While I'm waiting for The Smoking Section to post my review of Eternia & MoSS' latest release, At Last, I figured I'd post it on here for everyone to peep. Enjoy and grab a copy of the album!
***
For every hip-hop luminary that masters the genre and provides hit after critical, popular hit, there are bottom-feeder rappers who could fill silos with their respective clichés. White, female, auto-tone—these are just a few of the labels that have been designated as career-killing scarlet letters that inevitably create more acrimony than ascension for the MCs who embody them. However, there are the rare exceptions that personify one—if not several—of these categories and rise well above the lowest rung of rap’s food chain. Silk-Anne Semiramis Dawn Craig Kaya, or more commonly known as Eternia, is white, female and Canadian—but she has also released one of the best and emotionally laced underground hip-hop albums of the year with her latest project, At Last.
The Ottawa-based lyricist teams with underground producer MoSS to craft 15 tracks of pure verbal warfare, allowing MoSS’ boom-bap scratching to play the perfect backdrop to Eternia’s often vitriolic bars. On tracks like the opener “Any Man,” Eternia rips off lines like, “when I see you walk on my spot, I swear I’ll burn you/see you try to rock, dude, I will hurt you/talk shit to E, believe me, I heard you/but you don’t matter no more, you don’t matter no more,” as if the album were simply a recorded series of her best battle-ready raps. Sticking with this theme throughout the first half of the record, Eternia uses an almost masculine bravado to go toe-to-toe with Joell Ortiz on “It’s Funny” and waxes poetic with female hip-hop royalty Rah Digga and Lady of Rage on “BBQ.”
However, it’s the intense subject matter packaged into the second half of the album that gives At Last its salience. Dealing with issues ranging from a dead-beat, abusive father to a dysfunctional family life to alcoholism, Eternia combines the lyrical boisterousness of the first half of the album with a relatable earnestness. On “The Half,” Eternia relays an Cain-and-Abel-like story of her half and actual brothers over MoSS’s chilly, haunted beat, saying, “they were on year apart, more or less a few months/one knew he was loved, the other not so much/that hurts more than any bullet from a gun.” And the deceiving title of “Mr. Bacardi” isn’t a joyous ode to the Puerto Rican rum’s legacy, but rather the MC’s struggle against its intoxicating and addictive nature. Personifying that 151, Eternia’s Stockholm Syndrome is obvious with, “I’m never tongue-tied when I see ya/I can walk a straight line every time I can meet ya… God I meant it when I said I love the way you feel and I need ya/that’s how you got me now I am lost in your features.”
But even with the heavy subject matter and verbal gymnastics, redundancy becomes a problem and the last three tracks (“Day In the Life,” “Catch Me” and “Goodbye”) all come off as superfluous copies of the album’s first half. With the raw, brash nature of both Eternia’s lyrics and MoSS’ production, a tighter and shorter album would’ve served the album well, keeping listeners alert, but not inundating them with déjà vu.
Regardless, At Last thrives where many in Eternia’s same spot have so often failed. Gripping and ostensibly lyrical, the MC never gets tongue-tied because she has something that the other failures do not—honesty.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
No Doubt You Braided Your Own Hair, So You're All Grown Up.
39 days.
39 days stands between me and Chicago's premier music festival, Lollapalooza.
In my eager anticipation I've been pouring over the numerous acts playing on the day that I'll be attending--Saturday, August 7--and contemplating what would be the absolute perfect set schedule. For almost 11 hours, I have unlimited access to over 30 different shows--a music journalist's wet dream and virginity-losing moment all rolled into one.
So far, here's what I'm thinking (however, this could be subject to change):
11:30-12:15: Mimicking Birds
-Assuming I'm coherent and at Grant Park by this point, I'll be catching this up-and-coming group out of Portland, Oregon. Much in the same surf-folk vein as Jack Johnson, Matt Costa and Timmy Curran, it'll be a chill-rock barrage of guitar and spacey effects to pop my music festival cherry.
Song to Sample: "Burning Stars"
12:15-1:00: Rebelution
-Might be sparking up for this show: Santa Barbara, California's, Rebelution combines dub, reggae and jazz elements for the perfect mid-day jam session. Also the perfect group to wet one's pallet for the Slightly Stoopid set later in the day.
Song to Sample: "Lazy Afternoon"
1:00-1:45: Rogue Wave
-Everyone's favorite non-Jack Johnson Brushfire Records act, Rogue wave is indie-pop at its finest.
Song to Sample: "Lake Michigan"
1:45-2:45: Blues Traveler
-My only 90s nostalgia trip for the weekend. And the best harmonica solos this side of the South.
Song to Sample: "Hook"
3:15-4:15: The XX
-I think a customer's iTunes review describes England's The XX best: "it's essentially make-out music for the cool kids; steely quiet soundscapes that redefine R&B for a generation that loves Aaliyah and post-everything from Timbaland as much as freshly pressed Hot Chip singles and Cure LPs."
Song to Sample: "Islands"
6:45-7:45: Slightly Stoopid
-The closest-sounding act you'll find to a Bradley Nowell-led Sublime.
Song to Sample: "Ocean"
8:30-10:00: Phoenix
-With Green Day being the other headliner of the night, attending Phoenix's set is a no-brainer: French-pop maestros create catchy, bubbly harmonies and badass soundtracks for Cadillac commercials.
Song to Sample: "1901"
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
39 days stands between me and Chicago's premier music festival, Lollapalooza.
In my eager anticipation I've been pouring over the numerous acts playing on the day that I'll be attending--Saturday, August 7--and contemplating what would be the absolute perfect set schedule. For almost 11 hours, I have unlimited access to over 30 different shows--a music journalist's wet dream and virginity-losing moment all rolled into one.
So far, here's what I'm thinking (however, this could be subject to change):
11:30-12:15: Mimicking Birds
-Assuming I'm coherent and at Grant Park by this point, I'll be catching this up-and-coming group out of Portland, Oregon. Much in the same surf-folk vein as Jack Johnson, Matt Costa and Timmy Curran, it'll be a chill-rock barrage of guitar and spacey effects to pop my music festival cherry.
Song to Sample: "Burning Stars"
12:15-1:00: Rebelution
-Might be sparking up for this show: Santa Barbara, California's, Rebelution combines dub, reggae and jazz elements for the perfect mid-day jam session. Also the perfect group to wet one's pallet for the Slightly Stoopid set later in the day.
Song to Sample: "Lazy Afternoon"
1:00-1:45: Rogue Wave
-Everyone's favorite non-Jack Johnson Brushfire Records act, Rogue wave is indie-pop at its finest.
Song to Sample: "Lake Michigan"
1:45-2:45: Blues Traveler
-My only 90s nostalgia trip for the weekend. And the best harmonica solos this side of the South.
Song to Sample: "Hook"
3:15-4:15: The XX
-I think a customer's iTunes review describes England's The XX best: "it's essentially make-out music for the cool kids; steely quiet soundscapes that redefine R&B for a generation that loves Aaliyah and post-everything from Timbaland as much as freshly pressed Hot Chip singles and Cure LPs."
Song to Sample: "Islands"
6:45-7:45: Slightly Stoopid
-The closest-sounding act you'll find to a Bradley Nowell-led Sublime.
Song to Sample: "Ocean"
8:30-10:00: Phoenix
-With Green Day being the other headliner of the night, attending Phoenix's set is a no-brainer: French-pop maestros create catchy, bubbly harmonies and badass soundtracks for Cadillac commercials.
Song to Sample: "1901"
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Scott Raab, My Youngs.
For those who don't know, I'm trying to get on with the blog, The Smoking Section. As I tirelessly slave creating sample posts for the editor-in-chief to eventually tear apart, I figured I'd share a few of my "refined" posts who will probably never see the light of day on the actual website.
Lucky you.
With that being said, here's a blog post I wrote about an Esquire blog (creative, I know) that's written by Scott Raab. Raab, a native Clevelander and Esquire senior writer, gives his nihilistic view of the LBJ carnival like only a northeast Ohioan can. Raab's blog is funny and, sadly, probably very true.
Enjoy my take and then enjoy his. But really, enjoy his more. His writing is phenomenal. And he went to Cleveland State of all places. Go fucking figure.
***
For the general American sporting public, it’s hard to sympathize with a Clevelander. Those who have been blessed with championships in cities such as New York, Boston, Chicago and Los Angeles can easily overlook the championship destitution (and actual destitution) of northeast Ohio while showering in their clubs’ previous successes.
So while everyone and their mothers are vying for King James’ services this year, it’s understandable that a ‘Land ombudsman has been ignored.
Luckily for us underrepresented Cavs fans, Cleveland native and Esquire senior writer Scott Raab has taken it upon himself to air the disgruntled and nihilistic voice for Ohioans everywhere with his LeBron Watch blog:
"If LeBron decides he’d rather toil in New York City for the Dolans or in Chicago for El Reinsdorfo, that’ll say all that needs saying about his loyalty and intelligence."
While his blog won’t win him any favors with LeBron himself, the following rings true for all Cleveland pessimists:
"If he leaves, LeBron will replace Art Modell as the most hated figure in the history of Cleveland sports…. All Modell did was fire Paul Brown, bully Jim Brown into early retirement, and move the Browns to Baltimore — that's the short-short list. But Modell didn't grow up in northeast Ohio and he didn't play the game. Should James go now — without a ring and with full, first-hand knowledge of what his departure will mean to millions of sports fans in Cleveland, Akron, and all over Ohio who will have nothing left but despair — nobody will remember him for seven years of excitement and hope. He'll forever be known for what he is: the son of a bitch who quit on the court, quit on his team, and quit on his home town."
Maybe it’s his above prediction of LeBron’s northeast Ohio status if he leaves. Maybe it’s his referral to the LBJ circus as a “dog-and-pony free-agent tour” and “media lap dance.” Whatever it is, it’s nice to finally have a sensible Cleveland perspective on LeBron James’ free agency in the media.
***
And for those who haven't peeped it yet, check out mine and Matt Marina's latest video projects on Big Sean and Fly Union. Watch out for Big Sean's debut album, Finally Famous, to drop in September along with new albums from fellow G.O.O.D. music artists Kanye West and Kid Cudi.
-Video #1
-Video #2
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Lucky you.
With that being said, here's a blog post I wrote about an Esquire blog (creative, I know) that's written by Scott Raab. Raab, a native Clevelander and Esquire senior writer, gives his nihilistic view of the LBJ carnival like only a northeast Ohioan can. Raab's blog is funny and, sadly, probably very true.
Enjoy my take and then enjoy his. But really, enjoy his more. His writing is phenomenal. And he went to Cleveland State of all places. Go fucking figure.
***
For the general American sporting public, it’s hard to sympathize with a Clevelander. Those who have been blessed with championships in cities such as New York, Boston, Chicago and Los Angeles can easily overlook the championship destitution (and actual destitution) of northeast Ohio while showering in their clubs’ previous successes.
