25 February 2009
Jackie DeShannon Was Right All Along.
Because the world needs love more than anything, man. There's just too little of it.
I had a weird day today. Weird in that, "Whoa...what the hell's happening to us people?" way.
So this morning a woman who works next to me comes into the restaurant talking about her sugar mama and how she's used to open relationships and how she's been burned and doesn't want to be in a relationship anymore and blah blah blah. I'm listening to what she has to say and I'm thinking to myself, "Damn. That's just not how I roll."
Of course, nothing she said was appalling. What's appalling is the fact that turning away from love has become part of our culture now. And I'm just going by a) statistics and b) eye-witness accounts.
A Peruvan woman named Isabella works with me at another job and every week she learns new ways to converse with me other than non-verbal communication. Yesterday we were holding a pretty long conversaton without confusion. She told me she likes me because I'm always happy and she isn't happy because she's away from the rest of her family in Peru.
She has two kids and a husband, so I had a, "Hey, at least you have them!" type approach. She said in broken English that she loves her kids. So I asked in broken Spanish, "You..ti quiero...senor?", meaning if she loved her husband. She shook her head and said, "No. No bueno."
I paused...then I asked if she knew what "husband" was, and then asked once more.
"No..he no bueno...no good."
And I'm like...man...where the hell's the love? What the hell's gotten into us, especially during these dark times filled with cynicism, embitterment and despair? Shouldn't that make us want to turn to love more than ever? Or am I just asking rhetorical questions to a faceless, nameless audience? (Yes)
Whatever may have you, the only way to stay sane in this cut-throat world is to spread the love. Pretty simple shit here. I keep telling people lately that we tend to think that challenges make things hard on us, but the actual challenge is recognizing the fact that everything's pretty simple if you just accept things for what they are. And I'm talking to myself more than anybody on this matter.
I remember my Calculus teacher in high school asked me and a couple of more people to go to the board to figure out a problem (forget which kind...high school was so long ago). I did this essay-style technique--I'm talking seven lines of just numbers mixed with letters here. She comes to my answer and says, "You got it right...but you made it harder on yourself when all you had to do was (insert Calc babble) and you'd had your answer in two lines."
"Oh," I replied.
Story of my life!
But I digress. Point is--love, people. Just love.
What The World Needs Now Is Love - Jackie DeShannon
11 February 2009
I Really Love Neko's Album Cover
I don't know what it is about Neko Case, but I think she is a total badass. Just look at the album cover. And, of course, her voice alone exudes badassness.
You can pretty much guarantee pure greatness from her.
Neko Case - People Got A Lotta Nerve
What????
Get them kids!!!!
Y'all are way too young to be having domestic squabbles, not that you have to be a certain age to have those, anyway. Where's the love?
Tsk, tsk.
Labels:
chris brown,
rihanna,
when love turns sour
10 February 2009
Jennifer Lancaster is Hysterical
When I went home for Christmas a few weeks back, my dear friend Laurie lent me a book by this supreme sarcast (one who is sarcastic—I felt there needed to be a word for that) talking about the perils of being overweight andnarcissistic. Even though she turned her mashed potatoes yellow because of the loads of butter she stirred in there or the fact that being called a “fat bitch” was part of her everyday interaction with people (OK, maybe not everyday), she still felt good about herself and addressed the fact that she's still pretty despite having double chins (her words).
I can feel on that. I mean, being a big girl is the equivalent to be a witch these days. I guess the government decided that tying us by our wrists and ankles and throwing us in the river to see if we float would be moot—of course our big asses would float! Though, of course, that would mean we'd then be grabbed out of the river and back into the village to be burnt at the stake, because, y'know, witches float.
Anyway, long story short, after a regular checkup at the doctor, where she is scolded for not taking her eating habits seriously, Lancaster decided to make that change. She was like, “Allright, allright, DAYUM! I guess I'll lose this motherfucking weight (big fan of the “fucks” and “motherfuckers,” this lady), but I'm still pretty.”
I read that shit in six days! My mama kept noticing me reading it, and she was like, “Wow. Must be a good book.” Indeed.
It's a nice, quick read for a 300-page memoir. Her words really glide right out of her mouth, onto her keyboard and into the pages. I really respect her for that. Not many writers can actually write how they're feeling and convey it beautifully for the readers to get exactly what you're talking about. Even those like us who tend to be a little long-winded. What I love most about her is the fact that she had over 120 footnotes, including one that said, “An actual footnote that's a real footnote!”
I will say, read this book with a complete open mind. There are times where she goes rants about shit that wouldn't be far off what Ann Coulter would say.
Speaking of Ann Coulter—she, too, is hysterical. She has a new book out, and I couldn't help but notice it, since she likes for people to read the BIG RED LETTERS on her cover. Boondocks creator Aaron McGruder did the most hilarious parody of her facade—because that's all it is—by depicting her as a chick milking “redneck money,” but in actuality she's just another white person trying to be “down” and dates a deadbeat black man who she had to bail out of jail 10 times. Oh, that McGruder. I recommend buying the second season The Boondocks. When you take a break from watching a marathon of five episodes, take a break and read Lancaster's book. It'll be a nice contrast.
I can feel on that. I mean, being a big girl is the equivalent to be a witch these days. I guess the government decided that tying us by our wrists and ankles and throwing us in the river to see if we float would be moot—of course our big asses would float! Though, of course, that would mean we'd then be grabbed out of the river and back into the village to be burnt at the stake, because, y'know, witches float.
