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ATG sizes it all up.

Tomorrow, the World Fucking Cup (WFC) begins in South Africa. The thought of typing up a "WFC for Dummies" guide seemed appropriate but, more than likely, you've read such a document in ESPN, Sports Illustrated, Slate, Time, Newsweek or other formidable publications.

ATG will not provide banal analysis and default to Spain or Brazil. I won't explain why Brazilian athletes have one name. I won't compare and qualify a sport by putting it in perfect, hilarious American context. Rather, I'll advocate total immersion and dissect your barriers to total immersion.

Enjoy the globe-stopping tournament. Hopefully at a trendy, hip, American bar full of pseudo-intellectuals more than happy to break down the offsides rules.

ATG sizes it all up.

A quick salute is needed on behalf of the culture FBO the state of Arizona's stupefying, blatant, misguided outburst of overt racism. Arizona legislators and sympathizing citizens, you shells of ignorance really don't know anything. God save us. There's absolutely no way around these thin arguments for Senate Bill 1070, supported by 70% of Arizona's people, all of which are laced with xenophobia:


What they say: "It's not a race issue, it's a border enforcement issue."
What they mean: "I am ok with light-skinned, European or Canadian illegal immigrants who will absolutely not get harassed by local authorities."


What they say: "When I see my property tax bill and the amounts we pay to subsidize the county hospital, it makes me realize just another way illegal immigration directly impacts me."
What they mean: "I hate Mexicans because their hair doesn't thin at 35 and they have a higher tolerance for tequila."


What they say: "Being Hispanic, like many Americans, I have no issue with this law. Is it racial profiling? Absolutely. But when criminals change the way they break the law, you have to change the laws and the way you enforce them."
What they mean: "I'm a sellout piece of shit who likes to pretend the plight of my fathers to the United States was a righteous journey from a simpler time."


What they say: "The State of Arizona is only doing what the federal government will not do: enforce our laws!"
What they mean: "I am behind the idea of drastic, unprecedented levels of surveillance on our populous as long as it curbs the number of Mexicans selling empanadas down the street."


What they say: "I travel a bit in my job, and I always keep my passport with me. I was stationed in Germany as a GI, and was always required to show documentation whenever I crossed into a new country."
What they mean: "Nazi supermen are our superiors."


What they say: "If this is racial profiling, what is Affirmative Action? I don't hear any liberals complaining about that."
What they mean: "NON-SEQUITORS MAKE GREAT BULLET POINTS."


What they say: "Seriously though, Mexico is terrifying. Drug cartels and border kidnappings and that farmer guy who was murdered. I mean that shit is scary."
What they mean: "If we call the police station on the Mexicans waiting for day labor shifts in front of Home Depot or selling fake Steve Nash jerseys, that'll all go away."


What they say: "You're damn right classes promoting the overthrow of the U.S. Government should be banned."
What they mean: "Really, we just hate the Mexicans and this is a great excuse to rid ourselves of all their prideful, cultural bullshit. I don't want my child learning about Dia De Los Muertos. And while we're at it, let's go ahead and get rid of teachers with thick accents."

ATG sizes it all up.

Lil Wayne is finally in jail.
His sentencing perpetually curtailed by oddities (dental surgery, freak fires), the game-changing rapper shipped to Rikers Monday afternoon. One of our brightest stars gone until likely October. Without the luxury of near daily guest spots, the internet will be a less interesting forum for new music.

ATG sizes it all up.

Apologies if we've been a little slow this week. As Texas alums, eyes are collectively focused on this weekend's impending showdown with a bunch of motherfuckers we can't wait to crush.

Some of the staff is heading to Dallas, all of us promise to be absolutely blitzed by the 11 a.m. kickoff. We'll be bumping this.

In the realm of amateur journalism, college papers often exchange essays for big games. It's fun, friendly, intelligent diatribe. A couple of years back, working for such a paper, I wrote one of these "you guys suck" pieces and sent it to Oklahoma's editor.

For whatever reason, my work never made it to press. More than likely scheduling and deadlines interfered, like to tell people it was because they fell back knowing they sucked.

Given the occasion, I've decided to unearth the lost column. Check it after the jump.

Many would agree, perhaps reluctantly, that Pitchfork.com is easily the most influential, most read, most loathed publication for the largest share of music-loving, online-dwelling twentysomethings of this generation. It's a demographic of which your friendly editors are card-carrying members, as are, we expect, many of you. We frequently, occasionally vehemently, disagree with P4k, but it is a hate/love relationship, and we eagerly discuss the site amongst friends just as frequently as we curse it.

