I spent a rainy Saturday watching Willard Smith’s latest summr blockbuster Hancock. As many of you have probably discussed, it was a rather subpar summer movie, cool premise, but relatively inept. Will Smith is a surly superhero, saves some guy who works in PR who insists on paying him back by rehabbing his image, takes him home to meet the wife & kids for Super Meatball night. It literally couldn’t have been more obvious that blonde wifey was hiding things, blah blah, cut to the chase- we find out the Charlize Theron, as happy blonde wife, is also a superhero, but in hiding and the wife of Will’s superhero. She whines and mopes, gets in a big fight with Will, mainly because she doesn’t want to be a super hero anymore. It’s been 3000 years and she just wants to be normal and have super meatball Thursdays. Instead of portraying the superhero archetype, what we witness is instead a perfect manifestation of a weak woman unable to deal with power of any kind stereotype. (more…)
Dear Marion,
Hi Suge! It’s me, greenie. Its been awhile since we last spoke Suga Bear. You don’t mind that I call you Suga Bear do you? I mean as much as we go back, you should be cool with my affectionate nickname. I mean, shit… I was down with Death Row from the word go. My domicile may have been on the Eastern seaboard, but lets be honest, back in the early 90s ain’t nann body paid attention to the South, and I was never riding for the Northern team, regardless of our coastal sharing. I was never afraid of you in the way most fans and rappers were. I recall saying aloud once after Pac died, “Fuck a Suge Knight!” and a friend of mine quickly hushing me, lest you hear such foul utterance- in spite of the entire span of the United States distancing us. I may never have actually gotten to west side until i was in my 20s, but thanks to you and the Death Row squad and affiliates, I felt like I spent most of teens there. You put together an umbrella that represented a unified front of west coast thuggery and music.
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The incomparably inspirational and pimptastic Texan Mac Brown and I were partaking in a conversational exchange the other day and he brought up the topic of ageism in Hip Hop; how rampant it is, and how most 25 year olds, if they haven’t made it yet- need to just walk away. after a brief moment of consideration, I had to agree. To generalize- mastery in most careers that human beings undertake take years to achieve. The best and brightest are often the oldest as they have spent years honing and perfecting their craft, Nature then deals a cruel twist of fate as many who finally gain enough knowledge and experience to be considered masters do so around the time their bodies start to fail; limbs grow weak, minds feeble. Yet and still– you start young, and master old. Unless, of course, you want to a rapper when you grow up. If you want to be rapper, you must start young, master young and quit before you’re 35 lest you be ridiculed as the feeble, out of touch old man, a has been, or worse a barely made it but never really was.
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Aside from most rappers that is. While your favorite rapper is busying starting clothing lines, hocking beverages of either alcoholic, vitamin or energy variety, buying sports teams all sorts of other mofos like Michael Eric Dyson, Bill Cosby, Souljah Boy and other assorted white people are trying to be rappers.
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