Tuesday, November 29, 2005


This one courtesy of our boys at RND distribution down in H-Town who just signed the Too $hort's (shown) label to a distribution deal. Thanks to Darin, Ramon, Byron so on and so forth for making this wonderful moment in photography history possible. You know, it's hard out here for a pimp. Enjoy.

Oh, and after dinner, a regional magazine photographer (who, shamefully, I can't remember the name of) had set up his screen and lights in the corner of the place we were celebrating at and, well, people other than the honorable Too $hort had made it into the pictures. Including myself. I used this opportunity to, like my shirt, teach the world how to pop its collar.

And now you know. CMT's airing Johnny Cash's entire Live at San Quentin performance. Pretty candid. He yelled out to the cameraman stage right just after the chorus to "Walk the Line", "Aw, don't bend over, man! You picked the wrong place to bend over like that, man!" Funny stuff.

Real World Reunion on MTV in 15 minutes--sure to be fireworks. Never fails. Now THAT'S real television folks.

Happy Wednesday. Cage concert in Dallas on Thursday night. Should be hot.

Sunday, November 27, 2005


Everyone have a gnarly and gnasty Monday. Hope you all had a great, relaxing holiday with family and friends. It's back to work. Hope yours is better than the Monday the guy on the other side of this camera had after this encounter.



This past weekend, I had the distinct pleasure of taking in Kanye West's set at Nokia Live in Grand Prarie, TX. My lovely wife and I showed up right before Ye's set began--missing R&B breakout Keyshia Cole and American Idol winner Fantasia (c'mon now, can we PLEASE get more than two female R&B vocalist to open up for a hip hop act?!). Kanye came on with a clap of thunder--jumping right into some of his deep album cuts from Late Registration and College Dropout. His performance and stage presence was sharp and he worked that crowd like a part-time job--running from stage left to stage right like a ping pong ball. My lovely wife bobbed her head and, b'lee this, even "threw her hands in the air" when commanded to like a true sport. I have a few complaints however, those bright, blinding lights that have the effect of staring at the sun through a magnifying glass are not cool. First time I came across these lights was at the Lubbock Kiss/Ted Nugent concert and swore I was going to leave blind. I don't mind dangerous pyrotechnics. I don't mind $7 Shiner Bocks (okay, I do and shame on you, Nokia Live, for charging $7 for any beer much less one made in Texas). I don't mind deafening bass. I don't mind the contact high I got from the goof ball two rows down who couldn't wait to get out of the concert before spliffing up. But please don't use those lights again. Every time they came on, I got teary eyed. I could hardly see the road on the way home on account of the overusage of those damned lights. They're not necessary. The spotlight should be on the artist, not on the audience. If you've stared into these lights, then you know exactly what I mean. Other than that, excellent performance. Kanye is the Elton John of Hip Hop. He's so freaking over the top and his ego can hardly fit on stage, but you gotta hand it to the guy, he makes quality music and is quite the entertainer. The white suit though (as seen above with the beautiful angel wings to accessorize) screams all-too-loudly "Puff Daddy!" And when he does his little scoot across stage you'd swear you were at a Diddy show.

On the way home, my lovely wife and I had an enchanting conversation about the performance. She stated that she was expecting a lot more. I joked about him letting a thousand doves loose from inside his jacket or, in the spirit of the great Girth Brooks, making it rain or, perhaps, making it rain money. She wanted that Vegas show, like David Blaine, Celine Dion er something with people flying through the air, pianos taking flight and soaring high above the audience. I told her that I couldn't see him doing that, after all, it is hip hop. You're supposed to get up there, flex how nice you are, maybe make a political statement, dance your ass off and then close with the crowd favorite--leave the big stuff to the Blue Man Group.

Of course, if there was any dull moments during the show, you could fill in the excitement by watching the couple to the right of me who, at one moment, had each other in a full body lock bumping and rubbing on each other--the "climax" coming during "Slow Jamz" when the woman wrapped her legs completely around her companion, locked her feet on the back side of his body and began flapping on his front side like a flag in a brisk afternoon breeze. It was straight-up freaky but funny to watch.

