"Moon Town" Rap Scene & Al Gore's House of Persian Cuisine

So Olivia and I are driving (Olivia is now a licensed driver by the way) and she puts in a CD that her friend Kelly made for her. It's filled with mostly really awful songs because, well, because it's Kelly. I love Kelly, but Kelly's musical tastes are just crap. And this CD is REALLY bad. Some of the songs are okay, there's even a few I like, like "Summer in the City". But when "Summer in the City" is sandwiched on either side by The Pussycat Dolls and Rascal Flatts? Something is definitely lost in the translation, ya know?

ANYWAY, so we're laughing at Kelly's music choices (c'mon-"My Boo?" It was annoying enough three years ago. Nobody but Kelly still listens to this) and then something amazingly awful booms out of the speakers. The tune is somewhat familiar, but I can't quite place it...it's clearly some sort of rap, rap of a low skill level though. Olivia is grinning and I can tell she's waiting for my reaction. It takes awhile for me to catch on, because the rapper's enunciation is appallingly bad. (And before you say that's part of the genre-I beg to differ. If the point of rap is to amaze everyone with "mad rhyming skills" - yes, I'm cringing as I write that phrase - and send a profound - or profane even- message, ...it helps to actually understand what the rapper is in fact saying.)

Finally, some phrases start to jell in my brain. The rapper is talking about something called the "Moon Town rap scene". The lyrics are unintentionally hilarious-

• "Half Moon Bay, land of the underdog" oh, yeah. That's right. Home of the underdog. If the home of the underdog definition includes a town in which the median priced home is $750,000 and the kids all drive BMW's and Lexus'.
• "Running from the PO-lice" (emphasis is on the "PO") - totally, because our town police department, consisting of 12 officers, is SUCH a huge presence. Given the nature of my job, I happen to know that at any given time, there are a grand total of 2 officers patrolling our streets. I doubt sincerely that their resources are going towards policing a bunch of lame ass wannabes. Read our local newspaper "Police Beat" and you'll see that our officers spend nearly all of their time responding to tourists who have locked their keys in their cars.

Come to think of it though, I do have personal knowledge of an actual police chase involving local teenagers. It involved one of Ivy's friends and a trunk full of lawn gnomes stolen from the Rite Aid drug store. The lawn gnomes were recovered and Ivy's friend received a felony count for grand theft and evading arrest. This is the kind of incident that reminds us old folks exactly how stupid teenagers can be. It must've seemed like a good idea at the time: drive up to the Rite Aid, grab a bunch of lawn gnomes from the outside display and then lead the police on a high speed chase. If you're going to get a "first strike", do it style I say.

• "Doing 60 on 'The Higgins'" First of all, if you do 60 on "The Higgins" you're not cool, you're a moron because it's a narrow, cliff-top, two-lane, mostly dirt road that has some seriously scary sharp turns . Second of all, NOBODY refers to "Higgins Canyon Road" as "The Higgins." This is a semi-rural suburban town, a mix of folks like Eric's family who've lived here since the 1920's and Silicon Valley executives. We don't have notorious streets here. And if we did, I don't think "The Higgins" would come close to meeting the definition.

Anyway, the song is pretty damn funny and I would be really impressed if kids in question wrote the song as a parody or satire. But Olivia tells me that no, they are dead serious. These kids actually think of themselves as "gangsta rappers." In the song they even name check (and diss) P. Diddy and Jay-Z.

So everybody, let's sing it together:

"We've got something to tell you, Something that you oughtta know

From the 7-2-6 to the 7-2-8 in the parts of the (650) (in case you didn't know, those are telephone prefixes and area codes)

From the kegs at the beach, to the trees (? wtf, nature-loving rappers?) that we seek

Half Moon Bay is the place to play.

Every day I gotta strike up a blaze

Just to chase all the blues away."

So watch for these guys to hit it big real soon. I myself am really looking forward to the ascent of the "Moon Town Rap Scene."

