If this article has any kind of truth in it . . . I will give up smoking weed, drinking alcohol AND talking shit about the Lakers. I put that on everything!! Bring my boo back and get rid of Maggette!! (Okay, maybe I wouldn't give up trees but....)
According to Stephen Jackson, who spent Saturday with his friend Baron Davis, the former Warriors guard wouldn’t mind being traded back to Golden State. Jackson has already launched the campaign to get Davis back to Oakland.
“That’s all we talked about,” Jackson said. “I went to his house, spent some time with his mom and his grandmother. He wants to come back. And if he wants to come back, I want him back.”
Obviously, things haven’t gone well in Los Angeles. The Clippers are 8-21 after getting smoked by Dallas at home on Sunday afternoon. But Davis has said all along he didn’t want to leave. Get this: Clippers owner Donald Sterling is a huge fan of Corey Maggette and didn’t want him to go. Maggette plus one could get the deal done. Jackson’s already started lobbying.
“I think that would be great for us,” Jackson said. “Coach loves him. Him and (guard) Monta (Ellis) have good chemistry. If they could work that out, that would be great for the organization.”
“I woke up around noon and called Baron and Elton,” Ellis said. “Yes, that Baron [Davis] and Elton [Brand]. You see, the plan was for Baron to re-sign and Elton to join the two of us in Golden State. We were going to be the West Coast version of Boston’s ‘Big Three’…only better.”
However, when the injury occurred, Baron and Elton apparently reconsidered their surprise plans.
“I knew the injury was going to effect my season, but I never imagined that Davis and Brand would completely abandon the plans,” Ellis admitted. “But after the incident … I guess they got scared. They probably knew I’d get suspended or fined when the news broke that I had hurt myself riding a moped, and didn’t want to get penalized themselves.”
Could it be, that a simple moped accident – something that happens thousands of times every year in the United States – altered the entire course of the next few seasons in Oakland? [read more]
The following is an excerpt from a book titled "Why Walk When You Can Fly" by the Isha Foundation. Isha is an organization that is a "non-religious, not-for-profit, public organization" that promotes the"human pursuit" of "striving to transform oneself into a higher possibility."
We tend to read spiritual and philosophical writings and brush them off like cheesy Hallmark cards and ostentatious multicolored Yoga mats. It is hard for us to see the simplicity in metaphysics because the beliefs and teachings can strike emotional cords for souls that are malnourished. It will cause negative emotions to manifest because we are afraid and critical of those things that we do not fully understand. But, the belief in a universal ONEis so essential for global harmony and progress, not to mention inner peace and well being. So essential. Holler at Isha for being the kind of presence in this world that I'm down for...
Live well, readers, and happy Friday!
"The Search for Peace"
The only way to experience world peace is to elevate consciousness. Until we realize that we are all one, the violence will continue. Until we realize that there is no scarcity, that there is nothing to protect - no fanaticism, no religion, or belief systems - until we realize that we are not our ideas, and that ultimately we are all unconditional love, this cycle will continue, eternally. It might appear a little more civilized, it might be better masked, but until we heal the separation we experience within ourselves, we will continue to witness destruction and conflict, in a society based in fear.
You are what you choose. Instead of choosing for fear, choose for love. As we elevate consciousness, our fear based perception of the world starts to fall away. We increasingly focus on the inherent unity of everything. We embrace the beauty of this moment. We fall in love with life. In the wake of full acceptance come all the changes that are needed, because only love can birth our dreams.
As I embrace every aspect of myself, the judgments I have made about myself dissolve. The more I am at home with myself, the more I become at home in the world. My external world becomes a reflection of how I perceive myself. I stop noticing all of its divisions, separations, inadequacies. Instead, I see its glory. I no longer see good and bad or right and wrong, but see everything as just how it is meant to be. [read more]
"You may have accomplished a near-perfect balancing act between your professional path and your spiritual journey. These two roads have temporarily merged, creating a magic moment in your life when your imagination can strongly impact your outer world. Make the most of this metaphysical support, for your dreams can really come true." -Tarot.com
I want to lie and say that it's been a while since I last thought of you... but you come to me in shades of dark and gray every minute of every day. I don't know if I've ever said it out loud, but my whole life it has been you.
Many of you know that I am a huge fan of the independant Filipino Hip Hop MCs of the West Coast. These brothers and sisters have birthed countless rhymes and lyrics that have helped me develop and come to know the person that I am today. They have provided me with the musical therapy to get through tough times whether it be emotional heartache or questioning my reason for living. It is through their strength that I am able to be strong and through their struggle that I am able to survive.
As another form of therapy, I've come to regularly frequent their blogs... it aids to remind me that these MCs are REAL people. They are not fictitious characters in some fantasy world. Reading about their lives, their thoughts, and their worlds reminds me that I might (someday) be someone that other people can look up to. That being said, after a verrrrrry nice 8 hours of sleep (something I haven't had in almost a month) I woke up to read a disheartening peice written by one of my personal living heroes, Kiwi. His words have always led to me to seeing the greater good in all small things and to work for what really matters in this world: the people. He believes in the advancement of struggle and constantly speaks of following dreams... something I feel true to within myself.
His recent entry poses the question... why do bad things happen to good people? As you get to the end of his story, you'll see the truth that comes with the answer. Without the bad, one cannot discern the good.
It’s been an emotional and pensive last couple of months, and these young men couldn’t have picked a more interesting time to do this to me. Instead feelings of anger, I rode home afterwards thinking, “what lessons to i take from what just happened?” Of course, I was thankful that my physical bruises are for the most part not life-threatening, and that I was able to walk away in one piece. I’m also thankful, believe it or not, that they didn’t take my bike. Of all the things they stole/could’ve stole, this bike is the one thing that, right now, makes me most happy.
Most of all, I’m thankful for everyone who, last night, reminded me that I am not alone, and that I am loved.[READ FULL ENTRY]
When we look at other people, we see many of their qualities in innumerable and seemingly random combinations. However, the qualities that we see in the people around us are directly related to the traits that exist in us. "Like attracts like" is one of the spiritual laws of the universe. We attract individuals into our lives that mirror who we are. Those you feel drawn to reflect your inner self back at you, and you act as a mirror for them. Simply put, when you look at others, you will likely see what exists in you. When you see beauty, divinity, sweetness, or light in the soul of another, you are seeing the goodness that resides in your soul. When you see traits in others that evoke feelings of anger, annoyance, or hatred, you may be seeing reflected back at you those parts of yourself that you have disowned or do not like.
