Normally, karaoke repulses me. The very idea - a mob of people who collectively could not hold a note if their lives depended on it subjecting an audience to banshee-like renditions of "Living on a Prayer" because they have consumed enough alcohol to blur the line of what is acceptable in society and what is morally reprehensible - elicits a visceral response from me that is one notch below nausea.
However, I learned (late) yesterday night that, when confined to a private room, karaoke becomes acceptable and, dare I say it, fun. Peter, a bunch of his friends, some randoms we met at Tortilla Flats, and I spent hours in this trippy karaoke bar in the East Village/Alphabet City assaulting each other's auditory sensibilities and loving every minute of it. Performances ranged from pathetic to rousing, with the gold star going to Peter for his table-top Bon Jovi impression. Also noteworthy: a tear-jerking "Lean on Me".
Good times.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Snow good; sludge BAD
How quickly a winter wonderland transforms into a disgusting, muddy swamp of melted snow, wet dirt, and slow moving pedestrains. Yuck.
Monday, January 24, 2005
New Season of Apprentice - Degrees vs. Diplomas
A true statement: being in Manhattan allows you to truly appreciate this show to its fullest extent. I actually came to this somewhat obvious realization early last semester when I witnessed what I predict will be a marketing ploy related to one the show's forthcoming tasks (look for sky-writing and Home Depot). In fact, on numerous occasions last semester I almost made the trek up to Trump Tower for the free weekly showings at the World Bar to complete the reality TV experience. And this is in spite of my utter contempt for the Donald and his delusions of grandeur (I do agree that his fiance is pretty attractive).
Now, I would be remiss if I didn't add that I am and will always be a reality TV fan - it's just that much better than its competition. (Well, that is, except for a few points of light on an otherwise pitch black sky, e.g., Arrested Development and, according to the critics, Desperate Housewives). Even in the face of the backlash that is presently in vogue, I am resolute in my support and will vigorously defend the merits of reality TV. Regular and sometimes irregular people in stressful, ridiculous, or just plain contrived situations makes for television far superior to the trite, repetitive, spoken-by-a-dopey-father-to-a-misbehaving-adolescent as-the-stern-mother-looks-on jokes that are the standard fare of the average sitcom. If you don't agree with my position, there is no doubt in my mind that you must have missed such venerable reality TV classics as Average Joe (nerds vs. jocks competing for the affection of a model) and Joe Schmo (a nromal person is thrown into a fake reality TV show and is duped beyond belief).
But I digress. From the first episode of the new Apprentice, it seems as if the High Schoolers are going to be dominating the more educated but otherwise inept College-educateds. But, if there is one thing I know from being a reality TV veteran, its that nothing is as it appears. One thing, however, is certain: Apprentice and the new Survivor should make for good TV and a welcome distraction from law school.
Now, I would be remiss if I didn't add that I am and will always be a reality TV fan - it's just that much better than its competition. (Well, that is, except for a few points of light on an otherwise pitch black sky, e.g., Arrested Development and, according to the critics, Desperate Housewives). Even in the face of the backlash that is presently in vogue, I am resolute in my support and will vigorously defend the merits of reality TV. Regular and sometimes irregular people in stressful, ridiculous, or just plain contrived situations makes for television far superior to the trite, repetitive, spoken-by-a-dopey-father-to-a-misbehaving-adolescent as-the-stern-mother-looks-on jokes that are the standard fare of the average sitcom. If you don't agree with my position, there is no doubt in my mind that you must have missed such venerable reality TV classics as Average Joe (nerds vs. jocks competing for the affection of a model) and Joe Schmo (a nromal person is thrown into a fake reality TV show and is duped beyond belief).
But I digress. From the first episode of the new Apprentice, it seems as if the High Schoolers are going to be dominating the more educated but otherwise inept College-educateds. But, if there is one thing I know from being a reality TV veteran, its that nothing is as it appears. One thing, however, is certain: Apprentice and the new Survivor should make for good TV and a welcome distraction from law school.
Friday, January 21, 2005
It figures
Due to some late night partying yesterday across the street at Off the Wagon, a bar best known as an NYU undergrad hang-out, I finally managed to soil my perfect attendance record, sleeping through my Property class. Damn you free drinks and friendly law students - I was proud of being so virtuous! Now that I've tasted the sweet nectar of truancy, only time will tell if I fall into a routine of slacking and fail out of law school under a cloud of shame.
