Welcome back to The Bootleg. I’m proud to say that I survived my wife’s first Mother’s Day. Unfortunately, my wallet died of natural causes sometime during the weekend. I had already clogged its various pockets and slots with credit cards, frequent smoothie buyer cards and my San Diego State University student ID card, which I haven’t needed since I used it for a discount admission to Jackie Brown.
Now, just a half-pound south of “Costanza”-size, my wallet opened for the last two times for my wife’s Mother’s Day gift (an afternoon at a popular day spa for her and a friend) and the requisite brunch for Mrs. Bootleg and the other six mothers (mostly her family) that flew out to freeload celebrate with us.
The brunch was actually quite the eye-opening event. Our son was due for a feeding, so I happily volunteered to let the wife enjoy her $15.95 buffet plate of powdered eggs and fatback, while I performed a little paternal responsibility. Keep in mind, that we’re at the Hilton out in Mission Bay…two steps from the ocean and within groping distance of some of California’s most magnificent man-made mammary glands.
With my Eddie Bauer men’s diaper bag in tow, I found a place under the shade, stuck a bottle in Jalen’s mouth and waited for the women, while choosing the perfect line:
“It’s so tough raising him…alone.” or…
“Yeah, I won him when the Pats didn’t cover in the Super Bowl. I guess I should really read the fine print on those Internet gambling site disclosure statements.”
However, much to my disappointment, the only women that an adorable child and his even adorabler father seemed to attract were a plethora of prunes and other walking dried fruit. Damn it…didn’t one of these Swamp Things come to brunch with their granddaughter? And, when did they start allowing 80-year-old women to wear shorts? Shouldn’t these things be taken to the public for a vote?
Not surprisingly, the kid wasn’t too interested in the bottle of his mother’s breast ooze. Alternately, I was feeling awkward and uncomfortable with the sausagefest of men who semi-circled around us trying to guess my son’s age and weight like a carload of old-school carnies.
I went back to our table and handed Jalen back to my wife. At the same time, I quietly mentioned that I wanted to pick up the tab for the entire table without anyone finding out and trying to stop me. I found our waiter, paid him on the down low and returned to the table. After another 20 minutes, we finally agreed to leave.
Curiously, no one even mentioned the bill…and if any of you have ever dined with more than one Black woman at a single setting, you know you’d better set aside 45 minutes at the end of the meal for them to divide the check right down to the last biscuit.
It took another half-hour after we left, before anyone even asked who paid the bill. Did they think our party received the six sistas or more discount? Didn’t one of them think something was amiss when the waiter stopped coming by to fill our glasses (i.e. make sure we were still there)?
They all seemed to have a good laugh over the whole thing, as I silently wondered how many other restaurants have been stiffed by my cheap-ass relatives (by marriage).
The Goodness always tips 20%…
50 Cent Looks Like Pokey Reese
Soft-spoken troubadour 50 Cent, in a rare weak moment, allegedly attacked a fan at a concert in Boston last weekend. 50 was about ten minutes into his performance at the Hippodrome Club when he was reportedly nailed with a bottle of water. The rapper and his crew then jumped into the crowd in pursuit of the bottle-thrower, before security pushed 50 and his people back onstage. Am I the only one that marvels at how all these “hard” rappers need eight or nine other guys to beat the sh*t out of one man?
And this phenomenon isn’t exclusive to the music industry. Remember the Back to the Future movies? Biff and his posse spent scene after scene chasing after Alex P. Keaton, for God’s sake. Didn’t any of them watch Casualties of War? When head-to-toe camouflage and an endless array of weaponry can’t make Michael J. Fox into a hard-ass, then I’m damn sure there’s no reason to be scared of Calvin Klein draws and the remix to Johnny B. Good. Trust me, your kids are gonna love it.
Any Bullets Left In Biggie To Throw His Way?
Longtime Friend of the Bootleg, Reggie Reynolds, sent me a horrible attachment via email this week. No, it wasn’t the dreaded Mackey Sasser virus that infects your system with a mysterious mental block that prevents launching Windows from behind home plate.