Because we are all mirrors for each other, looking at the people in your life can tell you a lot about yourself. Who you are can be laid bare to you through what you see in others. It is easy to see the traits you do not like in others. It is much more difficult to realize that you possess those same traits. Often, the habits, attitudes, and behaviors of others are closely linked to our unconscious and unresolved issues.
When you come into contact with someone you admire, search your soul for similarly admirable traits. Likewise, when you meet someone exhibiting traits that you dislike, accept that you are looking at your reflection. Looking at yourself through your perception of others can be a humbling and eye-opening experience. You can also cultivate in you the traits and behaviors that you do like. Be loving and respectful to all people, and you will attract individuals that will love and respect you back. Nurture compassion and empathy and let the goodness you see in others be your mirror.
We must use compassion. We must see the innocence in even the most abrasive human beings. There is more to a person than their behavior. Beneath the facade there is a tormented sea of underlying hurt, pain and sorrow. It doesn't exist just within ourselves, it is in everyone we meet.
Never forget that everybody struggles. In order to be happy, we must honor the strength and resilience that is shadowed by the frustration of the struggle. We must understand that we are not alone no matter how desolate life can be.
My boss plops today's SF Chronicle onto my desk. "Looks like you made your escape just in time," she says. In the middle of the page is an article with updates of San Francisco's ongoing budget crisis and a shot of the building where I used to work. With more money being funneled into California's "Internal Waste Management Committee" (where money is being allotted primarily to the 6-figure salaries of its committee heads) many substance abuse and mental health programs are seeing massive reductions in services. The first things to go for Walden House were the adolescent programs that provided these services to youth transitioning out of the juvenile justice system. As a result, the teens are being abandoned by the system that's supposed to be helping and healing them. As if these kids didn't have abandonment issues already. . . now they are faced with two choices: the streets or the YGC. This is disheartening considering that society's greatest investment is in the youth population.
A part of me left Walden House because I knew that my job wasn't 100% secure. I'd known this since the announcement was made this summer that the methamphetamine program would be cut and jobs would be lost. The loss wasn't executed but it still had everyone sitting at the edge of our seats. Talking to old coworkers now, I hear that there is a silent depression that looms above the desk where I used to work. Walden House's Multi-Services facility, located in the heart of the Mission on 15th Street, offered indigent citizens of San Francisco services that aided in finding housing, employment, case management and counseling. More importantly, it was a safe haven from the darkest of the City's crevices. It was a place intended to foster growth for the community, development of self in lost souls, and the increased need for a "family" for those who had none. And now- less money means less employees, less hours, less services, less help.
The streets are going to blow up soon and I fear that, regardless of our new hope in Barack Obama's presidency, a violent revolution is bound to happen. I say I fear though I know that revolt is what its going to take to get it right... and people, we need to get it right.
"It's going to be massive in its impact. What we do for the poorest of the poor is minimal in the best of times. There's more to be done out there, not less."
"Name three words you would use to describe yourself."
Always the hardest question I'm asked during Associate interviews. But after some careful thought... I think I've found the three best.
Random. Even I don't know where half the shit I think of or talk about comes from. I'm prone to random acts of "what the fuck" whether it be spontaneously arriving at a previously undisclosed location or waking up in the middle of the night and baking a batch of cupcakes (the kind with sprinkles). I'm always down to do the most random things with the most random people a the most random times. Though I must admit that life has gotten pretty SCHEDULED as of late taking a huge chunk out of my random life moments.
Hungry. This is not just in reference to the fact that I can eat almost anything at anytime. I am ambitious, driven, always hungry for more. Not to say that I'm insatiable, but that I strive for my worth which is usually a lot more than what I am given. It keeps me humble most times but I know that at 24 years old, I have not reached my peak. There is just so much more in the world and in life to be had that I would be foolish to stop climbing, stop wanting, and stop demanding more.
Hedonistic. This third word is always a tough one. I would always say something superficial like, lovely or entertaining (of which I am both, but those words don't pack enough punch to fully emulate me). By definition, a hedonist is a person who devotes his/her life to the pursuit of pleasure and self-gratification. Without these two things what joy would there be? Whether it be food, drinking, sex, shopping or watching Homestar Runner clips all night... I am devout to the religion of pleasure. I indulge constantly and have no problem escaping reality to invest in the fruits of my dreams. Luckily for me, working hard at what I do and earning my salary is the greatest pleasure of all.
Now I encourage you, dear readers to stop and think of three words you would use to describe yourselves. Then rethink them. Are they positive? Are they banal? Are they safe words? Are they honest? Did you ask someone for their opinion or did you come up with the three words on your own? It's hard I know. But don't be afraid to look in the dictionary or thesaurus... that's what they're there for.
Usually, I don't like to create wishlists for myself when the holidays come around. Most years, I don't think I deserve half of what I get . . . but this year, Santa, I've been working really hard to be a good girl. I don't shoplift (as much as I used to). I no longer lie to my parents. I haven't cheated on any tests, played hooky from work, and I try every day to think positively about my life and to give back to the community that so generously gave to me. I check myself with the quickness when I find myself judging others and try to bestow the utmost patience upon those beezies and suckas who so regularly infiltrate my days and nights. I am aware of my impact on the environment and am trying my hardest to do my part to help by recycling and cutting water usage as much as possible (but, Santa, I can't give up my bi-weekly soaks!).
That being said, dear Santa, all I am asking for is lower level tickets to see the Golden State Warriors play. I know that they aren't doing so well this season, but I do believe that if I could just get out to Oracle at least once... my love and support will make a difference. Lord knows they need a little help.
That's it, Santa. Any game and any seat will do, but if I could see Steve Nash, Monta Ellis and/or Baron Davis from a lower level perspective, I will be eternally grateful to you and every other higher power that exists to make people happy this time of year.
"Something big is going on," she whispers to me. "There's deputies everywhere."
I look around and see that the room is swarming with tan and evergreen uniforms. One can hear the low metallic clink of handcuffs and feel the intensity of having firearms and nightsticks within such close proximity. Something big is definitely going on.
Two men are escorted into the room wearing three point shackles and dark blue jumpsuits. This strikes me as odd since in-custody inmates are typically dressed in bright orange. It isn't until I see the young faces of the two men that it dawns on me, they are juveniles being tried in adult court. I've been here before, but in a different place. Last year, I sat in Santa Barbara County Superior Court watching the same chain of events unfold. Young boys caught up in the gangster street life, proving their manhood by committing acts of violence against their own.
The court buzzes with conversation and Judge Dekreon commands the bench, repeatedly asking for the court appointed Spanish interpreter. My boss leans in close to me, "I think these are the boys who've been all over the news." She pauses for a second and I immediately run through the archive of San Francisco Chronicle Crime articles that I've stored in the back of my mind. "All of this for an iPod," she says and suddenly, I remember.
