Thursday, March 26, 2009
FB: Please tell me why did a fat kid try to donchi me????!!!!???? I tried to break his arm after that!
FB: I threw his big ass on the ground
Me: Why did he do that?
FB: All these kids are PERVS!
Me: Hol up what exactly is a donchi?
FB: When they put their hands together with the indexes out like a gun and try to ram it up your ass! They think that shit is funny!
ME: LMAOOOOO AHAHAHAHAAA!!!!
FB: They don't speak enough English to tell me where they learned that shit from. Who thought of that shit??? That's not something that I would have even DREAMED of doing to somebody, especially not a grown person or teacher.
ME: yeah man that shit is so WILD! AHAHAHA!
FB: That's a good way to F'ed up! It has to stop immediately...he didn't understand after almost getting his wrist broken the first time!
ME: So wait, they have done this to u more than once? The same kid? I wish one of my students would even think about doing something like that!
FB: Yeah, same kid twice today! He thought I was playing the first time.
ME: I grabbed a student up this week for hittin me tho! Like I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to me LIKE DONT EVER IN YOUR LIFE TOUCH ME! Then let him go with a little force!
FB: Damn....hit you where???
ME: Like jumped and slapped both of my shoulder simultaneously! HARD TOO!
FB: Dang.....my kids always want to practice their Taekwondo on me or arm wrestle me....TWO losing battles!
Just a lil glimpse into the life of an English Teacher in Korea. Bad ass kids!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
In terms of cultural consumption, we live in two Americas: black people do not go to see movies like “Love Actually” in droves (or even in dozens), and white people are not the first in line to see “Big Momma’s House.”
Tyler Perry has had enormous success chronicling the lives of working- and middle-class African-Americans, relying on stereotypes that would seem more egregiously offensive if his plays, movies and television shows weren’t intended for black audiences. His TBS series, “House of Payne,” began with the premise that an attractive mother of two, the wife of a good and decent firefighter, would, seemingly prompted by nothing, turn into a crack addict. The show has a laugh track.
Until a few years ago, before Reginald Hudlin took over for a time, BET (Black Entertainment Television), which began in 1980, trafficked primarily in music videos — hip-hop and R&B and shake-your-groove-thing visuals — as well as standup comedy shows and sitcom reruns. But when the video model no longer became tenable, BET followed its compatriots VH1 and MTV into reality programming, often about the lives of the young, fashion-conscious and largely well-to-do and assumed the burden of correcting reductive portraits of black life.
“College Hill,” which begins its sixth season on BET on Tuesday, revolves around a shifting group of students thrown together in a big house, in the tradition of MTV’s “Real World.” In the past the students attended historically black colleges. This season the show is set in South Beach, with cast members from places like the University of Miami wearing Lacoste shirts and claiming, for instance, to love money above all. In an introductory video one woman, a flutist, cites her biggest pet peeve as bad grammar.
BET has closely followed the MTV and VH1 model, but while it has not totally dispensed with trash, its growing noble interest in performing racial P.R. leaves it feeling devoid of the exhilarating idiocy we love in shows like “The Hills.” As its competitive talent show, BET has “Sunday Best,” which travels around the country looking for the best gospel singers. BET’s “Baldwin Hills,” which concluded its third season last week, is set in the exclusive black Los Angeles neighborhood of the same name, a place where 17 means that it is time for a Mercedes as surely as it would in Brentwood.
But there’s a lot of disciplining on “Baldwin Hills”: parents are not merely present, they’re also reprimanding and grounding their children. In a recent episode, Etienne sheepishly asked his mother if he could go to a pool party, even though, technically speaking, he wasn’t supposed to be leaving the house, because earlier he had gone out at midnight to get a bite to eat without telling anyone.
His mother remains furious: “Do you deserve the option to go to Justin’s pool party? You don’t pay the bills here, you don’t pay the mortgage here and you’re 16 years old. Now maybe if you were contributing in some way to those things, I might say, ‘Go ahead, Etienne, jump in somebody’s car, take off in the middle of the night, don’t let anyone know where you’re going.’ ”
In another parent-child exchange a mother warns her daughter against trying to date a good friend’s ex on the grounds that it wouldn’t be nice and that the whole thing would seem pretty distasteful, as if distasteful weren’t the organizing principle of reality television.
