Welcome back to The Bootleg. If you’re reading this, then 411Mania.com survived the Great Crash of ’04. It seems our server went Kristy McNichol on us earlier this week as thousands of readers converged at the same time to read about the hottest story in years. Something about a juiced-up farm boy from South Dakota who quit his job.
Sorry, but here on my planet, this ranks somewhere in the vicinity of Jonathan Taylor Thomas leaving Home Improvement and the untimely passing of the ensign in the first act of every classic Star Trek episode. Man, that skintight red Starfleet unitard was the kiss of death, wasn’t it? Apparently, Big Al from Tool Time had a few in his closet, as well. Or was that another former actor/ewok hosting Family Feud at 2:05 AM on channel 88?
And am I the only one who remembers when game shows were a staple of American life? The best part of being sick as a child wasn’t staying home from school…it was chillin’ in my Return of the Jedi pajamas and playing along with Bob Barker and the Showcase Showdown on The Price Is Right. Or maybe Nipsey Russell would grace us with a few bars on $25,000 Pyramid. For those who don’t know, he was the token Afro-American Poet Laureate of daytime television…a Leaping Leroy Poffo, if you will.
Ah…but it began and ended with Press Your Luck. The sheer joy of watching contestants build up vast “big money, big money” fortunes, only to see these cartoonish little red people swoop in and take it all away was indescribable. I often viewed it as a tragic metaphor for what would happen if the Indians ever took revenge on the white man. Y’know…for that whole pillage their land, rape their women, import their diseases thing.
Oh, and carrot-raisin salad. The white man brought that over here, too. I’ve never understood carrot-raisin salad.
The Goodness: Where It All Begins…Unless It Starts After 10, then I’ve gotta go to bed.
Ol’ Reliable
Everyone here at 411 is occasionally forced to pad their columns with superfluous filler. From time to time, the weekly news happenings are non-existent, so we’ll turn to comfortable crutches, like eight pages of transcribed AIM conversation, imaginary celebrity contributors or, in the case of The Bootleg…gratuitous nude shots of female rappers. And in the year’s most shocking development, the star of this week’s peep show is, once again, Lil’ Kim. During a performance in Denmark, the “village bicycle” of hip hop (we would’ve also accepted: “community doorknob”) donned Seinfeld’s puffy pirate shirt, dyed it pink and took the stage in concert for a few hundred woefully-starved-for-entertainment Dutch boys n’ girls.
For most in the audience, it was the first time they had ever seen a Negro in person. They received an additional treat when it was apparent that Kim had left her panties over at Uffe Elleman-Jensen’s palatial estate. Not surprisingly, the concert continued on as Lil’ Kim has now officially tied the modern-era record with the sixth continent that has seen her “cocoa canoe”. Antarctica is all that remains, however instead of exposing her curdled cooch to such a sub-zero environment, she might wanna consider two words, as an alternative: Naked Pengo.
Thank You For Being A Friend
What was long considered an urban myth and dismissed as unfounded paranoia has turned out to be true…maybe. The so-called “Hip Hop Police” have been rumored to exist for years. News broke this week that the Miami Police Department has been monitoring the actions and activities of numerous big-name rappers like P. Diddy, DMX and Ja Rule. Apparently, the good rappers aren’t under surveillance at this time. As you might expect, civil rights leaders are falling over each other to climb their soapboxes and denounce the Department’s actions as nothing more than racial profiling.
Personally, I think all the critics are missing the real problem with this whole monitoring program. I mean, how hard can it be to find a rapper in Miami? The cops don’t need high-powered cameras, illegal wiretaps or hundreds of hours of manpower. Hell, just look for the guys who don’t look like The Golden Girls and who don’t talk like Pedro Cerrano from Major League. Although, I’m told 50 Cent looks like Bea Arthur.
I’m So Pretty, I Should’ve Been Born A Little Girl
George Michael, formerly of Wham or Wang Chung or something, has announced that his next album, Patience, will be the last he ever releases commercially. OK, those of you who knew he was still making music, take one step forward and close the closet door behind you. Yep, the man who inherited those seven-year-old jokes from Pee Wee Herman with his 1998 arrest is turning towards the internet for his future releases. And he was obviously inspired by those low-budget museums we all visited on our second grade field trips. He plans to give away his showtunes for free, but will post a link or banner ad so that fans can donate to his favorite charities…if they want to.
Y’see, George…that’s why the donation box next to the dusty dinosaur with the three and a half legs exhibit is always empty. It says suggested donation. Remember those holiday canned food drives in elementary school? Instead of actually demanding that we bring in Butterball turkeys and sweet potato pie, our teachers merely suggested we bring something they’d enjoy. And nothing says Thanksgiving better than Hormel chili and Vienna sausages.
Truly Outrageous
Ten years ago, Jada Pinkett was one of Hollywood’s brightest young stars. Fresh off a run on network television, she made a big splash in 1994’s Jason’s Lyric. From there, her career never really got out of the gate. Sure, she’s had parts in big budget hits like Nutty Professor and The Matrix sequels, but fans just haven’t been hot to embrace a three-foot tall woman with a bald fade. So, where does a bite-sized has-been turn when the producers of The Surreal Life and those 1-800-COLLECT commercials won’t take her agent’s calls?
Why, she goes and forms a band. Her group is called Wicked Wisdom and after months of playing small gigs in Southern California, they’ve been asked to open for Britney Spears on her eight-date tour of England. I can’t say that I like the chances of Jada making it in the world of rock n’ roll. After all, the greatest girl groups in history don’t have much of a legacy with women of color. Jemm & The Holograms…Barbie & The Rockers…Justine Bateman’s band, Mystery, in the 1988 coming-of-age flick, Satisfaction. Someone call Rev. Sharpton.
