Biker ASSessment

I have a problem.
You have a problem.
WE have a problem.
If one more motherfucking hipster ass too cool for school my bike costs more than your parents mortgage payment douche fuck comes close to running me over again I will and this is my solemn web oath.

KNOCK THEM THE FUCK OUT.

Here’s the thing. You are on a bike. Not a car, not a van, not a god damn armored vehicle. Therefore I am an equal threat to you Speedy. And if I decide to push your ass you will go flying and suffer a much worse fate than I. Understand?

Last time I checked a red light means stop. Let me make it easy. Red. No. Green. Go. So regardless of what delivery you are rushing to drop off your ass needs to hit your brakes.
Sidewalks are for walking. Sometimes sleeping. Dog poop. You know the New York norm. They are not for your bike riding ass.

A little story: Nina had just gotten a tattoo. It was fresh, covered in A&D. I was chillin, you know walking. As one does on a sidewalk. When bam. Thought I’d been shot. O no, just rammed into by a fucking biker. Whose brake cut into my arm. Cut. As in drew blood. Now if mad is what I get when strangers touch my tattoos, livid/murderous is what I become when someone fucking cuts one. But before I could impale, dude rode away. Just like that.
And than I started crying.
True. Story.

Seriously? Get your ass in the street with the other “vehicles” and fuck off.
This holier than thou elitist attitude that has been acquired by Brooklyn bikers is just gross.
I get that in Brooklyn you can be a pretentious son of a bitch who only drinks fair trade coffee with an opinion about everything and a stick up your ass and have a nasty beard or ironic mustache and you’ll still get you dick sucked by some art school grad who thinks your douchary is damn sexy and that your moonshine is the best in the entire loft community. But guess what. You are not cool in my book. You are not interesting purely based on the fact that you have mastered something that most suburban children have by the age of 7.

I’ve seen bikers cut off kids, old people, team mascots, Obama, Elmo, refugees, you know EVERYONE. Its not safe brah. You are a hazard to cars. To people. And to my infuriated self. I get that for the longest NYC was not assisting bikers in bike safe lanes but now that you have that right stop fucking abusing it. Drivers in New York already don’t give a fuck. One little bump to your 500 dollar tire and you will be sent flying into the abyss. You are young, but you are for sure not invincible.

Now let me lay off the hipster for a second because there is a whole nother kind of crazy on a bike. The bike gangsta.
Big black guy.
Looks like he just got out of jail.
Barking through every pedestrian walkway. I know you’ve seen one. And I know you’ve peed your pants. They do have the one up. Because I would never. Ever. Even for a millisecond think to push, yell, fuck even poke one of these guys. You would get cut. They would continue their delivery. Da end.

Ugh and than there’s Miss Holly Golightly herself. Girls who think biking is cute. They ride in heels, ballet flats, sandals basically any shoe that any sane person would never ride a bike wearing. Said person also more than likely has a basket on the front or back of her bike, which permanently holds a flower and is filled with a rotation of farmers market produce. Now I would take no offense to a cute girl on a bike except these girls seem to have nothing going on between their ears except for the wind that their eco bike is creating around them. This la de da I was a fairy in my past life attitude simply doesn’t fly in NYC road thought. You can always go back to Oz though. Oh and uhm, call me.

Let us not forget the angry dykes…who I’m not going to talk about… Because I’m shunned enough every time I go to Metropolitan.

So.
I’m over dealing with this douche bag nation on two wheels. I hear bikers toss around the word respect a lot.
Really cous? Respect. This.

Our Summer

As I look out my window the greens of summer have just started to fade. The cool wind of fall has decided to usher itself in a little earlier this year. And so with that, summer ends. Summer memories are stored in the nostalgic part of our brain. We look back every winter with an overwhelming feeling of remorse for summers end. Each moment is brought back inflated. Put on a pillar of greatness. Each summer of our lives is simply “the best” for one reason or another. But this summer, this summer marked so much for America. As I write this today Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has officially been repealed. Something that at first seemed to implement the seeds of equality we now see as something that put a cloak over something that needed to not be shielded at all. The government and military never had any right to ask gays serving in the military to keep their mouths shut. Lose your job for loving who you love. Die for us, fight for us, give years of your life for us, but do not tell us that you lay down with the same sex. Discharged when found out. Striped of their career. Their lifestyle. Being gay is not a lifestyle choice. Your job is a lifestyle choice; to choose to be ostracized seems like a very ridiculous choice. Being gay is as much as a choice as being born black is. Or being born tall, blonde, upside down… It is a choice for that individual to hide it or not. And for too many years that was expected of our gay military.
The absolute sense of Pride that I felt this summer when it was announced that gays could get married in New York was something I have never felt before. Growing up in America after slavery and after the civil rights movement I have never had any less than anyone else. I had my rights. My rights that so many before me had died fighting for, or died before getting to see.
And than you come to realize that all of these natural rights are there, but they are there for the hetero norm. For those who will have 2.5 children. Not for us. From the moment I came out to the world my rights went back into the closet.
But this summer. This summer moved me and others of my generation in a way we had never been moved before. We had a fight. We had a movement. So often do generations disengage from each other. But this fight united us all. Those who had been together for decades and wanted the rights they had been denied for so long. And us looking to our future and realizing how unfair. How unfair it was that the relationships we were forging would never be recognized as anything legally. The fear that comes with that. The absolute anger of realizing that your straight friends could have been married at 17, yet you still couldn’t not at 21 not at 64.
So this summer just like every past summer we fought. We took to the streets. And this summer, unlike ever other summer, we won.
As the leaves change color, and as autumn takes over us all, slowly leading to a cold white winter. I will look back to this summer much as I have always looked back at summers past. Except this summer will forever be my summer of freedom. Our summer, of freedom.

Slap to the Past

So I was recently looking at my sisters middle school pictures and came to the conclusion that she will never have awkward please burn that and promise to never blackmail me with it photo’s. This partially has to do with the fact that she’s a good looking kid, I won’t contest that. But it has so much to do with the fact that kids these days are fucking trendy as shit. Like seriously. I see kids in SOHO donning more expensive threads than I could ever hope to own. This is  simply not fair as it states in Growing Up Law everyone has to have those 3 (ok for me maybe more like 5) years of life where they made the asbolute worst decisions style wise . You are excluded if you were a teen in the late eighties. Because that style generation wrongdoing lasted right on up to the early 2000’s.

Seriously. I used to wear turtlenecks. And overalls. Oh but not just normal overalls no no. Overall shorts. ?!? Thanks mom and dad. Let’s also not forget that I wasn’t always 6 ‘1” and have always had massive feat. Size 9 by the time I was out of elementary school massive.

Let us stroll down memory lane, clothing wise, trend wise, toy wise, shit this is about to get mildly depressing.

Now as a young girl I wanted to bake just like mom.
No actually my mom could barely make toast nevermind bake – love you. I really just wanted to get my eat on in the privacy of my own room. (I was meant to be fat God made me gay instead)
So of course I had an Easy Bake Oven. What fun! 45 minutes to bake what was essentially the top of a cupcake. And only enough mix to make 2 at a time. I was already suspicious of my Easy Bake Ovens sub par abilities and than one day it stopped working. I of course flipped the fuck out.

Me: Mommm my Easy Bake Oven isn’t working! It just stopped. Poof. Its over. No more cupcakes. No more frosting. My room won’t smell like baked goods. Mommmm! Its. All. Over.

Mom: Babe calm down we’ll just have to get you a new lightbulb.

Me: I SAID MY EASY BAKE OVEN BROKE NOT MY LAMP.

Mom: That’s how it works Neen.

SILENCE.

For reals? A bulb. Safe to say I threw my oven the fuck out and became a big kid that day using the grown up oven. Psh. I will not be had.

Now idk if anyone else had one of these. I didn’t and thank god for that because I would have gotten no sleep. But my best friend did.

