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I had two friends in college who, during overlapping eras, were generally considered the flyest sisters on campus. They both pretended to not know this while wielding their power.

One sister had them flocking from the summer before her orientation. Facebook was still a novelty then but fellas knew enough to use it like Mel Kiper’s Big Board. Her everyday photos were the talk of the town, upperclassmen and incoming students alike undoubtedly anticipated their chance.

I was in a relationship at the time and viewed the sister as just that. I had no intentions toward her, having known her from the independent school circles back home (where one of my homeboys ADORED her), it was just cool that she was coming to Davidson. As wholesome as I was, even I subconsciously engaged in the free agent pursuit.*

Now, I told you that I knew everybody was going after her but it wasn’t until one particular evening that I realized how absurd it really was. I went down to her dorm room to see how she was doing and literally saw a line of brothers waiting to chop it up. Her fineness transformed a dorm room into the DMV.

She was braiding one guy’s hair (the frontrunner at the time), getting help with class from another, talking about music with a third, and getting invited to a step show by a fourth! Having known her the longest (and still having no untoward feelings, consciously at least) I stepped past the crowd and exchanged pleasantries. The intrigue had its ebb and flow; (it’s not like she got less fine) but no one really succeeded (I define success in this situation as being a publicly acknowledged situation). Many found solace in saying “whatever” but still found time to ridicule her ex-boyfriend—another student—for letting her get away.

This episode taught me a valuable lesson that I want to share with you in light of the Carmelo Anthony situation. Teams, like thirsty upperclassmen, often fail to realize when they are being used. They might have valuable assets but it’s all about timing.

Let’s take the Nets for example. Do they have a bright future? Absolutely. Young players, cap flexibility, draft picks (and the win drought that guarantees the quality of those picks) and the eventual move to the county of Kings. And it is those things, save Brooklyn, that they are offering for Melo’s services. If he did wind up in Newark, is Carmelo really getting anything better than what he had in Denver?** No.

For longtime Art Stars, y’all know I’m a Knicks fan til eternity. Bias aside, Melo makes sense for the Knicks. It took me a while—had to let the burns heal—but I’ve talked myself into the proposed trade of Felton, Gallo, Eddy Curry’s snacks, and Chandler for Melo, Billups, and etc. I really believe this trade lets us walk away with a better team for the playoffs and Billups will be washed up right in time for us to chase Deron Williams. (I want no parts of Chris Paul’s knees. Him and Amar’e will look like a couple of Golden Girls by the time that arthritis sets in.)

It’s not even like Melo on the Nets makes them a threat. They’re being used. (In this analogy Denver is the girl and Melo is said girl’s fineness.) The Nets are driving up the price to the point where the Knicks (if Jim Dolan can find somewhere to sit down and shut the hell up) might have to say, “You alright but…nah I’m good.”

Without the Nets being so thirsty, the Knicks could just wait til free agency and give Melo a max offer under the new Collective Bargaining Agreement. But just like all the brothers in the dorm room, the Knicks are gonna have to do a little bit more to stand out.

Which sucks.***

But I understand where the Nets are coming from. Melo is a great player and if you can make the move for him, you’ve got to, right? I’m reminded of the many times I’ve chased a girl that a friend of mine also fancied. The second girl, aforementioned in the first paragraph, created a rivalry between one of my homeboys and I. I didn’t stand a chance but kept on trying, unfortunately driving up the price for him. He ended up with her and now they are far from friends. I kept it moving with my proverbial draft picks (read: my dignity and sanity) and will be married in June.

Peace.

*At least that’s how the lady I was with saw it. Perhaps this was because I—once again, subconsciously—walked my own girlfriend off the sidewalk to talk to her or would end arguments by saying, “Screw this, I’m gonna go see how (aforementioned sister) is doin!”

**Aside from helping to create a murderer's row of player's wives/girlfriends (Kim Kardashian, LaLa, and occassional visits from Beyonce is a legendary lineup)

***This is not like LeBron being a free agent and every team having a right to throw their hat in. Melo ain’t even that good. And the Nets are the only ones messing this up for my squad!****

****If the Nets really do mess this up for the Knicks by either obtaining him or making us trade everybody but Amar’e and Spike, I hereby renounce New Jersey. It’s that real.

