Blogjammin' - There'll Be No Shelter Here

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

I'm Moving!

Granted, I'm not actually moving... but my blog is. I'm going to try something different, move my blog into the next generation. So, you can now get your fix of exactly what's on my mind by pointing your browser to


It's a big day, lots of excitement! Things are in their early stages, and glitches are bound to pop up. However, I've tried to work most of the preliminary bugs out before redirecting everyone. Blogjammin' will still be here, full of those old posts and exciting words of wisdom. However, the new site should offer up even more excitement with added features and a sleek new look.

I hope it's as good for you as it was for me.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

I can only assume that the words that follow this disclaimer will indicate that I am old, out of touch, terribly uncool and (god-forbid), a snitch.

Like everyone else (or, at least most people I know), I first heard about the “Stop Snitchin’” campaign via Anderson Cooper 360 and the butter-smooth flow of Mr. Cam’ron. Having grown up listening to everything from The Fat Boys to NWA, and later on from Snoop Dogg to Talib Kweli, I felt that I was fairly in tune with hip-hop culture. Apparently I was wrong. You see, my old age has caused me to focus on more socially conscious, interesting hip-hop records, completely losing sight of what is or isn’t “street.”

Thus, “Stop Snitchin’” flew completely under my radar.

Now, I’ll be honest. Maybe it’s because I’m from a low crime area (all things considered), maybe it’s because I’ve been around police for most of my life and regard many of them as friends, or maybe it’s because I’m I’m a “spoiled-ass, cracker from middle America.” Any of the above could very well account for my lack of understanding when it comes to the Stop Snitchin’ movement (I’ve dropped the quotation marks, as I’m now fairly sure that you’re following me). I was, a few months ago, a victim of crime. It certainly wasn’t front-page news, you may recall the blog entry that addressed the issue.

In case you don’t, someone broke into my house, took a sentimental item and made their getaway.

In that situation, I did what any normal person would do, I called the police. Through the efforts of the Clay City Police Department, the aforementioned item was returned, no harm, no foul. The thief spent about 30 days in jail (which I felt was sufficient) and the warm glow of my light fixture is hanging above my left shoulder as I write this.

However, should I have the misfortune to live in an area populated by the Stop Snitchin’ crowd, my immediate course of action would have been slightly different. I can only imagine that the eventual retrieval of my lamp would have involved substantially more kicking in of doors, coarse language, violence and adult situations. And in reality, even with the “principle of the thing” firmly planted in mind, it probably wouldn’t have been worth it.

So, you can imagine my shock when I heard that the most important underground movement in America, one that was brought into our living rooms by the comforting gaze of Anderson Cooper, was this entire Stop Snitchin’ fiasco. I set off on a quest, figuring that (like most issues) there had to be more than what the mainstream media was reporting. Surely, people of influence weren’t actually telling members of the urban (read: black) community to sacrifice their own livelihood, property or even their lives at the expense of protecting drug dealers and gang bangers. What I found proves and disproves this, as the entire movement can at times raise legitimate points, but seems to largely be about making money.

The Stop Snitchin’ movement can be traced to its infancy in Boston, MA, where local MC, T.A.N.G.G. (Tellin Ass Niggas Gotta Go (I really wish that I was making this up)) used the now infamous Stop Snitchin’ t-shirts as a promotional item for an upcoming mix-tape entitled, you guessed it, “Stop Snitchin’ Vol. 1.” The interest in the items led “Let Us Live Entertainment,” a locally based hip-hop label, to throw money behind the idea as well as market the two subsequent sequels to the mix-tape.

The shirts spread like wildfire, the message became prevalent and it appears that the founders of the movement were forced to quickly come up for an explanation behind exactly why we should stop all of this snitching. The explanation, while clearly a smokescreen for the truth (which should have been, “because people are paying loads of money for these shirts”), actually did hold a certain merit. After years of lackluster enforcement, rampant racism and brutality, the residents of the inner city had simply had enough. In order to keep some sort of rule of law in the streets, the plan was to band together, shut out the police, and regulate criminal behavior on a street-level… wild west style. Of course, doing so meant that the members of the community would be forced to remain silent at all times. If retribution for homicide meant another homicide, locals couldn’t be permitted to disclose information regarding the retaliation, it just wouldn’t be fair.

Now, I can say that I honestly do understand the point being made here. The police in many urban areas (note: this is not to target all police) are in several instances thoroughly corrupt, racist and brutal. Going to the police has long been an afterthought in the inner-city, and this practice is simply an extension of that. However, the prevalence of this policy, paired with the parroting of the mantra by several popular black celebrities isn’t simply keeping a type of underground martial law in place, but is destroying their own communities from the inside.

