Defending my tweets Vol. 19

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Hi guys. Welcome to “Defending my tweets”. This is for those times when 141 characters is not enough to really drive home whatever stupid point I’m trying to make. It’s a launchpad for rants, really. As misguided as they may be, they gotta end up somewhere.
Let’s see what we got this week…hope you guys don’t have a fondness for musicals. You may wanna skip this one.

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In case you’re out of the loop and unsure of what a “Fleshlight” is, let me explain. It’s basically a fuckable flashlight. It’s a cylinder, shaped much like a flash light, but instead of sending beams of light out of one end, there is a gummy mouth/vagina for which you are supposed to stick your dick into. It kinda looking like a pink version of Audrey 2 from “Little shop of horrors”, which doesn’t totally miss the mark cause we all know she had those crazy dsl’s.
Anyhoo, it’s a tool for masturbation. Pretty simple. Masturbation is a facet of pretty every man’s life. We start doing in at a young age and in evolves from something we do 5 times a day to something we do when we need to relax or go to sleep. What was once a drug becomes something used almost more for maintenance. Guys do all sorts of things. Most use our hands, like gentleman. Some, at younger ages, have been know to get more creative and fuck things like fruits with holes cut in them or a sock full of lube. Personally, I’ve always be a meat and potatoes guy and that extra work just seems like a bit much for me. But, for those guys who need more than the skin on their hands, inventors got your back. There have been many versions of this. The blow up doll has been around longer than me. It was literally a balloon with a face, some sharp plastic tits and a rudimentary hole you could maybe kinda fuck. I won’t lie, it looked pretty uncomfortable. Like boning an inflatable mattress. But time won’t let something like the way a man pleasures himself stay in the caveman era. Nope. Nowadays, they have plastic vagina molds modeled after real porn stars. Sure, it looks like a serial killer chopped out just the vagina on some poor girl but the holes work and you get to kinda sorta pretend you’re having sex with a real person.
The flesh light is a different thing though. It’s a tube you hold. While it is specifically for men, it’s less direct as to what part you’re actually fucking. It could be a mouth. It could be a vagina. It could even be a weird butthole if you want it to be. No matter what it is…it’s still a tube you stick your dick in.
As a seasoned masturbator (we all are, really), I’ve always felt that being extra about how you bust nuts is a slippery slope. Especially if you’re blowing loads all over that slope. I’m not saying this to shame anyone. I get why people want to kick things up a notch. But, once you go online, see a fleshlight and decide “I need this in my life”, you are officially a “fleshlight” guy. You have jumped from a man who jerks off all basic like, to a guy who now fucks an inanimate object that looks like a baby’s eye winking. I say, fuck it! Rock it with pride. Embrace that you need a little more to get yourself off. Leave in on the table like your would a candle or your tv remotes. When people ask “uh, what is that?!!”, you look them dead in the eye and say “Oh that? it’s my fleshlight. I CUM IN THAT.” and don’t break eye contact cause it shows weakness. Stand by your life choices! It’s the only way to truly be free.

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This isn’t an opinion piece but more just a case of how little we understand cultures outside of our own.
As an american, I grew up with PB &J. We all did. It’s as much a staple of our country as apple pie, hamburgers, and pick up trucks. In my myopic mind, I assumed this was something all first world countries took part in. Well, holy shit, was I wrong.
I had been in europe doing a tour and the topic of PB&J came up, only to be met but confused stares. “You eat a sandwich with peanut butter and jelly…together?” followed by a face I’d make if I saw someone eating raw liver. Turns out, it’s not only uncommon, it’s considered gross. Also, it turns out peanut butter isn’t widely available in some parts of europe. Then they began to tell me how they eat sandwiches of jelly and butter. Now, that’s not gross at all but…man, I couldn’t help think they were missing out big time. I also noticed, while out there, that in places where there might normally be peanut butter (mostly continental hotel breakfasts) they would replace it with nutella. And, goddamn, I can’t argue with that logic. Having a Nutella option is some next level shit cause i feel like, even though that stuff is readily available in the states, we use it wrong. It should be everywhere. Like, at all breakfast spots, next to the ketchup and hot sauce. Why the fuck not? So, well done Europe. You guys nailed that one.
Anyway, when I posted this tweet, it was met with endless responses of people agreeing or giving me their variations of what they eat. It was quite enlightening. I truly had no idea. So, this is the rare case when the internet actually did teach me things that I was curious to know. Well done, internet. You are now batting 3 for 248712847489 in that category!

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I was thinking of writing a whole post on just this but stopped myself. I did that for one reason. I have not seen this play and the backlash of speaking out of my ass would be too much. I know how the internet works. Even when I actually know about something there’s always 100 people waiting to “actually…” me to death so it’s best to , at least, be prepared to defend yourself.

In the case of the musical “Hamilton”, I had no idea what it was until I was watching some award show and there was a performance of a scene from it. Now, by nature, i find musicals to be the worst. It’s acting and singing stewed together into a pompous mess of over done theater kid mania that makes me want to jump off a cliff. So, clearly, this isn’t for me. But, I’m a rap guy. I know rap. I’ve been immersed in it for as long as i can remember so ,when I see rap pop up in unusual places, my ears perk up.
Watching this scene from the play, within moments I let out an audible “Oh fuck this…”. I was in a room alone, by the way.
But, I soon forgot it had happened and went on with my life as a normal person does.

Over the next few weeks , I started seeing this play come up on all sorts of media outlets. People praising it as some revolutionary work of genius. People like Stephen Colbert, John Oliver, New anchors, friends on facebook etc…Many of these are people I respect greatly…but not when it comes to their opinion on anything having to do with rap music. The common thread being all these people were old white folks who have no perspective on what might make something like this good, bad or whatever. “Corny” is subjective. But it’s also a feeling that shoots through your body when you see/hear it. In my case, I felt the Corny holy ghost in me from just the first 8 bars of this thing. It’s a feeling.

