Category Archives: THIS GUY

On some teleprompter shit I got you watching your words.


“Cognitive Dissonance”: a Blog Post in Two Acts.


I. “Little Brother’s Retirement Party” in the Village Voice. The article is good because Brandon Soderberg wrote it, even though he did that thing in music articles that I hate and that is just so popular right now – “(Musical artist) is _____ (doing something seemingly unrelated to music, present continuous tense); ______ (location and mood are established, musical artist shows human/humble side while maintaining artistic sheen and allure).” Soderberg is my OG imaginary writing/nerding-out buddy from way way back; he does a fine job with this piece. Additionally, the picture that accompanies the article is dreamy, I’m introduced to the category “John Kerry hip-hop” and shall henceforth use the term whenever possible, and for everybody who makes fun of me for singing along with J. Biebs on Power 106, Phonte would like to punch you in the mouth! We’re part of the unapologetically-liking-bad-music army. Join us or perish.

Dude, if you like Gucci Mane’s music, he says, like it! Rock with us because you like us, not because of what you think it represents or whatever ideology you pulled out your ass and put on us.

YEAH, I exclaim, WHAT HE SAID! BURR!

Then the article reveals that Drake calls Phonte his favorite MC, which casts a dreary shadow upon an article dedicated to the greatness of Little Brother. “Phonte is my favorite MC,” I imagine he yelled, in that loud, LOUD fucking monotone. By the way, how odd that I like Bieber the Canadian Elf extensively more than a semi-attractive rapper who does songs with Bun B. Hm. Never thought I’d see the day. Turn and face the strange. Ch-ch-changes.

II. Montgomery C. Burns and his sideways smirky face and sideways smug talk, quoted in Time.

Boastful braggery is a tough one to pull off without a bag of rhymes and an amazing producer; Dick Cheney has neither, so he never stood a chance with that quote above. When I first read those words, it sounded self-congratulatory and obnoxious. That’s sort of the best thing I ever did, telling another grown man to fuck off. I RULE. Bow in the presence of greatness. It’s not that simple, though, because when you think about it, the words he said are true. It is the best thing he ever did, mostly because it was a rare moment in which he did not increase Halliburton’s profits or send 19-year-olds to the desert. In my soft and girly moments, I think that maybe Dick’s acknowledging what a ghastly job his administration did, and how evil permeated the landscape between the years 2001 and 2008 in America. Maybe he’s trying to apologize. This throws me, because Cheney scary bad man! My head hurts.


“Worldwide trunk funk, no jazz on the East.” A Kool Keith + Doom tag-team rap song, possibly one day? Alas, the Music Gods have not yet made it so. My heart and mind couldn’t sustain the libidinous energy flowing through my slender body upon first listen. Plus I’m sure there’s beef somewhere in their history. Boys and their feelings, you know?

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“Everything you did has already been done” – Lauryn, ’98.

This fucking song. This fucking guy.

Everyone knows I like to dance to the pop jams (“Gangsta Luv,” hello!; “My Chick Bad”–especially that part about milk–HELLOOOO). And everyone knows I miss OutKast. We all do. I know it hurts, I know. (Ssshhh. There, there.) But the widespread blog fellatio for this B.o.B.! All I see is a cute 3 Stacks cadence impression, a Chappelle face impression*, and a mean ability to pick a good chorus that distracts us from paying attention to the words coming out of the mouth during verses. He was great in ’08 so I’m not sure what happened, but if you’re not outraged you’re not paying attention.

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1. “It’s hard being a professional rapper.” (That’s what he says between choruses, above). “My days are pressure-filled.” I know dude, and that’s why I didn’t become a rapper.

2. The only MC who can pull off complaining about money, industry pressure, sex with models, and identity crises is the fantastic Christopher Wallace.

3. That chorus is fun, obviously. I sing along with it in the car. There’s no fun anywhere else in the song, however, even though fun is supposed to be a key element in pop music. Ergo, my vitriol toward this slice of pop music.

