A Ramble on Music

Lately, I've been too busy living La Vida Low Budget to really deal with the world around me.

But it's funny how things work; I can't afford my satellite subscription, and so on Sunday afternoon previous my TV went dead. What sucks about satellite is when your service is down you can't even get local channels, the cheap fuckers. So I have no idea of what's going on in the world on a daily basis, or what the weather's gonna be, and I still haven't seen pictures of Sammy Sosa's lightened skin. And I'm not that interested enough to go Google it.

But what I DO have is Link TV, Satellite's public access channel. I get world wide news five months later, but by the same token... what's really going to change in the next few days anyway? I mean really? We have a brown-skinned President and the general novelty has worn off. The poor thing is swimming upstream against the worst economics seen in this country in a long time, two wars he didn't start, and the worst (and most embarrasing) case of racism I've ever seen.

And Bloomberg bought himself an election. And P.S. on Bloomberg... a few years ago when I didn't see the point in voting when you're at the bottom of the foodchain, some very liberal Jewish people convinced me of the numbers game. It worked with Obama. It didn't work with Bloomberg. I'm back to being jaded. I don' t really care what's happening in the world; it's not helping me and my immediate problems anyway.

However.

What does, and always interests me is music. I think that music tells more about a culture or an outlook or a time period than anything else. Music transcends language. If you don't understand the language the songs lyrics or in, or if the music has no lyrics, if you listen you can still feel the mood, the culture behind the song.

Music can create visceral reactions in people, which always interests me. What causes them to have such a reaction? And what's interesting is that the more "primitive" or simplified the music, the stronger the reaction. HipHop is a classic case of music and strong reactions for and against... but when you think about it most hiphop is stripped to the most basic elements; a beat, and some lyrics. And it fascinates me that some people can't even get past the (primitive) beat to pay attention to what's really going on. They automatically hear the beat and assume it's "that kind" of music and they don't want anyting to do with it.

I grew up listening to music; it provides the score for the soundtracks of my earliest memories:

• Poppy in France bringing home a 45 of Ray Charles singing "Eleanor Rigby". Playing it over and over, loving how Ray had added soul to an already powerful Beatles song.
  
  
• James Brown singing "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" and me thinking that maybe it was about Poppy who loved to make bags out of old jeans legs... but even at three years old I knew I'd never met James Brown so how could he know about Poppy's bags?
  
  
• Standing at the turntable watching the label of an Archie Shepp record go around and around... the music filling me with fear all of a sudden so I cried. And me not being able to explain why it scared me so.

And many many other memories...

As I got older and went through school and life, even though I didn't follow a musical path my love for music has always stayed and my interest in the cultural differences or the history has grown. I may not like all of what I hear, too loud, too aggressive, too sad, too European--but I will at least take a listen to hear the story the music has to tell.

I'm amazed that most people won't take the time to listen to something other than what they know, or "like". Or don't listen at all. There are so many stories they are missing, a whole understanding of the world that they'll never see. Never "get".

So all I have is LinkTV right now, but the beautiful thing about that is the half-hour blocks of world music that they'll play. Music Videos from all over the world. Some known, like Shakira. Some known only to the culture they're from.

For fun, I try to listen to the story of Africa... are there any African-inspired beats? Harmonies? I owe this latest game with myself in part to the Sun's percussussion group, Speaking In Rhythms. The founder/leader of the group got a few kids together a few years back, and took them to Puerto Rico to learn about the African beats that go there via slavery. A few years later they got to Belize. This year they're trying to get to Peru.

Peru? Who knew Africans had made it to Peru? Around the same time CNC introduced me to Joe Arroyo, a salsero from Columbia. Two songs of his fascinated me; one I've already posted here about slavery in Columbia (Rebelion), but another, Yamulemao, caught my attention. A little digging into the song provided something very interesting:

"Yamulemau" was originally recorded as "Diamoule" by Laba Sosseh, a singer from the West African country Gambia. An interesting example of cultural interaction between Africa and the Americas, Sosseh was first inspired by popular Cuban music and salsa. Arroyo sings "Yamulemau" in the original African language, imitating the phonetics much the same way African artists like Sosseh have done with Spanish.

Here's the video:

And for fun, here is the original African version:

I could spend a good day (and probably will when time permits) playing both version over and over to hear where they cross, where they differ...

I digress a little.

But here's the thing; most music invites dancing. And if you think music evokes visceral reactions, dance does the same thing. Dance is the visualization of a culture and movements can be very particular to a region. But people travel... slavery happened and there are movements particular to Africa that are now world wide.

What started this post, the story behind the story, was that over at Keep it Trill, she posted a video of a baby dancing to "Stanky Leg". She posed the video as a test of your own racist reactions, and pointed out the rather vehement rather racist comments on YouTube. Someone pointed out the absence of racist comments under another video of an extremely blond French girl doing African dance (extremely well, I might add). Rather than repost the discussion or some of the comments I urge you all to go visit, cuz it was a very interesting discussion: Keep It Trill's blog post is here.

(For fun though, I also recommend going over to YouTube and viewing the original Stanky Leg and the hundreds of people who have posted themselves doing the dance--including some pink girls who do a pretty good job.)

One thing I brought up over there in passing, is how ashamed people can be made to feel about their culture or heritage. Frequently, this is the result of one group of people dominating another; the powerful group uses all the things indigenous to the dominated group against them. Breaks it down into a stereotype, so that the dominated group begins to hate those very things about them that are essential to their nature. We often can't see it when we look at ourselves, but if we look at other cultures maybe we're not so blinded by our own feelings to see it.

Case in point; my Native cousins. Babies snatched and sent to "Indian Schools", their hair cut and made to feel ashamed of what they were taken from; forbidden to speak their languages, sing their songs, dance to their music. We know it happened to the Africans too.

