For two leagues that are predominantly Black and brown, and in a country that pays Black women 64 cents to every dollar paid a white male, the NBA is uniquely positioned to make one of the boldest statements regarding women’s and civil rights that this nation — this planet — has ever seen.
Since George Floyd’s murder caught national attention, discussions around issues of race and gender have suddenly become much more candid, and seemingly much less ephemeral. We may actually be our closest to finally getting that boulder over the hill than we’ve been in this nation’s history. Seriously.
I almost chose to sit this eulogy out. I mean, transparently, making fun of Kobe’s eccentricities has been a favorite pastime of mine for two decades. His scuffle with Chris Childs remains quality content, to this day. He semi-pursued a music career, and enlisted Tyra Banks for his only single. I used to make fun of his mini-fro just because I thought it looked dumb. (In hindsight, he started the era of the thot fro twenty years ago. A man truly ahead of his time.)
It sucks that Professor Morrison’s passing was the spark I needed to write for myself again, but I’d be a hypocrite considering her a role model and mentor while continuing to be so passive about my truest passion. I know I’m a damn good writer, because I wouldn’t have launched this project if I didn’t. I can’t be a writer if I, er, don’t write. The plainest truths are often redundant that way.
A co-worker and I were discussing the toxic traits that people often bring into a relationship and he gave an example of a person’s “fuckboy”-ness. Alarmed by his example, I felt compelled to a self-examination of my own.
Could I be a fuckboy?
Major shoutout to Blake Hall and Fresh Never Fades Clothing for the launch of their 2018 Collection 1!
I’ve been crafting my personal brand around the aesthetic that I’d like WSH to exude — clean, refined, much cooler and over everything than you’d believe — and while it can be fun to play that character on Twitter and Instagram, it’s a weird feeling to consider how detached our two personalities can be. Not entirely disparate, mind you; I’d never accuse anyone of faking for likes and retweets. But we’ve all now become curators of our personal running diaries, for better or worse. Can’t blame a curator for exercising creative control, can you? That's precisely why my Twitter drafts folder is pouring over at the moment. Creative control.
Sure, continue to ignore all the intentional system failures harming people of color in the name of pretending we don’t have a legitimate gripe. Let’s also pretend these wealthy, black athletes weren’t dead broke once-upon-a-time, because in this fantasy, they shouldn’t complain about anything! They don’t have it bad at all! Or — even better — let’s continue to pretend that America has this spotless history, that the many terrible things happening right now in the United States — white supremacist rallies, mass shootings by domestic terrorists, the election of an incompetent imbecile to run the country — are just aberrations and not the byproduct of backlash from the eight years prior, anger not only of a black man being President, but of him being damned good at it, too.
Netflix was kind enough to give us 90 minutes of their reunion. I need that unreleased footage though, and sooner-than-later.
I always fancied one day owning that house, despite my dad’s disbelief I’d ever want to live there. I also thought I’d have him for at least another 20 years, so consider how my feelings for that place soon changed once he was no longer in it. Had I bought the house from my dad or had he gifted it to me, that would’ve been ideal. But it felt weird knowing that house could exist without him, if that makes sense. I hated walking in that door, I dreaded going into his basement, I’d go into the kitchen and start daydreaming about the fake wrestling matches we’d have, I’d look inside his bedroom and notice one side of the bed hasn’t been touched because, oh yeah, only one person sleeps in that bed now.
About three months ago, I considered shuttering the website. In many ways, and for a number of reasons, my confidence was shot. I hadn't written a thing in months, and the whole project was starting to feel like an enormous and expensive waste of time. I’ve never been big on asking God for signs, but that day, I prayed during lunch that God reveal to me whether W S H was still worth the effort.
I give my grandma a hug and kiss before I leave the house. “Bye, Granny. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Don’t forget this address and this phone number, now.”
“I won’t, Granny. I promise.”
This is all to say, social media ... I don't know what social media is. I'm sitting here trying to articulate it perfectly, and nothing's coming. People can say pretty much whatever they want, and I'm forced to respect that because our country's constitution promises freedom of speech to us all. What I cannot and will not respect, however, are people whose political views are so dangerously incorrect. There is what looks to be a calculated and concerted effort to execute black people happening in front of me, and I'm supposed to care that two rich people don't want to live together any more? You cannot be serious.
Over the last five years, I've seen many young men purchase their outfits right off the mannequins or copy looks from Instagram or straight out of a magazine. They see a look they think is dope and run with it without taking the time to customize it to their own style.
The second semester of my senior year, I signed up for African-American Literature from 1940 to the Prresent, and the assigned final project was for each student to develop his or her own African-American literary canon - the works we believed were most indicative of whatever we individually thought a black literary canon set out to achieve. My thesis was that the African-American literary canon details a quest for authenticity and self-honesty in the face of a power structure demanding assimilation and acquiescence.
