Tales of Foxy In the Nail Shop ...

NEW YORK (Reuters) -- Hip-hop artist Foxy Brown pleaded guilty in a New York court Monday to assaulting two nail salon stylists over a $20 manicure, but later changed her mind and told the judge she was innocent.
The recording star, whose real name is Inga Marchand, pleaded guilty to assaulting the two women in August 2004 by hitting and kicking them in a dispute over payment for a manicure Brown said she never received.
But Brown, who was wearing dark sunglasses and a designer outfit, returned to the Manhattan Criminal Court room a short time after her case had been heard to tell Judge Melissa Jackson that she wanted to change her plea.
"I'm innocent in this case," the 26-year-old rapper said.

I have simple analysis for this story. Foxy Brown will plead insanity next. This is why. She's going to claim she was in the nailperson's chair when the nailperson asked her a question to which her reply was:

"What did you say ... ... bitch?" as Foxy smacked upside the head because Foxy thought she had heard her say something evil. But, of course, Foxy was wrong.

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Back To The Foxxhole ...

Don't think he's fallen off. That's all I'm going to say.

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The Five That Shaped My World

Last night, while bored, I browsed through the grocery store’s magazine section. Mind you most mag sections have a good variety for men as well as the female perspective. But my local HyVee needs to up its game. That’s a story for another day, another place.

It did however, have the most recent issue of VIBE with a “stunning” Keyshia Cole on the cover. Now if you know me, you know that there is about no way in hell that I’d use the words Keyshia Cole and stunning in the same sentence. Stunting? Sure. Stunning? Not hardly. But today, hardly was a reality.

She looked that good, so I picked up the magazine in search of the rest of her spread and, of course, the story. Considering that I write for a living, I do read and don’t just look at pictures.

But I never found the story. I got caught up in reading LeToya’s review of her new album, and a few others. Then I saw the section VIBE always has about the Five Albums that Inspired you. This month feature Donell Jones, who had a variety (from Songs In the Key of Life to 12 Play).

It got me to thinking, what five albums inspire me? In past, I’ve dropped what albums I thought were the best, but these are the ones that actually affected my life and my way of thinking and acting. Here they are and why. No particular order (ok, maybe chronological).

Boyz II Men - Cooleyhighharmony: I actually had the tape for this one, and wore it ragged. I loved this sound, the melody, the harmony, everything. I was a choir boy at the time, and all I wanted to do was be Mike McCray (minus the back problems) because I knew the Barry White voice got the ladies. Also, if there were a group that influence the style I wanted in high school and life, it was B2M. The preppy B-boy is me still to this day.

D’Angelo – Brown Sugar: First off, I don’t smoke. But this will make you want to and I’m not talking about cigs. But listen to seven and eight (otherwise known as Crusin and When We Get By) and you see how much of a groove theory this is. And Shit. Damn. Motherfucka, ha ha, yeah. I don’t know how many people saw something they didn’t need to see, and this was the track they played. But you felt real when you listen to this album. Kind of like, this stuff could, did or would happen to you.

Eric Benet – True To Myself: A lot of people sleep on this one. But it’s one of my all time favs. Why? Because dude seemed real back then. The song to his ex-wife who passed. The title track, and there’s much more. It’s kind of like Brown Sugar, but with more of a neo-soul feel to it. I guess this serves as my intro to Neosoul. Yeah, that’s it.

Lauryn Hill – The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill: It’s one of few albums that I can just play, and not stop, and groove to every track with the same fervor. But more than that, I feel like I’m being educated with each word on the truest matter of life, love. Tell Him is like my life’s anthem.

Musiq Soulchild – Aijuswanaseing: and another one. I copped this one from my boy HN, not even knowing what I was listening to. Another album I can play through in its entirety without pause. Love and 143 are tracks that would go on my life’s soundtrack without hesitation. Besides, this is just another groove album of sorts. To me it was a reintroduction to the neosoul vibe. For awhile, this is what music was missing. Musiq found it for us all.

If you've got a few, i'd be curious to see what they are ... out.

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I Ain't Scurred of No Snakes ...

Among the things I did over the weekend included going to see Snakes On A Plane, that new Samuel L. Jackson movie (I prefer not to use the word flick because that makes it sound like porn with snakes, which it might as well have been but that's a story for another day).

