Things more interesting than popular music beefery and impending industry babies and Georgia rappers' appearances on terrible Dwayne Carter albums

• Put the paper in the panties when you get that dance, goes the sign above the front door at apt. 680, just as a reminder when you enter. There's no basketball court here, unlike at King of Diamonds. There's a basketball court there, inside, which makes it an odd and wonderful part of the Miami naked-girl scene. There's a basketball court inside King of Diamonds, I said. Inside. This fact is thirty times more interesting to me in my life at the present time than anything Tyler says or does in, on, near, or around MTV because...hell, it's MTV. (I feel like people are kind of making fun of his mom for her emotional display, too, and I don't care for that. And did you hear there was some sort of dust-up between basic bitch Rawss and a thin white lady not named Logan?). The basketball court fact is more interesting than anything, really, at the present time in my life, other than wondering to myself Is Curren$y's leg healing appropriately?; does he need anything from me, perhaps a nice home-cooked meal and a round of Duke Nukem? and How in the world does Wayne keep his white Ts so clean and fresh? (He seems like a sweaty person).


• I believe the phrase in Miami is Don't stop; get it, get it, correct? Anyway, I am too thin and awkward to be a nude dancing professional, but strippers and female rap bloggers are both regarded with a mixture of fear, patronization, and lust by males in our respective worlds so I feel like I'm an honorary nude dancing professional. Wayne - or, actually, the director of his video, with final approval by UMRG, all rights reserved - has some conflicting stripper feelings that this article sums up in a beautiful way. The only important thing that I would have included in the piece is the fact that the word hustle actually means "to shake to and fro." The word hustle actually means that. And still, dudes are upset at/lusting over/giving fatherly advice to ladies using what they have to git what they want.

Also, still unclear: Wayne's feelings about stripper librarians.



• Just as odd and funny, but not quite as charming, is watching Internet boys discover Dwayne Carter's "recent" descent into terribleness. Energy levels are high in this regard, dudes just going crazy, dissecting all the bars, hating up a storm. I tell you it's some enthusiasm like I've never seen. They're also getting excited (in the opposite way) over Andre's verse on "Interlude," which is only remarkable by default (due to the terribleness of the rest of the album). Everyone, everyone, I say, Calm down. Andre is the coolest, a real swingin cat, but if you show your hand too soon, lap up anything he gives you, he'll lose his fire and then we'll be stuck with another 5-year absence. Every night he reads me the phone book while I look at him with my chin resting in my hand but you don't see me getting all excited. I just wait til he leaves, then I write about how much I like him in my diary, and listen to his "Walk It Out" verse like it's still oh-six.



• Internet boy Andy Nosnitsky, you annoy frequently but you charm more frequently. And I have you to thank for informing me that Phesto has a Tumblr. 



• This photo of Bun B exists. SWANGIN, I hear his voice say in my head when I look at it. And as of tomorrow, Bun B Day exists. “Way to go Bun B, it will truly be a Trill Day in Houston!,” says the mayor's website, adorably. (The mayor apparently hasn't heard B's Population fifty thousand, only 3 high schools, but 8 sets of low-income housing critique, but I'm pretty sure B was talking about Port Arthur there anyway. A huge city like Houston's got to have way more than just 3 high schools, right?)

• #1 in sales/DLs at this moment: “I'm On One” (Khaled). Really, America? I didn't realize it was still mid-June. Best moment in the song, still: Khaled's Get em uuuup overlapping Stupid Jerkface Drake's I'm onnn one during the squiggly intro. The song is big dumb fun (still, even though it's no longer mid-June), and it's nice to see a Palestinian and a Jewish guy make some harmony together, quite literally. The other best moment is all moments not involving the image in my head of Rick Ross bending some poor lady over in the kitchen, Sweet Jesus. 

#1 at this moment in 1971 - “Spanish Harlem” (Aretha, age 29), produced by Jerry "MORE BASS" Wexler, AKA Production God For Whom I'd Convert to Judaism. Best part - piano at 01:44 (Aretha).

#1 in 2001 - “Fallin'” (Alicia, age 20), produced by Alicia (age 20!). Years later, these two ladies get cross-referenced in the Mos Def section of a certain bikini'd blogger's brain ("One Step Ahead" as a break, and the "You Don't Know My Name" video, SUH-WOOOON, DANTE, you give all shy, hardworking girls hope that dudes who don't look at us will one day look at us).



• I'm not a Belieber, I'm a...uhh, JerryLieberber? Hearing the original "Spanish Harlem" in the Civic  yesterday right when I started the engine means that some sort of deity exists and he/she is a fan of pop radio just like me. Best part: the syllabic stressing, the satisfying way the words ride the beat, during the It is a special one, it's never seen the sun/It-only-comes-out-when-the-moon-is-on-the-run/And all the stars are gleeeaming part. Lieber's heroic feats outside of actual music making include he and Mike Stoller insisting on getting producer credit on all of their work - unprecedented in the '50s music industry. "Atlantic wanted to call us 'directors'," he said, "they said they were the producers because they put up the money." But Jerry and Mike sealed the deal, ensuring that many years later a bikini'd lady blogger would hold Mannie Fresh in high regard for actually making the stuff that provides the soundtrack for her hustle, rather than one Bryan Williams for bankrolling it. See also: RZA rather than Steve Rifkind.

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Let the inappropriate emotional attachment to my fantasy football team begin!

Why yes, Hank Williams, jr. - I am ready for some football. SQUAD UP:

QB: Mark Sanchez, NY Jets

Pros: USC! Not Matt Leinart! Had pretty good numbers last season, and will maybe keep improving? Maybe? I'm also told that “with a few lucky bounces he could have a good (year),” which applies to me as well as every other human being in the universe. 

Con: He's from Mission Viejo, and people from Orange County cannot be trusted. People from East Orange, however, can always be trusted (to provide the world with at least 1 life-is-wonderful heartrate-increasing soundtrack banger). 
Team's best rap nods:  Aw, pumpkin! I'm so glad you asked!   
• “JETLIFEJETLIFEJETLIFEJETLIFE, jet set/nothing less, jets fool, EAH, where haven't we been, lames catch feelings/we catch flights, jet life/it sucks to be you...” (fade out). • “New York City respects my game like Mark Sanchez Joe Namath” - Monch. A quick Internet search also tells me that Bad Meets Evil has an actual Mark Sanchez line; however, I find all those songs so boring and therefore offensive to my ear canal that I cannot verify this information.

