Tag Archives: arguments

Like wrestling a pig

Music, , ,

Yesterday morning, I waded into the slap fight between Pitchfork and Urb magazine with this post on the TOC blog. In dissing Pitchfork, Urb placed them within the Chicago indie rock scene, which it finds to be “the most pretentious smarter-than-thou scene in the entire country.”

Nevermind that ALL indie rock scenes are at least a little pretentious, but I don’t think you can really call much of anything in Chicago pretentious (although in a response, LA Weekly drops a reference to Tortoise and if all most of the rest of the world knows about Chicago is either its post-rock and free jazz scenes, then I guess I can understand where they’re getting that from). Moreover, I don’t think Pitchfork is a vibrant part of the city’s scene. It’s not a knock against them, they’re just more nationally-focused.

In any case, the post got picked up by LAist and The Daily Swarm as well as a couple other places. I’m getting called out for not knowing my ass from page 8 in the dictionary because Film School are originally (?) from San Francisco and not L.A. OK, my bad even though they’re billing themselves as an L.A. band. And yeah, they’ve been around a couple years, but that’s exactly my point: I don’t see them as anything more than a band of noodling wankers who keep trying to convince people to buy what they’re selling.

Skeet On Mischa also points out that No Age is obviously L.A.’s most talked-about indie musical export right now. And he’s got a point. It slipped my mind that the noise-rock duo hails from there.

So to sum up, in the 1st Annual Talking Out Of Your Ass Tourney, TOC, Pitchfork and Urb finish in a three-way tie.

I believe the interns are our future

Internet,

This post is a little “inside baseball” and I’m kind of burying the lede. So if you want to immediately see what I’m building up to, read this.

A couple weeks ago – as we were going to press on the blogging issue of Time Out Chicago – I found out that the cover story of Chicago magazine’s February issue was “171 Great Chicago Websites.”

Initially, I hit the roof.

Our feature involved critics from almost every major media entity in the city – I interviewed a handful of them for my story and Theater writer Kris Vire hosted a critics’ chat room with many more – so we were a bit worried that another publication would get wind of it and scoop us on our story.

To the casual observer, it probably looks someone’s a copycat. But Chicago magazine is a monthly, so they were probably closing their feature before we started writing ours, and I can honestly say that no one at TOC knew about what they were doing until we closed. It’s a coincidence that occurs often when you’ve got so much media out there.

After perusing a copy of Chicago, it turned out that both features covered different ground. Ours was focused on online criticism, specifically, and they cast their net wider to include every informational resource in town, and then some. They did a very thorough job, and I was hoping both stories would spur more of a discussion about what’s happening online in Chicago, but so far that hasn’t happened.

While Chicago beat us to the punch on the newsstands, we beat ’em online. In fact, I’ve been waiting for weeks for the story to show up on its website, as its other stories from February are already up. It’s been a running joke in the TOC offices that Chicago‘s story about websites wasn’t actually on its website even while people were commenting on the placeholder page.

As someone whose job depends on all media recognizing the importance of the Internet, I was irritated that Chicago wasn’t gettin’ to business. I was complaining about this to one of the NYC directors that was in town, and she said “Well why don’t you just put the links on our blog?”

And that’s how this happened. And then Metroblogging Chicago did us both one better by creating a newsreader file of both their story and ours.

So far, no reaction from the folks at Chicago magazine, but I’m hoping they’ll take it in the good-natured spirit that it’s offered. There’s already a troll in the comments section at Chicagoist who’s making the predictable arguments. (The notion that because our intern was working on this story, all other work in our offices stopped is amusing, but not worth addressing).

Blogging and remixing content of other media outlets isn’t “stealing” so long as credit is given where credit is due (for example, Gridskipper routinely Google-maps TOC content for stories like this). I’ve had dust-ups in the office about how our content’s being used online. Over the past year, one of my goals has been to get folks there to understand that this is the way that media works now, it’s ultimately good for us, and TOC needs to be doing it as much as Chicagoist, Gapers Block and all the rest do (so long as we stick to standards of journalism ethics, even if other folks don’t).

If we – or any other media entity – fails to recognize the importance of what’s happening online, someone else will.

U2's manager is barking up the wrong metaphorical tree

Internet, Music,

Mega-selling bands – and their managers – need to stop presenting themselves as the standard bearer for artists who are losing money due to illegal downloads. If you have ever toured with a giant lemon as part of your stage show, you lose the argument before you begin.