These boys are members of the infamous criminal organization known as MS-13 or La Mara Salvatrucha. Originating from El Salvador, La Mara Salvatrucha emerged in the late 1980s following the country's civil war. As the Salvadoranean immigrant population swelled in Southern California, many of the young men and youth found themselves being victimized by the already established Mexican gangs. The immigrants began to organize within themselves in a struggle to survive and soon became known as one of the most violent organized crime syndicates in Central America and the United States. La Mara Salvatrucha acheived a higher level of notoriety amongst other gangs as many of its members had been previously trained in guerilla warfare and executed a more sophisticated style of criminal behavior.
However, in the case of the two young men standing before me, sophistication and discipline were severely lacking. Their act of violence (robbing another young boy of his iPod and beheading him in a Japanese style execution with a long sword) only indicates that today's society is in a state of crisis and that honor among men has now been whittled away into almost nothing. Violence in San Francisco continues to swell at alarming rates, I hear the sirens every night and as the days become shorter and it gets darker earlier. . . I am afraid to step out into the streets past 7pm. I look at these two men, being arraigned in a court of law before receiving their high school diplomas and I can only wonder where the future of society is headed.
---
Fifteen minutes later I am sitting on the second floor of the courthouse. My boss has just explained to a client that because he failed to fully comply with the court's requirements he will be remanded back into custody today. He is a man with no education, born and raised into the criminal justice system... so he doesn't understand.
"But, I've committed no crime," he says. "I haven't done anything wrong."
His original case was assault on a police officer which would lead one to assume the he is a violent person. He has a history of drug abuse and obviously suffers from mental illnes - schizophrenia they say. But I'm looking at him, modestly dressed as best as he can- bright green velvet long coat and an old newsboy cap to keep his head warm and dry through the rain- and my heart breaks. He's absolutely right... the only crime that he, and many others in his position, has commited is being born into poverty and having no resources or means to rise above and fight against an oppressive system.
We head into the courtroom and my client is standing before the judge. The deputy is behind him, ready with handcuffs. My clients starts to beg, "Please, your honor, don't remand me. I've done nothing wrong. I can't go back in there. If you put me back in jail, you'll create even more of a monster in me. Please, your honor, give me a break. I've been working so hard. I've been doing my art. I've been gardening. I've been trying to make something of myself." Again, he is absolutely right. Locking him up in a cell where he is cut-off from other people diminishes any chance for him to become reintegrated into society... for him to function as a normal human being. But, the system is a bitch. It creates monsters out of men who, on any other day, wouldn't hurt a fly.
If you haven't noticed already, I have an almost life-debilitating obsession with Monta Ellis, point guard and shooting guard for the Golden State Warriors. Unfortunately, due to a STUPID ASS NON-BASKETBALL RELATED incident, my man Ellis was suspended for the first 30 games of the season. His suspension ends officially on December 17th. But, even more upsetting to me is the fact that he won't be suiting up until the beginning of next year so that he can fully recover from his STUPID ASS injury.
Now, I'm not too happy with Ellis' STUPID ASS right now because his STUPID ASS is costing us (and by us, I mean the Warriors) valuable wins. Yes, I understand that it's the beginning of the season but if you take a look at the past few games we lost... we've lost to ROOKIE ASS teams that we should have beat! (Ahem, the Grizzlies?!?!) And the season ain't getting any easier, people. We haven't even played the Lakers, the Suns (Yeah, Steve Nash!!), or the Celtics yet. But I'm not here to complain or talk shit about my man because, honest to God, I love Monta Ellis. He's amazing.
Anyway.
So, to quell my fetish, I have been youtubing/googling Monta's fine Southern ass on a regular basis. Today, as I was composing my Christmas wishlist (which will be ready in a couple of weeks for those of you so inclined to buy me nice gifts) I came across the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...
Monta Ellis is officially a franchise. Yes, my man has a shoe and it's coming out to herald his return. What a way to ring in the new year!
He calls me in the middle of the night but I don't hear the phone ringing. I'm with my cousin in a two bedroom apartment full of shoji screens and plants in full bloom. There is no color, only splashes of brown and green. When I finally see that I've got a missed call, I'm excited. I have been waiting for his call.
I check the message that he's left but I can barely understand what he's saying. His voice cuts off and all I hear is, "Hey...I've been thinking...we should...stop...sex..call me.. 4..5...86...6886." When I start to dial his number my phone falls apart. The screen detaches and I struggle to hold it together, dialing and redialing what I think is his number. I start running through the apartment, searching for a landline and repeating the numbers so that I don't forget. My parents appear, holding a cordless phone, smiling at me. When I grab the phone and put my ear to the receiver, I can hear my brother on the other end of the line. He's wishing his ex girlfriend a happy birthday, which is today. I'm frustrated now, I'm forgetting the sound of his voice.
All of a sudden I'm in the bathroom. There is a child in the bathtub. He's sitting in warm water and I can see a light stream of yellow coming from beneath him.
"Get out of the tub!" I yell at him. I try to wash the yellow stream out of the water with the showerhead. The yellow slowly fades into light brown, then red. Then I notice that the showerhead is pointed directly at the tile wall, covered in rust. The water streaming down the wall is colored by the rust.
Flash forward, I'm walking out of the liquor store around the corner from my house. My mother is supposed to pick me up and take me to the airport. A red SUV pulls up beside me and, thinking its my mother, I hop in. But its not my mother. Its this guy I dated a couple months ago...and boy does he look good. He smiles at me and laughs. We start talking, flirting having a good "new love" moment. I'm thiniking to myself, "Dude, you dropped me. Why all of a sudden are you trying to holler again?" He puts his hand on my knee, tries to touch me in subtle ways.
Then I wake up. Its 1:30 in the morning and I've only been asleep for about an hour. I'm a little dazed, remembering the first part of my dream, unsure if it really happened or not. I've woken up from dreams like this before, confused by illusion and reality. I reach for my cellphone, just to make sure it didn't happen. Nope, no call. But I've got these butterflies in my stomach and I'm having trouble breathing.