Backup QB, although who knows, I might start him: Eli Manning, NY Giants

Pros: 4,000 passing yards last year! Also, with Steve Smith gone, Eli will have the firm-yet-flexible hands of Hakeem Nicks, even more ready and willing to catch for him. teehee.

Cons: • 4,000 25 interceptions last year! • Just super goofy looking. At least he commits to it, though - Eli's not changing his style for anybody, which makes him the Danny “50 didn't like my pants” Brown of my fantasy team • Personality boring like peanut butter & jelly on Wonder bread, Kanye's women issues, an Ikea couch, grown men Twit-scrapping, Jay Elec's voice. (I let these gentlemen into my heart and psyche every fall; a little charisma would be nice.)
Team's best rap nod: • “I slam tracks like quarterback sacks from LT” - Deck. (Reference circa 1981-9, but it still counts) 

WR: Brandon Lloyd, Denver Broncos 

Pros: • Pro Bowl-er; NFL's reception yards leader last year (1448). • He and Kyle Orton are in sync like Curren$y and…Alc? (Spitta calls him “Al.” AWW.)

Con: Glamour shots.

Team's best rap nod(s): • In a few sex raps over the years, there have been mentions of individuals “throwing” the “P” or the “D” “like Elway” (you'll have to figure it out, as I am a lady and I CAN’T TYPE THOSE WORDS, teehee! Hi Mom!) • “Ice cubes in my pocket; too many drive Elway style. I got this.” - Curren$y. • “I keep it real dirty, dirty, you know how I do/Purple and gold with the Lakers, the Broncos - the orange and blue” - “Air Force Ones” (click, grin, chair dance. 2002 pop radio magic.) • I have it on good authority that Denver is just like Compton. 

WR: Dwayne Bowe, KC Chiefs

Pros: • Pro Bowl-er • Spells his first name correctly. Every time he's in Miami and sees D.Wade, Bowe's like What's up DwYYYYane, hahahaha. I like that. (Seems like Wade needs to be taken down a notch ego-wise, I'm just saying.)
Con: I'm an IRL Raider fan, and I fear that my IRL hatred of the Chiefs will result in me self-sabotaging when it comes to fantasy, purposely putting Bowe in some no-win situations. Why do I do the things that I do? What's going on in this head of mine? More complex than an almanac, that's me.
Team's best rap nod: “Watching the Chiefs blow 'em out/In between Arrowhead and Suave House, no doubt” - Andre Rison (ha) on an Eightball song. I should call this “team's only rap nod, outside of 'Queen's Gambit' (too easy), something by Tech N9ne (nope), or a fucking Mac Miller song (which I refuse to post on here, for ethical reasons).” And because the mourning of Jerry Lieber continues in apt. 680, “Kansas City” is appropriate for the listening in this case too. It's not-rap but it's got bass and movement, and that makes it perfect for the chopping and looping. I have daydreams of its future appearance as a rap break; won't somebody please use it?   

Quotable: “This one girl was talking to me like she'd known me for years. 'Hey, D-Bowe, how's Grandma?' I'm like, 'How do you know my grandma?'” - on ladies who are big, big NFL fans.

WR: Jeremy Maclin, Philadelphia Eagles

Pro: NO CANCER! Fuck outta here, death!

Cons: • Mysterious vomiting and night sweats not due to cancer or any other ailment; this man appears to be a bit of a delicate flower. • Maclin's teammates must call him “J Mac,” yes? Sigh. Of course they do. And I'm sure he's fine with it. Points deducted for lack of creativity and overall predictability.

Team's rap nod(s): • Well, Wayne's from Eagle Street of course. “My city is New Orleans/Baby, my street is Eagle.” • Tons of McNabb and Vick mentions - “Stay running the rock just like I play quarterback for the Eagles - Randall, Donovan, to Michael” - Gibbs.

Backup WR: Plaxico Burress, Jets

Pros: • Built like PlasticMan (6'5", 232!!) like all receivers should be. • Possibly has a Dwayne-Carter-esque just-out-the-pen hunger which would result in some prolific output. 
Cons: Will maybe have a Prodigy-esque just-out-the-pen hunger to overcompensate out of desperation which would result in some underwhelming performances (aw Prod. Sorry, buddy).
Rap nod(s): Oh Jesus Christ, too many. So many. (Game n' Weezers) 

Backup backup WR: Jordy Nelson, Green Bay Packers

Pros: “EHH” during the regular season, but “OOH” in the playoffs. Showed some fancy footwork in the Super Bowl too.

Con: I find it difficult to respect a grown man named “Jordy.” I might be able to reconcile this as the season progresses if he performs well...however:

in a shocking turn of events, it's possible that ownership could go with Chicago's Johnny Knox as a Possible Backup WR instead! He might get lost in the shuffle on a team that has Roy Williams and Devin Hester, but at least his name's not Jordy. It's an odd and powerful feeling, being a woman in LA with no team-ownership experience who suddenly finds herself able to put these guys in or take them out in a giant game of Fate, Destiny, and Met/Unmet Expectations. This must be what it's like to be Jerry Jones! Or RZA and GZA on the giant Clock of Life, taking breaks to play chess. 

Team's best rap nods (NO, not that Wayne song about being a cheesehead): • “With a knapsack of green Supreme hats/Like I was sponsored up by the fucking Packers” - Ty. • “My belt got G's on it like a Packers helmet” – not-Nicki and not-Wayne so who cares, “Pass the Dutch.”

 






RB: YAYYY I GOT ARIAN FOSTER ON MY SQUAD, TOP OF THE WORLD, MA!, Houston Texans

Pros: • Best running back ever to exist in the universe (1600 yards last season!). • Here to save the world, or at least help a certain bathing-suited ladyblogger get the (fake) win every Sunday.

