Four Year Blogiversary – A Look Back
"'Cause you said forever, and ever. Who knew?"
Ahh...a cute White girl, eating watermelon. Be still my Negro heart!
Anyway, four years ago today, this blog was created. Yeah, I know I celebrate a *lot* of anniversaries on this thing, but this is the real deal. Williambrucewest.com has only existed since 2004, when I bought the URL. However, the blog portion, "The World According to a Russian Exchange Student", was created on July 11th, 2003. It used to be found at waynemanor.blogpsot.com, which somehow belongs to someone else now...
So, 4 years of rambling. The odd part is that I feel my life has come full circle. I'm almost right back where I started. There's not a lot of progression found in these posts. Sure, there are broad character arcs, from the Natalie saga ("I'm so in love with this lesbian who doesn't love me back") to the H&M rants ("I can't stand this place and I'm too good to be here."). God, I can be such a drama queen! But have I really grown as a person? Is there any evidence of that? I don't know about that.
In 4 yrs, I've documented 4 full-time jobs, 2 part-time jobs, 2 girlfriends (in "real-time"), 1 car, and 3 moves. I look back at my first week of posts, and I still feel the same way about much of that stuff. Not much personal growth there.
I've watched this site change from "the thing I do when I get bored at work", to the "please read my blog because I'm funny and I really depend on attention from others" phase, and now the "hey, I'm gonna write this shit because it's funny to me, and at least Tarek, Marcus and James (and possibly Austin) are reading it" phase.
I've gone back and forth between the "I'm only going to riff on pop culture, but not talk about myself too much" stage to the "I'm gonna wear my heart on my sleeve" phase (see aforementioned lesbian and the "Alouise" saga). Contrary to popular belief, I'm actually a pretty private person. I love getting in everyone else's business, but I don't like them in mine. That's why I'll write about observations, and crazy situations in which I've found myself, but you're not likely to find me in a discussion regarding how I "feel". That's why I think I like the pop culture stuff more. Going forward, I think we're going to gravitate more in that direction.
I don't really know what I set out to do when I started this. I mean, blogs were somewhat cutting edge back then. They were seen as "the next big thing", and while Blogger existed to help you along, blogs weren't standard with each Facebook, Friendster, and Myspace profile like they are now. In fact, Facebook didn't even exist back then, while Myspace was still just for high school drop-outs. My, how times have changed!
Anyway, I think I just created this thing as a vanity project. I thought I was funny and I wanted attention. Every now and then, I'd have a great post (in my mind, anyway), and I'd aspire to greatness. I'd think that my site would become a destination website, where people would come for the funny. I thought I could be an everyman version of Wonkette. Why do you think my URL is my name? It was pretty much a way for me to maximize the attention I got, but maximizing exposure.
Here we are, 4 yrs later. Wonkette's pretty much a shell of its old self. I go to sites like elephantlarry.com, and think, "Now, that's funny!" Me? I'm kind of a hack. I think that's become more apparent in my recent humor, as I've devolved into BET "Man, aren't White people crazy?!" humor, and my liberal use of "Negro" and "Nigga". That's the easy way out. That's the Comicview approach, but it's not going to cut it in most situations. Especially seeing as how only 1.5 Black people even read this site.
Don't misunderstand me; this isn't a pity party, but more of a bit of introspection. So, where do we go from here? Why do I even keep this site going? Well, it's all I've got. I'm at a point in my life where this is the one thing that's truly mine, and it's the one thing I've got control over. It's my canvas to do with as I please, and it's my vehicle for expressing myself. I don't do this for anyone but myself. There are no more "why haven't you posted in awhile" or "when are you going to continue such and such story?" comment posts. No, I'm more about, "I feel like talking about dating shows today, and that's how it's gonna be." Sure, I get the occasional "Anonymous" comment (even if you don't have a Blogger account, you could still write your name), but it's not really an exercise in audience participation anymore. And I think I'm fine with that. I'm cool in my little cyber shell. I think it's the Model of Blog Identitiy Development. Jenn went through the same thing as she dealt with the transition from personal blogger to feminist blogger to Asian American Activist destination site. The cycle ebbs and flows, but if you get too wrapped up in it, you start pandering to an audience. My audience thinks like me. If I get the occasional straggler from another site, I welcome the company, but we're not going to have a discourse. Up until now, I didn't even respond to comments. I think I'm going to change that going forward. But I'm not here to change lives. I'm just here to live mine, and sometimes take you along for the ride. If that sounds like something you might like, take your shoes off and sit a spell, 'cause I'm sure I've got a story to entertain you. In any case, I think I'll break character and *not* end this post with an ellipsis. Thanks for putting up with me all these years!
My Life, In Watches
"But we've just lost the beat."
I've always had a thing for watches. Carrie Bradshaw has her Manolo's, and I've got whatever Fossil/Casio/Timex catches my eye. Sure, we're talking low price points here, but that's how I roll.
Now, as far back as I can remember, I was into watches. When I was 2, Mommy bought me a Ronald McDonald watch. I had some sort of tantrum, and destroyed in the foyer of our house. When she questioned me about it, all I could say was, "Well, he was fat, anyway." She vowed not to buy me a new watch, but I had a Michael Jackson watch soon afterwards.
After Daddy died, I had a Knight Rider watch. Man, did I love that watch. If I remember correctly, it didn't even tell time. It was fake and plastic, but it had a picture of K.I.T.T. inside, and that's all I needed.
Recently, I've come to notice that I get new watches to signify new phases in my life. For some miraculous reason, it becomes "new watch time" whenever there's a sort of shift in the things in my life. Now, sometimes "new watch time" is signalled by a dead battery. Let me let you in on a little secret: I don't change watch batteries. I just buy a new watch. So far, the batteries have lasted for years, and they tend to die at just the right time.
