Towne & Country

I'm sitting here and trying my damndest to find a more euphemistic word for "ignorance". Unawareness, maybe? I dunno. Ignorance just has so much negative connotation. Like you're calling someone "stupid". GOD, Karen (FYI, this is usually how I refer to stupid people. Ref., Mean Girls [Karen Smith: You wanna do something fun? Wanna go to Taco Bell? Regina George: I can't go to Taco Bell, I'm on a no-carb diet. GOD, Karen, you're so STUPID!]). I guess I'm going to have to settle for "unawareness".

Growing up in the city all my life has awarded me the prospect of being fundementally aware about a lot of things. People cheat, people lie, people steal, people kill. Welcome to the planet earth, year two-thousand-eight. That shit just goes down and half the human conciousness is in on it, sorry. People that live in the more "tucked away" areas of the world ( I'm not going to say 'sticks') aren't really perceptive about this reality and tend to freak the fuck out when the sunshine and rainbows fade away.

Enter: My new housemates. I love them to death, let's get that straight. They are genuinely kind people and I owe them the world for various reasons. But damn it if they need to get a little citified. They were born and raised in one of these tucked away areas I made reference to earlier and are just now for the first time experiencing life as City Folk. The traffic freaks them out, the absence of the bajillion stars you see at night in the country is bizzare and municipal garbage collection is a damn luxury. Don't even get me started on one-way streets.

Now, they introduce me to a bunch of things too- mostly things that us City Folk wouldn't have to fuck with because we'd just hire someone to do it. I know the names of so many random tools and equipment and parts of cars now. I'll never have to put any of this knowledge to practical use though, because I'm still gonna call a nigga if something goes wrong.

ANYWAY, let me get to the point of all this. SO, one of my housemates has a big expensive truck (stop laughin') with rims and all this stuff and for all intents and purposes has been parking it in the front yard (not really, there's a driveway there but the truck is so damn big that it disappears underneath it). The house is right on the street and a block away from a bus stop, so people are walking by all the time. Well, two nights ago it got broken into. Nothing was taken, but they fucked up the immobilization whatever-whatever and he had to go get his car fixed. They both think it was some gang-initiation thing but I personally think it was because we live on a busy street and the person didn't have time to steal the car and go unnoticed. It was probably just a really handy crack-head, anyway.

Why oh why did that have to happen though. These fools (God bless 'em) have purchased flood lights, security cameras and are getting these super, out-of-control security systems for their cars now. If you guys are reading this (And Tanner, I know yo' nosey ass probably is), I love y'all, but why not just buy a fourteen-foot high, iron security wall with razor wire and iris-scan entry? Hell, why not just buy a troupe of British guards to stand in front of the house.

COMEDY.

As I'm writing this, Tanner asks me "You think we're rediculous". I just shrugged and gave a dubious "you gotta do what you gotta do" type response. But yes, I think it's rediculous. I think it's the most rediculous and unecessary thing ever but I'm not gonna say that though because I don't wanna sound like a snobby, know-it-all urbanite.

Anyway, it's snowing. I'm going to go have some Merlot and Tequila. Together. I probably shouldn't, though. Wine loosens my tongue.

G'bye.

INTERRUPTION: WHILE I WAS WRITING THIS, TWO KIDS WALKED ONTO THE PROPERTY AND THEY FREAKED OUT. NEITHER ONE OF THEM WOULD SAY A THING TO THE KIDS, I HAD TO SPEAK UP. THEY WERE JUST LOOKING FOR THEIR DOG. THEY WERE NOT TRYING TO HOT-WIRE Y'ALL'S CARS.

“Croce, the world is ending…”

Pronounced, "KRO-cheh".

SORRY TO INTERRUPT THIS BLOG POST, BUT I JUST SAW A COMMERCIAL ON TV THAT SHOWED NICOLETTE AND I GETTIN' DOWN AT CANS.

INSANITY.

 

I am completely in love with Tanner's Pit Bull puppy, Crusis. You have no idea. It's almost to a Hand That Rocks the Cradle level. I do believe that I may steal him. I covet this dog. The dog's name is "Crusis" and I have no idea why. It was lifted directly from the latin phrase "Via Crusis" (way of the Cross) which is just a little pretentious to me since his owner speaks no Latin and isn't even religious. It's kind of like how people get japanese tattoos because of how they look. So the dog's name is pretty much Of The Cross, which is fine I guess. I call the dog "Croce" which is Italian for "cross". I used to call him "Nickles" because I thought his puppy breath smelled like a bag of freshly minted nickles… like I know what that smells like anyway.

