Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Dance only if you can

Damn near every time I step in the club I have this one question that bubbles up on me like bad bbq, “What the fuck are they doing on the damn dance floor?” I mean you go to the typical non hood bay area spot and fools are looking like they’re either profiling for the latest coochie flashing pop stars video or even worse, standing in the middle of the god damn spot texting. Yeah yeah I know, people like to text. But kill that noise on the dance floor. Unless your baby’s mama is telling you she’s got your signed hard covers of Miracleman over an open flame and she’s going to torch them unless you can explain why some fifteen year old breezy keeps calling, you don’t have to return the damn text at that moment. To quote an old tune “So all you fly mothers, get out on the floor and dance. Dance I said!” Dance like you mean it, like your life depended on it. Get loose on the coordinated movements and all that noise. Just free flow like you don’t know how to do shit but let the music take you over. Dance like you’re possessed. Fuck it , get possessed by the music. Stop talking so much. Put the drink down, stop caring about what she thinks you look like, or whether or not he’s noticing your ass. Stop dancing like every move is just a precursor to getting banged or doing some banging. Enjoy the music. In short, dance like Elephant man up above.
Questions abound. “Why oh Why, Afrogeek, are you picking on those poor unfortunate souls who think they can dance but really have just watched too much bad MTV?” Many reasons my friends, many reasons. First off, I’d like to feel comfortable at more than one club in my area. Right now, I can only really cut loose at the local Oakland spot that spins dance hall on a regular. Second of al, my hope is that if full on negritude revives its dominance of the dance floor, maybe dancing will stop getting as gentrified as my neighborhood. I mean it’s all good to have all kinds of folk up in the dance floor, but we of the burnt faces need to be holding it down proper, essentialized notions of blackness or not. And I’m tired of not being able to dance without a female partner for fear of being mistaken as the dude who is pushing up on females. I dance because I feel the music and I like to sweat, not because I want to hump. If I want to hump, I’ll say something like... “Wanna hump?”
Of course the third and final reason I’m picking on foul fools who think they can dance but just end up pissing off anyone with a sense or rhythm has absolutely nothing to do with anything noble. It’s because I hate white people. Ok, not all white people. More like this one fat, unctuous, retarded, bloated, pasty faced, sour milk breath, splotchy skinned, cubic zircona wearing, hobbit looking, friction thigh having, pork sandwich eating, pee drinking, pre marital sex having outcast from the black sheep of the family known as the butt uglies. But at the time she was reping so much more than that.
Peep game: I’m riding shotgun with my boy Moki at the bar he bounces at, just helping out ,doing my bit, you know; Checking I.d.s, clearing off tables, helping keep a lid on shit on a crazy Saturday night at a bar I affectionately refer to as a place where you can end up with period blood on your pants. Real talk. It’s crazy in this piece. Anyway, I’m chilling at the door when the poster child for abortions (with a coat hanger if necessary) walks up to me and offers the following repertoire:
Skank Ho: You voting for Obama?
Me: No.
Skank Ho: You a republican?
Me: No
Enter Skank Ho #2
Skank Ho #2: Shut up, you can’t ask him questions like that. He could be a felon or something.
Original Skank Ho: You shut up, I got two black children I can say whatever I want.

I know what you’re going to ask me. “So what happened after you smacked the taste out her mouth?” The truth is I don’t hit women nor do I conversate with people who have less than ten brain cells, so I had to let it go. But then this dizzy, disrespectful mother of two doomed black children starts hollering Too short lyrics on the dance floor. I wanted to walk up t her and say “Hey, dingbat! You are in spitting distance of Oakland. No one here gives a fuck that you know all the words to a Too short song. Shut the hell up!” But she was knocking drinks off of tables from across the bar so I couldn’t get close enough to fully get my point across. But yeah. That’s why I felt the need to do this post. Go dance like Elephant man and leave the rest alone, ya heard?

Monday, May 19, 2008

RIP Rory Root

I worked for this man. He was not the best boss. But he was a decent person and gave me my first job at a comic book store. I will miss you Rory. When I'm feeling a little more stable about it I'll write about the time I saw Rory naked. True story. For now, I think I'm still too fucked up to laugh about it.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

I wish Tom waits was one of my white friends

Picture me in college. Ithaca New York. I'm dating one of the cutest women I've ever known in my life. We share cigarettes, talk politics and teach each other the joy of discreet affection. The world is far from perfect and soon I will be forced to leave this idyllic scnerio due to too big a mouth and a serious lack of cash flow. But I don't know that at the time. At the time, I fall asleep every night with a small marijuana scented red headed Grecco-Peruvian listening to Tom Waits Rain Dogs on tape. I still love that girl and I still love Tom Waits.

The girl I have spoken to in years. But whenever I need to feel a sense of wonder in a time of misery, I know I can rely on good old Tom. I swear I thought the man was black for the first year I knew of him. Only a black man could make feeling bad sound so good I thought. Shows what I know. I've had the good fortune to see the man live twice. I count those shows among the best, like Maceo Parker and Nina Simone. If you get a chance go. If you don't pick up everything he's ever done and bow done to the drunken raspy melancholy that is Tom waits.

