This week’s column is brought to you by The Deion Sanders Hot Dog Express. I couldn’t make this up if I tried, kids
Welcome back to The Bootleg. Now, if my calendar is correct, we’re smack-dab in the middle of finals season all across this country’s college campuses. Speaking from experience, I know how hard it is to find inspiration amongst those student standards of all-night studying until your eyes bleed mixed with copious amounts of methamphetamines.
And, if it worked for Jessie Spano, then it can work for you, too.
Speaking of work, I somehow managed to build upon my Bachelor’s Degree (Marketing) from San Diego State University and craft it into a career. Of course, it’s not the career that I wanted, but you crazy college kids will soon awaken from that unrealized dream on your own.
Personally, I just happened to open my eyes to the egregious employment path I’ve pursued.
It began with a meeting. See, here in Corporate America, “meetings” are where a bunch of people gather to get nothing done. Recent, more high-profile examples include Major League Baseball’s mostly meaningless Winter Meetings and/or any thread from the Inside Pulse staff forums involving our Movie Zone’s aborted attempt to ape the 411 100 for our own nefarious needs.
What?
It’s a secret.
Shut Uuuuuuuuuup!
Anyways, when I’m at work, C.P.T. (look it up) just ain’t me, so I arrived a few minutes early to the aforementioned meeting. I sat down at the table next to my boss’ boss and was mere moments into my lament that his presence would push me to pay attention, when it happened:
“You know what”¦I think Ted likes to sit there.”
“Ted” is our business unit’s Vice-President”¦and my Black ass was in “his” seat. The quotation marks are mine, as I haven’t been subjected to assigned seating since the days of nap time, recess and back-of-the-school bus Capri-Sun straw shankings.
Meekly, I moved one seat down”¦a retroactive Rosa Parks with a penis, sans the super-inflated sense of self-worth.
In this era of org charts and corporate hierarchy, let it be known”¦if I ever move far enough up the ladder and ask to receive my own “implied individual” chair in an otherwise anonymous conference room”¦you’ll know that Aaron Jonathan Cameron has arrived! And along with it, the inherent Big Time Black Businessman Basics such as whiskey sours, white women and “weekend dad” divorcé duties.
Not that the Goodness has given it that much thought”¦
Just so you know, be sure to check back here next Friday for our 2004: Year in Review, including the best and worst albums of the year. And, in two weeks, it’ll be a Very Special Edition of The Bootleg, as Nick and I bring you”¦nah, you’ll just have to swing by and get your New Year’s Eve started off right”¦
Make My Gum The Chronic, I Gots To Get F’d Up
Snoop Dogg has found a new endorsement opportunity and this one has to be seen to be believed. “Chronic Candy”, currently sold in over 40 New York convenience stores (or about two city blocks), promotes itself as the first-ever marijuana-flavored candy. The line includes hemp-rooted lollipops and gumdrops with a ready-made motto to match:
“Every lick is like taking a hit.”
The candy doesn’t contain any THC, but it does come in flavors like “MJ” and “sticky icky”. Needless to say, the Swiss-based manufacturer is coming under criticism by those who claim the candy is endorsing eventual drug use among kids. For his part, Snoop will reportedly be included in print ads for the candy, which will be featured exclusively in adult magazines.
So”¦it tastes like weed, but you can’t get high from it. Basically, it’s the confectionery counterpart to non-alcoholic beer or daytime non-drowsy formula Thera-Flu. Do any of you know anyone who takes a toke because it tastes great?
Speaking of which, Thera-Flu might be the most effective over-the-counter creation in our lifetimes. Oh, sure”¦it tastes like citrus and ass, but that nighttime formula will have you in bed in eight minutes. It also works surprisingly well as a sedative for belligerent babies who are left alone in the care of their frightened fathers for the first time.
But, only after I unsuccessfully tried giving Jalen a bottle and”¦ah, Christ, I’ve got to be more convincing during Jack McCoy’s courtroom cross-examination next week. OK”¦readers, let’s take it from “Speaking of which”¦” and try to imagine me with a single tear in my eye”¦like the faux Indian in that old commercial, who finished second in the Superfriends Equivalency Exam to Apache Chief.
