It's Like the Military Without Honor
I ate nothing but oreos today. That and Arnold Palmers. To people not in porn or addicted to sugar, that's half tea and half lemonade. In the right proportion, its addicting.Somehow I only discovered this in my twenty-fifth year on the earth. Wow. There's this frooty company called Nantucket Nectars that bottles it. I used to love walking the streets of new york, hating (Carrie, Samantha and Miranda (not Charlotte..she's my moon goddess) and trying to find a bodega (that's city talk for Circle K) that had sold NN AP.(its kosher too)..I seriously believe that tubby guys on velour sweatsuits control what drinks are carrried where. Did/do you notice that in your town? Someplaces are strictly pepsi with lots of grey market energy drinks OR they are straight up Coke zones, with a rainbow of gatorades and a thrift water selection. Yeah. Enough about Arnold Palmers.
Flashback to 5 am. Me in my livingroom. I was flipping around the tv (I have every channel, not bragging-I just hate to feel like I am missing something- I cannot tell you how many times I 'd have only HBO to see some other lost Chuck Norris Film on Cinemax 7..so I cured it. I can write it off too.) Um where was I ? I was waiting for "Notting Hill" to come on and saw that video for Matisyahu, the Jewish rapper/jam band guy. Very interesting. His lyrics remind me of a bad brains record if they had killed Christ. I like the song, its refrain, "youth are an engine (i think) is very clever. Its true too. But what about this video caught my hatrack? I dunno. Maybe its that badass beard and those earlocks. How dope is that statement? No real point here. He is not supposed to touch women that he is not related to or married to. That must make for a fun backstage/meet and greet. I bet his band are clocking so much unrequited shiksa tail they can barely make it to the next gig.
As I said, I just saw the video and there is definitely something subversive to it, i like that. I mean, he's not rapping wanting to check out your undercarriage or how he gets strippers to strip for free but you can't win them all. Oh, Did I mention that I called the cable company to see if I could block ALL SPORTS from coming into my home or trade for more cooking/home/Steven Segal channels?) Yeah. I lost interest in sports when they really started to keep score-so I guess sometime around kickball or maybe square dancing (in the carolinas-even though the dinosaurs came to kill the homosexuals (per some of my books)-we had a "movement" class that always made me snicker. We basically listened to the same damn record by some third rate Uncle Jesssie over and over again for a semester, just to enjoy that odd brush against a girl who smelled like poprocks or holding the soft, sticky hand of a girl that you couldn't trade enough Smurfs to get her to talk to you.Oh man. Every recess that I wasn't trying to get drunk, I was holding hands, yes, holding hands, with Jennifer Jeanes. I cannot even spell her name without smiling. She was my first kiss. She had the chubbiest cheeks. Jennifer, if you are true TV geek, looked exactly like the little girl in the SECOND Oh! God movie with George Burns. Her mom was an art teacher at middle school and I was so impressed that her dad had clean hands when he came home from work. Her mom was one of the first "reasonably together adults" that i ever met, not cause she was hot, but because she drove and never had any black eyes. I thought she was royalty. This woman knew how to make papier mache (forgive the spelling) and she apologized for saying the word "hell." It broke my heart to run away from home and leave Jennifer in that small town. But I had to (another story) I never saw her again after that. We did write 3 letters back and forth each. Hers were on Snoopy paper. Mine were on torn up grocery bags (I read that some of my fave artists did that, so I mimicked it)...I think I still have hers somewhere. But where was I ? Oh, If you know my job, then imagine how excited I was to go to the town she lived in and invited her out to "see me work" so to speak. Her husband got on the phone and told me to never call again. I was bummed, but what could I do. (Her mom put me up to it. I just wanted to show Jennifer that no, I wasn't a drunk living in a box car and that I eventually learned how to dress myself)
The Da Vinci code. That's what I am calling my hair. That's what Taylor called it the other day. Its long and resembles a plae of bacon. Nothing is nudging me to cut it or make an attempt to groom it other than washing it and let's face it, most guys only shower cause its an excuse to fondle yourself...
