Vestron Video 4510
Vestron Video 4510
The World's Worst Rapper? (Up for debate of course since there are probably worse.) The clip below features no-talent emcee Stephen from Sheffield and is from the 2006 preliminaries of UK's The X-Factor with judges Simon Cowell, Sharon Osborne, and Louis Walsh -- all of whom weren't feeling Stephen's flow.
The World's Oldest Rapper video clip features Herb Jeffries rapping at 95 years old. And the World's Youngest Rapper clip is of Bobby J, who is actually not the youngest rapper. I think he is about 4 and a half or five in this clip, and there are many younger rappers out there. But of the numerous 3 year olds I have seen/heard, none come close in style and flow to lil Bobby J. And anyways, this Amoeblog is more about fun than anything else. So just enjoy!
The Weakest Rapper
Aunt Samantha Bumgarner (nÃ©e Biddix) was a fiddle and banjo player from North Carolina who, in 1924, became the first woman to record hillbilly music. In doing so, she opened the doors for all the great female hillbilly and country musicians who followed. Imagine for a second a world without Brenda Lee, Iris Dement, Jean Shepard, Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline, Norma Jean, Skeeter Davis, Sue Thompson and Tammy Wynette, to name a few. Not a pretty place.
When she married Carse Bumgarner in 1902, he gave her her first fiddle but she remained most acclaimed for her banjo playing. A few years later she acquired the nickname "Aunt Samantha." Although through the lens of modern ignorance, a hillbilly woman gaining fame with the banjo may seem completely out of the ordinary, it was actually fairly common for women to play the instrument, especially amongst hillbillies. In 1916, when Cecil Sharp and Maud Karpeles began field recording in the upper south, nearly three quarters of the hundreds of tunes they compiled as English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians were performed by women. In addition, many famous male hillbillies learned to play from the women in their lives. Ralph Stanley was taught to play by his mother, Lucy Smith Stanley. Cynthia "Cousin Emmy" May Carver taught "Grandpa" Louis Jones. Clarence "Tom" Ashley learned to play from his aunts, Ary and Daisy. Morgan Sexton was schooled by his sister, Hettie. Earl Scruggs was beaten to the banjo by his older sisters, Eula Mae and Ruby.
Today Northern California was treated to another brisk yet glorious morning of blue, cloudless skies. This is a most welcome respite from many weeks draped in a drab grey layer of drizzle, rain and heavy downpours resulting in deluged drains all over the city and local newspaper headlines pointing fingers in jest at the Governator's now weakened "worst drought ever" claim. I love rain and I love seeing tourists in San Francisco -- both mean great things for our fair state. But what I love most about rain in San Francisco is watching tourists deal with it because whether they're curtained in plastic panchos, or struggling with Chinatown-cheap umbrellas (rendered useless by sudden gales), or clutching upside down, sopping wet sight-seeing schedules (inexpensive print ink bleeding from the page) with arms weighed down with souvenir bags (pakced full of chocolate, magnets, mugs, keychains, more chocolate and "Alcatraz Swim Team" T-shirts) they still manage to make the most of their cold, wet pre-season, bargain-priced, best-value vacation. Perhaps they'll leave nothing of their hearts in San Francisco when they leave, their inundated ephemera safely stowed. I often wonder when I spy these hapless yet brave winter visitors (and their shivering, fog-weary summer counterparts) if they ever question whether or not they might've been swindled by a capricious Mother Nature. After all, pleasant yet drought-like weather predictions were widely published recently, before the storms hit, and they could have only anticipated the best weather ever. Packed wet and disheveled into drafty, wet cable car cabins, however, their faces seemed to say, "we've gone on holiday by mistake."
If you recognize the above reference then it's time for you to watch Withnail & I (written and directed by Bruce Robinson, 1987) again. If, on the contrary, the quote means nothing to you, then I am jealous of you because that means you get to watch one of the greatest, infinitely quotable "buddy" films of all time for the first time -- and what I would give to relive that initial viewing again. Every time I see that cinematically understated opening sequence, steeped in misery and ominous drear, I feel a wave of comfort and nostalgia rush over me not unlike the pleasant feelings one gets from meeting a kindred spirit at an old haunt where time seems suspended and conversations remain forever open-ended. It settles and preps me for the bountiful barrage of verbal gems that follow, falling from the screen preciously like booty from buried treasure. Recent lovingly oft-quoted films like Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Superbad, Anchorman and The 40-Year-Old Virgin are, when compared to Withnail & I, like cup noodles prancing in the shadow of soul food. I think a more comparable modern counterpart to Withanail & I might be found in The Big Lebowski, but there's an undercurrent of poetry that Withnail carries which, sadly, Lebowski hath not.
Some of that poetry recently went up for sale. According to BBC News, Sleddale Hall, or Crow Cragg as it is called in the film, was put up for sale in late January and was listed as being "in the veiled parlance of a slick estate agent, in need of a bit of modernization." Though the shoddy, semi-derelict cottage perched among the steep rolling hills of England's picturesque Lake District is only accessible via a dirt track miles away from any real roads and requiring special permission to trespass, a steady stream of fans make the pilgrimage to, if for no other reason, scribble some of their favorite quotes on the walls. "Uncle Monty's cottage" sold at a lively auction (described by The Times as "almost as melodramatic as Richard E. Grant's performance as an alcoholic actor convinced he is destined for stardom" in reference to the Withnail character in the film) packed with fans who shouted lines at each other before ultimately being sold for £265,000 to Sebastian Hindley, a politician and pub-owner local to the area where the run-down farmhouse turned cult-film-junky-mistaken-vacation destination lay. "Free for those who can afford it, very expensive to those who can't" is not a Withnail quote that Hindley seems to favor for he claims that he hopes to make the cottage available to all who love the film and quote it ceaselessly (on the walls and especially on the front door of the beloved "Crow Cragg.")