Just a quick one

Funny thing: All this time, I used to think it went

“Skied up/Weaved the fuck up
Smokin’ your weed up
With two crack fiends buggin’
Huggin’ your seed up…”

But I was wrong. Listened to Only Built for Cuban Links again recently and it goes

“Skied up/Weaved the fuck up
To top it off, looked beat up
With two crack fiends
Huggin’ your seed up…”

I like mine more, actually. Lately I think about Paris Hilton when I rap that verse to myself – after I read something about one of her weaves, I can’t help but imagine her at like Fred Durst’s house all skied up, and of course weaved the fuck up, and also smoking his weed up…

On a related, Wu-type note, I’m STILL pissed that I didn’t download Ironman to the ipod before I headed over here. I mean, it’s not the greatest Ghostface record in the world, but that “Iron Maiden” track is hot. H-O-T. And “Daytona 500” kills it too. Hot verse from Rae on that one, though Rae’s verse on OutKast’s “Skew it on the Bar-B” is fucking amazing. I remember I played that for R one night in his basement and he needed to hear that shit again. That was back when a lot of people were still sleeping on OutKast. Then came “Ms. Jackson” and before you know it I’m surrounded by nothing but B&T dorks in the Theatre at Madison Square Garden. Believe me, that was a long way from the Miami Arena shows in ’88. Of course, it’s all relative – all you have to do is hit an MOP show and you’re right back in it. Sort of. I mean, you’re still at BB King’s, which is like right next to the Sanrio store. Not…quite…hardcore.

Continuing with the stream of consciousness vibe: I’m so happy for OutKast. So, so happy. I know I’m way too emotional about hip hop music, and this is a ridiculous thing for me to say about two hugely successful dudes he’s never met, but I’m just so proud of them, you know? I remember looking at the CD inlay on their first album a couple years ago, checking out that photo of them in their sports gear and denim, all young and shit, with that white wall in the background…and I just kind of thought about how far they’ve come and I welled up a little. Fo sho. Some cats…you’re just so happy for them, you know? I mean, I guess they could be total dicks, and I’m sure the magazine interviews and albums and MTV Cribs sessions don’t tell the whole story, but a guy who puts a huge fishtank in his garage (does he even have that house anymore? I think he moved somewhere else cuz he needed more space for his cars or his dogs or some shit) and says that he likes to just go out there and smoke and watch the fish…I mean, that’s my kind of guy. Not so much the mini-club in the basement with the stripper pole, but the fishtank in the garage…that’s my steez right there.

Ok, later.
Chucky

Just Holdin’ on Like a Hubcap in the Fast Lane

Tryina maintain….holy crap. Me hangy. Not too much – I needn’t be dramatic. Hung over enough that I got another Friday burger at the White Spot and wore my Drunk Guy clothes to work (my crappiest ensemble, really). Went to the Hong Kong finals of the DMC World Championships last night. Just watch Scratch – it will save me the effort of explaining and you’ll see a good documentary. When Mix Master Mike scratches Robert Johnson? That kicks ass.

I headed home, had not enough soup and a glass of rose, my new prosecco, and headed to the C Club in Lan Kwai Fong. I had never been there – clubs aren’t really my steez – but it was a cool enough joint. Made some small talk with these two college kids from Iowa who were visiting China and Hong Kong (one was a Chinese native and they scoped his hometown, plus Beijing, Shanghai and Hong Kong) while waiting for the finals to begin. They seemed mellow enough.

The Finals: They had four finalist challengers and the Hong Kong defending champion, Lazy Ming. Judges included several former Hong Kong DMC champions from as far back as 1989. The DJs performed in order of their scores in the elimination rounds from that afternoon, lowest score to highest. The first cat had a lot of screwups and missed cues and stuff, and couldn’t hang with most of the other DJs, but he intro’d his shit with the sample of the little kid from the beginning of Gza’s Liquid Swords – you know, that whole “maybe that was the problem” part. Got me amped, but his set was wack. He had too many snippets to link together and those just didn’t work out. He was too ambitious. The crowd was too polite. He walked out with his boys before they even announced the winners.

