I had everything planned out: Ohio hotel with lenient pet rabbit policies, cheap car rental, Spaghetti Warehouse banquet dinner tickets, everything. I had found a rental car online for only $18 per day if I just went and picked it up at JFK airport. And then the American economic system (in the form of an double-chinned, age-undetermined woman wearing some sort of pantsuit) almost ruined my trip. This curly-haired gremlin troll told me that although I had reserved the car online, and although I could (theoretically) pay for the cost of the car rental, she could not rent it to me because I have chosen not to have a credit card because I think they are stupid and a middle-class trap and I'm not sure I am enough of an adult to handle having money at my disposal whenever and wherever I want it. So I ended up having to rent a car from another rental agency for about 5 times that price because they would rent to a debit card, and all they had left were expensive SUVs. That being said, it all worked out but it was over my planned budget for the trip.
It got me thinking though: If I got a credit card, would I just buy everything I covet and it at home with my possessions and never leave the house and develop a vitamin D deficiency and lose all remaining scraps of social skills? If so, that actually just sounds like what I've been doing over the past 6 months in cold, dreary, horrible, the worst, New York City winter, except that I would have cooler stuff. Let the patriotism begin (with a crippling amount of debt)!
1) I want a yellow lamp. I don't know why but I need it.
2) I need an alarm clock because my rabbit chewed through the power cord of the one I've had since I was 4 years old, which also electrocuted both her and me one night at 4am.
from etsy ($85 plus shipping from a tiny Chinese man)
3) I need blue shoes (I do not need these at all but if I had good credit I would own them then not be able to pay for them and therefore have bad credit and live the American Dream).
Let's all be New American Patriots and get into credit card debt! Yayyy! (We killed Bin Laden! click link for an awkward celebration in my awkward neighborhood — thanks Jasper.)
A few weeks ago I stumbled across an amazing vintage turntable at Housing Works and decided to buy it. I know what you're thinking: How did you not have one before now? Aren't you a part-time barista, freelance editor and Brooklyn resident? You write a blog. Two blogs, actually, and one is about Maury Povich. Don't they hand those things out at the Bedford L stop? I get it. Stop yelling.
(Oh, also: If you're unaware, Housing Works is a well-curated thrift store whose mission is to end homelessness and AIDS, global problems that need every bit of funding they can get. But ... and I'm sorry for saying it, but am I the only one who finds it odd that in doing so they've created an orgy of discount-priced designer clothes, modern furniture and whimsical art? This seems counterproductive to the cause. Throw in a nice martini list and a tapas menu and you've got a Chelsea nightclub. Or why not just get those cool clothes on some hobos? A briefly sobered-up wino wearing a Valentino suit is ready for his Wall Street interview, and who wouldn't prefer their local flasher to reveal not only his hook-shaped penis, but also show off that soothing tan-red-black-white plaid from inside his newly donated, gently used Burberry trench? I know this is going to count against me at the Pearly Gates, Angelic Saint Peter pausing briefly to leer at me over his reading glasses then saying, "Remember when you wrote that thing on your blog? The thing that insinuated stereotypical prejudices about certain types of people?" I'll say yes and *poof* I'll be in the 'other' place roasting like a marshmallow. It's just that I need to know if I'm the only one who notices real-life irony.)
But back to the story for the zero of you who haven't quit reading: So although I have probably the most ostentatious stereo system to ever grace a 10'x10' shared college dorm room (at high volume, it could be heard 4 floors up), I didn't have a turntable until recently. As my preference in pant legs gets narrower and I patiently await my FleaBay'd leather jacket so I can finally emerge from my fat winter cocoon blob into a spring-weather-loving alcoholic unemployed stereotype, I have been repairing and restoring this turntable. I disassembled it, cleaned everything, put it back together and it works like new. Pat on the back for me. One of the biggest draws of my new hobby/obsession is that I live only a few blocks from the largest selection of used records in NYC, a junk store with — no joke — at least 100,000 records; I think it's way more than that but I'm being conservative. The guy who owns the place makes up arbitrary prices and I've never paid more than $2 for a single item in the shop. It's great, because I don't think he cares if he makes money, he just likes people coming into his store. He sold me this oil painting, in its frame, for two bucks.
it's like a stained glass window on acid
I always find a few great records rooting through milk crates full of vinyl. Yesterday, however, I stumbled upon a treasure from my early high school days:
luv 2 luv my nostalgia for this album
This album was the jam back in the day, and I believe "Luv 2 Luv Ya (Remix)" went on the very first burned CD I ever made. (In 9th grade, my buddy and I went halves on a CD burner because they were really expensive and we were really cheap, which is why we were buying a CD burner in the first place — to download music illegally from Audiogalaxy or Napster and burn CDs.)
Listening to this for the first time in probably 12 years got me to thinking about being a freshman in high school. I have a, let's say, "distinct" sounding voice: deep, slightly nasal and with a twinge of Southern accent. I didn't know I had a distinct voice until I was about 15 years old and guys on my baseball team did an impression of me, for me. When I was still writing for magazines, I showed up to an interview with a famous hip-hop/pop/R&B producer who, surprised to see Saltine cracker me waiting in the studio lobby, said, "When I talked to you on the phone, I thought you was a brotha." So I apparently sound a little bit black on the phone. I guess. But this is where I was going before I started asking questions bound to send me to hell: Was Magoo ever teased for his voice? Were any other rappers? I mean, Magoo's real name is "Melvin Barcliff", which sounds like the kind of name that could get you beat up while waiting for the school bus.
So here's my list of "7 Rappers With A High Probability of Childhood Teasing" who, in no particular order, also happen to be some of my favorites:
MAGOO: Timbaland & Magoo, "Luv 2 Luv Ya (Remix)"
CEE-LO GREEN: Cee-Lo is just more fun when he's rapping, not singing. His verse in Goodie Mob's "They Don't Dance No Mo" is the part I look forward to every time I hear the song.
CHALI 2NA: The deep-voiced dude from Jurassic 5, my guess is that kids would've been holding him down at recess and making him recite James Earl Jones quotes. He's the first one to rap on "Thin Line" and his voice juxtaposes nicely with the sweet-sounding hook.
ODB: A man who needs no introduction and a voice that cracks like a teenage boy going through puberty and eating animal crackers at the same time. ODB was great.
BIZZY BONE: I know for a fact that Bizzy gets made fun of for not only his voice but also his effeminate mannerisms (see comments here), but he is/was part of Bone Thugs and this song makes him manly.
KRAZIE BONE: Can't talk about Bizzy without his balancing act Krazie Bone, who also has a deep voice with a little country twang like me.
EAZY-E: Last but not least, Eazy has a high-pitched almost Urkle voice. I actually had to stop listening to Eazy's sex-laden lyrics for awhile — I had been listening to him a lot and thinking about sex constantly then had one of those "scares"... luckily she got her period and now I can listen to him again.
Maybe the world is ready for another white rapper: I'm calling myself Roscoe Listerine.
