Monday, September 15, 2008

A Night at the Kennedy Center with White People Watching Black People Do Black Stuff

Okay:

So, it’s getting more and more difficult to keep blogging daily what with my Internet still being down. Joe says I should get a wireless card and see if I can pick up a signal in the building. Seems like a good and cheap idea, especially seeing as how I won’t have the money to pay Ragged Cunt Naps (RCN) for quite some time.

This weekend was eventful. The little girl and I kept a tight schedule. The highlight, I guess, was a trip to the Kennedy Center Saturday evening. They had this big event going called Arts Across America. Different performers from all over the country came to the Nation’s Capital for a one day festival. According to the brochure, there were almost three dozen performances taking place throughout the day on different stages, indoor and outdoor.

I went with my daughter and her Brownie troop to see Step Afrika! It’s a traveling showcase of step crews from various black frats and sororities. For my non-black and culturally deprived readers, stepping is a tradition on the campuses of historically black colleges and universities. It’s an African-inspired dance characterized by foot-stomping, hand-clapping and highly sophisticated synchronized routines. It’s a lot of fun to watch if the steppers are good. But they’re not always good.

Anyway, we had to stand on line for a half-hour. So, one of parents said, “Let’s have lunch then.”

I was thinking, Great. Is there an eatery somewhere? But when I finished looking around I saw that everyone in our group was reaching into their bags and pulling out sandwiches, bottled water, raw baby carrots, and fruit. I didn’t even realize they had bags!

I felt my daughter tugging at my shirt. I looked down at her and she was staring up at me with her eyes welling up. “Daddy,” she said, her voice quivering in anger, “Why didn’t you pack me a snack?”

I felt like shit on a stick.

The other parents saw my crisis and started offering up food.

“She can have half of Sara’s sandwich.”

“We’ve got an extra bag of carrots.”

“Thanks,” I said. Then I ran off to find her something to drink. It took about 15 minutes, and it cost me $3, but I came back with a small bottle of cranberry juice.
She only had a few sips before the line started moving and it was time to go in. And, of course, before we could enter the theatre, I had to throw away the juice.

When we took our seats, she was welling up again, “Daddy, why did you throw away the juice?”

“You can’t have juice in the theatre, honey. Only water.”

“Well, why didn’t you get me water like everybody else?”

I looked around and it was true. Every other little girl in our group had her own personal bottle of water. So what did I say? The only thing I could say.
“Sit down and stop complaining before I take you home. I don’t know why you’re crying. That juice cost me $3!”

Being an ornery bastard has its advantages.

She got over it, and soon it was time for the show.

For the most part, with the exception of the professional steppers who bookended the show, I was not impressed. I don’t want to call out any specific organizations―-elephants, frogs, cats, dogs, apes or whatever-―but lots of things have changed about stepping, and apparently not for the better.

Call me a snob, but when I went to college, people put work into their step routines, and they certainly wouldn’t go to the Kennedy Center with anything less than stellar. I caught myself yawning a few times.

Until, that is, one of the young ladies―who were not dressed in pink, green, or blue―busted her ass...hard. I mean, that shit looked like it hurt. To her credit, she got up and back into the routine so fast, I thought everyone else was going to do the same thing. I had to lean over to one of the other parents and ask, “Did she just bust her ass?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But it sure looked like it.”

The high school team, however―The Coppin Academy Centaurs of Baltimore, Maryland―, was far more exciting than any of the college teams. They even broke down in the middle of the routine for a tribute to the Jheri Curl. It was great. Jheri Curls are always funny.

The true was humor was in the seats though. There were white people peppered―or salted, I guess, in this situation―throughout the crowd. They were highly concentrated in our row though. Our group of 20 was about 60% Caucasian. And what didn’t occur to me until we took our seats is white people, for the most part, have no idea what stepping is. It really is, like, one of our last secrets.

Stepping, pirated cable and sugar water.

The only other man in our group, who bore a strong resemblance to the older brother, Kent, from Napoleon Dynamite, looked confused the entire time. Especially when people started doing their calls.

