TOOL, SCREECH AND OTHER OBSERVATIONS...

Well, saw Tool.

That's kinda underselling the experience. We saw Tool from the front row. I wasn't really sure what front row tickets felt like and thanks to the wonderful people at the label, I got to experience that. Here's the thing, when you get too close to the stage, firstly, earplugs are not necessary, they're essential. And secondly, as it relates to the audio setup which Tool employs, when you're on the front row, you can't hear a lick of the vocals. I told the troops that I didn't really care about the vocals because I didn't know the words anyway, but feeling entitled to every seat in the house (because our tickets entitled us to the best), we moved back a few rows and it fixed the audio problem. It didn't, however, fix the fan problem. Man, I've never seen a more rabid fan base in my life. I mean, it was intense. After the show, when we were existing the arena, this dude behind us (for no explanable reason) just lets out this curdling grunt and holler. I suppose he was so pumped that he just saw Tool that the experience was worthy of a animalistic yell. I've never been that excited after a show.

Angry Tim was schooling me on the fans at a Tool show. He said they could generally be split into three different types. First, you have your metal head. See below right.


It's older metal heads and younger metal heads. You got Iron Maiden fans and you have Norwegian death metal fans alike, joining hands and rocking their brains out. Normally, they're not as happy as the guy we see above. The older ones usually wear tight-fitting jeans and have some sort of conditioned curl in their hair. The younger ones drag their knuckles and, like the fella behind us, scream uncontrollably. I feel safest, however, around this group. That says alot about our next two.

Then, you have (as Angry Tim describes it), the "kid who just crawled out of their parent's basement."

The one you see here is also an Insane Clown Posse fan. They like to play dress-up and act unruly. You can find them vandalizing dumpsters, terrorizing their little brothers and kicking holes in vending machines. A few key visible characteristics about these fellas. You'll spot them by their pants that have cuffs with the dimensions of a waste size (and lots of zippers!) and the colorful, clown hats. They like to look menacing, but no one's really afraid of them. This fan, however, is deathly afraid of reality and responsibility. That's why they still live in the basement. And I'd be more afraid of them if they wore that garb with the face paint to, let's say, the bank or a toy store, but they ain't having it. This is how they go to concerts and that's the only time they feel comfortable wearing it. Oh yeah, these dudes buy mad product too. They can be suckered into the purchase of anything. They're the driving force behind Tool's astronomical first week of 550,000 units moved.

Then, you have the frat boy.

He follows the trends. Tool is an outlet for his aggression. Also in his arsenal of music is Snoop Doggy Dogg, Pantera and the Forrest Gump soundtrack. If you made him choose between Tool and women, he'd choose women everytime. He really just fills the seats out at a show like the one in Oklahoma City. These fellas are the reason that Tool tours because they can sell them a ticket and eight $6.00 beers. And they'll get a cut of that concession. Oh yeah, the beer's not real in OKC, but don't tell anyone because there'd be a massive uprising.

So there you go. And speaking of tools. What's up with Screech? Saw a clip of him on his new show, Celebrity Fit Club. The dude went straight butthole. I mean, the dude was completely out of line--mouthing off at Harvey the Drill Sargeant, insulting the cast (including Cledus T. Judd, Warren G, the gay fella from the "Tonight Show," Marsha Brady, Da Brat and others), and dude gained five pounds between weigh-ins. Whatta winner this dude is. I told my wife that he probably lacked a good family foundation during his time on the show and was not equipped to recognize the difference between Screech and his life outside of the show so he grew up to be a very mean Screech that lashes out at people because no one will date him. And Lisa Turtle now doesn't feel sorry for him, she hates him. It's too bad. He'd be the life of the party if he wasn't such a cold-hearted moron. And his standup sucks.

Roundhouse's first season of the summer is dragging to an end. We got whooped twice by the same team which would prove their supremacy in our league, but we probably scrapped together enough wins to make it into the tourney. We're 6-3 in the league with one game left. I'd like our chances better if we were 7-2, but we went flat for three straight games proving you can't sleep in this league. It's a good league though and the competition is more equal to our skill level. The umps still suck, though, and their bad calls can decide a game--something I've witnessed on both the winning side and the losing side about six times this year.

Yanks and Sox are battling it out these next two days in the World's Largest Toilet Bowl. Yanks won last night, 6-2. Still, we're maintaining a 9.5 game lead on 'em. I could care less about having the best record in baseball, just so long as we're ahead of the Yanks. I'll take my chances with the rest of the AL East this year, from what I've seen so far. I'll probably be eating those words come September.

I wonder now, if Johnny Damon ever regrets his decision to leave the Sox. Eh, probably not. I bet the money is medication enough. Good for him.

Tucker's taken to humping Jackson wildly. I've been asked to shame his sexuality and let the dude know, "This will not be tolerated." My lovely wife brokedown last night and said, "It's not about his sexuality, it's about being the alpha dog." From my observation, I don't think Jax cares that much. In fact, it looked like he didn't mind it at all. I suppose we need to worry as much about Jax. We'll get it fixed before our first dinner party, though. We need to be able to ensure our guests that this is a hump-free zone. And it will be.

The "Bachelor" is finally over. I'll never listen to anyone insult my choice of television viewing again after watching segments of this sad network bowel movement. It was horrible. Every show seemed to last two hours it was only a ploy to sell more advertising. At least, with C.O.P.S. you can say that the material speaks for itself and they're not trying to juice advertisers to buy more spots. Quality sells itself and in thirty minutes, you'll find more entertainment then in an entire season of the "Bachelor." I don't know if I'm happier that it's over or that it's over. Probably that it's over.

Speaking of over, I'm out. Time to go to work and make that bacon.

IT'S ALL IN THE PACKAGING...HIP HOP COVER ART APPRECIATION VOL. 4: INSTILLING FEAR

In the earliest days of the rap game, racial tension escalated from coast-to-coast as rap rose to popularity and, ultimately, into the psyche of the entire nation. The discussion of lyrical content in "gangsta rap" (one of the most hideous descriptions for a sub-genre ever) and the unusual presence of violent, misogynistic and racially-explosive material sent the nation's news cannons into a whirlwind. It was either because of this or this was so because groups like N.W.A. and Public Enemy perfectly brought together the audio and visual components and the recorded package, as it sat on the shelf to be viewed by the buying public, portrayed a defined element of danger and the type of curiosity that leads to leads a young cub away from his mother. Designed to instill both fear and curiosity, these three iconic images will forever represent the volatile social and political confusion and resulting explosiveness of the albums they represent.

I present, firstly, N.W.A.'s Straight Outta Compton.

To interpret it quite literally, it's exactly what you'll see if you make a wrong turn onto Crenshaw Blvd on hot Saturday afternoon in August. You got the whole crew (even jehri curl-having Ice Cube--I see you, homie) and Eazy-E with a handcannon pointed directly at your forehead. The suffocation of twelve eyes staring down at you before you face your untimely demise is the stuff that nightmares are made of. And for those who had never been to Compton, you swore when you saw this album cover, you never wanted to go there. In fact, for some, you might stay the hell out of California for this album cover alone.
I remember when I first purchased this on cassette. It'd be the first time I'd actually see Public Enemy in my young life. The image partnered with the words It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back left a scarring in my mind that would thankfully never heal. Chuck D and Flav "col' sweatin as they dwell in their cell," I was drawn to their music. The defiance in Chuck's posture; with his chin up, mean-mugging. I wanted the Raiders ballcap. I wanted a grey hoodie. I wanted Flav's clock. To this day, the cover art from this record still brings a smirk like the photograph of an old friend from summer camp.
Ah, yes, Yo! Bum Rush the Show. This is the "takeover," if you will. Public Enemy ambushing the radio station, Flav with his hand on the turntable, Prof. Griff, the S1W's and Terminator staring down the DJ and Chuck in all white in what could be interpreted as almost an angelic presence in the very center. It's almost a pronouncement, it's Public Enemy arriving with force and vengeance. As Yo! would be their first album, the cover art is fitting to what Public Enemy would adhere to the rest of their career--taking over the airwaves and feeding the zombies in radioland information, the truth that pop formats mask and a forecast of the danger that's to come. Photo from legend Glen. E. Friedman. Beautiful stuff.

