Parkside Q

We Should Have Let Them Secede When We Had The Chance

Several years ago, an-exgirlfriend and I drove from college in upstate New York back to her mom's house in Atlanta. We were on winter break and she wanted to bring her car back home, so i decided I'd help her drive it down (as well as back once it was time to return to school). As we made our way down south, I remember her pulling over to a rest stop near the end of North Carolina. I thought it was weird since we had just filled up and eaten not too long ago, so I asked why we needed another break so fast.

She turned to me and replied, "Because we're driving straight through to Georgia. I refuse to stop in South Carolina."

After Obama's address to Congress the other night, I completely understand the sentiment.

Seriously, what the eff is wrong with South Carolina? I'm trying to be as objective as a Black college-educated NYC-dweller can be, but between their governor Mark Sanford "hiking the Appalachian Trail", their hard-headed flying of the Confederate Flag, and now GOP Rep. Joe Wilson's infamous "You Lie"-gate scandal, South Carolina seems like one of the most backwater quarters of our country. Their star on our flag grows dimmer each time one of their politicians opens his mouth.

I would sympathize with South Carolina residents for having such horrible representation, but then I remember that they picked their reps in the first place. Too bad, so sad.

One Fuck-UPS Too Many

"What can brown do for you?" That's the mantra that the United Parcel Service lives by, and, based on my recent experiences with them, will die by. If the past two and a half weeks are any indication, brown can't do diddly for me. Speaking of which, brown is an apt color scheme for them; it's the most accurate metaphor for their shitacular service. From now on, my mind will forever equate UPS's palette with steaming piles of Doberman dookie.

All I wanted was my damn poster that I ordered from the Obama store (P.S. our next President will be Black! Except for his white half, of course). All I got was two delivery notices, incompetent service reps trying to talk me out of murdering one of their truck drivers, three donuts and two cups of coffee. The latter two are courtesy of Dunkin Donuts, a truly awesome company that rose to the occasion and *gasp* actually gave me what I wanted when I requested it. And they even gave me an extra squirt of vanilla at BOTH locations, no questions asked.

Unfortunately, this story isn't about how awesome DD is (though this fact is undeniable). That would be too easy.

My loopy fiasco (see what I did there?) with UPS began with their initial attempt to send my package to my apartment. I caught my first whiff of the shitstorm that was brewng when I found one of those nifty info-notice postcards in my mailbox, instead of the box I was expecting. Usually, UPS leaves the package by the mailboxes; the explanation on my postcard was that my address was incomplete on the shipping label, therefore my package was undeliverable and brought back to the "local" shipping center (more on this later).

The first thing I tried to do was pick up my package from the local shipping center. I HopStopped the address on the postcard, and after work the next day went on my merry way to Midwood to pick up my package. I got to Midwood slightly later than expected, but the bigger surprise was still in store. The address on the postcard led me to an antique furniture shop. I asked the guy at the desk where the hell UPS was (since this clearly was not it), and he pointed out a Google map printout I missed on the way in. Because of the format of the address on UPS's postcard, I went to the wrong place; I was supposed to be in Canarsie, a lifetime (ok, like two train rides) away. At that point, it was too late to try to pick it up at the correct location, so I stopped at the local Dunkin Donuts for a tasty treat before heading home.

I wish this was the end, but the agony was just staring to be fully realized.

Piss Off

Before I start this post, I feel like I need to clear up a few things with the three of you that still read this blog. Not only am I a horrible blogger, but I am also a horrible liar. I said I was going to update more, and that has become a platitude of epic fail. It's also the antithesis of what my goal is here: to get my work exposed and build up my writing cred enough to actually get leads on freelancing. That would be a hell of a lot easier if I actually updated more than twice a month, and I clearly need to re-focus my energy on both writing awesome (if random) bullshit and getting people to give enough shits to keep coming back for more. Only way to do that is to post more and better articles, and that is my intent from here on out. Scout's honor.

Ok, back to bullshitting. This is something men will appreciate more than women, but it's still pertinent to anyone reading this as it deals with a subject that we all encounter on a daily basis: public bathroom etiquette. As a precursor, let me explain something that we dudes call the "One Three Five Rule" (I'm not sure if this has been inducted into the sacred halls of Man Law yet, but it should be). [EDIT: It is!!] Quite simply, you put at least one urinal of space between you and your fellow potty breaker when availability of urinals allow for it.
To do otherwise is an invasion into the privacy of one of man's most private acts: pissing.