In other news, Eric, Olivia and I had dinner with Mike Parvizi's parents on Saturday. After a little initial confusion locating the restaurant (the name of the restaurant was "Alborz's House of Persian Cuisine, but Eric heard it as "Al Gore's House of Persian Cuisine") we had a very pleasant evening, right up until we went to pick up Eric's car at the BART station and discovered that it had been broken into. Luckily Eric keeps his car pretty immaculate, so there wasn't much to steal. In desperation, the would-be burgalers popped the trunk and found:

A half dozen plastic bags filled with aluminum cans. I don't know why, but this just makes me giggle. So let's give a shout out to Eric, the Recycling King. I've been teasing him about his little recycling hobby, but now I am convinced of its worth.

My daughter the model (snicker snicker)

From the Archives...And the Band Played On. And On. And On

Okay, I'm not sure of the exact date of the following, but Olivia was older than 9 and Ivy was in high school so it dates back to the very early days of the original big sandy bottom (R.I.P.) Figure about 2002?

Olivia doesn't play the trumpet anymore, so I haven't been to a school band concert in almost two years. I actually miss them. The recording still exists, by the way. I wish I knew how to play it on here!

When Olivia was 9 she played the clarinet, in the strictly technical sense. Badly, with no skill whatsoever, but nonetheless she played the clarinet. Due to a serendipitous event in Hawaii involving a conch shell, she is now a trumpet-player and a pretty good one too. Anyway, while Olivia has developed into a good musician, her early efforts were...well, let's just say that when she practiced her clarinet at night, it wasn't just the cats that hid in the garage.

You can imagine our surprise when we attended Olivia's first elementary school band concert and discovered that she was one of the more talented musicians in the group. (If this sounds like I am bragging, then re-read the previous paragraph and you will see what I am getting at.)

At this point, I had attended numerous band concerts to see Ivy play, both in middle school and high school. Although I wasn't expecting perfection, all of the ensembles Ivy had been involved with at least showed some skill. I wasn't expecting a bunch of 4th graders to meet even the standards of a middle school band, but I was anticipating a modicum of expertise, a glimmer of talent and potential. Silly me.

The band was conducted by a man who was possibly the most patient soul on the planet. Or perhaps he was a bit hard of hearing. If so, it was a mercy.

These kids were so bad that half of the parents in the audience were hysterically, silently, laughing their heads off during most of the event. Imagine rows of parents, shoulders shaking, tears rolling down their faces, laughing at their own children. That’s how bad these kids were.

Inflicted upon the parents were at least five renditions of “Ode to Joy”, “Mozart’s Melody” (that’s “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” to you and me), and what has to be (hopefully) the only 2 and 1/2 hour version of the “William Tell Overture” ever played. I just kept picturing the Lone Ranger, riding ol’ Silver to this in slooow motion, finally stopping and saying, “Can we play something a little more up-tempo, a funeral dirge perhaps? Because Silver is asleep.”

Eric, who was my fiancé at the time, was unable to attend this little event. I suspect he traveled to Amsterdam on business just to avoid the concert, but I have no actual proof. Anyway, Ivy brought a tape recorder along to the concert, so we could share it with Eric at a later date. The recording brings to mind a bunch of developmentally disabled ducks involved in some tragic water-related calamity…and I don’t think the tape quality is to blame. It is a testament to Eric’s character that he married me anyway.

Let's Make Eric An Internet Star!

click on the title above. Tell your friends.

Weekly Address October 11, 2006 (Death to Austrian Tourists in Rental Cars)

So what kind of idiot parks their car in the middle of highway to check his map?

Martin Opitz, stoic Austrian tourist, that's what kind of idiot.

On Monday I was happily driving along, on my way to pick up Olivia from BART. I come off of Devil's Slide in Pacifica and wham! Smack right into the back of one Martin Opitz, stoic Austrian tourist, henceforth referred to as "MOSAT." I guess MOSAT thought it was a good idea to just stop right there, right where he was and check his map. And yes, since I rear-ended MOSAT the accident is my fault. Crap.

Being in a car accident is so surreal. There's the impact and then about 15 seconds of complete silence and then the adrenaline starts rushing. Mentally doing a body check-in: "Legs? We're good? Good. How's the back? Okay, terrific. Car-how's the car looking? Oh good god, my car, my car, look at my car!"

