Coffee Rhetoric: city
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts

October 24, 2011

These and Those: In Which My Hair Uncovers Dirty Truths


In these uncertain times where 9-to-5 jobs are difficult to come by due to asshole companies' discriminatory behavior and folks pushing forward to eke out an income working for themselves, money is tight and happy hour prices don't always put a smile on one's face once the bill comes. Fortunately Zula, located at 901 Main Street in downtown Hartford manages to keep it classy and sassy while providing a diverse crowd, good food, great music, and an outstanding happy hour from 4pm-7pm, so that folks don't side-eye their bill while angrily digging their wallet out of their purse or back pockets. $3 wines and drafts, $5 cocktails, and $4 plates. Why not? I was having a particularly good hair day this past Friday and ventured inside where I chatted up a personable and accommodating bartender named Jessica. 
Jessica kept me company and divulged interesting details about her life as a bartender before rapper, Keith Murray's sister found her way inside... apparently seduced by the halo of awesomeness that was my hair that day. She said she spied it through the plate glass window. My hair is touch and go whenever I wear un-bunned; some days it's just OK and other days it's particularly eye-catching. 

Now I'm familiar with this obviously cool woman (whose name always eludes me, unfortunately)- as I've run into her on numerous occasions downtown, where she resides. I had no idea until this past Friday that she was related to the Def Squad member, however. Keith's sister and I chatted about this and that... mostly regarding what her brother was currently up to and we pontificated a little about dating. Lately, I just choose not to do it. I'm really working on focusing getting to where I'd like to be professionally. Also, running into an unwanted nuisance I can't seem to escape a few days prior and then receiving a rambling voice mail this evening from another one, who once divulged an unfortunate story to me (on a FIRST quasi-DATE) about why his penis was virtually non-existent, has prompted me (an atheist type) to want to spend the remainder of my adult life in a convent for wayward dating souls. But I do enjoy hearing about what other people are up to in their love/sex lives. Keith Murray's sister spoke about a man she'd been dating for about a month, whose company she seemed to enjoy. He bought her gifts and he took her out to dine at fine restaurants. I happened to ask if they'd ever been to Zula. "This is too open for him. He likes more restrained, sort of fancier places. He probably wouldn't like this atmosphere." She suggested. We continued to make interesting conversation and shortly after, she excused herself to the bathroom. Suddenly a man and a young Black woman walked in. He pulled out Keith's sister's chair and  I alerted him, "Oh... someone's sitting there." He slid it back up to the bar sans incident... 
Keith's sister returned from the bathroom and surprised, hugged the man with familiarity. He and the young woman retreated to the opposite end of the bar. Considering our conversation just moments ago, Keith's sister alerted me that the man she hugged was the so-called charming fellow she'd been seeing, who bought her gifts, and who quite possibly would not take her out to dine at Zula... and it was obvious why. 

It gave me no pleasure whatsoever to see her obvious discomfort and dismay, especially when she said, "He told me he's here with someone else." I suggested that she "be cool" and finish enjoying her drink. A friend I spied and then a cool Hartfordite I recognized from and communicated with on Twitter, as well as an inebriated Afro-latina woman who mistakenly took and opened my purse to retrieve money to pay for her drinks would later distract me. So I never saw Keith's sister leave... The cad and his date were gone from the bar and slipped out into the cool, autumn night as well, and I wouldn't see how the awkward situation panned out in the end. My hope is that Keith's sister didn't go home too upset and put out. My hope is that I randomly run into her again. I'm not sure why this man felt compelled to try to put the wool over Keith Murray's sister's eyes and I won't speculate, as I've stopped trying to decipher the complicated adagio dance women and men, when courting one another. It's best to piss into the wind and just tread as steadily as one can in these matters. 

I'd like to think that if my hair hadn't been so awesome that day, Keith's sister would not have felt inspired to join me and stay long enough to see her paramour's dark-sided ways. And this is why I'll never bid my natural hair adieu. 

