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Jered & Julia: Rachel (cont.)

30 07 2008

“Hey there! Is that the new Five Deez album you listening to?”

“Actually yeah it is! How do you know about the Five Deez?” I asked.

“I interviewed them once when I was working for the college TV station at Ohio State. Back when they were still calling themselves the Fifth Dimension.”

“Yeah, I remember that! I’ve been copping all their albums off Amazon, since I heard them on the Superrappin album with Late October. That’s my joint!”

“Boy, what you know about Late October?”

Then she removed her earbuds, and dammit if she wasn’t listening to that song right then. That was too eerie. Just then I realized just how much of a bum I must have looked like.
She must’ve seen the thought on my face.

“You been on vacation, huh? You got your little man-beard, facial pubes going on, looking like a runaway slave in this piece! Oh, don’t worry, Toby, I seen you cleaned up, so I know you fine, even if you smellin like hot mustard and garlic right now, brotha!”

Damn. Okay then! All I could say was …

“Damn Miss Rachel, you cappin now? You got jokes? I wasn’t even about to go there, but see, you force my hand. Cause see, I seen you a minute ago, looking like GI Jane and shit, face all stiff, whupping that machine’s ass! What it ever do to you? And what’s up with the scarf? It’s so tight I can see your thoughts yo! Lemme see, you thinking, damn I should have used Sure instead of Secret, cause I’m getting a little tart here!”

“I’ll show you a little tart, when you show me you’re ready to handle it, Mister Jered!”

Damn AGAIN! I’m really feeling like I’m playing from behind or something. She all in my head and whatnot. I think I held my own, until I see two cats snickering at me in the corner. Fine, she got me, but still, who leaving with her though?



Jered & Julia: Rachel

27 07 2008

Jered

7 a.m. again. Damn. Ain’t nothin like being awakened by a bright ass sun creeping through the blinds you just KNEW you closed tight last night. Combine that with the alarm blaring like a freakin’ airhorn, which you forgot you set, and then stubbing your toe on the dresser you been meaning to move just a couple inches from the bed? Damn. But it’s about to be a good day though. Saturday.

Like De La says “Five days you work, one whole day to play.” Now, that’s where the song ends for me, cause I ain’t about to be rollerskating (bussed my ass the last time I tried that … but that’s a story for another day). I glance over at my celly, 5 calls, no messages. Only one from anyone who requires a callback.

Rachel.

Just the thought of her makes my dick hard. It’s that strong yo. I met her at High Impact Fitness Club; she was murdering mileage on the eliptical machine and I was pretty much cruising on a stationary bike, listening to the Five Deez, this hip-hop group out of Cincinnati, and watching Sportcenter on one of the TVs. She was on the machine when I came in, and had worked up a little bit of a sweat, but showed no signs of slowing up. The digital pedometer had her clocking 120 revolutions per minute, or whatever the hell that that number stands for. I never could keep mine over 95 for long without feeling the urge to fall over. She had a red bandana tied around her head, and her hair in a ponytail, waving side to side in the wind.

She was wearing a powder blue lycra Nike top and (of course) tight black Nike shorts. She just knew she was the shit. I think she was even wearing makeup.

Me, on the other hand, well … I’m rocking a ratty Notre Dame t-shirt, old gym shorts I got from some charity raffle I must have won at some point, and the oldest pair of adidas in my closet. I was also sporting nearly a full beard (I’d been on vacation for a week, and nobody was gonna make me shave my man-growth! The company policy is an employee can’t grow it while coming to work daily, so I only had vacation to get my Barry White on, without the smooth baritone to match) and I probably smelled like two days ago; the beard just made me not wanna shower (or change my drawls either, but no one need know that).

So it was a total surprise when SHE spoke to ME.



From the Edge: A pitbull in Kroger Edition

23 07 2008

Something beautiful

Real or metaphor?
Check out the title of this post. You think it’s metaphor don’t you? Well, let me clear things up a bit.

