So, back in the day when my buddies and I used to karaoke Beastie Boys on our Friday nights, we decided to do a music video for (what we thought at the time, but was later disproved by our Beasties' Bracket) the greatest Beastie Boys' song, "So Whatcha' Want." One segment preceding the actual video involved each of us telling a terribly horrible joke. I don't know why we thought this would be a good prologue, but we did it.
My buddy J2K's joke was: "Why was the tomato blushing?"
Answer: "Because it saw the salad dressing." BOOM.
Today in class, a classmate gives me some Laffy Taffy's, I open it, eat it, and then think to myself "I wonder what the Laffy Taffy jokes are like these days."
The picture quality is poor, but it says "Why was the tomato blushing?"
11 years later, I text J2K with that question, and the reply: "Ah man cuz it saw the salad dressing."
You may think that that's the Beastie Boys from the 80's, but you'd be wrong.
This is a screen shot from a new short film directed by BB MCA called Fight for Your Right Revisited, which follows the 'Boys after they 'leave' the party at which the "Fight for Your Right" music video takes place, and will premiere at the Sundance Film Festival in 2011. Those three guys are actually, l. to r., Seth Rogen, Elijah Wood, and Danny McBride (for some reason, a hobbit playing AdRock and two dudes that usually only star in idiotic stoner movies playing Mike D and MCA is really, really funny to me)
Here's a screen shot from the original video, just for comparison:
(According to casting reports, Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly, and Jack Black are in it, too. Anybody down for a trip to Sundance?)
This is a sequel I actually support -- Unlike something like, say, The Fantastic Four sequel, or Weekend at Bernie's II. Yes. That movie actually exists.
There's some amazing art at Gallery 1988. Right now they're prepping for a He-Man centered show, but early last year they had a Beastie Boys-inspired show. So while they're technically not "photos," here are a couple of the favorites that I saw (from here).
The Beasties from Ill Communication ("Sabotage") arrest the Beasties from License to Ill:
And another "Sabotage" one:
I'm a huge fan. But that shouldn't come as a surprise to anybody.
It's a short one today, but I have a work inbox to dig out of. Tomorrow's should be better, so check back. Happy Monday! Read more...
Disputes and disagreements have always been a part of human history, and will continue to be.
As for the best way of settling those disputes -- well, everyone has an opinion, and that is dictated by a combination of factors: religion, education, nationality, occupation. It's a long list.
For example, you ask a surfer how to settle a disagreement, he'll say to "chill, brah" and then burn down a joint. A baseball manager will tell you that throwing a tantrum involving, but not limited to, the following actions will solve things: Kicking dirt; yelling angry stuff two inches from an umpire's face; taking a tazer to said umpire once his back is turned (my philosophy: strike first, ask questions later). And then, if you could ask him I'm sure Aaron Burr would have told you a good ol' fashioned pistol duel; Alexander Hamilton also seemed to be of the same opinion until he had a lead ball stuck in his chest. Anyway, you get the idea.
I have a discovered a foolproof way of resolving disagreements: Brackets. Maybe the 100 Years' War wouldn't have lasted so long if they'd sat down hashed things out, bracket-style. Who knows.
I bring this up because after three weeks and 171 emails of vigorous debate, Boyer, Jay Z, J2K and I have settled the mother of all disputes -- the greatest Beastie Boys' song ever -- via a 64-song tournament bracket. You all care, I know. The winner: Shadrach, a lesser-known song from an even lesser-known album called Paul's Boutique.
Eventually reaching that consensus was much harder than any of us ever imagined it would be. At the outset, none of us knew what we were in for. Had I known, I would have given some deep, profound pre-tourney pep-talk, channeling Friday Night Lights: "We will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls."
Granted, Coach Taylor said the above in the context of his star quarterback having just suffered a paralyzing injury, but whatever.
See, the tournament presented no clear-cuts, no black v. white, no right v. wrong -- just awesome v. awesome. Every single matchup featured two songs that we grew up loving, so pitting them against each other and having to pick a winner between them created intense internal conflict -- like that scene in Spartacus when Spartacus and Antoninus are forced to duel each other to the death. Both are guys you like and you don't WANT to cheer for a winner, because that also means there will be a loser.
