I Got Nuttin’ But Love For You, Heavy
Just a quick post to commemorate the loss of Heavy D. Man, we already miss you. Your music was the sound of my youth. I grooved to you late at night, drunk off my a$$ at my first “grown-up” college parties. Later, when I quit film school and moved to Hollywood to try my hand at a film career, you were one of the first celebrities I ever met… at a party… where you stomped on my peeptoe sandals. And apologized like a gentleman. You even called me “baby girl”. Many of my friends and colleagues had friendships with you, so I would hear about you in passing, always with positive warm thoughts.
As for myself, that encounter with you was thanks to Chris Tucker. He brought in this video when the film I was working on (my first ever job on a real live movie set that was about to implode after the director parted ways with the studio four weeks before production start) was in desperate need of a helmer. I remembered the song, but those long dark days in the Sterling Memorial Library had left me ignorant of music video history. So, you also saved my job… and that job started my career.
So, I miss your music. Thanks for the memories and the leg up. And, always, D, I got nuttin’ but love for you, honey.
Pat Buchanan Showing His A$$… Again
When will MSNBC and its advertisers stop giving this asshat a platform for his bigoted BS? He uses his age as a cover to get away with referring to the President as Al Sharpton’s “boy”, now this with the “liberal plantation” metaphor. Plantation? Really? That old chestnut needs to retired. Just like Pat.
And just in case it sounds like I’m piling on against Grampa, here’s another lengthy example that the man hasn’t lost his faculties, he’s just a bigot.
A Brief for Whitey » Patrick J. Buchanan – Official Website
First, America has been the best country on earth for black folks. It was here that 600,000 black people, brought from Africa in slave ships, grew into a community of 40 million, were introduced to Christian salvation, and reached the greatest levels of freedom and prosperity blacks have ever known.Wright ought to go down on his knees and thank God he is an American.
Second, no people anywhere has done more to lift up blacks than white Americans. Untold trillions have been spent since the ’60s on welfare, food stamps, rent supplements, Section 8 housing, Pell grants, student loans, legal services, Medicaid, Earned Income Tax Credits and poverty programs designed to bring the African-American community into the mainstream.
Governments, businesses and colleges have engaged in discrimination against white folks — with affirmative action, contract set-asides and quotas — to advance black applicants over white applicants.
Churches, foundations, civic groups, schools and individuals all over America have donated time and money to support soup kitchens, adult education, day care, retirement and nursing homes for blacks.
We hear the grievances. Where is the gratitude?
Searching for Inspiration
I’m at a dead halt with the novel… not for lack of wanting to write, or pages for that matter. Lord knows I’ve spun out reams of outline trying to recast the ending…, no, right now I’m trying to remember what was so damned exciting about writing a novel in the first place. Wouldn’t becoming surf instructor have been more fun? And better for my silhouette?
I found this essay on the NEA website and thought I’d share a bit that helped me get a paragraph out before the darkness crowded back in. Now I’m off to make some cookies or eat that Ben and Jerry’s Red Velvet ice cream I bought for just such a time….
National Initiatives: Operation Homecoming – Essays on Writing
In the end, writing is like a prison, an island from which you will never be released but which is a kind of paradise: the solitude, the thoughts, the incredible joy of putting into words the essence of what you for the moment understand and with your whole heart want to believe.
Jennifer Egan and Narrative
Just a blip: Jennifer Egan has a new narrative piece up on The Guardian (http://ow.ly/5OxIE). I appreciate what she’s doing here to push the marginalia of writing into the center, but I’m not sure this amounts to more than an experiment. Reminded me of when POV cameras went into use in film/TV.
A Game of Boxes
Day 23: The packing continues. I’ve lost the rest of my party somewhere in the Kitchen Box Hills. I pray for them, but I must push on. The Battle of the Bookcases cost me dearly, and there are yet skirmishes near dawn and dusk. Ahead, I see only Desk, File Cabinet and the Valley of Death: Garage. Today I rally the last of my strength for a dash to Storage Unit to regroup.
My Prince, Kenji, has near abandoned me. I fear he’ll soon choose a new liege and then I will be truly truly lost.
– Excerpt from A Game of Boxes, forthcoming
The Zombie Apocalypse
I love zombie stories. The descent into dystopia, the terror and frenetic scramble for survival. The agonizing choices and emotional trauma of having loved ones turn into ravenous flesh eaters that one must decapitate. Ah. Yeah. Boy.
Apparently I’m not the only survivalist-conspiracy theorist running around. The folks over at the CDC have gotten into the act as well and published their own Preparedness 101: Zombie Apocaplyse guide. Reading this now.