Nothing says I love my kids like buying a bear that reads to them. Oh yeah and he’s kinda creepy. O and when his batteries die he kind of sounds like a zombie. Pretty sure no kid asked Santa for Teddy Rux Rux ever.

Remember when you thought you were way too cool for Abercrombie and Hollister and were all fuck my 8:00 curfew. I listen to Linkin Park and Emenem. Who the hell is Green Day anyway? Now what pants could go with this mindset. Hm…


You know I don’t even have anything valid to say about these.
It was just so wrong. They were 80 bucks. Mine were bright blue. I hear people still wear them in the Midwest. O and at Raves. So yeh somewhere in an abandoned barn in the Midwest.

Snap Bands 
I still don’t understand why these were so huge. I do understand that when I recently found one I snapped my wrist about 10x. It makes no sense. But I love them still.

Light Up Shoes
Get. At. Me. Someone make these for adults. NOW!
When I was younger I had this total obsession with Shirley Temple movies. I would tap dance all over the god damn place. And than magically my shoes lit to the beat. I think this is when I got high for the first time. Magic shoes. Fucking magic. *note this google search generated far too many images of Sketchers. I can not believe I used to rock Sketchers with no shame. None. None at all. A moment of silence for the shoe horrors that once took place on my ginormous feet.

Pogs
Stfu. Don’t even say wack. I will hit you in the face with my gold plated slammer. This was essentially the lowest budget toy invention since marbles. But we all bit.

Baby G watches
Yeah yeah Kanye may have brought them to the hood. But us suburban kids were rockin these back in 4th grade. Baby blue. On ma wrist. 9 years old. Stuntin.

Stupid fucking card games
I will say without embarrassment that I collected Pokemon cards. I will say with absolute PRIDE that I never collected Magic the Gathering cards. They were like the place holder between Dungeons and Dragons and World of Warcraft.

Lunchables
Thank god we grew up before that whole organic craze took off. You had to know you were being “the lazy parent” when you sent your kids off to school with one of these puppies. The best parents aka the ones who did not care what their children was ingesting during the 8 peaceful hours they were out of the house, packed their kids the Nacho or pizza kind. Lunchroom trading gold. You could trade Lunchables pizza like an Apple share.
Mm. Processed food.

Thanks for strolling down memory disaster lane with me.
I really wish I was 11 right now. Kickin it in my UFO’s listening to The All American Rejects. Dippn my nacho’s on the back of the bus while kids around me played Magic and that one girl curled up in the front with her beanie baby collection. *sigh*

Curse of the Flutterby

Its an epidemic. Its been going on for far too long. Its a disgrace. Its ugly. And its pissing me the fuck off. Mother. Fucking. Butterfly. Tattoo’s.

Look. I get it. You want ink. Your boyfriend has a bunch of ugly tribals and you desperately want to catch up. 
Cool right. Got it. You can’t let him be a douche bag alone right? So you stroll into the tattoo parlor and the truth is you really don’t want a tattoo. That Nickelback song you love so much is kind of too long to put on your ankle anyway.

So what can you get you ask yourself. What can be small, feminine, and cute? You flash back to every Disney movie ever. Bambi is too big. Pinocchio would result in way too many dick jokes…hm cute…what is girly and cute (a Vicoria’s Secret thong?)…ah ahhh HA a butterfly.
Puuurrfeccttt.

You have seen one of if not all of these tattoo's

Really?
A bug?
You just got a bug permanently etched into your skin.
O and guess what.
25,065,433 other girls have the same GOD DAMN tattoo.
O but wait. Your best friend came too. And she wants a tat as well. But she can’t get a butterfly like duh that would be so copying and you two are original. Besties but totally different.
But what else is there? What else is completely over done, easy for an amateur tattoo artist to do and can somehow be related to Jesus?

Wings. You always were daddy’s little angel. Or wait maybe a cross? You did go to church camp that one summer. And you totally lost your virginity there so its like totally special to you. Or, wait waaaaiiit for it

SHA FUCKING BAM Cross angel wing bug tribal thing. You. Just. Won. Tattoo Mega Ball Winner. 