In middle school, I had my Radio Shack calculator watch. Yup, I was THAT kid. But I loved that watch, with its calendar function and "deet-deet" alarm. I was a geek, but I didn't care. At that point, I didn't much care what people thought of me because I knew I was kind of weird and I was fine with that. I was my own best friend and I had my imagination to keep me company.
In high school, I went through several different watches, mainly because none of them really held much meaning for me. I was trying to settle on watches as I tried to figure out who I was. Honestly, though, high school was NOT this time of angst that people make it out to be. In all truth, I expected it to be like 'Saved by the Bell", and was disappointed when it was NOT like that. Either way, I didn't have the growing pains of not being asked to dances, or learning to drive. Life is like the lottery: you've gotta be in it to win it, and I decided to sit it out. My high school weekends involved me watching tapes of pre-recorded TNBC while talking on the phone to my friends while they were out living their lives.
In college, I had 2 watches that come to mind. When I first went to school, I had this really bootleg musical watch that Mommy really pushed on me at City Place. Now, I liked the watch and all, but it had a big G clef on the face, and little notes for each hour. I was emerging from a few years playing piano, and it was pre-a cappella. If anything, I was in my musical theatre phase. The watch, though it sounds kinda gay, was actually nice. The downside, though, was that I felt a musical watch should PLAY music. It didn't have a little song, so I felt gypped. Anyway, I got the watch and wore the HELL out of it. By Christmas (maybe 6 months after buying it), the band had worn off (thanks City Place!).
I came home for Christmas, and Mommy bought me a Relic watch from JC Penney. "Relic" was basically a generic "Fossil", but it was a beautiful watch. Oddly enough, it had a blueish-green face which matched the stone in my class ring. It was like my accessories had been destined to be together. It's funny because we HATE Penney's, but sometimes what you're looking for is where you least expect it. Anyway, I wore that watch for the rest of Cornell and through graduation. In fact, I wore it up until about 6 months ago.
Now, a few people might know this, but 2004 was pretty rough for me. In a LOT of ways. Hell, you can go back and read the archives. Sometimes, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Anyway, I was working at H&M and it's a freaky place. It's not simply retail, but instead it's this weird, neo-hippy, bohemian enclave that happens to sell clothes. I decided , "Hey, I'm gonna ride this opportunity til the wheels fall off", so I started crafting "H&M Will". Part of that involved a Fossil leather cuff watch. Now, I never would've looked twice at the thing 4 years ago, but at this point, I felt it would complete the ensemble. Several returns, fitting room shifts, and gay bars later, I realized that I didn't really like that world so much. Plus, I felt it was a lesson that I shouldn't have traded up watches "before it was time".
Unfortunately, while lost in the world of leather, my pretty, blueish Relic died on me. It died on me when I needed it most. I was working in the illustrious commercial real estate industry as the world's worst telemarketer. I didn't know how I got there, nor did I know how to get out. Everything was changing around me, but I felt stuck. And my accessories didn't match anymore. The high school ring had given way to the Cornell ring. For some reason, I decided that I didn't like the traditional A.D White ring and designed my own, with black onyx. It had always clashed with the pretty watch, but it went quite well with the leather cuff. And that didn't sit right with me. I always wanted to have class, be a little GQ, but now I felt very "gloryhole". And it didn't help that I didn't know what I wanted to be or how to get there.
Finally, prayers were answered, and "it was time". Not only did I gain my emancipation, but I also fell into my dream industry: comics. As a brand manager, I would have to be a figurehead at cons and whatnot, and there's a certain emphasis on appearance. Suddenly, I knew it was time to do something about the leather cuff. I wasn't really that person anymore, nor did I want to be. Right before my birthday, I was looking through a magazine, and I fell in love. Right there, I saw a attractive, black Fossil with a diamond at 12 o'clock. No, re-read what I wrote: It was an attractive, black fossil with a diamond at 12 o'clock. For all of you English majors out there, that's what you call metatext, so I'm not going to ruin your analysis. I had to have it, and actually bought it for myself before buying most of the presents I needed to buy for my family; hey, I'm an only child!
The watchband was actually too large, and I needed to take a few links out for it to fit better. Yesterday, I finally got around to getting the links taken out. It was at that time that I realized I hadn't really tried the watch on. Sure, I'd sampled it, but what can you tell from that? I was left with the feeling that it was more beautiful, more attractive on paper than on my wrist. Sure, I could grow into it. As Mr. Humphries would say, "It'll ride up with wear". Either way, as I sit here typing this, I look down at my attractive, black Fossil with the Diamond at the top, and I wonder if it's really for me. Maybe it was meant to stay on paper. I hope I don't come to regret my new watch/phase of life. Regrets...that's a topic we'll revisit tomorrow.
A Bully Revisited
"Superman's a little too 'milkman and war bonds' for me."
So, allow me to take you down memory lane with me. Many people don't know this, but when I had my lone year of public school (7th grade), I was victimized by a bully. Sure, it was nothing out of the ordinary bullying, but I had never experienced that before. I had attended all of these utopian schools where everyone was equal and nice. Sure, I had to pay for it, but it was worth it. But now, in the throes of Parkland Middle, there was no utopia. And Avery was the asshole who made me aware of this.
You see, Avery wasn't especially big, nor was he tough. He didn't beat me up or take my lunch money, but it was more of a psychological bullying. In hindsight, if I told you some of the shit he pulled, you'd think I was stupid, but it really had an impact on me back then. He made my first semester a living Hell. I remember that Mommy even had this Bible verse she used to read every night which was supposed to make him go away or wake up covered in sores or something. I forget which book it was in. The point was that this guy, I believe, was the beginning of my whole "pessimist-depression" world tour I've been on for the past few years. Surprisingly enough, I was once a sweet, happy kid. But now I don't trust too many people.
So, why do I bring this up? Well, what do you do when you find out your former tormentor is now a flaming homosexual?
