Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Belated Weekend Update

Did my Fou.rth F.riday thing. Apparently, chicks I don't know want a taste of this big hunk of butta. Sad, but true.

The next day I drove to the "D" for the "Boys Night Out" signifying Three's last weekend as a Detroiter.

Dropped my stuff off with TAD as she prepped for her "Girls Night In". She's prettier than I remember. I think that everytime I see her.

Bought a dresser from Ikea.

I had my boys meet me at the Mic.higan State Black Alumni picnic. Nice turnout. Everybody's fat, including me. We did a gray hair comparison. I win. Drank a lot of free brew and ate turkey hot dogs. Saw my sands. Got dissed for dissin' them.

Played horseshoes. I suck at it.

Hung out and parking lot pimped a Mic.hael Fr.anks concert. Felt like I was 16 again. This is probably the last time I'll ever be 8 cats deep standing by our cars looking bored. Unless I join the NASCAR circuit.

Went bowling. My first throw of my first frame did this:And I still won the game.

Came back to TAD's crib in pain. Played it cool.

The next day, went and got splinted. I'm waiting for the swelling to subside before I get a cast on Monday.

Played kissy-face until I had to come home.

Now, I'm at work. Bored.

That's It.


Friday, July 27, 2007

Midnight Marauder

It's Friday again. Fou.rth Fri.day to be exact, and once again I'm having anxiety. I moved venues and I'm not sure if they'll be as prosperous at the new location as they were at the last. The last venue was pretty much a dump, so the patrons oughta be satisfied. It's summer and now we got a patio, so that's something, right?

I'mma treat this bitch like a costume party. I'm dressed like a southern lawyer with a seemingly crusty exterior, but actually has a heart of gold. "Why I'll represent that boy PRO BONO. Young rapscallion!"

Last night was interesting in the way that non-sexual activity is interesting sometimes. I went to the midnight premiere of The Simp.sons Mo.vie. This is an event I've waited for since I was 18 years old. I knew the dub would fuck it up the experience.

I had to be the oldest bastard there by about 7 years at least. These young fuckers hopped up on mar.iju.ana and Red Bull were the most irritating people on earth. This one cat was trying to save 10 seats IN A ROW. What part of the game is that? This is the movies, not a fuckin' conference or a cafeteria. You don't fucking need to sit 10 deep in a row. Why is that necessary? It was inconsiderate in a crowded theater. I'm glad I was already seated when he tried to pull that shit. I watched cats move to accommodate him. I bet he thinks that what life is like. Maybe it is for them.

I saw the movie and there was no way it could have lived up to my expectations. I wanted it to wash away the Millennial Si.mp.sons, basically. Erase the sins of the last 7 years where I watched the writing get lazy and downright stupid, where I watch out of habit and not because I expect to see anything funny.

Well, the movie is not a miracle worker, but it does DEFINITELY deliver the funny. I laughed throughout. The opening is hilarious if you like gratuitous violence. I'll probably go see it again so I can catch shit I'm sure I missed during prolonged yells of "whoooooo!" over dialogue.

That's all I got.

Be Easy,

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Self Central

Today has already been a good day, but it's bound to get worse. I was driving in today and had the urge to listen to "Bird In The Hand" by Ice C.ube. I came in ready for whatever is thrown at me. "...punch the clock like a slave and be happy when YT says there's no room for the African..." I'll take my hip hop over your hip hop anyday. Fuck dancing, I'm stompin'.

My boss has a meeting fetish. I've got two with him today. He'll come into a standing meeting he sets, and say "Well I have nothing on my agenda. Does anyone have anything to talk about?" Now, if this had happened at my old job, we'd walk out and the meeting would be over. But here, this gives staff the opportunity to blather on about WHATEVER comes to mind. I mean it turns into the TMI express. I can't believe some of the shit they bring up in a management staff meeting. "We had to go to the ER this weekend. My son stuck a marble up his ass." Really, Angie?

It's all part of my overriding belief that most people don't even think about other people. It's a pervasive narcissism that's taking over our society. We are the "Me" generation, now and forever, until something major happens to change it. Personally, I think that I might take other people into consideration too much.

I've been in this extremely guilty mindset for the last couple of days. This chick I've been cool since '91 has started hanging out with my ex-wife. She emailed me about it and I was bugged. I couldn't put my finger on it, but then I realized what upset me: it's lingering guilt over me not trying harder to make my marriage work. I don't know if I'll carry that baggage into the next relationship(s) I enter into. It's the one thing that I tried that I truly failed at. I just didn't want anybody I was cool with to see her side of my shortcomings. I've tried not giving a fuck, to no avail.

