Babies Don't Have To Happen

Believe me I'm glad when they do. I am a big baby lover. I'm concerned enough about children's welfare that some wonder if I'm a social worker. But my momma was one once and I am too disturbed by the system to ever consider that as a lifelong career field. But I'm pretty sure some of her caring nature bubbled over and dripped on my soul and now I care about babies a lot.

And of course, like most, I would like babies to be born in the most ideal situations possible. Loving household with sufficient economic resources and all that wonderful stuff that decreases the chances of a deviant social being. But I'm a realist too and I realize that all babies can't be born in such idyllic situations. But it amazes me how many are born in not-so-great situations that can be prevented.

This is all spurred by a conversation with the Princess Bride (I've been drafted as a wedding consultant. I'm sure I'll talk more about this later. Something else I got from my momma.) regarding a person we both know who used to go to our school. He got his girlfriend pregnant. And less than eight months after the arrival of the first one - where a permanent breakup transpired - he knocked her up with the second one. Me and Princess both couldn't understand how you let that happen. First one, you get the pass. Too passionate and didn't slip on the jimmy hat. But the second one, especially since you already have contempt for baby mama's parenting skills, you run to the store for the rubber or fashion one out of your tires if the sex is that necessary.

And then you have all those wonderful birth control options. Did you know that some birth control options will only cost you like $1 a day? That's amazing. Now that the new one Seasonale has come out that let's you have four periods a year (that's right girls: only FOUR), why aren't we pushing this much harder? Nymphomaniacs and frustrated boyfriends rejoice greatly! Mothers and fathers who think they're too young to be grandparents: Stop acknowledging your children's budding sexuality and just spring for the shit already.

Is it possible that we could get the scientists working on cutting the carbs in Coke and excising as much fat off a beef pattie on a Foreman grill working on a condom that really enhances intercourse? Or at least no more than a 10% drop off? I mean we got Star Wars missile defense, can't we develop something that stops the most dangerous of missiles while letting the joy come in? People it can happen. I believe.

And we honestly talk to the kids too instead of being in constant denial? Kids got cell phones and computers so you can't have them on surveillance like back in the day. As friends with benefits proliferates among the high school generation, you just gotta get over yourself and realize your baby might be bringing home a baby if you're not careful. And why not some money for education and better health care for the poor. Il Dubya could solve two problems with one if he let the kids know that they could have birth control pills for a $1 a day. I know a bunch of teens that would take that job at McDonald's to pay for the damn things. Poor working + Poor not producing more poor for the time being. Isn't that what he wants?

Since I'm running for Miss America this year, I've decided this will be my platform. Generations keep coming closer and closer together and 30 year old grandparents just aren't as cool as the 60 year old ones.

Adventures In Slumberland

So I had two trippy dreams I can recall from last night's sleep.

The first involved a move with my parents. It was a new apartment. Very sterile looking since it had only white walls. The corridors looked like something out the Matrix when Neo goes and talks to the architect. Anyhoo, cold and such and then I see that my parents are dead. Their bodies are just floating in this pool within one of the rooms. For some reason I knew what to do, taking each body and letting it float in it's own respective body shaped pool. Then I called the authorities. What's funny is that I started thinking about all the logistics, life insurance policies and funeral arrangements. Then all of a sudden I had a grief attack I guess. Crying uncontrollably. Screaming "Why?!?!?" like a bad lifetime movie. Finally my brain got annoyed and woke me up.

The second one wasn't as detailed but I'll recall it anyway. It basically involved Drizzle. She was in one of those sleeveless sweaters she likes, except this one was sparkly and fuchsia, two things I never think she would combine in an every day ensemble. Anyhoo, she gave me something and then she walked off. I was trying to get her to stay, but she seemed preoccupied.

So one theory says dreams are what you really desire. Do I want my parents dead? Yeah in a way sure. Not cause I don't like them, rather because I love. They're in a state of perpetual suffering. I'd at least like the people they are now to disappear. But Drizzle's a different category. I want her still. Our situation is like the lyrics to Usher's Burn. (Did I just quote Usher) Maybe it's a sign. Maybe it's my brain just recapping events for me like a torturous America's Most Wanted dramatization. Maybe I should just stop eating double chocolate cake before I go to sleep.

Happiness Is...

...finding 11 chicken McNuggets in a box that was only supposed to contain 10

Now You Gotta Kiss Me

I don't know why I went away for so long. It's not like I didn't have things to write about. I've been keeping a list of topics I've wanted to vent about. Maybe I was too busy with an actual job that I overlooked this too easily. I don't think that's the case. I've had enough down time over the weeks. Whatever. For the umpteenth time, I will do my best to be consistent. And I'll probably be writing a similar entry in the near future.

Life has been surprisingly okay. Nothing terribly exciting. Mostly I've been brushing up on my phone skills, both business and personal. On the business side, it's been learning what to say and how to say it. On the personal side it's been more like what not to say and when and how not to say it. This has been much more difficult. The personal side has been mainly in my dealings with the fairer sex, although I am perpetually baffled as to how they got that lofty title. These relationships seem totally unfair.

At least I've felt wanted in all of this, on both counts. Would be supervisors keep on courting me to work. And the fairer sex keeps contacting me and I keep answering against better judgment. Maybe it's because they say nice things sometimes. I've been complimented on my kissing prowess recently so I guess my statutes on the topic are worthy. But I think I have to sit out of relationships for a while. I'm not good at them at all. This only child thing is coming back to bite me in the ass.

