My Own Blog: 1/1/11

Monday, January 31, 2011

Lady Saw - Life Without Dick

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Rude Girl aka La Atrevida- Si El Hombre Quiere

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Gladys Horton of the Marvelettes Dead at 66

(link leads to source from which this whole article was taken)

Gladys Horton of the Marvelettes Dead at 66

Gladys Horton, the powerful soul singer who co-founded the all-female Motown ensemble the Marvelettes, died late Wednesday in a nursing home outside of Los Angeles. The 66-year-old's cause of death is unknown, though she was recovering from complications due to a stroke she suffered last year, her son told the Associated Press.

Horton was born in 1944 in a suburb of Detroit and raised by foster parents. She joined a glee club in high school and almost immediately recruited four club members, including Georgia Dobbins, to create the modestly named the Casinyets (as in, can't sing yet).

The group's big break came in 1961 with an audition for Berry Gordy and Smokey Robinson of the then-startup label Motown. They weren't originally given the opportunity -- they had placed fourth in their high school's talent show, with the top three receiving auditions -- but were granted an exception.

The quintet wowed the label with a second audition, performing what would become their first hit single, 'Please Mr. Postman,' co-written with Dobbins' friend and songwriter William Garrett. They settled on a new band name, the Marvelettes, and recorded the song with the infamous Funk Brothers backing them. The song and its eponymous album skyrocketed to the top of the charts.

The fame was short-lived, however. While the group released several records over the next six years, they failed to garner the same success as their debut. During that time one member, Juanita Cowart, had a nervous breakdown and quit. Another, Georgeanna Tillman, was diagnosed with lupus and left. At the same time, Motown began to shift its focus to newer artists better positioned to compete with suddenly popular English rock bands like the Beatles.

Horton left the group in 1967 to get married, and never returned fully to music. She devoted herself to taking care of her handicapped son, and largely stayed out of the public eye, even during the controversy that surfaced when the Marvelettes chose to continue performing with no original members. She performed only occasionally in the ensuing decades with no apparent interest in launching a solo career, billing herself simply as "Gladys Horton from the Marvelettes."

"My mother died peacefully," Horton's son, Vaughn Thornton, said Thursday morning in a statement released by the Motown Alumni Association. "She fought as long as she could." She is survived by Vaughn and another son. Funeral arrangements are pending.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Today A Change Occurred

Today I made a decision. I feel like I have been battling victim-mentality my whole life, cajoling, tricking, forcing myself out of it time and again. But, like a broken record, I keep falling back into it. Yes, I struggle. Yes, crappy shit has and continues to happen to me. Lord knows. But why have I chosen to continue living in poverty- both mental and financial? What is the hold for me? Most of my problems stem from my inability to provide for myself. I left my home at 17. I have been one step away from homelessness (and sometimes no-step away) ever since. I am overcome with ugly envy as I see others have and I having not.

I knew years ago that I would be working crap jobs the rest of my life if I didn't do something. So, I went to college. I have been doing college ever since. I have over 80 units. For what? I like the arts. Literature, Music, Film, Painting. So, I chose to pursue a degree in that direction. For what? It's one thing to pursue your passion, it's another thing to be broke for your entire life.

Recently, my whole life has been turned upside down by a series of worst-case-scenarios- costing a total of nearly $10,000. I have had to step away from my educational goals and reformulate a plan. And I was thinking, in some ways I have been spinning my wheels. Yes, a career in the arts is feasible- however- I need to change my life. I can not carry on like this any more. I'm done being stressed out over my last five dollars- or being in the place over having to stretch $20 over a week. I'm done breaking down in tears over lack of food, over a Planned Parenthood doctor bill, over MONEY.

I need to change. I am done being addicted to this comfortable place of poverty. I know this place- but I don't have to live here anymore.

So, I will begin the process of pursuing a Nursing degree. It PAYS. I can't imagine living with the means to support myself well.

I didn't do this before because I felt it was punking out on my dreams. But, after years in pursuit, I feel like it's chasing my dreams responsibly.

I've known many women who were nurses. Some were intelligent women I could look up to, but some were--- let's just say, I thought- "shit, I could do that".

Girls who drive nice cars, have nice condos, nice clothing.

