Author Archives: Panama Jackson

Black America’s Secret Shame

Posted on by
392

As we all know, February is Black History Month. For the record, I’m not one of those people who complain that somehow Black history coincides with the shortest month of the year. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. It’s not like we (and by we, I mean those Black folks who complain that Black History Month is the shortest month of the year) really commemorate Black achievements all day everyday anyway. Besides, it used to be Black History WEEK, so I look at it like this…

…we got 21 more days to complain that America doesn’t do enough to celebrate Black achievements and accomplishments!

BAZINGA!

Anyway, being as its Black people month, and being as that I’m Black, I see it only fitting that I dedicate some posts in February to Black topics. Its gonna be on and poppin’. As well it should be since Black folks often get it on and poppin’ with things such as the bottle formerly known as Cristal, thongs, pills, and basketball. One could say we are a poppalicious people, though I prefer the bootylicious nature of Black women. And I don’t care how much you hate Beyonce, “Bootylicious” (written and produced/co-produced/conceived by Beyonce) was a great moment in Black history. Honestly…with lyrics like, “I don’t think you’re ready/for this jelly”, how could it not progress Black society. Kids everywhere were running around embarassing the sh*t out of us folks that can read talking about being bootylicious. Hell, even WHITE girls got into the act, further making me want to kill myself.

Okay, I swear that there is a point in there somewhere.

Ah yes, Black America’s secret shame. There are different kinds of Black folks out there. I know, shocker. Many have tried to paint Black people with one brush and say that we are all one and the burdens of my brother are my burdens. And I used to believe that until a strange thing happened one day. Can you guess what it was? Go ahead, take a gander.

*singing “I’m sexy and I know it”*

Done guessing?? Good. What happened to me was that I learned how to read.

*gasp*

That might sound messed up, but fret not, it gets worse. When I learned to read, a whole new world opened up to me. Butterfly’s in the sky, hell, I could fly twice as high like Aladdin and Jasmine! The older I’ve gotten and the more I’ve read, the more things have changed. Over time, I learned to not be afraid of information and actually seek it out causing me to do things that other Black men didn’t do like…go to college. Or even graduate. No Kanye.

So it was in this new world with new knowledge I obtained from reading new sh*t that I started to notice the differences between Black people. And just to be purposefully offensive, I’ll state some of the differences I noticed:

Some Black folks worked, some didn’t.

Some lived in suburbs, some lived in projects.

Some tried to assimilate into white society, some acted like assholes in public…almost seeming to be on purpose.

Some were reserved, some are just loud.

These are just a few of the differences. But that last one is the one that stands out to me. It brought to my attention and epiphanized a strange phenomenon in the Black community. It would seem that Black America’s Secret Shame is…

…hold on…

…it’s coming…

…wait for it…

…Black people.

Yes. Black people. Black American’s are secretly ashamed of other Black people. I know. It’s one of the most fucked up things you’ve ever heard. I hear you looking at me crazy. But it’s true. Black people that can read and write, and have gardens to tend, and garages that actually house cars, and have the OPTION to live amongst white people are ashamed of other Black people.

[***DISCLAIMER: These are fun, I swear. Which Black people am I talking about that are ashamed of other Black people??? You ninja. Yes you, the Black person that is reading this right now instead of in the projects affectionately known as WorldStarHipHop. The Black person who reads and writes. F*ck that, the Black person who ENJOYS reading. Yes, you. Does it sound elitist? Yes it does...but here's the test: if you have at any point in your existence, been somewhere, and an unruly group of Black youth have come into your presence and you cringed and/or uttered the word "n*ggas" under your breath...then this means you. Mmkay pumpkin?***]

Believe you me, it’s true. It’s a sad reality yet one that exists. Take for instance young Black folks on subway systems across America. Now those youth don’t care about being loud and obnoxious. Hell, it’s what kids do. However, you care. You wonder to yourself , why the hell they won’t shut up. Then you do scan the audience the kids have attracted. You scan the white faces for disapproval, and then you scan the Black faces for disgust.

For some reason, both the Black and white people are upset at the ungodly display of the youths. White folks will just have their notions reinforced, and Black folks will be afraid that the white folks are having their notions reinforced. And somewhere shame comes into the picture. Black folks start to think, “dammit, why won’t they just act right, they are making us all look bad. F*ckin’ cockaroaches!”

