It's been a long time, I know. Two years and eight months to be exact. I've been busy living and learning and loving life.
Because my life has changed, so has my writing. I'm happier in my work, I'm happy in love, I'm happier in me. I'm getting along with the familial unit and I've shed some dead-weight friendships.
Back in '09 and '08, my writing was decidedly down and out. I also didn't use caps at all--annoying, I know. I was sad and unhappy about so much. But I'm excited to enter this lighter phase of my life and I'm happy to share this newness.
I'm a GA girl who has called Harlem, NYC home for the past 8 years. I need to lose 50 pounds, figure out what to do with my natural hair and move on up at work. I also need to remember how to be in a relationship and quit smoking. I'm also writing a book.
Some things about my old blog will remain the same. I'll talk about music, relationships and provide general, unwarranted advice and observations. I'll share some short story excerpts and ask for feedback if you got it.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
tardy...
This morning she would not be late.
He had not come to her at 2am and made love to her until 4, causing her to ignore her alarm and hit the snooze button every 7 minutes. She could not bear, at 6:37am, to leave the warmth emanating from the left side of the bed; his arms wrapped around her bigness, his sighs and moans every time she repositioned herself.
She was late for work when he slept over because she made them both cups of coffee and they smoked cigarettes as they commented on the first run of the day’s news. They spoke of their early morning lovemaking and even if time did not permit, they would make love again. He complimented her naked body as she moved thoughtfully about the bedroom, the clock on the nightstand reaffirming what she knew full well: she would be late again today.
She took much care dressing herself, she wanted him to admire her tops and scarves. She went to great pains in applying her makeup flawlessly They often left the apartment together when she technically should have been at work and though she nearly ran from the subway to her office, she regretted not one bit the mornings they spent.
This morning she would not be late.
He had not come to her at 2am and made love to her until 4, causing her to ignore her alarm and hit the snooze button every 7 minutes. She could not bear, at 6:37am, to leave the warmth emanating from the left side of the bed; his arms wrapped around her bigness, his sighs and moans every time she repositioned herself.
She was late for work when he slept over because she made them both cups of coffee and they smoked cigarettes as they commented on the first run of the day’s news. They spoke of their early morning lovemaking and even if time did not permit, they would make love again. He complimented her naked body as she moved thoughtfully about the bedroom, the clock on the nightstand reaffirming what she knew full well: she would be late again today.
She took much care dressing herself, she wanted him to admire her tops and scarves. She went to great pains in applying her makeup flawlessly They often left the apartment together when she technically should have been at work and though she nearly ran from the subway to her office, she regretted not one bit the mornings they spent.
This morning she would not be late.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
whatchu know good?
when i was little, on what seemed to be daily visits to my grandma's house, my grandma would always ask me "whatchu know good?" i'd always respond, "nothing."
she'd say, "you don't know nothing good?" and i'd stick with my answer, "no." she'd laugh and glance off into the distance and mumble something about young folk, life and gettin' old one day.
my grandma was old and blind, and smelled like ben-gay. i was young and a little deaf and didn't really like going to her house much. i felt i couldn't relate to her and more importantly was quite annoyed by her daily question, "whatchu know good?"
now, a few weeks after my 28th birthday and a few days after the passing of a close friend, i'm absolutely positive i've got an answer for "whatchu know good?"
i know that my creator is great and that my life is magnificently ordered.
i know that friends and family are as important as success and fortune.
i know that injustice exists all over the world and we must all do our part, however small, in our own lives to end it.
i know that youth and beauty fade but age and experience don't.
there's always good news to tell. whether or not we choose to tell it is another story.
i painted my nails yellow yesterday to bring myself a little bit of sunshine during this gray and gloomy weather in nyc. i hope that you find ways to constantly remind yourself of the good in your life and find ways to inject a bit of sunshine in your gloomy days.
she'd say, "you don't know nothing good?" and i'd stick with my answer, "no." she'd laugh and glance off into the distance and mumble something about young folk, life and gettin' old one day.
my grandma was old and blind, and smelled like ben-gay. i was young and a little deaf and didn't really like going to her house much. i felt i couldn't relate to her and more importantly was quite annoyed by her daily question, "whatchu know good?"
now, a few weeks after my 28th birthday and a few days after the passing of a close friend, i'm absolutely positive i've got an answer for "whatchu know good?"
i know that my creator is great and that my life is magnificently ordered.
i know that friends and family are as important as success and fortune.
i know that injustice exists all over the world and we must all do our part, however small, in our own lives to end it.
i know that youth and beauty fade but age and experience don't.
there's always good news to tell. whether or not we choose to tell it is another story.
i painted my nails yellow yesterday to bring myself a little bit of sunshine during this gray and gloomy weather in nyc. i hope that you find ways to constantly remind yourself of the good in your life and find ways to inject a bit of sunshine in your gloomy days.