“Yo-Yo!” and “Skee-Wee” and “Oo-oop!” and, of course, the constant barking.

It made me miss my college days something terrible. But when I looked over at this dude he was shaking his head and squinting his eyes as if to say, “What the shit is going on here? Are they gonna, like, try to get us or something?”

At some point he leaned over to one of the little black girls, who was seven-years-old by the way, and whispered, “What’s all this meowing about?”

I would’ve been offended if I wasn’t laughing so hard.

Right after the step show, Chuck Brown was doing a concert on the south lawn, but it was late and I had to get the little girl home. Maybe next year, if they do it again, I’ll plan a whole day around it.

And I’ll try to remember to pack a healthy lunch and some water.


And the album link…

CLICK TO DOWNLOAD THE NEW COOL CEE BROWN ALBUM "IGNORANCE & CONFIDENCE"





Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: What exactly do white frats and sororities do?

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Reading Perez Hilton Over Someone's Shoulder and Finding Myself Reluctantly Entertained, Plus Video Footage

Okay:

So, there are apparently a lot of people out there who are fascinated by celebrity gossip. So much so that a gossip can become a celebrity. Case in point: Perez Hilton.

He's famous for being a good gossip.

See, that's how popular gossip is. If you're good at it, you can become famous. Long gone are the days of faceless, nameless paparazzi.

I don't actually visit his site myself, but occasionally, while I'm in the computer lab at work, I may catch a coworker reading up on the latest. I may catch a glimpse over their shoulder.

To be honest, I'm typically fascinated by what I read.

For example, Kanye West was arrested at an LA airport for assaulting a photographer. Better still, the entire thing was recorded.



I like the part where he says, "I took it."

Then the camera guy goes, "Help me...Police."

Then Kanye goes, "Ain't no police. Get on somewhere."

I just giggle at the thought of someone having to call the police on Kanye West. He's right up there with Will Smith and Ruben Studdard on the famous non-threatening black men's list.

Even better still is Matt Damon's stinging rant against Palin. He called her candidacy a "really bad Disney movie" among other things.



Jason Bourne is "wicked smaa't".

I like it when white people get indignant. Most of the time it's funny. But here, you get the feeling he wants to kick some ass.

And he could. Jason Bourne is a mad motherfucker.



I like it when he says, "If you look at the actuaries, McCain probably won't make it through his first term."

That's so cold!

True, but cold nonetheless.

Well, that's all I have for today. Here's the album link again...

CLICK TO DOWNLOAD THE NEW COOL CEE BROWN ALBUM "IGNORANCE & CONFIDENCE"




Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: Who exactly is this hooded male with Kanye and why are they so adverse to having their pictures taken? I mean, Kanye is the biggest attention whore I've ever seen. What's the deal here? Hmm?

Passive Aggressive Avoidance of Necessary Therapy, A Laundry List of Mental Health Concerns and Window Shopping at Banana Republic

Okay:

So, I found myself wandering down Wisconsin Avenue tonight. Friendship Heights.

For you non-Washingtonians, Friendship Heights is a high-rent district in upper Northwest. They’ve got a Barney’s. Lots of white people and wealthy-looking foreigners walking about, shopping and what have you.

Why was I there?

To be honest, I was going for an appointment with a therapist.

Yes, I have finally broken down and decided to seek out professional help for my narcissism, hyperactivity and inattentiveness. This is a big step for me.

See, come to find out my insurance company will pay for 75% of the costs for 40 visits. Then it goes down to 60% after that. Making my co-pay anywhere between $15 and $40 bucks, depending on the rates. At this point I’m just shopping around for someone who makes me feel comfortable.

But an odd thing happened, and I’m not sure if I did it on purpose or not. When the doctor gave me the address and appointment time, I did not write down her name or phone number. So, I showed up at her building, gave the receptionist the suite number and my name, but that’s the only information I had. Which should have been enough, actually. Only, I somehow wrote down either the wrong building number or the wrong suite number. So, in short, I did not make my appointment.

