Still Upset After All These Years

"...We didn't miss; we couldn't miss."

I think that most people develop their own metrics for measuring time. Months and minutes and calendars are kind of boring after a while, you know? One might follow the growth of his children. Another might rely on the wear shown by her favorite chair. My sister depends upon the sequential order of Felicity, as in, "Oh yeah, that song was popular when Noel was dating Ben." I don't know that I have only one metric. I use a variety--sneaker trends (that was the year that Michael was wearing the XIs); the bunks in which I lived at my summer camp; which rap albums were popular at which times (e.g., I can remember walking into sophomore-year English class while listening to Life After Death); etc.

An obvious one, though, and perhaps that which has been employed and will endure the longest, has been New York Knicks' seasons. The collage of images from my childhood is filled with Trent Tucker hitting threes, the Knicks sweeping the Sixers in 1989, Jeff Van Gundy hanging onto Alonzo Mourning's leg, and so many more. I can remember trudging into seventh grade with a dreary air about me because that was the year when I would stay up late to watch the Knicks lose the NBA Finals. John Starks killed me miss by miss that year. I can also remember my first drafting class in high school because we used to talk about the Knicks-Heat series and the suspensions from the Game 5 brawl in 1997. I still know where I was when LJ converted that improbable four-point play against the Pacers.

I mention all of this because I had the pleasure of watching HBO's Perfect Upset last night. Upset is an hour-long documentary about the 1985 NCAA championship game between the heavily favored, imposing Georgetown Hoyas and the underdog, scrappy Villanova Wildcats. Of course, that game still resonates because it was one of the greatest upsets in the history of NCAA basketball (and tomorrow is the twenty-year anniversary). Among many, the most salient takeaway from that documentary was how ambivalent I remain toward Patrick Ewing, a man who should be the hero of my youth.

The Knicks were (and are) my team, and Patrick was not only the face of the organization, but also the best player. Sadly, though, Patrick always seemed to fail when confronted by the pressure, expectations, and possibilities of the greatest moments. The 1984 NCAA title that Georgetown won was more about John Thompson and the ascendancy of the Hoya Paranoia than Ewing (although he was obviously the player most responsible for helping Thompson realize his vision). 1985 should have been the year that Ewing cemented his legacy as one of the great college centers, but Patrick was frustrated and generally neutralized by the Wildcats while his team went down. This sad pattern recurred throughout Patrick's days in the NBA. Despite the all-star games, all the points, all the rebounds, all the blocks, all the obvious effort put forth, a very good player could never become great. He never got past Michael Jordan; he was clearly not the best center of his era, first eclipsed by Olajuwon and David Robinson, later by Shaq, and often no better (if not worse) than Boston's Robert Parish; he routinely shrunk in the biggest moments, that stupid finger roll against the Pacers in 1995 serving as the best example.

So, I am left with conflicting emotions; I appreciate Ewing's heart and talents but can't ignore his shortcomings and odd personality (acrimonious departure from New York, Gold Club, etc.). In the final analysis, I mostly just pity Ewing, despite the rational reasons not to (he's rich and got to play basketball for money): He always wanted to be greater than he was, he could never deliver on the promise, and his jewelry collection stinks. I recommend Perfect Upset for anyone who hasn't seen it yet. Knowing the ending didn't even ruin it.

Dirt Work:
- _ProdBy - Never again wonder, "Yo son, who produced that?" (Spotted by Oliver.)

- The Pope has received his last rites. This must have Bol in hysterics. And for everyone else, let's learn from the unfortunate circumstances (still) endured by the Pope and Mrs. Schiavo: Suggestions for a living will.

- In case you haven't vomited yet today (spotted on Rusted Jesus).

- What did I say about this team? If Sura is healthy and Mike James keeps contributing, Houston will not be a fun team to play during the NBA's second season. Van Gundy, I see you!

- Do you realize how sick the ten-man rotation could have been at UConn? Okafor, Boone, Villanueva, Gordon, and Williams backed up by Armstrong, Nelson, Gay, Anderson, and Brown would never have lost.

- "Introduce me in the 'burbs/they gonna listen to my word/In the 'hood they feel my shit." And, is anything more annoying right now than white idiots in the mainstream media constantly calling him "Fiddy"? Well, maybe this trend. Why are these so hip right now? Girls, stop!

- There is nothing as uplifting as when organized religion can bring us all together...to hate on gay people.

- This was so predictable. You know everything I just wrote about Patrick Ewing? Well, it's applicable here, too. Has there ever been a player who you wanted to like more but just couldn't? He is the least-likable likable person in some time.

- Ready for the Reef?

- Jackogate

For the Other Half

To paraphrase B.I.G., cheatin' ain't easy but it sure is fun. Just ask Jim Tressel.

For those not too musically inclined (see previous post), I offer a scattershot rundown of what else is keeping my brain occupied (other than work):

A Little News...
- Jackogate Update: Someone is not telling the truth. (And where is Corey?)

- It's enough with this Schiavo case already. And from one feed-tube controversy, we can go right into another. Why does it have to be hooked up to the Pontiff's nose? Also, Slate examines one of the most troubling facets of all the feed-tube legal wrangling.

- GM is struggl-ing.

- A week from Friday, I will be attending a Slum Village show. In May, I'll be seeing GZA and the Wu. Over the summer, I anticipate seeing Common, Kanye, Talib Kweli, the Roots, Little Brother, and who knows whom else? Or, put another way, I attend more concerts than I should, and more than almost anyone that I know (these dudes go to a lot). I wouldn't spend nearly as much money on these shows if I weren't exposed to so much free music on the internets. I am certainly not buying all the hip-hop records I hear (because come on, how many of them are just weak?) File sharing, in a larger sense that goes beyond specific software and networks, strikes me as something that is good for artists. I mean, they make the real money when they're touring, anyway. And people are only buying concert tickets if they like the music. So really, the entire issue of copyright infringement comes down to this: the music industry is so beholden to one financial model that it would rather alienate consumers and harm its artists than assess its endemic shortcomings and find new workways for its business. How pathetic and lazy is that?

...a Little Sports...
- From the "You Don't Say?" Department: The NCAA continues to kowtow to its cash cows. Jesus Christ--grow a pair! How often must (The) Ohio State (joke of a) University demonstrate its lack of institutional control before it is exposed to a severe, deserved penalty?

- Bad news in Detroit: Larry Brown may not be back this season. That's sad news, but not entirely surprising. As I have said before, this has not been Brown's best effort, and a leopard that loves reclamation projects can't change its spots. Once the Pistons won a championship, you knew Brown wasn't long for Detroit. So mark it down: The Pistons will have a new coach next year (and it shouldn't be Gar Heard).

- Bad news in Storrs: The women were uncharacteristically unsettled, Charlie is embarking upon the road to washout status, and Antonio Kellogg likely saw the writing on the wall. He wasn't going to get much burn behind Williams and Price, so maybe this was an unfortunate manifestation of that depressing reality. Or maybe he's just a knucklehead college kid.

- Bad news in Ann Arbor: Charles Ramsey is gone. So not only is Tommy Amaker an awful coach, but he also just lost his top assistant. Awesome.

...And a Little Culture:
- More hip-hop beef.

- Best news of the year? (Thanks, Sean.)

- I am pleased (and a little embarrassed) to report that I have recently been watching my beloved Hair Bear Bunch thanks to my digital video recorder. I have no idea why this cartoon is so satisfying, but for whatever reason, I can still watch it when I have the time. For those who haven't seen it, here's the gist: A pack of three anthropomorphic bears lives in a zoo and constantly tries to escape by devising a number of bizarre and extravagant diversionary tactics and schemes. Meanwhile, the bumbling zoo employees seek to foil the bears, but even when they know what's coming, they're helpless. What do the bears do when they escape? Go to the theater, go shopping, ride around on an inflatable pool toy propelled by a stream of escaping air, etc. It's very realistic.

Why is it appealing? Well, first of all, it has a dope-ass theme song. And second, I just enjoy observing such a formulaic program unfold in predictable fashion. I liked the cancelled (what a miscarriage of justice!) North Shore for a similar reason. Also, I have yet to understand why the star of the show, Hair Bear, was given such an effeminate voice.

- Deadwood has been on fire for the last three weeks. David Milch is a genius. I think he is a brave, daring, honest, and intimate writer--a real rarity. After The Wire (which NOTHING can fuck with), Deadwood is probably the best-made program on television. And it is so gully.

More New Isht

Well-written blog alert: Rusted Jesus. Peep game.

And more: Jotsheet is a fantastic site. It's eloquent; it's thorough; it's smart. And the author is as disdainful of the idiots who discuss college basketball for a living (Packer, Dick Vitale, Digger Phelps, etc.) as I am. Major dap.

Update: Two other sites to check out. The first won't be putting The Breaks out of business, but it's worth a look. And the second is a hip-hop blog from up north that maintains a unique perspective.

Leave No Rebuke Unspoken: The Billy Packer Story

The bitter, conservative, myopic, nasty epitome of evil dean of bad college-basketball broadcasters.

I have to apologize to some of my more politically oriented readers. The news in the United States has become so unbearably awful that I really can't bring myself to follow most of it. Resultantly, I'm going to make this site's culture, music, and sports games even stronger so that the quality of content does not depreciate despite the absence of some salient, important discussions. Is this a permanent departure? Of course not; it would violate my constitution. But while Schiavo goes out and immaculate-conception theory comes in, I am taking a small respite. My ideological-minority status is starting to take an emotional toll.

The serendipity that shall arise in the wake of this choice is that I am now afforded more time to get some long-standing thoughts out of my system and into the cyberspace. Given that this is NCAA Tournament season, what better place to start than by joining the chorus of Billy Packer polemicists? (For the uninitiated: Billy Packer is the lead analyst for CBS's college basketball coverage.)

Since I can remember, Billy Packer has been calling the most important college basketball games, and for that entire time, he has been a self-important asshole. I am hardly the first person to loathe Packer or voice the opinion. He's been called many things: whiny; satanic; inarticulate. Why is there so much vitriol, so much vituperation? Simply put, Packer is a didactic, picayune, conservative, insufferable know-it-all who is overzealous in his criticism and myopic in his understanding of the game.

A typical broadcast featuring Packer (and his reverent, white-bread, conservative, sent-from-central-casting partner, Jim Nantz) usually devolves into a platform for this small, bitter man's negative harping: That's not the right shot; why would he drive to the basket?; this team is lethargic, Jim; that was a poor possession; not really the pass you want. You get the picture. In Packer's defense, he can, in fact, offer praise; however, he is so biased and so unimaginative that he simply showers plaudits down upon certain programs that are perennial powers and their ballyhooed players. (My own observation is that Packer, a former Wake Forest player, suffers from intra-conference envy and loves Duke, however Packer is such a regular jerk that everyone thinks his or her school is the object of Packer's scorn. Everyone.) This year, for instance, Packer never neglected to figuratively fellate Duke's Shelden Williams, a player that Packer constantly touted for his great defensive timing and post skills. Williams is surely a very good player, and certainly in possession of those traits, however Packer would often discuss them to the exclusion of other important facets of the game he was theoretically enhancing with his "expertise."

As for this supposed insight, Packer is adored by media analysts because he is reputed to really understand basketball. I find that while Packer certainly has cultivated a working knowledge of the sport (and one that is likely better than those of his peers), his analysis is not only mitigated, but actually obscured, by his abhorrent personality and unpleasant critical mode. Furthermore, Packer watches basketball through the lens of tradition, and a stubborn, arrogant belief that he is the only one who really knows what should be done permeates his commentary. As a result, he will often excoriate a player for a "transgression" far less severe than the subsequent rebuke would indicate, or he will focus on ostensibly insignificant components of the game action because he has decided that they are truly important. Packer also sensationalizes the mundane, routinely offering hollow pronouncements and meaningless speculation about "outstanding" catches on the perimeter or timeouts taken too early.

Were Billy Packer not so bad at performing his job, those who dislike him could also find reasonable fodder for their conviction--and I say conviction because Packer is so polarizing--given what seems like an ugly off-camera personality. The ornery and nasty Packer is no stranger to controversy, having gotten into self-aggrandizing dust-ups with Phil Martelli and Dick Vitale (scroll down) and engaged in racist and sexist banter.

For years, I have placed exasperated calls to CBS begging that the station replace such a disdainful presence. He never fails to detract from my enjoyment while watching a game he's broadcasting. Sadly, my impassioned requests have never been honored, but this petition might be a new way to finally rid the college-basketball community of such a cancer.

If you link it, they will read:
- Ay yo, my man, Funkdigi, he got somethin' to say: Metalface posted a great rant today about the mainstream-underground dichotomy in hip-hop and where the culture may be headed. I posted a sloppy, discursive reply, and I encourage others to join the dialogue.

- Even I find this sick, and I am no animal lover (shouts to the Empire).

- At least fast-food companies don't perniciously target urban communities. Yeah, right (spotted by Jay Smooth).

- Jackogate Update: This was the break to which I alluded yesterday. Doesn't Corey Feldman have some repressed memories he wants to share with us? And while we're discussing Michael, why is she still famous? She's rich, her dad took too many drugs, and she married a freak show. Who cares?

- There has to be a pick-up line somewhere in here. Hey baby, I discovered the largest known prime number?

- Women of Afghanistan, rejoice! You, too, could become vapid, boring, smiling zombies.

- Baseball has a steroids problem. Congress has a baseball problem. Fix a real problem!

- Does this mean that Kobe bought Chucky a $4 million ring? It's a nice gesture, especially since neither of them will be seeing any other rings any time soon.

Things Fall Apart

I have no idea what this is, but come on, how could I resist?

Kobe Bryant has almost completed one whole season without that irksome, overweight, unfocused sidekick of his. Kobe, how's that working out for you? According to the media, not too well: The Rapist got called out twice in the past week, first by Jack McCallum in Sports Illustrated (sub. req.) and then by his own teammate, Chucky Atkins. (Eight straight losses!) How bad has it gotten for KB8? The brilliant, insightful, thoughtful, and die-hard Lakers man Vince Hutchings now actively roots against his own team because he so thoroughly reviles Kobe. As Jason Jackson from the NBA 2Night would have said, "Dat not good!" My father, a noted basketball scholar, deftly summarized the futility of Kobe's manic desire to be the alpha dog when he pithily remarked last week, "Lamar Odom, I haven't heard his name all season."

Therein lies the problem. Kobe Bryant is not the sort of player who can make his teammates better; he is not the sort of player who can carry a team to ultimate success; he is not a championship-caliber superstar. If you can take an all-star like Odom--a man with a Magic Johnson-like skill set--and reduce him to an awkward and passive power forward who sometimes fails to take even ten shots in a game, you are a loser. I am not questioning Kobe's talents and attributes. He is unquestionably one of the two or three most skilled basketball players in the world. He is a prodigious scorer; he is a tenacious defender; etc. But being a great individual doesn't do much in a league chockablock with them, and in a league that rewards teams that successfully become greater than the sums of their respective parts. Ask the Spurs, the Pistons, or the Jordan-era Bulls. Even those Shaq-Rapist Lakers could not win, despite the enormity of their top players' talents, without the right complementary assets. Horry had to hit threes; Grant had to defend post players; Harper had to keep the ball moving.

Los Angeles is now just another lottery-bound team; it's last year's Orlando Magic. Kobe has yet to figure out how to make his teammates feel comfortable. Off the court he is aloof and solitary while on the court, he never, ever displays any trust in anyone else. Instead, he will go entire quarters without passing up a shot; he will dribble himself into trouble or force some crazy jump shot instead of playing within an offensive system. Yes, he might get six assists each night, but how many of them come after he's been triple-teamed and forced to find some jump shooter with the shot clock winding down? Kobe brings no joy and no enthusiasm to basketball. I think he would be one of the most fun players to play against at this point because his teammates hate him, he has become some kind of misanthropic gunner, and his burning competitiveness must make the losing all the worse for him. And oh yeah, even if he were torching me on the court, at least I could come back with, "Well, at least I never raped anyone."

