two oh oh in south san ho

the other day Amelia suggested i do a post on either #200 or #106 of that list from the last post. seeing as how a post about how i once jacked off in my office seems kinda boring and typical, im gonna go ahead and tell you about the time i got arrested.

it was me and my other brother. the black one not the white one. his name is Mike, but these days everyone calls him Mike B. back then people just called him Mike.

anyway, we were in San Jose, California and we were 15 years old. it was the first time either of us had been to the south bay suburb and the only reason we were there was because we heard there was this club that had a 16 and up door policy. and even though we were only 15 we figured taking a chance was worth it. if it didnt work out and we couldnt get in there was always the parking lot to hang out in. from there we could still get our teenage kicks popping at the honeys going in and coming out.

so we are dressed in our freshest club 'fits: paisley shirts, Hammer pants, and busted suede loafers. this cat named darren drove us out there, some other dude named sergio posted in the passenger seat. both of them were over 18, so they werent sweating the trip at all. it was just another wednesday night for them. but for me and Mike, this was the first "real" club we would be hitting. we had it in our mind that clubs were a gaurenteed bet. a sure thing. clubs promised at least a couple phone numbers, if not a necking session or back seat grope at the end of the night.

of course mike and i, in our earlier stages of alcoholism, had bought a couple bottles of malt liquer with us to sip in the backseat of the car on the way down there. Darren, and this would prove a significant decision later on in the evening, didnt want us drinking in the backseat. something about getting beer all over the car or him being a pussy ass homo or some shit. so we wait until we pull into the parking lot of a pizza place [so darrens fat pussy ass can stuff his face] and me and mike go around to the back get our drink on.

we stood behind a dumpster. the alley was dark, with just the streetlight from down the streets faint illumination giving us any light. ignoring the smell of piss, shit, and vomit, we crack the brews. just as im about to take my first swig i see a car rolling through slowly from around the other side of the pizza joint. see, the parking lot was L shaped. the pizza joint created the L shape with its corner of real estate in the lot and the bottom of the L [the horizontal part] being the "alley". so we hadnt see the car coming through the lot from the other side. it was rolling so slow i figured either it was someone that knew us, someone that thought they knew us, someone about to jack us, or the cops.

-yo, i said as i discreetly dropped my beer to the ground, who is that? Mike hadnt been looking, he was fumbling with his shirt, preoccupied with the degree in which it was tucked in. not that it would have mattered bacause even at the young age of 15 he had poor eyesight and in that darkness he wouldnt have been able to determine what kind of car it was anyway, let alone who was driving it. i recognized the shape, its unmistakable length and model. a fucking cop.

-aww shit dude thats the cops. he dropped his brew when i said it. right then i noticed how empty the parking lot alley was, how dark and foreign a location we were in. this was not a good situation. the car stopped, a light beamed on our faces from the inside. a voice on a bullhorn boomed in the night.

-come from behind the dumpster. it said. we did. i was already familiar by then with cops and being arrested [i could have written about any one of the numerous times i have been involved with the wrong side of the law, but chose this particular time because it stands out], so i knew we had to accept surrender for for a second until we figured out what he had us on, but this was Mikes first time. he was new to the "getting caught" part.

-let me see your ID's. a standard cop question and i gave my standard juvenile deliquent answer, -i dont have one. now i dont know why i would say such a thing, because i actually did have my ID on me. but my natural reaction was to lie to the cops. i guess im just a rebel like that. i realize now that thats the dumbest thing to do, unless you absolutely have to. always give a cop your ID because if you do, they have no right to search you. if you dont though, prepare for a pat down. which is what i got. and of course he found my ID and when he asked me why i lied i looked dumbly at him,said, -i dunno. and stared at the ground. sigh, i was such a stupid kid sometimes.

Mike, on the other hand, was trying to be a perfect gentleman with the cop, who was a tall, thin, asian man with a calm demeanor who we later found was named Sun. he was being extra agreeable because not just is he a pretty polite guy, but he also had one of those fake ID's that you can buy at cheesy novelty spy shops. we got a couple one day on a whim, learning from a friend that a lot of liquer stores would just accept them as valid identification and sell us beer. so Mike is trying to conceal his fake ID while show his real ID when another car screeches up and two cops bounce out of it like theyre fucking Starsky and Hutch or some shit.

the first thing they do is start pushing around Mike, who was standing in front of Sun as i was leaned against the cop car. of course i start asking sarcastic questions. whats the problem officer? is all that physical abuse neccessary officer? what have we done wrong officer? etc etc. just being annoying to the cops who, to my credit, were being unneccessarily pushy with Mike, who, to his credit, was just trying to not get arrested and keep his tone innocent. eventually the pushing escalates, mike drops his fake ID, which they instantly figure is contraband thus prompting more violent shoving and pushing and me asking more wanna be spike lee approved inquieries on why there had to be such brutality involved with asking two young black men for their ID's. you can guess that my attitude did not help Mikes matters much.

so me and officer Sun are just standing there watching while these two other cops, in plain clothes, one a stocky asian and one some white dude, pretty much are shoving and pulling and pushing mike like a fucking doll. and i should point out that mike, if i could compare him to any pop star, would most resemble Prince in looks and manner [at least back then he did, now that fool most resembles R. Kelly minus the peeing on kids], so he wasnt the biggest cat in the litter if you get my drift. Starsky and Hutch are all up on this kid and Mike starts to scream -your braking my arm! youre breaking my arm! and i thought to myself right then holy shit im going to have to jump into a fight with two cops to protect my friend and i was totally prepared to do it too. im down for my homies like that.

then Mike does when every black man in america knows is the worst possible thing you can do when a cop is roughing you up to the point of bone breakage, he turns around and hits one of them then flees.

now Mike is a fast motherfucker so when i saw him break free from the shocked cops clutches i smirked a little because i just knew he was gone for good. both Starsky and Hutch made chased after him and i was immediately put in handcuffs by Sun. i didnt care though, i hadnt really done anything but stood there and lied about having my ID [which i did so it wasnt really anything they could hold against me]. i just let myself be lead to the cop car where planned on saying "i dont know" a lot.

just as i was getting to the car the cop who got hit, the asain one, came back from the chase all out of breath and of course, sans Mike. upon spotting this moment of weakness in him i go into an ill advised tirade about how i did not do anything, did not deserve to be in handcuffs, was outraged, yada yada. and he then tells me to shut up. HA! shut up? shut up? fuck you i have my rights! ill talk all i want! i didnt do anything! fuck that, this is fucking america, im not rodney king. fuck you! fuck you! get your-

thats when the cop just starts pounding on my face. and i mean POUNDING! just beating the spirit out of me. really working me over. and remember, not only am i in a dark alley, in a strange city, getting the crap beat out of me, but im in fucking handcuffs as well! and i couldnt call out to anyone because who do you call when you are getting beat upon in the street? you call the cops! and seeing as my protectors were now my attackers i couldnt call anyone. i just had to stand there and get punched over and over and over again. oh joy.

