Again & Again

So on occassion I make CD's for people at work. While doing so I try to "HIP" them to other songs from wanted artists that they might not be aware of... It N E V E R works. Now coming from a town that has been dominated by the Clear Channel formula for pert near twenty five years, trying to educate people in the knowledge that the Doobie Brothers have more songs than "Jesus is just alright with me,"is quite a daunting task. Have you ever heard South City Midnight Lady? An absolutely beautiful song. A driving song no doubt, which infuriates me even more because a "driving CD" was the order of the day.

There are, at my job, on any given day ten to fifteen radios at various levels of volume and every day on every radio I pass by, I hear the same fucking songs again and again. The only exception of course being my Sirius Sattelite Radio, but... We've already delved into that arena.

I just can't get past the thought that people here, Cincinnati being the here, that are just content to hear the same thing again and again and again and again. God it drives me fucking nuts. Even more infuriating is the wall I run up against at trying to broaden anyones horizons. If it's not a song they know from the radio, they don't want it... Period.

To know the Eurythemics ( yeah i realize that's probably not the right spelling, but it's not in the spell check and FUCK YOU anyway if you're petty enough to point it out) and not know any of Annie Lennox's solo music is a crime. Yeah Audioslave's and Disturbed's new albums are sweet, but go past the singles and dig a few cuts deeper into the disks to see just how great those albumns are. I do. My friends do. But my co-workers... No mas.

So I make their compilations and collect my fee and listen to the songs they play on their new CD's echoed by the live radios playing the same shit merely yards away... UGH . Free F.M.? Keep it.

Fly and the Whiskey Bottle Pt. 3. Flashback 1.

People say blood has no taste... But it does. Anyone who's ever had their lip busted up can attest to that. Iron... It tastes like iron. Like you just licked the bottom of your Mommas best metal cooking pot. Sharks know that taste. And when they smell it, they come a running.

Spring football practice was in full swing and Fly was Johnny on the spot in the secondary. Penciled in from the beginning of last years final game. He was gonna be a play maker and his coaches knew it. Coach Halls was going to keep his job through another extension with this batch of kids. They were gonna make him an icon. That's something you can retire nicely from.

Football, sports in general was one of two ways for Fly to make it out of the hood. The hood was something he took pride in, but it was also a great source of angst and pain. Something he knew he needed to separate himself from if he was ever going to live to see thirty. The hood took care of it's own one way or another. If you weren't scoring points on a field to get out, you were more than likely going to be carried out... In a body bag. You had to be smart and quick on your feet to keep one step ahead of the drama that placated this urban sprawl if you wanted to have any chance of surviving in it's environment.

The sharks circled the peripheral, ever watchful of a "wounded or sick fish." They also kept an eye on the smart ones. Ones that could potentially become useful to their daily endeavors... Threats. That's ultimately what they were. There was a fine line between schooling a young blood nestled safely under the proverbial protective wing, and plugging in a muther fucker that could one day rise up to conquer you. It was a partnership in education. Street style. A necessary evil to keep the eb and flow of the hustle in full effect. It worked mostly when everyone knew their place and no one rocked the boat. Rock that boat and... Well, rock that boat and mother fuckers get tossed to the sharks.

"Yo' niggah, you going to Talia's party tonight? It's gonna be off 'da chain ya hear!?!" Squirrel shouted from the back seat of a Lincoln Town car, hanging out the window so far that Braun and Big Swoll had a close up view of his naked ass. "Yeah niggah I be there. What time you'se heading out?" Responded Fly walking briskly down the sidewalk with his girl Anita. "Joint gets to jumping 'round ten dog. Bet not be late niggah, Braun got some 'dat new bootleg joint from Tupac and 'da shit is hype!!" "Ah, for real?" Fly lit up. Tupac was his favorite. A black man with something real to say that he wanted to soak up. "Yeah niggah, get cho' lil ass there early fo' real. Braun's cutting some dupes for his boys and if you ain't there, you get left the fuck out niggah fo' real!" "Awight niggah, I be there. You bet keep one dem back for me for real, or I'll bust my foot all up in yo' ass niggah!"

It was mid March in the city and winter couldn't decide if it wanted to relinquish itself from the area. Cold but not ice cold. The sky was clear and the neighborhood was aglow from an almost full moon . A romantic moon Fly thought. He was going to get that new bootleg and then dance his ass off on the dance floor. Anita was dressed to the nines and had all the baddest mother fuckers in the hood hanging out of trees for her . But she was with Fly. Fly was different. He had an uncanny knack for getting people to like him, thug and average Joe alike. But he was a thinker, and he knew all the angels even before they presented themselves. Anita's dress was going to cause problems. See, some guys knew the code and played within the rules. He wasn't worried about them. But thugs and niggahs don't play by no one else's rules but their own, so Fly was anticipating problems. He asked Anita politely not to wear the dress because of just such a scenario, but she insisted. She'd worked thirty hours that week at the Deep Dish along with school and she had earned the right to dress up and go dancing with her man. Fly didn't argue with her. That was something he'd seen too much of with his Momma and her endless run of new boyfriends. He told himself long ago he wasn't going to be like that.

When they approached the house Fly got an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He couldn't figure out why. He was going to be with friends. He was going to get his new Tupac tape. He was going to dance his ass off with his girl and make hot passionate love to her to end the night. So why was his stomach telling him something different?

Fly and the Whiskey Bottle Pt. 2.