I left feeling like a moron. But I had to give some serious thought to whether or not I had done this on purpose.

While contemplating my navel, I somehow wandered into a Banana Republic.

Well.

I wanted everything I saw.

Wow, look at the argyle sweater vest! That pinstripe khaki suit is to die for! Man, I’d look sharp in a black suede blazer!

Then, I started checking price tags.

I was obviously in the wrong place.

And since when do I get excited about Banana Republic?

And so I left. Not because I was afraid I was about to do something stupid. At this point, I literally cannot afford to do anything stupid. Not “afford” in the abstract sense of the word. But “afford” in the very concrete sense. As in, I don’t have enough money in my account to purchase or charge anything in that store except a pair of socks. And even that would pinch a little.

Then I looked around and realized I was probably in the most inexpensive store on the entire strip.

Barney’s, Sak’s Fifth Avenue, Tiffany’s, Brooks Brothers, Gucci, Versace, and some other very secretive looking stores with names I can’t pronounce. Mara Mara, or some shit like that.

And so, I called my sister, the stock broker.

I laid out, as usual, my laundry list of complaints about my life. I do this because of my sister’s almost uncanny ability to root through bullshit. Whatever I tell her, no matter how I tell her, she knows exactly what I mean.

“You need to make more money,” she said simply. “Stop bullshitting and go do it. Ninety percent of your problems will be solved. And don’t be holding your breath waiting for someone to discover one of your rap records. Chances are slim.”

True.

Undeniably true.

But you all have seen me work my way through this train of thought before. But nothing much has changed about my issues with procrastination and indecision.

Maybe I’ll bring these issues up in therapy.

I’ll say, “Doc, I want to address my narcissism, hyperactivity, inattentiveness, procrastination and indecision…in no particular order.”

When I find a good therapist.

I guess I’ll work on that tomorrow. Or maybe Friday. Or maybe I should take the weekend to process it all. Or maybe I don’t really need therapy.

Not sure, really.

Well, here goes the album again…

CLICK TO DOWNLOAD THE NEW COOL CEE BROWN ALBUM "IGNORANCE & CONFIDENCE"






Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: Do pigs even have lips on which to put lipstick?

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Cruising at the Cleaners, Talking Politics with Strange Old White Women and Celebrating 100 Downloads

Okay:

And so today I was picking up my dry cleaning. I noticed the woman who walked in behind me. She was pretty in a really classical way. Beautiful brown skin. Nice, slim body. She looked well-employed.

I thought about approaching her but saw that she was picking up half a dozen men's shirts. Then I looked at her ring finger and saw the big rock.

It's a sign of the times. I am officially getting old.

Since when am I checking out women in pinstripe business suits at the cleaners and picking up subtle cues concerning marital status?

Whatever happened to drooling over fat asses on club night? Since when do I give a fuck about a wedding ring? Since when is that on the radar?

Next thing I know, I'll find silver in my pubes.

Then another woman walked in. Blue jeans. White shirt. Sandy brown locks. Silk scarf.

"Too tall," I thought. "But nice shoes."

What in the fuck is happening to me?!

Then as I'm leaving and climbing into my car, I see a pear-shaped, older white woman getting out of the car in front of me.

"Vote for Obama," she shouts.

"Definitely," I say.

"I'm serious," she says. "I'm with the AFL-CIO."

"Cool," I say, anxious to get back in my car and head home.

"I've never voted Republican," she says as she moves closer. "I didn't vote for that bastard Bush or his father."

"Me neither."

"I voted for Kerry and Edwards."

"Me too."

"Edwards is my cousin."

"You don't say."

"His great grandfather was my great grandfather's brother."

"Get out!"

"My father died of cancer at 52."

"Oh no."

"He was twice as handsome as Edwards ever thought he was. A mix between Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart."

I was eventually able to pry myself away, but I left thinking, "I guess this is what adults do." They pick up their dry cleaning. Check for wedding bands. Talk politics with strangers on the street.

Maybe I'll start eating bagels.