finally i guess his whimpy fist got sore from smashing against my hard steel-like dome and they shove me into the back of the car. we drive about a block away where i see that Mike, much to my chagrin, did not get away. and they had beaten him down too. ten times worse than me. it looked like they dragged his head along a loose gravel pavement. his pretty boy face was one gigantic scab for about a month after taht.

inevitably they took us to police headquarters, in seperate cars [he had to go to the hospital, i just went straight to the station]. at the time my life was about as ghetto as it would get and we had no phone at home. like i said they didnt have me on anything so if my mom would have answered than she could have just picked me up and took me home that night. as it is since she didnt answer [and the cops refused to belive that i just didnt have a phone line at home] i had to stay in San Jose juvenile detention for 3 days until Mikes mom finally came and got us out.

we sued the San Jose police department for the beating but Mike got found guilty of hitting the cop so his case didnt go anywhere. mine, on the other hand did, and 4 years later, when i was 19 years old i was awarded 35k. after paying the lawyer and giving Mike a cut i was left with 12k, which i spent on records, drugs, hookers, and bacon. and thats the story about how i was arrested that time in San Jose.

oh yeah, and i never saw that punk darren or sergio again. i wonder what happened to those fools?

a list

so i got this list from here, who got it from here.

i realize its pretty girly to post these list [as ive only seen girls do it] but i gotta admit, i kinda like em. i dont know, maybe its cuz im american and just LOVE list or... actually, yeah its just because i love list. list are awesome. they are the summery of our accomplishments and failures, or groceries. regardless, they rock. if they didnt, vh1 would have gone under years ago and we would all be watching reruns of golden girls on the weekend. by the way, this will be the absolute last time a list shows up on this site. im like, 97% sure sure of that... anyway, all the shit ive done is in bold.

01. Bought everyone in the pub a drink [pfft]
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula.
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said "I love you"and meant it
09. Hugged a tree
10. Done a striptease
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Stayed up all night long, and watch the sun rise
15. Seen the Northern Lights
16. Gone to a huge sports game
17. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
18. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
19. Touched an iceberg
20. Slept under the stars
21. Changed a babys diaper
22. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
23. Watched a meteor shower
24. Gotten drunk on champagne
25. Given more than you can afford to charity
26. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
27. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
28. Had a food fight
29. Bet on a winning horse
30. Taken a sick day when youre not ill
31. Asked out a stranger
32. Had a snowball fight
33. Photocopied your bottom on the office photocopier
34. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
35. Held a lamb
36. Enacted a favorite fantasy
37. Taken a midnight skinny dip
38. Taken an ice cold bath
39. Had a meaningful conversation with a beggar
40. Seen a total eclipse
41. Ridden a roller coaster
42. Hit a home run
43. Fit three weeks miraculously into three days
44. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
45. Adopted an accent for an entire day
46. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
47. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
48. Had two hard drives for your computer
49. Visited all 50 states
50. Loved your job for all accounts
51. Taken care of someone who was shit faced
52. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
53. Had amazing friends
54. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
55. Watched wild whales
56. Stolen a sign
57. Backpacked in Europe
58. Taken a road-trip
59. Rock climbing
60. Lied to foreign governments official in that country to avoid notice
61. Midnight walk on the beach
62. Sky diving
63. Visited Ireland
64. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
65. In a restaurant, sat at a strangers table and had a meal with them
66. Visited Japan
67. Benchpressed your own weight
68. Milked a cow
69. Alphabetized your records
70. Pretended to be a superhero
71. Sung karaoke
72. Lounged around in bed all day
73. Posed nude in front of strangers
74. Scuba diving
75. Got it on to "Lets Get It On" by Marvin Gaye
76. Kissed in the rain
77. Played in the mud
78. Played in the rain
79. Gone to a drive-in theater
80. Done something you should regret, but dont regret it
81. Visited the Great Wall of China
82. Discovered that someone whos not supposed to have known about your blog has discovered your blog
83. Dropped Windows in favor of something better
84. Started a business
85. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
86. Toured ancient sites
87. Taken a martial arts class
88. Swordfought for the honor of a woman
89. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
90. Gotten married
91. Been in a movie
92. Crashed a party
93. Loved someone you shouldnt have
94. Kissed someone so passionately it made them dizzy
95. Gotten divorced
96. Had sex at the office
97. Gone without food for 5 days
98. Made cookies from scratch
99. Won first prize in a costume contest
100. Ridden a gondola in Venice
101. Gotten a tattoo
102. Found that the texture of some materials can turn you on
103. Rafted the Snake River
104. Been on television news programs as an "expert"
105. Got flowers for no reason
106. Masturbated in a public place
107. Got so drunk you dont remember anything
108. Been addicted to some form of illegal drug
109. Performed on stage
110. Been to Las Vegas
111. Recorded music
112. Eaten shark
113. Removed - Im not telling that one [???]
114. Gone to Thailand
115. Seen Siouxsie live
116. Bought a house
117. Been in a combat zone
118. Buried one/both of your parents
119. Removed - Not telling this one either [wtf??]
120. Been on a cruise ship
121. Spoken more than one language fluently
122. Gotten into a fight while attempting to defend someone
123. Bounced a check
124. Performed in Rocky Horror
125. Read - and understood - your credit report
126. Raised children
127. Recently bought and played with a favorite childhood toy
128. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
129. Created and named your own constellation of stars
130. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
131. Found out something significant that your ancestors did
132. Called or written your Congress person
133. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
134. more than once? - More than thrice?
135. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
136. Sang loudly in the car, and didnt stop when you knew someone was looking
137. Had an abortion or your female partner did
138. Had plastic surgery
139. Survived an accident that you shouldnt have survived
140. Wrote articles for a large publication
141. Lost over 100 pounds
142. Held someone while they were having a seizure
143. Piloted an airplane
144. Petted a stingray
145. Broken someones heart
146. Helped an animal give birth
147. Been fired or laid off from a job
148. Won money on a T.V. game show
149. Broken a bone
150. Killed a human being [pfft, whos gonna answer THAT?]
151. Gone on an African photo safari
152. Ridden a motorcycle
153. Driven any land vehicle at a speed of greater than 100mph
154. Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced
155. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
156. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
157. Ridden a horse
158. Had major surgery
159. Had sex on a moving train
160. Had a snake as a pet
161. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
162. Slept through an entire flight: takeoff, flight, and landing
163. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
164. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
165. Visited all 7 continents
166. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
167. Eaten kangaroo meat
168. Fallen in love at an ancient Mayan burial ground
169. Been a sperm or egg donor
170. Eaten sushi
171. Had your picture in the newspaper
172. Had 2 (or more) healthy romantic relationships for over a year in your lifetime
173. Changed someones mind about something you care deeply about
174. Gotten someone fired for their actions
175. Gone back to school
176. Parasailed
177. Changed your name
178. Petted a cockroach
179. Eaten fried green tomatoes
180. Read The Iliad
181. Selected one "important" author who you missed in school, and read
182. Dined in a restaurant and stolen silverware, plates, cups because your apartment needed them
183. ...and gotten 86'ed from the restaurant because you did it so many times, they figured out it was you
184. Taught yourself an art from scratch
185. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
186. Apologized to someone years after inflicting the hurt
187. Skipped all your school reunions
188. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
189. Been elected to public office
190. Written your own computer language
191. Thought to yourself that you're living your dream
192. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
193. Built your own PC from parts
194. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn;t know you
195. Had a booth at a street fair
196: Dyed your hair
197: Been a DJ
198: Found out someone was going to dump you via LiveJournal [^^sure fire sign this list is gay] 199: Written your own role playing game
200: Been arrested

