Welcome back to The Bootleg. Since the last time we saw each other, The Bootleg Family survived not one, but two near tragedies (of course, with comedic undertones).
The first one involved the always exciting, late-evening emergency room visit on behalf of Baby Bootleg. The second involved a week-long stay in Ogden, Utah”¦with my in-laws. Which one do you think I should run? Well, since Jalen’s journey on the gurney was just a five-hour false alarm, why don’t we save that for next week’s non-music intro?
Besides, by my best estimate, the in-laws sucked the life out of us for 96 hours and, therefore, get featured first.
Our epic begins on the day before Thanksgiving. Through the convenience of curbside check-in, our bags were actually on their way to the plane long before we set foot inside Lindbergh Field. In fact, following in the sitcom footsteps of America’s favorite Jewish jester, I tipped twenty dollars (five bucks a bag) to the Somalian skycap who collected our luggage.
I just figured those funds would be sent back to Africa to support whatever civil war du jour was being waged between Dikembe, Kamala and Manute Bol. Instead, it bought us much more, as this curbside kid came upstairs, found the Cameron Clan in the super-sized security line, and escorted us through the much shorter metal detector line for first class passengers.
Who knew that the extras from Amistad had so much pull?
We arrived in Utah around lunchtime, while our son was still mired in the middle of a dream”¦helped along with three fingers of cough syrup with codeine. The in-laws hauled everything into their car and we were off to shop”¦for pretty much everything.
Keep in mind that these people knew we were coming months in advance, but decided to put off and procrastinate until our actual arrival date. First up was Target where, in Utah, you can now buy groceries alongside their crappy collection of long-sleeve denim shirts and George Foreman grills.
Nearly $100 of assorted store-brand sundries and who do you think paid: the hosts or the guests? Tell you what”¦we’ll come back to that one.
Next up, we visited something called a “package store”. For those of you who live outside America or for anyone who is anyplace in the U.S. where their laws have been updated since the 1600s, a package store sells nothing but booze. Think a 7-11 sans Slurpees, snacks and sand n”¦nah, even I couldn’t get away with that one.
Anyways, the father-in-law bought the beer and, for a man who professes to be an alcohol aficionado, he could only find his way into a 50% success rate. That’s because Thanksgiving’s dinner time drinking would be highlighted by Sam Adams”¦and Red Stripe.
Jamaican Beer. Hell, that’s a punchline by itself, even without my “rhymes with someone in Terry McMillan’s closet” crossword joke.
That evening, after initially being promised the in-laws’ master bedroom, the wife, the boy and I were swerved into what they called their “guest room”. Now, for all you future homeowners, one twin bed inside a 10 feet by 10 feet “room” with no heat is more of a guest cubicle. Although, the in-laws unfurled an air mattress for me, which was kind of like sleeping on Tom Hanks’ makeshift raft in Cast Away and twice as unpleasant as watching the entire eight-hour movie.
Now, the Thanksgiving dinner was delicious, as all 18 African-Americans in the state showed up to celebrate the day. Y’see, if you get enough of us in the same room, hilarity almost always ensues”¦for further proof, see: Sprung, Booty Call and Roots. Highlights aplenty:
My mom (who drove 14 hours north just to freeload) started the day off right by falling down a half-flight of stairs while holding Baby Bootleg. Like all Black women in their 50s, she’s thick enough where she needs to be, so it was as if Jalen was protected by a force field of my mother’s arms and her big ol’ ass.
Hours later, the boy nearly ran right into a hot oven door that was inexplicably left open, before Mrs. Bootleg saved the day and snatched him away. My mom shrugged it off as a “close call”, mere minutes after wondering why we never leave the kid with her.
The requisite “world’s oldest Negro” was invited to the party, too. At any Black family gathering, someone always wheels in their 102 year old uncle from the original Underground Railroad. By law, everyone must refer to him as “Mr. (insert original slave owner’s surname)”. It’s ostensibly a sign of respect and, apparently, easier to remember than “Toby”.
There’s much more to say, but we’ve got to get on with the Goodness. I will say, though, that after all the bird was served and we were winging our way back to the 70 degree Decembers of San Diego, we were greeted with a bill. No, not from the four days correspondence built up in our mailbox”¦but, from my mother-in-law.
She called to tell us that our share for the all the food would be an additional $200″¦on top of everything else we bought last week. Now, I’m not saying I condone elder abuse, but now”¦I understand.
I Ain’t Sayin’ It’s a Slow News Week”¦
In almost three years on the beat, I’ve settled on exactly four sources for my weekly music news. And, the fact that all four of them featured the following story shows that we’re long overdue for another music-based shooting or two.
