Sunday, October 31, 2004
amerikkkan demockracy
New York cares.
why are Halloween parties always weird? disregarding the transvestites, 70's socialites, coked-up art students, John-Lennon-from-India-turned-adult-film-star types, Devo dressups, wheelchair girls that shake massive booty, Lou Diamond Phillips, trashy Prom dates from the late 80's and Iranian dudes who dressed up as, well, an Iranian dude. Halloween parties are indeed strange.
frivolty aside, let's mosh at the polls. no, seriously. throw dem bows and all that.
sentence of the week brought to you by the sage Asian-American pop music critic Jeff Chang:
And yo, go vote. Your enemies already did.
both the Steelers and Ghandi prove: the largest assemblages of uniform power can be toppled. either with padded grown men bumping into each other and grunting...or fasting.
whatever works.
just make sure it isn't this.
with all that said, Tuesday is either going to be a joyful day where I remember why I loved this country so much or yet another reason to sniff out escapism's new dresses in a glass of wine.
bottoms up.
because this is your president.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Juicy
they ran out of French flags at the corner store.
isn't it strange when you watch a politican give a talk and he uses words like "think" and "hope" in close proximity to each other? like, touching each other and shit. and he's not talking about Fat Albert? Clinton and Kerry in Philly (what was described as a "fashion show" by my friend who attended it) was like the ALCS of this year's election. speaking of which, these guys should have their own postage stamps.
much respect to The Fader who ran a great article on a paper i wanted to write in an old American literature class. and without calling me, neither. it's on two of the greatest poets this country has. Saul Williams and Amiri Baraka. good stuff.
and remember that white dude who looked like George Michael? no, no that guy. this guy. this is a strange world when you can make fun of Michael Jackson's hair catching on fire at the set of a soda commercial and then make a visceral critique of the Bush regim---er, presidency. cartoons are the greatest philosophy that America has shared with the world. someone else who is aggresively ousting apathy (or at least contextualizing it's RuPaul presence) is my friend, and Village Voice writer, Hua. don't believe me, huh? think im lying, right? well keep that mouse away from me.
well, i'm glad things are going well. and that Mexican culture is getting the press it deserves. look, another Diego Rivera retrospective--oh, wait. its just another Mexican restaurant.
Friday, October 22, 2004
You're Dead, Let's Disco
art babies, dude.
there's days when i curse having taken the SAT's with a crayon. and also, that i passed up Harvard for a chance to rub elbows with indie kids at a private-ish university in north Texas. and this is why.
this makes me want to cry.
and throw things.
and one more thing: would white people stop growing dreads. please. like Jon Stewart-on-Crossfire, please.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
carlos beltran is a robot.
saddened, the people realized this was Wu-Tang's last show.
so, i was getting gas in Houston on Sunday, minding my own business when i see a shiny black Hummer drive up. "only rich white dudes or celebrity minorities drive one of those", i thought to myself. in between thinking about how shitty this city is and where my glasses were, this guy opens the door and his seven-foot frame stretches out. after i wiped the shock from my eyes, i got giddy and just stared. and stared. this was a dude i grew up watching, had his NBA cards and laughed at when the Rockets took them out in 1994 (whatever happened to John Starks?).
and here he was. in Houston. at a gas station.
so, i said "hello" and Patrick waved back at me (he was on the phone the entire time) like a cool ass motha--shut yo mouth.
i think im a magnet for sorta-famous people. in the last couple years i've run into Luke Wilson, Cafe Tacuba, Dave Chapelle, Beau Sia, Jimmy Fallon, Patrick Ewing, Gustavo Santaloalla, that girl with the moustache in Le Tigre at that movie theater in Chelsea and Chuck D.
on to something less Hollywood in scope, how sweet is this year's postseason??
i knew it would be the year of the underdog. Houston/Boston.
thats why Wu-Tang called themselves Killa B's, people.
no, really.
it's October and baseball is in the air.
breathe, bitches, breathe.
