Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Moving On

It's so hard letting go of anger.   I'm still pretty pissed at a lot of people and getting away from social media is not cutting it.  It's helping me avoid very specific people, but not nearly all of the people I should avoid.  I rarely ask anybody for anything, but I'm getting asked for shit on a near constant basis.  No fucking fun.  I don't have any order for this, but this remains a pretty comprehensive list of shit I hate.

1. Panhandlers, with or without pans.
2. People who talk about college 10 years after they graduated.
3. Groupies/dick riders.  "For any thing they do, fuck him and his crew/unless you are getting paid, too" - Ice Cube, prophet
4. Black people who watch The Apprentice
5. People who have complete health care insurance and still have bad teeth
6. TV Stations interviewing poor black people for shiggles (shits and giggles)
7.  LeBron James' hairline
8.  Intellectuals who don't read
9.  Gangsters who can't fight
10.  Hustlers who beg (this might be the same as #1)
11.  Men who watch female oriented shows and tweet about that shit like it's alright.  I usually don't buy into "Men Rules", but this shit is wack.
12. Congratulating people on out of wedlock babies.
13. Dreamcrushers

I really gotta start writing again. 

Saturday, April 06, 2013

The Pre.sident vs. Apologies

About 10 years ago, I approached a group of my friends for a project that I wanted them to work on with me.  The project was going to be a collection of essays about the black male experience at age 30.  I was going to pick a series of topics, each topic would comprise a chapter and all five of us would approach that topic from our own perspective.  The name of the project was "Apologies and Other Useless Bullshit". Apologies was going to be the cornerstone topic, due to my deep disdain for America's thirst to make people apologize, to watch them be weak so they could have the satisfaction of forgiving them and relish how powerful that made them feel.  My attitude towards apologies have remained pretty static.

I understand the power dynamic between men and women and the subjugation that women have had to endure throughout history and up to and including present day.  I do understand that the objectification of women is a continuing problem that manifests itself in sexual assaults, domestic abuse, unequal earnings, the perpetuation of stereotypes that reinforce the glass ceiling, pornography, and general misogyny.  I fucking get it, but I promise you, the President was not trying to put California's attorney general in a sexualized context.  The dude is kinda corny and he wanted to give her a genuine compliment.  I'm not an water carrier like most of the people I know, but this shit is pretty innocuous.    I am pissed that he apologized, though.

I'd like to see the objectification of PEOPLE to stop in general.  As a black man, if you feel like I'm not sufficiently "in check", I'm a menace to society.  If I'm domesticated to your liking, I'm a tool to do your bidding.  If you outnumber me, I'm ignorable.  If I outnumber you, and you can't stop making reference to being outnumbered. You can't differentiate between who I am and what I represent. If you've been paying attention since I've returned to the blogging world, you'll notice a pattern in this part of my argument.  Symbolism once again rears it's ugly head. 

I'm bored.


Friday, April 05, 2013

Home and Home

Hola, motherfuckers!

I'm still mad, but the further my distance from social networking, the better I feel. I'm no scientist, but I believe there is a correlation, however specious that connection may be due to lack of serious study. 

Anyway, bastards, since I haven't blogged in quite some time, I need to give you some context you can use to frame what I write.  Some things have changed.  I no longer live or work in Satan's Anus.  I work and live back in my original home town. With my "new" job, where I've been for a couple of years now, I've greatly increased my stress level and my responsibility level.  Because of my responsibility, I make powerful enemies on a regular basis. These are people who are politically connected locally and nationally, who are petty and ego-driven, who don't give a fuck what they leave in their wake.  They have effectively killed the last vestiges of my political interest. 

In addition, being back home means that old shit, shit that I'd left behind and quite frankly forgotten about, resurfaces from time to time.  I see a familiar face and I gravitate to that person, only to remember that it's a motherfucker that betrayed me or a chick I dated that ended badly.  Or just an unpleasant person to be around.  My fucking memory is betraying me, causing me problems. I have essentially one friend here, aside from my wife, and a bunch a cats that are supposed to have my back that gossip and talk shit. 

The best thing about my change is that my wife gets to be close to her family.  I have no family here. They all left the D a while ago.  The black community is here, somewhat.  Culturally, it's been great to be back, but  I really despise most of these Africans. That goes back to the symbols I talked about in my last post.  There is very little distinction between reality and a placeholder/symbol that's in place to represent the real.  Yes, this is a recurring theme.

That's all for now.  I'll be back,

Monday, April 01, 2013

I Think I Might Have Spoken Too Soon

What up, compadres!  I was chomping (champing?) at the bit, ready to write my little heart out.  I  realized something: I can't write just yet.  I'm too angry.  I'm mad at everything and everybody.  At the heart of it all is being fully, completely surrounded by ignorance. I know that statement makes me look a) pompous;  b) unaware of my own scholastic limitations or; c) FUCKING INSANE.

