Gaining Traction

Really quick. Since I'm in 3rd or 4th gear right now. It's remarkable how more productive you can be if you have just the right amount of work.

Since I've started my new job (loving it btw!), I get a couple hours before and after work to run errands, etc. And because of the time limit, I get things done without any excuses. When I was just chillaxin' (ie voluntary unemployment), stuff could wait because I had time the next day (and the day after that).

Now I feel wasteful if I just sleep away those free hours. This morning after work, I've answered a couple emails, made plans to maybe watch a football match next weekend with a good friend, curse the slowness of my 8 yr old PC, transferred-organized-&-updated some files, and cleaned out some notes from my phone. Pretty decent for an hour and a half.

Yesterday, I returned something to Amazon for the first time (didn't need it). I've been meaning to do it, but it takes a vanishing window to actually whip me into completing it. The vanishing window was both that it was nearing the 30-day limit for returns and that I only had a limited amount of time before I had to sleep to be ready for work.

Quite a pleasant side effect from having a job.

Before you came into my life, I missed you so, so bad!

So I dig junky female pop ballads. It keeps me awake. That's my excuse :)

Music for Any Occasion

Dear Hooked-on-Phonics,

I can never be too confident when I spell 'occasion' (see above title). I rely on Firefox's trusty spell-check feature to put red squiggly lines when I'm being ESL* which I catch myself doing more often then I'd like, such as dropping the 's' off of verbs when the subject is singular and dropping prepositions, ie 'she like the way mi** sound like F-O-B.' But even with technology, the trend is going more towards Jersey Shore and less towards proper English. Oh well.
--

The great thing about working in Victoria is that it's only a couple hours away from Houston. 97.9 the BOXX extends to just about 30 miles out of town, so I have to endure just half an hr of Victoria Top 40 before I heard Bun B's hot new single: Trillionaire (Explicit). Damn Bun B hits it hard, even without Pimp (RIP). T-Pain ain't no slouch neither. When I got to town I heard a screwed (slowed up) version of Twista, but even at half-speed he's still unintelligible to me. So what is this? Have I abandoned my 2pac for some club trash (not saying Bun makes club trash per se, but most of the stuff on the radio is club trash)? Neva homey!

Just things are different now. I'm out of poverty. I'm out of the prison of my own mind. Life could be better, but life is good. I can complain but that's only because complaining comes naturally to our species. So when I bang 'Me Against the World,' it's just not the same anymore. Because it's not me against anybody; it is just me against the imagined boundaries I've put up for myself. Of course I'll never play pro basketball, but everything else is within the realm of possibility.

So I'm starting to listen to more rainbows, sunshine, and honeydews. More Sheryl Crow, less Eminem (who was sorta depressing to listen to). More Colbie Calliat, less Bone Thugs. Etc, etc.

And I guess that's just growing up. And I guess that's why successful musicians make so much money (even more than me!): they create mirrors for emotions, to help clarify and resolve ephemeral thoughts into the spoken and sung word.. (put more words here...)
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I woke up after 5 hrs of sleep, and since I didn't have any sedative/hypnotics that I dispense on a regular basis, I was forced to find non-pharmacological ways to get tired again. And after that last little bit about music as mirrors to focus thoughts, I'm mentally spent. So good night (again)!
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*English is Second Language
**mi is a pronoun for 'I' that Viet people came up with because the original pronouns had more emotional connotations. The Viet language is very relational (as in pertaining to relationships) and to use the pronoun 'I' without relating it to the person you're speaking to may mean that you're pissed off at them. Same with the word 'you.' In a way, it's kind of like speaking in the third person: So to say 'I love you' to Mama, it would be literally translate to 'Child loves Mama.' To say it to a girl, it would translate to 'Man loves woman.' Don't ask me why.

SPIDER: In New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of

Dear cold weather lovers,

I'm starting to hate the cold weather; the dormant Viet genes are starting to kick in. Notice that all the major settlements of Viet people in the U.S. happen to be in the more tropical regions. So this re-release is inspired by my crappy heater that I probably won't ever be able to get fixed properly. The problem is that about every 5th time it turn on, the air conditioner also kicks on with it, canceling the warmth. The maintenance guy can only see that the heater is working when he comes out to try to fix it.

Even if he were to try to fix the odd times that the AC turns on with the heat, there would be no way to see if his work was successful, since the heat comes on 4 out of 5 times, and he would leave when he feels it blowing hot air. So I've resorted to manually turning on and off the heat, checking after each time that the air is warm.

