This Bug's Life

Thankful Pt. 2

2011-11-25T01:31:00.008-05:00

So here's the thing. I didn't think I'd write through this medium again for a long, long time. But that's the thing about writing. You don't move it; it moves you. In the past few months the trials and tribulations enveloped me like quicksand. But suddenly I can breathe. It occurred to me today that one revolution around the sun changed more than the seasons. It changed my perspectives, my outlooks, my outcomes. It changed me. As it very well should. This same time last year I was grateful to be alive. I came within what I resolutely believe was within inches of my demise. I was wild with fury and prepared to fight for my life. But it went the other way. I lived.

I've never been a religious person. Spiritual yes, but far from pious. My moral compass has hardly ever pointed due north- but it has steered me where I was meant to be. It's what I call faith. I've experienced enough loss to know love. I am wise because I've been foolish. I'm compassionate because I've known suffering. At my most honest hour, when I question the landslide like Stevie did, I can say that I've handled the seasons of my life to the best of my ability. I'm a work in progress and I will make no apologies for who I've become along the way. It sounds cocky but truly- it's me at my most humble and imperfect.

Kanye had the right idea. In a sense, we all live by our own scripture borrowed from others. We apply what we need to our own existence. I've never fully known what to hurl and what to hold, so I keep it all to survive. Experience. Memory. Intuition. Compassion. Instincts. These are what I hold close. It's why a term like 'No Church In the Wild' resonates with me. Because every thing can flip in a New York minute no matter how unfathomable; and your mind is decidedly your own personal Heaven or Hell. In one revolution around the sun I've learned to be equipped. And to be thankful.

Overdue Conversation

2011-09-09T15:00:00.005-04:00

Lately, the entries have been sparse. The ideas have been cluttered. I know when it's time to bow out. I know there is reason for the departure of my creativity. It's time to get back to center, redirect and refocus. Rather than fill this blog with useless drivel- I'm making the decision to close up shop. The next thing anyone will read by Jayne Neverow will be my book; a dutiful collection of my firsthand experiences in laughing, loving and living. I know I have an incredible story to tell in its entirety. It's time.

And so it goes; one journey ends and another begins. Every step of it has been authentic and fulfilling. I appreciate you all for taking a walk with me through This Bug's Life. With all that I am- I thank you. The faithful Bug readers, the passers-by, the quiet watchers and the vocal commentators. You have all made it worthwhile. Feel free to re-live the misadventures and musings through past entries. Stay tuned for Conversations with a Ladybug. Farewell thee well.

On a bright night

2011-08-02T21:37:00.011-04:00

"You'll always know the reason why we could have had the moon and the sky."~S. Adu

Streisand once sang that on a clear day you can see forever. But on a clear night- I've seen never. All the things that could never be; just by looking up at the bright night sky. It's a terrifying gift. A blissful tragedy. A beautiful cruelty. And it never ends how it starts. Blooming dreams vanishing to stark nothingness. But it was more than that. It's always more than that. More than two spread legs. More than a handful of troubling backward glances or plates of lovingly prepared food gone cold. It's the ocean in your bedroom. It's the rainbow in your jail cell. The realization that everything good and right and happy will hurt like hell once it ceases to exist. Because none of it is yours to keep; not when it was never yours to begin with. Frida Kahlo knew it. I know it now. We all know it when the moment of truth arrives. But somehow that doesn't make it any easier, does it?

The Listy List

2011-07-29T19:50:00.026-04:00

It's that time again. You know what time. When I fill you in on all the random and ridiculous things that occupy my life and times. The odds, ends and off the wall stuff that comprises This Bug's Life. Without further ado... The Listy List.

Hot Like Cajun

So the mercury climbed big time in NY a few weeks ago for two long days. It was hotter than the devil's balls out here; hitting record-breaking temps of up to 110 degrees. Now picture that with no AC. That's right. I have no air conditioning at my place by choice. I always got through summer with a spritz bottle and a high powered fan. But this heat was life changing. I had an epiphany- or I might have just been delirious from the heat, I dunno. I got through it with popsicles, multiple showers and more creative uses for ice cubes than Do the Right Thing. Oh, the pool helped too til I almost drowned. More on that later.

Let Me Out

I've had some time to ponder it and without the aid of a very expensive therapist I realize I have some serious trust issues stemming from my childhood. You see, my two older sisters thought it would be fun to zip a six year old into a suitcase. (Honestly, I thought so too.) They just didn't bank on my hair getting caught for two agonizing minutes. When they finally got me out they convinced me that our trip to Disneyworld the very next day would be nixed if I told my parents what happened. Those lying bitches...

Got ta Got ta , Na Na Na!

Okay, I really don't see what everyone is so open about when it comes to the new Kanye West and Jay Z song, Otis. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying it's wack. I actually like the energy they both came with but the sample for Try A Little Tenderness is damn near the whole song. C'mon already! I like hip-hop samples to be a bit of a brainteaser. You sort of recognize it but not quite until you look into it. Now that's a song. Call me overly critical but production-wise they should have tried a little cleverness.

Sugary Coco Goodness

This Bug is officially addicted to Coconut M&M's. I know I'm late but I don't care. I'm about to cop a lifetime supply and stash them in the freezer because I know that 'limited edition' means they're testing it out on folks and it may never see the light of day again if the sales disappoint. I usually hate all coconut related chocolate. Mounds and Almond Joy sounds more like a movie I'd like to watch when no one else is around. But those little brown, white and green beads are what I believe little girls are really made of. Sugar and spice can't hold a candle to them. It's Yumma!

Dip, Dip Dive..

Let me start by telling you all that I know how to swim. Got that? I can swim. So no one was more surprised than me when I took a dive off the board and didn't have enough air to get to the surface. I went from assenting to struggling in seconds flat. Then I panicked. From underwater I heard the whistle blow and before I knew it- a really hot lifeguard came to my rescue. Really. Hot. I came up dripping wet, gasping for air, my string bikini top heaving between breaths... He held me up from behind against the corner of the pool until he was sure I was okay. Rumor has it that I did all of this on purpose just to get felt up by the Adonis statue with a pulse...but really I still don't know what happened down in that deep water. Truth is- I was scared shitless.

Fiyah Burn, Ya Betta Learn

A word to the wise: Smartphones are stupid. For all the fantastic apps and convenience they supposedly provide- it hardly seems worth it when my overly sensitive touchscreen calls people at ridiculous times of the night, shuts off all of my networks whenever it feels like it and uploads pictures to social networking sites that are not fit for anyone's eyes. Try not to harp on that. Just know that my phone is appropriately named the Torch because there's some hot stuff in there and sometimes...that's exactly what I'd like to do to it with some lighter fluid.

F.O.H!

Speaking of social networking-I almost never entertain ignorance online but a friend of a friend (and I use that term ever so loosely) made me pull out the big guns last week. Foolishly drawing comparisons between someone reacting on instinct and a group of adults publicly abusing a child was worthy of my wrath. I'll spare you the details but I will say that I verbally kicked her soapbox right out from under her. I didn't want to do it but she was so blissfully ignorant that I was forced to make her miserably knowledgeable about what's right, wrong, racist, funny and not fucking funny at all.

Shoephoria

I don't know if it was the sexy strappy leather, the jewel and pearl embellishments or what- but when I saw them, I had to have them. They're ethereal- if one can even describe a pair of shoes in that manner. It's kinda like what a mermaid would wear on her feet. If she had feet. Either way, this mermaid has them now. I know what you're thinking. Mermaid, Schmermaid. But did I mention that I really can swim?

Subtle, My Ass...

I wish I could tell you that this ad isn't from a real catalog that came to someone at my place of business. I wish I could tell you there is no such thing as adhesive patches to stick in your panties so you don't clear the room out after having Cheddar Broccoli soup for lunch. I wish they didn't seriously charge $19 dollars for a trademarked product they had the nerve to name SUBTLE BUTT. I wish the tiniest part of me didn't wonder for a split second what that patch must smell like at the end of the day once peeled from its right place. I wish these wouldn't make a great stocking stuffer for some people I know. I wish...

And now, a peek into This Bug's twisted sense of humor. Enjoy or be offended. Either way, blueberries are the bestest!

Peace Out, Cub Scouts!

We Only Said Goodbye with Words

2011-07-26T02:15:00.005-04:00

Amy Jade Winehouse

Sunrise: September 14, 1983 Sunset: July 23, 2011

There's something to be said about knowing that a tragic end is coming. It's one of those inevitable things that you don't want to be right about. Amy Winehouse is gone. Was I surprised? Not entirely. Was I hit in the heart by the news? Absolutely. Because knowing someone will go eventually doesn't make it hurt any less. Because Amy's Back to Black album nursed me through one of the most difficult times of my adulthood. Because for all the naysayers and mudslinging she remained to me, an unpolished diamond worth a hundred times more than the rhinestone pop stars who dotted the charts. Ms. Winehouse wrote and sang from a broken place that longed for healing. She was pissed. She was tired. She was indignant. She was vulnerable. She was me- sans the battles with alcohol and substance abuse. But to say I haven't come close to the edge and heard ominous pebbles kicked down a scary cliff before I caught myself would be untrue. I identified with that in her. That- and not wanting to fuck myself in the head with stupid men. She was honest and unabashed in her music. Her flaws made her priceless but sadly, a prime entrée for the media feeding frenzy. I'll miss her big beehive hairdo. The tough girl tattoos. The wantonly applied eye make-up that made her face like hard candy- bad for you, but still so sweet. Mostly, I'll miss knowing her haunting voice which sang my own truth when words eluded me is still among us. She's gone but her music is here to stay. It stayed with me and will for all time. I can only hope she has in death what seemed unattainable for her in life; some peace from all inward and outward demons. As my brother-from-another put it, "She was family to my family." So the loss is felt that much more. Just for her I'll pour a neat shot of Vodka into a chilled glass and go back to black, if only for a moment.

Rest in Paradise, Ms. Winehouse.

An Instinctive Travel to the Movie Theatre

2011-07-13T02:40:00.022-04:00

"Before Quest, did you really know what live was?"

Every now and then- you're blessed with a film that's more than a film. It's an experience. It draws you in, takes you to familiar places and then takes you somewhere you have never been before. It answers questions and it raises some. That's what Beats, Rhymes & Life does. Michael Rapaport's documentary on A Tribe Called Quest feels like equal parts homage and exposé. From the start, I was instantly reminded about what I have always loved about ATCQ. It's all in the music. Rapaport doesn't introduce you to these Queens natives in the customary way. The vibe allows them to introduce themselves. And if you've been a lifelong fan such as myself- it's akin to meeting up with close cousins for the first time in years. A reminder of your youth and what made you who you are. It's an overwhelming love for family. Q-Tip. Phife Dawg. Ali Shaheed Muhammad. Jarobi. Or as the mechanical yet lucid tour guide of Midnight Marauders so eloquently spoke it; A. E. I. O. U and sometimes...Y. Viewing this film, you'll learn just how essential that elusive Y has always been, too. One of the many revelations of this gem.

No two ways about it, their catalog is stellar. Save for the final album where it was obvious to me upon first hearing it that the chemistry between Tribe was dwindling- everything they put out prior to that is unforgettable. When Tip shows how he came up with the beat for Can I Kick It- you can literally feel it move through you. Rapaport blends archival footage with real-time sound and trust me, it never disappoints. It documents the formulation of Tribe with an even hand for the most part. Twenty plus years of soul stirring beats and conscious rhymes through a life (and sometimes wardrobe) less ordinary. Very few talents have ever been so misunderstood while being fully embraced simultaneously. For posterity and the sake of nostalgia there are times when the music simply speaks for itself; making it impossible to forget how important the Native Tongues were and still are to Hip Hop collectively.

And then there are other times. Times that are particularly difficult to watch but are engaging nonetheless. Phife's grueling health issues and its effect on the group as a whole is just one of those moments. Q-Tip's reasoning behind engulfing himself in music- never to look back. Jarobi's unconditional love; and the discomfort you can feel watching Ali Shaheed's stoic neutrality while his brothers-from-another feud are all heartfelt. To say that any one of them are painted in an unfair light is up to you, the viewer. There are no identifiable villains in this one. Only reluctant, if not unintentional heroes of a movement unbeknownst to even them at the time. To date, only Phife has publicly endorsed the film while the remaining three withdrew from the premiere and all press junkets in support of it. One source stated that Rapaport originally wanted to title the movie Beats, Rhymes & Fights- an overt reference to the crew's upheaval before their eventual split. Whether that was an aim to sensationalize their differences for box office numbers or just his personal assessment after two years of being up close and personal- we'll never know.

What you will know is this: Native Tongues got rhymes galore. There are firsthand accounts of how vital this group is from many of their contemporaries. They are celebrated so widely because there's nothing but pure love for Tribe at the core. One of the most memorable scenes of Beats, Rhymes & Life is Questlove's spot on description of Phife's opening line to Buggin' Out. This is not a movie review. Make no mistake. It's not no Parkay, not no margarine...Yeah, I'm in the zone. But truthfully, I am not recommending that you see this documentary. I will only say that it is required viewing for anyone who knows where Tip left his wallet or what kind of furniture Phife can provide if allowed. Those who know that babies babble on when looking for excuses. For the heads who still know Bonita's measurements to this day- this one's for you.

Take A Bow

2011-07-07T08:36:00.005-04:00

Take a bow, the night is over
This masquerade is getting older
Light are low, the curtains down
There's no one here
(There's no one here, there's no one in the crowd)
Say your lines but do you feel them
Do you mean what you say when there's no one around (no one around)
Watching you, watching me, one lonely star
(One lonely star you don't know who you are)

I've always been in love with you (always with you)
I guess you've always known it's true (you know it's true)
You took my love for granted, why oh why
The show is over, say good-bye

Say good-bye (bye bye), say good-bye

Make them laugh, it comes so easy
When you get to the part
Where you're breaking my heart (breaking my heart)
Hide behind your smile, all the world loves a clown
(Just make 'em smile the whole world loves a clown)
Wish you well, I cannot stay
You deserve an award for the role that you played (role that you played)
No more masquerade, you're one lonely star
(One lonely star and you don't know who you are)

Say good-bye (bye bye), say good-bye

All the world is a stage (world is a stage)
And everyone has their part (has their part)
But how was I to know which way the story'd go
How was I to know you'd break
(You'd break, you'd break, you'd break)
You'd break my heart

I've always been in love with you
(I've always been in love with you)
Guess you've always known
You took my love for granted, why oh why
The show is over, say good-bye

Say good-bye (bye bye), say good-bye
Say good-bye

Cookies or Comas

2011-07-06T02:02:00.005-04:00

Jean Grae. Cookies or Comas. The mixtape. I will not steer you wrong. To say this girl has lyrics for days would be borderline disrespectful. The punchlines. The metaphors. The all-encompassing rhyme spitting phenom that is pure..Jeanius. I just had a listen at datpiff.com and I'm ready for more. I fux wit Jean. When she's not dropping the most random thoughts from the mind in 140 characters or less- she's dropping jewels on her blog. This latest mixtape is a testament to her talents, witticism and way-the-fuck-out-thereness. Her reflective answer to Kanye's Blame Game was a sweet surprise. And if you need smelling salts to revive you after listening to Killing 'Em featuring Pharoahe Monch- don't feel bad. I damn near passed out when it hit me in the eardrum; for the MC Lyte sample alone. Wow. I didn't even peep 'til just now how those two admissions allude to the very title of her mixtape, but I'm telling you the truth, People. And the last track? Ho Lee Shit. Download it now. Thank me later. This is Jayne Neverow and I endorse this message. Peace.

"a super jerk, call me Clark Kent at sperm bank, with girl mags,
I'd be like SPIT if I burned tags,
I burn flags, burn, man, not books or bras, Fam.
Swing bars, multiple partners, Tarzan,
marzipan, that's it no reference, no depth shit,
Breathe and let the bars stand." ~Track 1. Casebasket

True Monuments Don't Fall

2011-07-03T03:30:00.007-04:00

When I first viewed the above video some months back, my first thought was immediately this: They couldn't have chosen a better name for this collaboration. Monumental was poised to be a much anticipated blend of talents. Smif-N-Wessun plus Pete Rock equals pure unadulterated sensory overload at its finest- in my humble opinion. Something to be celebrated and lauded in these dystopian Hip-Hop times. What passes for dope these days mostly inclines me to shake my head in disgust. But this was a breath of fresh air I couldn't wait to inhale. So much so, that I had no idea I would be shaking my head in disgust where this collaboration was concerned. But not in the way you would imagine.

On June 28, producer Pete Rock and partners in rhyme, Smif-N-Wessun gave a show that served as their album release party at NYC's Tammany Hall. According to a press release later given by the trio, the venue got packed quickly and other supportive fans were turned away at door. A minor tiff between would-be attendees and security arose but was settled without incident. Approximately half hour later- New York's Finest showed up, rushed into the venue and began dragging some patrons out and macing them. This spilled out into the street where all hell proceeded to break loose. The footage below captures only in part the melee that ensued. Billy club swinging, choking, roughing up of women and at least four officers on one man at once.

Contrary to previous reports, no one who performed was hurt that night but several people were in fact assaulted at the hands of NYPD. I watched the above and other videos from that night with such incredulity until it hit me that this is in fact New York and therefore this is nothing new. I could have easily been at this event. Any one of my peoples for that matter could have been. Any one of us could have suffered a similar fate. Shit, that IS us. Period. I take issue with any abuse of authority. Be it Parent vs. Child, Teacher vs. Student and especially Police vs. Civilian. Never has the adage 'Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely' been more true. Only punks find strength solely in numbers. They took every opportunity to taint what I believe would have been an otherwise peaceable gathering and turned it into pandemonium. When all is said and done, Hip-Hop is left holding the bag. Further bolstering accusations that those belonging to this culture are violent by nature and cannot come together long enough to keep the peace. But I know the truth.

I personally know a few people who will say that the cops were in fact provoked and justified in their barbaric actions. That all of this could have been avoided had the crowd simply dispersed, but all that does is excuse the injustice of what unfolded that night. I refuse to believe that with all the rigorous training that is required of law enforcement; that they still cannot come up with a more effective method of diffusing a crowd without resorting to swinging wildly at it with their issued weapons. They boldly abuse their authority under the guise of protecting and serving. After viewing the footage- it's clear to me who they served and the people's protection seemed to take a backseat to unleashing their own wrath. Being recorded by numerous onlookers did nothing to discourage their assault. I was incensed by the sounds and images of what took place that night. But moreover, I was hurt.

I'm hurt because if one is familiar with the vibe, you know that Pete Rock and recently even Smif-N-Wessun are far removed from anything that would incite this type of violence. Though I doubt those who purported this nonsense can even name a song by any one of them. I'm hurt because what was supposed to be a monumental event was toppled by corruption and ignorance. Because evil never seems to take a holiday once NYPD officers suit up for work. Quite simply, because my people were hurt; for showing up and showing love to three artists they deemed worthy. Now where, pray tell, is the justification in that?

This Day is Mine

2011-06-27T08:50:00.007-04:00

It's been a while. Trials, tribulations and a virus-ridden computer kept me away for a spell- but not for long. When I finally had a chance to be in my element again, I was at a loss as to what to write. The words escaped me. But now I'm found. Today marks the anniversary of my birth. I've been blessed to see another year of life, love and laughter. This time around, I'm filled with purpose in more ways than one. Had I known then what I know now, I wouldn't change a stitch of it. I'm here. I'm grateful. I am. Alive.