And yet the show manages some genuinely affecting drama, even as it seems driven to impress us with certain standards of parenthood. This season Staci, a teenager who lives in far less privileged circumstances in the flats below Baldwin Hills, dealt with pregnancy and miscarriage. There seems to be an understanding on the show that class trumps race in the annals of misfortune.
“Harlem Heights,” which runs on Mondays and made its debut this month, is even more decidedly obsessed with glamour. Populated by ambitious editors, activists and aspiring designers in their 20s, the show takes place in low-lit bars and well-decorated apartments in the wealthiest sections of Harlem. It’s “The City,” if Whitney Port could identify Marcus Garvey.
The first episode captured the excitement in Harlem on the eve of Barack Obama’s victory, with cast members lining up before dawn to vote. Though mercifully, within a few weeks the euphoric mood of political purpose gave way to awkward dates, impressive displays of male arrogance and cat fighting: between Brooke and Ashlie, over what, I’m still not entirely clear. But good for Brooke for not caring about locution. As she explained to a friend after going out with a careerist she didn’t like, “You know how I hate it when dudes try to win you over by like, ‘This is what I do.’ ”
“Harlem Heights” may just have a future.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
One of the biggest dilemmas that arose once I decided to live overseas was the thought of how I was going to maintain my tresses while I was away. I am very much an "every two weeks at the hairdresser" type of girl. (Though the recession slowed my roll on this to once a month.) After doing a bit of research I was happy to discover that they were a few places where I would be able to go to get my hair done and not be disappointed while I lived in South Korea. However, I didn't want anything extravagant done to my hair. When it comes to my hair I have always been a "basic wrap" kinda girl. Last year for a cruise my friend's convinced me to get micros in order to minimize the stress of having to do it after it got wet. I bitched the whole time about how much I hated my hair and how I was never getting these damn braids again. I keeps it simple and the braids were unfamiliar and not a look I liked at all on myself.
This weekend I decided to try out one of these hair salons and see what the result would be. Us ladies decided to do a spa weekend and just get some pampering done. (Hair, Massages, Waxes, Mani, Pedi you know the deal) The first stop was for hair. Now Best Bup was getting her micros redone so she and another friend went to an African salon in order to get serviced. My other friend was getting a sew in weave. Now these are 2 things that I do not eff with. I simply do not like weave. Now do not get me wrong, if a woman has a nice weave I definitely give props. Personally, I am just not a weave wearer. In addition I know from friends that wear weave that it is crucial to do your research before getting it done, from the hair you use to the person applying it to yo head!
So I go to my salon which is run by Koreans to get my hair done. Can you say EFFICIENT?! First I was pleased they spoke enough English in order to communicate with me. Second, they move with purpose. Third, THEY KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING! I had to wait like 10 minutes before I got my hair done but in those 10 minutes I was quite observant. I saw this one Korean woman gettin BUSY on some micros. Another, was applying color to a woman's hair while her co-worker was finishing her mani and pedi. Finally I saw another Korean woman pressing someones hair and it looked GOOD! I was interrupted by a woman who said, "Shampoo?"
"Yes please!" I replied
"Would you like deep conditioner?" she asked in her Korean accent.
"Umm yes!" I answered
And we were off. An African woman washed my hair and thoroughly I must add. I sat under a dryer with deep conditioner in my hair, was rinsed, and ready to be blow dried in no time. This place already had many black salons beat in my book because they respected my time. (Lemme not stunt I LOVE my hair stylists in Pgh and DC!!!! They are simply the best. I just gotta be there WAY too long!) An older Korean woman than blew my hair out STRAIGHT! Like she was not playing! Then flat ironed it. I gave her a little direction on how I wanted it to look and she knew exactly what to do. I was pleasantly surprised at how well my hair turned out. And to make things even better it only cost me 28,000 won! (This is roughly 19 American dollars depending on the day) I walked out feeling great and was eager to find out how the other ladies enjoyed their hair experience!
SMFH They weren't as pleased as me....
So Best Bup got some micros. I went to meet her at the shop she was in which was this small ass room with bags of hair hanging all over the walls. I know her very well and could tell immediately that she was not pleased. And I immediately saw why. Why was her ponytail once they pulled up her micros so damn STINGY?! Like seriously it wanted and NEEDED more weave bad. After later inspection of her hair we noticed that they used so little weave that her natural hair was sticking out of the braids in the middle. Now I am no weave expert but I do know that you need a good amount of hair in each micros so they look full. This woman clearly was trying to conserve her weave and Best Bup was livid!
