Blogging on Meds

In one of the best magazine stories of the year, David Samuels embeds with a Cali pot dealer and his different “scenes” for the New Yorker. I love that this was cool with the editors:

Water pipes were passed around, and everyone got high. After four hits on Nick’s bong, the slogans on the refrigerator started to vibrate with uncommon significance.

The whole story is worth reading. And Samuels deserves a National Mag Award nomination. Guy spent six months reporting this one…

The New Yorker is taking an increasingly liberal approach to covering pot and potheads. Remember the blunt-in-hand Weezy pic (see below) that ran as a full page last year? It was the first time the magazine had ever run a picture of someone smoking weed. Now Samuels writes 8000-plus words and is admittedly stoned during much of the second half of the story.

First time New Yorker ever ran a pot smoking pic, Lil Wayne from last year…

John McCain, the same guy who once called the media his “base,” today accused the media of being biased towards Obama. He put out a video of various members of the press fawning over Obama. I have to admit that the video is actually pretty funny. Still, this whole line of attack shows you that John McCain is truly desperate. He’s trying to divert attention from recent events that have driven a stake through the heart of his campaign, which rests on his foreign policy “experience.”

• Iraqi PM Maliki said that Obama’s 16-month plan sounded pretty good, and even after the White House said he’d been misquoted, Maliki’s spokesperson repeated it. Then, after McCain amazingly tried to claim that he knows Maliki and Maliki didn’t really mean it, Maliki said it again.
• Bush recently sent the third-highest US State Department official to a meeting that involved Iran and European nations, the most high-level US-Iran engagement in nearly 30 years. Obama’s been calling for dialogue with Iran for some time now.
• Obama has said for a long time that we need more troops in Afghanistan, a position that McCain adopted (and then quickly revised) after hearing that the military has also called for more soldiers as the situation worsens there.

So, all of his main talking points on foreign policy have been repudiated, and Obama’s gotten stronger during the Mideast portion of his trip. McCain is right to try to turn attention to something else — wouldn’t you if people suddenly found out your opponent’s ideas make far more sense than yours — but does he really want to pick on the media? The media have consistently treated numerous McCain gaffes as jokes instead of examples that show how utterly confused he is about basic world affairs and domestic policies (just today, he talked about problems on the Iraq-Pakistan border, two countries that don’t share a border). If he turns on the media, they might actually do their jobs and scrutinize him a bit more. He can’t really afford that right now.

Here’s the video:

Obama Love

Batman Goes Bateman: Real Life Insanity Clouds the Dark Knight

I hate you mom!!!

I was trying with all my energy not to write about the new Batman move, The Dark Knight, which just had the biggest opening weekend in history ($158 million). Last spring, one its stars, Heath Ledger, who plays the Joker, overdosed on a pill combo that included OxyContin. Now Batman himself, Christian Bale, gets arrested in London for beating up his mother and sister. In effect, a movie that cost $180 million plus another $100 million for marketing, and then grossed more than any film ever, has been hijacked by its stars’ insanity. That’s a lot of precedents.

British police sources tell TMZ Christian Bale has been arrested and is still being grilled on allegations of assaulting his mom and sister Sunday, the night before the London premiere of “The Dark Knight.” 

Bale went to a London police station this morning by appointment and was arrested there.

A recent stat showed the number of drug deaths in the US jumping from 800 to 2500 between 1999 and 2005. This jump is largely due to a legal painkiller, OxyContin. Ledger’s death, for all its media coverage, hasn’t spurred any talk about the fact that one opiate, which was falsely marketed by Purdue Pharma as non-addictive, is killing so many people. (Last year Purdue lost a $2 billion lawsuit for false advertising.) So many people my age know of folks who have had their lives ruined or ended by OCs. If Hollywood had any balls, they’d use Ledger’s death not just as a vehicle for Dark Knight dollars but also as a way to confront the FDA for tighter regulations on opiates.

Bale, well, he’s played a lot of “dark” dudes, most notably Patrick Bateman, maybe the best psycho in American literature. Anyone else beats his ma and sis, I’d say it would hurt him, but the Batman numbers and Bale’s “Psycho”-background make him an unprecedented franchise. Even this shouldn’t hurt him.

Now if they’d only turn Frank Miller’s Dark Knight Returns into a film and let Bale kill that poon Superman.