But those traditions linger. They got passed down despite the beatings, the mental and verbal abuse. And my Native cousins have been slightly more successful at reclaiming their heritage with pride than my African cousins have been. It's why I love pow wows; the Native beat, the dancing, the honoring of Native spirits and traditions.

I particularly love this video by Native actor/hiphop artist/activist Litefoot. I love that it's a Native beat, with Native singing and dancing but it's got a definite HipHop flavor:

And just for giggles, here's a collaboration between Caucasian and Aborignal Australians... but watch the video for the hints of AfricanAmerican robot-dancing:

And get past the "hiphop" beat to watch this video by New Zealand/Maori group Dam Native:

Further Adventures of the LowBudget Life

I never went back to Welfare. Fuck that. And I'm not answering the phone. I need to write my landlord a letter and tell her look I'm sorry... I just don't have it.

And I need to figure something out. I applied to two jobs at an ad agency I've ALWAYS wanted to work at. No response, other than "your application was submitted". Fuckers.

Then my printer died. Right in the middle of printing my picture of Charles Oakley. Just died. Luckily, my Poppy said he'd buy me a new one. I need a printer, a 13x19. I use it ALL THE TIME. But I wondered if maybe God is telling me to just quit, move on, find something else to do. The odds are against me. But. I don't WANT to do anything else. I am not cut out to do anything else. I know because I tried. Several times and for many years. Cuz except for the fact that I'm three months behind in the rent, Con Ed is over due, I have no Satellite and couldn't wait for my Food Stamps today, life is pretty good.

BigMan stayed over last night, because he wanted me to come sit with him while he went to the Clinic to try to resolve some of his health issues, one of which is "extremely low levels of potassium".

The Hospital I used to work at redid this major new clinic in the building I used to work in... it was a little freaky to walk in and have everything inside be COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. Even the elevator banks were moved. So after dropping the kid off at school, BigMan and I walked over to the clinic.

The guard sent us to the 8th floor. BigMan signed in. We sat for an hour... only to discover we were sitting in the ophthalmology clinic. The internal medicine clinic was on 7. So we go to 7 and sign in, and BigMan tells the receptionist that he doesn't have insurance. She says he has to go down to Patient Services and make arrangements. BigMan gets aggravated easily, though inwardly. I could feel him getting restless but the receptionist assured him it would only take a minute.

So we go down to 1 and find Patient Services. The woman rather boredly tells BigMan his clinic visit will be $50. "I don't have $50" he says. She looks at him blankly. She says there's a sliding fee scale but he has to bring in documentation. He tells her he's not working, has no insurance which is why he's at the clinic. Finally some little light goes off in her pea brain and she hands him the address of the Hospital's Medicaid office.

Of course he had none of the documentation needed; he was expecting to only go to the clinic. But still. Or maybe I'm just used to la Vida Low Budget and tend to come prepared. To be fair, the ER he walked into the other day for a check up merely gave him prescriptions and told him to go to the clinic for a follow-up, and he went through the ER without insurance--ya think maybe someone would mention something.

Needless to say... no clinic today. And BigMan needs to be insured. Even more than I do. But he's going to have all the same horrible issues I had when I tried to get the Sun on Medicaid... they want documentation but seem incredulous when the documentation supports your claim that you have no money. And BigMan REALLY needs to go to a doctor. Fast. He really needs medical coverage or free health care. And it's not going to happen.

So we went back to his place for a minute and I took a nap. I had to be back at the Sun's school by 2:30 to bring cupcakes to PerpetualMotion who now attends pre-K at the same place. PM turned 4 yesterday.

BigBear met me at the school and we did the cupcake thing. PreK kids are really cute. And squirmy. And headstrong. Especially PM.

When school let out, BigMan drove me to the supermarket. He's had the car from his partner again. It seems to me she's a lot nicer to him when I'm not around her so I've made myself kinda scarce.

For the first time in about a year, I actually walked out of the supermarket with foodstamps left over. I wonder if I can make them last till the end of the month?

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My last post I spoke about my frustration with BigMan and the timebending thing. And then I realized, should he ever stumble upon the blog (and no... this time I have not pointed him here to read SHIT since it doesn't seem to work out so well when I do) his feelings might be hurt. Might be, cuz he's pretty thick-skinned and I don't seem to phase him. But... I actually felt bad about that, cuz I do kinda like him. I wouldn't want to hurt his feelings. And I realized that right now I'm REALLY stressed about the living situation and when I'm stressed I go into chihuahua mode... lots of barking and nipping. I try not to take that out on people, but sometimes people just don't get out of the way. Or pick me up and pet me.

And I was feeling a little weird cuz I woke up the other morning thinking about the Scrub. Who I haven't really missed too much lately so it was sort of odd. And it was odd that it was vivid. And where in the past I would feel compelled to contact him, this time I didn't. But I've learned that sometimes those dreams aren't about the person, really, but more about something that's not right in your present situation.

And there's stuff with BigMan that's going to need some work... and while half of me wonders if it's really worth working on, the other half of me acknowledges that unlike most other people I've ever been in a relationship with, this one actually tries. It matters to him that he try. And that counts for a lot.

So I called him to tell him that if I had been more spicy than normal, I apologize... there's a lot going on. But then he pissed me off completely by totally taking it the wrong way. Ugh. Shit like that makes me tired. He came over later and we talked about it... and I pretty much told him again what I'd said the other day: I only say what I mean, and I only bother to tell stuff to people I care about it. So take it or leave it. We made up. He saved himself for another day.

Today in the car I'd said something implying I might get fed up and wander off one day, and he said "You ain't going NOwhere". It was such a funny declaration, and I laughed. On the one hand it said to me that no matter our differences he's committed to riding it out and won't just throw his hands up in frustration one day. Of course on the other hand...