A quick glance at the movement’s official website says more about the “movement” in question than any spokesman ever could. StopSnitchin.com is nothing more than an opportunity to sell merchandise. Any attempt to find content explaining the movement, its point or message is washed away in a sea of opportunities to order music, videos or t-shirts. The “news” section, where I suspected I may find actual content, was nothing more than a series of clips focused on “The Man” and his attempt to bring down the website. StopSnitchin.com even bills itself as “The #1 Most Controversial Site EVER,” a title that I would have probably reserved for any number of child pornography rings, anarchy guides, Hitler love-fests or The Drudge Report.

There is no substance; there is only merchandise… which I think is a fair summation of the entire movement.

Of course, there would be no national discussion of this issue had there not been a Cam’ron. Anderson, you certainly played your part, but you simply worked to facilitate something that piqued an interest. I have to give Cooper credit, as he and Jon Stewart may be the last real “newsmen” on the planet, but Cam’ron was the star… period. However, before you rush to knight Mr. ‘Ron as the spokesman for the streets, let’s not forget that his career (which tends to be comprised of a handful of forgettable singles with tasty choruses) is built around using any form of shock as a means to further promote his name and grab some airtime. In the wake of 9/11, Cam’s street team changed their name to “The Taliban,” and his penchant for wearing pink fur set him apart from the pack. To put it bluntly, Cam’ron will whore himself out to anyone, anywhere in an attempt to gain some sort of brief notoriety and sell a few records. Thus, it comes as no surprise that HE would be the mainstream representative of the movement… causing parents to panic, ban his records and further his appeal to young people dying to find something that upsets those same parents.

Now, as I mentioned before, I’m not from the mean streets. I don’t have to worry about snitchin’ or the lack thereof in my neighborhood. In fact, with the ever-growing sub-sect of serious criminals in my town, I’d like to publicly endorse snitchin’. However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand the point. I know that many would rush to judge, to point out that I don’t know what I’m talking about, or that I’d completely misread the entire movement. Well, you’re right, I can’t speak from the ‘hood, but I can tell you a few things that I DO know.

  • I DO know that this “movement” was born out of marketing.
  • I DO know that the movement first gained notoriety through a DVD released by a man named Rodney Thomas in 2004. I also know that Rodney Thomas pled guilty to 1st degree assault and is currently serving 15 years… I guess he snitched on himself.
  • I DO know that this has to be the only significant “movement” in history that is more interested in selling me a t-shirt than explaining why it exists.
  • I DO know that the supporters of this movement rank among the most self-serving and lowest form of attention-whoring C-List “superstars.”
  • I DO know that not ONE reputable black celebrity has leant his or her endorsement to this ideology (unless you consider Tyson Beckford and Carmello Anthony to be reputable).
  • I DO know that safe communities are not built around mob rule and martial law

Normally, the opinion of low-level celebrities barely registers on my radar. However, this instance is different. This isn’t Britney Spears shaving her head, this isn’t Paris Hilton in a grainy, green sex-tape, this is a no-talent MC whipping the mainstream into frenzy over an issue that had no merit to begin with. My concern isn’t Cam’ron, but rather how we react to Cam’ron. If you want to lend legitimacy to an issue, you need only to whip white America into a panic. I promise you that I could get the underground and the youth (which are nearly synonymous in most cases) excited about dog grooming if only Larry King and Brian Williams would do hour-long segments on its inherent evil. By “investigating” this issue, we are simply promoting it. The more unpalatable it becomes to the mainstream, the more pleasing it becomes to the underground. This is why Democratic presidents breed young Republicans and why Republican presidents breed young Democrats (and why Bill Clinton bred Nader voters).

If inner-city America has a problem with law enforcement (and trust me, they should), then inner-city American needs to use this same form of grassroots media takeover to demand accountability. I am not a member of the black community, but I am a member of the human community, and seeing the plight of said community bothers me in the same way as it should bother you all. So, no, I can’t speak for the African-American contingency, but as a white guy, can I ask a question?

If highly paid, highly regarded members of the hip-hop community legitimately want to make a difference in their community, then why don’t they use their celebrity to advocate change? Why are the demands for equality and responsibility coming from Common, Mos Def, Kweli, Kanye West, The Roots, Chuck D and other remarkably talented artists who’s music begs for gold discs, while their ignorant counterparts go triple platinum? Why are the artists I mentioned above considered “white rap,” even though they grew up on the same streets and saw the same struggle as the faux-gangbangers that populate the Billboard Top 40? In essence, why does modern hip-hop feel the need to destroy the community that gave it life?