When I asked my boss if there was a dress code she said,"Dress appropriate." The key word here is: appropriate. What the fuck do I know about going into judge's chambers and walking through a gaggle of district attorneys? So, of course, true to self I wear the most appropriately inappropriate attire: a curve hugging, black and gray cowl neck dress. While I agree that the length was a clear violation of the three finger rule (hem cannot be higher than finger lengths above the knee), I was wearing black tights so absolutely no skin was showing. What's the big deal? On top of that, NO ONE wears bangles in the courtroom. I had to try so hard not to bangle that I damn near had to stop moving for ten minutes just so I wouldn't make a sound while the judge was talking. I didn't fare any better when my boss unexpectedly brought me into the jailhouse and I was marched in front of a line of male inmates. (By the way, for some reason, I really like the orange color of the sweatsuits that the inmates have to wear. Is that wrong?)
How do I integrate my fashion sense into something a little more conservative? Do I have to hide my tattoo everyday with a turtleneck and a watch? Where can I find cute heels comfortable enough to run and climb stairs in? Must I sacrifice style and substance in order to follow a strict unsaid understanding of the legal and law enforcement world?
It's gonna be hard with this body. I mean, not that I'm comparable to Buffy the Body or Vida Guerra. It's just that... I have these curves that I can't really hide unless I'm wearing a potato sack. A high school teacher once said to me, "Even when you're not violating the dress code, you look like you're violating the dress code." She was referring to the fact that though there was really nothing to see, you couldn't help but still look to make sure.
Anyway, I know that in order to get the right kind of attention from the people that I need to pay attention to... I must dress in a manner that they understand. Back to the pinstripes and button down shirts, I go. Gotta leave the clubbing clothes in the closet and put away the wifebeaters for cleaning days.
The days are getting colder so maybe the turtlenecks aren't such a bad idea after all.
It's funny when I think about what life was like for me 3 years ago... This isn't a long time ago, but who and where I am now is so far removed from who and where I was then that it feels like I've been reborn. Me at 21- taking Jack Daniels shot after shot and getting kicked out of clubs for throwing up in the bathroom. I thought I was the shit, barking orders at people who loved me because I was mad with control. At 21, I thought I knew about love. I'd experienced the romance of all romance and had boyfriends lie to and berate me. And, at 21, I thought that love equated to sex, love, money and drugs. If I were the same person that I was at 21 years old, I would be married to a Romanian man old enough to be my uncle and living in a one bedroom apartment in Eastern Europe with two children and no recollection of the English language or my Filipino roots.
But I regress into the past when I should focus on the present and dream about the future. That was three years ago and, as my Magic Trick pointed out, I have come full circle. I still have a lot of development left, don't get me wrong, but the progress has been significant. My co-dependancy issues have been stifled and reborn as an unwillingess to surrender my independance. This has lead to me to push people away, allowing space and time to create long gaps in my relationships. My defense is inpenetrable even though I have come across men (or rather boys) who come so close to meeting my standards. This is the answer to those who have asked me, "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" Because I am deathly afraid of what a boyfriend might do to me and because I have impossibly high standards.
In terms of love and romance, I am now willing to put down my guard for a moment. I am stepping out of my box little by little to allow another person in. Fuck it, I may not be a cupcaker, but I cannot deny the excessive lover in me. She's waiting to be unleashed.
Last Friday, my family at Walden House blessed me with a heartfelt send-off on my last day of work. Its true that one will never see the fruits of his/her labor until the very end. My coworkers and clients let me know that I changed their lives, even if only a little bit, even if only with a smile. It was a heartbreak like I had never known before. By the end of the meeting, I found myself in tears and I realized that even though I'm not meant to work at Walden House, I am meant to be there.
My career has taken a step forward and I anticipate a host of new personalities in my life, whether it be elders in long black robes sitting in judge's chambers or young women on the street who find themselves victims of circumstance. I aim to network and promote myself, to flirt with everyone in order to move ahead, and, most importantly, I will never forget where I have come from.
So tonight I fall asleep looking forward to starting the first day of the rest of my life. Game face, on.
Golden State Warriors vs. L.A. Lakers - 12.14.2007
Sigh, I miss my boys... Can't wait to see Baron Davis this weekend!!! We miss you!! And Monta... we f*ing need you back!!
In other NBA news, Stever Nash (one game without pay), Matt Barnes and Rafer Alston (two games with out pay for both) have been suspended for the brawl this Wednesday. Shaquille O'Neill and Tracy McGrady were fined for their participation. Although, if you watch the video, Shaq made a beastly intervention on behalf of Steve Nash.
If you missed it, I posted the video . . . its NBA drama at its finest.
Rapper ODB, a founding member of the Wu-Tang Clan, has died in a New York recording studio.
ODB - Ol' Dirty Bastard - recently came out of prison after serving a sentence for drug possession. The rapper, whose real name was Russell Jones, would have been 36 on Monday.
He was famed for his unorthodox delivery, which became famous when he first hit the music scene in the 1990s with the Wu-Tang Clan, alongside Method Man, RZA and Ghostface Killah.
Each member went on to pursue their own solo work, with ODB having great success with numbers including Shimmy Shimmy Ya and Got Your Money.
He also dabbled in the mainstream, appearing on remixes with artists including Mariah Carey.
But with increased fame came increased pressure, and his behaviour became more erratic.
When his career was at its height, he and his children were followed by an MTV News camera crew, which filmed them being taken in a limousine to the welfare office to receive food stamps.
And in February 1998, millions of TV viewers saw him dive onto the stage at the Grammy awards, hijacking the microphone from singer Shawn Colvin as she was given her prize.
ODB then complained that he had spent a lot of cash on new clothes for the event because he had thought he would win the best rap album category, which went to P Diddy.
He later apologised for his outburst.
He began his career with the Wu-Tang Clan before going solo But he also had several brushes with the law. He was wounded in shootings and arrested over charges including menacing security officers, illegally possessing body armour, driving with a suspended licence, shoplifting and threatening a former girlfriend.
By 2000 he had been ordered by a court to attend a rehabilitation centre in California but he escaped and managed to evade capture for a month.
Police arrested him in Philadelphia, three days after he had been performing in New York with members of the Wu-Tang Clan.
The following year he was sent to prison to serve a four-year sentence for drug possession, plus two concurrent years for his escape from the California clinic.
He was as famed for his erratic lifestyle as his music But by 2003 he was released again and signed with the Roc-a-Fella record company working on a comeback album.
"Russell inspired all of us with his spirit, wit, and tremendous heart," said Roc-A-Fella founder Damon Dash.
"The world has lost a great talent, but we mourn the loss of our friend."
His death follows the deaths of several other rappers, including Jam Master Jay of Run DMC, who was shot in late 2002, and Notorious BIG and Tupac Shakur, who were both shot in the late 1990s.
