Thursday, March 27, 2008


I heard the begging long enough and, now I present to you (proudly), my neighbors lawn and his ornate decour. Look, this thing is a nightmare. I've been trying to be nice, I really have. But I've had it. My tolerance level has peaked and duke's gotta start finding another neighborhood to put up his farm animals and pinwheels. Geez, what in the hell does it all mean? For reference, please click on the image below for detail. This dude is bono fied crazy. I mean, he's done lost it. Every morning, this cat comes out and puts up his fake dog, his armadillo, his family of deer, his three flags, his birdhouse, his squirrel, his windmill, his wooden well, his boot that holds flowers--everything--and then at about seven each evening, he comes out and picks it all up. It's like all this garbage has about eleven hours to shine and then he comes out and says, "Good game," and puts all this ish back in his garage and packs it up for the night. Now, I hate to bag on a dude that has proudly served the country in combat, but am I the only one that thinks this is just overboard? My lovely wife (who usually is very collected) is thinking about making a verbal (terroristic) threat. This is the same homegrown that sweeps up his leaves in the autumn one at a time. I keep thinking tomorrow I'll go over and give him a job sweeping my lawn of leaves and cigarette butts one at a time. Better yet, if he's such a fan of cleaning up, he can pick up "Tucker Tots" in my back yard.

I have a hard time understanding this type of behavior. Homie just needs a girlfriend. Or a subscription to Netflix. Look, I'd rather live next to a cat cooking meth than this dude. At least they lay low. I'm afraid to plant anything out front for fear he's going to take it as a pissing contest and then roll a tank out into his front yard. Love on ya' neighbor, but know that part of loving them is letting them know when its time to seek counseling. Put the toy deer up and go see someone--psychologically or romantically. Better yet, make it both.

Love you. Have a good Friday. Wolf post coming as soon as Danger Mahan can get me some video footage. Dude, you're col' slipping.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008


You know, vacation sucks because you always gotta come back.

Got back from Wolf on Sunday and got my ass col' whooped yesterday. Not only that, but I'm suffering from complications stemming from what seems to be whiplash--more on that later. Actually, more on a ton of things later. It's a matter of time.

But until then, back to the flying knee which is, without debate, the sweetest move in all mixed martial arts. It's like the taser of fighting--you don't know what hit you until you're on your back staring at the ceiling wondering, "Why can't I feel the side of my face?"

Here's a few flying knees to help you celebrate your Tuesday. Celtics have lost two in a row after beating all three Texas teams last week on the road. Hope they get all of that out of their system now before the playoffs.

There's always a tool in some remote and cold place that will try stupid stuff like a flying knee on their closest friend so, guess what, I got that video too.

It's 6:30 in the morning and I'm watching the Sox open their season play versus Oakland in Japan. Ya'll be cool. Say no to drugs and stay in school.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008


I went over to Kool Aid's place for some NBA action last night--Rockets and C's. I guess, technically, it was C's at the Rockets. Celtics, coming off the heels of a fantastic win against San Antonio after coming back from 17 down in the first quarter, were asked to do it again the next night against a team that had won 22 straight games--the second longest streak in NBA history.

Now, let's put this into some historical context. Because I think a lot of heads forget where we were going into this year. This was last year:
We posted our second worst record in the history of the franchise. People were calling for a total re-organization, however, there was still hope that we would get a top draft pick and cruise back to our greatness. Then we got the fifth pick in the draft. Ah, some of that Danny Ainge mojo! But then Danny's testicles balloon in size and he goes out and does this:
And while, to date, we've posted the best record in the league, many still doubt we're ready for a championship. Even I do, at times. Nonetheless, the C's are making a tough trip through Texas playing Spurs, the streaking Rockets and the Mavericks in four days. No small task. Most of us at the office said that whoever won last night's game against the Rockets, it would be by no more than five points. Well, the Celtics went into a rowdy Toyota Center and beat the snot out of the Rockets, 94-74. When the Rockets pulled McGrady out with nearly nine minutes left in the game after being snuffed and held to only eight points, the fans began to leave the arena. Gangsta! Gangsta! And we hung 94 points without Ray Allen.