Lucky for me (or not, depending on how you look at it), something happened while I was sleeping away the previous night that militates to maintaining my good behavior - the professor called on me to answer a question. Not being there, I of course could not and someone in the class had to say something to the effect of "he's not here". Any other time, this event would have been benign, but, because I was absent, her wrath is sure to be incited and I will undoubtedly pay a high price.
I now strive for 99% attendance, a lofty goal but an attainable one.
Lucky for me (or not, depending on how you look at it), something happened while I was sleeping away the previous night that militates to maintaining my good behavior - the professor called on me to answer a question. Not being there, I of course could not and someone in the class had to say something to the effect of "he's not here". Any other time, this event would have been benign, but, because I was absent, her wrath is sure to be incited and I will undoubtedly pay a high price.
I now strive for 99% attendance, a lofty goal but an attainable one.
Just prior to the festivities. We put up all of our rejection letters on the blank wall. This seemed to stir up quite about of conversation, focusing on either the absurd amount of applications we've sent out or the fact that all the letters in reply are identically worded, even down to the "we are so impressed with your qualifications" bs compliment. Oh, and if you couldn't tell from my apartment-mates, we dressed up to complete the illusion.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
We couldn't resist
To celebrate the start of the new semester, we are proud to be having a smalll party this Friday. In keeping with the previous one, we decided the party must be themed. I thought that since we are presently being bombarded by invites to firm receptions, we should host our own. My roommates agreed. Even the attorneys at the event tonight threw their support behind us, submitting ideas as to how we could make the reception even more authentic.
Check out our invite:
Dear NYU Law Student,
Bramhall, Rus and Carlson LLP invites the NYU School of Law Class of 2007 to join lawyers and summer associates from our Fairfield, Bucharest, and Sebeka offices for a cocktail reception at Club 709 bar and lounge, located in Suite 709 at 110 W 3rd St.
Friday, January 21, 2005 9:00 - 12:00 PM
Truly international, different... and better. Bramhall, Rus and Carlson LLP is one of the world's newest international law firms, with 3 lawyers in 1 dorm. We may someday specialize on high-profile, cutting-edge matters for top global businesses and organizations.
We have opportunities for ambitious, highly capable JD graduates, not only in California and Romania, but also across rural Minnesota.
RSVP through EmplawyerNet
Business Casual attire and beer to share is suggested
PS. Due to recent allegations of sexual misconduct, there will be no private interviews held in Tudor’s champagne room.
PPS. We'll provide jello shots, mixers, and some beer, but BYOL (liquor).
Check out our invite:
Dear NYU Law Student,
Bramhall, Rus and Carlson LLP invites the NYU School of Law Class of 2007 to join lawyers and summer associates from our Fairfield, Bucharest, and Sebeka offices for a cocktail reception at Club 709 bar and lounge, located in Suite 709 at 110 W 3rd St.
Friday, January 21, 2005 9:00 - 12:00 PM
Truly international, different... and better. Bramhall, Rus and Carlson LLP is one of the world's newest international law firms, with 3 lawyers in 1 dorm. We may someday specialize on high-profile, cutting-edge matters for top global businesses and organizations.
We have opportunities for ambitious, highly capable JD graduates, not only in California and Romania, but also across rural Minnesota.
RSVP through EmplawyerNet
Business Casual attire and beer to share is suggested
PS. Due to recent allegations of sexual misconduct, there will be no private interviews held in Tudor’s champagne room.
PPS. We'll provide jello shots, mixers, and some beer, but BYOL (liquor).
Sunday, January 09, 2005
My NYE
(setting the scene: I'm staying with a few friends at one guy's brother's apartment in downtown Manhattan)
Somewhat early in the morning of the 31st, I awoke to the loud whining of Dan, who in his rush to secure what he assumed was the premiere sleeping spot the night before, had laid claim to the "midget" couch. This turned out to be a major mistake because in order to get any kind of sleep he had to either curl up in the fetal position or let his feet hang off the side. As Dan would attest this morning, neither orientation offered even the semblance of comfort.
To drown out the incessant complaining, we engaged in a few rise-and-shine games of Bomberman and Mario Kart. Fortunately, Ro’s mom showed up right as we were waking up and made each one of us a tasty chicken sandwich for brunch so that we didn’t have to leave the apartment. Her good intentions were obvious, but I am a firm believer that she had an ulterior motive: to allow us to play video games uninterrupted. She is Ro’s mom after all.
