So your sitting on the couch or in the car, musing about how shitty your situation is in today’s economy (“we are not in a Recession” — G Dumbass WB), and then you realize every person is affected. Like people you don’t normally think about; the city’s Underbelly Society
This morning, I’m running my routine morning errand for work, jamming out to The Melvins
and witness a Pick-Up. This lanky, black woman, who’s always dressed in denim with a dew rag wrapped around her head and hair, is walking the Cracked Up Stumble Wiggle with a Jewel bag. The way she’s swinging the bag, it’s probably her “purse.” Every “womanly” move about her is animated, exaggerated: hips swishing back and forth, small chest pushed out, face looking into each car tilted just-so, and freehand sort of pantamiming pulling someone into a hug.
A gentleman approaches her front, a Middle Eastern man (maybe Indian or Pakistanian), thin mustache, thin body, peach t-shirt and jeans, and gives her the once over as he says hello. He’s learing at her. 3 seconds later, she has her hand on his back, less so like one you greet/ put your arm around a friend, but more like a friendly push/guide to a discreet alleyway…which they head toward.
Of the list, I could only think of a Drama Queen (actually their name popped into my head before I even finished comprehending the phrase “Drama Queen.”
Missing on the list: The Talking Penis Bling.
He always wants to talk about sex. Ever female that passes by elicits an exclamation similar to, “What do think? Nice booty, hit that?” Which is annoying enough as it is (as I am not a horny 16 year old anymore…well, not 16 anymore), but about 9 times out of 10 that’s ALL he really talks about. And in that weird Guido-Playa kind of way where the ladies are more often “bitches,” all you need is a good car and nice stuff (watches, money, suit, etc) and the “bitches will climb all over you.” He’s always talking about going to the clubs and grinding with the drunk horny chicks; but, really never an actual story about when he took one home.
Biggie J. has gone to the bathroom three times already, and told me the same story about how his brother-in-law wants some empty boxes to move…twice (X 3 in that he repeats his stories an average of 3 times at the moment of telling).
Smoked a cigarette in the alley; a Ladybug assaulted my right ear, then circled around and kamikaze-ed my left ear. WTF?
Finished my fourth cup of coffee. I’ve started drinking it New York “regular” style: two sugars, 3 creams.
Caught up reading Gawker, made no comments. I am not inspired today.
[pause for something, anything, interesting to happen]
OK, let’s go on one of those reblogging sprees where you fill in the answers and shit.
Here we go: What’s your dream job? Why do you want this job? What would you do at this job
Ideally I’d continue to work in media until I became bored with it. Then I’d like to open a bar with McGlynn somewhere in the city. It’ll be called Blakeley’s and have several beers on tap, kind of look like Spring Lounge and would be frequented by all sorts of media types.
I’d like to open a brothel - Madam Jolie has a nice ring, non?! - next door to Blakeley’s Bar (location, location, location, built in client base.)
I can totally picture it: Olde timey and girly and Victorian and just a touch macabre, all tricked out in crimson and hot pink velvet draperies and flocked wallpaper, with befringed settees and silken tuffets scattered about and smelling vaguely of roses. And I’d lovingly prepare baked goods every day for my girls and for my johns - lemon squares and petits fours and oh my goodness there would have to be tea sandwiches! - and offer free WiFi and really, really good bourbon! And this would be my uniform!
Now then. How do I make this happen?
Madam Jolie, my dearest, I would show in a three-piece suit and fedora, checking my gold pocket watch to insure a timely arrival (never keep a lady waiting). I would deeply inhale the rose-scented air, sighing with pleasure on exhale. I would sip bourbon and water while peering over my glasses at the fine women I am sure you’d hire (both sensual and rough, sophisticated, intelligent, yet able to “talk with the boys.”)
Yet, too shy to engage in carnal lust, I’d probably just take up space and scribble in my notebooks; maybe taking up residence like a modern-day, but failed writer, Mr. Robert Benchley.
Because I’m tired, haven’t slept, don’t feel like being at work, and don’t feel like doing anything while I’m stuck at work, I’ve resorted to doing something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but have never had a reason to (I still don’t, but, whatever): the number-to-city interpretation of Ludacris’s 2001 hit single “Area Codes.”
