I fell a sleep during the first part of King Kong. All the way up to the point where she was captured . . . the white woman . . . can't remember her name. I won't give any details, but the "savage scene" was not that bad, the savages were these non-descript people that looked aborignal, and black and white, all done up in some strange body paint. Its OK. The music was good at that point, and all that chanting made my spine tingle. So I woke up quick and watched the rest of the movie. Besides my goddaughters wanted something to drink. They devoured a X-Large popcorn, which is as big a mop bucket. FOR REAL!
All I can say is that it is a visual feast, with tons of things that will scary the hell out of ya. The only racialized part was the fact that King Kong was out looking for "beauty" on the streets of NYC which is this little white thing, and I keep having flash backs to time when I used to hang with some rough necks that did nothing but lift weights and fight against the system as UPS and FED EX delivery people in Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan. Those guys would be the Kongs. Nothing like a young strapping black Buck walking into your office (where I was the only black male hired in the entire American division for some time . . . we are talking coast to coast) to make you want to get whisked away out of the window and be taken to the roof.
Negros need some kong too!
I digress.
Otherwise things are goin' alright. New Years is coming. I am going out with the people at my job. Things are a bit better, because I was flirting with with this chick at the resturaunt, and flirting with this guy. I let the girl know that I was bisexual, which naturally shuts down relationship possibilities with 80 percent of the women that I talk to, and I kissed the guy on Xmas Eve.
So, there you have it. We are all going to be at the same club, and my co-workers, who have figured out that I like both men and women (most of the guys really want to know if you take it up the ass, if not, then you are OK. Just talk about soccer and what have you and you will be OK. Two of them want to get off with me. Can't decide if that is OK. I don't kiss and tell, but a couple of these supposeitly straight bitches chatter like church mice.), will see me kiss the boy tonight. The club is going to be packed. I like this guy. My spanish is not up to par, his english is missing things. But hey. . .
I gotta shot. . .
After the heartache of this year (old girlfriend) and my German man (let's call him Das Experiment). . .
And I am still young . . .
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Friday, December 30, 2005
The New Year
OK.
So here I am. Up fairly early. I am rapidly approaching my year annivesery of living at home. I have not lived here for 14 years. It has been difficult. And a bit life changing. The mold that my parents cast me in, is not the man that I have grown into. But they don't care, they have me 1/4 of the way crammed back in the mold. But maybe that is just part of my true life anyway. You can't escape home. Nashville has shaped me, if I like it or not.
Can you identify?
Ok, I will not be cynical because my ass could be dead from a high glucose induced coma because I did not have anyone that gave a shit about me. That is dramatic, I know. But after working with homeless kids in NYC, I have a tendency to appreciate my dysfunctional family, because life without a family is something very, very different.
OK.
Let's continue with the idea of age.
First. I take my godchildren to see King Kong today. I am aware of they psycho-sexual crap that is in it, and I have friends that are boycotting, but I am doing this for the children and for myself. I want to see how the stuff is addressed. What is the vision? And now the kids are 12, 8 and 9. Man. Time plays tricks on you.
Second. I kissed a boy that is 10 years younger than me on Christmas Eve and I think I have a love jones or a crush on him (not sure which one, but I am leaning toward crush). He is in his early 20's and is from Mexico and has the kind of body I like (thick and round in all the right places and unapologetically so). Muscles are good for eye candy, but it really does not tell someone if they are any good in bed. Give me a nice round bottom and a little bit of a stomach any day. And the way his ass wiggles when he walks . . . sigh.
Third. Another year has passed by. And this is the first one where I can say that I have not achieved what I wanted. I want it to hurry or end. I got about 48 more hours. Then I want to get on with the business of life. I think I have come to a critical point in terms of university, PhD and that profession. It might not be the best place for me, but I am not listening to the warning signs . . . like no money, hard work load, under appreciation of the humanities in this country (most countries), and the fact that one is a starving artist or writer is no longer sexy and exciting . . . especially at this age. . .
So that is that. Have to get ready to work on New Year's Eve. Man. It will be a lot of people at the resturaunt. 200 in 5 hours.
Geeh-wizz Buttman. That's alot of fact sloppy butts!
So here I am. Up fairly early. I am rapidly approaching my year annivesery of living at home. I have not lived here for 14 years. It has been difficult. And a bit life changing. The mold that my parents cast me in, is not the man that I have grown into. But they don't care, they have me 1/4 of the way crammed back in the mold. But maybe that is just part of my true life anyway. You can't escape home. Nashville has shaped me, if I like it or not.
Can you identify?
Ok, I will not be cynical because my ass could be dead from a high glucose induced coma because I did not have anyone that gave a shit about me. That is dramatic, I know. But after working with homeless kids in NYC, I have a tendency to appreciate my dysfunctional family, because life without a family is something very, very different.
OK.
Let's continue with the idea of age.
First. I take my godchildren to see King Kong today. I am aware of they psycho-sexual crap that is in it, and I have friends that are boycotting, but I am doing this for the children and for myself. I want to see how the stuff is addressed. What is the vision? And now the kids are 12, 8 and 9. Man. Time plays tricks on you.
Second. I kissed a boy that is 10 years younger than me on Christmas Eve and I think I have a love jones or a crush on him (not sure which one, but I am leaning toward crush). He is in his early 20's and is from Mexico and has the kind of body I like (thick and round in all the right places and unapologetically so). Muscles are good for eye candy, but it really does not tell someone if they are any good in bed. Give me a nice round bottom and a little bit of a stomach any day. And the way his ass wiggles when he walks . . . sigh.
