In high school I used to play basketball. Throughout a season the coach and assistants kept track of an individual’s points scored, assists, rebounds, and hustle points. A hustle point meant either you laid out for a ball into the stands, dove onto the ground for a loose ball, or just generally worked your butt off on the court. At the end of the season an awards banquet was held for the team. I remember the first time I was introduced to this concept. Back in 1988, my brother won the hustle award for the season. To say the least, I was impressed. I have never won the hustle award. But I’m still keeping track.

Let’s say I have a rehearsal at 1 pm. I decide to leave 10 minutes earlier due to construction on the trains. As I figured, the subway was all messed up and it took me a little longer than usual. But I showed up right on time. I call that a hustle point.

Even simple planning of routes throughout the city is hustling in my world. Every once in a while the police set up random roadblocks. Usually they’re looking for drunk drivers, but I don’t like talking to cops anytime I don’t have to. One time I saw the trap ahead and quickly turned right so I’d miss the roadblock. Hustling.

Okay I have lost many hustle points in my day. I do admit, one time The Captive Lion called me and said he was ready to play Halo 2. I was unable to because I had forgot to charge my new Logitech wireless headset. That was not hustling.

And without a doubt I know who’s getting hustled right now…you. Unless you stopped reading about 2 paragraphs ago. I’m not really a writer, but I get to pretend. Now that’s hustling.

Picture a night of Halo 2 mayhem. Sweat dripping down each brow, eyes glued to the television, constant bantering between players. The end of a round has come. Everyone pauses to communicate. Somebody says, “Wait for me, I’ve got to use the restroom.” Unfortunately in order to speak, you have to be connected to your headset, which is connected to the controller, which is then connected to the Xbox, meaning you have to be in the same room as your battle station. Those days are over my friend. Go get yourself the Logitech wireless xbox headset.

After the round, I walk across my apartment slowly with no intention to rush due to my wireless freedom. I can still hear the action in the kitchen while I crack open a Zywiec (polish beer). It’s a constant portal into the virtual world at all times. As I guzzle my beverage an idea comes upon me.

The next morning I fired up the Xbox and created a party in Halo 2. Then I put on my headset, turned off the television, but kept the Xbox on, and walked around the house doing my morning chores. About an hour or so later, while I was brushing my teeth, I hear Chizzler on the other end. We were able to have a conversation without calling each other, or better yet, knowing when it was about to start.

I suspect in the future, everyone will be wearing headsets and communicating this way. There won’t be phone calls anymore, anytime you want to speak to somebody, you just say “Where you at?” Personally, I can’t wait for the future. You too can join in on the fun. I’m never going back to wired communication.

Will: Hey man, you know my wife’s Korean right?
Solo: Yeah, I could tell. Could you tell I was half-Korean when you met me?
Will: It was crazy when I found out, cause I have half-Korean nephews, but when I first met you I was like, dude he’s totally Mexican.

Being from a small town, I was mainly around White people. The only Asians I knew when I was a child was my mom and her sister. But it never occurred to me that I was halfway between Asian and White. I thought I was white until the 2nd grade. My best friends in Elementary school had very white skin, while mine seemed like it never lost it’s summer tan. Still it never occurred to me that I looked any different than anyone else.

After high school I moved onto college in Seattle, Washington. It’s more diverse than Ellensburg, but I still felt White. My first experience of feeling different than a white kid was the first day of ensemble class with my mixed Black and Spanish professor, Hadley.

Hadley: Hey man, how you doing?
Solo: Pretty good.
Hadley: Man I’m glad to see you here at this music school, I’m feeling like a lot of young brothers these days are missing out on their roots.
Solo: What?
Hadley: You know what I’m talking about.

Tru dat Hadley! Not really though. See, I’d been totally white in my mind for 18 years at that point. Then this guy comes along and assumes I’m either Black or Spanish in one meeting. That’s when I realized the world sees you literally, at face value. It’s never angered me though. If anything, it’s probably helped me in life. I’m able to sway between different races without breaking a sweat. And doing this I’ve observed one noticeable likeness of all people. Everybody’s the same!

Old Spanish Lady: Que hora, es?
Solo: What?
Old Spanish Lady: Que hora es?!?
Solo: Oh, no halbo espaniol.
Old Spanish Lady: Okay, what time is it?
Solo: 2:30.
Old Spanish Lady: Gracias, now you say, de…nada.

Then she walked off with her nose in the air. She was disappointed with me cause apparently to her, I didn’t know my native language. I did study 2 years of Spanish in high school, and I actually knew what she was asking. I just don’t like to pretend I can speak their language cause everybody here thinks I’m Spanish. I can’t walk into a corner store without the clerk telling me the amount in pesos. It’s crazy.