And health care- what I wouldn't give to have some decent health and dental care.

I'm tired of being poor. I want mine. And I actually enjoy helping people.

Things have got to change. I need to live with a new mindset. I know I am somebody; I know I am a mountain-- it's time I was able to live like it, rather than this hunched shouldered, frightened, victim.

I am the only one. There are no Heroes, no Knights, no Daddy's, no nothin'. And gawwwwwdamn if I ain't worth it.

A lot of stuff stem from this essential problem of not being able to meet my own basic needs. I end up feeling like I'm not enough, not going to be OK, and operate in the world from this place.This perpetual need of being a martyr/and the need to de-stress through isolation or smoking, or eating garbage, feeling immobilized in my life, feeling inferior, taking on other people's crap and not standing up at the initial appropriate time.

I'm not stupid. There is a solution. Get a good paying career. It won't solve everything- but shit!- at least I could AFFORD therapy for the rest!

People

I have been sick- and therefor, have the perfect excuse to hide.

I watched movie after movie, holed up in my dark room, with the world moving, working, DO-ing outside. I can show up to work- that's not a problem. It's all the interactions outside that.

I have a curious reaction to seeing people I know. I want to turn the other way and GO.

I'm not happy in isolation. I know that, but I'm comfortable.

In certain situations I am fine.

1. When someone else is hurting- I easily can be there for others.

2. Amongst people who are very rich (tempered with engaged, intelligent minds) or very poor- The very poor I feel are "my people" and the very rich can hold conversations with me about society, politics, art, philosophy, history- things I think about and want to learn more.

3. People I know without a shadow of a doubt, know me and love me. There are a few. People that I can say or do whatever comes to mind and they will embrace it- they get that in return from me.

But otherwise, I often feel-- just weird.

That's why I miss living in a big city. The busy-anonymity of city life is welcoming to me. I like being amongst people. Lots of people. Being lost amongst the sounds of cars, and traffic lights, yelling, and music, and shoes hitting pavement.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Walking Home

It's good to be warm.

I left my friends tonight, but I should have asked for a ride home.

Still in my uniform from work, I zipped the windbreaker up to my neck.

It was cold. And I should have asked but I hate asking. I hate being the mooch.

They probably wouldn't have seen it that way. But, well, you know,... pride's a bitch. Ain't it?

I hunched my shoulders against the cold.

Well, it's not cold like New York or anything. I really shouldn't complain.

50 degrees is downright balmy in some places.

But this is California, and I'm Californian, born and raised.

It's so easy for me to feel sorry for myself. I hate that.

There I was, on my walk home, in the cold night, wishing for what I don't have.

A car. A man. A pretty face. A FUCKING jacket.

This weight, on my back. I know I'm not a pretty girl.

A strong woman, yes. An artist, well, alright.

But, no, definitely not some slick, uber sexy model type.

I've been cut from concrete.

And my love is dependable.

I treasure the fact that my heart is still alive.

Still warm.

I felt so alone, listening to the cars pass me.

Wishing a friend would see me and pull over.

Being childish, shivering in the dark.

I know this place. I grew up here.

This is old for me.

You know what I used to do when I felt like this?

I used to sing.

I would be five, seven, nine.

Alone.

And my small voice would rise up out of me

and grow.

In song I was not alone.

In song I was strong, beautiful.

On my walk home, I started singing.

Oh, I have a terrible cold right now,

leaving my voice thin and weak, but I still sang.

I used the songs of Billie Holiday like medicine.

Like a jacket, a lover.

I sang past the gas station and the diner,

and my back straightened,

and the loneliness fled.

And I was not what I had been.

I was a woman with song in her heart.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

50s an 60s All Up In This Shiet!!! Heeeeee-ay!

Thelma Houston - Jumpin' Jack Flash

Monday, January 17, 2011

do i really need a title right now... i mean, really

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Don't Even Bother- I Stopped Posting For You Ages Ago

Music is sick. Once it grabs you- it holds- and won't let go. You know when you caught the disease.

Man, they should really bring the Ducky look back- its pretty fucking sexy.. you know- from Pretty In Pink?

fuck. I miss my music. I'm pretty tired of losing everything over and over.
I lost all my music a couple months ago- hence my latest dependence on youtube...