With all due respect to Iyanla Vanzant, she didn't know what the fuck she was doing.
I'm sure she had her heart in the right place, but DMX doesn't need the "straight talk" speech and a camera crew following him around to create an atmosphere of "accountability." Calling him "Beloved" isn't gonna make him see the error of his ways. This wasn't some Maury-Povich-bootcamp-for-wayward-youths bullshit. Hell, Dr. Drew couldn't fix him and he's almost an credible doctor. Almost.
No, someone needs to turn these fucking cameras off and get this man to a psychiatrist.
See, with regular folks, the tears are signs of a breakthrough of some kind. There's release, and then healing. That's what regular folks do. But DMX is on some other shit. You don't need me to spell it out, because you've heard him speak. He sounds like something is wrong with him. Like his brain is going in five different directions at once. Or to put it another way: Look, Bobcat Goldthwait was just acting. DMX does that shit for real.
So he probably cries all the time. And laughs. And yells. And everything. All in the course of a regular day. That's exhausting for a regular person, but how many times did he cry talking to Iyanla Vanzant? And he couldn't stand her. How many sane people do you know who are willing to cry in front of someone that they don't like? You probably won't even crack a smile when that chick at work is around that you can't stand, and here he is getting vulnerable.
So that says to me that it's way past time to get this man some real help. Not Dr. Drew. Not a well-meaning poet. Someone who is actually qualified to fix him, who isn't trying to get ratings so their show gets picked up again. The qualifications are important, because, as Ms. Vanzant just proved, it's not like just anyone with a firm voice can handle this level of addiction. Otherwise, I could help DMX. I mean, I like him and I wish I could, but me telling him that he needs to get clean isn't going to get us anywhere. He'd probably take one look at my pointy nose and assume I was the Devil. Next thing you know, he's getting arrested again and I have bite marks on my face.
This is how I know they're not serious about helping DMX: They used the ad time to try to sell you LaToya Jackson's reality show. That's the shit you try to sell to people who watch the Kardashians. You know, idiots. The Oprah channel didn't want to fix this man. They wanted him to cry on camera again, and maybe for him to flip out a little, which he did. If they really wanted to help, they wouldn't have sent a poet and a camera crew over there. It's so stupid that I can't even think up a stupider example to help put it into context.
You really want to help DMX? Send a doctor, not a TV producer.
#supportDMX
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Yes, I'm lazy, but seriously, music sucks.
There's always someone out there claiming that music is still good, you just have to go out there and find it. No, music is shit. Here's why.
Usually, when someone is complaining about that, they're talking about a time when they could turn on the radio or videos and not be completely repulsed by the gyrations of some tattooed 19 year old, or the repetitive house music beats that are passed off as music today. Maybe the subject matter of these kids is what does it, since everyone who is signed today is lauded as some voice of a generation and everyone is impressed because they write their own songs. But this is stupid, because what teenager has anything of worth to say? Think back to when you were 19 and those same idiot thoughts that you had are the same ones that these kids have, except theirs involve an iPhone.
The point is, radio acted as a gatekeeper to what was good. True, not everything good made it onto the radio, but you could trust the radio to play good stuff. You could listen to the radio have still have good taste in music. That isn't true today. After all, Kanye West is considered a deep lyricist. This foolishness has to stop.
And that's when that person from before would say that you have to find the good music. Therein lies the problem.
Finding the good music requires listening to all of the bad stuff to find the good stuff. And that shit is for suckers. Maybe you'll get to some through word of mouth, maybe you'll read about someone on the internet. But word of mouth and internet articles aren't dependable, because they are the same ones telling me that Beyonce makes good music and I know in my soul that this is a lie. And without radio play, you'll have to actually risk your mental state playing a bunch of artists that you don't know in a vain attempt to find something you like. That means I'm invariably going to wind up listening to a 2 Chainz song, and I don't think that's right.
I'm a 34 year old man. I no longer have the energy to give everyone a chance. I could do that when I was 24, and that's why I own a Memphis Bleek CD. And when you don't know an artist, that means you don't know what the single is, so you can't just jump right to the good stuff. The way my mind works, you have to start and the beginning and just listen until something grabs your attention. I like to give people a fair shot and I understand that not everyone is going to grab you right at the top. For instance, I'm a Jay-Z fan. Except for "Reasonable Doubt," I never play the first two songs on any of his CDs.
So unless you have infinite time and patience (I have neither), or you're into today's musical trends (I am not), you can't afford to get eight songs into a Big Sean mixtape before accepting that this kid is terrible. The last time I went into something cold and it worked out was when my friend Robert dropped Little Brother's "The Minstrel Show" onto my desk. That was 2006. And even that, it wasn't until "We Got Now" that they clicked with me. That's the last song on the CD. They were my favorite group and I devoured their entire catalog after that. But at the time, I had to go through 17 songs before they made an impression.
Now, maybe it's me, because I'm sure it didn't take 17 songs before people decided that they liked Little Brother. It didn't take me 17 songs to realize they were good. I knew that right off the top. But for that CD to get into me, where I had to hear it again and again? 17 songs. But that's what I'm looking for, something that I want to hear again and again. Anyone can do competent, non-offensive music, but I need for the music to leave an impression. I'm not the kind of person who plays music just to have sound in the room. I want to feel the music.
Since I can't invest in everything the way I want to and I can't trust the radio to play something that's good, I'm just kinda lost out there, occasionally discovering something new by accident. When I heard Murs or Hollyweerd for the first time, it was just dumb luck. That same dumb luck is what made me download Lil' Wayne's "Dedication 4," and that's a decision I regret every day. The best I can hope for is people around me who listen to good shit, and here lately, their record isn't looking very good.
