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Month: August 2016

ocean , west : relative motion and the carving knife

ocean , west : relative motion and the carving knife

2016, far as years go, is fairly nascent. It doesn’t feel like this for what should be fairly obvious reasons. Amidst the clutter – it’s been quite a time for music and considering what artist labels, perception or whatever, mean and continue to in evolution. You know, because rock and roll ain’t dead, but if one still feels the rock star ideology is on special reserve for Whisky spitters wiping ash from salt and pepper beards playing encores of Rush – regard the fact of ignoring Paul McCartney and ideas on rap, hip hop – whatever, being “the music of now”.

Things are just the same as they’ve always been, accounting for relativity of technology, earthen atrophy and such, the real conversation – even if elusive, is no less powerful when gripping you by the throat. In this it’s fair to argue that things happen for a reason or, as I’ve always had it translated, by some universal feather tickle just beyond sober bounds of the Phenomenal world.

So here we sit, streaming services carving hackneyed bits of a roast only trying to sate the table, proffering a creepy if yet affordable take on big brother strings. The other side of that being, ostensibly, men like Kanye West debuting an album via fashion show at MSG on a weekday afternoon, while men like Frank Ocean adopt Russian winter levels of singularity, quiet – for about a half decade, in an over narrated landscape of consumption by third course mashed potatoes.

If memory indeed believes before knowing remembers, then complaints about these methods only etch some lack of humanity from the spigots of which they were spat. Mr. Ocean, of course a musician, may have missed another calling or three en route to his state of now, about the tumblr post – he wasn’t a thing but right. 4 years gone by, we’re still human beings spinning on blackness.

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Maybe things aren’t the same as they’ve always been – but they probably are, because what the search bar has killed in the way of human intimacy, it has gifted just the same.

These are old for today’s news cycle – and about Drake, who’s neither Kanye West nor Frank Ocean – but host an applicable relevance to the two. She’s right, obviously – and implied I feel is that Drake’s one of those artists, the mashed potato consumption – because everyone who laughs at a notion of Hotline Bling being good, impossibly good, has done similar or same iterations of smoking, fucking, driving, whatever – to this simple song their simple mind did not pen.

And, you know, maybe his didn’t either – but he’s cashing the checks, that’s good enough for today.

To TLOP and Blond(e) this Lorde logic applies tenfold in the sarcastic honesty her own songwriting shares with the men in question.

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Track no.4 on TLOP is at once a revisit of a steady restaurant and a tone setter for larger themes of celebration buttressed with civil unrest commentary, socialite flexing on Nike, and personal debt between misconstrued arrogance. Rihanna crooning about love of the self and Kanye’s noting Taylor Swift, fame, a general obsession of carnal relations, play to the fiddle of Bam Bam near the halfway point. It’s joyous and, really, sans explications but nonetheless is real, all of it about ideas about ideas and what they’ll always be. Just being, implied, is a possibility – and that’s how “made that bitch famous”, “bleached her asshole, and “every bad bitch up in Equinox” serve the layup of loyalty, protection of children, love – so present on the albums back end. It’s artful, sure, but simple enough under the skin.

Conversely – Track no.4 on Blond(e) opens as a public service announcement from weed weighted teenage nightmares about mom finding the stash. “Many students have gone to college and gotten hooked on drugs” – titles typically are non important but “Be Yourself” here is interesting – because it’s assumed to be Franks mother. She doesn’t say as much until the last 20 seconds of the respite. Her voice falters a few times prior to this, and the commentary concludes after mention of cocaine and inebriated drivers with another, actually motherly sounding “this is mom, call me, bye”. It’s pretty awkward, a working influence on this city hopping commentary on the psychedelic passing of time and ambiguous sexuality. Track no.4 works because of Track no.5, a jacket-less acid dance and heaven amidst lonely hotels, the company of a memory who might exist in data plan only. If Kanye’s the manifestation of Stephen King for crusty middle America , Franks been meaning to ask Dostoyevsky about the mood of his steering wheel leather.

