Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Cookies, Anyone?

"Two all beef patties,
some kinda sauce-la la la la....
Pickles and onions and some other stuff too,
woo woo woo woo wooooo....I got it!"

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Ratchet Ass

Cadillac grills,
Cadillac bills.
Check out the oil my Cadillac spills.
matter of fact,
candy paint Cadillac kills,
so check out the hoes my Cadillac fills.

Twenty inch wide,
twenty inch high,
Hold on to my twenty inch ride.
Twenty inch thighs make twenty inch eyes
hoping for American twenty inch pies.

Pretty-ass clothes,
pretty-ass toes.
Oh, how I love these pretty-ass hoes.
Pretty-ass, high class, anything goes.
Catch them in the club throwing pretty-ass 'bows.

Long John drawls,
Long John stalls.
Any stank puss make my Long John pause.
Women on cell making long John calls,
and if they like to juggle, get Long John's balls.

All my players in the house that can ride the bar,
and the balling-ass niggers with the candy car,
if you're a pimp and you know you don't love them hoes,
when you get on the floor, nigger, throw them 'bows.
All the women in the house, if you're chasing cash,
and you've got some big titties, and a matching ass
with your fly-ass boots or your open toes,
when you get on the floor, nigger, throw them 'bows.

Dirty South mind blown,
dirty South bread.
Cat fish fried up, dirty South fed.
Sleeping in a cotton-picking dirty South bed.
Dirty South girls give me dirty South head.

Hand me down flip flops;
hand me down socks.
Hand me down drug dealers hand me down rocks.
Hand me down a fifty pack;
switch a sweet box,
and goodfella rich niggers hand me down stocks.

Mouthful of platinum,
mouthful of gold.
Forty glock cal.,
keep your mouth on hold.
Lie through your teeth,
you could find your mouth cold,
and rip out your tongue 'cause of what your mouth told.

Sweat for the lemonade;
sweat for the tea.
Sweat from the hot sauce;
sweat from the bleed.
You could sweat from a burn in the third degree,
and if you sweat in you sleep, then you sweat from me.

All my players in the house that can ride the bar,
and the balling-ass niggers with the candy car,
if you're a pimp and you know you don't love them hoes,
when you get on the floor, nigger, throw them 'bows.
All the women in the house, if you're chasing cash,
and you've got some big titties, and a matching ass
with your fly-ass boots or your open toes,
when you get on the floor, nigger, throw them 'bows.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

New York Pizza and Pasta!

(My elation can be acurately described only through the excessive use of caps lock and bold font)





Wednesday, September 14, 2005

All Mixed Up

Yay, the 311 concert was awesome! Well, let me clarify that. 311 was awesome. The other bands playing the show were kind of lack-luster.

The first band to take the stage was a relatively unheard-of group, Ingraham Hill. They were pretty impressive. They kind of had a whiney, punkish sort of thing going, but it worked for them. Overall, they did a solid set. The twelve people that were there seemed to enjoy it.

Next was Better Than Ezra, who, unbeknownst to me, are responsible for a number of hits I heard from the KJ103 days. They were pretty good too; the lead singer really knew how to play to the crowd, and we all got to get in touch with the mid-nineties. What was really unfortunate was that all 30 people who were there were sitting down at this point, with the exception of the six down on the floor. That said, had they bothered to stand up, they would have had to sit down.

The third act to grace our presence was Unwritten Law, who, despite the lead singer's constant implorations to "get the fuck up," would have put everyone back in their seats, if not out the door. If anything, I can say that they were really good at playing their instruments loudly, and screaming. It was not what one would typically call music, but you could tell that there would be music there, if the band could just calm down a bit, and quit banging on things and screaming their heads off. They seemed pretty angry, or angst-ridden, or something, but I couldn't tell just what it was for, because the only lyrics I could understand were the eloquent "Ooh, la de da," and the profound "Where my bitches, where my hoes? I'm too fucked up to be in love." Anyway, they finally calmed down a bit to play that Seeing Red song from the radio, which was actually pretty good. I gave them an unenthusiastic golf clap as they left the stage, and waited in anticipation for the band I forked over my dinero to see.

