Welcome back to The Bootleg. Every summer, for the past five years, my co-workers and I have laced up our Nike Air Sciatica high tops and slathered our joints in everything from Icy-Hot to Ben-Gay to Vagisil. These pre-game rituals could only mean one thing…it’s once again time for a little Tuesday night basketball.
Actually, the courts have been open since early April, but I was forced to the bench due to the unlikely double-team of my 4-foot 8-inch wife and my newborn son. My basketball sabbatical had lasted nearly a year, but I was finally back.
Remember Michael Jordan’s return to the Bulls in 1995? Well, it was nothing like that. Think of me as the Black Bill Wennington, who was also on that team.
Now, I’ve been playing ball for years, but that’s no reason why I can’t learn something new each time I step onto the court. For example, have y’all heard of “dri-fit”? It’s the new fabric technology that promises to keep you dry, no matter the athletic endeavor.
Bullsh*t.
These shirts are like bathroom rugs…they absorb every drop of moisture from your skin until it feels like you’re wearing two gallons of sweat. Guarding me must’ve been like wrestling Mike Rotundo or sleeping next to Big Pun…y’know, when he wasn’t dead (or eating).
It’s been unusually warm and muggy in Southern California this month, which translates to just 85 degrees and 55% humidity, but work with me here. It’s still advisable to take a bottle of water with you, just in case.
And in my case, it felt like complete kidney shutdown at around the 90-minute mark. Have you ever wondered why it’s always the senior citizens who keel over whenever your town has a heat wave? It’s because of their inherent senility…and lack of quality H2O. Who knew Bobby Boucher had so much to teach us.
His wisdom is only matched by…The Goodness.
How Do Rumors Get Started…
It’s a rumor that just won’t die…like that cow in Me, Myself & Irene or Elizabeth Taylor (turns out they weren’t the same person…tell Joe Reid, I owe him a Coke). Anyways, the reputable New York tabloids have been reporting that rapper Jay-Z is not only planning to sever all ties to the Roc-A-Fella label, but that he’s also planning a return to the mic under the name “S. Carter” with a new Warner Music recording deal.
Does anyone give these rap rumors even a crumb of credence? Everyone has to know that on the “entertainment scale”, Hip Hop gossip only ranks behind “superhero movie casting rumors” on the grain-of-salt scale. Remember that one where Beyoncé was tabbed to play Lois Lane? How about The Rock as X-Men hero, Beast or my new favorite, Jack Black as Green Lantern?
Hey, speaking of which…this weekend, one of the largest Comic Book Conventions in the world is being held right here in my adopted hometown of San Diego. It’s expected to draw close to 100,000 attendees and bring in crazy amount of cash to the local economy. Yet, this morning, I heard a couple of sports talk radio hosts mocking the whole thing with the usual “get a life” angle.
Think about that. The voices that unite the unwashed and unemployed over who should be the Jets back-up quarterback think they’re higher up on the evolutionary scale than someone. It’s almost like a wrestling fan making fun of anything.
By GAWD, The Big Show Has Blown Up Before Our Eyes!
For all those who thought that Stephen A. Smith was the worst thing to happen to the NBA, I’m pleased to announce that there’s a new leader in the clubhouse. You may have already heard that the expansion Charlotte Bobcats have allowed rap music’s biggest, Blackest bumpkin to buy into their fledgling franchise.
While Nelly’s negligible stake in the team is purely ceremonial, I’m betting even money that it becomes a running theme during Bobcat highlights on that show that used to be called Sportscenter.
I’ll give Stuart Scott a pass, since I’m apparently the only man in America who likes his middle-aged MC approach (right down to that droopy cock-eyed gaze he borrowed from Biggie). But, when Linda Cohn is telling me that Okafor “drained a 12-footer right thurr”, I’ll know there’s no turning back.
And when did Sportscenter turn into a bad variety show rivaled only by In Living Color: The Jay Leggett Season? Kid Rock and Alanis Morrissette will perform, live, on SC next week. Athletes already appear in studio to play some bastardized on-air jock version of Taboo!
What we need is a NWO-like “invasion” of ESPN by all the angry anchors on other sports networks that ESPN eliminated, just to shake things up. Book Keith Olbermann, Fred Hickman and Van Earl Wright to throw Dan Patrick through the SC set, spray paint Chris Berman and launch Harold Reynolds into the side of a production truck. I’ll pay the bail if we can get ’em to do that last one.
