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You had to plan your day around your cassettes. How many could you fit in your pockets? (Obviously, winter was an easier time ’cause you had way more storage options…jackets, coats, down vests, etc. More pockets.) You had to think this shit through. What did you wanna listen to that day? Who were you gonna run into, because you did not wanna get busted with only the Psychedelic Furs’ Talk Talk Talk tape on you. Even though you loved that shit. You had to have the cool shit on you, just in case. You might end up at someone’s apartment and wanna put some music on. You had to have variety. Oh,
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we all came up with Beastie Boys. BEASTIE was an acronym for Boys Entering Anarchistic States Toward Internal Excellence. (Don’t ask; no idea.) While the acronym alone made no sense, it made even less sense when combined with “Boys,” since the acronym already contained that word; now the name was ridiculous and redundant. (And also incorrect, since we had a girl drummer.)
(I meant to say Roxy’s. If you’re from New York you always leave off the superfluous words and add an apostrophe s after the name of a place. Like if you’re going to Carnegie Deli, for instance, you’d say that you were going to Carnegie’s. Or to Roxy’s instead of the Roxy.)
I’d love to blame Rick Rubin and Russell for the quality of this song, but it’s us on the mic. We wrote, and said, the rest of the lyrics. We were the rap version of an ’80s metal band with big hair and silk shirts, and there should be a link to this song in the dictionary under the word “frontin’.”
Mike was running ahead to look around each corner to see if anything was still open. He ran up to a corner, looked around, turned to us, and from far away we hear Mike scream…IHOP!!! He jumped in the air, hands
waving above his head, landed, and crumpled to the ground. He twisted his ankle so bad, we had to take him to the ER. I blame the ’80s for this. If it was now, we would’ve Yelped the shit out of “late night spots Portland.” We’d have slowly and calmly Wazed to a restaurant and had delicious pierogies (instead of almost eating at the International House of Pancakes).
