Can't Stop the Bum Rush

Shopping has never been one of my favorite pastimes. Anyone who knows me can tell you where you CANNOT find me on Black Friday each year. For some reason, there is nothing appealing to me about waking up at the ass crack of dawn just to spend hard earned cash. And don't even get me started on the people who camp out at the store from Thanksgiving night. Plus, I hate standing on line to pay for anything. I mean anything at all. I am astounded by the amount of people who lose their cotton pickin' minds at the idea of a sale. I don't do crowds unless it's Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn on Labor Day- and even that is losing its luster the longer I get in the tooth.

This past Black Friday was no different. I always felt the frenzied crowd seeking "Doorbuster" deals had all the ingredients for disaster. So much so that I was only mildly surprised to hear about the Black Friday stampede that occurred this past weekend. This is what it has come to. People behaving like animals over the promise of half priced electronics and clothing.

I remember clearly the hilarity of the woman who literally got her wig twisted a few years ago at Walmart. But there is nothing funny about a man being trampled to death simply because he showed up to work that day. In fact, it saddens me and makes me furious all at once. Especially since I have two young nieces who work in retail. That shit is downright deplorable.

I found myself reflective this past Thanksgiving because it's also the anniversary of the tragic death of two classmates I knew. Fifteen years later, I found myself very thankful for what truly matters; and I can resolutely say it has nothing to do with discounted Plasma TV's. The economy is in a slump and people want to make this holiday season special, but this is not the way.

"Bum rushin' and crushin', Snatchin and taxin'."

Like MC Lyte, I cram to understand why brothers don't be maxin'. I like a good deal just as much as the next person, but at the end of the day it's just NOT that serious.

Flash the Message. Forte's Out There.

This Bug was ecstatic to learn that John Forte had his 14 year sentence commuted by George Bush. Technically, he won't be out until December 22nd, but that's enough to make me do the happy dance. It's about damn time Dubaya did something worthwhile before he doh-si-dohs his silly ass back to his Texas ranch. This is a just a drop in the bucket when you consider how many brilliant minds are behind bars serving overly harsh sentences without the benefit of a pardon.

As far as Forte goes, I'm hoping that the game treat dat ass a li'l kinder- so there won't be any backsliding into liquid Yayo. He should start anew and cut off Carly Simon. Later for her. To me, she was his biggest advocate because she knew damn well some of that stash was hers. Oh, and if anyone runs into him, let him know he is more than welcome to eat mangoes in Trinidad with me instead of attorneys. Nah, seriously though- I wish him the best due to the challenges that will come along with his freshly granted freedom. I'm wise enough to know it won't be an easy road.


Without further ado, my favorite verse from Mr. Forte...



Just one more thing to be thankful for on Turkey Day. Yessiree.

Confessions of an all grown up B-Girl

Since it's been a key element to my existence and the soundtrack to my life for the most part, these are some of my random Hip-Hop related musings and confessions.

• The Fat Boys were always wack to me. Always. Wack.
  
• My friend to the end, Jill and I were the Sydney and Sheraine of basement house parties...Especially when BBD's Poison came on.
• Oh, the things I wanted to do to Redhead Kingpin at just 12 years old. It made no sense.
• Jay Z has not done anything to impress me wholly since Reasonable Doubt. When he comes with the same hunger as he did on 22 Two's- I'll think about purchasing an album. The operative word being think.
• I'm still amazed that B.I.G. made it uncool to like Kwame with ONE line. Ouch.
• Was I the only one that realized Common was saying, "Relax yourself, Girl. Be so clear." during the VH1 2008 Hip Hop Honors? Q-tip laid this little mystery to rest when he said the sample during Electric Relaxation is repeatedly stating "Girl, please settle down."
• I once witnessed M.O.P. straight jack fools for stage time and the sound guy almost got duffed out for trying to disconnect their mics. True story.
• It doesn't bother me so much anymore that Talib Kweli looks like a turtle.
• The Rainy Dayz remix is definitely Diamond D's best production work. Hands down.
• Part of the reason Boiler Room was such a dope flick was the sick ass soundtrack.
• Although my two pairs of bamboo earrings have been replaced with solitary chandeliers, I still feel like an Around the Way Girl at heart.
  

Benny Blanco? What are you doing here?

