Monday, April 25, 2005

(start a rumor monday...)

in brief: tyquon 6x finds image of t.h.e.m. in pork chop sandwich

less than 72 hours after an image of the virgin mary was seen under the kennedy expressway in chicago, il (fecundmellow's exit of all exits), nation of islam member, tyquon 6x discovered an image of the honorable elijah muhammad (the first leader of the n.o.i.) in his pork chop sandwich.

'i was eating my so-called dinner when i noticed that my haphazard bite marks had created an image of the honorable elijah muhammad,' tyquon 6x said during a the nation of islam's public access show, bean pies, bow ties, and allah. 'the so-called white man would have me believe that what i saw was mere happenstance and a fluke. but in my estimation, the manifestation of the honorable elijah muhammad figuration in my chosen provision for sustentation is an affirmation that allah is--if i may borrow a quotation from my christian brothers still worshipping that blue-eyed devil, the so-called jesus of nazareth--the only way, truth, and light.'

though in recent history, christian figures have allegedly appeared in food--including a figure of jesus in a fish stick, an image of mother teresa in a cinnamon bun, the virgin mary in a grilled cheese (sold on ebay for $28k), and the baby jesus in popcorn (bidding on ebay began at $250)-- this is the first time that any such figures associated with islam have been reported.

the sandwich, preserved in a yellow and blue makes green ziploc bag, has been on display since last saturday. as of yet, no one has kissed or touched the sandwich. one mother was overheard saying, 'i seen how them catholics or whatever been kissing that stain under the highway. i mean, it look like him [elijah muhammad] and all, but i ain't 'bout to have my baby touch that sandwich. i knew tyquon 6x when he was just tyquon jenkins. i know where his mouth been.'

followers have also not left flowers, paintings and candles by the image as so many catholics have under the kennedy expressway (at fecundmellow's exit OF ALL EXITS!), yet enough african americans did show up at mosque 420 on chicago's south side to throw an impromptu barbecue and family reunion. if turn out continues to be this high, leaders of the n.o.i. have confirmed the minister louis farrakhan's intention to hold a million watts car stereo march in the mosque's parking lot.

mr. 6x has already placed the item for sale on ebay. as of this morning, the highest bid was 10 bean pies, 3 bootleg dvds of soul plane, 7 bow ties, and a vintage copy of muhammad speaks. though fecundmellow could not obtain a photo of the so-called pork chop sandwich, it has been confirmed that the meat in between the bread was in fact pig, and not chicken as some had suspected.

no word yet as to whether or not bro. tyquon will be reprimanded for partaking of the swine.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Friday, April 22, 2005

this weekend's essay: can you really tell a lot about a person by they shoes? (where they goin'? where they been?)

tuesday, i had on dirty (in my estimation) pumas, and i felt really bad about it. the whole day i was in a bad mood. interestingly, the night before, nahmix and i were having an i.m. conversation about shoes and whether or not one could assess a person by them. nahmix (who, i might suggest, has a very nice shoe collection herself) said not really, and i said i think maybe so. i, for example, pay a lot of attention to a person's shoes. in fact, for just about e'rybody in my life, i can recall what shoes they had on the day i met them (though nahmix and i disagree about what shoes she had on). i've even heard of people really looking at a person's shoes to get an idea about the person. i don't, however, know what a person's shoes say about him/her.

so...for this weekend, the assignment is: what, if anything, do a person's shoes say about him/her? do you pay attention to shoes? why or why not?

as always: 4-6 pages, double-spaced, times new roman font.

due: monday, april 25, 2005.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

membership has its privileges: parte dos...

fecundmellow presents: 'shit black people can do that other folks can't: an overview'

