Lily told me I needed to work on a remix for Skrillex/Damian Marley. So after a couple of hours cranking away, Aziz and Des stop by to pick up Des’s brother’s computer which I repaired. We get to talking about this and that, my birthday passed on the 6th, Aziz was coming up on the 12th and he was having his annual “Virgo Affair” on the 14th.
Was I gonna go, or would I just say I was gonna go… and then find something more interesting? I mean, who the fuck wants to go to Manhattan on a weekend and fight every degenerate in the street, out screaming bloody murder with their repressed friends. Get to the bar, filled full of bridge and tunnel assholes because lets be honest, people who live in Manhattan don’t go to the village or SOHO, and definitely not on a weekend. Fifteen dollar drinks, lame empty conversation with people you’ve never met and god forbid you actually meet someone you want to talk to… you can’t hear a word they say because every bar keeps the music on blast. Only someone who truly hates their life submits themselves to such an ordeal.
Either way, the conversation moves to what Aziz & Desire are up to now. Des is hungray! RAWR mothafucka, get out the way. They have plans to get Roti out on Flatbush from a spot called Ali’s, just a couple blocks way from Peppa’s jerk chicken. Not only do I ask to tag along, I ask to have him drive me home.
First stop is Ali’s, we each get a curry goat roti and Des gets a second one, curry shrimp. Aziz wanted boneless curry chicken, but seeing how they had none, he just decided to get some Jerk from Peppa’s. I figured I might as well buy some for breakfast the next morning.
Peppa’s never disappoints. Everyone comes here, I was talking to the owner once, he said Japanese tourists are all over the place. I remember going to see a friend who worked at a bar a few blocks away where they too served jerked chicken. She told me not to order it and that the jerk salmon was much better. I then asked if she had tried Peppas up the street to which she replied no, but all her coworkers talk about Peppa’s. If everyone where you work talks about someone else’s restaurant, that’s not a good sign.
I bought a six dollar order of jerk, and Aziz got a nine dollar for him and Des. Before we could head out of there, Aziz wanted a macaroni pie from this west indian spot, and then to Wendy’s for a Frosty to cleanse the palette. Damn son.
We get back to his place, he rolls a blunt, and we eat. My curry goat roti was bomb, but I really felt that even though it wasn’t a problem for me to dig thru the bones, it felt a bit tedious. Desire had the curry shrimp, and the shrimp were cleaned and shelled. Thats what I’m getting next time.
When we finish Aziz lights the blunt and we pass it back and forth. Doing this is such a rarity for me, it always makes me rather spacey. Yes I know thats the point. Anyway, Aziz puts on a commercial for the new iPhone 5 and I’m so over that hunk of shit.
I’m over the hype, I’m over the company, the operating system, the complete bozo employees at the apple store. I’m over the fact that Apple is the new Microsoft, Steve’s Jobs public feud with Adobe, or Samsung, or Google. I’m over the shitty service I had with AT&T, and now that I’ve switched to Verizon, it’s gotten even worse. I’m over how the iPhone constantly asks if you want to give out your coordinates. I’m REALLY fucking over how it will automatically capitalize any word that is the name of corporation or brand, yet it refuses to remember that fuck is a word I use quite liberally. If I mistype whilst writing fuck, lets say fick, or fivk, it does nothing.
And other than the fact that I found it humorous that I have Siri address me as daddy, or that I had her (how do I know Siri isn’t a really fem sounding dude) make a reminder for nine in the morning on september 6th, 2025, I’m still over it. Watch, Apple is gonna remember my “reminder” long after I forget it, and when that morning comes, in 2025, some fucking robot will be at my door to deliver it to me. Other than the juvenile fuckery I pull with it, I only seems to turn me off.
People ask me bout the iPhone, and that it looks so nice and how it is. I always say the same thing… it’s the nicest piece of shit out there, and thats the truth. The reception, is a joke, Siri has the mind of a retarded two year old, and sorry I don’t talk to retarded machines. It’s a machine and I don’t have to feel compassion nor a sense obligation to look past its poor performance.
I toss it around, I refuse to get a case for it, and that seems to bother people. You should be careful with it. BZZZZ, WRONG, guess again dumbass. It’s a machine, and while people might look at it as a marvel, I’m not impressed. It’s just stuff, and my stuff doesn’t own me, I own my stuff.
Whats fucked up more is this commercial Aziz put on. The ad sort freaked me out: just an instrumental version of a Kanye West with this vibe like it knew that you needed it., and in the background of the song a sample repeatly saying “I can’t stop”. I’m sure Siri won’t just ask questions, she’ll give commands like “don’t put me down Daddy (“she” calls me daddy)… just hold me for another five minutes.”
I’m waiting for the day you can custom order the persona of your phone. Alpha males will want some subservient phone preferably with an asian accent. Bottom boys will want some total dom agro phone to bark orders at them. Hood rat chics will want some smooth talking phone to make up excuses whenever the call is dropped:”nah baby, that wasn’t me, that was your service provider, they be slipping”. The possibilities will be shamelessly endless.
When I get home I realize I need to work on this remix yet I’m still buzzed from that joint. I cannot produce on this shit, so I’ll wait it out, cause I ain’t sleeping either.