Much Ado About Nothing

2011-05-21T19:26:00.013-04:00

It's an hour and a half since the world was supposed to end. But lo and behold- here I am typing this. No worse for wear. Birds are chirping outside my window. I can hear the whir of my temperamental computer and someone is practicing piano in the apartment across from mine. It rained a bit and then the sun shone again. The sky didn't fall. The world as it turns out- has not ended. The world as we know it, anyway. Today is decidedly not Judgment Day. I wasn't worried. It's not the first time some crackpot claimed to know the exact date and time of the "rapture". And even if there was some merit to it, things are good with me and my Creator.

For those who were anxious or disturbed by this pseudo impending doom; now would be a good time to take a long, hard look at your life and how you live it. Make a change. Purport a deliberate difference. It doesn't have to be some ground-shattering spiritual awakening. Start small. Smile more. Curse less. Be kind. Make a list of endeavors and check it off as you accomplish them. Try a new cuisine. Write a book. Hold a baby. Take a trip. Take a class. Teach a class. Call your Mom. Build something. Whatever it may be- do it with the intentions of bringing yourself closer to what is right for you and your soul. The rest will fall into place because the universe wastes nothing. I try to always prep for rain and wish for sunshine. Well that's my plan, usually. My sky is still blue no matter the talk of obliteration. Recreate the world as you know it. It's a new day so to speak... so why not make it count?

How Sweet It Is

2011-05-14T02:30:00.002-04:00

It's the age of the digital download. These days it's all about iTunes this, podcasts that. Look here- This Bug has an affinity for the classics. And whenever homage is paid to the classics, I have to give a respectful nod. I miss the days of vinyl and liner notes. If you've ever watched Erykah Badu's video for Honey and like me, wondered exactly which familiar album she was paying tribute to- wonder no more. She recreated some of the most recognizable and some more obscure but memorable album images in music history. Brilliant! And if you know anything about Badu, you know she wouldn't have looked to emulate any bullshit music. Every original album holds countless gems for your listening pleasure. Even the Rolling Stones magazine cover was a nice touch. Sidebar: I love me some Lennon. Hmm...Yoko? Not so much. Props to @fatbellybella on the concept of this visually groundbreaking vid. Like the classics she replicated- it never gets old. Enjoy.

Honey Video - Erykah Badu

Rufus & Chaka Khan - Rufus featuring Chaka Khan, 1975

Diana Ross - Blue, 2006

Funkadelic - Maggot Brain, 1971

Eric B. & Rakim - Paid In Full, 1987

Ohio Players - Honey, 1975

Minnie Ripperton - Perfect Angel, 1974

Labelle - Chameleon, 1976

De La Soul - Three Feet High and Rising, 1989

The Beatles - Let It Be, 1970

Nas - Illmatic, 1994

Olivia Newton John - Physical, 1981

Grace Jones - Nightclubbing, 1981

Earth, Wind & Fire - Head to the Sky, 1973

John Lennon and Yoko Ono's January 22, 1981 Rolling Stone Cover:

A to Z or the Gamut Pt. II

2011-04-27T14:40:00.003-04:00

Almost instantly, the shift was felt. Because in more ways than one- it was always waiting in the wings. Carrying on is more a duty than an option. Doing what's right can be a curiously foreign concept to some. Everyone handles it differently. For some strange reason I welcomed both the fire and the ice. Going your own way is fitting once you tried other routes but wound up hungry and lost. Higher ground is sought but water always seeks its own level. I knew it had to be that way. Justifications became paramount. Kisses gave way to sealed lips and deaf ears. Longing for what was and never will be never felt so empty. My mind plays hide and seek with the memories. Now we know for sure. Once it's all said and done- we'll be better than before. Places everyone! Quiet on the set. Roles are played out and carelessly improvised. Surely- this wasn't in the script. Today I took my last backward glance. Underneath it all we bear the scars of fallen stars. Visions of what might have been plow their way through an obstruction of crowded actualities. What would I have changed had I known it would come to this? Xeroxing past moments to look them over later with coffee and the Daily News crossword. You were the apple of my optic but still you had the nerve? Zealots cannot even fathom that brand of adoration.

Author's Note: Inspired by a writing exercise where each sentence begins in alphabetical succession. Also inspired by the poem, The Gamut by the incomparable Ms. Angelou.

Death be not proud

2011-04-20T22:15:00.010-04:00

"One short sleep past, we wake eternally." -John Donne

I once read that if we didn't have endorphins, we'd all be junkies. I'd never thought of it like that before- but it makes sense. Sort of. You see, endorphins block out pain. All day long, that's their function. To block out pain, physical and otherwise that would likely turn you inside-out and keep you in a fetal position. They say if you take opiates long enough- your body stops producing endorphins. And what happens when you stop taking the opiates? Well, all you feel is pain you wouldn't ordinarily feel. Everyday pain. The pain of living. Which I suppose on any given day is better than the pain of dying. But I wouldn't know. Not for certain, anyway. What I do know, what I've become familiar with, is the pain of surviving. Since the year began I've been to three wakes and funerals. I have another one to attend by the end of this week. Don't get me wrong. I'm well acquainted with loss. But it has me on the ropes lately. I'm not ashamed to say that I've taken a beating this time around. So much pain and loss in such a short span of time. Bad news phone calls and utter disbelief. Tragic intros and mournful outros. Tearful goodbyes. I had no idea it could hurt so badly. I feel wrung out. You hear it all the time: "Life is fleeting" "You just never know" "Here today, gone tomorrow" "God makes no mistakes" I've heard it all and seen too much in the past few weeks. Back-to-back deaths. Mothers burying sons. Children who won't know their fathers. It's not natural. It's not right. But who am I to say? I'm so numb at this point; without the aid of opiates. And I feel that maybe, just maybe, my endorphins are slacking on the job... because I can feel it all.

Atlas shrugged

2011-04-13T01:15:00.011-04:00

There's no such thing as catching up when it feels like not a day has passed. Not with him. He's not unfamiliar with judgments. He just never cared to dole them out or let them stick. It's not to say he hasn't been called everything but a child of God. He has; simply for living his life how he saw fit. But still, he is one. Underground the sounds of the E train occasionally drowned out his sentences- but never once his sincerity. He looked weary but not worn. A resolute certainty replaced the whimsical look I've grown to know in his eyes. "I fucked up." The words came from a proverbial punched gut on the mend and for an instant- they sounded like my own truth. No more crestfallen than I was when it all happened to me on opposite sides; in parallel universes. A similar collapse in a different time. But it was my time to listen. And I did. I owe him that much after years of spilling tears into my cup of International coffee and his open ear. After years of overflowing ashtrays and heartbreaking songs on repeat. But he never judged me. Not once. And when he admonished me, it was from a place of such genuine love that I was better for it. Always. We stood there on that platform doused in separate antidotes of saki and sangria, years wiser but still so young. Still vulnerable and imperfect. Still brother and sister despite lack of DNA and regional closeness. I heard every word as I studied the flecks of gray in his goatee. My own wiry grays quietly outlining my freshly washed mane. I used to joke and say, "Quick! Smell my hair!" He never would, as big brothers don't do that sort of thing. He couldn't be caught off-guard. Once though, when there was nothing left to do but hold me close as I broke down- he told me this was a fucked up way to get him to finally smell my hair. His plan worked and I burst into laughter. It doesn't seem that long ago. Now we both have strains of gray. Shit.. when did we get so old? When did the problems become so real? As his train roared in there was so much I had to say. That time is the healthiest elixir, no matter how bitter. That it was okay to lose it after holding it together for so damn long. That these things tend to work themselves out. That I love him- pure and simple. Instead I looked at him and said, "Atlas shrugged." He agreed. And as we walked our ways from a rushed goodbye- he seemed lighter. We seemed lighter. Unburdened, at least for the moment.

"And tell me, Friend..how in the world have you been?"

Taxi

2011-04-01T00:00:00.002-04:00

Been rockin' this one on repeat for a minute now. It's so melodic. So hypnotic. So effin' true. Enjoy..

Taxi - Ski Beats ft. Mos Def & Whosane

En garde…bang bang it’s a war of the hearts
We could either make love or we could spar
Either way we hollerin’ out “Good Lord!”
Either one won’t solve the problem at all
Spent the first half tryin’ to get it on
Spent the next half tryin’ to get gone
“What’s wrong?” “Nothin’ at all…”
Watch ya head girl, that lie is too tall
Don’t go, eff it do what you want
I’m out the front door, I’m waitin’ on ya call
Forgot it took place, rememberin’ it all
Feel like forever, the moment’s so small
Your eyes soft, you go hard, your kiss warm
Your cold heart, fresh frost
Tryna melt it off
Bags packed at home, lookin’ lost
Trippin’ out, endin’ up where you start
Carousel at the merry-go-park
Pretty horse, let me off
Shed a tear but I’m too tired to mourn
I…do it tomorrow, when ya gone
And ya can’t see me at all
Boulevard, love and hate, we at the cross
Buckle up…rough course…TAXI!

Throwback Thursdays

2011-03-31T00:00:00.006-04:00

Peace B-Boys and Girls. This Bug is back I'm sorry to say, with a heavy heart. Suffice to say it's been a really rough month. But the beauty of music, Hip Hop music especially, is that it can take you to a good place. A comforting place. It's been a while since I've even heard Today's Throwback. But I was at a wake for the brother of a high school friend yesterday and I found it both odd and fitting that this song came up during words of tribute and remembrance. A cousin of his approached the mic amid the brokenhearted and spoke of a memory he had of this tape first coming out. He spoke of how amped they both were while it played for the first time in his boom box. Those who could relate all smiled, because we knew exactly what he meant. I guess for that moment- we were all united in our grief and in being Hip Hop Junkies. It was nice to know a feel good song by Nice n Smooth had its place in the fond memories of the departed. Especially because this song is so full of life; just like him. May his spirit travel forward in love and light. This one is for Big Keith. R.I.P. Kito. Much Love.

The Reflex

2011-03-28T15:00:00.013-04:00

"Four things come not back. The spoken word, the sped arrow, the past life, and the neglected opportunity." ~Arabian Proverb

Make that five. The reflex. A knee-jerk reaction that's impossible to stop. It has its rightful place among the spoken or rather, spat word that pierces the ear like a poisoned dart. It flies alongside the flaming arrow that may blaze an unintended target. It meanders with the life already lived; never to be experienced in such a way again. And it waits with the missed the chances that will never return. The reflex; that instinctive movement that happens in spite of itself.. An impulsive and uncontrollable creature with a devil-may-care propensity. The reflex cannot be taken back even if it wants to be. It's the first pebble of the avalanche. The red button that can't be undetonated. The statement that won't be redacted. The lost cause and the effect all in one. It is in fact reflexive- not an unprovoked action and It. Comes. Not. Back.

Throwback Thursdays

2011-03-24T00:00:00.001-04:00

This Bug never thought she'd see the day when a throwback feature went beyond the nineties but I have to go with it when the inspiration is there. This is one of those joints that I knew nothing about. I didn't know who made it, where they were from, nothing. I just knew the first time I heard it in 2002, I liked it instantly. The jazzy horns made it feel like a Pete Rock masterpiece, but I was wrong. Sometimes you just have to appreciate the little things- because they add up and count for a lot. No one expressed this sentiment more soundly than Blackalicious. I still have no idea where they're from or who else they've worked with. I just know that back then and up until recently, hearing it transported me to good times. Memories and blessings. Things you may overlook when you get caught up in the day-to-day. And let's be honest; the daily grind and money may make you comfortable for a time- but it's not what sustains us. This Bug's line? "A bad day'll make you really notice ones that's good / And that'll make things a little better understood." It's those rare moments that you should hold close when it gets tough. The chance encounters. The unexpected good fortune. A show of kindness returned. Good times with friends and family. Or maybe just a nice tune that celebrates those things. Those things that Make You Feel That Way. Enjoy.

And she was...

2011-03-23T23:15:00.005-04:00

Glamorous. The cat's meow. A Hollywood icon. An AIDS crusader. The original diamond cluster hustler. A friend to MJ when it was an unpopular thing to be. She was honest. Classy, gutsy, private and downright beautiful. And she lived in way that didn't seek approval..from any of us. Farewell to the violet eyes.

"I have a woman's body and a child's emotions." ~Elizabeth Taylor February 27, 1932 – March 23, 2011

Where ever you may be, may your inner child sing and womanly ways float freely. Rest In Paradise, Liz.

hurts like brand new shoes

2011-03-22T01:55:00.001-04:00

Normally I'm an excellent speller. So it's sort of strange what happened. At the side hustle a few days ago I had to fill out a damage slip for a shoe. It was quick and painless. I've done it a dozen times before without thinking. It's quite simple, really. Date. Brand Name. Reason. I got the first two right. It wasn't until I looked down at what I'd scrawled for the reason, that I saw my mistake. There, on that two inch line were the words that gave me pause. I know what I'd meant; what I was supposed to write. But somewhere between the correct spelling in my mind, my subconscious and the pen in my hand- there was a disconnect. The meaning changed. Or maybe it was a non-verbal Freudian slip. Plus, for the shoes to be so new it made no sense for the sole to be damaged that way- but it was obviously defective. Made by miscalculation. Not unlike most of us, I suppose. Perhaps my hand wrote the word incorrectly just so I could look down and process something deeper. Something I've been feeling for quite some time. And I stood there a moment; unable to move. Staring at the words in my hurried penmanship: Detached Soul

left for dead

2011-03-19T09:12:00.003-04:00

you don't immediately wonder
what it will feel like
once your entrails have been ripped out
and feasted upon

there is no way to tell
the emptiness that will dwell
in the shell of what
you once were

'til it happens
to you
and by then
it won't matter

Soul On Ice

2011-03-17T00:30:00.003-04:00

Nathaniel Dwayne Hale
Sunrise: August 19, 1969 Sunset: March 15, 2011

Peace Peoples. I type this right now with a heavy heart. As you may all know, hooks will forever be an integral part of the structure of a Hip Hop song. But they will never be the same again. Not when one of the best, if not the best to ever do it is gone. Gone from us is Nate Dogg. To tell the truth- I'm still numb. It wasn't until I sat back and thought about it that I realized he has sung the hook on some of my favorite songs. Many of which I might not have given a second listen if not for his even-toned vocals. He embodied a smoothness that fit seamlessly with the roughness of "Gangsta Rap". It was- and remains remarkable. It's because of him, I still know all the words to an old malt liquor ad. His voice was steady and melodic. And it added just the right ingredient to any track he blessed. Consider how nice he made the words to It Ain't No Fun sound even though it's one of the raunchiest and raw tunes out there. But he made it sound easy; effortless even. It's a wonder he was able to deliver the goods in that manner when I think of all he must've seen and possibly endured while being on Death Row Records' roster. No small feat when almost anyone who was ever employed by Suge Knight has their own horror story to tell of that time. That's no secret. Seriously, I don't know where I've been that I was absolutely clueless to his previous strokes and health issues- but this news came as a shock to me. Really and truly, with the anniversary of Biggie's death so fresh, I'm just disheartened that it's time to mourn another true talent in the world of Hip Hop so soon. So I want to virtually pour a little somethin' out for one who was "G'ed up from the feet up"... And you can do the same as long as you press play.

Rest In Peace, Nate Dogg. You will be missed by This Bug.

Author's Note: Throwback Thursdays will return next week.

Figuratively speaking, of course

2011-03-16T00:25:00.010-04:00

Oh dear, it's happening again. I want to write. I want to write something worthwhile. Something meaningful. Something that will bring me closer to where I'm supposed to be. But all I have is this. These fleeting thoughts and huffs of exasperation finding their way out of my mouth. I don't know why this happens. I call it the 'Evil Keel'. I feel nothing; can write nothing. For as long as I can remember, it's always been like this. I cannot write unless I'm on the upswing of an emotional high or at the cradle of a visceral low. It sounds so manic-depressive, I know. But that's how it's always been. And when I'm not at one of those two extremes- this even keel stalks in and hangs around like an uninvited guest, hoping I won't notice. It shows up empty-handed. No bottle of wine. No potted plant. The nerve. Yesterday I said I wanted to light my life on fire, and made it a point to preface it with "Figuratively speaking" because words have power and I don't have a fire extinguisher in my apartment. Hell, I don't even think the smoke detector works. But that's what I envisioned. Everything on fire. Melting away. Burn it all. The humdrum office. The shitty car. The paradoxical relationship. The old suede boots. The tired bones. The inflexible schedules. The unopened mail. I'd like to watch it burn. Glowing in its soon-to-be goneness. Ashes and transgressions giving way to the wind. The Phoenix can then rise from the flames. And what of the keel? The keel, I'm sure, wouldn't dare show its face at my party.

Bug is Brown Bagging It From Now On

2011-03-10T20:30:00.004-05:00

This Bug doesn't believe in bad luck. I have no qualms about walking under ladders. I open umbrellas indoors. Broken mirrors are benign to me. Black cats don't make me nervous. You know what does? A moldy cannoli. It was my stroke of good fortune the other day to get one of these and send me into a tailspin. When I bit into it- it tasted a little funny. Funny like...oh, I dunno. Old beer and sweetened sour milk? But I didn't inspect it right away since I was driving. It wasn't until after I'd had my salad and moved on to dessert that I looked and noticed something spotted in the cream of the cannoli. It looked a little like chocolate chips and I naively thought, "That's funny. I thought I ordered a plain one." Then I saw the 'spots' were tinges of green all throughout and proceeded to completely bug the fuck out. Why does this always happen to me?

A few years back I ordered lunch with co-workers from a new seafood joint that opened up. I got the beer battered fried clam strips with a side of fries. Thank goodness I'm a chatty girl when I'm ready. Had I not been- I never would have paused between my run-on sentences just as I brought the fork to my mouth and seen a 'short and curly' wrapped around one of the morsels. I was horrified. Enough to totally forget my professional surroundings when I yelled, "OhMYGod! Is that a PUBE on my CLAM STRIP?!" Not a good day.

Listen, for those of you who don't know, Hot Pockets should remain frozen until ready for consumption. Got that? Frozen. Not refrigerated in an overpriced sandwich vending machine. So overpriced that when you finally break down and spend the money it would cost for an entire box in the supermarket for just one- that it may be black and fuzzy on the inside from being passed over for weeks. That was my lesson. Now I want you to remember it so you never have to suffer the disgust and anguish I experienced years ago in my cubicle. I used to carry a toothbrush to work back then so after a few seconds of dry heaving with no result, I promptly brushed until all I could taste was blood. But what I really wanted to do was shave my tongue, rinse with gasoline and pop a lit match into my mouth.

It's not like all of this just started happening to me yesterday. When I was 11 years old, I bought a Bomb Pop from the ice cream truck and hopped on my BMX (or was it a Mongoose?) I can't recall. While showcasing my hands-free bike riding skills between enjoying this nice little summer treat- I looked down too late to see that a gnat had landed on the tip of it just as I put into my mouth. I gagged. I spit. I dropped the popsicle. I grabbed the handle bars. I crashed into a parked car. That, my friends, is the true definition of discombobulation.

