Negro Please

The Wayback Machine: Act One, Scene One

"Feels alright (sweeter love). Feels too good (sweeter love)" - Blue Six, Love Yourself (Basti & Vincenzio Remix)

Negro Please: The Blog will be retired on or around January 22, 2007. This is a trip through the archives. If you're still hankering to read my writing, you can do so at VOX. Fair warning: it's much different than my writing in this space. I encourage friends and family to register at VOX to get past the velvet rope of my privacy controls there

This piece was originally posted on September 12th, 2002.

They tell me I rarely cried when I was a baby. I was born with an afro just like most black children in the seventies. I started talking early and reading early. My aunt, the aspiring teacher at the time and current Board of Education member in Omaha, made me her little project and got with the instruction just as soon as I showed some kind of recognition and understanding. This is what they tell me. It is how my lore begins.

What I remember though is going to the hospital for drinking too much orange soda, crying my eyes out when they had to put Queenie to sleep and this: my first memory.

I fade into this like any good story, in the middle of the action. I am sitting in the passenger seat of my grandmother's car. I don't think I'm in a safety seat. They probably weren't very big in 1978. The interior is red, the car is white and I'm talking. Just yapping away. I imagine this is why all the grandkids love grandma. She talks to you like you're a human being. None of that baby talk nonsense. She asks me about my day, I ask her about hers and we converse. She doesn't talk at me even though she's as opinionated as everyone in this family. She listens. She shares.

We're driving back to our house from the grocery store. I can smell the oranges in the bag. Fresh, bright, sweet. Grandpa has given us the best of his current lots. I understand that he runs that place and is proud of it. Its his store.

We're on our street and I'm yammering away about what some boy did to some girl and they blamed me but it wasn't my fault and I didn't get graham crackers and I had to take an extra nap and I don't like Miss Judy and can't I just stay home? Those kids can't read anyway.

*thump* The car rose a bit as we went over a lump in the driveway. We bounced a bit as we slowed to a stop. Grandma was silent. I turned to her and said, "OOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

"Now, Jay, I don't know what we hit. Maybe it was just a rock. Stay in the car." Now, I'm 3 years old and small for my age. This seatbelt might as well be a straightjacket for all my ability to escape it.

"Grandma, I think you hit a cat. OOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

"I didn't hit a cat. I think it was a rock," She replied, not very convincingly.

I twisted around in my seat and peaked through the back window.

"OOOOHHHHH, Grandma look, Grandma look. You killed a cat. I told you you killed a cat. Grandma's catwoman cuz she killed a cat. And I'm Batman. duh duh duh duh duh duh Batman!!!"

Grandma went to the back of the car and saw that she did, in fact, destroy a poor white cat. She sighed and opened the trunk and began pulling out grocery bags. She tried to keep my mind off the cat by asking, "So, who's your mom?"

"She's Batman's mom except," I whispered, "she didn't die."

"Okay and so who's Grandpa?"

"'Misshner Gordon"

"And your uncle?"

"Robin. Uncle Mike's Robin. Duh duh duh duh duh."

"So, I guess that means your Auntie is Batgirl?"

"No, She's The Riddler."

"He's a bad guy. Why's your aunt the Riddler?"

"Cuz She's always got questions. I hate that shit."

"Jay! Hush your mouth with that talk."

"Okay," I said and paused, "Catwoman! Duh duh duh duh duh duh!!"

The Wayback Machine: The Green Machine

Negro Please: The Blog will be retired on or around January 22, 2007. This is a trip through the archives. If you're still hankering to read my writing, you can do so at VOX. Fair warning: it's much different than my writing in this space. I encourage friends and family to register at VOX to get past the velvet rope of my privacy controls there.

This piece was originally posted on August 27th, 2002. It has been slightly edited but not as much as I thought I would have to do. I was awfully screwy with my tenses at this time but this one stays pretty solidly in the past.

My new dad drove an old, green station wagon. I say new dad but that suggests an old dad and really, I can't remember ever having one of them before then. So, he's really just dad. When you're 4 and someone tells you this is your dad you say, "OK! Piggy Back Ride please!" and you're just happy because some giant wants to pick you up and fly you around the room. That changes later.

He drove this station wagon he called the green machine. The seats were shredded with yellow tufts of fluff sticking out at inopportune places. It was the loudest car in the history of noisy automobiles. I covered my ears when it started or when he drove into our driveway. The muffler rattled. It was prone to loud bangs if it was having trouble revving down and turning off. I hated that car.

It hated me as well. It swallowed Star Wars action figures. I would be playing with Luke in his Tattooine whites, walking along the rough terrain of the back seat while storm troopers hid in the cushions or behind seatbelts waiting to strike. When Luke got in position to be attacked by Stormtrooper #1 ready to pounce from the space between the seat and back cushions, he was nowhere to be found. I drove my small arm into the small opening and rummaged around but...nothing. The car let out a small bang from its muffler. It sounded like a belch.

