Lynne d Johnson



« August 2002 | Diary | October 2002 »

09.30.02 07:28 PM

for the love of art and money part II

Flesh for Femme (continued)
by Lynne d Johnson

Hovering over me, Mercedes swung her long pony-tail around to brush it against my face. Working her way back down, she stared directly into my eyes with a look that said, "You want to fuck me, don't you?" Part of me did. Part of me wanted to get up and run. She lifted her leg and extended it over my shoulder. With her crotch an inch from my face, she gyrated her pelvis fluidly. I didn't stir. I just sat. Uneasily. In awe.

Mercedes was offering me a taste of what it was like to be with another woman in a seductive, sensous, caring, and non-intimidating way. I wanted to know more about her.

I found out Mercedes was straight. She got into dancing about three years ago. It was an easy way to finance college, once she found out she could make a grand a night. Back then, New York enforced laws that said women had to stay six feet away from guys and wear latex on their nipples. Nowadays, anything goes. Mercedes says they even have fuck clubs now, so men expect a lot more from dancers. "They want you to do backflips for money now. That's why I quit. Because my self-esteem got so low.

"I got sick of dancing for men," Mercedes continues. "I started to despise them. I hated they way they looked at me and judged me. I just needed a change. Dancing for women I feel sexier. I don't feel like a stripper, I feel like a dancer. They appreciate me. They get excited. The first time I did it for women, my energy was so up. I came out and everyone was throwing money at me. Women are much more scared to touch you. They treat you like a delicate flower. They don't want to invade your privacy, which is nice.

"Guys come out alone to a bar to watch women dance," she says, "while women's clubs are mainly dance clubs. The guys come out to make their dicks hard. So, they tip you the whole night." Guys also tend to chant and yell derogatory statements, as well as try to put their hands all over a dancer's body. Women are more embarrassed about acting crazy over another women, so there's a level of respect. "With guys, it's a constant fight all the time. You have to hold their wrists, or knee them in the balls. The most a woman has ever done to me was touch my thigh," Mercedes says. "But don't get me wrong, the women want to fuck you, too."

Lesbian party goers say Juicy was the hottest spot ever. It was held bi-weekly on Sunday nights at the Buddha Bar from the winter of '94 to the spring of '96. Primarily a women-for-women event, men were allowed in only when accompanied by no less than three female escorts. Heterosexual couples, lesbians, and gay men representing a range of ethnicities attended. Celebrities showed up regularly. I'm told Naomi Campbell took her place onstage one night to show off her jewels. She began shyly, but the women received her warmly and soon her top was off.

The dancers made Juicy hot. One night, you could go in and watch a topless woman wearing a dildo, thrusting her pelvis to Prince songs. Or you could witness two women on stage, interlocked and gyrating. Maybe one laid the other down, poured chocolate syrup over her chest and licked it off slowly.

Lysa Cooper, the MC assisted the vibe by describing dancers movements and encouraging their sexiness. "It's JEWW-CEEEEE, ladies," Lysa would say in a husky, sultry tone, and a dancer would turn and do a booty dance, or tweak her nipples, or stick her finger in her mouth and suck it.

"Juicy set a trend," says Belinda Becker, who started the club with Lysa, her partner. "We wanted to create a safe, feminine place for women to hang out. We got every kind of woman—gay, straight, aggressive, femme. Patrons felt it was really classy. They could feel free and just let their hair down, and they really enjoyed it. Girls got up on the stage and danced with the dancers. It freed women to be who they were. It freed them sexually. Women want to revel in the power of being women, of being sexy, of being beautiful. It was a place for women to come and enjoy each other and themselves. The dancers could just be themselves, too. It wasn't a money thing. They could dance in whatever they felt sexy in. It wasn't about guys trying to touch them, or pick them up, or make them feel cheap. They were doing it for themselves."

Taquana, a former Juicy dancer says, "The women were celebrating my sexuality and I felt proud. I could really get into the women. I might go up to them, place my body against them, gyrate and look at them. It was an arousing feeling, and nothing had to happen sexually. Dancing is a form of expression for me, a form of release, an artistic outlet. It gives me confidence to go out in front of people and make eye contact. I feel like a star. Like I'm being appreciated for my beauty. It enables me to empower myself. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be. These girls are completely in control. They're in control of their relationships,
their lives, the customers. I've seen girls tip each other with a guy's money. These people want to have their money taken and dancers put themselves through school, buy houses, and cars. There are people who look at us as being subordinate, but a lot of these girls are really smart."

