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

February 12, 2010

Hathor Take The Wheel

I did not want to bat an eyelash over John Mayer’s recent FAIL interview with Playboy Magazine, but the more in-depth I read it- (in its entirety, because I did not want to comment based solely on the excerpts that got everyone in an uproar)- the harder I blinked and the more perplexed I became. I will not comment on the obvious homophobia or misogyny and ageism he displayed whilst commenting on his former girlfriends (‘right made the acid in my stomach gurgle with displeasure), nor on the lack of confidence he has in his manhood for he spoke at length about his sexual prowess and technique as well as his need to prove himself and be better than the former flames of his conquests. 
What I will rant and rave about however, is John’s proclamations that he has a “hood/nigger” pass, suggesting that having one somehow justifies his never ending, assholish behavior, asinine public comments and Twitter rants. He said he was "Very" just like Black folks. "V.E.R.Y." and so it absolved him of stupid behavior. Man, I guess (not).  John also name dropped Kanye West, a fellow partner in lame grappling with his own P.R. issues and who in 1996 (publicly creamed his trousers over the splendor of biracial women or “mutts” as he affectionately called them, Jay-Z, and other rappers, who, shall I add, seem color-struck and enamored with all things lighter-skinned and/or non-Black themselves, and will never miss an opportunity to bash dark-skinned Black women or to drape themselves with the finest of racially ambiguous vixens. But I digress... 
John Mayer… who always manages to fellate his foot hungrily, deep-throating it with gusto whenever he has the media’s attention… felt his scrotum swelling with douche water after waving his “nigger pass” in the air... going on to gloat, after being asked if Black women threw themselves at him  (a stupid question in and of itself), that while he has a Benetton heart he just couldn’t open himself up to the possibility of entertaining Black women, due to his having a David Duke cock.”
insert record screeching to an abrupt stop right here
Correct me if I’m wrong, or perhaps I’m out of the loop, but I had no idea Black women were drowning John in a river of crème de la coochie. I was completely unaware that this rather uninteresting and bland musician was the stuff that makes Black women swoon with unbridled desire. John also went on to make vulgar remarks about noted Black actress Kerry Washington’s hotness and how she might possibly suck a dick and say, “Yeah, I did it, so what?” for she’d undoubtedly break a Caucasian cad’s heart because she's "crazy like a white girl," or some such nonsense to that effect, his love of porn, and how every White dude bulged out of their boxers for sitcom character Hilary Banks from the The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Additionally, while John Mayer is entitled to his preferences, why do it at the expense of Black women by suggesting that we are somehow not worthy or significant enough for someone as inane as he is? Listen, at the end of the day, I don't need John's racist penis to validate me as a Black woman or any other White man with a "nigger pass" or otherwise for that matter, so I'll sleep well this evening, but imagine the shock and furor had Halle Berry stated she had the heart of Coretta Scott King but the vagina of Minister Louis Farrakhan ... Mmm hmmm... Think, think, think... famous people. THINK before you spew. 
To the assholes who gave Mayer a “nigger pass,” Therein lies the problem, jerks. You make it OK for dumb-asses to engage in hipster racism because you’re giving them the go-ahead to do so…ofttimes at a Black woman's expense.  And then you’re the same jack-asses who want to mollywhop your White buddy, because he said,  “Nigger please!” Um. No sir. You can't have it both ways. Good for the goose but not for the gander??
John Mayer or any other wanna-be down chav gets no “hood pass” from me EVER. I don’t care how many BLACK friends you collect, I don't care how many close White friends I happen to connect with, and I don’t care how many of your BLACK FRIENDS said it was OK to make stupid statements steeped in bigotry. It is never OK to wallow in ignorance because you think it's the hip thing that will get you an *in.* Real talk. I don't hand those types of passes out. Null and VOID. 
Mayer, choked up and regretful (because his publicist told him to be ), issued a tearful apology onstage in the middle of a performance in addition to taking to his Twitter page yet again to partake in some major damage control. I refuse to stroke his ego by saying, “Awww, he made a mistake.” A mistake is something that’s unintentional and not predicated on arrogance and one’s privilege. He's sorry, because folks got pissed and his statements were not well received, because just like many White people who share Mayer's sentiment(s) about being "down", it's always cool to smile proudly and proclaim how much Black people love you, as a way to justify making ignorant (regardless of one's intention) statements out loud. And to co-opt the cool parts of being a racial minority, while rejecting the difficulties of being one. 
In the grand scheme of his stupidity, self-loathing, and narcissism however, I do not believe that Mayer is a racist. And I don't care if his David Duke cock wants to burn a cross at my window, because I am personally not, nor have I ever been rubbing myself raw over John Mayer. He is a bigot who hates women, however... and is a sad a victim of his own delusions of grandeur, arrogance, and sexual inadequacy. And to those Black folks who think it’s cute for some "others" to trash-talk your mothers, aunts, dads, brothers, uncles, and sisters (yes, those of you issuing out the free "nigger passes" to your White buddies)… stop perpetuating the disrespectful behavior. Enough is enough.  
Perhaps Mayer's attempt to fumble towards ecstasy and understanding will help us mull over the topics of race and gender a little more closely, and think before we open our gobs... trying to be clever. And a simple, "No, Black women don't throw themselves at me. Not at all." would've sufficed, John.