January 12, 2011

The Hart's Beat

The cardiac cycle functions from one heartbeat to the next. The cycle's frequency generates via the heart rate. Throughout the cardiac cycle, the blood pressure increases and decreases... and is coordinated by a series of electrical impulses produced by specialized heart cells, so forth and so on...
... And so describes the makeup of the City of Hartford (CT), lovingly referred to as The Hartbeat by its residents and supporters. Hartford is the small New England city that ebbs and flows. And with sheer derring-do and tenacity, defends against its detractors even during the low-tide.
There're people who live here despite its unfair reputation, work here and who actually like and enjoy it. The Hartbeat's core is the very people that constantly work toward making the city a better place to live, improving the quality of life for the city's residents. Not content to just sit by idly, thumb up ass or pointing and jeering in mocking "Your city is shit!" tones (one would need to read the comments section of Courant.com to see the nonsense that permeates the feedback section whenever there's a story- good or bad- about Hartford) - Poets, writers, filmmakers, movers and shakers use artistic expression and wonderfully grand ideas to help relay the patchwork of stories that give Hartford its grit and spirit.
I recently was offered the opportunity to work with a group of creative people who are amongst those that make The Hartbeat expand, grow and contract rhythmically. They're fittingly called HartBeat Ensemble and they were able to acquire the means to hire a blogger and videographer to help document the process of their play in progress, "Flipside." 
An advocate for and believer in my city, I am honored to currently hold the blogger position and had the opportunity to watch this group of actors build on what will undoubtedly be a riveting play, giving voice to real people and actual events. HartBeat Ensemble stands out amongst other local professional theaters, because they create their own original works and pay homage to Hartford's history and the current events that affect the city's surrounding communities. 
Monday I sat in on a table reading of Flipside,  and it was definitely interesting to see how actors get into their... zones. The Actor is definitely an interesting breed of artist. The members of HartBeat Ensemble tossed around actor's lingo and gesticulated wildly as they edited certain aspects of the script on the spot. Their language is colorful and I anticipate (and hope for) an increase in its crudeness as rehearsal and preparation treads along. 
There'll be a lot of hip-hop based language, a span through different times during the war on drugs in Hartford, not to mention the technical aspects of the stage work, sound, and lighting will be interesting. This will definitely be a compelling ride to be on... to see a play's inception and then follow the process to fruition... 
It definitely needn't be missed once it reaches the stage at The Hollander downtown. Perhaps the group's presence in their new space will allow them to dance the Rigadoon around The Hartbeat's naysayers and hecklers who claim the city doesn't foster a creativity or who seem to think Hartford is full of nothing more than "Blacks, drug dealers, and poor people." The ignoramuses who truly believe that propaganda would need to have a heart in order to be attuned to what's unfolding in The Hartbeat. And what's unfolding is the work of poets, visionaries, and truly talented people. 
In the meantime, I will enjoy watching these actors flail, act, and gesticulate their way toward the finish line as they work to build a really good play. 
Stay tuned... 