Oh, and I am proud to announce as of today, more than 100 people have downloaded "Ignorance & Confidence". Thank you, thank you. You're far too kind.

And if you're not one of the proud 100, here she goes again...

CLICK TO DOWNLOAD THE NEW COOL CEE BROWN ALBUM "IGNORANCE & CONFIDENCE"





Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: Is it metro that right after I notice a woman's face and body, I look at her shoes?

Monday, September 8, 2008

A Booty Upon Which to Rest Your Sandwich and Misadventures in Blatant Student Plagiarism

Okay:

And so my work crush was looking especially delicious today. My oh my, that woman has a body on her. She had on this smart looking black cotton dress that clung just so. Nothing especially whorish about her garment, but her body is so incredible, she'd have to wear an over sized sweatsuit to hide it. Even then, the pants would sit up on the round mound and the booty would kind of knowingly wink at you as if to say, "I'm still here."

Actually, I'm a freak for a woman in a sweatsuit. I mean, don't get me wrong. I like miniskirts, tight jeans and sun dresses just as much as the next man. But there's something about a woman in a pair of sweatpants. If her booty is really talking about something, those sweats are gonna cling to her in a way that no other fabric would.

Man o man! It's been a while.

But anyways. If I could get this girl to talk less, I'd propose. Just so I could look at her all the time and smack that booty on Sunday mornings. To be honest, and I know I'm going to sound a lot like the uppity, bourgeois negro you think I am, she's just too damn hood.

It's not something I would have said a year ago. But lately, I just haven't been able to stomach it. As soon as she starts talking about how she's going to spend her entire check at the mall and that $2500 Gucci purse she has her eye on and how much she loves White Zinfandel, I feel the sudden urge to leave the room.

But she sure is nice to look at, I'll tell ya.

Fat donkey booty, man. You should see it.

In other news, I received my first plagiarized essay of the year. It happens all the time. I stopped making a big deal out of it after year three. It's just far too common to make a stink.

I've seen some funny ones though. The audacity of these kids today. Back when I went to high school, in the twentieth century, there was no Google. Your black ass was supposed to go to the library. Or if you were lucky your mother bought you a set of encyclopedias. We had The World Book, but I secretly wanted Encyclopedia Britannica. But who were we to have two sets? Mom wasn't made out of money.

The most common example is when I give a long term assignment with a specific page length. Let's say I give this assignment to a group of thirty kids. Five may turn it in on time. With some fairly forceful probing, another dozen or so may turn the paper in eventually. Literally, every other paper will be completely plagiarized. The others will be so poorly written that I find myself wishing they would just go ahead and hop on the bandwagon to make a clean sweep of it.

Now, when I say completely plagiarized, I do mean completely. Sometimes, I shit you not, they hand in actual Wikipedia print outs with the web addresses, page numbers and dates in the footer and everything.

I swear on everything that is holy.

But today, I was privileged to bear witness to plagiarism on a whole 'nother level. The assignment was to write a review of the last movie you saw. A paragraph or so was all I was looking for.

For the most part, I was pleased with what came back. However, this one little girl. Just this one. She decided that a one paragraph review would require too much effort on her part, so she decided to transcribe the blurb on the back of the DVD case.

Now, I did this once or twice in my day with the blurbs on the backs of novels, so I'm not altogether unfamiliar with the practice. Only, this girl was so lazy, she didn't even pay attention to what she was writing.

Her review ended suspiciously, "For more info, visit the website www.straighttodvdblackromanticcomedy.com"

Well.

I guess I've got my work cut out for me.


And here goes the album again, in case you missed it.

DOWNLOAD




Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: Was I wrong for holding up her paper in front of the class and saying, "What ever you do, don't do what this little girl did."?

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Getting Organized with My Young Disciple, Introducing Her To My Eighties Films and Shows Syllabus and Discovering TV Land

Okay:

So, this weekend I discovered a new cable channel called TV Land. Perhaps you've heard of it. Anyways, on this channel they show all the best of everything all the time. On Saturday night, my daughter and I sat on the couch to watch a couple of movies.

