Okay, so I'm altering my rant a little this month. Don't get it twisted, I'm still ranting, still completely dissatisfied with a million and one things, but I must make one change--my usage of the word "hate" has got to go. You see, I'm a strange one. The whole "emotion" thing is a bit much. I feel it, often to an extreme degree, but "hate" is a bit too intense for me. Can't stand, strongly dislike even, but no "hate," so yeah, that's it. Anyway, my rant this month is dedicated to the thing we all look forward to and dread at the same time---growing up, i.e. maturing. Yep, it's a bitch, but we just can't seem to resist. Actually, there are quite a few of us who seem to miss it everytime it's in our general vicinity, but dammit, it's got me. I find my self pondering strange things like "How can I be a better person?" and "I wonder if I'm doing the right thing?" far too often. Before, I could give a rat's ass if I was doing the "right" thing. As long as I wasn't caught up, I was fine (okay, so that's not true, but you "feel" me, right?). Another horrible by-product of maturation is wanting, even needing, to tell the truth. Don't get me wrong, I've never really been a liar, but now even the little white ones give me a sense of discomfort--disconcerting stuff. And everyday I think about my chosen profession--teaching--and I wonder, "Am I smart enough to be in the position to radically affect young minds?" "Am I suited to my chosen profession?" "What can I do to make sure that I don't end up like those absolute dumbasses that bored me shitless as a youth?" I get all misty when I see kids playing and babies sneeze. Just label me the cheese queen. Yep, situation is critical, but nevermind, I've still retained my characteristic goofiness and sense of humor. That, my dears, will never leave me--a sista gotta have something to help maintain sanity. So yeah, as an ode to the process that inspired this disjointed and jumbled ramble, I hereby promise to try to make a conscious effort toward progression. I'm sure that there will be days where I'll sit on my ass and, if I'm ambitious, venture to scratch, but as a ambitious experiment with time and my many moods, I'm actually gonna make an attempt at being happy. It really can't be that bad.
Hey there pleasure seekers! Boy do I have an artist for you. Her name--N'dea Davenport. Her game--illness in all possible ways. Yes people, N'dea is the mother you've never had. She's beautiful, has supreme fashion sense, and can sing like nobody's business. Oh, did i mention that SHE STARTED THIS SHIT???--this shit being that which we value so, of course. No really (and this is not an attempt at slander), but everybody's always talking bout Erykah Badu this and Erykah Badu that, like we didn't have N'dea before then. Kill it you incense burning-egyptian musk-wearing-unkh donning freaks, enough already! I'm sick of you screaming about your girl. Yeah, she's talented, hell I even bought one of her albums (and I don't buy arbitrary shit), but dammit Dea is the woman. I'm sure you've heard her stuff withThe Brand New Heavies. If not, high tail it over to amazon and get some, it's worth it (note: she only appeared on the first two albums and "Heavy Rhyme Experience"). Yeah, BNH shit rules! *pumping fist in drunken frat boy manner*, but have you heard her ridiculously ignored solo joint, released in 1998? A lot of people are unaware of its existence. Others have heard it and complain that it encompasses too many genres. I say phooey, buy it. Buy it now and listen to Miss Dea do justice to a Neil Young tune and every other thing she touches. The woman just can't be touched (but of course, I'm biased). Oh, did I also mention that I grafted her whole steez in highschool? Well, that's another story. Go forth and appreciate.