I can read your vibes…

I somehow missed my friend and Guru, Paul Manza, brother of Jamie (aka Senor Awesome, Mons Ziti, Big Queso etc), in New York Magazine a few weeks ago. But Paul showed me this feature at his 31st b-day on Saturday (where Skye Manza cooked the best wood pizza ever!!!). Sarah Bernard writes:

Picking a yoga practice in New York, where the options are limitless, is not such an easy task. You can crisscross the boroughs, bankrupting yourself while figuring out whether you like Vinyasa or Ashtanga or Hatha or some hybrid form. Pure Yoga, a massive studio opening June 25 on the Upper East Side (203 E. 86th St., nr. Third Ave.; 212-360-1888), offers a logistical solution: nineteen different types of yoga under one very spalike roof and a flat $140-a-month fee that allows unlimited classes. There are straight-from-the-ashram practices for purists (Iyengar fans: There’s a rope wall!) as well as options like Bollywood Fusion (the title speaks for itself) or Acroyoga, a partner yoga, and something they’re calling Zenyasa, which mixes yoga, push-ups, strength training with Thera-Bands, and guided meditation. Master teachers like Yogi Vishvketu and Twee Merrigan will be flying in to teach alongside well-known locals from studios like Jivamukti and Om Yoga. Below, a few instructors assume their positions.

While reporting the story, Bernard spoke to Paul for about 30 minutes. NY Mag wound up placing him dead center on the page, looking Zen as a motherf*cker, in pink shortz, while all the other featured Yogies are pretzel-bent and way less Guru-y. Paul’s quote:

“Half-lotus lets you sit completely straight without any effort. The hard work is doing all the other poses so that can happen.”

Indeed, my forecast was correct. LiRon were on NY’s Lower East Side last night. It was the couple’s first public appearance since Lindsay’s (semi) official de-closeting earlier in the week via Mark Ronson’s girlfriend and Life and Style Magazine. Here are some are pics from the event (Sephora 10 Year Anniversary Party—an orgy of really bad outfits saved by lesbian beauty). People can hate Lohan all they want, but having one of the most visible young actresses on earth acting unashamedly gay is a net positive for America. Homophobia is the lamest concept, especially considering how many of the very same straight men who hate the gays are into anal sex with their wives, and I hope LiRon take this chance in the spotlight to showcase lesbianism as a healthy, normal lifestyle—one that even saves druggy starlets from career suicide.  

172 Norfolk, the haunted house of Richard Price’s Lush Life, hosted LiRon last night…

The Obamafication of LiLo

Sam Ronson is DJing an event at 172 Norfolk tonight. With Mark Ronson’s girlfriend admitting Lohan’s lesbianism the same week the tabloids are calling a spade a spade, could tonight be the first public outing for lesbian couple LiRon?

Nice. Here’s a young actress—gorgeous, almost dead last summer, busted with coke—somehow achieving one the greatest PR coups in history. From the beginning of her party days, everyone predicted the Decline and Fall of Lohan—but the fall was avoided. After the coke bust she laid low. But a few months ago she posed nude for New York Magazine. It shut down the magazine’s website. In the aftermath, she took one indie role and began an amorphous relationship with DJ Sam Ronson. A boy-ish looking rap and rock specialist, Ronson (the sister of Mark, Amy Winehouse’s producer) is like a lesbian Joel Madden. After the NY Mag shoot, some said Lohnan had gone too far. That looks to be untrue, as she is now semi-bullet proof, hater wise.

What can you say? Bad girl, you cleaned up, took up with a woman publicly even though Hollywood has a stigma against gays, refused to appear on your mom’s show “Mom-ager,” and didn’t buy into dad’s weird church? Impressive for a 22-year-old…it’s hard to say anything too negative. Much like Obama, who “did a little blow,” Lohan’s post-blow decisions seem sound. 

So, Inshallah, Lohan will be at this Ronson gig tonight on the Lower East Side. 

Retired Manhattan beauty publicists MacKenzie Lewis and Laura Something recently moved to Seattle. The two are now crusading against grave tipping at local cemeteries. When reached for further comment, Ms Lewis, who has BA in communications from NYU, said, “No comment.”

Here’s the video: (sorry it’s not embeddable)
http://www.king5.com/video/index.html?nvid=264251

UPDATE 1:23PM: Through her publicist, Ms Lewis has released this statement, “You know, when you find that one thing in life you really care about — cemetery vandalization, in my case — everything else just kind of falls into place.”

