The Friday Music News Bootleg

Welcome back to The Bootleg. Sometimes, it’s for business”¦sometimes, it’s for pleasure”¦but, several times each year, I pack a few bags and fly off to”¦well, somewhere. A few months ago, I negotiated a contract in Washington D.C”¦later this year, work is sending me to Boston. (And, unlike some who take the San Diego-to-New England Air Express, I won’t need “upsies” from the flight attendant to get into my seat.)

But, see”¦the funny thing is I hate flying.

See, I grew up in an age where plane hijackings seemed commonplace and plane crashes created a cadre of cannibals. Speaking of which”¦does anyone else think that Ethan Hawke wishes he was still eating that good?

And, of course, when it comes to personal airplane paranoia, there was 9/11″¦but, not for the reason you might think. In the aftermath of our greatest American tragedy, it was strongly recommended that passengers arrive at the airport anywhere from 90 minutes to two hours prior to their flight.

This is why I hate flying.

Last weekend, I flew up to Oakland for some Bay Area Baseball and Debauchery. Now, as far as big city airports go, San Diego’s Lindbergh Field is pretty painless, as long as you steer clear of the $7 Cinnabon. But, on this day”¦I experienced pain. It’s an intro that can only be called: The Heel Turn Heard ‘Round the Red Zone.

My flight was taking off at 10:30 AM, so the wife had me at the airport by 9:00. You know those sistas that wear curlers and slippers, like, out in public? Well, apparently every Black woman becomes one and, for mine, this is where it begins. All that was missing was the terrycloth robe that she had to hold together by hand because the “robe rope” got lost in the wash.

The line for the full body n’ baggage security scan was snaking around like some kind of slithering, serpentine, umm”¦snaky”¦well, you get the idea. Think Cobra Commander after the spores in G.I. Joe: The Movie.

I hadn’t been standing there for more than a second, when the sweetest elderly lady you’d ever want to meet decided to make with the yak-yak. With me. Now, this was a big woman. She could’ve easily been confused with Mabel King, the good mother from What’s Happening! or King Mabel, the bad mutha from WWE!

Kids, this was 10 minutes of novocaine straight to my brain.

Is there nothing worse than when someone pushes pictures of their grandkids on an unsuspecting soul? (Hey, I said grandkids”¦) She spoke in such glowing terms, though, that it was hard not to at least appreciate her passion for family.

I tugged at the carry-on bag slung over my right shoulder and inched forward towards the metal detectors and x-ray machines. And, in the next five seconds”¦my life changed forever. I spent the first four of those five seconds listening to the following announcement over the airport PA:

“Ladies and gentlemen, security station seven is now open and available to all passengers.”

The very next second was spent sprawled against the wall. And, how many members of the airport patrol do you think it took to shove aside a six feet tall, 180 pound pretty boy?

None.

It seems I had been maimed by Margaret.

She heard the same announcement as me and, from her three-point stance, plowed past me with a 2×4-like clothesline”¦all in search of a shorter line. I had been bashed by Blacksaw Jim Duggan. Now, what was it that Bell Biv Devoe once taught us?

Never trust a big butt and a smile”¦

The Goodness knows”¦never again.

I’ve Seen Chris Tucker and He’s No Chris Tucker

Mos Def will be sharing the silver screen with Bruce Willis in 16 Blocks, directed by Richard Donner. The movie revolves around a middle-aged police officer (c’mon, guess who?) who is tasked with escorting a cocky, yet cerebral trial witness (the pretentious Black rapper) to court. Look for it in theaters early next year.

Mos Def, the actor? Quick question for all my movie aficionados”¦is Mos Def really a good actor or does he get a pass because, by the standards of rapping actors, he’s not Ja Rule or John Cena? Mos Def was OK as “the best friend” in the overly sweet (and insufferably insincere) Brown Sugar. But, come on”¦how hard is it to play that part in a Black movie?

