Our blog brethren La Parca are celebrating the release of the Immigrants ”45″ (available on vinyl and all digital outlets) this wednesday at Good Life. General Stoor and myself providing opening ceremonies:
Michael Jordan’s jumper over Bryon Russell in Game Six.
Ray Lewis leading the Ravens to Super Bowl victory.
Jimmy McNulty looking out on the city of Baltimore.
All really cool, dramatic ways to go out–opposed to, say, a press conference at Faneuil Hall.
But it is happening: Hizzoner is announcing the end of his 20-year reign there this afternoon.
There have been many dramatic exits over the years, but Big Tommy’s announcement that he will not seek re-election this November is huge and will have major repercussions for the next decade to come.
– With new candidates on the scene, Chris Faraone will be re-energized to dig deep into their personal and professional lives for the one time they helped an old lady cross the street who was actually a racist, Jew-hating bitch, which vis-a-vis makes said candidate a Nazi and gets him the cover story of Liberal Chest Thumpers monthly.
– From his new home in NC, a deeply conflicted Trees will find himself suddenly paralyzed with fear and self-doubt, alternately slamming his former Mayor and then wistfully reminiscing about the “good old days” when he would write poasts titled “Need Menino To Fix Your Neighborhood? Sheeeeeet.. All You Need Is A Dead Senator And A Visit From Obama…”
– Months from now, on the eve of the November election, Jeremy will be stunned to hear the news that Menino is not running, which he happened to catch in the background on TV while switching playlists from his “PRPL LEAN SWEATER RAPS” to “You’re the Only One Who Understands Me” playlist on his iPod.
– Knife and ON&ON put plans in motion for MENINO RAVE 2013, now with foolproof coffin resurrection and moar glo-sticks.
– Our new mayor turns out to be a huge JTTS fan and begins a independent investigation into Boston Boy’s iTunes record sales.
Whatever the case may be, I was seven years old and living in Maryland when Mumbles first took office, so I have no idea how to properly frame his impact on the city, not knowing what is was then compared to now (less Dunkin Donuts, I imagine).
Like Master P said, there dey go.
BONUS JTTS MENINO CVRGE
KANYE SAID GEORGE BUSH DON’T LIKE BLACK PEOPLE. STATIK SELEKTAH SAID MENINO DON’T LIKE HIP-HOP.
Future Boston Alliance Take Aims at Menino’s Status Quo
The Boston Phoenix is no more.
Play it off like it’s not a big deal, or you saw it coming, or your knew the switch to a glossy cover was a bad idea; all those things may be true, but it doesn’t mean much now. Not to be too dramatic, but waking up this morning, Boston is missing a little piece of its soul.
There’s no point in me trying to eulogize the newspaper, a task better left to others who will do a much better job somewhere else. The reasons for its closure are pretty stark, and what’s done is done. Unfortunately this is the current reality for local journalism, where excellent writers and editors are being asked to do more with less and less and less until…
But, for once, this isn’t meant to be soaked in pessimism.
Instead, we’d like to send off the Phoenix with a tip of the cap and a sincere thank you for 46 years of existence. Also a thank you to the awesome, passionate Phoenix staff, some of whom we’ve been lucky enough to talk, drink and work with in various capacities over the last five years. People like Derek Kouyoumjian, Shaula Clark, Barry Thompson, Ariel Shearer, Melissa Ostrow and others, people I personally still like besides the fact that their publication nominated FratRap.tumblr for a “Best Website” award. I mean, they published a thinly veiled blatant college creep show fantasy story with the byline “Sleezy Treez,” got God’s sake. How are you not going to miss a paper like that?
Of course, the one person who hasn’t been mentioned is Chris Faraone, tattooed co-founder turned sometimes (by that I mean never) JTTS blggr. His absence here was telling: instead of bearing the cross for hardcore underground hip hop in the face of internet haters, he was traveling the country, writing a book, winning awards, hosting art shows, covering politics wasted and killing at least one prominent conservative pundit (that we know of). I was there when it first popped off…
Cop Edo’s new album “Intelligence & Ignorance” if you haven’t yet. Here’s the latest video from the project.
After DJ Format killed it last month, we keep the British wave rolling with special guest DJ Yoda for Fresh Produce this Saturday at the Good Life, of course. Ten-plus years since the first volume, his landmark How to Cut and Paste series is still going strong, but these days you’ll find him all over the place, from releasing a solo album last year to recording a concerto for turntable and orchestra. Q Magazine once declared him “one of the ten DJs to see before you die”; we say you can skip the other nine.