Now I know what you're thinking: "What's the big deal? And don't act like you didn't publicly pee on than cop car last weekend you schmuck." Like I said above, you need privacy "when availability [will] allow for it". Going home after a night of hard living, based on the fact that you left the house in the first place, naturally trumps the preferance of privacy normally afforded to Seabiscuit impersonations. Besides, it's not like my friends stood around and watched me relieve myself against squad car 1-Tango-13 (the police sure did, though).

Diagnosis: Irony Deficiency

Date: July 21, 2008 issue

Patient: The New Yorker

Vital Stats: 80+ years old, 8.5" x 11", <1 lb.

Symptoms: Expressed perceptions of political world misaligned with reality; projecting fearful imagery induced by paranoia; fatigue and exhaustion exacerbated by anemic response to others' genuine concern. Patient was also unaware of fractured humerus.

Diagnosis: Patient is suffering from "Irony Deficiency", rarely seen over the course of patient's past medical history. Usually topical and satirically relevant, patient has succumbed to this disorder, rendering its cover to fall flat on its attempt to convey intellectual lampooning.

Outlook: Patient will be under observation until symptoms improve; smarter editorial decisions will greatly reduce recovery time.

This Is A Test Of The Emergency Blogging System

Nothing significant here, just checking to see if the blog post app on my new iPhone 3G is working.

To make up for my lack of actual info/commentary in this post, just look at some highlights of my Miami vacation pics.

John McCain: Change You Can Xerox

Hat tip to Sam Stein at HuffPo for catching this:

Clearly, even McCain doesn't want to vote for McCain; he wants ObaMcCain to be the next President. Above is a recent screengrab of both Obama and Gramps McCain's websites. Notice something eerie about the second pic (besides Gramps' pedo-smile)? McCain's page has adopted the stylistic cues (not to mention a blatant slogan ripoff) of Obama's own web portal. As much as I can't stand his music, Soulja Boy said it best: "I see you trying to do it like me, man that shit was ugly."

His feeble attempt to co-opt Obama's inspirational phrase completely misses the mark; we aren't drawn to Obama because of his logo (as nice as it looks), we praise him for his honesty, his principles, and his uncanny ability to rise above playing "politics as usual". Obama's message of hope, reform, and rebuke of the failed policies of the Bush years has been consistent since day 1, and people are starting to recognize that.

To contrast, in a widely-panned speech delivered near New Orleans last night, McCain admonished the government's response to Katrina, calling out its "failure... to meet even its basic responsibilities." This man really had the gall to come out of his mouth criticizing government reaction to the disaster, when he himself voted against freeing up federal emergency relief aid for victims in Louisiana and elsewhere. What's that smell? Oh, that's just the horseshit McCain's talking.

Gramps is only willing to say and do whatever he thinks will get him votes. How can "we believe in" him when he doesn't even believe in himself enough to stand on his own two feet, without damn near infringing on his opponent's artistic license?  Even Fox News asked, "Why use Obama's slogan?"; it's very telling when even the GOP media vehicle itself calls out McCain on his ineptness at swagger-jacking.

They say "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery", but I doubt there's a single bone of sincerity left in Gramps McCain's aging body. He's a double-talking slogan-stealing war-mongering joke of a candidate, whose only reason for stepping foot in the White House should be as part of a walking group tour.

Also, Gramps needs to fire his entire website design team. Man, that shit looks ugly.

Let Your Love Just Shower Me. In Semen.

The above is the SWV video for their classic song of seduction, "Rain". Everything from the art direction to the backing beat to the vocality just screams mid-1990's R&B slow jam. I think everyone in my 5th grade class (damn I'm showing my age, or lack thereof) knew the lyrics to this song front and backwards. Which is why I was surprised when I heard it on the way back from upstate NY this weekend and I realized: goddam this song is talking about some freaky shit!

The message went way over my 11-year-old head; I just thought it sounded good at the time. But now that I've had as many years to re-analyze "Rain", I keep coming to the same single epiphany: Coko, Taj, and Lelee were totes into bukkake.