Movie theater viewings of tswift’s wax tits and a bisexual black dude building stairs to nowhere over Daft Punk samples are not mutually exclusive in this day. One only hopes the fella wielding the carving knife is heard, heard, not believed – at the first slop on your plate.

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do saturday proooooooooopppeerrrr

do saturday proooooooooopppeerrrr

Vince Staples – Loco (feat. Kilo Kish)

A – Ha – Take On Me (Kygo Remix)

Tycho – Divison

Mac Miller – We (feat. CeeLo Green)

Emancipator – Land and Sea (feat. Molly Parti)

Rae Sremmurd – Black Beatles (Feat. Gucci Mane)

Jeremih – Pass Dat (Remix) ft. Chance The Rapper, Young Thug, The Weeknd

ELO – The Way Life’s Meant To be

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andrew luck is a strange little man

andrew luck is a strange little man

INDIANAPOLIS — Has Andrew Luck finally turned in his ancient flip phone for a smartphone?

No. No he has not.

But, he did get a new flip phone this week.

The Indianapolis Colts quarterback on Thursday shared on his Facebook account that his mobile carrier had hooked him up with a new phone.

In June, Luck became the recipient of the most lucrative contract in NFL history, and many wondered if the fifth-year Stanford product was going to splurge on the newest smartphone for himself.

Not the case, he told USA Today’s Tom Pelissero earlier this month.

“One, I like it. It’s a comfort thing,” Luck said of not giving up the flip phone lifestyle. “I think anybody can appreciate that, if you’re used to that. … Two, I don’t think I want to be connected 24/7, and this phone is maybe sort of a reminder that you don’t have to be connected. And it’s nice to get away. It’s nice to turn your phone off.”

 

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andrew luck got the most over valued contract in football this offseason because the colts have been stumbling around in a stupor of peyton mannings’ nutsack since his neck surgery / jim irasys xanax induced firing – what’d he do with the new ink?

 

Upgrade his fucking flip phone to another fucking flip phone.

 

The AFC South sucks, luck – stop making it worse.

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aj green – two hands for a baby? : a realistic discussion

aj green – two hands for a baby? : a realistic discussion

When two people fall in love they get married, buy a house, then have a kid. AJ Green is doing just that with his lovely wife. The standout wide receiver and his spouse are expecting their first child to be born this September. What’s more, Green recently stated that he will miss a game in order to witness the birth of his firstborn. Now, there is no guarantee the child will be born on a Sunday. But, if push comes to shove (lol) then Green will gladly skip the game. When I first heard this news, I thought it to be a nonissue. After all, football is nothing more than a game. Juxtapose catching touchdowns versus the birth of a human being. I think we all know which one is more important. Still, pundits are questioning what they would do if they were in Green’s cleats. I decided to ask some of my friends what they would do. The responses are as hilarious as they are different. I am going to refer to them anonymously, for their sakes. I asked six total people; all males, one uncle, one person of Hispanic heritage and one of Caribbean-American heritage.

 

The question: If you were AJ Green, would you miss a game for the birth of your first child?

 

Glasses Withnogame: “I go fashionably late to the hospital and tell bae not to squeeze out anything until I get there.”

 

Wow. This response is filled to the brim with power moves. Fashionably late to your kid’s birth? Check. Referring to your future wife as bae while knowing that word will depreciate over time? Check. Assuming that a woman can hold in a baby? Check. I love this response because it just oozes style under the face of pressure.

 

Smaller Thanhelooks: “Prolly.”

 

Another thoughtful response to a challenging question. Normally people say “prolly” when someone asks whether or not they will be going to so-and-so’s house party that night. Not this guy. Smaller could not care less about this child or its birth. I know so because he couldn’t even take out the time to include the letters “b” and “a” in the world “probably.” Yet, he still found the time to add in an extra “l’ which is kind of concerning. Still, you need to respect the candidness here.

