The Future's Domain

A little bit of that Human Touch

2011-11-13T00:28:00.002-05:00

"Positivity...yes! Have you had your plus sign today?" - Prince, from "Lovesexy."

Look at me, quoting 23 year old albums (wait, do u still call recordings put together in sequence "albums"? Or is that "digital discography in a shortened version for your listening pleasure?"

Hell if I know.

Anywho, whew, it's been a rough ride...not like a porn starlet rough ride; otherwise I'd be writing this latest and greatest with a smile on my face (or was it that SHE was on my face? Wait, that's tactless...let's move on!)

This will be a short one, as that I got to get up for church and squirm, because I am not sure what the hell I believe in anymore.

No, not talking about the Almighty; shit, I know he's there; he's just not taking new customers right now, and I've pissed him off too much to get a better number in the heavenly BMV.

I am talking about belief in one's self.

One's self...it is all "ooooooh, G.Eric is trying to get metaphysical and shit."

Wait, let me look the word up, just so my attempt to sound educated sounds, well, uneducated...

:::A brief pause while G searches the internet...this is sponsored by ugly people named Ducky:::

"Metaphysics is a branch of philosophy concerned with explaining the fundamental nature of being and the world..."

Yes! My $60K education (which wouldn't get you books and a PB&J these days) counts for something!

OK, back to faith in one's self.

God knows I've had faith in myself shaken to the core...I mean like an apple, folks.

:::Brief silence for Steve Jobs, as that every time I look at an Apple, I'll think of that mad mother clicker:::

I have screamed at God, the dog, and that mail lady who brings my mail and should really get a more supportive bra.

But then I screamed internally at myself...and the chastised internal little boy said "yeah, you're right, you suck like Hoover...J. Edgar, that is."

Damn it...self pity and LOATHING didn't pay the electric bill this month, so I gotta keep looking at my "one's self" internals.

I'm smart, but I can't trust my brain.

I am more high maintenance than Donald Trump's hair.

I am at times...misunderstood...sort of like MJ, cept I can't sing and don't like using the term "sha'mon" in normal convos.

But...

...I am still standing. Wobbly like Rocky in the final film (maybe!), but still here.

The human part of my "one" is sort of tired.

The soul? Ticked off, slightly bitter, but not defeated.

Ugh. Damned metaphysics. Big ol' sigh.

It's 12:41.

So, in short, I wonder if folks sort of walk through life, and when shit hits them in the teeth messing up their lunch, if they look at their own "self" and see if they can get up for one last round.

I am not sure if I feel like it, but damn it, I hear "Eye of the Tiger" faintly in the background.

Love the song, but I hope it ain't "Meow of the Kitty" instead.

For my wife

2011-10-29T01:16:00.003-04:00

Hola.

I was off to bed after a nice evening (for once - note, as much as I love my 2 boys, whomever said kids are a joy is on the most serious of crack addictions, and need to seek out a Ford Clinic faster than Lindsay Lohan), and as I was about to head upstairs, my faulty memory kick me in the ding-ding, and I recalled this idea that I had for a post, so I wanted to sit down and jot it down here b4 I forget it.

As most folks know, I have been gainfully unemployed since I started this blog some time ago, and, well, it has sucked the cream off of a money shot on someone's ass. As a male, despite my firm belief that the antiquated thoughts that "men should be men" and all that other bull droppings, I did promise a very tall white man that I'd take care of his daughter, and eventually, his grandchildren.

Now, God knows that there have been times that I have failed more as a dad than a guy with a 2 inch penis in getting laid, but all in all, I haven't done that bad (well, check back in a few years to see if my oldest isn't snorting up the first base line if he ever gets back into sports). I have a nearly straight A student for the oldest, and my special needs little one (what the hell is "special needs", anyway? More PC bullshit? My boy's brain is a little more scrambled than others, but he's friggin' awesome. Let's skip the gentle and get with the real, right?)is in a good space right now.

But, I am not going to take credit for that.

I love going to the movies, especially in the summer, catching all the big releases that feed my somewhat small male ego (I said EGO, folks...to quote Eddie M from that 80's (cough) classic "The Golden Child", there ain't nothing wrong with my yang) with explosions in the like. Of course, not having a job would make this normally a foolish venture, even at $4.00 (now 4.50; I am sure Congress has something to do with that, the rich bastards). But, I got to see everything I wanted to see, which helped out what was a pretty dull summer due to, well lackus of cash-itus. (It's a disease...Google that bitch).

But, I had little to do with that small miracle as well.

I had also little to do with the last 4 years with my quality of life suffering quite little, actually.

I had a big help.

There's this girl...and I say girl, despite the fact that middle age is a-creepin' up on her, and she is definitely all WOMAN.

But, we'll call her a girl, cuz that is how I c her, despite my deep respect.

She can be, well, at times, difficult.

Short tempered.

Beaten down.

Negative like a strip of film.

And well, all around miserable both in a physical and emotional way if the day is right (or wrong).

But she is beautiful.

Cheating on her would be foolish, cuz she'd "CSI" your ass and u'd b paying 2/3's, the hell with the half.

Her clothes are dated, her hair needs a long overdue cut, and her husband's alter ego, "Jerome" handles the hair coloring to hide the WAY premature grays (that she's had since 18, from my understanding). She instead puts food on the table, keeps the lights on, and allows her failed man (when you have 6 jobs in 15 years, u fucking suck folks...I know I've cussed more than usual, but hey, consider this the cable of the blog world).

She looks at homes online, and she has this dream home...about 700K (originally near 800K...what a bargain!), that she would like to breathe in its air. She tells me about it all the time; shown me the pictures and the slides of how totally awesome it is.

Even has a built in movie screen, so I can finally make my best friend say "Mother Toejam."

But then her reality kicks her in the nose that has already been broken by her oldest son some 8 years ago, and the tears make her cheeks red, instead of the sun from an overdue (10 year and counting) vacation.

You see, despite it all (as well as my own moments of "poor fucking me"), I have tried to help her stand up....even though she doesn't need my help.

She has the nickname "BBB" (y'all can figure that out on you own), and it is well, well deserved.

And despite the fact that I call her a girl, she is my WOMAN.

And at times it sucks, because there is nothing worse than watching someone's dreams die slowly, piece by piece, every day.

She loves her boys.

She loves her husband...has to, cuz I would of dumped him long ago for his at times foolish choices.

Today she pointed out a book to me, about the kid who was under for surgery, "died" on the table, and supposedly went up to heaven and saw dead relatives he never met, a sister who died in childbirth, and other things not explained. I said to her that well, if there is a heaven, there's gotta be a hell (or this is the biggest scam I've seen in a minute).

We kept going, and I thought back to all the times her faith has been at a low ebb...even lower than mine (since that, well, lately sitting in a church for me makes me feel like the biggest hypocrite on earth).

If there is a heaven, then damn it, God is making it really hard for her, her family, and well, this world, to keep on the path to it lately.

So, I am going to say goodnight, and climb in bed next to this "girl", who, thanks to a thankless non vacation, has to haul her bad back to work and deal with life once again.

There are people who are on the streets sleeping tonight. Folks who die too young. And the folks who can do something about it are too busy counting their money, which well, came from us by law.

Everyone has their own "hell."

I just wish this wonderful lady didn't have such a hot, personal burning one.

Cuz Angels on Earth should have a chance to fly sometimes.

I lost a friend but not my soul

2011-09-26T23:06:00.003-04:00

I was told by someone once that I seem to have an axe to grind with white people...or I am upset because I am married to a white woman...or was it the fact that I always point out when I see that folks haven't learned shit from 146 years of supposed emancipation.

Sigh, I hate when I have to get serious...makes my 425th pubic hair itch.

I had an idea for a book that I was planning (well, hoping) to write with someone who is, well, when it compares to my fluff, someone who should of been published and on "Oprah" (well, before she decided to say 'let's go ahead and blow my millions on a network that no one is gonna watch') by now. We have, well, agreed to disagree on a lot of things when it comes to the matters of black and white. Never disrespectful, just disagreed.

She's white, I'm black.

But with this story, it was my hope to tell a story as like two people who were writing a diary, and race would have little to do with it...even though it had to play some part in this story. I was convinced it would of been a kick ass book, and perhaps it would of helped us both reach our dreams.

But then we stopped speaking. I know I am at fault somewhat, as that disagreements always have two sides to build the bridge of discontent. I have this horrible habit of assuming that folks may or may not like me, even tho most times I 89.725% of the time don't give two rat fornication's if people like me or not...

...except for those people who I really want to, well, like me.

It's sort of an odd cluster-screw, cuz I say what is on my mind, and if something is wrong that I see, I am dying to get discussion started.

However, some think I am just some mixed-up, bitter black dude who doesn't know who he is, or thinks that the country is divided.

Well, I still stand by the fact that this country is still quite divided by race, even if some folks simply want to wish that it didn't exist.

I wrote nearly 3 years ago that our current President may not be ready for his job. I didn't jump up and down (even though I smiled when he was elected) when the United States elected its first non-white prez. I always thought of myself as objective, not backing someone cuz they may belong to a certain group...and certainly not because he happened to have some of the same melanin as I do.

3 years later, the man is probably looking at a one term presidency, mostly because the country is worse off than it was...

...but a good chunk cuz some folks can't get over the fact we're not on the cotton fields anymore.

But, back to my friend....if I can still call her that.

I am sad, really...cuz there are some things she said in the last conversation we had that did hit home...but it isn't for the reasons she pointed out. It was a reminder of my flaws, yes...but she missed the point of who I was, or didn't bother to ask "why" truly when I do or did the things I do.

I don't have many friends. Not the ones that call, or ask me to dinner, and it has also negatively affected how some folks treat my wife.

The whole "guilt by association" deelio.

But you know something?

I have a friend who is bigoted as they come...but would take a bullet for me. He sees color, but he ridicules it for his own pleasure...but I get him. Redneck like, "wigger-ish" at times, but I get him.

He's that cool asshole that irritates you, yet makes you laugh at the same time.

I know I am going all over the place, so let met tie things up as best I can.

September has been an odd month for me...and I've learned a few things, made some dumb mistakes, and am on the edge of a drastic change in life unless a miracle comes from the heavens.

The big thing that sticks with me is that, well, I have a lot to learn still, even at 42. I also know that my friend has a lot to learn as well. I know that I wish people were just, well people. That if you didn't like someone, it has more to do with their character, not whether or not they were gay, black, white, Jewish, purple, whatever.

But that will never happen, because the seeds of ignorance is always watered every generation, and weeds pop up.

As for my friend, I wish I could write that book with her. I think it would be a lesson for those who read it; a good read...and perhaps there would be knowledge between her and I...and maybe I wouldn't scare folks away, and she wouldn't think that my attempts at what I (and I say I, as that my opinion is what it is, an opinion)see is generally that we are fucked as a race...the human variety.

And not talking about it ain't gonna fix it.

Anywho, I cry about that book. I think Oprah may have come out of retirement for that one.

9/11 ain't a joke, but r we?

2011-09-10T22:49:00.003-04:00

In about 12 hours or so, the worst thing to happen to the U.S. since I've been spouting bullshit will come 10 years past, and the majority of network coverage will involve remembering, ceremony, and politicians pretending to give a shit 'cuz they know they need to look good.

November is a comin', if ya didn't realize.

I am sure all of us remember what we were doing and where we were when the news of this horrible occurrence starting filtering everywhere. I was working for a major wireless phone company (who majored in shitting on its employees; but that's another piss in the the toilet bowl of history), and my wife on only 17 months at the time, if memory serves, told me on the phone that a small plane crash into the Twin Towers. As that this has happened b4, I figured "well, that sucks", but thought nothing of it.

She then called me several minutes later, and that small plane became two big ass airplanes, and, well, the rest you say is sad history.

Now, I am not going to rehash how I felt (born and raised in NYC, feeling that my hometown, even though it hadn't been my home town in well over a decade at that point, had been raped and violated; wondering how most of my family was, as that they were in screaming distance of the planes, and not knowing for hours how my mom was - she had to literally walk a good chunk of the distance home, from what she told me), but I remember the entire country coming together that day, and the days ahead, forgetting about all the bullshit that tends to seem to always wreck us as human beings.

We became, well, human beings at that moment. The crazy SOB's who had guts, men and women, running into buildings that they wouldn't come out of. The real "Avengers" who said "kiss my ass, if I'm gonna die, I am gonna fight" when they fought those assholes who were so obsessed by their beliefs, they figured "hey, let's prove a point by flying a big ass bomb with wings into shit."

While part of me would like to point out a few things about that day, I will only say this thing that has always perturbed me 10 years after this whole sad thing took place.

What happened to that human being thing?

