it’s like those folks who say:
“i’m going to stop giving a shit about what other people think about me and just do me.
i would never say that because i knew better to begin with than to care what other people thought about me.
that’s why i do the things i do and live as free as i live.
i learned a long time ago not to worry about grown folks.
oh – and i fxcking love peaches and cream oatmeal.
i get my haircut in west hollywood and i’m always pleased with the cut – but when the barber finishes & tells me the price of the cut (as if i don’t already know) i want to suggest to him that he shave my balls, too. (because the price is high – nothing gay) but this last trip there, the breast-out old lady they have working there from time to time offered chocolate covered strawberries and rice krispy treats. (hmmm…)
last weekend i found myself in long beach for the long beach step show.
i went alone. woo!
but if you’ve been keeping up, you know i don’t mind alone. i know how to make friends, so i always have a great time.
besides, this time i planned on meeting up with bruhs, socializing, fraternizing and doing it big.
blah blah blah (in place of the real story)
i had a wack time – and would have had a much better time in walmart looking for white tees without pockets.
but i did catch up with my ace boon coon @toolegit2twit.
so we kicked back front row and waited for it to end.
my, how i miss the south.
see you folks next week.
this morning i took the train to an audition and rocked it.
no doubt – i did.
i feel really confident about the whole thing, but knowing the way hollywood works & my anti-hollywood theories – it may not be for the best.
but who knows.
OH!!! some of this blog may not make sense. the music in my ears (blasting through @sirandrewk’s headphones) is too loud and my focus is lacking.
the other day i invaded a booth at the bar.
not really invaded, but i felt like meeting new people, so i sat down at their booth and introduced myself.
between their random bumps of cocaine and the liquor spills, we became fast friends.
and look at that, while writing that, the girl beside me struck up a conversation.
we probably won’t be friends, but sometimes it’s good to remind yourself that other people do live here, too.
i received a call from a friend a few days ago who just wanted to tell me thank you for the time and patience i invested in helping him get back in shape. and that really made me feel good. then i told him to call oprah and see if that was enough to get us on the show.
see, folks, i’m not always an asshole.
i don’t know if i ever told you folks this – but most of my great thoughts hit me while i’m in the shower.
so i was sitting there thinking about all the relationships i saved, killed, participated in over the past few years and how the folks i helped and even myself (back then) fell into a routine with each relationship…
so i offer this little tidbit of advice:
if you always do what you’ve always done – you’ll always get what you’ve always got.
also – on relationships:
when you get to the point where you don’t wanna bring up issues you feel are developing in your relationship because the other person is too sensitive or they seem to have something negative to say (verbally or lack thereof) about EVERYTHING you bring up – it may be time to get out.
side note & fact: african americans spend 4 billion dollars a yeah. that’s $4,000,000,000 (right?!). NONE OF IT GOES TO THE COMMUNITY. where is the disconnect. everytime i ride through beverly hills, down fairfax, down melrose, etc… i’m jealous of the jewish folks who give back every chance they get and now RUN hollywood.
what the fxck is going on, idiots?
dear black greek-lettered organization members,
here’s a little entertainment:
but i fxcking love my chapter: GOODFELLA GAMMA THETA CHAPTER of KAPPA ALPHA PSI
To The So-Called Americanized African (In that order),
First amongst equals,
this is my umpteenth attempt at trying to reach you, and it may very well be my last due to my
premonitions that you may not want to be reached.
For the past six years I have been playing what seems to be one of the most intense games of hide-and-seek, but not with anyone you’d know, at least not personally; nor physically. I’ve found myself running down unpaved alleyways and weaving through dimly-lit city blocks looking for Truth. And each attempt to reach you was to inform you that I have not yet found him, so unless he’s at your house, he is still missing.
Sitting over a plate of refried black beans, two soft fried eggs lightly peppered and enough plantains to fulfill a monthly yearning, I found myself deeply involved in a conversation, probably much like that of Malcolm and Martin’s, if in fact that meeting actually took place. My comrade and I, she being more like Martin in times of war, discussed Dubois’ thoughts and Baraka’s interpretations on the Sisyphus Complex and came up with this:
When Death came for the kidnapped Africans with its long, white reach, they chose to live, like Sisyphus. Going against fate, they were sentenced to a hill. At the bottom of this hill, a perfectly round boulder would be placed for the purpose of being pushed up the hill. When the top of the hill was reached, the boulder, each time without fail, would roll to the bottom, which is where they’d have to begin again.
This hill does not exist, at least not physically, my friend, nor does this boulder, but in your mind, and at that place you go every morning cursing through the leftover dew and darkness and from which you return cursing in sunshine most days, rain the others, this hill and boulder does exist and you, dear So-Called Americanized African are Sisyphus. Please, friend, do not misunderstand my claims and offer yourself to death once more as a solution, offer yourself to life. There is much more to living than that boulder.
I found myself in your home not too long ago. You weren’t there. Next to the Bible you keep on your kitchen table next to the empty cake container there was a note that read OUT TO LUNCH, so I made myself comfortable hoping you’d return soon.
The right-winged man that has been taking you out to lunch for the past few decades has been spoon feeding you chicken flavored inaccuracies and new traditions, and I came by to tell you to stop accepting his invitations, but you were already gone. Also, I came by because I discovered something new, and I thought I’d share it with you. I’ve finally perfected my frog killing technique and upon completion, I found what looks to be awfully familiar:
1. Take a frog…any frog.
2. Put that frog in a pot of lukewarm water. Cold water may shock him. Hot water may scald him.
3. Put the pot with the frog on the stovetop on low heat.
4. At this point, just watch the frog as he sits comfortably in this warm water. Watch him notice that everything around him is the same, but whatever it is he’s sitting on is changing…but just a little. He’s not yet sure if things are getting bad.
5. Turn the heat up a little more, but not too much. He’s getting a bit more nervous, but not too nervous because he’s still there. Everything around him is the same, so he may assume he’s the same.
6. Turn the heat on high. Watch that frog boil and die. Everything around him is the same, though.
Now doesn’t that sound familiar to you?
Soon I may find myself ducking behind old wooden doors and odd cars in Copenhagen if I find my cause within you to be unjust. I here Truth is there, somewhere cruising the red light districts and libraries. I’ll be waiting on you, dear friend.
When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.
and after all my logic and theory – i add a ‘motherfucker’ so the ignorant niggas hear me. (and by ‘niggas’, i speak of all mankind)