 

Jonesy Dufrain: “No that kid will understand. I can’t miss my child’s birth because I’m not slingin’ a multi million dollar contract. The reason this girl is having this baby is to milk him for dough the rest of his life.”

 

Undoubtedly the most cynical of answers, Jonesy takes a multi-perspective approach to tackle this question. Firstly, that baby will one day realize why his dad wasn’t at his birth. The Ole Man was out grabbing TDs like a boss. He has a point though; I would be super proud of my dad if he was splitting double coverage while I was splitting something else. Next, my friend took the “gold digger” approach: “Listen here wifey, you want this baby more than I do and you want it for financial security. I’m gonna play ball.” Who knows, maybe that conversation swam around Green’s mind for a while. Regardless, the honesty and rawness of this response is refreshing. Or is it?

 

Deer John: “Yes I would. That’s important to me.”

 

Such a sensible answer. This guy gets it. If his thought process was a math equation it would look like this: Birth of firstborn>football. This man recognizes that a living, breathing person is more valuable than putting a leather ball across a white line. This is the response I needed to remind me that not everyone is entirely nuts.

 

Lol Probably: “Lol probably.”

 

I love to compare this response to Smaller’s answer. Smaller and Lol Probably are good friends with each other. Smaller demonstrated his nonchalant demeanor even with the miracle of childbirth staring into his lifeless eyes. Lol Probably and his answer bring a little more humor to the table. His response says: “Hey, I know I’m missing my child’s first living moments but sometimes you just need to laugh these things off.” That attitude should work well when that future kids asks why you were there to see him born. Still, I have to give Lol Probably credit for spelling out “probably.”

 

Uncle Noglasses Withgame: “Yup no better high!”

 

Coming from an experience father, this answer has some teeth to it. This man has been in the trenches and seen what it takes to deliver a baby. Relating childbirth to a natural high is poetic and pedestrian at the same time, making me wonder if I have had an artistic genius for an uncle this entire time. Shoot, I may have a child just for the high now! Actually, prolly not.

 

What do I say? AJ Green should absolutely miss the game however; him and his wife need to take a long look in the mirror. This dilemma was avoidable. Pregnancy takes 9 months. That’s a fact not an estimate. Why didn’t these two conceive the child during last year’s season so it would be born this summer? Simply put, this was horribly planned.

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Long Island chronicles : addicted to housewives

Long Island chronicles : addicted to housewives

No have shame in my reality TV game

I have a confession to make.. I fucking love reality television. Rich women fighting like zoo animals? Love my housewives. A family who started with a sex tape who now can vouch for millions? Can’t deny the kardashains. Seven strangers drinking 24/7 while reaching for fame? Real world yassss.

There’s something about reality television that makes me watch, and by no means is it deep story lines and impeccable insight. It’s the brainless, cheap entertainment it offers me after a long day of work. It’s the simple conversations that keep me entertained, but require zero effort of understanding – something very necessary during a nasty hangover.

Non-believers (authors note: just accidentally wrote beliebers here) have many hostile feelings towards realty television show watchers. “How could you watch that TRASH Olivia,” direct quote from my father.

For some reason, my love for meaningless reality television seriously reflects on my intelligence. Don’t get me wrong, i can understand why. The ability to watch these shows has got to mean No ones homes upstairs. But quite the opposite, actually. Too much going on upstairs. We’re so consumed at every moment by mentions and tweets and texts and emails that getting an hour of solace during my reality television is something to look forward to…most days.

I consider myself quite well spoken, an avid reader and withhold an ok vocabulary – but I also rather enjoy watching strangers I’ve never met be rich on television. Sue me.

this is Not to say I don’t enjoy other television programs, some of which require A bit more brain power. I love my GOT.. might need the wiki page open the entire time I watch but I do okay. I’ll watch a documentary about things that actually matter (read: penguins). And sometimes… I even watch the news.