Another interesting note, this guy's whistle was the most incredible thing I've ever heard. First time he let that thing out, I frantically covered my ears thinking something was going horribly wrong with the main speakers. It almost made my ears bleed, I tell you. He hit notes I didn't think existed.

Overall, a solid hip hop show, but no magic. Geez, whaddya expect?


That's right, another great one gone...Pat Morita aka Mr. Miyagi who was responsible for making karate cool again (again? was it ever before?), passed away of natural causes.

As a kid, I was so inspired by Morita's depiction of Miyagi and how he took Daniel Laruso under his wing that, shortly after seeing Karate Kid for the 12th time, I began teaching myself karate. I trained myself on a tree out in the front yard of our house on 13th street. I punched the trunk of that tree until my knuckles nearly bled--letting out blurts of "hi-yah!" and "eye!" and finishing each sequence with a bow to the mighty tree. I earned my freakin black belt. That's right.

That was until my smart ass brother had to blow my spot.

I was out in my yard training in my traditional gear--a Hobie t-shirt, Bugle Boy denim shorts, Reeboks and my black belt tied around my waste so everyone in the neighborhood knew that I was not to be toyed with. I was a killer. No mercy. No mercy.

Bethany Ann, who lived next door asked, "j3, what are you doing?"

I replied, "I'm training for a tournament." I continued punching and kicking the tree.

My brother walks up, laughs and asks, "Dad's been looking for the belt to his bathrobe, Jeff."

Thanks, Todd. People were finally starting to take me seriously.

Anyhow, Miyagi, on behalf of myself and Ralph Machio (unquestionable the most gangsta last name in Hollywood), "We'll miss you and the bottle trick. Keep it gully."

Wednesday, November 23, 2005


(insert caption here)


KNOXVILLE, Tenn. -- Two escaped prison inmates from Louisiana took advantage of sympathy for Hurricane Katrina victims to pass themselves off to University of Tennessee students as fraternity brothers who had been displaced by the storm, police said. Steven Ridge, 31, and Zachary Arabie, 22, were arrested in Knoxville last week after Ridge tried to buy gas with fake money, authorities said. Ridge and Arabie integrated themselves on the Tennessee campus, attending fraternity parties, dating coeds and renting an off-campus apartment, police said. ''We believe they were in the process of creating new identities to disappear again and possibly do an abduction,'' police Sgt. Sean Hejna said. ''We got these two just in time.'' Ridge, serving a 10-year sentence for forgery and theft, and Arabie, serving 20 years for armed robbery, escaped Sept. 13 from prison in Ferriday, La., after using a Popsicle stick as a key, Hejna said. They stole two cars to get to Knoxville and showed up at the Lambda Chi fraternity house a few days later, police said. Ridge claimed to be a fraternity member displaced by Katrina from a graduate program at Tulane University in New Orleans. He even had a Tulane ID card. ''It's genius, their plan, it was really genius,'' fraternity president Sam Seyler said. ''Who is going to deny the fact that someone is a refugee? We took them at their word.'' Authorities had trouble identifying Ridge because he deliberately injured his fingers, even gnawing the skin off to obscure his fingerprints, Hejna said. A jailer finally recognized him among a roster of escaped inmates. The identification led authorities to the men's apartment, where they found a cash counterfeiting operation as well as fake ID capabilities, police said. ''Were we duped? I guess,'' Seyler said. ''We were trying to be good Southern gentlemen and show some hospitality in a tough time. We thought it was the right thing to do.''

And now, as "frat brothers" at Lambda Duh in Knoxville.

This is truly hilarious.

I guess their criterium for admittance is not quite as strict as I had once thought.

You're not ready.

Here ya are.

