Jason Toney

christmas rap

"I'm leaving this town, I'm moving all my bags today, I'm leaving this town, no matter what they tell me" - Raphael Saadiq, Uptown (Instant Vintage)

I'm off to Omaha, Nebraska. Check out the weather.

Damn.

I'm going without computer. I have 2 paper journals, a stack of CDs, and this, this, and this. All gifts this holiday season and all to be consumed with much enjoyment.

I finally found some joy in these holidays. A weekend with the lovely Miss Mahoney, The Trues, The Lovely Miss Anna Baby and Chewy the Molester and a Christmas party at my parents not-so-humble abode was the perfect thing. My cousins got drunk on moet, my dad sat at the piano and played carols while Nikki Harris, Ray Parker Jr., Obba Babatund, and Evelyn King sang along with the cast of Tens we had in attendance, my sister's friends had a dance-off, I made 7 dollars in tips at the bar...and Christmas came to the ghetto. If only we lived in the ghetto.

Damn.

And I leave you with this (found via Ampersand)...

You know Santa, right? The big white guy who only works one day a year and yet no one calls him lazy; the big white guy who exploits elfin labor in a sweatshop for no pay while his wife does all the housework, and yet no one calls him a slave master; the big white guy who invades millions of homes on Christmas Eve and yet, no one arrests him for breaking and entering. Yeah, that one.

Though there has been an attempt to make use of Santas of color in malls around the country lately, I think we can all agree this is pretty absurd: if Santa were black, there is little question he'd have been shot dead years ago in the vestibule of some New York City apartment by the NYPD's Street Crimes Unit. After all, how could the cop be sure that toy gun he was bringing to the child inside wasn't real? Better safe than sorry -- and anyway, that bright red suit would make him a logical target, seeing as how red is the color favored by members of the Bloods street gang.

But it wasn't this kind of irony about a black Santa that animated the comment I heard while strolling through the mall that day. No, it was pure racial resentment and nothing else leading the white woman, child in tow, to say to her friend, "don't you think it's silly to have these Black Santas? Everybody's trying to be so P.C. I mean, come on, a Black Santa? Everyone knows Santa is white."

Her friend of course agreed. Everyone knows Santa -- a make believe entity for those who haven't figured it out yet -- is white. The insistence on the racial purity of this entirely fictional being, as if this was a real person, struck me as hilarious, and right up there with the folks who send get well cards to their favorite soap opera characters when they fall ill on the shows. Ronald and Nancy Reagan are reported to have done this once. Fantasy, reality, ah screw it, who cares? I'm starting to realize the awful truth: white people are certifiably insane.

Accept these Happy Holiday wishes from this Negro, Please. See you in the New Year. 2003's gonna be dope, yo.

Fo'rilla.

his heart was two sizes too small

"I done seen the streets suck a lot of cats dry but not you and I, my Nigga, we got to get over the water" - The Roots, Water (Phrenology)

Lonewacko wonders where the money really goes when donating to certain charities. KD does the research as it relates to the homeless.

Jilly brings up Care Not Cash, in the comments of kd's post, which passed in the November election...except maybe not.

Tim Redmond says...

The reason so many conservative talk-radio hosts are so effective, he said, is that right-wing positions are very simplistic and work well in rhetoric and sound bites. Liberals start to talk about social and economic problems, and all of a sudden things get complicated. They're too open-minded; they see too many sides of the story.

So it was easy for Sup. Gavin Newsom to come up with a simplistic idea (cut welfare payments to homeless people) and a simplistic slogan ("Care Not Cash") and run with it � even in liberal San Francisco, it worked.

What did progressives say? Solving homelessness is complicated and expensive. That happens to be true. But it doesn't play as well in sound-bite campaigns.

But Newsom had something else going for him: he sounded like he was really taking on an issue, that he had a new and different idea.

Which probably really appealed to folks that see the homeless like Charlie McDuff...

There are about 1.1 million homeless people in the Golden State, according to the governor's office. This means that California has a homeless population larger than the population of Detroit. Many are drawn in part by the good weather and generous welfare payments.

Beyond the single mothers, the maimed and the ill who reach for the helping hand, there is the so-called stamp tramp who bites it. The things that society holds dear � work, self-sufficiency, moral rectitude � are anathema to him.

While the federal welfare overhaul five years ago put single mothers to work, many California counties continue to make payments to capable indigent men. For instance, San Francisco gives $395 a month plus food stamp vouchers. Similarly, Los Angeles gives more than $220 and $135 in food stamps.

The counties' welfare programs are not linked by computer and there is little to stop a person from collecting his benefits in San Francisco, jumping the freight train and making his way to Los Angeles to collect again.