They Used to Call Me ‘Crazy Joe’, Now They Can Call Me”¦
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before”¦a certain music celebrity’s obsessive, oppressive father (named Joe) has offered up an unsolicited suggestion for his kid’s career. Michael Jackson? Nope”¦this time it’s the more mannish, mouth-breathing member of the Simpson family, Ashlee.
For her feature film debut in Wannabe, the singing syncher was set to portray a lesbian, with a rumored love scene that reportedly rubbed her old man the wrong way. He demanded that all the lesbian sequences be written out of the script as if they never happened. OK, why does this all sound so very familiar to me?
Anyways”¦ol’ Joe Simpson couldn’t leave well enough alone and, in addressing the issue, spoke out on his daughter’s behalf:
“She’s going to be a huge movie star. She’s like Meg Ryan or Cameron Diaz, with probably more depth. When we’re done, she’ll play it all.”
Mee-YOW! Although, the more that I think about it, the more that I think Daddy Simpson might have a point. Hell, Ashlee has barely dipped her toes into Tinsel Town and she’s already mastered at least the general theme behind Meg Ryan’s most memorable scene.
As for Cameron Diaz, well, I, for one, was shocked to find out that Princess Fiona was actually an animated character. Although, if I had looked more closely, I’d have seen that this ogre was moving around far too well.
See, I was thinking that Eddie Murphy had shot off her pinky toe halfway through Harlem Nights. Turns out they’re not the same person.
Jesus Is Walking Away
Sometimes I envy the unwashed and unemployable masses. Next Wednesday, December 22, my second wife, Alicia Keys will co-host Live with Regis & Kelly. In most markets, the show airs in the mid-morning, so I won’t be around to watch. However, I might make an exception if, somehow, the show’s producers can get Kanye West to appear.
It shouldn’t be all that hard of a sell considering his 10 Grammy nominations and Kanye’s undying love for the sound of his own voice. And, if he does decide to appear, can someone”¦anyone ask him how a song with this line could be up for an award in anything:
” The way Kathie Lee needed Regis that’s the way y’all need Jesus”
That’s from Jesus Walks and he must have been with you, if you’ve somehow managed to avoid the cacophony of Kanye in 2004. Remember, this is the song that West claimed radio was afraid to play”¦and, apparently, radio got over it.
And, isn’t it quite the FM Fear Factor of acts that radio was reluctant to recognize? Let’s see, there’s Public Enemy”¦N.W.A”¦.and Kanye.
One of these three is not like the others”¦and, so forth.
Never Kissed A Girl”¦? Then, Read On”¦!
After being unceremoniously dumped by the foreign boy on That ’70s Show, things are starting to look up for Lindsay Lohan. Her debut album, Speak, has moved major units since it was released on December 7.
And, now reports are circulating that our friends at Playboy have approached her to appear in their tastefully magnificent magazine. Of course, Lohan and her reps were quick to clarify the rumors. It seems that the mag wanted her for their (fully clothed) “20 Questions” interview spread, instead.
“I’m not doing Playboy, no. Never. I do have a Disney movie coming out and a young fan base and I’m not interested in doing Playboy right now in my life.”
And, can I say how refreshing it is to see a celebrity refuse to take it off for a major publication? Here’s someone who’ll please think of the children and will not sell out to a sexpot image.
Whoa”¦sorry about that. I was just trying to make a point. With all this lecherous lusting over barely legal ladies you’d think that this was a Friday movies column. Y’all think I could bust out my own Tits List? I promise to carry over the “No Negroes Need Apply” rule that is standard on other sites.
Cuz It’s 1-8-7 on an Undercover”¦Kidding!
It seems that not everyone is oozing yuletide drool this holiday season. The New York Police Department’s 13th Precinct was bitterly divided over the location for their annual Christmas party earlier this week. Some cops preferred Jay-Z’s 40/40 Club in the heart of the city, while others sided with “anyplace else, but there”.