Next Friday had one”¦so did Friday After Next and All About the Benjamins. Is the standard for Mos Def really no more than Mike Epps?

And, speaking of our African-American men of mirth, let’s take a look at some of the bruthas that the white man has recently acquired. Chris Rock hasn’t been heard from since his inconsistent stint hosting The Oscars. Meanwhile, Dave Chappelle and his self-titled show haven’t been heard from since”¦hey, wait a minute.

What’ll ya’ll give us for Epps, provided you ensure he meets the same MIA fate that’s been foisted upon the other two?

I Didn’t Think Anyone Would Get A Logan’s Run Reference

During all my time on the Bootleg beat, I’ve found that there are two surefire ways to find hot, flaming emails of malevolence from the masses. The first is from bashing anyone in the so-called “old school” of geriatric rappers. The second comes from taking shots at Outkast. Fortunately, m’man Andre 3000 makes my point for me in the latest issue of Maxim:

“I’ve seen it happen. Guys I loved coming up and now they’re older than I am. I don’t want to see them rap now, because it’s just corny.”

Exactly, Dre”¦and just one more reason why I’ve always liked loved his unique brand of can’t-dress-himself haberdashery and wacky, not-quite-cutting edge lyricism. Hell, I’ll even look past that second sentence. Memo to Dre: those rappers that are older than you now, were actually older than you were then, too.

Rappers should be treated like Hollywood’s leading ladies. Let ’em all do their thang when they’re young and having fun. However, at the first sign of senility (think 32 or 33) send them out to play the love interest of men three times their age. Or give them nothing but animated voice-overs for the foreseeable future and a boyfriend with a blaccent.

We need to act now people. Only you can stop Lil’ Jon from becoming another (G)oldie Hawn.

The 7th Season of Oz Begins June 24th

A quick look at the calendar shows that we’re just seven weeks away from Lil’ Kim’s sentencing on federal perjury charges. And, if fans of the porcine sex symbol have anything to say about it, the presiding judge will hopefully show compassion in passing the sentence down.

Lil’ Kim websites all over the net are arranging letter writing campaigns to Judge Gerard Lynch (uh oh!) The message from her fans: “go easy on our girl”. Of course, these websites completely comprehend the G.E.D. level of Lil’ Kim’s listeners and are encouraging fans to avoid bashing the judge and the justice system in their correspondence.

And, who wouldn’t want the support of BET’s 106 & Park studio audience?

“Well, Ms. Jones”¦I was going to give you the maximum, but because “Day-Shawn” from “the Boogie Down” is “down with you””¦

Where else but America can perfect strangers serve as a quasi character witness? Never mind that Kim employs a bountiful harvest of bodyguards to keep you and your damn dirty hands off of her”¦but you don’t care cuz Kim’s “keeping it real”. Nah”¦I’m not gonna put in the obvious link here.

I’ll put it here.

Setting African-American Achievements Back”¦One Rim At a Time

The year is 1998 and a regionally successful player in the game sees the stars and planets align entirely in his favor for the first time. His floundering franchise is saved and, for a flashy, fleeting moment, the game is following his lead.

Sammy Sosa? Mark McGwire? Nah, b*tch”¦Master P.

Next week, ol’ Percy will drop his new line of custom-made wheels in association with Asanti Luxury Wheels. The “P. Miller Signature Series” will feature stylish staples like chrome and silver, as well as a little something for the man who wants to take “tacky” into traffic. Now, you can have rims made, in part, from alligator skins or even laced with diamonds. I am not making this up.

What the hell is it that inherently blends “urban” with “bad idea”?

And, why does it always have to revolve around vehicles of some kind? You mean you’ve already forgotten the Funkmaster Flex Driving Shoe? Oh”¦you have. Well, how about Biker Boyz? Nobody could’ve forgotten Biker Boyz“¦hell, not with a cast that included Lisa Bonet and Kadeem Hardison. Sadly, without Whitley, this 15-year reunion of the first season of A Different World felt strange and unfamiliar.