So while everyone and their mothers are vying for King James’ services this year, it’s understandable that a ‘Land ombudsman has been ignored.
Luckily for us underrepresented Cavs fans, Cleveland native and Esquire senior writer Scott Raab has taken it upon himself to air the disgruntled and nihilistic voice for Ohioans everywhere with his LeBron Watch blog:
"If LeBron decides he’d rather toil in New York City for the Dolans or in Chicago for El Reinsdorfo, that’ll say all that needs saying about his loyalty and intelligence."
While his blog won’t win him any favors with LeBron himself, the following rings true for all Cleveland pessimists:
"If he leaves, LeBron will replace Art Modell as the most hated figure in the history of Cleveland sports…. All Modell did was fire Paul Brown, bully Jim Brown into early retirement, and move the Browns to Baltimore — that's the short-short list. But Modell didn't grow up in northeast Ohio and he didn't play the game. Should James go now — without a ring and with full, first-hand knowledge of what his departure will mean to millions of sports fans in Cleveland, Akron, and all over Ohio who will have nothing left but despair — nobody will remember him for seven years of excitement and hope. He'll forever be known for what he is: the son of a bitch who quit on the court, quit on his team, and quit on his home town."
Maybe it’s his above prediction of LeBron’s northeast Ohio status if he leaves. Maybe it’s his referral to the LBJ circus as a “dog-and-pony free-agent tour” and “media lap dance.” Whatever it is, it’s nice to finally have a sensible Cleveland perspective on LeBron James’ free agency in the media.
***
And for those who haven't peeped it yet, check out mine and Matt Marina's latest video projects on Big Sean and Fly Union. Watch out for Big Sean's debut album, Finally Famous, to drop in September along with new albums from fellow G.O.O.D. music artists Kanye West and Kid Cudi.
-Video #1
-Video #2
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Friday, June 11, 2010
When I Was A Young Boy My Momma Always Told Me To Take No Shit.
There are a few things that piss me off.
*Memo to self, you've used this introduction before. Switch it up!*
Damn, have I? Well, balls, looks like I'm sticking with it. In any case, there's a handful of items that really get under my skin. Saving everyone who reads this post a detailed list of qualified bitching, I'll specifically single out one item:
"ryan, cudi is better than any bs you would post up on fb. including clipse and consequence."
If you have the narcissistic balls to post that bad boy, then we've got serious problems.
Not because you disagree with my opinion, but, man, because of how fucking dumb you have to be to make such a statement.
Don't believe me? Try this versus this or this.
Now, it's not that me and my friend slaved and busted our asses to create this story in time or had the opportunity of a lifetime to profile three of the best and most connected lyricists in the game. Obviously it's peanuts--bush league, really--compared to getting KiD CuDi for a story.
But you're wrong if you're going to sit there and honestly admit to yourself that the Cudder is a better RAP artist than either Clipse or Cons The Don.
It's inconsequential to say Cudi is a better ARTIST than either of the other three (that'd be like comparing apples to oranges or saying that Soundgarden was better for the 90s than Ace of Base), but to say he's a better RAPPER is blasphemy. You're bordering on pariah-status if going on the links provided above. While I enjoy Cudi's product, he has constantly been stuck in this ambivalent middle ground between being a talented lyricist or a talented vocalist. He's like Drake without the voice... or the bars for that matter.
And in comparison to Clipse and Cons' dedication to only rhyming, saying that Cudi is a better lyricist is like trying to argue your younger brother's fourth-grade poetry project is better than Malice, Pusha T and/or Consequence's master thesis.
So if you're thinking that mommy and daddy's money apparently gives you the worldview to comment on hip-hop (since, you know, you're totally able to fly whimsically to both High Times' Cannabis Cup or Ultra Music Festival for your superior opinion), think again. I've got you in a vice-grip and I will win.
Every time.
"in cudi we trust."
Nah, in Rubless do we trust. And quality hip-hop.
Always Preaching Rubbers and Respect,
Rev Rub.
*Memo to self, you've used this introduction before. Switch it up!*
Damn, have I? Well, balls, looks like I'm sticking with it. In any case, there's a handful of items that really get under my skin. Saving everyone who reads this post a detailed list of qualified bitching, I'll specifically single out one item:
"ryan, cudi is better than any bs you would post up on fb. including clipse and consequence."
If you have the narcissistic balls to post that bad boy, then we've got serious problems.
Not because you disagree with my opinion, but, man, because of how fucking dumb you have to be to make such a statement.
Don't believe me? Try this versus this or this.
Now, it's not that me and my friend slaved and busted our asses to create this story in time or had the opportunity of a lifetime to profile three of the best and most connected lyricists in the game. Obviously it's peanuts--bush league, really--compared to getting KiD CuDi for a story.
But you're wrong if you're going to sit there and honestly admit to yourself that the Cudder is a better RAP artist than either Clipse or Cons The Don.
It's inconsequential to say Cudi is a better ARTIST than either of the other three (that'd be like comparing apples to oranges or saying that Soundgarden was better for the 90s than Ace of Base), but to say he's a better RAPPER is blasphemy. You're bordering on pariah-status if going on the links provided above. While I enjoy Cudi's product, he has constantly been stuck in this ambivalent middle ground between being a talented lyricist or a talented vocalist. He's like Drake without the voice... or the bars for that matter.
And in comparison to Clipse and Cons' dedication to only rhyming, saying that Cudi is a better lyricist is like trying to argue your younger brother's fourth-grade poetry project is better than Malice, Pusha T and/or Consequence's master thesis.
So if you're thinking that mommy and daddy's money apparently gives you the worldview to comment on hip-hop (since, you know, you're totally able to fly whimsically to both High Times' Cannabis Cup or Ultra Music Festival for your superior opinion), think again. I've got you in a vice-grip and I will win.
Every time.
"in cudi we trust."
Nah, in Rubless do we trust. And quality hip-hop.
Always Preaching Rubbers and Respect,
Rev Rub.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Mayday, Hooray.
I don't think there was anyone in Athens sadder than I when news broke that Wale would no longer be the headlining act of Mayday, the free concert being thrown by several OU student organizations. I've aborted two potential trips to both Oxford, Ohio, and Columbus to see him rep that DMV, only to see him fall into my lap--for FREE--and then snatched from me.
Granted, it's a little sketchy that he pulled out of his contract on the absolute last day that he could citing a foreshadowed sickness (two weeks in advance, mind you), but it's whatever: I guess I'll still support your Nike Boot-wearing ass, Wah.
However, through constant snooping, gossiping and eaves-dropping (but more or less attending the Backdrop meeting tonight as I was supposed to) Rev Rub has discovered the identities of the Mayday artists. Now I'd feel a little sketchy revealing the artists when they haven't been officially announced, but here's a list of ten acts and their respective Youtube vids for who it could be. Enjoy and we'll see ya May 20th.
B.o.B.: "Nothin' On You (feat. Bruno Mars)"
Wiz Khalifa & Curren$y: "The Life"
The Cool Kids: "Hammer Bros."
Big Sean: "Getcha Some"
Clipse: "Popular Demand (Popeye's) [feat. Cam'ron]"
Common & John Legend: "They Say"
Consequence: "Grammy Family (feat. Kanye West)"
Kid Cudi: "Pursuit of Happiness (feat. MGMT & Ratatat)"
Drake: "Made (feat. Big Sean)"
Talib Kweli: "Get By"
Granted, it's a little sketchy that he pulled out of his contract on the absolute last day that he could citing a foreshadowed sickness (two weeks in advance, mind you), but it's whatever: I guess I'll still support your Nike Boot-wearing ass, Wah.
However, through constant snooping, gossiping and eaves-dropping (but more or less attending the Backdrop meeting tonight as I was supposed to) Rev Rub has discovered the identities of the Mayday artists. Now I'd feel a little sketchy revealing the artists when they haven't been officially announced, but here's a list of ten acts and their respective Youtube vids for who it could be. Enjoy and we'll see ya May 20th.
B.o.B.: "Nothin' On You (feat. Bruno Mars)"
Wiz Khalifa & Curren$y: "The Life"
The Cool Kids: "Hammer Bros."
Big Sean: "Getcha Some"
Clipse: "Popular Demand (Popeye's) [feat. Cam'ron]"
Common & John Legend: "They Say"
Consequence: "Grammy Family (feat. Kanye West)"
Kid Cudi: "Pursuit of Happiness (feat. MGMT & Ratatat)"
Drake: "Made (feat. Big Sean)"
Talib Kweli: "Get By"
Friday, April 23, 2010
You Used To Be Alright, What Happened?
I've probably started off an older post with this same first sentence, but I haven't written in here in quite awhile. My bad. But as evidenced by that stale lead (and by my recent article about Athens band, She Bears), my creative drive has been off for some time. I don't know what happened and I didn't know it could just shut off, but, apparently, it can. I assume it's what people in the industry call "Writer's Block." What a bummer.
In any case, I'll keep this post short and sweet. Since that last paragraph (and, more specifically, the She Bears story) were like pulling teeth, I'll save myself the brain overload of trying to formulate an idea, argument, organization and the witty statements to support the former three items.
As always, enjoy my ramblings.
1. Let it be said that there isn't a more ominous introduction than the one to Radiohead's "The National Anthem." Let it also be said that there is no better word to describe "The National Anthem"'s introduction than the word "ominous." If the Holocaust had a soundtrack, it would've been this song on repeat (listen to the lyrics and the absolute cacophony of civilization crashing). Here's Radiohead's live performance of the song from a 2000 episode of SNL, complete with an original Thom Yorke epileptic attack.
2. Are definitive, monolithic, racial stereotypes dead in American culture? Stephen Marche believes so. An interesting look by Esquire at how Jersey Shore made stereotyping laughable, guilt-free and irrelevant.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
In any case, I'll keep this post short and sweet. Since that last paragraph (and, more specifically, the She Bears story) were like pulling teeth, I'll save myself the brain overload of trying to formulate an idea, argument, organization and the witty statements to support the former three items.
As always, enjoy my ramblings.
1. Let it be said that there isn't a more ominous introduction than the one to Radiohead's "The National Anthem." Let it also be said that there is no better word to describe "The National Anthem"'s introduction than the word "ominous." If the Holocaust had a soundtrack, it would've been this song on repeat (listen to the lyrics and the absolute cacophony of civilization crashing). Here's Radiohead's live performance of the song from a 2000 episode of SNL, complete with an original Thom Yorke epileptic attack.
2. Are definitive, monolithic, racial stereotypes dead in American culture? Stephen Marche believes so. An interesting look by Esquire at how Jersey Shore made stereotyping laughable, guilt-free and irrelevant.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Break It Like Beckham.
