It’s been a good year for lady rappers from the bay and Harlem rap revivalists, so why not get them both at the same time. This swagged out female rhymespitter, the be-braided Gita, just dropped a new video for her banger “Hood Rich.” The west coast transplant is blowing up on the NYC rap scene. Coming in slow and steady over a helluva beat from Two Stacks, Gita follows up her buzzy “Light’s Out” with another one that’s gonna leave her name in everyone’s mouth.
You’re even gonna be seeing her in one of our Lookbooks soon. Spoiler. She’s already looking fresh in this video. I’m particularly fond of the mini-kewpie doll land swagger. That’s a swagger right? Guys?
The Oversized Death Adder is one of my absolute favorite T-shirts we do. It’s iconic, imposing, scares children, excites badass children, will get you weird looks/questions on the street, and has been known to provide its wearers with superpowers. Promise. This season, however, we decided that just the straight up Death Adder wasn’t enough. No: the public demanded even more. Well here’s the perfect thing to get your grubby little mitts on. Just kidding. Your mitts aren’t grubby. You have beautiful hands. I love you. Shirt?
The Mishka mascot collage actually came about by complete accident, much like penicillin, electricity, or the genetic experiment that spawned Guy Fieri. Right around the time we first started making stickers, we were approached by one of our interns who happened to have been a scientist in the former Soviet Union. He suggested we use an adhesive of his own devising that would save us around 10 cents per sticker which, if you know your profit margins, is quite the deal. We cooked some of it up, and were happily painting it onto printouts of all our mascots when we realized that the intern had accidentally given us the recipe for a contact explosive. And by realized I mean were all sent flying in a massive explosion. My Pal The Crook landed way across the street. I found myself lodged in a wall. That’s how I got my claw arm. Once the dust had settled, however, we saw that the blast had left a massive collage of all the stickers all over the ceiling. It comes in Black and Charcoal.
Мишка
350 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
718-388-1725
— Мишка LA
1547 Echo Park Ave
Los Angeles, CA
213-536-4234
Here’s fun and borderline NSFW video for The Death Set‘s “Chew It Like a Gun Gum” off of this year’s Michel Poiccard. Who knew that The Death Set knew how to have a good time? I mean, whenever I see Jonny Siera he’s so low energy. What a downer!
Frealz doe, Poiccard is a super fun album from front to back, and I’m happy to see that the boys are still having a fun time playing them, if that is really them under those masks that is! Roofeos hair would probably be hard to fake though…
Wha-… what the fuck is this? What am I even watching right now? Seriously, play that trailer up there first. Is that real? Is that an actual film that people, that Dario Argento worked on? Is Dario Argento suddenly the greatest living troll? I mean, there’s a giant praying mantis in that. In the trailer for a Dracula movie. That is apparently all shot in the same room.
That didn’t even look like it was vaguely shot for 3D. Is that Rutger Hauer? Oh, of couse Asia Argento is in it, naked, because no one likes to put their own nude daughter in movies more than Dario. Thanks for making this even more uncomfortable dude. That’s one of the worst things I’ve ever watched. I have to go take a nap now…
It’s been a while since I posted a good Star Wars video. It’s also been a while since I posted the nerdiest thing of all time. This is, like, an electro-dance-cello-made-in-mother’s-basement remix of the Star Wars theme song and it’s incredible. They’ve got everything from force lightning to lightsaber bows. Lightsaber bows! It blows my mind.
I was hesitant about posting this at first, but then at the end when the Sith cellist instructed me to post it using his dark powers there wasn’t much I could do. Those Sith Lords, you gotta love ‘em.
This year it was my dream that there would be a Republican Presidential Candidate named Thomas Abel, and that the nomination would boil down to a heated race between Abel and Herman Cain, and that when Cain won by a landslide the headlines would read, “Cain Kills Abel!”
Alas, now that dream is gone.
This week Herman Cain dropped out of the 2012 Presidental race to the public’s sarcastic cry of “Oh no!” Comedians everywhere took a blow from the withdrawal, as now a daily source of outstanding material has vanished. For weeks I’ve wanted to write a piece about the man whose campaign anthem was “Big Pimpin’” that would examine (make fun of) all of the greatest Herman Cain videos. There’s the one where he calls Wolf Blitzer “Blitz”, his renaming of Uzbekistan (you know, “Uzbeki-beki-beki-stan-stan”), and of course his immense knowledge of foreign policy and current happenings in Libya, seen above. This might be my favorite Cain clip. It’s a hard choice, but he really just knows nothing about Libya in the video up top. I’m going to miss Herman Cain. He brought this presidential race to life. Well, Cain, along with Michele Bachmann and Rick Perry. In honor of Herman Cain, can I get one last “9-9-9″?
No? Okay.
“December 4th”
I’m weird about music. I only listen to certain things at certain times. Miles Davis‘ Round About Midnight is reserved for December and January when I’m at home, in my car; “April Fools” by Aretha Franklin can only be listened to in April; And anything by Weezer is strictly for when I am between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
Jay-Z‘s “December 4th” gets the same treatment. I love this song. I love it. It’s one of the best cuts on The Black Album. Be that as it may, I only can listen to it on the actual day of December 4. It’s just a thing I do (a thing called having severe neuroses). Fortunately, today is December 4! I can listen to it today! In fact, I exclusively listen to this song on the fourth. No matter what music I’ve been playing lately, or even if I feel like listening to something else, I can only listen to “December 4th”. So, yeah. If you feel like stepping your neurotic game up, start doing this. I like pickles.
Apply Your Yarmelkes Now
I’m Jewish for two reasons: the jokes and the holidays. I’m not religiously Jewish, just culturally. If there’s room for a Jew joke, I’ll make it; a day off from school for a Jewish holiday, I’ll take it. Ever since moving away from home though, Chanukah has been a real bummer. I can rarely find someone to get me one gift for a cultural holiday I observe out of completely materialistic reasons, let alone eight! This year, I’m not gonna stand for it. This year, I’m gonna do something about it. With that I present to you, my Chanukah list:
1. A massage
I’ve built up a lot of bodily stress this year. I’ve never had a professional massage before, just the shitty ones that your friends who claim they’re “great at giving massages” give. Now, I want a real one. Man or woman, I don’t care. Just someone, please, rub me down.
2. Benihana Cooking Lessons
Did you know these exist? These are actually a thing. Last winter I was at Benihana with my mother, and the wonderful self-promoters they are, they mentioned that these are now available. Let me get there. You’ve read my cooking articles, you know of my expertise in the kitchen. I need these.
3. Jay-Z’s Decoded
I actually want this. The hardcover version. Don’t skimp on me, Reader.
4. Anything Unreleased By J.D. Salinger
Salinger’s my favorite author of all time. Him, and Italo Calvino. And he’s got so much unreleased stuff locked away in his former home, would it be that hard for someone to discreetly break a window and grab a couple manuscripts? Even just one; i’ll take just one. Help me out.
5. A Bunch Of Goat Cheese
Let’s face it, it’s the best cheese.
6. A Cheese Grader
This has nothing to do with the above goat cheese. It just seems like a good thing to have.
7. Big Lurch’s “It’s All Bad” On Vinyl. Or On CD. Or Even Just The Name Big Lurch Written On A Piece Of Paper
No one eats someone like Big Lurch.
8. Anything With Polka Dots
Put it on a button up, or some socks, or jeans. It’s a great pattern.
Well, that’s my list. My goal in posting this is that some of you faithful Bloglin readers will come to my aid and get me Chanukah gifts. After all the hilarious posts I’ve given you this year, do I not deserve that? No, you’re right, I probably don’t. In that case, use this list as a guide if you’re unsure of what to get someone this holiday season. I generally know what people like. I am culture.