I guess I don’t really know what this post is about. None of these things bother me, their just experiences in my life that make me laugh. The way I see it, none of these things really matter. Maybe I’m human form of a chameleon in people’s minds. Once they can register a look in their head of what I am, they can act accordingly. Whatever the case may be, it makes for funny stories.

Solo: Hey I noticed your last name is Kim, you’re Korean, right?
Korean neighbor: Yeah.
Solo: Cool, that’s my mom’s maiden name.
Korean neighbor: (Confused) What…..wait, you’re mom’s Korean.
Solo: Yeah, my dad’s White from America, she’s originally from Seoul. I’m mixed.
Korean neighbor: (Examines my face) Ooooooooh, naw man I don’t see that at all.

One love.

Contrary to what most of my friends on the west coast think (especially Seattle), I do not hang around gangster rappers with gold chains and plated teeth. Nor do I feel any different inside. Matter of fact, I mainly work with music producers in the industry who are…NOT black. Most hip-hop producers I work with are white, or Jewish. My main producing partner and native New Yorker, Probe DMS is actually like me… quarter Chinese, quarter white, and half black. All mixed up. I’d have to say the majority of native New Yorkers are mixed, but everybody speaks the same lingo. Race has nothing to do with it.

When I lived in Seattle, everybody used to say, “yeah man, that’s tight,” meaning, “I like that.” Out here the main word is “hot,” or, “dope.” Nobody says “cool” like you might hear on the west coast. And “dude” can be heard from every kid in California. Except to New Yorkers, it sounds like “dee-ude.” Kids from Brooklyn might replace it with, “dukes.” For example:

Brooklynite: What up dukes, what’s poppin’?
Solo: Mad chillin’.
Brooklynite: Dope.

Translation:

Brooklynite: Hello, how are you feeling?
Solo: Very good
Brooklynite: Good.

Now I don’t want anyone to feel offended. These are only observations I’ve made. And I do know that my speaking patterns and dialect have changed; my mother can’t even understand me on the phone anymore. It’s not forced either, in fact, while xboxing, I try to tone it down. Let me elaborate some more.

Solo: Yo, I just mercked that dude (slight mixture of west and east coast lingo).
Krusty: Did you say mercked?

“Mercked” is a Queens-based word meaning murder. Check NAS and you’ll hear it in his rhymes. If I was playing with kids from New York I might say:

Solo: Yo dun, that kid just got mercked (notice the non-usage of “dude.”)
New Yorker: Aight, true.

Translation:

Solo: Hey, I just killed that guy.
New Yorker: Alright, good job.

I added another Queen’s based word, “dun,” pronounced, “done,” a play off the word “son.” I never use this one online cause it’s not as known to the world unlike “son.” Let’s keep this rolling (moving). This might be a typical phone call:

Solo: Yo, What’s good?
New Yorker: Parlayin’.
Solo: My man hit me up with that cheddar he’d been sittin’ on.
New Yorker: Bout time, it’s been a minute.

Translation:

Solo: Hello, how are you doing?
New Yorker: Nothing.
Solo: My friend gave me the money he’d owed me.
New Yorker: Finally, it’s been a long time.

Now in this conversation you have usage of slang that could be heard all over New York from BK to Queens, to the BX. Believe me, I’m barely scratching the surface here. Onward.

Solo: Dag, my peeps be hatin on me these days.

Translation:

Solo: Damn, my friends are talking about me behind my back.

A few years back, I came out to Seattle to vacation and relax. I ran into a few of my old friends. I was happy to see them and catch up. But I felt like they were judging me for the way I talked. I really thought I wasn’t speaking slang either. It got back to me that some musicians in Seattle are saying that I think I’m black now. I wish! Just kidding, first of all, I’m neither white nor black. Half Korean, half white is the term. And second, I find it very stereotypical to think that because I might use the word “mad” it has anything to do with race. People are people, and we all speak different languages, even in America. Although I did pull up flossin’ 22’s on my whip ballin’ like crazy.

Once again, please don’t take any offense to this. I love all my friends from the west coast and east coast. In fact, I know kids out here poke fun at my west coast slang too (I use both). In fact, you might say I have a funny accent to New Yorker’s ears, sort of like my mother’s Korean accent. If anyone has a question about any terminology I used in this post, I’d be happy to clarify (or ask DA). I ask people who read this to try and come up with slang they use in everyday use and realize where it’s coming from. Race or demographics?

Wit’ dat said, I’m about to floss my piece for a while. My jump off’s at work stackin’ chedda’ while I’m polying wit all ya’ll. I’m startin to cake up nicely, hope ya’ll doin the same. Stop frontin’, keep it real. Peace everybody. One love.