Ramblin'...

Alone with thoughts. Not a safe place to be. So many footfalls. Quicksand. Can't come up for air. Invest nothing; lose nothing. Invest all; lose everything. Again. Handle. Panties. Reeling. Then rage. Dreams come true. Pink towels. I saw it. All. Before. Dreams. Deconstructed. When to say when. Sometimes, you just know. Mistaken. Lost lies. Lost lives. Dreams littered. Broken. wide open. F*ck. This. Show. Wendy's. Finally. An appetite. Loneliness again. Falling. By the wayside. Solitude is Welcome. If only it would come. If only.

Vodka: The Other Clear Beverage

Top 10 Reasons Why I'll Always Drink Vodka

1. I don't do dark liquor; dark liquor does me.

2. Unlike Long Island Iced Teas, No hangovers. No regrets.

3. It mixes well with just about anything!

4. When I was very young, my aunt drank it on the rocks in a large crystal goblet every day. It looked very elegant. Looking back on it, she might have had a slight alcohol problem.

5. It's easier to detect when a brand that you didn't ask for has been poured for you.

6. It's not that it has no scent. It smells like rubbing alcohol. But anyone can have a backache at 10 in the morning, no?

7. I like the Russians better than the Scots. There. I said it.

8. Take it from a former bartender: Vodka and Cran sounds more grown up than a Sex on a Beach.

9. Fill a Poland Springs bottle with this stuff and Voila! No hassles at Yankee Stadium.

10. The fruit infused flavors require no juice- just ice. Well, maybe just a drop for color.

Bonus: It looks refreshing. I love water.

(unscrews Ciroc bottle) Can you tell This Bug loves Vodka?

Throwback Thursdays

In my tireless quest to lay some treats on ya, today's Throwback has all the elements to send you back without having to do 88 in the DeLorean. This one was so close to my heart that if anyone got their hands on This Bug's yearbook- they would see the quote beneath my picture was inspired by none other than Jeru the Damaja. Yeah, I was feelin' the knowledge he was droppin' through his articulate delivery and extensive vocab. Plain and simple- dude was a beast. In 1994 when he released The Sun Rises in the East, I never heard anything quite like it. And to have Primo produce the entire album was just sensory overload to me. Plus, he threw barbs back at Pras of the Fugees later on Me or the Papes and Black Cowboys by the next album. Who the hell was Pras can't-rhyme-too-Well to call him a false prophet? Homeboy had Super Scientifical powers, Okay? It was not going down like that. Nothing like a little healthy Hip-Hop one-upmanship to get the juices flowing.

So, here I am again. It seems like yesterday I was sitting in the back of my English class chopping it up with my girl, Camille about all things Hip-Hop when a guy on the yearbook committee came in with a clipboard. (Cam, you are the truth). You had to write something down if you wanted a quotation under your photo. Depending on the day, I sometimes feel it sounds a little corny- but make no mistake; I am still proud that I wrote down what I feeling at the time. It's still very true to me. "Don't be the children of Mr. Ignorance and his wife, Deceit. As brothers and sisters of today- earn your respect; don't demand it." Really, it just sounded better to me than some old Robert Frost quote and plus, You Can't Stop the Prophet was what I was listening to on my supersized DJ headphones right before I came to class that day. This Bug's favorite line? That's easy. The first line let's you know he's serious from the gate. That beat was tailor made for the Black Prophet's introduction. You know what it is.





Big shout to OhWord.com on their interview with Mr. Ignorance, himself. Straight hilarious. Here's a sample.


OhWord: Now it’s time for a word association game. I’ll say a word, phrase, or name, and you respond with the first thing that comes to mind. Okay – Afrika Islam.

Ignorance: Who’s a what’s it now?

OhWord: N.O.R.E.

Ignorance: Fam.

OhWord: Professor X.

Ignorance: Biter.

OhWord: Fu-Shnickens

Ignorance: Parking attendants.

OhWord: thebreaks.com.

Ignorance: Violatin’!

OhWord: Hip-Hop Blogs.

Ignorance: Banal.

OhWord: Mos Def.

Ignorance: Simian.

OhWord: Busta Rhymes

Ignorance: Gentile.

OhWord: Reggaeton.

Ignorance: Reg-gay-tone.



That's all for today as This Bug signs off. The saga continues...