Usually, when someone is complaining about that, they're talking about a time when they could turn on the radio or videos and not be completely repulsed by the gyrations of some tattooed 19 year old, or the repetitive house music beats that are passed off as music today. Maybe the subject matter of these kids is what does it, since everyone who is signed today is lauded as some voice of a generation and everyone is impressed because they write their own songs. But this is stupid, because what teenager has anything of worth to say? Think back to when you were 19 and those same idiot thoughts that you had are the same ones that these kids have, except theirs involve an iPhone.
The point is, radio acted as a gatekeeper to what was good. True, not everything good made it onto the radio, but you could trust the radio to play good stuff. You could listen to the radio have still have good taste in music. That isn't true today. After all, Kanye West is considered a deep lyricist. This foolishness has to stop.
And that's when that person from before would say that you have to find the good music. Therein lies the problem.
Finding the good music requires listening to all of the bad stuff to find the good stuff. And that shit is for suckers. Maybe you'll get to some through word of mouth, maybe you'll read about someone on the internet. But word of mouth and internet articles aren't dependable, because they are the same ones telling me that Beyonce makes good music and I know in my soul that this is a lie. And without radio play, you'll have to actually risk your mental state playing a bunch of artists that you don't know in a vain attempt to find something you like. That means I'm invariably going to wind up listening to a 2 Chainz song, and I don't think that's right.
I'm a 34 year old man. I no longer have the energy to give everyone a chance. I could do that when I was 24, and that's why I own a Memphis Bleek CD. And when you don't know an artist, that means you don't know what the single is, so you can't just jump right to the good stuff. The way my mind works, you have to start and the beginning and just listen until something grabs your attention. I like to give people a fair shot and I understand that not everyone is going to grab you right at the top. For instance, I'm a Jay-Z fan. Except for "Reasonable Doubt," I never play the first two songs on any of his CDs.
So unless you have infinite time and patience (I have neither), or you're into today's musical trends (I am not), you can't afford to get eight songs into a Big Sean mixtape before accepting that this kid is terrible. The last time I went into something cold and it worked out was when my friend Robert dropped Little Brother's "The Minstrel Show" onto my desk. That was 2006. And even that, it wasn't until "We Got Now" that they clicked with me. That's the last song on the CD. They were my favorite group and I devoured their entire catalog after that. But at the time, I had to go through 17 songs before they made an impression.
Now, maybe it's me, because I'm sure it didn't take 17 songs before people decided that they liked Little Brother. It didn't take me 17 songs to realize they were good. I knew that right off the top. But for that CD to get into me, where I had to hear it again and again? 17 songs. But that's what I'm looking for, something that I want to hear again and again. Anyone can do competent, non-offensive music, but I need for the music to leave an impression. I'm not the kind of person who plays music just to have sound in the room. I want to feel the music.
Since I can't invest in everything the way I want to and I can't trust the radio to play something that's good, I'm just kinda lost out there, occasionally discovering something new by accident. When I heard Murs or Hollyweerd for the first time, it was just dumb luck. That same dumb luck is what made me download Lil' Wayne's "Dedication 4," and that's a decision I regret every day. The best I can hope for is people around me who listen to good shit, and here lately, their record isn't looking very good.
DeAndre Jordan's dunk was aiight. And that's it.
The other night, DeAndre Jordan brought down a lob pass on top of Brandon Knight, and Twitter went ape shit. I didn't see it, because I was unconscious, like other old men who can no longer stay up past nine. But the next morning, I read all of the tweets from the night before, with Bomani Jones most notably holding forth about about impressive the dunk was.
So, I pulled it up. I figured it had to be amazing, right? Yea, verily; t'would be the nastiest dunk mine eyes had ever gazed upon and bards would sing it's praises for ages. After all, the cats on Twitter spent all night photoshopping Brandon Knight laid out beside Manny Pacquiao, with Simba trying to wake them up. Twitter had declared Knight dead. I caught a picture of DeAndre Jordan grimacing at what he'd done. Even he looked impressed. I was so ready to watch this video.
And I swear, y'all are too easily impressed these days.
It was a nice little dunk, but it wasn't worth all of that. Maybe my standards are too high, but a seven-footer dunking over at 6'2" point guard might as well have been Blake Griffin jumping over that car. I had a short Twitter exchange with Myth (author of Shadow Precinct, available on Amazon), and he said about Knight, "You thought you was about to block that shit?" And that's my point. He was never going to block that shit, not without cheating. Maybe if he pantsed Jordan or started making out with his girl in the stands or something like that. But that's about it. Otherwise, Jordan did what he was supposed to do, like how I used to jump over my cousins back before they were fully coordinated and I wasn't fat. There was only one way that it could have gone down. So what was so impressive about that?
I'mma need for DeAndre Jordan to go up over someone roughly his size, like Shaq over the majority of centers in the NBA in the 1990s. Otherwise, it's just bullying. And it's not Jordan's fault. What was he supposed to do, finger roll it because Brandon Knight didn't drink enough milk as a child? No, Jordan did what big men do; yam it over the faerie folk who shouldn't be in the paint to begin with. But folks were trying to gas up his head like he did something and he didn't. If that counts as an accomplishment, then so does that time I dominated all those 8th graders. Stop crying, Charlie's little brother. Shoving you after my crossover is part of the game.
and even though it says more about Detroit's defense than anything else, Brandon Knight did what he was supposed to do: He challenged the shot, even though no one would have blamed him for letting that one ride, because, c'mon; he's 6'2". That's like being a preemie in NBA circles. No, he couldn't stop it, but he tried to make Jordan work for it. Anything could have happened. He might have slapped the ball away, Jordan could have tripped over his corpse; anything. But he tried, which is more than I can say for Andrew Bynum. Bynum would have been thinking about race cars, then blown out his knee imagining himself getting out of the car.