so that was kinda fun. and easy. and lazy. oh well, i'll post again, and this will be buried into the past in no time. not like im ashamed of being girly or nuthin...

the ipod dj thingy arrives.

it wss inevitable i suppose. i cant tell if this is a sign of the apocalypse or if its a welcome evolution to the disk jockey. my friend told me, when he saw it, -i dont know weather its cool or gay, i guess its somewhere in the middle. its gool.

i can agree with that, i guess. i couldnt imagine searching for the next "record" to play in that thing. but i do know i could pack for a world wide fuckin tour in just my backpack, which would leave mad room for astrglide and packs of bacon. i dont know how much it runs, but its prolly to pricey for my blood. shit, im still rocking the two 12oo's i got in '96'.

two turntables and a microphone its not.

and thelma too...

damn this blog is gay. i mean, its like looking at yourself in the mirror and waxing your chest gay. its tom cruise gay. its tail end of a topical joke gay. scientology gay.

i mean, i realize that this site is mine alone. and that i can use it to help me translate some of the more confused and ...er, faggy feelings i might grapple with at times. and i understand that its pretty normal to go through difficult trials in life, with yourself and with your loved ones, and regardless of whatever age you are. but really, sometimes i can just post some of the sappiest shit.

of course i cant regret it, i mean, it is what i felt at the time of posting it, and i cant say i regret how i felt. shit, i felt it, i experienced the sensation, what can i do about it now? and i feel right now that i should point out, because i am always one to pick at flaws in a statement [mainly ones that I have made], having an emotion and making a decision are two different things, see, you can regret making a decision. my point is i dont have any qualms about leaving my sappier post up. there are many different shades of jon and apparently this includes one fairly gay shade. its probably a light salmon or ...gasp! a sexy fuchsia! ooh... my pussys chafing just thinking about my gay shade!

but all embarrassingly poor attempts to veil my insecurities aside, i be writing some wimpy shit sometimes. not that im trying to be all manly on this blog. i mean, it IS a blog. but if i had stumbled across this site, which im sure people do sometimes, in the last few days, i would have given me a big fat PFFT!. it would have been all wet and spitty too, and i probably would have had to wipe my moniter after, but it would have been worth it cuz damn, i mean, PFFFT! who wants to read that shit?

and im not whining mind you. well, maybe i am a little, and better yet, thats the point. i can totally whine on this blog! i mean, i can talk about the most sensitive cry into my cheerleading pom poms vomit because i think im fat shit i want, and whos gonna stop me? who? shit, aint no one paying me to write this shit. ill post whatever i want. i can post about chicks with hairy ass legs [like, fuckin worse than hippie hairy, ive seen them] or old dudes with glass eyeballs. or people high on cocaine that try to recite to your their poems in the bathroom stall at a club. or creepy wine store owner guys that might be flirting with you but you arent really sure so you still get your reisling from him. or ana's or mia's or fashion or, in one word to sum up of all this, pop music. but i dont. shoo, i write whatever the fuck i happen to write when i write it. like that sentence right there. and that one. see? i did it again.

well regardless of what i write and my OperatingThetan level, here's the score recently:

-while in minneapolis i stole a phrase from a movie Fresh loathes to death and attached it to something we all can enjoy. masturbating. thats right, from here on out, instead of saying im going to beat my meat, chafe my shaft, jerk my work or grope my rope, im gonna starting sayin that imma whoop that trick. see how that goes? its like: -whatchu gonna do tonight dude? -um.. i dont know, watch some seinfeld, eat some leftovers, whoop that trick, then go to bed. or, yo, you see that Good Times marathon homie? man, after seven straight hours of hot Willona action i had to lock the door and straight whoop that trick! im pretty sure its gonna catch on and everyone on the internets gonna be saying it soon. and if you think about it, it reverses the implication of the phrase, now it implies you are beating a MAN. brilliant!

-ive been listening to a lot of the arcade fire lately. they are this weeks cats meow. oh yeah, and jamie lydell too.

-i saw million dollar baby. it was good, but it had best picture hints all up in its ass crack. i mean, you got redemption, death, triumph, and characters that are all richer for the experiance at the end. how typical and trite. but the lighting was all citizen kane-ish and the acting was well done, so whatever. maybe i'll talk more about it later. nah, probably not.

-i kinda got the internet working at my house, but not really. im on the wack computer. in the wack room. with the wack fan that doesnt cool the wack heat. its pretty wack.

-my period came. whew!

meh. thats it. see ya later bitches.

aftermath

the living room fixed itself into an unbearable chill last night, an ironic contrast to the hot damp air that choked brooklyn's night outside. the television was muted and the lights were on and we stared at each other silently.

neither of us had dared speak first, lest the conversation seem forced and empty, or to serious and heavy for us to discuss yet. the prospect of talking just to fill the air with words seemed like a dreadful venture. what words would we choose? what topics did not involve an avenue which lead into our wounds, still fresh and open, wet and unhealed? what conversation could be had that did not reveal to us he fracture? every word in the english language was loaded, ready to blow. every syllable a means of detonation. with our looks hung strangled in the air and under the explosive weight of each others hurt, communication suffocated.

the air conditioners hum delicately covered our unease. its steady rattling filled up the room generously. i didnt want to un-mute the tv, for some reason feeling that would be an indication that i was resigning to the distance between, accepting that it was not just a fracture but a break. a sign that i was resolved to let the space between us grow. so i kept the tv on mute. and when the a/c reached its predetermined climate and turned off to save energy the sound all but disappeared and we stewed in the silence.

as each second passed though, we could feel the noose loosening. we could feel time forgiving us and the cuts begin to scab. its just a matter of time before we realize how ugly this scar is. i guess soon enough we'll know where we are.