So this Dominican restaurant on my block, Delicias, is my favorite spot to hit up for a good $6 plate of rice, chicken, platanos, and beans. Great food, great value.
The way shit was set up, the food was in trays behind the counter, so even though most of the staff doesn’t speak a lick of Ingles, you could be an American fgt like me and point your way through an order.
Whenever I go in and no peeka Panish, they look at me in pure disgust, because they think I’m some sell out Dominican who never bothered to learn my own language, when in fact, I’m a Kenyan Jew just tryin to keep it real in the field.
My heart was broken two months ago when they closed for being found with large amounts of cocaine remodeling.
To my delight, I saw they were back in business like Eric and Parrish last night…time to get my grub on.
Wow…Delicias stepped they game up! Cloth on tables instead of plastic and doilies, the year-round Christmas lights were removed, and they had the music playing at a more tolerable blare…but still loud as fuck nonetheless. However, the the delightful improvement on management’s part were the new strippers waitresses.
Gone was the friendly 200 pound woman that always took my order. In her place were 6 of these broads. Delicia indeed.
A woodgrain bar was now in front, and they most likely had the 200 pound woman slaving in the kitchen with all the food. Fine by me. I didn’t have the benefit of pointing through my order, but shiiit, a little playful back and forth of stumbling through my order with Tits Rodriguez might end up with me bagging a chick por el noche.
Two Dominican guys were ahead of me placing their order. Funny breed, those Dominicanos. What they think is extremely macho, is actually the gayest look on the planet. Dominicans have the concept of being metro a little twisted. Groomed eyebrows, a skin tight shirt with sunglasses hanging on the neck, a shiny purple bubble vest, and Diesel sneakers doesn’t exactly scream “Where the bitchez at?” to me, but hey, to each his own.
I step up, and place my order with a waitress that is absolutely popping out of her clothes. The buttons on her shirt are holding on for dear life. How her magnificent bronzed almond ass fit into those size 2 black jeans would defy Stephen Hawking, and for good measure, she has red thong panties that were put on this earth to taunt me peaking out of her back side. Life is unfair. Taylor Swift is idolized by millions, and this bombshell is slangin pollo on Hyde Park Ave.
I place my order. “I’ll have white rice with goat and salad please, no beans.”
This bitch is completely stumped.
“Rice…arroz? Arroz con….GOAT!”
Fuck. I don’t know the word for goat.
“Baaaaaah…goat!”
Wait…that’s a lamb…do I attempt to make another animal sound, or should I talk this one out? Fuck. I know she hates me. I’ll never see that donkey ass in all its glory.
I’ll just carry on like a dumb American. Maybe if I say it louder and slow it’ll hit her.
“GOOOOOOOAAAAAAT? GOOOAT? GOAT. YOU KNOW, GOOOOOOAAAAAT?”
There, that oughta clear things up.
Crickets.
I’m gonna have to go out on a limb here. I could easily order pollo, or bistec, or spaghetti, or ox-tail, or chicharron…but DAMNIT, I’m in the mood for goat.
Just then…it dawns on me. The one word I always see on Spanish menus and storefront signs…it has to be goat.
“Laaaaaangoooosta? Goat? Langosta?”
Bingo.
“Siii, siii! Tiene…hmmmm…sawooos?”
What’s sawoos? Sawoos…sawoos…oh! Sauce!
“Si, I want Langosta y sauce, y arroz blanco, y ensalada!”
“Ok.”
She carries her vuluptuous frame in the kitchen as her panties bid me farewell. I’m so proud of myself. I’m truly an international ass nigga. Put me anywhere on Gods green earth and I’ll survive.
5 minutes…10 minutes…25 minutes…35 minutes…WTF??? I’m starving, people are coming in and out picking up their orders, and I’m waiting for a simple $6 plate of langosta y arroz.
The service sucks, but thank God I can pass time eye-raping the help.
Finally, Boom Boom Martinez brings me my bag of food. I figure if she knew English she would apologize for the wait, so I won’t hold it against her.
I get to the register to pay.
“Veinte dos.”
Ummm…that doesn’t sound like “seis” but whatevs. I hand her a ten.
“VEINTE dos…two-two.”
“$22 DOLLARS!!?? Goat and rice is $22?????”