Monday, October 26, 2009
back for seconds...
i hung out with an ex/current lover last night. we met at a bar and got drunk, had some dinner and went back to his place.
he proceeded to fuck the life out of me for the rest of the night. he seemed like he was on a mission to make me remember why i was so into him. (he also made me remember why it's so hard for me to get over him.)
notes for new post: dick as a deadly weapon.
today, not even six hours after our last romp, i wanted more. i reached out to him and we had the following exchange:
he's right. i always come back for seconds.
i unapologetically overindulge in every aspect of my life. food, sex, drugs, money, you name it. i say, "go hard or go home." i also spend a lot of time at the gym (keeping the weight in check), at the obgyn (keeping the coochie in check), my second job (keeping a second check), and 12-step meetings (keeping the party girl in check).
i've taken a bit of pride in being this girl who constantly pushes the limit.
but what's to be said about a girl who is never satisfied? who always wants more? who can't get enough?
crash and burn.
he proceeded to fuck the life out of me for the rest of the night. he seemed like he was on a mission to make me remember why i was so into him. (he also made me remember why it's so hard for me to get over him.)
notes for new post: dick as a deadly weapon.
today, not even six hours after our last romp, i wanted more. i reached out to him and we had the following exchange:
me: dinner later? i'm feignin for some chicken and ribs!!!!
him: wilding lol. maybe. let me see how the day goes sweet. you never get enough, do you? you always want to come back for seconds.
me: you know i can never get enough. plus i don't think i properly repaid your kindness last night.
him: i think you did repay and you have to learn to be more satisfied sometimes. makes it more exciting. :)
he's right. i always come back for seconds.
i unapologetically overindulge in every aspect of my life. food, sex, drugs, money, you name it. i say, "go hard or go home." i also spend a lot of time at the gym (keeping the weight in check), at the obgyn (keeping the coochie in check), my second job (keeping a second check), and 12-step meetings (keeping the party girl in check).
i've taken a bit of pride in being this girl who constantly pushes the limit.
but what's to be said about a girl who is never satisfied? who always wants more? who can't get enough?
crash and burn.
Monday, October 19, 2009
blame it on the alcohol or whatever...
my last post was pretay wack. it ended abrubtly and even had some facts wrong. my right ear is the one that pretty much sucks, not my left. how could i screw that up?
i think i was just writing to write that day. nothing wrong with that.
p.s. great sex was had last night. yum. yum.
i think i was just writing to write that day. nothing wrong with that.
p.s. great sex was had last night. yum. yum.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
i hear you...
there's a gym right next to the building i work in.
the two buildings share an elevator that the gym staff uses to transport dirty towels, big bulky items and the like.
today i was standing out front having a cigarette and out of the corner of my eye i see one of the gym employees trying to maneuver a big bulky cart of towels toward the door.
i immediately stepped to the side so he'd have easier access to the handicap ramp. he mumbles what seems to be hello and i say hello back. then he took his index finger and made a circle around his face and smiled. i said thank you and he disappeared inside the building.
this man is deaf. i figured it out a few months ago when i casually said good morning to him on the elevator and he said nothing back. at first i thought, "what an ass!" the next time i saw him i put on my ice grill and prepared myself to ignore him. (it is very true that it takes way more work to go out of your way to be a bitch than to not be a bitch.)
he mumbled hello and i immediately understood he was deaf. we smiled and i put my head down, uncomfortable, and fidgeted with my phone.
we've seen each other several times since then and we always smile, say hello, acknowledging the others humanity.
i have a fear of going deaf. my ears have been a problem for me since childhood. constant ear infections destroyed my inner ear. i have two brand new eardrums to show for the trauma.
my hearing in my right ear is a little better than in the left. i don't use my left ear much. i don't have phone conversations using my left ear. sometimes i tilt my head to the right to hear a little better during conversations. the tv volume is sometimes high and i'm subconscious about that when i'm not watching tv alone. i listen to music very loudly in my apartment and in the car.
i only tell my lovers about this 'handicap' when we've known each other for quite sometime and i'm comfortable enough sharing a weakness. the conversation usually begins with me asking, "can you hear the tv?"
