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

www.cory-graham.com

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.

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 1^st 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.

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.

The NFL Draft is roughly 24 hours away... depending on when you're reading this.

We're closing in... the hullabaloo, mock drafts and speculation will all be put to rest at noon tomorrow when the teams of the NFL take to the stage to make decisions that shape the future of their organization. Nothing is ever certain on draft day, that's actually the only thing that you can really count on. However, here are a few pseudo-certainties that seem to apply to every draft class:

Someone that seems fool-proof right now will turn into a total bust.

Someone that you've never heard of will turn into a marquee player.

Your favorite team will make a decision that boggles the mind.

The Jets, Texans, Browns and Lions will either make ridiculously bad choices or have the good ones be forever plagued with injury (or the aforementioned "total bust").

The Patriots will use a combination of voodoo and virgin sacrifice to once again secure the best draft-class in the league.

Al Davis will wear a track suit.

With all of this in mind, I've chosen not to make predictions on the draft order this year. Last year's attempt, while correct in 9/10 top picks, was ridiculously out of order... only guessing correctly that Vince Young would head to The Titans.

This year I want to speculate on possible strategies, reasonable ideas and players that are currently flying under the radar. Mock Drafts are available everywhere, there's really very little that I could add to that type of thing. Especially when you consider that it'll be completely wrong and make me look like a jackass come Sunday.

First off, the sure-fire picks of the 2007 NFL Draft (at least some of which will fade into obscurity within 2-3 years). Obviously, you have Georgia Tech's Calvin Johnson. Not only is he arguably the best player in the draft, but one of the most exciting and explosive offensive players to come along in years.

From there you have your lesser superstars... Brady Quinn, Adrian Peterson and Jamarcus Russell. Of the above fantastic four, expect Johnson and Peterson to live up to their promise, and the Russell/Quinn QB fiasco to take root in whatever town chooses to spend entirely too much money on a golden-boy Quarterback.


Of course, this is nothing that hasn't been covered an nauseum by every sports writer, blogger and armchair NFL owner in America. The more interesting aspects of this years draft lie not in the players themselves, but rather the potential front office decisions leading to their signing. Of these owners, perhaps none is in a more interesting, if not enviable, position than Al Davis. With the 1st overall pick in the 2007 draft, Davis is in a position to address some of the numerous concerns that are plaguing the Raiders organization, or bargain for the pick.

The Raiders suffered through an abysmal 2006 season, plagued by an offense that lacked the firepower to overwhelm... well, anyone. At times it even seemed that the Kentucky Wildcats would have been capable of blanking the Raiders on any given Sunday. When your back is to the wall, what do you do? Do you draft a young quarterback in hopes that he will evolve into a team leader and the face of a franchise? Do you take the sure-fire receiver even when there's no one to actually get the ball to him? Do you work on an offensive line that, as of last season, was as effective as an open gate at the Kentucky Derby?

In my opinion, you do none of the above... or all of the above.

Oakland Draft Scenario #1:

For starters, approach the podium to announce that you have chosen, with the first overall pick, Calvin Johnson. From there, let it be known that you have secretly engineered a trade with the Tennessee Titans, sending Randy Moss to Nashville in trade for Tennessee's 1st round pick and some O-line help. The Titans need a big-target receiver, Randy wants to go and with PacMan Jones out of action, the court docket just isn't nearly exciting enough in music city.

With Tennessee's (now Oakland's) 19th pick in the draft, select Miami's Greg Olsen. Now, you've satisfied your need for some short and long range aeronautic firepower... but who's going to call the plays? With the 33rd pick in the draft, you select either Trent Edwards (Stanford) or Drew Stanton (Michigan State). Both are potential star quarterbacks, both with certain advantages and disadvantages. Judging by Lane Kiffin's particular breed of offense, Edwards may be a better fit, but Stanton seems to me like a better choice.

Finally, with the 65th pick in the draft, grow a pair and select Michael Bush from Louisville. A potential Heisman candidate and sure-fire 1st round selection before being sidelined with an injury early last season, Michael Bush is still Michael Bush. His stock has, of course, dropped substantially due to uncertainties with his health. However, using a 3rd round pick on the guy isn't exactly gambling away the house on a craps game... it's more like betting a week's pay on a good poker hand. It's important to point out that this will be the last opportunity to draft Bush, as you can be fairly certain that if Atlanta holds on to the 75th pick, Bobby Petrino will initiate a Cardinals reunion.

From that point forth, you make typically bad, Oaklandesque decisions.


