A Can You Dig It Partisan Christmas Spectacular

Up until Sunday, I had made it a point to avoid the mall at all costs.
The problem is not the commercialization of Christmas. I love the commercialization of Christmas. The sooner I see tree ornaments on the shelves and snowman sweaters on the racks, the better. I wouldn’t mind if they – and when I say “they” I mean the corporate stewards of the holiday spirit – started rolling out the Christmas junk in June. And sell it to me 24 hours a day, seven days a week, will you? Make some poor little foreign girl work long hours for little pay to assemble it for me, and while she’s at it, make sure she slaps on a couple of coats of lead-based paint.
No, what I dislike about the mall and Wal-Mart at Christmas time is the people who drive there, park there and shop there. Most of them shouldn’t be allowed out of their cages, let alone have driver’s licenses and major credit cards. But thanks to the Founding Fathers, every citizen has the right to pile up debt and park over the line, and they all showed up at the mall on Sunday.
My wife and I did most of our shopping online this year, so Sunday’s excursion was just going to be a quick trip to get a few things for my extended family. We tried to do as much advance prep as we could. We had shopping lists, a budget, and an entrance and exit strategy that was more George H.W. Bush than George W. Bush.
We packed up the baby and headed to Haywood Mall prepared to do some serious guerilla shopping. We made it past the first line of attacks on Haywood Road and were jockeying for position in the Macy’s parking lot when the 14-month-old in the backseat started regurgitating what seemed like every meal she’s had since Thanksgiving. As I tailed a couple of teen-agers heading towards their daddy’s SUV, the baby’s mother decided we should just turn around and go home.
It was a Christmas miracle.
I was fully prepared to just go home and spend some quality time with my family, but the shopping still needed to be done, so after garden hosing the baby’s car seat, I was redeployed to The Shops at Greenridge, which if you haven’t been, is the Afghanistan to Haywood Mall’s Iraq.
I made it into the Barnes & Noble there to look for a couple of nice books for my parents. I strolled over to the politics section and discovered some fan of lunatic conservative fiction had taken the time to cover up anything with a liberal bent with books by Ann Coulter and some cheaply thrown together biography of Mitt Romney. That kind of partisanship at Christmas really upset me.
Who does that type of thing?
“I do,” my wife told me when I got home. “I always turn Ann Coulter’s books around. I can’t stand to look at her face.”
Then there’s the story about me paying to see another man’s light display in Mauldin.
I managed to string together about 75 lights across garage, with a solid 64 of them in actual working order, while this guy in Mauldin creates a bona fide tourist attraction. You might as well remove all of the testosterone-producing nodes from my body. There were thousands and thousands of pretty twinkling lights to distract my baby from getting sick again, but I was most amazed by the sight the man’s power meter (you know what I mean). It was spinning faster than Mike Huckabee caught in the devil’s doughnut shop.
Besides that, it’s been a pretty lousy holiday season so far. I think maybe the contentiousness of the upcoming Presidential primaries is starting to creep into my Christmas spirit. It’s a good thing we’re going to spend Christmas with my family in Iowa this year.
I think it will do me good to sit down and enjoy the holidays with my Republican relatives. They buy the best presents.

Von Pea: The American Angster Interview

Jay-Z

American Angster

The Von Pea Remixes

Brooklyn-based MC and producer Von Pea is 33.333333 percent of the Can You Dig It?-approved group Tanya Morgan, whose debut album, Moonlighting, drew upon the creativity and cleverness of the glory years of the Native Tongues era, and in the process reignited my passion for hip-hop music.
While his fellow Tanya Morganers – Cincinnati MCs Ilyas and Donwill – work on their outside projects, Von Pea is showing off his production skills (he produced many of the Tanya Morgan tracks under the moniker “The Beatmaker”) with a remix of Jay-Z’s American Gangster album, courtesy of the recently released a cappella tracks.
Offering up his vocal tracks is an innovative marketing move J-Hova used with great success following the release of his 2003 comeback CD, The Black Album. It served as an open invitation for every amateur and professional music producer from here to Kraplakistan to work with the best in the business. The move generated a lot of great promotion for Jay-Z and a lot of crap remixes, but some good ones, too.
Fast forward to the magical web of the Internets, where Von Pea stumbles upon Can You Dig It?, the worldwide digital headquarters of the hit analog column, and reads the feature on Tanya Morgan’s show in Asheville, N.C., where I mistakenly draw a line in the sand between Jay-Z and the boys of Brooklynati. (I forgot that the line is muddied because the wildly platinum-selling Jay-Z has an art complex, as well as crazy lyrical skills that attract the admiration of the finest rappers with great songs and no sales.) As an early Christmas gift, Santa Von sends me the pre-release link to his completed Jay-Z remixes, American Angster, and agrees to an exclusive interview about the project.
After a few days of bumping Angster in the funkiest windowless cubicle in all of South Carolina, I’m happy to say Von Pea succeeds in transforming the sometimes flashy original American Gangster into a much grittier piece, still suitable to the subject matter and still funky fresh.
Download it for yourself here:
http://www.zshare.net/download/545364616e09b6/

Now, read the interview, where we discuss everything from Beyonce to Mike Huckabee.