...but I have a little faith in this one mainly because so far he has always been respectful of me; of my body, my feelings, my opinions, my heart...

The Theory of Relativity...

Einstein was a fucking genius. Yes, I know the world knows that already. He's famous for it.

But seriously, think about it. Who in the hell comes up with shit like the theory of relativity? What was he smoking? And is there any left?

The simplest version of any kind of an explanation that I found was this:

"Special Relativity says that every person has their own time. One person's clock says something different from another person's clock. The reason a person's time can be different from another's is because of Time Dilation, which can be thought of more easily by the Twin Paradox."

Time. Me and time don't deal with each other very well. I am always late, always behind, always trying to outrun time. There are always so many things I can do with my time--too many. The good part about that is that I am NEVER bored. Seriously. I can't remember the last time I was bored.

The thing is, there are things that I WANT to give my time to; and right now mostly it's my kid and being a mother. I essentially, am a stay-at-home mom and every full-time stay-at-home mom knows exactly how much time that takes. The problem with that is that most stay-at-home moms have a husband or partner who at least brings in the money so that she can be home with the kids and take them to karate or soccer or violin, help them with their homework, be there for them.

I don't have that, and that's a problem. A HUGE problem. And I'm wracking my brain trying to figure out how "full time stay-at-home mom" and "full time work-at-home graphic artist/photographer/illustrator" go hand in hand and seriously, I don't think they do. Cuz the other thing I notice is that other women who work at home full time have some kind of a help-meet... a nanny, a partner.

Now I could be wrong. Maybe I'm just rationalizing my failures away. It's a good possibility cuz I really am good at rationalizing.

But I know it's not because I'm NOT working that I'm broke. I work all the fucking time. I never ever (unless I'm really sick or have a migraine like I did about a week and a half ago when I crawled home, stripped at the door, got in the bed and slept all afternoon) am sitting around doing nothing. Yeah, I surf Crackbook. But seriously... while I'm surfing Crackbook I also have several other applications open, am probably trying to write, am probably cooking all at the same time and probably have a load of laundry going. AND, the main reason I surf Crackbook is contacts and networking with people. And I've gotten some work from that... so I can't say that Crackbook is a complete waste of time. Except for maybe when I play Scrabble or Wordscraper, but honestly, those games last days because I don't play consistently. I've long given up on Mafia Wars or Bejeweled Blitz cuz I don't have the time.

So enter the BigMan into the TimeSpace Continuum. Einstein says heavy objects bend time, and um, yeah. That would be true. BigMan takes up time. And I don't mind, I don't. I wanted it. But there's a downside to everything and the downside is that when he's here, in all fairness I really should sit with him and pay attention to him or talk to him or watch a movie with him. And I want to do those things, and I'm getting better at doing those things without my brain racing in my head saying "You know you could be doing this. Or that. And there's still THAT that needs to be done. And you could do a load of laundry too, while you're at it". He says I need to relax more, to get more sleep. He got kind of mad about it. And I told him listen... If I had the fucking time to sleep I would. But SOMETHING'S gotta give, and dishes don't wash themselves and laundry doesn't put itself away, and when the cat yukes on the rug I have to clean it and then of course there's work I need to do to finish projects.

Or, write, to clear my head, because it's essential to my well-being.

So he washes dishes for me, and mops the floor when I ask, and I like that, I do. And I appreciate it. But sometimes he just sits on the couch and bends time and THAT tends to piss me off.

Last week he'd gone home and I missed him and asked him to come back, and he did. But he was really bending time and it was making me nuts so when he went home I felt a little relieved.

And I'm not sure I should feel relieved when he goes home, considering how much I cried that I had no one when he wasn't here to bend time with.

Mr. True God, I'm not ungrateful. I really am not. I was specific in what I asked for and You pretty much sent what I asked except for one or two glaring exceptions (which I am really trying to weigh how essential they are to my happiness). I am trying to be patient and be cognizant of my narcissistic tendencies, and I am realizing more and more that I'm a lot more like my mother than I initially thought. Probably because the BigMan has certain tendencies that REALLY remind me of Poppy.

Poppy can bend time like no other. Poppy gets snarky when BigBear tells him what to do. "It's not what you say" he's said to her "it's the bossy way in which you say it".

Which gave me quite a start when the BigMan said exactly the same thing to me, only he used the words "condescending" and "relentless".

My response was, about a day later and in a joking fashion "Look, I don't give a shit about most people, and when I don't give a shit I don't say shit cuz it's not worth my time. So if I say something to you it's because I give a shit. And I am relentless in my explanation, and passionate in my delivery, and you should take this the way it's intended--from the heart--cuz if I DIDN'T give a shit, trust me, you'd never hear me say a fucking word."

And I do try to be rational and understanding and thoughtful when I speak but sometimes fuck, I just don't have time for all that. Just do what I say and your life will be a lot easier, can't you see that? Must I sugarcoat everything???

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The other day I started the process of applying for Welfare. The end result of that experience in Hell is that the next motherfucker who rants about "Welfare recipients who do nothing but collect checks and have children on my dime" within earshot of me is going to get slapped.

Why? Cuz the ones who have the fucking time to waste going through the process and dealing with the bullshit deserve to get it. And Welfare is designed to support just those very people, because anyone who REALLY desperately needs a break does not have the fucking time to deal with the bullshit.

On Friday the 30th I went about 10AM to the Welfare center and stood online for an application. The app booklet itself is fairly simple and straightforward; slightly more info is asked than on the Foodstamp app, but not much. But in addition there is this HUGE amount of fucking paper booklets that go along with it. You get a blue ticket and go up to the blue floor (all the signs are blue and the walls are blue--the FoodStamp Floor is lavender). And wait.

