That the Chase Budinger Asher Roth record was shelved in the Country aisle of Target’s music section when I went there to buy “Madden ‘10″ and “NCAA ‘10.”
That there is an art gallery on Newbury Street in Boston called “The Martin Lawrence Gallery.” Wonder if they have that new Brother Man exhibit, or if the collection focuses mostly on the “Black Knight” period.
The least romantic meeting place ever (via my office building). And yes, those are rose petals.
An old poster promoting the DVD release of “What Happens in Vegas,” defaced with what I’ve taken to calling “the Kutchshot.”
The idea that Eddy Curry + curry powder + “Powder” could = Eddy Curry Powder, and the idea that someone with Photoshop skills could make something beautiful out of that.
That my friend nicknamed me “The Dad Whisperer,” owing to my estimable talents at engaging parents in conversation, and that another friend’s first reaction was to begin acting out the “Horse Whisperer” psyche-out from “BASEketball” (head to the 3:23 mark):
What’s made you laugh recently, y’all? Tell Andre Dawson here.
You got to understand, Paul, it ain’t like when we were kids. Nowadays, you just yell some mess about flaming sexes, the girls start losing they minds, and the boys’re gonna go wherever the girls are, am I right? I’m not sayin’ these Leon fellas can play a lick, but they give your boys somethin’ they can have together, separate from you and Lucille, and that’s gotta count for somethin’, right?
Now, look here, Paul: Way I see it, we got two choices. On the one hand, we can keep on hammerin’ away at the kids, talkin’ ’bout how what they need to do is deep-six these young Nashvile fellas and how what they should be doin’ is soul-kissin’ to Al Green. Or, we can have ourselves a nice sit in these beautiful pleather chairs you got here, and you can tell me what’s really on your mind.
How’s you and Lucille, Paul?
EDITOR’S NOTE: Andre Dawson is not a licensed psychologist or trained counselor; he’s just seen a lot, is all. If you have relationship-, parenting- or cutoff-man-related questions for the Hawk, please send them here.
A neat little sidebar running with Chris Broussard’s ESPN.com story about the impending trade of Shaquille O’Neal from Phoenix to Cleveland (dude just stays getting put alongside All-Eternity wings, huh?) provides a win-loss breakdown of the impact that the Emperor of Big Men has had when coming to a new team. Nestled within said sidebar is an interesting nugget about how Shaq’s arrival in the desert was a little different:
At first glance, you might think this a simple mistake — that in his/her haste to assemble the sidebar and get it posted up as soon as possible, the ESPN.com staffer accidentally wrote “abomination” when “aberration” was the intended choice. (Mr. Todd Ruffin has cast his vote for this possibility.)
But the screen-grab was taken at about 8:30AM Eastern time; it’s now 12PM, and the word remains unchanged. Which leads me to believe that there’s another, more frightening, way more stupidly obvious explanation:
When he was traded from Miami to Phoenix, Shaq realized he’d have to do battle with a variety of skilled, agile and quick big men in the Western Conference — many of whom are younger and more gifted than he is at this stage in his career. And the Diesel knew he needed a leg up.
An upleg that came from a series of injections of an experimental, gamma-irradiated serum.
While the typically morally bankrupt Suns-employed doctors warned of potentially horrifying side effects, things worked out pretty well for Shaq, who averaged 18 points and 8 rebounds a game (those are Mehmet Okur numbers!) in his only full season with Phoenix. But as the aforementioned sidebar indicates, it didn’t work out so hot for the Suns, who are now a not-so-good team that makes mad Internet kids sad, because does anybody remember Seven Seconds or Less and when fun times were going to last forever?
But now, Shaq’s revitalized unholy strength and speed come to a new city. One can only hope that the rumored apocalyptic reptilian freakouts that allegedly led Steve Kerr to pull the trigger don’t manifest themselves in Cleveland.
Lord knows that downtown can’t take much more destruction.
Do you love New York, and also are a fan o’ tha Knixx? If so, you must pretty stoked about the Summer of 2010. I don’t know if you heard, but by clearing out cap space, making mad moves and shedding the bloody spectre of Zeke by winning the mother of all games of Risk with Florida International University Director of Athletics Pete Garcia, team president Donnie Walsh has Dominant Team Pringles pointed in the right direction.
According to accurate Internet reports, the Meltface Killah has already locked up the contractual rights to LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh, a possibly re-energized DMX, “The Man of 1000 Holds” Dean Malenko, effeminate comedian Greg Proops and Randy Quaid, who, as we all know, is the Alpha Quaid.
But all that pales in comparison to the news this week that the Knicks may start the party a year early. The New York Post reported Monday that Orlando Magic backup center Marcin Gortat is high on the team’s wish list, and that Walsh could look to spend New York’s $5 million mid-level exception on “The Polish Hammer,” a.k.a. “The Warlock,” a.k.a. “Maxi-Me,” a.k.a. “Marcin Ndegeocello.”
