June 25, 2009

There's so much I could say about that day. I was working out, the 5 o'clock news was on and I was crunching away. They were talking about Farrah Fawcett. I said to myself, imagine what will happen when Michael Jackson dies. I've always thought about that. Even as a kid, when I would watch his concert footage and see fans fainting. It all seemed so big and otherworldly. So after the Farrah Fawcett story, I flip to another channel for a different spin of the news or maybe for better news and there's the announcement that Michael Jackson was rushed to the hospital in cardiac arrest.

What? I was just "talking" about that! And then it was time to prepare myself for the bad news. Cardiac Arrest. They were reporting they had to do CPR in the ambulance. I knew nothing good could come of it. I ate after my workout, sent a text to my friend about plans that evening at 5:23pm and when I went to the kitchen to wash the dishes, I wished "good luck" to the doctor who would have to call it--time of death.

5:26pm

Scalping Scalpers

NOTE: I no longer work for a ticket broker. However, I wrote this back in April 2008 when I did work for one, so that will explain the references to idiots willing to spend ridiculous prices for concert tickets and the last seasons at Yankee and Shea Stadiums. Ticket brokers have been in the news a lot recently over Bruce Springsteen concert tickets. They just can't seem to get it right. I say don't bother going to the concert if its going to cost you triple your rent, but what do I know. Fans are still going to want to be a part of history because Springsteen is the last act that will take place in Giants Stadium as we know it. Yes, they are building a new stadium in a recession. First, they were directing people to the secondary market where prices were hiked up and now three brokers who I am very familiar with are being sued by the NJ Attorney General for selling tickets a week before they actually went on sale. For those of you unfamiliar with how the secondary market works, ticket brokers will take your money for tickets they don't actually have. Just a heads up.

Angry Big Sister

I received a call from my brother this evening. He started by telling me something funny then said he was angry. He explained this situation he’s been having at work – feels like they’re pushing him out. Big corporation got no respect or regard for the little guy. My brother is vocal. He will voice complaints without yelling or cursing or flailing his arm or threatening violence but I’ve seen my brother angry. I let him vent then gave my big sister advice while we cut the tension with jokes. He did mention that he remembered I told him that last time he had an issue at work not to carry on like the “Angry Black Man” – he’s likely to intimidate everyone and surely not get his point across or better working conditions or work relationships. I tried to reinforce that today and told him he needs an outlet for his anger. He said worked out. While we spoke on the phone he was on his inversion machine because his back had tightened up. He used to write tons of screenplays. That’s an idea we tossed around. I told him when he visits NY again I’d take him to one of the poetry events I frequent. “There’s tons of angry black men there. Write something so you could read, or just come and listen, get that sense of camaraderie. You may even find solutions in the words.”

A few hours later I was at Bowery Poetry Club witnessing creative genius or genius creatives. Taalam Acey (Mr. Manual Gesticulation that spits a mile a minute. I swear I can actually see the words waft out his mouth), Kasim Allah (whom I like to refer to as “King” accompanied with a curtsy every now and then in honor of his greatness), Ainsley Burrows (Jamaican Brethren who can prepare you for the verbal SATs just by listening to his poems) and Lamar Anthony Hill and Faraji Salim – two poets I just had the honor of being blessed by. The poems were sermons. There was one poem that made my eyes sting. Lamar Anthony Hill recited one about growing up without his father and finally forgiving him. At one point in the poem he said a woman cannot raise a boy into a man. I’ve been well aware of that fact and I’ve heard other poets say it before, but it just struck me tonight. What can a Big Sister do?

Personal Belongings

I took my usual people-watching stance at the Laundromat this morning, partly because it was way more crowded than I had expected so getting worked up and harried wasn’t worth it, it was pretty early (for me, anyway) and I only had one load of laundry to do.

For those of us who don’t have the luxury of a washing machine at home or a laundry room in the basement of our apartment building, there is the world of the Laundromat. Laundry is a personal thing that we do in a public place. My clothes were in the midst of being churned in soap and water when a Jewish woman dragged a huge black garbage bag into the Laundromat, hoisted it up and plopped it right into one of the wheeled baskets. I’ll admit, I just watched but nothing about what happened jumped out at me until the Jamaican guy dressed in a white T-shirt and paint-splattered “work pants” told her the carts dem fa clean clothes and why she a come up in dey and dutty dem up. She asked why it would be dirty and he told her because she had just dragged the bag along the ground. She nodded in realization, then smirked and shrugged it off. She had no intention of taking her bag out of the cart until other folks started giving her dirty looks over her dirty clothes. The older Hispanic woman who I encountered earlier that was “using” a machine (with nothing in it) that I had asked about was loading two other machines that the Jewish woman inquired about, and didn’t get.

