Monday Ramble #50 – Dear Lil Wayne’s Jeggings:

Posted: September 12, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Dear Lil Wayne’s Jeggings,

I watched you perform on stage a few weeks ago at the Video Music Awards and I wanted to reach out right away, but I knew my email would get lost in the barrage of letters you were going to receive directly after the show since you got a Twitter page so fast.

You don’t know me and I have no place bothering you on this Monday but I’ve been following your owner/partner/pal for a minute now.

Let me back up a bit. I’ve flip-flopped back and forth for years about your guy. At times, I’ve heard people call him the heir to the throne, the best rapper alive, and the leader of the hottest crew out.

Then I’ve also been around when the word came back to me that he was graded on a curve because he got a whole lot better after a shaky start, that he could never be the king of hip-hop because his subject matter isn’t diverse enough and some folks just said that when it comes to Carters, Dwayne will always be number 2.

How do I feel? I’ve been listening since “Bling Bling,” my ears perked up on Biggie’s Born Again and when Wayne decided that rap was a serious tool on the first Carter LP I was there telling dudes, “you know who can spit?”

But so what? There’s no award for thinking someone had potential, he gradually took over where Busta Rhymes and Ludacris left off and featured on everything moving. Then Weezy decided that he was going to spank anyone that got next to him on a track and made Swizz’s “It’s Me Bitchez” and DJ Khaled’s “We Takin’ Over” his coming out party for anyone that didn’t know Tha Carter II was about him trying to prove he was the Best Rapper Alive.
Then the mixtapes began to make noise, talks of Young Money got louder, New York began to embrace him and all of a sudden, “A Milli” became the foreshadowing record that would catapult Lil Wayne into a superstar that was also an emcee.

It’s not an easy task to be on top of the game while critics praise your pen. Jay-Z sat comfortably on top for years selling records and winning arguments about who was the best to do it. Sure Big and Pac will always have a mention, Nas may get shouted out, 50 definitely had a moment and Eminem will forever be regarded as one of the greatest to ever do it.

But your dude is from the slums of New Orleans, he has fashion dreads, gold teeth, tattoos everywhere, we knew him since he was a baggy T-shirt-wearing adolescent, he was accused of stealing Gillie the Kid’s style and flows and he kissed the Birdman in the beak.

The odds seemed to be stacked against him, but for some reason he prevailed. He signed Jae Millz and we were perplexed a little, signing Nicki Minaj seemed like it could work out, but putting her and Drake out and making them exist on their own was bold and it worked. He put two stars under his umbrella and didn’t let the Kanye-directed (sabotage attempt) “Best I Ever Had” video hurt Drizzy.

He made sure Nicki deflected the Kim comparisons and jabs and remain who she is and voila. Young Money is an army, better yet a navy. So there were some holes in the ship when he showed up to an award show singing about how he wanted to have sex with every girl in the world while his daughter pranced around the stage.

It didn’t matter much that he didn’t really rap on “Lollipop,” became so obsessed with autotunes that he created a T-Wayne moniker, and tried his hands at a rock album. Tha Carter III did a million in a week and not many rappers can say that for themselves. Not many can say they saw it coming either.
And with all that said, there I was telling people again that Wayne was a real contender for the crown. I got Watch The Throne and told folks that it was solid but I expected more.

I heard Tha Carter IV and went around saying it was fire and I expected less.

The jail time and the sobriety were supposed to slow him down but it didn’t. “How To Love” is a good record, “How To Hate” is even better.

Wayne jabbed Jay-Z in a polite way and even let people know it was coming. “She Will” is one of my favorite songs of the year. So why am I writing this letter? I saw the VMAs and every argument I had that hinted to the fact that his latest LP was better than those that came out weeks before, got destroyed after he hit the stage and brought you out.

The autotuned mic was bearable, the off beat live rendition of “John” without Rick Ross and the shirt coming off revealing his boxers was bothersome. But when I saw you with your leopard print all tight and shiny, it just deflated my fanship. It’s not your fault, some stylist grabbed you off a women’s clothing rack and you got a free trip to an award show. I would have gone too.