After 15 unkempt and uncombed yarn-like years, Busta Rhymes has decided to cut off all his trademark dreadlocks. Now, bear with me while I give my fingers a running start in typing these next two words. “The event” was part of a recent photo shoot and occurred in a New York barbershop. You can view footage of this faux news right here.
That’s right, kids”¦”Black Man Gets a Haircut”. Let’s hope there are enough cartoonishly spinning newspaper headlines to capture the essence in its entirety. Besides, Busta, what took you so damn long? The dreadlocks look has been on the way out of the African-American community for years.
By my count, we’re down to three holdouts: the living half of Milli Vanilli, WWE token Booker T. and, of course, Predator. Speaking of Predator, someone needs to ask Movie Joe Reid if he can explain the two-decade staying power of, essentially, a B-movie bad guy.
His rogue’s gallery roll call includes: Jesse Ventura, Danny Glover, post-Rocky and pre-Action Jackson Apollo Creed and, last but not least, Apache Chief. And, he lost to this collection of talent twice.
Actually, against any other ’80s on-screen icon from that era, I’ve got him as an underdog to Ivan Drago and Red Sonja.
The Last Michael Jackson Story of the Year
Ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention. I’ve just been handed an urgent and horrifying news story. I need all of you, to stop what you’re doing and listen. Cannonball!
Michael Jackson’s ex-wife, Debbie Rowe, revealed this week that the King of Pop is not the natural father of their son and daughter, Prince Michael Jr. and Paris. I will now pause until your collective jaws stop dropping to the floor.
In separate interviews with a pair of Irish newspapers, Rowe says that the kids were conceived with semen”¦from a sperm bank! Wow, these rapid-fire, machine gun style surprises just keep on coming, huh? Rowe goes on to say that “Michael knows the truth” which, if true”¦for the first time in 40 years”¦makes Michael no different that anyone else on planet earth.
Now, Michael’s descent into self-parody admittedly makes for easy comedy, so why has his first ex-wife, Lisa Marie Presley, gotten a hall pass on the put-downs and cheap shots from the media?
Here’s a woman who’s worth one jillion dollars, but still isn’t above incessant self-promotion or publicity stunts. Picture Paris Hilton with a man’s hips, Cousin Larry’s lips and a forehead that flaunts her full-sized frontal lobe.
Besides, anyone who dated Nicolas Cage doesn’t get a pass from me. Has there ever been another actor who’s gone from “entertaining” to “eccentric” to “two shots of penicillin, please” any quicker than Nic?
If You Thought MJ, Nic Cage & Sperm Banks Were Gross”¦
For the record, I don’t personally have any problem with interracial dating”¦but, if Nas ever wants to drop another record that no one cares about, he’s got some familiar subject matter.
Notorious cracka connoisseur, Diana Ross has confirmed that she and actor Jon Voight have been an item for several months. Representatives for both atrophied entertainers claim that the two are taking it slowly, which shouldn’t surprise anyone since the top speed of their respective Rascals is only 8 miles per hour.
Oddly enough, neither side will reveal where they first met, even though it’s pretty obvious to anyone who can afford a $10 DVD or remembers the 1997 movie scene. Hell, we should probably be praising Jon Voight for surrendering top billing and the title role to Diana Ross in Anaconda.
It had been nearly 20 years since her last cinematic acting gig in The Wiz, but the Queen of the Harpies was both convincing and charismatic as the serpent that kills off a fictitious film crew and at least one flaccid film career.
Amazingly enough, Ms. Ross only required five minutes in make-up for every few weeks of filming, which begs the question: Why is she still in costume?
The Only Place in America that Still Recycles Gerbil Jokes
Bootleg favorite Heather Mills McCartney is back in the news this week. The Euro Yoko has created a new campaign to ban Chinese imports of dog and cat fur throughout the retail clothing industry.
Wait a minute”¦dogs”¦cats”¦and the Chinese? What a new and never-before-stereotyped-together triumvirate. Anyways, dog and cat fur is reportedly the latest craze for those that can’t afford “real” fur. These longtime animal kingdom combatants are being killed, while their fur is subsequently dyed to the equivalent colors and shades of high-end skins, such as mink.
The practice is gaining in popularity throughout Europe and Asia where fur from Fido and Fluffy is cheaper to produce than completely fake fur. Well, I have to admit”¦this is all pretty sickening on just about every conceivable level. Even more so, since I failed to get in on the ground floor of these housebroken clothes.