Having said that, here’s what U2’s manager Paul McGuiness has to say about the role of ISPs vis a vis illegal downloading:

“‘If you were a magazine advertising stolen cars, handling the money for stolen cars and seeing to the delivery of stolen cars, the police would soon be at your door,’ he said. ‘That’s no different to an ISP, but they say they can’t do anything about it.'”

Leaving aside for the moment the whole notion that Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act of 1996 means that ISPs are not, in fact, liable for such behavior, let’s look at what McGuinness is really saying here.

If a “magazine” was taking possession of stolen cars and receiving money for them, they would, in fact, be breaking the law. But let’s go with this and say that possession of copyrighted material that you do not own is like a stolen car (better return that copy of Freakonomics or The National album now!). ISPs neither receive money for the possession of copyrighted material (his first point) nor do they provide the programs that allow one to access copyrighted material (his second point about “seeing to the delivery” of stolen material). This would be like saying that the builder of a garage used to operate a chop shop is responsible for the thievery that goes on there. Or that Xerox is responsible for people who photocopy books.

I could go on, but what’s the point? This is like the time I told my sister that the government wasn’t responsible for providing for a particular service because it wasn’t in the Constitution and she replied “Well asparagus isn’t in the Constitution…” How do you argue with logic that isn’t logical?

This whole argument is stemming from Canada’s efforts to tax ISPs (they call it a fee, but come on now) and funnel that music to artists. Anyone who’s been following the business of music for the last 50 years ought to be suspicious of such a plan, even if such a fee goes directly to the music publishers and bypasses labels altogether. Sound Opinions also discussed this topic recently and I’m surprised they jumped on board with it. If for no other reason but that not everyone uses his or her Internet connection to download music they haven’t paid for.

But hey: let’s compromise. How about anyone who buys an album by crap Canadian bands has to pay a “bad taste” tax? So if you by the next album by Celine Dion, Nickelback, Sum 41 or Avril Lavigne, you have to pay an extra five bucks. Who’s with me?

A sniff is as good as a wink to a blind horse

Music,

As I’ve previously mentioned, Wednesdays are the days that Team Web puts up the new issue at TOC, and it’s also the day that the Hard Rock Cafe: Heavy Metal compilation gets a healthy amount of use.

(Sidebar: Since the White Lion Revelation, I’ve found myself paying closer attention to the lyrics on this album, as well as other cock rock classics. As such, I usually hit the skip button when “Lay It Down” by Ratt cues up since I can no longer countenance lyrics like “I’m into total affection/Not being scared if you never please me.” Let’s be honest here: how “scared” were the members of Ratt that your average groupie was going to be unable to “please” them? I’m fairly certain that this was a low-set bar. Similarly, I was also struck by the lyrics to “C’mon and Love Me” by KISS: “She’s a dancer, a romancer/I’m a Capricorn and she’s a Cancer.” KISS, where do you get your ideas?)

As such, I was listening to Lita Ford’s “Kiss My Deadly,” a song I’ve been familiar since I bought it during an early 90s excursion to the local Phar-Mor (picture a low-rent Jewel combined with the record and tape selection that approximates the catalog selections one would find at a modern-day Circuit City ) where I purchased the eponymous Lita based largely on the cover (at right) and my friend Rick’s endorsement of the Ozzy/Lita duet “Close Your Eyes Forever” which we can all agree, in retrospect, is not near as cool as we remember it being. For those whose memories fail them, here’s a sample, but it gets worse from here when the drums kick in around 2:45:

MP3 excerpt – Lita Ford and Ozzy Osboune – “Close My Eyes Forever”

This is a good lesson for all of us: never buy music based solely on the endorsement of a 16 year-old.

ANYWAY, in all my years of listening to “Kiss Me Deadly,” I never noticed the audible “sniff” that occurs at approximately 20.40 seconds into the song right after the lyric about Lita’s unfortunate, but nominal, traffic and financial difficulties. To whit:

MP3 excerpt – Lita Ford – “Kiss Me Deadly”

What’s going on there? A defiant sniffle in the face of the aforementioned patriarchal groveling? One last bit of nose candy before the rocking commences? It’s a rather minor occurrence in the overall song. In fact, you can see the audio waves created by “the sniff” barely register (note the highlighted portions below):

I used to think “Kiss Me Deadly” was a great song but I fear this “sniff” is going to lead to an obsession with it. So I’m really hoping someone can supply an explanation before it takes over my life.

