Why I hate Lil Wayne, pt. 329

My dislike for Lil Wayne is well-documented. In short, I think he's a lazy bastard with decent flow but some of the least intelligent lyrics ever recorded in a genre that celebrates quick wits. If he weren't popular I wouldn't care, but he has been lauded by cultural institutions as lofty as the fucking New Yorker as possibly the "best rapper alive." That, coupled with a recent Groupon for Lil Wayne tickets (50% off, but I contend that a better promotion would have been to offer a complimentary bottle of Robitussin with the purchase instead) leads me to believe that the soft bigotry of low expectations has somehow paid off massively for Mr. Carter, as he's been propelled all the way to the top of middle class white culture. I mean, if tickets to your shows are being hawked alongside urban beekeeping classes (which are awesome) and day spa discounts, how do you have any street cred left?



Last night I was listening to 102.3 The Beat on my way to pick up the Captain America movie from a Redbox, (how do you enable the thing where you get paid for mentioning brands on your blog?) when I heard B.o.B's "Strange Clouds." It's certainly not the first time I've heard the song, but I hadn't really paid attention to the lyrics before. First of all, I have to say it's a great song. It can't be ruined even by the requisite Lil Wayne appearance. However, it really demonstrates what I hate about Lil Wayne.



It is easily shown that Lil Wayne is far inferior to B.o.B as a rapper. The whole song is a demonstration of this fact, but the perfect example is when B.o.B says "I'm top chef, you top ramen, I'm top shelf / No last call, to the bartender, what you got left?" That's a reasonably clever lyric -- I mean, it's no "I hit her with that pipe, call that Nancy Kerrigan / Stay on the greenest greens, call us vegetarians," but they can't all be home runs. (By the way, what is a guy born in 1988 doing referring to the Tonya Harding-Nancy Kerrigan rivalry?) But when it's Lil Wayne's turn at the mic, he predictably just spits out a bunch of juvenile free-associations that ultimately add up to nothing -- followed by his own take on the previous verse, saying "I'm top dog, you top ramen, I'm top dog / Piru, gangsters, outlaws." This guy is the "feat." on this track, and he doesn't seem to understand the concept of wordplay that extends beyond the most basic of references. Another example of Wayne's work on this track: "Hello World, I'm with a yellow girl, number 2 pencil / These rappers is washed up, spin cycle, rinse you."

B.o.B has gotten plenty of airplay recently, but I say it's entirely possible this track wouldn't have gotten on the radio as it has if it weren't for the presence of this no-talent ass clown. And that's why I hate Lil Wayne: despite a lack of appreciable talent at rapping or producing, he has somehow become the kingmaker for top 40 hip-hop artists who are better than him in every way.

So, in summary, I hate Lil Wayne because he's popular. If that makes me a hipster, then just call me this guy:

The Annals of Questionable Music

The last song I heard before I got on the bus this morning was almost "Hips Don't Lie," which in all honesty I would have been cool with. Instead it happened to be this awesome/terrible thing:



And that's just not right. Especially offensive is the lyric: "hear the cricket singing softly / never heard a sweeter sound / and you know crickets do their singing / by just rubbin' their legs around." Could this be country music's only frottage reference?

So when I got to work I had to combat it by listening to something else. I don't think you can just get rid of an earworm by listening to another catchy song, though. First you have to subject yourself to the offending song (if possible) and listen all the way through, so you have some closure. Then, you have to put it in its context by listening to similar shitty songs. In this case, I had to find some more terrible pop-country with clumsily suggestive lyrics. Let's see ...



No, that won't do, because that song is actually kind of good. Actually, once Baby I watched this TERRIBLE independent movie because Parker Posey was in it. That song was literally the only good thing about the movie. Regardless, I think the innuendo isn't bad enough. Let's see what else we have. How about this:



Holy shit, that's actually pretty awesome. And that innuendo is truly perplexing! What exactly is the plastic saddle? Do I even want to know? I could speculate, but I feel it's beneath the diginity of even this mostly-defunct blog to make suggestions. And God only knows what would happen to my search hits if I mentioned revagination.