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March 24, 2010

Bus Tales: Umm, Er... I'm not sure

Today's society illustrates that we not only live in a multifaceted world complete with racially ambiguous people, political fence straddlers, and omnisexual revelers, but gender ambiguity factors into this ever increasing equation as well... 
This afternoon, while en route to my mother's house, my interest was initially piqued by the intimate yet loud details of a petite young woman's cell-phone conversation...
"Yeah! I know she's mad I left the apartment on Sumner Street, but I'm sorry, that shit was just disgusting! It smelled like pure DOG! I was like HELL NO! I really don't care!! She has such a nasty attitude. I don't know how she got my fucking cell phone number!! I changed my number for a reason! Don't let me have to give her baby's father her number!! And she wonders why he doesn't wanna deal wit her ass! ... " 
When two teenagers, shoulders bogged down with book-heavy backpacks stumbled onto the bus. Initially I thought they were both young teenaged boys, They both had on the uniform and look typical of most young men living in urban areas... trendy, yet baggy jeans, Timbaland-lite footwear, large polo shirts, caps pulled down low over their heads, and mouths hanging open...thoughts laden with the superficial... no doubt. Bored with petite woman's conversation, I began to listen to the two young men sitting across from me, until I noted the heavier set guy's voice...  His? voice was husky and deep... almost as if its tone were contrived. Intrigued, I looked up and noted he? had extension braids pulled back into a bun at the nape of his? neck and a baseball cap pulled down low... his? eyebrows were also groomed into an arch. He? spoke about girls to his? smaller boned friend... "Yeah, I saw her sitting in class. I was trying to talk to her... It's a good thing there's a such thing as Twitter! " she? laughed to her? friend... who was looking down and busy punching away on his? phone's qwerty keypad. 
Small boned friend wore a striped tube cap pulled down over his? head... and noticeably sparkly studs in each pierced ear. He? was undoubtedly a boy... until he? looked up and out the window and proclaimed in a high-pitched teen girl's voice... "Oh look! That's *insert girl's name here* walking down the street! The one in the pink boots!" 
"Who is that?" his? husky voiced friend asked, looking towards the object of his friend's attention. 
"That's the girl I was telling you about! I was trying to talk to her earlier!" 
I grew more confused, and tried as best as I could to study their features without being overt and rude about it... Small boned went back to busily typing on his... um, her? phone's keypad... on Twitter. "How do you spell 'committed'? Does it have one 't' or two?" 
"Com-mi-TED... One 't' " the huskier one offered, after sounding it out. I cringed and was tempted to interject and say "There're TWO 't's' in committed." but opted to mind my own business. Still intrigued by the fact that I had no clue whether or not either of them had been born girls, I listened to them giggle about their female classmates... notably the ones they thought were the cutest... Then they pulled the wire that rings the bell to stop, for Albany Avenue and departed. 
The moral to this little anecdote is that I guess it doesn't matter. They're being who they choose and want to be... However, I'm still bothered that 'committed' was tweeted incorrectly. That is all. 




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July 23, 2009

Bus Tales: Buttcheek Touches Seat


Dearest Blog Diary:
Wednesday was a warm day. While most might say it was beautiful outside, considering all of the rain we've had in Hartford, CT, I found it hot and hazy in most areas in the city. Cities tend to be especially steamy during lazy summer days. I mean, public transportation is a hot bed for errant body odor and various other unpleasantries I want no parts of. What can one do? Nothing... and so I'm usually at peace as I'm sitting there inhaling short spurts of stifling air every so often, between holding my breath for the 10 minute ride.
Downtown, on a connecting bus en route to my mother's house is where I would be lightly slapped in the face by true elegance and sophistication. Two troglodytes in love and smug about it. Initially, as they held one another in a tight embrace (attached like a carbuncle on someone's ass), as they boarded the bus, I had difficultly making out which was male, and which was female. Upon further inspection, I determined the troll in the backwards, bedazzled NY Yankees cap was indeed a he and the the other one with its hair gelled down tightly on its forehead, over its thick eyebrows, and around its ears like a swim cap and rubbing its swelling (pregnant?) belly was a she. Duly noted. They sat tight against one another. She held on for dear life, seductively rubbing the sequins on his cap as she massaged the back of his head. She looked around the bus, whispered in his ear, he quickly scanned his closest surroundings and they both laughed. Are they making fun of people? What nerve!
Eyes, masked behind large dark shades as I sat in the back- (don't Rosa Parks me, it was crowded!)- I watched them. He fidgeted a lot in his seat, slouched, and also wore dark shades. She continued to rub, knead, and whisper while I struggled to hold my coffee down, when I noticed the young woman's face sitting directly across from them and two seats in front of me. I snapped out of my stupefaction and followed her disgusted gaze down towards the man's baggy jeans. They were sagging around his bottom. Now growing up and living in an urban area, I'm familiar with this fashion trend, most commonly associated with young teenaged boys, who have a love affair with showing off their underwear however, what I saw... what would assault these brown, almond shaped eyes were not the man's underwear... oh noooo! What I spied was the brown of his buttcheek. The fact that he was commando wasn't the most vile development, but the fact that his naked butt was making contact with the seat was! Marring an already germ filled communal vehicle even further, where someone else would sit shortly after his departure... with his butt juices.
Blog diary, I honestly don't know what else to say beyond this point, so I'll just end by saying I didn't think summer could get anymore gutterbutt. What did I do to deserve that?
That is all.