A note about me. I just scanned up the page and the letters "I", MY", and "ME" are all over. Is that what this blogging is supposed to be about. Is it ego over emo? Self versus all else? Yeah, I am sorry that for every slice of blog I get all Holden Caulfield about the act of blogging, I just haven't figured it out. I mean, what is the reason? Its fun to write, I like to write but is it therapy or me me me? I like to tell stories, I guess I always have. Out loud, via voice, I tend to forget stuff or lose ferocity but on a page in cyberspace, I can cultivate a phrase, pruning the words or just let them drip out of my hands. Stop.
As I said, I have been single for a while. Its not a real loss for women, I mean they won't want for my paltry feelings for sure. Why does this blog feel like a Dashboard Confessional song with a few dirty jokes here and there? Where was I? Um, I was on the plane yesternight, coming home from work, and there were these two men, well I guess. I mean they were like an Alabama advertisement for George Bush AND rohypnol all rolled into overtanned skin and pleated Docker™ shorts. They even were sporting the flair of fratboys all over-Oakley razorblade shades--And not in an ironic way that Beck wears an R2D2 underoo shirt.
Anyhow, enough fashionista persecution, I was sitting on the left side (in first class, because I have more miles on me than a one legged hooker on desert island) and they were across the plane on the right (stage right, in rock terms). So these guys who talked so loud that my snoring was drowned out, were hitting on this middle aged woman (a cougar, in Pensacola-speak) and she was lapping it up. She was throwing back her thick dyed blonde hair and her Mr. T-thick gold chains (I swear I saw a Burt Reynolds charm on one of her necklaces) jingled and jostled. Her laugh even joined their volume too. But these guys weren't just getting all Ron Burgundy, they were using PUNS! And for the life of me I cannot recall anything in particular, just trust me, it was puns and more words for boobs than i have ever heard.. These plebes even were drinking their own duty-free booze oout of the bottle. I guess my story has lost its edge. Let me retell...these guys yell-talked the whole flight. It wasn't good talk, it was stuff like "hey have you ever joined the mile high club?" and I kid you not "Can you show us where milk comes from?" (that one made me nearly jump up and curse former President of the Confederartion Jefferson Davis, just to enrage these limp Arnold Palmer School of Sexism..>Now wait , don't get me wrong, I like to attempt (and fail) to flirt and keep it light, but these guys. I cannot articulate. It was amazing. I even asked the stewardess to ask them to shut the hell up.
I just got back from work. It was a 5 day trip but should have been straight thru to the end of june. Basic math: six thousand miles, nine hours of sleep, five airports, three hotels (saw that guy from Fame at one of them, Slash at another), two Jamba juices, one beck show,one ridiculous rental car, three near misses with said rental car, one messy donut, one insane dinner with forty people (some from a band called Queen) and lastly one left behind suitcase cause an actress wouldn't use the potty elsewhere (long story)
If you are lucky/bored enough to check out this blog, then you probably know what I do for a living. I mean, I get paid large sums of money to date older men.
No, I don't . I got in a few hours ago and cannot sleep.
Right now I am at a steak and shake watching a woman named Melonee mop the floor. She is talking on one of those blue tooth tumors that people put in their ears (makes them look like they work on the Death Star). She is talking to someone on the other end of the phone. I cannot really make out what she is saying. A couple of choice phrases are : "I am fixin" and "git that baby quiet" and "Gonna git me some.." It is too, as loud as my friends from flight 101.
I sit there for a few minutes, stabbing some eggs.