Can You Dig It: What's the inspiration for American Angster?
Von Pea: My boy Scott Free from Scratch magazine told me about the a cappellas coming out and the first thing I thought was "Oh no, not again." The Black Album remixes got out of hand and I told myself I’d never jump in that race, but I told myself it would be a fun challenge because not much is against me doing this. Most people probably see it as a waste of time, or don’t consider me a producer, or even know that I’ve been producing a decent amount of Tanya Morgan’s music. I had nothing to lose really.

CYDI: How long did it take you to complete?
Von Pea: I started around Thanksgiving week and finished December 7th.

CYDI: Have you imagined a scenario where Jay-Z is listening to the remixes on his Big Pimpin' yacht as Beyonce is feeding him grapes, then she falls so hard for your tracks that she leaves him, moves in with you in Brooklyn and starts buying you stuff on her American Express?
Von Pea: Who do you think is paying for my studio time for my solo album? Peas Gotta Have It, September 2008!

CYDI: After all that drama, any chance of Jay-Z appearing on the next Tanya Morgan album?
Von Pea: Nothing is surprising anymore. If you would have told Phonte or Pooh in 2004 that Little Brother would put out an album with one 9th beat and a Lil Wayne feature, he would have laughed at you... yet it happened and it worked. So as crazy as it sounds, you never know!

CYDI: What track are you most proud of on Angster?
Von Pea: Probably “Success,” because I actually had that sample arranged like that sitting alone for a long time and never knew what to do with it, but I said if there ever was a "D'evils" a cappella I would finish this beat for that. "Success" is the same thing almost, so I got to achieve that goal.

CYDI: How is the remix process different from creating your own original work? Do you have a different mindset? Is it fun to mess with Jay-Z's flow?
Von Pea: Some people say I'm a Jay-Z biter, so maybe that’s why it was easy ha-ha...To be honest, my own work has been a stressor recently because people are telling me so much is riding on the next Tanya Morgan, and I'm telling myself I have to remind people I was a soloist, so my own endeavors don’t come across like it's some playaround side project solo...That’s where the angst came in. This was a release.

CYDI: You've already given the Von Pea treatment to Kanye on Grand Vonye and now Jay-Z gets Pea-ed on with American Angster. Who's next?
Von Pea: People thought I was going to rap over the original American Gangster beats. I don’t see myself ever doing that again... rapping over someone else’s instrumentals for a whole project. I don’t see myself remixing a whole album again either unless I was getting paid for it by the artist, aka actually commissioned to do it! This was something I had to get out of my system. Angster has gotten me work already, though. I'm actually producing an album now for an MC that people already know and love, but it’s way too early to mention who it is yet.

CYDI: South Carolina is one of the first states to vote in the Presidential primaries. It seems like that's all we can think about here, so here's a two-part question:
1) Who are you going to vote for?
2) Common has shown his ability to rhyme Obama, show off your MC skills and give me three good rhymes for Huckabee.
Von Pea: I’m not sure who I’m voting for yet but I’m definitely voting, I've been voting since I was 20.
Huckabee? Luckily, these rappers can’t fuck with me, the only ones that can I get 'em pregnant so they're stuck with me

CYDI: The men of Tanya Morgan have so much going on right now with all of you kind of doing your own thing. Are there plans for a new album as a group? And if so, is there pressure now that you've gained some notoriety in the hip-hop community?
Von Pea: I can only speak for me on the pressure thing, and part of that pressure is why I stopped and just did this project. But when it’s all said and done, I’m not worried about any of that pressure, good music got us here and that’s going to remain enough for me... good music. I’m not trying to get lost in someone else’s goals for me or the group. That’s what happens to so many artists and that’s why their second album is always the dark and "things aint what they used to be" album. They get lost and caught up. It's happened to the best of them, and it can’t happen to us, so I’m staying away from the pressure. Our next LP is called Brooklynati and it will be out summer '08.

CYDI: Besides Tanya Morgan – which I’ll go on record declaring one of the best group names of all time, what are some of your favorite names in hip-hop history?
Von Pea: My favorite MC names are Jody Breeze or Guilty Simpson. I think those two names are fly as hell. My favorite group name is probably... I think Niggaz With Attitude tells you everything you need to know about them.

CYDI: Besides TM-affiliated work, what are you listening to now inside and outside of hip-hop? What's inspiring? Is there somebody out there you think is pushing things in the right direction?