Bananas and Lemons

So I took the day off yesterday to celebrate my birth and hang out with Baby, Alia, and ... uh, the new baby, whose nom de blog has yet to be generated. His nicknames around the house are Ike (he bears -- as many babies do -- a passing resemblance to Dwight Eisenhower) and Benazir Bhutto, but I don't think either of those will do. Baby got me a new amp for my Rhodes piano so I can once again torment the household with my sub-mediocre renditions of popular songs and Christmas carols. We ate twice-baked potatoes with steak (mmm ... beef allowance) and afterwards drank beers and played Bananagrams with Arkay and our housemate Mollrats. (I hope she doesn't mind that nickname -- I can't imagine why she would have a problem with it.) It was good times.



Yesterday, I ran into the word "cisgendered" for the first time -- twice. First, in this overlauded but amusing video mocking "postmodern" Christians somewhat accurately. Second, in this thoughtful but amusing blog post ruminating on "Liz Lemonism." Turns out cisgendered is the opposite of transgendered. Who knew? That will be useful in future Bananagrams escapades.

The Liz Lemon post is smart enough, but reading it on the bus this morning -- the wrong bus, by the way, since the driver put the wrong text up on the sign and denied it, despite six of the eight riders having to get off at the first stop and walk back to the transit center -- clarified something about what bothers me about certain segments of feminism. Now, before I go and say something ill-advised about feminism, know that in certain crowds I could easily be called a feminist. My wife, whose RSS reader proves her bonafides, may or may not agree with that assessment depending on the day, but ultimately I am generally inclined to be sympathetic to feminism and highly suspicious of anyone who, like me, would make generalized claims about feminism on the whole.



However, reading the post and the comments I was reminded of my young adulthood as a sort of fundamentalist Christian. Specifically, I was reminded of reading Focus on the Family's BreakAway magazine for teenaged boys. One of the recurring themes of BreakAway was analysis of the content of media from a "Christian perspective," to determine whether the music or movie in question could be called Christian -- primarily to satisfy a legalistic requirement that one only consume Christian products. Readers would write in asking if their favorite bands were Christians. Is Metallica Christian? Is Beck Christian? Is Sonic Youth Christian? Spin Doctors are not Christian because "Two Princes" encourages rebellion against one's parents, by the way. (I don't remember them ever actually critiquing the generally vapid content of any of the "actual" Christian musicians popular at the time.)

Christian

Satanic

Now, I was an English major, so I'm aware that critique of pop culture from an ideological perspective is essentially all the humanities have to offer at this point, but there is something really dumb about this "in or out" attitude. One of the commenters says, "someone once told me that 30 Rock was premised on Liz Lemon’s ugliness, and . . . that made me swear to never watch it. That doesn’t sound like feminism at all to me. Just more picking on women." So, she won't watch a show because it's "not feminist?" That's silly. Even as a young fundie I knew it was okay to listen to The Who, even if they say "fuck" now and again. Lighten up!

Having said that, I'm now going to be accused of supporting the myth of the humorless feminist, so I'll stop on this note: I like women. I like feminism. I'm glad my daughters will reap the benefits of the hard work of feminists past and present. But seriously, avoiding 30 Rock because Liz Lemon is too pretty and not feminist enough is dumber than Dan Quayle decrying Murphy Brown's proud single motherhood.

UPDATE: Baby says this is basically me just now:



Using an image from the very blog I was writing about is a nice touch!

Xmas Wars

It's officially Advent, and that means it's time for everybody's favorite holiday tradition: listening to blowhards complain that Christmas is becoming secularized. My favorite of these complaints -- which are best made from the campout line in front of Best Buy on Black Friday morning as the complainer laces up his Nikes and tightens his elbow pads in anticipation of cracking the skull of anybody who gets between him and his $250-off HDTV -- is that using the abbreviation "Xmas" in place of "Christmas" is part of an agenda to remove Christ himself from Christmas.