a follow-up to a prior post on the ways of white folks.
  • say nigga: this is pretty much self-explanatory, but i just want to reiterate the point. one of the benefits of being part of the 'in' (read: oppressed, marginalized, etc.) group is that you get to employ epithets non-pejoratively (i think i just made up another term). i, for example, get to call women bitches, black people niggas, and damn near e'rybody dykes. but mostly, i call e'rybody nigga. now don't get me wrong, there are surely a group of black folks--namely those of the civil rights era--out there who disagree with that statement. like, they don't think anyone should use the term at all. i can understand this, but at the same time, since this generation did such a terrible job of passing on the legacy, they can pretty much go to hell if they give me shit about using the word nigga. it's, like, my second favorite word. saying 'this nigga' sounds so much better and flows off the tongue more easily than 'this person'. but i digress. i just wanted to make sure that folks don't forget. there are very few exceptions to this rule, if any. if you're quoting text, i can understand that (just don't sound too happy when you say it; sound nervous, make it seem like you ain't never said that word before.) i can understand, for example, if i'm in the car with a white friend he/she is playing some hip hop, say jay-z, i say 'nigga what' and he/she accidentally says 'nigga who'. i know you didn't mean to say that, so i might let it slide. then again, it lets me know that you prolly say that shit when you're playing hip hop when black folks aren't around. that said, under no other circumstances are slip ups acceptable--not even when retelling a richard pryor joke. that said, no one has told me why it was ok for j.lo and fat joe to use the word in their songs. i didn't think ghetto privileges extended that far.
  • make up slang: black folks can really change the meaning of or make up a word, can't they? who knew diamonds went *bling*? black folks make up the best slang ever. hands down. here's a test, which sounds better? a) 'that concert was totally awesome!' or b) 'them niggas freaked that shit.' see? also, as a general rule, white people should really try to limit their use of slang, if they use it at all. i mean, it just sounds stupid. i was eating lunch at a restaurant, and i overheard this suburban soccer mom use the terms, 'ghetto' and 'bling'. all i could really say was, 'eeew!'
  • find a purse that matches that obscure color of lime green: this is also known as 'pimpin shit' (hence the name of the show 'pimp my ride'). this may be a midwestern thing. but, if you ever go to a black function, or a function that is going to attract a lot of black commonfolk (like a chittlin' circuit play), you'll see that black people added that extra syllable to co-oooorrrr-dinate. niggas be matching: hat, suit, tie, shirt, socks, and gators. it's as if the entire ensemble was made from the same ream of fabric. but that's the amazing part: it prolly wasn't, unless it was specially made. homegyrl will scour all the malls, marshall's, and value cities to find the bubble gum pink purse to match them pumps she bought at t.j. maxx. and believe me, she's gonna find it. what's more, her man (who's prolly blacker than train smoke, 6'2, and three hundred pounds), has a suit that is the same color. sure, he looks like a bottle of pepto bismol, or perhaps a box of good 'n' plenty, but you bet' not tell them they ain't clean. despite the fact that seeing such spectacles is often quite funny, the shit is also quite impressive.
  • make your party cool: for a lot of my life, i have been the only (or one of few) black person (people) in many circles i'm required to move through. as a result, i often get asked to parties where i will again be the only negro within lyching distance. most times i don't go. there are several factors contributing to this, 1) at a certain point, i don't have shit to say to these people; 2) too many white people and alcohol puts me on guard even more, and i just can't deal with the extra stress-- i don't need ulcers at 25; and 3) my idea of party and 'their' idea of party is, like, waaaay different. (who the fuck stands around and talks about kant at a party?) anyway, when i do decide to go, word of my impending arrival takes on paul revere type rhetoric, 'summer's coming! summer's coming!' of course, i show up, e'rybody pisses their pants because i'm there. next thing i know, i'm taking photo ops with the digital camera, kissing babies, and autographing breasts. i know that part of this is that diversity training you were required to take back in high skool, but it just cracks me up. i guess my blackness makes me the literal embodiment of cool.
  • play the race card: but admittedly, we often do this at the wrong time and incorrectly. kind of like alanis morrissette's usage of the term ironic, feel me? for those of you who would like to see evidence of the race card employed incorrectly, recall that crazy bitch omarosa, and/or the moniker/my nigga scene in beauty shop. that said, 'it's because i'm black' is unfortunately still a legitimate conclusion, though it is often used irrationally. 'it's because i'm white' like damn near never works. maybe this is why i think anti-affirmative action rhetoric is so stupid. '(is) it because i'm white(?)' sounds so fucking silly to me.
  • rap: here i go opening up a can of worms. i'm beginning to think that the beastie boys, eminem, and 3rd bass were anomalies, or, as my great-grandmother would say, 'had a nigga in the woodpile somewhere.' case and point: last sunday, the chix went to go see the roots in indianapolis. the original opening act (howie day?) canceled, so they got this rainbow coalition/integrated rap group called the cleptoz (look, i just gave y'all pub) to open for them. the group was made up of these two white dudes, a random black dude, and some reggae hype man that was prolly the best of them all, but didn't really say shit the whole set. now i'm not arguing that there is something essential in black people that makes them better emcees; i'm saying, a lotta niggas can't rap. but these dudes just had no stage presence whatsoever. like, they were sooooo wack: rhyme style so unsophisticated and unoriginal, as if they were trying extremely hard to pull the shit off. sure you're pacing the stage and sweating, but i'm not feeling you. maybe it's me. i have a tendency to giggle when white dudes do things like rap and dunk basketballs. as for white women, check out northern state.