You have experienced…honest to goodness…

…shame.

Shame for fear that those Black folks who aren’t like you are setting us normal Black folks back years and years. It is that same shame that occurs when you take a ghetto member of your family out with you who then proceeds to act a damn fool on purpose, proving why they are the ghetto member of your family.

But you know what, they are ashamed of you too.

Sometimes they are trying to prove a point, too. The point may be that you aren’t any better than they are. And they are just as ashamed because they feel like you sold out when they remember when you all used to sleep three to a bed. They are ashamed, and thus shaming your bougie ass into realizing that you aren’t any better than they are. Hmm, ironic isn’t it. The better off we are, the more reminders we get from folks who aren’t so well off that we ain’t sh*t and didn’t come from sh*t.

Differences.

I’m not judging nor looking down on anybody. I’ve done more than my fair share in both worlds. As far as I’m concerned we all came from nothing. Essentially, I love all my Black peoples. EXCEPT those ignant somebodies who feel the need to make me look bad so that they don’t look bad by themselves. Crabs in a barrel are a b*tch. And it is those Black folks who draw my ire time and time again. The ones who are ashamed but secretly jealous of the Black folks who are doing well because those Black folks are sellouts and have no place in the hood. Those Black folks who are ashamed of other Black folks success because they don’t have it.

But it goes the other way too. Those Black folks who are educated and well to do, who are ashamed of their lower income brothers and sisters who may not have had the same opportunities that they’ve had. The ones who turn their noses up at less privileged Blacks with no provocation. The ones who talk about the ghetto without ever having been to the ghetto or lived there. The ones who laugh when some of us drink Kool-Aid. Hell, the ones who don’t realize that “red” is a flavor, and judge Black folks who know that it indeed is a flavor. Basically, Black folks who have the time to castigate other Black folks because they’ve made it and refuse to accept that making it where you’ve made it wasn’t solely on your own merit. Sometimes, folks believed in you enough to not let you fail. And it’s those folks that refuse to recognize or accept that, who are ashamed of lower income Black folks and their lot in life. Those Black folks piss me off too.

And there you have it. Black America’s secret shame is other Black people. From rich to poor, we are all ashamed of one another for reasons that are beyond me that will continue to keep us down. Sometimes we show out for white folks by showing them how comfortable they should be around us. We have a term for that…selling out. And sometimes we show out for white folks to show them that we don’t give a sh*t about them, except what we’re doing is furthering their own beliefs that Black folks have no damn sense anyway and are all useless. We have a term for this too…being a dbag. And they all lead to the same end…shame from some other member of the Black race.

And this is why we won’t make it as a people…and you know what…

…it’s a damn shame.

Ain’t it?

What say you?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. SUPER B.A.S.S. aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

For the DC heads, its time again for another edition of REMINISCE! at Liv Nightclub this Saturday, February 4th, 2012 from 930pm til 3am. It’s all 90s everything and anybody who has been will tell you this party is a motherf*cking monster. It’s FREE BEFORE 11PM WITH RSVP ($10 after) (click the link to RSVP), OPEN BAR FROM 930-1030PM (doors open earlier b/c people keep showing up MAD early) and no dress code. Supa Qool DJ Quartermaine on the 1s and 2s. Come on out and we’ll see you on Saturday night! Peep the FB event here!

Rhythmless & Blues and Fistpump Soul

Posted on by
555

The future of Black music.

Happy Black History Month.

And since we’re talking about Black history, you ever notice how disposable R&B is nowadays? It’s no secret that one of my favorite songs of like for-f*ckin-ever is Rihanna’s “We Found Love”, a song about absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. It’s like there’s a party in my mouth and everyone’s invited…but then the police show up. Aww.

Well I haven’t heard this song in probably two weeks now and I don’t miss it at all. You know what I do miss? That snake playing the bongos I saw down by the riverside. And this is a song that is still a Top 5 song on Billboard’s Hot 100 chart. And yet, it’s completely disposable. So is Rihanna for that matter. In fact, you could take every song that Rihanna has made and put somebody else on them and there’s a good chance the song would be as good if not better. Would they be as successful? Probably not. When you’ve got a trainwreck wrapped in a pretty package leading the charge people are going to lineup to contribute to her downfall. Hell, I bought two copies of Loud for that reason. I’m convinced she’s a lesbian skydiving future rehab recidivist waiting to happen. America, f*ck yeah.

