Monthly Archives: November 2008

monday morning commentary.

it’s been quite some time since i’ve done a “randomness” blog, so…dammit, here goes:

tonight, on my way home from work, i walked up on a drag queen with his/her skirt up around his/her waist examining and readjusting his “tuck”…on the subway platform. he/she even fell out of character and resorted to the standard man’s nut grab/shift/grimace…while on the subway platform.  judging by his/her face, he/she had a HARD night. either the money wasn’t flowing like it normally does or that nasty bitch Miss Sasha Dereon stole his/her knee pads again. bitch! even in my earlier days of cavorting and associating with dragons, i’ve NEVER seen anything leading up to the final product. seeing a drag queen without wig, makeup, and dick tucked is like spotting mommy without her bra…it’s sinful! and a little bit yuck yuck. you’re just supposed to see the end result. never the “before”. good times, indeed.

you know what i LOVE? vegetarians who decide to take their monkey asses to barbecue restaurants (let’s say…mine, for instance) demand ridonkulous shit like “tofu ribs” and “pulled imitation chicken sandwiches”, claim nausea at the sight or smell of meat, and expect to NOT get the worse service ever, a swift, double-handed throatchop or…at the very least least, attitude major. i love people who complain that their “fries have been fried in the same grease as chicken or some other meat. i cant taste it.” …..and then have the NERVE to ask if we can make vegetarian chilli (which we DO offer), but without the sauce.”the answer is “no. fuck you.” do you also want your maccaroni and cheese without the “and” too? fuckface. THAT is what i love.

i had to have a tear-inducing (not on my part–i’m not no punk ass pussy ass cryin’ ass bitch) conversation with a good friend that was long-overdue. months even. this particular friend has had a string of bad luck due (in whole) to some bad choices and awful prioritizing, partnered with, honestly, a horribly spoiled upbringing. this friend has a habit of fishing for compliments, attention and concern with vague, question-prompting, pity-generating statements like “Ohhhhh, (big sigh) my life….”, “_____ is sad…”, “you won’t believe what happened to me today…”

and alex doesn’t feed into that bullshit. i know this person VERY well. and we’ve grown apart as of late, a little. rather than indulge these UNsubtle ass attempts for pity, I just ignore it all. i refused to be one of the dozen jerks that responded to melancholy ass facebook statuses. i turned the other way whenever i saw a guilt trip coming. i downplayed drama when confronted with shit like, “oh…i…thought that with all of what i told you yesterday, you’d call and check on me.”

me: “oh….nah, you’re okay.”

i just…have an issue with that. if you need help, ask for it. that was the general tone of our conversation: “nobody cares.” i had to convey to him that i am not ALWAYS a dick, but i have my own fucking problems to deal with. okay, you can’t find a job, money’s low, the guy’s you like keep playing you to the left, you’re gaining weight and have an addiction problem. i’m sorry to hear that. but…i’ve got my own issues, jerk. thanks for asking.

it’s just hard to convince someone who’s used to worlds stopping and wallets opening at the smallest sign of distress that, after a while…people get tired of catering to you. i did. shouldn’t have to. and i won’t. so, get it together. life sucks, but overall…nobody cares. my shit stinks too, my friend..and nobody’s helping ME clean it up.

anywho, it felt good to get all of that off my chest with him. he cried. i drove the point home any way i could: i used to have a dance company. danced DOWN 9 days a week. created a handful of amazing pieces of work. acclaim. awards. fans. haters. when i was 18. now? nobody cares. what have i done lately? THAT’s what matters. Him: had a car. a decent job. money was no issue. was young, cute, skinny and “in love.” had lot’s of material shit to “show for his work.” now? not so much…on all accounts. the gotcha-gotcha? nobody cares. get it together bitch.

still love ya, though.

took my first breaking class this week. breakdancing is something i’ve always admired, but never dared to try. i figured i’d look crazy. it turns out, for my first class, i didn’t look totally nuts. the uprock and foot work (everything that happens BEFORE you hit the ground) is fairly easy. the basic, fundamental moves (six step, four-step, CC’s, freezes, etc.) will definitely take work. the homeboy Cory (former Grüvment member, dancing for Hannah Montana currently) is a beast and gave me some pointers…i’ll keep you updated on my progress with that. when i DON’T look crazy, i shall post vids down the road.

i’ve fallen in love with dance again. the necessary spark: the choreographer’s carnival a few weeks back. the choreographer’s carnival is a show by and for dancers and choreographers. dancers and choreographers get a few minutes of total freedom to express themselves on stage without the influence of movie and music video directors, record labels, or difficult artists. a chance to shine in the foreground in front of peers rather than as an afterthought or as an unappreciated part of someones show. this show justifies my HATE for the term “background dancer.” we are not plants, scenery, or props. in many cases, dancers are entirely responsible for a untalented artist’s appeal…without them, they’d have and be nothing (Rihanna, anyone?).

