Saturday, September 30, 2006

bought myself a gray guitar

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Mike Jones - Mr. Jones

Out the gate, it's a damn shame this doesn't flip Counting Crows. After Pimp C rhymed over Tom Petty for "I'm Free" and Young City (aka Choppa from Making Tha Band) used "Losing My Religion," I was hoping there would be some kind of 90's rock trend. "Mr. Jones" is due, as is "Hey Jealousy" and Collective Soul's "Shine." Shit, I used to spin "Lakini's Juice." That was the jam.

Meanwhile, "Mr. Jones" is just confusing. Seriously, this shit is a mess. A choir, not even a children's choir, but really a bunch of people singing about how Mr. Jones has a shotgun, but you'll never catch him, and how you're alone because all your friends want to ride with Mr. Jones. Huh? And dude still sounds like Mike Jones, but I only counted one repeated line. And like two "ice ages." And he jacks Shawnna's flow (just like Young Joc did on "It's Goin Down" and T.I. did on "Back Front Back"...just sayin). I can't figure out this beat, which falls somewhere between "Cold As Ice" (Journey or M.O.P. will work) and, what, Aerosmith? That guitar rev doesn't belong in the same track as those keys. And fuck them "Eleanor Rigby" strings too.

On the bright side, the Rick Ross Subliminal Diss Watch continues. Will Rawss get heated about "I got a white on white, I call that bitch Rick Ross"? We can only hope.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

for tonite

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Yola on a quad, which needs no further caption.

I'm pouring up a big cup of that lean for MJD, who shouts out my drank anthem of choice, Frayser Boy's "I Got Dat Drank" in his Terrance Kiel post (although let's clear up his statement about tracks that mention promethazine).

That pic up top is of D.G. Yola aka Yola da Great. I only heard like three songs by him, but if you missed out on "I Aint Gon Let Up" and all its steel drum glory this summer, get familial. Dude's signed to TI's Grand Hustle label now, which is old news, but I mainly wanted an excuse to post up that picture.

Overall it's been a big week for rap, with Lupe and Luda both dropping. Still aint heard the Lupe, but the Luda is pretty good, especially for a Luda album. There's still some fluff but all the jams where he's just really salty at the world are awesome. He has this sort of blue-collar Dad-rap appeal right now, replacing rapping about the insane grind of selling crack with the insane grind of running a record label, talking about taking care of his employees. I swear there's even lines about insurance. Also, there's a spaced out creeping track with Field Mob ("Satisfaction") and the long-overdue rappers-in-jail posse cut with Pimp C, Bun B and Beanie Sigel ("Do Your Time").

Speaking of Beanie Sigel, FADER has a couple of extensive interviews up right now, one with him and the other with Young Jeezy. Beans dishes on his contentious relationship with both Jay-Z and Dame Dash, which is ok, but not as whoa as the details on his upcoming musical endeavours. Dude talks about working with Dre and Vidal, who produced "Goodies" and "Caught Up," probably not coincidentally two of my favorite R&B jams from the last two years, and recording and touring (!!!!!) with a live band. It's real 1998 to get amped about rapping over real music (especially after seeing SO MANY BAD ROOTS BITERS...everyone that went to college in the last 7 years, I know you feel me), but Beanie's beat selection and aesthetics make this pretty freakin intriguing. Aspirations of working with live musicians from a dude whose last album relied on suicidal old soul ballads? If they get the studio game right (DON'T MIC THE DRUMS PLEASE), this could be amazing (if it ever actually drops). Jeezy's interview is less insightful, but he lays down some of that so-true-it's-almost-dull talk about what he feels his shit represents--"how much of the truth people want to hear, that's a different question"...nice.

Oh and Justin Timberlake...I still aint heard FutureSex or whatever it's called, but the homey Jeff has heard Timberlake and has some insights on it. I don't entirely agree with his racial angle (see my comment at the bottom of the post), but the parallels he finds are interesting.