If you think the waiting room is full of nodding junkies and pregnant black women, um no. Pretty much a broad spectrum of ordinary folk and no, no Mexicans. Those motherfuckers all have jobs. Cuz they will work for less than minimum wage in slavery-like conditions as busboys and nannies and live 10 to a room to save money, and one day those motherfuckers drive up in their SUV and buy your house in Yonkers.

You can't be in a four-year college and get welfare.

You can't be working and get welfare.

And Welfare, in New York City, land of the overpriced housing market, only pays $280 towards your rent (in 1987, when the Professor and I took over the $200-a-month apartment next door to the parents and had just taken over the Diva's life, Welfare paid $197 a month). And they'll only pay THAT if you have "plan of action" that tells them how you plan on paying the rest of your $1,000+ rent. And no, bitch you can't have a job. Cuz that cuts into your budget. So really, you need Section 8 (and that list/program has LONG since been done) or someone who will pay the balance.

Except for the screaming/bored babies, it was pretty quiet with most folk avoiding eye contact. Nobody in their right mind REALLY wants to be there. Later on I peeped that the ones who DO make eye contact are the professionals.

So after sitting there all morning I met with a very nice Hispanic woman who took all--and I do mean all--my info and input it into the computer and told me all the shit I was going to have to do in the next 5 days just to keep my application open. "Non-compliance" means they immediately close your case. My case is already closed, I'm sure of it, but I digress.

One of the things you have to agree to is finger-imaging. Let alone the fact I've ALREADY been finger-imaged cuz of FoodStamps. Um, it's not like my fingerprints are going to change. But no... I would have to be finger-imaged again. I also had to have my child-care provider fill out this rather large booklet (which requires them checking off "yes" to questions like "Provider agrees to refrigerate leftover milk and formula" and supply their social security info and whether they themselves are receiving foodstamps or welfare) and bring the booklet back to the Center on the 4th. I needed proof of childcare to get my childcare allowance so I could go sit in the FEGS office all day.

I had some other paper to fill out from the landlord about my rental arrears, but the really nice worker had a Hispanic accent that was so thick I couldn't understand a fucking word she was saying (and seriously, that's thick, cuz I can even understand my Dominican hairstylist).

So on the 4th I dragged my sorry ass back up to the Center. This was Wednesday morning, about 10, after I dropped the Sun off to school. The line was out the door, down the block on both sides of the entrance. The longer side was the Welfare side, the shorter side FoodStamps.

I went first to the childcare section. I told the woman my kid was 10 and I could leave him in afterschool so I didn't need to provide any data. When I checked off "no" to the question "Could you accept a job today?" I meant no, not THAT day cuz it would be unexpected and I'd have to make arrangements to pick up the kid. She was very nice that woman, and spoke English and when I told her have a nice day I meant it.

Then next I went to the Yellow Floor with a Yellow Ticket, which was the HDU floor. That's the floor you go to when you have rental arrears or an Impending Eviction and are looking for a One-Shot Deal. There were nothing but women there, and later one lonely young man who was probably aging out of the foster care system. It was then that I remembered I'd been on that floor before, when I was in School and broke, and I hadn't had any relief from them then.

And ain't gonna get it now.

Welfare will only pay your back rent IF you are in court with a Pending Eviction AND you have a "plan of action" on how you're going to pay your rent once they pay the back rent. In other words... you need a job.

Which is sort of an oxymoron, don't you think? If you had a fucking job you wouldn't be behind in your rent.

And if like me, you're applying for Welfare cuz you've been looking for work/not making enough and DON"T have a job, they MIGHT pay your rental arrears IF the apartment is legal and the landlord provides documentation that it's legal AND you have a plan of action detailing how you plan on paying your rent from now on, especially since Welfare only pays $280.

And the worker rather snottily explained, IF you have a job you have to come report it and they get to DECIDE whether or not you're making too much.

I don't have time to figure that shit out. I walked out of there thinking fuck this, but went downstairs anyway to my mandatory job-training/FEGS orientation that was about an hour long.

Really, the talk the facilitator gave was about 20 minutes, in which she told us (all women, one pregnant and two who had small children) that we were REQUIRED to go sit in the FEGS office for 35 hours a week and work on jobskills. And look for jobs. And if we still couldn't find a job, they would assign us jobs. And no, we weren't working for "free", see... we were receiving benefits. Except, um... I was to report to FEGS the next day and STILL wasn't told I actually had Welfare yet.

In my head I was doing the time equation: 35 hours a week in a hot (probably) basement pasty-colored room with slow-ass people who had government jobs instructing me how to write a resume or practice my interview skills.

I have a fucking resume.

Maybe my interviewing skills suck. They probably do... I haven't had an interview in probably 5 years... but at some point I apparently interviewed pretty well since at one point in my life I made $87,000 a year. But I'll be goddamned if I sit in a hot fucking office sleeping and twiddling my thumbs when at least if I'm home twiddling my fucking thumbs, I'm networking Crackbook, working on shit, doing laundry, cooking, and applying for jobs. I have a computer and (so far, still) Internet service. I touch type 90 fucking words a minute.

IF I CAN'T GET A JOB FROM HOME, CUZ THE FUCKING AUTOMATED JOB APPS DON'T EVEN CALL YOU BACK, THE FUCK MAKES YOU THINK I'M GONNA GET A JOB THAT PAYS MY BILLS SITTING IN FEGS? Or better yet, working at my WEP assignment.

The pregnant girl said she was six months... the facilitator said that didn't matter. Your ass still needed to go sit in FEGS. And don't worry, they won't assign you anything like cleaning trains, you can do a customer service training course or a clerical gig. You know, filing all the fucking denied Welfare applications.

A colossal waste of a fucking day.

