At A Moments Notice...

On Money...

I remember the good old days, back before I decided to become a best selling author/publishing giant. Back when all I had to do with my money was spend it all on me or whatever little trinket my heart desired...back when my habits made sense. Where it didn't matter if I spent two-thirds of my paycheck on dinner with friends, or three full paychecks on gifts for the family for Christmas. Yeah, those were the good ole days. Back when my bank account account was actually quite attractive. But shit done changed. My once lucrative cash flow is suddenly quite dry and severely depressed.

Can I have my old life back, please?

On Thanksgiving...

I love my family. I love getting together with them. I love how we have grown and continue to grow. I love how time just seems to fly when I'm with them instead of dragging. I love how we open our arms to those who may not have the family connection we have. I love how giving and understanding and forgiving we are. I love how the young folks respect the older folks. I love the precedence the older folks set for the younger folks. Though there is room for improvement, it still manages to be all good.

On Anniversaries...

Four years ago I met someone. On that day we debated whether or not we had the right stuff to sustain a relationship in a lifestyle hell bent on pieces. We charted our future and determined we'd be good for another year or so. Four years have passed. Four long years. Four forgiving years. Four will you stay on your side of the bed years. Four, are we going to make it years. Four don't worry, I'll be here years. Amazing what can happen when two people believe...

On Scriptures...

Then the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, 'Why could we not cast it out?' He said to them, 'Because of your little faith. For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you."

Ever get the feeling God is trying to tell you something? This passage has been on the brain for weeks. I think it's time I started believing.

On life...

It's not that serious. Really, it isn't. Now go out and have fun. After all, somebody has to...

As I'm sure everyone who reads this little blog by now knows I am a loner/hermit/recluse. I can literally go days without seeing anyone, picking up the telephone or communicating via instant message or e-mail. For years I've made excuses for my disappearances and lack of communication and apologized extensively to people and friends who have felt slighted by my need to be alone. Only recently have I begun to accept the fact that I would much rather live in my own little world than to succumb to the will of others and live in theirs. But every once and a while we all need a little grown folk conversation.

Last night Sdot and I attended a book club meeting for which my book was the topic. Of course I thought about not attending a million times---not that I did not want to go, it's just once you withdraw it becomes rather difficult to re-acclimate yourself to social circles. But at the very last minute I pulled it together and made my way to the meeting.

The shit was ovah. The hostess was ovah. Her home was o-v-a-h. And the conversation, yep you guessed it, was ovah. I have this thing with lighting, and her spot was lit to the nines causing me to instantly feel at home, and welcomed, and cozy. I had anticipated staying about three hours, three and a half tops but when I pulled myself from her settee and out of their good graces six and a half hours had expired.

What did we talk about? Oh, love. Life. Divorce. Finding and keeping peace. Bush. Expectations. Limitations. Forgiveness. Cruising. Work. Depression. Religion. Friendships. And so many other topics found their way into the mix. I left feeling refreshed, not drained like I had from so many other mixers where differences of opinions often led to abrupt bitter exits. It just so happened earlier that day I retrieved a message from two friends asking Sdot and I when were we going to get together for another easy Sunday afternoon brunch. Sitting in the mix that evening I reasoned why not make that request sooner than later. For me there is nothing more stimulating than good food, good friends, and exceptional conversation. It's been more than four years since I've had a full scaled brunch. All of that will change come December.

Hope you can make it.

Oh and by the way, Happy Birthday D.I.V.A.!!!!!

Hey...is this thing on?

What up fam? Here's hoping things are going well for you. I know the holiday season is upon us and well, that typically means stress ain't too far behind. Which is kind of sad any way you look at it, since technically the holidays are supposed to bring joy to the world. I'm sure many of you are preparing your lists and checking it twice, half wondering if you should get ole Aunt Edna anything since she didn't bother to get you anything last year. Ahhh yeah, that good old Christmas Spirit. Can't you feel it? It's amazing how we've barely recovered from Halloween, haven't even celebrated Thanksgiving and already the Christmas advertisers are taking over the airwaves. Makes one wonder if this is even fun anymore...