I saw Ladytron (awesome) and CSS (slightly less awesome, but mostly because the sound in Webster Hall is straight doo-doo), and while I saw at the show, I had the great idea to have a tattoo artist at my merch table when I'm famous. Selling shirts, CD's and tats. Brilliant. And I remembered that hilarious idea when I saw this girl with some Game ink. No, no, no, no.

Kardinal Offishal has a new tape out. In case you were preturbed by the continued dominance of Swollen Members (ayo!) of the Canadian rap scene, please to cop that tape and have your faith in the rap world of the great white north restored.

Robert Downey Jr. to play Ironman. Guest starring Adrian Brody as Trife. Just kidding.

And one last note on football. Remember the Native American dude from Super Street Fighter II? And how he had that move where he'd headbutt you? Well he's playing safety for the Steelers.

Nice hit, get that man a stripper funeral when he goes.

Not just for foreigners anymore!

I know some thangs:

-When I was in the shower, I received a transmission from the future incarnation of planet Zzyzx13 (I've actually been to a real place called Zzyzx, which is where some of Kool Keith's personas claim to be from. It's on I-15 between Vegas and LA.). Buckwild alien heads are real high on this blog Gerard vs. Bear, which basically reads like a music blog written by a proto-hominid or maybe a viciously cynical, high functioning autistic wolverine.

-Yesterday, in a rare event, the sun and moon of JustSayin2000 aligned perfectly and we didn't even think to tell you about it. That's right, pro football player Terrence Kiel of the San Diego Chargers is in big trouble for sending a big batch of ingredients for drank across state lines. Yup, the fourth year DB was fetching lean supplies for his boys in Texas (pronounced "Tixis") and had a not-so-mouth-like-a-disco-ball ending. Here is the story according to an AP sportswriter who you can just picture trying to explain this, given that the word "lean" appears in "quotes" the "whole article." Not icy. You know how we feel about loafers-with-tassels-assed-lemming sportswriters around here. Here is the story according to MJD, who, unlike a sportswriter, knows who Frayser Boy is.
P.S. You might want to drop him from your fantasy team. Wait, fuck that, pick him up.

-I'm saving the best for last. I really don't know how to say this so I'll just say it. Joe Mathlete Explains Today's Marmaduke (In 500 Words or Less).
[Sound of hundreds of bodies falling in faint as their brains exceed the speed of light]
I was trying to tell this Moroccan guy how American people don't understand Marmaduke or Family Circus either and how we're not crazy. But wait, we totally are. Can't you picture the old ladies from the robot insurance commercial chuckling at Marmaduke?

Late addition:
Thanks to mondesishouse I have been alerted to another "whoa fuck" instance of real life having fiction in a sleeper hold. Ladies and gents, your newest CBA franchise (aside from the one in Pittsburgh which apparently employs Kevin "Appalachian Rude Boy" Pittsnogle and Carl "Bronxxx" Krauser)....

The Atlanta Krunk Wolverines.

Give me a beer and I will unequivocally tell you it doesn't get much better than this.

I don't even know why the scientists make them!

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Tell me again about Mudville

Whether Terrell Owens did or did not attempt suicide is inconsequential. This story is already 75% of the way towards useless incomprehensibility. By virtue of T.O.'s history, personality and the nature of this most recent episode, he has virtually guaranteed that any sportswriter outside of Mike Wilbon or Frank Deford will be totally unable to understand, categorize or analyze him or his actions. The vast majority of sportswriters (or dudes with the urge to call sports radio shows) are utterly incapable of coherently or responsibly addressing issues that fall outside of two discrete categories: 1) Sports issues, e.g. games, contracts, trade talk and so on 2)Sentimental issues deemed to be "more important than sports," e.g. Katrina, the death of everyone related to Brett Favre.

I think it's common knowledge that most sportswriters are basically grown men who play with baseball cards for a living and have really bad attitudes because they have chosen a profession wherein they are reminded that they never achieved their dreams. Most sportswriters wanted to be professional atheletes but couldn't hit an 11th grade curveball just like all stage crew personnel wanted to become actors but couldn't sing the lead in West Side Story. They live vicariously through the stars of the show they promote, and take any opportunity to passive aggressively lash out in retribution for their past failures. To compound the unreliability of the sports media, most outlets (read: ESPN) are intensively Disnified entertainment operations without a very loose inerpretation of the word "journalism."