Von Pea: I’m still playing Blu & Exile, 9th’s album, Busta's Dilla-Gence mixtape, Lupe, I’ve been playing a lot of hip hop for the past few weeks, I haven’t been on my other stuff lately. I don’t think there is a set direction anymore; everyone seems to be doing their own thing for a change.

CYDI: Prince, my musical hero and longtime doubles ping-pong partner, is suing Internet sites for unauthorized "use" of his copyrighted material. This craziness hit home when Youtube deleted a video of my daughter dancing to his new album. As a young artist who has effectively used the Web to promote your work and who relies on the word-of-mouth capabilities of the internet, where do you draw the line? Do you worry about losing revenue through file sharing or are you at the point in your career where you're just happy people are listening? And, can I record and post video of my daughter dancing to your music?
Von Pea: Ha-ha...As long as she’s not dancing to any of my songs with adult lyrics. I don’t have anything against downloading because I do it too. Absolutely. But I also go out and support. If it’s not the first week, I do buy the album eventually, but I support. I have a problem with skimming more than anything. If you’re gonna download my album, at least give it a real listen! Don’t skip through it looking for instant gratification.

CYDI: Isn't www.gregvandevoorde.blogspot.com the best damn blog on the Internet?
Von Pea: I don’t know. My Myspace blog is pretty good.

Bonus Tracks
CYDI: Favorite American Gangster?
Von Pea: "Success"

CYDI: Favorite American Angster?
Von Pea: "Ignorant Shit"

Airport Booties

So, in preparation for our big Christmas trip to Moline, I'm trying to figure out if I should reserve some airport parking at a place called Park 'N Fly in Atlanta. My company has some sort of discount and you know I've gots to gets mine.
One of Park 'N Fly's big selling points, other than the company discount and the cool-ass name with the 'N that makes it sound a little like rock 'n' roll, is that they offer free "airport booties." I've never heard of airport booties, but you know I've gots to gets mine. Apparently airport booties has its own Web site, although I can think of some better, more profitable uses for that domain name. Here's what it has to say for itself:
Airport Booties™ the only name brand Pedylactic™ for use at TSA airport security screening locations. Made of non-porous Ethylene Vinyl Acetate, Airport Booties™ help prevent the various bacteria and viruses from touching bare skin and being transmitted. Created to help make air travel safe and secure.

I thought it was those freedom hating terrorists we had to worry about. Turns out, bacteria and viruses that feed off security checkpoints are the real shoe bombers. Richard Reid was just a decoy.
Please go to the airport booties site to read the rest. It's good stuff. The best thing is, I'm getting mines for free.

At left, this man's shoes were the bomb!

It's Showtime in my armpits

Ladies and gentlemen,

boys and girls,

it's a pleasure to introduce to you

the hardest working man in showbusiness

my new deodorant...

After years of settling for the original scent Old Spice manufactured to the specifications of the trusted brand's original formula, I threw caution and blue-armpit undershirts to the aromatic wind when I saw Showtime on the shelf at Target. How could I resist?

You'll notice Showtime is a member of the Red Zone family of Old Spice products and you know I score about 73 percent of the time in the Red Zone.

Sony & Bose aren't the only music stereotypes

I’m not your stereotypical hip-hop fan.
I’m a 31-pushing-32-year-old married white man living in suburban South Carolina with a day job, a tiny daughter and what I believe to be a large mortgage. I do not wear a gold chain. I do not own brand-name clothes with that brand name vomited all over the front for everyone to see. My pants sag below respectable levels only because my gut no longer allows my jeans to make it to where they should be affixed on my waist. I love Bob Dylan, I want to be Woody Allen and I still love me some rap music.
I say I’m not your stereotypical hip-hop fan because it’s not my stereotype. I know better than that. I know that Jay-Z has had 10 albums debut at No. 1 (tied with Elvis and second only to The Beatles) because his fan base is comprised of more than one demographic. I also know that most successful rap music is successful because it falls in line with generally accepted accounting principles and stereotypes most of America is willing to consume. Jay-Z has helped create the prevailing stereotype of today’s rap music and its artists: a successful black man who has graduated from street hustler to clever businessman Cassanova with Bill Gates riches.
Congratulations to Jay-Z and all others like him, but to me that type of music is as boring as Pat Boone reading the estate sale ads. That’s not the rap music I enjoy. I like clever, non-stereotypical hip-hop groups like Tanya Morgan, who I took my whiteness to witness live last week in Asheville, North Carolina.
Let’s start with the name. The three men didn’t call themselves the Kold Krush Kash Money Krew or the Hot Dog Mafia, instead they gave themselves the name of a woman who sounds like she should be in your grandpa’s country music collection filed under “Tanya Morgan and Roger Whitaker Sing Your Country Christmas Faves.” On the first track of the CD Tanya Morgan sold me out of their cardboard box they rhyme that the unique name is their way to counteract “the lack of respect hip-hop got for women/man they treated like they worthless/y’all discussing details, come and dig past the surface.” After decades of the ill treatment of women on records, Tanya Morgan’s view is refreshing.
Unfortunately, that kind of intelligent, thoughtful outlook is not generating Jay-Z level popularity and financial success. Granted, Asheville is not the Hip-Hop Capital of the South -- it’s known more for its hairy women and hippy drum circles than video vixens and turntables -- but I was disappointed that fewer than 20 people (all white, including two albinos) saw Tanya Morgan’s performance. And I’m almost certain that only my drunk friend and I were there intentionally to see Tanya Morgan.
I felt bad about the small turnout, so when I saw the three members of the group unceremoniously walk into the club carrying their cardboard box of CDs and T-shirts to sell, I introduced myself, told them how much my tiny daughter and I love their album, and apologized that more people weren’t there to witness what was bound to be the greatest hip-hop show Asheville had ever seen.
They told me they’d played all over the South in the last few weeks and never knew how many people would be in the audience. This had to be one of the smaller crowds, but it didn’t bother them. They were just glad to be doing what they loved.
After their energetic performance in front of a handful of hippie-dancing hipsters, there was no dramatic exit to a tour bus amid a throng of screaming groupies. They hopped off the front of the stage and milled about. We sat at the bar and talked about music, Prince, kids and the Carolinas. It was very cool.