One Less Egg to Fry

Remember back in the day when you went to the store with your Moms and she told you not to wander off or get on her last nerve. You just knew not to test her gangsta cuz deep down, you knew that your ass would get left. I thought this was limited to Black mothers only but lo and behold, upper-crust suburban mothers do not play, either. Enter Madlyn Primoff. If you haven't already caught this on the news- you can quickly read about it here. Apparently her two daughters were acting a fool, arguing in the car and she had had enough. She gave both of their asses the boot and peeled out. Her 12 year old was smart fast enough to run after the car. The 10 year old however- ate her dust and was later taken to a police station by a Good Samaritan. This is where it gets really amusing. This woman actually called police to report her daughter missing. Missing? Really? Why not call up and ask if they have a kid who didn't know how to act hanging around there? When she came to retrieve her child from police custody- she was promptly arrested for child abandonment and child endangerment. I wish I could say I fault this woman but This Bug respects her gangsta. Sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do. And I know anything could have happened to the little girl in her absence...but it didn't. I bet those girls will think twice before bickering too loudly in the car about some Jonas Brothers cd or a borrowed Ed Hardy t-shirt from now on. Sidebar: Why does her mugshot look like she's in total shock over why she's there? She should have kept it G; on some " Nah, I left her ass. That's right. One less egg to fry. One less bed to make. Deuces!"

Divine Intervention

“Sometimes questions are more important than answers.”

Yesterday, I opened Pandora's Box. Secrets and lies freed themselves on jagged little wings. They flew out in a flurry- blinding me like bats escaping a cave. I covered my eyes, tried to protect my face. When I recovered my hands were nicked with blood. The finding was unspeakable. Not awe-inspiring like that which filled Marsellus Wallace's briefcase. This was something scarier. Out flew the kind of evils that have always existed, pining to be unleashed. Waiting to plague all that is good and bright and promising. The kind of things that crown you Queen then dethrone you when you least expect sedition. I am a stranger in a strange place now. But curiosity cannot maliciously kill a cat that was always marked for death. It is a noble death indeed.

Glow

He closes doors quietly-
and makes me
hear my own
heartbeat.

He makes little girls
beam
and older women blush
with undivided
charm.

Rugged hands
are feather soft
when on my face.
The selfsame hands that
crush rocks...
cradle flowers.


Yesterdays
are now
Tomorrows.
And I await them
with childlike wonder.

He closes doors quietly.

Throwback Thursdays

This Bug is feeling a bit more nostalgic than usual. If anyone has been paying attention, 1993 appears to be a very significant year to me. I'm not sure why- but the music from that time instantly takes me back to exactly what I was doing that year. Now, I don't know about you- but when the movie Strapped came out on HBO, it was kind of a big deal. First of all, it had all the embodiment of a 'hood classic. It was set in Brooklyn, featured cameos from some local celebrities ( from around my way, anyway) and the soundtrack was straight fire. Of course, most of the soundtrack was compiled of Onyx songs because of Fredo Starr's role in the movie. Who remembers Fredo walking up to Dequan's building on a mission to the sounds of Nigga Bridges? Whoo! You just knew he was about to turn it up on his snitchin' ass. But I digress.

Today's Throwback comes from a lesser known group by the name of Freestyle Fellowship. Please don't ask me what other songs they have because I have no idea. What I do know is that their collaboration with Daddy-O from Stetsasonic yielded the criminally slept on, jazzy ass tune Inner City Boundaries. And what a tune it was. The vibe still carries me to a simpler time. They rhymed, scatted, spit spoken word poetry and in my opinion lived up to their name. Their flow truly sounded unwritten. I can remember my ace, Noka walking the halls in her over-sized Girbauds and Fila sneaks bellowing the chorus on her way to class. I miss her. She was bugged. Ah, good times. Good times indeed.

I gotta be righteous, I gotta be me
I gotta be conscious, I gotta be free
I gotta be able, I gotta attack.

This is America, Jack!

Things I learned from Coming to America:

When in the presence of royalty, you might not know whether to bow or shake a hand. You'll feel like breakdancing!

A random act of kindness is enough to put two scheming commodity brokers back in business without the benefit a corporate bailout.

Donation plates can be easily mistaken for the trash.

The jury is still out on Martin Luther The King punching someone in the chest.

While three bathers may be on the job, it only takes one to make sure the Royal Penis is clean. Scuba divers need not apply.

If anyone wants to keep working at McDowells, they'll have to stay off the drugs.

It turns out that only GOD that sits on high helped Gilligan get off the island.

Thanks to this film, I now know what a pizzle is. And a diseased one on a Rhino cannot possibly be a pretty sight.

If the rent is due, that falling-down-the-stairs shit will not result in a grace period.

When giving donations, remember that most are happy to get the kind that jingles- but they'd rather have the kind that folds.

The fact that your girl don't want you no more might be tough to get through your greeezy head.

Your robbery will quickly be thwarted if you talk like you should be sucking on a bar of Irish Spring.

