Bryckcity's Xanga

Fresh Breakfast

Tue, 21 Aug 2007 20:50:20 GMT

Alrite yall, I got me a new Wordpress blog where I talk a lil bit more serious talk... at least for now, until my impulses take over:

www.freshbreakfast.com

Comment, or else I strangle a kitten. Slowly. A cute one too.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Sun, 22 Jul 2007 09:44:34 GMT

You know, I recently found myself looking back at my history of love lost, love gained, love unrequited, and love confused. Now, ain't no one gonna mistake me for a Korean Brad Pitt, that's for damn sure. But I've had my opportunities. And I've often found myself blowing off chances that would have any straight guy pondering, what if. Not a lot -- I ain't no Mahi Mahi in this overcrowded sea -- but a few.

The excuses were always convenient. But my favorite one was, "I'm commitment-phobic." That was always the sexy one. It's the excuse of seed-spreading players. Its what the cool kids say. It's the dinosaur-print bandaid that covered an assortment of insecurities and shortcomings.

And, now that I've found my Chilean Sea Bass, I can reflect with a bit of disjointed disinterest. It wasn't that I was "commitment-phobic"; the nerve of a dude like me saying something like that.

It was this: My foolhardy ambition, smoldered with a youthful sense of entitlement, strove for a girl that represented a perfection I could never be. My desires represented the shortcoming of my overzealous ambitions. She had to be perfect, in every way possible.

Of course, that mentality only sets you up for failure. Because perfection can only serve be an abstract, sterilized baseline. To find love, I had to realize this: It's just the right combination of imperfections, that makes her......

Beautiful.

So in the words of RA from Common Market:
You lucky just to have just one /
So if you have one, love one.

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I know, I know, cheesy as fuck. I like cheese, bitches.

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Its the Return:

Jason: Sandra Oh is so ugly, even I wouldn't tap that.

David: Daaaaayaaaam!!! Now you're just being mean.

Don't call it a comeback...

Thu, 22 Feb 2007 06:31:39 GMT

... not cuz I've always been around. More cuz I distrust my own discipline. When it comes to writing blogs, I'm the thief in the night.... on the sun. Fancy metaphor parsed... I'm a lazy blogger. Shame on me, I know, I know.

Anyhow, I think I'm going to start a separate music blog sometime soon.

Today, I was supposed to have met a guy I really admire, Oliver Wang. If you've read really any music publication in the past 12 years, you've probably witnessed his craftsmanship. He's one of the few music writers out there that has really any sort of authority on hip-hop, culture, whatever. In a word, his writing is thoughtful, when most music writers, myself included, crutch themselves with highly stylized, irreverent attitude and irony to compensate for our collective inabilities. After all, the music says it best. Oliver Wang, at times, comes close.

So he's looking for a venue to do a soul-sides monthly, and I emailed him to give him a tour of MusicPlusTV's studios (which is, by the way, my new employer). Mostly, I just wanted to meet the guy. To my surprise, he accepted. But alas, his daughter is sick, so he canceled. That's okay though, I;ll meet him one day even if by seeing him in court during my restraining order proceedings. haha, just kidding, I don't try to be slurping like that.

So the whole point of this whole frikken pointless entry is to introduce Nas' new video for "Can't Forget About You", which I came upon reading O-Dub's blog, www.soul-sides.com . And if you like hip-hop, soul, funk and all that good stuff, you should read it too.

I be watching a LOT of music videos on my job, 99 percent of which is generic piece of marketing toolnicity. This one, though, is sublime. Nothing groundbreaking, really, but it serves as a classy platter to an absolutely delicious piece of Nas' reminiscent soul. Yummy.

Order, orbitals, beauty.... flatulance

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 05:40:18 GMT

There are billions upon billions of galaxies in the known universe, and billions upon billions of stars, planets, asteroid belts, and god knows what else in each one of those galaxies. This is how we conceive of our universe.