Off to OKC for Tool with Angry Tim and Mayhem. Thanks to Q at Traffic for the MC Shan, Biz Markie, Lord Finesse and Mobb Deep promos. We be rockin it all the way across Oklahoma.

ANOTHER 4:00 MORNING...HERE'S YOUR UPDATE.

Yeah, it's like I got that motherly instinct. He cries and my breasts leak. Geez, I'm tired. That's a helluva way to start off a post. Nah, Tucker's beginning to develop sleeping patterns, however, sometimes in the middle of the night, he'll belt out a bark that'll wake up a sleeping deaf man three area codes away.That barks beginning to get lower and less endearing, but that's his inevitable journey toward doghood. He seems to really like the Geto Boys and Outkast's Idlewild. I guess that makes five people and a dog that enjoyed Idlewild. He also is becoming a big fan of Matsuzaka--especially after last night's performance. Before the game, in case you missed it, Jimmy Leyland (whom I still respect just because he's a killer manager) was quoted after being asked about Dice K, "I don't give a (expletive) about him. I'm not getting into all that. I could give a (expletive) less. It's another pitcher. We're playing Boston. Obviously, he's an outstanding pitcher. He's a major league pitcher. And that's who we're facing."
Dice K would pitch a complete game, only surrendering only one run, no walks and got 16 groundouts. The win would give the Sox their biggest division lead in 12 seasons. Stuff that in your cigar and smoke it, Jimmy.

Thanks to the wonderful Monster and Bill Sharp at Fat Beats, everyone got a glimpse of the new Common record--a track produced by Kanye with cuts from Premier. You ain't even ready. People still front on Kanye pretty hard, but dude can produce records. Speaking of, mental note to ask when the new Kanye is coming out. He hasn't had a record in two years. Dude's slacking.

I'd like to address a comment I made about Wal-Mart and how I would proudly shoplift from Wal-Mart. By no means do I condone stealing from businesses, however, I do condone stealing from Wal-Mart. I meant every bit of it.

People in this town have no idea how to construct fences. Yeah, I'm talking about the things that normally surround your house and/or yard. It's embarrassing. The evolution of the fence in the Yellow can be viewed just by driving some of the older neighborhoods throughout the city. The most common (and annoying) mistake that people in this town make when constructing fences is they put the rails on the wrong side. It has the esthetic of putting your shoes on backwards. Basically, from the street, you should not see anything but pickets. If you see rails, it was constructed in correctly. Your neighbor can see rails, but the street and the alley should see all pickets. The thought here is this: it's a security issue. With rails on the outside, one could easily put their feet on the bottom rail, lift themselves over the pickets and have a clear, effortless view of your yard and property. If they wanted to the climb into your yard, it would take them only a matter of seconds to lift themselves over, cut a lock to get out and you could come home to find your crap gone. Alot of people think that the rails are unsightly and so they put them on the outside so that when they look out into the their backyard, all they see is pickets. There's a functionality and purpose to the design of a fence. Recognize.

And someone made a freaking killing off of chainlink fences in this town. I think that the townspeople just gave up on making their own fences because they sucked so bad at it and one guy came to town with tons of chainlink and just went buckwild. If there's anything that's more pointless from a security perspective than putting the rails on the outside of a wood fence, it's a three and a half foot chainlink fence. A guy my size could probably hurdle it and your poodle would be gone in seconds. Just a little fence talk for you. I know you needed it.

Thunderstorms pulling into the area right now. Gotta love your morning coffee accented with a thunderstorm. The weather has been freaking crazy here in the Yellow. We're doubling up our normal rain totals. My backyard is like an afro. I really green afro that's nice to walk on.

Got mad travels coming up. This weekend, I'm heading to OKC for Tool with Angry Tim, his wife and Mayhem. Not a fan, but I've heard the live performance nails it shut. Memorial Day weekend I'm catching Sox in Arlington. My wife asked if we should tone down our Sox garb for the game and I responded that, "Sox fans will outnumber Ranger fans 10-1." And it's true. It's so true that I consider a series in Arlington as a series at home. Kansas City, Anaheim, Tampa Bay and Toronto are also equally friendly to the Sox. You know, real baseball cities. After that would be my lovely wife and I celebrating our 5th anniversary. It's also Sox vs. Spanks in Boston and, word on the street is that Jockitch Clemens will be ready to throw. Of course, you might remember that this was the series that I was originally trying to secure tickets for in Boston, but was unsuccessful. Oh well, it'll be televised. Sure my lovely wife will appreciate the networks for doing so. Then, the next weekend, we'll be heading to the smoggy skies of Los Angeles and Pasadena to see bro bro graduate.

For me, that'll be 6-straight weekends of some sort of travel. And now I find out that Wolfmother will be hitting Austin in July. Geez, it just doesn't stop. Now, if I could just find a way to get gas down about 50%. Have we given up on the idea that gas will ever be $1.25 again? Is that impossible?

Below is Curtis Wyrick. He's been a bad man.

I'm still researching what this cat did, but he was arrested for violating his parole. At the time he was captured, he was considered armed and very dangerous. I guess we can rule out shoplifting at Wal-Mart. I imagine it's hard to be named Curtis and not be some sort of danger to society.

Poor guy. It was stacked against him, really.

Shower time, one last mug of coffee and then to work I go. Holla atch boy. It's Tuesday. Go buy some music today. Linkin Park comes out today or, my suggestion, order those Betty Davis reissues from Light in the Attic. The material is insane. Josh, what up, that's your monthly shout. No seriously, the Betty Davis stuff is so so funky. You ain't even ready.

UPDATE FROM HOUNDHOUSE

Our boy's growin' up. Y'better believe it. This was taken this morning as Tux took a leisure walk through the back yard. Yep, it's the best looking yard on the block. The grass is not always greener, folks.

The beagle is an interesting dog. I can tell you this, when you see the whites of their tails, trouble either just happened or is about to. This was a fraction of a second after I busted Jax with his jaws clamped around Tux's throat. Jax was raised in a prison yard. Kill or be killed. That's his motto.Even the raddest dogs in the world have their Hallmark moment. Megaultrasuperupdate forthcoming. Sox are killin the Horrioles, 13-4. What's new in the zoo?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BROHAM.

Today would mark #32 for my brother Todd so everyone please give the man a standing ovation, a hearty applause and a rousing "Happy Birthday." Todd shares his birthday with many key figures in history. To name a very few, Katherine Hepburn, Yankee jerk (but said-to-be "legend") Yogi Berra, Burt Bacharach (the man), Tom Snyder, George Carlin, Emilio Estevez, Stephen Baldwin and, the best of all, Steve Winwood--a true musician. Besides the birth of my brother, I couldn't find anything really interesting that happened today so today is all yours, homie.

Enjoy it. Go Cubbies. Let's give the man a victory today!

THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW-MART

Stop me if you've heard this one. Apparently, in Alabama (where everything is right in the world), a local judge ordered some ugly woman (you'll see) who was busted shoplifting a $7 item at WalMart to wear a sandwich sign reading "I am a thief. I stole from WalMart." She did it to avoid a 60-day jail sentence. The store manager reported that the response from shoppers entering the store had been positive. Yeah, but...it is Alabama after all.

Told you she was ugly.

I guess they're kinda going back on that "No-prosecution-for-theft-under-$25" thingy. It's too bad because I was about to just run in there and pick up a head of lettuce and some contact solution and just walk out without paying. I wouldn't mind wearing a sign anyway. I'd stand out there for three days, but I'd have to change the sign to read, "Damn right I stole from WalMart."

Now, I don't really have to go into my feelings about WalMart because I believe they've been pretty well pronounced in the past, but I think it's only fair that WalMart fess up to their theft. The cultural, emotional and financial thievery that happens with every scanned UPC at WalMart. I think every employee that works for WalMart should wear a sign that reads, "I work for crooks," or, "My boss is an evil, evil person and I still show up for work everyday."

In other protest news, I hear there's a gas protest coming up where, for one day, they're asking for everyone to not purchase an ounce of gas in protest of climbing gas prices. I think that everyone should just stop using vehicles until people wake up. No one would show up for work and companies would lose monumental profits. Ambulances wouldn't be running. Cops would just skip calls because they'd have no transport. See if that wakes up those oil companies.

Dude, you all need to go download the 4/29 Fat Beats podcast. Monster learned them listeners with an insane block of De La Soul and Tribe. It was incredible. I think he even went back for the "Strictly Dan Stuckie Mix" of "Me, Myself and I." School's in session. Download, sit back, headphones on and soak it up.

TYPICAL SPANKEE-LAND HILARITY

Well, when you're going through pitchers like my neighbor goes through wives, the Yankees had to do something. That something was a desperate $28 million dollar investment. And, the greatest part about that $28 million is that it will only get them to the end of the season, but not a day of baseball in 2008. Now, let's put that into perspective on what Roger Clemens will be getting paid to play baseball from June on. Roger "I do it for the love" Clemens will get paid more than the entire Devils Ray squad (pitchers and hitters included). A team that, by the way, was leading the Yankees in the standings before today. Look at him. So young. So promising.

Now the dude's 44 years old and, when he was in Houston, dude wouldn't even go out on the road with the team so he could enjoy the life of an aging major leaguer. He'd sit on his fat ass in Houston and go to Aerosmith concerts while his loser Astros team was getting swept in the World Series. Did anyone miss that? It happened so quickly.

44 years old. Man, this dude's been in the league a while. Sure, the Sox have two 41 year olds, but the difference is, first, they're pitching well and have been actively pitching consistantly and, secondly, we got young guns behind them that are mowing some of the best hitters in the league. What's with Joe's Fu Manchu look? That's horrible.

Yeah, no question that Roger doesn't own a pair of balls. Perhaps he can borrow Steven's. Eh, I'm looking forward to it for a few reasons. Dolan and I were talking in Chicago that we needed a new story in the rivalry and this could definitely be that. Secondly, it's nice as a Sox fan to have a $28 million vacuum in your opponent's clubhouse. Guess there's no exit plan if Roger doesn't really pan out. You're just screwed. Lastly, man it's gonna be nice to see his first visit back to Fenway Park. We all know how the last time he was in that neighborhood went. They say he might actually come back June 1st (our anniversary) in Fenway. I'm wondering if a 44-year old pansy who hasn't pitched in the majors in months would consider hanging a few fast balls for a Manny or Papi. Wonder if he'd even consider, for old times' sake, going inside on, say, Wily Mo Pena. Any way you cut it, it can't be great for the Yankees. They continue to add to their collection of aging pitchers without investing one penny in the future. I mean, it's like a freaking archaeological exhibit in their bullpen these days. I wonder if anyone told Roger (who has been working on his tan while trout fishing during the season so far) if Mariano is about the most hittable reliever in the game right now and he can't close a game for a win if his career depended on it. Their bullpen still has more holes than one can even count and it's fairly obvious that Georgie Poo and Ca$hman have no plans of really doing anything to situate those woes. Oh well, we march on.

We still know what happened last time the Spanks put money into an aging fastballer. Let the games begin!

CHI-TOWN, CONRAD HILTON AND DON CORNELIUS...

Wow, just got back yesterday from a 4 wonderful days in Chicago for NARM (the annual handshake convention sponsored by the music industry) where, among other acts, you can find this guy performing in the penthouse. Just kidding, this man was not there, but the great Don Cornelius of "Soul Train" fame was there receiving an award for his achievements in music and culture. It was awesome. Only real problem is when he spoke, I'm not sure I had any clue what he was talking about. It was like a mixture of Jesse Jackson and Mr. Ed. Nonetheless, that's in the presence of royalty, b'lee dat.
I'm quite sure if you mic anyone over the age of 60 in large ballroom, they're gonna sound like Mr. Ed. Sometimes like a drunk Mr. Ed or a happy, exuberant Mr. Ed. But it's gonna sound like Mr. Ed and you can trust that.

I'd like to take a moment to proclaim the discovery I made in Chicago. I know for Chicagoans, it'll be no discovery, but for a cat from Tejas where our greatest export to the rest of the nation is Lone Star and Shiner, I found it monumental and worth noting. There's a local beer up there called Goose Island that is absolutely terrific. It was so good that I had to watch myself because I was drinking them like chocolate milk until my belly hurt. In fact, my better judgement caught me before requesting from the hotel staff to fill my bathtub with with the Urban Wheat malt. It's a fantastically amazing beer and I look forward to the day that I can have another. My personal favorite was an ale called "Honker's Ale." As described on their website (http://gooseisland.com): "Inspired by visits to English country pubs, Honker’s Ale combines a spicy hop aroma with a rich malt middle to create a perfectly balanced ale that is immensely drinkable. A smooth, drinkable English Bitter for those looking for more from their beer." Amazing beer. I'd cheer and clap loudly whenever a waiter would announce it as an available beer at a restaurant. Once I find away to have it shipped to my house, I'll let everyone know and then you too can enjoy the wonder of Goose Island.

Also there was Amaechi from Defintive Jux in a panel discussion about the future of music retail. He caught some boos and hisses when he was quite outward with his support of iTunes and non-traditional (digital) means of delivering product and promotions for that product. It started when he said, "No one's coming into music stores any more so we have to go to them." It was a comment that I agreed with, but was obviously in the minority. More on that later.

The band Chicago was there. Went to an excellent party to meet them. They were the nicest fellas in the world. I got a Chicago box set signed which I'll present to my father today for a little pre-Mother's Day gift. That makes absolutely no sense.

R. Kelly was there with Mya. Went to his suite party where I missed his performance of Donny Hathaway on the grand piano they had up there, but caught all of his lip-synced performance. I mean, only R. Kelly will attempt to dupe a room full of industry heads by lip-syncing every song off his new record. Played. I just kept an eye out in the room for the underaged girls to know when was a good time to make an exit. I made an early exit anyway because it was a little corny. Looks like I left before he launched into his new juggernaut "Planet Sex." Good thing.

Listening to Jungle Brothers right now. Wow, that just hits the spot.

The band Chicago was there. Met all of those guys and had them sign a box set for my father. You know, you really can't find a nicer group of guys. They worked the rooms like champs, shaking hands, telling stories, taking pictures, signing every item. Very awesome.

