The first alcohol I had was when I was about 15. Kinda a late bloomer for what was to come. I remember my best friend showed me a couple beers he had acquired, and asked if I wanted to try it. I did. I think I drank about half of the can (I believe it was Schlitz, or some sort of swill); it was amazing. I was plastered! I don't know if it was my proclivities to such a thing or the passage of time, but I recall very little of the day other than that beer.

The first time I drank alcoholically was when I was 17. A thing had just happened, and I couldn't sleep. I was selling pints of hard alcohol to my classmates by then, and thought, "Well, I have a liquor store in my closet...a little nip will help me sleep." It did! Wonder of Wonders! Thus began my real affair with alcohol. I knew it was problem drinking, but ignored this fact and kept at it. Even in high-school, I was obsessed. I would painfully wait for the weekend.

Many baffling stories later, I present this poem to you, about my affair. It's titled "A Affair," because, well, AA. Anywho, stick this in, break it off, and let The Bone stay inside you:

A Affair

I’m in love with Alcohol.

She’s my hottie, my main squeeze.

I can have a different lover every night.

A Manhattan when I want a

city sophisticate,

a White Russian for my identity crisis,

Sex on the Beach for the exhibitionist in me.

And Coors sweating cold for the Cowboys,

Bloody Marys when I wanna ride that Red Tide.

a Hurricane for a quick fuck    up

and a Black Cow for those lonely Nebraska evenings…

Alabama Slammer for those southern sheriff nights,

fuzzy navels for my fixation

and a stiff    Tom           Collins              when

I want to reverse the roles and get fucked      up     

my     ass and a Shirley Temple when I want

to take a life but have no balls so I fuck     one     up.

She’s perfect for parties.

Champagne for a formal,

cans of Bud for the big game,

Vodka and Red Bull

for all-night raves.

And this lady, like Jesus, saves.

All the affairs I’ve had with

gin, tequila, scotch on the rocks

are forgiven on Sunday with a little bit of wine

three hail Mary’s

and Hennessy    for after the sermon

because I ain’t yet filled with the spirit.

And even 80-year-old Brandy can go all night,

can fuck me till I sleep, and when I wake she’s always there –

She never leaves me lonely.

JD Green Rocks the FunkyJazz, Yo!

Last month, I was freaking out. Pretty hard, yo. You see, as a recent discoverer of my own race, I needed suggestions for some good, greasy FunkyJazz. Now, what is FunkyJazz you ask? Well, I'm not sure. But, I know The Brooklyn Jazz Essentials are FunkyJazz. They were reccomended by a, er...fellow Cave Canem Fellow. And, they were supremely Funky and Jazzy. But I was still on the lookout. Then Thelonious Monk was suggested, and that scene rocked my world as well. And then...

On Facebook I found out a CC Fellow JD Green (http://jdgreensoul.com/) had just released her new FunkyJazz album, "diurnal movements". I skipped to Amazon and downloaded it, and, um...wow. Although not greasy at all (in fact, it kinda sounds like Vegitarian Jazz -- light on the grease, heavy on the healthy on the heart) it sounded so good I added "diurnal movements" to my playlist, which includes BJE and Thelonious among other classics.

The first thing I noticed about this album is how clean it sounds. It's like JD is singing right into my ear herself. It's very uncluttered music, which I really appreciate.

The second thing I noticed was the song Funky Soul. Now, what I was looking for was FunkyJazz, but hey. Beggars can't be choosers, and when music is this good (and it's just the "interlude") it's like not even having to make a choice. I used to listen exclusively to Tool, A Perfect Circle and the like. Now, instead of dark Cerberus-style music, my home is filled with love and light. My sons are happier, and the wife is glad I'm listening to music that can both be meditated upon and the background of our, umm...lives. You know, cleaning, cooking and the like.

The best thing about this album is the lyrical quality of the lyrics, especially in the song Commute, which you, dear readers (all five of you) have GOT to listen to. Now, first off, it is a poem committed to music. But it's a really, really good poem, with some really, really fantastic music. I feel guilty listening to this song, because I'm a married man, and the hottness of voice makes me blush, especially when JD hits the nail on the head with the song's reference to old-fashioned candy. That brand of lyric really hits my God Module. Here's some lyrics (I hope the artist doesn't mind):

first kiss

From what I remember

it took some doing

we had to practice

I needed steps, directions

and your willingness

eased my smile.

Was it over the course of days?

Uh, unh, a week.

Each day, after school

your Auntie in the Probe ("Probe" may not be the right word, if not, my bad)

we in the kitchen

smiling but serious.

Ready for the lesson.

Yes. Ahem. Very sensual, very smooth, very I Want to Take Lessons Like These. JD makes old-fashioned candy the perfect metaphor for new love. This song (checking in at over 8 minutes) is reason enough to check out this awesome, awesome album. Do it for America, people. And thanks, JD, for working so hard that folks like me with no musical talent can enjoy some very, very fine FunkyJazz.

-- thebone