Word: ghettoes
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...other performers that deserve attention: I can’t get the chorus of Moochie Mack’s “Ghetto Bounce” (“If you’re ghetto and you know it bounce bounce”) out of my head. What’s up with nursery rhyme in hip-hop choruses? Nelly’s “Country Grammar (Hot Shit).” “That’s Cool,” the new single by Silkk the Shocker and Trina, reminds me of a raunchier version...
...Before Eminem came on to rap with Elton John, a grave man dressed like an adult - the Grammys' ambassador to Bennett-Leiberman Nation - delivered a dishonest sermonette filled with those "sure-it's-ugly-but-we-ignore-the-cry-of-the-ghetto (er, make that, of suburban white sociopaths)-at-our-peril" notes that are spoken to endow venality with social significance...
...became a student of Jackson, especially of his oratorical style, his cadences. I heard him speak in every setting from ghetto high schools in Washington and New York ("My mind is a pearl/ I can do anything/ In the worl'.") to sleek 46th-floor dining rooms of the TIME-LIFE Building, where he met with editors and writers preparing cover stories about him. Jackson has many speaking voices - from hard street (almost incomprehensible to the white ear) to a high, southern-preacherly eloquence (school of Martin Luther King Jr.) to the most sophisticated corporate mellowspeak, as smooth and fancy...
Expats moving there will not find themselves in a gringo ghetto. Whether in bustling, arty Chapala or tranquil villages like Ajijic and Jocotepec, foreigners are gently interspersed among the 100,000 people who live on the shores of Mexico's largest lake. The mountains that encircle Lake Chapala protect its villages, many of them 500 years old and still cobblestoned, from winds, helping to create a perfect climate...
...deciding to describe his position and entrapment, others have also done--in states of repose or terror. When a JAL airliner went down in 1985, passengers used the long minutes of its terrible, spiraling descent to write letters to loved ones. When the last occupants of the Warsaw Ghetto had finally seen their families and companions die of disease or starvation, or be carried off in trucks to extermination camps, and there could be no doubt of their own fate, still they took scraps of paper on which they wrote poems, thoughts, fragments of lives, rolled them into tight scrolls...