Afronaught (Afronaut) - DJ/Producer

Sorry for not knowing about this man sooner. Don't tase me, bro!

I've heard the name, "Afronaught," a million times over the years, but I never really heard the music, not knowingly. I was put onto Afronaught by a really good friend of mine who spent some time in London as an A&R for Sony. God bless him.

Afronaught aka Afronaut aka Orin Walters is a London-Based Breakbeat DJ/Producer. He's also known to spend quite some time in Puerto Rico. He also spun some house music in Chicago in he '90s. He's considered a pioneer of West London's breakbeat scene and is also a member of the DJ/Producer collective known as Bugz in the Attic. His style of production is known for being more soulful than others.

Listen. Enjoy. These two songs are merely the tip of an enormous iceberg.

"Transcend Me" (I've been listening to this repeatedly since I became aware, about three days now.)


"Now or Never" (Let the beat build on this one. It's worth it.)



And now you're happy. See how that works?

Afronaught on MySpace

Ning

Bugz in he Attic


And because it's only right.

The Girl with the Chocolate Chip Freckles

Some of the women I love are changing. Permit me to me rephrase. Some of the women I love are changing themselves.

I don't love these women. I don't even know them. I love things about them.

I get an E-mail alerting me the I have a friend request on this social networking site catered to photographers and models. I haven't logged on in a while. I check it out; two female models and one male want to be my, "friend," no problem.

I'm hoping to work on a particular project in the not-too-distant future where I'll need a handful of women. So, I decide to look through photos of some of my friends hoping to see some new shots, and remind myself of some of the people I'd like to work with, maybe even make a new friend.

Then I see her. She's my, "friend."

She's. ... Nice-looking. I don't think we'll work together any time soon. She's located about six hours north in San Francisco, and there's no shortage of models here in L.A., but I love her, "look." I click on her profile picture, and dive into a world of her.

Something's different. The first picture has her nude. In fact, almost half of her pictures are nude, a blend of artistic and tasteful, leaning more toward the latter. There were no nude images here before.

I wasn't here to look at her body, a shape, a formation that even a mashup of designers, sculptors and engineers at Koenigsegg and Rinspeed couldn't come close to on their brightest, most carbon-fibered, most inspired and computer-assisted day after spending the previous day driving Venturi Volages from France to Tuscany to have dinner at Chris Bangle's house all while having the decency to first stop in Geneva for chocolate and braking in Maranello to leave graffiti on the walls of the Ferrari factory.

That was a really long sentence, and for that I apologize. To make up for it I give you small, yet effective picture. Yes, "Picture." Then you keep reading, yes.

Venturi Volage

Koenigsegg CCXR







Rinspeed sQuba

Like I was saying, I was here to look at her face. It had freckles. That's what I loved about her especially the big one on her nose. If I remember correctly it was on the outer edge of her right nostril. Though the rest of her was flawless I was here for those little spots overflowing with melanin that danced on and around her cheeks.

Something's different. Where are her freckles? Her freckles are gone, and so is the love. As beautiful as her uncovered body is, it. ... She doesn't stand out anymore, at least not to me. She's still a nice-looking girl and all, but who isn't around these parts?

I don't know what happened to her freckles. Maybe it was editing. Maybe it was surgery. I don't know why they're not here any more. Maybe she thought removing them would make her look better and feel better about herself. Maybe she'd get more work without them (in conjunction with a bare breast here or there). I hope it's nothing health-related. In a world as shallow as modeling via a medium as impersonal as the Internet one only has so much to go off of. I'll subscribe to a look better/more work theory.

She used to be perfect. She looked like candy. She was candy. She was 95 percent milk chocolate and the five percent that was the pair of inches in between her upper lip and eyes was chocolate chip cookie, but the chips are gone now, and so is much of my interest.

Average Joe: But dude, she's hot. ... And Naked!

