Perhaps if you have read much of my online journal you have read about Aaron McGruder before.
"Oh yeah," you are thinking, "He's the one who compared Condoleeza Rice to Darth Vader." Yes, that's true, and he also is the one who shouted at Michael Graham that he didn't care about the Asian kid.
Aaron McGruder writes the daily comicstrip The Boondocks, and he is my hero.
In last week's issue of The New Yorker there is a profile of Aaron McGruder, featuring a picture wherein he wears a simple white scarf with a silkscreen of George W Bush in black. There is also the following hilarious anecdote:
McGruder attended the 138th birthday party of The Nation, a liberal magazine. He spoke during desert, following the speech of a democratic senator who congratulated the audience on standing up "to the tide of popular convention." McGruder stood up and told the audience that he had called Condoleeza Rice a mass-murder to her face. What had they done? Then, when he spoke unapologetically of supporting Ralph Nader and was cat-called, he grabbed his crotch and invited the cat-caller to, "Try these nuts." When asked by interviewer Ben McGrath for comment, he responded, "I ain't no punk. I ain't gonna let someone shout and not go back at him."
Later in the article McGruder would be quoted as saying:
"I'm not the kind of guy who wants to spend my life being some kind of closet intellectual. I want to play Vice City. I just want to drive around and shoot innocent people. I'm all about video games."
"A lot of black people ain't up on Monty Python like they should be."
and best of all, "My point of view on that is very obvious: get off my dick, leave my shit alone."
It seemed clear, to me anyway, that The New Yorker was interested in portraying McGruder as arrogant and crude, but it only reinforced what my sister has called my "intense man-love" for him. He is insightful and plain spoken, and he is friends with Chris Rock.
Perhaps someday when Aaron Mcgruder and I are best friends, he and I will go hang out with Chris Rock, who will no doubt try out new material on us as we play Madden 2007. Perhaps he and Katie and I will play basketball, and I will have to warn him ahead of time that Katie will gush all over him and try to get in his pants. Perhaps I will make an appearance as Huey's cool self-hating white friend in The Boondocks.
All that is certain is that it will be sweet.
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Monday, April 26, 2004
I Read the New York Times
In keeping with my recent move towards posting things I didn't write, I have decided to bring to your attention a couple of articles I read today in the New York Times. The first concerns a production of Lorainne Hansberry's A Raisin in the Sun starring P. Diddy. No seriously, I saw the poster for it.
From Helping the Hip-Hop World Find 'A Raisin in the Sun'
By LOLA OGUNNAIKE
Advertisements for [the new production of A Raisin in the Sun] are running in African-American newspapers like The Amsterdam News. And fliers were recently distributed at Madison Square Garden after the Ladies First Tour, featuring Beyoncé, Alicia Keys and Missy Elliott. Fliers were also handed out at concerts for the hip-hop groups N.E.R.D. and Black Eyed Peas. Mr. Schnall said he often visited message boards for MTV and BET late at night in an effort to generate awareness.
Still, the promotional move most likely to draw the crowd that Mr. Schnall and the play's producer, David Binder, desire is the casting of the hip-hop mogul Sean Combs. He plays Walter Lee Younger, a troubled chauffeur from the South Side of Chicago who longs to start his own business. Mr. Binder, though, insists that the ubiquitous Mr. Combs, known to fans of his music, clothing line, restaurants, marathon cameos, reality series and/or lavish parties as P. Diddy, was not cast because of his box-office potential.
"Sean got the part because he is amazing in the part," Mr. Binder said of his star, whose acting résumé consists of bit parts in two Hollywood films [One of which, Monster's Ball, he was actually very good in.] and leads in several music videos. "It was based on merit. He auditioned for the part twice."
Whether it was based on merit or not, Miss Info, a Hot 97 radio personality, said casting Mr. Combs was a brilliant business decision.
"Puffy is a brand," she said. "His name is synonymous with luxury, living large, crossing over, and kids are interested in anything he does." Miss Info was, however, worried that her listeners might be misled by Mr. Combs's involvement in the production.
"A lot of listeners have no idea what this play is about," said Ms. Info, who calls "A Raisin in the Sun" one of her favorites. "They just know that P. Diddy is in a play. But it's not about music, there are no Bentleys, it's not gangster, so some people might be disappointed."