I am so happy summer is over. And I will no longer be stuck on the subway seeing infinite bugs fly on girls arms, legs, ankles, and lower backs.
Only thing worse than looking at a butterfly tat? Said person with butterfly tattoo noticing you noticing her heinous tattoo noticing your tattoo’s and than initiating conversation.
Like. Kill me now.

Which brings me to my final point.
Do. Not. Touch. Me.
When you go to a museum do you touch the paintings? Shit you must be that person that takes “samples” at buffets and supermarkets. Yes there are bright colorful things on my arms. And hey if you want to admire them go ahead. Its the biggest compliment you can give me. I appreciate it. Believe me. But seriously. For reals. DO NOT TOUCH ME.

Because you will see what happens when you float like a butterfly and I sting you like a bee.

Peace in War

Dealing with death helps us get the most out of life. For ten years millions of us have tried to understand what happened in Manhattan on the morning of September 11th. The events of that day marked the start of countless battles overseas, in which we have lost some of our youngest.
We fight from fear and for redemption and revenge. We so often lose touch with the faces of the casualties that these wars have left behind. Today is a day for many things. For reflection, for tears, for love and for many anger. The actions of our government have left many in this world angry at us. The ones who have to suffer are the innocent.
Be kind today. Be open to love. Your time here on Earth is a flash of light. On this day too many lives were cut short. And too many lives have been cut short in response to it.
Your freedom is not something that comes without sacrifice. Take note that people are dying to protect you. Take note that in hundreds of countries around the world freedom is simply not an option.
Whatever the government is doing to currently make us angry or to make us lose faith in Democracy remember that this country is filled with amazing people. That those around you can come together they can unite and take care of one another when they see it in there hearts to do what is in essence so easy, yet in practice so hard. And that is to love. To come together.
We saw in the weeks after September 11th how tragedy can bond people together. We saw that showing compassion, showing love was not something that the weak do. It takes strength to show vulnerability.
Hold this day in your heart forever. Along with the other tragic days that have marred our countries past.
In peace comes the ability to reflect without the feeling of revenge. Guns have failed us for so long, and with each new minute of scientific advance new weapons are created that will ultimately do nothing but create more anger, damage our planet and worse of all kill the innocent in attempts to kill evil.
We can not stop our governments or any others from thinking war is not the only and best solution. But we can as individuals choose to lead lives that promote acceptance and tolerance.
We are a nation so often divided. Today let us unite.

Guilt is just so Gay

So theres a topic that has been on my mind for quite some time. The ever so growing amount of white kids I hear saying that they have white guilt. And not just a little bit a lotta bit. I’ve been sitting on this for awhile. Thinking it through. Gathering my thoughts. I don’t know if I’ve arrived on what translates at the clearest opinion or interpretation, but this is my blog after all. And I writes how I speaks. So here goes:

My parents are white, I on the other hand am black. You better believe that white privilege and race have played a monumental part of my life. My parents never sat down and told me that they were in fact harboring feelings of guilt. They never told me that I would be at a handicap when entering the real world. They educated me on my past, on slavery and the Civil Rights Movement. I learned about Apartheid, the horrors of what blacks had been through in the past century. On top of that I learned about my parents ancestors, immigrants that had to escape Russia, Jews that had to escape Hitler. I realized that we all have a cultural handicap. Skin color is just the most visible. And than I realized that this so called handicap was only a true handicap in the minds of those too afraid to push past it.
Pity never got anyone anywhere. White privilege exists in America. Every black person who has ever lived in this country knows this. But white people acknowledging it isn’t doing anything. Either take charge/take a stand or keep it to yourself, because no black person wants to hear about your guilt. I’m glad that white people are beginning to realize that certain aspects of their life are easier solely based on the color of their skin. But your not getting a pat on the back from this kid. Especially as you move into black neighborhoods and have no respect for those who lived there before you. Here’s looking at you Brooklyn.

