News In Brief
Many of you have taken to breaking out the pun of a lifetime, sending e-missives and verbal assaults to the tune of "Slackin' on Slack." I know, last week wasn't my best effort, and you deserve better from me. So here's two appetizers and an entree for youse to devour...
--Kramer's got some friends in the Tempe police department: The city's mayor and police chief this weekend apologized after a program called Tempe StreetBeat "showed a white police officer telling two black men they could get out of a littering ticket by performing a rap."
And activists are obviously up in arms over the airing of the show. Hey, I'm pretty up in arms, too. I mean, take a look at how poorly these two bozos rapped: "The dangers of littering, you will get a ticket. If you ain't wit' it, you better be experienced," and "Yo, I just got pulled over 'cause I threw my trash out the window when they rolled over. They got behind me and pulled me over."
If I were an Al Sharpton- or Jesse Jackson-style activist, I'd be livid at the poor hip hop skillz of these litterbug jokers and how awful a job they did representing the black community. You threw your "trash out the window when they rolled over?" When who rolled over? Where's the correct antecedent for that pronoun, dawg? And, jeez, unless you're Homer Simpson, you just cannot rhyme "over" with "over." That's totally foolish. "You better be experienced?" Experienced in what? Not littering? Scaring white women? I genuinely would like to know.
--Following his near-perfect performance in the first half of yesterday's 38-10 shellacking of Green Bay at a blustery Lambeau Field, player awesomeness analysts at Ace Cowboy & Associates today raised their rating on the New York Jets quarterback, upgrading the passer from Chad Pennington to Chad Sexington. AC&A cited the signal caller's impressive leadership and sharp instincts on three drives of 70 yards or more in the game's second quarter.
Separately, running back Cedric Houston has been upgraded to Planet Hooston by General Zod Securities after the second-year rusher's 105 yards and two touchdowns. Kneel before Mangini, bitches.
--But if you really want the goods, here's the highlight of the weekend, a five-minute period in my life subtitled "A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Knitting Factory With MDMA Coursing Through My Veins." It's a long subtitle.
Umphrey's McGee had just finished a pretty subpar show for their standards at the Nokia Theater, and I started to make my way towards the egress with my buddy Ted. I'd been experimenting with a bit of what the experts call the popular club drug ecstasy this evening, and though I was well over the tweak-hump, my eyes still looked Runaway Bride-esque and my jaw still felt obliged to involuntarily jerk back and forth at a speedy pace.
I spotted my current leading lady and her friend in the VIP section (cool chicks get the cool treatment), motioning for them to come down to normal-people level before we split up for the after-shows. She also brought down to say hello a famous veteran rock critic with whom I'd been exchanging e-mails and with whom I wanted to exchange handshakes.
As they approached, however, I noticed a familiar face headed my way at the exact same time, from the exact same direction. Walking almost in sync, they all marched up to me in one long stride: cool rock critic guy, lovely leading lady...and the ex-girlfriend, who apparently hates me tremendously. Who knew? But together they came, separately, one unbeknownst to the other.
Suddenly, the ecstatic cocktail pumping through my blood seemed to overpower everything else. "Well, this is awkward," I said to myself, but I only managed to get out a "Brhshafmnef" from my pursed lips. I took a deep breath and composed myself; I blinked my left eye and saw the ex, I blinked my right and saw the people I intended to spend the next 10 minutes with. "I'm not sure how the fuck to do this," I said aloud, truthfully, to nobody in particular.
The ex took that as a hint to storm away furiously, and I felt bad about that. I turned to my new friend in rock and began to explain the situation, but I think he understood all too well. At that point I said goodbye to him, made plans for a cup of some liquid at a future date, regrouped and foolishly marched up to the ex, perhaps to be the good guy she thinks I'm not. Foolishness. Drunk, she decided to rip into me for cutting her out of my life, despite the fact that I think I did the right thing (and still do) for both of us.
We made our way up the long escalator towards the street, and she kept giving it to me, as if she'd been waiting for this day for many months. Finally outside, she found her legs and stepped up the attack, now drawing a little bit of attention. Throughout this assault, I remained quiet. She finished loudly explaining why I suck, and I looked at her astonished. I seemed to remember being a fucking rock for her at the toughest time in her life. She seemed to remember my being an aloof asshole that cut her out completely.
How could someone who I did so right by (and that's true, that's not just my opinion) feel so strongly about my being a total dickwad? How could I have been so wrong to expect someone like her to have more gratitude than hatred for me? And while I was thinking such deep questions, all I could manage to squeak out was, "You feel better now? Jeez!" I followed that up with a unintentionally patronizing suggestion that we "get together after the New Year." Shit, I've got a busy December, ya know? A hug and a handpound, and I was outta there with a mere flesh wound. Peace be with you.
I've never ever talked about my life's real drama like that on here, and I know many of the interested parties read this blog, but I thought for today, why not get a little personal and do some sharing? You wanted something to read, so there's something to read -- it's a no-nonsense tale about a blissful idiot that gets caught in a shitstorm at the exact wrong time. I've been swimming in raw sewage, and I love it.
Slack Link of the Day: Coming on the heels of the other day's "Africa Faces Growing Obesity Problem" headline, here's another one I never thought I'd see: "High court takes 'Bong Hits for Jesus' case." Heady lecterns, brahs. Oral arguments, 1 for $3, 2 for $5.
Slack Excuse of the Day: If you thought Pete Townshend's "research" excuse for pedophilia was pretty lame, get ready for the beauty of Floyd Kinney Jr. Giving awesome a new name, Kinney told authorities the reason he molested two girls was because his wife played bingo too much outside the home, and this was a way to lash out at her.
Slack Video of the Day: I heard Emmitt Smith beat out the likes of Whoooa! from Blossom and a Z. Cavaricci-less AC Slater for the celebrity dancing show title. I say that's bogus. I mean, check out some of these kickass Slater moves from back in the day and tell me this ruling could possibly be legit.
As a runner-up to that one, here's a semi-cool video of the Peanuts gang performing Hey Ya as flawlessly as possible.
Slack Song of the Day: The good folks over at ickmusic posted some interesting mp3s the other day, though I forgot to re-post them in a timely fashion. Northwestern University ain't exactly known for its punk fans, but in my four years there, the school's student bookers did manage to catch some really good talent. Apparently that's been happening for a long time -- here's The Ramones from NU's Cahn Auditorium in October 1979. Go U, NU.