fecundmellow essentializes regardless of race, color, creed, sex, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, et. al.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Monday, April 18, 2005

(start a rumor monday...)

kanye upset for not being nominated for 'best new pope'

kanye west is mad. really mad. and you know what happens when lil ye gets mad. that's right, he holds a press conference and throws a temper tantrum for the whole world to see. it seems that mr. west caught wind of the impending election of a new pope, and he's upset for not being nominated for the position. he told reporters, 'i can't believe i wasn't at least nominated. those cardinals know how god {sic?} i look in white. they straight dick clarked me, and i'm not going to keep quiet about it.'

for those of the fecundmellow reading public that don't recall, last february, west refused to apologize to dick clark after not winning any american music awards, though he did grab three grammys. it seems that garnering the music industry's most pretigious award did not assuage the wound; west still didn't back down from some of his prior comments about clark and the american music awards, 'i do not apologize to dick clark or the amas because you should not have had me perform and have me nominated for so many awards but not have an award.'

apparently, west doesn't think his limited eloquence {as illustrated in the above quote}, lack of knowledge of other languages {pope john paul ii spoke several}, or the fact that he's not a priest or affiliated with the catholic church in any way were acceptable reasons for what he calls a 'deliberate snub' by the vatican. 'all that talk about me not being catholic or whatever just doesn't make up for not nominating me. jesus recruited me to produce his album and he named me to replace judas as a disciple. if anybody should be pope, it's kanye west.'

when a reporter asked west if his lack of expertise in the catholic religion might have had something to do with not nominating him, that nigga ye had this quick retort, 'i had never directed a music video until i did john legend's "ordinary people". you see how that came out. i know i got popin' skills. a white man just don't want a nigga to shine. it's their loss, though. the vatican woulda got five mics if they'da fucked with me.'

yeah, five mics and a music video with a pope pimp slappin' and nun.

as of 5pm central standard time, a new pope had not been elected, but west had been added to the 'list of nominees'. {nah, i'm just blowing smoke up your ass. get it?}

in a semi-related, yet true story, last weekend, when saf, traci, nahmix, and i were walking down michigan avenue, some random black man walked by and said the following, 'john paul pope laying on the table with some snakeskin shoes on.'

that's the funniest shit i've heard all month.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

fecundmellow presents: summer m.'s community outreach program, 'helping make the world a better place'

this, dear friends, is a periodic blog where i list rules of conduct that will help certain things in life run a bit more smoothly. today, i present,

'how to act at an academic conference and not piss me off-- or others for that matter'