Chocolate Body Frosting

I was cleaning out my fridge on Sunday night and found some chocolate body frosting. It’s been too long since I’ve used that. After implementing everyday kitchen cupboard, fridge and freezer contents like jelly, ice cream, sorbet, peanut butter etc, I remember when my ex and I got that set of body frosting. We were excited. I haven’t lived like a nun the past few years but I looked at the jar of frosting and realized what I’m missing – passion.

There was one lover since my ex who put in a very hardworking stint. All personal things aside, he’s ranked in the top five. I love the way men throw around the cliché that they want a lady in the streets but a freak in the bed. But to get to my inner freak (yes, there’s a lot more than what you see or read) there has to be a connection. There must be a bond. I have to trust you and you have to blow my mind. Once that’s achieved, I can reach the level of unbridled passion. I’m very astute and will know immediately when a man is doing his best for me so he can do his best to me. When I’m returning the favor it starts outside of the bedroom. I’m calling you, cooking for you, laughing a lot.

I also haven’t been depressed for the past few years and have shed pounds of baggage. Obviously that allows for deeper, truer connections. Physically, my rebirth is manifesting itself as shiny hair, plump muscles, bright skin. I’m in tune with my inner voice at a level I was about ten years ago. That same wide-eyed enthusiasm I had as I started college has returned…with wisdom that doesn’t restrain me. Despite being hurt in the past my heart is still open. And it’s a magnet for everything positive lately. I’m capable of feeling fully and deeply and will be ready to use that chocolate body frosting again.

Single Occupancy Lifestyle

I’ve been single for almost 3 years. I’m always on the go. It’s nice to be busy. And living in New York there’s always something to do and some place to go. I love going places. I invite friends along but with all the flakes, scaredy-cats and unknowingly depressed folks, I end up going out alone. Believe it or not, going out by myself is easy. It’s not sad or lonely or scary. I’m always bound to meet someone. If not a new friend, a new person-of-the-moment. My single life doesn’t mean I’m going to sit around waiting to be in a relationship before I do anything. Depending on where I’m going, I get a high off being in a new place. What’s going to happen? Who’s going to make me laugh? It’s my experience. If you don’t want to come along, I’ll tell you about it later as you gaze at me with envy.

When I was at my lowest and most unhappy, I was staying home, missing out on things I wanted to do because my other half didn’t want to go. The mistakes young people make…

My Space In Space

I like astrology. I find it very interesting and clarifying. I'm not big in the telling the future through astrology but I do agree with the descriptions of the individual sun signs; the basic traits people exhibit, who you get along with, who's attracted to you, physical features and all that jazz. 

Token Flamboyance

In those high school dramas there was always the Token Black Guy. He didn't have much dialogue, but his presence broke up the monotony of white on the eyes. The concept of the Token Black Guy is spoofed in comedies. In horror flicks, he's usually the first one to die, or he's the smart one who doesn't go towards the noise or out into the woods to investigate... but dies anyway.

So apparently Hollywood has done the Token Black Guy thing to death and maybe now they've moved on to the Token Black Gay Guy. Token characters portray stereotypes or are caricatures of the group they represent. What made me want to attempt to put this unstructured observation into words was The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency, namely BK. He's described as "flamboyant" - a euphemism for "gay". He's a hairdresser as well. The only other Black gay character that sticks out in my mind is Carter on Spin City. Please let me know of others.

 

The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency is based in Africa. Homophobia exists heavily in Black American culture. Same goes for African culture (re: continental Africa) and derivatives, to the extent that gang rapes are committed against lesbians to "correct" them and gay men are jailed and killed. I want to look at the positive of this situation. A token character is an admission of existence. They are willing to show that gays are born, raised, live, exist in Africa. Yeah, it is a stereotypical character (hopefully one day we'll move past the neck-rolling, hand-on-the-hip gay characters who are hairdressers, waiters or fashion designers) and it's only one show but it's a start - No? 