What type of fully grown, adult man, out of his twenties wears a baseball cap with stickers on the bill like a fucking 12 year old imbecile? What type of grown man has a baseball cap for every outfit that they wear, and every outfit they wear has a gotdamn sports logo on it? Who the fuck are these men?  How do I know them?  Why do I still know them?  I don't have to.  We have nothing in common, and yet I allow myself to engage them on a daily basis because that's what passes for men these days.  I don't have an adult friend that isn't still in some sort of arrested development.

I'm sick of credential-ism and the fake assed sense of accomplishment that follows a large contingent of my "friends".  They love to ride their own dicks or the dicks of those who move in similar circles.  I don't brag about shit.  Ever.  I spent a lot of times planting false flags online, bragging about shit, ready to be called on it.  I never was, not one time.  That's when I realized nobody knew me well enough to get that I was faking it or they didn't care.  I couldn't figure out which was worse. 

I'm sick of the trappings.  Symbolism and the constant presenting of symbols as actual achievement rather than actual achievement.  Because one possesses something doesn't mean that thing is worth possessing. Wearing of that symbol or presenting that avatar is meant to convey value.  Because you possess or display that symbol, I'm supposed to have some feeling about you.  When I fail to do so, it means something is wrong with me.  There are a great many things wrong with me.  My failure to give you credit for your possession or association with something that is meant to symbolize quality is purposeful, not a deficiency.  You fucking suck.  You don't symbolically suck. You actually are subpar and I refuse to recognize you as otherwise because of your associations.

These are the reasons it's too early for me to blog.  I'm too fucking angry.


Sunday, March 31, 2013

Back In

Long time, no post.  Just wanted to let the people that care know what's going on.  I'm leaving Facebook.  I'm done.  I'm sick of the the shit that passes for "friendship" and familiarity in that world.  I'm sick of celebrating the inane, braggers, Africans trying really really hard to make their fucked up little lives worth being targeted by "haters", reading the rantings of clearly insane and unmedicated people, my dumb ass high school classmates, my dumb ass college peers, my dumb ass ex co-workers, all in service of making Mark Zu.cker.berg rich.  Facebook started to make giving literacy tests to people before they could vote look good to me.  That's a horrible development.  I have no business being on social networks.  I'm horribly anti-social.  I hate people in real life.  Why give these motherfuckers MORE access to my private life than they'd have in real life. I don't give a fuck.  I'm done with it.  I want to read more, but mostly, I wanna write more.  So I'm back on a semi-regular basis.  I'm back on my pen and pad game and will try to self publish my 2006-2010 blog ramblings in the meantime.  I still have funny shit to talk about, so come around when you can and see. 

Knockout Zed

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Self Test - Are You A Clown?

This is a checklist that one should run down every so often when one suspects that they are entering clowndom.

1. Does your face makeup leave a crotch print when you give head to your mate?

2. Do you believe that honking a horn twice is a suitable substitute for the word "yes"?

3. Is your car four doors or two?

4. Do you carpool?

5. Has one of your co-workers recently tossed a bucket of confetti in your face?

6. Are your suspenders holding up ridiculously over-sized pants?

7. Do you buy your shoes several sizes too big?

8. Are you a redhead? Is your hair curly?

9. Does the smell of elephant shit make you horny?

If you answered "yes" (or honked a horn twice) to 5 or more of these questions, you are indeed a clown. The people around you are perfectly justified in treating you the way they do. Stop whining and carry on.


Tuesday, November 16, 2010

My Long Overdue Reflection on My Trip To Europe

Hello folks, it's been a minute. I've been doing absolutely nothing, but it was time consuming. I spent the last half of October (a fortnight) in Europe, county-hopping. This is a pretty big deal, given my well documented fear of flying. I went to my doctor (a.k.a. the world's most boring doctor) and asked for some anti-anxiety pills. She prescribed me Ativan (I think) and sent me on my way. That was step number one.

The second step was planning the trip, which consisted of going to Rome, Florence, Venice, Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, and finally London. After arriving in Rome, it would take a myriad of trains and one flight internal within Europe to see everything I needed to see as a cultural tourist. I even got to take a Eurostar train through the Chunnel. The fuckin' Chunnel, Africans!

I got back in one piece, but truthfully, I never really analyzed the trip as I was taking it. No deep thoughts, no insights, just everything at face value. It wasn't until I returned that I looked back and thought "Hey, wait a minute, that guy was trying to seduce my wife!" or some other shit like that. With that being said, here's what I remember in short, bite sized, millennium attention span appropriate blurbs.

Man, fuck Rome. Yeah, I said it. And Rome's mama.
The Trevi Fountain is dope. Gelato, outstanding. My fat, stereotypical American ass ate pizza most of the time and it was the best pizza ever! We stayed for three days in two different places, a dope hotel first, then a dope bed and breakfast. With all this being said, why fuck Rome? The people. They are the rudest I encountered on the Continent and I WENT TO PARIS!!! And it's a lot of old with not enough new mixed in. It's a world city based on tradition rather that it's real place in the current world in my humble opinion. So, you can keep it, you crazy romantics (literally!).
After 3 days, we took a hi-speed train to Florence.