Anywho…back on track here, I promised myself that, even if I don’t submit a piece of my own, I WILL at least dance at the next Carnival in the spring. I’ve been around this scene long enough. shit NEEDS to happen. I’m not getting younger and all the waaaaaaack people from last year are all now dope as fuck (most of them). Alex needs to catch up. i have my eye on a few choreographers i’d LOVE to dance with. i need not say who…i’ll just make sure they notice my ass. dammit.

okay. it’s 2:21. this blog took ENTIRELY too long to write. more later.

off to bed. tata.




hepp me out y’all



where to begin?

work was surprisingly busy. also surprisingly, i was in a great mood ALL day. saturday lunches are usually not the business in my restaurant, not in this economy anyway. after work, i stopped in times square to see inez at work then came home, picking up a bagful of apples and motherfucking oranges.

so…i walks (yes, walks) my ass in the kitchen to slice and dice my fruit to enjoy with my nice, ice-cold bottle of agua. tonight is definitely a chill night. a good book and some fruit…a night for reflection….

the year’s coming to an end…i found an old notebook that i apparently started at the end of 2007/top of 2008 filled with grand ass dreams and goals. some of them i’ve addressed, tackled, or completed…most i haven’t. the reasons for incompletion (read: excuses) are endless. and i’m sure that in the last weeks of december and top of 2009, i’ll start another notebook (that i also won’t finish) filled with more grand dreams and goals.

ah fuckit.

lemme quit pussyfootin’ y’all.

straight to the point:

i’m in the kitchen cutting up my goddamn apples and urrrnges, i reach over to grab the cutting board..and i see some shit that i…i need yall to help me understand.

now, i’m a pretty sheltered dude. i’ve never smoked cigarettes or weed. never got a prison tat with a lighter and a pen. never been jumped or even punched in the face. never ran up on some mark busters or murked any punk ass bitch niggas.


what i need summa yall…um…more…”worldly” (read: hood) readers out there to tell me…. is…


is THIS a crack pipe????



i seent this beside the cutting board. apparently, my wacky, tacky roommate (one of them) did dishes (after letting them pile up for days) and left this there. a short, three or so inch piece of round glass. broken and burnt on one end.

i clutched my pearls.

should i be concerned that he’s gonna steal my shit to sell it?

should i return it to him and tell him he left it out?

should i call the boys in blue and tell em he tried to attack me while in some drug-induced rage? he does have a sweet ass plasma tv in his room that i could use….

i just don’t…know how to recognize shit like that.

i mean…he’s a…um..dancer. used to make big bucks dancing several nights a week, but now…this damn economy…he’s dancing one night and is like…three weeks from eviction. works ONE night a week, but puffs cigarettes and weed 30 hours a day, 9 days a week.

note: i find my recent fascination with coke/crack/junkies absolutely hilarious.

yo soy clueless.

your thoughts?

texting with ticole.

first off, i’m alive. hand clap for that. (amen)

life happened. haven’t posted in over a month. but…you’ll still read this so…whatevs.

anywho, just a few minutes ago, i engaged in a lengthy text convo with a good friend of mine, met via Myspace at Cashawn’s house in DC ages ago….TICOLE.


i don’t know where this dialogue came from, but we tend to go back and forth like this for great lengths of time for no apparent reason. i re-read the convo today and laughed out loud several times. hopefully you find it as interesting and stupid as i do.

note: i am “sammy.”

Hey Sammie.

-Mmmhmm. What u doin?

-Thinkin bout u. When u gone tie me up and put summa dat sweet luvin on me agin?

-After Geraldine cut me loose! I aint no good time charlie! My mammy aint raise no two-timer. Waitcho turn Edwina!

-MMhmm…u aint say dat last night wen u had dat mayonaise spread all n mah crack…sho wont thankin bout dat ol floozy den!

-Nah woman, don’t be givin be da blues. I had me one a dem..change ‘o hearts. Ainna man posta do right by his main hoe?!!?

-Well don’t come scratchin round ma do afta u done got all licka’ed up talkin bout gettin dese good dun debbies!! I’m thru witchu sammie!

-Now Edwina, u and ah both no dat minute i come round with dose red knee-hi tube socks u like, pitchin woo atchu like i do, those hanes gon hit de flo.

-Hmph!  U bess gone and pitch woo to one of them otha skanks! I think I’m gone get back wit Ricky Lee.

-If u go shack up wit dat no count fool Ricky Lee Jones, I’m gonna git back ta hunchin wiff yo cuzin  Claudine. She alwuz knowed how ta luv a man real good. And her catfish and college greens is betta den yo’s is!!

-Now sammie dats a lie an u know it! Aint nobody in da great state of gawguh cookin betta greens than me and i guess you aint heard dat Claudine got dat nasty womyn’s disease. Ol loose self…serves both yall rite!!

-U seem ta think very highly of yoself eva since you did a week at dat ere fancy comunitee college, witcho books and yo MacIntosh compurtas, and learnin and what not. Just a year aga ya wuz sellin used socks ova on Peachtree. Uppity, no college-green cookin nigra!

-U sho aint one ta talk witcho 6th grade diploma sammie ray! My lil boy jimmy dee can read betta den u!

-SIXTH GRADE IS MO FARTHER THAN DEM NIGGERS ON THE MOTHERCOUTRY GIT TO GO!! Shooot, I’m prolly smarter den bout 625 a dem Afreecans put togetha. I gotz life sperience! HMPHF! Don’t be puttin dat lil proud woolly-headed boy a yours on no pedestal. he still shit in his pants…what de fuck do he know!?!

-Now sammie u can call me whateva nasty ol names you can think of but u aint fixin ta be talkin bout mah boy!

-Oh Nah! I’mma say what i wonts! Dat lil shit-pants sumbitch so smart, let him take up fo himself! Who de hell heard of a boy goin past 6th grade?!? Get that bastard out on the field! He can go tend ta Mista Jasper’s mules! Them is good white folks. Don’t spoil that boy with lies bout college…and being RICH…and being PRESIDENT…and all dat otha mess. Think womyn!

-He kin b anything he wonta b and that just happens ta b a manager at Hardees…and it shall, by and by lawd.

then it kinda died out. i don’t know why its so funny, but this time we dug deep and let it ride for a LONG time.

good times.

well, off to dinner with…um…someone from the past. laterz.