I'm really not sure what I'm going to do, but I know one Goddamn thing... Welfare is not for me.

But I don't think my landlord is going to like that too much so I'll just continue not answering the phone. She'll send me a nasty letter eventually. I'll deal with it then.

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On a happy note, time spent practicing something useful makes one better at whatever it is one chooses to spend time practicing. It's really nice if you actually ENJOY the time spent. In the Sun's case, he claims to not enjoy violin, but he was dared by Roberta to practice 6 days a week for two weeks and she bet him a dollar he would be better. And he did it, with not too much screaming. And he got better. He's got tone. He's even getting a little vibrato. when he plays "Eleanor Rigby" it almost sounds like singing. His "Minuet II" makes me want to dance a pretty waltz. I love when he plays "One-Masked Tango". And he can transpose "Florida Blues" into another key with no music... just his ear.

Little bastard. I'll never let him quit. The downside was I bribed him with a new phone if he met Roberta's challenge, which meant more to him than the dollar she promised. But I couldn't fulfill my end of the deal, since I owe Sprint a lot of money and they won't let me upgrade his phone. Shit like that bothers me even more than the landlord's nasty letters...

"Men Are Like Waffles

...Women Are Like Spaghettii..." is a statement that changed my life. I don't think I read the whole book but I read enough excerpts different places to get the gist of it, and I agree completely.

Particularly since my mind is a a huge bowl of spaghetti.

I actually started this post two weeks ago and didn't get to finish because my life is so jampacked there's not a whole lot I can do at one time. When I take something new on, invariably something else gets dropped even though I don't want it to. But I've learned it's just the way I work. There are only so many hours in the day... and whatever I do I do wholeheartedly and you can't do everything wholeheartedly. Which is why stuff gets dropped. It's awful. It disorients people I deal with, it fucks up projects I'm working on. But see, this is why I write. Because I started this post two weeks ago to explain the debate BigMan and I were having, and I'm glad I held on to the thought in writing because it's actually a pretty good way to remind myself of what I was thinking. But this actual post is going to be a little different, I think, than how it started out.

And I just realized, while writing the above paragraph, why I have such a hard time with continuity.

So to finish the epiphany I was having... I've stopped writing as much because the BigMan has entered my life and taken up that space/time I had to write in. And I don't mind... I like him. But I miss writing everyday. But there's just no time. And I have projects due but haven't been able to finish them because the time I would have spent obsessing over some project or another, I've been obsessing over my photography.

The payoff is that even I can say my photos are pretty good... and I am truly my harshest critic. I've recalled some things about my years in the darkroom, and the books I've read about Ansel Adams or Weegee or Cartier-Bressont or even my dad, and used them to a.) take better pictures and b.) "process" them better. I've gotten better at making them feel like old silver-gelatin prints, rather than digital. I'm happy with that.

But the downside is I owe two people who paid me work, and it's haunting me. And I know they are pissed as fuck. That "all-or-nothing" thing has a downside. And the ADD/OCD combo thing is tough to manage... because I'm obsessed until I'm distracted. And then I'm obsessed till I'm distracted. It sucks. I'm trying to manage it better; at least I realize what the problem is. And it's why I needed a groundwire. I prayed hard to the Higher Power to send me someone who could be tolerant of my isms, who would love me and who I could love (because love makes you hellatolerant of shit), who was patient, not intimidated by me enough so that I could fly unfettered, who was solid enough in his own security to not get upset when I flirt (and I only flirt for a purpose--a picture, a job, a drink). I realized I couldn't live life by myself anymore. The loneliness was killing me. Not that my life isn't full, because it is. Not that I don't have people who love me and who I love completely, because I do. But I needed a groundwire, I needed the balance of a man's mind and I have to say that for about 95% of what I needed, BigMan fits the bill.

But I'm still not consumed by him. I very rarely feel "mushy" about him or dream about him when he's gone (which is rare at this point but enough so that I can breathe). I like him; he's definitely getting under my top layer in a very comfortable way. But he's still a man, and he thinks like a man. And even though I'm obsessed/distracted, it would seem that I put things in a little box but I don't because the whole time I'm obsessing about something, it's just the sauce. Underneath that sauce those spaghetti strands are still looping and twisting and are all connected to each other, and I'm still subconsciously following those strands until one of them pops up in the top layer of sauce and I get distracted and move on to that thing. I like that BigMan doesn't have all that shit going on in his head.

I got into a discussion about the Waffle/Spaghetti thing yesterday with LilacBlue and ManCandy. ManCandy (probably named something else somewhere on this blog) is the father of a bunch of kids at the Sun's school, one of whom the Sun is pretty good friends with. ManCandy is fine. He knows it, too. He makes butch-ass women giggle. I've seen him do it. After awhile you get used to him and might even think "ah he's not that cute" but fuck that. There's something about him that sizzles and it's not just his looks. He has that jitter juice. He's also a famous womanizer which has caused his Wife to be a little um, what's the word... well she tracks his ass like the Armed woman she is. Meaning, she carries a gun as a profession. But anyway, I digress...

The first thing I've noticed about people when I say that Men are Like Waffles and Women are like Spaghetti is that most women want to claim they think more like men. That they can; that they are the exception. But it's bullshit. I understand that feeling of not wanting to be labeled. I resent it, as I say frequently. But the Professor is a social worker and she one day made the sweeping statement that people--all people--generally fall into one of a few categories. Of course that pissed me off. And I argued with her that no two humans are exactly alike. You look at two people's hands or fingerprints and nothing will make that clearer to you than that. By the way, that fascinates me... that the lines on one person's hands will never be EXACTLY the same as the lines on another person's hands, even if they are identical twins.