The above foods are filed under Again Never due to the trauma I experienced. Anyway, I went straight back to the deli after work to show them why I almost died at lunchtime. The manager apologized profusely, gave me back my money and then offered me a fruit bowl for my inconvenience. I asked him if it was fresh. "Of course! Nice lady like you? Fresh. Yes!" Sure. Now I'm "Nice Lady". Hours earlier though, he found me worthy of being "Moldy Cannoli Girl". Bastard. I'm done with all of it. Popsicles. Clam strips. Hairy Hot Pockets..hey, I'm seeing a theme here but I'll keep it clean (for today). And just think of all the gross things you might have already ingested because you didn't even catch it. I know it has nothing to do with luck or its flip side, either. Just eyeball your food fiercely, People.

Next time around I'll take the gun and leave the cannoli.

Still The Livest One

2011-03-09T00:00:00.013-05:00

"Lyrical lyrics. Blowing lyrics out my larynx..."

March 9, 1997. Here's what I remember: Sunday morning. Crawling into bed at daybreak after a nice house party in Queens. It felt like I had just drawn the blinds and shut my eyes when my cordless rang an hour later around 8:30 a.m. With my eyes still closed I fumbled for the phone and growled to no one in particular, "This better be good." Instantly I recognized the voice on the other end. It was my ace, Tasha and she said the words I'll never forget. "Jayne, Biggie Smalls is dead." Hanging up, I sat right up in bed, turned on my stereo that was always tuned to Hot97 back then and laid back down. Christion's "Full of Smoke" was playing. That song haunts me to this day- in a cold comfort kind of way. When it was over, Angie Martinez was speaking tearfully. It was surreal. There was no background music of any sort. Zero. Just dead air between her sniffles and her confirmation of what my best friend had just told me. Brooklyn's Finest, Christopher Wallace was gone. I laid there thinking maybe, just maybe..I was dreaming.

"Representin' BK to the fullest."

It's kind of hard to explain. Biggie was one of those emcees that had no peer. There was no one like him. His imposing stature. The gruff and powerful voice. The witty, raw and at times hilarious lyrics. That incomparable flow was like none other. The first time I heard this dude I knew with every fiber of my being that he was the truth. 1993, one of my favorite years, ushered in the man we all came to know as The Notorious B.I.G. Party and Bullshit was just the sickest shit I'd ever heard at the time. He hit the ground running. With (then named) Puff Daddy at his side, he seemed unstoppable; his future bright. The moniker might have been Notorious, but his career and catalog was nothing short of illustrious.

Ready to Die. Life After Death. Some unforgettable remix cameos and mixtape verses. Biggie is a part of the soundtrack to my youth and early adulthood. The parties. The beef. The come up. The thoughts of doubt and the cocky confidence all at once. Struggle mixed with sophistication. He articulated all of it with a style of his own and I loved him. I wasn't the only one. Never before had I seen a rapper with more clout and receive more love from their borough than Big. And he never missed an opportunity to shout out the streets that raised him. Biggie was Brooklyn. Head to toe and to the core. He was so loved. Which brings me to an image I will never get out of my head. The New York Daily News covered his funeral and ran the photo below. When I saw it, I didn't see two affiliates he collaborated with musically. Nor did I see a rough, vulgar mouthed rap mistress with an R&B queen. I saw a brokenhearted woman who never looked so beautiful as she did in her raw emotion for the man she loved- and a dear friend holding her up (or down, so to speak).

"Damn Ma, I love you like the lah. The ganja..."

I realized then that Hip Hop had lost a jewel. If I'm honest with myself and all who see this, I can say that I was starting to lose faith a little bit. The grit and grime had given way to flossing and fanciness I didn't totally relate to. But I saw Puff's hand in that way before I could ever blame Biggie for turning the tides of an entire culture. I would never blame him for that. Not when I understood what it must have taken to beat the odds and make it. Really make it. Only to be cut down in his prime after being blamed for a foolishly epic feud of coasts. It broke my heart. There's an ironic truth to Big's lament; "You're nobody 'til somebody kills you." But the outpouring of love and respect he continues to receive could only be showered upon one who was already somebody. Somebody special. Somebody who was a wonder to watch when he did his thing. With a mic in his hand, the only thing missing was a crown on his head because he was truly a King when he rocked it.

"And if you don't know- Now you know, N*gga..."

This is dedicated to the Black Frank White. The Notorious B.I.G. Big Poppa. The one who reminded me to only make moves when my heart's in it. And that's just what I'm doing today in celebrating his life and legacy. Love is Love.

Now...Brooklyn Stand Up!

From the Inside Looking Out

2011-03-05T22:45:00.003-05:00

From the outside looking in- it doesn't look so bad. But she's not out here. She's in there. Seeing where it all started. Empty kitchen. The crack of the seal on the vodka bottle. Five straight shots. Heart pounding and nothing to inhale but her own angry dragon fire. Now she needs smokes. Keys in hand, mind out the window. Riding smack dab on the double line. The gas attendant sees the fury but it's desperation upon further inspection. A match ignites the thin cigar because all her lighters are M.I.A. Street lights are blurred. Vision is blurred. But clear enough to see it. The black chariot. The wicked black chariot that haunts nightmares and daydreams with even relentlessness. Nothing left to do but unravel. Scream. Lunge. Slap. Kick. At anything at all. Anything that moves. When all is said and done, the windshield looks like Charlotte's web..without the words Terrific or Humble woven throughout it. Convulsions come. Tears. Gallons of them. Enough to outsalt the Dead Sea. Whispers of mockery dancing in ears. Knowing glances exchanged over her head. All in the name of doing what feels right. Long gone are peaceful times but quiet moments linger. Empty kitchens. Broken liquor seals. A fractured stillness. From the inside looking out- it looks like what it is.. and feels even worse. From the outside looking in- it doesn't look so bad at all. But I'm not out there. I'm in here.

Throwback Thursdays

2011-03-03T23:15:00.003-05:00

Fun loving Bug will be back next week. Today, you got serious Bug with some serious lyrics on her mind. Today's throwback doesn't get any heavier than that of Long Island's own Public Enemy. Their catalog speaks for itself but this song and video always held firm with me. Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos, to me has always been the crowning jewel of their 1988 release, It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. It almost sounds like the title of a poignant book. Chuck D tells a cliffhanger of a story beginning with being drafted to war he refuses to support. Of course, this defiant move lands him in jail where he describes the system that put there while planning his escape. His commentary is gritty. From the perspective of a militant Black man in America- he injects truth into this fictional story with the expertise of a doctor with a syringe. Well, it went to straight to my vein in '88- I'll say that much. This Bug's favorite line? "And I'm serious. Call me delirious. But I'm still a captive. I gotta rap this.." The song has a trajectory all its own. What I always found interesting was PE's choice to have an ending to the video ironic to the lyrics. It's as if they understood that his true fate would be at the hands of the warden if all didn't go as planned and still decided to illustrate that reality; despite the triumphant prison break in the song itself. Pure genius.

For the Swimmer on a Day like None Other

2011-03-02T09:20:00.009-05:00

"This may come off like a declaration of love, but truly it's just a wish...for a fish." -Calmnia

I'll never know exactly why that you swam by and heard my sigh. The ice was broken and I was in my element. I had no idea it was yours as well. That water felt like Heaven swelled and spilled down to the thirsty Earth. It drenched my senses, soaked my self worth. There was nothing that I couldn't do. And what was the use- if not with you? The beautiful dreamer. The warrior's wend. The sensual lover. The genuine friend. A soldier of love whom I had the honor of serving with proudly side by side. All in all- one fantastic ride. A journey to a star was never too far, not with you. And know that all these things are true. .

I wish for you a healthy body and sound mind. A heart full of courage and goblet of Life's wine. I wish for you to drink it slow and taste in it all you love so. I wish for you a day of song, of sun and light and spirit strong. When twilight breaks upon your locks- I pray your time exceeds the clocks. For today and always, it's more than a lifetime can express.

I suppose it sounds like I'm confessing- but really it's your Birthday blessing.

beautiful, black, precious and complicated

2011-02-27T07:20:00.008-05:00

"Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul oyster." ~Shakespeare

It's not every day one learns they are a black pearl.

A rare and accidental creature.

And it's not every day you find one.

It's not every day pearls of wisdom adorn a neck.

But every day- pearls are cast before swine.

And you cannot fault the swine

for not knowing

what has been dropped into the trough.

And no one can bemoan a pearl's fate

if it's swallowed as swill-

or simply remains

in its lonely iridescence.

Inspired by Tupac Amaru Shakur

Bitch and Pieces

2011-02-20T03:45:00.012-05:00

This Bug is starting to realize that her existence must be for the sheer entertainment of one (or many) who sits on high, rolling the tape and pressing pause on my most jarring and hilarious moments (well..to them, anyway). That may seem ridiculous- but so does my life lately. The past few weeks have been nothing short of trying. I'll spare you the sordid details but the morsels are worth sharing.

From the Clunker Chronicles comes yet another tale of woe. Yes, I knew the car needed oil. That little genie-in-the-lamp light thingy on the dash told me so. Yes, I bought two quarts, poured them in and went about my business that day. When the car seemed to be smoking from under the hood hours later, I was puzzled. I bought some Antifreeze and popped the hood. Then I popped the trunk when I remembered that the hood doesn't stay open without being propped up by my trusty 'Peacemaker'. I think it was a broomstick in a former life. Just then, a stranger asked me if I knew what I was doing to which I haughtily replied that I did. Then I saw that I never screwed the oil cap back on from earlier that morning. The sad truth? That's not even the first time I've done that. I should just park up the jalopy and break out the mountain bike. No. I have no idea what I'm doing.

Up until this morning- I had no idea I subconsciously feared growing old. Then I woke up from a dream where I laid down, sans bra and my breast rolled and came to rest comfortably in my left armpit. I mean, even the nip was to the side instead of facing forward (upward?). I dunno. It was hella disturbing and I consider it a nightmare of epic proportions. Up there with when I was being stabbed in an alleyway while acid rain was melting my skin off. It's all pectoral flies and bench pressing from now. And lots and lots of moisturizing. Lots.

I'm so ashamed. Well, not quite. Suffice to say I dabble in the libations a bit. 3 Ciroc bottles. 2 Absoluts. 1 six pack of Heineken. 1 Guinness stout bottle. 6 empty cans of Dole pineapple juice that blend so perfectly with the coconut vodka. And oh, I almost forgot. One telling blue bottle of Reisling. And a partridge in a pear tree. You get the picture. The Hefty bag sounds like the circus is coming to town...or just left.

Um..New York City cops tend to disagree. Unless you have a hack license. That's next on the to-do list after I pay that blasted ticket.

Just so you know, This Bug imbibes more than grapes and grains. Thanks to Will Ferrell in The Other Guys I discovered how wonderfully refreshing a few slices of cucumber can be in ice cold water. Lemon water is so passé. Try it now. Thank me later. And Will, too.

Call it covetous. Call it unethical. Call it what you want. But there is only one pair left in my size at the side gig and I'm hiding them until the price inevitably gets marked down. Now, I know that in some way, shape or form this causes the company to lose money by preventing the common man from purchasing them full price. I get that. But I don't give a fat frog's ass. I've never owned anything so frivolous and over the top fashion-wise and perhaps never will again. Don't judge me...'til you see me sportin' them with some liquid leggings and a gorgeous blouse.

So last weekend my father goes into a popular Superstore that rhymes with Schmalmart. He picks up some coffee creamer and two sets of clothes hangers. Once the cashier rang him up- the total sounded unusually high. It turns out he picked the hangers up from an area they didn't belong in and was mislead about the price. So politely, he asks the cashier to remove the items based on the quality of the hangers in relation to price. Nothing more. She does this quickly and by herself as there was no need for a manager or the ever necessary 'key' at the register. Then she looks at my dad, scans the Coffeemate and says blankly, "You think you can handle that?" All I can say is that the Creator in His infinite wisdom saw to it that I was not there to witness this. She'd still be picking teeth along with whatever else she swallowed that day out of her shit right now.

Anyway, it's been a wild and sometimes taxing ride these past few weeks. I just wanted to share the bits and pieces...and maybe bitch a little. But even after all the frustration- something like this comes along and reminds me that there's always something to smile about:

"Well a very, very heavay ah, heavy dua, bertation tonight, we had a very derst, dereson, bite, lets go head terest tazon lusht to the vet to have the pet."

Fin

Throwback Thursdays

2011-02-17T00:00:00.005-05:00

Peace Peoples. I want to get something out of the way right now before I head into today's Throwback. I was never really a Tupac fan. There. I said it. Yes, I can remember where I was when I heard he died and all (on my way to a homecoming Upstate), but I never owned an album and I didn't become one of those "late bloomer/bandwagon" fans I saw crop up shortly after his death. (Ya'll know who you are.) But he did have a handful of joints that I genuinely felt. Temptations is one of them. Yet another song that I might have liked anyway but the video made me appreciate it ten times more. I'm pretty sure he was incarcerated when this was shot so a lot of people came out and showed love in his absence. Talk about cameos? Everybody and their Momma is in this one. And I do mean everybody. They got it rockin' in that hot sheets hotel. Ice-T, Coolio, Kenya Moore, Treach (givin' some Honey love), Digital Underground's Shock G (gettin' kicked out of his room but quickly recovering) Salt and Spinderella (two fifths of a freaky card game), Crystal Waters, Warren G, Jada Pinkett, Adina Howard, Cypress Hill's B-Real and the legendary Isaac Hayes just to name a few. Even the dude from the Matrix who played Huey P. Newton is up in there for some reason. Sidebar: A little trivia for you. The last shot after Yo-Yo pulls Coolio into her room is a head nod to the ridiculously low budget B-movie, Def By Temptation. Get it? Temptation? (sigh) I know. I could have done with out it, too. Anyway..The track was done by none other than Hip-Hop pioneer producer Easy Mo Bee. If the name doesn't readily ring a bell- just know that he's the mastermind behind Big's Warning and Craig Mack's original Flava In Ya Ear. Dope biz. 'Nuff said.

Don't look away

2011-02-15T01:30:00.004-05:00

Is she hiding? Witnessing what should never be seen? Looking for what is under her very nose? Cursing the day those eyes opened or praying for the day they close? Searching for something that simply isn't there? You never can tell. Once you trump insurmountable fears, the rest of it looks like an open valley. Ye thou I walk through the valley...but what if the shadows come? But the shadows are always there, aren't they? And the lights that lead the way are blinding. So what is there to hide from? Truth may be ugly but is always worth looking at. Unflinchingly.

Some Time Soon for Sanity's Sake

2011-02-06T21:30:00.005-05:00

"Solitude vivifies; isolation kills.”~ Joseph Roux, French Artist

Pictured above are the waters and sand of Luquillo Beach in Puerto Rico. I was there once. Years ago- on what I guess I could call my first honeymoon. Only because on my first anniversary, I can remember lugging very heavy bags, walking uphill in frigid temperatures and saying (more to myself than to my then husband) "This same time next year I will be somewhere warm, Dammit." I made good on that promise and planned the trip. We went. It was a fantastic time. Oddly enough, I don't attach any romantic emotions to the memory of my time there. I always said I would go back alone if the means and time permitted. I engulfed my time there that much.

These days are harder to bear than usual. The transgressions are beginning to outweigh the triumphs. As I stand watching the last of my marbles roll away into darkened corners, I know where I need to be; in blue crystalline waters under a forgiving sun. I need to rent a convertible and feel the wind whip through my hair. I need to drink in the horizon from the backdrop of El Yunque rain forest as I drive the winding road to Luquillo. I need solitude to replace the self-imposed isolation I feel closing in on me each day. I need a few days without Blogger, Google, Youtube, Gmail and Facebook. As cliché as it sounds, I need to feel the sand between my weary toes.

I can remember my co-workers at the time joking about planning my baby shower that would no doubt be needed after my vacation. Funny. Once I was on that beach- I can remember swigging my drink and thinking, "If I get knocked up on this trip- I won't be able to do this again this same time next year..." Needless to say, that didn't happen. And the next year found me on a beach in Negril. But I always felt a connection, a magnetic draw back to that vast beach just outside of San Juan. It felt like home- or the closest thing to it this side of Chaguaramas in my native land. Soft sand. Privacy. Welcoming water. Peace. That's all I'm in search of. That, and..me I suppose. So before I unplug, I'll swing by Expedia to see what deals await me this same time next month. Damn the time or the means..for sanity's sake.

Throwback Thursdays

2011-02-03T00:00:00.017-05:00

"Those we love don't go away, they walk beside us every day.
Unseen, unheard, but always near; still loved, still missed and very dear." ~Author Unknown

B-Boys and B-Girls it's been a minute. Can it be I stayed away too long? Never. Because I'll always lace you when I reemerge with Throwback Thursdays. I'm in a sentimental mood right now for more than one reason- so I'm gonna bang you with a touching, revelatory song that I hold close and always will. Plus, the emcee is no slouch. Matter of fact, she's one of the nicest to ever do it. Period. Brooklyn's own MC Lyte stomped a heavy footprint in the game and that's why she's still respected to this day. This track was from her 1991 album Act Like You Know. It's nice to know someone can articulate the loss of someone special in such a plaintive, honest manner through Hip Hop. She told a story that sadly, too many can relate to.

Poor Georgie is one of Lyte's most memorable joints in part because of how melancholy it is and also because of the genius use of samples. I've taken the liberty of including both samples for your listening pleasure after you watch the classic video. I can remember seeing this vid for the first time and feeling like a light went on (no pun intended) when the camera pulled back and revealed the sad end to Georgie's tale. It was only then that I realized someone was dressing the dearly departed she spoke of. Someone is placing the ring on his finger, slipping the rose in his lapel, kissing lips that have invariably gone cold too soon. It was deep and it hit me full impact.

Last week was the anniversary of the birth of someone I hold near and dear to me. Someone who was also gone too soon from this world. And while Lyte's lyrics don't mirror the relationship I had with him- the last sentiment rings true. "No one on Earth is promised tomorrow." I walk with that lesson daily and try to never forget it. I dedicate Today's Throwback to one who is still woven throughout my life since childhood. The closest thing to Big Daddy Kane our little 'hood ever had. Truly known by few. Loved by more. Missed by many. His light shines eternally.

In Loving Memory of John I. a.k.a. Peanut

Bless.

Gilligan's Isle: The Office Edition

2011-02-01T13:00:00.013-05:00

A job. Work. Livelihood. The gig. Call it what you want. These days, I call mine Gilligan's Island. I say this for two reasons. One, I work with a milieu of oddball characters worthy of their own sitcom. Second, I really need to get off this island. Every day my alarm sounds I'm greeted with a stark reality; Rise and Grind. This is becoming an increasingly arduous task mainly because I'm starting to hate going there. It was cool at first. But any gig will seem cool after a year and half of being unemployed like I was. These days, I sit at my desk inundated with work that bores me to tears. When I'm not trying to find a needle in a haystack I'm thinking of new and interesting ways to make my escape from the following true to life characters at my workplace.

The Diva: As the story goes, she hails from a big shot firm in the city and is slowly...and I mean ever so slowly adjusting to the culture of our homey little office. Where ever she came from, they apparently did nothing for themselves. This includes ordering lunch, carrying a box of files from her Lexus truck and knowing how to copy and paste a document. I wish I was joking about the last one. I'm not. Also, she has a penchant for dressing in all black every day and complains about how freezing she is though I've never seen her clad in anything but pumps, pencil skirts and sleeveless sheaths. Yes, even on the day we were hit with 12 inches of snow. But she sure has that Damsel-in-Distress thing licked.