The flirting/witty banter thing I gush about so often seems to work well for me. They keep getting caught in the web. If only I could work it out that all my relationships could be carried out with IMs, text messages, and late night tenderness sessions. Then I could be in the clear. Daylight and actual contact don't seem to mesh for me. And I honestly don't feel like working on it, right now at least. One day I know I'll have to suck it up and work it out, especially if I want to have that antiquated American dream I've been programmed to desire. Please believe I want to have a saccharine sweet relationship that makes people sick like the couples on "A Wedding Story." Guess not right now though.

Victoria's Secret

Ancient Chinese Bra Found

Seems the Chinese have been trying to get cleavage for over a millenium. Why are they always the bloody innovators?

Some More Evidence Of A Supreme Being

Sex More Likely When Women Are Fertile

Even when you don't even want the kid, your body is telling you that you do, or at least sending signals to other people that you do, and therefore you're more likely to have a kid. Sorry to be skeptical, but I just can't believe that this sort of thing "developed" through evolution. Planned parenthood is a recent occurrence. The reason we're here is by all those extra chemicals our ancestors were spitting out.

The British Lead Us Again

And The Number One Reason To Read Books Is...

...the chance to get 1,000 pounds (= to 1,837 of our puny American dollars) from a sexy model when she spots you reading a book. Why do the Europeans always think of the best ideas first? Mini Coopers, Ikea, and now this. They've combined sex and money to encourage the fundamental art of reading. They should start doing that here. THey could even diversify the model pool, get them from every race just so all the men in the country are sure to read. It makes sense. Think about it.

Sim Simma....Who Got The Keys To My Bimma?

The New York Times > Week in Review > Start Your Engines: There's a Reason BMW Drivers Zip Along the Autobahn

If you want to get laid in Germany, drive a BMW, cause they get it 2.2 times a week as opposed to flaccid Porsche drivers who only clock in around 1.4x. Cute little article about German car survey.

It Is The Best Policy

I'm not the master of clever titles so you were right to assume the topic is honesty. Of course when I say 'you' I use the term liberally since this is pretty much a sounding board for myself. But hey, that's honesty. And that's a big step for me.

I chronically lied. Mostly about things that I wanted to do. My desire to do them, and as a result seem interesting, ultimately led me to imagine how they would go down, very vividly and with specific details staying in line with my nickname. My vivid imagination replayed these scenarios enough that I honestly believed them. It's like I deserved for all these experiences to happen to me and so it was okay if they existed in the corners of my mind. Like it was once said of our dearly departed president's approach to life, the fantasy world and the real were almost inseparable, and the fantasy was much more appealing.

I'm squarely on the honesty kick though now and I'm quite sure it's where I'll stay. I was talking a couple of hours ago to my friend, explaining why my residence here will be extended. In the past, the truth would have seemed embarrassing. Amazingly, I didn't cover it up in one of my patented ways. I was straight up, even about my rediscovered alcohol abstinence. And it feels good. I even had the notion to write my aunt and tell her everything about my current academic situation, unsolicited. That would have never happened weeks ago. Not worrying about how and when you'll be found stuck in a web of deceit is incredibly liberating. I just wish I remembered those Bible lessons sooner. Honestly.

Yeah I Stole It

....but it seemed so accurate. Stolen from some poor man's wonderful personal ad, I just had to take it cause he seemed to be describing me in so many ways. Alas he has the better life since he has a regular job and actually can afford to live in the city, plus he looks like a poor man's Taye Diggs so I get to steal this and not feel bad about it. Plus it's not like I'm putting this in my personal ad. That would be really wrong.

"I'm a smart guy, with somewhat wicked sense of humor. Sometimes I can be mischievous. Basic well rounded guy. Pretty laid back. Not really a wall flower, but I enjoy sitting back and watching people.

I'm a combination of different things, I'm very confident, but I shy away from attention. I avoid confrontations, but at the same time I can be aggressive. One minute you could find me listening to Dinah Washington, the next minute I could be listening to Jay-Z. Someone people think I'm a dork, some people think I'm cool. You decide."

Is It Supposed to Feel This Good

Something that has gotten me in trouble on at least one occasion is the wonderful art of flirting. As the dictionary goes, to flirt is to make playfully romantic or sexual overtures. Of course in doing this I also followed another meaning of the word when I dealt superficially with danger, but we'll just focus on my love of the romantic part today children.

What sparked this realization is an encounter I had today with a waitress in a restaurant. (I know what you're thinking but I wasn't her customer and I was getting something to go so scratch that ulterior motive theory.) As I sat in the place waiting, I checked her out as all men do when unencumbered by significant others. I placed her in my brain's definition of the cute demographic but still I wasn't gonna pursue anything, which resembles the majority of my flirting activities. But we shared eye contact and a smile. She then became overly attentive to what I needed and when she gave me my food she gave me another sweet smile, while seemingly trying to catch herself after realizing how tall I was.

Of course I'm probably over-romanticizing our two minute love affair but on my walk it made me wonder why I get such a charge out of it. Something about that moment, when one person knows that you find them attractive and vice versa, is electric. I can't put my finger on it. Then the ensuing game of whatever you want to call it just draws out an almost euphoric feeling.

Okay maybe it's not supposed to feel like a hit of X. Maybe my self-image is still stuck with that awkward 12-year old boy who was 5'3" with size 12 feet and actually had the word 'husky' on the label of his pants. Possibly I'm just targeting an element inherent in human nature that just likes being deemed attractive. Whatever it is I doubt I'll stop anytime soon.

Not because I'm a player or something. I don't search out these opportunities. They're just a matter of circumstance. I often figure out I am participating in flirting after the experience (Best-case scenario: During the encounter due to an out-of-body adventure). Even when I am cognizant of it, it's not always cause I'm trying to get with the girl. The girl I mention in the entry here (2/23/04-Practice) was never a possibility. She lives in Virginia, has a man, and might be too in love with Backstreet. But still we flirted (and kind of continued in digital form).