I’m at the grocery store yesterday, checking out. In, through the automatic doors walks a black pit bull. It calmly looks up and down the aisle, then heads toward the back of the store. Three store employees collar up the pooch, who seems pretty friendly for all this, and they lead him out of the store as another employee sends out a storewide page about a lost dog.

These employees take the dog back to the car where I’d seen the dog sitting inside of earlier. For the life of me I can’t see how this dog got out of the car other than opening the door. There didn’t appear to be an open roof, and the windows were only cracked enough for air to get in.

So, this dog watched his master go into the store, got irritated with being in the car, opened the door and went to fetch said master, without getting hit by a car, or attacking anyone. Eventually the owner, some kid, comes out to get his dog, but not before the incident drew a small number of onlookers, curious about a potentially vicious dog wandering into the check-out line.

I’ve come in contact with several vicious dogs, some were Yorkies, a lot more were of the more popularly harmful variety, but never have I seen a pit bull as cool as this one. If it would have been a Lab or a German shepard I couldn’t have been more surprised. And yes, I was scared shitless … for a minute.

WNBA goes all Artest
Leave it to Detroit (one of my least favorite team cities) to do it again. The host Detroit Shock and the LA Sparks got into the first documented brawl in a WNBA game. For most people, this might be the first time they’ve ever thought about watching ANYTHING related to the WNBA, but this one had a star touch. The current darling of the league AND the former (Candace Parker and Lisa Leslie) were in it, and just to sweeten the pot, add a little Karl Malone (through his daughter Cheryl Ford), and old school Bad Boys Rick Mahorn (who will now be known as Ike Turner’s apprentice for abusing Lisa Leslie) and Bill Laimbeer, and all that was missing was Stephen Jackson barrelling into the stands swinging at drunken fans.

I’m not dead yet, well, now I am!
To Estelle Getty, who died this week from dementia at age 84. As Sophia from the “Golden Girls” she was one of the funniest old hags, no disrespect, I’d ever seen. And who could forget her turn in “Mannequin” as the department store owner? Well, despite being one year younger than Bea Arthur, she pulled off the notion that she was her mother, and we never thought it odd. In fact, I bet a lot of people didn’t even know. So, tip your glass to Sophia, she’s outta here…

The Dark monster
Saw the Dark Knight, and I must say that it is indeed dark. Heath Ledger’s in it. Did you know? He even played a key character, who is the wheel that turns this film. Despite some reviews, you can feel Ledger’s Joker throughout the film; his gravity pulls all things around him in his direction. It was filmed in Chicago, and there are only a few scenes I recognized clearly as the Windy City. Christian Bale, Gary Oldman and Aaron Eckhart all do great jobs with their roles, and if you look carefully, you’ll see Michael Jai White (Spawn) and Tom “Tiny Lister (Zeus), among others playing smaller roles in this mega-film. The Batman, as he’s referred to in the movie, has a heavy burden on his shoulders: he must decide how much of himself to lose to catch a man with no rules. And, ultimately, he does indeed fall to the Joker, even if it’s only for appearances. It’s an eerie turn for a movie, in that everyone of the main characters does something to scar their own moral reputations, and no one escapes unscathed. Leaving the movie gave a different feeling than that of Ironman. You don’t feel like you can fly; you just wanna go hug someone you care about and enjoy a bit of good. And yes, I would (and likely will) see it again.



