There’s a town in Northern California, about 25 minutes outside of Sacramento called Yolo. Last weekend, while driving to Reno, I took a detour to visit.
Yolo is located in Yolo County. According to the 2010 US Census, it has a population of 452.
It is home to the Yolo Community Center—a center for the Yolo community to gather. According to a sign in the window, it’s also available to rent for Yolo weddings and other Yolo events.
There is a Yolo County Library. Which is home to First 5 Yolo, a daycare service for Yolo under-5s. A Yolo County Library fax service is also available, for sending faxes from Yolo.
There were signs asking for you to vote for Janene Beronio. She’s attempting to become a judge for the Superior Court of Yolo. A title Lil Jon has probably given himself at some point.
Liquor is also available in Yolo. From a store that has a sign which reads “Liquor Yolo.” I spoke to the owner, and he said that, though he sometimes has people coming in to ask for it, he has no plans to make any kind of Yolo merchandise. He also admitted that he wasn’t totally sure what Yolo meant, but, knew “there was a song about it or something.”
M.I.A. Collaborates with Kenzo for New Video “Y.A.L.A.”
We are super duper excited about the relaunch of UK fashion mag i.D’s website. As a magazine, it’s been a serious force in fashion and popculture—particularly in the UK—since it first hit the stands in 1980, but with this slickly revamped portal, which mixes up music, fashion, and art via a clutch of new video franchises, thinkpieces, and neatly laid out fashion stories, I.D is officially stepping up their online game.
Case in point, I.D., premiered M.I.A’s video for “Y.A.L.A”—Maya’s YOLO rebuttal which stands for “You always live again”—in colloboration with Kenzo. (Remember she dropped that sick mixtape for the fashion house earlier this year.) The video is a fast flickering, infrared, powder paint explosion of colors, with pinprick lights buzzing around Maya’s disembodied mouth like a swarm of hornets. Surprising, her Kenzo threads, do not take center stage.
"If you only live once, why we keep doing the same shit?" she asks. Fair point. Maybe you should skip brunch this weekend and take that 40 minutes you would have spent lining up for eggs and do something useful.
Or just gold leaf your lips and eyeballs and dance on.
Thailand’s Full Moon Parties Have Been Taken Over by #YOLO Idiots
It’s an old cliché to bemoan what is compared to what used to be. But as the morning sun rises over the fluoro debris and thousands of empty plastic cups from the night before, it’s hard for me to do much else.
I’m standing on a crowded Haad Rin beach on Thailand’s idyllic Koh Phangan, home to the original and now infamous Full Moon Party. Hours before, 20,000 bodies writhed together in motion to pulsating house music, fuelled by cheap alcohol and magic mushroom milkshakes. Now, among the rapidly sobering hardcore who continue to dance, a smattering of those bodies dot the beach, their semi-conscious, half-naked torsos slowly roasting in the Thai sun. They lie surrounded by beer bottles, shattered glass, and plastic buckets.
It’s all a bit depressing, but of course there’s nothing particularly original about any of this. The descent of the Full Moon Party from fabled hippy love-in to an 18-30-club-rave-on-sea has been in motion for years. Once arcane events attended by 30 or so loved up psytrancers who, for all their faults, at least seemed to be striving for some kind of spiritual experience, now the Full Moon Parties seem to be yet another hedonistic playpen for actuarial science students whose idea of a spiritual experience is getting a henna tattoo.
Hey Kids, Smoking Alcohol Isn’t As Cool As It Sounds
For quite a while, I’ve wanted to try the hot, new degenerate trend of smoking alcohol, especially after watching the above video, where YouTube user skippy62able teaches the world how to vaporize booze with nothing more than a plastic bottle and a bicycle pump with a cork attached. The hundreds of articles from concerned party poopers shouting, “Danger: this will kill you!” did nothing to deter me. Everyone in the media is saying the chances of overdosing on alcohol are far greater because it goes directly to your lungs and brain rather than making a pit stop for processing in your liver. All of these “experts” couldn’t be right, so I decided to hit up my buddy Ian to find out for ourselves.
Ian has been experimenting with fun new ways to damage his brain since his teens, so I figured he’d be all about this adventure. I showed him the video, and the next night we planned our big event. I’ll admit I was nervous. Part of me felt this would be a lot of fun if we were careful about it, but the other part of me knew that neither of us are all that good at being careful. I’ve learned over the years that it takes three vodka drinks to get me chatty, the gin drink I have afterward makes me flirt with every human being in sight, the two following whiskey shots make me regret all of my major life decisions, and the final shot of tequila ensures I wake up on the floor of a stranger’s house. With that in mind, I knew this was either going to be a great night or the night I was responsible for someone’s death. When I expressed my hesitation to Ian, he slapped me and screamed “YOLO!” which was all I needed to hear.