I guess it ultimately goes back to the need to feel attractive. The idea, no matter how remote the chances, that you might or could establish something in the future I guess is too intoxicating,. Maybe it's connecting with another person for a millisecond, real or imagined. It's something. I won't try to define it. Some mysteries are better unsolved. Until that danger thing becomes an issue and you need to put an end to it as soon as possible.

(Editor's Note: I would never do it in the presence of a significant other without express consent nor would I act on the possibilities of any flirtatious encounter while engaged in a monogamous relationship. I'm a thrill-seeker, not evil)

I'm Published Bitch

Okay so it ain't the New York Times, but it ain't some cockamamie newsletter of my home computer either. Just a quick article I pulled out of nowhere about my choir's trip to Carnegie Hall. You will need Adobe Acrobat or the Reader for this document. If you are one of the last people to get this essential download, click here. Even if you don't read my article, you'll thank me later. By the way it's on page seven. Feel free to read the whole thing though.

Careful What You Wish For

Before I even came to my lovely school, I had it worked out that I was going to be a resident assistant. Yes, being RA worked effectively into my plans of my forthcoming domination of the world. Those plans took a detour when my father insisted I live with him.

Since his tenure at the school ended sometime last year, I finally got my chance to live in the dorm. While most people lament their stay and spend their time working out ways to leave or envying those who have, I personally enjoy it. There's something great about being around people your age all the time. It adds a vibrancy that I can't exactly put my finger on. It's probably cause I was an only child and still thrive on being in groups of people I can actually enjoy.

Of course I still have a single room. I recognize that a roommate would be troublesome until I'm in a long-term relationship. Suitemates are barely tolerable. Every once in a while people are loud when you don't want them to be. And since it is an archaic Christian school, the dorm is still single-sex past the lobby, so that wonderful female vibrancy is lost.

Anyway, my RA dreams spiked as I moved back in because it sounded like one was needed and I thought I had some serious credentials. But one really wasn't needed. I however still thrust myself into responsibility's way whenever needed. I was so effective that some people just assumed I was an RA.

Finally, this weekend, with the dorm in transition between regimes, I now have a set of master keys. I am RA (for the weekend). It might turn into the summer. Honestly speaking I'm an excellent canddidate to be head RA all next year too since the past year's RA's graduated, moved out, or are getting married. But now I am hit with the responsibility that comes with power. There was noise in the hallway last night and I realized that if I wanted it to stop I needed to be the master of confrontation. Then there was room check. No fun knocking on people's doors at 11 pm. Then there's the current business of checking people into guest rooms. Funny how keys for three rooms are missing and one bathroom light socket does not work. Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaantastic.

I think I'd still like to do it on a regular basis. I honestly feel that I can be a helping hand. WIth a little more sleep

First Ladies Night, Now This

Regional Russian Government Bans Short Skirts

In the only government more restrictive than New Jersey, a deputy (deputies have power like this! He should have been shot. Forget the sheriff) bans short skirts, outlandish jewelry, and encouraged to be modest with the makeup. Once again I must ask are you kidding me?!?!?!? To justify the move, he said that such dress aroused the "animal instincts" of his male colleagues. Doesn't he realize that's half the reason that his male colleagues come to work? Russia seems like Canada without the care-free attitude. They're not getting the Olympics in 2012 (Go NYC!). It is the simple pleasures that these people live for, which includes dressing provocatively and actively gawking at such wonderful displays of sexiness. I mean the best exports from Russia get worldwide fame on fashion runways. The men deserve to oggle the remaining beauties in all their splendor.

The only redeeming quality is that there are other male government officials who think that the decree is ludicrous. I guess they have some of those Annas and Katerinas in their offices. Fight the machine!

Puddle of Depth I

"I tried to write to influence, but they suspended my poetic license"

TV Saves Once Again

It's Not TV. It's HBO

And HBO now stands for Helping Brothers Out. The article in question summarizes the story of a man who was held on the murder of his wife although he claimed he had been at a Los Angeles Dodgers game with his daughter on the same night. The man had ticket stubs saying he was there, but the police said they had a witness placing him at the scene. He wanted a lie detector test, but was refused.

His clever lawyer got the tapes from Fox of the game and even tapes of the DodgerVision they broadcast at the big screen at the stadium. Yet he still couldn't find his client. Then he learned that 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' was there that very night taping an episode. He got a copy of the tape and voila, there's his client in the frame eating a hot dog. Now that's what I call justice! Can this lawyer be nominated for like lawyer of the year already?

And look at HBO. Just one more thing to add to their mantel. Critically acclaimed, award winning, life-saving (since he faced the death penalty). So what's the moral of the story? Whenever you go to a sporting event, make sure that you make extravagant gestures to make sure you end up televised in some form or fashion just in case you need to establish an alibi when you're accused of a crime. Take a crazy sign, wear a funny wig, but just make sure you're identifiable and get on that tape. Even if your team loses, you still win. See you next time children

That's me with dreadlocks. They don't exist on my head anymore. The gray patch still does

The Feeling's Wrong....Just Plain Wrong

The End of Ladies Night?

More and more I am convinced that most of the people I encounter in life, whether I speak to them or not, are idiots. Just straight up idiots. If Ladies' Night is discriminatory, then men should stop paying for drinks too.

I mean I figured Jersey of all states would understand the concept of Ladies' Night. In order to look their prettiest and sexiest, women cannnot carry significantly sized handbags. In the scramble to take the essentials, money is definitely left out. Why would they come to a club they can't pay the cover for?

This definitely hurts the men in the region as well, since Jersey men need all the help they can get. These men need help. Sports teams are trying to leave the state. Bridge and tunnel women already run to New York City and Philly as often as possible. No Ladies' Night is a serious threat to the survival of this endangered specie. Hold up. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Uh.....What??!?!