Yup. I was working at H&M the other day, and noticed this fidgety guy standing in line. Just as with any Sunday, he seemed like your average restless customer. "How do you know he's gay, Will?" Trust me; I KNOW. You didn't need a litmus test for this one, but even so, I KNOW. Anyway, he was also kinda giving me the eye. It was a cross between the "gay eye" and the "do I know you from somewhere? eye" To tell the truth, I didn't even really recognize him. But I didn't feel like getting hit on (I'm not vain, but as one of the few males working at this store, it's inevitable), so I tried to slow down my line so that he would have to end up going to another cashier. I'm a master of working the line to my advantage, but this day was not going to work out in my favor. He ended up as my next customer, thanks to the new stupid french chick who's still learning how to count american money...
Rang him up, still didn't recognize him. But didn't make eye contact, 'cause that's when they get ya! So, he hands me his credit card, and that's when I see the name "Avery Peters". Son of a bitch. If my life had been a TV show, there would've been quite the flashback montage at that moment. And most of the images would've shown me as quite the little porker. Either way, it opened up the floodgates.
Now, I had a small window in which to react. Do I say, "Hey, remember me, cocksucker?" Surely, he wouldn't. I've tried that on other tormentors from that era, and met with similar responses. Seems like I'm the only one keeping a grudge lately. Does nobody respect the idea of an archenemy anymore?!
So, at that moment, I looked him in the eye, and I think he got it. And he seemed kind of embarrassed. Maybe it's all in my head. Maybe I was simply too sexy for him. But there was a slight chill. And man did I want to say something. But at the same time, I kinda felt bad for ME. I mean, THIS was the guy who tormented me? Hindsight certainly is 20/20, and if I'd had a glimpse of the future back then, I'd probably have kicked his ass. But no. I didn't know what I know now. We've both grown, and learned from the past. We're probably not even the same people we were then. I'm certainly not. But a lot of that I blame on him, for being my "encounter phase". He ruined my innocence. At least, he ruined my happiness for quite some time. Was it all his fault? No, but I don't remember being as happy after meeting him as I had been prior. My only hope is that Karma is the bitch that I believe her to be, and I hope that cocksucker gets what's coming to him...
Wanna Honor Your Dead Loved One? Put ‘Em On A Hoodie!
"Dear Lord Baby Jesus, I'd like to thank you for my two beautiful sons: Walker and Texas Ranger."
So, there's this new trend going on in the inner cities of America: the Memorial T-Shirt. Yes, if you've lost a loved one, be it your dad, dog, or dawg, you can let the world know that they're gone but not forgotten by having their image emblazoned on a t-shirt.
I recently read an article in the City Paper about a guy who only wears memorial gear in honor of his dead dog (4 legs, shits on newspaper). He's got sweats, hoodies, etc.
Well, anyway, I was working at H&M today (yeah, I'm back @ H&M part-time; story for another time) and one of the trainees was wearing a Mem-T AND Mem-Hoodie in honor of her dad. In a way it's touching, and in a way it's a bit overbearing. I mean, what's someone supposed to say to that? Do you ignore it? I mean, it seems like something to garner attention, and it would be hard to generally "respect the privacy" and all that jazz. I mean, she's literally wearing her heart on her sleeve, and it's a size 4. All I could think of was, "So...you lost your dad, huh? Kinda sucks. But it IS cool that you've got him on a shirt. I wish I got a shirt when my dad died. I mean, all I got was an insurance settlement, but you know, a shirt's cool, too..."
Marion Barry – 2nd Printing
"A chick who can screw AND quote The Rock? I'm gonna marry you!"
So, in honor of the one year anniversary of what is, by far, one of my best posts, I hereby present The Best of WilliamBruceWest.com, and reprint the entry that I like to call "The More, The Marion, AKA The Bitch Set Me Up...Again".
"Watch out, 'cause here I come. It's been awhile, but I'm back in style!"
Today's Episode: "Oh No He Didn't (Oh, YES He Did)!"
A little backstory: I've got a couple of friends at H&M who've never received "the blog treatment" before. Anyway, Juwan and Bruce are fellow retailers-in-arms, and we tend to have a good time whenever we're at work together.
So, last night was Bruce's birthday & he was throwing himself a party at the Banana Cafe. Well, I didn't really know what to expect, but NOTHING could've have prepared me for what the night would bring. NOTHING.
I swear, folks...you've read some wacky shit on this site before, but NONE of it holds a candle to this crazy night in SE Washington...
So, Shelly and I decided to go together 'cause we didn't really know where the place was. Let's see...2 sheltered kids in S.E. DC. I guess we figured they couldn't kill us both, right? Strength in numbers, and all that jazz...
The party started at 6, but we didn't roll in until around 10. Bruce was way drunk, bless his heart! He was glad to see us, as he led us inside. Apparently, it was Karaoke Night @ the Banana. So, he leads us up the stairs, and what do we find? A room full of young, Black gay guys. They weren't all gay, but you couldn't swing a dead cat in the room without hitting one. Now, when I say this, I don't mean it in a derogatory sense at all. I say it 'cause I have never seen a room so CHOCK FULL OF BLACK GAY GUYS!!!
I think what struck me, too, was that it wasn't all stereotype. It wasn't like the "Men on Film" guys from "In Living Color" (Wow, I'm seriously dating myself here). Instead, it was an array of NBA jerseys and denim jackets. They looked like they were in a G-Unit video or something.
Anyway, Shelly and I kinda look at each other; the White Chick & The Straight Guy. We were basically a bad UPN sitcom waiting to happen. But, what the Hell? We're there to have fun, right? So, we get to the bar and Juwan's drunk, too. I mean, DRUNK. But it was cute. He was kinda stumbling around. Every so often, he'd yell "Aw, this is my JAM!" and start dancing.
So, we're drinking our SoCo & Cokes, getting settled, taking it all in. As I look around the room, I kinda start to feel like the last rib at a Black cook-out. There were all these eyes on me, ranging from "What's he doing here?" to "Where've you been all my life, playa?" Now, for you frequent readers, you know that I tend to find myself in these situations ever so often. But this was only the TIP of the iceberg. Let the craziness begin:
A few minutes after we get our drinks, Bruce comes over and whispers, "Y'all will NEVER guess who that is over there!"
