Voodoo Lounge v.12.1: I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!: 06/01/2002

Saturday, June 29, 2002

Fuck I lost the blog I justdid for last nite. Check Fabloaf.

That girl is poison,
Voodoo

Rosewood

I finally got the chance to hang out with my beloved Fabloaf. We've been trying to coordinate (say it mushroom belt stylee) for a few weeks and last nite was the nite.

You'll have to see his version of the nite, but here's my interpretation. When telling people you're going out, tell them what kind of club/bar/pick up joint it is. I wound up showing up in my ghetto fabulous gear. I would have liked to bust out my queen bee fit, but fearing the pandemonium my cleavage can cause, I'm almost glad I left it at home.

White girls, learn how to dance a little. Flailing about with your hands up over yo' head and thrashing as if being eaten by a shark does not constitute dancing. It is like you're drowning, but with no water.

There is no sex in the champagne room. Unless you lock that door.

I would like to proudly annouce that Old School is the King of 80's dance moves. World of Curls is the Queen. I sense a shakedown in the royalty.

If you'd like to see how Soul Glow has affected the Jheri Curl, go to IHOP on Lombard. Ask for Derrick. While you're there, try the scrawburry sizzurp.

If a girl is leaning on a wall, looking bored, not paying attention to your goofy ass, peepin' my boy Fabloaf, it means she doesn't like your stank ass. I suggest that you drop the zero and get with the hero, girl. Hey, those are Fabloaf's words, not mine. Mine were, you need to be like Savion Glover and TAP that ass.

Guys with accents? Whoa.

Girls, if you see me dancing with two other men, Fabloaf to the rear, Old School in the front, I don't need any help, but if you'd like to join the party, by all means. Oh yah, and brotha man, touch my shit one more time and I will box you. By the way, smooth move on swoopin on the white girl.

Never trust a big butt and a smile!

Your cool factor is boosted if you know the words to old school rap tunes. Old School and Fabloaf are mos' def the coolest brothas in there, however,I have never seen a happier man than Old School when they busted out "Bust a Move" by Young MC and Tour de France by Kraftwerk.

So tonight, I'm off to Universe. Gay men, prepare for take off. Happy Pride 2002 my pretties. And I'm out.

Voodoo

Thursday, June 27, 2002

What You Won't Do

I had a hellish day. Meetings starting at 8-12:30, 1-5. No joke, I swear. That 30 minute break went to slamming down pizza because I had no breakfast. Nice huh.

It's that time of the year called Orientation. During those times, we host the incoming first year students, administer their tests and show 'em a good time. It's exhausting work, really. To be fully present and talking to people about a lot of their concerns takes energy, patience, and focus. Sounds crazy, huh, but it's work. I got home and crashed out. I talked with at least 10 parents and kids, scores of students.

I sometimes hate these days, where I have to be at my best (I always am, but more so on these days), but I really love the energy that it brings. I was so busy that I didn't bother to check messages or email. My students think I'm a ghost. I called into my office earlier, around lunch time, and one of my students said, "You got flowers."

"You're lying."

"No really."

"Ha, okay are you serious?"

"Who are they from?"

I honestly had no idea. I thought maybe they weren't for me. Kids are fun like that.

I headed back to the office for some supplies to our next program, and well, that was my name on the card. Okay. Crack open the card. Okay. Glee. Okay. Giddy. Okay.

I'm not used to getting flowers, really. I mean, I got them once from a stalker, but that's different. It doesn't take much to make my day, but with things like this days like today seem to fade out. Cause now it's all gravy baby. Thoughtfulness on the behalf of any person can make a difference, and even though the words are few, the meaning is quite another thing. I'm a firm believer in the little things, and maybe because I'm jaded but I think the little things are a thing of the past. I don't see it very much,and no I'm not talking about gifts or even flowers, but the little niceties like listening and remembering little details. Those kinds of things make differences. And flowers yes, do immense things for folks. I'm not talking about the ones you get after a fight.

