I lost a friend but not my soul

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.

Lovinemdarkskinnedmelaninlackinsexytouch

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....

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.

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.

I wonder if God knows we're screwing this up

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.

Sometimes the Young Wonder....

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.

FaceCROOK...or how we lost being old school

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.

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

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).

Is it the beginning, Or the End?

July 23, 2009.

I am 3 days short of stepping into my 40's, and I spent the last full weekend of my 30's listening to old vinyl records my wife and I had gathered in our quickly disappearing youth. Yeah, I know I am not old by any stretch of the imagination, but it is somewhat humorous (as well as scary) that I could of gone through high school twice and started pre-school for the 3rd time based on my years on this earth. I chuckle at myself when I comment at teenage girls who are showing more leg and bush level than the last US administration that they should put some clothes on...

...when not so long ago I'd wonder if they were easy or not.

I tell my 7 year old son when he questions why I tell him to do something he doesn't like the classic parental response...

"'Cuz I say so!"

Then sigh because I know I am none too far the time where my body truly begins to fall apart on me, and my diminutive physician puts his size 5 finger in my ass to make sure I don't have any other cancerous uninvited guests.

On Friday Nights, instead of getting ready for the club (and hoping my then girlfriend now wife gets her drink on so I can get lucky that night), I spend it catching up reality TV shows and the remake of "90210" (yeah, I am a 265 lb black guy who watches a bunch of 95lb stuck up bitches whine about their $500 shoes being too tight...hey, it amuses me).

Speaking of weight, an old friend gave me a picture of me when I was 16, wearing a size 32 pants and being damned strong. Outside of a wrinkle here and there, my looks haven't changed that much since 1985 (gawd). But I always thought I was utterly unattractive, had no confidence, and well, was a bigger virgin than Mary:) Some parts of that haven't changed much (well,obviously the virgin part; no, my kids weren't adopted), beyond going up 4 pant sizes, due to the fact that I can't let go of the fact that I can't eat like that and simply burn it off...

...especially watching 95lb bitches on the couch.

So I am a little reflective these days, 3 days short of birthday #40, because I have seem men younger than me drop dead, or end up with some jacked up disease, and ultimately die way, way too young. I remember how Michael Jackson's passing (sadly, the butt of many a joke in my past blogs, which I do sadly regret), and thinking he was only about 11 years older than I am now. Yeah, drugs seemed to have played a major role in that, but still, it just points out to me how short this life is, and reminds me of my momma's saying to me that "The Good Lord gave you a certain amount of time, and you ain't gonna live pass that."

I guess that's why I laugh all the time, act much younger than I should, and try not to think about the seriousness that comes along with being an adult with 2 young minds to mold. When I hear a song, it reminds me of younger days, and, to be honest, how much I detested a good bit of it.

That makes me sad, 'cuz I wish I believed in myself more, and had a better time when all I had to worry about was good grades...and not pissing my dad off. When I played stickball with my friends, or hung out in front of their apartment building and just talked movies, music, baseball, and about what Atari 2600 game we'd get next (I did mention I am turning 40, right? LOL). I remember my obsessing about Cynthia Rivera, then Juliet Grant (who I eventually got, then royaly f'd up and tossed away 'cuz I tried to get another girl named Serena who had no interest). I remember dating really the best looking girl I dated (with the exception of my wife, of course) the summer before I went off the college...then losing my virginity (finally...sad, tis true) the fall thereafter. The 1980s and its bad rock bands, new wave, hating Metallica (and appreciating them later well after my school days). I recall being on Welfare for a few months in the early 1990s when I couldn't find work...or let go of one of the two great loves in my life. I recall gambling addictions, my "playa" days, and meeting a tall girl in a club called Gators 13 years ago, who would become my wife and mother of my boys.

Reminisce I do, in the hope that I can enjoy many more memories with those I love, as one of the great lines I have heard came in, of all films, "Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull"...

"We've reach the point of out lives, Indy, where life stops giving us things, and begins to take them away."

So, as I begin, what is actually my 5th decade, I just want to take a deep breath, hope for better fortunes (as that I am heading in 20 months w/o a steady job), good health for my family, the body breakdowns to slow down a little bit, and well....

...that the doctor at least uses KY when we start doing our annual "date" with my ass and his finger.

grip-y funky mess

I was in the supermarket earlier today, shopping for my kid's 7th b-day party. The "big boy" was tagging along, shortly after having a slight meltdown cuz he couldn't take his "Transformer" cake with him 2 days before the big day. After I had my slight parental meltdown, chastising him about his bratty-ness (and because I felt like warmed over tampon drippings from some sort of bug I got a hold of) I was looking for some Hawaiian Punch for my wife and myself (because, well, God knows I want to hasten my death on by pouring sugar-loaded fake fruit drinks down my gullet). Anyway, as I was looking for my death juice, I happen to noticed this older Caucasian fellow, with red hair, a pony tail, about middle aged....

...and a big ol' dome missing a good chunk of his hair.

And my man thought he was hipper than Jimi H during Woodstock.

Now, as I approach my 40th birthday in less than 2 months, I have accepted that, well, I am not going to turn a 21 year old's head anymore (wait, I didn't do that when I was 21....I didn't get sexy until my 25 to 27 year old "I like to bang like a drum" period). I am 75 lbs overweight, look like I am 7 months pregnant, and keep an oxygen tank at the top of the stairs at my home (ok, no oxygen, but if I don't lose weight soon, it may come to pass). Yet here is this fellow, my guess probably about 10 years older than I, with this smugness about him, thinking he could score any babe, do anything, be anywhere....