Friday, October 15, 2004
one day
don't hold on.
how things pass and you don't recognize them:
Christopher Reeve, Ken Caminiti and Jacques Derrida?
all in one week.
maybe Bun B is the real philosopher here.
hug a loved one: or maybe just someone from France.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Get Ensconced in the Bronx.
i think this is a library in Arkansas.
watching Style Wars while the cable guy curses out his superiors for smoking while they should be responding his call: that is what life is about.
that and this.
and don't forget those Screwston boys keepin' it trill.
but on to the good stuff:
w) a friend of mine will be here and bring me back a bottle of vodka.
x) American Studies in China.
y) things are great.
Monday, October 11, 2004
let's put on red capes and walk around the house.
a sad day, indeed.
and it gets sadder.
but, i guess thats what hero's do: they pass on.
(a commercial about Willie Mays/one on how you should take pills)
walking around Austin, Texas is like thinking without a body. you feel strange.
interviewing this guy beneath a magical sky makes it all better.
sentence(s) of the week brought to you by dat Filipino thug, DJ Jester:
i played a show in LA with Kid Koala and Matt Groening showed up. So, after the show, i was working the merch table and Matt comes up and was like, "hey, you were just onstage" and i was like, "yeah, thats me" and so he goes to buy one of my records. so, then we're going back and forth, back and forth cause im trying to give it to him and he wants to pay for it. so, he eventually goes "hey. listen. i'm rich. why do people always try to give free things to rich people??" so, i was like, OOOKAAAY! and took his cash
and then, there is always the kind of wisdom that is so universal, it should be on sale at some Christian bookstore in Screwston (you know, the one next to that oil refinery).
whatever, let's go eat, Sun Ra.
and it gets sadder.
but, i guess thats what hero's do: they pass on.
(a commercial about Willie Mays/one on how you should take pills)
walking around Austin, Texas is like thinking without a body. you feel strange.
interviewing this guy beneath a magical sky makes it all better.
sentence(s) of the week brought to you by dat Filipino thug, DJ Jester:
i played a show in LA with Kid Koala and Matt Groening showed up. So, after the show, i was working the merch table and Matt comes up and was like, "hey, you were just onstage" and i was like, "yeah, thats me" and so he goes to buy one of my records. so, then we're going back and forth, back and forth cause im trying to give it to him and he wants to pay for it. so, he eventually goes "hey. listen. i'm rich. why do people always try to give free things to rich people??" so, i was like, OOOKAAAY! and took his cash
and then, there is always the kind of wisdom that is so universal, it should be on sale at some Christian bookstore in Screwston (you know, the one next to that oil refinery).
whatever, let's go eat, Sun Ra.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
mama, no ay que llorar
a few thoughts:
1) i hate the NY Yankees.
2) jean grae really isnt that hot.
3) the motorcycle diaries is better than people tell you it is. kids, seriously.
4) Austin is where i'll be when you read this. and a smile will litter my face.
5) bearded hippies, playing the flute like they lived in Quebec makes me want to wear a suit.
6) sleeping with pretty girls-- drawing gestures, whispers and white memories from silence and not even thinking about hitting the skins--is nice.
7) philly is a stick-up town.
8) the first American slaveship that left our coasts in the 17th century was named Desire.
9) shakespeare died like lil' jon-- with hot shit under his belt and rich.
10) it would have been nice to be childhood friends with dj dangermouse---he likes the beatles, you know.
1) i hate the NY Yankees.
2) jean grae really isnt that hot.
3) the motorcycle diaries is better than people tell you it is. kids, seriously.
4) Austin is where i'll be when you read this. and a smile will litter my face.
5) bearded hippies, playing the flute like they lived in Quebec makes me want to wear a suit.
6) sleeping with pretty girls-- drawing gestures, whispers and white memories from silence and not even thinking about hitting the skins--is nice.
7) philly is a stick-up town.
8) the first American slaveship that left our coasts in the 17th century was named Desire.
9) shakespeare died like lil' jon-- with hot shit under his belt and rich.
10) it would have been nice to be childhood friends with dj dangermouse---he likes the beatles, you know.