Were there any doubt coming into the season about whether Kobe could win by himself, and whether it was smart to have traded Shaq, it has been eliminated in totality. While L.A. has flopped, the Heat has ascended to the top of the heap and Shaq has helped Dwyane Wade become one of the top ten players in the league. (And let's be honest, after Duncan, Garnett, Shaq, James, TMac, Kobe, Nowitzki, and Iverson, there is not a clear-cut hierarchy that would exclude Wade from consideration.) Maybe Kobe will come over to watch the playoffs with me.

Let's Move On:
- The regional finals were so nuts this weekend! I hope that my man Ricky P can bring it home, and big up to the Big Ten. It's always nice when a down year in the conference still results in two of the Final Four slots. I ain't trying to be mad at Michigan State because UM couldn't even make the NIT this season. Damn...

- Our American civilization is rapidly declining. We're going to teach the Immaculate Conception in school?!?!?!?!?! (Spotted on Different Kitchen.)

- Jackogate Update: Maybe the Judge will relent, make the right choice, and get Corey Feldman some work.

- We better be getting sharks with freakin' lasers, also.

- I am excited about this idea. I already watch too much television, but I hope that this network can be a significant catalyst for cultural exchange. It might also be the conduit through which African nation's battling HIV can begin to arouse support among the U.S. population for greater intervention and liberalization of international family planning programs. I mean, Bushie can't play President forever. I also think that this story is a persuasive argument against cable a la cart--sometimes, it is to the public's benefit when theoretically "superfluous" programming is consistently available. This diversity of content and viewpoint would disappear if people were only paying for MTV, VH1, ESPN, and Nickelodeon.

- At what point does the diminishing marginal utility of technological infrastructure upgrades begin to become too costly for software developers and their clients? I mean, how many things can you do with email? How many "business solutions" can a company like Sprint actually offer? I am one whose attention and curiosity is endlessly captured by technology, but I think that there is likely a limit to what technology can offer businesses unless major changes are experienced in how people work. There is a good chance that this will happen, although maybe not in the short term.

An Indebted Decade

A lot of MCs owe this man some dap (and probably a ton of money given that he enabled a lot of careers). R.I.P.

On March 26th, 1995, Eric "Eazy-E" Wright succumbed to complications arising from the acquired immune deficiency syndrome (AIDS). Resultantly, this weekend was the ten-year anniversary of Eazy's passing, and not coincidentally (I think), VH1 (re-?)broadcasted one of its And You Don't Stop: 30 Years of Hip Hop segments that focused on the emergence of gangsta rap in the hip-hop mainstream. It was a fitting tribute to a man who, though controversial and at times worthy of rebuke, has left a musical legacy that has directly and indirectly guided hip-hop and influenced a multitude of artists. I had never seen this program before, and I found it eerily resonant given the current state of hip-hop music and the recent events that have so perfectly defined the melancholy reality of our time.

(Sidebar 1: VH1 is far from an authority on hip-hop music--and I remain baffled by its content renaissance--however I give the channel some credit for attempting to appreciate hip-hop music's intrinsic value and also acknowledge the music's significance within a larger social context.)

(Sidebar 2: I use the terms "gangsta" and "gangsta rap" for the sake of expediency--they are universally known terms that connote certain ideas, images, and musical modalities. However, I have never been wholly comfortable with either, as both feel synthetic; these terms are employed far too easily and often are substituted for more thorough, descriptive, nuanced examinations of the subject matter. They are almost obfuscatory. I sort of feel as though it is lazy writing to employ these staples of the hip-hop lexicon, but given that it is late on a Sunday evening, I, too, must adhere to a troubling convention.)

Confined to just one hour, the program sought to accomplish the ambitious goals of chronicling the origins, refinement, and emergence of west-coast gangsta rap. The program acquitted itself well, although no new ground was broken: Ice T was credited with presenting the first vivid lyrical pictures of the hustler lifestyle; Public Enemy was cited as its hip-hop era's most prominent political voice; N.W.A. was said to have taken that method of political expression and added a gully street component that was knowingly and gleefully angry, lurid, threatening, and jarring; Eazy-E was portrayed as a good though limited MC whose real genius could be understood by seeing Eazy as a businessman, one who deftly sold his music and its emotional content to record companies; Dr. Dre was depicted as the musical father of his genre, a talented producer and DJ whose brilliance and record collection allowed him to define a new sound that complemented the raw lyrics being written and spit; Ice Cube was portrayed as a witty lyricist whose bombastic style, menacing persona, and insightful rhymes were universally penetrating and often appealing; and west-coast musical progeny like Snoop Dogg, 2Pac, and Warren G were presented as the evidence that T, Eazy, Dre, Cube, and company had successfully changed the musical landscape. Again, this was a textbook overview of west-coast hip-hop.

In addition to the usual (and usually warranted) plaudits and observations that emerged during the hour (you know, stuff like Dre made great party hits; Snoop was a natural superstar; N.W.A. used the "n" word to empower itself and its audience), there were a number of musings and reactions that easily could have arisen during an examination of hip-hop's contemporary gangsta rappers.

One critic (Nelson George, I believe) observed that far from the menacing, angry, Napoleonic Eazy-E of microphone and video appearances, Eazy-E was always smiling and calmly expressing himself. (Kind of sounds like 50, no?) Another (among a generally erudite and articulate bunch of smartly selected commentators) remarked that N.W.A. was so brilliant, in part, because not only did its members channel the rage and frustration of inner-city Los Angeles and present that hostility with an insightful political critique and a depiction of California gang culture, but the group could do so without actually living the lifestyle: N.W.A was comprised of men who did not have criminal records, were not Tony Montana-style drug lords, and were not the ruthless killers fabled in their music. (Again, of whom might we be reminded today?) And of course, there was a consensus among many of those consulted that N.W.A, like Public Enemy and 2 Live Crew, smartly exploited America's ambivalent feelings toward violence, rebellion, and sex (just like this disingenuous and exploitative MC).

While not explicitly stated, the program also tacitly acknowledged that N.W.A. and the gangsta-rap movement succeeded because the United States has always regarded hip-hop as a menacing force that provides a window at which many happily congregate to peer into a world in which others perpetrate (or threaten to perpetrate) many of the social and legal transgressions that fuel the subversive and cathartic fantasies we hear in music and see at the movies. Sadly, this is both an internal characteristic of hip-hop culture and an external perception that colors its relationship with the mainstream, and it has persisted and is exploited by both those in the hip-hop community and those outside of it.

Simultaneously pleasing and discouraging, the show's presentation of Eazy-E and N.W.A.'s legacy was staggering. While far from revelatory, a dedicated contemplation the group's contributions to hip-hop was an exercise is amazement. Not only did N.W.A. define a sound that has persisted as a dominant form of hip-hop; produce two records (Straight Outta Compton and Niggaz4Life) that are all-time classics; perfect the emotional power of music; contribute to what is now a time-honored hip-hop tradition of image manipulation; spawn--either in immediate, secondary, or tertiary fashion--the successful solo careers of artists like Dr. Dre, Eazy-E, Snoop Dogg, Ice Cube, Eminem, and 50 Cent; but also, it came to symbolize its era's manifestation of disenfranchised and neglected urban America, a sadly lingering component of this prosperous nation's dichotomy. When one considers a post-Cold War United States, replete with its faulty Reaganomics, ugly assault on social programs, race riots, and frustrated popular culture, N.W.A. will always emerge as a prominent component of the mosaic if popular culture is regarded (as I think it should be) as a fair reflection of its time.

There are a number of ways to remember Eazy-E, and his life now lends itself to many worthy causes, but for me, I will forever know Eric Wright as the man who made sure we all witnessed the strength of street knowledge. I hope that hip-hop culture and the larger American society can learn from his contributions, his circumstances, and his mistakes.

What's Your Sign?

What they lacked in aesthetic appeal (there is a distinct Village People vibe going on, isn't there?), they made up for with hot music.

Well my name is JLitty and my judgment's so fine/That Libra is my zodiac sign...

Alright, so I will not be rockin' the mic too well in the near future, and I wouldn't have been in the Furious Five, but I was inspired by this week's posse-cut beat of choice: "Freedom" by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. I must also be fully forthcoming and admit that some of my inspiration came from Brother B's focus on SWV from earlier this week.

While not as famous as "The Message" or even another substantive hit, "White Lines," "Freedom" is arguably one the most memorable and influential tracks contributed by Flash, Melle Mel, Rahiem, Mr. Ness, Cowboy, and Kid Creole to this thing we call hip-hop. "Freedom," the group's Sugar Hill debut, was a top-twenty single that cemented the group as hip-hop's first great collaborative unit, a group that was not only marketable but talented: Flash was a preeminent technical DJ while the Furious Five could not only rhyme (as a lyricist, Melle Mel is an all-time great, for instance) but also refined and popularized group techniques like lyrical blending and flow trading.

As for the beat itself, it's straight bananas--the horn riffs, the funky bass line, the party-paced tempo. In short, this jawn was a sonic extravaganza in the truest sense of the word. Enjoy this and the weekend...

Madness All Around

Whitney, flip-flops, and Dirty--oh my!

The theme for today is madness, so please pardon this post's absent cohesion. It's gonna be everywhere, and with few segues. As I took my usual mental saunter through the various news realms in which my cognitive reality is rooted, I couldn't believe all of the lunacy that is prevalent around the world in so many forms. I mean, where do I start?!

- I think I'll pick Albuquerque and Chicago. The NCAA Tournament is on and poppin' again tonight. My picks (not that they were worth much last weekend): Louisville (Garcia stays hot, and the underrated defense and rebounding of the Cardinals limits the second-chance possessions that Washington's speed usually creates); Texas Tech (The Red Raider backcourt will be the difference, and Tech will play more defense than Wake); Oklahoma State (Joey Graham's Tournament begins a week late, and his presence will work well with the confident and aggressive OSU backcourt to help win a very competitive game); and Illinois (the Illini guards will thrive in the fast-paced environment that UW-Milwaukee creates).

- Meanwhile, Whitney is back in rehab. In this era of all-access vicarious living, how is it that Bobby and Whitney haven't gotten their own channel yet? I'd watch it every day. I have never been afforded the chance to watch even one washed-up celebrity smoke crack. But two? That would be appointment television. And on top of that, think of the bangin' music that could be played in the background of the programming.

- Here is a memo to Tim Thomas: Stop running your mouth. The last time I checked, the Knicks were going to the lottery; the Knicks were a mediocre home team; and Tim Thomas was a study in both unfulfilled potential and the idiocy that can arise when taking hip-hop's glorification of thug bluster too seriously. You're not the NBA's 50 Cent. You're a fugazi.

- I don't know what's going to happen at Columbia, but at least Lee C. is trying to regulate. He should have never left The U, though.

- I am jealous that I didn't think of this great feature series that Low End Theory just launched. Big up to those dudes. Hopefully this means that Serge Gainsbourg can get the dap he deserves as a non-traditional hip-hop influence.

- I'm no prosecutor, but I imagine that this brand of immaturity--no matter how correct the sentiment may be--is frowned upon by most district attorneys. I think this guy is just projecting his humiliation and frustration since he dropped the ball, big time. But here's the silver lining: the guy has company.

- Jackogate Update: Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Michael Jackson and his thirteen-year-old's sensibilities concerning sexuality. This reminds me of when I was twelve and would try to make everything sound like it was an accidental sexual innuendo. Good times.

- More news from Africa for the Western world to ignore. And while we're at it, this unfortunate news will likely have no impact on the attention or resources that those with enough of both will devote to fighting the AIDS crisis in the developing world. Why do something that helps so many when you can instead politicize the plight of just one?

- For how long can the speculative real-estate market continue to thrive? Typically, the real-estate industry is a step behind the economy (construction comes in response to a boom and is completed in time for a collapse), so perhaps some property bubbles will begin to burst if our economy ever really recovers.

- Uh oh. I sense a dilemma coming on. Wait for it...(the panic is starting to set in, isn't it?)...wait...wait...ok, now: What are we going to do?!?!?! Acknowledge an international legal body, thereby cooperating (for once) and compromising our ability to do what we want, middle fingers a-blazin'. Or, veto the measure and continue with our fuck-you-pay-me international diplomacy, retarding our efforts to get along better with the rest of the world. This is why smart people like Bushie are in such important positions of power.

- As I read about this latest school shooting, I am not upset with the violence in our culture or "corrupting" influences like television and video games. Instead, I am frustrated that parenting, teaching, and childcare have all eroded to the point that so many children can take that proverbial slip through the cracks. And these are not just problems in poor, rural, minority, or any other sort of communities. There is drug abuse and inappropriate sexual activity at elite Manhattan private schools; there are terrible acts of violence perpetrated by all kinds of kids for all sorts of reasons. Maybe more parents and guardians should spend time reading to their kids; maybe more legislatures should bolster, not cut, funding for after-school programs; maybe we should worry less about video games and more about access to guns.

- While I will not compose some insincere, melodramatic "I have not yet recovered from the O.D.B.'s death" tripe, this story was a great reminder of the creative loss that hip-hop sustained. O.D.B. had a very rare kind of energy, and he may have been the greatest antihero in hip-hop.

- Don't have the chili at Wendy's. Trust me.

- There is only one bad thing about the weather getting nicer: fucking open-toed shoes! Women of America, please listen up: Your feet are not nice. The foot, in general, is not nice. It smells; it secretes odd liquids; it is commonly misshapen; it is often bedecked in bandages, blisters, and calluses. Invest in some hot sneakers and spare us your podiatric vanity. And do NOT wear flip-flops to work. Have some respect for yourselves, your colleagues, and your occupations.

- Wow! Dame Dash got put on blast.

Welcome to New York

I think this dude was in a fraternity at Michigan

A friend just forwarded this to me, and I disturbed my entire office as I laughed while reading it. Like a number of you out there, I know too many of these guys. (And of course, every guy in the world reads this and laughs with supercilious satisfaction since no one actually thinks that this is him. Well, some of you dudes are wrong.)

A Culture of Life, Just Not for the Living

Fool me once, shame on, shame on...you? Fool me twice, uh--won't get fooled again!

Terri Schiavo, pt. II: Not surprisingly, President Bush's "culture of life" principle is a complete hypocritical joke. None of the following is new information, but given that my home state, New York, is currently grappling with its own death penalty law, I thought I'd throw up this data (taken from Newsday.com):

More than 900 inmates have been executed since the Supreme Court permitted states to resume the death penalty in 1976, more than one-third of them in Texas. Below are the states that have executed the most inmates since 1976:

Texas 339
Virginia 94
Oklahoma 75
Missouri 61
Florida 59
Georgia 38
North Carolina 34
South Carolina 32
Alabama 30
Louisiana 27

Six states and the United States military, meanwhile, have not executed an inmate since the Supreme Court's 1976 decision. Below are the dates of the most recent executions in those states:

Connecticut - May 17, 1960
Kansas - June 22, 1965
New Hampshire - July 14, 1939
New Jersey - Jan. 22, 1963
New York - June 15, 1963
South Dakota - April 8, 1947
Military - April 13, 1961

For more on the Schiavo controversy, as well as a fine look at the usual Republican hypocrisy and dishonesty, check out Different Kitchen. Ian eff-ing kilt it today!