With fake identification, a person can collect welfare perhaps four times a month. The tramp will more likely spend it on crack and booze, since mission food is free.

giftworx

"But one time we were driving through the Mississippi and there was a brotha running up the side of the road and he didn't have any shoes on. He didn't have a shirt on. And I started to drive right by this man and Kweli said, "Stop the car. That brotha might be in trouble."" - Dave Chapelle on Talib Kweli's Keynote Speaker (Quality)

I'm having real trouble with Christmas this year. I love giving gifts. I love doing nice things for the people I care about. Love to see the smiles on their faces, love to know that I got the right thing, something they would never get for themselves or that I got them a quality version of something that they would normally cheap out on. This is usually one of the most enjoyable times of the year for me.

But that damn Lexus commercial comes on and I scream "bah, humbug!" The giant red bow on the black car. The joy in this 40,000 dollar vehicle as a present. Something about the commercial just makes me want to scream, "kiss my ass." I'm not chastising those who enjoy giving and receiving expensive presents. That's not it. It's just that, this year, something about this year, makes me say, "It's not going to be me."

I stopped at the gas station Thursday Night after seeing a movie. Laurel Canyon and Sunset Blvd. The bright lights of hollywood flashing around us. Expensive cars and people in expensive clothes on expensive cell phones filling up their large expensive tanks. All this money money everywhere and a homeless man sat in front of the mini-mart sitting on the concrete eating cheetos and drinking a Pepsi in a tattered green coat and no shoes on. No shoes on. I sat in my car staring at the scene. I watched as people ignored him, turned their noses up at him, refused to assist him in any way. I debated walking over to him and just handing him the 40 bones I had in pocket. I thought about asking him what size shoes he wore and giving him the shoes off my feet if they fit. I thought about coming back the next day with a pair of shoes in his size and hoping to find him. In the end, I drove off and did nothing. I had Christmas shopping to do over the weekend and that 40 bucks would pay for Holiday cards and stamps and.

Holiday Cards and Stamps over shoes for someone who needed them.

What the fuck, dude?

I spend a certain amount of money on the holidays every year. This year, as some of you already know, the plan is to give about half of that to some charities. Today, I'm feeling like maybe 75 percent of that is going to charity. There are folks in need, man.

I'm just feeling like this whole gift giving thing is like some kind of whack ass transaction. You're giving me something so I need to give you something. It's not about the sentiment, the idea behind gifts. I don't give gifts with the idea that you will return something in kind. I appreciate everything I've ever been given but I don't want it to mean that we're involved in some kind of exchange.

And I'm not saying I'm not going to give gifts this year. I am. I will be. I have. But most of my dollars are going elsewhere, kids.

Folks don't have shoes and I'm buying DVD box sets...what?

I don't know.

I'm just trying to figure out how to make this a Happy Holidays and all that, ya know?

things, people, thanks

"You can be who you want to be, freedom, You can let your spirit free, freedom, let your mind be free, freedom" - Oba Funke, Freedom (CosmoAfrique)

Last night, I won this. It came with games and accessories.

I also won an annual pass to this. It came with candy.

I also ran into a person out of the blue who went to this. I also went there. Random.

We were both at a charity event for this. It's where I won the goodies.

I would not have won such goodies without the tenacity of The Actress and the generosity of Mama Actress.

This morning, I received this from The Nicknameless Ms. Jones.

This evening, I received this from the editor and author herself.

In between that, I treated myself to this, while Jake surprised me with this off my wishlist.

My table is filled with things but my mind and heart is filled with people.

Which is odd. I hate people.

But I love ya'll.

Damn.

I'm all warm up in the cheeks.

Thanks for giving me a heat rash from this embarassment of riches.

Ya Bastids.

the lonely little wonton

The lonely Little Wonton sat on his bed of seaweed, crying. Lost in the land of Burgers and Fries, the lonely Little Wonton no longer believed he was perfect. His mother, the Perceptive Potsticker, had told him that Little Wontons were wonderful packages of goodness. They were sealed and golden brown and held a surprise inside. "What could be better than that," she wondered aloud.

lalo's neither lazy nor lame...

"Is it cuz he's superficial or is he too submissive or is it cuz I came along and hit you with the futuristic?" - The Roots featuring Musiq, Break You Off (Phrenology)

You all know who Lalo Alcaraz is, right? One of the very few people of color doing nationally syndicated editorial cartoons. He recently started his own daily syndicated comic strip, La Cucaracha. It debuted on November 25th of this year. Go read it all and be one of the cool kids.

