My favourite niece Georgina
sends me SMS messages and she asks me “howzit goin dawg?”
She will also often enquire "Sup
mofo?” or “Sup playa?”
When I ask her how she is
doing she will regularly respond with such terms as "I am just hangin
with my bitches” or "I am chillin with the homies".
The young adults in my life
speak a strange language and I think of this as gangster talk. They will spell
this is 'gangsta'. The manner in which they communicate has been copied from the
African American gangs in the United States. They try to replicate it from Hip
Hop and Rapper dudes who wear mirror sunglasses, chunky gold chains and have
the tops of their underpants displayed several inches above their oversized
baggy pants.
Snoop Dogg is one such
example. I actually quite like a lot of his music but his dress, demeanour and
manner of speech is laughable.
Well it makes me laugh at
least.
Don't grow up though Dogg - I
like you just the way you are.
The gangstas, my own
offspring and my nephews and nieces use this language all the time.
Particularly Georgina and my bogan boy Tom.
I have only recently
recovered from a visit by the fruit of my loins. Tom talks gangsta. He mingled
much with his wanna-be-gangsta mates whilst he was here in Singapore and he
partied hard. Tom greets his friends with a "Yo" and a "Yo"
is then returned. There was a lot of "yo-yoing" going on when
he stayed with me. When Tom endeavored to "Yo" me I
clipped him around the ears.
I do not like being "Yo'd".
I will not abide it.
A yo-yo is a disc that spins
on a piece of string.
It goes up and down.
The yo-yo has been around for
a couple of thousand years and it is in fact the second oldest toy in the
world. The oldest is the doll. The ancient Greeks made their yo-yos from wood
and clay and they spun them on twine made from hemp. The Greeks often decorated
the two half discs of their yo-yos with pictures of their gods.
As a right of passage into
adulthood the Ancient Greek children would give up their yo-yos. They gave them
up in a grandiose and ceremonious act where they would place them in their
family altar. The Greek children I am referring to were not ancient - that
would be an oxymoron. They were children from ancient times. The relinquishing
of their yo-yos was both an act of homage to their Gods and a declaration that
they were grown up.
They were putting away their
childish things.
The reference to the putting
away of childish things is Biblical. It is from the Book of Corinthians - from
the First Epistle of Paul the Apostle in fact.
It is the Epistle from the
Apostle.
I like that a lot.
Paul said in Chapter 13 of
Corinthians, "When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as a
child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man I put away childish
things".
I assume that if Paul had a
yo-yo he would have put it away when he grew up.
"Spake" is not a
mis-spelling - it is the way that people spoke in biblical times.
In the late nineteenth
century the yo-yo emerged in England - but it did not come from Greece - it
came from Asia - from the Philippines in fact. In England it was not yet then
named the yo-yo. The British called the yo-yo a 'bandalore'.
I neither know nor care
why.
The toy moved across the
British Channel to France where it also became very popular. The French called
it 'l'emigrette'. Again, I neither know nor care why it was thus
named.
The word yo-yo is actually
Tagalog - which is the native language of the Philippines. Yo-yo means
"come back" in Tagalog. In the Philippines the yo-yo was not a toy -
it was used as a weapon. The Philippine version was very big and had sharp
edges and it was embedded with stone studs and it was attached to thick and
long ropes. The Filipinos flung it at their enemies or prey.
They aimed to kill.
The Americans
started playing with the British bandalore in the 1860s. Coincidently a
Philippine immigrant named Pedro Flores who introduced it to them. He
introduced it as a toy - not a weapon. Flores became the first person to
mass-produce toy yo-yos.
A bloke by the
name of Donald Duncan came across Flores' toy. He liked what he saw and in 1929
he bought the rights from the Filipino. Duncan then trademarked the name Yo-Yo.
Duncan's first contribution to improved yo-yo technology was the slip string.
This consisted of a sliding loop around the axle that connected the two discs -
rather than just a knot. With this enhancement the yo-yo could do a trick
called a "sleep" for the first time. This was when the yo-yo span at
the bottom of a 'drop'. A flick of the wrist spun it back up. I may have got my
'span' and 'spun' confused but I make no apologies.
I rarely do
and you know what I mean.
Duncan made a deal with the
newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst to advertise the yo-yo in Hearst's
newspapers and sales went through the roof.
They are still very popular.
My favourite niece Georgina
says ‘yo’ a lot and so too does my boy Tom.
I do not and I never
will.
Georgina had a boyfriend who was
a gangster. I refer to him as Rory although that is not his real name. She tells
me that he is now reformed. I have written about this relationship saga several
times before so I will not elaborate any further. Rory’s real name is something
similar to Rory however I have changed it in my writing not to protect his
innocence - but to protect him from my brother Richard - who is the father of
Georgina. My brother begrudgingly accepted this relationship. He had little
choice in the matter.
Young love is unstoppable.