This accident was even more surreal because the other participant didn't speak English all that well. He provided me with his address and the fact that his rental car came from Hertz. Other than that, he just waved his map around and impersonated one of those Buckingham Palace guards. Never cracked a smile or a frown, just a complete deadpan stare.

I, on the other hand, was a complete mess. I held off the tears until I tried unsuccessfully to find my AAA card. Then I started to bawl. My cellphone was dead, and I was afraid to turn on the engine to charge the cell and I was panicked about Olivia being at the Daly City BART station at night with all the weirdos that hang out there. I used the international sign for "phone" (thumb and pinky held next to face) and MOSAT let me use his Blackberry. I called AAA, left a message for Olivia (don't talk to strangers! Help will be there soon!) but I couldn't get in touch with Eric, because Eric doesn't have a cell phone and he'd already left work. I knew he was having dinner at his parents house though and luckily when I called there, he'd just arrived. So at least reinforcement was on the way. But to get that reinforcement I had to cry in front of my mother-in-law, a dreadfully high price to pay.

Then the tow truck arrives, driven by a guy who looks like one of the hillbillies from "Deliverance." He drives me to his tow shop, located between a gas station and a bar. I try to get change for the payphone in front of the bar so I can let Olivia and Eric know where I am, but the mean lady at the gas station won't give me change unless I buy something and I only have a dollar and there's nothing to purchase that would leave me enough money for a phone call. And I really need to make that call, because thus far my conversation with Eric has been somewhat cryptic. At this point he thinks I am waiting for him at a Dennys.

I'm still crying, by the way.

Mean lady relents, so I head to the payphone in front of the bar. Surpringly, there's some drunk guy using it and he isn't reading my subtle signs of desperate phone need (red face, tears, clutching 4 quarters) and continues to yell into the phone at someone named Sue who really doesn't want company that night. (And Sue, if you're out there - I'm pretty sure this guy was lying to you about his sobriety.)

Anyway, the guy finally hangs up, I reach Olivia who has just been picked up by Eric and let them know where I am. I then spend the next 45 minutes standing in front of Winters Bar in Pacifica, still crying. Probably everyone I went to high school with in Pacifica drives by and sees me, sobbing in front of a bar.

If you're familiar with coastside geography, you may be wondering "why did it take 45 minutes to reach Pacifica from the Daly City BART station?" That's a good question, but you don't realize how incredibly direction-deficient my husband is. Eric has many wonderful traits, I love him dearly, but sometimes going more than a block causes him to get hopelessly lost. Candy Cane Lane comes to mind and isn't THAT a great story that I'd love to tell you but even I have my standards and wouldn't publicly humilate Eric in such a way.

I digress.

Anyway, I catch occasional glimpses of Eric and Olivia several blocks parallel to my location, performing illegal u-turns and then heading in the opposite direction. It's freezing and I don't have a coat (Mumma, I don't want to hear one word from you!) and by this point my eyes are basically swollen shut from crying. You'd think I'd stand out in a crowd, much less all by myself standing in front of a bar, but it takes my family several more tries until they reach me.

So that's one thing that happened this week.

I have several Olivia tidbits to relay that are kind of funny. First of all, I want to officially nominate Olivia's pal Nina Jacobsen as this week's "Miss Big Sandy Bottom." (This is a new feature, I will be honoring other notable achievements as warranted.)

I was already impressed with this kid, who is as good-natured and kind-hearted as they come, PLUS her mom owns Duarte's Tavern which give us special pie priveleges and acess to the best green chile soup on the planet.

Notre Dame has an annual "Club Fair" where all the various school clubs offer displays about their activities, talk to the students about joining, etc. I don't know why Olivia didn't attend the club fair, but in retrospect I bet she's really sorry she didn't.

