equivalent of a non-sequitur. wtf? i decided to flip through it this morning before i get to the heavy stuff, e.g., sunday styles, the city, coupons.

there was this article fawning over marv albert. now, as i indicated in a previous post, nothing in sports past june 14, 1994 interests me, so of course i read this. ah, i remember those lazy saturday mornings marked by that john tesh-composed nba on nbc theme. marv, you will never be a man in panties who likes to bite women to me.

on a related note, some of you know that i had to make a mad dash to the border last week for no good reason. at the toronto airport i ran into freaking PAT QUINN, aka my childhood idol and two-time coach of the year winner. i sort of gushed, "i am a big fan of yours." he looked a little taken aback and muttered something resembling a thank you. then i came home, googled him and found this. learns me to stop paying attention to sports.

if you've made it this far, here is your reward: i am going to eat your family.

You Are Coming to a Sad Realization. Cancel or Allow?

Richie Valens died at 17. Buddy Holly at 22. James Dean at 24. John Keats at 25. Otis Redding at 26. Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin at 28. And Percy Bysshe Kelley at 29. With my own 29th birthday fast approaching, I find myself--a little lighter of pate, a little heavier of paunch--in a brooding mood.

No, I haven't a death wish. It's just that I had planned to do a lot in my 20's. To be specific, I had planned to write a great novel and liberate myself from the workaday life, but yet I languish in writer's lethargy, only occasionally considering my scraps of a first chapter, which I have been revisiting for years now. Chapter Two of this book, a sin-soaked, South-Asian-American bildungsroman about a school-teacher in New York, exactly the kind of work that wins you Michiko Kakutani's favor, is as far off as ever. And now comes the following disheartening news: Uzodinma Iweala (pictured), whose mom worked in the same place my dad worked (but in a higher position), who went to the same tiny high school I did (but then went to a better college), who is four years my junior, and who published his debut novel in 2005, has just been named one of Granta's best young American novelists. I've never met the guy, and the only thing of his I've read was in the New Yorker a little while back, but still I seethe with the most malignant form of jealousy

Yet, sadly, jealousy, that lazy bitch, doesn't spur me to action.

So, with my 29th birthday--my 30th year on Earth--descending upon me, ton-of-bricks style, I promise you this, singular reader: a great work of fiction...sometime in my 30's.

Brokeback Odds and Ends

So, I was looking for some information about when Feist's new album comes out, and I came across this home-made video, which is awesome.(The embed function is not working properly, I am sorry to say.) It sets Feist's "Secret Heart" to scenes from Brokeback. Also, in related news, despite all the good will that Marky Mark had earned in my heart with his post-Planet of the Apes redemption in The Departed, he's actually just a homophobic ass.