The launch party for it was last night. And while I'm usually cool and make it to shit like that, I was lame last night and didn't. I also didn't go to the knitting factory to see Kinky. Instead, I was at home laying on the floor watching the Klitschko-McCline fight. I was supposed to be at a party but I was a victim of circumstance and that didn't happen.

I've been spending some time writing posts at WAM! (which I like, it makes us sound tough). I'm not sure I've found a good voice yet over there but I'm a lot more blogtastic, links and quotes and questions and less exposition. I need a new gimmick for opening my posts there. The music bit is for here. I quote film taglines at snarkfest. Maybe literary lines for the wimmins and the minorities? Maybe.

Speaking of which, went into a good bookstore in Santa Monica yesterday and noticed No Logo and Pimpnosis and Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea. I should make a library run this week. I meant to go to the erotica section and look for books by The Fabulous Hanne Blank and show off to Jay-Bug and The Lovely Miss Anna Baby that I talk, err converse, err communicate regularly with a published author. Meant to but didn't.

Apparently I'm really lame with the actually doing things this weekend.

So today the plan is to finally watch Death to Smoochy, finally finish My Misspent Youth and veg out in front of the tv for the finale of The Sopranos and Spy Mommy Dearest.

there's something in my heart

"See-line woman, dressed in red, make a man lose his head" - Nina Simone (remixed by Jerome Syndenham & Kerri Chandler), See-Line Woman (Saturday)

Real quick before I get dressed to go to work...

That Negrophile Giles is giggling about some of the words used to describe Big 'Suge' but something else catches my eye...

The IRS also informed Knight in July that he owes about $6 million in personal income taxes. Court records also show that in recent years, Knight has been spreading his various real estate properties among other people, including several of the women in his life, among them Michel'le Toussant, an artist on Tha Row and Knight's third wife. Those properties include his Malibu mansion and a Las Vegas home used by Martin Scorsese in the filming of "Casino." He recently sold his lavish Tarzana music studios as well. (emphasis is mine, natch)

Michel'le? Take me back.

Anybody know what has really gone down with her in the past 10 years besides her change in men and labels? That album was the joint in 1990. All over The Box all the time.

fantasy sex camp

"Sock it to me" - Latin Breed, I Turn You On (Funk Spectrum II)

Everyone say hi to Jessica. Jessica, oh about a month ago, explained a game that is going around her place of work called Sex Fantasy Camp. It goes a little something like this...

The game is pretty simple and it sounds deceptively easy. It has hidden depths, however, which we will soon discover. Here's how it works:

You have seven days of dream-dates (all of which, of course, end in mind-blowing sex, hence the title of the game). You are allowed to choose one celebrity date for each night of the week and one alternate for each night, in case your first choice dream date is, say, arrested or is away on location. The remainder of the rules are as follows:

1) The definition of "celebrity" varies according to the group with whom you're playing. Basically, everyone in the group needs to be able to pick your choices out of a police line-up. This rule will explain my Monday night, by the way.

2) No time-traveling. I'd like to date Paul Newman, circa Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, but that's against the rules. Everyone you date, you date right now.

3) It doesn't matter if you and your friends all have George Clooney as your Saturday night. This is bound to happen and it's fair within the rules of the game: having to cross check your schedule with your friends will add a level of difficulty to this game that you don't need. It's hard enough to decide whether So and So is a Tuesday or a Wednesday without having to make an Excel spreadsheet to make sure you're not stepping on your officemate's toes. You'll see.

4) You can't use, say, "the cast of Band of Brothers" as one night. One man or woman per night. Nice try, though.

5) In addition to your first choice and your back-up, you are allowed to have what we've dubbed in the office, "the bullpen." The bullpen is your pool of also-rans: people you think are super hot, and would totally date if they asked you out, but who didn't fall into the top fourteen. This is important, as occasionally someone in 1-14 will do something shitty or unattractive, and you need someone else to cycle into the week.

So, since I'm busy at work on reality TV and Jessica is busy at work on reality TV, I figured there could be some reality TV synergy and we could play the game here. (For a similar musical version, although without all the rules, you might visit Michelle--who, by the way, is in desperate need of a nickname here--I've already changed three of my top 10 over there) There really is work I should be doing but, hey, you know what Jack Burton always says, Jack Burton says "Fuck Work when you could be working on fucking" and if he didn't say that, he should have. I don't have to link because you already know who Jack Burton is, right? You're all that cool, right? Right.

been around the world...