So as of late I've been terribly disappointed with my boys at Oracle... so much so that if it weren't for my "belief being strong than doubt" (gotta love Duane Wade)... I'd become a Sun in a minute. If ya'll missed it last night here goes Rafer Alston and Matt Barnes (who forgot for a minute that he was playing basketball NOT football) starting a ruckus. Gotta love how Shaq bulldozes right through to save Steve Nash!
"I can do for you what Martin did for the people Ran by the men but the women keep the tempo It's very seldom that you're blessed to find your equal Still play my part but let you play the lead role Believe me I'll follow this could be easy I'll be the help whenever you need me I see you hustle with my hustle I can keep you Focused on your focus Let me feed you."
I am sitting on my back porch, Cigarette in hand I lift my fingers to my lips And take a long drag.
The city has now entered the end of the year.
Today she says to me, "I remember February. I remember all of the things that I wanted for myself By the end of this year and now, look, it's November. Here I am and this what I have, I've never been happier."
In February, she was sneaking around dark hallways Keeping secrets that she wasn't capable of handling. She was beginning a long road to recovery from a life built in dark places, Carrying a burden and enduring a struggle That not too many people would understand. She sits before me, smiles and support all around, And I see the health, I see the color, I see the change. I was there with her through those months. I was there with her through those times. And she was with me.
I wanted to tell her that I was afraid too. I wanted to tell her that I had once been in a relationship That self destructed, that left shards of broken glass Deep in my skin. I wanted to tell her that sometimes, they made me itch. I wanted to tell her that I too Had fallen in love with a man who didn't know how to love me back But all I could say was a simple, "I know what you mean."
So I watch her now, standing on the corner Cigarette in her hand. She lifts her fingers to her lips And takes a long drag.
Ms. Jackson at her finest. Not only is the song an anthem for all the ladies who know what they want. . . the video is true poetry in motion.
---
I'm not a prude,
I just want some respect
So close the door if you want me to respond
Cause privacy is my middle name
My last name is control
No, my first name ain't baby,
It's Janet... Ms. Jackson if you're nasty
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When writing a resume one must be specific in naming an objective. It is the first section in your resume (after your contact information) and gives employers an idea of whether or not the position you are applying for is right for you. An effective objective is clear and direct. This is what you expect to gain if hired. I have learned that putting
"To obtain full-time employment in the Criminal Justice field."
is not as effective as:
"To obtain a full-time case management position in a non-profit organization that provides services for low-income citizens."
Yes the first example may get you a job, but the second objective will get you a career. Trust, I have written and rewritten my resume many times. Objectives will change as your experience in the work field grows. With each new job you learn what you are capable of doing and what you refuse to do. Honestly, writing new resumes was always a positive way for me to build self-esteem and the perfect chance to manifest new responsibilites in my life.
In order to successfully manifest your dreams (if that is what you are inclined to do) you must be clear and specific in knowing what you want. So check your vocabulary because sometimes the Universe gets confused.
Two MUNI bus rides away from home. Half a block away from the courthouse.
Access to judge's chambers. Access to judges.
Still working for the people. . . for a higher salary... no dress code policy...
AND I get to use the Criminal Justice degree I earned through FIVE years of college WITHOUT having to submit to the institutionalized-capitalistic-might-as-well-call-it-a-corporation California Department of Corrections?
If you're in the City this weekend and AREN'T attending the 2008 Exotic Erotic Ball... might I suggest getting educated on The Wonders of Cannabis?? This weekend in Golden Gate Park, local horticulturist and famed "Guru of Ganja" Ed Rosenthal will be hosting a cannabis festival intended to educate the public about you guessed it, The Wonders of Cannabis! Ed Rosenthal is a New York born author who is well known for his activism and advocacy for the legalization of marijuana.
Oh yeah and Dead Prez, Bayonics and other artists will be performing live!
Nick News, where I go for my 2008 Presidential Election information. They speak in kids terms which I understand much much better. =) Not to mention the fact that I don't trust one word that the Mass Media prints, publishes, or says.
The results of Kids Pick the President are in! Check them out here >>
Don't forget that Barack Obama and John McCain aren't the only ones running for President and that Democrats and Republicans aren't the only political parties in the United States. If you are unsatisfied with the candidates that are being force fed to you by the media, I urge everyone to do more research on other parties and people who are running for the presidency. YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO VOTE FOR WHOEVER YOU WANT!! You are not limited to what you see on TV or read in blogs!
"Over the years I have developed a picture of what a human being living humanely is like. She is a person who understands, values and develops her body, finding it beautiful and useful; a person who is real and is willing to take risks, to be creative, to manifest competence, to change when the situation calls for it, and to find ways to accommodate to what is new and different, keeping that part of the old that is still useful and discarding what is not."
-Virginia Satir, noted American Author and Psychotherapist
Now I know how drug addicts feel. I just smoked a broken cigarette out of desperation. The liquor store around the corner is closed and I smoked my last one on Monday. Bahhhh. It really is hard to quit smoking cold turkey! So I'm gonna try tapering off from 5-7 cigarettes a day to 2-3 cigarettes to being smoke free by my next birthday.
What caused my sudden interest in Smoking Cessation? Three reasons.
#1 Obviously, health reasons. Going to Allan's class the other day was a reality check that in order for me to be a successful dancer, I'm gonna need more stamina. I was struggling during his last eight count; it felt like my body was just shutting down after an hour and a half. My lungs are begging me to give them a break.
#2 I simply cannot afford to buy 2 packs of cigarettes a week. I thought about downgrading from my usual Marlboro Menthol Lights to Newports to save money, but then I thought ... aren't Newports even worse?
#3 For my mother... fuuuuck. Why is it always the mother that puts incessant guilt trips on you knowing that one day you're going to break just because you know she never will???? Whenever I call my mother I'm usually smoking a cigarette (to help me get through the conversation) and, without fail she will ask me, "Are you smoking?" I say "no" because I know that she knows I really mean "yes" but she knows that I will never say "yes" because it will just affirm her suspicions all along and the conversation just goes on and on and on . . . . Trust, it's an endless cycle.
Anyway, so I'm talking to my mother the other day and we get into the "Are you smoking" cycle and out of nowhere she says to me, "You know why you smoke right? It's because you're sad." Now, my mother (as I'm sure most mothers do) has this uncanny ability to sense and know everything that's going through my head and heart. This is especially true of the things that I am blind to. Her observation hit me like a brick wall. It may or may not be true, but when you think about it, why does anybody get caught up in addiction?
So, faithful readers, I seek support in any positive way. If I ask you for a cigarette, kindly turn me down. If I already have a cigarette and I ask you for a light, gently remind me that I need to quit but light me up anyway!!