I've been dreaming a lot lately. Apart from my irregular sleeping pattern (check out when most of my blog entries are posted) I've been getting undisturbed rest and have even been able to remember most of my dreams when I awaken. Some say dreams are the children of an idle brain. Others say they are very telling of what is to come. Either way, I'm baffled by last night's dream.

I can't recall every detail, but the meat and potatoes of it was the fact that John Leguizamo and I were very good friends. How random is that? I was out with family and my cell rang. I look at the Caller ID and it's John. In the dream- this was all very normal. We begin chatting and he tells me that he's in between scenes of a new movie he's shooting and just wanted to shout me out, see how I was doing. (Exact words by the way) I have NO idea where this came from. I feel absolutely no connection to this actor whatsoever. Well, that's not entirely true. There is a mild case of six degrees of separation at work where he is concerned. My former boss (an ex-NY Jets Running Back) grew up with him in Alphabet City before John moved to Queens. I guess that's more like one degree, but I haven't seen that guy in years and that still doesn't explain the dream.

This isn't my first time dreaming that I was well acquainted with a celebrity. I once had a dream that Al Pacino and I were very friendly. I was sitting in my car and he walked over, leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and asked how my Dad was doing. Then there's the one where boxer Roy Jones was sitting next to me with his big cock getting a manicure at the nail salon. He kept stressing that he did not want clear polish. I know. Weird. But dreams are not always meant to make sense, I suppose. While we're on the topic, I'll share what I believe about seeing random strangers in dreams. I don't believe they are random at all. I think they are people you have glanced upon, even for a split second- at a red light or on line at the hardware store and your brain has subconsciously stored their image, so they reappear in your dream. I could be wrong, but I just don't believe that we can create someone out of thin air. Even if it is an odd or somewhat scary character in your dream, I believe that person is some twisted amalgamation of several snapshots your brain has retained. Just my take on it.

Anyway, as I sit and ponder this new found friend-in-my-head, Mr. Leguizamo- I'll see what I can do to program my dreams for tonight. I would love to drum up some slumber induced interaction with any of the boys from my hot but not list. Sominex. Check. Warm jammies. Check. Hollywood, here I come.

***Editor's Update*** Shortly after posting this, I received a call about interviewing with a University in New York. The twist ? It happens to be the alma mater of my former boss...who grew up with Mr. Leguizamo.

Bond Ambition

"The name's Bond. James Bond."

And if that's the case, I don't know I felt like I was watching 2 hours of MacGyver- the British version. I won't say that Daniel Craig was the wrong man for the job. He is clearly more comfortable being Bond than he was in Casino Royale, but something is amiss. Everyone has their own idea of who was the best as this character. Sean Connery set a very high bar that his successors have yet to achieve. And it is painfully obvious in Quantum of Solace.

We find Agent 007 looking and acting a lot more like Jason Bourne than anything else. He is cold, aloof and suddenly vengeful which is pretty new to me. Previous installments exhibited the debonair Bond. He had taste. He looked good in a tux. He expediently handled his business out of a sense of duty. He is just as at home in a Diplomat's dinner party as he is unloading a Beretta .25 from a speedboat. Craig shows remnants of these qualities, but what is the Bond legacy coming to when we find the man of the hour pissy drunk with not a care in the world about what he is sipping. Since when? Shaken, not stirred was the credo as I recall. Daniel Craig lacks the elegance we all know and love but it's not entirely his fault.

Quantum was not even written by Ian Fleming, and it shows. Bond is brooding and particularly coldhearted in his execution this time around. This has a lot to do with plot continuity since the love of 007's life has been extinguished. And boy, is he pissed. He goes Rogue. He kills people in what seems to be the most bitter fashion possible. He is much more at ease being an unpolished Everyman than a cut above and it fails miserably. I'll be honest, I nodded off a time or two while viewing Quantum of Slumber Solace. That does not mean you will not find an enjoyable film here. It is chock full of action sequences and rife with good intentions but it feels forced. Even the Bond Girl with the customary risqué moniker is lukewarm at best. Where is the ghost of Honey Ryder when you need her ? If you're looking for the quintessential Bond experience, rent Goldfinger instead. At least the theme song will not be painful to sit through...sorry Alicia. You should have consulted Dame Shirley Bassey on how to deliver a kick-ass Bond song.


Now, let's all lift a properly jostled Martini for a true original.