What’s my point again? Ah.

Ever since R&B gave way to this merger between pop and club music artists have been making more and more music that sounds good for a week in the club and then pretty much loses all steam once it fades from the charts, and by default, pop radio. Two of my favorite songs of last year were Chris Brown’s “Beautiful People” and Black Eyed Peas “Just Can’t Get Enough”. Do you know that I had to look up the name of the B.E.P. song?

Think about that, I couldn’t remember the name of my favorite song from last year and the group performing it features a white woman, a Black man who dresses like a white woman who dresses like a gay astronaut, a Mexican and something called Apl.de.Ap. At best, ONE of them actually eats black eyed peas. If that’s not memorable I don’t know what is. But it isn’t. Hold me. Pop music has long been moment music and short-term fix sh*t. But now that every damn R&B song has the same format and features a random assortment of various artists, nobody will be caring about this music years from now. Or weeks for that matter.

Now, I know I sound like an old grandpa complaining that music has lost its way blah blah blah. So what, f*ck your couch. Eat the pound cake n*gga. But I do kind of wonder what the hell folks will be listening to a few years from now. Granted music tends to be cyclical, but it really has been a while since any artist made a contribution to R&B that might actually be listenable a few years from now.

Nope. Now I’ve got nothing but fistpump soul. You know what that is. You ever been to a party with a bunch of white people and everybody just keeps jumping up and down and pumping their fists in the air. Real spit, white people are some real athletes. They do that sh*t for hours on end. It’s actually pretty impressive if you think about it. Black folks get it in for a minute then we all take breaks so the guys can regain their composure and the women can do the weave-pat.

And since “neo-soul” tends to suck as a rule – including Jill Scott’s later output, yeah I said it – its no wonder Black people keep losing our stronghold on all of our music. Let me be clear though, I love most pop music and listen to it with reckless abandon in my car. I’m the Black guy in the d-boy car that’s confusing you at the light because he looks like he may rob you but he’s singing what sounds like a Taylor Swift song.

Oh who am I kidding, its totally a Taylor Swift song.

But pop music is not R&B, and its not soul. But when all of your R&B artist and “soul” artists abandon ship in order to attempt to keep up with the Jones who are making songs at 185 BPP with the exact same drum pattern but a different melody, then the entire genre is going to lose itself like Eminem in a movie with Mekhi Phifer wearing a mop.

So what’s the point of all this randomness that you just read? Glad you asked. It’s this, what the f*ck happened to R&B? When D’Angelo lost his sh*t did the entire genre lose it? Usher’s Confessions is the last album that I can remember that was both a blockbuster AND was a really good R&B album. And that was in 2004.

So I ask you the same thing that Kanye asks himself after he lifts weights: does anybody make real sh*t anymore? Or is mainstream R&B a thing of the past? Is anybody making music that we’ll be listening to a few years from now?

Inquiring minds would like to know.

Poor Freddie Jackson. RIP Don Cornelius.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONST aka MR. OLD FOGEY MOTHERF*CKER aka GIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

We All Know That Black Girls Do That Right?

Posted on by
443

Now that's some good dome.

One of the most common myths in the Black community (yes, the whole entire Black community) is that Black women aren’t brain surgeons. And I don’t mean the types with M.D. after their names either, though I’m sure for the women with M.D. after their name the double entendre has to be hilarious. I’ve heard for years that oral sex was a white woman sport, even being immortalized by poet laureate Plies in his now famous song, “Becky”.

By the way, please don’t ever listen to Plies. Listen to me now; believe me later on.

Well, the myth, along with the devil, is a lie. On “Braxton Family Values”, WEtv’s show about the lives of Toni Braxton and her sisters, Trina admitted that she gave some dome to a band mate of hers causing Tamar, the loud-mouthed, often wrong, and absolutely most extra woman on the planet, to claim that Black women didn’t do that.

Scrrrrreeeeech.