Then it just got better and better – sick party-rockin’ scratches, awesome beat juggling, some tricks here and there, though nothing amazing. One dude juggled the guitar riff of Metallica’s “Sad But True” at a slightly uptempo pitch, which I thought was a nice touch since most of the other folks stayed with the standard hip hop, and of course that riff is huge and mean. Others showed definite Q-Bert and Mix Master Mike influences, with the weird backward scratches and little audio clips from Japanimation cartoons and shit like that – think Eye of the Cyclops. Little Mikey was my favorite because he could rock a party the most – he had the crazy skills but mostly his routine was just a straight head-bouncer. It was hot. I think Mikey was the one who used that beat from Luda’s “Stand Up”, which got the crowd fired up. That song sounds great coming through a huge system – and before the shit got started, the MC had the sound turned up so loud that the bass tickled my arm hairs every time it hit. Every time. I mean, it was LOUD. Some of the more high-pitched scratches were piercing.

To be honest, though, Lazy Ming earned the right to retain his crown. He totally rocked it, had the crazy scratches, and had style – which most of the other DJ’s didn’t have. I mean, one or two of them would point at the crowd or point at themselves during the little audio tracks where someone says “His whole style’s chump!” (1st Ghostface record – I can’t believe I forgot to upload that one before I left, I’m so pissed), but Lazy Ming had the whole thing – pausing and pointing at the breaks, stroking his chin and smiling….the whole flair shit that let you know it was all flowing for him.

Since the DJ setup was placed at ground level and not on a platform, it was a little tough to see both sets of turntables and the fader all at once, but I had two solutions to that issue: the mirrored ceiling above the dancefloor and, believe it or not, people’s camcorders. Like, a dude’s head would be right in my way, but he would be holding a camcorder with a little viewscreen, and I could just dip my head and see the whole thing on his screen. Not so much Jumbotron…more like Minitron. Watching from the mirror was a little weird but I didn’t have to deal with the decreased scale – plus you could see all their little tape marks all over the vinyl and it was actually amazing to see how skilled they were at pulling the record back to the right spot. Beat juggling looks freakin’ hard, man. I mean, I could probably learn to scratch and fade back and forth after a couple lessons, but the juggling was awesome to behold, and the mirror provided the same view you’d see if you were standing in front of the rig (and hanging upside down, of course, but without the blood rushing to…ok, that's enough).

Anyway, Lazy Ming won, and it was no contest, really. The dance party started and I got my swerve on – many Jack Drys (what they call a Jack and Ginger over here), I see wall to wall hoes bitches everywhere all over the place, niggas tippin off their green marbles just so hoes can sit on they face…oh, wait, that’s a different story. But the talent was indeed in effect. I felt particularly old at some points, but I really didn’t care…just dancing and swinging my shit around however I felt like it, fully grooved and marinated. Mark’s gonna love this place, I thought to myself. We can be the Old Guys in the Club.

At about quarter to one, I headed upstairs to leave, and as I got to the top of the staircase, I had a change of heart. One more drink, one more dance, one more session with Sweaticus before I leave. So I get to the top, and the host and hostess start to tell me goodbye, and I’m like, “You know, I think I’ma hang out for a little longer.” They cackled at that one. It was a fun night, and I’m glad I got to see the live scratching. I went home, made some drunken phone calls, and went to bed toasted, nicely toasted.