Sufficiently nourished, we then headed out to pick up Peter’s luggage and dry cleaning for the big night. To this end, Dan, Josh, Peter and I trekked from the financial district through the madness at Canal St. to Peter’s friend Mike’s apartment on 14th or somewhere in that vicinity. On the way, we made a pit stop at Gray’s Papaya, where big-spender Dan purchased a bucket of papaya juice to flex his financial muscles. An investment guru if I have ever met one, he drank less than half of the 64 ounces and threw the remainder away. Perhaps this is an indicator that his forthcoming business ventures aren’t going to be the cash cow he envisions.
At some point, Josh and Dan caught the train back to Ro’s brother's place while Peter and I grabbed his stuff and caught a cab to NYU. Once there, we primped and preened (not each other) until everyone showed up for dinner.
Unable to decide on a place to eat, we let Peter do the honors. Of course, that meant we would invariably end up at one of two places: Sammy’s Noodle Shop or Funayama. Since this was a special night, Peter lead us to the latter, a sushi spot which serves up gargantuan slices of fish and, on New Year’s Eve, we were pleased to see, free champagne.
Following the meal, we purchased some alcohol and played a variation on quarters called Baseball to pass the time. Despite Sarah’s inability to make a quarter bounce, Dan and I triumphed. During the middle of our second game, Peter received what I can only assume was a frantic call from one of his friends who was already at Pioneer (ultimately, opposition to the Tribeca party won out). Apparently, it was “getting packed” and quick action on our part was the only guarantee of securing entry into what was sure to be a sold-out Pioneer New Year’s Eve party. By our standards, it was still too early to head to a bar – it was about 10:15 - but we heeded the advice of the anonymous phone-caller anyway and hightailed it out of my apartment and into cabs.
Suffice it to say, Pioneer was not packed by any means. Even so, we paid our $75 and entered Peter’s second home. Since it was early, we sat down at a table and began drinking in earnest. Most of the conversation centered around the lack of attractive females and, more interestingly, how to tie a balloon to an unsuspected bar patron. In spite of what you may think, the latter needs no explanation.
A few hours later, when leaving Pioneer, we emerged to find an somewhat irritated Ro, struggling to hold up his somewhat intoxicated girlfriend. Seeing him in such a state, I came over to offer my support and, unexpectedly, was met with a punch to the face. Hardened through years of playing fighting games, Ro’s iron fist damaged my face to such an extent that my lip actually became a bit swollen. A mutilated lip would not stop me, however, from eating a breakfast at Gramercy Diner. Nor would it earn me any sympathy that night, as I was forced to sleep on the midget couch as Dan had the night before. How quickly we turn our back on those in need.
And, yes, if you were wondering, he did apologize. Now to get even!
Somewhat early in the morning of the 31st, I awoke to the loud whining of Dan, who in his rush to secure what he assumed was the premiere sleeping spot the night before, had laid claim to the "midget" couch. This turned out to be a major mistake because in order to get any kind of sleep he had to either curl up in the fetal position or let his feet hang off the side. As Dan would attest this morning, neither orientation offered even the semblance of comfort.
To drown out the incessant complaining, we engaged in a few rise-and-shine games of Bomberman and Mario Kart. Fortunately, Ro’s mom showed up right as we were waking up and made each one of us a tasty chicken sandwich for brunch so that we didn’t have to leave the apartment. Her good intentions were obvious, but I am a firm believer that she had an ulterior motive: to allow us to play video games uninterrupted. She is Ro’s mom after all.
Sufficiently nourished, we then headed out to pick up Peter’s luggage and dry cleaning for the big night. To this end, Dan, Josh, Peter and I trekked from the financial district through the madness at Canal St. to Peter’s friend Mike’s apartment on 14th or somewhere in that vicinity. On the way, we made a pit stop at Gray’s Papaya, where big-spender Dan purchased a bucket of papaya juice to flex his financial muscles. An investment guru if I have ever met one, he drank less than half of the 64 ounces and threw the remainder away. Perhaps this is an indicator that his forthcoming business ventures aren’t going to be the cash cow he envisions.
At some point, Josh and Dan caught the train back to Ro’s brother's place while Peter and I grabbed his stuff and caught a cab to NYU. Once there, we primped and preened (not each other) until everyone showed up for dinner.
