Cricket Uninteresting Again

According to the latest reports, the Pakistan cricket coach wasn't murdered at the World Cup, but died of natural causes.

The period between 3/18/2007 and 5/14/2007 will be forever remembered at the brief period of time when the "sport" of cricket was interesting.

Whitechapel Calling

It's been so long since I've picked up a copy of Alan Moore's "From Hell" that it feels like I'm about to read it for the first time. In preperation for the new reading of the massive, blood-soaked tome I have procured a copy of the Johnny Depp film, which is a wonderful bit of cinema even if it is only connected to the comic book by title and general subject matter. I have also directed my thoughts back to London in 1888, and applied the fruits of my academic training towards solving the vexing and lingering homicides that changed the way the world thought about its madmen.

My New Suspects (based on an extensive literary training):
Charles Dickens:
What better place to start one's examination of the most iconic Victorian crime wave than with the most iconic of Victiorian authors? Unfortunately, Dickens died in 1870, ruling him out as Saucy Jack. Besides, given Dickens' penchant for including casts of dozens, even hundreds of characters, there's no way he would have stopped at five victims.





Robert Louis Stevenson: While the murders were occuring, a stage production of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" was playing in London. What better way to pump up interest in your strange psychological drama about the dark side within every man than by going out and knifing some prostitutes? It worked when Orson Welles did it to promote "Citizen Kane", and it might have worked for Stevenson.





Bram Stoker: Ah, but if we take a closer look at the stage production of "Jekyll", we notice that it was being produced at the legendary Lyceum theater in London. And what author is more associated with that theater than Bram Stoker, whose friendship with the Lyceum's biggest star, Henry Irving is legendary. What if, as a favor to his friend, Stoker decided to create a little buzz for the show? The plot thickens when one considers the famous "Dear Boss" letter of 9/25/1888, the letter which produced the name "Jack the Ripper" and includes the tantalizing sentence, "I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle". What author is more associated with blood than the creator of Dracula?


Oscar Wilde: However, the Jack killings might be a touch too theatrical for Stoker. It might be more appropriate to look at the greatest of the theatrical minds of the late nineteenth century, the divine Oscar. Unfortunately, Oscar did not have a new play out around that time, so we might have to reluctantly abandon our theory that the killings were a marketing technique (not unlike the Aqua Teen Hunger Force terrorist attack in Boston of 1/31/07). This leaves us with the potential that Oscar was doing early research for his own study of human degredation, "The Picture of Dorian Gray", which he would publish two years later. Or, the murders might have simply been an example of Wilde's aesthics run a little amok. In his preface to "Dorian Gray", he wrote, "There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.". If one replaces the word "book" with "ritualistic murder and postmortem mutiliation of ladies of ill-repute", a damning confession comes to light.


Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Nah. It's well known within literary circles that Tennyson loved the hos. Way too much to start killing them.













Aw hell, who am I kidding. We all know it was a Freemason plot, in conjunction with renegade Catholic sects, the Royal family, the Guild of Calamitous Intent and the Illuminati. Actually, according to the new official story, the Ripper looked a lot like this guy:













(I made up way less of the details than you probably think.)

Believe The Truth: Brother Ali at the Cradle.

While Akon is busy humiliating himself and giving another black eye to a culture and art form he claims to represent, I sought communion with the truth itself, hip-hop the way it is supposed to be. Brothers and sisters, I went to see Brother Ali at the Cat's Cradle. I left the club with my head spinning with even more words than usual, desperate to do justice to the magic I had witnessed.

First, a quick word about Psalm One, who opened for Ali.

Female MCs are still something of a novelty, and there are a couple of ways to think about them. One point of view runs like this- in a coed terrorist cell, you always kill the women first. A woman, the thinking goes, had to work ten times as hard as any of the men there in order to prove herself to the rest of the group. (Allright, I stole that from Garth Ennis' "Preacher")

The other way of thinking is the dancing bear. The point is not that the bear dances well, it is enough that a bear can dance at all.

Psalm One is not a dancing bear. She is an assasin on the the mic, and better than nine out of any ten male mcs you might randomly line up. It's hard for a man to make it in this business? I'd be willing to wager nearly anthing that it was a lot harder for Psalm One. Believe that.