Smoke hung like an impending cloud of doom over the myriad crowd of people . People Fly had his eye on. Every single one of them. That's how he thought. Everyone was a threat, and he simply wouldn't allow himself to be taken by surprise. He wasn't "Going out like that." Back firmly planted against the wall tucked neatly in the corner away from the windows. They call it gun shooters syndrome, and Fly was infected.
"You sure you don't want yourself a drink Mr. Fly?" The tanned and pungent man asked through a glassy stare. " Naw man, you keep 'dat shit fo' yourself, I'm straight." "You sure? Business like this can get somewhat... Unnerving. I find... That it takes the edge off the conscience if you know what i mean?" "I get paid NOT to have a conscience" Fly said without batting an eye. Cold, thought Mr. Sellers. That's just what he was looking for. Someone who could pull a job off clean, efficiently, quietly.
"I'll take "dat drink white man... Shit lil niggah, yo' ass NEED a drink muthah fuckah. Ain't no harm in toasting to the success of our new business arrangement. 'Specially if his ass is paying fo' 'da shit. You ARE paying fo' 'da shit right?" Whiskey offered Fly his signature wide smile as he downed his drink and the drink Mr. Sellers had bought for Fly knowing Fly wouldn't touch it.
" I mean shit, way i see it we done hammered out 'da details all we need to... Job's set for 'da night. We got it all worked out... Now it's time to just chill and enjoy the company, check out 'da females, drink 'dis muthah fuckahs free drinks and... You know, shit... Get numb and silly an' all 'dat shit man . Cut loose lil niggah, shit." Fly didn't like the situation Whiskey was putting him in. He didn't like the fact that Whiskey knew it too, and did it anyway. He decided to concede this little battle to his drunken friend and let him have his night. Fly would get even, and take great joy in doing so.
The vibration from his phone caught Fly off guard. He was busy surveying the room and just didn't expect it . It was a text... "Dishes done baby? We good Daddy?" Fly simply responded,"Waters in the sink. Still needs to be drained." With that he closed his phone, looked at his watch and stared daggers at Whiskey. It was going to be a long night but somebody would be waiting for him when he was done. He began to piece together his revenge plot for Whiskey fucking with him, and it just brought a smile to his face.

Fly and the Whiskey Bottle Part 1 .

It was hot out tonight . The kind of hot that sends the perspiration down your back and straight to your ass . Juicy ass hot . You get the idea . Hot , but Fly and Whiskey had a job ... Finally .
" Man , you bet not light that muthah fuckah in my car Niggah , I put a hole in 'dat bucket , you be bleeding out da side n' evrahthang ... Oh Lord !!" Laughter emanated from the mouth of Fly .
Fly was a squirrely little man with a relentless mouth , funny as the day was long , which made up for it most of the time . His stature was small in size , but he kept himself in excellent physical condition and was a sharp dresser . A trait he felt compelled to inform people of on a regular basis .
" God Damn man , why you trippin' Lil' niggah ? I was gonna hang that shit out the winda man , shit . You know i be doin' dat for real. Ain't trying ta mess up yo ride ... Little fly muthah fuckah like you don't need no big ass Lincoln Town car anyway ! " Whiskey .
Whiskey was from the old school . And he liked to keep it real ... Real drunk . It took the edge off the pain that was his life . Child support for three babies mamma's and a felony record preventing him from holding down a good job , kept Whiskey perched on the far bar stool at the local watering hole most nights of the week . But this night was different . this night they had a job . A paying job , for real .
"Wha'chu mean i don't need no big ass Lincoln Town car muthah fuckah , wha'chu trying to say ? I ain't good enough ? Don't be mad at me 'cause i got a bettah ride than yo ol' broke ass ."
" No muthah fuckah , i ain't say you don't deserve it . I said you don't need it . " " Why don't i need it Niggah ? Whuzz up ? " " Yo lil fly ass don't need dis big muthah fucking car 'cause your lil ass just too God Damned SHORT to see over the muthah fucking dash Niggah !! Haawww !! " " Aww shit , yo man fuck you !! Look here man , you bet put 'dat damn bottle down too . Don't be going and getting all fucked up , leaving my ass left to deal wit' 'dis stupid muthah fuckah and yo big dumb drunk ass . I ain't kidding Niggah , you bet put 'dat damn bottle away ! You can suck on 'dat shit when we get 'dis shit done . Now go on Niggah , put 'dat shit away and focus . You fuck 'dis one up and I make sho' all three yo babies mamma's come creeping fo' 'dat paper , you feel me ? " " Awight muthah fuckah , you ain't gotta go there man . I put 'dis shit on hold for now ... But i'll be back fo' it . " " No doubt 'bout 'dat you drinking ass muthah fuckah " " Man fuck you . " " Ha haa !! Drunk ass muthah fuckah gonna get P A I D !! You can drink to 'dat for real niggah !!! Not now muthah fuckah , not now . "

Party friends

I went to a party today to welcome back some friends to town who've been working out of town . I have to say i had a really good time . I met up with an old friend who i haven't seen in a couple of yers and we caught up . He now has a daughter , three years old . She's as beautiful and precious a child as you could ever hope to have .
We sat off in a side room and just talked about where we were going , how to get there ... And we talked about those who weren't there , and why .
One thing's for sure . I do have a few good friends left . And i miss them immensley . Things change but good friends are forever and that's reassuring to know .

Daunting

It's all so daunting . So many things need fixed with no money to do it . UGH !! At least another hump day has come and gone . Now it's time for bed . My favorite time of the day lately : )
Howard Stern is getting sued by Infinity Broadcasting ... How fucking retarded are those bastards . I'd vent on this , but i'm nodding off as we speak ( or type ) so i'll wax on this later .
Out .