I'm going back to college, college, college...

(Say it like LL Cool J would)


So I'm finally doing it. It took a little over ten years, but I'm currently looking at colleges near where I live. My family is totally shocked by it, and to be honest with you, so am I. I never really liked school. I was a good student; honor roll, B+ average, etc. The only thing that kept me sane while I was there was joining clubs, sports, and after school programs. I was even Student Council president during my senior year in high school (I can picture people reading this having the confused, "Butt-Head" look on their face). It does seem strange that the only way I endured school was to get more involved in it. I can't figure it out either.

I don't regret much in my life, but not getting my degree has been something killing my conscience for quite some time now. It's not about pleasing my parents or what other people think of me (I could give two shits about that). I just want to prove to myself that I can do it.

Quick history lesson on "The Miseducation of E.J. Matos":

I attended Le Moyne College in Syracuse, NY from the Fall of '94 to the Winter of '95 majoring in Accounting. It was some of the best times in my life, because I met some of the coolest people anybody could know. I've reconnected with a few of them recently, and it's like we've never missed a step. The first thing I did when I arrived, was sign up in a bunch of clubs to keep me "sane." That really wore me thin (figuratively of course), and made me lose focus on why I left for college. I had a shitty overall GPA during the first semester of sophomore year, and I was always drained. My parents and myself were having a tough time coming up with the money to pay for school, so I had to make a decision. Either go back to Le Moyne, struggling to pay while not doing well in my classes, or come back home. On December or '95 I packed up my stuff and came back to Tarrytown.

I took a semester off to work with pops to raise money, and then I attended Westchester Community College on a part time basis for the next year and a half. All I did was show up to class, and go home. I didn't get involved in anything outside of class. I figured I would do the opposite of what I did in Le Moyne, and all would be well.

Chris Rock said it perfectly when he said "community college is a night club with books." Nobody took it seriously, and it sucked. The worst part of it was that it was easy; as a matter of fact too easy. I was never challenged my time there. I was close to a 3.9 GPA.

During my time at "Harvard on the Hudson," I got at job at Franklin Covey in White Plains. Commuting from the Bronx with pops and then going to school was leaving me with not that much time in between. I started as a part timer, and six months later, I was working full time with them and going to school two nights a week. Then an opportunity came up. An assistant manager's position opened in Short Hills, New Jersey and the job was mine for the taking. I was doing well with the company, and I knew I could shoot up the ladder quickly. I packed up, and left for Jersey. That was the last time I ever attended a classroom.

I lived in Jersey for a year and a half and went back to White Plains for another promotion within the company. Things are going well and just a few months later, I was promoted again and opened up a new location in Greenwich, Connecticut. As a manager, I also was an unofficial assistant district manager for the the Northeast district. I'd travel all over setting up new stores and train new managers...


Then my career hit a brick wall.


Business sucked, corporate was on our asses, and they offered no help. I was working close to 70 hours a week running the store, cold calling potential clients, visiting current clients to get them to spend more, and helping train new managers since turnover was at an all time high with the company. I was rarely home, and it put a strain in my relationship with my girlfriend at time because I was traveling so much. Then they dropped a bomb on us during a conference call. We were not going to get our yearly raises, and get this...they were cutting our salary! I had to bounce, and bounce I did.

I went back to work with pops in the Bronx, and things were going alright. His partners were retiring, so they sold us their share. I was finally a business owner. That's what I've always wanted to do in my life. Working for "the man" was never an option for me. I've been there now for almost six years, and overall it's pretty good.

While working for Franklin Covey, and at the stores, I got into promoting parties, clubs, and boat rides for something fun to do on the side. I got into DJing a few years ago to grab some extra cash, and some of that side 'nanner. One day we were proofing some artwork for a flier promoting one of our boat rides. I thought it was such a shitty job, and I hated the fact that we had to pay $150 bucks for it. We were short on time, so we had to go with it. One day, I picked up a copy of Photoshop, and decided to mess around with it. I put something together and presented it to the boys. They liked it, so we used it for our next flier. Now to say that I'm a bad artist, it would be compliment. I stink at drawing, and I can't build anything to save my life. What I am good with is working with colors. All of those years in the family business (even as a pre-teen) gave me ability to make good combinations, and decipher what made a good outfit. I use that same knowledge to make eye-catching fliers and websites for ourselves and other promoters.

What's great about this is that in an evening or two after work, I can get a flier done and make some nice cash on the side with barely any sweat. I can do it while watching the game or with the music on in the background. It helps me clear my mind of the everyday stresses of retail life in the hood.

I would love to go further with this, so I figured that going to school and get formal training would be the way to go. Luckily, there are a few good schools that specialize in this field around where I live so it seems like fate. It's a late to apply to a school for this semester, but trust me when I tell you that come Winter of '08, my face will be hitting the books once again.