Yes, AJ. This is true, and thank you for pointing that out. However, at the moment, I'm looking at her with a part of my right brain that creates creativity (Too much?), and in case you haven't noticed I'm wearing my, "I'm Mature," shirt today. I'm sure you know there is no lack of naked women online. Besides, look how she's posing. This is art.

She is hot, though. Thanks for playing our game. We have some lovely parting gifts for you.



Next I stumble upon the profile of another young lady model. Click. Click. Click. Photo. Picture. Image. She looks nice. Hold up.

Where are her ears?

Michael Jackson is not Available

For the record, before I begin, I'm glad Michael Jackson is gone. Yeah, yeah, I know he's not, "gone," gone, but he's gone. I'm not obsessed with death or contemplating suicide or anything like that. I'm not a super-hardcore fan either, but Mike was the man, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't trying (and failing miserably) to moonwalk 15 minutes ago.*

Michael Jackson is not dead. He's just not available.

Michael Jackson is not available:
- For interviews
- For photo ops
- To be the butt of bad jokes that aren't funny
- To give paparazzi something to do
- To lend anyone money
- For liars to attempt to extort money from him
- For any sort of comeback
- To be ridiculed and insulted

. ... Any more.

Michael Jackson was a regular guy who lived a crazy life. Sure; he's done things that some probably don't agree with. I have, too, and so have you. As far as the child molestation stuff goes, I wasn't there, so I can't say what's true and what's not. However, some people have admitted to have lied about Michael. Those people will have have to answer to someone, just like Mike will. What those conversations will sound like, only Mike and those people will know.

I'm glad Michael Jackson is gone. Comedians will have to either write him out of their routines, or drastically alter their material regarding him. Now, I'm a sucker for a good joke, even one about Michael, but this guy's probably had enough. Even the bully knows that once the kid is crying on the floor, spitting out teeth and blood, that it's time to go pick on someone else.

CNN showed a clip of reporter, Egberto Willies (Sorry. I don't have the link.). In it he said, "I grew up on Michael Jackson, I loved Michael Jackson. I hated Michael Jackson. I admired Michael Jackson. I was ashamed of Michael Jackson. I was sorry for Michael Jackson. I was proud of Michael Jackson." I couldn't have said it better myself.

I'm glad Michael Jackson is gone. He doesn't have to worry. ... Anymore. ... About anything.

Michael Jackson is not available to worry about:
- Poverty
- War
- Taxes
- Racism
- Everything else he was concerned about
- All the petty things everyone else worries about

So, I'm glad he's gone. He's lucky.

Michael Jackson is not dead.

He's just not available. He apologizes for any inconvenience.


*I've also been jealous for years of my little cousin's ability to moonwalk.

48 - Buenos Aires (Video)

I've been feeling a bit more international than I normally do (which is a lot). I've had a lot of global cities (Barcelona, Tokyo, London, Madrid, San Francisco, Hong Kong and New York to name a few) on my mind as of late. I decided to post a video about Buenos Aires, Argentina. I don't know if it was the fact that I ate at an Argentinian restaurant this weekend. ...

Gaucho Grill (Santa Monica, CA)
- Food - B-/C+
- Service - A

Starters:
- Bread with chimichurri - Could've used more churri in the chimi.
- Chorizo w/ chick pea salad - Decent.
- Sweet bread - Surprise! It wasn't sweet. It wasn't bread.
- Sauteed mushrooms - In butter and white wine, best sauteed mushrooms I've ever had, and the main reason I decided to stick a restaurant review in the middle of a post for a video. ... Dreamt about them the entire following day.

Main course:
- Churrasco (Skirt steak) - A bit overcooked, lacked flavor. Don't you know where I'm from?. You can't fool me on a good churrasco, but thank you for teaching me that's it's also called, "Entraña."
- Mashed potatoes - Bland, thank god for those mushrooms.
- Grilled zucchini - I'm just bored at this point.

Dessert:
- Espresso - A nice, needed touch.