4. OH SHIT, Devin & Andre already did this song and it’s called “What a Job.” How soon we forget.

“It’s hard being a professional rapper,” the skillful and engaging version:

PS, I still need an apology for that “Baby you the whole package/plus you pay your taxes” line. As a lady, I find dumb rhymes insulting. A handwritten note would be nice, and maybe some flowers.

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THIS GUY: Tim Tebow

Tebow lets the inferior sex touch him.

Pat Robertson in Cleats vs. my ladyparts!

Presenting the first THIS GUY of the new year, Tim Tebow, pointed out and shamed on this here weblog because of his adoption of the tiiiiiired old routine that Christ-y types have always used: volunteering to instruct you (and me) on how to live. Must we do this dance yet again?

Tim, Heisman-winning QB for the insufferable Florida Gators, soldier for Christ’s army, and son of Evangelical missionaries, will appear with his mother in an antiabortion commercial during the “Super Bowl” (TM? All Rights Reserved? I should just call it The Big Game like on beer commercials). The Tebows will plead with ladies not to kill any tiny humans they may have growing inside them. Because it’s the Tebowsfucking business, that’s why.

The commercial has the creepily ambiguous title of “Celebrate Family, Celebrate Life,” which, during the Super Bowl, means Celebrate Red Stripe, Celebrate the Saints’ Victory, but which the Tebows will push as a catch phrase intended to make slutty ladies think twice about being slutty. As part of the deal, if every pregnant woman carries every pregnancy to term, Mrs. Tebow and Tim are going to offer to babysit, help us with the cost of raising a child, and make sure that all of the existing kids whose parents weren’t equipped to care for them will swiftly move into the Tebow family home. Oh wait, no. That’s not the case. [HuffPo]

Much to my amusement, Tim’s major at Florida was Family, Youth and Community Sciences. How strange – I too have studied this very topic, and I do believe that the research-based science of families and communities tells us repeatedly that when women aren’t trusted to make decisions about when they will give birth, Everything Gets Fucked Up. This includes Families, Youth, and Communities.

ANDANOTHERTHING: It’s rather upsetting that someone native to Florida – the state geographically closest to the nation of Haiti and the state home to the highest number of Haitian-Americans – is concerned about unborn baby people who aren’t here yet and who is starring in a multimillion-dollar commercial for Focus on the Family (ugh), when there are lots of people alive in Haiti right now who are dying and could use multi millions of dollars. YEAH I SAID IT.

Tim’s just the latest in a string of dudes who have that killer cocktail of deep cluelessness and aggressive pushiness, presented under the guise of spreading the word of peacemonger and poverty-fighter Jesus Christ. My response to these people, distilled to its essence, is: I’m grown, dude. I’m grown. Kindly remove your Bible from my reproductive system. And although football is beloved in apt. 302, the only person round here I want flowing like Christ when he speaks the gospel is a) uh, Christ; and b) uh, Robert F. Diggs in ’93. There are lots of ways to say back the fuck up (swoon, ’93!), but in 2010 there’s some growth occurring in apt. 302; sometimes cuss words are just so juvenile. Therefore, I’ll simply offer the gently suggestive Cool Out, Son.

Really, Tim, REALLY. Cool out, son.

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Perhaps if you want to put your penis in (lots and lots of) other ladies you should not take a wife.

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I don’t know, Eldrick…the idea just came to me. Got these crazy thoughts running through my brain sometimes, you know?


PS,
HA-HA! and ZOINKS!, you’re the creepy dude at the cluuuub in Vegas. I never saw it til now. You do it to yourself, you do/And that’s what really hurts.

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Not just ANY mother, silly; THIS mother.

there’s a whole lot of rhythm goin round.

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I’d also like more information on

getting up,
getting down,
hitting it,
quitting it,
putting a glide in my stride and a dip in my hip,
going beyond merely knee deep,
figuring out why I must feel like that and why I must chase the cat, and
doing things to the roof – including but not limited to raising it and tearing it off the sucker.

