Category Archives: fresh dipped

CMB! We all we got!!


On Thanksgiving I be passin out turkeys like Nino Brown, baby!

Look at what the Internet has placed before me:

Lennon* plus Snipes plus hiphop times nineties divided by Ice T equals texty tee I must have if I am ever going to smile again during my lifetime.

I’ve said I need things before. Many times, in fact. Those were lies, all lies. The only item I need in order to survive is the screenprinted, 100% cotton one above, because what else is there to wear when I take over The Carter?? I’ll sport it and then you people will be forced to finally respect my hustle.

Therefore, GIMME.

What I’ve forced on you above is yet another post written solely so I’d have an excuse embed a Fucking Classic Video from a Bygone Era. Today, it’s the video for this song. THISSSS SONNNNG. I love it, I need it, I wanna be on it. If this song came to Crazy Girls during my shift (Fridays at 11), it would get a free lapdance. And you, DJ Aladdin, darling, I know I say this to all the musically-inclined boys, but MARRY ME. How can I be down???

Special appearances by pagers galore, 19-year-olds with fifty-thousand dollar cars, and the one and only Michael G. Tyson:



Nice nod to the OG name of the Live at the BBQ guy. That font, though. It’s the wrong one, brought back from the “Breaking Logan’s Heart” Years (’97 – present) probably just to torture me. Dude, make um say appropriate typeface. I need some Old English, STAT.

I let my tie rock til my tie popped, or something to that effect

The only dudes in ties that excite me are Don Draper, Cornel West, Misters Blonde, Blue, Pink, Orange, White, and Brown, all Int’l Players with an Anthem, and the 3 “Sabotage” detectives. Oh, and YOU, in THIS, HOLYCHRIST:

Sonic Fabric neckties! Each is make from fabric woven from 50% recorded audio cassette tape and 50% colored thread. The fabric is actually audible if you run a tape head over it!

You will need to rip apart an old Walkman, you free the playhead from the player and then rub it over the fabric (oohh/ahhh); with the headphone you will hear the MUSIC of the fabric! It contains the designer’s own music, a collection of looped and layered samples grabbed from the NYC metro system (a creepy, beautiful, David Lynch-ian soundscape), but in a daydream I just had, the ties sound like Busta on “Case of the PTA,” Too $hort’s trunk, Guru’s Saints hat on the cover of Step in the Arena, G Rap on your cousin’s tape of Stretch & Bobbito, rainbows, dewdrops, truth, and also purity, light, and goodness.

Creator Alyce Santoro:

The idea behind the tie is that the wearer becomes a beacon for other-dimensional, intangible, subtle forces of good…much in the manner of a superhero. only this part of the superhero garb can be worn on the outside in the most conservative environment without detection! looks equally great with dress shirt or t-shirt. this tie is the thinner version – 2″ wide at the widest point. i also make a slightly wider version for more mature audiences.

Alyce Santoro, you wacky hippie visionary, you’re my future best friend and my density, only you don’t know it yet.

Unattractive, yet you need it, right? You’re like GIMME. Or, more appropriately, you’re like GIVE IT HERE.


Har Mar. Jedi Robe Tricks. Mike H.

1. My agent did not apprise me of the casting of “Ambiguously ethnic girls who like glitter, pillow fights and popsicles” and now look, I got left out and didn’t get to kick it with Eva M. and Alia Shawkat on set.

Har Mar Superstar – “Tall Boy”

OF COURSE the dark-skinned lady is the one fellating a popsicle and this makes me say “Oh dear” to myself. Even if this image is ironic…umm, we’re not quite there yet as a culture. OH HAR MAR.
(I’m not looking to pick a fight with messages from media; fights just come lookin for me, you see.)

2. Jedi Bathrobe!
You know, so that The Force can help keep you warm and dry and not drip all over the carpet.

I hold down the Bronx like a fat Jedi/But my lightsaber’s not a laser, it’s a tech-semi.

Big Pun, “Loco Bananas”
(first and last Big Pun mention on here; I hope it was good for you)

This is so dope and so stupid that you must own it. And whenever you wear it, I will pounce and make sweet sci-fi love to you while softly whisper-rapping “You live at home with your mom” in your nerdy ear.

In a perfect Internet, Nas‘ “Star Wars” goes right here in mp3 form to help solidify this post
(ORHellz Wind Staff,” ’cause of that Luke Skywalker line),

but it just wasn’t meant to be (i.e., I couldn’t find it online because I’m inadequate).
S’ok, I’m gonna regroup, take some time to reflect, then come back even harder next time. Don’t lose faith in me.

3. NYC skate legend infiltrates my very Internet being. (sort of)

In the last 24 hours, a certain Mike Hernandez individual has come across my computer screen in 2 significant ways. He was last seen in Slap mag in my little brother’s room, in like ’95, but oh here we are, back together again.

