Voodoo Lounge v.12.1: I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!: 11/01/2001

Wednesday, November 28, 2001

Sick

Jesus Christ, I'm getting sick again.

"Well, what did you expect? You're always running around." A voice said.

"Oh jeez, it's you. Waddup Jesus," we exchange pounds. He looks tired.

"Sleeping with the window open--" He continues the list. "Not wearing enough to bed--"

"Okay, enough with my personal life. People can read this you know." I sit back in my bed and listen to the rain. It's cold these days, not as cold as the other night, but damn it's cold. I dig in my feet into the down comforter. "What you up to? You look like righteous shit."

"Gee, thanks for noticing. Well, it's cold out, raining like a bitch." It's always funny to hear the Son of Man cuss. "And I got some work to do." He sits down on my ottoman checking out the new painting I did. "Nice work."

"Thanks, Man. Tell me what you've been working on." I am always asking Jesus these messed up questions. Sometimes he gives me messed up answers. This Dude's got a sense of humor. A raunchy one, at that. He once told me he walked in on a couple going at it, and then the dog-- Aw fuck it.

"Well, there's all this panic and what not over the world changing, so I'm paying visits to folks." He leans against the fish tank. The fish bump into the glass as if trying to reach His Holiness. "That plus it's my birthday and all, I thought I'd stick my head in on the parties, see what folks are up to."

"Well, I hope you at least change your clothes before you go and visit." He's wearing baggy jeans, a sweatshirt, beanie and his beard looks unkempt. I think he's starting dreds. "Anything good?"

"The usual crap. Presents, holier than thou shit, capitalism, but I tell you, I don't know what you're going to do with this recession. You got electricity, but no money to pay the bills. You guys need to learn how to save."

"This from the guy who doesn't need bank accounts."

"Yah, smart ass, what of it?" He jabs His finger in my general direction as if sparks could shoot out of it. Actually they do, but I know better than to tempt lightning. "So anyways, things are going cool. People are turning to God and what not. But what kills me is that it's never for the right reason. They think that the whole God thing is supposed to save them, but really, they need to save themselves."

"You're saying there is no God?" He glares at me. I'm starting to get scared. He sits up and gives me The Look. It's the one where I know I'm getting to Him. "I'm joking, sheesh."

"Yah, there's a God, but not the kind that you guys think. He's just doing His thing-- smokin', watching game shows, you know, you came over that one time --but you guys are messin' it up. Don't rely on God to solve your problems. Solve your own. Better yet, don't, then He sends me down here to deal with the likes of you." He smiles and pulls out a cigarette. "You got a--" I pull out a lighter before he finishes the sentence. "Thanks."

"No problem. So it's all on us, is that right? What about the power of God and all that? If He was a good God, why all this drama? I don't get it, Bro." He blows a puff of smoke and makes little rings. Or are those halos?

"Basically God assumes that you guys down here got your shit together. And that you're fully capable of using the gifts. But as life would have it, you don't." He takes a long drag. "And God ain't no He, or no She, or no It. It's not that complex, God just IS."

"I am who am I think I am therefore I am I think kinda shit." We laugh.

"Yah, something like that." He adjusts his rings. "Yo girl, I gotta bounce. I'll peep ya soon." Pounds.

"Yo Man, roll through for Christmas. I mean, your birthday."

"Mom makin' da biko?" he asks. His fave dish.

"Oh shit, hell yah, I'll tell her to make it the way you like."

"Sweet. Tell her I said what's up." He opens the door to my room and heads out. He sticks His head back in. "God wants to know when you're going to write about him again." He smiles. Then the door closes.

That Dude is a trip.

Voodoo

Tuesday, November 27, 2001

Random Thoughts

I found myself reading an email sent from some unknown person on the other side of the nation, and across the subject line blared the words, "WHERE WERE YOU ON SEPT. 11TH?"

It was a contest being run for a Korean youth organization, and the rest of the words blurred across the screen. I had been working on nothing in particular all day, mostly fielding questions from students about again, nothing in particular. Somehow it managed to take up the whole day. I sat back in my ergonomically correct chair, and stared up at the Great Air Vent, something that I usually do when I'm trying to think. Yah, so where was I, I asked myself.

Where was I? I was busy sleeping at 6:30 when I heard my alarm go off. The news nerd that I am, I listen to 88.5 FM, or KQED San Francisco. I heard a voice describing destruction and mayhem. Thinking it was a world away I reached up to hit snooze, and then I heard New York City. World Trade Center. Planes. Smoke. Terror. Two planes. I jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen to watch the television.