for the givers...
  • recognize your own bullshit. seriously, you're an academic, and nobody really gives a fuck about what you're saying. no one read your book accept maybe your mama (she lied and said she read it), the students you assigned the book to in your 'intro to whatever' class (they skimmed the intro), some over-zealous grad students (they ain't understand that shit), and maybe a few other folks who thought your shit my help them talk about their shit--otherwise known as other profs in your discipline. further, does your theory on the color blue in the 20th century american novel mean anything to anybody? no. stop pretending like the answers to all the world's problems are in your book. thus, do not answer a question with, 'well in my book...'. it will not end world hunger; it will not bring about world peace. quit acting like it will.
  • warn us. this is a continuation of the above. generally, it just cracks me up how academics take their bullshit so seriously. being an academic is prolly the most narcissistic vocation ever. therefore, i'd like professors, intellectuals, etc. to say the following before giving their papers or intellectual rambling, 'excuse me for the next 10-15 minutes while i masturbate in front of you.' really, it's simply intellectual masturbation that you're doing in front of us. and frankly, it seems to me that we (the audience) are simply voyeurs hoping we might get off, too.
  • stick to your time. it is generally understood that 10-15 minutes is the standard time for a conference presentation. this means that you will read a 10-page paper. this does not give you time to thank all the departments and offices that brought you here, or to give shoutouts to your undergrad sociology prof in the audience. it also does not give you time--unless it's part of the aforementioned paper--to tell a personal anecdote that only you find funny. which brings me to my next point...
  • use your time wisely. when they say ten minutes, they mean ten minutes. when they say your time is up, that doesn't mean tell us you're about to skip to your 2-page conclusion after you give us a snapshot of what else was in the paper. it means say thank you and sit your black ass down. maybe if you quit giving props or telling us about your trip to europe, you'da finished reading your bullshit-ass conference paper.
  • remember the conference theme. for example, if the conference is on feminism and hip hop, your topic should fit under the umbrella of feminism and hip hop. this really shouldn't be hard, given how large and often vague the themes of so many conferences are. basically, you have to work really hard to not have your shit under the given topics. by the way, make sure you have something to say. don't think your fame as a superstar professor allows you to show slides of your family and talk about yourself in the third person. remember, you're an academic superstar. that's like being captain of your chess team.
  • answer the question. which presupposes you listened to the question. granted, some people ask stupid, often non-sensical shit (which i'll get to later), but you should really try to speak directly to what the inquirer asked, and not go off on your own shit, or the shit you ain't get to in your allotted 15 minutes. it's like this: the audience was kind enough to watch you masturbate, but some folks need a lil extra help sometimes, ok? be considerate.
for the takers...
  • ask a question and then sit yo' ass down. there is no need for you to thank the panel for showing up, and the folks behind the scenes for putting together the conference. recall, these people looooove to hear themselves talk. why thank them for feeding their own egos? that's just silly. more specifically, you need to be working under the 20 second rule. there is no need to set up context for your question. the conference has a context and the panel has an even more specific one. if you need to set your shit up either a) you ain't asking the right question, b) it may be the right question but the wrong panel, or c) you don't what the hell you're talking about; more often than not, it's the latter. your shit needs to be specific and concise. you are also not allowed to make comments. remember this is a question and answer panel. while on it...
  • it ain't about you. there is no need to set up your question with a run-down of your c.v. no one gives a shit about what program you're in, how far along you are, what your project is, or that you made a robot that picked up paper clips for your 4th grade science fair. if they gave a shit, they would have asked you to be on the panel, and you would have told about your science fair project as a 'funny' anecdote to preface your paper.
  • don't work out your shit. no one wants to hear your tragic moolatte story. not black enough for the black kids, not white enough for the white kids. yeah yeah yeah. save it for behind the music or intimate portrait or your therapist. the academy is not a space for you to get all emotional. that's why it's the academy. we all know that black folks in the academy are grappling with their 'authentic blackness' and whatnot. that's why they always bringing up poverty and where they grew up and shit. african american studies departments were not created for poor nigs. it was created so middle class nigs could work out their issues. that's why they get all nuts when activists get in the house. three words: knee. jerk. reactions. it's ok, folks, we won't make you turn in your authentically black cards just yet.
  • don't beef with the panel. look man, it's cool to disagree, but there's a respectful manner in which to do so. for those of you who weren't there, this chick basically called melyssa ford a ho to her face during the hip hop and feminism conference last weekend. now she might be a ho, iono, but that ain't right, yo. the halls of the academy are not the space in which to start beef. got beef? make a dis record. speaking of melyssa ford: that ass!!!! (and according to her bio, she's a scorpio. melyssa, holla at me girl, i'm a pisces!!!)

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

i can be your hero, baby

so yesterday, i was cooking dinner (okay, well, fixing schwan's fried rice), and i got to thinking, 'what kind of super hero would i be?' i came up with the following:

name: ms. anthrope

location: the city of akademia

alter ego: summer mcd.

supersuit: a red t-shirt with a middle finger on the front, a black power fist on the back in the center of a green outline of africa; dark blue jeans (held up by a little earth seatbelt); a fresh pair of suede red, black and green pumas.

super powers: ability to instantiate in a single bound; freestyle rappin'; putting pressure and problematizing loaded/empty terms; sensing and stopping bullshit before it happens; invisiblity.

motto: 'nigga, please!'

weakness(es): pretty women who want to sleep with me (for whatever reason); theory; poisonous red kool-aid

transportation: a 6-speed, diamond graphite infiniti g35 coupe, all chromed out with them sprewells for shoes (they spinnin', nigga, they spinnin'!).