The outpouring of love for this musical was far and wide. They performed at the white house. The guy who made it is not some random cornball who decided rap would be a cool idea for a musical. No, he’s a guy who definitely came up in the culture, had a vision and executed it very well. He’s a capable rapper. He made a rap musical about a historic figure and, to the ears of a the layman, it’s genius. To me? It’s some corny underground rap shit that has been done better (Prince paul’s “Prince among thieves” comes to mind). But, like i said, this dude isn’t a wack guy. Like, he’s got his head in the right place. Also, the main rapper in it is The Clipping, a guy I’ve given props to on multiple occasions on this very blog. So, clearly, there is lots of talent and hardwork being put into this musical.   However, you can be legit and talented but still be corny. Corny isn’t about talent. It’s about a mind set. There’s a freedom to being corny. In a way, it’s quite respectable cause being corny is a very vulnerable way to live. It means you’re open in a way that is exposing your shortcomings. It’s like a lack of a filter, but that filter is good taste and awareness of what’s going on around you. Sounds pretty judgmental, huh? Yup. it is. And I’m one man. This is my solitary opinion. My word doesn’t mean more than yours or anyone else but, hey, when you feel something you gotta let it out.

Again, I have not seen this musical. I know this is me talking out of my ass but, you know…vibes can be very real and I’d be willing to see this musical just to justify everything I just wrote. But, at the same time, if I never do, I’M GOOD.

Defending My Tweets Vol. 18

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Hi there. I’m a man who tweets. It’s sad to admit it but it’s true. Sometimes, 141 characters is enough to get a joke out but not really tell the whole story. in cases like that, I like to use this column as a way to explain myself a little. Expand, if you will. If nothing else, i get a nice rant off and those are always fun, right? Totally.

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Ok, here’s what had happened…During the warmer months, there are often these bible thumpers who stand on a corner near my house, desperately trying to covert all sinners who pass them. It’s a futile job as people generally ignore them or openly show disdain towards them. Can’t say I disagree with either of those reactions cause, you know, this is New York. we generally don’t get down like that. Strangers who aggressively ask you things on the street, regardless of their agendas, are the worst and get treated as such.
In this particular case, it was three young asian girls. Late teens , if I had to guess. They were all dorks wearing glasses and dumpy sweaters that had some sort of jesus sales pitch on it. Sufficed to say, they weren’t looking like the type of girls you’re gonna walk up on the street and talk into your bedroom. However, men are relentless. Guys on the streets seemingly ignore all signs that read “Too young!” or “Very Christian!” or “Virgin till marriage!” or “Woman at work!” and go in directly for the kill, despite all of that.
And here’s where it gets interesting…
Cause the two forces are work could not be from more opposite parts of the spectrum. It’s a battle between people so nice it’s kinda sickening and men who take a “let’s throw shit at the wall and see what sticks” approach to meeting women. You hit on enough of them, eventually one will take the bait. These guys are coming at them with the most obviously faux sweet guy charm (Some “Excuse me pretty lady, do you mind if I have a word with you?” ass dudes) while these girls are so innocent and bible-y they’re just happy that someone is finally talking to them. I’m sure they’re thinking “Maybe I can show this guy the light!”. Meanwhile, the guy is trying to get their numbers so he can start sending them a flurry o’ dick pics. Unstoppable object meet unmovable force. Neither side is gonna bend here. It’s not like he’s gonna talk her out of her faith or she’s gonna help him see the sin in his ways.
I really wanted to watch it all unfold but i couldn’t just sit on the sidewalk and wait. So, all i can do is imagine how it ended. Those guys signed up for some christian mailing list. The girls gave them a “number” of some sort. One thing is for certain, after the exchange was over, neither of the parties involved had budged an inch from their deeply engrained morals but they also both didn’t even care. Moments later, god was still #1 in the sky and there was also more pussy to try and corral. The universe was at ease.

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I’m not gonna lie. My Tinder usage has slowed down to a slow crawl. As excited about it as I was when i first became single, it just reaches a point where you’re no longer a human being, swiping through faces at breakneck speed. It loses it’s allure. So, I’m somewhat removed from this tweet. When I wrote it, I imagine I was submerged in the Tinder life. Swiping until I ran out of possible matches. You know how that shit go…
But something that always bothered me (and , i’m sure every other dude ever on there…) was when girls would write things on their profile that defeat the purpose of even being on Tinder. I mean “Not here for hook ups” is one thing. I would argue that, if you’re on tinder looking for love, you’re a fucking idiot. There are plenty of real dating sites not based entirely on attraction and mystery. But, hey, people gotta do what they gotta do. Maybe those people don’t have time for Match.com or J-date? Who knows. But, at the very least, they’re looking for something romantic. But the people who are on there “Just to make friends” . WTF are you guys thinking? It’s an app specifically designed for hooking up with people. “hooking up” could mean fucking in a bathroom stall at a rodeo or it could mean marriage but , either way, it’s about dating on some level. Making friends? Who are you? Barney? And how does one who is “looking for friends” even swipe on tinder? “Oh, he looks friendly!” Or “I bet he’s a good listener!”. What kind of person wants to make friends based on 5 pictures and maybe a dumb caption with some random facts about that person? “Oh, he likes standing in front of Lighthouses? I like standing in front of lighthouses! We will be such good chums!”
It’s just such a dumb concept to me. I realize we live in a world where human interaction is 85% done online. So, it makes sense people would look to that for all things but still…on tinder? Surely there are other places to go online to make friends. Back in my day, we did this thing where we went out and spoke to people and , over time, if the connection way there, one might form a bond with another person. It’s crazy, I know.
all this makes me feel like someone should make an app for friend making. I’m sure one exists but, whatever, I haven’t seen it. Feel free to “actually…” me in the comment section and leave a link to said app, you smug pricks.
And, trust me, “Adult friend finder” doesn’t count.

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Hip hop has changed a lot since the golden era. While some people will argue this has resulted in the music becoming watered down, those people are also terrified of change and probably wish they still had beepers.

