With 2010 lurking closeby, waiting to kick us in the face, I've done much pondering on how I can improve this here webspace for the future. 2009 has been quite an interesting time for the staff of coloredboy.net (me, myself, and our glorious leader, I) and it's only fair that we attempt to betterize and magificate your humble existence on an even largerly, grandly-er scale going forward.

As much as I like to take sole credit for being the polished, uppity magical negro you have grown to obsess over love, much of my inspiration has come from external entities. Yes, folks, there are other people partly responsible for alllll this colored goodness right here. I've taken gems from several sources, finding my own use for their words and experiences, and plan to continue betterizing myself in years to come.

As far as this site is concerned, one of the projects I've begun is one that lets individuals I respect tell their personal tales of survival. I initially sought to share the coming out stories of other homogeighs, but decided to broaded my search to the topic of STRUGGLE.

Struggle is something we're all familiar with. We've all endured challenges, large and small, that have helped shape the people we are today. I've extensively documented my struggle on the path to becoming your favorite colored person, and wanted to provide a platform for others to do the same.

As I explained in my appeal to all featured storytellers, my goal is that some piece of each story speaks to you somehow, triggers something within, clicks on a lightbulb...anything! I personally can't wait to share the story of how I once successfully battled an army of Ashanti fans, sent from Hades with their sights set on stealing my soul, BET-style! Gitcho popcorn! It's gonna be a good one, kids! Whew!

Anywho, judging by the rate these submissions have been sliding in, this little public pity party will be kicking off in January. I will lead the pack with an as-yet-unwritten passage (that will later be turned into a biopic starring Whoopi Goldberg as Me). Each week will feature a new story by one of the dozen or so phenomenal individuals I've approached thus far. The submissions received thus far justify my initial excitement. I hope this turns out as brilliantly as it sounded in my head.

If you are interested in telling your story, inquire via email: chris.alexander3@gmail.com. I have a brief overview and some guiding questions to assist in crafting your tale.

love.peace.cheese grits.

*chris.alexander

i'm home in virginia with the family. aside from seeing people I love (and eating like a damn fool), i've been reunited with some of my favorite books that i stored in the attic.

i am carrying back as many as i can without having to check a bag at the airport.

i've been missing out on some much needed literary stimulation out in los angeles. being outside of new york, i've lost the hour of daily train commuting that allowed me to read several books a month. i've had to create time for reading, which has proven difficult. i have commented recently to various people that i have NEVER been asked "What's your favorite book?" or anything relating to literature while on the West coast. while it may seem insignificant to most, i grew used to being able to discuss books, writing, authors, etc. regularly. now, i'm usually met with a shrug and "I don't read books."

shame.

that so many people haven't been exposed to the genius of Baldwin, Ellison, Newton (Huey), or anyone equally great is disappointing. ignorance is bliss, yes?

i'm making an effort to read more to strengthen my love of writing. i am quite sure i'll be back in school for something writing-related by the end of 2010.

wish me luck.

i now have a Califerny driver's license.

excuse me while i vomit.

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this man, brook d'leau, is music. he is the production side of sonic facekick J*Davey.

 their music is, by far, some of the most unique, distinct, music i've heard in ages. it's pop. it's grunge. it's electrosoul. it's hip hop. it's electronic. it's house. their music=love. on christmas day they are dropping another collection of (free) dopealiciousness, Boudoir Synema: The Great Mistape.

i've heard two offerings from this project thus far:

Outta the Window (found here) and Crawl All Over (found here- right click/save as.).

brook recently sat down for an interview where he discusses his personal/musical background, the origins of J*Davey, and music in general. he gives a lot of insight into his creative process and who he appreciates musically.

check it out:



their first major-label release, New Designer Drug is scheduled for release sometime in the near future. meanwhile, check their latest release, Beauty In Distortion/The Land of the Lost on Amazon or download HERE.


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How goes it?

Great, huh?

Yeah.

