|2003-03-22 - 9:07 p.m.
jcruelty shares my sentiments. this is a creative space about my mind, my soul, and most definitely my body. i do the best i can to raise the bar both intellectually and politically. but not here. here i get to dive into the bold and the beautiful. the itchy and the scratchy. i'll leave my political representation to others. and anyway, i would probably create a fascist anarchy where i would order all citizens to disobey me. and that's ALL sorts of confusing. in sticking with the day job...
march 14. only five days after departing, i return to guangzhou. our nice hotel had overbooked so we end up in a nearby dive. still a luxury compared to my prison camp. guess which room they gave me. 420. fresh. i must have been bit by something while i slept because the entire next day, i had no feeling in my right leg, or my face cheeks, and i had a piercing headache over my left eyebrow. i informed the producer just in case it progressed to paralysis and i did my best to assume it would be ok. we head over to the player's hotel where they are being paraded around in order to publicize the CBA and the all-star game. there are people in costumes and three baby elephants, one who can later slam dunk with his trunk. descending down the massive starway entrance, are a line of maybe ten tall chinese men and about seven tall black men. they look american. and the black guys and i instantly become aware of each other. they totally get that i am just as much of a spectacle as they are. and i can tell they are starting to talk about me. i play it cool. and hang back while fans swarm around them. when it's over, the players and the journalists(me) head toward the busses. garth joseph, the biggest man for miles, approaches me. when he touches my hand, it is the first time i can remember feeling that tiny. he is andre-the-giant massive and his fingers are like sausages. he is actually quite gentle and we have an instant bond. english-speaking aliens. so we all go to the stadium. i follow my editors around waiting to be filmed, the boys play ball and sign autographs. when i meet some of the other players, i realize clearly that this job is the bomb. this job is so much the bomb that the U.N. inspectors are in my office as we speak.
and then there were cheerleaders. pink bandeaus. pink mini-skirts. pink leg warmers. adorable. girls, you just wipe those bitchy fucking glares off of your sanrio(japan, i know) faces and act your not-even-barely-legal age. and a girl walked by who was wearing a t-shirt that read:
i ended up running around most of the day without filming. meeting ajani and kamani. feeling more relaxed by the minute. that night, there was a banquet at their PIMP hotel. go google "chime long hotel". white tigers and flamingos. a safari and unlimited red wine. nice. it was interesting to watch the boys begin to jockey for position. garth clearly had dibs on me. but ajani's dad, who i call slick, a smooth charmer from jamaica, made sure to keep a tight grip on our connection. ajani won the half-time slam dunk contest. and i'm a sucker for alpha males.
and guess who showed up at the game? remember michael? right. he and his girlfriend. and i was a hot shot and got them down on the floor with us. and there was a strange feeling in the air: garth. ajani. michael. slick. and little ole me. and the next day, i filmed all of my standups. not so great. but they liked it just fine. i am clearly a beginner but we headed directly to another hotel to begin a second segment in downtown guangzhou. on the chinese lottery. and now i am even better. all the work that is left to do on both segments are the voice-overs. dope.
ajani and garth call me every day. boys. ajani is direct. i tease him about being his girlfriend. he is convinced i am a CIA agent. if i was, this would all be a brilliant cover. which is precisely what i'd tell you. garth thinks i'm crazy for wanting to be an astronaut. but he'll be glued to his tv when i step foot on the space-station.
this is a little section for k-fly. one morning, in the midst of my CBA surreality, as i was leaving breakfast, i looked down at the floor. a little boy was ripping open a box. i must have tripped on a time crease and fell through a space-time continuum wormhole. although all the print was in chinese, i would reckognize his toy blindfolded...k-fly, he was playing with CAPSELLA. and you know what? i cried. really.
i love you like a motorized plastic orb.