Judge rejects slave trauma as defense for killing

That headline is not a misprint. A doctor has hypothesized that certain people can suffer from PTSSD - Post Traumatic Slave Disorder (or Syndrome. Whatever). You have got to be bloody kidding me. Is she serious? How about taking responsiblity for something? It's been 140 years. Drink some prune juice and let it go.

Possibly I am not sympathetic since my background is West Indian. But people please. Just because your great great grandmama might have done it, you still know it's wrong. Worse they're trying to use it to acquit someone for killing a two year old. That's just sickening. It's like saying that the Irish can smack their wives around because they were discriminated against when they ran from their potato drought (not implying that Irish men smack their wives, just the first case of discrimination and act of violence I could think of).

And she has enough for a book? I live in the craziest country in the world. Which reminds me I need my father to get his birth certificate out and help me get my citizenship from Jamaica. Their type of crazy is much more predictable.

U-Haul Trucks Are Circling

As I am a peripheral helper with my friend Posh's family's moving adventure, it occurred to me that I had never moved in my entire life, something that seemed to easily slip my mind. Yeah of course there is going from school to home, but I'm talking about monumental address change here. I mean my parents haven't even moved from the same apartment since about two years before I graced the planet with my presence. Is it a blessing or a curse?

For one thing, you can't beat that type of stability. Same phone number, room, and all that jazz. Nevertheless, I think I was deprived of the adventure. Posh and her two sisters were all born in different states. They've lived in Massachusetts, Michigan, New York, Illinois, Florida, and a couple countries in Africa. Now they're on the far right side of the curve, but still the idea of new experiences and new friends would have been wonderful.

Plus, I totally missed out on the practical skills of moving, like packing your things. When it came time for me to do that when going to school, I was honestly baffled. Making things squish the right way and protecting the right things were lessons I could have learned much earlier, before I turned my mini system into an elaborate, blinking, end table.

At least I was deprived of the childhood trauma of seeing a friend move away. The closest I came was when Elise, a fellow 4th grader I had once kissed in kindergarten, moved to Florida. We reciprocated crushes that last year we were together, but very maturely stayed away from acting on them since she had just broken up with my friend. Yeah that was 4th grade. Anyway, she moved to Florida in the summer. I was mildly crushed when I returned to school in the fall and she wasn't there, but the turmoil of skipping a grade quickly washed away that memory. I heard from friends that actually wrote letters and kept in touch with her that she turned into a serial-dye job kind of ho. I guess that's what Hialeah does to 4'11" Panamanians.

But going back to my original monorail of thought, in hindsight, I experienced the adult version of that trauma last summer. My best friend Hicksican Jew returned to his Naples paradise from Connecticut. Drizzle had already been in Texas. And our cadre of friends in Connecticut left too, save for Nitro. Plus, the people I really hung out with here in Massachusetts all bloody graduated. Right then and there, I was shown that I had a stability addiction and all of a sudden, I had to quit cold turkey. I guess I did alright. I made a new circle of friends I guess, even tighter than the first set I had up here.

But now I just want to move. Anywhere. I've always looked with admiration and envy at the people who just get up and against all logic just go somewhere. No prospects. No money. They just go. The starlet to Hollywood. The artist to New York. The people who just randomly point to a map and go there. So maybe I'll do that. Savannah, Georgia sounds nice. I think I'll just go.

The Future of Marriage

Nerve.com - The Future of Marriage Issue

Mind throttling articles about where marriage is going. Almost convincing me to skip the government and cohabitate when I decide upon a special lady. Look about. Discuss. Quiz at the end of the week.

And Now For Something Different

Sentencing With A Smile

This is a little story about a alternative "community court" that not only deals with real cases, but offers GED classes, childcare, job training, social workers, and drug counselors all in the same building for a more holistic attempt to cut down on crime. First of all I'm proud to say it's in Brooklyn and in a section I can attest that unfortunately I once got lost in and was very scared for my life. I'm sure that this court is helping osme but I still don't recommend getting lost there.

Anyway, I'm glad that governemnt was behind the creation and implementation of the court. I think that a big reason for the repeat offenders in courtrooms is just because throughout their lives they repeatedly get lost in the system that's supposed to help them. The first and only step is schools. Once they get lost there, they're pretty much done until they arrive in court. At least these people are making an attempt to end the cycle.

I'm not sure I completely agree with this incarnation. As much as television and film have fed us the entertaining images of acerbically witty judges, something doesn't seem right about the same justices coming down of the bench to shake hands and slap people on their backs. And the better solution would be to put more money in programs that help kids in schools so that they're less likely to fall through cracks, you know like after-school programs, making sure there aren't 40 kids in a classroom, little things like that. But at least they're thinking of stopgaps, a big step in the right direction.

This Is Not Saved By The Bell

The New York Times > Magazine > Friends, Friends With Benefits and the Benefits of the Local Mall

Interesting article in Sunday's New York Times Magazine about how friends with benefits has become a very popular option amongst the high school set in light of the internet and cellphones. I remember when I got to college and first heard about this type of arrangement. I thought it was novel, mature even. And I think that in certain cases it can work, when things are purely carnal. But it's definitely not for high schoolers. Can you imagine Archie and Jughead doing the whole friends with benefits system? I can see it now. Poor Betty getting her heart broken every time she gives Archie her milkshake only to know that Veronica's line was busy and she was second choice.

Why stop there with the revisionist pop culture history? Maybe Saved by the Bell would have been more believable if they had the friends with benefits system. I think Lisa Turtle was the protypical high school Sex & The City Samantha. Into the materials, loved her friends, and very able and willing to get what she needed out of the opposite sex. Screech still would have been a wallflower though.

