p.s.: even in my teenage partially-developed sarcasmic wonder, i was smart enough to her before she ever opened her mouth.

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it's been MONTHS since i've done a post inspired by randomness, without ONE clear topic to successfully dump my brain of all its clutter. today ends that. with me being in the midst of a challenging transitional period as of late, this is very necessary, so...here goes:

my time thus far in Los Angeles has not been easy. life here hasn't been all beaches, tan bishes, and taco stands as some have expected. there are fiftyleven thousand amazingly talented dancers/artists here attempting to do just what i came here to do. some have been in the game for years, with no luck. so, for me to land and have any type of notable success, i must go above and beyond what's allowed me to get by up until now. it's competetive as fuck, of course, and, frankly, nobody cares. i've had an interesting time socially. met a handful of dopetastic individuals that i want to be around regularly, and i'm thankful for that. as expected, alex must overcome this social awkwardness, dive into life and take advantage of more social situations. in time, as with anything. per usual, being here makes me appreciate my resolution that it's better to have handful of good friends than fiftyleven million associates. i'm also realizing that every seemingly cool dancer is NOT someone i need to attempt to bond with. some people i meet often can't expound on anything other than dance. and: that.is.not.the.business. *shrug* oh well. i am working through a few mental and creative roadblocks. i came here to succeed and can't keep defeating myself. more on this later.

speaking of Mexicans. one of my favorite teachers here is a MexiCunt. a beautiful, glorious, talented, magnificant MexiCunt. and i forgive her for that.

understatement of the year: i love zebra cakes. they bring me crazy joy. they take me back to better, carefree times in Virginia...like not being able to wait until lunchtime, devouring my zebra cake en route to school at 7 am, 4 out of 5 days a week. so yea, i'm a fan. in Brooklyn, i could find them in EVERY bodega on every corner, along with loosies, pampers, Latino boys and muslim reading materials. here in this stupid ass transient city: NOPE. was told that zebra cakes were in every Target. well, bitch, i visited 5...and NOPE. they have all the punk ass oatmeal cream pies i could ever want, though. it wasn't until i ventured into the HOOD, into a liquor store in Inglewood that also sold Ketchup-flavored chips, that i spotted my drug of choice. damn shame. i can find fish tacos and cocaine on every corner, but Zebra Cakes, of all things, are hard to come by? FUCK THIS CITY!!

*elevator music*

oh, you hate Mariah Carey, too? i'm glad you mentioned that. let me say this once and for all: paying me with a years supply of general tso's chicken (or "general tao's or toso's chicken" as stupid nigras say) and zebra cakes wouldn't make me care about Mimi's new efforts. if that doesn't paint the picture, i'll add this:

*clears throat*

Mariah Carey would have to somehow suck my dick via speaker to make me give a shit about anything she has going on post-2005. i just can't grasp how her voice went from "unsurmountable musical powerhouse" to "limp-dick lame" without the aid of drugs...or Bobby Brown's legendary ship-sinking, life-ruining, hopelessness-coated charm. P!nk smokes cigarettes like Usher smokes penis and her voice is still in great shape. it's absolutely baffling. as wicked and awful as he may have been, Mrs. Carey-Cannon could probably use a Tommy Mottola chokehold right about now. just like Mary J. Girlbye and Whitney, the music's quality increased as her mental health went down. so, if Mimi's face beat up Nick Cannon's hand, could Mimi produce another "Butterfly"?

ALSO: i do NOT approve of Mrs. Carey-Cannon running around here looking all 1997 on us.
in good music news: my aunt bestowed upon me the Foreign Exchange late pass. and i'll gladly accept it. while the rest of the world has been grooving to the amazing sounds of Phonte and Nicolay, i was missing out. but like Chris Brown, i'm a changed man, i say! i'se seen de lite!

without rehashing all my obsessive twitter posts about the group, i'll just say that their album Leave It All Behind is a masterpiece. a solid, brilliant straight-listen. today, i'm getting into Connected and see how that compares. hopefully i love it just the same.