Never would I have imagined that we'd get our lift from good ol' Leon Powe (as in Edgar Allen Poe). Dude was col' greatness last night silently scoring 21 points on 66% shooting showing the league that we do, in fact, have a bench. Check out his Olan Mills steez in this fitting portrait.

Even Hakeem made it out and sat on the sidelines watching the C's kick the crap out of his team much in the way he sat out the final minutes of Game six of the 1986 Finals when the Celtics won their last championship. Maybe it was my old Bird jersey that I broke out of retirement for the festivities.

In other sports news, the Yankees played a spring game against Virginia Tech to give back and remember those lost in the tragedy over a year ago. They beat VT in a shortened game, 11-0. Way to go, assholes. That's the class we've all come to expect from the Yankees.

We got our troop together for the Wolf trip: Mayhem, Angry Tim and Harley. Everything will be documented by still and video camera--even Angry Tim's fiery outbursts that will leave even the toughest of men in tears.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


I've been due for a sizable update for too damn long.

First, let me just clear the air on something. There's been some discussion for quite some time and I'm going to set the record straight right here, right now. It is not appropriate to put up plastic molds of animals in your front yard in either an urban or rural environment. In fact, it is never appropriate to decorate your lawn (front or back) with anything other than live plants or thriving grass. I have to now play the unfortunate roll of "lawn police" in my neighborhood. If it ain't the cat down the road that has chosen to decorate his lawn with a Lumina mini-van (white trash), it's the vet across the street that puts, amongst the silk flowers, a herd of deer. Check it:
I want to confront him, but I don't really no how to. I just know that one must really suffer from some sort of mental illness to put these out in the lawn. Does someone look out into their lawn and say, "Ah, there's Wilber and the gang. Such pretty deer!" I should tell him that it's already hard enough to sell a house with some Nascar fan parking their party van in their lawn and, now, homeboy here putting fake animals in his yard. This is also the cat that picks up leaves as they fall from the tree. Like, f'real, he sweeps leaves into a little dust pan every morning. You'd think that for a dude that takes such meticulous care of his lawn that it would make sense to not put fake animals up. I'm thinking of just starting a battle and putting one of these bad boys in the lawn.

Take that, homegrown. Time to lose the deer and start dating. But I can tell you from experience, you can't have both. Wow, a little confession there. Dude, is it just me or is that bull hung like crazy? That must be a special model.

My lovely wife started skiing this last weekend as I turned 31 years old. Big ass gas face though to the chumps at the local ski rental place (initials for "compact disc") that screwed up her bindings and caused her to miss a morning of lessons. Word up, CD Sports. Thanks for giving my lovely wife hell too when she brought 'em back. You'sa bunch of chumps. My lovely wife managed to make some pretty good runs on the mountain before quitting while she was ahead. I'll be back to Taos with the homies on our Wolf Creek trek in a, dayum, just a week now.

Saw Kris of On My Mind fame in the office today. Dude should start dreading that goatee. Homie, we're rooting for you, f'reals. Glad you didn't do the zombie walk in Dallas. Some redneck would've beat you down for sure. And I heard some lady in Kansas sat on a toilet for two years and her skin grew around the seat and it was attached to her. Her boyfriend just kept bringing her food and water, saying, "She just wouldn't come out." Dude, two years. You gotta get out of that state. Come to Tejas where everything's normal.

Got the new album from this cat Grip Grand from Oakland. It's hot as hell. The title of the record is Brokeland. Angry Tim apparently knows him, but I'm not as familiar. Either way, it's worth a listen for sure. Also, that Erykah record is still banging. New Del just dropped. Still working my way through it. As long as I've been waiting, you'd think I'd just be bumping it every hour of every day, but I'm still waiting for the perfect time to just sit down and listen to it. It can't be a passive listen. Otherwise, I'm enjoying the hell outta 1990 on Da Pocket Prophet. That thing is carrying it's weight right now. I mean, just push play and let it flow. 1990 was a killer year.