I'd come back for the mushrooms, a side of rice and a Quilmes

Where was I? Oh yeah, crawl out of that bubble you call a life, and spend 48 hours in Buenos Aires with Australian journalist, Amanda Palmer and her guide, journalist, Macarena, in "48" on Al Jazeera English*. I've never been to Bs As; so I can't say how accurate this depiction of the city is, but there's some interesting stuff going on, and it moves pretty well.




*It's like Al Jazeera, but in English.

Every Child is Born a Poet: The Life and Work of Piri Thomas (Video)

For the record, before I begin, watching this made me want to add more value to my life, do and promote things with even more substance.

Piri Thomas (Born Juan Pedro Tomás) is a writer and poet born in New York City to a Puerto Rican mother and Cuban father. Piri's been there and done that, saw the mistakes he made in life, decided to write poems and short stories to help rehabilitate himself and later began to spread a message of positivity among youth in the states, Central and Latin America and Europe.

Piri is also known for penning the best-selling, autobiographical, "Down These Mean Streets," a look into the Spanish Harlem neighborhood that molded him. Good, bad and ugly, the book is embraced for its honest portrayal of the life of a young man who was smacked around by life and smacked back.

Honestly, the film started off a little bit slow for me. When I noticed the PBS logo at the bottom, left-hand corner and the playful tone of some the poetry I thought this was going to be, "Sesame-Street-meets-Def-Poetry." However, I'm really glad I stuck with it until the end. It's like a gum-filled lollipop, sandwich cookie or a FAMU football game; it doesn't really get good until the middle.

Identity issues facing Hispanics of all shades, violence, drug use and good old-fashioned Nuyoricanisms all combine to make this an interesting pot of habichuelas (beans).

I'd like to meet Mr. Thomas one day, and get some knowledge and maybe a good story or two over a plate of fricase de conejo or some mofongo and finish with un chispito de Barrilito.*

In hindsight, "Sesame-Street-meets-Def-Poetry," might not be so bad. ... Kids need teaching.

Respeto. Punto.



*Stewed rabbit, refried plantains and a little bit of Barrilito rum. Now you know.

Check Piri out here.

Jay-Z' BET Rehearsal Pictures

I got a chance to watch Jay rehearse his performance for tomorrow's BET Awards. I took a few pictures with my phone. As a photographer, I am a bit ashamed, but in my defense, it's all I had. I made them black and white. ... Because I'm artist, and I was bored. I also saw Bell Biv DeVoe, Guy, Jamie Foxx and Ne-Yo run through some songs yesterday but no pics. Sorry. I was talking to someone the whole time.

Michael Jackson's 911 Call

If you think you might be offended by this, just hit the back button. Thank you.

RIP MJ - Images From UCLA Medical

I decided to stop by UCLA Medical, where Michael Jackson felt his last breath (or was rushed to after it). Here are some images. I have a lot more, but here are some to give you an idea of what was going on. Rest in peace, sir.

Before the Music Dies - Documentary

If you have an hour and a half to spare, I highly recommend this.

"This documentary explores the reason why so few companies currently control the music played on the radio and for sale at retail stores, and whether corporations really have the power to silence musical innovation."

Here are a just few things you will encounter watching this documentary:

- How Clear Channel was born
- Erykah Badu's easy-to-follow-steps to super-stardom for girls
- Why Wynton Marsalis' music students are full of crap
- Why Sunday should be important to you if you're a musician
- Some great musicians you've probably never heard of

This is good stuff right here. Enjoy.

Nyle - Emcee

Nyle (formerly NyelLee) is a New York City emcee (read: more than a rapper) originally from Philadelphia. Nyle. ... Nyle? ... attended (not sure if he still attends) NYU? ... And studied abroad in Ghana? Wait, an educated rapper? Rappers and college? How the hell does that work? What will they think of next?


I won't say too much, because I want to introduce you to him the way I was, via the video below. Here, Nyle along with 37,000 other people take Lil Wayne's, "Let the Beat Build," and breathe enough life for 10 cats into it.