Every time I see your boy on a major stage shirtless with sagging tight pants jumping around displaying his gold Baby-slobbing teeth, I cringe.

When he goes on sports shows and I have to see that earring in his face and excessive facial tattoos I don’t know why it bugs me that he sounds twisted and he speaks slow in order to sound knowledgeable and it almost works. I want him to win deep down inside. But I can’t help what I feel about looking at him as opposed to hearing his music.

 

It makes me sad to be a rap artist; I’m almost bothered to belong to the same race. And this isn’t hate…this isn’t even on purpose. It’s like thinking of your mother having sex with your boy. I make that face you just made when I see him take the stage sometimes.

Wait you don’t have a mother, or a face, but you know what I mean Mr. Jeggings. You’re a combination of two things, (jeans and leggings) and I don’t think you should have to be subjected to being with a man, but what can you do? I just wanted to let you know that you helped me decide that Lil Wayne is not my favorite rapper, nor is he the King of the game.

His sales are impressive, his music is strong, his punchlines hit every six out of ten times, it’s cool how he personifies life, death, has sex with the world repeatedly and I love his passion. But like Kreayshawn’s popularity, I just don’t get it sometimes. I don’t know what’s hot and I don’t pretend to anymore.

Jeggings may infiltrate my generation, men may begin to sag their suit pants in corporate offices, but for me I’m bowing out here. So again, Mr. Jeggings, thank you for showing up on my TV screen in non-HD on that Sunday evening, I was starting to lose my way but now I hath found it.

Sincerely,

The Present

Monday Ramble #49 “Monkey Business”

Posted: August 23, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Almost Funny, Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Monday Ramble #49 Monkey Business

I’m heading to a wake and funeral for a childhood friend of mine today so I have no brainpower to write anything without it being deep and dark. With that said, I am choosing to go back to my original format and ramble randomly so that my depression does not spread to your heart and yet I still get to vent.

I recently watched Rise of The Planet of The Apes and I was totally disturbed.
Not because of the movie but because of the idea that I had a few years ago to create a crew of “murder monkeys” that would carry out deeds for me.

I just feel like my idea is going to get swiped now. And don’t take the term literally, I don’t need my apes to actually take lives, I just figured that if there was an alternative gang to the Bloods and Crips and MS-13s, then kids would have some fear in their hearts.

If there was a real monkey gang that I had some sort of pull with, that would definitely shake up some of these so-called hard youths. I wrote a whole chapter on it in my book that has yet to reach stores, and now they’ve gone and put the concept in the streets.

People are probably copping monkeys right now and training them to sling drugs, or shoot bad guys or something.

Oh well…you know what I was thinking about the other day: if someone has crust in their eye, you wouldn’t have an issue telling them, hell you would even touch it if you had to.

But if they had something in their nose, you wouldn’t know how to break the news, and you definitely wouldn’t touch it.

Why is that? They’re both hardened forms of bodily fluid.
I guess it’s because eye gook is loosely related to tears while boogers are solidified forms of mucus.
And mucus and snot aren’t friendly words at all.
If someone had twins named Mucus and Snot Jackson, you would make the face your making now just reading that out loud.


And yet I know folks named Booger.
Anyway, snot is all slimy, and boogers tend to have specs of leprechaun color in them. So yea maybe I understand why you would run from nose crust but it doesn’t make it right.

You know what else is wrong? When you have to park in a tight space and there are people outside looking at you waiting for you to botch it up.
You don’t want to have to start over and pull out because these strangers who are trying to look like they aren’t looking at you, are looking at you.

 

And they’re just waiting for the chance to say, “Look at this idiot, can’t even park in that big ass space. Need some help man?”
That’s the last thing you want. No one ever wants ‘unsolicited stranger parallel park assistance.’ If you need it and you ask for it, “Sir, can you tell me if I’m close to that car?”


