Kath*arsis

Absolutely Not...

2009-03-12T14:18:00.000-04:00

Nope..no way. Nuh uh.

Naturi Naughton Needs a Rap Career

2009-03-12T00:19:00.002-04:00

So it kinda sucks that the Notorious biopic didn't last as long in popularity as it could have / should have. Anyone who hasn't seen it yet really should. It will probably be out on DVD soon since Milk already is. As a shameless Lil' Kim fan, I'll say my favorite actor in the film was Naturi Naughton. Thank goodness she left 3LW. Definitely a star on the rise. Check her key scenes:

...then check my interview with her (oh snap oh snap)

Britney Spears' "Radar" Live

2009-03-08T17:52:00.004-04:00

This was the song that made me decide Britney Spears wasn't all awful. I would've bought a concert ticket just to see this song performed live...and the 20 other songs I started liking by Britney after this one:

and this is one from the Blackout tour. Ironically, "Radar" appears on both Britney releases - Blackout and Circus. That's because the song rocks and I have good taste.

In case I haven't said this in a while...

2009-03-01T23:13:00.002-05:00

John Stamos. Any time, any place.

This Deserves Recognition

2009-02-18T23:32:00.000-05:00

Motivation

2009-02-09T12:53:00.002-05:00

Grammy’s - Swagger Like Us

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What Ever Happened to Baby Shane?

2009-02-03T12:45:00.013-05:00

Exhibit A. Lady Sovereign circa 2006

I saw her in concert (not on purpose, she was opening for someone else) at Webster Hall a while back. She was such a little boy. It was scary. The she lifted up her shirt to wipe her face (hi DUDE) and her stomach was like a man's 6-pack, even more so than P!nk. Back then she looked like Sporty Spice:

Exhibit B. Sporty Spice Mel C. circa 1998

So then "Sov" leaves the scene after that Verizon commercial single releases and Def Jam considers her the best little rapping thing since Bushwick Bill. Now apparently she's back:

Exhibit C. Lady Sovereign circa last night.

Need to see that new hairdo again?

Now am I am the only one who sees a new resemblance?

Exhibit D. Kate Moennig aka Shane on the L Word.

Need to see that again?

Talk amongst yourselves.

Making the Predator Season One

2009-01-27T17:41:00.003-05:00

So listen to this...

I'm at the usual cafe (Panera I see you!) minding my own business in the back when I hear overtly loud giggling. I look up and see a young man in a suit with Justin Guarini-esque curls leaning up against a window on the phone with someone. He's asking for a ride from the train station across the street and keeps looking to his left at the booth next to him. The giggling would get louder and louder as he said "I need a ride." He sits down and I hear voices coming from the booth (I can't see who is sitting there but I know they are females). All I can see is the young man, but I can hear everyone involved in this sad little conversation. The young man tugs at his trenchcoat admiring its supposedly fine stitching. "So you're looking for a ride?" the one girl asks. Giggling ensues. The young man replies, "Um yeah, I'm only in New York for the day." Giggling ensues. "What do you do for fun?" the other girl asks. "I don't do anything for fun," the young man replies.

"What were you doing in New York?"

"I was interviewing for a job..."

"What kind of a job?"

"Accountant."

"Like at Chase Bank?"

"No at Citi."

"What city?"

"I go to Penn State."

"Where in the state?"

"Penn State."

"I know the state of Pennsylvania, but where do you go to school?"

Giggling ensues.

I learn that the young man is 21 and into tapdancing. He has an uncle from New Jersey and he enjoys poetry. These girls in the booth have no idea what any of that means.

The conversation continues...

Girl #1: Do you have any brothers or sisters?

Young Man: A brother. He's a tap dancer too.

Giggling Ensues.

Girl #2: Does he have curly hair like yours?

Giggling Ensues.

Young Man: Not really (whatever that means)

So at this point I am wondering why either of them are entertaining this conversation. I get up to throw out invisible trash because I have to see the other half of this conversation. Lo and behold the two girls are probably about 13 (and since everyone looks older these days that means they are 11) hunched over in bubblegoose coats with fur lined hoods and Sidekick LXs messaging each other back and forth.

The young man gets up to leave. "Where are you going?" the one infant asks. "Gotta leave" he says with a creepy smile. Minutes later the one girl gets up and walks out, leaving her friend alone until a replacement friend shows up a half hour later. As for the first girl, well, the curly man was standing around outside until the girl walked out and they pretty much left together.

Girl, you'll be a woman soon.

This Is What Dreams Are Made Of...

2009-01-23T18:29:00.001-05:00

How to Get Ahead

2009-01-19T19:27:00.000-05:00

Bratz Dolls May Give Young Girls Unrealistic Expectations Of Head Size

Hahahaha

Happy 30th Birthday, Aaliyah

2009-01-16T14:28:00.000-05:00

:( Will always love Love LOVE Aaliyah Haughton.

Whitney, Put Your Face Away

2009-01-11T19:46:00.004-05:00

I subscribe to Pop culture. Not only do I subscribe, but I run the Pop culture subscription department. So when you subscribe to Pop culture, you're actually emailing me. Anyway, The Hills is one of my shows. I watch it religiously. I don't watch The City like that because Whitney is just too much for me. Whitney, your face is becoming a problem.

At any given moment, Whitney Port will be catching flies on camera. Her agape expression is frozen in time. And I'm over it. Now look, LC makes the same face. I'm aware of that:

But look at how much happier Lauren Conrad looks when she's in shock. Whitney looks sad and dumb...like, all day. Look at Whitney in the above photo too - sad and dumb, sad and dumb.

I'm not saying anyone on The Hills is a Mensa scholar. I'm not even certain that anyone on that show can actually read. Since it's "scripted reality", that might not include the use of cue cards. I have no idea. All I know is Whitney's face should be stored away with Crocs and Ed Hardy clothing. The end.

Where For Arte Thou, Lauryn?

2008-12-20T14:48:00.003-05:00

I posted this on my OTHA OTHA blog http://www.withoutapause.com but you know it had to be covered here too. If Lauryn doesn't come back out soon, I'm going to write her a very angry letter. That'll show her.

The days even before the good ol' days of Lauryn, when she played Kiera the girl who couldn't read on soap opera As the World Turns. She'll be back.

More Fun with Children...Wait What?

2008-12-12T00:33:00.001-05:00

I mean how cute is a kid rapping a Tupac song about his mama? He has no teeth. I heart him.

I Heart You, Little Person

2008-12-05T23:59:00.001-05:00

Happy Birthday Britney Spears!

2008-12-02T08:54:00.005-05:00

So I've been sick. Sue me. Not the kind of sick this former Mousekateer was, but Brit Brit is back and sedated. Good times. In honor of her birthday and release of Circus (shout out to Benny Blanco), I've decided to share my favorite Britney song that somehow ended up on both Blackout annnnnnnd Circus! How special.

Radar - Britney Spears

Domo arigato, Miss Roboto

2008-11-24T17:27:00.003-05:00

Dear Ri-bot from the Ri-mix Galaxy,

What...the...f**k? Ri Ri, I am so sick and tired of liking your music. Now look, that first series of songs about ponning replays and robbing "Tainted Love" samples were not in my book of favorites. Then you became a good girl gone fembot and all of a sudden I am all over your life. I do not approve of your new clothing style, though. Not that it isn't fresh, but it looks very familiar doesn't it? I still have no idea why I like "Umbrella", "Please Don't Stop the Music", this new one "U Make Me Sick" (because deep down you really do) and omg "Disturbia"...why is "Disturbia" my ringtone? Why when you sing "it's like the darkness is the light" I consider that some chapter from the book of Nietzche and not some terrible movie starring your ex boytoy Shia LeBoop? Why when you walked out on stage to perform last night at the American Music Awards with a blinged out patch over your eye, I held your one eye with more reverence than Slick Rick? Why when you beat my pretend girlfriend Alicia Keys in awards, I silently cheered for you? Why when you took my pretend boyfriend Chris Brown from me Jolie-Aniston style, I was cool with it? Who do you think you are? I can't wait to meet you and when I do I will unplug you like the robot that you are like that episode of The Jetsons when they accidentally unplugged Rosie and she couldn't vacuum their pod. I don't even know if that was a real episode but let's pretend that it is, because I'm unplugging you Ri-tard. I hate you I hate you I hate you. Eep opp ork ah ah. That means I love you.

