Night Of The Living Dead

I was totally content with letting this blog die a slow, crusty, gangrene-ish death. I'd been hired at a new company, which at first completely kicked my ass and killed any possibility of free time, much less the mental capacity to blog about anything. The funny thing is that even while I didn't update, the blog kept a quiet little buzz, and even received some anonymous comments from time to time, including prayers that I'd one day be castrated by my own scythe.

And while the buzz died down considerably (which happens after 2 years of nothing), the praise for this whole experiment remained somewhat steady, the only buzz I was trying to build was the kind that came from quality vodka, Hoegaarden, or $14 South African wine to settle my nerves after a day on the job, and from writing whatever prose I could conjure up from my cold, janky heart, especially if there was a freelance check involved.

I have to admit that it was the anonymous comments that made me want to start again. Sure, many of them are in Chinese characters, and seem to be the kind of stuff that nobody should click on, that is if they prefer not to have their laptop explode or emit Agent Orange through the speakers. But some of the comments were actually encouraging, and some of my friends still ask if I'm doing the blog anymore.

So here's what I'm gonna try to do, since we're all dying anyway I've become better at time management. I'll make better attempts at keeping this thing current. That might mean one or two posts per week for a minute, but I'll try to keep them worth every effort put forth by your ever-yellowing eyes.

And if you didn't miss me, kill yourself.

BURIED IN WORK, BUT FAR FROM DEAD

Sorry about the lapse in posting continuity. The new year brought a super-cool new job, new money and new toolery. Now that I'm working 9 hours a day on a MacBook, things are a little more complicated and I haven't yet figured out some of the deets when it comes to grabbing images and such, so it looks like I'll be having to switch back and forth from my trusty PC (Sade) and this new laptop. Which is probably for the best; nothing like a bunch of weird blog posts that don't relate to the job sitting on a company hard drive to kill your career before it's really born.

So thanks for the patience, and especially thanks to THE GEORGIA BLOGROLL, which just added your faithful and humble narrator to its listings. I'll be back around in a few hours. Hey, at least I'm Twittering more often!!

As if you care.

SORRY - MY INTERNET WAS DEAD

Please don't mind my absence. I've missed updating the blog more than you know. The only problem is that I've recently moved, and I have no internet connection at the new spot. So I'm having to hit various places and post new content whenever I can, and this week has been especially hectic when it comes to free time.

Anyway, forget all of that. Excuses are like pee-holes. Just so you know, I'm going to be getting it on tonight when it comes to the blog, because I feel like I've been wrong by not updating like I'm 'posed to. Thanks for bearing with your boy through my bear market of blogging. I'm still negotiating, but the bailout is coming soon; I promise. Until then, just watch TV or something. Matter of fact, THE DEBATES ARE ON TONIGHT @ 9PM EST!!

I'm going to put something up very soon. Preshate the patience, and at the same time, you're all welcome.

"THE A-TEAM" IS DEAD

Damn. Like, really damn. I can honestly call Rashan Ali and Emperor Searcy friends of mine. I've known both of them for 10 years, and unlike a lot of people who claim to be in the celebrity circle, I can honestly say that both of them know me. So this is wack as hell to me. But, for the record, "The A-Team Morning Show" of Radio One of Atlanta (Hot 107.9) IS DEAD.


The A-Team consisted of Rashan, Searcy, Griffy 2 Trillion and... uh... somebody else, I think. But they are long-standing A-town vets who were there since Atlanta began to blow and stayed down to this day. And it is this day, the day that Obama will accept the nomination, that they have accepted pink slips from Radio One. They are being replaced by THE RICKY SMILEY MORNING SHOW.





The good news about this is that all three main characters of the A-Team are well situated. Rashan is happily married with child, and I don't see her in a financial crunch. Searcy is a partner in Black Market Entertainment, a.k.a. BME, which is also co-owned by Jonathan "Lil' Jon" Smith. He's not at all poor. And Griff is a great host, comedian and personality in his own right, so I assume that he'll either move to another market or find his way to television in the next 12 months.


But to be honest, with no disrespect intended, the show hasn't been the same since Ryan Cameron left. And from what I hear, Ricky Smiley's syndicated radio show isn't really that good, but I haven't heard it, so you ain't heard that from me. But seriously, I don't expect it to last very long in Atlanta, because there are so many home-grown morning shows here, and this city is too big for something that's not local. Tom Joyner is the exception, like Larry Bird. Ricky Smiley? Nope.


Mark my words; Smiley won't last in Atlanta. But, on another note, why does this feel like the opening night of the Olympics? You remember, when John Edwards announced that he had fathered a bastard love-child and cheated on his wife, who has terminal cancer. In other words, people like to put out bad news announcements when the story is likely to be overlooked because of something much more major. Like the acceptance speech of the first African-American nominee for POTUS by a major political party.