Yankees are killin' it right now. Billy Crystal's coming off the bench on one of their minor league teams while Joe G. is busy beefing with the Devil Rays. Apparently, the benches emptied today after a "hard slide." Someone might want to tell the Yankees that everyone hates them. Of course, I'm starting to enjoy the "hated" attachment as a sturdy supporter of the Red Sox. It fits well.

Jackson's working to pass his tests and approval to do official therapy work. A few things we need to work on is not licking his ass and also not running from a pair of crutches. I think I'm fit with keeping Tucker as a trick dog. It's like Jackson's the 10-speed and Tux is the BMX. Jackson is a Caprice Classic and Tucker's a Ferrari. We're trying to teach Tucker to jump through a hula hoop. He'd rather destroy pairs of New Balances and my lovely wife's prized childhood possessions. Check out this creepy picture. Dude, my dogs are cold-blooded killahs.

He did take particular interest in the Westminister Dog Show. I told him that competition is reserved for dogs who can resist their own feces. He hinted that he was fine with never participating so long as he could still eat his own fecals. You know the make a tablet that you can crush into a dog's food so that it'll make their fecal matter taste bad so they won't eat it. Something tells me that if your dog is eating their own shit, ain't nothing gonna make it taste so bad they'll stop. They're already eating their own shit.

He can still dream, I suppose. Go buy that Erykah record and jam it like crazy. Next time I won't disappear for so long. I'm sorry. I've been really bad to you. All I can offer is a geniune apology and a hug.


While SXSW has become one of the more frustrating ordeals for any music fan, it also offers an incredible cross-section of music and, for the music lover, it's a wonderland of entertainment. And, while I'm either not priveleged enough, rich enough and/or organized enough to ever make it back, I have some friends who will be attending the festivities this year and, as a completely unsolicited favor to them, I present the j3 GUIDE TO SXSW SHOWCASES. Put on your running shoes...

Austin Convention Center
5:30pm Saul Williams

Habana Essex
9:00pm DJ Rhettmatic
10:00pm Kidz in the Hall
11:00pm Percee P
11:40pm Guilty Simpson

Emo's Main Room
1:00am Black Keys

Austin Convention Center
3:30pm Murs
4:40pm Cool Kids

Lady Bird Lake
7:00pm Del the Funky Homosapien

10:00pm Sleep
10:45pm C-Rayz Walz

Scoot Inn
11:45pm El-P

Karma Lounge
1:00am Skratch Bastid

Austin Convention Center
4:00pm Dizzie Rascal

Velveeta Room
8:00pm Comedy Death-Ray

Molotov Lounge
9:45pm Super Chron Flight Brothers
10:20pm A-Alikes

Emo's Annex
11:00pm Lions

Emo's Main Room
11:30pm A-Trak
12:50am Clipse

Bug Music
1:00am Lyrics Born

Lady Bird Lake
5:30pm Talib Kweli
Pete Rock
Jean Grae
8:00pm Ice Cube

Club de Ville
9:45pm Ohmega Watts
10:45pm Darondo

12:00am Z-Trip

12:30am Wale
1:00am GZA

1:10am CunninLynguists

Thursday, March 06, 2008


Philly's Finest!
I'll be the first to admit that I didn't know much about the Tuff Crew the first time around. I mean, I was only 11 years old and I lived in Lubbock, Texas. "Philly" was DJ Jazzy Jeff and Fresh Prince. I've truly grown to appreciate their music through the teachings of Da Pocket Prophet. Let me just lay it down: these dude's were made nice. They were doing things back in 1988-1989 that were years ahead of hip hop's still infant state. Their compositions were a full-on assault of battle raps, insanely fresh rhythm patterns, perfectly cut and sculpted samples and the incredible abilities of DJ Too Tuff always took front stage before the song was through.