And it's true... no two people are alike; there is a wide variance in the category. But the facts remain that a.) people generally fall into one of a few categories, and b.) men and women do not think alike. Women tend to find that things are connected, and men frequently do not see the infinite ways in which things are connected. There are some men who do... and there are some women who are very compartmentalized. But generally, the more I make my way into the world, the more I throw myself into all these different scenarios the more I see that men and women just are different. EVEN those women who go into boymode. And I've seen a lot of those lately. A whole contingent of them. And as butch as they may appear on the outside, underneath the boyclothes and inside the manshoes they are still chicks... and their relationships with each other--even if one is wearing the pants and the other is wearing bright red stilettos... they still act like a bunch of chicks.

Which made me remark to BigMan one day that on the one hand, I totally get the attraction to women. In fact, there are some women who are just beautiful. Or who aren't beautiful, like StarStripper, but have the jitterjuice. And there are some women you can love fiercely and with all your heart. Women are cool. 80% of the time I'd honestly much rather spend my time with women than with men. Because they can follow me on the spaghetti strands--even BestGirl on her best boyday can follow me in a way that the BigMan can't, cuz I've already had that experience with them.

But there's no way I want to be in a sexual relationship with someone exactly like me. Women can be tiring. I need the balance of a man's mind.

There's still some stuff that needs work. There are still sometimes I wonder if I want to spend the rest of my life with him. There is still a part of me that misses certain elements of certain other people, and every so often what I miss hits me right in the heart. But of all the men I've dated or married or had a child with, no one has ever said to me "Are you really my girl?" "Huh" I asked? "I guess so, why?" "Because sometimes I can't believe you're really mine. I look at you and you make me feel good."

...sigh... I laughingly told him that flattery will get him everywhere but inside I melted, I admit... the whole quietly genuine way he said it got to me. Things like that will get a bitch hooked.

Holy $%!#

...two weeks. OVER two weeks and I haven't written. That sucks. I saw LilacBlue today and she told me it wasn't good for my mental health not to write.

It isn't. Though my mental health has really been pretty good.

My major malfunction was needing a groundwire. And I have that, now. And even though the rest of my life is perilously close to a complete wipeout, my mental health is pretty OK. Except for my mental block about looking for a job but that's another subject I have to get into later.

I hate not writing regularly because I always feel I have to backtrack and explain where I've been rather than the experiences. Cuz where I've been has everything to do with my experiences. And I've had a bunch of experiences lately that have given me all sorts of shit to explore and write about. But I keep thinking that if I just jumped into the subject, the reader would be like "what tha FUCK!?"

I don't like to be defined--by people, by experiences. I was just saying that over on my friend's blog in response to an ultimatum posed to her (well it could have been a suggestion but had it been presented to me it would have seemed an ultimatum): "You can be this, or you can be that". Which is a very "man" thing to say, by the way. And a choice I would present to the Sun, for instance, cuz he's a boy and his mind works that way. Because "Men are Like Waffles and Women Are Like Spaghetti." I totally get, as a woman, that you can be BOTH things plus a few other things. It's easy. It's like putting on clothes cuz none of those things are you, yet everything is. It's the way women are built. We are built to be mothers/wives/sister/daughters/lovers/nurturers/fashion plates. We function in different roles depending on what is required of us. We take pride in being able to be all those things.

At least I do. I have my preferences of who I'd like to be, of course, and usually that means not being any one particular thing.

In order to keep that freedom, it means throwing myself into new experiences on a regular basis. And those experiences can be vastly different. But they give me very interesting perspectives on life, keeps the juices flowing, gives me new ideas to try on, other ways of being. Or not. So that if I choose not to be a particular thing I know why I'm not choosing it... cuz I've put myself in a situation to test out my taste for it.

For instance, two weekends ago, I went to BigMan's BestGirl's birthday party at a strip joint. A Black strip joint. And last weekend I went to an SCA event in which everyone dresses as someone from medieval times, particularly (with this host group) the era of Genghis Kahn. There were 3 "Black" people there, not counting my bi-racial kid.

Oh, but I need to backtrack because I haven't written in two weeks. Almost three. BigMan and I are still going strong. I could feel icewater creeping in my veins and could feel shit shutting down, because in manfashion he'd had an "incident, got through it and put it in a little box and said he wasn't going to discuss it anymore. But there was shit I needed to say about it cuz the whole way it went down pissed me off... and he said he wasn't going to let me say it cuz it had nothing to do with me. I told him him not seeing how it DID affect me and WHY it pissed me off was going to be a major problem. And it wasn't something I wasn't going to get over, not being able to express why I was upset with him. I told him, honestly, that I had spent far too long in a relationship where I had to grit my teeth and not say what I wanted to to avoid drama, and I refused to live like that. Ever.

In his mind, his incident had nothing to do with me because it was a business deal gone awry. But it had everything to do with me because it showed me how he handled his business. And how he got bailed out affected me. And pissed me the fuck off... and in order for it not to fester he needed to know these things.

I tried it his way a day or two, not discussing it. But I felt those gates clanging shut and my insides raging and I knew that wasn't going to work--I told him if you don't let me talk to you about this it's not going to go well for you. And I could feel the barbs on the tip of my tongue and the steel in my eye and I don't want to be like that. So finally I cornered him in my kitchen and just started talking. And he listened. And that was that... that was all I needed. I needed him to know I can't be made to feel like I'm being shut down. Because I'm an all-or-nothing chick, and I'll just shut down all the way.

The next day I explained to him about the Spaghetti/Waffle thing, and he listened. I told him it's why it might seem I'm coming out of left-field with a conclusion or a declaration about something, but in fact, I'm not. By the time I actually say something about a subject--especially if it's something that gets under my skin for whatever reason--I've been poking around that bowl of spaghetti, following strands, looping over and under in my mind till I've reached the end. And I told him if I stopped to plot out out how I got from "A" to "B" I'd either confuse him or bore him, or he might seize on a point and distract me, so to avoid that I try not to say anything until I've reached a conclusion. But once I have--it needs to be said. It has to come out. I told him I respected and understood his need to box stuff up and put it away, but he had to respect and understand my need to follow the strands.

