“Well, obviously we have a RAPIST in Lincoln Park. He’s climbin’ in your windows, he’s snatchin’ your people up, tryin’ to rape ‘em. So y’all need to hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your husband cause they’re rapin’ everybody out here.”

The problem is, it’s not just Lincoln Park — the former Huntsville, Ala., housing project where Antoine Dodson used to live — it’s nationwide. Gasoline prices are up more than a dollar a gallon since this time last year and it’s estimated this adds an additional $1,000 annually, providing you have a car and enjoy using it. AAA reports an 18% increase in motorists running out of fuel, concluding that it’s harder to keep the tank filled up these days.

What’s worse, we haven’t seen the worst. Higher prices, the value of American dollar decreasing, I think I speak for everyone … gas prices be rapin’ everybody out here.

Predictions of $5.00/gallon by Memorial Day barely had a chance to set in before the $6.00/gallon touts became even more credible. Summer months naturally increase demand — people get out of the house, they do things — plus the spring transition to summer blends bogs down refineries. There’s always a rise in April, the national average just usually isn’t $3.90/gallon this prematurely; so soon to be grabbing ankles, thinking what tomorrow may bring.

In early March, I drove to the bank and gas next door was $3.49/gallon. I left the bank five minutes later and that same gas was $3.53/gallon. I vowed never to go to that bank again. Look at those prices and ask yourself which Amy Winehouse body part would you place your tongue against in order to get those numbers today. It’s a seller’s market and unfortunately Amy knows this too.

What could possibly be causing the price increase? The magic bullet theories naturally lead to oil company greed — you can’t dismiss the record profits in the latest quarterly reports — as well as speculators, price gougers and miscellaneous invisible straw men.

Just once, can a president of the United States be clear, candid and specific? “It was Brian, who works at the Chevron in Woodland Hills. We have him in custody. Expect gas prices to return to normal over the next several weeks. God Bless America.”

The media isn’t offering a consistent answer either. When gas prices rose under George W. Bush, it was his fault. Under Barack Obama, it’s said that the president has little to do with it. Fine either way, but pick one and stick with it.

Of course, speculators are betting heavy on crude prices continuing to rise. What’s not to like about that bet? Would you bank on oil prices dropping anytime soon? If no, congratulations, you’re now a commodities advisor. Gas prices have increased 38 days in a row! This is DiMaggio territory. Those who invest in such things will speculate that the price will drop if measures are put in place to drive the price down — and you’ll never hear about them then.

Last week, President Obama formed a commission to find out who and what is responsible for inflicting pain at the pump which now exceeds the level that human beings of the American variety are normally resigned to accept. The pain goes beyond the pump. Higher diesel prices translate into “higher everything that needs to be transported,” otherwise known as “all that stuff you buy.” Ethanol pumping up food prices; fruits and vegetables up 33% over the last 3 months, cotton up 40% in 2011 and coffee at its highest price since 1977; beef prices up 12% since last year and pork up 11%. According to the USDA, expect beef to increase 8% in the next two weeks, pork 7.5%, fats and oils 7%, and fruits and vegetables 4%.

It can’t be: increased hostility in the Middle East; added worldwide demand, especially China and India; the Saudi’s cutting production by 800,000 barrels/day in March specifically to drive the price up; 62% higher crude prices since last May; unrest in Libya restricting European supply, thus tapping into our sources; Iran’s threat to block the Strait of Hormuz, potentially closing off one of the most highly-used crude oil shipping passages in the world; not a single new refinery built in the United States since 1976; environmental regulations and political games which allows oil companies to drill in areas where the oil isn’t, but not in the areas where the oil is; a proposed National Energy Tax specifically designed to be regressive, raising the price so we’ll use less; federal land grabs preventing areas from being explored privately; White House moratoriums in the aftermath of last year’s BP spill which have ground domestic drilling on land and off-shore to a standstill.

No, it’s Phil at the local Exxon trying to milk another 4 cents a gallon or investors playing the market. There’s a good argument that the reaction to the BP disaster is precisely what set speculators in motion to play for the price increases we’re living today. Cause meets effect.

This presidential commission on rising fuel costs will reach the same conclusions as all that preceded it — it’s not Steve from Woodland Hills or Phil at Exxon, it’s a variety of factors and many are beyond our control. But we can plan for that and be prepared for the obvious, which we simply aren’t doing — and the findings will largely be ignored.

The “Jed Clampett Time Travel” theory will tell you what you need to know. You may recall, Jed was a poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed. One day, he was shootin at some food and up through the ground came a bubblin crude.

Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea.

He moved the family to Californy and thanked us folks every week for kindly droppin in. Why not? They left Bug Tussle with the equivalent of 178 million in today’s dollars. Laughs ensue.

