“Reading (other sites) is like reading Maxim without the pictures. What’s the point? Plus having, ya know, women, married Blacks, and senile Hispanics on (our) staff at least freshens things up.”
-Mike Lawrence, from the super-secret Inside Pulse Staff Forums
Welcome back to The Bootleg. Good to be back after everything that’s gone on, as two weeks ago today, my aunt died.
Truth be told, she was actually the wife’s aunt. But, she was family to me…our son’s Godmother…and one of the finest people y’all will never meet.
At just 10 years apart, she and my wife were closer than sisters. So, as you can imagine, this has been especially hard on Mrs. Bootleg. She flew up to Sacramento on Saturday, January 29 to be with her family. That left me…and Kid Cameron…home alone for a few days until we flew up on Monday, January 31.
And, so ends the “serious” portion of this intro…
Jalen and I survived the weekend and prepared for what was sure to be…ah, hell, a grown man and his infant child on an airplane for 90 minutes. You’d think the material kind of writes itself, no?
The fun began early in the day as I got stuck at work about two hours longer than I had originally planned. As a result, I was running way late for our flight, sitting in Southern California’s sour mash brand of fist-shaking, everyone-braking traffic. Then, the cell phone goes off:
“Are you stressing out?”
Now, the last two years of columns, notwithstanding…I really do love my wife. It’s just that she has this innate ability to… Put it this way, have any of you ever played a video game with your girl? She’s trying really hard, means no harm and only wants to spend time with you…but, she’s so bad that it’s not really all that fun.
And, on this day, I was Shaq Fu and she was Player Two.
Fortunately, Jalen got all of his crying out during the scenic 60-minute stroller ride from the parking lot through the security checkpoint and up to the Southwest Airlines gate. We arrived in Sacramento in no time and the rest of the week was spent in a surrealistically awkward alternate universe of in-laws and insanity.
How insane? I’m glad you asked:
As the wife and her cousin are picking me up from the airport, Mrs. Bootleg turns to me and says:
“Do you have a problem with sleeping in my aunt’s old bedroom?”
Umm, isn’t that where they found…ah, never mind. If Scooby-Doo has taught us nothing else, it’s that “ghosts” are usually just cantankerous, recently-canned carnival employees who would’ve gotten away with it, if not for those meddling kids.
Actually, my apprehension was all for naught. As the week progressed, more and more people came to stay with us. By the time Wednesday rolled around, there were about a dozen friends and relatives all under one roof. Subsequently, the sleeping situation was shuffled and three guesses who was stuck with the short straw.
2,500 square feet of two-story serenity…and my Black ass gets stuck snoring in the fetal position on the floor of the walk-in closet. The closet! It was like the slave quarters without the deep-fried chicken necks and Negro spirituals.
And, then there’s my mother-in-law.
It was a slow build to our eventual feud, not unlike the Hogan/Savage saga of 1988-89. Looking back at the clamshell Coliseum Video footage of our week under the same roof, there were telltale signs seemingly signifying storm clouds ahead. And, the similarities didn’t end there:
Like The Mega-Powers, things came to a head on a Friday Night. Mrs. Bootleg had accidentally cut Jalen’s finger with a pair of nail clippers and amid the ensuing shrieking (mostly from the wife, with Jalen crying back up), the mother-in-law (and others) got right up in the kid’s face.
I loudly told everyone to back up (with a “you’re not helping” thrown in for good measure), but I guess I was looking right at the MIL when I said it. It was the heel turn heard ’round the house, as the audience sat in stunned silence.
Of course, we patched things up a few hours later, but sadly we’ll never know the answer to the question…”Who’s corner would The Goodness be in?”
Thank You For Two!
Just wanted to take the time and say thank you to everyone who reads and supports this column. The Bootleg started on February 14, 2003 and about 100 columns later, I still get all gushy when someone writes to tell me that they’re a fan.
It’s even more satisfying when I know that not everyone at IP, um…”gets” what I do. But, that’s cool. Wids and Matthew Michael have been in my corner from the beginning and that’s more than good enough for me.
That said, at some point in 2005, it’s very likely that this column will come to an end. Blame the usual suspects: time, real life, and the fact that “Toddler Bootleg” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. But, for now, I hope you’ll continue to let me and Nick into your computer labs, office/guest bedrooms and cubicle workstations.