I got so much trouble on my mind:
- 3:06 Update: It likely grows tiresome (at least for some) reading the frequent lamentations--authored by people like me--about the deaths of hip-hop culture and music; however, interviews like this and news stories like this are exceptions that prove the rule. Nas and Chuck D. are great (and the latter, especially, remains an important voice of reason whose messages will resonate for decades), but where are younger artists who revere these MCs? Why are these messages and ideas never internalized and influential at the inception of a sea change? Don't tell me that you've grown up with Nas and P.E. as you visit Hot 97 to stoke the flames of synthetic conflict or make yet another video about living ghetto fabulously. Agree or disagree with everything that these two men say, one must respect their candor and passion. Such insight and conviction are sadly absent from the contemporary picture of mainstream hip-hop. The artists who most closely approach that sort of cultural significance by wielding authentic voices while also enjoying some modicum of shine are Common, Talib, De La, and (maybe) Ghostface. And yeah, we'll get an earnest and intelligent track every now and then (Ed O.G.'s "Wishing" comes to mind), but that's not what sells.

If there is one artist who might be able to bring a more intelligent and honest perspective to the mainstream, it might be Kanye, but I fear that his personal shortcomings ("some say he arrogant, he big-headed") and professional shortfalls (the happy hostility toward education; the willingness to lend his name to almost anything that might make some money) will preclude his ability to ever be anything more than a great producer who is smart but too self-indulgent as an MC.

- I spotted this at Geek News Central (one of the many great feeds I get on Feed Demon, a program I adore) and found it amusing. Beyond its exceptional functionality as a search engine, Google is distinct because its multitudinous uses serially demand new products and even jobs. Along with eBay, Google has to be among the paradigms for successful Internet businesses. (And for more on Google, check out the Google Blog.)

- Nappy Diatribe. This site seems like it will have a number of right-on insights.

- Just in case you're a moron or you interact with teenagers a lot or both.

- If Tim Duncan is going to be hobbled in the playoffs because of his bum ankle, the West suddenly seems to be much more of a toss-up. Doesn't it? I have never believed in the Sonics, and I don't see them making a run; the Suns are a dangerous, good team, but I wonder how they will defend half-court teams since Steve Nash is a turnstile and Steven Hunter is a foul magnet who won't spell Amare too long if the latter is in his own foul trouble; the Mavs won't be going anywhere if Dampier and Stack are hurt; and the Rockets might be the real sleeper because this team is learning how to win tough games and it has the superstar tandem.

- Congratulations to Pat Summitt, but let's not pretend as though her accomplishment is the equivalent of Dean Smith's. For most of Summitt's career, there have only been about ten women's teams that could actually win an NCAA title. That's changing now, and the depth in the women's game is improving, but winning all those games against the women's NCAA field is not the same as winning all those games against the men's.

- Tom Engelhardt (the man who wrote the excellent The End of Victory Culture) has a nice piece up on his site about oil consumption.

- Making fun of southerners is just too easy sometimes. First IMAX, and then what?

- Jackogate: While held captive at the Neverland Ranch, do the temporary prisoners get to play with Bubbles? Also, were Goonies to be re-made today, I think that the character Chunk would have to substitute a molestation or imprisonment story concerning Michael Jackson for the joke about Jackson stopping at Chunk's house to use the bathroom. Just like Mouth, I don't find the latter believable.

Trend Watch?

If asked about my latest album, I'd say that it's *super*

While this is not necessarily a new idea, I was listening to the dope, new Perceptionists album Black Dialogue today when the following occurred to me: What is with the recent high preponderance of tracks that either feature or use background vocals to fill up dead time during verses?

In all of these tracks, at least one verse flows straight into a sampled vocal that is otherwise part of the respective beat. In Fabolous's case, the gimmick works in the context of the song, however it gets very stale very quickly; in MF Doom's case, the gimick is exactly that, however it makes sense and stays fresh only because the song is already nonsensical at times and MF has carved out a niche of experimentation that necessarily demands patience and the benefit of the doubt from the listener; in the Perceptionists' case, the gimmick arises once in the first verse and is otherwise folded into the choruses. This is not really a major discover or some overly significant insight, but has anyone else noticed this trend? It may be a particularly notable aspect of these songs when they are set in relief of the hook-driven, formulaic studio thuggery that dominates pop radio and MTV (thank you, 50).

More Fun with Referrals

Ashanti almost went to Princeton? Weird...

The good fortune (and Internet users) continues to find this site: Straight Bangin' is now getting hits from web searchers seeking "pictures of hot girls and there (sic) bangin bodies" and "who was kicked off the Inferno II." Pornography and MTV, I tip my hat to you.

P.S. Maybe this is part of why I got the run around when I tried to get put on at The Source

P.P.S. Here's a new music site that looks like it should be fi-yah: Cult Status

Our Thoroughly Bankrupt Country

What is it about ESPN? Stuart Scott, SportsCenter, Bill Simmons--so many cool things become tired and annoying.

I have purposely avoided an examination of the Terri Schiavo situation because it has already received a substantial amount of attention (here's the latest news item). However, I thought I'd use the emerging critiques of the entire episode (the actual substance, the media coverage, the congressional and presidential actions, etc.) as an opportunity to make this critical point: Our political system has lost the redeeming moral virtue that made American democracy the galvanizing ideological cause responsible for the cataclysmic and epochal events in our country's history.

I know that pronouncement may sound like an obvious, melodramatic, and/or pretentious conclusion, but I do not intend to recapitulate or exaggerate. Rather, I am just so thoroughly disgusted and disenchanted by this entire ordeal. For the past few days, I have felt the somber pain of disillusionment, the disheartening panic of one who has found his belief system to have been erected on a foundation of deceit. I experienced this same disappointed loathing after watching Fahrenheit 9/11 and seeing the U.S. Senate neglect to review the 2000 presidential election results despite the impassioned pleas of the Congressional Black Caucus whose constituents had been disenfranchised. By traditional definitions of the term, I am not a "patriotic" person--I have not mindlessly affixed a "Support Our Troops" sticker to my car; I do not believe in unconditionally supporting the President; I will not bite my tongue if I perceive my country to be the perpetrator of some brand of evil or malice. However, I was raised with a foundational belief in a meritocratic, transparent, and accessible government that, as an institution, sought to honor the will of the populace through a capitalist-democratic system. At times, powerful individuals or cadres may have manipulated the scheme--"gamed the system" if you will--for political purposes, but I maintained my faith that the institutional forces in government were self-regulating and resilient, able to correct misdeeds and beat back the continual assaults on their integrity led by (mostly) men happy to validate a Hobbesian mistrust of humanity.

Neither naive nor quixotic, I have not only recently (like, since last week) been jarringly thrown from this course. Likely since I was in the early stages of adolescence, I have grown wary of our government and the intentions of our politicians given the serially arising scandals, crimes, and ethical contraventions that have come to define American politics. Lucky for me, I was not bludgeoned into the submissive political malaise and accepting anti-intellectual apathy now displayed by so many Americans when assessing government and elected officials. Instead, and maybe foolishly, I have maintained a belief that were the "right" people in the "right" government positions, our system could be cleaned up and would revert back to a more textbook, pure style of democracy. However, I am officially abandoning that hope and condemning my heretofore political romanticism. If this country's population and its leaders want to neglect real problems and instead exploit some poor woman so that every political agenda under the sun can be advanced, go for it.

Incredulously, I am forced to submit, to subdue my objections and soapbox ramblings. I mean, what else can I do or say? If Bill Frist is going to pimp his M.D. for political end (as he has done before); if the President will actually cut short a vacation to sign into law a bill that ostensibly affects just one person while insidiously assaulting the checks and balances placed on Congress in the Constitution; if the disdainful "culture of life" ideologues are going to seize upon this issue and amass their collective powers of duplicity; if the media is going to be manipulated while the general public says nothing; If this country will continue to destroy the delineation between church and state; then what is there to do? The hypocrisy is sickening: I mean, didn't Republicans used to worry about states' rights?!?!?!?! Collectively, this nation's voters are making their own bed, and they can lay in it. If this is the kind of government people want--and by re-electing cheaters and liars, that's the tacit message of approval being sent--then this rogue, fuck-the-rules government is what people will get. I am totally beside myself today. I just hope that when the rapture comes (and NBC claims it will be on April 13th if you believe the subway advertisements), all these idiots and assholes are punished for their transgressions. I want to vomit.

Some other things to ponder:
- The brilliance of Julius Hodge.

- Sadly, I can't say I am all that surprised to read that black coaches get fired sooner than their white counterparts. I will say, though, that unlike the NFL, where only white retreads abound (Campo, Wanny, Erickson), the NBA has a little diversity among its retreads (Nelson, Dunleavy, Silas, Scott, Rivers).

- Will Smith ups his gully quotient (link courtesy of Trickology). I heard Wendy Williams talking about Smith last week, and I thought it was foul. I am all for lighting people up, but she runs her mouth too much.

- More music industry idiocy (spotted by Eschaton). Maybe the RIAA can start suing anyone who buys a DVD instead of a CD too. I mean, that's the litigious panacea devised by record company executives, right?

- Jackogate: Don't cry, Michael. Just go to your wishing tree.

- I will dedicate an entire post (maybe an entire series of posts) to this topic in the near future, but let's start with this shared truth: The Sports Guy sucks, and that's been the case for a while. Whether he's making himself the story, condescending toward the NBA and hip-hop, or pretending like anyone still cares about his codified system of nostalgia, he is unbearable nine out of every ten columns. And for the record, Bill, you're wrong about Bogut (he can play, you idiot); you're wrong to have been surprised about Hodge (anyone who actually follows college hoops knew he would come through); and no one is surprised that you aren't going to win an NCAA tournament pool. Go watch Miami Vice and think of yet another way to remind us all that you think you're special because you watch more than three NBA games a week.

- This is a predictable, terrible idea. Charlie is so the poster child for the uber-talented, troubled baller who seems to actively work against his own success. For the modern-day godfather of this category, see: Lamar Odom.

The Anti-Holiday

I give Knight credit: He hasn't head butted one of his own players during a game in a long time

As much as the opening weekend of the NCAA Tournament should be a four-day-weekend national holiday, nothing is as deflating as the Monday-morning trudge back to work following ninety-six hours of televised excitement on the hardwood. Suddenly, I am forced to rejoin the space-time continuum, shave, eat three meals at usual times, resume social contact with many more people, return phone calls, drink something other that water or beer. For the better part of a week, I was frantically dashing back from the bathroom to make sure that I didn't miss a crucial possession; I was calibrating my schedule using tip-off times; I was more concerned with who picked Wisconsin than who voted for what bill; I was making choices like how many of my meals should be prepared on the barbecue; etc. Now? Now, I've got nothing. It's all back to being the same, boring mess. I woke up at a regular hour, I made a turkey sandwich for lunch, I will get berated by Jay for my delinquent spending, I'll be tired when I get home, I will have spent more than five minutes outside of my home. Yuck.

Thursday's collegiate basketball action was less than scintillating, but starting with Vermont's upset of Syracuse on Friday and ending on Sunday night only because there were no more games to be played, the Tournament was great this past weekend. As I wrote last night, my bracket is eff-ed, but still....It was absolutely the best weekend I've had in a long time, and as always, it will contend for Best Weekend of the Year when I hand out the Mundanity Awards in December.

When I wasn't watching basketball this weekend, I was seeing my relatives. Catalyzed by the Buckets's return home from Northworstern, a series of family meet-and-greets was in the cards for me. During the UConn-N.C. State game yesterday (or, as I like to call it, the two hours during which I received the emotional Ralphie Treatment), I saw my uncle and his family. That visit was unremarkable: They came to my parents' home, it was pleasant, it ended. However, on Saturday, I got to see my paternal grandmother, Belle-bo Baggins (a/k/a Triple B), and as always, it was a treat. While not especially offensive or hostile, Triple B dropped some gems. First, we got to hear about her act of conditional kindness--she invited a woman from her neighborhood out to lunch, but Triple B said that she would only attend a luncheon with her invited guest if the woman would dress more appropriately because Belle-bo disliked the woman's usual fashion choices. Then, we were regaled by the tale of a woman whom my grandmother accompanied to the movies because the activity partner was ninety-two-years-old but had never had a date. Sadly, the outing was marred by the fact that the ninety-two-year-old is mostly blind and could not really see what was going on. Good times.

Back on my grizzly (NCAA edition):
- Here's why Bobby Knight sucks: Instead of celebrating Knight's sustained excellence as a basketball strategist and coach (and while I hate him, I can't deny his ability), no decent member of the human race can possibly neglect yet another immature, selfish, and disgusting episode of Bobby Runs His Mouth. Hey Knight, shut the fuck up.

- Rick Pitino is a god, and Pat Forde rightly notes this point. After Wooden, Smith, Iba, Knight, Rupp (Sadly), and Kryzwzywzywyzyrtyweski, who has been better in college?

- I happened upon this site today while I was checking out my referrals. I give it a strong recommendation--great content, great tone. Definitely worthy of some of your time.

- News from the Not At All Surprising Department. Nelson should be forced to give back the money he's been stealing all year--the man scheduled voluntary surgery during the season!

- The Rap Nerd gives O.C. some much-deserved shine. I've been talking up O.C. to some friends ever since I got his Starchild import LP. Word...Life is not the classic that Illmatic is, but it dropped at the same time and O.C. has never gotten enough burn.

- Jackogate Update: Mr. Jefferson had a hard time making it to court on time today, and he was being physically aided by some of his peeps. This man's life is a wreck, and now he'll have the physical trauma to accompany his psychological duress.

- Shame on every Democrat who rolled over at the time of this woman's appointment (even the sainted Obama). Condoleeza Rice is a disaster, and the world seems to be picking up on this.

Stay in Your Lane

Median don't even have to finish his last four bars...

So before I get into another Justus League preview, let me just say that while this weekend was a great time, my bracket is shot to shit. Washington might be for real; Gonzaga wasn't; UConn was that proverbial seductress you could talk yourself into loving; Bobby Knight can still coach; etc. With just Oklahoma State and Duke remaining, my Final Four is looking weak. At least I knew that B.C. would be exposed. And with three teams in the Sweet Sixteen, the Big Ten is looking a little better than it was a week ago. (Not that this excuses Tommy Amaker's ineptitude.) Moving on...

Hall of Justus: Median
The Justus League profile series continues with an examination of Median. Not officially listed as a J.L. member (Median:Justus League::El Dorado:Super Friends), Median nonetheless merits consideration given his obvious, stated affiliation. Straight out of Wilmington, NC (the adopted home of a certain basketball luminary who attended Laney High), Median seems to have happened upon the League serendipitously. As his website tells it, Median was mostly a freestyler averse to writing a verse. Over time, though, this changed and through a series of connections, Median was able to meet up and get down with 9th Wonder and a hip-hop crew he was starting, the J.L. Earlier this year, Median released a solo effort, available on his website.

Without any intended disrespect, I'd say that Median is a very average MC. His flow is steady but predictable; his lyrics are interesting but not especially memorable; his voice is smooth but very much anonymous. A typical Median verse is the sort that is enjoyable while it's on but almost immediately forgettable; its visual analog would be a movie like The Count of Monte Cristo that is fun to watch but without any resonance. When it's over, you've had a good time, but you're ready for what's next and you likely won't think about it too much. He sounds like the kind of MC who might get up on stage as part of an opening act at an "organic" artist's show. I mean, he could open for Common or Mos, couldn't he? Am I being positive? Negative? Forced to pick one pole of the criticism spectrum, I'd prefer to be on the positive side because I like Median's flow and his tracks. I simply temper my praise and enthusiasm because it's not as though Median is ultimately unique.