By the way…this living on the 5th floor thing…I sort of miss the 25th floor apartment, because it had better views of all the crazy light shows that the buildings put on and you can easily see the Peak from that side of the building, but this one is still pretty cool. There’s a diner of sorts downstairs on the corner, and it has a huge vertical neon sign, complete with buzzing bees, the Chinese characters, the English lettering down the side (“Hong Kong Style Café”), multiple colors…the whole deal, you know? The other night, I was standing by my window in the glow of the sign, watching the rain streak the windows, peering through the wooden slats of the blinds…and…I mean, the shit is just so Blade Runner, you know? A lot of folks say that Tokyo is the most Blade Runnerian city, but I don’t think that’s true. Despite having not been there, I know the avenues are wider and cleaner than Hong Kong, and the scene is just less diverse than this city – there might be all kinds of modern shit, but Tokyo just doesn’t have the multi-culti bustle and dirt that a city needs to fully compete with Blade Runner. Hong Kong has all that in abundance, especially if you head to the shadier parts of the Kong or Kowloon, where the famous Chunking Mansions represent perhaps the most Bladey and Runnery of this city. Super-diverse, crazy architecture, the sort of energy that you find in few places around the world…God, I love this town.

More later,
Chucky

“Pat your rats on yo’ back/Take some time out your waltz
And tell your loved ones that you love ‘em every so often…”

Yeah, I know I used that one last year.

I’m sitting here in my office on the 46th floor, alone now…Liz has gone for the day and I’m just reflecting on life, watching a solitary hark lazily circle nearby. When you’re this high up, you can see them rather well, and often there are more than a dozen or so scattered about in the sky above Central, stretching from the Macau ferry terminal to Admiralty, drifting over Soho and the Mid-levels, just riding on the wind and looking for grub, I guess. Today there is just one, and it has come within 50 feet of my window at one point, which is pretty amazing to see. I’m in a slightly emotional state – these all-day hangovers make me equal parts randy and emotional. I can usually, uh, handle the former, but the latter stays with me all day.

And, of course, when one is being sappy and reflective, one tends to assign meaning to things, and of course I’m looking at the hawk and thinking about Matt McGrory. I never knew the guy, nor am I wont to mythologize him just because he died at 32 (though 32 is too young, and pretty damn sad). From what I knew of him, though, he seemed like a cool guy, a person who could get along with just about anyone, and possessive of a guarded enthusiasm regarding the movie business. His website reveals a person who was just a regular dude – psyched to be able to talk to kids about diversity, psyched about the pictures of himself that a friend shot, and a man completely without an ego to match his stature. Ok, I know that was mad corny, but put down the cool and feel me for a second. Think about what you’re doing with your life, how awesome and precious and dope life is, what a great gift it is to be able to do what you do (whatever that might be) – but also think about what it means to be a good person and why the world needs us to strive toward that goal as we strive for everything else we want and love. We all have our passions, and of course you only live once, so those passions should be pursued with ambition and vigor. At the same time, though, we should be passionate about being decent people – people who can be called honest, trustworthy, loyal to our friends, full of love and good humor and patience and compassion. That’s the good shit right there. That’s how you want to end up – fully satisfied with what you accomplished and who you became.

Anyway, that’s all I’ma speak on right now. I’m all hot – the office gets greenhoused up in the afternoon, though the sunsets over the harbor from this height freakin’ rock – and I want to go home, take a shower, and just fully chill. Perhaps I’ll mack on some steam and sauna at the gym before I head home, though those cats always laugh at me when I decline the offer of gym clothes and go straight for the towels. “No workout for me today,” I say. “Just some steam for me today,” I say. “Ha ha ha,” they say in English. “Fatty fat fat fat,” they say in Chinese.

Ok, peace to the godds and the earths. Matt, ya large, baby. K-k-k-keep risin’.

Randomness

I’m totally hung over – two slugs and a dry heave and I’m off to work. Feeling better than this morning than I did when I rose, but I may still be McDonald’s-bound this afternoon for lunch. I only did it twice last year in HK, once to check it out and once when I was hung over, so I’m hoping that this is the one hangover visit for the duration. I’d really rather not, but all the other options – most of them, anyway – are not going to do it for me.

