Jennifer Hudson

The vibe in Chicago when the Hudson family's tragedy hit was ... heavy. I don't know how else to explain it. When the DJ on the local radio station asked over the airwaves for someone to text him a picture of her nephew so that he could text it to the thousands of phone numbers he has ... I realized it was different.

The thing is, this tragedy isn't any different than the tradegies that have been happening in Chicago this year - and several people have mentioned to me that Jennifer's fame doesn't make it more tragic. It brings it more noteriety, yes ... but I remember that nine year old Black girl who disappeared from her front porch only to be found sexually assaulted and dead in the alley down the block. It's just been awful in Chicago.

And you know what? I was reading an article on AOL about it, it's one of those where readers can leave comments - similar to blogging. Anyway, some skinhead (I'm sure) left a comment to the effect of "Black on Black crime is great." It was bold - but mainly because it was anonymous, right? I can't imagine that anyone reading this blog would do NOTHING if the man was standing next to you talking that ying yang ... hence, he hides behind his computer.

But anyway - I am seriously digressing. Here's what I've been thinking - let's do something productive. The teddy bear and balloon drop offs at their house were nice ... how about we all make a concerted effort not to burn her CD's but all actually go out and BUY it. How about THAT?

I bought the CD today - and for real, it's HOT. Song number four gave me chills. If I ever have a committment ceremony, I'm totally playing it. I just love it.

So, how about it - support her and her family in THAT way ... buy a CD, tell everyone else to do the same, frown on the people who burn or steal it ... and come on, let's do something productive for her ...

Again, not that her tragedy is worse that any of the others going on in Chicago this year ... but, it's something we can do, right?

RIGHT?

Go buy her damn CD!

The Martinez Continuua (Part I)

I promised you an interactive post a bit ago and here it is! So, don't stroll on by and wham-bam-thank-you-maam my blog this time, ok? If you're here, PARTICIPATE, carajo! You have *NO* idea how much work I put into this shit. lol.

Ok, this is a continuum:

No shit? Yuh, I know. But it's The Martinez Continuum (MC). Notice that zero is right down the middle and the scale goes out ten in each direction. The MC is split into four zones:

• Zone 1: The Red Zone, bound by -10 and -5


• Zone 2: The Orange Zone, bound by -5 and 0


• Zone 3: The Yellow Zone, bound by 0 and 5


• Zone 4: The Blue Zone, bound by 5 and 10

Simple enough, right?

I envision this as a relationship continuum and I apply it to various aspects of a relationship. Let's see - it's better depicted graphically. Let's start with THE AFFECTION CONTINUUM. It looks like so:

It's hard to read, so let me explain. As far as affection is concerned, we all fall somewhere on The MC, thusly:

Zone 1 - The Red Zone

Cold-hearted bitch who doesn't want to be touched unless in the act of making love. However, usually doesn't refer to it as making love, but prefers the word "fucking."

Zone 2 - The Orange Zone

Usually doesn't want to be touched, but will at times accept it - never initiates any type of hugging, cuddling or anything of the sort. When accepting affection, will call "fucking" making love.

Zone 3 - The Yellow Zone

Will usually initiate affection, like holding hands - but can sometimes be leery of Public Displays of affection. Is private with the affection and will ALWAYS welcome it in private.

Zone 4 - The Blue Zone

Like coming home to a lap dop you haven't seen in three weeks.

See how this works? So, JACK is totally affectionate and I would give myself a 7 on the continuum. That puts me in the Blue Zone.

Let's do one more - THE HOMO CONTINUUM

The trick is to identify yourself on the continuum before you read the definitions. For this continuum, -10 is extremely effeminate and +10 is completely masculine. I give myself a 5. Here're the definitions:

Zone 1 - The Red Zone

Is likely one surgery away from being a full-fledged women. Effeminate, does drag, takes hormones and refers to all his boyfriends as "guuurrrrlllll."

Zone 2 - The Orange Zone

Has identifiable mannerisms. Is somewhat self-conscious of them to varying degrees, depending on how far from zero he is. This dude is already out, even if he doesn't know it.

Zone 3 - The Yellow Zone

Has some identifiable mannerisms but they go unnoticed and the average person can't tell. Is rarely self-conscious about it. People wonder in secret if he's gay but never approach him.

Zone 4 - The Blue Zone

Completely masculine and secure.