To be honest I lost the Christmas spirit a long, long time ago. Back when I discovered people only gave if they thought you were going to give them something in return. And well I don't know about you, but that definitely sucks all of the joy out of the whole giving and recieving process. Most of the time I just want to tell people to save your money, because I could really do without the trade-off. But then I'm labeled a Scrooge. Wasn't that Michael who said "You Can't Win"? [Think Wiz]

And why did I find out the other day via my sister that my once former church no longer offers Christmas service? At least not if it falls on any other day except Sunday. Apparently not enough people show up, so they had no choice but to cancel it. WTF? Have we totally forgotten the meaning of Christ-mas? Or has Santa finally trumped JC?

In other news...I'm really trying to figure out exactly what happened to Michelle the other day that made her take such a nasty spill. Were the heels that damn high? Was it nerves? Or is the bitch just clumsy? And why do these types of mishaps make for such comedy relief? I must have watched it a dozen times, laughing harder with every view. Am I evil?

And what's up with the VIBE Awards? Can we not throw a show without showing our collective ass? Damn! Have we no shame? I can't believe the blacks were in there throwing chairs and shit! Hello? Ghetto! But what's really sad is that I sat there after the show and waited 18 minutes to view the melee as reported by UPN (U People's News).

And uh, can we get a moment of silence for ODB?

"There is hardly any word which is more ambiguous and confusing than the word "love". It is used to denote almost every feeling short of hate and disgust. it comprises everything from the love for ice cream to the love for a symphony, from mild sympathy to the most intense feeling of closeness. People feel they love if they have "fallen for" somebody. They call their dependence love and their possessiveness too. They believe, in fact, that nothing is easier than to love, that the difficulty lies in finding the right object, and that their failure to find happiness in love is due to their bad luck in not finding the right partner. But contrary to all this confused wishful thinking, love is a very specific feeling; and while every human being has a capcity for love, its realization is one of the most difficult achievements." ~Erich Fromm

Wow...I have a little brother. Maybe to some of you this is not a big deal but to me it means everything. I've always wanted a lil' brah, someone to kick it with, roll with, teach a thing or two. Sure I have nieces and nephews, and a younger cousin or two, but it's not the same. Little brothers, probably alot like little sisters, look up to their older counterpart and depend on them to drop all types of knowledge about life and love and are expected to be ready willing and able to answer questions mom and dad would probably faint if ever asked directly.

I was fortunate enough to have two older brothers, though I can honestly say I never really learned anything from either one of them, except of course what not to do to go to jail. Man my brothers were out-of-control. I could blame New York for their wackness in the decision department, but I won't. I could blame the system that appears purposely set up to seek out and destroy black men, but I won't. I could even blame my parents for not realizing brutal force is often needed to keep young black men from falling by the wayside, but I won't. Their decisions were well thought out realizations. Growing up in a place like New York---or any urban setting for that matter---you get to see first hand what bad decisions can lead to; so it's kind of hard for me to believe they had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they decided to take over the world.

I sometimes wonder if their lives would have turned out differently if they had an older brother. Someone to help direct their path. Someone to run shit by just to see if thier decisions made sense. I used to want that, but since my brothers were so busy trying to take over a neighborhood they'd never really run (but you couldn't tell them that), I had to do without.

I learned a lot on my own though. Things I will not share here, since many are not things I'm proud of, but let's just say I'm glad I learned these things before I got caught up in a life I wouldn't be able to lead, effectively. Which leads me back to my lil' brah...a young man I'm proud to call a friend. He's a good kid, seventeen and eager to grab life by the balls and squeeze. Our conversations run the the gamut, and we're both actually learning something. He, things I wish someone would have told me at seventeen, and I how to be carefree and young again. He actually has me playing video games again damn-it! Something I haven't done consistently since Atari 5200 was the shit! And I probably could beat him if only I could master the damn controls on this X-Box, and figure out what the fuck a Halo 2 is...

Whatever happened to the joystick anyway?

"I have no sun, no moon, no stars, no clouds | No day or night, nothing is right | If I don't have you..." ~Smokie Norful

Twice in the last week I’ve held the thought, where would I be without music? Which ironically always seems to bring me back to a question I’ve asked friends for years: would you rather be blind or deaf? A tough question I know because there’s so much to see and yet so much more to hear. How does one even begin to choose? Okay so, if I absolutely had to choose one--->I mean if my hands were tied behind my back and some asshole threatened to either poke out both my eyeballs or puncture my eardrums, I think--->nah I know I’d say: hey, have your way with my eyes.

