First off, can I just say, FUCK GAWKER. These motherfuckers pimp a negro with a win-a-date contest, then get all George Bush-during-Katrina and totally neglect my ass. Can you believe they WOULDN'T SEND A PHOTOGRAPHER? Plus, let's be racist honest here, all that really mattered was getting visual proof of my date's "DAMN! You got a BLACK ass!" claim. [Ed. Note: In the next 24 hours, there'll be video. Hold yer horses!] Despite Mama Gawker leaving her negro child out in the cold, as it turns out, a little privacy may have been for the best. No photographer meant this would be more like a real date. And who can act photo-pretentious when they're sucking down slyders at White Castle? So this week's Ghetto Pass profiles a real uptown story of possible love (?) and definite slyders at White Castle. Let's dig in.

Planning A Trip

We selected the winner of the contest on Monday, and Rachel made the first move later that night by sending me a note via MySpace. Awww, how cute and earnest. Now from my perspective this was good and bad. Good: obviously I get to take a peek at a picture or two, and get an idea of whether I'll need to bring mace or Axe Bodyspray (ooooh). Bad: who the hell contacts people through MySpace? Haven't you heard, Rachel? MySpace is dead. Not a good sign there. But her profile pic was — wait for it — cute, as you can see at right, so I didn't immediately IM Gawker HQ about a do-over. Not that they would have listened anyways, you'll notice they didn't even send a photographer. In the subsequent exchange of notes I come to find out Rachel doesn't even eat burgers. Which is initially a bit of a shock, but then very encouraging since I figure you either entered the contest for TAN or the White Castle. Holla!

Are We There Yet?

So can I just say how apropos it is that the first snowstorm of the year comes on Valentine's Day? Such a tragically appropriate metaphor for the bone-chilling Nor'easter that rages in my cold frigid heart. Or heartless soul. Whatever, it all applies. I'm dead inside. What the fuck is love anyways? Fuck Valentine's Day. And with that in mind, sometime in the afternoon I sent an email to Rachel to feel out if she wants to cancel, "hey Rach, pretty snowy out there. Looking forward to our artificial date, on this artificial holiday. Should be great since you don't eat burgers. Cheers, TAN" She was undaunted and told me she was wearing a gown for the occasion and would be showing up promptly. We were officially on.

Slyders Are Served

I only live two blocks away, and Rachel was coming from the Flatiron District, but lo and behold she got there first, and I was late. I'm not into all that "faux-classy showing up on time pizazz" anyways. Here were some other highlights from the dinner:

Ambient Castle Lighting

White Castle advertised "dinner by candlelight," but by "candlelight" they meant "the same fluorescent lights we always use." Sweet, everyone looks sexy under fluorescents, especially people eating greasy hamburgers. DELICIOUS!

The Ol' Ghetto Try

Of course it's not as if you'd nitpick with White Castle about the lighting when you see their obvious effort in other areas. For example, there were paper printouts that said "reserved" on each table, and the font leads me to believe they were impressively printed out by a Commodore 64. The red plastic tablecloths adorning the tables were pretty and shiny. There was also a "waitress," and by "waitress" I mean someone in a White Castle uniform ignoring my requests for water.

Awkward Conversation?

As for conversation, it flowed like Hi-C fruit punch from a soda machine. Rachel peppered me with the usual basic questions like:

Where's the photographer?
Is there really no photographer?
Where's the alcohol?
Is there really no alcohol?
If the photographer comes, might he have alcohol?

Time To Eat

Eventually the "waitress" decided to come by. I ordered twenty hamburgers, ten chicken sandwiches, two milkshakes and then in my deepest alpha-romantic voice said, "... and the lady will have the same." Rachel seemed stunned, but I reminded her, "the meal's on Gawker, so don't be shy." Still, her enthusiasm remained muted. The food came, it was delicious. Rachel's food was good too. The parting "gift bag" contained a coffee mug. That's all. Did anyone know White Castle sells coffee? Apparently it's the best coffee in the world.

General Tips

Unsure of the etiquette, I actually did ask our waitress if I should leave a tip. She just shrugged her shoulders. So I didn't. HA! No, no I'm kidding, I actually told her reading Ghetto Pass every Thursday would help change her life for the better.

Fun Facts

• Did you know Rachel's mom is currently reading this right now and thinking, "I knew I should have told her she could pierce her belly button. This 'Assimilated Negro' phase looks like trouble." (Hi Rachel's Mom! Guess who's coming to dinner?!!?)

Final Word

Dinner at White Castle: $12
Drinks after dinner at White Castle: $90 (holla!)
Having a Valentine's Day Story to remember: priceless $102.

The End!

[Ed. Note: TAN is clearly being a tease here. So we grabbed him on IM for some questions.

Gawker: SO? Don't MAKE ME ASK THE OBVIOUS!

TAN: I'm just a slow negro boy ...

Gawker: Don't gimme that shit. 1. At any point in the evening, did one person's hand touch another's?

TAN: Yes. It was fun...

Gawker: Will you and Rachel ever meet again?

TAN: I suspect so...

Gawker: Have you talked today? Or, have you SEEN each other today?

TAN: No seen. She's on chat with me right now.

So there you have it. Or at least some of it. Maybe the internet makes love happen!]

There are black people out there doing very un-black things. TAN tells their stories.

As I transition from the Ghetto Pass retrospective, I've decided to use hipsters to cushion the initial jump should there be any turbulence. So let's amble back a few internet-years to last Monday when I commented on the NY Times piece profiling these so-called "Blipsters." Everyone enjoyed giving the author a good chiding, but I can't lie, I still wanted to hear more about these strange alien negroes who actually "like rock music." Now while the article had a lot of words, I wasn't totally convinced the premise was based on fact; after all the writer is based in Philly, and was previously seen pimping the City of Brotherly Love as the sixth borough of Manhattan. So I decided to find some Blipsters on my own.

Problem was, I had no idea where to look. Inevitably, I ended up coordinating some covert sting operations on these fro-hawk maintenance message boards you see all over the place. I pretended I was a hot young thing with a sexy fro-hawk that was getting out of control, and only a real Curtis Cobain type would know how to corral my haery maelstrom. Problem solved. I started collecting data on these Blipsters, but one in particular gave me a lot more than I bargained for. I visited him at his home, and discovered in his case the problem ran much deeper than being black and enjoying Nirvana. Sitting in his living room, I found out this guy also likes Bloc Party. YIKES! I immediately turned on the tv and flipped to BET to try and stabilize the environment. But THEN it got even worse when he told me another incredible race-defying confession:I Don't Like A Tribe Called Quest

He said it with confidence, the first letter of each word capitalized as it stormed from his mouth. The melanin in, on?, in my skin began to sear from the flames of his blaspheme. But with my quest for The Truth fortifying my resolve, I decided to remain in his proverbial "kitchen," risking suffocation from the heat of his self-hatred. I even took it a step further and asked him to repeat himself because, quite frankly, I couldn't believe it. He understood my skepticism and braced himself to recant the solemn phrase. His once robust confidence was sagging by the second, but he was going to do it. We both scanned the surrounding area full of fear and trepidation half-thinking The Roots might rush in at any moment and beat us with their instruments. But soon the tears began to well up in his eyes as he blubbered out, " I Don't Like A Tribe Called Quest DAMMIT!"

I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed him by the fro-hawk, looked him directly in the eyes and said, "look man! It's ok to like the nirvana dude. I understand. I went to Choate dude. That shit gets me all *stoked* or whathaveyou also. But that doesn't mean you just go and throw your life away by saying something like 'you don't like Tribe.' Don't be stupid man. You have everything in front of you."