Took in very little of the actual city, but that's how these events typically are. You sit in either really stuffy or really chilly suites and conference rooms and talk the biz. As someone who has never been to Chicago, I really wanted to just get out on the town and check it out. They have some incredible galleries and exhibits there. Some great sports. Rich culture. Oh well, I ate frog legs. Yes, they tasted like chicken. Never made it by the pizzaria that my brother was pushing. I did, however, make it to Buddy Guy's place for a few sponsored events. It was a cool lil' dive just across the street from the hotel. Among some of the memorabilia on the wall, they had a picture called "The Last Jam" which was a grainy picture of Buddy Guy, Jimmie Vaughan, Stevie Ray Vaughan and Eric Clapton playing on stage in Wisconsin place just five hours before Stevie Ray Vaughan would die in a helicopter accident. Haunting.

Heard 50 Cent was there, but missed him. Apparently he was pitching his new record. Also heard that Smashing Pumpkins were there, but missed them too. Don't know what they were selling.

A group called Los Straitjackets were there and according to a fairly trustful source (except for the fact that he's a life Yankee fan), they put on the best show he's ever seen at a NARM. I came in on the tail end of the performance to see a small suite with shoulder-to-shoulder bodies headbanging and gyrating in a pool of sweat and beer like a freaking frat party. I thought I heard "Louie Louie" in Spanish. It was awesome. It climaxed to a finish with the lead singer dancing through the drunken crowd pumping his fist and launching the place up into a fury. Quite regretful I missed the whole performance. Upon making my way to the bar, I realized what had set the whole place up into frenzy and it was Old Style Beer that was being served. Must make a note to catch Los Straitjackets next time I have the opportunity. There's just too much condensed into a short period of time to possibly make all of it. But it wouldn't stop me and trooper roommate from trying.

One bright moment from the awards ceremony was the discovery of Rodrigo y Gabriela--two insane guitarists who put on a set for the ages. I'm including a video so you can see what they do as performed on David Letterman.

They performed Metallica's "Sanitarium" for the hushed crowd which brought everyone to a mid-song standing ovation. It's not often you can stir such excitement from an industry crowd. Normally, they're waiting for you stop playing instead of waiting anxiously for the next song. Met Gabriela on the way to the restroom and I shook her hand. My poor little hand almost folded under her strength. And her palm was just like one rock-hard callus.

The end of the evening (as it normally goes) was spent at the UMGD party which was on the top floor with access to the helipad which provided a panoramic view of downtown Chicago and a spectacular view of Sears Tower. It was the Conrad Hilton Suite. It was built after Conrad suffered from an ego trip when the Queen Elizabeth, in her first trip to the states, asked for a top floor to be built onto the hotel to accomodate her. Years following, Conrad felt slighted and insisted he should have the top floor so they built the penthouse on the ground and had it airlifted. Also airlifted was the 12-foot portrait of Conrad that hung from the wall. And that's how I would end my trip: dancing to the Gap Band's "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" under Conrad Hilton. Life ain't so bad. Last night I had my first good sleep since returning. And I swear that Tucker has grown three inches since I left. I came back and it's like he's on some sort of hormone or steroid. Pics to be provided later. Gotta mow the yard and get things going.

Sox in first place by 5.5 games. Bro Bro's Cubbies are riding a 4-game win streak and climbing the Central Division.

j3's TOP 333 HIP HOP SONGS OF ALL TIME

#313
SLOW SUICIDE STIMULUS
"ROLL UP" FEAT. GRANDMASTER CAZ

2006

On what was, unfortunately a forgotten record, S.S.S. (the supergroup comprised of Tame One, Yak Ballz and crew The Dusted Dons) brought Grandmaster Caz out of nowhere in for this banger which features, among other things, quite possibly the sickest piano loop this side of Enter the 36 Chambers. Put this on at a party and count the bobbing heads.

#312

RAH DIGGA

"IMPERIAL" FEAT. BUSTA RHYMES

2000

Like Busta's baby sister, Rah kills it on "Imperial," her debut single (and, in some ways, her final single). Under the close guidance of a fiery and ferocious Busta, Rah sounds golden on the hook and that signature bass-heavy, broken-beat Flipmode sound permiates throughout. Rah's never sounded sexier and Busta's hasn't sounded hungrier since.

#311

PERCEE P

"THE EXCLUSIVE"

2003

If we can't get a proper Percee release, this will have to do. Poor dude has been shopping records for years and 2007 might finally see a Percee record. I've been listening to this song for the last four years and it only features 45 seconds of Percee and comes in under a total of a minute twenty, but it's the hardest ish you've ever heard. Rapid fire lyrics, folks. Percee's like the second come of Rakim and dude keeps it raw. Straight fire. I believe the beat was a Dilla production. Song featured on the Madlib/Dilla collab entitled "Champion Sound" under Jaylib.

#310

MICRANOTS

"VIRTUALISTIC"

2000

This frantic and ultra funky Kool Akeem production is, perhaps, his finest and I Self Divine comes hard off the cuff with a verse of pure vocal velocity. The eleventh track on their debut Obelisk Movements, "Virtualistic" can take you by surprise as the true standout track. Featuring guest spots by Stahhr and Spekt, this is the musical equivalent of an eternal backspin.

#309

MAYLAY SPARKS

"5034"

2003

Maylay comes like a young Nas on the reflective and introspective "5034." Prestine production contributed by the lesser-known DJ Noize, everything is in the right place on "5034" which is as close to hip hop perfection as you can get. There's few people that know of this album (entitled Graymatter), but it's ill as can be. Find it.

#308

NON-PROPHETS

"DISASTERS"

2003

Sage Francis explicitly describes his views of fatherhood and screaming children with the aptly titled "Disasters." The sparse production from Joe Beats paired with your typical part-angry, part-playful Sage hilarity anchors this highlight from their Lexoleum release Hope. Fantastic stuff.

#307

LEADERS OF THE NEW SCHOOL

"SHOW ME A HERO"

1991

The oldest song so far on the list, Leaders of the New School flew the flag for the future of hip hop back in 1991 driven by the charisma of Busta Rhymes. "Show Me a Hero" was a solo showcase of Busta's blazin' delivery. This song was clear evidence that Busta would be the first to jump ship and go dolo. When I first got this on cassette, I took it on a band trip to El Paso. I must have listened to this track probably 50 times on that trip--wearing out the rewind button on my Walkman just staring blankly out of the bus window.

#306

BRIZ

"SICKNESS"

2004

Relatively unknown Jersey emcee Briz is only a couple of 12"'s deep, but "Sickness" is a brilliantly pieced track that exhibits Briz's toughness as a lyricist over a slendid loop of "White Rabbit." I only have this track on a horribly transferred mp3 and would love to own it on 12", but can't find any info anywhere. If anyone knows how I can acquire it, let me know.

#305

OUTKAST

"ROSA PARKS"

1998

It would be the track that would launch Outkast into the popular realm and cement them as the innovators of this hip hop generation. It's the paramount of Outkast tracks that perfectly draws together Dre's southern drawl and Big Boi's crunk-affinities which would be the blueprint for their next two landmark albums in Stankonia and Speakerboxxx/The Love Below.

#304

MC PAUL BARMAN

"BLEEDING BRAIN GROW"

2002

Barman might not win me the popularity award amongst hip hop purists, but this track is "freaking awesome." His mind-warping lyricism and inflection makes him an interesting emcee and "Bleeding Brain Grows" is a great snapshot of his abilities as, not only an emcee, but also as a humorist. Any dude that uses lines like, "It's abundantly clear there's profundity here" after 8 bars of a palindrome created by using emcees' names has something going for him. Production by the great Prince Paul.