Then my friend who was getting the sew in was up next. We will call her Bup #3. Personally, after the episode with Best Bup I would not trust this lady to do my hair. But Bup #3 kept her appointment to let this woman sew in her weave and was also disappointed. (I learned a lot about weave this weekend!) So Bup #3 wanted the hair "closed" I believe is how she put it. Anyway she didn't want any of her natural hair out! She kept stressing this to this woman but the woman kept saying that it would be better if they left some hair out. Bup #3 quickly figured out that this woman didn't know how to do this closure. Not to mention Best Bup and Bup#3 both complained about how this woman blow dried their hair. She didn't brush it or comb it as she did it. She simply grabbed a fistful of their hair and took the blow dryer to it. (I was really trying not to laugh as they told me this part of the story!)
Anyway Bup #3 is now pissed because in the front of her head her non-permed hair is out and this chick doesn't know how to close it so she just keeps insisting that it would look better not enclosed. This stylist then proceeds to put an ubberly huge amount of product (mouse, gel, grease, hell I dunno) on the hair that is still out and is about to take a flat iron to it! Bup #3 LOST it to say the least!
"I know you aren't about to put that flat iron in my hair after you just wet it with all that crap," Bup #3 exclaims.
"Yes I need to straighten it so I can finish your weave." the African stylist answered.
"Ummm that is going to FRY my hair! You need to blow dry it a lil before you put that flat iron in my hair! And I told you I didnt want any of my natural hair out! How are you going to finish this?!" Bup #3 asked truly perplexed.
"I will glue tracks in and blend it!" the stylist responded clearly annoyed with Bup #3's constant questioning.
"Fine, whatever just finish it!" she responded with much aggrevation.
So when Bup #3 gets back to the hotel room we look at her hair at first glance like uhhh it looks okay. Why are you so mad? Needless to say Best Bup and I do not know much about sew in weaves. However, upon taking a closer look I began to see the discrepancies that Bup #3 was so mad about and then upon hearing her horror story I understood more. Best Bup and Bup #3 continued to exchange complaints about what they didn't like about their hair. They then turned to me and asked, "So how was your experience?"
I was honestly nervous about telling them how good it was so I just left it at, "Good. My hair turned out decent."
"I see! It looks nice." Bup #3 responded with a bit of an attitude.
Early the next day Bup #3's track came out at lunch. Can you say hysteria?!
My phone just rang......
It is Best Bup talkin about her stingy ponytail......Until Next Time
Thursday, March 12, 2009
They Say, “The Blacker the Berry, the Sweeter the Juice.” Wait, I don’t even like berries.
Preface: My mother is going to kill me.
Here lately I’ve been getting in arguments with my sistas about their hair. A few things:
- I hate when women wrap their hair before bed. Hence, why I have two silk pillows on my bed, “just in case, they don’t want to get their hair messed up, [messing] with a [brother]” as Katt W. said.
- I hate when some Black woman asks me what I think of her hair when she chops it off and goes, Happy I’m Nappy natural. I think the same thing each time, “That was stupid. (In the “That was easy” voice)
- I hate the argument that Black women have problems working out because they sweat their hair out. I believe there are plenty of Black women who manage to work out and not sweat their hair out, that’s why they are in shape and others aren’t.
And then suddenly it hit me, it’s been a while since I talked to a woman with Black hair. And you know what? Seriously, just one day I just lost the urge to talk to Black women at all. I don’t think I’ve ever said, I’m done talking to Black women, I think one day I just said to myself, I’ve had enough I’m no longer limiting myself to a group of women just because they are Black. And this translated into me just not meeting or interacting with them on a romantic level anymore.
This was not spontaneous, it was gradual in nature. I think back on life and I’ve always had a thing for “redbone” or “high yella” women. In fact, the Summer of 2003 joke about me used to be that I like them, “light, bright and damn there white” or “oh yeah, lighter than that.” The last Black girl that I seriously dated was a “redbone” with hazel eyes. Sooner or later I was bound to just cross on over.
