As of yesterday, for two days in a row, I'm suddenly fitting back into my smaller work pants :-)

I ordered the one-inch-larger work pants exactly six months ago yesterday. Now I don't need them!

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/citydesk/2013/05/21/photo-take-me-away/

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/citydesk/?p=101357

Good Hope Road and Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue SE, May 20

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/citydesk/2013/05/21/d-c-lawyer-sues-son-lebron-james-for-defamation/

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/citydesk/?p=101344

Washington attorney Leicester Bryce Stovell remembers that night on 1983. He was at Chinatown bar d.c. space, and he had his eye on a woman: Gloria James. He took her home, only to hear from her a few months later. She was pregnant, and planned to name the baby LeBron.

“Well, if he’s mine, make sure he plays basketball,” he told her. And Stovell's former lover agreed—that baby grew up to be Miami Heat superstar LeBron James.

Of course, according to Gloria James and a paternity test, Stovell's version of events didn't happen. Undeterred after losing a previous lawsuit over whether he is James' father, however, Stovell is back.

"I'm not certain that I'm LeBron's father—it just looks extremely likely based upon all the information that's available to me," says Stovell, who believes the NBA MVP himself tampered with the paternity test.

In a lawsuit filed this month, Stovell argues that his "son" has defamed him by telling a Sports Illustrated reporter that his father abandoned him. Because of coverage of the previous lawsuit, people naturally assume that Stovell is the father in question, injuring his credibility practicing law, according to the suit.

"My father wasn't around when I was a kid," James says in the Sports Illustrated interview at the center of the case. Stovell argues that because people believe he is James' father, clients have refused to hire him for some legal work. In fact, Stovell says, it's not his fault—he had no idea until a few years ago that he could be James' father.

Stovell wants $1 million in damages from his purported son. James' attorney declined to comment on the lawsuit.

Stovell may not have the paternity test on his side, but he does have the testimony of Rolando Pharr, an Akron, Ohio, man who claims to have worked with James' mother when the future basketball player was a child. In a deposition included in the lawsuit, Pharr claims that Gloria James told him her son's father's name, which, Pharr reacted to as "a fucked up name." That "fucked up name," Pharr realized a few years ago, was none other than Leicester Bryce Stovell.

And Pharr should know about James—he's one of six Ohio men in a group called Free Afrika who claim have to participated in a "Dr. J Christening" of a young James. And what's a "Dr. J Christening"? A polygraph examination of Pharr, included as evidence in Stovell's lawsuit, explains:

Did you raise LeBron James in the "Kunta Kinte" style three separate times and say, "I christen thee the next Dr. J" each time?

Answer: Yes

Did the members of Free Afrika toast LeBron, "To the next Dr. J" after the second time you raised him up?

Answer: Yes

In exchange for performing the christening, the participants claim in a video unrelated to Stovell's lawsuit that they deserve $6 million from James and his mother.

But while Pharr may looking for a payday, Stovell says his own investigation is about family. "It's fundamentally my attitude towards families and family relationships," he says. "I think they are immensely important things for everyone and I think there's a moral dimension to how we treat these relationships."

Photo courtesy of Leicester Bryce Stovell

Homeland security is literally raiding mall kiosks for counterfeit mechandise. Glad we got this terrorism under control!

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I totally rocked the morning meeting for us, PMO, and client. Impressed everyone with my tool no one told me to create. Hubris rising.

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#thatwouldmakeagreatbandname Peanut Butter Touchpad

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http://rudepundit.blogspot.com/2013/05/dear-conservatives-fuck-your-delicate.html

Dear Conservatives: Fuck Your Delicate Sensibilities:
Oh, dear, sweet, unstable conservatives, we know that your outrage detectors are set to go off at the drop of a feather. Your brains now work like this: "Obama farted near Netanyahu? Why does he want Iran to enslave Israel?" And one of the ways in which you get your blood all het up is leapin' at and yappin' how evil liberals are exploiting a tragedy for political gain. In the aftermath of the Newtown massacre, it was wrong, according to you, to talk about gun control. Now, in the wake of the nightmarish destruction of the Moore tornado, you tell us it's wrong to talk about climate change and it's wrong to say things that mock right-wing responses to other tragedies. We should wait, you say, wait until the bodies are recovered, the bodies are buried, the bodies are mourned. Of course, even when politicians and pundits wait, you then say that they are exploiting a tragedy for political gain. Like 9/11. Oh, wait. That was you, so it doesn't count, of course, sorry, forgot.

Let the Rude Pundit clarify this for you in simple language: You don't get to dictate the terms of public rhetoric. You don't get to make the timeline. Fuck your delicate sensibilities, you hypocritcal scat players.