Having to pick only one to come out of it alive twisted us all up in knots. Kept us up at night. Found us crouched in the corner of the shower, weeping because we'd never been so lost and conflicted in our lives.
But we pushed on. And here is the end product; our finalized bracket (click to enlargin'):
I will be making a commemorative CD featuring the tournament's final 16 songs. Let me know if you're interested in having a copy.
And now, some testimonials from the participants.
Boyer:
Quite the undertaking we all got on board for...I don't think anyone (certainly not myself) thought things would be this massive or this involved... Perhaps this is a life lesson about our place in the universe and the value in futility. The Beasties still teach us things about ourselves to this day.
Jay Z:
Having recently completed my role as a voter in the greatest musical tournament of all time, I have a few reflections. I learned more about the Beastie Boys, as well as myself, than I thought possible.
J2K was unavailable for comment, as he is currently planning the massive corporate takeover of yet another company, Donald Trump-style, only he's doing it with better hair.
Sending you off with the greatest music video ever. Enjoy, and be safe over your Halloween weekend.
This is a screen capture from my Inbox. These are three high school friends with whom all common interests were superceded by our mutual love for the lyrical genius of the Beastie Boys. Boyer and I were discussing the Beasties' greatest songs last week; next thing I know he has unleashed a gargantuan, March Madness-style bracket with 64 Beastie Boys' songs to determine a decisive winner. The four of us vote on a song-versus-song matchup; if there is a tie we enter discussions advocating our picks, and the cycle continues. So far we have 48 emails going back and forth, and we have barely entered the second round.
Last Friday we tried to have a bonfire, but after driving around to four separate grocery stores we were unable to find a single bundle of firewood. We settled on one of those superlog thingies -- the composition of which I can only surmise is asbestos, napalm taken from decommissioned weapons' stores, and some sort of animal manure.
Not being a fan of roasting my marshmallows over a carcinogenic breeding ground, DJA and I cobbled together a decent little fire, despite it having been rainy the few days previous. So NOW they're stocking firewood. In abundance. Unbelievable.
-Via Email from Nartker, completely out of the blue:
In two and a 1/2 weeks time I am going up against a few people in an eating contest... I need any type of information that will enable me to eat large quantities of food in a 45 minute time period. I need your assistance gathering said information...
Thanks
To paraphrase The Sports Guy.... Yup, these are my friends.
Read more...
Went to the Beastie Boys concert about three weeks ago. Time to check a life goal off of the list. I should probably set some real ones now.
Some famous writers have a "mailbag" of some sort, where they answer question from readers. I don't have one of these. I did, however, get a text question regarding the concert from a reader and will open with that: Q: Well, did it change your body and soul? JD: Yes, it did. I will attribute part of it to seeing the Beastie Boys live, but I will pin a larger part of my nirvanic experience on the contact high I got from the kids around me toking weed.
That mailbag was exhausting. While I'm at it ("it" = copying better writers), I will follow Bill Simmons' running diary format and take you through the "Get Out and Vote" concert I went to on 28 Oct.
6:59 -- Dave and I are sitting in the bleachers, waiting for the 7:00 start time; Dave is mid-sentence when Beastie Boys Mike D and MCA come out to MC. I'm halfway to the stage taking pictures with my camera before Dave realizes I'm gone.
7:00 -- Mike D and MCA introduce the opening singer, Santogold, with the obligatory "we're on the same tour, so we have to say she's super-talented, even though we've never listened to her music ourselves." Out walks a woman with two backup singers dressed in bug-eye sunglasses and shiny gold suits, like you would see alien invaders wear in old crappy sci-fi movies. Dave leans over to me and asks how much I want to bet that the backup singers are Santogold's two best friends from high school riding the gravy train. I chuckle my agreement.
But wait: Doesn't having a "gravy train" imply you've attained a level of success?
This is all a means to an end, I tell myself.
7:17 -- Santogold is still on stage and announces her next song. What is she still doing here? Weren't we courteous in tolerating her three songs? She is quickly becoming the Jar Jar Binks of this concert -- the annoying, unwanted sidekick whose presence the audience grows to hate.
7 freakin' 40 -- The excruciatingly long set -- 40 minutes -- ends to token applause containing undercurrents of resentment that Santogold took so much time.
