Welcome back to The Bootleg. Can I ask you a question? Do you like…pancakes? Plain old pancakes with a pat of butter and some syrup from one of those delightful freed slaves/spokeswomen like Mrs. Buttersworth or Aunt Jemima. I guess I’m a purist when it comes to pancakes, as I’ve resisted the blueberry insurgency and maintain that “buckwheat” is Spanky’s friend and Darla’s fantasy…not a pancake ingredient.
Last Saturday, the wife and I enjoyed a late breakfast at a San Diego tradition called The Pancake House. Their specialty is…specialty pancakes. And they’re most proud of their “Apple Pancake”. An $8.50 indulgence in gluttony and Granny Smiths.
I jumped in with both feet and ordered it. I guess fatherhood emboldened or embiggened my palate…I’m not sure which. My brain, operating on 10-second delay, quickly realized that I’m spending nearly $10 on a pancake…singular. Ten bones should get you two or three short stacks…not “a pancake”.
The service was painfully slow, but it provided enough time to laugh at the brutha who sat down next to us. He was with his wife n’ kids and dressed head to toe in garish yellow Lakers garb. See, y’all…a team hat? Acceptable. A jersey? Eh, once you reach middle age, you’re pushing the bounds of fashion…but, we’ll let it slide. Official NBA yellow warm up suit (top n’ bottom). No. Wearing the whole ensemble when you’re not on the Lakers’ roster…priceless (and pathetic).
My pancake finally arrived and it did look impressive. A plate-sized moon of a flapjack topped with sliced baked apples and a cinnamon glaze. Just like the menu described…save for one important fact. Apparently, the pancake isn’t “done” until it’s the equivalent temperature of the surface of the sun.
This wasn’t “cinnamon glaze”, it was surplus napalm…it was that green stuff in the 1996 movie The Rock…it was the filling of 100 Hot Pockets.
I tried to blow on it.
I tried to let it sit.
I applied the cooling balm of butter to each bite.
I even tried that never-works tactic of leading with my front teeth, letting no part of my lips touch the fork.
I finished about ¼ of this nuclear novelty-flying disc, before tapping out. Defeated by a pancake in less than 5:00…via submission, no less. Scott Keith gave the whole thing ½*, whatever that means. My whole mouth felt like those kids in the burn unit from Shallow Hal. I found that substituting one meal a day with a jar of Vaseline made the pain subside after 3-5 days.
The only thing hotter…is The Goodness!
OMG! Like, I So Totally Do!
No lie…the following two news stories broke in the same week, so try and stay with me. Unexplained superstar Jessica Simpson and her husband, Nick Latching-on-to-her-spotlight-for-dear-life are contacting publishing houses with their own book idea. I know when I think of these two, I think “literati”. I’m told that their book purports to “advise couples on how to have a strong marriage”. And weren’t we all waiting for marriage tips from a pair of celebs who aren’t old enough to even rent a car in most states and have been married two weeks longer than me and Mrs. Bootleg.
“Honey, I’m just not feeling that same spark that I used to. The kids are in college, we barely see each other anymore and I’ve been pokin’ my new administrative assiss…hey, Jessica and Nick! Let’s give this a read!”
I can see this book selling well in the greater Dallas area, where Jessica Simpson has ascended to the pantheon of Lone Stardom along with Troy Aikman, Emmitt Smith, Victoria Principal & Charlene Tilton. But in the civilized world, where all the women don’t aspire to big hair and baby makin’, no one over the age of 16 (with an IQ to match) would buy this. And I call dibs on all of those still-developing women.
Andre…Hogan…Nick…Jessica
Not so fast, though…TV tabloid program Extra is reporting that there may be static in the slow-witted Shangri-La of “Simpson & Sponge”. There are unconfirmed rumors that Nick is growing tired of the ass groove he’s carved out for himself from taking the perpetual backseat to his more famous wife. Some media outlets report that Nicky was asked to step aside on the red carpet of the Golden Globe Awards, so that the paparazzi could get better shots of Jessica. In addition, the couple filmed a recent PSA and skit for MTV and most of Nick’s shots ended up on the cutting room floor.
Now, I have it on good authority that a trophy presentation is being planned for this year’s Video Music Awards. I hear that Nick’s trophy will be half the size of his wife’s, despite his longer entertainment career and 15 undefeated years in the ring. The following week, Nick will officially turn heel and align with Bobby “The Brain” Heenan on an episode of Piper’s Pit. He will then tear off Jessica’s crucifix and demand a “wuurd shempeeinship mash”. And if I have to explain that reference to you…you’re on the wrong f’n site.