I am a black Jewish gender queer with an Italian stepfather and an English Jamaican evil stepmother. My birth parents were from Louisiana, no doubt the descendants of slaves. Your guilt is lost on me.

Ok let’s all breathe for a second. Take a few. Run a lap. Collect.  Actually. Lets take a happy video pause, currently loving every fun moment of this:

 

Now someone who has seriously been grinding my gears is this douche bag:


Taylor the Creator = Asshole.

Really? You aren’t artistic because you see irony in calling someone a fag or talking about raping women because in fact its not how you feel about woman or gays at all its just that you are so knowing and so worldly that you can rap about things and its suddenly ok because you’re creating. You actually have TONS of gay friends and love women so much so that you ignored all of the hoe’s asking to be your VMA date and brought your mom. Wait what’s that smell? Oh hot blazing bull shit? So its ok to pretend to be a homophobe and abuser if your just pretending? During his acceptance speech Taylor had  the nerve to reach out to “the kids”. Seriously dude? Its been done. Its not funny. Its not new. You can’t really be a creator if what your creating has already been created. Emenem was huge when we were all kids. What did ya think we’d forget?  Certain things just don’t seem that funny when kids across the country are being killed due to the fact that they’re GLBT. How dare someone in the public light directly address these youth and rap about such hate? Adults may get or even appreciate the so called irony. But kids? Kids take what they hear to heart.
Oh but there’s a lesbian in his crew. So I mean clearly with one of his friends being a big ol Lez Taylor is showing that he’s totally ok with the gay community right? Hm I’m reaching here buuuut a chick who hangs out with a crew of dudes that bash women and publicly call out lesbian musicians is probably going through some form of gender confusion or hate and is not exactly a role model for lesbians in the rap game. She’s sounding like the fucking prototype of a female chauvinist pig. You know who a girl like that would probably love the poop out of? Camille Pagilla. She hates that whole feminist movement mumbo jumbo too.

Tegan and Sara had some words to say:

No genre is without its controversial and offensive characters- I’m not naive. I’ve asked myself a thousand times why this is pushing me over the edge. Maybe it’s the access to him (his grotesque twitter, etc). Maybe it’s because I’m a human being, both a girl and a lesbian. Maybe it’s because my mom has spent her whole adult life working with teenage girls who were victims of sexual assault. Maybe it’s because in this case I don’t think race or class actually has anything to do with his hateful message but has EVERYTHING to do with why everyone refuses to admonish him for that message.

It is not without great hesitation and hand wringing that I enter into the discourse about Tyler, the media who glorifies and excuses misogyny and homophobia, and the community of artists that doesn’t seem remotely bothered by it. I can only hope that someone reading this might be inspired to speak out. At the very least, I will know that my voice is on record.

To which the ever so brilliant Taylor responded via his twitter:
MTV wants to give Odd Future a VMA? I’d like to give them a fuck you.

Hate it or Love it the underdogs on top…remember that line? Remember that rapper? You know The Game. Well he’s making a few waves coming out as a supporter of ze gays:
“I think there are several rappers that are in the closet and gay, and see those are the type of gay people–the only type of gay people that I have a problem with”
Scooby say wha? A rapper coming out of the straight closet? Could it be? Well almost… The number one issue with that is that you can be fooling somebody and you could give them AIDS and they can die. So that in the closet (expletive) is real scary.” Gosh Game I was so ready to applaud you but than you had to go all AID’s is a gay thing. Well hate it or love it, its not. AID’s is a disease that affects us all. Whether or not you have HIV is irrelevant, the world is currently fighting this sickness as a whole not  just the gays.  I’ll still give you kudos for not being a homophobe in a world like rap where being one is not only ok but expected. The Game did introduce a new word into my vocab though instead of refering to in the closet rappers as gay he dubbed them “man fans”. I like it.

Speaking of being gay in the rap world there’s a new chick in town. Well actually if you haven’t heard of Kreyashawn yet you’re living under straight blanket somewhere in Kansas.

 

Did she just drop trapper keeper? IN A RAP?  