What Your Message Status Says About You

2008-11-20T19:01:00.002-05:00

This is getting to be a bit much. First it started with Instant Messenger away messages, then it carried into MySpace, then Facebook, then Blackberries, iPhones, Smart phones, Dumb phones, Twitter, Tweeter, Twatter. Passive aggressive ways of expressing something without actually saying it. It can be something as simple as a two word "Help me" message or it can be a complex Shakespearean quote from a sonnet or play we've never read that hints about betrayal, love, lust, hate, sorrow, depression - the things that Country music is made of. How many times can we read "A true friend stabs you in the front"? I'm sure Oscar Wilde is looking into posthumous royalties at this point. Therefore, I have broken down the biggest status offenders. Apologies if you fall into a particular category. I know I'm in there somewhere too.

In love girl/guy: This person is in love and is going to shout it from the heavans. "I <3 Ted!!" "There's only one girl for me and that's Lola!" These people generally leave messages like this until one of them cheats on the other, and suddenly Lola is a woman scorned. Which brings us to...

Woman/Man scorned: The messages of heartbreak. The begging for "don't jump!" responses to their "I'm gonna jump" messages. Ted has turned to drinking after that mistake that left him Lola-less so he just doesn't even log on. Sad though, because all of those messages from Lola were meant for him anyway.

"I'm Deep" Guy: "Bill is..." Bill chose not to add on to that. Bill just is... Bill is an existentialist now. Bill would like to think about what makes him Bill. Bill wants the world to understand that he isn't one dimensional. There are many layers to Bill, and one day they will all be discovered. For now, Bill just is... Tomorrow "Bill is getting shitfaced at Pat's BBQ for 4th of July. America: FUCK YEAH!!!"

The "Dramz" of Friendship: "Marla is sick of drama." "Tanya only chills with dudes because bitches are shady." "Sometimes friends are better off as enemies." Passive aggressive announcements that you hate all of your friends. You must hate them all or hate none of them because the responses "Me?" almost always yield a "No. Not you." So which friend are they really sick of? Drama of course. Not DJ Drama. Just, Drama. Not Johnny Drama. Just...Drama.

Party Girl: This girl (or guy) wants somebody or anybody to know that they're out on the town and the other person isn't. They're "OUT!!! Don't wait up bitches!" or "Chillin with my people. You should too!" You are not invited to their party, but they're letting you know they're having one. Alone in their room, wearing feeties and watching Family Guy. Good times.

Invitation in the status: "I'm at the Fly's Eye in Red Hook. Come through!!!!" You will never come and they know that. No self-respecting person in the history of this planet will show up to something they were invited to through a status message. "Hey, I read in your status that you were here." Never happen.

The Cliff Hanger: "I can't believe Marjorie was kicked off Top Model!!!" "They poisoned Supreme Allah on Oz!" "It's about time Ross and Rachel hooked up!!" Some of us have TiVo and DVR and we don't hurry to our television sets at 8pm to stay tuned. Understand that and high five yourself quietly (sans status) if you're happy that Serena and Dan broke up.

"Leave Me Alone" Guy: If he really wanted to be left alone, he wouldn't be logged on. Plain and simple.

Hayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

2008-11-18T15:02:00.000-05:00

Just a friendly reminder...I AM...Sasha Fierce is in stores today.

I Am Revisiting My Fascination With this Kid

2008-11-17T14:12:00.000-05:00

Okay I have no idea how old this kid is (especially with hormones in milk and meat making 10 yr olds look 30), but this young man better be the star of his high school or college dorm or cubicle. I mean, I don't care where, but I adore this guy. This song could've easily been added to Thr33 Ringz. Okay I'm reaching, but doesn't he do a good job?

Fire Hydrants: F**k You Very Much

2008-11-16T21:24:00.000-05:00

There's nothing like thinking you've found parking and being laughed at by one of these sick bastards posted above. Fire hydrants are the bain of my existence. I hate everything about them. They think they're so cute in the summertime with children opening them up and running through them. Oh whatever. This little asshole right here was cleverly placed near Washington Square Park while I was trying to find parking on a rainy afternoon. Not only did it trick me, but there was another one just like it five feet away. WHAT FOR?? With all of the traffic in New York, no fire truck is going to get there in time anyway, so why senselessly add 16 hydrants on a city block? Stop keeping the parking garages in business. They overcharge. Damnit I need a SmartCar.

A Special Message From the Gap

2008-11-15T22:52:00.001-05:00

The lineup is like a chat room, but I'm with it. Mmmmmmm Freddy Rodriguez:

The Cop with the Lousy Beat

2008-11-14T12:15:00.002-05:00

I don't live in a dangerous area per se. I mean on that "Who's a perv in your hood" site there are some local ones (my next door neighbor being one) and the city to my left is where Lean on Me was filmed. Other than that it's all gravy save a few cheap dime store hoods. The town is small, so a call to the cops would have one there in under five minutes. There are some cops scattered around the town at various bagel and donut establishments. Nothing stereotypical at all.

There is, however, one cop who patrols what I consider to be the bowels of any police beat worldwide. On the outskirts of my town is a large park. In the middle of the park is a softball field with one of those weird buildings in parks that serve no real purpose and look kind of creepy. This building was once a Meals-On-Wheels delivery hub, but now I'm not so sure. Officer Bad Beat sits in that parking lot. It's the same cop every day.

He looks like he could be one of the Lively children - he's not as pretty as Blake, nowhere nearly as ugly as Jason, so let's say he looks like Robin Lively. He sits in the park parking lot facing a strip mall that has changed stores more than the lineup of Menudo. He frequently looks down to jot notes. Maybe he's pretending to look busy. Or...maybe he's a writer working on his novel and this is his day job. If so, then I commend him.

I always wondered if he really did anything at all for the law. Well, the other day I found my answer. driving along the road BBC (Bad Beat Cop) patrols, I saw a car pulled over about 50 feet from the BBC Headquarters. I looked in the police car. He just pulled over the poor teenager for driving too fast or poor senior citizen for driving too slow. I couldn't tell if it was the cop of the Lively kin. I figured it had to be. So as I passed the building that once held Meals-On-Wheels, who is sitting in the lot jotting invisible notes - Bad Beat Cop. So he really does nothing at all. I'm looking forward to his novel, though. It can't possibly be about law enforcement.

How Did I Become So Technologically Pathetic?

2008-11-13T16:36:00.009-05:00

I think it was around my Freshman year of high school when it all began. My grandfather (R.I.P.) was upgrading his beeper and offered me his old one. It was a black pager with the display on top and a big red button to check pages. When I received a beep it was this loud siren like I was being summoned to operate on someone's spleen or head to Broadway and 145th to finally catch that drug dealer we've been after. Either that or Big Sancho had several hundred kilos coming in from the shipyard and if I wanted in, I had to be there pronto.

Whatever it was, my beeper made me official. I changed the case to some ugly maroon looking one and then my clip fell off. That was the worst because you meant NOTHING without a clip coming out of your jeans pocket. I had no real desire to call back anyone that was paging me. I mean, the beep was the important part of it all, really. So then I upgraded to that slide out beeper with the display on the side. It was always fun to secretly check your pages in high school at your locker and be disappointed when you had none because hello, anyone who would actually page you was in class just like you were.

