4.11.2010

Lax On, Lax Off

Gentlemen, practice is tonight @ 8pm on the turf field.  Brose bowl is back.

Also, I would like to pay tribute to a fallen teammate, friend, and fellow alcoholic Justin "Bromaster". At rugby practice yesterday Justin broke his tibia, some other bone, and tore 3 ligaments in his ankle.  He is due to go into surgery around now, and we wish him a quick and complete recovery from this tragic laxident.  Obviously he won't be playing for the rest of the season.  Let's stay after it, so we may say that he did not lax in vain, but for a more noble cause, the defense of our 5th amendment right, "the right to remain violent" on the field and our 3rd amendment right, "the right to show arms" on the hill.

God Bless America and no place else.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gentlemen, one of the most difficult tasks facing a laxer is the choice of a Sunday morning spoon. Yes, on and off the field you are always expected to carry yourself with a certain swagger. Yes, even if you can't catch and pass you still might get some undeserved lax cred for selecting from a portfolio of neons.  But certain colors, like neon green mesh with purple shooting strings, might just be the feather that broke your hangover's back when you are reminded of all the green jello shots and purple haze you smoked last night.  In fact, I dare say I recommend the old school approach to the Sunday morning spoon... possibly a full wood stick with a traditional pocket.  Who are you kidding, you probably won't be able to catch and pass in between spews,  so you might as well fuck up someone else's day with 10 pounds of American history.
Anyways, Freeman Center at noon.  Bring your jersey if you walked off with it after the game.

Love,
Gary

3.10.2010

Dream come true


US officials are investigating after a child was apparently allowed to direct planes at New York's JFK airport.

An air traffic controller thought it would be funny to let his kid come to work and play around at one of the busiest airports in the country. They figured this out after listening to a tape of the child giving directions to pilots. Some excerpts follow. 

In an exchange, the child says: "MS 4-0-3, contact departure," and then adds: "Adios, amigo." The pilot responds: "Adios, amigo." [!!!]

His father is later heard saying with a laugh: "That's what you get, guys, when the kids are out of school."

In one exchange, the boy is heard saying: "JetBlue 171 contact departure." The pilot responds: "Over to departure JetBlue 171, awesome job."

Now, this sounds like the coolest thing for any little kid. Actually getting to do this is one thing, but then to be told that you're doing "an awesome job" from a real pilot is totally insanely sweet. But when an adult does the same job, they get little in the way of congratulations. This brings us to a larger issue, which is the fact that all of these pilots on the tape appear to be completely fine with a child giving them directions. They encourage him. This is completely awesome on their parts, and it keeps me thinking that all pilots are inherently badass and cool as cucumbers. And this is at what you might think is a stressful place for a plane to extricate itself from. Whenever I go there I'm stressed out so why aren't these pilots? Do we really need to be so controlled and felt up and patted down and tensed up? The pilots seem totally fine, even when a child comes on the line. They're just chilling. But that's a whole different issue than what I'm trying to raise here. Air traffic controllers are a valuable position, but who really wants to be them? Kids. 

Perhaps you've read Ender's Game, dear reader. Now, imagine a world in which children were not maligned and prevented from fulfilling the jobs they wanted merely because of their small stature, tinkling voices and small vocabularies. Wouldn't it be so rad if the little persons were allowed at least, like, ONE thing they really wanted to do? Perhaps children really could do an awesome job at being air traffic controllers. I for one hope that this starts a long line of professional jobs held by minors. 

Source

3.09.2010

Picture Show

Shameless self-promotion. Nothing at all like my thesis, but I did make this movie last year. If you haven't seen it yet, go head:


One Two Three from Sam Jones on Vimeo.

3.05.2010

Still Wuthering Heights, Still Not Brontë

The White Dress version. Sometimes lighting strikes twice.

3.01.2010

I'm Not Showing Off...

I'm playing basketball!



This scene defined my childhood.

2.23.2010

Paradigm Shift!