Where was I? I was out of my body. I was thinking to myself that life didn't mean much until now. I didn't have too many worries about my safety when I left the house. I kept to the main streets, associated only with people I knew, and went to places I was very familiar with and always knew where the exits were. I found myself in a place where I was unsure about what the meaning of my life was, confronted with the reality that it's not as safe a world as I thought.

Where was I? I was in a space that was unfamiliar, dealing with dread and fear, and a feeling of for the first time in my life, afraid for the nation as a whole. I was looking for a firm ground to walk on so I could grasp my humanity and that of the thousands of people who were lost. I was looking for answers in the ceiling, finding only the ceiling staring back, asking me the same damn thing.

Where was I? I was in my office watching stunned students come in, do their homework, and then stop mid-sentence to get up to watch the news. I turned my eyes away from the television to welcome them into the conference room and we sat silently, probing the media for answers, and not even knowing what the questions were.

Where was I? I was in my mind's closet, taking stock of my life, the things I have achieved, the things I have not. The things I wanted, the things I had. The people who love me. The people who I love. I checked off boxes and stepped back to notice the ones that were left over, and if it was ok if I left this life with those boxes unchecked. The ones I couldn't die without, I decided that if I couldn't let go of those things, then I need to so I can live life without worrying about the next thing and just focus on this. Here. Now.

Where was I? I lay in bed later that evening trying hard to be still, breathe, and get settled in my own skin. I thought about praying but couldn't find the words.

Voodoo

Sunday, November 25, 2001

Voodoo Gets in at Dawn

Last night I went to a party with my newest homie, Smooth. He's a colleague of mine so I thought I'd bring him out to chill with me and my peeps. It was Sugar3's, Khan's and Certified Massage Taker's birthdays, with some other homegirls that I don't know...The Voodoo Babies were in full effect last night, so lemme give some love: World of Curls with her 'C' Girls, The Apostle and Yuck Mouth, The Artist, Dick and My Balls, Hell Raiser (sorry girl, it took me a second because the pigtails threw me off), Sugar3, Khan, Certified Massage Taker, You Want This, and of course Smooth. There were some folks there from back in the day, and I won't go into more detail, but that place was packed with Voodoo.

Smooth and I got up in, threw down some drank (hello, can this be any stronger?), and headed for the dance floor. Kinda more like a dance corner. It was small, lots of opportunities for bumping into the speaker or hitting someone's legs, and even more opportunities for freaky deaky action (World of Curls, I saw you, you freak). The music was awful tight. I love me some old skool, something about being in that element makes life less complicated. You just settle in and shake yo' thang, and that's what we did, my Babies. Another drink and we're chillin' even more, and World of Curls joined us on the floor, and we had a Smooth Sammich. (Don't worry, rookie, you'll get used to it)

Anyways, I parked in a zone where I wasn't 100% sure if I had to move it or not. Chances are it was a tow zone or a ticket zone, and I didn't want to deal with either, I am just too busy, as I'm sure you know. So we bounced out with nary a farewell to the honies. Oh well, that's life, aint it?

The next club, Club Universe, is of course where I go more often than not. I explained to Smooth that I dont' really go to straight clubs anymore because I was spoiled by my experiences at Universe. So bravely brave as he is, and I am extremely impressed by this, we went headfirst into Gay Men Heaven. Now, Universe isnt' for the faint of heart. It's sweltering hot, most men are shirtless and quite handsome, and well, there is the whole men macking on men scene, that if you're even a bit homophobic, it will cause you to pass out. Did I mention the happy hands effect? When you're trippin', or high or whatever, and you're just feelin' good, your hands just move all over the place, and they go places where they shouldn't. Like other people's bodies? Crevaces? You know? Poor Smooth got Happy Handed a few times, despite the whole "we're together so back up, son" routine. Poor thing even had a stalker that I had to fend off.

It's hard being fine, this I know.

Skip to the mandatory "we've been out too late and we gotta eat" routine, we went to Mel's, had dinner/breakfast and were extremely surprised about how sore we were. I left universe shoeless because CHILE, dem dogs was hurtin' big time. I have a few blisters to babysit. And after dropping off Smooth at Chez Smooth, I headed home, found a few damn road blocks which prolonged my drive home. When all was said and done, I was in bed at 5:35AM.

I woke up at 1PM this morning...I mean afternoon. Ran a hot bath, and the rest, as we say, is history.

Much love to the Babies, and to Smooth for a good time.

