The Most Overrated Hip-Hop Track of All Time

I'm about to get crucified, so let me clarify.  It is a GREAT song.  I love it.  But it gets so much love from people of a certain age as the GREATEST hip-hop track ever that it's high time someone stepped in to stop the madness.

"T.R.O.Y." is NOT the greatest hip-hop track ever.

I mean, it's just a guy talking about his family and growing up, which in no way goes with the producer's central conceit, which is about the passing of a loved one.  The beat IS an all-time classic, but the rhymes are not, and, again, they don't match one another.

But that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy it.  A lot.

The Politics of NBA Late Game Hero Ball

Note: Official TWEDP Bee Correspondent Sarah Dougherty is late to file her report on the Denver Basebee Controversy.  We apologize for the delay but are happy to bring you more of the usual nonsense.

This post is for the homie Bernard, who requested we discuss the ridiculous role of narrative in the way people think about and cover the NBA.  Basically, Kobe Bryant is clutch and Lebron James chokes, and YOU MUST BELIEVE THIS.  You must believe this because everyone knows it's true. You must believe this even though every statistical measure we have shows that Kobe shoots a laughably low percentage and turns the ball over way too much in crunch time and OMG FIVE RINGS DUDE WHY YOU HATIN?  You must believe this even though Lebron seems to nail a clutch shot or three in just about every playoff series his team wins and all the stats show that he is one of the best clutch performers in the league.

Thing is, Bernard, I don't really have a whole lot to say that hasn't been said recently.  For one thing, after Kobe singlehandedly lost Game 2 against the Thunder Wednesday night, even ESPN stated the obvious.

Also, I've decided I'm out on Lebron-as-meme.  Those who frequent the circus know that I've been one of Lebron's staunchest defenders, but as part of letting go of my attachment to OKP, I'm letting go of my defense of Lebron and trying to see him as the player he really is.  What he is: one the greatest players we've ever seen who falters ever so slightly in clutch moments.  It's not a lot.  If Greg Norman is a 10, Lebron is a 3.  It's slight enough that it only takes him from the best player in the league down to, oh, like a top 10 player in clutch situations.  Also, he's not doomed to choke forever.  As the greatest living sportswriter point out, his choking seems to be a recent development, so we can hope he grows out of it.  

But right now?  Yes, Lebron shrinks a little bit from the moment.  Whatever.  I don't care as much anymore.  The Heat are going to lose to the Pacers.  It's not Lebron's fault, because Bosh is hurt, Wade is old, and everyone else on his team sucks, but Lebron deserves it, because he made his Decision.  He's obviously not having fun, and the Heat are a miserable basketball team to watch right now.  I can't be bothered.

Bring on Thunder/Spurs, which should be epic.

Yoga as Identity

When I tell people I do yoga, I'm always surprised at how many of them are apologetic that they, too, do not do yoga, as if failing to do yoga was some type of sin.  After a conversation last week, I think I finally understand this reaction.  The general bobo population may be used to aggressive missionary sermons from yogis about how awesome yoga is.

But that begs another question.  Why would so many yogis care if other people did yoga?  It's hard enough to find a space for your mat at the 5:45 class at the World's Greatest Yoga Studio.

The Babarazzi hit on part of the answer with their hilarious and scathing discussion of asana as signifier.  If my experience is any guide, yoga can become a central part of one's identity very quickly.    The Spectacle recognizes this and has developed numerous ways for yogis to signify to the outside world that they are serious about this yoga thing.  You can practice on your Manduka mat in your Lulu pants and hit Whole Foods for some quinoa on the way home.  The capitalist pig dogs will nod earnestly until you turn around, then chuckle and count the money.  The Spectacle has plenty of non-financial ways to participate, like fancy asanas or (ahem) blogging.  As long as you're worried about whether others regard you as a serious yogi (or a serious sports fan or faberge egg collector or whatever), you're firmly caught in the Spectacle's web, and It's pretty sure you'll eventually buy stuff.

While the Babarazzi nailed the diagnosis, their bedside manner is shit.  The problem with so much cultural criticism is that it's wrapped in so much hipster condescension, as if the authors can't believe that anyone would be so lame as to care what other people think.  Caring what other people think is a natural urge that is essential to any effort to establish community.  Yes, capitalism exploits that urge.  Yes, people fall for the capitalist commodity version of community and everything else over the real thing way, way too frequently.  But, like, shouldn't those of us who recognize that cycle want to help break it?  Shouldn't we want to help people experience the real benefits of yoga, one of which is that you can stop caring so much about hitting a handstand?  If so, snark is a bad idea, because snark alienates.  When I act superior, I am not likely to be heard or respected.

And truth be told, looking down your nose at people who try too hard to show how yoga they are is a pretty effective way to communicate to others how yoga you are.

For whatever my amateur opinion is worth, my answer to both the problem the Babarazzi diagnosed and the problem with the diagnosis is to let go.  You don't need Lulu to practice, and you don't need to condescend to point people on the right path.

And now, for no reason, hilarity.