At A Moments Notice...

"Cash rules everything around me | C.R.E.A.M. Get the money | Dollar, dollar bill y'all..." ~Wu-Tang Clan

When I decided I was going to write a novel, I wrote a novel. When I decided I was going to publish a novel I published a novel. When I decided I was going to take back my life and live it like it was meant to be live, I choked...

Old habits die hard, you know? Especially those habits that provide a measure of comfort in our lives. For some of us it’s our jobs, our friends, our love interests even our families. For me it was a combination of all of the above. I was used to a certain lifestyle and freedom, true freedom, meant releasing some of the chains I had knowing placed on myself.

Of all these chains C.R.E.A.M. was and sometimes still is the hardest to let go. As a junior executive at one of the most powerful retirement companies in the world, a brother was set. In the eyes of many I was living the American Dream and setting an admirable precedence for a generation of onlookers to follow. But, I wasn’t happy.

Yeah I was able to secure many of the toys boys my age love to purchase. Yes I was able to wine and dine at some of New York City’s top restaurants. Yes I was able to book trips to far off countries some would love to visit. Yeah, I could do all those things and more but every morning I awoke incomplete and unsatisfied with my career, my purpose and my life. I hated my boss, the floor on which I worked, the transit system I was forced to utilize on a daily basis and the idea my time was not being spent helping those in need, but rather fattening the pockets of those already financially and [for the most part] emotionally secured.

C.R.E.A.M. kept me there though. Me and many, many others. You would be surprised, or maybe you wouldn’t, to know just how many people woke every morning to make it on time to a job they barely could stand all for the mighty, mighty dollar. How else would they be able to afford that house, that car, that midnight cruise to nowhere? So many of them dreamed, like me, to free themselves; every last one of them had a plan; a way out; a solution. But almost all of them were too afraid to act, except of course my boy Wave who reported to me one day: “Next week I’m out.”

Me: “Out? What do you mean out?”
Wave: “I’m ghost. History. Out of here.”
Me: “Word? What you got another job lined up?”
Wave: “Nawh. I’m just sick of this shit. I need a change.”
Me: “But how are you gonna live?”
Wave: “The same way I did before I came here, well. I’d forgotten that until the other day. I used to have dreams man. Big dreams. And this j-o-b has all but squashed them. It’s time I got them back.”
Me: “That’s peace man." I replied and nodded toward a nearby office. "You told them yet?”
Wave: “Nope.”
Me: “No? You’re just gonna leave, like that? No two weeks notice?”
Wave: “Let me ask you something bruh, when they decide to fire you do they give you two weeks notice? Do they think about your family, your bills, your future? No, all they think about is the bottom fucking line: clean out your desk and beat it. So next week, when I walk out of that door, they'll know then its official.”

I thought about what he said and it knew was true. Even more so in the months that followed as I watch an unprecedented amount of friends, cohorts and superiors get fired all in one single day. People who unlike me loved the company, its benefits and the comforts it provided in their lives. But none of that mattered to this powerhouse of a company, the bottom line was more important.

It was my manager who first introduced me to the phrase Me, Inc. He often used it as an encouragement to pursue bigger and better dreams. “Always be sure to manage you wisely,” he’d say fatherly, “because no one else can do it better.” He never knew how much I took those words to heart. With Wave as an example of what could be done, my dreams in my front pocket, and the belief I was the only one equipped to manage Me, Inc. I set out to fulfill my pint-sized dreams.

Every day or so I miss the C.R.E.A.M. I miss the quality well tailored suits. I even miss the air of importance boardroom meetings once provided me. But what I don’t miss is the tiresome train ride, the constant chatter of dreamers with no gut, or the way my stomach used to churn every morning I stepped foot inside of that marble and glass building.

For the first time in my life I am realizing freedom. I am realizing what it means to live your best life. I am realizing life is not meant to be lived after work, or on the weekends, but every fucking day I breathe. What a revelation. What a fucking blessing. What a gift.

My life may not be as fabulous as it was before the change. I may not be able to buy all the things I once did. But it is just as full, just as meaningful, minus the C.R.E.A.M.

Who knew?