The Basket Case: There's one in every office. A nice but nerdy girl that is so socially awkward that you'd feel sorry for her if she weren't so damn irritating. Her voice is perhaps a pitch or two lower than a thousand dying cats. She talks with her mouth full and includes herself in conversations she has absolutely nothing to contribute to. Once, she went out to the "post office" and came back with $2000 worth of damage to her car which she claimed happened in the parking lot. When we asked her what happened at the post office she let out a high-pitched squealing explanation of "Idunno!Inevermadeit!" Not a breath in between. Who knows what carnage she left in her clumsy ass wake. She's never at her desk. Actually, I think she's usually under it secretly devouring sleeves of Oreo cookies since she seems shy to eat in front of another human being. She may be bulimic. Just my suspicion.

Nosferatu: This dude frightens me. Every. Single. Day. He doesn't walk, he saunters. And sometimes, he's lurking in the doorway for God knows how long before someone looks up and notices he's there. He claims to be married and bemoans the cost of his daughter's upcoming wedding to anyone who will pretend to listen. This guy actually reproduced? I don't buy it. He has a stubborn fang that looks like it's been pulled ten times already but continues to grow back. It's a wonder he hasn't stabbed his lower lip while he yammers on about shit no one cares about. That thing is sharp, okay? I started keeping garlic in my bottom drawer and he now mysteriously keeps his distance.

The (Multi) Millionaire: Yeah, no shipwrecked island is complete without one- so we have him. He actually looks like one of the Kennedys. One of the dearly departed, bloated, alcoholic Kennedys known for accidentally driving off bridges with pretty ~~party girls~~ legal secretaries in the car who aren't so lucky as him. I'll say this much: If his head weren't attached, it would be sitting right on the desk with the files he perpetually needs for closings and the Blackberry he seemingly cannot live without. His wife calls him 20 times a day...and 20 times a day he's "in a meeting" when she does. To each his own. I actually think he and the Diva would make a great pair if they weren't married to other people and if either one had an attention span longer than Polaroid flashbulb.

The Snacker: I really have no complaints about the Snacker. She's just known for eating every time you pass her office. Granola bars. Pop Tarts. Biscotti. Last night's lasagna. You name it. But she shares the goods which is a plus. I honestly have no idea where she puts it. She must have the metabolism of a racehorse because anyone else would be 100 pounds overweight by now if they ate the way she does. She's just healthy. And strong as an ox. I swear I saw her lift and change the Poland Springs water cooler with her pinkie finger once.

The Space Invader: This girl worked in my office for a week before she divulged that she was drinking a gallon of cranberry juice a day to battle a pesky UTI. Why I knew that much about her vag so soon- or at all is anybody's guess. She also told wildly inappropriate jokes- even by my standards. I used to wonder why she stands so close to everyone when she speaks to them- but then I realized that most of what she says has no place being spoken aloud in an office. The girl is a freak. Simple and plain.

The Dirty Old Man: It is with mixed emotions that I write about this guy. Some of you may remember when I caught him surfing porn at his desk a while back. Well, he had some serious health trouble and at the ripe old age of 71, he can no longer practice law. But I know where ever he is now- he has visions of daisy chains dancing in his head.

How I'm able to spend 40 hours a week with these people is a testament to my fortitude. I avoid them at all costs and make myself scarce when I can. It could only be worse if The Skipper had a back office. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a resumé to go upload.

Outta here

2011-01-23T22:55:00.003-05:00

I don't want to change the world. I just want to find my way back to it and when I get there- find my proper place in it. All this talk of knowing oneself and touching lives is lost on me. Folks know little about living their own lives and more about touching themselves. Nothing wrong with that. I don't judge. It doesn't sound half bad right about now. This Bug is taking flight. A sabbatical if you will. I don't know when I'll be back. At the expense of sounding disloyal to my blog- I have bigger tilapia to fry right now. So it's time to step back and handle, dismantle and reconstruct. It's either that or hire a life coach. We all know I don't have that kind of money so...sabbatical it is. Enjoy the past entries. I'm coming back like a comet. Be sure of it. Does that make me crazy? Wait and see.

Incident

2011-01-16T00:11:00.006-05:00

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee;
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."

I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember.

by Countee Cullen

And..how did you find me, again?

2011-01-11T01:05:00.015-05:00

So it's going on three years since I started This Bug's Life. No drum roll. No bells and whistles. I already got the 100th post out of my system. It's been a pretty good run and I can only hope to continue it. That being said- I'm still figuring out this whole 'Blogger' format. Recently, I discovered a neat little tab on the dashboard of my blog once I signed in. "STATS". It was there that a whole new world opened up to me. Of course it shows you how many page views you've gotten in a day, week, month, etc. and referring websites but that's not what caught my interest. There's list of the top key words that people Googled in order to reach my site. Much to my surprise (and some less so) I learned what led random traffic directly to This Bug's Life. Here goes:

assup - Call me slow, but it took me a second to realize that more than one person hastily typed in 'Ass Up' as in Uncle Luke's infamous chant, "Face Down, Ass Up. That's the way we like to F**k" and somehow wound up on my blog. Wowzas.

massaging a martini - I wish I knew what the hell this is supposed to mean. I really don't remember posting anything that involved massages and martinis simultaneously- but I'm officially inspired.

bug's life racist - As if! Actually, I know exactly what this is about. I got my hooks in Disney a while back and didn't let go. It's in the archives. Check it out. I pissed a few people off simply by shattering their flowery childhood memories of a few beloved cartoon classics. If pointing out the obvious facts makes This Bug a racist...let's discuss it. Seriously.

bitchwearingnodraws - Ha! I saw this one and thought, 'Classy huh?'. Then I saw how many folks have come across the Panty Free Friday I was thinking about petitioning for as a national holiday. Once you go Commando for a day- you'll understand why a 'bitch wearing no draws' is highly unoffensive when sought after in proper taste. Let's do this!

taxi cop- It's not a myth, People. They exist. It's sneaky. It's entrapment. And it's perfectly legal. Think about that the next time you decide to text with that yellow cab next to you at the red light.

Anyway, it matters very little what led you here. You got here. And made This Bug very happy in the process. Make it a Favorite. Bookmark it. Come back for more. You might be surprised at what you stumble upon. I know I was- and I write the damn thing.

Ciao!

This looks like a job for...

2011-01-09T22:00:00.011-05:00

I can never get enough of documentaries. All sorts. The human condition fascinates me. I stumbled upon Confessions of a Superhero via hulu.com and was riveted. The film surrounds four struggling actors who make their living by donning costumes and taking photos with tourists on Hollywood Boulevard. It's not an easy job. Not by a long shot. They work strictly off of tips and a good day falls squarely on the appeal of superheroes to the general public. That, and their charisma. Confessions focuses on the lives of the men and one woman behind the exteriors of Superman, Batman, The Hulk and Wonder Woman. Their stories are all different but equally melancholy.

Christopher Dennis is Superman. He bears a strange, malnourished resemblance to Christopher Reeves who even in death, is the most famous Superman to date. He takes his craft very seriously. In one scene, as quite the father figure, we watch him admonish Ghost Rider that image is so important- that he shouldn't smoke while in costume. It sounds a little priggish, until a later scene at Superman's apartment reveals an ashtray filled to the brim with cigarette butts. It's only then that you realize he is never seen smoking on the street while at work. He believes acting is in his blood; so much so that he claims to be the son of a famous actress. His delusions are equal parts sad and disturbing.

Max is Batman. He looks a little too much like George Clooney for the tastes of most casting directors and has a bit of a temper. An imposing presence. Perhaps we can attribute that to his previous line of work, which he alludes to as 'security' for a well known wiseguy- but I got the feeling it's just his frustration with not yet being successful in acting. News footage of his arrest for bullying a tourist really drives that assumption home.

Joe McQueen a.k.a. The Hulk moved to LA the day of the riots. He spent four years sleeping on the streets. Oddly enough, of his peers he was the closest to success in Hollywood having landed a bit part in a comedy about Bruce Lee's last film, Game of Death. My heart broke for him the most. He admits he's no looker and that his teeth probably hold him back from many roles. It's part of the reason he chose the Hulk as a profession- since it includes a massive head instead of a mask. Imagine wearing that all day in the hot California sun for hours on end. He actually blacked out one day when the temperature hit 106 degrees.

Wonder Woman grew up in a small town. Glee Club. Cheerleader. Homecoming Queen. The works. She had to escape. Made her way to LA. She got married on a whim in Vegas and visits an acting coach to fine tune her craft. Granted, she's not the preferred Size 2 that's the standard in Hollywood but she has faith. Drive. That counts for something on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

This movie stayed on my mind well after it was over. At times, it was uncomfortable to watch. Cringeworthy even. But always real. Aside from the straightforward style of each person telling their story- there is some amazing still photography in this film. Simply beautiful shots. They capture a vulnerability that is in stark contrast to what we commonly know of powerful superheroes. The real heroes of Confessions are not superhuman at all. They are in fact just like us; mere mortals with an irrepressible need to find their place in the universe.

First Time for a Second Chance

2011-01-08T00:30:00.000-05:00

I'm usually the last to catch on to trends or when videos go viral. I just don't pay much attention to that stuff. But a few days ago, Ted William's story spread like wildfire and I couldn't help but notice. By now, just about everyone knows about the man with the 'Golden Voice'. His story is the stuff rags-to-riches movies are made of. Born and raised in Brooklyn, he has exactly what his cardboard sign said he had. A God-given gift. I watched that video of him in absolute awe. Something about it told me he was on his way to some sort of come-up. I just felt it. The very next day- he was on the front page of the newspaper. Words cannot really describe what I felt when I saw it. It was a combination of my heart swelling coupled with a worry that he'd be thrust into the spotlight, unprepared for all that possibly awaited him. He literally went from panhandler to overnight sensation.

In what seemed like a virtual whirlwind of events, days later Ted Williams was on the lips of the national public and a fast track to a second chance at life. After years of homelessness and drug abuse he is at a turning point. He reunited with his 90 year old mother after more than 20 years. Job offers are pouring in. Williams is finally on the up side of life. I can't really explain the feeling I got when I saw his picture on the front page of the New York Daily News. I didn't know it was possible to be so happy for someone I had never even met. Something about the entire story restored my faith. One could credit technology for all of this. If not for Youtube and similar media outlets- none of us would have ever known about Ted Williams. But I'd like to think that it's deeper than that. I'd like to think that a higher power saw fit to bring him through his ordeals with his voice unscathed, a forgivable rap sheet and his belief intact. Ted Williams represents hope. In an economic climate where it takes less than a series of wrong turns and drug abuse to wind up on the streets- it gives me hope that anyone who can hit that far of a bottom may get a second chance to climb back to the top. God bless him.

Sometimes...things change.

2011-01-07T18:45:00.002-05:00

Sometimes you have to fall back to come up. You may have to stop speaking to be heard. You have to disappear for people to really see you. Sometimes the most productive way to stay social is to be anti-social. And sometimes you have to treat someone like an associate for them to understand your friendship.

Free As a Bird

2011-01-03T16:40:00.002-05:00

Free as a bird,
it's the next best thing to be.
Free as a bird.

Home, home and dry,
like a homing bird I'll fly
as a bird on wings.

Whatever happened to
the life that we once knew?
Can we really live without each other?

Where did we lose the touch
that seemed to mean so much?
It always made me feel so...

Free as a bird,
like the next best thing to be.
Free as a bird.

Home, home and dry,
like a homing bird I'll fly
as a bird on wings.

Whatever happened to
the life that we once knew?
Always made me feel so free.

Free as a bird.
It's the next best thing to be.
Free as a bird.
Free as a bird.
Free as a bird.

New Years Day

2011-01-01T08:20:00.003-05:00

Over the years I've come to associate a few key things with New Years Eve. Champagne. Parties. The NYC Ball dropping. Kissing at the stroke of midnight. Singing Auld Lang Syne. It may be stereotypical but most of these things play a huge part in the New Year. Then there's the busy circuits. The non-stop text messages and people just all out giddy with the well-wishing. Leading up to that- everyone wants to know what you're doing that night. Where will you be? A lot of frenzy about being at the right place and not missing out. It's becoming less and less frenetic for me.

To me, it's similar to those women you see on Bridezillas. They are preoccupied with one day to the point where they seem a little crazy or off. They concentrate so much on the perfect wedding day that it seems they hardly give thought to the most important part; the rest of their lives. It's sort of like that with New Years Eve. People are whipped into this frenzy of being at the right place with the right people and bringing in the new year however they see fit. It seems that little energy is put towards making the entire year ahead prosperous.

So whether you spent it quietly amongst close friends and family or reveled amongst an anonymous crowd amid confetti and bubbly, I hope everyone is able to look forward and make the best of this fresh start. It's not about how you spent that night. It's about all the other days and nights that will follow. 2011 is full of possibilities that 2010 held. What will you do with them to make it different than last year? I'm not speaking of resolutions but rather the resolve that we move throughout each day with. What will you do with that? Hopefully, all that you can and more. God willing. On that note, I wish for everyone more love, more life, more prosperity.

Happy New Year

Throwback Thursdays

2010-12-30T00:05:00.005-05:00

Yo...2010 is about to be over. I dunno about you but I'm about ready. This Bug is ready for the New Year and all the promise it holds. That being said- this is the last Throwback Thursday of the year. So I'll switch it up for the sake of newness. Instead of featuring one video from a favorite year- I'm bussin' out a few that were always staples of that time for me. The Golden Era of Hip Hop. These are some of the criminally slept on joints that I always loved. Always will. Classic material. I'm diggin' deep. No disrespect but- if you're not a true head just sit this one out. I'm not here to alienate anyone but this Hip Hop thing is for those who love it. I do this for ya'll. Enjoy.

Trends of Culture - Off and On

Why is the beat so effin' tough on this one?! Oooweee.

Original Flavor feat. Jay Z

Yeah...pre-Reasonable Doubt Jay and a sick ass arrangement of rhymes. It rarely gets better.

Strickly Roots - Begs No Friends

Dude said "Layin' muthafuckas like ready-cut carpet." What! Grand Puba and Fat Joe rep to the fullest, too.

The A.T.E.E.M - Get It On

Hot Dog . Yeah, Chubb Rock's background dancer kinda did his thing. Q-Dog style. And I don't even eff with Frats. I never understood why dude said "Not a white Bruce Jenner." As opposed to what? Bruce Jenner is white, Fam..

Fat Joe feat. Diamond D and Grand Puba - Watch the Sound

One of my all-time faves. Hands down. Plus, my girl Goldie is in the vid. Such a sweetie, that one.

Eric B and Rakim - Paid In Full

"Was it good enough for ya?" Ooowee!!! Have a safe and prosperous New Year, Peoples. Catch you in 20eleven. Much love.

Water Song

2010-12-27T11:45:00.015-05:00

Yesterday, I made a concerted effort not to draw attention to the obvious. It was Sunday. The day after Christmas. Boxing Day. It means little to some- but to my father? Everything. 43 years they would have been married. When I spoke to him on the phone I made it a point not to mention their anniversary. For the better part of five years I wore her solid gold band on my left ring finger. Engraved inside are their initials and the date he first slipped that ring onto her finger. 26-12-67 She was a gorgeous bride- all ninety-nine pounds of her. She had a smile that was beckoning and all knowing. A smile that invited you to her mystique if you dared- but she never told her secrets. Her nails were always prettily manicured. Her attire and accessories looked as though they'd been handpicked by Anna Wintour. And when she first married my father she could only bake banana bread flawlessly. By the time she left, she was a better cook than he was. I was thirteen when she waded on to other waters. A part of me always knew we only had her for a time. She was so otherworldly. Always aware that there was an invisible world. She belonged somewhere between this world and that. A Pisces in the true sense. Wistful. A dreamer. Full of charm. A showstopper devoid of conceit. She was supportive and content to let others shine while she floated somewhere in the background. That was her glow. I was 10 years younger than her final year when I gave that ring back to my father to wear around his neck. It never seemed right for me to wear it. Not because my own marriage dissolved but because it wasn't placed on my hand with a fraction of the love that placed it on hers. Theirs is a timeless love. This is for my mother- who no longer swims in earthly waters but I feel her just the same. This is for my father. I peer through time portals and see a banner that reads: His wife was a mermaid. He is inconsolable. This is for Lady T. So ironic that on the anniversary of something so great, something that brought forth my very existence; another Pisces went swimming through heavenly waters. She was born one day before my beautiful mother and sang with a duality I know now is essentially theirs. Wild and Peaceful. This is for my own water sign love who just last night, gave me this song. Because of them I am ever grateful. Ever knowing. Ever loving. Thank God.

The Middle Ground

2010-12-26T10:50:00.004-05:00

"Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become." -Author Unknown

There's an art to making the best of a bad situation. Banksy knows it. Gladys knew it. I'm still getting there. I know it takes a series of calculated steps and pointed decisions to get there. Simply wishing doesn't make it so. Sunnyside up. The silver lining. The glass half full. All of these things- conjured up by the spirited people who forgo the negative in pursuit of more constructive endeavors. I don't fault them. I just don't always share their enthusiasm. To me they seem capricious- these shiny happy people. Although that's far from the sentiment I pick up from Gladys Knight and phantom guerrilla artist, Banksy. They are well aware of how unpleasant the subject matter at hand is. They just decided to put a spin on it- turn it sideways before setting it right side up for all to see. I can respect that. A new take. A different outlook. Something more beneficial or edifying than what is immediately presented. Look closer. I get it.

Plenty of self-examination is the precursor to that. I'm trying. Really, I am. For every bitter pill there's an elixir. For every disappointment, a new revelation. It's never as bad as it once seemed. Most people I know grew up in the same house since childhood. Not me. Starting from six years old to my late teens, I moved around neighboring towns almost every few years. At one point, I stayed with friends and lived out of jumbo plastic garbage bags. Now that it rests squarely on my shoulders- I'm settled. For how long- is a fear that tries to slip in with the draft in a floorboard, but I chase it away. And every now and then, when problems crowd my brain, I revisit all of those homes. I park across the street and recall whatever I was going through when I resided there, no matter how brief. I think about how unbearable it was at the time and realize that I made through that- so I can make it through this. The look back isn't harmful as long as it's followed by a look ahead.

It was naive of me to think I was the only one who did this. I truly believed I was until I read an article on Eminem in Spin magazine. The interviewer followed him around to several places he had lived in Detroit as a youth. He spoke of doing this often when he was seeking perspective on where he presently was- whenever his hectic schedule allowed him to be in his hometown. I instantly recognized my own movements in his. The inherent need to be reminded that as shitty as it was back then- you made it through. You. Made it. Through. Tougher, stronger, no worse for wear and grateful. Reflection. It's a countermeasure that works as long as it's properly applied. If you start dwelling there or not wanting to move on to the next house or even head home, you've already fucked up. I don't drive around to those old haunts as much as I used to. I reserve those times for more pressing or melodramatic courses. These days, I take a page out of Banksy's book. See the beauty in the grit and discomfort of it all and show others what I'm made of; simply by showing it to myself. Some may call that inspiration. I call it middle ground.

lowest common denominator

2010-12-24T19:26:00.009-05:00

in two years i've learned that
every smiling face
ain't necessarily
happy to see you

that work still waits for you
even if you don't hear the alarm
and the wounds you can't see
take the longest to heal

i also learned
that no amount of explaining
will be enough
when their minds are made up
and that talking to my father
only hurts
when I'm keeping secrets

that no audience is required
to feel humiliated
and that math was never my strongest subject-
but I know enough about equations
to solve the problem
but the variables
keep changing
so I'm always
wrong

in the past two years
I learned that
nothing is personal
and everything
is personal

Throwback Thursdays

2010-12-23T00:00:00.005-05:00

C'mon now, you already know a classic is due. Niiiiice....

