Thankful Pt. 2

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.

On a bright night

"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

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

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

"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

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

True Monuments Don't Fall

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?

How Sweet It Is

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:

Atlas shrugged

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

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

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.

Throwback Thursdays

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.

Soul On Ice

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

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.

Still The Livest One

"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!

Throwback Thursdays

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.

Bitch and Pieces

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

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.