The dog is absolutely beautiful. The color is called "blue" but it's really ash grey. They do all this stupid renaming for this breed of dog and it aggrivates me. Like, the males are called "Sires" and the bitches are called "Madames". Give me a break! Just say male and female, Christ Almighty. There's no logical reason for any of this- just to make the owners feel more important I guess. The dog could give two shits. One thing I do like is that the breed is actually called American Stradfordshire Terriers, and I'm sorry, but I prefer that over "Pit Bull". The other name speaks more for the ultimate origin of the breed.

 

SORRY TO INTERRUPT AGAIN, BUT HELICOPTERS AND SQUAD CARS HAVE JUST DESCENDED UPON THE HOME OF ONE BRITTNEY SPEARS TO SEQUESTER HER CHILDREN. I'M WATCHING IT LIVE ON EARLY TODAY ON NBC (THE ONE WITH THE PEACOCK). SERIOUSLY, HOW THE HELL DID IT GET THIS BAD? I HOPE SHE DOESN'T COMMIT SUICIDE. SHE NEEDS A HOME BIBLE STUDY. TANNER'S SNORING IS UNEARTHLY.

 

Ok, I'm not going to be able to focus long enough to talk about this dog. Long story short, I'm lovin' Crusis "Croce-Nickles" Putnam and I'm the one who taught him how to sit. Don't forget it.

I gotta discuss this Brittney Spears thing. They just put her in an ambulance because she was high on something (and judging from her recent late night escapades in random gas station bathrooms, I'm sure we can guess what THAT was…) and whisked her kids away to the Federline residence. Y'ALL, SERIOUSLY. What's happened!? Has the world just gone nuts? Am I prepared to live in a world where Kevin Federline is deemed the responsible, sober parent? Lindsay Lohan has just "slipped" off the sobriety wagon and they announced this on the news too. Keep in mind, I'm not watching E!, I'm watching the regular-ass news. What is wrong with Hollywood? I think they should just shut it down for utter and complete rehabilitation. All the writers are on strike anyway. People are losing their ever loving minds. Obama and Huckabeye (??) just won Illinois (I guess) and… Chuck Norris is in the background for some reason. A Tiger escaped the zoo and killed someone. This woman had her little girl say her dad got killed in Iraq, and she got Hannah Montana tickets for it. It was a lie, and her mom should be promptly shot and hung by the toenails. I think I'm actually living in a movie that's happening around me. None of this can be real.

I have this bump on the inside of my lip. And no, it ain't herpes, so shut the fuck up first of all. Secondly, there's no way I can have that unless it stayed dormant for a long long long LONG ass time. I actually can't believe I just disclosed any of that.

Why am I still up? I need to go to bed, but I'm not really enjoying my room right now because Crusis peed in there like, 3 days ago and I still can't find it. Smells kind of suspect in there. I'm just gonna pass out on my couch I think… I'm gonna steal Crusis first. He's like having a live teddy bear (no homo) with really stank ass breath.

 

G'nite.

Goodbye Southend (?)

You know the saying "things happen for a reason"? Well, I for one hate that saying. It just sounds like one of those things people mindlessly spurt when they can't think of anything better to say. These are incidentally the same people who cause on-looker delay, who just happen to be the exact same people who rush to the nearest Harris Teeter to buy up all the milk and bread as soon as the weather guy even hints at snow. People irk the hell out of me.

I've digressed.

So, last month I accompanied Tanner and Vincent on their quest for a house here in the Queen City (No, not Chicago… I'm talking about the Queen City actually named after a Queen; Charlotte, NC.) We visited several corners of the city and that trip in itself should have probably been a blog entry because it was so funny to me. Tanner and Vincent hail from Smalltown, USA and know very little about the ghettos and hoods found around these parts. So whenever they'd find "deals" on the West Side, I'd have to be the one to tell them that unless they were fully prepared to invest in some dank ass home security, then this probably wouldn't be wise. At any rate, the more we scoured the ville for an appropriate place to live, the more I kept seeing places that I myself would like to inhabit. Tanner, in his obvious reasoning, persisted in reminding me that I already had a roomate and couldn't just ditch him. Nigga, I know that. Even though, the move would probably have gone unnoticed by Claybo. That fool ain't ever home. I'd estimate that in the eight or so months that he's lived with me, that a collective three months has probably been spent elsewhere. I'm not even exaggerating. Some of my friends still haven't even seen him and some people even refer to him as my "roomate"… with the air quotes and everything. Nevertheless, my current living situation notwithstanding, I started to seriously consider breaking some kind of news to Claybo about me wanting to move out. The transition would go rather smoothly too, I would think, since it's the beginning of the year and all. Neither Tanner or Vincent were opposed to the idea and after a couple of days I think we all started to visualize each other as new roomates. Awww.

Cut to today.