Rory demonstrated his
commitment to my niece by having her name tattooed across his left buttock but
unfortunately he mis-spelled it. Georgie has informed me that Rory has returned
to school now and his spelling is improving. By all accounts he is now a good
and well-behaved boy and he was also a loving and doting boyfriend. Georgina
has informed me that Rory has put away his gangster things and I very much hope
so for I love my niece.
Remember this Rory.
I know who you really are. I
know where you live.
Whilst Tom was here in
Singapore he spoke much of the time in gangsta talk. He and his mates would
often congregate at my small apartment before they launched themselves into all
night vodka drinking sessions in the nightclubs on the Island. They wore
baseball caps backwards or sideways on their heads and made strange gestures at
each other with their hands. They slapped each other with ‘high fives’ and
bumped their chests together in greeting - and they "yo'd". It
both amused and annoyed me.
In equal parts.
Conversing with Tom and his
Singaporean gangsta friends was at times difficult and confusing for me.
"Where did you go
last night Tom?" I
enquired of him and his hooligan looking friends when I arrived home after work
one evening.
There were five of them
crammed into my tiny apartment.
"Avalon nightclub
Pops"
"Don't call me
Pops"
"How was it?"
"Bitchin"
"Is that good or
bad?"
"It was phat
Dad"
"Phat?"
"It means good
Pops"
"Don't call me
Pops"
I am aware that the spelling
of 'fat' is "Phat" because I have seen it written on walls and by
Tom. He was once a graffiti artist - an infamous one. I know this because he
was apprehended for it - more than once. Tom referred to his work as Art
however the Authorities took a different view. They called it vandalism.
I tended to lean towards the
Authorities view.
Tom was on a bit of journey
back then. It was a somewhat wild one and he got a little lost. He went for a ride
but fortunately he had a return ticket and he came back - but he remains a
little intrepid and rash - and at times reckless. I don't mind this too much.
To be honest I quite like it.
I was somewhat temerarious
too when I was his age.
As long as he is safe.
I love my boy dearly.
I love him deeply.
I want him to explore life
and the world and to take chances.
"What about you" I asked of one of Tom's friends who had
a very pierced face.
"Did you have a good
time last night as well?"
"Ith wath bumpin
dude. Ith wath hardcore"
he lisped back at me.
The boy's lisp was not a
natural one. It was a direct effect of a tongue that was multiply pierced with
pointed metal studs.
"Don't call me dude
fucker" I
responded.
"What is
bumpin?" I
enquired.
"Bumpin ith
cool" he replied.
"What does your
mother think of all that metal in your face?"
"Thee thinks ith is
thick" he
responded.
"Thick?"
"Sick Dad" Tom interjected.
"Sick is right" I said.
'Sick' is gangsta talk for
good. Fuck knows why.
"Alright I will take
you young thugs down to the food court and buy you all some dinner before you
start your vodka drinking binge again" I declared.
"But pull your pants
up first so I don't have to look at the tops of your underpants"
The underpants of choice for
junior wannabe gangstas appear to be the Calvin Klein brand. Perhaps the
branded top elastic band has been designed for display but what do I know of
such things?
The gaggle of gangsters all
hitched up their pants.
"Do you want to eat
Ramen?" I
asked of them.
"We're down to
it" a couple of
them replied.
"We're down to it"
actually means "We are up for it". Gangsta talk is often reversed.
"Can I bum some bumps
from you Dad?" Tom
enquired.
"What the fuck are
you asking Tom?"
"Can you give me some
of your cigarettes?"
"Absolutely not. Buy
your own"
"I lost my
wallet" Tom moaned.
"Ith goth ganked' his metal faced lisper mate added.
"Ganked?" I asked.
"Stolen" Tom replied.
"Bullshit Tom. It is
over there on the table."
"Sick"
Tom retrieved his wallet and
we all went down and ate Ramen at my local food court - Tom and me and four of
his wannabe gangsta mates.
Ramen is a Japanese noodle
dish. I like it and eat it often. Tom loves it. His gangsta friends seemed to
enjoy it as well.
They woofed it down.
"How can you eat
properly with all that metal in your tongue?" I asked the lisper.
Soup was dribbling down his
chin and a noodle seemed to have wrapped it's way around one of his tongue
studs.
"Iths OK" he grinned and slurped.
They ate their fill and I
sent them on their way.
Tom asked me what my plans
were for the evening and I told him that I was going to do what I normally do
on weeknights. I planned on doing a little writing and then perhaps do some
reading. I told Tom that I might also wander down to get a coffee and have a
yack to whoever happened to be at Starbucks. Then I was going to go to bed and
get up and go to work in the morning.
"You're juth kickin
ith ath your crib?
pierced faced boy asked
"Kickin it" is
gangsta talk for relaxing and "crib" is home.
"I will kick you if
you don't stop speaking to me like gangsta rappers" I replied.
"Go away boys and
have a good time. Don't do anything stupid and Tom don't make a racket and wake
me up when you come home in the wee hours"
"Sure Pops" Tom laughed.
"Don't call me
Pops" I replied.
Then I went home.
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