But to put things in perspective, in Ving Rhames, a veteran Hollywood actor, was almost shot in his own home after one of his neighbors reported a large black man had broken into the house next to her. According to Rhames, police arrived at his house with guns drawn. He opened the door and was met with laser sights painted on his chest. Fortunately, one of the cops recognized him and defused the situation. This situation could have been deadly.
Eric Garner, was choked to death by the police, after someone reported him selling cigarettes on the street. Now, I live in Southern California, I get pulled over less, but racial profiling by the police is still a problem. I know several black lawyers and doctors who drive high-end cars and they regularly get tailed by police. Today, everyone has a phone in their pocket that can document these ugly acts. You would have thought it would have made people extra nice, but apparently not.
I have to lie a lot out of practicality, too. To keep my business in operation, I run my dungeon all under my yoga license, which states I teach private lessons in my apartment. And again, I actually do that. But I say each client I see for domme work is a yoga client. Yoga is in this beautiful gray area—it's not technically a sport, and not fully considered a health or medical thing.
It doesn't require equipment and is considered a recreation. You don't need a health inspector to approve your private yoga practice. If having a dungeon was legal, I would pay my taxes like everyone else.
But it's not, so I have to do my own thing, which is the "wrong" thing in the eyes of the government. So I do have to lie, which sucks because it's scary as fuck—these big, shadowy government agencies like the IRS could one day get you and say, "Oh hey, we're bringing you to jail. I also put down on my taxes that I travel a lot because I go to a lot of hotel rooms for my sex work—I meet most of my clients in hotels.
It's funny when you start going to the same hotel a lot, and they recognize you and the big bag of dom equipment you're carrying! I always have a big case and an outfit underneath my clothes, and my clothes are ill-fitting because they have to be—I'm likely wearing leather underneath it. This relates to how I'll take certain measures to actually prevent myself from needing to lie.
Say I'm meeting a client at a new hotel: I'll try to google the lobby first and learn where I'm going, so I can go straight to the elevator and avoid interacting with the staff when it's time to meet the client. Otherwise, hotel receptionists can tell I'm coming to meet someone, and the first thing they think is, "Are you an escort? Are you a sex worker? But shit happens.
Things have fallen out of my bag. I've lost service and forgotten which room I was going to. You have to be quick on your feet to lie, and you just have to be confident and play the role. One time a hotel employee came up to me and said, "What business do you have being here? If you say stuff that bold and confident, what are they going to do?
You never hesitate, you never say "um. Think about lying like this: With your parents you're one version of yourself, when you're at a bar you're another version, and so on. You have to learn how to pull these various personas out of your identity, learn to use them as tools, and then use them to your advantage. You have to learn how to adapt. It's not just how you look, it's your attitude. It took me a while to learn how to roleplay. I would look in the mirror and see how my eyes twitch, how my hands move, to make sure I wasn't slipping out of character. I practiced. To become a good liar, you have to, in some ways, believe the intent of what you're saying.
You have to be fully, percent in on what you're trying to get or trying to do. The second you start to waver or have thoughts about it not working out, that's when the cracks start to come in. When you start to like lying, that's an issue. I lie out of practicality, but when people start abusing it, it can become addicting, like drinking.
To complain about them is like picking a scab. Times were tough. We have reviewed our partners privacy policies to ensure that they comply with similar policies in order to ensure your data security. Four young Americans from different walks of life drafted into the Army for the Korean Click image for full poster. An Arkansan is your new Jeopardy Champion!
Photo via DEK's Instagram. My graff name became more of my identity when I met other people who were "in the life. When you actually become a graffiti writer and want to gain notoriety, that's when painting your name is more about quantity than quality, and you are just constantly thinking about it, but likely keeping a lot of those thoughts to yourself. I'd be at work and see a young lady come in, and I'd think to myself, Ah, that's a summer squash dress —referring to it internally by its spray paint color equivalent.
But once you cross over to civilians, to non-writers or people who are not in that subculture, there's a great deal of hiding. I couldn't explain the dress color—graffiti association to other coworkers. It also depends on who you are. I can be very outspoken, but I can also be very much of an introvert. If you give too much, and people know too much about you, then they have the cards and that can work against you. Information is key. There's a great deal of misdirection and lying to keep your identity as a graffiti writer secret.