"yeah, it's fine."
"do you mind if i turn it up a bit?"
"not at all."
"i'm a little deaf sometimes."
then i explain.
the two buildings share an elevator that the gym staff uses to transport dirty towels, big bulky items and the like.
today i was standing out front having a cigarette and out of the corner of my eye i see one of the gym employees trying to maneuver a big bulky cart of towels toward the door.
i immediately stepped to the side so he'd have easier access to the handicap ramp. he mumbles what seems to be hello and i say hello back. then he took his index finger and made a circle around his face and smiled. i said thank you and he disappeared inside the building.
this man is deaf. i figured it out a few months ago when i casually said good morning to him on the elevator and he said nothing back. at first i thought, "what an ass!" the next time i saw him i put on my ice grill and prepared myself to ignore him. (it is very true that it takes way more work to go out of your way to be a bitch than to not be a bitch.)
he mumbled hello and i immediately understood he was deaf. we smiled and i put my head down, uncomfortable, and fidgeted with my phone.
we've seen each other several times since then and we always smile, say hello, acknowledging the others humanity.
i have a fear of going deaf. my ears have been a problem for me since childhood. constant ear infections destroyed my inner ear. i have two brand new eardrums to show for the trauma.
my hearing in my right ear is a little better than in the left. i don't use my left ear much. i don't have phone conversations using my left ear. sometimes i tilt my head to the right to hear a little better during conversations. the tv volume is sometimes high and i'm subconscious about that when i'm not watching tv alone. i listen to music very loudly in my apartment and in the car.
i only tell my lovers about this 'handicap' when we've known each other for quite sometime and i'm comfortable enough sharing a weakness. the conversation usually begins with me asking, "can you hear the tv?"
"yeah, it's fine."
"do you mind if i turn it up a bit?"
"not at all."
"i'm a little deaf sometimes."
then i explain.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
uncle bruh
i saw a man a while back that reminded me of my long, lanky uncle, uncle bruh (negro for brother).
when i was little we would see uncle bruh softly mumbling to himself while walking along the shoulder of a semi-busy highway headed to hardee's for the senior citizen coffee special. 15 cents a cup.
his arms would move back and forth at his side with each calculated stride. his salt and pepper hair most times needed to be cut but it was always combed. his shirt was always tucked neatly into his pants and his shoes were old but in okay condition.
uncle bruh had an impeccable memory and though he often forgot to brush his few remaining teeth he always remembered birthdays, anniversaries, graduations and divorce dates.
sometimes when i was younger he would kiss me on the mouth smelling of cigarettes and something else. it wasn't until i was a woman that i realized the smell was tobacco smoke and sex.
i was visiting my hometown recently and headed to my aunt's 69th birthday party. my sister and little niece came along for the ride. we saw uncle bruh walking along a semi-busy highway headed to mcdonald's for the senior citizen coffee special. 50 cents a cup.
"is that uncle bruh?" i asked my sister.
"yeah, that's him."
"should we stop?"
silence.
"let's stop," i said and swerved into a gas station parking lot.
i jumped out the car and loudly identified myself, "uncle bruh, this crystal!"
he strode up to the car and looked at me up and down and said, "ah, crissy. how you doin, girl?"
"i'm good, uncle bruh. how you doin'?"
"i'm doin tolerably well, tolerably well."
uncle bruh looked over at the car and saw balloons floating in the backseat.
"glossine's having a birthday party," i offered, "you wanna come?"
"i got to get to church later but you tell everybody i said 'hey'."
"you want a ride?"
