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Showing posts from May, 2012

The Clubdate Singer Speaks: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The following story is an actual event, as all of the vignettes in the 'Clubdate Singer Speaks' series are. For 8 years, I was a member of one of the top Orchestras in the nation. Though it was an enjoyable time, it was also at times, quite painful. I took to writing initially to assuage my distress, and this is one of those times when the pen (or keyboard) proved to be a healing tool. I have considered publishing this series, and would appreciate your thoughts...   “Mandingo” - 2002 I’m sure that’s what’s on her mind as she watches me. Or perhaps Jungle fever… I listen to the words that I sing, somehow detached…  “I feel a change, something moves, I scream your name, look what you got me doing…  Darling I, can’t get enough of your love babe…” Damn that Barry White! As I sing about his orgasm, my harem grows...  There are four of them now, standing in a half circle in front of me, swaying to the rhythm, leering at me. My congas ar

The Clubdate Singer Speaks: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: The following story is an actual event, as all of the vignettes in the 'Clubdate Singer Speaks' series are. For 8 years, I was a member of one of the top Orchestras in the nation. Though it was an enjoyable time, it was also at times, quite painful. I took to writing initially to assuage my distress, and this is one of those times when the pen (or keyboard) proved to be a healing tool. I have considered publishing this series, and would appreciate your thoughts... “Rosa Parks” - Summer 2003 The first time that I was told to use the back door to get into a Clubdate, I was devastated. I kept trying to convince myself that it had nothing to do with my color, and it probably didn’t. BUT, it still made my stomach knot up. Come to think of it, it’s not a color thing, more a class thing. I know because I had to enter Whoopie Goldberg’s house through the side door too. The reality is this, on a Clubdate you see the essence of classism at work, it i