Sly in Hat, San Jose, 1968.On Jim’s page there’s a story about Sly at Doris Day’s house, white girls, and coke (back when it really meant something. Now everybody’s got white girls and coke, you know? People used to ooh and ahh when they’d see me in the streets. Now the market’s been flooded and it’s sad for me.)
I couldn’t do what I do without the assistance of Nutella, Wild Pitch, Alpha Pup, Warren Zevon songs about LA and basically all Asylum records circa ’71-’72 on which my parents raised me, cute underpants, cute bathing suits, and yummy corporate coffee (I’m a bad person) with tons of sugar, cream, and cinnamon. And evidently all that my buddy Jati Lindsay needs in order to do his respective thing is some sort of camera (I’m guessing a Leica?) and a ride to the 930 Club in DC in late December 2009 on what must’ve been 2 very cold and wintry nights.
Along with the sheer beauty of these black-and-whites comes a live hip-hop lesson, in which we finally understand, once and for all, that the index finger-middle finger-ring finger mic grip, with the pinky providing steadiness and control, is THE industry standard.
Thus far, my day has consisted only of gazing intensely at these and wishin and hopin that the Roots|Nappy Roots|Grass Roots Tour (Summer ’10) passes through LA.
The Roots, “Water.” Dumbin, just embracing the dope like it’s a woman. Handclaps + bassline, circa ’02. I would physically make love to this song if I physically could.
“March 3, 2010: Supporters of the Iraqiya coalition attend a campaign rally in the Iraqi capital. The secular coalition, led by former Prime Minister IyadAllawi, has the support of many Sunni Arabs.” [MuhannadFala’ah / Getty Images]
The Wu is present in all aspects of my life. A special thanks to the Clan, Iraqis who turned out for the rally (especially that little girl, WHAT), and photog Mr. Fala’ah for making my normal breakfast routine of the LA Times and English Breakfast tea infinitely more hip-hop this morning.
“Our troops need to leave Iraq/ And Rap ni**as need to go on strike, so we could get more cash” – Rae.
A tourist poses next to Victoria’s Secret models following their appearance in New York’s Times Square, November 18, 2009. [REUTERS/Brendan McDermid]
That news ticker up there in blue behind the lanky girls!
“There are no accidents” – Elie Wiesel, et al.
This is just more propaganda being used to support the stereotype that fabulously successful swimsuit models such as myself are dumb. Public opinion continues to set my industry back tremendously, and I do not care for it one bit.
The title of the photo collection above is “me in a bathing suit as it relates to consumable pop music.” What can we glean from this?
1. That when you put something on the Internet, it’s there forever so you better be damn sure your future friends and boyfriends and progeny will be cool with it. Good thing I’m not running for President (sorry, gang!).
2. There are many great songs about flowers, as evidenced by the classics(?) culled from my very own record collection below*. There’s no Kanye or Outkast “Roses,” and no “Sugar Mag” or “Scarlet Begonias.” That’s amateur hour, you guys.
3. My English degree courses emphasized the deconstruction of literature and culture through a postmodern feminist lens. That’s great and all, but sometimes a girl is conflicted and likes to document her earthly body via digital media. Fun with hegemonic masculinity!
* The best of the best:
Dudley Perkins, “Flowers.” I’m hungry, filled with happiness all over, and my mouth is dry.
Ghostface,“Wildflower.”Ghosty fucked my friend then had the nerve to write a whole song about it!
Sonic Youth, “Wildflower Soul.”Sing yr child lights. Lights are gold. Sing yr child life. Wildflower soul. Kim & Thurston have a daughter and I’m not her even though I should be. Sperm Lotto, you suck.
The Carter Family, “Wildwood Flower.” Reminds me of my tumultuous, love-filled marriage to Johnny Cash.
The Pharcyde, “Soul Flower.” Had to mention it, otherwise I would’ve gotten my Cali ID revoked.
Janelle Monae, “Come Alive (The War of the Roses).” In my spare time I get funny haircuts, I’m friends with Big Boi, I sing like a bird, everyone in LA brags about knowing me because I’m such a badass, I surprise everybody by signing with Bad Boy, and I don’t pull weak-ass moves like putting pictures of myself in a bikini on the Internet. Get ’em, Miss Monae.
De La Soul, “D.A.I.S.Y. Age.” (no link because there are NO YOUTUBE UPLOADS??). Rebel. Renegade. Renegade reaching only top flight, can’t find your new height. Think you need a raise. PS, De La Soul means “From The Soul.”
3. LOS ANGELES – JANUARY 1: Kobe Bryant #24 of the Los Angeles Lakers reacts after making a last second shot to defeat the Sacramento Kings 109-108 at Staples Center on January 1, 2010 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Noah Graham/NBAE via Getty Images)
Recognize a real don when you see one. Sippin on booze in the house of blues. Or maybe shooter’s soundtrack by skyzoo. Cobra Clutch.
“Ran into Sadat X yesterday on Fulton. He told me he feels track bikes.”