Over two years later, I stand behind that thesis and the works I selected for my canon, but the internet is the internet, so I expect some disagreements on my picks. If you feel so inclined to let me know you disagree, the comments section is open for your convenience. Enjoy.
My nephew likely can't remember a time when a black man wasn't running this country. All of my nieces were born in this midst of this presidency. As a kid, I'd always been told I could be whatever I wanted to be – even the president. They've got the last 8 years as proof.
Cursory acknowledgment somehow meets their -ism threshold. "I occasionally say nice things about these people; therefore, I can't be racist! I can't be sexist! I love gay people! They're the best!" There's a tolerance there, but not an acceptance. To accept would beget a willingness to share. And the closer we inch toward true equity actually bound to law, the angrier the cult seems to get.
Pretending Flint is some land far far away only makes me something of an accomplice to the crime. What am I doing to rectify the situation? How can I be of service? Is there something in my experience as a Detroiter that I can apply to what's happening there? I wasn't thinking about any of that. I just didn't want to know. I actively chose ignorance, and I'm not proud of it in the slightest.
Eight days ago, I stood in a pulpit and eulogized my father.
Considering the current state of affairs, I have no clue when I'll be able to write something original. I'm hoping it'll be next week, but I'm fully prepared for this to take some time. In the interim, I'm going to share what I hope was a decent eulogy. This one won't be as melancholy as the first, I promise.
Russell Westbrook played basketball with an almost pathological belief in his ability. It made him an MVP, phenomenon, contradiction — and absolutely impossible to ignore.
Twenty years after the greatest regular season in franchise history and 22 since their last world title, this generation’s Stones are back in their familiar role as league spoilers.
For two leagues that are predominantly Black and brown, and in a country that pays Black women 64 cents to every dollar paid a white male, the NBA is uniquely positioned to make one of the boldest statements regarding women’s and civil rights that this nation — this planet — has ever seen.
Crazy enough, what might be the most stable organization in the National Basketball Association, that franchise roughly 400 miles to the north of Chino Hills, is in pole position to bring LaMelo Ball in the fold. And maybe even crazier, I think he’s the obvious choice for the Golden State Warriors in this year’s NBA draft.
I almost chose to sit this eulogy out. I mean, transparently, making fun of Kobe’s eccentricities has been a favorite pastime of mine for two decades. His scuffle with Chris Childs remains quality content, to this day. He semi-pursued a music career, and enlisted Tyra Banks for his only single. I used to make fun of his mini-fro just because I thought it looked dumb. (In hindsight, he started the era of the thot fro twenty years ago. A man truly ahead of his time.)
It’s insane LeBron continues to play these 48-minute games in Season 15, but I have no reason to believe he’ll slow down, either. And, to his credit, he has a short memory: for better or worse, he’ll be kicking the ball to Earl for open 3s on Sunday as if nothing happened tonight. He doesn’t really have a choice, no. But I’m not doubting the guy again.
On October 27, 2012, around 6PM London time, I learned the Thunder traded James Harden to the Houston Rockets. The Thunder vaguely claimed they were unable to reach an agreement on a contract extension; James was seeking a maximum contract of $60 million over 4 years, which the Thunder countered by asking him to take a $4.5 million discount. The Thunder traded away their third head over a mid-level exception.
Having watched an inordinate amount of hoop this year (shoutout to my Warriors-exclusive League Pass subscription), I think I’m around 77% qualified to tick off who I believe should make this year’s All-Star team. Plus, I needed to get my selections on the website before the official choices for the game's starters come out in like five minutes. Drumroll, please...
Sure, continue to ignore all the intentional system failures harming people of color in the name of pretending we don’t have a legitimate gripe. Let’s also pretend these wealthy, black athletes weren’t dead broke once-upon-a-time, because in this fantasy, they shouldn’t complain about anything! They don’t have it bad at all! Or — even better — let’s continue to pretend that America has this spotless history, that the many terrible things happening right now in the United States — white supremacist rallies, mass shootings by domestic terrorists, the election of an incompetent imbecile to run the country — are just aberrations and not the byproduct of backlash from the eight years prior, anger not only of a black man being President, but of him being damned good at it, too.
Oklahoma City had been blessed with THREE generational talents, plus a guy overqualified to be a team's fourth option, and have absolutely nothing to show for it. You need luck to win a title, sure, but that luck seemed to come in the players they'd been gifted. And they blew it.
I don’t know if these really classify at ‘hot takes.’ I’d consider these more as thoughts I had entering the game and observations made during. I really wanted to write all of these in the immediate aftermath of the game, but I figured giving myself a day or two to sit on them might prove that these thoughts were far more emotional than logical.