Out on the wiley, windy moors
We'd roll and fall in green
You had a temper, like my jealousy
Too hot, too greedy
How could you leave me?
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you, I loved you too

Bad dreams in the night
They told me I was going to lose the fight
Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering
Wuthering Heights

(Chorus) Heathcliff, its me, Cathy come home
I'm so cold, let me in-a-your window

Oh it gets dark, it gets lonely
On the other side from you
I pine alot, I find the lot
Falls through without you
I'm coming back love, cruel Heathcliff
My one dream, my only master

Too long I roam in the night
I'm coming back to his side to put it right
I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering,
Wuthering Heights

(Chorus)
Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away
Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away
You know it's me, Cathy
(Chorus)

2.21.2010

A Leg Up


This blog is a lot of things, but I never expected that it would become what it has. This post is about just that: the unexpected creation of reality.

A few months ago, I posted about Tetris, one of my favorite games. Now, I'm not one for re-runs, but that post got me thinking about the viability of writing about Tetris in an academic setting. Due to the connections I drew to Confucian ideology of ritual and instinct, I pitched it to my philosophy professor and in the end wrote about this very issue for my final research paper in Confucianism and Virtue Ethics this past semester.

This is as much about the willingness of my professor to allow such a discussion take place, but because of the time I had spent composing my thoughts into writing on this blog, it made it easy to pitch this as a meaningful analogy and literal example of Confucian ritual. Because it was about something I care about deeply, the paper was engrossing to write and I think it turned out pretty well. There has actually been some scientific studies on the effects of Tetris linking it to brain development, specifically thickening the cerebral cortex. It's even been intimated as a "cognitive vaccine" for post-traumatic stress disorder. I would never have discovered this had I not been able to dip my toes in the waters of this blog.

Now, there's a lot of writing going on here at LegLeg, much of it is incredibly relevant to what's going on in popular culture, and it could very well serve as a jumping off point for further more "legitimate" forms of written work. This is the proof. What began one night as a kind of jest has become a consistent launching pad and work space for thoughts rendered from the impenetrable granite that is the internet. It makes me think about what a blog is for, really. College students spend so much time thinking about what other people think, getting trained to think quicker, more broadly, more specifically, and with confidence. Is a blog in this context about escaping from the framework of imposed subjects in order to apply our new cerebral methodologies to what we want to think about?

Or maybe we're learning more from this forum than we think, and it's fueling thoughts that might not have coalesced had we not taken this opportunity to say whats up. In any case, I'm just expressing my gratitude to the series of tubes that we call home, it's given me a leg up.

 

2.20.2010

Wolfman

My dude Lucas over at Thoughts From The Wolf just finished an epic piece on the state of racial politics in America today. Among other things, he discusses the white middle class's love of hip hop, Michael Moore as a "White Nationalist," and the Tea Party movement. Read it, it's worth your time.

2.15.2010

kill too hard

Lil' Wayne is going to be in jail soon. He's going to be out of our lives for a long time, and we need to think about that.



I believe in the metaphor "spreading yourself too thin." I think it can be a real thing, overextension to the point where the ends no longer justify the means, or where quality of the product suffers at the hands of overproduction. And that's the metaphor people have been tossing around in regards to Wayne, Lil'. Whether it's his involvement in rock and roll, or his constant outpouring of verses and obscure features, people are saying that dude has gone too far, lost the talent that put him on the map in the first place. That he needs to slowwwww downnnnnnn.

So let's dig in to this metaphor a little bit, "spreading yourself too thin." The implication being that rapping/making music is like "spreading," that one has a limited amount of butter, or art, to spread with, and if they choose a piece of toast too big, they'll be wasting their skills. Okay. So the toast is ambition, the butter is artwork or music, and the act of creation is not unlike labor. That all makes sense to me. But in regards to Weezy F. Baby, this conceals the truth. It implies that the butter is an object outside of the artist, an external, material rendering of his talent that is then packaged and sold to the consumer on the basis of taste. Furthermore, it implies that the artist has chosen to enter into relations with his field in the same way one might choose a summer job. That is, he wakes up in the morning and decides to get the butter out of the fridge.