"wake up, wake up, wake up, it's da first of da month, so cash your checks and come on" - Bone Thugs N Harmony, First of Da Month (E 1999 Eternal)

Being a bit self-aware today, I took a moment to search for those who linked to me based on blogdex's fun little database and ran across royby.com. A blog about blogs...it's fun.

From there, I found Anger Management Course, which while partisan is some real political discourse that's more than conjecture and feelings. These guys like facts and research. And they even provide graphs and silver haired men on motorcycles. Come on now!

You are reading Jhames right? I mean, come on, he writes today...

Ladies, grab your strap-ons and your partners. Queens, grab your poppers (you know you own them, I’ve read your fucking blogs) and your favorite tops. It is time to fuck like you’ve never fucked before and fuck for freedom! Grab your partner, use plenty of lube – don’t skimp on the condoms! – and make sure you say “Bend Over Boyfriend” like you mean it!

We will fuck whom and how we want, whenever we want, and we will send a message to The Powers That Be in America: Keep Your Goddamn Laws Out Of Our Bedrooms!

Maybe one day we'll psychoanalyze why the only men I link to are black men, gay men, gay black men, and white men from Colorado, all of whom seem particulary sexually comfortable. Or have odd obsessions with monkeys and attacking animals. Something. I don't know.

Giles quotes...

[...] Uglow's book reveals how simplistic our view of groups really is. We divide them into cults and clubs, and dismiss the former for their insularity and the latter for their banality. The cult is the place where, cut off from your peers, you become crazy. The club is the place where, surrounded by your peers, you become boring. Yet if you can combine the best of those two states—the right kind of insularity with the right kind of homogeneity—you create an environment both safe enough and stimulating enough to make great thoughts possible. You get Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel, and a revolution in Western philosophy. You get Darwin, Watt, Wedgwood, and Priestley, and the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution. And sometimes, on a more modest level, you get a bunch of people goofing around and bringing a new kind of comedy to network television. [...]

WAM!

go on now, scoot.

"You were my sunrays without you girl there was no days, never dreamed I'd speak the phrase, 'Now what the fuck just happened?'" - N*E*R*D, Stay Together (In Search Of...)

Umm, Hi, J.Lo? Could you please go away now? Not forever, mind. Just for like, 5 minutes, so I can have a moment of sanity.

You could take your boyfriend/fiance whatever with you. It's not that I dislike him, it's just that he has a giant head and he's blocking my view of, like, everything in the world. If he and David Hasselhoff stood at the North and South poles at the right times every day we'd be in eternal darkness from their blocking out both the sun and the moon. I know you need an abnormally sized head to be a star in the biz (effectively filling up the screen, commanding attention by your gargantuan features) and all, but damn. These two are like Rainbow Brite dolls. So top heavy I'm not sure they can stand up straight without support.

While you're at it, let's go on and get rid of George Clooney if he's going to star in more movies like Solaris. There is such a thing as too much Clooney. If he's not playing the smooth criminal or womanizer with a heart of gold, who cares? Him staring back at me from the screen with the 5 o'clock shadow for 2 hours does not a good movie make.

Hey, Soderbergh, you really can let the composer make some music to add drama to those scenes sometimes. The silent stuff...well, it's getting tired. 'Member when you had good music selections in Out of Sight and Ocean's 11? You can do that again...I like that. Silence in space with people hugging and staring and hugging and staring and not blinking? I took a nap man, that's all I'm saying.

My hand hurts.

To that end, this is a reminder that I am 27 and when I'm not dancing, I'm pretty clumsy. I should not be attempting to run up hills chasing my spry sister and our active dogs. Taking a wicked header in which I find myself covered in dirt and dust while laying on my stomach with my hands bleeding and busted and parts of my discman strewn across the pavement is the only possible result of this.

Ouch.

It's not good starting off December kinda broke with bills due. Sometimes I love getting paid weekly, sometimes I hate it.

Shoo, fly (girl) don't bother me. The 5 minutes isn't up yet.

I want a good party to go to. I want a good book to read. I want somebody to want me. Or maybe I want to want somebody.

You did know that actors and actresses tend to have, literally, large heads, right? Or, at least, large features. A big nose, big eyes, stark cheek bones, big teeth, big chin, big ears. something, anything that will draw your eyes. Something that forces you to ignore the background in a scene. When you meet these people in person, you go, Jesus Christ on a Pogo Stick that's a big head. You might quote So I Married an Axe Murderer. You might sing songs and replace key phrases with "head" or "melon" or "damn son, overactive glands much?"

You might.

Hi, J to the L.O. is it? I know you're from the block and all, so could you run around it about 20 times and not make a peep or show up in a store, movie or video while you're doing it? Thanks a bunch.