Upon reading my last few blog entries, I realised people might be under the impression that I’m a bitter, cynical old witch who sees little joy in the world.

Well that may be, but there are still some things out there that bring a ray of sunshine to my withered, blackened old heart.

(I also can’t be arsed writing about the highlights of the last decade like everybody else is.)

Black Books

“OLD!” Yes yes, I know, it’s been well established that I am not at the forefront of modern pop culture trends. Whatever. What an excellent show. It combines many things I can appreciate and relate to. Books! Surly customer service! Awkward social situations! Wine-related disasters! A bizarre attraction on my part to Bernard Black even though he’s a bitter, alcoholic, antisocial, possessive bastard! I love it. Thankyou naughty YouTube users for putting the episodes on the internet and providing me with hours of entertainment. My favourite is Grapes of Wrath.

Bernard: No one is willing to admit that wine doesn’t actually have a taste.
Manny: Of course you can’t taste anything, you smoke eighty bajillion cigarettes a day. What’s that you’re eating?
Bernard: Some sort of delicious biscuit.
Manny: It’s a coaster.
Bernard: Is it? Are there any more?

Speaking of wine…

Red Wine

“I will never be a pretentious, wine-drinking wanker!” I have screeched in various tequila/vodka-addled states.

This changed when I discovered that red wine is actually pretty nice. I currently like shiraz cabernet. Perhaps this is a sign of maturity. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just a phase and will pass soon. It certainly seems to be in vogue with certain circles of young ladies at the moment. As shown in Black Books, it is the perfect partner to cozy nights in, reading a good book (or watching said British comedy on DVD), art gallery openings, late night chats with friends or lamenting over various love-related disasters. Oh, and probably pasta and certain kinds of fish I suppose.

Part of the appeal is a certain sophistication; swirling the beetrooty liquid around in my glass, making astute observations like, “Hmm… yes… quite a fine vintage, with subtle notes of… um… wine.”

Back on the subject of books…

Kafka on the Shore

I loved Karuki Murakami’s book After Dark so I moved onto his arguably most well-known book, Kafka on the Shore.

It’s hard to describe what it’s about without ruining it. It’s set in urban Japan but where mythology, philosophy, art, music and literature alters time and reality. It’s funny, tragic and a richly surreal look on life and the world. If you’re like me and get caught up in pondering existential things like parallel universes and dreams, you’ll probably enjoy it.

Club 299

Club 299 in Fortitude Valley has gone under many changes. I was a bit of a regular back in 2007, in which I would consume tequila and play air guitar along to Guns n Roses. Knowing the ex-bar manager had its own advantages too. Then the club changed hands and the new club nights – particularly one advertised Katy Perry-themed night – discouraged me to return.

But the club has changed yet again, and I for one welcome our new Club 299 overlords. I haven’t been on a Thursday night yet, but Rosie’s ever-popular Snitch club night will now be at 299. SFX on Friday night features music that tickles my heavy rock and metal fancy, while Gossip on Saturday night plays a wide variety of indie, classic tunes (Ghostbusters theme song, anybody?) and guilty pleasures. The light-up disco dancefloor upstairs is quite a spectacle for bloodshot eyes. The downside is that it gets sticky after a while of dancers spilling their drinks on it. Basically, don’t dance there if you’re wearing slip-on shoes. On a personal note, a few “Old Ric’s” staff and regulars work, DJ and drink there. It’s lovely to see friends and familiar faces when I go.

Excellent Brissy band I Heart Hiroshima will be playing there this Saturday night. Can’t wait!

Graduating
According to those kind folks at QUT, I am now qualified to be a journalist. I got a piece of paper and everything. Blogging superstar Peter Taggart is one too.

Somebody hire us, please. Will write for money. Or food. Or wine.

I’m going to start this all off with my “About” page to give you an idea of where I’ll be going with this. Enjoy!

Welcome welcome guys!

This blog is the second venture of mine in the blogging world. My first (http://hightailitouttahere.blogspot.com/) was an around the world travel blog which allowed me to rant my way silly and humorously through various countries and share it with a load of randomers! BLISS!

This one is a little bit more directed at the crazy in you. It is geared towards the ‘Mature Student’ at times but mostly at everyone who needs somewhere to turn. I returned to college in a crazy expensive, mindlessly opinionated, over zealous, recession riddled, age obsessed world this September and at 29… it’s definitely teaching me things about myself I never knew.

Whether you’ve swallowed the little book of calm (think “Black Books“), or you are stocking up on ‘Rogaine‘ or wigs to see you through those pulling your hair out moments of life that you are sure to encounter, THIS.IS.THE.SITE.FOR.YOU! I’ve been there, done that with a lot of crap, and this is my way of helping myself and you lot through it! I love life and I want to get as much as I can from it, but somehow I need to write in order to live it.

Bottom line… this is the new and improved venture. I have attempted to create 3 new blogs in the last 4 months and all resulted in massive fails but this one fits in with my life perfectly so enjoy my kinda crazy.

Thank you so much for dropping by. This blog is nothing if not varied, loud at times, includes lots of random, pointless swearing so is not for the faint hearted or judgmental types! It will have attempted stabs at information, and try to be  funny, light hearted and opinionated! All the content is courtesy of my own opinion. I do not set out to offend or bore people, but if that should happen… well… shit happens right???

Don’t be scared or shy! Comment, chat, har har, give me your feedback, love it, hate it, whatever you like to it. Above all i hope it all helps!

Vixen

P.s HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!!

Rejected? No worries. Bernard Black is here:

Maybe, I should try this next time…

Black Books.

&

The IT Crowd.

versus

American television.

That should certainly be enough said.

PS: I just had my sister kill a spider for me. The bastard was sitting on my wall just waiting to crawl into my mouth. She is nine years old. I am pathetic.

I think that’s sweet.

At the moment, I’m being an awesome procrastinator, and, instead of getting IST and History done, I’m blogging, reading fanfic, on FOUND Magazine, Twitter and Myspace, and talking on msn. It’s a wonder I ever get anywhere with my school work *shakes head* Ah well. I won’t dwell on it. It’ll get done eventually.

Holidays is what I’ll dwell on! There’s precious little left of them, so I’ll appreciate them while they’re here. These have been the nicest winter’s holidays I’ve had in quite some time. I actually ended up doing things! Prepared to be reminisced at!

The Hangover with Kasia, Georgia and Meg: Cookie dough! The essential supply of the movie-goer from this day onward. It was also a very amusing movie, so snaps to The Hangover. Sleeping over afterward was obviously awesome too, Meg and her Omegle conspiracies.

“Toodle-oooo, mother****ers!”

Summer for a day, with Maddie and Tegan (and a brief cameo by Mitch): I already talked about this, but how could the reminiscing be complete without at least a brief mention? Summer for a day, while not completely functional, is rather enjoyable. I really think we should do it again. But with kites this time. And I should be a little more organised.

“Get out of the lift. Get out of the lift.”

The picnic-for-Lucy-with-no-Lucy: That was a bit mysterious. We may never know what happened to Lucy, but it was still a nice day for a picnic. Anna/Anna’s sister makes really nice cupcakes : )

“You guys better watch out, I’m really good at Cheat…”

Horror movie night, at long last: Sarah! How can we have not seen each other for four weeks? You better get your act together, Nun One. Saw was really not so scary, but still worth it. Poor Marcus.

“I knew he was there, and I got scared anyway!”

Kite-flying for Micaela: Pocket kite is a good little creature. He just needs the right conditions. Big kite can also be quite majestic. Blue slushies on freezing days are quite the best idea anyone ever had.

“The kite tried to kill me!”

E+J visiting, just like the old days: Crosswords and Cloverfield one-upping, what more can I say? Oh, of course. I had so much fun. We always have things to do. Three cheers for children with imagination, and take pity on their neighbours, gentle readers!