Unable to decide on a place to eat, we let Peter do the honors. Of course, that meant we would invariably end up at one of two places: Sammy’s Noodle Shop or Funayama. Since this was a special night, Peter lead us to the latter, a sushi spot which serves up gargantuan slices of fish and, on New Year’s Eve, we were pleased to see, free champagne.
Following the meal, we purchased some alcohol and played a variation on quarters called Baseball to pass the time. Despite Sarah’s inability to make a quarter bounce, Dan and I triumphed. During the middle of our second game, Peter received what I can only assume was a frantic call from one of his friends who was already at Pioneer (ultimately, opposition to the Tribeca party won out). Apparently, it was “getting packed” and quick action on our part was the only guarantee of securing entry into what was sure to be a sold-out Pioneer New Year’s Eve party. By our standards, it was still too early to head to a bar – it was about 10:15 - but we heeded the advice of the anonymous phone-caller anyway and hightailed it out of my apartment and into cabs.
Suffice it to say, Pioneer was not packed by any means. Even so, we paid our $75 and entered Peter’s second home. Since it was early, we sat down at a table and began drinking in earnest. Most of the conversation centered around the lack of attractive females and, more interestingly, how to tie a balloon to an unsuspected bar patron. In spite of what you may think, the latter needs no explanation.
A few hours later, when leaving Pioneer, we emerged to find an somewhat irritated Ro, struggling to hold up his somewhat intoxicated girlfriend. Seeing him in such a state, I came over to offer my support and, unexpectedly, was met with a punch to the face. Hardened through years of playing fighting games, Ro’s iron fist damaged my face to such an extent that my lip actually became a bit swollen. A mutilated lip would not stop me, however, from eating a breakfast at Gramercy Diner. Nor would it earn me any sympathy that night, as I was forced to sleep on the midget couch as Dan had the night before. How quickly we turn our back on those in need.
And, yes, if you were wondering, he did apologize. Now to get even!
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Movie that you might not expect to be any good but is:
Shaun of the Dead
Saw this little gem over the break and was very pleasantly surprised. Perhaps I shouldn't have been; British humor always manages to tickle my funny bone for some inexplicable reason. Two moments I found particularly hilarious:
1) Shaun and his deadbeat friend throwing records at the first zombies they encounter for purposes of decaptitation
2) Shaun and his compatriots beating a zombie with pool cues to the beat of Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now"
Saw this little gem over the break and was very pleasantly surprised. Perhaps I shouldn't have been; British humor always manages to tickle my funny bone for some inexplicable reason. Two moments I found particularly hilarious:
1) Shaun and his deadbeat friend throwing records at the first zombies they encounter for purposes of decaptitation
2) Shaun and his compatriots beating a zombie with pool cues to the beat of Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now"
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Never done this before.
Presently, I’m writing this on the plane, soaring 37,043 ft above
But I digress. The real reason for this departure from my normal in-air habits is to recall an awkward but funny-in-retrospect situation from the flight home. What makes that flight worth discussing is that I was unfortunately assigned a seat next to the person whom you would least want to sit next to on a 6-hour flight. No, not an overly talkative old woman (they can be somewhat entertaining – for 15 minutes). And, no, I’m not alluding to a screaming baby, although that would be quite bad, too.
As luck would have it, JetBlue granted me a seat adjacent to a 20-something male with a gigantic ‘fro. And by this, I don’t intend to conjure images of the standard, circular, dome-like afro we have all come to love and respect. The massive afro atop this guy's head was more like a porcupine or a puffer fish in defensive position, complete with quills or spines (depending on which analogy you prefer) that measured feet instead of inches.
Now, on its own, the mere fact that a guy with a huge 'fro sat next to me on a plane would not have caused much of a problem, nor been worthy of a mention on this Pulitzer prize-deserving website. And, as most of my friends can attest, I’m not one of those people that would publicly insult a person just because he or she opts for a different lifestyle or mode of dress. Nevertheless, I am a firm believer in the fact that if you happen to have a possibly hazardous and annoying hairstyle, you should make sure to keep it under control for the sake of your fellow man.
The guy with the 'fro is on this flight. I wonder what unsuspecting sap is stuck in the seat next to him. Thankfully, it’s not me and I’m able to watch the Dog Whisperer with a clear view.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Preparations
At the moment, I am dilligently preparing for NYE in the Big Apple. As a matter of fact, this will be my first such experience in this fair city. And the city is treating me quite well: the weather is fine (i.e., above 40 degrees), my hand is feeling better (don't ask), and there are a few million people patiently waiting to party it up tonight in celebration of 2004's end and 2005's beginning. You can almost feel the debauchery in the air - the calm before the storm, or so it would seem.