As the night wound down some people filtered in from a much larger venue up the street where another hero of mine, Hank III, grandson of the legendary Hank Williams and son of Hank Jr., had just finished performing. Apparently, a near riot occurred among the country music fans at that show.
How’s that for a stereotype?

We're playing 13

My Hoosiers finally beat Purdue and make good on the late, great Coach Hep's promise to "Play 13."

If you're cool, you'll like this...

Little Dragon

(The best thing since ABBA)

Is there anything better than the Swedish-born daughter of a Japanese man and American woman playing electronic soul music with a group of three kind of nerdy Swedish guys? I don't think so.
Their CD is my current favorite. Visit their Web site (http://www.little-dragon.se/) and watch these videos if you don't believe me, you pansy.

DICK

It's scary movie season, but if you want something truly frightening, watch the Frontline show "Cheney's Law."

Frontline does a great job of putting together the information we already sort of knew into a straightforward narrative, making clear the connections between various moves by the Bush Administration.

I can't recommend it enough, and luckily for you, the fine folks at PBS have the entire show online.

A Year With My Baby

It seems unbelievable that a year has already passed since my wife delivered the greatest joy in my life.
I remember that October day she brought home the half-gallon of Breyers Fried Ice Cream like it was yesterday. My waistline hasn’t been the same since.

Around the same time, we went to the hospital and the wife let slip another pretty beautiful thing, the 6-pound, 15-ounce unfrozen novelty known as my daughter, Sofia.

Last week, we celebrated the little prodigy’s first birthday with tacos and an Elmo cake, causing me to run to restroom to reflect on all the things we’ve learned as parents and all the things she’s learned as the child of the two greatest parents of all time.

Being the daughter of a writer, Sofia’s vocabulary is like… really, really, very good. It’s like a college professor’s. She says: “Ma-Ma,” “Da-Da,” “hyeee,” “woof-woof,” “uh-oh,” “Bocephus,” “gefilte fish,” “anomalous phenomenon” and “Long John Silver’s.” You should hear the sentences she creates.

Physically, she’s developing like the illegitimate offspring of Brian Bosworth and Marion Jones. She can’t officially walk yet, but she will take one step to the side, then break into the Electric Slide. You should see her at weddings.
Sofia has taught us a lot, too. We’ve learned that although the talking Elmo cell phone can be programmed so that Elmo will say “Sofia” or maybe “Sophia” if you have the right cord and an internet connection, Sofia doesn’t seem to mind that Elmo still calls her Archie.
What we can’t figure out is if there are any small children out there actually named Archie and why we get a bill each month with $400 worth of calls to Sesame Street.
Making sure Sofia is ready in the morning is probably the most difficult thing about being a parent. Usually she’s up pretty early, but if she doesn’t have my shirt ironed and my lunch made before 7:15, it’s straight to “The Timeout Step” for her. We learned that on Super Nanny.
Before we had Sofia, everyone warned us about how our life would change with a baby. They’d say “you won’t be able to sleep” and “you’re never going to get to go out again.”
It’s just not true. I get at least three hours of sleep every night. We went to dinner once and a movie one other time. And guess what, naysayers?
We’ll go again when our CD matures and we can afford to pay the babysitter.
It’s been a great year at home with the baby. We can’t wait to see what she’ll accomplish by her second birthday. I’ve already read the first few chapters of her detective novel, and let me tell you, it’s a page-turner.

