Wednesday, August 29, 2007
so my sign is Taurus, kick you in your face/like my fuckin name was Chuck Norris..." - TS
Pardon the obvious corniness/hilarity, but I experienced this tonight, thus I made a post.
I was at la Negrita on 109th and Columbus tonight watching the Yankees beat the Sux, as well as playing trivia. As the night wore on, who but Chuck Norris came up in conversation. What followed, naturally was a series of Chuck Norris jokes. I now share with you my favorites (my top 3?).
3) Chuck Norris doesn't read books; instead, he stares them down until he gets the information he needs.
2) Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer. Too bad he never cries.
1) [this one is so good!...]
Chuck Norris knows the last four digits of pi.
What are your favorites?
Monday, August 27, 2007
Same Girl (Remix) - R. Kelly ft. T-Pain, Usher 
Call me ballsy for putting a song that came out in the past two months on my Best Remixes Ever list, but I just had to.
When I first heard Same Girl (Remix)I kind of tuned out in the middle of T-Pain's verse, then I tuned out even more when Kelly was singing and I eventually turned it off before the end.
R. Kelly delivers what I believe to be his best work since the Ignition series. More on that later. T-Pain actually ripped it after I kept listening and listening. First, he inquires:
"Do she got a crib (YEP)/ By the waffle house(YEP)/
Did she show you that thing that she be doing with her mouth (MAN)"
Then he proclaims:
"She know to cock them legs back/ The greatest sex in your life (YEP)/
Yeah i know cuz she's my wife"
Wait a minute. Hold up. Dawg.
So I'll admit it, however corny it is, I like the concept of the original song. Obvious inconsistencies with the video story aside, I like the concept of this remix. T-Pain was obviously there from the start, listening in, figured out it was his wifey, then decided to join in on the convo. Beautiful.
Oh yea, and he's mad:
"I can't believe this Bitch/ I can't believe this Shit/
Everything i ever did for her i'm taking it back, i'm so thru with it/
Yeah Yeah Yeeaahh Yeah/ I took time out of my life to have these niggas fuck my wife..."
Boy, that does kind of suck. So, I keep listening. What will R. Kelly retort with? What will be his explanation?
"Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up/ Wait a minute, wait a minute/
Just wait one god doggone minute/ You can't do the remix without putting some "R" in it ..."
Either I just got plunged into some meta-physical world R. Kelly has created in which his character somehow knows that some other-worldly entity has created this love triangle and is now continuing the story by providing a remix or...
He just decided mid-song that he's done with the whole we-fucked-the-same-girl concept.
Or did he? :
"She's my shawty my tenderonni/ My booty call when i'm horny/
I am Bobby this is Whitney when we getting HIIIIGGGHHH/
Spent that money played that game/ Got good brains she made it rain/
She's my limp and i'm her cane/ Shoot we talking bout the same..."
So he finished out his verse with a pun only I think I would appreciate: "So back up T or its gon' cause you some pain."
And then it seems like its all over. Oh man, no, it is so not.
He proceeds to "flip it", change up the beat, ignition style, and he totally rips it in the most hilarious, audacious, awesome type of way:
"Now can i flip it, Now can i flip it/You can flip it, You can flip it/
Snap ya fingers, Snap ya fingers, Snap ya fingers, Snap ya fingers..."
"Im in the club with a drink in my hand/Stunting hard looking like about a hundred grand/
Ready to spend it all/ So shawty take it off/Just call the club with jiggas and n**gas ready to ball/
Think out by the bar /Live with her in my car/
Hit it with my stunnas on like a rock star/
I know yall think im crazy/Kells gon wild B-I-ITCH/
This is just a free style..."
So now Kells is freestyling on his songs?? He seriously must be on some shit after this one. And just to make this an absolutely CLASSIC remix, he decides to imitate another genius (and alleged kid-toucher), the G.O.A.T. - Michael Jackson:
"now usually i dont do this but uh, i'ma go head on and do it
come on snap your fingers with me michael jackson style...
Snap ya fingas do ya step yo can do it all by yo self/
Snap ya fingas do ya step yo can do it all by yo self"
Amazing. 5 stars. R. Kelly, you can always "flip it" for me.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Here's I look at it, in a series of interrelated points/factoids:
a) The minimum age to drive in the US is, on average about 17-18 years old.
b) Life takes the graphic form of y equals negative x-squared. For all you non-8th grade math teachers out there, that means Life is an upside down parabola.
c) Old people are slow at things.