A month later, and naw. I believe everything I thought then and that I’ll write now. But, some of you might view these as still very scorching opinions here, and the catchphrase ‘hot take’ seems good for clickbait, but whatever. To begin:
Year after year after year, the Tigers have gone after the "superstar" deemed necessary to get us over the proverbial hump: Dontrelle Willis, Prince Fielder, David Price. Still no rings to show for it.
I can safely say I watched more Warriors game than Pistons and Thunder games combined this season, cackling at the screen like a madman, in total disbelief of what I'm watching. I expect every three-pointer to drop, every ridiculous floater to somehow amount to two points. And half the time, they do. Must be a wonderful feeling to know you've got a fifty percent chance of success when you play the way he does. It just doesn’t make much sense.
I cannot remember the first time I'd heard about you, but I know it was while I was super young. I'd never heard a name like yours, and I thought it was so dope. Chauncey Billups. I rooted for you to be good because you have one of the greatest names ever. I was a simple kid.
Christmas 1999, my dad and stepmom got me NBA Courtside for Nintendo 64 with the cover athlete being none other than a 19-year-old Kobe Bean Bryant. Granted, I’d never really seen the guy play, but my 7-year-old mind couldn’t comprehend the hype. His afro looked stupid. He didn’t even start. He played for the Lakers. His afro looked really really stupid. On this side of the country, I watched Grant Hill and Vince Carter and Allen Iverson get buckets and, from my perspective, Kobe couldn’t have been any better than them. What had this dude done to deserve a video game cover?
Dive into the best of 2023 with Masego, Don Toliver, Victoria Monet, Baby Keem, Metro Boomin, and more. These artists define the year's sound in our exclusive rankings.
All things considered, Big Sean probably couldn’t have made this version of Detroit 2 three years ago. Patience is a virtue, and I’m willing to wager he learned that one from the city he calls home.
If you’ve read my past musings, you probably have a pretty good understanding of my taste, and this list is sure to follow suit. As a quick disclaimer, please do not mistake this list of my personal preferences as a ranking of the best, whatever that means. I haven’t watched that many movies, but I’ve watched just enough to build out a list of films I’ve repeatedly returned to last decade as my clear-cut favorites. Here we go:
Triumphant yet grateful, Nip allowed a brief, rare moment to enjoy the fruits of his labor, decking his grandma out in a Puma sweatsuit and bringing her aboard his private jet to enjoy a glass of champagne as visual representation of the generational change he’s providing, even after death. I hate it that Nipsey Hussle died so young. I hate that he died at his happiest even more.
Keep the Change will inspire you to transform your dreams into reality. Considering the price of music streaming, this project is a true bargain. You normally don’t get this type of game in a place like Detroit without losing a lot of money — or worse.
Long story short: pulling together my five favorite music projects of 2018 was a struggle. Hopefully you’re able to find something new.
The Playa Haters’ Ball is easily one of the best in show history. I cannot understand how fans of Chappelle fail to discuss this sketch when talking about its most memorable moments. The skit’s humor is rooted in how natural it all feels, the chemistry between these friends and just naturally funny people fueling the bulk of it.
On Back to Cool, Willie Mac Jr. tutors listeners in the art of maintaining individual thought on the way to achieving life’s complex goals, skillfully satisfying the desire we all have to remain unique while showing the benefits of leadership and collaboration. Luckily, class isn’t quite full yet, so grab a seat and learn something.
With vivid detail, enthusiastic candor, and — frankly — better philosophical fluidity than most of today’s elected officials, their bars provide a genuinely sound logic for everybody: for teenagers seeking their purpose, students struggling with academia, politicians trying to make the world a better place, and parents simply hoping to connect with their children.
This is “know yourself; know your worth” years before Aubrey said it, “if you don’t want me, then don’t talk to me” without any of Fantasia’s heartbreak. Beyoncé doesn’t need you. Don’t you ever for a second get to thin... wait, that’s an entirely different song. Regardless, you get the point.
Ironically — or maybe not — their beef came at the apex of each rappers’ career: Paper Trail is T.I.’s last #1 album on the Billboard Hot 100, and Shawty Lo never saw that kind of mainstream attention on his music again. I might’ve found Tip’s responses petty, but he probably saw a guy he knew and respected and, most importantly, wanted his spot; this guy from down the block might’ve never held T.I.’s universal appeal, but he could threaten his neighborhood status, and that was enough to merit comebacks that were, frankly, mean.
You want to see the exact moment Lil Wayne becomes a supernova? Here it is, right here.
Now into my mid-20s, it’s clear The Boondocks might always remain culturally and socially relevant, or at least until I’m older. Disagree? "The Trial of Robert Kelly" is the second episode the show ever produced; 12 years later, R. Kelly is still free and was recently accused of holding teenage girls captive in an Atlanta compound. Still relevant.