"Last night a DJ saved my life...'cause I was sittin' there bored to death, and in just one breath he said: "You gotta get up!" ~ Indeep, Original 12" Mix

Okay I am officially ready to move. New York is like one big ass ice box. What the hell? Just the other day it was so warm I was contemplating short sleeves and now its whether to wear one or two sweaters! I hate, hate, hate the cold. I’d much rather be hot—sweating even—than cold. You should have seen me last night going to bed in long johns, two pair of socks, a tee shirt, sweat sweatshirt and my extra heavy goose comforter pulled up-and-over my bald head. It was comedy I tell you, pure comedy.

On Saturday my eldest nephew finally joined me in the wonderfully defining thirties. To mark the occasion the family threw him quite a party at my place. As nearly a hundred or so guests filled my living space I wondered what was it about me or my place for that matter that said party. In the last year I’ve played host to some ten or more parties. I’m talking large parties. Parties people are still talking about. I mean I’ve always loved to entertain, as a matter of fact I’d much rather entertain than be an attendee at someone else’s function. Call me crazy but I just feel more comfortable that way. But the question I kept trying to figure out was what made my parties such a success. I'm sure its a combination of things, as nothing in life is ever cut and dry. Still I'd like to know. Maybe one day I'll have a questionnaire for my guests as they leave. I'm kiddin'! That would be kind of scary don't you think? At any point, my surprised nephew and his many guests enjoyed the evenings and RSVP’d for any future events Sdot, he and myself planned to have.

I’ve been stalking the united parcel service. Any time I hear the screeching of brakes and a door slam I run to the window and peer out hoping to see my Dell Digital Jukebox making its way into my life. Why the Jukebox? Well first I hate the popularity of the Ipod and have always decidedly gone left when everyone else chooses to go right. I laughed yesterday when my niece--blatantly disturbed--informed me that everyone in her school owns an Ipod, even those--she quipped--who seemingly couldn't afford one. In many ways I guess this is good news for MAC who it seems is finally receiving the level of popularity they were never afforded due to the market domination of pc’s and pc based products. Now, it seems, after all these years they’re the big boys.

Sdot first told me about the Dell DJ and suggested we look into purchasing it. Of course I was against it but gave in after fully researching the capabilities of this little piece of technology. An hour later I was on-line customizing two 20 gig Dells for delivery ASAP. It was only after I clicked the last button did I realize there was an apparent back log and I’d not receive my much anticipated toy for at least another two friggin' weeks! I was done. You see cause I’m one of those immediate gratification brothers: when I want something I want it then, not later, then. What the hell was I going to do for two full weeks? Why download music of course. And so I began the painstaking task of downloading my music collection to my computer. And what joy! Do you know how exciting it is to run across a song that was your shit? I'm talking about the one you would listen to day and night and never ever grow tired of its melody or message? Well I’ve found like a ca-jillion of them hidden underneath all the new garbage I've purchased in the last year or so, and I am in love all over again. My windows media storage is at a whopping 18.67 gigs and I’m not even finished downloading music! This jukebox is going to be so much fun! I can’t wait!

Other than that nothing much is goin’ on...but if something does happen between now and then I’ll be sure to key you in.

Until then...let somebody love you. It does the body good.

"Silver grey hair neatly combed in place | There were four generations of love on her face | She was so wise, no surprise passed her eyes | She'd seen it all..." ~ Dianne Reeves, Better Days

I never had a grandfather. Both my parent’s fathers passed long before my birth. But I did have a grandma. Grandma was the type of woman who said what she meant, and meant what she said. She could careless if age somehow made you grown, if you sassed her you’d bess duck or else catch your death.

She was a real grandma. The kind that sat on her porch sipped her lemonade and waved at every car that passed by. The kind that always offered you something the moment you stepped onto her property. "You hungry? Thirsty? Go on in there and get you somethin’ to eat..." She was the kind of grandma you could hug and hug and hug and never get enough. And though age had long claimed her as it’s own you would be hard pressed to tell. The woman would tend her garden, keep her house, get around sometimes faster than her great-great-grand’s and quick to pull that shotgun from the vestibule to scare off the deer creeping just a little too close to her collards.

