The Back Pages.

Each month, our copy of XXL ('Hip Hop on a Higher Level') shows up in our mailbox. It's a great 'family magazine' for our house. I enjoy reading articles on Drake's close relationship with his mom and play-by-play rundowns of Soulja Boy's twitter beefs, and Dylan likes to stare at the pages and pages of plump video-ho asses.
The best part, however, are the ads in the back. Between endorsements for gay chat-lines (thugs need hugs, too), 'male enhancement tablets', technical schools, and off-brand sneakers are ads such as these:
Now, I'm no marketing genius, but I can see XXL's advertising strategy from way over here: know thy reader.
You, the average XXL subscriber, flip to the back of the magazine just as the blunt starts to burn your fingers. While sunken into the couch, with squinty, red eyes you read: 'Is your music being leaked?' (it could be), and 'Is someone talking badly about you on a blog?' (probably). Fuck. Now you're all paranoid, clearing the smoke by doing that little 'hand-fan' motion, drawing the curtains and locking the door. You were going to go get some Cool Ranch Doritos, but fuck it- you're being watched. You think about calling someone, but are now suspecting that your homeboy might be a snitch, and your girl or man may be cheating on you. Also, the phone is probably tapped.
Better getin touch with 'Hacker for Hire'. Problem solved. XXL banks five cents a sale. More money to pay Nicki Minaj to take her pants off and pose with a pouty face into the camera. Ching ching. Everybody wins.

The ad below 'Hacker for Hire' is called 'Spoofem.com', and the grammar alone is delightful:
*Call any number you want and have any number show up on a persons caller ID.
*Send Text messages and Emails to make it look like it came from someone else.
*Wire Tap- Do you need to tape your own telephone line to record telephone calls.
How sweet it would be if I could make 'untraceable phone calls that CAN'T be traced', and could 'change my voice to sound like a male or a female'. I would make all kinds of joke phone calls. Perhaps I could change my voice to sound like Martin Lawrence circa 1993 (damn, Gina!).
I could call up my buddies at 1-800-FLOWERS to send a great big surprise box to Sinbad's house, filled with fifty bouquets of sunny daisies (and a full-grown Siberian tiger), paid for by Martin Lawrence's MasterCard, circa 2010. I would just tell them to 'charge it to my account'... You know that Martin Lawrence has had to use the old 'floral hush' technique before ('roses keep mouths closed')... He probably has those guys on speed-dial for those 'sick of the bullshit, gonna call your wife' emergencies that spring up on movie sets now and again.
Anyway- cute prank, right?XXL, subscription renewed.

~sarah p.

A letter to my 16-year-old self:

Hey little lady,

I am writing this from the not-too-distant future... 2010, a place where nobody even uses Discmans anymore! Do you realize that we are now able to jump and listen to personal music players at the same time? Listening to Kris Kross is so easy for you now, you wouldn't even believe it.

Holy fuck. I'm not going to ruin the surprise, and spill the beans on your entire life story, but let me tell you: shit goes down. Sooo many times.
Listen, kiddo, I just want to give you a few words of advice... You don't want to have to learn this shit the hard way again:

*There are easier and smarter ways to do the following: buying booze, earning money, having a good time, getting decent grades, making rad friends. You are currently doing none of the preceding correctly. You fucking hate babysitting, and pretty soon Carly's older brother is going to college, and nobody is going to be around to score you bottles of Baby Duck. Better figure something out.
*If a guy shows up at your house, and a flavored condom falls out of his pocket, that guy is trying to get you pregnant.
*Please reconsider your "16-yr-old minimalist" phase, because there are albums and cassettes that, in your late twenties, you will wish you didn't sell in a milk crate at your mom's yard sale (for a very minimal profit).
*You should maybe learn to drive while you still have the balls.
*Don't let your cynical nature keep you from enjoying what is good. Don't sleep on the following for so long: Lil Wayne, vintage shoes, eyebrow pencils, and the joys of home ownership.
*If you totally hate your job, just fucking quit. Update your resume, and go get a new job. It is actually that easy.
*I know it sounds corny as hell, but be nicer to your sister.
*Remember when you drank bottled Singapore Slings and Powerade and rye, and you woke up feeling like you might die? Gin and soda sounds horrible, I know. It's more tolerable than you would think, and reduces hangovers by at least 40% (rough estimate). Also, it's going take you another twelve years to figure out that an occasional glass of water will make you feel even better. Sorry, 16-year-old liver.
*You should be more cautious about: traveling alone in foreign countries before the age of eighteen, knowing how much weed costs before trying to buy weed, "dressing your size", and significantly older men.
*Please try to understand what it means if you start dating a guy, and people give you that raised-eyebrows, "warning eyes" look when they find out.
*You know how sometimes, when it's hot, you go out for ice cream in the summer? Pretty soon, you'll be going for gelato instead.

Anyway, say hi to 1998 for me! 'Still Not A Player'- great track, right? Wait until you hear 'You Got Me' and Armand Van Helden for the first time next year... You're going to go nuts.

xoxo
~sarah p. (age 28.5)

p.s. New blog, you guys! All of my favorite Youtube tracks, in a convenient format.

Rain, rain.

I often wish that I had 'rain days' at my job... Days where, upon waking to dreary wet skies, my phone would ring, and my boss would say: "Stay inside today! It is too wet to work!".
I would shrug my shoulders, crawl back into bed, and switch on the TV for Maury-a-thon 2010.

Perhaps it's time to consider a blue collar career? I have no idea what a 'foreman' does, but it sounds like it would probably be something that I am good at. Those guys get rain days a'plenty.

I'm sick of showing up to work with soggy feet and frizzy hair, and having to smell the first damp vagrant of the morning (a scent that can only be described as a combo of musk, trash, and depression) as I wrap the blood pressure cuff around their clammy, cold arm.

This weather is the worst. My beautiful Mexican tan has faded to a hint of pale glow across my forehead and cheeks, and my most of my flowers in the garden have barely begun to bloom.
I've been using as much aerosol hairspray as I can, in hopes that it may help rip a larger hole in the area of ozone directly above my house. I'm thinking about burning a bunch of plastic and garbage in my backyard to speed the process along.
Hurry up, summer!

~sarah p.

p.s. The best thing to do on a rainy day by far? Download every Evelyn 'Champagne' King album ever!
Betcha there's some tracks you forgot about, or didn't even know existed. Score!

Fact: Learning about the Meteor Man soundtrack, the hard way.

Fact: In 1993, I ran to the record store to buy a copy of the Meteor Man soundtrack, because I had heard this song in one of the scenes:

Fact: The record store didn't have the Meteor Man soundtrack, so I pulled out my Columbia House catalogue, and sent my money (coins and all) in a pre-sealed envelope.

Fact: Two months later, after two back-order notices and a personal apology call from Columbia House's customer service department, my package finally arrived.

Fact: The song wasn't even on the Meteor Man soundtrack. What I did get was some b-side lacklustre tracks from Shanice and Hi-Five, mixed with some other unknown artists that I'm sure the producers got on the cheap.

Fact: Meteor Man was the worst movie ever. Come oooooon, how was Robert Townsend ever supposed to be playing a believable superhero? That guy can play a sensible dad that loves to BBQ, a depressed Little League coach, or maybe a mild-mannered banker with a heart of gold, but a motherfucking superhero?
People in 1993 must've had some crazy imaginations, because that shit is ridiculous.

~sarah p.

p.s. I often say to myself: "What did I do without the internet?". Well this, my friends, was a classic case.