So, without further ado, my theory:
I think... actually, I know that there should be a maximum driving age in the US. AND, I think it should be... [drum roll please]
Plus, who the fuck likes being stuck behind an old geezer on the road??
They get it. Hip hop is a business.
Last night at Screamfest '07 at MSG, T.I. brought out Jay-Z, then Kanye, and then 50 and Diddy ended up stopping by as well. Those 5 represent probably the 5 richest, most successful hip hop acts of this century. All on stage. Together. At once.
Has our generation seen anything like this in hip hop??
Hell no. It's always been beef this, beef that. We grew up East Coast-West Coast, then Jay-Nas, then 50-everyone. But this is unprecedented.
What's great about all of this too is the 9/11 showdown between 50 and 'Ye, which just goes to show you how smart those two are. It's all business. There's no beef, they just know that if they throw some friendly competition out there, both their record sales will go up. Shit, I am probably going to buy one copy of Curtis, and two of Graduation (just to fuck 50 but I still want to listen to his).
I guess that's the catch in response to C.R. Myself's question. 50 isn't going to quit anytime soon. But that statement he made definitely is going to bring out his faithful. And Kanye realizes it and is in control in his own way, thus bringing out his faithful.
Shit... King of the South, King of NY, Keeper of the Old King of NY, Self-Proclaimed King of NY AND the King of All Egos...
Shit... 4 of the top 7 hottest MCs in the game... the top 3 Hip Hop Cash Kings according to Forbes, not to mention the 5 out of the top 12...
Shit... all at once???... you bet (watch Curtis running around the stage when Kan comes on.. hilarious).
This is exactly what hip hop has needed. You can't tell me nothin... It's business time.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
I was reading ESPN today, specifically the article about Mike Vick's teammates and their reactions to his plea deal, and even more specifically, I basically just watched the video of Warrick Dunn that can be found here.
'Rick on Vick: "I think overall, as a friend of Mike, it's disturbing obviously that... some of the charges that he's up against are definitely inappropriate. And myself and the other players, we condone any of that stuff... violence on animals."
"And myself and the other players, we condone any of that stuff... violence on animals."
I like to call this slip of the tongue the John C. Paradox. As we all know, "condone" is the ANTO-, not SYNO-, -nym of "condemn," the word that Wa' was trying to actually say, unless of course he, and his teammates actually do "give tacit approval to" violence on animals.
This slip of the tongue originated circa 1999 in a private NYC Ivy League school of Horace Mann. As passed down originally from HM Football legends Greg G. and Brian A., as the story goes, Coach John C. went on one of his endless yelling/spitting sprees aimed at curbing the juvenile behavior of the said G. and A. The specifics of their actions have been lost in the collective memory of those who know of this story, but their result will forever be known. Coach C. would go on to repeatedly say that he and his coaching staff "condoned" immature behavior on the field. That they "condoned" their players focusing on other things other than football. Safe to say Coach C. was unfamiliar with the inner workings of a dictionary and mistook the word "condone" for the word "condemn."
As awesomely as Warick Dunn did.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I am writing this post just as Shelley Duncan hits a bottom-of-the-ninth, game tying, 3-run home run at Yankee Stadium against the Orioles.
What a player.
The 2007 version of Shane Spencer, except with an added excitement, spunk and attitude, Duncan has definitely contributed greatly to this 2nd-half Yankee resurrection.
Representing some superb home-grown Yankee talent, "Slam" Duncan, just like Cano, Posada, Rivera, Cabrera, Hughes and Joba, has earned his pinstripes like no other. It's good to know that what is driving this 2007 team is not multi-million dollar contracts but AAA-prospects that finally made it.
Monday, August 13, 2007
I think I have road rage. I guess I know I do. More so recently. I think I average 1.3 flick-offs every time I drive. Given. Maybe more received.
The other day I was on 96th heading East waiting at the CPW light about to cross the park. In the right lane, I observed an opportunity opening up in the left, so I started merging as the light turned red. As I began my merge, I notice I have to stop short due to the red light and the car in front of me in the left lane. At this point, any driver with half a brain would see I have the spot behind the car in front of me taken. Not this van cabbie. He obviously had less than half a brain. He pulls up right next to me; mind you he has to move leftwards a bit in his lane so as not to bump me. There we are, window to window, and I am giving him the dirtiest "what the fuck!?" look ever. This pussy has his head turned left, away from me. Cut off for a shirt, asian, bluish round sunglasses. He finally turns his head to me as I mouth, pretty clearly, "w-h-a-t t-h-e f-u-c-k a-r-e y-o-u d-o-i-n-g???"