That goes from making up false appointments, leaving early, coming in late, saying that you have a girlfriend when you don't, setting up alarms on your phone that sound like your ringtone so you have an excuse to leave a room. I pride myself on it. You've got to be like an onion and have many, many layers. One time, we were hanging out in a rougher part of town, painting on some trains. Silly me as a young guy, I had my ID in my backpack. We ended up getting chased by police, and I realized that I left the backpack.
I quickly called [the closest precinct] and said, "Hey, my backpack was stolen earlier today. Some kids, a group of them, surrounded me at a basketball court and took it. There was some ID and a book in it. They said, "We need to speak with you. They sent me down to the property clerk and started playing a cat and mouse game with me.
They sent me to one floor, they sent me to another floor, and when I came back downstairs there was a whole other set of guys really interested in my bag. They cornered me and asked me all these questions about the bag. I was like "It's an orange bag, and I was playing basketball, it has basketball shorts in it.
After a couple of hours of harassing me they told me to get out of there and not "play basketball" in that part of town again.
I got the bag and ID, and they left some of my [spray paint] caps in there, too. Those times, you gotta know your rights and you have to have your game plan. As with anything in life, you have to do some pre-production. You go in for a job interview, you have to be prepared. A lot of people slip up and get caught that way. Racking [stealing without getting caught], heavy trespassing, and a blatant disregard for the law are completely justifiable at this point in my life because they become key in survival, especially in a place like New York City.
When I was a younger man, I refused to pay for things, starting with spray paint.
In Sri Lanka, the nine members of the Asian Dawn movement John McClane you still with us? But all things being equal, I'd rather be in Philadelphia.
Chalk up two more bad guys. Sergeant Al Powell : Well, the boys down here will be glad to hear that. You know we got a pool going on you. John McClane : What kind of odds am I getting? Sergeant Al Powell : You don't wanna know. John McClane : Put me down for twenty, I'm good for it. John McClane :. Hey pal, you got flat feet? Sergeant Al Powell : What the hell you talking about, man. John McClane : Something had to get you off the street. Sergeant Al Powell : What's the matter? You don't think jockeying papers around a desk is a noble effort for a cop?
John McClane : No Sergeant Al Powell : I had an accident. John McClane : The way you drive, I can see why. What'd you do? Run over your captains foot with the car? Sergeant Al Powell : I shot a kid. He was 13 years old. Oh, it was dark, I couldn't see him, he had a ray gun, looked real enough.
You know when you're a rookie they can teach you everything about being a cop, except how to live with a mistake. Anyway, I just couldn't bring myself to draw my gun on anyone again. John McClane Sorry man. John McClane : Geronimo, Motherfucker! I'm gonna fuckin' cook you, and I'm gonna fucking eat you! Sergeant Al Powell : Hey Roy, how you feeling? John McClane : Pretty fuckin' unappreciated, Al. John McClane : Well, well, well Hans : Put it down now.
John McClane : That's pretty tricky with that accent. You oughta be on fucking TV with that accent. But what do you want with the detonators, Hans? I already used all the explosives. Or did I? Hans : I'm going to count to three John McClane : Yeah, like you did with Takagi? John McClane : No more bullets. What do you think, I'm fucking stupid, Hans? John McClane : Happy trails, Hans.
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John McClane : Son of a bitch! Fist with your toes. Don't shoot! John McClane : Drop the gun! But don't shoot! John McClane : Put it on the ground! Marco : [John easily shoots Heinrich but Marco manages to take cover. John then hides under a long conference table]. Marco : You a dog now. Where you going pal? Soon there will be no more table. Marco : Next time you have a chance to kill someone, don't hesitate.
John McClane : [fires upwards several times riddling Marco with bullets. Sergeant Al Powell : No, but it's gonna need a paint job and a shit load of screen doors. John McClane : [after witnessing Mr. Takagi's murder]. John McClane : Why the fuck didn't you stop 'em, John? How the fuck did you get into this shit? Hans Gruber : [after bad guys hit police ram with rocket].
Hans Gruber : Hit it, again. Let them pull back! Cowboy, I'll take it under advisement. John McClane : I'm on your side, you assholes! Argyle : Merry Christmas. Hans Gruber : Thanks. Now, you don't work for Nakatomi, and you're not one of them. Hans Gruber : New York?
I got invited to the Christmas party by mistake.
Who knew. John McClane : Better being caught with your pants down, huh? I'm John McClane, and you are? Bill Clay. Hans Gruber : I spent a weekend at a combat ranch.