“Where is he?” “…” “AHHHHHH!” *has heart attack*

Transformers, and Courtney’s new haircut: Oh, your brother shaved it while you were sleeping, is that so? Haha. Overall, not such a great movie, but it’s all down to the company. Fairy floss, I love you.

“You have to sit next to me so I can tell you who I’m going to marry.”

A day out with everyone: Ahh. The fun begins before everyone has even arrived. To clear things up, I’ll just let you all in on the embarrassment. Me, Tegan and Kasia were waiting for everyone to arrive, and I turned around and saw Meg. Same colour hair, tall, thin, well dressed, and a reasonable distnace away. So I waved. Half a second later though, I realised it wasn’t Meg. If Meg had a male clone, that would’ve been him though. Embarrassing though. And he walked right past. He even turned to us and sort of looked confused, but I was looking away! He was cute too. Haha. Anyway, the day was fun. Meg’s impractical shoes, bubbles in the fountain and the speedy escape, adventures in the comic shop, ARCADIA!, Jenny’s awesome photo skills, the hipbones of the boy on the brochure. A good day.

“That must be Meg! That’s not Meg!” *blush*

The Tragedy: *remembrance*

Room tidying and paper cranes: It’s lovely having space. I don’t feel enclosed and unhappy in my room anymore, it’s cheerful. I love my cranes. I love my letters. I love my Astro Boy postcard.

“Ajestic? Oh, majestic. I see.”

The Hottest 100 of All Time, huzzah!: It certainly got better after a time. Fanz Ferdinand deserved better though. I cried when they played Hallelujah (Y) We’re pro, Georgia.

“Killing in the Name Of makes me want to be violent and kick things.”

“Like communists?”

“Yes. Just like communists.”

And that was my lovely holidays everyone. The major events at least. In between, I applied for a job, went driving, nearly drove into a drain, got my nose pierced, watched too many movies to name, made a pie, read fanfics end to end, on after the other, read the last two Harry Potter books again, talked to Hayden (You got mentioned, see?), and bought a bowtie. I also spent an entire evening quoting Black Books and The IT Crowd non-stop.

“I am declaring war. A war on stress!

“Stress is a disease people, and I am the cure!

“I’m a doctor with a cure!

“No I’m not, I’m a general, and it’s still a war!

“A war on disease! STRESS!”

Ahahahaha.

And in case of an emergency, “Remember the new number! 0118 999 881 999 119 7253.” “Well that’s easy to remember…” : D

And I think I’ll leave it at that for today everyone.

Toodle-oooo… I won’t finish the quote.

Yesterday while sat at work munching on my sandwiches I saw this article on the Guardian. It got me thinking, what are my favourite TV shows of the noughties?

Well to start with I just want to ask what is ‘The Wire’ that is mentioned so many times in the comments following that article? I have a feeling that many people will be aghast at me asking this question but I don’t care. Am I the only person in the world to have never seen this? I hear people go on and on about it and I think that might be why I’ve never seen it. It’s been so hyped up I just didn’t care. So The Wire is definitely not on my potential list but if anyone can give some decent reasons to watch other than ‘it’s awesome’ then I may have a peek.

I have a special place in my heart for Black Books and therefore this is definitely in my nominations. Released in 2000 it just scrapes in but I’m so glad it does. Dylan Moran is one of my heroes, out him together with Bill Bailey and Tamsin Greig and I’m a very happy bunny. It’s not just the acting but the writing too. The whole thought process, Black Books is truly marvelous!

My list becomes less decisive from here, which says a lot about TV, or maybe a lot about me.

I’ve decided to include The League of Gentlemen, yes I know it first aired in 1999 but it carried on until 2002 so in my mind it counts, anyway this is my list, I make up the rules, stop judging me.

So yes, TLoG (I’m too lazy to keep typing it out over and over). I was first introduced to this by a friend and I’ve been hooked since, including Psychoville despite the loss of Mark Gatiss and Jeremy Dyson to the writing team. This brings me nicely to my third nomination. Psychoville. So far I’m very impressed and as long as they don’t ruin it I believe it could become some sort of cult classic.

I’ve just remember another one. Greenwing. Absolutely amazing and again starring Tamsin Greig. The writing is brilliant too, which always helps. I don’t really know what else to say, it’s quite surreal but it’s always brings out a smile.

Time for something other than comedy now, sadly it’s American but stars our very own Hugh Laurie. Yes, House MD. A brilliant show, yes I know some people claim that it’s a bit repetitive, patient in, gets better, gets worse, gets better again, leaves/dies. BUT it never get’s old, and it’s not just the self contained episodes, it’s the deeper series long plots. It makes me laugh, it makes my cry, it’s sublime to watch and, although Laurie’s American accent take’s a while to get over, it’s brilliant. The writing, the cast, the props, all top notch and definite runner for Top 10 of the noughties.

Now for a more recent show, Lie To Me, currently being aired on Sky 1 it’s amazingly original. Using facial expressions and body language to tell if someon’es lying. I can’t believe no one’s thought to do it before now. Tim Roth is excellent!

I’m losing track of my nominations a bit now, that’s 6 so far. Only 4 more to go, go on keep reading, not much more now.

Well to be honest I’m struggling to think of anything else.

Oooh, I know! Newswipe! Charlie Brooker is yet another hero of mine, and even if he wasn’t his stuff is pretty awesome. A great look at the news. Which has just reminded me of Louis Theroux! I can’t pick just one thing so let’s just lump them all together. That makes 8, nearing the end now people!

How about a bit of Ashes to Ashes. I much prefer this to Life on Mars, the 80s was great for music and I’m loving the soundtrack. The story isn’t half bad and my Mom has a small crush on one Mr Philip Glenister.

Last nomination now. How about a bit of love for Top Gear? I really enjoy the specials and the challenges. The North Pole episode was on the day I came out of hospital, it hurt to laugh but I couldn’t help it. Immensely enjoyable, and I understand people will argue that it’s all set up etc but it makes me chuckle, and like I said this is my list.

So what do you guys think? Agree, disagree? Already have your own list? Anyone care to explain The Wire to me?

While catching up on my favourite shows on Friday during a rare night of peace and quiet, I came across a show that used to be broadcast on channel 4 called Absolutely.  I only watched a couple of sketches but one was the most funniest thing I have seen in ages!  It involved a sort of Pavarotti look a  like bouncing along jollily on a sort of open tractor singing a jubilant song about something, the tractor stops behind a mini Metrooooooo and on the back of the metro was a sticker saying:

” My other car is a Porsche…”

To which the Pavarotti look a like finds greatly amusing and goes on to laugh heartily while bouncing along on the tractor.  You have to see it!  I have been looking around for a video of it to no avail, you can see it on channel 4 OD just now. This got me to thinking about how much I love comedy in general, stand up, sitcoms, films and sketch shows so I thought I would compile a list of my favourites.

Father Ted – This is one of my all time favourite shows, it introduced a number of catchphrases and faux swear words that are still around today.  It was warm, funny, clever and just an all round amazing programme although it could of been about a very touchy subject, religion and catholic priests it crossed boundaries and I think everyone could of found some humour in it and it was just a bloody great show and I was truly devastated when Dermot Morgan died.

Monty Pyton’s Flying Circus – No best comedy list would be the same without a mention to monty python, their comedy is intelligent, different and still highly influential to this day.  Not to mention the films Life of Brian, The Holy Grail and The meaning of life.  Monty Python brought comedy to the masses and gave it a certain amount of respectability and of course pushed the boundaries which all great comedy should do.

