關於 south carolina class ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

Dababy預計五年之後退休，Co-Sign New North Carolina Rapper Morray📝

在2019年被XXL Magzine選為Freshman Class登上封面的Jonathan Lyndale Kirk aka Dababy，經過兩年再度登上雜誌封面並被封為Da Champ。

在此訪談中Dababy表示自己預計在5年之後從饒舌歌手退休，轉而專心經營自己的廠牌Billion Dollar Baby Ent；“跟Diddy(Puff Diddy, BadBoy Records的老闆)的見面讓我學到了很多，知道當一個饒舌歌手的上限在哪裡，而如果我有能力可以讓所有的家人、兄弟姊妹、朋友都成功並賺到錢，我就應該像Puff Diddy、Jay-Z、50 Cent一樣，讓大家都可以吃上飯，認真經營廠牌，把餅越做越大!”

Dababy有參與兩個廠牌一個是自己為老闆的Billion Dollar Baby Ent，旗下目前有DJ KID、RichDunk、Stunna 4 Vegas等人；是以Dababy為中心的娛樂廠牌，負責廠牌內的所有藝人活動，包含周邊的設計與販售、音樂作品的行銷宣傳與製作、表演的設計等，特殊的地方則是Dababy會用Billion Dollar Baby Ent的名義幫忙家裡其他親人的事業，不僅是幫宣傳，甚至是MV場景、服飾、周邊商品的設計都會在其中穿插自己家人的事業更有把所有家人找來一起拍MV的盛況。

另一個是Dababy所屬的South Coast Music Group專門負責音樂的發行、簽約、版稅與演出等問題，SCMG是夏落特當地的獨立音樂廠牌，旨在發掘underground的饒舌歌手並幫助他們登上音樂版面，以Dababy為最主要的例子，旗下主要簽約在南北卡羅萊納州的地下饒舌歌手，Blacc Zacc、Tosii、Big Mali等。而近期一位來自北卡羅萊納州的新饒舌歌手Morray受到了Dababy的青睞，不僅在自己個人IG分享Morray的音樂，也謠傳在跟SCMG的主理人討論想將其簽下；Morray不僅受到Dababy的注意，J.Cole、Rick Ross、DJ Marshmello等人都在個人的社群媒體上分享過他的音樂。Morray的作品《Quicksand》MV也在發佈後累積了超過1200萬的youtube觀看數，多變的Flow與旋律性的唱腔穿插，自身的唱法跟編曲黏著性高，實力可說是不容小覷；最新作品《Big Decisions》也在釋出後在美國Youtube衝上熱門前20，網友們紛紛希望Morray這位新興饒舌歌手可以多丟出更多的作品。

你覺得Dababy能夠轉行成成功的廠牌經營人嗎？

覺得這位來自北卡羅萊納州的新饒舌歌手Morray的音樂作品怎麼樣呢？

歡迎在下面留言跟大家討論🔥

#dababy #morray

In first grade, a boy named John— a notorious troublemaker—systematically chased every girl in our class during recess trying to kiss her on the lips. Most gave in eventually. It was easier to give in than keep running. When it was my turn, I turned and faced him, grabbed his glasses off his weasel face, and stomped on them on the hard blacktop. He ran to the principal’s office and cried.

In fifth grade, I was asked to be a boy’s girlfriend over email. It was the first email I ever received. He actually told me he wanted to send me an email, so I went home and made an AOL account. We went to a carnival and he won me a Garfield stuffed animal, and then he gave me a 3 Doors Down CD. A few days later, he broke up with me, and asked for Garfield and the CD back. I said no.

In sixth grade, a girl in my year gave head to an eighth grader in the back of the school bus while playing Truth or Dare.

In the summer after sixth grade, I kissed a boy for the first time at sleep away camp. He was my summer love. During the end-of-the-summer dining hall announcements, where kids usually announced lost sweatshirts and Walkmen, an older girl stepped up to the microphone, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and proudly stated, “I lost something very precious to me last night. My virginity. If anyone finds it, please let me know.” The dining hall erupted into laughter and cheers. She was barred from ever coming back to the camp again, and wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone.

In seventh grade, I told my brother I decided when I was older wanted a Hummer. What I really meant was I wanted a Jeep, but I didn’t know a lot about cars. My mother overheard and screamed at me for “wanting a Hummer.”

In the summer after freshman year of high school, I went to sleepaway field hockey camp with many of my close friends. One of them, named Megan, I had been friends with since kindergarten. One night when I was showering, she ripped open the curtain and snapped a photo of me on her disposable camera. I screamed. She laughed. We both laughed when I got out of the shower a few minutes later. After camp was over, her father took the camera to the convenience store to get it developed. When he gave the finished photos back to her, he said, “Your friend [Anonymous] has grown up.”

Sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends Hilary had a party in her basement while her mom was away. We invited some of the guys in our grade and someone’s older brother bought us a handle of vodka. One of the boys who came sat next to me in Spanish class. His name was Thomas. I remember playing a simple game, where we passed the bottle of vodka around in a circle and drank. I remember being happily tipsy and having fun, to suddenly being very drunk. Thomas and I started chanting numbers in Spanish, and he leaned towards me and kissed me. We kissed in the middle of the party, with all of our friends cheering. Then we went into Hilary’s bedroom.

Hilary’s bedroom was in the basement, on the ground floor, with a large window next to her bed. When someone went outside to smoke a cigarette, they realized it was a front row seat to what was happening in the bedroom. It was dark outside, and the light on was in the bedroom. They called everyone outside to watch. I don’t remember getting undressed, but apparently we were both completely naked in Hilary’s bed. A friend of mine told me later she tried to open the door and stop what was happening, but Thomas must have locked it. They said they pounded on the door. I don’t remember hearing them pounding. I don’t remember seeing everyone’s faces outside the window. I remember Thomas holding my head down, and shoving his penis into my mouth. I remember trying to resist, pulling back, but he held his hands firmly on my head, pushing my face up and down. That’s all that I remember.

The next day, my friends and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. I couldn’t eat anything, and it wasn’t because I was hung over. Every time I tried to put food in my mouth, I felt like I was choking. Anytime a flash of the night before appeared in my mind, I felt like vomiting. My friends sat with me in silence. Then they told me a girl named Lindsey, who had briefly dated Thomas freshman year, had stood outside and watched the entire time. Even after everyone else stopped watching. My friends said they didn’t watch.

On Monday, Thomas and I sat next to each other in Spanish. We didn’t speak. We didn’t make eye contact. I went to the girls bathroom and threw up. I hear Lindsey and Thomas live together, now, ten years later.

Junior year of high school, my teacher for Honors Spanish was named Señor Gonzales. Señor Gonzales had all of the girls sit in the front row. Señor Gonzales called on any girl who was wearing a skirt to write on the chalkboard. Señor Gonzales asked a friend of mine, who had broken her finger playing an after school sport, if she broke her finger because “she liked it rough.” Señor Gonzales was a tenured teacher.

Senior year of high school, I got my first real boyfriend. His name was Colin. He was on the lacrosse team with Thomas. He told me that sophomore year, Thomas told everyone on the team what happened that night at Hilary’s. Everyone cheered. Colin said that, even then, he had a crush on me. Even then, he wanted to punch Thomas.

Colin and I lost our virginities to each other. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have the baby. He didn’t believe in abortion. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have a C-section. Colin said that if I didn’t have a C-section, my vagina would be too loose for him to ever enjoy having sex with me again. Colin said that he wouldn’t let our child breastfeed. He said his mother gave him formula, and that he turned out just fine. I didn’t get pregnant.

Junior year of college, I lived in Denmark for the spring semester and studied at the University of Copenhagen. Copenhagen is one of the safest cities in the world. Guns are illegal there. Pepper spray is illegal there. One night, my friends and I went to a concert at a crowded club in a part of the city I didn’t know very well. I brought a tiny purse with money, my apartment key, and my international cell phone. For some reason it made sense at the time to put my purse inside my friend’s purse. Maybe I didn’t feel like carrying it. We were both drinking. My friend left the concert to go home with her boyfriend. One by one, everyone I was there with left the concert, until I was suddenly alone and I realized I didn’t have my purse, or any money for a cab ride home.

I started walking in the direction that felt right. I walked for a long time. I had no idea where I was, and didn’t recognize the area. It was almost 4 am. I was on a residential street when a cab pulled up next to me. I asked the driver if he could drive me to an intersection down the street from my apartment.

I don’t have any money, I said.

I really need your help, I said.

I will do it for free, he said.

Sit in the front, he said.

I sat in the front. We drove in silence for some time, until he pulled over on the side of a dark street.

I don’t want to do it for free anymore, he said.

He locked the car doors and reached across the center console and slipped his hand up my skirt. He grabbed my vagina. Hard. I pushed his hand away and unlocked the door. I ran down the street and realized he had taken me a block away from the intersection I wanted. I walked to my apartment and threw rocks at my roommate’s window until she let me inside. She yelled at me for waking her up. I escaped. Nothing happened. I was fine.