Bam skittles skippy I had one of those ok 10 but whose counting… 

I can not tell a lie I love Kreyashawn. Hood rat hipster from Oakland? Throw all the hate you would like. But when critics are so quick to point out that she’s a white girl and rap isn’t meant for her well aren’t we just being a bit hypocritical? I don’t believe anything in our country is solely one race specific. If Hootie and The Blowfish can be fronted by a black dude I see no reason why a white girl can’t rap her ass of, because guess what she can rap her ass off. AND she isn’t hating on other female rappers. And she directs her own as well as other rappers videos, went to college, and is an artist. Suck on that Taylor. That lovely strap on.

Alert. Alert.
MTV tries the gay thang …again
There’s an uber dyke on the Real World. Fucking god dammit she took my spot.
I’m kidding…mostly. But in other news who still watches The Real World?…

yawwwnnn someone looks suspiciously like Danny who famously DIDN’T win A Shot at Love Love.  #bringbacktilatequila

 

 

 

 

would complain about how of course MTV got a hot ass butch lesbian who looks like a 15 year old boy. Pause. I’ve renamed all such lesbians Peter Pan Dykes. Play. to play the token lesbo but I mean its better than no gay.

This is the story of 6 strangers and a Peter Pan dyke who find out what happens when straight girls start acting gay and guys get no action. The Real World!

Shit That May Kill You

So Zagat alerted me late last week of a delicious new creation, and by delicious I mean disgusting, friends I give you Cigar Beer. http://www.usatoday.com/money/smallbusiness/story/2011-08-28/Now-you-can-savor-that-cigar-flavor—-in-a-beer/50150576/1

Mmm yumm now the thing that was just killing my liver tastes like that thing which is giving me mouth cancer. Double death whammy in every sip. Tastay!

Moving right along with the theme of things that may just kill you, something utterly genius flashed across my T.V. screen and well I just about passed out right then and there. There is nothing this kid loves more than an amazing burger. I mean who doesn’t? Now what could possibly make a burger better? Bacon. Duh obviously but that is so played out. Bacon makes everything better. Old news. What can you do to a burger to make it just ooze sex? Put it between two grilled cheese sandwiches.

You just fell over. Its cool. Wipe the drool off your face. Calm down. I’ll make you one…we just won’t tell anyone what we’ve done.

Now because I went to school in the Rochester area my get it done don’t talk about it tomorrow drunk food was something you New York kids just don’t know about. When I’m at my worst there is only one thing that will mildly sober me up and that award goes to the one and only Garbage Plate. No, no typo I really am in love with a meal called a garbage plate. Behold:

Home fries, cheeseburgers, hot dogs, meat sauce, and a scoop of mac salad. #youdontevenunderstand

Now the best place to stumble upon something that will certainly ensure an early death is a college campus. When I’ve done a few too many keg stands and confused a few too many sorority girls there is only one thing I want to lay down with at night; a fat bitch. She tastes just right, will hold me tight, and keep hangovers away in fright.

You’re like what the fuck is that? Oh let me explain, that is gastro death in a roll. Philly cheesesteak, chicken fingers, mozz sticks, o and fries. Oh Rutgers University you keepin it classy. But wait there’s more if you can eat 5 in 45 minutes they will name a sandwich after you…or purchase your grave stone.

So I know, you’re still hungry, and with it being summer and all, your in that cook out mood. Summer to me has always meant a pool, burgers, and hot dogs DUH. But grilling is so archaic and we are American’s after all. How bout we deep fry them puppies? Jersey you gave us the Fat Bitch, now GIVE ME DEEP FRIED WEINERS!

Done. And done. Oh and that relish? You better believe its the best relish I have ever had in my life. (I don’t even like relish) Even better, they will fry your doggie to your pleasure. The longer the nastier though. The Creamator is legit hot dog leather.

Its 2 AM and I got really nostalgic thinking about things from my past that always managed to make me happier than a turkey who just found out he’ll live to see another Thanksgiving. Time to make a Garabage Plate.