WHOOP! WHOOP! IT'S FRIDAY...

Now get down with this Mr. Rogers and this young lil b-boy, Jermaine. Young lil' brotha shows Mr. Rogers the "wave"--perhaps you remember this move. It's also known as the "pop and lock." Some priceless material here. If I finally had my opportunity to make my documentary of hip hop, I would lead off the 10-DVD set with this right here.

Well, the Roundhouse lost their first game last night to ol' rivals, Bud Light (or, who I like to call, Coors Light or Schlitz). Of course, with no help from the field ump who blew five calls easily and maybe more. He looked all but 16 years old and smelled like a bar rag. I don't even think he was awake. The worst call came on a Coors Light bases loaded drive that bounced back into the field of play off of a wooden light pole. It was ruled as a double when it should've been a home run. In a one-homer league, that would've been the end of the inning, but the field ump said, "That pole is part of fence." Apparently not a baseball fan because if dukes knew squat about the game, he'd know that the only thing that is part of the fence is the fence. Roundhouse loses 9-14 putting us at 7-1.

This accelerates the advance for the new jerseys which, hopefully, can be ready by next game. We got a dude that'll do them for cheap. Get your merch at http://www.cafepress.com/therootdown

Stop frontin--you know you want the doggie shirt.

Spanks and Sox in the Bronx today through Sunday. Sox are in first, Spanks are in last. 90% chance of rain today and, don't you know, Torre will be asking the game get called so he can let his arms rest.

Wish I had more time to type, but times is busy, folks. Leaving for Chi-town Sunday morning until Roundhouse-time on Thursday. Needless to say, I'll be out of touch. I'll be working for one last big update before shaking out.

RUSSELL SIMMONS AND THE MAGIC WORDS...

Huge, super-gonzo gasface to our boy Russell Simmons who went from icon to clown in his recent run at the press, he denounces the use of the words that he built his entire empire on. The magic words, "n**ger," "b**ch," and "h*," were brought to the forefront of the nation's psyche again because a stupid white man went on a nationally broadcasted radio show and dropped one into the dialogue. I mean, it's the only time we really care is when someone who shouldn't say it, says it.

So Russell's trying to get the industry, media channels and the general population to avoid the use or the broadcast of these words. Oh, the irony! And, don't try and play the "Beastie Boys" card on me--citing that it's just Russell growing older and becoming more socially responsible.

Does anyone think it's just coincidence that Russell's got a new book? And that, in every appearance, he has that book in hand?

It's not an outcry, it's a book tour. Russell done played himself.

A PROUD MOMENT IN SHAKEFACE HISTORY...WE DONE GOT PUBLISHED, GEE!

Congrats to the legendary Elders on his new gig. What can I say, the kid's good at what he does. So good, now he's gon' get paid for it. He's leaving the office in pursuit of greener grass and steeper cash. However, he's still contractually bound to the Roundhouse organization. As he said, "There are only two ways out off the Roundhouse and both of them involve a pine box" and something else. I can't remember. Anyhow, the above evening also marked a momentous moment of moments as it would be the first officially published shakeface in my history. We were at Rumours here in town with a few friends and a female with a camera approaches our table. She asks if we'd want to to a big group shot to which I exclaim, "Nah, screw a group shot, take a picture of me!" I gave her specific instructions to give me a clear countdown from three and then just watch the magic happen. I took off my glasses, waited for my countdown and then let it loose giving us the following shakeface--it's one I'm quite proud of.

She walks off and about two weeks latere, I'm up at work and I'm approached by a few people that saying, "Man, I saw your picture in the Edge. You looked really trashed!" I'm thinking, "Wait, when was I trashed? And who was taking my picture?" You know the paparazzi are really intense in the Yellow.

Well, I wasn't trashed. It was, instead, this beautiful shakeface that had them fooled. Yeah, it's a beauty. And only made twice as nice with the huge Wu logo. Recognize, fool.

LIMITED ROUNDHOUSE APPAREL & MEMORABILIA AVAILABLE AT THE ROOT DOWN STORE

http://www.cafepress.com/therootdown

The black shirt that everyone's ultimately wanting is soon to come. Players gotta get theirs first. Don't be greedy.

SWEEPING MR. APRIL...AND A LESSON IN TRASH TALKING

In case you missed it, the Red Sox swept the Spankees and Mr. April, Alexis Rodriguez, in Boston this weekend--the first time that's happened in 17 years. Alex, the Kobe of the baseball world, got off to quite a start on Friday night, however, with no pitching and no bats surrounding him, the Sox ultimately got the last laugh. And, with the game in Alex's hands in the top of the 9th on both Friday and last night, he choked as we've seen him so many times before.

Roy (formerly Rory) provided us with a hard lesson in trash talking last night during the early parts of the Spankee game. Roy, who unfortunately fell on hard times as a child and began rooting for the Yankees, texted me in the 3rd inning when the Spanks had gone up 3-0.

ROY_TEXT: "3-0...respect"

Minutes later, I text:

J3_TEXT: "Dont get ahead of yourself homie. 3rd inning"

Another two minutes later, Manny steps up and cranks a solo homer into the Boston night. 1-3, Spankees still lead.

J3_TEXT: "Let the floodgates open"

Next hitter, J.D. Drew also puts a long ball into the stands with an absolute blast to right field. Yankees still lead 2-3.

ROY_TEXT: "sh''''*t 2..." (what seems to be a distressed Roy expressing his concern over the back-to-back longballs)

Next hitter, Mike Lowell also drives a Chase Wright pitch over the Green Monster with a laser shot. After that, Jason Varitek walks up and also punches a pitch over the Green Monster. Not but 5 minutes after Roy, who I haven't heard from in a month or so, first contacts me to gloat over a 3-run lead, the Sox became the 5th team in history to hit back-to-back-to-back-to-back homeruns--shutting down the Yankees and shutting up Roy.

Baseball is a long and sludgingly slow game and, at Fenway, no lead is safe (something that I'm surprised that Roy failed to realize before texting in the third inning). Talk trash when the game is over. Some wait until the end of the series, others even wait until the end of the season.

I'll just say this: Spanks got swept. Sox are up on the season series 3-0. Big series next weekend in the 50,000-seat urinal called Yankee Stadium. Oh the fun we'll have!

THE ROUNDHOUSE STREAK CONTINUES...CHUCK JERSEY UP FOR RETIREMENT?

Well, another Thursday night of awesome and inspiring Roundhouse softball. The office boys took it to Guerrero Drywall and the SlowRollers tonight in a fantastic double-header which featured to comebacks for the win and one monumental comeback.

Down 10-18 to the Guerrero Drywalls, yours truly stepped up with one out and two men on and cranked a line drive homerun (in softball, they call 'em "ropes," Suzie Creamcheese). It sliced its way into the Earth and eventually disappeared some 700 feet from the plate. They'll be looking for well into the next century. They'll recognize it by the tattoo I left on it that reads, "Hit by a total badass."

Okay, enough of that. Hey, I hit a longball once every 57 games. I gotta speak my clout, nah mean? Then, still down 13-18, we pieced together another five runs and went into the top of an extra inning tied at 18. We ended up winning easily the next inning, but again, only by one run. For those counting at home, four of our five wins to this point were by one run. The other game was a forfeit. Roundhouse now 5-0.