I pull up. He pulls up.
The rage is boiling.
I pull up to signal my seriousness. He pulls up more.
The rage is boiling.
I pull up even more while glaring at this loco. He pulls up even more.
Light turns green.
Skillfully, I manage to maneuver myself so that I am side by side with the car in front of me... this car starts turning left at the light as to reveal a perfect view of this cabbie, as well as my perfect window of opportunity.
As I am speeding to my victory and in to the park, I unleash a scathing, unadulterated, uncensored, 7-8 second serving of pure, raw middle finger,it's paleness shining in the sun, signaling from the bottom of my soul a resounding "Go fuck yourself you miserable piece of shit!"
As a driver, maybe even as a person, I have never felt so fulfilled as I did at that precise moment.
There is nothing quite like finishing the weekend off right with HBO. I don't know about you, but Sunday nights represent the cream of the crop in terms of cable comedy.
The slot used to belong to, what I liked to call, Soprantourage, or, what my friend Tim like to call, Entouranos. But with Tony's send off, a new, hilarious show rose to take its place and it was called Flight of the Conchords. Thus, Sunday nights were transformed into, what I like to call, Flight of the Conchourage, or, as my roommate Natalie suggested, Flentourage of the Conchords, or, as I later thought about it some more, Entouright of the Conchords, or, as I just desperately thought of now, Flight of the Entochords.
Regardless, Vince, E, Turtle, Drama and Ari provide a 24 minute jam session of amazingness that constantly makes me ask the obvious question of why is the show only 24 minutes. Then, Bret and Jemaine, or, as they say, Brit and Jemayyyne, as well as Murray, and who can forget Mel, bring me 24 more minutes of sheer laughter.
Oh, what a night.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Taking a page from my friend Vinson's blog, The Red Umbrella ella ella a a a a, in which he profiles the Coolest Love Songs ever, I will be profiling the Best Remixes Ever. The Remix is a phenomenon pretty much only present in rap. Personally, I love The Remix. I just love the concept of taking an artistic piece and trying to make it better or, just enhancing it in some way. You can't really do that in other art forms (or maybe you can?). Regardless, the first song profiled is
Only You (Remix) - 112 featuring The Notorious B.I.G & Ma$e
"I thought I told you that we won't stop," proclaims Puff Daddy at the beginning of this gem. And in the nineties, Bad Boy did not stop. Releasing hit after hit after hit, this remix of "Only You" from 112's debut album in'96 heated up the charts while also featuring two of the greatest rappers of the era, The Notorious B.I.G. and up-and-comer Ma$e. Fusing sick verses with a great R 'n B hook, this song was a preview of what was to come later in rap. And the verses of the rap virtuosos were something. Biggie proclaims in a classic opener:
"Je-sus the notorious just/ Please us with your lyrical thesis,/ We just chillin,/Milk em top billin.."
And closes with an even sicker line:
"It's style is dondatta/Playas stay splurgin'/Game so tight, They call it virgin..."
Of course, in usual Puff fashion, even a verse that Big spit that same song is sampled on the chorus ("Room 112, where the playas dwell"). Unbelievable.
And just when you thought that the rappin couldn't get any better, M-A-dollar sign-E comes in:
"Now you can hum all you want to/ Cum all you want to/Money I'mma front you/ Girl I wanna flaunt you/
I'mma always want you/ When nobody want you/If I die now my love will still haunt you..."
And of course the classic lines:
"Everybody know I got more bounce than the ounce/
Bad Boy get more money than you can count/
Why I'm buying things you can't even pronounce/
I'd do it to you cat for a large amount..."
And you got to love Puff ad-libbing almost every second. Someone once said that Ma$e rapped like he had rocks in his mouth. So true. But he murders his verse. And, I think this is the only song that Biggie gets upstaged on. Pretty impressive.
I think this song is the tops of the Bad Boy era (circa 1994-1997). The is the gold standard. You have the soothing sounds of 112 mixed with the raw rap of Biggie and the cocky rap of Ma$e. Mixed in of course with classic Puff one-liners.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Homophobia is interesting to me, especially in this day and age. It is not acceptable for it to show itself in overt form, so many people just use words such as "gay" and "fag" to describe certain people or situations (unfortunately I do not excuse myself from the "many people"). But there are certain people who just repeatedly keep using those words or cracking jokes. So it got me thinking about the reasons for homophobia.