The memories are abundant, but I remember this one time I was at her house visiting with my mother. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon and I was sitting on the porch swinging, taking in the abundance of boredom that came along with a trip to Dry Branch Georgia when a rattlesnake made its way to the porch. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have this serious phobia of snakes. I’m talking I can’t even watch their slimy asses on television phobia. I’m talking if I visit the zoo and there’s a reptile section chances are I’m ret’ to go phobia. So when this rattlesnake decided to make its appearance known I wasn’t a happy camper. I screamed to the top of lungs, jumped up into the swing and tried my best to climb on top of that porch! My mother and grandmother came rushing to see what was going on and ran smack into the rattler, who now because of my screams had begun to curl and prepare for battle. In one swift swoop Grandma grabbed the shotgun pushed my mother out of the way aimed, and fired. In retrospect I believe the sound of the barrel going off scared me more than the snake, but at the same time I was glad he was dead; and for the rest of the trip enjoyed the enchanting boredom of Dry Branch from behind the locked screened door on the front porch.

I’ll never forget that day, just like I’ll never forget her. It’s been three years since her passing and still it seems the family has not fully adjusted. There was something about her energy...her spirit that seemed to hold everything and everyone together, and now that she’s gone things just aren’t the same. When I visit Georgia I often ask my moms to take me by her house, because for so many years going to Georgia meant going to see grandma. It meant sitting on that red and white porch and swinging in that one chair everyone fought over. It meant getting that long warm hug. It meant stories and laughter and memories that would pass on from generation to generation. And now, it’s different, and I’m not sure I like it.

Today had she lived she would have been 95 years old. The family would have been gathering together to honor her most magnificent achievement. Her heart would most likely be overflowing with pride and joy at the attention a simple colored woman from Dry Branch Georgia could achieve just by being the best woman she could possibly be, and she would be absolutely right. For that she was, in so many, many ways.

I miss her. We all miss her. And today we still honor our mother, our grandmother, our friend and neighbor, Mrs. Josie Mae Glover.

Happy Birthday Grandma and do enjoy those better days!

Loving you always, your grandson, Chris...

Rain, rain go away come again another day is exactly what I felt like singing this weekend. Not that I have anything against the rain, most of the time I find it quite sexy, its just with the trees so bare and the weather so cold the rain just seemed to dampen an already dreary New York. So, with my outdoor plans cancelled, and the over-exerted holidays behind me I decided to catch up on some much needed R&R. Bring on the videos!

While browsing the shelves at World of Videos this weekend I almost forgot why I abandoned my weekly trips to the theater as I snatched up flick after flick. That was until I made it home and popped them in. I used to be a movie buff, one of those kats who would scarcely miss an opportunity to see the latest offering my favorite actor, actress or director had cooked up. But after a string of bad—no make that horrific movies in the year of our Lord 2000 I scrapped the whole movie going experience all together. The way I looked at it, I had better ways to spend my hard earned money than on some over-hyped much to do about nothing bullshit. And besides, with the growing popularity of DVDs it only made sense to wait a month or two (sad, remember when it used to take years for films to make it to video) to see just how bad, bad could get. And though a part of me at times still finds himself interested in several films Hollywood has to offer I’ve realized a tantalizing clip is nothing more than the skillful work of a top notch editor paid to make the lamest shit look first-rate.

Breakin’ All The Rules. Can somebody please tell me why it seems all of the black films since the success of Love Jones and Soul Food seem to look, feel and taste the same? My God, watching this movie was like watching every other black movie that has been released in the last decade. Can we get some fresh stories? Some new blood? Or must I see Gabrielle Union and Morris Chesnut in every other African-American movie released? Not that I’m hatin’, I kind of like both of them, but a brother is just sayin’...

Jamie’s performance was lackluster at best, and though I wanted to blame the material entirely, some of the fault must fall on him for giving a less than believable performance. I’ve seen him act, and this was no acting. And what’s up with the wig in the final scene? Did anyone else catch this fuck up?

And would you believe the funniest part of this DVD was the newly colorized and completely restored Three Stooges short film “Hoi Polloi”? Hilarious I tell you, hilarious!

The Stepford Wives. You would think, with a cast as large and as popular as the one found in the Stepford Wives you would have an undeniable hit, but you don’t. At least not in my opinion, and right now that’s all that matters. It wasn’t funny, or scary or even interesting as much as it was weird. So weird I found myself wondering who in their right mind would commission such a movie to be made, twice?

Nicole Kidman was kooky. Bette Midler, way too contained. Matthew Broderick, snooze (I still can’t believe he’s married to Sarah Jessica Parker! What a dork. He hasn’t been cool since Ferris Bueller's Day off.) Glenn Close was crazy as usual and Christopher Walken, well let’s just say I was glad when they finally knocked his friggin’ head off.