First this,

NYC Bridge Rollers, riding high while propelled by the power of Faze-O. Much like myself.
Part of the “boys on fixies” trend that’s so hot a couple years back. ’07 STAND UP.

(via…I can’t remember. Prob Hypebeast.)

And this…back when getting your pic with him really meant something.
(Sorry, Hov!)

’98. Angela Boatwright photo.

Cheese Wagstaff – “New York.”
A) Remember this?, and
B) Whatever happened to this? Is it on an album, or no? Somebody take my hand and lead me to the light.



At least 2 pair.

No Fendi bag or bad attitude, but still.
We got a lot of private jokes to share.

Everyone knows the greatest and most Kenwood-bumpable songs written about and named in honor of a beautiful human with breasts and hips and soft skin are “Rosanna” and “Bonita Applebum.”

(“Veronica” is good too, but it’s about Elvis’s grandma so it’s not appropriate. This post is about ladies of song who dudes want to see nekkid. And “So Long, Marianne” is a throbfest of songwriting skill in the form of tortured reclusive foxiness known as Legendary Human Leonard Cohen, but it’s too somber for the Kenwood, silly).

I know there are a million of ’em, named for pretty ladies Allison and dear Yvette and Sally and Jessica and Melissa and Iesha and Carolina (so good I had to link to it), but it’s done. The decision has been made. It’s these 2, at least for now. Only ’cause nobody ever wrote a song called “Logan.”
(Pouty face)

Meet.You.All.The.Way! Sometimes the vinyl of this plays in apt. 302, but it’s really more of a driving-around-in-the-Civic, end of summer knocker; if you get really lucky, you don’t hit any red lights during the chorus so you can sing it freely without being self-conscious that the dude in the car next to you is watching.

Ain’t no need to question the authority satisfies the “Boss me around” requirement I seek from an MC, but So far, I hope you like rap songs is the cutest line of all from the musical year of 1990. This girl has that mean physical geometry of 38-24-37, and it’s the 37 that displays to the boys her bum like an apple. OH BONITA. Even I have a crush on you.


I no longer wear pants.

A post about Bon Iver and girly clothes.

Pants are for suckers. Dresses are the new and the fresh and the hot.
I will be wearing one when I attend THIS:

and THIS (it’s 3:00 PST right now; I could still make it to The Apple in time if you’d loosen up your grip on the keys to your jet, papa):

Listen, the point of the post is this (other than I need to see Bon Iver at the cemetery or I will cease to continue living):
Dresses are girly and being a girl is fun. There’s the psychological wear and tear of hearing dudes say rude things to you when you walk down the street, there’s some income disparity, old white men want to be able to tell you what to do with your reproductive parts, and we are abused and exploited all across this great planet of ours; however, overall, it’s great. I mean, every song with “she” as its primary pronoun is, of course, about you. It’s pretty fantastic; I’m not gonna lie.

Here’s David Byrne singing about his giant crush on me:

Talking Heads – “And She Was”



Got blue and black cause I likes to chill/And yellow and green when it’s time to get ill

Shoe brands get tough on leather suppliers to save Amazon rainforest:

Crackdown against ‘environmental criminals’ follows Greenpeace report

The companies that make the shoes of all our favorite mic-wielders–Clarks, Adidas, Nike, Timberland–care about the environment, gang. In news that is no doubt throwing the hypebeast world into a tailspin, it turns out that the leather used to make Timbos and Dunks and Wallys has, oopsy, often come from cattle from farms that have been created as a result of illegal deforestation in the Amazon rainforest. And now, because of the results of a three-year undercover investigation by Greenpeace, the shoe company heads are “demanding an immediate moratorium on destruction of the Amazon rainforest from their leather suppliers in Brazil,” but nothing so drastic that it interrupts the next midnight drop at Supreme, I presume. I heard Ghostface wants a pair of bright phat yellow Air Max/Hit the racks, stack ’em up Son, $20 off no tax, but only if they were made from leather that doesn’t have ties to environmental tragedy.

Got the Timbos on the toes, and this is how it goes/Unnnhhh, onetwoohmygod!, said Q-Tip this one time in ’94, so I guess I could post that as musical accompaniment for this story.

I was tryna stay away from the obvious “My Adidas,”*

and the Internets did not provide a good copy of The Grouch’s “Clean Nikes,”

and no way am I gonna post that Nelly song where he makes verbal love to his AF1s,

and U-N-I has Kream,” but ummm NO. Have we just met? Why would I post some Undftd derivative Wu biting tight-pantsedness fakery (even though they are nice dudes, I’ll admit) when I could post the OG? I mean, really. HIT IT, RAE:


This one’s not so much about shoes…more about whuppin ass, 5th Ward style.

But still; the shoes play an integral role in the narrative below.