Means to an end.
7:55 -- Norah Jones calms my nerves with her performance. I drift off to sleep and dream that her voice and Sarah Mclachlan's fight each other for my affection.
8:03 -- Norah spouts some politically-charged comments, and I am surprisingly OK with it. Hell, with that voice, she could advocate crystal meth usage, Tom Cruise for President, and nuclear war, and I'd agree with everything she had to say.
8:25 -- Jack Johnson walks on stage to huge applause. Also, this is apparently the universal cue for everyone to light up their joints. I didn't get the memo.
Which reminds me of one of my friends from high school who hot-boxed his cat once. Afterwards, the cat careened its way back to his parents' room. Five minutes later, his parents called him into their room: "Tim!" "Yeah?" "Why does the cat reak of dope?" "...because we hot-boxed him."
8:48 -- I notice that the guy in front of me, who is about the same height but weighs about 230lb, has been completely motionless with his hands in his pockets since Jack Johnson has started playing. I've seen roadkill move more than this guy. I'll be checking in with him later.
9:05 -- Sheryl Crow walks on-stage in a tightly tied black trenchcoat that screams either "I am completely naked under here" or "I am selling cheap watches out of this thing." She looks seriously haggard, as if she hasn't slept or eaten since she and Lance Armstrong broke up. Rough year for Ms. Crow.
9:28 -- I consider yelling out "home-wrecker!" in between songs but decide not to. Sheryl decides to spout political drivel at us, using cliched phrases like "you can make a difference! I know you can!" Spare me.
Besides blinking, Roadkill remains unmoved.
9:42 -- The percentage of Sheryl's set has shifted to 85% political rant, 15% music. I could see her pursuing a political career filled with pointless rhetoric and little action.
Means to an end...
10:06 -- Still have this sneaking suspicion that in between some songs, Sheryl will spout off some more political drivel and then tag on, almost as an aside: "Hah... funny thing... a portion of the ticket proceeds will actually go to my next botox treatment since I have missed my last two. Anyway, the next song is 'Every Day is a Winding Road.' Sing along if you know the words!"
10:10 -- I've been here for 3+ hours. What did I come here for? I can't remember anymore. Dave reminds me that I came to see the Beastie Boys.
10:15-11:15 -- Beasties enter to "Sure Shot," bring the house down, and I spend the next hour screaming every word to every song.
Roadkill remains unchanged the entire time. Unbelievable.
I knew that to get the most out of my Beasties' concert experience and to guard against unforeseen contingencies, I needed to plan ahead. I made a pre-concert checklist; just to make sure I didn't miss anything. By 27 Oct, I must:
--As I am scheduled to work 28 Oct, place threatening and anonymous middle-of-the-night phone calls to co-workers until someone swaps shifts with me... check. This was the first attempt in my life at being intimidating, but I made sure my phone call verbiage contained phrases like "bottom of the river," "bust your head open," "broken kneecaps," and "say 'hi' to your mother for me." It worked. I got the day off.
--Go to a Halloween party donning large sunglasses, a 'fro wig, and bright orange jumpsuit a la Beasties 1998 tour, and bring the house down while rapping "So Whatcha' Want" on Rock Band II... check.
The megalomania that "Rock Band" brings is unprecedented.
--Print Google Maps directions... check. I know many of you are saying: "Josh, you just bought a nice GPS;" and I'm saying: "Yeah, but what if China decides to shoot down some satellites that day? I'm not risking it."
--Find the correct person to take my second ticket... check. This was extremely important. It would be like picking the godfather for my firstborn child, minus the fact that I'm not Catholic. Regardless, I considered having people submit a 250-word essay outlining the reasons they should attend the concert with me...
...then I realized I'm ridiculous.
--Obtain forged prescription from a doctor for anti-anxiety pills and start treatment during the week preceding the 28th... still working on it.
So I guess the list remains a work in progress.
Now if only I could apply this kind of thorough preparation to things that matter, like, say, the food storage that my Church leaders have advocated for so long...
Read more...
Last week, it all changed. The ball started rolling when I checked my Gmail Inbox.
--The Initial Tip-Off:
That's a screenshot of my Gmail Inbox. Yes, I understand the disturbing implications of me having daily Google Alerts on anything about the Beastie Boys sent to my inbox. Get over it.