Anyway, long story short, after a regular checkup at the doctor, where she is scolded for not taking her eating habits seriously, Lancaster decided to make that change. She was like, “Allright, allright, DAYUM! I guess I'll lose this motherfucking weight (big fan of the “fucks” and “motherfuckers,” this lady), but I'm still pretty.”
I read that shit in six days! My mama kept noticing me reading it, and she was like, “Wow. Must be a good book.” Indeed.
It's a nice, quick read for a 300-page memoir. Her words really glide right out of her mouth, onto her keyboard and into the pages. I really respect her for that. Not many writers can actually write how they're feeling and convey it beautifully for the readers to get exactly what you're talking about. Even those like us who tend to be a little long-winded. What I love most about her is the fact that she had over 120 footnotes, including one that said, “An actual footnote that's a real footnote!”
I will say, read this book with a complete open mind. There are times where she goes rants about shit that wouldn't be far off what Ann Coulter would say.
Speaking of Ann Coulter—she, too, is hysterical. She has a new book out, and I couldn't help but notice it, since she likes for people to read the BIG RED LETTERS on her cover. Boondocks creator Aaron McGruder did the most hilarious parody of her facade—because that's all it is—by depicting her as a chick milking “redneck money,” but in actuality she's just another white person trying to be “down” and dates a deadbeat black man who she had to bail out of jail 10 times. Oh, that McGruder. I recommend buying the second season The Boondocks. When you take a break from watching a marathon of five episodes, take a break and read Lancaster's book. It'll be a nice contrast.
Labels:
jennifer lancaster,
memoirs,
the boondocks,
weight,
women
06 February 2009
Just for Old Time's Sake
Leslie Feist still rules.
When I first bought Let It Die back in college, I made sure all of Bowling Green, Ky., knew who the hell she was. She obviously doesn't need my help anymore. But I'm still introducing that album to a different crowd, and they like her. You just cannot argue with her voice. It's too pure.
I'd really like for she and Chrisete Michele to do a duet. Just for me. Please, ladies, please.
For the record—I'm just not that into Jazmine Sullivan. Don't get me wrong—I'm glad a young sista's making her rounds, but eh.
When I first bought Let It Die back in college, I made sure all of Bowling Green, Ky., knew who the hell she was. She obviously doesn't need my help anymore. But I'm still introducing that album to a different crowd, and they like her. You just cannot argue with her voice. It's too pure.
I'd really like for she and Chrisete Michele to do a duet. Just for me. Please, ladies, please.
For the record—I'm just not that into Jazmine Sullivan. Don't get me wrong—I'm glad a young sista's making her rounds, but eh.
03 February 2009
Baby's Growings Up! Part 1
As I've previously mentioned, the reason for my hiatus was partly due to the fact of me realizing I need to grow up. Yeah, I'm only 24, but I feel “only” should never be involved during the development of being a human being. Honestly, I think that's a major problem the post-college demographic (roughly around ages 22-29) has: we think we have all the time in the world to get to where we're going, mainly coasting to wait for our grand opportunities to fall in our super-relaxed laps.
Not so, friendo.
Three weeks ago from today (Wed. Jan 28) a dear homie of mine's, John Henderson, was shot twice in the leg and once in the head while he and a co-worker were closing down a popular bar in Atlanta's “premier” neighborhood. And by premier, I mean super-gentrified. But that's another entry.
Yeah, he gave 'em all the money, yet they still decided to shoot at the door in the office where they were both at. He was only 27, man! Ahhhhh. Just thinking about it still pisses me off. He was such a great kid with a great spirit, too.
It reminded me of my brother's untimely end five years ago in March. And he died at my age. That shit woke me up quick.
It made me realize that you just never know how much time you have left in this crazy, topsy-turvy, wonderful life. I know, I know—another “come to Jesus moment” from another person who just got through reading The Secret. Well, just bits and pieces on my end, but for real—let's go get it.
B.T. Dubs, L.A. Fitness is the greatest thing that's happened to former athletes who want to get their athletic phsyique back. I mean, they have EVERYTHING! It's freakin' amazing! Exclamation points galore! The best part about it is they don't try to low-ball you. Nice prices (if you chum up the representatives right) and it's no contract. And you get to go to any one you want in the city. Brilliant. Highly recommended.
Not so, friendo.
Three weeks ago from today (Wed. Jan 28) a dear homie of mine's, John Henderson, was shot twice in the leg and once in the head while he and a co-worker were closing down a popular bar in Atlanta's “premier” neighborhood. And by premier, I mean super-gentrified. But that's another entry.
Yeah, he gave 'em all the money, yet they still decided to shoot at the door in the office where they were both at. He was only 27, man! Ahhhhh. Just thinking about it still pisses me off. He was such a great kid with a great spirit, too.
It reminded me of my brother's untimely end five years ago in March. And he died at my age. That shit woke me up quick.
It made me realize that you just never know how much time you have left in this crazy, topsy-turvy, wonderful life. I know, I know—another “come to Jesus moment” from another person who just got through reading The Secret. Well, just bits and pieces on my end, but for real—let's go get it.
B.T. Dubs, L.A. Fitness is the greatest thing that's happened to former athletes who want to get their athletic phsyique back. I mean, they have EVERYTHING! It's freakin' amazing! Exclamation points galore! The best part about it is they don't try to low-ball you. Nice prices (if you chum up the representatives right) and it's no contract. And you get to go to any one you want in the city. Brilliant. Highly recommended.
Labels:
growing up,
happiness,
life,
me,
yayness
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