I don't want to get all freedarko on y'all, but T.O. is a complicated man, much like John Shaft, only different. There's pretty much nothing about the arc of his career narrative that conforms to the stock descriptions adapted to 95% of sports stories. I know people who tried to do themselves with pills, and frankly, deadspin commenters, it's not funny. Not even remotely. It will be even less funny when 65,000 people shake Tylenol bottles at him at the Linc in a few weeks. The dude's childhood was about three blocks past Twisted As Fuck Boulevard and I can't say much of his adult life reflects any kind of normalcy. Frankly, there is almost no way to parse out the actual insanity of T.O. from the perception. Everything T.O. has become caricatured into modern folklore. This incident, no matter what actually happened, is now the providence of a bunch of boorish, uncreative, vindictive hacks who will apply the appropriate "boo-yahs" and uninsightful stock to a story about another tragic turn for the modern sporting zeitgeist.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Orlando Bloom is a carpetbagger, part 2

More Philadelphyinz flicks up courtesy of theimpulseonline. Damned if that isn't a tore up dance floor. I don't even know nobody in them photos.

In Soviet Russia, nose ring wears you

A guest bleugger aujourd'hui: DosNittiLately I've been pondering the impact of my generation's messianic figure: Tupac. Ten years after his death I am beginning to grasp the cultural ramifications of his numerous achievements. He truly was the descendant of Black Power's demise in the 70's (His mother and father both fought police in during the prime years of the Panther's struggle) a poet of urban nihilism who was so captivating that he landed leading roles in films on his presence alone. He released at least 5 albums (30 if you are counting posthumous releases) to heavy critical acclaim and multi-platinum scan figures while appearing with major or starring roles in over six films. His troubles were legion, from shooting cops (and somehow not going to jail) to his sexual assualt conviction (actually sexual abuse), to his shooting and feud with East Coast counterpart Biggie, to his Shakespearean demise at the hands of parties unknown with the diabolical Suge Knight holding the puppet strings.I defy you to name a person in the information age who, like Elvis or a Saint, has drawn people to him with such fanatical love and devotion. They still report him to be alive based on pseudo-prophetic yet eeriely accurate predictions on his life. Even his visage and profile, smoldering yet imploring glare, bowed shaved head, muscled frame with THUG LIFE emblazoned across his chest, have become iconic imagery in a cult of devotion that spreads from Lapland to Soweto. He is the most important figure to emerge from the African American community since Malcolm X and that fact that he was murdered at the age of 25 makes his myriad accomplishements all the more astounding while leading one to wonder what could have been. At 25 Martin Luther King Jr. was an uncelebrated minister pursuing his doctorate, and Malcolm X was incarcerated at Charlestown Penal Colony in Massachusettes as "Detroit Red" Little. Who knows what this man could have done had his arc not been so abruptly terminated.
That said it really sucks to watch footage of him now 'cause honestly dude looks like a sucker. Clothing styles change fast and ten years in the fashionista microcosimic world of hip-hop might was well be 400 in the civilian world. All I can think now when I see this slain prophet relaying some real wisdom is; "Is that a purple adjustable hat?" Its really getting in the way of my pondering of his impact and legacy. I was thirteen when he died in 1996. A time when one could wear Karl Kani suits of radiant colors and red plastic Fubu vests with no undershirt. Or the omnipresent overalls with the zebra striped sock of some sort worn as a hat. During that era, Tupac was our fashion god. We all went around shirtless and wore basketball shorts as underwear in an ode to his "I get around video". Many of us tied bandannas off at the front, a position of thug sacredness. The one nostril stud became de riguer for both men and women. But times have changed and my perspective has as well. Ten years later I see dude in one of these getups and he reminds me of one of the cats patrolling the Greyhound station under yellow lighting at 3AM. Tight ass sagging pants, a wrinkled denim dress shirt, (I dont think anyone besides Toby Keith and Foxworthy rocks those nowadays) and a hat that looks like he won it on the boardwalk. Man in the "Keep Your Head Up Video" his shirt looks like a fucking tablecloth. Early.
Now I realize that I am being incredibly superficial and unfair. Tupac did not choose to die (or did he?) and during his era he was the definintion of style and swagger. That's part of it too I guess. It is a testament to his importance and immortality that such a plethora of media exists showing him. He was also one of the first great casualties of youth culture in the information age, a death where those wanting answers tuned in to Kurt Loder instead of Dan Rather. All of these factors explain and exonorate the man's fashion choices. And he did die young, five years short of Jay-Z's "over 30 no more jersies" edict. In retrospect I guess it shows how greatly he influenced my friends and I. But that does not excuse the leather corset money chose to sport on the New York Times Magazine cover with Suge and Snoop. Was he attempting to convey his sense of slavery and entrapment to Suge Knight? I mean cmon' money I'm fishing for you here man, that's a legacy cover, one for the ages. I can't help you anymore Pac, you were a prophet yes. But you dressed like a crackhead.

