something 'bout my back stroke

Point of order: Just found out I have a chapter in a new book called Black Sexualities: Probing Powers, Passions, Practices, and Policies" (NYU press). My chapter is on sexual health among inmate populations and I have been asked to write a chapter on Substance Abuse for the 3^rd Edition of Health Issues in the Black Community with my Folk Dr. Carl Hart of Columbia University.

2] Jamming Bon Jovi – Dead or alive and just finished listening to Thin Lizzy – The Boys are Back in Town (them white boys used to rock afros).

3] Folk loving these Icelandic Fish skin chews for dogs and cant wait on my dog food made of Ostrich to get in. And Rollingout did a piece on my store.

Manes, Jones here have some of the darndest things happen to him. I think that is one reason I like the short store as my favorite form of prose (the ordinary language people use) because I can just change a name of two and bam – fiction. Sometimes these occur in life events and as in the case of last night, via phone call. Starting with me answering:

Jones: Yes

Lil Momma: Hello Torrance

Jones: May I ask who is calling?

Lil Momma: XXXX

Jones: XXXX, and how have u been maam?

Lil Momma: Ok, I’m in your city, at the airport.

Jones: Yea, sup with that Jones?

Lil Momma: Layover missed my connection, delays due to Hurricane they say.

Jones: I can see that, I mean gas went up 65 cents in half a day may as well make you late too. Long time no hear, what gives? And you still got my number

Lil Momma: I know, I never really forgot about you…

Jones: Str8

Lil Momma: Do you have mine?

Jones: Nope would have but last woman broke my phone when I tried to film her burning down my house and saying she was gone kill me and my son.

Lil Momma: You silly.

Jones: For real Jones – slim was Twilight Zone jones. Butarah, you know do tell.

Lil Momma: Well you are not easy to forget. Something about your backstroke.

Jones: [Laughing] u aint never see me swim.

Lil Momma: Boy you know what I mean, I remember you beating me comatose, and you know what u toting. Can you come and get me?

Jones: [Laughing} A city girl using tote, country-esque. I would but last minute and I’m in the bed Jones, without the Kids. I’m lounging.

Lil Momma: Well, can you come and have a few drinks with me, my treat.

Jones: I wish babe. Wish I had known before I got naked. Just got out shower and air drying under the fan.

Lil Momma: Ok, call sometimes, I really missed you, and you wrong for the visual.

I will spare you the mundane nuances of the entire discussion. But she did make me smile, and made me remember some things that I should have already immortalized in fiction. I guess I believed she missed me, but back in the day, it was like I was the flail of God (where did I get that from – LOL). Not that I aint wanna bone, and I do have a sever penchant for free liquor, for my favorite liquor is free, as well, my favorite beers are cold and free. But I just aint the one for moon walking, you know, she had me and let folk go, so I leave that type of dance to Michael Jackson and Usher.

But what struck me was the reference to my back stroke. It was if she remembered me, but remembered how I almost beat lil momma twat into a coma. I know I told her that back then, but she even remembered. I aint never remembered no kitty like that and cant recall any one specific one out the, well we wont give no number. I mean is it really possible to recall of such, to keep such vivid in ones mind over the years. I remember parties, or fights, or football games, but not twat. I do remember her red toenail polish and how it stained the flat white paint above my headboard of my bed, and how she squirmed when I torqued my hips to the left, and how her eyes reminded me of a person having an epileptic seizure when ever I bent myself inside of her. I even remember the shutters, or me having to release one of my hands from her ankle to cover her mouth as to not wake my roommates, who said the next morning I was throwing down. I don't know should I have believed her? is it possible to remember a man by they way he messaged your back from inside your body with slow long strokes?

It was just weird; she remembered the back stroke when I recalled the elements of a fine fictional piece. I was happy and told her such in honor, for when she said it was “something about my back stroke”, I said, that’s a song.

Back to politics and economics, and history Monday. Thanks Tera, I won Blog of the day

Merci Beaucoup

As we speak, I am in Quebec City, Quebec. I have to work. Never been to any where in Canada prior with the exception for a week in Toronto. It too was work but the problem was that I had just gotten back in the States from Cape Town, the day before this trip, and that is a 16-hour flight. I did not stay in the airport as long as I did this time – six hours. However, there were two observations that stood out. The first is that Black folks do not fly in Toronto because I say none in the airport over that time period and this was a Friday. Second, on every corner in the Toronto airport, folks trying to get you to sign up for credit cards.

However, back to Quebec City. It was nice, quiet, collective, albeit I was there on behest of your government’s scientific interest to talk on health issues related to substance abuse among incarcerated populations. Add to that I was the only African American and the only male with three other white women speaking on the subject.

Otherwise, I could adapt, even though I do not speak an ounce of French. The extent of my French is as follows: Chardonnay, Merci’, Merci Beaucoup, Roland Garos and French Fries. In addition, there was the small mater of not being able to find grits and instead being offered beans. And the fascination that folks have with putting crepes on ever menu item and the limited avaliability of folks of African descent. I knew there were not many because the only folks that rode or I saw riding the bus were white, in fact I only saw one back person on a bus out of about 8 or nine that passed by my hotel.

But then there are other things I will never adapt too. The first are the French language keyboards in English – go figure. The next is getting change back in Canadian loot when you spend US dollars. Lastly, the sun rises at 4.10 am. I mea I got p my first day their thinking I’m late for my presentation, which was at 8am because I saw the sun out, got up, started to dress, thinking I was late and looked at the clock. It was 4.11am. I forgot it was that far up north and close to Nova Scotia. Even with this, I had a ball. Especially when I went to Largo’s, a little jazz restaurant and wine bar on rue Saint-Joseph (picture above. The owner (Gino Stemarie) and I had a ball discussing why he did not carry any South African Wines and he gave me a jazz CD recorded in his bar by this group called the Andre Laure Sextet. One word, tight. I would recommend anyone visit Quebec City unless they need something other than Crepes to survive on – that nearly killed me.