So get this, hip-hop has an official chair in the over-booked halls of cultural theory. "Afro-Futurism" is the latest academic sub-category to be ascribed to the music (supplanting the equivalently ambiguous "hyperurban acoustics"), and suddenly all the pretensions associated with your favorite underground lyricist are vindicated in the eyes of pop academia. Go to article

7:15 pm. I arrive at Big Bridges, ready to gyrate and bounce for hours.
7:19 pm. I notice the metal detectors being used at the door.
7:20 pm. I drop my flask off at Smiley and rush back to the line, miserably sober.
7:30 pm. Finally, after a mild frisking, I enter the lobby and prepare to Get Down. Go to article

Some things were missing from my room last Saturday night. They were my black boa and a slutty top I never wear that I keep in my sock drawer. Their timely absence left me bothered and bewildered, as my plans to attend the Nappie-sponsored bathroom party were in haute couture were foiled. Go to article

Just when we thought the wrath of boy bands had finally subsided, Jack in the Box restaurants have unleashed their secret weapon: the Meaty Cheesy Boys. Go to article

TSL: Well to start with, thanks for stopping by, God.
God: The pleasure is all mine. I have always enjoyed your publication.
TSL: Really?
God: Yes. Really. Go to article

Last Saturday, I was strolling in La Parque Carolina with my nana (sister in Quichua), eating fried plaintains and watching the people walk by. I could not stifle my laughter when I spotted an elderly Ecuadorian man wearing a shirt that proclaimed, "I'm not a hunter, I'm a population control wildlife specialist." Go to article

Dice Raw. Anybody who claims to know hip-hop knows the name. While not officially a member of the illustrious Roots crew, this fellow 215 area code dweller has been lacing loveliness all over tracks with Black Thought and company since 1995's Do You Want More?!!!??! Go to article