We had the white powder in ur mail thing, and level orange, blue, fruit loops, whatever, the fact that Homeland Security is sort of a joke, bleeding money and doing nothing (wait, isn't that how government works?) and everything else that has occurred (or not occurred) since.

Yet, as soon as we were able to say "whew", we became bitches, assholes, racists, jerks, fools, arrogant, and everything else we as human beings are way too good at doing to each other.

Yet tomorrow, for one day, we'll sing "Kum by ya" and act like we all love each other.

That, well, is as almost as said as 9/11/01, when that plane hit the big tall buildings touching the sky.

I guess I wish that more times that not, we wouldn't have to have the President of the United States fly into NYC, then PA, then DC again and talk to families, and make a good speech, and folks hold hands and cry and be sad...and good to one another.

For all those folks that dread this day because they lost someone, may the Good Lord touch your sadness and bring back good memories of those folks to help you through.

For the rest of us?

It's too bad that "Kum By Ya" isn't a way of life, instead of an annual tradition.

A Black Man's Nod, and other responsbilites that I don't get

2011-08-25T14:44:00.002-04:00

I was eating with my wife at lunch today, having to go out and spend money our currently 1-income family really didn't have at the moment, due to a refrigerator deciding to say to us "Hey folks, fuck you and your dog, too" earlier in the week. While I was enjoying my sandwich, a younger fellow than myself, dressed all in black (inexplicably on a warm ass day in late August) with a slight limp locked eyes with me, and nodded. As if someone turned on my "say hello back" switch, I nodded back.

The young man was black like myself, and I always seem to say "what's up" whenever another black male says hello to me...

...as if it is necessary to keep my NAACP Card.

(oh, I don't belong to the NAACP; but you get my point).

I always wondered why I feel that I have to acknowledge other black men when they do the nod towards me, or say "what up", or whatever choice of greeting they choose to toss in my general direction. Back in the day (and currently, for that matter) I had very few males of color as associates or friends. It isn't that I wouldn't of like having more friends that can relate to me as a black man in America, but men in general when it comes to friends I have not much to discuss with them beyond sports, lies about sex (well, I am married, so I can really lie THAT much), and other quickly dull subjects. The way I am wired (which is totally screwy) I tended to think about this every time this event took place.

I automatically start to think about some black males and how they are portrayed in the media. We may have a "brother" (and a neighbor of mine argued how is he considered black if Barack Obama is half white, but that's another 10% of black blood argument bullshit story), but we still aren't exactly shone in a great light. A lot of that is brought upon the race themselves, despite the denial of the obvious.

A bigger thing that comes to mind, however, is that this simple nod amongst black males is like some sort of bonding, yet we keep screwing each other over, 30 million strong, whether it is black on black crime, or hell, just, as the young folks would say (ugh, it hurt me to say that) "hatin'" on one another.

Not to say that blacks have the market cornered on "hatin'", but for folks who are at a disadvantage (and it grows greater, as that we are no longer the major minority here in the US) it would be nice if we united more often. It seems that it would be so simple to do something like that...sort of like a head nod when one passes by in a sandwich shop.

But then again, you'd figure 545 people could figure out how to govern, yet human nature and greed stops that from happening as well.

OK, just a brief thought. Back to watching the paint dry.

Lovinemdarkskinnedmelaninlackinsexytouch

2011-06-19T17:00:00.003-04:00

I married this white chick some 11 years and change ago, and you know, 99.4% of the time, I am glad that I said "sure, I have nothing to do for the rest of my life,so why not?"

Now I know for the .0001 (oh yeah, I've lost readers; I raised the price from nothing to less than giving a shit; didn't work out well).

Anywho, I am not going to hash out the story about how we've met, our first date, the weekend of filthy McNastiness (hey, this is a family blog!), and the eventual (OK, not eventually, took me a minutes....about 2,023,200 minutes, give or take a second) marriage and children to follow. The main thing is that I have never regretted turning around after walking by her and offering a weak "hi" before almost making the all time dumbest mistake of my life...

...beyond when I accidentally gave a girl my phone number on the back of a $10 K lottery ticket. That sort of qualifies...and she didn't call me back, either.

(OK, that isn't true...no girl has ever asked me for my number....ha!)

But, as I was enjoying Father's Day with the fruit of my loins (or was it the pits of my loins, as that at the moment they are giving me ass itch with their behavior), I sort of looked at them as they played (destroyed), and I started to stare at their skin. They have this wonderful tone; a fantastic mixture of hair and eyes and smiles; of two people who decided to bring 2 living beings onto this mind-numbingly fucked planet of ours.

Beyond the last 15 minutes or so, no regrets there, either.

Then I began to think back to a time where my mother once said "don't bring a white woman into my house", and the first time I actually, well, brought one in. She wasn't horribly amused, and she warned me that things may not work out well with the woman. She was right, of course, but that had nothing to do with her skin color; she just had a bad feeling about her.

I go back a little further into my college days, and as that no black females gave me the time of day (I think they actually hid the watches from me if I asked), so I started paying attention to those ladies who I heard were supposedly "easier" and more sexually liberated in bed. A silly stereotype, but at the time, I was a kid and dumber than Jim Carrey in that movie of his back in the day. At that point, I still believed in love and all that jazz; I was a true romantic back then, and thought that love shouldn't see a color.

Not to say that I've changed, BTW. I was just more of an idealist then; I grew up in a church that was predominately Caucasian, and well, white females always fascinated me, even though my first and only preference at the time where Latin females (yeah! That's a story that didn't ever end well) and my fellow African Americans (didn't qualify for the "Are you black enough" category, either).

Well, needless to say that I struck out more than Reggie Jackson on the college non-melanin front, beyond my senior year and that great love b4 my wife that I have allowed to semi-wreck me ever since (also not worth rehashing; go see earlier blogs on that bullshit). But, bringing back my spotty love life sort of made me realize something about myself...

...did I have any idea if people truly see love? Including myself back then?

What I mean is, can love conquer differences in social, racial, and economic backgrounds? My wife and I grew up in a similar financial level, and we can relate to a lot of things (especially as kids of the 1980s). But, she did, well, "white things", and I did, well...OK, well, I did a lot of I am not sure things. Not too many black kids listened to Bon Jovi as I did, even though I had tons of hip hop and R&B in my plate on those 45's we had b4 MP3's showed up. I have been called a "sell out" more times than I can count the amount of fried chicken black folks supposedly ate like once a day or something. I was truly a mutt, so to speak, based on not having too many black friends (and zero black friends to this day; not to say I don't have associates from afar, but no buddy like buddies. Social networking simply doesn't count).

So I sort of look around in my travels, and I see a lot more of interracial couples floating around, including some that some 10 years ago I would of never pegged of getting together. I also noticed the white high school girls swooning over the black guys, as if it is some sort of cool thing to do. Now, I am not going to try to figure out the teenage mind, since it is too much of a jumbled mess to cipher through; but for those adults who are together despite what society may say (and despite those who wish to deny that society still gets sickened when we "mix") are in love cuz, well, they found the right one for them.

Even if the bathroom sink has hairspray and some Soul Glo (did that shit ever exist from "Coming to America"?) siting on the bathroom counter at home.

So, is love blind? I don't know, really. Sometimes I wonder why my mind gallops off to the kooky places it goes sometimes. I guess I never accept things as they are, and am always trying to figure this flotsam called life out.

My white wife is gonna b home in about 90 minutes, and she'll ask me how my father's day was. Now, when she walks in the door, I won't see a woman who happens to be more susceptible to sunlight than I am. I see my friend, the woman who I butt heads with way too often, yet makes me laugh even more. And someone who, despite the time I want to lock them up in cages in the garage, gave me the only 2 things I've ever done (mostly) right.

I'll conclude to say that love is blind sometimes. I just wish that it was permanently disabled in that fashion all the time.

It'll give seeing eye dogs more jobs.

It's close to midnight....

2011-06-13T14:23:00.003-04:00

Stretching and scratching the back of my head at the moment, as the heat of the summer (even though it's actually cool today, which as dark skinned as I am, I don't need any more tanning)begins to pick up, and I am sort of, well...

...lacking anything to blab about on this post.

Now, for the .001 people who read this thing knows, that is very odd for me, as that I am more full of opinions that a fat dude and chicken wings at a buffet. It is weird, because there is always things going on in everyday life that strike me with that "What the flying diarrhea was that about" thoughts.

But today, it's sort of quiet and unusual in my household, as the children are out of school for the summer; one child is playing "Michael Jackson: The Experience"on the Xbox, the other is watching Spongebob SquarePants, and the wife is, well, I am not quite sure if she's playing with him or gaming online.

It's, as I said, quiet.

It's sort of too bad that it isn't a normal reality, but I'll take it at this point.

Let me ask you, my .001 reader (hopefully you have part of a brain and one eye functioning, as, well, .001 of a person is missing a lot of body parts) a question.

What do you, well, want at this point in life?

I know that's an old question, but it is truly THE question, isn't it? I mean, day to day, you wake up; as a child, you may be going to school, and as an adult, you may be trudging off to work (unless you are one of the few who actually, well, LIKES working...Hahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahaha...yeah, that tickled me, but well, if you do like working beyond needing the check, make sure you put in extra money in that offering plate the 2 times you go to church a year...yeah, I am looking at YOU).

But, say you have reached all of your goals, or, if you are like me, haven't reached for anything except the disconnect notices on your desk, wondering how the toe-rust you are going to squeeze another blood donation for that 50 bucks...

...shit. Sorry, got wrapped up in me. I was asking you a question, wasn't I, 1-eyed part brain Future's Domain fan?

Anywho, what do you want? I mean, have you reached that pinnacle in your life where you are, ahem, "happy?"

(BTW, I don't believe in happiness; that's bullshit, and only gets realized during an orgasm or the first bite of a good meal; it's fleeting, but it is so good you keep going back for it).

Let me instead use this in my question...are you "content?" If you are, then well, 95% of you are being real with yourself,and I applaud you.

3% of you are lying to yourself, and only think you are content, and that works for you. Awesome for you as well; sometimes illusion is a hell of a protector.

'Tis why I crack so many jokes, even if it risks (and ultimately causes) alienation, and me saving up to hire pallbearers when it's my turn to be the buffet.

The other 2%?

Well, let's say I get it. 'Cuz hell, I know I am not satisfied...and probably will never be. I have dreams of being able to walk into friend's and family's homes, those who accepted me for all my flaws, with gifts, help, and thanks. I get off on that stuff (not like in a messy, Monica Lewinsky dress stain kind of way, but you get my point). I'd like to be be able to go to reunions, take my wife on some beach and actually, for the first time in years, have a sigh of relief. My youngest son to be protected financially, since the world will always look at him as some "retard."

(Another note, folks; don't get your thongs in a flossing shit motion cuz I used that evil "r" word. He's retarded. Comes with the extra chromosome. But he is better than I'll ever be).

So, for those who can say "yeah, I am chillin'" (aging myself here), bitchalicious. I'd appreciate a pamphlet on that when you get a chance; a map to how to get there, as that it is 11:55 PM around here, and my pumpkin is about to turn into a Fiero.

The quiet it gone now, as the boys are beating the snot out of each other, and Eddie Grant is singing "Electric Avenue" as I finish typing this latest flotsam.

"Out in the Street" is the lyric he's at.

Hmm.

It's 11:56 PM.

I hate Pumpkins.

I'd rather have a slice of content pie.

Hurry up with that recipe or pamphlet, will ya?

I'd like to know if I can make the trip or bake that dish.

Never could read maps, though.

Election Selection Life Reflection with a twist of limon.

2011-05-26T16:48:00.001-04:00

Hello all. I have a public announcement to make. This may come as a shock to you all, but this needs to be said.

You see, 3 months from now, I will turn 42 years of age. I've been out of high school 24 years and out of college 20. I looked into the mirror this morning, and I stared at my discolored skin, years of neglect beginning to cash the checks I shouldn't of written; my large belly, where 17 years ago was, well, never a six pack but wasn't a college kegger; and not knowing where my shoulder began and my neck ended.

I used to to be quick, spending many and spring and summer bouncing around handball courts and running around mythical bases as I hit ball over fences...

...well, when my dear friend wasn't striking me out.

Now unless there is an emergency (or a piece of cake nearby) my legs find it difficult to motivate me towards anything behind malaise.

I see the gray hairs...and I am actually thankful they are on my chest. I always swore that the day the white hairs attacked, the razor would strike them down and my new name would be "Bro-jack.".

Hey, I couldn't pass for a Greek cool ass detective.

Anywho, I put my nearly 9 year old kid on his school bus, sat down and started the same ritual that has dominated my life the last 42 months.

Seeing what cereal to eat.