Monday, September 25, 2006

some good supedome

Welcome back Saints.

I like the Drew Brees story, how he's really entrenched himself in the New Orleans community (although I take issue with the assertion that he's eating beignets, that's some tourist shit).

I also like these shirts, and how Theismann spend a good five minutes blaming the turf for Bush not making a cut right.

I even like this game. Shame about DeAngelo Hall, but both teams are making some plays. If the score was closer it might even make up for a generally disappointing week of football (whatup Colclough).

What I don't like is the U2 & Greenday Encore (tm), although at least they got New Birth up there. Irma Thomas and Allen Toussaint's anthem was a nice touch (especially because Toussaint was in the Super Dome after Katrina), but the exclusion of all things Cash Money from the celebration is a travesty. Especially on the eve of the release of Like Father, Like Son. Please note that Lil Wayne is not really Baby's son, it's just the strangest gimmick ever.

And though I like Spike Lee and I like what he said, I don't like its implications. "Four hours, then back in a FEMA trailor. That's not nice." It's a shame we couldn't get a Kanye moment out of him, although this isn't exactly about black people. Even if nobody responded to Theismann's idiotic "well look how nice the downtown is!" comment, there's been a notable lack of talk about how much is left to be done. It's a little early to be celebrating victory over Katrina.

So in honor of the Cash Money Millionaires, (current and former), and in recognition of all that's still a hot mess down in Nola, peep Juvenile's harrowing video for "Get Yo Hustle On".

But enough of that cranky shit. Geaux Saints!

UPDATE: DJ Jimi is actually suited up as the third string cornerback for the Saints.

Come for the Orlando Bloom, stay for the icy grill

Gallery from the Khyber on Saturday up on theimpulseonline.com. Only one gallery up right now, but it's called "Part I' so I expect more to follow.

Sunday=Bengals, Monday=Bangles

For the second week in a row, the Steelers offense treated the football like it was a live hand grenade. In case you forgot, a live hand grenade belongs in one of two places: on the ground or in the hands of a defensive back. The defense was ferocious, but they couln't help but give up a few touchdowns- they started with their backs against the end zone on several occasions.

After the Jacksonville game I said that this team reminded me of the late 90s Steelers squads that couldn't outscore opponents that the D was limiting to 10 or 14 a game. The same was true yesterday. If things keep going this way, I can see the defense and the offense developing a bad locker room relationship.

In other news:
-Philadelphyinz was all we expected and more. Keep your eyes open for a report from Impulse Magazine's print version sometime this week or next.

-Ever think Zach Braff was a sentimentalist hack who represents the most forgettable indie-pop elements of our generation (and might try to fuck your girlfriend)? Well, your boy said that Garden State was "a big, life-affirming, state-of-the-union address for twentysomethings." Deez nuts. However, I must admit that in my big, life-affirming state-of-the-union address I often inform the congress that my administration intends to bed down a bunch of top-shelf actresses. My administration also intends to put mescaline in the drinking water, make Schooly D the secretary of the interior and make teriyaki the national flavor. Slate's Josh Levin has some beef with Braff.