My friends and I would enjoy paging each other from payphones - stuff like 7734 2 06 (Go to hell), 14 (hi), 553l8008 (boobless). Then of course your man of the moment would send 143 (I love you) and you'd send it back. We all understood how exciting it was to get a page, not necessarily a phone call. I didn't actually get a cellphone until around '99. I had some lame one that would only call home...and like, the police. I also had an 800# to call home, so I was fine with payphones. My first cellphone was a Nokia. Not like the Zack Morris brick, but it was up there. Same cellphone number ever since, and Verizon was still my carrier. Then that damn two-way page me song came out. I was back on the beeper's d**k. I got the two-way to the left and LOVED it. Pre-historic Blackberry I say. It was LOVELY. I had my cellphone but meh. What's a cellphone when you have TWO-WAY.

So then the two-way fell off, obviously. I wasn't important enough for that brick BlueBerry that Hov had or even a brick BlackBerry for that matter. I wasn't an investment banker or in IT. I was just out of college about to take on some corporate American gigs before I realized I was meant to starve with my pen and my ipod. Then in '05 I bought a Sidekick 2. I bypassed the first generation and went for the cuter younger brother. That Sidekick 2 and I were in l-o-v-e. Wow. Unreal. So then the Sidekick 2 fell off and I went for the 3. We casually dated. I got too comfortable really even though he wasn't right for me. I bought a Blackberry Curve and then returned it for the SK3 again. Comfort. Settling. I finally switched my cellphone to a Blackberry and then my SK3 was dead to me. I originally had the BlackBerry World phone, but where the hell do I go? The furthest out of the country I travel to is the Bronx and it had no camera (ew); back to the Curve I went. So here I stand. In love with my Blackberry Curve just as this fucking Storm is about to hit and destroy the village of love I have built around my precious Curve.

I am about 15 years deep in the mobile technology game, starting with my beeper. I weathered the cellphone storm, complete with cute ringtones and that God awful stick-on bling. I had a charm hanging from that brain radiating antenna until I remembered that I am a grown-ass woman and shouldn't have a bedazzled bee dangling from my ear unless it is about to sting me in the skull. I have come to realize something, though. I have never really wanted to talk on a mobile phone at all. I like to type and text and type and text and type some more. Voice is so secondary. No wonder I stare at my phones and could care less, but put me in front of a keypad and I'm a hooker at Hunt's Point. It's my obsession with the Keys that makes me pathetic...and I don't mean Alicia (but she's up there too).

A Reinactment of Spam

2008-11-12T11:36:00.000-05:00

Daria was a visionary.

Some Vintage Jeremy Piven

2008-11-12T11:14:00.003-05:00

Before he was the feverishly crass Ari Gold on Entourage, Piven was making an example of himself in many flicks including Cameron Crowe's Singles. Piven is proof that with age comes sexification. Yum. Here...not so yum. But this scene is funny.

You Know You've Hit Rock Bottom When...

2008-11-11T22:49:00.004-05:00

...You become a Gold Member at Starbucks. Now look, there comes a time in every coffee addict's life when they must realize that spending $25 a year to receive 10% off every coffee purchase is actually a reasonable investment. The Starbucks barista (actually it was a guy, does that make him a baristo?) advised that if I spend $5 a week on coffee then the card will pay for itself in a year. Ha! I spend $5 a day on coffee, son! I already have the Gold Member card for Barnes and Noble, which works well for me since I buy magazines every other day and the occasional book that I may or may not read, but looks cute in my purse. I mean seriously, though. What a great way to keep my addictions going? My vices include coffee, leatherbound notebooks, and magazines (I'd include music, but that's for people who pretend to like music). Now I have two cards that fulfill my vices in every way. So I guess I am a Gold Member...not to be confused with Goldmember.

Sandwich Guy

2008-11-10T13:17:00.005-05:00

There's a certain level of dignity that automatically gets lost when one eats a sandwich. It's no one's fault, really. We all eat them. But when eating a sandwich - especially a packed one - there's a series of facial expressions that look like someone, male or female, is actually giving birth under the table at which they are sitting. The grimace and the opening of the mouth like they're writhing in pain, following by the stuffed cheeks like they're storing ham for the winter. It's all so disturbing, and somehow we are actually enjoying what we're eating. And for God's sake people, do NOT take photos of yourself attempting to eat a sandwich, and don't take pictures of your sandwich. We don't need photographic proof of your clogged arteries.

Now look, there are some instances where these photos can be funny. I mean I have friends who take pics of their food and them eating it all the time. It's endearing sometimes. But fellas, showing how much you can fit in your mouth makes you look more like one of Adebisi's bitches in Oz than making you look like a seasoned competitive eater. On that note, I'd like to discuss "Sandwich Guy."

Throughout my working from home existence, along with the completion of my thesis, I began to frequent local cafes to sit and absorb the free Wi-Fi outside of home (Shout out to Panera! I see you pimpin'!) I've discovered the fundamental difference between cafes and delis. Delis attempt to kill you with sandwiches the size of your head and cups full of coffee grinds. Cafes attempt to make you poor - with overpriced coffee and little expensive sandwiches. Oversized/Overpriced? You pick your team. I've yet to experience a deli with free Wi-Fi (or a deli employee that owns a computer) so the cafe wins. People from all walks of life congregate here to look interesting at lunch, write a novel that will never get published, or in some rare instances, just want to have lunch in a friendly setting. Then along comes Sandwich Guy.

Sandwich Guy comes here once a week because he passes it on some sort of truck route - delivering bread, installing cable, fixing a faucet, landscaping a yard. He really wanted the deli, but the deli is too far and he's hungry NOW. He walks into the cafe with his rugged, brawny, physique. Sometimes he's kinda hot, other times he looks like a deranged lumberjack from the sticks looking for some bodies to burn in the furnace of his log cabin.

Sandwich Guy walks up to the counter and glares at the menu. He stares at the cashier girl boobs first and then meets her eyes and asks for the "italian" sandwich. See, the "italian" sandwich at the cafe is there for the husbands of the women who frequent the cafe. It's a false representation of manhood because it's half packed with cold cuts but served on sliced bread. Real men use rolls. Husbands feel a sense of security as they eat their italian sandwich with their penis resting in their wife's purse. Sandwich Guy wants NONE of that. He orders the italian sandwich but then demands it on a roll. A big old italian roll. He means business.

He doesn't want soup or salad and he's never heard of flavored coffee. He just wants his big ass loaf of cholesterol. He feels a sense of accomplishment for turning his bridal shower sandwich into a "hoagie," a "sub," an edible model of the size of his genitals. He's very proud.

Sandwich Guy brings his big sandwich to a booth and shoves it in his mouth at the speed of light. The time it took for the high school student to make the sandwich is doubled since the cafe kids don't know how to use a "slicer." Their pre-packaged free-range turkey gets delicately placed on the loaf of bread. This isn't a hash house, and now Sandwich Guy lost most of his lunch break because of it. He swallows the sandwich whole and while there are still pieces hanging out of his mouth, he looks at YOU and smiles. You feel bad...like, awwwww Sandwich Guy just wanted a quick bite before installing DSL. Then he notices YOUR DSL's and turns this into a cruising for sex mission. You shake your head because it isn't that kind of a party and you pack up your laptop and move to the back of the cafe. He nods as you walk away...Marie from the deli is wayyyy hotter and she probably makes a better cup of coffee anyway.

My Favorite Facecrooks

2008-11-09T20:25:00.012-05:00

So we all made the pilgrimage from MySpace to Facebook because apparently Facebook involved "real" social networking and was so super safe because we had to use our "real names" (like we somehow couldn't put John Smith as our name). That and those Lil Green Patch Kids.