“What’s ‘It’ Seems Weird & Scary To Me”
I’m not sure if this is one of the signs of the apocalypse, but you can bet it makes the team picture. Rap’s most painful boil, Chingy, is telling anyone who’ll listen that he’ll be touring this spring with pop music’s raven-haired ho-cake, Christina Aguilera. We’ll ignore the fact that everyone from Aguilera’s camp has denied that a deal has been reached. I don’t know…maybe I’ve been in denial for the last few years, but is it possible that rap music has finally passed me by?
There have certainly been people with even less talent than Chingy who have made it big (Master P, Cash Money), but the Southern Segregation Laws managed to keep that crap in its place (i.e. Louisiana and Mississippi) and off my local airwaves here in California. Now, it seems that every time I turn on Power 106 outta L.A., I’m being told to “skeet”, “get crunk” or “shake it like a salt shaker” by a gaggle of gold-toofed goons. Have I become my father? One of those “back-in-my-day” cats who pines for simpler times, when Snoop Dogg had a middle name and Dr. Dre hadn’t yet found laurels to rest on? Someone get me my rocking chair and tell those kids to stay away from my car.
That’s Funny, I’ve Never Seen Garbage Eat Garbage
Last Monday night, police arrested 14 fans during and after a “Disturbing The Peace” concert featuring Ludacris and Chingy. I’m not sure if that’s “irony”, but I do know what’s “interesting”. The concert was held in Rapid City, South Dakota with more than 6,000 people in attendance. Now, there ain’t 6,000 people in South and North Dakota combined and we’re expected to believe Chingy and Ludacris drew this kind of crowd to any arena, much less some backwoods reservation out in the suburbs of Tatanka, U.S.A?
I’ll confess that I don’t know a whole lot about this state, except that Mount Rushmore is there. And all I know about Mt. Rushmore is that General Zod and his minions once reshaped the legendary presidential images to reflect their own evil faces. Can you believe that Superman II was almost 25 years ago? Can you believe that a pair of glasses is what passes for a “secret identity” in Metropolis? Can you believe Margot Kidder was once considered a sex symbol? Discuss.
I’m Coming For You…Boss Man!
Embattled singer Bobby Brown is back behind bars. Judge Wayne Purdom sent Brown to the DeKalb County (Georgia) Jail for Bobby’s refusal to follow the conditions of his probation. According to court files, Brown has periodically refused to submit to a drug test, failed to pay his court supervision fees and broke the rules regarding his house arrest. All things considered, I suppose it could be worse.
Bobby could be serving his (hard) time in Cobb County, instead. If I remember correctly, former WWF wrestler “Nailz” was a graduate of the Cobb County Department of Corrections. Behind bars, he went through so much sexual and emotional abuse that visiting prison shrink Sister Peter Marie finally said, “Make the sodomy work for you.” And if any of y’all were rasslin’ fans in 1992, you know the price Nailz paid for his prison time. Yes, his once falsetto voice devolved into something similar to Tony Robbins’.
Bats: Both, Throws: Like A Girl
Lumpy country music sensation Garth Brooks has managed to pop-n-fresh his way into yet another baseball spring training camp. After the Padres and Mets previously gave him pre-season time to shill for his self-titled charity, the Kansas City Royals have opened up their field for Garth to get a few at-bats and raise a little coin. I’m not entirely sure what the charity is (fat camp for Daddy’s chubby little secret, perhaps?), but since baseball and entertainment are involved, I can only hope Brooks is raising funds for a fourth installment of the Major League movie franchise.
I loved the 1989 original, which featured a who’s who of A-List Hollywood talent like Charlie Sheen, Tom Berenger, Corbin Bernsen and a young Wesley Snipes. I tolerated the 1994 sequel, which featured a “who’s that?” of B-List talent like Charlie Sheen, Tom Berenger and Corbin Bernsen. Apparently, Snipes was “too big” of a star to reprise his role, but just the right (Lane Bryant) size for his part in 1995’s To Wong Foo… Of course, no self-respecting fan of the series even acknowledges 1998’s Major League: Back to the Minors that featured Scott Bakula and Ted McGinley. What, were Scott Baio and Joey Lawrence too busy?
ABC Green Lighted This, But Not The Benson Reunion Show?
The reactionary ripples from Miss Janet’s nipple continue to be felt. In the latest story, legendary diva of screen and song, Lena Horne, has demanded that Janet back out of a planned TV biopic on the life and times of the 125-year-old Horne. She was supposedly shocked at Janet’s halftime display and refused to allow her life story to be told by someone so morally adrift. As a sign of solidarity, the show’s executive producers left en masse with Ms. Jackson, while the project settles into TV purgatory…along with the child-robot from Small Wonder, the ethnic hilarity of Perfect Strangers and the end of Chris Elliot’s career in Get A Life!
Personally, I think this is one of those stories that works out well for all involved. Lena Horne gets to protect her fading legacy and keeps us from the inevitable wave of silent screen fossils who think we care about their lives. Rene Russo…Linda Hamilton…I’m looking at you. More importantly, American society is spared the three scariest on-screen words in the English language: “Starring Janet Jackson”.