cool gadgets: a 'wrap it up' box; an ipod; bookbag with lots of inside pockets.

hideout: the ivory tower.

nemesis: the professoriat, a group of bullshittin'-ass black professors and alleged publik intellektuals, led by the evil professor racekard

sidekick: a white bichon frise that goes by the alias, naleezy the killer dog.

superhero affiliations: personality chix.

theme song: jean grae's, 'hater's anthem'

back story: in 1982, while trying to retrace the footsteps of their ancestors on the underground railroad, the former black nationalist parents of then 2-year old summer mcd. were both struck by an oncoming semi-truck as they gazed up into the smog-ridden sky looking for the north star in the middle of i-69. her mother almost escaped, but she fell into a rather large pothole that had been obscured from her vision by her quite long kente cloth dress. orphaned, summer mcd. was sent to live with brenda, a young, but loving woman who worked at the phone company in fort wayne, indiana, who'd seen the story on the evening news. though brought up in publik skool, summer mcd's uncanny ability to track and end bullshit was immediately evident. this skill, however, created anger and controversy by those she outed, and summer mcd. was forced to keep her supernatural ability under wraps, and for the most part she was allowed to do so, as bullshit in fort wayne was often minor and innocuous.

then, a 22 year old summer mcd. struck out for the big city: akademia. her mother, brenda warned her of the pitfalls and dangers of such a city, but summer felt she must help humankind survive the bullshit seemingly spewing from everywhere. she used her trust fund to build the ivory tower, and spent her days pretending to be an english ph.d. student in the belly of the beast, while fighting bullshit during workshops and akademik conferences. she spends most of her time fighting off the bullshit of her arch enemies, the professoriat and the evil professor racekard. they want to capture and brainwash her to become one of them. though the struggle gets tougher and more dangerous as our superheroine gets deeper and deeper into the belly, she vows to, 'keep it real.'

what kind of super hero would you be?

(btw, if you all dug tick me off tuesday, lemme know. i might keep it as a feature.)

oh, and sorry about the late edition 'start a rumor'. i hear it's a classic. you can read, just scroll...
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language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Monday, April 11, 2005

(start a rumor monday...evening edition)

queen latifah: 'i ain't really a queen.'

last week, while promoting her recently released flick, beauty shop, queen latifah revealed some disturbing news that put the studio audience of the late-night talk show into a frenzy, and surely shocked and awed (like surprised, not like the war) home viewers. when asked by the late night host if her time-consuming acting career affected her ability to rule effectively in her home country, she responded, 'you know, i ain't really a queen. in fact, my name ain't even latifah. in actuality, my name's dana, and i'm from jersey.' for what seemed like a second longer than forever, the talk show host stared blankly at the 'queen'; she took the opportunity to expound upon her confession in a recent interview with fecundmellow:

fecundmellow: so if you weren't really a queen, why'd you pretend to be one?

ql: look yo, i came into this game back in '89 [with her debut album, all hail the queen] when niggas was talkin' that off the wall back to africa shit [nas swipe]. hell, i don't even know what latifah means. i just took the first few letters of my high skool friends' names--lakeisha, tichina, and fatima--and added an 'h' at the end. they said the shit sounded african, so i put queen in the front, took my grandmama's curtains and turned it into a head wrap, pretended not to eat pork, and boom, i'm a conscious rapper. it's as simple as that. you can get the directions in the liner notes to xclan's first album.

fecundmellow: why tell the public? they like to pretend. they have no problem calling george bush president.

ql: i figured the release of this movie would bring about the most appropriate time to let the public know my real identity. obviously my demographic has changed. i did bringing down the house and this latest bullshit for white folks. crackas love coonery, and i love cheese. what's better than cheese and crackas?

fecundmellow: that's funny.

ql: i'm really getting tired of being asked what part of africa newark is in, so i just thought i'd come clean. in fact, i'm thinking of changing my name to jemima winfrey--which speaks more to where i am in my career right now. i'm off that native tongue righteous bullshit. nigga, i don't speak no swahili. y'all can call me j. dub for short. it really captures my current mindset.

fecundmellow: and what mindset is that?