Teens should have to long for relationships just like the generations before them. All throughout the article you see kids complaining that dating is messy and painful. Well so's life losers. You can't control everything. There are a lot of things worse than that varsity basketball player or the homecoming queen not giving you the time of day. Like trying to get a job.

First of All........

In a conversation I found myself in the midst of the other night, I decided to end with some non-traditional arrivaderci. But I didn't know how to end, until the person on the other end of the phone sounded somewhat perturbed with me. Finally flashing back into the convo, I told her that there was no need to be upset because when my album came out, she would be one of the first 17 people thanked. How I came up with the number? It just happened to be on my mind.

But the matter has stayed on my mind for the last couple of days, obviously. I started to wonder how my album thank you's turn out. Do I put God first or save the best for last? Do I individually note people I identify as rolling with cliques? And the grandmama of all questions, what's the order?

If you're curious, God is first, dedication to my grandmothers is last, and you're somewhere in between. But if you're reading this, you're definitely in the top 15.

So Close

Every once in a while, I'll catch a glimpse of myself in my floor length mirror and it turns into a full appraisal of the Adam of that day. Most of the time I come away with the same conclusion: pretty decent specimen, could be excellent with small alterations. I'm sure many people have this conclusion on a semi-regular basis as well. What keeps us from doing them however?

In my case, they're pretty simple. Pay better attention to my skin, break down and finally buy a beard trimmer, stick to a regular workout plan, actually do homework and read books and not just about poopsmoot. I'm attractive enough I figure and I'm not looking to grace some billboard, but these simple things might improve my look, my health, and my self-esteem. So why don't I do them?

Is it sheer laziness? Yet the supposed benefits should outweigh that slothfulness significantly. Possible it's impatience. It's like maybe the knowledge of how to do things should act as a key to just bring about the new me with no effort. Could it be complacency? Maybe just knowing what to do is enough, and telling myself I can start at any time just fosters procrastination. Maybe it's fear that the result won't be as great as hoped, that I won't turn into some virile specimen of masculinity and genius. Maybe I just need to jump in and stop calculating. Maybe I have to stop saying maybe.

Hot Damn

You may notice that I may have a focus on the youth of America on this site. (Wait a minute. Is there anyone out there anyway?) But truly they worry me. Yes I am only 23 but damn one day these little people are gonna run this place unless the Messiah returns before then (please please please).

Today's little rant about the youth comes courtesy of the movie Mean Girls. Now I saw this last Sunday and I enjoyed it, probably because of all the Saturday Night Live people getting to act outside of a recurring character. It's sad what SNL does to those people cause I bet they're some pretty crazy people if they're let loose. Sorry bout the tangent. The movie though is a milder, cheerier form of Heathers, that iconic black comedy that made a generation (plus me) fall in love with Winona Ryder, before she started stealing things.

Anyway, what disturbed me about the movie was the way the main characters dressed. I mean the little vixens looked like they stepped out of the Neiman Marcus catalog. That didn't bother me so much as when I stepped out of the movie and into the mall and there were like clones of these girls all around me. What happened to cheerleader outfits and jeans and stuff? Do the girls of America really think they have to look like this?

To me it just seems kind of dangerous to be sending that kind of message to teenage girls. Women's self esteem in this country is already kind of shoddy and having girls that young sweating how they look that much just seems problematic to me. Plus when the star of the movie, Lindsay Lohan gets caught with her nipple showing (and who I will stop feeling guilty about lusting over on July 2, 2004) it doesn't make it any better.

I'm not suggesting any plan of action to save them. I have no idea what to do. I can barely figure out the women my age, let alone some girls. But I just think that attention should be paid so that these girls aspire to be more than caricatures and stuff. Eloquent huh?

We Heeeeeeeeeeeere

"It's a distinct and painful memory shared by music lovers of a certain age. You spend a couple hours recording a wicked awesome mix tape for a friend, or a lover, or (most often) someone in the uncertain terrain between. You fill it with songs cunningly chosen to simultaneously bare your heart and play it cool. You nervously hand it over—"Yeah, no big deal, but I made you this." Two weeks later, you ask how much she loved it, and when she shrugs, you feel a hot flush of shame. Face it: Your mix tape sucks."

Do you ever get that piece of literature, art, music, whatever it is, that you just connect with? Is that not a great feeling? I'm not saying that every time it happens, it's some monumental thing like reading Catcher in the Rye or Emma does for some people. It's things like this little excerpt from a piece about how iTunes celebrity mixtapes ultimately are trash. But this introductory paragraph just made me excited. Just cause I've been there. It's so great to know someone else has been there too.

It's happened a lot for me in music, every once in a while in film too. But it's just a reminder of how great it is that there are these experiences we have and we can revel in them and share them with others and enjoy and be miserable and everything in between. Okay I'll shut up now.

He Could Not Have Said This

Bushism of the Day
By Jacob Weisberg
Posted Wednesday, May 26, 2004, at 12:22 PM PT


"I'm honored to shake the hand of a brave Iraqi citizen who had his hand cut off by Saddam Hussein."—Washington, D.C., May 25, 2004

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Blessing In Disguise

When I was stupid enough to leave my CD player at my dorm's front desk unattended about two months ago, it was no surprise that it was stolen. It's funny that when it was stolen I really wasn't all that upset. My eyes watered up one time, just because my stupidness was appalling, but otherwise it didn't affect me that much. By the next day, I was pretty much placated by the whole incident. The fact that I had spent about $150 on it and that it was only three months old didn't bother me that much. As a matter of fact, I distinctly recall debating if I should take it with me right before I left it. There was some weird force telling me to leave it, even though I knew there was a distinct chance that I wouldn't be back for a considerable amount of time. And it disappeared. Luckily, my sanity did not tag along.