If you’re a hater, think of the last time someone you were with was watching a realty tv show. You might have complained, kicking and a screaming the whole time.. But I bet you still watched. There’s something to be said about the appeal watching other humans, not famous nor deserving of fame, live their lives in front of a camera. Maybe it’s the ability to relate or maybe it’s the sheer disbelief in their actions, but it’s something.

Point is, every once in a while, we need a brain break. Some workout, I watch reality TV. They may have better biceps, but I can recite every housewife, new and old, from the entire franchise that’s been existence for over a decade.

Now THATS impressive.

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Did you hear that? : on penny dreadful

Did you hear that? : on penny dreadful

ed. note : Josh Hartnett is apparently still alive / in this show and he looks exactly the same only with a goatee and what the fuuuuuqqqq

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That disconcerting rumbling you hear is the sound of my inner monologue trying to escape into the real world. It’s like actual words are its ticket to freedom but my inner monologue just cannot find the right verbs and nouns to cling on to. What’s the source of this mental anguish? Penny Dreadful.

 

Since I began binge-watching Penny Dreadful on the ‘flix, I have been utterly speechless. I feel like I need to see a councilor. Personally, I like a little gore in my shows and movies because it can help the show appear more realistic. With this show however, I can hardly make it past the opening credits. I’ll be upfront with you readers; if you continue on with this article you will know everything about the show. That’s my way of saying: Spoiler Alert. Regardless, I am going to summarize this hauntingly epic television drama the only way I know how – by stringing along a multitude of lengthy, colloquial sentences which entice you to read on despite the ever-evolving rhetorical chaos.

 

Say a quick prayer to whichever God you worship, text your Mom “Love you” for no apparent reason, and grab hold of something firm. It’s time for me to sell you on Penny Dreadful.

 

In the very first scene of the series, a child and her mom are shown asleep in some depressing Victorian era shack. The mom wakes up to relieve herself from all the crumpets recently eaten and gets disembodied by some entity we do not see. But the young child is safe too, right? Nope. She gets her bodies ripped apart like when I try to open fresh bag of Salt & Vinegar chips.

 

How can this first episode, and season, get better? Well an upper crust smokette named Vanessa Ives (the breathtaking Eva Green) decides to track down some gun slinging showman from America to hunt undead creatures. Then they team with some graying British explorer to slaughter these demonic vampires. Why? Because the vampires stole our explorer’s daughter, of course. The daughter (named Mina) used to be best friends with Vanessa, until Vanessa let Mina’s fiancé hit it for no apparent reason. After that little tiff, Vanessa goes absolutely bananas and her soul becomes a Quality Inn for Lucifer himself. To tie it all together, Vanessa really wants to make up for getting it on with her best friend’s fiancé by rescuing her from some zombie vampires. Wait, there’s more.

 

Turns out our gun slinging showman (Josh Hartnett) is a werewolf. Think Michael Jackson from Thriller except substitute the dance moves for body dismemberment. Things can’t possibly get any weirder for the werewolf right? Well he gets seduced by the famed Dorian Gray and ends up questioning his sexuality after they get it on. All of this happens right after his Irish crush named Brona kicks the bucket from consumption (more on her later). For all of those wondering: yes, Dorian Gray does hook up with everybody in the show. For your pleasure, here is a list:

 

Dorian Gray’s sexual conquests:

Werewolf

Vanessa Ives

Brona

Brona 2.0 (details to follow)

A transgendered girl named Antoinette

 

Back to the recap. I wrote that Brona died from consumption and I lied. She did have consumption but Frankenstein actually suffocated her with a pillow to bring her to her end. He had his reasons though. Frankenstein has reanimated not one, not two, but three dead people. His first creation, some fugly Brit named Caliban, paid Frankenstein a visit at his workshop. Caliban makes his series debut by shoving his entire fist through Frankenstein’s latest creation, Proteus. Then Caliban demands Frankenstein build him a woman. So, Frankenstein kills Brona only to bring her back to life as Lily, the companion meant for Caliban. Problem is, Frankenstein is a quivering virgin who falls in love with Lily and decides to keep her for his own. Caliban is pissed. Regardless, they both lose out because Dorian steals away Lily (formerly Brona) and they form an immortal tag teams for the ages.