When Juicy ended lots of spots emerged to take its place. Currently, Caroline and Tina of WOW Bar have stepped up to corner the women-dancing-for-women market, hosting events like The Box...Part II, Time to Prey, SHE-BANHG, and HER/SHE. Flyers for HER/SHE boast that it's the nation's largest dance club for women and the mega-women's playground. Every Friday night, women come out with their lovers, or pick up potential lovers, or one-night stands, or just to hang out with their girls. These are many of their meeting places.

To be continued...

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09.25.02 10:20 PM

for the love of art and money

Back in August when I talked about visiting a titty bar in Miami—since my comments were down—I received various feedback via email. Some of that email made me think about sharing something about women who choose erotic dance as a profession. It was a story I wrote for Oneworld—some years back—about strippers. It is kind of long, so I might have to post it in three or four parts. I just ask that you keep one thing in mind, this story is not fiction.

Flesh for Femme
by Lynne d Johnson

Julia is attracted to women. But she didn't know it until the time her boyfriend took her to an L.A. strip joint. She went to watch him get off. She found herself getting turned on by the dancers. "Those women were physically perfect," she says. "But that's not what did it for me. They affected me mentally. I was really digging this one dancer. She had soft, firm, even-toned skin, a contoured, curved stomach, and this way of arching her back when she danced. She communicated something through her dance. It was very sensual, very sexy. She made eye contact with me. I wasn't too far from the stage and I watched her, intensely. I wanted her to make eye contact. I wanted her to see me. She could tell she had me open. I wanted to take her home. She knew. My boyfriend asked me if I wanted a table dance. I was really shy. He went and paid her and she came over to talk to me. I could smell her perfume. She smelled really good and it made me want her even more. She waited for a good song to come on and she got between my legs. She put her belly button in my face and her pelvis really close to my nose. I really wanted to fuck this girl." After Julia told me the story for the third time, she took me to a lesbian club.

Erotic dancers at women's clubs used to be mainly an underground, sporadic thing. Now the lesbian scene has gotten open, especially in New York City. Dancers are featured everywhere from dance clubs to house parties. In Manhattan there's a club where beautiful women exude high potent eroticism while dancing. Julia and I attended this club.

As soon as I walked in I saw a throng of women dancing together and a clump crowding around the bar. On the stage three scantily-clad, topless women moved in sensual rhythms. Wearing a black thong and thigh-high, black leather boots, one 5-foot 7-inch, caramel-colored, tightly-toned, petite-framed woman, with Jada Pinkett's face and Tyra Banks' ass and breasts, mounted a pole. She slid up and down, swung around, and like a cat, climbed upward. In a singular motion, she froze, wrapped her thighs around the pole and laid her back against it with her head hanging downward. It was artistic and sexy. Money-waving women surrounded the stage. She moved forward and bent down and let each voyeur carefully place a single or a five in her thong. And she let each one lightly, briefly, caress her thigh. I watched her with admiration and delight. Julia nudged me from my trance. "That's my friend," she said. "Isn't she good?"

When the show ended, Julia's friend made her way toward us, strutting confidently. Julia turned to me and said, "This is Mercedes." I shook her hand and Mercedes smiled. She and Julia shared whispers and giggles. Mercedes dashed off.

"She thinks you're cute," Julia cooed.

I followed Julia upstairs to a lounge with two-person tables and carpet-lined benches. "We'll wait for her here," Julia said. Just as I was getting up to check out the rest of the scene, Mercedes approached us and gently pushed me back down in my seat. She had a sensual smile on her moist lips and she opened my legs, positioning herself between them. Starting from the floor, she slowly grinded her way upward between my legs. When I looked up, her D-cup breasts were in my eyes. I could see the sweat glistening between her breasts. I could smell her salty and sweet aroma. I was being worked over. I got flustered. Then slowly, iniside, I began to burn.

To be continued...

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09.23.02 10:56 PM

kickin' illmatics

Time for writing here has been limited lately. I am teaching two courses. One a study skills course with a technology component and another, a course on race and ethnicity. The students had a very heated discussion when we got to the topic and scientific breakdown of the word race. I would have been interested in hearing some non-colored perspectives in the discussion, but that isn't the makeup of the class. I am also taking a course myself right now. And that is a long story I do not want to get into. I mean the course I am taking and why I am taking it. Anyway, with teaching, taking a class, the full time gig, trying to finish a piece for a book that is about to come out on SUNY press, and then preparing for this panel I am on in November, time escapes me. But I have been reading a lot of blogs on the daily, and quite a few folks are holding it down with some serious writing. Actually it is some of the best writing I have seen on the Web in a long while. These folks make my day and keep me going.

illmatics part I

Jason over at simply leaves me awestruck as he ponders his life, living, loving, and simply being Jason.