I guess I wonder to myself daily, as the ticks of my limited time continue to ebb like the water from my leaky faucet, what I am. I am sure I am not the first person who has wondered about this, but I am stunned, then again not surprised, about all the mind numbingly dumb things I've done. It is a true thing, that the choices of the present may fuck you in the back door like a stag film in the future.

I sit at my oak table in my kitchen, and I wonder aloud what i must discard if the pages of the book I've written arrogantly (note, arrogance and stupidity are truly on the same route to destruction) continues to its likely confusion. Some say my logic is greatly flawed, and in some instances their argument is all too valid.

However, I also know that my misguided steps have helped me advise others over the years to better things. My wife, who has either graciously ( or due to insanity due to a bad bite of store brand chicken fingers) stuck by my under achievements, has said for years I should charge for my solicited psychology; I however see it as a debt I must pay for the sins I've done...

...or for the crimes not yet stricken.

So here is the thing, as it is now the afternoon, and my trip to self discovery and disappointment has to be put on hold as my spawn return to vex me like an ass rash above the sphincter, and I just sort of stare at myself again, dressed in a Ill-fitting shirt, a middle aged man's pair of shorts, and my shuffle sandals, and as the demon of age creep up on my face, I sigh.

I am here to let the few who read this know the following bit of news...

...I am greatly flawed. I am a black man who, despite what my associates say, have to remain conscious of as long as I live. My children are gorgeous, yet I must tell them that there WILL be someone who will look upon them as an abomination...

...especially the one with the 21st chromosome.

I am spoiled, but realistic, I am not what I was, yet better than b4.

I ain't too bad, but god knows I ain't no good.

I will have to save money to hire pallbearers.

But I hope that the biggest part of this announcement is that...

...my name is G. Nice to meet ya. I am loyal to a fault, i will do things to make you scratch your head, and I am doing the best I can.

Did I also give advice just now? Perhaps.

In the meanwhile I'll get back to that novel I was writing, "Bro-jack and The Case of the Runaway Life.".

Possibly shitty ending, but a hell of a read.

Let's Get Nuts!

2011-05-19T10:22:00.004-04:00

Ugh.

Been a rough patch lately, as that my golden shoes (I almost typed slippers, but then y'all would questions if I was on the gay side of the force) are about to turn back into those beat up sneakers I use to mow our weeds (as that the only grass that hangs around our yard is the kind smoked by the local children).

Anywho, as that I don't have much to turn to these days, I was rather pumped when baseball season started recently. Now, I've been a huge Yankee fan since Reggie Jackson was throwing down with Billy Martin in the dugout. It is a grand sport, and while it doesn't hold the appeal for most as football (whenever the hell that comes back...here's a query: what do you call a bunch of millionaire and billionaires who can't divide 9 Billion Dollars. Fucking mind numbingly pathetically "McWhatthefrigiswrongwithyou" stupid. Not funny, but accurate) the drama of a tight ball game offers a welcome distraction from what has been a disappointing trip I call my life so far (with the exception of the family, of course. I gotta be careful; ever so often my wife reads this stuff).

Watching a game recently (I don't catch too many Yankee games based on where I live in the US these days)ever so often the camera crew (who I am sure just do that because they are either tying their shoes, accidentally bumping the camera, then saying "shit, I can't go back to work at Taco Bell!" and flips back to the game) will divert their camera's eye to the crowd. Now, sports fans are an interesting bunch.

Actually, they are friggin' nuts.

It's an obsession with a lot of folks; mostly guys stereotypically, but there are a fair number of ladies who will be just as nuts as any dude, and can quote you stats faster than they can their kid's birthdays.

(I always found that interesting and sexy, actually; it is one of the reasons I married my wife in the first place. The woman once hung a teddy bear in effigy when her basketball team lost in the championship round. That's a hot ass chick to me).

Sports fans will miss weddings and funerals ("Mother Fucker shouldn't of died before Game 7. He'll still be there when it's over"), not speak to their mamas for weeks because they like the rival team ("Shit, I don't have a mama; don't care if it's Mother's Day...fuck her!)and paint themselves in toxic material just to show support for their team ("What do you mean, doctor, that my penis will never come back out again?"). It's an escape, an addiction, a salve, a way for folks, for once, to actually friggin' get along for a couple of hours...

...all for a couple hundred bucks. Loan officers are on site to take your applications before and after the game for the next time we can fleece you of your hard earn money.

But for me, sitting at home when I can to watch a game, even when I know this year's version of the Yankees have no chance to make the playoffs (old age is a miserly beeyotch)let's me forget the things that are wrong in my world for a little bit. I tend to drift back to my childhood, when me and my best friend AP (gotta use the initials; he may be in super secret squirrel mission, and I don't want him smoked by his enemies) would battle on weekends and summer days for supremacy of the neighborhood(note, I think he had a slight lead in our win/loss record when we were done...something like 5-1000, with him having the 1000 wins. But I won in the "broken bats in sheer frustrating cuz I sucked" categories). Being a fan (short for fanatic, which means all sports are eligible to be committed) let me yell, scream, throw stuff, and forget about the simple fact...

...that things simply didn't work out the way I would of liked.

So I toast the sport fan, as I play the appropriate "Let's Go Crazy" (Extended edition, of course) as I finish this up, as well as sports in general. Yeah, watching a bunch of spoiled rich folks say "I gotta feed my 14 illegitimate babies by 6 baby mamas, and I can't live on 10 million" gets a little stale, but for a couple of hours, one can jump in their bodies and get that single pitch, driving it out of the park, and run around the bases, as if God is saying "OK, I'm gonna put you back into your misery, but since I'm in a good mood, I'll give you a few seconds of heaven."

Well, at least that is what I hope was the plan. He (the Lord, that is) always had a generally warped sense of humor.

Ponderificcrossroadsteptoe

2011-03-21T23:37:00.002-04:00

You know, a long time ago, I made a decision to take a step towards an uncertain light.

I was going to a place where I was a little scared to venture, because I was so used to being on an island where I never got any "mail" to be part of the coolness of the world. I had a few folks who took the time to see the newspaper I was printing on a regular basis, but on the most part, my "own" thought I was a traitor, and the "majority" thought I was a charlatan, a joke, a wannabe.

That is an interesting dichotomy to deal with on a regular basis, especially over the first 25 years of my musicology. The beats had a lot of base, but the notes were rather muddy, and nothing didn't hit the top 40 on anyone's list.

Now focusing on the present tune, where the mp3's are old hat and now we can float life's music over the air, I am sort of where I was when I took that first step. But now I have extra sheets of music that I have to write for my offspring, and that same, muddy beat is now louder, because I am like some drunk conductor trying to lead the symphony that is my family unit.

Not to say that I am a leader...hell, I can't even get anyone to read my flotsam when I get the urge to type it on my now smaller notebook screen.

(Note, Apple, I apologize. If you weren't the elitist company that didn't allow me to capture music without looking for music tags, you'd be the perfect computer and multimedia organization. But, I digress).

I told a dear friend who I call a brother that I don't care about the loud tunes thrown at me because I jump into the land of crudeness, gangsta rap (a metaphor; I tend to dip into the crass and controversial, and only say what I feel needs to be said) and the absurd. I guess in my own skewed way, I thought that I wanted to help let people forget their lives for a moment, and take a ride on each note of my pretend insanity and twisted curled view of the world.

I partially lied.

I hear something.

The tones of silence.

Now, I stand by what I do, because malice was never the intent.

However, I bleed, too.

Apology after apology, backstepping and kowtowing.

Stephen Fetchit would of been proud.

You see, I have a problem with not getting respect, since I always, even before I took that first step towards the flawed statue I am today, and I knew that by doing what I do (or did, as that the good man muzzled the beast, as that my dear "brother" was right, and the wrong station was tuned and no one wanted to see the commercials), made it a point to always give people what I always wanted.

When I string a twisted tune, I want people to dance, to think, to laugh, to enjoy this short spot in time that we have before we become like a old, dead, blown-away leaf when our season ends.

I also wanted to fill the emptiness that consumes me daily.

Don't get me wrong.

My wife....man, my wife, who each day sheds a tear on the inside or out, is the true "Beeyatch." Not insulting...a woman has to be one of those to survive in this world. And the 2 sheets of song we created, while at time so out of tune I need earplugs for my sanity, are my greatest work.

But my friend, I do hear the silence from the lack of applause from my symphonies.

But...

I can't apologize anymore.

While I knew the risks (and the present realities) of being spat out from the circle, where I don't calls to Rock Band, or even a drink at a bar, I shouldn't regret my mistakes, because it all was to better my fellow humans (man is too friggin' sexist, and the only sexist part of me is that I think a man's woman need to get her porn on ever so often to keep things parked at home; we males suck when it comes to willpower). And while the emptiness is something that is between me and my God, that only respect I ask from folks is to disagree with me if u wish, but at least listen; think that I am a horse's ass, but take a little look and see beyond the bullshit.

Also know, that I hate no one, I could give a rat's penis spurt if you are white, black, purple with a Kung Fu grip, who you believe in, or if u dig a hairy ass and find love. I laugh at myself, and I simply try to hopefully let people do the same.

In short, I am writing this because I am at a spot where my future is cloudy at best. My options are few, and my time is dwindling to fix things. I get up, I try to laugh, and I try to be the best dad I can be. I stand behind my wife, who has been a superhero w/o the tights (even tho I have tried to talk her into Wonder Woman's outfit, but she isn't feelin' me on that idea, damn it). This post is providing me therapy, as that my outlook on life has caused me to, well, perhaps choose poorly in where I express myself.

However, for the few who actually dig me, I tip my hat, and I hope that you know that I am, well, am.

And beyond my demons, I'm alright with that.

For those who think I am a tactless, uneducated, foolish, immature ass, well...

...u may be right.

But I am also alright with that, too.

The beginning of the end of the beginning of the funk

2011-01-11T11:10:00.004-05:00

Guess what?

I am black. Or an African American. Or, as they said back in the day, "colored."

Wait a second...actually, I am G. Eric Francis...well, at least that is the moniker I use when I write this bit of flotsam. I am 5'10, and once upon a time, I was a semi fit 180 lbs.

Now I am a tryin' to die 262 lbs. I am a father of 2 multicultural kids...well, they are human offspring...8 and one nearly 5 years old.

Oh, one of the kids is basically retarded...wait...he has Downs Syndrome, and needs behavioral therapy, which I cannot afford because I haven't had a full time job in 1,131 days (and counting).

There is a point to all this, and the title of this posting will hopefully become clear as I move on.

Recently, I was accused of a couple of things...well, more than a couple of things. OK, 2 accusations and a thought, truly.

I've gotta be fair, ya know. Plus, the "thought" was from a dear friend, and I don't want to lose one of the few I have.

2 people particularly close to my wife (correction; one person; the other one she hears from twice a year) told me a couple of things, one which sorely ticked me off.

The first "accusation" involved me being told that I don't teach my kids enough about God. Now, as the few who have taken the time to sit down to know me have figured out, my relationship with the Big Guy is shaky at best. However, I have always, despite any disagreements I may have had with Him, was going to make sure my children knew about religion, so once they were adults, they could make a decision onto whether they would allow it to guide their lives.

So this sort of ticked me off, but due to the possibility of causing more drama than a CBS programing guide, I decided to keep my mouth shut...well, to a point, anyway.

A couple of weeks later, rather recently, I was then told, after I noticed something disturbing at a recent mass, that I have "issues" and I should be there for the reason one goes to church.

So, if someone came in and, say, starting urinating on the cross, I shouldn't pay attention to that and continue tossing out the variety of saints that the Catholic church is known for.

Hmm.

And finally, a dear friend (someone who I wish I was able to hang out with more often, because she is one of the most real folks I know) said to me yesterday that if she didn't know me better, she'd swear I hated Caucasians/White/whatever people.

The funny thing is, this last comment was the one that inspired me to start typing this.

Let me break down why.

People who genuinely care about the G have voiced their displeasure/disagreement/WTF's concerning things I have said on a very popular Internet social network over the last several months, and, well, I welcome opinions anytime (as long as you don't disrespect me, a thorn in my side for most of my 41 years). On a few things that has been said, I have seen their point, and have taken it into account whenever a crazy thought (which is, oh, about 99.9998% of the time is what is taking residence in my brain) pops in, and I transfer it to cyberspace.

For one, I should leave my children out of it. Even though my kids are a part of my existence, and I believe no one should be free of observation, kids should, well, be kids.

They'll figure out that the earth sucks soon enough.

Then there's the matter of cultural differences, race, religion, whatever thing that it seems a lot of folks are either afraid, don't want to think about, or in a perfect, fantasy based world, wish that no one cared about, and all people would just see that we all are just, well, people.