I ask who he's talking about, and he points to a table near the window. Brace yourselves, folks
"That's Marion Fuckin' Barry!!!"
I look over and, "Holy shit, that IS Marion Barry!"
Yes, the crack-smoking DC mayor-for-life was sitting right there, about 10 feet from me. For all you uninformed, he's that guy that Chris Rock loves to make fun of. I swear, he's been milking that routine for 10 yrs....
Anyway, at the table sat Marion Barry and the cheapest, Sandra Clark imitation hoochie I have ever seen in real-life. This is one of those chicks who was clearly an escort. Not a hooker, but an escort. What's the difference, you ask? Well, a hooker is someone you just pay for sex, while an escort is someone you pay to be seen with you. She might have sex with ya later, but that's gonna cost extra.
Also, allow me to say that the good mayor looks like SHIT. I mean, during his recent campaign, there was talk of how bad his health was, but I had no idea it was THIS bad. The poor thing looked WRECKED...
"I'm gonna go say 'hi'," I said, as I rushed over to the table. Not really knowing what to say to a world-renowned figure, I offer my hand and say, "Congratulations, sir." Hell, I didn't really know WHAT, specifically, I was congratulating him on. Was it his recent election win? Was it his ability to find a woman to come out with him tonight? Was it the mere fact that he's still alive? Damned if I know. I just figured such a phrase would make him feel good about himself or some shit.
He gave me a limp handshake and kind of mumbled something. I figured it was a pearl of wisdom from a man who'd clearly enjoyed a colorful life and career. "I beg your pardon?" I responded. Once again, he mumbled something. I leaned closer and asked, "What?" The third time, I heard him: "Do I have to go up to the bar, or will they come to the table?" Yup, that's what the old fool asked me. I kinda stammered: "Uh...they'll come to the table.....Did you need anything?" Yup, I was gonna buy old Marion a drink, but he just kinda waved me away. Yes, the good mayor and I were about to become enemies...
So, I decided to sing something, while Shelly & Juwan chilled on one of the couches. The first song was "A Song For You", sung by the Temptations, but better known as a Ray Charles song. Surprisingly, the crowd seemed to like it, or they were just blowing sunshine up my ass.
When I was done, Shelly & I just kinda hung out together, the whole time trying to figure out how the Hell we ended up in a gay bar with Marion Barry?!!! But wait kids, there's more!
It turns out Marion's skank wanted to sing, too. How to describe her... Well, she was wearing an all black catsuit, with a chain around her waist. She thought she was cute, and Marion seemed proud to have her on his arm. That chick had the audacity to try to sing a Mary J. Blige song, and I don't think she hit a single note in the song. But she was just smiling and singing like she thought she could sing. Marion decided to get a closer seat, but as I've said, he's a bit out of sorts these days. As he started to sit down, his chair was tipping over and almost spilled him onto the floor. If someone hadn't caught it from behind, he'd have fallen and I KNOW he wouldn't have been able to get up! So, he sat there, drinking his drink, watching his girl. A couple of the divas decided to help her out 'cause she just wasn't doing that song justice. When she finished, Marion smiled and clapped.
The entire time, we're drunk, off in the corner, asking, "Is that REALLY Marion Barry?!!!' Juwan would scream out, "Why is he HEEERREE?!!!" Bruce came back over, and I asked if Barry was a regular there. His response: "I ain't never seen his crack-smokin' ass around here before!" Barry's like 4 feet away, mind you. I cringe and say, "He's right there! He can here you!!!!" Bruce replied, "I don't care! He knows what he is!"
So, the night continues on, and the drinks keep flowing. I decide to sing another song, but what to sing? Well, I went for the "ringer approach" and chose a song I already knew: This I Promise You (Which, btw, can be downloaded from my music section *wink*). So, I chose my song and signed up on the list.
Turns out, "Catwoman" had signed up for ANOTHER Mary J. song before me. I swear! So, I sat back and watched her butcher yet ANOTHER song, but I also noticed Barry talking to the DJ off to the side. Something nefarious was going on. I think he was trying to arrange for her to sing another song. I'll be damned if I'm gonna watch THAT happen! You see, I was next on the list, and I wanted to sing my damn song.
I kinda got belligerent at that point. Ask anyone on that couch. "What the fuck is he doing?" I asked. " I will fight Marion Barry! I ain't scared of no old Marion Barry!" Sure, I wasn't screaming at the top of my lungs, but I was vocal. That's what alcohol does. It's pure science.
I wanted to sing my song and, I'm sorry, there's a line! Luckily, he didn't get in front of me. Shelly swears I wasn't going to do anything, but I don't know...considering how surreal the night seemed, I kinda thought it was all a dream by that point anyway!
So, I got up and sang This I Promise You. It probably wasn't the best venue for such a song; did I mention Black, gay, and S.E. DC? But I wanted to sing it anyway. I guess I was singing it for Alouise. That's my girl, ya know? And we had THE BEST DAY on Saturday, so it was still on my mind. So that's where my heart was.
During the instrumental part of the song, I got a little creative. I said, "This goes out to Bruce, on his birthday. And I also wanna give a shout-out to Marion Barry." People kinda laughed and/or looked shocked. "What? He's right here. We all see him!" I said. Did I mention that Marion was like 2 ft away from me? No? Well, he was. Yeah, it was dick of me. But in a drunk, funny way...
I think I got a little too into the song, actually. In fact, I think I might've been as off-key as Barry's girl. Why, you ask? Well, this dude came up from behind me and said, "You're lucky you're cute." OUCH. Back-handed compliments. Thanks, boys...So, I finished that song, and I think Shelly was the only one who clapped. Thanks, Shel! 