Aaron Don’t Love The Kids
Right up until the birth of my child, I never had much of a soft spot for kids. It’s not that I didn’t like them…it was just that it was against the law to run them over with my car. And, I really have no love for the little bastards when they appear in an entertainment medium.
So, forgive me if I shed no tears upon hearing the news that rapping rapscallion Lil’ Romeo is being sued by someone who claims he wrote a half-dozen songs on Romeo’s Gametime album, yet hasn’t seen a dime.
Unlike many things you read here, you can be assured that this is on the up-and-up, since no one would admit to being associated with a child’s rap album unless there were unpaid royalties or Another Bad Creation involved.
True story: earlier this week, a co-worker was lamenting her 10-year-old daughter’s adolescent future:
I’m really worried that her friends are going to turn on her. She’s so thin and so athletic and so beautiful that I know they’re all going to be jealous of her.
I nearly bit through my tongue, but in hindsight, I should’ve told JonBenet’s mom not to worry. Whatever’s left of her kid after puberty takes hold will likely be ravaged by a few years of underage drinking and a statutory rendezvous with a 22-year-old Marine from Mississippi.
I just hope both families accept their eventual love child. Little Day’tron, Jr. deserves that much.
You Can’t Spell Britney Without B.A.C.
Britney Spears has turned the tables on the tabloids. She’s threatening to sue the New York Post based on a headline and photo that discreetly implied she was a raging alcoholic. It seems Britney was unable to escape the prying eyes of the paparazzi during a visit to Venice, California.
She stopped at a liquor store and emerged with what was thought to be a small bottle shot of Kentucky bourbon (the brownest of the brown liquors). Britney cracked it open and proceeded to pound it down…while the whole thing was captured under a high-speed camera lens. Her publicist proclaims it was actually ginseng, while the newspaper is standing its ground.
Now, without taking sides, I think it’s obvious who’s at fault here: Hollywood. In their fantasy world, alcoholic broads marry Andy Garcia or maintain their insufferable impish charm.
It’s a far cry from the handful of drunk-ass mothers I met while visiting friends in my youth. All they had to offer were uncomfortably long hugs and funny-tasting grape Kool-Aid. Hey, wait a minute…
Lies Make Baby Jesus Cry
Brandy’s latest album, Afrodesiac, is sliding down the charts…along with whatever credibility Hip Hop’s horse-mouthed Moesha had left. Her former lover announced this week that the “marriage” between Brandy and Robert Smith was a complete charade to protect Brandy’s image and cover up the fact that she had willingly chosen to have a child out of wedlock.
And, in what might be the line of the year, Brandy responded to Smith’s allegations:
Ours was a spiritual union and a true commitment to each other.
Ladies and gentlemen, that might be the first time in recorded history that someone has tried to justify a phony wedding by quoting from a gay or lesbian commitment ceremony.
Brandy should’ve just stayed with this clown and let everything just work itself out. If we’ve learned nothing from decades of unpredictable and always original sitcoms, whenever two characters pretend to be married, they’re always found out in the end. Along the way, we’re treated to delicious dialogue like, “How come you two never kiss?” and “Why is your husband sleeping on the floor?”
Of course, in my household, the answers to those questions are: “Because I can’t maneuver around the Ben & Jerry’s lid that’s stuck on her lips” and “Because it’s warmer than our bed.” Zing.
Sometimes The News Just Writes Itself
Have you heard this one yet…? Val Kilmer, Freddie Prinze, Jr. and Tommy Lee walk onto a movie set together. No, that is the punch line. Lee has signed on for 10th and Wolf…a “mafia movie” that begins shooting in Pittsburgh this fall.
Well, I think we can safely say that Mr. Kilmer’s hopes of recapturing the magic from Tombstone are pretty much dead and buried, left to fester with the Ghost and The Darkness on a lonely Island as The Saint performs last rites under the warm glow of the Red Planet. Man, I really should’ve stopped with the first three sneaky movie references.
As for Prinze, now that he’s too old for the Teen Steam, Teen Dream or Teen Scream magazine demographic, it’s off to a series of films that are marketed to the young adult, before he fades into oblivion. I’m sure Anthony Michael Hall and Seann William Scott will appreciate the company. Remember…new guy brings doughnuts.