As I said before 311 was awesome. They played stuff from their new album, some radio hits, and some songs from their older times; their set did justice to a more or less illustrious 12 year career on the national stage. My only complaint is that they did not play Flowing, one of my four favorite 311 songs. At least they played the other three. Their set was about as well executed as I've seen, everyone played/sang well, they reacted to the crowd, going as far as taking a request for an old song from a guy with a cardboard sign, and had a bunch of crazy lights and stuff. Ultimately, they put on a good show without detracting from their music, which is what I paid for.

The concert, on the whole, was a bit scatterbrained. The bands did not really fit in the same mold, but in the end, that didn't matter. I paid to see 311, and they more than delivered to make up for the lackluster atmosphere of the first two acts, and the horrible performance of Unwritten Law. Aside from one crazy guy with a torn shirt getting arrested, a fight breaking out, and the persistant reefer smoking going on all around, crowd control was pretty good. In the end, I left the Lloyd Noble Center with a smile on my face, a ring in my ears, no baby in my womb, and, more than likely, a contact high. Overall, it was a good time, despite the shortcomings.

Friday, September 09, 2005

A little amusement and sound advice from the past...

My crazy history professor read this when he was lecturing about the French and Indian War. It made my day, and I want to find a poster of it to put on my wall. It is the standing orders for a band of frontier riflemen during the colonial period. Well, anyway, without further ado...

Rogers' Rangers Standing Orders
1. Don't forget nothing.
2. Have your musket clean as a whistle, hatchet scoured, sixty rounds powder and ball, and be ready to march at a minutes warning.
3. When you're on the march, act the way you would if you was sneaking up on a deer. See enemy first.
4. Tell the truth about what you see and what you do. There is an army depending on us for correct information. You can lie all you please when you tell other folks about the Rangers, but don't ever lie to a Ranger or an officer.
5. Don't ever take a chance you don't have to.
6. When you're on the march we march as a single file, far enough apart so one shot can't go thru two men.
7. If we strike swamps, or soft ground, we spread out abreast, so it's hard to track us.
8. When we march, we keep moving 'til dark, so as to give the enemy the least chance at us.
9. When we camp, half the party stays awake while the other half sleeps.
10. If we take prisoners, we keep 'em separate 'til we have had time to examine them, so they can't cook up a story between 'em.
11. Don't ever march the same way. Take a different route so you won't be ambushed.
12. No matter whether we travel in big parties or little ones, each party has to keep a scout 20 yards ahead, 20 yards on each flank and 20 yards in the rear, so the main body can't be surprised and wiped out.
13. Every night you'll be told where to meet if surrounded by a superior force.
14. Don't sit down to eat without posting sentries.
15. Don't sleep beyond dawn, Dawn's when the French and Indians attack.
16. Don't cross a river by a regular ford.
17. If somebody's trailing you, make a circle, come back onto your own tracks, and ambush the folks that aim to ambush you.
18. Don't stand up when the enemy's coming against you. Kneel down, lie down, or hide behind a tree.
19. Let the enemy come 'til he's almost close enough to touch. Then let him have it and jump out and finish him with you hatchet.

Major Robert Rogers, 1759

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Tryin' to be all 1337

So, 3dward and Ph1llip were both all h4xx0rs about Fr4nce. 3dward was totally teh n00b, and Phillip was all "w00t." He went back to Ga5cony, and was all 'Wine? Salt? R0xx0rs!!1' Ph1l was all '1 B m0r 1337 than joo. Ph34R my sk1llz'. They were all 'OMG, WTF?' Everybody got ub3r pissed, so they got to fr4gging.

There was fr4gging in the low countries.

There was fr4gging in Ga5cony.

There was fr4gging in the Channel.

All the h4xxors thought France had the 1337est sk1lls. They had the k3wlest Cavalry of the day.

3dward had all the 1337 seiges. He was much teh pwnage. He pwned in Normandy, in Calais, he pwned in Brittany.

The Black Death was teh suxx0rs. WTF?

Then Teh Black Prince was surfing around with his arch3rz. He had the 1337 sk1llz. All the haxxorz knew, 3ngland was teh pwnage. W00t.
(Of course, that's not teh end of teh fr4gg4ge, but being 1360 doesn't pwn like being 1337.)