If you want to see some of my work and might be interested in my services, you can check out my MySpace profile (cheap plug alert)

myspace.com/djkubarico

I'm going back to college, college, college...
I'm going back to college...hmm, I'm hoping so.


***Random funny pic***

Don't get drunk at a party full of people you don't know...

The following blog recreates the events from a recent outing by a group of twenty and thirty somethings. Names will not be included to protect the stupid, *cough* I mean, victims.

These are their stories:


**LAW & ORDER SOUND EFFECT**


The culprit (from victim's account). Identity not yet confirmed:


Beer from parts unknown. Possibly spiked.

Known accomplices:


Wakatake Sake, from Japan.


Kirin Beer, also from Japan.


Saturday after a long day of work, a group of us went to a very cool Japanese restaurant named Kenka in the Astor Place neighborhood of Manhattan. My brother took me to this spot a couple of months ago, and I've been hooked ever since. If I don't have anything planned on a Saturday night, I usually end up there with my bro and the crew.

We arrived about 8:15 PM, waiting for everybody else. They showed up, and we were shown to our table around 9:00 PM. It's well worth the wait. We sat down and the waiter, Kim Chee (a Korean fellow, not the manager of pro-wrestler, Kamala The Ugandan Headhunter) sat us down. The first thing we ordered was Wakatake. It's a very smooth and highly potent sake that's the choice of the Yakuza in Japan. We always ask the person who serves us if they would like to have a drink as well. Nobody has yet to pass (I guess that's why they like us so much).

We go the family style route; order a bunch of different dishes and pass it around. Pitchers of Kirin Beer (another fine Japanese beverage) are being brought throughout the meal with Kim Chee downing his pint like a champ before going to his next table. This guy would make frat boys proud. Who knew frat boys would be actually involved later in the night.

While eating, somebody brought up that there is a party going on in SoHo and that we're invited to go after dinner. It's one of those "friend of a friend of a friend" kind of things that I'm usually not a fan of. I like to go to a party that I know a decent amount of people.

We asked for the bill, and a slightly buzzed Kim Chee brought it to us a few minutes later. We hooked him up with a big tip, and he thanked us graciously for it. He asked for our names for next time we come over. Here's the conversation I had with him:

Me: "I'm E.J. nice to meet you."

Kim Chee: "Thank you very much, "E-Chay" "

Me: "No, problem bro. You look like you liked the drinks as well."

Kim Chee: "Do you know the hip hop?"

Me: "Oh yeah, I do."

Kim Chee: "You lookie like the Big Punisher..."

Oh, how everybody got a kick outta that one. I'm not gonna lie, I thought it was funny as hell too. With that said, my ass really has to get familiar with the inside of a gym.

We're outside, feeling what the young and hip urban kids like to call, "nice." The party was brought up again. My brother and myself weren't really feeling the idea, so we went to his apartment in Brooklyn while the other four went to the party.

We got to Brooklyn and I crashed right away, which is a rarity for me. I'm almost never in bed before 2AM on any given day, whether I'm drinking or not. I wake up the next morning and my brother's roommate has yet to come back. My bro felt that something odd must have happened, since they call each other if they're coming home late. I fell asleep again, and I didn't get up until about 1:30 PM. The roommate finally came back...except with a few less possessions.

The victim returned to the apartment barefoot, in a t-shirt, and boxers. He woke up in an elevator in Chinatown in that very state of dress. With nothing else on him, homeboy trekked from Chinatown to Brooklyn on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The trip included a nice walk over the Brooklyn Bridge with the New York City skyline looking down at him like the ass that he is.

So what was he left without? Here we go...

Wallet
Keys
Cash
iPod
Jeans
Socks
Sneakers
Hat
Bicycle


We asked him what the hell did he have at the party, and what type of party was it. He said that all he had was beer and that it was a fraternity party. The other three people he went along with took off way before he did. He wanted to stay and continue drinking with an apartment full of people he didn't know.

Carlito Brigante in "Carito's Way" said it best...

"Dumb move, man. Dumb move."

A few calls were made after he slept it off, and found out that all of his stuff was being stored at the apartment where the party was! It was said that he was in such of a drunken stupor, so for his "safety," his things were put away. Excuse me for my harsh language, but I have to call Bravo Sierra on this one. With my five semesters of college experience, I smell a prank, especially if a fraternity is involved. If he was in such a bad sate, why not keep him there? Let him sober off, and send him on his merry way. After hearing their story, he actually BELIEVED them!

I was heading back to Sleepy Hollow, so we hopped on the Q train back to Manhattan. He got off on Canal Street back to Chinatown while I continued my trip to Grand Central Terminal so I can go home. When I arrived, I called to see if he got back to Brooklyn safe and sound. He did, with all of his possessions in tact. If there was one good thing to come out of this adventure of his, I'd say this...

At least his asshole wasn't sore when he woke up.