Mad love to TFN, thanks for the flowers, and to those of you who do the little things to those you care about. It's in actions that we learn hear the words unspoken.

Voodoo

Wednesday, June 26, 2002

McCarran Thoughts

It is 4PM. I am sitting in the walkway between gates in McCarren Airport in Las Vegas. It is approximately 106 degrees in Sin City, and I am waiting to get home where it is a comfortable 65 degrees.

That’s a difference of 41 degrees, it means a change in clothing, a change in attitude, and I’m all for it. The weather here doesn’t do much for me, but I’m okay with the heat. It feels rather nice, but don’t get me standing in it for too long. I said I’m okay with it, not a big fan of it.

I won’t explain why I’m here so early other than to say that I had no real other choice. It’s okay, I don’t mind the people watching. Las Vegas feels like a hub where people from all sorts of cities, countries, and trailer parks convene in a strange fashion show with an option of whether or not to have that beer for here or to go. I can sit here and watch people all day.

I will, however, say that people watching is not without its catches or issues. People sometimes watch you back; I am sitting in a major walkway, people are staring at me with some interest as I type away. They look at me as if to say, “What is she writing about?” But I think it’s more of “What is she doing sitting in the walkway like that.” I think I deserve some of the attention; it’s only fair since I’m the one watching them.

It’s an intrigue to me, this thing called travel. The way in which we leave places only to be found in others. Perhaps it’s that part of our psyche that longs to leave home and wander about to some other place and time. Whereever we land, we reinvent ourselves and become whatever it is we want to be. We become more than we are, and shed all vestiges of our past, if only temporarily. Yet leaving our temporary home is met with glee, for our new lives are often complicated by remembering new roles, tongues, and ways of being. Once back in familiar digs, we are unencumbered of our lives as we wish them to be. We return to the familiar, bitter with acceptance of what we are, with a glimmer of possibility of escape from that reality.

Ticket stubs. Boarding passes. Suitcases. Carry-ons. Headsets. Laptops. Carefree makeup. Comfortable shoes. Good music. A book to read. Bottled water.

I wonder, sometimes aloud, who these travelers are. Where are they from, what are the places they are headed off to. The things they’ve carefully packed. Their pre-travel rituals. Their expressions on their faces as the plane speeds towards liftoff. The people they hope to sit next to, the people they are fated to sit next to. I watch them all and assign them jobs, lives, husbands and wives, daughters, sons, kinks, affections, obsessions, tickle spots, fetishes, and if I think you’re really intriguing, what their o-faces look like.

I imagine someone taking the microphone of the Keeper of the White Courtesy Phone and wondering what they’d say: Hello, have a nice day. Las Vegas: the place where you can be a winner for a price. She doesn’t love you! Free hand jobs can be located on the mezzanine level. You! With the outrageous orange tank top and the flaccid breasts! Reconsider your clothing options next time! Imagine world peace! Practice safe sex: masturbate! Love one another! I want to hear the voice of the Keeper of the White Courtesy Phone crooning some old Sinatra song. No, a Public Enemy song. I imagine everyone knows the words and is singing along.

People are afraid to be alone in life. That is, I think it’s hard for people to be alone. Given any free moment, people have to take out their cell phones to make contact for the sake of not having to sit alone for a while. Really, it’s okay to be alone, to sit by yourself for a little, to be. Honestly, I’d rather be alone and not have to contend with the bullshit of shared existence that’s not 100% true and real. But there are others who would rather throw in the towel because at the end of that trajectory, there is someone to play catch with. It’s hard to play catch by yourself. It doesn’t have to be if you know where to play. Oh the irony. Is that why I am blogging in my solitude?

I have to pee. This means relinquishing my spot here in the walkway, away from my television show called Life. Reality TV has nothing on reality as we live it. But I know everyone here is on stage. Not our true selves as we are on parade for others. I wish here was another way to record these events as they happen, and I hate traveling by myself because undoubtedly I’ll always run into some situation that I want to share with someone else. When I traveled to France, I found myself talking into a recorder just so I could have my thoughts to myself out there, as if there was a person to dialogue with.