Anyway, the other reason for this specific re-release is that it mentions my brief, 3-year stint in Brooklyn, NY. A friend had just posted a picture of her sixth grade class on Facebook, and had tagged me as an MIA. Rightly so, because I wasn't in Brooklyn for 6th grade; I was there for 7th through 9th.

Also a couple of peeps from middle school added me on Facebook. So if you're reading this, cheers. This was the secret I've been keeping from you all those years.

--

Tue, Nov 7, 2009

I hate Jay-Z by the way. Every time I hear his voice, I change the radio station. Except when it's Big Pimpin because my favorite group from the South, UGK, are on there too. So I'll quote a couple of lyrics when it serves my purpose even if I think he is overrated.

This morning was the first time my heater turned on. I woke up when it felt like icicles were dangling off that special place underneath my blanket. The apartment's old, and the central heating is even older. The thermostat read '65'. My ass--it was like more like 55. Though cheapness has been ingrained and beaten into me by my parents, I'm not that cheap; I had set the temperature for 70. I had to hit the wall around the heater to get it to turn on. Corporal punishment does work.

The heat was on for 2 hours and still the thermostat didn't increase but 2 degrees. My apartment is about 850 sq ft, but it still shouldn't take that long.

And so it reminded me of my internment (imprisonment) in New York (because it's cold as hell there, if hell is cold). I won't go into detail about how it came about, but long story short, it was because of Dad.

New York in TV is nothing like it is in real life. It sucks to live there when you're poor. It sucks when you're poor and you came from Houston, where the cost of living is so much less. It sucks when you're 12 and going through puberty and you're forced to endure, 'Where are your cowboy boots?' by a bunch of idiot Brooklyn kids.

'If you don't like it so much here, why don't you go back to Texas?'

'MF, I would if I could. I didn't choose this f--king life. I didn't choose this f--king city.'

Those words were to foreshadow the internal conflict I had experienced a few months back. But at least this time around, I did have a choice, and I chose to leave. That's why I'm in Dallas. I love Houston, but you have to leave things that cause you to die inside, even if they are your blood.

In New York, they don't have central air conditioning or central heating in residences. Only large supermarkets have central temperature control. For people not in Texas and its neighboring states, what is 'central temperature control'? It's where you have a thermostat that you set to control the temperature (both hot and cold) for the entire apartment or floor. It is an utterly foreign concept for New Yorkers.

So what does New York do for temperature control? They have radiators and window units. It's the dark ages up there. Apartments with central temperature start at 2 million, because the ones that cost 1 million are still 600 sq foot sh-tholes.

Window AC units are the same ones you see in the ghetto part of Houston, like on those wooden houses on Wheeler facing the University of Houston. Radiators? I've never seen a radiator south of the Mason-Dixon line. It looks like many loops of cast iron that are connected to two hot water pipes. To turn the sucker on, you actually open the 'faucet' to let the hot water flow into the loops. Then the heat starts to 'radiate' into the room.

As antiquated as it sounds, it actually works well, except that it's an extreme safety hazard. It would certainly heat up a room in less than two hours. Just don't try to cook an egg on it, as you'll get your daily requirements of iron and lead from the paint that keeps peeling off.

---

My time in Brooklyn was probably one of the most difficult times of my life. Going through puberty is unquestionably not very fun. It's doubly difficult moving to another place, trying to start a new group of friends when you are an outsider and people laugh when you say ya'll (it feels odd to actually type ya'll, but I say it all the time). It was a very socially awkward time.

Most would argue that I'm still socially awkward, which I won't entirely deny. But I'll use my patented feel-good mantra (that I say in my head), 'Shut up, I'm a doctor, and I make more money than you do.' And if I make less, I'll say, 'Shut up, you bourgeois trash,' and run home with my tail between my legs. The mantra only works if you make a salary in the upper quartile.

I'sa Playa

Misogynists anonymous,

That is the title of the track. It happened to be on a solo album by Pimp C back in the day and was re-released in a Greatest Hits CD, which thankfully was available in Amazon's MP3 store. The reason why I couldn't find it was because the original track had some girl singing the hook, while the more popular version (the only version I've heard) was with Z-Ro's killer hook.

The lyrics of more obscure songs follow the theory of cancer: lyrics websites copy other websites carelessly without considering the actual song, and eventually all their lyrics end up the same and flawed. So I searched for the hook, the only thing I remembered, but I couldn't find it because no website had the current hook. That is until now.