I had exiled her to her room for the entire day with the arduous task of cleaning it...thoroughly. My daughter, like me, is a pack rat. She absolutely refuses to throw anything away. Everything seems like it may be of value at some point in the future.

I've still got utilities bills from 1999 on file in my closet. Who knows what could happen? I could get audited. Then it wouldn't seem so crazy, now, would it?

I instructed her to separate everything into 3 piles: stuff you want to keep, stuff you want to give away and stuff you want to throw away. There were old baby dolls and broken toys with pieces missing. But what made the bulk of the mess was paper.

See, my baby girl's quite the artist. All she needs is some paper, some pencils, and a pair of scissors. She could occupy herself for hours. Only thing is, she won't throw any of it away. Even the scraps. To her, it's all precious. We're in there for hours, going through this mound of paper.

A doggy-eared white, 11 x 14.

A yellow circle, the size of a pea.

An origami swan made from a Post-It.

"No, Daddy! Don't throw that away!"

"Well, what are you gonna do with it?"

"Something. I don't know."

And so it took all day...literally. We started around 10 in the morning. We didn't finish until 11 at night. Her room looks great now. And I took My White Homegirl's advice and took a picture of each corner, so from now when I tell her to clean her room, she'll know what it's supposed to look like. But, like I said, we took a break around 5 to watch TV Land.

There was a movie I felt she needed to see. Garry Marshall's "Overboard".

What a wonderful little white romantic comedy! And, as I understand it, Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell started dating during the filming.

But truly, folks. How could I consider myself a responsible parent after denying my daughter the pleasure of seeing one of the most memorable films of that confusing decade? "Come here, honey," I said. "You have to watch this movie with daddy."

She was able to keep up with the plot okay, even caught some of the jokes. Overall, I think she enjoyed it. "She should be happy he taught her how to be less snooty," she said.

I, on the other hand, had a chance to really appreciate Goldie Hawn's performance for the first time. No wonder she got so much work. She was brilliant! Nothing she did was way over the top. She was always able to get the big laugh with subtlety. I respect that.

Makes me want to go back and watch "Private Benjamin". Doesn't she go down on Albert Brooks in this movie? Like, in the limo after the wedding? That's insane. They don't make romantic comedies like that anymore.

And "Protocol". Remember "Protocol"? She got shot in the ass.

But I digress. We were watching "Overboard". The final scene is absolutely brilliant. I almost cried.

Then "Back To School" came on. "Wait, honey," I said. "You also have to watch this movie."

I never realized how funny Rodney Dangerfield was when I was a boy. I thought he was funny. But, dammit, that motherfucker is hilarious.

For example, the motherufucker's in a hot tub with a bunch of co-eds. He asks one, "What's your major?"

"Poetry," she says,

"Well, maybe you could help me straighten out my Longfellow," he says.

Fucking genius.

Then in the final scene when they're begging him to sub in and dive in the final meet, Lou leans over to him and says, "Get up there."

He says, "Are you crazy? The shape I'm in, they could donate my body to science fiction."

ROTF LMBAO, as they say on the Internet.

Then to top it all off, the good folks at TV Land decided to run a "Cosby Show" episode. This was the one where Vanessa was in that AP Science class and did the bullshit solar system science project and her homegirl had made those robots, and she came in 14th place and was mad. The funniest thing about this episode is the little boy who did win the Science Fair. He was a brother, with a skin tight peach sweater on, and a dry feathered doobie. He made a working tornado that "destroys a miniature farm community".

Then, just to make sure I was hooked, they ran a few episodes of "Scrubs". But they had me at hello.

This is my new favorite station.

I recommend you all support them in their future endeavors. They know television.

Download the album if you haven't already. Here's the link...

DOWNLOAD



Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: Is it cool for me to still find Vanessa's friends cute? I mean, we're all adults now. But is it, like, creepy or what?

