I sometimes wonder what the fuck people are thinking (I realize I'm expecting a lot by expecting mental agility) when they broadcast their knock-off of Howard Stern shock-jockery to the world. It's one thing to fall asleep on cam, another to turn on the waterworks (been there myself) and still another to have four hot & horny men together on cam yet all absorbed in their individual iPads.
On this Black Friday night, I was a'roaming cyberspace and stumbled upon this studly looking, rather hirsute and seemingly white-as-oxford cloth-white man..whose cam subtitle stated he was in his 'crip'.
That's right: 'crip'.
Living in Los Angeles, I admit I'm square footage spoiled. But being rather oxford-cloth white myself, I'm proud to say I do know some slang, and call me crazy, I think he might have meant his 'crib'.
Given the price of real estate in the "three block radius' of Penn Station, maybe 'crip' is to a 'crib' what a ''bachelor' apartment is to...the Palace at Versailles. Homeboy's in Manhattan after all. I won't pass on the address he gave out, I've a conscience.
His decorating choices of ferns and Judy Garland posters conjured up Quiche Lorraine & Mimosa brunches rather than soul food and Spike Lee movies. I forgave that: for in 10 minutes or less I learned the popularity, availability and current street value of the Wall Street and MOMA crowd's drugs o'choice. He told us that he likes going out and hauling heroin addicts back nto his crip and watching them. Watching them 'what' I never was quite clear on.
I'm not big on frank and foolish monologues from naked guys on cam about how the drug industry is run by 'idiots and Mongolians'. Mongolia? Wait til Colombia gets wind of that. Genghis Khan is back. No wonder there are those Mongolian joints in so many mall food courts now. Clearly a front.
Then again, I could have clicked off the editorial, and I did. Fifteen minutes later, I was right back where I started. Now, he was deep into getting a hook up, fingers working his iPhone at full throttle. but announced how he feared being killed in his apartment. At least I think it was a fear. When I asked if he'd been watching Looking for Mr. Goodbar, he replied with something about being out of candy. Sigh.
It was clear that my mouthy dud of a stud was a prep schooled bachelor of a certain age. He'd elevate himself in my eyes if he dumped the arrogance and the use of Ebonics. Oh, and the cigarettes. I still wouldn't be impressed, but then again, if I was so appalled at his schtick, why the heck was I watching him?
On this Black Friday night, I was a'roaming cyberspace and stumbled upon this studly looking, rather hirsute and seemingly white-as-oxford cloth-white man..whose cam subtitle stated he was in his 'crip'.
That's right: 'crip'.
Living in Los Angeles, I admit I'm square footage spoiled. But being rather oxford-cloth white myself, I'm proud to say I do know some slang, and call me crazy, I think he might have meant his 'crib'.
Given the price of real estate in the "three block radius' of Penn Station, maybe 'crip' is to a 'crib' what a ''bachelor' apartment is to...the Palace at Versailles. Homeboy's in Manhattan after all. I won't pass on the address he gave out, I've a conscience.
His decorating choices of ferns and Judy Garland posters conjured up Quiche Lorraine & Mimosa brunches rather than soul food and Spike Lee movies. I forgave that: for in 10 minutes or less I learned the popularity, availability and current street value of the Wall Street and MOMA crowd's drugs o'choice. He told us that he likes going out and hauling heroin addicts back nto his crip and watching them. Watching them 'what' I never was quite clear on.
I'm not big on frank and foolish monologues from naked guys on cam about how the drug industry is run by 'idiots and Mongolians'. Mongolia? Wait til Colombia gets wind of that. Genghis Khan is back. No wonder there are those Mongolian joints in so many mall food courts now. Clearly a front.
Then again, I could have clicked off the editorial, and I did. Fifteen minutes later, I was right back where I started. Now, he was deep into getting a hook up, fingers working his iPhone at full throttle. but announced how he feared being killed in his apartment. At least I think it was a fear. When I asked if he'd been watching Looking for Mr. Goodbar, he replied with something about being out of candy. Sigh.
It was clear that my mouthy dud of a stud was a prep schooled bachelor of a certain age. He'd elevate himself in my eyes if he dumped the arrogance and the use of Ebonics. Oh, and the cigarettes. I still wouldn't be impressed, but then again, if I was so appalled at his schtick, why the heck was I watching him?
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