Second game, after a chugged beer and a handful of seeds, we went up against the SlowRollers. We went down early, but still managed to come from down 3-9 to win 14-10--our first win of the season that didn't manage some sort of heroics. Mayhem went deep in the second game and met a dude running the scoring tabled, no kidding, Jeff Mahan. I think the dude thought it was something more than it was because he just kinda stood there and looked at Mayhem like he couldn't believe it. It was kinda creepy for a few minutes because he wanted to go on about his family even though, we're all well confident that they're not related and our boy Mayhem doesn't really care about his family because just 'cause the last names are the same doesn't mean they both like cabbage and named their dogs "Steve" and "Kevin." Look, it's just a name and as freaky as it is, it doesn't entitle someone to asking a barrage of questions. I'll hang out with a Wyrick anyday because, there's a really good chance we're related.

Anyway, so ends another victorious night of badassness. It's hurts being this awesome. I mean, I'm really sore.

Whatever.

During the game, though, there were murmurs of replacing Chuck once and for all. He was there in the early manifestations of this squad we now have. He gave us guidance, taught us to pee standing up. But now, I think it's time we move past Chuck into a more menacing, more daunting logo. We need a logo that makes grown men whimper and rattles the psyche of their next twenty generations. And now, without further delay, I present to you, my proposed new logo for the second season Roundhouse.

Alright, let me know what you think. I'll even make versions available on my merch site for those wanting to have your own piece of awesome. Holla atcha boy, it's Friday.

Spanks and Sox...let's do it.

THE INCREDIBLE TUCKER STORY...

Pennywise knows what's up.

Okay, we're about to move past all the puppy talk, but you gotta hear this story.

Initially, I was told not to put this story, but it's newsworthy. I mean, the people have to know. I gotta apologize to my lovely wife. I've been forced beyond my will to put this story out. So here we go.

After dinner, my lovely wife and I decided to go out for an evening walk just after sundown. It was an idealic evening. Cool, damp, just right. I had Jax on the leash out front while my lovely wife walked behind us with Tux in her arms. Tux began crying wildly to which I asked my lovely wife to put him on the ground on the other side of the street we were crossing, lush green lawn so he can feel like he's rollin' with the big dogs. This dog is only 7 weeks old, he's not going anywhere fast.

I keep walking ahead of my lovely wife and Tux and I hear my lovely wife exclaim, "Oh, shit!" At which point I hear Tux's barking with a distinct echo. I turn around to see my wife on her knees in the gutter screaming, "He fell in there! He's down there!"

Tux had fallen into the storm drain.

He was now where only Pennywise had dared to venture.

In what could only be explained as pure adrenaline, I dash to the drain, fall on my belly and begin to quickly assess the situation. When I look down into the dark drain, I see the white of Tux's head shifting back and forth and whining. Tux was sitting on a ledge and possible only inches from plummetting to a darker deeper realm of the storm drain. I'm trying to keep his interest by calling him by name, but he's still too green to recognize his own name so I have my arm reached out as far as I can--trying to rub his head and keep his attention. "Don't move, buddy!"

Even with my long arm outstretched, I could only tap the tip of his nose with my middle finger. I knew if I could only get my arm four more inches into the hole, I could grab his collar (which we just purchased) and then I could hook him and pull him to safety. However, he was still too far away. I keep wiggling my body to see if could manage to extend my fat body any deeper into the hole.

I started just popping his head with my middle finger to get him closer. All of the sudden, I feel his collar. I hook it with my finger, give him a tug and out from the depths of hell, I pull little Tux. Not buy only two minutes later from when it all began, we were on our way. I laughed for an hour afterwards out of shock, but later I walked through the "what if's" in my head. Things could've been really bad. What if there wasn't that ledge? What if my long arms weren't there? What if Pennywife got him?

Tux slept harder than he ever had before that night.

Jax's still wondering when we're taking him back.

AH, MONDAYS...

Yeah, like a swift kick to the bearings, it's back to work. But whatta nice weekend. You couldn't beat the weather yesterday--sunny, breezy. I'm digging a post hole in the backyard to the sounds of Masta Ace. C'mon, I dare you to top it.

We gotta name for the lil' one. His name is Tucker. I call him "Tux" for short.Jax is taking to him rather nicely although still visibly on the fence. He'll come around.

Got egged this weekend in what was apparently a random act of food. They hit every car on the block. 10% of me says, "Ah, just kids having fun," while 90% says "Find them and hurt them." Luckily for me, the morons kept all the egg on the windshield, but it was still difficult to remove. I never egged anything as a kid. I mean, I did the egg toss, but I never maliciously threw an egg at something or someone. I think this next weekend I might try it. First, I'll research laws that might hang up my egging experience. Must not tell the lovely wife either.

Red Sox are tied for first as of this Monday morning. Spanks lost in the ninth inning against the Athletics on a three-run homer off of Mariano. That's always fun to watch. Maybe it's a little payback for being the only cat in the league that didn't get the "Jackie Robinson" memo which states that #42 has been retired league-wide. Even better that this walk-off home run happened on Jackie Robinson Day. I mean, really, the league retired Jackie's number, but Mariano is the only dude priveleged to wear the number? Class act, those Yankees.

Alright, iron shirt, brush teeth, walk to work. Happy Monday, folks.

JACKSON'S NEW BROTHER...

Try as he might have to prevent another dog in the house, we brought one home today. In fact, as I type this, he's dreaming in my vast lap. He's a cutie. The jury's still out on Jax's opinion, but nonetheless, in Jax's age and maturity, we both believe it'll be better for him in the long run, plus, we really wanted another dog around the pad. Woke up this morning like every good bluesman and opened up the paper. I found an ad for six week old beagle puppies. Next thing we know, we're on our way to Canadian. I kept trying to call it Canadia which I knew wasn't right and the whole way up I kept wondering if a person from Canada is a Canadian, the a person from Canadian would probably be a Canadiandian. About 100 miles later, we were in Canadian, Texas visiting a pleasant family and their household full of beagle puppies. Actually, they had only three left--two males and a female. After long debate, we brought home this sack of sugar.
The entire way back, my lovely wife and I tackled with the difficult task of naming the critter. Well, several hours later, we've yet to arrive at a name. I made my normal name suggestions which included a stout arsenal of famous Red Sox, jazzmen and even rappers. My lovely wife always comes up with really handsome names. Good strong names. Like the kinda name that would name either a really ferocious gorilla or a president. There's always the usual slew of novelists, scientists and world leaders. She's edumacated, nah'mean?
So, we need your help. I'm going to give you my top four and my lovely wife's top four. They'll be listed randomly so as to avoid preferential selection. Please select only one and let's get this dog named before he starts responding to "hey" and "dumbass."

Please select from the following:

WINSTON (WINCY)

WILSON

MILES

COOPER (COOPS)

MARLON (MARLEY)

LOUIS (LOU)

HUNTER
TROT

IMUS? YES, I MUST...

(pops in Donny Hathaway's Extension of a Man)

Man, this is an incredible record, I must say. Clint, if you're feeling Hot Buttered Soul, seek this right here. Alright, let's talk about some racist cats. Don Imus is a bigot. There's no way else to cut it. That doesn't mean everyone that listens to him is a bigot. I mean, I watch O'Reilly, but I'm not an asshole like he is. Wait, let's start over...

There's a few sides to this story that I want to hit on. I've been just aching to get it out so here I go. There are three gas faces to hand out here. All for very different reasons, but well-deserved nonetheless.