And while I’m glad Hollywood is doing its part by including gay characters in modern films I can certainly do without the stereotypical gay persona. It's getting pretty lame.

Dodgeball. The funniest of the rentals was exactly what I needed to take the fog off an otherwise rained out weekend. Over-the-top at times but filled with enough genuine humor to keep me interested and laughing all the way through Dodgeball actually ended up being a lot of fun. But then I’ve come to expect a certain amount of laughs from Ben Stiller who has held my funny bone since Something About Mary. Though I’d never purchase it for my collection it is one of those movies I’m glad I got a chance to see, unlike the others.

Oh well, I guess you can’t win them all.

I have a few friends who like to bust my chops about people in relationships -vs- people out of relationships. One friend in particular seems to think because Sdot and I have made it as a unit for four years we've somehow forgotten what it's like to be single in black gay america. He feels we've crossed some magical ravine that prevents us from remembering how difficult it was/is to find someone suitable to love. Yet I remember clearly...

I remember dating aimlessly. I remember one disappointing heartbreak after the other. I remember meeting people I thought the world of, only to speak to them, and immediately lose interest. I remember the breakups, the wasted energy, and the pep talks from friends who insisted it was their lost, not mine. I remember how difficult it was for me to open up after each breakup and trust--no--believe this one, this new one, would never do anything to break my heart. Only to find myself eating those very words time and time again. I remember how increasingly difficult it was for me to hold out for that soulmate so many told me existed. I remember questioning his existence, wondering if by some chance I had passed him up for someone or something I percieved as better. And yes, I remember how often I questioned love, my love, for self, for men, for God.

Forget? How could anyone forget? The reason I work so hard everyday to keep my relationship in tact is directly linked to the memories I have of being single, black and gay in a society that looks down on all three.

I've tried to get to the root of what it is I think my friend is trying to say, and it always seems to come back to his thinking it is easier for us since we've found each other and established a relationship. Hence our forgetfulness when it comes to the ups and downs of single life. But when I challenge him by providing examples as to why it is not easier, he dismisses my thoughts with: you just don't understand; you just don't get it.

It is within my opinion that neither side is more right than the other. There are positives and negatives when it comes to being single, just as there are positives and negatives when it comes to being within a relationship. Both require a reasonable amount of work.

But I guess my core concern is: why the battle? Do couples forget? Or do singles assume?

"I’m thinking of you, and all the things that you wanted me to be, and I’m trying now..." ~Lenny Kravitz, 5

Sometimes my life seems so friggin' lame, but then...I actually like it like that. Four years ago I brought the new year in trying as best I could to stump some sense into the head of a brother who took my kindness for weakness. As a result 2001 blessed me with one ass whippin' after another, so for 2002 I decided to keep my black ass home and bring the new year in nice and sober. And what do you know, peace fell upon the land. So its become somewhat of a tradition to spend new year's eve in doors, with Sdot, a friend or two, and peace of mind. This year was no different.

As the clock whined down on 2004 and the others (Sdot, his younger brother, sister and good friend Trelaine) counted the seconds to 2005 with Regis, I was happily and quietly in the other room looking for any and everything I could find on craig's list. Part of me felt I should join them during the last 15 or so seconds 'til 2005, while the other realized for so many others across the world the New Year had already come and gone, so why all the fuss? I had already made it; my ship had come. The year that at one point seemed to never quit f'n the shit out of me had finally come to an end. I's was finally free! Free I tell you! Free indeed!

The more you know the more you're responsible for, is a saying I've been repeating aloud and to myself for years. I know 2004 can and will drag its no good ass right into 2005 if I don't change my friggin' attitude. I know a new year means nothing if my thoughts are all the same. The choice to free myself is mine...and unless I actually take the steps necessary to do just that I will no doubt spend this year waiting for 2006 to save me from 2005. And so I will not make resolutions. I will not sell myself dreams I know good and well my spirit is not fully ready or even willing to materialize. I will however continue to work on Chris. On his shit. His doubts. His fears. His heart. Maybe, through this work I will begin to understand *everyday* is yet another day to get this shit right.

Here's to second, third even fourth chances! The world is yours!