Aww how cute Ms. Feist was on Sesame Street to share her death chant with all the earth’s annoying little children. The Pixar loving little shits that ruin my brunch by spazzing around and throwing shit while their passive aggro parents have a defeated look on their faces and just sigh. Said parents might even mumble and inaudible “Don’t do that Belle” or “Sebastian please sit down” but the indie-babies / children don’t give a fuck, from the moment they dawned a Motorhead onesie they knew they had the upperhand.

I don’t like children, specifically your children. The ones that crash into me while I’m on a mission to buy alcohol, records or clothes. The ones wizzing by with a cocky smirk spinning the wheels of their fucking Heelys. The one’s who have parents that just pretend you aren’t there rather than reprimanding their children or apologizing for them.

If you have a child and make me interact with it I’ll be polite. I might even enjoy it in small does but if I am trying to go about my adult or semi-adult life and have to be around throngs of children after I’ve tried so hard to hide from them (I can count the minutes I’ve spent in Park Slope BKLYN) I am going to start taking action. The cute stories and pictures you share with me about your child are actually amusing, I like cute things but they have a shelf life. My cell phone is actually a digital tribute to the wacky hi-jinx my cat Raleigh gets into. He sleeps on top of the oven, he poses for pictures, has a piercing meow which is captured on video and he’s cute. The difference is that since he’s a cat it’s all he’ll ever do. When he does something remotely smart it’s always entertaining because he’s a fucking cat, he’s stupid as shit, he’s not going to grow up, learn how to talk and become a politician. I don’t need to see every shitty thing your sucky kid does because at some point you’ll hate that kid and not want to show me shit about them. You aren’t going to show me a picture of the bong in their dorm or the chick they had Bud Light Sex with but I will never tire of my cat, he’s a perpetual kitten. He’ll be talking to me in Siamese when you’re bailing Britt out of jail for possession.

Your children are cute and funny but they don’t need to be little versions of you. They don’t need to wear Ramones shirts, your babies and little adults don’t even like the fucking Ramones. If they are such Ramones fans can they even name the members, hint they are on the fucking shirt…whoops they can’t read. They are reacting to noise, they would do the fucking baby dance (see video then continue) to Skrewdriver, GG Allin or Raffi and they should be doing it to Raffi.

Children shouldn’t be cool. The only tattooed arms pushing strollers should be owned by Bikers not Graphic Designers. They should be breaking shit in the woods not in a hipster park where dudes have hangovers or just shot Ron. They should be named after Michael Jordan not Conor Oberst, they should be wearing Sponge Bob the Builder gear not Baby BAPE and BABY/DC shirts. If you try to make your children cool you have a big surprise coming. These kids are used to not being scolded, not respecting anything and having semi-business hippie post-hipster green parents. Bingo dipshit, picture American Psycho crossed with Alex P Keaton on the best cocaine money can buy and that is who is going to push you around in a carriage, I mean wheelchair long after your Wilco CDRs have stopped spinning.

Lastly, if you’re going to bring your child to a musical event cover his or her fucking ears. There are ear plugs made specifically for your shitty kid. It sucks watching your kid baby mosh to music but at least ensure they won’t have hearing loss before they can tie their shoes. Maybe these kids don’t listen because your dumb ass made them deaf with a steady diet of Arcade Fire while you changed their shitty diapers and loud free outdoor concerts. If you are somewhere that the baby mosh/dance is happening you have to access the situation quickly and react.

Are you in the wrong place or is the baby in the wrong place?

Example  - Baby spotted dancing at My Morning Jacket show while you and your bud pull out a device used for smoking marijuana.

Verdict : What did you expect you fucking indie hippie? Go somewhere away from the baby get high and shame on you for being at the concert in the first place you deserve to be there. Your second option is to leave the venue and leave that life behind, in this case you are getting your head right and I owe you a beer.

Example - Baby doing the baby mosh in a club to High on Fire with Nigel Hipster Parents.

Verdict : You are legally* allowed to put a cigarette out on the father’s forehead and douse the wound out with PBR. You should get security and have the baby taken into child custody. High on Fire are boring and not good anymore but you did nothing wrong other than liking Sleep and trying to pretend HOF are “pretty damn good!”.

*This is only legal by my rules which the United States doesn’t recognize as actual law.

The lead story on all major UK news websites—BBC , Guardian, The Independent—details the murder by a US bomb of 47 Afghan civilians, including 39 women and children, at a wedding party Sunday, after being mistaken for Taliban. Meanwhile, the NYT, WaPost, and LA Times ignore the story. Why? 

The Times will run a story a day about the resurgent Taliban but won’t give front page coverage to 39 dead women and children? Civilian death is major rallying and recruitment cause for the Taliban. This should be front page news.