Of a table of nine freshmen, we were the only two people laughing. Our group took pause from their food to shoot us ”the look,” but we only smiled at each other and resumed normal conversation. The sudden outpouring of mirth wasn’t because either of us had said anything funny, but that we had just realized that we could understand each other. For the rest of the night Devyn and I exchanged smiles, giggles, and secret glances – we connected, and even at eighteen we knew how much that was worth. The next day I was talking to my best friend, Katherine, and asked her for the scoop about Devyn. It turned out Devyn had a very cute boyfriend in Steven, another freshmen that she’d seen since high school, and that it was “very serious.” I was very disappointed: one minute it’s jokes over quesadillas, the next minute your future girlfriend is already spoken for and halfway to the altar. I couldn’t brood for too long, though, because what Katherine said next would change my life: “Don’t worry, I think I have a plan.”

As a teenager, I was profoundly influenced by the coming of age masterpiece Cruel Intentions. It was what I aspired towards (I was not a good person then, and if I were 18 now I am sure my hero would be Gossip Girl’s Chuck Bass). Katherine knew this and presented me with a plan that would make Sarah and Ryan proud. She had her own crush on Steven, and proposed that we worked together to break them up, and then both collect the respective prizes. I loved the idea, the intrigue, and the possible rewards. I was to befriend Steven and she would become friends with Devyn. Then we would all hang out and seduce our targets, and afterwards insinuate to our new “friends” that college is a time for exploring and trying new things and that they shouldn’t limit themselves. We played our parts well and soon wrought friction and misplaced romantic tension in the newly doomed relationship, while Devyn and I coddled our connection, oblivious to looming disaster. You never expect your best laid plans to come to fruition at a Waffle House.

Granted, I had never been to a Waffle House before college. I always had considered it to be the dirty shady cousin of IHOP. Katherine was a huge Waffle House fan or as she preferred to say “WaHo.” Katherine would insist that we go to WaHo after studying at least every couple weeks, and on this occasion she suggested we invite Devyn and Steven. Inviting them to dinner was risky, and the reward came sooner than expected: Devyn caught my eye, licked her lips, and made a sort of smacking sound. I was shocked that she would do something so clearly flirtatious in front of her boyfriend, but also took it as sort of a challenge. I caught her eye and repeated her lip smack except in a way that was even more overtly salacious. By this time Katherine and Steven had noticed that something was going on between us. I don’t know if Devyn had had too much syrup or if the greasy aroma of onions and cheese had gone to her head, but she gives me a “you are not about to out flirt me, I am a sexy woman and you are just a boy, and to hell if my boyfriend is sitting directly across from me” glance, and then holding my gaze runs her soft, long tongue languorously over her lips and smacks them loudly at me.

The mood at the table was tense. Steven looked at his girlfriend and then looked at me and then back at his girlfriend. Even Katherine shot me a “what the hell are you doing” look. The moment passed, we paid for our meal and left. Later that week Devyn and Steven broke up, and that weekend I met Devyn at a house semi-formal. I told her that I was really sorry about her breakup, to which she said that she was sorry about mine (yes during this time I was dating someone else -- I warned you I wasn’t a good guy). I don’t know if it was the long building sexual tension between us or just our general connection at that time, but what we did wasn’t just dancing – it was foreplay. The next day I woke up with mono.

I always wonder how different my life would have been if I never got mono. I was socially side-lined for the entire month of November, and all of my hard work of September and October fell to the wayside. Devyn couldn’t take me to her house semi-formal because I was too sick to attend. I couldn’t kiss any new girls because I didn’t want to give them mono, so I end up getting back with the girl I had broken up with and who I would date on an off again for 2.5 years. In a surprising twist, Steven and I actually became really good friends. We both were big basketball fans and would go to the home games together; we didn’t miss a game the entire season. I felt bad for trying to steal his girlfriend, but I never told Steven anything about the plan, and soon forgot about the whole ordeal.

That spring, I invited Steven to meet my best friend, Rush, for a drink. Rush and I were up to our usual tricks: talking fast, laughing louder, and telling increasingly ridiculous stories, including one about a beautiful, half-naked runner coming into Rush’s room to deliver a box of homemade cookies, and then leaving without saying one word.

“Do you remember who I ran into after I left your room?”

”Wasn’t it Devyn?”

I felt Steven lift his head to look at me, so I quickly denied it and tried desperately to catch Rush’s eye to let him know to drop the subject. I was too late, and my best friend steamrolled ahead, “Well I would have thought it was Devyn. Haven’t you always liked her?”

Steven is looking straight at me, and I weakly reply “Yes.”