How Does Barack Say 'I Told You So'?

My presidential candidate, Barack Obama, releases a not-so-subtle shot at Mrs Clinton.



I told you so, suckers.

I love local action news teams

My wife found this one today:

Sofia Simone turns 1

A year ago today, we got this:

Now, we have this:

And this:

She's the best. Even if she reads her books upside down.

Happy birthday, to her.

I (h)ate this

I've wanted to try the Colonel's famed chicken bowl for a long time. Bits of fried chicken, "sweet" corn, mashed potatoes and zero trans fat gravy all mixed together sounded like something I'd be into.

So, after being home sick for the last two days, and with the Cubs opening their playoff series tomorrow in Arizona, tonight seemed like as good a night as any to die.

The good news is, I ate the whole thing. I even scraped the grooves of the plastic bowl for more gravy.
Unfortunately, now I'm not sure what made me more sick: the chicken bowl or two days of daytime television (including pseudo-journalist Ann Curry practically licking Jenna Bush on The Today Show and Elizabeth Something-or-Another grilling Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi about troop surges on The View).

If you have a few moments to do some light, no trans fat reading, try this.

If you have a few moments to do some extra crispy reading, try this. If you click the link (go ahead, click it), you'll see that it's about a handsome stay-at-home dad. Obviously, I really identify with it.

By the way, has anyone ever ordered a Diet Pepsi at a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant? And if so, why?


Love you,

Greg

Our End of Summer Music Review/Revue

I know, I know. Another stupid blogger trying to do music reviews. In my defense, I'm not really reviewing anything. I'm sharing. Plus, there's this cute ratings system:

Crap in My Pants

Just Pee-Pee

Fresh and Clean

Ah-Goo

A Sofia Simone Classic

Smashing Pumpkins

Zeitgeist

The summer started out great. We were excited to see Billy and the Pumpkins at a little club in Asheville, N.C. They were going to play eight shows there. Our Internet connection failed us, so we had to stay home and console ourselves with the fact that James Iha didn't get to go either.

The album made up for all of it.

Common

Finding Forever

Billy Corgan's fellow Chicagoan is the King of Similes and clever, topical rhymes ("Drivin' herself crazy/ like that astronaut lady"). It's hard to be hard with separate references to the breakups of Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughn and "Ryan and Reese" on the same album, but Common does it somehow.


Ben Harper & the Innocent Criminals
Lifeline

I don't know why I've ignored Ben Harper for so many years. If you're black and play guitar, I'm usually your biggest fan. This is album is real soul.

Coconut Records
Nighttiming



I knew actor Jason Schwartzman (Rushmore, Marie Antoinette, and the upcoming The Darjeeling Limited) was very funny. I knew he played drums in a group called Phantom Planet. I did not know his solo album under the name Coconut Records would be so enjoyable. If you like simple 1960s pop, try this. Plus, if you buy it directly from the label, Young Baby Records, you may just get an original Polaroid allegedly taken by the artist.
In the meantime, watch the video for my favorite song of the summer right here.

Prince

Planet Earth

I was really trying to enjoy the new Prince album. There are some good songs on there. But then Prince's evil henchmen had to remove from Youtube a sweet little video of my sweet little daughter dancing to the title track. Give me a mother-funking break, you control freak. You owe me. I've paid for more than one pair of your high-heels, so the least you could do is allow me to share video of my daughter dancing to your music. If you're worried about your image, maybe you should concentrate on eradicating Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic from all record stores, online and otherwise.

Mark Ronson

Version

Why is all the soulful, funky stuff coming from England? This is a very cool collection of covers that makes all three Van De Voordes get up and dance. Try it. You'll like it, but watch out for the Britney Spears cover featuring the legendary ODB rapping from the grave as "Dirt McGirt."

Do You Believe in Magic?

I do.

Such as South Africa and the Iraq

I hope you weren't expecting daily posts. While you wait for more goodies, enjoy this clip featuring the future of my dear home state:



Don't forget the Asian countries and everywhere like that.

