The Artist & The Economist Podcast – Episode 2: The Whip Set

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Who remembers that show? I do.

In this episode, we discuss a rarely touched topic: Male Body Image in Pop-Culture (particularly in Video Games).

Worklejerks, Vol. I: Stop Wasting Your Workday (and just head home already, man)

 

Whip (that’s what I’m calling my brother now) and I have had career paths as diametrically opposed as…huh, I can’t even think of a metaphor for this one. But it’s true — part of the reason we even picked the name “The Artist and The Economist” is because we’ve taken such branching paths. He’s spent very little time in a traditional office environment, I’ve been in one almost exclusively; I’m confined to pretty strict office hours, he’s just responsible for getting things done before a given deadline, no matter when that may be. Such is life when one of you is primarily an artist and the other is in finance. As a result, it’s possible he won’t fully appreciate the point of this post, but I’m going for it anyway:

The traditional office structure, from the length of the workday to the types of interactions that take place to the pervasively toxic social atmosphere, is complete bullshit — and if your office is anything like mine, it’s actively harming your best employees.

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Listen to this: Brendon Small’s Galaktikon

So here’s the funny thing about Brendon Small. Apparently he can do whatever he want’s and it will always be amazing. Good find Loren, good find.

Anybody already familiar with Dethklok, the metal band his (and Tommy Blancha’s) animated comedy Metalocalypse revolves around, will already have a fairly accurate expectation from this album; the harmony in Truth Orb and Kill Pool carry that Dethklok inspired structure. That said, the satirical yet wholly sincere Black Metal visage is stripped away for something much more complex and varied; traditional with elements of Sludge and Prog. And while I invite that comparison, it seems to change every time I listen to it.

I see the Groove/Prog influences in a track like Beastblade, and genuine Speed resonates all across Dangertits (yes, Dangertits). All of it culminates into a sound that has nothing to really compare to. This is an album that feels like the voice of an artist, not seeking to sound like anything but themselves.

This album came out 2 years ago, and I’m kicking myself for not pick it up sooner.

The Artist & The Economist Podcast – Episode 1: Fuck CBS

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The Artist & The Economist Podcast. That name isn’t necessarily final… But it probably will be. Maybe take out the podcast bit.

[Superhero] That [Proper Noun]!

 

Hey guys! Remember this video from a few years back? If you don’t, please don’t hit play — just…trust me, if you do your eyes, ears and/or genitals will explode in a mixture of anger and depression I call depranger.

(Actually, you know what? Real-time update: Please DO watch this. This is possibly the worst/funniest thing I’ve ever seen…and I’m writing this update 27 SECONDS INTO THE VIDEO. This thing is amazing, and probably deserves its own post breaking down how bad it is. I won’t do it, mind you, because I expect that by the 45 second mark all I’ll be able to say is “:(” like 17 million times, but still. Awesomely awful video.)

This is “Crank That” by Soulja Boy. Seems pretty inoffensive at first, right? Well here’s the real message of this song’s chorus: “Crank that Soulja Boy and Superman that ho!” Odds are you do remember this song, BTW, because everyone and their grandmother’s sister’s autistic gay dog did a parody video that they wished would go viral or whatever — it was like “Call Me Maybe” from a decade ago. This song was a runner-up for Best Rap Song (!) at the Grammys (!!). Even though my feelings on the Grammys are clear and well-documented, that’s a lot of notoriety for a song that’s about…wait, what IS this song about, anyway?

Oh. Oh I see. It’s about doing a stupid dance move and ejaculating on your partner’s back, slapping a sheet on it and letting it stick, a la Superman’s famous cape.

Yeah, I know. Ridiculous, right? That’s not even the best part (or, you know, even the point of this post yet. This preamble is pretty long — turns out I have a lot to say on this ridiculous thing.) If you do a Google search for “Superman that ho,” the top four (!!!! [that was one exclamation point for each link]) links are to various Urban Dictionary entries with different spellings of this phrase. Which one is the “correct” one? Let’s go by which is most popular in terms of percentage of positive votes!

 

Iteration Upvotes Downvotes % Positive
“Superman that ho” 1,319 204 86.6%
“Superman dat hoe” 4,884 905 84.4%
“Superman a Ho” 2,252 997 69.3%
“Superman dat ho” 801 372 68.3%

There you have it: official spelling from here on out is “Superman that ho.” Very proper spelling preferences, Urban Dictionary!

In any case, we can all mostly agree this is pretty gross, right? Or at the very least pretty ridiculous? The entire concept of “Superman[ning] that ho” is the kind of thing a depraved pervert lunatic would come up with, and whoever coined the phrase should be ashamed of themselves. Buuuuuuut on an unrelated note, it DID get me thinking: What other superhero terms would make for great sex terms? Well I’m glad you asked, fellow morally-superior friend! Let’s find out after the jump!

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Grace Under Pressure

(Title shamelessly stolen from this terrifically underrated song by Elbow)

 

Today was the men’s tennis final at the French Open. It may not seem especially noteworthy — I mean, they hold one tournament a year, right?? — but here’s the rub: Novak Djokovic, a top-three-ranked player since he was like four years old, has never won at Roland Garros. And if you know anything about tennis, you’ll know Novak Djokovic is No Djok! Get it? Like…phonetics?? Ehhhh.

Instead of Novak winning, Rafa Nadal won his like 999th title (OK, 9th, whatever) — pretty insane. Nadal is basically God’s answer to Roger Federer — if you’ll recall, Roger couldn’t and still can’t win anything where his opponent hits strong and sharp backhands, and Rafa was basically molded from…well, clay to do just that. He’s the perfect clay court player. His nine titles are absurd. He technically started playing professionally in 2002, at the ludicrous age of 15. Rafa was turning pro at 15! Know what I was doing at 15? Turning Japanese. (Get it? I was like, just learning how to masturbate and lamenting how girls were weird and unapproachable.)

The point is: in 2005, Nadal won the French Open, beginning an absurd level of domination we rarely get to see. In 2006, 2007, 2008, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013 and now 2014, he also won the French Open. They should basically call the damn trophy the Nadal Cup at this point. I didn’t even bother writing 2010-2014 because I felt like the shorthand would take away from his legitimacy. This is a hilariously retarded run of dominance.

But here’s the thing that really expresses my point: Rafa didn’t win his first US Open until 2010, a mere eight years after he turned pro. And I bet that was emotional for him. One of the key foundations of sportswriting is projecting your feelings onto athletes, especially those that can’t speak your language. By that measure, Andy Murray is the most sympathetic athlete we’ve seen in a long, long time — since we can speak his language, and that language is sadness.

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