My holiday weekend consisted of painting, going to Home Depot, painting, painting, visiting my aunt for Thanksgiving, painting, going to Home Depot, painting, going to Home Depot, painting, Monday, painting and clean-up.
I now know why people pay for professional painters. On the good side I did learn a new skill and helped keep my mind off Sporty.
It had to be done, yesterday or early next year for certain, as the previous clients were color challenged. We changed the front two bedrooms (formerly crimson/brown and yellow/blue respectively) in a nicely muted off-tan that looks warm and inviting. Add in the new side table from Ikea and the square glass lamp, also from Ikea, all that's needed is some artwork and one room is actually finished.
But my art guy disappeared. He used to work in the Bazaar in Little Five Points, has anyone seen him?
The living room, previously a color that we will refer to as "that sickly shade of green" is now a neutral toned brown, with an accent wall sharing the same colors as the bedrooms to bring the whole thing together. So now we've done roughly half the house.
The parents will be in town for two weeks starting today, staying with me, and so there was some urgency to get this done. I figure I have 72 hours before they cease being guests and become my parents again. That strangely is probably also the longest amount of time I had spent with them prior to moving to Atlanta. You love them, but you have to remember to the parents you're always gonna be the child. Even when you're grown up.
Barkeep, Bookers neat. This is gonna be the last drink for a while, make it a good one.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Bad times
I've known of sometime that Sporty and I are not a couple. It's been three years of hanging out, diners and movies, concerts and shopping. She gave me the security code to her house, we exchanged gifts, I've watched her dog, bought plane tickets for trips and season tickets to watch her sports plans take reality and listened to her talk of hopes, dreams and fears. But we were NOT a couple. I even said so myself when in a little fictionlized story of one of our dinners I wrote that I knew it would not be long before someone else came along and this little play set was no more. I knew this.
But when she actually spoke of somebody else yesterday as we were Instant Messaging, it felt like I'd been betrayed. I felt the blood drain out of my legs and wondered if this would be the beginning of another overly dramatic phase of acceptance of rejection. I have a history of that. A long bad, wait... actually horrible would be a better term, history of doing that.
I've also decided that Instant Messaging is probably the worst form of communication known to man. I now dislike it in a way that I dislike the cell phone, or the telephone. When compared to face to face communication all other forms are horrible ways of hiding behind distance and informality.
I knew this was coming. I mean knew as sure as the sun will rise. So why did I take it so badly? Why am sitting here now with a pit of empty in my stomach. It is as though I have sorrow that my lottery ticket turned out not to be a winner, when I knew it would not be when I purchased it. Why did this feel as bad as my first rejection at 13, when this clearly wasn't that kinda of relationship. We'd both said so.
Sure we called each other baby, and shared baby photos. I know her favorite flowers, got her tickets to see her favorite team play and more. It didn't mean anything.
Cause it didn't.
Barkeep. A water please. That's all.
But when she actually spoke of somebody else yesterday as we were Instant Messaging, it felt like I'd been betrayed. I felt the blood drain out of my legs and wondered if this would be the beginning of another overly dramatic phase of acceptance of rejection. I have a history of that. A long bad, wait... actually horrible would be a better term, history of doing that.
I've also decided that Instant Messaging is probably the worst form of communication known to man. I now dislike it in a way that I dislike the cell phone, or the telephone. When compared to face to face communication all other forms are horrible ways of hiding behind distance and informality.
I knew this was coming. I mean knew as sure as the sun will rise. So why did I take it so badly? Why am sitting here now with a pit of empty in my stomach. It is as though I have sorrow that my lottery ticket turned out not to be a winner, when I knew it would not be when I purchased it. Why did this feel as bad as my first rejection at 13, when this clearly wasn't that kinda of relationship. We'd both said so.
Sure we called each other baby, and shared baby photos. I know her favorite flowers, got her tickets to see her favorite team play and more. It didn't mean anything.
Cause it didn't.