Next I am going to choose one of my favorite stand ups, now I have always been a massive Billy Connolly fan I know some people think he is a sell out but I don’t care I love ‘im!  Anyway, I never thought I would find a stand up comedian that made me laugh till I nearly puked in a good way until I found Jason Byre, his stand up is seriously funny with his manic style of humour and that sketch about the rabbit…

Black Books – Another comedy gem from the man that brought us Father Ted and many other comedy greats, Graham Linehan.  Black Books follows the lives of Bernard Black who owns a run down second hand book shop and his hard put upon man servant/ supposed employee Manni and their friend Fran.  Bernard is a bad tempered, chain smoking, alcoholic Irish man, queue some classic banter and amazing insults.

I couldn’t do a list of my favourite comedy without including a mention to one of my favourite films, Napoleon Dynamite.  When I first say this film I couldn’t believe my eyes, the sheer brilliance of it was too much, this is honestly one of the best comedy films of the past ten years.

This is just a small selection of my favourites as I said the list could be endless, feel free to leave a comment and any suggestions you have….

In celebration of Terry Gilliam’s “upcoming” (in Germany) movie: The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, a song by Tom Waits. The song reminds me of the awesome comedy show: Black Books (link to the intro).

"Do you have a loyalty card?"

Okay, I may or may-not be a part-time bookseller for the company described in this article  by the Guardian (which should really know better, especially when it sells a lot of its books). I admit it. Therefore, this article explaining why my company is supposedly destroying an industry does not make much sense to me.

While I could actually go through every point and bore everyone around with a slightly-above-average knowledge of the publishing world (thanks to theBookseller website), I just have 4 points.

1. How difficult is it to explain to someone that a book only costs £8.99 if you have already spent £10 in store?

2. Why pick on Waterstones? Apart from it striking me that you could tweak this article to complain about Amazon (who, lets face it, is the biggest thing to happen to books in probably twenty years), Borders, Barnes and Noble or dear old W. H Smith, I can’t help but wonder if it is because they happen to be the most recognisable bookstore after the loss of Ottakers.

Is it just because…

3. You, Sir, are a ‘potential customer’ (that being an euphemism for the words I won’t use) who is just narked that he could not go into a bookstore and read something without buying it. How dare a bookshop not sell Tacitus, and instead have shelf space for other books that people may want to read? Okay, so selling Dan Brown or even Katie Price may somehow be like a comedown for you (as though I should criticise someone for something they willingly want to read and instead tell them to read Dickens), but the fact is that if you only had a bookshop that sold Ancient Greek History and was ‘like an Edwardian Library’, you would go out of business. Everyone has the write to read what they want, and does not deserve to be intimidated by an environment just because you want to buy Frankie Boyle’s new biography. I would rather work in a large, friendly environment that had a good variety of books, than an environment that alienated people.

4. Why didn’t you ask a member of staff to find it for you? Had it occurred to you that it might have already been sold (because you hadn’t read it beforehand)? Or was under a display table? Or was being ordered? Don’t you also realise that shops around the country may sell slightly different books to relate to local interests? Next time, I suggest you have a quick chat, and I’m sure we could find something for you.

However, I do agree-it would be nice to have lots more chairs.

At long last, The Mighty Boosh made headlines in the local paper! Despite the inevitable transformation from a terrific obscure secret to a mainstream hit, I hope this means that the several years of rumors about a Boosh movie will finally materialize within the next year or so.

If contempo British sitcom genius like the Boosh, Graham Linehman’s Black Books and The IT Crowd, Nick Frost and Simon Pegg’s Spaced (complete series available on Hulu), and Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace gained more recognition in the states, it could probably force a revival for decent program in American television (“decent” only because Americanized adaptations usually water down the best elements in time).

Not savvy to the Boosh? Below is part one of the Killeroo episode from series 1. Check out parts two and three here.

It was supposed to be a big night for top urban fiction author Teri Woods, who had invited 175 people to party at a trendy SoHo nightclub to celebrate her new book.

But Woods ended up in tears when she found almost her entire guestlist being kept outside Greenhouse’s notorious velvet rope.

Now a $1 billion class-action suit says the partygoers were denied entry because they were black. Read more by using the link below:

http://www.letstalkhonestly.com/blacknewsblackviews.html

As an avid reader and genuine lover of books, I really do not spend a lot of time  in bookstores.  Why?  Because brick and mortar establishments rarely carry the titles that I desire.  That’s understandable.  They only have a limited amount of shelf space per genre.   Given that fact, it often puzzles me how some selections have made it to the shelves while others are absent.  Recently, I was hanging out in one of my favorite bookstore chains, which will remain nameless, and decided to venture over to the African American fiction section.

Upon browsing, I became annoyed and dismayed; so much so that I had to call a friend and have her bear witness to the literary atrocity I saw on those shelves.   Many of the titles (and authors) escape me and for good reason–there’s no way that I would want to remember them.  All of these books fell in the trendy genre of ‘urban fiction’, which translates into ‘hot ghetto mess’ on paper.  What about the rich literary heritage of Black writers?  Where were those books?  Ah! One hardcover copy of ‘Invisible Man’ by Ralph Ellison sat on the top shelf, while all of the street culture lore remained at eye level.  By   training and profession, I’m a marketer so I understand shelf placement very well.  These tales from the ‘hood were readily available with multiple copies; on the other hand, Toni Morrison and Ralph Ellison were situated high enough so that a customer would have to want that book really bad to retrieve it.

Now, this bookstore is located in a predominately White, upper middle class neighborhood, but there are a few surrounding areas that consists mostly of middle class African American families, so apparently, the bookstore services those areas as well.  Nevertheless, the titles carried at the bookstore were audacious enough to pique my curiosity.  Who in the hell buys and reads those books?

Our children?  White children? If so, then that frightens me, whether it’s one or both groups.  Black youth who have taken up a love of reading should not be subjected to such material, unless they have been properly introduced to those prolific Black writers who laid the culture’s literary foundation.  How else will they learn how to balance their imaginations?  Think about it this way.  Most secondary English classes require students to read what has been dubbed as ‘classics’ by authors such as Emily Dickinson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and William Faulkner.  If I recall my high school English class experience correctly, we read very few titles by Black authors.  I’m almost certain that hasn’t changed much in the past 20 years.  So, whenever a Black child desires to read works by Black authors (like I did), if the only thing that’s available to them are the urban fiction titles….now, do you see why I’m frightened?

Suppose White children are reaching for these urban fiction titles.  Will they believe that they have effectively tapped into the essence of the African American cultural landscape? If you add the current state of Hip Hop music and about 90% of Black television, then unfortunately, I would have to answer that question with a resounding ‘yes’.  Both White and Black children would have a rather lopsided perspective about the African American experience, which is a pity.  For Black children,  reading these works could potentially establish a warped sense of cultural identity, while for White children, these works could possibly continue the legacy of stereotyping.

Could it be that serious, Chandra?  Yes.  It is.  After all, we are talking about impressionable minds here.  Besides, books are a gateway to acquiring knowledge and understanding.  Whether fiction or non-fiction, all books can be used as a learning tool and give a deeper meaning to many of life’s occurrences and bodies of thought—past and present.  For instance, we are able to gain incredible insight regarding the past just by reading a book written during that time frame.  During present times, books  shape our opinions regarding ongoing social, political, economic, and cultural issues.  Therefore, it would be foolhardy to discount the effects of these ‘hood stories’.

So,  is urban fiction really needed? Yes and no.  Yes, because I have always been a firm believer in balance.  Everything Black ain’t good.  In addition, Blackness has many different angles and all of them deserve some light.  But there should be a sufficiency of all of it; not some of it—and most definitely not the worst of it.  This leads me to the other answer of  ‘no’.   In the long run, urban fiction will perhaps cause more harm than good because it will become harder to spot passionate and sincere writers.  If garbled vulgarity is considered quality writing and storytelling, then that means nearly anybody can write a book. Secondly, the need to construct a complete story and most importantly, leave the reader with a profound message will no longer be the motivation to write.  What a disgrace to the legacy of Black writers such as James Baldwin, Chester Himes, Zora Neale Hurston, Alice Walker, Richard Wright, James Weldon Johnson, Gloria Naylor, John Oliver Killens, etc.