10 Year Old Golden Girl

Conway Twitty had stiff hair? I didn't even know there was a Conway Twitty until Family Guy. Apparently he used lots of mousse in his hair. I learned that from watching Golden Girls this morning. They're running marathons on Hallmark Channel in tribute to Bea Arthur. I haven't watched the Golden Girls since I was about 10 years old. Its interesting that watching an old show with older women can take me back to my youth.  

What I remember is how that show made me feel. Cozy. All the pastel wardrobes and decor. I did not fear or dread getting older. It looked fun. It also showed me that it's common for women to outlive their men and it was okay to be single at that age, you always had your friends. I would think about eating cake in the kitchen in the middle of the night in the company of friends to make me feel better. At that age they were still dealing with men/relationship issues. Blanche sauntering into a scene giving just enough information about her sex life (enough for a 10 year old to catch on). Doe-eyed Rose dated too. 

I wonder what it will be like to watch the show through wiser eyes now. I have a lot of Golden Girls memories. I'll be revisiting those memories through the marathon. There was also comfort in seeing Dorothy with Sophia. As a child, it made me feel like mothers lived forever.

Random Musings On The Times

The cycle of fashion and trends continues to turn. Every 25-30 years, fashion goes retro for renewal. I remember when I was in junior high and high school, the late 60's and 70's (an era I identify with) were "in". You had to have your bell bottoms and platform shoes. My senior class even had a sit-in protest. We clogged the hallway in front of the principal's office to protest paying for our yearbooks. We made it through 4 years of high school; the yearbook should be our free reward. We went to public school! Our protest wasn't effective enough however. We didn't have a senior trip that year but we had a prom. Thank god they didn't take away my right to get dressed up and dance barefoot.

 

Topless Trouble

If you've been reading/following (although I don't actually chronicle my life in any particular order on this blog) you may remember that I was on my way to get some sun during these past few summery days (it was only yesterday's post, but I take into account your busy lives) and I also love Tuesdays. I decided to keep my quest for sun local today and went to Prospect Park.

I am a borderline sun junkie. I choose to walk on the sunny side of the street. Very few of my summer clothes have sleeves. I like to feel the sun on my skin. I woke up this morning with the intent that I would go to the park, read my magazines and sit in the sun. I had to even up the tan I got this weekend from walking around. The skin that lay under my straps betrayed me once I took off my clothes. And I'm beginning to believe I look better out of my clothes than in them. Maybe I just need a new wardrobe. I also had to get rid of the reverse raccoon eyes I got this weekend from my sunglasses.

From The Mouths Of Bums

On my way to soak up some sun this 80+ degree weekend (it's April, it ain't right, but I adapt), I took a short train ride to the Brooklyn Bridge. I wasn't on the train but 2 minutes before this older, slim, no-teeth-in-his-mouth Black man came through the car. He was talking out loud but kept looking back telling "someone" not to take his cigarettes. He proceeded to tell this person they could take his car, his wife, but not to fuck with his cigarettes. Ok, he was harmless enough. He eventually took a seat across from me and a few feet to my right. I really need to stop making eye contact with people, but I can't help it. He slid to the edge of his seat and started talking at/to/with(?) me (apparently my sunglasses aren't tinted enough). He edutained me with his lesson: Why commit murder illegally when you can go to Iraq or Afghanistan and commit it legally? "I'm 61 years old!" he told us, "I got four more years! Yeah, I gotta gripe, but I ain't gonna murder nobody in America. I went down to the VA and was like, 'send me to Iraq, Afghanistan, Korea...' I signed up for all that! I could go over there and kill somebody!"

Hmm...

Mommy Dearest

So often we hear of children growing up without their fathers, deadbeat dads and the dysfunction it can cause. What about children of single dads? What happens to the children who grow up without their mothers? 

I was watching Wrestlemania a few weeks ago. I clutched my pillow on my couch when I watched Jeff and Matt Hardy wrestle. As usual, Jeff climbed a ladder and jumped off. I remember thinking aloud that I couldn't be his mother, I'd have a heart attack. I later found out they were raised by their father. Could that be why he's so reckless (never mind he's a boy)? Quite possibly children who don't have that nurturing from a mother don't understand the effect and/or/of the consequences of their actions. I have to look into this. Or they don't have the worry of someone worrying about them. When my brother was in the hospital after a car accident, one of the first things he said was he was worried about what it was doing to our mother. Fathers care and worry about their children, but it's usually the mother who is "worried sick."