I’ve always hypothesized that Luda’ was clever enough to make each one of these references mean something, have some significance within the context and lyrics of the song, in addition to his candor in mentioning each specific code. Then again, the cynic would suggest the possibility of something much more arbitrary occurring, wherein, this rapper guy used said area codes as stepping blocks to get to the next line, with no significance at all. Here at YM Laboratories, we leave no Ludacris song unturned. Besides, how can you not enjoy a song with both AMG references, as well as the line “Read your whore-o-scope and eat some whore-derves/Ten on pump one/these hoes is self serve.” Come on: that’s funny. Misogynistic, but funny. So was Richard Pryor! If that upsets you, Nate Dogg’s silky smooth voice will make everything okay. This is a great song. Onward.
In order for this to work, I suggest you go to the video. It works better, that way.
770 and 404 - Atlanta, his hometown 718’s, 202’s - New York Outer Boroughs, Washington D.C. 901, 305 - Memphis, Miami 312, 313’s - Central Chicago, Detroit 215, 803 - Philly, Southern South Carolina 757, 410 - Norfolk, Virginia; Eastern Maryland 504, 972 - Eastern Louisiana (including New Orleans), Dallas 713 - Houston 314, 201 - St. Louis, Northern New Jersey 212, 213 - New York City, Downtown L.A. 916, 415, 704 - Sacramento, San Fransisco, Charlotte 206 - Seattle 808 - Hawaii 206, 702, 414 - Cleveland, Vegas, Milwaukee 317, 214, 281 - Metropolitan Indianapolis, Central Dallas, Houston 334, 205 - Southern Alabama, Northern Alabama 318, 601, 203 - Western Louisiana (Shreveport), Southern Miss, New Haven 804, 402, 301 - Richmond, Omaha, Western Maryland 904, 407, 850 - Jacksonville, Orlando, Northern Florida (panhandle) 708, 502 - Oak Brook, IL; Louisville, KY
Now, if you’ve listened to the song, you know he just kind of starts spitting out random numbers at the end. Are they, though? The “904, 407, 850” are all numbers in the same region of the country, as if to acknowledge their obscurity and the nature in which they belong together. Same with “334, 205” - he covers most of Alabama in one line. The pairing of Sacramento, Vegas, and Charlotte is a little arbitrary. So is Richmond, Omaha (Ludacris - you’ve been to Omaha?) and Western Maryland. The “shout out to everybody in the 808” is clearly him trying to send a message over the lengths of waters to Hawaii; count it as intentional. 212 and 213 is a pairing of the two major east-coast/west-coast cities in America: intentional. But Seattle? Houston gets mentioned twice in the song - what the fuck is up with all the love from Houston? Atlanta has way more area codes than just 770 and 404, I believe - why weren’t they in there? “901, matter fact, 305” translates to “Memphis, matter fact, Miami,” so I’ll count that one. Same with “312’s, 313’s (oh)” which is especially clever, as they’re major cities, close to each other, one number off from one another. Delightful! But the next line is Philly and Southern South Carolina - what the hell do those two places have in common?
In the end, I feel the burden of proof lies with skepticism - we have to trust Ludacris in that he knows what he’s connecting to these cities, even in the smallest of ways, as there seems to be enough evidence to prove that he was doing this with at least some of the lines. Anyway, I just heard the line “I’m the thriller in Manilla/Schlong in Hong Kong” again, and it made me laugh. My fucking god, is this a great song.
It takes me a week of not sleeping, eating terribly, chain smoking, and overthinking to write one of the more important assignments I’ve ever had.
After I turn it in, it takes me half an hour to write this. Some days, you just have to say to yourself, okay, fuck, fine: this is who I am. I will deal.
I remain unimpressed and uninterested until he gives a shout-out to the Bland ‘nilla, but sincerely and friendly 419 area code.
AlabamaSlamma: Those were pretty good even though, I think some of them were BS….
Me: Ye of little faith! :-) I’m so bored that I am getting a little excited about needing to go tinkle out this coffee soon….just for something to do :-(
AlabamaSlamma: Now that’s sad….hey i had a customer earlier, that was mad that E. put him on hold (the cust didnt know it was E.) for 3 minutes….he got transferred back to me, and our conversation went as follows:
C: What the hell, I just got put on hold for 3 mins
AlabamaSlamma: Im sorr——
C: and I dont like being put on hold
AlabamaSlamma: im so———-
C: and I tell you what if I find out who the Hell that guy is I am gonna pay him a visit at his home on Halloween
AlabamaSlamma: (holding back laughter) I’m am very sorry sir . How can I help you?
Me: Now that’s a little scary!Did you tell E. to get out of town on Hell-o-ween? Or at least to keep an eye out for a Douchebag dressed up like an Asshole??????
AlabamaSlamma: I know I thought is was pretty weird too….He made it a point to mention HALLOWEEN (:)) ( the most scariest day in the whole world )lol