But really, most of this universe is empty spaces interrupted mostly by massive gaseous masses. It is the push and pull, the starts and stops, of countless gaseous masses that interact, negotiate, birth the epic stews of galaxies. The world we know, but a chipped grain of sand in this impossibly infinite ocean. Order in fits and spurts, before entropy dissolves it all back to gas, from whence it came. That is, the beauty, the pain, the tragedy of all that is physically known.

Today, amidst a delicate swirling wind, Eugene and I released synchronized, epic level farts. In the split second events that ensued, we witnessed the most fundamental essence of the meaning of the word, ”microcosm”.

And we laughed the laugh of Gods.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Tue, 04 Jul 2006 10:12:26 GMT

THE JASON AND DAVID VARIETY SHOW...

...presented commercial free by the good folks at Anheuser-Busch Incorporated. Don't let your parents and schools fool you.... drinking is not only good, clean wholesome fun. It's downright patriotic.

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Jason: Yo, you ever heard of El Taurino?

David: Yeah dude. I won a couple of gold medals there, mang. Didn't you read about it in the news?

Jason: I'm talking about the restaurant, not the Winter Olympic, fool.

David: Oh. Umm, I guess no then.

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Jason: Yo, have you ever heard of "A Thousand Cranes"?

David: Fool! I only mastered that technique like a thousand years ago!

(David then proceeds -- rather enthusiastically -- to break out a series of poses and manuveurs that resemble a paralyzed Karate Kid strung out on an assortment of uppers. HIIII-YAA!!! He finishes this display with a fist-clenched, arms-shaking pose, his eyes burning with the spirit of a ADHD tiger)

<awkward silence>

Jason: Umm, I was talking about the restaurant.

David: Oh. <he straightens out and puts his hands back in his pockets> Nah, never heard.

*****************************************************

Jason: Now that I have health insurance, I feel like I can finally live my life.

David: Umm, why?

Jason: Cuz now I don't have to fear getting my ass kicked. I can be who I want to be... nay, who I NEED to be. I'm freeeeeeeeeee!!!

David: Umm, maybe you should purchase some fire arms.

Jason: Don't need it. I roll with Blue Cross PPO now. BLUE CROSS!!! WHAT, WHAT!!!!

***********************************************************

Jason <trying to make fun of me>: You are HIDING DIX-MEX-KITS!

(What Jason was trying to say: You are HIGHLY DYSLEXIC)

The irony is what killed me.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jason and David names are to boring. I think I'm going to give em some sorta larger than life, bizarre, superhero type names next time around. what yall think? all 7 of you?

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Some random thoughts on some random rappers...

It seemed like everyone was asking me my opinion about Gnarls Barkley, as if I'm some sort of expert that would legitimize their own opinion. Well, I am, so keep asking me. I like both dangermouse and ceelo. I think they're both crazy enough to seismic shift the fuckin landscape, individually. They're both too capricious, experimental and true to their music to stay as a unit too long, I suspect. And its a trip that the dude that did the grey album, and dude that is the soul machine, would blow up. I feel like them blowing up is a fluke; one of those rare instances where something genuine somehow just catches fire. And in the end, it will be another blip that won't really change anything.

Daaaah well, at least some of em make it.

Go check out Ceelo's Soul Machine album, if you haven't already. Slept on classic, in my opinion. And dangermouse's beats on dangerdoom cd is straight funktified fire, I mean, really revolutionary stuff. Too bad they were wasted on MF Doom.

Speaking of fools blowing up, watch for Lupe Fiasco. He guested on track 3, Kayne. I guess everyone already knows he's gonna blow up, and good for him. I like him a lot. You're not going to find too many skilled MCs on the radio, but this guy is just to much skills. Just overflowing with ridiculous technique, in my opinion. Complex rhyme structures, never ending metaphors. And oh so poetic. Dude is black-belt, nerdy/intellectual, black muslim skater from the ghetto who's into Japanese anime. Dude gots so much cross-over appeal, I wouldn't be surprised if some extinct species resurrect to bop they heads everytime a Lupe single drops. It's just that crazy, yall.