The aim of urban fiction is the same as much of contemporary U.S. culture—to entrap us all in the downward spiral of  dysfunction without a purpose.  For us, as African Americans, this nihilistic behavior is becoming the centerpoint of  our cultural identity.  Considering that Black culture has been in a defensive position for several decades, trust me, that’s not a good look and I….am….scared.

Sidebar Note: I have a good friend of mine that works in a bookstore.  He told me one day while we were discussing this very subject that the bookstore does not donate any of these urban titles to prisons for inmates to read.  Why?  Because the prison administrators do not want the content of the books to interfere with the prisoners’ rehabilitation.

I am tired after a long day of figuring out (largely by memory, but also largely from Google) how to write a personal statement. From what I gather, it’s like writing a CV, but with more sentences. This occurred today while it rained outside, and I digested the teacher (of the class I volunteer with) thoughts on vegetarianism that he shared with the class today. Essentially, eat all of the beefburgers you can. as that will stop them farting and releasing gases into the O Zone Layer.

I know that is hardly Greenpeace’s (or, indeed, any other environmental charity) view on the matter, but it does make a twisted kind of sense. Or, at least, this is the excuse I will use in future so I can continue to eat the odd steak guilt free. I just don’t want these set upon by PETA or somesuch because they repeat it as fact in five years time.

So, here is a link up of various blogs I have been reading and rather like.

You haven’t read Boing Boing? Shame on you.

Bete de Jour is one of those blog writers who makes me feel pathetic to be anywhere in the vacinity of his writing. Read his latest blog entry on dealing with those crap gambling sites, and you will see what I mean.

My new obsession (after House, Hot Fuzz/Spaced, Doctor Who, U2, Futurama, Black Books, Old Doctor Who, Internet comics and the Cold War) is Steampunk fiction. Tor is not sating my love for everything brass with big dials.

Linking steampunk to my love of bonkers Victorian inventors, this comic on Lovelace and Babbage is also rather ace.

… And it’s Goodnight from me. However, I choose to leave you with the sight of Craig Ferguson (I’ll include the Wiki link for anyone who is British and vaguely knows the name but can’t think why) in a blond wig. Hey, it floats my boat.

PS: To paraphrase Simon Pegg: “I’m not a Nerd, I’m a geek; I have social skills.”

“Peace Virginia girl. Hope for the best. Believe for the best. Expect the best. Breathe in Peace and exhale angst.” Virginia said to herself then dropped the folders on her desk and answered Vern’s call. “Hello” she said calmly, leaning away from the receiver as she was confronted with a thunderous tirade of… “What the hell took you so damn long to answer the damn phone Virginia?” What… you over there giving the boss man some head under the desk or something? Why don’t you tell that know it all fool, to let you up off of your knees for a minute so you can talk to your HUSBAND? I mean I know that don’t mean a damn thing to your sorry behind, but I’m the one stuck with you till death do us part. Man… I can’t believe I let myself get caught up with a loser like you. But… like it or not I own you woman!” Vern barked into her ear. “What do you want Vern?” Virginia asked in monotone. “What do I want? You better watch your damn tone with me! Oh, so you got a piece of job and now you think you somebody? You really think I’m gone let you talk to me ANY kind of way, you B… CLICK!!!”

The click signaled to Vern that Vgee had hung up on him, again. Vern held the phone away from himself, asking it “What the heck is wrong with these women lately?” and slammed the receiver hard on it’s base. “Eleven forty five!” Vern exclaimed, looking up at the green faced, crystal clock with the inscription “To Virginia Duncan In Grateful Appreciation for your Dedication and Service!” which sat atop the mantle of the fireplace. Then he huffed “Dang…I’m gone be late for my meeting with Don Weston, fooling around with that ditz brained Virginia!” He walked over to the mantle, tipped the clock over, and watched it crash onto, and crack a corner of the ornate emerald tile in front of the fireplace. Vern smiled seeing the crack spread across the special order Italian tile that Virginia had laid down herself, after taking a Handy Ma’am’s class at the local hardware store. As chunks and splinters of the crystal dispersed, he did a quick two step backward, pressed his hand daintily against his mouth, and in a high pitched voice with a nasty smirk puckered his lips saying “Oops…my bad!” “How you like that miss high and mighty? You go and let them losers at work swell your head up by giving you this cheap ass clock like you somebody to be appreciated. You ain’t nothing Virginia.” He hissed at the clock, and left to make his meeting.

“He must be out of his mind if he thinks I’m going to listen to that crap from him at work.” Vgee said as she turned off her cell phone, dropped it back in the bottom of her oversized handbag, and tried once again to focus on her work. “I’ll deal with him when I get home.” She exhaled, resting her head in her hands, trying to ward off the feeling of light-headedness and nausea, which visited her more frequently lately. Virginia hadn’t been to the doctor in almost two years, and dreaded the thought of having to go now. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew deep in her spirit something wasn’t right in her body. She had been feeling kind of run down lately. Even though she could tell by the looseness of her clothes she’d lost some weight, she was too number shy to set foot on a scale just yet. She felt weak and tired all the time. It was harder for her to keep focus and fixed on even the simplest of things lately. In a whisper she prayed “Lord I’m not trying to claim anything, but whatever is wrong with me, I know you alone can fix it. I declare that I’m healed and whole in Jesus Name. Amen.”

Virginia adjusted the monitor on her desk, attempting to return to work, knowing it would be difficult. She couldn’t understand why she still let Vern get to her like that after all this time. She’d been with him her entire adult life, since she was 22. They met back when they were both struggling college students. She now, like a bird of wisdom, observing from a hind sight perch, understood that except for the amazing children they’d made together, their union was like a violent shipwreck. She realized too, that it was time for her to change course and head for a new horizon of hope. The reality of Vern’s constant, apparent and utter disdain for her could not be ignored. What sense, did it make to stay with someone who had nothing but the worst of him to give to her? The kids were all grown up. There were no more babies in the house to worry over. Of course there were the grand kids, but she sent them home at night with their parents, most of the time. When she thought of her precious grand babies, she didn’t want them to suffer under Vern’s wrath which seemed to grow more vicious and bitter day by day.

She couldn’t wait for him to get back on the road again. When Vern was home the only thing he was capable of giving her was a daily dose of evil. Virginia’s eyes filled with tears as the reality and heaviness of her situation momentarily lured her into sea of despair. She reached up to wipe away her tears and knocked over a photo of her and Angel, grinning and hugged up after church the day Angel accepted Christ. Picking it up Vgee looked at her lovely friend and wondered if everything was all right with her. The strange call she’d gotten from Angel before daybreak, asking Vgee to cover for her at work, left her worried and wondering how longsuffering Angel would continue to be, fighting the cause for what seemed a hopeless mission of mercy called “Honey baby.”

“Jesus…oh Jesus, I need your peace that passes all understanding right now and always. You LORD, are the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. You are King of Kings, and LORD of Lords. You are the only Wise God. You’re my Mighty Counselor, my Prince of Peace. You God are my Abba, my Daddy. Lord I need you right now. Dear Father, I lift up Angel, Honey baby, my family and myself to you right now in the Name of Jesus Christ. You alone are our Jehovah Shalom, our complete and perfect peace that covers us and passes all understanding. We need you now LORD. Please Father send your help speedily. I thank you God in advance for answering my prayer, in Jesus Name, Amen.” Virginia prayed, and believed, as her tears flowed freely, washing away the tension from her face.

