Deep Thought

If anyone would understand the struggle of transcending their personal sympathies and prejudices, it would certainly have to be one-time KKK sympathizer Sen. Jeff Sessions of Alabama.

Game Theory

Maybe you have heard that rappers Jay-Z and The Game are involved in a dispute of sorts. Maybe you have heard that The Game said some rather unkind things about Jay-Z's pop star wife, Beyonce. And maybe, over the years, you have grown weary of hearing about any and all hip-hop beefs.

But have you thought about the implications of a response from Jay-Z, the so-called "closest thing to a hegemon which the rap world has known for a long time," in terms of an international relations perspective?

Mark Lynch at Foreign Policy* has:

But the limits on his ability to use this power recalls the debates about U.S. primacy. Should he use this power to its fullest extent, as neo-conservatives would advise, imposing his will to reshape the world, forcing others to adapt to his values and leadership? Or should he fear a backlash against the unilateral use of power, as realists such as my colleague Steve Walt or liberals such as John Ikenberry would warn, and instead exercise self-restraint?

The changes in Jay-Z's approach over the years suggest that he recognizes the realist and liberal logic ... but is sorely tempted by the neo-conservative impulse. Back when he was younger, Jay-Z was a merciless, ruthless killer in the "beefs" which define hip hop politics. He never would have gotten to the top without that. But since then he's changed his style and has instead largely chosen to stand above the fray. As Jay-Z got older and more powerful, the marginal benefits of such battles declined and the costs increased even as the number of would-be rivals escalated. Just as the U.S. attracts resentment and rhetorical anti-Americanism simply by virtue of being on top, so did Jay-Z attract a disproportionate number of attackers. "I got beefs with like a hundred children" he bragged/complained on one track.

Actually, Jay-Z sort of addressed how he might handle conflicts with lesser talents in the future. Let's refer back to "Dig A Hole" from his forgettable comeback album, Kingdom Come:

You let that man hype you to go against your idol/Knowing good and goddamn well this what I do/Think I'm in the office, I lost my grind/That's how kids become orphans, you lost your mind?/I keep my enemies close/I give 'em enough rope/They put themselves in the air/I just kick away the chair ...

... Hov gon' get you, I ain't forget your little disrespect/No Hov, daddy gone spank your for that shit you said/It's hard to do, when you got nothing to prove/Everbody know you better, you in a lose lose/Even if you win, ultimately you lose/Real niggas like, "why Hov talkin to dude?"

Of course, Jay was talking to former Roc-A-Fella mates Damon Dash and Cam'ron. However, The Game fits neatly into that narrative.

The important exception: no one has ever attacked Jay, or Beyonce for that matter, in this way. Cam'ron, the one rapper who seemed best suited for that style of fight, broached the subject of Beyonce in one forgettable Jay-Z diss track - "You Gotta Love It" - but backed off in the end. Even Nas didn't resort to that line of attack in "Ether."

That's what makes this beef all the more different. Sometimes, self-restraint doesn't go quite far enough. And any dude - myself included - who has had to defend the honor of his girlfriend or wife in front of a crowd knows all about the dilemma facing Jay-Z.

Noted foreign policy expert and hip-hop scholar Matt Yglesias explains:

One thing worth noting is that even when restraint can be identified as the best strategy, it’s often emotionally difficult to choose this path. When someone comes after you, you get angry. You want to respond in an intelligent and effective manner, yes, but there’s also a desire to do something that will make you feel better. And lashing out as per the Ledeen Doctrine (”Every ten years or so, the United States needs to pick up some small crappy little country and throw it against the wall, just to show the world we mean business”) often can achieve that goal. And of course there’s a risk that members of Jay-Z’s camp who urge a policy of restraint will be accused of actively harboring pro-Game sympathies or otherwise failing to manifest a sufficient degree of loyalty.

This seems true. It's one thing to call Jay old, say his skills are eroding or to ridicule him for wearing sandals and jeans. But it's quite another to imply his wife regularly had sex with, say, Bruce Bowen, Dikembe Mutombo and Erick Dampier.

