Great DJ

My taste in music is different to say the least. Quite a few of my friends know I am currently involved in a love affair with The Ting Tings. Katie might not be the world's best singer. There might only be two people in their "band." But they make great music to which I cannot stop listening. I haven't been to a concert since I went to see Bobby Brown, Mary J, and TLC in 1993 (I fell asleep shortly after TLC performed), so live music was definitely in my plans this year. So when I saw on their MySpace page that they would be playing in Tallahassee March 31, my mind was already made up.

March 31 was Tuesday, and since the other two closers in my department have school on Tuesdays, I had work until 9 p.m. Club Downunder, where the Tings were to perform, opened its doors at 8:30, the concert started at 9:30, so more than likely, I was going to miss the concert due to work.

FUCK. THAT. SHIT.

I shut down that deli like I was late on the light bill, moving with quickness normally reserved for olympic runners and convenient store thieves. Although I normally leave work most nights after 9:15 p.m. most nights, I left W/D behind at exactly 8 p.m. Deciding me getting to the club on time was more important than me not smelling faintly like fried chicken, I skipped the shower, put on a button up and my new black shoes (I was very overdressed it seems), and hopped in Alberta.

On my way out of the complex, I saw a naked man running as fast as he could away from the house across the street, almost as though he had no business there. I'm not sure, but i think that naked man was forboding for the events to come. After parking and almost sprinting in the rain with an umb-buh-rella that I'm 87 percent sure is too small, I visually found out I'm not the only Ting Tings fan in the Tallahassee area. The line stretched around three or four corners and had more than about 400 people.

Praying to any god who'd answer, I silently called out for help getting inside. I was told there was only room for 350 people, and things were looking bleak. The line moved and moved, and right before I was to turn the last corner, a skinny, tattooed club worker told us they'd reached compacity although they were trying to fit in as many people as they could without the fire marshal knowing. I got five people away from the door when Skinny Tattoo Magee posted a sign that read "Absolutely No More Entries."

I was hurt, y'all, but since the doors were mostly glass, I stayed and watched my favorite band at the moment perform. I couldn't even properly hear them because Downunder kept the doors closed. But after the line dwindled down to about 30 people, many people left the club, endless pleading and flirting from the hot girls in front of me, and about 45 minutes, the bouncer let us in. All praises be to fat Buhdda, blue Krishna, long-haired white Jesus, and whomever the Hindus worship. I didn't get to hear all wanted to hear, but I damn sure heard "Shut Up and Let Me Go" and "That's Not My Name."

If a video of me at this concert ever makes it to YouTube, my family will be ashamed of me because I was rhythmlessly rocking out with my cock out (figuratively speaking). Below is a link to The Ting Tings performing "That's Not My Name" in Tallahassee. All you have to do is copy and paste it. Thank God I'm not in this video. Well not clearly in it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YKeYfAyZ1Q

B.Rand

A Closer Look -- "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency

I love movies, TV and music. And I love random, old, and sometimes obscure movies, TV shows and music. I also love writing, but it wasn't until a friend suggested I find something about which to write--and do it on a regular basis--that I decided to write about all of my aforementioned pleasures. With my Closer Look segments, I want to shed light on forms of entertainment I think are undervalued, have been unnoticed, or are worth a view just so people can judge it for themselves.

After HBO's "The Wire" ended, the network has been missing their token critically acclaimed show starring 90 percent or more black people. In my opinion, "The Corner," "Oz," and "The Wire" were no mere place holders. From what I've seen and read, those shows were great, providing smart, insightful entertainment all the while providing work for hosts of minority actors. But when I saw Jill Scott and Anika Noni Rose in advertisements for "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency," I had mixed emotions.

On one hand, we had and abundance dark skin and natural hair back on HBO, a network renowned for its high-caliber productions. On the other hand, there was forced acting and even more forced African accents (nawt the duddee = not the daddy). There were perfect-pitch notes: the show was actually filmed in Botswana. And notes that fell flat: a song by The Cardigans playing throughout the commercials. Imagine listening to "Love Fool" while watching the trailer for" Amistad."

