Chutzpah & Hoodies
I would like to preface this by stating that I'm appreciative and grateful for every gift I received this Chrismukkah season... save one.
My mother has a cousin named Lyn, a near 50-something woman, who, for all intents and purposes, may very well believe she is the Foxy Brown of English Jews. No, not the rapper. I'm talking about the original Foxy played by Pam Grier, the voluptuous, ass-kicking queen of blaxploitation films from the '70s that actually managed to save herself and wipe out the evildoers by pulling a concealed gun out of her afro. That shit moved me.
Since I was young, I've watched Cousin Lyn prance around in various leather skin pants, comb her wavy hair into afro-esque updos, tell others to "shut yo mouth," call non-relatives "suckas," relatives "cuz," and throw out ill-timed, poorly placed Yiddish phrases. I spotted diamond studs in her nails this Christmas though, tragically, a gold tooth has yet to surface. I'm sure you've gathered by now that Cousin Lyn is in the 30th year of a serious identity crisis . About 2 months ago, following a 3 week engagement, she married a pimp-in-the-box named Ron in front of a Tennessee justice of the peace. Not quite the Rothy way but I guess it's fair to say that Cousin Lyn has never been in tune with "the way."
Who's the black private dick that's a sex machine to all the chicks? .... RON! Ya daaaaamn right. Ron is a 50+ player from Nashville or some such place with a penchant for James Brown, Smokey Robinson, man furs, crocodile shoes, snakeskin pants, knockin boots, and mad bling. He refers to my grandfather as "playa," other male relatives as "cat," and once told my father, after seeing my mother, that he has "pimp magic." Whenever I see Ron in stride, a funky house beat starts rockin me out of my skull... I get that curve in my swerve... I'm walkin, I'm rollin, I'm on the soul strut. I tip my head back and holla out for the maestro to cue the lights and smoke machine cuz here comes Ron, Prince of the Pimp Alliance.
While opening my gifts, I came upon one from Lyn and Shaft. Naturally, I (and those around me) was quite confused. In my 22 years, I've received one gift from Cousin Lyn and it was for my high school graduation. Apart from that, on Christmas Day 1991, she, equipped with only her slow, malfunctioning wits, attempted to trick me into trading my slice of strawberry cheesecake (the last in the house) for a jar of Amber Musk lotion - a therapeutic lotion for lovers made from a blend of amber, cinnamon, patchouli, and sandalwood. Apparently she thought I was a mental defective with a lover to moisturize. But I fixed her good. I snuck away from the table, got into her purse, fetched a rather nice lipstick, and traded her THAT for her musk lotion. I then sold her boyfriend du jour said lotion for 5 pounds and a bag of gummi bears. BDJ, in turn, presented Cousin Lyn with a romantic new gift - musk lotion. Point: Mini-Flash! But back to present day. I opened the box to find a hooded sweatshirt. I could dig it and was eager to see what it said... Arsenal Gunners? Oakland Raiders? Perhaps, the Yanks? As I pulled it out, the folded garment fell open to reveal two crossed sticks. I couldn't recall being a fan of anything represented by sticks... but then I sharpened my focus. The words - the school was right but "Lacrosse" was emblazoned across the heather grey plane in a sleek screen print. Before I could express discontent, cue Shaft, "Yeaaaaaaaaaah girl, that's your team! That's right. That's right." Lacrosse? LACROSSE??! LACROSSE???! No!! NO!! Who gets someone a sweatshirt for a team they don't even play for?? Probably the same smackass that bought me a Tarheel sweatshirt 3 weeks after I signed my letter of intent.
I stared back at the braintrusts in pure horror only to hear Cousin Lyn say, "Damn baby, that's a lot of chutzpah.. she is fo' sho' acting like she got bupkis." Was that ebonics and Yiddish in the same sentence? I was robbed of the opportunity to fully digest this happening, as she quickly followed this comment up with, "Oy gevald! You know you try to do a little sumthin-sumthin for somebody and they start actin all like a meshugina. Runnin around in schmatta." Ron: "I hear that baby. Some kibitz and all of that." Come again? Hey Shaft, kibitz means to meddle you fucking rimjob.
Hey Cousin Lyn: אני מקווה שאתה נחנק בשלך אבוניכס. אני כל כך שמח הישבן האילם שלך שהיה, חותך מ. אולי זה מדוע המחיר של סווטשירט החדש שלי $19.99? נסה לחתוך את הפתקים מבפעם הבאה אתה כלבה של ראאנצ'י.
I apologize for the lack of wit and snap to this post. It is the result of 3 days of repressed anger. I only regret that I haven't a scanned picture of Ron. Only then could you truly understand my pain.
Cheers!