Although, now that I think about it, I suppose it felt a lot like the last season of A Different World. The sexual tension (and, take it from me”¦most of the sex) between Whitley and Dwayne dissipated once they were married, while every episode was like watching the video version of The Final Call.

A crisp new bow tie and fresh hot bean pie for those who didn’t have to click the link to get the joke. For those who did click, you’ve now been flagged. Jack Bauer has been sent to kill you.

Worst. Idea. Ever.

Rapper Ghostface Killah and nepotism recipient Cameron(!) Douglas are pushing a pilot called Hollyhood around town. The duo describes it as “a marriage of Hip Hop and house music juxtaposed with ghetto glamour and Hollywood glitz”. Wow. Just think”¦a show about every club you’ve ever been to.

All that’s missing are the gum and mints from the bathroom attendant. And, for those of you under 21, I won’t ruin the surprise any further. Just remember, he’s supposed to be there.

Oh, almost forgot”¦Cameron Douglas is the son of actor Michael Douglas. I imagine he’s just there for name value”¦as in, his name’s not Ghostface, for God’s sake.

People, it’s not every day that you can actually get in on the ground floor of certain failure. I mean, how many of us will be drafted by the Tampa Bay Devil Rays or cast alongside Kevin Costner in his next baseball movie”¦where he probably plays a Tampa Bay Devil Ray.

Anyways, Hollyhood promises guest interviews, performances and comedy sketches. Now, while Hip Hop heads should feel bad for Face, remember”¦this is his colossal abomination. And, when’s the last time you heard anyone ask that Vibe get back on the air.

Sometimes the News Just Writes Itself

Snoop Dogg will be taking his “high on life” tripe across the Atlantic to the hallowed halls of Oxford University. He’ll be speaking on the dangers of drugs and how kicking the habit has helped save his marriage and his life.

Calvin Broadus is now clean and sober? No lie”¦this is the worst thing I’ve seen since Michael Keaton starred in Clean and Sober back in 1988.

No word on exactly when the S-n-double O-P will be breathing the rarified air of three-term Tony Blair, but in the short term, Snoop will continue on his U.S. tour, How the West Was One. In fact, on Friday, May 20, the tour comes right here to San Diego.

I’ve got to make every effort to attend, since sh*t always goes down when I’m in town. Back in 2000, during the Up in Smoke tour, Nate Dogg was arrested on the tour bus with a little too much”¦oregano. A few years later, Snoop’s Dogg Pound crew mixed it up with a few Bloods who had found their way to the front row. I figure this time, someone’s gotta die. Hey, anyone think 50 Cent will be there?

I know some people who are”¦curious.

Nick’a Please
conceptualized by Nick Salemi

Nick couldn’t be here this week”¦however, he’s left behind a little classic Nick’a. This piece was originally published in The Luke Report about three years ago. I think you’ll find that it holds up well.

Chuck Finley was scratched from his first start of the season Wednesday. He has yet to take the mound, but his record is already 0-1 and the quality of his performance has made those of Roger and Pedro look downright stellar. According to multiple news reports (we’re talking thousands here), the 6-foot, 7-inch Finley missed his scheduled start after allegedly being assaulted by his wife, “actress” Tawny Kitaen.

Oh Good Lord. Say it ain’t so, Chuck. You missed a start because you got your ass kicked by your wife? This HAS to be a first. Who are you, Lionel Ritchie? The Jerry Springer Show should be all over this. (Is that sh*t still on by the way? I’m glad I don’t know).

Today’s episode: “I’m a Major League pitcher who got my ass kicked by my C-level-actress-leftover-slack-from-the-80s-hagbag-wife.” Gonna be lonely up on that stage, Chuck.

Can anyone fathom what it’s going to be like in the Indians’ clubhouse? First of all, he’s totally disqualified from EVER making fun of ANYONE on that team again. (Chuck: “Damn, Thome, you looked horrible on that curveball!” Thome: “Quiet down or I’ll stab you with a stiletto heel, skirt boy.”)

