LOL! Kanye and 88-Keys star in “Horny Old Men.”
This is a great song from 88-Keys’ The Death of Adam. The rest of the album sounds just as good as this track, so be sure to check it out.
Enjoy!
D
As much as I don’t want to like anything they offer (Did you see/hear that “Drink in My Cup” nonsense? Kelis wept.), here’s The Dream’s latest discovery Electrik Red with “So Good.”
I have to give it to them, they have a nice one with this song/video. I mean sure, they’re biting that mid-80s Prince/Vanity/Apollonia 6/Jam & Lewis sound pretty friggin’ hard, but it works here. A nice, cute little spring/early summer jam that almost makes me want to hear what their album might sound like (the keyword in that sentence being almost).
Let’s see what they do next.
D
You see that picture right there? The one on the left? Yeah, that one. I HATE IT!
I hate snow in general (this particular photo is from a day that snow held up my travel plans for hours), but I especially hate snow when it does nothing for me. Unfortunately, today reminded me of this fact.
Let’s go back a little to Sunday afternoon. I’m chilling in my room–enjoying my little self-imposed exile from the world–when I get a IM from my friend Tobes asking me how bad the snow is here. “What snow?” I ask, being that I don’t have a television and haven’t heard about the fast approaching “snow-mageddon” aimed directly at my beloved city. Then, I surf my way over to Weather.com and check the forecast. Sure enough, the meteorologists are predicting that we’ll receive 6-14 inches of snow.
Now, for those reading this that know me, you know how I feel about snow (and those that don’t can kinda infer from the title). But here’s a crash course for the uninitiated: I, Donte M. Gibson, hate snow with a passion only rivaled by Lil’ Kim’s passion for plastic surgery and skanky-ass clothing. I hate everything about snow, including the sound it makes when you step on it (it makes me clench my teeth in aggravation). 
I only find snow excusable in the following situations: a) it shuts down the city and cancels me having to go to work; b) it shuts down the city and cancels me having to go to school; c) it shuts down the city and causes me to have to stay home doing whatever the hell I feel like all day. Any other situation it causes elicits the (sexy, yet still aggravated) expression that you see to your right.
Now, back to today. It did indeed snow and snowed quite a bit. I was anxious, silently hoping that this snow would actually prove useful after all. The news sites said that NYC schools would be closed for the day at six a.m., so I bided my time until eight, knowing that if our receptionist didn’t answer I’d be home free. Well, eight came and I’ll be damned if she didn’t answer (and I’ll be damned if I didn’t say something stronger than “damn” when I hung up the phone).
I grudgingly put on my clothes for work, slapping myself for not investing in snow boots (though, the ones I found in my size were exorbitantly expensive. I swear I’m suing the shoe industry one of these days). And then marched out into the cold, white streets. An hour-and-a-half long commute later, I was at my desk while most of the office had called out for the day.
This has always been my relationship with snow up here. Whether it’s holding up my flights for hours or causing me to slip and bust my ass on Valentine’s Day of ‘07, me and snow just don’t get along.
The moral of this story kids? I. HATE. SNOW.
D
Yo Scooter! I mean Russell. Forgot we couldn’t call you that any more. It’s been way too long since I saw you last, man. I mean, it’s been years. I had your number saved in my old phone, but you know I’m my mother’s child when it comes to staying in touch. Still, it’s always good to see you. I was actually just thinking about you.
You remember that first family reunion? Someone thought it would be a good idea for us all to get trailers for the weekend and sleep in the middle of the wilderness. I don’t know why, though. I mean, you might be used to the country lifetstyle, but I’m from the city. I don’t do that “great outdoors” crap. Still, I would’ve been fine with the whole thing, except for the fact that I had an overactive imagination and a love for horror movies…namely Friday the 13th. You, Joe and Roderick found that hilarious. So, on our first night there, as I lay in my uncomfortable bunk by the foil-covered window, I heard this weird rustling sound outside. I looked up and at the very moment and–as if perfectly choreographed–a hand burst through the foil, scaring the hell out of me. Meanwhile, you guys are outside laughing your butts off. And though I needed to check my underwear at that moment, I couldn’t help but laugh with you guys.
When we were eighteen, I saw you for the first time in a long time. Except, it wasn’t the same ol’ Scooter that I knew. Though this guy still barely stood at five feet tall, he had bleached his hair platinum blonde and collected a small army of piercings. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you. But you were still that mischievous kid that I remembered. This was proven when we took a trip to The Spy Club. Everyone thought you were my little brother–even though you’re six months older than me–and we decided to play that to our advantage. Next thing I know, your little ass had a flock of girls around you and I was left sipping my Coke, too “goody two shoes” to order something a little stronger. At the end of the night, we literally had to pull you from your adoring public.
You’ve always been a free spirit, that fun and funny guy that everyone loved to hang out with. I admired that so much about you because I was the complete opposite, all uptight and afraid to break out of my box. If nothing else, you really helped me with that and I thank you for it.
I once heard a preacher give a sermon. He was saying something about waiting until someone was gone to give them their flowers. How we shouldn’t wait until then, we should show people how much we care while their still here with us. Unfortunately, I did wait too late and I’ll always regret it.
So, here are your flowers, Russell. I’ll miss you.
D