So, I'm sittin' on the couch trying my damnedest to get this stupid wireless connection to work (LuLu net, whoever you may be, you need a stronger antennae. I lose your signal all the time and it takes forever to get it back. Jumpstart-P1-e227fd, fuck you.) since I'm so above paying for internet service anyway, ( Go on, judge me, say what you want, but Time Warner isn't getting anymore of my $60 a month for this. I'm about to get back in touch with my other cable guy soon anyway… but that's off the record. A black man stealing cable? I love perpetuating stereotypes) and my roomate walks through the door. OH, I forgot to tell you, he was gone for like, two weeks this time over the holidays and I gave up trying to guess when he'd come back. Anyway, he comes in and tells me that due to certain financial tribulations, he'd have to move out next month.

Say what?

I mean, I think it's a sign from above. I'm supposed to move out. Seriously, look at the circumstances:

• Tanner and Vincent are looking for a third roomate
  
• The people at Marsh Properties hate me and want me gone anyway
  
• I start working again tomorrow (I think)
  
• My roomate is moving back home for a while
  
• I've already been taking care of Tanner's dog (Crusis… whom I personally refer to as "Nickles" and "Croce" [kroh-cheh]), even taught the little son-of-a-bitch how to sit! I love that dog so damn much, you don't even know.
  
• And on top of that, I've actually gotten enough reasons to make a legit bulleted list about it. Can you believe that shit? I'm such a dork.
  

It's like God is saying "Dude, I'm lining this shit up for you. Just do it." There's really only one snag in all of this: I love where I live. Not really the actual apartment. The apartment itself gets on my nerves; busted heat, small, ancient stove, NO DISHWASHER, I repeat, NO DISHWASHER. That no dishwasher bullshit has been at the crux of my dislike for this place. I swear, as God is my witness I'll never go dishwasherless again. That shit is insanely annoying. It's even past the point of not washing dishes because you feel lazy about it. It's the principal of the whole thing. This is the mother fucking United States of America in the year 2008. Why the hell doesn't this place have a dishwasher? Digression… umm… YEAH. I really like the area. It's so close to cool stuff and it's right on the LYNX Lightrail line. That's on some straight up convenience type shit right tharr. The small glimmer of hope that I've forseen is Tanner and Vince (I make them sound like a gay couple, don't I?) getting a place in this neighbourhood, which isn't all that impossible. We'd have to start working on it now, though.

I'll keep you all abrest of things as they develop. Right now, I'm going to go into my living room and try, for the 6^th time, to clean house. I need to post this too… so LuLu net, don't play with me.

So it's 2008...

...and I’ve started yet another blog. I know y’all are just sick of my ass, too. I’ve had a Xanga, a Livejournal, three other random blogs, one on Myspace and now this one. I mean, if I were you I would be like “Nigga, sit down somewhere… and get a job…” Does anyone even remember what a Xanga is? You could make it all fancy I think and that’s probably why I liked it. I’ve recently rediscovered behaviour enhancing pharmacuticals too (Ritalin, Adderall, whatever the hell else they make), and call it a mild addiction if you must, but that stuff gets me on the straight up creativity point for real. The simple fact that I’m writing this right now without being on one of them just seems downright futile to me. I’m not gonna be nearly as witty or on-top-of-my-game as I would be with it—but then, maybe I never was in the first place.

Naw, I’m always witty.

So, let’s talk about social groups in this fine city for a moment. I’m probably gonna catch some heat (or an elbow, whichever comes first) for saying some of this because I’m about to talk mad shit about certain groups of people and I actually have friends in all these groups. It’s ok, I’m gonna append myself to some of these groups so, uhh, speculatively I’ll be talking shit about myself too. Had it not been for my best friend, this topic would never have even crossed my mind. Ever since he joined the marines he’s had this perpetual enlightenment thing going on and it still amazes me. He will come damn near out of nowhere dropping straight knowledge on top of my head and I have to admit that it really intrigues me, even now. At first I thought it was just a Greasers vs. Soc’s type thing, but it goes oh-so-much deeper than that.

Yeah, so what. I made a fucking Venn diagram. It helps me to oganize my thoughts and better illustrate the points I’m about to make. Plus, sometimes I secretly wish I was still in school because if I were I’d so be Valedictorian or something right now. Partly due to the fact that I’ve rediscovered those behaviour enhancing pharmaceuticals, but never you mind about all of that. Just pay attention.

So I know what you guys are thinking right now. How in the HELL did I come up with the classifications I came up with? Well, when you get down to the fundementals of class distinction in this city, this is what you get—when we talk about night life, anyway. I KNOW, I KNOW, there isn’t a “minorities” circle. Well, for those of you who don’t know, I am a minority and I can safely say that we would definitely need our own Venn for these intents and purposes. So again, shuttup and pay attention:

The Elites

They shop at Southpark Mall, especially since the overhaul which brought about such rich-white-folk-essentials as Nieman Markus and Nordstrom. They go to parties that aren’t ever really even called parties; galas, social events, balls, etc… they wouldn’t be caught dead at “the club” (unless it’s preceeded by the word ‘country’) but instead frequent über-classy lounges and bars tucked neatly away from the prying eyes of the general public inside high rise office buildings in the heart of uptown. Yeah man, there’s a reason you didn’t know those places existed.

