Recently in diary Category

"If travel is searching and home what's been found, I'm not stopping. I'm going hunting" - Björk, Hunter

Okay. Here's the story (or at least the parts I can tell):

Friday morning started like any other Friday morning - me getting up, reading the paper, planning out what I was going to post for LAist with Good Day LA on the TV. I got in to work a little early because I had a conference call to make about a new project I had been requested to work on from one of our their productions that is out of state. After a month of not having director's meetings, we finally had one. We started with the roundtable of updates. I had even come prepared. I had a bunch of stuff to talk about. Director's meeting over, I went back to my office and had a staff meeting with my staff.

We laughed and joked about several things and discussed some projects.

45 minutes later, I got a call from HR asking that me and my entire staff come up for a meeting at 1:15.

How odd.

We went up to the conference room at 1:15. By 1:30, we were heading back down in the elevator all kinds of oddly giggly and began packing up our areas and cleaning up our computers.

It was all very surreal.

The whole day, I was alternating between amused and annoyed. I'm amused because, for me, this is kind of exactly what I wanted. I knew my vision of what my department should be focusing on wasn't the same as where the company is headed. I knew I was no longer very happy or interested with the projects we were producing or developing. I wasn't very happy with the changes in company culture or structure in he 18 months since Mary-Ellis had passed. And that's not to say that where they are headed is wrong or anything. It just wasn't the place I had grown to love in the last two years that it had been in my first five.

I'm amused because I had sent out an email in June to a bunch of folks basically saying I was on my way out of that joint. That I had done my time and it was time to move on to the next chapter of my life. I'm amused because it was fast becoming time to negotiate a new contract and I had been seriously considering negotiating a severance package much like my friends and colleagues at mtv.com had done earlier this summer and taking some time to figure out what I wanted to do in the world.

So, I got my wish. The universe tends to do that for me.

I'm annoyed because my staff is not nearly in the same position I'm in. I'm annoyed because I wish I had been able to prepare them for the transition. I'm annoyed because we were in the middle of several projects that I worry won't get finished or won't get finished "correctly" and that people that depend on the services of our department are going to be left in a lurch for a while. I'm not sure people in the company realize the resource we have been to lots of other areas that don't have to do with web.

The small amount of vindictiveness I have about this situation is that I hope the next week or two or three are filled with little bumps in the road that nobody expected.

But, truly, I don't have many complaints.

I'm not sad about losing my job. I'm not sad about my time there. Most of the major parts of my life now have some connection with the relationships and experience I gained at BMP.

So, what now?

I'm on vacation, y'all. At least for the next month. I'll take a look at some gigs and probably do some freelance work (both web and written) but mostly I'm going to enjoy the time. I'm going to prepare for my move (I take over Ariel's house on October 5th). I'm going to tae bo like crazy. I'm going to catch up on my 52 in 52 and my 101 in 1001. LAist is going to get my full attention.

I'm going to lunch and dinner and drink drinks and relax my ass off.

Maybe me, Hov and the MVP will get words on the backs of our necks. Me: fired. Hov: tired. MVP: wired.

I'm not hurting for cash.

I'm not worried about not being able to find a new job.

I'm just going to do what the beat say do.

"I'm not sure of what I see (you best don't fuck with me), are you telling me this is a sign?" - Justin Timberlake singing with Charlie Wilson on Snoop Dogg's Signs

Originally posted on my LJ, but I like it so y'all get it here (heh, it's like I workshopped it first)

Come See Me In New York

"Come see me in New York," she said, with lust in her eyes.

A kiss on the cheek became a kiss on the corners of the mouth became tongues intertwined.

He sung along to Little Red Corvette in her ear. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stared directly into his eyes.

Her friend looked on, yawning. She pulled away but continued to dance. The Cars That Go Boom directed her movements. Her hips shifted in rhythm with his.

His hands went where they always seem to go on a woman: her stomach. She wriggled and giggled. He said, "We're Tigre and Bunny and we like the boom."

Her friend yawned again and theatrically checked her watch.

"Do you want to dance over there?" she asked, pointing towards his friends sitting at their table.

He nodded and they went. Her friend whispered something in her ear.

She made her goodbyes to everyone else and then turned to him.

"Come see me in New York," she said, with lust in her eyes.

His lips were the only answer he could give.