Well, I actually don't care. Not one damn bit. Our little "mutually beneficiary" (as you said) living situation has gone from tolerable to homicide- and/or suicide-inducing in record time. And before we part, I must get some things off my teenage girl's muscleless chest.

First off, Jumping Jack Flab, the fact that you corner me and run down your fat man's woes as soon as I push the door open does NOT indicate concern. Notice how I now enter with the phone to my ear, without fail. In one month (literally) you've proven yourself to be unworthy of my communication. Your logic is tragically flawed and conversations with you are as pleasurable as a syphilis test.

I felt it worth mentioning that I was initially grateful that you've opened your home to me when I needed a quick way out of the last situation. As I learned yet again, when I procrastinate with apartment hunting, I tend to have to settle for less-than-ideal circumstances.

And settle, I did.

the decision to live your life for YOU and to make decisions by and for yourself is monumental. it, more so than many other things i've faced recently, is easier said than done. just when i got semi-comfortable (which should be a sin), life has kicked me in the face yet again. as i've learned, life does not care if i am prepared for the next challenge. that is not the way of the universe. problems WILL come, whether i am ready or not. another move. the end of another bad situation. all these things are an indicator of a bigger issue that needs to be addressed.

i am faced with a need to look at my reasons for being and remaining in los angeles. the prospect was endearing months ago when i purchased my one-way ticket. now, in the thick of things, i must a) count and appreciate both my blessings and progress and b)decide if i am still here because i TRULY want/need to be, or because i am attempting to prove a point. am i proving a point to some unnamed person/group of people that do not directly affect whether i eat or starve? am i proving a point to those who, beyond some initial voiced concern, really wouldn't care whether i stayed in this city or any other?

i can admit i would feel some type of way going back east without accomplishing even part of what i set out to do. however, my assumed mantra, "it will get better" leads me down an entirely different internal debate on how long i should wait to "get happy." that, of course, leads me to realize that i tend to rely on external factors to dictate my level of success and joy. wrong. wrong. wrong. then: i officially have no business working at MexiMart. none. again: comfortable. it "works" for now. or does it?

it's pretty safe to say i've much to consider. outside of a quick decisions that needs to be made, i have much self-analysis to do. and for once, i need to make an adult decision without consulting a handful of friends. truthfully, the feeling of knowing that what i am doing or about to do is "okay" in the eyes of a loved one is welcoming. at the same time, it has handicapped me. i, an intelligent being, have become reluctant to make major moves without external approval. wrong. wrong. wrong.

*deep sigh*

i'm 25. time to grow up.

-chris.alexander

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...and she, apparently, doesn't approve of my Mexicoon/MexiMart/Mexicunt rants.

I sliced my leg and bled the blood of 1000 overfed baby Mexicunts at work tonight. I am convinced the ghost of Selena, combined with the collective projected plight of the remaining, undoubtedly impoverished Dinos (as in Selena y Los Dinos) had something to do with my accident. This attack came just minutes after we all signed our George Lopezes on board MexiMart's new initiative to minimize employee and customer accidentes.

I immediately filed an accident report with my manager, who, up until I wrote my nombre out on the accident report, faithfully called me LeRoy.

His first pregunta after inspecting the wound: "Can you continue working?"

Not: "Are you okay?" Or "Do you need medical attention?"

He then made my night: "Well, go over to [el] first aid kit and get you [una] free band-aid."

Yes. A free bandaid.

*mirada vacia* (blank stare)

I continued working. Finished out the night. Came home. Sacrificed un pollo loco to atone for my obvious sins. Ate a Little Debbie Cake. Methinks I'll be just fine.
Tomorrow, I'll have inmigración on speed dial in case those spirits want to try raise any more guacamole hell.

(if you look quickly, that gash almost resembles a battered TIGHT 'gina, no?)

-chris.alexander

I'm toying with the layout of the site. All buttons may not be clickable temporarily.

It'll be worth it in the end.

Thanks.

-Management

I know that I 'm later than Neffe's period...this was actually sitting in my Blackberry for weeks. Switching data over to a new phone, I found it. So...here goes...