No! You don’t want to give some stranger the power to direct your life. You focus and get the whip parked correctly in one try. If not, you’ll have to deal with one of the most annoying motor vehicle experiences.

The most annoying would be a male asking for directions after being forced by his lady because they are lost.

Men don’t get lost, we may not know where we are, or how to get to where we’re going, or we may get turned around, miss an exit and have no clue how to find our destination while our location is unknown, but lost is something else.

I don’t think I’ve been lost.
Well maybe in another country, but even then I didn’t ask for directions, I just asked people if they knew a certain street name and how to get there, that’s different.

Speaking of different, I was arguing with this kid on the basketball court last week and for some reason I called him a bird, or a chicken or something, and the word “poultry” came out of my mouth. Now I know the word poultry is no place for a park in the hood of Brooklyn, New York where the teenagers aren’t the wittiest…but I didn’t expect him to say he wasn’t a “pole tree.”

No one bothered to help him out as he explained to me that he may have been slim but he was strong…so I guess calling him a “pole tree” wasn’t a strong enough insult.

Now I want some chicken. I get hungry very easily, and I’m one of those people that can’t leave the house without constructing a meal plan in my head. Should I eat before I go, while I’m there, do I have to buy food, can I bring food?

Church would be crazy popping if they served appetizers. Just a thought.

I don’t think I’m going to do the whole murder monkey thing after writing this. I just feel like they might turn on me at some point and I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of disappointment.

 

I do think that the original movie will become real life and we humans will be ape slaves in a few thousand years.

Well not me, because I won’t be there unless I’m in ghost form. I hope they have ghost food.

And it would be great if someone shows the Ape leaders this piece, and the chapter in my book, and they honor me, and my music gets played at primate parties and on monkey radio after the takeover.

I’m almost at 50 of these ramble things and you guys are still checking for the kid. Who the hell is the kid? Always wanted to use that. Thank you all. R.I.P Kampane aka Rhian Stoute.

Monday Ramble #48 “Arrested Development”

Posted: August 16, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

For those that may almost care about this little known fact: I have been either arrested, detained or stopped by authorities on four occasions on or surrounding the actual date of my birthday.

This of course leads me to believe that God has likely cursed the day I was born and wants me to know that any chance of celebrating the anniversary of being brought into the world will be thwarted if he has any sayso.

Ok maybe God didn’t do that, but it sure feels like it.

And don’t get me wrong, I know the deal, everything happens for a reason…what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger…Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change and blah blah friggin blah.
I was in a cell for two days without food, a visible clock, a decent seat or real sleep so pardon me if I’m not choosing the spiritual path on this fine day to cope with my misfortune.
It could’ve been a lot worse for me so I’m not tripping.

And I learned a lot during my short stay with my fellow cell buddies.

I met a few rappers, I met a bunch of rappers, a young dancer that smacked up his girlfriend, a coke dealer whose girl wouldn’t take the rap for him, a man with kidney failure that had his dialysis treatment halted by jail, one guy that got locked for holding a train door open for a kid, another swiped his Metrocard for someone he didn’t know and got accused of selling swipes, and I even ran into a fan or two.

The system is the system, and once you’re arrested, they want you to go through it as an inconvenience that will hopefully deter you from coming close to doing any sort of crime again.

“To Protect and Serve” should not be the mantra of the police force. I don’t even have the extreme “eff the police” view that some folks have but I will say that they are more like a fraternity than a gang.

The force is made up of individuals who may not actually change because of the badge, but they use the power of the badge to be who they really are. They could have been corny in high school, in love with firearms, obsessed with power, all of these characteristics lead to folks that forget about helping a community and become concerned with numbers, provoking fear, and making sure they go home in one piece.

All that means they’ll do whatever to ensure their safety, including making you feel like the assailant and victim all at once.

I don’t know what it is about freedom that’s so precious. Until you lose it, then you know exactly what it is. Asking permission to use the bathroom, or to use the phone, not knowing what time it is, and not seeing daylight are the small things we take for granted and they can be snatched from us because another human being has the right to do so.