Oakland Draft Scenario #2:

Trade the first pick to Tampa Bay. The Bucs want Calvin Johnson... they really, really want Calvin Johnson. The trick here is essentially naming your price. If you can convince Tampa that you fully intend on drafting and holding on to #21, then the price goes up and up and up. Although it would be unlikely, it wouldn't hurt to ask for the 4th 35th and 64th picks in exchange for the #1. Should you receive those picks, you're wiped out of any chance to pick up Greg Olsen, but you can still look for Jamarcus Russell at the 4th spot (after Detroit trades down and Cleveland takes either Brady Quinn or Adrian Peterson). After that, you now have the 33rd, 35th, 64th and 65th picks with which to play around. Having your QB needs met early, you can focus on looking for more help on the offensive line, backfield and receiving corps. Dwayne Jarret could still be around, along with Sidney Rice, a whole host of adequate tight ends and our ol' buddy, Michael Bush.


Of course, the draft doesn't live and die with Oakland. Detroit is looking to move some things around, Arizona is likely to stop at nothing (providing that Matlock isn't on) to acquire Joe Thomas and Cincinnati will be actively attempting to exclusively draft players from BYU, TCU and the often-overlooked Vatican City University. So, what of those players that might be flying under the radar? The guys that could potentially blow an organization wide open, but aren't interesting enough to warrant all the draft-day hype?

Well, as usual there are more than a few, and as usual I (along with everyone else in America) am still overlooking them. However, there are a few sure-shot "could be..." kinda guys that aren't getting the attention that they deserve.

1. Robert Meachem. It's somewhat ridiculous to count Meachem as an "under the radar" kind of guy, as he should be a guaranteed 1st round pick, but with Calvin Johnson Mania sweeping the nation, he's becoming a bit of an afterthought. For starters, he's fast. Robert Meachem blows by you faster than Jasmine St. Claire "on the set" in 1996. Add to that a fierce vertical leap and a 1,000 + yd, 11 TD season at Tennessee last year and you're looking at a serious offensive weapon.

2. Michael Bush. I've mentioned him twice already, so clearly I'm in his corner. As a policy, I try not to get behind anyone from the University of Louisville. It's one that I'm proud of, and one that I usually stick to. However, I do feel bad for Bush and his situation. And, emotions aside, I genuinely do feel that he'll be a valuable asset to any organization that actually takes the chance... do you hear that, Philadelphia? Bush has been cleared to play by his medical team, claims to feel 100%, and as a 3rd rounder is probably the best bargain in the draft. He may fall on his face in the NFL, but when you're afraid to gamble on a 3rd round pick, you may need to reconsider your line of work.

3. Jared Zabranksy. He's poised, confident and a proven leader. His accuracy and fearlessness aren't in question, and his speed spoke for itself at the scouting combine, as he either outright won or tied for first place in the quickness drills. Add to that a Wonderlic score of 36 (the best of all incoming quarterbacks) and a Fiesta Bowl MVP trophy and this guy has "breakout star" written all over him. To those that would suggest that Zabransky wasn't tested in the relatively weak WAC, keep in mind that it's that same "they didn't play anybody" mentality that stunned Sooners just a few months ago.

When it's all said and done, my brilliant plans and clever schemes will undoubtedly come crashing down around me. It's entirely possible that Jamarcus Russell and Brady Quinn will be the next Donovan McNabb and Carson Palmer. It's entirely possible that Michael Bush may never start a game and Jared Zabransky may find himself taking snaps in the CFL. But really, that's the wonderful part about the NFL Draft. The relative certainty in the face of an absolute guarantee that you are completely wrong.

Just like last year, the year before and every year to follow, we have no idea what's going to happen. We don't know who's going where, how they'll perform or, in some cases, if they'll even be drafted at all. No matter how much we like to think that we do, we honestly don't know a damn thing... except for one... Al Davis WILL wear a tracksuit.

And now, the saga of one walrus and his bucket...

My new phone has arrived!

The above image was taken with my kick-ass new Cingular 8125 Pocket PC. I am, officially, tickled to death. The view you're seeing is, well, pretty much what I see right now. So, now you can see me seeing you seeing me!

For a lengthy explanation of how my new phone came to me, read below.

Cory: 1. Cingular: 0

I'm going to share with you an email that I sent to Kevin Hall late last week. He enjoyed it enough to request that yours truly post the text on my blog, for all to see. Here's the back story...

My friend John recently acquired a Cingular 8125 telephone, a pocket PC with all the bells and whistles that any man could ask for. Noticing that my Cingluar contract was on the verge of allowing for an upgrade, I took it upon myself to call the Cingular (or, should I say, NEW AT&T WIRELESS!) people and request an early upgrade, allowing me to take advantage of the offer on the website (super phone, only 80 bucks!).