Read more about Mayer-gate 2010---

July 16, 2009

Order In The Court

I've noticed an annoying trend in courting rituals. One more small annoyance to add to the already difficult process of dating. Texting. I am not one of those self-righteous, anti-technology people who goes on boring rants about the evils of social networking, texting, and mobile phones. As annoying and impersonal as those outlets can be, I am very pro-gadget and technology. While it has it's cons, technology and social networking has made it easier to keep in or get back in touch with long lost friends, enemies, frenemies, and prospective employers. Many things in life have negative aspects to them... you couldn't pay me to travel back to the dark ages. Advancement in technology is not the sole vice or annoyance society has to grapple with. The phenomenon is only as stupid as the moron accessing it... which brings me to my primary point.
Men- (I can't speak for women, because I don't date women and many of the ones I know aren't this inconsiderate, but I'll be fair and say I'm sure they're just as guilty)- if you've just met a woman for the first time, made out with her, groped her, etc... and you've decided "Wow, I like her and I want to talk to her and get to know more about her beyond this point" and you insist... DEMAND that she give you her phone number... and you make a point of programming it into your phone while she's standing there, then CALL her. This texting bullshit as the FIRST official attempt at communicating ... "Hey sexy" and "wat u up to?" is nothing short of rude and disrespectful, and it's not a good first impression. Not to me and many of my friends anyway.
How do you expect to develop any type of rapport with someone you supposedly like... or want to hop in the sack with by TEXTING grammatically lazy phrases??
Behavior like this is vexing and agitating. Myself? I may give your brusque and short messages the side-eye, and after careful consideration, might even respond a few times. I may even give you the benefit of the doubt that you'll actually CALL and I'll hear a live voice either on my voicemail or in real-time at some point throughout the course of the courtship. I'll do you one better; In the past, I've responded to text messages by leaving a voicemail, saying "Hi," asking to "Give me a call when you get the opportunity." Which means, TAG, you're it! Your turn! Only to get yet another text in response, RIGHT AFTER I've left the voicemail! After a VERY short while, your texts WILL go ignored! Trust this.
I will flat out refuse to respond, assuming that you have no desire to actually TALK for 5 or 10 minutes, which is enough time to determine someone's personality and whether you want to ask them out on a date. I'll assume that you aren't interested in setting up a time to meet up and that you have no real interest in me as a person, and that you're only wanting to waste my time by playing electronic footsies with your cyclical, same sounding two word sentences. ... "Hey sexy. Wat u doing? Wat u wearing?" Level headed and tech-savvy folk in the know realize that "wat u wearing?" is code for, "send me a topless photo, and I'll send you a pic of my genitals."All before being asked out on an ACTUAL date for coffee or a glass of wine, because you'd rather wile away valuable time sexting messages like some sexually precocious preteen: "i want u so bad. wish u were here."
Listen, I text more than the next person, but I'm usually texting with people I KNOW. People I have connections with. People I also chat to on the phone. My close and best friends, my sisters, my mother, acquaintances I pal around with, someone I've dated, don't despise and have maintained a friendship with, so forth and so on and I'm not making an ALL DAY AFFAIR of it. If I don't KNOW you and am making every attempt to GET to know you within the context of dating, and you don't reciprocate that gesture, then you may as well kick rocks. And don't you DARE send me a message at 1:00 in the MORNING asking, "hey u up?" OMG!! R U SERIOUS!? How dreadful! Moreover, don't respond to my obvious exasperation with your thoughtless time wasting, texting : "I thought u liked me ???" or "It's just easier to txt cuz am on the run." If you're on the run, then BE ON THE RUN! How about contacting the person of your desire when you AREN'T "on the run" and have a moment to spare.
Look, I'm not one for walking down the street or going about my daily activities, jabbing at my phone's keypad like crazy. I understand that some people love it, but my thumbs get tired, it wears on my nails, more importantly it's distracting and detracts from whatever it is you're doing. As many people as I see running their pie holes on the phone while en-route somewhere, that "on the run, can't actually call" excuse is utter doo-doo. Texting sentences on a small keypad, on the run, seems like it takes more effort than talking to someone for 3 seconds to say, "I'm out and about, just wanted to call to say hi and that I'm thinking about you, we'll talk later though!" and then you hang the eff up. Don't ask for someone's phone number if you have no intention of talking to them. Get their email address instead if you want to type at them.
Cut this foolishness out. It's not a good way to connect with someone you supposedly want to learn more about. KNOW them first before you start texting them a bunch of nonsense. That is all.

April 20, 2009

Update- Tales from the Darkside and Home Improvement

Conversations that transpired while walking around my neighborhood this past Friday:

Encounter 1: Lady buffalo stancing outside Family Dollar and Carlos's Supermarket: " 'Scuse me MISS. You got a dolla'??" Me: "Nope." Lady: "How about fifty cent? You got ANY change?????" Me: I shook my head emphatically and hurried inside towards my destination for Folgers and flip flops.

Encounter 2: While walking from Green Apple produce market

Man: (standing next to disheveled Black woman: "Scuse me Miss... you think you can give me and my friend here some money...." Me: Shook head emphatically and hurried inside.

**I come back outside from store**

Woman (beggar's friend), in a slow, drug induced drawl: "Scuse me... MISS. Can I have some..." Me: Shaking head so hard my neck pops, as I hurry down the street towards home... Woman (yelling after me): "Well, you got a CONDOM den??"
Encounter 3: The best friend (Cat to those not in the know) visits. After settling in, we head back out at around 10pm... Cat, being the genius that she is... parks TWO WHOLE BLOCKS away! We stand and wait outside, in the mild night air, waiting to cross the street...
Condom Lady approaches... head lolled to the side as she lumbers over, like a corpse out of Night of the Living Dead: "Scuuuuse Me. Ladies... Ya'll got aaaany money I can..." Cat and I in unison: "NO!" We run out into busy traffic, desperate to get away from Condom lady. Bitch is lumbering towards us at a clip now!
We make it. I verbally abuse Cat for parking so far away!! And Onward Life has been somewhat busy. I'm still... still... settling into my apartment. It is starting to feel a lot like home, however. With several free acquisitions, a few priced next to nothing accents, switching things around and figuring out (through trial and error) what works in this particular space, things are starting to come together. I now have a king sized bed and board (sans frame, but not dire) today. I'm excited. The bed is huge. Bedding will be costly, but I plan on NOT paying more than 30 dollars for king sized bedding.

Check out what's going on thus far

Oh and I also acquired this amdist the madness.