The Blipster could conceal his shame no more, I was almost knocked over by the tidal wave of emotion, "I KNOW MAN!! I KNOW!! IT'S FRIGGIN' TRIBE!!" I told him he could lose the caps and keep the exclamation points and be considerably less annoying about this. He continued, "Tribe ... they're like our Beatles man. I want to f'ing love them man. I really do. But I don't. I can't."

I looked around again, thinking I heard a snare drum or bass riff somewhere, I asked him how many Tribe albums he listened to. Perhaps he had only listened to their last couple of albums, everyone concedes those aren't as strong. He was silent then spoke very matter-of-fact, "yeah, yeah, everyone says Midnight Marauders and Low End Theory. Look, I'm not going to be ashamed of this anymore. I have my reasons you know. I think they're too soft for me. Quite frankly, I think they're too soft for this century. I mean that anti date-rape song? Come on dude. EVERYONE'S Date Raping in 2007, that's the shit! Even the Times is big-upping that. That's fucking Modern Love dude.

I couldn't protest as he continued,

"Look man, I gave it a good shot. But the sound is kind of flat. The music is a little repetitive. I've heard those Can I Kick It drums and samples too many times. GOD. And their lyrics are horrible. Q-Tip comes in and out of coherency and thinks he can write it off by calling himself 'The Abstract,' and Phife is just a fucking idiot. Have YOU listened to Electric Relaxation? What's up with these lyrics? 'You can be a shorty in my ill convoy.' 'You got the goods like Madeline Woods?' Who the fuck is Madeline Woods? I feel like black people must have been a little stupider in the 90s."

"I don't know man. I always liked one of Phife's solo songs Butter," I told him. "And what, you don't want David Dinkins to please be your mayor?"

Just then I got a beep from Gawker HQ. Some commenter had ventured too far uptown and needed help with their Ghetto Pass. So I took off. But later that night on the news I saw the Blipster was found dead. They're calling it a suicide, but I suspect foul play.

Who knows if there are anymore black people who don't enjoy Tribe left, but at least in my life I knew of one. He was a sweet Blipster. I'll remember him fondly.
[illustration courtesy of]

Like the lushest of Shakespearean tragedies, leaving the ghetto is such sweet sorrow. There may be no finer setting to observe the babes of comedy and tragedy both suckling up to Father Nature's bosom to nurse from the same lactating teat. But while we smile and reminisce on sweet serenades of quarter-waters and looseys, we inevitably remember that no one leaves the ghetto on accident. A citified reflection of our own internal duality, the ghetto is both loved and loathed; tragically flawed so that it is most appreciated after it is eventually left behind. Whether you want to be a head coach in the Super Bowl or just a bummy-looking Blipster, no one, not even the president, enters the ghetto without a proper exit strategy.

Planning To Leave - The ghetto, under ideal circumstances, exists as a rite of passage. Like that first kiss, it's both a promise for the future and a sentimental reminder of innocence lost. Whether you're born in the ghetto, or it's a pit stop along the way, the ghetto is a place where you can stay a while and become humbled by your environment, and at the same time made aware of your vast potential.

Are We Gone Yet? - It takes more than a good job, or a hop on the subway, to leave the ghetto. During my freshman year at Choate Rosemary Hall I was suspended for beating up some "fac-brat." Despite enjoying the manicured grounds of campus in Wallingford, CT, I suspect this incident occurred because the ghetto had not fully left my system. The GHT needs time to pass through your body. Drink lots of fluids.

Outside The Ghetto - Outside the friendly confines of the ghetto you will find grass in parks, working water fountains, and most notably, green leafy vegetables and otherwise fresh produce. We quote from an old ghetto translation:

"Now I like four wings and french-fries from the ghetto chinese spot as much as much as the next overweight boy or girl. But there comes a time when your heart, arteries, and everyone else in the circulatory system are going to look at you and yell, "Damn son! Can't you have a couple pieces of lettuce ... at least once?? A carrot, corn kernel, broccoli floret ... something??!!?" Then you will look at your circulatory system and say, "Why are all of you talking like Chris Rock?" Then they will stop talking."

Fun Facts

• Did you know it's common for those who leave the ghetto to carry a chicken wing tip in their wallet or purse? These are frequently passed down from generation to generation.

Ghetto Terror Alert - It's all good if you're leaving the ghetto. No one wants to cause any problems because you never know who might become your friend once on the outside. All the old alliances are null and void. Now if you leave and then try to come back... that could be a problem.

Earlier: The Cipher

It is a telling indictment on the flimsy state of Hip Hop right now that emcees and the music they create are inescapable, but The Cipher, where all the great rap craftsman honed their skills, is a fading institution. There was a time when ghetto streets were perpetually filled with the sweet sounds of beatboxing overdubbed with sharp, rhythmic staccato flows. The Cipher was hip hop's training ground, where the architects of the renaissance learned to express in different ways, and the crowd was always the final arbiter of talent. Now modern technology allows anyone to have a studio and a dream in the comfort of their own home, and rarely do you experience the art form live outside of a formal venue. There's nothing inherently wrong with this, but it means this week's Ghetto Pass is an old-school edition, as we flashback and examine hip hop's communal dojo, The Cipher. The beat drops after the jump.

Planning A Trip - Ciphers are not totally extinct: You can still occasionally stumble on a good one, particularly outside of hip hop clubs. But the truest ciphers are located on a stoop in front of someone's house, or have just popped up on a city street far removed from clubs or formal venues of any kind. Like unprotected sex, these ciphers are born of a recklessly carnal impulse that demands sating no matter the circumstances. Also, authentic vintage genuine cipher-hair is made of only 100% pure vocal percussion/instrumentation.

Are We There Yet? - You need at least three people to have a cipher, otherwise you're just standing on the street rhyming with your friend. Once you got three, someone lights the Olympic torch by dropping a beat, and the cipher has begun. You'll probably want to ease in to your segment with a "yo I'm gonna take this one, check it, uh, uh,... [insert your lyrics here]." Cipher sophisticates will often space their intro out, play to the audience, if the beat is hot you usually let it ride a good four bars, let the crowd get a good crisp head nod popping. Then commence to — wait for it — drop it like it's hot.

The Cipher Leagues - This is the basic stratification of ciphers, evaluate your skill level and participate accordingly:

Slow-Pitch Softball - In this cipher you'll see three girls, a couple dorky-looking white dudes, maybe the Pakistani guy from around the corner, the Asian gay guy just having some fun; everything goes, everyone is welcome in the Slow-Pitch Softball Ciphers. You can be horrible and still get to finish all your material. The worst case scenario might be a slightly muted enthusiasm when you finish, perhaps some polite clapping, but that's all. Most people should play here.

Minor Leagues - In the next level up, you get a more challenging array of demographics. More black guys, and white guys with some actual hip hop history under their belt. No novelty attempts from your grandmother on Christmas here. These are still relatively safe to your ego however, participants are courteous, but you will get silence and some brushing off if you're not up to par. But you'll always get your turn.

The Majors - Pro level Ciphers qualify as fiscally viable forms of entertainment. Participants are rappers you would definitely hear on records ... or should. These ciphers will attract non-cipher people who just want to peep out what's going on, cause it sounds good. Any person who likes hip hop will be physically compelled to stop. Those who stumble or screw their verse up in egregious fashion are at immediate risk of getting skipped and subbed out. If you do get another turn, and once again fail to hold your own, other emcees may likely turn on you, to the enjoyment of the crowd, and the chagrin of your pride. The combination of crowd and aggression may leave you embarrassed and emotionally scarred, so you're advised to approach pro ciphers with caution. Make sure you're ready to play.

Do or Die - These are the most serious ciphers, also the most exclusive. Filled with hardcore street types, these are not necessarily tied into a certain skill level. The big variable here is that you could lose your wallet and other valuable possessions if you don't please the participants. If you're in doubt, don't be a freestyle hero, just keep it moving.

