Wednesday, April 01, 2009

I've Been Wondering . . .

What the hell ever happened to Afrika Baby Bam, remember him? The then-married ex-hip-hop star I shacked up with post-diagnosis? (I can now identify this 'relationship' as part of my Cancer-induced post-traumatic-stress disorder. )

It probably would've been easier on my nice, Jewish parents had my PTSD taken the form of uncontrollable anxiety, depression or isolation. My Sept. 11 PTSD was perfectly socially acceptable—anxiety, fear, eschewing of public transport and avoidance of both AA and United for years. Plunging into a scandalous affair with a black, penniless, uneducated man-child—oy. In hindsight, I get the heebie jeebies thinking about this affair. Yeah, I was completely batshit and my friends and family were afraid to tell me, not wanting to add any stress to my then-Cancerous life. My dalliance was psychologically comprehensible though—I'd just been diagnosed with Breast Cancer and was taking any and every distraction I could get.

And my family and friends were perfectly lovely about him, seeing as they saw me smiling and having fun despite my diagnosis. Well, the happiness was definitely mania that led to this uncharacteristic, risky behavior. Ugh, my poor parents.

Anyway, ocassionaly people ask me what ever happened to him. And the truth is I have no idea. He has become un-Google-able. Removed his mySpace page etc. (Isn't a musician taking himself off mySpace the kiss of death?) The reason he's popping into my mind of late is due to this popular song on the radio called 'Day and Night,' which I just discovered is by an artist with the proper name of Kid Cudi. It really sounds like Bam, so I Googled him. It's a morbidly curious sort of Googling I'm doing—did he kill himself? (He had bouts of suicidal ideations and is bipolar.) Did he pack up and leave Into-the-Wild style? (After I made him watch that flick, he had fantasies of doing the same thing.)

It was also the Winter Music Conference last week; the largest gathering of dance music professionals in the world. Yet he was—as I deduced from the handful of advertisements I paid attention to—nowhere.

Alas, I admit that I like that he's evaporated, easier for me to gloss over that whole episode. In my PTSD mania, I was convinced our affair would comprise a large chunk of my memoir. Now, I don't even think it warrants a chapter; perhaps a graf.

If anyone knows anything about this dude, lemme know cause I feel like I may become obsessed until I get to the bottom of this.

Update! Emily pointed me towards this. Priceless. Though now I'm at the mercy of my new friends who didn't know me back then and are DYING. All that makeup cross-dressing stuff started with me, I'm afraid. I obliged him one night when he asked me to paint his face a la Ziggy Stardust (below) and it seems I've created a makeup-wearing straight man.