i'm also a fan of Darien Brockington, who i first peeped on "Give In" by 4hero (which also featured Phonte). so...i checked out his solo CD Somebody To Love...and no. his voice is solid, but the project wasn't nearly as moving as the WORST offerings of his frequent collaborators Little Brother or Foreign Exchange. sorry dude.

anywho, still here in Panera Bread...borrowing their free wifi. tonight, i'm off to Baldwin Hills to finish our massive bottle of Chardonnay and view "The September Issue" with my new girlfriend (seriously. my bish, not my homegirl), Jennifer Pauline (who you can stalk HERE). and no you can't come. rude ass.

enjoy the remainder of your day, though it wont be nearly as awesome as mine.

love, peace, and crackpipes,

~chris.alexander

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so. today i crawled out from under my rock and gave Whitney's new material a chance. haven't worked up the nerve to peep the album, but I did view this new "Million Dollar Bill" video, that premiered recently.

and...no.

i'll pass. i'm sorry. can't. won't. too late to 'pologize.

i'm a whitney supporter, yes. i love a comeback. i love that a legend can go from mountain high to junkie low and back to the top of the charts. and as i explained earlier today, my concern was that she looks and did well. and, she did. the new CD produced her highest opening to date, and the praise and accolades are pouring in. she's good. so.....she won't be affected by my lack of concern. right?

still, no thanks.

mind you, this was the FIRST note of new material that i've heard. despite the reviews and commotion, i haven't heard anything. i'm sure the music is splendid, but i doubt it'll make its way onto my ipod with the rest of my illegal music.

i'll give it to her: the girl looks great in the new vid. shaking off the King of Crack Rocks has done wonders for her, by all accounts.

*applause*



but, viewing the video, her antics from :35-:55 were enough to make me hit that useful red ex in the corner.

her "dreamgirls"-esque shoulder shimmy + "singing" with her tongue out + her dramatized, poorly-lipped vibrato = the death of me.

girl, no.

keep it.

good luck otherwise, Nippy. i guess.

this post can also be viewed at "Judgementally Yours..." for Honeymag.com

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Dear God,

I've been seeing a lot of my inner fat Asian toddler as of late. He has made his presence known in the most bizarre ways. As you know, God, he has been creating cravings lately. And not normal cravings, but pesky, Usher-esque "me want mansex" cravings. I looked back at old pictures from before you helped me lose a great deal of Dr. Pepper and Chinese food weight, and was mortified.

(me, last spring)

Ugh.

So, gracious Savior I come to you with this prayer:

God-

If I somehow manage to gain more than ten pounds of nonmuscle mass (read:fat) please, strike me down with the exact same force and severity used to prevent LaToya Jackson and Lil Mama from accomplishing anything other successfully failing in life.

Amen.

~chris.alexander

happened across some old faves from my myspace blog days (HERE). aaaand i found an old series of blogs, entitled "girl, you stupit" which highlighted the amazing, wonderificent achievements of lovely ovaried negroids 'round new york, new york.

these still bring me joy. and make me miss new yawk even more, now.

hurr.

"girl, you stupit. part three"

so..i'm on the train returning from the afropunk festival, where i saw janelle monae rip the damn stage apart, giving one of the best live performances i've ever seen...

i'm riding...and riding...

dre nods his head @ the woman across the aisle on the train.

i glance:




what? just some stupit Brooklyn woman with bad tracks? what's so unique about that?

i look a little closer:

i found Cashawn's response to this. and iDIED all over again:
"I hope she's straight. Good gawd in heabens!!"
*dead*
----------------------------------------------------------------
"boy, you stupit (awkward moments edition)

Scenario Two:

scenario two:

i didn't witness this awkward moment first-hand. one of my homies told me this story.

a few nights ago my friend and his roommate returned home from the city. the roommate stayed outside, smoking. my friend continued inside the apartment. there are two doors to the apartment, an outer door to the street and one that lets you directly into the apartment.

while walking into the apartment, my friend mentioned to one of the other roommates that one of the doors was still open. during the brief exchange there was confusion about which of the doors was left open.

in attempt to clear it up, my friend said, "oh, i thought you were referring to THAT door, now i know you were speaking in regards to THIS door....."

roommate (immediate, loud): Yo, son, you don't even know me like that to be throwing all those big words at me son. Forreal....

