Sexy Time Warp
Random bootknocking is so 1992. But if you find yourself in a dilly of a pickle after a night of boomin’ in ya Jeep, be sure to peep Dr. Ding’s wisdoms here.
Without further ado, Boomin’ In Ya Jeep.
Also: Soul Train. Japanese ideogram captions. Don Cornelius. And Color Me Badd, singing “I Wanna Sex You Up”. Their porn ‘staches and fancy dance moves still really boil me auld potato after all these years. Damn.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
And Now For Something Completely Different…
Gentle reader(s). Recently Dr. Ding expressed the urge to wear a cape to her Twitter peeps. One thing led to another, and eventually @groovehouse led me to the following video from Ghostland Observatory.
In short: they rock.
Behold.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Dr. Ding Sings The Blues
Picture it: Paris, 1961.
A solitary, sparrow-like figure, clad in trenchcoat and beret, clutching several thin notebooks and sheafs of paper with grim certainty; her countenance is pale and wan yet somehow she is as luminous as a thousand Jardin des Luxembourg Café candles. Listlessly smoking a Gauloise, she sags against a doorframe as the rain beats down a solemn grey tattoo. “Mon Dieu!” she whispers, her eyes feverish with longing, thinking of her now-faraway lover, of warm, soft sheets, of harsh words that pierce her heart as carelessly as a knife would an apple, if the apple happened to get in the way of the knife, as apples often do. Foolish apples! For what do they know of life?
And now this. She is alone and freshly grieving, cold and soaked-through by the very tears of Montmarte herself, the snooty French bitch. She realizes only now that he would never love her, not as she loved him. Never! The rain would beat on, relentless, her own tears unnoticed, unmourned. Her writings would so too pass on, unread. All in vain. All for nothing. “Alors!” she cries, and throws herself bodily in front of the next passing streetcar, her fragile soul a mere hiccup after a particularly rich meal of foie gras.
“Alors!” indeed mon ami; alors forever.
Bet you thought Dr. Ding Sings The Blues was going to incoporate some Edith Piafian/late-stage French poet tropes, eh? Yeah, well, Dr. Ding ain’t no angsty, beanie-sporting Beatnik writerchick. Screw all that unrequited gloomy existential shit with a self-consciously seriocomic ending. Life is for the living. Get to it.
In the meantime, however, it’s highly recommended that you sing the blues every once in awhile. Blows the dust out of the asscracks of whatever personal demons are troubling you. Here are some of my favorites.
At Last — Etta James
Shotgun — Jr. Walker and the All-Stars
Hellhound On My Trail — Robert Johnson
They’re Red Hot — Robert Johnson
Pride and Joy — Stevie Ray Vaughan
Dearest Darling — Bo Diddley
Who Do You Love — Bo Diddley
Going Down Slow — Little Walter
I’m Tore Down — Eric Clapton
It Hurts Me Too — Junior Wells
The Same Thing — KoKo Taylor
Voodoo Woman — KoKo Taylor
Wang Dang Doodle — KoKo Taylor
Killing Floor — Howlin’ Wolf
Built For Comfort — Howlin’ Wolf
BOOM BOOM — John Lee Hooker
Sugar Mama — The Bel Airs
Going to the River — The Bel Airs
That oughta get your mojo workin’.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
I’m On Vacation, Bitches
Dr. Ding is enjoying the Arctic temperatures of the veryfine Lincoln, NE. Yesterday it was fawty degrees outside. I loved it. It stirs my Midwestern blood, made phlegmatic from the sultry southern stylings of Houston weather.
Last night my posse and I paid homage to The Bel-Airs at the infamous Zoo Bar. Shari got the Bel-Airs to give Dr. Ding a shout-out in the form of the song “Sugar Mama” (which in my head is of course spelled Sugar Momma). It was HOT. Gail and I two-stepped like a house afire, and I shook my sweet fancy ass all night long. Well, I shook it until about 11:50, when we left b/c Shari had to get up early to do a fundraiser. We are, after all, mature and classy broads with social obligations beyond mere rumpshaking and the frequent shouting of the phrase “Sang it, baby! Who’s ya mama!” at well-timed intervals. But Oh what a time we had.
I’ll post pics later, if I can be bothered.
I’m on vacation, bitches.
Now if you’ll buhscuse me, Dr. Ding got some sashay latte to drink, some more Doritoes to consume di-reckly out of the bag, and a pilgrimage to ShopKo to undertake whereupon I will commence to purchasing some very reasonably priced casual clothing. Very busy here.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
All I Wanna Do Is…
This song, “Paper Planes” has generated a lot of controversy, probably because it’s easy to miss M.I.A.’s message thanks to the incredibly catchy hook, not to mention her rocking of that sweet, old-school ripstop nylon jacket that your Mimi wore to the Shalom Retirement Village’s “Bingo Madness Party” circa 1989 . Which is totally different from Hipster Bingo.
The “Paper Planes” video works on at least a couple of different levels of sociopolitical critique and also invites the viewer to examine the more performative aspects of the big-ass bamboo earrings Dr. Ding coveted back in the summer of 1990. Which is reason alone to like it.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Do Your Dance: Psychological Romance
Cameo wasn’t singing about some uptight, lame-assed Dance of Communicating Get Real Intimacy Boundaries From Mars Dance, baby.
Their message is blissfully simple: Word Up.
If this jam doesn’t make you want to wave your hands in the air like you don’t care, then you’re made of stone and Dr. Ding has no use for you.
Plus, it’s Geordi LaForge in a pivotal role as the detective, people! This must have been made during Levar Burton’s fallow period after Roots and prior to ST:TNG.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |