This shopkeeper is apparently not acting alone in his promotional zeal regarding today’s visit by U.S. President Barack Obama. As Obama is scheduled to deliver one of the most important speeches to the Islamic world ever given by a U.S. leader, having vendors like this guy around can’t hurt.
Depending on how this speech is regarded, it could prove to be one of the most significant milestones in international diplomatic history. Or not. But either way, it will prove to be an interesting moment to observe and discuss. Let’s rap about it in the comments after the speech drops.
Turman
PS. The original King Tut arrives at San Francisco’s DeYoung Museum on the 27th of the June for those who like their Tutankhamun old-school style. And no, I don’t know if they spell it differently in Cairo or if dude just got his engraving a little twisted.
PPS. Game one tonight! Woot!
PPPS. Make the jump for an excerpt from the speech and a link to the full text. Read More »
This cut right here, “Who Is He?”, is a rich, autobiographical journey. The track boasts an infectious hook – partially re-purposed from Mike’s first first hit single, “Rumors” – you may remember it. The song twists and turns as he chronicles some of his toughest life lessons. No punches are pulled, no skeletons dismissed. But don’t be sad. Our boy Meezy is just fine. Married, kids, making music and thrivin’. Right here in the Bay.
And, you gotta’ love the A’s cap with ear warmers. Classic.
Gd.
Oh, and look out for what might be this Summer’s anthem, “Drinks R on Me“, featuring E40 and Mistah FAB.
Even though FTB’s Meschery actually works for the arm of PBS that is airing Baron Davis and Stacy Peralta’s documentary, local programming still calls the shots sometimes. Thus, while much of the nation enjoys Crips and Bloods: Made in America, we in the Bay Area have to wait until May 27th.
But fear not. With minimal finagling, we are able to offer up something to hold you over. Baron and company have done a fine job of promoting the film down to recruiting an all-star lineup of hip-hop heavies to record a mixtape as an homage to the film. And here’s the link. You’ve got your Snoop, your Weezy, The Game, Kurupt, Raekwon, Freeway, and others. That’s why we’re here. The film will air soon enough. The beats are here today.
From SFist.com: grainy camera-phone shot of Dave Chappelle, on Market Street in San Francisco a couple of days ago.
Dave Chappelle. He pretty much held the title belt for funniest man on the planet for a cool couple of years. And then he dropped into an epic, self-imposed exile that few if any could comprehend, much less understand. But this week he showed up in the Bay Area. And last night he dropped an epic four and a half hour set in Oakland. FTB was there. I was there.
The Dalai Lama was in Berkeley on the same day. I watched as his motorcade sped up University Avenue with all of the ironic security posturing any visiting royal would command. Meanwhile, some hours later in downtown Oakland, Dave Chappelle announced that he had taken BART to the gig. And in some circles his arrival probably carries at least as much weight as the arrival of a religious leader, so great is his gravitational pull. Yet, I can believe him when he said he took BART to his own show. Because of what else he had to say. And to whom he was talking.
When he left that epic $40 million dollars on the table in his negotiations with Comedy Central and decided to go underground, I always had my own suspicions as to why. Last night, he offered a rare glimpse into this decision.
First, he was performing at a venue that was opening for the first time in its renewed form. Formerly called “Sweet Jimmie’s,” the spot was known for its pure Oaklandish-ness and pimptastic improbability. Now, it is reborn as Oakland Town Hall, a perfect forum for a public hearing and confessional. But why were tickets only available through Twitter and then passed out in a bizarre, circuitous ritual? Why an unknown, unopened venue? Because. This is how Dave Chappelle plans to reclaim himself with his core constituency. To hell with the Eddie Murphy plan and the blockbuster films. He took his ten milly from Comedy Central and that’s enough. From here on out it’s about reclaiming his authenticity. And that starts at root level. On the bare, close-cropped stage of the old Sweet Jimmie’s. Starting at eleven thirty and ending at four. Telling stories to his disciples. Revealing just as much as this particular audience deserved. Bridging the gap from Saturday night to Sunday morning. When the dawn broke as I got home, I realized where I had been.
An unlikely tip to come from Snoop’s Twitter feed. Who would have thought Snoop was into some Cali underground-type ish. But then again, this is right up his alley - a feel good West Side-and-ride with the top down-all around-slapper. In the spirit of Living Legends, this new Grouch and Eligh collab featuring Gift of Gab and Pidgeon John is another fine example of when the best of The Bay meets the best of LA. Trust me here, the hook on this joint will be Gorilla Glued to the inside of your cranium for the next week. Be prepared to be whistlin’ this on your way down the hall to the water cooler at work - the cool, cool, water cooler. And just in time for this here pre-summer madness heatwave we got goin’ on. I’m ready to put this on the iPizzle, put a Corona in a Koozie and take my Float Lounge 4000 out on Lake Anza.
I took the day off to hang with my boy on his 10th Birthday. In the morning, Griffin opened his presents — Pro Evolution Soccer for his Playstation and an official AC Milan jersey and shorts. Ronaldinho of course. He put it on immediately (he’s still wearing it today).
After a few games of PES and some light soccer in the park we headed into San Francisco. First stop, Japantown for lunch and a visit to Fatlace and Super7.
Afterward we rolled through Hayes Valley then over to the Mission. Being 72° and sunny, our roll was slow. We sauntered into Density to say hi to the extended family. A few minutes later Marco Bellinelli and a few of his buddies also sauntered in. A leisurely day of shopping in SF seemed to be on everyone’s agenda.