Sunday, November 20, 2005


In a recent conversation over dinner, my lovely wife, in what I insist must have been a moment of rare thoughtlessness, mentioned that she thought not only was Zack Morris a horrible actor on Saved by the Bell, but he still is a horrible actor on NYPD Blue. I can hear the gasps through my monitor. But she didn't stop there. She even wished upon him the worst of all possible consequences ever--the tragic Bonaduce ending. She said, "Yeah, Gary Coleman ended up as a parking lot security guard, I would want worse for Zack Morris." She couldn't even call him by his real name, Mark Paul Gossallar. She wanted for poor Mark Paul cocaine binges, prostitutes, an attempted suicide, multiple failed runs at rehab, assault charges, alcoholism, crippling mental illness, abnormal weight gain, a horrible near life-ending car crash and then end it all with a hugely unsuccessful radio talk show in some small market in rural Iowa (wait, isn't all Iowa rural?). It kills me. It really does.

I couldn't explain where this was coming from. All these years I've known this woman, my lovely wife, and would've never seen this coming. She hates Zack Morris.

The thespian who we now know as Mark Paul Gossallar happens to be one of the finest actors ever to grace the small screen both in his previous role of Zack Morris on the incredible Saved by the Bell and as, uh, one of those cops on NYPD Blue. Deny his greatness and deny your own existence.


Saturday, November 19, 2005


Beginning November 22nd, it's POWER TO THE PEOPLE!! The PLUG AWARDS give the opportunity for the music listening public to stick it to the Grammys and actually award independent musicians for their artistic accomplishments. By simply visiting www.plugawards.com anyone is given access and can vote immediately. Polls don't open until Tuesday, November 22nd so hang tight, but once open vote away! And once you've voted, make sure you spread the word. Nominees this year include Danger Doom, Spoon, El-P, Bloc Party, Bright Eyes, Edan, Aesop Rock, Sage Francis, Pennywise, Rufio, Boards of Canada, Sufjan Stevens, DJ Shadow, Diplo, Madlib, 9th Wonder and many more!
And the nominating committee includes buyers, writers, critics, actors, VPs and, well, yours truly. Thanks to Gerry at World's Fair for the invitation to participate in one of the coolest things ever. Truly an honor.
November 22nd, people! The bout begins.


The great Eddie Guerrero who represented brown-and-proud countrymen everywhere to the very fullest has passed away at 38 years of age. Quite sad. We will miss him fondly. This one's for the la raza.


But this person needs her nails trimmed.


Good morning, folks. I'm sitting here in front of my first of about five cups of coffee and the opening credits to Land of the Dead--man, it's gonna be a good day.

Haven't had a whole lot of down time lately. In fact, I've had none. So this is more of a catch-up than anything else. I don't know how else to do this, so here we go.

  • I'm down to 210 pounds from 240. Have made it to 208, kinda slacked up on the diet a little. Gotta get myself back in check before the holidays because I'm gonna eat me some dressing. B'lee dat. My best advice, stay away from sodas.
  • Whoa, opening sequence of Land of the Dead is rad. Better to watch this before the lovely wife wakes up.
  • A-Rod beat out Papi for AL's MVP which is a complete sham. Papi ended 6 games this year with his bat, four of them with homeruns. 19 of his 47 homeruns either tied a game or put the Sox ahead. A-Rod made a few good snags at third and apparently, the sports writers sympathize heavily with the NL way of life and wouldn't possibly let a designated hitter win an MVP. It's alright though, at least when Pay-Rod looks back on his career in pinstripes he can say he won something. Only fitting that it's an award for individual performance and not for his team's accomplishments. Of course, I can't front--he's a wonderful teammate to his buddy Gary (Jeter). Here they are at their pre-game warmups enjoying some much needed cuddle time.

Sometimes, the headlines can write themselves.

