Monday, June 21, 2010

There Is No Recovery

Scope these lyrics for a sec:

I feel like I’m losing control of myself,
I sincerely apologize if all that I sound like, is I’m complaining,
But life keeps on complicating, an’ I’m debating,
On leaving this world, this evening, even my girls,
Can see I’m grievin’, I try and hide it,
But I can’t, why do I act like I’m all high and mighty,
When inside, I’m dying, I am finally realizing I need help.

New Perfect Plan song you ask? Or surely that's Hobastank from the new Twilight movie soundtrack...right? I dunno, you got me. Some emo band that I haven't listened to since my middle school wrist cutting days?

Nope. That, my friends, is a lil sample from Eminem's new album, Recovery. So please. Please stop posting youtube comments, America, about how "he's back" and the "best rapper alive....again." He's done. Put a fork in him. He's like a Spartan baby born with a birth defect...HOPELESS (unless the defect happens to be a really thick skull and wings cuz that babies getting punted off a cliff).

Outkast will almost certainly get together potentially later this annum and drop another classic. Maybe even M. Night will make another solid movie before he dies. Even he can have an epiphany, an idea so good that no amount of egotistical embellishment can ruin it. Maybe Lindsay Lohan will sober up and win an Oscar in her thirties. Maybe....maybe...Michael Jackson didn't actually die and he'll come back with a foot stomping smash hit.

But there's no maybes here. Eminem will never make another good album. Never. One day there will be a cure for cancer. A vaccine for HIV. But there's no medical solution to "losing it." The only thing that can save Eminem is a time machine. But since we can't literally make a time machine we're forced to pursue figurative time manipulations ie throwing one of Eminem's first two albums into the CD player and "going back" to the good ol days. That's all we have left at this point. That's all we'll ever have. I leave you all with this:

All I see is sissies in magazines smiling
Whatever happened to whylin out and bein violent?
Whatever happened to catchin a good-ol' fashioned
passionate ass-whoopin and gettin your shoes coat and your hat tooken?

Whatever happened, indeed? Now where's that new The Roots CD I just bought...?

Monday, June 14, 2010

Siggi Explains the Universe 2: Only Poor People (Really) Fall in Love

Giacomo will be a tender 14 years when his older brother Mario will ask him to assist in the murder of a gemmorah rival. "I need your help. They don't know you. You don't have to pull the trigger. Just help me. Don't you want to save your brother?" Mario presents a cold black pistol, but Gia turns from him.

"No one can save you."

Mario will follow through without his brother. He has no other choice, but he will soon find himself in a bathtub tied up, a chainsaw buzzing near him. It is quick. Like all gangster lives, it is over in a blink or two.

Fearing revenge the gemmorah will decree that if Giacomo leaves his home he is to be killed on sight. He will spend the next six years a prisoner in his own rooms, hallways, and courtyard. But during those six years he will prepare, his mind, his body. On his twenty first birthday he lets Sicily know that he will be leaving through the gates of the garden and no one can stop him.

Twenty armed men soon arrive and line the narrow alley way leading to the gate. None of them hate this boy they never met, but they must stand their ground. Such acts of ruthlessness are embedded in their lifestyle, but none of them imagined the following deathstyle. The door explodes open and the gangsters open fire. When the smoke clears Gia emerges a desert eagle in each hand and covered in a self made armor he spent six years expertly crafting.

He throws no grazers. Every shot he fires rips through flesh even as he glides down the alley seamlessly eluding fire. He takes care of the last two thugs with a katana then looks back to the gate. His mother is standing there crying. Happy that her son will have a chance to fall in love and continue the family legacy. Sad that she will never see him again.

Gia escapes to New York. At a small jazz club his eyes will lock with the piano player, Missy, the daughter of a Naval Officer and a Vietnamese farm girl. Missy has been blessed with the best features of both her comely parents, but generations of fatigue and oppression reflect off her pupils. Gia looks right past this and falls in love with her soul on first sight. Missy lost her father to warfare and her mother to sorrow. The only thing getting her through life, literally and figuratively was music, her only love...until she met Gia.