But knowning how misleading commercials can be, I turned to Channell 14 Sunday night to judge show for myself. "The accents won't be that hard on my ears once I see the whole show," I told myself. "Playing The Cardigans during commercial for a show about Africans in Africa is just a way to rope in more white viewers. The show will be good."

But it wasn't good. It wasn't even average. There werent many things wrong with the show, but the things that were wrong were massive. I'm not that cunning of a linguist, but I know those accents can't be acurate. Anywhere close to accurate. Jill and Anika's accents sounded so forced that I thought they watched Halle Berry in "X-men" and elaborated on her shaky Kenyan accent. And the accents weren't the only things that were held at gunpoint. Anika's acting was so over the top. It was like an African-themed drag queen contestant on a new RuPaul show.

But my biggest issue regarding the No. 1 Ladies is that is boring. Very, utterly, painfully boring. I respect anyone who takes on a task as arduous as adaptive screenplay writing, but the premier episode could have been cut by 45 minutes and it would have been a much better show. I don't believe in rushing things just to satisfy short attention spans, but I also don't believe in drawing out an episode to approximately one hour and 45 minutes.

Did I like the show? Not really. Should you watch the show? Yes, just to make up your own mind. But I will tell you now, if you were looking for the next great HBO minority-driven show, this is not it. This show and these ladies are not my No. 1.

Green: not just for envy.

Greetings all.

I haven't written in a while, mostly because I only want to write about something notable, funny, ironic, etc. that I've been fortunate enough to witness. But so few times in my writing--and in my life--do I take the time out to simply kick back and enjoy the day. Even rarer are the times that are I take the opportunity to reflect of such a display of awesomeness. And today, March 10, 2009, was a flippin' awesome.

I didn't win anything. I didn't magically lose weight. I didn't even have sex with eleven international movie actresses like I do every other day. Today (technically yesterday; woop woop for the night owls) was slightly above ordinary, accented with sprigs of delight. Here's why...

*I was off today. Enough said.

*I got to sleep in even later than I normally do, and Ike and Tina next door didn't even wake me with any early morning domestic shenanigans. Nor did anyone's over-audible vehicular music festival rattle my walls.

*The weather was perfect. After venturing to http://thefuckingweather.com, I learned it was 81 degrees and that it was "fucking hot...yet not hot enough to warrant wearing a Speedo." All day long, I marveled at the clear blue sky, basked in the radiant sun, and then cut the shit and turned on my car's AC.

*I had on a completely new fit. Since it was the first clear, warm, beautiful day in a while that I've been fortunate enough to witness, I decided I should dress to celebrate Spring's slightly early arrival. My grandma kicks ass and buys me clothes when she can manage to do so. But don't tell my mom or aunts because "they don't need to know." I put on the denim shorts accented with green threads she bought me during winter and the green shirt she got me some years ago but i never wore because I was afraid of how that much green would look on me. But naysayers be damn, today was the day.

*I (along with some co-workers) helped out a friend who REALLY needed it. I'm not ballin' by any means, but when I have a little bit to give to someone who is in desperate need, I try to help. Seeing her so elated by other people's generocity put a spring in my step. Now I see why Oprah gives aways cars and humpback whales on her shows.

*I did my laundry...Everyone needs clean underroos.

*I got lined up. The dude at the barbershop edged me up nicely and gave me a great goatee. It's just too fucking bad that these simple proceedures took almost one hour because he got too involved in a barbershop debate about rap music, its artists and their influences. Nonetheless, the whisker grooming makes me look better, so I felt better. If only I had those green Chuck Taylors.

*I ate dinner with a friend and had a good conversation while doing so. And earlier in the day, I talked to my newly married friend who just returned from his honeymoon in Spain. Needless to say, he's a happy man.

*I saw The Watchmen. The movie was average at best, but, since I hadn't been to a full-price movie in quite a while, and I vowwed to see this movie ever since watching its trailer before The Dark Knight, I had my face in the place at 9:05...