“Aw shoot.” Virginia sniffed, wiping away tears that dripped from the back of her hands and wouldn’t let up. “Please God, not another crying spell, not a t work.” “Dog gone it! Why can’t I stop crying?” She asked herself. Vgee dug in her purse for a tissue to wipe away the tears. After drying her eyes, she blew her nose and saw the blood again. “It’s nothing. It’s nothing.” She said to herself. Thinking about it, she realized “I’m simply tired and hormonal.” The miserable, debilitating combination of extreme exhaustion, and peri-menopause were no joke to Virginia. She also recognized that the week and a half that Vern had been home was wearing on her hard. He worked overtime to make sure she didn’t get much sleep. It reminded her of the days when she was at home full time doing the stair step baby dance. The dance where, there was a baby keeping time in her womb, one straddling her hip, and another couple swinging from and clinging to her legs. After a long harried day of caring for the kids, Vern insisted on his mandatory Vern time.

Vern time usually consisted of a daily course of Virginia bashing, verbally and physically, as Virginia pulled off his smelly boots and socks. She had to sit on the floor, after she’d served him dinner in his hand-me-down lounger, and massage his smelly feet for at least twenty minutes. He would sit in his easy chair with a dinner plate on his lap, growling obscenities at her and the kids, while bits of partially chewed food landed in her face and hair. He really got off on systematically beating down her spirit all day with nagging anxious phone calls dictating what she’d better have done by the time he got home. Then, worn and exhausted, after what seemed an endless day of attending to her motherly and household duties, he would signal her with a look it was time for sex. She had to be showered and naked on the bed then wait until he was ready to begin. There was very little affection to their intimate time together: no deep kissing, or much touching even. Virginia was breast-feeding two babies at the time, and he would also suckle at her breast, only because he liked the taste of her milk he said. But usually, foreplay was not a part of Vern’s sexual repertoire with her. He did this to make sure that Virginia understood to expect no passion or tenderness from him. Just point your toes to the opposite corners of the ceiling and respond on cue to his self- gratifying, off beat rhythms, as any “real” woman or good wife was meant to do. A few minutes later when he was done, she had to shower, with the door open at Vern’s insistence, so she could listen to his ramblings about the dumb, lazy co-workers who backed up to their paychecks at work.

“A monkey could do most of their jobs,” he would say, and they had nerve enough to try to tell him something? ” They ain’t working me like a friggin Hebrew slave. Believe that. Screw them all!” Vern insisted, ” If they do it the way I see it, the work don’t have to be so hard. Them stupid fools make it harder than it needs to be.” Then, “Virginia, it don’t take nobody that long to wash they behind. Get yo ass out of that shower, running up my water bill. I’m the one who’s at work all day dealing with them jackasses, just to pay the bills around here, while you sit on your ass all day, playing with them damn kids.” Vern would complain. As the memories came and went, Virginia shook her head, smiled sadly, and thanked God that she had made it through those long ago, tough, painful days. Vern had been especially difficult last night though, she thought. She didn’t get to sleep until around two thirty in the morning. He kept fussing, cussing and making clumsy attempts of seductions and come-on’s, saying “Gimme a kiss woman; You look pretty today for some reason; You look like you need some… I’m just trying to do you a favor and give you what you need, it’s been awhile since we…you know girl.” until she finally gave in. She hated to do it, but felt it necessary just to get some peace and sleep.

Vgee had the disgusting routine down pat, knowing that a few moans, groans, some wiggles and shakes, would end the miserable ordeal quickly. When she finally did get into a good sleep, the phone rang and it was Angel. Vern woke up long enough to sarcastically ask, “Who is that…your man from the job? You don’t have to pretend that’s, that trifling loser Angel. I know that was some crusty Negro on the phone.” Vern belched out rolling over, burying his face into the pillow. He tried to will himself back into his dream of making love to Patty. “Ahh,” thoughts of his beloved, log legged Patty, filled him with excitement. Except lately, Patty seemed distant, which didn’t help his disposition any, and dear Virginia became the unknowing recipient of his sexual frustration. He wanted to say more about the early morning phone harassment, but he wasn’t going to interrupt anymore or his “Patty cake” time, fooling around with Virginia. Vgee thought to her self “What a way to start the day” after she was done talking with Angel. She placed the phone back on the nightstand and held her head between her hands, to fight off a bout of dizziness. She couldn’t know that she wasn’t the only one Angel had reached out and touched with a pre dawn phone call this morning.

A few minutes later across town, Iselda Conman, wife of James, nudged his shoulder with the back of her hand trying to pass him the cordless phone at four o’clock in the morning. “Passtor” she muttered sarcastically, in a hoarse raspy voice “James get up and answer this phone. It’s Angel, something’s going on with Honey baby… again.” “What? What time is it? Who did you say it was?” he said groggy, irritated and struggling with the bed covers to a seated position. “It’s Angel about Honey baby.” covering the mouthpiece with her fingers she added” Wake your ass up and deal with this” she answered him, shoving the phone into his waiting hand. Fully awake now, he shot her an angry look, which she returned, adding a pissed off smirk, and a sistah girl head twist to the nonverbal exchange. First Lady Iselda Conman of The New Way Believers Church was so tired of the middle of the night/early morning calls by distressed female parishioners, congregants, saints, and church members whatever you want to call them. This was the third time so far this month that her home life had been disturbed by someone else’s ‘emergency’. Iselda noticed James shift his attention before answering the phone. Following the direction of his gaze, there standing in the doorway was their ten-year-old daughter Divinia. Dressed in a Smiling Kitten pajama set, wearing a concerned expression on her lovely face, she padded over to her parents bed, and fell into Iselda’s doting arms.

“Hold up. Wait. Slow down Angel and tell me again now, where did you say you and Honey baby are?” James said getting up from the bed, looking over to Iselda with his eyebrows raised, appreciating the beauty of her mildly scarred face, without the pancake make up she usually packed on by the bucket load, in spite of his protests. He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. Iselda rolled her eyes, tightening her embrace of her beloved child, who was focused with rapt attention on her daddy, waiting for the next tidbit of info about sister Honey baby from her church youth group. With the phone pinched between his ear and shoulder, he stepped into his trousers and out of the bedroom. He caught the worried curiosity in Divinia’s eyes, and he wasn’t going to allow her to be stressed by Janette’s latest mishap. Slipping out into the dimness of the hallway, James closed the door behind him heading for the kitchen. He needed a drink.

Angel took in a deep breath, pressing her self further into the car seat. She cut her eyes with disgust when she looked at the distraught, disheveled Honey baby, and punched the steering wheel with a side fist. “Sorry Pastor, my nerves got the better of me. I was saying that I really need your help. I had no one else to call, and I can’t do this by myself.” she choked out, weeping once again. Janette sat beside her trembling and staring off into space. Her mind was adrift in turbulent, nauseous waves of confusion. The drug haze that had her in free float, earlier, crashed and left her paranoid and scared to death.

James sat on a kitchen stool sipping the aged Cognac his brother Jeffery had given him. He listened patiently to Angel weave another tale of Honey baby’s misadventures, amazed at how his plans were falling into place with no great effort on his part. When Angel began to cry, he took another sip of his drink then, in a voice as smooth as the delicious Cognac sliding down his throat he said “Angel, baby I’ll be right there. Tell me where you are again, I’m on my way.” When he hung up the phone, he downed the last sip of his drink, and rinsed the glass; He didn’t want to hear about it later from Iselda. “The Lawd sho do provide.” He said in an over exaggerated attempt at a deep southern accent. He smiled, setting off for the bathroom to freshen up and slap on some cologne. The shoulder Angel would be crying on this morning, needed to smell good.