You see, and if certain individuals would just, oh, ASK me straight up why I do the things I do or say(or, at the end of this, done), I wholeheartedly agree with the folks on that last point I mentioned in the last paragraph.

I'd love it if my son, who probably isn't going to be President one day, isn't looked upon like some uncontrollable animal when we're in public...

...even though, at this point in his life, he acts like one sometimes.

It would be great if my oldest would go through the rest of his life, and NO ONE would point out that his daddy was black, and not give him grief for it. Or worse, kick his ass, or worse.

But sadly, that possibility will always exist.

It would be nice if some old lady who grew up during the "good old days" of Jim Crow or segregation (or if the media didn't reinforce EVERY DAY the stereotypes, while a lot of times true, of non-whites) didn't freak out when I am in comfortable clothes, getting in an elevator, starts tripping and get off as fast as her varicose-veined legs could carry her.

Note...

The last point rarely has happened. Let's be clear here. And, there is an excellent chance that my oldest will always be accepted as just himself, and most of time, old ladies smile at me, because I usually say "hello" and "ma'am", cuz Mama always said respect your elders, no matter what packaging they were in...

...well, she also said she never wanted me to marry a white woman...but after bonding over menstrual cycles, she saw that my wife, was, well, human and female like her, and she got over it.

My best friend happens to be Latino. Most of the people I've been cool with have been white. I have NO close African American friends....really never have. Most got mad cuz, well, I always gave people of all races enough rope to hang themselves...and a good chunk of the time, they never even got to the proverbial "noose".

That last paragraph proves nothing, of course. I hate it when people say "well, I'm not racist, cuz I have 1 each of all races in my inner circle" or something like that. And perhaps they just became friends or whatever because these folks were good people.

You see, there are always possibilities.

OK, here's my point on a few things.

For one, I love most people...only people I have ever been "bigoted" towards are those inflicted with stupidity and ignorance. Sadly, that "diseases" can hit anybody, whether they celebrate Kwanzaa, Hanukkah (or Chanukkah, however it's spelled) or worship some dude w/a massive belly (hell,I have one of those...maybe I should start my own religion, and ask for an amusement park, like Oral Roberts). It can hit folks who like their own sex (another thing that, while I don't get it, I am cool with whomever or whatever). When I meet someone, I always say "Hey, my name is Greg", not, "Hey, my name is Greg, and I'm a really dynamite Negro who is hetero and like girls who can hold their breath for hours at a time." As folks get to know me, yeah, my sense of humor knows no bounds. However, I also know that at times, that has probably cost me friends, and perhaps jobs or promotions as well. Sadly, in this society, ya simply have to be careful on what you say most times...

...especially if you are not part of the majority.

I know that last statement may tick the aforementioned "majority", but, that is the way it is.

And this is the majority of my point.

This is the world we live in. Facts cannot be changed by simply ignoring them or wishing them away.

I have one son who was born with an extra chromosome, and he has a mind of a toddler, even though his 5th birthday is a little more than a week away.

People are gonna hate him for it...even though he really is one of the smartest people I know.

Me wishing for flowers and sunshine ain't gonna change that fact. However, I'd love it if people just gave him a chance to be part of society.

Here's another point/thought....

Does it help when I constantly point out the wrongs I perceive are still going on, like the recent incident I mentioned on that social network (even if I try to temper it with humor)?

Probably not. It makes people uncomfortable, or, in the case of my dear friend, would give off the impression that I am just as guilty as other folks who were taught that if u're not the same, ur "broken."

Perhaps my methods of insanity have failed, even though that saddens me if that's the case.

This has weighed on my mind the last 24 hours or so...you see, when I started this blog, it was my hope that I'd make people laugh...as well as make them think. Start a conversation or a debate...tell me why you may disagree, agree, or think I'm an asshole. Never had a problem with that, and I was (hopefully) expecting that. Plus, I love to write...however, a writer's passion dies, when no one reads his work.

Folks, I am a simple dude...I love music, cinema, and the company of good friends...well, when I had them (or when I thought they were good friends, which, well, never mind, I am going off on tangent land, sorry). Over the past 16 years of my life, I have decided to voice what I think, w/o (mostly) worrying about repercussions from others. Did I ever mean to cause any hurt feelings? Hell no...I am one of the most sensitive people on the planet. But I also once wanted things to be a perfect, wonderful place, and part of me still does....which at times holds me back from the reality of the world that I live in.

There are racists on this planet. Their are bigots in the world. Even I, in some small ways (hopefully) am bigoted about a couple of things...of which none come to mind at the moment, likely because I don't notice them. It's how society shapes and molds us. My folks told me as a grew up to never to completely trust Caucasians. My mom made it up the corporate ladder, despite the fact that that ladder is built and held up by those she simply didn't trust. However, I think now, while I don't think that feeling may ever go completely away (she told me that no black person in their right mind would vote Republican on more than one occasion)due to her upbringing, she also knows that not all Caucasians have sheets and hoods in the trunks of their cars. She's had a few good friends in her 63+ years who happened to burn easier in the sun that she did.

But as I said, that distrust is, and probably for her remaining years, is always there.

So, after I complete this blog, I will no longer offer an opinion, unless asked, about anything racial, gender wise, sexual orientation, or whatever. I will not choose to blog about it, nor mention it on that social network.

You see, I've failed in my quest, it seems. And that's OK, even though it's a little sad.

I have a buddy that is an equal opportunity offender....white guy, will say ANYTHING at any time, and not lose a wink of sleep over it. He's been accused of being a racist more than once, and even I have felt slightly uncomfortable once or twice w/his comments.

However, this guy has also offered to help me get work in his line of work many times, and if we were in a bar about to get jumped, I am pretty confident he'd be by my side, ready to handle things (or get the shit beat out of him like I would if we were outnumbered).

Kind of guy he is.

I always carry that mythical "rope" whenever I meet someone. Because, while I accept that there are differences in all of us for whatever reason, I know we all bleed red, we all have mom's and dad's, we all have family, we all cry and mourn, we all dance (even if some of us don't do it well), and we all end up in the ground, or on someone's mantle in an urn, or whatever.

You see, I don't have "issues" like the ones I was accused of recently. Trust me, I have other "issues" that would scare the shit out of you...

...however, I wish the "issues" that inflict the world, especially in the so-called "greatest country on earth", where a black man who made history after 233 years of prejudice is judged more harshly than any person who's held his job before him, or the hatred that fills some 22 year old to shoot a bunch of people for no reason, or, hell, the people who think that I am just some loudmouth saying nothing...

...would just take a deep breath, and look at themselves.

No matter what, in some way, we are all guilty of the crapfest that we call our world.

I love to help people....that won't change. I just am gonna sit back, and see if anyone removes the "rope" they've placed around me and see if I am as truly crazy as they think I am.

One last thing....the incident I mentioned...this is a repeat of my statement on that network, but in short, an elderly black lady while I was in church accidentally brushed against this young white boy , and his mother's reaction was as if the woman diseased her kid, whispering "did she hurt you" and looking at the woman like she was a 5'2" stack of HIV or something.

The one thing I noticed, though, is that the young man smiled before his mother grabbed him away, and accepted the woman's apology.

My guess is the kid was no more than 5. Cute kid, too.

Too bad his mom is gonna make him ugly.

In a place where you are supposed to learn about the beauty of Christ, I wasn't the person with "issues."

I shook that same woman's hand during the service, with a smile on my face...

...and a slightly broken heart.

That's why I once did what I used to do...until today.

Gotta go now...have to catch that train to the land of hopes and dreams, where hopefully my kids will just be J & No-man, and nothing else.

I'll make sure, though, that as a parent they get the brochure with the disclaimers that the world simply doesn't work that way most times.

Great! The train was delayed by reality. Maybe I can catch a plane...naw, afraid to fly.

So I have these children, on which I inflicted upon myself

2010-12-21T00:58:00.004-05:00

Hi There.

It's been a while since I've appeared, and even though no one has miss me, I apologize 17 times for disappearing. The last section of my existence has been somewhat of a warted sort of thing, and I have been seeking a salve to help cure my life skin affliction...

...but sadly, that hasn't happened.

It is 4 days before some fat guy that we all used to believe in is supposedly going to somehow enter my chimney-less home, and bestow magical toys and gifts upon my 8 year-old and 4 year-old offspring...the spoutage of my loins, each one having either the gift or the curse of my DNA, my habits, my mistakes, and hopefully a little good as the continue to grow like the failed grass in my back yard.

Now don't let this little soliloquy fool you into thinking that I wouldn't end my life to save theirs (even though, at least for a 1/2 a second, I'd consider sort of letting the proverbial dice of bullshit fly, and hope I don't see either of them crap out, but more than likely, yeah, I'd do the worm buffet for the boys if it meant they'd go on, and well, forget about me in a few years..."dumb ass should of just just played craps). I love my children a great deal, believe me. I have put myself in probably 10's of thousands of dollars in debt, of which I can no longer pay, to make sure that they have the illusion of what was once some white person called "The American Dream." (On an aside, I read an article the other day about how "White Middle Class Americans" way of life is dying slowly. So, the Black (wait, I thought I dropped that many a blog ago, but for the sheer sake that it's 1 am and I am lazy as hell, we'll stick with that Crayola Color), Asian, Latino, and whatever culture or race Middle class is, what, kicking that ass while those poor Caucasians are living, as they once said in the urban 90's, "phat.")

Sorry, I digressed a tad...I do that when I don't get my fill of "YooHoo", that tasty pureed bottle of duck shit that I used to like as a "yout" (Thanks Joe Pesci...where the hell did he go, anyway?)

Anywho, back to Frick and Frack, my two boys.

Well today, one of the two people that I'd consider "friend" came by w/her husband (who is so quiet, I think he was the reference point for that mouse in "The Night Before Christmas") to see us for their annual Christmas visit. It was a good visit as always, except for the fact that the 8 year-old show the appreciation of a dead man, when my dear friend presented him with a gift, as she has every year for his existence.

It wasn't because he didn't like the gift...no, it was because due to what was needed to use the gift (which was taken away as a ruse so that it could be sold and upgraded for a more modern gift to pursue his present interest in movie making) couldn't use it. From that point forward, he alternated between being an overbearing chatterbox, and, well, being a used condom discarded on some side street like when one is done with a hooker.

Yeah, that's harsh...but well, sometimes it is the most accurate way to describe his ungratefulness.

But wait...this isn't a tale of some spoiled bad boy, even though my wife and I have given him a lot, which was probably in error, especially over the past few years where our income has been cut 42% due to my lack of a paycheck.

This goes well beyond that...even though so-called "experts" (what the hell makes an expert, anyway? Someone who's lived it, even though we as human beings all have different stories, and it's impossible to pigeonhole us, short of being ultimately watching out for our own asses most of time?) say he is just a tad bit anxious. Now, if I had a father who constantly lost his temper due to his pushing his buttons, as well as, well, not having the patience for lack of logic (wait, 8 year-old's are supposed to be logical? What? Next thing u know u'll say that the media's coverage of the first Black President has been just like the 43 previous white guys before him...oops, different blog, check the past crap I've spewed), I'd be a tad anxious too.

Oh shit, I did have a dad who yelled at me continuously...damn it, it's just like bigotry...tends to be repeated throughout history.

Sad when the person in question knows that, yet he keeps doing it.

Hmm...not helping here, G.

Oh wait, forgot about the other one...the one who society has deemed "special needs." Now for the 1 or 2 people who read my rantings, my youngest has Downs Syndrome, and well, he's, um...how to I say this...

...can be difficult to handle sometimes.

You see, when he gets a little tired, he tends to...well...if you had a hot bowl of soup....wait, let's make it ethnic...look up the story of Al Green and the pot of Grits. Say the good Reverend (and legendary soul singer) was having breakfast with my youngest...and he didn't get enough sleep. Mr. Green is eating his grits, his eggs, and singing "Let's Stay Together", for no apparent reason.

Then the "tornado" hits (which would be my youngest going friggin' crazy, clearing everything off the table, and maybe, just maybe, that piping hot bowl of Grits is now all over the poor good Reverend's head), and now Mr. Green is now singing "Let my scalded skin which is falling off of me stay together" instead.

You never know it's coming. And sadly, beyond his age and his mental status, there is simply no way that either of his parents are skilled to reach into whatever Fort Knox type lock that is his brain and convince him things like this simply isn't a good idea in this current society.

Yeah.

So, you see my friends, I kind of sitting here like this. In less than 3 days, I will be sitting with "J-Bob Ungrateful Pants" tracking Santa on NORAD, watching him enjoy the gifts that his Grandparents, Uncles and Aunt will bestow upon him and his "Harry Houdini with the element of getting clocked by a butter-knife" mildly nutso (and yeah, I called my Downs Syndrome kid "nutso"; if you do crazy shit, don't care if u have a Coke and smile, I am calling you "nutso") brother. My wife and I will smile and give them the thumbs up, probably forgetting that between the end of this post and the moment that the wrapping is removed, they will do something shitty, stupid, and all around deserving of all their shit going on eBay to pay the electric bill immediately. At times, I truly understand why child abuse (note, I don't condone it, but I know why it happens to some folks who just can't take it) takes place all over the world.