The Grammysdon’t mean anything. It would be nice if they did, they’re supposed to be the most prestigious honor that a musician can be awarded, but they’re not. The Album Of The Year award, for example, should be given to the best album released that year, as the name suggests. This year, the nominees in that category are Adele,The Foo Fighters, Rihanna, Bruno Mars, and Lady Gaga. Three of those names are unlike the others. Rihanna: Oh, so a compilation counts as an album? In absolutely no way was Loud a cohesive body of work, otherwise known as an album. It was simply a collection of singles. Gaga’s album wasn’t as good as her first, and Bruno Mars is an adequate songwriter, but this is all inconsequential (I haven’t listened to the Foo Fighter’s new album so I’ll leave it out of this discussion (it’ll be irrelevant momentarily anyway)). One name is prominently absent from this list: Kanye West.
My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy was one of the highest rated albums of all time, receiving five stars from Rolling Stone, a ten out of ten from Pitchfork, and an average score of ninety-four (based on forty-three reviews) on Metacritic. Those numbers are meant as a preface to my next claim that: this was one of the greatest albums of all time. It was a shoo-in for Album Of The Year, I thought, being significantly greater, not only than any other rap album from 2011, but than any album released period. Over the last year I discussed with friends how great it will be to see West accept the award for Album Of The Year, the true point of redemption for his manic public image, and a deserved honor for his magnum opus. Sometimes we would joke about the idea of him losing. It was a good joke. But never once did we consider that he would not even be nominated.
It has long been known that The Grammys are political, but now it is clear that they are only political. In denying MBDTF, a perfectly rated, written, and sequenced album, The Grammys deny having any interest in honoring music based on music. Is Rihanna’s Loud a bad collection of songs? No, some of those are really catchy, but was it the greatest work of music released in 2011? Come on. It wasn’t even kind of the greatest album released last year. But that is the recognition that it very well could receive, because it sold well, charted well, and produced hits. Also, The Grammys would presumably like Rihanna to perform, and what better way to book that than throwing her an AOTY nomination.
With award shows annually losing viewers, The Grammys want ratings, but wholesome ratings. They want minivan-friendly Bruno Mars publicity, not monstrous Kanye West. Additionally, it’s known that Kanye is disliked by the Grammy committee for his outspoken, arrogant qualities. Three of his five classic albums have been nominated for AOTY, but never has he taken home the award. And regardless of whether or not each of his previous studio albums deserved Album Of The Year, in the case of MBDTF it’s clearly not a question of the music. And the committee is not going to pretend that it is; they’re not going to throw Kanye a nomination and then give the album to Gaga, or Bruno Mars. To have Dark Fantasy seemingly lose in a competition of quality against any of the albums that are nominated would be just as unfathomable as it not qualifying. The only legitimate, credible option for the Grammys here was to give Kanye Album Of The Year, and if they’re not going to, then I’d rather he not be nominated than for them to pretend that Dark Fantasy was in any way inferior to another album from 2011.
This goes beyond just snubbing Kanye. The Grammy committee simply does not know what to do with hip hop. It receives recognition as a musical genre, but is largely quarantined into its own couple of award categories. Seldom does a hip hop album manage to cross over and receive recognition as a contender for Album Of The Year, and when it does, only twice (Lauryn Hill‘s The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill and Outkast‘s Speakerboxxx/The Love Below) has a rap album won. Though hip hop has arguably been the mainstay of American popular and youth music for the last ten, if not twenty years, it has to work substantially harder as a genre to receive recognition.
The Grammy committee doesn’t know how to gauge the quality of a rap album. It goes beyond them not associating with the subject matter, as plenty of hip hop fans do not have personal experience with the subject matter concerning rap, and is more that they cannot compare it to other forms of music. Few hip hop albums are considered for album of the year because the committee doesn’t know how to equate a rap song to a pop song. And in some ways it is a difficult task, with a rap having more lyrics and traditionally less melody, but they must be compared if The Grammys expect to have an award ceremony that properly reflects the state of American music (which, it appears that they do not).