Drama

i had a whole post planned describing the non-events that went down during my Minneapolis trip. the remarkably pale underground hip hop show at First Avenue, which is where Prince writhed on the floor and Morris did The Bird in the classic movie Purple Rain. the curiously empty sky above JFK airport, which i stared into for 3 hours from a shady patch of grass under a highway exit, waiting for the next flight that would take me as i had missed the first in classic Cali fashion. the bad art in terminal 4 that me and shakeyface wouldnt forgive and how we laughed until we choked and then had a few beers on the companies tab. the midnight drink curfew. the boredom. the boredom.

but that post got over shadowed by the shit and the fan and the terrific collision between the two. enter: the Drama Llama.

Lets start at the beginning, i am in exciting Minneapolis fighting of the urge of suicide as my record industry cohorts describe to a large audience just why sales are tanking, my girlfriend is in New Hampshire or somewhere exploring her X-treme side by climbing the tallest mountain in the Northeast, and my brother is in Brooklyn, home alone.

the story starts in Brooklyn, where my brother wakes up saturday morning, hung over, with a bladder about to burst. he stumbles to the bathroom and, to his surprise, finds a fucking SQUIRREL freaking out in the kitchen. apparently, when seen up close, squirrels lose all their disney like cuddly cuteness and gain quite a bit of viciousness and disease. so of course my brother starts freaking out along with the squarely and the two of them have a mid morning monster mash until eventually the squarely bounces. so will takes a piss, scratches his nuts, and goes back to bed shaken, but too hungover to worry about it so early.

well luckily the squarely had such a ball in my kitchen the first time, he decided to come back for just one last dance. so when Will wakes up there is squirrelly squirrel doing the running man on the fridge, while eating some walnuts it found in one of our higher shelves. when Will told me this little bit of information the first thing i asked was why the window was left open from the first visit from our little buddy. he had no answer, he just hadnt thought of it. i called him an idiot and, as i am one to do, forgot about the matter.

fast foward to last night, two days after the squirrel fiasco. im chilling with my beer, glad to be home, even though the place was a little messy as he hadnt cleaned up while we were gone. its about 11pm when L-aqua comes home happy to finally be in a place of modern luxuries [you know, box spring, hand soap, tivo...]. right as she gets home Will decides to brag about his rodent adventures not leaving out the fact that he didnt close the window the first time nor that he never cleaned up the walnuts our wee tree climbing homie had left scattered about the kitchen floor.

wait, you didnt clean up the walnuts? you left them on the floor for two fucking days?

yep. my brother is an idiot. a prick. a slightly sociopathic asswipe. i see his flaws as flaws we all have. but ive known him so long i dont even notice it anymore. she, on the other hand, sees this like an explosion before her eyes. i try to ease the situation by taking out the trash but by the time i get back upstairs its already been done. the lid has been blown. she comes up to me:

-i want that asshole out of my house right now. right fucking now. she said it like there was nothing before and nothing to be after, like the moment was absolutely final.

he said some wrong things. but she baited him into saying them a little. i knew the score before they even told me. it was inevitable this moment. this wave had been breaking for too long, it was going to crash eventually, at least that much was known.

i try to tell him how he has fucked up. how it sout of my hands at this point. he cant disrespect her in her house, i cant really allow that, thats just out of order. she interrupts us while we are talking, blind with fury, demanding he leave that instant. i tell her we are talking about it, to give me a moment. she points fingers and calls for his head. i try to calm her down but cant. i try and try but i cant and i erupt in rage at her.

GIVE US A FUCKING SECOND. IM KICKING MY FUCKING BROTHER OUT!! IM FUCKING KICKING MY BROTHER OUT! GIVE ME A MOMENT TO HAVE A FUCKING CONVERSATION. JUST A FUCKING SECOND!!! IM FUCKING KICKING HIM OUT FOR YOU!! IM KICKING MY BROTHER OUT FOR YOU!!! GIVE US A FUCKING MINUTE JUST ONE FUCKING MINUTE!!!!

it should have been more controlled. i shouldnt have screamed like that. it didnt help the matter. i can be intimidating when im angry. she looked frightened. terrified of me. not like i would ever lay a hand on her, but her eyes said she feared me like never before. i should have been more patient. i should have thought it through. it broke my heart to do it. but i had to tell him to go. he left last night, i dont know where he stayed. then he called me today to let me know he was taking the next flight home. me and her havent talked since.

its humiliating for everybody. i stupid fucking tragedy for all parties involved. he could have been cool. she could have been chill. i could gave been more something or other. fucking hell. i cant even write right. i cant even figure out how this makes me feel.

hey bro, thanks for everything. ass.

being back

there are only a handful of proper metropolises in northern america. on two hands i can list of the cities that offer an actual cosmopolitan experiance. a majority of these pepper the coast, a couple occupy the south, and one is in the midwest. i have i grew up and lived in two of these places, and have visited most of the others. they all share the same qualities, though each has thier own unique translation of them, and they all make up the criteria in which a City is defined.

there are some places though, which call themselves a city but in actuality are glorified suburbs. they are a steady sequence of housing developements surrounding a meager commercial and finacial district that consist mainly of the ancilliary branches to huge corporations that are based in genuine cities, and local businesses which are slowly becoming the forgotten fabric that make up this nation. these "cities" are unheralded, and deservedly so, but if you are patient, some can provide a gem of such inspiration you are shaken to the core with a feeting feeling called being. the place i just came back from though, offered no such sensation.

minneapolis is the home to a few major retail chains, two unforgivable seasons, and Prince. now im not going to go into the genius that is prince, nor wonder how he found this genius in a city that doesnt even have a nightlife past midnight [from what it seemed to me], that is an entirely seperate post. Prince sorted his shit out and thats the end of that.

but i do have some musings on my trip that will be transcribed. not now though, Wills laptop is about to die and im sick of this stupid cafe. ill post more later.

wednesday blog blarg

this day has been a a shade uneven so far, ive only been awake for two hours though, so theres no telling yet of weather or not its going to steady itself out. not that im jonesing for predictablility, but at this early hour, im not in the mood for surprises.

i woke up this morning, banged the snooze button on my alarm clock for the umpteenth [and final] time, and peeled myself from the cotton cosiness of my bed. its time to start the day jon, wipe your eyes and knuckle up. agreed, italicised voice inside my head. so i do what a do every morning before i completely emerge from my nightly womb, i yawn, stretch, look around my bedroom and asses the situation. this assesment primarily entails searching for hints of whatever clothes im going to wear that day. today i wore pretty much what i wore yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. jeans and a t-shirt, with shoes that cleverly compliment the color scheme of things.

and right from the get go things were a little off. the moment daybreak clarified itself and my mind fully grasped the circumstance that is wednesday, i realized something curious: i was unbelievably horny.

not that its rare that im aroused, au contraire my friend! i spend a good many waking hours fending off the urge to either viciously tit fuck my girlfriend or furiously whip out my weapon and take matters into my own hands. but its a scarce sequence that i am heated to such a degree so early in the ante meridiem.

