101 Posts and Running

Closing in on a year, You Hype! Sike Nah... recently passed the 100 mark in posts. We celebrated accordingly and, after our Salvadorian maid cleaned up the mess of half-empty bottles of Chandon and kicked out all the groupies the morning after, were left with the satisfactory feeling of having accomplished something. I started this as my means of maintaining sanity in what was one of the most vexing periods of my life. It was sposed to allow me to vent all the hot steam. I definitely had no idea how to "blog." My first post didn't even have a title. Not that there are any rules to this, but i got graphics and music now. The homie DKG joined the team and upgraded the jawn. Niggas is posting comments and ish (even if 90% are from Jeff). The homies in St. Louis always let me know they enjoyed reading it. What can I say other than uh... thanks? I really appreciate the love, cuz if yall didn't read this, it would really mean I was talking to myself, which is a sign of insanity. Thus, being that the blog's purpose was to prevent such a state, you, the people, are more responsible for maintaining my present (but fragile) state of sanity than you may think. So yeah, thanks.

Now, seeing as this is the first of the next hundred posts, I think i'm jus gonna ramble. Buckle up.

Last night, I went to the club with some friends for a birthday party. It was fun. (Note: "Fun" is a relative statement, based on factors like company and location. That is to say "Fun" in DC wit the niggas is not equivalent to "Fun" in Vegas with Paris Hilton and definitely not "Fun" in a Philadelphia nightclub.) I've come to a realization. Philadelphia is the San Francisco of big, black women. You know what Mecca means to Muslims or San Fran means to gays or Atlanta means to black men who call themselves straight but enjoy other men's privates? Yeah, Philly is that for big, black women. Sorry skinny heffas, you have no place in this city. Seriously, big girls run the club, or at least the ones I've been to (which really doesn't mean much). And the funny thing is, they come dressed to the hilt, clearly ready to party. Bony broads get no love. Big girls be wearing them freakum dresses, you know the "short and backless" jawns, but have you seen a fat black women in anything backless? There are an inexplicably infinite number of folds of skin. No details necessary, just use your imaginations.

Aside from the big girls, there is a second phenomenon that is strange in its acceptance among niggas. Some dangerously crunk nigga in the club last night decided to make it rain during T-Pain's "Buy You a Drink." I've yet to understand how or why this is an acceptable practice in anywhere but a strip club by individuals who ACTUALLY HAVE MONEY TO THROW AWAY LIKE USED KLEENEX. Regular niggas have no place doing that. Frankly, I don't believe you. Ur not caking like that. And yes, ur durn right I'm picking up any and every dollar bill that comes anywhere near me; and I know that in ur heart of hearts, you wish u were me, getting back the money I spent on drinks, rather than you, the foolish nigga blowing your unemployment check in the club. Cuz trust, I'm not too cool to be seen picking up money off the ground or grabbing it out the air. I'm broke and I ain't afraid to admit it. I hate paying cover and buying drinks. If I can get back ANY of that money, I consider it all worthwhile.

Speaking of things worthwhile, loyal readers know I stopped listening to (99% of) rap. It's gotten so bad that I didn't even hear that Plies song "Shawty" til like 2 weeks ago. I'm not sure, but I think it was sposed to be old by then. *Shrugs* oh well. [Insert title of the last Nas album here.] Outside of the catchy, ringtone-happy hook, can't say I missed much. And of course the whole MTV Brain Trust (tsk tsk for that name) was tryna inject some fire back into the game with their list. Oh well, I applaud them for the effort and for the list. With the exception of The Game (I've never been a fan of him) I won't completely hate on it. That said tho, I've been grooving to two pretty good albums that are pretty left of center. And guess what? That's right, I'm gonna put u on.

Alice Smith's For Lovers, Dreamers & Me is a pretty solid album by a pretty unknown talent. They played one of her tracks, "Dreams," on an episode of Entourage (the one where Turtle was sposed to bang the blonde chick in a bunny outfit) and I liked it enough to go surfing the net for the album. Download it by clicking the cover or click here.


Big ups to David Kenneth. If you downloaded the Pure White Audio Mixtape, then you'll recognize that Feist sang the cooky-but-catchy "My Moon My Man". I'll admit, this one may be a lil too left field for some of you. It doesn't come with any dance moves and I don't think Feist has a grill, but The Reminder is a great album despite these major shortcomings. She's Canadian anyway, iunt think they've learned about that stuff yet. Standout tracks are "So Sorry," "My Moon My Man," "Sealion" (a very fresh cover of the Nina Simone track "See Line Woman"), "The Limit to Your Love," "1234," and "Brandy Alexander." I just name-checked about half the album, so I guess I shoulda just said it was a good album. Click the album cover above to download it. Album's very chill tho. Definitely not what you play on ur way to a party, more like the joint you play during bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic to keep u calm. As Feist sings in "Brandy Alexander," "it goes down easy." Pause.

In other news, the never-ending struggle between me and higher education may (heavy on the unpredictability denoted by the use of "may") be drawing to a close. No, I'm not dropping out. What I have been doing is turning in papers on time and getting A's. Yes, big things are popping. My final paper is due this Thursday and will be the true test of my scholastic maturity. I might live up to this "potential" thing after all. Maybe I can finagle my way back to the M.S. ed. program again. We'll see.

Until then, I'll enjoy the present. I have exactly one month left of my summer break. The first day of school is September 10th, after that, it's back to the daily grind. But it's definitely a different feeling this go 'round. Like, I got my hands around the joystick (pause) and know what i'm sposed to be doing now. I plan on ruffling some feathers this year to combat the culture of failure at Tilden. Plans include: frequent field trips to expose and connect my kids to positive black people, a class garden, possible class mural, and some other things. Hopefully i'll be able to work out something for them to visit UPenn. I might be living at Tilden next year, but I don't mind. (Famous last words. Let's see if my tune changes in a couple months.)

For now though, life's all about trying to survive in heat that reminds me in some cosmic ancestral way of the Middle Passage. Luckily, a gang of storms came through this weekend and cooled us off. And did I mention I started reading a book? For fun? No bull. I picked up Coin of the Realm by Wash U Prof/Poet extraordinaire Carl Phillips. It's a prose work on the art and conventions of poetry. It's dense, but only cuz the nigga's intelligent. I'm sure he wouldn't like being referred to as "nigga" but oh well, I haven't received an email from Al Sharpton and even if I did, I'd prolly ignore it. Since Paul Mooney said he wasn't gonna say nigga no more, somebody's gotta take his place.

Call Me... "Mr. Nigga? Nigga Nigga?"

P.S. in my rush to deliver the freshest goods, the version of M.I.A.'s Kala on the blog doesn't have "Paper Planes." It's sposed to be track 11, right before "Come Around." Aqui

This is Mr. Nigga, signing off.