But the night was about to jump the shark. Just when you thought it was safe, what happens next? Well, I'll tell ya!
When I get back on the couch, who do i see heading up to the mic? I thought he was lobbying for his girl again, but it was something bigger than that. Something more unexpected. Something monumental. Yes, Marion Barry was gonna SING KARAOKE!!!
I'm about to lose my mind here!!! Am I really seeing this? Is he really who he claims to be?!!! It's all a blur. And what song did he choose for himself? "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay", by Otis Redding. Yes, I was about about to watch the tides roll away as Barry butchered a soul classic. We're falling out of our seats in disbelief! We're scrounging for camera phones and anything else to immortalize this moment. I yell,"Do you know how much Wonkette would pay for these pictures?!!!".
He was beyond bad. It's not that he was tone-deaf..it's just that he wasn't listening to the background track. Then, his lady decided to join him for the WORST duet....I can't even....I'm fuckin' blown! And to cap it off, you know how the song ends with a whistling solo? He sang it! No, he didn't whistle it; he SANG IT!!! Words can't explain...
When he finished, the crowd erupted. I guess we were all in awe of what had just transpired and, as they say in the 'hood, "Marion was getting his propers"...Some of the guys helped him off of his chair, and after a few more political handshakes, Marion and 'ho left the building. It was like a mass UFO sighting, though. For the next hr, we were all asking each other, "Did you see that?!!" or "Did that really just happen?" or, my fave, "Fucking Marion Barry?!!" It was like, for that night, we were all brought closer due to our shared ordeal. I can say that I'd do anything for Bruce, Juwan, and Shel. Well, maybe not ANYTHING, but you get the point. God bless alcohol and fallen celebrities...
The party wound down, we closed out tabs, and Shelly and I laughed about that shit all the way back to MD. I hope this made some kind of sense in print, but you really had to be there. And I'm sure it'll never happen again, so you missed out. But from this day forward, children around the world will sing songs of the time Crack-smoking Marion Barry Sang Karaoke in the Gay Bar. And if you ever hear them sing these songs, you just tell 'em my name and that I was there on that fateful day.
Marion Fuckin Barry...
The Lost Adventures: The Lion King Audition
"I'm me again, baby! I'm back!"
So, where have I been? "We've been waiting a whole month for Post #450," you say. Well, I had it all plannned out. If comics have taught me anything, it's that round numbers, such as 450, equate a special occasion. Sure, you could say that I should've reached #450 over a year ago if I'd been posting everyday like other good bloggers, but I digress. In any regard, an event like this usually involves a new headquarters, a new status quo, a back-up story, and a death. I was really gonna WOW ya, but something was missing. Most of the components were in place, save one. It's funny how life works sometimes...
Originally, I was going to use this post to debut the reason behind my recent lack of funds. That's right, you were going to see the new West Lair! I got an apartment. Finally, I can get out of this Negroid Golden Girls lifestyle I've had to endure for the past 2 years. At last, I would have a place of my own, where I could hide from the discussions of Ben-Gay and Old Testament God vs. New Testament God. I would have my Fortress of Solitude.
Anyway, I signed the lease back on September 1st, and I was gonna move in Labor Day weekend. My Cousin Joe was gonna help me, mainly 'cause he had a pickup truck. Now, few of you have been to a West family function, but those of you who have (Tarek), have surely met my Cousin Joe. He's basically like a brother to my mom (first person with the Southern incest jokes gets it!), and he's one of the few father figures I've had in my life.
So, Cousin Joe was all set to help me move, but come Saturday morning, I wasn't prepared. I hadn't packed up a thing, and I had no desire to rush crap into a box. So, I called Joe to tell him not to worry about me; we'd do it next weekend. He wasn't there, so his wife, Rose, said she'd give him the message.
Fast-forward to about 3 hrs later: we get a call from Rose saying that Joe had been rushed to Washington Hospital Center. The Golden Girls jump into action, and we make our way down to the hospital. Turns out, Cousin Joe was washing his truck and had a massive heart attack. We were in that hospital all night, from 5 PM Saturday to 11 AM Sunday morning. The staff tried to brace us for the worst, but nobody wanted to hear it. Cousin Joe passed away Sunday morning. I still haven't moved.
Since then, time has been wrapped up with funeral arrangements, as well as life's other little dramas. The family hasn't been taking it so well, and I can only think, "So, it begins." You see, Joe was a year younger than my mother. I always felt that when the dying started, it would be like a domino effect. These people have been together all of their lives. They grew up together, moved north from Alabama together, and they don't know how yo be apart. I fear it's like when a husband dies, and his wife dies 6 months later. It's a cohort effect, and Joe fired the opening salvo. Selfish, I know, but all I find I can be lately is selfish. I guess it's my defense mechanism. I keep thinking how close I was to witnessing the heart attack. Had I not called, he might have had the heart attack WITH me, while moving MY crap. I don't know if I could've handled that. No hyperbole there, I truly don't think I could have held it together had that scenario transpired.
But here I am. I'm still alive, and I guess I've got that's what I've got to work with. A lot of people think I'm a pessimist, but I feel it just comes with living with the old folks. Many of you don't realize it, but I have to worry about things that most people dont even think about until their 40's. And now I'm more worried about the gals than I have been before. But there's my milestone post. There's my death. This is no publicity stunt. He's not coming back.
Anydangways, I also wanted to give y'all a nice back-up story, A hidden tale that few people know. You see, about a year and a half ago, I took a little blogging hiatus. Prompted by a bunch of personal drama that simply hit the fan, there are about 3 months of my life that went undocumented. One such event, I've hinted at, but never fully revealed. You see, right before I started working for H&M, I had delusions of actually continuing the whole singing thing, and I auditioned for the National tour of "The Lion King".