Sunday, May 04, 2008

An open letter to my white friends

When they come for me, maybe this year, maybe the next, whenever they come for me I will need allies. I will not need people to be afraid for themselves. I will not need people to acknowledge their limitations. I will not need anyone to call my mother. I will need you, my white friends, to stand up and say "It is wrong that you do this to my black friend." Yes, refer to me as your black friend, so that no one can forget me. I do not think it will be other black people that will come for me. So you as a white person standing up for me will have an extra significance. If you need help with the idea of doing this, watch all 12 minutes of a white man standing for his black friends.

Feel it in the air

The era of Black independent film, as one viewer so interestingly phrased it “Not coming from a place of hurt.”, is coming. I’m less sure how I feel about the statement than I feel about black folks doing films not scripted to the whims of Hollywood, yet not all artsy-fartsyed out. Regular readers and friends are aware of my association with the infamous “I’m through with white girls”. A more meditative, and frankly more visual compelling flick that I just came back from was Medicine for melancholy. Comparisons between the two flicks beg to be made but that’s someone else’s charge. I just want people to go out and see this study of: Blackness, Hipsters, San Francisco, color saturation, the lack of melanin, and the abundance of isolation urban life sometimes offers. The website gives the skinny of the flick, but I’ll sum it up briefly here: What happens after a one night stand between alternegroes in the city by the Bay?
And yeah, I’m sure this will be on DVD at some point. But you know what? Go out and support independent artist, especially black ones. If you went to see Iron man, which I did and loved (Stay until the end), then you ca go out and see what someone of your generation is trying to put down on celluloid. Don’t be a buster!

P.S: Good news, I'm through with White girls will have a week run at the Roxie theater in San Fran in the middle of june. Come by, meet the afrogeek, hang out with indie movie folk. It'll be cooler than a polar bear's toenails

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Real talk #1

To officially start off the subset of this blog called real talk I actually have some real talk from my man Moki. Moki is my dude that I call when the white man at my work says some shit that makes me want to remind him that not only do I not need his job but he's not going to need his teeth much longer if he keeps being so cavalier in his manner towards me. Moki don't tell me to calm down, doesn't ask me to be reasonable, doesn't try and explain senior whiteys internal motivation. Moki just says shit like "Sometimes you need to remind people where you come from." and "Game recognize game son. You playing chess while these cats be playing checkers."

Occasionally Moki leaves me messages on my machine about the state of the world as he sees it. My man gave me the most stunning break down as to why th war in iraq will not be won by the West. "They strapping bombs to little retarded girls man. We can't handle that shit. You ready to put a bomb on a retard and send her ass out to Osama and whoever? Nah man, we ain't got the stones for this fight."

So in deference to the homie who only speaks that real talk i submit the following transcript of a voicemail I got from him last month.

Hey you what’s going to irritate me? What’s going to irritate me is the next time that I never hear a white mother fucker make an excuse for another white mother fucker about some shit they did that’s hella faulty but somehow I’m supposed to understand. Uh, John Mccain? Can you please stop apologizing now for the anniversary of Martin Luther King assassination, stop apologizing now for not understanding all the issues at the time when you voted against martin luther king day as a holiday and somehow now you’ve seen the error of your ways and “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking about and..” Listen man, I would just have more respect for white mother fuckers who said “Listen man, the only reason there ain’t no holiday for you black people in America is because…you really haven’t done shit, ok? Let’s just be clear about that. As far as we’re concerned, peanut butter, stop signs, uh building this mother fucker on your back and getting strapped with lashes, hey nigga, you ain’t done shit. So until you’ve done some shit like, you know, mother fucking, you know, straight genocide of a people, disenfranchising whole countries, uh, you know, all that shit, hey man, ain’t a mother fucking holidays for you people unless you do some shit. Cause right now we’re not that impressed. Martin Luther King? Who the fuck was that nigga? We don’t give a fuck about him. Nigga please. Get the fuck out of here.” But all that other shit about what they talking about Oh hey we didn’t know…whatever man. Why though? Why do you want me to believe this shit man? Terrible. John Mccain (In bad John Mccain voice “Arrgh, Sorry, seen the error of my ways. I didn’t know what I was thinking” White person you knew exactly what you were thinking. Real talk. Real Talk.

Rev. Wright for president.

I swear I’m about to start a new section of Afrogeeks called Real Talk. Real Talk is where no reckless tongue wagging is allowed and real negroidal individuals get to present real negoridal facts without fear of caucosoid or other reprisals. And my first guest speaker would be the Rev. Jeremiah Wright. I’m listening to this preacher trying to figure exactly what he’s saying that’s so twisted. Shit, He reminds me of The good rev. Cecil Williams back in the day at Glide. That’s good church right there. But its in his statements and in Obama’s lack of support for those very statements that I find the courage to say (write) the thing that I’ve been passionate but hushed about for so long. Many will accuse me of deliberately taking the counter position just to be contrary, but hopefully now, if you understand and empathize with what the good reverend was saying you’ll see my reaction as more than mere thoughtless banter…