Americans missed their chance ten years ago, when Montgomery Burns foreshadowed this shift in the fur industry in the musical See My Vest:
“See my vest, see my vest, made from real gorilla chest,
Feel this sweater, there’s no better than authentic Irish Setter.
See this hat? ‘Twas my cat.
My evening wear? Vampire bat.”
And, now it seems that the animal haberdashery industry is being controlled by celebrities. 50 Cent has his “Gorilla Unit” line of offensively labeled outwear. Christian Bale brought the bat suit to a new beginning. And, Richard Gere backed into”¦no, wait”¦they pulled it out.
I’m Pretty Sure It’s Pronounced ‘Biiatch’
Pop star Bjork is getting the opportunity to realize her boyhood dream of sailing around the world. Ah, but unlike most people with money or a shred of common sense, Bjork has begun a 10-week course on captaining large vessels so that she can take to the seas all on her own. The class will conclude at the end of January and in the spring, Bjork will set sail with her boyfriend and daughter on board.
Now, I don’t wanna get in the way of a fool and her crew, but based on these recent Bjork quotes, I’m thinking she’ll probably need to spend a little extra time brushing up on her boating basics:
“This has always been my ambition. I’d love for my home to be a boat so that I can take it wherever I go.”
A-a-a-and, when did planet earth turn into a sh*tty Kevin Costner movie? Oh, just pick one. I was thinking Waterworld, but I think any one of ’em would apply. So, you’d get to take your home with you, Bjork? Every homeless guy living in a two-room refrigerator box can say the same thing and they get to bathe in a public library lavatory twice a month.
“I’m constantly looking for new things. I’m never still. My theory is that life on a boat could be great!”
OK”¦that’s not a “theory” so much as it’s a child’s observation. It’s kind of like “my theory is that my dad can beat up your dad”¦” or “my theory is that Flash can run faster than Superman”. Keep in mind, kids”¦none of you could name six of her songs, but she probably spends more in a month than most of us earn in a year. On top of that, she gets to take a vacation from not working.
Now, why does that sound so familiar to me?
Sometimes the News Just Writes Itself
Earlier this week, it was announced that The Rolling Stones would be providing the background noise for the extended bathroom break that is the Super Bowl Halftime Show.
Mick Jagger’s ex-wife Jerry Hall was also in the news, as her promotional partnership with Bayer Health Care was made public. She’s teaming with the drug conglomerate in their efforts to sell an erectile dysfunction treatment to everyone disillusioned with Mike Ditka’s ED endorsement and subsequent, umm”¦Kodak moment.
For those of you who don’t know, Hall is something like six feet, twelve and a former model who might be best known for her role as The Joker’s disfigured girlfriend in Tim Burton’s Batman.
Has it really been more than 15 years since Michael Keaton played Bat-Mite to Jack Nicholson’s scene-stealing sociopath?
How weird is it now to watch freakin’ Arli$$ trying to get all up on Eminem’s mom?
And, is Billy Dee Williams still rockin’ that slicked-back chemically-based conk?
Hell, at his advanced age, I half-expect to see him at next year’s Thanksgiving gathering. (You did read this week’s intro, right? Don’t make me have to start explaining the jokes to you people.)
Nick’a Joe Reid Please
This week, Nick is doing his best Thornton Melon impersonation. In his place, is another IM J.A.M. session between me and Movie Joe Reid:
Movie Joe Reid: I’m flipping channels the other day, and I stumble upon a “Quite Frankly with Stephen A. Smith” repeat
Movie Joe Reid: His guests? Larry King, Regis Philbin, and Phil Donahue
Movie Joe Reid: If Saturday Night Live wasn’t cancelled three seasons ago, this would have made for perfect fodder.
That Bootleg Guy: Stephen A’s schtick don’t play well outside of the worldwide leader in sports…
Movie Joe Reid: His schtick plays well on ESPN?
That Bootleg Guy: Well, where else can loud, black men vent and scare whitey?
That Bootleg Guy: Well, besides on Moodspins.
Movie Joe Reid: I had that joke!
That Bootleg Guy: That one wrote itself…
General Haberdashery”¦Other Utah Observations Edition
It’s been a thin two weeks around IP Music, so what better way to pad the links than to offer up even more Utah thoughts:
Mathan professes his respect for Bad Boy Records, yet curiously doesn’t once mention Craig Mack or Puffy’s girl group, Dream. Speaking of dreaming”¦that’s what I was probably doing around 6:00 AM last Friday, when my mother-in-law ran through the whole house yelling to no one in particular that the family dog got loose outside. Apparently, I was the only one who thought this was not normal.