Homosexuality represents being secure. Coming out is extremely difficult and you have to be damn confident in yourself to do this. You need to be secure in your decision and your actions. Imagine breaking the news to your conservative family... it would be grueling.
I believe homophobic people are very insecure of their own identity(ies) (mentally, emotionally, socially, sexually, etc.). Subconsciously, they resent gays because the latter are secure enough to at least be true to themselves and make a valiant attempt at happiness. There may even be jealousy involved. Homophobic people think to themselves, "what right does this freak have to be happy when I am not?"
It is sad but I think for the most part this is true. How many friends do you have that make gay jokes all the time or use those words all the time, always followed by an "I'm just kidding" at the end of it. Are they though? Or are they just showing their true colors.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
The Backstreet Boys (sans Kevin) have a new single called "Inconsolable" (Listen here). I don't know about you, but I, for one, am excited. Mostly a closet BSB fan for most of my years, there is nothing like cruising down the WS Highway or the F-Doctor, with your top down, blasting "As Long As You Love Me" or "Quit Playing Games With My Heart."
Back(street)story: Recently, I was forced to drive my mom's car when I got back from PR because my Solara's battery died. In her glove compartment I discovered a CD I burned for her years ago and the name of this CD was Backstreet Boys: Chapter One- The Hits. Later that week I rediscovered my hidden love for the marvelous 90s boy band.
So, they're coming out with a new untitled album on October 30. Did they know I wanted it that way? It promises to be larger than life and even more than that. I don't have much in my account, but I promise to place the call and give all I have to give to get this CD.
Everybody, backstreet's back.
I put my faith in God, blessed and still breathin
And even though it's hard, that's who I believe in
Before I'm leavin, I'm askin the grievin - who do you believe in?" - TS
This whole Barry Bonds saga has really got me thinking about certain things. Specifically, about human nature and behavior. Weird, I know, but hear me out on this one.
It really baffles me how certain people can be on Barry's side when all the evidence in the world points to him reaching 757* unfairly. What I mean is, how can these people just blatantly ignore all the warning signs and just believe. Just believe that he did it fairly, or without performance enhancing drugs, or that he really didn't know he was using them. Then, I realized, this is the same component of human nature that leads to the belief in religion.
There are many definitions of this word, but one that rings true in this case would be:
"Belief that does not rest on logical proof or material evidence. "
But the commentary does not stop here. It is more than faith. Almost all in baseball, players and fans, can agree that Bonds was a great player from the start of his career. Before his "alleged" steroid use, he was a two time MVP, had 480 homers, became the only member of the 400-400 club, etc. Then the abuse started. Many fans jumped off the Bondswagon, but the loyal ones in San Fran stayed on. Why?
Logical proof or material evidence would point to Barry's bigger head, biceps and shoe size as evidence for wrong doing. They would also point to super-human production from someone that age. When you hit 186 homers in your "prime" years from 30 to 35, and THEN hit 258 homers in your "wind down" years from 36-40, something has to be up!
Well, not so think those in the Ba(rr)y Area. And here is the reason beyond faith why I think why:
Those Giants fans have loved Barry for so long that they cannot go against those years. They have had the utmost faith in his abilities for close to 14 years now. Jumping off the Bondswagon now would betray their beliefs during that time and that is an extremely hard thing to do.
Just with religion that takes kids at such an early age and starts preparing them for their blind faiths, baseball took San Franciscoans and brainwashed them to put their faith into Barry. That is why now they cannot possibly hate him. They cannot possibly boo him like those fans in Anaheim did when they heard he killed Hank's record and moved to 756*. Religious people cannot possibly turn their backs on their faiths because that would mean that everything believed and were taught to believe would be a lie. And how can you reconcile living a huge part of your life under a lie. You cannot (or maybe you can but with much difficulty), or in many cases, you do not want to. Imagine how much easier it is to live your life without asking questions.
Imagine how much easier it is to live your life without asking questions.
Imagine how much easier it is to live your life without asking questions. Without questioning what you were taught, without questioning your beliefs, without questioning Barry, or Bush, or this democracy we live in, or 9/11, or JFK, or the CIA. We do this all the time. We just live. We think about what to wear, who to call, what to do at work, what not to do. We do not question, we leave that to others. But if we leave the questioning to others, when will we ever grow or become true to ourselves?