I ain’t ever felt that dude. Not since day one. If I have a black president I want one that demonstrates his negritude in a discernible way. I don’t need a great apologizer, that shit just sets us loud dark boisterous negroes back; “If Obama can behave, why can’t you?” Cause I’m still black in America dagnabit! I behave well enough to keep a job and help folks out when I can. That’s about all the good I got in me. When fools step up otherwise, they get beat down. I need a president that can feel that. Not a dude that hears a jay-z tune from three years ago and tries to incorporate it into his shtick. Along the same lines, the politics game Obama played with the Reverend Wright has me seriously questioning dude’s integrity. He went from I don’t know nothing about no hate speech, to a more polished version of “Can’t we all get along” to “Forget that old crusty preacher.” Ok, if he wasn’t down from jump then where’s the problem with saying that? Or how about “I wasn’t in church on that day. He don’t say that shit around me.” Or what would have made me vote for the dude “Yeah, that’s my preacher. So what? You don’t like what he said? Don’t go to his church.” I want to go up to Obama and ask “Homie, where’s your nut sack?”

I know I’m giving up my black people card by hating on Obama. Well let me just get this out the way while I’m at it: I hate Common! I hate all positive rappers! I hate Lil’ Wayne! I don’t find Asian women particularly attractive! There, ya happy now?

So who am I voting for? Peep the conversation below ot learn more about why disdain for Obama and why I voted for the Ice queen from the Chronicles of Narnia-minus the cool cornrolls.

me: Told you about that punk ass obama
7:40 AM Halima: ggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. lrejworuieoqir eqwklj1U9010
7:41 AM is how I feel about him right about now. Don't double back and condone after your Race 101 and brushing your shoulders off...I should take his penis away from him I am so bloody putoff!
7:42 AM me: See, anyone can be down for the cause when there ain't no niggers around. It's harder to be black when some darkies with inappropriate syntax and grammar are around, "dem cousins" so to speak. The rev wright happens to be that loud cousin. Act like ya heard
7:43 AM Halima: Exactly! The loud ghetto, mother-was-a-crack-head cousin that has not place in assimilation.
I have a whole side of them--and I LOVE the hell out of them-inside and outside the house.
7:44 AM Obama missed that part of Blackness in the slums of Hawaii with his culture-friendly grandfather..
Honolulu I mean..
me: Like I beensaying!
7:45 AM But ya'll obama lovers keep talking like he's a secret revolutionary
While he's given no evidence to support that idea
7:46 AM Halima: LOL! there is nothing secret about his faux revolution. I still love him, think he's sexy and would have his babies if I were not afraid that Mrs. Obama would black my eye, but I am disappointed.
7:47 AM Obama is a politician, understandable. But even as a politician running for president, he screwed up. Just don't pull any more fooleywang or black folks are going to throw you in that Colin Powell and Condeleeza Rice pot--the one where Dave Chappelle trades you for a white person!
me: Give me an old crusty white woman who's husband cheats on her and plays the saxophone with negroes any day of the week, at least I know where her foibles lie.
7:48 AM Shit, what we need to do is call in Dave as a write in candidate.
7:50 AM Halima: She is so crusty and pickled, hell hath no fury over a woman in power who is unloved and overlooked for an intern.
"Billary's" politics are scary, sometimes scarier than Bush's.
7:51 AM me: But they are known.
Halima: At least Bush was/is outright with is rubbish, but Billary hides her real views and pretends to be all left-wing when really she is a republican-dike bitch in pearls!
7:52 AM me: Look Hillary is like that bullshit little street corner dealer who don't let a mother fucking thing slide. If its 2 for $5, then its 2 for $5, not $4.95 and i'll hit you up later for the rest. And god forbid that little hoppers momma hit him in the morning cause then he's busting dope fiends heads all day every day. That's HIllary, she'll make shit personal but she'll get her money.
7:55 AM Halima: LOL!!!
7:56 AM me: Real talk!
7:57 AM Halima: Real talk, she's still scary.
________________________________________ 5 minutes
8:02 AM me: I need a scary commander in chief. I was reading the new Richard Price novel "Lush life",( if you love the Wire, read homies shit Dude wrote clockers), anyway there's this Yemeni in there talking about how he loves Bush talking all "Where I'm from our father's don't explain things, they just do it. Maybe you don't understand why at first, but you do what he tells you because he's your father. later on you realize he was right all along. Bush is the father of the country." And while there's no way I'd go that far, like ever, sometimes the president just needs to be able to lay down the goon hand without having to explain a good god damn thing. And you can bet, once you give hillary the keys to the white house, that goon hand is going to get some exercise. First thing to go? All female interns with iqs lower than 92
8:03 AM Halima: Wait, is my IQ lower than 92? I need an IQ test.
8:04 AM me: Would you suck Bill clinton off? If so, then yes
8:05 AM Halima: I like the colored daddy philosophy from the Yemeni dude, its so colored..."But why I gotta do this" say Halima. "Because I said so now go before I take my belt off" says her father (more so Mother)..
8:06 AM Gross. I can feel the salad I ate for breakfast inching up my throat.
I do not do pinks!
me: You realize this entire conversation is going on Afrogeeks, yes?