There have been blips in the radar, like choir trips, where I miss my personal jukebox. Overall, though, it has been surprisingly pleasant. As a matter of fact, not being plugged into music at all times has been beneficial. When I am taking those walks to the post office or to buy myself used DVD's at Blockbuster (come on 2 for $20), I have actually used my brain to think.

At first it was weird, you know having thoughts that weren't told to me or shown to me. Now that Tribe Called Quest and D'Angelo weren't dictating my thoughts about the black condition or cheating, my mind has started to explore it's own deep realm, which has always seemed scary to me. I'll be honest and say that the muck and mire outweigh the gumdrops and razzleberries, but it's been singularly great just because I knew they were my thoughts and not influenced by some outside medium. Plus I've reached a wonderful conclusion: Life doesn't totally suck.

I finally reached this lovely point on my way to get a sugar fix. As I saw an acquaintance's car roll by, affectionately dubbed the Candy Cane, I waved and laughed to myself about the car. I thought of riding in it and how you have to roll down the window and open the door from the outside to get out. I thought of all my experiences here in Massachusetts of just sitting in the cafeteria, Denny's, buses on choir trips, or sitting in someone's room and hanging out. I thought of watching Kids In The Hall reruns with my suitemates in Connecticut. I thought of wasting Saturdays watching VH1 marathons with my extended suitemates. At first I thought it was sad that those are some of my most treasured memories. But now I realize that it's fantastic that those are at the top of my list. I have had the opportunity to be in the presence of some very awesome people. Not because they had titles behind their names or would be getting them at some point, but just because that's who they are. And just chill. And be. No pretense. No obligations. Just be.

Even if life isn't like that at every point, at least those are the moments to look forward to at some point. I might not have some huge mansion or every movie that is on my ever growing wish list, but I'll always have those friends and the memories and the opportunity to make more memories. That makes life pretty sweet.

Before The Blog

Perfection

I recently had the pleasure of attending a birthday party for one of my school mates. Even though it was during our vacation, a substantial number of our mutual friends showed up. In the course of the evening, despite the cold temperatures, some guests decided to take a dip in the pool.

Many of us did not venture outside, choosing rather to watch the proceedings from a huge bay window in the living room. A male acquaintance from school struck up a conversation as we watched. Naturally the subject matter was inspired by the scantily clad women enjoying the water. Somehow, we came to the topic of assessing the "talent" at our school. He compared it to a used car parts store. A lot of premium parts, but none amounted to the Mercedes we all aspired to. He then started to take pieces from certain girls and assemble them into a "perfect" girl. Satisfied with his creation, he deemed it worthy of "two thumbs up and a big toe." I smiled and nodded and chuckled.

I thought of the people he named and made a picture in my head. The final product was an amalgam of shades and shapes. It was an utter mess that I doubt anyone would have deemed "perfect." During the exercise, I had even named a particular attribute of one young lady only to be rebuffed because, according to his best estimations, she had no waist.

It was then that I realized that there were a number of girls I found attractive at our school. Had I been single and armed with any sort of approach, I would have tried getting to know a number of them. Pondering further, I came to the place where I identified his process as the hopes of constructing an ideal woman. I tend to see all these women as different types of perfection. Maybe my example did not possess a waist (which I think is biologically unlikely), I am sure there is no shortage of men that would label her as "banging." That goes for all the other whole girls who formed his sick creation.

Every woman is a walking piece of perfection in my eyes. Summer in the streets of New York is always a worrisome time. The probability of developing whiplash severly spikes upward due to the increase display of specimens throughout the five boroughs. The tall, the short; The thin, the chubby. In all I see perfection. While I am not attracted to all of them, I see how they are attractive and that is a quality lost on so many.

I must admit that in my more shallow days, I had an ideal candidate. The height didn't matter as long as she was at least three inches shorter than me. In my mind, this woman would have a pretty face framed my a natural hair style of some sort. She would have been of African descent, ideally with a caramel complexion. The other main attributes were south, since this dream woman would have wonderful legs and a round backside. Unlike most men, I am not crazy over the chest area, so as long as breasts were more than mere nipples and not flotation devices, I was not discriminating. The only personality traits I required were a penchant for strappy high-heeled shoes and a desire to bear my children.

Gladly, that shallowness has largely receded over time. I no longer search for that idealized construct, in part because I believe I have no need to search further, but also for the mere fact that it would eliminate so many other forms of beauty. In addition, I have also suscribed to the principle that the more you know about an individual's personality, the more yo ascribe to that person's attractiveness. For example, Jennifer Lopez doesn't look as hot once you realize how she seems to be addicted to serial monogamy. It works in the positive direction as well.

The best result of my growth process has been the fact that my ideal has crossed paths with perfection. If asked today to describe my ideal candidate, I would run off a list of characteristics that would easily produce my current girlfriend. Plus she maintains personality traits - intelligence, sense of humor to name a couple - that will keep her attractiveness even more glowing. As a bonus for me, she wants to bear my children and I think I found some strappy high-heeled shoes she might like. In my world, that's worthy of two thumbs up and a big toe.

- June 22, 2003

Where I'm At

If you're particularly interested, you can judge the idyllicness of my current surroundings by taking a ride to this wonderful site.

Sensing The Girth

It seems that America might actually be getting the hint that this is a country full of too fat people. One stereotypical attribute I took from my African-American experience is the fact that I love the girls that have shape, and I don't mind the triple thick milkshake as it were. But people, honestly, we're getting to the point where Fat Bastard is about to look like Fabio. (Does anyone remember him?)