But let's not act like something routine is supposed to be a special moment. It was aiight, like Lebron hurdling John Lucas III in a world where Vince Carter already jumped over Frederic Weis. After all, John Lucas III is bite size. What makes the impressive dunks impressive is that the outcome is in doubt, or in some cases, weren't supposed to happen at all. Kevin Johnson over Hakeem Olajuwon. Russell Westbrook over Omer Asik. Michael Jordan over damn near everybody. You mean to tell me that what DeAndre did is on the same level as something like Shawn Kemp over Antoine Carr?
Get the fuck outta here.
So, I pulled it up. I figured it had to be amazing, right? Yea, verily; t'would be the nastiest dunk mine eyes had ever gazed upon and bards would sing it's praises for ages. After all, the cats on Twitter spent all night photoshopping Brandon Knight laid out beside Manny Pacquiao, with Simba trying to wake them up. Twitter had declared Knight dead. I caught a picture of DeAndre Jordan grimacing at what he'd done. Even he looked impressed. I was so ready to watch this video.
And I swear, y'all are too easily impressed these days.
It was a nice little dunk, but it wasn't worth all of that. Maybe my standards are too high, but a seven-footer dunking over at 6'2" point guard might as well have been Blake Griffin jumping over that car. I had a short Twitter exchange with Myth (author of Shadow Precinct, available on Amazon), and he said about Knight, "You thought you was about to block that shit?" And that's my point. He was never going to block that shit, not without cheating. Maybe if he pantsed Jordan or started making out with his girl in the stands or something like that. But that's about it. Otherwise, Jordan did what he was supposed to do, like how I used to jump over my cousins back before they were fully coordinated and I wasn't fat. There was only one way that it could have gone down. So what was so impressive about that?
I'mma need for DeAndre Jordan to go up over someone roughly his size, like Shaq over the majority of centers in the NBA in the 1990s. Otherwise, it's just bullying. And it's not Jordan's fault. What was he supposed to do, finger roll it because Brandon Knight didn't drink enough milk as a child? No, Jordan did what big men do; yam it over the faerie folk who shouldn't be in the paint to begin with. But folks were trying to gas up his head like he did something and he didn't. If that counts as an accomplishment, then so does that time I dominated all those 8th graders. Stop crying, Charlie's little brother. Shoving you after my crossover is part of the game.
and even though it says more about Detroit's defense than anything else, Brandon Knight did what he was supposed to do: He challenged the shot, even though no one would have blamed him for letting that one ride, because, c'mon; he's 6'2". That's like being a preemie in NBA circles. No, he couldn't stop it, but he tried to make Jordan work for it. Anything could have happened. He might have slapped the ball away, Jordan could have tripped over his corpse; anything. But he tried, which is more than I can say for Andrew Bynum. Bynum would have been thinking about race cars, then blown out his knee imagining himself getting out of the car.
But let's not act like something routine is supposed to be a special moment. It was aiight, like Lebron hurdling John Lucas III in a world where Vince Carter already jumped over Frederic Weis. After all, John Lucas III is bite size. What makes the impressive dunks impressive is that the outcome is in doubt, or in some cases, weren't supposed to happen at all. Kevin Johnson over Hakeem Olajuwon. Russell Westbrook over Omer Asik. Michael Jordan over damn near everybody. You mean to tell me that what DeAndre did is on the same level as something like Shawn Kemp over Antoine Carr?
Get the fuck outta here.
Monday, March 04, 2013
Lebron James is on steroids. MAYBE.
Looks like Lebron James is on steroids. Maybe. Well, he's being linked to them. It was just a matter of time, because this NBA has escaped this drama for far too long.
This "suspicion" isn't because of some great leap in physical strength in Lebron. We all know he's looked like a 40 year old man since the tenth grade. So, let's not act like we can pinpoint an increase in head size like everyone did Barry Bonds. He doesn't run any faster or jump any higher, either. If you claim that this sort of stuff is proof against Lebron, you're basically spelling out your case for why you shouldn't be acknowledged.
Basically, Lebron was named in an interview with some ex-con who interviewed a chick who worked for a guy who's under investigation. She said that she dealt with some guy named "Mr. Phil," who picked up drugs for a guy named "LJ." Since no one knows if Larry Johnson has any friends at all, let alone any named Phil, she and the interviewer just assumed it was Lebron James, because his agent's last name IS Phil.
Still, this report doesn't surprise me at all. And it's not like I'm up on the ins and outs of steroids. Truthfully, I don't even care. The amount of money in my paycheck isn't going to change based on whether or not Lance Armstrong was loaded with bleach and horse piss when he was riding his bike. I am not so self-centered to believe that my not voting for Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire for the Hall of Fame somehow upholds the honor of fucking baseball. It's just something that happened to catch my attention, because of something I heard on a podcast.
Victor Conte was on the Joe Rogan Experience in October, and I learned more about what that crap does in those three hours than at any other time in my life. Victor Conte talked about what Lance Armstrong was likely taking and how he was getting away with it. We all know about the stuff that increases strength, and why baseball players and track stars would use it. Makes perfect sense. I never knew about the drugs that increase endurance, because like I said, I didn't care. I am not offended by the notion that professional athletes would cheat to win, because, of course they would. They're the most competitive people in the world. Michael Jordan cheated at goddamn checkers. So I never looked deeper into it.
The second Victor Conte mentioned drugs that increase endurance, drugs that change how the body processes oxygen, and all of that, the first person I thought of was Lebron James. Because that boy can run all day.
He isn't the first player to play whole games or do multiple things on the floor or play great offense and defense. Kobe Bryant does that. But Kobe Bryant has always paced himself. And Kobe Bryant has looked tired. Lebron James never seems to get tired. Ever. He barely even sweats some games. Meanwhile, it's nothing new to see him be the first man down the floor on defense, get a steal, outrun everyone on the break, then get back first on defense again to block a shot. He's everywhere. And he does it every night. In every quarter of the game. I've been watching basketball since the 80s, and I can't remember seeing anything like it.