Is It Too Late Get Him With the Tenth Bullet?
50 Cent is catching some heat for a recent interview with Playboy magazine. In it, he goes off on an extended homophobic rant where he bashes gay men as “faggots” and “homos”, but supports lesbianism and calls it “cool”. Alright, Curtis…we know you’re not the crispiest pork rind in the bag, but it’s obvious you have no real perspective here. See, the “lesbians” you speak of are those voluptuous porn stars you see eating each other out, while trying to hold together the shaky and contrived plot of Anal Asian Gangbang Vol. 5. I mean, really, they had nowhere left to go after Volume 3, but I digress. In the real world of girl-on-girl, there’s a lot more flannel, a lot more Doc Martens and 25,000 kilos of Rosie O’Donnell.
Sometimes The News Just Writes Itself
Have I ever told y’all how hard it is to be an African-American man in this country today? The peer pressure is enormous. For example, we’re expected to see every “Black” movie the day they come out in theaters…and if you’ve ever sat through Belly or 3 Strikes, you know that’s no easy task. Well, our friends at MTV have targeted a new show for the hip hop generation. Pimp My Ride, hosted by rapper Xzibit, debuted last week and features a…”unique” premise.
Capitalizing on the whole “extreme makeover” reality TV craze, the show finds the most tore-down cars and turns them into veritable vehicular Van Goghs. The show’s producers boast that they’ll take cars valued between $500-$900, put $20,000-$30,000 worth of love into each one and present the new ride to their surprised owners. The real surprise is finding anyone who would rather put rims and a sound system in their 1988 beige Ford Tempo, instead of using the $20K to actually buy a new car.
Nick’a Please
conceptualized by Nick Salemi
Gilla House Presents Redman “Ill At Will” Mixtape Vol 1
Redman aka The Funk Doctor Spock and self proclaimed “hero of the weirdoes” is back for 2004. Reggie Noble hasn’t dropped a full-length solo album since 2001’s Malpractice. It’s about time.
New Jersey’s finest has followed the blueprint of how to keep his music in the streets by releasing “Ill at Will the Mixtape Vol 1”. While mixtapes used to be the avenue for unknown artists to make a name for themselves, more and more established artists have
been going that route as of late.
With approximately 1000 rap artists signed to Def Jam, there’s only so much promotion money to go around, so Red’s first mixtape serves to remind y’all that he still comes hard as any newcomer and hype his upcoming official album release. Not that Redman has ever held back from saying whatever the hell he wants, but this mixtape allows him to use samples and beats he would otherwise probably not get the clearances for.
“Ill at Will” has a couple of standout tracks, most notably Da Countdown (The Saga Continues) which is vintage Doc and shows that lyrically he still can blow any MC out the frame.
Another track, “I C Dead People” also kicks 10 kinds of ass. Although the Big and Pac, etc, tributes are quite tired at this point (2pac feat. Trick Daddy was the last straw), Doc puts a different twist on it. Throughout his verses, several of the bars end with snippets from Biggie, 2Pac, Big Pun and Big L. The beat is crazy, too. It’s totally different from
anything he’s ever been on.
He also takes his shot at spittin over some well-known hot beats. He does his own takes on Dr Dre’s Bad Intentions and Jigga’s “What More Can I Say”.
Reggie Noble certainly doesn’t need to keep proving that his stankin’ ass still runs sh*t, but he does it anyway. This CD is a must have for any fan of Redman or real hip-hop.
General Haberdashery
Start your weekend off right with The Minority Report. I hope y’all remember to check for their new columns this weekend, as well. Sure, the Tocino Mexicano is all cold and congealed, but give it a taste…maybe with a plate of machaca.
Meanwhile, the Canadian Bacon is a day fresher, but just as salty n’ fatty. Try it with pineapple.
Read the rest of the Music Zone, too. We’re that piece of pork swimming in the middle of a can of pork n’ beans.
All I Need Is One Mic Link
This week, I’m directing y’all to 411 Black and our resident Hall Monitor, Chris Biscuiti. He handicaps the contenders on that TV show that you know you watch, but will never admit to publicly. And, no, it’s not Smackdown. Click here for more details.
Life With Baby Bootleg
Last Sunday, me and the wife took part in a mandatory CPR course for infants. Another couple, whose daughter was only a few beds down from our boy, joined us. A middle-aged mother of four, dressed in four-inch pumps, Capri pants and garish blue and yellow two-piece top taught the class.
So, that’s what Peggy Bundy is doing these days.
She didn’t really do much for the first 20 minutes or so, except pop in a dated videotape. How old was it…? Well, I thought I saw Jon-Benet Ramsey get a credit as “choking baby”.
In actuality, the video featured one guy and an infant doll. His deadpan delivery absolutely killed me, as the first step in any potential CPR activity is to get the child’s attention. And what child wouldn’t respond to:
“Baby, baby…wake up wake up.”
Yes, he read his lines with as much enthusiasm as they sit there on your screen. And when he wasn’t channeling the spirit of Keanu, he was busy pounding on the “child’s” back like a speed bag. Obviously, that was the “distract the baby from the Hot Wheel in his windpipe by breaking his spine” approach.
60 minutes later, Mrs. Bootleg and I were certified baby life savers and ready to scream for help and forget everything we learned when/if we ever need to use our training.
Mrs. Bootleg’s Quote of the Week
“I’ll show you where it’s raw at tonight.” – 3/10/04
A year ago, I’d be charging up the digital camera if she left this line on my voice mail. Today, I know that it comes from the frustration of a woman who breast pumps every three hours and has the irritated nipples to prove it.
Hey, you read this far…you have no one to blame but yourselves.
18 more shopping days until my birfday. Get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13