Not created in my own image

Uncategorized, , ,

On Late Night with Conan O’Brien last week, Bill Maher was discussing the results of the Iowa caucus and specifically the religious beliefs of some of the candidates. His crabassery was typically longer on style than substance, and then he dropped this bon mot on how it’s impossible to reconcile faith with science:

“You can’t be a rational person six days of the week…and on one day of the week go into a building and think you’re drinking the blood of a 2000 year old space god. That doesn’t make you a person of faith, that makes you a schizophrenic.”

…and then went on to imply that all people of faith take the Bible as the absolute, literal truth. Check out the full clip here before it gets pulled from YouTube.

Let’s leave aside Maher’s questionable theology and his confusion over mental health terms or we’ll be here all day. But let’s also acknowledge that there are some people out there who do, in fact, base their knowledge of science on what it says in the Bible. They’re admittedly parts of the whole of the faithful.

Now, with this in mind, since I don’t confuse Bill Maher with his fellow cast members from Cannibal Women in The Avocado Jungle of Death, I’d appreciate it if he’d do me and mine the same courtesy and not lump all people of faith together.

In some respects, I can’t blame Maher for saying such dunderheaded things. It’s pretty clear that he doesn’t know any people of faith personally (or at least none that he respects) so he’s likely just assuming that we’re all from the same mold as dipshits like William Donohue or Pat Robertson.

Those of us who practice a quiet, private faith do ourselves a disservice in some respects. We don’t talk about how we’re as certain of the existence of Christ as we are in the existence of homo habilis (even though we got way better grades in religion than biology) because we’re so worried at being lumped in with the Donahues and Robertsons of the world, that we fail to offer any alternative view like how we’ve had lunch with priests often, but still find these jokes to be hysterical. In failing to do so, we allow the Donahues and Robertsons to be the public face of the faithful.

But the faith these men practice does not resemble mine, nor does it resemble the faith of the thoughtful, welcoming, social activist parishoners I worship with each Sunday (OK, every other Sunday sometimes): the (openly, for what it’s worth) gay priest who leads our service; the people who – when a family from Florida first visited our church on a morning off from staying with their son in his hospital room after he had been hit by a car while riding his bike – held hands with strangers and offered them prayers and counsel; the people who feed the homeless or created an anti-racism ministry or etc. etc. etc.

None of these people cracks a Bible before they make a decision about how to lead their lives, nor do they grab a concordance for help in answering questions about DNA or evolution. That’s because it’s not a rulebook for them, it’s a guide they use to have an ongoing discussion on how to challenge themselves to live a life based on love, justice and truth.

Now, I’ll admit my viewpoint is largely informed by my membership in an Episcopalian church that strives to make its liturgy accepting, inclusive and affirming. But that’s exactly the point.

In short, since they’re not the ones you see on television or read about in newspapers, it’s easier for Bill Maher to get you to believe that these people do not exist. But I have a feeling he’s not seeking them out either. Perhaps because it’s easier for him to maintain his own way of life when he has nothing to challenge it. It would probably result in too much cognitive dissonance and wouldn’t allow him to build a career on hackneyed, cliched generalities. Of course, I’m sure Maher wouldn’t be the type to do something he accuses others of. That would be schizophrenic or something.

Then again, maybe I’m wrong. After all, this is supposed to be the day that people like me are too busy drinking the blood of extraterrestrial immortals to have time for rational thought.

But unless people like me start speaking up, it’s too easy for others to assume there are those who do it for me.

CBS People's Choice Awards promos are the latest victims of the Writers Strike

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Next month’s People’s Choice Awards ceremony on CBS already sounds like it’s going to be a disaster without writers on-hand to make Jessica Alba sound witty(ish).

But it’s even worse than you imagined. Check out this screenshot I took from the commercial that’s advertising the event as a night with “all your favorites from movies, music and…”

T-E-L-E-V-I-S-O-N, people.

So in addition to the writers’ strike, there also appears to be a concurrent copy editors’ strike going on as well. And both have apparently resulted in such a catastrophic loss of revenue that all access to Merriam-Webster Online has been cut off.