Of course, if I change my mind, then the last three paragraphs never happened…not unlike Armen Tamzerian, Snowballs II through IV & the sixth season of…(‘K, who amongst you can’t finish that sentence for me?)
R-a-a-a-a-a-p Is Crap
If your idea of a good time is sweaty white men in Wrangler jeans, then you’re either a fan of these guys or likely to be in attendance at The Star of Texas Fair and Rodeo on March 23 in Austin.
And, what’s this got to do with music?
Well, it seems that Nelly will be the headline act…marking the first time a Hip Hop artist of any kind has ever performed at the rodeo in its nearly 70 year history.
A rapper at a rodeo.
Yeah, see…here’s the thing about that: the whole African-American meshed with country-western thing doesn’t work on any level. Hell, I thought Nelly already knew that.
The proof is in the pop culture. Remember Walker, Texas Ranger? It starred Chuck Norris as a kung-fu cowboy who fought crime in Stetson hats and a belt buckle bigger than HHH’s World Heavyweight Title. Of course, as ridiculous as that sounds, tell me what’s wrong with this picture.
Seriously, I can’t be the only one who thought that Curly Bill was more convincing.
Somewhere, Terry Bradshaw is Laughing…
Snoop Dogg is on the offensive after the revelation of rape allegations against the Long Beach lyricist, last week. Appearing live, via satellite, with CNN’s Larry King, Snoop vehemently denied the woman’s claims and stated that he “wasn’t even in the building” when sh*t went down.
For those who missed it, Hollywood make-up artist Kylie Bell accused Snoop and his entourage of drugging and raping her after a January 2003 taping of ABC’s Jimmy Kimmel Live. Die hard Kimmel fans (both of you) might remember that Snoop was part of the premiere week of show tapings, during the ill-fated “guest co-host” concept and the iller-fated “let’s pass out booze to the audience” concept.
Now, I’m the last person who’d ever try to find the funny in a story about rape, alleged or actual. Rape isn’t funny…and neither is Jimmy Kimmel.
Is there anyone who hasn’t wandered off from his sinking ship of a show…Bill Simmons, Adam Carolla, most of Jimmy’s right eye. And, while Simmons has become the soft-bellied, six-chinned choad covering all the triviata that the first five editions of VH1’s I Love the ’90s missed (how ’bout that Stretch Armstrong? He sure was stretchy!)…it’s Carolla who’s the sadder of the two.
Or haven’t you heard that he’s the new spokesperson for a line of high-end teddy bears? Media outlets applauded the move, citing his “man’s man” appeal. All of which came from 30-minutes of trampoline-teasing $200 hookers and two kegs of beer. God, I miss college.
To Say Nothing of Sledge Hammer and Get a Life!
Internet fan favorite and infamous fourth chipmunk, 50 Cent, is slated to appear on this Sunday’s episode of The Simpsons. According to the story, Bart sneaks his way into a rap concert, fakes his own kidnapping and the writers fill the remaining 18 minutes with slightly new twists on old jokes they wrote 10 years ago.
And, speaking of recycled, did anyone else catch American Dad on Fox after the Super Bowl? After being beaten over the head with the whole “from the creator of Family Guy” tagline, I gave it a look. Talking pet? Check. Salty and sardonic smart-mouth that, for all intents and purposes, shouldn’t know how to talk? Check. Anabolic Quagmire? Check.
Now there’s news that Fox is getting behind American Dad, while giving the shaft to Arrested Development! Admittedly, my indignation is uninspired since (and, I hope no one is reading this…*whew*) I’ve never seen the show.
It’s Jason Bateman, people! Sidekick from Silver Spoons and star of Teen Wolf Too!. Sorry, but I won’t allow my heart to be broken over any more “low-rated, but critically praised” programming. For you, it might be The Wire. For another, it might be Freaks & Geeks. For me, it was Family Guy.
And, once those shows are cancelled, there’s no coming…oh, wait.
Can I Borrow A Feeling?
Reports are circulating out of Los Angeles that Simon, the Evil American Idol judge, will soon go public with what he believes in the “truth” about the inexplicably popular program.