There is plenty to like, though. The dude attempts to discuss real-life issues and experiences (one of the universal, engaging, and attractive elements common to almost every J.L. MC); he ably flows over mellow beats that accept the vocal components of a song in a fashion that leads to a smooth sonic synergy; he can drop some funny and witty punch lines. In a lot of ways, Median is a perfect epitome of the Justus League's musical ethos: He sounds like a cat who could have been down with some great crews from hip-hop's better yesteryears, whether it would have been the Native Tongues, Hieroglyphics, or even BDP. Nome sane? He has an innocuous quality about him that makes him seem as though he'd complement almost anyone or any sound. Maybe he wouldn't have sounded right over a raw and passionate Bomb Squad beat, but Median seems like he could flow over a lot of beats while working with a lot of artists. The frequency with which he appears on collabo tracks speaks to this point.

That's How You Roll a Blunt!

Call Meth and Red...

Tuesday morning was like any other on the subway: I sat in the last car; the woman with the faux-fur coat was reading her Caleb Carr novel; the station platform was wet with the pools of melted snow. It was a typical morning for me.

I clung to this belief as I sat down in the subway car across from the man dressed like a bicycle messenger, replete with his bicycle. However, once our train departed the station and was safely shielded from outside view angles while the car was inside of the subway tunnel, the entire morning became surreal. Immediately after the penetrating lights of the station had been replaced by the reflective dark of the New York City underground, the bike messenger took out a cloudy plastic bag that had been kept inside his fanny pack (I'm not making this up). He then produced a hollowed-out cigar and went to work.

Singing some sort of original ditty that was devoid of a discernable melody but relied on a chorus that sort-of rhymed "marijuana" with "don't you wanna," the bike man rolled a huge blunt. I mean, he poured ounces and ounces of weed into this thing. His brazen disregard for public discretion or the potentially judgmental glances of fellow subway passengers was jarringly and humorously refreshing. I loved watching this guy, immersed in his own universe, masterfully assemble his blunt with a MacGyver-like calm and ingenuity. This is the sort of thing that likely doesn't happen outside of New York. And above all else, I gotta dap this man up: Kudos to one so intent on fulfilling his own desires, societal norms and laws be damned.

You Mean Other Stuff Is Still Happening During the Tournament?
- "Why do schools care about your son's braids more than they care for his grades?" - Nas

- If you want more proof (other than that just provided above) that New York is just different, check out these conflicting accounts of the economy: The local economy, fueled by its service-sector and financial-industry jobs, is so different from those elsewhere; New York's appears much more resilient and much more upper-income oriented. These conclusions are left in the wake of this discouraging news, and these indicators carry with them dire long-term consequences.

- Is it racism, cultural antipathy, or both that leads to these sorts of convictions while Enron criminals and war crimes committed by Americans go unprosecuted? I am not diminishing the significance of perjury, but come on. If Martha Stewart and Lil' Kim get locked up while Kenneth Lay is allowed to quietly fade from our collective consciousness, the system is not working as it should.

- Jackogate Update: Maybe he just has an intoxicating personality. Um, yeah...

- I was a weak 11-5 yesterday after Creighton lost in fluke fashion, LSU forgot to get on its plane, Iowa stopped trying to come back, UTEP missed lay-up after lay-up, and UCLA chose against playing defense. Today needs to be nicer to me.

National Holiday

Well, the best weekend of the year has arrived. Please keep in mind that I am concussed, so my brain my not be fully functional and that in my pool of primary concern, bonus points are awarded for correct upset picks. Caveats out of the way, here are the winning picks (with explanations). As Tony Kornheiser would say, this is a real man's board!

Round One
Syracuse Regional:
1) North Carolina - Talent and speed favor UNC
9) Iowa State - I love Curtis Stinson
5) Villanova - Too much strong guard play for the 'Cats
13) Ohio - Ohio's zone forces some dumb UF shots and a bad tourney team loses early again
6) Wisconsin - Swing offense too much for UNI
3) Kansas - Simien just scored again
10) N.C. State - Streaking Wolfpack are the hotter team right now
2) UConn - Chalk it up

Austin Regional:
1) Duke - Tons of threes
9) Mississippi State - Stanford shouldn't even be dancing; Lawrence Roberts shows it out
5) Michigan State - I wanted to pick ODU, but the MSU guards are savvy
4) Syracuse - When the 'Cuse is in the house, oh my god...
11) UTEP - Miners run up the score and no one steps up to help Bogut
3) Oklahoma - If only Calvin Murphy were eligible
10) Iowa - Bracket rule #1: Never pick Cincinnati
2) Kentucky - Too many horses for the 'Cats

Chicago Regional:
1) Illinois - Speed, speed, speed
9) Nevada - Wolfpack bang ailing 'Horns inside; UT's time is next year, anyway
12) UW-Milwaukee - Thin Tide get worn out by blistering Panther pace
4) B.C. - A better thirteen-seed gives B.C. a major scare, but Dunphy, Penn not good in tourney
6) LSU - Brandon Bass is a MAN
3) Arizona - Utah State can't handle Stoudamire's accuracy
7) Southern Illinois - Brooks and experienced team match the SMU guards
2) Oklahoma State - Joey Graham, it's time to shine

Albuquerque Regional:
1) Washington - Notice a trend among the top teams? Speed kills
8) Pacific - Better-coached and more consistent team wins
5) Georgia Tech - This team just seems off this season, doesn't it?
4) Louisville - Garcia is the difference
11) UCLA - Dijon Thompson has a big game and General sent packing early again
3) Gonzaga - Winthrop can play uptempo, but so can balanced 'Zags
10) Creighton - Creighton hits more threes
2) Wake Forest - Next...

Round Two
Syracuse Regional:
1) UNC - Sean May and the overall athleticism of UNC overwhelm the undermanned Cyclones
5) Villanova - 'Nova can shoot apart the Ohio zone
3) Kansas - Too many weapons for the Jayhawks
2) UConn - Huskie brawn is too much for the smaller Wolfpack

Austin Regional:
1) Duke - Williams out duels Roberts and Duke gets more scoring from more peeps
4) Syracuse - MSU can't shoot well enough to negate the zone's effectiveness
11) UTEP - Too much scoring for Oklahoma, which goes stretches without baskets
2) Kentucky - Iowa is not deep enough for young, hungry 'Cats

Chicago Regional:
1) Illinois - Illini perimeter advantage disrupts Nevada
12) UW-Milwaukee - Paper tiger B.C. can't score enough to stay on floor
6) LSU - Athletic LSU starting five matches Arizona and Stoudamire sulks his team to defeat
2) Oklahoma State - Too much Cowboy brawn

Albuquerque Regional:
8) Pacific - Tigers slow down Huskies and execute their game plan better
4) Louisville - Garcia is a tough matchup for the Jackets and G.T. is again let down by Schenscher
3) Gonzaga - Too much balance from Bulldogs buries the young Bruins
2) Wake Forest - Wake perimeter game better than Creighton's, and Wake has Williams

Round Three
Syracuse Regional:
1) UNC - Sean May unstoppable inside against small Wildcats
2) UConn - Simien is thwarted by the UConn trees and Marcus Williams outplays Miles

Austin Regional:
1) Duke - Syracuse should win, but Duke, as always, finds a way by hitting from outside
2) Kentucky - Clock strikes Midnight for a UTEP team that gets beaten inside

Chicago Regional:
1) Illinois - Illini are probably better at the Panthers' style than the Panthers are
2) Oklahoma State - Turnovers kill LSU against fast, smart, and aggressive backcourt

Albuquerque Regional:
4) Louisville - Pitino's team pushes tempo and Tigers out of comfort zone
3) Gonzaga - In most entertaining game of tourney, 'Zags get a few more stops than porous Wake

Round Four
Syracuse Regional:
2) UConn - Huskie rebounding and defense limit May, and UNC's offense falls apart enough

Austin Regional:
1) Duke - Williams eats up the 'Cats inside and the better Duke guards control the game

Chicago Regional:
2) Oklahoma State - Cowboys strong enough inside while OSU backcourt matches Illinois's

Albuquerque Regional:
3) Gonzaga - Turiaf makes Louisville pay on the interior

Final Four
1) Duke - UConn has the frontcourt to give Duke problems, but this just feels like Duke's year, at least for one more game. Huskies may be a year too young to close out a mentally tough team like the Devils

2) Oklahoma State - Lucas, Curry, and Joey Graham make enough plays and the OSU defense is the best that Gonzaga has seen.

Final
2) Oklahoma State - OSU finally makes Duke's thin frontcourt pay by getting Williams and Randolph in foul trouble. Curry and Lucas match Reddick and Ewing. Sutton goes out on top.

It's Enough Already!

Cue the Sheryl Crowe songs...

Um, I have a pressing questions: Can we get a statute of limitations on the number of consecutive years that ESPN can advertise its women's NCAA Tournament coverage by playing some soft-rock song about how great it is to be a woman while showing a montage of images featuring basketball players and basketball coaches doing things like turning a scowl into a smile, hugging, or doing something with a basketball as if to say "Yes, we can actually play," no doubt a subliminal link to the WNBA's tired "We've Got Next" campaign? Who does ESPN think it is fooling? This sort of advertising effort is transparent and annoying. I mean, we got it, they're all goddesses and they're all strong. We know. This crap never makes me want to watch the women's tournament. If anything, it makes me want to avoid it since the ads are just so formulaic in concept and didactic in content. Shut up. (Maybe I shouldn't be surprised, though, that ESPN is clinging to a bad idea; Tim Legler and Dream Job are both still on the air, after all.)

Moving on...here's this week's posse-cut beat. Originally heard underneath Jay, Bleek, Missy, and Twista, "Is That Yo' Chick" is without a doubt one of the best beats used in a posse cut since, well, since the end of the mid-'90s. You remember that time, right? Back when good hip-hop music could be heard on the radio and before artists stopped making albums, substituting fifteen-track collections of songs in their stead. I will never claim that "Chick" is an all-time great song or even among the top fifty to have been released during this millennium, however this beat is straight if you're a posse looking for something to flow over. The seductive and entrancing rhythm of the bass strings is infectious while the strings and horns sprinkled over the bass line perfectly complement the heatrock foundation. Overall, it sounds like a crew could flow over this beat forever (and the Roc may have, as there are about seventeen versions of this song).

I'll have some NCAA pickage, and a bizarre story, for tomorrow...

Bad Weekend

Only nine more until I can match Troy Aikman.

If there actually exist some people for whom reading this website is a welcomed activity (and, dare I say, a happy diversion), I would like to apologize to that community. I haven't updated this joint since last Thursday, and I can imagine that many of you were dying to read: The latest updates about Michael Jackson; my opinion about Washington stealing a #1 seed in the NCAA Tournament (what a joke); another artist profile addressing the Justus League; record reviews of the Prefuse 73 joint (underwhelming) and the Perceptionists' album (tight!); liberal rants about Bushie and his minions. I will get back into the swing of things, but first, I would like to explain my delinquency:

On Friday, as I was walking out of my home and toward the subway, I had to stop in my snowy tracks as I peered across the street. Where I should have seen my car, I saw a gaping hole. Visibly bewildered, I was quickly put out of my purgatory of confusion and sent straight to urban-car-owner hell by a neighboring building's doorman, one who was oh so happy to tell me, "Yeah, I saw that car get towed this morning. That sucks for you, pal." Gee, thanks. So yeah, my car got towed on Friday. I had parked in a spot that was mostly legal but crept past a delineating post that theoretically precluded standing. However, I had seen many cars parked entirely in this nether region on many previous occasions, and I took it as a "common law" spot. Obviously I was mistaken.

On a regular day, I would have gone to work and dealt with the problem once I was somewhere with a phone and a high-speed Internet connection. However, on this particular Friday, I had an appointment in the morning and wasn't going to be at work until later in the day, leaving the whole car fiasco as a source of anxiety. Awesome. Eventually, I got to work around 1:30 and spent about two hours trying to figure out where my car was and how I could retrieve it. As soon as I had ascertained all of the pertinent information, it was basically time for me to leave work because bureaucrats in City government are not usually inclined toward expeditious fulfilling of their professional responsibilities, and I had to get my car back before it idly sat in a parking lot for the entire weekend. (I needed my car, obviously, so that I could go to Target and Ikea over the weekend.)

My first stop was the DMV lot and processing center on 38th Street and 12th Avenue. For those of you not from New York, just imagine a cold, ugly building situated in the Hudson River and protected from pedestrians by some never-to-be-completed construction, an array of confusing signs, and an eight-lane highway. When I got there, I was confronted with a long line that had queued in front of the sole operating teller window among a row of twelve. After twenty minutes, I enjoyed the privilege of handing my license, my registration, my insurance card, and my $185 to some angry woman who probably encounters few moments while working at her quotidian job that would ever make her smile. I then sat down for forty-five minutes before hearing my name called. I jumped up and quickly made my way over to the window, thinking that this entire ordeal was over and that I could retrieve my car.

Sadly, I was mistaken. Not only was my car not available at the processing site, but also it was about 700 miles away in Ohio, er, at 203rd Street and 9th Avenue. After consulting a map to determine how I might best reach my new destination, I hopped on the subway and made my way up to Northern Manhattan. After I got out of the subway and walked past the store where the proprietors were selling live goats kept in cages (no joke), I found the lot where my car had been deposited. Just as I was ready to get in my whip and take off, I reached into my pocket and discovered that I had neglected to bring my car keys. Again, awesome. Eventually, I made it both back home and back to the lot to retrieve my car, but that whole ordeal was some start to the weekend.

After waking up late and making those aforementioned trips to Target and Ikea on Saturday, I cleaned out Andrew and Michael while playing poker ($20 can buy a lot of yogurt smoothies) that evening before attending some neighborhood cocktail party. While at this event, I met two notable people: One was some girl with whom I am supposed to go out on Wednesday. In NBA parlance, she has pretty good upside, but I question her basketball I.Q. and her ability to operate in the half-court setting. And the other was a guy who spent about an hour talking to me about hip-hop. It was one of those conversations during which the participants are simultaneously getting to know each other and sizing each other up, replete with statements like "no, for my money, Common is the best MC today" and questions like "How did you feel about Masta Ace's 'I.N.C. Ride'?" It was a good time, though.

And then on Sunday, shit fell apart. This past weekend was the "Spring" kickoff of the Michigan alumni touch-football team. Sadly, given that the game was just a scrimmage, only five people showed up, and I was relegated to playing safety while we were on defense. This entailed covering seemingly everyone who Michael wasn't responsible for, because on every play, someone Mike wasn't covering seemed to be getting open. So why was this bad? Well, I don't actually remember any of this, but apparently there was one play during which I came charging toward a sideline-bound receiver who was about to make a catch. I got to the receiver as the ball did, and I extended my left arm and chopped down on the ball to prevent a completion. This worked out, I am told, however I really can't say because my body seemingly followed my left arm and I became airborne, parallel to the ground. I landed in an ugly fashion, first with my left shoulder underneath my body and then with my head hitting the Astrotruf field. I was knocked unconscious right away. I am told that I immediately began snoring and was revived by an EMT who happened to be playing football at the same time as my team was.

Long story short, I wound up at the hospital, a place where I was diagnosed with having sustained a concussion. A fucking concussion. From two-hand-touch football. Isn't that lame? Anyway, my head hurts and I feel a little spacey, but I think I am going to be ok. I mean, I still have the good sense to NOT pick UNC to win the NCAA Tournament, so I can't be all that messed up, right? Any team coached by Roy Williams and so happy to ignore Sean May for long stretches can't be counted on to win anything.

And so that's why my updating has been bad lately. Please forgive me.

Such Sad Folly

They won't even have to worry about voter fraud in 2008; It won't be close enough.

Given a torrent of discouraging news, I am pissed off today...