So this is probably the reason that I’m here now, rambling on aimlessly about people walking by me, the world passing by without realizing that someone’s watching and taking notes. It’s amazing how one acts when it appears that there is no audience. But there most certainly is.

Voodoo

Change in the temperature

Today was cooler. Um, 109!

I learned how to sit in the car with the windows rolled down with the air conditioning on.

I have seen so many mullets.

Someone explain to me the tanned old ladies and why they closely resemble elephants.

Mmm Buffets.

Okay, time to go to bed. One more day of sin. Can't wait to get back home.

Voodoo

Tuesday, June 25, 2002

Four Words

It's hell-a hot. So hot, I can't think. I'll write later when I'm cooled down.

Voodoo

Monday, June 24, 2002

Get Outta Here

I have had a busy weekend. Friday nite I was with World of Curls, the Elfman and Redman. We shot some pool, drank a bit too much, and had a great time. Saturday, I shook my groove thang with the Drunken Masta, Mista J, The Enforcer and Pterodactyl. On Sunday I spent the day with the Food Network.

I won't give you the details about Saturday, I'll leave that to the Weekender, but Sunday was a great day out of SF, after a bit of a debate over which City in which to dine. The Food Network, attempting to avoid clashing with "the Rules", was an Oakland kinda kid. I'm an SF kinda doll, attempting to not exert too much Leo control. So when it came down to debating on where to eat lunch, I suggested we go somewhere neutral, and as an aside, I threw out Sonoma or Napa.

Not knowing that NASCAR was well on its way, we headed out to Sonoma.

Did I mention Mom conveniently placed herself in the kitchen to receive the guest. Sheesh. No pressure, none at all.

Here's the cliff's notes version:

Which way to take? Let's go up 37 to Sonoma.
Hey, isn't that traffic for NASCAR? Yah, but we'll figure it out.
Wow, there sure is a lot of traffic. [1 hours passes]
Where is Sonoma? Oh, just over the bend. [45 minutes passes]
Where are the vineyards? I have no idea.
What's your favorite cuisine? Thai food.
Are those real Thais? Or fake white people Thai food? I don't know, let's go ask.
How do I get to highway 29? Napaload! Napaload! You go here Napaload then here then here. Okay, um is there someone else here who knows where Napa is?
Hey Tommy, what are you going to do with that gun? [together] Shoot ze Germans?
Oh god, what if I get pulled over? Show your man cleavage. But what if he likes it?
Shit, you paid for lunch; I gotta put out. I don't expect it, but if you want to, go ahead.
This is a lot of traffic. [2 hours passes] Thank god for good company.

Good times. Thanks to The Food Network for a loverly day. By the way, I got the bidness from Moms. "You said you were going to lunch, it's 11PM!" Have a great trip to China, TFN. Post cards, okay? I'll drive next trip out.

I'm off to Vegas tomorrow AM. For a conference. Would it be shitty if I happened to come back with a nice tan? Yah, I think it would.

Expect the tan lines. It's on.

Voodoo

Sunday, June 23, 2002

Confidential #5

Half the reason I was sweaty was not just dancing, but who I was dancing with.

Voodoo

Thursday, June 20, 2002

Work, Not Work

Today was a glorious day at work. What did I do? A lot of work, that's for sure, but what I really did was nothing. You heard me, nothing.

I had my art supplies brought down to my office for Finals week,thinking that we were going to do some painting projects. I brought them to the office to share with the students for a study break, and we had a good time, just painting away. So today I thought it might be nice to do the same thing. We painted mightily. For a good five hours. We also ordered pizza as "staff development" supplies.

I think the best thing about working with students is getting to know them; I work with so many that it's hard to do just that, but it's much fun. They're hilarious, good kids with stories up the yangers. So I got the chance to work with a few students today and just relax, paint and talk. I guess it's not really work, but it's okay. Just don't tell my boss. Oh wait,she left work early to do her hair. Right.

Anyways, you should come visit one of these days, and maybe I'll break out the paints for ya.

