The Butt Freak Blues: A Poetry Book

Yesterday, I received a box of my poetry books titled The Butt Freak Blues.

Box of Butt Freak Blues Books

Here’s three samples from the book.

Lovers' Quarrel (poetry excerpt)

Team Spirit (poetry excerpt)

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There’s three ways to buy copies. One way is buying off Amazon.

If you’re local in the Central Florida area, you can probably run into me and I’ll sell it to you for ten bucks. Plus I’ll autograph it.

The third way is ordering from me personally. With that, I will mail you the book with an autograph.

Signed and Mailed Book

The price would be ten bucks plus four bucks for shipping and handling. Folks out of the USA will be charged more for shipping and handling.  For out of the country, the shipping and handling usually runs six to twelve bucks.

To order from me personally, send  your name and address to my email: Patrickbarne@gmail.com.

 

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Cindy Wilson of The B-52’s and Selfies with Friends at Orlando’s Will’s Pub

Last Thursday night, I drove to Orlando’s Will’s Pub. I was going to see Cindy Wilson of the B-52’s perform.

Cindy Wilson of B-52's at Orlando's Will's Pub

Many folks may know the B-52’s song “Love Shack”.

When I arrived, tickets sold out. Yet, someone hooked me up.

The show was in honor of Billy Manes.

 

Billy Manes on right

Billy Manes on left.

The Central Florida writer, activist and former editor of gay-oriented paper Watermark recently passed away.

During the night, I took selfies with friends I hadn’t seen in awhile.

 

 

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36 Multiracial Photos of Orlando Nightlife Women

In a previous blog, I mentioned being let go from Orlando’s The Beacham. This included photographing Aero, The Social on Sunday nights, 64 North and The Patio.

Yet, I still have a few more women photos of those places to share. This is the last of them.

Enjoy!

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Old Photos of the Walt Disney World Parade

Today, I scanned old Walt Disney World photos my late mother took. All of them are of the parade that happened daily. Despite my living in Central Florida, I hadn’t been to Walt Disney World since 1990. So, I really don’t know if the parade still happens.

Also, I really don’t know the time period of these photos. I guess they were taken either in 1974 or 1975.

Enjoy!

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Fired from my Orlando Nightclub Photographer Job

This morning, I received a phone call saying I was let go as photographer for Beacham Nightclub. As I say Beacham, this includes Aero, The Patio, The Social and 64 North. At the bottom of this blog post, the reader will see the offending photo that got me fired.

Last Saturday, I posted the photo on Facebook. After that, I tagged someone in the photo. Then, that person shared the image on his Facebook page.

I guess that’s when Beacham managers or whomever saw the photo.

Later that day, I received a phone call to take it down. I did as told.

After that, I thought things were cool. Yet, the phone call I received this morning proved things weren’t cool.

Looking from the Beacham’s point of view, I guess they figured having me around was going to be a liability. Even after telling me they wanted positive photos, I guess they feared me continuing posting photos of drunk dudes being carried out of the establishment by security. I guess they feared images like that were going to ruin their image. Truth be known, I understand that, especially seeing that I posted the logo on the pic.

By the way, the logo was somewhat of an accident. Until you click on the pic, you don’t see the logo. When I uploaded the pic on Facebook, I forgot the logo was on.

Time to move on, no use wasting energy fueling anger over the situation. Shit happens.

The Beacham 7-14-2017 227

Drunk guy being carried out of Orlando’s The Beacham.  Posting this on Facebook got my ass booted as the photographer.

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My Troubles of Getting a Photo Ready for an Internationally-Known Gallery

This Friday, one of my photos will display in Snap Space’s Downtown Orlando photo gallery. It’s a photo of a guy flipping at Aero Nightclub.

The Flipper at Aero An Orlando spot run by French-born Patrick Kahn, Snap Space is mentioned in the NYC-based magazine Photograph.

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When one of my photos was chosen, I cried. Yep, I ain’t ashamed to admit it.  I was so damned happy an internationally-known photo gallery accepted one of my pics.

Yet, boy, did I have problems getting the photo gallery-ready.  First, minimum size  requirement for a photo was 16×20.  Despite owning a 24 megapixel camera, I usually shoot in lower megapixels.  I had no idea if I had enough megapixels to print that high.

When I ordered the first print online, I found out 16×20 was the highest I could print without showing obvious pixilation.  After ordering from Mpix, I saw the photo looked pretty damned good at that size. Yet, I didn’t like the paper it was printed on, an almost matte finish paper.  I don’t like matte finish because unlike glossy, the colors are dull.

Next, I drove to Orlando art supply store Sam Flax to have the photo printed and framed.  I ordered a satin 16×20 print. Yet, because of the actual size of the photo I brought on a CD, I was going to get a 16×24 print. Plus I was going to receive a custom frame.