Honey baby, sat beside Angel rocking and moaning. “Wake up Percy. You gotta wake up!” she mumbled as the rocking increased. She began shaking her head violently screaming “Percy, please be alright!” Angel unhooked her seat belt, turned to Janette, reared back and slapped her across the face with a force that caused Honey baby to lurch forward slamming her cheek on the dashboard. ” Shut your stupid ass up!” Angel hissed. “Keep still, and be the hell quiet Honey baby!” Stunned into silence, Honey baby gently cupped her stinging cheek in her hand and sat back quietly. Angel reached down in the side pocket of her car door for the hand sanitizer she kept there. She reached across Honey baby’s heaving bosom into the glove box for the fast food napkins she saved. Taking off her jacket, she began to wipe down the front of her tee shirt. The speckles of vomit from trying to revive putrid Percy clung to her clothes, the acrid smell making her nauseous. She took another swig of the mouthwash she kept in her purse, swished and spat it out of the car window. The thought of her mouth on Percy’s during her CPR efforts, and him throwing up all over her, made her want to slap the piss out of Honey baby again.

“Percy,” Angel moaned, as she thought of him, alone in the richly furnished downtown Dallas loft. She and Honey baby had left him lying there, on an authentic Persian rug, in a nasty puddle of his own piss and puke. They sat outside in her car a half a block down, waiting for an ambulance, and Pastor Conman to arrive. Angel was worried and scared. When Honey baby called her hysterical at three twenty something in the morning, she jumped from the bed and flew to her aid. When she arrived at the marijuana-smelling loft, she found Honey baby pacing back and forth mumbling incoherently amidst an array of multi colored, half empty liquor bottles strewn about. In the middle of the floor lay Percy, half naked on his side, with one leg draped over a chocolate brown leather ottoman. The overindulged little white boy Janette had been running around with had stopped breathing. Vomit covered the lower half of his face and neck, spilling into his ears and shoulder length sandy blonde hair. She dropped her purse and went into action like a seasoned professional.

Angel fell to her knees next to Percy, placed two fingers on his neck feeling a faint pulse, as she bent over him and confirmed he wasn’t breathing. She grabbed his musty Tee shirt from a nearby chair and wiped his face. She scooped his mouth out, laid him on his back and began CPR. She worked hard to bring his bony body back to some stability from what looked like an overdose. When he finally did respond, he was breathing shallowly, and spewing the contents of his gut all over her. She turned his head to the side, gently lifted his thigh and shoulder, and carefully rolled him onto his abdomen, to let the vomit drain and keep him from choking. Before she could try to control her own body’s reaction, last nights Alfredo Fettuccine flew past her teeth and mingled with the nastiness from Percy. Honey baby witnessing the gross scene, threw Angel a damp kitchen towel from the sink. Angel did a quick swipe of her face and chest and slung the towel at Honey baby’s head, barely missing her face but catching her neck. Janette snatched it and was about to lob it back, but thought better of it when Angel stood up and started toward her.

“Start wiping any place you think you touched Honey baby.” Janette looked at Angel questioning and confused. “Wipe away your fingerprints stupid. Snap out of it! Whatever you touched wipe it down!” Janette smeared a fancy glass table top with the rank towel, shooting Angel a smug defiant look as she picked up some marijuana joints and colorful pills, stuffing them into her pants pocket. “Fine.” Angel said, “I’m out of here. You deal with this mess by your self now smart ass.” turning to walk away. Stricken and desperate Honey baby cried, “No please Angie. Wait I’m sorry. Imma do it right!” Janette begged, dropping to her knees, pulling at Angels sweatpants. “I promise to do it right. Don’t leave me Angie. Please?” Angel threw her head back, rolled her eyes to the ceiling and said “Look Janette, this is some serious stuff you’ve gotten yourself into, girl. This boy could have died. Here you are under age, surrounded by liquor bottles, drug paraphernalia, and high as the dang sky. Do you want to go to juvie again, or even jail Honey baby?” Terror and tears filled Janette’s lovely eyes. She shook her head no, and stood to her feet. She headed to the kitchen for cleaning supplies and did as Angel instructed.

When she was satisfied that Percy was stable, even though he was still incoherent, Angel dialed 911, informed them of his condition without giving her name, and wiped away all the evidence she could think of that her and Honey baby had been there. Angel checked again to make sure Percy was still breathing, “Good enough!” she said then snatched Janette, and got the heck on up the street. She called Pastor Conman to see if he could help get Honey baby as far away as possible from the whole messed up situation. Angel was tired. She conceded that Honey baby had not just stepped, tapped, or danced on, but had disintegrated her last nerve. She was “Too Through” with her this time.

Hot salty tears burned Honey baby’s eyes as she strained to look through the windshield at the paramedics carry Percy’s limp, fragile body, out on a stretcher to the back of the open waiting ambulance. Angel’s attention was focused in the opposite direction. Looking through her rearview mirror she saw headlights pull up behind them, and blink off. She finally exhaled long and slow after realizing the tall lean muscular man exiting the car and coming toward them wasn’t a cop, it was James. Angel flung open her car door, rushed out and fell into his arms. He made a face, and held his breath, chuckling at the irony of the moment. There he was bathed in expensive cologne to make an unforgettable impression on her, she, on the other hand, smelled like the bottom of an alcoholic’s belly. After squeezing out the last agonizing remnants of a hard cry Angel took in a deep breath and began coughing. The smell of Pastor’s cologne was too strong for her taste.

It was five thirty seven Angel noted on the dashboard clock of her car. She was alone for the first time this morning since Janette called pulling her away from a deliciously naughty dream. The fantasy of her and Devlin together embarking on exciting sexual adventures, made her smile. Her rational mind though, told her “There is something about him that is off and not quite right.” For all that Angel had experienced in her young life, she was usually pretty good at reading folks intentions. Her inner voice told her that Devlin was a whoremonger. Period. She knew it, but he was so damn fine. She took great pride in the fact that she had him working diligently to get and keep her attention. The rest of the Secretarial staff at Dawson, were straight up hating on her for having him do it. So what? Nobody told them to pop off their panties at his first “Hello.” So, here she was Monday morning, the day after she and Devlin had been to church together. She had already called Vgee to let her know she would be in late, and to cover for her. Angel switched on her right side blinker and proceeded to follow Pastor James’ car onto the Denton exit. Honey baby was in the car with Pastor on their way to The Clergyman’s Cottage, a bed and breakfast inn, frequented by out of town Preachers, owned by James, Iselda and Jeffery Conman.

“Yeah it’s me again, we’ll be there about fifteen or twenty minutes. Do you have everything ready for us?” Okay, and tell Delilah I don’t want to have to wait for her. We’ve got to move on this. Tell Dottie I want the Brie omelet, mango squeeze with blueberries in place of the strawberries, and bacon. Alright, see you in a few.” James put his cell phone back into his jacket pocket looking over at Janette, who sat pressed up against the car door, with her eyes closed. “You don’t have to act like you’re asleep Honey baby, I know what’s going on. Open your eyes and talk to me. Now tell me everything you drank, smoked and swallowed last night. And you better not lie to me” James said reaching into his pants pocket. Embarrassed, Janette did as she was told avoiding direct eye contact with the Preacher.” I just had a wine cooler last night. That’s all. She lied. “Don’t make me stop this car and beat your lying ass Janette!” The cold cruel way he said it made the hair stand up on the back of Honey baby’s neck. “Um okay, Percy made me smoke some weed and take a pill with a “E” on it. That’s it, that’s all I had last night. I promise Pastor.” James reached over, nudging her arm, saying, “Here take these, they’ll help you to relax.” Then handed her two little blue pills. Janette wanted to protest but knew by the stern look on his face it wasn’t a request, but a command. “I can’t swallow pills without something to drink.” She tried to stall, but he had already reached into the backseat and came up with a bottle of water, handed it to her saying, “This’ll help to get em down nice and smooth. Drink up!”