One highlight of her set was Ali coming out to wipe off her sweat, the kind of little moment that suggests that maybe Rhymesayers is different from other labels, and that their MCs are having all kinds of fun on the tour.

Ali took the stage, and right away he took complete control over the crowd. Most rappers talk about how "real" they are with the same amount of hyperbole that they use to describe their purported wealth, their sexual prowess, how hard they really are. Not Ali. Although he is perfectly capable of the bragadocio that hip-hop borrowed from the Blues and we all know and love, he is also one of the realest cats in the game. After performing "Room With a View", the potent opening track from the "Shadows on the Sun" album, Ali made a point of telling the audience that the discarded souls who populate the song are real people that he knows, examples of a society that doesn't care about anyone who isn't rich or pretty enough.

Like another Minnesotan musical marvel, Ali leaves blood on his tracks. He raps about his divorce, moving between the poles of venom and reflection while he moves forward. His shameless gushing about how proud he is of his son Faheem should be embarrasing or maudlin, but instead is genuinely moving. (At the end of the show, Ali played a track, "Original Prince" that his boy recorded. And honestly? There are rappers who get a lot of airtime are put to shame by a six year old.) Ali hasn't yet put out an album as brilliant as Dylan's 1974 personal masterpiece, but give the man time, he ain't quite thirty yet.

At one point, the crowd spontaneously broke into an "Ali" chant, and while the obviously flattered MC posed and strutted, I couldn't help but think of that other Ali. Brother Ali would be the first to tell you that he ain't pretty like the Greatest Of All Time (who would have been one hell of an MC himself), but he can dominate like the man himself.

Ali avoided the biggest trap I was afraid he would fall into. While he hit most of the high points of his new album (The Undisputed Truth, in stores now), Ali didn't neglect his amazing breakout album, 2003's Shadows on the Sun or 2004's Champion EP. (Talking about the gap between releases, Ali pointed out that in the time it took to put out his new music, Jay-Z managed to retire, return and put out a new album). For me, the highlight of the show was the transcendent "Rainwater", off of the Champion EP. I had been waiting to hear the man perform what I firmly believe to be his greatest accomplishment since last year, when I saw Ali open for Rakim. At that show, the turntables apparently both wobbled and fell down, so the audience was treated to Ali rhyming over beats layed down by a brilliant beatboxer named (if I'm not mistaken) DJ Snuggles. That impromptu throwback was a real treat, the kind of show that you remember for the rest of your life. But it did leave me waiting to get the full Ali experience. He took the crowd through the highlights of Shadows on the Sun- "Room With A View", his half of the duet with Slug, "Blah Blah Blah", the domestic abuse saga of "Dorian", "Star Quality", "Forrest Whitiker", a triumphant performance of "Champion" that was nothing less than a victory lap. He took the audience to church, to a house party, to a political rally, and into the depths of his soul. In other words, he did everything that hip-hop music is supposed to do, which might be the highest compliment that I can think of.

Brother Ali brought the truth with him to Carrboro, and I was blessed to witness it.

Everybody Drops The Dime

This week your humble reporter is dispatching live from the beatfiul terror that is the city of Dis, located with a beatiful view in the sixth circle of the Inferno. And how have you been my blue-eyed sons?

The World Wide Leader has managed to irritate me twice in one day, first with the new graphic on the side of the screen during Sportscenter, then by not showing me Stump the Schwab reruns at 1:00 PM. I have few small pleasures, but the great pleasure of being home at 1:00 in the afternoon is watching Schwab. This will not stand. None shall pass.

And the coverage of Clemens' return has displeased me. I want more focus on the wisdom, if that's the word, on paying a million dollars a start to a 45 year old man who can go five or six innings a start. Anyone who thinks that the bastards of the Bronx just wrote the check that, when cashed, will buy them a seat in October is sorely mistaken, methinks. If the Rocket had returned to the Dirty Water of Boston as a third or fourth starter, I could believe that the playoffs were beckoning brother Roger, but that team in Gotham is too flawed for even the return of the best pitcher of our era to redeem. You heard it hear first.

The Sopranos, now. And boyos, the claret is begining to flow. Brother Christopher has finally snapped, and that's nothing but good news for the audience. My concerns for the last season have been proven mercifully unjustified. David Chase deserved not my skepticism.