Tipped off to us by designer and internationally known superstar, Delirous Hook and posted on The Music Slut. Download the MP3 from a past post here.

It’s a visibly more complex production and surely more expensive than past Verve/Richard Ashcroft videos (excluding the early DIY ones) which often focused on Richard performing a mundane routine (usually just walking around or sitting in a chair) for 90% of the video, with the band stopping just in time for the endtro. That’s standard British rock star music video swagger - where just being there and looking like you don’t want to be makes your aura of cool authentic. Though it may be effective in England, it doesn’t get you shit in the USA. You’ve gotta play “horrorcore” while jumping around literally wearing clown masks to make a record go platinum here.

So will the release of a new record, a new song, a new video and a new swagger help The Verve make it big this time in a place where lesser bands of a similar genre like Snow Patrol or Coldplay are huge?

An Appreciation of A Rod (No Homo) 

A Rod is the best worst guy ever, and I was always pretty sure he was gay. (What straight 30-yr-old man do you know who likes Madonna, would invite Jeter for sleepovers, sunbathes in just jean short shortz in the Ramble, or has frosted tips?) But ever since US Weekly broke the Madg-Rod story, a parade of strippers, strip clubs, swinger clubs, and one night stands have come to light. A Rod sounds like a world class scode. Now I have my doubts. Is A Rod really hetero?

Meanwhile, dude is hitting 320 with 18 jacks and 50 RBI despite missing like a month of the season. Or, he’s gonna win MVP—again. All while in the middle of the biggest sports-tabloid divorce ever. 

As a Red Sox fan, I’m predisposed to hate A Rod. But since Yankee fans have never really taken to him and he’s never really beat the Sox, I secretly enjoy watching him play. Last year I caught a dozen games during his legendary first half when every other at bat he hit a homer. I hate to say it, but it was f–king awesome. Bad haircut and all, the guy is the best I’ve ever seen besides Bonds*. 

US Weekly just released more reportage:

“He kept smiling, acting as if he was a little kid,” the dinner companion tells Us Weekly in its latest issue, on newsstands now. “He told me it was Madonna,” A-Rod’s friend says. “I was shocked.” The highest-paid player in baseball then “proceeded to say he was in love with her,” the pal tells Us. “I thought he was kidding, but he wasn’t.” By February, the 32-year-old slugger had upped the ante. “He said, ‘She’s my f–king soul mate, dude.’”

Getty

I love “human interest” stories. Of course, every British paper picked this wire story up. Nothing like a history of Iraqi booze habits to enliven a slow UK news week. Reuters:

Alcohol is openly for sale once more in Baghdad. All over the Iraqi capital, drink stores, which closed their doors in early 2006 when sectarian strife was raging, have slowly begun to reopen. Two years ago, al-Qa’ida militants were burning down liquor stores and shooting their owners. Now around Saadoun Street, in the centre of the city, at least 50 stores are advertising that they have alcohol for sale.

The fear of being seen drinking in public is also subsiding. Young men openly drink beer in some, if not all, streets. A favourite spot where drinkers traditionally gathered is al-Jadriya bridge, which has fine views up and down the Tigris river. Two years ago even serious drunks decided that boozing on the bridge was too dangerous. But in the past three months they have returned, a sign that militant gunmen no longer decide what people in Baghdad do at night. “I drink seven or eight cans of beer a day and a bottle of whiskey on Thursday evenings,” said Abu Ahmed, a former military intelligence officer who now makes a living driving a taxi.

Iraq was one of the most secular of Arab countries until the early 1990s. Restaurants all served alcohol and there was a plentiful supply of nightclubs. None of the prohibition on alcohol seen in Saudi Arabia or Kuwait held sway. In Basra, in the late 1970s, the main local complaint was that Kuwaitis were pouring across the border and drinking the city dry. In Baghdad it was possible to sit in one of the restaurants off Abu Nawas Street on the bank of the Tigris River eating fish grilled over an open fire and drinking beer and arak (a spirit made from dates and flavoured with aniseed).

(more…)

The strange tale of Max Mosley, the head of Formula One, who was caught on video in a Nazi-themed sex orgy with five prostitutes, gets stranger. He’s suing the News of the World, which secretly videotaped the orgy, for an invasion of privacy. Mosley claimed that he was doing something in private with five consenting women, and the only reason he’s under fire is because his father was the leader of the British Union of Fascists and Hitler’s friend.