Third. Another year has passed by. And this is the first one where I can say that I have not achieved what I wanted. I want it to hurry or end. I got about 48 more hours. Then I want to get on with the business of life. I think I have come to a critical point in terms of university, PhD and that profession. It might not be the best place for me, but I am not listening to the warning signs . . . like no money, hard work load, under appreciation of the humanities in this country (most countries), and the fact that one is a starving artist or writer is no longer sexy and exciting . . . especially at this age. . .
So that is that. Have to get ready to work on New Year's Eve. Man. It will be a lot of people at the resturaunt. 200 in 5 hours.
Geeh-wizz Buttman. That's alot of fact sloppy butts!
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Day One
Well, I guess I should start out by saying that I took my Secret Santa gift certificate to Tower Records and bought two albums. One is called Folon . . . The Past, by Salif Keita. It made me think about NYC and my days eating couscous and Lamb Mafe (I think that is how you spell it). I actually started to crave those golden kernels of micropasta, and a peanut sauce or something sweet and onionie. That all takes me bak to walking through Harlem; special nights at the Sound Factory Bar and Octogon, and having a big glass of sorrel or ginger while eating something spicy. Damn me for getting stuck here! Well, what can one do?
The second album is "blackboxhits&mixes". I jammed that bad boy all the way home. I swear I don't even remember driving. I just got to the house as if I was in a Jetson mobile (remember that). I needed it. I wanted to remember what that time was like. Being in college, having dreadlocks, playing in the band, falling in love with house music and a couple of other episodes that I won't mention here. Hell, I might become president one day. Marth Wash will be in my cabinet. She negotiated herself out of that legal fiasco of Black Box, I am sure she could be secretary of state.
And on a side note, the whole Source "hot ass mess" mess has got me tripping too. More on that, with links. Later though. This is my first post.
I love the way music can tie-up past and present. Things that I am going through now get a new meaning when I play certain songs.
Funny, I asked this chick at Tower for Black Box and she did not know who they were. The day before I asked for Terence Trent D'Arby, and her co-worker did not know who the hell he was. And then again today, after finding this wonderful Australian Import of Black Box, I asked for Dalida . . . she looked so surprised to see that Tower carried it, but her look of surprise tripped me out. I teach kids her age, and now they are running the cash register at Tower Records. I remember when that place was just a nondescript space across from Vanderbilt. It's almost been 20 years since Terence Trent D'Arby. 15 or so since Black Box.
The sad fact of the matter is that I am aging. I just did not expect for it to be so painless. It just happens day by day without any fanfare until nobody in the freakin' record store recognizes a single word coming out your mouth. Infact, they sigh just before you reach their little magnet school asses.
But other than that. A good day at the job. No stress. Tons of flirting as usual, and talk about the New Year. What will it bring. I know I gotta get my ass in gear . . . how about that?!
PS
The older 30 something guy that worked behind the counter gave me the fever while I was looking at the T-shirts that benefit the New Orlean relief effort (they mean the musicians, not the black folk). I might go back and pick up a shirt. He looks stranded too. But I did not feel like it was love at first sight. Just interest at first sight. He is interested in me. I got interested in him. He was organizing the Vocalist section. I thought he was a customer. I'll hit him up same time next week.
Interesting.
The second album is "blackboxhits&mixes". I jammed that bad boy all the way home. I swear I don't even remember driving. I just got to the house as if I was in a Jetson mobile (remember that). I needed it. I wanted to remember what that time was like. Being in college, having dreadlocks, playing in the band, falling in love with house music and a couple of other episodes that I won't mention here. Hell, I might become president one day. Marth Wash will be in my cabinet. She negotiated herself out of that legal fiasco of Black Box, I am sure she could be secretary of state.
And on a side note, the whole Source "hot ass mess" mess has got me tripping too. More on that, with links. Later though. This is my first post.
I love the way music can tie-up past and present. Things that I am going through now get a new meaning when I play certain songs.
Funny, I asked this chick at Tower for Black Box and she did not know who they were. The day before I asked for Terence Trent D'Arby, and her co-worker did not know who the hell he was. And then again today, after finding this wonderful Australian Import of Black Box, I asked for Dalida . . . she looked so surprised to see that Tower carried it, but her look of surprise tripped me out. I teach kids her age, and now they are running the cash register at Tower Records. I remember when that place was just a nondescript space across from Vanderbilt. It's almost been 20 years since Terence Trent D'Arby. 15 or so since Black Box.
The sad fact of the matter is that I am aging. I just did not expect for it to be so painless. It just happens day by day without any fanfare until nobody in the freakin' record store recognizes a single word coming out your mouth. Infact, they sigh just before you reach their little magnet school asses.
But other than that. A good day at the job. No stress. Tons of flirting as usual, and talk about the New Year. What will it bring. I know I gotta get my ass in gear . . . how about that?!
PS
The older 30 something guy that worked behind the counter gave me the fever while I was looking at the T-shirts that benefit the New Orlean relief effort (they mean the musicians, not the black folk). I might go back and pick up a shirt. He looks stranded too. But I did not feel like it was love at first sight. Just interest at first sight. He is interested in me. I got interested in him. He was organizing the Vocalist section. I thought he was a customer. I'll hit him up same time next week.
Interesting.
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