I never was the type to date solely in my race, my girlfriend in middle school was white. Oh and let’s be clear, she wasn’t a white girl from around the way, she was white. I went to a predominantly white school for college, I was in a predominantly white major, and I hung around a pretty diverse group of people. Naturally, I had sex with white women. It was never a big deal for me. And it wasn’t just white women, because it was Latina sisters too. Being from DC, once going to NY, I discovered different nationalities of Latinas, such as, Dominicans and Puerto Ricans. But still, “light, bright, and damn there white.”
So after a few bad experiences with Black women in DC after school, I just gave up on being the token Black guy. Yes, the token Black guy, a guy who is predisposed to only Black women for fear of persecution. And so I’ve now become a Black man who believes he has a great chance of never dating a Black woman again, unless she’s mixed.
I know the readers would like to know why, and I’ll tell you… I’ve noticed a REAL big difference when in relationships and dealings with white women.
I do not have to carry the race with my interactions with white women.
With Black women, you are representing for the whole race and gender of Black men. You deal with the baggage of every Black girl lost. And you’re just not trying to hear all that. I don’t want to deal with how Black men are always cheating and leaving some Black women for a White woman. I do not need to hear about how some Black man is always skipping out on his responsibilities. I do not need to hear about how Black women have carried the race for so long, that it’s time that Black men stepped up to the plate. I don’t need to hear that Black men ain’t sh*t. Excuse my French. Quite frankly, I’m not those men, so don’t compare me to them.
I’m not finished with this topic.
When I make a mistake, I now get the punishment of a repeat offender. It’s like if I cheat on a Black woman, because I cheated on a woman, I get punished for every other Black man who cheated and got caught or didn’t get caught. No, this is the present, I’ve made a mistake, and this may be my first mistake and I need to be able to make mistakes or this won’t go anywhere whatsoever. Lastly, when she makes a mistake, she can write it off by comparing it to the things that Black men have done in the past.
There’s a sense of entitlements that should not exist.
One of the things that caused me to get extremely frustrated with dating Black women was the sense of entitlement to dictating the way everything should go, as if they were owed something. They didn’t have to earn anything. When I was dating outside of Black women, that was different. I’ll give you two examples; Latina women will cook for you, Black women will tell you, “I ain’t your mother.” White women will chill in the house when you’re broke, Black women will tell you the second you decline going out, “How come we don’t ever go anywhere?!”
I know there are exceptions to the rule. But I’m very adamant about saying, that we are not judged by our inconsistencies, but by our consistencies. And if the large majority of you are one way, you need to huddle with your people about what the majority voice is before coming to me claiming to be the exception. I’ve been consistently happier dating white and Latina women than I have been dating Black women. I actually felt like I could be myself, I wasn’t living up to some norm or standard that I didn’t have any part in creating. Quite frankly, I haven’t been in a setting where it was predominantly Black since the sixth grade, it only makes sense that I need someone who understands that I’m multi-faceted. No, I’m not a Black man who doesn’t know he’s Black, I’m a Black man who knows he’s Black enough to not need to see a Black woman everyday to know that he’s Black. I’m a Black man who’s strong enough to say, as it stands for me, I just don’t think I’m compatible with most Black women.
Am I saying that I will never date a Black woman again? No, I’m merely saying it’s unlikely.
Reader’s Note: Through out this blog you may have noticed that I capitalize the “B” in Black, but do not do the same for the term white. I do this because Black is a race in America that represents a group of people who do cannot and do not trace their roots back to anything but Black. While white is a race, it is a placeholder for many people who can trace their roots back to a nationality but choose to use the term white to distinguish themselves from Black people.
Monday, March 9, 2009
The term "African" American seems to me to be a desperate method to be politically correct when it is used to define ALL Blacks! Now there are people that can be defined as "African" American. Barack Obama is an "African American". He was born to a Kenyan father and a White American mother. The District's Bup is an "African American". She is a first generation Ghanaian woman who was born in America. These are some definitions of people whom I believe are "African American".
I consider myself a Black American because my family's culture and what we identify with is being an American that happens to be Black. I do not know exactly where my family comes from. Now I can assume that I come from Africa but I do not necessarily know from what part. I have asked my 89 year old grandfather (my oldest known living family member) about the history of our family and he knows nothing past Georgia and Florida plantations. When talking to my grandmother about our family lineage she pulled out a picture of her grandmother that was a 6'2 Native American woman. So I am not "African" American. I am a Black American because no matter where my people may have come from when people look at me they see a Black woman who is an American.