You are subject to restrictions because of the laws built in the space you reside in based on a certain time period, and these guys are the protectors of those laws…supposedly.
Smoking weed in one area of the world is illegal while somewhere else it isn’t. Killing in the hood is unlawful but murdering for your country is cool. And this is the justice system we humans made up. A jury of your peers will decide your fate if you ever do something that extreme. But what if you don’t do anything extreme but you still end up in a precinct?

For some of you this sounds foreign. Why would a police officer detain you or even harass you if you weren’t doing something wrong? It is because that is their job. It doesn’t mean firemen have to be arsonists or doctors should spread diseases but the best security guard in the world may get praised more for handling an incident over a low incident rate.
Was I supposed to feel cool that some people in Central Booking recognized me as an emcee? I didn’t. Was I supposed to have a lawyer on retainer for instances like this? Maybe definitely.

Should I feel like I never want to go through that process again so I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I don’t? That’s their plan. Or is it?

When so many cases get thrown out for being foolery, the system may seem to suffer and waste time but I still had to pay a court fee and that Booking area will be just as packed tonight with charges that won’t stick, teens that won’t be as affected as I was, and dudes that have been there so many times that they’re on a first name basis with officers.

I can tell you that two days away from the world is nothing compared to real time in prison. The difference for most people going to jail is that they wake up that day knowing they’re going or aware that they are about to do something that may land them there.

The similarity is that both are treated like a number and like someone that deserves to be behind bars.

So here I am, still mad at myself, disappointed for missing my own bday shindig, trying not to hate the law enforcement occupation, and you were waiting for a Watch The Throne review.

Well I heard it, I watched it, I learned a lot about Jay’s watch collection and his new fixation on the “ugh” adlib, both of their bank accounts, and for some strange reason I’m anticipating a Drake album. I know right, I made that face too. Shout to Ye and Jay though for making people pay attention and attempting to do some groundbreaking stuff.

Update: By some strange happenstance I ran into the officer that arrested me when I was leaving the studio last night, he said he wanted to let me go and then laughed when I told him I spent two days in there. He laughed alone.

Tell me your authority story…

Ban “Otis” freestyles!

Monday Ramble #47 – “Mac And Me”

Posted: August 1, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

As none of you may know, last Monday I was working on a piece of writing to give to you guys when my MacBook decided to freeze.

I allowed someone else to use it while I was in the studio and he forced a shutdown that resulted in a white screen when I rebooted the joint.
I panicked, took out the battery, restarted it, blah, blah, blah, called Apple, they sent me to a Mac store in Brooklyn

where parking doesn’t exist and the technician told me my hard drive was gone and I needed to pay him $250 for a new one and installation, and another $150 to get my data.

Doesn’t sound bad right? But I don’t just have $250 to throw around based on someone’s word that I don’t know. So I pouted a little bit (not in a gay way), stared at him blankly (not in a gay way), and he basically said he couldn’t do it for free since my warranty was up.

He saw that I wasn’t about to offer that money up so freely so he gave me some advice.

He told me to go to Best Buy and buy a hard drive and come back and they would install it for $100. Jackpot!

I rushed to Best Buy on the other side of town, copped the drive and headed back to the Mac store thinking I would be up and running.
They said it wasn’t $100, it was $130 and it would take 2 days. Well that wasn’t cool but at least I was gonna get my “baby” back.

I got back to my Brooklyn place of residence and felt withdrawal. I wanted to go online and pay a bill, post a ramble, browse eBay, download music, watch an old episode of The Wire but instead I just sat there.
My blackberry came in handy but it just wasn’t the same. And then I got a call from the Mac store saying that the drive I bought was defective.

“Defective? What does that mean?”
They started to explain.

“I know what that means but what does that mean for me? I have to come get it, return it, and get a new one and bring it back?
You can’t fix the defectiveness? No? No that’s not a word, or no you can’t do it?
Ok fine.”