Crisis Level Orange

I’m worried that I’m in trouble.
Is it possible to have a midlife crisis at 31? And if it is possible, does that mean I’ll only live to 62?
The reason why I ask is because the other day I bought a pair of tennis shoes with orange shoelaces. No. The tennis shoes came fully loaded with the orange shoelaces. I did not use orange shoelaces as currency. I bought the shoes and the laces together with money via a debit card. Although if the dollar keeps dropping, you may want to hang on to those old shoelaces, just in case.
So, am I too old for orange shoelaces?
It’s not exactly a convertible or a hairpiece, just a pair of Pelé-endorsed Pumas with some of the brightest darned orange shoelaces you’ve ever seen. So bright, in fact, the other day a truly middle-aged lady at work asked me if they glow in the dark. I asked her if she wanted to come over and find out. I’m not sure what I meant by that, but I’m sure I could have been fired merely for suggesting it.
I’ve always loved odd, old-school sneakers, but my wife says I dress like a teen-ager. I think what she means is that I dress like a lazy, disheveled teen-ager. I almost never tuck in my shirt (it’s a good way to hide your gut), I wear tennis shoes to work most days (now with orange shoelaces), and I rarely wear a belt (who needs them, when you’ve got sweatpants!). And I do all of this while eating candy, listening to hip-hop on my iPod and updating my MySpace page.
Thankfully, rather than serving as an excuse to eat Skittles in sweatpants, I think this midlife crisis has become more of an inspirational wakeup call.
Now that we’re both in our thirties, my best friend Cory and I have this mantra we recite in about the second quarter of every fiscal year that says “if we don’t do it in our thirties, we’ll never do it.” Of course, by “do it” we mean make our wildest dreams come true. Of course, by “make our wildest dreams come true” we mean publish that novel, sign that record deal, direct that film, adopt that Angelina Jolie.
My plan is to tackle three of my life’s goals in one amazingly marketable project: With no musical training or natural ability to carry a tune, I’m going to record an album; then I’m going to write a novel about a 31-year-old man with no musical training or natural ability to carry a tune who records an album. I sell the book and the CD together in a nice boxed set, maybe with a forward by Bob Dylan or a ringing endorsement from John Updike. I’ll even let Oprah put her book club stamp on the front.
Once that project hits it big, you know Hollywood’s going to want a piece of the action. I’ll agree to a deal, but only if they let me direct. It will be a huge summer blockbuster, even bigger than Transformers. Finally, when it’s time to release the DVD, we’ll stuff all three works of art in the skull of a faux-bronze bust of me and sell it as a special collector’s edition holiday gift pack.
And don’t forget, a pair of my fashion line’s Crisis Level Orange Shoelaces would make an excellent stocking stuffer.

Fine, I'll Get the Dog Turd

I think MacGruber is my new favorite thing.

They used to call him 'Skipper'

Thanks to my best friend, Cory, for hipping me to this magic, a beautiful little song about sex with a complete stranger.

Prince.Electric.Intercourse
Uploaded by kidibiza

Was the Revolution Televised Last Night?

I don’t watch television.
That’s my new catchphrase. I say it with an air of snootiness to anyone who references something they saw on TV. It’s especially annoying to my coworkers because they can see the joy in my eyes when I send conversations about last night’s episode of NBC’s breakout summer hit The Singing Bee to a screeching halt.
When I employ my new catchphrase, it’s actually aimed at all of those people who think they’re too good for TV. I’ve always understood why some people avoid it, but there’s nothing more pompous than someone who acts like they’re morally and intellectually superior because they don’t watch television. Get off your high horse and watch some reruns of 90210. It will do you some good. You’re really not that smart if you are totally oblivious to the zeitgeist of the early ’90s. (See, TV Watchers, when you don’t watch TV you learn words like zeitgeist, which comes from German and means “the spirit of the age.”)
My decision to stop watching television was prompted by my wife’s decision to stop paying for television. She’ll be a full-time student this fall, and with a baby in daycare, she said I could either cut out Charter or eat six meals a week.
My breakup call to Charter was difficult. Julian the customer service guy asked me why I was disconnecting from society. I told him that since The Sopranos ended, I was looking to free myself from the chains of his idiot box. He didn’t buy it.
“I’m converting to Amish?” He still didn’t accept.
“My wife said so.”
“OK, Mr. Voody Ventener. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Click.
It was at that moment that I remembered a younger, more cavalier and newly digital Greg tossing his rabbit ears into a dumpster. Why would I, a man of the modern world, ever need analog television again?
John Lennon once sang, “Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.” He was a great man who didn’t spend a lot of time watching TV (Yoko always had the remote). If he had, he would have realized that life is really what happens to you when you’re not watching television.
Watching my 9-month-old maneuver around the living room is a lot more life-affirming and entertaining than a “ripped from the headlines” edition of Law and Order. It’s cute to watch her chew on the impotent remote controls, accidentally turning on the television to channel 91, where a black screen is broadcasted 24/7. Her little fingers escalate the volume up to “Max” and the silence is deafening.
My wife says the great thing about not having television is that we finally have to talk to each other. I told her about a Web site that connects you to satellite television from stations around the world. We spent the rest of the night “talking” about whether we should watch Japanese game shows or Al Jazeera’s line-up of Must-See sitcoms.
By the way, did you know that humans can eat an entire octopus in less than five minutes if sufficiently prodded by a man dressed as a tuna carrying a giant bag of Yen?
See the types of things you can learn when you don’t watch television?