An "anonymous" poster beat me to the punch this morning when she posted this feedback in response to my Bankruptcy Bill discussion from yesterday:

It's ridiculous, but not surprising, that on the day that the papers are carrying reports of the passage of the cynical and corrupt Bankruptcy Bill, which will keep poor people in thrall to credit card companies while allowing the rich to maintain multiple residences free from their creditors' claims, Senator Hillary Clinton uses her moment with the press to sternly condemn violence in kids' video. New York's junior senator does what's safe, not right, pandering to those elusive "moderate" voters, never taking a difficult position, setting herself up for a race she can't win, and sucking the air and the money out of the Democratic party in the process.

I could not have said it better. Senator Clinton, either install a glass window in your belly button or kindly remove your head from your ass so that you can actually see what's going on in reality and perhaps even participate. You will NEVER be the President of the United States. You will NEVER even be a dutiful and admired public servant. While Charles Schumer takes principled positions and actively advocates for New York State, Hillary runs around having her picture taken and kowtowing to whomever is in the room. Were she not so obviously intent on realizing a political catastrophe, this entire charade--you know, the one where she plays politician--would be funny.

However I will not be laughing in 2008. It won't be funny when Hillary wins the Democratic primary even though I will vote against her. And it really won't be funny in November that year when she has her ass handed to her by a total incompetent like Condi or a total scum like Bill Frist. I mean, who does Hillary think she is fooling?! I had a really wonderful conversation with my friend A. E. Porter last evening, and A.E., who is a smart and ruminative conservative, incredulously asked the rhetorical, "Do liberals realize how unpopular Hillary is in the rest of the country?" I hope that the answer is yes. I certainly do. Her strategy--to try and emerge as a centrist, moralistic candidate who can carry the left based upon her history and name while courting the middle and those slightly to the right with her newfound conciliatory posturing--is inviting a beatdown. I mean, is perpetual loser Bob Shrum working on this? Who's making these decisions?

I wish that national-level liberals who have some influence over the Democratic Party would stop reading all those articles about religious-values voters and start thinking for themselves. If Democrats want to become viable again, why don't they reinvigorate their own base by standing up to the Republicans in Congress, like Howard Dean may as the head of the DNC; Why don't they stay on message and tell the Joe Liebermans of the world to fuck off; Why don't they seize upon misgivings about our economy and start using understandable information to paint the accurately dreary picture; Why don't they start publicly challenging partisan ploys by people like Allan Greenspan and disgusting acts of duplicity like the Jeff Gannon fiasco; Why don't they develop some effective rhetoric about Republicans preying on the underclass? As much as I am ideologically opposed to so many Republican programs and ideas, I am almost as frustrated by the serial bumbling of the Democratics, and no person or circumstance better capture the ethos of this ignorance and ineptitude like Hillary Clinton and her presidential ambition. You know how it feels when you're watching a movie and not only do you know that somebody is about to die but you can also see exactly how it will happen? Welcome to my political reality.

Hillary Clinton will be an unmitigated disaster as a presidential candidate. She and her husband would sell Chelsea into slavery if it meant that either of them could be in charge of something important.

- Follow Up: Here's Kos's rundown of the latest excuses offered by Democrats for their gutless behavior. I guess you can't call the pot black if you're taking money from the same kettle makers.

- Why does the Bush Administration pretend as though capital punishment is a foundational tenet of the criminal justice system? Study after study has demonstrated that a death-penalty system costs more money than imprisoning criminals for life; does not reduce crime; and is no longer supported by a majority of citizens. Arguments to the contrary are documented fallacies. Oh, but I forgot: This thoughtless, sophomoric, amoral divinely inspired President is doing the right, ethical thing by deciding who can live and who can die. It's his lord's will, right? Anyone--Jew, Muslim, Christian--who is religious should be offended that this man so happily pimps his faith.

But maybe this is just one more middle finger for the international community. Even though Democrats are going to lie down and take it, at least Canada won't.

- Game and 50 deaded the beef, but that doesn't mean 50 isn't still gunning for Fat Joe, Jadakiss, and Nas. Trickology has the latest offerings from the cattle industry.

- Baseball was already boring and corrupt with all the homeruns. Now, there won't be long balls and no one has any credibility left. So why doesn't baseball just get its act together and clean itself up?

- Lindsay Lohan, single-handedly making Lil' Kim, Paris Hilton, and all the other toe-up chickenheads seem a lot more tame. Kudos to Lohan for accomplishing what had seemed impossible.

- Jackogate: Michael showed up for court late. Who cares?

I Don't Care Who's First or Who's Last...

...but I know that y'all just better rock this at the drop of a dime, baby.

As...we...proceed...to profile the greatest posse-cut beats of all time, we happen upon an undisputed all-time classic, "The Symphony." This joint, in many ways, is the father of all posse cuts, and its beat befits a track of such distinction. Yes, there were other posse cuts before "Symphony," and yes, there have been some great ones since, but few tracks have ever been as important and as impressive given the epoch, the MCs, and the beat. Originally released on Marley Marl's In Control, Vol. 1, "Symphony" featured an infectious Otis Redding "Hard to Handle" piano sample and verses from preeminent Juice Crew lyricists Masta Ace, Craig G., Kool G Rap, and Big Daddy Kane. Given the cultural contributions to hip-hop, and lyrical composition specifically, made by everyone involved with this project, collectively and individually, this track's significance should be self-evident.

As for the beat itself, what's not to like? The piano riff (kind of like the one from "Clones") is simple but addicting, and Marley spliced it during verses in a fashion that gave the song a melodic continuity but also honored the simplicity of rhymes over beats that was a staple of the hip-hop sound that dominated the era. This diminished role of the sample shifted the aural focus onto the steady snare-and-cymbal rhythm that dictates the song's entrancing flow. The sonic composition also allowed for an MC's lyrics to cleanly hit a listener's ear, a seeming necessity given the lyrical prowess and tightly assembled verses of the MCs on this cut. Indeed, a retrospective appreciation of the track likely includes more than a few "Oh-shit-this-is-where-that's-from?" moments as later-used wordplays and verse constructions betray their biters, unwittingly reclaimed by the original authors. "Symphony" is a beat that could be appropriated by almost anyone today, its captivating simplicity an inviting platform for any MC, although the beat would be best employed by a posse comprised of authentic lyricists content to spit battle rhymes and boasts while flowing steadily. For instance, would anyone want to fuck with Jada on this beat?

New Isht

My ever expanding blogroll has swelled again. I have now added Better Than Yours, Idle at Work, and The Rap Nerd to my list on the left, so recognize.

If You Happen Upon My Mind, Please Let Me Know. I Think I've Lost It.

Straight out the U.K. They'll be looking right when I rock them this summer.

Some happenings:
- Not that I'm obsessed or anything: This morning, I woke up convinced that it was Thursday. But not Thursday, March 10. I was certain--to the point that I got back into bed and began setting my alarm clock for 11:30 AM--that it was Thursday, March 17. Why? Because last night I had a nightmare in which the NCAA Tournament was beginning, and I had forgotten to look at the brackets. I hadn't filled out any; I hadn't sent any picks to my annual wagering partner; I hadn't traded emails with friends about seeding. I knew nothing about the Tournament, and it was about to begin! I was going crazy. In the dream, there was screaming, profanity, punching--you name it. I can also recall that at some point, I embarked upon a frantic dash to find a television showing the games so that I could verify that I had, indeed, effectively ruined one whole year of my life. Now that this episode is behind me, of particular concern is that upon my awakening, I would have gone back to sleep instead of rushing to my computer and assimilating as much information as possible. Am I slipping?

I also now realize that this is the third straight year I have suffered an NCAA Tournament-related nightmare. Two years ago, I dreamt that I was watching coverage when my cable stopped working and cable company wouldn't answer the phone. Last year, I dreamt that I was scheduled for surgery on the opening day of the Tournament, and in the dream, I forced the doctor to perform the surgery while I was positioned on a gurney so I could see a television. What is the term for my condition? Is it an illness?

- There ain't an army that could strike back: Juan Cole tears up Paul Wolfowitz today.

- This plot engenders some doubts about Osama bin Laden, doesn't it? I mean, I know he probably watches the Oscars and sees Crowe winning all the time, but this was part of his plan to topple the West? I would like to go on record right now and say that my life would proceed without interruption if Russell Crowe were abducted. I wouldn't want him to pass, but if he couldn't make movies anymore? Eh, I don't care. I am now curious, though, if we could use Rene Zellweger as some sort of bargaining chip. Maybe everyone could pretend like we actually want her around and in return for handing her over to al-Qaeda, Osama and his conspirators would choose against violence. Wouldn't that be a win-win situation for America? We could even send bin Laden one disposable American celebrity per year, sort of like a ritualistic entreaty. I have a very long list of candidates, starting with Zellweger, Julia Roberts, Ashton Kutcher, and Ashlee Simpson. My list could probably get western civilization through 2167.

- Jackogate: Maybe Michael showed his friends some other sort of "girlie" magazine. But here's my question: He keeps porn in a suitcase? Does it travel with him when he goes to stay at Elizabeth Taylor's house?

- The beef is deaded! The beef is deaded! I guess once 50 went platinum, the whole endeavor became obsolete.

- May any Democrat who votes for this bill freeze in the lowest level of hell, along with Brutus and Judas. As my mother has smartly wondered, why haven't Democrats taken the mean-spirited bankruptcy bill and discussed it in tandem with social security "reform," citing both measures as economically pernicious? That message of economic and class injustice might resonate with Democrats AND poorer Republicans, no?

- I'm tellin' you, all this news about Iran could simply be the slow march toward a "spreading of democracy."

- I anticipate posting the second part of the posse-cut beat examination this evening. I encourage widespread participation from all precincts of the digital world.

Big, We Missin' You

"You're either slangin' crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot." Was B.I.G.'s succinct articulation both a pithy observation and, now, a sad, rationalizing motto for the gully set?

Eight years ago today, the Notorious B.I.G. was killed. His musical genius and cultural significance have been written about and spoken about to an extent that nearly precludes a new perspective on Biggie Smalls. While this certainly does not diminish his life, it does diminish any need that there may have been for me to write some lengthy screed about why I love his music or anything of that sort. Instead, I direct your attention to some hip-hop blogs that have also recognized the overabundance of Frank White ruminations and have gone some other routes. Bol addresses the unavoidable debate that often arises when considering B.I.G., as the title "Greatest Rapper of All Time" gets bandied about a lot. Ian lends some perspective and rounds up some nice links. Evil Empire assembles a creative and exhaustive alternative tribute. And Metalface basically posts something identical to this one (although there was no biting on either end, I assure you). He even uses the same picture. Great minds....Peep game.

My only note about Biggie is this, and Bol alludes to this: Constantly mentioning Big Poppa and 2Pac in tandem does a disservice to the Notorious. I realize that their deaths are inextricably linked, and that their music and public personas created the self-fulfilling context for their murders, but they were not equals. For all of his talents as a musician, a performer, and a writer, 2Pac was not on Biggie's level as an MC. All the people who would tell you otherwise need to fall back and get their minds right. 2Pac could rhyme, and he was an influential and gifted artist, but Biggie was just better. Don't get it twisted.

And finally, check out this SOHH article about what might and might not have been. #26: All of the people who benefit from those now-obligatory R.I.P.-shout-out compendium sequences at concerts would get a lot less love because we'd have fewer of them.

50's Killin' 'Em

Imagine the number of units he could have moved with some decent cover art

Lynne D Johnson says it best: Beef is what's for dinner. It's only been five days! Looks like all will be well on the Interscope Plantation for a while. Why can't a good album from a good artist ever do numbers like that? And by the way, isn't this a sad precursor for the next 50 Cent hype-a-thon. Buck, Banks, Yayo--watch your backs! 50 might start a beef you won't be ready for, you'll be trying to sell your own record, and then--bam!--you'll be excommunicated and shot up. Maybe the Roots should do this with Knuckles or something when their next album drops.

8:07 Update: On an unrelated note, SportsCenter has been unwatchable for about a year or two, and here's the latest proof: Tonight, it's counting down the top ten moments in Big 12 Tournament history. What...the...fuck? The Big 12 is a relatively new conference with limited history. And it's a nice conference, but does anyone actually sit around reminiscing about what has happened in the conference's tournament? Are the teams always so great? Isn't it usually just Kansas and everyone else? I mean, this is not exactly like Randolph Childress going off. If anything, this is the first year that the tournament really will be memorable since Kansas and Oklahoma State played a fantastic game two weeks ago and could both make the Final Four. And on top of all that, does the American sports fan need a top-ten list so badly that SportsCenter has to dig this deep? What a terrible, formulaic, over-produced, gimmicky show. Give me Olbermann and Patrick calling highlights without music playing underneath the video or give me death. And let's rip out Sean Salisbury's voicebox.

Real World Is a Misnomer

I hope that she's Jewish, because here's wifey.

The Blue Noodles--one of the rec-league basketball teams for which I play (poorly)--improved its record to 5-5 last night after a thrilling victory over previously 8-2 "Insert name of annoying team comprised of frat-guy-looking headhunters here." Following the game, Andrew and I stopped at drove all the way down to 99 Miles to Philly, some new cheesesteak place that Illadelph-native Andrew had observed while downtown on Sunday. The food was excellent--great bread texture (crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside); great meat (diced, juicy, and in possession of no characteristic shared with leather); great waffle fries (perfectly seasoned and neither under- or overcooked). While I am not the most qualified person to rate the quality of a cheesesteak because I don't eat many of them and people from Philadelphia would dismiss my review as some charlatan's feeble attempt, I suggest that anyone looking for a nice cheesesteak peep 99 Miles the next time that he or she is around Third Avenue down by The Strand.

(And by the way, why do Illadelphians treat their supposed position of authority as if it were sacrosanct? No one else in the world has ever thought of eating meat and cheese on a roll with grilled vegetables? That's something a ten-year-old could envision. Some regional food specialization I understand; I'm not traveling to Missouri for the lobster. And, I'm not knocking the tex-mex food in San Antonio. But come on, nothing about Philadelphia smacks of non-kosher-delicacy preeminence. The same way that nothing about New York screams cheesecake. This is like that Curb Your Enthusiasm episode in which Larry goes crazy when his idiot cousin suggests that there isn't any good Chinese food outside of New York.)

I mention all this because upon returning home around 10 (I had to waste time circling around my neighborhood looking for a parking spot, of course), I was fairly tired and plopped myself down next to Curt in front of the TV. Since Curt was involved, you know we were watching a reality show, and last night, the Real World/Road Rules Challenge: Inferno II enjoyed the privilege of our viewership.

For those who aren't familiar with the Real World/Road Rules Challenge series, here's the gist: Not wanting to actually get real jobs, past performers cast members from Real World and Road Rules seasons stop drinking and partying all day while waiting for their respective big breaks as actors or models since they've all invariably moved to L.A. and return to compete for cash and prizes against each other. There are usually two teams, and they get whittled down in elaborate fashion week to week as the cast is asked to perform a number of unorthodox tasks, most of them involving a harness and getting wet or dirty. Meanwhile, not wanting to neglect its self-conferred mission of televising any idea that involves real-time programming, MTV is all too happy to take back its stars of yesteryear. While on the Challenge shows, cast members are given a ridiculous amount of free, product-placed merchandise; reside at mansions located in warm-weather localities; and pretty much do whatever they want, mostly drinking, clubbing, swimming, or some combination of those three. (Really, the MTV reality-show universe has become a welfare state for Real World and Road Rules alumni. I mean, isn't Coral like 35? She hasn't had a job in ten years and yet, she never seems malnourished or starved for creature comforts.)

