Overall not a bad day, despite the flare-up inspired by what my hairdresser did to me a month ago. It hit hard today. A bad hair day with a bad hair cut. I hurled that bottle of John Frieda’s Frizz-Ease into the tub. The squirter part flew into the window and I still can’t find the top – eh! Maybe it’s not for black people hair. But I can’t blame John Frieda. Nope, I blame my hairdresser.
But not a bad day at all really. Mondays and Tuesdays are my Saturday and Sunday which kind of sucks because my friends can’t play with me sometimes because they have to work. But because the economy stinks a few are unemployed and are able to. I thought I would go to the Hudson River Museum, but wouldn’t you know it’s closed Mondays and Tuesdays. I don’t get a weekend vibe being off these days.
Ah but not so bad, despite my plans to do this that and the other being overtaken by lethargy. I never understood how you’d ask people what they were doing over the weekend and they’d say, sleeping in. Sleeping in!!!??? Are you kidding? What a waste of time. Actually I hate sleeping and I hate eating. Today my body paid me back for all that hysterical running around like a chicken without a head I did the previous week. I fought down to the minute though. At 12 noon when the sluggishness hit, I brought a book and my eyeglasses with me to bed. But nope, my brain wouldn’t allow it. So I went to sleep and had some lame ass dream I can’t remember now. All I know is that it was lame, I remember that.
I got up and started reading blogs and reminisced about the time before blogging and Face book last March when my computer time was spent simply checking aol, playing chess with the computer, editing one of my stories, and listening to Pandora. Today I discovered ‘online’ that a guy I liked is bisexual. Some of you may know I LOVE men like that – but screw him and his new relationship – it’s with a girl by the way – and I hear she’s ugly and she stinks – nah just jivin’. I wish them the best of luck really I do – hehehe. I also discovered a video by Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg called Mother Lover – now where the hell was I when this came out? Stupendous!
I hope I can be as accepting tomorrow of my day as I was with my day today, however imperfect it was, and I wish the same for all of you. As Ice Cube says, I gotta say it was good day.
I’m thinking of writing porn. Everyone’s doing it. But mine would be “outer-limits” porn. My movie would have canned goods (But absolutely NO can openers!), Brillo pads, coffee filters, extension cords (naughty, eh?), and the entire cast, except for me, would be ninety years old – excluding my grandmother – how dare you imagine that I would allow my grandma to be in such filth! You might have guessed that I cooked up (cooked up – ha!) this idea while in my kitchen.
I watched a snippet of Don Juan DeMarco with Johnny Depp, Marlon Brando and Faye Dunaway. Marlon Brando and Faye Dunaway are old in it and they’re married. There’s a scene with them in bed. They kissed. It got me horny. That’s right — I think old people are hot — forget y’all! I was mad they didn’t get butt naked.
I’ve written about my WWII veteran friend who’s one sexy bastid. He’s eighty-six. He raps, old school, and he killed bad people. You can’t touch that.
I respect him too much so he can’t be in my movie even though he’s muy hotto and I know he would blow it up. I just can’t see pimping him like that. Plus he’s too young. But I’ll interview some of his friends and some people from the Hebrew Home for the Aged at Riverdale – that’s where grandma is. And I know oldsters who visit the gallery where I work.
It’ll be a problem if they don’t want to get naked. But there won’t be animals in this movie for those of you into that kind of thing – blech! I’ll keep you posted if I decide to do it or not. Oh yeah, and no oxygen tanks because I’m using blow torches.
[This is the Jamaican crab that I wasn’t able to scan into my walking-sideways-like- a-crab post the other day. I got my scanner to work today, so there he is, suitably inserted in this post, also having something to do with being sideways.]
My post about moving sideways like a crab made me think of Paul Wall’s video, Sittin’ Sidewayz. (I think it means sitting sideways in the car?) I do love that video. It went through my head while I typed that post. You know how the brain works. I wanted to insert it in the post but thought then that it would distract people from the monumental message I was trying to convey. Plus, he speaks of sitting sideways, I’m talking about walking sideways – people would get confused.
Someone posted a picture of Paul Wall on fb – that helped with this video renting space in my head.
I love the background sample in this song — it’s so ghetto. I find the repetitiveness of these kinds of samples insular yet transporting in an odd way — exactly how homies in the hood would describe it of course. Hereitis:
Warning: the content below, as relayed by my 86 year old friend M, may be considered offensive.
“The dozens ain’t my game but the way I f**k your ma is a goddamned shame.”
“I took your father in my car, and I beat your ma. Now you know who you are my son, my son.”
I’ve written about M before. We’re friends. He visits the botanical garden where I work. He was in WWII. I had asked if he had PTSD from the war, from killing people. M’s Jewish. He says to me, “I tried to kill as many of those motherfuckers as I could!” I asked him to stop right there because he was getting me hot. Some of you may have heard me say that I have been turned on by a 90 year old man. This is him, though he’s really 86. I like extremes so I round it off. He has soft hands and likes to touch my face – don’t say il! He has good genes. He’s spry, cute, funny as hell, he exercises, and still has sex. He says it wipes him out for days after however. He comes to the botanical garden where I work with different women – cute, 70 something year olds with nice shapes. I don’t get jealous. I just hope they’re not jealous of me, because he comes to see me in the gallery to tell me different things.
He told me those lyrics above yesterday. I said, “That’s hip hop M!” “Yeah well, where do you think hip hop came from?” He says. He went to school in the South Bronx in the 1940s. The school he went to was half black and white. I was surprised, although I did see a dead relative’s year book with half black and white people from back then. Wow. M had black friends. He told me stories yesterday from the days of yore, and how he learned those lyrics up there. He used to get into a lot of fights too. I am totally crushing on M.