Jay-Z calls him a "breath of fresh air". If you're bored enough, check this interview. How many rappers you know talk like that? Humble dude, intellectual, thoughtful, honest. Don't get me wrong, I love how emcees sometimes be wylin out with their overheated lyrical imaginations and all, but how often you see this?.....

http://www.contactmusic.com/new/home.nsf/webpages/lupefiascox27x06x06

Anyways, if he doesn't blow up, daaah well, some of em don't make it.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Mon, 26 Jun 2006 09:48:11 GMT

The Scandalous Adventures of Bryckcity and His Faithful Wingman, Mini-me...

I smoked some herbs today on the way to the Norfridge mall. Sunday, but there was a strange electricity in the air today, made me unusually hyped and not-depressed. Carpe diem, I thought, carpe diem. And so, I smoked.

I had to buy me some wife beaters, and I remembered Anchor Blue had them nice thick, strechy, soft ones, from the days of my youf. These days, not so thick, stretchy and soft no more, but that's besides the point. As I was shopping, this super cute employee was pleasantly eager to assist in my shopping experience. Goddamn, she was super cute. The type you do a double take on to confirm her cuteness.... verdict::: affirmative.

And you know, I sensed she might have been kinda flirting, but this whole "low self esteem" thing, it talks to me. I mean, literally, it talks to me. One time, my self esteem, who I like to call "Mini-me", warned me that if enough cute girls hit on me in the same day, the laws of thermodynamics would crumble. Apparently, (according to Mini-me, Ph.D), the concept of attraction as applied to my physicality goes against the mathematical premise by which space and time exists. And me being the type to respect the nature of reality, I stay on the humble, responsibly so. You should thank me, really.

But by the time I had to purchase the damn thing, she ran right up to the register. I didn't think much of it -- it wasn't helping that Mini-me was pointing and laughing in my face. But once she looked at my drivers license, boom!, her big eyes lit up and she went off about how much she loves the Korean language, Korean food, Korean culture, Korean everything. She told me, super excited, how she was taking Korean 1 at her college. How she was minoring in all things Korean related. Korean, korean, korean, etc, etc, etc.

So despite the whole self esteem thing, I thought maybe she was trying to suggest something, but the herbs took over and stilted me skeptic. If I was smooth, I would have said something charmingly retarded, like, ... "so, how about Korean guys?"... then flash a devilish, come-hither smile as I leaned forward with advancing, oozing, fermenting sexuality. I actually thought about doing it, for a second, at least for the sake of humor. But then the next second, I plain forgot.

Instead, I made small talk. She was vietnamese. She couldn't explain why she loved everything Korean. Korean, Korean, Korean, etc, etc, etc. Our transaction was finished. She wished me a lovely day. She smiled an incredibly sexy smile. I walked away trying to look cool, but I was actually dazed and confused. Goddamn, she was super cute.

And as I walked aimlessly around the mall, I couldn't get that Afroman song out my head...

"... Becuz I got high, becuz I got high, becuz I got hiiiiiigh.... Duh-duh, duh, duh, duh duh..."

Carpe Diem, mang, Carpe Diem... next weekend.

***************************************************

I might have made that story up. I might have not. Who am I?

hey, but isn't it funny though how some asians have a sort of Korean fetish? To me, its like Mcdonalds -- I'm loving it, but what the fuck is it made of? Do I even want to know?

Huh?

*********************************************************

I hope you don't read this as some sort of anti-herb parable. Cuz that would just be tragic.

**********************************************************

edit: Bryckcity is a fictional character

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Jason Quote of the Week:

"When I become a big baller, I'm going to buy a pimp ass, brand spankin new Lamborghini....

... and then I'm going to stick a thousand bumper stickers all over it. And don't think I won't do it either, bitches, cuz I'm dead serious!"

(Jason then maniacally laughs at the thought, which was the main funny part of the quote... Look, you just had to be there, okay?)

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Tue, 06 Jun 2006 08:01:27 GMT

World Sup 2006

Wud up world. Been a minute.

Lots has happened since. Lots hasn't. But I'm not here to write about that. I'm here to babble some retarded, irrational, meaningless fiction on that ass. Fuck a spell check.

Welcome back, world.