In actuality, Reggie hit me up with the newest single from the man who, for one miserable summer, was the biggest name in rap. Yes…Mase is back! His newest single, Welcome Back, is reportedly in rotation on several East Coast stations (ha!) and with lyrics like these, let’s hope it stays there:
I’m making money man, without the coca
Living La Vida, without the loca
And if you’ve already forgotten this assclown, try to imagine the flow and cadence of Fabolous, with even less talent. Don’t believe me? Mase steals the theme from Welcome Back, Kotter as the hook for this mess. Even I don’t quote from that show. I could never get my arms around the concept of Juan Epstein, the Puerto Rican Jew.
On A Related Note, What Day Did They Move Justice League To?
Andre 3000 of the unexplainably popular duo Outkast is in heated talks with representatives from The Cartoon Network regarding the development of his own cartoon series. The show would reportedly be based on the “Johnny Vulture” persona that Andre has developed and occasionally featured in Outkast videos (most notably, last year’s Hey Ya.) If picked up, the show would air during the Network’s successful “adult swim” block of programming. The Bootleg says, “right group, wrong member”. No, I’m not trying to see an animated version of Big Boi, either.
If anyone needs their own cartoon, it’s Outkast hanger-on Farnsworth Bentley, who’s pretty much the last remaining resident of Roger Rabbit’s Toon Town. Seriously, when Blender Magazine releases their list of “Muthaf*ckas Who Need Their Ass Kicked”, I’d better see this fancy-dan somewhere near the top…right between Sway and Nicole Richie. Am I just not in on the joke with this guy? Is he really some sort of evil genius like Charles Nelson Reilly who just plays a fool when the cameras are rolling? I loved him in Bodyslam.
It’s The Roc!
Talk about ‘when worlds collide’…hip hop entrepreneur Damon (Dame) Dash had hooked up with erstwhile Spice Girl, Victoria (Posh) Beckham. Their relationship was originally tied to Dash’s Roc-A-Wear clothing line, but soon took a steamy turn…to the record industry. Victoria agreed to let Dash produce her next solo album, with the hopes that the same label that turned Jay-Z into a megastar could recover the festering remains of Posh Spice’s career.
Alas, it’s not meant to be…It seems that Beckham’s management balked at her association with a grown man whose “street” name is “Dame” (we can only assume that “bitch-ass n*gga” was taken). It’s just hard for me to understand how a brutha can have this much clout in the music industry, when he’s really only known for two things: his more-embarrassing-than-Vince McMahon appearance on The Bob Costas Show and his real-life sister, Stacey Dash. I haven’t seen too much of her lately, so I can only assume that she’s at “stage three” of the “Joan Severance Career Path”.
Stage One…Establish Yourself As a B-Level Sex Symbol as Joan did with Hear No Evil, See No Evil and Stacey did with Mo’ Money.
Stage Two…Watch Your Career Tank & Accept Roles in Soft-Core Porn as Joan did with Dangerous Indiscretion and Stacey did with Illegal in Blue.
Finally, Stage Three…Sit at Home by the Phone and Hope That Casting Agents Didn’t See Those Scenes With Eric Roberts or Treat Williams Licking Your Ass…and the phone never rings.
Fried Chicken Sold Separately
The marriage between hip hop and video gaming has come a long way from Pa’Rappa the Rappa. The good people at Eidos have announced a development deal to produce Get On Da Mic…think of it as Sim City meets 8 Mile. The game will allow players to forge a long and successful career as a rapper, but not before they pay their dues as a lowly club rapper working his way up the ladder.
Eidos promises the game will include “shady agents, groupies and even allows you to purchase a house and various jewelry based on your success”. Hey, I’ve got a better name for this project…how about MC Stereotype? Groupies and jewelry…? Nice to show our kids that they have so much to aspire towards someday.
Jeez, if it wasn’t for those incessant reruns of The Cosby Show, my son probably wouldn’t have any positive images of Black folk in entertainment. Wait a minute…we should probably exclude Denise, the light-skinned Cosby kid who ruined her career with drugs, dreads and Mickey Rourke. Ditto for Rudy, since her and her fu-man-chu have been reduced to “token ho” in Chingy’s videos.