Off to bed...
Voodoo

PS: Hey Beer Can, I hope you're feeling much much better. You know, a dose of Voodoo Lovin' would be helpful. hahahahha

Saturday, November 24, 2001

Flash Rules

Hello, hello, hello, Post-Thanksgiving-coagulated-blood-from-the-thick-gravy-and-the-third-helpings-still-eatin-left-over-turkey-bits-Babies!

Yes, yes, I'm in that boat too. Last night's storm kept me up as the window kept rattling. It was an interesting evening of sorts. I've decided that I'm going to learn how to do flash. You know, the cool animation bullshit you see on the web. It's fun, no doubt, but it is a virtual pain in the butt. It's not pretty, but it's done, and I'm using it to herald the new coming of the Voodoo Child's New Home on the Internet: VoodooChild.com. Don't look, that ish isn't up yet, but when it is, I will let you know. I'm going to lift all of these pages and put them on one site, include some new blogs from the Apostles, and other interesting toys. Anyway, I spent a good five hours working on something that I'm quite proud of, and if I ever figure out how to link it, it's yours to see.

I went shopping last night, nothing serious, but the foot traffic wasn't as bad as the car traffic. I didn't feel up to buying things, but I wanted to walk around and see what's going on. Lots of little sales, things I wanted, pashmina scarves screaming out my name. But I have to be good, you know my shopping habit has been quite a blow to my finances, so Voodoo Babies, your presents this year will consist of things I found on the street. J/K except for a few select people who I hope appreciate their twig bonnets.

And the ants that have invaded the Voodoo Chamber. Thanks to the Voodoo Niece and Nephew for leaving FOOD in my room. I suppose it was an offering to their Voodoo Aunt.

I finished my Flash project at 1AM. Then I go brush my toofs. The cell rings. I answer.

"Surprise."

Holy fucking shit, it's my exboyfriend, the Insecurity Guard.

After a few missed IMs, he usually will call me to make sure I'm still around. I don't know, kids. I can't shake this one like I normally do. We talked for a while. Okay, an hour. And it was going well, the usual small talk, bordering on the mundane, bitching about life, oh yah, and he was just getting in from a club, slightly drunk, and this is something he used to do all the time when we were together. Go ahead, I'll pause a moment while you roll your eyes. Okay, we're back. While we're talking, I'm freaking out, in that sort of way that's good (like when you talk to someone you really like) and then in a sort of way that's bad (I am thinking about soiling myself because I feel somewhat weird). The convo goes well. Until the end where he is always guaranteed to throw in a barb that just fucks it up. Then I snap back into reality and remember why we're not together in the first place.

It's a lot more complex than that, but such is our relationship as a whole.

There are a few silences where nothing is said, and I should have taken the time to retch. What do you do when you're caught in between yourself as you wish to be and someone you don't want to become? It's an interesting paradox, and one I haven't found myself in before. I guess we all reach a point where we have to lay our cards on the table and move on.

Maintaining. I'm workin' on it.

Voodoo

Friday, November 23, 2001

Unthanks

Thanks for nothing:

Flakes, flakes and more flakes. If you can't pull through in a pinch, you are an ass.
People who invite themselves to things. If I wanted you to go, I would have asked.
People who insist that your innovations are too risky and would rather maintain status quo.
My cell phone with the amazing disappearing display.
Parents who can't watch their kids.
If you can't hold your liquor, don't drink.
DJ Clue for talking over all the choice cuts I want. jk
People who carry grudges for an insanely long time. Yah, I know that I'm in that box as well, but I'm not that perfect.
Caller ID free people. Maybe that's why you go straight to voicemail.
NO means NO.
Sneezers behind you in the movie theater. Oh yah, that's gonna make me ill.
People who keep your shit just a little tooooo long.
P. Diddy.
Gas prices.
Critics who have zero basis.
Forwards, you know what I'm talking about, that are FALSE and the people who send them.
American fast food franchises in Paris. Why?
People who can't kiss. I'm sorry, but that's really weak.
Door Dings.
Flakes. Sorry that really really bites me.
Downloaded music that has chirps.
After all these years of sending Xmas cards to folks, not getting them back. So guess what, they're getting cut of out of my card list this year.

Okay my heart's beatin' kinda fast cause I'm hyped. But hey, I'll get over it. You too.

Enjoy,
VOodOo

PS> I'm not out shopping today, kids, but if you're out there, be safe. Peas.

