Welcome back to The Bootleg. Let’s set the wayback machine for one week ago. It was an overcast morning here in San Diego and I was ass-deep in one of the worst workdays of my life. If I was one of those unoriginal shills, this is where I’d be quoting Office Space and likening my existence to TPS reports and Michael Bolton. But, since I’m only wearing about eight pieces of flair, let’s move on.
It’s about 11:00 AM and I’m in a meeting with my boss, our Director of Finance and one of our Program Managers. As the youngest and Blackest guy in the room, can you guess whose fault everything was that day? Apparently, I was to blame for not only our stalled two million dollar proposal, but also for the last season of Oz and the continued, unexplained popularity of The O.C..
I get back to my desk…checkin’ to see if one of them had cut off my foot, when I hear a message from the wife on my voice mail:
Jalen’s coming home today.
Now, for you new readers…you might want to catch up with the rest of us by starting here. Go ahead, we’ll wait.
After a five-week stay in the Intensive Care Unit, our son was finally coming home with us. And, much like his original arrival, this was something of a surprise, as we had been hearing late March/early April as his most likely release date.
We were told he passed all of his tests (and, if he’s like his old man, he must’ve found some really smart babies to copy off of), so we could come and get him. He still needs to be hooked up to a heart rate/breathing monitor, so me and the wife spent 30 minutes that day getting trained on how to use one.
Never mind that the guy who was supposed to train us (wearing skin-tight acid-washed Levi’s, a Bugle Boy(!) shirt and black Reebok hi-tops) didn’t seem to know a damn thing about the machine, himself, but if I ever need one of those “Frankie Say Relax” t-shirts, I know where to go.
“I’m not sure what this signal means.”…a direct quote from the monitor guy.
“That’s OK…he only needs this to live.”…a direct reply from me.
At about 6:00 PM, we piled into my wife’s Honda (yes, everyone has a better car than me) and s-l-o-w-l-y pulled out of the parking lot. I’m tellin’ ya, I haven’t obeyed that many traffic laws (turn signals, two car lengths separation, hands at 2 n’ 10 o’clock) since I failed my first driver’s test.
We finally got him home, where we will do everything we can to spoil him rotten. After all, he’ll be picking out the eventual retirement home for me and Mrs. Bootleg. And the last thing I want to do is piss him off and end up in one of those homes profiled on 60 Minutes or the place where Happy dropped off Grandma Gilmore.
Hey…you no want Goodness…?
Now, With More Gay!
Following up on the 50 Cent item from last week, it appears the men n’ women of The Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD) are willing to embrace 50 despite his anti-gay and homophobic comments to Playboy magazine earlier this month. They’ve invited him to attend their annual awards show in an effort to interact with…whoa, hold up. The Gay & Lesbian Awards Show?
Wow…I’m gonna need a little help with my ballot. In Athlete of the Year, I’ve narrowed it down to Brady Anderson, Mike Piazza and “every pro wrestler”. In the category of Lesbian Lifetime Achievement, I’m going with the posthumous choice of Shirley Hemphill from What’s Happening! over Ann B. Davis from The Brady Bunch and Large Marge from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. Finally, in the new category Just Admit It, Already, I’m going with the dark horse in MTV’s Kurt Loder over favorites Kevin Spacey, Clay Aiken and Mario Lopez. Like you didn’t know.
Maybe The Doll Is Just Set To ‘Evil’
You know the great thing about a dead horse? It’s that even after the flies, the scavengers and Star Jones have dined on the carcass…it can still be beaten. Case in point: the good people at Focus Features have green lit the fifth installment of the “Chucky/Child’s Play” franchise. This time around, rapper Redman has been tabbed for a featured role. He’ll play himself in what’s tentatively being called Seed of Chucky.
It’s currently not known what part, if any, former WCW star and Chucky arch-nemesis Rick Steiner will have in the movie. But back to Redman…since the stereotypical fate of “the Black man in a horror movie” is pretty much well known to y’all, the only thing I’ll say on the matter is: can we get Shemar Moore a role in the next Faces of Death movie?
Me So Disenfranchised
And we wonder why the Democrats are in trouble. Florida State Representative James Henry “Hank” Harper, Jr. (and with a name like that, I’m shocked he’s from the deep south) has aligned with 2 Live Crew frontman Luke Campbell. The two are promising to register 40,000 new Florida voters in 10 cities and at four historically Black colleges. This whole effort might be a tough sell down there, as locals are still stinging over perceived voting “irregularities” during the 2000 Presidential campaign.