"Let him collect himself, again" - Georg Levin, Let There Be Love

We'd be at a house on a hill soon after midnight but the Curson house, where we watched the ball drop and kissed friends and acquaintances to ring in the new year, is the one I'm envious of. With the pillars at the entrance and the traditional backyard with the orange tree and the small one room guest house and the second floor and the balcony? Yeah, it's the one that I want (the one that I want) ho ho ho honey.

I don't want these drinks, though. We should say no to cheap vodka and Everglo and Hypnotiq. Your adult beverages shouldn't look like a new flavor of Mountain Dew. Everglo actually glows. Green in the glass. Or red solo cup at this party. Do I get a special toy with the happy meal and the hangover?

I'm not complaining much, though. The boys that live here have actually tarped the backyard in case of rain and brought in a heat lamp. I might mock the poor bar they've provided but I will do it from the comfort of these blue flames overhead.

Hov is standing with me. There's a lull in the party. I tell her to come talk with me for a bit. I whisper, probably loudly, "So, why did the shoe salesman and his boy wonder bring whores to the party and pretend like everything's normal?"

She looks at me. She's high. The two ladies I'm referring to are sitting on a picnic table bench 20 or so feet away shrilling into a phone about something asinine. I point in their direction. Hov turns and snorts.

I die laughing.

Now, I'm not talking about "hoes." This isn't a Ludacris video or Jigga's Big Pimpin' (although Hov and I do throw up the Roc whenever appropriate). And, it's not as if there aren't other odd ducks here. We've got the Texans in for the Rose Bowl, one of whom is exactly what you think of when someone says "a Texas boy." If only he had his cowboy hat. He told me he left it at the hotel. We've got the sitcom co-star comedian who, as he does at every party, dropped his pants. For 30 minutes. And we've got the lady in white. All white. With no shirt, opting instead for the tight jacket with one button buttoned so that we could see the quality of her magnificent boob job. Magnificently spreading. Her breasts were running away from each other. And she had a fuzzy hat. Also white.

Classy.

No. I'm talking about literal whores. As in pay for play. The oldest profession. The happy hookers. There can be no doubt. Skirt to the cleft. Animal print. Hair just a tad too big. Makeup just a whole lot too thick. An inability to keep their hands above the Mason-Dixon line of their dates' waists but as soon as the boys were out of ear shot, on the phone with some other person. Making crude but excited fun.

They made my night. Forget the party favors in the guest house closet, this is what we need more of.

"I've finally got a New Year's resolution," I declared as we drove up Outpost to party number two, "More whores at parties."

Now I just have to figure out how much that's gonna cost me.

"I can't keep my heart from you, baby, but you keep it on a string." - Candi Staton, Heart on a String (Candi Staton)

What Jessica wrote was for true.

This is almost.

INT. KITCHEN. CHRISTMAS NIGHT.

A MOTHER, FATHER, and SON are milling about as they each put the finishing touches on their parts of dinner. The SON, single and soon-to-be thirty, hovers over the ham, grazing as his FATHER talks to no one in particular about the day's gifts.

FATHER: What I want to know is was anyone surprised by any gift this year?

SON: Well, I didn't ask for anything so I was, of course, quite surprised.

MOTHER: I didn't even ask you what you wanted.

SON: I like that better. I do for myself at this point so I'm more curious to see what people think I might want or might like or might need. That's also why I never ask what anybody wants. The fun is in the picking and the giving. Am I right?

FATHER: Well, I'm wearing the cologne you got me, son, but I was most surprised by what your sister gave. She's been paying attention.

SON: Really, I'm glad that we are all prosperous at the same time.

MOTHER: Yeah, isn't that great? [She turns towards her son, considering him for a moment.] You're looking thinner. I can see it in your face.

SON: I haven't lost any weight. Leaner maybe, I've been working out.

FATHER: You're living pretty well, aren't you? I tell everyone that you're the only person in this family I don't have to take care of.

MOTHER ignores the comment and continues.

MOTHER: You should get married.

FATHER: You're about to turn thirty, son. Your mom is worried about you. [chuckles]

MOTHER: That's not it. I just think you'd make someone a great husband.

FATHER: Yeah, that's true. Are you dating anyone? Seriously?

MOTHER: Don't pressure the boy.

FATHER: You're pressuring the boy.

MOTHER: I'm not. I just think there are lots of assholes out there and some nice girl could have a real man with our son.