Say what? Oh no she didn’t. I can personally say that I’ve only known two Black women ever who “claimed” to have never “done that.” And honestly, I don’t believe them. At all. Both of them protest that the act itself is too nasty to do with anybody outside of their husbands, of which neither has one. Coincidentally, neither is engaged or married OR opposed to any man giving her special kisses where the “sun don’t shine”. And to complete the murder, they’re not smart enough, fine enough, or funny enough to NOT do it. And yes, I wrote that out loud.

I can honestly say that aside from those two women, every other woman I know not only engages in the act, they actually enjoy it. Hell, some women are to the point where they enjoy it so much that they offer tips to their wayward friends who either don’t know, don’t show, or just don’t care to learn what’s going on in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood. At this point in our collective sexual histories, very little is taboo or even off limits. Sex is everywhere you want to be. It’s like Visa. Not to say that anybody should be acting reckless with their sexual exploits and yes, you should use protection and preventative measures if you’re going to casually engage in any type of sex.

But real talk, a Black woman – or any woman for that matter – giving a man head is so not a big deal. Trina was right to say that. It’s a part of the sexual experience that most men and women share with one another. And very few men are really going to look at a woman with disgust after she’s dropped down and got her seagull on. If she’s any good at it, he just might propose. Take note.

Now of course, as a man you can’t go expecting every woman to top you off just because. And maybe that’s where it all gets lost in translation because a lot of men view it as an entitlement as opposed to a privilege, like we do with sex. And yes, that is a problem. So maybe Black women just like to teach their men a lesson about entitlements and I suppose that’s fair.

But that has NOTHING to do with the fact that women actually enjoy the act of giving some of that good ole kneepad love.

So Tamar is again, as with so many other things in life, wrong. Plus she’s married. You can’t convince me that she’s not topping off Vince. She’s WAY too annoying to stay married to if you aren’t being satisfied in the bedroom.

Word.Life.

Anyway, the larger point is, where the hell did this myth even come from? And why does it persist? Does it even persist? Are there any women out there who really believe this to be true?

Inquiring minds would like to know.

Civil rights, y’all. Civil rights.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. GEORGIA DOME aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

For the DC heads, its time again for another edition of REMINISCE! at Liv Nightclub this Saturday, February 4th, 2012 from 930pm til 3am. It’s all 90s everything and anybody who has been will tell you this party is a motherf*cking monster. It’s FREE BEFORE 11PM WITH RSVP ($10 after) (click the link to RSVP), OPEN BAR FROM 930-1030PM (doors open earlier b/c people keep showing up MAD early) and no dress code. Supa Qool DJ Quartermaine on the 1s and 2s. Come on out and we’ll see you on Saturday night! Peep the FB event here!

That “Cuddle Bunny” Bullsh*t

Posted on by
396

That rabbit is not happy.

I have no clue how or why women come up with the terms they come up with for the various random instances of affection and attention.

Boo.

Boobear.

Love muffin.

Skeetskeetmookmook.

Cuddle bunny.

It’s no wonder why our kids in the Black community have the most random first names or are named after medical conditions like Rosacea. Or Excema. Or Herpesia. But motherf*cking cuddle bunny takes the cake. I remember the first time a chick used that term while telling me she’d met a guy that she might be willing to make her cuddle bunny. I was like…whaaaaa? Cuddle what? Did you call that ninja a bunny????

Real spit, calling a man a cuddle bunny is another in the long line of male emasculating terms. Just like calling him harmless or weak or limp-d*ck noodle slanger. If a woman were to actively refer to me as a bunny I might be forced to commit a felony just to keep my own esteem up.

But what is a cuddle bunny? Women all know that its the male equivalent of what happens during cuffin’ season. It’s that guy that women call over to…cuddle. Nothing more, nothing less. Sure the possibility for smangage exists. If you put enough air and opportunity between a man and a woman with an attraction for one another, there’s a strong likelihood that the woodpecker will take care of the morning wood, if you know what I mean, heheheheh.

But that’s not the goal. For many women, having a man be willing to just spoon and cuddle shows her that this man views her in such a light where he’s willing to not have sex with her. He actually just wants to be there with her. Holding her. Wrapping her body tight. My my my. And I think we can all agree that’s the highest form of glory for many women. This man values her as a person, not just a piece of meat. And that’s lovely.

Wonderful even.