Think about it. Then ask some questions.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
He did it with dignity, integrity and class. He did it the right way and he unified the country behind him. There was no controversy. Everyone loved him. He raised the standard of the way the game was played.
He symbolized greatness. Publicly. Privately. There is no one that can challenge that.
Henry Aaron will now and always be the all-time home run champion.
Monday, August 6, 2007
What you gay? Nigga Jay straight like indian hair..." - SC
I get stared at here and there by people. I'm not being cocky; it mostly occurs when I am on the subway and it is the males of the car that are doin' the lookin'. Par example:
I was on the train on Saturday night at about 11, drinking my happy drink and minding my damn business. Then, I notice by way of my scoping of those around me that the conductor of that specific subway car is not in his designated position inside one of those little rooms at the end, but standing outside of it. I realize later that he is doing this in order to go from car to car to open the doors on each side because the A/C goes from local to transfer stops pretty frequently.
Anyway, this guy, apart from opening the doors is also doing a lot of opening of his eyes in my direction. And what I mean is, EVERYTIME I looked over at him he would be looking straight at me. Staring. At. Me.
Now, I'll be honest with you, I don't like it when that happens and here's the reason: the only way I recognize that the dude is staring at me is by taking several glances of my own in his direction. And what impression does that give off?? The last thing I want to give this freak is a reason to keep looking, or even to engage in some sort of awkward meaningless dialogue.
Regardless, he kept staring, and I would of course look over now and again. Well, you ask, why did you keep looking over if you knew he was staring? Good question. I was hoping that in my glance over I would give off enough information with my cold, hard, sharp-featured manner to say to him, "Hey there! Stop staring at me here." Needless to say, my strategy did not work and the staring continued... and it was just so blatant too!!
There is a second part to this staring story and it is a more generalized commentary. Do you ever notice that if you ever get stared at by a member of the opposite sex, the member is usually considered, in your personal opinion, to be of lesser aesthetic quality than you? Or, in another scenario, you catch yourself staring at someone of the opposite sex because they are just so ugly (this is an extreme facial profiling case where the image cannot be readily registered within the one to two second time frame due to massive vulgarity)?
Whichever the case, getting stared at or doing the staring, both require travel on a two-way street. Realization or confirmation of staring requires a bit of staring on your own part (just as I had to glance at the pedorassic conductor-man). Overall, this sucks! It sucks because it just may give off the impression that you are interested. So many times I have stared at an ugly girl for masochistic reasons only to realize that she may be thinking that I like her. So many times I have caught an ugly girl staring at me only to realize that my awkward glances in her direction may give off the impression that I am welcoming this putrid invasion of visual privacy.
So take care to reel in those wandering eyes, because they just might catch someone over there lookin' at you.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
You know you do it. Not even a hair of doubt in my mind about that. It's called facial profiling and it is one of the main components of social evolution or social Darwinism. Call it survival of the facially fittest. Basically, it entails you giving, subconsciously or not, a social edge or lack thereof to a complete stranger based solely on their facial appearance. Peep the scenarios:
i. You are sitting on a plane with an empty seat to your left. Of course, you have that minute anticipation towards seeing who you will be sitting next to. Will s/he be cute? Will s/he be annoying? Will s/he not stop talking? You finally have someone come to your row, ask to get pass you.. you look up, and, inevitably, you facially profile...
ii. You are at a bar with your friends. Having fun, enjoying the drinks/music. A stranger comes up to you, most likely to make a more than friendly attempt for your time later on in the evening. You turn to them and, inevitably, you facially profile...
iii. You are at the gym, running on the treadmill. Sweating up a storm, you finish up your run with a satisfied sense of accomplishment. You reach down for you towel, but find it missing. You turn around to find a fellow patron of the gymnasium with it. As they are handing it over, inevitably, you facially profile...
Facial profiling is not stereotyping. Correction, it may be. But it is a much more personal expression of closely-held views. It occurs the moment you lock eyes with the victim, and it only lasts a second or two. You register the image, profile it completely, and move ahead with your actions. You may not realize you are doing it, but you are.
Is it a bad thing? Depends on your view of the world. Facial profiling is an affliction that affects all; only the blind are lucky enough to escape it. Facial profiling forces the infected to make grand and, usually misguided, judgments on their victims from an extremely brief image registration. Basically, you judge, jury and execute the shit out of people because of what they look like.
And you DO do it.