I hate this for "The A-Team", but I love this day in history. And, on that note, I'm about to head to downtown Atlanta, to be with some good people as Senator Barack Obama makes his speech.

Life is good. Light-skinded is back! We are living history. This is crazy. I'm supercrunk. Time to hit the town. God bless America (wow).

LINKS FOR YOUR LIFE - LIVE FROM BEIJING (not really)

[The Underwriter does not condone racial intolerance. But this is a funny picture.]


OBAMA'S ON VACATION, and to a degree, so am I. I quit my former day job last week, and it feels great to be alive. And still, no cigarettes. I feel as far away as the continent of Asia from my old life as I knew it two weeks ago.

See, I'm focusing on getting my shite right, so I quit doing a lot of things that were bad for my everlasting soul. As a result, I've been having mad, ill dreams about trailer-loads of girls and bombastic bus trips to exotic places where Amazonian women live without any male company. Sheeit, I've had some of the best sleep in years recently.

I do wish I was in Beijing in reality. Have you been watching the Olympics? Seriously, this is the only time in life that I'm really amped to watch sports all day long. There's something about the Olympics that makes sports seem innocent again. But alas, there is still turmoil afoot in the world, and death circles above us all like a skinny black vulture. No time to waste, no time to chill...

So here are a few deadly things that have been going on recently, just to keep you abreast of things and stuff. Here's what's been going down:


LINKS FOR YOUR LIFE!!!


War Games



Russia is still bombing the shite out of Georgia. I guess "cease-fire" is either not a literal term, or something must have been lost in translation. Either way, it's still war out there, and the Olympics served as nothing more than a distraction from the assault. CLICK HERE for the story.


Michael Phelps is Him



Michael Phelps, the American swimmer and the winningest Olympian of all time, listens to Lil' Wayne's classic mixtape track "I'm Me" as he prepares for nautical warfare. He recently admitted this to the media. As you should know, this dude is breaking swimming records left and right. Wayne haters, you can now drown yourself in wolf piss, or just CLICK HERE for the story.


Ozone Magazine = Hip-Hop Coloring Book



The Ozone Awards was a coon-fest of epic proportions. My homie Jacinta was in attendance, and she came back with several reports that confirm my decision to stay home and get zooted. I remember having the opportunity to interview Julia Beverly, Ozone's publisher, once, and I just changed my mind and canceled at the last minute, on some "who cares" shit. I discovered that I wasn't impressed. She just seems out of place, and under her guidance, the awards ceremony gets worse and worse every year. Oh well, she's still banking off you idiots that read Ozone, so CLICK HERE for the full unedited story, or CLICK HERE for the clean version @ Rolling Out.


Hillary Wants Some Effing Respect



Senators Obama and Clinton have reached a "compromise" that will allow Clinton's name to be placed in nomination at the Democratic convention. That means that even though Obama won the needed amount of delegates and has more pledged superdelegates than Clinton, she doesn't have the balls to tell her supporters that protesting, yelling and voting for her at the convention will be counter-productive, not cathartic. I think she's still trying to be V.P., but she doesn't know that you can't be a beeyotch about it and expect people to sympathize. Whatever. CLICK HERE for the story.


Keep R. Kelly Away from the Chinese Gymnast Team



It is being reported that Chester is not only alive and well, he might be Chinese. Team China has at least two questionable team members for the gymnastic squad. I feel like that's weird as hell, so I'm out, but you can CLICK HERE for the story.


Going to see Pineapple Express tonight with the homies. Already copped the t-shirt, because I heard the movie was funny as hell. For now, back to the games.


UPDATE: IMAGES ADDED (8/17/08).

A MOMENT OF SILENCE...

My laptop is officially over. It died on Wednesday, and I still am in a state of denial. For the time being, it's going to be difficult to post new images, but I should find a way around it soon enough.


I am going to miss the little bugger (NOLO), but I did back up most of my shit a few months ago, so it's no big loss. Plus, I had over 200 albums stored on the hard drive, so I guess I was kind of asking axing for something like this to happen.

Well, it finally did. Mourn with your boy.





Actually, eff that. Let me bounce back on these hoes with a second line for "Sade."






I need a moment, y'all. See, I almost felt a tear drop.
Nas - "Can't Forget About You."

THE MOURNING AFTER…

Shout out to COX RADIO, my corporate sponsor, for providing the free room and tickets to the 2008 Essence Music Festival, which went down like a laxative. Made me feel regular again. Maybe you’ll catch the real rundown in a magazine or newspaper or something, if I feel like selling it.