Because MTV has about ten of these shows filming or airing simultaneously, and because an appearance on either Real World or Road Rules seemingly consigns every person to a deluded state of existence in which each one thinks that he or she is actually cool and matters, there is an endless supply of cast members for these shows. And, the programming has taken on a layered-narrative aspect because said people have all slept with or fought with each other over the course of these challenges, creating persistent story arcs. Thus, every season becomes more and more sensational because characters participants like Veronica (who, like Coral, or "The Miz," or any other of thirty people, has "MTV reality head case" listed on her resume as her sole occupation) carry all this baggage with them back onto the show and say things during the opening episode of a season like, "Last time, I had some problems with my teammates because they didn't let me know about the orgy that was going on in the jacuzzi." Of course, we then see a video clip from the last season of a just-out-of-the-shower Veronica yelling obscenities while the house is burning down and Tonya is making out with someone. You get the picture.

Anyway, last night, the new season of the Challenge kicked off, and it was pretty entertaining. Shamefully, I will likely watch. At least, as long as Jamie is on. And for those who want more, check this link: Real World/Road Rules bloggers? This takes vicarious living to a whole other level; the proverbial "next level" as my dad might mockingly say.

Linksys:
- I saw this at beer and rap, and I couldn't believe it. What is wrong with conservatives? And can this summarily indict Texas as the worst state in the country? If not, how about this: Leave No Rat Poison Behind.

- It's bad enough that opponents of the war in Iraq are always (falsely) accused of not supporting the troops. But for the war's architect to actually not do so? Shameful.

- Jackogate: Today at the Neverland Ranch, Michael and his friends drink Jesus juice and then read "girlie" magazines. And if they're good, they'll all get extra apple juice and graham crackers after naptime.

- Here is the real story: Maybe there shouldn't be so many guns available. That whole "A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state" part is always conveniently ignored by gun enthusiasts. Also, while it is disturbing and engenders some sense of incredulity, this "revelation" is not all that revelatory. The dysfunctional communication apparatus within the American intelligence community has already been well documented. We've even assigned a criminal to fix it.

- Passive aggressive move of the year. This is what happens when people who hate government are government.

Joe Dud-da

For a smart and funny guy, Cedric makes a lot of bad movies.

Between a packed calendar and a malfunctioning Internet, it was hard for me to update this joint over the weekend. I apologize to anyone who encountered a subsequent problem, although I'd also question your dependence on this site. For today, I thought I'd throw up the first of my Justus League profiles by focusing on the regrettable Joe Scudda. But first...

Some weekend notes:
- I saw Be Cool this weekend. I wish that I hadn't. While there were individual elements of the movie which I found to be quite amusing (Cedric the Entertainer, The Rock, Andre 3000, and Vince Vaughn), the total was far less than the sum of its parts. Indifferent performances from John Travolata and Uma Thurman (do you think they got on a conference call to phone it in?) combined with a boring, emotionless, and stale script rendered the first half almost unbearable and the second half far too long.

- I also saw Gunner Palace, a movie that I appreciated but didn't really find enjoyable. A plodding pace and absent narrative arc made the movie feel like a series of uneven vignettes (some of which were entertaining, many of which were not), yet the honest depiction of soldier life in Iraq was great. I found the soldiers to be surprisingly insightful, articulate, and poised; most had not attended college but were very perceptive and intelligent. It challenged my happily held assumption that most soldiers in Iraq are southern patriots who like to blow stuff up, listen to loud rock music, watch Fox News, and voted for Bushie. I also enjoyed the purposely apolitical tone of the film because I have already made up my mind about the "war" in Iraq, and I didn't need to spend even more time in a Manhattan theater with other liberals congratulating ourselves for recognizing our minority status and using laughter (some of it condescending) to ease the pain of political defeat.

- Stay out the crowd if you scared: Game invited more conflict over the weekend while Dr. Dre-collaborator Mel Man spoke out about the 50 vs. Game beef (as posted by Jay Smooth). Pursuant to a previous post about Game and 50, I found this Mel Man quote particularly telling:

I think we all knew the situation was coming to a head and I know Dre, Em and Jimmy were hoping for a peaceful solution and for Game to move off G-Unit as quietly as possible...50 tried to smother Game's release and only allow it 3 weeks to sell before releasing his album. Thankfully Jimmy and Dre got it pushed backed to March.

As Big Sty and I have said, Interscope has a clear hierarchy, with Iovine, Dre, and Eminem plotting strategy while the soldiers (50, Game, D12, G-Unit) run around on the figurative battlefield. Pretty eff-ing manipulative, huh? And while Dre may have made Em by giving him beats and street credibility, is there anyone who doubts that Iovine would pick Eminem over Dre if he were forced to make a choice? Or, put another way, if you're running a record label and can only tether yourself (and your success) to one musical property entity, would you choose the most commercially viable and culturally resonant musician in the world? I ain't sayin' nuthin', but I'm sayin'...

And meanwhile, Rev. Sharpton has this idea for deading beef. While Al is well-intentioned, I am not inclined to think a ban would have the desired effect. Al seems to either neglect or fail to understand that mixtapes and the internets will keep this beef--like all beefs--blazing, even if Hot 97 and Power 105.1 can't play gangsta music. Plus, a three-month moratorium on airplay would force rappers and radio personalities to stew in their frustration and anger for three months, likely producing a bizarre, over-hyped spectacle upon the expiration of the silent period, to say nothing of the mindless skits, spoofs, and gimmicks that would arise in the interim.

As for the Janet Jackson analogy, I'd imagine that this beef situation is very different in the mind of your average American. First, Nipplegate seems to have incensed those in the more prudish segments of the population who are sent mixed signals by and help create the sexuality-ambivalent media culture of our nation. Second, many were also upset that something not really all that so controversial and sexual had the temerity to infringe upon a national holiday like the Super Bowl. (God forbid.) And third, there are probably plenty of people who only view this 50-Game tussle as a fight between two "thugs" of a culture that should be eradicated anyway. I'd assume that this (sad and ignorant) segment of the population might also approach the beef with a euphemistic, racial lens, happily seeing the circumstance as yet another damning indictment of all urban black communities and people.

- Deadwood is back. Bol and O-Dub have already discussed the show nicely, and like I have done in the past, BC Dot C sings its gully praises. I'd only add that I don't find Mrs. Garrett particularly likable, so I am hoping that her character can develop some unique redeeming qualities this season. Otherwise, I am not ever really going to root for her and Bullock since he's a very frustrating "hero."

- Yet another piece of evidence in the case against (the) Ohio State (joke of a) University. If you were to earn a degree from that school, you could likely put it to good use trying to get a fire started.

- If you live in New York or will be in New York between now and the end of May and you have twelve disposable dollars, go see the Whitney's Tim Hawkinson show. It was incredible.

- Remember that packed calendar to which I alluded at the beginning of this post? Well, on Friday night and Saturday I was out doing a lot of shit. But yesterday, I was busy with televised sports. College hoops went crazy (Illinois lost, Kansas lost, Kentucky lost, Wake almost lost, and UNC-Duke was a classic) while Tiger and Phil gave the golf set a gripping eighteen-hole showdown. Woods won, but it wasn't because Phil was throwing away shots (as he would have in the past.) The next month and a half, culminating on a Sunday in Augusta, is going to be fantastic.

- Has there been good economic news in a while? I know that inflation is growing slower than expected and that more jobs than expected were added in February, but neither of those events, for various reasons, offsets an overall bleak outlook.

Hall of Justus: Joe Scudda
The first Justus League artist to face the scrutiny of this profile series is Joe Scudda. First, the basics (as presented at the Justus League website): Scudda (like most of the JL cats) is a North Carolina-based MC who rolls with the League. Scudda first got put on after freestyling at a Naughty by Nature concert and impressing 9th Wonder, one of the League's producers (who is, of course, one of my favorites). Scudda lists Big L, Notorious, Jay, the Boot Camp Click, and Prodigy as his stylistic influences. To date, he has laid down vocals on a number of Justus League mixtapes, the Foreign Exchange album, the new Big Pooh album, and the Justus League Triple Play EP. Allegedly, he has a solo album in the works, but who knows when that will actually pop off.

Below, I am posting three tracks that "showcase" Scudda's style. Honestly, I don't really care for him. I think that his flow is disjointed, awkward, and monotonous while his lyricism is limited and his subject matter is tired. Also, he seems intent--given his rhymes and the beats over which he spits--on making himself a thug-on-wax, and we all know how I feel about that choice. It sounds like he wants to be MC Gangsta Light, not as aggressive as 50, as vivid as Eminem, or as menacing as in-his-prime DMX, but discernibly hard. What's more, the frequency with which he invokes the standard themes (e.g., misogyny, violence, etc.) and his weak flow make it sound as though he is trying too hard; his microphone persona smacks of the embarrassing desire to prove just how real he is, and the only thing worse than a thug is a fake thug trying to act gully. (It also doesn't help Scudda that the JL producers really can't make gangsta tracks.) Really, there just isn't anything that stands out about him. But worse, he is a wholly disposable MC--in every aspect, he is only proficient at best, and there are innumerable others who could lace a track in the same way that he does.

Joe Scudda, "The Return" - This track is an excellent example of Scudda's lyrical shortcomings. On this standard braggadocio track, he uses all of the regular and tired images and metaphors, oftentimes throwing away lines or stringing together incoherent bars just for the sake of rhyming. For instance, anyone could have spit, "Yo I'm back on grind/I'm back on the rhyme/Spit heat that makes you back up and rewind/Sit back and recline...All day on my job/Stay playin' my post/I got killers that'll beat you with the back of the toast/Drive you back to the coast/In the back of your whip/With you foldin' up in the back of your shit/It's not a game/I'm back doin' my thang...." Ooh, he's real. I mean, he said it's not a game. Only the most thoro say that, right? What a boring verse.

Joe Scudda, "Never Knew" - Scudda's flow is so bland. It is steady, but over these sample-driven, jazzy and/or soulful beats, it just sounds like a stubborn choice to ignore the music and rap independently, giving the finger to the track's sound. Scudda is sort of like the microphone equivalent of a charging bull--he just runs straight ahead, regardless of what's there. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if some of his tracks from the JL mixtapes were just old recorded verses thrown on top of a separately recorded beat. That's how out of step with the beats he can sound.

Foreign Exchange ft. Joe Scudda, "Raw Life" - This is as grimy as it gets for the JL. I am not a huge fan of Phonte's flow on this track, although he is always so lyrical that any of his verses commands attention. Sadly, the same can't be said of Scudda, and I have included this track because it is an unwitting juxtaposition of the good and bad within the Justus League. When Scudda hops on this track (the figurative thud you hear) on the second verse, it's almost like a new song. Compare how Phonte meshed with the track compared to how Scudda tried. He's such a verbal klutz.

This Site Has Arrived!

If you were to conduct a Yahoo! video search for "bangin bodies," apparently this site would come back as the third and final possibility. If people looking for videos of rebounding, rugby, comely bodies, and pornography are going to stumble upon this mess of loosely organized thoughts, I might need to start courting advertisers. Can spam emails about hot teenagers who like getting pissed on be far off for Straight Bangin'?

Peace

Heat for Today:

"I live for the funk..."

- Michigan heads, NBA fans, and the basketball intelligencia, what do we think of this? I don't know that Webber can be so easily explained, his foibles distilled, but I do think it's a start. And Whitlock certainly strikes gold when he articulates that Webber is a study in frustration for basketball fans who were hoping to see an exceptional talent get his act together. I've always felt conflicted about a player who punks out in the clutch and acts like an idiot at times despite knowing better. He should be so likable but he just never got his mind right.

- Can you believe that these two writers work for the same section at a newspaper? It's like watching Sparks-Liberty and then putting on Mavericks-Suns. Manohla, John Travolta was the "gravest disappointment"? Lighten up; it's an eff-ing movie! Learn how to write.

- If you're looking for a good laugh today, check out this agenda. Pay attention to which speakers are addressing which subjects. Next year, Bowling Green will probably get Kobe Bryant to talk about how one avoids trouble in Colorado while getting his knee repaired.

- Besides 50, the person I'd least want to cross is Stacey. She just brings flames.

- Paul Krugman is on point. As I have said many times before, unbiased examinations of the facts should most often lead the intelligent, discerning thinker to the right conclusion: Republicans base their economic strategy on lies, manipulation, and phony numbers. Is an ideological pissing contest really worth ruining the economy for years?

- Jackogate for the day

A Sinking Ship Adrift Amidst the Great Lakes?

Were she a U.S. citizen, I'd pick her over Hillary every time.

Michigan Governor Jennifer Granholm is a charismatic, energetic, intelligent, attractive (not an attribute to be overlooked when assessing a national-level politician in this era of media inundation) woman who mercifully replaced the Reagan-esque John Engler two years ago. (And Granholm beat someone named Dick Posthumus, so his last name became some sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I mean, give me a break. Posthumus?) The expiration of my tenure in paradise at the University of Michigan and subsequent return to New York has relegated Governor Granholm to the periphery of my political cognizance (between my job, the vast and complicated nature of the politics in my city, the dysfunction of my state's government, everyone's favorite White House-dwelling idiot, and his ruthless Capitol Hill allies, there is already a lot to worry about), but I have followed her actions closely enough to remain a supporter.

Is Granholm perfect? Not really, however the sad reality for most liberals is that our best chance for political efficacy is to elect someone who can run a populist campaign (articulating just enough of the proper social stances) and then drift further to the left-most pole of the ideological spectrum once in office.

I mention Granholm today because this story reminded me how fond I am of her. While I would likely approach this news differently were I a lifelong Michigan resident or the child of a parent or parents employed by the domestic auto industry, I think her efforts are wise. Michigan needs more jobs, it has the infrastructure to accommodate the automobile industry (duh), and attracting the foreign-owned companies that produce the best technologies can only enliven the competitive environment.

As an Economist survey from September harrowingly detailed, the American car industry is generally failing. This conclusion was hardly a revelation: Jobs have left Michigan (and the Northeast/Rustbelt, overall) for sunnier, cheaper, non-unionized areas in the South and overseas for a while. And, Detroit is a sadly prominent example of urban decline, the best example of the worst results effectuated by the implementation of the FHA and the federal Interstate Highway Act. But precisely because these melancholy truths about Detroit have been so evident for so long, the domestic auto industry's refusal to spend money to get ahead of the curve is all the more frustrating. (Note: I do not profess to be an authority on the car industry, so disagree or enlighten me if you must, but this is the general sense I have developed after reading newspapers and magazines.)

Japanese automakers have long owned industry-best manufacturing models, and when the United States chose against funding fuel-cell technologies when they were first conceived in the 1980s and abandoned a consistent fuel-efficiency escalation, the U.S. also lost any chance it had to leverage environmentally protective technology into market share as demand for those products inevitably grew in what was then the seemingly far-off twenty-first century. (It's called foresight; look it up.) During the Reagan Administration, it was not as though fossil fuels were perceived as infinitely available. These choices (and a number of other factors, both inside and outside of the industry) have left Michigan spiraling downward. It is my hope that the savvy Granholm can successfully lure foreign automakers to Michigan so that its staple industry and its overall health improve. I also think that spurring significant growth would make Granholm an incredibly attractive candidate for national office (once Arnold gets that law repealed), and I find her to be much more earnest and trustworthy than Hillary Clinton.