If done properly, a hand job over the jeans- but under the jacket can be quite satisfying.

Do not leave your luggage in the cab longer than 10 seconds in the 'common parts' of Queens.

In addition to rigorous etiquette training for a King, a selected Queen-to-be will be completely free from infection.

MC Peaches may have the hiccups- but that doesn't stop all the DJ's for wanting to feel her breasts.

The children really are our future. We should teachthemwelland...let dem lead the waaay.

Being heir to a Jherri Curl empire cannot compete with having your OWN Big Faces.

A simple snip of a rat tail braid goes for $8.00 at your local barber shop.

And now, for the sake of posterity...

Is That Yo Chick?

Florida Evans said it best. "Damn, damn, daaaaamn!" I have to do it. I'm calling out all the green-eyed monsters that lurk in doorways, at restaurant tables and gender divided club lines. Recently, I went to a function and bore witness to (in my humble opinion) the ugliest of the seven deadly sins. Why do chicks feel that they have one-up each other as soon as a dude is in the vicinity? I don't get it. There are so many subtle moves that would appear harmless to the untrained eye...mostly the male eye. But if you know them like you know your own face- it's easy to spot. A too long glance. An extra loud laugh. A sudden need to draw attention to a body part by absently running their own hand over it. It's really quite funny. It's almost as though the guy is not as attractive until it seems that he may have a girl with him. Then it's on to Operation: Make Him Look.

The success of this mission depends greatly on how oblivious or observant the target is. He may just overlook how much the hyenas are stalking their prey- or he might feed into it. I'm going out on a limb here to say that This Bug has no trouble in the looks department. ( Yeah, I said it.) So if the gentleman at my side can have his head on swivel for any ole flirt-in-a-skirt, chances are he's not at my side. That being said, it doesn't mean that the average male cannot fall victim to the trickery of feminine wiles. But This Bug does not fux with the average male. He usually has a keen eye for these sort of traps.

At the end of the day- confidence is golden. The women who attempt to set these snares are rife with insecurities. They seek attention. Need the validation. It fills a void. It's sort of sad. I can remember being out with male platonic friends and watching some females calculate what I was to the man in question. The minute they deduced that we were just friends- it took the wind out of their sails and they gave up their game. I guess they figured, 'Where's the fun in that?' . But I've seen it swing the other way at times. My illustrious stint in bartending made me privy to all sorts of crafty behavior. I'm talking trifling shit, People. As soon as Wifey walked off to the ladies room, dude sprung into action. Took the number, palmed the ass and never looked that way again once the main girl reentered the room. There would be no traces of that exchange for the rest of the night...but you knew what was undoubtedly coming later on down the line. Ladies, if this sounds familiar to you, remember what Fat Joe said. Jealous Ones Envy. It's not cute- and you're playing yourself. And Fellas, you're not special. Don't get caught up. She's just lining up the next one if you don't take the bait. But like Kellz & Jay said...

That's the Power of P.U. I see you.

I like Yellow Crayons!

It was once brought up to me that I tend to blurt out the most random things at times. Sort of like a Tourette's Syndrome with a Hip Hop feel to it. I can't help it. Most of the time, there's a lyric or line that superbly fits the situation, so I say it. I don't have the lengthiest attention span to begin with, so as quickly as it comes- it goes and I'm off to another thought or appropriate song.

I liken my thought process to one of those HP Notebook commercials. There's a lot going on in there. My brain is constantly running with thoughts of books I have to read, who I may be interviewing that week, why they call it a "near miss" when two planes almost crash and the fact that there are only two surviving Fat Boys left. They must've taken the hint that health comes before the posterity of a namesake. That's just to name a few of the random things that enter and leave my mind. It never slows down, either. Which is where I get confused.

Yes, I have the attention span of a ferret on Crystal Meth. The trouble with that is I can barely finish one thought before it's intruded upon by another. I know how to organize these thoughts when the time calls for it- but I always get the feeling that something else requires my attention. I think I do it to keep from concentrating on the more pressing issues that can throw off my day. I guess it's just my way of dealing with the myriad of fleeting thoughts, snap decisions and a slew of uncontrollable Hip-Hop lyrics. I won't pretend to understand it.