My first mistake was listening to White Lion in the first place

Music,

Today I was working on the TOC site, and listening to the Hard Rock Cafe: 80s Heavy Metal compilation. If memory serves, I acquired this from a friend who works at a radio station and occasionally raids their prize closet before throwing a bunch of stuff in an envelope destined for Chicago (this is also how I acquired the KISS boxed set). Several weeks ago, I discovered that 80s heavy metal is the perfect genre to code to for three reasons:

1. Despite its volume – and often its misogyny – it’s pretty easy to ignore because most of it is performed by people who are not very bright (For instance: “I’m into total affection/Not being scared if you never please me” from “Lay It Down” by Ratt. I’ve had some less-than-ideal sexual experiences but I don’t think I’ve ever had a fear that I wouldn’t get an orgasm. Maybe a concern, but it never evolved into all-out fear.
2. Most 80s heavy metal – and man is that a loosely applied term when it comes to this collection – combines driving guitars and drums with aggressively poppy melodies. This is ideal sonic motivation for tasks that are largely devoid of intellectual thought.
3. Occasional involuntary air guitar/drums helps to keep my fingers loose and stave off carpal tunnel.

Anyway, all this is a precursor to saying I had a moment of sheer disappointment today when I realized I have been mis-hearing a lyric from White Lion’s “Wait” for years. I thought the lyric was:

Wait, wait – I never got the chance to lie to you
Now I only want to say I love you one more time

Not exactly Dylan, but not exactly Fergie either. In fact, I’d say it’s a solid kiss-off lyric.

Except it isn’t. It’s actually:

Wait – wait no I never had a chance to love you
Now I only wanna say I love you one more time

From kiss-off to kiss-ass. A weak, wet noodle of a lyric that also sounds a little stalkerish too. I felt so foolish, like the time I found out a lot of the songs Freddie Mercury wrote for Queen’s last album were about his cat.

If your fans jumped off a bridge, would you do it, too?

Music, ,

There’s little point in raising any objections to The Eagles’ exclusive distribution deal with Wal-Mart for their double-album Long Road Out of Eden just because it’s about money. Back in 1994, The Eagles had an unfortunate influence on the music industry thanks to their prolonged absence from it, and were therefore able to command upwards of $100 – then a princely sum – for a ticket to one of their reunion shows, which has led to an ongoing competition to see who can command the most dollars per ticket. But in terms of sheer greed, The Eagles are far outpaced by other bands who jump at every licensing deal throw at them. Plus, it’s far less disconcerting to see a band “selling out” when its music no longer matters. So this move means almost nothing to anyone who isn’t on the Eagles Inc. payroll.

I can’t even get that irritated by the obvious hypocrisy. In a recent CNN interview, Don Henley says that Wal-Mart made them “a really good offer” and that’s presumably why he’s excepting Wal-Mart from his usual tirades about the evils of corporations. Henley is rock’s biggest blowhard, and I’ve long felt that the louder someone has to be about their beliefs, the less sincere they are. It’s as if they’re trying to convince themselves while they’re convincing you. Social responsibility was good for his career, until it wasn’t. And again, it’s not like the Eagles have been above a big money grab before.

No, the thing I find objectionable is Henley’s further reasoning about the wisdom of their decision:

And a lot of our fans are customers of Wal-Mart, so we thought it was a good fit.

Hmm, where have I heard that before? Oh wait, I remember.

We feel okay about VWs. Several of us even drive them.”

Is this the new standard? It’s OK as long as it’s something you or your fans use? If so, I can’t wait for, say, Tegan and Sara’s “Knife Going In” to show up in an ad for Land O’ Lakes Butter. Or maybe an exclusive distribution deal with BP Amoco stations for the next album by Rihanna because “a lot of my fans have cars that use gas, so it seemed like a natural fit.” Or music from Nickelback’s next album showing up in an Ex-Lax ad because it’s so shitty.

Coming soon: "My Tube Socks (Remix)" by K-Fed

Music,

MP3 – “My Bra” (excerpt) – Mya
Lyrics – See below

Last week, the big new music release was Radiohead’s In Rainbows. I am predicting that this week’s big talker will be “My Bra” by Mya.

Okay, perhaps this song won’t have people chattering about the end of the music industry business model, but it makes up for it with Devin Hester levels of ridiculousness.