Take That, Prop 8 !

Let's get this out the way right now. Separating religion from politics is about as feasible as separation of economics and politics. It's virtually impossible because it all operates on a cyclical social scale. There are some in this country who would rather cut off their eyelids than view a world that resembles a 'fruitopia' where gays can wed, pay bills together, host dinner parties and join the capitulated doldrums of the ole ball-and-chaindom known mostly to the Hetero world.

Last night, SNL flipped Proposition 8 the proverbial bird with its gayest installment ever. The highlight however was Beyonce's faux video shoot for her song Single Ladies. It was hilarious. Period. Anything that features Justin Timberlake in a Spanx leotard is worth a gander. This one was for all of those who can't handle it. And boy, did SNL give it good. I'm sure this one had the pearl clutching prudes running for the remote- forever traumatized by the boy who brought sexy back. I freakin' loved it!

I have always held the personal opinion that same sex couples are no different from straight couples. They too have power struggles, insecurities and the run-of-the-mill issues that face hetero couples. When I see a gay couple- male or female, I do not immediately think about what is going on behind closed doors any more than I do when I see a man and woman who are obviously involved. Because at the end of the day, that fundamental difference from straight couples is their business only.

I can't wax poetic on gay rights or the sanctity of marriage but I do know that when viewed from a political and social perspective, people have the right to be together and have that commitment recognized. How unfair would it be for a person to pass away and the life insurance policy would not acknowledge the preferred beneficiary simply because they cannot be considered a "spouse"- even though they loved, honored and respected their partner until death, but that declaration was blocked by the government. What the hell? Well, it seems unfair to me anyway. So This Bug tips her hat to SNL for really sticking it to the 'Straight Crusaders' with last night's episode. And if there are any of those lurking around right now, here's your catharsis. A very macho, very hetero Mr. Timberlake offering up a 'hard'felt gift from the bottom of his...pants. Enjoy!

Letter for the Better

Dear Summer, I know you gon' miss me. For we been together like Nike Airs and crisp tees. -Jay Z

Well- what can I say, Summer? We had a good run, but the chilly winds of change are blowing. The longest days and torrid nights are gone. The June solstice gives way to autumnal equinox. There is nothing comforting about bracing for a cold winter. I know you like I know my own name. Here at this final hour, I close my eyes and feel the sun on my face- though it has set so long ago. I close my eyes and see Bermuda blue and dinosaur bones. I try to blink them away- but blinking brings it all into focus. I see myself through Summer's eyes. Jayne, Jayne, Jayne...Jayne smiling, Jayne walking, Jayne talking. Thanks to you, I know what the Rich Coast looks like at 7 a.m. though I never knew the way to San Jose.

Today instead of ankle strapped stilts, I pulled on boots- clunky and heavy...So much for dancing on water. But Summer, I know you like I know my own name. I always knew the warmth would last only for a time. Seasons are such predictably tricky things. Warm, cold, forgiving, soothing, surprising, cruel, unforgivable. The only thing we can ever be sure of is how they make us feel. You learn to think twice before you step once- because there are jagged little seashells under all of that white sand. Once you bleed, that trip to the beach suddenly feels more like punishment.

Summer, you and I have shared the best and worst of times. Times ripened by nostalgia, times destroyed by the marble that tips the scale from fantasy. I still love to dress for you. A bared shoulder, a flirty skirt over bronzed thighs. What makes a woman feel more womanly than Summer? But the heat swells the pavement below spirited feet, creates mirages on highways. Just when you think you've neared the water- it disappears. But there is beauty in knowing the real thing is on the horizon. That some thirsts are inevitably quenched- not when we want them, but when it is absolutely needed. I will not long for you again, Summer. I will not celebrate you in some other part of the universe, like the Druids at Stonehenge. Let them sing your praises now.

Your sun was damaging. Sunburn is too much for this Brown girl with the poison pen. If I could, I would write this all in Red. Burn the corner of the document for added effect but what good would it do, when this letter will never be postmarked. I will not wrap myself in a scarf, don a woolen hat and gloves, brave the icy sidewalks just to drop this in the mail box. Not when I know you'll be back someday and I'll be gone. Picture me, stargazers ever blossoming from my eyes- never needing Summer again.

Summer smiles, but summer goes. And winter waits behind it.

Eternally in Spring,
Jayne