*Three hours later, I am home enjoying a Whataburger "medium" chocolate milkshake that I am pretty sure started out as vanilla and made the ever-so-obvious transition into chocolate.

And now I'm chillaxin at my house watching one of my newly-favorite movies, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Still wearing my green.

Facing death in the country

Memorial Day was approaching and I had nothing planned. I thought I'd be a lame and get stuck at home on a day that should be full of cook-outs and beach trips, but Andrew came through with a plan. He invited me to go with him, Justin, Sean, and (later) Manny to Bear Paw, a river intertubing service in Marianna, Fla. I was happy to get an invite, but there was one very VERY important factor on which i would base my decision.

I don't believe in believing in stereotypes, but I prove one of them to be true. I CANNOT SWIM. Not at all. I can get myself to the top of the water, but that's about it. So before I accepted the invite, I asked, "Andrew, how deep is the water? I want to go, but you know I can't swim." With a straight face, Andrew said, "around three feet deep."

Three feet, you say? That's not deep at all, because I'm 6'1. That's what I was thinking the whole ride over there. Once we get there, I ask again, just to be sure, how deep the water is. Justin, not knowing I couldn't swim, nonchalantly says, "it's shallow, but parts of it get to be 8-10 feet deep.

WHAT THE FUCK!!! That was the end of my good day, and it was only 11 a.m. (noon eastern time). For the next four and a half hours, and the next 3-4 hours, i bitched, complained, lived and moved in fear, and cursed out (silently and very loudly) Andrew for purposefully misleading me into a dirty river in the middle of the country, where I was one of the only four black people I saw the whole time.

What have I learned from my experience? Never go anywhere Andrew invites you unless you've been there first. Punch the shit out of anyone who, after knowingly guiding you to near death, says "if i would have told you how (insert adjective here) it was, you wouldn't have came." And last but not least, if you wind up going bitch for four hours in front of your friends and co-workers, try your hardest to attempt to look on the bright side.

Keep it sleazy,
B.Rand

P.S. Not to be an utter downer, the bright sides of the trip were funny conversations when I wasn't fearing for my life, people trying their best to cheer me up, a complete stranger giving me a beer, and my companions, despite my constant bitching, pissing and moaning, "towing" me and my tube for a good 3 and a half miles. Thanks guys.

Here's to weed.

I used to see them all the time and think they were informative. I thought the individuals behind them wanted nothing but the best for the people who watched them. But then I grew up, got wise to the world a bit, smoked some weed, and came to my senses. And in my expert opinion, these anti-marijuana TV commercials are bogus, meant only to scare people away from the stickiest of the icky.

The commercials aren't completely bogus, but I hate how the they insinuate that every negative consequence known to man will plague you if you put blunt to mouth just once. People who do nothing but smoke weed--the people who wake up and instead of brushing their teeth, smoke some weed--might lose some friends, their job, their chance at getting another job, contact with their family members, their possessions, their state of awareness, and a bit of self-respect and dignity. But what about the people who smoke casually? What about the people like me (well, me prior to late 2007 and me after I get another job) who smoke weed once or twice a week, if that much. I can't speak for everyone who smokes pot so rarely, but I've never had any of that shit happen to me. I just got real hungry and ate the shit out of a Whataburger.


I applaud the anti-weed people for trying to keep America's youth drug-free, but if you are going to take up multiple thirty-second intervals of my life, don't only point out the negatives. Just like Tim Meadows said in "Walk Hard," weed won't give you a hangover, it's non-addictive to the vast majority of people who have tried it, and IT IS THE CHEAPEST DRUG YOU CAN TRY! (Where else can you and four friends have such a time by spending $5.50 each, five dollars for the grass and fifty cents each for a cigar?) Not to mention, if you get high on weed and watch "Lean on Me," "Harlem Nights," "From Dusk till Dawn," or "What's Love Got to do With It" with your friends, you will have stories to share for years.