Friday, September 22, 2006

pimp c tribute to duke ellington!?!?!

to whomever found this site by googling "pimp c tribute to duke ellington": if this tribute exists and you find it, please to make with the holleration in the comments section.

(now back to business).

Thursday, September 21, 2006

let's just talk about hos


Dolph *heart* Chad.

Let's be frank about it, Chad Johnson's new haircut (you can do it too!) makes him look like 80's art-pop star Grace Jones. Some of you may know her from A View to a Kill, in which she bones Christopher Walken. The macaca mohawk, dyed blonde especially, is sort of electroclash though, innit? Dude's gone from Dade County gold fronts to Williamsburg, Brooklyn circa 2001.

But it might not be his fault. As this video suggests, Chad's not great with the clippers.

(What do you have to do to get Chad Johnson to cut your hair? Is this what you win in the Cincinnati Police Department if you make it through the year without a racial profiling lawsuit?)

And just for good measure, HUGH!!.

--

THE INTERNET SEZ:

-The Pittsburgh Steelerettes
A ridiculously in-depth look back to the days when the 'Lers had cheerleaders. Let's be reasonable, the women of western Pennsylvania leave much to be desired, and the Steelers Nation is perfectly happy to cede camera time to the finer women of Miami or Philadelphia (barring The Republican, nahmean?). But it's good to know we tried.

-AFC East QB's as the ladies of Food Network
Pretty much spot on, except for the assertion that Paula Dean is the only unattractive one of the bunch. Rachel Ray is a beast. She looks like she's melting. (And I just gotta point out that Giada De Laurentiis looks like you could juice lemons on her breasts.)

-Would You Do Bonnie Bernstein?
HELL no.

Now that I've alienated our small but loyal female readership, I'm gonna go listen to Le Tigre. KHYBER TOMORROW.

Stop the maulings!!! Peeeyah!!!

I have been making an honest attempt to stop writing about the Steelers so damn much (and failing), but something has come to my attention that demands, well, your attention. Joey Porter, he of the "peeeeyah" and the talking shit on the president and the general animated character, Peezy has topped himself. Well, he didn't really do the topping directly...

"I am saddened to learn that my dogs escaped from my yard and attacked and killed a horse," Porter said in a written statement as reported today by the Post-Gazette.

Yes, Joey Porter's dogs mauled a miniature horse to death. You just can't make this stuff up. Peezy's got a mastiff and a pitbull and I suspect he's been raising them on milkshakes made of a teddy bear and unicorn blood with a protein gristle base. They've also been watching Joey's game tapes.

You know how people say dogs resemble their owners? I often say that quarterbacks resemble miniature animals.

I don't know if words can really do this incident (and the characters involved) any justice. So, this is Joey Porter:This is an English Mastiff:

This is a miniature horse:Do the math.

In other news:
-We will have some guest columnists joining us in the near future, musing about Tupac and the Philadelphia bus station, among other things.
-As some of you may have heard, the new bookers at the Khyber in Philadelphia, home of the OG Keystone state dance party Philadelphyinz have threatened to liquidate just about everybody currently associated with the place. Philadelphyinz is on the chopping block despite it's success. In case you haven't figured it out, the humble duo of Apt One and Skinny Friedman run both Philadelphyinz and JustSayin2000, so if you're a reader in the Philadelphia area, get ye to 2nd St this Saturday for some funk, electro, disco, old school and rap music with bad words in it. Ya dig?

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

chicken moose rhino monkey


Mista Don't Play.

Cousin Cole - Chicken Moose Rhino Monkey

I'm not just naming classic Project Pat albums for fun. That's some advice. Don't Play. Sit your christ-fearing ass down unless you can actually throw a pass.

So in lieu of talking about last night's atrocity, enjoy that track up there by wacky funster Cousin Cole. He made some noise last month with his "Atlantic Records TI Clearance" stunt, and now he's made a B-more-esque joint out of samples of Project Pat talking about animals. Let Project Pattuh ease your pain.

Bonus Project Pat-related point: I don't know who introduced the defense for Jacksonville last night, but he looked a lot like Project Pat. He was, however, no Joey Porter.