Wednesday, November 21, 2001

Thanks

Things I'm Thankful For:

Leaving the house early enough each morning to see the sun rise.
Music.
Making music.
Stealing music off the Internet so I can listen to it over and over again until I hate the damn thing.
My friends.
The VOODOO BABIES.
Having a place to call home.
Dreams that help keep me going.
A car that gets me from A to B.
Great students.
Even the bad students, because they help me to understand the power of education in the lives of the very young children.
My cell phone that keeps me connected to those I adore.
Accepting the fact that sometimes it's okay to just be single.
Shitty ex boyfriends who helped me understand what I DON'T want in a man.
Fog.
All the great restaurants in SF.
My family. They might drive you batty, but at least they're MINE.
Faith in myself.
The person who invented BEER. Thank you so much.
People who write good books.
People who make good movies.
People who remember you on your birthday.
Art.
Understanding.
Peace.
Club Universe where all the beautiful men are.

Tomorrow, things that I'm not thankful for. An unedited and bitter list.

Voodoo

Blogback topic: What are you thankful for?

Monday, November 19, 2001

Let's Have a Three Way

In the interest of privacy, all names of the innocent shall be protected.

I have a friend, let's call her DooVoo. She works at a large university and was asked to bring some folks on campus to discuss some career crap. She invites Skrub. He does his thing, all is well. They used to date for a few, things didn't work out, oh well. They move on, still friends, but the past is always brought up DooVoo walks into her office and sees Skrub Dos. He's working on some paper. He's gained some weight, looks tired and scruffy. She also dated him once upon a while. When he was way cuter.

Later on in her office, Skrub One comes over to talk. She asks Skrub One if he knows Skrub Dos. They do! Then they start chopping it up.

Imagine my friend's surprise and smirk when she sees the two chatting it up and exchanging numbers. Kinda creepy in a funny sort of way, I guess that's what happens when you get what you ask for, isn't it?

But my friend DooVoo just smiled to herself and had to laugh.

What else is there to do? Who needs sit-coms. Life is funny enough as it is.
Voodoo

Saturday, November 17, 2001

Boy George

Let's be honest folks, some of us who grew up in the 80's thought that Boy George was slightly off kilter. He wore heavy heavy make up WELL, and he did that skippy hoppy dance that looked wierd. The guys in the group were kinda trippy also, but hell, don't tell me you don't know the words to some of his songs.

Culture Club, baby. Sing it with, ooh in time, it could have been so much more, time is so precious I'm sure....Time won't give me time, and time makes lovers feel--

Okay stop doing that skippy hoppy dance, you're starting to scare me.

Truth be told, mes amis, that you couldn't help but stare are Boy and his crew. Today, you may not know, he is enjoying DJ status around the world. I missed his show in SF. Still pretty. When we were in the thick of it all, we just gawked at him like he was a freak of nature, but the Boy has stick around appeal. He's still around there, and we're still singing his shit. Givvvvvvvve me tiiiiiiime to realizzzzzzzze my crime. Oh yah, baby. How many of you crooned, "Do you really want to hurt me?" at some inopportune moment with a significant other? Don't lie.

That was then, this is now. Who are the pop icons that have major impact on our culture? Not just musicwise, but culture wise. They force us to consider our roles in life, our philosophy, what? Truth be told, my beloved ones, I don't know if I can count on anyone to drop something that rocks the World. Capital W, not w. Ya feel me. And I don't think a second about glorifying fallen heroes solely because they went out on top of their game. Because I just won't. I'm not saying that Boy George was changing lives out there like Lincoln freein' da slaves, because I don't know that transgender R&B really has gone mainstream, but it really has forced certain realities into the public.

At any rate, who stands out in music? Britney? J.Lo? Timbaland? Missy? Metallica? Bubba Sparxxx? Marilyn Manson? Frank Sinatra? Milli Vanilli? Come on, ya'll I know you seent (yes I said seent) Behind the Music. You know that ish made you cry.

Talk to me.
Voodoo

Thursday, November 15, 2001

To be announced

Speaking of which, on the blogback for this particular entry...submit your ideas for the next Voodoo entry...I'm needing some creative assistance ova here!

Voodoo

Winners and Losers

I don't know if I ever went about it with you darlings but along with Buff Bagwell, I help to coach a girls' volleyball team. They are 8th graders, mostly 13 year olds, from the school that we attended as children down yonder in the Valley. I first came on to help out because I happen to love the game. I used to while away the hours at college playing ball. So much so that I went on probation for two quarters because I would rather pick up a game than pick up a book. We've all had those moments, haven't we? Yah, well I had more than a few, but look at me now.