So the next day I decided to go get it and after parking 5 blocks away I noticed a tiny sign that said there was free parking in a lot across the street for the Mac support store customers. Thank you small sign for being visible as I drove by 12 times.
I promise I’m going to sum this story up quickly but I picked up the drive and thought maybe I could save some time if Best Buy did the installation for the same price or even if they charged more I would save gas money and just have the Geek Squad knock it out.

So I decided to take my laptop as well to Best Buy, made the exchange on the defective drive and found out they wanted $180 to install it and put a new operating system. That’s $50 more than the Mac people.

No thank you. As I was leaving out I noticed the box for the drive was already opened. The cashier chick tried to get me. She gave me back the defective drive that I came to exchange and if I hadn’t checked it, I would have had to come back again. I wasn’t pissed but I was suddenly aware that human error exists. And that fact alone made me wonder if my computer was really broken.

That Mac guy spoke too fast, almost like…like a Mack…sure he told me how to save money but he also told me I could retrieve my data for $150. That would have been a quick $400 that he looked like he was going to throw in his pocket.

And as I returned there, and got to the counter, ready to hand over my money and my new drive and my MacBook, something told me to turn it on and see what happened.

Mac Daddy looked like he didn’t want me to give it a try before I gave it in but I did. And you know what happened?
The white light and blank screen that I had expected to see never came up.

Instead I saw my screen, my files, my songs, and my programs. What the heaven was going on? Why is this working sir?

“Oh let me run a diagnostic on the drive,” he says. Oh now you want to do that? So last time you used x-ray vision? You ran over it with your feelings? You just asked it what was wrong and it answered, “hard drive…need new one…help,” is that what happened Mr. Mac guy?

You better hope that diagnosis comes back negative or bad or whatever, that thing better be sick and need a new something or else you guys are…well I don’t have a consequence yet but I’m cooking something up.

So everything was actually fine and he told me to keep the drive just in case. And that was it, I bought an external to back up my entire computer for insurance and I had a new appreciation for technology, human mistakes and coincidence.

So this is why I have not rambled in a few weeks and now here I am rambling about why I haven’t when I don’t even know if you care about the reason or the ramble.

But you’re here so maybe you do. If I’ve just wasted your time, don’t think of this in the terms of computers and drives and mumbo jumbo jargon that most ignorant rap guys shouldn’t know anyway, think about trusting people that are supposed professionals, ponder how dependent you are on digital entertainment and know that patience is one of those attributes that can be applied to mostly any situation when panic seems like the number one option.

Sure my Mac may have been trying to tell me something like go read a book, or take some days off from staring at me, or clean this dust off me, or maybe my laptop was bored and wanted to go outside and see New York while I’m here.

Maybe the guy that was using it touched her wrong and kept referring to her as a “labtop” and that’s why she blanked on me. Maybe it can’t talk or think at all and things just happen.

Either way, you now have last week’s entry and an explanation as to why it is late.

So I may perform in Brooklyn this Thursday at Southpaw, and I don’t know what songs I’m doing or if it even matters. I find myself not knowing the answer to many questions nowadays. But at least I have my computer back to look stuff up.

Monday Ramble #46 “All-White Everything”

Posted: August 1, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Written July 25th, 2011

I forgot that I didn’t write a ramble last Monday until someone reminded me this past weekend.
And I honestly couldn’t remember why it had slipped my mind, but then it hit me that I might have been slightly fatigued from getting in late from my boy Big Don’s birthday party last Sunday.

The party was good, it had a strong turnout and all that, but I wasn’t allowed inside for maybe 45 minutes after I arrived. And why was a superstar like myself stuck outside of a New York party for so long you ask?
Well this event happened to be an All-White Party.

That’s right folks…all-white. Not 100% Caucasian attendants, but your gear had to be all one color.

Now I was aware of this fact when I got the flyer for the shindig but I’ve been to white parties before.