Anyway, as of late, Facebook has been recruiting some creepy ass people ever since you could join without a school email address (sorry but it's true!) The social networking aspect has been replaced by people using their status bar as Twitter and prematurely revealing sitcom endings, name dropping (if you're in the industry you know the "Chillin with Fif" statuses), and leaving melodramatic quotes like "What's getting stabbed in the back without the tetanus?" And these people are your acquaintances.

My problem lately is similar to the issues I had on MySpace. It involves strangers hitting you up like they know you and having some retarded reason for acting like they do.

"Hey my name is Chad Baxter. I enjoy long walks on the beach and date rape. We have no mutual Facebook friends, and I'm hoping you don't realize that my default pic is of Jesse Metcalf, because I have no idea who he is; I Google imaged "shirtless guys" and found him first. I don't speak any English, but have translation software on my Dell. I weigh 500 pounds and it's all in my neck. I'm hoping you find me sensitive and sexy so we can meet in an Arby's parking lot and I can make a statistic out of you. It'll be a good time."

"Sup I'm Mandy Peterkin. I'm 14 and have no business friend requesting you. I know chances are you'll never add me, because it's morally wrong. I'm not your mom's friend's youngest daughter nor am I your best friend's cousin. I'm a latchkey kid who got a computer for my birthday and I am trying to find people to talk to until I meet a nice teenager on here named Chad Baxter who convinces me to meet him at Arby's."

"Hey my name is Tracy. I don't have a last name...I used the spacebar for the last name portion on Facebook and got away with it. I also have no business friend requesting you and this picture of me is from six years ago when I did some internet modeling to pay for my nail degree. Since then I've had 6 children and my stomach skin could be wrapped around rhode island as insulation. I don't even know if you're male or female, but I'm hoping you find me attractive because my husband Phil is cheating on me with some guy at the office named Carl. I won't find out it's Carl until his office's holiday party when I run up on his secretary Dana and start a cat fight while Phil gets it on with Carl in the coat check and blames it on the non-alcoholic eggnog. Then I tell Phil how I've been having Facebook relations with some guy named Chad Baxter and he doesn't care if I cook because he loves going to Arby's."

"I'm Pikal Refai, but all my friends call me Bill. I'm looking for a wife and am hoping you have cataracts and can't see that I am twice your age. I grow my mustache extra bushy to hide my hairlip, but it's barely visible. I like you very much - not because you are pretty or smart or successful, but because you have a pulse. You may also remember me from that email I sent you asking if I can store my money in your bank account because I closed my account in Dubai and had nowhere else to store my millions. That's millions in rupee, so you could walk away with $15 if you marry me. Think about it."

"Wuss poppin' I'm Swagga Bastid and even though Facebook has no music player, I'm here to tell you that my remix of 'Swagga Like Us' called 'Swagga Like Bastid' is that fire and you should check it out on z-share until even z-share disables the link. I'm really hot on the blogs - well my blog...actually my MySpace blog. Anyway, I'm gonna be doing an open mic so maybe you can come and tell your friends. By the way I have a YouTube channel and I say that like no one else does."

"Hey bitch my name is Joey Balmundi but everyone calls me Soprano. I'm 16 but my fake ID says I'm 42 and I'm throwin' this little party at the Limelight this weekend through my new promotion company Balmundi Ballerz Entertainment. Make sure you bring you and the rest of your sluts with you. Find me at the bar and I will give you a complimentary jaeger bomb. I won't realize that the Limelight closed down six years ago until I get to the club that night, so maybe you can give me a ride back to Jersey so my mom doesn't catch me."

...back to Friendster I go.

You Down Wit OCD? Yeah You Know Me!

2008-11-02T12:02:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday afternoon and there's nothing on television but repeats of Step By Step and the umpteen MTV True Life series. While the idea of watching Patrick Duffy and Suzanne Somers collectively raise a family of assholes was tempting, True Life: I Have a Yeast Infection sadly won this TV competition. Okay that wasn't the real True Life, but if MTV hasn't made this one then they probably should have.

Anyway, this one was some collection of True Lives that all involved disorders. There was the one with the people with Tourrette's - including that twitching comedian from NJ and the girl with too much eye liner who starred in her school play. You'll be happy to know that twitching comedian has started dating (they even televised him making out with some poor paid actress/MTV intern). The girl cut off all her hair and got shouted out by Jordin Sparks at an American Idol concert. Progress, people.

Then there was the True Life: I'm Fat or whatever it was really called. There's 600 pound people blaming everything from their thyroid to McDonald's for their size and televising their gastric bypass surgeries. The updates are of these people being thin with like lots and lots of skin hanging. You had your stomach rerouted to your rectum and you can't holler at a tummy tuck? Am I missing something?

The next one involved people from Staten Island. No dis, but that IS a disorder - spoken from a Jersey native. I'm better than you.

And finally, my real reason for this entire blog - the OCD kids. These were the people who turned the lights on and off six times or used exactly ten sheets of toilet paper. MTV put these people on (inter)national television to discuss how tragic their lives are and it led me to identify some OCD people that you may or may not know:

Lip gloss girl
She carries her lip gloss in that little jeans pocket. She puts it on every six minutes. If she runs out, she scours the streets looking for lip gloss from fellow girls and gay men. There are five layers of gloss on her thin lips. She has streak marks on her face like she's been drinking Mountainberry Punch Kool-Aid. And she runs her tongue across her teeth every 30 seconds like she just got her braces off. DO NOT confuse OCD lip gloss girl with fresh to death my lip gloss is poppin' girl. Those are two different girls. OCD lip gloss girl looks like her lips have collagen injections...sponsored by MAC.

Water with lemon guy
Since we're in a recession, it's understandable to drink the free tap water at restaurants. If you live in NJ, you are playing Russian Roulette with tap water (especially when you have to chew it), but NY tap water is way different - and better. So ok, that's fine. You like tap water. Water with lemon guy is the guy who asks for his lemon wedge to squeeze into his free water. If the waiter forgets, he starts making demands like his chicken was served raw. "I want my lemon wedge!" he says. "You forgot my lemons!" Water with lemon guy needs to understand that if the tap water is unbearable to drink without lemon, then you probably shouldn't be drinking it at all. Spring for the coke, buddy. It probably has more health benefits than a glass of Agent Orange with lemon zest. Just a thought.

"Did I drop something?"
I must admit, I am her sometimes. Especially when I carry a bag that doesn't close. This person, though, stops short on city streets to double check dropping something they weren't even carrying. If you're standing behind them and walking fast, then the sudden halt may leave you inside of their colon. And while society is pretty much f*cked, do you really think if you dropped your bowling ball that someone won't tell you? Let's disregard the fact that you yourself would know. Just keep in mind that if you think you might've dropped something, there's a herd of cattle behind you ready to stampede you and you will probably be trampled on and killed over a tube of chapstick.

"Is my hair still plastered?"
You have more product in your hair than a girl from Staten Island (or a guy from Staten Island for that matter). It's taken two bottles of gel and a can of mousse to create that Roman warrior helmet on your skull. My question for you is...after spending two hours creating your man-hat, do you really think that a hair will fly out of place? There is no point in patting around your head every five minutes like you left your pick at home. Your hair looks like Annie Lennox's...not Questlove's.

Cellphone check 1-2-1-2
Awkward silence? Check the cellphone. A cellphone rings in Brooklyn and you're in Queens? Check the cellphone. Someone else checks their cellphone? Check the cellphone. Beggar approaches you looking for cash or crack? Check the cellphone. Let's not get into cameraphone guy, who takes a picture of a dead bird and then reviews all of his "walking down the street" photos like they're Justin Bua paintings. See you think you've taken that black and white photo of John Lennon in the New York cutoff shirt, but you're more like the creepy guy from American Beauty following around a plastic shopping bag.