In case you need it, here’s a quick list of what to do and what not at Essence 2009, for anyone who didn’t make the event this year. Just a head’s up: next year’s show, which is being headlined by Beyonce, will certainly be just as crunk. If you can get there, I suggest you make the trip. For the record, there are more women than you can shake a scythe at. Don't take my word for it, just ask axe somebody.

On with the list, and off with your head...


1. IF YOU DRIVE FROM ATLANTA, GET SOMEBODY ELSE TO RIDE WITH YOU

I drove a rental down I-85 and made it to New Orleans in about 7 hours. The drive wasn’t that bad, but it would have been much cooler if I had somebody riding shotgun to offset any suspicious vibes I had that the cops might have been following me, which they weren’t. But it’s not very cool when you see thirty to forty cars pulled over in a row between Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. Very, very sketch. I’m still shook and I’ve already made it back safe and sound.


2. DON’T STAY AT THE RITZ-CARLTON IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

Sure, it’s at the top of the food chain when it comes to nice hotels. And most of the celebrities had rooms there, so it was cool to be walking outside to Canal Street and seeing people like Lynn Whitfield and Kenya Moore walking past you on their way in. Plus, I got my room for the freeski, so I can't complain too much. Then again...

On the other side of that, there’s the snitch factor. Not that I would dare be dirty in the most esteemed hotel of the upper class, mind you… Let’s just say that I had a funny feeling Sunday night while I was getting "prepared" for the concert, and less than 10 seconds after, the cleaning lady came and knocked. After that, I was pretty much sketched out for the remainder of my trip. Plus, the ladies at the check-in/check-out desk tried to play me with some extra charges, which I deaded immediately by being proactive enough to check my balance before checking out.

An Ill side note:
On my way out of the hotel on Sunday night to the Superdome, right after the cleaning lady interrupted my session evening, I was walking down the hall, on my way to the elevator, and saw a Swisher Sweet box laying in front of a room. Next to it was an iPod Nano and a rope of disco ball-colored beads. Guess what was in the Swisher Sweet box? Can you say, "Dro?" Better yet, can you say, “Free iPod?”

Then again, maybe you should stay at the Ritz, with those type of free goodies. But I’d recommend the W. It’s way more jumping and way less sketch.


3. DON’T BE A HOT BOY

I said that I would consider going to the 9th Ward to investigate the progress after Katrina. That was until I realized that the locals would much rather come to us in the French Quarter than invite us back into their territory. When I say that New Orleans has it’s own culture, I mean it. And those people can spot an outsider pretty damn quickly. Ever heard of a ghetto pass? Get one, or you probably won’t be welcomed into the Mac-Melph-Callio.

Still, I got plenty of local love (nolo), probably because I’m from Alabama, and I know when and how to use local words and phrases like “out chea”, “baby” (pronounced “bey-be”) and “boy, that’s cold.” Get like me.


4. BRING CASH (WHERE IT'S SAFE)

There was so much authentically-fly art being sold by street vendors that I felt like a loser when I realized that I couldn’t buy a single painting on Visa or AMEX. Most of it you’ve probably seen at your local Black Arts Festival, but some of the stuff was simply incredible. And the good shit was not even that expensive - $150 could get you something unique and exclusive, and I'm killing myself for not coming up on this ill Obama painting that was set against a newspaper backdrop. I can't even describe how cool that shit was.

Too bad I spent most of my cheese on hurricanes, pina coladas and gumbo.


5. DON’T PARK YOUR RENTAL ON N. RAMPART AND BOURBON ST.

Bourbon Street was ridiculous. And the atmosphere was electric. But I don’t believe that even the crunkest of street parties gives somebody the right to stand on top of someone else’s (literally, not mine) Jeep, unless of course ninjas were shooting and people were just trying to get out of the line of fire. So maybe those dirty bootprints were just from some lucky fool who had a MJ-inspired vertical and got away from certain death. I applaud that. Now, if I would have caught said local dancing to Lil' Boosie and Webbie on top of a car I was too cheap to have insured? Let's just say it he would have been "down bad."

Speaking of which, Bourbon Street did get shut down on both Friday and Saturday night/morning around 2 a.m., because locals were either engaged in massive street brawls or just good-old murder capital shoot-outs. From what I heard, some cats did unfortunately get bodied. Sorry, I was throwed off the hurricanes and too happy to get shot for the home audience. Tell CNN to save my eulogy and celebrity tribute for later.

My 2008 Essence Festival motto: "I'm too cool to die for a rental car."