He’s reportedly not only disenchanted with this year’s crop of pop-crap hopefuls, but he also is allegedly telling anyone (off the record) that 2003 and 2004 winners Ruben Studdard and Fantasia Barrino were “undeserving” of their record contracts. 2002 winner and comely cow pie, Kelly Clarkson, escapes his wrath as he believes that she was “the only one with talent who ever won”.
Jeez, Simon…saucer of milk, table for one!
Now, no one can deny that The Velvet Sweaty Bear and Jughead make for a pair of easy targets, but let’s face facts…can you really take any show seriously that has Paula Abdul judging someone’s singing talent? This is the same woman that did a duet with MC Skat Kat. Of course, maybe I shouldn’t be so judgmental. After all, those two were nothing…if not influential.
And nothing…they were also very, very nothing.
Angry Black Men…Is There Any Other Kind?!
What happens when a full-of-himself movie guy teams up with an equally insufferable music guy? I don’t know, but check the 411mania Friday archives (through August 2004) for the answer.
In the meantime, it was announced this week that Nas has joined forces with Spike Lee for the director’s latest work, Miracle’s Boys. Nas wrote and performed the theme song for the six-part miniseries, which premieres on February 18. It tells the tale of three bi-racial orphans living in Harlem.
Can we assume the alternate title was going to be Spike & The Stereotypes? Are Apu and the Sea Captain available for cameos? Now, I know Nas could use the cash, as do any artists who need two-disc pressings to pass platinum.
But, when the hell did Spike Lee come full circle, back to “independent filmmaker”? Fifteen years ago, Spike was Quentin Tarantino without the obsessive fanboy following of white guys aged 18-34.
Today, he’s two steps south of Fox Night at the Movies: Homer S…Portrait of an Ass Grabber. Oooh, “portrait”! Sounds classy…doesn’t it?
Sometimes The News Just Writes Itself
Want proof that you don’t have to be a roided up former Rated Rookie in order to write a trashy tell-all tale? Well, let me introduce you to Kevin Skinner.
He describes himself as “a former associate of Whitney Houston’s late father” and is reportedly putting the finishing touches on The Whitney Houston Story…The Rise & Fall of Daddy’s Little Girl. Skinner claims to have had first-hand dealings (no pun intended) with the First Family of Crack and promises that his book will cover “the drugs, the lies and the affairs” of Mr & Mrs. Bobby Brown.
Well, I think the first two were covered by the couple quite nicely a little over two years ago. As for the “affairs”…come on. I’ll concede that “looks” probably rank a distant third behind “money” and “power” in the celebrity world of one-night stands.
But, ol’ Bobby is 0 for 3 on the afternoon and I don’t see any groupies with glaucoma or pre-rhinoplasty Druish Princesses warming up in the bullpen.
Nick’a Please
conceptualized by Nick Salemi
If you’ve turned on your radio in 2005, you’ve probably heard T.I.’s Bring Em Out , in which the hook revolves around a sample of a Jay-Z line, “Bring Em Out/Bring Em Out”.
I laughed pretty hard when I actually heard someone say the other day how great it was to hear “a young rapper paying tribute to a retired rap legend”.
The first funny thing about that statement is that Jay-Z is a “retired” rapper. 2004 saw him go on a high profile (and now infamous) tour, he appeared on at least 10 tracks and released TWO albums. His retirement is busier than Dame Dash’s career. (sidenote: When I picture retirement, I see an old crusty Aaron Cameron sitting on a stoop, drinkin’ Miller High Life like “The Mayor” from Do the Right Thing hollerin’ at all the neighborhood kids. RIP Ossie Davis.)
But, what really struck me about the comment about T.I.’s song was that it was a reminder of the short-term memory in Hip Hop. I thought I’d try to explain this by going backwards to show how far this one little line really goes back. Let’s start with the current record…
T.I., Bring Em Out (2004)
OK, we went over this already. It’s T.I.’s radio joint, that samples vocals from Jigga. What better way to ensure a radio hit by sampling one of the most successful rappers in the last 10 years? Speaking of which, the actual entire line was from…
Jay-Z, What More Can I Say (2003)
The rings and things you sing about bring em out…
A line off of Jigga’s pretend final album. You see the thing is, this isn’t Jay-Z’s line, either. So where did it actually originate from?