The NYPD is at odds with Jay-Z over accusations of racism the rapper made after some run-ins with the boys in blue, a few years back. Some of New York’s finest have also claimed that frequenting businesses owned by those with known criminal records (Jigga pled guilty to a third-degree assault charge in 2002) would not be in the Department’s best interests.
Why don’t the police just come clean with what’s really got them all riled up? The whole 40/40 police party and Jay-Z’s obvious influence in the music industry can only mean one thing”¦a Cop Rock Revival!
Y’all don’t remember Cop Rock? Ah, gather ’round my children. The year was 1990. In the decade prior, Steven Bochco ruled the television landscape creating hit after hit, such as Hill Street Blues and L.A. Law. Hey, it was the ’80s and Corbin Bernsen could be a star.
Anyways, Bochco’s blessings towards the network’s bottom line afforded him a creative carte blanche and he used it to create his most daring project to date: a weekly, one-hour police musical called Cop Rock“¦where police and perps break into verse. A few years later, Bochco would recapture his credibility with the creation of NYPD Blue.
And, as part of some back-alley barter, he gave the cop characters back their dignity in exchange for Sipowicz’s pants.
Nick’a Please
conceptualized by Nick Salemi
Earlier this week, m’man Nick had a medical emergency that required immediate attention. He’s doing better now and on the road to recovery, but obviously in no condition to write up his usual 100-word, 20 typos, 10-minute missives.
Still, Nick kept me updated throughout his personal ordeal and, under the terms of his personal services contract with Inside Pulse, I’m able to use any and all correspondence from/to him, however I see fit:
From: Nick Salemi
To: Aaron Cameron
Date: Monday, December 13″¦6:54 AM
What’s up. Nicka out of work today. Allergic reaction to something Sat night. Whole body itching followed by hives. Awesome. Yesterday was horrendous. Still have exam to take tonight. I Had to Say it was a Bad Day…
From: Aaron Cameron
To: Nick Salemi
Date: Monday, December 13″¦8:40 AM
Just wakin’ up in the morning and I’m thinkin’ “God!”
“I don’t know but, my skin feels kinda odd…”
Not milky-white smooth, can’t soothe…
Been scratchin’ like a crackhead, since noon”¦
From: Nick Salemi
To: Aaron Cameron
Date: Wednesday, December 15″¦8:37 AM
I’m at home again…exhausted…after my trip to Dr. Sam, he sent me over to the ER in a wheelchair like 2Pac getting wheeled into court (with coat on”¦left NY snowhat in car”¦damn).
I then stayed there for 10 HOURS, seeing a doctor after 7 PM. My brother calls the ER in Hartford Hospital “The Tower of Babel” as there are 100 people screaming at each other in 100 different languages.
I can tell you about the 350 pound brother with ebola virus sitting near me in the waiting room, and the amount of people who came because they have colds, treating the place like a clinic.
Much more to tell but I gotta say it was a seriously scary few moments for this Nicka. From 2PM when they read my pulse, EKG, heartbeat, blood pressure and it looked like a Colts-Vikings score and wheeled me over with no paperwork. Just left me sitting there after my doctor said “You need an IV immediately and you may be going into the early stages of shock”
WTF!
Since I wasn’t getting an IV sitting in the line of miscreants, I drank approx 120 oz of water…
Diagnosis: you’re allergic to something but we don’t know what.
From: Aaron Cameron
To: Nick Salemi
Date: Monday, December 13″¦8:45 AM
On the one hand, I’m glad that you’re still alive…on the other hand, your blatant theft of my self-deprecating bootleg intro gimmick is pretty shameless.
Holy ‘ish. Well, in another day or so, your mailbox will be graced by the Cameron Family Kwanzaa Card. Don’t be frightened by the anonymous Black family smiling back at you from the card with our cold, dead eyes. That’s how everyone looks…at the Crossroads.