Kids ask for that shit...the good parents just know not to give it to them, despite the partial joy you'd get from it.

So, on the actual day of Christ's birth, after my dear spouse is done being anally pulverized by her employer, we will repeat the process on Xmas night (and yeah, I shortened the name....no disrespect to Jesus, but the "X" is a cross, so hopefully he'll roll with it), and smile, take pictures, and say "Yay" as these two, despite the fact that they don't just deserve just coal, they need an entire bag of "Kingsford Match Light" in their stockings, under the tree, and shoved and lit in certain orifices due to their behavior (one due to DNA, the other, well, if I knew that, I'd b friggin' Freud).

But, we're parents. We are the people that have to say "Yeah, u're a prick/bitch/douche kid, but we brought you in this world, we love you, and well, we don't do prison foods very well."

The biggest goof that we play on ourselves?

We decided to say "let's stop having sex for fun and add to the populace."

I inflicted this on myself, as did my wife. And yeah, I search the used car ads for a Delorean, a stretch of road, 1.21 gigawatts of power, and the year 2001 when part of me would of told my partner once i arrived to my destination in the past, "Hell to the fucking no...I've seen the future, and trust me, it ain't cool...but we do get a black president though!"

Then, as all things in this underwear streak we call life, it will pass, these thoughts borne from the fact that my boys, as smart as they are, are really friggin' senseless.

But they're mine. And perhaps due to my own lack of good sense, I'd never go through with that Delorean purchase; Ultimately, they is, at times, more good in them than dumbass-ness.

Besides, Plutonium would be a female dog to find, and my credit score isn't the nearly 700 it used to be.

I wonder if God knows we're screwing this up

2010-08-31T12:06:00.007-04:00

Ugh.

There are times that my mind sort of goes on a long term vacation...especially when it comes to writing. With all of life's distractions, there simply isn't much to say...deep, funny, or otherwise.

Then it sort of wakes up...sort of like when my mom used to put that cold wash cloth to get me up in the morning (I would like to return the favor one day, but even tho she is vertically challenged and 63 years old, she is still quick and would kick my flattened ass). It could come to me while dropping my "kids off in the pool" (yeah, nasty, but well, this is me), making dinner out of a box, or watching how flies mate (the Midwest can be slow moving at times).

In this particular instance, I was sitting down seeing if my youngest would actually tick me off and pee in the tub while giving him a bath (it's a twisted game with the youth; he stands up, looks at his boy parts, and then sees if I'll cover him up with the wash cloth b4 he tints his bathwater), and I remembered a conversation from the night before with the oldest concerning the fact that his mother is white, and I am a lovely shade of deep chocolate (always sweeter, duh!). Any who, when I advised the boy that he was part-black, he crumbled in a ball and started crying. This perturbed me slightly, as that, well, the child acted like his feelings was hurt.

After he cried for a few moments, I attempted to explain to him that this wasn't a big deal, but whatever "damage" I inflicted from informing the boy of his cultural mixture was done. He then proclaimed "I don't want to be black!" which sort of ended our conversation. For once, I, master of the quip, was rendered silent.

A couple of weeks later, the boy mentioned to me about 3 young children of African descent, who, based on his description, looked like rejects from "Another Bad Creation" (For those who do not remember these R&B/Hip Hop hybrid "pioneers", see here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbrScSrELoE). Any who x 2, he mentioned that these 3 kids were the only kids that caused trouble on the bus he rides every day. Now, normally, I would just shrug this off and advise him to not associate with these kids if he could...then I flashed back to the whole "black thing" from a few weeks prior. Trying once again to bring the subject up, I futility attempted to break down that just because a few kids are bad apples, doesn't mean all kids like this are the same. When he gave me the "like this" look again, I had to once again bring race into the equation. Of course, instead of absorbing my years of wisdom on the subject (i.e., these where the type of stereotypical kids who kicked my ass, took my coat, stole my money, mugged me 3 times, made me feel like a wuss, always got the girl...yeah, I'm taking about you, Pamela Grant, Juliet...blah blah blah...and no, I don't need therapy, damn it!) he then gazed off at some box of some sort I had sitting on my armoire.

Curses, foiled the *&^% again.

The racial subject hasn't been broached since, but it got me to thinking (well, it did 2 weeks ago when I started writing this; as I said, my mind falls asleep sometimes...nah, I just stop giving a shit) about how I approach the entire conversation of race, or differences in cultures in general. A good friend of mine (actually, a couple of them; yes, yes, people actually put up with my bullshit for longer than 5 minutes) told me that I bring the subject of race up too much in my humor and observations. Now, the first time, it sort of hurt my feelings...the 2nd time, it made me think a tad bit, and I began to wonder if they had excellent points (beyond the fingers that were pointing at me, saying "U're Greg, not Greg the black dude with the massive penis." On 2nd thought, I would of been flattered if the one female who shared her opinion was thinking that, but let's get off the ego trip).

Then I began to think about y is it a bad thing to consider the human race's cultural differences; or better yet, y not make fun of the ignorant thoughts people have for one another, just because one person may prefer spaghetti cuz their culture taught them this, or another may enjoy a good piece of fried chicken cuz "mama" made it in that big as cast iron frying pan that weighed like a fat woman's left breast.

OK, that metaphor even disturbed me a tad.

Any who III, after looking at this back and forth and sideways, I started staring at my kids more than usual (and not in the "oh hell no, u didn't say that 2 me, u little zebra bastard!" way I normally do).

Oops, noticed differences again.

I guess here's my conclusion on all this. My mom once told me that I better not marry a white woman. Well, after I couldn't find a black woman that found me interesting enough to talk to, much less spend the rest of their lives with me, I fell in love and got married to a pretty cool female, and had 2 beautiful, albeit mind-numbingly annoying kids. I look at the beauty of 2 cultures, and let's face it, while they got that quote, unquote "good hair" (hey, I'm the first to admit...Caucasians got the good deal from God on that one...'cept when they don't wash it...then it sort of resembles the janitor's mop from high school u didn't want to be alone in the hallway with), they have a better chance of passing for Latinos than Caucasians.

But what's the big deal, right? I tease my wife for her occasional "whiteness" (old school 50's groups and her love of "The Sounds of Music"), she hates the fact that I still listen to Hip-Hop at 41 ("blackness") my oldest listens to movie scores like I do (hopefully not "gayness", not that I'd cut him off, but he's too fine and there r 2 many women on this planet to waste that gift), and we are all linked together by our love and our different cultures. As for my sense of humor and mentioning the fact that I'm black all the time...well, perhaps I need to back off on that.

But I am not going to run away from it. I am a male of African descent. Old white women still get nervous around me at times, even tho I dress more like my dad these days than T.I. (also reference this for those who think T.I. is a sexually transmitted disease - "Oh Shit, I got the T.I.; knew I should of wrapped it!" http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.I.) People's ignorance will live on until someone says "Hey, let's judge this guy or gal based on their character, not because of what the media or grandma told me to think!"

If I unintentionally contributed to this decline, I apologize.

But I also think by saying "hey, I laugh at myself for ALL that I am, including my quirks or what people assume a person of color should act like", perhaps I am taking a little brick out of the wall of stupidity.

Not a bad trade-off, in my opinion.

As for my boy, hopefully his nervousness around the young men practicing for the next rap video (or rap sheet) doesn't slander his thoughts as he continues to grow.

Dear God, we royally fouled this crap up, didn't we?

OK, off to bed next to my white....oh wait, my wife.

Typo.

LustRaptureillfunkybutness...or, beauty and the beast

2010-05-31T11:55:00.002-04:00

Yo.

This will b a short one...got some ribs and crap to eat...or whatever my friend is serving today on this remembrance of folks who have a bigger sack (or the ladies who r out on the front lines too) than I'll ever have.

The other day while running errands I saw a very attractive female who would, in a different non-married life, would of fit in my "bone-house", so to speak. Everything was working and well proportioned...and she actually took a moment to smile at me as we passed by. Now, for a fat black man, this makes his day, cuz, well, it's nice that the beautiful take pity on the dog-faced.

However....

...this got my dome to start spinning it's wheels for a moment, and I actually felt a little bad for checking her "boom boom pow" out. Not only cuz I am married (and my spouse has plenty of the boom boom pow to keep moi happy), but, well, it just made me realize how shallow my species is when it comes to checking out the opposite sex.

For all I know, she may be a psycho hose beast, or, to quote the late, great Christopher "Notorious B.I.G." Wallace, it "smells like sanitation."

I mean, we always based interactions with folks, whether we want to sleep with them or just be "seen" (more social graces which is all bullshit in my honest op) on what they look like, or what car they drive, or how much money they have (and if they are willing to spend it on you).

I've been friends with all types in nearly 41 years of breathing....the hot ones, the ugly ones, the skinny ones, the ones who are so fat they can't wash their private parts cuz the fat's in the way, etc. Have dated both ends of the equation, too.

I guess it's sad, cuz, well, we as a human race are generally all f'd up.

If we are lucky, we're all gonna get old, ugly, saggy, and, yes, "smell like sanitation" (sit next to an old, old person...you can smell the flesh dying...just a fact, no matter how much ya scrub and cover it up with lotion, kids).

The funny thing is, if you get with a female or dude cuz they're hot, what happens when that fades?

Bet you wish the worse problem you'd have after that goes away was that the crotch was like a garbage can, huh?

We Gotta Shake The Love (Just Shake...The Love)

2010-05-01T18:19:00.003-04:00

I was married 10 years a couple of days ago.

My spouse and I (looking just as lovely as the day I met her in a club nearly 14 years ago) were enjoying a fine meal (that we couldn't truly afford; if y'all been following this ever so often bullshit that I write, I haven't worked since there was a white guy was in the Oval Office; however, I plan to only have ONE 10 year anniversary being married, so I said screw it), and all around, it was a pretty cool way to celebrate (went to go see a "date movie" that, well, actually was quite funny, not making me feel that my pubic hairs had small cubes of cheese on every strand, and a bunch of hungry rats were having a field day on my crotch).

I placed my arm around my spouse, and she rested her head on my shoulder as we watched our film and chuckled throughout.

It's interesting...u c, once upon a time I used to be a hopeless romantic...the kind that wrote poetry, got flowers, open doors for the woman I was dating (or sleeping with...whatever) and so forth.

Tis the way momma taught moi....you take care of your woman, and ur woman will take care of you.

Always believed that theory...till the summer of 1990. (Not gonna rehash those details, look through the blog history for details). I...well, changed for the worse that day. I mean, yeah, I still try to show my spouse that she is not just the cat's meow, she's the damned voice box, but some of the joy that I got (not all of it, mind you; I still try to wow my lady with the things I do or give her) is gone.

Now, marriage is definitely a lot of work...and for those who know me, I'd rather sip a Pina Colada (and get caught in the rain...dum dum dum dum) than work. But it's one of the few jobs that the benefits outweigh (even tho at times, barely...on both ends, just to be fair) the bullshit that comes along with it.

But all relationships of a romantic nature seem to apply to that sort of rule, it seems. And it just came to me that, well, folks just ain't trying to get into each other's drawers (or hearts, for that matter) like they were when they first started dating, or right after they said "I Do (promise to deal with each other's crap, hoping it is in the minority of the time we'll spend together)"
on their wedding day.

I mean, let's face it...a lot of folks, after some time, tend to settle into routine crap...

"Going to work Honey"

"Ok, have a good day."

(perhaps u give the spouse a kiss, perhaps you don't...depends on the halitosis that time of the morning).

A few years later...

"Leaving...bye!"

(a forced smile follows)

Door closes.

Now, back in the day....

Ya held hands.

You held the door open.

You couldn't stop talking about each other to ur friends.

Guys, u got hummers on a regular basis (yea, piggish, but I have to keep it real, folks).

Ultimately, you made sure that you let that person know that your partner was the most important thing to you on the earth (even put mom and dad in the "1A" slot if you think you found the "one").

Folks who are together for a long time (or r married), once they think it's 'safe" (i.e. they got the other person in their pocket), simply go on cruise control.

Christmas presents? Ya go with the safe choice just so you don't look like an ass.

When's the last time you actually sat down, paid attention to an item your woman was staring at (with that long line of spit barely not hitting the floor), and you immediately start trying to figure out how many pints of blood u need to sell to get it for her?

Valentine's Day isn't about the love...it's about the feeling of obligation.