Mr Mosley was caught on video by the News of the World with five women in an underground “torture chamber” in Chelsea, where he spent several hours allegedly indulging in sado-masochistic sex. The Oxford-educated former barrister, who is president of the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), reenacted a concentration camp scene in which he played the role of both guard and inmate. Speaking in German and brandishing a leather whip, he beat the women after allowing himself to be subjected to a humiliating inspection for lice and an interrogation in chains.

In his defense, Mosley said that he could think of “few things more unerotic than Nazi roleplay.” Clearly, he’s never heard of stalags.

PIC AHMAD AL-RUBAYE. Iraqis still love Fitty…

The Times lead editorial today lists what the Presidential candidates should be talking about in regards to Iraq:

What support does Iraq need to ensure that provincial elections set for later this year — a crucial opportunity for disenfranchised Sunnis to play a larger role in government — and national elections in 2009 are as free and fair as possible?

What help does Iraq’s government need to resettle some two million internally displaced Iraqis and another two million who have fled to Syria and Jordan?

What can be done to promote long stalemated political reforms and encourage reconciliation? Should there be an internationally sponsored conference?

What can the United States do to try to persuade Iraq’s neighbors in Iran and Syria to promote rather than undermine Iraq’s stability and sovereignty?

Should the United States seek to keep a limited force behind for targeted counterterrorism operations or to deter genocide or aggressive outside meddling?

Would Washington have more influence — and a greater chance of enlisting help — if it completely withdrew or negotiated a slower drawdown with the Iraqis?

Missing is one big, fat question: What do Iraqis think the US owes them before leaving?

Under a just war rationale, the minimum requirement would be a functioning state that can provide its own security. We are not there yet. As Alissa Rubin reports in the Times news pages today, many Iraqis still lack electricity and water, and violence is perpetual despite the security improvements. I agree a withdrawal plan must be put in place, but the Iraqi people must be drawn into the process, whether through a referendum, a public commission, or some other democratic mechanism. Right now, the Sunnis are underrepresented in the Iraqi government and most Iraqis consider Maliki’s rule illegitimate.

A unilateral withdrawal is the same as a unilateral invasion—reckless and undemocratic. Yet anything negotiated with Maliki’s government would be considered illegitimate by the Sunnis and Sadrists. (Today Maliki even proposed his own withdrawal timetable.) Iraq’s general population must be brought into the process.

VF scribe Christopher HItches goes under the waterboard…

Love or hate his opinions, ‘Topher Hitchens is one funny ex-Brit. The guy got his sack waxed for a VF column a few months ago, wrote a #1 best-seller about hating God, supposedly sends his work in to editors sans punctuation, and drinks whiskey starting at 11am and while writing. Now, he decides to get waterboarded to find out whether it’s torture. The resulting story is full of the dark, dry humor that only a Brit could produce: 

You may have read by now the official lie about this treatment, which is that it “simulates” the feeling of drowning. This is not the case. You feel that you are drowning because you are drowning—or, rather, being drowned, albeit slowly and under controlled conditions and at the mercy (or otherwise) of those who are applying the pressure. The “board” is the instrument, not the method. You are not being boarded. You are being watered. This was very rapidly brought home to me when, on top of the hood, which still admitted a few flashes of random and worrying strobe light to my vision, three layers of enveloping towel were added. In this pregnant darkness, head downward, I waited for a while until I abruptly felt a slow cascade of water going up my nose. Determined to resist if only for the honor of my navy ancestors who had so often been in peril on the sea, I held my breath for a while and then had to exhale and—as you might expect—inhale in turn. The inhalation brought the damp cloths tight against my nostrils, as if a huge, wet paw had been suddenly and annihilatingly clamped over my face. Unable to determine whether I was breathing in or out, and flooded more with sheer panic than with mere water, I triggered the pre-arranged signal and felt the unbelievable relief of being pulled upright and having the soaking and stifling layers pulled off me. I find I don’t want to tell you how little time I lasted.

There was a paramedic present who checked my racing pulse and warned me about adrenaline rush. An interval was ordered, and then I felt the mask come down again. Steeling myself to remember what it had been like last time, and to learn from the previous panic attack, I fought down the first, and some of the second, wave of nausea and terror but soon found that I was an abject prisoner of my gag reflex. The interrogators would hardly have had time to ask me any questions, and I knew that I would quite readily have agreed to supply any answer. I still feel ashamed when I think about it. Also, in case it’s of interest, I have since woken up trying to push the bedcovers off my face, and if I do anything that makes me short of breath I find myself clawing at the air with a horrible sensation of smothering and claustrophobia. No doubt this will pass. As if detecting my misery and shame, one of my interrogators comfortingly said, “Any time is a long time when you’re breathing water.” I could have hugged him for saying so, and just then I was hit with a ghastly sense of the sadomasochistic dimension that underlies the relationship between the torturer and the tortured. I apply the Abraham Lincoln test for moral casuistry: “If slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong.” Well, then, if waterboarding does not constitute torture, then there is no such thing as torture.