Like I said though, hope seems to still be around. I mean arguably one of the biggest crazes of the past year has been the Atkins craze. I mean it's so powerful that some businesses are complaining that is why their profit margins have been shrinking as of late. They're rushing to make Atkins friendly menus. Even McDonald's got rid of the supersize option and now they have adult happy meals that even come with pedometers, presumably to count the steps from the garage to the television.

But we haven't gone far enough. I think that something needs to happen with the nutritional facts that are on most of our food products. Just like those silly pedometers, they're fantastic, but only if you know how to use it effectively. Which is the basic problem for most of the country. There is a lot of math involved in those things with it's percentages and serving sizes and most people just don't want to be bothered with homework when they just want to eat.

What I suggest is that packages of food be equipped with sensors that can gauge the state of health of the individual that picks it up. Then, according to its readings, it can advise if the product itself would be advisable to purchase. Example: Fat Bastard picks up a container of Chewy Chips Ahoy! but is advised "You should probably put that down and get a couple of rice cakes buddy." Wouldn't that be fantastic? And it would work for anorexics too. You know if someone too thin picked up some Low Fat Wheat Thins maybe it could say "Have you checked out the Chewy Chips Ahoy?"

These sensors would pretty much work for the extreme cases. The people who probably just need to exercise on a regular basis would not have to worry about being embarrassed by what the sensors said. And celebrities could even voice the sensors so it's not some obnoxious computer voice. If Oprah and Brad Pitt told you that you might want to try a different meal, wouldn't you trust them?

Is George W. Bush the Devil?

Or are Americans even stupider than the Founding Fathers originally thought? I ask this question now because news comes today that although Bush presently wallows in his lowest approval ratings of his Supreme Court appointment to the presidency, he still is in a statistical dead heat with Camelot 2004 candidate John Kerry. And if polls are like they have been in the past, he really is winning. Clinton was supposed to win in a land slide against Dole in '96 but technically he didn't even have a majority. Those darn things have always seemed to lean a bit liberal so let's just assume Bush is in the lead.

How can this be? The cakewalk that was supposed to be Iraq grows more and more harrowing as the weeks move on. The administration has committed to establishing a secure and stable democracy, admirable goals, but with the bedlam that currently swirls around the fertile crescent, when the hell is that gonna happen? One of W's comrades in the Senate even suggested that reinstituting the draft may be in order. The draft?!?!?!? There are no communists. There are no Axis powers. This shouldn't be happening. Isn't the reason we have the CIA and Navy Seals and Army Rangers and Green Berets to take care of the terrorists? Were all these Mission Impossible movies pure lies? I thought we could locate these losers with the touch of a button. Please believe I will be getting my Jamaican citizenship when I am back in New York City because I am too pretty to die.

And the way gas prices are I am baffled even further. Right now I live in a little town that has a little over 7,000 people. The town right next door has about 13,500. But in these idyllic little New England hamlets, gas has creeped over the $2.00 mark. Gas in the boonies is $2.00! I shudder to think what it's like in the cities. Now I know Americans like to drive so I thought that they would be pretty pissed that they have to shell out all this extra gas to move their SUV's across this great land of theirs. I mean even the convenience store owners are feeling the pinch.

Maybe Democrats are just too damn nice. The same article talks about the fact that 14% of the pollees had no opinion of Mr. Kerry. Maybe it's time to go back to the types of tactics that Lyndon Johnson used when he was trying to get elected. In an ad that aired once because it literally gave children nightmares, you just saw a mushroom cloud and a warning that if his opponent was elected that is what would happen. Maybe such drastic measures are unnecessary but something needs to happen. Like "If you want your child to die for a cause you care little about, vote for Bush," or "Bush's America: Empty gas tanks and empty cupboards for as many as possible."

I must commend the Bush team however. The makeup artist they hired to cover the horns is impeccable. I just wonder who gets to hold the pitch fork during press conferences.

Where Have The Afterschool Specials Gone?

I was reading about this very interesting story from Australia way and I wondered whatever happened to the afterschool special. Why did this thought occur you ask. Well basically the story is just so fantastic that it seemed like something Disney would take and try to profit on, don't you think? But then one seven-year old and two kilometers does not a movie make. I don't think even a TV movie. Maybe if the kid was older or an adult, it could be some star-making vehicle or an Oscar bid type film like Tom Hanks in Cast Away.

No I decided the best format would be a TV half hour or hour, but obviously one shot shows for that amount of time are never fictional. They're either reality, game-based, or a news special. Except for one type of show. The Afterschool Special. Why oh why did they go? Don't the children of America need them more than ever? Now their only options are Pokemon and Dragon Ball Z, or some other trash that makes no sense. Our afterschool television taught morals while theirs just seems to teach the best way to aimlessly waste time and get seizures. Oh and finding new ways to spend their parents' money.

The afterschool special needs a redux now more than ever. You know, they weren't the most effective method to teach about the dangers of teen alcoholism, drug abuse, or pregnancy, but at least they were amusing. Instead of becoming more curious about all those things, at least for one afternoon you weren't in danger because you were watching the car wreck on the screen. Plus let's think about the practical use of bringing back the afterschool special: training ground for America's next batch of stars.

There used to be more places for kids to act as they grew up. Now all they can do is be voices on Nickelodeon and Disney Channel shows. Or worse yet, act in live action shows on the same networks. Everyone is worrying about the science gap shortening for America, but the entertainment gap is slowly eroding as well. A 12 year old New Zealand girl was nominated for Best Actress at our Oscar ceremony. Our best talent is subjected to extra bits in Olsen Twins discovery movies. People wake up!!! Call your local congressman and senator. Tell them to bring back the afterschool special and save America's youth.