Back from lunch – didn’t do McD’s, but I did have a burger. Triple O’s White Spot. It was ok, I guess. Ok, so I had two burgers and some fries, Swanny-style. My tummy protested but I was able to pull it off, eating my way through the various blogs that keep me going over here. Shout out to flavoradded – keep postin’, sweetness petiteness. Shout out to cityrag. Shout out to socialites, isms, ultras, box-standers and even Detroit twellies, even though they hate too much and can’t help but have a face that only a mother could not punch. Shout out to media hooahs and their wicked brothers and sisters. Shout out to Matthew McGrory, who deserves his own post and will get one soon. Shout out to, uhhhh myself. I can’t believe I did a post about ODB passing last year in Honkers and now I’m back in the Kongsfordshire and I’ve got to put up a post about McGrory passing. Damn.

Who remembers “Heart and Soul” by Huey Lewis? I just read this thing in SF weekly about how retarded people are really into Huey Lewis, who has done a lot of work with the developmentally disabled. Anyway, Gawker thought it was hilarious, I guess, but I just thought it was kind of heartwarming and moderately interesting. The big thing for me, though, was being reminded of the “Heart and Soul” video and that guitar riff that dominates the chorus. Just took me back to the day, you know? Watching MTV in the Florida room in Miami Beach, checking out Flock of Seagulls and Big Country and Billy Idol, the Def Leppard videos, scoping out the MTV ads as they got crazier and crazier, the “Talk Talk” video, by Talk Talk, on the album Talk Talk (first video I ever saw)…good shit, man.

I have a terrible, terrible secret to admit: I watched Bring it On Again the other night. Dudes, you gotta forgive me for that one – the computer is down at home and there’s like 3 channels I can watch (unless I want to watch BBC World alla time, which I don’t want to do), and that night I was just not up for reading or going out. Anyway, there’s a classic line in the movie where one friend – the sista – tells the other breezy, “Man, that boy was all over you like ugly on an Osbourne.” That made me laugh. They are awfully ugly folks. I know some of you dig their steez, but let’s face it: the Osbournes are pretty much human garbage. I know, I know, I’m hating, and I’m totally turning my back on the dude who gave me my first metal show, the first of about 20 or so (Ozzy and Motley Crue, 1982, 6th grade. Got an awesome red Motley Crue shirt at that show. Now dips and batches and breezys all over Hollywood be rockin’ them vintage joints like ugly on an Osb- never mind). But sometimes you have to turn your back. No skin off my stiff upper lip.

Ok, more later. I’ma put out a quick one for McGrory.

Chucky

RAIN

Dammit. I’m in the worst mood these days because a) I’m fat, b) my computer doesn’t work because it’s all virused up, and c) whatever, I’m not in that bad of a mood. Don’t want to post from work, though, so I’m stuck just writing these posts and saving them for when my computer is back on point.

Anyway, things are pretty good here despite the computer issues. The thing is five years old – I should probably just buy a new one – but I have some big-ticket items coming down the pike these days and I need my mothafuckin’ Reeboks tax free all year round. Can I get a mmmmm-shakalaka from my sisters? Ten points to the reader who can reference that one without using the interweb.

Man, lately I’ve been thinking about blogging. I have sort of come to the conclusion that most blogs are crap, mine included. That said, how you approach your blog is central to the issue of whether you’re a sucker-duck MC or not. My feeling is that you can’t take yourself too seriously no matter what. The best blogs are the ones that just flow wherever they want, do their thing, and don’t let advertising dollars – even 160K of them, how you guys doin’? – affect their egos. Bad News Hughes has a good blog. Cityrag is a good blog and stays true to its banner – nothin’ but a little her, a little NYC (paraphrased, of course, lest the Doorman come after me with some short note about how he’s “done” with my blog because I’m not grammaticularly on point. Speaking of the Doorman, I once had it in the “good blog” category, but his blog officially sucks now. Dude, I don’t care of you’ve got a book deal. Your shit is boring at this point. I enjoyed reading about the fights and the mobsters and stuff, but once you’ve read it all, you can tell that the blog has thoroughly exhausted its intended topic. I can’t imagine that he’s going to be able to continue posting about how he’s not going to give another inch and he’s a stand-up, two-fisted guy who knows right from wrong, black and white, blah blah blah. But he seems like a cool cat, cooler than most on this planet, so fug it. I ain’t hatin’.