That would make me, were I her husband, righteously pissed. Not that he would dare to detail her possible sexual exploits with other men, specifically a number of NBA players. But that he would punctuate those claims by saying, and I quote, "I mean my b--h dont slang p---y like that." (Certainly, you all can fill in the blanks)

And as obtuse and temperamental as The Game might be, he is certainly a capable challenger if we learned anything from his long-running feud with 50 Cent and G-Unit. He might seem a tempting target for Jay-Z, an overmatched contender who stepped up a bit too much in class.

But Lynch advises Jay-Z to not be lured by the low-hanging fruit:

His best hope is probably to sit back and let the Game self-destruct, something of which he's quite capable (he's already backing away from the hit on Beyonce) -- while working behind the scenes to maintain his own alliance structure and to prevent any defections over to the Game's camp. And it seems that thus far, that's exactly what he's doing.

Might Jay-Z handle this himself, just in time for the September release of Blueprint 3? Might he let it pass without another word? Or might he dispatch a subordinate, someone from the Young Gunz perhaps, and let them do his dirty work?

Actually, that's more than plausible. In the past, Jay has even hinted at a preferring the use of Dick Cheney-like secret (character) assassination program, warning foes that "I'll never make the news again/my man will shoot you" in La La La (Excuse Me Again).

Either way, you have to figure The Game** might have overreached this time. It's vaguely reminiscent of Georgia's mostly unprompted military attack of South Ossetia last August. Russia came back with a massive amount of heat.

Or, to bring it back to the street - because that's really where hip-hop beefs belong - The Game seems to have written a check that his ass can't cash.

* Reading Mark Lynch's post about this beef reminded me that the best writing about hip hop often doesn't come from hip-hop media outlets anymore. It makes me sad all over again when I think about the demise of Vibe.

** It's very tough to hear The Game passionately use the word "nigger" in front of a crowd of eagerly responsive fans in Madrid. Not in Spain, yo. Please not in Spain.

Good news for the Cowboys

Bad news for everyone else who loves football and has a soul: No more JeRomo.

Tony Romo broke up with Jessica Simpson on Thursday, the night before her 29th birthday, a source close to the pop star tells PEOPLE. "She is heartbroken," says the source. "She loves Tony. But it's been difficult lately. He's busy with his career and she's getting ready to shoot her show (The Price of Beauty). They decided to part ways."

Now that he's gotten rid of Jessica, Romo enters his third season as a NFL starter without the two biggest distractions of his short career. T.O. being the other. That can't help but make him a better quarterback.

And speaking of ol' No. 81, do you realize the first NFL training camp - the Buffalo Bills - opens in 12 days? My football pants are going crazy.

Post-script: I'm sure you will all breathlessly await developments on the couple formerly known as JeRomo on their respective Twitter accounts. Here's Tony, here's Jessica. Enjoy.

Free Period

I been banging that new Mos pretty hard over the weekend. There's nothing like sunshine, free time, the First Lady, good food and better music. Then it occurred to me that Mos and Kweli will probably never make another Blackstar album, and I might never like music again the way I did in 1998:

That made me a little sad. This made me a little happier:



And without any further ado, Your Monday Random Ass Roundup has been posted over at PostBourgie. Check it out.

In this week's edition of the roundup, we cover Dick Cheney's headlong rush into supervillain status; the start of Sonia Sotomayor's confirmation hearing; lots more about the Quitta from Wasilla; the good, bad and very grotesque of Texas; interracial porn; and the rise and fall and (rise) of Stephen A. Smith.

Enjoy.

Liars, Idiots and Lying Idiots

John, guest-blogging at Eschaton, shows his work:

Everything makes sense in n-dimensional trait space.

Pot, meet Kettle

Newsweek on Michael Jackson:

The hopeless task of sculpting and bleaching yourself into a simulacrum of a white man suggests a profound loathing of blackness. If Michael Jackson couldn't be denounced as a race traitor, who could? Somehow, though, black America overlooked it, and continued to buy his records, perhaps because some African-Americans, with their hair relaxers and skin-lightening creams, understood why Jackson was remaking him-self, even if they couldn't condone it.

I see ... because, clearly, black folks are the only racial and ethnic group who have self-esteem issues or believe in the use of beauty products.