When I first moved to the Bay Area my first dance teacher was Allan Frias, who has now become one of my living heroes. You may remember him from the first season of So You Think You Can Dance, breaking it down as Big Papa. While he didn't win the competition, he made a big impact just by making it on to the show. If you've ever seen him, you'll notice that he is a HUSKY fella. If you've ever seen him dance, you'll notice that his size doesn't stop him from dropping down and breaking a motherfucker off.
After a few years, I was able to begin a work-exchange program at Dance Mission on Tuesday nights and got to watch Allan's Advanced class do their thing. His choreography always amazed me as it is laced with subtle sexuality and powerful eight counts that draw inspiration from West Indian dance forms. While I idolize Allan, it is his Sucker Free, real ass human side that makes me love him all the more. He sweats like a madman when he dances; he sports Warrior's paraphernalia; and he allows little kids to sit in on his classes every once in a while, free of charge. One night as I was sitting in the back room counting the night's revenue the familiar tickle of California herb came floating in from the window. I turned around and there was Allan, sitting on the fire escape smoking a blunt making choreography in his head. How could I not fall in love with the man?? He is such a celebrity to me that every time we run into each other, I gush as if he were Justin Timberlake.
Tonight was the first night I've been to one of Allan's classes in ages and, like always, homeboy spouted some knowledge that reminded me why I love him (and dancing) so much.
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"How do you bump your booty? Use your tailbone. The PADOW is all there."
"I don't care how big you are, you can get down on your hands. I'm bigger than all of you motherfuckers, you're all smaller than me and I can fucking do it. You can do it!!"
"Dance is all about confidence. Trust, cause ain't nobody watching you anyway. Do whatever the fuck you do, but do it confidently."
"Open your pussy, it's okay! Dance is sexual. If you can dance, then you can fuck. It's all about being able to catch the rhythm."
"People often ask me why I became an escort. They seemed to think that someone forced me into it, or that I am desperate for money. Many people look down at being an escort as something that is both illegal and immoral, I happen not to agree. A woman should become an escort if she thinks that is what she would like to do.
There are two main reasons girls become escorts. Number one, I think is the money. You can make a great deal of money, you can make a salary that a doctor or lawyer would in as less as 10 hours a week. Sounds like a get rich scheme, its not. The other is free time. Now that you have lots of money, you will have time to spend it, lots and lots of time".
The other day I told my boy (and future bodyguard) Nicholas that I didn't want to dance for the money.
"No, I just want to perform on stage." Obviously, that was a half truth.
A part of me is hungry for money, as shameful and capitalistic as that may sound. I just think of it in terms of business, not the act of sex or the emotion of lust. When I dance, I would be getting paid for a service that I provide. It would be money earned not given. My money spent the way I decide.
When I was young I spent hours dreaming about romance. Drawing inspiration from TV shows like Dawson's Creek (Joey & Pacey), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Buffy & Angel!!!), and the classic one season masterpiece of teenage angst: My So-Called Life (Angela and *sigh* Jordan Catalano), I was able to create storyboards of drama and fantasy. A True Pisces, I spent late night hours dreaming up Disney-like movies that I played over and over in my mind.
That being said... I'm looking for romance in my relationships. Not commitment or financial stability or even sexual satisfaction. Yes, I enjoy the mindfuck and crackin' jokes, but what makes a friendship different from a RELATIONship... is it not the romance? Now that I'm older and have experienced both good and bad romances, I have a pretty good idea of the kind of man who would play the starring role in my romance to end all romances.
Enjoy, dear readers, the words of 6 women that have achieved my dream and have manifested my perfect romance in lyric form.
#1 Soldier - Destiny's Child
"A rude boy that's good to me, street credibility If his status ain't hood, I ain't checkin' on him Better be street if you lookin' at me."
Yes, yes, he will be the cliche bad boy. I can't help it! I'm attracted to hoodstars in Nikes and not preppies in khakis!! "I tried that good boy game but the doughboy's turnin' me on." (I Can't Leave 'Em Alone, Ciara) And rap sheets are strangely attractive me. I can't explain this one, ladies. Just trust that I'm smart enough not to get into more drama than I can handle.
#2 Whatta Man - Salt N Pepa feat En Vogue
"Never disrespectful cause his mama taught him that."
He will love his mother. Mama's boys are taught how to respect, love, and fear women and will thus, be respectful, loving and fearful of you. =) I just pray that his mother doesn't have a complex when it comes to her son and she'll be able to let him go peacefully. Don't worry, mothers... I'm a good girl!
#3 Infatuation - Christina Aguilera
"Mama used to warn me not to rush love with another She said, 'I'm not tryin to lecture I just care about my daughter' 'Ay Mama, you seem to forget I never will let a man control my emotions' But when he smiles I feel like a little child and when he says 'I am full blood boricua' Reads the tattoo on his arm."
The entire song is a play by play. It will be love at first sight, fa sho, because i believe that the intensity of attraction plays a big role in romance. Though, right now the "boricua" is replaced by "filipino." For some reason I am in love with my Filipino brothers right now. Especially the ones that remind me of my father (but not in an uncomfortable way) and especially the ones that have interesting ink. This dialoge is also exactly what my mother tells me every time I talk about boys.
#4 Love Rain - Jill Scott f/ Mos Def
"He was brown, deep Said he wanted to talk about my mission Listen to my past lives (Word?) Took me on long walks to places where butterflies rest easy Talked about Moses and Mumia Reparations, blue colors, memories of shell topped adidas He was fresh, like summer peaches Sweet on my mind like block parties and penny candy Us was nice and warm, no jacket, no umbrella, just warm At night we would watch the stars And he would physically give me each and every one I felt like cayenne pepper,red,hot,spicy I felt Dizzy, Sonya, heaven, and Miles between my thighs Better than love,we made delicious He me had,had me he He made me tongue tied I could hear his rhythm in my thoughts I was his sharp, his horn section His boom and his bip And he was my love."
I had to put the entire first verse because it rings true. A romance should always include exchanges of passionate thought, belief, and experience or what I like to call mindfucking. A man who has no passion in other areas of life other than relationships is dull, boring, and tends to become a little too codependant for my taste. You can recognize a man who has passion by his ability to recognize your own. Mos Def does a poetic job at his reply so check his lyrics if you have time. Also, anything that can be described as "delicious" has got to be romantic.
#5 Underneath Your Clothes - Shakira
"All the things I deserve for being such a good girl."
All good things are worth the wait and hard work, right? Nothing comes easy or quickly. And I believe that one day, I'm going to get the man I deserve. Never lose faith, hopeless romantics... dreams come true everyday!