“Hey Marco Belinelli” I said, “Nice to see you. Welcome to Density.”
Just as I approached to shake his hand, one of guys in his entourage pointed a finger just over my shoulder and exclaimed “Hey!”
I turned to see that he was pointing at Griffin, who was standing by the cash register like a deer in headlights. Then he added, “AC Milan! Number 80. Ronaldinho! He’s a gooda football player. Now, that’s a smarta boy.”
Well, I’m pretty biased, but I had to agree. I told the crew that we had indeed spend some time that morning using the digital version of AC Milan to womp on the élite teams in the English Premier League. They fully approved.
After some more mutual appreciation, a good browse around the shop and our photo op, Macro and friends, as well as Griffin and I departed.
A couple of weeks ago I received a nicely worded e-mail from a cat named Brenton who has just pushed forth onto the Internets a fine site: blacktophoops.com. As the name would indicate, it is primarily a website that is devoted to scouting the finer local runs. But, true to the ethos that we share here at FTB, it is much more. It’s a cultural destination too, as evidenced by the Zion I and the Grouch video that (today at least) leads off the stories on the blog.
More to the point though, the site will point you to numerous flaws-in-your-game-exposing runs going on throughout the Greater Bay Area. I’m not sure I really want to get dogged by some off-season pro from a league in the Philippines who’s sharpening his crossover on older dudes with lateral-mobility issues, but who knows? If the right fit of hubris strikes, you might see the FTB five out there trying to old-man game him into some silly turnovers or missed defensive switches. That’s what is great about the game of basketball. Until you decide that you’ve got next, you’ll never know if you can force that pass just past his 6′8″ wingspan to the cutter in traffic or not. So, check out the site, lace up your good-run kicks and go find yourself a game. Shout out to Brenton too for reaching out.
But hey, while we’re on the subject, hit us off with some runs in the comments. We’re sort of Berkeley and Oakland (downtown) YMCA-centric right now, but if you’ve got something that’s hitting let us know.
Today, a colleague of mine informed me that an unfortunate plight has befallen someone close to him. The short of it. His friend Hollis Hawthorne has been gravely injured in a motorcycle accident in India. She is in a coma. She needs ICU transport back to the states, where doctors at Stanford University have pledged free treatment due to the nature of her injuries. But, alas the transport runs some two hundred large. But, as so often is the case, there is much more.
After following a chain of links, several things have become clear. But perhaps most surprising of all of them: Hollis Hawthorne is a scraper-bike dancer. What does this mean. Well, it means that first of all she likes scraper bikes. Second of all she is a dancer. She has combined these two interests into a form of street art that bridges cultural gaps a mile wide. I won’t even start to get glib about the situation, because it is serious and more than a little gravitas is called for. But I couldn’t help but be drawn to the plight of someone who sees the gaps in the social fabric the way I do, as space for artistic expression and unification.
Hollis is also a founding member of The Derailleurs, an all-female bicycle dance troupe. If you are so inclined, make the jump and see her at the “Scraper Bikes for Life” street fest. (Sure, the video is a little bit lo-fi, but don’t trip.) And if you are even more inclined follow this link and donate some scrilla against the $200,000 cost of airlifting her back to the states in an ICU-equipped jet. As of this writing, almost 20% of the funds have been raised, but time is short. Put what you feel on it and throw some good karma into the wind for a person who, by all accounts is someone who deserves more scrapin’ on her scraper bike.
Bay Area college hoops represent! With the New Jersey Nets drafting both Ryan Anderson of Cal and Brook Lopez of Stanford last year, they seem to have gotten a draft day two-fer of bigs that have exceeded all expectations. Both are logging long, productive minutes for the team, particularly Lopez, who is a dark horse candidate for rookie of the year. Hell, he pretty much went toe to toe with Yao Ming statistically the other night and he has started at center for the Nets since snatching the job from an injured Josh Boone.
Now, the video.
Don’t hate! Why? Ask yourself. Why are these guys at Comic-Con having so much fun? Because they know that they are outplaying their teammates later that day. Why? Because they got up early and dressed up as Wookies to go to Comic-Con instead of sleeping off the hangover they procured in the VIP room at Scores. Call them nerds. They don’t care. Because their frat is already looking like they might make some noise against those mean jock frats down the road in the intrafraternity challenge. Maybe not this year, but hell they’re only two games out. And frankly I could see Lopez’ voice disorienting the trash-talk focused Kevin Garnett into a lackluster series. Actually, it disoriented me right now just watching the video.
Turman
PS. As so often is the case, props to the almighty Ball Don’t Lie for beating me to the punch.
Last night I got call to go see Cake at the newly renovated Fox Theater. There, in the heart of Oakland’s revitalizing (stimulus package willing), city center, I was treated to good tunes, big bearditude and a trip down memory lane.
I’ve always had a bit of an affinity for the band – formed and fronted by the Berkeley/Sacramento native, John McCrea, Cake may best known for the radio hit, The Distance, now an alt rock classic.
I missed the opening act, but arrived in time to find a good vantage for the headliner. Cake did their thing. A solid performance, no doubt. But, while the fully-bearded McCrea (fig 1.) sang his monotone heart out, positioned squarely between the two super-sized bearded hippy Buddha things (fig 2.), I found myself transfixed on the guitarist. My head swirling with childhood memories.