September 01, 2008

Dante's Inferno

There's a new book out. Yet another manifesto that feasts and nibbles on the fleshy insecurities and perceived shortcomings of women. Because Tariq "K-Flex" Nasheed's Art of Mackin' and The Mack Within' needed a supplement. Because men are infallible masters who hold all the answers to life's complexities and one of their primary purposes is to guide us wayward women into a magick fairyland where we would gladly submit ourselves to a life of passivity and servitude.
In any event, this latest fuckery is entitled, The Re-Education of the Female and it's written ever so eloquently by computer engineer and first time author, Dante Moore. Moore-- described by Washington Post writer Laura Yao as a well groomed, heavyset, baby-faced, 33-year old with neatly twisted dreadlocks-- professes to love women, and that he wrote this book to help us along .
Moore was also raised in a matriarchal household, and his father was mostly absent. His mother insisted that he treat women like, "queens." But as Dante aged, he came to the realization that his mother was oh so very wrong. See, he discovered that acting like a douchetard toward insecure and needy women, made the phone ring off the hook, much to his delight-
"My mother used to say, walk them home from school, grab their books, give them gifts, blah blah blah, yada yada yada. I went like that for maybe two years, and I probably lost every girlfriend that came along- Once I started being myself and saying, 'look, I'm not going to do this, this, or that for women,' the phone didn't stop ringing, "
The kicker is that Moore was able to train his girlfriend of two years, into dressing sexy on the daily and even prompted her to clean the house looking like a femme-fatale.
"He's wonderful. He's one of the good ones." She coos lovingly (I assume she cooed lovingly). Despite succeeding in brainwashing gaining the adulation of his girlfriend, Dante still claims to not have found "true love" as yet, which would explain why he's not hitched, even though he has an impressionable 11-year-old son to doucheify. Yao neatly summarized the crux of Dante's literary point: Women need to Cook, clean in sexy-hot attire, bow down to a man's every command, put out, and stay skinny if they want to snag and keep a man's interest.
"I like someone of a certain size," Dante rambles on. "My preference would be African American, size 10 or under, conscious about her history and culture."
Miseducation Re-Education of the Female reinforces Dante's preference in this excerpt in which he charmingly compares women to rotten fruit--
"The fatter you get, the more you decrease your potential single-man pool. Let me give you an example. When you go to the grocery store to shop, do you pick out the nastiest-looking, most rotten, smelliest fruit or meat you can find? Oh, you don't? Why not? . . . It's the same with men when they see baby elephant-sized, out-of-shape women."
If Dante Moore's douchery still doesn't illuminate, read this excerpt from Yao's interview with him, in which he fumbles an attempt at being evasive about his dating history--

Though generally reluctant to discuss the specifics of his dating life, Moore does talk unabashedly of a time he broke up with a woman over the fact that he inadvertently almost stole $15 from her.

He took her on a date to Maggie Moo's, and she gave him a $20 bill to order for her. He pocketed the bill and, distracted by the menu board, claims he never saw the value of the bill and just assumed it was $5. When his date later asked why he hadn't given her change, he thought she was accusing him of not treating women well, and dumped her on the spot.

"If I would've just paid for it, had she not given me the money at all, we'd probably still be dating," he says.

This incident, he recalls, happened about two months ago. But weren't he and Tuitt (the trained girlfriend) "exclusive" during this time? Moore quickly revises it to "several months ago," he can't really remember, but probably before he and Tuitt "became exclusive."

Dante's bottom bitch girlfriend later covers for him, saying he probably made a mistake with the time frame, for he's "open with everything he does."--- (queue the collective Bitch PLEASE! and eye-rolls). Laura Yao concludes her expose by mentioning that a 14-year-old girl enthusiastically purchased the book promising to lend it to her mom when she's done reading it, and that a "large stack" still remained during Dante's underwhelmingly attended book signing, that particular day.

Unfortunately, this is what relationship advice has been reduced to. Insecure and bitter men doling out wordz of wizdom to other insecure, bitter men seeking validation and this overwhelming need to rate or condescend to women, not to mention the naive women who will undoubtedly fall for this hype, because they are sick of waiting by the phone (when they should be doing something far more productive).

I've extricated myself (unofficially yet gladly) from the market sans regret, and must admit that while annoyed, I can't be angry over books (or ideas) like this. All one has to do is find the comic relief and entertainment in its message. To read between the lines and wonder why yet another man, would go out of his way to write such a bittersweet symphony about the evils of womankind.
I'll bet Moore almost exploded into a million teeny tiny douche pieces when his book got picked up. All the more reason to gloat and pound his chest. Why not just enter into a legitimate BDSM relationship, complete with a signed contract and willing participant, if he is that intent on dominating and subjugating a woman?? At least it'd be a lot more honest and less bullshitty. I also just LOVE how he considers us FEMALES and not WOMEN. Makes me all shivery. If Dante Moore is indeed, considered "one of the good ones" as his loyal girlfriend claimed, then I'd rather find some Aggressive to do the scissor with. Look, everyone is entitled to having preferences when it comes to what they consider aesthetically appealing. I'd be lying if I said certain physical traits on a man didn't attract me. And admittedly, Dante Moore appears to be an attractive looking man. And while I believe I can pass for being quite attractive despite my flaws, I don't walk around pretending to be perfect looking or that everyone should want me because I think I'm goddess's gift. I'm realistic, and while my expectations are up there, they're within reason... with the bulk of the emphasis being on intellect and whether or not a man is respectable and respectFUL.
I am sick of dudes lumping ALL women in the same categories due to their own personal experiences:
  • Golddiggers,
  • Unappreciative,
  • Hyper-sensitive,
  • Gullible,
  • Not attractive or mindful of her appearance due to having some meat on the bones,
  • Expecting the world to revolve around her
  • Uncooperative.
We're automatically uncooperative and high-maintenance because we want to be treated respectfully? I'll be the first to admit that many women may be conflicted over that concept and will send mixed signals... and blow off a genuinely nice guy, no matter what he does for her, but the majority aren't. Trust. I mean, I could neatly classify ALL MEN under the same categories and write them ALL off for the following reasons:
  • Jackass
  • Douche
  • Disingenuous
  • Unreliable
  • Too Dumb
  • Not packing in the meat department
  • Fug
  • Blathery
  • Uneducated
  • Boring
  • Poor
  • Old
  • Impotent
  • Sloppy
  • Unstylish
  • Misshapen
  • Dogs
  • Liars
  • Cheaters
But I don't, because I realize one's personal experience with a few isn't indicative of the sum total of a whole lot. And more importantly, most of those labels and rating men based on bullshit standards are unfair. It's a shame that a few bad dating experiences from seemingly ungrateful women resulted in Dante becoming crass, bitter, and cynical enough to pen this book. Rather than suggesting that women need to be "re-educated", perhaps he should get some therapy and explore the things that may very well be wrong with him as well. Women who fall for men who treat them poorly have deep rooted issues they need to work out. i.e. the women who seemed to call Dante once he started treating them like yesterday's bowel movement. Or the groupies Dante met during his signings and whispered their phone numbers in his ear. I'm tired of guys of Dante's ilk thinking perfection is their due, when they have a looooog way to come themselves ... physically and especially intellectually. These distorted and unrealistic perspectives regarding what womanhood entails. Par for the course as far as the patriarchy is concerned. I am a LADY who would not give this type of base chauvinism the time of day. Get a fucking uterus, a pair of tits, some culture, and a clue and I just might engage you.

