1. Wednesday, July 7, 2004

    from the busblog… Thursday, December 27, 2001 

    mariah’s depressed. i know i know it seems like mariah’s always depressed but she never promised me a rose garden.

    this week mariah’s nervous because her record label wants to buy out her $85 million contract. she called and said she wanted to take me out for lunch i said, mariah, some of us work for a living so she said how about after work i said ok. i was feeling hyper as shit because my mom had gotten me (among tons of stuff) a totally great electric blanket and something about it – and having four days off – made me feel rested and rockin.

    Mariah phoned when i got home from work and offered to pick me up and take me out. i said, i’m carsitting chris’s honda. she said dont be silly, i’ll have earl drive us. i said, no, really i’d like to pick you up for once.

    when i got to her pad she had the Clippers game on. “Oh my god, I totally didn’t even know that the 76ers were still in town and they were playing the Clippers, let’s go! I can get us courtside seats!”

    hmmm, i thought to myself, i happen to sorta be dating one of the Clipper Girls, and from what I remember, they happen to work right around the courtside.

    “I know,” I said, “hows about we go to the game and eat dinner up in that restaurant and watch the game from up there?”

    It was a plan.

    The game was good, Iverson didnt heat up till the second half, and dinner was good, I had the shrimp boat. Mariah had the rib eye.

    Around halftime the cosmo’s started kicking in and Mariah started getting into one of her negative rants.

    “Life sucks so bad. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

    “Sshh shhh baby, it’s ok. you’re here to watch Elton Brand and Lamar Odom play the defending East Coast Champs.”

    “I mean in LIFE, Sonny, geeze! I try and I try but people want to diss me and make jokes and all I want to do is make them happy. And when I try to just not even care they call me a bitch.” She started crying. I ordered a ginger ale for her. “Fuck that, I want another Cosmopolitan!”

    I held her hand as she dabbed at her mascara. “Fucking label, fucking people, fucking so-called friends, present company excepted. Fucking teen stars…”

    “What about fucking J.Lo?”

    Mariah glared at me. See, I’m the wrong person to cry to. I know I’m supposed to just allow people to vent, but after a while I have to either add a joke or pile-on or be sarcastic. I think it’s funny. No one else seems to. She yanked her hand away from mine and took a big gulp out of her plastic cup.

    “What was your favorite record this year?”

    I knew she was asking me a trick question, so I went for it.

    “Glitter,” I said.


    “Okay, DMX, or Missy’s record. But then Glitter.” I meant it too, oddly.

    Mariah said, “not the Dylan record?”

    I said, “who?”

    “And why can’t we smoke up in here? What country are we living in?” Mariah directed this at the usher, a pleasant young man who, fortunately couldnt hear her cuz he was too far away, and since he was smart, he kept his distance. I took her hand back.

    “Baby, come on, it’s cool. Just take $45 million from EMI and call it even. Some one will pick you up, and then you’re that much ahead of the game. Who needs EMI anyhow, they’re not even Virgin anymore. It’s not like Richard Brannon is running the show any longer, just pretend you won the lottery, start your own label if you want and sell your shit on the Internet like Prince.”

    Mariah whispered, “when was the last time you heard a new Prince song on the radio?”

    That was my cue to shoot my 151.

    Clippers called a timeout, The Answer had woken up, so I leaned over and whispered something naughty in Mariah’s ear. It brought a little smile to her totally gorgeous face.

    “Really, you’d do that with me?” she giggled.

    “Of course, baby. You know I’d do anything with you. Now let’s just watch the rest of this game, down these mudslides and think happy thoughts.”

    Peace didnt even last the duration of the time out. Mariah was sobbing again and complaining.

    “What about love? Why is there no love anymore. Everything is business or sex or games or maneuverings or politics. Where’s the LOVE?”

    She was becoming loud now. Many people may not know this cuz hoops tickets are so damn expensive, but at real NBA games, unlike college ones, it can get pretty quiet in the stands. You can really hear the squeaks of the sneakers, the ball bouncing, the coaches yell out instructions, and a drunken singer yelling about how the world is a vampire. So I tried to interject.


    “People just want to bone you or use you or abuse you or… Love, where is all the Love that people.. It’s Christmas, I don’t see the Love…”


    “Evil and ugliness, I see a lot of that. But Love… everyone said there was supposed to be Love!”

    “I would Love it if you just SHUT UP!”

    Mariah was shocked. Then she laughed. I laughed too. “Really though. Shut your little trap and watch this game and enjoy yourself and then you can cry all you want.”

    And Mariah put her cup down and put her head on my shoulder and put her little hand on my chest and sobbed softly for a few minutes. And then went to sleep.

    Just like the Clipper defense.

    a dog named clipper + walk with fire + utter wonder