(total dickhead)

Stephen Baldwin is an actor who became a born again Christian after 9/11. He’s a Bushie/McCainiack and also the host of an extreme sports/evangelical/Jesus tour (kid fiddling festival) and backer of a NY Gospel Church/Drug Treatment Center where Michael Lohan (”father” of Lindsey and ex-con) is an ordained minister tasked with getting kids off drugs using the power of Jesus.

Known racist, conservative radio hack and recent Fox News addition, Laura Ingram is all upset that Hollywood actors have an opinion on politics, so she asks the for the political opinion of this two-bit actor while wondering aloud why we should care what intelligent a-list actors like: Oprah, George Clooney and Morgan Freeman have to say about the election. Baldwin’s response is “I’m from Long-Island”. Laura throws in a little dis on the better Baldwin, Alec, who Stephen admits could still kick his ass and they move on. Why we should be listening to this asshole, is never quite answered and no campaign issue is ever discussed. Great coverage, Fox.

What’s “mind-blowing” to Stephen is that Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton have united to win the election for Democrats, as if it’s strange that primary opponents of the same party would unite for the good of their party in the general election. Apparently Stephen has forgot the legendary smears and attacks during Bush/McCain primary in 2000 (Bartcopnation.com has a partial list here) or maybe he just hasn’t noticed the Bush McSame love they now publicly share… or he’s just a hypocrite and a loser.

(montage from Think Progress, click for larger love)

Stephen sites no reason for his undying support of McCain/Bush but he does carry on the tradition of baseless claims and predictions packaged in garbled grammar. Here’s “the other thing” that’s “pissing off” Baldwin:

“Why do they keep saying that four more years of McCain is four more years of Bush? That’s the most stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s totally untrue and I believe John McCain is going to be the next president of the United States… and should be!” (points finger at camera)

Stephen says he’ll leave the country if Obama wins. Sometimes it’s just too easy… good riddance patriot.

Don’t fret Hollywood conservatives, Wilford Brimley (who?) is a McCain supporter just like you (and Laura likes that!). Nearly dead white guys with old-timey mustaches… my friends, that’s change you can believe in.

Political campaigns, as they say, are all about narrative and image. And when Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton appeared together Friday for the first time—in a NH town called Unity no less—more of the world’s top young photojournalists were on-hand than for any other single event of the campaign (at least to my knowledge).

Tama

The fact that Getty Images sent two New York staffers, Mario Tama and Spencer Platt, both extremely talented and well-known breaking news photographers, to a tiny town in NH says it all. The Obama campaign scored an essential coup by getting these Unity photos into the public sphere.

Platt

And the NYT sent Tyler Hicks, who’s also of world renown for his news reportage. The last time all three (Tama, Platt, Hicks) shot an out-of-NY story together was probably Katrina. This underlines how powerful Hillary-Obama images are, illustrating how the two are still the biggest show in American politics.

Hicks

After Unity, Nymag’s John Heilemen (who with Mark Helperin recently sold a mid-six figure book on the 2008 campaign) states the obvious about Obama’s best choice for VP:

It it’s hard to think of anyone who would fit the change-AND-experience bill that Obama is trying to fill — except, that is, for a certain lady in a pantsuit. Hillary Clinton, of course, has plenty of baggage. And she is nobody’s idea of an outsider. But given her gender, it wouldn’t take much doing message-wise to frame her as an emblem of change. And even her critics acknowledge that her cojones are more than capacious enough to qualify her as commander-in-chief. (There is no Democrat more admired by the top military brass.) The smart set tells us that Clinton is ruled out by her husband; in particular, by his unwillingness to divulge certain details about his business dealings and to reveal the list of donors to his presidential library. And in general by the bitterness he apparently continues to nurse toward Obama (cf the remark of Clinton’s reported over the weekend that Obama can “kiss my ass” in return for his support.)