Needless to say, tonight should be fun, if not action-packed.
Happy New Year's to everyone out there, wherever you may be celebrating tonight!
Needless to say, tonight should be fun, if not action-packed.
Happy New Year's to everyone out there, wherever you may be celebrating tonight!
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Do real men wear pink?
Regardless of how wearing the now-trendy color would affect my classification as a male, I am not eager to join the pink-adorned ranks of NYC, thank you very much. And that is precisely why I have to return the latest Christmas present I received.
To be less vague, the present to which I am referring is a Kangol beanie, which I requested just a few days before coming home. Originally, when I stumbled upon this winter garment on the 'net, I immediately warmed (pun intended) to the brown/tan two-tone variety. But since I couldn't seem to locate anything more than an image of that color scheme on the Kangol website and elsewhere in cyberspace, I requested the one in dark grey/light grey.
Let's just say "dark grey" is an egregious misrepresentation or, at the very least, a wee bit of an understatement - the damn thing is light grey and PINK. Well, okay, to be completely honest, it's more lilac than pink. (For those who, like me, only know the names of about 10 colors, lilac is a soft, light purple.) Keep in mind, however, it's not as if this correction mitigates the harm done. In fact, lilac represents even more of a serious affront to my fashion sense (if you'd be so kind to allow me one).
So, back to the store it goes, as all pink-hued articles of clothing must when they make their way to my closet. For now and the foreseeable future, I am to remain pink-free (or lilac-free, whatever).
To be less vague, the present to which I am referring is a Kangol beanie, which I requested just a few days before coming home. Originally, when I stumbled upon this winter garment on the 'net, I immediately warmed (pun intended) to the brown/tan two-tone variety. But since I couldn't seem to locate anything more than an image of that color scheme on the Kangol website and elsewhere in cyberspace, I requested the one in dark grey/light grey.
Let's just say "dark grey" is an egregious misrepresentation or, at the very least, a wee bit of an understatement - the damn thing is light grey and PINK. Well, okay, to be completely honest, it's more lilac than pink. (For those who, like me, only know the names of about 10 colors, lilac is a soft, light purple.) Keep in mind, however, it's not as if this correction mitigates the harm done. In fact, lilac represents even more of a serious affront to my fashion sense (if you'd be so kind to allow me one).
So, back to the store it goes, as all pink-hued articles of clothing must when they make their way to my closet. For now and the foreseeable future, I am to remain pink-free (or lilac-free, whatever).
Monday, December 20, 2004
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Some strange alien material is falling from sky
And I'm not exactly sure what it is.
Just after finishing up an all-you-can-eat sushi meal - slash - Torts review session, Brian, Kevin and I emerge from the restaurant only to notice that there is something raining down from the heavens. Kevin and Brian assure me it is "snow" and I assure them it is "cold". Wow, this marks the first time I have ever lived in a place where it snows. Actually, I think it snowed once or twice in Fairfield during the 15 or so years I was a resident but, for purposes of this post, that doesn't count.
The 31st is going to be one chilly NYE.
Just after finishing up an all-you-can-eat sushi meal - slash - Torts review session, Brian, Kevin and I emerge from the restaurant only to notice that there is something raining down from the heavens. Kevin and Brian assure me it is "snow" and I assure them it is "cold". Wow, this marks the first time I have ever lived in a place where it snows. Actually, I think it snowed once or twice in Fairfield during the 15 or so years I was a resident but, for purposes of this post, that doesn't count.
The 31st is going to be one chilly NYE.
Friday, December 17, 2004
So, here I am sitting at the computer, looking out my window...
trying to decide how many layers I'll need to be warm today. It looks nice - sunny, very few clouds in the sky, the various wires strewn about the rooftops are not flapping too much, which indicates that it's not all that windy (wind is the real killer when it's sub-40). I mean, if I were in California I would estimate the temperature to be somewhere around the mid-60s based upon my visual evaluation. But thanks to first-hand experience thus far in New York - and Yahoo! weather - I know better. Evidently, someone who has already been outside today insists that it feels like 38 degrees, which is to say it will feel uncomfortably cold to me. Dammit.
