I’m an elder Millennial so I don’t know how familiar you are with 90s R&B superstars Boyz II Men but you couldn’t go to a roller rink, play pogs, or not use a cell phone without hearing a song by these guys. The “Boyz” (Shawn Stockman, Wanya Morris, Nathan “No
Not that long ago, I wrote a post for this very website which chronicled my experience as a sun-kissed, burrito-fed Californian living for three years in NYC. Soft of heart and fake blonder of hair, I bemoaned New York’s frigid winters, sleazy one-upping “networkers,” and lack of publicly-placed recycling bins.
Thanks to my best friend and her entire family (who were my primary babysitters before and after school), my childhood from ages 7 to 12 was filled with the comprehensive works of Mr. Michael “Sweet Lips” Bolton. As school let out, I would not have to scan the cars looking
OK, fine. It didn’t ruin my life. But seriously. It kind of did. I have been cursed with a love/hate relationship with the songs of my Zima drinking, shoulder pad wearing elders who loved them some artists like Richard Marx and the Tony Rich Project. Here are the worst offenders
I am a Californian living in New York City. I was born in the suburbs of Los Angeles, raised in the suburbs of San Diego, and went to college in the Bay Area, so I’d kind of consider myself somewhat of a semi-expert on Californianity. Living as a Broke-Ass-West-Coaster-Gone-East for
First things first: I have never been a “wild child.” During my teen years, I was a dedicated captain of my high school’s Quiz Bowl team– our post-match parties consisted of watching Team Member L do the “human pretzel” behind a dumpster in the Denny’s parking lot, and Team Member
Last weekend, I spent my Halloween dressed as Selena (a costume which– thanks to procrastination and an extremely ill-timed thunder/snowstorm– turned out looking more like an alcoholic 90s-goth-chola in snow boots, but whatevs). I’ve always had a special place in my kinky-cop-hat-and-bustier-wearing heart for that quick-stepping ranchera, and would probably
Welcome to New York during Yule season, suckers. It’s a time of great mirth-sucking and merriment-destroying. From the Black Friday stampedes to Christmas Eve traffic, rarely does a city unify so absolutely under the banner of pissy mood. Holiday magic is in short order, despite what Macy’s would have you