Nick’a Please
conceptualized by Nick Salemi
P Diddy has recently announced that he is going to make voting “sexy” to the disenfranchised youth of America. Calling himself “Citizens Combs”, (I’m not making this sh*t up) the man who brought you “Godzilla theme” and plain colored t-shirts with his name written in cursive on them for $50 has decided to run a voter awareness campaign called Citizen Change (alternate title: Citizen Remix).
Citizen Combs surprisingly has T-shirts designed to help get the message out. Apparently he had Tyson Beckford “modeling” his “Vote or Die” T-shirt at the press conference. Diddy didn’t mention if the model was now called “Citizen Beckford” (or if he is still mad that Tyrese stole his look).
That’s can’t miss activism, no? No word on whether he’s trying to reach out to the 18-34 demographic of “people who bought the Lox’s first album.”
In an insult to the intelligence to anyone listening, during the press conference, when Diddy’s motives were questioned, he denied trying to shift the election one way or the other. Read that again. He somehow feels as though he has the power to swing the presidential election, but he has decided, in the interest of fairness, to make it non-partisan.
You can be sure the super-villains in the White House now are breathing a sigh of relief.
Personally, I hope he runs for President himself someday. However I’m not sure Vice President Nelly, Secretary of State Mase, Secretary of Defense Farnsworth Bentley and Attorney General Lil Kim would round out his administration all that well. However, he may make Biggie’s birthday a national holiday and get us all another day off!
Vote Diddy 2004, the Renaissance man who does it all, but none of it very well.
General Haberdashery
On the All Time List of “Greatest Returns”, this one ranks #327…right between Esther Rolle’s return to the cast of Good Times and Bobby Bonilla’s second tour of duty with the Mets in 1999.
That’s right…Smilowitz is back. He laments the direction of 411, bashes at least one deserving staffer (Rant-y Savage…HA!) and covers no music at all. Maybe he should’ve posted this column on 411 Black during their upcoming “Quality Writing Week”. Don’t tell Daniels.
Fernandez opens with Garbage Pail Kids and closes with Axl Rose. It’s like 1989 all over again, except The Golden Girls aren’t entertaining America each and every Saturday night at 9:00 PM.
Canadian T. writes some of the best non-music material on the site. Why not come for his stance on some celebrity manslaughter, but stay for the news?
Double M is now cleaner than ever before. Yet still, he brings the same quality n’ quantity each and every week. Read him now before carpel tunnel sets in.
Mathan builds a case for Jay-Z as the Greatest Living MC. Even though I object…no, your honor, I strenuously object (well OK, then)…there is still enough compelling evidence to give you food for thought. French toast, please.
Cocozza is just about ready to turn 24. What better way to celebrate than to head to the Adirondacks go all Deliverance with eight of your closest (and I mean closest) friends? Squeal, Ned Beatty!
Joe Reid was referred to as Mathan’s “new favorite writer” this week in his Comics column. Nice of Mr. Erhardt to arrive at the party…and only six months late, to boot. Hey, Wids…how ’bout a Movie Zone featured headline banner for the man who drove Tim C. to an early grave?
Aaron & Nick’s Summer Movie Review
Last week, Nick took you on a look ahead, so this week I come along for the ride as we look back on the big time blockbuster (and should’ve gone straight to Blockbuster) movies of the summer…
White Chicks
Nick: Haven’t the Wayans’ Hollywood passes been revoked yet? I know their ghetto passes certainly have. By law, I assume there’s some lame outdated Michael
Jackson, OJ and Mike Tyson jokes in this movie.
Aaron: My guess is that this is part of the one-more-chance residue from the success of 2000’s Scary Movie. Nick stole most of my guesses at “things you’ll find in a Wayans Brothers movie”, so I’ll quickly add: lotsa toilet humor and at least one over-the-top gay character in the “Men on Films” mode that was funny 15 years ago.
I, Robot
Nick: Will Smith formula. When in doubt, go back to sci-fi action. Decent flick but doesn’t his act seem a little stale at this point? It’s like he’s out of touch from the playground, where he spent most of his days.
Aaron: The Fresh Prince has one, count ’em one, watchable “epic” movie on his résumé and the original Men in Black was surely helped by the lackluster competition of Speed 2 and Batman & Robin. Couldn’t we have gotten Smith to star in the sequel to Bicentennial Man, just so we could watch him kick Robin Williams hairy ass?