But I kind of wonder how many men know they’re being cuddle…bunnied? It’s kind of like the infamous term that we all know and love, jumpoff (as was pointed out to me recently). Men turn chicks into jumpoffs all willy nilly. Or something like that. Except I reject that deposit. No pr0n swallow. Actually…yeah. See, any chick who’s been turned into a jumpoff more or less knows it. Short of pure unadulterated delusion, women know when a man wants nothing more than the snappy nappy dugout. Remember, men suck. We disappear. We only call when its that time. Most chicks who are afraid of being jumpedoff ask a million and one questions to ascertain their status pissing us off in the process but hey, we get it.

A cuddle bunny on the other hand…

[...quick aside...did anybody think Jumping The Broom was a good movie? Do you remember that this movie ever came out? Me neither...]

…is a man who’s trying to get in there – and the chick knows this – who is willing to do what it takes to get there. And ye olde women are exploiting that man’s god nature and heart for personal satisfaction and affection.

Disgusting. Just terrible. That poor sap is over here with balls bluer than Cookie Monster on the 27th ring of Saturn but he’s putting in his work because he’s hoping he’ll get to the promised land, which doesn’t just mean smangage, it could also mean relationship. Basically, any man willing to put up with spooning on multiple occasions actually likes the chick. Except she’s likely not decided what she wants from this dude, ya know, aside from the temporary foot warmer he’s become.

Most women will say that by being the cuddle bunny he’s gaining access to a slot…well not a slot per se but a position…well not a position per se…but a connection that a lot of other men either would love to be in or just wouldn’t have a chance to see. He gets to come to her place and lay up next to her and watch a movie…with her. The lucky guy!

*leprechaun heel click*

Except, she hasn’t decided if this will last past her options or her attention span. And she’s calling the motherf*cker a bunny. So dude’s putting in the simp work, being emasculated, and paying for carry out from Pei Wei Express all for the chance to hopefully get some drawz that actually are on 50/50 status. And yes, I know that sex is a privelege and not a right. Woopty woop woopty woop woop.

All I know is that for all the women out there who feel like they get played by men, if you’ve ever had a “cuddle bunny” then you are just as bad and you should get a stern talking too and finger wag. Let the bunny go. Figuratively and metaphorically.

And stop calling men bunnies. It’s not right. It hurts. It might be provocative and it might get the people going. But it just not right…okay! You can’t just leave cuzzin’ Harold in the street to die.

Real talk.

Ladies, do you believe in having a cuddle bunny? Do you think it’s part of a man’s work to show you he’s worth it? And what’s up with the damn “bunny”? Men…how do you feel about being a cuddle bunny? You’re probably one right now and don’t even know it.

Sad.

Talk to me.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. CUDDLE DEEZ aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Also, check out Panama’s article at Ebony entitled “Motivation: Daddy’s Little Girl” and Champ’s article, also at Ebony entitled “Don’t Be Like Mike”. Ball so hard.

Oh No Booboo, You Did Not Just Call Me That!

Posted on by
331

My buddy! Where ever I go!

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.

You may have heard that somewhere. It’s popular on schoolyards everywhere as future millionaires fend off the numerous taunts of usually bigger, cooler, or more assholish kids who make fun of each other during Act One of the omnipresent stage play, Life.

I know I’ve said it before to somebody. Probably to some girl who called me a name when I was six or seven. I’m guessing it was my best rebuttal. Either that or the similarly popular, “I’m rubber, you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.” It’s funny how ridiculously ridiculous these statements are but how clear they are to children. I swear, there isn’t a kid alive who doesn’t know how to turn that statement around on another kid.

The main notion behind these statements is that words are just that, words. That they don’t necessarily hold much Oprah sometimes, and that short of being bludgeoned with a Louisville Slugger, for the most part, you can just get up and move on past something someone has just said that you don’t necessarily agree with.

Well, me…I’m calling bullsh*t, especially the older you get. I don’t know which is a bigger lie: actions speak louder than words or Kim Kardashian loved Kris Humphries.

And for the record, I do think actions speak loud. But I think that words carry just as much weight.

Now, I won’t be focusing on that “actions speak louder than words” segment, but more on how certain words really can get you in an assblender of trouble.

[Another aside: This post has nothing to do with the posts from last week. While I still have a lot to say about the fallout from my vantage, today I’m not going to address it.]