Oh, yeah, and working on the book. Which does not have any zombies in it. **sad face**
Big Hair Day, Must Be In Jersey
I’m traveling thru the interior of New Jersey sans hair product courtesy of American Airlines. And it’s raining.
Bangers and Mash
When I visited England back in 2006, one of my favorite dishes was sausage and mashed potatoes with gravy. This chilly rain has me in the mood so I’m making a So Cal version with chicken sausage, organic herb gravy and small red potatoes. Looks good so far!
Weather -related
The rain is pouring down, I’ve got some music on, the dog is tucked on my lap and a movie featuring a guy I sorta-kinda-almost-went-out-with-once is on TV. He still has all his hair and his body is screaming hot. Memories.
Cocktails?
From my cocktail research via Ardent Spirits Behind the Bar blog:
Oh, barkeep! Might I trouble you for a whiskey?
The word Highball is a railroad term used to indicate to the conductor on steam trains that there was enough water in the tank, thus the train could go full speed ahead—the water level was indicated by a ball connected to a float inside the tank, so when the ball was high, the tank was full. In a television documentary that aired in 1999, there appeared a guy who rode the rails during the depression, and he said that when the train was about to leave, “they gave you the highball—that’s two shorts [whistle blows] and a long. Man, you better be ready then ‘cause he’s pulling out.”
I’m tracking down cocktail recipes because I’ve come up with a fiendish scheme. I’m planning a series of giveaways that will start at some point later this year. Probably summer because I have promised myself not to actually START any new projects until I Finish The Damn Book™ (also as Finish The Damn Book Already™). Some of these cocktails actually appear in the novel, some of them are sort of implied by events, and others would be great pairings for certain chapters… yes, I’m offering cocktail pairings to go along with my book. I know “playlists” are what’s hip, but, frankly, I have Lady Gaga and Stereophonics on my iPod so you probably don’t want any suggestions from me on the musical front. Unless they come with cocktail pairings as well.
My favorite drink is a martini. Vodka. Dry. Like so dry just wave the vermouth in the vicinity of the ice you use to chill the vodka and you’re my best friend. I like it dirty. With a twist. Or with bitters. Sometimes, I’ll drink a lemon drop (only if the sugar is big fat crunchy crystals), or ginger. I only prefer chocolate in men, not liquor. I used to drink Cosmos, but abandoned them one horrific Lenten season when I gave up sugar. I’m not a fan of the classic gin martini, a little too herbaceous for me, but haven’t settled on a favorite vodka. I’m partial to Grey Goose and Belvedere (ooo la la, the French do know how to get a girl drunk and out of her knickers, don’t they?), but recently tried a vodka from Austin, TX that has turned my head.
The fortuitously named, Tito Beveridge (who clearly samples his product because he has a few songs posted on the company website that he’s front man on… or he could just be a prototypical Texan aka exhibitionist. LOL. Advice to Tito: Auto. Tune.) came up with some corn-based witchcraftery that drinks like smooth icy goodness — Tito’s Handmade Vodka. No bitter back bite. No stomach burn. No watery eyes. Mmmm. I was going to post a pic, but I can’t find a clean one of the bottle, so I may update later if I can manage to take one at home. Ha. I do encourage (disclaimer: those of you of legal drinking age) to try it. I bought one from my new favorite Syrian liquor store clerk/hottie last week and tossed back more than was prudent once I got it home and chilled it. Good thing I didn’t have to drive from the living room to my room. And now the dog knows better than to sleep on my side of the bed.
If I hit the jackpot it will be an original pressing, otherwise a reprint.
The cocktail research has lead me to a number of pretty fantastic looking books (of course! more books!) that I may purchase or see if I can have “donated” to the giveaways. I’m excited to start experimenting with more spirits. For the book. **bats eyelashes** I flirted with fruity cocktail drinks in my youth, but prefer my drinks like my men: hard, with as little adulteration as possible. Also, who could resist this artwork? Kinda makes me feel tipsy just looking at all that detail…. I’m thinking I may need to find a stellar bartender to conspire with on this project. Also: a liver donor.
Over the years, I’ve gone from college binge drinking (sorry, mom), to 20-something cosmos and infusions, to experimental oenophilia, a stint as a tea-totaler (and, yes, I was exactly as much fun as one would imagine), to my current re-embracing of straight spirits, possibly chilled, measured by the finger if possible. I’m trying to recruit my girlfriends, but at my tender age, so many are still in the thrall of yoga and clean-living or have small children at home they are trying to impress. Sigh.
I leave you with tonight’s cocktail experiment. As mentioned above I’m normally opposed to fruity drinks, but can’t resist this one because of the name.
I'm not mature enough to lead a post with this. Or just too chickenshit. Or sober.