Man, Florence is all that. The DiMedici's had it right holding down Florence. It's old as shit and as beautiful as fuck. When I pictured Italy, Florence is the city of which I was thinking. Quality architecture, The Uffizi Museum, THE David. Pure dopeness. The next time I go to Italy, I can skip Rome and take my ass directly to Florence. We were only here for about 4 hours before we hopped the train again to get to Venice.

Overrated like an Ivy League degree. Venice is for lovers? I'm a lover. It's not for me. Hypothesis flawed. My lover? She didn't like it either. Fucking canals are gorgeous. Endless dead ends into canals when you're walking are not cool. That plaza where all the movies are shot in Venice is very nice (my research tells me it's Piazza San Marco or St. Mark's Square), and well worth the 400 photos I took there. I felt like Jason Bourne, if he were a fat, balding loser and at the tail end of his life.

We flew to Brussels after staying overnight in Venice. We flew on Ryanair. Some words of advice: avoid Ryanair. One hour of being stuck on the tarmac, after which we took off and the flight attendants tried to sell: lottery tickets, perfume, scarfs, other various sundry items. H-O-O-D-S-H-I-T. It was a cheap and relatively quick way to get from southern Europe to the north, but man oh man, Ryanair is worse than Spirit and I fucking hate Spirit with a red hot burning passion.
I spent about 3.5 hours total in Brussels. I didn't really see that much shit, except a waffle sales woman and a frites sales man. That's all I needed. I didn't see Manneken Pis, apparently the most famous piece of art in Belgium, but I saw many, many replicas, mostly made of chocolate.

Seriously, they love this little pissin' bastard.

The next stop was the train station and off to our next 3 day destination...

What a magnificent city! What a standard they have set as a civilized nation. What a magnificent group of good, kind, friendly people. How the fuck did they get to this from being a nation-raping, diamond stealing, Shell Oil owning, apartheid supporting, Afrikkaner spawning, Congo-colonizing, West Michigan living sons of bitches? I don't know, but I can tell you I didn't think of their colonial chicanery once while I was there. And seriously began to think about how I could live there for good at some point in my life. It was that magnificent. I even bought new shoes in Amsterdam (for the record, I wear a size 47 EUR).

I know I only got a slice of life. Hell, I didn't even smoke weed or go into a sex show. I did all the great shit associated with being in Holland, like take pictures of windmills and go to the Van Gogh Museum without the sinny stuff and it was still by far the best leg of the trip. I even got to drop laundry off, pay a few Euros and come back a couple of hours later to clean drawers. They are at once completely organized and completely laid back. God bless the Dutch (does not apply to the ones in West Michigan).

After 3 days, I was sad to leave. We had to board a regular train back to Brussels to catch a hi-speed train going to Paris. Only the regular train had technical issues and we got delayed over an hour, missing our connecting train. When we got there, the woman at the ticket counter told us not to worry, to just hop on the next hi-speed train to Paris. When we tried to board, the conductor told us to fuck off, we'd missed our train, tough luck. We protested, he again said fuck off. We got on the next hi-speed train anyway, with no seats. TAD sat near the luggage and I stood. When the on-board conductor checked our ticket, he just chuckled and we were fine. Fuck that other conductor.

Wow! Paris! The City of Lights! And dirt. Plus crepes.
We stayed in an area I'd like to call the "Brooklyn" of Paris. It's a little gritty, kinda up and coming in some spots, a few hipsters here and there, but mostly where working people live. It was one of the best "real city" situations we'd been in thus far. We essentially dropped off our heavy ass backpacks and roamed into the streets to find food. Luckily, they tried to make us feel right at home at the first restaurant we went to.

All in all, it turned out that the reputation for Parisian rudeness did not bear out in my short stay. It was all good. They were less rude than both the Romans and the Londoners. In fact, Parisians seemed to be working hard to counter that reputation by being very helpful in most instances that we had to interact. Maybe it's because it looked like I might strike them at any moment, but still, the trip to Paris was good and nobody got hurt. I'd like to go back someday.

After 3 days, we were off to Jolly Old England. Yay, Chunnel!

London is a great city. Free fucking museums! It's the perfect nerd town. Everything's in English! Bonus! The people aren't particularly kind, and they are on a whole some of the most unattractive people I've ever seen, but they have a damn good grasp on mixing the modern with the historic. And I'm in love with their subway branding.

It's the kind of place I could see myself living if it weren't for the stifling class system and the fear of having hideously ugly grandchildren.

Me and TAD were at Wicked and towards the end, somebody fainted or had some sort of episode. One of the ushers yelled "Is there a doctor in the house?" and a lady hopped up and sprinted towards the front to help. I'd never seen that before. The person got the help he or she needed and I paid a lot of money to not really see the end of that fucking play. The show went on, but me and my fucking compassion for other humans made me miss some key points that tied up the ending.

There was a lot of off and on rain, of course. And nobody really has better fish and chips than you or I have already had here in the States, but London was not bloody bad.

So that was my anniversary trip.