I have half-way fallen in love with someone I met online, the idea of him anyway…a guy I can’t even convince to come to Massachusetts. I always thought I was someone to be cherished, that one day my knight in shining armor would find me, like Richard Gere came for Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman (without the prostitution). My Texan/Virginian/Arizonian hoped-for savior has gone silent, and I’ve cried through Thanksgiving, with only a cold and miserable New England winter to look forward to.
I read Porcelain in one 4-hour bathtub inhalation yesterday, and mostly loved it. Moby’sstruggles to find work as a DJ and his references to those first classic house tracks that I remember from my late teens pretty much smothered his petty irritants (his veganism, alcoholism and Christianity). Any DJ or dance music fan will love most of this memoir.
“Frankie Knuckles had invented house music, lived on the Lower East Side, and was deified. Junior Vasquez owned the floor at Sound Factory, where he played 12-hour sets and was a revered legend living in Chelsea. Danny Tenaglia was in the house music pantheon: he too played long remarkable sets and lived downtown. Larry Levan was a dance music god and he had just started a residency at Choice in the East Village. David Morales was seen as the biggest of the New York house music DJs: he owned the floor at Red Zone, and in an unconventional move, he lived in Midtown. Tony Humphries existed in a strange mythical realm of his own. His sets were long and legendary, his remixes were flawless, he lived in the unknown recesses of Newark, New Jersey.and was in residence at Zanzibar,”
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“Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed
That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed
I ain’t ready for the altar but I do agree there’s times
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine”
Semmes, Alabama, is named for a Confederate admiral. Shockingly, the people of Semmes, Alabama, felt a little weird about an “all-male, African-American gay dance team from Mobile” impersonating sexy Santa gals at their annual Christmas parade. If by weird, you mean irate.
The 3,000-strong population of Semmes apparently likes its Christmas parade the way it likes its nooses: straight. And the Friends of Semmes, who put on the parade, feel just awful that the town’s upstanding citizens and children were forced to see the young African-American gentlemen of the Prancing Elites in action, according to Mobile’s Fox 10:
[Prancing Elites] Group Captain Kentrell Collins said he had every reason to believe the routine would be welcomed at the Semmes Christmas parade. After all, they were invited.
“I said, ‘we’re all over 21 and we’re guys.’ She was so excited. She was like ‘I didn’t know they had any groups like that in Mobile,'” Collins said.
However, instead of applause or cheers group members said they heard lots of jeers.
“Some of them were saying stuff like ‘Oh my God, what’s that?'” dancer Adrian Clemons said.
Claudia Davis, area white woman, spoke to the TV station on behalf of wide-mouthed concerned citizens everywhere. “I was outraged and appalled,” she said, as she stood shaking beside her presumably now-warped daughter:
“I never expect anything like this at the Semmes Christmas parade!.. If they were gonna put this… kind of… activity in the parade, they should have notified the people of Semmes so that we had a choice whether we wanted out child to attend and see something like that.”
Indeed. Besides naming its fair town in honor of a secessionist who was arrested for treason after the War of Northern Aggression, Semmes’ other claims to fame are that it has its own zip code and Walmart.
So it being the full moon or whatever, I was already depressed and crazy heading into this weekend. Genius that I am, I decide to go see Fruitvale Station at Baywalk (alone of course). So what happens happens in the movie, and all the black women and myself start to cry. I slowly walk back to the parking garage after, still crying. I cry some more on the way home. I understand that I’m not just crying over the movie anymore, I’m crying because I’m lonely, because I don’t have much to look forward to, because I’m no longer young and cute and everybody’s first choice, because I still love my ex, because what if this as good as it gets? I eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, pop a sleeping pill and escape to dreamland…maybe there I’ll be happy.
These two songs have been my anthems these last few months, I’ve been through some depression and hard times, but I’ve got life and I’m carrying on…
I ain’t got no home, ain’t got no shoes
Ain’t got no money, ain’t got no class
Ain’t got no skirts, ain’t got no sweater
Ain’t got no perfume, ain’t got no beer
Ain’t got no man
Ain’t got no mother, ain’t got no culture
Ain’t got no friends, ain’t got no schooling
Ain’t got no love, ain’t got no name
Ain’t got no ticket, ain’t got no token
Ain’t got no God
Then what have I got
Why am I alive anyway?
Yeah, what have I got
Nobody can take away
Got my hair, got my head
Got my brains, got my ears
Got my eyes, got my nose
Got my mouth, I got my smile
I got my tongue, got my chin
Got my neck, got my boobs
Got my heart, got my soul
Got my back, I got my sex
I got my arms, got my hands
Got my fingers, got my legs
Got my feet, got my toes
Got my liver, got my blood
I’ve got life
I’ve got my freedom
I’ve got life
I’ve got life
And I’m gonna keep it
I’ve got life
And nobody’s gonna take it away
Bridge Over Troubled Water, circuit party, dance, DJ, favorites, fort lauderdale, gay, Hannah Jones, inspirational, john jernigan, LGBT, music, new orleans, Simon & Garfunkel, south Florida, vocal house, wilton manors
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Early morning, flying so high with the Flower Duet on the balcony at Oz…
ETHEREAL vocals at 4:04
Last night I wandered around the Manor for like 3 hours, spent $33 on 3 drinks, tried to dance but the DJ sucked kept dropping out…I was admired and “bumped into/groped/assaulted” etc…by some of our most offensive stereotypes…and standing on the 2nd floor watching the dance floor my alcohol-addled brain figured out my husband was NOT in the building, shakin’ his groove thing at 3 a.m. I felt bad when I got home because I had promised Cricket & Squeak I would find them a new daddy tonight. Late, too late the DJ slightly redeemed himself by playing Angie Stone’s “Wish I Didn’t Miss you” I like to think just for me.