  • Zombies just fall apart under the fire of automatic weapons. Must get second cup of coffee.
  • Met Too $hort Thursday night in Houston at an event hosted by the boys at RND. Pictures to be provided later. It was quite an event. Never thought I would eat porkchops across from Mr. Too $hort. Nice guy, great event.
  • Poor 50 Cent simply can't act. Get Rich or Die Tryin' brought in only 12 million in it's first weekend--a far cry from 8 Miles' 51 million. I think it goes to show that a white kid from a trailer park making it as a rap superstar is more compelling than a black kid from the ghetto making it as a rap superstar. That or while still the most controversial rap artist in recent history, because Eminem is white and less "street," parents feel more safety in letting their kids go to see his story rather than the strong, black gangsta persona of Fiddy. Hell, the title is Get Rich or Die Tryin'. The movie was entertaining, but that's only because of the violence (and I like me some violence). Won't win any awards. Land of the Dead, on the other hand...Man, some zombie was eating a guy's finger like a Vienna sausage. It's about time for breakfast.
  • Walk the Line is simply incredible. Joaquin Phoenix does a stunning job of portraying the late, great Johnny Cash. I'm telling you, goosebumps. See it. See it as soon as you can. It's absolutely brilliant.

  • Finished our hardwood floors in the living room and dining room. They look awesome. I'll post a pic or two soon. My lovely wife's dream of living in a Pottery Barn catalog is quickly coming true.
  • How in the hell do zombies ever catch someone? You'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind with no legs to get caught by these things. TURN AROUND! That's how. It seems to be a combination of bad hearing and very slow reactions. Third cup of coffee comin'.
  • THE PEOPLE'S VOTES COUNT. Go vote for your favorite independent music acts of 2005 at www.plugawards.com where yours truly was honored to be on the nominating committee (http://www.plugawards.com/authors/ABList.php). Spread the word. The Plug Awards--Independent Music's Definitive Awards.
  • My wife got us a new fish. One of those awesomely aggressive betas who freak out and blow out their gills when they see their reflection in a mirror. His name is Trot--named after the star Sox rightfielder.
  • I wish I could be a zombie in a film. I'd be a killer zombie. I'd have sideburns. And maybe missing my lower mandible. Isn't that your jaw bone? Yeah, that's it. I'd be missing my lower jaw bone and my tongue would be hanging out of my head. And I'd be sporting a Sox hat in every scene.
  • I continue to work on my year-end BEST HIP HOP RECORDS OF 2005 list. It'll be published on or slightly before 12/31/2005.
  • I'm not sure why, but I find it's important to listen and watch the pre-flight demonstration by the flight attendants. I find myself, every time without fail, stopping what I'm doing and attentively watch as they point out the exits on the airplane and then how to use the oxygen masks in the case there is an "unexpected loss of pressure in the cabin." I suppose it's because if no one watches, they're basically only there to serve peanuts and drinks until there's an emergency which I think really discounts the importance of these people. So I sit there with my headphone's around my neck, smiling complacently, with attentive eyes--nodding in approval after every demonstration. Sometimes, if I'm a really good mood, I thank them after the pre-flight show is over. While I only say, "Thank you," I'm really saying, "Thank you for reminding me that air travel can be dangerous and that bad things can happen. Thank you for instructing me and preparing me, equipping me for the unexpected. And I really appreciate the zeal and excitement you bring to your job. Thank you. You inspire me."
  • Fourth cup of coffee is about to go down the hatch and then I'm putting in a few hours at work. Yep, on a Saturday. But as far as I'm behind on my blog, I'm three times as behind up at work. Everyone have a good Saturday.
  • Thursday, November 03, 2005


    So let's just throw up some old show photos like I took them at the show in Dallas and act like he put on a killa set. No blogspot bomb threat here, Sage. Just need to tell you that six guys were about to haul their tails a total of 2700 miles round trip to see you in the Getdown, but alas, your show was cancelled for unspecified reasons. You could've at least sent a brotha an email. I suppose I might need to reconsider my nomination of Sage for Live Act of the Year in the Plug Awards. Anyhow, here's the pics from Friday night's show...a day early.