Anyways, back to the girls. Good kids, they are. For the most part. There is the fun part about them where they are rambunctious, and I love that energy. The shitty part about them is that they can be a handful. Sometimes don't pay attention, scream way too fucking much, and apathetic. Basically they are the way I was at that age. Maybe not that bad, but still. Working out with them twice a week can be a handful, but luckily Buff runs things. I just show up and help shag balls. It helps to keep me running around. Office life beats me into the ground on a daily basis, so fuck that noise, I need to have some fun, and fun is what I have with these girls.

Working with them has taught me patience. It's brought me back to the importance of support and caring at a young age. It's given me more energy to work with my students at the University. It's given me a grounding that I've needed so badly, some of which has been slipping between my fingers as we speak. They sucked last year. Very very bad. I mean really sucked. Detroit Lions sucked. No games won sucked. Sacrificial lamb sucked. You get the point.

Buff is good at what he does. He coaches teams to championships, although at the beginning of the season, he wasn't quite sure on how that was going to happen. Next thing you know, they start to win games. That's a good thing. Then they start to win decisively. They look relatively unbeatable. The girls have skills, and of course there are some that just plain don't have it. It's sad, but motor skills are very important to any physical game, and some just weren't motorin' ya heard. At any rate, they were clean when they played well. Sometimes, they just killed me, but in the end they were winners.

Tonight was their championship game. Buff, complete with his purple eyelid (bruised during an altercation with the floor during hockey), was nervous. I tend not to get nervous, but I was feeling pretty good since the team we were to play against we beat a few weeks earlier. All of the parents were there at the game. It's pretty amazing to see, and most of them know me and Buff well, so that's nice. I will just skip to the meat...they lost.

They cried hard, and some of them were just beside themselves. I took the time to comfort most of them, yet some of them were inconsolable. You have to remember that they lost every single game last year. I reminded them of that, and that helped to staunch the flow, but it's hard to get that far and lose. It's just 8th grade, I told them. Some of them are still improving, and some of them are excellent players. I hope they go on to bigger and better things. But right now that was the thing for them.

I left the game and drove home with the big trophy. It now sits in the living room where my parents are very impressed at the whole thing. I am impressed too. They have come a long way, and it's not easy to get to the peak, only to get knocked down. But I hope they don't stay down for too long. It wasn't really the end point that made this trip incredible, it was the journey. The change and the transition was incredible to watch, and that has transformed me as well.

Props to the girls. They've got the rest of their lives ahead of them. And so do we.

Enjoy the journey.

Voodoo

Wednesday, November 14, 2001

Philosophy

the difference between a hero and a superstar is that a hero doesn't need a crowd, they only need a cry for help. many of us have lost sight of who our true heroes really are. they are the "a" men and women who defend our country, do menial chores, walk elderly people across busy streets, and act as good neighbors. whether they sweep streets, pick up trash, or lead a nation, they walk the talk. we don't need another superstar. we only need to salute our true heroes. amen.

-philosophy web page

Think, dammit, think.

Voodoo

Tuesday, November 13, 2001

Rate My What?

First we had Am I Hot or Not. Secondly we have Am I Ugly or Not.

Now we have Rate My Poo.

Eat your corn, bean sprouts and milk, and it's ON!

Voodoo

PS: This is from that Am I Ugly or Not creator...someone with a whole lotta freakin' time on their hands. Am I WHITE or NOT is kinda funny. Enjoy.

Skating on Thin Ice

Last night I took some of my students ice skating at the Yerba Buena Skate Bowl. Nice place. Regulation Olympic hockey rink. We went on 18 and over night, since I wasn't interested in little kids racing around our legs and knocking me over. It's not cute. I mean the little kids are cute, but the whole knock me over thing just doesn't do anything for me.

Skating in circles vexes me. All we do is go around. And around. And around. And for variation, you go back around. It's interesting, but a calming thing, I suppose. Until the speed skaters whiz by you and you get slightly unsettled. It's all good. We managed to not lose any fingers that night, and there were some spills, but that's expected, isn't it? Some of the students who came were ice phobic, and they left champs. I'm so proud .

Earlier that day, someone accused me and the staff of not paying enough attention to their needs. It was a very bad finger-pointing experience that later on was revealed to be a more personal attack between the person and his girlfriend. He took out his frustrations over his relationship with her on me. I don't want to get at the details, but suffice it to say, it was interesting. On one hand you have me trying to maintain semblance of professionalism while he's basically trying to call me out. I am talking to him in a very professional manner. Inside me, however, is this raging bitch who wants to snarl back at him and turn ghetto. And you know what I mean by turn ghetto.