Fo sho’ cause a brother loves music and would find life not worth living if I couldn’t pop on a Stevie album every-now-and-again and parlay to his seemingly unending genius. I mean damn’ can you imagine it? Life without Michael, and Prince and Miles and Lenny and B.I.G. and Luther and Roberta and fuck, Barry? How would I prep for a party, channel love, wild out and if I chose so afterwards reflect, relate and release? Take my eyes somebody please because now that I think about it, there isn't that much worth seeing in this crime riddled, hate filled world anyway!

Music is my life, so you best believe I am not one of those knuckleheads that discovers one genre declare it the music of God and condemn any other beats, sounds, or lyrics that surface thereafter as works of Satan. Like I said, a bruh loves music. All types, be it jazz, rhythm & blues, rock, alternative, neo-soul, quasi-soul, gospel, hip-hop, REM to Mos Def, Mary J. to Mary Mary; Jill Scott to Carla Cook. What I am trying to return to however is the innocence I once had when it came to accepting new music. You know how it is, you love your favorite artists’ first CD but cringe when he/she suddenly decides to alter his/her well crafted image/art. Take Mary for example...people loved her debut album (What's the 411?) and fell head over heels with her sophomore effort (My Life...) but ever since then people have been like what? What’s wrong with Mary? When did she get so happy? Shit, I want the old Mary back. In life we know nothing stays the same, with art this is almost a requirement. Besides, at 30 something I don’t want to see Mary jumping around with a pair of Timbs hollering real love, settle down bitch and sing a ballad.

This all leads me to the artists that have been capturing my attention…

Dana Owens pka Queen Latifah serves it up on her new set The Dana Owens Album. As an adult who buys music it’s good to know there are still some mainstream artists out there willing to vie for my hard earned dollar. Though I love most of shit out nowadays, there are times when I just want to sit back, enjoy a nice glass of Grand Manier and chill out without feeling the need to drop down and get my eagle on, girl. And Queen Lah does just that for me. Smooth, relaxed and reminiscent of some of the great divas of our time (Sarah, Nina,Dianne) Lah delivers the goods one melodic note after the other. The production is flawless, the songs timeless, and the mood the CD will unquestionably lead you to, timeless.

Unfortunately Jill Scott has fallen into that sophomore what’s up with this new album line of questioning. Personally I love it, most people I’ve spoken to on the other hand don’t. And forget about some of the reviewers on Amazon.com. It’s like a witch hunt for ole’ girl. Which leads me to ask: should an artist fulfill her needs when recording, or the expectations of her following? In my opinion, all art is personal, even those limited few slated for sale. Nevertheless Jill handles her business on Beautifully Human especially on tracks like Can’t Explain where she keenly points out just because you love and lost don’t mean you stop loving. If you have a nightmare, do you stop dreaming? A must question I don’t think too many people have taken the time to stop and ask.

Have you ever exhausted an album so much that you knew every lyric, every adlib, every nuance captured through the power of recording? When Lizz Wright dropped I wasn’t ready, despite the incredible buzz surrounding her immaculate talent. I ended up paying for my ignorance however, through complete and utter servitude. I played her debut album Salt every day, often multiple times a day and never got tired of her silky voice or lingering lyrics. Last week I was forced to remember how much I love this CD while preparing a few compilations for my sister’s 50th birthday celebration. Before I knew it I had used four of her songs and was falling head over heels yet again for the woman who asked me quite boldly: How can you lose your song, when you’ve sung it so long?

When the man passed it was if I’d lost an uncle, or a father. That’s just how tough it was for me to deal with the lost of such a magnificent talent. I don't know about you, but I can’t put on a Barry White song and not feel moved, or inspired to love just a little more. I discovered him late, about 10 years ago when I first stumbled upon Never, Never Gonna Give You Up. That song defined an experience I was having to the letter, a situation I was determined to make work despite God’s every intention to separate us. Eventually God won, I moved on, but Barry and I...let’s just say he’s one spirit I will never, ever let die.