This is a quick post that I had to write for this dude for the blog, The Smoking Section. I wanted to use it as my cover letter clip, but apparently he has no fucking clue about soccer. So instead of considering my time wasted, might as well post it on here. This in response to David Beckham breaking his Achilles tendon on Sunday. Enjoy, of course.
Welp, there you have it, folks: there’s the end right there.
There will be no four World Cups. There will be no ticker-tape parade for finally breaking Peter Shilton’s England caps record. And there will almost certainly be a drop in Los Angeles Galaxy jerseys bought.
Yeah, Becks’ soccer career came crashing down in an instant. The tears that came flowing down his $100-million face while playing for Italian league behemoths, AC Milan, said it all.
Not that it hasn’t happened before, but this really could be the final straw.
And by final straw, I don’t just mean his World Cup career: everyone, we could be coming to the end of the Beckham era. Those magically bending free kicks could be seeing their last spot placement on the pitch.
As ESPN Soccernet analyst Tommy Smith brings into question, it isn’t just the idea that his England career is over, but his actual club career too.
Think about it: the man has a gorgeous wife, home dotted across continents and a few titles under his belt during his time with the Red Devils. The continuation of his career in Los Angeles—well, maybe not so much Los Angeles—and Milan was in testament to the man’s commitment to not only the game of soccer, but, most importantly, his country. He continued those arduous yearlong seasons to stay fit for England call-ups.
What left would Becks have to play for if he comes back from this crippling injury?
Sure, Kobe might attend a few games at the Home Depot Center in Carson. Maybe he’ll bring Tom too. And I’m sure the thousands of American soccer moms attending the games with their bratty kids we’ll be just as big of a selling point to Young Moolah Beckham.
Psh, let’s get real.
With the destruction of his Achilles tendon and his South African summer plans, so did Beckham’s career. You can almost hear its last little bits whirling down the drain.
As if MLS’ Players’ Union’s standoff wasn’t bad enough, the league gets this little tidbit of info. So if a tree falls in the woods and no one’s around to hear it, does it make sound? Well with Becks clearly injured for the foreseeable future, MLS surely won’t be making any sounds this coming season—even if a players’ strike is avoided.
So with the curtains being pulled on Dave’s career so is the golden era of Major League Soccer. Well, that is, unless this happens.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Welp, there you have it, folks: there’s the end right there.
There will be no four World Cups. There will be no ticker-tape parade for finally breaking Peter Shilton’s England caps record. And there will almost certainly be a drop in Los Angeles Galaxy jerseys bought.
Yeah, Becks’ soccer career came crashing down in an instant. The tears that came flowing down his $100-million face while playing for Italian league behemoths, AC Milan, said it all.
Not that it hasn’t happened before, but this really could be the final straw.
And by final straw, I don’t just mean his World Cup career: everyone, we could be coming to the end of the Beckham era. Those magically bending free kicks could be seeing their last spot placement on the pitch.
As ESPN Soccernet analyst Tommy Smith brings into question, it isn’t just the idea that his England career is over, but his actual club career too.
Think about it: the man has a gorgeous wife, home dotted across continents and a few titles under his belt during his time with the Red Devils. The continuation of his career in Los Angeles—well, maybe not so much Los Angeles—and Milan was in testament to the man’s commitment to not only the game of soccer, but, most importantly, his country. He continued those arduous yearlong seasons to stay fit for England call-ups.
What left would Becks have to play for if he comes back from this crippling injury?
Sure, Kobe might attend a few games at the Home Depot Center in Carson. Maybe he’ll bring Tom too. And I’m sure the thousands of American soccer moms attending the games with their bratty kids we’ll be just as big of a selling point to Young Moolah Beckham.
Psh, let’s get real.
With the destruction of his Achilles tendon and his South African summer plans, so did Beckham’s career. You can almost hear its last little bits whirling down the drain.
As if MLS’ Players’ Union’s standoff wasn’t bad enough, the league gets this little tidbit of info. So if a tree falls in the woods and no one’s around to hear it, does it make sound? Well with Becks clearly injured for the foreseeable future, MLS surely won’t be making any sounds this coming season—even if a players’ strike is avoided.
So with the curtains being pulled on Dave’s career so is the golden era of Major League Soccer. Well, that is, unless this happens.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Friday, March 5, 2010
I've Got A Dolla And A Dream.
1. You know when you first hear something new and it just makes complete sense? I had one of those moments a few weeks ago. OU's Black Council threw a little shindig that included Wiz, Mario (Mario?) and J. Cole and it smashed me in the schnozz: J. Cole is the next big thing. Jermaine Coles, a native of Fayetteville, North Carolina, WILL be the next big rapper to blow up.
I'll put money on my assumption.
Here's why: not only is he the first artist to be signed to Jigga's new record label, Roc Nation, but just listen to his most recent mixtape, The Warm Up. If you listen close enough--or if you listen at all--this isn't a mixtape: this a compilation of polished beats and self-aware rhymes that flows more like a debut album than a download-it-for-free mixtape.
Granted, there are definitely a few mixtape elements on The Warm Up (sampled beats such as 'Ye's "Last Call" and "Drive Slow" and Nas' "The World Is Yours"), but most everything is original. I wouldn't necessarily say incendiary, but it's damn listenable.
Hell, I'd go as far to say that he kills Kanye's "Last Call" beat better than 'Ye. He goes all wiseguy-Tommy DeVito on the beat, knifing the shit out of it until its lifeless body remains gutted in the Lincoln's trunk.
Now that's something to build on considering half of the Athens crowd left after Wiz's opening performance. But it should be no surprise from a guy who annihilated both the Wale and Jay-Z tracks he appeared on--probably better than the featured artists on the tracks themselves.
So, cheers to you, J. Cole. As a member of XXL's Freshman Class of 2010, I here at Titles Are Trite expect big things out of you--huge, gigantic, Jigga-sized moves.
Because remember, all you need is a dollar and a dream.
2. Speaking of another member of that class, please everyone give a huge welcome to Freddie Gibbs.
3. Shout out to me main man, Bill Simmons: what would a double NBA and NFL lockout in 2011 mean for American sports fans? According to Chuck Klosterman, because of a conspiracy within ESPN's offices we'll all become soccer fans. God forbid, Chuck, God forbid (can be found on Bill Simmons' podcast archive under "The BS Report")
4. Mucho linkage hoy. Es increible.
Remember,
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
I'll put money on my assumption.
Here's why: not only is he the first artist to be signed to Jigga's new record label, Roc Nation, but just listen to his most recent mixtape, The Warm Up. If you listen close enough--or if you listen at all--this isn't a mixtape: this a compilation of polished beats and self-aware rhymes that flows more like a debut album than a download-it-for-free mixtape.
Granted, there are definitely a few mixtape elements on The Warm Up (sampled beats such as 'Ye's "Last Call" and "Drive Slow" and Nas' "The World Is Yours"), but most everything is original. I wouldn't necessarily say incendiary, but it's damn listenable.
Hell, I'd go as far to say that he kills Kanye's "Last Call" beat better than 'Ye. He goes all wiseguy-Tommy DeVito on the beat, knifing the shit out of it until its lifeless body remains gutted in the Lincoln's trunk.
Now that's something to build on considering half of the Athens crowd left after Wiz's opening performance. But it should be no surprise from a guy who annihilated both the Wale and Jay-Z tracks he appeared on--probably better than the featured artists on the tracks themselves.
So, cheers to you, J. Cole. As a member of XXL's Freshman Class of 2010, I here at Titles Are Trite expect big things out of you--huge, gigantic, Jigga-sized moves.
Because remember, all you need is a dollar and a dream.
2. Speaking of another member of that class, please everyone give a huge welcome to Freddie Gibbs.
3. Shout out to me main man, Bill Simmons: what would a double NBA and NFL lockout in 2011 mean for American sports fans? According to Chuck Klosterman, because of a conspiracy within ESPN's offices we'll all become soccer fans. God forbid, Chuck, God forbid (can be found on Bill Simmons' podcast archive under "The BS Report")
4. Mucho linkage hoy. Es increible.
Remember,
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Broke.
Here's the complete story that I wrote for Backdrop Magazine. This version isn't the version that appears in the magazine, but it's my third and final draft that I submitted. I hope you all enjoy it. It's long--just some forewarning. However, it's well worth it to read it. Thanks for all the support.
Broke.
Traveling to Athens, Ohio, by State Route 33 in winter is a lesson in melancholy.
The four-lane highway snakes its way through cold, grayish-brown Appalachian hills. The landscape that connects central Ohio to its southeastern cousin evokes wistfulness as each tectonic bump trips into the next—a never-ending sea of dead trees and limitless pasture.
It’s Fitzgerald’s rural Valley of Ashes minus Tom Wilson and the gang.
The “Trailer Park” sits in this pensive, empty valley right before the State Route 13 exit. Its location infringes the Hocking and is hidden from the passing traffic on the highway above.
A driveway juts off the road, sloping down into a collection of dilapidated mobile homes. Its presence is almost undetectable to the casual passerby on Route 33. Faded pastel exteriors of each home steadily blend into their listless surroundings.
Cindy’s home is near the back of the park. Across the street two kids sit spiritlessly on cinder blocks that lead into their home. A mutt barks boisterously next door.
“In this trailer park you can tell it’s a poor community. There’s nothing really here for somebody who doesn’t have a college education,” Cindy explained.
Cindy is a 20-year-old mother who lives with her boyfriend and one-year-old son. Her face is languid; freckles dot her skin and fade into her exterior. Her smiles come painfully unnatural and seem forced from her austere expressions.
“The hardest part about living on the wages that I earn now is that I cannot give my son everything that I never had. Everything that I thought I’d be able to give him.”
“When I buy him clothes I go to Wal-Mart. It’s the closest thing. I always thought I’d be able to get him name-brand stuff because I never had that growing up. I always thought that he’d have toys—anything that he wanted he could have,” Cindy said.
For Cindy, this inability characterizes her as a member of Athens County’s working poor population. The term “working poor” refers to many people who we might see on any given day. According to Ohio University sociology professor Steve Scanlan, “the working poor are those who do the work that is often times unrecognized.”
“It could be sweeping our floors or doing a lot of the work people might find undesirable. The wages they earn—although they may be working full-time—aren’t enough to support themselves or a family.”
Cindy’s situation is not uncommon in a region known for its persistent poverty. According to the U.S. Census’ 2006-2008 estimates, the amount of families below the poverty level was around 17 percent (compared to about 9.6 percent nationwide) and the median household income was around $32,000 (compared to a $52,000 U.S. average).
“What’s unique about the working poor is that we say in this country, ‘work hard, pay your dues and you’ll be fine.’ There are people who do just that and are working 30- to 40-hour shifts but are still not getting by,” Scanlan said.