This was the first time she would be late to work since she was hired at Dawson Inc. Angel became angry again at Honey baby for jacking up her routine. She stunk of Percy puke, and couldn’t wait to take a shower. As her mind danced from one concern to another, the image of Honey baby so shaken and distraught, softened her heart and she was once again back at Bernard and Nannette’s house trying to console Honey baby, TT and little Kate. It was the first day all four of the girls had to endure Bernard’s awful chastity check together. Fifteen-year-old Angel had just come inside trying to slip through the screen door as quietly as possible. She and Reggie B. the 19 year old from up the street, had just finished consummating their official couple status in the back bedroom of his Granny’s house. Getting it on in the house while Granny was there proved a daunting task for the young lovers. “Reggie!” Granny called out from the kitchen, “Is that you baby?” “Yes Ma’am.” Reggie answered. “What took you so long boy? Did you get my chili powder from the store child?” “Yes Ma’am.” He said, savoring the deliciously seasoned smells of good home cooking, as he set the grocery bag on the kitchen table and pulled out the change from his pocket, to count it out into her waiting hand along with the receipt. Granny didn’t play with her money. All had to be accounted for.

Reggie nervously counted the change into Granny’s hand, spilling a few coins on the floor. “What’s wrong with you boy? You got to go to the bathroom or something? Why you dropping my money? Shoot Reggie, now you’ve got to start all over.” Granny insisted. Reggie grimaced, sighed deeply and began a recount into Granny’s patient outstretched hand. Reggie couldn’t tell Granny that he was anxious to get to fine ass Angelina Arceneaux, who waited out back beneath the bedroom window for him to let her in. When he was done counting, he dashed out of the kitchen, heading to the back of the house, with Granny shouting after him “Stop running in my house boy. You know you too old to wait until the last minute to go pee!”

When Reggie stepped in the back bedroom, he ran over to the window, carefully opening it, so the grinding squeak wouldn’t cause Granny to come back there. He banged his head hard on the window and cussed under his breath, he was so anxious to get next to Angel. He leaned out ready to whisper her name, when he saw Angel one arm around her waist, and a hand cupped to her mouth, doubled over laughing at him. “Angelina!” Reggie said as loud as he could in an aggravated whisper. She looked up, and noticing his annoyed furrowed brow, stood defiantly, with her hands on her hips, asking, “What is wrong with your face Negro?” Reggie realizing he might be throwing away a chance at bliss, quickly adjusted his attitude with a twinkle in his eye and a sly grin, answered “Nothing baby, I just can’t wait to get you up here, that’s all.” “Humph,” Angel replied, cocking her head, and pursing her lips, then said “That’s what I thought it better be!”

Thinking back on that day those few years ago that seemed like another lifetime, made Angel wonder if in her entire life she’d ever known a moment of selfish innocence. The beauty of her surroundings called her back to the present, as she followed Pastor’s car onto a winding, tree lined, gravel road. Dawn was now taking its bow, before the warm glow of a beautifully looming morning sun that streaked through the trees in golden flecks. They were coming upon a large white ornately decked out mansion. “Is this the much revered Clergyman’s Cottage I’ve heard so much about? Oomph, cottage my behind, the brochures don’t even do it proper justice. This bad boy is banging!” Angel marveled, eyeing the four humongous white columns that stood like proud sentinels to welcome visitors. As they drove around back, to park her jaw dropped at the scenic splendor and grandeur that surrounded them. All around and especially behind the Cottage, nature expressed her beauty. She was arrayed like royalty, or like Angel’s boy Wayne would say, Nature was ” Stunting like her Daddy!”

They parked their cars, and James blew his horn. Before Angel could step out of her car, Sister Delilah from church was there, in a gorgeous floral sundress, opening her car door with a glowing smile. “Morning Sister Angel, if you follow me in, I’ve got a relaxing bubble bath and a fresh set of clothes waiting for you. Sister Dottie will fix you anything you want to eat. Just let me know what you like, and she’ll have it ready when you’re done freshening up.” The alluring scent of jasmine and bacon engulfed Angel as she exited the car speechless. How did Sis Delilah know she would need a bath and some grub? She looked over at Pastor and a clumsy looking Honey baby who was immediately whisked away by Sister Aphrodite. James gave a sneaky tap to Aphrodite’s bottom, watching her walk away he said, “Get it ready.” Aphrodite turned slightly, then smiled and nodded. “What the feezy is going on up in here?” Angel thought to herself, as she followed Delilah, into the awe inspiring Clergyman’s Cottage.

To be continued…

Poolteist tundi Black Books sarja tähe Dylan Morani teravmeelset püstijala kabareed Monster. Kerge viide algatuseks, mida võite temalt oodata. Ja pole mingit mõtet tõlget oodata minult, show on inglise keeles, õppige keelt või unustage etteaste.

“I don’t want to make any huge generalisations about women, I’m not here to do that, it’s—it’s vulgar. But all I’ll say is that they have no feelings. Because it’s actually men, you’ll find, who are the far more romantic. Men are the people you will hear say, “I’ve found somebody. She’s amazing. If I don’t get to be with this person, I’m fucked. I can’t carry on, no, I mean it, she’s totally transformed my life. I have a job, I have a flat, it means nothing. I can’t stand it, I have to be with her. Because if I don’t, I going to end up in some bedsit, I’ll be alcoholic, I’ll have itchy trousers. I can’t—I can’t walk the streets any more.”  That is how women feel about shoes.”

Dylan Moran

Black Books oli üks väga armas sari ja eriti sellepärast, et seal oli väike tuumik, mille ümber kogu koomusk pöörles. Muidugi selliselt ka peategelased rohkem tähelepanu korjasid. Sama ei saa öelda Dylan Morani Koletise kohta, kus Dylan ürituse nimele ebavääriliselt kohati üsna pehmet juttu lohistas ning kuigi lõppkokkuvõttes oli piisavalt lõbus, kõikus üldine kvaliteet üsna seinast seina. Muidugi pole kindel siin see, kas kõikus siin tema kvaliteet või minu arusaamine sellest, aga lõpeks pole see kuigi tähtis enam. Sellise kraami juures on see laialt levinud. Vaadatav materjal kindlasti ja tore mees, kes ka suurel ekraanil on veenvalt esinenud ning tema teist etteastet samas vallas vaatan kindlasti üsna pea. Ja isegi loodan sisimas, et see on parem.

IMDB

Harris died July 23 at age 54, just months before the release of his final novel “Mama Dearest,” in stores today. As a tribute, many of the authors Harris once helped will help promote his novel. Howard, along with Eric Jerome Dickey, RM Johnson, Clarence Nero and others, will share memories of Harris, read from the new book and sign copies at Outwrite Bookstore & Coffeehouse. On Friday, authors in 16 cities will host simultaneous events hoping to give Harris one thing he never attained when he was alive: a number one best seller.

Read more about this and check out his new book Mama Dearest here:

E Lynn Harris, Mama Dearest

Kolleeg  ostis raamatu. Niipea kui ma seda nägin, tuli mulle kohe meelde Black Books. Pärast seda kostus kolleegide poolt tükk aega ainult itsitamist.  Ülejäänud vaatasid meid kui segaseid.

Be on the lookout for things that makes you laugh , if you see nothing worth laughing at , imagine you see it , then laugh.

Add a dab of lavender to milk, leave town with an orange and pretend you’re laughing at it.

Be the king of your own calm kingdom.

Hindamatu, ma ütlen!

In versions of iTunes prior to 9, videos that are compatible with a device have been displayed with black text, incompatible with grey. In iTunes 9, I was looking at the TV settings for the iPhone and noticed that all of my TV shows appeared in black. I’ve ripped all my DVDs as 768 x 576 (4:3) or 1024 x 576 anamorphic (16:9), 2500Kbps H.264, 160Kbps AAC. Up to this point, I was never able to sync a file greater than iPod resolution.