Beware; this is art. Good thing schools are cutting budgets on programs that help kids do stuff like this. Last thing we need in this country is creative genius. Shout out to the best music video director on Earth/budding film director/editor of half of what you see on TV for putting me on to this.

*steps off soapbox, lets the beat build*

Nyle "Let The Beat Build" from Nyle on Vimeo.

Normally, I wouldn't list all these credits, but they deserve it. The following was pulled from the video's Vimeo page.

This video was filmed in one take, with audio being recorded simultaneously with the film. The video features Nyle (www.nyleraps.com) and is produced by Last Pictures (www.last-pictures.com) and 194 Recordings (www.myspace.com/194recordings)


Director- Chadd Harbold
Producers- Golda McCormick, Nyle Emerson, Chadd Harbold
Director of Photography- Adam Newport-Berra
Steady-Cam Operator- David George Ellis
Assistant Camera- Andy Kromphardt
Gaffer- Greg Golko
Key Grip / Transportation Captain- Bobby Olsen
Assistant Director- Keith Haskel
Art Director- Heidi Goldstein
Editor- Bryan Gaynor
Post-Production Supervisor-Dan Berk
Music Producers & Engineers- Katie Buchanan & Alan Gordon
Music Pre-Production-Brian Lee
Mixed by Mykael Alexander
Mastered by Nyle Emerson
Assistants- Chase Culpon, Jacob Blumberg, Dana Sedgwick
Colorist- Vladamir Kucherov

TEACHER
Phil Swetz

VOCALISTS
Danni Lee
Elle Varner

BAND
Isaac Teel (drums)
Mitch Friedman (Bass)
Daniel Mensch (Piano)

HORNS
Al Barrentine
Kevin Birk
Julian Taylor

STRINGS
Molly Fletcher (violin)
Cameron Orr (violin)
Alexandra Jones (cello)
Kristine Kruta (cello)
Liz Hanley (violin)
Hana Segerstrom (violin)
Patti Kilroy (violin)

OTHER
Marlene Desiree (Dancer)
Josh Pikulin (Guitar)
Katie Buchanan (Banjo)

HOMEBOY CHOIR
Plateno Man
Syanide
Maverick
Odudu Akpaeti

SPECIAL THANKS
Priska Neely

Nyle's Web site.

Nyle on MySpace.

And just for kicks, here's the original.

Paul Pre - DJ/Producer

Just download this, and thank me later.

For the record, before I begin, Paul Pre puts out a mix about every month. ... I'm still listening to the Oktober mix from last year. Paul Pre is a Hip Hop/Down-tempo/Electronica DJ/Poducer from Kiel, Germany. Do yourself a favor, and check him out.


Here are a couple of quick snippets from from his Pandasession mix series. Frankly, I don't think they're a fair representation of what Paul brings to the table. So, I highly suggest you check out his Web site or his MySpace page.





I'm more familiar with Paul as a DJ, and I think he has a great ear for setting a soulful vibe than anyone with functioning ears can get lost in. I don't really want to talk much. You really should just go, and scroll down to the gray box on the right with the squiggly lines.

Nosaj Thing - Producer

For the record, before I begin, producers are my best friends. I'm going to start shining some light on them as well as other artists you should be aware of.

Nosaj Thing is an L.A.-based, Electronica/Experimental/Hip Hop producer on L.A.-based Alpha Pup Records. He is scheduled to drop an LP titled, "Drift," on June 9.

Here he remixes Flying Lotus' (Another producer you should already know about and whose stuff I will post later), "Camel." I've been losing myself in this record for a few days now, and it sort of feels weird doing it by myself; so, please join me. It has a futuristic, tribal vibe. Material like this reminds me that it's not all bad in the world of Urban music and why I love it so.



I also recommend listening to, "Coat of Arms." Now let's get some Auto-Tune on that thing. I kid. I kid.