In my unemployed days, I used to troll the classifieds in the Arts section of the Post, looking for auditions. Since I was still in my "I'm Will West" mindset, most of the community theatre productions were beneath me. I mean, I was THE Black voice of Cornell A Cappella! Cornell! A Cappella! "Today Show"! Surely, that meant something. I would have to wait, until a role came along befitting my stature. One day, I saw it: The Lion King. I mean, besides "Porgy and Bess" or "A Raisin in the Sun", it's probably the most sure thing in theatre if you're Black. And if they aren't doing colorblind casting!
Since I was days from starting H&M, I figured it was God's way of saving me from the sad, dreary life of the proletariat. He would deliver me to the stage, to the spotlight that was destined to be mine. I was sure of it. All I needed was the right song. Immediately, I called up my old drama teacher, and we started to brainstorm. She wanted me to do something from when I was Pippin, but that wasn't enough. She suggested a song from when I was in Hello, Dolly, but I was having none of it. I felt I needed a Disney song, but nothing actually from the Lion King. After all, it's kinda dick/facetious to go into an audition with an air of "You know that song you guys sing? Well, I sing it better!" Anybody out there who's sat through people auditioning for them knows exactly what I'm talking about. Finally, I settled on "A Whole New World". It had been our graduation song (*gag*), but "Aladdin" is the next best thing to "The Lion King", at least musically. I'd be showing them that I can sing "the Disney way", without slaughtering one of their signature numbers.
I practiced for a week. I had it down. But the night before the audition, I decided to showboat a little. I realized my sheet music wasn't in the right key for me, so in order to use it as accompaniment, I'd need to transpose it. Now, we're gonna get musically technical, so try to bear with me. I downloaded a program, and moved the song to a range that I could sing, both comfortably and well. But when I was done, the song had about 8 accidentals. You know those little "flat" symbols? Yeah, I had 8 of them. But whatever, it's Disney. They should be able to follow that, right?
When Last Call did the Today Show, it was really hard warming up vocally that early in the morning, so I decided not to sleep. After all, I could sleep after the audition. I spent all night practicing and warming up. Auditions were taking place at Howard University, so I was scared there was gonna be a LOT of competition. I mean, casting the Lion King at Howard is like finding Bush supporters at the 700 Club. I expected PANDEMONIUM, with a hip-hop soundtrack. I figured there would be lines around 12 city blocks, as we all vied for a chance to have our 15 minutes of fame. So, got down there at about 5:30 AM. Auditions started at 10:00. What did I find? Nothing. A whole lotta nothing. Plus, it was February and FREEZING. Plus, security doesn't like random Black guys hanging around buildings. Even at a Black school! Go figure...
Around 11:00, the Hippie Chick shows up. You know the type. If you've ever been in a show, you've met her. She's the girl who's all about "The the-ah-tur". You never know when she's acting and when she's living. It all blends together in a fake, blah soup. So, apparently, she's all nervous, 'cause all she does it dinner theatre and she doesn't know what to expect. Plus, she's scared of her chances, seeing how it's a Black show. Man, that was priceless. She was scared that she might face discrimination. I'm not gonna get preachy, 'cause it's not what I do, but that schadenfraude was just what I needed at the time. Guess I should've known what was coming to me.
Soon, other people start to trickle in. You've got typical "stage dad" going, "My boy can sing. Watch my boy sing. Do that thing you do, boy!" You've got "classically trained Black chick", who should be doing arias rather than hakuna matata's. And you've got "sad R&B wannabe brother" who really just wishes he'd been in Soul for Real (whatever happened to those fugly Dalrymple boys?). You know the kind: all he can do is wail, but rather than music, what he emits sounds more like what I'd cry if I got my penis caught in my zipper.
And they're all looking at me, like "Why'd you bring the White girl?" But I DIDN'T! Hippie chick came on her own. Just 'cause we were the first ones there didn't mean she's MY fault. Story of my life...
So, they start lining people up, and you'd have thought there were ribs up for grabs or something. Somehow, I actually get to go first, seeing as how some people had vouched for the fact that I'd been the first person there. So, finally, it was the moment of truth.
I walk into the room, and hand my music to the guy at the piano. I warn him about the accidentals, but he doesn't seem worried. But here's where I started to worry. He had just sat down as I walked into the room. They were running late, and he'd never even warmed up at the piano. Now, an expert should be able to play on any piano, but it's still a good idea to get a feel for your instrument prior to performance. So, he starts banging out my music like a retarded kid trying to smash ants. I mean, he wasn't even near my scale. But I'm just singing away, in MY key, him in another. I tried to give him some death glares, hoping he'd straighten up, but this only mademe look worse. When he was done, I knew I was done. Then, began the Q&A part of our morning.
"So...'William', what have you done...musically?"
"Well, not much lately. I did a cappella and glee club in colege, but not much since I graduated. Mainly just karaoke hereand there. I've been in touch with my old music teacher, and we were going to work on some things."
"Yeah...well, it might be a good idea to hook up with your 'music teacher'. You know, to add a little more...technical ability to your...'natural gifts'.
That last line was the one that did it. It was a harsh, modernized, personalized "Don't call us, we'll call you."
"Well, thank you for the opportunity. *fake smile* It was a really great experience." And I walked out.
I kinda lingered for awhile, trying to understand what had just happened. I was NOT the best thing since sliced bread. I was NOT as great as I had made myself believe. And I WOULD be reporting to H&M on Monday. But hear me out, it was NOT my fault. Yes, my ego was out of whack, and I was in a bigger pond, but that was NOT my fault. I am my own worst critic, and I RARELY give myself credit. Heck, I never even thought of myself as "Will West"; that's a caricature that other people had forced on me after concerts and whatnot. But I was ready, as ready as I could ever be, and I sounded GREAT! I wanted it, and I could taste it within my grasp. How it slipped away, I don't know. Well, I DO know. It was the guy at the piano. But I guess what I will always wonder is "why". Well, I guess everything happens for a reason, and I don't have many complaints about the past year. In any regard, I saw the show about 3 weeks ago. It was good. A lot different than the cartoon. But it was nothing to write home about. Just something to blog about, apparently...