*************************************************

Bobby Villa, Son

It was sunday, and since I been doing that 40-hour-week thing, sunday always feels like the day I gotta do dem errands. I won't be needing anything, per se, but if there's one day I jump on the sale on the Charmin for the purposes of "stocking up", it would be a sunday.

God rests on sunday. I stock up on toilet paper. Long way to go, I guess.

Anyways, I was driving past Home Depot, and I thought, why the fuck not, so I swerved that lefty, parked, and found myself with one them big orange cart things, ready to get my bob villa on. See, I moved out the parental house like bout 3 months ago, and I had been feeling real adult like as of late. All them unadorned sqaures of spaces in my cheap ass apartment looked sad to me; the furnishings of a broke juvenile, from whence I came. I was thinking like a spice rack here, some weather stripping there, a shelf for house plants over there like, and so on. Didn't have no shopping list or nothing, but I figured grown men like me figure it out when they see the inventory.

Straight up, I was starting to fit into my oversized, overimagined, "grown man" repertoire. Grown ass men, they go to home depot. They fill them carts up, go home, and home improve all up on that american dream. that's how they do it on commercials. I be 24 and paying my own rent, paying my own insurance, worrying about suddenly relevant concerns like "personal fiscal responsibility". I was becoming the stuff of Home Depot commercials, mang, this was a rite of passage, and I was ready, mang.

The gigantic, towering ailes, they were lovely. Light fixtures, fertilizers, lumber, lawn chairs, rows and rows of paints cans. The joint just straight up smells like grown man business, nahm sayin? You better believe I was walking with my shoulders cocked back, head raised, like, "yeah, what up grown folks, yall my peers now. Bitches." I walked around for a good hour, just browsing that shit and grunting that knowing grunt.

Finally, I rolled up on that cash register. The receipt printed this:

"Home Depot

4 pack batteries, $.99.

Total, $1.07

Thanks for shopping at Home Depot. Come back when you're grown, son."

I even had to put away that big orange cart thing before I got to the register, to save the embarrasment of laying a 10 ounce pack of triple A batteries on a serious steel contraption made for the stress of tonnages and such. Although, for a second, I considered doing just that, for humor's sake. But grown folk don't laugh at that shit.

Well, I thought it woulda been funny tho. Long way to go, I guess.

Fuck it, I'll grow up tommorow.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Wed, 11 Jan 2006 05:40:27 GMT

Bryckcity is Manly Man, Raaawwrrr!

I'm usually the first to question a dude's masculinity for listening to too much R n B. In fact, I'll question a chick's masculinity too if they listen to too much R n B. My guilty pleasure is Cam'ron, Ludacriss and maaaaybe a lil Akon. Maybe. That should tell you something.

But, I have to admit, I kinda like that Beyonce song all up on the radio right now. Check it twork it, dip it, pop it. She got a little nice infectious rhythym going there. Cam'ron, watch out.

It makes me feel sexy. Makes me feel like the prettiest girl in the dance. Makes me want to switch them hips, bat my eyelashes, and lick the lips. As I'm thinking about that song typing this, I'm checking out www.shop.com for the latest Gucci pumps. What the fuck!

She's got powers, that Beyonce, she's got powers.

*****************************************************

David Quote of the week:

Jason: Goddamit David, stop fuckin trippin, she naaaaasty. What do you see in her?

David: I dunno. She's got that certain, buck-toof, cross-eyed, down syndrome appeal to her, nahm sayin?

Jason: ....... Nope.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Tue, 27 Dec 2005 00:13:20 GMT

Christmas and Homelessness Goes Together Like You and Self-respect

Merry Christmas to all... and to all, I'm gonna jack your presents. VERY Merry Chritmas for me, bitches. Don't need to wish me nothing, fool. Just your doors unlocked.

I watched this documentary called "Dark Days" the other day. I had heard about the movie because DJ Shadow does the music for it. I figured anything DJ Shadow signs off on must be alrite.