"well," he paused.
uncle bruh didn't usually take rides from family members because he preferred to walk. uncle bruh was a notorious walker. he'd walk miles and miles each day, to church, for cigarettes, for coffee, for nothing. summer, winter, wet, dry, he walked. it seemed he'd gotten walking down to a science. his gait was perfectly suited for his size (he was tall. my height. six feet. skinny. skinnier now that he was old.) and the distance he wanted to cover in a day.
today he accepted the offer.
i drove him to the home he shared with several older men who'd served in vietnam and maybe had schizophrenia like him. a nurse who lived on site made sure the men took their medications and got to doctor's appointments and cooked for the men and cleaned the home as well.
on the ride there he pointed his umbrella at the gps unit attached to the window, "what's that?"
"it's a gps. you can enter in addresses and it tells you how to get there."
"it talks?" he asked.
"yeah, it talks."
"well, then." he sat back in the seat.
but then:
"you lived here all your life and don't know how to get around, girl?"
"sometimes it helps to have someone tell you where to go even if you think you know where you goin'," i offered.
even i didn't believe that. uncle bruh didn't say a word.
we arrived at his home and before he got out i shoved some 'cigarette money' in hand. 10 bucks. uncle bruh smoked like a chimney. so did i.
he hugged me and told me it was good to see me. i said the same.
i watched him from the car as he sat on the porch with three other men and pointed to the car. the men all turned in my direction and as i cranked the car and pulled out of the driveway i could see him telling my story about how i moved up north in 2003 and hadn't gotten married yet and needed a machine to show me the way home.
when i was little we would see uncle bruh softly mumbling to himself while walking along the shoulder of a semi-busy highway headed to hardee's for the senior citizen coffee special. 15 cents a cup.
his arms would move back and forth at his side with each calculated stride. his salt and pepper hair most times needed to be cut but it was always combed. his shirt was always tucked neatly into his pants and his shoes were old but in okay condition.
uncle bruh had an impeccable memory and though he often forgot to brush his few remaining teeth he always remembered birthdays, anniversaries, graduations and divorce dates.
sometimes when i was younger he would kiss me on the mouth smelling of cigarettes and something else. it wasn't until i was a woman that i realized the smell was tobacco smoke and sex.
i was visiting my hometown recently and headed to my aunt's 69th birthday party. my sister and little niece came along for the ride. we saw uncle bruh walking along a semi-busy highway headed to mcdonald's for the senior citizen coffee special. 50 cents a cup.
"is that uncle bruh?" i asked my sister.
"yeah, that's him."
"should we stop?"
silence.
"let's stop," i said and swerved into a gas station parking lot.
i jumped out the car and loudly identified myself, "uncle bruh, this crystal!"
he strode up to the car and looked at me up and down and said, "ah, crissy. how you doin, girl?"
"i'm good, uncle bruh. how you doin'?"
"i'm doin tolerably well, tolerably well."
uncle bruh looked over at the car and saw balloons floating in the backseat.
"glossine's having a birthday party," i offered, "you wanna come?"
"i got to get to church later but you tell everybody i said 'hey'."
"you want a ride?"
"well," he paused.
uncle bruh didn't usually take rides from family members because he preferred to walk. uncle bruh was a notorious walker. he'd walk miles and miles each day, to church, for cigarettes, for coffee, for nothing. summer, winter, wet, dry, he walked. it seemed he'd gotten walking down to a science. his gait was perfectly suited for his size (he was tall. my height. six feet. skinny. skinnier now that he was old.) and the distance he wanted to cover in a day.
today he accepted the offer.
i drove him to the home he shared with several older men who'd served in vietnam and maybe had schizophrenia like him. a nurse who lived on site made sure the men took their medications and got to doctor's appointments and cooked for the men and cleaned the home as well.
on the ride there he pointed his umbrella at the gps unit attached to the window, "what's that?"
"it's a gps. you can enter in addresses and it tells you how to get there."
"it talks?" he asked.
"yeah, it talks."
"well, then." he sat back in the seat.
but then:
"you lived here all your life and don't know how to get around, girl?"
"sometimes it helps to have someone tell you where to go even if you think you know where you goin'," i offered.
even i didn't believe that. uncle bruh didn't say a word.
we arrived at his home and before he got out i shoved some 'cigarette money' in hand. 10 bucks. uncle bruh smoked like a chimney. so did i.
he hugged me and told me it was good to see me. i said the same.
i watched him from the car as he sat on the porch with three other men and pointed to the car. the men all turned in my direction and as i cranked the car and pulled out of the driveway i could see him telling my story about how i moved up north in 2003 and hadn't gotten married yet and needed a machine to show me the way home.