Riiiight. I never knew that using Royal Crown as a kid stemmed from some deep-seated self-hatred of my kinky hair and its African roots. Now it's all clear to me. And I only thought it was because I wanted to run a comb through my head without experiencing a world of hurt.

But if this is true - and it's not - then we need to look at the people who truly go the extra step of transforming themselves. Forget Afro-Sheen and hot combs. I won't even bother trotting out the entire tanning industry to counter that weak sauce about race traitors and such.

No, I'm talking about plastic surgery.

And what do we find? Racial and ethnic minorities, as of last year, had approximately 20 percent of all cosmetic procedures, a decrease of 1 percent from 2007: Hispanics, 8 percent; African-Americans, 6 percent; Asians, 4 percent; and other non-Caucasians, 2 percent.

Now, of course, there's certainly a few socioeconomic reasons that explain why black people don't make up a higher percentage of plastic surgery patients. You need a lot of money to fix your face. However, on the whole, you really don't see a sizable number of black people paying the ultimate price to break free of their nappy roots or ugly dark pigment.

Seriously ... the editors who allowed this paragraph into the final version of the story did the writers and their audience a serious disservice. To say that black America - and black America only, apparently - overlooked and understood Michael Jackson's increasingly grotesque physical appearance over the years is asinine.

Clearly, these writers have never seen an episode of "In Living Color":



Speaking only for myself, I could understand his physical changes in the context of the verbal and physical abuse he says he suffered at the hands of his father. And I overlooked those same changes because he was a great musician and a pop star oddity - I mean, who has time to sit around and mull over all the reasons celebrities undergo plastic surgery?

I didn't do this because I was black. And I'm certain that I wasn't alone.

A final time to Shine

Probably the best way to get to Alcorn State University is to catch a flight into Jackson, take the U.S. Highway 61 exit, drive about 40 miles and then exit onto Mississippi Highway 552 west.

Take the highway for about seven miles - just follow the signs - and you will find yourself on the campus of the nation's first ever state-supported institution for the higher education of blacks.

Not much use in gussying things up: Alcorn State is one of the few bright spots in a really bleak landscape. Lorman, the unincorporated home of Alcorn, resides in one of the nation's poorest, fattest and most depressed counties (Jefferson) in the country.

Jefferson County also has the highest percentage of blacks of any county in the nation, according to the most recent Census.

Hardly anyone gets to Alcorn State by accident. Which is why Steve McNair mattered so much to so many people, particularly lots of black people. Because he chose to go there.

This is not a post designed to rehash his career in the NFL or the increasingly sordid, sad details of his death. And this is certainly not a post meant to consider the relative merits of an education at an HBCU.

No, this post is a reminder that for a brief but brilliant and record-breaking stretch, McNair went to Alcorn State and brought the eyes of the nation with him. That, in and of itself, is a minor miracle. His old offensive coordinator once said:

"He has put Alcorn on the map. When we visit kids, recruits, it's no longer, 'Where?' but 'Oh, that's Air's school.' "

True. McNair, also known as "Shine" to family members and friends, lured me and my father to the relative football backwater of Hunstville, Texas, in the fall of 1994. McNair was fresh off his appearance of the cover of Sports Illustrated, with this improbable headline: "Hand Him The Heisman."

Anxious to see if he was worthy of the hype, my father and I made the hour-and-a-half drive to Sam Houston State University and braved what to this day remains the largest home crowd in the school's history. Now, much of the memory of that day 15 years ago, has become blurry. It only seemed like McNair threw and caught his own passes.

Alcorn State lost that day mostly because "Shine" didn't have a third arm, a third leg, couldn't block for himself and couldn't play defense. Or, rather, he probably could have but didn't. He threw for 395 yards, rushed for 46 more and was responsible for 3 touchdowns.

And, in his senior year at least, that was an off-game.

He was the real deal, and I was absolutely mesmerized.

In that Sports Illustrated article, an official with the Buffalo Bills said: "He's on the same level as the best quarterbacks I've seen since I've been scouting ... Testaverde, Bledsoe, Shuler, Mirer, Dilfer."

No. McNair was better.

But today, there's absolutely no chance that a kid with the prodigious athletic talents of young McNair would wind up in Lorman. Mississippi, Mississippi State, LSU, maybe Southern Miss ... someone would have scooped McNair up and claimed him for themselves.