The second article is one for my sister who smokes lots of marijuana. Enjoy, Sarah!
From Make Peace with Pot
by ERIC SCHLOSSER
The Bush administration has escalated the war on marijuana, raiding clinics that offer medical marijuana and staging a nationwide roundup of manufacturers of drug paraphernalia. In November 2002 the Office of National Drug Control Policy circulated an "open letter to America's prosecutors" spelling out the administration's views. "Marijuana is addictive," the letter asserted. "Marijuana and violence are linked . . . no drug matches the threat posed by marijuana."
This year the White House's national antidrug media campaign will spend $170 million, working closely with the nonprofit Partnership for a Drug-Free America. The idea of a "drug-free America" may seem appealing. But it's hard to believe that anyone seriously hopes to achieve that goal in a nation where millions of children are routinely given Ritalin, antidepressants are prescribed to cure shyness, and the pharmaceutical industry aggressively promotes pills to help middle-aged men have sex.
Clearly, some recreational drugs are thought to be O.K. Thus it isn't surprising that the Partnership for a Drug-Free America originally received much of its financing from cigarette, alcohol and pharmaceutical companies like Hoffmann-La Roche, Philip Morris, R. J. Reynolds and Anheuser-Busch.
More than 16,000 Americans die every year after taking nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs like aspirin and ibuprofen. No one in Congress, however, has called for an all-out war on Advil. Perhaps the most dangerous drug widely consumed in the United States is the one that I use three or four times a week: alcohol. It is literally poisonous; you can die after drinking too much. It is directly linked to about one-quarter of the suicides in the United States, almost half the violent crime and two-thirds of domestic abuse. And the level of alcohol use among the young far exceeds the use of marijuana. According to the Justice Department, American children aged 11 to 13 are four times more likely to drink alcohol than to smoke pot.
None of this should play down the seriousness of marijuana use. It is a powerful, mind-altering drug. It should not be smoked by young people [young people like Sarah], schizophrenics, pregnant women and people with heart conditions. But it is remarkably nontoxic. In more than 5,000 years of recorded use, there is no verified case of anybody dying of an overdose. Indeed, no fatal dose has ever been established.
Over the past two decades billions of dollars have been spent fighting the war on marijuana, millions of Americans have been arrested and tens of thousands have been imprisoned. Has it been worth it? According to the government's National Household Survey on Drug Abuse, in 1982 about 54 percent of Americans between the ages of 18 and 25 had smoked marijuana. In 2002 the proportion was . . . about 54 percent.
From Helping the Hip-Hop World Find 'A Raisin in the Sun'
By LOLA OGUNNAIKE
Advertisements for [the new production of A Raisin in the Sun] are running in African-American newspapers like The Amsterdam News. And fliers were recently distributed at Madison Square Garden after the Ladies First Tour, featuring Beyoncé, Alicia Keys and Missy Elliott. Fliers were also handed out at concerts for the hip-hop groups N.E.R.D. and Black Eyed Peas. Mr. Schnall said he often visited message boards for MTV and BET late at night in an effort to generate awareness.
Still, the promotional move most likely to draw the crowd that Mr. Schnall and the play's producer, David Binder, desire is the casting of the hip-hop mogul Sean Combs. He plays Walter Lee Younger, a troubled chauffeur from the South Side of Chicago who longs to start his own business. Mr. Binder, though, insists that the ubiquitous Mr. Combs, known to fans of his music, clothing line, restaurants, marathon cameos, reality series and/or lavish parties as P. Diddy, was not cast because of his box-office potential.
"Sean got the part because he is amazing in the part," Mr. Binder said of his star, whose acting résumé consists of bit parts in two Hollywood films [One of which, Monster's Ball, he was actually very good in.] and leads in several music videos. "It was based on merit. He auditioned for the part twice."
Whether it was based on merit or not, Miss Info, a Hot 97 radio personality, said casting Mr. Combs was a brilliant business decision.
"Puffy is a brand," she said. "His name is synonymous with luxury, living large, crossing over, and kids are interested in anything he does." Miss Info was, however, worried that her listeners might be misled by Mr. Combs's involvement in the production.
"A lot of listeners have no idea what this play is about," said Ms. Info, who calls "A Raisin in the Sun" one of her favorites. "They just know that P. Diddy is in a play. But it's not about music, there are no Bentleys, it's not gangster, so some people might be disappointed."