Their recordings are so fantastically aggressive and it's worth noting that almost every Tuff Crew song sounds like it is recorded at 120 BPM. Some dude's slow it down from time to to time whether for the ladies or just to give their vocals a break, but not Tuff Crew. These dude's did everything at a full sprint like every song was a high-speed a chance. But, not "fast" like the tongue-twisting novelty raps of their contemporaries, they simply just did their thing and did it double time. Songs like Too Tuff's "Danger Zone Assault" and "Soul Food" or the group cuts "Come On & Go Off" and "Mountain's World" display Tuff Crew's frantic party vibe, but everything is in the right place...everything distinctly calculated and executed masterfully.
The group disbanded somewhere after their 1991 release Still Dangerous and DJ Too Tuff was incarcerated on marijuana possession, however, it just so happens there's a reunion planned for April 5th in Philly. Peep the jacket. Someone needs very desperately to do a limited run on the Tuff Crew jacket. Yikes, that's so ill.
Check out this footage of DJ Too Tuff just going off on the tables. He ain't flashy, but he does his damn thing. I like how he barely emotes at all--just standing there tranced working those tables like a part-time job. And when he goes into "Peter Piper" and "Beats to the Rhyme," my head explodes.

In other news, Boston Celtics clinched a playoff spot with their sixth win a row in their victory over the Detroit Pistons. The playoffs are in June. They clinched in March. The playoffs are in June. They clinched in March. What the? I'll do the research, but that has to be the earliest clinch for the Celtics. Speaking of clinch, I got some business to tend to. It's Thursday. Two days until I'm at Taos lifting off.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008


Sometimes it happens so freaking quick. It's hard to explain. I don't buy emotionally. Okay, maybe I do, but not like how some women are depicted as "emotional shoppers" like when you have a bad day you just go and buy a bunch of crap. I purchase emotionally, but not because I'm emotional. All were purchased at Ebay, my source for new kicks. One pair was absolutely necessary because Tucker chewed up a pair that I left in the backyard because it had dog crap glued to it and I didn't want to track feces across the floor. Those would be my "straight up" 574s. They're essential to my everyday life. I walk in them. I jog in them. I'd sleep in them if they were lined with lamb's fur.

While I was on, I found a dope pair of red and black 574 and dude was selling them for $40 with minimal shipping. Done.

Then, a day later, I found a screaming pair of 574 in purple and grey. I'm not normally a purple guy, but I liked the black and white and how it played off of the purple. They were relatively cheap so I threw them in for good measure. These are some church shoes right here.

Then, my mom goes calling asking what I want for my birthday and well, I had my eye on a pair of New Balance Taxis. They're the less popular 480 in a limited edition color scheme. Yeah, they're flashy. Yeah, I like flashy at times. Mahan said that at least I wouldn't have to worry about anyone shanking me for my shoes. Whatever, these things are fire! They'll land on Friday and, who knows, I might rock them on the road to Taos for the weekend. Yep, my lovely wife's taking her first ski trip. And Taos has hellasnow that'll make for perfect learning. Oh yeah, here are those Taxis. Tell me these ain't dope.

Hilary won Texas. No real surprise as all the Republicans voted for her. It's nice to know that there's always enough Republicans in Texas to screw up the primaries. And, if Hilary wins the GOP, it'll be nice to know that McCain will not necessarily win, but he won't lose. There's a difference. I ain't gonna tell you who I'm pulling for, but if you'sa educated person, you can almost deduct it. Stay in school.

Sunday, March 02, 2008


If you're any sort of hip hop head, you know the break. It's that one that you just can't help but whylin' out to because it's just a full-on neck-breaking assault of drums. On 1974's Machine Gun, the Commodores recorded what would be probably their greatest contribution to popular music asside from, of course, "Brick House" (some would debate "Easy" and "Three Times a Lady"). What starts out as a slow burn, climaxes at the four-minute mark and then, at 4:10, the break.

From what has been described as a "scattershot arrangement," the song basically is broken into four different segments ranging from soft intro, to a blast of horns and cymbals, to swell again to the ending break. While portions of the song's intro have been used by the likes of the Jungle Brothers and Outkast, it would be the drums of the song's last minute that would become the framework for countless hip hop songs from Eric B and Rakim's "Let the Rhythm Hit 'Em" and Last Emperor's b-boy classic "Rap Tyranny" to Stetsasonic's "In Full Gear" and 3rd Bass's "Wordz of Wizdom."

Out of respect for Lionel Richie which I unfairly clowned two days ago, I'd like to commend him on his contributions to hip hop and breakdance circles across the globe with "The Assembly Line." Don't fake the funk.