and this was no "morning wood" horny, no i-just-woke-up-from a-dream-involving me, amerie, a dozen contortionist midgets-and-a gallon of lubricant horny, no, this wasnt the average everyday morning glory horny. this was blue ball horny. this morning i woke up with fucking blue balls. how the hell did that happen?

instead of quickly rectifying the situation in the shower i chose to suffer through the day and thus, have L-sugar enjoy the spoils of my eager teste's tonight. shes been aching for it [as, according to my swollen scrotum sack, have i] and because my brother has been sleeping in the next room, and because she has to get up early to teach rich people how to properly strengthen their core, and because i, conversely, like to stay up late because that just how i get down, we havent been able to consummate the evening recently.

this usually isnt a problem, but something needs to be done quick. my mind has been wandering to times with past lovers a bit too frequently lately. well, i guess no more than they usually do, but the current fantasies have been accompanied by a desperate desire to relive those unforgotten moments. there has been a physical lust that cant be ignored, like my libido is suddenly ravenous for what i do not have, a starving, sexual itch for characters that have been edited out of my script. this is a very natural urge i assume, there is nothing wrong with fondly remembering the heavenly sins that seasoned your youth. but the thirst this time just isnt worth the poison. nope, so im gonna go home, fuck my girlfriend, and let my voicemail answer the phone. yep, thats exactly what im gonna do. not like i have the option to do anything else anyway.

after this awkward contemplation i got to work and the first message on my phone is bad news. now, ive chosen not to reveal any of the artist i work with nor my actual position in the record industry. not because i am embarrassed of it, or because i am all great and powerful and if you knew where i work i fear whordes of hanger ons, rabid fans, and would be musicians would bombard me with emails and "pop in's," but because i deal with enough bullshit with the rest of the douchbags in this industry already, and i dont need some fool reading my site and telling this fool at that label or that joker at this retail chain that they read me giving a poetic beat down to some wack ass artist on my blog. that being said: god damn this industry is run by idiots.

honestly, i dont think there are more than 10 record labels on this entire planet that are ran by someone with even an inkling of business sense. and these arent the artist i speak of. the artist get a pass because, well, theyre the artist. these are the label managers and marketing managers, the a&r's, and the rest of the schmoes that "run" the label. fucking hell are they are stupid. i dont know why because you have ONE track produced by 9th wonder [who makes some hot beats, mind you, but aint skanned over 200,000 units total] that you suddenly assume your no name rapper deserves a plaque. because he dont. i dont care if he grew up with mos defs brother or if his cousin let Jadakiss hit it. your rapper is mediocre, your beats are so so, your artwork is horrible, and the internet is not gonna get you a gold record. shoot for a copper plaque, or hey, lets be realistic here, go for the wooden jammy.

if i wasnt such a shameless music whore i would give all this shit up and join the NBA. for real real, not for play play.

then for some reason i decided to read tony, which i never do. it was kinda interesting. i wonder if i should link him. i dont read him everyday, but everytime i do he has at least one or two witty things to say. his post are generally super long, which, ive noticed, so are mine these days. but hes good at fleshing out the ideas in his head, which i dont think im that good at yet. i wonder how old that fool is. i know hes black and likes rock so those are two qualities we share [though ive never heard him talk about any other genre of music, but like i said, i dont read him much] and that he like chicks, so i guess there is three. but i mean, if i need to link a black cat that likes hoes and rock music i already got this fool on my squad. i guess i could start the all black guys that like women and rock music link section, which would consist of me, bol, tony and sam. we could go to ireland and start a gang, or a basketball team, or an r&b group [with rock n roll leanings]. it would be fun, in a pink ascot and travel sized copy of Dianetics kinda way.

anyway, if anyone in NYC reads this, you should be eager to check out Platinum Pied Pipers and Roy Ayers for free tomorrow in Brooklyn at Tompkins park on Green at Marcy. it starts at 7pm and afterwards you should go to the BBE afterparty with Ali Shaheed Muhammad at Triple Crown in Williamsburg. it'll be the cats meow. and if you are STILL reading this overly vebose entry, try checking out the Avila Brothers album called The Mood. it has been criminally slept on. for real real, i aint lyin.

squeezing it in

i was going to start posting everyday, no matter if i had something to say or not. i was gonna sit down in front of the computer and just let the sentences form themselves, everyday, for an undetermined amount of time. i figured sometimes i would type a lot, sometimes i would type a little. it didnt matter as long as i posted something, anything, at all.

but my internet is still down at the palace [one would think that "the palace" would have a pretty sturdy internet connection, being of such a regal title and all, but nope. its ghetto, just like a majority of my worldy possesions (see: cell phone, turntable stand, choice of malt liquer)] so im limited to squeezing out my inner dialog in between meetings, phone calls, emails and all other tedious task that are demanded of me at work. this is all fine and dandy but there are days when my duties are overwhelming to say the least, so there really is no time to flesh out my thoughts via a blogpost. and by the time im done with work, or at least when i cant take anymore of it, im jetting home on the first 2 train [or F train depending on which bodega i wanna hit up before i crash the castle] and as you well know, my home internet is still down.

besides, i have to take a business trip to fun and exciting minnesota this weekend and still dont own a laptop so that would have put the smack down on any plans to blog everyday anyway. so today, im going to share with you some of my morning, if anyone knows how i feel about tuesday they know its just as inconsitant and insignificant as any other day, so this post will get forgotten like the rest. that being said, prepare to get your time wasted.

-this morning on the subway i glanced up from my book and saw one of those trimspa ads with anna nicole showing off her new [or is it her old], slimmer figure. this wouldnt have been of any note, but i noticed she had gotten dreads. shit looked ridiculous. all i have to say about that is anna, that hair aint working on you.

-on another train a woman slapped around her kid and threatened to send him to california where "he would never fucking see her again." the kid was sobbing and reaching out to hold her, his mother, but she would push him away. that fucking bitch doesnt deserve to have children. that kid is probably going to have a perpetually broken heart, he will probably have a distorted sense of love and appreciation, and all because his stupid idiot fucking mother that didnt want a child and shouldnt have had a child and now regrets her slutty ways, takes it out on her child in the form of verbal and physical abuse. im sure she was frustrated and probably a bit strung out, and im not positive what the relationship was with the child [she was white and he looked.. indonesian or something] but no child should be treated that way by an adult. fuck, just give him a wack on the ass, dont treat him like a disease and dont hit him in the face. if i ever see that bitch again im gonna trip her. whore.

-Rawkus records seems to be back in action, and from what i understand they got Sa-Ra doing the A&R. i got some homeboys that were working there when the shit went down and Rawkus folded, ending their reign as hip hops shining hope and the biggest independant rap label in the world. now i guess they are poised to shake up the industry again. i dont know... check out the music links. the Sa-Ra joint is kinda nice. the Plant Life joint sort of annoys me.