To that somber reality comes ESPN's Len Pasquarelli, who believes that McNair might be the last quarterback from a black school to be a first-round draft choice:

It's been an inexorable process, one accentuated by the integration of SEC teams and the overall acceptance of the African-American athlete, but the basic quality of play in black schools has suffered. Those universities now watch prospects they might have once recruited enroll at bigger universities. Clearly, the odds are stacked against a quarterback prospect's playing at a program like Alcorn State, where McNair honed his skills.

It will take an extraordinarily talented player, as McNair was, to star at a black school, command the attention of pro scouts, and have a chance to be drafted by an NFL team in the first round. Or, for that matter, in any round.

Yes, it almost goes without saying, but "Shine" is probably the last - and greatest - of a once-proud pedigree. If you're from the South, if you're a product of an HBCU, if you're a football fan aware of how much McNair's success paved the way for other NFL teams to entrust their teams with black quarterbacks like Donovan McNabb, Michael Vick and Akili Smith, that means something.

Though maybe he didn't know it at the time, McNair couldn't afford to fail. That he did it on his own terms, picking a small black school in Mississippi when so many others would not, makes him special. It made him "Shine."

Coates explains:

It's always cool when a kid from a black college goes and does something in the NFL. I think a lot of us feel this disconnect between living in a community that produces so much football talent, and yet having universities that produce so little. Obviously there are very good reasons for why that's true. Still, when you see a Walter Payton coming out of Jackson State, or a Jerry Rice coming out of Mississippi Valley State, or a Steve McNair coming out of Alcorn, you cheer a little harder.

I'm sorry Steve McNair is dead. As an HBCUer, he was one of us. When me and Kenyatta first hooked up, I'd use Steve McNair and Peyton Manning as Exhibit A for why she should be into football.

Indeed. McNair was everything everyone said he would be. Maybe more. That's why so many people, black people especially, felt some ownership in his success. McNair was tangible proof that the poorest, fattest and, yes, blackest corner of the country could produce something more than despair.

In a way, you have to come from there to understand why that matters. A native, Dr. Saturday, said it best: "My home state doesn't generate much positive news, so we Mississippians hold the heroes we have close."

Today, McNair was buried in his hometown of Mount Olive. And once again, he brought the eyes of the nation with him - if only for a couple hours - to the easily overlooked Mississippi backcountry on a Saturday afternoon.

With his arms, legs, smarts, leadership and grit, Shine was always destined to go far. But it's no surprise that he made sure to come back.

Shots fired

The Game seems to have a problem with Jay-Z. I assume he tried to resolve the disagreement in a professional manner but was rebuffed in his efforts. The following video is definitely NSFW:



It's hard to know the proper reaction to this. If he was talking about the First Lady, I might consider a swift and certain chokehold for Jayceon Taylor. But I wonder if this is a legitimate beef or a cry for help?

h/t Shep

Not fulfilling the dream

Martellus Bennett and the "Black Olympics," featuring fried chicken, watermelon and Kool-Aid. Because, you know, black people don't actually compete in the real Olympics.

And stereotypes are funny:



Eh. I never liked the Cowboys anyway.

h/t You Been Blinded and The Big Lead.

This is why we're fat

The Chubby South:

People from Mississippi are fat. With an adult obesity rate of 33%, Mississippi has gobbled its way to the "chubbiest state" crown for the fifth year in a row, according to a new joint report by Trust for America's Health and the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. Alabama, West Virginia and Tennessee aren't far behind, with obesity rates over 30%. In fact, eight of the 10 fattest states are in the South. The region famous for its biscuits, barbecue and pecan pies has been struggling with its weight for years — but then again, so has the rest of the country. Wisconsin loves cheese, New Yorkers scarf pizza, and New Englanders have been known to enjoy a crab cake or two. So why is the South so portly?

... Southerners have little access to healthy food and limited means with which to purchase it. It's hard for them to exercise outdoors, and even when they do have the opportunity, it's so hot, they don't want to.