As an example of how good I am at outsmarting myself, I managed to spend 70 dollars on Free Comic Day. Apparently, Alan Moore and Transmet trades weren't covered under the Free Comic heading. Ah well, I needed to pick Transmet up again. It's nothing less than a sin on my part to have lapsed from the true faith of Spider. Yes, we will build Jerusalem on America's granite and steel lands...

Brother Ali is tomorrow night. The truth is here, ladies and germs, and although I would dispute it, I eagerly await it. If only I had some idea for my plans for the rest of the day.

Mother's day is coming up my lads and lasses, do you remember that? Because she is unaware of the existance of my signal fires that I light on the interweb, I'll let you all know what I have procured for my mother dearest, and I highly recommend all three of you beg borrow and steal to obtain the same item- the new Van Morrison collection of his movie songs. Van Morrison is an authentic Irish Seraph disguised as the most heartbreaking voice in rock n roll and we are all lucky to have been graced with his genius. Consider this.

I have spent the day watching Boogie Nights for the first time in a couple of years, at least, and reading Transmetropolitan. I can already tell that I'm going to lose my mind, and soon, without something to do. Employment never seemed so lovely. I can go ahead and warn you imaginary, magnificent bastards that the posts are going to begin coming faster and thicker, trying to save my mind by poisoning yours. I still have no idea what I'm doing tomorrow and it is bothering me more and more with every passing moment.

It's probably wrong of me to continually edit posts instead of posting new ones, but that just how I roll. I now know what I'm doing tomorrow before the Brother Ali concert. Expect a full write up of the show if you like. Hell, expect whatever you want. But there's a chance you'll actually get the write-up.

Oh, and anyone who gets the specific allusion that the title of this post is making, then I both salute you and worry about you. I know that you won't get the answer from the first page of google results...

Keith has told me that you can get the answer through google. It's completely unfair if you use rudimentary knowledge of how search engines work against me.

Braves play San Diego tonight. Chuck James is pitching, and we're tied with the Mets for our first place birthright.

While All of Y'all Were Seeing Spidey III

I was finally seeing Grindhouse. And it ruled.

I liked the Tarantino half better than Rodriguez's half, although both were good. The trailers were brilliant, especially the Thanksgiving slasher one and Machete (which Rodriguez is now making). Seeing Rico Diaz from Six Feet Under killing zombies was a treat.

There were exactly three people in the movie theater (including myself) which was about two more than I strictly expected. And I have to admit that seeing "Grindhouse" in a multiplex in Cary, NC is fundamentally wrong. Still, it was one of the most joyous cinematic experiences of my recent life. I can't remember the last film that made me feel so goddamned happy to be alive. It's everything that Snakes on a Plane almost was, but moreso, and better and somehow less gimicky.

I still wish Quentin would grow up a little bit, and make more movies and make more movies that are more like Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown. He has every right in the world to make the movies that he wants to, and I enjoy watching them, but it's so frustrating to watch someone with so much talent who also has the access and ability to make movies fritter away on what will ultimately be seen as essentially frivolous. The only other American director I can think of who has the kind of all-encompassing love for all kinds of movies AND the talent to make whatever kind of film that he wants to is Scorsese, who makes movies constantly, and makes movies that are both great AND fun. There was a time when Tarantino seemed like the next coming of Marty, instead of an amalgamation of Godard and Roger Corman.



In the sequel, David and Nate will avenge Rico's death...

Days of the Locusts

Feedback. Awesome. I appreciate anyone reading, especially anyone who I haven't personally spent the last several weeks badgering about reading this thing.

So. I took my last exam this morning. It was boring, and I wound up writing two essays about all of my grievances with Coppola's version of Dracula. Somewhere between a bang and a whimper, I guess. Tomorrow I have to go to the campus one more time, to take part in a sort of exit interview for English majors. I'm only going because a professor I respect asked me twice to come.