It could be that he's just in great shape. It could be that he's an athletic marvel. Those things are possible, because he's been doing things that seem impossible since high school. For instance, at 6'8" and 260 pounds, he's one of the fastest guys in the league. Even with a basketball in hand. You have to go back to young Jason Kidd to see comparable speed with the basketball. But you never see speed like that in a guy that size. So, maybe his endurance is just another thing that makes him a freak of nature. I'm fully prepared to accept that.
But if it turns out to be drugs, I won't be surprised. I'll be more surprised that Maverick and them let their meal ticket get caught.
This "suspicion" isn't because of some great leap in physical strength in Lebron. We all know he's looked like a 40 year old man since the tenth grade. So, let's not act like we can pinpoint an increase in head size like everyone did Barry Bonds. He doesn't run any faster or jump any higher, either. If you claim that this sort of stuff is proof against Lebron, you're basically spelling out your case for why you shouldn't be acknowledged.
Basically, Lebron was named in an interview with some ex-con who interviewed a chick who worked for a guy who's under investigation. She said that she dealt with some guy named "Mr. Phil," who picked up drugs for a guy named "LJ." Since no one knows if Larry Johnson has any friends at all, let alone any named Phil, she and the interviewer just assumed it was Lebron James, because his agent's last name IS Phil.
Still, this report doesn't surprise me at all. And it's not like I'm up on the ins and outs of steroids. Truthfully, I don't even care. The amount of money in my paycheck isn't going to change based on whether or not Lance Armstrong was loaded with bleach and horse piss when he was riding his bike. I am not so self-centered to believe that my not voting for Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire for the Hall of Fame somehow upholds the honor of fucking baseball. It's just something that happened to catch my attention, because of something I heard on a podcast.
Victor Conte was on the Joe Rogan Experience in October, and I learned more about what that crap does in those three hours than at any other time in my life. Victor Conte talked about what Lance Armstrong was likely taking and how he was getting away with it. We all know about the stuff that increases strength, and why baseball players and track stars would use it. Makes perfect sense. I never knew about the drugs that increase endurance, because like I said, I didn't care. I am not offended by the notion that professional athletes would cheat to win, because, of course they would. They're the most competitive people in the world. Michael Jordan cheated at goddamn checkers. So I never looked deeper into it.
The second Victor Conte mentioned drugs that increase endurance, drugs that change how the body processes oxygen, and all of that, the first person I thought of was Lebron James. Because that boy can run all day.
He isn't the first player to play whole games or do multiple things on the floor or play great offense and defense. Kobe Bryant does that. But Kobe Bryant has always paced himself. And Kobe Bryant has looked tired. Lebron James never seems to get tired. Ever. He barely even sweats some games. Meanwhile, it's nothing new to see him be the first man down the floor on defense, get a steal, outrun everyone on the break, then get back first on defense again to block a shot. He's everywhere. And he does it every night. In every quarter of the game. I've been watching basketball since the 80s, and I can't remember seeing anything like it.
It could be that he's just in great shape. It could be that he's an athletic marvel. Those things are possible, because he's been doing things that seem impossible since high school. For instance, at 6'8" and 260 pounds, he's one of the fastest guys in the league. Even with a basketball in hand. You have to go back to young Jason Kidd to see comparable speed with the basketball. But you never see speed like that in a guy that size. So, maybe his endurance is just another thing that makes him a freak of nature. I'm fully prepared to accept that.
But if it turns out to be drugs, I won't be surprised. I'll be more surprised that Maverick and them let their meal ticket get caught.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Like we need another reason not to watch Congressional Hearings
If anybody out there watched any of the Congressional Hearings about Benghazi, well, first...that was the only thing you could think to watch? There wasn't a game show on or a rerun of SportsCenter? I watched for about twenty minutes, but I was at work, so I didn't have a choice. The only people who watched it by choice worked for CNN, because everyone else watching was either A:) a paraplegic waiting for the nurse to come back, or B:) in jail.
Because if the whole thing was anything like what I saw, then it was just an endless parade of Republicans yelling at Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Nothing of substance, just a bunch of angry white men grandstanding for their fawning cheerleaders over at Fox News. Who needs to see that? And what did it accomplish?
Well, one thing it did was humanize Hillary Clinton in my eyes. For 20 years, I just assumed she was a soulless husk with aspirations of political domination, and her time in the Senate or running for President did nothing to change that. But today, she choked up while reading her opening remarks. She was actually emotional about the deaths of other people. I can't even do that, which means she's actually more human than me. I think I might actually be a soulless husk.
The rest of it is stuff we already know, right? John McCain is crotchety, and everyone else was just acting for the cameras. If there was a worthwhile question being asked of Hillary, I missed it because it was buried under all of the fake moral outrage. Every question was delivered with the amount of disdain you'd have for a person that you were pissing on. Because that's always the best way to get a person to open up, right? And I really don't see how trying to pin her to the wall is helping America, anyway. She and I had the same thought: "What difference does it make?" It's just that my thought had the word "fucking" in it.
Really, how is showing her up going to make sure that it won't happen again? Sure, mistakes were made, and things probably could have been done differently, but I don't see how harping on the point that Hillary should have called over there to find out what was happening. Were the phones even up at that point? I mean, I don't know who that asshole was, but he was on CNN four hours later, still talking about it. As best I can tell, he didn't show up for any other reason than to ask that world-altering question. He could have spent the rest of his time in the bathroom and no one would have known the difference.
And all of this after it's pretty much been established that the Republicans cut funding for security, then blamed the State Department for being unprepared. That takes such balls. It's like all of the Republicans in Congress are Biff Tannen. They drunkenly wreck America's car, then blame it for not warning him about the blind spot. I wish my balls could be that big, so I could file for disability.