I shall certify Dante with Massengill's stamp of approval for exerting the effort, for having a great smile, and more importantly- for successfully conning his girlfriend.

June 26, 2008

Intellectualizms

I'm no prude. My mouth and mind emit and harbor some rather colorful and randy thoughts and commentary. That aside, every now and again I will meet the acquaintance of a phrase or piece of slang that'll make me either giggle with glee, shrug my shoulders indifferently, or roll my eyes, perplexed by its sheer stupidity. Yesterday was no exception, for I recently discovered the term "No Homo." Which has been in use for some time, apparently. Ridiculous and awkward sounding... its meaning is even more nonsensical. Urbandictionary.com basically defines No Homo! as a phrase one shouts out after having inadvertently said something, well, 'gay'. Anonymous contributors offer up a wide array of witty examples (and I'm copying and pasting them verbatim. Grammatic errors and misspellings intact) such as: Hay man, pass the nuts. No homo and I cornered him in my room and nailed him with a board. No homo. Or my personal favorite: 'yo homie, i just spent five hours talking with my man on the phone, no homo'
Apparently, yelling out "NO HOMO" after having made an ambiguously homosexy sounding comment, is supposed to cancel out a heterosexual man's femme side or make him seem even more virile. How butch. Non? I opine that it's just another way for some chauvinist, insecure fuckknob- (conflicted over his own sexuality)- to unnecessarily assert his manhood, because he may perhaps (I'm just speculating) harbor some deep, dark, sexy fantasies involving Leather Bear Daddies, lithe... sinewy Twinks, and silicone butt plugs.
What better way for a man to feel like a MAN than to indulge in a daily dose of homophobia? It's simply not enough to hoot and holler in a strip club or pour Cristal and money all over a hooker, for that's just a whetting of the MAN'S appetite for destruction. I'd be willing to wager that this term is born out of the RAP (notice I said RAP and not Hip Hop) culture of posturing, dick swinging, and champagne dreams and delusions of making it rain on some ho's. Just saying... NO HOMO!

May 31, 2008

Sucio

Yours truly was enjoying a delectable Chocolate Lava Cake, garnished with candied walnuts, a side of vanilla gelato, and a sprig of fresh mint- at one of my favorite eateries during my lunch hour, when a Caucasian Man of Slight Build and with dark hair, walked in and sat at the bar. Upon settling in ... about three chairs away from me, he ordered a "coffee with Bailey's," in a brusque, yet familiar voice. I was caught up in the rapture of my delicious dessert, the stresses of work and workplace rivalries forgotten in that moment of space and time, so I didn't notice Man of Slight Build's lunch companion. Suddenly, I heard the trendy and very blond restaurant hostess cooing. "Ohhhh, you're sooooo cute. You're such a gooood boooy." Then I looked up. ... There, on M.O.S.B. 's lap was a Yorkie, small enough to travel in a Louis Vuitton pet tote.... naked, exposed, and out in the open, in an eating establishment, no less. Suddenly my neuroses started to kick in. My mind raced!
"IS THAT EVEN LEGAL??? TO HAVE AN ANIMAL, IN AN EATING AND DRINKING ESTABLISHMENT???? THERE ARE TABLES SET UP OUTSIDE! WHY ISN'T HE OUT THERE ENJOYING HIS SPIKED COFFEE???!!! THE WEATHER IS WONDERFUL! GO OUTSIDE!" It screamed. Repulsed, I slowly and calmly put my dessert fork down. Just then, M.O.S.B.'s coffee with Bailey's arrived, topped off with a heaping mountain of whipped cream.
Another blond waitress came over and cooed some more. "Ohhh, you're sooo cuuuute! You loooove daddy, don't you???" she said, as she massaged the area behind its pert ears.
"I EFFING HOPE SHE WASHES HER HANDS THOROUGHLY, WITH SOAP AFTER THIS!!!"
My mind screamed. "He only likes filet mignon, steak, and chicken," M.O.S.B. opined, smugly. "I don't see the point in giving him regular dog food. It's all oats and grain and animals don't really live off of that," He continued. For I'm assuming he believes his little furry cretin only deserves the best. To punctuate his point, M.O.S.B. scooped up a dollop of whipped cream and fed it to his little beloved. The dog lapped and licked his master's finger greedily. "Yeah, daddy's not supposed to feed whipped cream to you, right?" The bar patron cooed to his lap dog. After a period of time, the man told his little pocket pooch that there was no more whipped cream to be lapped, because it was "aaaaaall gone." I eventually returned to my dessert, chocolate ecstasy triumphing and overwhelming my brief feelings of disgust.

May 09, 2008

This Little Bird's Coming Out of It's Nest

Dear What'syourname,

I thought it over for the briefest of moments... a very brief moment. As I sit here, even now, munching on Cherry Berry Nut Mix, interrupting my red wine thoughts to ponder your proposition... the answer is fat chance. I don't think so. Absolument pas! Nunca! Aller merde vous! Basically the totality of my final answer is the equivalent to No. But thank you anyway... which is an unequivocal and emphatic, Not in this lifetime... ever again. Have a great weekend though... sans moi.

xoxo Coffey

April 12, 2008

Umm....

