I Know!

Please continue to bear with me. This site will be regularly updated starting tomorrow. You can bank on that.

Having a job and a life kind of blows sometimes.

The Easiest Question of All Time

And similarly, one of the great video montages:

I Just Flew in from Absentia and Boy Are My Arms Tired

Popular theories propagated on the interwebs while I was gone:
1) I died - This was not at all likely because Michigan football hasn't even kicked off yet, and Lloyd Carr has not yet managed to destroy the will to live that I spent all offseason redeveloping.

2) I was kidnapped - This was also not likely, as everyone knows how gully I am and accordingly wouldn't have the temerity to actually try something like that. (Also, I am not worth all that much money.)

3) I insulted Tiger Woods and paid for it - That wasn't me, that was the rest of golf. Remember when Tiger needed to get back with Butch Harmon? When Phil Mickelson was his equal if not better? How's all that working out for everybody?

4) I was drafted into service in Virginia as a U.S. Senator - I don't use words like "macaca"

No, no, good friends, I was gone because I have been busy. First, I was asked by two friends to officiate at their wedding. Then I came back and had a pantload of work. And immediately after that, I was away on another weekend excursion.

But now I'm back...because I missed the dialogue and because where else can I spew fire and venom so regularly? Thank you, interwebs. And thank you, readers. I'll be reading your blogs, responding to your comments, and doing whatever else it is that I usually do.

Here's a present from me to you, meant to partially make up for how lame I've been:

Super Official

"I think I might wife her/You know, powder-blue Rocawear suit, white Nike her..."

Your boy boy is gone for the weekend, off to Cape Cod to officiate a wedding. Read that again; I'm super official. Be back on Monday...

The Best Trailer of the Year

Songs That Most Women Inexplicably Love

Walking on sunshine; looking like douche bags.

The Buckets (for the uninitiated, that's my sister) and I went to see Talladega Nights over the weekend. It's no Anchorman, but what is? Anchorman helped redefine cinematic excellence in a way that few films can ever hope to, so setting the proverbial bar that high and asking subsequent comedic endeavors to get over it seems like an unfair demand. That said, Talladega Nights is pretty funny, not least of all because the children in it, Walker and Texas Ranger, are the sort that might make you question whether it really is such a bad thing for kids to be using profanity and disrespecting elders. They are fantastic.

Given that I have two worry-all-the-time parents, I have emerged in early adulthood as one of those people who generally has to be early or on time. I mean, you wouldn't want to miss out on maximizing a given experience because of tardiness, would you? Resultantly, the Buckets and I arrived at our seats with about a half hour to spare before the movie, and we proceeded to play one of my favorite games: Name That Cheesy Tune.

Name That Cheesy Tune? For all of my success indoctrinating my sister--how many 20-year-old women do you know who grew up loving Kerry Kittles, attended the Jay-Z retirement concert, and will happily watch all three Lord of the Rings movies in one sitting?--one area in which I partially failed was her taste in music. Yes, she likes Little Brother, was down with Kanye before any of y'all, and has seen the Roots many a time, but she also worships a lot of lame-ass music. Have you cried at the debut of a Backstreet Boys video? Have you seen Jessica Simpson in concert? Do you consider it a good night out only when you've heard Cascada's "Every Time We Touch"? If you do, you're my blood relative...and you need to reassess some of your priorities.

Anyway, given this unfortunate adoration, her iPod is chockablock with crap amidst the Otis Redding and Pharcyde. And that's how you wind up playing Name That Cheesy Tune. For sure, there are some cheesy songs that, given a certain context, retain some bizarre appeal. Witness most 80s pop music. Or even contemporary stuff: Don't tell me that you didn't think Eamon was funny. Who the fuck curses like that on such a seemingly earnest track? But overall, scrolling through some of the music on my sister's iPod was an exercise in frustration.

Not really frustration directed at her, though. More so frustration directed at women in general. I mean seriously, what is wrong with you people? I know that you all don't have the same taste, and I know that you all weren't obsessed with Sex and the City, but it certainly seems that way most of the time. The music thing hurts the most, too, because there is this obvious if not necessarily explicitly identified list of songs that seemingly all women love. And I write that it hurts because these songs are horrendous or annoying or both, and yet we're forced to hear them all the time.