“The working poor in small towns and rural areas will have far fewer opportunities than those in urban areas. Those in rural areas don’t have the big factories. There aren’t people beating the doors down to open up industry here.”
The opportunities that rarely come—or never come at all—for some Athens County residents coalesce into an environment frothing with service industry jobs (fast food, Wal-Mart), few educational opportunities and an almost guaranteed destitution.
However, the Athens County Job and Family Services (ACJFS) is an oasis in Appalachia’s desert of poverty. Social worker Nick Claussen explains that ACJFS’s mission within the Athens County community is to provide a myriad of services like, cash and food assistance, Medicaid, job training programs, a child enforcement agency, a home-health service for seniors and work programs for teens and young adults to help them get into school.
Nick Claussen is in his mid-40s and is passionate about his position at ACJFS; however, he paints a grim picture about Athens County’s job market.
“We have a big service economy with the highest percentage of service-industry jobs in the state and the lowest percentage of manufacturing jobs in the state,” Claussen says. “We’re happy to have these jobs, but there definitely needs to be other jobs as well. There need to be jobs with higher pay. When the coalmines closed long ago and nothing came in to the region to replace them, it caused a lot of problems.”
According to Scanlan, when Athens County’s coalmines shut down a downward spiral ensued.
“The closing of a mine is devastating,” Scanlan says. “A former miner is likely to see a dramatic wage cut and loss of benefits…. Without economic development or extensive miner-retraining programs in the region that creates equally lucrative employment opportunities, mine closings will dramatically affect workers.”
However, miners and their families are the only residents who are impacted by the closings. Scanlan also points to a spin-off effect that mine closings have on other regional industries as well.
“The diner that the workers used to stop at for coffee on their way to the mine shuts down, the gas station they fill up at loses business and the tax revenues the schools receive are lost,” Scanlan says. “Thus, the economic costs have a snowballing effect that touches many lives.”
Both Claussen and Scanlan agree that besides the county’s obscenely high number of service-industry jobs and lack of industry and education, Athens County’s relative isolation also hinders residents.
Essential services and stores that many suburban residents take for granted are sparsely dotted around the county. Long commutes from rural areas to grocery and clothing stores—coupled with soaring gas prices—drain peoples’ already shallow pockets, Claussen explains. Some residents have to commute daily to Columbus, Chillicothe or Parkersburg, West Virginia, just for work.
“If you live in Glouster, you have to travel at least into Athens just to shop,” Claussen says. “They have one store out there, but for a lot of things they have to travel to Athens. And some places like that in the county it’s hard.”
It was a bitterly cold January day at the ACJFS’ workstation in The Plains. Potholes littered the parking lot, as the dark gray building seemed to bleed right into it.
The inside of the workstation looks vaguely familiar to an old Odd Lots; however, instead of discounted goods lining shelves, office cubicles protrude from the carpeted floor, raising up like corn.
For Athens resident and single mom Deana Gordon, The Plains workstation is her ticket to a better life.“I come here from 7-5 everyday for welfare. I go home and maintain being a mom and putting food in my daughter’s belly,” Gordon says. Confidence permeates her pores as she speaks—her eyes assuredly locking with yours.
Gordon has lived in Athens for four months since moving from Columbus. As she put it, her life has not been easy: growing up on the westside of Columbus, she lost her mother at 14 and her crack-addicted father was rarely present. She moved to Athens after placing a restraining order on her abusive former boyfriend.
ACJFS gives Gordon medical assistance, food assistance and cash assistance. However, her specific situation with ACJFS requires that she attend classes every day, Monday through Friday, in order to receive her GED—or she loses everything.
Although her situation with ACJFS may sound like a typical welfare story, Gordon is quick to point out the glaring misconceptions with welfare mothers. “I was lucky to get it. Down here, you have to qualify. When I’m done with my GED I have to get a job and they still take from you. They never let you get ahead,” Gordon says.
“And people who have jobs are always like, ‘we take care of the welfare people,’” Gordon says. “No, you don’t. You really don’t. Just because you have a good job and you pay your taxes doesn’t mean that you’re taking care of us. We’re doing it because we want people to help us; we’re doing it because we want to get on our feet.”
But ACJFS doesn’t just help young single mothers. Others—those who are middle-aged and have families—have also had to seek assistance from the organization.
Crystal Vance—a life-long Appalachian resident with a college business degree—also has to utilize ACJFS’ numerous services. “If you’re lucky—if I were lucky—you’ve got fast food (jobs), but I got into a car accident and ended up having to be out of work for awhile,” Vance says.
“From the time I had my car accident to now, I have found one job and I worked there for about three months until I had a family emergency and they fired me because I had to leave.”
Vance, a married mother to a 16-year-old, has spent most of her life in Appalachia, being born in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, and eventually ending up in Athens. After spending time away, she moved back to Appalachia to be closer to family only to realize her mistake when she noticed the few job opportunities.
Injured in a car crash where she broke her hand and ruptured her spleen among other things, she now owes $7,500 to her insurance company—not to mention an outstanding debt for her college fees.
Looking to work her way up the business ladder, Crystal is searching for secretary opportunities. However, those opportunities could be few and far between in Appalachian Ohio, she laments.
“There’s McDonald’s, Wal-Mart, convenience stores—maybe—a lot of mom and pop’s. There isn’t a lot of big business,” Crystal says.
By spending most of her life in the region, Vance bluntly summarizes southeastern Ohio’s lack of appeal. “This is a sucky area. And I wouldn’t recommend anyone living down here,” Vance says. “And you know it’s beautiful. I grew up down here. But there’s nothing to do out here, and there’s no where to go out here unless you’re an alcoholic or a druggie.”
Both Scanlan and Claussen emphasize the need for greater funding and benefits to help Athens County working poor residents.
“There are a lot of programs to help the working poor in Athens County,” Claussen said. “(But) our own programs got funding cuts. They are facing harder times now than in years past. And it’s a terrible time now because demand is going up everywhere. The state budget is a mess. They need to bring in more funding.”
Welfare programs across the nation have been disappearing quickly since the 1960s, but it wasn’t until former president Bill Clinton’s proclamation to “end welfare as we know it” with 1996’s Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA).
PRWORA effectively ended welfare as an entitlement and singled out out-of-wedlock births and intergenerational poverty as the causes of a faulty welfare system.
PRWORA mandates that the states are allowed to develop their own welfare systems and stipulates that a person can only receive 5-years worth of welfare over his/her lifetime—no matter the person’s opportunity deprivation.
However, some have questioned whether a smaller welfare system is really the cause of poverty. Some, like Scanlan, point to a minimum wage that fails to keep up with yearly inflation and a lack of benefits.
“Now it’s expected that your child go to college; health care expenses are now more than ever; education costs have increased more than inflation; same with housing costs. Wages just haven’t kept up,” Scanlan says
“(But) It isn’t as much a wage increase as much as it is making sure that people have…. health insurance, rent subsidy and food assistance. Things like that would relieve a lot of the stress on individuals doing this kind of work.”
Sitting in Cindy’s trailer that late-December afternoon, the sun shone through the blinds. The light settled peacefully on her precociously worn face.
”Do you think Appalachian poverty differs from poverty elsewhere? Can it be fixed?” I ask Cindy, who is sitting in her worn recliner with a contemplative look.
“I don’t think it’s any different,” Cindy says. “Everywhere it’s the same thing—whether you’re in a big city or a small town. But I think it will be awhile before it gets fixed. I thought about moving out of Athens because I don’t see change coming any time soon.”
As she concluded, her face remained stoic. The last ray of sun hit her at the perfect angle, highlighting her face’s precocious wear of twenty years. It then slipped away through the blinds—calmly disappearing behind those crestfallen hills outside her window.
Broke.
Traveling to Athens, Ohio, by State Route 33 in winter is a lesson in melancholy.
The four-lane highway snakes its way through cold, grayish-brown Appalachian hills. The landscape that connects central Ohio to its southeastern cousin evokes wistfulness as each tectonic bump trips into the next—a never-ending sea of dead trees and limitless pasture.
It’s Fitzgerald’s rural Valley of Ashes minus Tom Wilson and the gang.
The “Trailer Park” sits in this pensive, empty valley right before the State Route 13 exit. Its location infringes the Hocking and is hidden from the passing traffic on the highway above.
A driveway juts off the road, sloping down into a collection of dilapidated mobile homes. Its presence is almost undetectable to the casual passerby on Route 33. Faded pastel exteriors of each home steadily blend into their listless surroundings.
Cindy’s home is near the back of the park. Across the street two kids sit spiritlessly on cinder blocks that lead into their home. A mutt barks boisterously next door.
“In this trailer park you can tell it’s a poor community. There’s nothing really here for somebody who doesn’t have a college education,” Cindy explained.
Cindy is a 20-year-old mother who lives with her boyfriend and one-year-old son. Her face is languid; freckles dot her skin and fade into her exterior. Her smiles come painfully unnatural and seem forced from her austere expressions.
“The hardest part about living on the wages that I earn now is that I cannot give my son everything that I never had. Everything that I thought I’d be able to give him.”
“When I buy him clothes I go to Wal-Mart. It’s the closest thing. I always thought I’d be able to get him name-brand stuff because I never had that growing up. I always thought that he’d have toys—anything that he wanted he could have,” Cindy said.
For Cindy, this inability characterizes her as a member of Athens County’s working poor population. The term “working poor” refers to many people who we might see on any given day. According to Ohio University sociology professor Steve Scanlan, “the working poor are those who do the work that is often times unrecognized.”
“It could be sweeping our floors or doing a lot of the work people might find undesirable. The wages they earn—although they may be working full-time—aren’t enough to support themselves or a family.”
Cindy’s situation is not uncommon in a region known for its persistent poverty. According to the U.S. Census’ 2006-2008 estimates, the amount of families below the poverty level was around 17 percent (compared to about 9.6 percent nationwide) and the median household income was around $32,000 (compared to a $52,000 U.S. average).
“What’s unique about the working poor is that we say in this country, ‘work hard, pay your dues and you’ll be fine.’ There are people who do just that and are working 30- to 40-hour shifts but are still not getting by,” Scanlan said.
“The working poor in small towns and rural areas will have far fewer opportunities than those in urban areas. Those in rural areas don’t have the big factories. There aren’t people beating the doors down to open up industry here.”
The opportunities that rarely come—or never come at all—for some Athens County residents coalesce into an environment frothing with service industry jobs (fast food, Wal-Mart), few educational opportunities and an almost guaranteed destitution.
However, the Athens County Job and Family Services (ACJFS) is an oasis in Appalachia’s desert of poverty. Social worker Nick Claussen explains that ACJFS’s mission within the Athens County community is to provide a myriad of services like, cash and food assistance, Medicaid, job training programs, a child enforcement agency, a home-health service for seniors and work programs for teens and young adults to help them get into school.