Monique of has a unique way of capturing dialogue and telling a story that is often humorous, but very much in your face and real.

And Trent, the man who loves music, specifically hip-hop, provides a thorough analysis of all that is good about the genre in his easyjournal at beatsandrants.

George, as always, provides a fascinating digest of news at that often has me asking myself, "Now where did he find that one?"

BTW, did you getunderground yet?

illmatics part II

Awhile ago hardcore was asking me about the poem I had published in Bum Rush the Page: A Def Poetry Jam, and for the life of me I could not remember the verses to lay it down on AIM. Now if I were kicking it live, it would be no problem, it would just spew from my lungs. He asked if I would post it one day, here. I said I would, but I had to wait a year after publication date when the copyright was reverted from the publisher to myself. Now, it looks alright on paper, but out my mouth (and this is no conceit) it is done much better justice. Since I have been slow about responding to my boy's attempts to get into cipha' and battle him, I decided I could at least give him this.

The Flow
Be-bop flows
extends and bends into
heads drop
feet stomp
it rocks
the spot
it'll groove ya ass
whether you like it
or not

You see that
hip-hop flow
is be-bop
in a lyrical rage
verbal assassins
taking center stage
heads crackin open
in the cipha
blunted reality
taking levels higher
and higher

It's that microphone check
1-2, 1-2
microphone check 1-2

Check the break beat
dancing feet
somersaulting in
the ring
like Miles got his thang
and Dizzy's got his swang
while Ella's scat-a-tat-tat
hits hard
like that
Boom Bap
Boof Baf
Dat Skat
I know you dig it
when I kick it, baby
'cause maybe just maybe
Miles' horn
will rock on and on
to the break of dawn
and coat the throats
of folks
Black Thought
and Q-Tip
creating verbal power
to devour
your soul
and all the while
is a collective improvisation
as Coltrane blows staccato
and vibrato
into KRS' ear
like a whisper

It's the hipster
baddest baddest thing
we got
we got soul sonic forces
flowing layering rupturing
narrating orating innovating
and stylez
to be heard
and be fly
like Bird
Charlie Parker
is so Digable
the planet rocks
and conscious cool
hard bops
not knocks
but inspires the funk
to revive and redesign
blended blue
like Guru
with riffs and shit
Yeah, it's jazz
and extended
never never never

Lynne d Johnson (New York), Copyright 2001 by Bone Bristle LLC., Tony Medina and Louis Reyes Rivera

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09.19.02 12:57 AM

Free your mind and your ass will follow

"Free your mind and your ass will follow/ The kingdom of heaven is within"
- Funkadelic, "Free Your Mind And Your Ass Will Follow," Free Your Mind And Your Ass Will Follow

Life hit me hard this week. The impact was brutal. It stung. But I do not care to elaborate. Instead, I choose to live. To free myself of any irrational thoughts. Instead I choose to navigate, listen, and see.


URLDJ — The Art of URL Mixing

hot-buttered (You can spend a lot of time on this site listening to liquescent beats and sedulous DJ mixes)


RealPlayer Necessary
"React" — Erick Sermon feat. Redman

And Other Joints:
"Wangster" — 50 Cent (He is coming to ShadyRecords website soon)
"Focus" — Joe Budden (This is a DefJam artist)
Sirround SoundDjinji Brown (This cat is mashing up true skool hip-hop beatz with ecelectic world music sonics)


The texts of the moment

More Brilliant Than The Sun: Adventures in Sonic Fiction
by Kodwo Eshun

Afrofuturism: A Special Issue of Social Text
by Alondra Nelson (Editor)

American Skin: Pop Culture, Big Business, and the End of White America
by Leon E. Wynter

R&B (Rhythm and Business): The Political Economy of Black Music
by Norman Kelley

The Portable Promised Land: Stories
by Toure

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09.17.02 12:00 AM

I'm havin a bad day, so stay out of my way

"Cause I'm havin a bad day, so stay out of my way"
- Sticky Fingaz, Onyx, "Throw Ya Gunz," Bacdafucup

Switched hosts, so the site was down for a few days. Sorry. I will return in full force real soon. I hope.