I thought I had only imagined seeing your face last night. That moment could have been a dream - my heart beat echoing in time with the technotranceravehouse music in the air, neon lights flashing red blue green and yellow. It could have been a dream. You reached around my waist, like you did once before, and by that simple connection - the skin of your fingers and the skin on my stomach - I knew I wasn't dreaming. You are real. You exist.
With a slow burning cigarette balanced in between your fingers, you take off your hat, like the true gentleman that you are, and I am reminded of everything you once told me. You wanted to be mine. My mace, my lover, my best friend. And then in the midst of trying to remain strong independant and unbroken I let you slip out of my life and into the arms of another woman. I let you go because I was afraid to hold on to you.
Seeing you with someone else was not the tragedy I expected. It made me happy to see you happy. It was what I wanted for you all along.
And so you keep coming back to me, dear boy, in times and ways that I never expect. The reality of our relationship is this: I cannot hold you down as you cannot hold me down. I cannot promise you what you cannot promise me. Right now, we can only give each other the peace of mind that comes in knowing that the other exists. I believe our time will come. For now, I am satisfied for another opportunity to press my lips against you and let you know I am doing well.
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Mitchell, an avowed socialist who wants to legalize drugs, nationalize energy and health care and end the war in Iraq, has run for political office twice before.
"Personally, I think the pendulum has swung so far toward the fallacy of free-market capitalism, that the emperor is now standing naked in front of the free world," he says. "It's a wonderful opportunity to consider the socialist alternative."
Mitchell says the lack of affordable health insurance for families like his own have led to an unnecessary health crisis in the richest country in the world.
"If you have a lot of money, you can get 15 MRIs and have access to whatever you want," he says. "I still owe for my children's births, which I'm paying off slowly."
Not only does Mitchell want to pardon all nonviolent drug offenders, he is also eager to legalize drugs altogether.
With nearly three-quarters of the inmate population presenting with addiction problems, Mitchell says, the state has effectively turned prisons into addiction treatment centers. He says the $35,000 taxpayers spend to keep each inmate incarcerated for a year could be better invested in proven treatment regimens.
"It's gotten to the point where with the scare tactics of the war on drugs, we're freeing pedophiles and sex offenders to make room for people who have addiction problems," he says.
Legalizing drugs, he says, offers a virtually overnight solution to Vermont's revenue shortfalls and shrinking agricultural sector. Were farmers able to grow marijuana, he says, the state would discover a cash crop that yields unprecedented profits. Taxes levied on the product, he says, would account for millions of dollars annually.
"It's just good policy," he says. "We could grow it in all our fields and have no problem finding people from New York or New Hampshire to buy it."
Last night I had the pleasure of joining my favorite Magic Trick and his boys at a familiar water hole. Now, I may hate on the Cow for its hit-or-miss crowd and its erratic musical selections (from Def Leppard to Elvis Crespo to Lil Wayne) but when it comes down to it... I always have a good time there. That's the point, isn't it?
Lately, I have kept my distance from the Cow. I was slowly getting tired of the same slim pickings that I usually encounter there (not that I go to the Cow in the hopes of finding my Prince Charming). But last night I was pleasantly surprised by a young Latin gentleman who had the ability to lead. Yes, ladies... a gentleman. Not some random sucka who sidles up next to you, gyrating off beat saying, "You're so hot! You're so hot!" while stepping on your new shoes and spilling his AMF all over your arm. Not some drunk ass Jabbawockee wannabe grabbing onto your hip trying to make babies on the dancefloor then calling you a stuck up bitch when you turn around and say, "Um, no thanks."
I say, he was gentleman.
Not only did this guy take me by the hand and pull me towards him to whisper, "Would you like to dance with me?" in my ear, homeboy maintained a respectable distance by busting out Salsa twirls and leading me around the dancefloor. This is what dancing with a partner is supposed to be like! When I finally gave him the greenlight for a little contact, he did not smell like sweat, hard liquor, or cigarettes. And the best part is, he let me go at the end of the song. He let me shimmy and shake back over to my company and left it at that. He didn't follow me around like a stalker or whip out his cellphone with the false hope that one dance could turn into romance. At the end of the night (which is now 1:30am at the Cow, wtf?!) I ran into him and we said, "Goodnight, thank you for the dance" with a handshake and a smile. Game recognized game.
As I was saying good-bye, however, I also ran into a dude who I had been dancing with earlier in the night. He stood off to the side, watched the gentleman and I chat and felt it appropriate to declare, "That guy's whack, he ain't got nothin' on me" in a brazen attempt to get my attention. But, he failed. No pie for you, sucka.
So, for you fellas out there who are secretly reading this (I know who you are!), here's a few tips on shedding your sucka status. Now, I don't claim to be a know-it-all in playing the game, but I do understand simple rules of engagement. The only way to win is to be the best player in the field, right?
1) Act like a gentleman at all times. As related in my story above, it is impressive and quite refreshing for women who encounter suckas on a daily basis to meet a man with manners and class.
2) Drop the defeatist attitude. I once had a conversation with a sucka who did nothing but whine about his life. Instead of accepting responsibility for his state of discontent, he proceeded to air a laundry list of names, dates, and places on which he placed blame. His vernacular consisted mainly of, "I can't" or "I don't know" or "It's not my fault." After 45 minutes of complete negativity, I summed up all the tact I could manage and said to him, "Grow a pair. Stop complaining, start doing." No real lady is going to want a man who can't do for himself first.
3) Be cool. And I'm not talking aboutdressing like Kanye or dancing like Chris Brown. Check your ego at the door. If you don't know how to handle your liquor, stick to Shirley Temples and Rob Roys. Watch your choice of words in front of the ladies. And for fuck's sake, keep the machismo to a minimum. There is nothing more unattractive than a sucka who needs to puff his chest and blow steam to prove that he is a man. Handle yourself appropriately, like my boy Josh once told me, "Never lose your sexy."
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Portrait of a Gentleman:
"If you don't have enemies, you don't have character." Paul Newman
Micaya is an old dance instructor of mine from Dance Mission Theater in San Francisco. She taught me that one can NEVER be too old to dance, to always bend my knees, to NEVER act like a diva ("Leave your ego at the door and learn"), and that "the beat is God." I take her words to heart as I continue my journey to the dream.
I also watch these videos to remind myself that I have to be disciplined in my study so that I don't end up looking like these girls....
You know how some people tell you not to touch a knife or a gun until you fully comprehend the power that it holds? I shall not get up on stage until I've got enough power, confidence, and bravada to work it like a boss.
"And they can even elect a black president, but he's useless Because he doesn't control the economy stupid." -Immortal Technique
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Let me get this straight.