Yesterday, Rhode Island Senator Sheldon Whitehouse, a Democrat, gave a passionate speech on climate change on the floor of the Senate. In it, he went after big polluters and big organizations who deny climate change: "Like the heads of Hydra, they may look like many, but in reality it’s all the same beast. It’s all the same scheme. It’s all the same money behind the scheme. You can name those front organizations, and many more, but none of it is real. They’re all just part of the same cheesy vaudeville show put on by the big polluters." Whitehouse was practically begging Republicans to come into the fold and help on environmental issue:

"In this corner, the Joint Chiefs, the bishops, Walmart, Ford, Apple, Coke, NASA, thirty top scientific organizations, the top insurers and reinsurers, and by the way several thousand legitimate others.

"In that corner, the polluting industry and a screen of sketchy organizations they fund.

"Let’s be serious. Do you really want to bet the reputation of the Republican Party that the polluters are the ones we should count on here? ‘Cause that’s what you’re doing."

It was a plea for sanity, for the Republican Party to start giving a shit again. Oh, and in a list of recent climate-related disasters, Whitehouse mentioned "cyclones" in Oklahoma. Oklahoma and its tornadoes made up less than ten words of the speech.

So, of course, the headline at The Daily Caller (motto: "My goodness, Tucker Carlson looks bloated") was "Democratic Senator uses Okla. tornado for anti-GOP rant over global warming." And the Washington Times and the usual monsters piled on, with one blog saying that liberals were "using the bodies of dead children" for their "cause." Because a conservative would never do that when talking about other issues, like abortion.

Why is it that when conservatives cite death and destruction to further their agenda, it's okay? 'Cause, see, the Rude Pundit's not really sure what the difference is, politically, between, for instance, gun control advocates using Newtown to call for bans on weapons and magazines and gun nuts using it to call for more guns in schools. Can anyone explain that? No, you can't. Because conservatives clutch their pearls and hankies and head for the fainting couch made of outrage and hate whenever someone suggests that an awful event might mean we need to change how we behave.

So, for instance, how is Whitehouse using the tornado-murdered children (which he pretty much didn't) to further his agenda, but Sen. Tom Coburn, Republican ogre from Oklahoma, isn't when he says that he'll call for budget cuts to offset the cost of disaster aid to his state's aching citizens? Isn't Coburn standing on the bloodied ruins of an elementary school and declaring that his fiscal ideology is more important than his constituents' pain? Hey, if nothing else, Coburn is a consistent cockknob, unlike his fellow senator, the inflamed hemorrhoid known as James Inhofe.

The slavering watchdogs of the right, best represented by whatever the fuck Twitchy is, are always ready to attack, like brainless zombies on a feeding frenzy. The Rude Pundit witnessed it in real time last night and today when his friend, the comedian/activist (and Daily Show co-creator) Lizz Winstead, tweeted, "This tornado is in Oklahoma so clearly it has been ordered to only target conservatives." It was a jab at both the ludicrous right-wing mania over the IRS faux-scandal and a smack at evangelicals who say that sinful places, like New Orleans, get Gomorrahed by giant storms.

Picked up by various conservative outlets, including the thoroughly worthless used cum-rag, The Daily Mail, Winstead faced a storm of attacks on Twitter, which no doubt included calling her a "cunt," a "bitch," and all kinds of things (the Rude Pundit's been through the Twitchy blender before and, truly, they are drooling madhouse denizens attempting to cobble together words into a cogent thought).

Winstead apologized, saying that she didn't know how devastating the tornado was when she made the joke. Fuck, even Glenn Beck told people to back off. But the attacks on Winstead continue unabated, the bloodlust of the right knowing no bounds when it comes to 140 character threats and insults.

Hang in there, Lizz.  These worms of hate will crawl back into the dirt soon.

Time and again, conservatives tell us how outraged they are at liberal reactions to events, as if the only proper way to react is the one they deem so. The Rude Pundit is reminded of a time that he was visiting Chichen Itza, the Mayan ruins in the Yucatan. He was with his then-partner and his then-partner's family. His partner's father was incensed that the Rude Pundit wasn't wandering around with his jaw open, in awe, oohing and cooing at the scenery. Actually, the Rude Pundit was taking it in, quietly, thinking about civilizations crumbling and disappearing. He was moved, not in awe of the architecture and the view, but in awe of what it meant, something deeper and more meaningful than simple reaction.

Events should teach us something more, not just "shit happens."

I love how a $5K raise equals $1K more actual money, after tax went up for everybody. Thanks Congress. THANKS OBAMA.

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http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheVinylDistrict/~3/LpheHJsC8js/

http://www.thevinyldistrict.com/?p=214987

Here at TVD HQ, music arrives daily. By the minute, by the hour, perhaps too much. So, when asked to premiere a track, the thinking is well, this really needs to be outstanding. Which is why we’re delighted to premiere “The Salt” from San Francisco’s There’s Talk. Because it is. Outstanding.—Ed.

“The first time I heard a record on vinyl wasn’t a fidelity explosion or an old classic that I’d grown up listening to with my parents. It was at a friend’s house, on a small plastic turntable with a built in speaker. I stared at the spinning, proceeding to listen until the repetition of silence snapped me out of my entrancement by the sorcery of it all. I thought then that I’d been doing it wrong all along.”

