As a young lad (just a few years ago, in fact), I loved nothing more than staying out until the break of day and waking up in the mid-afternoon. In Argentina, this is the norm, even for grown folks, but they don’t start dinner until 11pm at the earliest, and night clubs close around 7 or 8 AM.

Today though, I’m brimming with excitement and there are 40 bajillion things I would like to take care of before the sun sets, so the only way to do them is to get up early and attack the day.

I also love the fact that there aren’t the pressures of work and deadlines looming over my head. Though I wish to handle some business related to my job, I don’t actually have to check in with anybody, so I’m free to work at my own pace.

I never thought I would live for the weekend, but here I am doing just that, and getting up early on a Sunday too.

Successful musicians have a lot in common with professional athletes; they live and die by public perception. A long, prosperous career is something of a miracle.

Just to make it to the big show is to surmount frightening odds. History is littered with one-hit wonders and first round draft picks who never quite found their stroke. Why did Guns-N-Roses only produce one good album? Why didn’t Ricky Williams ever shine as a pro quarterback? To be the real deal—- Jordan sinking the the buzzer beater, Beckham nailing the set piece, Usher bringing an audience to tears—-this is why we worship heroes. They’re one in a billion, made from different stuff than us.

British performer M.I.A (real name Maya Arulpragasam) was to treated to a real stinger today when this week’s installment of The New York Times Magazine went live. Not given to hero worship, writer Lynn Hirschberg, in her 8,5000 word profile, either fired the opening salvo in an attempted career assassination, or she penned the kind of press that acknowledges a new superstar has reached the pantheon.

Traveling with the artist to L.A., New York and London as she wrapped up work on her most recent, album Hirschberg unpacks M.I.A.’s craft (a penchant for recombination), her collaborative nature (manipulating bulldozer) and perhaps most damning, her haphazard adherence to revolutionary principles regarding the Sri Lankan civil war. It’s hard not to take sides, but by most accounts, Hirschberg’s piece was an ego thrashing. What is M.I.A made of?

Even as a fan of M.I.A, I was impressed by Hirschberg’s craft and her attention to detail. Weaving together a narrative with rich details, sounds and colors, I felt as though I was bumping through LA gridlock or walking the streets of London on a cold, clammy day. When she spoke to people who know Maya, she gathered opinions that were far-ranging, authentic and insightful. Furthermore, with NY Times bona fides, Hirschberg had access to Interscope Records CEO, Jimmy Iovine, Maya’s old boyfriend, Diplo, and scores of others.

While Maya might bristle at the treatment, reportedly tweeting Hirschberg’s cell # to her 100,000-strong cadre of followers), with so many voices in the story, it’s hard to sympathize if she feels she was mis-characterized.

I’ve known M.I.A’s music almost since the day she hit the scene. I was a starry-eyed intern at the TRACE Magazine headquarters in SoHo, when she first came across my radar with her instant hit ‘Galang.’ The beat escapes in heavy clumps as M.I.A leers into the camera with a look that is both uninterested and seductive, as she sashays with her genre-bending personal style. This is truly the stuff that superstars are made of, I thought.

At a time when UK grimesters KANO, Wiley and Lady Sovereign made their initial, moody incursion into the New York music scene, ‘Galang’ captured the gush of electricity, the sweaty heat and utter naïvete of my first summer in New York. I had been to all of their shows at The Knitting Factory, but to hear M.I.A. was something truly unique.

Time has a way of being be so cruel to our heroes. On the road to superstardom, a serious injury, a bad album or a well-publicized scandal, can run a promising career off the rails. That said, the only thing the media loves more than to crown a king is to destroy an icon. The first half of Michael Jackson’s life was performing for enthralled crowds, the latter half spent performing for a gobsmacked press.

So is this M.I.A’s moment of truth? The Albums Arular and Kala are classics. I don’t own either (I’ll admit I don’t buy a lot of music these days), but they have songs such as ‘Paper Planes,’ ‘Bucky Done Gun’ and ‘Sunshowers’ that are timeless.

As Hirschberg describes in her story, the single for ‘Born Free’ came with a made-to-be-banned viral video. When the nine minute minimovie came out, I thought it was an asinine companion to mediocre song. For all of Maya’s bravado, political posturing and color, I was seriously underwhelmed. With so many talented musicians, and an epidemically fractured attention span, it doesn’t take much more than an over-hyped and under-delivering single to trigger an avalanche. Good luck climbing out once you’re buried.