See I'm not insane,

in fact I'm kinda rational... - The Blastmaster

Throwback Thursdays

What becomes of the brokenhearted? Well, if you're anything like Guru- before going from Ex to the Next, you might be a little Lovesick. In 1991, I was nowhere near understanding the emotions that could fuel a song like that. Flash forward to three years later however, and we both could have pulled up a chair over a bottle of Henny to build on that one. My relevant memory with one half of Gang Starr goes something like this:

I met Mr. Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal in a club some years ago. He seemed cool enough. I told him I'd been a fan since the days of Manifest. Somehow that opened Pandora's Box. How does fan equal groupie? It doesn't. Not in my book, anyway. He said, "Damn, my voice sounded mad young back then." Then he proceeded to introduce me to Fredro Starr by asking, "Wait, remember Onyx?" Umm...Didn't I just tell this cat I was a fan since before the Step in the Arena album? Who was he really tryin' to play at that moment? Me or Mr. Shiftee? I dunno. Don't care. He asked for my number like it was a given that I'd come up off them digits. I had to let him know not to get it twisted. He might have had Mass Appeal back in the day, but riding the wave of that left him washed a long time ago. Anywho, he didn't seem so "deep like a river" after that exchange- but dude has his place in Hip-Hop history, so I won't hold that bravado against him...entirely.

When I Grow Up

When I was five years old I wanted to be a mermaid. You know- swim all day, sing melodies and comb my hair with forked seashells. Save handsome, drowning sailors from a watery grave. It seemed like a plush life to me back then. When I was twelve I wanted to be a newscaster. I marveled at how they read a teleprompter while barely moving their eyes. That took talent! It amazed me that they remained unemotional. Reporting a heinous mass murder and the Groundhog seeing his shadow with the same deadpan expression. When I was seventeen, I wanted to be a cosmetologist. I liked making things (not necessarily people, mind you) look pretty. By the time I was twenty, I had NO idea what I wanted to be anymore. You see, for a long time I was not allowed to be anything other than a daughter, friend, sister, significant other. I invested all of my time into relationships because I had nothing else to shoot for. The ambition was there but the opportunities were wrapped in the reddest of tape. In this country, I was considered 'persona non grata'. My circumstances are so different now. I can travel the world, attend school, work where I please (on-the-books) and go wherever a fateful wind may take me. The irony in that? These days...I just want to be a mermaid.

' kiss of Fate?

I don't believe in coincidences. Down to the smallest thing. I feel like if I'm in a car, hearing a song for the first time- that was exactly where I was supposed to be when I heard it. With little or no distraction. Well, that happened today. I was on the road this evening when a song that I was supposed to hear came on. I'll be honest. I was feeling downtrodden. I was melancholy. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was, emotionally. And then J to da Muah reminded me of what a jewel I am. Regardless of who may be dazzled by the brilliance and strength or who would bypass me in a fruitless search of a worthier treasure. I can't say that I totally relate to the lyrics; but I won't say that I don't, either. Anyway, I needed to hear this. This song went through me- and by the time I got to my destination, the tears were streaming. Who knew Hip-Hop could do that to you?

Throwback Thursdays

Ahh...I miss the good ole days. Remember the days when you could whoop somebody's ass with little or no repercussions because they well deserved it? If it's one thing This Bug has learned throughout my ruff-and-tumble years, it's how to respect violence. There was a time when scrappin' was high on my To-do list. I'm not proud of it, nor do I advocate violence but that would lead us into an entire social examination of environment and psychosis right now. That is not my aim today. I'll just give it up raw for now. This Bug has a few battle scars from a time when young folks were not as cowardly as they are today. I come from a time where you would square up, throw blows, rock knots and drop 'bows. These days, weapons are preferable to knuckling up and it's so sad to me. Kids these days are scared to take a hit. Most of them probably wouldn't know what to do in a real fight. I once witnessed a dude get stomped out for trying to rob another at the Coliseum on the Ave. For you out-of-towners, that would be Jamaica Ave. in Queens NY. Yeah, that stick up kid was out to tax- but he caught it something terrible from the would-be Vic. In the aftermath, as Thief Boy sat up dazed and confused, bleeding from the mouth- some kids walked by chanting the chorus of Brand Nubian's Punks Jump Up. It was unforgettable. That's what happens when you run up on the wrong one. So today's Throwback pays homage to the Almighty Beatdown. To the soldiers who did... and still can knock a nukka out if they don't know how to act. I salute you.

No Tall Tales

No tall tales.
Only short stories reside here.
Unflinching truths
that heal
and offend equally.
Just depends on
which side
you stood on
that day.
Or the next...
I have no tall tales.
A cool pitcher of bitterness
stands on the table.
It is not for you to drink.
Only to remind you
that good will
should never be avoided.
They will want
everything that you are.
Tell you they
need nothing...
They will want
to make buttons
out of your bones.
Know this, and give
the last of the milk
anyway.
Do not become unhinged.
An imperfect life
is preferable to
an inauthentic one.