A week or two ago, I did a post where I put up a bunch of different genres of rap and asked you guys to vote for the song you liked the most. I purposely sought out a song that I knew would win, even though it was totally boring. The idea was find a new boom bap song with a decent boom bap beat and some boring ass rappers rapping about rap over it. Basically, a song that was made currently that was trying to sound like some 90’s shit. Well, my plan went off without a hitch and that song won by a decent amount. The song was a non-factor on all accounts. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good. It just was. But what i was attempting to do was get a temperature of the climate amongst readers of this blog.
Then, the next week, i was touring in europe. For many europeans, true school hip hop is everything. They abide closely by the “real hip hop!” ideals that, honestly, most americans stopped caring about years ago. But they are fierce about their hip hop out there. If it doesn’t sound like Primo or Dilla made the beat? It’s trash. If the rapper is talking about money, cars or guns? It’s trash. The whole thing was a reminder to me of how I used to think…in 1996.
I expect people to want to cling to the golden era of hip hop. I’m from it. I love it. I grew up on it. It’s what formed my music and opinions. But the mind set people have to avoid change within a genre as limited as hip hop is sad to me. I get you don’t like Future. i don’t give a fuck about him either. I get you think Drake is the anti christ. But to shut yourself off the second you hear a triplet hi hat is so fucking limiting. To, instead, choose to listen to some guy rap boringly about hip hop over a variation of a track you’ve heard a million times is to be walking in place. Over the years there have been groups ,who specialize in paying homage to the golden era, that came out and had some moderate success that have baffled me. Not cause they’re terrible but cause they’re so painfully average. I just don’t understand who would hear them and be like “that! i wanna spend my time listening to that, despite all the other music that exists in the world”. If you wanna hear golden age rap how bout you just listen to the stuff made during that era, instead of a rehashed version of it? Middle of the road shit. But, then again, we’re a middle of the road kind of society so I guess it makes sense. But i contend that being boring and uninventive is worse than being out the box and shitty. At least then you’re taking risks. People might be reading this and thinking “Whatever blockhead, you were involved with nerd rap!” and they’re not wrong. But that music was never made to be stagnant. Regardless of your feelings towards it, people have a reaction to it cause it’s not the same old shit. For better or for worse. But rapping about rap over a loop, some second rate primo drums? You might as well be screaming into a vacuum.

Defending my tweets vol. 17

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When 141 characters isn’t enough, you gotta air it out. These are old tweets of mine that I felt needed some expanding on. Sometimes I’m defending them, other times I’m just solidifying my point. All the time, I’m ranting like an asshole cause why not?

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I feel as though , when a song gets huge on a pop level, the message of that song is often lost. All people care about it the catchiness of the hook and blindly singing along , word for word, without really even trying to capture the meaning of those lyrics. I can’t really blame anyone for that though. Pop music isn’t exactly known for having lyrics that matter in any way and I’m certainly no stranger to knowing every word to a song then realizing , 2 years later, it was actually about something.
In the case of “Hotline Bling”, we have an extremely catchy song. The kind drake tends to make. On the surface, it sounds like any other mournful r&b song about lost love. “Oh, I miss you girl, blah blah blah” but…no.
This is the song of a sociopath.
It’s basically a bitter man who got dumped (or the girl got fed up and finally left) so now he’s shitting on her for enjoying her life. All based under the guise that “Yo, remember when we used to fuck?”. Yeah, dude. Like how everyone who’s ever had any sort of relationship that involved sex fucked? Oh, like that? Yeah.
He’s over here talking about getting phone calls late at night meaning she’s coming over to smash like it’s some rare thing only married people do. Bruh, that’s everyone. It doesn’t make you or your dick special.
Later in the song he complains about how she’s out and about on the town, wearing less and chilling with new friends. Meanwhile, he’s Drake. This motherfucker isn’t sitting on his hands waiting for that hotline bling. He’s on tour, making millions of dollars and fucking whoever he wants on the planet. But noooooo, god forbid his hometown slam piece actually moves on from their faux relationship.
Yes, this song is deeper that it seems. Perhaps it’s social commentary? Perhaps Drake is playing the character of an awful guy with no perspective. Or, maybe, he’s just shitty about this kinda thing. The type of guy who gets upset when he hears how many guys a girl has fucked or the type who asks endless questions about a girls sexual history.
It’s funny cause I’m not one to really care about peoples intentions in lyrics. I don’t get outraged about anything. This is no different. I don’t give a fuck. It’s a catchy song that will be around for the next 30 years (sorry, but it’s true). However, IF I was one of those outrage types, I’d definitely look at this song as a slut shaming anthem. Just saying…

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There’s an edible arrangements store near my house and it baffles me. For many reasons.
1)How did a company that specializes in covering old fruit with chocolate then giving it as gifts become so big?
2)I’ve never seen a soul inside this place and rent in my area is insane. Yet, it has been open for years. Surely they don’t get THAT many orders for yogurt covered cantaloupe to afford such a place. I understand it’s a large business but…come the fuck on. Mcdonalds have closed in this neighborhood but fucking Edible arrangements got legs?
3)Does anyone actually like this shit? It’s almost like an idea that everyone heard and was like “sure, why not?” but, in reality, if someone gave me an edible arrangements basket for any occasion, I’d think they were insane. On the list of “things to buy another person”, it’s right below used socks and an ab-roller.

I feel like we’ve been fooled. Or perhaps there is just a whole community of weirdo’s who rely on Edible arrangement as their go to gifts. People get married? The highest end Edible arrangement money can buy. Death in the family? Somber edible arrangement. Someones birthday at work? An edible arrangement with a candle shoved in a fucking candied apple. By the way, that’s how you know E.A. is some bullshit. When a candied apple, possibly the most bullshit treat in all the land, is your #1 stunner, you are a garbage business.