ql: lemme break it down for you. jemima signifies the types of movie roles i'm taking to get this cheddar. don't front. i know you saw bringing down the house. you rented it from that blockbuster on foster and broadway--by the way, you need to pay your late fees, they got your picture up and e'rything. anyway, in beauty shop i'm acting a straight fool. i got this moniker/my nigga joke, it makes no sense, but it's funny as fuck. there is weave e'rywhere, i'm kissing africans, i'm making white girls feel better about themselves, cheryl underwood selling catfish, alfre woodard quoting maya angelou. it's off the hook.

fecundmellow: and the winfrey part?

ql: now the winfrey is a shoutout to my girl o, because i'ma pimp these bitches til i got oprah-like cheddar. i'm talkin' beaucoup bucks, nigga. theoretical scrilla. i mentioned that bitch like twice in the movie. who knows how many times i name-dropped cover girl.

fecundmellow: i want pancakes.

ql: i think i got a bottle of syrup in my bra.

fecundmellow: can i lay my head on your bosom?

ql: can i touch your ass?

fecundmellow: nevermind.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

fecundmellow presents: summer m.'s second poem


spoken word is for
pseudo-poets high on green
tea and incense fumes

*gets kicked off stage*

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

tick me off tuesday
perhaps the beginning of another weekly series, but we'll see.

so i was reading spin magazine today (i don't think i've ever read spin magazine before, but procrastination makes you do silly, silly things), and i read some bullshit that kinda pissed me off. well, not really, but i just have no tolerance for stupidity and whatnot. anyway, i thought i'd share it with you--whoever you are (forgive me, but the stats say that my blog has sunk in popularity. oh well. i digress...). anyway, according to my afternoon reading:

said it all, all falls down

allegedly, kanye west is producing tracks for lauryn hill's new album. jesus (walks). you know, back in the summer/fall of '98, i pledged to love lauryn hill the mostest, even if she shit on wax and sold it at best buy. but l-boogie is really testing my loyalty here. fuck common, saf, this is why we should really pissed. (ok, maybe just me.) i just hope she has sense enough not to let him talk on any of her tracks and/or direct any of her videos. the completion of her new album brings good and bad news. the good news: another fugees album (and maybe a tour!?!?!). the bad news: the fugees also consist of wyclef and pras.

the world according to 50 cent

50 cent cracks me up. i mean, on one hand, i just can't deal with him. on the other hand, i know at least a few bars to most of his songs. anyway, i thought i'd share with you some of 50's philosophy as revealed in his spin interview:
  • he wrote 'candy shop' because he didn't think the male perspective was well represented in hip hop. that is, he felt that the male perspective (when it comes to sex) is often obscene. he therefore wrote his lyrics without obscenities. you be the judge.
  • he also wrote 'candy shop' as a song that was accessible to children. meaning, he wanted children to be able to sing the lyrics without really knowing what they mean. that way, when lil boys say, 'i'll let you lick the lollipop' to lil girls, they're really talking about suckers. i believe this is what my girl, saf would call nig logic.
  • for 50 cent, selling records is like selling drugs.
  • he also videotapes all his sexual encounters with a surveillance camera. you know, for legal purposes. (don't worry, he warns folks when they enter the hotel room or wherever he bones.)
there she blows! or, moby, you're a dick.

other than 'porcelain,' as a general rule, i don't really fuck with moby. but when you're procrastinating, you read whatever. anyway, i'm reading this interview and as always moby is on some righteous bullshit which was expected and is fine i guess. but then i get to the end of the interview. moby is asked about this cafe in ny that he's invested in; i guess he's been spending a lot of time working there or whatever. he talked a little about this endeavor, and then proceeded to talk about how he didn't really understand how and/or why celebrities give their names and likeness to ventures when they're not really involved. he cited beyonce's linkage with tommy hilfiger as an example of this. which is cool. whatever. he made his point.

but it didn't end there. the interviewer then suggested that a moby/beyonce beef would be kinda dope (recall: eminem had issues with moby a little while back). but moby replied, and i quote, 'oh, it wouldn't be good, because then all of a sudden jay-z and damon dash would be involved. i'd find myself in the bottom of the hudson river.' w-t-f? i can't even begin to unpack this ignorance. even if he was joking--and for the record, i cannot imagine moby being funny--this shit is not at all humorous. and this nigga thinks he sooo fucking deep. in fact, just because of his stupidity, i wouldn't even be mad if somebody engaged in some mob-like activities that starred his pasty, bald ass. of course, he'd prolly say he was misquoted, misrepresented, or something like that. moby: dick.