So, with the knowledge that it is almost cold enough to turn me into a giant ice cube, I now have to ask myself the following questions: Which jacket should I wear? How many undershirts? Warm socks or standard white ones? Gloves or bare-fisted? Should I finally break down and buy a fucking scarf (not a big fan of suffocation, myself)? And where the hell is that beanie that I brought from home? All this at a time when the only thing on my mind should be the legal principles of negligence and strict liability. If my grades turn out to be repulsive, I will blame the weather and it's constant attempts to beat me into submission.
So, with the knowledge that it is almost cold enough to turn me into a giant ice cube, I now have to ask myself the following questions: Which jacket should I wear? How many undershirts? Warm socks or standard white ones? Gloves or bare-fisted? Should I finally break down and buy a fucking scarf (not a big fan of suffocation, myself)? And where the hell is that beanie that I brought from home? All this at a time when the only thing on my mind should be the legal principles of negligence and strict liability. If my grades turn out to be repulsive, I will blame the weather and it's constant attempts to beat me into submission.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Test 2: Finito
Oh man, not only did I just take one of the hardest tests I've ever encountered, but it is cold as a blizzard out here. Feels like -45oC to my California-spoiled self.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
One down and two to go...
Only nine more days of this. The oasis is within view, but agonizingly out of reach.
Monday, December 06, 2004
Thursday, December 02, 2004
The Bay Area's newest music craze: Hyphy
One positive thing about attending a "Homie Thanksgiving" is that it is the perfect opportunity to catch up on all of the goings-on in the Bay Area music scene. As expected, the attendees knew very little about the existence of any up-and-coming trip-hop DJs and even less about any underground post-rock groups in the area, so I had to settle for a report on the current state of Bay Area rap. To be frank and, simultaneously, to slightly embarrass myself, 10 years ago, this was my musical genre of choice (I've come a long way), so I did possess a slight curiousity as to what I had missed over the past year.
What I learned from the briefing was that the biggest phenomenon in Bay Area rap today is hyphy (pronounced hi-fee, not hi-fi). Being the ignorant, RJD2-listening person that I am, I had to ask: "What in the hell is hyphy?" According to my learned instructor, the word refers to a eponymous song by a group called Federation, which features E-40 and an out-of-this-world Rick Rock beat that is not so much music as a collection of drum beats, odd sound effects, and some guy mumbling incoherently. Just yesterday, I finally downloaded the song and found it to be crass and unpolished as Bay Area rap usually is but catchy in a thump-in-the-trunk kind of way.
If you didn't know (and who would?), hyphy is slang for hyperactive, a phase most people outgrow before the time they reach puberty. Apparently, the Bay Area music scene has, as a collective, not given up on being "hyphy" and, instead, embraced the "hyphy lifestyle". In true "I've Got 5 on it" style, there is even a remix floating around that features various Bay Area artists, an obvious attempt to cement Hyphy as a Bay anthem. It seems to be working, as even MTV.com has picked up on the buzz and penned a story on the subject (http://www.mtv.com/bands/h/hypy/news_feature_110804/).
For all of us from wonderous Fairfield, the best part of the hyphy hype is that at least one of the members of the Federation is from Fairfield, a fact which is proclaimed loud and clear on a t-shirt that appears in the song's video. Why I am proud that these guys come from home town is a mystery that will never be explained. And, truth be told, I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
Side note:
From my extensive research after the fact, I have discovered that there is a six-part test to determine if you are hyphy. Feel free to take it at your leisure. Rigorous scientific testing shows that if you answer "yes" or "perhaps" to 4 out of the 6, you are considered ignorant, self-centered, wasteful, and just plain dumb enough to live and prosper in Northern California.
Have you ever:
1) "made them nosey neighbors want to call the cops"
2) "gotten crooked up and down the block"
3) (I can't really decipher this from the song but I think it has something to do with owning a "scraper" or "drop-top", both of which are cars, I presume.)
4) "getting pulled over and won't stop"
5) "danced on the hood of your partna's Caddy"
6) "made a baby's momma slap a baby's daddy"
Are you hyphy?
What I learned from the briefing was that the biggest phenomenon in Bay Area rap today is hyphy (pronounced hi-fee, not hi-fi). Being the ignorant, RJD2-listening person that I am, I had to ask: "What in the hell is hyphy?" According to my learned instructor, the word refers to a eponymous song by a group called Federation, which features E-40 and an out-of-this-world Rick Rock beat that is not so much music as a collection of drum beats, odd sound effects, and some guy mumbling incoherently. Just yesterday, I finally downloaded the song and found it to be crass and unpolished as Bay Area rap usually is but catchy in a thump-in-the-trunk kind of way.