Is it an issue of race? Maybe, if only indirectly. Eminem was nominated for AOTY last year despite Recovery being underwhelming for both a hip hop album and an Eminem album. Though I don’t attribute this to Eminem being white. Recovery sold incredibly well (5.7 million copies as of this writing) and spawned two number one records on the Billboard Hot 100. So while it was not a great hip hop album, it was well received by the masses, which is what The Grammys are all about. Race factors in contingently by the committee being generationally disconnected from hip hop. The people deciding the greatest album of a given year, an emblem of our culture, do not reflect the majority of listeners culturally or generationally, nor do they seem to understand the music of this time. Rap music is youth music, and to have the judges of our culture be less than youthful results in a lack of comprehension, an in turn skewed accolades.
Recently, while performing in Chicago, Kanye addressed his Grammy snub, saying, “I figured out though, that’s my fault for dropping Watch The Throne and Dark Fantasy in the same year.” The back-to-back releases indeed might have divided voters and unintentionally hurt Dark Fantasy’s chance of being nominated, but it’s not just a matter of technicality. This snub is a personal snub, a biased snub, and a cultural snub. As both a hip hop head and a Kanye fan I am of course biased, but when it comes to the rest of the nominees no album even comes close to Dark Fantasy except Adele’s 21. Even then, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is a musical masterpiece. Show some respect.
As is customary, let me begin at the beginning of what is becoming my most intense period of discontent with professional athletics. On July 8th, 2010, LeBron James announced his decision to sign with the Miami Heat basketball team in a televised special called, aptly, The Decision. Let me qualify that, though I think it was not the most loyal choice, I have no real problems with LeBron’s actual decision to leave Cleveland.
Part of this comes from my theory that LeBron James, or at least the one we see, is not a real person. He is a cipher, a carefully calibrated almost-hero whose authors made a grave error and brutally tarnished the legacy of a preternaturally talented young man who, from the age 14, has been literally referred to as a King. Any human with a realistic sense of the world around them would have avoided The Decision like a plague. LeBron on the other hand appeared genuinely shocked at the backlash.
The season and playoffs, despite my malaise at the Lakers’ early exit, ended up being the most exciting in recent memory, and ended with the underdog Mavs defeating the evil Heat. Hooray for all, and well deserved national schadenfreude ensued. Then something quite strange happened. LeBron, in one of the most inexplicable moves I’ve ever witnessed an athlete make, even more damning than The Decision, gave an interview in which he essentially told his detractors to shut up and retreat to their shitty jobs.
That was when I really realized that this was not a human that lived in the same world as the rest of us. That comment showed a fundamental misunderstanding of what professional sports are. To draw a distinction between a team or a league and its fans is to nullify the league’s existence in every way. Could a professional athlete really behave like that? I was comforted by my belief that LeBron was the most obvious of outliers, a selfish and misguided deviation. I was wrong.
Somewhere, in a parallel earth, it is basketball season right now. My father, a born and bred Pittsburgh boy, was a devout Pirates fan and general baseball super-enthusiast. That is, until 1994. That was the year when the MLB cancelled their whole season. It took him over 15 years to really start appreciating the game again. I fear that, without a resolution soon, I will feel a similar betrayal. All because of pure monetary greed.
In many ways this lockout has been like finding out Santa Claus isn’t real. Any sense I had of a team fighting for their city or their fans has been damaged, I hope not irreparably. The NBA Lockout is a sad and disheartening thing to watch. Especially in our country’s time of economic struggle (to put it lightly), it infuriates to no end watching players stubbornly grasp onto almost incomprehensible amounts of money, refusing to give an inch even at the expense of THE GAME NOT EVEN BEING PLAYED.
I really can’t stress that point enough. I’ve lost the ever-important suspension of disbelief about why athletes deserve so much money, because right now the players of the NBA are not professional athletes. They will regain that title when they play a game. So perhaps the rest of the league is more like LeBron than I feared. To them, their mere existence is the spectacle, the importance. Not throwing some silly orange ball through a metal ring. They just want us to go back to our shitty jobs.