--The What: --The Details: Richmond Coliseum, Richmond, VA Tues, Oct 28 2008 7:00PM. I seem to remember Richmond having one of the higher homicide rates in the nation. I hope they've taken care of that by the time I get there. It's a "Get Out and Vote" concert, so I will likely get an earful of political propaganda, but I've endured much worse for much less.
Anyone who wishes to see me scream like a 14-year old girl at a Backstreet Boys concert, tickets may still be on sale at ticketmaster.com.
--The Unknown Variable: How long is the Beasties' set going to be? How long are we going to have to suffer through listening to these other losers? Correction, "losers" may be a little harsh; Jack Johnson's music has a kicked back, all-I-want-to-do-is-surf-and-smoke-pot charm to it, and Norah Jones is good Sunday music. Aside from being attractive for a 46-year old (a "Diane Lane All-Star Team" member, according to Bill Simmons) and having dated Lance Armstrong at one point, I know nothing about Sheryl Crow. All I'm saying is this mix of artists has me nervous that the Boys are going to pull a George Washington(don't give me this "written in the Constitution" crap. I'm not buying it.) and step down to make room for lesser performers. I would prefer that they pull an FDR.
--The Possible Obstacle: I'm scheduled to work that day; a 10am-10pm shift. I emailed my supervisors to let me swap shifts with someone for that day, but haven't heard back yet. I realize planning usually goes in the reverse order (ie make sure you can go and THEN buy the tickets), but if tickets got sold out because I was waiting to hear back on work schedules, I'm pretty sure I'd commit seppuku right then and there.
--The Context / Implications:
Until this week, life was an unsatisfying, burdensome, and hollowculmination of "life lessons," schooling, diplomas and degrees, working a real job, and relationships with friends and family.* The reason for this gaping abyss of unfulfillment that likely would have haunted me to my deathbed: I had yet to see the Beastie Boys in concert (see this entry for previous scarring attempts at attending a Beasties' concert), and based on their age, it seemed they would not tour again and my life would remain in the metaphorical toilet. This changes that. It was meant to be. What I'm saying is as far as destiny and import are concerned, my attendance at this concert ranks somewhere between Frodo destroying the Ring and Luke Skywalker toppling the Emperor and the Dark Side.
Keep your fingers crossed that I can work my schedule out. If I don't, the mere fact that I had tickets at one point might serve as some sort of fulfillment for me.
Maybe.
*Relax, friends and family: I'm going for effect here. Read more...
We're all familiar with the term and fashion abomination that is the mullet. I won't delve into why we abhor this haircut, because websites -- as well as books and doctoral dissertations, I'm sure -- have been dedicated to the topic. Needless to say, my simple reasoning is that we don't like ugly, and mullets are ugly. Hence, we don't like mullets.
Anyway, according to an article in the Seattle Times that cites the Oxford English Dictionary, the Beasties made the term "mullet" popular by ripping on the haircut in the 1994 song "Mullet Head" and also penning an article about it in their label's magazine, Grand Royal, called "Mulling Over the Mullet."
I can't speak to the authoritativeness of the Oxford English Dictionary (really, who compiled this thing -- PhDs? "scholars"??), but if they're willing to attribute a modern cultural reference to the Beastie Boys, their credibility goes up in my eyes.
...And my odd fascination with the B-Boys continues...
I just wanted to wish you a Happy 1st Anniversary. I know it was actually a couple of weeks ago and you're going to blame it on my never remembering "what's important to [you]," and blah blah blah. Are you done nagging yet? Thanks. I know you'll never let me forget it, but I've been really busy -- spending a lot of time with the boys playing ping-pong. And, yes, there are other projects I'm interested in, but technically I wouldn't consider it cheating.
(Technically, you could argue that we've been together for about two years now, but I'll admit that I basically ignored you that whole first year. Let's be honest: We had different agendas in the beginning. You had an ugly design and needed a makeover {Honestly, we could stilldo a little more work for you in the looks department...you're so pre-packaged and formulaic} Plus I think you needed some time to mature a bit. You can thank me later for being patient.)
Sometimes you demand more attention than I have time for. Like when I come home and just want to relax, but you want me to tell you about workor my adventures at the post office or whatever. Usually, in the end, you help me find the humor in things.