White parties are supposed to have a Heavenly theme I’m guessing and give off some sort of uniform look but not everyone is into wearing a uniform to the club.
So usually guys underdress and will rock a shirt with white in it, or a white tee, or some regular white sneakers or they throw on burgundy to stand out and show the white party throwers that they are against the grain.

Of course you always have your people that have outfits in their closet ready for stuff like this.

Linen suits, white shirt and matching pants, I even saw some Adidas pants and cargo shorts. But I, on the other hand do not own any white bottoms. I used to have some white shorts but I don’t know where they are and I’m sure they have a stain on them anyway.

So I came through with a borrowed white shirt, a pair of jeans, and some white kicks assuming that I was going to fall in between the people that chose to wear red or black and the other end of the spectrum would be the folks that went hard with suits and white shoes, white belts, white underwear and a white person on their arm.

Unfortunately the rules were strict and my blue jeans were spotted almost a block away and they told me I wasn’t going to be allowed inside. How often do you know the head of security of a club and the owner but you can’t get in?

It wasn’t embarrassing but it was interesting. Most of the ladies had it figured out: white dresses, white tight tops and shorts.

But dudes that showed up sans white pantaloons were very bothered. They argued, beefed, complained but the owner didn’t budge. He said he was even allowing shorts in the club as long as they were white.

And here I was in disbelief and awe that I couldn’t get in with blue jeans. One of my peoples suggested we try and find some store in the city and buy some white Levi’s…at 1:30 a.m. The thought almost sounded logical for 16 seconds then I drifted off to the idea of me spending money on a pair of jeans I most likely wouldn’t rock again until another white party.

I had white Guess jeans in high school, I wonder where they are. They probably walked out of my house in the 90’s from neglect.
So then I told the bouncer that I was waiting on my friend to bring some bleach and I would be all good, people found that funny, but I really think if I had some bleach, there were some dudes out there that would have considered whitening their garments to gain entry.

I was used to being discriminated against because of the color of my skin.  Was I really being shut out because of the color of my jeans?
Hadn’t we come too far as a race to be creating this clothing segregation?

I walked up again and said that I had some Klan members in the hood that were bringing me a hood and robe so I can get cleared.

More laughter from security but one of them wasn’t laughing. In fact he was seriously offended by anyone that showed up without all white on. He told one dude that it wasn’t his call to deny partygoers but why would you even play yourself and wear blue to an all white party? As much as that should have bothered me, it didn’t.

Nor did seeing my peoples from around my way dressed accordingly down to their white shoes. Was I a fool? Did I miss something all these years I passed by the white jean section? I saw someone get inside with white basketball shorts so maybe I’m just thinking too hard.
White is a color, and colors are just reflections of light anyway…or something like that. I know that if it was an all-gray party or all-turquoise party, I had some outfits ready to go.
And if it was in the Hamptons, and Diddy invited me, then I definitely would have went shopping for it and I would have bought some white bottoms.

The truth is I do need to get with the program. What if this happens again? What if there’s an all-white function that would change my life? What if you have to wear all white in Heaven and I don’t have the proper attire?

I eventually got inside and so did everyone that was complaining. I heard a bunch of southern music, I saw people swag surfing, popping bottles, sweating up their blanco clothing, and that’s when someone spilled a drink on me that missed my shirt but landed on my jeans. The jeans that were supposed to be white.

Do you shy away from color parties? Do you wear all-black when you’re told to? And what’s the point of it? Do they want the pictures of the party to look cool or does the person throwing the shindig just want to be The Wiz in control of the color? How would you feel throwing an all-brown event and no one obeys, but you need to fill your party? I guess you would feel silly that no one heeded your request.

But if you said free all night if you wear brown or all brown liquor free, then people would come correct. At least all-white events don’t have the same meaning that they had in say 1948. If that is the silver lining, then I shall accept it.