Ass, Gas, or Bass...Nobody Rides For Free

2008-10-07T16:15:00.002-04:00

I can't help it. I'm obsessed with Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl. He is the perfect combination of douchebag and Andre3000. With his flamboyant clothing choices, messy androgynous coif, smoldering in dark allies while he pretentiously announces "I'm Chuck Bass." I can't help it. And to know that the actor who portrays him, Ed Westwick, is BRITISH (complete with accent), I really can't take it. Rumor has it he's banging Drew Barrywhore (I used to like her until this). They should end that immediately. On the show he screws anything fly with a pulse. This gives me hope. But alas, his heart belongs to Blair. Damn that motherchucker!

Catching Up...

2008-09-25T12:19:00.004-04:00

So I haven't posted in a while due to utter laziness and the loss of desire to pick up a cyber pen. That's done now. Read Skinny Bitch, it will change your life. So one thing before I begin my real rant...Tina Fey > Sarah Palin...I told ya so:

Let's continue...

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not opposed to driving. Considering that I'm a frontin' ass bridge n'tunnel girl, having a car comes in handy to zip into Manhattan pretending like I live there. It helps, considering on a slow day I can get to most places before any boro bitches or harlem hooligans (never again, I promise) can. My opinion of driving dramatically changes once I reach New Jersey. NJ drivers are poor excuses for road warriors. They think road rage is cool, up until you step to them. Then they cower like the NJ residents that they are. You know, the ones who only go to NYC during Christmas at Rockefeller Center but only take the bus because they're afraid of driving on city streets. Yet every summer they pack their wack ass minivans and head along the NJ Parkway to Seaside Heights, despite the fact that NJ highways produce more accidents than diaperless babies funneling breastmilk. But I digress.

While driving this past week in New Jersey, I came across two road culprits that are very typical New Jersey. I will also explain why I hate them:

The Hippie-Crit.

Yes, that bumper sticker reads "I Never Met a Tree I Didn't Like" and yes this man is driving a Jaguar. Really? First of all, why buy an $80,000 car and slap a bumper sticker on the back? This isn't a case of the perfect $400 accessories to go with your $20 dress. This is the exact opposite. This is ordering caviar and scooping it up with Pringles. I mean wtf? Were you being ironic? Did you want to prove that money didn't matter so you ruined your paint job? Is that what this is about? Let's not even get into the "going green" pledge on his car's ass. Your gas guzzling machine never met a tree it didn't like? Did it like wasting all that paper to purchase it? From money to the many many contracts and manuals (because believe me, Jaguars are pains in the ass to maintain. You can't get them repaired anywhere but Jaguar dealers. I've never had one, but I did have a pet cat once. RIP Harley.) It's just a bitch slap to society really. You don't like trees unless you are a pothead turned yuppy scum and blew 15% of your 401k on this car. Then the tree sticker makes you funny. You weren't being funny though. You were oh so serious. So welcome to my blog.

Space Hogs.

Okay look. This is one of those things that can be easily argued like "Well where else do they park?" Let me explain why this man's Hog (Harley Davidson) should be made into bacon and served to a cop. This crotch rocket was parked at a women's department store. Most men in their mid-life crises buy these pieces of metal to drive around and act like they're not fat or not uncool. Like this other guy I saw:

He can't possibly think he's cool can he? Regardless, the last thing he is using this bike for is transportation. The man above was riding through Lincoln Center in New York, so they're everywhere.

Anyway, the point is, why was a man on a motorcycle using up spaces in a parking lot at a women's department store? Aren't those things meant for "cruising?" Unless he was being a perv and wanted to pick up women outside. Optimists may say he was buying a gift for his wife. No he wasn't. His bike didn't have a special bag compartment. Maybe it was a woman? No it wasn't. No woman goes to a department store with minimal container space to carry purchases. This was a man, a greedy greedy man who chose to not only use up a girl's parking space but pull SO FAR UP that it looked like an empty space, until SUPRISE! it wasn't. Might I also add that he was parked in the second space in the lot. Some people have no hearts.

I'm renewing my MetroCard.

"I Wish I Looked Just Like Cheryl Tweedy" - (c) Lily Allen

2008-09-04T14:36:00.004-04:00

There is a song that I'd like to share with the world...the world being the few people that visit this blog regularly (I love you some me).

The song is titled "Call the Shots" by British girl pop group Girls Aloud. Now look...Girls Aloud was formed in '02 from the British reality show Popstars. Before you go knockin' their hustle, remember the last time you shook your ass to Danity Kane. That's right, it was last night. I can recall the very first time I heard "Call the Shots." It was at my previous job working with the dynamic Dragonette (blog on them soon cometh). So I'm at the office while my boss was going through his usual laundry list of new songs he pulled from the blogs across the pond. Some were great, while most were downright cacophonic. With the help of some headphones and a strong will, I was able to drown out most of the crap that blared through the computer speakers. It was no dis to my boss because he agreed alot of the music sucked - what were some people thinking?

Anyway, one day this little gem began to play. I jumped up at the sound of perfectly placed synths in a Eurotrash setting. It was like the sluttiest outfit at a Sex Pistols cover band concert. The beginning of the song reminded me of New Order (R.I.P. Ian Curtis.) in its attempt to mold electro and synth into designer dance pop. And it worked! It was the perfect combination of pop tart and Euro - now that is a complete breakfast.

For those narrow minded yankees who can't bear to love something from the UK, check this. Cheryl Cole aka Cheryl Tweedy is like a low budget Posh Spice, married to a "footballer." She is also the hook singer on Will.i.Am's "Heartbreaker" so see, you know her already. Now get to know her vocal flatmates.

I still have no effing idea what the song is even about, but when the hook comes around, it is like one big lube ad. I have never felt more like a gay man than I do when I hear the hook to "Call the Shots." James Saint James comes skipping out of my head like a little sprite and we start dancing at the Roxy. I have glitter on my face and I'm wearing pink JNCO jeans. I break out glowsticks and the cast of Will and Grace is cheering me on. Men are topless wearing dog collars and Rock Hudson posters line the club. "We're doin' it for Liberace," I say! Then I wake up in a what I think is a foam party, but it is really my boss spraying me with a fire extinguisher, while the song on my iTunes play count reads "69."

In reality, the video depicts nothing of what's in my head. Their video concept is the birthplace of voguing, while mine is the birthplace of syphilis. We both have something in common though - Madonna's previous nightlife. It's a celebration bitches! Some may argue that this video is bland, but a bunch of British gals in couture standing around and voguing is way classier than anything anyone else could've imagined while playing this "meant for clubbing while rolling" song.

So now that you can mop your floors with the politically incorrectness that I've spilled all over this blog, let's watch the video!

Call The Shots - Girls Aloud

I hope you love it as much as I do.

The chair massage at nail salons

2008-09-03T16:56:00.003-04:00

I've decided that the chair massage at nail salons is completely contingent upon the amount of tip you leave. And what's crazy is that it's not even the ten minute chair one like the photo suggests. It's the one that the nice "nail technician" gives you when your nails are drying. It's not like the most important thing in the process, but when you get it then you don't get it, it becomes a question of what makes you get it or what makes you not get it.

Case in point:
Two weeks ago, I went for the routine summertime manicure/pedicure at this one nail place that usual gives the free chair massage at the end. I paid, tipped (HOWEVER, I left a smaller tip than usual since I forgot to carry cash and I hate charging a tip). So I'm sitting at the dryer and start doing the shoulder shift like I am about to get the rub (*pause*). The lady is standing there turning the dryers on as I am doing the shoulder shift. I began to feel like that episode of Sex and the City where that guy keeps shifting his rear closer to Miranda's face until she shouts "I don't do that!!!!" The lady goes to me "Okayyyy" and walks away. Nothing but me and a significant loss of dignity.