You’re probably thinking: Bummer. We’ve already given a multi-year mid-level contract to a backup center who showed flashes for one good season series, and that didn’t turn out too well. But you’re forgetting one thing — the immeasurable cultural electricity and citywide excitement that could result from one simple event, one tiny little appearance that we could, as a fanbase, WILL INTO REALITY next summer if Walsh gets that deal done:
I haven’t felt all that interested in sports of late. Sure, there are a million reasonstolovetheNBAplayoffs, there’s all sorts of anger-gold to be mined in rooting for a baseball team with a $147 million payroll that now has Alex Cora batting leadoff, it’s nice and schadenfreude-y to watch Brad Lidge’s inevitable crash-and-burn after a golden summer in the sun, etc. But nothing in the sports landscape has really grabbed my attention by its attention-throat and throttled it into idle weekend-afternoon submission.
In times like these, I eschew spending time with cherished family and dear friends in favor of watching video clips online.
The video above has nothing to do with sports, but it does have something to do with jokes — specifically, when jokes go awry, and how splendid an experience that can be. I think Colin Quinn is a fantastic stand-up comic and comedy writer; I am well aware that many people do not share that opinion, but we’ll just have to agree to disagree. That’s at least partially why thesevideos (which must be at least 13-15 years old) of Quinn flaming out on Comedy Central’s The A List are so fantastic — he is eminently aware of not only that he is bombing, but also how badly he is bombing, why it’s happening and that every grasping attempt to right the ship will be futile. What grows out of that self-awareness is a sort of director’s commentary on a set in shambles, one that I hope those of you who like jokes might find compelling.
UPDATE! Technical difficulties be damned! We now have video, courtesy of Peter Wade at the fine Brooklyn Mutt. Of course, we still recommend that you visit the Star-Ledger’s site and give them your business, as they were the originators of this compelling, compelling content.
We’d also like to thank the folks at Can’t Stop the Bleeding for linking to us this afternoon. To show how truly thankful I am, I’ve moved the enlarged photo of a smiling David Diehl, along with my witty caption, from the top of the post to the bottom.
In a performance that makes Dana Carvey’s turn in The Master of Disguise look like Hulk Hogan’s effort in Rocky III, New York Giants offensive lineman David Diehl blew the doors off of Manhattan comedy club Comix last night. The ad wizards that came up with this one decided that the best vehicle for Diehl’s short-form improv skills would be a dinner scene in which he played former NFL MVP/more recently former NFL season killer/current lawn-wrangling interloper Brett Favre. And you’re not going to believe this: Diehl plays him as indecisive.
Hilarity ensues, Waiting for Guffman is real, and my boss just came to the realization that Jimmie “J.J.” Walker was “really a minstrel, huh?” Happy Thursday. Who needs a drink?
EDITOR’S NOTE: Apparently, WordPress and NJ.com aren’t exactly on speaking terms, and the extent of WordPress’ video-embedding help is, “Um, try VodPod?” While this particular David Diehl video isn’t exactly must-have video, if anyone out there can help a brother figure out how to make the video work here, I’d certainly appreciate it.
"Hey, check out my mouth's impression of a picket fence."
What do you do when you’re LeBron James, master of all you survey, and you’ve got eight days off between the end of your Cavs squad’s four-game whitewashing of the Atlanta Hawks and the start of your Eastern Conference Finals matchup with Turkish Basketball Jones anchor Hedo Turkoglu’s Orlando Magic?
You find creative ways to fill the time, that’s what. Like stepping into a West Akron booth and cutting your own updated version of the late Big L’s “‘98 Freestyle.” The original features nowhere-near-suitable-for-work language and is utterly, utterly awesome. Please to be listening:
Only one problem: Friggin’ recording engineers lost the masters of the session. Luckily, a pair of reliable this is the city line. tipsters present for the proceedings — let’s call them “Molante,” for the sake of identity protection — scribbled down the King’s lyrics. (Their stenography was impressive, capturing James’ undeniable passion and intriguing penchant for self-censoring, as well as his often questionable spelling.)
In the interest of taking you inside the mind of one of the most compelling athletes of these or any times, we’ve taken the liberty of producing a visual representation of the lines that LeBron spit. We now share the first batch of images with you; the remaining verses are still in artist’s rendering, and will be made available as soon as possible. For now, though, we hope you enjoy this THIS IS THE CITY LINE. EXCLUSIVE presentation.
Sounds to me like LeBron’s ready for Game 1 tonight.
Ever wake up in the middle of the night, sheets soaked through and hair matted down, an uneasy feeling of dread spreading through your chest cavity like an advancing Panzer division? It’s not a pleasant way to wake up. And I’ve got to tell you: The slow dawn of realization that your body has reacted this way because your racing mind tricked you into thinking you were Glen “Big Baby” Davis really doesn’t help matters. In fact, it kind of makes things worse, vis a vis feeling like a double-barrel shot of loser-cum-psychopath.
Personally, I blame the lasagna and butter pecan ice cream before bed. When your dinner/dessert plans trace trails blazed by Garfield and Cathy, you kind of deserve what you get.