So after listening to the hook about 20 times, this is what I believe it to be:

Z-Ro

I'sa playa, I'sa mac

I love gettin [with] these ladies with not more than my paper stash

Now rule once, get your cash on, M-O-B

Less paper in my pocket, my n*gga P-I-M-P

Homie don't hate me mayne*, just hate the game

The only reason your woman diggin me cuz I play with thangs

Don't take it personal, my n*gga, I don't love her, I'm a playa

She just gonna keep me company while get nipped it(?) as I lay her

I'm still not entirely sure about the last line. You can listen to the complete song via Youtube (which is how I found the song). And the chopped and screwed version too. Notice when Twista is screwed (slowed down), he sounds like a normal person.

My favorite verse of the song (Pimp C):

But me, I lick ya where he don't, and suck real hard on yo nipple

My game is sharp as a sickle, she love my pickle

And if you gave her a dime, n*gga she gave me a nickel

It is almost a limerick! Okay, maybe not.

--

The unfortunate thing that happens to me when I listen to rap is that I feel slightly guilty. It isn't because of lack of entitlement. I moved to the suburbs but I'm from the ghetto, so I do relate to the songs from personal experience. And it's not like I bought a grill from Johnny Dang** and Paul Wall and am out pimping a throwback jersey and Astros ballcap with all white Air Force Ones; I know my place and the only person I try to emulate is the man I aim to be.

The guilt is that some of these songs are so misogynistic, or hateful of women. At the very least, they idealize women as objects of conquests. And when conquered, the women become immortalized as the losers in 'Playa' Ballads, such as the above.

So here's another bit of cognitive dissonance of mine (though significantly less dissonant than the hate-yourself-for-sake-of-family variety): How can I be the man I want to be when I listen to music which are not of my values?

Right now, it appears that I'm ignoring the songs' messages while mellowing on the throwback beats. But I think there may come a time when I retire all my UGK and Tupac. Some evidence to this prediction is that I'm beginning to enjoy classic light rock because I'm beginning to relate to it more.

--

*stylized southern spelling of 'man'

**Johnny Dang is hilarious, a jeweler to the stars. Someone (not me) needs to write a Wikipedia article on that guy. And to clarify the 'oriental', he's Viet and might be my cousin.

Do You Know This Song?

Dear UGK fanatics,

I first heard this song back in the summer of 2004. The reason I remember it was that particular summer was because it was my first month in college, and I was still very impressionable and infinitely less jaded. They were better times. I remember sitting in the rickety, old, brown, broken auditorium 'desks' of the Lamar Fleming building taking Gen Chem II at U of H. The first time I sat in that auditorium, I thought, 'This is a college classroom? I had better desks back at my ghetto high school.' Though I was much lighter back then, it was atrociously difficult to sit in those chairs, much less learn anything.

Like any college student, I listened to tunes between classes (and while in class sometimes). But unlike most, I didn't have an iPod; I had a minidisc player (Sony’s update to the cassette Walkman) with the ability to catch FM stations, and it was always tuned to my favorite hip-hop station ever, 97.9 the BOX. The whole cast of the Mad Hatta Mornin’ Show on 97.9 is hilarious, especially J-Mac from Con-row. Ricky Smiley from the 97.9 the Beat, the sister station in Dallas, has nothing on Mad Hatta.

So this song came on one day that freshman summer, and I instantly recognized Pimp C's unmistakable voice. As I listened to him ‘puttin it down hard’, I had tingles up my spine. There’s nothing like Pimp C’s nasty lyricism ('Take it off, chick, bend over, let me see it...') which are rapped country-style in tune to some bad-ass old-school beat. This particular song echoed the voice he had when he was just starting out in the 90s, a young buck who still had to catch his breath while spitting out killer rhymes. Bun B, the other half of the Underground Kingz, was as stellar as ever, and their styles complement each other marvelously. As I listen to their six CDs on my iPod Nano (I upgraded as the minidisc is pretty much defunct), I’m continually astounded that they can make such graphic sexual and violent references but still integrate it seamlessly into their songs. Whereas some rappers use smut for the sake of smut, UGK uses it to make you think. Of course not as much as Tupac (Brenda's Got a Baby), but more so than any Soulja Boy (whose Crank That is a song full of disgusting sexual references) or the other rappers on the radio today.

Anyway, that’s my little homage to my favorite group from the South. RIP Pimp C. I will forever be Third Coast made

Though it was an undeniable hit that summer, I’m frustrated that I can’t find any reference to that song. For those scorching months when it came on 97.9, the only decent urban station (104.9 KPTY is now defunct, taken over by some Spanish station), I would crank up the volume and enjoy some lyrics that I could never repeat in public. Very few people would appreciate an Asian dorky male doing karaoke to some stupendously explicit lyrics. One of their CDs actually contains a ‘STRONG LANGUAGE SEXUAL + VIOLENT CONTENT’ appendage underneath the ubiquitous 'Parental Advisory' label. That was the first time I ever saw that disclaimer, and I suppose it is warranted.