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You can’t say anything online. Nothing. I mean, YOU CAN, but prepare for the feedback from everyone who has working fingers. This kinda thing used to be limited to when people would say outrageous things. Often people would be mining for a reaction. And, boy , did they get one.
But now? You can’t mention even the most simple things without the peanut gallery blowing hot loads of bullshit all over your face. Anything that has to do with food or health? Forget about it. I’ve tweeted about bacon before and had people leave links to articles about how pigs are treated on the farm. Dude, I just wanna eat some bacon. Let me live. No one asked for a guilt trip simply cause I mentioned the word bacon in a tweet. There’s always someone who feels lie it’s their job to inform the world of some shit we already know. Trust me, if that kinda thing bothered me that deeply, I wouldn’t eat bacon. But I do eat bacon so you can do the math on that one. (I expect that line to garner all sorts of links I won’t read. Go nut guys).
I once tweeted something about my hangover cure was that there is no hangover cure and people flooded me with their own fucking hangover cures. “Take a bong rip and eat a hot dog!” or “drink tons of water then take a big shit”. Hey guys, those things might help you feel a LITTLE better but it’s not a cure. If I have AIDS and smoking weed makes the pain less, it doesn’t mean I don’t have AIDS anymore. It just means slight relief for something that is still very present.
So, the other day, I wrote the above tweet. It was somewhat of a test. Knowing how people react to any sort of health related thing, I knew by tweeting about how people on the internet think they know everything then adding in “I think I also have a cold” at the end…it was bait. Bait that some of you thick skulled people ate up like it was your last meal. Half the comments were people joking around (as they should have been) the other were people earnestly trying to cure my cold via twitter and facebook. It’s sweet and I know your heart was in a good place but, goddamnit, learn to read. The entire tweet was shitting on that very act. It’s so simple but you cannot stop the internet. You can only hope to contain it. Kinda like AIDS.

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My most recent tour was one that took place on a tour bus. Those types of tours are generally for big acts on long runs. This was no different. I was opening for Emancipator (What up, boizzz?) and they we’re in the midst of a 2.5 month Us tour that I hopped on for the last leg.
Now, I’ve done tour bus tours before. I’ve done van tours. I’ve done tours where I fly everywhere. But Bus tours are their own breed. For one, you live on a bus. There are no hotels. You leave after the shows. You sleep while the bus drives late at night. You live in a coffin like bed and share a small space with 8-12 other people (usually all men). It takes a little getting used to but, after a while, it normalizes. It’s like a frat house of wheels , no matter who is on the bus.
These buses are actually really nice sometimes. Tv’s, good sound systems, fridges, etc…they also have a bathroom. A bathroom you can only urinate in. Shitting is not allowed. So, here’s what happens.
You party a little the night before. You pass out. You wake up in the morning in a city you haven’t been to before. Your stomach starts roggling and alerts you “hey guy, time to take a shit…” but here’s the problem: There is nowhere to shit. Perhaps, you’re parked in a city where you can find a starbucks (I , personally, would find a diner, buy an egg and destroy their facilities). But, in some cities, there are no options. You can’t walk anywhere and you pretty much have to sit in the bus until the venue opens (anywhere from 2:30 to 4 pm). Meaning, you’re holding in this monster, urgent dump for , like, 4 hours. Just sitting there. Thinking about what it will be like when you finally get to release these demons. Eventually, the venue doors open, you rush to the bathroom (cause , trust me, you’re not the only one in a hurry) and you let it go. Angels circle you around the toilet, gently strumming their harps and blowing sweet air into your ears. The sound of violins waft through the room and the clouds clear and you once again feel human. I don’t believe in god but that’s about as close as it gets for me.

Defending my Tweet Vol. 16

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I tweet. It’s a thing. Sometimes, 141 characters isn’t enough to truly say what I want to say. for times like that, I come here and really just air out my rants. It’s a good exercise in exorcism. Sometimes I need to explain my case with more clarity, other times I simply need to expand on a thought. So, this is that. Allow me to defend my tweets…

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It’s true, all things are not black and white. As much as I’d like to be able to generalize for our entire species , some things I deem to be a constant are not what they seem. For example, being stuck in the friendzone. It’s a location most people have been forced into in their lives and no one is ever too psyched about it. On one hand, you want to have sex with this “friend” of yours. On the other, they look at you as a person who has a fleshy patch of skin where your genitals should be. It’s not an easy task to prove them wrong. Some guys are persistent and are willing to wait it out just in case. And I mean years. Decades. Just on that off chance of a night where the girl they’ve been secretly pining for will stop confiding to them about her other boyfriends and start looking at him like a person of sexual value. Now, I get why guys do this but it does undermine the entire point of a “friendship” (and I’m not one of those people who think men and women can’t actually be friends. I don’t think it’s common and balanced as some but it certainly does exist). But , to simply stick around a girl you wanna have sex with for years, masquerading as a “friend” just based on the chance you might one day get to put your penis in them…it’s just a testament to us men in general. Time is of no importance. Are priorities are less than admirable. We’re kinda the worst.
In my mind, the friendzone was always a place with very little wiggle room. I’ve had sex with female friends but , in those cases, I was never really in the friendzone. Sure, at times I felt like it but there was always an air of “eh, this could happen”. No one told me “You’re like a brother to me!” as my soul slowly crumpled up in a little ball the house at the end of “Poltergeist”. But, like I said, I always viewed being in the friendzone as lifetime location. Then, alone comes Quintin Tarantino and he shatters all I ever believed in.
Here is a man who first casted Uma Thurman in a movie in 1994. At the time he was the hottest new director in hollywood who had just made his most beloved movie , “Pulp Fiction” in which Thurman starred in. My timeline could be off but I’m pretty sure she was already married to Ethan Hawke at the time. Tarantino, who is a great director is also a total fucking nerd. Hearing the guy talk makes me wanna put on a football jersey and throw him in a locker. But he’s a brilliant guy so it somewhat evens it out. I gotta think, back then, he was obsessed with Thurman. I bet he was he buddy on set. Her “Work husband”, as it were. She probably though he was a sweet and funny guy. Her pal! The movie became a classic and 10 years later, he had her play the lead role in the Kill Bill movies. Still friends. Probably REALLY good friends. By this time, she’s divorced and he’s probably dating some quiet asian woman. Still, “Kill Bill” always seemed like an homage to Uma from Quinton. His admiration for her jumps off the screen. I’m sure he relentlessly flirted on set and she pretended she didn’t realize it was flirting , writing it off as “Quintin being Quintin!”.
But, something after that happened…Something changed. 10 years later they were seen “canoodling”. That means “They fuckin’, bro” , in press language. Now, neither person admits this happened and scoffed at the idea but, you know what? i think he broke the matrix on this one. I don’t know how…but I think he did. And that’s just the amount of false hope anyone who’s ever been in the friendzone needs to keep plugging away for another 20 years. Godspeed, friendzoned people. Maybe your time will come one day. It only took Q-dawg two decades but I’m sure the pay off was great.

