HP Whitey

Since the theft of Lover-Laptop, my efforts have been held captive to the dinosaur Dell hand-me-down from mom and dad.

Floating on student loans has afforded me the new love of my life, H.P. Whitey. Ooph.

Prepare to be bitten.

Stepping Out: saga of sexy in a little-big city

Vampider prowling.
I thought a sex-in-the-cityesque blog could free my creative mess inside, and reconcile my lifestyle to the ideals of the world.
I'm just starting in the middle, though. I'm not going backward to NYC or that ET guide.
I'm starting with last night.
The current sexy situation: Shakers and Fancy men with soul.

Starting out:

Sometimes, you go all out.

You put on thigh-highs with the short skirt, apply night make-up and don the Maker’s Mark black tee.

Some nights, it’s necessary.

Tonight the black boots are tucked under dark skinny-jeans, and my loyalties aren’t vested in a band-tee but a long-sleeved tastefully tight top which draws little attention to sexy me.

First stop:

Founder’s with friends.

Is it mug-club night? Must be.

Pete and Liz are at the bar enjoying the atmosphere, and each other.

Stopping only for a handshake, our table calls to us from deeper in the pub.

Shakers and tambourines scattered along with mugs and glasses beckon invitingly for the seated to create spicy rhythms while shelling peanuts.

It’s an assembly of percussionists.

Bill Vits travels with this shaker-sideshow, and Hugo Claudin encourages the entire affair.

I’m crashing--with permission--taking my fancy-man out to meet some old friends.

Fancy plays guitar and sax; he travels well.

Porter and Cherry ale the popular samples while music and friends form.

Observation:

There’s a natural drive among artists in this city.

They overcome the lack of support; it does not diminish the desire to create.

Whether it’s house-venues such as Mexicans Sans Frontiers or artist communities, open mics or independent theatres, these artists initiate the avenue, generate awareness and liberate creative forces in themselves and others.

Moving on:

Eastown isn’t for hepcats.

Maybe it once was. I moved here in November ’04.

I’ve seen hipsters. I know Juliet Bennet-Rylah.

Eastown is home to a more bluesy-lost-soulful lot.

Who’s who:

In Billy’s no one calls him ‘Fancy,’ and he feels right at home.

Hot Pockets on stage, a Southpaw sighting upon entry and Oberon on tap, he might play, and I might dance.

Of course, we do.

Kenny entered and danced with every lovely girl at the bar. Mia found her feet; I took a spin.

Stepping up to lead guitar, Andy and Chris added flavor to the three piece.

Scotty P’s special effects kept everyone on their toes, while Joe’s rich, soulful voice and steady rhythm led the dance.

Eye on Dick showed his bearded face, along with Morale’s Christian Kremo.

The end:

Closing comes too soon.

Last weekend the adventure was Chicago, where a 4am closing feels too early.

There was talk of Grand Coney, but that’s all it was.

Their Story

By 1975, Western Sahara had been a colony of Spain for almost 100 years. After decades of struggling towards a right for independence, with opposition from Spain, Morocco, and France, the International Court of Justice finally wrote an Advisory Opinion in October of 1975, declaring that neither Morocco to the north or Mauritania to the south had any rights to the Western Sahara.

To view the full document of the International Court of Justice ruling:
Go to www.icj-cij.org
From the list on the left, click “CASES”
Within the paragraph, click on the (Advisory proceedings) link
Scroll down to 1974- Western Sahara and click “more”
The clearest document is under “Summaries of Advisory Opinions and Orders”, but there is much more information available.

Ignoring not only this ruling, but also one that declared a right to referendum for independence, Morocco and Mauritania invaded on November 5, 1975 in what is known as the Green March. Thousands of Saharawi fled eastward for their lives carrying all that they could on their backs and eventually settled in the western corner of Algeria. It was there they waited for the end to a war between Moroccan troops and the Saharawi POLISARIO Front that would not see a cease-fire until 1991, which also brought hopes of fulfillment of the previously promised referendum. During that time a 1000 mile-long mud wall was built by Morocco, dividing the country of Western Sahara diagonally with the western side being occupied by Morocco, and the other 30% being kept by the POLISARIO. As countless families remain separated by this wall and as result of the war, approximately 140,000 refugees are still in the camps of Algeria….waiting.

Over the past 7 years that we have been involved with the Saharawi, the strongest request we get from them continually is to tell their story. We have been striving to tell their story around America, but believe that now is the time to take one more step and BE THEIR VOICE….

• THEIR STORY
• MORE INFO
• CONTACT

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