Having fun yet? Here's where it gets interactive. My next continuum is THE SEX CONTIUUM. But I'm not going to define it just yet. In your comments to this post (after you tell me how fabulous you think this game is), tell me where you fall on the sex continuum by picking a number from -10 to +10, where -10 is not really sexual at at all and +10 is pretty much horny and ready ALL THE TIME.

(Don't act shocked this turned into something about sex. I'm a HOMO!)

I will post my zone definitions ONLY after receiving a minimum of ten different responses. So, you lurkers out there better create a ghost account or something because I mean it. TEN.

*with much love*

JACK MARTINEZ

Open Windows

As I looked at my computer screen, I realized something. I had several windows open and I squnited at them, realizing that it was a good snapshot of me. I encourage you to do the same exercise, list the windows currently open on your screen and comment in this fashion:

Open windows, in order from left to right: gay network for black men, interface for my research course, blogger, work email via outlook Web access, blank word document

Commentary: It seems that my priority is dating gay Black men. Following that, I feel passionately about my MS degree, and will apparently blog before I respond to work emails.

I'm so fucking mad right now that this is pretty accurate. DAMMIT!

Table Dancing 101

Lesson 1: TPTW (Table Proportional to Weight)

The Evolution of Indifference (5)

Chapter 1


Chapter 2


Chapter 3


Chapter 4


Chapter 5: D.E.: My first time
I loved the Lord, and was all into church and teaching Sunday School and all that – but I still dealt with same sex attractions. I guess I thought they would go away, miraculously disappear. You know, like I would be healed like the leper Jesus healed – but there was never any walking and leaping after my deliverance. It was a perpetual desire.

When I started masturbating I always felt sinful, disgusting, remorseful. Interesting thing though is that I was cleaning my Pastors’ house for a while. I had a key and would go in there and clean while they were at work and they paid me. They both had full time jobs and I needed the money and so it was a win-win. The first time I masturbated, I was in their house … alone. Let me tell you that that totally didn’t help the remorse I felt. I thought I was going to hell any minute now.

But I didn’t. Not physically, that is. But I continued to live in my own little hell. Wanting something that I felt I couldn’t have, that was always right at my grasp but that I couldn’t reach out for. I was a bitter little fucker, that’s for sure.

I had been working at the local newsstand, putting together Sunday newspapers and trying to keep up with the madness. (Damn, New Yorkers just love themselves the Sunday Times!) Eventually, I started working inside the store, selling cigarettes, lottery tickets and porn. Suffice it to say, the pastors were not happy. But mom insisted I make money so that I could buy my own clothes, pay for my own bus fare, buy my own school lunches and pay her rent. My older brother, by the way, didn’t have to do any of this – just me. That’s a WHOLE ‘nother issue entirely.

But I had a crush on one of my fellow employees. He was so damn attractive. One day, after knowing him for well over a year, he was around my neck of the woods and a bunch of us were hanging out. He was drunk as hell and everyone was afraid to let him walk home because he had to cross a major boulevard with three lanes in each direction and there was no stop light at our intersection. I volunteered to walk him home. He was 18 (don’t ask me where he got the booze) and I was 15.

On the way back, the small talk was pretty typical. But it got flirty really fast. I really didn’t know what to do with it. I was so totally and incredibly nervous, but I was loving how my body was feeling, just flirting. We were talking about working out or gym rats or whatever and I’ll never forget it. I said, “my ass is FAT.” I totally meant that I was a fat bastard and I needed to go to the gym. He responded and said, “oh really?” and grabbed a palm full of my right ass cheek. Right there in the middle of the street in front of God and everyone. It was pretty late at night and no one was around, but I thought it was audacious.

I had never known that feeling – it was shocking, it was electricity, it was … it was something. Whatever it was, his hand caused it – and it shot through my body and to my chest. My heart began to race. I really had NO idea what was going on or what to do with it … all I knew is that I liked what I felt.

We got to the corner of his block and he thanked me and began to dismiss me. Except I didn’t let him. I wanted more. He seemed hesitant, but the newness of it all had me eager and I wasn’t going to let up. I could see it in his face that he had no idea how he was going to work this out. He invited me down his block and we walked down the street together. It was a dead end street he lived on.

