SAME MAKE, DIFFERENT MODEL, SAME PAINT JOB

I considered jailing Jackson after his attempted escape. But he's too dang cute. That or I'm too dang soft. Here he is with his little buddy (or cousin) Ray Ray the Bassett Hound (on the left). Jackson gets along with Ray pretty well. In fact, too well. Just don't ask Jackson about "kissing cousins." Because he'll tell you all about it. Hell, he'll probably give you a demonstration.

Anyhow, I'm going out of town this weekend with my lovely wife to clear my head so you won't be hearing from me for a while. I'll be posting, when I return, a recap of our trip to the wonderful town of Red River, New Mexico. Until then, have a fine weekend and GO SAWX!

DANGER DOOM "THE MOUSE AND THE MASK" APPRECIATION

MF Doom does it again. This time with producer Danger Mouse of "Grey Album" infamy. We'll skip all the exhaustive details of the record and it's Cartoon Network/Adult Swim affiliations. Read another review for that stuff. All you really need to know is this album is a serious banger. Doom is in prime form and it can only make you wonder how much this guy has in him. Danger Mouse's production wows the listener as he's quickly becoming RJD2's replacement as the "true power producer"--easily topping his contributions to the latest Gorillaz outing.

All that being said, this is a Doom record, from beginning to end. Not to discredit DM's work, but when Doom's takes the mic, it's his show. With it being marketed directly to Cartoon Network/Adult Swim fans, maybe the masses will finally be able to appreciate MF Doom after years of scrapping and hustling--waiting for heads to react.

Album includes cameos by Ghostface, Talib Kweli (who actually drops a nice verse for once--"Welcome back, Kweli") and selected Adult Swim cast, including Space Ghost, Meatwad, Shake and more.

B'lee dis, "Mouse and Mask" is a clear contender for hip hop album of the year. Speaking of, j3's Top 20 Hip Hop Records of 2005 coming soon. I'm taking about 30 discs on the road this weekend for one last good listen. Plus we have many strong records still to drop.

Buy Danger Doom's "The Mouse and the Mask" and other fine MF Doom projects at your local Hastings.

JACKSON, THE INCREDIBLE DISAPPEARING DOG

The grass is always greener.

So, I arrive home for lunch to see Jackson where he normally is--perched atop a pillow on our bed. Chillin'. He rises up, stretches, looks and me and demands silently to be let outside. I figure to go out and do his business. I let him out, proceed to make my lunch and then catch up on some email. And like any other day, before leaving I offer to Jax the opportunity to come back inside. I open the door to see Jax laying in the dirt, his head lazily rises from the ground with that classic, "leave me the hell alone" look. "Suit yourself, ese." I close the door lock it and start my trek back to work.

I get off around 5:30 and get home. My lovely wife had yet to arrive from work. I walk out into the backyard. "Jackson, c'mere buddy." Nothing. Ah, he's sleeping. I'll sneak up to him, I think to myself. I go to the back of the garage, no Jax. I whip around thinking he's probably sneaking up on me. No Jax. I could hardly call out. I began to panic. I walk around the backyard looking for the hole he dug to which I found a little dirt dug out, but not enough room for a large beagle to fit through. But one thing I knew, Jax was not in our backyard.

Composure. Composure. Keep your cool, j3.

My mind hurried through possible scenarios. Where did he go? How long has he been gone? Did someone take our dog? Is he layin' dead in the middle of Route 66?

I hopped in Boggs and took off. I slowly wandered down the block, eyes peeled. My mind paced. All the sudden, it dawned on me. There's a small hole created by the utility company when our back yard flooded and it empties into our neighbors backyard because we have no alley. It's a possibility. I took a quick right and darted to our backyard neighbors house. I run up to the front door and ring the doorbell. No one's home. I peer around to the side of the house which was a large back yard area fenced in by a waste-high picket fence.

I see the neighbors little black dog ("Hey hey mama see the way you groove. Gonna make you dance, gonna make you groove.") come prancing around the edge of the house followed by a snappy, happy beagle with long legs and a tail moving at the speed of light. Our Jackson.

Stunned, I acted quickly. I run over to the fence, stoop over and grab Jax under his front legs and begin to heave him over the fence. He yelps in pain as I pulled on his legs then he scampers off with the other dog. He knew he was in trouble. "Stay put, Jackson."

A car pulls in across the street and I realize how suspicious I must look reaching into the backyard of their neighbor. I approach them quickly so as to not look any more suspicious than I already do. "I live on the other side of this house and my dog has dug his way into their yard. I need to get my dog out of their yard."

"Oh, they won't mind go ahead. There's a gate just next to the house. Help yourself."

Man, I love friendly people.