Really, can we just stop with the Congressional hearings? We all know they're just for spectacle at this point. For a group of people who are trying to de-fund the arts, they sure do seem to be into this particular taxpayer funded drama. Congressional hearings cost upwards of six figures every single time, and since they're wasting money anyway, the least they could do is add some entertainment value to go with all that acting. People always say that they want transparency in government, but when this stuff happens before the camera, you always get something like the farce that happened this afternoon, and that's on a good day. At worst, you might get some idiot congressman from Texas (probably Louie Gohmert) filibustering a vote on a bill that adds funding for school lunches for kids in his district. Back room deals might lead to cyanide in your kid's Gogurt, but at least they're getting something done. And they wonder why people hate government.
Because if the whole thing was anything like what I saw, then it was just an endless parade of Republicans yelling at Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Nothing of substance, just a bunch of angry white men grandstanding for their fawning cheerleaders over at Fox News. Who needs to see that? And what did it accomplish?
Well, one thing it did was humanize Hillary Clinton in my eyes. For 20 years, I just assumed she was a soulless husk with aspirations of political domination, and her time in the Senate or running for President did nothing to change that. But today, she choked up while reading her opening remarks. She was actually emotional about the deaths of other people. I can't even do that, which means she's actually more human than me. I think I might actually be a soulless husk.
The rest of it is stuff we already know, right? John McCain is crotchety, and everyone else was just acting for the cameras. If there was a worthwhile question being asked of Hillary, I missed it because it was buried under all of the fake moral outrage. Every question was delivered with the amount of disdain you'd have for a person that you were pissing on. Because that's always the best way to get a person to open up, right? And I really don't see how trying to pin her to the wall is helping America, anyway. She and I had the same thought: "What difference does it make?" It's just that my thought had the word "fucking" in it.
Really, how is showing her up going to make sure that it won't happen again? Sure, mistakes were made, and things probably could have been done differently, but I don't see how harping on the point that Hillary should have called over there to find out what was happening. Were the phones even up at that point? I mean, I don't know who that asshole was, but he was on CNN four hours later, still talking about it. As best I can tell, he didn't show up for any other reason than to ask that world-altering question. He could have spent the rest of his time in the bathroom and no one would have known the difference.
And all of this after it's pretty much been established that the Republicans cut funding for security, then blamed the State Department for being unprepared. That takes such balls. It's like all of the Republicans in Congress are Biff Tannen. They drunkenly wreck America's car, then blame it for not warning him about the blind spot. I wish my balls could be that big, so I could file for disability.
Really, can we just stop with the Congressional hearings? We all know they're just for spectacle at this point. For a group of people who are trying to de-fund the arts, they sure do seem to be into this particular taxpayer funded drama. Congressional hearings cost upwards of six figures every single time, and since they're wasting money anyway, the least they could do is add some entertainment value to go with all that acting. People always say that they want transparency in government, but when this stuff happens before the camera, you always get something like the farce that happened this afternoon, and that's on a good day. At worst, you might get some idiot congressman from Texas (probably Louie Gohmert) filibustering a vote on a bill that adds funding for school lunches for kids in his district. Back room deals might lead to cyanide in your kid's Gogurt, but at least they're getting something done. And they wonder why people hate government.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Why I don't believe Manti Te'o
I remember when I was in college and talking to all sorts of girls online. This is was the late 90s, when chat rooms were huge and the idea of being able to talk to people anywhere in the world still blew folks' minds. Anyone out there remember the Excite Chatrooms? Anyone?
God, I'm old.
Somewhere during that time, I met a girl named Kelly. I won't even bother to change her name. She'll probably never see this, and it probably wasn't her name, anyway. She hung out in the chatrooms like I did, and she became one of the girls I'd look for when I came on. She'd pretend to laugh at my jokes and we had long conversations about whatever that eventually led to us exchanging phone numbers. She would call me and we'd talk for hours. She was an elementary school teacher in Hattiesburg. And she was older than me, so naturally, I was interested.
The first red flag was when I tried to get her to exchange pictures with me. Yeah, this was 1999, and digital cameras and scanners were still rare, but I managed to get a picture of myself scanned so I could show off all this sexy online. It was my graduation picture from three years ago. Still within the acceptable time limits, because I still looked like that. I wasn't trying to pass off a picture from 60 pounds ago.
But for some reason, it took her moving heaven and earth to get me a picture. And when she did, it was small and blurry. But I was a horny 22 year old, so I didn't care as long as she sent it. I didn't even notice all the effort it took to get it.
After I deemed her acceptable (because that's what you do online, even if you're a fat slob poured into a desk chair), I wanted to meet. And this is where it all came clear to me. Now, she lives in Hattiesburg. I was up in Jackson. That's about an hour drive, if you have no regard for life or laws, like me. It's about an hour and a half for regular folk. Also, on this particular weekend, she claimed that she would be in Jackson to go shopping. I suggested we meet up and hang out. Nothing big. Just wanted to see each other in person. She said okay.
That Friday came and went without us seeing each other. She claimed that her friend was holding her up from leaving Hattiesburg, then when they finally did leave, her friend was keeping her from coming to see me, because she didn't want to shop. She wanted to see me. She just couldn't. I dunno, I could be confusing this with one of the other times I tried to meet up, and the universe conspired to keep us apart.
One time, I was in Hattiesburg, on my way home to Biloxi and I stopped to try and meet her. She just so happened to be in Jackson that day. Another time, she was stuck at a birthday party for some kid that wasn't hers. There was always a reason why we couldn't meet; a prior obligation, a surprise visit, a friend needing a favor. I would get frustrated, asking why she couldn't just tell these people "no." I would eventually see what was happening, because it was always something. Eventually, she just up and moved to Memphis. Then, she got married. Then, after I had moved to Atlanta, they moved to Biloxi. Then back to Hattiesburg. Years passed. She had kids. All the while, she continued wanting to talk to me, claiming that she wished that she could see me. By then, I had long since given up on ever meeting; I was just chatting with her out of habit. I had also figured out that she was hiding something.