Notorious B.I.G. f/ Redman & Method Man, Rap Phenomenon (1999)
So, the above is your typical Jigga line big uppin’ BIG on his album. Biggie’s posthumous Born Again album featured this track produced by DJ Premier. But again, the vocals (much like most of this album) by BIG were not original. Puff and Co. lifted them from a song BIG did a few years earlier. What song? How about…
Tracey Lee f/ Notorious B.I.G., Keep Your Hands High (1997)
Who? Yeah, you probably forgot about or never heard of Tracey Lee. Hey, don’t seem so uninterested! Dude dropped a lame party jam called The Theme back in ’97 but, the song everybody loved was a DJ Clue mixtape banger Keep Your Hands High featuring Biggie. Actually, the entire beat was jacked from this song for What More Can I Say (other Hip Hop geeks will recognize this beat from Canibus’ 1998 track How We Roll, too.)
So what have we learned? I’m not sure…other than the fact that I’m getting old. Hip Hop is a funny thing, and styles change so fast that it’s easy to forget artists or songs from only a few years ago. Listen to any old Eric B & Rakim or EPMD album and you’ll hear lyrics and beats that have inspired dozens of songs.
Peace out and happy 1st Birthday to Jalen Henderson Cameron. I hope he’ll grow up to be successful like his namesake who stole bases rather than like his father who stole baseball cards.
Agree? Disagree? Get at me at nicksalemi@yahoo.com
General Haberdashery-Quoting Out of Context Edition
Jeff Fernandez says, “I missed raping 18-year-old prisoners”. He also had 2/5/05 in the Suge Knight “Back to Jail” Pool and won a trip to Amsterdam, thereby missing his own column tomorrow. I don’t want to say the fix was in, but I hear that our own Mark U. is flying out with him in a replica Steve Grogan jersey.
Gloomchen says, “…omigod, Nelly and Ashanti are a couple!” Other startling revelations include a tale of the tape between Debbie Gibson and Tiffany (with Samantha Fox as guest timekeeper). She’s also got some Valentine’s Day suggestions, which will come in handy for the half-dozen men on our site who stalk her.
Mathan says, “White People…” He also invades the turf of Movie Joe Reid, with a look at music and the movies. Quite frankly, it’s probably the best crossover between the two zones since Joe and I cast the 1989 New York Yankees Movie.
Gordi says, “Pimpin’ ain’t difficult.” Which is kind of odd, considering the usual high-class standards of his own column. Ah, but you’re in for a treat as he riffs on the classical beauty of Randy Savage’s entrance music…featuring a copious cleavage shot of Miss Elizabeth.
Well, someone has to review albums that people are actually buying! HAW!
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 opens up with a salacious sidebar on some subject matter that’s been banned from appearing on Inside Pulse. Joe also mourns Ossie Davis and mocks “Chris Kattan, Celebrity Poker Player”. From there, he goes after…well, in his own words:
“Way to bring Boston Sports back into the gutter of losing…”
Who could he be talking about? Only one way to find out!
A is for me.
M is for TV Mathan. He mentions Sesame Street music, which reminds me of the terrific mixtape he made for my son last year. He mentions Dr. Pepper, which reminds me of that odd new “Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper” concoction in stores now. He mentions Oz, which reminds me of anthrax, fashion shows, Joel Grey and Macbeth. You’ll see…
(Memo to Mathan: I wrote up a nice little piece on your weekly question in the “comments” section, which has now disappeared.) D’oh!
Junk Mail
I’m glad to read that you’re not one of these d*ck-riders stuck on The Game album. Your review pretty much summed up my thoughts: it was good, but nowhere near great. Tell your boy Nick to put down the Kool-Aid and listen to the whole album, instead of pointing out the occasionally good beats and one or two lyrics…G.B.
Well, in defense of a Nick’a, I think you’re a little off base with his “praise” of The Documentary, but it’s so rare that I get review feedback that actually agrees with me, I’ll let your slamming of Salemi slide…this time.
===
Did you really say that The Game needs work on his lyrics? Did you actually listen to the album or did you just do what you usually do and have your mind made up ahead of time? I like your sh*t, but you aren’t even close on this one…E.L
C’mon…I also said he had potential to grow. It was a good, beats-driven album, but there’s no way he’s even in the area code of upper echelon MCs yet.