The room fell to complete silence. Steven looks at me, looks back down, takes out his cell phone, opens it, looks at me, closes it, and says “I think I am getting a call, I’m going to go now.” It never rang. Steven and I were never friends again.

I'll keep this short, as I'm sure you people are tired of hearing me blab on about love and shit (I'll be talking about The Matrix next).

In a victory for deluded narcissists everywhere, Lindsay Lohan has won her lawsuit--and her $100 million settlement--against E-Trade for appropriating the name "Lindsay" in its "milkaholic" Super Bowl babies commercial. The lawsuit went all the way to the Supreme Court, where Justice Scalia, in a surprise 9-0 ruling in Lohan's favor, wrote for the court, "Lohan deserves the chance to mock herself; she needs no help from E-Trade." Justice Thomas remained silent on the matter.

Original video below:

How does it feel to put in your all and have it not be enough?/Instead of all full, you're awful and it's so damn tough- Chris B. "Lyrics of Fury 2k5" circa 2004.*

Everything we dream of.

If you're new to Art Star, a Cavs fan, or find my beloved Knicks laughable, you may wonder why I am talking about Bron Bron in MSG a day before he begins feasting on the Orlando Magic.

Tonight is the night we learn where the Knicks pick (and I guess the other cellar dwellers are there too).

From all accounts this is a weaker draft than the last two (though, one can never be TOO sure on someone's potential...peace to Darko and Kwame Brown) but I'm still excited.

And guess what? I don't even want the number one pick.

That's right my fellow lotterarians, you can have Blake Griffin.

For that matter, keep Rubio, Thabeet, Jennings, and whoever else keeps Chad Ford awake at night.

All I'm saying is when I turn on MSG next season, all I'm trying to see is more of this:



Please believe this is the future. Anything else is unacceptable.

From Exit 30 to 34th St.

Stay thirsty my friends.

Between us and Them.

It starts with a flicker of emotion, a spark doused with the treacherous solace of good Mexican beer. It takes but a sip to rewind the embers into a profound blaze of doubt and meticulous scrutiny of faults at once both invisible yet achingly overt.

You may feel like there’s a joke going around. Smiling peach faces and round cream bottoms always out of grasp, taunting in their appropriate imperfection. They’ve got the punch line under wraps and it’ll take more than Markovik to charm those lips open.

Tragically, you will soon come to terms with the reality. You will never be a part of that circle, for you were destined to remain outside, looking in through the coffee shop window. You will never understand what makes them so special, or their shitty music so appealing. You don’t have the stage presence for it.

Give up. You’ll be happier that way.

Dedicated to bad music.

It ends with a question. "How could you hate someone so adorable?" You'd like to tell her that it's easy. All you'd need was love.

He performed under the name Sheepskin Bogonis, his persona a ragged beard and matching, scraggly voice oscillating between nervous melody and Muppetish growl. Grover crying over a chai latte while masturbating into his copy of Gravity's Rainbow. 

Occasionally the veneer breaks (or maybe it just continues, who am I to tell?). He lets out a woman's giggle and adjusts his carefully unwashed bob. He tosses out self-deprecation like candy or Amyl.

With music like that, songs written in the posthumous honor of a grandmother, he's sure to get plenty of adoring "ooh's" and "ahh's," not so dissimilar from a family reacting to a vomiting newborn. At most one of his fellow suburbanites will bed him out of a fiendish blend of pity and painful boredom. She won't think anything of it. He's as threatening as a kitten.

And as much as it hurts, I can't even say I'm mad.

Art Star pham,

Though our attention is rightfully attuned to the dire state of our economy, nothing frightens me more when the people in charge, or in this case, potentially a "72 year old's heartbeat" away, don't know what's going on. It takes me back to childhood moments and the sense of peace that parents and all good guardians aim to provide. Even if they are freaking out, they must maintain stability. My Mom was unemployed for over a year and never let me feel the brunt of our situation. I couldn't imagine how scared I would have been if my Mom demonstrated a clear inability to deal and eventually overcome our circumstance.

Which brings me to Sarah Palin and her bizarre interview with Katie Couric. She reminded me of someone who had to give a presentation for class but forgot to read the book. Or maybe only read the back cover description and thought they could "wing it." Pulling words out of the air might work in your tenth grade English class, but this is straight embarrassing...

Matter of fact, Fareed Zakaria politely remarks that she needs to do herself a favor and bow out gracefully:

I'm not impressed.