Was she secretly a man, like that crossdresser who tried to pick me up outside of my dorm? Was she a fat chick who was using someone else's pictures, like that girl from New Jersey who claimed that her cousin had been using her email accounts? And no real person ever had luck so bad that something would always happen on the day that she was going to visit someone she claimed she wanted to see. I've had friends visit from New York and California, on the bus, and she can't get to Jackson from Hattiesburg?
I tell this story because the same stuff pops up in Manti Te'o's story. Every time he tried to arrange a meeting, some freak occurrence just popped up, because Hawaii is so big that people get lost going to the beach. Or whenever he tried to Skype with her, she would go, "Oops, my stupid lady fingers just can't make this stuff work! You're so smart, Manti." When someone doesn't want to meet you, these are the things that always happen. This went on for three years and he claims to have fallen in love with her. Oh, she just happened to have a horrific car accident, go into a coma, and die of leukemia in a matter of months? Please. No one is that stupid. No one.
Look, people do meet and fall in love online. It happens all the time, even when they haven't seen each other. People believe because they want to believe. I get it and it's wonderful. I was once that dude. I even get why someone would lie about an online relationship, because even with Don Knotts shilling for eHarmony, there's always going to be that person who thinks you're an antisocial shut-in because you dated someone you met online.
But no one is going to fall in love with a person they haven't seen whose life is such a mess that they can't even get Skype to work. Or who happens to vanish every single time you show up to meet them. And we live in a world where we know people are pretending online. In 1996, when I started getting online, it was a brand new world. Jokes about how the girl you're talking to could be a fat old man in Wisconsin were still funny. But Manti Te'o grew up in a world where this is all commonplace. It's no longer a secret. There are shows and movies about it. And he's a public figure, so he has to know that people are looking to take advantage of him in some way. Look, I was naive in 1999, the Internet Dark Ages, and I still figured it out. I refuse to believe Manti Te'o, star linebacker in 2013, was more naive than I was.
God, I'm old.
Somewhere during that time, I met a girl named Kelly. I won't even bother to change her name. She'll probably never see this, and it probably wasn't her name, anyway. She hung out in the chatrooms like I did, and she became one of the girls I'd look for when I came on. She'd pretend to laugh at my jokes and we had long conversations about whatever that eventually led to us exchanging phone numbers. She would call me and we'd talk for hours. She was an elementary school teacher in Hattiesburg. And she was older than me, so naturally, I was interested.
The first red flag was when I tried to get her to exchange pictures with me. Yeah, this was 1999, and digital cameras and scanners were still rare, but I managed to get a picture of myself scanned so I could show off all this sexy online. It was my graduation picture from three years ago. Still within the acceptable time limits, because I still looked like that. I wasn't trying to pass off a picture from 60 pounds ago.
But for some reason, it took her moving heaven and earth to get me a picture. And when she did, it was small and blurry. But I was a horny 22 year old, so I didn't care as long as she sent it. I didn't even notice all the effort it took to get it.
After I deemed her acceptable (because that's what you do online, even if you're a fat slob poured into a desk chair), I wanted to meet. And this is where it all came clear to me. Now, she lives in Hattiesburg. I was up in Jackson. That's about an hour drive, if you have no regard for life or laws, like me. It's about an hour and a half for regular folk. Also, on this particular weekend, she claimed that she would be in Jackson to go shopping. I suggested we meet up and hang out. Nothing big. Just wanted to see each other in person. She said okay.
That Friday came and went without us seeing each other. She claimed that her friend was holding her up from leaving Hattiesburg, then when they finally did leave, her friend was keeping her from coming to see me, because she didn't want to shop. She wanted to see me. She just couldn't. I dunno, I could be confusing this with one of the other times I tried to meet up, and the universe conspired to keep us apart.
One time, I was in Hattiesburg, on my way home to Biloxi and I stopped to try and meet her. She just so happened to be in Jackson that day. Another time, she was stuck at a birthday party for some kid that wasn't hers. There was always a reason why we couldn't meet; a prior obligation, a surprise visit, a friend needing a favor. I would get frustrated, asking why she couldn't just tell these people "no." I would eventually see what was happening, because it was always something. Eventually, she just up and moved to Memphis. Then, she got married. Then, after I had moved to Atlanta, they moved to Biloxi. Then back to Hattiesburg. Years passed. She had kids. All the while, she continued wanting to talk to me, claiming that she wished that she could see me. By then, I had long since given up on ever meeting; I was just chatting with her out of habit. I had also figured out that she was hiding something.
Was she secretly a man, like that crossdresser who tried to pick me up outside of my dorm? Was she a fat chick who was using someone else's pictures, like that girl from New Jersey who claimed that her cousin had been using her email accounts? And no real person ever had luck so bad that something would always happen on the day that she was going to visit someone she claimed she wanted to see. I've had friends visit from New York and California, on the bus, and she can't get to Jackson from Hattiesburg?
I tell this story because the same stuff pops up in Manti Te'o's story. Every time he tried to arrange a meeting, some freak occurrence just popped up, because Hawaii is so big that people get lost going to the beach. Or whenever he tried to Skype with her, she would go, "Oops, my stupid lady fingers just can't make this stuff work! You're so smart, Manti." When someone doesn't want to meet you, these are the things that always happen. This went on for three years and he claims to have fallen in love with her. Oh, she just happened to have a horrific car accident, go into a coma, and die of leukemia in a matter of months? Please. No one is that stupid. No one.