I remember my freshman year in college when everyone was introducing themselves at the house meeting in my dorm. (I lived in a special interest dorm that was for minority students.) Everyone was introducing themselves and repping where they were from.
"I am Guyanese and I'm from Brooklyn."
"I am Haitian and I am from the Bronx."
"I am Nigerian and I am from Maryland."
"I am Dominican and I am from Queens"
(In case you haven't guessed I went to school in upstate NY)
"I am Black and I am from Pittsburgh." - Guess who???
At first I felt awkward not knowing my exact nationality. Where I was from, you were Black or you were White. That's it! There was an occasional Latino and of course a plethora of Asians. But if you were Black, you were Black and that was it! Then I thought to myself I do know my nationality. I am a Black American. I have a culture. I have an identity. I have a struggle. I have a purpose as a Black American woman. I do not need to define myself any more than this because that in itself holds great meaning.
I do consider it to be quite a gift to know exactly where your roots can be traced back to. I am still trying to get more clarity on my family lineage. However, in my attempts to discover this I have been led to many different possibilities. Therefore, I do not like being forced into the category of African American because that is not who I am. I am a Black American.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I could not help but comment, after I watched the Chris Rock Special again for the 5th time.
Chris Rock explains, that the real reason black woman hate on black men dating out side of his race is due to the fact, that black women are not attracted to non black men.
I had to stop and really think about this. WRONG. I see hot men in all races. But to be real, what concerns me most is I am not sure how non black men view black women. In particular, I rarely ever get the mojo signs from a non black man, without me making my self SAFE.
SAFE as in making the first move. Even then, it does not work out well.
Also, its rare that I can walk into a room on non black men, or be on the street, and feel that they are checking me out or find me attractive. I do not think I am in their taste.
You see me I am voluptuous, yet petite, dark chocolate bup. I have thick thighs, Rotundness, and boobs. These are things not typical in the preference of some non black men.
Now me, I always been a person to think outside my race. My first crush was white boy. Blonde hair blue eyes. I have a thing for Indian men. I like Exotic features .I appreciate different looks. But I dunno, if I believe Non black man appreciate the unique features of everyday black women.
I mean, I know all men will reference Halle Berry, or dig video chicks. But what about the everyday black woman? Everyone was ranting on Sarah Palin (everyday white chick), but what about how HAWT Michelle O is?
Am I missing something? I rarely hear an appreciation, so real talk, Non Black men, do you think of black women as possibilities?
Thursday, March 5, 2009
A Few months, I got called to do my citizen duty, JURY DUTY. Never in my life have I had it until that day. Let me be the first to tell you its scary. It seems like I am becoming too familiar with the Judicial System. First my night it jail, and now my morning in court.
First I got the the letter in the mail. January 26. Dang. 8:30 am! DANG again.
I figured this would be an in and out thing. You know, go in there, say your racist or extreme, and boom. Your out. So to prepare for my crazy story, I made sure I was looking real bum like. Had my hair wrapped up, Sweats that did not match, crazy shoes. I should have painted my face, because that is all I needed to do to look like a clown.
So I walk in. Confused as hell. Where do I go for Jury Duty? Go to information. Room 3130. Ok Cool. Maaaaaaan I walk up them stairs, why is the LINE for JURY LOOK like the Line in front of Disney WORLD on the Fourth of JULY!!! I want to know how many damn cases they need jurors for??! Why did DC just play me? SO I'm chillen in the ILLEST LINE OF MY LIFE. When a clerk comes over and announces, check you juror tickets make sure you don't have a GRAND Jury summons. OK. Well I forgot all that ish at home. YEP. BUT GUESS WHAT? I got a CRACKBERRY. Pulled up my info. BOOM. I got a GRAND JURY summons. YESS!! I am out the line. Smooth sailing to the next room, where there were no more than 50 people waiting.
So while I wait, I just continue to rehearse my story. I did my research. I studied Unckle Ruckus because 9 times out of 10 this case had something to do with a black person.