It's not cute, I mean really, to come at your boss, which I am, by the way, and expect results. I was offended by his actions (approaching me in a manner that was not professional and drawing me into his private argument with his girlfriend), and I had to walk away from that drama because I wasn't in the mood to check him. I'll do that later on today, but I was struggling to keep Voodoo Ghetto under control. It's not easy, I tell you.

So skating on the ice yesterday was nice. Didn't have to think too much, just go around and around. And then at the end of the night, the hockey guys came to play. Hubba hubba. Voodoo weakness: hockey guys.

Anyways, back to reality, and back to work.

Voodoo

Saturday, November 10, 2001

Pictures

I went to the greatest photoprinting place today to get four rolls of film developed. I had no idea what was on most of them, but hell, that's the whole fun part. I don't know if you know the story about the Russian Spy Cam, quite possibly the most fun camera to own: The Lomo. But I have an APS camera, and that gets most of the job done. But when it's time to take some fun pictures, you take out the Lomo. It's pretty heavy, but it's a tough sort. It came to Spain with me, and these two rolls have Vegas on it. The two APS rolls have some other stuff on it, but I'm not entirely sure.

I dropped off the film and went with Buff Bagwell to buy groceries and other stuff we don't need. Of course we go for the important stuff first: The Sopranos Second Season DVD collection, Shrek DVD, Incubus CD and perusal of the Audio and Visual sections. Then to the foodstuffs: humongous packages of frozen food that would feed an invading horde, twin loaves of bread, cases of beer for parties, and samplers who are mobbed with people who haven't obviously eaten before coming to CostCo.

Ever notice that shopping cart etiquette just isn't followed at Costco? Maybe it's because there are fifty thousand people there, lots of carts to boot, and mostly little old ladies pushing carts that happen to get stuck in the middle of the row while they're waiting for a reload from the sampler person. Come on, you know what I'm talking about.

Anyways, fast forward a couple of times, and we find ourselves waiting for the pictures to become ready. I pick them up and Buff Bagwell knows that he has to drive because I immediately want to tear into the pictures. Lots of pictures of my kids, and more of the office kids. I have pictures of Vegas, lots of pics at the Airport (Gordon Biersch in the airport is like manna from heaven), and some of the inside of the casino. I found pictures of Rodin's sculpture that I took on my Mental Health Day #2.

As we drove home, I was giggling a mighty at pictures of World of Curls, the Fredator, Drunken Master, the Eds, The Apostle, Beer Can (got you on film, damn you), and Buffy. I thrust them at Buff as he was driving away, and he pointed at the women that he found adorable. I promised to introduce them at the next possible opportunity. I have stacks of pictures in my home that I love to go through on slow days in order to relive some silliness. I am awaiting some .mpg from Heavy Jumbo that he culled from a camcorder he had in college. I am quite scared about what I'm going to see on this video, but lord have mercy...we'll see.

AT any rate, I love pictures because they tell stories, and can make you laugh. I don't even mind the pictures that my mother breaks out during visits from significant others.

Voodoolicious

PS: when i figure out how to with this new layout, i'll throw in some pics for you.

Wednesday, November 07, 2001

Reach Over and Click This

If your clients/students/kids/lovers/parents ever get out of line, walk them over to the computer and enter this site. Click appropriate phrase and sit back.

It works for me every time.

Char

Tuesday, November 06, 2001

The Shit List, Pt. 2

Yes, the Erratic, Yet Constantly Appearing Shit List has another add-on. But it's not as bad. It's kinda funny. Well maybe not so.

I work at a school that has a large Filipino population. There is a Filipino organization, or two, that happens to have a lot of ethnic intermingling. In other words, the organization is so fluid that everyone can join in, regardless of ethnicity or race, etc. That's cool, and it makes for a great organization. It's not exclusive like a lot of schools' organizations out there. In fact, it's nice to see that so many people from other cultures are down. Straight up down.

There are Filipino classes, and a lot of students who aren't Filipino take those classes. And that's good too.

And then...

Today I heard a student of mine, who's white, tutoring someone who's Asian in Filipino studies. I had to stop and listen for a moment, while I pondered the irony of it all. Or was there? She knew the terms. She said, "You can be my ading!" to the girls, and I damn near fell out my mu-fukkin' chair. They giggled, and then she started talking about the ally-batta. Alibata. I started to choke. It wasn't in a good way, I mean, how can you choke in a good way, really. So she started talking about it the way a tourist talks about seeing the Golden Gate Bridge. "It was built in 1937, uh huh, and there were lots of little cars on it, you see, uh huh." Whaddafuk. I saw her leafing through the materials like a pro.