In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us

I woke up this morning with a fierce determination to somehow retrieve the three hours of my life that were lost last night to that excuse for a “foot ball game.” Man, that was awful. Somehow the late 1990s Steelers emerged from the deep closet of Bill Cowher’s demons. I was all like “no Mike Tomczak! Don’t throw it to first round flop Charles Johnson, he’s not even running the right route!”

Jacksonville has always given the Steelers fits because they play so damn ugly and force the Steelers to do the same. We generally approach a Jacksonville game with a swagger that says “I was winning Super Bowls when you were just a twinkle in Paul Tagliabue’s eye.” Then they grind us down in a brutal, conservative field position battle. The ‘Lers are used to dictating in a similar fashion (recently we also have used the “forward pass”) and they can’t handle when they are confronted with an image of themselves.

By the way, what’s up with Troy Polamalu having no use of his arm at all? It was pretty obvious that he was ineffective and Jacksonville knew it. Voluminous curls are dope and all, but they don’t do the tackling.

Similarly, Willie Parker didn’t hit the “juke,” “spin” or “hurdle” buttons at any point last night. He doesn’t seem to be able to break a tackle to save his life. The line was always letting an unmolested tackler get in his face, and Willie would just crumple. That doesn’t bode well for a team built around the running game.

Did Big Ben suffer any post-trauma bowel destruction as the MNF medical reporter Suzy Kolber warned us he might? I really liked their internal medicine crash course which consisted of a bunch of sausage looking things with arrows pointing to them. Remember, you’re talking to drunk simians, not other doctors like yourself, Suzy. “It appears as if Ben won’t be able to take a shit for 4-6 weeks, but he plans to play with a colonoscopy bag until then.”

Remember the months Febuary through August where it felt like the Steelers won a game every day in a blowout? I miss that. For chrissakes, Bill, yell at somebody.


CORRECTION: Michele Tafoya is a fake TV doctor, not Suzy Kolber. See more details over at this morning's edition of the aptly titled Cooterpunch.

Monday, September 18, 2006

the yellow bus movement



Sorry to be big-upping a freakin Miller Lite commercial, but this is truly a fine moment in television history. The odds are good that the minds behind Family Guy had to re-write a three minute scene when this commercial beat them to the 'Jerome Bettis gives Burt Reynolds a wet willie' joke.

Reasons not to move that deer carcass today

Travelling around the country I viewed other Americans behaving in their normal fashion- kind of like I was on a B-grade safari. There are some seriously insane football fans out there. I may be a "fan," but I don't roll like a tailgater 4 days before a meaningless early season USC-versus-North Delaware-Community-College-type September college football matchup (I could have gone nowhere and still seen your boy pictured above). For fuck's sake people.

What I'm trying to say is...my girlfriend of 4 years just moved to California to start her graduate program and, yes, I did say something to the effect of "Whatever happens baby, if you stop rooting for the Steelers, I don't know what I'll do." Pathetic. However, she did request that I send her some Terrible Towels so she can watch "Troy Troy" ball out while she's sporting the appropriate regalia. In retrospect, considering she's from Jersey and now she is an amateur Joey Porter-ologist (I think I saw her do "the boot" once after bowling a spare), I totally could have convinced her to join a cult. Would been able to cop more crisp Nikes that way.
In celebration of my mother's birthday, the Steelers will face off in a MNF stylee with the Jax Jags, once gently referred to by Myron Cope as the Jacksonville Prison Guards. Steelers-Jaguars matchups are almost always low scoring, ugly and close. I don't expect a particularly good game, but it should provide some field-position-battle suspense. With the general air of mystery surrounding RoboCop Big Ben's condition, it seems pretty tough to handicap anything about the game itself. However, if you handicap Big Ben's condition, you can subsequently handicap the game. Shall we?

3:1 odds on Big Ben getting sucked down the top step of an escalator.
Result: Chaz Batch kicks 8 field goals and returns a punt for a touchdown (yielding zero fantasy points) in a 31-17 Steelers victory.