So we made it through that hurdle. And then a few days later BestGirl got suddenly VERY girly and started having some issues with having to give up her hold on him. At least that's how I feel about it. But I've got nothing to prove and nothing to fight for so I could just hang back and let her feel what she's feeling. I mean, she is entitled. He came after ME and made declarations about what he wanted, so it's not like I'm fighting for his attention. But I kind of felt for him, watching him deal with the emotional BS. So I guess that leads me up to her birthday party at the strip club in which she went back to boymode.

I've no problem with homosexuality, really. A while back on this blog I explored how I felt about that, coming from the spiritual background with Jewish tendencies, my own feelings about God and the laws of living I've personally chosen to follow. My own personal declaration is that I am decidedly hetero, and somehow that has freed me to be able to love my women friends fiercely, and even be jealous, but I'm not gay. And I don't really care what people do in their own personal love lives. I don't. But I have a small issue with bisexual people because I find they tend to be poly-amorous, and I'm an all-or-nothing chick. And it seems to me that for a lot of people choosing this lifestyle, they're kind of playing both ends by the middle... keeping their options open. And it confuse things for the rest of us who aren't.

And for me personally, it can be a little disorienting to deal with BestGirl, cuz there are times she's REALLY in boymode and I can deal with her in that way, but then she switches to clingly girl mode and that's an issue. Cuz like I told BigMan, there can only be one headbitch in a relationship, and that headbitch is me. At the moment, I don't feel the need to pull rank cuz I'm new to the relationship and am willing to give him time to sort it all out. But the time is approaching when this isn't going to work.

So the birthday bash was interesting because during birthday bash BestGirl was in full boymode, but previous to birthday bash she was in girlmode, needing him to follow her around while she shopped and drive her here and there--although she was shopping for boyshoes and clothes. For herself, I mean.

Birthday bash was interesting. I'd been to a strip club before, but one frequented by mostly white patrons, during business hours, and it was a laid back affair with mostly white girls writhing rather boredly along mirrors or poles to classic rock, the men sitting mostly watching and not allowed to touch.

Huh. Not this joint. The first thing that struck me most about this particular place was the amount of girls in it. Young girls, mostly, between the ages of say, 18, to maybe 30. All different shapes and sizes, mostly brownskinned, almost as many Hispanics, very few white girls. No Asians. There was an army of waitress girls in black thongs and white corsets, and then there were the hostess girls and greeters in gold corsets and then there was a whole slew of other girls in various attire that ranged coverage from "some" to "um, what?" On the one hand, it was a pretty interesting experience because not every chick was beautiful, and not every chick was cellulite-free. But the men didn't care cuz there was something for everyone. On the other hand I was amazed that someone could actually walk around that scantily-clad (carrying a large handbag to scoop up cash) and not feel ridiculous.

And most of the girls didn't mind being touched. There was a particular duo or two who were engaging in some rather acrobatic "if-it's-not-real-it's-a-pretty-damn-close-simulation" to oral girl-sex on a stage, a crowd of young man gathered round like they were watching a cock fight, throwing money and patting asses.

Lapdances were plentiful, for both men and women. In fact, there was a pretty large female patronage, though most of them were in boymode. CNC had been invited and was there with me, and it's rare to see her look uncomfortable about anything sexual but she, like me, is not into group sex so she looked pretty uncomfortable. Which was mildly amusing. She left before the BigShow.

I had debated myself about not going, because while I have no problems with BigMan going to a strip club or having a lapdance, I definitely have problems watching. Cuz I'm not a sharer. It's that all-or-nothing thing. I told BigMan I was going to have issues, and I could feel them coming on but luckily there is such a thing as tequila. And the place had 1800 which is so much smoother than the usual Patron, so after about three shots I could tolerate the atmosphere and by four I was comfortably numb. BigMan was actually pretty cool about everything, turning one rather insistent girl in neon yellow away, and mostly acting as host and caretaker to BestGirl.

Who decided to follow her crush, StarStripper on an "E" trip. StarStripper is fascinating. She's the same age as the Diva, a full-time college student by day and a featured performer by night. She's young, not particularly beautiful but has a fabulous, well toned body. She reminds me very much of young Josephine Baker, with all the accompanying craziness and narcissistic tendencies. She's at the top of her world. And BestGirl is madly in love... except StarStripper lives with a rather large female affectionately referred to as "Big Daddy." BigDaddy is the one who acts as bodyguard and cash-scooper when StarStripper performs.

And perform she did; she put on a pretty good BigShow. No doubt, the girl's got skills on a pole, and a some dance moves and a flair for the performance. She likes what she does. She enjoys the male attention but declares that she's gay. Except by the end of the night she told me how she had enjoyed seeing pictures of my Sun and would like to have a man to have babies with one day.

BestGirl didn't do well on the E trip, and by the end of the night was crawling around on the nasty floor, declaring she couldn't get up. StarStripper declared that since it was her birthday (she and BestGirl have birthdays a few days apart) she expected WebShowDude to treat her and her entourage to breakfast. WebShowDude is the guy that BigMan and I take pictures of on Wednesday nights. A likable hustler-turned-webshow-host, he had been invited to the bash and made the mistake of informing everyone he was going to IHOP for breakfast. StarStripper decided he was treating her and her entourage which consisted of Mom (who was decidedly butch), GrandMa (decidedly not butch and a little perplexed but "supportive"), another performer, BigDaddy, myself and BigMan and a slave. Yes, a slave.