If you didn't know (and who would?), hyphy is slang for hyperactive, a phase most people outgrow before the time they reach puberty. Apparently, the Bay Area music scene has, as a collective, not given up on being "hyphy" and, instead, embraced the "hyphy lifestyle". In true "I've Got 5 on it" style, there is even a remix floating around that features various Bay Area artists, an obvious attempt to cement Hyphy as a Bay anthem. It seems to be working, as even MTV.com has picked up on the buzz and penned a story on the subject (http://www.mtv.com/bands/h/hypy/news_feature_110804/).
For all of us from wonderous Fairfield, the best part of the hyphy hype is that at least one of the members of the Federation is from Fairfield, a fact which is proclaimed loud and clear on a t-shirt that appears in the song's video. Why I am proud that these guys come from home town is a mystery that will never be explained. And, truth be told, I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
Side note:
From my extensive research after the fact, I have discovered that there is a six-part test to determine if you are hyphy. Feel free to take it at your leisure. Rigorous scientific testing shows that if you answer "yes" or "perhaps" to 4 out of the 6, you are considered ignorant, self-centered, wasteful, and just plain dumb enough to live and prosper in Northern California.
Have you ever:
1) "made them nosey neighbors want to call the cops"
2) "gotten crooked up and down the block"
3) (I can't really decipher this from the song but I think it has something to do with owning a "scraper" or "drop-top", both of which are cars, I presume.)
4) "getting pulled over and won't stop"
5) "danced on the hood of your partna's Caddy"
6) "made a baby's momma slap a baby's daddy"
Are you hyphy?
Monday, November 29, 2004
Home, Sweet Home
Ah, Thanksgiving.
If you couldn't guess from the title of the post, I managed to make my way home for the holiday thanks to some financial generosity from my parents. Flew out of New York on Tuesday night via JetBlue and arrived in Sacramento at around 10:30 PM. By the time I made it home, everyone was asleep, so I wolfed down some ham and cheese on a baguette, spent some quality time with my dog, and passed out.
The next morning, thanks to the time change, I woke up bright and early, despite being exhausted from class and traveling the day before. Got to meet my younger bro's girlfriend, whom he met - suprise, suprise - at his work ... a biotech company. And, to make matters even more unoriginal, he is spending all of his time with her, alternating nights at her place and his. I swear, he is utterly incapable of learning from my mistakes. Must be genetic or something.
At some point, Justin left to drop her off in Sacramento, and I tried to do some work. Problem was, I couldn't concentrate, so I ended up just hanging out with my folks, watching Elf and eating a delicious dinner in the process.
Later that night, Chris and Derek came through to hang out for a bit. We watched some TV, drank a few brews, and reminisced about the good ol' days. Great to see them, as always, but it's kind of pathetic that, in our old age, we now opt to stay in to watch Wild Boyz rather than go out and be wild boys. Oh well, socializing in Fairfield could easily end in a drive-by, so maybe staying in the relative safety of home was a good call.
Thanksgiving day offered no surprises. Went to Scottie's that night, which also offered no surprises, as the whole FF gang was there. Actually there was one surprise: instead of playing beer pong or pool, everyone was playing chess. Bay Area rap still supplied the ambiance, but the mood was decidedly less gangster, which I appreciated.
Friday: ate a Dave's burger, which wasn't as good as I remembered, but still better than the Corner Bistro. Perhaps the decline is due to the proprietor's recent legal problems. Seems that ol' Dave wanted to give something back on November 2nd, so he promised a free burger to anyone who voted. Apparently, the line was out the door, down the street, a testament to the value-sensitive people of Fairfield. The FBI, however, caught wind of his devious plot, and came down hard on Dave, who must have been unaware that rewarding people for voting is unlawful. During my admittedly short visit, I didn't notice him making the burgers, so it is quite possible that he is in the slammer once again (tax evasion last time, fyi).
Another Dave - a friend from high school - was at Dave's, however. He had been deployed in Iraq for about five months, starting 3 and a half weeks after the initial push. We spoke at length about everything going on over there and his experiences as a combat engineer. I must say, it was incredible to hear about the reality of the situation and all the peculiarities of war. For instance, in order to stay moderately comfortable in the oppressive heat, they would splay out on the cold granite floors of Saddam's mansions and palaces. Most amazing of all, was the perspective that he came back with. Over the course of our hour-long discussion, he put forth a very clear, rationale vision of what was working and what wasn't. Impressed the hell out of me, that's for sure.