Flash
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Translations:
chutzpah - (n) - nerve, audacity, balls/ovaries of steel, titanium, etc
bupkis - (n) - nothing, nada, zip
oy gevald - (inj) - Oh no! Aww, damn!
meshugina - (n) - crazy person
schmatta - (n) - rags; crappy clothes, threads that make you look homeless
----
My mother has a cousin named Lyn, a near 50-something woman, who, for all intents and purposes, may very well believe she is the Foxy Brown of English Jews. No, not the rapper. I'm talking about the original Foxy played by Pam Grier, the voluptuous, ass-kicking queen of blaxploitation films from the '70s that actually managed to save herself and wipe out the evildoers by pulling a concealed gun out of her afro. That shit moved me.
Since I was young, I've watched Cousin Lyn prance around in various leather skin pants, comb her wavy hair into afro-esque updos, tell others to "shut yo mouth," call non-relatives "suckas," relatives "cuz," and throw out ill-timed, poorly placed Yiddish phrases. I spotted diamond studs in her nails this Christmas though, tragically, a gold tooth has yet to surface. I'm sure you've gathered by now that Cousin Lyn is in the 30th year of a serious identity crisis . About 2 months ago, following a 3 week engagement, she married a pimp-in-the-box named Ron in front of a Tennessee justice of the peace. Not quite the Rothy way but I guess it's fair to say that Cousin Lyn has never been in tune with "the way."
Who's the black private dick that's a sex machine to all the chicks? .... RON! Ya daaaaamn right. Ron is a 50+ player from Nashville or some such place with a penchant for James Brown, Smokey Robinson, man furs, crocodile shoes, snakeskin pants, knockin boots, and mad bling. He refers to my grandfather as "playa," other male relatives as "cat," and once told my father, after seeing my mother, that he has "pimp magic." Whenever I see Ron in stride, a funky house beat starts rockin me out of my skull... I get that curve in my swerve... I'm walkin, I'm rollin, I'm on the soul strut. I tip my head back and holla out for the maestro to cue the lights and smoke machine cuz here comes Ron, Prince of the Pimp Alliance.
While opening my gifts, I came upon one from Lyn and Shaft. Naturally, I (and those around me) was quite confused. In my 22 years, I've received one gift from Cousin Lyn and it was for my high school graduation. Apart from that, on Christmas Day 1991, she, equipped with only her slow, malfunctioning wits, attempted to trick me into trading my slice of strawberry cheesecake (the last in the house) for a jar of Amber Musk lotion - a therapeutic lotion for lovers made from a blend of amber, cinnamon, patchouli, and sandalwood. Apparently she thought I was a mental defective with a lover to moisturize. But I fixed her good. I snuck away from the table, got into her purse, fetched a rather nice lipstick, and traded her THAT for her musk lotion. I then sold her boyfriend du jour said lotion for 5 pounds and a bag of gummi bears. BDJ, in turn, presented Cousin Lyn with a romantic new gift - musk lotion. Point: Mini-Flash! But back to present day. I opened the box to find a hooded sweatshirt. I could dig it and was eager to see what it said... Arsenal Gunners? Oakland Raiders? Perhaps, the Yanks? As I pulled it out, the folded garment fell open to reveal two crossed sticks. I couldn't recall being a fan of anything represented by sticks... but then I sharpened my focus. The words - the school was right but "Lacrosse" was emblazoned across the heather grey plane in a sleek screen print. Before I could express discontent, cue Shaft, "Yeaaaaaaaaaah girl, that's your team! That's right. That's right." Lacrosse? LACROSSE??! LACROSSE???! No!! NO!! Who gets someone a sweatshirt for a team they don't even play for?? Probably the same smackass that bought me a Tarheel sweatshirt 3 weeks after I signed my letter of intent.
I stared back at the braintrusts in pure horror only to hear Cousin Lyn say, "Damn baby, that's a lot of chutzpah.. she is fo' sho' acting like she got bupkis." Was that ebonics and Yiddish in the same sentence? I was robbed of the opportunity to fully digest this happening, as she quickly followed this comment up with, "Oy gevald! You know you try to do a little sumthin-sumthin for somebody and they start actin all like a meshugina. Runnin around in schmatta." Ron: "I hear that baby. Some kibitz and all of that." Come again? Hey Shaft, kibitz means to meddle you fucking rimjob.
Hey Cousin Lyn: אני מקווה שאתה נחנק בשלך אבוניכס. אני כל כך שמח הישבן האילם שלך שהיה, חותך מ. אולי זה מדוע המחיר של סווטשירט החדש שלי $19.99? נסה לחתוך את הפתקים מבפעם הבאה אתה כלבה של ראאנצ'י.
I apologize for the lack of wit and snap to this post. It is the result of 3 days of repressed anger. I only regret that I haven't a scanned picture of Ron. Only then could you truly understand my pain.
Cheers!
Flash
----
Translations:
chutzpah - (n) - nerve, audacity, balls/ovaries of steel, titanium, etc
bupkis - (n) - nothing, nada, zip
oy gevald - (inj) - Oh no! Aww, damn!
meshugina - (n) - crazy person
schmatta - (n) - rags; crappy clothes, threads that make you look homeless
----
posted by Flash at 12/28/2004 01:10:00 AM
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