Have a safe and Happy Holiday, ya'll.

Judge not

2010-12-21T10:20:00.004-05:00

I've heard it all my life. So have you. "People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." As a youngster, this idiom was never fully explained to me. I just knew it involved stones and glass. Common sense told me that the thrower could just as easily be hurt if his target decided to return fire. If anything, the one in the glass house would be worse off- since shattered glass causes the kind of damage that stones do not. No less dangerous. Just different.

Just for today- a twist on an old adage: Don't go throwing stones in a Plexiglass house. Yes, it's harder to see and doesn't break nearly as easily. It feels safe. But you have to come out someday. What then? Nobody's bulletproof.

Throw your stones in a house of mirrors instead and maybe then you’ll see enough to tell the truth and know it when it falls upon your ears.

The Purple Unicorn Theory

2010-12-18T19:15:00.066-05:00

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I'm a born cynic. Well, that's not entirely true. I wasn't born a cynic. It just became part of my make-up after years of experience. Sarcasm. Now, that I'm positive is ingrained in my DNA. But the cynic in me was created almost as a coping mechanism- especially where romantic matters are concerned. I've always said that if I were to send you out on a mission to find two things; a willfully monogamous man and purple unicorn- you would sooner return with the unicorn. Because to me, they are one in the same. A mythical creature that everyone has heard about in stories or seen in movies but in actuality does not exist. Only depictions of one's imagination. An illusion to be sought but never visualized in real life. I know, it sounds extraordinarily pessimistic but at the very least, it's realistic.

This leads me to my friend Warren. We work together at my side gig. He's not yet 26 and holds two art degrees. He sees everything in color. There's no black and white with him. He is by far one of the most optimistic people I know. His philosophies on life and relationships always lead me to believe he maintains this perspective because he's still young and idealistic. And I always walk away from our chats feeling a mixture of disdain for holding a bleak if not pragmatic outlook and hopefulness that I may one day look at the glass as half full for a change. To hear him tell it- he would not be forced into being with just one girl. He would do it because that's just who he is. When he first said this to me, I answered with a blank non-believing stare. Surely, any man not forced by circumstance would be with more than one woman for at least a moment in time. That is my conjecture. A hypothesis that has been tested time and again by my own experiences and through countless platonic friendships with members of the opposite sex. When I was 15, I sat slack jawed with some of the things my male friends told me about their exploits. By 20, I listened almost absently as they recounted their Lotharion tales. Not a lot has changed. Many birthdays, some marriages and a few kids later- they pretty much still have the same habits.

But Warren believes there is one person out there for him. A soul mate. The One. And he will be with her and only her as long as time allows. Rather than cut down his ideal with a verbal scythe, I listen. You see, I once believed I had one of those. A twin flame. An unbreakable bond and true love. And he wanted to be with me and only me. No one could tell me otherwise. Back then I was what they'd call a hopeless romantic, not unlike Warren. But if were to be honest with all of you- that person was already committed to another and so was I. So the Purple Unicorn theory solidified shortly thereafter. You get older...or I got older- and realized that love is not about the 'together forever' they sell you from the time you're old enough to crack open a story book. Happily Ever After is a fantasy. It's not real. You have your good times and your bad.

Conceptually, I don’t feel that we are allotted only one soul mate in our lifetime. I think some people often mistake a romantic connection with an otherwise spiritual one. They confuse a soul mate with a sole mate. While that connection may include romance- a true soul mate doesn’t necessarily require it in my book. Your soul mate is your touchstone. A person who may be a polar but parallel opposite. They just get you and you get them. I have a female cousin, an ex-lover and a very close friend; all of whom I consider my soul mates. We have an near non-verbal communication- and our connections were almost immediate as my confectioner in the blogosphere, Candy Girl once put it.

This is what I want to convey to Warren when he gets that misty, far off look in his eye as he describes what has to exist out there for him- but I don't. Far be it from me to shatter one's ideal of love and life. All I know is that unicorns and one-woman men have never existed in the world as I know it. And that's okay. This world is too cruel for them to sustain a true permanence. Does that make me a cynic? I'm not so sure. Sooner or later, someone would slay that purple unicorn. Skin its violet hued hide and feed upon its divine flesh. Extract that remarkable horn and ground it to a fine lavender iridescent powder- simply because they could. So they belong in another world...just like Warren.

And now, a word from our sponsor.

A Reader's Confessional

2010-12-17T23:58:00.000-05:00

"A good book on your shelf is a friend that turns its back on you and remains a friend." ~Author Unknown

Sometimes I buy the books because the titles sound interesting. The Call of the Weird. A Thirst for Rain. Death Be Not Proud. 100 Things You're Not Supposed Know. Or because the covers are eye-catching. Open to a random page. Skim a few lines. If they can write, I buy it. Discarded library books for 50 cents. Books from thrift shops. The occasional designer bookstore purchase when I get a coupon via email. Novels. Cookbooks. Poetry. Once in a while- a self-help book disguised as an instructional manual or revelatory instant classic. I buy them all. Because as long as I have them, there's an unspoken confirmation that my wheels are still turning. The books help oil the machine. As long as I can read- I can make sense of my reality while escaping it. Books by the plentiful pound. Stories about foreign, faraway places and close-up tragedies not unlike my own. The missed train. The tyrant of a mentor. The forced hand. The skinned knee. The inexclusive love. The flood of afterthought that drowns every living and already decayed thing in 20/20 hindsight. The rebirth of spirit. Quiet chaos and triumphs holding hands; riding off into the sunset. Books, quite simply...are my truth when the rest of the world is lying straight to my face.

Odds and Ends

2010-12-15T11:15:00.003-05:00

This Bug is back in a major way. It may not seem like it but I was out of the loop for several months. The hows and whys are less important than the fact that I'm back now. No longer relegated to blogging stealthily from work or distractedly from a PC other than my own. Now it's just me, my keyboard, my ashtray and the freedom to tap tap tap away. Of course, I can't come back without a Random Rundown to let you know what's been going on. Shall we? Let's.

Eye Can't Believe It

Recently I started seeing spots. Tiny, globular shapes were traipsing across my field of vision, along with some eye pain for about a week before I made an appointment to see the opthamologist. What did I learn? 1. Those pesky little things I saw are called Floaters. (Which is a term I always associated more with something in a commode but whatever.) 2. There is no real explanation or cure for this annoying condition. 3. I have stubborn pupils. Those were the doctor's exact words after he administered drops that were meant to dilate my pupils. It took 3x the normal amount for the desired result and it stung like a bitch. I'll never whine about shampoo in my eye ever again. That's a treat compared to those dastardly drops. Anyway, I'm just glad it's not a detached retina or a brain tumor. (Whew!) The symptoms are identical.

Ride 'em, Cowbug

I've officially added riding a mechanical bull in Vegas to my Bucket List. It has to be in Vegas. Why? I don't know why. Because I don't think Texas is gonna see This Bug anytime soon. Now, this isn't some off-the-cuff split decision. I've done my research. Sure it looks sexy- but there's nothing sexy about flopping face first onto some rubber mat in front of a drunken crowd. You have to be in pretty damn good shape to stay on. Strong legs and knowing how to move with the bull's momentum help immensely. I think I have that licked. It should be fun providing I don't flop face first into a drunken crowd. Stay tuned.


Up In The Air

I watched this flick for the first time last week There's not one detail in it that I didn't love. The man traveled with military-like precision. He spent most of his time literally up in the air. Flying the friendly skies and as the play on words go- with uncertainty. It's a very grown-up movie about grown-ups and the childlike reservations they tend to hold onto. I learned two things. Hatchet Men don't necessarily enjoy their job. That's a huge misconception. Also, the song O.P.P. can really be viewed as the ultimate cheaters' anthem. It sort of gave the green light to unfaithful behavior by making it a cool club to be a member of. I love the scene in which this plays by the way. Clooney makes you want to crash corporate parties with him.


The Soldier of Love

It must be life's little joke on This Bug that Sade will be a stone's throw away from me next year and it's a wrap for any prospect of me getting tickets. Wait, did you read that correctly? Yup. Next. Year. She puts an album out like what? Once every six years? She performs sporadically. This hurts. That's all for now. Unless you would like to make a donation to my PayPal account. In that case- all hope is not lost. Now, I'm happy to get the kind that jingles...but I'd rather have the kind that folds, dig? If you think I'm groveling, do remember that Love Is Stronger than Pride.

"How much can you know yourself if you've never been in a fight?"

I didn't think it would come to this- but I seriously wish there was a real underground Fight Club I could join. Somewhere I could beat the shit out of someone. Somewhere I might get the shit beat out of me. If that's the case- the loss would be worthwhile. Lately, the anger comes in waves and it's a dangerous thing. I'm starting to identify with the likes of Naomi Campbell (Runway Ripper and Cell Phone Hurler Extraordinaire) and it's disturbing. There are tons of anger management resources in the Yellow Pages but for some reason- no underground clubs to knuckle up. Rule #1. You cannot google Fight Club. Rule #2. You cannot google Fight Club! I am Bug's raging bile duct...

Color me Optimistic

I'm seriously considering an accent wall in my place. I chose Peacock Feather. I was pretty pleased with this prospect until I was told it looks like it belongs in a bathroom. Well, it just might. But at least I tried something new- which is what I'm hitting for. Home Depot sells these cool little 8oz samples of any color you choose so I'll give it a spin before I commit to an entire gallon. If it sucks, I can always cover it with paint left behind by my super when I first moved in. Wish me luck.


There is a (Mixtape) God

Question: Who knows about mixtapes? Put your hand down, youngens. This is not for you. You see, This Bug remembers when mixtapes were actually tapes. A good friend pointed out that they now come as CD's and it's just not the same. I can remember copping Clue tapes from the Ave. I can remember tapes popping from incessant listening. I can recall the loss I felt when someone got me for a classic tape. Well, thanks to technological advancement I was able to replace a Dirty Harry tape from 1996 that I got somebody for. (Love ya, Broham.) Words can't express my elation when I downloaded each song in the exact sequence that I remember. I would post the link on here but I'd rather make heads work for it. If you truly want it bad enough- you'll get resourceful the way I did or- you can just hit my email and I would slide you that link because it shows that you went the extra mile and that makes you, like me, a Hip Hop purist. We take care of our own.

Lost in the World

2010-12-12T02:35:00.006-05:00

Imagine a world of chaos and a woman determined to write about it. He said he was the headache and the aspirin. He didn't lie. People always say they don't know whether they're coming or going. I'm always doing both and yet, I remain totally cognizant of that fact. It's a choice. I know that now. I chose the headache and the aspirin. The poison and the antidote. The torment and the salve. The crux: Stay or go? I never know. But win or lose- I'll write it all.
It's not often I hear lyrics that sound as if they were ripped covetously from my brain. But every now and then...

You're my devil you're my angel
You're my heaven you're my hell
You're my now you're my forever
You're my freedom you're my jail
You're my lies you're my truth
You're my war you're my truce,
Your my questions you're my proof
Your my stress and you're my masseuse.

Lost In The World - Kanye West

"I am serious."

2010-12-03T13:00:00.007-05:00

Leslie Nielsen

Sunrise: February 11,1926 Sunset: November 28, 2010

I owe a great many laughs from my youth to this man. Shirley, he will be missed.

Throwback Thursdays

2010-12-02T12:00:00.004-05:00

1995. One of my favorite years in Hip Hop. And I'll go as far as saying it was one my favorite years in life overall. To quote Dickens, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity..." Don't I know it. You know who else knew it? The Pharcyde. By the second album- Labcabincalifornia they collectively displayed a more serious side musically and lyrically. Many of the tracks were produced by J Dilla (Rest In Peace) and you definitely heard a difference. While they didn't completely depart from the jokes and playfulness which was evident on their 1992 debut, Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde, This Bug fell right in step with the growing pains they expressed. Shit, I was going through it my damn self back then. Conceptually- even the videos took a new twist. (Think Drop and how everything moved backwards while going forward. Trippy.)

Which brings me to Today's Throwback. Aside from the song itself, which I always liked- the video only bolstered how I felt about it. Beginning with Fatlip's verse, the recollections are heartfelt. He got picked on, jumped and harrassed by Crips. Slim Kid Tre breaks down the lessons of being self reliant; friends are nice to have around, but there's no guarantee they'll be there when it gets thick. The final verse from Imani hit me hard back then- especially the last line. All the while, the video has an almost dreamlike quality. Which is fitting since there's a scenario of flip-flop slavery at play here. In a surreal role reversal, everything from the servitude on a plantation to an auction block is present- but not in a way you've ever seen in history. The Pharcyde play croquet while melanin deficient girls style the hair of their mistresses poolside. It's an interesting juxtapostion to say the least. This Bug's favorite line? "It's 1995. Now that I'm older stress weighs on my shoulders heavy as boulders- but I told ya- Til the day that I die I still- will be a soldier. And that's all I told ya and that's all I showed ya." I still feel him on that one. It's true. You can't keep Runnin', you just gotta keep keen and cunnin'.

Let the Bed Bug bite

2010-12-01T09:45:00.005-05:00

When I was in the sixth grade, I wrote a story about a lipstick from the perspective of the lipstick. I can remember getting a really high grade on it. The teacher liked how I applied emotion to an inanimate object. The details are fuzzy but I recall the lipstick being purchased from the cosmetic counter by a girl whose father thought she was too young to wear make-up. She tried it on in private. Held it close, hid it in her Hello Kitty purse. She snuck it into school once and put it on before she spoke to a boy she liked. Her dad found it one day. He snatched it from her, smashed the cap onto it before winding it down, and so on.  All of this from the point of view of the lipstick. It was pretty cool. Anyway, recently I was looking for writing prompts and was reminded of that story. What follows is the result of that writing exercise. I had fun with it. I may post more of these because I enjoyed revisiting the midset of being in my writing classes. Here's the prompt:

You return home from work to find a Dear John letter on your kitchen table. Oddly enough, it's from one of your favorite pieces of furniture. What does the letter say?

Dear Jayne,

    I guess the gaping space in the bedroom is somewhat telling. I wish it weren't this way. It's only been about three years but I believe it's best if we part ways. For now, anyway. It's not that I don't feel appreciated- because I do. The way you rotated me each month and regularly changed my linens let me know that you cared about my well being. When your brother-in-law built my base so you wouldn't lose things underneath me, I was relieved. I know you hated misplacing earrings and hair clips under there. But this is not about me.

    I was meant to improve your quality of life but it's just not happening. You only just learned that I was called Cushion Cloud. My pillow top used to lull you into blissful rest. Somehow though, you forgot how useful I could be. Languid sweat from bodies in motion has been replaced by tears. You think I can't tell the difference in the saline? Ask yourself what happened. How come I don't feel the weight of him anymore? One man. I liked that you never brought strangers to lie in me. I grew accustomed to the way you both held each other close in the middle of me. And when asleep, secure in the knowledge that I was supporting you both, retreated to opposite sides. Only to unite again when day broke. He was in the habit of making me before he left. I wish I could say the same for you- but I don't fault you for that. You're always running. Always late. I know I'm the reason you sometimes chose a few minutes more of being cradled over making sure every hair was in place for work. I know that takes time. You didn't mind oversleeping. I want you to know that I understand how lonely it can be. That's why you often fall asleep with books or the New York Times at the foot of me sometimes; the lamp still burning bright when your alarm sounds at 7:25 a.m. I was all yours. You'd lay diagonally, dead center and even upside-down on occasion. Or you'd tear off articles of clothing in mid-slumber. Leggings. Socks. A bra left between the sheets here and there. Panties rolled off in one swift movement; just so you could get more out your forty winks. That made me happy.

But I'm not happy anymore- because you're not happy anymore. I won't be back until you are again. I know you'll miss me when you're curled up on that too soft love seat, sinking each time you rest your bones. It sounds strange but I want you to. I want you to get busy living. Live a life that makes you ready to collapse into a welcoming bed so that I may want to return. Make no mistake; I don't want you to exhaust yourself. You've done enough of that. I just want you to even things out again. Less tears. More sleep. Lovemaking at twilight. More dreams. No nightmares. You deserve that. I'll be back when it's time.

                                                                                   Yours truly,
                                                                                   The Mattress

P.S. Just a last word of advice. The sheepskin rug is nice but I hope you don't get on the floor to take your rest. Too many unseen dust mites down there. TTYS...hopefully.

blessed, alive, thankful...in that order

2010-11-29T15:30:00.008-05:00

"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?"-The Shadow

To say that my Thanksgiving morning started out like any other would be far from the truth. In fact, it would be an outright lie. I awoke to a day that was mixed with turmoil, stirred by animosity and bubbling with potential violence. Needless to say, I tried my best to carry on with the day as though none of these factors bore any weight. So foolish of me to ignore the omens.

I was up before the sun and made my way to the basement laundry room of my building. My thought was- it's a holiday and not yet 6 a.m. so no one should be down there. I'll be in and out in no time. I opted for the closeness of my building rather than lug three heavy bags across the courtyard to my car and a nearby laundromat. When I got there- it was dead silent. An eerie, early morning quiet that makes you feel you're the only one in the world who's up and about. No machines going. No dryers tumbling. Deserted.

Then I saw him. Scruffy and unshaven. A nest of matted dirty blond hair topped his head. His hands looked meaty and swollen. He said, "Hey. How's it going?" I reply, "Good Morning." I began loading the machines when it struck me that he was down there but not using the laundry facilities. I engage him. "Are you waiting for the machines?" He looked skittish. "No, I'm waiting for him to pick me up for work. It's cold out there, you know?" Immediately I analyze his words. Why would he say 'him' like I'm supposed to know who he's talking about? And if he lived in the building, there would be no need for him to wait outside in the cold. I nod. I didn't want to be rude. Just because someone looks unkempt doesn't necessarily mean they're up to no good. He asks me for a light. I don't usually carry matches but I had them. I don't usually carry a screwdriver either, but I had one that morning. I hand him the book of matches. He lights up under the No Smoking sign. As bold as I am, it's something I've never done in that basement. It rubs me the wrong way. I leave.

Forty minutes after the wash cycle, I make my way back downstairs. Thankfully, the sun is up. At first glance, it feels like I'm alone. As I step in a little further, I see a figure crouching behind the huge dryer closest to the wall. He peeks out at me then walks out into the open. Asks me for another light. Says he can't believe he lost the one I gave him. At this point, all friendliness is out the window. I tell him no. Sternly. All the while I'm wondering what the hell he was doing hiding behind the dryer, but I say nothing. He leaves through a back door that locks automatically once closed. As I'm pulling clothes from the washing machine I hear a knock at the same door two minutes later. I ignore it because anyone who's allowed to come through there- more than likely has a key. Deep down, I know it's him again. I pretend not to hear the knocking but he walks to the window across from where I'm standing and points to the door.