Nick Claussen is in his mid-40s and is passionate about his position at ACJFS; however, he paints a grim picture about Athens County’s job market.
“We have a big service economy with the highest percentage of service-industry jobs in the state and the lowest percentage of manufacturing jobs in the state,” Claussen says. “We’re happy to have these jobs, but there definitely needs to be other jobs as well. There need to be jobs with higher pay. When the coalmines closed long ago and nothing came in to the region to replace them, it caused a lot of problems.”
According to Scanlan, when Athens County’s coalmines shut down a downward spiral ensued.
“The closing of a mine is devastating,” Scanlan says. “A former miner is likely to see a dramatic wage cut and loss of benefits…. Without economic development or extensive miner-retraining programs in the region that creates equally lucrative employment opportunities, mine closings will dramatically affect workers.”
However, miners and their families are the only residents who are impacted by the closings. Scanlan also points to a spin-off effect that mine closings have on other regional industries as well.
“The diner that the workers used to stop at for coffee on their way to the mine shuts down, the gas station they fill up at loses business and the tax revenues the schools receive are lost,” Scanlan says. “Thus, the economic costs have a snowballing effect that touches many lives.”
Both Claussen and Scanlan agree that besides the county’s obscenely high number of service-industry jobs and lack of industry and education, Athens County’s relative isolation also hinders residents.
Essential services and stores that many suburban residents take for granted are sparsely dotted around the county. Long commutes from rural areas to grocery and clothing stores—coupled with soaring gas prices—drain peoples’ already shallow pockets, Claussen explains. Some residents have to commute daily to Columbus, Chillicothe or Parkersburg, West Virginia, just for work.
“If you live in Glouster, you have to travel at least into Athens just to shop,” Claussen says. “They have one store out there, but for a lot of things they have to travel to Athens. And some places like that in the county it’s hard.”
It was a bitterly cold January day at the ACJFS’ workstation in The Plains. Potholes littered the parking lot, as the dark gray building seemed to bleed right into it.
The inside of the workstation looks vaguely familiar to an old Odd Lots; however, instead of discounted goods lining shelves, office cubicles protrude from the carpeted floor, raising up like corn.
For Athens resident and single mom Deana Gordon, The Plains workstation is her ticket to a better life.“I come here from 7-5 everyday for welfare. I go home and maintain being a mom and putting food in my daughter’s belly,” Gordon says. Confidence permeates her pores as she speaks—her eyes assuredly locking with yours.
Gordon has lived in Athens for four months since moving from Columbus. As she put it, her life has not been easy: growing up on the westside of Columbus, she lost her mother at 14 and her crack-addicted father was rarely present. She moved to Athens after placing a restraining order on her abusive former boyfriend.
ACJFS gives Gordon medical assistance, food assistance and cash assistance. However, her specific situation with ACJFS requires that she attend classes every day, Monday through Friday, in order to receive her GED—or she loses everything.
Although her situation with ACJFS may sound like a typical welfare story, Gordon is quick to point out the glaring misconceptions with welfare mothers. “I was lucky to get it. Down here, you have to qualify. When I’m done with my GED I have to get a job and they still take from you. They never let you get ahead,” Gordon says.
“And people who have jobs are always like, ‘we take care of the welfare people,’” Gordon says. “No, you don’t. You really don’t. Just because you have a good job and you pay your taxes doesn’t mean that you’re taking care of us. We’re doing it because we want people to help us; we’re doing it because we want to get on our feet.”
But ACJFS doesn’t just help young single mothers. Others—those who are middle-aged and have families—have also had to seek assistance from the organization.
Crystal Vance—a life-long Appalachian resident with a college business degree—also has to utilize ACJFS’ numerous services. “If you’re lucky—if I were lucky—you’ve got fast food (jobs), but I got into a car accident and ended up having to be out of work for awhile,” Vance says.
“From the time I had my car accident to now, I have found one job and I worked there for about three months until I had a family emergency and they fired me because I had to leave.”
Vance, a married mother to a 16-year-old, has spent most of her life in Appalachia, being born in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, and eventually ending up in Athens. After spending time away, she moved back to Appalachia to be closer to family only to realize her mistake when she noticed the few job opportunities.
Injured in a car crash where she broke her hand and ruptured her spleen among other things, she now owes $7,500 to her insurance company—not to mention an outstanding debt for her college fees.
Looking to work her way up the business ladder, Crystal is searching for secretary opportunities. However, those opportunities could be few and far between in Appalachian Ohio, she laments.
“There’s McDonald’s, Wal-Mart, convenience stores—maybe—a lot of mom and pop’s. There isn’t a lot of big business,” Crystal says.
By spending most of her life in the region, Vance bluntly summarizes southeastern Ohio’s lack of appeal. “This is a sucky area. And I wouldn’t recommend anyone living down here,” Vance says. “And you know it’s beautiful. I grew up down here. But there’s nothing to do out here, and there’s no where to go out here unless you’re an alcoholic or a druggie.”
Both Scanlan and Claussen emphasize the need for greater funding and benefits to help Athens County working poor residents.
“There are a lot of programs to help the working poor in Athens County,” Claussen said. “(But) our own programs got funding cuts. They are facing harder times now than in years past. And it’s a terrible time now because demand is going up everywhere. The state budget is a mess. They need to bring in more funding.”
Welfare programs across the nation have been disappearing quickly since the 1960s, but it wasn’t until former president Bill Clinton’s proclamation to “end welfare as we know it” with 1996’s Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA).
PRWORA effectively ended welfare as an entitlement and singled out out-of-wedlock births and intergenerational poverty as the causes of a faulty welfare system.
PRWORA mandates that the states are allowed to develop their own welfare systems and stipulates that a person can only receive 5-years worth of welfare over his/her lifetime—no matter the person’s opportunity deprivation.
However, some have questioned whether a smaller welfare system is really the cause of poverty. Some, like Scanlan, point to a minimum wage that fails to keep up with yearly inflation and a lack of benefits.
“Now it’s expected that your child go to college; health care expenses are now more than ever; education costs have increased more than inflation; same with housing costs. Wages just haven’t kept up,” Scanlan says
“(But) It isn’t as much a wage increase as much as it is making sure that people have…. health insurance, rent subsidy and food assistance. Things like that would relieve a lot of the stress on individuals doing this kind of work.”
Sitting in Cindy’s trailer that late-December afternoon, the sun shone through the blinds. The light settled peacefully on her precociously worn face.
”Do you think Appalachian poverty differs from poverty elsewhere? Can it be fixed?” I ask Cindy, who is sitting in her worn recliner with a contemplative look.
“I don’t think it’s any different,” Cindy says. “Everywhere it’s the same thing—whether you’re in a big city or a small town. But I think it will be awhile before it gets fixed. I thought about moving out of Athens because I don’t see change coming any time soon.”
As she concluded, her face remained stoic. The last ray of sun hit her at the perfect angle, highlighting her face’s precocious wear of twenty years. It then slipped away through the blinds—calmly disappearing behind those crestfallen hills outside her window.
Monday, February 15, 2010
My Name Is My Name.
I don't know whether this is ethically correct or not (or, more importantly, will fuck my getting published in Backdrop this coming issue), but I've decided to give you all the introduction to my story on Athens County working poor residents set to appear in this quarter's issue of Backdrop. I hope you all enjoy it because this portion is only the tip of the iceberg. I will post the entire story for those who do not attend Ohio University after the publication of the issue. Stay tuned for more steeze-iness.
***
Athens County Working Poor
Traveling to Athens, Ohio, by State Route 33 in winter is a lesson in melancholy.
The four-lane highway snakes its way through cold, grayish-brown Appalachian hills. The landscape that connects central Ohio to its southeastern cousin evokes wistfulness as each tectonic bump trips into the next—a never-ending sea of dead trees and limitless pasture.
It’s Fitzgerald’s rural Valley of Ashes minus Tom Wilson and the gang.
The “Trailer Park” sits in this pensive, empty valley right before the State Route 13 exit. Its location infringes the Hocking and is hidden from the passing traffic on the highway above.
A driveway juts off the road, sloping down into a collection of dilapidated mobile homes. Its presence is almost undetectable to the casual passerby on Route 33. Faded pastel exteriors of each home steadily blend into their listless surroundings.
Cindy’s home is near the back of the park. Across the street two kids sit spiritlessly on cinder blocks that lead into their home. A mutt barks boisterously next door.
“In this trailer park you can tell it’s a poor community. There’s nothing really here for somebody who doesn’t have a college education,” Cindy explained.
Cindy is a 20-year-old mother who lives with her boyfriend and one-year-old son. Her face is languid; freckles dot her skin and fade into her exterior. Her smiles come painfully unnatural and seem forced from her austere expressions.
“The hardest part about living on the wages that I earn now is that I cannot give my son everything that I never had. Everything that I thought I’d be able to give him.”
“When I buy him clothes I go to Wal-Mart. It’s the closest thing. I always thought I’d be able to get him name-brand stuff because I never had that growing up. I always thought that he’d have toys—anything that he wanted he could have,” Cindy said.
For Cindy, this inability characterizes her as a member of Athens County’s working poor population. The term “working poor” refers to many people who we might see on any given day. According to Ohio University sociology professor Steve Scanlan, “the working poor are those who do the work that is often times unrecognized.”
***
Athens County Working Poor
Traveling to Athens, Ohio, by State Route 33 in winter is a lesson in melancholy.
The four-lane highway snakes its way through cold, grayish-brown Appalachian hills. The landscape that connects central Ohio to its southeastern cousin evokes wistfulness as each tectonic bump trips into the next—a never-ending sea of dead trees and limitless pasture.
It’s Fitzgerald’s rural Valley of Ashes minus Tom Wilson and the gang.
The “Trailer Park” sits in this pensive, empty valley right before the State Route 13 exit. Its location infringes the Hocking and is hidden from the passing traffic on the highway above.
A driveway juts off the road, sloping down into a collection of dilapidated mobile homes. Its presence is almost undetectable to the casual passerby on Route 33. Faded pastel exteriors of each home steadily blend into their listless surroundings.
Cindy’s home is near the back of the park. Across the street two kids sit spiritlessly on cinder blocks that lead into their home. A mutt barks boisterously next door.
“In this trailer park you can tell it’s a poor community. There’s nothing really here for somebody who doesn’t have a college education,” Cindy explained.
Cindy is a 20-year-old mother who lives with her boyfriend and one-year-old son. Her face is languid; freckles dot her skin and fade into her exterior. Her smiles come painfully unnatural and seem forced from her austere expressions.
“The hardest part about living on the wages that I earn now is that I cannot give my son everything that I never had. Everything that I thought I’d be able to give him.”
“When I buy him clothes I go to Wal-Mart. It’s the closest thing. I always thought I’d be able to get him name-brand stuff because I never had that growing up. I always thought that he’d have toys—anything that he wanted he could have,” Cindy said.
