Sunday, April 29, 2007

Call On Me

I've done little more this weekend than recline on the couch and strap a lowball full of whiskey-cokes to my face. It's been wondrous. Nevertheless, I was starting to feel a little self-conscious about it (also, I wanted to commiserate with someone about my lack of writerly drive for the past few days). I called my good buddy,Orlando,* and he shot the shit with me for about 90 minutes and made me feel better. He also laughed at all of my vulgar and wildly inappropriate "witticisms."

*picture of Orlando and me taken on the job (he's driving)

Saturday, April 28, 2007

It's A Gas, Gas, Gas

Image Hosted by

Right now, I'm desperately trying to finish the last 5K or so words on a piece I've been fucking ducking since November. It's a nothing little piece of crapadoodle, but it might be something that gets mama paid a bit this summer and it needs to be finished yesterday. I'm determined to finish it tonight. As I bang away on the keyboard, I've got one ear cocked to the tv, which is showing one of my favorite what-the-fuck- films from the 1980s: Jumpin' Jack Flash.

Can I just interject here for a second and say that, on my way to finding that link at imdb, I hyperlinked my way through, like, 15 pages, eventually winding up back at wikipedia (naturally) and its entry on a novel and film that loomed large in my childhood. The setting -- Green Town --the same as that of Bradbury's other meditation on adolescence and maturity, Dandelion Wine. I bring all of this up only to share with you the joy I felt in realizing that that brief layover at wikipedia reminded me of Macbeth, a play I steadfastly refused to read while an undergraduate

Can I just interject here to say that I'm surprisingly -- and horrifyingly -- ill read for someone with a Ph.D. in English? And I mean that in terms of both literature and theory, sadly. I mean, I can fake it when in the company of my peers; but just today, as a matter of fact, I thought about how I've never read this
, which, honestly, on a day-to-day basis doesn't cause me any motherfucking consternation...except for those occasional (but guaranteed) times when a student will stoke the inner fires of thought and make some random damn connection in class and then it's all "blah blah blah tell us more about The Well of Loneliness; blah blah blah I want to know about Jomo Kenyatta and the Mau Maus; blah blah blah I don't think I read Macbeth until I was way into graduate school and even then I didn't read it for a class but because I was really conscious of not knowing as much as everyone else and if you tell anyone that I never finished The Faerie Queene I will have to kill you."

...and anyway, thinking about Macbeth was both a blessing and a curse, because it helped me think through a new scene with a character in another piece I'm working on (a novel, I think...I'm actually not sure yet what form this thing wants to take); but it also forced me to recognize that, as much as I want to Pynchonify myself, I want to do more than quote, allude to, or reference: I want to write things like this myself:

Malcolm: ...Nothing in this life
Became him like the leaving it: he died
As one that had been studied in his death
To throw away the dearest thing he owed
As't were a careless trifle...
Macbeth, 1.4)

Or how about this?

2nd Witch: By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Macbeth, 4.1)

But this...this imprecation I absolutely love--

Lady Macbeth: ...Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers.
Macbeth, 1.5)

Bitches. I need my own Lady Macbeth. I would have finished this screenplay by now, I'm telling you.

I wouldst be great. I have art: but alas, no ambition.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Please Say That

Image Hosted by

I don't believe that I possess an above average curiosity, but I would definitely characterize myself as being of above average laziness. As I've been lucky enough to live in the age of wikigoogleyoutubepedia, answers (of varying degrees of accuracy or relevance) are rarely more than a few seconds away. Bim bim sala bim, I've satisfied my need to know who the Finnish prime minister is; mekka lekka hi, here's a picture of a carny family and a baby wearing a toupee; jinks roshambo, I always suspected that there was some sort of convenient guide and here it is; etc, etc.

My morning routine (on days I don't teach, anyway) lately is to enjoy 20 oz of premium jav-aaah! while watching an episode or two of QI. I can't remember where or when I learned about this show, but you can watch all four seasons on youtube. Today, I happened to catch the panel talking about Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, and Vincent Price (somewhere, Orlando has just rolled over in bed and yelled "Hammer Time!").

Anyway, wishing to learn more particulars about the gentlemanly Peter Cushing, I headed over to wikipedia, where I read the following (I've no idea if this is true or not, but it has the ring of truth to it; and it's quite beautiful so fuck off if you can't take the raw emotion):

In 1971, Cushing withdrew from the film Blood from the Mummy's Tomb when his wife died (Hammer stalwart Andrew Keir inherited the role). He and actress Helen Beck had been married since 1943. The following year, he was quoted in the Radio Times as saying "Since Helen passed on I can't find anything; the heart, quite simply, has gone out of everything. Time is interminable, the loneliness is almost unbearable and the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that my dear Helen and I will be united again some day. To join Helen is my only ambition. You have my permission to publish that... really, you know dear boy, it's all just killing time. Please say that."

Six years later, his feelings were unchanged: "When Helen passed on six years ago I lost the only joy in life that I ever wanted. She was my whole life and without her there is no meaning. I am simply killing time, so to speak, until that wonderful day when we are together again."

In his autobiography, he says he attempted suicide the night that Helen died, by running up and down stairs in the vain hope that it would induce a heart attack.

In 1986, Cushing appeared on the British TV show Jim'll Fix It. His "wish", "granted" by Jimmy Savile, was to have a strain of rose named after his late wife. Cushing's letter to the show, in copperplate handwriting, was shown, as was the identification and naming of a rose named "Helen Cushing."