The second article is one for my sister who smokes lots of marijuana. Enjoy, Sarah!
From Make Peace with Pot
by ERIC SCHLOSSER
The Bush administration has escalated the war on marijuana, raiding clinics that offer medical marijuana and staging a nationwide roundup of manufacturers of drug paraphernalia. In November 2002 the Office of National Drug Control Policy circulated an "open letter to America's prosecutors" spelling out the administration's views. "Marijuana is addictive," the letter asserted. "Marijuana and violence are linked . . . no drug matches the threat posed by marijuana."
This year the White House's national antidrug media campaign will spend $170 million, working closely with the nonprofit Partnership for a Drug-Free America. The idea of a "drug-free America" may seem appealing. But it's hard to believe that anyone seriously hopes to achieve that goal in a nation where millions of children are routinely given Ritalin, antidepressants are prescribed to cure shyness, and the pharmaceutical industry aggressively promotes pills to help middle-aged men have sex.
Clearly, some recreational drugs are thought to be O.K. Thus it isn't surprising that the Partnership for a Drug-Free America originally received much of its financing from cigarette, alcohol and pharmaceutical companies like Hoffmann-La Roche, Philip Morris, R. J. Reynolds and Anheuser-Busch.
More than 16,000 Americans die every year after taking nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs like aspirin and ibuprofen. No one in Congress, however, has called for an all-out war on Advil. Perhaps the most dangerous drug widely consumed in the United States is the one that I use three or four times a week: alcohol. It is literally poisonous; you can die after drinking too much. It is directly linked to about one-quarter of the suicides in the United States, almost half the violent crime and two-thirds of domestic abuse. And the level of alcohol use among the young far exceeds the use of marijuana. According to the Justice Department, American children aged 11 to 13 are four times more likely to drink alcohol than to smoke pot.
None of this should play down the seriousness of marijuana use. It is a powerful, mind-altering drug. It should not be smoked by young people [young people like Sarah], schizophrenics, pregnant women and people with heart conditions. But it is remarkably nontoxic. In more than 5,000 years of recorded use, there is no verified case of anybody dying of an overdose. Indeed, no fatal dose has ever been established.
Over the past two decades billions of dollars have been spent fighting the war on marijuana, millions of Americans have been arrested and tens of thousands have been imprisoned. Has it been worth it? According to the government's National Household Survey on Drug Abuse, in 1982 about 54 percent of Americans between the ages of 18 and 25 had smoked marijuana. In 2002 the proportion was . . . about 54 percent.
Monday, April 05, 2004
I Prove that Hermandad is a Word and in the Process Behave Like a Total Dick
Tonight I worked the closing shift at Barnes and Noble. As usual, after all the books were put away we all stood around and talked until the manager told us we could go home. Looking for a conversation to join, I found two of my coworkers (lets call them "Kathryn" and "Frances") in front of the Spanish books, several of which "Kathryn" was turning upside down.
"That'll teach the dirty spics," she said (not really).
"Frances" picked up a book by John Grisham, titled "El Hermandad."
"That's not a word." she said, pointing to the title.
"Oh come on," I said, trying to be reasonable, "Of course it is. They actually do expect Spanish speaking people to read this, they're not going to just make up some word and make it the title of a book. What kind of marketing sense does that make?"
"I know it's not a word. I took so much Spanish. I know."
I tried again: "Dearest Frances, I don't mean to be rude, but you are asking me to take your word against that of a large and distinguished publisher, Harpercollins, which is but part of a vast international media conglomerate, News Corporation, which in turn is owned by Rupert Murdoch. Surely Mr. Murdoch and the folks at Harpercollins did not get where they are today by allowing such errors as the one of which you now accuse them. They have editors; they are careful about these things."
"I was in Spain for forty days. I learned so much Spanish. Seriously, it's not a word."
For a moment I was prepared to let it go. Why argue something that could clearly not be settled? But then I realized of course, it can be settled. We work in a book store, one that sells many excellent reference books, some of which are Spanish-English Dictionaries. So I found one, and I looked up the word "hermandad." It means "association." When I told "Frances" this she corrected my pronunciation. I refrained from asking her how she knew the pronunciation of a word that she knew didn't exist. I had already accomplished my goal; it was clear that I was right.
