Saturday, October 17, 2009

Hey Y'all

I'm still alive. I've got about a million deadlines I'm trying to make and just keeping my head above water at work is making me wanna holler. So keep your pants. I mean, keep them on. I'll update y'all with what's been going down chez Naturale as soon as I'm able.

I'm incredibly jealous of Shades of Caruso's new spot; I might make that move myself. This blogger thing is ridiculous. I'm a professional, gatdammit!

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The Foot Fist Way

My darlings, I apologize for the long gap in postings. I have had sweet FA to report, really, but that doesn't stop me from gasbagging through my day at work, so why it's making me coy as new bride here, I have no idea. And anyway, I do have stuff to report now, so roll up, roll up.

First. Big things! Meetings and Greetings, You Say Goodbyes and I Say Hellos. A Little Bit of Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me. Big Things!

21 July 09: Pasadena Rose Bowl Stadium

I still don't entirely get why, but Chelsea FC and InterMilan came to the States and played a match last week. E-friend Andrew Goodwin (aka the Professor of Pop, aka the Pimp of the Perverse) decided that the occasion merited some shaking of the hands and a good old-fashioned booze up. In attendance: the Reverend Mother (not to be confused with the Reverent Mother) and Susan. Susan is going to be Andrew's lovely bride. They were both a-dorable and utterly charming. Andrew turned out to be one of those people who laughs with his entire body. I think this might the Buddhist training. Whatever it is, he's going to do himself an injury one day, because he is constantly laughing about something. I've never met someone so willing to be delighted.

22 July 2009: Jeff Goldblum @ Aqua

So somehow, the Rev Mother and I managed to arrive at the club at the same time (about 10 minutes late) but where she panicked and went in looking for me, I panicked and stayed out front looking for her. It never occurred to either of us to move, and so after about 50 minutes, I bounced without seeing my boy. I did, however, see the sweet young thing Jeff has been trying to forget me with. Damn, family! He couldn't wait a little longer for me to get my shit together and move to NY? He had to throw this chick in my face? Trifling. As you would expect, she's about 20 and wee. Godspeed, Jeff! You have broken my heart for the next to last time!

23 July 2009: Stan Lee/Comic-Con party @ W Hotel, San Diego

I'll come back to this one. It's 3 in the morning and I'm going back to bed. But I'll leave you with this:

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Pass Me Over

My mother lies in an unmarked grave. The bare earth is appalling, looks painful. It's an abomination. But it's nothing compared to the holocaust of my mother's death itself, which flayed the skin from my face, my hands, my heart.

We couldn't face putting a gravestone up for her -- my brother, my father, and I.
We just refused. We refused to talk of it; we refused to think on it. Let her passing remain fresh and sharp and obscene in its inability to be reconciled with the world we thought we knew. Don't let grass grow over her, so that she blends in with others who have gone before her. Don't let her become just another name on another granite stone.

We couldn't do it. We simply couldn't do it. And can you imagine: the ground in which she lies is the ground that grew the cotton that scarred her hands. It is the ground she walked as a child, the most beautiful child of all God's children. It is the ground that grew the food she ate. This ground that raised up this woman now covers her and envelops her; and it is only now that it can support the physical or emotional weight of a marker. It is soft North Carolina dirt. It accepted her and now it carries her, but like us, it needed time to adjust to the offering and would not be rushed. This red, bruised ground has not yet settled enough for her to be covered - it won't yet uphold a concrete slab. That won't be placed for some years. But the marker needs to be there. So people know where to go to weep and wail and lay hands on the earth.

I thought that each milestone, each anniversary, would make it easier for me to start breathing again, but I was wrong. My aunt Nita says that she talks to my mom all the time. I want to do this too, but I don't know to reach for her and not feel her in my hands. I dream about her all the time, though. All the time.

Don't you see that this is all I have and God, please let me keep sleeping.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Sugargirl, Don't Leave Me

"I am standing on the shore as a great ship gently glides from the harbor and sails toward the horizon. She is beautiful. Sails billowing; and shining bright as sunlight sparkling on distant waters. She grows smaller and smaller until at last, her white sails shine as ribbons out where the sky and water mingle as one.

And as I watch, a voice behind me says, "Well, she's gone." She's gone.
Gone? "No," I tell myself. No, she is not really gone. Not really. She is gone only in the sense that I can no longer see her.

In reality, she is the same as ever; just as beautiful; just as shining. And deep in my heart I know, that on another shore someone is crying out, "Look!
Look everyone! Here she comes!"
(Henry Van Dyke)

Tina Hudson
sunrise: 10-01-48
sunset: 4-27-08

Friday, April 17, 2009

Somewhere, some idiot is listening to Steely Dan

I'm not back yet, and truth be told, I'm less and less convinced about the point of this place. Still, every time I think about shuttering The Get Down for good (or perhaps that should be For Good), I grant the ol' girl a stay of execution for a little while longer. I compose posts in my head all the time that never make it here: either because I [wisely] see the error of my [maudlin] ways before my itchy posting finger can hit "PUBLISH" or because I just get lazy or because I find someone, somewhere online who has said what I want to say better, more entertainingly, more succintly, more about your anxiety of influence.