(in Bone Thugs mile-a-minute voice): “…andI’mgonnamissNickSalemi…andI’mgonnamissNickSalemi…andI’mgonnamissNickSalemi…ooooooh”
From: Nick Salemi
To: Aaron Cameron
Date: Thursday, December 16″¦7:10 AM
I hope my eyes don’t turn black like that that old brutha in the video…Home again, still weaker than Encore right now. And, because I’m on steroids, according to my doctor, I’ve put on 10+ lbs of water weight and I’m approaching Sherman Klump bloatedness.
This spot could be available next week, as I could be dead. Get at me at nicksalemi@yahoo.com
General Haberdashery
The First Annual Inside Pulse Christmas Party is this weekend and I’ve only got 24 hours to find gifts for the entire Music Staff! (Hey, doesn’t that sound like the intro to one of those maze activity worksheets that were forced upon us in kindergarten?)
Help Aaron find the perfect present for everyone and get to the party before time runs out!
Jeff Fernandez ran afoul of the IP team this week. First, he disrespectfully dismissed that Dimebag guy by opening with a story on James Brown’s prostate and pushing the shooting to “second story”. Then, he shared his thoughts with the world regarding”¦The Grammys?!
Don’t you ever visit the Staff Forums? The Grammys are garbage”¦we’re “too cool” to cover them”¦and, besides, they might cut into our round-the-clock coverage of The IWC”¦In Crisis! No gift for you.
Gloomchen has a sex scene in her first paragraph this week. And, then there’s love lost, backstabbing friends and a casual cocaine bender. Is “angst” like, her only setting? Well, I’ve got the means to make the melancholy melt away as an old classic can make the winter”¦feel like summer! C’mon”¦am I the only one who’s wondered what Summer feels like?
Mathan steals Gloomchen’s gimmick more blatantly than when Bart boosted Bonestorm. And, your present for such petty pilfering is some brown snow left under the car”¦make your own damn snowman.
Gordi unintentionally guilt trips the hell out of me with his opening rant on faux classical music CDs. So, while you enjoy his always-classy column, I’ll be at the returns desk at Target with a bag of $3.99 classical knockoffs that I thought he’d enjoy. Bastard”¦who tipped you off?
Random Stocking Stuffer for Everyone
Will Cooling returns with Part Five of our Eminem: Beyond the Encore. It’s powerful, provocative and posted before Jeff Fernandez’ part. I guess I owe Widro a Coke.
J.A.M = the fourth in the line of short-lived novelty writing nicknames for a trio of Inside Pulse and 411 writers.
J is for Movie Joe Reid. He’s got your Golden Globes guesses, compares Mischa Barton to “Mischa” Burns, connects Snoop Doggy Dogg with Rick Moranis and previews his regular season Fantasy Football finale”¦which was against my team.
With my team trailing his by the mere width of Reid’s wit, Tennessee Titans wide white receiver Drew Bennett racked up 230+ yards and three touchdowns to power Wrath of Cam past (sigh) Team Discovery Channel.
Unfortunately, in this P.C. age of “everybody gets a trophy day”, Reid and his 7-7 crew backed into the playoffs. Next Monday, look for his column to feature witty headlines like:
Nick Goings, Goings, Gone”¦
Clinton’s Three TD’s Voted Out of Starting Lineup
Housh Party V: This Kid Don’t Play
A is for me.
M is for TV Mathan. A few days ago, he shared his thoughts on a TV death that affected him like no other. I don’t want to spoil things, but it’s not when Leon died during the first season of Oz.
Junk Mail
Well, last week’s segue into seriousness certainly struck a nerve. It was That Bootleg Guy vs. Nas or, as the streets were calling it: ajc vs. hypocrisy.
YES! Your comments on Nas were absolutely on point. He’s a rapper, not a revolutionary and I’ll be goddammed if I’m ever going to listen him lecture me on how Black folks should carry themselves”¦Charles C.