Anyway, so Nina did attend and boy did she have fun. I think Nina's motivation was fairly simple: some clubs offer food for signups, she was hungry but didn't actually want to sign up for anything herself. So she just enrolled Olivia, who is now a proud member of 12 organizations that she would rather die than be a part of. I think she's okay with the Culture Club and the Spanish Club. But the Star Trek Club? Not so much. The Anime Club? hahaha the very idea makes me giggle, Olivia surrounded by a bunch of goth girls discussing the art form "manga?" There's a bunch of others, but my personal favorite is "Club BEEP-Bring Everyone Everywhere Peace." Olivia reports that everytime she walks by the school bulletin board, there are urgent messages posted for her regarding her membership in Club BEEP, as there is an upcoming demonstration rally to plan. As the instant message kids say, "lmao."

My nominee for "Mr. Big Sandy Bottom" this week is Teen Model Mike Parvizi.

Olivia had her headshot photo shoot this past weekend (see previous posts for important wardrobe information) and the shoot was still happening when her boyfriend Mike showed up to have dinner with us. The photographer asked Mike if he was willing to be a "prop" and next thing you know, Olivia and Mike are channelling James Taylor and Carly Simon, playing the guitar in front of a decrepit Volkswagon van.

So Mike gets kudos both for being a prop, and being willing to wear makeup to do it.

And finally, an honorable mention goes to Olivia's rowdy friends who attended the Tri-M Honor Society Induction ceremony last night. The ceremony was a dignified, staid event. Violins were played-polite, appreciative applause. Piano prodigies pounded out concertos, also to appreciative applause. Olivia sang an Italian opera song, her friends whooped and hollered and then they all stood up and spelled out the letters of her name with their hands like a bunch of drunks dancing to "YMCA" at a wedding:

O-L-I-V-I-A!

Best music recital I've ever been to.

Weekly Address October 3, 2006 (Nia Sings!)

The latest "news" from BSB...

On Saturday, Eric and I took Ivy, Olivia and Mike to see GUSTER at the Berkeley Community Theatre and we had a great time. Olivia got to take a picture with opening act Tristan Prettyman. Mike and I now have an inside joke (hard to describe, but it involves punching your own eye.) (Told you it was an inside joke.) And we all discovered that even if you hate one of the opening acts (Nada Surf, in this case) it is possible to have a terrific time at a concert by merely PRETENDING to have a terrific time. We were feeling kind of bad, because many of the folks around us were really into Nada Surf and we were just sitting there all blah. So we decided to get play along. We were jumping around, line dancing (don't ask), screaming and requesting songs. By the time the set ended, we had worked ourselves into Nada Surf frenzy and completely bonded with our seatmates. I think this is something to think about in other areas of life also...it is possible to go from having a crappy time to having the the time of your life by basically forcing yourself to behave as if you are having a great time.

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, Siobhan.

Guster was as terrific as we hoped. I'm sure you've never heard of Guster, that's okay. They are one of those groups that never quite seems to make it big. If you've ever heard a song of theirs on the radio, it would probably be "The Fa Fa Song" and I realize that title doesn't exactly scream "must-hear music."

Anyway, these guys are awesome musicians and I'm always fascinated by the percussionist, who plays most of the instruments without drum sticks. Even the snares and cymbals. It's cool, though I imagine he's pretty bloody by the end of the show.

During the show, my family seized the opportunity to mock my birth defect. (I know, you weren't aware of my birth defect. That's because I am a proud person who demands to be treated just like everyone else. Still the tragic truth is....I cannot hold up three fingers. My attempts to do so make me look like an arthritic crone. I can hold up four fingers. Two's not a problem. But three...well, it's kinda sad to see. It's not like it affects my everyday life or anything, but when it comes to a song that features a line like "four-three-two-one" and the whole audience flashes their digits, I am at a definite disadvantage. It also hindered my cheerleading abilities, which were so lame to begin with that I really couldn't afford to have them further hindered.)

After the show we drove Mike home to Walnut Creek and I guess it must've been pretty late because we spent most of the drive giggling about Eric and I moving to Rossmoor and gumming wieners. It was hilarious at the time, I swear.

In sharp contrast to my wonderful times with my delightful family, my life at work has turned to shit and it appears that most of the trouble is totally my fault. Starting with last Sunday, when I did the big no-no, every City Clerk's worst nightmare, and forgot to post a City Council meeting. Just to make the whole thing more embarrassing, this was a meeting where the Council was to interview candidates to be my potential new boss. I'm sure they're really looking forward to working with me. So THAT was a big pile of crap I stepped in. I had to rush down to work and post another meeting for 24 hours hence to take the place of the meeting I forgot to post.