That’s actually a fairly simple question to answer. Despite what you believe, all hip-hop is “white” hip-hop. Modern hip-hop culture is engineered by record industries to be a shocking, yet comfortable escape from white suburbia. Don’t believe me? Look up the statistics. The majority of these “street” rappers are selling their wares in suburban shopping malls. Mainstream, modern hip-hop amounts to nothing more than a minstrel show targeted at suburban youth to flood them with the image of “tough guys” that scare their parents. That’s not to say that these artists don’t come from legitimate struggle, as the deaths of 2Pac, B.I.G., Big L and even Jam Master Jay have shown us. But these deaths aren’t the loss of human life to these consumers, but rather an affirmation of a street culture that has been fed to them by industry and led them to believe that if your pants don’t hang below your knees and you don’t consider every single member of the female species to be a “bitch,” then you’re clearly not street.

Trust me on this one, I used to be one of those white kids, I’m inside of their head.

The sad by-product of this grand moneymaker is its effect on urban youth. Imagine that you’re 10 years old, living in a housing project in ghetto-America. All around you, nothing but hopelessness… you’d actually try to learn, but the government has tied education funding to property value, so you’re screwed. You try to be an upright citizen, but just the other day you watched the police nearly beat your neighbor to death for looking at them the wrong way (of course, it’s written up as assault). With education and civil service written off, one day you pick up a record. This record was made by a guy or girl from the same project in which you live, he or she saw the same things you saw, and now he or she is a millionaire.

Are you going to listen to your teacher, as they pull out their hair and work for pennies on the dollar, or are you going to listen to the man in the pink fur coat that’s surrounded by beautiful women? Of course, you don’t know that this is all a scheme to make money, you see the sincerity in it, you follow it, you believe it, and you’d give your life to become that person. Thus, you Stop Snitchin’. Your friends do the same, and as a result, your community falls deeper and deeper into despair. By the time that your music career fails, you’ve already blown off an education and any shot at a 9 to 5 job, and your children are raised in more dangerous conditions than you were, conditions that you helped create.

That is my point.

This isn’t about Cam’ron or his street-cred. This is about our role as “mainstream society,” the modern media’s accountability, the responsibility of the record industry, and most importantly… I repeat… MOST IMPORTANTLY, the responsibility of civic leaders in the black community. Recently, Barack Obama, a man with his eyes set on the presidency took this issue to task in front of a predominantly black audience, and I quote (from the Washington Post):

Sen. Barack Obama (D-Ill.) is delivering pointed critiques of the African American community as he campaigns for its votes, lamenting that many of his generation are "disenfranchising" themselves because they don't vote, taking rappers to task for their language, and decrying "anti-intellectualism" in the black community, including black children telling peers who get good grades that they are "acting white."

Y’know what, I earnestly believe that. I believe it and I’m white… which supposedly means that I’m not allowed to say it. I don’t know how difficult it is to be black. In high school I wore “urban” clothing, spoke and carried myself as a member of the stereotypical black community, the only one I was familiar with, thanks to the aforementioned media machine. I was treated very differently then than I am now, as I now look more “mainstream” and am not followed through stores by security guards. However, this doesn’t by any means make me an expert on this subject… you see, I could go home and take off those clothes. I could never take off my skin.

Simply put, I care about the inner-city community, whether they be black, white, hispanic, asian or any other hue. Life is hard enough without having additional roadblocks thrown in your face. So I take my meager stance on my insignificant blog to implore members of the hip-hop community to take positive steps to improve their situation, rather than get rich quick schemes that destroy it.

I guess I’m just old… I snitched on myself.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Rasslin & Youtube, a match made in Heaven.

Earlier this morning, a friend sent me an email containing a link to "Headlock on My Heart," the finest Dolly Parton/Hulk Hogan collaboration in history. To fully explain what's going on in this video would require far more than mere words. We're talking about a heartwarming story of unrequited love between an ample-chested wrestling fan and her idol, only to watch fate intervene at the end, allowing them to exchange vows in the most romantic of all possible settings... the squared circle.

As a recovering Hulkamaniac, I can certainly see the logic in this. Should I ever walk down the aisle, I can only dream that it would be among thousands of screaming fans... and to Hulk Hogan... wait, did I just type that?

Of course, in the interest of fairness, I'll show you the actual music video in question. After all, you can't possibly get the full, wonderful picture of Dolly and The Hulkster being bound in holy matrimony just based on my description.