What’s worse”¦imagine the things the Spanish-speaking contingent on the Indians are going to say in front of him, knowing he can’t understand a word of it.

But seriously”¦can Tawny Kitaen really be considered famous? Remember what passed for hot in the 1980s? Samantha Fox. Jessica Hahn. Tina Yothers. When’s the last time Tawny landed any kind of paycheck? Sure, her role as a neo-Loni Anderson on the short-lived The New WKRP in Cincinnati likely landed a sizable chunk of change in her purse, but that was twelve years ago.

It’s clear she’s living off Chuck’s exorbitant salary, just as clearly as any money she made in the 80s was blown long ago on eight balls, frosted hairdos, and MC Hammer pants.

General Haberdashery”¦Mother’s Day Edition

Longtime Friends of the Bootleg might remember the time I told the tale of taking my mother to the movies:

“A few years ago, my mom came down to visit me and we decided to catch a movie. I selected 8 MM, featuring the aforementioned Mr. Cage. I have never spent a more uncomfortable two hours in my life. Check that, the ride home was painful, too, as I had to explain the whole “snuff film” industry to her.”

If memory serves, that was 1999″¦and it’s high time I make it up to her! And, nothing washes out the bitter taste of porn and premeditated murder like the Inside Pulse music staff!

So, mom”¦if you’re reading this, then you should be reading them:

Jeff Fernandez references Ipecac and Oprah, but don’t be fooled. This is not the column for 54-year-old women. I mean”¦Clay Aiken sitting above a story on human waste? Bestiality? Oh, hell”¦my mom probably wouldn’t pass the third sentence in this episode of the SSS. (Sorry, Jeff)

Mathan Erhardt touches on the technological advancement of dual disc entertainment. Not much there for my mom, but he changes up with a march down memory lane that covers the heyday of the vinyl age. Oh, and for you trivia buffs out there, Mathan is the other guy who bought Digable Planets’ Blowout Comb.

Gloomchen lives in a wonderful”¦magical town full of sex and booze. Hey, her words, not mine. And, despite her uncanny resemblance to the girl(s) I dated for a stretch in college (sorry, Mathan), I don’t think my mom would approve. But, if you’re a fan of 311, then Gloomchen is pissing all over you this week. Now, how did this link turn into a Biggie Smalls album skit?

Open Mike Eagle is already in reruns? Well, if it’s anything like Murder, She Wrote Momma Bootleg will be hooked!

Ssquared pimps shows love to his mother in every one of his columns! Now, there’s something my mom can appreciate. And, he’s back to being unemployed just like my brother! This is getting eerie. If Shawn shares my mom’s love for Audioslave and Ring of Honor, that would be straight bananas phallic yellow fruit.

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 discusses Tom Brokaw & Katie Couric and the Ku Klux Klan? Umm, well”¦for his minority readers (and the rest of you, too) I highly recommend his Summer Movie Money Grab feature. It’s Joe Reid vs. the Blockbusters of Summer and the unanimous decision is comedy! Hey, did he just make a Chico & The Man reference? Sweet!

And, be sure check out Movie Joe Reid’s Low Resolution blog. He didn’t even link to it in his own column this week. Why? Nine simple words: “The Things I Hate About Matthew Michael”¦and Ashish”. (Oh, and while I’m no fan of Joe Reid’s Yankees, Joe would like me to extend a sincere f*ck you out to Schilling. Which one? The sanctimonious scrub.)

A is for me.

M is for TV Mathan. Last week, he kicked it with Tom & Jerry and Bert & Ernie. Math also gets all up in Grey’s Anatomy while inviting his mother in for a guest opinion on The Office. Oh, and Ryan O’Reilly is still alive, kids. It’s Cyril that”¦whoops, don’t want to spoil anything for”¦ah, f*ck it, Cyril’s dead. Just like Adebisi, Said, Keller, Schillinger, Warden Glynn, Shirley Bellinger and Leon.