He passed his house and proceeded to the end of the block. I assumed that we were going to go to and through the treeline at the end of the block and I frankly didn’t care. That was fine by me. At the last house on the block, the porch light was on … that’s as far as he went – he looked into their front yard and verified no one was there. “Come on,” he said and walked back in the direction we had come from to his house. He opened the front gate, sat on his front porch and told me to sit next to him.

So I did. And we talked about who was going to do what. We were both nervous – and both insisting that the other expose himself. Eventually, I did. But quickly hid the good again. It freaked me out. “Let me see,” he said and I did it again … he reached for me and grabbed hold.

HOLY SHIT. My body was on fire and I wasn’t sure what to focus on. On what I saw, on the electricity within me or even if the electricity was what I was SUPPSOED to be feeling. It was absolutely NOTHING I had imagined to that point. And before I could figure it out – he stopped.

And then he wouldn’t expose himself – and insisted that I reach in and do it myself. At this point, I didn’t need any prodding. In I went. And what I found was bitter sweet. I loved the feel of it, the soft spongy layer of skin covering a stiff rod of cartilage and it was just divine. There I was at 15 experimenting … and I was kinda freaked out. I absolutely thought he was a freak – it was uncut and much wider than it was fat, rather oval in cross-section.

What the fuck?!?! Aren’t these things all round (not oval) and cut?!? Aren’t they? That’s how mine is – that’s how my brother’s is … you mean they’re all different?!?

He invited me into his house and we went in through the basement door and directly into his bedroom. I had no idea what was in store – all I know is that I followed like an attention starved stray. In his room he asked me how far I wanted to go. I didn’t answer, I didn’t know what to say. There must have been a quizzical look on my face – he stood behind me, unzipped me and all I wanted him to do was hold me closer. He went to town, had me squirming – and I reach up behind me and wrapped my hand around his neck.

As soon as I ejaculated he let go and stepped away. I was confused. I knew I had to finish myself off which I did and his carpet was a mess. I was looking down at it and he slammed his sneaker down on it and rubbed it all into the carpet until it disappeared. I zipped up and looked around the dark room confused. I looked at him and he told me that I needed to leave. We headed to the door.

At the door, I looked at him with the most confused little 15 year old look my face could muster. Not on purpose – I was just genuinely confused … and hurt. I mean, he totally let go! He said, “oh God, you’re not going to cry, are you?” I turned around, walked up his driveway. And ran home. But I couldn’t outrun the guilt, shame and remorse, no matter HOW fast I ran. And, let me tell you – I ran fast as fuck.

But you can’t outrun shame.

You can’t outrun guilt.

And you can’t wash remorse away no matter how hot you turn the water on.

Eureka!

Hoover was already taken, so I can't use that name. But, oh I so want to. Because THIS shit is ridiculous:



Why do some men feel it necessary to mark their territory? This is fucking insane! And I tried to stop it, but the nigga want to hold on like he got lock jaw. LOCK JAW! So, it's like I'm the new neighborhood and he's an uncurbed dog ... (in the marking territory way, NOT the water sports way!)

Interestingly enough, I gave him the URL for my blog - so he's reading. (Yes, I'm talking about YOU!) And he needs a nickname (for various reasons) and I've decided that he will hereto forward be known as: CHUPABACRA. And you know what, CHUPA - I actually made a concerted effort NOT to leave any marks. Thanks for the suggestion that I use concealer ... I'll just dig that out of my fucking make-up bag. Maybe a little damn rouge on my neck would work too.

I'm not saying I didn't enjoy myself. I'm just saying that there ain't no reason for me to walk around for the next two weeks like I'm Hester Prynne. I've already decided that I need to wear a shirt AND tie every day until the busted blood vessels heal ... fuckfuckfuck. I'm taking platform in less than two weeks to teach a two-day course too. Rest assured that if anyone comes within any reasonable proximity to my neck, he's gettin' an elbow to the eye.

And FOR THE RECORD ... let me make this a-fucking-bundantly clear. If CHUPA comes out his face and invites me over again ... I mean, if he actually wants JACK again, you know I'm totally going, right? Ok, just so we're clear. But boooooyyyy if you latch on to me again like that .... bitch, BOOM!

I'm just saying

JACK's Favorite Republican

He really addresses the current political landscape very eloquently. In particular, I like his take on the Muslim faith in this country. Watch this in its entirety if you haven't already. It's well worth it.