For those that aren't into freaky deaky kinky shit, stop reading now. Unless you would like to know that bukkake refers to the act of ejaculating on a willing participant, by either one or several ejaculator(s). I'm not going to guess whether or not they wanted either singular or multiple dudes raining on their parade; that's not really important. The main point here is that the song is so obviously about having dudes play "weatherman" with their dicks that I can't believe I didn't pick up on this sooner. Well played SWV, well played.

Side note: why does it seem like every successful female R&B group in the 90's have a name consisting of a 3-digit alphanumeric acronym (3LW, SWV, TLC, 702, etc.)? Sheesh, En Vogue is like the only group that comes to mind that bucked this trend. But I digress; peep the detailed lyrical breakdown after the jump. Lyrics are in black, commentary in clockwork orange.

Someone's Been Playing Too Much "Grand Theft Auto"

Parkside Q's Seven Step Guide On How NOT To Steal A Car In Canada

Take notes kids, the following may save you some time in the clink:

1) Do NOT boost a rare Nissan Skyline GT-R from a specialty dealership, especially during business hours. Busy dealerships tend to have people nearby that, during criminal investigations, magically morph into this new entity called "witnesses".

2) Do NOT cruise around your hometown in boosted car (which was never sold in North America, BTW) where people can spot and recognize said obscure import tuner. In fact, Parkside Q recommends that you skip town for a few days while you try to find someone who will buy "your" car.

3) Do NOT pose for pictures taken by a passerby, who just so happens to be a member of the car enthusiast forum that your grand theft victim posted news of his loss on. You might as well send your own homemade mugshot to the po-lice.

4) Do NOT keep your Facebook profile set to "public". Otherwise, people looking for you and/or "your" car might find that you're nothing but a high school degenerate. And the address of that high school. And directions to your house by way of Google Maps.

5) Do NOT leave "your" car parked in your driveway. Otherwise, if someone from aforementioned online car club spots the Nissan and decides to box you in while they call the cops on your dumb ass, you might not be able to make a squeaky-clean getaway.

6) Do NOT resist arrest as the police escort you to your new ride: the back of a squad car. No one wants you to be that guy screaming like a bitch because he got tasered for being belligerent.

7) Go directly to jail. Do NOT pass "Go". Do NOT collect $200.

Image and story via Switched by way of The New York Times. 

Signs Of Recession

Wow, times must really be getting hard. I spotted this gem at Gray's Papaya (W. 72nd and Broadway location) last night. They dropped the price of the hot dog special about 20% or so, according to the above signage. Quick plug: they make the best damn beef franks for late-night drunken snack orgies.

But dayum, if the random hot dog vendors are slashing prices to woo spendthrift partiers into indulging their carnivorous urges, what next? Is the Fed gonna have to bail out a major Wall Street firm or somethi... oh wait, never mind.

DMX: Ignant Or Ironic?

I've been meaning to make a post about this for a while, but there's been so much other randomness happening in my life this past week that I didn't get a chance to sit and think about this until now. Anyways, last week XXL magazine posted an interview they did with rapper DMX. Boy, was this one a doozy.

It started off rather typically; DMX was asked about his upcoming projects, what artists he's been listening to recently, yada yada yada. But soon after the usual niceties, the interview took a trip to Bizarro World. When asked how he'd been using his time between studio albums, DMX started rambling about the police "raiding [his] house"  and confiscating his weapons. He seemed to be confused by later questions; there were several times where he kept repeating answers from previous questions when the interviewer was asking about different topics.

The major bombshell of this interview, however, came when the Dark Man was asked about the current Presidential race. At first, DMX expressed ambivalence to the current political developments (he claimed to not be following the race "at all"), but then he displayed shock and disgust upon hearing that Barack Obama was a candidate. His exact quotes from the interview are:

"What the fuck is a Barack?! Barack Obama....Get the fuck outta here."

DMX then went on to rant about how he didn't participate in the political system, since he felt that it makes no difference who runs the country. He spewed some random conspiracy theories about puppet governments, and how they want to set up a Black man to take the fall for America's current political problems. While we all are entitled to our opinions, something about his tirade just seemed off to me.