Take a pic with yo baby momma, flashing gang hand signs. Blow it up to 8x10, frame it, and stash it away until you know she’s coming home with friends, or better yet, a date.
Maybe it’s just late, but this one cracked me up good!
You might also consider creating a MySpace page incorporating an array of these suggestions – plus, be sure to TyPe LiKe tHiS wHeN yOu dO. Make sure she’s aware of it.
Nobody else ever need actually see it. It should be enough simply to ask her friends “Hey, do you use MySpace…?” when the opportunity arises.
Do a Rob & Big style family portrait and hang it over the mantle:
My brother-in-law used to ask boys that came to pick up his daughter: “Do you know what a gelding knife is?”
This is working out better than I planned.
She has gone from mere amusement at her clueless father’s feeble attempts to be “with it” and “hep” to mild irritation to exasperated glares. Finally, matters came to a head last night.
My wife - excuse me, mah main ho - and I had just returned from the tango lessons at the YMCA. One of the other folks in the class mentioned that there were line-dancing lessons being offered at a local alcohol-free club in our area. So we and some friends decided to try that too.
My daughter asked, in a mildly condescending tone, to humor the interests of the old folks, “How were the tango lessons, daddy?” And I responded, approximately -
“They were phat. Yo. My posse and I, we be down with some line-dancing lessons starting a week from next Friday, so your mom and I are going to shake our booties then. Would you like to come along? No forties though - this club be righteously alcohol-free.”
And she rolled her eyes and said, “Daddy, you are not hip. I wish you could stop trying to be ghetto. It’s just silly.”
I happened to be wearing my favorite Thompson Cigars baseball cap - we walked back from the Y and it was raining a bit - so I turned it around on my head, flashed her the W sign described earlier in the thread (thanks, ZipperJJ), and said, “Whatevah, sistah!”
And then I saw it. A crack in her self-confidence. She didn’t recognize the sign.
“What’s this?” she asked, fear creeping into her voice, and she made the W.
“That’s 'whatevah”. Everybody knows that."
“You made that up!” she said, but there was no assurance in her voice.
“Oh no I din”, I responded. I even did the finger raise and the cobra back and forth of the head. I wished I had some earrings I could take off.
“I am going to have to check, daddy.” she said.
She is currently at school. At lunch, she is going to check with some of her friends.
But I think I’ve got her.
This be the schizzle, fo sho.
Regards,
Shodan
Groovy, daddio.
You know what you could also do? Whenever she talks about a friend having some drama, ask if they are using drugs but use outdated terms.
About 30 years ago I mentioned some drama that my friend Lisa was having. It was just mom and me in the room, but I still get a little hot in the face remembering mom asking me if Lisa was on dope.
I assume she meant to ask if she was smoking pot, or, as the young people say, “weed”.
Wow, I think I would have killed my self in high school if my parents knew more pop culture then I did. My dad and I still argue about who discovered Squirrel Nut Zipper.
I think most of the great stuff has been covered. When you ask about her day “What crackin’ homie” is a great way to go. Also throw out a “Peace!” with hand sign when you say good bye.
Or go the other way to the present day, and mention “trees” or “stick.”
Audi.
OK, I’m not hip enough.
Explain? Why would you pour it on the ground?
See here.
“the act of pouring liquid (usually an alcoholic beverage) on the ground as a sign of reverence for friends or relatives that have passed away. in most cases, a 40 ounce bottle of liquor is used.”
I know (and see) this because I live in the gully section of Crown Heights, Brooklyn.
Lates.
I love this thread, my sons think I’m ridiculous and silly already and I try my 8 year old everyday by just being me. Here’s something I’ve done a few times just to entertain myself that you might try; to celebrate some minor victory, like say, finding both pairs of sandals in the shoe bin, do your best cabbage patch while singing, “Go (your name), it’s your birthday, not for real-real, just for play-play!”
A word of warning – the W with your fingers may be slightly out of date. I used to do it when I was 16.
Someday I will figure out how a classical era libation, giving a portion of your drink to the gods, became a way to remember a dead gang-banger.
Someday.
Sandals? Yes. We’re quite advanced in Wigan. We’re still under Roman rule.
It’s easy. Whatever it’s origins, mutually drinking from a 40-ounce is one thing gang-bangers intimately share (joints too) and over and through which they bond. Symbolically acknowledging the departed’s portion by pouring it on the ground in tribute keeps the dead in the mix and in their thoughts.
Rituals evolve and get adopted all the time.
It’s still done in Haitian religion (vodou), which is actively practiced in Bed-Stuy.
Yo.
Tristan,
Or why other forms of worship didn’t translate, like offering up the aroma of your burnt meat offering to God. “There you go peeps up in Heaven, give these bratts and burgers a good sniff, then I’m gonna eat 'em.”
Gizoogle is here to help.