Sometimes The News Just Writes Itself
Jam Master Jay’s passing has inspired a series of selfless charitable acts in his memory. This ain’t one of ’em. Jay’s brother, Marvin Thompson, recently purchased a van and has decided to raise money for the JMJ Foundation for Youth by getting as many rappers to sign the inside and outside as humanly possible. He will then put the van up on eBay, in the hopes of raising $2 million to be divided into 1,000 college scholarships.
Don’t get me wrong…the effort is certainly worthy and noble, but let’s not forget that rappers don’t exactly have the longest shelf life amongst those in the music industry. How much value can a pristine Sharpie signature of Jay-Z, Eminem and Snoop Dogg have when it’s side-by-side with the scrawled ‘X’ of Chingy and The Ying Yang Twinz?
For you non-rap fans, imagine that everyone on the Wrestlemania XX card signed your commemorative program. Now, imagine someone like John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King or Ronald Reagan (ahem) crawled outta the grave and autographed the back page. In your minds, that would make it less valuable, right? And you wonder why no one invites you to parties.
Nick’a Please
conceptualized by Nick Salemi
Have you noticed the proliferation of ‘guest commentators’ throughout the daily news columns here in the Music Zone? Much like his use of the fanny pack and the Cross-Colors craze, Nick pretty much started the trend and Nobody Does It Better. Accept no substitutes.
This week, he finds a way to link one of the defining movies of the ’80s with the world’s oldest ballplaying Negro. Once again (in the words of Nate Dogg), “They can come closer than close (yeah), original they never will be-eeeeee…..”
Sometimes the non-music news just writes itself…
Major League Baseball was rocked by shocking news earlier this week. The A-Rod trade? Hell no! (That and other baseball spring training thoughts were covered here)
How about former Braves outfielder Otis Nixon getting arrested for fondling a woman at his home and threatening to stab his bodyguard named Kevin Brown? How Kevin Brown is going to fit in the Yankees’ rotation and keep 24 hour surveillance on someone as famous as Otis Nixon is beyond me. No wonder he has that private jet clause in his contract.
If that wasn’t enough, the site that had the most details on this story has a rather peculiar web address wouldn’t you say? www.ajc.com? I smell a cover up, Mr. Aaron Jonathan Cameron.
Nixon, in addition to being the first outfielder to look like he was 70 years old, and snort both the first and third base lines in back to back playoff games, also starred in the world famous video game Streetfighter II. You know him better on the fighting circuit as Dhalsim. Apparently he blew his Yoga Flame a little too close to Chun-Li who immediately filed charges.
No word yet on the identity of the bodyguard but sources close to M.Bison have speculated it may be Ken or Ryu.
OK, maybe I was just having some fun. But what really concerns me is how this will affect Otis Nixon’s movie career. What…you don’t remember his role in one of the biggest blockbusters of all time, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom? He played the village shaman.
Nixon was also heard yelling: “I will cut your heart out,” according to the police report. Clearly Nixon is under the influence of drugs again because he should have learned from Mola Ram in Temple of Doom that you don’t need a knife to cut someone’s heart out…you can just rip it out with your bare hand!
“Otis, have you learned nothing from getting the Sankara Stones back?”
General Haberdashery
The posting streak has reached sixteen, as the 411 Music News Crew hasn’t taken a column off since Cocozza’s no-show on February 11. It was an excused absence, as Tom awoke that Wednesday morning in a bathtub full of ice cubes with a kidney missing. Urban myth? That’s what I used to think.
Make sure y’all nominate us for the coveted Zone of the Week Award. If you don’t vote, they might give it to 411Figures…again. Screw you, Mike Batesman.
As always, primary pimping privileges go out to my oppressed bruthas who make up The Minority Report. Canadian T proves that HTML is a four-letter word, while he smashes pumpkins and takes his world tour to beautiful Winnipeg…home of the NHL’s Jets Phoenix Coyotes.
Señor Cal Ripken is rockin’ a 31-week consecutive posting streak. In about 90 minutes of prep time, he endorses murder and Matthew Michaels. You have permission to omit that last conjunction.
Did you miss a day of 411 Music News? Well, encore presentations of your favorite writers run all week right here. Make it a point to read m’man Mathan, who got bumped from the coveted “one link” section in place of…
All I Need Is One Mic Link
Your 411 “linkoftheweek” goes out to the entire movies zone. 411 is celebrating the Academy Awards and the movie writers have you covered from every perspective. They’re the antithesis of Janet’s nipple. Pre and post-show roundtables, Oscar history, the best of the best pictures and the most notorious snubs and omissions. It’s all a great read and one of the best projects 411 has ever put out.