I hold up one finger as if to say 'Gimme a second'. He saunters back over to the door. I take the screwdriver from my bag and slide it into the back pocket of my jeans. Against my better judgment I walk over and crack the door slightly with my left hand; my right hand firmly gripping the handle of the Philips behind me. Oddly enough, I'm cool as a water fountain but ready to jab seven inches of metal repeatedly through his neck at the first sign of foul play. He starts out by saying that he's staying with his mother right now. (In my mind I'm saying God bless him if a man this beat up still has a living mother somewhere) Then he proceeds to hold a wallet out towards me. He claims that I'm welcome to hold on to it to ensure he returns- if I can help him out with seven dollars. Again, I internally dissect his words. He didn't ask for $1. He didn't ask for $5. Such a peculiar and specific dollar amount. Drugs perhaps? Now, it's been said that I got most of my education by watching movies. And I've always playfully disputed that. But, if not for Catch Me If You Can with Leonardo DiCaprio, I might have fallen for this wallet trick that is supposed to instantly gain your trust. I mean, who's going to leave their wallet with you and not come back, right? Wrong. That can be anyone's wallet. A dead man's wallet for all I know. "I have no cash." I say it brusquely while closing the door on his face.

Through the window, I watch him walk by to the front of the building. I can only see from his torso to just below his knees. He does something strange. He splays his fingers wide apart and then clenches them into a fist. Repeating the move until he's out of my sight. I find the entire episode unnerving but I'm not shaken for some reason. When I'm sure that he's gone, I return to loading my wet clothes into the two dryers. I load up the second one, the one I saw him stooping behind and shut the huge circular door. With it comes the loudest clamour. It's heart-stopping and for the first time that morning, I'm startled.

I look to the right of the dryer where the noise came from and see the biggest pipe wrench I've ever seen in my life. Over 18 inches long. I pick it up and it seems to weigh at least twenty pounds. I drop it. Replay the scene in my head as I realize his hands were on that wrench just ten minutes ago. My hands start to shake at the thoughts of how it could have gone. My skull split by one blow with his weapon of choice. Blood. Everywhere. Bludgeoned to death the same way my aunt was in our native Trinidad a few years back. No one knew I was down there. No one could have known. Even though I was ready to fight for my life or even take his if need be, I still shuddered at what could have been.

Right then and there, on that day...I truly gave thanks. No, not an ordinary Thanksgiving at all. Not in the least.

Where Did The Night Go

2010-11-25T19:30:00.004-05:00

Where Did The Night Go - Gil Scott Heron

Long ago the clock washed midnight away
Bringing the dawn
Oh God, I must be dreaming
Time to get up again
And time to start up again
Pulling on my socks now
Should have been asleep
When I was sitting there drinking beer
And trying to start another letter to you
Don’t know how many times I dreamed to write again last night
Should’ve been asleep when I turned the stack of records over
and over
So I wouldn’t be up by myself
Where did the night go?
Should go to sleep now
And say fuck a job and money
Because I spend it all on unlined paper and can’t get past
“Dear Baby, how are you?”
Brush my teeth and shave
Look outside…sky is dark
Think it may rain
Where did
Where did
Where did

Been asking myself the same exact thing, Gil. The same exact thing...

Photo Courtesy: Giora Eshkol

Throwback Thursdays

2010-11-25T00:00:00.001-05:00

Peace People. I know it's Thursday, but I'm also well aware that this is no ordinary Thursday. It's Thanksgiving Day. So I'm pretty sure that many of you will be reading this days after you've stuffed yourself on turkey, watched some football, drank way too much and got into it with your dysfunctional relatives. (At least, that's what my Thanksgiving may probably consist of. ) But I digress. Since this is tragically recognized as an eating holiday- rather than a day of reverence for the indigenous people of America, I'll go with the flow and post a video in keeping with that sentiment: Greed. Shout out to Nice and Smooth for coming up with a joint that I can appreciate down to the last detail on a day like today. People can be so greedy. It's a shame. But this is a reminder to everyone, that you can't have your Cake and Eat It Too. Hope you've all had your fill. Uno.

Six Days Remix

2010-11-24T13:30:00.000-05:00

This one has always been a strange favorite lurking in my music collection. Surprisingly, it has very little to do with Mos Def's involvement with this tune. The song haunts me. The sentiment that tomorrow may bring the worst- but it may be better than we we're dealing with today...that's deep. Hope is such a fantastic thing. It really is. Especially in times of war. Plus, the very first line uttered sounds a lot like Gil Scott Heron, but I can't be too sure. Anyway, enjoy the video and lyrics. Maybe you'll feel me on this one and maybe you won't. You still can't take anything away from it, though. Peace.

Six Days Remix - DJ Shadow featuring Mos Def

I get a feeling there's gonna be a riot

I don't read the newspapers, because they all have... ugly prints.

Bring it ON!
Bring it ON!
Bring it on cuz there's gon be some shit tonight!

At the starting of the week
At summit talks you'll hear them speak
It's only Monday
Negotiations breaking down
See those leaders start to frown
It's sword and gun day

Tomorrow never comes until it's too late

Come come come come come with it (x2)

You could be sitting taking lunch
The news will hit you like a punch
It's only Tuesday (What time is it? )
You never thought we'd go to war
After all the things we saw
It's April Fools' day (What time is it? )

Tomorrow never comes until it's too late
Tomorrow never comes until it's too late

[Mos Def]
Tomorrow is another day
Today is another bomb
Tomorrow is another day
Today is another bomb
Tomorrow is another day
Today is another bomb
Tomorrow is another day
Today is another
(Boom boom ba ba ba ba boom ba ba ba ba boom ba ba ba ba ba) (x4)

Fiyah!!!
Lick off a
SHOT!
Escalation
Never Station
Generation
Separation
Situation
Dissipation
Shot!
Another shot another shot
The tender make the pressure pop
The heart is cold the gun is hot (Shot)
I'm not sure if they done or not
I'm not sure if they wanna stop
The gun is cold the blood is hot (Shot)
(Sha Sha Sha Sha Sha Sha Shot)
The hearts are weak the guns are not

You hear a whistling overhead
Are you alive or are you dead?
It's only Thursday (What time is it? )
You feel the shaking on the ground
A million candles burn around
Is it your birthday? (What time is it? )

Tomorrow never comes until it's too late
(Get tomorr' on the phone Tryna be smart Get tomorr' on the phone)
Tomorrow never comes until it's too late (I need to see tomorr' Tryna reach tomorr')
Think tomorrows come .
I think it's too late

ANOTHER DAY!

Boom boom ba ba ba ba boom ba ba ba ba boom ba ba ba ba ba

Tomorrow is another day (x2)

Bring it ON!
Bring it ON!
Bring it on cuz there's gon be some shit tonight!

No Business Like Show Business

2010-11-22T15:00:00.002-05:00

"Kid, ya gonna be large!!!"

Underground. Underestimated. Undervalued. Golden Era. Those are the words that come to mind when I think of EPMD. Never in the history of Hip Hop has there been a duo who stood the test of time like these two. And yet, I still don't feel like they get the proper credit they deserve. Last week, I was blessed with a live performance by them at the Knitting Factory- and it was everything I expected from this legendary pair. Eric Sermon and Parrish Smith have always literally been about their business. Check the resume: Strictly Business (1988), Unfinished Business (1989), Business As Usual (1990), Business, Never Personal (1992) Back in Business (1997) Out of Business (1999) We Mean Business (2008). And nothing has changed. They still make it their biz to command a crowd without being extra. They give the people what they want. No theatrics. No pyrotechnics. Just dope beats and lyrics coming out of Long Island, NY.

Of course they did what they do best. Rough Rugged and Raw. Eric and Parrish launched into Please Listen to My Demo and the hits didn't stop coming. Backed by the equally legendary DJ Scratch on the turntables, they ran through their catalog of singles that hits just has hard as it did back in '88 and beyond. There's something about how the beat to Strictly Business starts up that just takes you somewhere. I looked around at the sea of faces and watched as they recited every lyric in sync with them. A part of me was waiting for LL to jump out during Rampage, or even Redman for the Headbanger but it wasn't even necessary. They held it down- just the two of them. Going line for line on joints like You Gots To Chill, Crossover, Jane and So Wat Chu Sayin', they haven't lost their touch. Not by a long shot. That effortless flow and the easy way they exchange verses comes from years of really knowing one another and knowing what works. They are tried and true crowd pleasers because they've mastered that formula. And they understand how important it is for that brand of Hip Hop to remain relevant. The Green Eyed Bandit kept it a hundred when he said onstage that he's not a broke ass hater. Make no mistake. It's just that most of what you hear nowadays is wack. That's how he launched into Da Joint. And I quote, "It's not about me fallin' off. I'm good. It's not that I don't have money. Matta fact...I make a million bucks..." Ooh wee...that was hot.

Still, it would have been nice to hear the classic Gold Digger before they departed. Or even the lesser known It's Going Down off the Juice Soundtrack- just for the die hards such as myself. I mean...they were among the patrons gettin' stuck up by Blizzard in the bar at like 11 in the morning. Ha! Remember that? Shout out to my peoples, Dinco D who I saw up in there. I'll be back in the building next month to check his performance with Leaders of the New School and Son of Beserk. All in all, it was a really good show. They closed with Just Like Music off Eric's solo mission and everyone left satisified. It made me realize that when it comes to Eric and Parrish Making Dollars, I'll always make it MY BUSINESS to show love.

Now press play...

Throwback Thursdays

2010-11-18T00:00:00.025-05:00

Big budget videos are nothing new to Hip Hop. In fact, they are so widespread nowadays that folks hardly notice just how many wasteful dollars are put behind these onscreen images of excess. It's just a given. The custom cars. Helicopters. Yachts. Plush locales, etc. Don't forget about wardrobe, hair and make-up for the slew of video vixens who decorate the scenery. All of which costs a pretty penny. But This Bug remembers when it wasn't a given. I remember when some of the best songs had simple videos that didn't employ all the smoke and mirrors to wow the audience. The music spoke for itself. And don't talk to me about how it was oh-so-different when it came to bragging on material things. Case and point: Today's Throwback. In 1989 Special Ed debuted with the album Youngest In Charge. At just 16 years old, this Brooklynite had a flair for the finer things and the lyricism to match. His imagination ran wild as he painted a picture of an opulent lifestyle. We knew full and well it was an exaggeration. But so what? It captured us and it was dope. Period. You could picture in your mind all the luxuries he rhymed about. Without the benefit of a huge budget, Special Ed had a video that remains a staple; nothing short of a bonafide Hip Hop classic.

Take a good look at the vid. No lush backdrop of Tahiti. No shiny new cars. He didn't need anything of that to validate his existence. He's in a junkyard talking about owning 74 Honda scooters, yo. How fly is that? And peep the Potato Alligator Soufflé. It's a dish of mashed potatoes with a toy dinosaur tail stuck in the middle. Hilarious...and imaginative. This joint came long before the need to impress the masses with mostly unattainable objects that is so rampant in today's music- at least visually anyway. The Roots went on to spoof this sad trend in What They Do years later. But the Magnificent One made it cool to not have any of these things while articulating what made him so fly. This Bug's favorite line? "I never lost cuz I'm the boss / I never will cuz I'm still / The champion - Chief one won't lose until I choose / which I won't cuz I don't retreat / I run you over like a truck and leave you dead in the street / You're invitin' me, a Titan to a battle, why? I don't need your respect cuz / I Got It Made."

And just like that- he got mine. Nuff 'respect.

Green Light

2010-11-16T10:00:00.018-05:00

I miss coming and going

as I please.
Stop. Go. Stop. Stop.
Go.Go. Go.
I miss having enough change

to do simple things,

like buy myself a silly
pair of slippers.
I miss the days of sleeping late

and catching early movies.

I miss talking to my father

across a cup of instant coffee.

It was no Starbucks but it was just...good.
I miss logging on and writing to my heart's content.

I miss the days of early December

when nothing mattered
but lunch.
Now everything does.
Every bit of minutia making shreds
out of my peace
like ribbons.
Like pretty frayed crosscut ribbons
curling on the wind.
Now my days are filled with wondering

where the time will come from.

Where the money will come from.

Where the peace of mind

will come from.

Today

I'm giving myself the green light
to start it all over again
because
I
miss
me.

Four Women Revisited

2010-11-12T00:00:00.003-05:00

I love a good tribute. Some people, myself included, say that certain songs should be left alone if the cover cannot do it justice. But every now and then- I can appreciate when artists pay homage with respect and without trying to replicate the original. They bring their own style to the song while staying true to the essence of it. Well that's exactly what Kelly Price, Marsha Ambrosius, Jill Scott and Ledisi did for Nina Simone's Four Women. Check out their tribute on BET's Black Girls Rock 2010.

Now, let's not forget the original from the Queen herself. Nina's version has no peer. It's melancholy. Truth bearing. Unflinching. Unapologetic. She introduces each woman with grace even if their lives sound graceless. Life is hard but they are not victims. They are not martyrs. She allows us to meet four women who have lived through remarkable circumstances. It's one of her crowning achievements and let's be honest; pluck any song from Ms. Simone's catalog and you can say the same for any one of them. I dedicate this to my dear friend, the Lioness, who told me she held the honor of being Sweet Thing in a dance interpretation of Four Women when she was a little girl. Such a grown up theme for them to do- and I know she nailed it.

Apart from a remake, I think it's astounding what Talib Kweli did with Nina's song. His interpretation is called For Women and I love it because it is in fact for us. Lyrically, he goes beyond the surface. He goes beyond the names and colorfully illustrates what makes these four women who they are. Aunt Sarah. Saffronia. Sweet Thing. Peaches. Their stories are expounded upon. Their histories and realities are brought to life in the most articulate and esteemed manner. It's deep. It's a labor of love and it's beautiful.

Respect to a true gem, Ms. Nina Simone

Throwback Thursdays

2010-11-11T11:00:00.001-05:00

Hello B-Boys and B-Girls. This Bug has a very special treat for you today. I'm pulling a video from my own personal VHS archives today. Yes, I had this video on tape and can recall very clearly which video came right after it. It was Understand Me, Vanessa by Antexx which I already featured when I first started Throwback Thursdays. Go watch it over here when you're done with today's feature. Why not? Anyway, 1991 was an interesting year for Hip Hop. I can actually mark that as a cusp where conscious music like this, street chronicles (think Kool G Rap) and even party music (think Heavy D) shared the same space and time. But none of it was irrelevant. It all had its place. I wish I could say the same for what passes for Hip Hop today. (Sigh) So I bring to you today, one of the most slept on posse cuts of all time. The line up is something you're not likely to ever see again, realistically. Harmony, Kid Capri, Freddie Foxxx, LL Cool J, MC Lyte, Queen Latifah, KRS-One, Ms. Melodie, Big Daddy Kane and Run-DMC joined forces to bring food for thought to the masses with H.E.A.L (Human Education Against Lies) Every emcee seemed to complement one another on this single that still is so very important when you listen to the lyrics. LL is noticeably missing from the video but that's okay. The video still evokes good feelings for me. Summertime in NYC. The Do The Right Thing poster behind Kid Capri. The classic Jeep. The fashion, the vibe, the messages and sense of community. This Bug's favorite line? "Everybody rise...as I present to a jet black crowd, What it's like to be black and proud..." Call me stuck if you want-but I'll never let go of such a positive time. So glad I hit record that day. So, so glad.

Bug Behaving Badly

2010-11-10T16:30:00.008-05:00

Where there's smoke...

Lately I've been tempted to be a bad Bug. A very, very bad Bug. This list of misdeeds includes but is not limited to: cursing out the driver of a utility van that was headed straight for me and my little hooptie, waging an all out war for approximately 24 straight hours with my lover and flicking my tongue at some old man in a car Manolo (from Scarface) style for no decent reason. What? He shouldn't have admonished my driving. He's lucky I didn't give his pacemaker a kick start by licking my window. It's my way of settling the score since I wouldn't flip the bird to an elderly person. C'mon, I have some home training. Then there's the other bad behavior I've indulged in lately. Boredom + Camera Phone = Reasons I should never go into teaching or politics. But that's another story.

I can't explain it- this recent odd behavior. It just happens every now and then. I'm a good egg for the most part but once in a while...I can be a deviled egg. Hot, spicy and way more interesting than your average. Call me Paprika the Wild Child. I can be what some may call a handful. The scary thing about this- is that I literally check out while holding minimal accountability for my actions. I'm fully aware that my actions may exact a less than a desirable reaction but at the moment, I just don't care. So much so, that even if I had an entire bag of fucks- I could not give one while I'm in flip mode. Seriously.

There's a part of me that takes a deep, dark satisfaction in casting off the kinder, gentler Bug and unleashing a wanton force to be reckoned with. The warrior in me thrives on it. I trade the halo for the horns, guard my grill, knuckle up and let the chips fall. No apologies. Until it catches up to me- I'll continue with my road rage induced diatribes, petulant partner practices and maybe only pixelated versions will hit Media Takeout if my Blackberry ever gets hacked. Whatever. As Method Man so eloquently stated, "We ain't acrobats but we flip on occasion." I feel him on that one. Hey, at least I can admit it.

Sleep to Dream

2010-11-09T17:40:00.004-05:00

All my life I've admired people who have dreamed about flying. Mostly because up until last week, I truly couldn't relate. It seemed that those people had a mental freedom that I lacked. They weren't afraid. Perhaps before last week, I couldn't fathom soaring above it all. But in the dream, that's just what I did. Everything looked small. Like those intricate little villages you see around Christmas time with miniature trains chugging through them. I sailed through the sky with wind enveloping me and coasting me along. I didn't fall. I didn't falter. I just flew through and above clouds without a worry in the world. I know better than to think it may happen again. I don't even need it again. If it does, great. If it doesn't, at least a I touched that feeling of being completely free and unencumbered. Light as the invisible feathers that carried me through an element that I'm totally unacquainted with. It was beautiful. Maybe in waking life, I've risen above something I was incapable of before. Who knows? Sleep brought me a new treasure other than much needed rest. When I awoke I was looking into a familiar face. Another dream began. I'm awake now though and like Fiona- I don't go to sleep to dream.

I tell you how I feel, but you don't care
I say tell me the truth, but you don't dare
You say love is a hell you cannot bear
And I say gimme mine back and then go there - for all I care

I got my feet on the ground
And I don't go to sleep to dream
You got your head in the clouds
And you're not at all what you seem
This mind, this body
And this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
So don't forget what I told you
Don't come around, I got my own hell to raise

I have never been so insulted in all my life
I could swallow the seas to wash down all this pride
First you run like a fool just to be at my side
And now you run like a fool
But you just run to hide, and I can't abide

I got my feet on the ground
And I don't go to sleep to dream
You got your head in the clouds
And you're not at all what you seem
This mind, this body
And this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
So don't forget what I told you
Don't come around, I got my own hell to raise

Don't make it a big deal, don't be so sensitive
We're not playing a game anymore
You don't have to be so defensive
Don't you plead me your case, don't bother to explain
Don't even show me your face, ''cause it's a crying shame
Just go back to the rock from under which you came
Take the sorrow you gave and all the stakes you claim -
And don't forget the blame

I got my feet on the ground
And I don't go to sleep to dream
You got your head in the clouds
And you're not at all what you seem
This mind, this body
And this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
So don't forget what I told you
Don't come around, I got my own hell to raise

Throwback Thursdays

2010-11-04T09:45:00.016-04:00

Peace People. Today's Throwback has no history lesson behind it. I have no personal soliloquy or specific memory that attaches itself to this song. All I have today is reverence for good music and a special dedication. This one goes out to a dear friend and amazing person who had a convergence with this artist as they put one in the air. As he tells it, Pete was just a modest and cool, down-to-earth person who hardly seemed aware of how his talents has touched others. Which is kinda cool, since the person this joint is dedicated to possesses the same quality of humble and unassuming character- while inspiring the lives of others in a way only he can. This is for one of my favorite people who taught me to get it while the gettin' is good but to not rush anything. He shared this with me: 'Everything takes time but most people can't wait.' It's just a matter of time. Just one of the many jewels I've been blessed with by a true Soul Survivor. And I give thanks. One Love.