Barkeep. A water please. That's all.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Poetry
I so desperately want
to run my fingers
along the edge of her soul
the barest pressure
her aura swirled
and feel her essence
slick with anticipation
of my expression
the borders of feminity
swollen with desire
drowning as I give myself mouthful by mouthful
unto supplication
at her core
we touch
our bodies equal and together
our bodies becoming us
her breath at the nape
my hand on her spine
our legs intertwined
our lips touch
mine still wet with her excitement
I want to feel her core
the center of her expanding
our breathing in unison
hearts synchronized
and know the look
her eyes matched to mine
our swagger leaking
into the pool of duo
her body shudder
the smooth glaze of sweat
stifled murmur of joy
that signals her concession
to herself and to us
afterglow
to run my fingers
along the edge of her soul
the barest pressure
her aura swirled
and feel her essence
slick with anticipation
of my expression
the borders of feminity
swollen with desire
drowning as I give myself mouthful by mouthful
unto supplication
at her core
we touch
our bodies equal and together
our bodies becoming us
her breath at the nape
my hand on her spine
our legs intertwined
our lips touch
mine still wet with her excitement
I want to feel her core
the center of her expanding
our breathing in unison
hearts synchronized
and know the look
her eyes matched to mine
our swagger leaking
into the pool of duo
her body shudder
the smooth glaze of sweat
stifled murmur of joy
that signals her concession
to herself and to us
afterglow
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Things I don't intend to do again
As I've grown older, I realize that there are certain things that I will endeavour to never do again if at all possible. These are things that I've either tried and failed miserably, tried and didn't like, or tried and it all went horribly wrong.
I will never again give a woman jewelry as a gift.
I will never sit anywhere but Club Level or Sky box at the Georgia Dome.
I will never again watch a porn with Julian St. Jox in it.
I will not eat at a McDonald's.
and most recently, I will not paint again if I can avoid it.
With the home I purchased, let's just say the colors ran vivid. The front bedroom was a two tone brown and crimson, the second bedroom a two tone yellow and blue. I'm not sure if the previous owners were color blind or autistic. Anyway it's taken two weeks for me to put on primer. The front room took three coats. The second room will be getting it's third coat tonight. I haven't even gotten to the colors I want yet!
I watch the home shows, HGTV and the rest and it all looks so easy. Everything takes thirty minutes. Nobody gets dirty. Everyone looks refreshed when they're done. It's deceptive. It took me thirty minutes to do one wall and I didn't even do the corners! I started rolling out the paint in just sweat pants to avoid destroying anything else! Were not even going to discuss the exertion.
I was gonna pay a guy a few hundred to do it. Retired painter who would be doing me a favor. I should have listened to him instead of my brother who said "fuck that, we'll do it ourselves and save a few bucks".
Fuck that.
Barkeep, I need some old skool Gin. You got Fliechmann's?
I will never again give a woman jewelry as a gift.
I will never sit anywhere but Club Level or Sky box at the Georgia Dome.
I will never again watch a porn with Julian St. Jox in it.
I will not eat at a McDonald's.
and most recently, I will not paint again if I can avoid it.
With the home I purchased, let's just say the colors ran vivid. The front bedroom was a two tone brown and crimson, the second bedroom a two tone yellow and blue. I'm not sure if the previous owners were color blind or autistic. Anyway it's taken two weeks for me to put on primer. The front room took three coats. The second room will be getting it's third coat tonight. I haven't even gotten to the colors I want yet!
I watch the home shows, HGTV and the rest and it all looks so easy. Everything takes thirty minutes. Nobody gets dirty. Everyone looks refreshed when they're done. It's deceptive. It took me thirty minutes to do one wall and I didn't even do the corners! I started rolling out the paint in just sweat pants to avoid destroying anything else! Were not even going to discuss the exertion.
I was gonna pay a guy a few hundred to do it. Retired painter who would be doing me a favor. I should have listened to him instead of my brother who said "fuck that, we'll do it ourselves and save a few bucks".
Fuck that.
Barkeep, I need some old skool Gin. You got Fliechmann's?
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Poetry
I touched her
touched her on caramel chocolate skin
running my fingertips
fingertips
finger
tip
across her lips
teasing and taunting
best appreciated by candlelight
on a warm night
under covers
with no others
drops of oil
moisturize the already wet
spot
I touched her
touched her soul
but between it and me
I explored the deep brown sea
of her
her thighs
lows and highs
body on the edge of delicious
I want to sup for hours
at the well of her femininity
a feast of flesh and fantasy
sensation overload
satisfaction mode
tweaking hidden zones
felt in the bones
I feel her body tremble
a heady mix
of fear and anticipation
my fingers and other parts
seeking heat
and striving again
and again
again
ugh
to elicit her vocalization
hoping for
a wordless
appreciation
of the testament
to my attraction
passion flowing in the physical
consuming seconds
minutes
hours
days
stimulation that resonates
through the memory
dreams and breathing
until
just until
that is
me.