Hurricane Van De Voorde Takes New Orleans

NEW ORLEANS – It’s been almost two years since this beautifully dirty city was dismantled by the worst natural disaster in our country’s history, so I figured it was high time my seven-month-old daughter and I drive down here and investigate the progress of the recovery effort.
Thanks to my wife Carolina and her connections with the National Office for Victims of Crimes, we are able to stay in a plush hotel in the French Quarter that we would have never been able to afford, pre- or post-Katrina. The only catch is Carolina must attend a daily conference, leaving baby Sofia and I to tour the city on our own.
First off, the ride in from the Gulf Coast was eye-opening. From Interstate 10 we saw old apartment buildings with windows shattered, new apartment homes ready for new tenants who hadn’t yet arrived, an abandoned Toys ’R’ Us next to a thriving Home Depot.
While the worst of the damage caused by Hurricane Katrina and the accompanying levee breaches was outside of the world-famous French Quarter, Sofia and I felt the best place to start our on-the-ground investigation would be on Bourbon Street, where we would be able to smell things far worse than Sofia’s diaper and I could show her first-hand the types of businesses in which she would never be allowed to work.
It was a relief to see that gigantic beers can still be bought cheaply alongside foul-mouthed T-shirts, and if one wanted, he or she could quench an afternoon – or even morning – thirst with a selection of swirling daiquiris that would make Baskin-Robbins proud. Much to Mayor Ray Nagin’s chagrin, we’ve found New Orleans to be more of a Praline Pecan City than the Chocolate City the embattled mayor once dreamed of. And in a nice nod to the city’s rich tradition of hospitality and its future reliance on tourism as one of the key rebuilding blocks, the cover charge was waived for Sofia at publisher Larry Flynt’s club.
The first time we personally felt the impact of Katrina’s wrath on the city came on the third night of our stay, when, after suffering through some very delicious and very expensive meals centered around that sweet fruit of the bayou, the crawfish, we sought sustenance in the two-piece and a biscuit combo from one of my old haunts, Popeye’s Chicken and Biscuits. Imagine the shock and sadness we felt when we arrived after an eight-block walk to a boarded up Popeye’s. Standing there, hungry, with a despondent wife and hungry child in tow, I had to wonder if I had folded up Sofia’s stroller and used it to break through the boarded windows in an attempt to feed my family, would CNN and Fox News label me a looter or a desperate father trying to feed his family?
We eventually were able to eat more crawfish, but there was also more sadness to be seen here. Walking one morning after our morning beignets and café au lait and Café Du Monde, Sofia and I encountered a down-on-his-luck drunk sleeping with his head propped up by the exterior of some 18th- century historic building and legs stretched across the sidewalk directly in the path of Sofia’s stroller. On his lap was a small, but shiny and new transistor radio cranked to “10” as Faith Hill sang, “Caught up in the touch/The slow and steady rush/Baby isn’t that the way that love’s supposed to be?” I wasn’t sure if I should stop and check if I could feel him breathe, so Sofia, the stroller and I crossed on the other side of the street.
The real sad stories, though, came from the people who live in New Orleans. Today, as Sofia and I lounged around the rooftop pool with our liquid peas and peaches, chilling out to the sounds of the Zombies, Otis Redding, and James Brown on the radio we lifted from the drunk guy, we overheard the bartender talking to old friends about the troubles of post-Katrina New Orleans. House prices had dropped, only to make way for the exorbitantly high insurance costs. City services were crippled and unreliable, business was way down, and few of the displaced residents found the desire to return. She blamed the federal, state and local government, along with just plain bad luck.
Somehow, the radio DJ’s promise to rebuild New Orleans “one great oldie at a time,” seemed lacking. It’s going to take a lot more visits from the Van De Voordes and a lot more crawfish dinners to get the city back on its feet. We’re willing to do our part.