[Bryant Gumbel Real Sports voice] Let's move on [/Bryant Gumbel Real Sports voice]

This is what I go through:
Me: Hey, Jay, what's crackin'?
Jay: (Looking at his watch and seeming flummoxed) Joey, my friend, it's 12:30. I never see you this early. What is going on, man?
Me: We're interviewing candidates for an opening in my office, and I have four meetings this afternoon, so I gotta eat now. What's going on today?
Jay: Good, good, very good. Same old. But I can't believe you're here so early, man.
Me: Sorry, dude. Would you rather that I just not show up?
Jay: (Matter-of-factly) Come on, man. You drink that ginger. Is that what it is today? Or some O.J.? I keep them both cold for you. (Ed.'s Note: Please keep in mind that I have seen this man four or five days a week for the past sixteen months, so I am well aware of what among his inventory is and is not cold.)
Me: I'll take the O.J.
Jay: It's cold outside, huh?
Me: Yeah. We gotta get outta here. I'm gonna move to South Beach.
Jay: Come on, man.
Me: Jay, you can come, too.
Jay: No way, man. You're a young guy--
Me: No, I don't mean that I would live with you. I simply mean that you and your wife could move down there, too. We'd get you set up in a condo, I'd get a condo, and then we'd be all set.
Jay: And you could meet some girls. Come on, man, when are you going to find that one girl?
Me: Well, once we're down in South Beach, it'll be all good. You can drink your Beck's and play your pool while I hang out with the hot ladies.
Jay: Yes, my friend. What, no candy? Come on, man!
Me: I gotta go.

Hittin' the Links:
- I am shocked, but happy, to read this news. Maybe Bushie and Condi are learning something. Or maybe Karl Rove is mildly spooked that a critical mass despises the social security "plan" that the President is looking to push through. I find it discouraging, though, that so many of the hoi polloi think that things are going well in Iraq and that social security is doomed for insolvency relatively soon. Lying is so cruelly effective.

- University of Michigan professor Juan Cole gets it right, as always. His Informed Comment blog is a must read for anyone who considers him- or herself to be sincerely concerned with Middle East politics. And if you don't want to read commentary and would prefer straight news, check this article. (And note that the Columbia professor, Matthew Connely, referenced in the post is a great teacher and a better researcher. How would I know? Because he was my teacher when I was a sophomore at the real UM. I was always disappointed that he got away.)

- Kelefa Sanneh articulates the 50 Cent success formula in this piece. I think Sanneh does a great job accurately and smartly describing both what 50 does and how it works. I only wish that Kelefa would have lowered the boom and asked for more from hip-hop than this. And meanwhile, this article can get thrown at the top of the heap among all the other sensational stories that insidiously invite more conflict and violence by writing about rap beef with voyeuristic approval. As we all know, what's beef? It's what moves units.

- The American dream is alive and well. Never let anyone tell you that big breasts, cocaine, alcohol, and promiscuity won't land you on top.

- When I grow up, I want to buy the NHL. No joke.

- You wanted it, you got--Jackogate: Chris Tucker, George Lopez, Paul Rodriguez, Bubbles, and Michael--the new Jackson Five. "Can it be we looked at porn too long?/Did I touch you there while it was on?/It's not my thing trying to keep track/Baby, next time let me simply rub your back/You don't have to worry, 'cuz I'm comin'/Right back to the bed you're lyin' in/And if you can keep quite 'bout what we're doin'/Then the whole world won't say..." - The new Jackson Five, "I Wanna Be Where Boys Are"

Darius Miles Sons Maurice Cheeks (Again)

Maurice never was good at the lottery, anyway.

Five relatively quick NBA notes:
1) In case you missed it, Maurice Cheeks was fired by the Portland Sucktastics today. Why? Apparently, the team would rather tether its future to a player, Darius Miles, who has averaged 10 points per game, 5 rebounds per games, 2 assists per game, 2 turnovers per game, and 59% free-throw shooting during his career instead of a coach who is one of the nicest people in the league and who carries a .540 winning percentage. The beginning of the end (at least, in the short term) was when Cheeks had this run in with Miles. This is just disgusting (excerpts from linked article):

The confrontation flared when the Cheeks continued a line of criticism directed at Miles during the team's review of Wednesday's game with Dallas. The argument escalated when neither party would back down, and accounts of the argument include Miles telling Cheeks he was going to be fired, and when Cheeks told Miles to leave, Miles said that Cheeks would have to call the police to make him leave the building.

The situation continued when Cheeks dismissed the team and began leaving toward general manager John Nash's office, when Miles chided him with the comment, "That's right, run to your daddy." When Cheeks did go to Nash's office, Miles burst in, and another argument ensued.

"Things got out of hand," Cheeks said. "It was just an unfortunate situation. We expect a certain kind of conduct, and it was crossed over as far as I'm concerned. Things were said that were inappropriate."

Cheeks admitted that he is partly to blame for the confrontation because at the beginning of the film session his tone toward Miles was stronger than normal, and from past conflicts with Miles, he knew the player didn't handle criticism well.

"Different players you have to coach in different ways. There are times when I have to be on and on him, and he doesn't take it well," Cheeks said. "I don't ever want it to seem like one guy is totally in the wrong. Certainly for me, he went over the line. But maybe I had a little part in it because something in my voice was maybe antagonistic, which made him go that way. So it's not all about Darius; maybe I had something to do with it."

The fallout from such an appalling and disgusting act of insubordination? Miles was suspended with pay for two games and Cheeks was publicly embarrassed. Way to back up the coach, John Nash. I hope that the Blazers continue to struggle with their lame-ass GM who couldn't deal Shareef, didn't discipline Miles (he should have been suspended for twenty games, at least), and has taken his team from the playoffs to the lottery. Karma's a bitch.

And ditto for Miles. Poor baby, he doesn't like to be coached. Boo-f'ing-hoo. I used to love this guy, but instead of working hard and trying to learn the game (because it's not like he actually went to college), he has chosen to become the personification of all that ails the NBA: he's lazy; his fundamentals are awful; he has no jump shot and has never improved it; he is not a leader and seems happy about his obdurate pride; etc. Again, karma's a bitch. In fact, I may try to join Darius's posse just to milk him for as much money as possible and ruin him.

(Sorry for the vitriol, but this is so foul. You CANNOT do Cheeks like this. He's a great man, and the L needs as many of them as possible.)

2) I have been thinking this for a while but have consistently forgotten to mention it: Memphis coach Mike Fratello has the worst hair in the NBA. What an awful, obvious toupee. I'll let the pictures do the talking, but I'll also say this: Marv Albert, fall back! The Czar stole your niche.


See the difference?

Come on, man. Quit clowning and just buy one of those t-shirts that says, "It's not a bald spot; it's a solar panel for a sex machine." If he wore one of those under a blazer with some sensible slacks, I think it could even be game-day attire.

3) I am a huge Pardon the Interruption fan--I basically worship Michael Wilbon and Tony Kornheiser--but their relative lack of familiarity with the NBA is regrettable. Those guys know the NFL, and they are very smart and very articulate, so usually, they're on point about most things. But hearing them discuss the Detroit Pistons tonight was embarrassing. How can they so readily dismiss the chances of the defending champions to repeat given that the team is now rolling, has great depth, and already knows how to win? Tony even made the unfortunate choice of "proving" that the Spurs were the true title favorite by submitting that Tim Duncan's two NBA titles would somehow affect the outcome of a potential Spurs-Pistons finals. Do NOT sleep on Detroit, injuries excluded.

4) The Timberwolves' season is effectively over after tonight. What a terrible loss. The wheels (and KG's knee) are about to fall off. Spree and Sam should start packing their bags right now.

5) What is this shit with NBA players holding teams hostage until the teams either waive the players or buy out their contracts? Note to Alonzo Mourning, Jim Jackson, Gary Payton, and everyone else: You signed the contract; you know that trades happen. Deal with it. There are worse things than making millions of dollars for eight months of work and getting to retire at forty-years-old.

Rollin' Deep

Come back. All we got left is a dude named West.

As it is late in the day and I am stuck in my office reading about wetlands preservation measures, I have broken out the iPod hoping that some ill shuffle-guided playlist will provide an adequate soundtrack for late-day policy analysis.

The live version of "Clones" from that Roots Present live album just came on, and it got me thinking: What are the best posse-cut beats of all-time? I don't necessarily mean which songs are the best posse cuts (although certainly, a great posse cut beat likely comes from a great posse cut), but which beats just have that indescribable quality? That this-rolicking-beat-could-ride-out-forever-and-I'd-never-tire-of-it quality? That I-can't-believe-all-these-MCs-are-spitting-over-this-one-beat-at-once quality? That cot'damn-this-shit-is-gettin'-me-all-worked-up-and-here-comes-another-MC quality? You catch my meaning?

Three caveats: 1) Some classic collabo beats may not come from classic tracks. For instance, "Is That Yo' Bitch" by Jay-Z et al. is one of those beats that I could listen to various people slay forever, however the original track is by no means an all-time great. 2) Some classic collabos may not carry with them classic beats. "Scenario" might be one of the greatest collabos of all time, however I don't know that the "Scenario" beat works as well without those distinct voices and personalities. Yeah, it could work, but, for instance, were some wack MC like Fabolous to get on that beat, I would probably just be mad. Meanwhile, I can listen to Game spit his idiocy over "Deep Cover" on "200 Bars" because that beat is just so hard. 3) A great posse cut beat is likely one that can accommodate a number of styles.

So, what are the best posse-cut beats of all time? Aside from the aforesaid caveats, one other thing to consider: Uptempo beats may have an inherent advantage over slower joints because the mounting emotion, the swelling excitement created by the truly great posse cuts are often engendered by both the procession of MCs and the sense of sonic asyndeton conferred by a faster tempo. However, that's debatable

I'm gonna make this an ongoing discussion (even I'm the only contributor). Each track that gets submitted I will post for consumption and discussion.

Update: The first nominee for "All-Time Classic Posse-Cut Beat" is "Clones" by the Roots. I have linked it up and made it available for download. Please feel free to weigh in with your thoughts concerning its historical merit as a posse-cut beat. I have received some dope suggestions from Brother B and DJ Haze, and I am thinking that this discussion will become a weekly feature. So, let's see how this goes and then make some choices from there.

Obviously, I like "Clones." The piano riff is simple, yet it possesses a subtle energy and momentum that works well in concert with the steady, energized drum rhythm. On top of that, it is a beat clearly engineered to support a group spit, what with its repetitive nature and the snare-drum interludes. The beat gets extra special consideration given how many ill ciphers with varied lineups it has accompanied at multitudinous Legendary shows. (Peep the ill word play.) The beat can also accommodate a fairly simple flow like a Dice Raw's or a more intricate verse from a Black Thought, so that works in its favor too.

Please feel free to add your opinion to this discussion...

Doin' It to Death

Guess who's biz-ack/Back on the court with them ol'/cotdamn close to a triple-doubles...

Something for everybody today, so dig in.

NBA:
Have you recently seen the man pictured above? If you're a basketball fan (and even more so if you're a Wizards fan or his fantasy owner), the answer has sadly been no. But tonight, Washington Wizards guard Larry Hughes will return from a broken thumb and (hopefully) help lead the Wizards' late-season playoff push. (Popular sports idiom coming...now:) Were the playoffs to start today, Warshington (spelled as Lee Corso would pronounce the city's name) would be seeded fourth in the eastern conference, the highest-seeded "at-large" team in the East. Warshington has played an exciting, we-don't-play-defense offense-oriented style this season that is masterfully devised by Eddie Jordan and executed well by the able scorers in Warshington's backcourt, Hughes and all-star Gilbert Arenas (who we shall call "Gilly" because that's how my sister, The Buckets, likes it). Warshington is among a handful of teams that have forced scoring (and excitement) to return to the NBA this season.

Like any good fantasy owner, I have developed a rooting interest in my assets, and this year, I've been all about Warshington as top-fifteen all-around fantasy player Hughes has thrived both for the exciting Wiz and for my team, RapeCan'tStopKobe ScottieForever. (Also, when the local option is the Bricks, flirtations with other teams are unavoidable.) This increased scrutiny has led me to both watch far more Wizards games than I usually would and experience an attitude renaissance regarding Hughes. During his first years in the league (initially with the Iladelph and then with Golden State), I didn't care for Hughes at all. He seemed to be a selfish player on perpetually irrelevant teams, and he was always forcing a jump shot or a drive to the basket. Writers habitually would trumpet his great athleticism, but that did not distinguish him in a league filled with fantastic athletes who don't always "put it all together" (hello, Darius). Instead, I saw a scrawny two guard with an inconsistent jump shot and an inability to make good decisions.

However, in my universe, Hughes did not maintain a villainous persona akin to those now owned by a selfish narcissist like The Rapist or an apathetic idiot like Tim Thomas. Although I was decidedly disapproving of and unwaveringly underwhelmed by his style of play, Hughes wasn't a guy who I could really detest because of his demonstrated laudable personality. And with regard to on-court performance, I am most intolerant of players who appear as if they are trying to play badly, those who seem to obstinately cling to their desire to remain walking studies in unfulfilled potential (hello, Kwame). That's what I had thought of Hughes, but he's proven me wrong. Thus, I have been quick to embrace the 2005 version of Larry Hughes, a fearless all-court player who is suddenly someone making the right decisions in crunch time; someone taking (and making) big shots; someone happily getting ten pulls or ten dimes on a night when a teammate is going off; someone who is pulling the ball out to work the clock; someone who is talking to his teammates and keeping them focused; someone who has grown up after coming to the NBA as a twenty-year-old.

It will be nice--for the Wizards, for the Association, and for ScottieForever--to have him back. (And had he not gotten hurt, I think Hughes would have been the most obvious all-star snub this season.)

Also, here's a quick congratulatory shout out to NBA.com: Your enhanced features and improved graphics have now made you the slowest-loading sports website that I regularly visit. SI.com had better start showing real-time streaming video of Peter King fawning over Brett Favre after yet another interview if it wants to reclaim the throne. Thanks to both sites for breaking my computer multiple times each day.

Hippity-Hop:
- As the Beef Burns:

"'Trolley strike drags on for third week,' and this so-called headline drags on for infinity." (Does anyone know from whence this quotation originates? Dap if you do.)

The quotation seems (sort of) appropriate given that this 50 Cent-Game beef will likely now commence to drag on (not Drag-On) until Summer Jam, at least. Here's the latest article from a local newspaper. And for even more, hit up funkdigital, where you shall find all kinds of audio and linkage, including a quotation from an editor at XXL explaining that this whole episode could very well have been a media stunt meant to increase buzz around 50's album. As a conspiracy theory might go, the disappointing early reviews of the record were such that 50 and his peeps (like Jimmy Iovine and whoever else makes money off of all this) had to do something to get people talking about and anticipating The Massacre. LynneDJohnson breaks it down and expands the explanation. Had I been consulted during this strategy session, my lone suggestion would have been this: Make something new that's actually good. No one wants to hear wack-ass versions of bad songs like "Magic Stick" that were already lame before they were made worse and renamed shit like "Candy Shop." And stop beefin'!

- In other hip-hop related happenings, this post at catchdubs got me thinking a little bit. Is the point that most bloggers have nothing of value to contribute unless they have gullied it up, done some exhaustive link digging, or have direct access to new information? Is the point that there is such a narrow range of opinion in cyberspace about the 50 Cent-Game beef that there should be less discussion? I'd argue against both of these conclusions. Yes, perhaps incessant blogging only accomplishes the end desired by 50 (more buzz), but if people have opinions, I think it is edifying to read them. I can't speak for others who maintain websites, but I wrote about 50 Elimidating Game because it was on my mind and it was something that I thought others would want to know about and discuss. Also, I like reading so many takes on the issues, because even if most opinions are just variations on a theme, I find that the nuances are stimulating. In summation, while I do not take that post personally (and only a Jose Conseco an egomaniac would), I do find it disagreeable. Next time, heads'll have to pull some link to the medical report that resulted from the shooting or develop an alternate conspiracy theory about 50 inciting the beef as a manifestation of misplaced, unresolved rage concerning the states'-rights-versus-federalism debate, effectively making this shooting a re-enactment of the Civil War. That should be what everyone tries to come up with following the next beef that arises for only one of a limited few reasons.