This past week I've been home from work, coughing up my last lung... grimacing at what's been coming up out of my throat, blowing my nose, taking any drugs and cough sizzurp (yes I said sizzurp) I can get my hands on, whining and cursing my illness for I haven't been this sick, in a long time. ... I feel a lot better and felt inspired enough to compose a witty blog post. But, I just realized that today is April 12, and I haven't done my damn taxes yet. ... Shit. Maybe I should get on that like, now before The Man shakes me down hardcore.

January 26, 2008

Personal Space Invasion Syndrome (PSIS)

I've been documenting the crazy on here since about 2004. I think regular readers (assuming people have been following this blog for that long)- probably are hip to the fact that I am a self-described neurotic with a smattering of germaphobia and a dollop of obssessive behavior (i.e. where I place items in my personal space matters, as I insist things be placed a certain way, and that they're neat and organized). And while this much I know is in fact true, my quirkiness has not prompted any need for prescriptions used to combat any anxiety or psychotic episodes. In summation, I'm a relatively normal person- (considering the levels of actual weirdness festering out there)- who is slightly askew. I pump a celebratory fist at my eccentricities and don't plan on changing any time soon. No one's infallible. And for those acting like they are... you all need to cut it out. The prologue aside, if there's one thing I cannot stand, it is when people (particularly those not close with or familiar to me) invade and tamper with my personal space and belongings without my permission. Close talkers (if I back up a couple of inches... please don't move forward to close the already small gap)- If you don't come in a wine glass, we aren't about to kiss, or about to engage in relations... there's no need for anybody to be 2 inches away from my mouth, beyond the standard (6 to 8 sq ft), conversational closeness. I think violating someone's space; adjusting and taking other people's things without asking is rude, discourteous, and disrespectful... particularly if you're the type of person who resents having your things tampered with and especially if it's within the context of a communal (i.e. work) environment, where the majority of the space is already shared, to begin with. It's almost as if certain people feel as if they're entitled to behave this way, or they have the right to impose their tastes by strongly suggesting a person should rearrange things to look a particular way other than how they choose have it set up. I mean, you listen and humor people afflicted with PSIS by saying, "Oh okay, that sounds nice. But I think I'll just leave it like this" and they're adamant about trespassing, like an uninvited guest who insinuates him/herself into your home, rearranges the furniture, and uses your toothbrush! You can see their sweaty fingers and palms wiggling with the desire to touch your stuff. To rearrange, to fix and fuck everything up... making you ready to sling some pimp slaps. These people, who like to stand shoulder to shoulder, toe-to-toe... so close that you feel a little of their spittle spray your face during conversation. Making you shudder with disgust, also prompting you to tap your foot uncomfortably, to swallow hard, and blink furiously to keep from going nuts. People, listen, regardless of how crazy this rant may seem, this type of bahavior is definitely a spatial DON'T. I think we've gotten too comfortable in this current cult of personality. Manners are a thing of the past. We live in a culture that divulges TMI about bowel movements, itchy delicates, and explicit sexploits (some great to listen to, some not so sexy), where people will grope, expose themselves or rub up against strangers, and where people think it's okay to invade... to bully their way into someone else's orbit, scattering forces messing up the alignment of your small planets. All it does is create tension, anger, and more neuroses to grapple with. How difficult is it to be respectful of other people's space and property? It's not. Some concepts are fundamental and implicit. So back the hell up and keep hulking figure and hands off of other people's sphere, unless invited. That's it.

January 19, 2008

Handkerchief Head Negro

Is it just me, or do quite a few Black, male leader types from the Civil Rights era have a lot of disdain for Barack Obama's run for the White House? Where was the disappointment when Condi and Colin joined the ranks of the Bush Administration and contributed to the downfall of our international relations and this country's current state? Anyway, this pastor says we young Black people don't have a right to vote or choose who our next President should be, because we're ignorant, have no substance, have amassed massive college debt, we're trying to "eat and date white" and we've corrupted society. Notwithstanding the fact that he sounds like one of the biggest, intra-racially bigoted, mark ass, ignoramuses yet. What the FUCK does "eating white" mean?? I'd love to hear him expound on that whole theory of eating white.

November 13, 2007

Rat Race

I can openly say (now) that I've been pounding the pavement for the past several months, job interviewing, hunting, fielding phone calls, mailing out resumes, receiving notices confirming receipt of my resume, wash, rinse and then repeat. Needless to say, the whole process is frustrating. It's the pits! Particularly when you're so close. Sooooo very close to being hired only to be told "Ohhh.... well you're too overqualified" or "We can't move forward with an offer for another two months. Sorry for putting you through SEVERAL INTERVIEWS AND PHONING EVERY LAST ONE OF REFERENCES, AND DOING THAT BACKGROUND CHECK ON YOU!! Please bear with us..." Notwithstanding the fact that you've answered all of their redundant (and sometimes condescending and ridiculous) questions, and have been more than accommodating in providing them with everything they need to move forward with an offer, including making yourself available at a moment's notice for another interview. I feel like a salesperson, going door to door selling your wares. One or two people invite you in. Let you sit down and go through your whole spiel. They nod. They ask several questions. They seem interested. They breathe in as if they're about to say, "I'm sold! I'll take two!" Only to change their minds and say, "Ohhh. I'm sorry. I'm not interested." Argh! Frustrating. Sometimes I wonder if those doing the interviewing, remember what it was like when they were practically groveling for their jobs... I need a drink.
The movie clip is from the film, Fear and Trembling, based on Amelie Nothomb's novel Stupeur et Tremblement.