Fast-forward to yesterday, where I am at the salon and this time I had tip money. It came to like $22 and I handed her $30. She kept the entire change, which was a big boo since I wanted to sneak at least $2 of that for coffee money, but I digress. So I finish, go to the dryer and the woman beats the daylights out of me in the chair. I think I have a bruise actually.

There should be a sign that reads, "Complimentary Chair Massage With Hefty Tip" - something that lets the world know if you are being a cheap bitch that day to not do the shoulder lean hoping for something that won't come.

Hatin' Hayden

2008-09-01T21:14:00.004-04:00

Now look, I enjoyed Hayden Panettiere when she played a baby prostitute in Raising Helen, and I hear great things about her cheerleading acting thing on Heroes. I even let her slide with that role in like the fourth Bring It On (even when she wore desert camo and said "yo"). But Hayden, Hayden, Hayden...what kind of f*ckery is this:

Now with all due respect, it might be the Candies campaign, but honestly come on little girl, this ish is like taken straight from the How to Become Fergie Handbook! We really really don't need another Fergie. And what's up with this hackneyed Reggae tinge? "Yoo dun buy meh flow-ahs." Really? Do yourself a favor and be a real "Hero" to these underaged girls so they don't go running to Hannah Montana for guidance. Yikes.

Using whitening strips

2008-08-31T17:04:00.004-04:00

Okay, so I used to be completely against these $40 boxes of whiteners that are supposed to up your dental glow by like 600% by wearing off the enamel. But if you're like me and have a terrible addiction to coffee and tea (decaf stains too), then your toothy grin gets greatly affected by staining. I also didn't like how I had to sit around and wait to take those strips off. I'm too lazy for all of that mess. Then Listerine came with the master plan:

Ah-ha! Quick...dissolving...strips. "This is perfect," I thought! Put 'em on in the shower and they're dissolved by the time your hair is dried. Perfection! So I paid the $25 for the box of glad tidings (big discount from those dumb strips that charge more and you have to do more work) and planned to use them the next day.

After reading the box it said your teeth might "tingle." I have sensitive teeth as it is, which made me think that my teeth would feel like they were getting drilled. Apprehension kicked in. Then I read that the strips dissolve by triggering your salivary glands. Okay now hmmmm, hold the phone. That lady in the commercial made it look like she could pack up and go right after putting them in. She must be going to play baseball then because all she could really do was act like she was chewing tobacco with all that spit in her mouth. Nevertheless, I put them in. The directions say that you have to put them on clean (read: brushed) teeth only. I guess that is for the morons who think they could throw them on with morning breath and walk out of the house. So I brushed, applied, and went to shower. As I'm in the shower, I feel the noted "tingle" which wasn't so bad, but the dissolving process was a horror. I was DROOLING uncontrollably. Thank goodness I was in the shower.

I get out and smile in the mirror to a mouth full of foam. I looked like I had rabies. Then, after they "dissolve" your teeth are still left with balls of whitening goo...like tooth boogers. So what did I have to do? Brush my teeth again, thereby having to do exactly what I didn't want to have to do with the non-dissolving strips because I was so lazy. So to make a long story short, I bought these things to make life easier, and they only made life more difficult. Plus I looked like Old Yellar. Good thing I wasn't on a farm, because I would've clearly been shot with that foamy mouth. Call me Aesop, but there is definitely a lesson to be learned here: stained teeth are not that bad. I'm sure smokers worldwide can attest to it. I'm not a smoker, but I salute your yellow teeth. Changing tooth color is too damn difficult. Let's all spit butter together!

P.S. I actually still use the Listerine strips and deal with the mouth full of dental snot. They were $25 bucks are you crazy? They're not going to waste! Say cheese!

Put Your Faith in Hov

2008-08-31T11:40:00.003-04:00

Saw this a few months back on a stoop in the West Village. Hell, if Jay was running for Pres, I can't honestly say I wouldn't vote for him. I mean, if the Governator and Jesse "The Body" Ventura could run cities and states, then why can't Hov run a full country? Oh that's right, because when he was Presidente of Def Jam, all we got was a reigning suckfest from Rihanna, Chrisette Michele got the ill brush off and Nas can't even title his album properly since S. Dot jumped ship. But I digress...

Let's get one thing straight - I went through my guzzling haterade phase with Jay-Z during that whole "Hey Papi' debacle. Since then, it's been a whirlwind of emotions that struggled with consistency. I laughed through The Blueprint 2, was humbled by The Black Album, shrugged at Kingdom Come (minus "Beach Chair" which still changes my life every time I hear it), and smiled at American Gangster. See for some reason, it all came together for me at that point.

I remember several years back I used to beat my chest at Will Smith like where the f*&$ is the Fresh Prince? I was like "Yeah yeah bienvenido a Miami, fool, get jiggy blah blah blah stick to acting," and then at the Source Awards like 5 or 6 years ago during the attack of the white tees, Will Smith got up to present an award. I breathed this huge sigh of relief, like okay thank God we have Will Smith up there to represent Hip-Hop properly. W...T...F? I didn't even recognize myself for thinking that, but you know what? It's true. Hip-Hop keeps experiencing this rapid decline during award show ceremonies, so we have to finally exhale when one of our own becomes a grown ass man and hops on stage and acts like one. Mind you, Hip-Hop is a culture built on youth. Leave it to some of the vets to prove that age builds swag. I mean Big Willy is hardly the archetype of swag, well, sorta...okay I'm trailing from my point here. Back to Hov:

Okay so I saw the "Roc Boys" video, where Mariah Carey and Cassie were wrongfully invited, and Jay did Nas a solid and invited him to smoke cigars with him and Diddy in the pool room. I believe it was around the time they were pretending to be Jewish and shouted l'chaim and broke a glass with their foot when no one was getting married. I started to get teary eyed. No, it's not because I'm Jewish and was appalled at the wrongful use of Hebrew imagery. It was because of the symbolism in the video.

Hip-Hop has always made it a point to state that the real money holders were at the tippy top of record labels and entertainment law firms. And let's be realistic - they're predominantly Jewish. I remember 50 Cent got on Hot 97 around the time he signed with Dre and Em and shouted out his lawyer and said "Jew U-nit!" So in the "Roc Boys" video, Jay is shouting them out...to the money holders, "L'chaim! I wish for you 100 years of success, but it's my time." It touched me, I can't lie. Sure there are umpteen emcees not properly paid, but at least four or five really made it. Hip-Hop made it. The money is starting to trickle down.

Which brings me to my current relationship with Jay-Z (the one in my head, people, don't have me on Concrete Loop in my pajamas for this). We've been seriously dating since "Roc Boys" and I think we're in love. He was always my friend throughout school and when he did dumb shit I rolled my eyes, but I've finally started to come around. And wowee, at the final date of the U.S. Glow in the Dark Tour, there I was 8th row in Madison Square Garden (E, I owe you my eternal friendship), when this happened:

Holy floodgates of love. Now, for those who didn't witness this piece of Hip-Hop history, I am deeply sorry. It's not everyday that Ye and Jay hop on stage during a tour (where Ye hasn't even addressed the crowd while performing) to tell everyone that there will in fact be a Blueprint III and Kanye won the producer race. Yeah, that was hot. And no offense, but no studio version of "Jockin' Jay-Z" will match that verse he spit live by surprise. I feel like Hillary dropping her flag and rolling with Obama. You were right, mayne. I was wrong. I LOVE YOU JAY-Z!!

Beyonce, you are a whole other post, because I love you too...just not...in...that...way.

Dangerously Overeducated

2008-08-30T18:15:00.003-04:00

Let's talk about student loans for a moment...

I had a thorough reality check a few weeks ago when CitiBank reared its ugly head to inform me of my future student loan payments effective December 2008. I graduated with my Masters from New York University, and do not regret one red cent. However, what...the...f*$%?! Why is my student loan a baby mortgage? Why in this society - where one degree is only good enough for a job until your next degree, which gets you a better job - do we have to pay so damn much to go to school?