Cypher Demographics - These are some of the people and rappers you may find in your cipher:

• The beatboxer - The uncelebrated hero of the cipher, and hip hop in general. Like the drummer in a band he makes it all go and keeps everything on beat.

• M.C. 2Long - This guy gets a turn and raps for a couple hours, or until the cops come, whichever comes first. He sucks.

• The God - When a true emcee who has honed his skills enters the cipher, everyone knows the god is present.

• Freestyle Femme Fatale - Everyone looks forward to ladies rhyming in the cipher, but they typically disappoint. For the most part female rappers compare to their male counterparts as WNBA players compare to the NBA. You might watch for a little, especially if they're pretty, but they rarely are pretty and even less likely to be worth a ticket.

• Strictly Writtens - Strictly Writtens never go off the head, they always recite premeditated verses. Depending on the vibe this can be a good or bad thing.

• 1Verse - 1Verses have one verse they spit over and over again. If they have friends you'll know when they all chorus in on all the punchlines.

• Big Punnabees - These are the Hispanic guys kicking the Spanglish. Always a nice change of pace if you can pull it off.

• Educated Rappers - Like metaphysical editions of Ghetto Pass, these participants only turn off the crowd through their earnest attempts to demonstrate their intelligence.

General Tips

Know Your Audience - Are they feeling active or bored? Are they white or black? All these things can influence how you rhyme, when you rhyme, what you rhyme about. Be prepared to adjust.

Female Factor - If there are pretty females in the audience prepare for the cipher intensity to increase exponentially. Ciphers are charged with testosterone, the presence of a potential prize only raises the stakes.

Fun Facts

• Did you know fake freestyling is the cardinal sin of cyphers? You can go off the head or written, but don't pretend it's off the head and then recite the Gettysburg address in your rhyme.

• Did you know rap ciphers are not to be confused with smoking cyphers? There is only one rule for smoking cyphers: take two and pass.

Ghetto Terror Alert - While ciphers can get very heated, unless you fake-freestyle there should be little serious risk to you. Be careful with physical contact if you start going at someone in the cipher, it can trigger violence.

Slang Check - There's plenty of slang, but all that matters is keeping it on beat.

Earlier: The Last Ghetto

When the darkness descends, and the final Co-Bo has closed, even the ghetto is compelled to ponder the nature of its existence. Is it nothing but a well-worn clich , a dead horse waiting to be chopped up and smothered in General Tso's sauce? Are the self-perpetuating stereotypes a product of exploitative ignorance, or simply the reflection of the beast's unwavering eyes staring back from the abyss? (Huh? What??) Do the tears we shed laughing at the latest Hallmark Holla mask an anguish so deep we dare not share it outside the context of a set-up and punchline? The Last Ghetto is where all the question marks come to roost. It is where the chaos in the ghetto's soul is silenced so that it can give birth to a calm, lobotomizingly-soothing black hole of a column.

Planning a Trip - To find the last ghetto one need only gather all the self-righteous pompous race-snobs you can find, then go on eBay and order the tallest high-horse and/or the most profound pedestal money can buy. Combine the two, and soon it will be Next Exit: The Last Ghetto. Accessorizing with a complementary soapbox or bullhorn is recommended but optional.

Are We There Yet? - Inhabitants of the last ghetto only blink and smile in smug satisfied egalitarian bliss. What of black people and chicken? What of Hispanics and Handball? Is the cat really the official animal of all corner bodegas? When queried in this manner last ghetto-dwellers will say, "We are the last ghetto, we are happy," and blink.

The Four Horseman of The Last Ghetto - All the horseman spring from the same well of Judeo-Christian morality, but they espouse those beliefs in different ways:

The Ministers of Morality - They take a very generalized approach to judging you. It isn't about race, class, money, etc. It's just about them being right, and you being wrong.

The Racial Harmony Rebels - Taking the racial angle, rebels always take offense to any racializing of the ghetto. If you suggest something like Black People + Chicken = Not A Bad Combination, they may very well "justifiably" assassinate you, for the benefit of the world at large and spreading democracy, ... or something.

No-More-Poverty Prophets - Also known as NoMoPos. For these economic soothsayers, it's not about race, it's about money. It's not Asian people who run the Ghetto Chinese Spots, it's poor people.

Intellectual Idiot - Similar to the minister of morality, but significantly more versed with the intelligence-boosting powers of wikipedia. He will reference the text of 19th century german philosophers to lend authority to his ostensibly impassively-impotent words.

Fun Facts

• Did you know Friedrick Nietzsche ate nothing but chicken wings and fried rice from his local GCS while writing Thus Spoke Zarathustra?

Ghetto Terror Alert - There is no terror in the last ghetto, no man or woman would risk characterizing their entire gender/race/religion via their own violent actions. No one wants to be a terrorist, so no one does anything terrorizing. Everyone is safe.

Slang Check - No slang, only a quote: "Take these words home and think it through, or the next rhyme I write might be about you..."

Earlier: Recreational Activities

In the ghetto, that esprit of carefree leisure is palpable in just about everything you do. You see it in the corner bodega, where day-after-day the old men relax so hard they challenge the very definition of the word. You see it in the lazy strays that loaf around and couldn't be bothered with the institutionalized oppression that comes with being adopted. You see it in the litter on the street that shrugs off its inability to make it to a trash receptacle. In the ghetto, standards are ephemeral, and your due diligence is not welcome. Ironically, the only time you might find a moment of corporate cutthroat tension is during recreational activities. Somehow, the games, competition, and "just having fun" command an emotional investment that galvanizes, cajoles, and ultimately makes most participants realize it truly isn't a game anymore.

Planning a Trip - The recreational games you play, and how you play them, are most affected by your age. There are three primary classifications:

Young Whipper-Snappers - The peak of passion, conviction, and creative resourcefulness. Young whipper-snappers make games out of everything because games are all they know, and their fertile imaginations can mold any environment into the playing field of their dreams. Wanna play baseball, but no bases? Home is the tree, first base is the parked car, second base is that pile of shit, and third base is kicking Quinones (the block punk) in the nuts. Use your bookbag for a bat, and rolled up pieces of paper for balls. Ready, BREAK! Any game. Any time. Any rules.

Crazy People - As you enter the teenage and young adult years, there is a loss of organizational focus, so games don't have quite the same infrastructure as they used to. You're also more self-conscious, so the pile of shit couldn't possibly be second base, it's a pile of shit. All games tend to orbit around either drugs, alcohol, or interaction with the opposite sex. So as a whipper-snapper a game of hide-and-go-seek could be an all day affair, complete with elaborate secret hideaways, someone counting down from 1000, and the police eventually needing to be contacted. But at the "Crazy People" age, a guy asks a girl if he wants to play, then he might count to three before he grabs her titties. Game Over.

Modern Maturity - At a certain age, if you're in the ghetto, you're just visiting, and all games are evasive-related (i.e. Litter/Shit Hopscotch), or you're stuck and all games carry life importance (i.e. 100-meter Gypsy Cab Dash). Act accordingly.

Public Resources -

The Pool - Public pools in the ghetto are filled with more drama and craziness than your average reality show. The experience is rife with obstacles and pitfalls, such as flimsy lockers with "Please Steal The Contents of this Locker" signs on them, and the ever-present fluid from Cooties Creek streamed all over the shower and locker-room floor. On a hot day, the reward is great — a 2x2-square-foot of space in a big warm pool of chlorinated water and urine. Watch out for the floating condoms and cigarettes. Supplies: Antimicrobial swimsuit with UrineGuard+, Ass-Defenders (to protect against towel snappers), Total Enclosure Stainless Steel Athletic Feet Protectors, clenched fists (for inflicting damage on those who intrude on your personal space.