November 10, 2007

The Disintegration of Sexy Times

I've always been indifferent toward porn. It has never prompted any deep desire in me, during my precocious pre and late teen years to watch out of curiosity, amid all the salacious buzz. Sneaking a peek at the erotica on Cinemax after 11pm, finding and then reading Jackie Collins's titillating plots, Erica Jong's Fear of Flying, and the illustrated educative wonderment of The Joy of Sex was it for me. I didn't watch hardcore porn until I was in college... with my best friend. We watched out of sheer boredom. We walked down to the town's local video store and picked something from the late seventies/early eighties, much to the cashier's amusement. It featured an interracial raunch fest. Basic man on woman boning. Nothing too shocking or sexy and void of anything particularly depraved and disgusting. The usual cheesy fare, in fact. Neither of us found the antics sexy or arousing. We laughed raucously and critiqued the clownery of it all. Pure comedy. We decided perhaps we were too intellectual and snotty to get it. Other then a porn clip online here and a legitimate art house flick there- (most recently the movie Short Bus, which featured unsimulated sex)- it hasn't interested or enticed me since. Despite the rash of filmed celebrity sexploits being "leaked" online. Over the years... after having watched and read a great deal of "behind the scenes" documentary style films and books, I've came to the conclusion that porn is not erotic, is silly, quite frankly, ridiculous. Most of the pornographic material being released is filmed and produced by men. Men and their distorted visions of how women should look, what ridiculous sexual positions we should be bent in, and how we should act. Despite rumblings to the contrary, I doubt any of the women acting in these films have any actual orgasms. Hair flinging, head whipping, and high pitched 'O' and fuck yeaaah sounds, I'm sorry but the orgasm is fake. All in all, it's harmless fun for the lonely, lecherous, and in some cases... the socially inept. I've never been one of the protesters screaming for the industry to be banned. That being said, a lot has changed with the porn industry. The ever increasing advances in technology, the internet, video cameras, webcams, and the like have made porn more accessible and more achievable for aspiring porn mongers. Any amateur can film their sexual exploits and upload them onto Xtube or Pornotube with relative ease. In turn, the industry has become a virtual free for all. College fraternity houses host parties where group sex and orgies abound, while their peers (men and women spectators) stand off to the side, cheering the guerrilla fuckfests... clutching beers, fists pumping in the air. All in front of the camera and easy to view over the internet. These "gonzo" type films have raised the stakes... and the stakes have become even more disturbing and depraved in their delivery. The acts women subject themselves too is enough to make the most hardened, difficult to offend person cringe. And it takes a lot to make me want to gag and then vomit in my mouth or turn away with disgust. Some of it is downright perplexing. Such as the compelling documentary Sex: The Annabel Chong Story, which documents- Grace Quek's (Annabel is her porn name)- rise, exploitation, and eventual retirement from the porn industry. Annabel allegedly pioneered the whole "gang bang" trend in the industry. Nothing was too graphic or hardcore for Annabel. She performed a diverse array of hardcore sex acts, including "triple penetration." Annabel's motives for starring in The World's Biggest Gangbang were troubling as the documentary delved into her past. Needless to say, this current wave of pornography breeds misogyny and encourages violence toward women. Spat on, slapped, pissed and defecated on, penetrated and fisted in every orifice by several different men at once... It's sickening. And it's distressing. Particularly the gonzo films featuring Black, Brazilian, and Latino women. Men take trips to urban areas (usually scouting in a van of some sort) in search of "Black ghetto sluts" willing to oil up, shake, and then spread their cheeks in a seedy looking hotel room, on film. The perpetuation of sexual stereotypes frustrate the hell out of me. Two steps lower and more debased than the garbage shown in rap videos. And those in and of themselves are bad. I'm open and believe in people having the right to engage in whatever consensual sexual act they desire... but some of this stuff is troubling, notwithstanding my liberal stance. And it's not behind closed door. I think challenging what's wrong with the porn industry as it depicts itself today, does not a prude or anti-sex type make. I do believe there's something wrong with people who don't challenge this sort of behavior, the women who willingly subject themselves to this sort of humiliation, and the men who encourage them to do it or who are sitting at home with their hand down their boxers watching it and then thinking it's okay to go out and mistreat women, outside the realm of that business. In fact, I'll go as far as to say that the behavior in these gritty porn movies- the degradation, the abuse, the spitting, skull f*cking, quadruple penetration, crude talk, choking etc. are anti-sex. Here's a small snippet from Robert Jensen's book, Getting Off:

It hurts to know that no matter who you are as a woman you can be reduced to a thing to be penetrated, and that men will buy movies about that, and that in many of those movies your humiliation will be the central theme. It hurts to know that so much of the pornography that men are buying fuses sexual desire with cruelty.

It hurts women, and men like it, and it hurts just to know that.

Donkey punched, penises rammed down their throats until they puke, heads dunked in toilet bowls while they're being reamed from behind, faces saturated with semen and pee, wanting to jizz on a woman's face... Is this the type of sexual interaction men are craving to have with women?? Do you all secretly fantasize about making some woman vomit, while you force your penis down her throat? If so perhaps I should get my delicates stitched closed and look into becoming a nun.
Read a more substantial excerpt from Jensen's book here.
Also read this Money Shot entry, from October 29 blogged by Girl with a One Track Mind.

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. ...

October 22, 2007

Full Speed Ahead on the Ignoramus Express

This is why race matters continue to fester. And why I become a little more bitter (with a dash of militancy thrown in for good measure) and a little less hopeful. Racism and bigotry in varying degrees continue to percolate, because many members of the majority refuse to acknowledge or accept the fact that people with dark skin, are not intellectually inferior. And have the capacity to excel and be successful. People like this piece of shit are archaic (but unwelcome) artifacts, that need to be buried for good with the rest of the fossils. UGH! Maddening!

October 01, 2007

Where I Converse with Myself

Dear Self,
You drink massive amounts of coffee and water. And you have somewhat of an overactive bladder, particularly during those pre-menstrual days where ten times on the hour, every hour seems pretty typical. Par for the course, especially this past week and then today. You are aware of this, self. So why? WHY did you think it was a wise idea to wear your black, pin-striped high-waisted, nautical pants?? 12-plus buttons to fiddle with. Self, your fingers seem awkward and big, when you're making that mad dash into the loo, to get to the bog pan in time to avoid an embarrassing situation that'd send you home early. Fingers don't seem to want to cooperate and you're tempted to just yank down the flap of your trousers, sacrificing all 12 plus buttons. But you clench those kegels-- along with all the other muscles south of the border tightly, to keep from regressing back to your years as a toddler. Sometimes it just isn't practical for one to enslave her (or his) to fashion.