My Very Own Personal

Many people that I meet that I get into deeper relationships with often say that they really cannot figure me out. They still mess around with me I assume because I am worthwhile enough that the enigmatic nature of my personality is not too much of a detriment to their dealings with me. So to you dear reader, I thought I would fill out a personal form so that you would get to know me a little better. The form is from the lovely people at Nerve who made a personal form that I believe is now in use at a bunch of places. As you’ll see, the questions aren’t your run of the mill “built black boy seeks bodacious blonde babe who likes basketball” type. Instead, they are actually provocative. If you’re bored, I recommend running through the personals. If anything you’ll at least get some cool books to read and you might be amused along the way. Anyway, here’s what mine would look like, kind of.

Profile Name: Details
Headline: Because I care about minutiae (not just cause it’s a cool word)
I am interested in: Friendship, Dating, Serious Relationship (Or all the things that lead to babies)
I am a: Man (according to the birth certificate)
Seeking a: Woman
My relationship status: In a relationship
Someone between: 18 – 29
My occupation: Student Emeritus
City (Nay, Rural Township): South Lancaster
State: Massachusetts (Although I regularly visit Confusion and Delusion)
Country: Toby Keith’s America
Postal Code: Wait there’s a code for when you go insane?
Area code: Southeast, Southwest, South
Looking within: The World (The Crown Prince of Denmark just married an Australian. Why limit? I probably crossed paths with her already and who knows where the hell she may go.)

Education: Some College (With more on the way)
Ethnicity: Cocksure yet self-hating African American
Religion: Christian/Protestant (Seventh-Day Adventist, though those Eastern religions make more and more sense)
Star Sign: Capricorn the Stubborn Goat
Have Children?: Nope
Want Children?: They’ve already been named

Height: 6’3” when I don’t slouch
Weight: Somewhere b/w 195 – 205
Hair Color: Dark Brown with a Gray Patch
Eye Color: Brown

Cigarettes: Nope
Drinking: I can finally say never
Drugs: It’s been a while
Self-Depreciation: Favorite activity next to developing my freestyle skills
Self-love: Whenever I’m not self-depreciating

Last great book I read: Atlantic Union College Student Handbook (No Midriffs, No Jewelry, Plus Curfews…Oh My, rather Hotchie Motchie)

Most Humbling Moment: Changing my swim trunks in the 7th grade and realizing that being on average 18 months younger than my schoolmates had finally shown a negative side.

Favorite on-screen sex scene: Sex & Lucia. The morning wake-up.

Celebrity I resemble most: Uhhhh…. Once upon a time someone said Mos Def but that was when he had this beard thing going and I had the same thing happening too.

Best or worst lie I’ve ever told: Oh that was today? My bad.

If I could be anywhere at the moment: On a couch with the love of my life

Song or album that puts me in the mood: D’Angelo – Cruising (Wet Pussy Remix) Yeah that is the name.

The five items I can’t live without: My computer, my music collection, my paper, my pens, a decent piece of boxer briefs

Fill in the blanks: pictures are sexy; words are sexier

In my bedroom you’ll find: A bed, four walls, and a myriad of other stuff I’ve lost track of

Why you should get to know me: Because my mission in life is to bring happiness to all the people that are around me, despite myself. Because of one certain individual I’m open to trying everything at least once. I’m a painted canvas just waiting for more and more colors.

More about who I’m looking for: Someone to love me for me. Someone who is not afraid to confront me. Someone who realizes that my use of big words and exclusive trust of pretentious critics is really a cover up to insecurities to unreal to imagine. Someone unafraid to send me to a therapist and actually pick up my Lithium prescription when it comes in. Oh and a willingness to bear my seed as troublesome an experience that might be.

Guess Who’s Bizzack

You wonder why I say guess who’s back when this is the first entry. But yea, I once had another blog young squire, which can be found right here. As you may notice the name is “The Wonderful Adventures of Nugie.” I decided a new one was in order because I haven’t touched that for over a month. Plus I got tired of explaining the Nugie nickname because truthfully people haven’t used that one since high school. Finally my adventures are not really that consistently wonderful. They’re mostly interesting I guess but wonderful definitely seemed like a misnomer. So now we have this new incarnation.

Where does Hothcie Motchie come from you ask? Well three of the DVDs in my unfortunately vast collection are the complete collection of the short lived animated show “The Critic.” (I say unfortunately vast because I sometimes pause and think that 76 DVDs for a broke college student of modest means is very sad.) Our main character, surprisingly enough a movie critic, often exclaims the phrase “Hotchie Motchie!” (Personally I don’t like the spelling. I like Hachi Machi myself. But the one time it was actually in written form on the show it appeared in the version that titles this little corner of the internet. So my coloring in the lines continues.) For me it basically translates to “Oh my goodness!” which I thought was more appropriate for the things I want to share around these parts.

Life, in and of itself, is an “Oh my goodness!” experience. Whether you pause and notice the way trees bloom, the laughter of a child, or the inexplicable grief when you lose a loved one, life is just a series of “Oh my goodness!” moments whether you notice them or not. I guess I say “Oh my goodness!” to myself a lot, but it gets buried because it seems somewhat crazy a lot of the time. But the internet is filled with people much crazier than me so why not me too?

I don’t know what to tell the people who are reading this. I’m not some clever pundit of the political affairs of the day. I don’t have some particularly interesting angle on life, although formerly upper middle-class African-American is a rarity in life. My current situation isn’t particularly different, like scorned grad student or corporate shill. But if one is interested in the thoughts of someone else that doesn’t know what’s going on most of the time, I guess I’m your man. I have no promises with this new edition, but I hope to be more diligent with espousing my thoughts into the digital stream of consciousness. And being as amusing with it as possible. No promises though. Here we go.