What kinda bullshit is this? Never again. Remodeling my ass…a place spruces up a little and they think they can charge whatever they want?
I’ve been waiting 40 minutes for my food, and don’t have the strength to play United Nations any more…lesson learned. I pay and leave.
I get to the crib, dying to know what $22 worth of goat looks like. I pile a mound of rice on a plate, and open up the goat. It sure does look good…swimming in all that brown sauce…peppers and onions and shit. I stab my fork into a big piece, and it’s rock hard. The fuck??? Another piece. Nothin but bone. I pick up a piece. It’s a claw.
Langosta is lobster.
I ordered a fuckin lobster in curry sauce with white rice.
Fuck my life.
I forced myself to eat it on the strength the shit cost $22. Gross.
Here’s the question.
Is it my fault I don’t know Spanish like that, or is it the restaurant’s fault that they do business on Main Street America, and don’t have staff that knows what they serve in fucking English?
Fresh Produce, the JTTS.COM & UGHH.COM sponsored debauchery that is swiftly approaching it’s 7th year, is early this March with DJ Yoda from the UK. March 16th. Mark them calendurrz
Fresh Produce, the JTTS sponsored infamous monthly shit show returns tomorrow night with our homie from the UK DJ Format
Dude keeps it real. Tommee too. I’ll provide the ignorance. Let’s get it!
If you don’t already know, Fresh Produce combines forces each month, inviting DJs and producers from all over.
The music is a mixture of new and old hip hop, reggae and party jams, with plenty of scratching, beat juggling and quick mixing, plus some crunk and trap shit to even things out
For this edition, our good friend PFranchize will help provide the soundtrack alongside us old men.
$5 Cover.
Oh hey guys.
I didn’t go anywhere. I was just taking the world’s longest shower.
Then I saw this.
The video starts by getting into the mind of a young man: “So you think you look pretty cool wearing your pants like that, don’t you?” asks a voice, as two pretty cool looking black teenagers walk down the street, jeans sagging below the waist line, presumably on their way to disrespect someone’s community. According to the voice, this plague on our city’s streets is called wearing your jeans “hip-hop style”; to stoke your disgust at this unholy scourge, the producers use a “Hip-Hop” beat direct from their Casio keyboard as the background music. It’s all part of a calculated effort to get your attention; after some 30-odd years of ignoring the problem, it’s time to confront the issue head-on, and for that battle, a respected voice of authority would have to get involved. And in hip-hop, no figure commands greater respect than a police officer.
I saw this ad on TV and nearly fell off the couch.
Black cop informs all of Massachusetts that wearing your pants “Hip Hop style” can land you in prison for 3 years. “It’s the law”
Now don’t get it twisted, as an old as fuck father, I despise morons who walk around with they drawers on Front Street… but this shit right here ??
The Black Mental Health Alliance of Massachusetts…whatever the fuck that is… thinks it’s a good idea to jail Boston black men for wearing pants “Hip Hop style.” Whose the president of this organization, Samuel L. Jackson’s character in Django?
Funny how weed gets decriminalized, and saggy pants become public enemy number one. The idea that I could do more time for rockin saggy pants than assaulting your grandmother is miraculous.
Fuck Deval Patrick, The BPD, and Mumbles Menino for letting this shit live on state-wide tv.
There is an annual “No Pants Day” on The T where hordes of riders ride the MBTA in their underwear. The papers and the news cover it, and everyone has a good laugh. Hear me. DOZENS of people in nothin but underwear riding the public transit system. Just went down 2 weeks ago in fact. Any of them doing 3 years in a state prison?
This is a blue law that Uncle Tom ass niggas spent thousands of dollars to promote on the air. Disgusting.
.
Fresh Produce, our infamous monthly shit show shared with the goons over at UGHH.COM, returns this weekend with co-founder of Fool’s Gold records, Nick Catchdubs. Expect plenty of hip hop, reggae and classics from DJ On&On’s favorite Trinidad James bumpin through the Good Life’s speakers. DJ Tommee will drop Black Moon at midnight and Knife will play the same damn shit he always plays until he gets drizzly. $5. Strict dress code of LA Gear or British Knights. Peep www.freshproduceboston.com for more.
Happy New Year scumbags. Still in vacation mode but this was worth breaking character for: Moe Pope & Rain welcome you into 2013 with the first video from Let the Right Ones In, dropping January 22 via Brick.
Available for pre-order exclusively from our good friends over at UGHH.com.