The problem is that we can't talk about Lil' Wayne in a conventional way, with conventional phrases like "spread too thin." We must recognize that for Weezy art is not the "externalization" or "initiated activity" that the butter metaphor implies, but a constant state of internal creation, second nature, the result of which just so happens to be art. He's the first rapper to truly be raised in rap, encountering it in the same way that one might encounter their first language. At age 11, he was virtually adopted by the rapper and CashMoney CEO Birdman. At 13, he accidentally shot himself with a .44. At 15, he joined Hot Boyz and spit his first major label verse. We know the rest of the story.



What we're witnessing with Weezy, then, is rap music growing up and raising its children (I mean goddamn, Jay-Z is 41!). And like any good adolescent, Lil' Wayne is finding ways of rejecting the image of his parents, dabbling in rock and roll music with his album Rebirth, and taking the concept of "grind" to the extreme by generating an endless amount of material. And it may just so happen that some think this art is "bad" (or, like me, they don't), but maybe we should consider that what we're judging may not be art in any traditional sense of the word at all, but the result of a person trying to express their emotions, thoughts, and dreams, etc in the only way they know how, hip hop.

So when Weezy goes to Riker's, I think we're going to realize just how significant he really is to this rap thing. It's impossible to imagine the rap world without him, just like it's impossible to imagine Lil' Wayne without rap. The timbre of his voice is so recognizable that you might imagine producers wanting a Weezy feature in the same way they want a heavy synth line or a wicked drum sample, so deeply has he permeated the collective aural life. And in doing so, he has not spread himself too thin, but instead covered the entire planet in a thick, syrupy coating of butter.

Subject: Care to Lax, Bro's? [sic]

Gents,

Spring is almost here.  That means a few things.  It could be time to start building a base at Sol Tanning Center, start stockpiling for 4/20 before prices get too high, or plant seeds with girls lacrosse players who will finally lose all the weight they put on in the fall/winter.  Indeed, second semester is a busy, busy time.

But more importantly, the spring marks the beginning of the club lacrosse season.
As the most exclusive and renowned team at the infamous Tech, we have a responsibility to lax at a high level, drink at a higher level, and look great while doing it.  If you like doing any of these things, it would be in your best interest to show up for our first informational meeting at Usdan this Friday. Room TBA.  Shirts mandatory since its Usdan, I apologize for any inconvenience this causes.

Love,
Gary

2.09.2010

Michael Marcovici: an introduction




and part 2



Michael Marcovici is a retired financial planner and entrepreneur turned artist who works in many medias, from painting, photography, and sculpture to artistic online monetary fraud.

1.29.2010

Hell No This Ain't A Synthesis


If you know a little about hip-hop, you know that there's a widely perceived divide between "conscious" rap, and the mainstream stuff you hear on the radio. The narrative goes that conscious rap deals with politics, and leads to progress, while mainstream rap deals with diamonds, guns, and crunk juice, and is destructive to the hip-hop community. Hence, artist after artist proclaims, "hip hop is dead,"and the realness of the music has been sapped by materialist industry automatons like, say, Souljah Boy.

That's the story of hip-hop that any good fan knows. But what we don't always acknowledge is how the very act of telling that story is productive for the conscious rapper. It is a means of acquiring, in the eyes of fans and fellow artists, authenticity. It is a way of distinguishing oneself against the mainstream, and, as such, superior to it. Calling oneself a conscious rapper, or calling hip hop dead, is an elitist act which not only makes presumptuous claims about what's good for hip-hop, but also reinforces one's own position as insulated intellectual, and is by and large an act of vanity (To be clear, the act of "conscious rapping" is a beautiful thing, but the category is not).

Put that on the backburner for a hot minute, and let's turn to Beyonce and Single Ladies. The impetus for writing this was a minor question: "Is Single Ladies a simple upgrade of an old Betty Page dance?" That question birthed a major inquiry: "Is Single Ladies just another example of pop music upholding the ideological status quo?" That question birthed pages and pages of debate on this blog. And by asking that question, the big question, we stabbed ourselves in the heart.