Nosaj Thing on MySpace

Domino's Pizza is the ILLest

How to lose your job during a depression (we were in a recession a long time ago) in 3 easy steps (now with more live cultures!):

1. Stick cheese in nose.
2. Fart on salami.
3. Upload to Youtube.

So, the guy farts on the salami and sticks some cheese up his nose. ... I don't see what the big deal is.



I wasn't able to embed the bonus, DVD footage of our protagonist shoving peppers in his nose (in his defense, it was only one nostril), sticking his fingers (again, just one finger) in the "sneeze bread" or gently scrubbing his bare behind (multiple stokes, all UP in the crevice, inexcusable) with a sponge before doing the dishes, and for that I deeply apologize.

Jared from Subway would so not approve. Here's the girl's response to Vice President, Communications at Domino's, Tim McIntyre (via Consumerist).

"I am sorry about all of this! It was all a prank and me nor Michael expected to have this much attention from the videos that were uploaded! No food was ever sent out to any customer. We would never put something like that on you tube if it were real!! It was fake and I wish that everyone knew that!!!! Michael never would do that to any customer, EVER!! I AM SOO SORRY! You see all the time of the pranks that people upload and the pranks need to seem real in order to get a laugh out of people but this prank was very very immature and I am sorry for the embarrasment that I have caused your company!"

They got fired so quickly, the cheese on the sandwich hadn't even melted yet.

And another one. ...


If you don't know about TheOnion, then I'm not going to tell you.
Anybody want to go half on a pie? Better yet, we can save even more just buying a piece of the company.

What's that, Lassie; falling stock prices? That'd be keen.

So, what's for lunch? ... You're fasting? What do you mean?

This Morning in Trinidad

As everyone was gathered around the baggage claim, me and my book bag walked right passed them with an ignorant hint of arrogance and an immature bit of "Nanny-nanny-boo-boo-you-have-to-wait-for-your-bags-and-I-get-to-walk-straight-from-the-plane into-the-island-ness." If you've never done this, try it at least once, on an international flight if possible. It just seems to be worth more. The truth was I didn't remember if I had checked a bag or not. I was just so happy to be in Trinidad. It was my first time.

My flip flops click-clacked all the way to this pier/wall thing that overlooked the water, and I just stood there, speechless. This must be what Heaven looks like. It was even more beautiful than Puerto Rico, though I'd never admit such a disgusting lie to my Boricua grandmother. She'd have my head, then we would probably eat afterward.

I stood on the coast of Heaven and looked over the water to the tall buildings behind it. What I saw looked more like something out of a Dubai travel brochure. I thought Trinidad was much smaller, shorter. ... More humble.


I noticed a group of planes flying in formation near the tall buildings. They reminded me of the Blue Angels, but I couldn't make out their color from so far away. They looked to be so close to the buildings, weaving through them. It was almost as if they knew I was coming and were performing just for me. I always loved watching planes fly.


They twisted and turn and bobbed and weaved with an ignorant hint of arrogance and an immature bit of "Nanny-nanny-boo-boo-you-can-only-ride-on-planes-and-we-can-fly-them-and-turn-the-sky-into-our-playground-ness." They flew from my left to my right before making a U-turn back through the buildings.

Then out of nowhere I notice another airplane introduce itself via the top, right corner of the sky. It didn't look like the other planes. It was a passenger plane. This plane was clearly not part of the choreography. It was flying toward me or most likely to the airport I just exited behind me.

I took out my camera for the perfect picture, the small, nimble, quick, dancing planes to the left, huge, clumsy, sluggish, aerial monstrosity on the right with the skytouchers of Trinibai as the centerpiece. As I focused on the 747 I noticed one thing, it was moving really fast for a plane that was about to land.


I managed to get a few shots, but I wasn't blown away by any of them. After looking up from my camera with hopes of getting some more shots I realized I was too late, the 747 was too close and the other planes too far for me to get the shot I wanted. By this time it was flying directly over me, but something didn't seem right. It was still going way too fast and low.