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Rediscovering a Cheap and Tasty Treat That I Affectionately Refer To As "The Ramen"

Okay:

So, I have rediscovered Ramen Noodles. They are delicious little forgotten gems from my college years. I lived on those things for half a decade. I used to spruce them up with all kinds of stuff: hot sauce, cheese, sour cream, you name it.

At the time, you could get six for a dollar.

And this is how I came to rediscover Ramen, just 3 short days ago. It wasn't that I was feeling particularly nostalgic or had developed a hankering. I had predictably ran short on cash before pay day and needed to buy something cheap to eat that would last me the week.

Enter The Ramen.

I was also out of lotion and dish soap. So, I went to the CVS and discovered that they are now 2 for a dollar.

Fucking terrorists.

Is nothing sacred?

Sixty bucks for a tank of gas, and now, 50 cents for a pack of Ramen. Osama's fucking it up for everybody.

So, I took home The Ramen and attempted to make myself a bowl, but I got distracted by I Want to Work for Diddy and overcooked them. They turned into a mushy, beige jelly.

The next day, I took two packs of The Ramen to work with me for lunch. It was a little embarrassing, I guess. People seemed to be shaking their heads in pity. "Is it that bad, brother?" someone asked.

But I didn't slink away to my office and eat alone. I stayed in the lounge area and ate with my co-workers. They watched attentively while I doctored up my meal. I cooked The Ramen in the microwave for a few minutes. Then I let it sit.

Then I added the flavor powder, and let it sit some more.

Then I drained The Ramen.

"Oh, no!" someone shouted. "Don't do that. The juice is best part."

"You common negro," I said. "I have no use for artificially flavored salt water. I want The Ramen."

Then I added some hot sauce, black pepper and a pinch of salt.

They stared at me piteously, but I knew there was a hint of jealousy there. And they all knew better than to ask me for any of The Ramen.

The Ramen was all mine.

In business news, the album is doing quite well, and the feedback has been fantastic. If things keep going at this rate, I may be inclined to spend a few bucks and have the fucking thing mastered.

If you haven't downloaded it yet, here goes the link again...

DOWNLOAD





Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: What do you think are the health ramifications of eating nothing but The Ramen 3 times a day for a month?

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

The Art and Science of Flatulence and That's Pretty Much All I Have To Talk About Today

Okay:

So, today was not an interesting day. I did, however, work out this morning, for the first time since last Wednesday, I think. I discovered something strange while at the gym.

I fart every time I do a sit up. Literally.

Usually, no one else is in the fitness center when I go. So, it's not so bad. But when there are other people there, I simply turn up my iPod and pretend not to notice. Sometimes people turn their heads, and make funny faces. But no one ever says anything.

I had the same problem when I was trying to do Yoga. And that was more embarrassing because there were usually one or two cuties in the classes. I'd be the only brother in there to begin with. And I'd be cutting loose like I was getting paid for it.

I guess I'm just what they call a "flatulent fellow".

I've come up with different categories of farts. They're not all the same, you know.

1. THE BARK: This is your standard one-second audible fart. It probably won't stink at all. More thunder than lightning.

2. THE WARM FRONT: It's usually a sign that you've got some shitting to do. This is a silent, short warm fart. It may or may not stink, but if it does, God help you.

3. THE MIST: This is just like The Warm Front, except there's a hint of moisture. And unlike The Warm Front, this one almost always smells rotten eggish.

4. THE HEATER: This one is a mix between The Warm Front and The Mist, except it's fucking hot! Guaranteed to funk up the place.

5. THE DRUMROLL: This is essentially an elongated Bark. I've had Drumrolls that must've lasted at least 30 seconds. These rarely ever stink though.

6. THE WMD: The WMD is a painful, shockingly loud Bark. It's short, it hurts, and it's sure to make everyone stop dead in their tracks. And it almost never stinks.

7. THE HYBRID: Sometimes, if you're like me, you may fart in a series. That series may contain several different types of farts. Sometimes they may run together, creating a Hybrid. That is, it may start out as a Mist than drag out into a Drumroll and end with a shot of Heater.