After that summer, I only heard it only 3 times since. About a month ago, while driving back up to Dallas, I was jamming to the aforementioned station. They oftentimes play old-school classics, and when I heard the unmistakable voice of Pimp C, I naturally turned up the volume. As always, the lyrics were supremely dirty but magically melodic. It was in the have-to-catch-my-breath voice, so I had thought it was one of UGK’s older songs, but then the hook came on that had been ingrained in my memory (but unfortunately, the words escape me). This is what I remember, and after 10 hours of googling the fragments over the past 5 years, I still don’t know the name of the song or where I can find it.

The hook by Bun B (or maybe Z-Ro?):
I’z a playa, I’z a mac. I love getting girls wit not nothin more than my paper stash…M-O-B…P-I-M-P. Man, don’t hate me, playa, hate the game…the only reason yo woman love me cuz I play wit them thangs(?)…lay her…

There’s another artist in the song, and I think the track is on his CD (since they don’t appear on the UGK CDs), but I don’t know his name.

So to all you hardcore UGK fans (or those with excellent Googling skills), what is the name of the song, and where can I find it? I have never bought a CD single, but I would spend $20 for this one track.
--

Update: I had composed this post a few weeks ago. Since then, I've found the song and downloaded it via Amazon MP3). The parts of the hook are nowhere near what I remembered.

Details tomorrow.

Deftly Ill

‘Deftly Ill’ is the name of the rap album I had planned on releasing in the very distant future.

So far, these are the only rhymes that I have, and they are literally ‘sick’:

I was coughing green gunk left and right
It was not a pretty sight
Even with that Robituss’
That bug sure put up a fight

It will sell zero copies, as even I wouldn’t buy it.

So I have been feeling deathly ill. This head cold has been with me for nearly two weeks now. It had deterred me from returning to Houston and dampened my New Year’s Eve debauchery. All I did was stay home and cough and blow my nose and snipe people (and popos) from tall buildings in Grand Theft Auto III, which was surprisingly fun (I would snipe someone and then snipe all the victim’s would-be robbers).

I think the cold is nearing its end. My colds always start with a sore throat, progress to sneezing and nasal congestion, and end with a fit of coughing. I’ve gotten to the coughing part, so I guess that’s good even if I can’t sleep much.

So there, that’s my excuse for not posting for the past few weeks. Coughing and typing are contraindicated. Trust me; I’m a doctor (of pharmacy).
--

When I came up with the title for this post, it got me thinking about stuff I’ve always heard misspoken.

‘Deathly ill’ means so sick as to be on a deathbed, while ‘deftly ill’ means that you’re skillfully sick or that you spit hot fire, like Mos Def (I assume ‘Def’ in this case is short for ‘deft’ and not ‘deaf’).

Here’s two others that are similar:

Wrong: ‘Play it by year’. Right: ‘Play it by ear’.
Wrong: ‘For all intensive purposes’. Right: ‘For all intents and purposes’.

I always cringe when I hear someone say those phrases incorrectly. It’s just a little pet peeve of mine.

Though it is more excusable than gross misspelling (even Mozilla Firefox has a spellcheck feature): no computer program is going to put red (or green) squiggly lines underneath ‘play it by year.’

What are some of the misspoken things you’ve noticed?

Holiday Muzak

If I have to hear one more cover version of ‘Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away…’ I will have to pull a Van Gogh on both ears. Cover versions are new renditions of classic songs, especially holiday trash. It is absolutely atrocious. I love Alicia Keys and Beyonce, but I refuse to listen to any of their holiday stuff (not that they play the Alicia Keys or Beyonce versions). It seems that artists are compelled to release holiday albums because they sell well. It came as a huge shock to me.

Why do people buy this stuff? Is it for their kids? Do they actually sit and listen to rock versions of Christmas carols? Sure it’s all happy and cheery when you walk into a retail store to be greeted by some jingle about Jolly Saint Nick, but being forced to listen for 12 hours has to be something that violates the Geneva convention.

The sound of madness has improved over the past few nights, but I really hope once Christmas comes and goes, they’ll replace the soundtrack. The other song I’ve grown to loathe is ‘I’ll be home for Christmas…if only in my dreams.’ It will be only in his dreams because I’ll strangle the life from him if I ever meet that guy.

And I’ll be home for Christmas, for real and not in my dreams. Don’t jack my TV while I’m gone!