- I will try to start doing those audio profiles of the Justus League (thanks, Brother B) shortly. My goal for this site is to have one or two posts each week that devote more scrutiny than usual to music, and going through the J.L. will be a nice launch.

- If you can, check this out. (Link found at hiphopmusic.com)

Politics:
- Even in a city whose voting population is considered a little more erudite than most (and why that perception persists despite New York City's failing school system perplexes me--it must be all the college grads), basic political pandering seems to work. Politics is such seductive misery because the potential to do good exists, and yet no one seizes the opportunity. At what point did politicians, as a group, abandon effective policy for disingenuous public displays as the primary method for earning and maintaining support? I would ask more of voters, except we all know that most voters know nothing and care even less. I don't think that Mayor Bloomberg is a bad person, and I don't think that he is motivated by malice or focused hostility toward the lower classes (and compared to him, everyone is a lower class), but on the flip side, what makes him so likable? He wants to use at least $600 million tax dollars to erect a frivolous stadium for the Jets and the 2012 Loss Leader Publicity Stunt Olympics; he has done almost nothing to noticeably improve the education offered throughout the City; New York City is always getting shafted by Albany and Washington, D.C.--what's his overriding appeal?

- I would be more upset with Bushie about his relentless effort to make America a theocracy if I thought he had ever even read the Constitution or Bill of Rights.

- Which are the best entry points in Iran? Not that the U.S. would ever need to know. But for curiosity's sake...

- Now, now, children, no name-calling. It's not especially diplomatic.

Jacko on his Backo:
- Why can't journalists find something substantial to write about? How many people need to be covering this trial? Has he even made a memorable song that anyone really has liked since Dangerous? Don't get me wrong, I love me some Jackogate, but honestly, there is too much written about this.

Miscellaneous:
- *Shakes his head and rolls his eyes* Suburbanites. Y'all are so cute.

Posse Cuttin' and The Thyrday

Given that it's Wednesday, I thought I'd continue to highlight some of the illest posse-cut beats of all time. However, I am gonna double dip on the music features series and also throw up another Justus League profile. Your boy's runnin' this...

Posse Cuttin'
What with all the Long Island love circulating in the hip-hop blogosphere (for instance: here, here, and here), it seemed only right that I highlight two Strong Island posse-cut beats that are certified bangers.

The first comes from the seminal hip-hop collaboration between Parish Smith and the Green-Eyed Bandit--EPMD. Brentwood's finest require no introduction among the hip-hop set, but for those who may not be members of that community, I'll let All Music Guide put in the work. "Symphony 2000" warrants inclusion in this compendium of the illest posse-cut beats because the sparse, mid-tempo drums combined with an infectious, undulating strings sample (courtesy of Ennio Morricone) to create an endless, inviting loop that a number of rappers could steadily (maybe even lazily?) flow over. The beat also stands out as an appropriate example of the strings-heavy production that seemed to become popular at the end of the 1990s and the opening of our current century.

- EPMD, "Symphony 2000"

Another of Brentwood's notable hip-hop sons was Craig Mack, an MC whose street anthem "Flava in Ya Ear" was the foundational hit for Bad Boy Records. "Flava," with its looped, understated sample; its steady, simple drums; and its soft, wailing echoes of amelodic tones was a beat that any rapper could have used to sound good. Luckily for Bad Boy and Mack, the original was bangin' and the remix was even better, featuring East-Coast heavy hitters like Biggie, Busta, and Mr. Smith. The beat remains a favorite given its persistent, muted elegance and its deserved nostalgic appeal.

- Craig Mack (ft. LL Cool J, Rampage, Notorious B.I.G., and Busta Rhymes), "Flava in Ya Ear (Remix)"

Before moving on, I also thought I'd throw up the mostly forgotten, "Symphony 2000"-like "It's Not a Game," the lone single from the failed Wu-Tang side project American Cream Team. Not even guest spots from Raekwon and RZA on this oft-overlooked posse-cut standout could earn the group traction and popularity. The MCs were forgettable, however the beat, like "Symphony 2000," serves as an enticing template for any MC in possession of even the most basic flow. And again, peep the heavy strings.

- American Cream Team, "It's Not a Game"

Hall of Justus: The Thyrday
Having already focused on two of the JL's lesser-known MCs, and not wanting to roll out the heavy hitters (Phonte, Pooh, Chaundon, Legacy) just yet, I thought that this week's Justus League spotlight could shine on Durham-based The Thyrday, a three-man crew that is all over the Justus League mixtapes. (And, to revive a gimmick I used when discussing Median, The Thyrday:Justus League::Marv, Wendy, and Wonder Dog(?):Super Friends.) Comprised of MCs J. Gunn, Killa K., and K-Slack, Thyrday (or "3D," and we'll drop the "The" from their title for the sake of expository flow) seems intent on breaking away both from the bling-bling excess and trite vapidity of some southern crunk music and the at-times-bland smoother sound popular among the JL. (And the self-aggrandizing dogma on their website will corroborate this impression.) I should also note that while 3D has worked with outside producers like Leaguers 9th Wonder, Khrysis, and JL affiliate Nicolay, K-Slack does of a lot of beat making for the group.

Thyrday's music betrays any attempts that the group might make to hide its members' ages. 3D clearly grew up with hip-hop's so-called "golden era" and has, since the death of the realness, sought to revive the guiding principles while incorporating some of the better sounds and ideas from latter times. Really, they're no different than any discerning, twenty-something hip-hop fan, and that, for me, is likely part of their appeal. They know what's missing, they know what's good, they know what's bad. The group makes music that, while not always wonderful, usually appears to have grown out of some thought, some deliberate intentions. It is a redeeming quality that saves some of Thyrday's worst tracks. Luckily, though, the group is generally successful when it comes to making music that can be easily thrown on and even engaging if you want to concentrate on the lyrics.

Those lyrics come from three MCs who can flow fairly well, although at times each sounds mechanical and hurried, striving to spit out all the words before something terrible happens. They're almost like self-aware wind-up toys who can sense that they are perilously close to losing the enlivening mechanized friction that provides them with life. This is not a constant issue, but it certainly arises at times. Lyrically and structurally, Thyrday isn't bringing anything revolutionary to the table--lots of boasts; lots of geographic shout outs; some sports metaphors; etc. Similarly, their subject matter is standard: trips down memory lane, hedonistic sexual promiscuity--the usual. That said, they pull off the routine pretty well, and each has a vocal pitch that makes the lyrics stand out from the beats and helps distinguish their overall sound from those of many up-and-coming rap groups who loved Tribe, got down with Jay, and shamefully harbor some Trick Daddy guilty-pleasure impulsiveness.

The four tracks I've posted provide a fairly good introduction to The Thyrday. "Fuck" is an ode to hedonism and guilt-free sex that seems like an appropriate indulgence for the group; "Memories" is the most "Justus League-sounding" of all the tracks, and the juxtaposition between it and something a little more dynamic, like the Nicolay-produced "Fantastic," highlights the group's versatility and the range of good music being made; "Rutherford Affair" is a playful and wanna-be-creative joint that lends 3D some endearing charisma. Enjoy...

- The Thyrday, "Fuck"
- The Thyrday, "Memories"
- The Thyrday, "Fantastic"
- The Thyrday, "Rutherford Affair"

Shut 'em down

The one on the left is an idiot. So is the one in the middle. Actually, wait--they're all idiots.

After arriving home relatively late last night, I was dissuaded from running at the gym or doing anything overly productive by the convincing alliance forged among the near-blizzard bombarding New York and my general mental and physical fatigue. As a result, I ate dinner and then spent the rest of the evening in the paradoxical state of sedated hysteria (I spent about four straight hours with my head down transferring phone numbers from my old, ginger-ale enriched cell phone to my new joint), initially shocked in a decidedly detached fashion as Jen Schefft dropped bombs on The Bachelorette and later disapprovingly and indifferently absorbed by the 50 Cent/Game break up and shoot out. (The oxymorons abound in this post!)

I had never really watched The Bachelor or The Bachelorette before. Yes, I had seen moments of the Bachelorette as I cleared up around the house or had a snack in front of the television, but only because the program was already on. One of my roommates, Curt, is a reality-television whore, and if he happens upon any reality show for longer than two minutes, he seems to possess an innate need to watch the remainder of the program in its entirety, much like a moth's inability to stay away from a flame. Curt can't not watch (and this explains why my digital video recorder captures Ashlee Simpson's wack-ass show each week). However, never before had I devoted any real attention to such a ridiculous enterprise. And certainly, I picked the right episode for my initiation: Contradicting the conventional wisdom that dictated [Us Weekly contrived emotion] Jen would finally find love [/Us Weekly contrived emotion] after getting dumped by Andrew Firestone and (stupidly) putting her love life on TV for a second time, Schefft sent both final (lame) bachelors packing, opting instead to be annoying and seek a few more fleeting moments of fame. (In defense of her obnoxious, self-absorbed, unaware, and foolish behavior, she is from Ohio. I bet she went to (t)OS(joa)U.)

Following that climactic anti-climax, Curt and I (full disclosure: I couldn't believe that happened. You know when you see something that you don't really care about but still know is a big deal? That was me) scoured the internets for information about Schefft. Curt came up with this: She might be dating someone named Billy. The other research was inconclusive, but Curt did stumble upon The Bachelorette message board, and it is worth a read. Keep in mind: these people actually have brains in their heads and what they have typed appears to be what they actually think.

As for Jen, I have a tip for her about finding a man: Maybe this whole process would be easier for you if you didn't limit yourself to either competing with twenty-four other women in an unrealistic social context or forcing twenty-five men who obviously have trouble making smart decisions (I mean, they chose to come on the show) to compete for you in that same unrealistic social context. That's just me, though. Maybe hooking up with "dating" twenty-five people at once is the way to go. And as for that guy who got dumped by Jen and then said that he loved her for it and that he should have been there for her more: When a girl dumps you, don't hang around through three commercial breaks. He should have been like "What?! What did you say? Alright fine, eff you and fuck you" and then stormed off the set and thrown the engagement ring at that moronic, disposable, Jeff Probst wannabe who presided over the entire debacle. The dumped guy could try this if he's forlorn.

I don't intend on ever watching that program, or something of its ilk, again. And for those of you keeping track, Curt says that Jen's actions last night comprised one of his five greatest moments in reality television history. Trust me, he would know.

Linkalicious:
- Ian puts it down today. I am guilty of writing about the beef (and in my defense, I do so because it is entertaining from the distance born of education and perspective, and I am only left to shake my head given how popular this stupidity has become), but I also intended to add this, now made even more timely:

The overlooked criminal in this whole 50 Cent beef circus is Hot 97. For years, this radio station has purported to promote hip-hop music and culture with earnest intentions and an enduring love of its content and consumers, but that disingenuous shit has to stop. Hot 97 is just like any other mainstream media outlet that specializes in or focuses on hip-hop; its intention is to make as much money as possible. As a result, the station glorifies the ugliest facets of hip-hop culture, promotes a narrow segment of the music's range, and all too happily exploits the uneducated masses who are not smart enough or empowered enough to demand more. Yeah, Hot 97 will pay lip service to real MCs like Talib Kweli, and yeah, sometimes it will play a John Legend track, but when was the last time either of those cats was on the Funk Flex show? I mean, cotdamn, the entire nighttime lineup on that station is streets oriented, featuring mixtape DJs who traffic in beef and make money by selling thuggery, misogyny, and vapid consumerism. A lot of the blame for what's wrong in hip-hop can be laid at the foot of Hot 97's throne.

I hope that no one who visits this web site will spend a dime supporting 50 Cent and the G-Unit. Feel free to look on with me as the mainstream-hip-hop realm goes through its usual (and regrettable) mindless conventions, but let's not get anything twisted. This stupidity is only to be observed and noted, not embraced or desired.

- Slate came correct today. First, I suggest that those interested in geopolitics read this take on the coming (and really, already commenced) energy wars. I am disappointed that the article is not more prescriptive and excoriating (for instance, the United States needs to invest more in electricity transmission infrastructure to maximize generation capacity and it should have never abandoned its fuel-efficiency programs in the early 80s), but I can't disagree with its general premise. Second, Slate also had this nice little science piece. My main takeaway? Can this gel be substituted for Rush Limbaugh's toothpaste or clandestinely placed in his food? It might do wonders for his look, and to look good (as you disintegrate from the inside) is to feel good.

- My co-worker-directed hostility is on fire today. Serenity now!

- How is that greener New York pasture working out for Lee Bollinger? Not too well, it would appear.

- Tim Thomas found! There was another Tim Thomas sighting last night. If he keeps playing like he has been this week, he'll probably wind up with at least twenty games in which he actually earned his salary this season. And the Pistons are starting to roll (Larry Brown may finish only a few games ahead of Thomas in the games-spent-earning-his-salary category). Won't it be awesome when they snatch the East's top seed from the Heat, but not before Shaq wears his knee out for the playoffs trying to help Miami retain the top spot? (I don't actually know that this will happen, but it would certainly make me happy.) And in other NBA news: Ben Gordon has officially wrested away front-runner status for Rookie of the Year from his college teammate Emeka Okafor (Buckets says: "He's so hot!"). Gordon is a scoring machine who is the man in crunch time for a team headed toward the playoffs. 'Nuff said.

- Daily Republican Hypocrisy Update:

'In the Bush administration's bluntest description of human rights transgressions by the American-supported government, the report said the Iraqis "generally respected human rights, but serious problems remained" as the government and American-led foreign forces fought a violent insurgency. It cited "reports of arbitrary deprivation of life, torture, impunity, poor prison conditions - particularly in pretrial detention facilities - and arbitrary arrest and detention."'

So a government that the U.S. supports arbitrarily tortures, arrests, and detains people while maintaining squalid prisons and pre-trial detention facilities? Weird. Where would that government have learned those sorts of practices?

- My tax dollars are funding a Treasury Department committee that will track media coverage of the social security debate and aid the President as he lies to attempts to persuade us about his plan? That's a nisht-nisht. Why aren't people in the streets protesting the constant erosion of the boundary that separates policy from politics? It's sickening.

- What, Colin Ferguson wasn't available?

50 vs. The World: Episode 78

G-G-G-G-G-G Get Packing!

You just witnessed the strength of street knowledge.
Now run and hide.
Remember when I posted this? (Scroll down to the section about 50 and Game beefin'. And shouts to DSeib.) Well, 50 Cent made sure that beef spilled over from wax to street. Apparently, 50 excommunicated Game from G-Unit tonight when 50 appeared on Hot 97. In retaliation, someone from the Game's posse may have shot someone from 50's. The genesis of the beef? Primarily, 50 was mad that Game didn't want to get involved in 50's synthetic beefs with Nas, Fat Joe, and Jadakiss. And so to recap, if you are friends with 50 Cent, you had better have some hot lines for a diss record prepared about whichever enemy 50 invents at any moment. Otherwise, you're finished. Now, the Game can either update his resume or come back like Ice Cube, although, after the very real violence tonight, Game might want to choose the former.

And of course, this story is everywhere because it's going nowhere. Big ups to Bol, O-Dub, Sean, Jay Smooth, and The Evil. Here's more from All Hip-Hop.


Deadwood is grimey like The Wire.
Do NOT cross this man, 50 Swearengen.

What I really wanted to post about this evening was an odd occurrence on the subway. As I strode onto the S line (the shuttle for the uninitiated) this evening around nine, I thought I had suddenly become drunk because it appeared as though there was paint all over the seats and the interior sides of the doors. Upon further inspection after I entered the subway car, though, I realized that the car had been temporarily decorated to resemble some late-nineteenth-century stagecoach interior. Why? Because Deadwood is coming back and New York City sells out (although, I don't really care). Peep the photos, captured with my replacement camera phone:


Is this...

...a stagecoach?