I've been trying to write to you for sometime now. The words were never perfect. It's as if I'm having a "come-to-Jesus" talk with a loved one, telling them to get their shit together, get the hell off Grandma's couch and that we know they've been stealing from her purse.

It's hard, to say the least. But to hell with that: this must be said.

Okay, fine. After much prodding and coercing, I did it. I bit the bullet. I took the plunge. I swallowed. I listened your latest effort, "Emancipation Memoirs of an Imperfect Glittery Emotional Butterfly: Charmlessbracelet." I figured I should be fair, and at least illegally download it and give it a whirl before deeming it hot, smoking, sparkly pink trash.

And you didn't disappoint me.

i was browsing old postings on my myspace blog and came across this piece from years ago. twas in the midst of OJ Simpson’s armed robbery/hostage-situation/sports memorabilia drama. this is one of my favorite blogs ever. got great response and….it actually made ME laugh. ole!
enjoy.
Dear Orenthal J. Simpson,
I write humbly today in hopes of sharing some obviously lacking wisdom with you. I want to get to the bottom of this situation you’ve been presented with. You have been the topic of every talk show, newscast, and gossip blog today. So, there isn’t much to be said that you haven’t heard already. But I will state my piece. 

I don’t need to make this too long. All that matters is….

I turn 25 on Thursday EL 10 DE DICIEMBRE. *insert osteosporosic bone crack*

One benefit I am looking forward to is being able to use my senior citizen's discount for a mean discount on new Blackberry.

The Blackberry's trackball, by design, is filled with the failtastic power of 21 dropped and abandonded Bad Boy Records artists and the scorn of 32 jilted, niggerdick-hungry Tiger Woods jumpoffs.

It's a colossal fail.

To date, I have been through two trackballs on this phone alone. Since I believe the leather slipcases that are offered with this phone are gayer than pink footies, my phone is subjected to dust and debris in my pockets daily. So, limited scrolling ability has become the norm now that this Blackberry is on its last leg. As of last night, I can't scroll down.


I shall scoop a new one Friday, one day into my middle agedom. I shall also have a camera and videophooooone (*snap to Beysus*) capabilities...which means

YOU GET LIVE FUCKERY ALL.DEIGH.ERRY.DEIGH.

Go ahead, do the electric slide in celebration. I know you're as happy as I am.

On a serious note, all praise due to Saint Damita Jo for surviving these past few trying months. May she protect me with the same strength God used to keep LaToya Jackson from succeeding in life.

amen.

so, unless you've lived under a rock (or in the Bronx) you're well aware of my undying, put-a-rang-on-it, addict-like LOVE for the hexagonal cream-filled delicacies known as ZEBRA CAKES. *shiver* this no ordinary love--(c) Sade--, but one that shall stand the test of time. this is a great, wonderous, storybook love. kinda the way Usher loves trannydick. *shrug* minus the thatsfuckingdisgusting factor, though.

when i lived in the great city of nueva york, i could obtain these treats on any corner, in any bodega for 25, then 25, then 50 cents, thanks to the anti-zebra cake inflation witches. the point is they were everywhere. then, i get it in my head to move to this LATE, tacky, McWretched ass state of California...and have been unable to find Zebra Cakes anywhere outside of the hood. those awful CHOCOLATE ZEBRA CAKES, however, are as abundant as Mexicunt backfat all up and through here. but that's an entirely different conversation.

anywho, i put out an SOS via twitter, facebook, text and smoke signal that i was in dire need of a fix. months have passed since those sweet, glorious heavenly raindrops have touched my lips.

my prayers have been answered.

my favorite white woman, RAYONA:

was the first (and she BETTER not be the last) to answer the call. homegirl sent me a CASE of HOLIDAY SNACK CAKES, the holiday version of my beloved zebras.


needless to say, this is one happy homo.


what follows is my unique, colored way of showing my appreciation for her.....and that lil perky, ever-smiling, endlessly generous, life-changing, cherubic, freckled GODDESS named

*cue erection*

chris.alexander's ODE TO