The verses of the song are pretty unremarkable by themselves; they’re the kind of non-specific, meaningless I-am-dealing-with-adversity-but-will-persevere-by- staying-strong lyrics you hear in the trailers of movies featuring single women who have to deal with tragedy of some kind, be it death, divorce or public speaking engagements. In this case, the song comes from the upcoming Lifetime movie The Matters of Life and Dating, a title that conveniently omits the major plot point of the movie: that Ricki Lake’s single (see?) character undergoes a mastectomy and has to learn how to live life again.

(Sidebar: To my mind, the definitive life-after-mastectomy tele-film is The Ann Jillian Story, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise.)

So on its face, writing a song called “My Bra” for a film like this makes a lot of sense. But instead of an introspective exploration of how items we take for granted are recast in a different paradigm after a major life change, you get lyrics like “You’re my legs when I start to stumble/My strength, my sun, my heart.”

But once you get to the chorus, the song becomes unintentionally hilarious.

I don’t mean to take away from the very real problem of breast cancer, which directly or indirectly affects anybody on the planet who isn’t a clone, but even if you’re not a 14 year-old boy, how do you not laugh at lines like:

When it’s just too hard to make it through another day
You’re lifting me up
My bra, my bra, my bra

After some further research, it turns out that “my bra” is slang in the breast cancer community for “my friend.” In that context, it’s cute and….well, supportive (pardon the pun). But hearing it over and over as a stand-in for an actual person just conjures up images of some woman cozying up to her underwires.

Perhaps if the verses weren’t of the Dr. Seuss school of rhyming (little surprise that Mya says “I literally wrote the song in five minutes”), I might have a different opinion.

In the meantime, I’ll take solace in the notion that my 99 cents contributed to breast cancer research, while I busily compose a Weird Al style ode to bro-mance titled “My Bro.” At first, I thought I could use the vernacular “bra” as a stand-in for “bro” but as Barney said in last night’s How I Met Your Mother, that word should be stricken from the lexicon. “It was fun for a week…now it’s over.”

You can find out how to do more to stop breast cancer without hurting your ears at Lifetime’s site.

“My Bra” by Mya

You never know….you’re my bra
You never know what you’re gonna get from day to day
I was sitting on top of the world never thought that would change
Had a life that dreams are made of and everything
And in a moment it all came crashing down and I’ll never be the same

Thought I was safe
I had it made
It couldn’t happen to me

Chorus:
You’re my bra, my bra, my bra
You’re my light at the end of the tunnel
You’re my bra, my bra, my bra
You’re my legs when I start to stumble
My strength, my sun, my heart
When it’s just too hard to take it
When it’s just too hard to make it through another day
You’re lifting me up
My bra, my bra, my bra

When the going got tough, you were there by my side
Telling me the things I needed to hear
You went the extra mile
I thank the heavens above
For your grace
‘Cause when I couldn’t find my courage (yeah)
You gave me your face

Your endless calls
Breaking down my walls
Getting down on your knees and breaking with me

Chorus

I’m fighting, fighting
Facing all of my fears
I’m surviving, I’m surviving
I keep on
Fighting, fighting
Taking it one day at a time
I keep
Trying, Trying

Gonna make it, gonna make it
Nothing’s gonna stop me from going on
So many reasons I gotta stay strong

Chorus (x2)
Fade out

On pimps and hos

Music,

Tomorrow brings another installment of “Oblivious Living” wherein I examine the joie de vivre behind Track 2 of Living in Oblivion: “Always Something There To Remind Me” by Naked Eyes. But today, some seriousness.

Last night, I was rolling around town and flipping around on the radio in search of a song that would get me psyched up for the evening. I settled on this song that near as I could tell was called “Flirt” and sounded a lot like R. Kelly due to a “Trapped in the Closet”-style flow.

I thought the song toed the line between ridiculous and sublime, like all great pop esongs. The lyrics I heard had a fun, playful tone…

Soon as I see her walk up in the club I’ma flirt
Winkin’ eyes at me when I roll up on dem dubs I’ma flirt
Sometimes when I’m wit my chick on the low I’ma flirt
And when she’s wit her man lookin’ at me damn right I’ma flirt
So homie don’t bring your girl to me to meet cause I’ma flirt

…and the beat was hot. “If this song had come out a month later, it would be a candidate for song of the summer,” I thought. I told my girlfriend this was going to be my jam, and she replied that the song was terrible and if I was going to be adding it to my repertoire of Songs I Start Singing With No Prompting Whatsoever, then I better get used to loneliness. Clearly, she was a hater.