Let's go through some of our accomplishments and milestones for our first year together:
>>120+ photos with fabricated, exaggerated, and untrue captions; a true symbol of honesty in our relationship. >>2 pot shots at the ACLU; I am actually quite disappointed in the progress we made here and would like to work on this, if you are amenable. >>5 cheap shots at PETA; I was proud of you for these entries. >>2 I'm a Moron installments, with many more to come, I'm sure. The fact that you stuck with me after my acts of stupidity shows real dedication. Admirable. >>6 references to / uses of Battlefield Field as an adjective. This has definitely turned into one of those inside-jokes that outsiders find utterly annoying. >>6 new name-verbs. >>1 entry dedicated to the Beastie Boys; the fact that you are almost as dedicated as I am to the Boys scores you mad points in my book.
Thanks. Here's a virtual "good game" butt slap. Let's keep on rolling.
Sincerely, JD
*****
Anybody have favorites / suggestions / critiques / something they'd like to see more of, as I take inventory of one year of Ramblings? Leave a comment, if you feel so inclined.
"I swear I've seen a lot of stuff in my life, but that... was... awesome."
Yes, the sheer awesomeness of what I witnessed firsthand this 4th of July has reduced me to incoherence of the I'm-quoting-Tommy Boy-in-order-to-express-myself variety. Sad day.
Anyway, some friends and I went to NYC for the 4th of July weekend. I told them that if I was going to make the trek, my list of demands needed to be taken care of: (1) Go to Coney Island to cheer my boy Takeru Kobayashi on his quest to reclaim the championship at the annual Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, and (2) Track down the Beastie Boys' recording studio and get my picture taken in front of the building. That was it. They accepted.
While the latter of the demands went sadly unfulfilled, we did get down to Coney Island* for the contest, and the drama and hype surrounding the competition made watching it that much more exciting.
*(For more of my thoughts on the unbelievably creepy, Stephen King-inspired alternate universe that is Coney Island, I refer you to chapter 2 of my future book, "8 Things That Creep Me Out to No End"; it's sandwiched between chapter 1, "Drunken Clowns," and chapter 3, "Sober Clowns")
By way of context: Kobayashi -- considered by many (me) to be the Roger Bannister of competitive eating -- revolutionized the 12-minute competition in 2001 by eating 50 hot dogs, obliterating the previous year's winning number of 25. He continued his dominance until last year. In 2007, however, Kobayashi was suffering from jaw arthritis -- no surprise, really... the guy's gotta have the jaws of a 95-year old at this point -- and was dethroned by Joey "Jaws" Chestnut from San Jose.
Kobayashi was going to be back to compete in 2008, but could he reclaim his title from Chestnut? This, and many, many, many other questions (ie "What's the atmosphere in the locker room like a few hours before a competition?") about the Competitive Eating World plagued me as I rode the subway to Coney Island. The windup to this contest was like rolling the plots of several movies into a dramatic whole: Cinderella Man(inspirational comeback); Rocky IV (inspirational underdog movie, minus the element of Kobayashi's best friend being killed by a Russian); Karate Kid (the Japanese element), and Supersize Me (for the grotesque amount of processed food to be eaten). Hollywood doesn't write better scripts than this. But, amidst all of the excitement, my dual identity had come back to haunt me: Do I cheer for the Japanese comeback kid battling against an injury, or for the American on Independence Day? After delays and stalling from the perverted MC, the competition began. Here's how my inner monologue / vocal shouting unfolded during the next 10 minutes:
***** Should I cheer for Kobayashi? Or is some drunk New Yorker gonna kick the crap out of me on the 4th of July for cheering for a foreigner? Wait, I see a Japanese flag waving. OK. Kobayashi it is.
"GO KOBAYASHI!"
Who handed out these stupid thundersticks? I can't see a damn thing. Hey, Rat-Tail! Move you and your nasty hair out of my line of sight. Wow, the crowd is really into this. OK. The first minute is up. Wait, did the announcer just say that Chestnut ate 10 hot dogs in the first minute? I think I'm going to have a sympathetic throw-up.