We all fail in some aspects of our lives, it's just tough for it to be so public. It's a pride thing, I guess. I might be one of the last holdouts on keeping that private.

Be Good,

Monday, July 23, 2007

I'm Convinced...

that I don't realize how unlikeable I can be.

that the way some groups deal with other people's grief is self-serving and unconscionable.

that black men that grow up with their fathers learn what it takes to be a good husband and father, even if they don't do it.

that black women learn from their mothers what it takes to be a good wife and mother but don't abide by it, because they don't value the dudes they're with.

that black women in the music industry could learn a thing or two from Anita Baker. Pretty much the same hairstyle since '85 and still rockin' the set. I'm pretty sure I didn't know what anything but her face looked like until I saw her in person this weekend. It's not the look, it's the talent.

that if I don't fix my fucked up attitude, I'll be stuck in this hellhole forever.

if I was more delusional, I could be a happier person.

that I'll never trust anybody more than 48%. People are fucking dishonest at heart. They'll lie to you on their deathbed. Actually, I think people are so self-delusional they couldn't find the truth if they had a map and a GPS unit guiding them.

that I've gotta be boring. I'm bored with everybody else, so I must be emitting the same shit to other folks.

the best writing I do (off-blog, that is) is when I'm pissed. I need to bring the heat to finish this damn book.

that Petey Greene was the truth. I loved "Talk To Me". Don Cheadle deserves that statue next spring, yo.

that combing one's hair is overrated.

Stay Real,

Friday, July 20, 2007

Oodles of O's

Yesterday I spent some time at "A Taste of Satan's Anus" (ummmm, as appetizing as it sounds!), the little, little, little tastefest held in my new hometown. It stretches almost half a block with exotic foods all the way from MEH-HE-CO and and other isolated outposts on the globe (Grand Rapids?). The kettle corn was mediocre. What does that tell you? The damn KETTLE CORN wasn't up to snuff!!!

I knew what I was getting into. I went last year, and yes, they still have the "cheesecake on a stick". I still haven't seen it. I don't think I want to.

Last year when I went, I went on a date. It was a blind date. I went with this chick I called "Blandette" in my blog. I actually got to focus on the festival this year. Hurray for me.

I hadn't planned on going but Jayne Kennedy asked me to come out and hang. She invited a few people, so I decided to go and hang out a while. I hadn't seen her in a minute, but JK is easing into "hot mess" territory. Her girls were funny. One of 'em is the older sister of this groupie I went to college with. The other one was this lady who insisted on saying "et" when she meant "ate". "Y'all ain't et yet?" Actually I take back what I said. They weren't that funny.

The music de jour, and every jour, was country western. There is some good country western music out there. "Honk.y Ton.k Badonkadonk" comes to mind. There was no good country western being played on stage. The crowd liked it, though. I guess that's all that matters.

I can tell just how bored I am by my level of tolerance for bullshit like this. I stayed from 5 to freaking 7:30 pm and I didn't even like it. It was just something to do. I'm glad I'm going to the "D" this weekend.


Thursday, July 19, 2007

What Kind of Fuc.kery Is This?

...to quote Amy Winehouse.

I have a living room full of shoes and no place to put 'em. I'm on this sneaker kick that's on it's way to being a full fledged addiction. I think I might be shopping to mask a deep seeded anxiety about getting no love from all these cities and counties I've applied to. So I get online and buy.

I just got these in the mail yesterday.

Goodness gracious I love these shoes.

I gotta stop. I ain't got no loot. I'm considering moving to a smaller apartment. I've been thinking about it for awhile, but I figured why do it if I'm moving out of the city anyway. My apartment (townhouse) is 3 bedrooms, 2.5 baths. I think I can make due in a 2 bedroom, 1.5 bath place. It would save me $200 bucks a month in rent. That's loot I can use to fill up my new living room with kicks.

Anyway, the gig's the gig. Life is life. It is what it is. My staff sucks. My boss sucks. My neighbors suck. My mood sucks. But I still got my shoes.

Be Easy,

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

I've Been Tagged...Once Again

for the first time in 86 million years. It's been awhile, but I think I can muster up the strength do this meme. This is how it's going down.