Personally, my political indifference can be traced to 1987’s Hiding Out. In it, Jon Cryer plays a 30-something stockbroker who shaves his beard and “hides out” from the mob in a high school. The kids all think he’s one of their own and he even wins a student body election, before foiling the bad guys. Hmm, middle-aged man in a field of kids half his age. Sounds like that one 411 Music Zone writer, doesn’t it? What’s his name again…
Betty White or Britney Spears…?
A few months ago, we reported on the possibility of Britney Spears in the role of Daisy Duke for the upcoming Dukes of Hazard movie. It now appears that Jessica Simpson is also in the running for the part of the leggy, short-shorts wearing cousin of Bo n’ Luke Duke. It’s been a few decades and I’m not sure I had even started kindergarten yet, but I have no shame in admitting that Daisy Duke was the first white girl I ever loved. From there, I went through my Wonder Woman phase…but eventually, TV producers would lose a generation of prepubescent horndogs with their insistence on pushing the concept of “sexy septuagenarians” down our collective throats.
First, there was Polly Holliday as the sassy Flo from Alice. Her “grits” were dusty and weather-beaten, yet week after week, we were told to “kiss” them. We moved onto Katherine Helmond, who played the nymphomatic Mona on Who’s The Boss. Despite being only the fourth most attractive woman on the show (behind Samantha, Angela & Jonathan), she was prominently featured in short skirts n’ six-inch pumps. Apparently, varicose veins = vixen.
Finally, NBC foisted The Golden Girls on an unsuspecting nation and forever burned into my cortex the possibility that my Grandpa John and Grandma Hazel were still having sex. Maybe those memories would fade if I’d quit watching the reruns on Lifetime every weeknight at 7:00 PM.
Hit ‘Em Up…For More Cash
Move over Suge Knight and Afeni Shakur…there’s a new grave-robber in town and she’s looking to join the thousands of others who’ve turned Tupac’s ashes into cold, hard cash(es)! Angela Ardis is a three-time failure as an actress, model and screenwriter. But, as a prison groupie, she gets *****. I’m talking Benoit with breasts. Ten years ago, she wrote to Tupac Shakur during his incarceration on sexual assault charges.
Much to her surprise, Pac wrote back and over the following months, the two exchanged correspondence that ranged from enlightened poetry to erotic cakes. Now…finally, those illegible scrawls have been gathered for this timeless collection. Inside A Thug’s Heart will be published this spring and contains all the letters that the two shared. The Bootleg has obtained an exclusive advance copy and we’re proud to share an excerpt with you:
“Dear Angela,
I’m scared. Today, I was jumped in the shower by three cats. About halfway through the gang-sodomy, I…think it moved. It may have moved, I don’t know. I mean, it moved! It was imperceptible, but I felt it!
Love, Tupac”
I would’ve printed more, but the letter veers off into some bizarre rant about Joe DiMaggio and Dinky Donuts. And I know it’s a lie because if Joe DiMaggio wants a donut he goes to a fancy restaurant or a hotel. He’s not sitting in Dinky Donuts.
Say You, Say Me, Say…That’s My Money, B*tch
Lionel Richie, the original cocoa-brown Clydesdale, has been in the news recently. It seems that there are reports his soon-to-be-ex wife is asking for upwards of $300,000 a month in spousal support. According to Diane Richie, the pair led “an extraordinary and extravagant lifestyle with no limits on how much money she could spend”. She met Lionel in 1984 while she was working as a waitress, a dancer and a clothing designer. By the way, that’s “Californ-ese” for “unemployed”, “stripper” and “turning tricks on the side”.
Far be it for me to get involved in someone else’s marital dispute, but that seems like a small price to pay for Lionel to cut his losses, move on with his life and start holding his head with pride, again. What’s that…? You mean Lionel would have to pay out $300K/month and maintain full n’ exclusive custody of his bouncing baby basehead, Nicole? Damn, on second thought, m’man Lionel might wanna fight this one tooth n’ nail. Perhaps the services of Clarence Mason are available…y’know, “alienation of affection” and all that.
Take It Off! Now, Balance That Checkbook!
Method Man has decided to take a break from not working on his next album, Tical 0: The Prequel, to film and produce a documentary on exotic dancers. Apparently, this story will be different from the ones HBO tells at 11:00 PM every Thursday night (or so I’m told) on G-String Divas. Meth promises to take us into the “everyday lives” of strippers by finally showing us what their parents think of their profession and how a dancer makes ends meet.
You heard right…less on the hot naked women and more on their mothers. Less ass shaking in your face and more of them at the check-cashing place. Eh, I saw enough “behind the scenes” stories of strippers during 1995’s Showgirls. And, unless Method Man has agreed to terms with Jessie Spano, Kelly Kapowski and Lisa Turtle for appearances in his movie, then I’ll take a pass.
