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NEWSLETTER



DOS & DON'TS

Hey, you’ve worked hard all day and if you want to mix yourself a pineapple-soda- and-Popov-vodka cocktail on the way home, who’s to stop you? The world is your oyster, my friend. Comments/Enlarge | See all


The problem with that “Yeah, I’m a disgusting pig—fuck you” look is it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Like when someone comes up to you on the bus and gets right up in your grill to say, “Oh I get it. YEAAAH, you’re just like the rest of them. You think I’m crazy too,” and you’re like, “Well, I do now.”
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DOS & DON'TS

It went from fanny packs to backpacks to DJ bags and now we’re ready to take this shit to a(whole)nutha level.
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LOOKING SPECIAL

The Special Olympics After-Party Was All That

Photos by Liz Kim.



This June, right as summer was kicking into full gear, we decided to check out the Special Olympics Summer Games After-Party over in Long Island. It ruled.

We spent the first hour or so freaking out at how much better the black dudes were at dancing than the white dudes. That proves the stereotype, no? They were all pimped out in 70s suits while the white folks focused on tried-and-trues like golf shirts and tie-dyes. By the time we hit the dance floor we were pretty sure we had everyone figured out, but then this quiet, geeky-looking guy walked straight up to where we were dancing, dropped to the ground and started breakdancing like a fucking fiend! Within seconds he was surrounded by about a hundred people egging him on.

The looks went from jocks to nerds, from hippies to players, and from punks to preps. There was even a guy in a Hawaiian shirt complete with neon-blue lei and the Special Olympics logo shaved into the back of his head! Despite the huge variety of people and wacky outfits, everyone was getting down on the dance floor like their life depended on it. The shit was contagious. We danced like nobody was watching for so long we had blisters, and today my calves hurt so much I can’t walk down stairs. Not only was everyone shaking it, but everyone had their own signature “can’t touch this” dance style that was like nothing we’d ever seen before. Neither of us had ever been to a party where there wasn’t one self-conscious person in the room.

Apparently there is a generalization you can make about the handicapped just by looking at them: They all kick out the jams!

DONNA DELIVA & CHRISTI BRADNOX

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