Realized in the past few days that the adage — procrastination is a thief — is true to the mutha'. It also incubates and creates mediocrity. I despise the two. If I detect 'em in my system, I will blast 'em. Beat 'em down to a pulp like those particles you find in your country style OJ. Watch their vapors rise as I cause their disintegration with my laser-like eyes. No surprises. Can't be taken off guard if you put a hex on yourself. Cursed yourself with those hoodoo voodoo ashes. Heebie jeebies get off my back. Hocus pocus I cast you away. Today. Every day. I thought I told you that I won't stop.

An-T-wayzzz. Saw an amazing show with The Roots, Common, Cody Chesnutt, Talib, and more this past weekend. Vexed mode is active "1" — so I have no reports. Not now anyway. Check back later and maybe you'll find me on the garrulous tip once again.

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09.11.02 11:02 PM

the big takeover

DJ Mel is coming to NYC to play remote lounge October 26, and I can't wait. Just check out his credits.

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09.11.02 03:07 PM

911 reflections

These thoughts appeared on on September 14, 2001. It appears that site has quite a memoriam today. My email missives were even republished.
Emails from Brooklyn
Over the course of the day I sent dozens, many dozens of emails to friends, family and listserves. Here is a sampling of the messages that day spawned.
Date: Tue Sep 11, 200109:19:00 AM Subject: Two Planes Crash Into World Trade Center
Can see the fires out of my window. Just saw the reports on the news. Having problems obtaining any reports online at this time. But they have pretty much confirmed that both towers of the WTC have explosions.
Date: Tue Sep 11, 2001 10:19:00 aM Subject: Re: The world trade ctr!
One of the Towers just went down. Saw it from my window. The Pentagon has also been hit. Gov't officials and media still trying to confirm who is responsible for this. In downtown Brooklyn right now, it is a mess. All fire trucks and police cars are heading into Manhattan.
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2001 10:30:22 -0400 Subject: Re:
the second building just collapsed
i am crying
this is sad
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2001 11:54:41 -0400
Things in New York will never be the same again, I am sure.
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2001 12:11:35 -0400
I saw everything from my Brooklyn apartment it was unbelievable. I was in the street awhile ago and traffic is backed up in Brooklyn. Folks are walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. Many of them with ash in their hair and on their clothes. I am just now beginning to smell it through my window. Until now, there was no odor.
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2001 14:10:28 -0400
I no longer smell the smoke. I no longer hear the panic in the streets of Brooklyn, nor the ambulance, fire truck, and police sirens. It simply seems that all things are quiet. That everyone is in shock. I have to admit, before the buildings went down, I was glued to my window. Now I am glued to the TV.

My mother, who will be 70 in January, heard that something was going on, but didn't know quite what yet. She proceeded to lower Manhattan today for an appointment. Somehow she decided to reroute herself to the direction of home. Glad she did. She called me then, but I have not heard from her since.

There is no way to tell whether this is all over or not. There could be more on the horizon. A wind just breezed past my window, it is the smell of smoke again.
Date: Tue Sep 11, 200109:05:00 pM Subject: Re: Plane Crashes into World Trade Center
Somehow, I keep thinking about the book of Revelations.
Sent: Tuesday, September 11, 200109:34:00 PM
This has been a day unlike any day I have ever known. Or probably will ever know again. I walked into the street around 11 a.m. and there were people covered in soot, running, trying to get home. Sirens all damn day. Just on and on and on. I cannot even say I know what it feels like to be in one of those countries where there is war in abundance. But I do know, I was afraid today. I do know I cried. I do know I prayed. I feared for my safety. The safety of this country.

Tonight I go out. Police are circling around my neighborhood to protect the Muslims. The black smoke, dense like fog, entering my chest, causing me to cough. I have never experienced this before and hope I never will again.

I cannot imagine what it was like to be there up close. I cannot imagine the pain of the victim's families. War has not touched our soil since Pearl Harbor. This is a serious feeling of being totally vulnerable.
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2001 21:38:20 -0400
I live in downtown Brooklyn near a Mosque.

The cops are heavily patrolling the area. There is still black smoke, thick like fog, rising like a cloud, hovering above the city and Brooklyn. I am sure it is NJ as well.

I pray for the victim's families.

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09.09.02 11:35 PM

whut the deal?