Now I know what alot of you are thinking: why the hell did you go back to school? For those who chose to end it at Bachelors and toss confetti, I salute you. Finishing college is a feat in and of itself, but me, I love school. I do. As weird as that may sound, I truly love to learn, and before this f*$%ery of a loan payment, I was well on my way to a PhD. I guess for now I am going to settle for a Playa Hatin' Degree, since that is about all I can afford at this point. Bushy wushy dropped my interest rates apparently to like 3% as opposed to 65% or something, which was nice of his bomb-dropping arse, but it still doesn't make up for the fact that my monthly payments are equal to the price of a Louis Vuitton bag (not even a clutch, we're talking a Damier Canvas Speedy 30 plus tax and the cost of shipping to Zagreb with overnight delivery). Fear not, though. I have devised a plan to effectively pay my huge loan in a timely manner without compromising my dignity:

Roofies. I'm takin' it back, y'all.

Ladies, we have feared rohypnol ever since we set foot on a college campus. It's the reason why we babysit our drinks and when a guy offers to buy us one, we follow him with binoculars, a microscope and our best friend disguised as a bartender. Also known as "the date rape drug," roofies has starred in more Lifetime original movies than Meredith Baxter Birney and Candace Cameron combined. So I say, ladies, let's use this drug to our advantage in the lucrative field of prostitution!

We don't need a "boss" because ladies is pimps too (go on brush your shoulders off). Get on the corner in your most promising Pretty Woman-inspired outfit (think less Vivian, more Kit DeLuca) and find a gentleman caller. When you hop in his Hyundai, tell him you need a drink to "loosen up." While you're sitting with your drinks, say "Oh hey! My underage cousin Tina wants in too" and he'll promptly turn around. That's when you drop in the roofies. Put like six in so he knocks out quickly. Bring a Wii to the hotel room and wait the few hours until he wakes up. When he does wake up say, "OMG that was amazing...and that'll be $125." By then, it'll be plenty of time to have one of your male friends waiting in the closet with a baseball bat in case the customer acts funny style. Pay $25 to your boy for staying in the closet for so long (not like how record labels pay their male artists...that's a different closet), and you keep the $100. Do that scheme until your loan is paid. Voila! See that's why I have a Masters in business. Mogul in the making.

Oy Fey!

2008-08-29T23:00:00.003-04:00

Everyone knows this already I'm sure, but um, yeaaaah....

Sarah Palin...Tina Fey...hand twins. I might actually vote for Pappy McCain if he picked Tina Fey. No I wouldn't.

A Sing-a-long? Really?

2008-08-28T16:07:00.001-04:00

So I haven't actually seen this Mama Mia movie, but now apparently a sing-a-long version of the movie releases tomorrow. I can only imagine what those "select" theaters that are playing the movie will look like. Considering the fact that every person on this planet has at one time thought that they were actually a decent singer, I'm sure the lingering folks who have very high opinions of themselves will be posted up in the theater with popcorn ready to destroy some Abba songs. I'll pass.

Hillary Shouts Out the Pants

2008-08-27T16:26:00.003-04:00

Last night at the Democratic National Convention, my homegirl Hillary did the right thing and openly endorsed Obama. I still wish she would've been veep (hush), but yeah good going Hill. In her excellent speech she made reference to my Pants movie by urging her "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pantsuits" to walk with Obama as well. She referenced my movie, so once again Hillary didn't let me down.

Happy 10-Year Anniversary Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

2008-08-25T17:58:00.001-04:00

Anyone from North Jersey who was remotely involved with Hip-Hop had some six degrees of separation story as to how or why they knew about the Fugees before the rest of the world did. For me, it was through a childhood friend in 7th grade whose cousin had a crush on this girl in his high school who was involved in some Haitian rap group. After hearing her poor quality demo that was awkwardly brilliant, I felt connected to this group whose fate was not yet determined. A year later “Nappy Heads” met the radio. It was then that I was re-introduced to my quasi-homegirl named L-Boogie – a suburban Jersey girl just like me, who frolicked in the inner city just like me, and loved Hip-Hop…just like me.

Lauryn Hill was the unsung superstar during the Fugees’ Tranzlator Crew days. From their “real” first single “Boof Baf,” Lauryn danced in the shadows of Wyclef’s cartoonish persona. If anyone played “Some Seek Stardom” on Blunted On Reality, they clearly knew that behind Clef’s obnoxiousness and Pras’ monotone rhymes stood a talented young lady searching for her voice. Then The Score happened. Sure, we knew L had the lyrics in her on random side projects like Big Kap’s “Da Ladies,” but The Score sealed the deal that Lauryn knew what the hell she was talking about. For me, I think it was the local aspect of it all, as Lauryn shouted, “Ha ha ha ha ya hafta respect Jersey ‘cause I’m super fly when I’m super high on the Fu-gee-la.” Lauryn was for me what Bon Jovi was for the rest of my white friends growing up in the New Jeru. And from that point on she was my hero.

When the Bootleg Versions dropped, along with “Hip-Hopera” and “Rumble In the Jungle,” I began tracking Lauryn’s evolution as a lyricist. She went from, “I don’t puff blunts so I always got my breath, never had to battle with a bullet proof vest” to “Teach the youth they got more rights than Miranda, tell ‘em this whole shit is propaganda” in under a few years. The things she discussed that I didn’t know about, I went to the library and learned. Hell, I even rented Coolie High to get the whole concept of the “Killing Me Softly” video. I too cried when Cochise died. I patiently waited for Lauryn to finally strut her stuff on a solo record. Then The Carnival happened, like wtf? Still, Lauryn managed to drop some knowledge on “Year Of the Dragon,” and of course “Guantanamera,” where she hid her pregnant belly behind a parade float in Mexico during the video. Then The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill happened.

At 19 years old, Miseducation couldn’t have happened at a more perfect time for me. Lauryn consoled me over every guy who had ever broken my heart, and for the men who would later fool me, Lauryn warned me beforehand. Her entire catalog became the blueprint of my life, and for that I was eternally grateful. But before Miseducation even hit the shelves in the summer of ’98, so began my chase to meet the woman who changed my life.

Earlier that summer (1998), some friends and I packed up my Dodge Neon and traveled three hours to Hartord, Connecticut to catch Lauryn Hill in the only concert she was scheduled for – the f*cking Lilith Fair Tour. No disrespect to the ladies of Lilith Fair, but it just wasn’t our crowd. Still, we had a good enough reason to be there. That was until we were informed that Miss Hill was a no show. I cried for two days. Straight.

August 25, 1998. After waiting on line for approximately two hours, I met my muse face to face at the Virgin Megastore in Union Square, New York City. She was seated behind a school desk with a chalkboard behind her (keeping up with the whole Miseducation theme – how clever!). I marched right up to her in this maniacal fan tizzy and scolded her for not showing up to Lilith Fair like two months prior. WTF?! Whoever believes that Lauryn Hill is racist can dead those stale beliefs right here, because Lauryn Noel Hill apologized profusely to my white ass while hoards of mixed races awaited their 15 seconds with her. I still have that autograph framed. Mine read, “To Kathy, Love Lauryn” while everyone else’s said, “Love Lauryn.” Maybe it was the Jersey connection, who knows.

I attended about five shows during The 1999 Miseducation Tour. I began memorizing the routine and would recite it like that annoying girl at the movies, who says the lines before they happen. Later that summer, a friend in South Orange, New Jersey told us about the Hills having a block party, so myself and now fellow AllHipHop scribe Alex Thornton trekked the 25 minutes to South Orange to bumrush the barbecue. We were greeted by many Marleys (we think), but no Lauryn. Alex and I both agreed that the incident was far too stalkerish and we would never mention it…until now (sorry Alex).