For Cindy, this inability characterizes her as a member of Athens County’s working poor population. The term “working poor” refers to many people who we might see on any given day. According to Ohio University sociology professor Steve Scanlan, “the working poor are those who do the work that is often times unrecognized.”
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I've Got One Wish When I'm Deceased: Bury Me In 501s And 10.Deep.
I know that I've already touched on this subject in a past post, but I figure I'll post this anyways. I had to complete it for an art class, so I might as well post if I put in the time to actually do it. It's an enjoyable read. Trust me. I wrote it.
It’s rare that I’m excited for a concert.
Well, that’s a gross understatement and a lie—every concert I go to generates excitement.
But Cudi in Cleveland is different: this is a man apart from the rest of hip-hop—the music industry even. This is an artist who hasn’t necessarily reached that subjectively interpreted apex of his career and he’s playing in his hometown. Say whaaaaaa? Count me in, brotha.
Now, I’ve spent countless time thinking about Cudi. Don’t take that statement the wrong way (because Lord knows you definitely could), but rather I’ve been thinking about his place in music—I’ve been thinking about his art.
What really is Kid Cudi? Is he a hip-hop artist?
Nah, not so much.
Is he an R&B singer?
No, that really doesn’t suit his style. He harmonizes but not consistently and always with the help of some serious studio production.
Is he a rock ‘n’ roll star?
Outside of his guitar-laced outro, “Up, Up and Away,” he isn’t really rocking that much.
Or is he a gangster rapper?
Are you kidding me? He wears dark-washed Levi ultra skinnies and chunky Elvis Costello frames. If he didn’t blaze so much and were Caucasian, he’d easily be Rivers Cuomo from Weezer.
So what is Kid Cudi? Why do I care so much as to travel three hours from school to watch him in industrial, depressing Cleveland?
Well because he’s… Um, because he’s Mr. Solo Dolo. He’s The Cudder.
But more or less because he’s revolutionizing music through diversifying what we consider popular music to be—changing our aesthetic perceptions of hip-hop, rock, rap and R&B all at the same time.
On his debut mixtapes, A Kid Named Cudi and Dat Kid From Cleveland, his beats hit like a freight train: sparsely crafted, bass- and melody-heavy tunes crafted to Cudi’s personality. His stream-of-consciousness poetic flow teeters dangerously between choppy and smooth; lyrics like, “they love a dooder, they love me I mean/I can’t believe how I had a dream of Martin King/But they ain’t takin’ me out on no balcony,” spread onto your ears like Jif chunky peanut butter.
The synthy and atmospherically beautiful “Man On the Moon: The Anthem” is introduced by the line, “I never gave a f**k/I never gave a f**k about what n****s thought about me/I mean I did, but, like, f**k it/you gon’ love me, man,” a statement and proclamation drenched in such cut-and-dry honesty and self-consciousness that F. Scott Fitzgerald would be proud.
He’s introspective and pensive without being maudlin. His wistfulness is palpable yet it’s not over-bearing. He’s brash, cocky and bold at times, but he still has his doubts.
He very well might be the J. Alfred Prufrock of our generation.
When you start off an album with the proclamation, “I’ve got 99 problems/and they all bitches/wish I were Jigga Man/carefree livin’,” you’re nothing short of a basket full of emotion.
And because of this journey through the human condition—because of this disregard for every music industry cliché of pompousness and trivial subject matter—I wanted to see Cudi live, in Cleveland, on the 15th of January.
So I did.
With the exception of a few not-so-desirable concert attendees, Cudi’s performance at the Agora Theater was more than entertaining. His open use of alcohol and pot during his concert not only made his performance that much more lively, but it also added to his conflicted persona. He seemed untouchable onstage as he romped through classics such as “Down And Out” and “Make Her Say,” but was human and melancholy during his performances of “Mr. Solo Dolo” and “Man On the Moon: The Anthem.”
Ditto with his closing number, “Pursuit of Happiness.” As the crowd helped chant “I’m on the pursuit of happiness and I know/everything that shines ain’t always gon’ be gold/I’ll be fine once I get it/I’ll be good” with the encore, Cudi’s smile lit up the dark, crowded theater; an assurance that solidifies Cudi’s closing statement about the hometown crowd, “I love you, Cleveland.”
Other than Cudi’s being the second-most worshipped man in northeast Ohio outside of LeBron James, this concert emphasized why Kid Cudi is relevant: he is relatable. He embodies the superstar persona that everyone wishes to be. He has his issues, but who doesn’t? He makes pop music that’s creatively outside the box no matter how many rap and hip-hop purists bash on his simplistic rhyme scheme. He’s from a city that’s as aesthetically ugly and depressing as the demons that roam his sub-conscious, but he’s not afraid to unleash them. He shares what he feels—earnestness that makes him human.
So what is Kid Cudi?
He’s just like you and me. That's why I was excited.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
It’s rare that I’m excited for a concert.
Well, that’s a gross understatement and a lie—every concert I go to generates excitement.
But Cudi in Cleveland is different: this is a man apart from the rest of hip-hop—the music industry even. This is an artist who hasn’t necessarily reached that subjectively interpreted apex of his career and he’s playing in his hometown. Say whaaaaaa? Count me in, brotha.
Now, I’ve spent countless time thinking about Cudi. Don’t take that statement the wrong way (because Lord knows you definitely could), but rather I’ve been thinking about his place in music—I’ve been thinking about his art.
What really is Kid Cudi? Is he a hip-hop artist?
Nah, not so much.
Is he an R&B singer?
No, that really doesn’t suit his style. He harmonizes but not consistently and always with the help of some serious studio production.
Is he a rock ‘n’ roll star?
Outside of his guitar-laced outro, “Up, Up and Away,” he isn’t really rocking that much.
Or is he a gangster rapper?
Are you kidding me? He wears dark-washed Levi ultra skinnies and chunky Elvis Costello frames. If he didn’t blaze so much and were Caucasian, he’d easily be Rivers Cuomo from Weezer.
So what is Kid Cudi? Why do I care so much as to travel three hours from school to watch him in industrial, depressing Cleveland?
Well because he’s… Um, because he’s Mr. Solo Dolo. He’s The Cudder.
But more or less because he’s revolutionizing music through diversifying what we consider popular music to be—changing our aesthetic perceptions of hip-hop, rock, rap and R&B all at the same time.
On his debut mixtapes, A Kid Named Cudi and Dat Kid From Cleveland, his beats hit like a freight train: sparsely crafted, bass- and melody-heavy tunes crafted to Cudi’s personality. His stream-of-consciousness poetic flow teeters dangerously between choppy and smooth; lyrics like, “they love a dooder, they love me I mean/I can’t believe how I had a dream of Martin King/But they ain’t takin’ me out on no balcony,” spread onto your ears like Jif chunky peanut butter.
The synthy and atmospherically beautiful “Man On the Moon: The Anthem” is introduced by the line, “I never gave a f**k/I never gave a f**k about what n****s thought about me/I mean I did, but, like, f**k it/you gon’ love me, man,” a statement and proclamation drenched in such cut-and-dry honesty and self-consciousness that F. Scott Fitzgerald would be proud.
He’s introspective and pensive without being maudlin. His wistfulness is palpable yet it’s not over-bearing. He’s brash, cocky and bold at times, but he still has his doubts.
He very well might be the J. Alfred Prufrock of our generation.
When you start off an album with the proclamation, “I’ve got 99 problems/and they all bitches/wish I were Jigga Man/carefree livin’,” you’re nothing short of a basket full of emotion.
And because of this journey through the human condition—because of this disregard for every music industry cliché of pompousness and trivial subject matter—I wanted to see Cudi live, in Cleveland, on the 15th of January.
So I did.
With the exception of a few not-so-desirable concert attendees, Cudi’s performance at the Agora Theater was more than entertaining. His open use of alcohol and pot during his concert not only made his performance that much more lively, but it also added to his conflicted persona. He seemed untouchable onstage as he romped through classics such as “Down And Out” and “Make Her Say,” but was human and melancholy during his performances of “Mr. Solo Dolo” and “Man On the Moon: The Anthem.”
Ditto with his closing number, “Pursuit of Happiness.” As the crowd helped chant “I’m on the pursuit of happiness and I know/everything that shines ain’t always gon’ be gold/I’ll be fine once I get it/I’ll be good” with the encore, Cudi’s smile lit up the dark, crowded theater; an assurance that solidifies Cudi’s closing statement about the hometown crowd, “I love you, Cleveland.”
Other than Cudi’s being the second-most worshipped man in northeast Ohio outside of LeBron James, this concert emphasized why Kid Cudi is relevant: he is relatable. He embodies the superstar persona that everyone wishes to be. He has his issues, but who doesn’t? He makes pop music that’s creatively outside the box no matter how many rap and hip-hop purists bash on his simplistic rhyme scheme. He’s from a city that’s as aesthetically ugly and depressing as the demons that roam his sub-conscious, but he’s not afraid to unleash them. He shares what he feels—earnestness that makes him human.
So what is Kid Cudi?
He’s just like you and me. That's why I was excited.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
Monday, January 11, 2010
He Was A Diplomat's Son, Oh.
-Since Curb Your Enthusiasm ended its seventh season, I've been itching for more of that misanthropic Jew genius, Larry David. It's like a bad addiction to painkillers: once you're prescribed a modest amount to make up for your newfound apathy towards Zach Braff and everything he creates, you start inundating your hypothalamus with copious quantities of Seinfeld's comedic savant.
So in order to pass the time until that four-eyed fuck is back on the air, I've thought of a few situations that I believe could work in season 8. Granted, I'm not a screenwriter (I'm just a blogger hack), but I think these hold promise:
1. Escalator Etiquette
It's not that hard to remember: stay in your own fucking bubble. I find it hard to believe that this nearly golden rule goes to the wayside when you step on a moving set of stairs. Proper escalator etiquette requires each rider stand on opposite sides of consecutive steps--at the least. This prevents unnecessary and often awkward hand slips and crotch grinds from both sexes. I'm 5'5"--there's nothing worse than having some 6'10" Paul Bunyan dip his fly's zipper on the back of my dome-piece. Larry could take this pet peeve to the next level.
2. People Who Walk Too Slow
Another often broken golden rule: people who walk as if they should belong on AARP yet still possess the legs of a gazelle. While I'm not condoning that we all try to emulate Usain Bolt, it becomes tedious trying to pass these sloths on the way to a class I'm probably already late for. And that's too true. Their tepidness causes me to not necessarily become late for class, but ensures that I'll almost never find the perfect seat in order to only half-heartedly participate in my lecture. And this bothers me. Maybe I want to text someone about getting crappy dining hall food after class. Without a venerable position I'm utterly and completely fucked. In the direct path of the hurricane that are my professors' eyes, I'm unable to perform this function and many others that are necessary for most of my lectures: day dreaming, sexy-lady scanning and of course day dreaming. You people know who you are that force me into this kind of destitution. Fix it, pronto.