I gave my money to you so that I wouldn't lose it. I paid you "x" amount of money every month for insurance, just in case something bad happened to me. All of a sudden, you can't seem to find the money I gave you. In fact, you can't find a lot of people's money. When I ask you how such a thing could possibly happen, you don't have an answer and even if you did, it would be a lie. Instead of taking responsibility for your actions, you declare yourself bankrupt claiming that you don't have the resources to payback the money for which you were liable.
Someone's knocking on my door again, one of your minions trying to serve me another eviction notice. Now you're trying to take my house because I don't have the money to pay off my mortgage. I try to think positively and count my blessings: at least I still have a job. But for how long? You've been laying off thousands of people in the past few months. What makes me think that I am not threatened too?
You tell me, "Why don't you just go back to school?" You tell me this knowing full well that I cannot afford to pay for tuition and books. Even if I could afford to go to school, you would make sure that I got no attention, no focus, no progress, only a $80,000 debt that I won't be able to pay off because you wouldn't be able to offer me a job after I graduated anyway!
So I'm sitting here with no money in the present, no money earned from the past, and no money waiting for me in the future. I have no home, no job, no education. And then I read in the paper that President Bush wants to give you $700 Billion for your troubles.
"We are witnessing a bankers' coup d’etat. In the name of saving the economy from a crisis created by their own greed and immense profits, Bush and the biggest bankers have taken a country and a people hostage.
“Give us your money and tear up what’s left of your Constitution or we will sink your economy,” is the message from Wall Street and the Bush Administration. “Give us the power and money we demand or you will be left jobless from a new economic depression."
Under the pretext of the banking crisis, the Bush Administration is changing the way this country operates. This is not simply taking trillions of dollars from the people and giving it to the richest bankers to do with as they see fit.
Congress is poised to vote to give the Executive Branch of government, and specifically the White House’s political appointees in the Treasury Department, the absolute right to take our money and give it to domestic and foreign banks and corporations without any oversight of elected officials, from the courts, or from the people.
The new legislation states: “Decisions by the Secretary [of the Treasury] pursuant to the authority of this Act are non-reviewable and committed to agency discretion, and may not be reviewed by any court of law or any administrative agency.” The Legislation allows the Treasury Department to appoint the same bankers who created the crisis to administer and dictate the use of trillions of our tax dollars.
We will not stand by and let the Bush Administration formalize its vision of a “government of, by and for the richest bankers."
The new system institutionalizes theft on a grand scale. Lehman Brothers bankers will receive $2.5 billion in bonuses after their company went bankrupt last week, but the new dictatorial authority under the White House and Treasury Department has ruled out any relief for the millions of working families who are being foreclosed.
We live in a $15 trillion annual economy. Instead of taking our tax dollars and giving it to the already rich and powerful, these funds should be used provide to decent paying jobs, affordable housing, health care and a good education for our children. There is another way!
Now is the time to hear the voice of the people. A spineless Congress authorized Bush’s illegal war in Iraq and rubber-stamped the Patriot Act. Now they are being herded like sheep again to give the White House and Wall Street dictatorial control over the people’s money."
I love how she made the performance into a little vignette. Slash, I've seen the outfits that Agent Provaceteur sells and holy shit. What I would give to dance in one of those outfits.... Not really practical for a pole dance, but hey a dancer doesn't have to twirl the whole time does she? Burlesque strip teases look like hella fun.
Seeing Ground Zero on September 11, 2008, sending out a prayer at St. Patrick's Cathedral, and getting a free Jazz show at City Hall Square: Priceless.
One hour bike ride through Central Park for two: $20.
Riding through Central Park in the rain: Priceless.
Late night cab ride from Brooklyn to Jamaica then ANOTHER cab ride from Jamaica to Great Neck: $70
Getting a private dance lesson from a self proclaimed "hoodrat" from Barbados: Priceless.
Admission for one student to the Museum of Sex: $8.25
Seeing a turtle masturbate with a staircase: Priceless.
One paperback copy of The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene: $18
Having 5 hours of quiet on the flight home to just read: Priceless.
Missing 6 days of paid work: $692.16
Spending 10 days in New York City with my best friend: Priceless.
Researching pole technique, possible outfits, and the vibe of a true Gentleman's Club.
While it was a hands-on experience, I was surprised that the security guards weren't really doing shit. Up in the VIP room my girl was able to snatch a fistful of ones that were flying in the air. If I was dancing in the VIP room I would get a freakin' bodyguard or something. That way someone's watching out for me and my money at all times.
As demeaning or immoral as the whole occupation sounds, I think that some of the dancers really find their job fulfilling. To put it bluntly, some of us females are just freaky like that. At one point I was watching someone get a lap dance near my table. I immediately made eye contact with the guy and, without taking his eyes off me, he spanked the dancer's ass on both cheeks! I'm talking bare assed discpline. It was the hottest thing I had ever seen.
There was a good population of females in attendance that night too. On the way to our table, I was knocked over by a group of huge black women trying to get to the stage so that they could tip their favorite dancer. Speaking of the dancers...
The dancers were just how I like them - round, meaty, and classy. (With the exception of those dancers who opted to wear nipple tassels. They looked gaudy.) My favorite dancer wore a purple leotard that was ripped up in strategic places. It left something to the imagination as she danced and was easy to take off once it came time to strip. Homegirl had an ass so fat you could see it from the front. There was very little pole dancing, unfortunately. It was Stripper Idol Thursday aka Amateur Night and I wanted to see what a novice pole dancer looked like on stage. One dancer held herself vertically upside down and was able to slap her thighs together mid air!! I noticed that the poles on stage were a lot higher than my current ceiling so I'm probably going to have to start with twirls and save the Cirque du Soleil acrobatics for later. Gives me time to build muscle. =)
And finally, Sin City was also the ONLY spot I hit up in New York City that had good-looking men. Maybe I'm attracted to well-dressed men with money or maybe the Bronx just got the swag that I like... I don't know. I would've given some of those fellas private dances any day of the week. Holler.
The12thLetter is a focus primarily on two of my dialectial passions: crime/punishment and power/struggle. Sprinkled with music, lyrics and the Filipino culture, its a tribute to my journey coming up in San Francisco. Most of what you'll read are snippets of my experiences on the City's streets and excerpts focused on criminal justice related issues.
Ask not why the Universe directed me down this path.
From My Head
The icon of a Pisces is two fish, each swimming in opposite directions. They symbolize the dual nature of a Pisces.
This blog showcases my rougher personality, a place where I am less inclined to be docile and more in touch with reality.