The Basketball Court - Basketball courts are pretty much the same everywhere, though in the ghetto it does sometime seem as if the actual apparatus came used, from some court occupied by giants who can jump on top of the rim and bend metal backboards. Supplies: Nets, pliers (for straightening out hoop), skills (many courts require a minimum standard ability level), sneakers, at least one black person. If you're of age, the ball is optional; you can always steal one from some whipper-snappers milling about.

The Park - Parks in the ghetto are often less park and more "block with no buildings on it," but they're still nice. They have benches where you can sit and look at the weeds growing in the cracks of the cement. Beautiful. Supplies: Bring grass (for the ground), leaves (for the trees), and water (for the water fountains).

The Handball Court - The word "court" here is used very loosely, as really all you need is a wall. Supplies: Wall, Insta-Callous hand toughening cr me, at least one Hispanic person (he'll have a ball).

Water Hydrants - Possibly the most fun activity to be played in the ghetto. The basic objective is to wet those who wish to remain dry, and ignore those who wish to be wet. Repeat. Bonus points for cars just out the car wash or with open windows. Supplies: Hydrant, hollowed-out can, people who don't want to be wet.

Ghetto Olympics - While the games played using public resources are fairly universal, there are some that are particularly unique to the ghetto:

• Long Turnstile Jump - Hopping the turnstile in the train station; perfect for avoiding MTA fares.
• The 100-Meter Gypsy Cab Dash - Getting out the cab and sprinting; perfect for avoiding cab fares.
• The Marathon Corner Stand - Holding down your block, all weather, 24 hours; perfect for drumming up revenue streams for that new mom & pop drug enterprise.
• Litter/Shit Hopscotch - This is how you avoid stepping in shit or on chicken bones.
• The Mr. Softee Relay Chase - The oft-documented daily chase of the ice cream man in the summer.
• X-Treme Backseat Riding - Only played by "Crazy People," this constitutes riding/hanging on the backs of buses, or rollerbladers/skaters holding on to taxis, cars, etc. ... paradoxically, these people have no actual destination.

General Tips - There are three primary "keeping it real" games played in the ghetto.

Snapping - well known tradition of playing the dozens, yo mama jokes, etc.

Dice games - also well known tradition of playing cee-lo, and other dice games

Slap-Boxing - Less well-known, and more athletically inclined, tradition of boxing with open hands and no gloves. Not for block punks like Quinones.

Fun Facts

• Did you know Hispanics lobbied to keep Berlin Wall in an effort to make it the new Hispanic Handball Heaven?

Ghetto Terror Alert - Hate The Player. Hate The Game. Terror is a constant during recreational activities.

Slang - Slang is infinite and abundant during recreational activities, but it flies so fast and furious you can usually just play along and come up with your own and not get noticed. Good luck!

Earlier: The Ghetto Chicken Spot

Well the New Year is upon us, and mmmmm, it tastes like chicken. At the Ghetto Chicken Spot, you won't find a Colonel (not even a sergeant), 11 herbs nor spices (only 1 herb: marijuana, and 3 spices: salt, pepper, hot sauce), or any talk of secret recipes (with chicken, sharing is caring). What you will find are chickens dressed tastefully, from the leg to the breast, in crispy brown blazers of juicy (or incredibly dry) goodness. It's not KFC, but it's cheaper, and still coochie finger-licking good.

Are We There Yet - Unless you can't smell, hear, or see, it's impossible to not know when you have arrived at the Ghetto Chicken Spot. If the sweet scent of fried poultry doesn't clue you in, certainly listening to the unrelenting barking of orders should. And if you're still lost, perhaps you should look around, since every square inch of the walls is covered with signs, posters, and graffiti informing you of what's on the menu and the current specials (anything, plus french fries and free soda). Indubitably a product of their impulse-purchasing demographic, Ghetto Chicken Spots have mastered the fine art of what some might call Wallpaper Menu Marketing.

General Tips

Feed Thine Enemies Biscuits - While most won't notice the difference between the chicken from major chains and the Ghetto Chicken Spot, you definitely will notice the depressingly low grade of biscuits. Ghetto Chicken Spot biscuits are turned down by everyone including starving artists, refugees, and stray dogs. No one knows what they're made of for sure, but remember when you used to take little pieces of white bread and roll it into little balls? Think that, but biscuit size, and with less flavor.

Golden Love Nuggets - Chicken nuggets from the Ghetto Chicken Spot are typically better than nuggets from any fast food joint. Seriously, no punchline here; they're delicious.

Jessica Alba, Jessica Lange - Everyone has their own taste, but needless to say there's a big difference between biting into a hot-out-the-oven juicy nubile chicken breast or getting stuck with an old desperate haggard wing that's obviously been sitting under the heat lamp for years and knows this may be its last opportunity to be tasted before getting tossed in the trash. So be sure to ask the owner if the chicks are fresh. If only dating were so easy, and club bouncers were so forthcoming.

Fun Facts

• Did you know Ghetto Chicken Spot legislation dictates that all future Ghetto Chicken Spots have a name that starts with a K (i.e. Kennedy, Kansas, King), or is the name of a state in the continental U.S.?

Ghetto Terror Alert - The Ghetto Chicken Spot is an incredibly hostile environment. The bulletproof glass is extra-thick for a reason, as those more melanin-endowed do not play games when it comes to chicken that is both cheap and delicious. Engage in any tomfoolery at your own peril.

Slang Check - Don't be confused if someone says, "I'm gonna go holler at these chickenheads at the chicken spot." You needn't drop your jaw in amazement at the voodoo imagery of someone yelling at decapitated chickens and their severed heads. It's probably just a hungry GPA.

Earlier: New Year's Resolutions

As we approach year's end, the usual glut of lists and stories on resolutions for 2007 can leave your bandwidth so clogged you can't help but actually follow through on that "view 25% 20% less porn" dictum from last year. Of course the ghetto is no stranger to New Year's (though in CP time zones it's occasionally celebrated later), or resolutions, so this week we review the curriculum thus far and point out some fundamental areas where your Ghetto Pass can help you to improve yourself in the new year.

Resolution: Saving Money
Ghetto Pass Helper: Corner Bodegas
Real Talk: The too-hot-for-TV truth is that just about everything in your local Boondocks is a boon to your wallet and savings account, but the Corner Bodega may be the most representative example. Americans are so brand-conscious in everything we do, but is there really any cachet in groceries? Co-Bos allow you to prioritize properly. Sure, you may hear snickering when you buy generic brand antidiarrheal medication with your Lil Debbie snack-cake and dusty Spaghetti-O's, but would you rather spend more on premium brand Ex-Lax, Twinkies and fancybrand Italian someplace downtown? And after a while you won't even be able to hear the snarky laughtrack because you'll be busy listening to your new MP3 player that you could afford because you shopped only at your Co-Bo for three months. Plus, you not only help your finances, you help your conscience by contributing to the local economy, which nine out of ten hipsters say is a good thing.

Resolution: Eat Healthier
Ghetto Pass Helper: The Ghetto Chinese Spot
Real Talk: Hmmm, maybe this one isn't as blatantly obvious, but what the GCS lacks in nutrients and menu items without fat grams as the first ingredient, they make up for in volume. The chicken-wings-and-pork-fried-rice may not be as slimming as that trendy tofu-on-wheat-germ sandwich, but there's so much of it, you'll be able to stretch it out all week; by Friday, you'll come out even. Throw in the strenuous foreign-language workout of haggling with the owner, and you'll be looking like a soon-dead anorexic model in no time.