    "I know I look good. Stop sweatin' me."

    Strange Famous in full effect.

    You know the mullet.

    Word 'em up.

    Bro bro's back in the 'handle this weekend. Should be a fine time. Go Tech. Kick some Aggie arse.

    Wednesday, November 02, 2005


    Okay, so tonight I noticed there was standing water in the sink with nothing visibly preventing the water from flowing down properly. Where do you start? Well, conventional wisdom would suggest ordering up a bottle of Drano Max Gel. Well, being the conventional fella, I had my lovely wife swipe a bottle from the store. Upon getting back, I poured the entire bottle in the sink as it instructs on the back. Let it sit for 15 minutes and I return to the sink. No action. Still standing water. I scratch my head for a moment and then dash out to the garage where I keep my junior high school-strength plunger given to me by the Myles family at my tool shower prior to my wedding. I begin plunging like no tomorrow. Push, pull, push, pull, push, pull. The sink fills up with a mess of floating objects. I almost dry heave it's so disgusting. Still, no movement. No water going down. Then, I lift my foot to notice I'm standing in a puddle of stanking water. Walk over to the dishwater to notice the dishwasher is completely full of water and it's just dripping off the bottom lip.

    I scratch my head some more. Now, I'm in it shoulder deep. And it's about 10pm. No one to call. What do you do now? I snag a mop, a bucket and a pan and begin transferring the water off the floor, from in the sink and in the dishwasher into the bucket. I figured it would just help in assessing the situation. Of course, once I'm to the assessment step, I didn't know what I was going to do. I certainly couldn't let my wife think I didn't have a clue. I struggle with my gameplan while my lovely wife asks "What are you gonna do?" Uh, think quick, think quick. "Well, we could get the snake and rattle it down in there and see if we can dislodge ("dislodge" is a great word for showing your plumbing skillz) whatever's in the sink." Good answer. Hang in there. I finish mopping up the floor and now it's time to act. What do I do? I head to the living room for my "Home Improvement for Dummies" book. Find out, my wife's already got it and she's reading for a remedy.

    A few minutes later, she says, "There's a few things we can do." Now, she's driving the car and all I can do is sit back and look helpful. We grab the bucket, position it under the little pipe that curls under the sink (no laughing, that's the only way I could describe the damned thing). My lovely wife begins unscrewing the pipe. She removes it and hands it to me. Yahtzee!

    I stick my finger into this orange mushy mass and then it dawns on me, not only did we discover the cause of the problem, but we also discovered something that DRANO CANNOT CONQUER. The night before, I cooked up about three pounds of taco meat and drained the meat before storing it in the fridge by pouring it into a collendar (sp?) and letting the access run down the sink. Seems I should've helped it down with a little hot water, but I didn't do that. So the grease settles in the pipe and hardens over night. (Nicole Richie is straight anorexic, sorry, she was just on VH1--daddy needs to set her straight) And with all of my plunging, I basically rolled the mass into a crazy grease twinkie. It was so disgusting.

    A few lessons to learn here, before your wife is about to take the morning off to invite a plumber named Carl to suck $200 out of your backpocket, consult a "for Dummies" book. They actually work.

    Secondly, Drano will not remove taco grease.

    Thirdly, what's can clog the sink would do the same to your intestines. Better in the sink than in your body, just know how to get it gone.

    Lastly, find an appropriate place to drain your meat. Perhaps a toilet. Sorry, I couldn't help myself.

    Celtics win their season opener against the Knicks in overtime. 1-0 on the way to a World Championship.


    Strongbad is the truth. Here's my brother's jack-o-lantern. For those who need a reference, please visit www.homestarrunner.com for all the hilarity than one can stand.

    Or, for a sample, http://www.homestarrunner.com/cantsayjob.html where Coach Z has a tough time saying the word "job".

    Good stuff.

    Aight, have a good evening. Sage Francis show in Dallas on Friday, word 'em up.