This is strange, but bear with me. Does anyone else have the problems I have with donut stores? I almost never eat donuts, but this morning I went to the Dunkin Donuts across from the English building just to eat something before the exam. And I discovered just how bad I really am at ordering dounts. I asked for a chocolate, cream-filled donut, and I guess I didn't pronounce the comma correctly, because I got a powdered donut filled with chocolate cream. Earlier this year, the only other time I went to the store I asked for a chocolate donut, meaning a regular donut with chocolate icing and I got this weird donut that was chocolate, but all the way throught? Like not iced, but just chocolate. For someone who thinks they are pretty good with the English language, it's actually kind of humiliating to not be able to order a damned donut. Anyway, I go to pay for the donut, which came to 90 cents. I have out a dollar bill, and the clerk asks me "Do you have anything that gives you a discount?" He doesn't bother to illucidate just what sorts of talismans or symbols might be capable of gaining such a discount, so I just kind of hem and mutter negative-sounding things, and try to get to him to accept my dollar so I can leave with some shards of my sense of self-worth, but he repeats the question before he finally takes the dollar and gives me my dime. Do other human beings have these kinds of things happening to them too, or is just something about me?

Right.

Whoa.

My PE grade was finally posted. I passed. I knew I was going to, but I still wanted, needed the proof. I am going to graduate in eleven days. A terrible mistake has been made.

While I was killing time before the 1:30 AM or so posting of the grade, I went to amazon to see how the season 2 of Venture Brothers was doing. And people need to be ashamed of themselves. Ahead of the funniest show on television (yeah, I said it. What are you gonna do about it?) are, among other things:
-The Girls Next Door Season 2
-Something called "Shirley Valentine"
-A Tyrone Power box set
-Dancing With The Stars: Cardio Dance
-Dinosaurs-The complete third and fourth season (I don't care what Keith says, that show was god-awful, and ripped off the Simpsons in ways that Seth McFarlane could only dream of)
-The Full Screen version of Happy Feet
-The Will and Grace Seasons 1-5 Bundle
-Will and Grace- Season Six
-Beverly Hills 90210-The Second Season
-About three different editions of Night at the Museum
-A self help video called "The Secret"

Who the hell is buying these things? Just when I think I don't understand people at all, something like this happens and I discover that I really don't understand people. Who is going out of their way to purchase the Full Screen editions of movies? It's amazon- they lead you to the Proper edition automatically. For example, I just searched for The Departed, and the full screen version was the fourth result, behind the two disc version, the one disc version and the soundtrack. You have to go out of your way on amazon to purchase the full screen version. I realize that this is probably even more the fault of the studios and Hollywood for not educating people about how they are getting screwed over.... you know what, nevermind.

Warriors lost, and I missed the game (just as well, I want to see the Mavs lose that fourth game and get bounced) and the Braves lost even though Chipper went yard twice (He's hitting them out at a really impressive pace). The Mark Redman retread experiment isn't working. Clearly, Roger McDowell is not Leo Mazzone, and doesn't have the magic to turn any third rate pitcher into a 4 or 5 starter.

Mention this post to me and I'll buy you lunch

(Offer does not apply to Keith)

It occured to me that it's kind of strange that I spent the day I had two exams listening to Aesop Rock's new single over and over again. Strange, because there seems something odd about listening to a song called "None Shall Pass" on exam day. I dont' know. (Shit, that comedy bit crashed and burned). The song is good. Damn good. Go to Adult Swim's website and download the Def Jux sampler it's on.

Only one exam standing between me and the world. Film and Lit tomorrow morning at nine. Crazy, man.

Halfway into House tonight, and it's another boring episode. That's like three out of the last four. Okay, House trying to kill the dog is funny. And any dog that eats original Elvis Sun vinyl needs to die. But the episode still sucks overall. Don't care about Foreman's guilt or whatever. Just do not care. And I LIKE Foreman's character.

Hell, I'm so thinking about bailing on this episode. I won't though. Because I'm a coward. I do want to watch at least part of the Warriors game tonight. 9:41- disgusted by House's new cane. Turned television off. Be back next week, but if I didn't love this show...

Missed 24 last night, but bought it from iTunes. Will probably watch tomorrow.

There's that credit card commerical starring Shawn(?) White on again. Does anyone else even remember him, or anything else about the Winter Olympics? Outside of Bode Miller, maybe. Maybe.

Can the show "Bones" possibly be as godawful as the commercials make it look? It seems unlikely. Of course, I'll never know.

Hell, it's Tuesday again.

Top Five Books I Promise To read This Summer
1- New Harry Potter book...Deathly Hallows or something
2-V- Thomas Pynchon
3-Sabbath's Theater- Philip Roth
4-The Confidence Man- Herman Melville
5- Ada- Vladimir Nabokov.