Below, please find a partial list of songs that most women inexplicably love. These songs are grating and trite, yet their appeal endures. To the detriment of all men.

- Madonna, "Like a Prayer"
Here's most of what you need to know about "Like a Prayer": In June, I was in a bar when this song came on. Two nearby girls immediately broke into some kind of pre-rehearsed interpretive dance routine; six more were flinging themselves toward the heavens, inadvertently punching me in the mouth; and every other woman in the bar lost her shit, too. This may have been a cool video when it came out, and it may have been fun to yell "whoa-oh" during the bridge of the track twenty years ago, but that's all tired now. And no matter how hard you dance or how many times you listen to Immaculate Collection, you're not likely to wind up the situation depicted in the video.

- Juvenile, "Back That Azz Up"
This may have been the song that initiated the "feign outrage but still lose your shit on the dance floor" genre's revival. Just so you know, ladies, we no longer find that routine all that amusing. And more importantly, this song, like Cash Money, peaked in 1999 or so. Please adjust your taste accordingly.

- Sisqo, "The Thong Song"
See above. The sad part is that I saw two women my age loudly singing this song in a car recently, and it wasn't even a joke.

- Four Seasons, "Oh What a Night"
If you've been to a bat mitzvah or you listen to light rock stations a lot, you've probably heard this song. The piano loop will haunt your dreams, the over-the-top electronic noise will hurt your brain, and no matter what a stripper anyone tells you, there is no sex in the champagne room way to dance to this song and look good while doing so. Instead, you'll end up looking like something from an Adam Sandler satire of his childhood.

- The Foundations, "Build Me Up Buttercup"
I think that including this song on the list makes Rhymefest a little bit of a woman, but so be it; I cannot suffer through this song anymore. Among other things, the lyrics are just lame. But that's sort of like saying that among other things, the Titanic sank because it snapped in half. I guess the real point is that the melody is irksome, and the track easily lends itself to a mocking, whining rendition. Dat not good.

- Gloria Gaynor, "I Will Survive"
I know, I know--this song speaks to you because it indicts all of the men who have wronged you. That's all well and good, but guess what: this is easily the most overrated, played-out song in human history. It's catchy for about a minute and then it just goes on and on. And also, you, the one grabbing your friends by the wrists in a flurry of hurried excitement: you are certainly not the first woman who thought it'd be cool to mouth the lyrics and dance-act in some overly demonstrative fashion. So don't.

- Katrina and the Waves, "Walking on Sunshine"
First of all, if you are making a movie and you use this song in your trailer, you should be forced to marry Robert Blake or endure whatever other punishment they hand out in Hollywood. STOP IT. Second, that waling--it don't feel good. Not in the least.

- Maxine Nightingale, "Right Back Where We Started From"
What a fucking mess of a song. It is far too cheery, and it elicits far too many enthused yelps from women who hear it and seem to think that it's license to figuratively kick off their shoes and start partying. On top of all that, it's boring and simple and is quite possibly the all-time worst song to have stuck in one's head. I can't think of a single song that makes my head sink in embarrassment and frustration faster than this one. Maybe when I'm out at a club and the DJ is spinning the twentieth consecutive song that contains someone shouting "pon de" something. But that's it.

The Greatest YouTube Video of All Time

This is just perfect. An homage to B.I.G. that not even Jay-Z could summon:

Music for a Monday: The Return of Ali Bey

"Put him in a body bag, Johnny!"

I've written about NYC underground MC Ali Bey before. I think he's a promising artist. His music is distinct, his flow is strong, and his lyrics are inventive. Unfortunately, most of the beats over which he usually rhymes don't have a pop appeal that would ensnare the uninitiated. You generally have to like Ali ahead of time if you're going to invest your attention in his music because the production, though well-crafted, is a generally eclectic mix of the minimal, all of it reminiscent of a bygone era in hip-hop upon which fans like me constantly harp.