Voodoo

Wednesday, June 19, 2002

Confidential #4

Ever get that butterfly action in your tummy tum tum over someone? Of course you do. As silly as it may seem, and however distant that feeling was prior to this one, live in it, and then let it go. Are you surprised? You shouldn't be. All you had to do was ask.

Voodoo

Huh?

I hate not being able to hear half of the stuff going on around the office. But strangely enough, I think my good ear is compensating by hearing all of the little things I never noticed before. Shit seems to sound much more clearer. Strange, I tell you.

Speaking of compensation, I've been going to bed much earlier than I used to. That is, 11PM. I turn off my IM, turn off my DVDs, grab a book and head to bed. I read a page, get bored, then go to sleep. Funny, now I think I'm more productive at work. I got a call from Fabloaf, and I so much wanted to hang out with him, but I can't be up late like I used to. I'm starting to feel the creepiness of old age. It's bizarre, to a point, but I think I'll just fight it a little. Gotta keep my late nites with the boys to the weekends. Can't come crawling back to the office with sleepy eyes.

Okay back to work, and to hearing all the strange sounds of my office. Write more later.

Voodoo

Tuesday, June 18, 2002

Much Better

Sometimes all you need is a nice pair of shoes to make the rest of your day go okay.

Voodoo

Monday, June 17, 2002

I've Got Those Monday Blues, Straight Through Sunday Blues

No, not really, but should you ever find yourself staring down a Billie Holliday collection, pick out Good Morning Heartache and you'll be convinced that you're the same way too. The woman has a way of singing that really brings the feelings home. Do you get that with any current pop star out there? I mean, really, does Cristina Aguilera make you want to cry? Does Britny Spears make your heart go soaring (and not your wood, fellas, that's different)?

Call me a music snob, but music from back in the day just seems to be more relevant to the human condition, and really understood the feelings of angst, love, joy,and the blues. I find myself drawn to music from any of the great jazz vocalists, but not to any current Top 40 R&B artists. Maybe it's just me, but hearing R. Kelly singing "boohootay, on your boohootay" just isn't the kind of song you want to sit down to and ease into the night. R. Kelly in general has his own issues, but that's for another post entirely.

I'm listening to Barry White right now. Does this music make you want to do things or what? I read in the paper that there were some biologists who wanted to mate some sharks, but they weren't doing their shark throw down. So they started piping in some Barry White. I don't know if the sharks were getting freaky, but the aquatist sez, "Nothing has happened yet but we hope that if anyone can persuade them it will be Barry White." Sho' yo' right.

I'm going to continue digging through my music collection and see what else I can come up with for some down and funky tunes, but if you have any recommendations to get your lovin' on, put it down in the comments, and I'll see what the compilation is like. I'll sell it and we'll be rich, children, and imagine all the little baby sharks swimming in the ocean.

Go figure,
Voodoo

Saturday, June 15, 2002

You walk into a room and know no one.

I continue to have decreased hearing in my right ear, my lung is, I'm sure, deflated, and after a full day of work, I'm tossed out.

So I went out.

Those of you in the know know that I was in The Blind Date Blog. I got to talking with a few of the contestants and we sort of planned a really impromptu get together to send Apple Crisp off to China. I initially thought it would be a small crowd, not a lot of folks, we would get the chance to yap, but that's it. I crawl out of bed, shower off the work funk, and head out to the Rohan. I realize that I will know no one once I walk in, and I don't even know who to look for. I've only seen pictures, really.

Then of course, the largest party says, "Voodoo!!" Yah, that's me.

After a few games of swap the chairs, I wound up getting to know almost everyone, at least talking once to each person. Initially I was watching, and getting to know everyone, but hell, might as well just jump right in, and the rest of the night was fine. It's always nice to know there are other amazingly fun people in the world, not that my circle(s) of friends aren't fun, but meeting new people is always nice. It sort of reaffirms the fact that I have to get over my dread (not fear, but a certain malaise ) about meeting new people. It's not that bad, really. I had a great time. I really did.