So here’s the deal: Me and my fellow Celtics are playing the Magic in the Eastern Conference semis — don’t know for sure which game, but we’re at home, so it’s either Game 1, 2, 5 or 7, and the feeling was pretty intense, so let’s assume it was Game 7. Things are pretty nuts — crowd popping off, giant men all around me, frightening old men in grey jersey shirts holding whistles and balls, all the accoutrements of postseason insanity.
And I am immediately aware from the very start of the dream that I am DEFINITELY Glen “Big Baby” Davis. I can’t stress that enough; I am not an idealized version of myself inserted in the game, like Captain N: The Video Master:
I am Big Baby. I am playing over my head and out of my league, operating at a level of functionality that nobody rational believes is actually possible, forcing Stan Van Gundy to consider me as a legitimate offensive threat, etc.
Perhaps more important than that, I am Big Baby; I want his wants, I need his needs, I feel his feels and I think his thinks. I made a dream journal mad quick after I woke up, and here’s what I could remember:
I was also kind of disappointed with Doc, because he just kept listening to his iPod during timeouts. Like, we’d all gather around the bench, expecting him to draw up plays or talk about spacing or whatever, and he’d just kind of go “Uhhhhhhhh” and when he turned his head to the left you could totally see the earbud in, and when you looked down you could see his foot tapping. I think he was listening to “Opposites Attract” by Paula Abdul and MC Skat Kat.
I was extra happy when Perk made a basket, because then we could hug. But then I got bummed out because he didn’t want to hug like KG and Po’ used to hug. I guess I just like big hugs, guys.
When we were leading big in the fourth quarter — oh yeah, I think we won the game, so maybe you should book it — I really wanted to dance. Like, every time we stopped playing, I kept looking up at the big screen for Gino, because when you see Gino you can dance, and dude, I can dance:
Surprisingly, I wasn’t really hungry. Huh.
That’s all I can really remember. I’m a little bummed that there wasn’t more insights, but there’s always more playoff basketball, lasagna and butter pecan ice cream to kickstart my pineal gland.
I’ve been WANTing things a lot of late, y’all. Like, for example:
A shirt honoring my favorite professional wrestler of all time (not to mention one of the true moral compasses of my youth), Bret “The Hitman” Hart, plus colorway-appropriate pink & black Air Yeezys, courtesy of Daily Drop:
Bonafide Icon’s “Garden Bruisers” T-shirt, courtesy of Trey ’s fantastic Phenomenal Swag column at BDL:
Illustrator Joel Kimmel’s “LeBron James Versus the New York Knicks” mini-comic book, which looks awesome (despite it being inspired by his unforgettable 52-9-11 evisceration of Dominant Team Pringles) and is available via “pay what you can” pricing:
The R. Crumb x Vans Mr. Natural Sk8 HI, courtesy of Hypebeast:
Knicks fans, the future of excitement is now
June 9, 2009 · Leave a Comment
Do you love New York, and also are a fan o’ tha Knixx? If so, you must pretty stoked about the Summer of 2010. I don’t know if you heard, but by clearing out cap space, making mad moves and shedding the bloody spectre of Zeke by winning the mother of all games of Risk with Florida International University Director of Athletics Pete Garcia, team president Donnie Walsh has Dominant Team Pringles pointed in the right direction.
According to accurate Internet reports, the Meltface Killah has already locked up the contractual rights to LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh, a possibly re-energized DMX, “The Man of 1000 Holds” Dean Malenko, effeminate comedian Greg Proops and Randy Quaid, who, as we all know, is the Alpha Quaid.
But all that pales in comparison to the news this week that the Knicks may start the party a year early. The New York Post reported Monday that Orlando Magic backup center Marcin Gortat is high on the team’s wish list, and that Walsh could look to spend New York’s $5 million mid-level exception on “The Polish Hammer,” a.k.a. “The Warlock,” a.k.a. “Maxi-Me,” a.k.a. “Marcin Ndegeocello.”
You’re probably thinking: Bummer. We’ve already given a multi-year mid-level contract to a backup center who showed flashes for one good season series, and that didn’t turn out too well. But you’re forgetting one thing — the immeasurable cultural electricity and citywide excitement that could result from one simple event, one tiny little appearance that we could, as a fanbase, WILL INTO REALITY next summer if Walsh gets that deal done:
Marcin Gortat at Hot 97 Summer Jam.
To help you visualize how dope that would be, we here at this is the city line. have created a crude artist’s rendering:
And also filed this real photograph of Marcin giving the ladies something to think about:
Marcin Gortat = Drake 2.0?
Don’t blow this, Donnie.
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Tagged: at this is the city line. there is mekhi phifer, chris bosh, dominant team pringles, dwyane wade, free agency, fun with photos, jay-z marcin runnin' this rap ish, lebron james, marcin gortat, missed u earl, new york knicks, not as excited about greg proops guarding elite wings, oh how nice they let the four-year-old use photoshop, please leave your favorite marcin gortat aliases in the comments, pretty excited for dean malenko as a defensive point guard off the bench, randy quaid is the alpha quaid and this is not up for debate, stop feeling drake, wow that's a lot of tags