Some circumstances are out of our control and children end up being raised in single parent homes. I do feel that it is necessary for a child to have both masculine and feminine energies raising them; Grandma, Uncle etc. Mothers teach life lessons and encourage following your dreams with a level of security. There's always that shield of protection around their pickney. So it just makes me wonder about children growing up without a mother or maternal figure. Yeah, I have to look into this.

Smokey Rhythms

for a friend of old and of new

It may appear as though I've been gone a while. And in a way I have been, I've been everywhere and nowhere. As a creative soul, I take these trips every once in while. Sleep is important for survival and I'm a cranky bitch when I don't get my fair share. But lately, I've barely been getting any. I've literally been living off of music, yogurt and my pen and notebook. Here's what I birthed last night on one of my psychedelic sleepless nights in and out of my body.

Smokey Rhythms

Remember the New York when you could smoke in bars? I went out a lot back then. Took home memories of those nights on my leather jacket. I could smell the events of the evenings in my jacket weeks later. The cigars, cigarettes, weed or cologne from my partners. It wasn’t a New York full of flower children practicing commune love or the key party 70’s but love was freer back then. Prudes may use the word “reckless”. Either way, I did what I did. No regrets. Just the dip in my belly when I relive the moments with him.

Fluid Retention

Sprawled out on the bench, legs cocked up on the handrails and spread eagle, without sufficient underwear, a bunch of grapes barely covering the crotch, incoherent rambling. 

That was the sight on my subway ride home at about 1:30 in the morning. A drunk woman. There's nothing more unattractive. Yes, I'm going to display a double-standard. I don't like drunk men either and especially not drunk drivers(!), but you know what, for the walking drunk, I'm more accepting of men making fools of themselves. Belligerent drunk men can walk into oncoming traffic if they so choose. But for a woman to get to that point... Where is your couth? Your grace? I'm not anti-alcohol. I love me some vodka and tequila, Baileys, white wine, champagne etc. Having a few drinks with friends is great. I'm a social drinker. After my first sip, I become intoxicated - not only from the alcohol but from the company. People intoxicate me (some more than others...you know who you are) 

The one time I threw up due to drinking was very surprising and uncomfortable. In between heaves into the toilet, I pleaded, "Why is this happening to me?" I wasn't even drunk! I've been around women whose main objective when they go out is to get wasted and have that moment on the toilet! Why would you do that to yourself? Vomiting is so uncomfortable! And I'll never comprehend drinking so much that I have no memory of the night before. Drinking is a veil for many a lonely soul. What's so bad in your life that you're trying so hard to forget? Will the STDs or unplanned pregnancy be worth it? Do you get drunk because it'll help you open up and talk to people or enjoy the party more? Maybe you're just a shy person. Constantly getting drunk aint gonna help you. Then the feigned shame - oh my god, I can't believe I did that! Yeah, bitch, but you're gonna do it again next weekend. So shut up.

Tuesday

I love the word "Tuesday". I also love the day. Even though Monday is the "first" day of the week (work week not calendar week), I think Tuesday is the day for fresh starts and new beginnings. I like the word Tuesday so much, I named one of my characters Tuesday Akers. He first made an appearance in my screenplay, "Fly on the Wall". He was the older lover of my main character, Morgan Lewis. He seemed to be more in love with her than she was with him, yet they both had other lovers. He was rich and estranged from his wife. When I started writing my novel in 2004, Morgan and Tuesday were reunited in "Letters to my Former Self". 

I thought I'd share with you a bit of who Tuesday Akers is. Looking back, he's similar to Big from Sex in the City in a lot of ways, but more open with his feelings. Morgan would never be hurt by him the way Carrie was by Big  -  she has other men in her life who will hurt her feelings. 

Below is an excerpt from my novel - Chapter Nine - the first time we meet Tuesday Akers.