Today I had a lot of Mists going on. And sure as shit (no pun intended), when I got home I had to handle my business.

If you've got any other types of farts that you know of and I have not mentioned them, please leave the name and a brief explanation in the comment box.


And here goes the album again

DOWNLOAD




Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: If you fart while you're reading this, do me a favor and try to see if you can identify the fart in one of my categories. Thanks.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Ignorance, But Not So Much Confidence, The Coffee Situation, My Disproportionate Head and Shopping In My Mamma's Linen Closet

Okay:

So, my 3-day weekend is over and I finally posted the album. The download numbers are not as high as expected, but I promised myself I wouldn't allow myself to become discouraged by obsessing over numbers. Which is pretty much a guarantee that I will.

But I digress. Business talk is boring. *yawn*

Back to the random thoughts of a self-absorbed, unsuccessful, independent artist.

This morning I noticed that I waste anywhere between 30 minutes and an hour every morning, just sort of sitting there. Not engaged in any particular activity, just kind of dicking around.

It's quite amazing, actually. I guess it's my version of meditation, as it were. Sometimes I'll turn on the computer. Open a program. Then close it. Listen to half of a song. Watch half of a video. Then I'll put on a pot of coffee.

The coffee situation in my apartment has been weird lately. I've been frequenting the recently opened Organic Market around the corner and using their soy french vanilla creamer, as well as their raw sugar. It makes a not altogether bad cup, but it's not what I'm used to.

Soy milk has a bizarre silky texture that makes me nauseous. I certainly prefer International Delight. And the raw sugar has a concentrated sweetness that is difficult to measure. So my cups lack the thickness of a traditional cup and are usually too sweet or not sweet enough.

But I'm trying to get used to it. I don't want to die of coffee. That would be pathetic.

I also look at myself in the mirror a lot. I'm wondering whether or not I want to lose weight. I mean, if I can become more disciplined with my workout schedule and commit some time everyday, I could be ripped by Christmas.

Losing any more weight may not be a good idea because...well...I've got a huge fucking head, actually. I mean, it's noticeably large. Retard big.

I don't want to look like a lollipop. Twenty less pounds and I suppose my dates will be expecting me to start drooling and banging my head on the wall. I shouldn't be surprised if they start shoving creamed corn in my mouth with a small rubber spoon.

Then, of course, I have my private time. Which I'm enjoying less and less these days. Seems like a good sign that I'll be able to ween myself off the practice eventually. I'd like to be done with it by the time I get married.

That would be awfully pathetic, now, wouldn't it? Locking myself in the bathroom for 20 minutes at a time or insisting on not being disturbed when I'm "working" on the computer. "Knock before you enter," and all that.

Then I take a shower. My tub is really, quite filthy these days. Mildew is forming. It hasn't taken on a smell, but it's only a matter of time. I've seen this before.

In my case, it's usually a sign that I'm depressed or stressed out. My kitchen floor is also pretty nasty. And sticky, actually. Which I suppose is a whole 'nother level of filth.

So, today I am going shopping. I need lotion, a mop, soap, a new shower liner, dishwashing detergent and laundry detergent. But I don't have any money in my account really, so I'm not going to the store, per se.

I'm at my mother's house.

Her being from the south and raised by parents who lived through the Depression, she's a stockpiler of toiletries and the like. She's got enough toilet paper and what have you to make it through the next two administrations.

So, when she gets home, I plan to hit her up for some bare necessities. She'll pretend to be annoyed but will secretly take great pleasure in having her closet raided. "What would you do if your mamma wasn't always so well-prepared?" she'll ask.

"Go to work ashy," I'll say.

Here's the album again.




Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: When out of toilet paper, what's the strangest thing you've ever wiped your ass with?

The Day After the Drop, Meditations on Palin and Lustful Thoughts About Naughty Politicians

Okay:

Well, first things first. I posted my third solo album, “Ignorance & Confidence” yesterday for free download. Last time I checked, there had been a few downloads. But I’ve decided I’m not going to obsess over numbers. Or maybe I will. Who knows? I surprise myself consistently.