===
Glad to see someone knowledgeable about Hip Hop isn’t afraid to take Nas to task. This guy would sell his soul for the mainstream success enjoyed by Jay-Z, but it’ll never come. He can get down with Tupac, he can make sh*tty kiddie songs like “I Can”, he can speak out against his race. Give it up, Nasir. 1994 came and went and if retail wasn’t feeling you after Illmatic, it ain’t never gonna happen”¦Damien C.
===
Does Nas really name characters like Fred Sanford and Louise “Weezy” Jefferson as POSITIVE television role models? Unbelievable. I suppose he also knows that both Sanford & Son and The Jeffersons were created by white folk, with every episode almost exclusively written by white folk. But, I guess to Nas that’s ‘keepin it real'”¦Kevin G.
===
When’s the last time Nas actually watched the networks that he bashes in his song? Did the WB go Black again and no one told me? What characters actually offend him from UPN? This is what passes for social commentary these days: instead of sitting down in an open dialogue with those he targets, he prefers to lob lyrical grenades from behind the security blanket of the First Amendment”¦Jeffrey A.
===
Aaron, you’re looking way too deep into this one. Nas isn’t trying to change the world or call out Black America. He’s an entertainer. He’s making a song and, it just so happens, that the song is about something. You and I know that no one with any sense looks to rappers as our social conscience. He put it out there to stir up some sh*t and in three months no one will even remember it”¦Jose C.
To be fair, the feedback ran about 80/20 in favor of my position. However, most of those opposed to my stance chose to let me have it over IM. I failed to save those discussions, or I would’ve included more dissenting reader feedback here.
Judge for yourself if you haven’t heard the cut, you can find the lyrics right here.
Life With the Bootleg Family
Tis the season”¦Part II
Last Thursday night was not one of The Bootleg’s better evenings. And, this time, I don’t mean “Bootleg” as a code word from “Cameron Family”.
Writer’s Block had bludgeoned my brain into bacon fat”¦and not the warm, drippy kind, but the cold, congealed kind. As Thursday turned to Friday, I was staring at 75% of a column and an increasingly agitated wife who wanted me to come downstairs and view all of the stockings she had hung with great care.
Mrs. Bootleg bought our stockings over the internet from the good people at Pottery Barn. In what should have been a sign of things to come, the first stocking was to say “Jalen’s 1st Christmas”. Instead, it took three attempts to get them to add the “apostrophe s”.
The wife ordered ours next and asked that they read “Mommy” and “Daddy”. And, yes, I’ve already asked Mall Santa to bring me back my balls for Christmas.
At a little after midnight, I took the thirteen-step trudge downstairs to bask in the wool-blend brightness of our unstuffed stockings. Mrs. Bootleg, beaming with pride, took several steps back to admire the Kris Kringlesque craftsmanship. For a moment, I was embiggened with pride, as this would be our first holiday together as parents and”¦
Does that stocking say “MAMMY”?
I took a closer look, since cursive can be confusing (Billy Madison still can’t spell “Rizzuto”, y’know) and, sure enough, my initial concern had been confirmed. With one wrong letter, The Pottery Barn turned b(l)ack the clock to Hattie McDaniel, Buckwheat and bottles of thick, rich maple syrup.
And, then the laughter started.
I’m not sure if this is one of those nebulous “Black things”, but this was quite possibly the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I laughed when the wife was typing up an email at 1:00 AM to explain the mistake. I laughed when Pottery Barn acknowledged it was their error, but told us that “A’s and O’s kind of look alike”.
I laughed when my wife was told that they were completely sold out of all makes, models and styles of stockings for the year. I laughed, minutes later, when we agreed to leave it up.
Now, I don’t know many mammies with a Master’s Degree (although, I’m told Mrs. Cicely Buttersworth is half way to a PhD). But for this, our first Christmas as a family, we’ll feast our eyes on this racially insensitive item of festiveness, secure in the knowledge”¦that we shall overcome.
Let’s discuss our shared loss. We’ll miss you, Tim Hudson. Get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13