Massan’sTumblr is a new fun thing in apt. 302. Scroll through and you get some Sadat X, a funny pic of Premier*, shiny bike chain rings, a mixtape (mixtape!) for free while supplies last, photographic evidence of secret boy adventures on wheels in SF, plus an old video of Massan’s mommy on Soul Train (page 3). Darling Internet, the way you are and the things you do make me high. Don’tcha know that I’m still in love with you (shonuff in love with you, haayyy).
In my dreams, by the way, I live in SF, surrounded by gay men who adore me and nice old bearded guys with great record collections just like my dad. Everybody has a Nancy Pelosi story (“She’s so nice!”). And when the weather gets too cold I still have the option of returning to bikini-land in apt. 302 ’cause I’ve kept it on retainer (I’m rich in my dream so it’s not a problem). Hit it, Cellski.
*Because I’ve lived a life of intrigue I can tell you with authority that Premier is quite the porn aficionado. Dude loves porn, I mean it. DJ Premier is the DJ Premier of producing hip-hop, and he’s also the DJ Premier of consuming porn.
A Hindu woman devotee offers prayers after taking a holy dip in the waters of river Ganga in the northern Indian city of Allahabad May 4, 2009. (REUTERS/Jitendra Prakash)
“The Big Picture,” The Boston Globe’s annual best-of photo feature, AKA its annual playing-with-my-emotions feature. Deadspin, I’m nothing without you. Thanks for the link.
Rows of 7.62 mm bullets are shown, ready to be shot by Afghan National Army recruits as part of their daily training at the Kabul Military Training Center in Kabul, Afghanistan on July 19, 2009. A massive effort is underway to train thousands of new troops to join the fight against the vicious Taliban-led insurgency. But the task is hobbled by the lack of mentors and high levels of illiteracy among the recruits. (AP Photo/Emilio Morenatti)
Military and forensic experts inspect the body of a man who was killed outside a nightclub in the border city of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico on August 31, 2009. A man was handcuffed to a fence and shot several times by drug hitmen outside a nightclub, according to local media. The assailants also left a warning message, known as narco mensaje, at the site of the shooting. (REUTERS/Alejandro Bringas)
Supporters of ousted Honduras’ President Manuel Zelaya clash with soldiers near the presidential residency Tegucigalpa, Monday, June 29. 2009. Police fired tear gas to hold back thousands of Hondurans outside the occupied presidential residency as world leaders from Barack Obama to Hugo Chavez appealed to Honduras to reinstate Zelaya as president. (AP Photo/Esteban Felix)
An empty wheelchair belonging to quadriplegic Patrick Ivison, 15, sits idle on the beach while Ivison, his mother, and friends prepare for another surf ride at the Cardiff State Beach in San Diego, California on October 6th, 2009.
(AP Photo/Lenny Ignelzi)
An Israeli boy takes cover under a desk in a bomb shelter at a school in Jerusalem June 2, 2009, after a siren was sounded during a nationwide civil defense drill simulating a rocket attack. (REUTERS/Ronen Zvulun)
U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer Bill Mesta replaces an official picture of outgoing President George W. Bush with that of newly-sworn-in U.S. President Barack Obama, in the lobby of the headquarters of the U.S. Naval Base January 20, 2009 in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. (Brennan Linsley-Pool/Getty Images)
Wadee Daoud, a five-year-old visually impaired Palestinian boy, reacts to light after a teacher opened the window blinds in his classroom at the Helen Keller Center for blind and visually impaired children in the East Jerusalem neighborhood of Beit Hanina September 10, 2009. The Center was founded as a home for blind girls by English missionary, Mary Lovell, in the 1890s. (REUTERS/Yannis Behrakis)
I’m guessing this one hits you especially hard, since it hit me especially hard and we agree on most things. You are some kind of beast if it didn’t…maybe not quite a rabid animal, but certainly not human.
Gangstarr – “Zonin’.” Look around, leaves are brown, and the sky is a hazy shade of winter. It’s cold out (62°F in my city), and this warms me up. Plus DMX’s voice is always comforting. Additionally: Guru likes to bone. He’s similar to many other rappers, and Tiger Woods, and every dude ever, in this way.
join me, won’t you, in gazing upon a Lansing, MSU, pre-Association Earvin Johnson, young n’ fine in ’79. All the dudes say damn, all the ladies say swoon, all the people of both genders say Pro Keds. Courtesy of SI.
If I weren’t from here I’d probably hate the Lakers and every last one of their courageous, handsome, and upstoppable point guards. If I weren’t from my dad and mom I probably wouldn’t be a lady musicnerd and wouldn’t have the hips that I do. If a frog had wings it wouldn’t bump its ass a-hoppin. So let’s stop talking in hypotheticals, people, and just enjoy it all.
I listen to everything at inappropriate volume in my headphones and this, I think, is why I seem to get so much more excited about songs than everybody else in my life. Billy Joel – “Big Shot.” A big fucking beast of a song, courtesy of Long Island and the year 1979, that will always always bang. Just always.