Time and Space and In Between

2010-11-03T16:45:00.011-04:00

You know that saying, "Time flies when you're having fun." ? Why doesn't anyone ever mention that it also flies when you're not having fun. That it flies or drags according to how busy you are and how much you have to get done. I've been dealing with that a lot lately. I'm a working stiff now. It's a far cry from last year when I had time to do what I wanted to do since I was unemployed. Sure, I had less money- but the time to myself and freedom was priceless. I could go to Hip-Hop shows. Sleep late. Write. Food shop. I could actually make spontaneous plans (as oxymoronic as that sounds). I could blog at my leisure. *sniff sniff* That's what I miss the most. It's funny- I was talking to someone the other day about time and money and how subjective they both are depending on the circumstances. Take for example five dollars. Five dollars is not a lot of money. Not if it came to say...buying a car. Shit, gimme two if that's the case. But am I going to pay five dollars for a Jolly Rancher? Hell to the no. The same theory is relevant with time. Five minutes at the DMV is akin to a wet dream. But I've heard five minutes of an asthma attack is the equivalent of five unbearable hours. So it's all relative. Anyway, read on if you want to know what This Bug has been doing with her time and moola when they both flow a little freely.

Last year it was Breakfast at Tiffany's. This year it was Kill Bill. I don't care what anyone says. Halloween is fun and I'm not too old for it. This one was a doozie. It involved a lot dying and sewing where the costume was concerned (That alone was a labor of love. My dad rocks!) and I went through two wig changes. The first wig was a platinum blond and made me look more like Diddy's moms than Beatrix Kiddo. But I got it right eventually. Note to self: Take samurai sword out of backseat.

(This Bug baked)

You know, when some one asks you to make a big ass cupcake for their child's birthday party- you never expect that many accolades for simply following instructions. But the praise was overwhelming this weekend. It's amazing the oohs and ahhs some silicone bakeware and custom made (read: freakin' overpriced) sprinkles can solicit. I swear everyone there were just overgrown kids drooling over an over sized cupcake. At this point, I'm so over it.

And speaking of over it, I am so not when it comes to the Ghostface performance I broke my neck to go see. If anyone runs into Mr. Starks, please let him know I have a bone to pick with him. First of all, I don't blame him for things that are out his control, like the show being under promoted and having a sparse crowd. I don't blame him for being disappointed with the venue. When Cappadonna asked for the lights to be adjusted, I kinda felt Ghost when he said, "They don't got no light man. They don't got shit!" It was type funny because it was so true. But his energy was not 100% and once again he flooded the stage with those Theodore Unit cats. Why? They can't rhyme for shit. How many glorified hype men does one need? I love me some Ghost, but that show was trash. I mean- Sheek Louch was drunk but at least he looked like he gave a fat frog's ass and his catalog can't compare to what Ghost has in the stash. But unfortunately, that well went untapped most of night. I would've at least felt as though my money was well spent had he freaked off with the groupies onstage like the pic above. That might have entertained me. *Sigh*

Let me say this: Role playing works wonders and shouldn't be limited to couples who think they've lost the spark. It can actually lend additional fireworks to an already sparky relationship. (Is sparky even a word? Spellcheck says yes- though my context is questionable.) So, head out. Meet up with that not-so-unfamiliar stranger and let your imaginations be your only limitation. How can you go wrong? At the end of it all, neither of you can be charged for bad behavior when you already know each other. Am I right? You may be surprised at what a mock first date can spark. And...Oh yeah, a blond wig or samurai sword leftover from Halloween can't hurt. Unless you want it to. Just sayin'...

This book freakin' rocks. And I'm only the first chapter in. I have to say that happening by this book in a Dollar Store and actually buying it for one dollar (no lie) has been one of the best things that has occurred all year. It's the little things, dig? This woman can write her ass off and she's deeper than the River Styx. It's not a self help book. It's not a novel. It has history anecdotes, admissions of every day people and a different spin on age old ruminations of self. It defies categorization and that's what I love about it. Check out this excerpt:

In 2002, Verizon Wireless debuted a service called Get It Now. This allowed subscribers to download music, videos and other entertainments onto their cell phones: "Watch sports clips, comedy, news and weather from major networks and indie favorites -- all on your phone, on demand," the promo urged. "Express yourself with colorful and stylish images.... Fight boredom with fun games."

But by the time you read this, such technology will already be ancient history. And I will look the fool for citing it, like an old rube in a cartoon trying to feed hay to a car. Cutting edges are disposable blades now, replaced incessantly. We watch, twitching and restless.

I haven't enjoyed such a milieu of ideas and stories since The 48 Laws of Power. Find it now. Read it soon. Thank me later.

Time is such a precious commodity- as subjective as it is. I'll leave you with a Tweet I saw just the other day but chose not to #RT (that's retweet for all the those who are clueless just like I was) because...Twitter just doesn't do it for me, okay? There I said it. Anyway, it goes like this: "Yesterday is a canceled check. Tomorrow is a promissory note. Today is the only cash you have. Spend it wisely."

I couldn't agree more. Today, do the things that will bring you closer to your purpose and peace. That's the space where happiness lies. Make it count. You won't regret it. I know I didn't.

Throwback Thursdays

2010-10-21T09:45:00.002-04:00

Man listen...This Bug is still open off a show that I saw a few days ago. I mean wide open. I'm still buggin' off the vibes. I can't even speak on it right now. But ooohwee! You'll have to come back for a full rundown of the events. The line up was sick. Period. In the meantime and between time...this is how we lock it down. For my true heads, Bucktown and Duck Down all day.

Never That Simple

2010-10-15T10:00:00.002-04:00

What I'm doing- is like trying to build a cathedral out of Popsicle sticks. And while one may admire the artistry of such a feat- anyone observing will instantly recognize it as a useless and laborious task. Each attempt to come closer to peace finds me several paces further from it. If it were as simple as applying my favorite shade of lipstick to the contours of my lips without the aid of a compact- I would soar. Knowing this mouth all my life takes the work out of it. But it's never that simple, is it? You cannot just paint over the cracks and pretend the dilapidation is nonexistent. The truth will bleed through eventually. It's still there. Like the mottled blemishes on the once mauve lips of my youth, I know how they got there. I only succeed in hiding them from the rest of the world. It's the reason I don't leave the house without lipstick. But I know what's there from dragging smoke across them for the better part of eighteen years. Damage.

This is my guilt. Shining up the armor each morning. Preparing for battle. Locking out the world and showing a brave, war painted face. Brandishing scars and weapons of sarcasm that tell the same story. I fight against phantom assailants that are no more than shadows of my past. They would disappear if I could just turn a light on. I could back up and finally see the wholeness of me. But I'm broken at best. Constantly piecing together the ill-fitting parts for some semblance of normalcy. It's like groping around in a dark but familiar room. When you knock into the end table, sending the lamp to the floor- it's not because you didn't know it was there. You just weren't mindful of the known obstacles. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. They would have had me committed years ago.

Sometimes I dream of a love that rights the wrong. A love that hurts and heals simultaneously, a deserving love. I came close once. But in my haste, I mistook it for mine. I understand now that it was not mine to claim. None of it is ours to keep. We should simply pass it along like a message that may self-destruct once read. And be thankful someone thought us worthy of the mission.

This morning

2010-10-08T10:22:00.015-04:00

An errant silver hair up front

betrays the girlish ponytail

I've so painstakingly constructed

this morning.

It's chillier in the apartment

than usual- knowing it's already hot

in the Sunshine state.

I do not hear the kettle on the range.

Forget the black pekoe steeping

in my mug dotted with ladybugs.

No time to drink it.
Too much time spent on the ponytail

that isn't fooling anyone.

I ring my father.

Remind him of the man

we would see
while lapping the high school track
for exercise.
He would walk the grassy outskirts
in shorts and knee high socks
jostling a rocks glass of amber liquid.
Nodding at passers by.
A comical smile on his face.
Bourbon perhaps?
For the sake of refills I hope
he lived close by.
We laugh-
even as I feel my happiness

circling the drain.

I hang up.

I start the car and notice

the tears roll, blamelessly now

from a different place
where anger has departed
and a hollow ache
has taken residence-
this morning.

Throwback Thursdays

2010-10-07T13:00:00.000-04:00

Um...yeah.Shout out to Miami.

That's all I got today. Peace.

Just a thought

2010-10-03T15:50:00.014-04:00

In an effort to escape the doldrums of my livelihood, I'm back with the ever popular list. Just the random musings and occurrences that go on. I never tire of sharing the exploits and aimless thoughts that make up This Bug's Life. It keeps me sane. Some thoughts from the mind of a jilted, Ciroc swiggin' blogger just trying to make it...

What the hell ever happened to tan M&M's ? Not only did they quietly disappear years ago, but they were replaced by blue ones. Seriously, if they had to chuck a color- nobody would have missed the dark brown ones. Nobody. And maybe it's just me, but I have a strong distrust for anything edible that's an unnatural shade of blue. Blue juice. Blue Jell-O. Blue popsicles. Blue lollipops. It never quite tastes like raspberry and it leaves your tongue looking like you felated a Smurf. Uh-uh. They can keep that. But...This Bug has been known to sip her share of Hypnotiq. Stay tuned for a drink recipe.

As a film buff, I'm not ashamed to say that I've never seen a full Woody Allen movie. Ever. I dunno, he just seems boring. He's supposed to be this Oscar winning genius- and he very well may be, but I just don't see it. It's quite possible that I'm missing out on fantastic cinematic experiences but I just have no interest in his work. That's not to say I haven't tried. I got about 20 minutes into Hannah and Her Sisters before shutting it off. It was a forgettable experience to say the least. To say the most? The Purple Rose of Cairo sucked. Let's move on.

I've said it time and again. This Bug leads an interesting life. I don't know why I attract the crazies. The weirdos. Those in a state of arrested development. It's like I'm Lady Liberty only my banner reads: "Bring me your deranged, your unstable. Your huddled masses yearning to send photos of genitalia via text message." That's what happened weeks ago when I ran into a guy I went to Junior High with and we exchanged numbers to catch up. After sporadic text messages over 2 weeks, we finally spoke on the phone. General conversation. And I mean general. Nothing that would make it okay to send a pic from the neck down to the forbidden forest 5 minutes after getting off the phone. I'm not kidding. Everything was in this photo but the head. (Yeah, that one.) The jury is still out on what made him think that was perfectly acceptable to do. On the upside, I think the shower curtain in background was from Target and I really want to change the scheme of my bathroom so kudos to him for giving me decorating ideas...Freakin' perv.

When the going gets tough, the tough get over it. That's been my motto since a series of unfortunate events have blindsided me in the past few weeks. I don't know if it's some built-in coping mechanism or what, but losing myself in work and striving to keep my sanity and blog about it has become my number one priority. It's been a tough road financially, romantically and nutritionally since I barely have time to eat while running between two jobs. But hey, nothing a soy protein shake can't help during the day and a glass of Goose and Cran can't fix at night. Food is for sissies.

Shady, Shady, Shady...Okay, I'm not sure what happened between his verse off Drake's Forever remix and that sad excuse for an anthem, Not Afraid but This Bug is baffled. If I run into him on the humble, I'll have to ask sincerely ask him, "Son...what happened?" I read that he'd gone through some things in the past few years and he had to pause for the cause. Rehab, Depression. A friend passing away. That's alot to deal with. I feel that. I hadn't heard the new album, Recovery but I was looking forward to his return when I heard the remix of Forever. He murdered it with real lyrics. That's the Em I know and respect. Honestly, I used to listen to that song 'til the end just to hear his part. His energy was crazy the way he comes into the track.

"There they go! Back in stadiums

as Shady spits his flow.

Nuts they go- Macadamia. They go so ballistic whoa."

Then I heard 'Not Afraid' and wondered what the fuck happened. He's singing. Singing, yo. And his delivery is forced. I have to call it like I see it. If you're gonna continue on this path- you should be afraid, Em. Just sayin'...

Equal parts Hypnotiq + Alize Gold on Ice = a She Hulk. Pretty tasty cocktail if you can do a juicy cognac/vodka mix. Take it from me. Sip it slow or run the risk of radio-active intoxication, leaving nothing but amnesia for the all the destruction you may leave in your wake. I speak from experience.

Cream of the Planet

2010-10-01T00:00:00.035-04:00

Let the record show that This Bug's fondness for Mos Def is river deep, mountain high. It's no secret. He's not listed as Jayne's Addiction on the right panel for no good reason. I could sit here and lick off countless verses and songs which showcase his limitless talent- but I'd rather just let you hear for yourself. The following video by Ski Beatz featuring Mos is for the single, Cream of the Planet off the new album 24 Hour Karate School by the former. Seriously. How can you not love that album title? It's been rumoured that all of Mos Def's work on the Creative Control project had been pulled before the September 7th release, but I don't know how true that is. I hope not. That would be an injustice. Anyway- a friend of mine floated this one my way and incidentally, it played flawlessly on my phone without pausing once. (You know how it goes: Buffering...buffering...buffer...oh screw this! Effin' Crackberry!) I love everything about this joint. The jazzy horns. The hypnotic beat. But the lyrics, man. The lyrics... "Listen, life is fantastic. Beautiful and tragic. Plain. Classic." I couldn't have said it better myself, Mos.

Farewell Tony

2010-09-30T12:15:00.001-04:00

It seems a little ironic to me that today marks the 50th anniversary of The Flintstones and today, Tony Curtis passed away. I say this because I can remember that the cartoon had their very own celebs in "Hollyrock" and Stony Curtis was one of them. They drew his likeness to a tee. Check it out. Anyway, I can count on one hand how many Tony Curtis movies I've seen and have fingers to spare. But I was always aware of him. Recently, I got one of the best gifts anyone could give me...if anyone knows me. The book is Esquire's The Meaning of Life and in it comes one of the best interviews from Mr. Curtis. He was candid. He was sprightly. He said that he and Marilyn Monroe fucked their heads off. You gotta love it. Eighty years old and not skipping a beat. Eccentric! I like that in people. It gives me something to aspire to in old age rather than just worrying about not having all my faculties some day. He was Hollywood's pretty boy. He played Harry Houdini. And he lived to a ripe old age where he felt well within his right to unapologetically say whatever was on his mind. He admitted that he wasn't there much for his children growing up and figured he could be a handsome man at ninety. Well sadly, he fell five years short of that but one cannot deny that he lead a full life. That's what it's about.

Wanna hear some poetry? Here's one I wrote: "You cannot ask a fish not to swim. It's the only thing that makes him him." -Tony Curtis

Don't I know it, Tony...

Rest in Peace.

Throwback Thursdays

2010-09-23T03:30:00.008-04:00

Picture it: New York. 1993. The World Trade Center was bombed (from the bottom up), Billy Clinton became the ~~first Black~~ president and Brand Nubian released In God We Trust. I remember all of this clearly. Mostly because it was a time that was rife with duality. Good times and hard times held hands. The mother of one of my closest friends worked in the Twin Towers. I can remember the sense of urgency that day. Where was she? Was she okay? And nobody's beeper would work. Remember those? It was scary. At the same time, I was in love for the first time. That alone made all the confusion in the world alright with me. Anyway, Brand Nubian was still rockin' after Grand Puba bounced for a solo mission. He's noticeably missing on one of their best singles of all time, Love me or Leave Me Alone. I'm wondering now, all these years later what a verse from Puba Maxwell might have added to this song. The other two are so matter-of-fact in their statements to their prospective and current lovers. My guess is that he would've told Baby Girl just why she should act right before she gets cancelled in a way that only he can do it. He's such a smart aleck. Either way, without him the other two break it down. This is not a love song . It's a song about wisdom and understanding- of self and then between a woman and man. At the time, I couldn't appreciate the jewels they were dropping. I was a teenager in a teenage love affair. Nothing really mattered. But I'm older and wiser now. I can see to a degree why acting tone deaf can be your own mental death. (Props to Lord Jamar on that witty play on words.) Now, I don't necessarily agree with every point they make. Some of it still comes off a tad chauvinistic to my ear- but truly, if a man is worth it...there should be no shame in dancing to his tune. A strong couple is a blessing. Love, Hell or Right. Either way, a man and woman has to go through all of it to get it right. This joint took me back to '93 while catapulting me into the present. Eight years after the first World Trade Center attack, the intended target was hit once again with devastating results. Seventeen years later, we have a~~nother~~ Black president. And I can safely say that I'm in a grown up love affair now, where the lyrics to Brand Nube's song make sense to my adult mind. "So on your wisdom I'll shine my light-Bring forth the seeds, created in the night."

Meet Virginia

2010-09-20T15:57:00.009-04:00

You want honest? I can be honest. This past weekend I experienced what can only be described as a near nervous breakdown. Or perhaps a minor meltdown of volcanic proportions. I was fit to be tied. I don't know why. Maybe I do. Shit, sometimes life just...gets to you. Either way, I know I'm not alone when songs like this can be written. I can't be the only one relating to the words. My daddy may not wrestle alligators. And my mother never worked on carburetors. But this much is true. My confidence is tragic. My intuition is magic. And there once was a time when I only drank coffee at midnight. I don't care who you are in this world or what success you have tasted- at some point or another, you just might look in the mirror and meet Virginia. I know I did.

Meet Virginia - Train

She doesn't own a dress
Her hair is always a mess
If you catch her stealin'
She won't confess
She's beautiful.

Smokes a pack a day
Wait that's me, but anyway
She doesn't care a thing about that, hey
She thinks I'm beautiful.

Meet Virginia

She never compromises
Loves babies and surprises
Wears high heels when she exercises
Ain't that beautiful?

Meet Virginia

Well she wants to be the queen
And she thinks about her scene
Pulls her hair back and she screams,
"I don't really want to be the queen!"

Daddy wrestles alligators
Mama works on carburetors
Her brother is a fine mediator
For the residents.

Here she is again on the phone
Just like me; hates to be alone
We just like to sit at home
And rip on the president.

Meet Virginia

Well she wants to live her life
And she thinks about her life
Pulls her hair back and she screams,
"I don't really want to live this life!"

She only drinks coffee at midnight
When the moment is not right
Her timing is quite
Unusual

You see, her confidence is tragic
But her intuition magic
And the shape of her body...
Unusual.

Meet Virginia
I can't wait to
Meet Virginia,
Yeah.

Well she wants to be the queen
And she thinks about her scene
Well she wants to live her life
And she thinks about her life
Pulls her hair back and she screams,
"I don't really want to be the queen!
I, I don't really want to be the queen!
I, I don't really want to be the queen!
I, I don't really want to live this..."

Only The Strong Survive

2010-09-17T00:00:00.008-04:00

Before viewing a movie like Animal Kingdom, you have to throw out all of your preconceived notions of what a gangster, crime drama should be. You will not find the choppy, stylized storytelling of say... Quentin Tarantino or the epic weaving of Francis Ford Coppola à la The Godfather. Nor will you find the shocking, heart-stopping carnage of Scarface. What you will find is the unfolding of an unlovely tale. Family. Betrayal. Instinctive ferocity.