Today the online magazine capped off its months-long exploration of the Decade In Music by revealing selections for the top 20 albums of the decade - the final entry in a week-long countdown from 500. If you've spent any time on indie music blogs or forums in the past 10 years, this one is a fairly predictable bunch. (The earlier entries are chock-full of poorly sequenced formative touchstones and one-off obscurities.) Nevertheless, there are some bold declarations, and one vindication of a Wallabee-shoe loving, coke-game-chronicling rapper/ friend to the ladies who happens to be a peerless storyteller and is responsible for the name of this very site.

What follows is a run-down in two (very different) parts.

ATG sizes it all up.

Sorry I've been a little absent this week.

This story has been making the rounds on the Net since last weekend, and I just want to say how retarded and painfully obvious ("check out the ego on THOSE guys!") the whole thing is. The author thinks he's cute or insightful, I guess. The editors are just happy I'm blogging about it.

Also, Glenn Beck is a terrorist, not a cute subject for the media to mull over.

Also, "gangsta rap"? Really?? I can't even let you skate on that one, creamy-New-York-Times-guy. Gangsta Rap is dead (not that any of the people you mentioned were ever associated with it). The members of NWA are all either retired, starring in family comedies, or long ago struck down by The Virus.



P.S. Anyone hankering for a legit academic treatise on a modern hip-hop subject (believe it or not, at least one actually exists) should scope this intellectually rigorous breakdown from ForeignPolicy.com's Mark Lynch. It astutely compares Jay-Z's relationship with haters to the United States' relationship with smaller, temperamental stone-throwers like Iran and North Korea.  

ATG sizes it all up.

Yes.

The So Far Gone mixtape is a modern classic; a vastly influential commodity that's served as both a winter wonderland of introspection and clarity since its server overloading drop in early February and a summer jam programming club playbook.

The EP is worthy validation for our boy, Drake. Aside from its worthwhile art and tangible manifestation, there are two new bonafide jams:


"Fear"

DJ Khalil's somber, tense palettes serve Drizzy's perils of stardom tales beautifully. The track pauses, knocks when the drums kick in, streams into a torrent of horns for a triumphant chorus. Drake's hook straddles on the generic ("Don't believe the lies/look me in my eyes" crooned in Autotune), but his fire verses overpower.


"I'm Going In"

Worthy club banger with Lil Wayne and Young Jeezy and a Screw hook. Drake is uncharacteristically aggressive and loud in inflection, but maintains his dark side on money boast zingers like, "Money flowing like a slit wrist with no bandage."

Jeezy is throwed ("No Autotune but you can feel the Pain") and Weezy is wondrously chauvenistic ("Got a bitch named Crystal/ I let her suck my whistle").

ATG sizes it all up.

As Kanye West stormed onstage, I was watching live; rigged two TVs in the living room for an all out immersion in media. Said power play was for simultaneously taking in telecasts of the NFL's opening weekend. The FOX game. The CBS game.

Anyway, saw the Video Music Awards incident unfold in real time as the Packers battled the Bears; an absolute feast and delight of a game, by the way. For background, NBC usually picks a random pairing of big name teams for its initial prime time Sunday presentation.

This results in a big bill (last year it was Chicago at Indianapolis) but unfamiliarity and as usual, the traditional coaching double-down that nets lots of running, field goals and flat performances.

But these teams have been playing since the 1930s; Chicago versus Green Bay is the league's oldest rivalry and America got lots of aggressive calls and explosive moments. When historic rivals collide under present, intriguing, high stakes circumstances, there's nothing better.

The controversially-acquired Jay Cutler spent an entire preseason exploiting what the defense fed him - mainly dump down passes to running back Matt Forte that burst for chunks of key yards. Under the lights, he forced throws to receivers overwhelmed by the moment. There were tons of casualties to rabid injuries including perennial iron man, Brian Urlacher. In the end, Greg Jennings torched former Texas Longhorn, Nathan Vasher, who foolishly tried playing bump and run against one of the fastest receivers around with no safety help over the top, for a game-winning bomb.

Alright, so the Kanye moment occured during a crucial third down. In the thirty or so seconds during which his shine theft unfolded, I immediately thought, "Kanye West didn't like the finality of the pointless award and drunkenly said something. Who gives a shit?"