I didn't really care to see it. But I needed something to do, and I figured since I onced owned a snake (you learn new ish about me every day if you read), I owed a debt to blow $8 on this film, Snakes On A Plane.

"What kind of a title is that," a friend of mine recently said. "Couldn't they have been more creative."

I don't know. All I know is that I laughed at maybe the most inappropriate time, but for probably the most appropriate reason. Let me explain.

Remember Deep Blue Sea, the movie where one black man (Sam Jack's character) died while reaching the crescendo of a high and mighty speech because a super smart shark decide to have SamJack as his salad and not his entree? Yeah, that one.

Snakes in a Plane harbored a moment just like that. Sam Jack on his high and mighty, on a plane full of crazy ass snakes, and all I could do was hope that one would snatch his ass up and bite the shit out of him like the super smart shark did. But it never happened.

I just bugged up for no reason because it was a perfect moment for that to happen. I don't care if SamJack was the main attraction in this film. It woulda been the equalizer.

Anyways, It was an OK film. If I had to give it up to five stars, it would get three for its entertainment value and that's it. No more because no ungrateful person would unleash that mainly deadly snakes on a plane.

Oh my God, I hope Osama and his friends don't have a movie theater or a bootlegging hustler anywhere near. (and I'm serious)

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Go Shawty ...

"Don't expect much, that way you won't often be disappointed." ~ me.

That's my quote for the day, and always has been on my birthday and around Christmas. Heck, it's actually a motto for everyday life at this point.

Yes, today's my birthday. 26. I'm old as hell. I'd sing myself a song, but that's what six-year-olds do. Plus, I'm still waiting on someone to sing to me the way Marilyn Monroe sang to Mr. President a few scores ago.

I digress. I promised you a birthday story. Well here's the one I'll never forget.

My birthday always falls on a day when schools seemed be lurking around the corner. My freshman year of high school, I was at freshman orientation. My freshman year of college, I moved into Graham Hall's third floor that day.

It was easy for people to say happy birthday because, well, I was around a lot of people. It was alright, aside from that I'd prefer to be on a beach somewhere instead of thinking about textbooks and classes.

But for some reason, school didn't start until like a week later this year. Not bad, right? Wrong.

Let's just say that this was my 16th birthday (I guessing, but considering this to be the 10th anniversary of it, well you get my point) and it wasn't so sweet (not that I preferred it to be).

I think the only people to wish me happy birthday were my mother, my brother rmattwill and my step brother. I didn't mind it despite one thing.

My father and stepmother walked around the house the entire day, and purposely said nothing to me about my birthday, purposely gave me nothing (which I expected) and pretty much ignored me and left me in the house the entire day. I think it was all because of something I did (which I still don't know what I did) wrong.

Pretty ignorant.

I don't think I've had a lower moment in my life. That's not the way you treat your good children, those who should be closest to you. It's one of those things you always live with not believing that it actually happened to you.

I don't rehash the story to relive the past, but I guess it's more so to explain why I don't get upset when my best friends forget my birthday. It happens. Hell, I do it all the time except for Quiana's and Dionne's and Shannon's (because Q's is the first day of every year and Dionne's is the day before mine and because Shanny's is two days before you file your taxes).

If you expect little, you won't necessarily find yourself upset that often.

All that said, I expected a little more than I should have today, and I'm slightly disgruntled. But I'll get over it. Shit happens, including your date of birth.

And Thanks if you wish me a happy b-day (no relations to Beyonce's pending album, although relations with her would make my b-day, lol).

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So Like I Was Saying ...

A few of you are disgruntled with me about my lack of effort on this blog. I apologize (Rule No. 1: never say your sorry).

I haven't been upto anything of too much importance. Mackin and chillin. Waiting for that Big Two Six to come around in a day.

I must say, I feel old. Thought that by this time I'd be living the name to a popular sitcom, "Married With Children" the way the Huxtables did it. What a joke.

Anyways... So what's up? What's good? It's time for me to give you a piece of my mind.

This just in .... Maurice Clarett is a bonafide idiot. I don't think I've ever seen such a dramatic fall from grace without someone dying.

Dude went from scoring the game-winning touchdown in the NCAA football title game in 2003 to the slammer last week with apparent alcohol, self-loathing and lying issues.