By now I knew something was wrong. I heard a voice out of nowhere, a low, unexcited, "Ayyyy." It sounded much like my mother, but I looked and saw no one near my. I was by myself.

I turned around to follow the plane as it sank. ... And sank. It was nowhere near the runway. It would soon walk on the water on its way to the beach. There were people there. The landing, for what it was, seemed flawless, one even the pilot of that recent emergency landing in New York's Hudson river where everyone survived would envy. The 747 seemed to make not even a splash. Everything appeared ok.

Then the strangest thing happened. The plane rolled onto the beach. I had no idea how this was possible. Inertia? Wouldn't the weight of the plane? ... What about the sand? ... Now was not the time to consult with my astonishingly average science IQ.

Just past the sands of the beach was an enormous plaza with a magnificent pyramid-shaped top that rested on four massive columns. Couples walked hand-in-hand; young men played soccer, and family and friends hung out here.

The plane would soon bring all of this to a screeching halt as it rolled into the lives of the unsuspecting destroying all that was irie. The plane's right wing caught one of the columns which forced the plane to catch fire and turn toward the plaza's center. The 747 wing was no match for the plaza's column. The column forced the plane into a U-turn which topped those of the dancing planes of earlier. However, much of the wing remained in the plaza, and the plane was now on its way back to the beach draped in fire. Its dance would end there.

After the initial strike of awe I did what came naturally. I grabbed my camera and pointed it at the ball of fire and smoke. After several shots, I click-clicked over to a short wall, hopped over it into some sand and headed over to Hell for a closer look.

By the time I got there all that was left was fire, plane remnants and a lot of screaming and crying. I noticed a 50-something, pale-skinned lady with short, reddish-brown hair being helped by a group of locals. Eventually, she too would crash into the sand. I wanted to help, but with all the chaos I didn't know what to do. So, once again my camera came out. I noticed a reporter screaming into a shoddy microphone connected to a video camera of even inferior craftsmanship. She didn't appear to be a professional, nether did I as was torn between documenting the goings on and lending a helping hand.

I really didn't know what I could do. The plane was on fire, and the only survivor I saw was the 50-something, pale-skinned lady with short, reddish-brown hair being helped by a group of locals.

Then I woke up.

2009 Oscar Winners

From Oscar.com:


Click image for better view.

This is How You Get Got

For the record, before I begin, I was never a huge fan of the Ferrari F430. Not that I don’t think it’s pleasing to the eye or that its performance isn’t up to par (V8, 480+ hp, 0-60 in 4.0 seconds, top speed 190+ mph). It’s a beast. It’s just not my style. I see myself as more of 612 Scaglietti kind of guy or the California if I were going to stick with 8 cylinders, not that I wouldn’t trade my car for one in a heartbeat, even if it does get three times the mpg.

But this isn’t about me. I just tend to make it that way.

Former NFL-er, Corey Dillon, is (possibly was, now) a fan of the 430, so he bought one and wanted to do some work on it and add some upgrades to it to make it faster, a twin-turbo system according to stories I’ve read. FYI, it costs over $1000 to change the oil in one of those Italian stallions from a certified spot, and we aint talkin’ Jiffy Lube. I don’t know if there was necessary work that needed to be done to the car outside of performance enhancements. So, he drops around $55,000 to make it happen.

That was Mr. Dillon’s first mistake.

I repeat, “480+ hp, 0-60 in 4.0 sec., 190+ mph.” A Ferrari needs an upgrade like Halle Berry needs plastic surgery.

That means it doesn’t, and she doesn’t. Try to keep up with me, kiddies. I know most of you don’t understand Italian or &91!$# for that matter.

This excerpt below is the from Ferrari’s American site.

The only company in the world to consistently apply Formula 1 technology to its production cars, Ferrari prides itself on building some of the finest high-performance road cars available today.

This is Ferrari’s way of telling anyone generous enough to part with over $200,000:

*cues George Lopez accent*
*pounds on chest several times*

I got this!