"C'MON, KOBAYASHI!" Oh great. Kobayashi's fallen to third. It's over. It's so over. Why did I put my faith in this guy? After all I've invested in him, he totally betrays my trust and lets me down.
Wait. Wait. Kobayashi looks like he's gaining. He's back in second now... Now he's catching up to Chestnut. Oh, man. What a surge! He's tied! I still hate thundersticks.
"GO KOBAYASHI! GO!"
Kobayashi has taken the lead! Oh man, I haven't been this amped since BYU beat Utah in football last year. Now he's putting space between himself and Chestnut. I'm visibly shaking. This is amazing! He's eating like... like... I have no proper sports analogy for this...
"GO SEABISCUI--!! こばちゃん！がんばれ--"
WTF?!? I'm so excited I'm getting famous movie-horses mixed up with Kobayashi, and Japanese with English. Whatever. Kobayashi is taking a three hot-dog lead into the final minute! There's no way Chestnut is gaining three dogs on him in the last minute. It's impossible...The buzzer rings. And what?!? Chestnut has shoved his face full of everything he possibly could. They're calling it a tie if he swallows everything... And he does.
***** The "dog-off" overtime was the first in the competition's storied history, and Chestnut ended up winning (the first to eat five more hot dogs -- talk about worst OT ever for competitors). It was appalling, gripping, and poignant all at once; more than I could have dreamed.
As I rode the subway back into Manhattan, more questions about Competitive Eating came to me...
>How many years did these people just shave off of their lives? >Would there be scandals? I mean, would we find Kobayashi testifying before Congress in broken Engrish about Chestnut taking stomach-expanding drugs? >How many hours do the competitors spend on the toilet afterward? (Scratch that; I don't want to know) >Is Under Armourgoing to end up sponsoring these guys? >Would referees be accused of "throwing" the competition? >Do these guys have groupies?
I don't know about you, but sometimes I have a running inner monologue/narrative.
Now, if it were an inner dialogue, that would be considered multiple-personality disorder. Or, if it were a voice telling me what to do, that would be schizophrenia. Those would make me certifiably crazy. I have neither of these.
This inner monologue keeps me entertained at times, and was especially invaluable during work today. It's Friday, I hadn't slept well, and I remembered as I arrived that I had training. I'm not a big fan of training. I knew the combination of sleep deprivation and complete apathy to the training subject material was a recipe for disaster (ie me drooling on myself during class), so I decided to brand classmates that resembled celebrities/characters/stereotypes as soon as possible to keep myself awake. My running narrative from 8:30-11:30am went something like this:
Here we go. Unless they bring in some Chinese acrobats or something, they are not going to keep my attention today. I'm feeling surly this morning.
Oh you gotta be kidding me, brah.* Here comes the guy that is five inches taller and weighs fifty more pounds than me who managed to squeeze into a polo that would be tight on me. I wonder if he just cuts himself out of it when he goes home... Wait, does he have his...?-- Yup! His requisite sports drink of choice: Gatorade Propel. Nicely done on living up to the stereotype. Just please don't say anything about having already gone to the gym this morning, or I will end you. I think I'll name himUnder Armour. Dude,* instructor, please please please pump somelife into this presentation and DON'T read your PowerPoint presentation verbatim, honestly. And there you go. WORD for freakin WORD. I dub thee Christopher Walken for inability to present anything without having something to read off of. Ridiculous.
Like I said: Surly today. Now we've got Micro Machines Guy (MM) over there making comments every few seconds. Dude,* just pop some muscle-relaxers and just let your mind catch up to your mouth. Or vice versa. Whatever it is, something is out of sync. Just chill, brah.* Chilllll.
Whatever happened to the Micro Machines guy? He could have been utilized in so any ways. I hope VH1 does a special on him.
Under Armour has managed to continuously maneuver and put himself in positions that show off the size of his arms. Yes, dude,* we get it: Your arms are relatively large in your tinyshirt. My goodness. Why don't you three just get a room and get it over with.
Here we go. It's about time you surfaced; every training class has one, and you are our Point Dexter. We do a simple exercise to make sure we have a concept down, and you get it wrong, and argue incessantly with Walken, who has given this presentation how many times and still reads every word of every line... Is this a self-esteem issue,Point? I mean is it outside your realm of possibility that you're wrong? Because if your self-esteem is tied to your getting this answer right, let me finish you off: You're WRONG.