Seeing this masterpiece inspired me, set me off on a quest to find other magical moments in wrestling's storied past. No wrestling post could ever be complete without including what may possibly be the greatest example of not only wrestling themed rock & roll, but maybe rock & roll as a whole... Rick Derringer's "Real American."



Here we are shown that Hulk Hogan is one of America's true heroes, on par with not only Martin Luther King and Kennedy but also Abe Lincoln and George Washington. We also see Hulk's kindness, as a giant Hogan storms the country being careful not to destroy any of the national landmarks that visits, although his massive size and giant pythons would certainly allow for it. We even get a glimpse into the future... a future where Hulk Hogan takes his rightful place on Mt. Rushmore (or should we say, Mt. Hulkmore!)

It should be noted that not everyone in wrestling history was as enamored with Hulk Hogan as the children of my generation. Dare I say, The Hulkster even has his share of enemies. Although he eventually overcame his differences with Andre The Giant and The Iron Sheik, his rocky relationship with Dr. D may never have normalized after a series of comments questioning Hulk's sexuality.



Speaking of latent homosexuality, many professionals and intellectuals often point out that the very concept of professional wrestling is based in a psychological need for men to act out their homosexual feelings. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. There is nothing latently homosexual about wrestling, and there is CERTAINLY nothing latently homosexual about the last 30 or so seconds of this ominous threat from former wrestler, Magnum TA.



Nope... not one single thing. Hell, his name ends with the letters T & A, he's clearly into the ladies.

As far as wrestling goes, there may be no bigger "make or break" platform than the interview. You're given a few seconds to spew hatred for your fellow man, challenge them to a brawl and attempt not to thoroughly embarrass yourself. Some have taken this platform to new heights. For example, no one could match the intensity lack of coherent thought displayed by The Ultimate Warrior on any given day. When he says (what sounds like), "The family that I live for only breathes the air that smells of carpet, with or without the space age," you know that he means it... and if you're on the wrong end of Mr. Warrior, you know that you're in for trouble.

Of course, we all can't be The Ultimate Warrior



It may have taken the actual Billy Graham to save Superstar Billy Graham from himself in that one.

However bad it might be, Graham did get his point across... he doesn't care for Dusty Rhodes. In fact, Graham's hatred for Rhodes grew so strong, that as you can see to your left, he actually tried to eat him.

With dozens of shows each month, wrestlers can grow confused as to their surroundings or even their location. From time to time the jet lag (or van lag, as is more likely in your lower tiers of wrestling) can begin to take its toll on a body and mind. Even seasoned veterans, like Georgia's own Jerry Blackwell, can have trouble remembering exactly where they are, even if they're still in the United States. Watch below as Mr. Blackwell (the GOOD one) attempts to recall in which nation he should be champion... despite the name of the arena being prominently displayed next to him!



As interesting as that clip may be, the story of Jerry Blackwell may be even more fascinating. Blackwell left the world of wrestling, lost a few pounds, changed his name to Brad Leland and went on to greener pastures in Hollywood. Ok, I made that up, but the resemblance is eerie, and I'm fairly certain that I've never seen them in a room together. I hereby offer a reward... four cans of Tab Energy Drink to the first person that can show me a photograph of Brad Leland and Jerry Blackwell together, no photoshops!

Celebrity and wrestling go hand in hand. Whether it's Donald Trump or Kevin Federline, everyone wants a piece of the action. Unfortunately, these days our wrestling/celebrity interaction is largely contained within the ominous confines of the ring, but oh how I remember when stepping out of the ring and onto a set was as common as hearing church bells on Sunday. It was a simpler time, when our favorite famous folks eagerly awaited the opportunity to bring our favorite rasslin' folks on board.

Of all these pairings, perhaps none was more magical than The Ultimate Warrior saddling up with The Ultimate Drummer, Phil Collins.



Wrestling has changed over the years. Our Saturday Mornings no longer feature "Hulk Hogan's Rock & Wrestling," vitamins are going untaken, prayers unsaid. The Country boys are being messed with, no one is grabbing them cakes, and perhaps most disturbing of all giant, overweight rednecks from deepest, darkest Africa's talents are wasted. However, all hope is not lost. We can count on one thing in this crazy world, the Iron Sheik's cutting-edge commentary.



As I watched that video, hearing The Sheik explain his disappointment with Michael Richards, his hatred for David Letterman and his love for his photos of black people, I'm tempted to paraphrase Michael Moore's Oscar speech...

Shame on you, Mr. Richards. And any time that you've got Al Sharpton and The Iron Sheik against you, your time is up.


Thanks Sheik, thanks for caring.