And selfishly hoping you get some.

Couples sit there and watch TV, while the kids are acting the fool, and you just sort of work through the motions. You don't make the extra effort you made when you were trying to capture each other's hearts...

...and u wonder why the dude who works out w/your spouse feels his crotch getting hot cuz ur woman wants to test her gag reflex.

Or you man wants to tap the secretary like a beer draft.

Yeah...eventually we all (if we r lucky) get old, fat, ugly, and so forth. Physical looks, while awesome (hell, I trip on these teenagers who r built like porn stars...and dress like one, at times...fill out by 12 years old) fade like milk 3 days past its sale date. But in my case, despite some of the avoidable "staleness" that creeps into every marriage, still think my woman, despite all of the little things that may irritate me about her, is just as beautiful as our wedding day...

...even as some gray is creeping into her hair, and I am afraid she's gonna get her mom's fro from the '80s.

Relationships, right under parenthood, is a big time job...and you gotta water that bitch. Tell ur man that he's still hot...even if he is lookin' more and more like Buddha every day. If your woman looks like she's been gang-banged by 10 teenagers with large penises (u know the hairstyle i'm talking about) , still give her a kiss as if she was that hot 21 year old you saw at the supermarket last Tuesday.

I mean, if you figure you would b bored with the person you are with, whether it's for a couple of years or until one of u r ready for the worm fest we'll all become (disclaimer for those who choose the bag and bake exit of cremation), u should remain a male slut or a female whore (or switch the insults as you see fit).

Marriage and commitment are dirty words in today's world, it seems.

But dating is a female dog or anal crevice...while yeah, the thrill of the chase is awesome...the heartbreak just isn't worth it.

And if u like the thrills...put in the energy of keeping that love fresh.

Or...in the words of an '80s classic:

Shake your Love.

You've got to shake your love.

Shake your love.

You've got to shake...your love.

Thanks Debbie Gibson...not bad for a Staten Island chick.

Sometimes the Young Wonder....

2010-04-17T22:22:00.003-04:00

A few weeks ago (I keep forgetting to tell my spouse about these events; she works weekends and she hates it...keeps missing these little tidbits) my oldest, while we were out to lunch, was flirting with one of the cute female workers there, being the cute nearly 8 year old "hottie" to be he is. After I got my meal and sat down (as the youngest one was acting quite, quite, quite the ignorant fool) I gave my oldest a high five on his fine taste (the girl was a cutie; I would of taxed that ass like the government in my younger, non-married life), he asked me how many girlfriends I had before I met his mom.

Ooh...ugh. Not a great question to pose ur 80 lbs overweight dad as he is about to eat 1700 calorie nachos.

So I motioned to him to hold on a second as I was dipping my chip into a concoction of nacho cheese, grilled chicken, black beans, sour cream, and other heart stopping crap, and pondered his query as I chewed.

Now, my love life BC (before my wife C) wasn't terribly exciting. As the great Aerosmith song "Walk this Way" once stated, I was truly a "high school loser, never made it with the ladies" and so on. I was a 180 lb by senior year social reject who didn't go to his high school prom cuz he couldn't save enough from his after school jobs and summer break to bride a female to be seen with me. I had one girlfriend (see previous blogs) in my junior year...a true hottie, yes, but I blew that like a hooker on the cheap cuz I had no clue that I had a "hot one!" (thanks Randy Jackson...not the late MJ's bro, the 54 year old American Idol Judge who still thinks he's a teenager).

Then after high school, there was girlfriend # 2...a cutie for her time, with a butt that could make toast, it was so hot to look at. Then college was a series of continued social rejections, with no luck on the female front till senior year, and then came girlfriend # 3...the great heartbreak of my life (who, in the end, turned out to be a raving psycho hose beast bitch, but was too obsessed to see it till years later).

So, while pressed in thought (as I pressed in more caloric intake from my lunch), my oldest continued to press on, awaiting the answer to his question. I again motioned to him to hold on, as I continued the difficult task of actually not embarrassing myself with this probable low figure.

Ok....after college there was girlfriend #4, which ended very, very badly (even tho I now count her as a friend today; great in bed, but we shouldn't of lived together). Girlfriend # 5 was great, but I treated her poorly; it was during this period that I stopped loathing my looks and decided to go the "whore route", in which a decent number of women became...umm..."friends" (a part I made sure I left out, even though I am sure due to my boy's good looks and great hair he will make look like a priest's amount of women compared to Wilt Chamberlain's). So, I finally arrived at girlfriend # 6...

...a weekend of constant sex that led to settling down, marriage, and then, well, my son.

So, after taking in another chip, I gave him the # of 6. He said, "oh, okay" and continued to play with his iPod.

This slightly perturbed me, as that I felt that, well, leaving off the one night (or a few night) stands greatly reduced the number of women I've "crossed the divide" of friendship with, didn't seem to impress him much. It was like he said "that's too bad Dad...I won't be coming to YOU for female advice!"

Even tho at the moment he at least makes sure I approve of his flirtation choices by giving me a thumbs up ever so often.

So, after I looked at him for a minute, I proceeded to finish my lunch.

Sort of a bummer...I have probably given more relationship advice to more females that I can count...I was sort of the "yeah, ur funny, but I'll never give up the "hoo-ha" to ya" sort of dude most of my single life. However, my boy is beginning to slowly figure out that girls of all ages thinks he's "cute", and I have a feeling he plans to use that to his advantage.

That's ok tho...as long as he doesn't give me 17 grandchildren and ends up on "Maury."

We get up to leave the restaurant, and my oldest decides to kick me in the hindquarters, as he is wont to do, and chuckles as he walks ahead and out the door. I shake my head as I try to stop his brother from wiggling out of my arms, and I pause for a moment to look back at the 6 ladies I called girlfriend...

...and I shake my head, cuz I don't think I'd do anything differently...

...cept maybe at least not gotten greedy and f'd up #1 by chasing after #1a.

Greed's a bitch.

Hopefully my "hot one" oldest learns that before the life crap begins.

Through the fire and the flames.

2010-03-31T23:10:00.002-04:00

11:11 on a Wednesday night, kids are chillin, callin' it a night, and the spouse and G r watching the "Idol", wondering if talent even bothered to follow...

Ok, enough of my failed rap career.

Ugh..this isn't gonna b a long rambling one on this trip, folks.

Sadly, I don't have much to chat about.

Yeah, I could ramble on about the President of the U.S. probably committing political suicide with this "health insurance reform" thing. I butted heads with the spouse, who is convinced that this will be the end of the U.S., including an appearance of Jesus to usher in Armageddon.

But it's done, so I won't rehash what I've done w/other folks on "FaceCrook."

I will, b4 I move on, say 'sup to those folks who will get their jobs yanked in the student loan industry due to the other "under the radar" bill having the Feds taking over.

Ugh...Barack...b careful...u r playing Russian Roulette with a loaded gun.

(Even tho I give u kudos for being the first prez in my lifetime who actually...oh shit...kept a promise to his constituents...despite some major flaws in the execution...and the explanation).

Won't discuss the kids this route...even tho I may go there in a "parenting is like having ur soul removed by a Dyson" post in the near future.

I guess I will drop a funkadelic about life. There was a former college classmate of mine who lost her dad last week, and I found out about it a few days later. I gave my condolences, which felt really friggin' empty (even tho it was heartfelt). I have never dug the condolence thing, cuz, well, people do try to b nice, but it really doesn't do shit for the person who has to put someone they love in the ground, never 2 c their faces again.

My folks r still here, but my dad in particular is in poor health, due to a condition he has that has destroyed his speech and hearing, and reduced a man who used to beat folks 1/2 his age at sport barely able to walk up a flight a steps.

I dig the whole "circle of life" thing (it ebbs and flows, according to Simba, anywho). Assuming I don't die from a massive heart attack (cupcakes at midnight is a bitch), I will face what most kids who survive have to face. I am sure that folks in the "cyberspace" world, as well as the few folks who care to call moi on that fateful day, will offer the same type of words to me, as I did to my former college associate.

I am sure that it will b heartfelt.

As I was a few days ago to a dear and classy woman.

But ugh...too bad it isn't magic.

Dead is dead.

Empty is empty.

But if any word means anything...or is anything a salve to help slightly, I hope someone says this to me when it's "my turn" to feel that what I fear....

"They loved you."

In that, more than "I am sorry for your loss", is the one truth. The thing that, perhaps as you cry on the day they place the shell that held ur mom or dad on this earth into the ground, cause u to at least smile slightly. Maybe begins to close the hole.

Maybe never shut it...

...but put a little fencing up, as u begin the journey on this earth as the courier of ur family history.

Heavy.

But like my former college associate...if the job was done well...they'll be fine.

FaceCROOK...or how we lost being old school

2010-03-03T23:03:00.004-05:00

The "Stoop."

Or driving down an old country road with some friends, listening to the 8-Track/Cassette tape/CD to some great song.

Playing stickball in some city schoolyard...

Or whatever you did where you just around friends, or perhaps grabbing a drink (not that I condone underage drinking...well, I condoned it for myself, but I am a parent now, and that's a big f'ing difference, damn it)...just...communicating.

Sigh.

That's all dead now, isn't it?

When I met my wife and we starting fu...oh, I mean dating, I remember one time, where we had no iPhones, no mp3's, no online gaming, no notebook and 5 computers put together, torn apart, and some 48 re-encoding of music tracks, we broke out some of her old 45s and we sang, danced, and just laughed to the wee hours of the morning. We, well, talked.

We didn't "IM" (even tho we did that as well, but only because we missed each other, and had yet moved in together). And we didn't watch TV without watching it...me trying to figure out how to upgrade my computer, being never satisfied, and my wife, whom I am approaching a 10 year anniversary of marriage, is currently, well, doing SOMETHING on her notebook.

I used to know everything she does...because technology didn't wreck the human race yet.

Now don't get me wrong...I like my toys. My best friend is the master of toy collection...he's my sensei...my goal of reaching the ultimate in...cutting off the rest of humanity, instead of being part of it.

(Nothing personal, old salt...just trying to illustrate a point...nuthin' but heterosexual, non-booty time love for ya:)

I think back to my time growing up, when all I wanted to do during the school year was to get my homework over with, chase after girls (that I'd never catch), and hang out at my best friend's house and talk movies, sports, the aforementioned subject of the opposite sex (BTW, while my boy didn't have quantity, he made up in QUALITY...there were no leashes needed on his women), and just, well, be around and enjoy each others company. We didn't "text" in the Bronx...we yelled up to get each other's attention.
It was people who enjoyed being around one another, just a group of buds just, well, hanging out.

The Atari 2600 was the biggest tech there was when I was growing up (the VCR too...sorry, BetaMax) but it didn't separate us into tiny bits of electronic data. We could feel body heat, and laugh at bad breath, or poor choice in clothing. It was real...it was fun...

...it was, well, being human beings.

Fast forward to 2010. Some 27 year old created a "social networking site" on this, don't get me wrong, mostly wonderful information superhighway, and became a billionaire. There are people that, thanks to sites such as "Facebook" that I probably would have never spoken to again (even tho there are a few that I could of done without...and no, I'm not telling you). We have come from cellular phones in big bags for antennas to phones that can help us find our way, look up information, take videos, and for those lonely folks out there, play porn (even tho I am sure certain fluids from watching these types of films may end up damaging the equipment).

I do enjoy my toys...even tho it may have come at the cost of any chance of me retiring.

But wow...folks will post on "Twitter" that they're taking a shit, but won't pick up a pen and write an old friend anymore. They will share a joke on Facebook for their 3,000 "friends" (and really, do u like even half of the folks on ur friend's list? I mean, like, to go out at 3 AM if they needed help to change a tire?), but won't sit down in a bar and have a drink to catch up.

Back in the day, I used to attend "AOL" parties...it was, for a brief moment of time, where I actually felt that I was semi-popular, and people thought I was cool. Probably would of never happened without technology.

Funny thing is, as soon as I got married, all those folks decided to, well, "delete me" from the "hard drives" of their lives.

Hmmm.

Makes me want to pick up a pen and write down each name of the people who wouldn't be caught with me in public.

Oh wait....I've been so used to typing on a computer keyboard, it hurts my wrist when I write more than a few sentences.

One more thing b4 I dive back into technology.

My 7 year old son's life only consists of how he can get back to play "Lego whatevervideogamehecangethishandsoncuzhehasnosocialskills, level II." If he isn't doing that, he's on his iPod playing more games.

His one friend is a mirror image of him...with one advantage.

He actually goes out and plays sports...he plays kids games with, well, kids....

...not over a Wi-Fi connection.

Wow...wish I could build a big ol' "Stoop" to gather all those who have affected me, one way or another, and have a conference.

