Where Do broken Hearts Go?

The voice of generation. That's how they described her when I heard it on the radio. Sporty had already shot me the email, and I was trying to go to Black Law Student Association function (I tried!) when what sounded like the unfolding of a national tragedy. Partially because it was so far away (the function was at Dave & Busters on 85, which like five or six exits outside the perimeter on the other side of the city), partially because the DJs sounded so depressed, and partially because they played "I Will Always Love You" from the Bodyguard Soundtrack, I turned around and headed home.

The voice of a generation. That phrase resonates, but then back when Whitney came out, and you had to know how to sing, her debut did contain You Give Good Love, Saving All My Love for You, Nobody Loves me Like You, How Will I Know, All at Once and Greatest Love of All. That's six songs I probably can lip sync to even now, without trying. Two years later, she hit us again with I Wanna Dance with Somebody, Didn't We Almost Have it All, and Where Do Broken Hearts Go. And that's just the 80's, the first two albums!

Then there was the Bodyguard Soundtrack, with I'm Every Woman and I Will Always Love You.

I Will Always Love You. I've listened to that song a lot. It's almost my theme song.

Sure Whitney had problems, only amplified by her stardom. But her voice in her prime was as good as it gets (that would be just below Aretha). And I did want to dance with somebody. I thought I gave good love, so I wondered where my broken heart went.

I hope life treats you kind
And I hope you have all you've dreamed of.
And I wish to you, joy and happiness.
But above all this, I wish you love.

I actually have done this. I actually believe that's how you should leave any relationship that didn't work out.

Voice of a generation. She just might have been.

I'm Staying in My Lane

Ramblings Post #180
I have a bad case of senior-itis. I'm working through it, going to class, getting into my homework and the readings, trading notes and dropping by the library so I'm not in the house staring at the walls. But I'm just so ready for what comes next. I'm ready, but I'm also filled with trepidation that might not be good enough. Which means I'll just keep trying to be good enough, until I feel good enough. At which point, I may be too good. See? Logic.

I was reading through...okay, looking through some tumblr blogs...well, tumblr galleries if you want to be nice, and I realized this blog would be a whole lot simpler if all did was post pictures and make the occasional comment. If the pictures were of naked women, this joint might even be popular.

I'm just saying.

Picture sourced from the internet. I guess.
Yes, that is Abe Lincoln. On a Grizzly Bear. I don't know why.

This picture is wholly unrelated to anything at all in this post. Or really anything I can think of. But if I had another kind of blog, I would have posted it and not even thought about it. Maybe I am getting old, because I can't see myself doing this, posting pictures I think are cool, and calling it "my blog". I don't get it. Not there is anything wrong with it per se, but I just don't see it for me.

I started this blog as a mental outlet, my own little showcase of my storytelling ability that would go around the world and be heard by someone out there. Somewhere. To tell some jokes, relate some stories, maybe leave some kind of mark that I was here. This was supposed to get snarky over time, become popular and showcase me as I imagined myself to be. Swinging through the Atlanta nightlife and barking up the wrong trees. Then life happened. And this became a way to "scream into the electronic darkness" because I didn't have anything else. So popular really wasn't the plan.

Now, I'm the verge of a degree I wasn't sure I wanted until now, starting a brand new career from scratch in a time when most people just want a job. This is now is me almost talking to myself, reminding me what my plans are, where I want to be.

Or...I could post funny pictures.

I think I still have some story to tell. More words to write. And I don't know if easy would get that story right. Might have to be a little difficult to make sure I did it right.

Barkeep. The brown. Because this lane is okay.

Five Minutes watching: The Big Bang.

I don't watch a lot of movies, because I don't have time. But at the end of day of work, then class, then reading for the next class, and writing down what I wrote so I can remember it all, I'll turn on one of them pay channels I have for just such an emergency and catch five minutes of something.



