July 2000

Bartenders and bouncers in New York City have never been too kind to me. They see a socially ackward person come into their bar, it is pretty much the same reaction as if Rosa Parks walked into a bar in Alabama in the 50s, or if a Jew walked into a bar in Germany in 1944. The bartender gives me a solemn glance and watches me for a few seconds, which I have come to recognize all too well. Then, he gives me some variation of "I'm sorry I can't serve you", which pretty much means "We don't serve your kind around these parts". I have felt it, I have seen it firsthand. And it all started in 2000, when I was not even legally old enough to go into a bar.

I spent the summer of 2000 in and around Penn State University, with a bunch of wild and crazy high school kids. That, and the following summer of 2001, which was the same situation in Georgetown University, were definitely the two best summers of my life. The purpose of the program was to adjust high school kids to college life through SAT prep, "college-level courses", and "the best summer ever", with every night being an organized, all-expenses paid party, concert, or event.

One of the highlights of the Penn State summer was when the program's organizers rented out a popular State College bar-club called the Crowbar for a night and let all of us in. Imagine that, you're a bouncer coming in for work and you see a full bar filled with 500 high school kids. What would you think? Exactly.

And imagine if you're 16, with all your youthful energy, and they just throw you into a bar. This was the very first time I had ever seen the inside of one of these places, so no kidding i had no idea how to act or what was socially appropriate. Nonetheless I was having a great time dancing to 2000-era party songs, such as "The Bad Touch", "Get Your Roll On", and of course, "Party Up".

Back when I was this age I had an unquenchable thirst for attention. I make fun of it now, but back then I had boundless energy and would do anything to put on a show. Anything, meaning chucking up empty snapple bottles into the woods and enjoying the satisfying crunch of glass exploding when they landed. Anything, meaning breaking up two chicks who were wrestling in the pouring rain and mud because I was concerned they were actually fighting (Yes, this program was THAT AWESOME!) Anything, meaning leading a bunch of girls into a fully clothed swim in the fountains at DC's Washington Monument (You know what, I was that fucking awesome). With "American Pie" still fresh in everyone's minds, I was compared to Chris Owen's character "The Sherminator". I could not be stopped!

Man, I had some fun times. But going back to the Crowbar on that night, I loved rap music in 2000. And there was one artist, one album, whom everyone knew I was obsessed with. That artist was Eminem. That album was "The Marshall Mathers LP". Yep, it was that summer when Eminem was at his absolute height, and no one would stop talking about him. The so-called "Summer of Shady". And when "The Real Slim Shady" came on at Crowbar, immediately everyone looked at me. They had all heard me rapping Eminem lyrics ever since the summer began. And now, everyone was expecting it, looking at me to do somethin' crazy.

And I did not disappoint. Surrounding the massive dance floor of the Crowbar was a two-rung railing, with the dance floor about 3-5 feet below. So as the first verse of the song came on, I jumped up onto the first rung of the railing and started rapping along. I was standing head and shoulders a good 5 feet above everyone down on the dance floor, and I thought spontaneous amateur performances were an acceptable part of club and bar life. Everyone in my group was diggin' it, throwing their hands up in support when the chorus came in: "Won't the real Slim Shady please stand up, please stand up..." Some girl even came up to where I was and started shaking her large booty right in front of me. I told you, it was a special time.

Just as I began to go into the second verse, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Expecting it to be another admiring groupie or a guy telling me I'm awesome, I looked down, only to see a large, Mexican-looking bouncer screaming something in my ear. I thought he was telling me I was kicking ass. The music was too loud and I couldn't hear a word he was saying. I nodded in approval. He could have been telling me there was a lion loose next door which needed taming. Whatever. I stayed on the railing and kept rapping. I was too engrossed in the song to care.