Junk Mail

Thanks to all for the feedback to last week’s Bootleg. I continue to be unforgivably lax with regards to actually replying to most of it, though. Think of me as a stereotype of the South”¦where all the Black people are lazy, while the white people are equally lazy, but accuse all the Black people of being lazy.

Great baseball story, Aaron. I’ve been going to Old and New Comiskey in Chicago since I was 7 years old and my favorite moment had to be when new White Sox outfielder George Bell actually hit on my oldest sister. Jheri curl juice dripping down and mixing with his sweaty brow. He’s working his mack on her (she was about 18, at the time) and I asked for his autograph. He didn’t respond until my sister told him who I was. Sadly, their love didn’t get past batting practice”¦R.C.

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While working my way through college, I did some time at a Mrs. Fields in Phoenix. Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyways, two springs ago, Barry Bonds came in with his kids. The oldest boy placed the order and Bonds just stood back with his daughter. Finally, I asked him if he was Barry Bonds and he said, “no”. Since it was either him or The Death Star, I figured he was just being a prick. Then, he paid me with his credit card! I looked at and asked for ID. Without missing a beat, I asked him if Barry Bonds knew he’d stolen his card. Dude shot me a look like a young, angry Ice Cube album cover. Thank you, come again. E.D.

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How the hell did I miss Nick’s review of B-Ball’s Best Kept Secrets the first time it ran? I had that CD! And, I was probably the reason that the video for Flow On got so much play on The Box. I’m not sure what 75 times $1.99 is, but that’s how much I probably owe my mom. Great, great sh*t, guys. Keep it coming”¦S.D.

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Man, you guys gotta kill more bad albums. That B-Ball CD review was the funniest thing I’ve read on IP in a long time. If you and Nick can take the punishment, maybe you can hunt down garbage like Angie Martinez, Trina and any Bone-Thugs solo joint to rip apart next time. Keep it all Goodness, guys”¦W.S.

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Life With the Bootleg Family

In the next few weeks, the wife will proceed to piss away her Bachelor’s Degree and her Master’s Degree, by quitting her job to spend more time with Kid Cameron.

But, first”¦she’s heading up her last work project this month. It’s an exhaustive endeavor, involving long hours, resulting in numerous night-in and night-out delays”¦mostly to my still uncooked dinner. And, the worst is yet to come as, for the first time in recent memory, Mrs. Bootleg is going to have to work this weekend.

All weekend”¦which means it’s time for another exciting episode of Cameron & Son.

This’ll be the first time that Jalen joins me on my Saturday routine, which begins, every week, with a trip to the barbershop. My appointment is always in the book for 10:00 AM, sharp, which means that I actually get in the chair sometime between 10:15 and 10:45 AM. Apparently, “C.P.T.” was a deleted scene in Ice Cube’s Barbershop movie.

Assuming we survive that (and more importantly, that I’m invited back), I’ll need to get my oil changed. And, speaking of “change”, by this time Jalen will need one, too. That means the joy of the men’s room “changing stations” for bitch-ass daddies, like myself. And, nothing says “sanitary” better than a public bathroom. There’s currently no word on which one of us will need more baby wipes by the bitter end.

And, isn’t Mother’s Day like, two days away?

Time for a mall crawl”¦but, first, it’ll be feeding time. Six ounces of formula for Kid Cameron, with a creamed spinach chaser, just in case I can’t cover all my clothes in enough crap for the afternoon.

God willing, I’ll remember the gift and manage to not misplace Jalen (more than once). The day will wrap up with a handful of Hallmark, because, it’s just not Mother’s Day if Mrs. Bootleg doesn’t get separate cards from me and Baby Bootleg and the cat.

My only solace is knowing that this’ll be your life in another five to ten years. By then, I’ll be divorced and back on the market. The Black Market.

I promise to steal fewer lines from Viscera next week. Until then, get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13

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