Archive for the ‘what I’m doing now’ Category

Skeet’s

January 5, 2009

I went with my friend on the 1st to this place called “Skeet’s.”  When people started to show up, we were kind of sitting on some stools at the edge of the dance floor, people watching.  At one point, the man with the beard, who had been sitting at a table, slid across the floor James Brown style and started into the best dancing we would see that night. I think watching him may have helped my soul.  Yep.  Age ain’t nothin’ but a number.

Oh, and he looked a lot like my sixth grade teacher.  I think there’s a pretty good chance he might be my sixth grade teacher.  If my mom’s newspaper monitoring is correct, he’s principal somewhere now.

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Sure, comment on my psyche.

May 17, 2008

Stephen King

I haven’t been a regular nap taker for a while.  But today was an exception.  Last night I slept from around 11 until around 4.  And I had to give an exam at 7:45.  Then I spent time talking with my TA, giving some advice that I need to learn to take myself.

When I got home, the first news I heard was of a family friend who had given up her leg while I was giving an exam.  “She came through it with flying colors.”  What does that mean in this case?  By the time that conversation was over, I was already back in bed with my head under the covers.

I remember rehearsing parts of the day’s conversations in my dreams, specifically images associated with my jumbled advice.  What I didn’t remember until some time after the nap was the part about Stephen King.

I’m not sure where it came from.  Perhaps it’s all about the name.  I’ve found myself telling humorous stories about my friend Stephen a few times this week.  But I don’t remember thinking about Stephen King, though I do think about him occasionally because of his frankness about his own writing, because I enjoy his reviews, because we share a birthday.

In the dream, I was at a book signing that was not very crowded.  Someone in the line asked which book I had.  I looked at the cover of the trade paperback.  It was peach cardboard, not even glossy.  It looked like a self-published book a textbook from the 1970s.  Something was written in black typeface on the very top.  But somehow, in addition to the title, the book had my first name on it.  No one else had the same one.  When I walked up to Stephen King, he asked me to give him the book so he could “engrave” it for me.  Although I noticed his odd word choice, I thought he would sign it, maybe write a note.  But when he handed it back to me, he had done this thing that I can’t remember the name for.  He had added words to the cover, but not with ink.  They were letters made by dimpling the cardboard, the way Braille is done.  But these were not Braille letters.  I could look at them and read them.  The words were something about me, about my place in the text.  I don’t want to use the word “ownership.” But it’s a bit like that.  Maybe “stake” would be correct.  Maybe it was something about my piece of some proverbial pie.

I hated even writing that cliché.  Recounting dreams often brings frustration.  Some of these limitations with this particular dream would be easier to manage if I could actuallly recall what the dream words were.  Unlike most people, I do see words, numbers, and names in my dreams.  These are not coming back now.  What returns is the feeling of taking a book, touching warm flesh, catching a look in his eye, and having the rare experience of feeling words that were about me, for me, not with my mind or heart, but with my fingertips.

At least there’s this.

May 3, 2008


I took this after what seemed to be a very long day yesterday. I had just left a memorial service for someone who died way too young. And I thought for a moment, I might have this misfortune of a tornado on top off all that.

I wish someone else I know would see this.

April 28, 2008

I was kind of spent on Saturday and decided to go out to a movie. Since I’ve lived in Madison, I’ve sometimes found myself choosing the theater and then the movie instead of the other way around. Anyway, I saw this movie. The trailer doesn’t really convey everything. It’s one of the oddest films I’ve ever seen. Yet, there’s no one to talk to about it.

Now I owe posts for yesterday and today.

Hip Hop as a Movement Week

April 28, 2008


This is the keynote panel for the conference. You can see Jeff Chang, Wendy Day, Davey D and Chuck D. Marc Bamuthi Joseph is on the end of the table, but not in my mediocre photograph. Check out his site.

Prior to this panel, I got to moderate one on gender and sexuality in hip hop and hip hop studies with Dawn-Elissa Fischer, Bakari Kitwana, Mark Anthony Neal, and , Gaye Theresa Johnson. I got to do that because of a scheduling mix-up. Just call me MC Second Choice.

The crazy thing is that this post represents a small percentage of the talented people I got to check out. The week was fun, and left me feeling good, but with a letdown at the end. Now I’m back to my humdrum existence.

Lifting a Little

April 24, 2008

I saw PopMaster Fabel today.  I also saw some other folks who deserve mention.  But I generally limit the pictures or clips to one per post.

I’m glad I’m here during this week.  People seem to be a little better around an art form they love.

When I got home, I must have startled something.  As I was getting out of my car, the creature loped across the street.  The first time that happened to me here, it was a rabbit.  This thing was big and long, but not something I was sure about.  I could see its silhouette.  Are there weasels around here?  I guess it may have been a badger.

my week

April 23, 2008

This is just in case you wanted to check it out.

night time stuff

April 21, 2008

nightmare

I’m having nightmares. That alone is not unusual. I have periodic bouts of insomnia and occasional clusters of bad dreams. The strange thing about these is that they are more violent than most of my dreams and they all have the same name in them. The roles people play are different. Yet I wake up with a name, wondering how my psyche could produce something so awful.

In case you’re wondering, I did not take that picture.  I got it from this site.  It’s a site about parenting.  If you’re averse, avoid it.

Saturday’s disturbing discovery

April 21, 2008


1. I like hotels.

2. I don’t like that my 23rd floor window opens. I don’t like discovering that as I’m sitting on the windowsill. No matter what the emergency, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t bring myself to go out that way.

I thnk I hate reality TV.

April 21, 2008


The picture is of this high speed chase broadcast live a few days ago.

This is the point where my greatest contradictions come to the forefront. I hate reality TV (American Idol, Top Chef) but I love spectacle (Lucha Libre, streakers, all of Las Vegas). The high speed chase falls somewhere in between. There’s something about it that fascinates me. I often wonder, but somehow understand how drivers gain so much faith in the freeway system. When you’re on a freeway and find yourself on top of a big cloverleaf looking down at spiraling traffic, or coming upon the ocean, or heading into Mexico, it’s not hard to believe that the freeway can take you anywhere. But if you’ve seen TV at all, you have to know there are helicopters. If you steal a car with OnStar, you have to know they will find you.

I couldn’t look away. at least not while the driving was happening. Neither could the exiled Angelenos with me. We delayed our meal to see the end, commenting on how women drive better than men and wondering aloud (betting) who this particular woman was.

Those chases are familiar and balletic and exciting and worrying at the same time. As long as no one gets hit, they manage to seem undangerous (I know that’s not a word.) until you hit the 10-second delay portion of the broadcast. Then everyone starts looking for something else to do.