6:1 odds Ben starts but gets bit by a rabid chinchilla in the locker room at half time.
Result: Chaz Batch throws 4 touchdowns and shatters Verron Haynes' sternum with a chest bump. Steelers win 35-23.

97:13 odds Ben gets chlamydia this weekend but plays anyway.
Result: Chaz Batch catches 2 touchdowns in a 17-14 Steelers victory.

2:1 odds Ben is fine and plays.
Result: Chaz Batch homers and doubles in a 21-17 Steelers win.

EDIT: Salutations to those of you moseying in from deadspin and the gameday version of blogngold. The editorial department mandated several corrections here- my girlfriend has never done "the boot" after bowling a spare. Apparently that was me. Also, I probably could not convince her to join a cult.

In other news:
Whether you love Joanna Newsom, hate Joanna Newsom or swing like a pendulum between the two options, you'll probably find SexyResults' take on her new album amusing:
"It's not that bad to do an impression of an overwrought Bjork trying to remake 'Astral Weeks' with nothing but Disney incidental music and Kate Bush's worst unicorn fantasies. But the problem is, about halfway through each track (which is like, the FIVE MINUTE MARK), you have to shake yourself out of this harp-induced haze and ask yourself, 'what the fuck is she talking about?'"

Friday, September 15, 2006

My 24 hours in Las Vegas...or...America all covered in mayonnaise and diamonds

I just returned to Philadelphia from my cross country trip, and I will spare you the details, which are great in number, and the paeans to all things American, real and imagined. Instead, I'll merely focus on but one place and time that struck me profoundly- my 24 hours in Las Vegas, Nevada, USA. It was, indeed, an extremely fucked up journey to the heart of the American dream.

Let me begin only by saying that Hunter S. Thompson was immensely courageous to consume psychadelic drugs in Las Vegas. Doing such a thing would surely sear the brains of even those with the most steely mental complection. Las Vegas has no stairs, just escalators and elevators. There is a gigantic fake New York. It is full of the most terrible charicatures of a broad range of Americans, bubbling with idiotic joy at the unending opportunities to blow their money on nothing.

Vegas is a robbery inside a pitch inside a shill inside a lie. Behind every curtain and around every corner, somebody is ready to take your money by making you think you'll enjoy giving it to them. It's pretty galling that a mini-economy exists based on the premise that the experience of spending money is actually a service rendered to the spender.

The place creates an illusion of luxury. Shiny things are everywhere. There are more fake tits than you can shake a stick at. All the drinks are expensive, the staff wears bow ties. When you are confronted with real luxury, you're supposed to sip vodka martinis with the naked daughters of industrialists on bearskin rugs, peppering your speech with French phrases, right?
Wrong. You're supposed to act like you are at your own party where you can act impossibly shitty and get away with it.


And what better place to have this party than in one of the world's most inhospitable and unforgiving deserts? Wait, you can't live there? Fuck it, flood some priceless natural wonders and we'll get some resevoirs where we can drink Coors on pontoon boats with satellite reception. Fucking hippies, with their Glen Canyon and their Colorado River and their wild animals and their ass hair.

I'm often accused of being a terrible cynic. I don't want to sound so overwhelmingly negative, so I think it's necessary to add that the Monte Carlo played that Rockwell song with Michael Jackson in it over the muzak once. That was pretty tight. But seriously, the one silver lining I saw in Las Vegas was that casinos, for all of their inanity, provide a hell of a lot of jobs. Whether casinos provide a net benefit to a community or local economy is a complicated question which I won't venture to answer, but I think my stance on their societal value is pretty clear.

So, in sum (to quote Ron Isley), back in the game now. I have plenty of knowledges saved up to bless yinz with... hold tight.

Monday, September 11, 2006

the suge knight dance



Whoah. (spotted here)

Thursday, September 07, 2006

batch ramifications

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Well that happened. Way to get it done, boys. At this rate, why rush Ben? Are we really afraid of Jacksonville? They only made the wild card last year because their schedule included no fewer than five home games against all-girl Catholic high schools. Shit, let's just start Batch every game from here on out. We'll treat Ben like the Draw Four/Wild card in Uno.

