I took this picture on Friday night. Tweeted it to a public and media that were growing increasingly frantic about any hint as to whether a jury would make its decision or deliberate deeper into the weekend.
The picture displays Jerry Sandusky leaving his house for what would be the last time, Continue reading
Because sometimes you just want friends to tell you about cool things… the Brew House team offers up its weekly mix of author-supported goodness.
Song: Nas – “Life’s A Bitch”
Growing up as a guitarist and a huge fan of rock and metal, I would routinely listen to songs just to get to that one epic guitar solo, riff or breakdown that immediately triggered the air guitar instinct. In fact, I’d usually rewind to the start of the particularly epic* passage a few times out of sheer reverence. “Life’s A Bitch” is one of the songs that – as a 25-year-old fan of wordplay and hip-hop – I always have to stop to rewind. Continue reading
On God’s Son, Nas has a song titled “Book of Rhymes.” On this track, he supposedly rifles through an old book in which he has written a bunch of random lyrics, and he regales us with his findings. Most of the time his musings are unintentionally comical. These nonsensical short bursts (“How can I trust you, when I can’t trust me/picture me an old man, an old G”) are often followed by sound effects of him crinkling paper and throwing it into a trash bin. At one point, instead of rhyming, he begins acting like he’s stumbled upon a page featuring the phone numbers of several women. He is surprised, saying, “Oh shit, Tina. I’ve been lookin’ for this bitch’s number.” Later, he will complain about a lack of values regarding our treatment of women. In short, he pulls off the common rap achievement of sounding terribly unoriginal while also disrespecting women and then sounding hypocritical by calling others out for disrespecting women.
Nonetheless, this song has inspired me. I’ve had it stuck in my head all morning, and it’s made me want to copy its style and retell my road trip from Dallas to State College “Book of Rhymes” style, Continue reading
I should have written this post two years ago.
Somehow, I didn’t realize until today that Guru died. He died of cancer in April 2010. Guru, with counterpart DJ Premier in the duo Gang Starr, rarely appeared on MTV and never transitioned into the mainstream, but for some reason he was one of the first rappers I listened to, way back in fifth grade. Continue reading
When I studied abroad, I biked. The first time was in Switzerland. After hitting the slopes for a day, and falling and falling and falling, I decided to switch from ski to bicycle the next morning. A bike shop stood adjacent to our hostel, largely unnoticed and unused. It was February. A light snow fell and temperatures hovered in the upper 30s at best, yet biking sounded like the right idea.
Unlike running, my exercise of choice, biking feels like the same activity I loved as a kid. My mind wanders much easier, and I don’t exert myself to the limits of pain. Biking is still a “fun” activity. Continue reading
The other night I saw The Five-Year Engagement with a friend at Dallas’ Valley View Mall. Including us, there were six people in the theater for the beginning of the movie. By the end, a seventh joined. He was presumably an employee, a teenager who decided to sneak in as part of a self-made double-feature (the best kind), or Jason Segel, who had arrived for an intimate post-film Q&A. Based on a lingering suspicion in the back of my mind that this man was wearing a trench coat and accidentally stumbled into a real movie instead of an adult movie, I determined the Segel option to be the most unlikely.
Also, this was Valley View Mall, the only building in Dallas that has actually been placed on the state list of missing persons. Continue reading
The summery, lamb phase of the spring has arrived. Brunch will be served at outdoor tables. Someone will actually buy a Bartles and Jaymes beverage. Tops will come off convertibles and spray-tanned meatheads. And I will begin wearing jerseys, Champion replica NBA jerseys and Starter replica NCAA jerseys, mainly those of obscure players, like Kerry Kittles, and teams, like the Nets, who I care nothing about, because I dress like a hoopster.
Deadspin began cataloguing the emergence of this cultural fashion movement two years ago when it ran pictures under the tag “Look At This Fucking Hoopster.” After Lollapalooza, they featured a photo gallery of many a hipster rocking a jersey. The New York Times then ran one of their Style-section trend stories about hoopsters, which prompted Deadspin to announce that the trend was over.
For me, it was never over and still isn’t. I may dress like one, but I’m not a hoopster. I’m original. I didn’t just wear the jerseys, I wore them with my yellow Guatemalan shorts or nylon warmup pants, sometimes with a head band, and I have the clear-cut, non-sepia-tinged random tight pic from a 2006 night out to prove it. And yes, that is a Clippers warm-up jersey atop the St. John’s jersey.
Because sometimes you just want friends to tell you about cool things… the Brew House team offers up its weekly mix of author-supported goodness.
PSA: Increasing Concert Awareness
Sleigh Bells performed at the Granada, here in Dallas, last week. I imagine this band plays a spectacular live show, particularly because they gave one of the best performances I’ve seen on Saturday Night Live. I don’t know this for sure because I didn’t go. I wanted to. I just didn’t realize they were playing until about two weeks after tickets went on sale. Continue reading
The white beams appeared from nowhere. I suspect they had stood somewhere in the distance beyond the boundaries of downtown for quite some time, as two plastic moldings the size of a skyscraper that meet to form an arch can’t be constructed overnight, but I had never noticed them before.
I was driving with my sister, Rachel, and her friend, Sara, in my white Mustang convertible. Sara had just moved to Dallas. Rachel was visiting. I was giving them a tour. We drove through all the prominent neighborhoods: Uptown, Deep Ellum, Lower Greenville, Highland Park. Near home, the white beams raised from the flat horizon. Dallas must be trying to build a replica of the St. Louis Arch, I joked. Continue reading
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