Mano A Mano

This weekend I watched the Winky Wright/Paul Williams bout after watching the documentary, Thrilla in Manila. Then I watched 300 which got me thinking about the epic battle scenes in Lord of the Rings. Movies, but more specifically, scenes like that really excite me. Just the hand-to-hand combat, the fearlessness, the honor, the men. I would love for a neuroscientist to study me. Hook up electrodes to my brain, play some violent images before me and monitor my brain activity. I've had a proclivity to violence; the old ECW, hardcore matches, the less-sanctioned UFC from the late 90's, shootfighting all that. I also understand "emotional violence", "honorable violence".

No Thanks For Smoking

My only bout of bronchitis occured about 4 years ago. I was in DC at a club. Smoking was allowed. 10 days, sleepless nights with painful, chest-heaving coughs and a dose of prescription medication later, I was better and able to return to work. I was reminded of that illness after hearing the report on what non-smokers are subjected to, the chemicals and crap found in our bodies and lungs from secondhand smoke. In New York City there are 3,000 cases a year of fatal lung cancer in non-smokers. Infants die of SIDS, rates of childhood asthma are much higher than in other cities and teens exposed to secondhand smoke are more likely to start smoking. Car exhausts, incinerators and "dust" from construction sites are enough for our nostrils to battle without having to deal with smokers who seem oblivious to everything around them. I have run into a few polite smokers. In March, at First Saturday at Brooklyn Museum, I waited outside for a friend. I hadn't even noticed the gentleman who took a seat a few feet away from me. But he asked me if I minded if he smoked. I told him I mind and he moved without incident. Folks like him are few and far between.

I don't care how much New York State taxes smokers. It's not like raising water rates or food prices. Cigarettes aren't a necessary expense. Smokers chose to start smoking knowing the possiblity of addiction. A young lady interviewed on the street for the news story said too bad for non-smokers cause people aren't going to stop smoking. She's right though. They've all but banished smokers to the edges of society and out into the cold. I sure don't miss coming in from a night out and my leather jacket smelling like smoke (even though that scent did trigger memories of him). This is the 2nd tax applied to cigarettes in less than a year and folks are still smoking. So then don't complain when you're taxed for it; you're inconveniencing others, taxing the health care system with cases of asthma, emphysema, COPD, heart disease, lung cancer that were otherwise avoidable. Bend over for the tobacco companies. I don't care. I'll watch. I like porn.

Office Romance Expat

Since January, I haven't been part of the world of "traditional" employment. Office politics, punching time clocks and useless meetings can go crawl up somebody's butt. But I couldn't help but wondering about all the juicy stuff I was missing out on. The sex, lies and videotapes (big brother is always watching). The office romance. Even if you don't get involved with someone you work with, many a person's love life revolves around work. You meet your significant other at work, after work, on your way to work etc. All the rush hour jostling on the subway allows you to get a feel and whiff of your partner, you chat and learn what their interests are, who they be with, things that make them smile, what numbers to dial....

I don't get to spend 8 hours a day in close proximity to potential mates or attractive men (or men who will appear attractive over time), no office parties to in which to embarrass myself (thankfully, I was never that girl). At my last job, I did have a work crush, but didn't act on it. I had the opportunity to counsel coworkers on their relationships and had male coworkers to practice my feminine wiles on. Without guaranteed interaction with other people will my social skills falter? Will I suddenly become awkward or inept around men I'm attracted to? Or am I destined to pairing up with a man who's a freelancer like myself? I can imagine how much fun it is to see your babe at work everyday. You sneak glances as you slink by each others' cubicle or send dirty IMs, wink and blow kisses during meetings. Or picture this scenario, the elevator doors are about to close when you hear a familiar voice call out, "Hold the elevator!" It's them! The third wheel gets off the elevator a few floors before the two of you, then you proceed to grope like octopuses and find out what the other had for breakfast. Or you cop feels at the coffee machine. Ah, office romance...

Half-Assed Ode To Technology

If you know me personally, you know how I feel about chat, IM's, text messages etc. It's fine to share small bits of information quickly but I believe if that is your primary or only means of communication, you're hiding from something, using that as a crutch. You tell yourself, oh I talked to her yesterday, or he said this to me... Really? Did you really talk? Did all those lol's when you didn't even crack a smile or were rolling your eyes get your point across? How many times have you had a "fight" over text cause someone mistook what you "said"?