Monday, October 04, 2004
eric b. for vice president
indie days in denton.
syrupy days in houston.
pixels are days in austin.
time for black t-shirts and sneakers to find a home in my apartment. Sun Ra is yelling "hey, man, dem dudes is talking about a nuclear war!" where i reply, "no, its just an old episode of The Critic". then, he smiles. and these people let me write about rap for them. there is a guy, gravel-voiced and toneless, talking into a cellphone next to me. public internet spaces are a paradox.
but, this place smells like waiting rooms. Lou Reed waiting rooms. that sing nicely to you about Stephanies and heroin.
where bearded children, iPods and candy cigarettes floating around them, rap this:
"bent buildings anchored to the moon whole hole canker cannibals cannibalize ink drops of blood dried newspaper noise. What have we are bridge unbroken. Or one brilliant breath quake before all. In my womb I cradle the world unraveled. Henceforth until it’s reborn and regrown, although "cries listened say pronunciation sometimes low played black mine, try easiest her hoping government decided. Tired moon terrible: an absent spirit anathema. why panmictic panglossian hope hinged like frown fraught with non-frictive light lace, "ground down and tie me as antaeus".
like Company Flow or Ultramagnetic MC's in an ice-cream parlor fighting over how to spell "gelato": this is the real deal.
like Big Daddy Kane whittling rhymes out of Brazilian rainforests. Sao Paulo scholarship.
and here we are, between a small town with scruffy-headed thinkers and Berlin. waiting for the bomb to pick itself up and walk over to Sukho Thai////////////with invisible turntables.
editor's note: Sun Ra is going to help me write for these shitty and non-shitty publications to try to pay the rent and for educational purposes only. he is wearing his spacesuit.
Blender (this would just be funny)
Spin (this would be funnier)
Rollingstone.com (i dont know what this would be)
Xlr8r (nice people and great design)
Magnet (nerd rock!)
Resonance (things actually happen in Seattle?)
syrupy days in houston.
pixels are days in austin.
time for black t-shirts and sneakers to find a home in my apartment. Sun Ra is yelling "hey, man, dem dudes is talking about a nuclear war!" where i reply, "no, its just an old episode of The Critic". then, he smiles. and these people let me write about rap for them. there is a guy, gravel-voiced and toneless, talking into a cellphone next to me. public internet spaces are a paradox.
but, this place smells like waiting rooms. Lou Reed waiting rooms. that sing nicely to you about Stephanies and heroin.
where bearded children, iPods and candy cigarettes floating around them, rap this:
"bent buildings anchored to the moon whole hole canker cannibals cannibalize ink drops of blood dried newspaper noise. What have we are bridge unbroken. Or one brilliant breath quake before all. In my womb I cradle the world unraveled. Henceforth until it’s reborn and regrown, although "cries listened say pronunciation sometimes low played black mine, try easiest her hoping government decided. Tired moon terrible: an absent spirit anathema. why panmictic panglossian hope hinged like frown fraught with non-frictive light lace, "ground down and tie me as antaeus".
like Company Flow or Ultramagnetic MC's in an ice-cream parlor fighting over how to spell "gelato": this is the real deal.
like Big Daddy Kane whittling rhymes out of Brazilian rainforests. Sao Paulo scholarship.
and here we are, between a small town with scruffy-headed thinkers and Berlin. waiting for the bomb to pick itself up and walk over to Sukho Thai////////////with invisible turntables.
editor's note: Sun Ra is going to help me write for these shitty and non-shitty publications to try to pay the rent and for educational purposes only. he is wearing his spacesuit.
Blender (this would just be funny)
Spin (this would be funnier)
Rollingstone.com (i dont know what this would be)
Xlr8r (nice people and great design)
Magnet (nerd rock!)
Resonance (things actually happen in Seattle?)
Sunday, October 03, 2004
internationalism is the way of the walk
places to go in the next year (or so):
London, England
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Valparaiso, Chile
Mexico City, Mexico
Shanghai, China
Paris, France
but on to the real news.
the Houston Astros are headed to Atlanta. and will probably stay there, but thats not the point.
the point is the Cubs didn't get the wild card. and that makes me happy. about as happy as dying knowing that Karl Malone will never get a championship ring.
London, England
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Valparaiso, Chile
Mexico City, Mexico
Shanghai, China
Paris, France
but on to the real news.
the Houston Astros are headed to Atlanta. and will probably stay there, but thats not the point.
the point is the Cubs didn't get the wild card. and that makes me happy. about as happy as dying knowing that Karl Malone will never get a championship ring.
Friday, October 01, 2004
kerry on, kerry on...