Come in Monday morning, find out that while I posted the upcoming meeting with the correct code section reference, I used the wrong title description. grrr. Luckily no one noticed that, or they were just kind enough not to mention it. The fact that the numbers on the agenda went 1,2,3,5...that WAS noticed.

Tuesday morning I have to post another meeting for Thursday, which I do. Except that I post it for the wrong time. At least this time there's plenty of time to correct the error. By now, I am feeling really incompetent. It's like everything I touch turns to garbage.

Tuesday afternoon we have a little situation regarding a former Councilmember, an appeal and a fee that may or may not be required to file said appeal. I am tasked with creating a paper trail of our appeal fees history. I get lucky and find reference to a 2000 City Council meeting where our master fee schedule was approved (as an aside, my city has basically NO electronic records. So all this research is done the old fashioned way.) Anyway... so.... aha! a resolution that should help me follow the trail. Go into our scary old fireproof room where we keep all the city records (but no longer keep the bones of an actual corpse uncovered during a sewer plant project) to pull the resolution. It's gone. MY ORIGINAL FREAKING RESOLUTION IS GONE.

Fast forward to me crying on the floor of the storage room. What the hell is going on? Why can't I do anything right? I'm feeling very humbled, because just days earlier I was thinking "hey, I'm starting to get the hang of this City Clerk stuff. This is cool." Currently, I can't even count to five properly.

Fast forward to the City Council meeting. 10 minutes before the meeting starts, our friendly local librarian strolls in. I think "hmm. wonder why Maya is here? She doesn't normally come to our meetings. I wonder which agenda item she's interested in?"

Gee, I don't know Siobhan. Could it possibly be that she is receiving a proclamation that evening? A proclamation that I was supposed to write and prepare for the meeting.

You betcha.

So this hasn't been the best week of my life. I don't know what's up with me. I'm thinking that maybe I can blame it on pre-menopause? Stress? Not enough sleep? I don't know, but I sure hate feeling like an idiot all the time.

At least the resolution mystery is revealed to not be my error. I only found this out last night, at the Council meeting, when someone turns up with a photocopy of the original resolution. I grab this person and say "where did you get this?" Apparently it was emailed to the individual by a fellow staff member. A fellow staff member who could possibly have a somewhat biased view of the former councilmember who filed the appeal. A fellow staff member who I asked DIRECTLY IF THEY HAD SEEN THE ORIGINAL AND THEY DENIED ALL KNOWLEDGE.

Not that I'm bitter.

On a lighter note, I've been spending a lot of time on youtube. The stuff you can find on there! Like the entire Captain EO film (of course it's not in 3-d like it was at Disneyland once upon a time), and the opening credits for the 1970's PBS show "Zoom". (write Zoom, Z- double o-m, Box 3-5-0, Boston Mass, 0-2-1-3-4...Send it to Zoom!"

It's great fun. Olivia somehow stumbled across a series of videos featuring a young girl named Nia. Nia's mother has posted maybe 20 or so videos of her little darling singing. The kid is only 4 years old (2 in some videos) but her mother is apparently hell-bent on making little Nia sing wildly inappropriate songs for the camera. The funny thing is, the kid actually might have some talent. It's hard to tell with a toddler, but she seems to have a decent tonal memory and can carry a tune anyway. And she's certainly not shy.

I have this image of poor little Nia, trapped in her home with her crazy mother who makes her stand in front of closet doors, clutching a pretend microphone and crooning "Give it to me baby" by Rick James, or even weirder "Strange Fruit" by Billie Holliday.

Anyway, if you get a chance, visit the link below and check Nia out. The link is 4 year old Nia singing "Piece of My Heart" by Janis Joplin. Although it isn't her best vocal performance, there's a moment starting about 3 minutes and 50 seconds that's fascinating. Make sure you watch it until 4 minutes and 25 seconds. It's worth it, I swear.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfM4sGIsoc4

While you're there, check out some other Nia clips. The Billie Holliday one is truly bizarre.