Yet if WJC were to stop behaving like a petulant adolescent and muster up a change of heart — an enormous “if,” I’m well aware, but doesn’t he owe HRC that much? — the case for Hillary would be nearly watertight. Unity. Brand equity. A fighter’s mettle. An ass-kicking ability as a debater. What more could you ask for in a veep? It’s a question that, I bet, will be plaguing Obama in the days and weeks to come.

At Glasto last night: ’chard Ashcroft posing like only a Brit-pop frontman can, Godlike. The Sunday line-up for V Fest in B-more features Lil Wayne, Kanye West, and Bob Dylan.

The video Anthony posted of our New York boy Jigga dissing at Oasis at Glasto by performing “Wonderwall” with a guitar reminded me that the UK still runs the best fests, despite the glut of festivals here in recent years (Coachello, Boner-roo, and Lolla just don’t cut it). Better yet, Jigga at Glasto was front page news across the UK, something no festival could do here. The most emailed stories at every Brit paper (Independent, Guardian, Times etc) were Jigga-praise tales. The Guardian review closed with: “What does it all mean, maan?: Hip hop is RIGHT for Glastonbury. Times have changed Mr Gallagher.”

And the most emailed in all of the UK (pop 60 million): “A Glasto Legend is Born,” claims the Independent:

His name on the bill sparked the type of controversy that rarely surrounds Glastonbury Festival. A hip-hop act isn’t what the traditional field-dwellers have come to expect, and even Noel Gallagher, a god in these parts, decried his inclusion.

But last night Jay-Z took the Oasis star’s criticism and turned it into one of the great Glastonbury moments. Taking to the stage flanked by guitarists and in front of a Union Jack backdrop, the rapper led the sizeable crowd in a sing- along of “Wonderwall”.

It was a moment that will surely go down in festival folklore. But the rest of his set was also impressive, although at times it felt more like a Barack Obama rally than a festival gig.

The Guardian ran a funny, great Verve review, actually addressing (Oasis vs Verve) issues John raised last week:

Where and when: Pyramid stage, Sunday, 10.25pm

Dress code: Manc cool. Richard Ashworth looks slinky in a leather jacket and sunglasses.

In a nutshell: “Shout out to Jay-Z,” says Verve frontman Richard Ashcroft, in bullish good form, “but tonight it’s rock’n'roll.” It’s a promise that the Manchester braggards more than uphold. Moving from the psychedelic swirl of Rolling People to the cathartic, classic pop of Sonnet and Lucky Man, Ashcroft and co delight old fans and surprise some who thought they weren’t up to the challenge of their Pyramid stage headline slot. “We’d like to thank Emily Eavis,” says Ashcroft. “I hope Dad realised why she booked us now. I think he was worried we wouldn’t be as good as Keane.” After this performance, which ends with the fantastic hedonism of Love is Noise, even bessie mates Oasis should be looking over their shoulder.

Who’s watching: Lads looking for an anthemic sing-along and the chance to cuddle their mates without embarrassment.

High point: A dead heat between the acoustic majesty of The Drugs Don’t Work and the celebratory swagger of Bittersweet Symphony.

Low point: Too many protracted wig-outs turn the muscular Verve flabby

Mark out of 10: 8

What does it all mean, maan?: Carlsberg still tastes ok with man-tears in it

How do you beat 80,000 people standing in a field sorted out for E’s and wizz?

There is one American festival this summer that may live up to the hype. On Day 2 of the V Fest in Baltimore—August 10th—Kanye West and Lil Wayne perform alongside Bob Dylan (and BRMC). Weezy and West are the two biggest solo artists in America right now. Dylan is the biggest solo artist in America ever. If late-60s America was all about not having to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows, then the late 00s are all about George Bush not caring about black people. About a Namish quagmire in Iraq. About a Hurricane named Katrina. About a time when people had the audacity to hope in the wake of said hurricane and tragic war that change was possible. About a moment from which Barack Obama rose.

Millions of hippies hate Kanye for performing at 430am (after originally being scheduled of 8pm) at Boner-roo, but his set lead every single review of the festival (NYT, WaPost, AP, Rolling Stone, SPIN). As in, the first sentence was Kanye. So he effectively stole the show—and the headlines. Having seen Kanye perform last May, I can attest that he transcends rap.

For Wayne, the Baltimore show is his biggest of the summer. You know, the same summer where his record sold a million copies in one week, the same week he had the number one single, ringtone, and download. The summer he won the BET viewers choice award. Look for a Dylan at Newport type performance.

I don’t care as much about Dylan, but just to see him on the same stage is going to be fun.