I've still got that cold to nurse, an earache to babysit, and a smile to keep. So I'm off, not to bed, but to chill land back at Chez Voodoo.

Peez,
Voodoo

Friday, June 14, 2002

Yak

I woke up this morning, feeling shitty because of course, I didn't go to bed early. I usually will find a friend online and start chatting with them, and next thing you know it's 2 freakin' AM and I'm tired out of my mind. I let Austin Powers play on the DVD and I fell asleep.

I woke up with a dry throat, coughing my lungs out. The guilty loogie, refusing to dislodge itself, kept hanging on. I started to have difficulty breathing and my throat got all raw like I was eating stale chips from Chevy's but couldn't stop because there's something plainly addictive like crack in that salsa. Next thing you know, I feel a drooling sensation kicking in, that rush of saliva in your mouth that preceeds puking.

I sat up in bed quizzically, my eyes watering from coughing so damn much. I started to choke back this saliva onslaught then realized, I really should be moving towards the bathroom. I manage to get my footing despite being 1) sleepy, 2) throat raw, and 3) spittle loaded. I bounce over to the toilet, spit out all the saliva (by now I had a good mouthful). I lean over and the first of a few retches take me over. I double over and proceed to yak out...nothing. You got it, nothing. I'm heaving and there's crap coming out. I grab a paper towel to clear my eyes and my nose, and am doubly perplexed. First I happen to yak, Second, there's nothing coming out. This is indeed a fucked up morning.

It's only 7AM.

This scene repeats itself until I've coughed myself into a near stupor and yakked up enough liquid goo to well, it was enough. I'm sure some of my medically inclined readers will utilize the comments to hypothesize on the condition I've found myself in. Great, thanks, but spare me the misery. I wound up going back to bed for a few minutes, wonder if I was going to make that great trek to the can one mo' gain. Then I hauled my sorry ass outta bed and went off to work.

Now if only I can get my right ear to become unplugged. Sheesh. I think my warranty's still good. I hope.

Voodoo

Thursday, June 13, 2002

Appropriation of Culture

"McDonald's trials Spam breakfasts in Hawaii

McDonald's are trialling a new breakfast meal made of Spam in their restaurants in Hawaii.

Spam is extremely popular in the state and the new meal is being sold in every McDonalds restaurant there.

The Spam breakfast also includes egg and rice.

McDonald's says it will serve the breakfast until the end of July and then decide if it is selling well enough to add to a menu that already includes rice, Portuguese sausage and saimin, reports the Pacific Business News.

One of the most popular Spam dishes currently served in Hawaii is Spam musubi, which consists of a strip of cooked Spam, on a block of rice and held in place by a sushi-style seaweed girdle."

Okay. Do you guys think anything is wrong with that? Culturally speaking, I guess it's interesting that McDonalds, purveyor of hamburgers and fries should venture forth and sell what Hawaii wants, and Hawaii wants its Spam, kiddies. I guess you could also make the argument that says McDonalds is taking on Spam as a way of edging into the market, and in a way, taking Spam to a level that is higher than just local, but accepting it into the mainstream.

I suppose it's a good thing, but kinda scary when McDonalds starts with Spam. Wait, I'm wrong. Remember McDonald's burritos? No? I think they started marketing those in LA. What's next? McDonalds Ribs? Oh wait, they had those already. McDonald's Fried Rice? McDonald's Lumpia?

Oh it makes my head spin in a merry circle.

Pass me the McDonald's Ice Pack.
Voodoo

Wednesday, June 12, 2002

Sputum and other bodily juices

Ack. I was so sick yesterday and last night. Now I feel fine, but a little tired. I didn't sleep very well last nite, not more than 2 hours straight before waking up and staring dazed and sweaty into the vast blank ceiling. I was in bed from 6PM until 9 this morning.