This review is not to be confused with the television show the Big Bang Theory, a show which I've actually found to be at times ridiculously enjoyable despite it's now strained original concept. No, this is about the movie, The Big Bang, a film trying very hard to be noir, is about a world weary detective, a missing woman, the mob, hidden diamonds and the Higgs-Boson particle. Yes, that Higgs-Boson particle.

It stars Antonio Banderas, Sam Elliott, this guy who had to be seven feet tall, with cameos from Bill Duke and Snoop Dog. I don't think ever saw the inside of a cineplex. One night I saw the trailer online and thought it looked interesting, well, if it's on don't change the channel interesting, so when it popped up on Encore the other night I decided to tune in. That it was on the Black oriented Encore channel I found strange, until I sussed out Encore's version of black includes every movie starring a non-white person.

But I digress. The film, how can I describe it? You ever see a film that would be good if they remade it, and when they remade it they actually put some effort into it this time? Yeah, this was that movie. Because the story was actually only 30% Hollywood re-hash, the cutesy physics angle and associated wordplay wasn't' too cutesy, and I honestly didn't figure out the twist until the characters did. The down sides? A weird, supposedly arty, slantly camera angle that got annoying after a while, bad acting, and the special effects at the end could have used a bit more polish.

It's a film that if they remade it with George Clooney or Sam Worthington, better. And I don't mean a re-write, I mean a word for word - shot for shot remake of this, it would be amazingly good. Or keep it ethnic and use Terrance Howard, Chiwetel Ejiofor or Idris Elba. Even Mos Def who can act when he wants could have pulled it off. Some of the trouble was Banderas, whose wandering accent made pieces of dialogue and the whole voice over thing hard to understand, and whose acting left a bit to be desired. Like if he had tried actual acting.

Seriously, ramp up the production values by 20% (or use darker sets) and you might actually have a good movie here. As it is, it's the kind of movie you watch only because the trailer was good, and once you've started watching it you just want to see the end. It's not Shakespeare, or even anything close. So if you're not doing anything else.

Bar Chatter

Bar Chatter #25
Sometimes it just ain't enough to make a post, but it's still needs to go out....it's just bar chatter.


Since Football Season ended a while back, and I go to school, I almost forgot there was a game on. Yeah, Super what? Whatever. Oh, and I had a sincere distaste for both teams playing. And the team I actually had a higher distaste for ended up winning.

It's an NFC East thing, you wouldn't understand.

So this will count as the entirety of my Superbowl post.

Ground Hog Day

It's February 2nd, again. Again.

If you were forced to live one day to over and over, forever...what would you do?

I like to believe I wouldn't have to go through the first part of the film, where he indulges then despairs at his plight. I want to believe that once I realize my predicament, I would embrace the opportunity for self betterment. That I would immediately find something to read, watch movies I hadn't thought about, learn to dance, to sing, play instruments, learn languages, right wrongs. I like to believe I would.

But I don't think would.

The Train rolls into the station

There weren't a whole lot of channels when I was kid. Back before my parents got the magic white box with the slider (this before the wood paneled box with the switches and the dial) we had three stations, public television and the religious channel.

On Saturday mornings they played cartoons, only then, instead of all day on two or three cable channels. It was event television. So on Saturday mornings as a kid you camped out in front of the TV for three or four hours to catch the latest stuff. Then you could go out and play. But I watched for a little longer. Because right after the cartoons went off, I took the hippest trip in America.

When I was a kid there was no channel that showed who the musicians were, no videos of their ideas (or rather a director or producer) with them snake dancing to the sounds. We listened to the radio to hear the music, we bought the record to love music, we watched Soul Train to see...to live the music. It was for a long time the definition of cool. At least to me.

I was too young to go anywhere, to far in the country to see anything, so for me Soul Train was it - my ticket to the world outside of where I was. I recognized the dancers, I copied the moves, and I wasn't alone because I can't tell you how many parties I've been to since where people have started a "Soul Train Line" just to keep the party going.

Thank you Don Cornelius. Thank you very much.