Funkadelic – “Cosmic Slop.” Because it’s what we’re all wallowing in at this very moment.
And because even though it rules I just can’t bring myself to post that MC Hammer song.


mp3.

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Like/Don’t Like, 09/10/09

I LIKE: old RapPages covers shot by B+.

Nov. ’95

Sept. ’95

AND I LIKE:


Board game high jinks while drinking some malt liquor in my black wig and white bikini.
With my dude.
In 1970.


OH, and

hold on, what’s this? Why, it’s something I DON’T LIKE:

You, herb-ish Caucasoid Tumblrist posting a love letter to the tennis sweater,


while, just above it, posting some Biggie lyrics. Because plainly, you know, you are down as fuck and we all know it.

It looks like this on my computer screen and it’s the juxtaposition that hurts my feelings:


Dear sir, You’re not po-mo highbrow/lowbrow, country club to the strip club. You’re lame and you’re not a fashion-forward superfoxy beautiful MC from Atlanta. Therefore, you cannot pull this off. Therefore, stop it.

I’m the hardest person in the world to offend, most times; deviant sexual practices and sexist jokes* are pretty great. However, Andrew McCarthy here, misappropriating my precious, darling hip-hop in between posts celebrating his cashmere socks and ascot makes me shaky and feverish, it offends me so. Country club gear will not be dope until at least 100 more years, unless: you are a member of a group that has historically been/still is excluded by country clubs and you’re donning the gear because you’ve got sparkling wit and tight irony-fu. This has been the latest edition of “Fashion rules from the girl who only wears jeans, dresses and bathing suits.” You kind of need me, admit it.

(The irony of a middle-class/suburbs-reared Caucasoid lady blogger claiming hip-hop and needing to defend it from those who would besmirch it is not lost on me, by the way. But who made you the hiphop police? That’s KRS-One, duh.)

Dudes who wave their cash around Will Not Be Seeing Me Naked, thank you. Ugh, it’s so West Egg. One day I’ll use his toothbrush to clean the toilet. I swear to god I hope we definitely do NOT fuckin die together.

Clipse – “Dirty Money”

mp3.


*Why do brides wear white?

Because it’s good for the dishwasher to match the stove and fridge.

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Joe Wilson talks loud, says nothing. And Monch weighs in.

LOS ANGELES, apt. 302, Sept. 9:

Rep. Joe Wilson from the Overflowing Stockpot of Dumb/Crazy known as South Carolina tries to interrupt my BOYFRIEND while he’s TALKING and this makes me simultaneously amused and horrified.

“You lie!” Joe yells at President DreamComeTrue. Then he takes his ball and goes home because, you see, his heckle-y plan was a big failure. Obama brushes it off with a supercool “Not true” and maintains his mass appeal/Teflon Don/Billy Dee Williams/Atticus Finch supersteez. And then “Triumph” plays in my head.

Then my other boyfriend, that Pharoahe from Queens, asks to see Joe in his office.


And my daily recommended allowance of 5th-grade humor gets satisfied. The end.

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Everything means less than zero.


GQ mag ranked America’s 25 douchiest colleges since I guess they felt like this needed to be done? The whole list is pretty predictable–Ohio State, Arizona State, Texas, Notre Dame, USC (I love ‘SC but, yeah, I see it)–and filled with the expected references to rich kids in blazers chugging substances. I do like the Paul Wolfowitz mention, though (U of Chicago; hey! Just like noted THIS GUY, Firas!) and the mention of NYU teeming with “Yeah, I did that when I was 17”-ers (’cause that one’s true). That part about OSU dudes writing letters to Maurice Clarett is rather comical, too. Brown is ranked #1 because according to GQ, the height of d-baggery for college kids is putting together MoveOn.org fundraisers and using fancy terms like cultural hegemony; the writer of the piece even pulls out that old “limousine liberals” dis like it’s ’96! Clever! At least the writer is an equal-op critic, though: Charter College in Wasilla gets a place on the list (“‘FREE LEVI’ sticker on the bumper of a Dodge Ram dually,” that’s kinda great), and those Jesus-y types down at Bob Jones U get appropriately clowned. I enthusiastically endorse this.
I can’t seem to find a byline for this piece, however. Bring ’em out bring ’em out, GQ! You ashamed of your writing staff?