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It’s funny how random animals can become popular out of nowhere. Remember when Meerkat’s were a thing? Or what about baby seals? Pretty much any cute animal will have it’s time in the spotlight. Sure, they may not read buzzfeed’s “Top 46 most cutest ocelots” list but it exists.
So, in the last 5 years, sloths have began to see their star brighten. This has been to my joy cause I’ve always been a big sloth fan. Not only are they cute but I respect their lifestyle. But, I feel like the guy who liked the band before they got popular. I was riding for sloths in 7th grade. I learned about them when I gave a speech about them in class. I did the work. I went to the library (this was before the internet), I found the Encyclopedia S book. I plagiarized the entire thing and then read it to my class. That’s what we did back then. But, while I was doing this, i realized that I actually was interested in sloths. What I had learned about them made me like them. Like, did you know they can swim fast? How about: when they die, if they’re hanging in a tree, they will remain there for two weeks. Yes, they hang there, dead for two weeks until their grip finally loosens and they fall to the rain forest floor. How awesome is that? Like, you could be walking through a forest and a two week dead sloth could just fall on you. Gotcha! Sloths are so wacky.
I have a framed photo of a sloth on the wall of my apartment. I’ve had it since I was a kid. I own multiple sloth t-shirts. I’m really bout this sloth life, guys, So, to see all these “baby sloth’s take a bath!” videos that pop up on my facebook feed leaves me with mixed feelings. On one hand, I’m happy to see more sloths but , on the other, it’s like they’re no longer just my thing anymore. They’ve….sold out. Well, not them…but they’ve been exploited by the media. Soon, they’ll be wearing sunglasses at night and mailing in their cute photo ops. Man…what a bummer.

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On twitter, you get notified every time a person of status follows you. About once every two weeks, my phone will buzz and I’ll look down to see something like “DJ Swingout has followed you!” Who? So, i go look and see that a guy I have never heard of who has 50,000 followers just followed me. Weird. Upon closer inspection, it turns out he follows 45,000 people. Upon either closer inspection, his 50,000 followers don’t give a fuuuuuuuuck about him. No retweets. No favorites. He basically has assembled a bot army to , perhaps, show some promoter at a club who will hire him off the strength of his twitter follows.
Now, I see this a few ways. Buying followers is corny and pathetic but I get why people do it. Twitter actually does somehow have weight. Especially for dj’s and entertainers. But the whole idea of following all those people is insane to me. Like, I follow less than 300 people and my timeline is a mess. If you follow 5000 people, that shit must be completely useless. No sane person who actually uses their twitter or instagram can possibly be okay with that. Only a desperate person or a fake person could handle such a ridiculous timeline. Not to mention, there’s an air of exclusivity to people who don’t follow EVERYONE. It makes them seem more, dare I say, human. And i feel as though all those people these fake dj’s are trying to get jobs from might take notice of that.
Now, there are exceptions. Lil B, Riff Raff, Taye Diggs. All those dudes took a “follow them all back” approach. They’re all established and , I’m assuming, never check their timelines in general. In fact, they seem like dudes who probably only use their dm’s, if you know what I mean. But the point is, people know who they are. If you have a million followers on a social network and you’re name draws a blank on a google search, what’s really good?
This business is tough and people have to do what they gotta do but, goddamn, have some self respect. I’m talking to you DJ Snapback and DJ Angel heart. Those aren’t real people but they might as well be.

Defending My Tweets Vol. 15

TwitterBird
What’s up.
I be tweetin’, yo. Sometimes 141 characters only scratches the surface of what i need to say. So, when that happens, I bring it here, to “defending my tweets”. Not so much defending them as I am explaining them but you get the idea. Let me get my rant on…it’s only fair.

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Slang is a funny, constantly evolving creature. It generally starts in the hood, gets picked up on by some local rappers, becomes a regional thing then, eventually, spreads across the country until midwestern white kids are saying it to their moms and it dies when a movie shows an old white lady saying “For shizzle my nizzle!” for a cheap laugh.
Before the internet, slang was extremely regional. East coast people and west coast people had entirely different dialects. I remember , going out west when I was 16 and hearing “Hella” for the first time. I was like “What the fuck are these backwood rubes even talking about?”. Out east, we said “mad”. As in, “This soup has mad flavor”. We said things like “dope” or if it was cold it was “brick”. People weren’t “mark ass busters” they were “Herbs”. Hearing the local dialect of the bay area was a mind fuck for me. Every now and then, someone would come from that side of the country to NYC and probably have the same experience. I suppose, without the internet to clue us all in, the slang of other provinces was a total mystery.
Well, clearly, things have changed. Much like everything else under the sun, language has become homogenized. The same way everyone dresses the same, they all speak the same. I hear brooklyn natives say “hella” now. It makes my skin crawl but it’s a reality. The funny thing is, slang tends to follow whatever geographic location is most thriving musically. So, the east and west coast have taken a back seat to the south. For the first time, the south is dictating what slang the entire US is adopting. And, i gotta say, they are fucking prolific with the lingo.
In the case of “Turn up” or “Turnt”, it’s no longer a big deal. It’s still a part of the everyday lexicon for many but it’s not the new kid on the block. The midwestern whites have gotten a hold of it and I’m sure there is a movie with Betty White coming soon where she will finally put that phrase to bed forever.
In the case of this tweet, it was more about the misuse of slang. Much like the way people use “literally” or “epic” wrong, watching 3 fat white dudes with neckbeards buying 4 loko’s in a 7-11 a while back, talking about “we about to turn up!” , it just seemed to go against the spirit of the word. I dunno…to me , “turning up” should mean a real party. not 3 guys on a couch getting drunk and checking their phones every 45 seconds. That sounds pretty turned down, if you ask me.