The summer after I graduated college I helped Hilary find an internship. She was an art major and wanted something for her resume besides waitressing. We found a posting on Craigslist to be a studio assistant for a painter in the Bronx. It was listed as an unpaid internship. The toll for the George Washington Bridge was twelve dollars, plus gas, but she got the internship anyway. She wanted the experience.

The artist was a 38-year-old Canadian painter named Bradley. Hilary was 22.There was another intern there, an art student from Manhattan named Stella. Bradley needed assistants to help him make bubble wrap paintings. Stella and Hilary would take a syringe and fill the tiny bubbles with different color paints until it formed a mosaic. Bradley always had Hilary stay after Stella left to clean the paintbrushes and syringes. He told Hilary she was beautiful. More beautiful than his wife, who he only married for citizenship. He told Hilary they had a loveless marriage. He told Hilary he wanted to have her beautiful children. They began an affair. He told Hilary has wife knew and didn’t care. He told Hilary he was going to leave his wife soon.

Everyday Hilary drove to the Bronx, cleaned Bradley’s paintbrushes, and had sex on the studio floor. Everyday she went home with no money, and everyday she paid the toll at the George Washington Bridge. She needed the internship for her resume, she said. It was too late to find a new job, she said.

I could go on. I could tell you a lot more. About the whistles on the sidewalk, the kids who sat at the bottom of the stairs in high school to look up our skirts, my friend who was a prostitute in South Carolina, the men who’ve cornered me in parking lots and bars calling me a tease, the unwanted grabbing on the subway, the many times my father has called me fat, the time I traveled to the Philippines and discovered Western men pay preteen locals to spend the week in their hotel, the messages on OKCupid asking to “fart in my mouth.” About how I wasn’t sure if I had been raped because I was drunk and kissed Thomas back. How he raped my mouth and not my vagina, so that must not be rape. How easy it was for me to escape the dark street in Copenhagen, and how that made it not matter since “it could’ve been worse.”

Men have no idea what it takes to be a woman. To grin and bear it and persevere. The constant state of war, navigating the relentless obstacle course of testosterone and misogyny, where they think we are property to be owned and plowed. But we’re not. We are people, just like them. Equals, in fact, or at least that’s the core of what feminism is still trying to achieve. The job is not over. We’ve made great progress. There are female CEOs, though not very many. There are females writing for the New York Times and winning Pulitzer prizes, though not very many. There are female politicians, though not very many. But these advances are only on paper. The job won’t be over until equality permeates the air we breathe, the streets we walk and the homes we live in.

I think back to how easy it was for me, in first grade, to feel fearless and strong in my conviction to stomp on John’s glasses. I felt right in reacting how I did, because John’s behavior was wrong. But his was an elementary learning of the wide boundaries his gender would go on to afford him. For me, it would never again be so easy.

— Anonymous, age 25

(source: ibelieveyouitsnotyourfault.tumblr.com)

來看看2015 NYU鼓勵畢業生成為怎樣的一個社會公民！
https://www.facebook.com/jiangeng.chiou/videos/887575711280480/

這是一所偉大學校在畢業典禮上對他們學生的期勉。不是建立在身分地位金錢剝削冷感上的成功，而是"A noncomformist, an intellectual, a doer and natural-born activists"。身為暴民我真的在陽光普照的洋基球場哭了出來。

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我知道你們對社會充滿深切的關心，我知道你們有創造力、想像力、直率，你們是不墨守成規的知識分子、實踐家以及天生的社運份子。......因此在這個美好的慶典場合，我不會讓你們卸下作為一個公民的義務。相反的，我鼓勵你們孕育心中那股永恆的焦慮，不滿於民主運行的不完美，那股我必須作些什麼的不適感。

而對於改善民主體制的使命感，正是公民責任的精隨，尤其是為了那些社會邊緣最需要幫助的人。
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演講影片（82:00 ~ 97:45）：
http://www.nyu.edu/…/events-trad…/commencement/web-cast.html

逐字稿節錄：

So today is a day of celebration. And yet, because you are graduates of this great institution, I know that you are aware that out there – just outside the ring of celebration, outside the cushion of today’s excitement lies a more sobering reality. And while I promise not to kill the joy of your day, I want to say a few words about the challenges out there in the world you will rejoin after today’s celebrations. I feel comfortable doing so, because by virtue of you being an NYU graduate, I know that you are someone who is concerned with the world. I know that you are creative, imaginative, bold, a nonconformist, an intellectual, a doer and natural-born activist. I know that you take your citizenshipobligations seriously. By citizenship I do not refer to your legal status. I mean your responsibility to whatever community you belong – whether it’s the American community or the human community. You take seriously your responsibility to work for peace and justice, to protect and nurture opportunity and equality.