I'm not exactly sure what the slave does, exactly, other than sit passively and smile and follow StarStripper and BigDaddy around. I'm not really sure I want to know.

So at 5:30 in the morning I found myself at a jampacked IHOP in Harlem, with WebShowDude claiming he'd left his bankcard at home and had no cash so he wouldn't have to pay, watching StarStripper take pictures of herself with her camera and BestGirl claim she was hungry but couldn't eat because the E wouldn't let her. The slave sat passively, the other performer sat and talked on her phone the whole time (at 5:30 in the morning!), and Grandma wondered why she couldn't do something else with her life. "You're beautiful, baby" she said "you don't need to do this". To which StarStripper replied "but I kept my top on, Granma!" BestGirl ended up paying for every one's breakfast but let StarStripper believe that WebShowDude had done it.

I couldn't wait to get home. My brain hurt. But it sure was entertaining. My conclusion to the evening was that there are an awful lot of damaged girls in the world. An awful lot... and I frequently wonder how much molestation of little girls really leads to bisexuality since at least three women in that group were molested, abused or exposed to that kind of behavior as little girls.

I wish I could have taken pictures but it seems only StarStripper was allowed to have a camera--at least in the club.

And since this got long I have to write about the Mongol Horde in another post...

Time...

flying faster than a speeding bullet.

The downside to being "in a relationship" is it eats up a lot of time. And for someone who isn't great on time management to begin with, I have even less time to write.

Some highlights from the week that was (or lowlights in some cases):

• My dear friend Shoefly was diagnosed with a serious and chronic, though not-particularly-fatal health condition. It was shocking. She's always the one in control and on some health kick or other, so to see her wrestle with mortality took some getting used to. I've known her the whole time I've been out on this Rock... for a brief second as she explained what was going on I had a flash of what life would be like without her. Not at all pleasant. Without her big-sisterly-slightly-condescending-tone... where would I be? I felt horrible, too, that the one time she called me in distress I couldn't answer the call cuz I was on the phone with the Professor, who was busy telling me that
• the Diva told her her ManKid punched her in the face and told her she had to leave their apartment. The Professor had texted me at 7:13 in the morning when I wasn't awake, could the Diva stay with me till they figured out what to do. When I woke up, I texted back "yeah" but didn't want to talk to anyone till I was dressed. Cuz if I start talking to anyone in the Fam in my jammies, somehow the day escapes me. I got myself all riled up though. Abuse is not something I tolerate. But in typical BearClan fashion the drama sort of rolled away with no clear resolution. And I was mad at myself for getting riled up when I should know better.
  
  
• CNC was having some anxiety about my relationship with the BigMan, cuz she's still so sad over the loss of her mother and was relying on me for comfort, and of course BigMan entered the picture right about then. Before then we'd been hanging out A LOT and talking a lot, and BigMan sort of interrupted the flow of that. Which is always what happens when people get into a relationship. End result is that I just feel pulled... there aren't enough hours in the day for everyone so it just makes me tired.
• BigMan's BestGirl was also having some issues with the new relationship. I knew it was coming. It also makes me tired...
• and BigMan. I dunno. There are things I really like about him. There are also some things that I'm not sure I can tolerate for long. Small things that bother me because they seem the tip of an iceberg. Little things that my head says aren't a big deal and I could overlook... maybe I'm even being shallow because they bother me. And in fact it's not the issue that bothers me but the fear that there is no attempt being made at a resolution. An acceptance of certain things. I am not an accepting bitch. It's not in my make up. There's stuff I tolerate... but tolerance is not the same as accepting. Tolerance means you tolerate stuff for a limited amount of time in the hope and expectation that they will change. Acceptance means you roll over and let things be. The latter... not me. And I can already feel the icewater creeping into my veins.
  
  Which also bothers me. Cuz I've said several times I am not consumed by him. And this is potentially a problem--for him. Cuz I know I can be a bitch and I know I have narcissistic tendencies and I try to be aware of them and I try to compensate. But my patience is short. When I'm consumed with someone I'm much more patient.
  
  I also realize I have met him at a point in his life that is not his best point. I usually do--meet people when they are not at their best point... and that bothers me too because it means this relationship is probably more on the verge of that damn thing I have about feeling folk in distress rather than someone I'm going to have a long-term relationship with.
  
  Except oddly enough... I'm not consumed by him. And I usually am when it's just the mental-distress thing.
  
  
• But speaking of people who are NOT in mental distress... the ParentingPartner. Holy shit but I remember all the reasons I kept getting sucked back into his hell; cuz when he wasn't in hell he was sweet and funny and cooperative. We took the Sun to violin; I'd had to spend the day in the Food Stamp office (joy!) and got done and downtown about the same time he'd gone to get the Sun from school. So I sat in a parked car with him and our child while he read the paper and the Sun did homework. And then we talked while waiting for the Sun to finish his lesson. Mainly about the Sun... about growing him, what we want for him, the things we need to work on with him. Getting him to focus. And very slowly, we are able to say to each other "remember when we...?" which is REALLY freaky. There's still a huge brick wall there... I can see it in his eyes and I know he feels it in mine. Little things, like I always sit in the back seat even though I prefer the Sun sit back there. But I don't like being that close to him.
  
  
• The parents are finally moving. My mother is a nervous wreck, my father is more touchy than ever. 30 years in the same place... they are WAY overdue. But between the Professor and I, we'll be able to make their new home very homey...
  
  
• The Sun has been playing flag football. ParentingPartner got him on a league... and my little skinny kid score two touchdowns last game! I wasn't there... my Lord standing around a cold schoolyard watching flag football is SO not my idea of fun and the beginning of many an argument between PP and me... but Poppy was. PP had taken him out. Me? I'm trying to go back to karate...