October 31, 2007

Keeping a List

This past week coupled with this present week has been rather interesting, to say the least. For 3 consecutive days in a row, I've slept under a full moon... literally hovering o'er my head, just outside my window, In all its resplendent glory. I don't know if my moon has anything to do with the strange haps, but I'm convinced that I'm the only one who proceeds through life as if I'm an unwilling cast member in some Twilight Zone episode. Let's explore this short (but indelible) diary of occurrences. Shall we? Oh let's!
Saturday, 5:15PM:
As I was walking from the bus stop in front of Bushnell Park, en route to my apartment building a couple of blocks away, a shuttle driver pulls over and implores me to hop on for a free ride. I told him I was only mere inches away from my building, but he insisted. He said he wanted to "kidnap" me, so I rode the loop downtown with him. During the course of the ride, he suggested that I take some of the brochures from off the dash to read about the latest and greatest the city was offering. I obliged him, fully aware of his motivation. I stood up quickly, snatched some literature up, and sat down just as quickly. Seconds later, Driver would remark, "I just wanted you to stand up, so I can look," to which I remarked dryly, "I know. I figured I'd humor you, and let you get a quick peek. " Embarrassed and surprised by my response, he chuckled and said nothing more.
Monday, mid-Afternoon:
The Fire Marshall is scheduled to come test the museum's fire alarm system. It's difficult for him to focus on the matter at hand, because he finds my scent alluring. So alluring in fact, that he keeps sidling next to me and sniffing me. Deep inhalations of breath. While the few who notice, stand by, looking flummoxed by his behavior. He suggests that I work behind a cage, because men such as himself, are likely to pounce on me for smelling so good. I shrug indifferently. And manage a tight smile... or was it a grimace? His task complete, the Fire Marshall heads out and on his way. But not before walking over to where I'm working for one last, hearty sniiiiiiiiifffffff.
Wednesday, 9:15 AM, This Hallow's Eve:
As I'm standing at the bus stop, a white man (attractive and rather sane looking) around my age walks by me, towards the Holiday Inn Express... on his cell phone. Not finding what or who he seems to be looking for, he heads back in the opposite direction from whence he came but not before stopping and telling me how much he likes my shoes. In fact, the conversation went as follows ...
  • Perv: Hi, I really like your shoes. They're so hot.
  • Me (hiding behind large, dark shades): Thanks
  • Perv: They're smokin' Hot. They're so sexy. Listen, I'm sorta into shoes. Well... I have a bit of a shoe fetish.
  • Me: Do you, now?
  • Perv: Yes. Um, actually, can I take a picture of your shoes. They look so hot.
  • Me: No.
  • Perv: Please? I really like them. They look so hot on you. I would love to take a picture of them.
  • Me (considering an asking price): Umm. No.
  • Perv: Okay. Sorry to bother you. Have a great day. Bye!
Until this morning, I honestly didn't think my existence and interaction with the male populace could get any stranger. ...

July 10, 2007

I'm not feeling Summer...

... and it doesn't give a squirrel's nut about me. Otherwise it wouldn't cause me such distress and discomfort. My boobs are sweating... and that's never good... I don't think. To quote a line I heard in a movie recently, it is (indeed) hotter than a jalapeno's coochie outside. Yes, yes, I know we're in the throes of summer but that doesn't make me feel any better. Once winter hits and snow and ice abound, I'll bitch about how cold it is outside, how I ruined another pair of boots, or how I slipped on some black ice and busted my ass. Why can't it be spring-like all year round?? Get bent hot, humid, stifling air!