Ali's latest track is a departure in many ways. The beat is catchier and faster than the norm; the sample, Bananarama's "Cruel Summer," is well known; and the general feeling of the track is more mainstream. This is all good and bad. I'd imagine that the altered sound will grab the attention of more people and get Ali a little more shine, even if it's primarily among internets heads. That's a good thing. Unfortunately, the lyrical content on this new joint is not Ali's finest, as he strings together a collection of common themes and phrases, all of it fairly standard. I suppose that a common paradox, if not tragedy, encountered by artists is that much of their most personal work is oftentimes that which fails to capture an audience while the more generic is what gets them put on. It might be a necessary evil, and it may merely reinforce the status quo, but that doesn't mean it's not worthy of remark.

Anyway, take a few minutes and check out "Cruel Summer," the sort of song that you'd likely throw on in your car while riding around. And if nothing else, cherish the memories of that soccer scene from Karate Kid.

- Ali Bey, "Cruel Summer"

Links

You have a hrum?

- Times Selecters--Is David Brooks for real?

- A new series from TAN

- Peep enemy game: Buckeyes 24/7 (I'm as shocked as you are that they got the numbers right)

- A list of people who are ruining this country

- The dream lives on

Like Watching a Game on DVR After You've Seen the Score

They probably had the cake ready on Friday.

You know what's gonna happen and yet you watch anyway.

There was really only one thing that was bad about this weekend's Buick Open: The CBS promos for the PGA Championship in two weeks featured Tiger and Phil. Now, I guess that Mickelson could win that tournament and make me seem stupid, but right now, is there anyone who actually wants to put those two in the same sentence? Unless, of course, that sentence is, "Tiger Woods is clearly better than everyone, including Phil Mickelson." But seriously, what? Have you watched Woods in the last month?

And also: In 11 starts this year, Woods has won 4 times and has 7 top-tens. For all the to-do about Phil--and really, he's all anyone wanted to talk about through June--he's played in 16 tournaments and won twice, with eight top-tens. His two wins have come at the BellSouth, which Tiger didn't enter, and the Masters, which Tiger gave away. You all realize that Woods entered Sunday at Augusta trailing Phil Fulmer Phil Mickelson by only two strokes and then proceeded to try too hard and force too many putts, right? Woods needed 33 with the flat stick on Sunday. Had it been 27--not such an amazing number to begin with and the number of putts he needed on Saturday--he would have shot a 64 and won. Had it only been 30, Woods would have forced a playoff. So shut up with Phil, CBS!

Anyway, 50 wins by the age of 30. That's ridiculous.

Dip Settin' 101: How to Write a Verse

If only Joyce were alive today to write the quintessential day-in-the-life New York story.

Love them or hate them, the Diplomats have likely stirred a certain level of wonderment in the minds of all those who've heard their rhymes. Are they for real? How do they come up with this shit?

Well, wonder no more. Watch the videos above, taken from a night in the life of Jim Jones (and not the crazy one...OK, fine, so they're both crazy.) Add a chipmunked Heatmakerz sample and some kind of odd synthesizer; throw in some obscure slang, references to leaving the bar and going straight to the car; and top that all off with a pinch of audacity, and you have a Jim Jones verse.

Bonus: Jim Jones will slap a kufi off of Nas's head...

Best Invention Ever

Science always astounds...

Tom from The Chicago Sports Review sent over what is, easily, the best invention of all time:

Make Your Own Sports Guy Column.

This thing should not be street legal. I mean, it's just so good. And it's perfect if you haven't been insanely irritated yet today and want something to get pissed off about.

Loving the Knicks, a Story of Relentless Pain

I can't illustrate the Knicks any better.

FreeDarko has a provocative post up about the Knicks signing Jared Jeffries. And I call it "provocative" because it drew this out of me:

Long-time sufferer, first-time (in a while) caller here.

I am no fan of the Jeffries move. I agree that to diminish him to a level somewhere near "worthlessness" based upon statistics is foolish and more of the same banal, lazy punditry that passes for analysis in this reactionary media era of absent creativity. I'd also agree that JJ could add value to the Knicks were he actually the player he's reputed to be.