Monday Ramble #45 Happy Nest Per Suit

Posted: July 11, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

A few days ago I was watching The Pursuit of Happyness and I was listening to Will Smith speak about Thomas Jefferson writing in the Declaration of Independence or whatever important paper it was when he mentioned “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
I’m not even sure what liberty is but just like Will pointed out, Thomas had the notion that happy wasn’t something one could just feel.

It was an emotion that had to be sought, desired, chased, and pursued even.

How did he know back in 1776 or whenever it was, way before luxury cars, platinum jewelry and butt implants, that happiness wasn’t something you could just make happen?

I’m sure there were people that were happy back then. They weren’t aware that washing machines, GPS or chicken sandwiches weren’t invented yet, and it didn’t matter.

He was ahead of his time I think.
Most of us are running around looking for “happy.”

We don’t just wake up smiling about life everyday. We’re waiting on a new job, or retirement, or graduation, or more money to be ecstatic about where we are.


But when was the last time you actually caught a goal that you chased and in that moment it felt nothing like you ever imagined?
You won that award, got that raise, made it on the radio, but you instantly felt as if there was more to accomplish.

You immediately looked ahead to the next feat and thought that enjoying this one would be premature.
Or maybe you’re a celebratory individual that parties when something big goes down. Does that mean you caught “happy” and no longer pursue it?
Probably not.
Another day goes by and you’re hoping tomorrow brings a larger dose of good tides than yesterday.
But if the earth revolves around the sun and the sun never really rises or sets, are days and nights even real?
Or are we just using figments of our imagination to measure time and make ourselves think that in some next amount of hours in the future, our world will improve?

I’ve been popping in episodes of The Wire recently and that was when it hit me.
I was watching this character “Bubbles,” who was fighting drug addiction and I was observing all those fiends going hard for the narcotic of their choice and I realized they are my role models.


These people decided that heroine is their ultimate dream so they chase it like nothing else.
Hygiene, the opposite sex, and worldly possessions mean absolutely nothing to a crackhead or dope fiend.
They want their fix and they’ll do whatever for it.

How real is that? It’s so inspiring. They’ve skipped the middleman totally and figured it all out.
See we all are out here focusing on good health, eating right, working out just so we can live longer. But what if living longer doesn’t equal what they feel when they’re high? Who says that someone needs to live long?

The only folks that denounce drug use are sober people. I bet if any of us had some heroine we would give up our HD TVs and laptops and go out and attempt to feel that magical feeling again

We would get off Facebook, stop pursuing happiness and go shoot up right in our bloodstream…then maybe we’d go on Twitter to spread the word about how misguided you were before you discovered the truth.

Weed is ok but it doesn’t make you want to quit bathing and sell all your clothes. That must be true bliss that most of us are missing out on.

I need the intangible will of a fiend. I’m going to hang out with a homeless addict and see what it’s like to get rid of all pride and just go after the basics.

I’m sure they eat enough food to stay breathing but that’s it. There’s only one primary objective.

That has to be the answer that Thomas Jeff was speaking on.
I bet he knew that most of us would beat around the bush creating fictional levels of achievement and we would focus on what we own and measure our worth.

If you think I’m going to go out and try some Meth or MDMA or something I’m not. And heroine doesn’t appeal to me either. I don’t need anything artificial to enhance my existence other than the same material crap that we all crave.

I’m not brave enough to get so high that it might actually eclipse my thirst for the elusive idea that we label success.

No I don’t know what success is but I know that once I define it then reach it, I still have a tough time accepting “happy.”

So yes there are times when I play with a toddler, share a laugh about the old days or catch a dunk off the rebound and inside my heart there’s a joyous feeling that takes over for a brief moment. But somehow bills, gas prices, my career and the chances that Hell may be an authentic location snap me back into a realm of reality.

So what does this all mean?

A Calling infused with a purpose and a freakish passion to wake up daily and do something that makes your soul smile might bring you closer to ending the actual pursuit…and then you might just be what TJ wrote about.
Or there’s always excessive drinking, cocaine or heroine to take you to that place. I’m selling.

Thanks for leaving a comment on this one.

