HARD FOULS, HALL AND OATES AND THE NEW DESIGN

That is until I get sued to high heaven for it...

You know, I feel personally that you should be proud of where you're from. That's what hip hop is all about. And, aside from Mr. Coop and some cat that used to sling promos out of the back of an ice cream truck, nothing that great has come out of Lubbock. Oh yeah, there's Buddy Holly, but let's be real, you don't really get to chose where you're born and I, myself, was born in a cultural vaccuum that was as geographically isolated as any city in the United States. Given that, you have a perspective politically, socially, artistically, spiritually that very few can identify with. So, for those that, like me, represent West Texas and the LBK to the fullest, I offer up this design. Don't know what moron would be dumb enough to print it up, but you never know, maybe someone won't see the similarities. Wil, know anyone that would just do a quick run of 50 shirts no questions asked? Yeah, you bet you do. Hook it up. I think it's a pretty clean design, myself.

Well, let's play a bit of catch up, shall we? Spent last week down in San Diego listening to a million ideas of how to save the music industry, but none of them included releasing better music. Sorry folks who keep complaining about how music sucks. It's still gonna suck and you're gonna have to listen to the old stuff. When you're ready, let me know. I'll give you a list of albums a mile long to get you started. While I was down there, my boys Hall and Oates were receiving an award for Sustained Creative Excellence. I came in a close second. What can you do? Anyhow, they graciously awarded us with three songs in gratitude...all acoustic. It was hella dope. They started out with "Out of Touch" followed by "She's Gone" (head explodes) and then ended their brief, but impactful three-song blessing with "Maneater." Dude, I gotta tell you, Daryl Hall still got it. Don't listen to the streets: dude still brings it. Afterwards, because I'm absolutely psycho and can't help myself after a few beers, I dash up to the "backstage" area which isn't really that. I mean, I wasn't trespassing. I wait patiently for them to appear. Me and apparently about twenty other superfans, but I was there early, close and ready for my photo opp. I wait with my hands in my pockets as my palms became alarmingly clammy. The door in front of me kept opening very slightly...only enough for me to capture a glimpse of the boys backstage ready to come out and make an appearance for their diehards.

Seconds later they dash out and begin shaking hands. They were only about six feet in front of me. I had to do everything in my power from going into the chorus of "She's Gone" eerily in their presence. It was either that or "Method of Modern Love." I swayed and smiled half-heartedly just trying to squeeze myself a little closer. A cluster of (I'll just say it) prostitutes flew toward them which was met with mixed responses from Hall and John Oates. They awkwardly posed for a few pictures as I stood by waiting for my turn to meet Santa Hall.

"Thanks guys, we gotta go."

As soon as it started, it was over. They left. Gone. Split. Nada. All I managed to get was a video on my phone of Daryl Hall posing nervously between a couple of strippers. Yep, so close, but so not a picture of me with the boys. Awesome stuff. That was my chance.

I was playing ball the other night by myself as a stormed rolled in. The cat playing next to me quickly invited me over. "Hey, bro! A little one-on-one?" He stood there in a black denim shorts, red black and green Nikes and some black undershirt. I declined. "Man, I ain't played in about a year and a half. Nah, man."

"C'mon, bro. I've only been playing three years."

Okay, Slim Shady, I ain't your "bro" and I ain't gonna be hustled. Leave me alone. Believe it or not, I'm content shooting by myself. If I wanted to play, I'm grown enough to initiate the game. If I don't ask right off the bat, I probably don't want to play. I continue take a little shoot-around. He goes back to shooting on his goal just about thirty feet away.

Minutes later, two cars pull up and out jump these two dudes who want to play some ball. Of course, Stan is willing and ready. He jumps to it and they begin playing a game of 21. Now, I don't know what era of basketball I grew up in, but 1) you didn't wear denim to the court, 2) you laced up your shoes and 3) you didn't foul with your forearm. These dudes were playing prison yard ball. Slim Shady got popped in the freaking head and he just bounced up and clumsily threw up a prayer. I would've called a cat if he hit me that hard. I think the dude was just scared that if he called anything, he'd get his ass whooped. Then I saw him dealing it back.

Call me a purist, but I defend without using anything more than my fingertips (and sometimes a my belly) and I work hard on that turnaround jumper so when you see it, respect it. My game ain't great, but at least it's studied. Dude's these days watched too much of that And1 garbage and think every game is a dribbling exhibition. This ain't no video game. Points aren't awarded for passing behind the back. You don't get points for a crossover. The only thing you're awarded with points for is putting the ball in the bucket. Dude's just want to show off. Their game ain't go no substance.

Also, dude's need to know when someone's waiting on the raquetball court. F'real. I'm not sitting there in awe watching you play. I want the court that I had reserved. Hit the showers, old man. I gotta 7:30 date with my lovely wife.

And seriously, if you're bumping bass at 7:30 in the morning with no one else in the car, you're sorely desperate for attention. No bass before 1:00PM. You're just playing yourself and going deaf in the process. I'm going to start a treble trend. I want to see how absent of a low end I can get my car's stereo to go and then I'm going to pull up at an intersection and make everyone in my vicinity go numb from the screeching guitars of early Megadeth. And it'll be completely void of bass and twenty times louder than the acceptable volume. That's tough, bro. They can't touch my steez. Don't forget to grab that Beatles mix (see below). 400 downloads and counting. Thanks for the positive response. I got my eyes on a Blue Note mix next. More on that later.