As you might have gathered, I'm finally willing to write about. . . certain events of several months ago.
It's Spring Cleaning for the soul. Only, um, in late November.
C.P.T., don't ya know.
Any road up, one of the reasons I left Minneapolis back in May, other than being dumped for someone my ex met on the Internet -- and that I drove her to her first date with, come t'think of it -- and who dumped her ass like a bad habit shortly after I left -- and if you don't think I felt just the tiniest bit of schadenfreude about that, given I got a teary, crying-on-virtual-shoulder phone call about it, you're confusing me with someone much closer to Sainthood -- damn, how many embeds is that? -- right, start over.
One of the reasons I left is that a one bedroom, no matter how spacious, just wasn't big enough for two adults and three cats.
Oh, and a pug.
Not that I really miss that annoying, yappy little bitch.
[wait for it]
[wait. . . for. . . it]
Or Sofia.
Alternate title: Here, My Dear.
Claim: Ordered by a judge to hand over all the profits from his next album to hisex-wife as part of a divorce settlement, singer Marvin Gaye deliberately recorded a wretched album designed to sell poorly, which he sardonically entitled Here, My Dear.
Damn. Another perfectly good gag, ruined by the facts. And I grew up hearing that story. . .
wow.
You went there.
WOW.
Did you drink last night? Or was it yesterday's music selection?
don't go all rageboy on us now aaron...
Jason, um, had two cups of coffee and a Red Bull so far this morning, but no drinks last night, no.
I just don't want to carry this shit into the New Year. Would just talk about it with Herself, but she decided she's No Longer Speaking to Me. And wasn't listening to a damn thing I said for a while before that, so.
Let's skip past effnic and go straight on to nigga.
r@d@r, say it with me, brother: I'm Five by Five.
I understand the need to shake that load off.
Let's skip past effnic and go straight on to nigga.
That reminds me of a line fromTalib Kweli and DJ Hi-Tek's (Train of Thought: Reflection Eternal) version of Nina Simone's Four Women
"she lived from nigger to colored to negro to black to afro and then african american and then right back to nigga."
So, uh, Happy Thanksgiving?
Yeah happy thanksgiving to us all. I too understand the need and support you in shaking it all off.
Firstly, if I was in Chicago this weekend like I should be (damn finances) I would scoop you up, drive to Smart Bar and down some shots of tequila, fuck the Red Bull.
Secondly, although the claim is heavy-handed, per Curtis Shaw (Gaye's attorney) via David Ritz in the liner notes:
The notes go on to say that Marvin reported wanted to do something quick and get it out of the way but "the more I lived with the notion of doing an album for Anna, the more it fascinated me."
It's safe to say he put his foot in it. As did you here, my dear.
Best paragraph ever. (The one beginning with "any road up" of course.)