We make a mean team, my Adidas n’ me.



I’m definitely freestylin/All the while still profilin.

“How bout just a simple picture of you, in your pretty new dress for Sean’s party? And maybe you could clean up the records off your floor, please.” – Mom.

“I am unable to fulfill your request at this time.” – Me.

I get biz with the skit, I DJ like Quik. – Reggie Noble

Isaac Hayes, “Hyperbolicsyllabicsesquedalymistic”


Things I need in order to survive, 07/12/09

Today’s sin: gluttony!

(Goddamn YouTube didn’t provide me the superior, cuss-words version of this jammy; Ed does NOT kick things off with “Ayo brown is my complexion” in the version I know and love, just so you know. The bleeping out of “Adidas” to counteract any free product placement is pretty comical, though).

where’s that Biz doll you promised me?

Until it arrives, I’ve turned my attention toward some non-limited-edition, non-hard-to-find, kind of predictable (for me) wardrobe items. Jeans n’ heels n’ tank tops n’ music-lyric tees n’ bikinis are my style and they are boring but they are all a stripper/librarian, comedian/sex kitten, nerd/vamp needs in order to conquer the metropolis.

Lack of outer style but mad fucking next-levels inner style is the hotness for ’09, you had best recognize.
Please refer to A, B, C and D below.

This one’s been around a while but I have recently come to terms with the fact that we must be together for ever and ever:

And my whole crew is loungin!

Oh my, how I do love thangs with bows and ties and whatnot. And rainbows. And swim attire with an adorable name like “the candy plaid bikini.” I need this promptly, thanks so much:

The killer would’ve been ties at the hip on the bottoms–I love that on a bikini, to an unhealthy degree.

I need 25 dollars to make myself holler.

$25, that’s it! God bless Amerikuh.

These rightchere I have handled; they are scheduled to be delivered to apt. 302 tomorrow.

So simple and ladylike and so high; they will make me approx. 7 feet tall when I wear them.

“Each piece of VLING jewelry is made out of recycled vinyl records! Now you can wear your music!”

When I put this on my person, a necklace in the shape of some keys and made from an old record, then I will know I have truly reached my personal music-nerdery tipping point. I’ll buy it for the low low price of $27.99, then I’ll wear it to Trader Joe’s and you’ll be behind me in line and it’ll prompt a musically nerdtastic chat between us about keyboard magicians…Bernie Worrell, Stevie, Donald Fagen, Carole King, Isaac Hayes, and/or…umm….Michael McDonald?

In conclusion,


A commitment to excellence. In a cotton sundress.

I don’t wear too much gold because it’s tacky
I bust a Raider hat T-Shirt and Khakis.

I already knew about Biggie and NWA and DMC, but

It turns out that Too $hort and Chuck D and Bishop and ME all like the same football team!

PS – because I always have to offset an “NFL and fresh-dipped MCs” post with some girlyness,
what we have here is an interlude on how fashion can sometimes be

The corseted top of my simple dress keeps its shape and holds my girly parts in place because of thin metal or plastic pieces sewn into the garment. Many years ago, tailors and costumers used small whale bones for this purpose; as a result, we call it boning.

Much to my mother’s dismay, this is why I now prance around and show off my stuff in my cheerful yellow cotton dress and announce repeatedly, “I LOVE BONING.”

The dress is from H&M; the eyes & eyebrows are from way back when the Moors conquered everybody in Europe.
“You have face of baby! Large eyes.”

– Mr. Cherenkov in apt. 206, in Russian-accented English, every time he sees me.
FACE OF BABY. Los Angeles, you’re crazy and I love you.

“Hallelujah, kids hear this: The Ruler’s back and he’s here to assist.”

The slacks, the golds, the rings, I hope I’m not confusin y’all
But everyone in the house looks smashin’
fresh clothes on their butts
and nothing out of fashion...

OK, t-shirt gods, you win. I am forever indebted to you. This is like 58 of my favorite things in one.

Dear Adult Male Human,
if you wear this to the Cha Cha and I spot you, IsweartoGOD I will take the Tecate out of your hand and attempt to make sweet love to you on the spot.
That’s word to my cousin up in Oakland with the scraper.
Give in to lust/give up to lust,
oh heaven knows we’ll soon be dust!


Or, if I’m super shy I’ll just look from across the room and not say anything. Then I’ll go home and post a “Missed Connections” ad on Craigslist. You’ll read it 2 days later and be like, “No girl likes the Raiders and Slick Rick…and if she does, she’s probably too skinny and smart-assed for me to be interested in, anyway. This is a fake post so fuck off, Craigslist.” We’ll therefore have missed our chance to be together, joined in our mutual love of MC Ricky D and the NFL’s greatest franchise.
Sigh. 2 ships passing in the night, that’s what we are.