Ooh, no love for Vanessa or Theo, either. The former had one of those low-rent trashy talk shows that were all the rage in the mid ’90s, while Theo went crawling to UPN for work and provided the highbrow lead-in to Homeboys From Outer Space.
Well, even with those bad apples removed from the bunch, there were still nearly 100 other Huxtable kids, grandparents and long lost jazz teachers/college professors/brain surgeons that popped up in every episode, so I suppose my kid can suckle positive imagery from them.
Didn’t the Huxtables seem to know every Black professional in the country? I half-expected Booker T. Washington and George Washington Carver to split a bag of peanuts with Cockroach in a sweeps month cameo.
I’m Sorry, But Missy Elliott Won’t Be…Hey, It’s Missy!
Have you ever wondered why there are so few rap concerts in North Dakota? Yeah, me neither, but keep reading, anyway. The manager of the Fargodome in beautiful Fargo, North Dakota was terminated from his position after he advanced nearly $100,000 to a promoter for a Missy Elliott concert that never happened.
Apparently, the city or the state or some down-on-their-luck local tribe owns the venue and the money exchanged actually belongs to the taxpayers. The show was eventually cancelled due to poor ticket sales, but the advance was non-refundable since there was no written contract in place to set up terms for a refund.
Fear not, Fargo…if we’ve learned nothing else from sitcoms, it’s that the big name star always shows up at the end of the day…usually two minutes before the credits roll. Didn’t Davy Jones save Marcia’s dance? Didn’t Boyz II Men save Christmas on that Fresh Prince episode? Didn’t Bob Hope save the community theater on Golden Girls? Um, trust me on that last one…I read about it in an old TV Guide with a cast shot of Herman’s Head on the cover. Yes, that’ll do.
Sometimes The News Just Writes Itself
Here at The Bootleg, we have our fun with the music news and try not to take anything too seriously…until now. For months, the 411 staff of music writers has tried to warn you of an impending threat, but you wouldn’t listen. It’s not too late, but the next few days are critical.
Our favorite gold-toofed toilet floater, Lil’ Jon, is making his move to rock music. He’s already ruined rap and left an indelible skid mark on the draws of R&B (am I the only person who can’t stand that Yeah! song with Usher?) There’s no hope left for these genres, kids. All we can do is hold them in our arms until they cough up a blood clot and tell us they “wanna go home” like Bubba right before he died in Forrest Gump.
Jon is planning to hit the studio next week with Korn. Now, I’m going to need some help from the rock n’ roll segment of my readers…is Korn considered quote-unquote cool? I heard them on that Ice Cube cut F*** Dying, but I know little else about them. Should rock fans be outraged or is the hope that Lil’ Jon actually does ruin their careers, like some sort of Dusty Baker/Kerry Wood arrangement?
In addition to killing all music as we know it, Lil’ Jon is also a pathological liar. Apparently, he met legendary producer Rick Rubin after a recent show. Jon shared this conversation he allegedly had with Rubin:
“Rick (told me), ‘Your music is what hip-hop used to be…’ “
This cannot be true. Lil’ Jon may be as dark as Flava Flav, as short as Bushwick Bill and as manly as Monie Love, but on his best day he couldn’t hold a candle to even the worst rappers from “what hip hop used to be”. MC Skat Cat, I’m looking at you.
So, what can we do? It’s obvious we have to “eliminate” him. I know the possibility of prison isn’t that alluring to my readers (save for the Popeye’s populace of New Orleans), but in order to sweeten the pot, how about this: Whoever accepts and completes this task can have 100 words in this space to say whatever they want and an 8 x 10 glossy of me accepting the 411 Music Staffer of the Year Award while making that “double-guns” hand pose. I’ll autograph it for an additional $1.99.
Nick’a Please
conceptualized by Nick Salemi
Back To Tha Lab: A Hip-Hop Classic
Quick, scan your memory. I’m here to talk about one of the classic hip-hop albums from the mid 90s. Illmatic? Ready to Die? Me Against the World? Enter the 36 Chambers?