Things in in my personal life are settling down, curiously, by being more up in the air than ever: i.e. I broke up with Iron Fist, and have now convinced myself that, if things between me and Jeff Goldblum don't work out rightquick, I might be staring down the barrel at a long, lonely, rest-of-my-lifehood (not really, as anyone who knows me knows that I could happily go full-hermit and be very, very happy). I do worriy that I've had sex for the last time. Do other people have that worry? Man, what if I never find another person I like enough to bed? If I had known, I would have paid more attention the last time Iron Fist and I were together! Made some memories.

Right. So what was I saying?

Man! This is why I'm about to give this shit up! I can't even keep it together long enough to make one damn post!

Monday, February 09, 2009


Listen, family : I'm laboring mightily to complete/revise/polish something for the Nicholl Fellowship, so things will likely be dark here until the deadline passes on May 1 (I hear some of y'all saying "who cares?" Others are mouthing crabtalk like "you never update regularly anyway, so...who cares?" Man, forget you haters). Wish me luck. And you know, please feel free to get in my ass about it every time you see me/talk to me on the phone/peep me on Facebook. I have to get this done. I'm trying to get my BTW on*, for one thing. For another, I've sat on this project long enough, and I need to get interest in going some kind of way. Finally...I have to quit my job. I can't work and write at the same time. I can't. I don't know how people do it -- and they do, I'm well aware. But I simply do not have the mental or emotional faculty required to work 40-50 hours a week at a brain-draining job and still have anything left over for writing. I learned that the hard way trying to finish the diss.

* i.e. hook some of that sweet, sweet grant money

Thursday, January 29, 2009

She Started With All the Advantages

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse, and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish puppy, too, that took the place of the teddy-bear, he was looking so extraordinarily foolish for no other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: "There must be more money!"

Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: "We are breathing!" in spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time.

"The Rocking-Horse Winner," D.H. Lawrence

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


This is the kind of shit that makes me fucking holler. The GOP fucks who oppose the funding for family planning for low-income people -- not just women, but men, too, you narrow-minded assclowns -- in the craven hope that it makes them look more serious about fixing the economy...? What the hell? You know what really helps tank an economy? A bunch of people who can't provide medical support or food to the children they have because they don't have access to the information or resources that family planning professionals provide!

Friday, January 23, 2009


During this one, I was watching 30 Rock. I didn't move, and neither did the cat.

To be fair, we're both fat-ass lazy sons-of-bitches who'll probably have to be dragged to safety when the Big One hits.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

More Shit I Don't Care About

These two knuckleheads put me to sleep like a glass of warm milk. Ugh. You can't tell me that accolades these two draw (they both got nominated? Thefuckouttahere) is due to anything other than wanting to see this chick on the red carpet. We have some national sickness that only be cured by talking about this boring-ass couple ad infinitum, apparently.

I respect the humanitarian work they do, really I do. But seriously, America. Can we retire these two for a fucking minute?

Jugo, who's at work at 5:30, along with the rest of Hollywood

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

It's Your Thing...Do What Ya Wanna Do

I spent the bulk of yesterday desperately searching for an Obama t-shirt to wear to work today. I came away from Leimert Park with some fly Obama knee-highs and a t-shirt that proudly proclaims him to the "The H.N.I.C" but nothing work-appropriate. So I made inauguration cupcakes and brought those in, instead. I also brought in my magnetic dress-up Obama doll.*

The publisher invited everyone in to his office to watch the ceremony. Everyone raced in, anxious lest we miss a moment. And that speech! I generally like to consume those kinds of moment in private: I don't like the commentary or reaction of others to affect my response. But it felt so right to be with people as our new president called on us to do more, to work harder, be better. I don't know. I'm fresh out of cynicism right now. I do feel surrounded by hope and promise. I do.

*courtesy of the Miniature Ranch-hands, Teri and Todd!

Monday, January 19, 2009

Just Some Stuff

I'll be heading out shortly to Leimert Park to celebrate King's birthday. When I get back, hopefully I'll have a report and also a renewed sense of purpose from being around some conscious POC all day.

In the meantime, someone remind me to talk about the following at some point in the future:

  • why I have to stop eating shrimp
  • learning the phrase "making knuckle children" as a euphemism for female masturbation (I've been in the belly of the internet beast this holiday weekend, family, and I barely made it out with my life)
  • discovering that Heather Headley has a song called "The Past Is Another Land," which is precisely the kind of bootleg rumination that gives nu-soul a bad name and I don't give a shit how good that song is, that title is shit

Friday, January 16, 2009

If Only

Only two of y'all will care about this, but those two of you will care so very much. Barack and his administration presented in A West Wing-stylee:


courtesy of your man, Orlando!

charming, but mildly NSFW

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Their Stupid Fucking Who Cares Baby

When it comes to recaps and reviews of stuff I am never gonna watch, I trust two people: AdmiralNeck and Gabe.