***Random funny pic***

I'm kinda feeling T-Pain, and I should be beaten for it

Yes. It's true. I hate to admit it, but when I hear it on my XM or play it at a gig, I find myself nodding my head to the beat and on some occasions *gasp* singing along. This is wrong at so many levels, I really don't know where the hell to begin.

I first heard about this "Rappa Ternt Sanga" (you see what he did there...he changed the spelling because it was the dope, fresh, chill thing to do) in February of 2006 when I was driving down the Las Vegas Strip to my hotel on the way back from a clothing buyers convention.

"I'm In Love With a Stripper" was the song that was playing. If you have never heard the song, I'm pretty sure you can find the video on YouTube or something like that. I heard the hook and thought, "Alright, it's something different, and Lord knows my affection for Bambi at Lace Gentlemen's Club in Nanuet."

Sorry...that's a different blog for a different day.

When the next verse came up, I realize that he's the only one on the song. His "voice" has a very robotic, twangy sound. It's a cheap knockoff of Roger Troutman, the guy that sings the hook to 2Pac & Dr. Dre's "California Love." You can tell that the voice has been over processed in the studio like Paris Hilton's atrocious attempt at recording an album (I promise that, this will be the only time I will EVER refer to that hose-bag in any of my blogs). If he started to sing because he stopped rapping, I'd hate to hear this guy spit lyrics. Actually, I would just for the cringe factor. Who knows? Maybe he has the skills of a Rakim or Big Daddy Kane. Then again, he may have the flow of Deion Sanders.

After a little research, I found out that he was signed by Akon (birds of a feather...you know the rest) after hearing a remix of "Locked Up" with "I'm Fucked Up" (creative, ain't it?) He indeed does write his lyrics. Here's an excerpt from a gem that's out right now, "Bartender"


[An excerpt of Verse 1]
Broke up with my girl last night so I went to the club (so I went to the club)
Put on a fresh white suit in a Mini coupe sitting on dubs (sitting on dubs)
I'm just looking for somebody to talk to and show me some love (show me some love)
If you know what I mean... Uh-Huh...

[Hook 1]
Oooo she made us drinks, to drink
We drunk 'em, (Got drunk)
And then I think she thinks I'm cool
She gave me a wink, I winked back
And then I think that, we headed out something proper like...

[Chorus]
I like the bartender
(Oooo If you're lookin' for me)
I'm at the bar with her
(Uh-huh, Ok)
I like the bartender
(Yeah if you're lookin' for me)
I'm at the bar with her
(Oooooh Uh-huh, Ok)


Deep, isn't it? I'm calling Deion Sanders on this one. Allow me to break it down...

[Verse 1]
"Broke up with my girl last night so I went to the club (so I went to the club)"

Well, he got over that chick quickly. I take at least two days to get over a girl.


"Put on a fresh white suit in a Mini coupe sitting on dubs (sitting on dubs)"

Who the hell puts big ass rims on a Mini?! Most rims these days are so big, it might be taller than the Mini itself. Maybe this hip hop thing is passing me by, but this sounds a little too hood rich for me

"I'm just looking for somebody to talk to and show me some love (show me some love)

If you know what I mean... Uh-Huh..."

Looks like Mr. Pain wants to get a lil' saucy, but leaves it up to our imagination on what he wants to do. I'm guessing The Samoan Piledriver.


[Hook 1]
"She made us drinks, to drink"

This bartender must be a special gal, since the drinks she made were for him to drink. I usually prefer to snort my Grey Goose.

"We drunk 'em (got drunk)"

Of course he drank them. What hip hop act doesn't drink booze in their songs? The last song I heard any mention of a designated driver was Montell Jordan's "This Is How We Do It." Let's not forget the usage of past tense and past participles of the word "drink." Mr. Allen, my ninth grade English teacher would be proud.

I'll spare you the rest

If he's going to survive in "the game," he should stick to singing hooks and choruses, written by somebody else of course. I didn't mind him on "U & Dat Booty" from E-40. This would the best way to utilize his "talent." He's a modern day Nate Dogg, if you will. Sure, you'll sing along with him on Warren G's "Regulate," but are you the owner of his CD catalog?

Now, with all of this, I have no damn clue why when his current songs are played in a club, the crowd (myself included) is rockin' to it. If the song were to be playing right now, my dumb ass would be bobbing my head, singing just as off key as T-Pain is. Is it because people are accustomed to the simple lyrics in "hip-pop" today? Since the mid-nineties, the "playa movement" has dumbed down the music I love. It's made me go more towards House music these days for the more soulful lyrics and vibe. Don't get me wrong, there is some really good, intelligent hip hop out there, but I don't think the fellas are going to be grinding to Dilated People's "Spit It Clearly" with some chick on dance floor.

Until then, I'm gonna pull up on a shawty and sing "Buy You a Drank" to her. Maybe I can get in on some of that Samoan Piledriver action.