If you said any of those, you’d be wrong. I’m talking about a little slice of heaven called B-Ball’s Best Kept Secret, a compilation album of NBA players taking their (best?) shot at being MCs.
As you can imagine this masterpiece is pretty hard to find these days due to the enormous popularity. I had a dubbed cassette version that doesn’t even play anymore and had been searching for years for a way to find it without wasting $20 or watching an eBay auction for 6 days. A special thanks to my man Aaron Jonathan Cameron for finding a copy for a Nick’a.
Some of the highlights of the album include Dana Barros’ Check It. DB actually holds up well as he comes the closest to sounding like an actual MC but in the end his track comes off like a watered down Black Moon joint from around the same time. Am I dating myself with that reference?
No athlete-rap album would be complete without Shaq stopping by for Mic Check 1,2. 90s relics Ill and Al Scratch show up to assist the Big Aristotle. While Shaq’s rap “career” has become somewhat of a joke he did drop a couple of songs later on that were respectable. This is not one of them. Peep game son:
I could freak it Shaqapello/This big fellow
Is that your girlfriend-how you doin’ hello
a-e-i-o-u and sometimes y/call me jimmy snuka cause I’m superfly
It’s a faq…yo Shaq that sh*t is waq.
Moving on, we have my personal favorite Jason Kidd’s What the Kidd Didd. No denying J-Kidd is the NBA’s best point guard but if Detroit wants to rattle him in the playoffs, they should start playing this song every time he brings the ball up.
I can’t tell you how many hours of enjoyment this track has given me. Guaranteed laughs. The best way to describe it is it sounds like someone forced him to do karaoke and he decided to just talk over the beat. Some classic lines that I still use today:
“No one said bein’ a Kidd was easy”
“I give assists like a high school tutor”
“More steals than Rickey Hen from the Pac 10”
“But hey accidents happen”
(I assume this was before his hit and run incident?)
I don’t have enough space to do the whole CD justice so, in closing, I beg you to also listen to Gary Payton’s Livin’ Legal And Large if only to hear the opening line sung:
Livin Legal and Large, GP’s the Maaaaan in charge/He’s got his game on youuuuuuuuu
(I laugh until I cry every time I hear it)
So find a pawnshop, hit up eBay or look in your old dusty box of rap CDs you don’t want anyone to know you have. It’s probably sitting right under Das Efx.
General Haberdashery
According to my watch it’s been…three minutes since my last contrived Transformers reference, so why not connect the links of the week to those robots in disguise we all know and love?
The Mexican Messiah of course could only be linked to the first Mexican American Autobot, Cosmos. He’s got the last appearance ever of the late Ryan T. Murphy, a Widro tease and some Petey Pablo bashing.
Canadian T., in an opening reminiscent of Beachcomber, captures The Bootleg’s view on this whole Iraq thing quite nicely. Assertive, but not preachy, y’know? Oh and loads of music news from the back row of the Flames’ bandwagon.
Cocozza can’t be anyone but Starscream, with a less girly voice. I think. Anyways, he takes time off from plotting Widro’s demise to discuss the surefire 2004 Album of the Year and a little Ninja Turtle retro.
Melchor pulls double-duty each and every week, so that makes him Astrotrain. If for no other reason, than the thought of a space shuttle/locomotive makes me guffaw uncontrollably. Tour info and dirt dishin’ like none other.
Mathan stirs up sh*t like vintage Soundwave, except with more CDs than cassettes. He decides to kill Dr. Dre, Blender Magazine and a few random co-workers this week.
Joe Movie Guy is the epitome of Autobot gunner Bluestreak. Last week, he covered Freaks & Geeks, Michael Moore and Dave Chappelle. This week, he promised six pages of Duke Phillips quotes. Yeah…that name does sound familiar doesn’t it? Why don’t you head over there and find out who he is.
Eric S. doesn’t need my pimps to get hits, but he’s got some absolutely must-read info on spyware and anti-spam measures. And, I’d say that even if I wasn’t an idiot with Spy-Hunter on my computer at home. By the way, he’d make a great Kup.
And, I call dibs on Jazz. I’ll have none of your comparisons to Wreck-Gar, thank you.