I might add a few other reasons: the car-centered culture and the sprawl, which both make walkable communities virtually impossible in this part of the country. I don't think I need to explain why walking, regularly, to and from work and within your community, might be healthier than relying on a air-conditioned vehicle to get around.

Because of that, over the past year or so, I've grown disenchanted with the idea of settling and raising a family in the South. This is a relatively recent development. Maybe that's because I spend two hours a day commuting to and from work. Maybe I like the idea of being able to find something to eat after 9 p.m. besides Chili's. Or maybe I like the idea of being able to walk outside without breaking out into a full-bodied sweat.

Don't get me wrong: I love the South, I love living near the best beaches in the country, I love college football, I love shrimp and grits, and I've learned to live in an uneasy peace with people who take pride in brandishing the Confederate flag.

But I've seen the toll this has taken on my waistline. I'm only 31, and I can imagine that things aren't going to get easier my lifestyle doesn't change drastically. I don't want to have to buy bigger pants or start worrying about high-blood pressure or diabetes in my 30s.

I think I want to move. Really. I fell in love with the D.C. area recently. Philly has always had an appeal to me that I can't quite explain. I love Chicago but those winters seem too brutal. The Bay Area might be out of my price range. I've heard really good things about Seattle. And I've got this inexplicable fascination with Toronto though, once again, winter would be a problem.

Should I stay or should I go?

Obama likes onions

UPDATE: Ok. On my part, at least, it was a joke. But of course, Fox News is running with this one. Nobody turns sugar to shit faster.

Hey, he did spend most of his adult life on the Southside of Chicago:

Sweet science

If there truly is an appreciable divide in this country on a number of scientific issues - global warming, evolution, federal funding for embryonic research, etc. - then I'm gonna have to say that: scientists > ordinary Americans.

Almost a third (of the general public) say human beings have existed in their current form since the beginning of time, a view held by only 2 percent of the scientists. Only about half agree that people are behind climate change, and 11 percent do not believe there is any warming at all.

According to the survey, about a third of Americans think there is lively scientific debate on both topics; in fact, there is no credible scientific challenge to the theory of evolution and there is little doubt that human activity is altering the chemistry of the atmosphere in ways that threaten global climate. (emphasis mine)

In the future, I'm prepared to cut-and-paste that second paragraph as much as necessary. You can review the results of the study here.

I've probably mentioned this before, but as a student I struggled in most of my science courses. As a result, I developed a deep appreciation for people who excelled at the sciences.

So if 51 percent of the American public isn't sure that earth is getting warmer because of human activity such as burning fossil fuels, and only 16 percent of scientists feel the same way, there's little doubt about which way I'm going to lean on the issue.

Free period

Sorry things have been so slow and, uh, light over here today and this week in general. I've been struggling post-vacation.

I got some things coming later this evening and over the weekend - particularly this Steve McNair post that I've been toying with. Please bear with me as I work to squeeze out some of these creative juices. In case you haven't noticed, when the well is dry I resort to videos and music lists.

Things ain't changed:

An indecent proposal

UPDATE: Seems like Rampage needs to be neutered. He seems to be unusually frisky. If you see him anywhere on the street, don't make eye contact with him and briskly find safe quarters.

Lucy Liu, you've been forewarned. Stay far away from this manimal:



More than ever, the moniker "Rampage" seems appropriate. h/t Sporting Blog.

On a somewhat-related note, Victoria might be the craziest Jackson of them all.

Fit for a King

Thoughts about today's memorial service? I just finished up watching a replay on VH-1 a few minutes ago.

Did anyone else feel like they experienced some Church? Or did it feel like the most somber, star-studded concert ever?

To me, the organizers seemed to hit all the notes that BET missed - badly - during its Awards Show a couple weeks ago. It was a memorial service fit for a King.

Stevie was Stevie. Usher sounded better than ever. I loved Magic's story about sharing a bucket of KFC with Michael - it was especially humanizing. Rev. Al was particularly stirring. Marlon made it a little, uh, drizzly in here.

And Paris' impromptu tribute to her father stole the show. It was touching but I really hope that's the last time we'll hear from her for quite awhile.

By the end, I felt like part of the family. To borrow a riff from Jamie Foxx, today's service proved without a doubt that Michael really did belong to us.

If only for a passing moment.