Resolution: More Exercise
Ghetto Pass Helper: Livery "Gypsy" Cabs
Real Talk: Gypsy Cabs are a great option for those looking to get in shape. You need only adopt one resolution: If I have to take a cab, I will only take a livery cab, or walk. No canaries. For Manhattanites, the island's not really that big, so if you think about it, walking wherever you need to go shouldn't be a problem. Combine that with the GCS diet plan, and you'll be partying with those soon-dead anorexic models and calling Paris Hilton "stupid AND FAT" in no time.

Resolution: Finding Love
Ghetto Pass Helper: Ghetto Pickup Artists
Real Talk: I hearken back to the words of somewhat ghetto songstress Tina Turner in saying, what's love got to do with it? A partner is only as good as the shots of self-esteem they serve when you're a little down because you haven't started drinking yet. Don't let these online matchmakers sell you up the river on a false dream; there's absolutely no need to subscribe to a Dating Cash Cow when you can go to your hood and get that love-milk for free. When those Ghetto Pickup Artistes, those citified cupids, those troubadours of urban romance start filling the skies with songs of booty-ballyhoo for your beautiful boobs, luscious lips, and jaw-dropping badonkadonk; well, that's when you'll know "Love" ain't nothing but a four-letter word. GPA's are true romantics, they should write Hallmark-Holla cards.

Resolution: Improving Business
Ghetto Pass Helper: The Long Booty-Tail
Real Talk: The best businessmen know all about "optimization," and who epitomizes this capitalist catchword more than The Long Booty of street entrepreneurs? When you lost one of your slippers, you probably thought the other one was useless, but a walk along the Long Booty reveals you could have sold it for $1, then taken that dollar to the Co-Bo and treated yourself to a nice big cup of coffee (with free milk and sugar!). Now that's what any intelligent businessman would recognize as Synergy.

Resolution: Changing the World
Ghetto Pass Helper: You, Caucasians
Real Talk: Dreams of changing the world require a certain smug sense of entitlement. Don't know what I'm talking about? Well, talk to any Caucasian living in the ghetto and you'll soon know what I mean.

(actually, we couldn't find any Caucasians to talk to on short notice, and wouldn't want to send you into the new year on such a negative note. Any help in finding Caucasian related resolutions to pass along???)

Otherwise, good luck in finding money, health, love and ultimately a better you in 2007, from our ghetto to yours.

Earlier: Ghetto Pass Person of the Year: You, Caucasians

In the spirit and tradition of Time Magazine, Ghetto Pass features an annual (this being the first) profile on the man, woman, couple, group, idea, place, or machine that "for better or worse, has most influenced ghetto events in the preceding year." In paraphrasing the philosopher Thomas Carlyle, a great contributing blogger once wrote that, "the history of the ghetto is but the biography of great negroes." He believed it was the Negroes, the Hispanics, and the Asians who shaped the collective destiny of the 'hood. But in recent years this theory has taken a hit. Indeed as we comb through hundreds of comments and e-mails in response to the curriculum thus far, we've been forced to take a look at the reflection in the Mylar mirror and see that You, Caucasians also help mold the urban netherregions we all know and love. And so this week's Ghetto Pass salutes, You, Caucasians, for playing your part.

Gentrification 2.0 - To be sure, there are many horrible and disturbing things that Caucasians bring to the ghetto: rising rents, the ubiquitous proliferation of "Crack-Rap"(Caucasians/Crackers rapping poorly, whether inadvertent or purposeful), and The Gap come to mind. But a look at the ghetto through a different lens reveals a different vision, one that isn't about painfully awkward rhythm, excessive ghetto lingo-ism, and compromising the reputations of quality emcees via generic mainstream brands. In fact when you look at the welcome spate of iPods, The North Face coats, and outlets for fresh, quality produce, the restless natives of the ghetto have clearly come to realize that Gentrification 2.0 isn't all bad.

The 5 Caucasians You Meet in the Ghetto - We haven't the space to itemize all Caucasians, but here are five types commonly found in the ghetto:

The Black Caucasian - This is the Caucasian that is so adamant and vigilant about their pro-black opinions that you'd think they MUST be black if you had not already seen their pastier-than-paste person in the flesh. Someday they will all rejoice as black folk export them back-to-Africa on 100% genuine mahogany slave ships.

The "Less Cauc More Asian" Caucasian - This is the Caucasian who studied Chinese in college, or heaven forbid, actually did a semester abroad in Hong Kong. They don't do anything without chopsticks, including eating, using the remote control, and sex.

The Hipsturd - The hipster nerd, who only warrants comment on if you plan to defecate on their character. Sans character defacation, they are "Hipsterds."

The Plain Jane & Joe - Fairly self-explanatory: Presumably they make up the morass of caucasians who watch sitcoms on CBS and make "Elfing Yourself" a viral phenomenon.

The Off-White - This caucasian is a little too cooky. Probably a drug addict, in fact, hopefully a drug addict; Off-Whites are quite obviously living in the ghetto to hide from something or someone. Keep an eye on them, they make news happen.

Nine Circles of Gentrifranchise Hell - These are the nine primary franchises that signal the Gentrevolution of your ghetto:

• McDonalds - Always the first to plant the flag. Many have suggested they change the "Golden M" to a "Blackened N," thus far to no avail.
• KFC - Once Mickey D's is in, the chicken chain is not far behind to provide variety.
• Domino's - Once the fast-food chains have their depots set, here comes the pizza delivery.
• Starbucks - The first great threshold of gentrification, a true line of demarcation. Once Starbucks comes, there's no turning back.
• The Gap - Builds on Starbucks. Once there's a coffee shop Caucasians need mock turtlenecks and tepid sweaters to drink them in.
• The Body Shop - And with mock turtlennecks and tepid sweaters you need specialized soaps and oils to rub on and smell good.
• The Multiplex - Caucasian women must have access to the movies. Especially if they can smell good via specialized soaps and oils.
• American Apparel - A dash of faux-trendiness comes after all the mainstream land is paved. Here come the Hipsturds .
• Bed Bath & Beyond - The Final Hurdle. Once you have the BB&B, the Plain Jane & Joes can feel maximum comfort. The transition is complete.

Fun Facts

• Did you know that, like roaches, if you see one Caucasian in your Ghetto Chinese Spot, there are probably 10-20 more calling for delivery? Caucasians may spotted individually but typically enter neighborhoods in flocks.
• Did you know at the announcement of a forthcoming BB&B Caucasians have been known to gather around the site to "pour a little latte" out for The Black Caucasians who got shipped out to Africa and couldn't make it?
• Did you know that black males often protest the Gentrifranchise evolution, at least until the Victoria's Secret arrives. Then it's all good, baby.

GTA - Ironically enough, it would seem minorities spatting amongst themselves have given the false impression that harm can come to Caucasians. But rarely is a Caucasian truly threatened. The lack of "clout points" and possible dealings with police mean there's very little upside to beating up whitey.

Slang Check - For all the outdated "fo-shizzles" and "[purposefully non-ghetto statement], yos" Caucasians, gentriwarts and all, have made themselves an endearing component of the ghetto. So here's to you, yo.

Earlier: The Long Tail of Street Entrepreneurs

Internet futurism, meet the ghetto. Earlier this year, a book tagged as a manifesto on "the new economics of culture and commerce" set the business, tech, and publishing world on fire. That title, The Long Tail: Why the Future of Business Is Selling Less of More (perhaps you've heard of it), comes highly recommended, and certainly constitutes an impressive presentation on how largely online trends are creating a new economic paradigm. The thing is, for a book that is landscaping the future, many of the trendsetting principles are well-worn truisms in the ghetto. So this week, we take a peek at a slightly more obscure manifesto called, The Long Booty , and its Hood Hustlers holding ghetto MBAs. They may not have blogs or use Amazon, but they certainly understand Why the Future of Business in the Ghetto is More or Less Selling More of Less.