And then there’s Morehouse, the winner of the coveted “We Need a Black School” slot on the list. I just hadn’t done enough cringing yet this morning; I’d be lost without you, Gentlemen’s Quarterly! Let’s do this.



First of all, don’t nobody disparage the alma mater of Tre Styles and get away with it. I am not the one.

Additionally, the description makes my racism feelers get a little tingly. That whole blurb just makes me feel antsy and uncomfortable, even if I can’t articulate it. But I’ll try:

Look how psyched this guy (anonymous GQ writer) is on his description. “Fonzworth Bentley douche.” That’s not funny ’cause it’s not 2003. The inclusion of the term “black socialite.” (Black socialite, the writer says, in case you missed it). And OH those wacky Black collegians with their hip hop shows and the way they get all militant, despite the fact that they’re well on their way to law school! The anonymous writer’s point that Morehouse is filled with overachievers. Except wait, being an overachiever alone is not d-bag-ish, so why is the school on the list? Because it’s a Black school, filled with Black overachievers! And that’s…um…douchey (?). It is, anonymous GQ writer says, if you are a Black overachiever who has the nerve to claim that there’s a white power structure in place while living it up in your fancy sweaters, presiding over your fraternity. No white power structure would allow men of color to get Bachelor’s degrees and host music showcases, see? So douchey and unnecessarily complain-ey, those Morehouse dudes! Anonymous GQ writer(s), Schoolly D is on line 1 for you.

Since I excel in etymology, Def Jam in the ’80s, El-P, hips, ’90s everything, bearded white man music, and little else, I had best stop my rant now. I’m not too eloquent when it comes to discussing cultural identity and notions of power and privilege in America. The GQ piece and all similar content is better left to my dude Cornel West. Or Harry Allen. Or bell hooks. But since everybody knows I love a weird segue in a blog post: it’s Declan McManus’s birthday (08/25/54),

he has ruled my life with his songwriting and melody-writing abilities, and here he is, singing about racism in a subversive and thought-provoking way. OH ELVIS.

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Photo software hooligan annoys, confuses, upsets 5’7″ lady blogger.

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You don’t know this guy, but you kiiiinda know this guy. You know his work. And if I have done my job appropriately as a leftist girlnerd broadcasting from apt. 302, soon you’ll join me in harboring hot, coursing THIS GUY frustration due to his actions as described below. This guy’s a 20 year old University of Illinois student named Firas Alkhateeb. One fateful night not so long ago, he was doing some PhotoShop-ish tinkering on his computer, “Joker”-ized President Dreamboat’s handsome face on the cover of Time, put it on his Flickr page, and was done with it.


Except, HOLLLLD UP and/or wait a minute.

Then here’s what happened. Somebody else took the picture from the Flickr page (without mentioning this to Alkhateeb), slapped “socialism” underneath it, and put it all over your city and my city to make an unoriginal statement about Obama being our very own Hugo Chavez, only better-looking and in a Hartmarx suit. AAHAHAHA. See, it’s funny, ’cause Obama’s a Socialist! Just like…uh…the Joker as played by Heath Ledger and brought to you by Warner Bros? OHWAIT. See, that doesn’t make one goddamn bit of sense. Also, it’s the opposite of funny and is most definitely not fresh or irreverent in its message. Also, the Joker was not a Socialist. Also, everyone having access to health care in the richest country on Earth is not Socialism. And this isn’t Gotham. So stop it.