Now I like to have nice things just like you
But I’m from Brooklyn certain s--- you just don’t do. -Mos Def, "Got"

You don’t put barbeque sauce on fillet mignon. You don’t give GW a second term (Thanks for that, no seriously). You don’t make suggestions on how you would improve the Mona Lisa. You don’t believe 100 percent of what any rapper says in his/her music. You don’t eat anything with beans on a first date. You don’t say, “Yes,” to the, “Does this make me look fat,” question. You don’t go to a University of Michigan football game wearing an Ohio State Jersey (okay, maybe this year), and you don’t do anything to a Ferrari. Is it possible? Of course. Is it a good idea, probably not. If you are going to do some aftermarket work on a Ferrari, get it done by some read-deal folks (like Hamman). Chances are, the best aftermarket spots for Ferraris (Although I'm sure there are some decent spots stateside) are outside the U.S. After all, they built the car, but I'm no expert.

Anyway, back to the story. So many, many moons go by—about 14 months’ worth—, and Corey’s super-fast car is yet to be made super-fasterer. In the midst of all this, the people who were supposed to make the upgrade to the car somehow convince Corey to invest $470,000 in the actual shop that was supposed to do the work. Now Corey’s out over a half mil, and his Ferrari F430 still only does a measly 190 mph. He eventually takes the car to another shop, drops another 34K to make it, “driveable.”

*bangs head on desk, takes bathroom break, refreshes cup of tea*

Now Corey’s pissed and wants his money back, understandable. He claims the Ferrari fixers spent the money on “fast food, perfume, liquor, groceries and gasoline.”

My math might be off, but let me see. $550,000 (I’ll round it down, because it already hurts too much) could get:

196,428 Animal Style Double Doubles from Inn & Out Burger

Or

1 Meeellion White Castles

Or

114,087 Gut(thrie’s) boxes, one with extra toast, no slaw, extra sauce (FAMU, anyone?)

Or

2 kidney-shaped swimming pools filled with High Karate

Or

66,344 5 fl. Oz. bottles of Brut cologne

Or

550,000 mini bottles of alcohol found on liquor store counters nationwide

Or

3 entire shopping carts (filled to the brim) at Whole Foods

Or

1 month’s worth of premium gasoline (Mid 2008 price, Pre-Obama era. … Coincidence?)

Or

3 Ferrari F430's

Or

550 hours with Ashley Dupre

Damnit! I forgot to include lawyer fees! Disregard the above calculations.

This is why you have financial advisers. This is why you save your money, children.

Guy with a lot of money: Hey, I’m thinking of opening a couple of Porkchop-on-a-Stick franchises, but I’m not sure where.
Financial adviser: Why?
Guy with a lot of money: Well, I like pork chops on sticks.
Financial adviser: Fair enough. Where were you thinking of opening them? Have you scouted locations?
Guy with a lot of money: I’ve narrowed it down to two locations. The first one is on Rader St., right around the corner from the PETA office. You can see the bay from there. It's a beautiful view.
Financial adviser: . …
Guy with a lot of money: The second is next to the Boulevard Veterinary Hospital for Integrative Healing. I already put a down payment on both of them. I was thinking of even going as far as Nebraska and Wisconsin, but all they eat is corn and cheese over there.
Financial adviser: What!? Why didn’t you. …
*Financial adviser bangs head on desk, takes bathroom break, refreshes cup of tea*
Guy with a lot of money: Where you going? We’re also gonna have smoked turkey legs. … You know. … For vegetarians.

*financial adviser returns, googles "Japanese ritual suicide"*

I don’t know Corey Dillon, never followed his career, didn’t even know he was retired. I am not losing sleep over this, and I have absolutely no problem with this man. I’m sure he’s a nice guy, and he has a right to spend his money how he wants to. Maybe he likes to race, and cars are his thing. Normally I wouldn’t write about something like this, but judging how I wrote an entire song this morning in my head while still in bed at 7 a.m. it’s safe to say I’m in a writing mood. There I go, making it all about me again. Seriously, I really just want people to learn from the mistakes of others. Use (not spend) your money wisely. Many times when you see these people on TV flashing all this money--whether athlete or musician, other entertainer etc.--the people who can afford to pay them are often in some country like Sweden or France. The same goes for all that nice clothes and expensive alcohol. We gotta be fly, swagged out, trill, gangsta or whatever crap we're calling ourselves nowadays in order to make ourselves feel better about ourselves, and we have to let everyone know it at all times.