Junk Mail
Last week’s goodness seemed to rankle the fans of Haiti’s own Won-G. I’ll let Travis speak for the masses:
see won-g has a ton of fans….you should be careful what you write about him. why don’t you try and find out some positive info on him and write something less controversial.
advice to the wise. also…. read up on Haitians and their cultural background before you write stuff on them in a bad light. ever heard of voodoo?
Ever heard of English? Who knew Houngan’s alter ego was a white guy named Travis? Anyways, I fired off a response and only received more threats of chicken sacrifices and curried goat recipes in return, so I’ll let m’man Salemi ride (write?) on this fool:
Do me a favor when you’re done with your civil unrest, put a curse on Wyclef. Ever hear Wyclef’s albums? They suck. He gets all kind of credit for being a “musician”. He’s the biggest fraud in hip-hop, maybe music in general. Honestly, the Fugees biggest hit was Lauryn Hill doing a cover song which he uttered the unforgettable line “One time”. That’s it. That was his verse. His big “solo” hit?
We tryin to stay alive?
C’mon now, it sounds like karaoke over the original BAD song’s beat. No Woman No Cry? I’m surprised Bob Marley didn’t rise from the grave and smash Wyclef’s guitar over his head. How about the “guidance and management” he provided for Canibus?
I hate Wyclef.
The King of New York checks in with a follow up to my anti-Friends rant and Central Park question:
It was Giuliani that cleaned up Central Park. Actually, he didn’t so much clean it up rather than pimp it to anyone that would buy time in it. It’s kinda hard to mug someone in the park when Mickey Mouse, Garth Brooks, or a combination of the two is out and about. Next thing you know, you’re in the middle of the Great Lawn getting the crap kicked out of you by a mouse in some shorts, a duck with no pants, Goofy (where there is still debate as to what he actually is…), and a retired country singer.
And I didn’t watch the “Friends” finale either. I actually live in New York and I couldn’t relate to any of these people. Now, if NBC had made a TV series called “My Peoplez” and had six black people in Brooklyn complaining and going “See… that’s what’s wrong with black folk today…”, I would have been there every Thursday. – Bigg Don
Life With Baby Bootleg
I’ve already laid down the law with Mrs. Bootleg in regards to Father’s Day. I don’t want any family gathering. I don’t want a cake or any other celebratory whooptee-bam. I donated a sperm, it found an egg…I’m basically Shawn Kemp with a marriage license, eight less kids and no urge to beat myself with an ugly stick.
On June 20, the A’s will be playing the Cubs and other than fetching my fifth and sixth beers from the fridge, my Black ass won’t be leaving the couch. All I ask is that the wife handles every feeding and changing that day. I figure the best way to celebrate Father’s Day is to ensure that it’s identical to every other day of the year.
For those who write in looking for serious updates on the kid…Jalen’s doing great and is up to almost 11 pounds (mostly head). He’s becoming quite the handful and the wife continues her bizarre Jekyll and Hyde responses to my activities, depending on her mood.
This weekend, my boy, Vig, is coming down from Oakland and I already know that means I’m gonna have to take over a couple of the late night/early morning feedings to make up for the drunken debauchery and strip club field trips that will likely ensue.
Later this summer, Nick Salemi hopes to bring the potato n’ pesto world tour to San Diego and I have no idea what that’s gonna mean to my marriage. However, those of you who had 21 months in the marriage pool might want to hold on to your tickets come August.
Mrs. Bootleg’s Quote of the Week
“Did you still want to move to Oakland?” – Tuesday, May 11
I managed to survive the whole postpartum episode after the birth of our child, but the wife suffered an apparent relapse this week. See, most of her family lives in the Bay Area and the wife was feeling a little blue because her maternal support group returned home on this day.
As a result, I was willing to excuse this medical condition that our doctor calls, “The loss of my wife’s goddam mind”. Let’s see…just bought a house, been at my job for five years, car’s paid off…it seems I’ve carved quite the little rut for myself and I ain’t about to climb out of it now.
This joke is deader than Simon Adebisi. Just get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13