The two years that followed were defending the career of Miss Hill like it was my job. Everyone from my mother to ?uestlove heard about how I was convinced that it wasn’t the last of Lauryn Hill. Then the Essence Awards happened – locks gone, acoustic guitar strapped, belting “Adam Lives In Theory.” Like the rest of the world, I was so confused. Two years prior, this girl swept the Grammy’s (which fell on my birthday that year) and was out to save music! Now, who the hell was gonna save her? I needed some answers; had Lauryn gone mad?

July 2001, I headed to Brooklyn USA to the African Arts Festival where Lauryn was rumored to be performing. She arrived with her guitar and cried on stage. It was weird seeing Lauryn cry, like seeing your mom cry. This vision of strength breaking down before me suddenly became so…human. I went backstage, where hundreds of people were surrounding her. In the midst of the swarm of fans, she looked me dead in the eye and said, “Hey! You traveled just as long as I did to get here.” She remembered me! Lauryn Hill remembered me! She was definitely not crazy. I proved my point and went home. Unplugged happened, but she wasn’t crazy to me. I caught her at the Smokin’ Grooves Tour, and she still wasn’t crazy to me. After that, I got into writing, and my hero and I parted ways. Let’s not get into my missing the Block Party. It was a painful memory that I revisit on my DVD player.

I started writing seriously because Lauryn once said that words would hit her in her sleep and she’d wake up and have to write them down. Those things happened to me all the time since I learned to read, but I ignored them for the first 23 years of my life. When I finally wrote the words down, they weren’t half bad, so call me a writer. Now I had a whole new reason to thank Lauryn Hill. Last year, I met a woman named Joss Stone, who went to the extreme to get Lauryn Hill on her record. I must admit I was pretty ambivalent towards Lauryn until Joss and I carried on about her for hours like I was back in high school. It hit me then, that after five years as a journalist, I was ready to interview Lauryn Hill. I tucked it away in the back of my mind on my list of things to-do along with visiting Egypt and buying a Marc Jacobs bag. Four months later, I bought the Marc Jacobs bag, so my dreams were coming true. Do I dare find Lauryn? The first thing I did was hit up Joss, my initial inspiration, and she gave me some contact information. I also reached out to my good friend who worked with Lauryn, and he sent an email out.

Then I am informed that Lauryn Hill will be performing in Brooklyn on August 6, 2007. All of my run-ins with Lauryn happened in the summertime, and this one would be no different…so I thought. Armed with my recorder, my cousin, and an AllHipHop business card that wasn’t even mine, I ventured out to Brooklyn to interview a woman who at one time meant the world to me. I must admit, when I arrived in Brooklyn, I was only half-excited. After reading the articles about Lauryn flaking and watching the most recent video where she sounds sane but looks otherwise, I kind of numbed myself to the idea of seeing her again. Let’s forget the Fugees reunion incident altogether. Lauryn was the shell of my old friend, and I was interviewing the memory. That was the plan.

We circled the neighborhood for two hours trying to penetrate the crowd heading into the venue. I watched as local residents, frat boys, sorority girls, kids from foreign, and Hip-Hop hippies all migrated towards the Wingate Field. That was until we were all sent away. Not even the Alternatives Editor from the Number One Hip-Hop website could squeeze in to get a few words. It then hit me that I waited my whole life for an opportunity like this, and lost it. We drove to the end of Brooklyn, turned back around again and tried one more time, but no dice. As I was driving home, I realized that Lauryn was still my friend. I still wake up from my sleep to write, and I still downloaded “Doo Wop (That Thing)” onto my Blackberry. Regardless of her decisions, I still take her advice about men, and still wear one bangle bracelet in her honor. As I listened to her freestyle on DJ Skribble’s Traffic Jam, I realized I am hardly above her influence. She is still one of the reasons why I write, and I still have to thank her for it. And just when you thought it was safe to relax, L-Boogie spits with perfect syntax.

Until then, here is a little dedication I wrote with the help of some famous quoters. I'm hearing rumors swell of her penning new material in her bathroom on toilet paper. I will take what I can get.

R.I.P. Aaliyah Haughton 1/16/79 - 8/25/01

2008-08-25T12:44:00.002-04:00

Seven years ago to the day, we lost Aaliyah Haughton. As we’ve witnessed talented artists pass on throughout history, we begin to relate their deaths with what we were doing when we found out. Our parents probably remember where they were when they found out John Lennon died or Jimi Hendrix or Bob Marley.

For many of us there were the deaths of Tupac and Biggie, and Aaliyah ranks right up there. Most music lovers (and especially Aaliyah fans) remember exactly what they were doing on August 25, 2001 when the world said goodbye to Baby Girl.

We lost her too soon at the age of 22, right at the peak of her career. Aaliyah was the original protégé of Missy Elliott and Timbaland, with whom they would test their production styles in an effort to create was most still fall short of making today.

A dancer, singer, actor, and all around entertainer, Aaliyah’s greatest gift to us was interpretation. Whether it be a role, a beat, or a sheet of music, Aaliyah wrapped herself in the creativity of her projects as if they were made for her.

What she felt, we felt, and that’s why her death hit the industry so hard. As private as she was with her life, Aaliyah was all of our best friends. Girls aspired to be her; boys aspired to marry her. Thankfully, we’re left with a catalog of hits that after a second listen are so obviously the blueprints for much music today. The AllHipHop staff compiled their favorite Aaliyah tracks – some commercially known, others b-sides and remixes. Share your favorites too as we celebrate the life of a true fallen angel. Click here to read.

Eric Benet Still Loves Sex

2008-08-21T15:38:00.005-04:00

What a sweet guy. I remember back when I worked at Warner, we were working his Hurricane album. He brought his daughter India to work during his press day. What a lovely girl, I must say. We had cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery in the office that day and we gave one to India. You would've thought we had given her gold. She was sooo grateful. I brought that up to Eric during our interview and he was really touched. Speaking of touching:

Eric, if you are looking for some vanilla legs that turn caramel in the sun, call me.

To read the interview, click here

I heart TI

2008-08-18T18:06:00.000-04:00

Here is why.

America Gives the Stink Eye

2008-08-10T16:16:00.002-04:00

I am so for the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. It's rather pathetic how much I love the books and the first movie, and now the second movie (well except for the fact that they combined like three books to make this one. Wamp!). Anyway, so recently America Ferrera and Blake Lively were on Good Day LA and the girls answered a few questions about Pants. However, then the attention turned to Gossip Girl. Okay, so nobody shoot me in the leg, but I have never seen Gossip Girl, and after hearing Blakey chirp about it, I may never even turn on the CW again. America seemed to agree, peep the scowl:

You can find the video on YouTube, but I felt the need to freeze that marvelous moment in time. America's eyes said "WTF?" I love it. I wonder if they're friends after all that? Considering the fact that most things dedicated to four female friends, are all reflections of each other- like Golden Girls, Sex & the City, and now The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, that would make Carrie as America and Samantha as Blake. Annnnnd, Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall are rumored to not get along, so isn't that funny? Isn't it? Am I getting too deep for you? It's ok. Think about all that and get back to me.

Jazmine Sullivan is Lauryn Hill-in

2008-08-05T13:33:00.002-04:00

I had the pleasure of interviewing Miss Jazmine Sullivan for AllHipHop. Jazmine has been around for a minute, starting with my old stomping grounds Black Lily. Read up on her and how she's not trying to be the next L-Boogie. I don't blame her, Lauryn is untouchable.

Excerpt:

When I get comparisons to Lauryn it is all good. You know, Lauryn is such a great artist and I listened to her growing up. I think because of the reggae vibe on the first single, it is easy to compare me to her. But I think once you hear the rest of the album you will see that we are two totally different artists. There is no other Lauryn to me.

Read it all here

Welcome!

2008-08-01T15:33:00.001-04:00

And now, we dance...