===
I don’t know, but I think you were a little too soft on The Game. The beats weren’t that good and, lyrically, Game’s not only mediocre on the mic, but he says the same thing on every track, with a shout out to Pac, Biggie or Eazy-E thrown in for the rap equivalent of the cheap pop…S.P.
So, in a nutshell…my review was either on point, too harsh or too lenient. How ’bout one more to break the tie?
===
U aint sh*t your review of the game was so wrong since that was the album of the year. (Unsigned)
Thanks for the letter. Hey, weren’t you the kid that managed to f*ck up the opening coin toss at the Super Bowl last weekend?
Life With the Bootleg Family
As Baby Bootleg turned one-year-old this week, I hope y’all will indulge me as I re-live the greatest day of my life…
Originally Printed on February 13, 2004
As last week’s Bootleg was being posted, the wife was still in pretty serious condition. Her blood pressure was dangerously and consistently high, while the steroids she was being injected with (to strengthen the baby’s lungs) had given her head, quite literally, the circumference of Barry Bonds’ and Sammy Sosa’s noggins put together.
I’m serious…when I saw her on the night of February 6, her eyes were nearly swollen shut. I wanted to call Linus and tell him I had found The Great Pumpkin.
The next day (Saturday), I was leaving the barbershop and called the wife to let her know that I was on my way over.
“They want to deliver the baby today.”, she said.
I powered up the Saturn and almost managed to get that tinfoil rickshaw up to 40 mph, as I arrived at the hospital at 11:30 AM. Mrs. Bootleg’s room was filled with doctors, nurses and specialists who were all speaking the medical equivalent of whatever Lil’ Jon & The Eastside Boyz call English.
Picture, if you will, a six foot tall, 185 pound brutha in XXL jeans, Eddie Bauer long-sleeved shirt and a pair of bulky Lugz boots. Now, add a fluffy powder blue shower cap, a delivery room “jumpsuit” to cover my clothes and some medical “shoe covers”.
I looked like a thug mushroom.
They ushered me into the delivery room, where the wife was being prepped for a C-section. Fortunately, I was kept away from the “business side” of the curtain and could only see Mrs. Bootleg’s face and shoulders. I casually glanced down to the floor just in time to see a pool of blood forming on the other side. The delivering nurse apparently thought I was passing out, so she (yes, she) punched me in the shoulder and asked if I was all right.
I’m tellin’ ya…that f*ckin’ wildebeest hit me like Bald Bull. I wasn’t passing out, but if she had landed on my chin, I would’ve been.
Since this was my first rodeo, I was prepared for a long, drawn out delivery. I tried to find some empty words of comfort to calm my wife down, but it appeared the drugs had already beaten me to it. She looked vacantly at me as I rambled on about nothing in particular (Who says my writing philosophy ain’t portable?)
Mere minutes after I entered the room, the doctors on the other side of the curtain exclaimed, “There he is!” I heard a few brief, raspy baby yelps from the other side…and totally lost it. Man, I had one of those nasty runny nose, inconsolable, slobbering kind of crying jags that are usually only seen when ABC gets those great close-up shots of the losers in the Little League World Series Championship game.
On Saturday, February 7th at 1:22 PM, my son, Jalen Henderson Cameron, was born.
Henderson? As in future Hall of Famer and longtime Oakland Athletic Rickey Henderson? You bet’cha!
The Vitals
Weight: 3 lbs. 1 oz.
Length: 16 inches
Arrival: 9 weeks premature
Fun Facts: He looks exactly like me and I’m already dreading the “talk”, where I have to explain the other kids’ taunts of “canned ham head” to him…He’s got the longest arms n’ legs I’ve ever seen, like a Black version of former cartoon hero Plastic Baby…. He arrived exactly three weeks before the baby shower in his honor…Amazingly, he’s breathing on his own and has a strong, healthy heart.
It’s been almost a week and mother and child are doing great. Mrs. Bootleg is still very sore from her Caesarian, which I’m told is not nearly as delicious as his salads (ooh, especially when you get it with blackened chicken on top). The wife should be home as you read this, while Jalen will continue to live in the ICU for six to eight more weeks.
He’s in great hands with the hospital staff, though, and I’m counting down the days until I’m changing a diaper with one hand and typing up The Goodness with the other. Pray that I remember which hand is which.
If you’re reading this…thanks. Get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13