I take pride in being a bitter old hag with the affect of a feral child, but I have to say: I honestly teared up that. And then later on in that same wiki, we get this from Christopher Lee, who was Cushing's best friend:

"I don't want to sound gloomy, but, at some point of your lives, every one of you will notice that you have in your life one person, one friend whom you love and care for very much. That person is so close to you that you are able to share some things only with him. For example, you can call that friend, and from the very first maniacal laugh or some other joke you will know who is at the other end of that line. We used to do that with him so often. And then when that person is gone, there will be nothing like that in your life ever again."

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Daughters of the Dragon

That right there is Misty Knight ----------------------->
Image Hosted by

Just in time for the onset of the summer and the summer con season, I've re-nigra-ed the look of The Get Down to let y'all know how I'll be rolling for the next couple of months. I've tentatively planned to attend 4 cons this year, and in honor of the NOC* peoples I met after the Mixed Race Conference, I wanted to find a costume that let me rock the 'fro and be sufficiently badass sexy to compel the gaze but repulse advances. I should mention here that I don't look shit like Misty Knight and I know this, which actually makes me more excited to wear some version of this outfit. Bernaise, back me up here: a slightly-too-old-for-this, chubby, bootleg Misty Knight would be hilarious, right?

I kicked around a couple other black female superheroes/comics heroes, but ultimately, Misty Knight was it. She is, quite simply, that bitch. Love her. And it doesn't hurt that her relationship with Nightwing partner Colleen Wing
Image Hosted by is reminiscient of the 1970s-style, everybody-was-kung-fu-fighting one between Mi Ling and Cleopatra Jones in Cleopatra Jones and the Casino of Gold.

People, it always comes back to Tamara Dobson. Always.

*NOC = nerds of color

Post Deleted

Post deleted.

Sometimes It Be's That Way

Image Hosted by

What's live, blogger family? Greetings, shouts-out, props, and daps to all those who've been sneaking this way over the past few weeks. I know that I faked your asses out but good with my mini-posting burst, but the fact is that I can't be counted on to maintain that kind of productivity on a daily basis, family. What am I, a writer? Fuck that.

News you can use:

Although I haven't been paid for donkey at [name redacted] this year, there are the occasional benefits that partially alleviate the bone-crushing malaise of this genteel poverty. For example: the opportunity to meet and talk with some people I normally wouldn't have access to (Walter Mosley, Spike Lee, Cherrie Moraga, Robin D.G. Kelley, Bobby Hill...granted, some of those people might only be interesting to you if you are an American Studies head like me, but whatever. For the record, Bobby Hill was absolutely charming, and I want to carry him around in my pocket. Unfortunately, I had lunch with him about 4 days after my wisdom teeth surgery, and I was not only swole up like a heffa-lump, I was a bit too intimidated to make conversation. I guarantee you that if Professor Hill has any memory of me whatsoever, it's of an oddly shaped half-wit).

Anyway, while one of the departments for whom I toil (American Studies) is substantially over budget this year, the other (Department of Multicultural Life) is not. Membership has its privileges, bitches. There's quite a bit of money left over for travel and professional development; so, without having to come up with a proposal/justify expenditures/suffer through endless meetings, I'm definitely getting to go on one subsidized jaunt (San Francisco )with the possibility for another (Santa Fe). So, if any of you lurkers, known or unknown, want to hook up with the Jugo Naturale this summer, make your presence known! Get your tickets for the Live the Dream Comeback Tour while they are still cheap.

Apart from that, not much is happening. Not for me, anyway. Those of you who know my friend O (for whom I had the internet community send up good vibes in the tail end of this post over at The Let Down, will be happy to know that, one year later, he is back on his game. He's got a new ladeeeeeeee, and is getting broke off proper. His last girlfriend continues to walk the streets unmolested, but only because she lives 1500 miles from me. Let the record show [/Claire Huxtable]
Image Hosted by that that bitch is on notice. If I ever see that dollar store Melanie Brown (Mel B, although I am very happy for you in your current relationship, part of me remains saddened that you and O never dated), I am going to put that bitch in the ground. Trust.

If I had one of those cool "This is me and this is what I am doing" meme things that thptpth has on her site, it would tell you that I am madly consuming Love and Rockets (the comic books, not the band), The Venture Brothers, and for some reason, quarts and quarts of grape juice.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Looking For Love in All The Wrong Places

Many of you bitch about the difficulty of getting hold of me. But how many of you made a short film about it?! Just one, man (that I know of).

Monday, April 02, 2007

This is Why I'm Hot; This is Why I'm Not

While once again trying to be slick this weekend -- this time in the company of some dear friends I hadn't seen since day dot -- I was all like, "yeah, come check out my blogs! Ha ha ha, oh, the treasures you'll see!" I was conveniently forgetting that this space (and The Let Down, and Ambition Adams, and Ebony is the New Black get the point: I have a couple of wordpress blogs, a vox blog...) is merely the dumping ground for hastily-penned, marginally-proofread, poorly-conceived screeds on nothing in particular. In other words: keep it moving, homies! Nothing to see here.

But just so that you can say you haven't wasted your time, I offer to Ang, Matt, Ben, Mines, Sulit and Meldog (who was there in spirit) the following piece of instant nostalgia:

Is it the extra long shorts?!

You Can't Cover Mars Blackmon

Goodbye, Mars!