Con: Say his first name out loud.
Quotable: “Understand the universe, you'll understand me.” Oh good lord. 
Team's best rap nod(s): None for the team specifically; I’m pretty sure the Texans have only existed in the league for like 6 months. For the city of Houston's rap nods, though, I suggest you visit the rap- and bathing-suit-appreciation blog HeightFiveSeven. Understand bass, you'll understand me. Understand hips, you'll understand me. 

 






RB: Shonnnnnnnn Greene, NY Jets

Pros: He's from a place called Sicklerville, so how could he not be a sick fucking overachiever on the field? (Logic's not my strong suit. Hips are.) Plus Tomlinson's getting old, so Greene will be able to shine like sunlight, like gold, like my wit and charm.

Connnnns: Obvious mom and dad issues, since they decided to spell his name that way. I see this manifesting itself as some distractedness on the field.

Backup RB: BenJarvus Green-Ellis, New England Patriots

Pros: • 13 touchdown carries last season! • Nickname: “The Law Firm.” LOVE IT.

Cons: The epic name “BenJarvus” carries no weight, no special meaning. It's not a family name or anything! - his mom just liked it. I can respect that, Mrs. Green, but it's still disappointing.

Team's best rap nod(s): Does this count? (It's my blog, so it counts):

TE: Owen Daniels, Texans

Pros: • When healthy, he's good. When healthy (this hasn't happened since '08, though that season he did have over 800 yards). • This stupid league makes me play a tight end every week instead of a fourth receiver (which would make me much happier), but Daniels is one of the best available.
Cons: See below.

Quotable: “That shuttle launch was pretty sweet.” He also enjoys reruns of Rob and Big, going to the gym, and staying positive - all important parts of his training regimen for the 2011 Boring-Personality-Off between himself and Eli Manning.

Backup TE: Aaron Hernandez, Patriots

Pros: • Decent numbers last year, and he's so young that I believe he'll only improve from this point. • Handles it like a grown man (“I'll get better”) when random dudes criticize him electronically. This type of maturity and non-bitchery is so unusual in the world as I know it; feels like dreamland.

Con: Fantasy football sites have informed me that, due to the Patriots having another good tight end in Rob Gronkowski, Aaron's stats will suffer “because the ball is spread around so much.” TEE HEE. 

Team's best rap nod, since, OK fine, “Patriotism” was kind of cheating: “I got the bomb; call me Tom Brady” - Ghosty, in that horrendous Rae song that makes me yell HOWWW does Khalil keep getting production jobs? Is it blackmail? He must have overtly homosexual photos of Dre or something. (And for the record, Ghost: I'm not going to call you anything but “sir,” “god,” “darling,” “dear,” “darling dear,” “Ironman,” “king,” or “Tony.” xoxo.)

 

K: Nate Kaeding, San Diego Chargers

Pros: Can consistently and adeptly use his foot to make a football sail through the air and land square between two goal posts. (I get this guy almost every year in fantasy. He’s solid if unspectacular, much like his rap equivalent...umm, Elzhi? Skyzoo? Royce? I don't know. Somebody help me here.)

Cons: Has the unfortunate appearance of a weakling. Is Nate anemic? He just looks super feeble; I kind of feel like I could black his eye out even though I have arms like Mr. Burns'.

Team's best rap nod: “I might charge through San Diego with the bolts on my shoulder/Rock the Trailblazer warm-up, 'cause Portland gets colder” - Fabolous. Nice to hear a song from Loso about menswear rather than yet another one about ladies' shoes and purses.

DEF: NY Giants

Pros: Lawrence “I breaks it down to the bone gristle” Taylor has a fondness for powdery stimulants and sex professionals, but nobody can dispute his skill as a player. His competitive spirit still permeates the Giants' defensive line to this day (in my head), though he hasn't played since the '90s. As far as the current roster goes, all I feel the need to say is PRINCE AMUKAMARA. Nigerians are good at everything.

Backup DEF: Detroit Lions

Pros: Other than Ndamukong Suh, I'm not sure. But Baltimore, Green Bay, Pittsburgh, Philly, and Chicago are all taken - what am I supposed to do, other than back this defense with love, affection, and a few prayers to the NFL gods on Saturday night before I lay my head down and go to sleep?
Team's best rap nods: • “Looking like Barry Sanders/So Icey flex game” - Waka.  • “A city full of Tommy Hearns thumpers/Grant Hill hoopers, Barry Sanders runners, stunners” - Royce. At first I was mad at various other Michigan rappers (ahem, GUILTY S.) for not mentioning their home team in verse, but then I realized that the Lions were terrrrrrrible during most of those guys' young-man-hood. You're forgiven, gentlemen. • “Like chocolate candy you will break/Running back, Detroit Lions, with an ill fake” - Keith, in Ultramag's “Super Spellbound.”

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Oh word: I would (still) very much like to do a song with Curren$y, please

Beth Gibbons and I are doing a song together. I decided this, daydreaming at work today. Beth and I are going to make a song, or maybe even a whole freaking album together, since we both have hair the color of sunshine and we're both in love with bass. That's enough, right? We should create things together and put those things on the Internet, right? It doesn't matter that one of us was born to make music and one of us is terrible at making music, I hope, because that would really put a damper on things.

6. “Surface to Air” (How Fly)

Wiz:  Not Michael Jackson, I ain't feeling these kids/and you hatin', such a shame that's where your energy is/I'm in a Gfizz flying, leave your bitches with the planes, now she sky diving, hella vibin'/And your hating adds just more steam/More chips, now I'm living more Rothstein.

Lieber and Stoller wrote timeless stories set to melody in 15 minutes, smoking and pacing around the room, tossing out lyrical snippets to each other. Smoke DZA can say RIIIIIIIGHT over a beat and I'll listen to it on a loop in my Civic for at least a half hour. My point is that making songs that please the people is quite a reachable goal when you were obviously born to do it and don't try to force things if you weren't born to do it. Ahem. Thank you.

Logan, outshining Wiz: Mike Jackson raps make me yawn, you're a Boy who's Badly Drawn/I'm sick of you, vamoose, sail the fuckin Dead Sea/I'm hoi polloi, you're a pig who's bourgeoisie/Eat some brie, drink some chablis/Your high times ain't nothin compared to Prodigy in his bucket, flyin on PCP/Your career's over, I heard your label reneged/Your utter lack of substance means you're just an image - JPEG.