I have two questions: “What did we do to deserve this?” and, more troublingly “did we do this?” Does it not logically line up that our continued treatment of these players as superhuman has contributed to their comfortability with values that are in no way indicative of the adoring public’s? Or is it the player’s responsibility to “stay grounded” and maintain perspective, contextualizing themselves as a proletarians who just happens to be payed enormous salaries? Is that even possible?
Why does it somehow seem wrong to everyone (at least me) to pay them even vaguely normal amounts? I know I seem to be coming down pretty heavily on the side of the owners right now, but the fact is that the league loses 300 million dollars a year. I’m no economist, but when reminded that the league could theoretically be profitable if less than 15 players were released from their mega-contracts, it feels like something is out of whack.
That being said, I’m sure there are some ins and outs of this process that I don’t fully grasp, and probably a lot of deep seeded acrimony between the players and owners. But that’s not what I’m thinking about right now. I’m thinking about how I’m not sitting on my couch wearing my Kobe jersey and watching those beautiful purple and yellow bastards play basketball. That hurts.
This past week I graced two different Thanksgiving potlucks with my presence. That’s rather generous, wouldn’t you say? I always wonder if this weekend, the weekend before Thanksgiving, is Thanksgiving weekend, or if it’s next weekend, the weekend technically after the holiday? That was a very Andy Rooney-like meandering. We’ll stay away from those for the remainder of this week’s debrief.
Back to the T-day Potlucks; I know my presence was appreciated as people gave thanks that I was there. I, however, was not thankful for these thanks.
Not Giving Thanks
I offended all of the people who were giving thanks at this first potluck. There were about twenty of them. I only knew a handful of these people, maybe five, and the ones I didn’t know it was only sort of nice to meet them. It’s not like the introduction was life altering. As we were going around saying what we were thankful for, everyone was expressing gratitude for meeting everyone else at the party. I didn’t realize there was this social convention of the all-encompassing courtesy thanks. I wouldn’t do it.
When my turn came in the circle of thanks, the pressure was on. I wasn’t gonna do it; I would not thank people I just met for just meeting them. I was very thankful for the ones I did know (pretty thankful, at least), but I am not, and will never be a phony thanker. It was time for a joke, I thought.
“Well, to start, I’m thankful for soup.”
Blank stares.
“And genius. I’m thankful for genius. You know, people being geniuses. It’s given us a lot of great things. IPods, and Chicken & Waffles.”
“Um, are you serious?” some girl asked.
“Yeah. What, you don’t like those things?” I asked.
She was drunk. “Aren’t you thankful for family? Or friends? Or the fact that we’re all here?”
“I’m thankful for dogs. Mostly little dogs, I don’t like big ones all that much.”
“Ew. Who invited you?”
It wasn’t a very valid question. Obviously the host of the small potluck had issued my invitation.
Maybe it was how I was raised. Probably not, because who needs honesty, but I just could not give a non-genuine thanks. And I really am thankful for all those things. IPods, Southern food, Dogs – I love those things! To make up for the first potluck’s botched thanks, I really gave it my all at the second potluck. There, I gave some good thanks. Though I did start with that same soup bit. It was more appreciated this time. Man, I’m good. People might be taking this giving thanks thing too seriously. I don’t know, I’m probably just ungrateful.
Occupy a W Suite
“Hey, what are you doing today?”
“I think I’m gonna skip class again and go down to Occupy.”
Again? Bad move. I overheard a girl say this the other day. Don’t you think it would be a better move to go to class in the long run? Well, whatever.
This past week in Occupy Wall Street news it was revealed that one of the lead figures in the Occupy movement, businessman Peter Dutro, has been staying in the lavish, $700-per-night W Hotel. “Fuck a tent!” Dutro may have been overheard saying as he jumped on the bed in his W suite while eating all of the treats from the minibar. Dutro reportedly checked in to the hotel after the raid on Zuccotti park earlier in the week, claiming that it was the only room he could find, despite living in Brooklyn. This is an important step for the Occupy movement, proving that even in times of social unrest, it’s crucial to regroup and order an $18 pastrami sandwich to be delivered by room service.