August 24, 2007

Da' Root

... Said I went, Said I went, Said I went to the doctor. The man told me there ain't nothin' wrong with me But I beg to differ, I been feelin this pain for much too long I feel like my soul is empty My blood is cold and I can't feel my legs I need someone to hold me. Bring me back to life b4 I'm dead. She done worked a root...root...rooooot. -D'Angelo, The Root
My hopes of channeling my inner Blair Witch have been dashed, as I couldn't find one decent hex or jinx spell online. I was hoping to curse someone with a nasty case of mud butt, but alas to no avail. Perhaps this is good for my karma, which has been scattered as of late. Oh well, next time. For now, I'll settle on my trademark cold, blustery stare.
*eyes darting sneakily from side to side*

June 23, 2007

Blasphemous!

I've been doing a few online searches after having read a bit about this magnetic glorified coaster called a Wine Enhancer. Apparently this device of sorts, has been around for a spell, although I'm just learning about it. Its intended purpose is to miraculously age young wines in a short period of time (some companies claim 30 minutes or less) and to (as cut and pasted from the Catania Wine Enchancer's official site):
  • Eliminate Red Wine Headaches (Based on numerous user testimonials)
  • Smoother and brighter flavor with longer finish
  • Releases fruit in both the bouquet and the taste
  • Lessens burn, astringency, and chalky feeling on tongue.
  • Makes young wines ready to drink in minutes rather then years of aging.
  • Releases all the flavor and complexities the wine maker crafted.
  • Smoothes the burn in all spirits.
Interesting. Never having tried this wine enhancer, I'm a little suspect. Apparently, it can be used with coffee and tea as well. My snobbery wont allow me to even be bothered with wanting to try such an accessory. Am I wrong for wanting the tannins in my red wine (and coffee) to have a bit of bite? It makes the wine (and coffee drinking) experience a bit more tactile and robust, non? I always thought the best way to enjoy red wine, is to simply sip it slowly, let breathe a bit, and to savor it (not exactly in that order). I know oenologists do the best they can to press their grapes accordingly, to reduce the harshness of tannins (mostly found in the grapes' skin, the seeds, and the oak wood that the wine is aged in), but I mean, tannins aren't that bad. Not to "geek out", but this compound is instrumental in a number of ways. Tannins help prevent oxidation (in red wine), and it is why red wine is reportedly good for our health (particularly red wines from France and Italy). Tannin condensed content is found in fruit (different types of edible berries and pomegranates) and tea as well. In any event, I've been reading a few comments on the internet from wine connoisseurs, oenologists, and sommliers, most of whom set up their own blind taste tests (discouraged by the creator(s) of the device ), to test the enhancer, and the reviews somewhat are mixed. The general consensus prevails however, and it seems as if there isn't that much of a difference at all. The verdict is (much to the creator's chagrin, based on posted email exchanges between he and the naysayers) that the wine enhancer is a waste of money and nothing more than a marketing ploy. As far as the wine related headaches and feelings of indigestion go, I think it's safe to assume that those of us who relish having a glass (or two) of red wine don't fall victim to such an affliction. It's also not a bad thing to suggest that those who don't drink red wine regularly, should stick to chardonnay, pinot grigio, white zinfandel, brandy or some other libation. I understand that there are certain beverages (and foods) that don't agree with people's digestive system, but this wine enhancer just seems like a form of cheating (and a way to make fast money) to me.

June 18, 2007

MY 75 cents worth

Dear 50 Cent,
I wish you would get off of Oprah Winfrey's tits already. Your lame attempts at dragging her name through the mud and trashing her in the media every chance you get, is nothing short of pathetic and uncalled for. All of the other rappers have moved on, and have stopped whining already about her not inviting any of you to be on her show... perhaps you should follow suit, my friend. Accusing her of being an "Oreo" and now opining in the July '07 issue of Spin magazine:
"She doesn't ever say anything that anybody from the ghetto is gonna ID with. Take a poll. You go out and find me some young black women who ID with Oprah...She can escape the fact that she's black because she's a billionaire"
Does our community more harm than good. I'm curious to know what exactly makes you an authority on BLACK WOMEN'S issues?? I mean, you only exploit us in your songs and show us gyrating and booty popping with blank looks on our faces in your videos. Perhaps you're bored or you've come to the realization that your songs are just as formulaic and contrived as your apparent cry for attention is... and so you need to keep your name in the media by riding Oprah Winfrey's jock. Lest your forget Fiddy, while Oprah hasn't been shot a number of times, the woman HAS paid her dues and is deserving of every accolade heaped upon her. You're talking about a self made BLACK female billionaire, who has used her fame and fortune to help further humanity and Black causes and other issues pertinent in our society. I guess opening a leadership academy for young Black girls in Africa, sponsoring poor children, helping encourage literacy, and helping Hurricane Katrina victims, don't register on your scale, eh? Either way, Fiddy, you're the sell out and "oreo"... I say this, because denigrating one of the most influential Black women, in predominantly white run media outlets, does nothing to further our community or promote unity. It only widens the gap. Need I also remind you, that most of the consumers purchasing your albums and yelling "G-G-G-G-G-G-G UNIIIIITTT! are young white teenagers from the suburbs? Get over the fact that you will probably NEVER get a seat (or have the opportunity to jump) on Oprah's couch. You're a crybaby and you're taking up all the oxygen with your moronic propaganda and self-hate. Your idiocy and misogyny knows no bounds, apparently. Get a life and sharpen your skillz.
xoxo Coffey
P.S. Thanks for putting your Farmington, CT mansion on the market. Feels good not to have to claim you as a Connecticut resident anymore.
Kisses.

June 15, 2007

TMI ! TMI-I-I-I-I !!!