I almost felt sorry for the dude - the NFL did screw him over once and Ohio State told him to get a life - until his ignorant words were printed on ESPN.com.

Clarett said "I gotta get my Goose on," while in the Broncos weight room during training camp in 2005. It's no wonder he got cut. Dude was carrying around Grey Goose in a water bottle during practice.

Any idiot should know that drinking alcohol is the last thing you want to do before you do something active (sans sex). Dehydration. Maurice, did you forget about that one?

Anyway, he lost all credit he had with me (please note that he had none to start with).

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Kudos to the people who stopped the most recent terror plot.
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I saw World Trade Center and it was one of the best five films I've seen this year. It stayed away from the finger pointing and hijacking aspects of 9/11 and got to the humanistic side of the story.

It made you realize that even amid so much evil and chaos, people can be good at heart. A good story, and I definitely recommend it. Although I never thought that I would enjoy something like that.
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Happy Birthday Dionne. It's now the 17th. Enjoy your day.
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That's it for today. Maybe I'll tell a story from my childhood tomorrow. A Birthday story. I gotta get back in the writing groove.
------CYA.

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Your Life: The Soundtrack

Opening credits: Al Green’s Love and Happiness

Waking up: Eric Benet’s That’s Just My Way

Average day: Janelle Monae’s Lettin Go

First date: Tevin Campbell’s Can We Talk

Falling in love: Stevie Wonder’s As

Love scene: Janet Jackson’s Anytime, Anyplace

Fight scene: Bone Crusher’s Never Scared

Breaking up: John Legend’s Used To Love You

Getting back together: Alicia Keys’ If I Ain’t Got You

Secret love: Atlantic Starr’s Secret Lovers

Life's okay: Anthony Hamilton’s Ain’t Nobody Worryin’

Mental breakdown: Anthony Hamilton’s Where Did It Go Wrong

Driving: D’Angelo’s Cruisin

Learning a lesson: India.Arie’s Get It Together

Deep thought: Stevie Wonder’s Visions

Flashback: Brian McKnight’s I Remember You

Partying: Michael Jackson’s Rock With You

Happy dance: R. Kelly’s Happy People

Regreting: Notorious BIG’s One More Chance

Long night alone: India.Arie’s Private Party

Death scene: Damien Rice’s The Blower’s Daughter

Closing credits: Jill Scott’s I Keep

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Vic's Entourage ...

I said two posts ago that I Omarion's new song Entourage is my new ish. It's my song on my MySpace page. It's my kick it groove for the moment, and what not.

So it got me thinking. If I were a Hollywood superstar, who would I want to be a part of my Entourage, i.e. the lovely lady I'd want on my arm to make headlines in the tabloids daily.

Being the master of all things listed, I figured I'd come up with a Top 5 of Black women under 30 in Hollywood who could be my Entourage. But then I realized, all of the black women under 30 who are famous are quite whack, or at least I think so.

Think about Superhead. Julissa. Meagan Good.

You can't put Beyonce and Kelly Rowland both on the list. Plus, a little birdie is trying to convince me that Beyonce is really in 30s. I don't really get down with the whole Crunk & B music thing so those women are out of the way as well.

So I guess I'm stuck with picking from all black women. You know what. Bump that. Women period. White, black, Latino, Asian.

6. Angelina Jolie. No list is complete with her. No matter how crazy she may be. She probably got laughed at for her lips in grade school. But they're the sexy lips in Hollywood, botox or not.

5. Eva Mendes. Check that. These may be the sexiest lips in Hollywood. In Hitch, she made me want to be Hitch or hitched or whatever it was so long as it included her.

4. Alicia Keys. This isn't so much about looks as it is about the confidence and sexiness exuded by Keys through her works. Proactiv may have done her wonders, but she's like Stevie on the keys.

3. Maia Campbell. A real black woman. Milk Chocolate. Not a great actress, but who doesn't want one of the finest black women on his arm. I've been in love with her since that show 'In The House' with LL.

2. Scarlett Johanassen. Best lookin white woman in the business. Great actress, and gets some of the most intriguing roles.

1. Gabrielle Union. She has it all, and comes across as a real person, which is most important. You can tell she's still true to her roots. Check that. Her only downfall is that her head is the size on Gina's on Martin, and she constantly has bad weaves. But really, she's smart. sexy. classy. and she could be my entourage all by herself if she wasn't married to some beefed up ex-football player.