The Self-Destructive One

20 07 2008

She’s coming for you

The first time we met,
My loins ached.
You dripped sensuality,
Even in baggy clothes.
Who knows,
What kinds of kinky shit
I’d get into with you?
But I’d quickly find
I should have left you behind,
That tingling in my spine,
Thought it was lust,
Maybe it was …

Was it the best sex ever,
Oh yeah,
But anything that good
Gotta come with a price
And the one I paid
Was one of vice,
Like selling crack
Or stealing cars,
Fuckin with you
Left me behind bars,
But not in a prison …
Envision a prison of the mind,
Where the beauty of the body
Is overwhelmed by the
Untruth of the spirit,
I couldn’t hear it,
I was too busy
Lopping off my ears,
Carving out my spleen,
By no means was I done though,
Toe by toe, limb by limb,
I was deconstructing me,
See, you put me in a place
Where in the best case,
I would be left as a burned out hull,
A brainless skull, with maggots
Feasting on my very core,
Before your spell could do me in,
I escaped, a twist of fate
I still don’t quite understand.
But I’m glad it came;
It’s insane to think
that something so trivial
Almost cost me dearly,
So hear me when I say,
Avoid the self-destructive ones
Or lose more than your life before its done.



From the Edge: The rant of an angryman?

16 07 2008

I just checked my comments inbox, and there was a message, which I’ll reprint at the bottom of this entry. When I read it, at first it sounded virulent, and, well, it still does, but once I took time to process it, it sounded like a cry for attention, but not for the writer, who had posted it anonymously, but for black people, males in particular. It made me think of something I myself had written …

“I’m seeing things, hearing things,
Funny thing is, with all this biz,
In no way am I fearing things …”

That little piece, to me, seems, in short, to encapsulate a bit of what this person was trying to convey, albeit, in a much more rage-filled way. With that, I leave you to it, and please forward any comments to this site.

Hello, my name is …

Dwelling in the shadows, but not hiding from anyone, I walk among you, unmistakably proud. Brazen in my audaciousness, I just don’t give a fuck. You can tell by the look on my face – the glare that says “I’ma fuck you up” no matter how I’m really feeling. You cain’t really tell can you? You think I’m pissed? Well, not really. But pissed is in the on-deck circle, ready to grab a bat and beat the shit out you, for real, yo. I’m a rap lyric, straight from the lips of ODB or Eazy-E, or Pac, causing blunt force trauma to your psyche with just the reciting of my name. You wanna run, but fear that running might make me mad, and you scared to look up, because if you see that I saw you looking, I might ask “What the fuck you lookin at?” or something to that effect.

What you don’t know is that in this zoo of an existence, watching you and yours wet your diapers at the mere hint that I might flinch brings me pleasure. It’s the only form of reparations I seem to be getting, fed to me directly from your unabashed fear and guilt, your blatantly-ignorant prejudice. So I feed off you, and while it don’t line my pockets, or put weed in my joint, or OE in my 40 bottle or even Gerber in my 6 kids mouths, just knowing that you know that I might buss your muthafuckin head anytime I want brings me a comfort, even a joy, that you may never know. Or maybe know too well. Cracker…



Whatever: Str8 Off the Head

9 07 2008

Cool ass pic

Was looking round,
heard a sound,
then a click,
OH SHIT,
but it wasn’t a gun
or nothing so fun
as a ride in the park
or somethin done in the dark,
it was you,
lookin threw,
without nothing to do,
so I offered you money,
or something to eat,
repeat,
you ain’t looking too good,
nor should you
after what you been through,
so shoo fly,
go away now,
find another way how
to dig out that ditch
you find yourself in,
begin to understand
what it means to be a man
in this world,
when unfurled,
ain’t no way you can,
get on top from on bottom,
hold on tight then you got em,
Did that make sense?
No repence
or repose,
just thinking, you supposed
to be someplace else
as another you
With another clue
You’ll succeed,
or die.



The Next Decrescendo

2 07 2008

A place to chill

I was thinking about you.
Thinking about how we vibe,
you know. How we rhythm,
how we swing, how we do our thing.
I was thinking about how you glow,
How you show how you feel about me,
How you just can’t help that shit.
I admit, I like it too,
The way you do what you do,
The way you sway your hips,
How you slide, and dip
How you flip and twirl,
Like a little girl without a care.
Do I dare, lean in for another kiss?
Or maybe just a touch
So much we aren’t saying
So much we’re delaying,
So much, and so long …
Until the next decrescendo, that is.