One specific word actually.

Question, question: what’s the worst word you can call a woman who’s got any sort of interest in you?

Or a man for that matter?

Buddy.

Yes. It’s buddy.

(You thought it was going to be b*tch didn’t you?)

Oh, you don’t believe me? You can case study this sh*t if you want to. Allow me to offer a situation from my own life as fodder for discussion.

Once upon a blue moon, I was a lovestruck idiot in college. I’d managed to find a woman who for whatever reason got me all in a tizzy. Now, despite my constant attempts to woo this woman, she managed to fend off my advances like she was practicing for the National DisANinja Time Trials. But she didn’t exactly want me to not continue to woo her since my woo-age was neither stalkerish nor annoying. My woo-age included flowers, poetry, and trips to cheap dinners. Basically, I had your all around being a nice guy who really likes a girl thing going on. I’d do dumb sh*t hoping she’d take notice despite the fact that she’d made it clear she wasn’t really trying to be with me, though clearly she was interested but it might have just been in the way I treated her.

Figure out if she’s worth it, then treat her like a Queen. I had that little equation backwards.

But one fine day, as we were on the phone, me in my nonchalant manner innocently said to her, “hey buddy…”

STOP.

Have you seen I’m Gonna Get You Sucka? Do you remember the part where the mother who is on her period turns into the monsterish thing who is doing back flips and sh*t when folks come into her house looking for Jack Spade? Yeah, that was this chick.

I felt like I had just shot her grandmother with a rusty barnacle. She went off on me. Now remember, this was a chick who didn’t want to be with me, but apparently she for damn sure didn’t like the connotation that comes along with being called a buddy.

“I am NOT your buddy.”

Sheesh.

I left that alone after that and had learned my lesson.

That was until the next time I used that term and the exact same thing occurred.

And you know what, I didn’t get it at first. Why would these women who seemingly don’t want to be with me get so offended at the use of the term “buddy”. Then it dawned on me.

Women f*cking HATE that word because it makes them feel less special. “No he didn’t call me his buddy. What I look like? His boy Jim that he plays ball with!!! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit…he better had get right in his mind!”

And in some ways I can kind of understand. Maybe its unintentionally intentional, but words like “buddy” tend to pop up when people are dating and they’re in that limbo, where-are-we-going stage. Maybe we’re all just playing mind games with one another.

The dude is thinking that if he calls her buddy and he gets a reaction then he knows she’s feeling him definitely. Kind of like forcing the green light. On that stupid a** Love Jones sh*t.

I need to say this here…I f*ckin’ HATE when people try to passively aggressively bait me into stuff. I know some folks who go out of their way to force an issue by total beat-around-the bushage. I want those people to get hit by lightning.

Most people I know hate passive-agressive bastards too. It’s one thing if two dating people are passive-aggressively feeling each other out in hopes of, you know, feeling each other out later. It’s something altogether different when people say this:

“We might need to talk about something later on.”

Umm…the f*ck does that mean? What do you mean might? If we might need to talk about it later on then we probably DO need to talk about it now.

What was I talking about?

Ah yes, women hate feeling less than special. Especially if they like you. Even more especially than the past especially if questions are lingering about the direction two people are heading.

Which is why a term like “buddy” is so loaded.

In some ways I don’t even think its deeper than that. An interested woman wants to know that you feel that she’s more special than other random folks in your life, whether its true or not. Even if she’s not interested.

Which makes total sense to at least 90 percent of the women reading this right now.

Got it, buddy?

Good.

Ladies, how do you feel about being called his “buddy”? And what words send men over the edge? Fellas, what say you? You ever referred to a woman in a friendship manner only to get your head chopped off?

Talk to me.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. B.U.D.D.Y. aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

For the DC heads, its time again for another edition of REMINISCE! at Liv Nightclub this Saturday, February 4th, 2012 from 930pm til 3am. It’s all 90s everything and anybody who has been will tell you this party is a motherf*cking monster. It’s FREE BEFORE 11PM WITH RSVP ($10 after) (click the link to RSVP), OPEN BAR FROM 930-1030PM (doors open earlier b/c people keep showing up MAD early) and no dress code. Supa Qool DJ Quartermaine on the 1s and 2s. Come on out and we’ll see you on Saturday night! Peep the FB event here!