Russian Politics
As if Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin isn’t already my boy, and a shoe-in for the Russian Presidency, this new ad campaign is sure to secure his win in the upcoming elections. That is, unless it backfires and ruins all of his chances, which is possible. This new clip depicts an attractive young Russian woman arriving at the voting polls, and while she is getting her ballot, Justin Guarini’s cousin rolls up and gives her a once-over. Then they go and have sex in the voting booth for, like, three-seconds. Following the fornication, they show their Russian pride by casting their ballots for Putin as the campaign slogan, “Let’s do it together” flashes across the screen in Russian.
I’m in. Let’s do it.
Simply put: The ad is awesome. The sex; the techno; the curls: it’s the type of campaign that would never fly in America (though Herman Cain is doing his best to challenge that notion). Unfortunately, some Russians aren’t supporting it either. Voting in Russia is supposed to be done in private, as is the case in most countries with elections. Gennady Gudkov, a poor sport from the opposing party, A Just Russia, is now calling for an investigation because, in depicting two people in the voting booth, the ad violates the Russian constitution. In response, people are calling for an investigation into whether or not Gudkov understands that commercials are fake.
It’s been a great week, Reader. In case we don’t speak before Thursday, have a nice holiday. Oh, what did I make for the potlucks? Let me tell you. For the first one I made nothing, because whatever. For the second one, however, boy did I cook up some autumnal treats. Acorn squash with brown sugar, and some poached apples; it was great. Most importantly, I brought a pumpkin pie to the festivities. I found out I hadn’t had any pumpkin pie yet this season. In retaliation, I’ve had six this weekend. Take care.
It was recently announced that the popular children’s mystery book series, Where’s Waldo?, is going to be adapted for the big screen. I know, I’m hesitant too. The book’s reliance on reader interaction makes the series an odd choice for the film medium, but perhaps MGM, the studio that bought the rights to the series, are on to something. Here are a few ways that this movie may go down.
1. Live Action Search: One way that this movie might be formatted is as a direct recreation of the crowded page on the screen. That’s right: I’m thinking that perhaps this whole movie will be wide shots of thousands of people, and hidden among them will be our striped hero. The filmmakers will likely visit large, open, well-known places, like Times Square or the Grand Canyon, and just film a bunch of extras walking around with Tobey Maguire, who obviously will play Waldo. Then, audiences will be able to spend about fifteen minutes searching through each scene and shouting, “Hey, there he is! If found him!” This will certainly be a movie that shushers will want to skip.
Alternatively, the movie might just be large pictures of the actual pages of a Where’s Waldo? book. That could be cool.
2. 3D Search: With 3D technology infiltrating its way into more and more movies, perhaps the Waldo filmmakers will similarly make use of this gimmick. After applying 3D glasses, audiences will be able to see the Waldo-covering crowd all around them, and feel as though they are amassed in the search. Then, viewers who don’t know any better will run up to the virtual Waldo shouting about their discovery, and trying to grab hold of him, but because he will be virtual they will look like idiots. They might then also fall down, just because that would be something an idiot would do.
3. Interactive Search: One final way that this film might be produced is that individual theaters will hire actors to dress like Waldo and sit among the audience. The movie screen will indicate what the setting is, be it the Roman Colosseum or the alien farms of Area 51, and from the speakers music will play to match the displayed scene. The audience will then get up and walk around the theatre looking for the person dressed as Waldo.
Or, maybe instead of having the audience stand up and hunt for someone dressed like Waldo, the screen will display a part of the world and matching music will play and moviegoers will sit in their seats and all read Waldo books. That would be a ton of fun.
Whichever one of these three brilliant ideas is chosen, this movie is sure to be a classic, right up their with Scarface.