The film focuses on seventeen year old Josh a.k.a. J, who by all outward appearances leads the life of a typical teenager in Melbourne, Australia. That's if typical includes calmly calling the paramedics when your mom overdoses, growing up with three uncles who are professional armed robbers by trade and having a ruthless matriarch nicknamed Smurf who oversees the most harrowing calamities with bone chilling calm and one raised eyebrow.

Animal Kingdom introduces everyone with a steady hand. Honestly, the only actor I was familiar with going into it was Guy Pearce from Memento. Other than that, I knew no one and it only served to engulf me more into the characters. Josh is played with unseemly simplicity. He's just a kid with a cute girlfriend who happens to get caught up in the family drama. Things get really hairy when the cops are sick of the lawless antics. They aren't out to arrest. They're out for blood. Pearce plays the lead detective who seems to be the only one who actually cares about justice. He tries to help Josh. But it's reminiscent of Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire. You can almost hear Pearce pleading with J, "Help me help you...Help me, help you." Of course, talking to the cops carries with it its own consequences but that's for you- the viewer to witness or judge. One word of advice: Don't get comfortable with any one person or situation. This film has hard turns by the cluster and they don't care whether you're buckled up or not.

There is something unsettling about how casually all of these dangerous events take place. The hard drug use, the unexpected bloodshed and the overall passiveness where outrage should be. It's downright scary...and it's pure genius. Animal Kingdom begs the question, "Where do you fit in?" At the end of the day, isn't that what it's all about? Where we stand or fall in the food chain of this relentless world. What are we made of? Are outlaws born bad or cultivated through a series of circumstances. When the hammer comes down do you have the mettle, the intestinal fortitude? How are you built? Can you survive? These are questions we should all ask ourselves from time to time. Pray that you never have to find the answers they way those in Animal Kingdom do.

Throwback Thursdays

2010-09-16T09:20:00.008-04:00

Hello B-Boys and B-Girls. In keeping with a recent post (see below) This Bug is paying homage to a simpler time. A time resolute with "keeping it real" before it became an overused and antiquated term that even requires quotes now. There was a time when genuine Thug Love could be expressed without coming off soft. Enter the Hip-Hop duet to end all Hip-Hop duets. You know the one. The Ticallian Stallion and the Queen dropped I'll Be There For You/You're All I Need in 1995. Method Man and Mary J. Blige showed what comes from a perfect pairing of talents. I don't attach any special merit to awards, but the fact that it won a Grammy speaks volumes for how far the genre itself had come. Anyway, a classic is always a classic. And the revamped version of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell's 1968 hit You're All I Need to Get By is an amped up tribute to its predecessor. Meth and Mary did it well for my generation. Period. This Bug's favorite line? "Even if I'm locked up North, you in the world rockin' three fourths of cloth. Never showin' your stuff off, Boo." Ah, pure 'hood poetry. Enjoy the vid and then take in the original since really and truly...no one can do it like Marvin and Tammi. Shout out to my boy Coco who messed up everybody's head at his wedding when he and his wife came out to the original and then broke out into a fly dance as the DJ mixed in the Meth and Mary version. It was dope.

Mary Mary, Quite Contrary

2010-09-13T15:30:00.006-04:00

(Sigh) Where do I begin? Let's start by saying that no one has to agree with me on this one. This Bug is not afraid to hold an unpopular opinion. It's my opinion and there's nothing humble about it. It's mine. Also, I'm not the only one who feels this way. Awhile back, a good friend and I were talking and the same sentiment was expressed. I really thought it was just me! So let's cut straight to the chase. I miss Cokehead Mary. I miss raw Mary. I miss Mary who sang from a place that was heartfelt albeit troubled. Don't get me wrong. I'm just as glad as the next person that she got her life together, got married, found God and seems to be living a pretty stable life. But her music suffered. It seems like the soul of her songs has gone elsewhere. I don't know where- but it's just not present anymore. Mary seems to have more prosperous things at hand. Take for example, her latest perfume slinging endeavor on the Home Shopping Network.

My official WTF moment came recently when I was flipping through channels late one night and saw Ms. Blige on HSN. Huh? Really Mary...Really? I don't know about you but this pretty much sealed the deal for me. It's bad enough her music lost that...oomph once she straightened up her life but seriously, selling a fragrance named after the classic album that solidified her as the Queen of Hip Hop Soul is just disrespectful to her own legacy if you ask me. I said it before. I grew up with Mary. She saw me through trials and tribulations of my own young life and I'm eternally grateful that her music was present in those trying times. It's that fact that makes it hard for me to accept the boring, humdrum, commercial Pop star cut-out that she has devolved into. Show of hands...who remembers raw Mary? Mary J. Blige circa '93. Yeah...that one.

When Mary was in her heyday- she was the quintessential 'hood chick that I could relate to. She belted out her songs over some bass heavy beats and she held her own with her Hip Hop contemporaries. She was that cool ass chick. Her music and persona seemed to channel the tragic soulfulness of Billie Holiday. In fact, I'll go as far as saying that she was my generation's Billie. No one knew just how deep her troubles ran with former boyfriend, K-Ci. It wasn't until years later she spoke of her abusive and drug-laden relationship with the former Jodeci member. Looking back on it, they might have been the 90's version of Ike and Tina. I dunno. What I do know is that her music resonated with me on the deepest level before she started doing duets with Elton John and George Michael. Make no mistake- I'm not knocking her musical and professional growth one bit. But Mary and Meth...Mary and Keith Murray...Mary and Grand Puba...we'll never see anything like that happen again. Mark my words. She's good and gone and she ain't lookin' back. It's almost as if everything and everyone from that time period had to go. A clearcut case of throwing the baby out with the bathwater if you ask me.

Anyway, this is not about 'hateration' or 'holleration' in this Danceree...(Boy, she lost me on that one. I cannot stand that song to this day.) I don't even doubt the sincerity of her music. I just want to express how much I miss the Mary I once knew and loved. She had spunk. She would cuss you out. And she wasn't afraid to show vulnerability. It seems the new and improved Mary is so empowered that she forgot all about the rest of us. Those who need to hear that we're not the only ones feeling less than stellar sometimes. I understand it's about No More Drama- but it seems like she forfeited so much while declaring that. I don't care if she has more money. The wardrobe and hair has always been tight. That's a part of what made her Mary. But something is missing now. Should I just get over it? Pick up the phone and order a bottle of My Life along with a free sassy little clutch bag? I just can't see it. Sorry. No. Tell the truth. When's the last time she released a joint that could even compare to I Love You with Smif n Wesson? Or a true to life anthem like Not Gon' Cry? If there's a way she can return to the impassioned renditions of her tunes and the 'round the way girl collaborations with real emcees (Um, yeah Drake.. relax for a sec, please) without having to do a bump off her dressing room vanity mirror- This Bug is all for it. But if a shot of Henny brings it all back, I mean raw, circa 93 Mary- then I say we sneak some into her freshly squeezed OJ backstage, sit back and wait for her to buss out with the You Don't Have to Worry remix. Somebody call Craig Mack. I'm ready to do this.

Until then...

Throwback Thursdays

2010-09-09T04:00:00.000-04:00

Hello Boys and Girls. It's been a minute since my last Throwback and This Bug got to thinking about some ch-ch-changes. Some things need to have new life breathed into them. That's where sampling comes in, I guess. I don't know how many of you remember Imeem (it really wasn't that long ago) but when they were ~~usurped~~ bought out by Myspace, I lost a ton of playlists. Talk about pissed? Man listen....I was heated, Son! But I digress. One of the playlists I had so painstakingly compiled consisted of some of my favorite Hip Hop joints followed immediately by the original song that it sampled. Thanks to the good people over at the-breaks.com whenever that certain hook or beat rings familiar but you just can't put your finger on it- they come to the rescue. It's a great source of information if you ever care to check it out. Anyway, I decided that for today's Throwback, I'll do a double feature. The fly video followed directly by the classic material which it was based on or around. I'm sorta liking the whole idea of reaching back and paying homage to the inspiration so this may go on for the next few throwbacks. Why not. Let's start with Black Moon's ridiculously smooth single, Buck 'Em Down. No matter how much time goes by, this one still takes me somwhere. Hopefully it does that for you, too. And when you're done, check out Donald Byrd's meticulously crafted Wind Parade from which Buckshot and Evil Dee sampled. Straight. Fire.

Out.

Players only love you when they're playin'...

2010-09-07T15:25:00.000-04:00

In the dream, it's sunny... and almost too bright a day. There is a garden party of some sort going on with live music being performed from a gazebo. Everything is set in white. The scene is reminiscent of the Catalina Wine Mixer...only there's no Will Ferrell there. Just rows and rows of heavy white folding chairs on lush grass and a sprinkling of wide round tables covered in white sheets. Odd, but in the dream I know they are sheets and not tablecloths for some reason. I take a seat near the front and watch the performance distractedly. I'm there alone although it feels like I was supposed to meet someone there. But who? Something makes me turn my head. I spot them sitting side by side at one of the tables. I turn just in time to see him deliver an affectionate peck to a bare, tanned shoulder. Her face is flawless and bears the look of someone blissfully unknowing. She looks familiar- like I've seen her before in a collection of photos. Women of every imaginable shape and hue that are supposed to be special to him in one way or another. To the untrained eye they all look friendly, but only they know for sure whether it was- or could ever be more than that. But in the dream, that quick kiss betrays all appearances. What follows is hot, unadulterated rage.

In a flash, I am on my feet and charging towards them, leaving overturned chairs tossed this way and that in my wake. They fly off my fingertips as if they shared the weight of feathers. People seated around me seem to scatter and virtually disappear. No one is left but the the three of us, it seems. They give chase. No matter how fast I run, they are just out of reach. And I am blinded by thoughts of what I will do if I get my hands on either one. Suddenly the scene switches to a casual backyard cookout. There is a woman, a different woman seated at another round table- howling in pain. I never see it happen- but a long metal stake or pole has fallen from some immeasurable height. Or perhaps just the clear blue sky. It impales her fleshy thigh through light colored jeans. Her femur is no doubt in two pieces. She needs medical attention. Fast. People surround her in panic. Someone yells to give her room. Another voice is screaming to call an ambulance. Pandemonium. All the while, I am consumed by a quavering calm that whispers fiercely into my ear, ' Who gives a fuck about her? Where did they go?'

They are gone. I never catch them. Never see them again.

***

When I research the main details, I learn that to chase something or someone in a dream highlights you drive and ambition to go after what you want. Or perhaps the dream suggests that you are falling behind and have to catch up with everyone else. Considering the distance or gap between the pursuer and the pursued indicates your closeness to the issue. To dream of impalement suggests a forceful , violent or passionate release of repressed emotions. It then says to consider which part of the body is being impaled, so I look up the thigh. To see your thigh in a dream symbolizes stamina and endurance. It refers to your ability to perform and do things. That it wasn't my thigh but some random woman's confuses me a bit. I no longer cared about a fellow human being or pain and suffering. I cared not that more pressing issues were going on around me. I was deadlocked on a target that was not within my grasp. It was time to give up and I simply wouldn't admit it to myself. My fury had to place to go. All of this absolves nothing and brings me no closer to peace.

I guess when the rain washes me clean, I'll know.

Skyzoo - Speakers on Blast

2010-08-31T10:59:00.008-04:00

"And now they wanna bring the nineties back. That's okay cuz that's where they designed me at." - Skyzoo

Nobody knows how This Bug gets when she hears something that is straight CRACK ! But you're about to find out. Driving home the other day, I heard Speakers On Blast and damn near had to pull over. Skyzoo is the truth. And hearing his name reminds me of early Wu Tang. I remember handing the cassette single for Proteck Ya Neck to my homegirl and she said,"Huh? Wu what? What is this, Jayne?". And my response to her was, "It sounds foreign to you now- but just wait. You'll see." You see how that turned out. Well, that's how I feel about Skyzoo. He'll be a household name soon enough. I got that refreshed vibe of the 90's with something extra for 2010 and beyond from him. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears open. Plus, he hails from the much respected camp of Duckdown. Are you kidding me? His lyrics and production are air tight. He can't lose. Watch for his coming album "Live From the Tape Deck" dropping October 5.

Download Speakers on Blast here. I will not steer you wrong. Never have. Never will.

One.

Coming Soon

2010-08-30T14:00:00.005-04:00

Newsflash: This Bug is not especially savvy when it comes to time management. Because of this, I tend to lag behind in a multitude of tasks because I'm so busy trying to tackle everything at once. I hate it but at least I can admit it. Even Superwoman needs a helping hand every now and then.

These days I've been running around like an octopus. Picture it: Phone, pen, spatula, towel, detergent, ~~vibrator~~ Visine, mail, high heels, car keys, curling iron, etc. juggled in each tentacle. You get the picture. (C'mon, some things you have to make time for.) Anyway I've been neglecting my blog. I miss it. I miss you guys, too. The ones who care to check me out and/or leave your feedback. It means a lot to me. You have no idea. But my time is stretched to capacity and I have limited access to the computer lately. It's killing me softly.

Since I don't have much time but I do have all intentions of blogging again soon, I figured I share with you some of the upcoming posts I was kicking around in my head. In no particular order here are some of the topics you'll catch my thoughts on in the not-too-distant future.

I Miss (Cokehead) Mary J.

Who I'd Bed if I had a Time Machine

Skyzoo is the Truth. Have a Listen.

An interpretation of my dream that involved chasing and impalement in a gazebo.

Rules, Schmules. I did it my way and it worked. (How I got over)

10 Things about the movie Pulp Fiction to apply to everyday life.

Anyway, I really hope you come back soon. I mean, I really hope I do, too. But the candle has to be burned at both ends right now. In the meantime, check the archives, Buggies. Love you all.

Deuces.

10 Items or Less

2010-08-10T12:50:00.002-04:00

I can't be the only one who's guilty of it. You run to the grocery store for a few things. You're convinced you don't even need a basket. Before you know it, you've stashed more than a few things in a cart abandoned by one of the aisles. Now it's time to pay. You hop on the Express line. The sign above clearly reads: 10 Items or Less. So what if you have...I dunno...twelvish or so things on the conveyor belt? If worse comes to worst- you can put back two of those yogurts, right? Wrong.

Not if you're on the line in the movie 10 Items or Less and Scarlett is the one ringing you up. The woman does not play. I first caught this film last year on a whim on Cable. It stars Morgan Freeman and Paz Vega and it's a wonderful film about people, life and the things that we can and can't do without. This is one of those flicks that makes you step back and reevaluate what counts and what shouldn't. One of my faves, for sure. Plus, it stars Mr. Freeman...who bears an uncanny resemblence to my father, who I adore. If I ever meet that man, I'll probably call him Dad. Anyway, rent it. It's worth it. Rock on.

Throwback Thursdays

2010-07-22T14:28:00.003-04:00

Hello.
Good Morning.

Am I the only one who can't help but say that every once in a while these days? Say what you want- but Diddy damn sure makes things stick in your head. The boy wrote the book on catchy, didn't he? Anyway, This Bug is back on another Thursday with a catchy little tune of my own in my head. To be fair to all the purists who keep up with my weekly Throwbacks, let me just say now that this one's mainly RNB. But I could always appreciate it for some reason. The beat is undeniably Hip-Hop and the bridge did have some dude rhyming on it . This jam just takes me back to a really simple time. 1993. A true milestone in my life for more reasons than one. And maybe this song is really a part of that soundtrack. *shrugs* I dunno. Things were just...different. You walked to the store when you didn't really need anything. When you got dressed back then, you really put an outfit together. If a party was going on, you had no qualms about walking there or piling eight deep into somebody's Momma's hatchback. It was just about having fun. I miss that. I don't miss being beeped 911 only to call back and find out it wasn't that serious. But it was all part of the time, I guess. I'm feeling mad nostalgic today. Tape decks. Door knocker shell earrings. Champion hoodies. Nautica boots. Bandanas when my hair wasn't done up in a ponytail wrap...And jeans two sizes too big with boxers underneath. "I suppose, I suppose. We should get together and drop our Girbauds. " Remember those? (Sigh)

Panty Free Zone : Fridays Only

2010-07-16T01:00:00.023-04:00

"She might not have no draws but I bet she won't forget the hot sauce."- Erykah Badu

First off, this one's not for the prudes. Bounce. Okay. Now...I don't know if it's been officially declared. I'm pretty sure I'm not the first to kick this idea around- but seriously, there needs to be a National No Panties Day on the calendar. A Friday, for sure. Few things are as sexy and as liberating as walking around knowing that you have no undergarments on but everyone is none the wiser. Before everyone gets their panties in a bunch (but decides not to join me and toss them over your shoulder) hear me out for sec. As long as you can pull it off (no pun intended- I swear) why not? Picture it. A nice form-fitting skirt sans hosiery over a bare naked ass...there is nothing like it. Let me tell you. You walk differently. You smile more. You feel like the sexiest bitch on the planet. Because at that very moment, you are. I don't recommend this sort of thing on the daily but once a month wouldn't hurt. More often in the summer makes perfect sense to me. Ladies, if you do decide to take the plunge, bear in mind a few things:

Your hygiene must be up to par. Look, you know when things ain't all good in Southland. If you can't walk around with the butterfly floating fresh and free- don't even bother. Aromas, leakage or any other issues are a no-go. 'Nuff said.

Check the forecast the day before. If it's gonna be a windy day worthy of a toupée alert or tiny dog warning - you may want to nix wearing a flouncy skirt with nothing underneath. Breezy? Yay. Blustery? Nay.

If you're worried about your Hoo-hah making it to an upskirt website- stay off the escalators at the mall. There are fifteen year old boys out there with very sophisticated camera phones...waiting just for you.

Be mindful of your car exit strategy. I've coached several people on limousine exit techniques over the years. The rule of thumb actually goes in reverse here. You don't want to look as though you're popping out of a cake at your cousin's wedding- so the key is to step out shoulders back, toe first. Take panties out of the equation and the opposite is true. Picture gracefully climbing out of a swimming pool. Arms forward, securing your weight. Head first, right? Good. Practice makes perfect- unless of course you don't mind showing the pervs across the street your Britney.

On this particular day, throw on your Next Top Model walk. Hold eye contact a little longer than you normally would. Even if you only need a basket for a few things, get behind a cart at the supermarket and roll down the aisles. Ever. So. Slowly. Confidence is key.

Unwritten rule: Intentionally allow at least one random individual to sneak a peek. Or not.

Lastly, it doesn't hurt to let just one person in on your little secret since it's way sexier than Victoria's. Preferably via phone or text message. Trust me. They will literally count the minutes until they can see for themselves if you were telling the truth or not. Chances are, they won't be able to contain themselves once they learn you weren't bluffing. The rest is completely up to you.

Now, I know there are tons of underwear in that top drawer of yours. Lacy thongs. Boy shorts. Tangas. String bikinis. Knickers. You name it. But until you've gone commando for an entire day- you're evading pure sexiness and sensuality in all its glory. Why? Try it now. Thank me later. It's not nasty. It's not freaky. (Well, maybe a little...) It's just one more thing to bring you closer to yourself. It's as close to going naked as you can get without stopping traffic and catching a public indecency charge. Free your mind and your ass will follow.

And "Fellas, if you can't afford it...I think you need to video tape record it."

Let's end all this with one of the finest odes to the cornerstone of lingerie by one of the greats. The jewel of this one is that he never mentions them... but you know they're ready to be removed. Ladies and Gents...be inspired.