*Takes photo in bathroom mirror wearing ridiculous sunglasses, throws up imaginary gang sign, sets as default profile picture, caption reads, "supaswag - Kia ownzz only".*

After all, "Jockin' Rober Kuok, J-jockin' Robert Kuok," just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Corey Dillon could’ve just purchased the Ferrari Enzo (approx. $700,000-1M, v12, 660 hp, 0-62 mph in 3.6 sec., top speed 217 mph) and saved himself the headache or merely savored the supercar he already had and bathed in 55,000 1-dollar bills a-la Scrooge McDuck, unless 217 mph isn’t fast enough.

Regardless of what I say, Corey Dillon got, got, and I hope he can get at least some of his money back. I can't stand a crook. I remember when I was around 19 I got got for about $5,000 by some shady car people (Watch out for those car auctions.). I got most of it back, though, thanks to a blood-thirsty lawyer. ... Should've listened to my girl at the time when she said, "I'm going to the bathroom. Don't buy a car until I get back." I think she went #2, because I couldn't have possibly lost all that money while she pee pee.

*gags at thought of ex going #2, again for losing all that money while she pee pee.*

(note to self: stop making this about self)

And if anyone is interested, I have some land for sale that’s made out of sugar. It’s about 25 miles southwest of Houston.

Mr. President

Thank you. Have a nice day.


P.S.
I've been really busy lately. I'll tell you about it later.

Joy Denalane feat. Lupe Fiasco - Change

I ran into the politically charged version of this song at Bronxrap.com which led me to look for the original version. First check out the original, then the Obama remix version.
Enjoy.

Joy Denalane feat. Lupe Fiasco - Change from Nesola on Vimeo.

Obama and Joy - Change from John Mc Kinsey on Vimeo.
I dig. I dig.

SNL - MC Palin. ... Kind of

That's Young Pay-Lin, @!#$&. You betcha.
I spotted this at HipHopDX.
They have the lyrics here.



Gunshots. ... Classic.

McCain's Dead Corner

For the record, before I begin, this is just an observation.

I was driving in Studio City yesterday, and I came to the light at Ventura and Laurel Canyon. It's a pretty busy intersection. As I waited for the light to change I noticed a bunch of people with signs for McCain saying this and that about Obama. No problem. Normally when people are holding signs on a corner for whatever reason, people are yelling slogans, drivers are honking their horns; you know, the usual. However, something stood out to me.

The corner was dead. ... Not a single slogan yelled, not a single car horn. I could barely hear the cars drive by. It's like everyone was driving a Prius or something. Those cars are frighteningly quiet. It was as if time slowed down like that scene in 300 where Leonidas kicks the Persian messenger down the hole that leads one to the floor right above Hell.

Maybe people are ready for something different, at least an attempt at something different. Maybe everybody on the corner was just tired. Maybe the drivers didn't see them, or maybe they had one hand dedicated to the wheel and the other to their Blackberries or Frappuchinos. Maybe they were on Obama turf.

Ironically, during my stint on the dead corner (and during this historic election that involves black and female candidates), I began listening to KCRW, and they were playing a segment that delved into the historic run for the U.S. presidency by Shirley Chisolm, the first black woman elected to congress. They played old sound bytes and talked about how brave she was, and it triggered a desire to learn more about her.

Crawling down Laurel Canyon for about 15 minutes (traffic was rediculous) gave me time think about a couple of things.

1. Shirley Chisolm was one baaaaad woman.

And.

2. I should've taken the 101.