Friday, October 2, 2009
four girls
you knew they were on their way somewhere. the accessories and skirts and cautiously applied makeup let you know. and they sat together closely, leaning in to get in on the conversation and uh huh-ing and yeah-ing only when appropriate.
and then the game began, the asking of questions between girls. the game being not answering but firing out another question in response to the first question. the loser is the girl who is caught off guard by a question-"why did you kiss stephen?"-and answers-"i don't know."
they play from brooklyn to manhattan and their conversation though sometimes idle kept the attention of the other riders. they spoke of hip-hop and college, michael's death and boys.
i watched these girls and thought of my teenage years and how irresistibly hungry i was to experience the world. to apply makeup and fancy skirts and flats to prepare to go somewhere--anywhere.
these girls make me proud. they are the antithesis of the loud, cursing wanna-be-seen teens that will, by any means necessary, have their humanity acknowledged by onlookers. cursing, laughing, hogging seats, calling each other nigga, boasting of sexual conquests--real and imagined--yearning to no longer be invisible.
and then the game began, the asking of questions between girls. the game being not answering but firing out another question in response to the first question. the loser is the girl who is caught off guard by a question-"why did you kiss stephen?"-and answers-"i don't know."
they play from brooklyn to manhattan and their conversation though sometimes idle kept the attention of the other riders. they spoke of hip-hop and college, michael's death and boys.
i watched these girls and thought of my teenage years and how irresistibly hungry i was to experience the world. to apply makeup and fancy skirts and flats to prepare to go somewhere--anywhere.
these girls make me proud. they are the antithesis of the loud, cursing wanna-be-seen teens that will, by any means necessary, have their humanity acknowledged by onlookers. cursing, laughing, hogging seats, calling each other nigga, boasting of sexual conquests--real and imagined--yearning to no longer be invisible.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
heartbreak
and now she knew what it felt like. this numb feeling washed over her when he left her. but how could he leave her when he wasn't ever really there to begin with?
her girlfriends consoled and counseled her, told her, "it's not you, it's him." she didn't think anything was wrong with her at all. maybe she overreacted a few times, called him some names, just simply blew up, but that was just her. he knew what he was getting into.
she didn't feel betrayed or angry or vindictive, her heart was broken and it hurt like hell.
she joined the gym and bought new makeup and tried new nailpolish. she cut and colored her hair and paid too much for a pair of boots. she smiled more in public and touched men's arms when she spoke to them. she felt pretty and it showed.
at night when she crawled into her too big bed and curled up and closed her eyes, she longed to feel his leanness behind her. his huge hand cupping her left breast. his face nuzzled at her neck. his dick most often erect. his legs pushing hers apart. this would be the thing she missed most.
she noticed men more and how many there actually were in the world. short, tall, big, small, bald, not, handsome, not. she could feel her need for sex oozing from her pores. the men could smell it.
her girlfriends consoled and counseled her, told her, "it's not you, it's him." she didn't think anything was wrong with her at all. maybe she overreacted a few times, called him some names, just simply blew up, but that was just her. he knew what he was getting into.
she didn't feel betrayed or angry or vindictive, her heart was broken and it hurt like hell.
she joined the gym and bought new makeup and tried new nailpolish. she cut and colored her hair and paid too much for a pair of boots. she smiled more in public and touched men's arms when she spoke to them. she felt pretty and it showed.
at night when she crawled into her too big bed and curled up and closed her eyes, she longed to feel his leanness behind her. his huge hand cupping her left breast. his face nuzzled at her neck. his dick most often erect. his legs pushing hers apart. this would be the thing she missed most.
she noticed men more and how many there actually were in the world. short, tall, big, small, bald, not, handsome, not. she could feel her need for sex oozing from her pores. the men could smell it.