Last night Jigga headlined the biggest greenfield music festival in the world and decided that he’d start by responding to the irrelevant and bloated Noel Gallagher for saying that brothers shouldn’t be rapping at this storied fest.

First video footage of Noel’s remarks dissing Jay lit up the greens and then Hova rolled out with a shit eating Joe Camel grin “playing a guitar” (in the same way Weezy plays a guitar) doing his rendition of the Oasis hit Wonderwall. He was off-key and smirking but it was a nice fuck you and tribute. I ended up at a party above the Spotted Pig about 2.5 years ago that was essentially an empty living room with 5 record executives, 20 white chicks, two sistahs and Jigga. I guess it was to celebrate something, we shouldn’t have been there but myself, Karaoke Ryan and Galle® ended up at this private party where Jigga was putting on a clinic, dancing with chubby white chicks, leading the Electric Slide and playing favorites from his iPod including Coldplay, Phil Collins, and Amy Winehouse , complete with waving his finger that looked like a black tree branch for the “No No No” refrain and also rapping over his own songs to the small crowd. He also dropped his own verse over Mims’ This Is Why I’m Hot, my white brain couldn’t believe that I was seeing Jigga spitting in front of me, literally spitting on white dudes as he rambled and flowed.

I did my best to hide the Michael Mann-esque light my cell phone emits mid-text messaging but I had to fire off the details of this encounter to at least have a breakdown of what I was seeing if vodka and piff clouded my recollection the next day. There was one moment of struggle that night; in my head I’m an honorary member of Dipset since I’ve chosen to side with them over 50’s Vitamin Water empire. I felt slightly guilty for being there since Cam’s diss of Jay and his open toed sandals was still buzzing in my speakers. I scanned the room and noticed that there were no body guards among the small crowd, maybe I should text message Killa, maybe I should call the Goons? Jigga was easy prey for my favorite rap conglomerate. The problem with being an honorary member is that you don’t have anyone’s actual number so I convinced myself I was a DIP-SPY keeping tabs on old head and I’d report any suspicious activities to Jim Jones’ myspace if necessary.

Wonderwall was the closer, it was Papelbon irish jigging his way to the mound that night. Jay queued up the iPod and a familiar jangle came out of the speakers, he parted the crowd and motioned towards the only “rock niggas” there which happened to be the three scruffy honks that shouldn’t be there. The nostrils were flared, lungs pushing out strained notes with a grin and a battle cry of “ROCK N ROLL NIGGAZZZZZZZ” was unleashed as I stood there, arms draped on my comrades trying to detune my vocal chords so I was out of tune in unison with Jigga as a show of unity.

We split after that because honestly unless Giselle came in and gave me a foot-rub while Tom Brady told me I had a stronger chin than him there was nothing left to do.

As I’ve said before, Jay is a performer now, his records only have a few good songs now but if it’s a vehicle for him to put on spectacles like this I will continue to pay retail for them. The guitar, the head bobbing to Coldplay with Ricky Gervais are ridiculous, semi-embarrassing but ultimately cool somehow and much more interesting that some recycled grumbling from a guy named Noel who can’t write a good song anymore, he can’t even guest on a tune and make it cool.

Roc Boys in the building. Peep it here.

Jay-Z Kills Wonderwall

Unfortunately this story is true.  From cnn.com:

A millionaire who inflicted years of abuse on two Indonesian housekeepers held as virtual slaves in her Long Island mansion was sentenced Thursday to 11 years in prison.

The victims testified that they were beaten with brooms and umbrellas, slashed with knives, and forced to climb stairs and take freezing showers as punishment. One victim was forced to eat dozens of chili peppers and then was forced to eat her own vomit when she couldn’t keep the peppers down, prosecutors said.

So this rich bitch Varsha Sabhnani from Long Island (who used to be a fatty BTW) keeps and abuses slaves, (well she paid their families a whole $100 a month), for 5 years, and she gets 11 years in prison and a $25,000 fine.  The two  victims are trying to get about $1 million in back pay, and the defense has the audacity to counter with $200k.

Referencing Sabhnani’s charitable works, her defense attorney called her “a woman who spent a lifetime doing good deeds.”  She herself said, “I was brought to this Earth to help people who are in need.”

She obviously sounds like a bleeding-heart liberal, who’s main crime was hiring and helping illegal immigrants.  Those two jobs could have belonged to honest, hard-working Americans, who obviously would not have required such discipline.  The only solution I see to this problem is stricter immigration policies, so vote McCain in ‘08.