“In fact, I probably listened to music the backwards way growing up—mostly highly compressed singles and samples until a band intrigued me into exploring their catalog properly. Death Cab for Cutie was probably one of the first to get me to practice otherwise. That band got me through some shit. I remember closing my child eyes to Transatlanticism, thinking, “This is what heartbreak must feel like.”

Had I’d known of future heart-wrenching to punch me in the throat from For Emma, Forever Ago, I’d have warmed up with some Elliot Smith and a tub of ice cream. I’m convinced Justin Vernon sings on the borderline inaudible with intent, as if to make it an option for you—that if you cared to listen deeply enough you could take him in steps when ready, allowing yourself eventually to become fully disarmed. That and he probably wouldn’t want to scare you away so soon.

I also remember Bjork (circa swan dress days) really opening my eyes to the power of honest eccentricity. It’s as if every beat, shout, and stutter is a feeling spoken in tongues. As did Sufjan Stevens. Illinois was one of the first records I had the pleasure to revisit on vinyl and it blew my mind.

I had this dream of pressing my first release on vinyl. It’s hard to say exactly why. It’s probably not a smart investment. I just thought it would be important and I wanted to allow someone that ritualistic experience and encourage listening all the way through.

I don’t know, if it doesn’t work out at least I’ll have a couple boxes of records to remind me that I dared to dream, once.”
—Olivia Lee, There’s Talk

There’s Talk debut EP, “Tiny Strands” will be released in July 2013.

There’s Talk Official | Facebook | Twitter

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http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheVinylDistrict/~3/l8Kbv0ssgmc/

http://www.thevinyldistrict.com/?p=214950

“My parents grew up on opposite sides of the globe, coming from different circumstances and world-views. Despite their life’s hardships and trials, music was salvation even in the most remote of places.”

“My mother recounts growing up in the 60s and 70s in the Cayman Islands where the rest of the world seemed like a distant dream and records were a rare treasure, brought home by the men at sea and visitors from far away. She danced to the sounds of Harry Belafonte, The Beach Boys, and Bob Marley.

Meanwhile, my father was a teenager in war-torn Lebanon, saving up for his first record player. He couldn’t afford to purchase the whole thing at once, so he bought it in pieces. First came an Akai turntable which sat there for nearly a month while he and his brother saved up for the amplifier and speakers. Abba, The Bee Gees, and Baccara were among his best-loved records, as well as Boney M.’s hit single “Rasputin” which he adored, partly because it was banned in Russia. He and his brother would play their favorite tracks over and over again until my grandmother yelled at them to change the song.

At home, in a small mountain village overlooking Beirut, my father sought peace and refuge between fighting at the front line. It’s painful to imagine him at fifteen, a child soldier caught in the midst of a civil war. But during periods of ceasefire he would return home and join his friends at a house party. With a disco ball setting the scene, kids would bring bags of their favorite records to play. Once the Walkman came out they could bring the disco with them to the frontline. While my father waited behind sandbags with the other boys, he listened to mix-tapes of Tom Jones, The Bee Gees, Charles Aznavour, Chris de Burgh, and Fairuz. “When you put the Walkman in your ears you went to another world…” he says with a smile.

When I listen to his stories I am reminded of the immense power music has to lift the soul from suffering. I imagine those young boys bobbing their heads to “Stayin’ Alive” on their Walkmans as they envisioned themselves elsewhere; perhaps at a disco party.

My parents met at university in Texas, and afterwards they moved back to the Cayman Islands where I was raised. Although it had changed dramatically from when my mother was young, it was still “the Island that time forgot” in so many ways. I played on the beach and immersed myself in music. Throughout high school, I dreamed of travel and music was my ticket through which I discovered the world. I remember finding a few dusty records my parents had but never had a way to play them.

Instead, I spent hours playing classical piano and listening through my CDs and cassette tapes. When I graduated, my wanderlust and desire to learn took me far from home and I haven’t stopped moving since. I spent the first couple years studying theatre in New York City, and then I went on to Cardiff University in Wales where I got my Bachelor of Arts degree in Music. After traveling and living on “the old continent” I moved to San Diego, California where the adventure continues.

The years I spent abroad gave me an enormous appreciation for my parents and the peaceful childhood I had in Cayman. Those old records, which perplexed me as a child, now hold an entirely different meaning. It’s easy to take for granted the music on an endless play-list, which mindlessly plays in the background as I go through my day to day. But I’m grateful to have rediscovered an art to listening.

The ceremony of playing a record now is a beautiful thing. When I gather with friends to place the needle on the vinyl, I remember my mother and my father and their music. As the record spins in the fast pace-motion of today’s technology, we slow down and lose ourselves in the music and the great escape.”
—Natasha Kozaily

Natasha Kozaily Official | Facebook | Twitter

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