Like dealing with any major corporation, it was like pulling teeth. However, I sucked it up and battled on, inspired by a story from just a couple of weeks ago. The aforementioned Kevin Hall had been trapped by a screwy computer system and subsequently received lackluster tickets to an upcoming show through the Ticketmaster website. After yelling and screaming for nearly half an hour, he actually managed to receive a refund... from TICKETMASTER. My thoughts were that if someone like us, a regular Joe, can be issued a refund from the most heartless of organizations (seriously, Ticketmaster & Enron are two sides of the same coin), then surely I could do the same. Below is the unedited text of my email to Kevin describing the situation... and a neat picture of the phone in question!


Please forgive the lateness of my reply, I've been at war with Cingular.

Here's a synopsis of the last hour and a half of my life.

Note: There were times that I thought about giving up, but then I'd remember,
"Kevin got a refund from Ticketmaster... you can do this Cory, just keep at
it!"

John Estep sends me a message, letting me know about the amazing new bells and
whistles associated with his new phone. It's powered by Microsoft, has a touch
screen, has a 1.3 megapixel camera, and best of all, built-in wifi connection
with qwerty keyboard. As I think about it, it may be the same phone that you
were telling me Katie had. It's online for 80 bucks, refurbished with a 2-year
contract.

I check my contract... it expires in two months. Now, part of me is just that
kid that wants his toy now, not on his birthday, but part of me is the grown-up
bargain hunter that fears that this offer may not be around in two months. I
then consult bargain-guru, Nathan Johnson.

Nathan informs me that he went on a similar quest for this phone, and with a
little persistence was given the upgrade right now. Inspired, I go to the
phones.

I find myself talking to a very dismissive customer service rep who informs me
that altering the contracts in any way is simply impossible. I tell her that
my friend had done it just this morning, to which she says, "well, you'll need
to talk to your friend about that, there must be more to it." I guess she
assumed that I'd hang up, do so and then call her back... but through the
wonders of messenger I was able to say, "ok, hold on... clickclickclick...
nope, he says he just spoke to a manager and they took care of it."

She puts me to a manager, who doesn't seem too interested in helping me. He
informs me that he can do the upgrade right now, but it's going to require me
purchasing the 180 dollar, new version. Nope, absolutely no way. We battle
back and forth, and I mean we really do battle. He's saying, "Sir, if you will
just LET ME FINISH!" and I'm coming back with, "You're lying to me about
warranties, I'm not an idiot, I know that the refurbished phones come with the
same 12 month warranty as the new ones, I KNOW THAT, you're LYING!"

(note, he was trying to tell me that they could only authorize the new phone
because the refurb didn't come with a warranty)

Finally, in a huff, I just say, "look, it's clear that you CAN alter the
contract, you've just told me that. you can upgrade my phone right now if i
buy the more expensive model. so really, this just comes down to you wanting
to get another hundred dollars out of me."

Then he just begins rambling on about how it's really the call of the manager
above him and that he has nothing to do with the offer I've been given. I
demand to speak to HIS supervisor. He puts me on hold. Soon he returns with
his supervisor on the other line, at which point I inform him that my counter
offer is this: My contract with Cingular runs through July. You can give me
the refurbished phone right now, at the 80 dollar on-line price and keep my
business for two years, or you can play me like a fool and keep my business for
two months. It's that simple."

He then tells me that his boss would like to suggest something. I tell him
I'd like to speak to her. He says, "She'd rather just have us work it out, I
have her on the other line, I'm just going to relay messages between the two of
you." I snicker and say, "ok, tell her what I told you."

A few seconds pass and he comes back... this makes it all worthwhile.

"Sir, my supervisor has offered to give your phone upgrade status right now,
allowing you to go online and purchase WHATEVER phone that you want, provided
that you'll just stop all of this."

I cackle with laughter and tell him, "please tell her that I accept."

I went online, my upgrade status was changed, and BOOM... the refurbished
Cingular 8125 is on the way to my house as we speak.

So, here’s a question:

How early in a band’s career is it acceptable to start placing them among the greatest of all time? For those folks that take music very seriously, talking about the best ever is a pretty touchy matter. Including bands that haven’t yet proven themselves is as dangerous of territory as omitting bands that may have changed the face of modern music (which is why my relative distaste for both Led Zeppelin and The Beatles often gets me into trouble).

Of course, I’m not talking about music in general. I’m not bumping Beethoven or Bach out of any top ten lists. I’m talking about music that’s actually GOOD… pop music. Feel free to lob tomatoes my way, but I’d rather listen to Paul’s Boutique than some classical masterpiece… and so would you, admit it. As much fun as a night in the park with the Boston Pops may be, it’s no substitute for shakin’ your booty… it’s just not.