See, you hold the Draw Four/Wild until you need it. If you can win without it, you don't use it. But if you're in a jam, you bust it out and drop a train on your opponent. So I say we start Batch and only use Ben if we get down by a couple scores. Watch for falling trains, chumps!

Speaking of injured quarterbacks, you gotta wonder if the Chiefs massive were actually a little excited when Robert Geathers let his shoulder lean all over Trent Green, thinking Damon Huard could be the next Roethlisberger. It's like burning down your house to get the insurance money.

Why is The King playing for yonder Buzzsaw this year? Future investment in the Pink Taco franchise?

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

The New

What's up people? My name is Milo. I used to write a blog called Mo Cash. It was pretty fucking amazing, not going to lie. Anyhow, my buddy Skinny invited me to guest appear on his blog and I kindly accepted. About six months ago. Now I'm finally posting, but look, shit happens, life gets busy, and blogging isn't much of a priority.

As a OG blogger coming back to the scene, I need to get this off my chest: What the fuck is a podcast and why the fuck are people sweating them so? Aren't they nothing more than long Mp3 files that people disguise as these hip, trendy & informative mixes only available through Itunes? Fuck Itunes. Windows Media Player bitches. Even though the visualizer is ghetto as hell, it doesn't ask me for my credit card number and entice me with .99 cent downloads that make me forget I have soulseek.

Well, things change, and now bloggers are being taken very seriously (I guess, people make fun and satirize them so they must be important, kind of like the Jews or New York Knicks.) I'm broke and drunk and way into the prospect of writing shit and getting a CD made or getting invited to write a column at some fucked up low budget hiphop magazine like XXL.

So here's my plan of action: Hit you with a fresh as mix of good music every week. If I can't do that, I'm sorry Noixe and I'm sorry other guy on this blog (wassup whoadie) and I'm sorry to everyone who reads this even though you probably skimmed through this and didn't really pay it much mind and won't be hurt in the long run which I'm totally OK with because as long as nobody's caring, nobody's crying. So yo, heds up.

Peace,
Milo

Monday, September 04, 2006

have to fly alone



Trackademics f/ Nchimunya - So High

The news didn't make its way through my brain for about six hours. I had been at McCarren Park Pool (more later) for the bulk of the day, and was still nicely toasted at about midnight on a roof in the lower east side, when someone I had just met dropped the bomb that we will be out a starting QB come Thursday. And then I woke up at 6 AM and woke my girlfriend up to tell her. Her response was a resounding "fuck." Is this bad? Sure. We're also going to be down one Hines Ward. But we haven't had the running game that made us the Best Team in the World all season, and a small army of pundits still think we're the team to beat.

Let's put this in perspective. At a given moment, the Steelers' quarterback job has, for the last two years, been filled by either the greatest rookie quarterback story in football history, or Tommy Maddox. All quarterbacks do not fall into one of these two categories: somewhere in the middle is Charlie Batch. Remember dude?



He beat the Packers and the Browns last year. Plus he's from Homestead. Backing him up is Brian St. Pierre, who, as you may have noticed, is also not Tommy Maddox, and for me, that's enough. By the same logic, we could also have signed mustachioed United Nations ambassador John Bolton, or Indian hipster comic Aziz Ansari, and I would be comfortable, but I'm willing to give Saint P a shot. Besides, the Pirates have the monopoly on ridiculous sports transactions in our fine city.

As for the lack of smiley half-Korean receivers, look on the bright side: this could be first step towards getting the ball into the finely-manicured hands of "British citizen Marvin Allen". Yinz want a spot of tea'nat?

Friday, September 01, 2006

Smoke some kill, rinse, repeat

Me and the lady are gonna ghostride her Volvo all the way from the East Coast to the Bay over the next two-odd weeks. So the whole operation will be in the tender, child-sized hands of noixe for the next little while. Unfortunately that means I'm going to miss the Steelers season opener, but I've been on this earth long enough to know that God has the game all worked out play-by-play anyway, so it's kind of like on tape delay, which isn't that exciting. Uhhhhhhh. See you back here with my stunner shades on.