I remember when I was a tyke, and if I got sick, Mom would kindly help me get through it. Always a cup of fresh orange juice. Fruits. Teas. Then when I went away to college, no more Mom. I lay in bed confused as all hell; what was I supposed to do? I wound up driving over to my favorite chinese restaurant for some won ton soup. Mom would kick down some soup if we were ill, so this was close enough. I called her tons of times to get some words of advice, but more often than not, it was her voice that was better medicine.

I'm usually the kind of person who will shrug off a sickness and go to work, but I decided to stay in today, even though I feel pretty good. I'm happy to be lounging around in sweats and slippers all day. Probably go to bed a little early today to get ready for the next day. Whew. Now I'm tired.

oodoovay

I'm Moe, who are you? by Lexi

Tuesday, June 11, 2002

One Mo Gain

Vote for Cheryll & Jesse!

Those that don't will get a slipper to the backside.
Voodoo

Monday, June 10, 2002

"To worship a goddess is easy, but to love a human is far more work, and infinitely more thrilling." --Mary Elizabeth Williams

Sunday, June 09, 2002

Loogies

I'd like to welcome Loogie Girl to the sidebar as a blog that I love. Go check it out. Oh the loogieness of it all.

Vvoodoo

Heavy Petting

I have a parrot, his Voodoo Baby Name is Screech. Project Mayhem heard his calls this afternoon when he came by to visit; he's a jealous beast that demands my attention every living moment, but that's Screech for ya. I could easily make the parallells between my relationship with Screech and my relationships with significant others; maybe you've come to expect that from me. True to form, I'll do just that, but tweak it a bit. No, this isn't a beastiality bit.

I've learned a lot about life and love from Screech. He came into my life when I had some money to burn, and I was in need of a new pet. My last pet flew out of a door one sad day, never to look back. I've learned that home-trained parrots who fly out into the world often die because they can't find food, don't know how to fend for themselves, or don't know how to make a home for themselves in the wild, so to speak. I walked into a store with Voodoo Mom, saw this solid green bird and fell in love. It was a match when the store keeper opened the cage and encouraged me to put my finger in; he ran up my extended finger and up to my shoulder making it known that he'd like to be taken home. That was 12 years ago.

So what has this now red-headed parrot taught me? Quite a few things, some of them even relevant to this page.

Just because we don't talk doesn't mean we don't communicate. The truth is, we can't talk. Sentences, that is, but I know when to pick him up, and when to put him down. He communicates these things. He lets me know when he's displeased, just as I tell him. We play, laugh at things, sit quietly and also have fights, but those things are always openly known. What's a four letter word for intercourse? Talk. You dirty little minds. Not all communication is verbal, and even animals understand that.
Share and share alike makes for happy relationships. When I am eating, and he's in his cage, he will always scream until I let him out. Once he's out, he screams a little more until I share my food with him. More likely than not, he's a shoulder parrot; he likes to sit on my shoulder and eat. That always makes for tons of crumbs, but he's happy, and so am I. Sharing is a crucial element to a relationship, whether that mean sharing thoughts, words or beliefs, or something more simple like sharing food, time and the blankets.
Involve those you care about in aspects of your life. When I'm out and about in the house, cleaning, doing laundry, etc., sometimes he gets anxious because I leave his sight. I like to take him out and let him ride around the house on my shoulder while I'm doing tasks. I hate to think that his life is spent in his cage observing when he could be participating in life with me. Partners are important in one's life; they're not just the Other. I'm always amazed at how much some relationships are placed in separate comparments from other life's work.
A successful relationship will go through tough changes. Screech and I have had our ups and downs. When I moved out, he bonded with my dad. I would come home to visit, and Screech would snap at me and bite hard, as to show his anger. I would have to talk to him and tell him that even though I moved out, he was still a part of my life. You're thinking, right, you talk to your parrot. Yes I do, so call the loonybin already. Anyway, he seemed to understand that, and it helped things. He didn't bite me as much, but would still be pissy if I was late in saying hello to him. I had a boyfriend who always wanted life to be cushy and sweet. He never wanted to fight or be angry. You're thinking, who would?! Well, realistic relationships involve change and growth, both of which may or may not be easy. Sometimes there's moments of unease. It's how you get through those moments that really define your relationship.