A few hours at home, a thought hit me. The print I ordered was not the actual photo accepted by Snap. Unlike my order, the photo I presented was cropped, the actual 16×20 proportions.

The next day, I called Sam Flax cancelling the order.  As I called, I wondered if I was too late meeting my Snap deadline for delivering a framed photo. Nobody answered. So, I wound up leaving a message.

This was a Sunday. Monday morning, I received a call saying it wasn’t too late.

Before I delivered the correct print to Sam Flax, I edited Sunday night photos taken at Orlando’s Beacham Nightclub.  As I edited, my software setting placed a logo on each photo. In a folder, you can’t see the logo until you click on the photo.

After editing Beacham photos, I found my photo for Snap.  With the same software, I placed that photo in a folder. Then, after burning it on a CD, I rushed the photo to Sam Flax.

Everything seemed fine, until I saw the finished product. This was Thursday, the day before my Friday Snap deadline. The finished product displayed my photo containing the logo I placed on Sunday night’s pics.Original Snap Photo -The Flipper  When I saw that, I freaked.

Like I mentioned earlier, if I had clicked on the actual photo, I would have seen the logo. Yet, when I burned the photo on the CD, I didn’t see it.

Now, I had to wait for the printing guy to show up on Saturday, which meant my delivering the photo was going to be late.

This wasn’t the first time I screwed up with Patrick Kahn. After e-mailing him an e-book of my cellphone pics, he wanted to meet me. Yet, because I didn’t have reliable transportation at the time, I didn’t take Patrick up on his offer. Now, for the second time, I fucked up with Patrick.

I e-mailed Patrick explaining my dilemma. He answered by saying it was cool delivering the print on Saturday.

Saturday morning, Patrick messaged me saying he talked with Sam Flax about my situation. He asked that I please deliver the photo image to Sam Flax. Also, he mentioned needing the photo early that afternoon.

Previously, like I discussed with another guy, I had already emailed the image to Sam Flax.  So, when I called Sam Flax, the print guy said he received the corrected version, the one with no fucking logo. He also said after framing the photo, someone would call me back.

Because it was nearby, I drove to a local Barnes-N-Noble bookstore. Yet, during my looking through magazines and drinking Diet Pepsi, my ass couldn’t sit still.

Because of my restlessness, I headed outside. Then, I walked around the whole plaza Barnes-N-Noble is located in.  I didn’t want to be an annoying dick. Yet, as hours already passed by, I still felt like calling Sam Flax about my photo’s update.

Around 4 PM, I called anyway. I found out Patrick was picking up supplies from the store. During that trip, he picked up my finished product.

Sam Flax’s not calling me back like promised annoyed me a little bit. It looked like I was doing all that restless waiting for nothing. Yet, being angry wasn’t worth running up my already high blood pressure. The more important thing was Patrick finally got my photo. Plus Sam Flax was patient enough on correcting my ongoing problem.

Now, this Friday, my first photo is now being presented in an internationally-known photo gallery. I think I might cry again.

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Blaming Gangster Rap and Al Sharpton (A Short Story)

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“You’re playing too much gangster rap,” Scott said.

The evening’s DJ night at Bohemian Spot was over. At the bar’s register, Scott handed Don his pay.

Scott owned short brown hair and wore a beard.

Don owned chocolate-brown skin and wore a goatee.

“I don’t get it,” Don said. “Weren’t people dancing all night?”

“Yea, but you have to admit,” Scott said. “Things have been slow.”

“All of Downtown Sanford has that problem.”

“Yea, thanks to troublemakers like Al Sharpton.”

“That was months ago when Sharpton came.”

“He hurt Sanford.”

Scott’s words annoyed Don.

“Let me get this right,” Don started. “Some guy kills an unarmed kid. A kid who wasn’t causing any problems.”

“He was casing homes,” Scott said.

“That has never been proven.”

“Yes, it has.”

“No, it hasn’t. George Zimmerman stalked and killed an unarmed kid who wasn’t causing any problems. Then, he didn’t even get arrested. Yet, you expect people not to bitch about it?”

“Nobody gives a shit about a punk kid. Sharpton saw the opportunity to pick on Sanford. He’s a race baiter, man.”

When Don heard the words “punk kid”, he felt like decking Scott.

“Whatever,” he said.

Don walked over to his DJ equipment and started packing.

Then, Scott said, “Just stop with the gangster rap, dude.”

Don remained quiet and continued packing.

 

As he drove home, Don’s anger boiled inside of him. He still fumed from Scott calling Trayvon Martin a “punk kid”.

