Yeah, so we’ve been a little lazy this week…Not so much lazy as much super busy. Don’t worry though, we’ll get our shit back in order.
Also, it seems that there is an issue with our file host (the music one), so downloads may be temporarily disabled…Check back later.
Words.
We seem to be experiencing some server issues (the one where we store the goods (music))… Don’t worry though. They’re usually pretty good at getting us back online in a timely fashion.
UPDATE: We’re back in business!
3000 long miles away from the Chateau Marmont and the Beverly Hills Police Department, I have only my spotty telepathic capabilities and my soft spot for Gingers to will positive thoughts to our dearly incarcerated.
Like most arm chair psychologists trained in long talks with friends lacking any modicum of restraint, I have learned to offer advice that is sugar coated and easy to swallow; tough times call for big comforts, and they will not hear what they do not want to. Anything short of enabling usually illicit the sort of “Fuck-you-how-could-you-do-this-to-me-this-is hard-enough-I-thought-you-were-my-friend” rant until enough parents/first loves/soccer coaches step in to collectively steer them towards self-healing.
This light-hearted salsa jam goes out to you, Lindsay, to embrace your fall off the wagon.
For some reason, the sight of 1,500+ Philippino inmates performing a perfectly coordinated and choreographed dance routine to “Thriller” gives me hope for humanity.
It took a week to get permission from those involved, but here it is, from the midwest to the world via our smug music blog. This is entirely true. At least that’s what I was told. Other than the name, nothing else has been changed. Maybe this isn’t even a big deal, but I don’t know, it’s pretty crazy.
Date: Wednesday, July 11
Time: 7:07PM
Location: Hopkins, Minnesota
So Jane Doe (name changed, you will know her as SOAP Confidant) is getting home to her townhouse last night and she’s pulling into the communal alley of driveways & garages when she sees some of her neighbors out chatting with a couple of well-dressed men. She thinks nothing of it, walks around them and heads into her townhouse. A few minutes later her doorbell rings. She opens the door to find two Jehovah’s Witnesses…one of whom is PRINCE.
Yep. Prince. Hot on the heels of playing a triple-header gig on Saturday, which culminated in the police shutting him down at 4AM at First Ave in Minneapolis. Fast forward to Wednesday evening when he’s ding-donging the neighbors to help get them into heaven.
My name is Prince, and I am funky.
I am Jehovah, won’t you join me?
Says SOAP Confidant: “He was impeccably dressed in a fine tan suit. He didn’t say anything, but held his briefcase in front of him with both hands while the other man talked about the upcoming rally in Rochester. I told them I couldn’t attend as I was going to China tomorrow.”
SOAP: Was he wearing sunglasses?
SOAP Confidant: “No, but his complexion was flawless.”
I asked whether or not he was wearing Cuban heels but she couldn’t tell.
We apologize if you’ve had trouble accessing the site over the last 24 hours. We were experiencing some spooky Friday the 13th related database issues.
So we finally did it. I know, I didn’t think it would happen either. But here we are: SOAP 2.0! Grab a drink and make yourself at home, and take some time to check out the scenery.
Anyway, the list goes on. With a lot of work and a little bit of luck, you should notice some more changes rollin’ out over the next week or two, the most exciting of which is the launch of WSOP Radio, our new podcast (we’re shooting for this Wednesday). Also, we’re gonna replace the header with a cool flash thingy that moves! Expect some new guest writers as well.
Rest assured that under the pretty new skin, behind the neat new features lies the same old SOAP.
Roberto Onofri - Welcome Desire || Master Program
NOTE: We’re in the process of porting over the old content, so you may not be able to access some of it for a bit, as we’re working from front to back.
UPDATE: It seems that I somehow deleted all comments from SOAP 1.0 prior to April. So feel free to go back through our archives and reiterate points that you may have previously made. You know we love hearing from you.
The internet found me a gem last week, a bona fide philanthropic call to action to make possible the get-the-fuck-outta-here. Rap’s gangster conversationalist has decided to fulfill his destiny as the embodiment of the Christmas spirit, offering up a contest for youth to make one wish come true. In 100 words or less.
My take. Will be submitted. Talk amongst yourselves.
Dear Jeezy-
I wish for you to run for Mayor of Atlanta. Your recent acquisitions show your interest in Atlanta, but with the influence of Black Hollywood near omnipresent, now you can claim its true title.
My wish is selfless, the aspiration to memorialize both you and the city I once called home into the permanent pages of history.
An Atlanta native, you speak the common language, and your underdog story of success throughout social and institutional hardships commands respect from Atlanta elite.
Lastly, true power lies within public office. Shirley Franklin rolls in a Maybach. For real.
Sincuuurly-
Ellsworth
Your whereabouts are unknown; you have told no one, talked to no one. You stand alone in the room of an empty house on a hill in the middle of the night.
A gust of wind, more gusts. No, not wind, a tide. A tide pulsing up the hill, seeping through the cracks in the window you face. Its presence is powerful, almost aromatic, as the house shakes with a force that is pervasive to the touch, the teeth. Baritone tremors rattle the chandeliers, windows shatter. Helplessness takes over as music hits bone and tension rises in the blood, forcing movement among this unstable, inhuman orchestra.
You lose focus on the song and even the sound, clinging only to the finely tuned sequence of events dangling before your ever-narrowing perspective.
We've finally gotten our W3-compliant asses together
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