Here's that variant cover. If youve been to James's site, Jeen's site, or the site of James's e-mistress (Oh no he di'nt!), this'll look familiar. Everybody on the avatar wagon!
Stuck: Taking Stock Of Life
I'm so lost, and I don't get to show this side of myself often. Most people think of me as the nice, corny guy, but I've got the same worries and fears as everyone else. It's not all shits and giggles for me, but everyone thinks my toys and comics must make me this happy Willy-Wonka-esque character. In all honesty, I'm probably the most neurotic person you'll meet.
Lately, I've been struck by how thin the line is between "pensive" and "lazy", at least to the observer. My mind runs a mile a minute, wondering and fearing. "Am I making the right choice here?" or "Where will this action take me?" or the ultimate "What was I put on this Earth to do?" But there are SO MANY options! It's bewildering.
I've often said that I wish we lived in the '50s. Now, that may be an odd statement coming from a Black man, but the Mythical '50s were such a simpler time. You didn't go to school to necessarily major in anything. I mean, you'd get your degree, but then you'd get you cookie cutter job that afforded you the 2.5 kids and the house in the suburbs. Sure, there were scientists and the like, but Average Joe had his nondescript job, that he performed every day for about 35 years.
Now, we've got SO many choices. Do we choose a field in our major, or our minor? How will our GPA, from 3 years ago, affect this decision? Do we go for the unpredictable private sector, or go for the security of the Federal government? Do we save for a house or a ring? Do I want to start saving for a retirement I'll probably never see due to my level of stress and freak-outosity, or do I stop hiding from my Federal student loans and actually start paying them back?
I AM thinking and planning, and just because I haven't settled on anything doesn't mean that the journey isn't ongoing. But so many people want to stop me and ask, "What are you doing? What's your plan?" I'm sorry, but every man in his own time! It's like there's a Universal Schedule, and I didn't get the memo. Once everyone else gets their stuff figured out, then they start worrying about Will. Will wasn't worrying you when you were distressed. I'm glad you're going to law school. I'm glad you're moving to your dream job halfway across the world. Sadly, the timing is not right for me yet. It's not out of fear. Nor for lack of trying. I am planning, and I'll let you know when I get there.
So, I'm sorry if I seem flaky or wishy-washy. I'm 23! The same people who like to say, "You've got time" are the same ones who forget and ask, "So, what now?" No, I haven't made up my mind yet because nothing has struck me. I hate to sound all jaded, "looking for inspiration", but I'm different. I was never the kid who said, "I wanna be a lawyer when i grow up." Sure, I said that for about a week, but I knew even then that there were many (some might say TOO MANY) options in life. And I'm trying to find my way.
I could go to grad school right now. But I am not passionate enough about any field to make it a worthwhile investment. To go to school right now would just be me postponing the real world, and I realize this. I MISS school. I do. But I also have about $30,000 in loan debt, and I'm not exactly sitting on the goldmine to pay that back anytime soon. Why, oh why, would I go back to school to add to that, possibly in an industry that doesn't exactly ensure I will be comfortable enough to pay off said debt. Yes, if someone is passionate about something, then they'll find a way. I can honestly say that i'm not that passionate about it. I'm sorry if that sounds like a cop-out, but I feel it's me knowing my limits. Yeah, it sucks that I make money so important to the equation, but it is.
I worry more about money with my "real job" than I did at H&M, and I really don't make much more. I made great money for retail, but average money for "real world". I'm not struggling, per se. I pay all my bills. But there's no cushion. I have no comfort zone for a rainy day. Simply living paycheck to paycheck. Now, I realize that MANY people are in this same boat, and I'm nothing special, but I also like to think that they're worried, too. Sure, they may have found corners to cut and methods for coping, but they're not just sitting pretty knowing that they may be a couple of sick days away from homelessness. So, with the whole "paycheck from poordom" coupled with the "don't feel like I'm living up to my potential", I've got a lot on my mind. As I know many of my cohorts are going through the same.
And I HATE the whole "if money weren't an option, what would be your dream job?" exercise. I've never had a "dream job". My future plans were more personal. I wanted to be a good father and husband. As dumb as that may sound, that's what was important to me. I really just wanted my cookie-cutter job that allowed me to have that life. I'm sorry if I don't sound ambitious, but I was never the person who saw happiness as being dependent on a career. I'd like to have a job that I enjoy. Who wouldn't? But I guess I never really wanted to have a job that consumed my life. Rather, I wanted a life that consumed my job.
So, the next time you see me goofing off, please allow me my fun and understand that it took a lot for me to get there. And if you see me frowning, just know that I really am a good, ambitious person underneath, just trying to sort some stuff out.
H&M: Series Finale
Previously on williambrucewest.com: Well, let's see...I was being hounded by Eunice at work. Essentially, I had caught her doing some shady managerial work, and I reported it to corporate. Well, they sat on their thumbs, while Darkness proceeded to make my life a living Hell. First, she started writing me up for stuff that I hadn't done, and then she tried to out my relationship with Shelly. In the meantime, Shelly transferred to another store, and I began to hate that H&M more and more. I vowed to leave, in many melodramatic posts seen here. And then...nothing. Until now. Brace yourself for the action-packed season finale. NEXT!
Today's Episode: "Emancipation Chocolate Nation"
So, the other day, I was reading an article about season finales. Apparently, contrary to popular belief, writers have very little idea where a show is to end up when the season is over. In the beginning, they have a general idea of the arc that the character is to take, but in terms of "Will ___ die?", they don't have a clue. They figure this stuff out over the course of the season, and save the big decisions for the end. For example, (Davis stop reading) the writers of 24 originally planned to let the president die this season, but changed their minds at the end, fearing real-life political backlash. Coward move, I know...