Sometimes The News Just Writes Itself
Actor Danny Aiello plans to drop his debut album this April. The 70-year-old (no, seriously, he’s 70) Aiello is more known for his film work, but claims that he’s always loved to sing and is excited about his musical venture. Aside from his stint in 1986 as manager of The British Bulldogs, Aiello is probably most known for his role in Spike Lee’s classic Do The Right Thing. The movie was shamefully ignored at Oscar time, but here’s hoping that future generations give props to Spike’s daring dual-role as both the underachieving, yet earnest Mookie and his knotty-haired sister, Jade.
Hey, speaking of Sal’s Famous Pizzeria…here’s an open message to my New York readers: A large pizza is not a pie. It’s a large pizza. A pie is for dessert and often served a la mode. While I’m at it, when a few dozen of you are waiting in a queue for the free clinic to open up, you’re standing in line…not on line. Ooh, and this one’s for everybody…damn it, it’s “I couldn’t care less” not “I could care less”. Put these lessons to use and spread my gospel, kids.
Nick’a Please
Nick Gets Served
After weeks of behind-the-scenes tension, my understudy Nick Salemi offered to write this week’s column with assurances that it would be better than my work has been lately. This is my second reply
Volunteer to write The Bootleg?…P’shh, Nick’a PLEASE
Be happy wit’ your 8 bars…writin’ like mini-me
Your fans? Nah, they MY fans now, they keep comin’ back fo’ mo’
Salemi got them ’80s jokes wit’ a hip hop flow, now where I heard that sh*t be’fo…?
Nick wanna BE like me…a-j-C like me…Is the wife and child next?
He STILL five-three and when she on her knees, he only comes up to her neck
So, know your place…get out my face…Bootleg will NEVA stop
Jus’ follow my lead…like m’man Op. Prime, while you spit game like Grimlock
General Haberdashery
There was a recent thread started on the exclusive Members Only Jacket section of our 411 Staff Forum. The uncrowned “2003 Staffer of the Year” asked everyone what they thought their individual weaknesses as a writer were and, more importantly, he asked us to volley some constructive criticism against other writers in the Music Zone.
Think of this as When We Ride Write On Our Enemies. (Copyright, NCS)
Fernandez has been late with his column for two weeks in a row. On top of that, his Rock n’ Wrestling opener to last week’s Swindle Sheet was better than just about anything 411 has seen this year, which makes it hard for hacks like me to keep up. Thanks, Jeff. Como se dice “bastard” en español?
Canadian T spends eight paragraphs talking about hockey in his most recent column. Someone should tell him this is 411 Music, not 411 NHL or 411 Hey-Look-At-Me-My-Wife-Just-Had-A-Baby. Wait a minute…scratch that second one.
Michael Melchor just bugs me on the grounds of alliteration.
Evocator holds his true feelings n’ opinions inside, when he should be sharing them with world. Careful, brutha…you might get an ulcer.
Life With Baby Bootleg
One of the three reasons I married my wife was because of her spaghetti. Homemade sauce, slow simmering…all the good stuff. So a few days ago, the wife cooks for the first time in forever and at 6:00 PM, she tells me that dinner is ready.
Just then…literally, at that precise moment, the kid starts crying. And I’m talking one of those cries usually reserved for the baby seated directly behind you on the airplane. The wife “suddenly” remembers that she needs to take a shower before one of her fellow premature baby mamas from the hospital comes over, so I’m left with Kid Cameron.
I shoved a bottle in his mouth and click on a rerun of The Simpsons. Sideshow Bob hasn’t even robbed the Kwik-E-Mart yet and Jalen has finished his milk…and starts cryin’ again. I can’t be sure, but I think the wife merely turned on the shower and was sitting at the top of the stairs waiting this whole thing out.
He got another bottle and instead of respecting my rapidly chilling dinner on the stove, he decided to savor this one like a fine quart of Manischewitz. When he finally decided to let us eat, it was 6:50 PM and I had been forced to watch 20 minutes of That ’70s Show.
I cannot wait to tell him there’s no Santa Claus. I shouldn’t have to suffer alone.
Mrs. Bootleg’s Quote of the Week
“It’s been 20 minutes and I haven’t heard from you. I just want to make sure everything’s okay with Jalen
That actually came from my mother-in-law, earlier this week. See, she calls the house and, if the wife is feeding or napping or checking caller ID, then Mrs. Bootleg will let her mother’s calls roll to the answering machine.
My MIL will, in turn, give us about 15-20 minutes to call her back, before she starts panicking or hyperventilating with a return call. It goes on like this, until one of us (the wife) calls her back and assures her that everything is fine.
Three hours later, at Jalen’s next feeding, it all begins again.
11 more shopping days until my birfday. Get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13