Point being, watch the motherfuckin movie; its good. It's about homeless people, starring crackies, taggers, rats, filth and disease. Now, by those keywords right there, you've probably made a whole bunch of assumptions and stereotypes. I did too. And then I watched the movie, and it done annialated dem thoughts. If after you watch the movie, you think you're better than the homeless you see on the streets, well, then, I'm going to smack you.

Speaking of socioeconomics and what not, I gots a Christmas story for you:

Sometimes, I like to convince myself that I'm a regular baller. Now, if you look at the numbers, my family should safely qualify for middle class status. I went to motherfuckin stansberry, bitches. In fact, I think I qualily to be a fully licensed, card-carrying yuppie, but I haven't gotten around to fillling out the app. I went to stansberry, bitches, certified. I'm not gonna say I look good in an argyle sweater, but it does go well with my newfound pedantic, know-it-all snobbery. I shop at Nordstrom's now, bitches. Well, not really, but i COULD if I wanted, better believe it. Behind the ruff, rugged, and baggy (and while w'ere at it, good-looking) exterior, lies a well-mannered, young professional itchin to buy some buttoned shirts and chic shades.

Such is the transformation that accompanies the immigrant's kid trek up the status ladder. Like a fool, I expected a pimp ass Christmas present. My parents hadn't bought me a birthday or Christmas present since I was 9, but this year was going to be different. My parents said I better buy them a nice present, because they had already bought something nice for me. I thought, wow, its like a real Christmas at Bryckcity's, minus the tree the lights and all that stupid stuff.

So I bought them something nice. Fuckin parentals never get out the house, so I got em some LA Philharmonic tics, for Mahler 9nth. Yeah, they were the cheapest tickets available, but after the ticketmaster fees and rush delivery and all that crap, ended up burning like a hundred bones. On top of that, I got em Pierre Boulez's recording of Mahler's ninth. All together now, that costed about a buck 20 for the parentals. Aint a thang though, cuz I'm movin on up.

Night before Christmas, my parents remind me to wake up early, so we can exchange gifts. Now, I'm getting super excited. The world is filled with all types of products, and tomorrow, one of them's was going to be mine. Maybe a pimp ass watch? A system for my car? a New computer? All things they knew I wanted. Could've been anything, really. I'm actually getting kinda self-conscious about my gift to them; maybe I should've opted for the second cheapest tics instead.

Turns out, they got me two products. Drumroll please.....

1.) Pajama bottoms from Old Navy, light blue with prints of terrier dogs and Christmas ornaments. They forgot to take off the clearance tags. Used to be $9.99. It was on sale for $4.99.

Best worn by middle aged fat women with low self esteem.

2.) A pair of gloves, also from the Old Navy clearance bin. For "when you go skiing", my moms said.

I never go skiing.

Now, I'm not gonna sit here and cry like I did when I was 9 and my parents got me deodorant and shaving cream for Christmas (I didnt shave until I was 15). Cuz if I had cried, then they wouldn't buy me anything for Christmas or birthday, for as long as they felt it took me to appreciate their presents. And once I learned my lesson, they would get me X-mas themed pajama bottoms and snow gloves.

Besides, I'm a big kid now. I couldn't help but laugh. You can take the parents out the third world ghetto, but you don't take the thirld world ghetto out the parents. That's real talk, bitches, recognize.

To top it off, the parentals were a lil pissed I had spent so much money on them. A hundred 20.

Fuck it though, I agree. Ain't no need to be showing off, my ego's already impossibly swollen as is. You can take the kid to stansberry, but you can't take the stansberry to your credit. Or something like that.

And so reality done smacked me with a check-baby, check-baby, 1,2. But you know what? It's all to the good.. I hate yuppies.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Sat, 08 Oct 2005 07:49:25 GMT

Man, why can't I just be rich.

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David Quote of the Since Whenever his last one Was:

(as we're discussing the Hack Theory -- that is, the scientifically supported notion that all girls will eventually give in to dogged persistence and determination, no matter how ugly they initially think the dude is)

David: Maaaaan, I don't get the Hack Theory. I'm more of the one critical strike blow type. BAM!!! Right to the head, straight cripple the bitch before she knows what happened, and next thing you know, we're in love.