*©Jesus as qtd. by D.L. Hughley
+I went out for dinner and drinks last night in SpaHa and felt myself outside of myself. I'm usually exuberant but I was strangely quiet. I felt unfun and subsequently guilty like I dissapointed the dear ones. I don't really know if I dissapointed I just have expectations for myself that I project onto others. I try to be snappy and fun even when I don't feel like it. I expect others to be snappy and fun and generally hound my dears into gregarity. I guess I'm hoping they will pick up the slack 'cause I'm tired of "keeping the party going."* It's a big responsibility and therein lies my admiration for Christ-the reason for the season. Church.
+Unhinged by the popo's terrorism of Black people (pre and) post murder of the groom, and assault of the groomsmen, Iquo and I marched in the "Shopping for Justice" protest last Saturday. Arriving 5 or 10 minutes before her, I stepped through the police barricade on Central Park South and 6th and joined the tens of thousands of Negroes equally sick of sorrow songs. Still there were tears trailing down the face of a Black woman bystander in the front of the scaffolded Palace Hotel or of the burly Black father and teenage son on 34th. And much more laughter than I'd expected, triggered once by the call of a resourceful young protester: "Out in the streets they call it..." he screamed. We responded, without missing a beat, "Murder." Two twin teen Black brothers with CZ-clasped earlobes and oversized 'fur' bombers marched behind me with a boombox blasting a protest song. Iquo wondered aloud if they recorded it. I responded authoritatively that a handful of rappers were cutting their own response songs before adding that they were probably tuned to the radio. But in a remorseful flash of post knee jerk dismissiveness, I turned 'round and asked the one with the bandana, "Who's that?" He said, "Me and by brother." I quickly apologized to Iquo, "You were right." They passed us looking to share the homemade sounds with other protesters and handed a couple of free discs sharpied 'Twin Life Entertainment" to some interested middle aged black women. We pressed on despite the aghast disgust of onlooking White shoppers.
+Dallas and Joshua have notable year end lists. Dallas' includes songs not released in '06. Brilliant. Everything I came to love-for the most part-was old(er) shit I happened upon. I much prefer lists of the best things listened to in 2006 then the best things released in 2006. It's realer if less utile. Joshua's is indicative of his consumptive breadth. He mines much music spotlighting a ton of clear sparklers and conversation sparking blood diamonds. I find year end lists taxing. Last year, I had difficulty remembering what I liked. This year LastFM helped in the cataloguing but I don't listen to everything via iTunes and some shit I really like I don't listen to that much. And I'm in an apathetic funk for the lack of crackling soul music. What happened to LaToiya Williams? Beyoncé played woman scorned on B'day about as poorly as (I hear) she plays Dina in Dreamgirls. LaToiya captured it perfectly on "Fallen Star." I miss her much. Bilal too. Whereas the ubiquitious and increasingly rabid B' Debbie Allen'ed and screeched for crazy's sake. Bilal's leaked shit* stinks of it. So to did the "The Root", dearly missed D'Angelo's shaky as sanity masterwork. The Boys of "Dial My Heart" fame, friends of L boogaloo, and last I knew residents of Atlanta selling silver Ankhs to earthy AUC co-eds, had this hymn "Call on Ma'At." They invoked Ma'At to illustrate the imporance of balance. If you let my cousin tell it, I'm enchanted by imbalance. Not too long ago she pleasantly but firmly characterized all my friends as crrrazy. Sincerely offended by the blanket condemnation, I watered up and stridently defended those of mine that walk the line. I love odd drama. I like fresh stories. I'm endeared to eccentricity. (I however don't like awkward and I'm ambivalent about corny.) I'm wholly disinterested in normalcy in process or product. I'd prefer that the scales be on tilt and that's where I split with Monie Love in her radio interview with the abominable snowman who I'd more liken to Dorothy's scarecrow than a button nosed stack of balls. What the fuck's so great about balance? It's as useless as consistency. Her argument would be better supported by calls for quality or integrity. A hustle despite its appeal to Negroes who shortsightedly define themselves by it and others who revel in its spectacular coonheartedness is still just a hustle. However many homies in the feds.
+If I had your mailing address, I sent you a Christmas card--I usually send New Year's cards to the non-Christians but I had these cards with a Black angel on them that were too cute (for which) to substitute. If I didn't I'm wishing you fullness this Holiday Season and the rest it precipitates (we call it 'itis) and exceptionality in 2007.