3. Having Sex In The Room While Your Roommate Is Present
This would be LD gold. For those who follow the show, Larry's sexual awkwardness is mythical (the Cheryl threesome episode, anyone?). Especially with Leon in Larry's house now, this would prove to be most satisfactory. But, c'mon, sex while your roommate is present in the room? It's like dorm room etiquette number one. At the very least it's in the top-ten. The bed was rocking so hard against my head the other night I nearly got a concussion. And I'm not OK with those slurping noises being no more than three feet from my face. I'm not.
With that being said...
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
So in order to pass the time until that four-eyed fuck is back on the air, I've thought of a few situations that I believe could work in season 8. Granted, I'm not a screenwriter (I'm just a blogger hack), but I think these hold promise:
1. Escalator Etiquette
It's not that hard to remember: stay in your own fucking bubble. I find it hard to believe that this nearly golden rule goes to the wayside when you step on a moving set of stairs. Proper escalator etiquette requires each rider stand on opposite sides of consecutive steps--at the least. This prevents unnecessary and often awkward hand slips and crotch grinds from both sexes. I'm 5'5"--there's nothing worse than having some 6'10" Paul Bunyan dip his fly's zipper on the back of my dome-piece. Larry could take this pet peeve to the next level.
2. People Who Walk Too Slow
Another often broken golden rule: people who walk as if they should belong on AARP yet still possess the legs of a gazelle. While I'm not condoning that we all try to emulate Usain Bolt, it becomes tedious trying to pass these sloths on the way to a class I'm probably already late for. And that's too true. Their tepidness causes me to not necessarily become late for class, but ensures that I'll almost never find the perfect seat in order to only half-heartedly participate in my lecture. And this bothers me. Maybe I want to text someone about getting crappy dining hall food after class. Without a venerable position I'm utterly and completely fucked. In the direct path of the hurricane that are my professors' eyes, I'm unable to perform this function and many others that are necessary for most of my lectures: day dreaming, sexy-lady scanning and of course day dreaming. You people know who you are that force me into this kind of destitution. Fix it, pronto.
3. Having Sex In The Room While Your Roommate Is Present
This would be LD gold. For those who follow the show, Larry's sexual awkwardness is mythical (the Cheryl threesome episode, anyone?). Especially with Leon in Larry's house now, this would prove to be most satisfactory. But, c'mon, sex while your roommate is present in the room? It's like dorm room etiquette number one. At the very least it's in the top-ten. The bed was rocking so hard against my head the other night I nearly got a concussion. And I'm not OK with those slurping noises being no more than three feet from my face. I'm not.
With that being said...
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Now I Roll In An Olds With Windows That Don't Roll.
-I've been struggling since, oh, seventh grade with this, but I still can't figure out how 50 Cent remains successful. Hell, I can't understand how he was successful in the first place.
Now, if rap industry standards mandate that you are an instantly marketable and successful artist if you carry a rap sheet and gun-toting, bitch-slaying lyrics, then, yes, I guess you could say to some extent that 50 Cent is successful.
However, I don't feel that's music industry marketing norm (just look at Cudi).
I've noticed that if you take Fitty at face value there's really nothing special about him.
His beats don't set him apart--anything from any of his albums (even from Get Rich Or Die Tryin') aren't anything that you can't find on an Eminem album, Dre's 2001 or on an album by a contemporary New York rapper (think along the lines of Dipset).
His subject material is most definitely hackneyed.
And his lyricism? It's the stuff that you'd find in a stack of 7th-grade boys' poetry projects. Think I'm kidding? Just listen to "Wanksta" and try to argue otherwise. 50's pedantic wordplay makes Soulja Boy seem incendiary.
There's nothing remotely extraordinary about him, yet he's sold millions of albums, has a pretty solid stake in Vitamin Water (about $100 million worth), an ACTING career (since these hip-hop-ish movies are all the rage with the kids now, being a rap star obviously makes you a credible thespian), and--wait for it--a condom company named Magic Stick.
With all this in mind, it's hard to fathom how 50 remains successful.
Granted, from an unbiased point of view, 75% of what could be deemed "rap" very rarely strays from the same rote subject material. I could see an initial success occurring, but a relative 8 years of success? Some one took a shot gun to my head because it's more than blown.
But when you take into consideration 50's past, it's not all-too-hard to believe. He used to hustle and he was damn good at it. Throw in a hard work ethic and a bully's mentality and he's a bonafide businessman.
Whether the music is intellectually adept is a moot point to 50; he's cornered the rap game and the music industry and milked them for all the profit that he can wrap his meaty fingers around.
It's capitalism, Wal-Mart rap--copious amounts of bubble-gum, throwaway singles that maximize your profit margin as an artist.
And for 50, that's success. That's a ticket out of Jamaica, Queens, and a livable life.
50 could care less if critics like myself think he's a hack. 50 could care less if he knows that he's a hack. Why would he? He's doing what every person in the world wants to do: make money in order to live comfortably.
And although I want to throw my Macbook through my TV every time I see his 'roided-out, impertinent grin, the man's successful. Whether I, you, or anyone else likes it or not.
-This is going to piss off at least a few people, but I'll go ahead and say it anyways: there's no such thing as "karma." Karma is a theoretical cop-out for people who cannot move on with life. Just wanted to let it be known.
-Is there any hip-hop album from this past decade that's more underrated than Common's 2005 masterpiece, BE? "It's Your World" is riveting and Kanye West's production is symbiotically sublime when coupled with Common's lyrics. Every song, top to bottom, is soulful, jazzy and more than uplifting. Check it.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Now, if rap industry standards mandate that you are an instantly marketable and successful artist if you carry a rap sheet and gun-toting, bitch-slaying lyrics, then, yes, I guess you could say to some extent that 50 Cent is successful.
However, I don't feel that's music industry marketing norm (just look at Cudi).
I've noticed that if you take Fitty at face value there's really nothing special about him.
His beats don't set him apart--anything from any of his albums (even from Get Rich Or Die Tryin') aren't anything that you can't find on an Eminem album, Dre's 2001 or on an album by a contemporary New York rapper (think along the lines of Dipset).
His subject material is most definitely hackneyed.
And his lyricism? It's the stuff that you'd find in a stack of 7th-grade boys' poetry projects. Think I'm kidding? Just listen to "Wanksta" and try to argue otherwise. 50's pedantic wordplay makes Soulja Boy seem incendiary.
There's nothing remotely extraordinary about him, yet he's sold millions of albums, has a pretty solid stake in Vitamin Water (about $100 million worth), an ACTING career (since these hip-hop-ish movies are all the rage with the kids now, being a rap star obviously makes you a credible thespian), and--wait for it--a condom company named Magic Stick.
With all this in mind, it's hard to fathom how 50 remains successful.
Granted, from an unbiased point of view, 75% of what could be deemed "rap" very rarely strays from the same rote subject material. I could see an initial success occurring, but a relative 8 years of success? Some one took a shot gun to my head because it's more than blown.
But when you take into consideration 50's past, it's not all-too-hard to believe. He used to hustle and he was damn good at it. Throw in a hard work ethic and a bully's mentality and he's a bonafide businessman.
Whether the music is intellectually adept is a moot point to 50; he's cornered the rap game and the music industry and milked them for all the profit that he can wrap his meaty fingers around.
It's capitalism, Wal-Mart rap--copious amounts of bubble-gum, throwaway singles that maximize your profit margin as an artist.
And for 50, that's success. That's a ticket out of Jamaica, Queens, and a livable life.
50 could care less if critics like myself think he's a hack. 50 could care less if he knows that he's a hack. Why would he? He's doing what every person in the world wants to do: make money in order to live comfortably.
And although I want to throw my Macbook through my TV every time I see his 'roided-out, impertinent grin, the man's successful. Whether I, you, or anyone else likes it or not.
-This is going to piss off at least a few people, but I'll go ahead and say it anyways: there's no such thing as "karma." Karma is a theoretical cop-out for people who cannot move on with life. Just wanted to let it be known.
-Is there any hip-hop album from this past decade that's more underrated than Common's 2005 masterpiece, BE? "It's Your World" is riveting and Kanye West's production is symbiotically sublime when coupled with Common's lyrics. Every song, top to bottom, is soulful, jazzy and more than uplifting. Check it.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Friday, December 18, 2009
In December Drinking Horchata.
-I think I finally pinpointed why I only tepidly and half-heartedly watch NBA games: there are way too many fouls. I don't think it's theoretically possible for an NBA game to go four minutes without having to be stopped for a foul or some infraction. Any flow of play is immediately stopped for this. It's an ADD child's worst nightmare.
-While I've pushed Chuck Klosterman on my blog countless times before, for those who have not read his book Killing Yourself To Live get on that shit. And I mean it. It covers drugs, rock 'n' roll, the New York Magazine industry, plenty of relationship loathing and Jeff Tweedy. Smells like Americana.
While there's probably a fair argument to be made that half of Klosterman's subject material is superfluous banter from a man who spends too much time watching t.v. and listening to music, his writing is not only salient but infinitely interesting to no matter who reads it--even to those Americans like my current roommate who would rather eat yogurt out of Courtney Love's asshole than read a book. If you can get your paws on a copy, pages 83-89 represent the moment of ingenuity: Klosterman's relating of Radiohead's 2000 album Kid A to the 9/11 Terrorist Attacks. Prepare to have a complete and utter mind fuck by way of the North Dakotan ginger himself.
-Will a potential player strike be a death knell for MLS? Does anyone care enough to take me up on an offer to discuss?
-How interesting would it be to see a relegation system put in place for major American sports leagues? Maybe then I'd be saved from being force-fed Nationals and Grizzlies highlights year after year on Sportscenter.
I'm drained of forced creativity. Writing hypothetical questions and boredom-driven brain farts is tiresome at 11:45 on a Friday evening. I need to start varying my subject palette from Chuck Klosterman, Major League Soccer, sports and Radiohead. That's all.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal. And A Happy New Year.
-The last time I checked, MSN/Fox Sports wasn't supposed to be fucking TMZ.
Granted, the Tiger Woods Mistress saga has spread quicker than syphilis at a swingers' convention. It's exactly what Americans want: quick, easy dirt on a person of fame. Our insatiable appetite for cutting down people with fame--or power, depending on how you view Tiger Woods--only to eventually forgive them of their sin of acquiring their fame via us in the first place is the only thing that wakes us in the morning. We love building people up to tear them down only to build them back up again. As Americans, we're experts at playing moral court.
But I say we get the hell out of Tiger Woods' life.
Whatever he did isn't of our concern. The man is one of the best golfers in the world--maybe the best golfer ever. His infidelities and car accident should have absolutely no standing in our sports media.