Ok, I'm done. Sorry that I didn't use pictures. But you should know what these people look like. lol.

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Who Can You Trust?

... are you for sure?

Remember that Total song. Yeah, I just played with the words a little. But the answer to that question: no one, and sometimes not even yourself.

What am I talking about? This rampant steriod scandal. Barry Bonds. Liar. Justin Gatlin. Liar. Floyd Landis. Liar.

And being the "men are good at heart" type, I want to believe Gatlin and Landis. I want to believe Gatlin is the world most humble and fastest sprinter. I want to believe that Landis can make an eight-minute comeback to win the Tour de Lance. Hell, I even want to believe Barry wasn't juiced.

But at this point, whose words can you trust? Nobody's.

But what's worse is that these idiots (let it be noted that I don't think Barry Bonds is an idiot for trying to beat the system with an then untraceable steriod or fabricating a halfway believeable story to the grand jury, but he is an idiot for evading taxes) Landis and Gatlin actually used performance enhancing drugs knowing full well that they would be caught.

I don't know. I think that I would rather finish second and nobody know my name than be first, have the glory for a few days or weeks, and then go into hiding because I cheated to win and got caught.

It just shows that people have no shame. But what it really shows is that they have no concern for the truth/ That why they come up with elaborate stories to combat the obvious.

"My testosterone levels are normally high."

"Somebody rubbed a cream on me and I didn't know it."

These excuse are like a man up for murder saying he didn't strangle the victim although her skin, blood and DNA were found under his finger nails. Clearly.

Right about now, I don't trust any professional athletes to do right. Sorry. Let me be PC. I wouldn't be surprised if it came out that 90 percent of professional athletes used performance enhancers.

Seriously, if someone told you that if you took steriods for five years of your life you could make $20 million playing baseball, wouldn't you do it? It beats playing the lottery (which I will do tomorrow).

And the other 10 percent? Who cares because they're not winning.

Side Note: I wonder what Shaq would look like on steriods.

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Playing Ketchup

So, I'm less than three weeks away from being 26. Weird, huh? I coulda sworn that when I hit 25 I'd be married with a good-paying job and secure. Not the case.

So Vic Damone is thinking about going to graduate school because of those two facts. I have no obligations (aside from to the Dept. of Education), and by obligations I mean a wife and/or kids and no "good-paying job" to keep me from wanting to go to school full time.

So yeah. That's that. I'll get a GRE prep book in the coming weeks, and start preparing to do something I really didn't think possible five years ago, spending part of my actual adult life in a classroom.

Now, if I win the Powerball, these plans will change accordingly. Two ladies have already offered their hand in marriage if I win. Crazy, huh?

"It's funny how money changes a situation." ~ Lauryn Hill.
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On another front. I hate Omarion. But his song Entourage is my shit.
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A friend of mine recently came up with a new way of saying one of my favorite phrases, "that's hot." ... the new way: That's lava.
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I've got a huge take on this steroids scandal in sports (Barry Bonds, Greg Landis -Tour De Lance, and Justin Gatlin - co-world's fastest man). I'm wondering if these characters actually care about what people think of them or if they're just that greedy. I'll come with that in a few days. It's actually perplexing.
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I've been doing some serious research on cocaine. I know. I've never smoked (or sniffed) it, and never will. I was just really curious to figure out how the government got it into lower-class black neighborhoods in the early 80s. .... If you want to do your own investigation just google "Rick Ross" and "cocaine." It's a really good story, but sad as well. And no Rick Ross is not the Miami rapper who is "Hustlin" daily.
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Miami Vice is the shit.
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Quote of the year:
"My daughters like to be accessorized. Isabella doesn't like to leave the house without a purse.''-- Jean Strahan, who became the ex-wife of Giants defensive end Michael Strahan last week at a family court in Newark, N.J., commenting on why she needed to spend $27,000 on clothing for her twin daughters, who are not yet two.
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And since I had to find some way to make the title of this entry make good sense, I prefer Honey Mustard on my French fries to Ketchup.
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Funniest line from Chappelle Show not out of Dave's mouth:
"Dave, hoes. Hoes, Dave." ~ Wayne Brady

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