Yet, Don still wasn’t backing down from his beliefs. He still believed the controversy over white George Zimmerman killing black Trayvon Martin kept people away from Sanford. Maybe, the rallies scared some white people away. Maybe, they feared attacks by black folks hell-bent on revenge. Maybe, some folks refuse to spend their money in a city they see as racist. Who knew? Yet, the truth was obvious. Ever since the controversy, fewer people were seen in Downtown Sanford businesses. Bohemian Spot was no exception.

Oh, that’s right. Because of his mixed heritage, many news outlets were calling George Zimmerman a white Hispanic.

Another thing, Scott’s accusation of gangster rap was bullshit. Tonight white girls couldn’t get enough of the music Don was playing. Over and over, they kept requesting hip hop songs.

Maybe, the white girls were the problem. Maybe, Scott was pissed because those same white girls were ignoring his ass.

Thinking about Bohemian Spot, Don had second thoughts about going back.

 

The next afternoon, Don was enjoying a meal at Pizza Buffet.

His cellphone ranged. He saw the number of Bohemian Spot’s owner.

“Hello,” he answered.

“I heard you were playing a lot of gangster rap last night,” the owner said.

All of a sudden, Don lost his appetite.

The owner was Vivian Miller, Scott’s mother.

“All of it wasn’t gangster rap,” Don said. “It was a mixture of rap music.”

“People aren’t digging your music, Don,” Vivian said. “How about we go back to playing whatever?”

“You remember what happened with that, don’t you?”

“What happened?”

“When I played whatever people wanted, some folks kept picking music nobody wanted to hear. Don’t tell me you forgot about those guys who kept asking for metal all night.”

Don never forgot it. As the whole crowd was upbeat and happy, some dudes continued requesting angry metal music, music that killed the happy vibe.

Oh yea, typical of young white patrons who requested music all night, those fuckers never tipped.

Because of the constant metal requests, Vivian allowed Don more control of the music.

“Don,” Vivian said. “No more gangster rap. Unless the patrons ask for rap, don’t play it. If they ask for it, you play one song. Next, you go back to playing pop music.”

“All right,” Don said.

Then, he clicked the phone off.

The talk about gangster rap continued pissing him off. Like he said earlier, most of the rap Don played wasn’t gangster. Most of it was dudes saying “nigga” and “bitch”. Gangster rap usually contained graphic violent lyrics, music Don rarely played.

Then, to himself Don said, “These people wouldn’t know gangster rap if it shot a bullet in their ass.”

 

Later at home, in his bedroom, Don was sitting at his desk. With his laptop, he was scrolling Facebook. A post by his friend Shelly caught his eye.

George Zimmerman is a racist murdering thug. I hope he goes to prison for a long time.

Shelly was a young brunette who sometimes attended Don’s DJ nights at Bohemian Spot.

Don looked at the comments responding to Shelly’s post. He saw Scott’s comment.

Too many black youths embrace hip hop culture. Hip hop culture promotes violence and disrespects women. Trayvon Martin was the perfect example of today’s black youth. He was a black kid who embraced hip hop’s violent culture.

When he DJs Bohemian Spot next week, Don wondered what was going to happen. He feared he just might knock the fuck out of Scott. After accusations of too much gangster rap and Scott’s racist Facebook comment, Don again started having second thoughts about returning to Bohemian Spot.

 

The next day, Don was on the phone with Vivian again.

“I’m going to have to let you go,” Vivian said. “I’m sorry; people just aren’t digging your music.”

“Whatever,” Don said.

Immediately, he clicked the phone off.

 

The next week, on the night he was supposed to DJ, Don drove by Bohemian Spot. He was curious on how well the night did without him. Yet, as he peeked inside, he saw something odd. He was expecting to see Scott at the bar counter. Yet, he saw the blonde-haired Vivian.

Also, the bar was almost empty, worse than Don’s DJ nights.

Don parked his car and walked to One Love, another Downtown Sanford bar.

As he drunk draft beer, a light-skinned black dude sat beside him. This was Joey, a regular on Don’s night.

“Did you hear?” Joey said. “Scott got arrested.”

Don’s faced formed a nasty grin.

“What did he do?” he asked.

“Strangled his baby mama.”

“You got to be shitting me. The same guy who badmouthed hip hop and Trayvon Martin strangled his woman?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. They got rid of me because they said I was playing too much gangster rap.”

“That’s bullshit. If you ask me, I think the reason you were booted was because they were trying to be cheap. They didn’t want to pay a DJ.”

“That’s because they were losing money. Customers complained about Vivian’s idiot son. Yet, she kept him there. But oh no, their losing money was all gangster rap and Al Sharpton’s fault.”

Joey started laughing.

Then, Don said, “I feel good tonight. That hypocrite racist piece of shit is in jail. Let me buy you a beer, bro.”

photo credit: Kaylith Zeurra Official Gangsta Fair – Photo contest – Kaylith Zeurra via photopin (license)

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