So, why do I bring this up? Well, I had this whole post mapped out in my mind about 2 months ago, but over time, I've either forgotten it or don't care. So, there's not really gonna be an action. No real drama. If anything, this will be an informative post with the air of the "Whatever Happened To..." quips that air during the end credits of a movie(See "Fast Times at Ridgemont High").
So, taking it all back to where we left off, I was at H&M and hating it and Eunice. One day, our store manager kinda tricked us, and we ended up having an intervention in the office. Nothing major, but I told Eunice that I didn't like her and couldn't work with her. Her ass tried to threaten me with litigation for suggesting she was a thief when she wasn't. Yadda yadda.She kept talking, but all I heard or saw was ugly. Anyway, I knew the place was a house of cards, and I was just hoping to get out before it toppled.
In other H&M news, Shelly got fed up of being under appreciated and gave her notice on April Fools. I've never been more jealous of another human being. But in a good way, 'cause I love her and she deserved freedom. So, she got a job as a management recruiter in that magical young adult compound known as Bethesda. Meanwhile, I continued to unload trucks and deal with tax-exempt transactions. My partners in crime were dropping like flies. Bruce had given his notice, retracted it, and then just abandoned his job. Kevin had gotten fired. Jeanine, my most worthy adversary, simply waked out one day. Christina up and quit. Audrey hit the road. Soon, I was the only original cast member left, and I began to understand how Dustin Diamond must've felt when he returned to "Saved by the Bell": I needed the money, but I knew I had no business being there any longer.
I got to the point where I was taking a sick day a week. Not because I had to, but becauseI could. I couldn't deal with a 40 hr week at H&M. It just wasn't in the cards anymore. I'd schedule interviews and call out sick every chance I got. Nobody really suspected anything 'cause I'd vowed I was leaving since the 2nd day i got the H&M job. So, by this point- one year later, I was the equivalent of Crazy Rambling Homeless Guy. Everyone was like, "Sure you're leaving, Will. We believe you."
Well, I showed those sons of bitches. I got a job. It took forever (OK, it could've been a LOT worse, actually), but I finally got what one might call "a real job". I gave my notice, and H&M didn't know what hit them. Guess they thought I was gonna take it up the ass a little longer. My last day at H&M was May 13th.
On May 23rd, I started my new job. So, what do I do? Well, I'm a research analyst for a commercial real estate firm. Which firm? Can't tell ya, lest someone Googles it, and it leads to my site (trust me, it happened with H&M). I prepare sales comparables for appraisal purposes. Basically, when property sells, I call brokers, sellers, etc, to get info on the sale so that it can be applied to similar properties when they go on the market. Do I like my job? Heh...Well, I make a lot more than I did at H&M, so that's a plus. Also, I work in Bethesda...right across the street from Shel. Yup, hilarity will ensue, 5 days a week!
Honestly, though? I'm bored. Out of my skull. I've been doing this for about a month, so I have a general idea of what the job entails. But I'm bored. Still dealing with the "not meeting my potential" aspect. Not sure if its the Cornell snobbery, the Will snobbery, or the cold hard truth, but I still feel like I'm sitting in "Idle". For the past 3 days, I've read the entire 5 yr archive of "Penny Arcade" and caught up on the last yr of "PvP". Yup, SO productive. But, hey, they're paying me. And right now, the price for my boredom is quite affordable.
Whatever became of H&M? Well, Stephen got out and he's now a store manager at Coldwater Creek. Ntumba & Brandy are still keeping hope alive at the store. And did I forget about anyone....Oh, right. Eunice.
Well, Eunice always had a problem with punctuality. Hey, I have my issues, but I wasn't a manager. If I was late, the store could still open. The same couldn't said for her. She had the keys. It had gotten to the point that, about once a month, I had to spearhead the unloading of the truck because we didn't have a manager present. Why? Because her ass was asleep. This was part of what finally drove me out: I wasn't being paid to be a manager. If they wanted me to perform those tasks, then we could renegotiate. Otherwise, that wasn't in my job description.
So, fast forward (or rewind depending on how you look at it), I dropped into H&M to see how Brandy et al were doing. It turns out it was my lucky day. Why? Because Eunice had overslept that morning, and it was the straw that broke Sweden's back. Jen, the store manager, fired her. You know what was even sweeter about the who thing? Eunice had already given her notice, so she was working of her final two weeks and STILL ended up getting fired. I'm sure she'll tell future employers that she quit, but A) her ass isn't rehireable and B) her ass finally got what was coming to it. I only wish I could've been there to savor it...
So, stay tuned for new adventures. H&M's loss is the world's gain. We've got a new workplace. A new status quo. A new neighborhood. But the same old Will. 'Cause "where there's a Will, there's a way!"
- RT @MeisterShake: Seriously folks, WHY THE FUCK would I care about YOUR horoscope? Stop tweeting it.
- A midget!!! #SNL
- I love how that Bon Iver photo was like Find The Black Guy. Oh, there he is! Between Chad and Tyler!
- If y'all wanna make fun of Lana Del Ray, you can make fun of this dude's Eunuch Wails.
- This dude is just making noises - like the kind you make when you catch your balls in the zipper. I hope the internet takes notice!
- This Bon Iver song sounds like Johnny Hates Jazz. Not complaining. I just need bigger shoulder pads.
- That's why Harlem Nights is such a good movie - it passes the torch, but you'll never get that much black talent in the same movie again.
- When is Tyler Perry gonna get cracking on the black version of The Expendables?
- If I investigated rape cases, like on SVU, my first question to the vic (that's Cop Talk) would be "Did he look like Guy Fieri?"
- Ten seconds, gun to your head - who won The Voice last season?
From The Vault
- Adventures West Coast: Complete Strangers In Paradise (Pocket Edition)
- My Hatred For Seacrest 2.0 and Season Finale Analysis
- Breasts Are My Kryptonite
- Stuck: Taking Stock Of Life
- Great Weekend Involving VA, The Punisher, and Kill Bill Vol 2
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