For that question assumes that pop music is, essentially, an ideologically reproductive discourse. It labels pop artists as the automated mouthpieces of traditional American ideology, which in this case means consumerist, masculinist, and heterosexist. And then it asks, what is Beyonce's role in furthering those causes? Thus, we find, built into our very question is the elitist, intellectual, bourgeois, and liberal viewpoint that mainstream culture is generally bad for the people, for it upholds the status quo of conservative practice. So far so good. So we ask again:

Is Single Ladies just another example of pop music upholding the ideological status quo?

But while this question allows us liberals to feel safe about out own position as "above" mainstream culture, we actually prevent any type of liberal change to happen. That is, our very question cuts off the potential mouthpiece of progress (Beyonce), by constructing her position in society as powerless and ideologically stale. The question collapses our own ability to see Beyonce as progressive in her politics. And if you know anything about Beyonce, then you know her politics are radical. So, we silence the radical thought.

Beyond that, by critiquing pop stars on the grounds of stale ideology, like critiquing mainstream rap, we reproduce our own social status as the liberal intellectual elite. That is, it's incredibly safe for us, the critics, to call out pop music on its consumerist and masculinist tendencies, because that doesn't risk the production of new knowledge, knowledge that could be potentially harmful to our own comfortable position. If we listened differently to what Beyonce was saying, then we might actually hear something we think threatening-- that her, a pop star, really does support the swift execution of white masculinist rule in this country. By carrying out our typical liberal critique, we silence that voice.

So, here's your choice: A) You can buy into mainstream culture, and support mainstream ideology, or B) You can stand at a safe distance, and criticize it, further limiting mainstream culture's power to actually accomplish change. Both are ready-made, easy, risk-free options. And in fact, both support the status quo. You can take the red pill or the blue pill, and both come in a nice, safe, palatable package. Hell, THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING PILL. This is the way American cultural hegemony works- it doesn't hide, it isn't secret, it's not a conspiracy. What it is is, though, is a dirty trickster, and it will convince you that your liberal, safe, stance on these issues is progressive, when in actuality your position is merely one half of the dialectical unity between you, the liberal, and the object of your criticism, the mainstream. Thus, we remain on our untouchable, protected, liberal island, the island of whiteness, class, and intellectualism, and all the while real instances of consumerism, racism, homophobia, sexism, ableism, etc... continue to circle us like hungry wolves.

So for those who are quick to proclaim Hip Hop Is Dead, or who believe that Single Ladies is just another sexy woman engaged in soliciting the male gaze, think about the power of your own gaze in constructing those stereotypical narratives. Think about the power of risk-free, procedural critique, which doesn't allow room for change, but rather encourages the further insulation of your own liberal values. Think about this, as you recede slowly into some irrelevant, white, safe middle distance, and your voice changes to that of the cranky old scholar, who's lost any ability to see the world other than the only way they know how.

1.28.2010

Another case of malignant Upholsterization




I can barely see these guys

1.24.2010

the best black box that I have known.

"This object perpetually attempts to sell itself on ebay."

Have you checked your emails lately?
Richard, here's the thing Richard. If you don't check your emails daily, you won't know your status as bidder in the auction. And if you win the auction, the box could sell itself before you even know it to be yours. You should be checking your emails at least daily. Because you won't have ever known it to be yours, the box.
I am imploring you to consider the ramifications. The simple fact that you have placed a bid on the box is alone cause for concern. Because it could be yours and it could take those pieces of you and put them inside, and you might not ever see them again, because the box moves on its own. In that way, it's bigger than you, the box, Richard. It kills via automation.
You must take advantage of this unique investment opportunity, Richard. To own the box, and to know it while you have the chance. To know death, this is what we offer, a unique investment opportunity. To know it, death, that is, and to give some small part of yourself over to it, before it moves on, automated, this is why you bid on the box.
We want you to be part of this thing, a unique investment opportunity. Please, keep checking your emails Richard.

The name of this sculpture is A Tool to Deceive and Slaughter, by Caleb Larsen, 2009. The box has an ethernet jack that automatically generates an auction for itself on eBay. When it's sold, it auctions itself off again. It's currently selling for $4000. You should buy it here.