But of course they do. Since we're a nation that's supposedly built on a foundation of a man's personal privacy, there's no better news than some person's personal news. The more famous the person, the better. The more women involved, the juicier every reported minute of the event becomes.
To hell with anything sports related anymore. Scores, trades, upcoming major events and tournaments? Neesh. Let's take a potentially career-threatening accident and turn it into a media fuckfest run amuck with hidden mistresses, spousal abuse and--of course--substances of all kinds!
Frankly it's tiresome. When did the American public feel the urge to judge whether one man's faults make or break his career? When did we decide to dig deeper than we really needed to? And who's to say that we have the right to point a dirty finger and judge?
The last time I checked, his morals and our vision of what his morals should be have absolutely no standing on his profession. Yet we hold a man's supposed list of infidelities in as high standing as his short game or his chip shot.
What a great country we live in.
-If Kevin McAllister's age in the original Home Alone was age 8 and the movie was released in 1991, then Kevin would be about 25- or 26-years-old now. Taking into account Kevin's apparent abundance of maturity during both Home Alone movies, what do you think Kevin would be like in 2009?
-Chip Tha Ripper's The Cleveland Show was released last week. Great, new stuff from Chip himself featuring appearances by Curren$y and Naledge with production by Chuck Inglish of The Cool Kids. Cool, kid.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Monday, November 23, 2009
It's Simple As That For Your Simple Ass.
If I were the ruler of the sports universe, here's how I would run things...
-It would be impossible for a team with a sub-.500 regular season record or a .500 record to win a professional sports league. As evidenced by Real Salt Lake's recent victory in the MLS Cup, any team who wins their respective league after slogging through the regular season just to luck into the last possible playoff spot that a particular sports league presents shows the league's flaws. Sports writers, don't give me these bullshit narratives that this team played as the underdog or that it was the team's destiny to win. That's complete horse shit. For the MLS soccer fan, they were robbed of any meaningful end of the season with a team masquerading and pretending to be champions holding that Anschutz trophy. What a crock.
-With that being said, stop this Americanized hegemony that MLS needs a playoff to remain relevant in the sporting eye. Lose the trite, consumerist playoff structure and go to the single table format. With that being applied, the true champion of MLS is Supporters' Shield Champion and regular points season champion, The Columbus Crew.
Now for the rest:
-Zydrunas Ilgauskas will lose a centimeter of his height every time he tries to take a jump shot for the Cleveland Cavaliers.
-If one claims to be a Pittsburgh Steelers fan but cannot show proof of ever living in a zip code within 40 miles of the city, a mandatory Steelers history test must be taken. It will test a fan's knowledge of the team pre-Super Bowl XXX. If failed, one would then automatically assume the title of "bandwagoner" and be sentenced to life as a Dallas Cowboys fan.
-An overwhelmingly high tariff will be imposed for any American Sports event to be played overseas, including preseason games. Also, an imposed "imperialism" tax would be placed on any team that would be created to play in an American sports league in any country besides Canada or the United States.
-No NHL team is permitted to exist south of the Mason-Dixon line. At least eight of the teams at any one given time must exist in Canada.
-All SEC, Big XII "South" and "southern" Pac-10 teams must play one team north of the Mason-Dixon Line past Thanksgiving every year. Teams south of the Mason-Dixon Line are permitted only to play teams north of the Mason-Dixon Line from the Big Ten, ACC and Big East (or Notre Dame). Also, teams south of the Mason-Dixon Line are only allowed to practice at their scheduled locations for three days prior to kickoff.
-The NFL would realign its conferences to better accommodate geographic location with the Baltimore Ravens switching to the AFC East, the Miami Dolphins switching to the AFC South and the Indianapolis Colts switching to the AFC North. The NFC would simply see the Dallas Cowboys join the NFC West and the St. Louis Rams join the NFC East.
-ESPN will make the Lou Holtz-to-Mark May ratio of speaking on College Football Live 2 to 1. However, Lou Holtz will not be permitted to speak about Notre Dame for more than three minutes at one time if Notre Dame is below-.500. Mark May is not permitted to speak at all for outlined portions of the show and must wear a "dunce" hat.
-For every "anti-soccer" rant for Jim Rome on his show, Landon Donovan will receive one free shot to kick him in the balls. On air. Live.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Head Full of Doubt. Road Full of Promise.
-I'm glad that the Ad Council has determined that now is the time to tackle annoying boyfriends. And that's not being sarcastic: I really am glad they've decided to address this issue. I don't think there's anything that gets under my skin more than tool-bag boyfriends. Maybe VH1 has already started to address this issue with "Tool Academy." However, I'd like to think that an actual PSA might put a halt to this kind of travesty. Remember kids, only you can prevent douschbag boyfriends.
-"Attention: Deficit" Wale's debut album. Solid debut with guest spots by Bun B, K'Naan, Lady Gaga and Gucci Mane. "Rolling Stone" gave it a 3 out of 5 stars and it's a great addition to his extensive body of internet mixtapes. D.C., Mury-land, Virginia, please stand up.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wilco Will Love You, Baby.
-When will the MLS change their playoff system? And I don't want this blurb to devolve into a bitter fan complaining about a system that he/she feels is unmeasurably flawed just because his/her team that he/she fanatically supports--and who happened to be the best team in the league per regular season standings--was just upset by the last seed in the entire playoffs and whose regular season road record was 2-11-2. Like, I just don't want that. But in a league where more than HALF of the teams qualify for the postseason, when does a "home-field advantage" actually become just that? The Columbus Crew just played Real Salt Lake (the team with the horrendous road record) in a two-legged, aggregate semi-finals that gave Real a home game and provided loads of traveling in an "Eastern" Conference semi-final. Real won the first meeting and was able to carry that momentum into Columbus' home game, winning the aggregate series 4-2. Now, all credit to Robbie Findlay and Andy Williams. Top notch stuff on their parts to perform when called upon. But there should have never been a Real home game in the first place. There should have been one game, winner-take-all at Columbus. If this were a perfect world, Columbus would already be champions with a single table format. But with an Americanized playoff system for MLS, Columbus suffered mightily from a format that rewards mediocrity and turns its back on the cream-of-the-crop.
-Also, check this:
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Here Comes That Shit Again, I've Got A Halloweenhead.
Quick thought, but...
does this season's Cavaliers team seem like foreshadowing for an ESPN Classic episode of "Top-5 Reasons You Can't Blame"? As in, "Top-5 Reasons You Can't Blame: LeBron James for Leaving Cleveland."
After an 0-2 start (the team's first since James' first season in Cleveland) and the continued incompetent showings of Ugly-Gauskis, Varejao and the rest of the funky bunch, this season seems almost too reminiscent of another "Cleveland" sports season. Granted, the season's only two games old. And, granted, I'm not an NBA--nor a Cavaliers--expert. But I'm getting this ominous feeling that an ESPN Classic episode lies in the wake of this season.
-Speaking of Cleveland, new Ray Cash mixtape is out: "Rosé Ray." Guest spots by Curren$y, Naledge and OU's Jesty Beatz. Cop it.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
It's From Backdrop. Read It Now.
This is an article that I wrote for Backdrop Magazine here down in Athens. For those of you who can't get this article because you're not in Athens, here you go. Thanks for supporting this blog.
The back end of the garbage truck devoured the old, brown couch like a 5-year-old massacres a celery stick. The sofa—a nostalgic, 70’s blast-from-the-past, cracked, and withered—disappeared as the garbage truck used its awesome power and rear-end loader to shove it into its mouth.
From the safe vantage point of an 1998 Oldsmobile Intrigue, watching this dismantling is cathartic.
The Waste Management employees—driver Rick Beasley with assistance from Route Manager Ted Hollingshed—diligently whipped the edifice’s waste into the butt of the monstrous green vehicle. Hollingshed—a former Waste Management driver—didn’t miss a beat in helping Beasley, even though he now works in Waste Management Corporate.
“It’s funny what kind of misconceptions you’ll hear about Waste Management drivers and garbage men in general,” Beth Schmucker, Waste Management Community Relations Manager, says from the back seat.
“They’re capable men who have been rigorously interviewed and trained to drive our company trucks.”
From watching and talking to Beasley and Hollingshed, any misconceptions about sanitation engineering seem moot.
“When people see garbage men they think it’s much dirtier of a job,” Beasley says.
Beasley mentions this before I follow him on his Athens route. He had been picking up trash since 4 a.m. His uniform is barely scuffed from the five-and-a-half hours of work he had already put in that day.
“People think it would smell bad—I was one of those people—but it’s not near as bad you think,” he says.
Beasley is a well-kept man in his early 40s. He’s donning a neon-yellow vest and brown boots. His sunglasses reflect my image as he affably explains the areas where he picks up trash.
“On Mondays I serve Greenfield, Tuesdays I serve Athens, Wednesday I go into Nelsonville, Thursday I go into Albany and Friday I serve The Plains.”
While serving each community, Beasley says there are differences between collecting trash in rural settings as compared to urban areas.
“When you’re in the city, it’s just so much quicker. In the country, it’s more driving and you’re trying to fit on these narrow, country roads. In the city it’s all about trying not to hit anything, so safety is the most important aspect about collecting trash in the city,” he says.
In the matter of an hour-and-a-half, I know more about sanitation engineering than any journalist should.
Waste Management, based in Houston, Texas, is the largest waste management company in North America. Its signature green “W” and golden “M” can be found roaming the streets from Los Angeles to Toronto to San Juan (although, ironically, they do not service the Ohio University campus).
Waste Management is leading the way in transforming waste usage in the industry. The company is starting to employ methods to not just store our waste, but also put it to use.
“Waste Management is very involved in waste energy,” Hollingshed says. “We’re one of the leaders. We’re starting to pick up the methane gas that comes up off our landfills and use that to provide power to different places. Rather than just burning it off, we’re using that gas and re-routing it into energy.”
Along with being the largest processor of waste in North America, Waste Management is also the largest recycler. Coupling with the company’s sustainability goals, Waste Management hopes to double its processing of recycled goods from seven million tons to 14 million tons by 2020.
Re-using landfill sites are also a top priority of the company.
“We are also involved with the Wildlife Habitat Council,” Schmucker says. “We’ve got 49 of our sites that are certified by the council, so we’re providing habitats for local, native wildlife and we’re reusing our land for uses other than what people conventionally think landfills are used for.”
Before following Beasley on the job, Hollingshed and Beasley recount tales of trash collections that have garnered odd discarded items. Although Waste Management collects and processes a myriad of objects, some things Waste Management cannot handle.
“The oddest thing I saw in the trash was a college student,” Hollingshed mentions. “Lucky for him, it was a rear-load dumpster, so we saw him before dealing with the trash.”
-Obama's on Letterman. True.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
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