Despite the kick ass plaid shorts, golf shirt, and sandals he was wearing.

We men are pretty sad children at times, myself included.

As I approach my 40th year, I know that I am not necessarily handling it well. I have always been fearful of my mortality, and I think that my silliness at times (for those who actually still talk to me at this point; I can count my contacts on the loose pube hair in my drawers) is a barrier against the beginning of advancing age....sort of a useless attempt to make me still feel hip and young...

...despite the fact that I couldn't attract a toejam from a unraveling sock at this point in life.

So after I completed my errands, my boy and I, the one who will be 18 when I am 50, started to stroll out to my truck to head home. That same "hip dude" with the need for Rogaine and the
dy-no-mite" pony tail hopped into his hot little sports car, pulled out his cell phone, and sped off.

I looked at my boy, my anger already dissipated from his earlier rant, and smiled as I watched him buckle himself in his seat. I took a deep sigh, and then put my key in my ignition.

Men are deathly afraid of their mortality, aren't they? I doubt I am the only dude who misses the day when they could run forever, play sports (even if they couldn't field to save their life), thought that they could do anything, and had dreams....

...and believed they had plenty of time.

Then they turn around and see their children, and realize that is their turn to dream, and play, and think they have all the time in the world.

It's my job as a dad to help him enjoy that while it lasts....and maybe see him get some of those dreams as well, stay healthy so he can play as long as possible, and well, not become a mulatto child with balding and a funky ponytail.

The sports car, though, would be cool...as long as he lets his old man drive it once in a while.

Death, Life, and New Positions

I live across the street from a cemetery. It is located at a point where unless I totally drive out of the way, I will always go past the bloody thing (well, the residents have had ALL of their blood drained out before "moving in", but well, that's another story).


For as long as I can remember, I've been obsessed with my inevitable departure from this world. I ever so often read obituaries, or as I drive by the cemetery, I always glance towards it to see if some other soul has heard the call to answer for their sins (or get reincarnated, or whatever it is a person who has passed believed in before their time card got punched).


Yeah, I know it is "mentally irregular" (alright Rock-O!) to spend the small amount of time that I have on this earth to ponder these things, but hell, it is gonna happen...why NOT think about it, right? I guess the reason that I ponder this so much is that, well, there are a lot of regrets I have personally in my life that I wish I could correct. Also, going back to the whole "what you believe" thing, I guess I am a bit nervous on what happens after the Grim Reaper stops my sexiness.


I read an interesting blog (damn my memory for not bloody remembering who wrote it) where the author and two of her friends starting discussing what happens after one dies (in a religious/logical sense). I thoroughly enjoyed reading this post, as that it has been my obsession for so bloody long. I actually just left a wake of a "friend's" father who died suddenly at the young age of 57, and as that corpses give me the creeps (and I dream about them for weeks), I tried not to look at the casket...but, sadly, my obsession with the end of life (and what is left behind) caused me to glance at the man several times during my hour visit.

I know I probably sound like a person who you don't want to babysit your kids (then again, based on my earlier postings, I bet you were thinking that already). I guess it comes down to my thoughts of, well, if death truly is the end of life....

WHAT IS THE HELL THE POINT OF US BEING HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?

I mean, let's figure this out...let's say, God (Or Allah, Buddha, Jehovah, or whatever Deity you choose to insert) willing I have, say, another 42 years on this early, and I get to the dirty swimming pool of worm feeders in my 80's. My son's will be in their 40's, and we'll assume the oldest (as that the youngest has Down Syndrome, and the chances of him having kids are fairly slim) has a couple of kids of his own (and 15 or so more others he doesn't choose the claim; hell, the kid is going to be a putang magnet), and I am lucky enough to know them till they have great memories of me (or they think I am a tick on a dirty pube...whatever). My son, due to good health and modern medical technology, lives to be as old as I was, and he gets his casket thang on. His kids will remember their dad, and perhaps remember me, their grandfather. Then they have kids...

Guess what?

At this level of the game of life, I officially do not matter, because that generation won't give two last rites about my fairly rotted ass.

So, what is life then, right? I mean, we all are going to be dead a lot longer than we will be vertical and ventilating.

I guess my obsession with my own end comes from a combination of fearing that agnostics and atheist are right, and what I am just fades away...destroyed like anti-matter, and oh f'ing well.

Or, if what my mama said was right...I have a lot (a wholllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllle lot) to answer for, and I won't get smart enough in time to get things right before my soul becomes that eternal pig on Satan's spit.

Let's not forget reincarnation...hell, I am hoping to come back as a white man with major paper...with the same sized penis as I have now (hey, it's fab, OK? Chicks dig it like Tic-Tacs...correction, have DUG it...my wife has the copyright, and I lose 2/3's on the refund).

Ultimately, it probably sucks to no longer exist, totally unavoidable as it is.

But...

If I DIDN'T die, and say, everyone else does...

Would I want to live and be alone?

Check out "The Green Mile" with Tom Hanks. Loved that flick. His character, due to some magical circumstance, got to see everyone he loved die, because he got the "gift" of outliving everyone else.

You'd think that would be cool, right?

My fear of death and what happens, unless I find some peace in religion or whatever, will continue for as long as I have time on this earth. But when it comes to it, if I get to help make my kids good adults, and they repeat those lessons, I guess in a way, albeit for a short time in the millennium, I can matter.

Besides...

...Being the last one standing is even scarier.