One Enchanted Rap Battle

As you may, or may not know, I consider myself a black gay man trapped in a straight white woman's body. So, obvi, I had to read New York Magazine's timeline of white people and rap. Duh.
Verdict? Embarrassed. Especially after I relived the glory of the white rap battle from Teen Witch.

The crazy thing is, I started playing this clip in the office (it's Friday) and instantly the 3 women in my office were like, 'Teen Witch?!', and 'OMG, that witch is the reason I wanted to be a red head!', and I'll just come out and say it...a bit of a sing-a-long ensued.
Play it, see what happens in your office.

Also, clarification! Aparently Lauryn Hill never said she'd rather have her children starve than have white people buy her album. Phew!

For the Record I Rep Coors Lite

Do you remember when Jay-Z got all up and (legitimately) pissed when the managing director of Cristal said he basically didn't understand what was up with hip hop's love of the brand but that there was nothing he could do about it? Holy at least subconscious racism Batman.

Jay Z called for a boycott, and started reping Ace of Spades, but for real now, the brand is still in effect. When you think 'ridiculous way to drink away my wealth' what comes to mind? Duh, Cristal. The once and future king of showing off.
Plus Cristal rhymes with pistol. Though in fairness, Krug rhymes with thug. Dom Perignon on the other hand...

A new study out this week in Psychology and Marketing shows that for good or bad brands will be forever linked in your mind with the celebs who rep them, whether on the pay roll or off. Actually especially off. I mean, honestly, I had zero interest in Air Force 1s until Nelly told me he needed 2 per. Now I need two per. Give me two per. I have the sudden urge to get to stompin' in them.

Obviously this is great if your brand targets the same audience the medium does ala 'Pass the Courvoisier' but bad if you're Burberry and you're looking to attract more of the 'bridle and pearls' set and less the 'fish and chips and public urination' set.

As a last and only tangentially related thought: I can't get 'Brush Your Shoulders Off' out of my head! It's been over a week and at this point my shoulders are pretty dirt free. Sigh

Books I cannot WAIT to read!!!!!!!!

It's no secret that in my head I'm a gay, black man. It's a source of constant disappointment to wake up a straight, white, woman every day, but I just listen to a little Mariah Carey, I get centered and it's all okay.
Point?? I ordered Hiding in Hip Hop today from Amazon. Yay!

The only problem is there were totally rumors that he was going to name names and apparently HE DOESN'T.
Gay!
I'll read it and try to figure out who's who - I'm looking at YOU Babyface!

Secondly, OMG, guess who else has a tell all????? One of the last people you ever wanted to see naked, but then ended up watching at least half of the sex tape.
Not Vern Troyer. Yes, Dustin 'Screech' Diamond! Supposedly they were all having sex all the time on SBTB but I have to believe that he knows that only because of accidentally walking in on the other actors, not because he was involved.
Sorry but Zac and Slater are more than hot enough for 3 chicks.

I know this is the 2nd thing I've scammed off Radar in as many posts but damn, they got the goods! I'm actually going to give you all the copy they got from the publisher because I don't want you to unnecessarily stress your clicking fingers. Enjoy!

On the face of it, I am no more qualified to take my own inventory than the chick from Punky Brewster who shows up on Entertainment Tonight or The Insider every five years or so. Ask her how she wound up repeating the same old anecdotes to Billy Bush again, and she may have an answer, but she doesn't really know and probably couldn't bear it if she did.

To be a washed-up actor best known for a show which ended in 1993 is to be something of a cognitive acrobat. You spread versions of yourself around, giving each person the truth he or she needs—you need, actually—to keep yourself in the public eye, no matter how much mockery it entails or how diminishing the returns. Let's stipulate that I do not have a good memory, having recklessly sautéed my brain in fistfuls of craft services M&M's. Beyond impairment, there may be no more unreliable narrator than a washed-up actor. Recovered or not, I am someone who used my mouth to constantly create one more opportunity to get publicity.

Here is what I deserved: a small cameo on NYPD Blue when the Goss was on it, a mid-afternoon radio show in a minor market, and then a total fade-out leading to complete anonymity punctured by soul-crushing loneliness and, at best, a cashier's job at a dry cleaning supplies store.

Here is what I got: A poorly-received sex tape, a slot on Season Six of Celebrity Fit Club, and the deal for this book.

But I suppose you're not interested in my musings on the vagaries of fate. You'd rather just hear about the part where I was up to my nuts in Principal Belding's guts while Kelly Kapowski blew lines off of Mario Lopez's cock. Man, they never let us back into that Bennigan's again. Anyway, here's what happened.