Junk Mail
A few months ago, I shared with y’all my innate ability to name every Black member who ever served with the G.I. Joe team. Until this week, I was certain the list included only Alpine, Doc, Roadblock, Stalker, and Iceberg. Longtime Friend of the Bootleg, J. Rocka has uncovered “The Lost Members” of G.I. Joe Bro.
Hey I remember you said you could name the only black dudes on GI Joe. I then said you forgot about the Fridge. Well I was at work today killing a lot of time and i found some more brothers who were part of the Joe team. Either you find this pretty cool that a loyal reader did some research for you, or you will think it’s creepy. And God bless your new kid.
Yo Joe!
Are you kidding? This is easily an early entry for email of the year! My thanks to you for uncovering what the government doesn’t want us to know…and during Black History Month, no less. J’s email revealed eight never before known members of our elite special forces unit. Including:
Stretcher, a medical specialist from Hartford, CT.
Heavy Duty, a part-time heavy ordinance trooper…part-time guitarist?
Static Line…although check out that last name on his “file card”, I have my doubts here.
Red Dog, one of Sgt. Slaughter’s “Renegades” (not the dead wrestler).
Hardball, a failed minor league ballplayer turned grenade launcher? Ugh.
Colonel Courage…worst name ever.
Bulletproof, who hails from Chicago…like almost every other G.I. Bro.
Dee Jay…my personal favorite of the “Lost Joes”. Described as the “baddest, hottest disc jockey in Boston” on his file card. Christ, who was number two, “MC Pahk tha Cah”?
And if that walk down Hasbro memory lane doesn’t do it for you, perhaps this one will.
David S. sez…
Great column, always look forward to it for taking a bite out of my lunch hour. (Alright, I am not that cool..I only get 30 mins) First off, grats on the baby. Second, figured you would like to know that I was also born EXACTLY two months early, March 15th instead of May 15th. I was about 3 pounds, 6 oz to be exact, and while I am not anything close to Adonis (not Adrian, mind you) I am in perfect health. Best of luck to you and the missus and here’s to the start of a dynasty. Cheers.
PS. Last weeks column, you made a reference to Enrico Pallazzo. A reference I make all the time to a guy at our job named an Enrico..and NO ONE EVER gets it. Nice to know someone appreciates Frank Drebin.
Thanks, brutha…me n’ the wife appreciate you sharing your story with us. And anyone who doesn’t get a Naked Gun reference is worthy of your suspicion. He’s likely part of some rogue terrorist cell. Report him to H.R. immediately.
Greg S. sez…
Hey man. I just wanted to let you know that my twin girls were born almost three months early (14 inches and 2 pounds a piece), and although I know it is hard as hell now, things will get better. Mine are up to 5 pounds now, and hopefully they are coming home any day now. The worst part will be when the post-partum kicks in, and your wife starts randomly crying. Good luck to you.
Greg later caught me on IM and sent some of the most beautiful pics you could imagine of his two girls. Thanks for your story, too, dawg…I’ve been sharing all y’all testimonials with Mrs. Bootleg and each one really makes her day. As a quick aside, in one of the pictures, Greg was proudly holding one of his girls…the wife caught a glimpse and told me she found her next husband. You home wrecking bastard.
Life With Baby Bootleg
Hey, I promised y’all some baby pictures last week, didn’t I? Never let it be said that The Bootleg doesn’t deliver (unless we’re talking about the final part of my 10-part Tupac series or my review of the new Missy Elliott album or the second part of my Super Bowl Diary). Cough.
Here’s a shot of a barely day-old Jalen.
Here’s one of Baby Bootleg & his old man, the purveyor of Goodness. They say the camera adds 12 inches to the circumference of one’s head.
Finally, here’s hoping that Jalen grows up to be a lot less gay looking than me.
In addition, we passed a major milestone last Sunday as the wife and I were able to smell the baby for the first time. No…not that factory-sealed, fresh-off-the-showroom scent that only new babies and 1989 Upper Deck Ken Griffey Jr. Rookie Cards have.
I’m talkin’ the other kind of smell. Yeah, that one. I watched (natch) as the wife went to work on changing his diaper. And let me tell ya…preemie diapers weren’t made for breast milk poo. With apologies to Dan Patrick, they couldn’t stop him or hope to contain him.
So, Mrs. Bootleg was finishing up the requisite changing, wiping and cleaning, when she lifted the kid’s legs up and the lava began to flow again. I’m told that a baby’s legs work as an ass-pump when elevated…and if any of you ever remember your 4th grade science project with the paper mache volcano, baking soda and orange-colored water, you know what I’m talkin’ about (Willis).
Mrs. Bootleg’s Quote of the Week
“Honey, could you check my (c-section) incision.” – Wednesday, February 25.
That was my Ash(ish) Wednesday…how was yours?
Wanna see some really embarrassing pictures? Get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13