6. GO TO THE CONCERT

The good people from Cox Radio, with whom I was chilling, were not trying to go to the actual event. They spent most of their time either in the hotel or on Bourbon St. getting throwed and trying to be like your faithful and humble narrator. Made no sense, especially when Chris Rock, Mary J. Blige, LL Cool J, Jill Scott and even Keyshia Cole (no, really) tore it down at the Superdome. And I was there to see it.


Proof, in the form of photo images and video, is forthcoming, once I get some sleep. For now, I need to unwind, relax and detox. Reserve your room at Hotel Underwriter (The W) today, or miss tomorrow. In the meantime, holla at a playa when you see me in the streets, trick. And don’t drop your iPod or Swisher Sweet box on my hotel floor unless you won’t miss it.


“I feel like lying / down in a cigar; roll me up and smoke me, ‘cause I feel like dying…”
- Lil’ Wayne; "I Feel Like Dying"

THE ESSENCE OF DEATH: THE UNDERWRITER INVADES NEW ORLEANS

Sorry to spring this on you, oh my brothers and sisters, but your faithful and humble homie is OUT CHEA IN NEW ORLEANS for the Independence Day Weekend and the annual Essence Music Festival. And it is already going down - something serious. I couldn’t pretend to remember how many drinks I’ve sipped or chugged since 8 p.m. Central time, including the one sitting next to my laptop as I post this blog. But I’m feeling quite righteous, and I can’t even say that it’s all due to the free-flowing alcohol.





There’s something special about The Crescent City. Sure, it’s a dirty, filthy, shitty, stinky, swampy mosh pit of wet, dripping, moldy, ass-smelling poop water, but it’s still one of the most beautiful places in the world. New Orleans is one of those places that, when you visit, you feel immediately jealous of everyone who's from the city, even if it is basically a death trap for poor people who celebrate and dance in the face of death. They have their own language, their own style, and eff what you heard; second lines are crunker than the club in any city.

Back to the point. I’m sitting here at my sound-proof suite at Hotel Underwriter (The Ritz-Carlton on Canal), finishing my lukewarm Heineken and giving myself the proper ten minute break from my next beer to consider just what needs to be covered during my trip. Here are some story ideas I’ve come up with so far:



THE 9TH WARD (How much progress has been made? The French Quarter looks just fine, but is it really back to normal?)


BOURBON STREET (The street band was illie.)


HURRICANES (The drink, not the natural disaster. I vote yes.)


THE DIALECT (I haven’t heard so many “whoadies” in years.)


THE ESSENCE FESTIVAL (Oh yeah; there’s a concert in town! Who knew?)



Yeah, it seems that the gods have either smiled down or screamed up at me with all these amenities. I got hook-up tickets to the entire three-day festival, which includes Frankie Beverly and Maze, Kanye West, Chris Rock, Mary J. Blige, Rihanna, Jill Scott, Chrisette Michelle, Chris Brown, Patti LaBelle, Musiq, Morris Day, etc, etc, etc. The room at the Ritz is on company money, and most of the food is going to be provided. It’s going to be a great weekend for music, eating, dancing, clapping and celebrating in the birthplace of jazz.


That is, if I actually make it to the venue at all. I’m on some Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas shit this weekend, in the sense that I might not even make it to my own assignment due to out-of-town drunken fuckery. Not at all in the sense of having a briefcase full of ether, mescaline and weed. That seven-hour dolo drive from Atlanta shook me up something horrible, and I wouldn’t have considered bringing as much as a half-smoked roach on the road in the rental with me sike. I’ve never, ever, ever-ever-ever, taken a road trip and seen as many police pulling people over, so just making it to the N.O. without a $300 traffic fine was just fine with me. Thank God for cruise control and seat belts.





But regardless, I will come up with a story to tell, and it’ll probably be waaay better than what actually happens at a music festival produced by a magazine for elegant, mature women of color. I just don’t see it being as crunk as Bonnaroo, Lollapalooza or even Summer Jam or Birthday Bash for that matter, but I could always be proven wrong. We’ll see. Trust me; if something unexpected happens, I’ll give you a first-hand report. Unless I’m too busy drinking Hurricanes and eating gumbo on Canal and Bourbon to actually be there when it occurs. So there it is. I’m on a much deserved vacation, yet I’m still on the clock as a writer since our work is never over. I've always believed that a writer never really works, but never really has a vacation, because he or she is always doing both at once.


But I’m going to stay throwed off the bourbon, hurricanes and a stomach full of ABITA, the locally-brewed beer of New Orleans. So you can rest assured that I’ll be in creative think-mode throughout the journey, but I'll try not to lose focus. I mean, am I here to entertain myself or do the job?

Wait, I forgot; I’m not getting paid for this. So it’s definitely the former.



“I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death…”


BTW: EVERYBODY OUT CHEA IS BUMPING THA CARTER III.
I’m just saying…