I suppose you think I'm crazy, but I won't deny that my relationship with Screech is an important one to me. Now if only I could get him to stop crapping on me.

Peace and love,
Voodoo

[this article is cross-posted in The Big Aiyah]

Saturday, June 08, 2002

Proof that Ebay is Evil.

ROGERS, Ohio (AP) -- A 13-year-old boy spent about $2 million in a science class buying a helicopter, a jet and other items over the Internet using a password belonging to a friend's mother, authorities said.

The Columbiana County Sheriff's Department said the boy made the purchases May 24 on the eBay auction Web site using a computer at Beaver Middle School in this eastern Ohio town about 40 miles south of Youngstown.

The purchases included a $1.1 million helicopter and a $199,000 jet, authorities said. The boy also bought motorcycles and a pickup truck, they said.

The woman discovered the purchases the day the helicopter's owner called and asked how she intended to pay for the aircraft.

She is having the purchases canceled, a sheriff's spokesman said.

The boy's actions are under review within the county's juvenile justice system.

School officials are considering disciplining the boy, Principal Tom Sapp said.

-----------------------------------
You go, boy.

Voodoo

Thursday, June 06, 2002

Booty Free

I was released from Jury Duty early yesterday. I should have gone home. But no, I went to work. What a trooper.

Today I went out to dinner with Mack Daddy. We went to Cha Cha Cha, one of those restaurants that I go to so much that it's lost that appeal, but it's still good food. We sat and caught up on our respective lives, and he asked me, "So, what do you have planned for tonight'?"

"Nothing, I just go home and chill."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much."

"Man, I want to get to that point, where I work, then the rest of the day I just chill."

Totally. I can't knock it. I love my chill life. Sometimes it's a little boring, but hey, I can't complain. I have a home to go to, books to read, a parrot that adores me, and a comfy bed. No problems. I didn't really realize until then how I was at the point where I wanted to be when I was going through my dissertation. At home, mad chillin', not thinking of anything, just hangin. I was at that time, writing, thinking, shredding, analyzing at work, then doing that again on another level for homework. My days started at 8, job ended at 5. Went home to sleep for two hours. Back out to study. Studied until midnight most nites, and then when it came down to the wire, 3AM those nites.

Worked my ass off, and all I wanted to do was chill hard and deep.

Now I'm doing that. Well, NOW I'm doing it, but when the summer ends, it's back to running around and burning out.

Let me enjoy this, will ya? Shit, join me, why don't you.
Voodoo

Wednesday, June 05, 2002

Jury Booty

Okay, I have been summoned to serve my community on a jury. Details to follow. Sure, I'm not supposed to talk about it. Sure I won't.

Wish me luck. I want to get off the jury bit AND I have to take public transportation. Definitely wish me luck.

Voodoo

Monday, June 03, 2002

What's on your mind?

Skip the article. Look at the pic. [not for the weak of heart, you wussies]

Voodoo

Turn That Shit Off

People of color, people of religious beliefs not connected to Christianity, gay and lesbian people, people with disabilities, and poor people are often portrayed in ways that seek to label them as immoral, violent, dangerous, stupid, or lazy. And even when there isn't a negative portrayal, often there is no portrayal at all -- absence is a message, too. If you are repeatedly the object of such messages, I have to believe that just watching television must sometimes require an active act of courage, as well as a conscious remembering of the belief in self and others in your community to counter the collage of distorted images. For me, I must constantly be on the alert to realize that the people I know do not fit those stereotypes, and I must be vigilant in making sure that, at a minimum, I don't take the yardstick those pictures provide and use it to measure real people.

Context/Article here.

Now you know why I don't watch TV.

Voodoo

Sunday, June 02, 2002

Well?

New digs. Just a few minor tweaks. Whaddya think?

Use the comments....