I didn't know if at first I should have stopped it, and in retrospect I found it interesting that I would have felt that way. Maybe it was because she was white, and it was strange to hear our culture's aspects roll off her tongue in the way that it did. Maybe it was because she knew it better than a lot of my Filipino peoples do. Maybe it was because the experiencer of the culture describing it in such a way that seemed like tourism and exoticism. I don't know, but it tripped me out.

So back to my Shit List...I would have to put her tourist mentality of the Filipino culture and her Vanna White approach. And then there were the Spaniards! And then there were the Ally-batta! And then there were the Man-Ungs! And holy shit, please quit it before I have to go lapu lapu on your ass. And I ain't talkin' about the fish.

Tell me if I'm crazy.
Voodoo

Sunday, November 04, 2001

Scene and Heard

"...When we met you were so amazing...You stood out from every face in the crowd. Your energy was penetrating...I knew right then I would want more than just one night. I tried to walk away...but my mind kept telling me to come back your way. I gave you every part of me. You jerk, you turned me into the wreck that I am. And I can't sleep at night...'cuz I'm losing my mind. And I'm outta my head...'cuz your fuckin' my friend. And I'm spending my cash...you're depleting my stash---I'm addicted to you---Even though you're the worst thing for me..."

Now that song is cool. I heard it when I was at the club last night. It's kinda old, but I still love it.

If anyone knows it and can find it for me, I'd forever be in their debt.

Speaking of in debt, it's time for the Erratic, Yet Constantly Appearing Shit List

Yes, yes, my children, it's time for the Erratic, Yet Constantly Appearing Shit List, the place where all the things that irritate your Queen get posted with vivid details, and even names. Let the disclaimer be this: you know you're going to be on the Shit List. It should not be a surprise, my little kittens. Similarly, in order to be removed from the Shit List, you must be informed by your Voodooness that you have been cleansed and therefore ready to reappear in my graces. Placement on Said List may mean permanently revoking your Voodoo Baby Name and Credentials and benefits whereof (massages, ear licking and fortune telling, not to mention big wet kisses and hugs), however, it is usually a minor offense that places on the Shit List, and therefore it is a temporary place, similar to purgatory. Enough with the caveats, let's get to the List, shall we?

The Shit List
People who tell me to keep it down because it's early in the morning and it's already 11AM. Are you serious? Just because you got in at dawn doesn't mean that I have to tiptoe around the house to save your precious hangover! Dammit! Okay, I'll turn down the music, but I'll wear my wooden clogs and practice my Riverdance routine. I hope you don't mind.
The Kellogg's Cereal People. Flakes. They're only good for your cereal, and every now and then you might have them in your hair. But that's all they're good for. I was prettied up and ready to go last night, and had to wait. And wait. And wait. Only to be told, last minute that it not feasable to go out. I understand, this shit happens, but don't wait until the last minute to tell me. I hate to rush people, knowing that I don't like it, but last night was fucked up. I wound up going out last night BY MYSELF at 1AM. Thanks for nothing. By the way, I had a great time.
Ghetto Mentality Just because I live in one, and I have dealer friends does not mean I have access to all the drugs you think I should. You might want to know I got the hook up to some bomb shit, but just because you assumed that means you'll get the brown stuff with the seeds.
Ignorant Fans Goons, dorks, and losers who go to games, yet are ignorant jerks who don't pay attention to what's going on make the game for the rest of us a sheer hell. Please sit down, put your beer cup down, and put your fist in your mouth, and your other fist in your ass. And watch ESPN for god's sake. Do your homework, and be a good fan.
Bandwagon Fans See Ignorant Fans, but insert Ass Fist into Forehead. Repeat as needed.

I think some of you might find that kinda tame, and the reality is, I wanted to be meaner, but why bother. I figure, the Shit List speaks for itself. It's clear I'm unhappy, but for the most part, I'll get over it. And you will too. Just don't do it again.

Voodoo

Voodoo Munchies

I don't know about you, but I tend to have the greatest conversations over dinner or breakfast. Snacks too. Maybe over a protein shake at the kitchen table. I particularly enjoy getting my conversation on--

Getting a conversation on (2001): [Modern slang, verb transitive, California] 1) Verb: to enjoy a conversation, 2) Verb: to partake in a conversation between two people, 3) Noun: the intent of starting a verbal intercourse between speaker and another.

over a meal. I mean, who doesn't?