Then something about twinkletoes and my heart breaking. My style's derivative - I've obviously been too influenced by Nickatina and Cellski plus a little G Rap and that fucking supa dupa flow that I despise, and overall I need a better grasp of my identity as a narrator in song. Still, I put the lyrical hurting on em and man I'll never quit. The game needs me too badly. I come around and fools' careers are just done - folding in on themselves like the house at the end of Poltergeist. 

Curren$y:  Kicked up sittin' behind a mahogany desk, crumblin erb just as Big Boi and Andre would suggest/Flow sick need a check up, flow sick that's how I got my checks up/Bad bitches gold diggin' lame n---s out a trip to foreign places, or bracelet or necklace/Then slide through the set and fuck the Jets cause she respect us/You think you got a winner, but you don't I bet she let us (lettuce)/Pickles, tomatoes, onions, mayo, mustard, and ketchup...the works.

E-40 set the standard for condiment raps with the claaaaaaassic “Mustard and mayonnaise smokin up at the sky light/You can't touch my Vogues, baby bye-bye.” That one was delicious and left my tummy/heart/soul feeling satisfied. Curren$y's verse is about girls acting wrongly and it's somehow wrapped up in a metaphor about hamburger toppings, but the whole freaking thing works because OutKast works, always. Everyone loves OutKast. My landlady loves em. My mailman too.  Your 4th-grade teacher. David Stern, Alex Trebek. My future husband, my mom. Me and you. Your mom. And your cousin too, of course. Everyone loves OutKast, the kittens/ice cream/pizza/free money of the music world. In case you're reading this, future husband: I'm ending my wedding vows with Power music/electric revival. Also I'd like you to constantly tell me I'm fine as all outdoors. Thanks in advance! I LOVE YOU, BABY. XOXO.

7. “Car Service” (How Fly)

Wiz: Clear the runway, baby/I get money from Sunday to Sunday, lady/Oh behave, I'm young, rich, famous/Grinding, keep my pockets on Schwarzenegger/OG in my Swisher so my blunt taste flavored, don't it?/Ya'll n---s can get if you want it/Tryna catch a flight?/I'm in the back seat playing X Box, car service just chillin'/Burners in the wall, money all through the ceiling.

THIS GUY. These are the words of a professional musician, above - and if you're not outraged, you're not paying attention. Writing composition experts weigh in; regarding style, Toni Morrison said, “The language must not sweat.” (She's talking about effortlessness.) And then there was that time adjunct English professor D. Dumile said most MCs are “rusty like oxidation, in the world's most strangest, most dangerous occupation.” This is just a nicer, though no less correct, description of industry persons' shortcomings that Big L and Kool Keith have revealed to my innocent ears over the years, except don't forget to add that everyone's got AIDS, according to L, and they all want Keith's autograph according to Keith. And I believe it was Logan the Shy Bathing-Suited Sex Kitten Comedian who said, after trying to come up with something nice to say because that's how her mom raised her, “Wiz has a lovely smile. He really does. It is unselfconscious and genuine. But he should take notes from other weed-loving duos who constantly have adventures together - Jay and Silent Bob (Bob stayed silent because he could not rap), and Meth and Red (they both learned how to rap and be charming, understanding that it's not fair for one dude to always be the heavier lyrical Spitta hitta).”

Logan, upsetting Wiz immensely:  Ball til I fall, make that dollar holler/If it don’t make dollars, blah blah stickin up white boys on ball courts/Pockets on stun, consumption on conspicuous/401k on a hundred thousand million jillion/I'm leaving Warner Bros. for good this year, not enough artistic freedom/Just kidding, I'll never leave, they're my meal ticket/Plus I know Warren Buffett - the real Warren Buffett/He owe me a hundred favors. 

See, I can do it too. When it comes to luxury raps, I'm nowhere near Janye's level - but I can certainly outdo a kid from Pittsburgh wearing some Converse, with his language sweating all over the place.

Curren$y: Bitches freeze in the Xenon headlights like a deer/But not out of fear, she looking 'cause it's money over here/Shine from above these land lovers I'm a chandelier/My girl gotta pocket bubbler in her purse/She keep it G and pack the bowl with weed and let me hit it first/Ain't tryna be a hog, doggy - all I want is what I'm worth.

“It's not a guarantee that I will like your songs just because you make a reference to girls being like deer, sweet and gentle forest creatures,” said the lady with eyes that always get commented on (by fucking cops) and give her the appearance of a fawn in the forest, “But it helps.” This is critical bias on the part of the blogger.

8. “Glass House,” with Big K.R.I.T. (Kush & OJ mixtape; produced by ??? - Jerm? Sledgren? K.R.I.T.?)

Wiz:  Just by the smell it's obvious/That my connect come from Cali/I'm good long as the money piling up/All the while I'm just quick lane pimping, big jane twisting/Walking how I talk it, bitch that's Pittsburgh pimping. 

The three things that should bother me most about this affair - the presence of Wiz, the presence of Curtis Mayfield, and the song's theme of girls needing to perform sexually in order to hang out in a fucking incredible car - are blissfully offset by the fact that '09 Wiz was still tolerable, that the Curtis break is used in a pretty fashion, and the fact that I got over gender roles in song lyrics a long time ago and am much happier now that I know that lyric life is not real life (or trife life, for that matter; word life.) Curren$y's verse starts it off, and all is as it should be as we head into the hook. There's a dumb Wiz detour next, and then our Mississippi rep walks in and calls 808 a southern mating call and you know I love that. K.R.I.T.'s an ass guy, clearly, and that's OK with me, because nobody said you can't be an ass guy and also a sensitive guy (my dream combo, duh). What is also OK with me is that K.R.I.T. says he'll push my hand away from the buttons in his Cutty unless I take my dress off, but without his friends around he's pure sweetness. (A man who writes a tribute to riding around in the car and listening to music with his dad? That's a sensitive individual.) Oh and that hook, that hook! It's a sing-along-in-the-Civic beauty! When I first heard it, I thought it was Pimp C asking me if I wanna rest my ass in this glass house. It's not, but man do I wish it was. I wish it was.