Oh yeah, the headline. It rained hard earlier this morning – the whole harbor and islands in the background were just a mist of various shades of slate grey. Looked cool from 500 feet up. I’m sort of hoping for a typhoon to head this way so I can vid on the shaky buildings and torrential rain and all that. I haven’t been near a hurricane since I was a little boy in Miami Beach – that was Hurricane David, a total washout of a fake-ass tropical bullshit – and I’d like to see this town get a little worked before I leave. Nothing bad, just some good powaful winds and the like.

Had kind of a mellow weekend. Went out with B and a whole bunch of reporters, some of whom I knew from last year and got a good reception from everyone. That was nice. I too ended up pretty nice my damn self – went to this spot called Illy for a while, then headed to Le Jardin, that little tucked-away bar above Rat Alley. Didn’t break a glass this time, didn’t flirt with anyone, just talked some major shit with B’s girl E, who loves hip hop. She likes 50 Cent and Eminem. I tried to ask her where one could go to hear some good hip hop, but both she and B didn’t give me a lot of hope. Looks like my ipod remains, for the second year in a row, the dopest shit in Honkers. No big deal, I have fun listening to all kinds of music! Yeah, right.

The rest of the weekend was spent watching TV, doing chores, going to the gym, getting a mo-sage, stuff like that. I was still rocking a little bit of jet lag on Saturday morning despite my best attempts to drink my way into a shock reset of my internal clock, so I just kicked around. Took a walk down Stanley Street, wandered through the wet markets, crap like that. I’ll try to have some more buzzardly material soon. Watched Assault on Precinct 13 (those of you who followed along last time know that I buy at least one stupid action movie when I’m over here) and it largely sucked. It was cool when the shrink stood up to the bad guys, all beat up from the car crash. She had more heart than most of the tough guys on both sides. If she were in American Me, she would always come out to the yard. Because she’s like that. Also saw Ray, which was pretty good but didn’t blow me away. Detox montages are always funny. AAAAAGHGGHRHRHRH, I’m going cold turkey, owwwww!!!! I’m cold, I’m itchy, I’m gonna booooot!!! (insert ralphing sounds). Hey, I’m glad Ray got cleaned up and didn’t converse with Count von Smackula ever again (though I heard he blew bowls every day until the day he died – guess that particular monkey rides a little lighter on the back and didn’t turn him into no damn cripple). Jamie did a nice job, though, and it’s nice to see him enjoy that success. Seems like a decent guy. Bokeem Woodbine was good too – for most of the movie, I thought Jeff, the band leader, was Charlie Murphy. Looked like Charlie Murphy with a few extra pounds. Too bad – I was pumped that Charlie made it into a film like that (until the credits, when I found out that it was not, in fact, Charlie Murphy. I played myself).

So my office gets really hot in the afternoon – a sort of greenhouse effect due to the fact that we’re in a west-facing corner office (yes, I have to share an office – it’s not as bad as you might think). Anyway, I bought a fan this weekend to keep me cool when it cooks up in here, and man, that thing can send the stink biscuits flying! I just popped a couple off and believe me, they are on a mystical journey around the office. I don’t want to gamble and lose – “follow through”, as Ali G put it, but I’m eager to let one off at my desk, then quickly get up and see if I can track these babies. I had a crazy sandwich for lunch and it’s really delivering.

God, I’m glad LR is in Sydney today. That stink tsunami would have reached the shores of her nostrils in less than 7 seconds. Ah, Seven Seconds…truly you were a great band. But, you know, not as good as the Bad Brains. Equal with Minor Threat…better than Warzone…

Looks like more rain is coming. The radio towers on top of Victoria Peak are shrouded in a black cloud which is steadily moving across the island to cover the harbor. Weather changes fast over here these days, it seems. Typhoon season! COME ON!!!

