Category: moment of silence

I’m sitting here listening DJ Mr. Cee spin all of BIG’s greatest hits on Hot 97 and reminiscing on how amazing life was in the early 90s when Ready To Die first hit. The music felt so personal that no matter where you were listening-the club, your car or the crib; the air immediately began to feel almost electric. From the very first listen, I was addicted to this man’s voice and flow. I swear, I must’ve played it on repeat nonstop at least 48 hours straight. Ask Elsa, ‘ish was crazy.

In retrospect, I think his back story and music impacted so many of us so intensely b/c BIG’s undeniable success made any and everything seem possible. If this akward fat kid with a lazy eye from Brooklyn could jump on a straight upstart label like Bad Boy and turn the world out, then shit… Why couldn’t I party my ass of off, graduate at the top of my class, have the career of my dreams, make millions of dollars and pop bottles poolside w/ my boo for the remainder of my life?

I’m just saying.

Anyhoo, I am so thankful for the inspiration. You da best Big Poppa!

Lord haf mercy, I am struggling this morning….


First of all my tummy hurts. And we all know, there’s NOTHING worse than waking up with a stomach ache when you have work to do.

But bigger than the bubble guts, why is my BlackBerry suddenly not charging??? WTF? 24 hours ago, the stoopid thing was absolutely fine and now, for no good goddamn reason, it’s not connecting with the charger. Straight dead battery…

AAARRRRGGGH, I hate all this fickle ass technology!

Seriously? The mere thought of the hours that I ‘m about to waste at the ghetto ass Sprint store on 125th Street when my ass should be trying to earn a living makes my stomach cramp up even more.

Jesus be a robin’s egg blue colored rotary phone…

Wow, has it really been eight years since Aaliyah died?  Time flies. 

You know I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason but gotta say this was definitely one of those senseless tragedies that I question.  What if any, was the lesson learned? Don’t get on a puddle jumper plane with too many sets of monogrammed LV luggage?  Sigh. So much talent and potential, lost. 
RIP.

Dizz-amn, there’s a lot of disturbing news poppin’ off today…


First the NYT is reporting that on the other side of the world men in the Congo are being raped in record numbers as a result of the ongoing joint Congo-Rwandan conflict (read: more than 10% of the reported rape cases in June were guy on guy action).  Woah.  Clearly there’s no limit to the brutality that people will commit against one another…  Perhaps, now that men are being raped and tortured (seems castrations are on the rise too) the international community will finally step in and get involved. SMH.

Then in Pittsburgh, that 48 year-old antisocial prick went into a local LA Sports Club and started shooting up folks ’cause awit on it… no one wanted to be his friend and he couldn’t find girlfriend. As if I needed another reason not to go to the damn gym?? Now I got to be worried about the miserable creep who got his little feelings hurt seeking retribution? Dude… Go. Sit. Down.

And finally,  right here in our own backyard that Long Island mom who drove unto Taconic Highway the wrong way and killed EIGHT people was freaking drunk AND high??? Drunk like, authorities discovered an open  1.75 liter bottle of Absolut in the car and homegirl’s blood alcohol level report reads as if she knocked back the equivalent of 10 shots of 80-proof liquor and smoked a blunt as recently as 15 minutes before the massacre… WTF??  

Not to question the powers that be in the Universe and shit but I gotta ask- so where the hell was the dickhead State Police officer that all too happily pulled me over a couple of weeks ago for speeding on the same Parkway? Huh, huh?  And don’t you know that self-important fool was all up in my face talking about ” Young lady you’re lucky that a dear didn’t jump out in front of your car. Or you might not be here to pay this ticket.”  Insert prolonged blank stare with three very slow blinks. 

NEGRO PLEASE. First of all, I’m sober and on the right side of the road.  Secondly, speeding happens.  RE-LAX.  The only reason that I might halfway deserve to be called “lucky” is because some boozed-up, high-ass hell, trashy, red-neck wasn’t on the road tossing back swigs of vodka on her way home from a weekend in the woods. 

It’s too much…. I’m done.

So if you were wondering how long it was going to take Eminem to respond to Ms. Mariah’s cute little single, Obsessed (which for the record, I actually like), this video is your answer. 

Dayum… can you feel the shank? Marshall went IN.  

Ya know, I might be going out on a limb here BUT I’m thinking that Mariah and Nick should probably just go sit down somewhere, be quiet and reflect for a sec. Cause I don’t care how many red carpets you wanna wear between now and forever and this right here… this is NOT okay.

Hmmm, I’m definitely having a quiet moment…


Just found out that acclaimed author, E. Lynn Harris of down-low lit fame died at the premature age of 53 years. Not hot.

‘Cause let’s just keep it 1000, in addition to it being a juicy story, reading his groundbreaking Invisible Life saved many a woman- black, white, yellow, blue- from making tragic mistake with with a man who couldn’t make a decision. 

RIP.

When my BFF put her dog to sleep a couple of years ago, she confessed, “I loved that dog more than I like most people.” And I was like, damn. But you know what? It’s real.


I adopted my bad ass dog from the North Shore Animal League during one of the most challenging times in my life: while waiting for my liver transplant. From the outside, you might think that I rescued her from an animal shelter. But truth be told, Drama rescued me.


She kept my company when I felt most alone, made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry and was a reason to get out of my bed on the scary days that I thought I couldn’t take another step. Without saying a single word (or even bark) Drama never left my side.


*Granted, if you ever, ever, ever made the mistake of letting the runaway queen off the leash at the beach/ park it’d take forever and a day for her to heed the command words and come back. But I digress…


Over twelve and a half years, I watched Drama grow from an awkward chubby puppy who refused to play fetch into a big ass old dog who had way too many likes and dislikes for a 4-legged animal and clearly thought she was the boss of me.

And foreal, forreal? She totally was.


I am so lucky for all time we shared.

There are no words to adequately express the shock I felt upon seeing the confirmed news reports about Michael Jackson’s death. I literally had to sit down on the couch and catch my breath. I haven’t felt this dazed since I found out that I was actually going to receive my much needed liver transplant eleven years ago. That’s deep, right?


Be clear: Michael Jackson has been a friend in my head FOREVER. Since my certified tone deaf ass could screech a out, “A-B-C, easy as 1-2-3,” MJ and his music have been a part of my life. And trust, our friendship was hardcore.  

It spanned his rise to superstardom, the freak accidents, a complete ethnicity/race change and yes, even the recent controversial fall from grace.  Forreal, forreal, me and Mike been through it: He’d make me happy, he’d make me sad, he’d humble me, and then leave my jaded self in complete disbelief. 

And still, I jammed on.

So riddle me this- how does a man who’s musical genius changed the WORLD die of cardiac arrest at freakin’ 50?  

Not for nothing, people like MJ are supposed to either: A) live forever or B) die in some unexplainable event like an airplane disappearing over the Bermuda Triangle. NEVER, EVER the mundane heart attack. I mean, wasn’t that the point of the hyperbaric-oxygen-tank-thingy that he’s allegedly been sleeping in since the 80s? Sigh.  I can’t.  

Raise your glove in the air…

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