Look, people do meet and fall in love online. It happens all the time, even when they haven't seen each other. People believe because they want to believe. I get it and it's wonderful. I was once that dude. I even get why someone would lie about an online relationship, because even with Don Knotts shilling for eHarmony, there's always going to be that person who thinks you're an antisocial shut-in because you dated someone you met online.
But no one is going to fall in love with a person they haven't seen whose life is such a mess that they can't even get Skype to work. Or who happens to vanish every single time you show up to meet them. And we live in a world where we know people are pretending online. In 1996, when I started getting online, it was a brand new world. Jokes about how the girl you're talking to could be a fat old man in Wisconsin were still funny. But Manti Te'o grew up in a world where this is all commonplace. It's no longer a secret. There are shows and movies about it. And he's a public figure, so he has to know that people are looking to take advantage of him in some way. Look, I was naive in 1999, the Internet Dark Ages, and I still figured it out. I refuse to believe Manti Te'o, star linebacker in 2013, was more naive than I was.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Rob Parker is a goddamn idiot
Yes, it should come to no surprise to anyone that Rob Parker is a goddamn idiot. As ESPN's premier sad sack (he reminds me of Grady from Sanford and Son), I've dreaded seeing him on TV for years and have wondered why they keep bringing him back. I'd rather have a show with two Bill Plaschkes than one with Rob Parker. He's not funny, witty, or insightful; He really just keeps talking until someone smarter interrupts him.
And that's usually what happens, because it's not like he brings anything important to the conversation. But the day he wants to talk about the "cornball brother," that's the time Skip Bayless and Stephen A. Smith pick to be like, "No, wait, I want to hear this."
It was stupid and ignorant, but not for the reasons that many might think. White folks, I appreciate your sensitivity in this matter (Fantastic, I sound like Skip Bayless), but Rob Parker isn't a racist. At least, not against black folks. I dunno how he feels about white folks. If you feel he is, I'm not about to defend him, because fuck that guy. But his words came from a place that a lot of black people like me have had to deal with. Those of us who have dared to step away from the group know his mindset all too well.
When I was growing up, I was always put to the side because of how I spoke, how I liked to read, and the things I was into. I couldn't (and still can't) dance. I liked rock and heavy metal. I read comic books. I didn't dress the same as everyone else, I wasn't particularly into sports, The Color Purple, breakdancing, whatever. I did my own thing. And because of that, I was labeled as a "black/white kid," I was "corny," I was "lame." I had a hard time making friends with black kids because our mindsets were so different. So, a lot of my friends wound up being white and I stuck out, no matter who I was with
To white people, this might not be a big deal, but with black people, we all tended to fit into a similar mold. We were supposed to be united as a people, which is understandable, considering our history. Look, when you're a segregated people with limited educational options in a hostile nation, you're probably going to have similar interests.
It's something a lot of us deal with to this day. Dating outside the race aside, black Republicans know what it's like to be called a sell-out for having a different viewpoint. Black atheists don't even have the acceptance of black Republicans, because too many of us just assume that we're all Christians. It's still kind of strange to see black people even riding skateboards. Really, when it comes to black people who live outside the norm, crackheads and gay people rank higher than Republicans and atheists. Despite the best efforts of Pharrell and Lupe Fiasco, skateboards are still written off as "white folks shit," just like "having sex in scary movies," and "investigating where the noise is coming from."
So, Robert Griffin III isn't dealing with anything new. He's just of a higher profile. If he is different from the norm, it'll be a good thing, because as an athlete, he's already forcing change. He's free to do his thing, because it's not like someone's actually going to write him off as a "cornball." Not while he's rich and famous. So, if he's into something weird, it's more likely to be accepted, and that can only help some kid coming up who's feeling left out. In a post-RGIII world, that kid might not be cast aside as a lame or a cornball. People might be like, "Hey, RGIII does that, too," and give this kid a chance.
And regardless of what he's into, he's still gonna be black. He's just being his own man. And these days, it really doesn't matter. Tiger Woods' insatiable love of white women, proper speaking voice, or complete disavowal of his African roots didn't stop black folks from supporting him. And it's not like melanin washes off. What people like Rob Parker don't get is that, it doesn't matter what music we listen to or who we date or who we vote for. I might not be in the NAACP, but I'm just as black as the next man. I just happen to have on a "Ranger Danger" t-shirt.
Just because we have common roots doesn't mean we are all identical. It's not like we all have a direct line to the projects, where our blackness can be verified. I don't know a single person in the projects. But I'm still black. Cultures change, and whether or not our "blackness" meets Rob Parker's standards is irrelevant. When did a baseball writer become the arbiter for "blackness," anyway?
See, he's got me doing it, too. Such an asshole.
And that's usually what happens, because it's not like he brings anything important to the conversation. But the day he wants to talk about the "cornball brother," that's the time Skip Bayless and Stephen A. Smith pick to be like, "No, wait, I want to hear this."
It was stupid and ignorant, but not for the reasons that many might think. White folks, I appreciate your sensitivity in this matter (Fantastic, I sound like Skip Bayless), but Rob Parker isn't a racist. At least, not against black folks. I dunno how he feels about white folks. If you feel he is, I'm not about to defend him, because fuck that guy. But his words came from a place that a lot of black people like me have had to deal with. Those of us who have dared to step away from the group know his mindset all too well.
When I was growing up, I was always put to the side because of how I spoke, how I liked to read, and the things I was into. I couldn't (and still can't) dance. I liked rock and heavy metal. I read comic books. I didn't dress the same as everyone else, I wasn't particularly into sports, The Color Purple, breakdancing, whatever. I did my own thing. And because of that, I was labeled as a "black/white kid," I was "corny," I was "lame." I had a hard time making friends with black kids because our mindsets were so different. So, a lot of my friends wound up being white and I stuck out, no matter who I was with
To white people, this might not be a big deal, but with black people, we all tended to fit into a similar mold. We were supposed to be united as a people, which is understandable, considering our history. Look, when you're a segregated people with limited educational options in a hostile nation, you're probably going to have similar interests.