Perhaps M.I.A the artist had pulled the proverbial hamstring. After all, it’s been five years in the spotlight. Five years is a long time. Five years ago I sprinted from work to Rumsey Playfield just to catch of glimpse of Maya’s elbow as she performed at Central Park Summer stage. In those five years, I’ve matured drastically, and the thoughts I expressed in term papers, conversations and (errant blog posts about relationships) have all changed to reflect a wealth of new experiences.

We expect our favorite athletes to keep getting better over time, even as their bodies age. Rightly or wrongly, we expect musicians to have the same fire in the gut at 35 or 40 they had a 25. They are, after all, superheroes, right? Who cares what they may or may not have learned for life under the gun.

I can’t help but wonder if Hirschberg’s takedown of will bring better from M.I.A. or signal the decline of a career that promised so much and delivered less. Can she bounce back stronger on her fourth album. What tricks does she still have up her sleeve? Her reaction to the story seems petty and short-sighted, but she had to answer back with something. Only time will tell.

I’d love to know what you think. Leave a comment. Does M.I.A. have superstardom in her DNA or is she, sadly, just another one of us?

I’ll be moving to California for work in late June, and I’m giddy at the prospect of returning to the Mission District, one block from my old apartment. Though my job could conceivably be executed from anywhere on the West Coast–nay, anywhere in the world–a Cali homecoming is a true thrill. Previously I spent two month in San Francisco as an intern at Google News.

Just under a year ago today, I crammed what little I own into boxes and launched what I believe will result in a life of endless adventure. Nearly two months of the last twelve were spent in São Paulo, Brazil (with almost an entire weekend in Rio de Janeiro). After quick stopovers in New York City, it was off to India, from which I only recently returned. During those seven uninterrupted months afield, I explored many corners of India, as well as visiting Singapore and Malaysia–which feels so close I can nearly reach out and touch it. After two nights in London, I was on a plane and headed to my parents’ house.

Coming back to Seattle, it felt like I’d never left. While the light rail system was a new addition to the scene, little else seemed different from everything I had known in India, in spite of the fact no place could be more different. I had reached a point where I felt as though, yesterday I was there–Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, China, England–and today I’m here: Malaysia, Nigeria, New York, Chicago.

In that regard, it’s tough to say whether I’m really moving this time, or just making an extended cameo. In three months since I came back to Seattle, I’ve returned to something like life as I’ve known it before. On the one hand, I’ve reconstructed a social web and routine, though always keeping in the back of my mind that I am an impermanent visitor. On the other hand, because of the same social media tools that allowed me to feel a sense of belonging. I’ll keep just as close with the people I know, as if I hadn’t left.

I’ve always longed to travel, and I thought that business trips would be the coolest thing ever. After a single working journey, I was cured of any romantic notions.

While living in Bangalore, we traveled to Delhi to meet with consultants, and host an awareness event for the TEDIndia conference. Hopping on the 6:30am flight meant arriving at the airport an hour early, and leaving our place in Whitefield by 4am for the bonecrunching, hourlong ride. By the time we checked in for our flight, we were in a panic, as only a whisper thin margin separated us from being bumped to the next plane. Once seated, it was nice to know that in India, someone will always show up later than you, though it never pays to take chances.

After 2.5 hours in the air, we arrived in Delhi, hired a taxi and headed to our first meeting. After the initial adrenaline abated, I felt myself drifting in and out of consciousness, even as words were coming out of my mouth. That can’t be good. From this two-hour meeting, we headed to lunch, and then to a hotel, where I flopped down on the edge of a bed hoping for 20 winks. Far too soon, I was up and we were heading out to a series of high stakes social events with global marketing honchos from Barclays bank. Some hours and some whiskeys later, we had accomplished all we set out to do and it was now after 10pm. At last, to bed–once we figured out where we sleeping.

I don’t know if all business trips are this intense, but we made seven appointments in two cities during a single day. If work travel is anything like this, I would prefer to have as little of it as possible. As much as I love to travel, being somewhere is a far better thing.

So yes, I’m on the move again. Fortunately (or unfortunately) the big day is a month from now. It seems like a long time, given that I’ve only been in Seattle three months. The process of disentangling begins anew and this rolling stone keeps rolling.