Haley could be the best writer on any IP zone of his choice, but instead he’s decided to just write one column, with a little bit of goodness in every area. If you missed this one, it’s got music, sports, sports-entertainment n’ more. Speaking of which, I have a 17-year-old brother-in-law. He’s taking some sort of weight-training class and a picture of him, shirtless and flexing, was on the door of the refrigerator. My skin is still crawling.
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. Joe’s got a stream of consciousness piece on the new M. Night Shymalan”¦trailer. He’s also got random thoughts on Harry Potter, Grey’s Anatomy and Aeon Flux. Oh, there’s some potential full frontal nudity featuring Jenny McCarthy, Daisy Fuentes, Carmen Electra and Idallis. Scintillating.
Also, be sure to check out Joe over at The Film Experience. It’s his first new column in four months and Joe shows that those sixteen weeks off weren’t wasted. Thoughts on Jarhead and Shopgirl, along with all the dirt on the new “NiCrowe” all-Aussie union. There’s stuff on George Clooney, the Oscar contender and Steven Spielberg, the Nobel Prize winner. Finally, he’s got X-Men 3 info and”¦The Spirit Awards?
A is for me.
M is for TV Mathan. It’s all sitcom theme songs in this classic episode of Remote Destination. My thoughts: try’n catch the Maude guest spots on All in the Family, as Bea Arthur was phenomenal in her interplay with Archie”¦It’s Garry Shandling’s Show originally aired on Showtime, not Fox”¦they picked it up after it already ran on cable”¦no one remembered the Golden Palace and the Girls original legacy is untouched”¦
Junk Mail
I loved your “flu shot follies” intro (from two weeks ago). Just the fact that you were insulted by the nurse practitioner’s equivalent to Autobot medic, Ratchet was straight comedy by itself. Who could he possibly talk sh*t to? Maybe Perceptor the Heroic Microscope or Trailbreaker the half pick-up truck/half studio apartment, but that’s it. Keep this in mind the next time a nurse takes a swing at you.
C.J.
“¦and that’s why I have the best readers of anyone on Inside Pulse, kids.
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Just so you know, while I enjoyed your take on Mary J. Blige’s crazy rant at the Vibe Awards, it still wasn’t the most embarrassing moment by our people on BET this month. Did you catch the replay of the BET Comedy Awards? Nothing like seeing Shemar Moore dry-humping “Pam” from “Martin” or Wanda Sykes actually winning the award for “best supporting actress” to make me fervently pray for our future.
Larissa J.
Yikes. I caught that, too, and somewhere Mathan is spinning in his grave. For those of you who missed it, all you need to know is that Martin Lawrence was given a Lifetime Achievement Award. Only in the Black community can Martin be embraced after slapping Tisha Campbell on the set of his show, abusing drugs and alcohol and making Big Momma’s House 2.
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Tell me the Bootleg isn’t prescient! Last year, Nick inadvertently wished death upon Ralph Wiley and a week later”¦well, yeah. Then, (two weeks ago) you joke about Mick Foley using the “n-word”. Sure enough, it’s actually uttered on the very next WWE PPV. Thoughts?
Michael C.
After looking up “prescient”, I can tell you that I’m not. And, I didn’t catch the PPV so I have no idea what was said or what the context was. But, these two things I know: it’s wrestling, who cares”¦and it was actually Nick’s brother, John, who sent Ralph Wiley to his death. Remember, Nick still has a chance to get into heaven.
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Let Nick know that I really dug his extended IP-style reviews for Danger Doom and the Get Rick (sic) soundtrack. I know that you’ve got something of a running joke with your editors about the lack of music content in the Bootleg, but Salemi always brings knowledge and appreciation for the culture and his sh*t is always a nice balance for your less serious approach.
Carlos C.
“Less serious”? Less serious than Nick?! Oh, Carlos please. But, Nicka’s reviews have been pretty damn popular lately, which is why I have NO problem exploiting him later this month when Nick and I bust out our second annual Best n’ Worst of 2005 Bootleg Spectacular! That’s a working title, but you can bet I’ll be riding his comedic coattails and siphoning your praise for him.
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F*ck you and your hatin’ ass. 50’s new soundtrack is fire from start to finish. Your negativity proves that you’re black in name only and you ain’t real.
Randy M.
“Black in name only”? Hell, I didn’t even write the review and I’m actually wishing he was talking about me! But, I’ll let Nick know that Randy from Canada used to think he was Black, but now he has to question that. E-mail of the year”¦bar none.
Mark your calendars, kids. On January 6, 2006, it’ll be the TWO biggest announcements in Bootleg history! One of my readers will”¦ah, wait and see. Get at me on Yahoo or AOL IM: ajcameron13.