Severe cases of facial profiling leave remnants of denial in the infected. These "good" and "unbiased" people claim to never "judge books by their covers" or "be that shallow." Goodness, no! What these people fail to realize is that facial profiling takes different forms. Ignoring people, or just choosing not to acknowledge them is the most common, and, the most unrecognizable form of facial profiling out there. It occurs when people facially profile someone and decide that their being isn't worth acknowledging by a welcoming smile, a hello, or by even an extra glance.
After 22 and three-fourths years of empirical evidence, I have come to realize that I am a facial profiler.
And you are too.
Friday, August 3, 2007
I never really got this line by the late-great black Frank White (on the topic, who the hell was the white Frank White anyway??). If his flight leaved at 8 PM and hers got in at 9 PM, wouldn't he miss spitting game at the aforementioned lady? Anyway.. it brings me to the scene of countless of douche bag moments brought on by habit: airports.
I like airports. There is a sense of excitement in the air because you are about to be going somewhere. It is like social purgatory. Everyone is on the move, or waiting to be. What I despise about airports is the mini-conversation I ALWAYS end up having with the workers there, and it goes a little something like this:
worker: "Have a great flight!"
me: "Thanks, you too!"
Of course, as you can see, that makes no fucking sense. The workers aren't flying anywhere, they are staying put. Thus, my saying "Thanks, you too!" makes me sound like a complete douche. Safe to say, I am sure many of you have experience this annoying feeling. Not to mention the awkward stuttering that occurs immediately after the said phrase:
me: "Uh.. I m.. I mean.. thanks. You're not flying, are you! Heh, heh. Have a goo.. have a good day."
worker: (awkward gander slash slow turn and/or walk away)
This always occurs. Usually when they check my bag or take my boarding pass. And I always try to stand there several seconds longer than needed to explain myself. It's just habit: when someone says anything starting with "Have a great/good ________," you always, without reserve say, "Thanks, you too!"
Not in airports, though.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Allow me to re-introduce myself, My name is ... " - SC
Technically, hello again. I started a blog before, 2 years ago actually, right here, didn't go anywhere with it obviously.
I'll be honest, my efforts were inspired by my friend chris. He started a blog recently and I like it. My friend Vinson also has one that is good.
Anyway, here I am. I'll tell you this too, I love life. Specifically, I love living it. Do you know why? (Of course you don't.. don't you hate this types of literary style..). The patterns. I love noticing patterns about myself based on 22 and three-fourths years of empirical evidence. Here is what I mean...
I am a neo-status quo hater. I hate on things that are new and are liked by the majority of the population with their inception. Evidence:
early 90's - I really hated on broccoli. Not to say that broccoli was new or anything at that point but it was new to me. My mom loved it and I hated it. She tried to feed it to me but no, I wouldn't have it. It was judged as healthy by all, so I didn't want any part of it. Now? I love it, would eat it raw or steamed and everything in between.
Middle school - Jnco's. How can you not hate on them, they looked wack and the people that wore them were wack (see Jablon). But, in the back of my mind, I thought they were kind of cool, and so I bought a pair. The hate was over. I looked so fly...
North Faces - this natural hatred was brought upon the conflagration of jews that wore them at Horace Mann. I've got nothing against jews, but a lot of things against Japs. But still, I kind of liked them (North Faces, not japs), and so, in college, I bought myself a North Face. Sell out? Maybe..
College - I would not pay any mind to the American Office when it came out. I was certain it would suck because the British Office was pure gold. Of course, time passed, my hatred subsided, and I watched Season 1, 2 and half of 3 in under two weeks to get caught up a couple of months ago.
Kanye - Too popular to quickly. I didn't buy college dropout, hated his jesus love song and thought he was too cocky. Then, as time passed, I listened to Late Registration, and the love began...
Bluetooth head set - I would make fun of my friend Andrew Friedman non stop for talking on his bluetooth head piece. It was just too annoying to look at. Why not just raise your palm to your ear and deal with it. Not to mention the countless times I thought strangers were starting a conversation with me. Anyway, after 3 NYC traffic violations for talking on my cellular in my whip, I decided to give Bluetooth a chance with an impulse purchase at Costco. I guess you can say it paid off..
Wii - Semi-hate given to this Nintendo console. One word though: incredible. Wiincredible? Fantastwiic? Unbewiivable.
And so, naturally, I hated on bloggers. How could you not though? My conception of a blogger is a sticky-fingered loser who is self-centered and a tad arrogant. I guess when I realized I was self-centered and a tad arrogant, I knew it was time to start one.
So, welcome and enjoy.