It's actually quite amusing to watch MM now; like watching a Nascar (mouth) race a Geo Metro (mind) in a city with lots of traffic lights-- the Metro almost catches up because of the red lights, but the Nascar always gets away.
I have to pee bad. I hate drinking lots of water to try and be healthy.
Point Dexterhas remained in silence, nursing his linked-to-always-being-right ego, chastenedby my scathing inner monologue. Walken just stated, and I quote: "I am a simple man with simple needs." No one asks for clarification. Thank all that is holy. I realize I am taking this out of context just to make fun of him, but hey: This is my inner monologue. End of class. I know, I know, I'm a jerk. But at least I stayed awake during class.
TGIF.
*For some reason my inner narrative is a surfer from CA/Hawaii. I don't know.
“We be gettin' stupid in your area / Causin' all kinds of hysteria / My beats is sick like malaria” -- this is pure lyrical genius. And no, you guessed wrong: it's not Keats. AdRock's the screamer. Mike D's the nasally one. MCA is cool, calm, collected. They're three white boys from New York City that proved they could drop beats and rhymes with the best of 'em.
I have their five major albums, as well as their new instrumental CD. I have two of their DVD's -- "The Beastie Boys' Video Anthology" and "Awesome, I Shot That!" -- and I consider them two of the most prized in my collection. I was ready to go to their concert in 2000 when they were touring with Rage Against the Machine, but Mike D broke his collarbone riding home from work on his bike, so the tour was canceled. I was found sobbing in the corner of a shower stall sobbing, if my pain-clouded memory serves me correctly. Me and my best friend in high school would karaoke and record ourselves at least once a week. We bought the same type of orange jumpsuits that the Beasties performed in one concert and wore them to school dances. We held serious roundtable discussions about which of the "Big 5" albums is the Beasties' best (I still say "Ill Communication", with "Paul's Boutique" a close second) -- I'm talking about dissertations being produced here, people.
It sounds sad, but the Beastie Boys have played a semi-major role in my upbringing. In light of all of this, I present to you a non-exhaustive list of things the Beasties have taught me, that I might not have learned otherwise (with proper citations to songs in parentheses):
1. French phrases, such as creme de la creme("Body Movin' ") and savoir faire("Sure Shot"). Keep in mind this in no way means I like theFrench. They are still cigarette-smoking pansies. 2. You can earn 11 points in Boggle for the word 'quagmire' ("Putting Shame in Your Game"): "I am the king of Boggle, there is none higher, I gets eleven points for the word 'quagmire'"
3. People such as Eddie Harris ("So Whatcha' Want"), Rod Carew ("Sure Shot") and Jimmy Vaughn (“Pass the Mic”) would have remained unknowns to me.
4. In the tradition of the great Japanese poets, writing about your travels in verse can still be great (“High Plains Drifter” and “Paul Revere”); I suppose where they diverge is that the Boys mostly rap about robbing people and stealing your girl from you. I didn't catch anything like that when I read Basho's haikus, but it could have been "between the lines."
5. Road trips are and always will be sweet (“No Sleep ‘Til Brooklyn”) 6. Civil protests for a good cause are still encouraged. (“Fight For Your Right”) 7. It’s okay to brag about your wardrobe (“Shadrach”): “…[I've got] more Adidas sneakers than a plumbers got pliers, Got more suits than Jacoby & Meyers” 8. This may not be a good thing, but I've learned obscure marijuana references: sinsemilla ("Sounds of Science")
9. Is there a better music video than "Sabotage" ?
10. Loyalty ("The New Style"): "Stepped into the party, the place was overpacked-- Saw the guy that dissed my homeboy, shot him in the back"
11. Long-distance relationships are tough ("High Plains Drifter"): "A long distance from my girl and I'm talkin' on the cellular, She said that she was sorry, and I said 'Yeah the hell you were'
12. It's literary to turn colloquial phrases into a play on words ("The Maestro"): "...I am all that, And I see you lookin' at me, saying: 'How can he be so skinny, and live so fat?' "
13. Most importantly: Don't take yourself too seriously and enjoy life.Read more...
The picture quality is poor, but it says "Why was the tomato blushing?"