In the spring of 2010, my mom got a reality check when she saw a poster that said “Live, Love, Laugh, Forgiveness” and realized that she hardly ever laughed and had barely been living (at least a life she wanted). She became a mother at 19 and was a three-time divorcée with five kids at 48—for 30 years, her life had been devoted to raising a family in the most boring, suburban way possible while ignoring the chaotic, joyous, eternal spring break that was happening all around her in Florida.
Last summer, she created the Bad Moms Club to change this. Now she goes to bars in South Beach and downtown Fort Lauderdale a few times a month to drink and dance with other single mothers. Like Destiny’s Child circa 1999, the club’s membership fluctuates, but two members have stayed consistent: my mother and her friend Barbie, a Cuban immigrant with the kind of booty rap songs are written about. Like my mom, Barbie married a baby daddy at a young age because she thought she was supposed to and then experienced an epiphany: at 38, she divorced her lawyer husband, drank alcohol for the first time, and took up multiple sex partners. “I had wasted my life,” Barbie told me. “Now I fuck black dick.”
Since Barbie is only really interested in NFL players, the club tends to meet mainly at dinners for Miami Dolphins football players and YOLO, a bar Barbie describes as “an upper-class place with a very nice atmosphere and great-looking dark men.”
Have you been to Club Paradise? It is a nice club. It is a pleasant club. Peaceful. You will like Club Paradise. You are allowed to drink underage there (sort of).
I myself have been to Club Paradise, its final night, held on the Summer Solstice in Raleigh, North Carolina. Well, I was there, but I was so engulfed in the OE that I can’t really recall that much of it. But I will report what I do remember of the evening. I cannot say with one hundred percent certainty, but I am fairly sure Drake tried to have sex with me. He didn’t come out and say it. But I could feel it, and that was enough.
I think this is the attitude that Drake tries to project as a performer, this sort of aura of being sexy/formidable that somehow feels explicit, though nothing is explicitly stated. Teenagers fucking eat that shit up, and moms are totally okay with it. I know this, because I saw at least two five year-olds at Drake’s concert last week, and about one million teenagers, all of whom were drunk. A stadium-sized rap concert featuring Drake, Meek Mill, J. Cole and 2 Chainz could have gone one of one ways: A bunch of fucking teenagers were going to show up, and Meek Mill, J. Cole and 2 Chainz were going to be less appreciated by the screaming masses of teenagers than Drake was going to be.
2 Chainz is quickly garnering a reputation as one of the funniest dudes working in rap today, flexing a savant-like ability to craft verses that come across as both stupid and amazing. If you listen to rap radio, he’s a guest on perhaps 40 percent of the songs you will hear, a miracle of statistics not seen since the heyday of Lil’ Wayne, right before he became the Michael Jackson of this rapping shit. Consider what has become perhaps Tity 2 Necklace’s (this is 2 Chainz’z nickname) best-known couplet, from his stunner of a verse on Kanye West’s “Mercy”: “I’m high and drunk at the same time/Drinkin’ champagne on the airplane.” DO YOU GET THAT JOKE??? HE SAYS THE SAME THING TWICE AND IT RULES. Reportedly, 2 Chainz owns $4,400 leather pants, but the pants he was wearing when he performed looked like they cost maybe $800. That was disappointing.
While 2 Chainz is hip-hop’s clown prince, Meek Mill might just be rap’s most formidable bridesmaid. Signed to Rick Ross’s Maybach Music label and effectively the Gilligan to Ross’s hugely fat Skipper, Mill’s been responsible for some of the biggest rap hits in recent memory. However, people aren’t really that familiar with his work as his and his alone. Most of the hits, such as “Tupac Back” and “Imma Boss” feature Rick Ross just as prominently as they do Meek. His most recent hit, the “Best Song Of 2012” contender “Amen,” features Drake, so he’s not making anything of a concerted effort to buck this trend. But here’s the thing. He’s always the best part of these songs. His flow is at this point un-fuckwithable, and he can be totally terrifying when he wants to be. He’s best when he raps didactically: He is literally teaching you a lesson as he murders you, which is cool. Something that is uncool: Meek Mill is on probation, so Meek Mill is not allowed to do any drugs.