Logan:  A re-jacking of Wiz's jacking of Cam's technique (“I take this word and say that same word again 1 bar later and that's my verse, doggy”*), I'd have to start off with  Meth was Mary's Noah; Mary was his wiz/Nipsey Russell played the Tin Man in that movie called “The Wiz.” 

(The song would be called “Divine Mathematics,” obviously. And Wiz should join Dipset, obviously, because he'd fit right in. He's a long-lost cousin of J.R.'s, and he has to box Vado in the backyard before every tour stop to decide who gets to sit next to Jonesy on the bus.) Later in the song, I address Wiz directly with  Don't wanna read your book, won't look at your brochure/I can name 2 terrible rappers named Cameron who should go on the 'Rappers Named Cameron Are Terrible' Tour. I'm planning on performing it at SXSW, and I'm also planning on the crowd loving it. I am planning on opening for Danny Brown as well, and when he does “Monopoly” I'll yell along with him into the mic when he gets to the Fuck you and your tough talk/When I monopolize I throw your ass off the Boardwalk part. (My hair gets all messed up but I don't care.)

* 5 year old reference, but please. I can't imagine he's changed much, flow-wise.

Curren$y: I chill with all that baller fishing/You fucked around and you caught a shark/Cold hard, tear your feelings apart/I'm more focused on getting my rims powder-coated/One of the dopest, I'm Schedule I/You just ibuprofen, what is you smoking?/Them bogus growers, they got you choking.

Some things are boring until you dig a little deeper. “The San Diego Chargers agreed to contract terms with defensive end Corey Liuget today,” a sports site told me a couple weeks ago. Yeah yeah, terrific, so what. Several hours later, however, sports talk radio told me “The San Diego Chargers signed defensive end Corey LEGIT today.” IT’S PRONOUNCED LEGIT! COREY LEGIT. He therefore has the perfect SODMG associate/MMA fighter name, and that is not boring in the slightest. And in this verse Curren$y's talking about ballernomics, rims, narcotics; but dig a little deeper, and you can appreciate that Schedule I mention, and that shark mention (an obvious nod to Nickatina).

9. “Weed Brownies” (that Big Sean mixtape; Big Jerm)

Wiz:  Eat champagne and lobster cause I fucking deserve this shit/N---s say I’ve got an old soul/Well, I tell them that I’m here, muthafucka/And I made it cause my flow cold.

Aw damn, I let things bother me too much. The flows, beat selection, and clothing choices of men who exist in my headphones and on my computer screen - I take it too seriously, like it's a gamble. I do. Sigh. Now that that's been established: NOBODY SAYS WIZ HAS AN OLD SOUL. Has anybody ever said that about Wiz? NO. They have not. In the category of other things I’m supposed to believe that insult my intelligence: Dre drives a Chrysler, Em drives a Chrysler, and Timberlake is a HUGE Leonard Cohen and Mantronix fan.

JT, king of the beats. Elle, August 2011.

I might toss it to one of you guys since I don't have an authoritative voice when it comes to weed high jinks. But if put on the spot, I just go to my old stand-by topics of Doom, making fun of dudes' gear if it's overly fancy, and maybe something from that day's RSS feed about non-rap?  

Logan, easily making Wiz look foolish: I don't know Mary Jane, but I'm told she'd make my heart sing/Wiz, you so skinny, on that steady diet of nothing/Something something, Minor Threat, ... ________ (line that expresses my disappointment about this although really, why should I even care since nothing's sacred)/You're screaming at a wall, you're broke, you got no ends/Your whole style garbage, Wiz you need to make amends/Prepster I'm just playing when I says I likes your Land's Ends/Doomsy and me and Vast, we're super friends. 

All I have are punchlines at this point. Punchlines galore. So many punchlines that I'm ready for my YMCMB contract. (“HOOKS IS EXTRA” - Dumile.) 

Curren$y:  I'm outta here, stratosphere/Paper hella straight, nappy hair/Bitches seem not to care that you were even there/When we pulled up, lit like Times Square/When we pulled up, lit like road flares/When we pulled off, them hoes disappeared/Because they know what we be doing over here/She just wanna be high in her underwear/With her iPhone plugged in the wall, power outlet/Stepping out the shower, threw her a shirt to towel off with.  

I am jealous of Curren$y's girls, who do nothing but lounge around, smoke and take their clothes off, and this is enough to get them mentioned in song. ME ME ME, why can't this be me? I have excellent references and I'm a hard worker and a people person, I said during my interview for the position of “song girl/lyric muse.” It did not go well. I was politely informed I need to gain 10-12 lbs, dumb it down a little bit, and stop cracking jokes (let Curren$y shine).

10. “Super High (remix)” (Smoke Fest mixtape)

Wiz:  From the smell, and by what I paid, you know it's good/Them n---s with me? They from the hood/Now we through parties in the sky, I'm on the 42nd floor, now that's super high/Champagne, more paper planes than you can fly/Them young n---s fell soon as they tried/When the paparazzi flash, I'll be counting all this cash/Plotting a million about how I can build a mountain out of hash.

Good/hood, sky/high/fly/tried, cash/hash. Before WK goes to a writing sesh, he throws on his Chucks and touches a plaque on his wall for good luck, like the Tree of Hope at the Apollo. ALL SEUSS EVERYTHING, it says on that plaque. TALK TO YOUR AUDIENCE LIKE THEY READ AT THE FIRST-GRADE LEVEL.

Logan: Pass; I respectfully decline. (I like the beat too much to denigrate it with my awful flow. JESUS, WHAT A BEAT AND I'M STILL NOT SICK OF IT; EXCELLENT JOB, CLARK KENT). Here's what I'm tossing around for the next song I'm doing with Beth, though:

- She like them boys with the big ol chains/Ridin round town in a big ol Rrrrrange. I still love this, unfortunately. I turn it up every time. Goddamn you, Power 106.

- “Listen, hot shot - 355,000 Californians have medical marijuana cards/And about 1,000 of them are in my family, living in my apartment complex,/Standing behind me in line at Vons, next to me on the freeway,/Delivering my mail, changing the oil in my Civic, and ringing me up at CVS.” It's my ol' “battle raps in the parking lot of my brain” daydream again. (I'll make it rhyme, promise.)