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This is a case where i tweeted this knowing what i would be getting in response. I knew a portion of the people would get my intention. You know, a joke.
But, I also knew that comment section on my facebook wall would be littered with “sure fire hangover cures” cause EVERYONE has one. Well, guess what? Your cure is bullshit. Sure, some thing may lessen the pain but there is nothing that makes the feeling go away altogether. it’s like a common cold. You gotta just see it through. “Oh well, I drink a mixture of bitters and tumeric and a soft boiled egg…i feel as good as new!” Shut the fuck up. Listen, if a cure existed, it would be sold in every store on earth and the person who invented it would have enough money to buy apple. You can temper elements of a hangover, sure. Headache? Aspirin helps. Dehydration? Drink some water or pedialyte. Exhaustion? Take a nap. All these things help, but none fix it.
Then there are the smarmy dickheads who respond with “Well, just don’t drink!”. Well, who invited you into this conversation? That like telling someone who just got their heart broken “Well, just don’t fall in love!”.
On the other end of the spectrum, there are the destructive people who advise to simply keep drinking. That’s great and all but you can’t out run a hangover forever. Sure, it may not be bad after one beer but, rest assured, it will find you and make you pay. especially if you’re on a bender. Best case scenario for a real bender? You die before you wake up and don’t have to face the repercussions of your partying.
Listen, to me, drinking is fun. being drunk with friends or whatever…it’s what I’m willing to exchange to feel like shit the next day. The second that first drink is in the bank and I’m ordering another, I’m basically signing a contract that reads “Tomorrow will suck so enjoy today”. I can live with that. Just don’t try and sell me on your magic potion that makes the hangover go away cause it doesn’t exist and you’re lying to yourself. *cue hangover cures in the comment section from people who are liars*

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I feel as though every day people don’t know of this struggle. If you work in an office or anywhere that doesn’t revolve around rap music, this will be a foreign concept to you. As someone who makes beats and tours, I come across all sorts of rappers. Hopefully, they’re people I know and respect. Sometimes,i’m not so lucky. When I do shows, there’s usually at least one guy who seeks me out and wants to rap for me. This is a disaster on a few levels.
1)No thanks
2)I’m not a record label and cannot help anyones career
3)Please stop, we’re in public.
4)Your breath, dude
5)It’s loud in here. i can’t hear you anyway
There are few sentences I’d rather hear less than “Yo, mind if I spit you something real quick?”. It’s right behind “You ARE the father!” and “The test came back positive”.
The thing about the person that does this is that they are harmless yet clearly socially inept. They’re not trying to ruin my day. They just love to rap and want to share that love with me. Thing is, there’s a time and place for that. Cornering me at my merch booth at my own show and spitting into my ear is not the move. Even if the kid is good (they never are), what’s the end game? i give you my number and we make an album together? No. The fact you rap raped me at my own show will immediately make me never wanna work with you. I used to be too nice and just let it happen but in the last few years, I’ve tightened the screws and shut it down when it’s offered. for the most part, the budding rappers have understood.
But you people who feel the need to talk about your dreams? Just fuck off. Ain’t nobody trying to hear about your nocturnal imagination farts. Trust me.
I imagine, somewhere out there, there is a rapper who has written rhymes based on his dreams. I hope i never meet him though cause I’m really not trying to implode in public.

Defending my Tweets Vol. 14

twitter
G’day yall. Welcome to “Defending my tweets”. I tweet stuff and , sometimes, 141 characters isn’t enough. I feel the need to expand on these mini-thoughts. So, allow me to explain my dumb tweets in long form. If nothing else, for the clarity. It also allows me to get a nice rant off and that’s always fun.

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We all have those things that we see (or hear) people do that just set off small red flags within. These are harmless things that really don’t mean anything in the bigger picture but, for some reason, they make us question the character of a person on some level. Whether or not they’re an accurate judge remains to be seen. After all, if I meet an adult male who is obsessed the TV show “Big bang Theory”, it’s gonna be tough for me to not take him less seriously as a human being. He may be a great guy. He may the type of person who would give a kidney to a stranger. Who knows? But that one thing would be enough for me to know that, deep down, we could never be THAT tight. Friendly acquaintances? Without question. Now, this is admittedly short sighted and not fair. I know this. But, you know what, there are millions of people in the world and we don’t have time to meet every fucking one of them and give them a fair shake. Sometimes, we gotta do quick edits. Honestly , in my entire life, I can’t say I’ve been wrong about a flash judgement ore than a handful of times. And I accept that people do the same to me. It’s just a logical way to save time.

In the case of airplane clappers and people who eat pizza with a fork and knife, we have two groups of people completely unrelated. The people who clap when a plane lands, to me, are just novices. Sure, if you’re on a flight in terrible weather and the plane comes down smooth, I get it. But fucking 45 commuter flights? Do you also high five your barista for putting the right amount of milk in your coffee? Landing planes is the pilots job. If he fails at that job, we all die…so I see why one would be happy when he succeeds but…you know, it’s still something he/she does like 30 times a week. So, you do that,I’m judging. I’m assuming this is the first time you’ve been on a plane. It probably isn’t and that’s unfortunate.

Now, if you eat pizza with a fork and knife, my judgey assumptions point me towards you were raised way too fancy or you have germ issues. Same goes for people who eat wings with a fork and knife. That’s just fucking insane. It’s hand food. use your goddamn hands.I see that fork and knife come out and I wanna say “hey dude, this isn’t the country club. Put that neckerchief to work and get some grease on your fingers”.

In both cases, these people aren’t bad folks. Of course not. But ,to me, they are worthy of a brief and stern judgement. Cause, this is America and that’s what we do.