Imprisoned for years Gia learned not only to shoot fatally but also to play the violin so well it made his mother cry every time he caressed the strings for her. Neighbors would sit outside his garden late into the night just to hear him practice. The new lovers decide to go and play in the only place that seemed right to them...New Orleans. On the corner of Dumaine and Chartres people throw dollars into their collection hat not just because they envy the tandems mastery of their respective instruments but because they envy the way the two smile at each other like nothing bad can happen to them.

But something bad does happen. When the hurricane breaks Gia will be at a gig in Houston. He knows Missy won't leave without him so he makes his way back on foot, all 300 miles. Along the way a woman will drug and seduce him, but propelled by love he will break from her spell and escape. An eye patched sociopath will try to kill him, but Gia's self taught fighting skills will save him one last time. The storm will rage but nothing Poseidon can muster will stop Gia from reaching his love.

The water will be up to Missy's chest when she finally hears the call of her savior. She finds Gia on a small boat with two other refugees he has rescued. For the next two days they will taxi people from their rooftops back to the shelter. 33 lives are extended by their sacrifice, and a sacrifice it will be.

Following the sound of a crying infant the couple will find themselves on the roof of a building that will suddenly cave below them. As they escape through the building they end up in a small room with no windows. The door gets barred behind them and they are trapped. They stare at each other until they are treading water. "I love you more than life," she tells him. "You are my life," he responds.

She will go first. Her grip on his arm will give way. He takes firm hold of her so that she can't drift off. Suddenly a hole is torn in the planks above him and Gia sees an escape path, but there is no choice to be made here. He pulls the only thing he took with him from Italy, his grandmothers ring, from his pocket and places it on Missy's finger.

He closes his eyes, and waits for her to reappear.


Whitney Anna Whitfield is at ballet practice because it is a Friday. On a Thursday she would be at figure skating. On the drive down to their cape house her parents both try to pitch their alma mater's to their soon graduating offspring. She decides to pin the decision on whether Sara or Melanie texts her back first.

"Omg. His bangs were so cute today," comes across the wire from Melanie. Harvard it is. Her father is so pleased he buys her a boat when they reach the shores. Her mother is sad at first, but soon its time to take her medication and its all smiles from there. What a nice boat she thinks.

Such acts of fate will befall Whitney numerous times in her life. The next big one unfolds when she pounces off the sidewalk alongside the Charles and into the grass to avoid grazing past two negro men. Christopher Winchester Whitman Jr. has made the same evasive action and sends them toppling head over heels. Lying on top the boy who has broken her fall; she looks into his eyes and loves how green they are. As well as how white the white part is. Its the whitest she's ever seen.

At a nearby cafe the two realize they like their coffee the same way: rich, ice cold, and never ever black. The similarities don't end there they soon discover. They both love boats, fine wine, and ipods. Christopher buys her new ones every year until she has a boat in every harbor on the east coast and an ipod to go with each day of the week. His family's wealth goes all the way back to his great grandfather, a German factory owner who made millions selling a special shower head that could alter dispersing liquid or gas at the flip of a switch.

Whitney's father will gather everyone's attention at a banquet and inform the crowd that though it usually takes associates 3 years to partner at his firm Christopher has done it in three days. Upon hearing this an associate of 8 years who graduated from the University of Michigan will break a glass in his hand and excuse himself. But the pleasant surprises don't end there. Christopher takes a knee and proposes to Whitney. She looks to her father for approval. He dangles the keys to a new boat with a smile.

The wedding will take two years to plan and will take place on a boat off the shores of France. This boat was a gift from Christopher's uncle, the vice president of a company that specializes in building foreign desert homes that are energy self sustaining seeing as they have their own oil rigs.

"Quite splendid," moans Whitney.
"Indeed," concurs Christopher as he rolls over and lights a cigarette in a Parisian hotel bed. "I love you."
She smiles. "I love you too," she replies looking right at the diamond planet on her ring finger.
He pulls some papers from under his pillow.
"Will you sign this prenup then?"
"Only if I get to keep the boat."
"Which one?"
They belly laugh for minutes straight. Not really at the joke, just about their lives in general. And then because the maid has lost her fake pearl earring in the mountain of cocaine beside their bed. Whitney rolls up a 500 euro bill.

"I'll find it!"