So tonight I had dinner at New Eritrea in San Francisco. It's Eritrean and Ethiopian cuisine. Contrary to popular belief, it's not bugs, rocks and dirt. Or rations dropped from they sky from Air America. It's wonderfully spicy food: lamb, chicken, beef, and lots of vegetarian options. After driving around the block for 20 minutes,I met with Pinky and the Brain, and I thought I was running late. They weren't even in the house--

In the house(1999): [Modern slang, East Coast] 1) Verb: to be present "I'm in the house!", 2) Preposition: to physically be inside a house or place "Yo, let's get in the house and peep the honies.", 3) Verb: to secure a place "Homey, I'm in the house with dat chick, I'm gonna wax dat ass layta." Alternatives: In the heezy [Verb: Vallejo, CA; origin: E-40], in the hizzouse [Verb: unknown origins].

We talked about a gang of stuff, mostly laughing over dating drama and Brain's husband (the Count).

It's nice to be able to chill a little bit, and laugh hard enough to have to cover your face because it's just so fucked up looking.

The food was excellent (too spicy for the Brain, but perfect for Pinky and Voodoo), but the conversation made it even better. I might want to recommend that you try this with some friends, and go to an Eritrean or Ethiopian restaurant. No utensils, just your right hand and your injera bread. The food came on a large tray (one large tray for three dishes that were spread on said tray), and we got injera bread which you use to pick up what you intend to eat.

Lots of fun, and made for a casual night. If anyone wants to have a Voodoo dinner over injera bread, let me know. I'd be more than happy to have ya.

Voodoo

Thursday, November 01, 2001

Blog Drama

Sorry folks, it seems the whole new design bullpoop isn't working out as fly as I would like. The blogback had to be changed, the fly background isn't always poppin' up, my blogback comments are GONE but hey, it's tough being a free site...Don't worry, new things to come, baby.

Peace,
Voodoo

And Who the Hell Are You?

Today I had the utmost displeasure. I heard a student talk about how his teacher said to him, "You should have never been admitted into this school. You might want to go home and go to a community college and work on your stuff there. You don't belong here at this school."

Now I don't need to get on my little soap box to tell you anything about how I'm feeling about this incident. I can tell you that this student recently immigrated to the United States some three or four years ago, and that his first language is Spanish. I can also tell you that he's quite intelligent, and I have spoken to him in Spanish and know that to be a fact. I might want to tell you that he's an aspiring pre-med student. Didn't do all that great on his SATs, but hey, if just learned English a few years ago, you might have a problem with that as well. At any rate, he looked pretty sad when he left the office. And what's worse is that I know who the teacher was who confronted him in this inappropriate and very wrong way.

I was enraged when I heard what she said to him, and I can't tell you how sad it felt to hear of colleagues that are not supportive or caring in their approach to students. Yes, there are proper ways to tell students that they're not fit for the work that they are doing. There are ways to tell students that they might want to carefully think of what they're experiencing. There are tons of ways to do those things, and unfortunately, there are equally tons of ways to tell students that they're stupid, dumb, and don't belong in a college environment. And it is those ways that many professors would readily take, reinforcing the hierarchy of superior professors and meek tabula rasa students.

It would be so easy for him to feel dejected, and I think many of us have felt that at one point: where we are not viewed as being "capable" and "worthy." Whether that be at work, school or home. Those messages are so powerful because they're given by those people we are told to respect and we believe to be true judges of our capability. At one point or another, we buy into those messages. I am, therefore, not capable nor worthy. So why bother trying.

Indeed.

But I hope, I certainly do, that there is a point at which he can say that he is capable and worthy, because in all respects, he deserves to be here at the university, in his seat, in her class. And dammit, as much as she might hate to have to deal with him, too fucking bad. He was admitted with great reason, and he will graduate with equal reason, because we believe in his abilities and capabilities and the education afforded to him will not only allow him to achieve the loftiest goals in this life, but they will continue to filter down through his future generations.

The education we've attained has led us to places where we never thought possible. And while I understand and know that there are tons of people out there who have not attained their degree, that's okay too. The point is, what we do with our lives is largely dependent on how we feel about ourselves during the process of living. There is not enough praise, not enough encouragement through life's trials; those are the things that fuel our self. But all it takes is a few rough words, poorly chosen and unwisely uttered to trash dreams and destroy the self. I've seen it happen time and time again. Sometimes to my friends, mostly to my students, and once or twice to myself.

I only hope that those who do hear those things know the difference between one person's issues (the teacher in question) and their own reality (the student's real strengths). And know the strength that it takes to move past that negativity.

Pull that out and work with it, baby. Cause I know that ain't you.

One pissed off Voodoo...

PS: Blogback if you wish, on any similar experiences... Peace.

Voodoo Lounge v.12.1: I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!