Most to least ethnic: Joseph, Mary, Jesus

I'm not really sure what those who would remove "Christ" from Christmas could possibly do to desecrate the holiday any more than we modern Christians have already done, but some people are insistent that this abbrevation is just plain evil. Who would do such a thing? My first thought would be people who are running out of space on whatever they're writing on, but beyond that I can't really come up with a profile of your typical Christmas abbreviator. Except, there is this one blatant instance that comes to mind ...

There! Right at the top of the page, it says "ARXH TOU EUAGGELION IU XU" -- "The beginning of the gospel of I.X.!" What is this I.X. blasphemy? Is this some XX knockoff with gospel influences? Oh wait, it's Mark 1:1 from Codex Sinaiticus, a fourth-century Bible manuscript, and I.X. is an abbreviation for Jesus Christ. Well, fourth century -- that's kind of late. Maybe the Church was already corrupted with secularism by then.

What about the earliest known gospel fragment that contains Jesus's name? What does it say, eh? Let's see, it refers to someone wearing a purple robe and a crown of thorns, going by the name of ... "I." Oh.


This really leaves only one question: why did the early Church insist on secularizing Christmas?

Performance Evaluations

Yesterday I had to lay off a young, hardworking employee so that I could keep Mustafa -- an old, incompetent, lazy, passive-agressive bastard who is taking Friday off so I can't -- on my payroll. Shit ain't right. My more-competent employee may be a grown man with a shrill laugh more girlish than my five-year-old daughter's, and he may have an underdeveloped sense of professionalism, but dammit, he actually works on shit when I ask him to. You may ask why I can't just fire Mustafa instead. Turns out when you're a member of four protected groups (elderly, foreign, minority religion, slightly disabled) and old family friends with my boss's boss's BOSS, and you have a spouse on the faculty in the same department -- HR won't let you "just get fired." So we're doing these performance evaluations where Mustafa and I sit down with my boss-of-sorts and we go through his job description and enumerate the ways in which he has failed at his modest tasks. This is a painful procedure that I dread every week. In fact, I made my wife have a baby just so I could get out of a month of these evaluations. But I've got one lined up for Friday -- OH SHIT HE'S TAKING FRIDAY OFF! YES! Hot damn, another evaluation postponed! Anyway, the idea is that these evaluations are supposed to (a) lead to the possibility of firing Mustafa or (b) make him realize it might be time to retire, but neither (a) nor (b) is happening as of yet.

I'm supposed to be working on his eval, so I've been thinking about million-dollar t-shirt ideas instead.



Here are a couple of my ideas:

1. Scrawled in fake handwriting: "I'd rather get laid oft than laid off!"

2. A drawing of William Shakespeare (a.k.a. the Bard of Avon, for the slow among you), and above him, in beautiful cheesy calligraphy: "I have a BARD-ON for reading!"



Just spitballing some ideas here. Returning to my terrible management skills -- Mustafa's strategy for keeping his job is primarily to send me a shitload of emails anytime I ask him to do something. So I'll ask him to do a simple task and he'll shoot back (four hours later) an email filled with inane questions that I don't have time to address, along with a list of impediments towards doing his work. Then, when it comes up in the performance evaluation that he's fucked everything up beyond hope of redemption, he can say "Lazlo didn't answer my email about this, so how could I possibly know what I'm supposed to do?" My counterstrategy has yet to be created.



Anyway, this was a blog post I wrote. I was at a Thanksgiving feast the other day (and it was a feast!) and I came up on two friends who said "we were just talking about your blog." I immediately felt the awakening of a long-dormant sense of shame I once knew well, pertaining to not writing enough on my blog. I'm going to turn 31 tomorrow, and I don't want to be that lame 31-year-old with a shitty dead blog just hanging out on the Internet, so I'm going to try to post a bit more. Blame Twitter for my lack of posting, btw.

Yeah, Twitter.