A clerk or attorney comes out says please line up, check in and and have seat. COOL. I am second I go in a chill. Read the facts about grand jury. Nothing that is going to apply to my a$$ cus I fitten to get UNCLE RUCKUS on dat a$$. I observe the court room. Nothing Like that of the movies. All these oil paintings with old ass judges on the wall. The room was very petite.
After everyone checks in the attorney heads to the "dias". Here is what her announcement looked like "Good Morning Ladies and Gentleman. You are here today for Grand Jury duty that will last Monday through Friday for the next 5 weeks. I need 23 people, if you have to miss a day let me know. The only valid excuse is you are not a DC Resident, you are a felon, or do not speak english."
PANIC MODE!!! I do not meet any of those requirements!! (Who would have thought if I would have robbed George W Bush, Like I said I would, I would be a felon and excused!!)
5 weeks getting here by 830 AM and no pay! What have I done to deserve this??
The clerk proceeds to say if you have any of these issues of why you cannot serve, line up here. At first I hesitated. Honestly real talk, I qualified, but bump it was not going out with a fight. I reviewed the sheet, and decided that I was going to go with Health Reasons. I had two upcoming Doctors appointments, and I was recovering from a surgery. (LASIK).
It seems others infront of the GET Excused line were well prepared because all the 30 people infront of me, were steadily bouncing out of duty.
So finally its me. I walk into the back room. The clerk firmly asks me why can't I serve. Shyt.
"Because I got Doctors Appointment."
"So. You can be excused those days. So you can serve?"
AWW shyt. At this point...I am pretty much fucked. Damn 5 weeks.
"No I cant. I just had surgery and I am recovering."
"Really? Oh you have a medical excuse. Fax us a letter from your doctor"
LAAAAAAAWD!!! I love you.
Well, All was good until this week. I got a letter saying you DEFFERED your service, and You need to report everyday for 5 weeks starting in April!
Damn this is EFFED up! Why is my jury duty so long, and how come I cannot get out of this!!?
So bups, What I did not realize until now is that I did not get any regular Jury Duty. I got GRAND JURY!
"Grand jury is completely different.
No one asks potential grand jurors questions about what they do, what their beliefs are, or if they feel they can be fair. The grand jury’s job is to listen to the assistant district attorney (and sometimes witnesses), and then vote on whether or not someone should be indicted. Grand juries may listen to and decide on multiple cases per day - as many as come up on that particular day. Grand juries do not decide guilt or innocence - which is why no one cares if you’re an incurable racist. Unless you can’t speak English, are an illegal alien, or are a felon, you must serve on a grand jury if your name is called"
Stick a fork in me. I'm Done. :(
Monday, March 2, 2009
Ok. Ok. Ok. I am going to keep it 100 with you all. I am a person all about experiences. If you do not try something, how will one ever learn. Well Today's lesson is, I have much respect for Strippers, Exotic Dancers, Pole Dancers etc.
I admit it. I have been to a female strip club. I will never forget that day. The spot was called "SugarBares!" Now SugarBares was the real deal. Ass and Tities everywhere. All types of broads. Brown, Yellow, Haitians. Whites. All types of customers females, and males. I was amazed at what the women could do but I did not have a true appreciation for it until now.
So, here is the real story. I am turning the big 25 in a few months (another post) and have a list of must dos before then. One of them was Pole Dancing.
Last week I gave it try. WRONG of me. Went to class and so glad I got scholarships for school, cus If I had to get on the POLE?? SMH. It was a sorry sight. SOORRRRRRRRY. Do you know the amount of coordination you need to swing your body around the pole, real sexy like????
Nonetheless, If you know anyone who was or is stripping on the pole?? You need to TIP them immediately! Their job is hard work. My hat and a very high level of respect goes to these women! Not just anyone can shake their ass! I will never ever talk bad about folks who choose to do this for a living!
Flashing back to the my night at SugarBares, I was enthralled then! I tipped them because I was utterly fascinated at how sexually free these women were, and the THINGS. The THANGS these women could do on stage. (that I now know the strongest man in the world could not do.) These women need to go to the Olympics. Once beyond the nakedness of their bodies, one can really appreciate the athleticism, choreography, and masterfulness to turn men/ lesbians on.
Sadly I also underestimated them. Every woman should attend a strip club. Not that Gentleman's club soft core joint. I am talking about the real gutter, Aint trickin if you got it Clubs!!! It will open your eyes.