touched her on caramel chocolate skin
running my fingertips
fingertips
finger
tip
across her lips
teasing and taunting
best appreciated by candlelight
on a warm night
under covers
with no others
drops of oil
moisturize the already wet
spot
I touched her
touched her soul
but between it and me
I explored the deep brown sea
of her
her thighs
lows and highs
body on the edge of delicious
I want to sup for hours
at the well of her femininity
a feast of flesh and fantasy
sensation overload
satisfaction mode
tweaking hidden zones
felt in the bones
I feel her body tremble
a heady mix
of fear and anticipation
my fingers and other parts
seeking heat
and striving again
and again
again
ugh
to elicit her vocalization
hoping for
a wordless
appreciation
of the testament
to my attraction
passion flowing in the physical
consuming seconds
minutes
hours
days
stimulation that resonates
through the memory
dreams and breathing
until
just until
that is
me.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Blackout?
I did a quick poll of the my fellow workers in the office, and a few of them are going to participate in the National Blackout that's going on today. My online buddies have already admitted to not being compliant.
Which makes the whole thing pointless.
I've gotten a little tired of the historical black leaders, the theoretical president and vice-president of Black people - Jesse and Rev. Al - who fifty years later still want to march and boycott to show strength. They worked then. In specific instances and under specific circumstances they were very effective in showing the power and solidarity of a people disrespected. But just as we set the tools of the that day and age aside in lieu of new tools, so we must do the same with these.
Should we never boycott or march again? Sometimes the old tool is the best tool for the job, so there will come a time when they are most appropriate. This is not that time.
Current estimates set the spending power of the target group at 2 to 3 billion per day. Real money to those whose minds are consumed with small thoughts. To put it in perspective, the US government lost 9 billion dollars in Iraq last year, lost as in "we don't know who we gave it to - we don't know where it is now. That was 9 billion in CASH. Not credits or monies paid toward or contracts promised... billions of actual paper dollars. And nobody's that concerned.
Last year Walmart had billion dollar sales on SINGLE days.
A famous congressional anecdote goes that, "a few billion here, a few billion there, and pretty soon you're talking about real money" when discussing funding of bills and projects.
The amount we're talking is a drop in the bucket. To small minds a billion or two is ridiculous money. To the people whose minds we hope to change, it is pocket money. The stakes have changed, and the rules of the game must change with with it. The people with purpose must wrap their minds that the world has change. They dream of being Martin and leading the people, but even brother Martin would realize that those things that once worked so well need to put aside for other times.
And let's not get started on the modern March, which we turn into throwback road-trips and excuses to miss work. I listened to students boarding the bus for Jena with hardly a clue as to why they were traveling.
And since the whole project not a unified effort, it's effectiveness is questionable. Wholly questionable.
In an economy with a large number of people living check to check, stockpiling supplies for a few days really wasn't an option. It's payday Friday for a large number of Americans. Children need things and sales start today. The black American icon Denzel Washington's movie debuts today, and opening day receipts are crucial.
And a number of people enjoy the nightlife. The nightlife at black owned businesses.
Which gets me to the crux of my point. The vast majority of the people joining the protest generally tend to focus their dollars at black owned or black focused businesses already. So those businesses are the ones that will suffer as we cry into the wind.
And what was the point of that?
If we must make a statement, then let's make it. But let's find a new approach, a new language, a new tool to get our point across.
Barkeep - Do you have any ripple?
Which makes the whole thing pointless.
I've gotten a little tired of the historical black leaders, the theoretical president and vice-president of Black people - Jesse and Rev. Al - who fifty years later still want to march and boycott to show strength. They worked then. In specific instances and under specific circumstances they were very effective in showing the power and solidarity of a people disrespected. But just as we set the tools of the that day and age aside in lieu of new tools, so we must do the same with these.
Should we never boycott or march again? Sometimes the old tool is the best tool for the job, so there will come a time when they are most appropriate. This is not that time.
Current estimates set the spending power of the target group at 2 to 3 billion per day. Real money to those whose minds are consumed with small thoughts. To put it in perspective, the US government lost 9 billion dollars in Iraq last year, lost as in "we don't know who we gave it to - we don't know where it is now. That was 9 billion in CASH. Not credits or monies paid toward or contracts promised... billions of actual paper dollars. And nobody's that concerned.