- “Fuck Wiz, I funk with the young prince Abu buck” - Lil B, “Look Like Muhammad.” I need to use this in a song somewhere, or at least make reference to it.

- Danny Brown being the long lost member of Funkdoobiest and his use of Prince iconography. Need to use this somewhere too.

- Google making me smile by suggesting Bobby Hebb when I typed Bobby Heb (on my way to “Hebert,” whose jersey Curren$y is pictured in, above). Google, I like having you around. You’re my boyfriend when my other boyfriend is out of town, and when my girlfriend is busy, and when my other other boyfriend is acting dumb.

Curren$y: Don't front, you in the back of a long line/Trying to get in, cause only members inside/Trees get twisted up like fingers in gang signs/Purple Kushions broke my fall, I fell from a grapevine/Super high, from the free throw line, I'm/Drexler status, glide the espionage/Many a jealous eyes scrutinize the wise/But the Jets in the house like the curtains and the blinds/It hurt to see me shine, that's why they frowning all the time/In they Internet videos, digital CB4s.

“I just found out that Hi-C did Gusto's raps in CB4. Now I feel dumb that I didn't know that! I did know that Drexler was from New Orleans, though, so I feel like I'm still the nerd champ.” - me in the studio with the Jets and the Jet hangers-on and the Jet caterers and the Jet shoe-shiners, about to be kicked out for not taking my shirt off and for talking too much out of nervousness. I'll never achieve “song girl/lyric muse” status. Time for me to start coming to terms with that.

11. “Rollin Up” (How Fly)

Wiz: Me and Spitta, spend a grand at the bar/Buying drinks for my n---s/Hoes selling they souls just to be with us/On the road with winners, champions/Ride smoking weed to myself the only reason they stress/Because I'm on the level you can't be in/And I flick the middle finger to fake friends/We live like when the loyalty is strong you can't bend.

Goodness gracious, Wiz's life has more plots than a graveyard! So many twists and turns! OH WAIT. No. That's not true at all, is it. This is just another verse about his friends and their shoes, getting high and staying that way for as long as possible, and people being upset with them.

Logan:  My shoes are pretty, ooohhh I'm Loubie'd out/I got enough enemies, I need a buddy or three/Time's too expensive, Ice Cube's my cousin/You'll only see me naked if you own a copy of Both Sides of the Brain/Just listened to “Cyberpunks” today; yeah I do that every couple weeks/What a fucking space cadet dreamboat, Jesus Christ I love Del so much. 

No plot, no characterization. I also didn't include any actual rhymes, since I spent less than a minute composing it. But mine has a Del mention- top that, WK. Also, WK: “Fuck outta here”/“You better get a goddamn job” - Rock & Sean P, August 2011. (I could also maybe add “I feel the pain of everyone/Then I feel nothing” - Mascis, earlier today, on stupid ol' pop radio that plays a gem or two sometimes. There now, see? Aren't 10 simple yet effective words better than a hundred useless, braggy ones from Wiz?) 

Curren$y: Yeah, jets n---a, As if I had to say it: Spitta/In the middle of every bad bitches playlist/iTunes banging from my hotel room/Nothing but beats bitch/Fuck it when I die I could sleep bitch/My momma need a bigger crib so I need this money, G/King Kong ain't got shit on me/My face is a coupon - I don't know them but they know me.

Pedestrian compared to some of his best stuff, but this verse is still fresher than those of the last dozen men with microphones I've heard, plus he gets residual credit for the knots n racks n bands lifestyle picture he paints in “Elevator Musik.” It's still haunting/pleasing me (Think I gave my last hundred to the fuckin valet/Good evening, Mr. Jackson/I mean good morning, shit/Dang).

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Oh word: I am qualified and would very much like to do a song with Curren$y, please.

“How come the things that make us happy make us sad?” asked golden-voiced philosopher Frankie Beverly. His question was in response to unstoppable rap machine Curren$y putting out song after song with Wiz Khalifa. “Well, it seems to me,” Frankie said, “that joy and pain are like sunshine and rain.”

Sigh. Yes, Frankie. YES. It seems that way to me, too. Like every young lady with a computer and a working pair of ears, I love Curren$y. I hate Wiz. They keep doing songs together, and that's a zig-zag-y journey through the joy and pain regions of my brain. (It's also a Zig Zag journey, of course! teehee.) I'm not an MC, but since I can stand upright and speak basic English, I am pleased to announce my impending fame, including but not limited to being on the cover of Smooth! and getting a fake naked girlfriend for promo purposes. I'm told I should also have a likeable personality, which, OK, done, and get close with some cheesy Nordic producers which, oh dear, will take a little bit of work. Have faith, though - in a month or two I'll be skyping Curren$y while Antwerp-bound which sounds dirty but it's not.

1. “Rooftops,” from Rolling Papers (produced by Big Jerm)

Wiz, signed and rich (richer than me, anyway, and to me that's rich): And they say they ballin', but I do it how the pros do/Where we goin' next week I let my hoes choose/No socks and my boat shoes/Guess a n---a eatin' good like Whole Foods.

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Wiz's butter lyrics over, uh, word cloud grits?

Do, choose, shoes, Foods. Seuss raps. When done correctly, in a New York accent (AUDIO TWO) or in a Louisiana accent (White carpet in my Scarface house/No undergarments on my Scarface spouse), it's rap perfection. Rapfection. When not done well, it's Wiz. I simply cannot explain this phenomenon, nor do I care to try, because then I'd sound like a Pitchfork writer and they never post pictures of themselves in bathing suits so they are losers.

Logan, unsigned/poor, Moleskine full of rhymes: Somethingsomething much- ballyhooed/Don't know what I like more - devil's pie or devil's food/Blah blah, Premier's a porn fiend, plus he got hops & barley 'cause it's home brewed/...uhhhh...Tell the driver to fire up that Marley, I wanna hear some “Mellow Mood”-?