That was 1962, now flash forward 50 years …

While hunting, Jed strikes oil on his worthless swamp land. Assuming he has a permit for the firearm, was hunting in season and there are no issues with Fish and Game, before the oil company can purchase the land and cut Jed a check, the EPA must first examine the property damage caused by the spill. Penniless, Jed can’t possibly afford the legal battle and isn’t allowed to sell the oil to pay the outrageous fines. Attorneys for an oil company interesting in the property agree to represent him in what turns out to be a 15-year court battle. Forced to cap the well until the case is resolved, Jed battles a steady stream of lawsuits from environmental groups, one of which discovers a rare strain of mosquito larva roughly 500 feet from the first proposed derrick site. The property is zoned as a “protected watershed and sensitive wildlife habitat” and the case is dismissed before it reaches the Supreme Court. In personal matters, kept in too close proximity of one another, Jethro repeatedly beds twin sister Jethrine and the inbreeding results are illustrious. Unable to use the land as intended, the oil company bills Jed for a mountain of legal fees he has no ability to pay. He could barely support Granny before ATF raided her rheumatism medicine factory, let alone the steep bond in the upcoming federal probe against her for transporting alcohol across state lines. The town seizes the property using eminent domain, citing its value exceeds the tax revenue it currently receives from Jed. The ASPCA reports Elly May for animal hoarding, she’s jailed and never meets Dash Riprock.

No fancy eating table, no cement pond.

There’s an answer in here somewhere. Times have changed. Hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your husband.

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The purpose of a business card is to exchange contact information. Two hundred years ago, this would have been where you lived or worked, a note to remind people of your address in the promotion of your business.

It’s been widely believed that Alexander Graham Bell had a less-than successful business card company and invented the telephone as a means to create additional contact information — a series of numbers nobody could possibly remember — therefore demand would increase for his sole passion, printing.

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Q.  How is it people can say an artist has “sold out” to their audience? Doesn’t the performer work for them in the first place? I mean, they paid the ticket price. I say, sell it all! EXPLOIT IT! Fuck that “starving artist” bullshit!!! Make sure you give it your all though.

A.  I’m sure the more sensitive, independent artists — who care more for causes than the trappings and riches that go along with fame — hold back their best material for fear of success. All that comes along with it, it’s not worth selling out.

Actors who refuse to polish their craft in order to avoid getting a callback. Comedians locking the best jokes away because if people laugh too hard, they’ll want to come to the concert. Songwriters stashing the really good stuff in underground vaults, left unheard for fear people might really like the tunes and want to buy them. Some of the very best aren’t even recorded, they’re that good. Sheet music, stacked shoulder high. To hear the songs performed would be so heavenly and harmonic, people would seek out the performers in order to pay them; follow them on Twitter as well as Facebook. It would be a total sell-out.

The added benefit, you can still wear turtlenecks or go to Bonnaroo without people giving you a hassle.

Better than the alternative: success.

Finding your name on guest lists to high-profile events and gaining access to even greater opportunities; not having to worry about bills, which allows for a more industrious pursuit of the passion. Only a fool would release quality so potent and risk selling out.

Besides, popularity is such a son of a bitch.

Too much success might also rob others of their slice. There’s room for everyone in the entertainment industry and people are known for offering their opportunity to somebody else, as a simple matter of courtesy. It’s a happy cooperative, I hear.

For fans, it’s jealousy the band is no longer their hidden gem — it’s everyone’s gem. They sold out. The kids nurtured in the lean years are suddenly mature and out of the house, free to do as they please. Not as easy getting tickets and the venues are bigger, it pisses them off. The extraordinary douchebag fan will turn on the artist they love. From that moment, they’ll always tell you the “older stuff” was better.

Sure, there’s acknowledgement that you recognized greatness way back when and now more will experience it — but you saw them first. You truly love this band, still, a star is born. That sweet cherry you ventured with years ago is now on the market, potentially fucking everyone behind your back. It’s heartache, betrayal. Proud the artist you love gets to paint with colors on a much larger canvas, but time to abandon ship and seek out the next new thing.

You know these people. While everyone else is enjoying this performer’s work for the first time …

  • “I saw them at (smallest concert venue known to man). Place was no bigger than this (points at closest tiny object in room). It was just me, the band and the bartender. Who’d want to see them in a huge arena?
  • “I saw her on Broadway years ago and she was so much better in that.”
  • “(name of current album) is overproduced, it’s poppy. You should listen to (name of earlier album). 
  • “When he was in (name of previous band), he was more into it. Now he’s just cashing a paycheck.”