Last year Walmart had billion dollar sales on SINGLE days.
A famous congressional anecdote goes that, "a few billion here, a few billion there, and pretty soon you're talking about real money" when discussing funding of bills and projects.
The amount we're talking is a drop in the bucket. To small minds a billion or two is ridiculous money. To the people whose minds we hope to change, it is pocket money. The stakes have changed, and the rules of the game must change with with it. The people with purpose must wrap their minds that the world has change. They dream of being Martin and leading the people, but even brother Martin would realize that those things that once worked so well need to put aside for other times.
And let's not get started on the modern March, which we turn into throwback road-trips and excuses to miss work. I listened to students boarding the bus for Jena with hardly a clue as to why they were traveling.
And since the whole project not a unified effort, it's effectiveness is questionable. Wholly questionable.
In an economy with a large number of people living check to check, stockpiling supplies for a few days really wasn't an option. It's payday Friday for a large number of Americans. Children need things and sales start today. The black American icon Denzel Washington's movie debuts today, and opening day receipts are crucial.
And a number of people enjoy the nightlife. The nightlife at black owned businesses.
Which gets me to the crux of my point. The vast majority of the people joining the protest generally tend to focus their dollars at black owned or black focused businesses already. So those businesses are the ones that will suffer as we cry into the wind.
And what was the point of that?
If we must make a statement, then let's make it. But let's find a new approach, a new language, a new tool to get our point across.
Barkeep - Do you have any ripple?
Thursday, November 1, 2007
2007 Football Rant #1
I don't like the Patriots
I have no respect for Belichick, or Brady or Moss at this point. I have no respect for entire organization, the owner or commissioner Goodell.
I have no gripes with the way the team has manhandled opponent after opponent this season. They come out firing with a offense with outlet after outlet and rack up points like no team ever. They are crisp, efficient and focused. The problem is that they don't stop. Up by 30, they keep pounding. Up by 40 and the starting units are still on the field. It is the epitome of bad sportsmanship. And this from a team that needs to demonstrate good sportsmanship at every turn considering their recent track record.
And apart from bad sportsmanship, it demonstrates a complete lack of perspective on the part of the "trappist monk" of football. Brady is going to get hurt. Or Moss or Welker. Bad. The weekly column Tuesday Morning Quarterback will attribute it to the "Football Gods" angry at the hubris of the team. I and ESPN will attribute it a defensive end or linebacker with a free shot who will have Brady on the field saying "I'm Batman".
Some say the Pats are focused because they're angry. And I ask angry at what? Getting caught cheating? They're angry that they got busted? And beating everyone they meet with no remose badly will make us think better of them how? Because right now I think they're still cheating. And that they might have been cheating for some time.
I have no respect for Goodell because after he said they would get to the bottom of what the Patriots were doing, they destroyed the evidence after 4 days and let the matter go. With no explanation of what they found. And no secondary review.
I hope Taligabue didn't go too far.
Barkeep... a Sidecar, heavy on the Scotch.
I have no respect for Belichick, or Brady or Moss at this point. I have no respect for entire organization, the owner or commissioner Goodell.
I have no gripes with the way the team has manhandled opponent after opponent this season. They come out firing with a offense with outlet after outlet and rack up points like no team ever. They are crisp, efficient and focused. The problem is that they don't stop. Up by 30, they keep pounding. Up by 40 and the starting units are still on the field. It is the epitome of bad sportsmanship. And this from a team that needs to demonstrate good sportsmanship at every turn considering their recent track record.
And apart from bad sportsmanship, it demonstrates a complete lack of perspective on the part of the "trappist monk" of football. Brady is going to get hurt. Or Moss or Welker. Bad. The weekly column Tuesday Morning Quarterback will attribute it to the "Football Gods" angry at the hubris of the team. I and ESPN will attribute it a defensive end or linebacker with a free shot who will have Brady on the field saying "I'm Batman".
Some say the Pats are focused because they're angry. And I ask angry at what? Getting caught cheating? They're angry that they got busted? And beating everyone they meet with no remose badly will make us think better of them how? Because right now I think they're still cheating. And that they might have been cheating for some time.
I have no respect for Goodell because after he said they would get to the bottom of what the Patriots were doing, they destroyed the evidence after 4 days and let the matter go. With no explanation of what they found. And no secondary review.
I hope Taligabue didn't go too far.
Barkeep... a Sidecar, heavy on the Scotch.
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