I grew up in the church. For years I played the organ there, directed a choir and was quite the vocalist. Even then secular music was gradually spilling over into traditional gospel and I wasn’t feeling it. Maybe because I’ve always preferred the old school let’s go to church and stomp our feet music, as compared to the wop inspired booty shake hippity-hop let’s reach the young folk music. Though I must admit over the years artists like Mary Mary have somehow managed to find their way into my heart and soul despite my rigid constraints on gospel music. Last week while out shopping for new sounds I decided to check the gospel section (for Jonathan Butler’s new gospel album) and soon stumbled upon Smokie Norful. Though the review is still out I will say the brother can sing, and most of his tracks are growing on me especially his take on the classic I Know The Lord Will Make A Way, a song I’ve loved ever since I was knee high to a grasshopper. Talk about repeat! And a desire to sing! Smokie may soon have me stomping up the street like Shug Avery in The Color Purple with all you heathens behind me waving and shouting a change has come!

That's it, I'm ghost...

"Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind." ~MLK, I See the Promised Land

Have you ever wanted something so bad you would give your heart and soul to make it happen? Have you ever gotten those butterflies in your stomach the moment you realized all that you had hoped for, wanted and desired was slipping way too quickly from your grasp? Have you ever found yourself on the otherside of victory pondering what you could've done, should've done if only there was some way to turn back the hands of time?

God I wanted Bush to lose so fucking bad. I wanted to see his face the moment he realized the power of a nation that actually counted every vote. If anybody needed a new career it was Bush. But somehow the snake has slipped through, and has left me feeling a lot like Harpo (what we's gon' do now?).

I already had a lot to deal with. Shit that was/is stressing me out. THIS was not something I wanted to deal with, and yet it seems it has found its way to my plate.

I feel sick. Real sick. Too sick to write. Fuck it, I'm outta here...

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you." ~Jules, as portrayed by Samuel Jackson in Pulp Fiction

Here is something you can’t understand, how I can just kill a man...

I hadn’t heard or thought about that song in like uh-deen years. I remember when Cypress Hill first hit the scene with that single, it was amazing to see how many people felt their angst and desire to just rip a mugs heart out. Saturday morning I relived those days.

Halloween since ’96 has been about my Adult Trick or Treat | Get Your Freak jam-a-rama. It’s all about dressing up and allowing your alter-ego its opportunity to show its true colors. I lapsed a few years ago and went two straight years without getting dressed, but last year I decided to bring Pinky out of retirement. Besides, he needed to check on some of his hoes, if you know what I mean. Anyway, anyone who has ever thrown a party knows the work one must put in many hours before the first guest arrives bottle in hand, ready to get crunked. I’m a clean freak, but still before company comes over I get in those corners and quite literally spit shine my house. Then there’s the food, the bar, the re-arrangement of furniture and various precious objects I don’t want some drunk fool to accidentally break and a whole host of unmentionables I won’t bother to bore you with.

So I’m up 8:30 am Saturday morning prepping my list of must haves before the nights festivities are scheduled to begin (this mind you, having only slept three hours the night before). I complete the list, tell Sdot I’ll catch up with him later and hit the road. By 9:45 I had already crossed four items off my list and if the traffic held up I was looking to be back home by 12:30 the latest.

[Enter Stress stage door right.]

I’m not one of those weirdo’s that believes everything happens for a reason (please), or one of the ones that believes some people are just out to get you—--oh hell, who am I fooling, I believe in all of that shit! Some people spend their whole lives waiting for the right moment to fuck with you, and if you give them that opportunity they will gladly ruin your day.

So I’m on the phone with Sdot bragging about having finished my party chores way before the allotted time when I happened across quite a bit of traffic heading towards the Holland Tunnel on 7th Avenue south. Mind you it’s not even 11:30 a.m. and already the traffic is getting out of control. Oh but wait, I see an opening! If I can just get up there make a quick left and shoot over to Broadway I can still make it home before 12:00. So I creep up until finally I can make a left and bam! The police have the street blocked off with those blue fucking barriers—----fuck! Now I’m going to have to wait two more blocks before I can attempt another left.