It seems that since 911 is so close that I have become somewhat melancholy. The summer is ending, though the weather in New York is sticky humid. Weekends have been wonderful, though I have often forgotten the digital camera to document some of the happenings. For instance, went to watch DJ spooky play at the close of PS1's summer events called Warmup. Sorry I missed the rest of these this summer, it was a wonderful affair with an interesting multi-culti crowd. Don't know whose bright idea it was to have juggling balls on the dancefloor though, because a terrible ball throwing fight ensued. Folks had fun anyway, laughing, talking, dancing to electro funk, throwing balls, and surveying the museum's artworks.

That was last weekend, the same weekend that a new Kenwood stereo system and speakers were put into the car. The same weekend I bought the 12-year-old niece a cell phone. Yeah, everyone else thinks it was a crazy idea too. But she will be doing a lot of traveling alone, and times have changed. I feel safer that she can contact the fam when she is going to and from school. That weekend I also went to a friend's late night BBQ on a rainy night. Ended up playing DJ on his disc changer. I seemed to be the only one interested in keeping the affair moving on the musical tip. We reminicised to De La and ATCQ, and even got into a dance circle and pulled out our old school dances. Funny when folks ain't afraid to show their age. One partygoer even remarked that we reminded her of her aunts and uncles when they say, "Hey, remember this step? We used to get down."

Although a rainy weekend, it didn't stop the West Indian Day Parade on Labor Day. Yeah, I caught the tail end of that one. Without camera. Not being able to run into the street behind a float and jump up kind of got me down, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless.

The past week, I had a terrible cold so this past weekend was light. A few sips of vodka cleared me up enough to believe I could go out dancing. So I did. Presently, I am feeling lethargic though. The cold still being in my system. And then, with 911 two days away, I don't know, I just feel kind of out of it.

Waiting for the new site design, and about to work on moving—at least the newer pages— of the diary over to MT. Otherwise I am just chilling and waiting for the next thing to happen. I don't really feel I have much to talk about or share nowadays. Sure, I'll be teachng two courses this semester, one on race and ethnicity, and another—a study skills course that makes use of technology. And someone contacted me saying they wanted to obtain the rights to "Independent Black Filmmakers Take on Hollywood: The Distribution of Black Films" for publication in the next edition of Common Culture: Reading and Writing about American Popular Culture.

I guess I just haven't wanted to talk much lately. That is why I missed out on talking about my phone interview with Meshell last month, or my dinner interview with Toure a couple of weeks ago, or even my recent drinks with Amneh, a lovely Palestinian/Egyptian woman I met on my favorite listserv that I have been posting to for about a year. And I haven't even mentioned what I thought about xXx, Signs, or Undisputed. Maybe I just have a case of burn out. Or...

Not in a funk, but simply thinking that a lot of things are better left unsaid. Or maybe even that someone else can say them better. At least that is how I feel right now. So instead, I choose to share information and act as a media disseminator.
musicians as sharecroppers
Khary Kimani Turner has an on-point analysis of the relationship of music artist to the recording industry at the Detroit Metro Times. He says:
"Music may be the only major industry in America without organized representation for skilled laborers - artists."

and then:
"When you think independent, think ownership. As in, masters, mine. Publishing, mine. Think Tha Row. Think Prince. Makes you wonder who's really shinin', doesn't it?"

"The lesson here is, if you want to be an artist, don't be Toni Braxton or Tevin Campbell, performers who could sing their asses off, but didn't write or produce. Don't be Aaron Hall, who sang likewise, but for some ungodly reason, trusted someone to be custodian to his property. Unless these talented artists invested their tour money wisely, they're nine-to-fivin' it again."

the solution:
In his words, artists need to unionize themselves to really make any money from a recording career. Makes you wonder, as he said, whether all that bling really blings? I mean, at the end of the day, who owns the bling?

And since I have been praising Timbaland here, I might as well big up "Ching Ching Ching," featuring Ms. Jade and Nelly Furtado. Pure banging. Some honorable mentions coming soon.

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09.05.02 12:27 PM

blogging .vs. big media

blogging .vs. big media

Are Weblogs Changing Our Culture Andrew Sullivan says:
"The first is the question of whether blogging will actually change the media in any big ways. The small ways are already happening. Check out this embarrassing correction in the New York Times today. (Scroll down to the "Editor's Note.") Now, it wasn't only bloggers who exposed the Times' error in characterizing Henry Kissinger as an opponent of war in Iraq. But they certainly helped raise the volume. Blogdom has forced the Times to correct itself many times over now, which can only help improve journalism. But will bloggers actually deeply undermine editorial and corporate power in the media? So far I think the answer is no."