My father gave me a warning every time we got in the car: Don't lean on the doors. The latches weren't strong and locked or unlocked, with enough pressure, they would fly open. This is a hard directive to follow for a very young boy with a penchant for daydreaming and a need to observe things. Because of this, most of the time I was strapped in in the middle of the large backseat. Which was horrible, I was far too short to see out the front of the car and unless I strained my neck, I couldn't see much out the two side windows. But I wasn't leaning on the doors and that was a good thing.

One night though, I wasn't strapped in the middle. I wasn't strapped in at all. It was late, maybe 8:30 or 9, and dad was running to the grocery store. I begged to come with. It was far too close to bed time and I wasn't about taking a bath and going to sleep yet. He agreed just so that I would stop bothering him and quickly got me in the back seat. No warning this time. No making sure I was strapped in the middle. Just get in the car and go.

I stared out the window with my head laying on my arms leaning against the glass. We sped along the road and I watched the trees fly by, the older boys doing tricks with their bikes in their driveways and the flashing of fireflies in the night sky. I wondered what it would be like to float through the air with my butt lighting up at my whim. What signals would I send? What tales would I tell? The door flew open and I fell forward watching the gravel of the road go by. At 5 years old you don't have your life flash before your eyes, you don't even consider that you're about to die. I was amazed at all the different colors of gravel in the road. I could see the flecks of glass, the white stone, the random flecks of orange and red and yellow.

My dad grabbed my shirt and held onto me as I was precariously close to tumbling out of the car. I don't know how he drove and held me at the same time. Eventually he was able to muster the strength to toss me back into the car and slam the door. He pulled to the side of the road and checked to make sure I was okay. I had been until he made such a fuss.

His checking of all my limbs, his cursing, his hugs, his kisses, the heaviness of his heart beating in his chest when he hugged me, the sweat on his brow, his worry that my mother would freak, it all came to mean one thing in my mind: something bad just happened. I stopped talking and I sat very still. My eyes were quite large and I started to shake. My dad lost it. He worried that I was going into shock, or worse, that I would look like this when we returned home. 

He asked, "Wanna go to 7-Eleven?" I turned to look at him and didn't respond but my shaking stopped. He continued, "You can get a slurpee and any comic books you want. Archie, Jughead, whatever." I agreed.

When we got home, I had arms full of comics and pockets full of candy. I quickly kissed my mother and told her I was going to bed. She asked about a bath but my father told her I'd do it in the morning. I didn't eat any of the candy but I read Betty and Veronica and some other Archie books before passing out.

That night, I dreamed I was a firefly with an amazing story to tell.

The Wayback Machine: What I Would Do To You

"Let me inside. All day and all night. Inside. Inside all day." - Central Living, Inside

Negro Please: The Blog will be retired on or around January 22, 2007. Over the course of the next month I will be re-posting some of what I consider to be the best of my writing here. If you're still hankering to read my writing, you can do so at VOX. Fair warning: it's much different than my writing in this space.

This piece was originally posted on February 2, 2002. It's the first piece that I think is actually decent. It just happens to also be one of my first (and few) attempts at writing sexual material.

What I would do to you? I would grab you from behind, my arms wrapped across your stomach and pull you to me so that you would know I was there for you. There to stand with you, to hold you up. I would breathe on the back of your neck softly, kiss you gently...once.

What I would do to you? I would whisper in your left ear. Tell you that besides your mind, your hopes, your laugh, your dreams, your quirks, your heart, what makes you beautiful is this--my hands gliding across your belly, stopping at your belly button. And this -- my hand holding your breast, my finger rubbing lighty where I can sense your nipple. And this--me tugging you againt me so that you know that your ass is beautiful. And this--my hand laying gently on the front of your jeans. And this--me turning you around so that I can cup your face and stare into your eyes.

What I would do to you? I'd kiss your forehead, the tip of your nose, your eyelids and finally your mouth...once. I'd whisper in your right ear. "What makes you beautiful is the way you make me feel about myself." I'd nibble on your earlobe, tugging playfully. My hands would massage your neck and shoulders as I kissed down the right side of your face. I'd stop at the corner of your mouth and leave my lips there for a second. I'd kiss the left corner of your mouth and linger. I'd look directly at you and let you know what I wanted.

What I would do to you? I'd let my hands explore your back, your waist, your arms, your hips. I'd kiss you deeply, powerfully. I'd let my tongue meet your tongue. I'd pull your waist to my waist and suck on your bottom lip. I'd make you have to stop for a second to catch your breath. And then my hands would move. And then my lips would move.