Then, midway through the third verse, I felt two distinct, very hard taps on my shoulder. I looked down and saw that same Mexican bouncer, and he had come with a friend, a large black bouncer, who resembled former Giants linebacker Lawrence Taylor. They both both began yelling something in my ear. Again, the music was too loud and I could not hear a word they were saying. They would not go away. I rapped, and rapped, then the song started to fade out: "There's a slim shady in all of us. Fuck it, let's all stand up", then I screamed "I AM Slim Shady!" as the beat faded out, before I was immediately thrown/forced down off the railing by the combined force of the two bouncers.

There was no applause or recognition of what i had just done, and everyone on the dancefloor just moved on to the next song. At the time, this was a shock to me. Not exactly how I had seen it in the movies and on TV. The two bouncers herded me off to a back room in the club, away from the blaring rap music coming out of the massive speaker system.

LT: Man, what the hell is wrong with you, kid?

Mexicano: Meng, I was tryin to tell you like 10 times to get down from da' railing, but you wouldn't listen. You deaf or something meng?

Me: I'm sorry I just... just got so much into the song that I couldn't hear what you were saying.

LT: No one is allowed to stand up on there.

Me: Is there a sign that says that somewhere?

Mexicano: No meng, you're just supposed to know it.

LT: How old are you, kid?

Me: I turn 16 next week.

LT: Then how the hell did you get in here?

Me: I'm here with my summer study group. Everyone is here with me. We're all here.

Mexicano: Well you gotta go meng.

Me: But... the bus.

LT: Whatever. Sorry kid, you gotta leave. Wait for all your friends outside, and get home safe.

They ushered me outside. The Crowbar was located more than 2 miles away from the main part of the Penn State campus where our dorms were, and the program rented out a bunch of buses to get us there and back. And now here I was, a teenager at a college campus on a Saturday night, forced to walk alone all the way back to my dorm. I did so without complaining, because this summer was going so awesome up to that point that I figured it was just a little setback. I sat in my room alone for more than 2 hours before everyone else got back. But once they did, I was quite the talk of my floor, and the girls' floor above us, who kept sending representatives down to find out what the hell had happened to me at the club.

The incident also generated a lot of talk amongst the program's college-aged staff, who liked to gossip. The next day I was sent into the office of the Director of Campus Life for our program, a cool twentysomething dude named Alan Music (one of the coolest names I've ever heard. And yes, that was his real name. This was 2000, what is he gonna do?) Here's how our conversation went:

Alan Music: You're quite the troublestarter huh?

Me: I was just having a little fun, sorry bout that.

AM: You know how many people were talking about you last night? You're like a rockstar.

Me: Well I guess I just have one of those kinds of personalities.

AM: Please, don't make us throw you out of (this program). We love you, man. Just try not to do something like that again. You know we have a talent show coming up. Why don't you just do some Eminem for that?

Me: Well, I'm a little shy, but when I'm at a club it just happens.

AM: No it's cool. Seriously man, that was awesome. Just watch yourself.

If every person in the world were as cool as that, then I would have no reason to make this website. At the end of this program I was rewarded with a medal for being the funniest kid. Those were very different times, and Penn State a very different place, then where I am at now.

But I have a feeling, a sneaking suspicion, that Lawrence Taylor-looking bouncer and his Mexican buddy like to talk. And they sent out a message to every bartender and bouncer in the United States showing my picture, standing up on a balcony and rapping along to Eminem, saying that I am a troublemaker and am to be treated like dirt. Or something like that. That is as good an explanation as any for some of the ridiculous stuff that happens to me today. Except now, there is not an entire dorm of girls waiting to gossip about it. Or a cool dude named Alan Music waiting to tell me what I did was "awesome" and everything is OK. Now there is nothing but scorn, regret, and uncertainty. How times have changed.

Talk about a Youtube video I would pay just about anything to see: Penn State Teenager Raps to Eminem on Balcony (2000). If you were filming that and uploaded that somewhere on the Internet, contact me IMMEDIATELY.