1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

I never thought I was this boring, but here it is. You have officially entered the TMI zone:

1. I have an insane sex drive. I need to buss off at least 3 times each and every day. By hook or by crook (though hooks are pretty painful). I'm 36, and it's gone down drastically. In my early 20s, it was 8 times a day. Late 20s-early 30s, 5 times a day. Three times a day seems pretty prudish to me, but I'm told it's still pretty high.

2. I'm highly, aggravatingly competitive, about any and everything. So much so that it's gone into another insane realm. I have to act like I don't care about the competition or the outcome to keep me from hyperventilating or choking the person I'm in competition with. Most people think I'm totally non-competitive, when in reality I'm always in battle mode.

3. As much as I like to read, I'm a gotdamn vegetable in front of the TV. It doesn't matter what's on. From "England's Tastiest Scones" to "America's Shittiest Diapers", I'm there.

4. Poetry angers and sickens me.

5. If I could do one thing without consequence, it would be something as benign as smoke weed daily. I just have not been able to relax in long time and I think I'm due. I never was a weed head, I just remember it being a much better high than drinking.

6. My number one talent remains the ability to make people feel comfortable around me, even though I hate everybody.

7. Just a couple of weeks ago I genuinely felt like I was going through the best period of my entire life.

8. If I could, I'd be in elected office. I don't have the squeaky clean background or the desire to deceive large tracts of people, but if I did, I'd be a perennial candidate.

I don't know who reads this shit anymore anyway, but I tag these bloggers:
Miz JJ
Chubby Chocolate


Sunday, July 15, 2007

Beauty vs. The Blind

Talking about a recent liaison in the movie Broadcast News
Albert Brooks: "He must have been really good looking."

Holly Hunter: "Why do you say that?"

Albert Brooks: "Because no one invites a bad looking idiot to their room."

What power does visual beauty have to the blind?

If a beautiful airheaded woman, who is used to getting her way based on her looks, meets up with a blind intellectual man, what's the result?

I would guess that the blind intellectual would find her boring. But is that really the case? Would the pretty airhead be able to find a middle ground with the man, based on her charm and guile, or would it be lost with out visual accompanyment?

I suspect that the beauty would adapt and find a way to work aesthetics back into the picture, somehow and MAKE the blind man realize she is valued by his sighted peers. Because when the only thing you have of value is nullified, you're worthless.

This analogy is going a long way to make a little point. I'm pretty much in the worthless phase of my life. I'm worthless and I've known this for a while now, I'm just now acknowledging it. Not obsolete, but not of any worth in my current incarnation.

I'm not writing this for pity or for any answers, it's a reminder for myself. When I look at this in a year from now, everything will come flooding back and I'll remember this feeling.

Be Safe,

Thursday, July 12, 2007

In Appreciation of PWTs

In a world without P-Dubs who would...

make (and use) our crystal meth?
live in our vast landscape of trailer parks?
ride our mechanical bulls?
buy our mustache combs?
drive our stock cars?
write our songs about pickup trucks?
vote against their own well-being just to hurt a minority group in the same socio-economic strata?
start fistfights with our cops?
purchase our "Pissing Calvin" and "Yellow Ribbon" decals?
proudly display Confederate flags even when born and raised for generations in the north?
watch the Bill Engvall Show? Or Reba?
man our convenience store counters on Indian/Arab holidays?
fix our cars?
whistle at our ladies from construction sites?
wait on us at the Cracker Barrel and the Waffle House?
give birth to Eminem's children?
repair our copy machines?
drink our Budweiser?

Think about this the next time you take a P-Dub for granted. The next time you go out to eat at a truck stop, double Lucinda's tip.

Be Cool,

Wednesday, July 11, 2007


When I graduated from college, I thought it would never end. I ran with a pack of the coolest cats possible and we were at the top of our games. We had a group of women we were loosely affiliated with too. I loved how we came together and created this wall, this aura around us. Like a high school cafeteria, wherever I sat at the club or the restaurant was the cool table, with the popular kids. That was my post college life. It lasted for about six good years.

Of the dudes from that era, I only talk to one on a regular basis, Three. One of my boys called me yesterday and I ignored the call. I don't have a phone number for two of my boys, I just know they live out of state. One of my boys is a Detroit cop, the type of African that loves army games and uniform shit. He's lost his rabid assed mind. One of my boys is under "suspect" watch. Another one is religious fanatic. One of 'em is a right-wing Repu.blican who tacitly hates black people.