Friday, August 28, 2009
me likey...
i'm thinking about myself and my life and the people that are constantly rotating in and out of it, these people make my life pretty damn interesting.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
po lice
it seemed to her that she felt least safe now. there she sat in a subway car in new york city with seven policeman crowded around her and she felt like something was very wrong. she felt not this unsafe moments ago when a man too familiarly approached her and she hastily brushed him off.
maybe she'd been watching too many episodes of 'the wire'. maybe she'd romanticized police work. but the policeman standing in front of her huddled in their little police circle, one of whom whose calf kept brushing the hem of her dress, did not look physically capable of climbing a flight of stairs. their conversation made them appear mentally incapable of solving a crossword puzzle--no need to think about solving a crime.
maybe she'd been watching too many episodes of 'the wire'. maybe she'd romanticized police work. but the policeman standing in front of her huddled in their little police circle, one of whom whose calf kept brushing the hem of her dress, did not look physically capable of climbing a flight of stairs. their conversation made them appear mentally incapable of solving a crossword puzzle--no need to think about solving a crime.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
vomit
for 20 years her father had been a maintenance man who'd cleaned the vomit of drunk 20-somethings-going-home-to-fuck-and-not-call-again off subway stairs. because of this she was always conscious of and thankful for well-kept (as well-kept as new york city mass transit can be) subway stations. to most new yorkers the subway itself was a cesspool of bacteria and germs from babies, the homeless and folks that just didn't give a fuck about releasing bodily fluids wherever they stood, sat, or leaned. to her the overpowering smell of bleach that often seized the subway car she rode in let her know that at least they were being cleaned.
she didn't know why but she felt safe around people that cleaned things for a living. a certain amount of pride had to be had in order to clean something--to clean up after people. even if a piss poor job was done the effort had been made to make the dirty clean.
her father--though he cleaned for a living--was a slob at home. she always felt he was bucking the system. giving a ginormous middle finger to the system that made it so a moderately intelligent and hardworking man whose parents didn't quite have enough to send him to college made a living cleaning vomit from subway stairs.
she didn't know why but she felt safe around people that cleaned things for a living. a certain amount of pride had to be had in order to clean something--to clean up after people. even if a piss poor job was done the effort had been made to make the dirty clean.
her father--though he cleaned for a living--was a slob at home. she always felt he was bucking the system. giving a ginormous middle finger to the system that made it so a moderately intelligent and hardworking man whose parents didn't quite have enough to send him to college made a living cleaning vomit from subway stairs.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
breathing again...
i've been running away from home lately in an attempt to get some breathing room to just be. i'm feeling really inspired and creative lately as a result and i just want to write.
this blog, for a while at least, will be a space where i can share short stories. i've got a few ideas for books of short stories and i'd like to try out some ideas here.
of course there will be my usual rants and raves about sex, relationships, and political and pop culture fuckery but i'm going to try to dedicate the next month or so to writing fiction.
by the end of this month i'd like to have a few strong pieces to build on.
it's time to start taking my dreams somewhere.
love and light,
crystal
this blog, for a while at least, will be a space where i can share short stories. i've got a few ideas for books of short stories and i'd like to try out some ideas here.
of course there will be my usual rants and raves about sex, relationships, and political and pop culture fuckery but i'm going to try to dedicate the next month or so to writing fiction.
by the end of this month i'd like to have a few strong pieces to build on.
it's time to start taking my dreams somewhere.
love and light,
crystal
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
eminem's relapse
"i can't admit or come to grips/ with the fact that i may be done with rap/i need a new outlet" --eminem, relapse, 'beautiful'
'beautiful' is the only track on relapse that eminem produced himself. i use this track to talk about the entire album because it's the only track on the album dre didn't touch. lyrically and production-wise, it's all eminem. (btw, he sampled rock therapy's 'reaching out') on 'beautiful', he admits his frustration with the fact that he might not be so suited for the rap thing anymore. he also urges us to "walk a mile in his shoes" while reminding us that he'll be "one tough act to follow". what a way to bow out. therefore i don't think we'll be hearing much from em after this. he didn't do this album to prove anything to the rest of us or even himself. relapse is em's epilogue.
unfortunately, this album won't be a critical success. the subject matter is dated, his flow isn't as groundbreaking as it was a few years back and the whole white-boy-rapping phenomenon no longer exists. plus, let's face it, in these tough economic times the last thing folk wanna hear is somebody talking about killing folks and drinking their bathwater. when shit gets bad people wanna dance and forget. we want to listen to music that doesn't remind us that rent is due. thus the recent pervasiveness of pop music in hip hop.
UPDATE: 2.5 years later I find I was completely wrong about this album. It did well and Em continues to sell more records than ever.
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