Paresh’s Blog

here it is, 33 hours and 7 minutes until i begin my own personal hell called the bar exam. how am i feeling at this juncture you ask? here’s a summary:

i’ll catch you all on the flip side. peace.

see, this is what happens when you ignore the common law rule of picking up your dog’s poop. there’s a lesson in all this i tell you.

every now and then, people surpise me in a good way. so i’m sitting traffic today on my way home from school. its blistering hot so i got both my front windows down. out of nowhere, i hear “hey yo! yo man!” i look to my left and there’s this silver lowered escalade, with 22″ dubs, loud system and tinted windows. i look at the driver and it this huge mexican guy in a wifebeater with a shaved head, long goatee and arms covered in tats. basically, the kinda person that regardless of how well-intentioned and averse to sterotypes you are, you’d still be just a little bit apprehensive at the sight of the guy. so i turn my radio down and reply “sup?” he tells me that my left brake light isn’t working. i said thanks and we both went back to listening to our radios.

for the rest of my drive home, i got to thinking about how society dulls our senses. between everything going on in our everday lives and everything going on in the world, there is little in the world that “surprises” or “shocks” us anymore. it all kinda blurs together into a monotonous drone in the background where we just automatically reply “eh, what else is new?” but i’m glad to know that despite all that, the little things can still break that monotony. everyone can appreciate the mother theresas or the nelson madelas, but this guy on the freeway didn’t change the world. even though this was miniscule in the grand scheme of the universe, he did manage to make my day a little better.

so i got these ghetto neighbors next door. they aren’t overtly ghetto like my last neighbors were but they’ve got their pitbull and my neighbor is not averse to doing some yard work in a wifebeater and house slippers. but i’ve noticed that the ghettoness increases substantially when one of my neighbor’s homies comes over. from my bedroom window i can not only see into their backyard, but i can hear everything they say.

so last night my neighbor and his buddy were talking in the backyard while throwing back some back cans of tecate. and apparently my neighbor has come upon some money and his buddy tells him “man, you gotta invest that shit nigga–get some bonds or some shit. or even better, you gotta give it all to your mom and tell her that you get free meals every time you go to her house and she has to give you rent money whenever you need it.” either he was trying to give some patented wu tang financial advice (click on the wu tang financial video to watch) or he was suggesting the creation of an inter vivos trust. either way, i got a kick out the psuedo-chuck schwab.

SO RIGHT NOW, over cans of bud, my neighbor and his buddy are in the backyard and they have decided to start their own rap battle. bear in mind that neither has anything that can even pass for rapping ability. here’s the jam my neighbor’s homie just laid down:

“we in the backyard nigga, we don’t even act hard, nigga you’re not my homie…don’t ask for no weed, i ain’t got what you need…i just paused cuz i-i’m santa claus, yeah st. nicholas…your wife smell like she got syphillis…and its a tradition, we roll with ammunition, and w-double-e…weed…and ar-15’s……”

if i could’ve stopped laughing long enough, i was so tempted to go to my window and start beatboxing. its dark outside so it would’ve been like a beatbox from the great beyond. that would’ve been awesome. an ill rhyme like that deserved some dope beatz.