The chicks found dudes and they dropped off the radar, though most of them I'm sure I could reach if I really wanted to. I just can't get too comfortable calling chicks with dudes, out of respect for the dude, even though nothing's ever jumped off. It's just the way it is, so we don't talk for the most part.

I've been shitted on my "friends" for no good reason and I've never lost sight of the one thing I thought that mattered. We love each other. We say things to each other that no one else can say to us. I always valued that and stayed loyal to that ideal.

Now I wonder what all the fucking fuss is about. People come and people go. You don't have to accept shitty, selfish behavior. Or maybe I've just forgotten what friendship is supposed to be like. You know what happens when you don't exercise a muscle in a long time. It grows weak and flabby. That's what's happened to my "friendship muscle". It's not worth the fucking effort. I'm tired. I'm fucking tired.


Tuesday, July 10, 2007

America Is Weird, Yo

Yesterday in Detroit, the NAACP buried the "N" word. I'm from Detroit. Trust me when I say some Africans did some grave robbing last night. Them n.igga.s don't play!

I will guaran-fucking-tee you that if you took a poll right now more white people are madder at O.J. Simp.son than Osa.ma Ben La.den. O.J. killed two people.

I'll go you one further. More white people are madder at Bar.ry Bon.ds than at Osa.ma. B.arry Bond.s has killed zero people.

Mark McGuire? Lovable scamp.

How come black people stopped claiming Paula Abdul? If we take 'em fabulous, we gotta take 'em flawed.

I have a new "nanny reality" show to pitch to the networks. It's called "Dr. Black Grandma". She only has one prescription for what ails your kids. "Whup dey monkey ass!"

You know what I never wanna talk about for the rest of my life? My fuckin' haircut.

Attrition is underrated. Good fuckin' riddance from the workforce, baby boomers. Don't let the door knob hit you on the way out.

I was looking at pornography the other day and got bored, which, I do believe, is the seventh sign of the apocalypse.

The shit I hate about small towns? I went to court today for a traffic ticket. The officer didn't show. In Detroit, that means the ticket is dismissed without prejudice. In Satan's Anus? They reschedule your court date. That, my friends, is utter bullshit.

Watch these little pundit shows on cable. The muthafuckas shouting the loudest about "the culture of victimization" among minority groups shout the loudest about being victimized by everybody else. I guess it's all in who's doing the suffering.

Salt is cheap as hell. Can we make cars that run on salt? Just a stupid ass thought.

We need a Bureau of Missing White Women, so the rest of law enforcement energies can be directed on other shit. I'm just saying.

I personally have seen in the past two weeks, in crowded social situation, at least four white men dig up their asses to retrieve errant underwear, then continue in conversation as if nothing is happening. What the fuck is that? What part of the game is that? For real, hustla?

I'm Out,

Monday, July 09, 2007

Onward, Upward, Backward, Downward

Hey y'all! Sorry I've been tardy. I've had a pretty good excuse. I was prepping to leave town on vacation to see my parents so I had to work, then I actually left. I took my laptop, but I was too tired to blog after each day, so I didn't. I had fun. Went to amusement parks, to the beach. I didn't see any relatives in Tampa other than my parents. Ate devil crab.

Oh yeah, I had TAD with me.

That was the biggie. TAD met Dad. And Mom.

The unfazable Jedediah Zednanreh was fazed. That cat is funny. He asked me if we were serious. He asked me when I was gonna produce some grandchildren. Funny guy. A laugh riot, really.

Marilyn Zednanreh took TAD with her to do the only thing that brings her peace, shopping. She has done that exactly ONE other time with a woman I've introduced her to, and that was in 1994.

Needless to say, she made quite an impression. Or else my parents are just getting old and wanna see what a Zed clone might look like.

Me and TAD had a great time, sans parents and with parents. When she and I dressed up to go out on our last night there, my parents took pictures like we were going to the prom. It was pretty damn funny.

In some ways I'm glad to be back. But really I hadn't spent that much time with TAD at one time ever. We had a week together and it was good. But I missed my bed and all my wretched Satan's Anus surroundings.

In other news, I keep getting visitor after visitor coming into my office to look at me. They come in, make up some excuse to talk to me and leave. Why? I cut my hair. My dreadlocs are in a zip lock bag at home. They are marveling at the wonders Three performed (with a scissor assist by TAD) on my head yesterday. My haircut will give them something to talk about for the next six months. I hope they are entertained. But I'm bored.

Well, that's my little life in a nutshell. I hope y'all stay cool.