Kurt Andersen responds:
"...if Drudge and Romenesko count as blogs, then of course blogs have already changed the media."

"Are blogs ever going to drive a transformation of the press as significant as, say, cable TV news has? Nahhh. Providing a self-publishing outlet for professional journalists' rejected print pieces isn't exactly, as we used to say, not so far back in the day, a killer app. I agree that providing talented unknown writers a means of getting prose in front of readers and editors is a nice hypothetical blog virtue:..."

the end of p-2-p...maybe

Just in case you hadn't heard this week, It's All Over For Napster Michael Singer reports:
"Once it was the place to go on the Web to share music files, a proverbial cult icon with millions of users, but now Napster has run out of options and is now buried forever."

"A Delaware bankruptcy court Tuesday has denied the bankrupt Redwood City-based Internet song-swapping service its $92 million proposed sale to Bertelsmann AG."

I don't think any of us really care anymore since there are a slew of alternatives. And those are only the ones the media knows about.

femcee shining

I have to thank Trent for this one. Every now and then, a female MC from the underground enters the arena and fiercely makes us nod our collective music head. Jean Grae just may be that next femcee. Todd Inoue of Pulse Magazine gives up mad loving ink for the sistah, as does Steven Samuel in his 1-on-1 with the X-Men monikered raptress on

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09.04.02 07:53 PM

music is and lives

I implore you to check out the music of Fertile Ground. Heard their stuff this weekend at a friend's BBQ and I was in awe and very sorry I missed their show with Julie Dexter here. Speaking of Julie Dexter, much thanks to Lisa for Dexter's Peace of Mind EP.

Trent, thanks for the heads up on 3rd Storee. I had the disc in the cabinet at work and wasn't paying it any mind. After your post, I decided to give it to the 12-year-old niece. Funny thing, when we played it in the car I realized I had been trying to find out who sang "Get With Me," for a couple of weeks now. Got my answer and seized the disc from the child so I could get an MP3 of said song. She'll have to get it back next week. And another thing Mr. Trent Fitz-music journalist, don't argue with me about SV. That goes for you too j. I am only suggesting that they are the closest thing we now have to De La and ATCQ. I didn't say they were genius or anything, or even that their music was the best thing since sliced bread. I see the potential though. And I give credit for such efforts as theirs.

My love for Timbaland's banging beats grows and grows. After getting Missy's "Work It" last week and then seeing Ms. Jade's "Big Head, " on MuchMusic's RapCity last night, I am bowing down and singing praises to the beatmeister. BTW, you can peep me cutting up "Work It" with "Burnin' Up" over at George's Headphone Project pt. 6. I only wish it was the remix, 'cuz Freeway brings the heat on that joint.

how time flies 06:49:00 PM

With the one-year anniversary of 911 looming, other milestones of disaster come to mind. In 2000, the boom was at its peak. But by 2001, the industry slowly began to creep to its demise. Some hopeful new media companies held on by tooth and nail until cash surpluses ran completely dry. One such company comes to mind now. It was somewhat an industry Bible. As the Industry Standard celebrates a year since declaring bankruptcy, the
San Francisco Chronicle
finds that its founder, John Battelle, 36, has a million ideas.

"But someday? Might he start something up again someday?"

"God, how could I not?" he said. "It's what I know how to do. Whether a magazine or publishing business or, Lord knows, I have a million ideas that run around my head. Should something extraordinary strike me, I'll probably pursue it to the ends of the earth."

How could he not have a million ideas?

"I wanted to take time to step back and decide what the hell I wanted to do next, and if I wanted to do something as ambitious as the Standard again, or Wired," he said. (He was the founding managing editor of Wired in his 20s.) "It's weird. I'm a relatively young guy. I have young kids. When they get a little older and become people, you go through that thing you read about -- how do you prioritize your life?"

Funny how time changes things.

doing thangs 01:34:00 PM

Not having commenting is beginning to work my nerves. But it is the least of my troubles right now in regards to the site. The site needs a complete overhaul. Not just the diary. I haven't been updating a lot of info as it pertains to my bio and writing, etc., and some links are outdated. I think the whole commenting fiasco is just wearing on me though. I hear MT calling. I have much more to share, a few more thanks and shouts to send up, and other stuff. To be continued...

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