Examining The Booty
Premise: If you have enough hustlers and vendors on the street selling "niche" items, those people in aggregate can outsell the "hits" of food, drugs, and alcohol you find in corner bodegas and chain drug stores. The Long Booty functions as a market for those who say "Pfft!" to being encumbered by aisles, and dealing with people and checkout lines. But unlike The Long Tailers who also have to avoid the hazards of virtual online shopping, The Long Booty presents the truly ideal scenario of just going outside on your block and getting it direct (I'd like to examine my bootleg Seven jeans in person, thank you very much!). When the big stores don't got it and online is too dangerous, enter: The Booty .

The Booty vs. The Tail
As with other ghetto trends, The Booty shares much of the sensibility of the more mainstream Tail, but dispenses with the pretense. You won't hear catchy buzzwords like "niche marketplace" and "radical transparency" associated with The Booty , but the fact remains there is nothing more niche than the man direct-marketing his inventory of a power strip, one slipper, and a two-pack of ninety-minute "is it real or is it Memorex" audio cassette-tapes. And there's no transparency more radical than his pulling those items out of a garbage bag when he sells them to you. In the end, it could be said The Long Booty is an entirely old model for business that is just starting to have its principles applied by people with money on the Internet.

Along The Booty
As you move along the booty the market becomes more and more niche, so here's a taxonomy of some of the ghetto-preneurs you might see along The Booty :

Bootleggers - The vendors you know and love, bootleggers are the Fat Ass of The Long Booty .

Invisible Gods - Anyone who serves food or drink from a cart, or truck. These people are often invisible during the day, only to become your salvation late in the night when you come home drunk and hungry.

Package Artists - Package artists don't know how to offer you something by itself, they always have to add on. Everything is "2 for $5," then "5 for $50," then "the table for whatever you got in your wallet right now."

Smoke Dogs - These guys only know four words and two phrases, "I got smoke" and "Newports."

Street Evangelists - The religious sector of the market (though not to be confused with Invisible Gods), redemption never came so cheap. Be sure to read the riveting literature.

We Steal, You Get the Great Deal - Incredible bargains, but dealing with this vendor invariably prompts looks over your shoulder for police, and renditions of the Clint Eastwood "So, are you feeling lucky?" line in our head.

Random & Useless Shit Sellers (RUSS) - RUSS's have items you buy just so you can show your friends and family that such an item was for sale. Think used pajama bottoms, or a broom with no bristles.

Potpourri Peddlers- The typical PP has a towel and an array of items that look like he just ran in someone's house and hurriedly swept the contents of your desk and nightstand into a hefty bag for later pawning. Similar to RUSS, but he sometimes has things you can use. For example, a girl wearing a designer dress to the Oscars may hit him up for some Scotch nipple tape.

Freelancers - As expected, these guys are wild cards. They might happen to have a remote control for a nonexistent VCR you can get off them for cheap. They are also often service-oriented, i.e. will carry your futon up the five-floor walkup for $5.

General Tips

Is The Long Booty full of crap? - In this discussion, Anderson explains how you find both good and bad along the Tail. Similarly, the Booty provides hits and misses. For example, my last Booty purchase netted me an authentic version of Prince's Purple Rain on DVD. On the flip side, a friend of mine purchased a DVD player, only to find a brick when he got home and opened the box.

Economics of Perceived Abundance - The Long Tail is touted as the economics of abundance, but The Long Booty is known as the economics of perceived abundance. Perceived because it seems there is an infinite number of vendors, but the only thing really in abundance are shots from police officers (ha! take that coppers).

Fun Facts

• Did you know there is now a bootleg version of everything in the universe? If funds are tight this year, you can probably even find a bootleg version of your family to spend the holidays with.

• Did you know independent movies often purchase everything a RUSS has to offer? Placed on set, it's instant pathos — an easy way to subtly establish the character as a conflicted soul.

• Did you know Smoke Dogs only carry items with the color green somewhere? Marijuana or Menthols. It's all about being organic. Also they have been on the endangered species list since the Giuliani administration.

Ghetto Terror Alert - While The Long Tail is predicated on conversation in the marketplace, The Long Booty prefers consumers to keep their opinions to themselves. Treating the workspace of any vendor as if it were a comment box solely concerned with your opinion is grounds for assault, or at least a stern, highly audible, and embarrassing lambasting on the street.

Slang Check - The Long Booty , that's all you need to know.

Earlier: Ghetto Pickup Artists

What many people love about the ghetto is the lack of pretense. And Ghetto Pickup Artists (GPAs) are no exception. Don't look for any of that hi-falutin' passive-aggressive "hello, what's your name, can I buy you a drink?" bullshit here. Alcohol, pot, and cocaine? Pfft! These drugs are merely crutches for those who lack the esophageal dexterity, ESL skills, and fervent faith in "love at first sight" to properly project kissing noises while also saying, "ay mami, I'm gonna have to marry you if you put anymore culo in those pants." Today we examine the ghetto's inconvenient truth: the carnal conquistadors and true alpha-romantics in the Urban Jungle of Love. So come on in all you shorties and mamacitas, the water is fine, and y'all are looking so hot I think Al Gore is going to need you regulated to prevent global warming.

Planning a Trip - Mainstream pickup scenes are boring and paint-by-numbers simple. (1) Say "hi," show interest. (2) Buy alcohol. (3) Say "cool," nod your head, and show interest. (4) Buy alcohol. (5) Repeat (2), (3), and (4) until someone says "vagina" or "penis" or some variation. (6) Laugh, introduce physical contact. (7) Repeat (2), (3), and (4) until sex sequence is initiated. For GPAs, such stuffy formality is disingenuous. They prefer to play a game of high-risk and high-reward. After all, the hit percentage may be extremely low, but if you get a response to a "*kiss, kiss* oh my god, you look good girl *hiss*," then you know two things: You're probably getting lucky, and she's probably a keeper.

Are We There Yet? - The GPA's world is more a state of mind, one that rotates on an axis of female. So unless you bring a lady on your trip, you won't be able to tell if you're in the right place. As you rove around neighborhoods, keep a close eye on her. Tell her to maintain a constant stream of talk. At the same time her voice transposes into an almost imperceptible flatline of unintelligible twaddle, you will notice her face and body begin to acquire a special sheen. Her breasts will protrude. Her booty will ripen. It will seem as if she is being prepped for a cover shoot for Maxim or King right before your eyes (remember, this is a state of mind). When you reach the point where you have absolutely no care for what she says or thinks, but just before you want to start masturbating ... Bam! There you are.

Cat-Call & Response - The basic repertoire for any GPA consists of seven approaches:

• The Staredown - Basic eye contact. Direct and aggressive.
• The Stare and Pucker - Add a scrunched-up face with puckered lips.
• The Stare and Kiss - Now add kissing noises to the pucker.
• The Stare and Hiss - Now switch to hissing sounds, alternating with kissing.
• The Religious Proclamation - "Praise Jesus girl, you are fine!"
• The Conversation/Block Escort - "Can I talk with you mami ...". Must engage for full length of block HQ.
• The Loud Conversation with a Friend - "YO RICKY, do you see this girl over here? Yeah, the pretty one that's walking all fast. You think I should talk to her?"

Here is the basic array of female responses:

• The You Don't Exist - Being ignored is technically not a rejection.
• The Fuck You Hustle (aka The FUstle) - A stiffened-up accelerated walk.
• The Stiff Smile - Heheh, um, please leave me alone.
• The Nervous Chuckle - Teehee, no seriously.
• The Cry For Help - Self-explanatory, but rarely necessary.
• The Uncomprehending Glance-over - The look says, "I don't understand this breed of man." Usually coupled with The FUstle.
• The Beaming Queen - I love it. Shower me with your praise.