To my delight and surprise, these PAL-derived monsters synced across and played. Here’s one from Arrested Development, ripped from a Region 4 PAL DVD:

iPhone Settings Panel, Showing Compatible TV Show

This is the only 720 HD TV show I have, Dollhouse. It’s a rip from a TV broadcast. The iPhone wouldn’t accept it:

iPhone Settings Panel, Showing Incompatible HD TV Show

Next I tested an iPod Classic, the true standard. Despite the apparent compatibility (black text), it wouldn’t sync anything above iPod standard:

iPod Settings Panel, Showing Incompatible TV Show

What does it mean? It means less work when preparing DVD content. I can now rip one version of movies, TV shows and music videos, as long as I sync to an iPhone (and presumably, an iPod Touch). This is a pretty major step forward. Perhaps next year we’ll be able to sync 720 HD.

It has been far too long since I’ve made a mix CD. Just so tough to find the time to do it these days.

So I encourage each and every one of you with the time to do so to make a mix CD for yourself, your friends, that special someone, your pets, etc.

Here are some of the snippets that I like to use to introduce my mix CDs, or break up the middle or end with a nice closer.

The Mighty Boosh: Love Games

Flight of the Conchords: Bret, You’ve Got It Goin’ On

Black Books: The Elephant Book

Homer Simpson: Smiley Face Breakfast Special

The IT Crowd: Damn These Electric Sex Pants

Its Sunday morning anywhere in black America. Woman after woman files into the local church to receive their weekly fill-up of Holy Spirit inspired word to get them through the next week of hellacious duties. The choir sings stirringly and the preacher presents a riveting sermon. The Congregation is moved beyond words and the only emotions that can be expressed are what seeps through in the flowing tears that stream down the faces of the fellow worshipers. Everything seems business as usual.

On Monday evening, at any predominantly black school in America, you have mother after mother file into the classroom and take a seat and wait impatiently for the latest PTA meeting to start – Okay I’ll put a pin right there and if you haven’t at least started to see where I’m going with this post then you may want to take a break and come back a little later……………..

Okay, now that you’re back, for the sake of everyone else reading this blog, I’ll explain my point. In the first example you see woman after woman file into church but there is no major mention of men. Now I don’t want to infer that men do not go to church, because I very much go to church myself. It is, however, a well known fact that in the African American community women attend church in far larger numbers that men, but that’s another topic for another day. My point is to bring out the number of single women that attend the church each Sunday. I’ll get back to that later.

So with the mothers at the PTA meeting, I want to point out nearly the same thing. I will again make the disclaimer that I’m not saying men don’t attend PTA meetings, but I think we all know the deal. It’s a Monday night and the Eagles are probably playing the Cowboys. It would be hard pressed to get me to miss that one. There is still a large disparity in the number of single women that attend school functions as opposed to the married ones (that just happened to have married an extreme football fan).

So my blog topic deals with marriage. I started with the church in this instance because I wanted to make it clear that the church is not immune to the marriage decline or divorce. Anyone who attends church can vouch for this argument. Sometimes the church takes a high and mighty stance when it comes to some social issues, so we make the world feel as if we are not sorting though some of the same issues they are, but you don’t become perfect because you join church, the church just becomes a little less so because you joined.

I was reading an article recently that said, fewer African Americans are getting married. Some of the stats were actually not shocking but alarming. The reason they didn’t shock me is because I’m the only young Black man I know that’s married. By young I mean less than 35. So I know that there is a decline in at least the men’s readiness to jump that broom. I recently read a Article posted in Ebony in 2003 that featured, apparently, the most up to date stats on this subject. It says in 1963, which was the year Dr. King gave his famous I Have a Dream
Speech, the rate of families headed by a married couple was 70 percent. In 2002 it had dropped to 48.

Here’s one more alarming. The amount of people that are even choosing to get married the first time is declining steadily. 45 percent and 42 percent of black men and women respectively have never been married. The percentage of black women that are now married fell from 62 percent to a mere 31 percent. Black women are now considered the group that is least likely to get married. Do you now see the ties with my two examples?

So my question is why?

I’ll offer my opinion. I think it is due to an overall decline in moral value amongst the African American community. I know that may be controversial to some but the truth is not always easy to hear. We have more people living together instead of actually being married. In the days that our grandparents and parents grew up, that sort of thing was unheard of. A character by the name of Julie went through this same thing in my book, The Grass is Always Greener. She didn’t place any standards and requirements on her relationship so she took whatever her man offered. Marriage was what she wanted badly but what he was least willing to give, do she accepted living together and the hope he would change his mind one day.

Secondly, I blame our willingness to accept the media as truth. Through television outlets (thanks BET) we have desensitized our children to sexuality. Every time we turn on the TV we have to see some booty shaking in front of the camera or some rapper bragging about how many women he’s been with. Yet, he’s married. We went from My Girl to Every Girl, from Lets Stay Together to Separated. Listen to the lyrics in our music. Before any rapper get’s upset, no you are not a role model, no I don’t let my children listen to you, and yes I am and will be the most important influence in their lives.

Think about it. I just now found out that Ring My Bell was about sex. It was disguised. Now we have songs like Wetter that tell you exactly what it is and how to do it. Kid’s now know what size condom to buy before they know what their shoe size is or how to do long division. We also glorify the idea of sleeping with as many people as possible and never marrying. This used to be the stereotype for men, but thanks to rappers such as Lil Kim, Foxy Brown, and Trina we are seeing women flaunting promiscuity as much, if not more than men. Marriage is the last word on people’s mind.

That’s my take. What do you think?

Hmmm… a show about a book publisher, you say? CBS, you’ve done it!  If there’s anything the American Idol set wants, it’s a show about book-toting yuppies by a “‘Will and Grace’ alumna.” Of course, never judge a show by its premise. A show about an uncouth book store could turn out to be Black Books (equals goood) or Stacked (that show with that lady Borat likes so much).

The CSI actor and author of “Letters to a Young Brother” and “Letters to a Young Sister,” Hill Harper discusses black relationships in his new book “The Conversation.” While the official release date is September 8, Harper encourages people to support “The Conversation” via pre-sales to prove to prospective sponsors of his planned city-to-city book tour, which includes town hall discussions, that this issue is important.

I was encouraged to make this post after hearing Harper’s interview on the Steve Harvey Morning Show. Harper spoke about the “All black men are playas” and “All black women are gold-diggers” stereotypes that we we allow to separate us when we accept them as truth. “The Conversation is the first non-fiction book chosen by the ESSENCE book club.

Below is a letter that Hill Harper wrote to members of his website ForRealSolutions.com

Hey everyone, it’s Hill Harper, and I am writing you today because I NEED YOUR HELP!

The statistics are startling: In 1966, over 80% of African American children were being raised in two-parent households; in 2006, that number had plummeted to 31%

Or, get this: 70% of Black professional women are single. Smart, successful women with no suitors?! What’s going on?

If we don’t start addressing the issues between Black men and Black women, we will bear witness to the destruction of the Black family. I won’t stand by and be silent.

It’s so important to me that I’ve written an entire book on the topic. The Conversation, will be hitting bookstore shelves this September.

My goal is to host a city to city tour of FREE town halls where we can all come together and have a real conversation about what’s really going on. I want single folks, married folks—young and old—to courageously let their voices be heard around this topic that is often discussed on talk radio or afternoon TV shows, but rarely taken on face-to-face within our communities.

AND, I want singles to have the opportunity to mix and mingle at these town halls. Let’s connect singles together in every city we visit!

It’s no secret that a tour like this one—free of charge to its attendees—would be expensive and require corporate sponsorship dollars. I must to prove to the prospective sponsors that this issue is important to us all. How do we do that? I can prove that we care about this issue by sharing high book pre-sale numbers with them. And by tracking what area of the country the pre-sales come from, we can be sure to schedule the tour cities for those areas.

I AM ASKING YOU TO SHOW THAT YOU CARE!

We all have to join The Conversation and begin to work on these relationship issues.

Thank you so much for all of your support.

Let’s do this together,

Hill Harper