SON: Well, I have this joke with Tracy. She'll say,"You know what? We're desirable" and I say, "You know what? If you were to look up 'catch' in a dictonary...well, there's a picture of me but right next to me, there's a picture of you."

MOTHER: See that? You're charming and funny, too.

FATHER: But here's what else I want to know: What do you think about, uhhh, same-sex marriage?

This non-sequitor leads to a long and powerful conversation about rights and prejudice and government and child rearing and morality and the bible and what the SON believes. At the end of it, MOTHER considers her son again.

MOTHER: You really should get married.

SON [smirking]: To a man?

FATHER: Oh God, no. You're kidding? He's kidding, right?

SON: I gotta go.

MOTHER: Okay, dear. Get married, okay?

SON: Okay.

"Before you count 1, 2, 3, I will grow my own private branch of this tree" - Björk, Unison

So, a friend asked me "How's your love life?" to which I responded:

Do you want to know about my love life or my romantic life? My love life is wonderful. Everyday I feel incredibly loved and that people care about me and care to have me around and that I feel the same about them. I have a sea of friends and people in my life that give me joy and make me laugh and take care of almost all my emotional needs and wants.

That said, I don't get laid enough.

Happy Holidays to all you fine folks who fill my life with love.

Wanna make out?

"If today is all we see, then tomorrow seems to me is just an illusion we believe" - Zero 7, Morning Song

Despite it's tight quarters and ancient elevators, the Milford Plaza has it's charm. For instance, it has beds and a television that works. It features lights that turn on and off at your choosing and water that runs both hot and cold. Also, it is a block a way from Times Square and in New York while on vacation being where the action is is a must.

We walked Broadway. We ate large plates of food at delicatessens and Bubba Gump's and, my personal favorite, Virgil's BBQ. We saw a Broadway show and then ate at Thalia. We took short jaunts on the N/R to Soho for college tours and shopping and dinner at Woo Lae Oak with old friends. We visited Madame Tussaud's and the Empire State Building and the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade.

And then, on Thanksgiving Day, after chowing down at Virgil's for a second time, we trekked to Brooklyn in a cab that claimed to not know where he was going. We hadn't planned on this part. We expected to be picked up by our Aunt. She called at 9 AM to tell us she would be there by two. She called at noon to tell us she'd be there closer to three. She called at 2:45 to tell us she wasn't going to make it at all and that she'd pay for a cab.

Yeah right. Forty bones later and she had us in her house with the oddly working lights and the bedrooms and kitchens converted to classrooms with tattered school posters and ancient pictures and chicken scratch chalk writing and papers -- goodness, the clutter of papers -- strewn about. Before even the hugs and hellos, we're being told to remove our shoes and to honor their way of life. It has been years since I've seen these relatives and already I'm down forty dollars and a pair of kicks.

I'm shown to where I will be sleeping. A second story kitchen with wood floors and broken lights and no bed. Okay. My cousin, who lives here with his grandmother and aunt instead of in Detroit with his mother and his siblings, must be disciplined in this room. Pages of what look like demerit forms are taped to the door and all his indiscretions are listed. Speaking Negatively in the Car is listed as one and I audibly groaned. What are they doing to this poor child? He would turn 14 on Sunday yet few seemed to care. They'd rather yell his name out and ask him to do chores or tell him what he's doing wrong than simply celebrate that he's alive and a good, if rambuctious, kid. I would be too if I had to live in this house of crazy where I'd been given an African name that is not my own and told I must eat vegan and participate in rituals I do not understand nor care to.

My man just wants to wear Roc-A-Wear, watch basketball, play piano and chess and be left alone. Is that so wrong?

Their minivan makes noises and the inside light turns on and off when my Aunt pumps the brakes. They try to get places without knowing exact directionos or addresses. They leave late to everything. We can't get to the airport to pick up my parents on time. We get lost on our way to our cousin's in Queens for Thanksgiving Dinner. We sleep on the floor on makeshift mattresses. The bathroom doesn't lock and it takes 2 days before people learn to knock before entry.

They try to make us wear lime green to the party. Tye Dye Lime Green. Um, have you met me? Hi, I'm Jason. I'll be fly til I die and lime green ain't in that picture. And why are we going to what is essentially a take-out joint for a celebratory banquet? And why is your husband going to yell at the waitress for interrupting his whacked out prayer? And why don't you have dollars to pay for your people? And how all y'all gone sit here and undercut each other with snide comments in the middle of a party? Is this just how y'all do it? Is this the way of this family? Is this why I haven't seen half y'all fools in twenty years and why we don't talk on the phone?