The end of the internet

It's insomnia time, and I've just run out of internet.

Here's the order in which I check for new shit on the internet to amuse myself:

1. Email
2. Twitter
3. Comment threads I've posted on
4. My RSS reader
5. The Onion
6. The Onion A/V Club
7. My wife's blog, to check for new comments
8. Facebook
9. Flickr
10. Huffington Post
11. Drudge Report
12. CNN
13. Fivethirtyeight.com
14. Random comment threads on newpaper websites
15. Chat Roulette
16. Hacking acquaintances' email
17. Casual Encounters

Just kidding about those last three, but God help us all if there's nothing new on any of my sites. I mean, it's pretty obvious that I'm scraping the barrel with the Huffington Post, but it turns out there is more material underneath the barrel, not to mention the possibility of reconstituting whatever was in the barrel from barrel shards trapped in amber in the stomachs of prehistoric termites.

My insomnia-and-boredom-induced browsing this evening has only reinforced my conclusion that the internet is going to destroy civilization as we know it. Democracy simply can't endure the existence of newspaper website comment sections. If Thomas Jefferson had read the comments on any article linked to by the Drudge Report, I have no doubt in my mind he'd have been all "fuck this shit, I'm just going to be king of America."

"ppl are just so fucking dumb lol"

That being said, the internet has brought us much to enliven our lives. For instance, this Gawker article which highlights the "conspiracy theory" (is there a term that does more to discredit the word "theory?") that President Obama (PBUH) was in the video for Tag Team's world-changing 1993 hit "Whoomp! There it is." (My love for this song, and the inanity it represents, is well-documented.) Also, there's a certain amount of satisfaction that results from the schadenfreude (HOLY SHIT I SPELLED THAT RIGHT ON THE FIRST TRY) of watching my distant relatives' nuttier friends utterly lose their shit over the continued presidency of secret Muslim HRH Mr. Obama.

I thought about doing a post where I rate the relative idiocy of Huffington Post commenters and Drudge Report commenters (via articles he links to, since there are -- wisely -- no comments on the Drudge Report itself), but I got depressed coming up with the criteria. Both sites' readers score high on the Reactionary / Didn't Read The Article Before Commenting matrix, but HuffPo readers would probably wreck the curve on Hypersensitivity portion of the exam -- as would the Drudge readers for Vigilante Justice / Internet Tough Guyism.

Anyway, I think I've now bored myself enough that I might be able to get to sleep. So, let me just add this one last thing: HAPPY 30TH, JAMIE! You've had 'em all. You are a super-ho. I bet you're doing something regrettable right now (well, it's 7am where you are, so you're hopefully sleeping it off by now) but I wish you my sincerest well-wishes on this, the anniversary of your birth. You make the world a little bit better; may you continue to do so for the next 30 years and beyond. Prosit!

McCafe revisited

After dramatically spilling every last drop of coffee from my otherwise-untouched travel mug onto the living room rug this morning, I decided I didn't deserve the convenience of homemade coffee and used my recently-acquired Starbucks gift card to get some "Café Estima."*

Since I have, in the past, implied that Starbucks is hardly the right target for McDonald's anti-hipster McCafe radio spots, I felt I would be morally remiss if I didn't tell you what I saw there: the gentleman in front of me in line was wearing -- I shit you not (I would never shit you) -- a black turtleneck. Exactly as the commercial says.



I didn't touch it to feel whether it was itchy or not, and I didn't attempt to strike up a conversation about impenetrable French cinema, and the dude was more of a yuppie businessman type than a hipster, but DAMN if the commercial wasn't right.

I didn't take a picture because I'd hate to have to tell people I got my ass beat in Starbucks taking a picture of a dude in a turtleneck for my blog.

*(I THINK IT MEANS COFFEE RESPECTFUL OR SOMETHING ALL I KNOW IS THERE'S A LADY ON THE LABEL WHO LOOKS LIKE SHE'S BEING PAID A FAIR WAGE FOR HER LABORS.)