(I have entertained the thought that the person behind the posters could be some wiseass dude with a CalArts degree who’s actually pro-Obama and is trying to give us all a big postmodern headache by forcing us to talk about the characterization of political figures as public creations, assigned meaning by members of the culture and then figuratively passed around like action figures. However, the fact is that the work depicts Obama looking simultaneously scary and foolish, and that in itself is a statement about the man despite any ironic interpretations.)

So again, my man Firas Alkhateeb, 20 years old, in college, just playing around with some software, created the “Joker” image innocently enough. The “socialism” addition came later, thanks to some unidentified person – so it’s not Alkhateeb’s editorial about the President you see in these posters. Somebody came in and adjusted his original picture a bit in an effort to express some political leanings. Lovely; I disagree with the message in this case but I support the concept. And what’s also lovely is that Alkhateeb himself supports the concept; your dude does not seem concerned at all with getting paid even though the popularity of the design would almost guarantee it (“It would be nice,” he says, “but it’s not that big of a deal”). Thus, public art as common medium, free-flowing between members of a culture. Lawrence Lessig game proper. I’m in.

HeightFiveSeven cannot support, however, passively dipping your foot into the shallow end of the pool when there’s a fucking game of Marco Polo happening in the pool right in front of you. Also, it’s your pool. And you’re just sitting there, watching.
(there’s a metaphor in there somewhere; lemme tinker with it a little more and get back to you).

I’ll back up. Alkhateeb is critical of President Dreamboat, as he thinks his performance so far has been underwhelming: “We don’t have to ‘hero-worship’ the guy,” he says. Sigh. Heeeere we go. That’s nothing this blogger hasn’t heard right-wing jerkfaces say a hundred times before; what can you do. But Alkhateeb goes on to say that he’s a Kucinich supporter.
(That’s the guy from Ohio who never stood a chance of becoming President because he was too much, um, like a Socialist. My mother the superleftist luuuuuhves Obama but still has not recovered from Kucinich’s defeat.)

So. Obama is too liberal, the poster tells you. Just look at the thing; blind man can see it, like James Brown always said. Even DJ Diabetic himself took a break from protecting his pristine brick from pesky graff writers to describe how succinct and clear the message conveyed in the “socialism” posters is (Obama is too liberal). It’s a message that’s pedestrian and lame and built upon falsehoods about death panels, but goddammit if it’s not a finely-distilled and clear message and that, no matter what the message, is the most important part of having a super tight street art game.

And Firas Alkhateeb is busy being 20, attending classes, going to Stereogum and checking Facebook 4 or 5 times a day, doing everything he should as a collegiate guy. And all the while the image he created is being co-opted to provide some striking, memorable as all hell, and visually persuasive material for the guys on the other team. Therein lies my concern. The situation’s like somebody boosting the image of my body up at the top of this page, adding “GIRLS SHOULDN’T LISTEN TO STEVIE WONDER” on the bottom, making it into a paste-up all over the metropolis, and me not really minding so much that my image is being used for the campaign against girls listening to Stevie Wonder. And then me reiterating my belief that girls don’t listen to enough Stevie Wonder in my interview with the LA Times.
(Please smack me in the mouth if I act like this; thanks in advance)

Firas can certainly be a 20-year-old in college who wants to sit this one out. I get it. We all have self-determination. He didn’t slap “socialism” under the Joker’s chin and didn’t ask to join the discourse; I get that too. I’m an understanding soul. But he’s still THIS GUY and you know it. There’s no fire on his part, no anger, no showing and no proving. You’re allegedly so Kucinich, Firas. Lemme see. Simon says, according to Monch, gettthefuckup.

I can’t say it as well as 1994 can say it, and I damn sure can’t say it as well as representatives from the state of Georgia can say it. So even though this song lyrically pleads for you to stop fuckin around and stop smoking so much goddamn weed and for you to get your head right, in keeping with the theme of this post I have co-opted the art of another party for the purpose of spreading my own message:

FIRAS. STOP LETTING THEM MURDER YOU ON YOUR OWN SHIT. Love, Logan.

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