I often struggle with picking a definitive list of my favorite movies, but on today, here’s the shortlist: Silence of the Lambs, The Godfather, and Coming to America. I could easily write an argument for the greatness of Silence of the Lambs or The Godfather, but the clear underdog in my top-three is Coming to America. This is completely unfair, however, and thus why I want to discuss why Coming to America is an undeniable masterpiece that doesn’t get nearly enough credit.
Migos aren’t clones of anyone. They are three unique and versatile personalities capable both of producing cohesive projects and impressive individual efforts. And their differences — however minor they appear to be — are likely the key to their brilliance as a collective.
No guests this year — just me. (Here’s your chance to tiptoe out the back door.) Per the title, this year’s piece will be far less “scientific” than the first two. I’m way too behind on music to pretend like I’m some sort of expert this year, so consider this a list of my personal favorites. I mean, I think I know a little bit about song construction and stuff, so I’d hope nobody sees this and finds me completely insane for some of these choices. As always, I take this project as seriously as I (think I) should, and I’d love to get your feedback on my picks and even see your “best songs” lists, as well.
Netflix was kind enough to give us 90 minutes of their reunion. I need that unreleased footage though, and sooner-than-later.
Love Jones debuted in theaters on March 14, 1997, in the midst of what I’d argue is a peak in Black cinema. Although this renaissance arguably begins as far back as the late-1980s, the Black romance films of the mid-1990s introduce this extremely wild concept of young, successful, upwardly-mobile African-Americans having the same love issues as, you know, everybody else.
I do believe Sean was always cognizant of the lack of respect he’d be given in comparison with his contemporaries, but it’s clear now that he doesn’t care. He beat the odds: he’s made it to his fourth album while a ton of his peers have been one-and-done, if they even get that far.
Last year’s Highly Scientific Ranking of the Year’s Best Songs featured me and me alone. This time, I’ve asked some writer friends to join the fun. Among these friends are academics and professional writers and folks tied into the industry, but most importantly, they are very good people with musical tastes I’ve always respected. I can’t thank them enough for their help with this article, and I’m grateful that folks – friends or not – want their writing on my little startup website.
Since releasing Here I Stand, an distinctly mature album for a then-29-year-old, Usher has seemingly chosen to age backwards. Up until Hard II Love, each attempt felt clunky and, even worse, contrived.
Food & Liquor quickly became the soundtrack of my freshman year of high school. I’m terrible at rapping, but I’ve always fancied myself a poet; I love crafting the perfect sentence, and it was clear this not-tough nerd from Chicago loved words just as much – if not more – than this not-tough nerd from the westside of Detroit.
Once upon a time, my four favorite people on this earth were Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, my dad, and Whitney Houston, in that order. And just like I thought folks had to choose between 'Pac and Big or Bow Wow and Lil Romeo, I figured I couldn't like both Mike and Prince.
Oddly enough, I wasn't very pressed to hear Kendrick Lamar's project, and I didn't have very high expectations for Collegrove, either.
Nope. The only one I absolutely needed to hear is the one you've probably never heard about.
My top-ten and top-five are pretty solid for the most part, but my favorite rap group has been a lot harder to pin down. My boyfriend has expressed that I can love both equally and no one is forcing me to choose but let’s be honest... that’s impossible. I love them both too much to not have a clear decision, but declaring one over the other seems just as unfair. It’s like having two boyfriends, they both satisfy you fully but in different ways, and you NEED both to be fulfilled but inside you still know you need to be faithful to only one (I would imagine, anyway). To break this down this down further I won’t compare the two groups and I won’t go in depth with each album (even though I could). I will, however, express what they mean me to in order to convey this, if only for my own understanding.
ANTi is Rihanna’s eighth studio release, and she came back to let us know that reinvention is still her strong suit, and her growth is only beginning. As a listener I find it difficult, if not impossible not to incorporate every song into my overall opinion of an album, so we’ll be taking this ride track-by-track.
I haven't seen enough (read: any) Sisqó profiles, and I say that without a hint of sarcasm. It's been a peculiar yet somehow satisfying career to watch.
I’ve been making year-end playlists for a few years now. It’s a really fun exercise. Every now and again, you’ll see a song that you downloaded in January and can’t believe that song came out in the same calendar year as a song that came out 2 weeks ago. My only general qualification for this project is that the song be on an album that came out in 2015. I picked 100 songs to start, cut that down to 40, and finished with 17 — 7 honorable mentions, and a top-10 I painstakingly ranked. Really, painstakingly. It hurt me to cut some of the songs. But, tough decisions had to be made and whatnot. So, without further ado, the honorable mentions, in no particular order:
When did Late Registration become this underrated?
Willie Bell did not abide cutting corners, and it’s that pride she demanded in both our output and overall character that I’ve strived towards since choosing this craft as my life’s passion.