So I walked back up to the house, unlatched the gate, took Jackson up in my arm like a football, threw him in the car and headed back to the house. When I arrived, Jackson and I walked back to his hole under the fence. He rolls up into a ball because he knew what was coming. What was coming was three brisk spankings and a boisterous "no!" He ran back inside.

So here I sit watching my screener that just came in today of Bob Dylan's "No Direction Home" (appropriately named). Good stuff. Bob Dylan, despite being older than dirt actually is still quite articulate. Unless this interview was taken some time ago which is possible because he doesn't look as gray as I last remember. Anyway, Martin Scorsese directed it and it's more a historical piece. Kinda journey-type flick. We're in the Greenwich Village period now. Pretty captivating.

Anyhow, happy Tuesday everyone. Love on your dog today. Let 'em know how happy you are to have them around. Obviously, my dog doesn't.

"I'll never leave you again, j3. I like it here."

THE TALE OF TWO WEATHERMEN AND ONE COLLASAL 'CANE

This is John Robinson (who my wife has always affectionately referred to as "Skeleton Boy"). He was my local weatherman growing up for, well, as long as I can remember. Pretty sharp. Experienced. Trusted. And professional. But not very gangsta. I spotted him back in Lubbock one time driving a Volvo stationwagon. Not that Volvo's aren't nice cars. In fact, their probably ideal for a medium-market meterologist. It says "safe" and "sterile"--like the Tom Hanks of the Weatherman World. Some people like this, however, if there's anything to be gained by two insane storms pounding our coasts, I've been introduced (as many others have) to some incredible and dynamic weathermen. Firstly, there's the aforementioned Amazing Orlando who taught us all we wanted to know about "street cops" and "debris" and now (get ready for a shocking juxtaposition) our boy Joe Bastardi:

Check this muddah out. Man, what a freakin hunk (in the most heterosexual of senses, of course). That's not a weatherman, that's a WEATHERHULK. And as anyone who grew up with a last name containing the word "bastard" with only one additional letter situated at the end, knowing the ridicule this kid got growing up, can play for my team any day. C'mon, Joe, let's go pillage the village! Anyhow, Rita is about two hours from making full landfall. Lessened in power, but still throwing some serious winds into Beaumont. Houston might have been spared the worse of it, but b'lee dis, it's gonna flood deep down in Houston.

Just disappeared into the bedroom to watch a little 'cane footage when my brother queued me. He said Shep (who I call "Smitty") had his feet taken out from under him. I'm having to go to the bedroom because my lovely wife had to take a "break" from the Rita footage. We got Baby Ray and Jacko over (that'd be Jace, my brother-in-law) and we're watching I "heart" Huckabees. Seems to be a pretty good flick, but I'm already too far behind because I'm typing on THEROOTDOWN.

I'm watching Rita so I don't watch baseball. And now, I'm watching a movie so I don't watch Rita. It's like going from wanting a beer to drinking O'Doul's. And then moving from O'Doul's to ranch dressing. Where's my Shiner?

WHEN NOT TO DO RAP HANDS

When not to do rap hands? When you're with a dude that's been shot umphteen times and lived. Just let him put his arm around you, look tough and, if you can help it, DON'T SMILE. Not too gangsta when you smile. Here I is with the g'zillion-times platinum phenom 50 Cent aka Curtis (yeah, I know, not too gangsta) aka Fiddy (which I prefer).

We were hanging out in the wine cellar. I was letting him lead the way. I forgot my ten pounds of platinum. Normally, I'm sporting it with this sweater, but I didn't want to show him up on this evening.

Not sure how I managed the crazy psychedelic effect here, but it works all the same.

Thanks to Prinkster for arranging this meeting.

Happy Friday, everyone. About 12 hours until Rita the Horrible makes landfall. Texas, show 'er what you got!

AND SPEAKING OF DIETS...

3.66 weeks into my diet and I'm officially 20 pounds lighter.

Spent my lunch watching one of those stupid infomercials with people who lost 230 pounds. While inspiring, my wish is not to lose 230 pounds. That would mean I would weigh 10 pounds and I have a feeling that if I weighed 10 pounds, I'd be closer to a broomstick than a homosapien. 40 pounds will work for me. And I'm halfway there about 3 days ahead of schedule.

On an unrelated note, today is Scott Baio's birthday. He is 44 years old. And he's gangsta, gangsta.

The Sox diet is killing me. Every time I pick up the remote, I habitually type in 26 (ESPN) and then 27 (ESPN2). Luckily last night I was distracted by a plane with faulty landing gear hovering over LA. That was pretty awesome. Now, if I can get one of those a night I can make it.