First, let's talk about...
MR. IMUS
Besides the gas face for being an bigoted idiot for his comments to begin with, his attempt to combat his critics by saying that rappers routinely "defame and demean black women" by calling them "worse names than I ever did," is as silly a defense as a fool like Imus could've put together. Let's get something straight, poor Mr. Imus, like most people who use this defense is what I like to call a victim of context. "Nappy" is not a bad word. Neither is "headed." "Ho's" certainly can be used in a derrogatory manner and I would agree that using it in reference to a woman is quite disrespectful, but it's not a rarity. And, let's just get something out in the open, it's ain't just rappers that say the word, "ho." You put the words "nappy headed hos" together and it gets pretty tricky. I'm not sure what the white man has a hard time grasping about the concept of "things different races can say, but the white man can't." It's weird. Why are stupid white men are always getting hung up on the "Well, why can they say it and not I?" It should be a square on the $25,000 Pyramid: "Things Different Races Can Say, But the White Man Can't." Just so everyone can know those words or phrases.

Here's the easiest way of putting it. In an office, those words directed to a black female would be considered highly inappropriate and grounds for termination. Now, if that'd be grounds for termination, then broadcasting it to the entire nation probably would be as well. And, Mr. Imus, the difference between you and a rapper is that, like it or not, people pay to hear the rapper say it. It's not an issue of right or wrong, it's context. If your name was Richard Pryor and, maybe, you were actually Richard Pryor and you had a packed house of people who had paid to see your act knowing the material or sensitive nature of some of the content, it might not have gotten you fired. When you're a white man with a microphone and a history of controversy, you might want to show a little more restraint when speaking of the opposite race. And, despite what most people are spinning around the country, you can't say the "n-word" or "ho" on broadcast radio. Consider it like pay-per-view. If you want to hear the real explicit stuff, you're gonna have to pay for it. Of course, no one is actually paying for their music these days, but let's say they are.

It's like the violence and language on HBO, you can get your cable standard (which allows some language, yes) or you can pay for the real stuff. You don't hear anyone complaining about HBO or Showtime, right? It's because with the exchange of cash or money suggests that there's then a consensual agreement. Now, the people that went to see Michael Richards on that ill-fated night paid, but the difference is that the dude col' went off on some serious, serious racism. I think everyone can agree that they wouldn't have seen that coming. You know what you're getting with a rap record. You know what you're gonna get watching HBO at 11:00pm on a Saturday night. You know what happens in strip clubs. You know that if you hop in the octagon with Royce Gracie, you're gonna get your ass whooped. You're not stupid. But you're probably not expectant to be called out in the audience as the "n-word" if you go to a comedy club on a Friday night. Context, folks.

I'm trying to think of a reason that an old white man would use such language if for no other fact that he is, in fact, a racist and no reason's coming to mind. Mr. Imus might not be a racist, but as voice on the free airwaves, you have to have better judgement.

Then we got...
REV. AL SHARPTON
Sharpton, too, is a sensationalist. He thrives on spectacle. Now, with that said, I appreciate the balance that he provides to certain social injustices, however, often times I find that he can often take a situation from bad to worse with a few stupid comments on national stage. Once again, we find Sharpton blurring the lines of responsibility claiming that Imus' actions are the result of specifically hip hop culture which has long-held the word "bitch" and "ho" as acceptable. Furthermore, he believes that it should be the record labels that should step up and finally put an end to their use.

In this, not only does Sharpton take the easiest way out by tossing the blame off on the big bad wolf, but he, in result, also let's the truly responsible off the hook--parents and guardians. Those words and their use have been around long before rap came along and holding the industry responsible is a purely political move because attacking parents would mean losing political support. Remember, it's never the population's fault when you're earning political support. We'll blame cigarette companies, gun manufacturers, fast food companies, the film and music industry--anyone before we'll blame the core of value and moral development--the family. It's garbage. The world is a scary and impressionable place, but the family represents the most important and direct line to development and, likewise, the strongest gatekeeper for material deemed inappropriate.

In Al Sharpton's world, everyone is a feeble, weak-minded embicile that can't think, act, fart or take responsibility for themselves and, when done an injustice, they're due a public apology (embarrassment). Look, Imus doesn't need to apologize for being a bigot. He's a racist jerkoff. The world will happen to him. A man of his age probably learned only one thing from all of this and that is, "Opening your mouth can get you fired." Those thoughts and beliefs are deeply embedded in his poor mouth and as fickle as those comments were to him, so was that apology. Apologies are a good lesson, but for adults, the best lesson is to hit 'em in the checkbook. It's unfortunate, but true.

And then, lastly, there's...
MEREDITH VIERA
In what could only be explained as a Courician blast of fiery confrontation, Meredith Viera decided she was gonna high-horse the aforementioned Sharpton on the "Today Show." In the interview, the usually quite sensitive yet challenging Viera brought out Sharpton and, as some had said, "held Sharpton's feet to fire." I would say that was true if she actually made any valid points, but all she referenced is the ol' tired "double standard" point of view without acknowledging the fact that the machine she feeds could be accused of the same thing. It's okay to say what Imus said on network television, yet not okay to say it on the radio. "They're all over the radio!" exclaimed Viera, yet she failed to point out that on her own network, programming from seven o'clock on is littered with such derrogatory sentiments not made by rappers or black actors. And, last time I checked, more people watch television than they do listen to the radio. How many kids you know are sitting in front of their radio these days waiting for Young Jeezy to come on. And with MTV hardly even playing music videos anymore, where are they picking up this language? Whatever, Meredith, you're the "concerned mother" of the "Today Show" and it's great for ratings, but wouldn't hold much water in court. Gasfaced!

Look, this whole thing is silly. It really is. I don't believe that it took the celebration away from the Rutgers basketball team. I don't believe it's the music industry. I don't even believe it's the rappers. It ain't Mims. It ain't Jeezy. It ain't Unk. It's the networks who take endorse certain politics and read it like news in the hopes of securing more advertisers, more profits, more business dinners, more executive trips abroad, longer cars, bigger planes and better plastic surgeries. The media serves advertisers because advertisers pay the bill at the end of the day. You have to make up your own mind. You have to scrub every situation with your own morals and principles to see what's right and what's wrong. It's only my opinion. Hopefully if you're even visiting The Root Down, you understand what that means.

THE NEW LOW?

Okay, finally watched an episode of ABC's "The Bachelor" last night.

Holy cow.

Now, I'm known to watch some horrible TV. In fact, I'll willingly admit it. But if I needed any further proof that network television is quickly eating itself and is only really good for the local news, here it is. Here, we find a crowd of young women who are in strong pursuit of this doofy crapfart who we're forced into believing is the perfect specimen. He's a sailor, a doctor, a humanitarian and he's got the perfect smile. He also speaks like he's done too many hallucinogenics, but his six-pack makes up for it. So I'm watching this kid and I'm thinking to myself, had he grown up on the other side of the tracks and was named "Wally," these girls wouldn't want a damn thing to do with him, but all of his rented property (courtesy of ABC) including the boat, the house, the limo, the suits are enough to fool these women into believing that, ultimately, he's the one. Let the jokery begin.

For, not one hour, but an hour and a half, this dude acts like a kid on his first date while these women absolutely throw themselves at him. And it's ridiculous to see these women who I'm convinced must be drugged or heavily medicated, swoon and gasp at his every move. The dude farts and a lady faints while another yells, "Oh, I love him!" from a balcony. The saddest part of all is that it helps perpetuate the belief that women are catty, lazy and incapable of drawing their own income. It's like they're dangling meat above a lion's den. It's an absolute exaggeration of reality. I might have been living under the proverbial rock for my entire life (or missed out on some quality time with the ladies growing up), but I've never never seen women act so enthused by a dude so mediocre.

These ladies must be drugged.

Gas face to ABC for this garbage. It's not so bad that they actually air this crap, but that it takes them one and a half times the normal slot to get it in. If you needed any further proof that network television is only designed to fit around the commercials, this is it. There's a freaking COPS marathon on somewhere. Watch that instead. Support real reality.