General Tips

There Is One Tip: If you're in the mood for being holla'd at, then just relax and let the GPAs do their thing. If you DO NOT wish to be approached, then you are advised to remove your makeup, hair, lips, eyelashes, breasts, and buttocks. Basically look as much like a man as possible. Do not use lotion, lip-gloss, Vaseline, or anything that reflects light. A burlap sack or garbage-bag poncho to cover your body helps, as long as it's not actually raining, in which case the raindrops that fall on your exposed elbows will glisten far too much to feel secure in your undesirability.

Fun Facts

• Did you know there are no blatant homosexual pickup artists in the ghetto? All homosexual flirtations are confined to furtive glances.
• Did you know GPAs always try to express their intents as simply and directly as possible? For the more competitive types, even the utterance of a whole word may constitute failure. Eschewing the existential conundrums of questions such as "Who are you?", GPAs prefer to think in terms of hisses, kisses, clicks, whistles, ohh-la-las, aye-aye-ayes, and guttural grunts.
• Papi Chulo says, "If holla'd at properly, most beautiful women walking down the street will learn enough Spanish to pass your average 101 level college course."
• Did you know the car-honker has been put on the endangered species list? There are 15 known car-honkers remaining in the universe. If you are lucky enough to see one, or better yet, hear one, take a picture. And smile darling, you look so much better when you smile.
• Did you know that despite having different scales, GPAs can often be confused with GPA (Grade Point Average) simply because most GPAs never rate higher than a 4.0?

Ghetto Terror Alert - While aggressive and rough around the edges, GPAs are the sweetest misogynist pigs you will ever meet. They are all chivalry and corn flakes and would never hurt a single hair on your head, unless you asked them to. Let your defenses down, and you may find yourself rejuvenated via a virtual hyperbaric chamber of compliments. If no one's around to see you sacrifice your feminist dignity, it's kind of nice.

Slang Check - In a world where tall girls can be "shorties," and skinny girls can have "phatties," there is little rhyme or reason, so you are free to make up your own slang. There are an infinite number of terms for females. And there an infinite number of terms for booties. After that we all just use the universal language of love ... baby.

Earlier: Livery "Gypsy" Cabs

Sometimes you want to expand your cultural horizons, but you lack the tools. If you stop your typical yellow-cab on the street, it's very likely you'll be inhaling exhaust and burning rubber as they peel out before you can even say "Bedstuy Do or Die please." Enter gypsy cabs — like ghetto Charons ferrying you into Hades, these cabs shuttle around in territory where yellow cabs act ... well, yellow. Add in the flexible price plan, honey maple spice air freshener, and radio station locked into WBLS, and you start to get an idea for why New Yorkers everywhere are starting to let the Canaries drive by in favor of "Going Gypsy!" So all aboard, and leave your token cab-hailing caucasian behind, they won't be needed. Your unmetered smellgood ghetto-chariot awaits.

Planning a Trip - Since we're talking about transportation, the "planning a trip" section is closed due to meta-difficulties. (But it might be fun, in that Boratean way, to get in a yellow cab and say "Quick, take me to the playgrounds of your bastard gypsy siblings at once!" Sometimes you'll get taken to cabs, sometimes you'll get taken to family members wondering if the unexpected late-night guest is here to tear them apart.)

Am I in a Cab, or a Stranger's Car? - The first key hurdle in utilizing gypsies is identifying which vehicles are in fact cabs. Considering that the traditional, somewhat innocuous gypsy cab provides the unique opportunity of looking like both (1) a person hailing a cab, and (2) a street whore with aggressive sales techniques, you may want to condition yourself to ask, "You're not expecting anything sexual out of this transaction are you?" before getting comfortable in any vehicle. As all the rules regarding gypsy cabs are unwritten, it never hurts to be particular. Never in any other context might you find yourself walking up to a sedan with tinted windows, asking, "How much for Flatbush?"

General Tips

Two Kinds Of Cabs - There's nice, and there's not so nice. You can judge as soon as you get a look at the interior, presuming you don't already see enough cardboard in the window to let you know this particular one = not so nice. If all the windows are glass (Yes!), then check for torn leather on the inside. Unless you have a special fetish, that too = not so nice

The Meek Shall Be Extorted - When you get in the car you want to know where you're going, and how much you want to pay. You may talk a little, but eye contact is your primary means of communication. You must be confident. Some drivers may say "Oh, you want to go to Queens? That's $500." Then they will look you in the eyes to see if you're stupid enough to be stared into checking your wallet for enough cash. You must steel yourself and have your eyes reply, "I only got $5 son. Take it or leave it." You may want to verbally say this as well.

You Can Always Walk - Knowing you're in Hades, some drivers will try to leverage your earnest desire to return to civilization posthaste. You can either be extorted, or you can walk through THE FLAMING BOWELS OF HELL, err Harlem, in search of another cab. The choice is yours.

Fun Facts

• Did you know Gypsy Cabs are always open for negotiation? If you need to stalk your ex, or you want to make multiple stops because you just woke up feeling like Tom Cruise in Collateral, while the unionized and regulated Canaries just say "no, no, no," these guys are open to discussion. As always, money and marijuana talk.
• Did you know that all cabs licensed by the Taxi and Limo Commission must have a "T" as the first letter. In other words, you want the cars with no T's.
• Did you know there are five-hundred billion flavors of air freshener trees? Yet they all somehow inspire the same universal feeling of nausea.

Ghetto Terror Alert - The gypsy cab provides a fine opportunity to practice your own brand of terrorizing. Drivers generally work "off the books" and pose little threat, so if you live in a remote, sparsely populated neighborhood, say Williamsburg, you might want to try killing a driver, taking all his money, and sending his car into the East River. Carpe diem bon vivant!

Slang Check - If you want to play it safe, there's one phrase you need to know. "I want to go to [target destination], and I want to pay $7." That should cover most trips. If your distance is egregiously beyond that, you'll be corrected. And if it's less than $7, your lazy ass should just walk. For goodness sake, you're in an urban ghetto somewhere. Get some chicken wings at the GCS. Pet a cat in the local Co-Bo. Soak it in.

Earlier: The Corner Bodega

NY ain't the same, it's OT playa
you can go and cop coke from the corner bodega ...
- 50 Cent, "Corner Bodega"

On the surface you might think the Corner Bodega (Co-Bo) is just another wiki-able oasis of convenience. A sort of de facto ghetto 7-11. But, like the big rock in the forest, a look underneath reveals a self-sufficient ecosystem of subterranean life. Home of the 2 for $1 special, the Corner Bodega is the ghetto chamber of food and commerce for marginalized gentri-folk and ne'er-do-wells alike. Typically open through the wee hours, and stocked with all the bare essentials — food, alcohol, horny-goat weed — Corner Bodegas are not only a full service resource, but a genuine lifesaver.

Planning Your Trip - Looking for a genuine Corner Bodega? Well, they need to do more than sell candy-bars and speak English as a second language. Those "mini-marts" downtown with flowers and fruits are not Corner Bodegas. And hipsters and all around too-cool-for-schoolers should note: Corner Bodega proprietors will not get your ironic references to Clerks and the Kwik-E Mart. All that said, finding one is simple: Go directly to the ghetto, walk one or two blocks in any direction, look for an awning with tantalizing square-boxed promises of beer, sodas, coffee, sandwiches, and/or fresh meat and BAM! There you are.

Are We There Yet?? - There are two categories of Corner Bodega: The old-school classic editions, and the modern Neo-CoBo. Vintage Corner Bodegas are a full sensory experience; while your eyes feast on the colorful awnings and scan the lucky dollars taped to the walls, your ears engage with the sweet sound of salsa/meringue, or perhaps baseball on the radio. The air is thick, and the atmosphere is friendly and community-oriented. Even if lacking customers, all corner bodegas come standard with an old Spanish dude who sits around like a period-piece prop. Be sure to say hi. The modern Neo-CoBo eschews the tradition and ambience for technology and an aesthetic of minimalist sterility. They're cleaner, and provide more options, but the experience is a bit more generic. Generally speaking, vintage Co-Bos are run by "papi," and modern editions are run by "habibi."