Well, no doubt Rita will provide refuge from baseball. Man, this one's a beast. Glad to see people in Houston getting the hell outta dodge. Hope Steve, the Stevensons, my boys at RND, 1Stop and BCD have found higher ground. We boarded up two stores yesterday.

To my wonderful Austinites, be careful at ACL. They say Austin could see hurricane force winds as far north as Waco. Tornadoes are also possible. I will be praying for you all this weekend. At the very least, it's gonna get soggy.

I've already got my Galveston and Houston cams lined up for this storm. Should be interesting.

Take care, happy Thursday.

ME AND MY RED SOX DIET

In the interest of preserving what's left of my insanity, I'm going on a diet--a mental diet. I'm always driven to see what my threshold is as in my current diet (no cokes, no burgers, no cookies). I'm taking it to another level and, way I see it, there's no better to do it.

I'm on the NO SOX DIET.

What does this involve, you might ask. Well, let me give you the lowdown:

NO SPORTSCENTER
NO BOSTONREDSOX.COM
NO ASKING BUDDIES OR BROTHER HOW THE SOX ARE DOING
NO TELEVISED GAMES (this including the two televised games from Boston against the Spanks in the last series of the regular season)
NO ESPN RADIO

I'm essentially locking baseball in the cupboard until AFTER the regular season is complete which would be the day I arrive back in town from Red River, New Mexico after a relaxing and rejuvenating getaway with my wife (sans Jackson the Amazing Rolling-in-Feces Dog). When I get back in town, I'll look in the standings and either we're in the playoffs or we're not. If we're in the playoffs, I'll make the trek to the store for a case of low carb beer for what is hopefully a long playoff run. If not, then I didn't have to endure my Sox self-destructing and losing the lead that, at this time, September 20th they're holding onto by only a half a game.

That's 12 days and counting.

"Aw, j3, you're not going to support your beloved Sox?"

"And you consider yourself a true fan?"

"You're a coward."

"It's just a game."

Yeah, that's fine. I'll catch some flack, but you know what, don't question my loyalty to the Sox. It's because I'm a true fan that I'm taking precautions. Because I know how much it stings. I know how frustrating it is. I would contend that the people who say I'm not a true fan because I feel such anxiety are not true fans. They don't know nothing about this. I just decided I'm going to try something new this year.

Now, I'm soliciting the support of my loved ones, friends, Spankee fans, Sox fans, an Oriole fan, co-workers and so on.

1. PLEASE DO NOT TELL/EMAIL/FAX ME THE SCORE, THE STANDINGS OR THE RESULTS FROM LAST NIGHT'S GAME.
2. PLEASE DO NOT TEASE ME FOR GOING ON MY DIET.
3. IN THE CASE THAT THE SOX DO NOT MAKE IT INTO THE PLAYOFFS, PLEASE DO NOT BADGER ME UNTIL AFTER OCTOBER 2ND. LIKEWISE, IF THEY DO NOT MAKE INTO THE PLAYOFFS, I WILL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DOWNFALL OF THE 2005 RED SOX.

Until October 3rd, you can just assume that I don't even know what baseball is.

The diet begins today. Sox have a half game lead on the Spanks with 12 games to go.

THE SOX AND LESSONS IN "BLOWING IT"

Lead is down to half a game over the Spanks. It could get brutal over the next couple of weeks. Luckily for me, I'll be far away from cable television on the last weekend of the season as the Spanks come to town for the last three games of the season. I'd be lying if I said I'm confident my team will make the playoffs. Hey, it's the Sawx. They know how to lose.

Anyhow, it's early, I'm getting my coffee on and then going to make way to work.

See below for the promised Katrina post.

Geez, Dallas gives up two touchdowns in the last 4 minutes to lose to the Skins, 14-13. Sucks to be a Cowboys fan.

And the network wanted you to believe that the Giants fans were cheering the Saints as they made way into the Meadowlands, but I heard the boos when New Orleans took the field. Proof that New York sports fans are not as classy as some would want to believe.

JAX AND THE GRASS HE ROLLED IN

I think anyone would agree that Jax is a wonderfully handsome and, might I say, picturesque kanine. And, from those that have met our beloved Jackson, they might also agree that's he's exceptionally bright and studious. And, even though he's been slacking on the family diet (turning in only an eighth of a pound against my fourteen), he's a wonderful companion and is quite the entertainer.

However, at a recent visit to my grandparents' crib in the beautiful metro of Lubbock, Texas, Jax guided himself on a tour of JD's wonderful backyard. On this tour around the perimeter of the yard, Jax discovered something in the grass. Something which appealed greatly to the young beagle. At which point he flopped on this back and began to roll around and rub his face in the grass. We laughed from our vantage point near the house. "Oh, look at Jackson rolling around out there!"