So, with that in mind, we have to look at some of the acts that are established, top 20 bands of all time material. Acts that, whether you love them or hate them, it’s nearly impossible to compile any sort of realistic list without including. I don’t like several of these bands, but I’m also not going to deny their impact on the world of music. Frankly, I don’t think much of Joe Montana, but I’m not going to talk about the best NFL Quarterbacks without mentioning his name.

So, first and foremost you’ve got The Beatles. From there you’re forced to bring up The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Beach Boys, Led Zeppelin and (as much as it makes me want to light a cigarette with a shotgun) Nirvana. However, once you’ve dropped those names the list tends to dissolve into an argument, full to the brim with your Radioheads, Velvet Undergrounds, Public Enemies and to a lesser degree, your Motorheads.

Best bands ever are as different as they are plentiful, but much like darling little snowflakes, no two are exactly the same. I’m sure that if enough research was done, we’d find more than two that were exactly the same, but I’m also sure that if we actually collected every snowflake in history we’d find a couple of twins as well (thanks Lewis Black). Well thought out lists aren’t just mash-ups of popular and influential bands, but rather bands that really affected music in general and shaped the type of music that you enjoy on a personal level.

For example, any list that I make is going to include Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. The Boss single handedly attempted to keep rock & roll alive in a decade so dreadfully obsessed with generic synth and brightly colored hair that it made a Sasha and John Digiweed show look like turn of the century mining camp. I enjoy songs about working people, real life and struggle built on the ideas of redemption and hope… so naturally, I have Springsteen to thank for influencing a generation or two and keeping that flickering flame alive.

On the flip-side, I couldn’t care less about Yellow Submarines or Hey, Hey Mammas, so you’ll never find The Beatles or Led Zeppelin on one of my lists. Now, before you say it, I already know what’s coming. “B… B… But Cory, The Beatles and Led Zeppelin influenced the bands that you have on your list. Without those guys, you’d never have some of your favorite bands!” You’re right! Come by the house one day and I’ll give you a prize! To those bands, thanks; I’m very grateful to you for helping shape the music that I love. But if we’re all going to go back to the roots of the music that we hold so dear, then I fully expect to hear people regularly name-dropping Native-American tribal chants, the aforementioned Beethoven and the guy that invented the guitar… because without those guys, we’d never have music at all.

Anyway, I’m rambling. After all of that gas-baggery, we’ll go back to the original question. How soon is too soon to suggest that a band deserves a place among the greatest artists in history?

To put it bluntly, is The Arcade Fire one of the best bands to ever step on a stage?

We’re talking about a band with two albums and an EP. We’re talking about a band that, this time two years ago, was relatively unknown… we’re also talking about a band that since then has opened for U2, headlined festivals across the world, scored a #2 spot on the Billboard Chart (what!?) and a band that sold out three shows in Chicago in less than 30 minutes. We’re talking about a band that is regularly considered to be the best in the world, a band that’s admirers span all walks of life, and incidentally include Lou Reed, David Bowie, Bono, every rock critic in the world and probably Jesus. Granted, that last one really isn’t fair, as Jesus loves us all… except for maybe Stryper.

It still doesn’t seem right to raise someone so new to such a level, to include a relatively untested band in an arena of legitimate rock gladiators. But, let’s really think about this. Most people would feel relatively comfortable including both The Velvet Underground and The Sex Pistols on a “best ever” list. However, it should be pointed out that The Sex Pistols make it in on the strength of only one album, and The Velvets on five (but, c’mon, really, it’s just two). Based on that precedent, The Arcade Fire are a perfectly comfortable pick.

I dunno… it’s certainly something to wrestle with. Not just because a band has come around to challenge music in just a couple of short years, but because music should always be challenged and those that do deserve some kind of reward. I guess you should ask yourself, if every member of The Arcade Fire were simultaneously gunned down tomorrow, would they rocket to legendary status immediately? If so, then surely they already belonged there… after all, death doesn’t improve the music, does it?

And now, just because I’m arrogant enough to think that you’d actually care… my top 20 bands (or artists) of all time, in no particular order.

Note: The list is in no particular order because it may be completely different tomorrow, and when I narrow the list to 20, they’re really all my “favorite band,” depending on how many beers I’ve had and what mood I’m in.

The Beach Boys

Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band

The Smiths

Loretta Lynn

The Wu-Tang Clan (I know it’s a cop-out, but it’s a clever way to include about 5,000 people)

The Velvet Underground

The Arcade Fire

Oasis

The Sex Pistols

Tom Waits

The Pogues

NWA (thanks again, hip-hop supergroups!)

Guns N’ Roses

Paul Simon

The New York Dolls

Notorious BIG

Prince

REM

The Hold Steady

The Grateful Dead