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Nostalgia is funny. It rearranges reality. As people, we are obsessed with our youth and the things we coveted during that time. It’s the reason I love the movie “Police academy 3: Citizens on patrol” but if I showed it to the average 18 year old he’s be like “What is this corny bullshit?”. There comes a time when, we as adults , must come to terms with separating what is actually quality from what is simply a poorly aged relic of an era we grew up in.
This is never more relevant when discussing rap music from the early 90’s. This is the music I cherished and grew up on. During that era, i would buy a new album every week and 8 out of 10 times, i’d love it. You could say this was a result of the quality of that era but, really, it’s not all true. Bad rap music has existed since the beginning. We were just to green to realize it. Like, Kid N’ play…they were never dope. Ever. But when viewed through the rosy glasses of nostalgia, one could perhaps convince themselves otherwise.
Then there is the stuff that was actually quality but didn’t age well. In rap, I find this is often because of stylistic choices. in the early 90’s, people were going out of their way to find a style no one had ever done before. The resulted in all sorts of funny gimmicks. From Das Efx iggity biggity style, to Akinyele lowering his voice at the end of every line to Kwame wearing Polka dots. It was people trying to be new and there is nothing wrong with that. In fact, 2015 could use more of that mindset. However, the problem with always trying to elevate is that when it misses, it really ages poorly. I can’t listen to a Fu Shnickens song now. I can’t. And I LOVED their first album when it dropped. It just doesn’t work in 2015. But, there are people out there who probably still listen to it like it’s the last of the good shit that was ever made. That kinda makes me sad but, at the same time, we’re gonna like what we like. If you’re musical ear stopped expanding in 1991, then that’s that. Same goes for people who still only bump the Doors and similar groups from that era, lamenting about the good old days and how these new guys have no soul. It’s beyond rap. It’s all art. My point is that liking what you like and loving what you loved is perfectly fine and natural. That said, it’s okay to acknowledge that the stuff we loved in our formative years is just that and nothing else. Aging is supposed to give perspective. And the ability to step back and look at the past rationally is part of that.

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This Rachel Dolezal story is my favorite news item in recent memory. It’s so fucking ridiculous I can’t even really gather my thoughts enough to express how it makes me feels. I love it. I love that this delusional liar of a white woman thinks that it’s okay to call herself a black woman. I love that #transracial is something people are really trying to make happen. Part of me can’t tell if the whole “transracial” thing is someone trying to poke holes in the purity of the “transgender” cause by pointing out “hey, if it works with gender, then it should apply to race!”. I almost feel as if , after she was exposed, she just made it up to see if it might stick. After all, in the hyper sensitive world of 2015 where everyone is a victim, if you cry about something enough, SOMEONE is gonna hear your moans. Seeing as no one is allowed to say anything about anyone, it makes all the sense in the world that someone would try and pull “transracial” off. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be flying. Which is good cause it’s total bullshit.
When I was in high school, every white kid I knew was “transracial”. in those days, it was called being a “Wigger”. I know that term rubs people the wrong way but that’s what it was known as back then, in the less sensitive early 90’s. Well off rich white kids wore their pants below their butts, spoke an affected tongue that was learned from watching “Yo!TV raps” and they all did graffiti. The girls wore door knocker earrings, pulled their hair back as tight as possible, wore dark red lipstick and dated latin kings. Sephardic jews and Italians would often be confused with puerto ricans , much to their own delight as that lent them endless street cred. Simply being not white was a social bonus within this small community so anyone who could pull off “off white” ran with it. I realize, the rest of the country was not like this. Being a minority down right sucked for most americans back then. Hell, it sounds pretty shitty right now. But, in NYC high schools in the 90’s? It was the shit. At least in Manhattan.
Most of these privileged white kids grew out of that phase once they graduated high school and realized being that person doesn’t exactly work in the real world. The guys grew their hair out , bought button ups, went to a good college and got jobs working for their parents. The girls let their hair down, started wearing clothes made for women and eventually dated some preppie guy who wears boat shoes 8 months a year. It was just a phase. But Rachel Dolezal? Nope. She stuck with it. Possibly more than any other person before her. She took it to the limit. She dyed her hair and made it look ethnic. She tanned her pasty white skin. She went to Howard university. She most likely hasn’t seen a white penis since high school. All this is fine except she literally told people she was black. Oops! And that’s when it goes too far. We all know white girls who wear head wraps, light incense 24 hours a day and have a few spoken word poems in the chamber. They’re embracing a culture they revere and that’s fine. But the second you tell people you’re not who you are? You’re a liar. A big white liar.
This story is unraveling more and more every day and it just keeps getting better. I look forward to all of this further exploding in Dolezal’s face as she tries to talk her way out of being full shit by using the political correctness machine to save her lying ass. Luckily for us, as open minded as we are as a country, this subject is simply never gonna fly. At least I assume it won’t. God, I hope it never does.

Defending my Tweets Vol. 13

Women's Self Defense (3)
Hi there. I like to tweet stuff. Dumb stuff. brain farts, really. sometimes I feel those brain farts need to be aired out beyond the 141 characters. When that happens, I like to whip up this very column. Admittedly, these are controversial tweets. But they could all use some expanding on. So, join me as I defend my tweets. Or, at the very least, explain them with a little more clarity.

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This was pertaining to the recent story about the Frat guys who did a racist chant that was caught on film.
A while back, I was in a short lived comedy rap group called “Party Fun Action Committee”. We made a song called “Beer“, that was a frat rap song of the highest order. Looking back at that song (that we initially made in the late 90’s) I always feel like it’s a little dated. The world has changed so much since then. Frat guys don’t look like the frat guys of my youth. When I was in college, they wore stuffy button up shirts, some dockers and a backwards white hat with a frayed brim. They loved Bob Marley and did keg stands. They were mostly suburban morons who reminded me of dogs with their wide eyed passion for all things stupid. Flash forward and I’ve lost touch of what frat guys are like. Like most aspects of today’s society, style had become blurred. There was a time when you could look at a person’s cloths and immediately tell what kind of music they liked. Something as small as the way you wore the brim of your hat would let me know if they loved Dave Matthews or Tupac. Well, it seems that era is behind us. This could be a testament to me being old but I honestly can’t differentiate between frat guys, hipsters, club kids and hip hop heads. We’re so homogenized that all these stereotypes are simply different shades of the same color. On one hand, I guess it’s nice to not be able to categorize people so easily. It’s harder to stereotype people. But you know what? I think, in some cases, stereotypes are a good thing. Not racial ones but ones related to style and scenes? Why the fuck not? When I went to college, I was a purist rap nerd. I didn’t know anyone. The first day of class, I looked around and saw a kid who looked like he liked the same shit I did. We got to talking and it turned out he was in a similar boat. If he had been dressed like Zac Efron, I wouldn’t have ever have been able to seek him out. He and I became buddies and he eventually was the guy who introduced me to Aesop. See how that works? Not all stereotypes are negative. Sometimes, they just help people weed though the bullshit.
With all that said, watching the U of O racist frat video , I had mixed feelings. On one hand, I was disgusted by the video. But on the other I felt weirdly nostalgic. Like “Oh shit! Frat guys are still the same terrible dickheads they were in my day!” It was a rare moment of “maybe things haven’t changed that much after all!”. It’s unfortunate that the thing that hasn’t changed is entitled rich white asshole racism but on the bright side, it’s interesting to see what stereotypes can hold up. With all the advancements in social issues over the last 20 years, the fact this video is even shocking speaks volumes. If this had come out in 1994, it would have been a short lived story on the local news cause, let’s face it, intolerant frat assholes were par for the course.