I report this news to Sdot who has been keeping entertained as I make my way through the growing traffic when from my peripheral vision I spot this guy waving his arms at me. When I look I can see the rage in his eyes [a typical New York response to unexpected traffic], I wave him off and continue talking to my boy. But this guy keeps going however, and has now decided to lower his window to fully let me have it. In kind I lower mine and the first thing I hear is: “Move your piece of shit car! Your car is shit!”, in a deep middle eastern voice. Ah-ight so my feelings are hurt, since I like to think I have quite a nice looking car—---I mean cause---I bought it right! With my hard earned money right?! So how fucking dare this mercedes benz driving motherfucker diss my shit while sitting pretty in what some would call a much better vehicle! Now you know ego ain’t taking that shit! So I proceed to tell him to go fuck himself, which apparently angers him and his wife/girlfriend/bitch or whatever the fuck you want to call her to no apparent end! They are hopping mad! How dare this common car driving fool raise his voice at us! I see the hate growing, and growing and growing until finally he threatens to hurl his latte at my car! Hold up what?!! Ego is registering all of this and is slowing begging that I release some tension—--that I do what’s expected (yeah I'm from the hood) and act a fool! REPRESENT he’s yelling in my ear! Niggah you BETTA represent!

So I bite my lower lip and give one ole niggah I wish you would stare. Man this shit goes on for about sixty seconds or so, he acting like he wanna start something, and me ready, willing and able to finish it. His wife his yelling some shit in the background like fuck you, or go ahead and leave us alone, instead of controlling her fucking man who from my perspective has chosen to start a war with me. The traffic is growing and swelling around us, and people on the street have stopped to take in this (in retrospect) amusing spectacle. Then he did it, the motherfucker did it! He took his nasty fucking half drunken $8.75 latte and threw-eth it upon my chariot! Needless to say I lost it, and from here the story gets a little murky.

I jump out of my car run to his and proceed to kick the shit out of that pearl white Mercedes, quickly prompting him to exit. When he goes I realize damn! This mofo’s big! So I run back to my car retrieve my security device [a big chrome contraption that locks the break] and swing it at my approaching enemy. He stops, eyes the metal amusingly and begins taunting me—--which instantly brings to mind the hip-hop phrase don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge I’m trying not to lose my head! I hold onto this lock ready to swing at any moment realizing that if I do, my whole life would change. All that I had worked to accomplish, all that I had done up until that point to keep from traveling the same road my two older brothers had traveled recklessly is staring me dead in the eye. I see it, but I don’t see it. I know I’m acting outside of love but I don’t give a fuck. I know people are watching me staring [especially the big apple double decker tourist bus whose patrons are leaning over the top to fully embrace a new york moment they’ve waited all of there lives and have paid countless dollars to see] but I don’t care—--all that matters is this mother fucker standing in front of me, with his fist balled tight and his eyes locked to mine. Then the siren sounds. Someone yells police and orders us to back up. I hold my stance and continue to eye my predator. I do not trust him or his intentions. Hearing the police he retreats, walks to my car and stomps my hood with his right foot. My heart sinks. It’s the first time my baby has felt pain—--I walk towards him but I’m stopped by the police. His wife who has been yelling and yelling and yelling finally spits the truth. She looks at me curls her lips and says clearly: fuck you, you fucking black fuck!

And there it was, the truth. All I could do was look at the cop and say: but did you hear what she just said? And hope he'd have the decency to let me go. Luckily, he didn't.

I said I wasn’t going to post this story, that I was going to let it go. That I wasn’t going to let this occurrence fuck with me like it has all weekend. I said they were the ignorant ones, the strangers who entered my life and within a single moment transformed it completely. I reasoned that this could have happened to anyone, and the outcome would have probably been the same, or with the right one, even worse. Minutes later while crossing the BK bridge the anger began to wane and I felt the tears but choked them back, I would not give them the satisfaction; I would not weaken because of them.

Even now I could go on and on about my feelings during that moment and throughout the rest of the weekend, but just writing this is making me sick. But it just goes to prove that everything does happen for a reason. I know now more than ever that there is a God...because he kept whispering over and over in my ear, “you are not going to swing this lock, this is not where your story will end...”

And, I listened. Thanks man, I always knew you had my back.