Cinderella Story
Nick: This Cinderella Story is based on Cinderella. Nice to see that the producers agonized to find a title. Who cares, let’s see the main event: Hilary Duff vs. Lindsay Lohan in a mud wrestling jailbait cage match.
Aaron: It’s good to see that talented actress Regina King managed to land the role of the supportive Negro friend in this one. I’m sure her character’s finger-snapping and head bobbing will go over well with the target audience, all of whom proudly proclaim that they’ve got Black friends and some have even been over to their house.
Dodgeball
Nick: Stiller, Vaughn, etc. Where’s Owen Wilson? Can’t get enough of those countless zany cameos! It’s time for the government to step in and take Stiller and company out. Can somebody, ANYBODY make a comedy without these same 4 guys rotated in and out! It’s like f*cking Amway!
Aaron: Sorry, Vince Vaughn…we’ll never forget the remake of Psycho or Domestic Disturbance. Plus, if they’re going to base a movie on a schoolyard game, why not duck-duck-goose or even kickball? Who among us can’t relate to small baby bouncies?
The Chronicles of Riddick
Nick: Holy crap, Vin. It’s over. This guy was considered a “bankable” action star? Thanks a lot for the Fast and the Furious, asshole. Now every prick with a sooped up Sentra thinks they’re in a f*ckin’ movie. Hopefully he won’t read this because at this rate I’ll be running into him bouncing soon and he’ll be sure not to let my ass in.
Aaron: Lucky for me and Vin…light-skinned bruthas are still in. At this rate, he’ll be available for our annual conference later this fall, with keynote speakers Stoney Jackson, El DeBarge and the guy who played Kadeem Hardison’s roommate on A Different World.
Van Helsing
Nick: The first movie made solely for the purpose of making a video game based on it. Hey, I liked Castlevania, too. Why can’t they make a movie about that? Oh and please support Kate Beckinsdale in her “Hot Tour” in 2004. See this movie and buy Diet Coke.
Aaron: I wasn’t aware that Hugh Jackman was legally allowed to make a movie without Halle Berry. Besides, this can’t be considered a “monster movie” unless the boogeyman and Minnie Driver have been cast.
Life With Baby Bootleg
So, last weekend, the wife decides to cash in her Mother’s Day gift of an afternoon at a day spa. She calls up her girlfriend and the two of them schedule an appointment for 1:00 P.M.
Despite scanning the spa’s website for hours, I was unable to find anything regarding on-site childcare. Of course that meant it would be me who was responsible for the well being of our child.
The kid was on his best behavior until the very moment the garage door closed behind my wife’s getaway car. From that point on…and for the next six hours…he slept for a grand total of 30 minutes, ate about two ounces of pre-squeezed breast milk and cried.
I’m talking one of those Valerie Bertinelli/Meredith Baxter “Movie of the Week” crying jags that lasts so long, you can only be watching Lifetime: Television for Women.
My “parenting” skills consist of pacifiers and not much else, so most of the day was spent seeing how long Kid Cam could keep his “Maggie” in his mouth, before dear ol’ Dad had to get up and put it back in. He set a household record by actually keeping it in for almost three minutes, one time.
Coincidentally, I have the same record with his mom.
Mrs. Bootleg’s Quote of the Week
“I bought my ticket for Sacramento.” – Sunday, July 18
Yes!
I didn’t want to show too much emotion, but how else was I supposed to react? The woman I love and our beautiful son would be boarding a plane on Monday, July 26 and returning on Sunday, August 1.
People never ask me what the key to a successful marriage is, but if they did, I’d tell them it’s all about getting as far away from each other as possible several times a year. Hell, I’ll settle for sojourns to Starbucks and a jaunt to Jamba Juice
Ah, but it seems the wife has managed to get the last laugh, after all.
A day later, I found out that her return flight was for early Saturday afternoon. So, not only do I lose out on a Saturday night as a parolee, but I’ll be expected to be clean and sober when I arrive at the airport…effectively canceling any fermented Friday fun, as well.
Maybe God is a woman. In all the movies I’ve seen, “He” does sound like Bea Arthur.
I have an extra ticket to next Tuesday’s Padres/Giants game at Petco Park. Get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13