-some women have curves so severe it hurts my heart. ok maybe thats just me being cheesy and metaphorical. what i meant was this chick has a really nice ass. seriously though. her ass is like a fucking nuclear threat. a god damned doomsday weapon. shes got some major cake. i aint lyin, her shit is like a fucking forest fire, you have to view it from a helicopter to really capture the breadth and scope of it. and thats for real real, not for play play.

thats about it for me this morning, i cant squeeze in any more. my post are WAY to long anyway. i need to start sh0rtening my shit up. maybe tomorrow ill post something nice and short. yeah, thats what i'll do. nice and short...

Sobe Says

Miami is one of those cities that has dance music playing in every store, restaurant, bar and hotel lobby, regardless of what time of day it is. and its pretty consistant with that lipstick and cocaine vibe all year long. its wouldnt be too uncommon to be waiting in line at walgreens to buy a bottle of shampoo and a box of Altoids and hearing progressive house on the overhead while being rung up by a girl that looks like she just stepped down from dancing on the podium at Crobar. at least this is how it is in south beach, where i stayed this weekend.

now i dont have a problem with dance music per se, i mean, i am a pretty mean house dj so im pretty familair with the bumpity bump. but after a while you have to wonder if the people in south beach are aware that there are other genres of music besides epic psy-trance. even at the loungiest of venues, places that were begging for a gentler melody to enhance the intimacy of the atmosphere, they had the ipod mix set to monster filtered disco house. the concept of "chilling" is some what warped down there. it seems to have been lost on them. maybe its all the high grade nose candy, maybe its all the hot ass chicks, maybe its a combo of the two.

ive been to miami about 4 or 5 times, but only for the WMC, and thats always a little messy. during the conference its encouraged, the drugs, dancing and general debauchery that goes on. but this is the first time i had been there on a "normal" weekend, a weekend that was of no celebratory significance. it doesnt look like they got the memo though. hey miami, THE CONFERENCE IS OVER, you can all go to bed now.

not that i was complaining. i went to a bunch of clubs, oogled a bunch of girls, injested a bunch of drugs [not WMC quantities mind you, im a user, not an abuser] had a grand ol time. i have to say, the guys in Miami are pretty lucky. it seems as if the girls down there ran out of hot guys so just lowered their standards to work with what they had. seriously, i saw some dorky looking fat dudes with acne instead of fashion sense on the arm of some absolutely gorgeous women. i dont know if the guys had loads of money or loads of charm, but either way, they got the girl. a hearty bravo to ye' dorkus, you win!

the beach was everything i wanted it to be. of all the times ive been to miami ive managed to not make it to the ocean, even though i stay about two blocks away from it. i wouldnt have the time or id be too high or coming down from being too high or at a party getting high or some other pathetic excuse of questionable moral reason. this time i woke up early and we packed a bag headed straight for the waves. it was glorious. the water was perfect. perfect. PERFECT. warm, clear, not too calm, not too violent [even though a hurricane was making its way towards us from jamaica], just perfect. and the sand was soft and the women were beautiful [some got topless, is that legal in miami?]. the sky was a clear blue.

but i had to bid alex adieu and get back to the grind. my flight was a nightmare. i got on the plane at 4:30 and arrived in New York at 11:15. a 2 and a 1/2 hour flight stretched for over 6 hours. it was ridiculous. guess it was foggy at la guardia or something. whatever.

bol makes insurance fun, Pearsall brings that early 90s ragga heat, & oh yeah, yo mama.

i dont have the room for any more 'task.' im too busy. busy busy busy. between mediating a civil conversation between my brother and girlfriend, swimming for my health, and putting in time on the wrong side of the music industries coin, i just dont have the time for the little things.

like, getting my internet back up at my house.

all other parties that crash at the palace own fancy macintosh laptops that easily pick up wireless networks at the drag of a curser and the click of a mouse. my archaic desktop doesnt have such luxurious capabilities. hell, my desktop struggles to run itunes and stream porno at the same time, wireless access is a far cry from reality.

but thats neither here nor there. because this weekend i escape. off to miami for some white sand blue water drinks in a thong action. i dont even have time to finish this post. mayeb ill give a shout from Sobe.

my spines a square

my Spinal Surgery has created an identity unto itself. people refer to it as if its another person. they ask me how i am, then follow up the inquiery with -and hows your Spinal Surgery? sometimes they dont even cite the Spinal Surgery as being mine, and accredit it its own charcter, saying things like -Spinal Sugery is looking good today or, haha, that was a good joke Spinal Surgery.

my Spinal Surgery can be a real wet blanket too. it never wants to have any fun. last weekend i was at Ps1 enjoying myself under a warm New York summer sun. Dj Harvey was playing an eclectic set of soul, funk, house and psychadelic disco. cute girls were wearing tight tank tops and all the unhip trucker hats were twisted to the back. sunglasses were hanging loosely from everyones head and the dancefloor was just starting to warm up.

i was swaying gently back and forth keeping good rhythm with the beat, keeping one eye on my feet and one eye on each sweat drenched curve of the sexy crowd surrounding me. im getting my neck into it and my shoulders begin to bounce. i can feel the naked back of someone dancing sliding up and down my arm and i can feel her smiling at me and he has his eyes closed and another puts his hands in the air and Harvey drops a heavy soul drenched version of Whole Lotta Love and the bassline is throbbing in my chest and my legs and the soles of my feet and suddenly shes screaming about it being way down inside and the crowd beams in hysteria hysteria hysteria.

and just as im about to let the groove loose suddenly Spinal Surgery is all -whoa whoa whoa! nah brah, take it easy. you cant be doing all that moving around. just get back into the rhythm of that two step you were doing earlier. thats it. nice and slow. and i eased it up a bit and grumbled about how it was unfair that everyone else could get down but i couldnt and my Spinal Surgery told me to hush up and stop complaining.

my Spinal Surgery isnt very adventurous in bed either. actually, its kind of a prude. a few nights ago im about to give my lady the business real nasty like. and we are kissing and groping and tongues are going where fingers belong and fingers are going into places where nothing really should and im about to rip those jeans down and get my straight penetration on when Spinal Surgery interrupts my game telling me not to do it doggystyle and missionary is better and actually you know maybe you should just lay there and let her do all the work and i sigh and lay on my back and Spinal Surgery is all see? doesnt that feel good and i sigh again and reluctantly say yeah but inside im like, whatever.

whats cool though is my Spinal Surgery gets me out of a lot of tight jams. like, every time im late for work if anyone ask me what happened i usually just scrunch up my face and raise my eyebrows and i point towards my back with a look thats says -i cant do anything about it, my Spinal Surgery made me late. or when my girlfriend wants me to pick up something heavy like a bag of laundry or tin can filled with magic beans i usually say -oh i would, you KNOW i would, but my Spinal Sugery wont let me, sorry and i shrug my shoulders and take a sip of my beer. and whenever someone tries to hand me the phone and its someone i dont want to talk to i just take both hands and with my thumbs point to my lumbar and say -sorry, Spinal Surgery, and bounce the fuck out like a crazy weed smoking spinal surgery having funkbot from the year 10,000 A.D..