What I would do to you? I'd kiss down your neck while my hands felt your breasts. I'd kiss your through your clothes. I'd tug at your shirt pulling it out of your jeans. I'd unbutton your top button. I'd remind you what it feels like to not have control. And to not want it.

What I would do to you? I'd explore your body with my left hand while my mouth and right hand worked in tandem. I'd come back to your left ear and tell you that what makes you beautiful is the way you say "oooh". I'd make your chest heave.

What I would do to you? I'd put my mouth on you. I'd put my mouth on you at the base of you. At the part of you that makes you really who you are. A woman, A lover, A giver of joy and pain. And then I'd put my tongue in you and drink you up. I would lift you to me. Accepting you, glorifying you, celebrating you, tasting you, enjoying you. And then I'd come to your right ear and whisper, "What makes you beautiful is the way you moan."

What I would do to you? I'd let you ride me. The part of me that is the base of me would stand at the base of you slightly inside you...and wait. Wait until you really accept me, until your body reacts to me, let's me in. As you engulf me, I would slow you down. I would make you really feel me. Feel us. I would want you to understand our oneness. To understand that at this moment, what makes you beautiful is me and what makes me beautiful is you. I would want to be one with you, our rhythm, our nakedness, our breathing working together like an orchestra of instruments building to a crescendo.

What I would do to you? I would pull you to me and lick the sweat from your upper lip. I would control your motion, contain your passion until it could be contained no more. And then with a glance, I would let you know that its okay to let go. And we would do just that. We would let go completely. I would set you completely free for that instant, that moment. I would make your body shake, quiver with what makes you beautiful. I would make you release. I would make you forget that there is a world out there. In this darkness, in this moment, I would make you believe that there is nothing but you and me. And you wouldn't want it any other way.

Oh the things I would do to you...if we were in love.

Secret Santa

Secret Santa
Originally uploaded by misterjt.

Thanks for the kind words and sounds, Susan!

Sunday Random Ten: Zero to Hero Edition

"Now what went down I don't believe it. I just know I can't conceive. I'm searching." - Roy Ayers, Searching

The Weekend: Friday was a home night to prepare for the rest of the weekend which featured me not in costume carting around ladies in full masquerade as a princess, a panda, a kissing booth and a two headed Dragon. I rocked my California Parking Systems shirt to have a non-costumed cover story ("I'm a valet. Can I take your keys and a tip?") and ended up going to two parties. One where some zombies got engaged and another where I danced it out. My girls like to party all the Daylight Savings Time.

This is important because as I was groggily going about my usual Sunday rituals, this morning there was...

Blogarazzi!: After breakfast, we made our way to Target in Burbank and as we're heading to check out, this occurs

Woman I don't recognize walking towards us: I feel like I'm seeing a rock star.

Me (rocking my "Whatchu talkin' bout, Willis" face) laughs nervously as she passes.

Woman: I read your blog.

I turn beet red and continue to laugh unintentionally.

Woman, passing by us again: You're on my myspace favorites. It says right there, "Negro Please!"

Now, okay, at this point I should be saying, "Really? That's so cool. Thanks for reading. Sorry I'm lame and don't know how to react to people in public" but instead of that reasoned response I just provide more uncontrollable laughter but at a louder volume and now with me sweating to add to the excellence of this exchange.

I check out and pull myself together still entirely too confused but as she exits...

Me: What's your name?

Woman: We're not friends or anything but I'm Teresa. You're one of my contacts on flickr. I'll send you a message.

Me: Nice to meet you, Teresa. Thanks for reading.

Teresa: You write well.

Me: Thanks so much.

Blogarazzi!

But now this makes me feel bad about this silly site that no longer gets any love and I feel worse because Teresa's on myspace and I'm not because I hate myspace so we had this awkward conversation in Target because Tom isn't my friend. Which brings us to...

Drop that Zero and Get with the Hero: Vox came out of beta this week and is now open to the public. It is myspace/livejournal for intelligent people who like pretty things and aren't trying to collect friends like trading cards or, hopefully, get spammed to death by internet marketers. It's made by the fine people at Six Apart who create these awesome blog tools like typepad and movable type and I'm spending all my free time playing over there. Negroplease.com is dead right now but negroplease.vox.com is alive and kicking. Sign up. Play around. Add me to your neighborhood. It's cold as ice!

Out of 444 songs played in the last week, we've got ourselves a

Sunday Random Ten

1. The Diff'rence - J Dilla aka Jay Dee
2. Crosses - Zero 7
3. Pack Up Remix (feat. Evidence & KRS One) - Lyrics Born
4. Anna Begins - Counting Crows
5. Secret - Maroon 5
6. I'm An Actor - Phoenix
7. I've Heard - Hot Karl
8. Get Away - 120 Days
9. Friends - De La Soul
10. Money Don't Make U Rich (featuring Strong Arm Steady) - Hi-Tek