Saw the Incredibles that night, which was fantastic in spite of the 5-minute "short" prior to the start of the flick that involved a dancing sheep.
Next day, met up with some girls from high school and bravely ventured over to the so-called "Homie Thanksgiving," put on by all the "homies" from the old "'hood". Never been to one of these before, but this is only the second annual, so I haven't missed much. Can't give many details about the event because it was just way too odd for me to describe (for example, the "homies" are interested in starting up a church to swindle money from unsuspecting Christians), but I was happy to see that at Homie Thanksgiving, they did actually eat a turkey (two, in fact).
Bright and early the next morning, woke up and caught a flight back to the Big Apple. Took the subway back from JFK and encountered no problems. I must be beginning to figure this place out. Next step, taking down Trump.
If you couldn't guess from the title of the post, I managed to make my way home for the holiday thanks to some financial generosity from my parents. Flew out of New York on Tuesday night via JetBlue and arrived in Sacramento at around 10:30 PM. By the time I made it home, everyone was asleep, so I wolfed down some ham and cheese on a baguette, spent some quality time with my dog, and passed out.
The next morning, thanks to the time change, I woke up bright and early, despite being exhausted from class and traveling the day before. Got to meet my younger bro's girlfriend, whom he met - suprise, suprise - at his work ... a biotech company. And, to make matters even more unoriginal, he is spending all of his time with her, alternating nights at her place and his. I swear, he is utterly incapable of learning from my mistakes. Must be genetic or something.
At some point, Justin left to drop her off in Sacramento, and I tried to do some work. Problem was, I couldn't concentrate, so I ended up just hanging out with my folks, watching Elf and eating a delicious dinner in the process.
Later that night, Chris and Derek came through to hang out for a bit. We watched some TV, drank a few brews, and reminisced about the good ol' days. Great to see them, as always, but it's kind of pathetic that, in our old age, we now opt to stay in to watch Wild Boyz rather than go out and be wild boys. Oh well, socializing in Fairfield could easily end in a drive-by, so maybe staying in the relative safety of home was a good call.
Thanksgiving day offered no surprises. Went to Scottie's that night, which also offered no surprises, as the whole FF gang was there. Actually there was one surprise: instead of playing beer pong or pool, everyone was playing chess. Bay Area rap still supplied the ambiance, but the mood was decidedly less gangster, which I appreciated.
Friday: ate a Dave's burger, which wasn't as good as I remembered, but still better than the Corner Bistro. Perhaps the decline is due to the proprietor's recent legal problems. Seems that ol' Dave wanted to give something back on November 2nd, so he promised a free burger to anyone who voted. Apparently, the line was out the door, down the street, a testament to the value-sensitive people of Fairfield. The FBI, however, caught wind of his devious plot, and came down hard on Dave, who must have been unaware that rewarding people for voting is unlawful. During my admittedly short visit, I didn't notice him making the burgers, so it is quite possible that he is in the slammer once again (tax evasion last time, fyi).
Another Dave - a friend from high school - was at Dave's, however. He had been deployed in Iraq for about five months, starting 3 and a half weeks after the initial push. We spoke at length about everything going on over there and his experiences as a combat engineer. I must say, it was incredible to hear about the reality of the situation and all the peculiarities of war. For instance, in order to stay moderately comfortable in the oppressive heat, they would splay out on the cold granite floors of Saddam's mansions and palaces. Most amazing of all, was the perspective that he came back with. Over the course of our hour-long discussion, he put forth a very clear, rationale vision of what was working and what wasn't. Impressed the hell out of me, that's for sure.
Saw the Incredibles that night, which was fantastic in spite of the 5-minute "short" prior to the start of the flick that involved a dancing sheep.
Next day, met up with some girls from high school and bravely ventured over to the so-called "Homie Thanksgiving," put on by all the "homies" from the old "'hood". Never been to one of these before, but this is only the second annual, so I haven't missed much. Can't give many details about the event because it was just way too odd for me to describe (for example, the "homies" are interested in starting up a church to swindle money from unsuspecting Christians), but I was happy to see that at Homie Thanksgiving, they did actually eat a turkey (two, in fact).
Bright and early the next morning, woke up and caught a flight back to the Big Apple. Took the subway back from JFK and encountered no problems. I must be beginning to figure this place out. Next step, taking down Trump.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