my Spinal Surgery is always nagging me about something. dont play records for too long. swim more often. be careful sitting down. stop looking at that womans ass. always with the nagging. its starting to get on my nerves. for a 4 inch scar at the bottom of my back it sure does like to get on my ass about shit. oh well, its just trying to look out for me. its got good intentions i guess. i mean, it wont let me play pool, but it wont let me get hustled either.

a good night

it was casual attire only so it took a little longer for her to get ready but it was worth it in the end because she was looking damn sexy when we left. reservations were for 10:30, a late dinner at Gramercy Tavern. finally some time alone together, to talk and laugh and look into each others eyes. a couple bottles of wine, maybe a martini with appetisers, a smoke break before desert, our hands touching under the table. we were on a date. we were making an effort.

the past few weeks have been taxing on love, but me and L-petal are holding tight as if our relationship is one long power ballad. like i said to a friend this weekend -When life gives you a turd, you just gotta slather mayonnaise all over it, put that shit in between two slices of wheat, and chomp down on that mutherfucker like YUM, you feel me?

we got to the restaurant, got shown to our table, a nice quiet corner space with a decent view of the dining room. we kissed each other lightly, watched for a second as the candles flame danced on the table and ordered a couple cocktails. a low murmur of well dressed conversation hummed below the shiny rattle of silverware clinking against plates, bowls, teeth and one another. waiters, back waiters, runners and busboys shuffled quietly among the diners. four star shadows stretched from the necks of our glasses. falling in love is easy in that kind of lighting.

for a guy with shamelessly ghetto characteristics and a past to back them up, i have been to my fair share of fine dining establishments. this place differed slightly in its French style of service. the biggest difference being they would bring you small, complimentary dishes to open up and cleanse your palate. a small crouton with goat cheese and olive tapenade before our appetiser, a tiny three bean salad afterwards, and a petite serving of lemon sherbert before desert. it struck me as being very regal and european [mostly, french]. it was an approach that emphasised the diner have a thoroughly enjoyable experiance, from the food to the service to the atmosphere. they even gave you a small breakfast muffin after you were all done. thats just plain classy.

in the middle of our entre i glanced at the couple sitting a table across from us. they were young, good looking, comfortable in their position. she was a pretty asain chick with a very western way about her hand gestures as she spoke. i was checking out the guy with her, he was a thin white dude with an earring and -oh shit what the fuck? he is not -oh shit he is NOT- oh my god he is! HE IS WEARING THE EXACT SAME SHIRT AS ME!! i couldnt fucking believe it. the exact same shirt, sitting right next to me. i did a double take to make sure but yep, same flairing collar, same distinct cuff design, same color verticle stripes. i bend over, about to burst into hysterics and grab L-sexy's arm. i gesture with my head to the table next to us. she almost spits her white wine out from the shock of it. its all we can do to keep from exploding in a fit of giggles. -oh my god, i say, this is just like prom all over again! that sends her over the top and she has to slide under the table and surrender to the hysterics that come. i can feel her grabbing my leg and shaking with laughter. the couple turns and looks at me, i tip my glass to them and smile. it was
a good night.

infants tune

she cant take it anymore. my habits. my pace. my haphazard approach towards things. she cant take how reckless i am. she cant take how unforgiving i treat myself. she cant take how i make her worry. she told me last night, its becoming too much for her, and she just cant take it anymore.

and i understand her concern. for a man that just had spinal surgery two months ago i have embraced an awfully casual attitude recently. what with all the parties and late nights, the contant drinking and smoking, even letting some of the more questionable chemicles seduce my late evenings. one would think i never had a severe disk extrusion in my lumbar region at all. upon first inspection, if you didnt know me, one could go so far as to assume that i am in decidely good health, that i have a strong and sturdy foundation, that i have no scars, that i'm five years younger than i am. one would be wrong though. i know this, and so does she.

i cant explain why i do these things. why i choose to live as hard as i do. why i seem to have such a relaxed grasp on consequence. why, it would appear, i dont give a shit about fuck all at times.

because i do. i feel where i am in life. im aware of whats going on. ive got some sense. i weigh the options, take the pros and the cons, explore the circumstance. i've got it together. i have an intellectual grip on things. i know the score. really, i do, im not just giving bad air here.

but i can act like a child some times, especially when someone is telling me that im acting like a child. there is an unreasonable streak in me that doesnt like being told what to do. something inside me that doesnt, and most likely will not ever, trust authority. i dont know if its a fierce independance bought on by the lack of any guidance growing up as a kid. or if because of this parental deficiancy i feel i deserve to be allowed my own decisions, free of any outside advice or manipulation unless solicited. maybe i feel that since i raised myself as a kid i should be granted the freedom to make my own mistakes as an adult. maybe im a stubborn piece of shit. a child, huffing and puffing inside a mans body.

and i just want to be happy and i want her to be happy and i want to feel her smile on my neck and her breast in my hand and that giggle and sigh and moan that she has that she gives that she is so generous with. but she wont allow me to lose control or she wants to control what it is i lose. i dont know i cant explain it. what i see is we are fractured and we are falling apart and all i can do is whine and cry about it on this stupid fucking blog.

trying

they do not like each other, my brother and my girlfriend. she thinks hes an inconsiderate asshole. he thinks shes an anal retentive bitch. i think they are both very perceptive.

our park slope palace isnt cramped, but it isnt spacious either. still, there is enough room for two to live comfortably and three to politely share without strangling one another. yet they are like pushing two magnets together, resisting each other with a strong, natural force that only allows them to get so close before pushing away into a safe and empty space. i am, of course, caught in the middle of this opposing energy, the neutral metal slab both are drawn to, hardly able to reach either party without an exhausting fight from the others mighty pull. its getting boring, real quick.

last night i escaped the castle unscathed. she had just gotten home and he was involved with a beer and the television. there was a thick silence that hung between them which i happily closed the door behind on my way to the pool. i have to swim for my rehab. these days, the spine comes first.

i get in my lane, pull down my goggles and kick off. the water is crisp and the clean blue of it slides over me. its soft cold washes up as i emerge and begin the lap. fresh foam kicks up as each passing swimmer adds a new color to the chlorinated azure surrounding me. a red and yellow and a green or purple stripe rushes by, a furious stream of bubbles keeping their pace. im pushing forward towards the end of the lane, my spine twist and turn in strong and fluidl motions. my chest is burning but i continue the charge. 1stroke 2stroke 3stroke BREATHE! 1stroke 2stroke 3stroke BREATHE! the water gets deeper and im driving harder to the end feeling the freedom of it get closer with each kick and each push in the water and im seeing everything so clear like a wide open sky and im splashing once then twice and ive reached the end and i pull my head up and wait and gulp and breathe for ten seconds then i kick off and do it all again.

i get back and see i have a new freind. and via her link list i get a word of advice from a master of the medium [thanks homie, no hard feelings about those things i said before right?] and i drink a beer and smoke a spliff and by the the time i go to bed the house has been a dull snore for hours. it was 3am.