 

Witches. This show has witches too. They appear in season two, trying to lure Vanessa to the Devil in order to be his lifelong companion. These aren’t ordinary witches either. They are scalding hot and transform into nude ninjas at night. During the day they create oddly large dolls and use them for voodoo. Eventually, Vanessa comes face to face with her doll and they talk to each other. By the point of the show I was so inured by this creepiness that it didn’t really faze me. Did I mention that Vanessa had an exorcism done to her? That’s probably important. Anyways these witches, save one, end up getting merked and everything ends happily ever after. There are three seasons of Penny Dreadful but only two available on Netflix. I have to watch the third and report back to you. Until then, let me provide one more character recap.

 

Nessa: Deceptively hot semi-witch who uses her powers for good and is sought after by Lucifer.

Werewolf: Werewolf. Bisexual. In love with Vanessa. In love with pre-Frankenstein Brona.

Frankenstein: Pretentious virgin who brings dead people to life then has sex with them.

Mina’s dad: Former explorer who had an affair with Vanessa’s mom and has lots of family baggage.

Caliban: Partially undead, super strong creation who just wants to be loved. Also, loves poetry.

Brona: Aka Lily, sweetheart who died then got brought back to life. Turns into a killer for no reason. Has had sex with Dorian as two different people.

Dorian: Playboy who sold his soul to the devil in order to stay young forever. Likes exploring sexual taboos because he is ancient and bored with regular sex.

Witches: Mean for no reason, all kind of hot.

 

Watch the show, but watch it with a buddy. Don’t watch before bedtime. Make this a Sunday hangover ritual and enjoy every moment of suspense and horror, with a few laughs in between.

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Derek’s friday quote log : Real quotes from real people on Fridays

Derek’s friday quote log : Real quotes from real people on Fridays

Welcome to what I hope is recurring blog here at The Open Field.

I call it Real Friday Quotes. (This is a working title… open to suggestions).

The premise…. Every Friday I will drop quote or two (or more…I don’t like to set limits). These quotes are not inspirational (or at least they were never meant to be). These are quotes made by my friends in college (and after) that at the time were so funny I felt obligated to write them down. They are written down verbatim of how they were said, so you can rest assured they were not doctored in anyway to make them more outlandish or funny for the purpose of the blog. They are that ridiculous all on their own.

Most of these will be highly inappropriate so out of respect for my friends, I will not identify who said what. For some of the quotes I will provide context as to what we were talking about or doing. For others, I will just leave them hanging in the air for you to think about and chew on.

Forewarning, many were said when we were drinking so if you are easily offended this is probably not the blog for you. But let me assure you, all the people who contributed these quotes are deep down some of the nicest, kindest, and weirdest individuals I’ve ever met. They don’t have a bad bone in their body, they just say some stupid shit.

And without further adieu, let’s get this sucker going.

Drum roll please….

 

“Three guys going to a sex shop… that’d instantly make this day more productive”

Context: One Saturday afternoon me and two friends found ourselves lying around our dorm room for several hours. Feeling like we were wasting a precious weekend we started to throw ideas around about how we could turn the day around. Somebody suggested we go to Suzie’s (a sex shop in Honolulu) and get flesh lights. Badaboom you have yourself a quote.

To clarify we didn’t end up going to Suzies, although I stand by my friends statement, that day would have been instantly more productive. I can also assure you that I do not have a flesh light, but I can’t say the same for my other friends.

I can also assure you that in the near future (if this blog continues) the term flesh light will be used again. How piqued is your interest right now? Through the roof, if I had to guess.

Anyway, have a great weekend. And if you find yourself with nothing to do, maybe take a trip to your neighborhood sex shop. Definitely a unique way to spend an afternoon.

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