H is for Happy Birthday...

And of course, Happy New Year. Happy Hanukah. Happy Kwanzaa. Happy Pagan Holidays. No Festivus, kind of corndoggish. SHit, I might be able to get 20 H's out tHis bitcH.

2 years and still going. Not with as much fervor as there should be, but we're not dead yet. I feel a pulse. Like a bear hibernating, maybe 1 or 2 breaths per minute, a slower heart rate. Just conserving that energy for the new year. I read somewhere earlier this year that on average most blogs hadn't been updated in 4 months. In that case I'm ahead of the curve, but status quo isn't the aspiration. You don't get yachts and coupes with that. And a G5, forget about it. I mean fugedaboudid for my Jersey Shore fans. J-Woww I see you with them bulletproof boobies. What a slob. But I love her?? Fake titties are for the birds but saline packs catch a bullet on some Leroy shit. Speaking of which, peep the picture below. Sunny and lovely Cleveland. Just one stop on the Summer of Howfresh Tour '09. Maybe I'll discuss it at a further juncture.



There are 20 "H" caps up top. I guess I could have stuttered the Happy Birthday, but that would have been o-o-o-o-o-obnoxious. Then we can blame it on the a-a-a-a-a.... Not that taking a picture of 20 H hats and 1 Howfresh cap isn't, but I wanted everybody to know that I haven't been home with a thumb up my ass, but rather out and about looking for some headwear. Each of these hats deserve their own post, but I'm running out of clever H titles. Time to start adding some silent H's.

I've also been eating. A lot. I'm proud to say that I gained 15-20 pounds this year. Yes LBs, not that fack off British currency. I'm still broke. The brokest blogger you know. Irrelevant though. One thing this blog has taught me to do is eat. And to do so with reckless abandon. Costs too much? Not that healthy? No appetite? Got food in the crib? Fuck it, we're going in. Because at the end of the day I will do a post on it. Unfortunately I've even fooled myself into believing this. In 2010 I'll do a retrospective of my '09 meals. If I forget how it tasted, I'll try to say something amusing to make you think I'm not full of shit. That is the tough thing about recalling events where sensory functions play a huge part. You remember the overall experience, but the tastes, textures, intricacies and so on get a bit muddled. Especially when you're ON TO THE NEXT ONE so soon. I need to hire a full-time memoirist.



What better way to ring in the born day than enjoying some good food and good music. Thanks to Ian @ a Different Kitchen, I scored a pair of tix to the Funk Flex Hip Hop Legends show @ BB King's. Chock full of legends. Large Professor/Main Source, Ed OG, Masta Ace, EPMD, Doug E. Fresh with a very special appearance by Lil' Vicious, Onyx, Ghostface (getting emotional in the red vest), Method Man, and the one group I wanted to see most, Showbiz & AG. Unfortunately I got there after they went on. What part of the game is that?? I hedged that the show would start late and lost. I guess I'll never learn. Show was dope. Energy was craze from both the audience and artists. Method Man was a no show but that didn't dampen my mood. Though there were a lot of long faces in the crowd. Buck up youngin'. Don't you know this hiphop shit breaks hearts??



I'm all over the place. I know. So let me finish this on the most apropos tip, food. Howfresh Eats- right? Precisely. The birthday meal, and crowning meal of the year was provided by Momofuku Ssam on 13th and 2nd Ave. And it sure as shit hit the mark. What we have here are kusshi oysters from Vancouver Island and some Jonah Crab claws. The meal deserves its own post, so I shall provide one. David Chang, hate him or love him, knows what he's doing.

Some footage from the show. A little bass heavy. New Year's Resolution- more treble, less bass. Is that a tits and ass reference? No clue.

Doug E. Fresh- Freaks @ Hip Hop Legends Show @ BB Kings 12/23/09


Ghostface Killah- 4th Chamber / Holla @ Hip Hop Legends Show @ BB Kings 12/23/09


Onyx- Throw Ya Gunz @ Hip Hop Legends Show @ BB Kings 12/23/09

Wack on the Walls but Dope on the Dogs- A Black Friday Fable.