I'm sayin', out here in the real world, we attempt to live prosperously and joyously. We expect things to work and people to ackright or at least try to. I'm not a judgmental person. Live your life, fam. I don't dismiss your culture and what you're trying to do and all that but, come on, people. Let's get it together. Let's be kind to each other and respectful and not make a grown ass man sleep on the floor in a classroom. Don't try to guilt me into feeling bad because I don't get your life. I don't. I won't. Ya can't.

Brooklyn wasn't all bad, though. As we rode down Flatbush, we passed a car parked on the right side blasting Biggie.

Where Brooklyn at? Where Brooklyn at? Where Brooklyn at? Where Brooklyn at?

"And it's true we named our children after towns that we've never been to." - Modest Mouse, Black Cadillacs

After nearly 30 years, I have my biological father's name. A week ago my mother spoke it to me over the phone. She was somewhere in the Mall of Americas in Minneapolis. I sat on my couch, X-Men Legends in still motion on the television screen. We'd only discussed him once before. On this day, we spoke freely. Well, she did. I sat in silence as questions rose to the surface. I said, "interesting" a lot and then let the quiet re-enter the conversation so that she would continue. He played football. He is older than my mother, though not by much. He has been in and out of jail most of his adult life as far as she knows but she doesn't know much. When my dad adopted me officially in 1989 they had to satisfy a court requirement and attempt to inform him of what was happening. At that time, the information they had for him suggested he was in California but no one was really sure. In any event, he never responded, never stood for me as his own, and thus, in the eyes of the law as it had been in my heart, my dad, Kevin, became my dad. This other man, the one I share genetic history with, has spread his seed freely through his life. I know I have at least 3 half-siblings (but not their names) and, most likely, several more.

After that conversation, my sister and I left for New York. The original purpose of the trip was to be with my dad's mother, Modear, for her 75th birthday. My dad's entire immediate family would be there. My uncles and aunts, their children, and us. My mother and I spent a lot of time together when she and my dad arrived, 4 days after my sister and I had been in the city, and talked about my dad. I said some things about him that I had never said before. Things that maybe I've taken for granted throughout my life with him as my father.

"He's a good man. Honorable," I said. Honorable? I'd never said that about anyone before in my life. It feels archaic. It's a statement made about the men of Camelot or in Roland's world on his quest for The Dark Tower. Roland and his ka-tet say I have forgotten the face of my father when their actions cause offense. But, as I watched my dad this week and the love he has for his family, all of us, I felt it. He is an honorable man. He wants to do good things. To do what is right.

We all gathered in a Chinese restaurant for Modear's party. She sat in the center of our private room as her family shared their feelings about her. My dad was second to speak. He talked of her commitment to him and his craft, her struggles with alcohol after she left his father and how she continued to care for them. How she kept him at the piano when he hated it til there was a point when he loved it more than just about anything in the world. He paused. His voice cracked. He teared up. We all did.

"I am so happy that we are all here to share this with you and that you are here to share this with us. The life you've had, you shouldn't be here but your will, your spirit, has kept you here with us. God has greater plans than even we know. I hope that I have shown you and can continue to show you how much I love you," my dad said.

He remembered the face of his mother.

And I remember the face of my father.

"And I been good to you, run run run, and I been oh so true." - Roy Ayers, Running Away (Classic Jazz Funk Vol. 1)

Summer sun.
Kingsley Shacklebolt.
That good kind of scared.
Comedians living, laughing, and fighting together.
Colfax Avenue Elementary. What What!
Album Listening Parties.
Going Away Parties.
Sweet Sixteen Birthday Parties.
Sleepover Parties?
Trading digital underground, abc, apache, and other old school lyrics with the hsw over IM.
All my favorite drug movies.
Young actresses driving sensible cars.
Knowing that you can't change a person but that you can definitely change their clothes.
"The idea is that women, anyone really, but particularly women because they don't hear it enough, can be the best at whatever they want. That they can take action and do what needs to be done. That they can be silly, sexy, smart, strong, and special all at once. That it's great to be comfortable in your own skin, be who you are, live life to the fullest, and have a great time doing it."

Yeah. You tell 'em, McG.