Learning the Inventory - Every Corner Bodega has four primary sections:

Behind the Counter - Here you'll find your usual array of dentist-financing candy and candy bars. Sugary staples like Swedish Fish, Now&Laters, and Blow-pops are abundant. Menthol cigarettes, ribbed condoms (mmm ribs), cough-cold medicine, and assorted flavors of blunts are also among the more popular items.

In the Aisles - Corner Bodegas are renowned for their delicious and economically prudent array of snacks. You'll find these in the aisles, along with standard supermarket fare. Watch out for random mind-boggling markups; Corner Bodegas are notorious for arbitrarily charging $8.79 for a small can of tomato paste.

Up High - On the walls you'll find paper products, garbage bags, and cleaning stuff. When the wallet's not packing enough heat to cop luxury brands like Bounty, Hefty, and Mr. Clean, the Co-Bo always has a $1 line of generically-effective paper products and cleaning supplies.

Keep It Cold - Need alcohol on a budget? The Co-Bo has you covered. Their refrigerators are well fortified with affordable Fortys, deuce-deuces, Tallboys, and much much more. In the freezer, H agen-Daz is the official ice cream of Corner Bodegas everywhere.

General Tips

The Night Window - At a certain hour, most Corner Bodegas will close the front door and direct all customers to the nighttime "walk-through" window. You will need to have a good idea of store inventory and product placement, as papi/habibi will have to fetch items for you. No one likes to fetch, or stand in line, so everyone is significantly more ornery; as such this is no time for cheeky chicanery or getting-to-know-you chumminess. Place your money in the revolving door, take your bag of goods, and hope it contains what you asked for.

Looseys!!! - Corner Bodegas are the birthplace of the greatest product invention known to man: the loose cigarette. For social smokers and permanent would-be quitters, looseys are a godsend. Unfortunately, like the African lion, the Co-Bo's that still sell looseys are fast becoming extinct.

Habibi Say - Use the shady ATM only if you are currently considering a change of identity.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name - Become a regular at your local Corner Bodega and you get perks. For example, it will be the only store where you get to say, "I'm short right now papi, but I'll pay you later, you know I'm good for it" without getting back-hand slapped to the beat of the last Three 6 Mafia album.

Fun Facts

• Did you know the national animal for corner bodegas is the cat? Kittens are occasionally spotted, but usually you will have a veteran cat who has seen them all come and go and will therefore pay you no mind as you try to get around his lounging in the aisle.
• Did you know "dutches" are the most popular brand of cigar in Corner Bodegas (despite the lack of victory celebrations in the ghetto)? To impress the locals, ask for a "strawberry dutch" to go with your $3 ham-and-cheese, Lil Debbie cake, and bag of Utz chips.
• Did you know Co-Bo patrons are advised to ignore expiration dates and discern the age of their product via the layer of dust on it? The thinner the better.

Ghetto Terror Alert - Pink. Attractive women in general are always under a moderate level of stress, as the same people catcalling you on the street often congregate in the corner bodega. It's like HQ for cat-callers. You might refer to it as a cat-call center.

Slang Check - The only key slang in a Corner Bodega is for some of the products. Terror Alert aside, looseys refer to single cigarettes, not women, regardless of their sexual proclivities. "Dutches" are Dutchmaster cigars, they go well with marijuana.

Earlier: The Ghetto Chinese Spot

The Ghetto Chinese Spot (GCS) is a culinary institution that transcends race, cultures, and partisan politics. If you need cheap (Go Democrats!!), like your Chinese highly Americanized (Go Lucy Liu!!), or could go for a nap (Go 'Itis!!), this Shangri-la of trans fat is your target destination. Feed your family of five, and put them to bed all for $10 or less.

Planning Your Trip - You won't find Ghetto Chinese Spots in Zagat's or Seamless Web. You only find them in your 'hood (short for, "where black people congregate") — in New York, this means uptown, north of the 96th Street Mason-Dixon, or the outlying boroughs. Ghetto Chinese Spots usually stay open from noon until midnight. If you're not driving, take the bus, train, or rickshaw to the nearest ghetto and look for a sign declaring "the best/finest/greatest Chinese Food in all of NYC" (there are about a million of them). If you're having trouble, ask one of your friendly neighborhood negroes for assistance.

Are We There Yet? - GCS proprietors typically present a compelling dichotomy of aesthetic illusion. Walls are adorned with mouthwatering portraits of succulent dishes fit for an emperor (disregard these red herrings, they're not on the menu) and beautiful lush images of "Natural China." This attempt at botanical garden ambience runs in stark contrast to the reality of talking to your hostess through bullet-proof glass, despite not being in jail. Please note: All you bloggers with guns, your weapons are of no use here.

Learning the Menu - Ghetto Chinese Spots are like franchises: individually owned, but they all serve the same thing. Here's a primer:

Sure Shots - Wings, Half Chicken, Fries, Fried Rice, Lo Mein, anything in Garlic Sauce.

Maybe Try - Egg Foo Young, Chow Fun, Sweet and Sour, Spare Ribs/Tips.

Caution - Every GCS has some eyebrow-raising selections. At my local GCS, for example, there is an item called, "Hawaii Five-O." Basically anything where they don't attempt to identify the ingredients is questionable. Selections like "Happy Family" or "Four Seasons" also come to mind.

General Tips

We Gots Grease - Looking for grease? Few venues can rival the alcohol-neutralizing power of the GCS. But watch your clothes; the food could give concrete that oily translucent shine. Drop a wing on the leading brand of paper towel or tampon, and it will soak through. Mmmm DELICIOUS!

Let Them Eat Dark Meat - The GCS does not enable the fa ade of entitlement characteristic of the typical boujhee [sic] American consumer. There is no "white meat substitution." All meat is filed under questionable. If you ask about Tofu at the GCS, they'll only call to the back for their cousin (I kid the Fus, I kid).

Confucius Say - When eat at Ghetto Chinese Spot, better to taste, but no look.

Try The Tea - If you're of strong teeth and gums, you may opt for the tooth-achingly sweet "homemade" Iced Tea. Get a good swallow-and-swirl going and you can actually feel the cavities forming.

Fun Facts - Did you know GCS's have magic sesame seeds? Sprinkle a few kernels and magically transform any dish into "sesame [whatever]." For example, sprinkle on General Tso's, and VOILA! Sesame Chicken. Some say these seeds are so powerful they can turn cherry Jello into hummus, and Malcolm X Boulevard into Sesame Street.

Did you know that GCS proprietors were the first to discover black people can't resist General Tso's sauce? Take your average piece of feces, cover it in Tso's sauce (not soy), and see if you don't get a nibble out of it.

Did you know a GCS might have up to ten types of sauces? Only three are safe, the brown sauce, the garlic sauce, and the general Tso's. Sweet-and-sour sometimes, but try all others at your own peril.

Did you know the most popular dish at the GCS is Four Wings w/ Fries? There are two billion orders of this every day in Harlem alone. If you're looking to impress the locals, try ordering the wings with "hot sauce and ketchup, fried hard, and cut-up."

Ghetto Terror Alert - Yellow. There is a moderate Ghetto Terror threat due to a high proportion of black-on-Asian crime at the GCS. But most customers, if they keep to themselves and avoid eye contact, are left alone.

Slang Check - Slang at the GCS is nominal. No one says "they're going to Dirty China" or anything like that. And all orders are straightforward, no doubt due to the already formidable English-Chinese language hurdle.