I'm sure many of you out there could get loose over the beat, go in a completely different direction than me, use that sad horn as punctuation for a tale of a break-up or a death instead of this lowest-common-denominator drivel I have presented here (porn, beer, cake, A/A rhyme scheme). But this is a copy-Wiz exercise and it therefore needs to be as mindless as possible. Other than the part where I made Premier into a craft-beer specialist, what?, I promise you that no creative juices flowed in the composing of this verse (which took me about 14 seconds). Everybody likes being high? Well then, put it in your verse! Everybody knows fresh-faced mid-'60s Studio One rocksteady Marley was the best Marley? It goes in the fuckin verse! Also, you'll notice that the term “Marley” works in 2 ways here, which just shows that when I really apply myself for 14 seconds I can come up with some lyrical blasts to your freaking head. Oh my lorrrrd, I am absolutely killing it. Wiz, you ain't got no job security.


Curren$y, diminutive rapstar millionaire:  You n---s ain't help us - on second thought, you did/The hatin' was the fuel for this shit.

JETLIFEFOOOOOLLLLAHTEIHIQ#N+*HMM7LLFH9Y%ILEH5NFU*^7WEHR. I get excited and my fingers get all quivery! CAN'T TYPE! TOO EXCITED. Anyway, it's JET LIFE, now, tomorrow, always, goddamn you if you're not on board with this, jet life forever and ever amen, so “fuel” works 2 ways here. His verse is unremarkable, but that's ok; you've heard his voice, right? (This might be a girly thing; forgive me). Plus he's got that accent, the star of every damn one of his songs (even when it's not a song, it sounds like a song 'cause his way of speaking is so sing-songy. Conversationally, he's a musical genius.) He sneaks in a “whoadie,” which he rarely does and that is so weird to me, because if I were from N.O. I'd say it all the time just because I could. The hell do people from Pittsburgh say? NOTHING. They have no slang because nobody cares what they say, or what they do, or the shoes they wear, or how they feel about things.

2. “Dot Dot Dot,” from some upcoming mysterious mixtape creation, with Big Sean (produced by Big Jerm)

Wiz:  King size papers, king size bed/N---s blow money but I'd rather keep mine instead/Roll something n---a, blow something/Say you're ballin out of control/Let a n---a hold something.


Logan, better than Wiz: Earl Stevens calls it gouda, I was raised to call it 'bread'/got so much I retired, hired Doom to read me the phone book, somethingsomething... Rosebud the sled/Butterflies in my tummy, drinking tea, lying in bed/...uhhhhhm, fuck this is rather difficult. You must be outta your head if your system ain't up to the red (?).

I don't know, maybe I'm not as good at this as I thought. I start to plagiarize, my brain just pulling out random lines I remember and love from the rap years '97 or '03, and then Citizen Kane was on AMC the other night. I'm easily influenced. And those drums, so pretty and Black-Milk-esque!, they cloud my thoughts. I can't focus on telling the story. But go easy on me, please. Be nice. I'm just starting. You'll note, however, that even though I'm no good I'm still a heavier hitter, lyrically speaking, than Wiz. I'm also a heavier hitter in literal terms, because even though my hip bones stick out a little, I probably outweigh WK, rap's Skeletor, by about 15 lbs. I thought weed was supposed to be an appetite stimulant.

Curren$y: It has been said I keep one rolled up like LL’s pants leg/Full of life in this bitch, though I may seem half-dead/Trust me, I’m cool/I just ain’t talking to you.  

Critical bias on the part of the blogger: this man's words speak to me. He's looking right at me as he says this. Except for the pant leg part, it's a summary of me interacting with every LAPD officer at Starbucks downtown (2nd and Central; COPS LOVE ME and it is a terrible burden with which I have been saddled). Trust me, officer; I'm cool. I'm way cool. Thanks for holding the door for me but I'm not interested in chatting and I never ever talk like this because I am a lady but I'd just like you to know I don't fuck with pigs, dog (Muslim), you have a great day now.

3. “Flowers” (that mixtape with Big Sean; Big Jerm)

Wiz: How the fuck could you hate this/Half of these people aint real, n---s shape shift/That's why I’m smoking OG til I’m weightless/Yeah and my homies are Taylor Gang/We rolling up papers and yeah of course they gon hate/But fuck what they say, 'cause we gon stay the same.

Logan, making a fool of Wiz like this is the parking lot at Osborn High: “I knew it had went off. I saw the fire, like, come through my jeans/I took a couple more steps and my jeans were like — my jeans are wet/And I looked down. I had some Chuck Taylors on/and they were — the white was all red/I'm in trouble.” 

This isn't my own composition; this is just a quote from Plax regarding shooting himself while in the club. But be honest, wouldn't you rather listen to this description of Chucks over a beat than to Wiz's sad little flow? BE HONEST, I SAID.

Curren$y:  Now pan on them lenses and focus on the dopest/In the Mitchell & Ness Marino, see how far back I done throwed it.

It's a throwback, darling. A throw-back. Marino was a QB (he threw back). This verse coming right after mine is genius, because we're both making reference to the NFL. So for the sake of the song it doesn't really matter that Marino is dullsville, as is the entire Dolphins squad except for the fact that Trick is a fan, but Marino was in Ace Ventura and that was kind of cool and unexpected of him. So now I really really want Curren$y to throw in something Ace Ventura-related, maybe on Verde Terrace? (update, after I just listened to it: nope). Ace Ventura's kind of a stoner movie, right? No? A little? Am I out of touch here? Anyway, the ultimate would be Curren$y coming out with a song called “Laces Out,” a duet about footwear with fellow shoe whore Bun B. Or maybe a mixtape called If I'm Not Back in 5 Minutes, Just Wait Longer.

4. “Fly N---s Do Fly Things” (the How Fly mixtape;  Sledgren)

Wiz: Influenced by the reefer but I'm still positively speaking/Heading down to New Orleans, fuck with Spitta for a weekend/Exotic bitches freakin, minks on the rug/I'm living Clicquot dreams, pouring drinks in the tub/One life to live, so I'ma live it up.