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You know, it would probably be pretty easy to figure out who this guy is. Funkmaster Flex? Dj Clue? I’m guessing someone from the earlier years like Doo wop. Surely one of you mix tape historians has an answers. But , in the end, it really doesn’t matter who that person was. This whole phenomenon is bigger than one asshole screaming his name or catch phrase between/during every song. This is a matter of people always feeling the need to be seen and heard. For years, the dj’s job was to sit in the back and play music. Maybe drop a scratch here and there. Public enemy’s Terminator X was famous for “Speaking with his hands”. But this wasn’t good enough. The DJ’s wanted some shine too. Same can be said for producers. Before puffy started talking on records, Dj’s and producers played their role. Sure, some made albums. Marley Marl was one who pushed himself to the forefront. But, even though he put out two albums under his name, you didn’t see him shamelessly self promoting himself on every song. He was more a producer in the Quincy jones sense. A man behind the scenes, pulling the strings, making sure everything is how it needs to be. But the moment Puffy was seen shimmy dancing next to Biggie, the game seemingly changed. The lightbulb went off in the heads of people who were typically in the background that “Wait a minute…I can get shine too?”. That was around the time the hip hop super producer was born. I won’t even front. It was great marketing. Seeing guys like Pharrell, Timbaland and Jazzy Pha in all the videos was kinda revolutionary. Add on them having a vocal track on most of the songs they produced and even a catch phrase (“This is a jazzy-phizzle production!”) and you now had celebrity producer. Where as, a mere 5 years earlier, the only people who knew who produced what were nerds like me who obsessed over liner notes. In an abstract way, you can almost connect this whole thing to the emergence of super celebrity DJ’s and electronic musicians. Sure, these types existed well before Puffy ever said “Take that!” but it definitely opened doors for notoriety on a different level for the people who would typically be viewed studio trolls.

I always liked the anonymity of being a producer. I mean, we all gotta make our careers work and extend this life as long as we can but, I dunno…there’s something nice about being under the radar. Maybe I’m weird like that. I probably am cause, for every producer like me, there are 15 producers who won’t let a rapper use their tracks without them dropping their pre rerecorded stamp on it. So much so, that I feel it’s the norm now for newer producers. If you’re NOT letting the people know who you are by force, you’re doing it wrong. They may be right. But, whatever the case, as a listener, I don’t give a fuck what your name is and I sure as hell don’t need to hear you yelling it over my favorite part of a verse on an otherwise enjoyable mixtape.

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It’s a sad state of affairs when the opinions others have effect your own. Even sadder if you share the same opinion but , upon hearing a certain brand of person explain why, it makes you question your own taste. This happens in film and music all the time. It’s what’s called a backlash. Take an album like “The score” by the Fugees. When this album came out, people in the know were all over it. It was great. Original and critically acclaimed. Then they dropped “Killing me softly” and a whole new fan base was introduced. It became a staple of all college dorm dwelling cornballs who typically didn’t like rap outside of the beastie boys. This new fan base made people who may have initially liked the album have contrarian feelings towards it cause, you know, “I’m not like THOSE guys…”. This was a long time ago and the cycle of a backlash was a lot slower. It was pre-internet so word had to spread organically. Nowadays, the backlash cycle is lightening fast. No matter how much an album or movie is beloved, there is always gonna be a large group of people who decide they are not on board. Perhaps it’s authentic, perhaps it’s reactionary. You never know. The thing is, everyone is gonna be extreme in their opinions. As you get older, you care about these things less and less. The spectrum of enjoyment shrinks. Where you might have only had two emotions towards art in your 20’s (I LOVE IT! or I HATE IT!) , things shift a lot towards the middle. This isn’t to say you don’t enjoy or dislike art on profound levels when you reach a certain age, it’s just the urgency to love and loath lessens. I find myself thinking most movies, music and TV is just “okay”. I don’t freak out over it and I don’t sit around seething at it’s existence. I pretty much take it in as I see fit. I’m able to differentiate between something I think is shitty and something that is simply not for me.
With all that said, I still have those moments of youthful adverse thought where my natural instinct if to reject what I heard coming out of a certain persons mouth, regardless of it I agree with it. Case in point, I was in a diner in Minneapolis when I wrote this tweet. I was eating alone at the bar, about to catch a flight. The only other people in there were the waiter and some other dude at the bar. They started talking about movies. The conversation was all over the place but, from what I heard in all my judgmental glory, both these guys had shitty taste. well, not shitty…but basic. They were basic bitches with cocks. So, the convo swings around to a Wes anderson film and the waiter starts raving about his catalogue of movies. “Man, I love them all! he can do no wrong!”. Now, I’m a fan of Anderson. He’s made some great movies. I do think they’re all kinda the same but they are definitely entertaining, well made and totally original. But there was something about hearing this particular guy break down the nuances of Anderson films, as he sees them, that made me think “Jesus, maybe Wes Anderson sucks…”. Now, I’m not a person who will flip on something like that for no reason but the fact that even popped into my head said a lot. A lot about me. Can’t say I was to thrilled with myself but that’s what happened. I guess old habits die hard.