But as Shoals noted, his deficiencies are obvious--stats or no stats--and his rep as a potential Kevin Garnett Lite (tall, lanky, good perimeter skills) seems as though it owes almost entirely to JJ's lengthy body-shape-driven potential. People want Jeffries to be good because his frame and skills seem as though they should allow for it. Put him on the Knicks, they reason, and his mid-range jumper and deft ball handling will plug a hole on a team with lots of small shooters and undistinguished big men.

But that's a fantasy. Because Jeffries has not proven that he can reliably provide that which the Knicks would need. So why bother? John Wooden used to tell his players that it is folly to mistake activity for accomplishment, and that's really the epigraph that must hover above any account of Isiah's time in New York. He spins his wheels, holds press conferences, and ultimately accomplishes little. Acquiring JJ would be more of the same, as he would fail to fortify the defense, rebound consistently, and present a consistent threat.

And this is all before we get into the matter of his proposed contract. What has this guy done to demonstrate that he deserves Jerome James money? It may be market rate, but lots of people have made memorable choices that have smartly gone against the market. IT should look into it.

Ever since the end of Patrick Ewing's time, it has been painfully obvious to any real Knicks fan that the team must dispense with this quixotic, dream-the-impossible-dream air of exceptionalism and accept that rebuilding is a process that takes time and rewards those that properly invest in a strong foundation. This is something that Dolan and every suit in those nice suites has refused to acknowledge. Instead, the Knicks overpay to bring in failed experiments and mismatched parts, all the while indulging the obnoxious and counterproductive narcissism that in New York, it will work somehow. Well you know what? It won't; it hasn't; it doesn't.

There is a pernicious media-driven fallacy that New Yorkers won't suffer a losing season and that we Brickerbocker heads demand the playoffs, as though merely getting there is proof of legitimate title contention. I HATE this--that it exists and that even in sacrosanct precincts of sports journalism (*cough* PTI *cough*) it festers like an unavoidable black hole of the grotesque. Look where this group-think has gotten us: we can't sign real free agents, we don't win games, and we are a decade away from a title, if not more.

I wish that just one offseason, after yet another carnival of the absurd that ultimately resulted in failure, a Knicks executive would dispense with the vainglory and admit mortality: we need to start over.

I don't want to get into a torrent of told-you-so admonishments (all that money for Allan Houston?!) so let me just say this: were I the GM of the Knicks, I'd be giving away players. Do you want Stephon? Just give me Mo Williams and a draft pick. I'd blow the shit up and do what smart people do: I'd build through the draft and through strategic signings. I would eschew headlines for headway.

And I'd pray to God that Greg Oden were there when I was picking. Wait, I mean when the Bulls...oh, forget it.

I Am a Real American

Whatcha gonna do, brother, when patriotism runs wild on you?

With this whole Miami Vice theme-song issue fresh on my mind, I was on the subway yesterday and I overheard two people talking about Israel and Lebanon. This was actually the conversation:

Person 1: Can you believe what's happening over in Lebanon right now?

Person 2: I know, right? It's, like, crazy. This war on terror is so nuts. I'm just glad that we got Saddam already because who knows what he'd be doing right now.

Person 1: That's a crazy dude, right there. Like that one in Iran, too. What's his name?

Person 2: I forget. I know it if I see it, but I can't pronounce it. It's some kind of an A-rab name with "Ahmad" in it. But seriously, I just wish we could do something to support the troops who are over there fighting for us.

Person 1: It's just so hard to believe that America is going to run Lebanon and Iraq at once. That's a lot to ask of our boys. I wish we could support them, too. Or just, like, give them a hug. Thank God for President Bush.

Person 2: I know! His leadership is so inspirational to me. I am so proud that he's our Commander in Chief.

Like I "said," that is an actual conversation. I shit you not. I was taking notes in the margin of my Economist as it was going on because I didn't want to forget what was said.

The conversation got me thinking that I should be acting as patriotically as our skip-out-on-duty, hate-the-Constitution President usually does. So here you go, Hulkamaniacs, a slice of Bush patriotism. Just saying it makes it true, right?

- Rick Derringer, "I Am a Real American" Hulk Hogan Theme Music