"He really seems to be enjoying himself." "I say!" His rolling continued for a number of minutes and then I became a little concerned. Was something biting him? Is he in pain? So I cautiously approached the dog flopping around in the grass. And much to my horror, I discovered Jackson rolling on top of a, now completely smeared, pile of doggie twinkies.



It was all over his back, his neck, his belly, his head. And he smelled of a baby's diaper. I pulled him over close to the hose and asked my grandfather to please help me hose him down but my grandfather, in pity for the poor dog refused and, instead hosed down a pair of old boxer shorts and told me to use the boxers instead to wipe him down. It was horrible. Needless to say, it didn't cut it. I got him cleaned up, but I now have proof that Jackson is not as bright as we thought he was. That or he's just a dog. And dog's roll in feces at times.

Who would've thought?

THE PEOPLE'S CHAMP

Yeah, we supportin' H-Town. Everyone go and buy the new Paul Wall record "The People's Champ" at your local Hastings. A guy with this much platinum in his grill must be doing something right. Now, let's make sure he gets some platinum on his walls now.

C'mon, homie, we major.

THE GREAT J3 WEIGHT LOSS CHALLENGE

So I started a diet the two weeks ago. My wife's got me on it and, let me tell you, as reluctant as I've always been to such practices (c'mon, man, I like to eat), but after reviewing some recent photos and my widening shadow (people can freaking picnic in my shadow now), I decided to finally step up with my wife by my side and shed some freaking pounds.

My daily eating schedule:

BREAKFAST
Two eggs, no salt.
Half an orange.
Two cups of coffee (hey, I need my caffeine).

LUNCH
Grilled chicken, no salt.
Spinach.
Peanuts.
Light dressing.

DINNER
Taco meat, no salt.
Two corn tortillas.
Homemade salsa (onion, cilantro, tomato, jalepeno, garlic).

During the course of the day, NO COKES, NO SWEETS, NO SALTS, NO EATING AFTER 7PM, EXERCISE IN THE EVENING, 120 OZ OF WATER.

First week I lost down to 8 pounds, but netted 5 pounds lost. This week, I'm down to 228 from 240. That's in two weeks. Never thought it was possible, but I'm actually kicking serious ass. At this rate, I'll weigh 210 in about 6 weeks--a weight I haven't seen since about 16 years old. We'll see. I won't lie, it's tough as hell, but I've gotten my kicks over the last 28 years so 8 weeks of intense dieting can't be that tough.

Gary Busey ain't got nuttin' on me. I'm the Willie Aames of this muddah.

JAMES BROWN TAKES HORRIBLE MUGSHOTS

Just an observation. I know, most people don't, but these aren't even funny. I mean, these are downright creepy. Disturbing.

First, let's look at the hardest working man in showbiz before it hit the fan:


So young, so flashy. He's got that look like he's ready to take on the world. He feels good.



Here he is. Years later. Looks like he got his tail whooped in a street brawl. He's got that look like he's ready to take on another bottle of liquor.



Here he is in his latest mugshot. Again, looks like someone kicked him mugged him and left him to die. Looks like the hardest man in showbiz done got worked. He's got that look in his eye like he's ready to take his medication and take a nice long nap.

Don't be James Brown. Stay clean, stay outta trouble and have a good Thursday.

YOU CAN'T LOSE WITH A WYRICK IN THE STANDS

Proof?

Bro Bro Todd travels up to Oakland to see the A's square off against the Mariners. Oakland goes into the bottom of the ninth inning down 3-7 to the Mariners. They won on a bases loaded walk, 8-7. Five runs scored in the bottom of the ninth. The last time they accomplished such a feat was in 1954. Good going, Todd. You've got a gift, my friend. Now, I gotta get him tickets to the Sox/Spanks series in the Bronx this weekend.



And in "what comes around goes around" news, Jay Payton, former Sox outfielder who demanded to be traded scored the winning run off of former Spankee reliever, Jeff Nelson, who almost broke his hand on the face of a Red Sox grounds keeper in a brawl last year at the Fen.

It's a sickness. I know.

And Todd saw the HOMELESS SIGN OF THE YEAR (possible the century) crossing a bridge in the Bay Area. I have to agree with him. I suppose when you've been poor for long enough, you've fully crafted you're game. I assume that you come to terms with being homeless and poor and recognize the stigma that comes with homeless folks in the inner city and you'd be better off with a funny sign rather than a desperate sign. So dig this:

FAMILY KIDNAPPED BY NINJAS
NEED MONEY FOR KARATE LESSONS.

I'd give him two bucks for the laugh alone, ten for a picture with him.

Long-winded Katrina post coming--complete with pictures.