"That'll teach the dirty spics," she said (not really).
"Frances" picked up a book by John Grisham, titled "El Hermandad."
"That's not a word." she said, pointing to the title.
"Oh come on," I said, trying to be reasonable, "Of course it is. They actually do expect Spanish speaking people to read this, they're not going to just make up some word and make it the title of a book. What kind of marketing sense does that make?"
"I know it's not a word. I took so much Spanish. I know."
I tried again: "Dearest Frances, I don't mean to be rude, but you are asking me to take your word against that of a large and distinguished publisher, Harpercollins, which is but part of a vast international media conglomerate, News Corporation, which in turn is owned by Rupert Murdoch. Surely Mr. Murdoch and the folks at Harpercollins did not get where they are today by allowing such errors as the one of which you now accuse them. They have editors; they are careful about these things."
"I was in Spain for forty days. I learned so much Spanish. Seriously, it's not a word."
For a moment I was prepared to let it go. Why argue something that could clearly not be settled? But then I realized of course, it can be settled. We work in a book store, one that sells many excellent reference books, some of which are Spanish-English Dictionaries. So I found one, and I looked up the word "hermandad." It means "association." When I told "Frances" this she corrected my pronunciation. I refrained from asking her how she knew the pronunciation of a word that she knew didn't exist. I had already accomplished my goal; it was clear that I was right.
Saturday, April 03, 2004
Poetry is Still Not My Strong Suit
Last Wednesday I went back to my alma mater to practice for my friend Erin's senior recital, which I am participating in as "Violinist II" for some violin duets by Mozart and Bartok. While I was there, I picked up a copy of The Polemic, that same college literary journal that published my poem, The Bitterness that Colors My Life Grey. The quality of most of the poetry has not improved any since I graduated.
For example, here is a brief excerpt from He Passeth By, by Richard Pitaniello:
Rain drops
Slicing through the trees
Clinging to moths
Drowning them
The butterflies are gone
Please compare, if you would, that stanza with my own poem that I analysed in this journal several weeks ago. They are of the same cloth; the only difference is that I was kidding.
A poem that profoundly bad takes me back to my own college days, when I read bad poetry in The Polemic while I "chilled with my homies" in the Underground. It got me to thinking of my old college roommate, Clay Templeton, who would take off his shirt, wiff his own armpit, and exclaim, "I SMELL DELICIOUS!" Clay also had a certain ease with things scatalogical, and the following poem, which was inspired by this most recent issue of The Polemic, has, and Clay you can feel free to disagree with this if you want, a certain Templetonian ring to it.
Vainglorious Bowel Emptying
Poop flows out of me like a river
only not a river because it's
a solid cylindrical block
and everyone who sees it weeps out of surprise and terror
and not a little bit of envy
Until the birds fly down and carry away bits of it to use in their nests
they frolic and chirp
and I look up at my once mighty excrement and feel alone
Jesus, if you were here now I'd be up in your grill
Asking why my turd's home to some whippoorwill.
For example, here is a brief excerpt from He Passeth By, by Richard Pitaniello:
Rain drops
Slicing through the trees
Clinging to moths
Drowning them
The butterflies are gone
Please compare, if you would, that stanza with my own poem that I analysed in this journal several weeks ago. They are of the same cloth; the only difference is that I was kidding.
A poem that profoundly bad takes me back to my own college days, when I read bad poetry in The Polemic while I "chilled with my homies" in the Underground. It got me to thinking of my old college roommate, Clay Templeton, who would take off his shirt, wiff his own armpit, and exclaim, "I SMELL DELICIOUS!" Clay also had a certain ease with things scatalogical, and the following poem, which was inspired by this most recent issue of The Polemic, has, and Clay you can feel free to disagree with this if you want, a certain Templetonian ring to it.
Vainglorious Bowel Emptying
Poop flows out of me like a river
only not a river because it's
a solid cylindrical block
and everyone who sees it weeps out of surprise and terror
and not a little bit of envy
Until the birds fly down and carry away bits of it to use in their nests
they frolic and chirp
and I look up at my once mighty excrement and feel alone
Jesus, if you were here now I'd be up in your grill
Asking why my turd's home to some whippoorwill.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