Since last August, I have found myself repeating under my breath from the time-to-time a line from a document I read in the 10th grade in my American Literature course at Hillcrest High School in Queens. I haven’t thought much about this text since that 10th grade class in 1976, but after unrest broke out in Ferguson, Missouri last summer.... After Eric Garner was killed here in New York, after I saw the execution of Walter Scott in North Charleston, South Carolina, and yes after I learned early one Saturday night that two police officers were killed while on duty in Brooklyn, after I watched young people in my adopted city of Baltimore unleash frustration after years of neglect and dislocation – I found myself whispering the opening lines written by Thomas Paine in his pamphlet of the American Revolution: “these are the times that try men’s souls.” Yes, these are the times that try men’s... and women’s souls.

The past nine months have been trying indeed. They have challenged the very soul of our nation such that we cannot pretend even as are here filled with the excitement of this day that there are not deep challenges awaiting us. We cannot pretend that all is right in our land. And we should not. We can suspend reality for a few hours, maybe a few days, but then we must return to it.

The challenges we face are both personal and national. Some of you are excited today, but have no idea how you will manage the debt that you have accumulated to receive this wonderful education. Most of you have enjoyed the privilege of attending this great university and living in New York City. But for most of you, if you lived “on campus” at NYU, this will be the last time that you will be able to afford to live in Manhattan. Still others of you wonder about whether you will be able to find a job in your chosen field, one that provides maternity and paternity leave, and that will not discriminate against you for being gay or lesbian or transgender. Some of you despite this terrific education and having found a good job will find the veneer of success stripped away, as you are stopped on the street or in your car, even though you haven’t broken any laws and you are wearing a suit because, you are told, you “look like” a suspect in a robbery. Still others of you are struggling even now to take care of elderly parents who have little or no savings, or you cannot imagine how you will save enough to send your now infant son or daughter to NYU.

Many of you are doing just fine. But you recognize and accept willingly your obligation to concern yourself with the state of our democracy. You cannot ignore that there are an increasing number of states where there are hundreds of thousands of voters do not have the newly required identification demanded by ever-increasingly stringent voter id laws. You have never been to prison, nor has anyone you know. But you know that the prison population of our country has reached unsustainable and shameful proportions. You know that incarcerating 2 million people is a sign of American failure, not American success. You know that violent crimes levels are today as low as they were in the 1960s, and yet our prison population is 8 times the size it was in the 1960s.

You are living in a nation of staggering income inequality and of revived and entrenched racial segregation.

You saw the video of Eric Garner ‘s death or you saw Walter Scott running for his life and being shot like prey in North Charleston, South Carolina and you feel deeply, you know without question that our democracy faces challenges that demand your engagement, your response.

You have seen all of these things, worried over these things. You have felt the crisis that is enveloping us, the crisis of confidence in the rule of law, in our justice system, and you are wondering what your role must be. And you are right to do so. It is our citizenship obligation to engage the issues of our day. To work for peace. To demand justice but also to fight for beauty, civility, privacy, and dignity for everyone.

And so on the beautiful day of celebration, I will not relieve you of the obligations of citizenship. In fact, to the contrary, I encourage you to nurture that niggling worry, that sense of dissatisfaction, that inability to settle and to be content with the deep imperfections of our democracy. I encourage your discomfort, your sense that you must do something, you must contribute, that you must make your voice heard. That is the essence of citizenship -- that bone deep sense of obligation to improve our democracy – to improve it especially for those who are most marginalized and most in need.

And you, my beloved NYU graduates, you willfind your own way to make your contribution. You will teach young people. You will participate in government. You will make meaningful art and help those without access to see it, hear it, dance it, and sing it. You will fight for the right of children to have a childhood free from violence. You will commit yourself to finding the cure to a terrible disease, or to making treatment accessible to those who lack it. You will create opportunities for good jobs, you will treat your own employees humanely. You will fight passionately to protect our precious natural environment. You will stand against religious intolerance. You will do the hard work of communicating with those who disagree with you – of reviving the lost art of civil discourse in which you respect the humanity of the person with whom you are in conflict.

-- Sherrilyn Ifill, LDF President and Director-Counsel, 2015 NYU Commencement.

World of Warships เป็นเกมเรือรบสมัยสงครามโลกครั้งที่สอง โดยจะมีเกมให้เราเลือกเล่นจากฝ่ายอเมริกาและญี่ปุ่น โดยเราจะต้องใช้การกะระยะในการยิงและใช้กลยุทธ์ต่างในการเอาชัยฝ่ายตรงข้าม สมจริงมากๆครับ

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0:27 - Gameplay ที่1
7:01 - Gameplay ที่2

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