I was flipping through the latest issue of Jane Magazine, when I came across the back stories section. I was struck and somewhat amused by Jane senior editor, Josh Lyon's story, "There's no such thing as TMI." Josh seemed a bit put out by the notion of there being a such thing as too much shared information. He relayed a story regarding recent a dinner gathering he had with friends, including a new person one of his friends was dating. Apparently they were all sitting around the table swapping sordid tales (much to new girl's discomfort), when one of Josh's friends mentioned she was experimenting with using a strap-on in the boudoir. Newbie had heard enough and finally yelled, "TMI!" ... which marked an abrupt end (screeching noise and all) to the seedy table talk. Josh wrote:
"TMI (short for Too Much Information) "is my most hated phrase in the English language. I live by the words of Roman playwright Terence: 'Nothing that is human is alien to me.' "
Josh further justifies why he believes it's absolutely crucial for people to share baseless bits of personal information about themselves, to strangers. He even went so far as to label those of us who've no desire to hear said information, as being insecure and neurotic about the heaping dish of skankiness being force fed to us. Josh made sure to absolve himself from that equation however, by citing the only exception to the TMI rule as immediate family members discussing their sex lives- (apparently his father gets nostalgic about the hookers during his time in 'Nam). Hmm, seems as if what's good for the goose is not good enough for the gander. Listen, I have been at the receiving end of some unsavory anecdotes told by people I barely know, or only know on a casual basis. My best friend and I swap some delicious, intimate, and intimately disgusting details with one another... but we're close friends. I couldn't fathom making small talk with some stranger at the bus stop or in line somewhere or with someone from work, about how often I get gas, how noxious it smelled, or the details of my menstrual cycle. I can just picture the scenario now:
  • Stranger: Good morning. How are you?
  • Me: Great... except, I had a sharp pain in my stomach this morning, and had to high-tail it to the loo. I dropped a major and soupy slip-sloppin' load. Must've been that curried stuff I ate. So... How are you?"
  • Stranger: Ummm... alllriiighty then. *turns away from me and shudders with disgust and dismay*
Talk of yeast infections, cooter creams, sweaty boobs and what have you would undoubtedly be met with gasps, disapproving scowls, and "La la la la, I don't wanna hear it!" songs. So the fact that I've no desire to engage the DHL deliveryman right before my lunch break, about the wicked case of mud butt he contracted the previous day does not make me a neurotic prude. Imploring the mailman not to go into explicit detail about his bowel movement and the dubious burrito he ate prior to blowing up the bathroom at my job doesn't make me insecure either! Why is my desire NOT to hear about dookey stories indicative of underlying insecurities or some related neurosis?? Josh Lyon couldn't be any more wrong with his assessment. It's not a matter of censorship or someone being an uptight prude... it's a matter of principle and keeping some things sacred and to yourSELF, not everyone is interested in hearing about his drippy experience with strawberry Nesquick and coke ('caine), or his friend's experience with a strap-on. It's also a matter of respect (of other people's boundaries and space) and social conduct. Someone walking into a shared office early in the A.M. (in the presence of their supervisor) before coffee has had a chance to co-mingle with blood and declaring, "I'm soooo sore. I've been having anal sex alllll weekend!" is not only discourteous but unnecessary and unacceptable work fodder. Save it for someone who cares, who is actually willing to listen and asks for the details during a break away from from everyone else, and who doesn't mind the visual it paints. A colleague and friend recently told me that while she's open-minded and have no qualms about listening to offbeat and titillating tales of sex, drugs, and doo-doo, people share a lot of nasty nougats with her she doesn't want to hear. Because she has no obvious barriers up, she ends up listening anyway... prompting the storyteller to get even more gratuitous with the details. I think the same can be said about me, but even I have a limit. Diarrhea, anal itching, dubious rashes outside the private parts, weird vagina leakage and stories of the like are examples of where I draw the line... particularly if I hardly even know you. There are even some subjects that I refuse to blog about, and the loads of dirty laundry I share are being read by people who are going out of their way to do so. I'm not forcing my tales down people's throats and belittling those who wish not to read my blog, labeling them as socially inept and insecure because they don't want to. Sharing and listening to delicious sex stories and gruesome details about bodily functions has a specific time and place... there is also a rhythm to delivering such information, making it fun to giggle over. Dumping it on someone unexpectedly (particularly if it's not dirty boudoir banter with a significant other) is rude, inconsiderate, and plain tacky and I reserve my right say whether or not want to hear it.

May 02, 2007

D'oh!

I'm aghast!
I've been drinking martinis legally, for years (anything before the age of 21 is irrelevant at this juncture in my life) and what has left me feeling dismayed, bemused, robbed, and foolish is today's New York Times' Dining In issue.
NYTimes wine critic, Eric Asimov weighed in on what ingredients constitute a perfect and classic martini.
"Before we discuss the findings we need to clear up a little matter" says Asimov. ... It's come to my attention that some people believe martinis are made with vodka" (my heart skipped a beat here, and I sat upright in my chair). . "I hate to get snobbish about it," he continues... "but a martini should be made with gin or it's not a martini. Call it a vodkatini if you must, but not a martini. Gin and vodka have as much in common hierarchically as President and Vice President." Wha'?? It actually matters???
This is where I damn near had a breakdown and wanted to ask if I could be excused to leave work early! I had to take a few, deep inhalations of breath before I could continue reading Asimov's article. See, I always ordered my martinis with Grey Goose vodka, extra dirty, extra olives! I mean, Asimov did attempt to placate my ignorance by suggesting that vodka can, at times, fill in for gin, but then he pissed on my hopes when he opined that it generally makes a poor sub for martinis and all other gin cocktails. *sigh*
How could I not have known this?? How could all the bartenders who grew to recognize me and my expectant face, and were supposedly well versed in martini knowledge, not have hipped me to this fact? How could they stand by idly, making small talk with me, and not state that gin made a far superior (and genuine) martini than Grey Goose?
I feel like such a hypocrite... thinking of all the times I scoffed at other bar patrons, ordering their Appletinis, Cosmos and fake other 'tini drinks. I fancied myself a straight-up, no frills, martini lover (I make an exception for the Espresso'tini or cocktail, rather). I feel... had. I feel like re-doing my martini drinking days all over again, just so I can get it right. I have to do them all over again! As horrified as I am by my own martini-ignorance, I learned a great deal from this article. Even certain types of gin make a less than stellar martini. Who knew that the stuff was infused with botanicals and spices such as; cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, licorice, and the like? That Juniper was the primary element that separated gin from vodka? Certainly not I. At least I can take solace in knowing that I've never ordered my martinis sans vermouth! Something that would probably prompt me to have to crawl under a moist rock, if that were the case.
I don't think that it's too late for me to redeem myself. Just thinking on the possibilities my newfound martini epiphany has opened up, excites me... Tanqueray, Beefeater, Bombay Sapphire. ...It's not too late.
**Note: Read Bigger Than Your Head, for another martini rant.