Confused, my friend just walked away.

(it just doesn't compute. how DOES one respond to that?)

-------------------------------------------------------------------
"girl, you stupit, parte dos"

a friend called JUST to tell me this fanfuckingtastic tale. again, i couldn't make this shit up, even if i wanted to. but. if i DID, you could bet your last pack of red koolaid that i'd have fifty-leven off-off-off-off-off broadway "mama done burnt up the chicken"-esque plays to my name. dammit.

prepare yourself. to choke.

my friend ck's friend was braiding a little girl's hair today. in my mind i imagine her name being chiquita ohmbarella-eh-eh jones. or something. (this is irrelevant, but made me chuckle.)

homegirl was getting microbraids in her hair.

ck's friend was only supplied with one bag of weave to use in chiquita ohmbarella-eh-eh's hair.

so ck's friend ran out of hair halfway through.

chiquita ohmbarella-eh-eh's mother to ck's friend:
"oh, iss awwright. just cut this weave out of my hair and put it into hers."

...i love my people.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

and the BEST one of all, i swear....

girl, you stupit

public stupidity:

i'm in line ordering lunch today. my meal comes up to $7.62. i hand Shaquanda-Latrishanella (or something) a $10 bill.

Shaquanda-Latrishanella (with the MOST sincere facial expression): "um...sir. do you have anything smaller????"

(silence)

the end.
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i was reviewing my old myspace blog and happened upon an old post on Whitney. it's particularly relevant now that big mama crackney got it together, rebuked Bobby, and released a CD, none of which I have heard a single note of. this was originally posted a year ago, when a suicide-inducing, rampage-prompting "song" featuring and produced by Satan's earthly embodiment, Akon (beetle juice, beetle juice, beetle juice), created to destroy my soul.

didn't work, though. i'm pretty sure i had some of my trusty anointed zebra cakes on hand when i originally wrote the piece. i've yet to see crackney's much talked-about Oprah interview...i suppose i shall give her new tunes a try and form an opinion after hearing the full product.

for now, enjoy.
-------------------------------

So. Sweet Mama Crackrock is venturing back into the music game after way too long in the dark. Over the past year and a half we've been treated to a few performances via youtube from around the world. Afghanistan. The North Pole. Jupter. Timbuktu (no, seriously)....and, personally, I'm glad to see Whitney on the come up once again.

Cici laid hands on her frail body, gave her a good, violent shake and got that damn crackish ass Kang of Arra and Bee (R&B) out of the picture and Whit-Whit has been working with vocal coaches to restore that once-amazing voice.

I'm rooting for her, I think. Although Miss Lady is LaToya Jackson crazy, I'd like to see her nutbucket ass have some shine once again. Besides, she's got a habit to feed, dammit.

What would break my motherfucking heart, however, would be to see her come back singing a bunch of "i'm-old-as-shit-and-have-been-away-for-a-long-damn-time-so-i'm-gonna-work-with-every-young-producer-and-sing-songs-that-girls-30-years-younger-than-me-turned-down" type shit.

she sang "convict." and i do not approve.

fuck naw.

So...as part of this return to the spotlight, Sweet Mama Crackrock has paired up with someone who has long ago sought out to murder me sonically.

She's paired up with motherfucking AKON and launched a full on assault on my soul via the new song, "Like I Never Left".

She might as well work with Ashanti to record "The Boy is Mine 2008". Ugh.
I will reserve comment at this time....

what do YOU think???

Whitney - Like I Never Left



edit: you know what? i will go ahead and say it's fucking terrible.


okay...now. what do YOU think?
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i died a little inside watching this.



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also from peopleofwalmart.com

this is fucking magical.

i'm trying to understand how this is physically possible....


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found this on an amazing site i just found: peopleofwalmart.com

and i'm just curious...what do you think led to this? cold feet during a sex change, perhaps?

you tell me.

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