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Daring to be the Same

I'm sure most of you have read Sean's "dare to be different" post, delightfully entitled "Don't Die Your Pubes." (I still chuckle every time I read that) It got me thinking about my attitude about others' opinions of me over the years. The main theme in the line of thought has been that I don't care what other people think, but this idea has evolved for me over the years.

It was in middle school when I really started to consider this issue. I spent most of the time as a social outcast; it wasn't as though I had no friends, but I got picked on, and didn't fit in with the "cool kids," or whatever. I didn't so much care about that, but it did make me retreat into my shell, so to speak. (Up until 5th or 6th grade, I would get in trouble for talking a lot, if you can believe that) The issue didn't really come to my attention in its fullness until a couple of longtime friends stabbed me in the back. It seemed the reason cited for this was that I "wasn't cool enough." Of course, this was at the peak of my timid personality, and I had no desire for a confrontation. I was pretty down about it for a while, and spent most of eighth grade floating along socially, trying not to become a bigger nerd than I already was. It was about halfway through this experience that I realized something wonderful:

It didn't matter if I was a nerd.

As long as I was comfortable and happy with myself, it was not important if I got made fun of, or if people didn't think I was cool, or if I didn't have stupid looking pants. (You remember Jnco, right? Or were there more vowels in that? I don't know) This was the beginning of me regaining my self-confidence in areas that didn't involve being smarter than people. While I classify it as one of the worst times in my life, it helped get me ready for some of the best.

It was as though I was reborn. I, Richard Greene of 14 years, did not care what others thought of me. As I left the image-fixated world of middle school, I was ready to turn over a new leaf. With my newfound self image, I saw trends as the source of my past woes. People in middle school judged coolness on trends, and I was not about to fall into that trap. I soon found myself avoiding nearly every trend that came along. I was not one of the army of mindless preppy automatons, and I wanted to make sure everyone knew it. I was proud of the fact that I did not have the coolest new thing, whatever it happened to be.

The long and short of it, for me, was that I had to be different. If a friend started talking about what a group of people thought of them, I would chime in with my favorite retort, "I stopped caring what people thought of me a long time ago." Then, late in my highschool career, in the middle of such a retort, I realized somthing, something not so wonderful. I had been hating these trends simply for the sake of being different. I railed against Abercrombie and Fitch, ska music, Harry Potter, and cell phones for no reason except that so many others thought they were the bee's knees. I completely cared what other people thought. No more did I not care if people thought I was cool; now, I cared if people thought I was cool. What's more, I still wanted everyone to like me. I cared what nearly everyone thought. It was time to rethink my outlook.

I knew the original plan to not care was meritous, but finally realized its inherent flaws. I couldn't be the nice, likeable person I wanted to be while maintaining complete apathy. I came to accept the fact that what really mattered through the whole thing was my opinion of myself. What I really wanted all along was to be genuinely liked for my own personality and merits, after all. I needed to get back to the basics of my original outlook: that the opinions of others should not affect my opinions of myself.

The main tenent of my renewed outlook was to evaluate everything on its own individual merits. How do I like it? Since then, I've come to accept some trendy things, and shrug off some others. While there may not have been a big outward change, I've noticed a definite inward change. I can say with confidence, I am more myself today than I ever was during high school, and honestly, I'm thrilled about that. I finally understood that while daring to be different helped, in order to be truly happy, I had to dare to be the same.

Some things haven't changed, of course. I will never wear anything from Abercrombie and Fitch. Those $50 t-shirts are an insult to the America, and to little Gupta, and the bowl of rice he earned making them. Ska music on the other hand, is okay. There's some good stuff there, if you look around. Harry Potter was an alright movie. Cell phones...bought one, hate it, still convinced they're bad for society. The important thing, though, is that when I walk to class with my Nalgene bottle, wearing my Chuck Taylor shoes and witty t-shirts, I know that when I laugh to myself about the "greek" kids with their Ipods, messenger bags, and Ashton Kutcher-esque hats, I've got a good water bottle, some sweet kicks, and a chest that will cheer people up.