****************

London deserves a pint & some people hate blogs more than i do

humpday hummer

my initial plan for this post was grand and ambitious. it was to be an arresting demonstration of wit, insight, and pop culture. a magnificent display of cutting edge entertainment; a profound burst of inspiration. but im not in the mood today, so fuck that shit, maybe next time bitches.

-whats homeboy doing posting pictures of me on his site? and why was i rocking the baseball cap the whole way across the country? and i'm so unkempt. i look like a hip hop scientologist with vegan leanings. so young, so stupid, so high on meth and GHB.

-and speaking of being on crack, i got a bill in the mail the other day. it was from Central Park Neurosurgery. its for $25,000. yeah right. i just laughed and tossed it aside. can i pay that in nickel's? how about with weed or 'tales of adventure'? no? ok, well just sit by the mailbox, a check should arrive soon.

-who was the bigger slut? Blanche, of Golden Girls fame, or Mona from Who's the boss. im gonna go with Mona. my argument is that it seemed Blanche was in it for the money, where as Mona was just a plain ol' hoe. so there ya go, Mona wins! haha! fuck off Blanche. whore.

-oh heres some shit for you, Angelina Jolie adopted an African AIDS baby. how humanitarian is that? jesus christ bitch what are you trying to do, show up the whole country, or just hollywood? ooh, im angelina jolie, im criminally hot and sexy, i get paid $10 million a picture and my dad was in the movie anaconda, but i still dont think people like me for ME. oh i know what, i'll adopt an orphaned african baby, with AIDS! and you know what, she did it partly so that her other adopted kid could have an african brother. wow, imagine if youre adopted mom was hot as all hell and would get you anything you wanted, even an African sibling, if she would just go ahead and blow you before bed every night life would be fucking perfect wouldnt it?

now dont get me wrong, i have nothing against saving an orphaned child from africa, especially one with AIDS and all, that is quite a nobel act, one that should be commended. but here is an idea for next time youre feeling charitable Angelina: HUM ON MY BALLS. ok? hows that sound? it would really be awesome, and i bet i will be waaaay more appreciative of your efforts too. i nice gentle yet sloppy mouth vibrato on my freshly-shaven-just-for-you testicles. that would rock. but its just an idea Angelina. you know, if youre reading. no pressure dude. im just sayin...

oh jeez, and if to spite me for my blaspheme towards Ms. Jolie blogger isnt letting me post pictures. i gotta do it all old school style. fuckin blogger.

im gonna end this stupid post on that note. eat it.

thursday ends

this morning i got to work at 10:30. thats only a half hour late. wednesday it was noon. thursday it was 11. and today its 10:30. if all goes as planned i should be exercising fierce punctuality by mid july.

and it was a typical cosmopolitan evening indeed. first i went to a bar in the east village to check out this party a potential DJ partner was throwing. i knocked back a few Scotch and sodas [the carbonated mixer added much to Fcb's chagrin] and watched some cute chicks shake it to some non-violent dance music. the venue was above another bar and had comfortably low cielings. it was like being in a dimly lit basement that was up a flight of stairs [i guess, now that i think about it, that would be an attic]. if the faint scent of vomit didnt underline the atmosphere i would have stayed for a little while longer. but as it is, i bounced at about midnight.

off to crime scene, where a promoter friend was blessing the city with two of Baltimores nastiest DJ's. these cats spin the ghetto shit, tapping the inner slut inside, compelling you to unconciously drop it like its hot even if you've never heard the phrase before. B-more house was in full effect.

now if you have never heard Baltimore house before imagine this: if Southern Hip Hop, Detroit electro, Chicago house, and Miami bass all gathered in one room and for the entire night smoked blunts laced with cocaine and drank 40's of malt liquor then the mess you would be left with in the morning would be Baltimore house.

when played in its home town, B-more breaks [as its sometimes called] is usually played in clubs that are hardly considered "hip" or "cutting edge," in fact they are probably more viewed as "dangerous" or "scary." the space is usually cramped with sweaty black bodies grinding against eachother to the violent rhythms of drum thumps and snare snaps, responding to the ghetto calls instructed by whatever throaty local created the track, deftly watching their feet as to not step on any toes. i devulge all this information second hand, as ive never personally been to an actual Baltimore club, but i know plenty of people who have and all their stories are the same: b-more is all black and all ghetto. bottom line.

but we are in New York, not baltimore. so the party was packed with pale skinned hipsters dressed down for the occasion. when Dj Redz and K-Swift took the decks they looked around suspiciously and said to the promoter -why all these white people here? hahaha! oh you wacky B-more dj's! white people love you, thats why! you are totally edgy and dangerous. you validate their privilaged youth by sharing with them the musical magic you've created with the scraps you've been thrown. so dont be alarmed you zany deck technicians. its cool. this has been happening to ghetto culture for years. from Rock n' Roll to Hip Hop to House. even baile funk has been co-opted and marketed straight from the favelas in Brazil. dont act like you didnt know this, its part of Americas charm. and besides, youre getting paid, right?

and outside the club, standing with my friend and smoking a cigarette, watching as streams of magazine photographers and big named european DJ's came in and out of the door, the promoter [who, by the way, is black] turned to me and asked what i thought of the party.

-well, i said, aside from no one getting really grimy on the dancefloor i think you have successfully gentrified Baltimore club music.

he smiled at me. a smile that said totally dude, this is the hottest shit going on in new york right now, we are turning people on to some shit they would never hear otherwise. we are the definition of hip. completely modern and of the moment. its brilliant. then i finished my cigarette and put my arm around his shoulder -so whats up with the drink tickets dude. he slid me a couple and smiled that smile again. brilliant. it was 2am.

and on another note, im gonna try an experiment tomorrow where i link the shit out of fools and mention all kinds of pop culture gossip just to see how many hits i get. i got the idea from fresh. see, even though im up on all sorts of stupid useless entertainment chatter, i never write about it because, well, its too boring and im much too self absorbed to write about anbody else but ME [even if im pretty boring myself]. i dont need people reading this crap that bad. but i figure i might as well just to see if it would work.

ill start right now: tom cruise has totally lost it. and my girlfriend has this client that works for some big hollywood production company that, during one of her pilates sessions, confided in her that good ol tom was most definitely gay and has his "girlfriends" sign a contract that bounds them to confidentiality as well as ensures that they make public appearances with him. in return he arranges for them to get meatier roles in high profile movies, ultimately raising their star power. now of course i took this with a grain of salt as you can never believe the things you hear about celebrities, especially second hand info [let alone third and forth hand]. but this was about 5 months ago and just the other day zaida posted a link to this article on her site. coincidence? i dont know.

oh yeah, and scientology is the new gay.