"Gossip Girl"

It's time to read Bart Bass's will. Lilly won't be there because she is in Boston with Rufus trying to track down their secret monster adoption nightmare. But Chuck has asked Blair to go with him, and the mysterious new character Uncle Jack will be there, of course. Oh, and here we go, Nate shows up at the last second because he figured Chuck could use "backup." Backup? Take it easy, T.J. McCabe. Besides, if Chuck ever needed backup it was probably last week when he almost fell to his death from the roof of a burlesque club, but OK, you thought he needed backup.

Quickly, Uncle Jack is made Chuck's legal guardian. Wait. I'm no lawyer, but I feel like the reading of a will is a very specific legal procedure, while the state's assignment of legal guardianship to teenagers is a completely separate issue. Then again, when Chuck and Uncle Jack are negotiating the rules of their relationship and Chuck asks "can girls sleep over at night?" Uncle Jack does make an awesome "yes, please," joke that hasn't been this funny since Austin Powers, so, you know, sustained. Recess. Put him in charge of all the children, and then put me in charge of all the mouth guns. (Mouth guns?) So, the board retains 29% of Bass Industries and Lilly gets a 20% stake in the company, but as Uncle Jack points out "that still leaves 51%, that's the controlling interest." Math lesson! This show is for toddlers.

If 2008 gave us nothing else (and it didn't), at least it gave us videogum.

When it comes to shit I have seen, I like to defer to Reggie Eggert at FiyaStarter, because no one else cares about 'Dat Nu like he does (and I do).

"The Day The Earth Stood Still"

Take that, Will Smith!

The only person with more clutch saves over the last decade than Keanu Reeves is Mariano Rivera. The Day the Earth Stood Still, a vastly superior remake of the 1950s B-movie, is Dat ‘Nu’s greatest cinematic achievement. Everything about this film plays to his greatest strengths.

As Klaatu, an alien being sent to destroy mankind before it completely destroys the Earth, Keanu is able to employ his natural stoicism, monotone speech and deadpan delivery.

Moreover, he gets to save the world again. It’s the part he was born to play, and he gives the performance of a lifetime. In my opinion, the Oscar race for male lead is done. Of course he won’t get it, because of politics and all, but Denzel didn’t win for Malcolm X either.

Lord Jesus! Why are these people trying to give me a heart attack? Why must I cry? Why?

Sunday, January 11, 2009

That Fucking Cat

I was just talking to Orlando about how one of VC's cats is about to bust a move on a beatdown courtesy of yours truly, and it occurred to me that, without fail, every time VC leaves town, that damn cat (not the fat, sleepy, aw-shucks one that is full of love, but the skinny maniac that hates me) pulls out every last stop in her quest to make me crazy. That cat makes me lose my mind. I have threatened:

  • to exercise the nuclear option on that fucking cat
  • to go high plains drifter on that fucking cat
  • to krav maga that fucking cat
  • to tie that fucking cat to a recumbent bike and push it into the ocean
Yeah, I know that last one doesn't make any sense. That is how much that fucking cat messes with my mind! I can't find my water gun anywhere. I bet that fucking cat threw it off the balcony.

Thursday, January 08, 2009


Hmmmm. Let the record show that I was watching "The Changeling" when this one hit. I didn't bother getting out of bed.

Let's Go Down to the River

Check out my girl, AB! Don't be mad because your friends don't got the fire like that. These images are from some photo shoot she did at a friend's salon.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

All of These Folks Are Smarterer Than Me

But I recognize that, and I'm ok with it.

Thank God for ding over at bitchphd, who has pointed me to the following two articles, which are thought-provoking individually, but even more so when read in concert.

Listen, bitches: I know that some of y'all made resolutions about being more engaged in 2009, so why not take a minute and engage the next 20 minutes of your time in the following?

"American Girl," by Ta-Nehisi Coates

There has been much chatter about Barack Obama as the answer to America’s racial gap, as a biracial black man whose roots stretch from Hawaii to Kenya, with an Ivy League pedigree and the seal of the South Side. But he is not the only one entering the White House who has seen both sides, who intuitively grasps the heroic American narrative of work ethic and family, and how that narrative historically failed black people. He is not the only one who walks in both worlds. Indeed, if you’re looking for a bridge, if you’re looking for someone to connect the heart of black America with the heart of all of America, to allow us all to look at the American dream in the same way, if you’re looking for common ground, then it’s true, we should be talking about Obama. But we should make sure we’re talking about the right one.

"Queering Black Politics: Reconsidering the Black Single Mother Argument," by the black scientist

I’d like to dialogue about what I perceive to be the problem of discussing black politics and “black issues” as though black people are one homogenous group with identical desires, family structures, and ideals. Black politics are not white politics in blackface. The old habit of acting as though black life is a poorer colored version of middle class white life has never been appropriate and it certainly is not now. The thing is, the American family is becoming increasingly queer. And this applies not only to the black family — although that’s primarily what I’ll be referring to in this post — but to families across racial groups. We are still having conversations about issues as though the Eurocentric “ideal” of the nuclear family is the norm and the model, and it is not. We have to accept that different family structures exist, are prevalent, and do work, and confront the fact that the discourse and policy propagated by the nation-state make it extremely difficult for queer families to survive.