I think about Proof. I really miss that guy. We were friends. He was my ambassador of hiphop. And I was his ambassador of white people. We always joked about that. about not hanging out with folks of other races. He was a light. A true signor, as the italians would say. I was going to visit him in Michigan and pay my last respects, but I can't do it. I didn't want to see the circus that i knew his funeral was. I didn't want to see him fallen and expired. Call it escapism. I prefer to think that he is just out on the road and in the studio for a long time and our schedules cannot mesh (the usual M.O.) Everytime him and Bruce would go out on tour, I would respectfully be invited and have to decline. The feeling of being invited to such a closed set of folks, so regarded by so many and so human to so few, is a true tast of honor; at least to me. The last time we saw each other was at some awards show. It was the inevitable hugs and jokes, usual questions (are you being looked after? how are your seeds? what are your next 4 moves? -those mine to him) & (when you gonna come back? why can't you hang out with us black folks? Can I send you my latest beats/ryhmes?-him to me) We'd change numbers (mine the same for years, his constantly changing due to "drama" and forgetfulness (I cannot tell you how many phones were lost in my brief tenure)...We'd leave each other the funny, late night message sporadically spread throughout the seasons. On the odd occasion I would hit his town, I knew he would roll in with 8 to 10 guys. He would always introduce me as the "only many to make him cry" and I would get embarassed but extend the maximum hospitality our facility (and whomever I was working for ) would allow. (The "make him cry" story I am going to hold onto, to maybe one day sit with his children and tell them about their dad from my eyes, the guy that I knew. I will tell them that story and a few others for sure, time allowing) Hmm. Where was I ? I dunnot. Its these near light/late dark hours that i think about Proof and others people that have passed through me/me through them.
let me say this about this blog thing. I really adore that some of my friends read this and I do appreciate the comments. I just cannot bring myself to comment back or address this. I like to just put these words, or whatever words find the end of my hands onto this "page" and leave them-as is where is..so if you think i am ignoring something you write or say, i am not. Not to get too sanctimonious and precious. I think this blog is better not spoken about- at least not outloud.
Fleeing.
So I have been single for a while now. A new size of shirt for me; something new to try on. Imagine getting one of those sweaters from a granny with felt reindeers on it at christmas..that is how it seems at first. Its clunky, weird and ill-fitting. Fast forward to month 8 and those nights blur together. I get back from work, no one that I MUST call/write/text/email/IM. Its just me and those hems of silence. The silences are welcome, especially at 3 am. It like digging in a toybox and finding that long lost yoda or lego piece you were looking for. Some friend of mine swears when I tell him I like being single that I am lying. Its been almost 17 years of serial, not cereal, monogamy...
Right now I am sitting on my couch. I just ate too many doughnuts. I feel like a cop. When I am not on tour I eat less but when I do it tends to be like a walmart truck driver. The town I live in has a name that translated from its indian roots means "fried to death and covered in cheese."
I love good vegetarian food. I mean, there are places I know that make the most insane fake meat dishes ever. Heck, there's this place in LA that makes a vegan tv dinner that would satisfy even the fattest redneck appetite. I don't really understand this present tangent but I think it has something to do with the fact that I spent an hour looking at tv dinners at the store last night and achieved no good resolution.
Did you ever notice how those BLADE movies make techno almost sound legitimate? I was watching one of them and , ,wait, why do they all use Prodigy songs? But anyhow, soemtimes the music, and I am out on a long limb here, sounds good. Don't get me wrong, I mostly like trustfunders with loud guitars but vampires, jessica biel in a half shirt, swords and techno make a nice gumbo sometimes.
Grew up in a trailer, double wide trailer, closets, garages and even more trailers. This house, the one I am in now, is my first place with a second floor. When she is not around, I can't climb the stairs. Walking by her room, I hear sadness in my head. I look at her toys, the pink explosion, the orgy of cinderella, the care bear commune and it saddens me. Some days I don't go upstairs. Sometimes its 3 or 4 days.i know its silly. It just makes my heart sigh. I miss her.
I watched the movie "Surviving Picasso " the other day. Its a good movie if you like to peek at artists and their private lives. Its like that movie "pollock." Shows the turmoil and struggle of these people and those around them. The picasso movie is only on vhs in the US. You should be able to find it in any video store. It shows how picasso had these wives/mistresses and they never really left or disappeared, they just floated like planets in unsettled orbit around him.
I have to go back to work tomorrow. 3000 miles to clock in. excited to get the muscle back in shape.its been the slowest time of my career. I actually have felt like a citizen for once since the late '80s. It will be nice to get back in the saddle. Nuff.
