Sick

So, I picked Bmore. I spent a couple weekends driving around, as I did with much curiosity when I lived in DC 5 years ago. I was curious then and now because it is admittedly an interesting site on the 95 ascent back up North to NYC. Only 30-45 minute north of DC is a place so different that it almost seems like another planet. In Charm City, the people are more down to earth as well as is the cost of living. And though I could have moved back to DC, the ideas was to not have to pay an arm to live alone--with only a little more space than I had in my room and a half in NYC metro. So, no time like the present to turn that curiosity into full blown exploration.

It also helps that the pay offer at the new gig is substantially larger than what I was making up top.

But, Lawd knows I have many moments when I want to go home. My first day of work, I damn near cried in the parking lot. An 18 mile commute that took 48 minutes. A three floor house with just me in it and is making hard to sleep at night--after a week of having a house full of folk there to help me with my transisition. The $3.27/gallon gas that my new car takes. I been ready for the funny farm on and off for the last couple of weeks.

Then add in the great Mommy Soliloquy. The conversations my mother forces me to have with her when something is clearly wrong with me. They always happen when all I want to do is crawl up on the couch(floor) and be left alone. And it always ends with her saying something that is surprising and/or true. This time, my mother says to me, after I have packed my little bit of shit, and driven up and down 95 4 times to a) find a place and b) move my little bit of shit, that NYC is the best fit for me. Thanks Ma.

Don't get me wrong. I love my crib. Its so nice to not have roommates and lots of space for once. I love my neighborhood. Its gritty, kitchy, hipster, and convenient all at the same time. But NYC it aint.

And I should stop my bitching--because it is basically what I prayed for.
No roommates, no crappy "unique/quaint" (straight dumps) real estate digs in odd parts of town, much more money.

I been trying to say that I miss the ability to take public trans, cop a pattie from a million spots around town, buy pashmina in 10,000 colors on any Manhattan street corner, but what really blows is the absence of my "Lover"

Good Goodness, I miss my man damn it. See I can admit it.

Soul Brotha #1

Last night, I watched it. The most anticipated movie as of late. American Gangsta. And I was actually more interested in the commentary of the people I watched it with then the actually movie itself. Don't get me wrong. I did watch the movie. I enjoyed the 70's movement of the caracters with the Mid 90's thrill of gangster flicks like my personal favorite, Goodfellas. But more than likely I am going to have to watch it again --and pay more attention.

I watched the film in a sneek preview.(See one of the greatest things about NYC is knowing somebody, who knows somebody in the film business.) Much more intimate than the first showing of a flick at a regular theatre. And what you overhear could makes its own drama. And for overanalytic me, a documentary.

The cats watching the film with me clearly had lived their lives looking up to dudes like Mr. Lucas. They named off the different characters--the high rollers and what "market" they functioned/ruled. They alluded to minor yet similarly comparable experiences in the streets around their way.

I never idolized gangstas growing up. I mean my father, Grandfather, and Uncles and various and a sundry older male cousins talked about them but in the context of how much more accomplised and successful they could have been if they had the opportunity--if Vietnam and the riots of the 60's didn't come on the near exaspiration of hope for the souls and success of black folks post slavery. To them, the life of gangsta was built two dyametrically opposed tenents--the hope of financial freedom and respect, and the idea that their lives will be short and dangerous.

To these cats, I am as foriegn as a young woman speaking to them in Farsi. I grew up in the suburbs. I always knew I would go to college. I always knew I would have a career. And I am a little too overanalytical for my own good. When we talk, I feel like I am speaking a foriegn language. And I wonder how so many young black men I know look at me just the same.

And once again, I look at integration compared to segregation and wonder how we got so far from the dream.