To be clear, this isn't a fable. There really isn't any moral to be learned. Maybe some behavior to avoid. This is more of a story, a tale. I just wanted maximum alliteration.

You know how it goes. A sneaker gets hyped on the internet. The images look pretty good so you consider the cop. Then you see it in person and think damn, that shit is wack. Doesn't happen that often, seldom in fact, however this is precisely what happened with the Eddie Cruz "West" Nike Air Force 1s. Purple and yellow is my thing- Kobe all day, but the red outsole really freaked me out. I know my style isn't considered "progressive", but red? Shit didn't make any sense.



Store after store these shiny purple joints kept bugging. This is a sneaker that historically I should like sans the patent swoosh. My disdain runs deep. It's an air force. It's a premium air force, it has snake skin, it is purple, it has different stitch on the tongue tag and the O.44 sticky rubber logo is embossed on the heel. The little intricacies I gets downs with. But no, not interested. Not even a second chance. Like they did me dirty and were left to rot. Until I peeped them on feet. I was like, Hold Up!! Wait a minute!! My man Wes, being the astute Nike employee that he is, had them joints on for the ultimate sell. On some, "yeah, I thought they were pretty weak sauce too, but peep now." It worked on me. I'm not sure exactly why, maybe the new perspective of looking down as opposed to eye level. My style's over your head, I enjoy the aerial view. The red wasn't as noticeable and the shiny snakeskin wasn't as overwhelming.



So now they're on the radar, but for $135 not a necessity. Plus I have the purple with yellow LA forces so I'm thinking I'll call these skip. But the textures are different so that thought is thrown at the window. My boy tells me he can get them for $81, so that entices me more, but I'm still not fully convinced. Until Black Friday. When all sense and rationale gets thrown out the window and the lunacy ensues. No, there weren't any fly pony hair jumpoffs this year.



I'm in Goliath when I see the purple piff (not really, but again, my alliteration obsession) on the wall with a 40% off sign, thus making them $81. No longer an eyesore, I grab the joints to do some last minute recon. As I'm holding them, I hear 2 dudes ask for an 11 and 11.5, my size. I didn't even get a chance to make a play on them. Uh oh. Call it territorial, call it mania, attack mode is instantaneously triggered. I run to catch Dee, malt liquor extraordinaire, as he returns from the stock room. Stop him and ask on the humble if that's the last 11.5. For those in the know, an 11.5 is pretty rare, and usually only 1 pair per size run. He nods affirmative. Ask if there are more 11s, he throws up the "3" sign. Seeing I want them he says I got you, hitting me with the box just as Jim Kelly used to place the pigskin in Thurman Thomas' bread basket.

Feeling like I just stole the last Linden's cookie from the cookie jar, I quickly sit on the bench in the back sliding the pair underneath, hiding all evidence. I don't turn around, feeling like I just snaked some dude for his kicks. Dudes make their way towards the back, me thinking I'm going to have a problem. Never that, they just want to know about DQM, so I hit them with the bullet points, they say good looks and leave me be. Do the right foot try on. All signals say go and I'm at the register. Rose bags them (What up Rose!!), AMEX debt increases, and I'm out the door. Once that cool November air hits, waking me from my semi-delirious sneaker blindness, I look at the kicks again and realize why I never liked them in the first place.



Fuck it, what's another pair of kicks? Just another albatross around my neck. Another nail in the coffin. But at least my feets will look oh so fresh.

I've been racking my brain to think of other kicks that might have looked wack upon first glance and then flipped the script on me. I'm coming up blank. However what you see below might fit the bill. Shits offended me on the wall, but after trying them on and feeling the rabbit ass on my toes, yo, I might need them in my life. It's a big step for me though. Hold my hand.