No iPhones, notebooks, or Facebook accounts allowed.

Songs

2010-02-06T01:36:00.003-05:00

It's 1:36 here in the town that I live in, and I was about to go to bed, my right hand over the left mouse "click button" to start a program called "MuvAudio", which, by the way, is an excellent way to make LEGAL copies of music from subscription services like Rhapsody, Napster, etc.

(Y'all don't know this, but I have something close to 13,000 songs in my collection, and am a MAJOR Car Audio buff. Have spent way too much money -- yes, I know, my lovely wife -- trying to get that mobile audio heaven on wheels. Never found it, or screw it up too many times to sort of let it go...however, I keep re-doing my list, over, and over and over again (no. 146 at last count over the past 5 years...sigh).

Anywho, I am getting off topic.

As I was about to click and walk upstairs to bed, I began to slowly sit back down (due to a combination of memory lane tripping and being too damned fat to lift my ass off of my chair while tired). My spouse went to bed a couple of hours ago, and in once again looking for "the almighty bit-rate" of perfection for my mp3's, I listed to a few cuts that made me think of many of thing from my younger days...

...those days that I thought sucked creampie out of John Holme's big member.

I started with playing some Chicago (yeah, melanin-blessed folks can listed to lite rock, so shut up), listening to 3 songs in particular...

1. Hard to Say I'm Sorry
2. You're The Inspiration
3. Hard Habit to Break

I sat down and continued to do what I was doing, knowing that listening to this stuff would bring up some really bad memories. Memories of a 21 year old who was truly in love for the first time with someone who, in hindsight, I should of kept a friendly distance from. A small spot in time when life was pretty much perfect for an instant, then led me down a path that, to this day, I have yet to recover from. I teared up slightly, then continued to listen till the last strains of "Habit" faded away.

I then sighed slightly, and kept doing what I've done way too many times when it comes to my music collection...

...as well as when it comes to music and my life in general.

A song, whether it reminds you of a good time or bad, just allows you to escape a little bit..even if it is to a place that you'd rather never go back to. In the case of the Chicago tracks, it reminded me of a small space in the fabric of my existence when I felt...alive, important, and at some peace. I didn't worry about professional or personal failures, whether it would be in relationships, or the 9 jobs I've had since I left college. It let me escape into the quiet that my home was experiencing with my children asleep, so I can temporarily put aside my failures as a father.

Yeah, I said it.

I will never be Cliff Huxtable, to be sure (besides, I did the cardigan thing in the 80s...even tho I did LOOK good). Bout the closest I've seen to awesome parent-ness is an old friend and his kids back in NY...I mean, their teenaged kids WANTED to be around them.

My 7 year old things I am Shrek, Bin Ladin, Satan, and Scrappy-Doo wrapped up in one.

(Y'all folks know Scrappy f'd up "Scooby-Doo." Hands down).

The music did make me a little sad, but it also made me smile a little, cuz it brought me to other times that songs made a "biography", so to speak, of my life.

"From this moment on" by Shania Twain, which is the song that I danced with when my final girlfriend became my wife.

"Purple Rain", which I blasted whenever I was about to break.

"RockBox" By Run-DMC, which I still crank till this day, and is, to me, "hip-hop."

Sigh, music is a big part of my being...and it is among the few entities that respects me.

Makes me wonder if there are songs that YOU feel that strongly about, even as time grays you.

Gotta go...have to click on that mouse, drift off to a song, to only wake up to the white noise of reality.

The "Brother-Dent", Part Deux

2010-01-28T16:44:00.004-05:00

America...home of the double digit unemployment rate, can't find a job havin', confused 48 year old black president, headin' towards a Sarah Palin Presidency of the brave.

(OK, maybe the Palin thing was a bit much; that woman is only good for kneepads and bad Katie Couric interviews).

A lot of folks here in the ol' U.S. of A are a little ticked off at our history-makin' prez. Ya see, the man, I believe, didn't read the fine print on the "be careful what you wish for" manifesto when he got picked for this job.

He's had a few flub ups (the xmas plane thing, the major flaws in his health care plan, Joe Biden sticking his own penis in his mouth a few times, etc). He spent his 1st State of the Disjointed (oh wait, I meant "Union") apologizing for the, well, non-existent progress that has taken place under his command. Ok, the Dow has bounced back somewhat...but realistically, that's the only good news that has taken place in the 373 days (as of this posting) the man has taken office.

Now, as a person of color, of course this bothers me a tad, as that the fact that this country, after, oh, nearly 233 years got its head out of its Declaration of Ass-apendence and decided "hey, let's not pick another middle-aged white dude who couldn't give a shit about anyone except, well, other middle aged white dudes, and give the black guy a shot." And while (as I mentioned in my previous post in 2008) I know folks of melanin-surplus are still happy that President Obama hasn't had his ass blown off in the literal sense, there are still plenty of bullets hitting the man due to, well, him not performing the miracle of cutting unemployment in half, kicking bank's asses for putting us into this mess by lending people $ that they knew they couldn't pay back, f'ing around in Afghanistan (note to Barrack: it's never good for the leader of the free world to himmer and hum over a military decision...indecisiveness will get u back to Illinois to cry over the White Sox REAL quick), and general "duh!" moments.

Now, President Obama is a brilliant man, and he can put together a hell of a speech to make you feel good about yourself. And to be honest, I think he is the first guy that I've seen that I don't feel like "eh...he's full of shit!" when he speaks. (Not to say that he doesn't get facts wrong, i.e. like the "you lie!" comment a while back).

Sadly tho, he is a too logical of a man, trying to bring together 2 parties that, well, could give 2 craps about the American public that has put them in their seats in the first place. "We have to be right" is the motto of both their parties, with neither one trying to consult their constituents. And now, with Mr. Obama losing his filibuster-proof majority, he is on a slippery slope that will lead to lame-duck status 2 years before it (may) happen (once the Democrats get swept out of office in November, barring a major comeback of his presidency).

I am not hating on Barrack Obama. It would be an honor to meet the man...if for only the fact that he has shown other melanin-plus folk that you don't have to run a football or have a fancy slam dunk to be someone memorable in this country. In that, he'll go down in history.

However, he's headed towards Jimmy Carter-ville if things don't swing around quickly.

A final point, then I'm gonna make dinner.

No one is giving the guy a break. Have you EVER seen this much coverage of a sitting president in the last 50 years?

President Obama is doing this....Obama is doing that...Obama wiped his ass and tissue was hanging from his trousers.

Gawd, this is why I didn't pursue a career in Journalism, despite my degree. The media is so full of shit, Miralax said "screw that, I can't fix this plug up."

He's black. If this guy was your typical white dude prez, unless we were nuking whatthefuckitscallastan, it wouldn't even get to the late part of the news.

We are holding him to a higher standard because he is "the first"...and that just isn't right. If John McCain won, would the media care (outside if the old fart was wearing Depends during the State of the Union)?

Nooooooooooooooooo.

Be real...at least I am holding him to a standard of this regard...

...perhaps he just didn't read that damned fine print on the "President of the U.S.A" job description.

Well, it may not matter.

If things don't turn around fast, we'll be back to those stiff middle age melanin deprived dudes again...

...or worse, we'll be renting "Whose Nailin' Palin" video if Sarah P gets a shot.

Might as well...we're getting screwed anyway. Might as well enjoy it.

Wow, there's a Negro choice, too?

2010-01-16T00:48:00.004-05:00

I hate fat free pretzels.

Actually, that's utter bull poopies, cuz I just at 27 of them. Yeah, I counted the mofo's, cuz, well, I gotta do that now. In the last few months, I've seen pictures of me @ 28, 30, and 32.

I was a sexy bitch back then.

Good looking, skin wasn't looking like someone pee'd all over it, muscles were there, and I had an ass that would turn a gay preacher into a sinner (thanks for the lyric, Mr. Nelson). But now, hell, I'd wouldn't do me if I was a mobster ordered on a hit.

So diets suck butt cream.

But anywho, enough about moi.

About 4 days before this post (I think that's right; my sleep apnea has wrecked my mind so much, I couldn't name you ONE teacher or professor I had in my 16 years of schooling...wait, there was Mr. Cormincan, English professor...he looked like George Carlin (RIP) if he was a child molester smoking crack and sipping Yoo-Hoo's), I saw a news story about fellow folks of color getting shitty because on the upcoming census, one of the choices defining we dark-folks was the term "Negro." Now, this caused my eye to raise slightly, as I was on a hot streak of a rip-off pop-a-shot video game I was playing on my iPhone.

(Sadly, I am not a gamer; I'm more of a farter with rhythm, but that's another post for another day).

Anyway, all the popular so-called "leaders" (last time I checked, bout the only time black folks have exercised their right to vote was when B-Obama showed up, so I must of missed their election) of we "African-Americans" were all in an uproar, demanding that, oh, 300 million census documents have the term "Negro" removed.

Damn...that's a hell of a job @ Fed-Ex Kinkos/Office, or whatever it's called these days.

So after I finished playing my basketball game (as well as dispelling that lovely rumor that my melanin kind can actually shoot a basketball), I paid a little more attention to the story, then sat back for a moment to ponder this lovely little bit of information. It is amazing how much time you have to think when, well, you haven't collected a check for 20 out of the past 25 months or so.

(Damn it, that was about me, wasn't it? Son of a biscuit and gravy...sorry about that).

Now, I was born in 1969, right after Dr. King was "rudely dispatched", and about 2 years after interracial marriage (oh shit...I just realize my wife was white...well damn it, that explains the sunburn!) became legal in the U.S. I have been called "nigger" exactly twice...once while driving in Columbus OH, and I think one time walking in who knows where city back in my "G is a mad ho" tour of the mid 90's. Growing up in the Bronx, of course, "my nigga" was used frequently amongst my associates, and most of my life it, well, never truly bothered me. I rarely used it (actually I take that back, I never did use it, because my parents, who grew up in the Deep South during the time where hoses were used on them instead of watering yards and washing cars) would of, to quote the former wrestler Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, "whooped my candy ass!" Now, with my just discovered her name wasn't "Carliqua"wife, and my degenerating sense of humor, I have been guilty of throwing the "n" word around in, well I admit, a poorly chosen way to be amusing at times. My wife is no racist (unless she had a "pity the dark child" moment when she married me) so she let it roll off, as if it was my right to use the word.

So, after the story, I sat down and tried to see what the relevance of this whole thing was, and why it was causing an uproar. As that I have never had a fire hose turned on me for any reason, or been beaten because I reflect light better than Caucasians, I probably didn't have as strong of a reaction as, say, my mother, father, and the rest of their generation (and the surviving generation before them, which is, sadly, dwindling) would, and bluntly, should have.

Then I thought about a post I did in 2008 about being "politically correct", and understanding that, well, words are deadly things at times, and God knows I've been cut by them more than I can count, ultimately it is up to the person that the words are being hurled towards to let them hurt you or not (unless there is truth in them, which, well, is an unavoidable pain if it is a sensitive subject).

So here I sit, divided on this word that has caused a lot of damage in this "United" States (I am sorry, we haven't been United except when we kicked the poor Indians off their own damned land), trying to see its relevance, from how this story made the news (anything that sucks always get front and center, doesn't it?) and why, ultimately, folks can't just say "screw it" and move on.

My oldest son asked me today why did people of different races had to be divided, and had to do things separately.

7 years old...didn't think I had to broach this subject this quickly.

My son is Negro (dictionary meaning: "a member of a dark-skinned group of peoples originally native to Africa south of the Sahara) and Caucasian ( often offensive of or relating to one of the traditional divisions of humankind, covering a broad group of peoples from Europe, western Asia, and parts of India and North Africa).

I tried to break it down the best way I could.

He said "that's so stupid."

Exactly...just like getting bent over a word, where, while understandably hurtful, and those who have had the power for 233 semi-odd years don't quite understand why it is, should be just let go of.

Then again, that is as likely to happen as FedEx Office finding the time to change the census forms.

Damn it, Now I gotta get a bowl of cereal...stupid deep thoughts at 1:17 in the morning.

2010 reasons, to, well, not list 2010 reasons

2010-01-01T17:56:00.004-05:00

Yawn.

My 7 year old son, who, w/o the assist of alcohol, stumbled to bed after watching his 8th ball drop last night. It was interesting, really, because he didn't know who the hell I was due to his delirium, and I think he thought I was a cross between a large Hershey's kiss and Fat Albert's older, less rotund cousin. He eventually grabbed his little security blanket, and stumbled up to bed.

My wife and I retired soon after, and as I drifted off to sleep, for a moment I put aside the difficulties financially my family has had the last 2 years, and began to reminisce a little bit, as a new decade begins, and I chuckled to myself, knowing that I, myself, am at the beginning of my 5th decade of being on the earth.