oh, and for the record...

if mcdonald's decides to extend its offer of 1-5 bux per mention to bloggers, i have the following response:

big mac, mcd l.t., a quarter pounder with some cheese, filet o fish, a hamburger, cheeseburger, happy meal, mcnuggets, tasty golden french fries--regular and larger sizes, salad: chef or garden, or a chicken salad, oriental, big big breakfast, egg mcmuffin, hot hot cakes and sausage, maybe biscuits, bacon, egg, and cheese, coffee, danish, hashbrowns, too....

or maybe just:

big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac big mac...

i'm just playin', moya. (unless they really wanna pay my broke ass.)

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison

Monday, April 04, 2005

(start a rumor monday...)

two days after daughter's buriel, schiavo's parents back in court

4. april. 2005-- terry schiavo's (starved) body was cremated and interred saturday, april 2, amid more protests from her family. the court ordered cremation was the final act of a long, drawn out battle lasting 7 years. though schiavo's body has been buried, members of the schindler family, including schiavo's mother, father, and brother, are once again appealing to the supreme court. they are seeking a court order that grants them permission to mourn the death of terry schiavo longer than her husband, michael schiavo.

it seems that beef between the schiavo and schindler camp began 13 years ago, two years after michael schiavo was legally appointed terry schiavo's legal guardian. in 1990, terry schiavo collapsed in her home due to an apparent potassium imbalance. oxygen flow to her brain stopped for nearly five minutes. ironically, doctors believe this chemical imbalance was due to schiavo's bulimia, an eating disorder. in 1992, michael schiavo was awarded $1 million dollars in a malpractice suit; $700,000 was placed in a trust fund to pay for schiavo's care. it seems the battle began when the schindlers did not receive any part of the million dollar court award, and allegedly, schiavo's father promised to make her husband's life a living hell. in 1993, the schindlers petitioned to have michael schiavo removed as their daughter's legal guardian. 5 years later, michael schiavo submitted his petition to have the feeding tubed removed; in 2000, a judge claimed that her tube could be removed, but two days after its removal in august 2001, the tube was reinserted while the florida 2nd circuit court heard an appeal. after lengthy court battles, schiavo's feeding tube was removed in late march of 2005, and she died two weeks later. the schindlers then requested that the courts prevent schiavo's cremation, as they sought to bury her in florida so that they could visit her grave. last tuesday, the court ordered that michael schiavo had every right to cremate his wife.

and now: this morning, the schindler family lawyer submitted a request to the courts that the schindlers be granted legal permission to mourn the loss of their daughter/sister longer than michael schiavo. supporters are already gathering in front of the court house with signs showing support for the schindler case. 'we believe the schindlers have every right to mourn the loss of their beloved daughter and sister for the longest,' one supporter told reporters. 'mrs. schindler herself has already cried 12,396 tears, and used more than 500 tissue to blow her nose and wipe her eyes. in fact, both mr. and mrs. schindler have inked a deal with puffs. we are here to show our undying support for the schindler cause.'

the schindlers released a short statement through their lawyer, 'if michael schiavo cries 15,000 tears, we will cry 15,001. he may have taken her feeding tube out, he may have cremated her body, but he will not out-mourn us.'

members of congress have already agreed to hold a special session if need be, and 'president' bush was overheard saying that he supports the schindlers and their quest to mourn. 'i don't care if i have to hold onions under their eyes, them schindlers are gonna get to cry the most. they have my undying support,' he said. 'the american publics beware. any water you see coming from michael schiavo's eyes, well, there's a saying in texas and i believe they say it in other countries, too: them's crocodile tears.'

terry schiavo's brother has already issued a challenge to michael schiavo. bobby schindler has recently recorded a battle rap called, "not by the hairs of my schinny schin schin," that can be heard on the new dj clue mix-tape currently circulating in underground hip hop circles. (along with the above mentioned puffs deal, bobby schindler has signed with dame dash records. his album tentatively titled, in search of bobby schindler is due out early next year.)

there is no word yet on whether or not michael schiavo will respond. (but fecundmellow mighta heard that he's getting rap lessons from jay-z.)



and, uh, go see million dollar baby.

language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. language alone is meditation. ~toni morrison