Chucky

Back in the Saddle Again

At first glance, the title of this post seems completely trite and clichéd – however, the only reason I named the post “Back in the Saddle” was to get you cats and breezys to pull out your old Aerosmith record and listen to them ROCK! You know you love that guitar riff – who doesn’t? And that was when Aerosmith was truly rockin’ – which makes me wonder what those guys would think if you went back in time with, like, “Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” (or whatever that song is called, the one they did for Armageddon) and told them that, one day, they were going to record that sappy crap. They’d be like, “Naw, man, we’re always going to rock” and you’d be like “Oh yes you will, that’s you guys” and they’d be like “Oh shit” and you’d be like, “Well, you’ve already done ‘Dream on’, the most overrated rock ballad of all time, so you’re already on your way to this sappiness” and they’d be like…never mind.

So I’m back in the Kongsfordsire, Honkers, H to the K, and you know it doesn’t stand for Heckler & Koch even though it’s a banger. It’s pretty eerie at times. Total déjà vu in the apartment. I was online yesterday, registering for some of the porno sites that will keep me faithful – and in full wack mode – during my stay here, and everything on TV seems just the same – ads for A Man Apart, the HK Adventure Race, CSI Miami, The Amazing Race, etc and the ubiquitous AXN TV theme song. Had my traditional bachelor’s lunch of pate, bread, and salmon, although this time I added in the delicious tomatoes from my Brooklyn backyard that FB threw in my bag before I left. Yes, that is how I get down. Fresh tomatoes from our plants in Broo-kyln. Not too freakin’ bad.

So what can I tell you? Not much has happened so far that I would deem worthy of a post. Flight canceled on Sunday, spent all day at JFK on Monday (6.30am – 8.00pm) waiting for our flight to take off, ate about 20 of those little sandwiches that they give you in the Business Class lounge, along with some Xanax, a glass of Martell, a Stella or two, and some Jack and ginger to keep me patient and well-lubed. Saved the victors for the flight, and I was thankful to enjoy the groovy, Vicodinny sleep during the journey over here.

It’s not as hot as I thought it would be, which is nice, though I’m sure I’ll have some visits from Ballsweaticus at some point. Not getting off that easy. Gotta wear a suit tomorrow for a lunch I’m attending with a reporter, and that will su-uck. Perhaps I can go in super-early when the humidity is at 90 or so instead of the full 100. Sounds hotter in NYC at the moment, though, so I’m not complaining. Yesterday was my recovery/setup day, so I got up at 11 or so after going to bed at like 4am and got all this crap done – went to the various grocery stores, got my haircut, hit the bank, boring shit like that. I realized yesterday that I overtip. Gotta work on that. Not the worst habit in the world, but I needs all the money I can get so my babies can buy all the VS2 clarity diamond watches and super bambotches and Heckler and Koch’s and choppers fresh out the boxes that they want. Come on, you know you were going to be getting an E40 reference in the first post. My fanaticism doth not fadeth over time. I bet he’s going to drop a record while I’m out here, thus forcing one of my various visitors to bring it to me from the US. They aren’t as far behind in the movie releases as I thought, though – War of Tom Cruise’s Ballsac and Herbie is Fully Pumpin a Load Into Lohan are both just leaving the theater, and like Madagascar and shit like that are in the theaters now. There’s a Chinese film called Seven Swords that looks good.

Ok, gotta pee real bad and get some lunch. Smell you in a bit.

I’m back, though there’s not much to say at this point. I miss my baby pretty bad at times. Got the full pillowbody in effect – the beds here have four pillows, consequently enabling me to craft a little body and head with a couple of the pillows. I feel like Homer when he made that fake Marge out of a cactus or something. I haven’t seen the Simpsons in a long time, despite having just left the US. Just not a priority for me anymore. Used to be that I quoted the Simpseaux every day, at least once a day, and now I just don’t have the time to keep up – and let’s face it, the jokes are old. I can still whip them out from time to time, though.

Ok, more later.
Chucky