The Rednecks

Now, don’t get me wrong. The term “Redneck” in the sense that I’m using it is an all-encompassing word that I employ to describe ruralized, working class southerners who are really into Nascar, PBR and Country Music. All Rednecks are not PWTs (Poor, White… you know), but unfortunately most PWTs in this area are in fact Rednecks. SORRY. They shop at Westfield Mall in Gastonia or Concord Mills from what I’ve seen. They go to house parties and lake parties that are usually extremely fun and laid back. A fight will probably break out at some point, but it’s ok. Everyone’s prepared for it. You’ll see them mostly at bars like Buckwild, T-Bones or the unfortunately named “Knothole” in on Lake Wylie… or at Carowinds on any given day during the summer months. I don’t even need to mention Coyote Joes; that shit’s a given.

The Normals

Just kind of… there. Their presence goes all but completely ignored as far as the nightlife is concerned. Generally good people not even out to impress anyone; just there to have a good time. They do THEMSELVES. They shop at all the normal malls like Northlake and Carolina Place. As long as theres an American Eagle or an Abercrombie and Fitch, it’s all good. Now, one might think that such an unnoticed group would just be a bunch of wannabes. No, this is not the case. Normals don’t want to be anything but themselves and arern’t really concerned what anyone else thinks about them. We’ll get to the wannabes in a second, though…

Now, the observant reader has no doubt noticed the areas between the Venn circles where new colours appear. These are the areas of highest interest to me. So, what do you get when you mix blue (elites) and yellow (rednecks)?

Smarmy Southern Frat Boys

With their Croakies and Sperrys and Vinyard Vines shirts, the Smarmy Southern Frat Boy (And their female equivalents, the Daddy’s Little Beer Drinkin’ Debutantes with their Vera Bradley purses and frocks) make up a pretty large percentage of the Charlotte nightlife. Like their slightly bluer elitist cousins, you won’t find them at the normal club but they will be all up in Cans, Buckhead and at one point in time Grand Central (But Cans took care of that). During the week, though, they’re more easily found beer-pongin’ it up closer to their respective universities. They chew dip, drink PBR and like off-roadin’… but they also play golf, go to steeple chases and belong to the country club. They’ve been described to me as “expensive white trash” (EWT?) but I’m careful not to use that terminology myself as I have a lot of friends who fall into this category. I mean, my roomate falls into this category. They’re fun to hang out with as long as the alcohol keeps flowing.

Note: They like to drink a lot. I mean, A LOT. Be careful not to let them mix dark and light licqueur. Fights will ensue.

Ok art class, what happens when we mix blue (elites) and red (normals)? We get…

Club Hoppin’ Glamouratti

Remember how we talked about wannabes earlier? Well, not everyone in this category is a wannabe, but an approximate fourth of them are. New Money Elites fall into this category too. It does not matter what day it is, whatever club is having college night is where you’ll find this group. The reason for this is, there are so many of them in Charlotte that the group has traversed age boundaries. They shop at pretty much every mall. They feed off of MTV culture and are all about some Affliction, Famous or anything else with random crosses, skulls and baroque motifs scattered all over. Oh, and hair gel. They use lots and lots of hair gel. The preferred hairstyle is one that brings to mind the condition of someone who decided it would be a good idea to stick a fork in an electrical outlet. Spikey and up. The girls wear little more than just scraps of fabric that leave little to the imagination. They’re really tan too, and have long blond hair. The CHG is a forced to be reckoned with here in Charlotte. They dictate everything that happens here in Charlotte just because there’s so damn many of them. Alleycat, Bar Charlotte, Forum, and certain areas of Cans are where you’ll find these kids. Very fun to hang out with, and generally very friendly.

Note: Generally despised by the SSFBs.

Now the last group isn’t one I’ve seen a lot of, but they still exist. The combination of red (normals) and yellow (rednecks) gives us something that’s increasingly more difficult to find around here:

Normal Southerners

It’s a running joke here in Charlotte that no one from Charlotte is actually from Charlotte. It’s true as a mother fucker too. I don’t know what happened to all these people. I think as the influences from up north, out west and Florida (which is technically the south, but so totally not the south) encroached upon this lil’ southern town, they all packed up and moved to the outskirts. From what I’ve seen, they’re extremely charming, nice, religious and really don’t go out that much. From what I’ve seen, there really aren’t even any in my age group. They’re all older and married with kids in middle school. I guess you’ll see them if you go to like, TGIFridays, or something.

I think I’m gonna send this to like, Carolina Nightlife or one of those sites. I think it would serve them well to use my Venn to vet their patrons. I would trip out if I saw my diagram up in a bar somewhere.