Voodoo

Crick

I have a crick in my neck. I suppose it's from sleeping kinda crazy. I've been staying up pretty late these last few days, watching movies, fixing the blog, etc. Maybe it's a error in pillow decision making. Maybe it's time for me to go back to those flat pillows, but I adore my overstuffed welcome to Ikea pillows. Yah baby, sleeping with my neck at 45 degrees just makes me wanna purr. But now it's making me want to see a massage therapist to fix my Taco Neck Syndrome. Hey Shaq, thanks for contributing that to our popular culture. I'm so proud.

On a lazy Sunday, I've finished a book, tried starting a new one, but I don't like it one bit, done two loads of laundry, practiced some jazz standards, and fed the fish and the parrot. Pretty mundane, I must tell you, but I'm not trippin. I need long days like this. People used to bust on me for living at home, but I don't have a problem with it. Just seems like white folks are the ones making the most noise. Maybe it's that left over angst for getting kicked out at 18. Sure.

Luckily tomorrow's clash with the jury duty will not go down (whew). I have to call in again tomorrow to make sure I get excused. Maybe I'll use some bogus ass excuse to get out of it, but I think I'll fly by the seat of my low-rise hip huggers (yah right) and take my chances with the duty. Flirt with the lawyer, the judge, and other jury members. Maybe that will get me out of it. Or get me on it. Rethink strategy, I must. Hey, I'll talk like Yoda. Really trip 'em out that will.

I'm going to fade out like a 45 and catch you on the other side of the ball game.

5000,
Voodoo

Saturday, June 01, 2002

Confession

Lord forgive me for I have went to the Coach Store and paid full price for some Coach gear. In a moment of weakness, I tempted The Weekender who was both sick and full of some good ol' Filipino food to partake in said Coachfest. I found what I was looking for. Luckily I got to my senses and walked out before I bought anything else. Mmm. Coach bags....

Lord also forgive me for going into Banana Republic and trying on things without the intention of buying them. I messed up a few racks. Yes, I'm bad.

Lord, what the hell is the point of always putting really cute guys with girlfriends at tables near The Weekender and I? You know that's cruel.

One last thing, Lord, when the next Coach sale goes down, let me know.

Amen,
Voodoo

Arachno Homo Sapien

I watched Spiderman last night with Egg Tart. Finally nice to hook up with the original member of Triple Threat/Defense crew. We've been dancing around trying to figure out a good date to go do something, but life gets in the way sometimes. And true to form, I showed up without money, and of course, late.

The bread demanded to get eaten, but our hero Egg Tart did not give in. Okay, he did once. We caught up in person, which is always better than catching up online. Moviewise, I remembered why I don't see movies in Jack London Square. Cause folks always be talkin' to the screen. Don't get me wrong, it was really funny what they were saying, but luckily the theater wasn't packed with loud ass people. Egg Tart and I were bustin' up over it, but more so over the notes that Egg Tart was taking in order to break out of his Peter Parker mode. (Remember, wear contacts and pink lip gloss.)

I used to read comic books faithfully, and the story wasn't at all unfamiliar. I know that cartoons on tv tend to resurrect the characters and give the newbies the vibe, but nothing beats comic books. I remember a girlfriend of mine was going on and on about the X-Men based on her knowledge of the characters from TV. I was appalled.

So thanks to Egg Tart for a cool outing! Same thing another evening? Anyone else?

Voodoo

My Favorite Things

Egg Tart's charm. Fabloaf's smile. Drunken Masta's ability to roll with the punches. The Apostle's sense of humor. My Other Baby's Daddy's smirk. Pork Honey's verbalisms. Mista J's dedication. Heavy Jumbo's smartalecky ways. Felonious Monkey's daring. Project Mayhem's wit. Dick in a Glass' eyeballs. Gengalicious' beats. You Want This' laugh. Pteradactyl's will. Buff Bagwell's sarcasm.

The Weekender's dance skills. Mighty Mom's mommy look. The Enforcer's checking skillz. Squeak's squeak. Dickhead's sayings. Yuck Mouth's eye roll. Basket Case's moments of clarity. Moon Cake's strange accent.

Voodoo's Bed.

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