I completely support people's decision to or not to smoke marijuana; I just don't support bumming the hell out of me when I'm trying to watch "Scrubs" by showing me some random "Chica," who speaks one Spanish word per English sentence and had her naked picture takes because she was high on weed. That's not what happens on a weed high. Getting naked and taking pictures is what you do when you are drunk. I know from experience.

Get this fake ass Maya Angelou and her poetry about a guy getting high and sitting on his stoop off my screen. Why is she spending all her time writing about him and what he does on his own property. Stalker, anyone.

If I want to smoke some pot, I will. And if I want to smoke fools like you on the tennis court, damn it, I will.

Light it up (if you so choose),
B.rand

EAT THE DAMN CAKE, ANNE

While at work, my roommate texted me, telling me horrible news. Ike Turner died on Wednesday Dec. 12, 2007. Like when everyone dies, I got a bit sad. And buy sad, I mean felt sympathy for his family and loved ones. I wasn't crying or anything. I don't even know the nigga. Just think of all the good Ike Turner has done for the world, especially black people, ages 15-35.

Ike was a pillar of rock and roll. Current popular recording artists credit Ike as an influence in their careers. He won a Grammy in 2007 for his blues album, "Risin' with the Blues." But what we all really know Ike for is an act dating back to prehistoric times: Going upside woman's head. And not just any woman. Tina Turner.

As vividly detailed in "What's Love Got To Do With It," Ike went upside Tina's head from, what had to be, the late 1950s to the late 1970s. There was lip busting, nose breaking, boot hitting, and shallow apologies. But I digress. What we really love most, and what I will miss most, about shrimpy ass Ike Turner is all the crazy fashion statements and catchphrases.

How many of you have Ike to thank for "fi- fi- FINE YO ASS," "damn Anne, you got mo excuses than a nigga going to jail," and "tho..tho..thought a nigga like me would let you go." How many people have had joy brought to their life when they saw Lawrence Fishburn in a purple, one-piece jump suit, a Beatles-inspired wig, and a belt with a hand buckle. Or what about the Indian-inspired outfit complete with the Afro with the feather attached. How many of us got a friend like Frost riding our nuts.

And don't think I forgot about everyone's favorite. "EAT THE CAKE, ANNA MAE. EAT THE G**DAMN CAKE."

Although Ike later (and for real) got off that narcotic, worked to clean up his image due to a one-sided, critically acclaimed movie, and won countless awards, I will always remember him as the coke-addicted, wife beater I grew to love. And while Tina Turner dances in her four-inch stilettos around her Parisian mansion, Friday, Latoya and I will get drunk, watch "What's Love..." and eat cake in honor of Ike. Anyone interested in helping us commemorate his memory can feel free to join me at 1081-2 Solana Ave.

Thanks for listening,
B.rand

Busted my shit wide open

Hello everyone. First I must say thank you to the people who actually read these things. I didn't know I had five fans, but I digress. This note is not that meaningful (in my opinion). But I felt other people needed to know since they didn't have tickets for the show.

For those of you who don't know, I work at Winn-Dixie in the deli/bakery departments. Every night, the closing person has to spray the floor with a mixture of water and grease cutter so health inspectors won't shut us down for having a filthy floor. And for those of you who don't know, I am consistently broke and unfathomably cheap. My shoes look like they are three shifts away from ripping to shreds. But since they have yet to break, I have refused to buy a cheap pair from Payless.

Long story short, I turned a corner, my right foot lost all friction, my left leg followed, and my big ass landed on the floor. Well, not the entire gluteus maximus. That's the one good thing about this story; I landed more so on my right upper thigh/lower butt cheek, saving me from a nasty tail bone injury. I thought the stinging would go away shortly after leaving work. I was wrong. My right upper thigh hurts more than my ears after hearing that J.Lo commercial for Rhapsody.com/jenniferlopez.

So, long story cut not so long....I fell at work and busted my s**t wide open.

Alieve should help, although I'm expecting a big ole bruise to show up. But if I survived being dropped by my friends while i was doing a keg stand, I can survive a fall.

Thanks for listening,
B.Rand