RETURN OF THE PRODUCT

Click the link below to be taken directly to the official THE ROOT DOWN store.

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New product has been added including two of the toughest t-shirt designs you've ever seen in your life, baby clothes (for the expectant muddah) and a coffee mug so you can show those kids at the office how you get down.

Recognize. Purchase. Enjoy. Or catch a bad one from a kangaroo on a bad day.

More designs soon to come.

SOME DAYS ARE WORTH LIVING TWICE

Yeah, Thursday was that day. Started it off with a little John Coltrane and some stiff red-eyed coffee (which I'm brewing another batch today). Walk to work was brisk, but felt good. I was gearing up for another season of Chuckheads Softball which proved to be worth the wait.

Thursday marked the arrival of Dice K to Major League Baseball. For those needing a refresher or those who have been living under a pair of Reeboks, Dice K is a Japanese import who has five different curveballs and a gyroball which is a combination of a change-up and a fastball. It's like a screwball.

He pitched seven innings on Thursday, striking out ten and giving up one run and one walk. Sox win 4-1. Beautiful.

In other news, the great Sheryl was promoted to National Sales Director at the top music distributor in the world--a promotion she rightfully deserved. She's the Big Daddy Kane of music distribution. Or the Queen Latifah--whichever you prefer. Sheryl, congrats.

And, last night marked the genesis of another wildly entertaining season of Chuckheads Softball. Showed up early and enjoyed a nice welcome-back beer and got to the warm-up. Ah, the first warm-up of the season. Shoulders and elbows popping and snapping. Those legs waking up from a nice winter slumber.

I'm going to make a horrible daddy one day. This girl on the television drew a picture for their Friday morning feature called KidCast where they let a youngin do the weather forecast. She showed this girls picture on the screen and it was the dumbest thing I've ever seen. There was a tornado, lightning and a snowman on the beach. I'm pretty sure that's meteorogically impossible. Someone might need to tell her to prepare her for her day at school. You know some kid's gonna be like, "Idiot. You drew a snowman on the beach."

Okay, back to the Chuckheads. First game was against Guerrero Drywall. Now, Guerrero Drywall is a name that, in softball leagues, means you about to get your tail-end whooped. That and Elk's Lodge 1340, Cortez Bail Bonds and Roto Rooter. Wait, no, we disproved the last one. The scorekeeper kept calling us the Roadhouse instead of the Roundhouse which was a tad annoying, but nonetheless, we put together seven of most brilliant innings of softball. We went into the bottom of the seventh down by two runs, 6-8. I come up first and hit an absolute rope that almost went over the fence if it weren't for that stupid right fielder who climbed the fence and made a miraculous catch to bring it back into the ball park. Okay, I hit a soft pop fly to the third baseman. So, with one out and three runs needed, the Chuckheads put together one of the finest half innings that free admission could buy. After hanging a run and now with two outs, Manham comes to the plate with two on and drives an absolute rope to left-center. Chuckheads win in last at-bat, 9-8.

Second game got cold. Wind chill had to be sitting at about 28 degrees which drove my wife home to the warm couch. Now we had to take on Bud Light who actually put a whooping on a team earlier winning 18-10. And, if you've ever played city-league softball, the team that has a beer sponsorship is the team you don't want to play. I'm thinking if you could get Jack Daniels or Jagermeister to sponsor you, people would just forfeit. They would've even look for their cleats in the closet. They'd just say, "Screw it, I'm not going." Must look into that. We jump out to a 10-0 lead in first inning. We're running on all cylinders at this point. A few innings later it's 13-8. A couple of innings later it's 13-10. Going into the last inning, we're up 20-10--a comfortable lead by most circumstances, but hanging on by your fingernails in city league softball against a beer-sponsored team. Bud Light hangs on nine runs in the bottom of the last inning before Elders single-handedly shuts them down with two incredible plays at first base. He loves the game. Chuckheads win 20-19 and remain undefeated at 2-0.

You know, those are really the two best ways to win. One in a last inning comeback and the second ending a huge last inning comeback just one run short. Beautiful. I got home at 10:30, cooked up some bacon, eggs and onion and scarfed. Watched baseball highlights and then went to bed. My wife's got today off for Good Friday. I don't get as lucky. And as Good as this Friday might be, Thursday was Grand.

John Wyrick, who I'm not related to, wishes everyone a Great Friday. It's a good morning for Stevie Wonder. Real quick, on his last record, A Time to Love, Stevie Wonder apparently helped design the cover art which consisted of the cryptic symbols a (clock) 2 (heart). I thought it was the dumbest thing and I make the comment, "Who let Stevie Wonder design the cover art?" Come to find out, he did in fact come up with the concept. Let's go one further. In Stevie's contract, he actually has final approval on all artwork. I knew he wasn't blind. I just knew it. He's had us all fooled.

Be good, ese.

"BETTA RECOGNIZE" SHIRT SERIES

Yeah, you remember the classics. Now you can sport them around town like an elitist who enjoys drawing confused looks from passerby's as they say, "Who in the hell is Audio Two?" We all like to feel that empowerment from time to time. And now, with these limited edition "Betta Recognize" shirts, you can be the life of the party and be surrounded by all the ladies. I'm a married man so you'll have to let me know how that goes.

AUDIO TWO

"MAKE IT FUNKY" B/W "TOP BILLIN'"

Yeah, the classic 12" that brought the world "Top Billin'." Beautiful.

BLACK MOON

"HOW MANY EMCEES" B/W "ACT LIKE U WANT IT"

How many emcees must get dissed? Countless.

And the back design. It's not a request, it's a command.

IT'S ALL IN THE PACKAGING...HIP HOP COVER ART APPRECIATION VOL. 3: THE WHITE SPACE

I've always been a huge fan of white space. People just don't really know how to use it properly. And, to juxtapose the tackiness and business of the pen-and-pixel, over-the-top and obnoxious cover art that continues to flood the market place, the follow pieces remain two of the most iconic images in hip hop, not because they're outstanding images, but because of the white space that isolates them. C'mon folks, less is more. Understand it.

And the commonality between the two covers is quite striking. Artist on the top, title on the bottom. Both make a certain pointed commentary on "birth" and "life." And both could be considered the artist's respective paramount recording. Both are debut records and one's "short" and the other's "big."

First we have Too $hort's Born to Mack. The image of $hort Dog sitting in back of his car like he's ready for a parade is the celebration of the ghetto superstar. And considering that this was $hort's debut record, it's a conceited but clever image that does what it's intended. It says, "I make money," rather than, "I'm gonna make money," and for a debut album in 1988, this concept was not as common as it is today. He even has his name in U.S. Mint green.


Conceptually the same, however, not quite as nice in my personal opinion is Notorious BIG's Ready to Die. This time, though, we find the image of a small baby and the title suggests a completely different notion than $hort's cover. Essentially, instead of being born to do anything, Notorious was just born to die. It makes poignant commentary on the tragedy of ghetto life while $hort's album reflects the rare luxuries of the same lifestyle. Both in the same, though, speak on life as a very simplistic notion thanks, in large part, to the layout of the covers and the white space.

Florida win's the National Championship. Yea. You know, no one wins when a #1 seed wins the Championship. Boring. Especially when it's a repeat.

And Monday saw the Yankees win and the Sox lose in their respective openers. Wow, this is gonna be a great season. We're already down to the Spanks. The fun I'm gonna have! Must listen to Ready to Die in celebration of the 2007 Red Sox today.