I stuck to my original promise to myself, which was not to spend a dime on this project. And to date, I have held true. I haven’t even paid the $400 to have my Internet reconnected. Between my mother’s house and work, I seem to be getting by okay. And there’s always the library if I’m really pressed.

The lack of connection has presented some obstacles. I have not been able to meet my Friend Acquisition Goals on social networking sites like Ning, MySpace, Imeem and Facebook. And I haven’t been able to step up my message board game at places like BGOL and Okayplayer. And I haven’t been able to really push my YouTube videos.

Luckily, I’m not accountable to anyone but myself. So, when I get the dough, I’ll call RCN and pay the bastards. Until then, I’ll just have to make due.

Tragic irony. It sucks. But fuck it, y’know.

There is a Way.

On the current event side of things, you know I have plenty to say about this whole Palin business.

When I first read the news I thought to myself, “Brilliant.” The GOP is a bunch of crafty bastards. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how dumb of a move it is.

Maybe dumb is a strong word, but it’s certainly a gamble. Obviously, McCain is trying to snag some of those Hillary detractors everyone’s been talking about for the past month. Only Palin and Clinton are ideological opposites. But if these detractors, for the most part, feel that Hillary’s loss was due in large part to sexism within the Party, they are certainly ripe for the picking. So it may pay off. America may be that dumb.

I wouldn’t be surprised. Just disappointed.

If Barack had lost the nomination to Hillary, I would probably assume that racism played a part. But I wouldn’t vote for McCain if he picked Michael Steele as his running mate. Or Condoleezza Rice or Colin Powell or Clarence Thomas or any of those other handkerchief-head coons in Washington.

Why? Because they’re black? Vote for them for what? So they can get rid of welfare programs, abortion, affirmative action, decrease school budgets, insure global ecocide within my lifetime and start World War III? I don’t think so. Me and those cats are NOT cut from the same cloth. Those niggas are not invited to the cookout.

I’d actually be quite insulted. I’d probably vote for Hillary just ‘cause.

But the truth is I wouldn’t be undecided in the first place. I wouldn’t have a problem with Barack or Hillary in office. They agree on almost every issue of importance to me. I just prefer Barack because I think he’s more intelligent, articulate, likeable, inspirational, and, yes, he is black. And I wouldn’t mind looking at Michelle’s booty for the next eight years.

But I would never ever ever ever ever ever ever consider voting Republican.

Maybe Independent.

In fact, I’m registered as an Independent. But I’d shave my scrotum with a hot spoon before I’d ever help one of those twisted conservative Evangelical fucks get in office.

Who is this Palin chick anyway? I mean, come on. I think old Johnny Boy is thinking with his dick again.

But if I was Mrs. McCain, knowing how I got him in the first place, I’d be very leery of his sexy librarian running mate. She could get it. Those glasses really do it for me. And I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to fuck a politician before. So maybe I’ll vote for them after all. I’d like to see more of her actually.

But I digress. One positive thing to come out of all this is the GOP can no longer attack Barack on the lack-of-experience note. However, Barack needs to be really careful about how hard he comes down on Palin. He doesn’t want to come off like a bully. Just let Biden make her look like a moron in the debates.

It shouldn’t be hard.

Still, this is gonna be a close one. Over the past month or so, McCain has taken a small lead in the polls. I’m hoping the Republican convention will be a disaster. I mean, there’s no way they’ll be able to top Mile High Stadium, but never underestimate old, crotchety, wealthy white men. They’ll figure out something. And I guess they did manage to steal some of Barack’s thunder with their most recent stunt. And maybe that’s all they intended to do, which could pay off way more than any backlash for what appears to be a poor, impetuous decision on McCain’s part.

We will see in November.

Go back to your fucking igloo, Palin. Unless you wanna give me some. Then you can stay. But you have to go back as soon as we’re finished.

And here goes the link to the album again.




Thanks for reading.


GOBAMA/BIDEN!


Innocent Question: Can we get Palin and Michelle on the same ticket? That would be hot.