Growing up, I listened to a DJ who loved Genesis, until they got popular. The dividing line was somewhere between Duke and Abacab, Fall 1981. Phil Collins had put out a solo album (Face Value) earlier in the year using the Earth, Wind and Fire horn section — used again, first time on a Genesis track, on Abacab‘s “No Reply at All.” Four minutes and forty seconds out of lengthy career, Genesis had sold out.

You would have thought the Earth had twisted open and been licked in the center like a giant Oreo, then put back together so that nobody would notice. No longer a tasty creme filling inside the Genesis catalog, future songs okay at best and always reluctantly praised. Everything Duke and below, better. He’d play Genesis, you knew the dig was coming, “before the Earth, Wind and Fire horns and Phil Collins thinking he’s a solo artist.”

For Genesis, this was the beginning of their most successful run as a band. In a two-hour concert, they’ll play 75% of what happened after this cookie planet split, inside the mind of a DJ. They had sold out. They should have stayed a conceptual progressive rock band with great albums, few hits and a lineup that changed every year. Instead of gaining millions of fans, they wouldn’t have lost one.

Genesis did sell out. They were always better with Peter Gabriel, just like the Black Eyed Peas were better pre-Fergie, before all the hits. Is it wrong to dream of the past and still have nightmares over the halftime show? That’s not the band I knew, before they went corporate.

You’re not alone. For many, life is viewed with a “pre-Elephunk/post-Elephunk” mindset, but not for the positive reasons you suggest. It’s beyond selling out, I’m pretty certain the Black Eyed Peas also cut a deal with Satan. It’s hard to mention BEP and not immediately follow with the word “suck,” yet here we are.

I was amazed during the halftime show to learn that two of the members actually have names. I always thought it was will.i.am, Fergie and the two guys who must have blackmail on them. One’s named Taboo, the other is apl.de.ap — and I know what you’re thinking, gett.hefuc.kouto.fhere.

The Black Eyed Peas — break them down: piece by piece, talent for talent. Not a pretty sight. We haven’t voted them off the island yet and we should have voted them off a long time ago. Fergie’s pipes are undeniable and she’s unquestionably the best voice in the group, but that’s a lot like ordering the most healthy option at McDonald’s or contracting the least contagious sexually transmitted disease.

When new television sales spiked a few years ago, many attributed it to the public converting to flat screens, not Pepsi’s commercial comparing wil.i.am to Bob Dylan. For many of us on the fence with new technology, resisting the urge to throw something at the old TV became less of an issue when the prices came down, and Pepsi continued to run the ad.

Let’s get something straight: Bob Dylan lead a movement of reexamination in the 60’s that grew to challenge ideas and leadership. will.i.am wrote “My Humps.”

That said, these fuckers put out some catchy music. Remove the 5th-grade humor from “Let’s Get Retarded” and “Let’s Get it Started” becomes a chorus for a generation. The original approach was retarded, the sound was always there. You have to believe now it’s done on purpose, creating the soundtrack for a fill-in-the-blank ad campaign that will form the beat of yet another wave of existence. Next year, a new theme song. Somehow, tha.tfu.cker manages to cut through the murk and weave a melody that becomes an anthem every 18 months or so and didn’t Bob Dylan do that too? Ugh, it just makes you want to scratch your retinas out.

In terms of suction, the Black Eyed Peas will always be the Rock of Gibraltar. None of this extinguishes the Pentagon’s belief that air-dropping the band in Pakistan would prove a vital weapon in the war against Al-Qaeda, although it may violate the Geneva Convention.

I don’t think I’m going on a limb to say that the reason the halftime show was so poorly received was due to the product on stage — and who didn’t see that coming? Still, it’s the freaking Super Bowl and that only verifies that you’ve made it. Better to be smart than good, catchy enough that you don’t get sick of it even though you never want hear the song again. Some Survivor players succeed not because they’re the best, they know to play the game. There’s a lot of brilliance in that.

A lot of the rest of us are not getting paid Black Eyed Peas money and I’d remind you to please click on the ads.
Which ads? Any ads? So who should play the halftime show? I think they should hire a DJ.

Make it a surprise. Never announce who’s playing, leak all sorts of misinformation and when halftime comes, David Bowie walks out or Madonna, Garth Brooks, Beyonce and Jay-Z, Metallica, AC/DC, Duran Duran, Katy Perry — maybe Phil Collins with Earth, Wind and Fire. It doesn’t matter, most everyone watching at home is drunk at that point and will be stoked to see Gallagher smash watermelons for 15 minutes. It wasn’t until Michael Jackson performed in 1993 that the Super Bowl halftime show became a major act that needed to be outdone every year. It becomes impossible to exceed expectations.

Not long ago, it was all college marching bands and Up with People. Check out 1982’s halftime show and see how long you can go before you start praying for sniper fire.

And any ads, click them often. I can’t promise I won’t sell out on 2 cents a click but I’ve done worse for less.

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