Then this morning I got a look at the full lyrics and realized something that a lot of other people realized this week: if we’re really serious about attacking misogyny in our societal dialogue, we’re going to have to look closer, and realize that we’re all complicit if we don’t.

Turns out it WAS a song called “Flirt” by R. Kelly (with T.I. and T-Pain). I won’t waste space here detailing the lyrics, but you can view them in full here. I will say that I’m pretty sure there ought to be a ban on the use of the phrase “the moral of the story is” if what follows involves the words “cuff” or “bitch.” Because a moral of a particular story is supposed to be, you know, moral.

If I’d heard those lyrics in my first brief listen, I would not have given it “jam” status, nor would I have come home last night and spent 99 cents on the damn thing thanks to iTunes and too many Old Styles. (This act also made me realize that if one were to inadvertently purchase offensive material, you used to be able to let the retailer know your feelings by returning it to the store and voting against such things with your dollar(s). You can’t do that anymore. There’s nothing that keeps track of which songs, books or movies end up as digital bits in someone’s Recycle Bin).

Anyway, whether I heard these lyrics or not (I might not have since it was early enough in the evening that I was probably hearing the clean radio version) isn’t the point. The point is that all of us need to look past the surface, and examine our own usage of words like “bitch,” “ho” and “pimpin’”.


From pimp cups to Pimp My Ride to Snoop Dogg’s appearances in Chrysler commercials and in the movie Old School (where he’s joined by the self-styled Archbishop Don “Magic” Juan), it’s all over. We’ve become so anesthetized to it that we don’t even stop to think, “Hey, a guy who talks about selling a woman on a street corner like she is his property is in a commercial selling automobiles with the head of a Fortune 500 company.”

Clearly, I’ve been complicit in the spread of this kind of casual misogyny. Last night’s “Flirt” purchase aside, I used to have a picture of myself on my MySpace page* in a pimp costume. It was taken at a “Pimps and ‘Hos” party my friends and I threw in college. Last year, after attending a seminar on prostitution and a discussion of the of “pimp culture,” I took it down.

The argument usually given in defense of “Pimp and Ho” parties, or the kind of lyrics in a song like “Flirt” is that it’s “just about having a good time” and that you (or the vocalist) doesn’t really mean it. In Chris Rock’s HBO special Never Scared, he riffs on women who dismiss misogyny in hip-hop by saying “Girl, he ain’t talking about me.”

Well, yes. He is. There’s nothing to suggest you’d be treated any differently. And while there might be a contextual difference between what a bunch of silly, drunk college students do on a Saturday night, and what happens down on the west side of North Avenue on a Saturday night, it’s all an assent to the same type of behavior with similar language and affectations.

So let’s be clear. When you say you’re going to “pimp” your ride, you’re equating what you’re doing to the work of someone who sells women on the street like property. When you say you’re going to “pimp” something, you’re suggesting you’re going to do it with the forcefulness of a person who establishes control of a woman, and decides what she can do with her body. When you call a woman a “ho,” you are saying she sells herself on the street for money to men who will have sex with her.

We as a society need to start looking at things…um, holistically. We are the sum total of the things we say and do. We may say we’re not misogynists, but if we buy things that are, we’re contributing to a misogynist culture. We may say we decry the degradation of women, but if we don pimp clothes and wave around a pimp cup, we assent to the kinds of things that go on far from our eyes. We may say that it’s OK for certain kinds of lyrics, but it’s not OK to describe collegiate women using the words found in those lyrics, because they aren’t “the same thing.”

But they are.

Unfortunately, most of the debate about this kind of misogyny has concerned itself with hip-hop lyrics, which conveniently ignores the other aspects of (white) culture that allow casual misogyny to continue. It’s really easy to sit back and say that it’s not OK to call women ‘hos. But only by stepping back and taking a closer look are we able to see that listening to a political discussion about Iraq means you also give your blessing to someone who describes women as “nappy headed hos.” And by purchasing Girls Gone Wild videos, you give assent to this kind of thing.

Some questions are harder to answer. Does enjoying a story by Arthur C. Clarke in an old issue of Playboy mean you’re OK with something like this? It is OK for me to still enjoy “Hot For Teacher?”

I’m not sure. But it’s worth taking a closer look.

* Incidentally, I realize tha
t, for some, there’s a contradiction between what I’m saying here, and keeping a picture of me and Ludacris up on my page in light of lyrics like these. But that’s a whole other post.