Shane picked me up in his Anthony Bourdain road vehicle yesterday, which is weird enough–people have cars? in new york? but photographers have equipment to cart around I guess. Then he drove me to Ft Greene in the middle of the day (which is like 10 blocks from my apartment) and forced me–FORCED ME–to drink like 42 glasses of wine. My therapist is on summer vacation at her L.I. timeshare so this is what we do–get wasteroided and have real talk about ourselves and the people we know, and our feelings, duh. Shane is awesome, super smart and talented and calls me “ESCO” which I totally love because it makes me feel like Nas. P.S. He is in this Jonathan Mannion-directed Jazmine Sullivan video, he plays the token white tatted-up producer and he is fake-moving those knobs with the ferocity of an Oakley-deprived Scott Storch. He looks like he is calculating the effects of the Mayan Apocalypse on volcanic activity below the equator. By the way Jazmine Sullivan is the fucking truth. She is genius. Like chills-up-the-spine shit. I hope she gets super famous because I’m sick of seeing ppl like Solange and Ashanti and Michelle Williams churn out HIGHLY B-GRADE dubious material w/no personality and everyone just accepts it. Why must ppl allow for slippage in their female R&B singers at a much higher rate than even rappers? I have a theory that this spate of bad music is because they are female, and the industry is retarded and still thinks that by getting the same redundant producers to do a track on every album it will be a hit. Guess what Antonio, Rodney Jerkins is not the god of this ish. WHAT DOES THE BIBLE SAY ABOUT FALSE IDOLS. Watch this video Shane appears at 1:20 and then Missy grabs his dome (no sensual) and makes him laugh. He looks like he thinks he is an extra in LA Law.
The whole point of this is that even though I got home and was safely tucked in my polka-dotted bed-cradle by midnight, today my brain feels like a cantalopue gone overripe and perhaps tugged at by scavenging birds as I slept. And the annoying people next door are having one of the parties where their friends come over, get drunk in the backyard, and they play shitty music which then wafts into my open third-floor window, along with all the other windows on the block. These are the same people who complain when we have block parties because we play hip-hop and reggae too loud, even though the entire neighborhood is in attendance and participatory. Yet they think we want to listen to their fucking craptacular CCR or what the fuck ever. Now they are singing “Happy Birthday,” I’m about to pop a glock. Like IRON FLAG style. NEVER LEAVE HOME WITHOUT IT! Ha. God I’m so not hard. Substitute glock with “eyeliner” in that Wu song and you have a pretty good approximation of what my life is like. Eyeliner, Blackberry, iPod, book (now: Aleksander Hemon’s “The Lazarus Project,” which is excellent). I will cut a ho if I have to tho. Um.