It's something a lot of us deal with to this day. Dating outside the race aside, black Republicans know what it's like to be called a sell-out for having a different viewpoint. Black atheists don't even have the acceptance of black Republicans, because too many of us just assume that we're all Christians. It's still kind of strange to see black people even riding skateboards. Really, when it comes to black people who live outside the norm, crackheads and gay people rank higher than Republicans and atheists. Despite the best efforts of Pharrell and Lupe Fiasco, skateboards are still written off as "white folks shit," just like "having sex in scary movies," and "investigating where the noise is coming from."
So, Robert Griffin III isn't dealing with anything new. He's just of a higher profile. If he is different from the norm, it'll be a good thing, because as an athlete, he's already forcing change. He's free to do his thing, because it's not like someone's actually going to write him off as a "cornball." Not while he's rich and famous. So, if he's into something weird, it's more likely to be accepted, and that can only help some kid coming up who's feeling left out. In a post-RGIII world, that kid might not be cast aside as a lame or a cornball. People might be like, "Hey, RGIII does that, too," and give this kid a chance.
And regardless of what he's into, he's still gonna be black. He's just being his own man. And these days, it really doesn't matter. Tiger Woods' insatiable love of white women, proper speaking voice, or complete disavowal of his African roots didn't stop black folks from supporting him. And it's not like melanin washes off. What people like Rob Parker don't get is that, it doesn't matter what music we listen to or who we date or who we vote for. I might not be in the NAACP, but I'm just as black as the next man. I just happen to have on a "Ranger Danger" t-shirt.
Just because we have common roots doesn't mean we are all identical. It's not like we all have a direct line to the projects, where our blackness can be verified. I don't know a single person in the projects. But I'm still black. Cultures change, and whether or not our "blackness" meets Rob Parker's standards is irrelevant. When did a baseball writer become the arbiter for "blackness," anyway?
See, he's got me doing it, too. Such an asshole.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Your good intentions aren't good enough
If
someone wishes you good tidings or happy feelings, it really shouldn't
matter what words they use. If it does, then you're a goddamn asshole.
This lady I had spoken with in Popeye's said to me before leaving, "Be blessed, beloved." She didn't know if I was a Christian or not (probably assumed I was, but whatever), but she took time out of her day to wish kindness upon me. I'm not a Christian, but I said back to her, "Same to you," because my mouth was full of food.
But if it hadn't been, I would have given that lady the business, because how dare she get her Jesusy words all over me? I get that she wanted to say something nice, but she should have said something that wouldn't offend my delicate, non-Christian sensibilities.
Hold up. I wouldn't have said anything like that, because I'm not a dick.
In this world we live in, though, people take offense at the stupidest things, and situations like this is one of them. Some people would actually be ready to throw down if someone gave them a Muslim greeting because they're not Muslim and they only accept kind words in their proper Christian form.
Who cares what package the sentiment comes in? They didn't have to say it at all. I really think some people would rather have a "fuck you, you fucking piece of shit," in English, than someone daring to speak kind words to them in Spanish or Arabic. That's how fucked up we've become.
And people are the worst around Christmastime, when stores break out the "Happy Holidays," and some asshole responds with a hostile, "Merry Christmas." It's like they're going, "I'll teach you to give me some secular holiday greeting, you tool of Satan. MERRY CHRISTMAS. Why haven't you burst into flames yet?"
I gotta tell you, if that's the battle you wanna fight, where everyone has to greet you in a form befitting your religious beliefs, then you might as well give up now, motherfucker, because this country is becoming more diverse everyday. Nobody has time to review your resume and tailor a personal greeting to you, based on what information turns up in your background check. All folks can do is say something based on what they know, and if that means you hear something that isn't what you already believe, then sack up and get on with your life. It's still a good intention, and that's gotta be worth something.
This lady I had spoken with in Popeye's said to me before leaving, "Be blessed, beloved." She didn't know if I was a Christian or not (probably assumed I was, but whatever), but she took time out of her day to wish kindness upon me. I'm not a Christian, but I said back to her, "Same to you," because my mouth was full of food.
But if it hadn't been, I would have given that lady the business, because how dare she get her Jesusy words all over me? I get that she wanted to say something nice, but she should have said something that wouldn't offend my delicate, non-Christian sensibilities.
Hold up. I wouldn't have said anything like that, because I'm not a dick.
In this world we live in, though, people take offense at the stupidest things, and situations like this is one of them. Some people would actually be ready to throw down if someone gave them a Muslim greeting because they're not Muslim and they only accept kind words in their proper Christian form.
Who cares what package the sentiment comes in? They didn't have to say it at all. I really think some people would rather have a "fuck you, you fucking piece of shit," in English, than someone daring to speak kind words to them in Spanish or Arabic. That's how fucked up we've become.
And people are the worst around Christmastime, when stores break out the "Happy Holidays," and some asshole responds with a hostile, "Merry Christmas." It's like they're going, "I'll teach you to give me some secular holiday greeting, you tool of Satan. MERRY CHRISTMAS. Why haven't you burst into flames yet?"
I gotta tell you, if that's the battle you wanna fight, where everyone has to greet you in a form befitting your religious beliefs, then you might as well give up now, motherfucker, because this country is becoming more diverse everyday. Nobody has time to review your resume and tailor a personal greeting to you, based on what information turns up in your background check. All folks can do is say something based on what they know, and if that means you hear something that isn't what you already believe, then sack up and get on with your life. It's still a good intention, and that's gotta be worth something.
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