Seems a lot to me...nothing more than a "speck in the eye" for the Big Guy upstairs (if you believe in that sort of thing), but for we humans, it does seem like a long damned time. For example, in 2012, I will be out of high school 25 years. My formative decade, the 1980's (where the Walkman, Atari 2600, and the VCR were high ends of technology) ended TWENTY YEARS ago. I look at my chest hairs, and the grays are beginning to mount a furious offensive on the black ones. My formentioned zombie-fied son, who is a big time "Star Wars" fanatic, is so into it, it makes my involvement 33 years ago when the first "Star Wars" flick seems so ancient.

But years are but numbers, right? I mean, I definitely don't act like a 40 year old father of 2 (unless my kids tick me off, at which I become, in a lot of ways sadly, like my dad, w/an incredible lack of patience that makes my oldest cringe in fear (and folks, fear and respect are two TOTALLY different things), and my youngest using his cuteness and brains (he may have Down Syndrome, but the mind works great) to cry and make my anger quickly subside. I am pretty up on the music and trends of today, even tho the kids today (wow, holy parent speak, BATMAN!) make me shake my head, as that I begin to understand why my parents, well, shook their heads at the stripped Lee's, leather bombers, shell-toed Addidas, and the other urban styles of the 1980's that I grew up around.

My best friend says that I have a negative outlook on life. I've been told the same thing by my mom, aunts, uncles, the priest, I think Shaggy from "Scooby Doo", between puff, puff, passes....right before he fell into a drug coma. I have always said that not everyone could be lying, cuz it would take too much effort, and human beings are too damn lazy to be that organized. So, I am not a sunny, yay rah, life is gonna be great sort of guy. But hell, I try to at least hide it well (well, except for Yankee games in October, but well, I can't stand to lose).

I guess the point of all this is, well, 2010 is here, a new decade has arrived, who knows what technological advances we will have when we welcome in 2020, and maybe we may learn from the mistakes of the past...both on a personal as well as a world-view level.

Then again, as that that hasn't worked out for a millenia, I may be out of my friggin' gourd, and we'll start wars, certain people will still think of people of different races as niggers, spicks, wetbacks, slant-eyed, cheap money grubbing Jew, terrorist Muslim dumb asses, just because there are a few bad apples in the bunch.

Wow, is that my negativity again?

Or is that partial truth, hopeful dreams, but sobering reality talking?

Happy 2010...and oh yeah, will someone come and help me take down my decorations?

It's a pain in the crevice, ya know?

Sigh, there goes another one, and Xmas w/o the "X"

2009-12-19T13:10:00.004-05:00

Happy Holidays to all...

(not that anyone reads this shit, but I figured I'd be nice).

It's about 6 days before we celebrate (well, OK, some people do; I think Hanukkah is in full swing, so this may not apply) the birth of the Big "JC", or as I call him, the dude who doesn't return my calls.

(I can't blame him there; I am sort of a sinning, lustful, cursing a-hole. I wouldn't return my calls, either).

As I reflect on this holiday season, I wanted to take a few moments to look at what 2009 has brought us, especially as that there have been some seismic shifts in, at least, American Culture, and how we view things (or, in where I am going with this piece, people).

We've lost a few icons (MJ, Farah Fawcett, etc), seen the biggest sports star in the world show that even he can't keep his "clubs" in his golf bag(Tiger, dayam, at least u couldn't of upgraded....did u got to "Skank-Mart" to pick up some of the ho's u presumably banged?), and the world still limping along in a recession (which is the only reason I've had time to write sporadically these past 2 years). I am currently in my 40s (or, just started, but hell, my wife showed me a picture of myself when I was in my early 30's, and I feel like I shoved a helium hose up my ass and just kept the air going, I've gotten so big), and, sadly, I have accomplished little (well, beyond finding a woman who can put up with my immaturity, and creating 2 children, who, while like having a flu shot given to you in the penis, are most times my pride and joy) except disappoint myself. I guess it's the reason I try to be a good friend...I am trying to help others, if I can, avoid my dissatisfaction with my time on Earth so far.

In my bored, I, like others, spend a good amount of time on Facebook, the big thing at the moment in the internet landscape, and I look at folks who have done well, some who have suffered as I have, and some who are just trying to hang on. In a lot of ways, despite the world's economic troubles, it has always been that way, hasn't it? Even when we have had prosperity, there are folks who always getting screwed in life's "drive-thru" (much love, Joe Pesci).

I had some crazy ideas that have floated through my cranium in 40 years, but one of my favorite ones involved this scenario...

Let's just say, that, instead of rich folks, we all set a cap, of, oh, $100,000 (or whatever the equivalent would be in other countries), with the exception of leaders of countries (I think these folks are the only ones who should get the $400,000 or so the President of the U.S. makes) for everyone on the earth. Each person, say, would get a job based on their skill level, and they have to do that for life. Let's eliminate the class system, I say! I mean, where I live at (which is a nice area, BTW) is filled with snotty-assed, jumpsuit with stripes wearing stuck up people who think they're better than folks cuz they are driving a car from Germany or Japan that costs more that 50K. If you just eliminate riches, tax folks according, stop making pharmaceuticals so expensive you have to decide if you should die from starvation or being sick, and simply level the playing field, I think people wouldn't starve, folks may not divorce each other as often over money (just for chasing tail only, damn it!), and we wouldn't be stressing so damned much.

And perhaps a guy like me wouldn't have to take people's help to make sure his kids have a Merry Xmas...

...which isn't the point of the season anyway, but try explaining that to a 7 year old kid blinded by some fat ass in a red suit.

Whew.

Ok, that's done.

Anyways, it's Christmas week, and I should be festive, right?

Well...let's say I am glad that I am still breathing...and sad that a distant family member had to bury her oldest AND her youngest about a week ago.

Or people who had everything wish that they only had inner happiness and peace (I.E. Mr. Jackson, who, for someone I've insulted over the years, has left me feeling a little less musical inside).

This world sucks eggs most times.

But, for the few that are still filled with the "Christmas Spirit", it gives me slight hope for a happy 2010.

Feliz Navidad.

(I do love that song).

Let's Get Free....Yeah!

2009-10-16T16:18:00.002-04:00

So anywho, as I was getting ready for the 2009 ALCS (8 more wins by my beloved Yankees and I get to shriek like a girl who just experienced a cold speculum), and I was trying to think of what the heck am I to write about this time. It's shocking, as that, well, I rarely post these days. But my cousin sent me an indirect hint to get my ass in gear, so I decided to at least honor her request once while I still have the will to use this computer for something else besides music sorting.

Last week I did a walk in behalf of Down Syndrome, as that my son, as the 1's and 1's of my fan base knows, happens to have the unique condition. I actually didn't limp (that much) after it was said and done, and I was a little proud of myself, as that my wife didn't have to get a crane to get my fat ass out of the van after it was all said and done.

I do tend to spend my days (when I am not being rejected for job opportunities due to potential employees being afraid that my penis size may not fit into their cubicles; only reason I could come up with) pondering and sighing about my present station in life. It is interesting, how a person's problems can seem huge, but compared to others, yours may seem as huge as Dolly Parton's man pillows. While my financial world has come crashing down and I couldn't borrow CPR from a certified professional if I needed it these days due to my lack of money making opportunities, it doesn't compare to a recent bit of news concerning one of my lovely (and overworked) spouse's former patients.

A mother of 2 daughters has had a rather disturbing year, with losing one daughter due to, well, a hospital's incompetence, went through a traumatic 24 hours recently when her remaining child, a 14 year old girl who was greatly affected by her sister's passing, disappeared for 24 hours after attending a concert. Now, as the parent of 2 children, I cannot fathom what that poor woman went through, especially after burying her 4 year old daughter just months before. Thankfully, the young lady was found, and things turned out ok.

So I get back to my issues, or perhaps, let me have you ask yourself about your issues. Back in the not too far off day, I used to think that my issues were so bloody huge, and I hated on those folks who had the money, the prestige...hell, a job! There are times that I still feel that way, since these days I don't answer my phone unless it's a number I recognize, since I don't know what to tell folks whom I owe money to, because I simply can't pay them. It has been a long, steady fall for me these past 22 months, and well, it does suck big time.

But then I think about the woman who thought she may have lost 2 daughters in a matter of months.

That is a friggin' problem. That is a tragedy. That truly, truly sucks.

I used to have good credit, a decent job, and was able to get my kids pretty much what they wanted. However, I didn't plan for old age, and now I owe so much money I will NEVER be able to retire.

That blows like a toothless hooker with strep throat.

But all these things at least have a chance to be fixed, albeit a small one (anyone have 6 winning numbers in a row for a lotto ticket?)

There is this homeless dude and his chick that always begs on this same corner near a major roadway that I frequent in my suburb...and yeah, they look capable enough to get a job and all, but hell, who'd hire a couple who looks like they haven't showered in weeks? And how does one know that this guy is like me, 'cept he ran out of time and resources and now sleeps on the street with his female?

That, like fat kids and exercise, is a problem.

So here I am, waiting to root for a bunch of millionaires compete for a trophy signifying they are the best...for 4 months, till they start all over again in February. For the one who, well, may drop the 27th out that costs their team their chance to advance to the next round, and the fact they have to live with that mistake (as they drive their 100K car back to their homes), they may call that a problem. And hell, it probably is (that is rather embarassing)...to them.

I guess perhaps we all need to try to get free a little, and look at the big picture.

I won't be unemployed forever. The player that dropped the ball will keep getting paid millions of dollars to play a game.

The mother who almost lost 2 daughters...well...

...I only hope she gets freedom of sleep one of these days.

A Quick Mention from the illest of funk

2009-10-09T14:29:00.002-04:00

Hey y'all....

I wanted to drop a quick note (to my 1's and 1's of readers all across the world) on short, short notice about a worthy organization that I am going to hurt myself VERY BADLY for in about 19 hours or so from the time of this post.

Here's the deelio...

My youngest son, who I like to call "the child who couldn't b quiet with duct tape and crazy glue restricting his vocal orifice" was born with Down Syndrome. Now, I could be like those commercials and say crap like this...

"Hi, I am G. Eric Francis...you know me from doing big hogs like Sally Struthers and drinking the bathwater of Janet Jackson, Haley Berry, and Megan Fox. Well, today I want to bring to your attention a story about a young boy....sexy (unlike me, who's uglier than an un-made corpse) and he was born with Down Syndrome. This is a subject that is near and dear to my heart, because the judge ordered me to learn about it because of that whole "bathwater drinking/stalking" charge that I had to plea-bargain out of. I come to you to ask for your help, and your Kit-Kat bar money, and donate to Down Syndrome Indiana. I am their spokesperson (well, they were going to ask Prince to do it, but they felt that he came up, um, well, "short" of what they had in mind)...."

You get my point.

Anywho, this is a great organization, and well, tomorrow I am going to give up my only weekend day to sleep (whatever, I am unemployed, I have PLENTY of time to sleep) and drag my 264 lb tail around a 2.6 body of green sludge to raise awareness. So, I am asking the 1's and 1's of my fans for support...

...and ur friggin money.

I want you to feel good about yourself...even if you have body odor, can't get a date if you fell into a calender, or you are so geeky, Bill Gates says to you "shit, you are a friggin geek!"

These folks are called those with "special needs", but let's get real. Y'all know how I feel about "politically correct" crap like that (wait, I said "Y'all", like anyone reads my shit; that's why I write every 60 days or so lately). My soon got an extra chromosome, and he will learn slower than other kids.

But, he is still a great kid, and if ya go right HERE not only will you read about the lad, u'll think he's cute, and you'll pull out ur credit cards and make a donation...:)

Yeah, this blog is about "grub for your mind", but I'm going for your pockets today (since, well, all my ads hadn't done shit to help pay my bills...thanks a lot, cheap asses...:)

All jokes aside, perhaps I am feeding you a new meal on the menu....a meal of generosity. I hope that you like the main course with a side of please help a great organization out (it's fat free, and u'll feel good, I swear!)

I am ghost...I hope the world checks out this crap, and donate. The walk is on October 10th, and donations cut off at I believe 10 AM EST.

Anyway, before I go....a few passing thoughts...

1. Yo mammas r da shit...unless their, like, Eminem's mom...she sounds like a raving bitch.

2. Wrapping your penis in a garbage bag just isn't as good as latex.

3. Ellen DeGeneres is one cool lesbian.

4. If you are truly depressed and you can't decide if you wish to kill yourself, watch "Hope Floats" with Sandra Bullock and Harry Connick Jr. If you are not slicing and dicing the wrists like tomatoes doomed for a salad after it's over, it isn't too late for you.

Anyway, I'll see y'all later (and all jokes aside, I'd appreciate the support if you chose to donate).