Barack in My World

Today, on the 21st of February, 2007, 622 days before the 2008 election, I would like to formally announce my intentions to vote for Senator Barack Obama for President of the United States.
Now, before the distinguished Senator from Illinois and his wranglers get a hold of this week’s Chronicle and plaster this endorsement all over their campaign materials, they may want to take a look at my voting track record.
The first Presidential election I was eligible to vote in was way back in the Golden Age of 1996. I was a junior in college and fairly apathetic about the process. On Election Day, I think I pounded a couple of Icehouses and stumbled to the elementary school a couple of blocks from campus to cast my ballot for incumbent Bill Clinton. It was a great day for democracy.
Four years, a sweet little sex scandal, and a nasty impeachment later, I was living with my 80-year-old aunty Betty in Chicago while trying to make a way for myself in the Windy City. There was just no way the privileged son of a failed president was going to beat the all-powerful and extremely charismatic Al Gore, so I couldn’t be bothered to take the steps to vote absentee back home in Indiana.
I did manage to drive downtown to catch Mr. Gore at a massive rally at Daley Plaza a day or two before the election, but that was because Stevie Wonder and John Cusack were going to be there. After the rally, I had three large cups of coffee and tried to drive back to Aunt Betty’s house in rush hour traffic. It was a bad scene.
By the next election cycle, we were attacked by terrorists and fighting in two wars abroad. It was time to take politics seriously again. I was reporting for this newspaper when I heard retired General Wesley Clark (not to be confused with Laurens County Transportation Committee Chairman Niles Clark, who I would also vote for if given the chance) speak at Presbyterian College. He had not yet entered his name in the ring, but I decided he would be my guy if he ever did. He did, I voted for him in the first-in-the-South Democratic Primary, he lost to John Edwards and John Edwards eventually lost to John Kerry for the Democratic nomination.
A few months later, I voted for Kerry and Edwards in the big dance. I was inspired by neither, but was so passionate about the failures of Bush and Cheney that I felt called to my duty in the voting booth that day. It turned out to be just a prank call, though, because the greater of two evils won again.
After a decade of dispassionate voting, something exciting is happening. I’m enthusiastic about a candidate.
A couple of years ago I read Senator Obama’s book “Dreams of My Father.” It’s an insightful memoir about race, culture and identity. He wrote it long before he was considered a viable candidate for the Illinois state legislature, let alone the White House. He talks about drug use and even today he admits he inhaled. “That was the point,” he has said.
I recently started reading Senator Obama’s latest book, “The Audacity of Hope,” which is much more a carefully orchestrated political manifesto than “Dreams of My Father,” but no less insightful, entertaining or important. Lots of politicians have written or had ghost writers write books where they describe how they feel about the issues of the day. There’s just something different about Obama’s words. I can’t explain it. I actually believe him.
Now, being a good writer doesn’t qualify you to be President, but having a leader who knows how to express himself would be a pleasant change and extremely valuable if we’re going to solve new global issues with diplomacy.
Cynics will say he doesn’t have enough Washington experience for the job. I think that’s an attribute.
Some people will say, in fact have already said, “He’s not black enough” and “he’s too black.” How about that?
Curmudgeons will find any number of reasons to try to rain on Barack-o-Mania. Maybe they’re Republicans, Hillary Clintonites, John Edwardsians or Tom Vilsackiacks. Or maybe they’re just too old and jaded to feel inspired by a politician.
I’m not sure if Obama actually has a chance to win, I’m just happy I haven’t grown too old and cynical to feel inspired and hopeful. It’s a nice change.

'I farted at the car.'

Since I left the news racket last July, I’ve had a lot more time on my hands to do the things I love: shear sheep, read romance novels, play with my puppets, and watch local television news. Of my four pastimes, the activity that doesn’t involve alliteration may be my favorite.
Not too long ago, my competitive juices would not have allowed me to be so forthcoming about my love of local television news. When you write for a living, anybody whose newsgathering toolbox includes a hairdryer and a pantsuit is the enemy.
I’m sure my former compatriots in the print media will agree with me that nothing ruins your day on the beat faster than the presence of a television camera crew. People freak out to be on TV. They’ll knock you and your little analog reporter’s notepad to the ground for the chance to catch the camera’s eye. It’s hard to get the attention of a source when the other reporter shows up on the scene in a helicopter with a dual Doppler strapped to his back. It used to hurt my feelings, but I’m over it now that I’ve retired.
The great thing about TV news is that it includes sound and moving images. They will never be able to give you the depth and important background you can get here in the newspaper, but the newspaper can’t give you the real sound of someone’s voice – and sometimes that’s crucial part of the story.
Take for instance a story last week on WYFF about the Anderson County Library security guard who fired a shot at a woman who had made off with a copy of something the library would have allowed her to have for free, assuming she had one of those super-exclusive things they call library cards.
My friends on TV would have video of the whole incident, but the staff forgot to put in a new tape after the library’s security tape had been subpoenaed in another case.
Despite the library being an apparent hot spot of criminal activity in Anderson, shooting at patrons is frowned upon by the sissy liberal higher-ups who run the library. They criticized the security guard for his decision-making, so the guard called the press to defend his actions. He said the woman tried to run him over and that’s when instinct took over.
This is how he was quoted in the Anderson Independent Mail: “She started forward slowly and then she hit me. That’s when I fired my weapon.”
Sounds like a pretty intelligent guy in the newspaper, right? Just your average rented security professional caught in the crossfire on another rough and tumble night on the corner of Reference and New in Large Print.
But on TV, we hear the words straight from the horse’s mouth without the filter of a reporter, an editor or the confines of the stodgy old English language.
“Ah puhled out ma wehpen and farted at the car,” the straight-faced guard told WYFF.
I can’t help but think that quote provides us with an essential piece of story missing from the newspaper’s account. With or without a gun, this guard is dangerous, and I think we can all understand why the woman was trying to flee the scene.