That beat is pretty all right with me but that's probably because I'm a sucker for echo-y handclaps and because I have “Bass Boost” checked off in my laptop's Speaker Enhancements tab (which makes everything sound fantastic). Yeahhh, bitch, Wiz says to start the song, and that's funny because that's exactly what I say to myself every time I hear a Wiz-less Curren$y song. Yayyy and Thank God are also what runs through my head. I don't give a fuck, Wiz says a little later, which describes both his attitude about the world as well as my attitude about Wiz making another song for as long as we both shall live. Heading down to N.O., fuck with Spitta, Wiz adds. I am aware of the transactional nature of rap friendships - the potential to earn revenue trumps all, yes? - but clearly, Curren$y's not being up front with Wiz. Come to my city, hang out with me, Spitta says, but this is only possible because Wiz has a friend named “Chevy,” and Curren$y’s bowtied til he dies.

Logan (my primary goal here is to get the keys to the jet and I will spend my entire verse trying to convince Curren$y to hand them over): Eatin gumbo with a Neville; it's Cyril, he doesn't have a DeVille/So Spitta, I have a request (you don't ask, you don't get)/Don't need your spaceship, your Francesca, your Eldorado, your Corvette/Escort with the paint messed up from that accident at Kohl's/Please lemme get keys to the jet; headed overseas, seein' Dumile n' Dennis Coles. 

Ha, nobody thought I had any NOLA raps. Shame on you. I'm not upset with Wiz for wanting to hang out down there; he and I both have this fantasy about “accidentally” running into Mannie at Winn-Dixie after stalking him for several weeks and getting a feel for his shopping patterns. The air is thick with the spirit of good MCs who've walked the streets of the city, and also thick with suffocating swamp air. Every cab driver looks like Professor Longhair, and I see Chris Paul in the car next to me at every stoplight. We don't even mind the mosquitoes, me and Wiz, since we get it how we live and hug the block, lalalalaaa, les bon temps are rouler-ing left and right, life is wonderful, geaux Saints, I'm IN. Game feels it, too - wanting to join Cash Money and all. Oh, hey, guess what, Game? Me too, Game! ME TOO. Probably not happening for either of us, though. Sorry, Game. We must all know our limitations*. 

*(I can't get away with using “beasting” as a verb in conversations about the performances of NBA players, or the word “jawn” in any context, nor will I ever have the pale-skinned, hip-less steezyness of Leigh Lezark. I'll also never have a name as rad as Jason Goldwatch's. But accepting the things we cannot change allows us to conserve our energy and focus on the things we can.)

This look is foxy and it is just not possible for me. It's not in the cards. Not ever. (Sigh.)

Curren$y: Would it be cliche to start my verse saying something that I always say?/The planes got it, I perfected my roll in the sunset/Aeronautics, I swear on my soul I would never co-sign some nonsense/Muscle car auction, I just cop it and then go ride it/Wait for the night to set, then really pop it and drive it/Bitches run on the side of it like those little Jamaican kids.

META RAPS! Critical bias on the part of the blogger: META RAPS are the alpha and the omega. Take the first letter out of each word in this joint, for example (Mt. Vernon fresh). Verse number 2, do the damn thing (guilty-pleasure/Nitti fresh). Last time on a Khaled remix/Now I'm on the original version (guilty-pleasure/Luda fresh). I know they gonna criticize the hook on this song (“can I live?” fresh). The violin on “Knowledge God” sounded ill (gods-in-the-Wu-pantheon fresh). Also, META GEORGIAN FUNK (50% of James Brown songs - him discussing the song breaking down while it's breaking down. Breakdown fresh), and let's not forget META TEXAN FUNK. “Come on and tighten up that bass,” Archie Bell said, “Oh yeah. Now look here - I want that guitar to fall in on there. Tighten it up now. Oh. Yeah. Now tighten it up, organ. Yeah.” (KCRW with the assist here, for being fresh and playing “Tighten Up” while I was out driving for my government job yesterday morning).

5. “O.T.T.R.” (that mixtape with Big Sean; Big Jerm)

Wiz: I’m moving at top speed, my engine is foreign/I travel across seas where women are gorgeous/And ni---s know it’s us, we make it tough to mistake it/Just let me roll it up and when it’s stuffed, we blaze it/Then we Off To The Races.

Logan, embarrassing Wiz: I'm still working on it, but I do know the hook will be something about how I'm off to my new Caprice/since I'm bowtied til I die (“O.T.M.N.C.S.I.B.T.I.D.”). And it'll embarrass Wiz, of course, yayyyy, because Wiz and I have to keep it theatrical whenever we meet up for a “freestyle skirmish in the parking lot,” AKA my daydream-y brain while I'm at work. It's like that Murs/Eyedea smiley throwdown except I am both Murs and Eyedea, and Wiz isn't qualified to be my adversary - he's just there to give me fresh Aquafina bottles as needed.

Curren$y: And I’ma Pimp, see (C!), leaning in my ride like how Bun be (B!)/Sittin’ tall on my chrome, see, but I’m low in the seat/My girl in the sheet fast asleep, I’m in the street after the cheddar/Peddlin’ melodies, purchasin’ better things/On the road to the riches I done drove over n----s. 

Critical bias on the part of the blogger: UGK raps fill up all the empty places inside me, as do musician-name-pun raps, and this one's so freaking fine, it's like the 2011 version of Andre Ben's I'm so like a pimp, I'm glad it's night. I also devour raps about girls doing nothing, girls lounging, girls sleeping - especially raps that also include the beautiful, surprisingly un-corny phrase “peddling melodies.” Women need more sleep than men (it's science), and I greatly appreciate the kindness of someone who lets me stay curled up in bed, the queen of dreamland, while he goes out and handles it. That's a good man, no two ways about it. (No two ways BOUT IT, neither, since at this point I am an honorary Louisianan). I can't wait til we get married and I get some South infused in my speech and start referring to him as my huzzzbin. When we come to California to visit my family on holidays, we stop in LA to hang out with Nick Dahhhhmond. And at this point I'd like to provide a shout from the bottom of my tender heart to all the ladies out there who, like me, Karen Hill, and Amber Rose, realized long ago they'd never make good cops' or teachers' wives. Sorry, Mom.

Side note: FUCKING LOOK AT THIS QUARTET OF BADASS JEWISH GIRLS FROM QUEENS.

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