Monday Ramble #44 If You Want My Advice…

Posted: June 20, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Almost Funny, Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

One thing you should never do is drink a few glasses of Ciroc vodka at an open bar event and then have a glass of straight Hennessy afterwards on a school night.

But if you do find yourself mixing dark and white liquor by accident, definitely do not accept one or two glasses of Moët champagne after you’re finished the other alcohol. It doesn’t matter what the celebration is. That would be a mistake. Trust me.

Sometimes it’s hard to say no to folks, so if you find that difficult and you go ahead and sip the bubbly after the Henny and the Diddy-endorsed poison, you should thwart any peer pressure to join in on a Patron shot. That would be lethal and idiotic. I would never condone anything like that.

Yet if you can’t refuse people’s generosity, and you want to be a part of the festivities, and it looks cool, and you don’t want to come off like a lame, and you must partake in the elixir, do yourself a favor and make sure you’re not driving home.
Although you may tell yourself that you sober up behind the wheel, or enough time passed, or God is with you, it’s not worth it.

But for argument’s sake, if you have to get home and there’s no other method than in your vehicle, just have someone ride with you to keep you up and attentive.

On the other hand, if you came alone and you must leave alone then do not drive fast or crazy.

Though if you need to drive fast, try not to stop at a fast food restaurant late at night because that’s a bad mixture.

In case hunger calls and you cannot, not answer, please, please do not go to a McDonald’s drive-thru. Stop yourself right away.

But if the golden arches mesmerize you and you happen to end up talking to a distorted voiced lady in a machine at 2am, then find one close to your home and order some finger food like nuggets or those crispy strips that are ok every one out of four times. But the important thing is not to order five when they ask you how many. Get three and do not order anything extra like apple pies. You don’t need all that.

On the contrary, you may feel really hungry and if you do order the 5-piece and two apple pies from a Mickey D’s that you thought was the closest to you but it isn’t, it’s ok, just don’t eat and drive.

But if you absolutely have to eat and drive, use a napkin, pay attention to the other thingies that look like cars and only eat the fries because warming them up in the microwave is senseless anyway.

Just don’t try to apply ketchup in the car…unless you absolutely need ketchup then go ahead, it’s your world. Whatever you do, don’t get home and eat both pies, just eat one.

Unless you’re extremely starving, then do you, but the most important part of the evening is to not fall asleep on the floor in your clothes because that’s just not cool. And alcohol and food need to settle while you’re upright and awake.

There is a chance that you may fall unconscious wherever you digested the food and I understand that. The morning will be a time of mystery about how you made it home, what made you drink so much and why you didn’t save one pie.
You don’t listen.
DWI is serious. Some people think it’s funny and they can just jump in a car intoxicated and the effects will wear off magically.

Am I one of those people? I would answer that but I would hate to be one of those people that always asks questions directed at themselves and answers them any chance they get?

“Was I excited?

Yes.

But was I afraid?

Kind of.

Now would I go back?

Hell yea.”

Can you shut up? Yes I do it too. I interrogate myself a few times in conversation but only because the person I was talking to didn’t ask the right question to get the information I needed to communicate.

“Am I happy the Mavericks beat the Heat?

Sort of.

Am I more excited to see Dirk win than LeBron lose?

I’m not sure.

Do I wish baseball season wasn’t 12 months a year?

Yes I do.”

See, in order to get those responses, only I could do the interview. So I get you habitual-self-question-asker person. But be aware if you’re one of those folks.

And also take notice if you’re a chronic lister that uses numbers or letters.

You know the folks that rundown their reasons for the most random stuff in list form all the damn time. But sometimes they mix up the prefix.

A female friend of mine said,

“Number 1, I don’t even like him like that.
Number 2, there’s mad fish in the sea.”

Then she rambled on with some reasoning explaining her reason and went back in where she left off,

“And C, I ain’t really that fat.”

See you can’t go from “number 2” to “C.”
There has to be consistency if you’re a chronic lister. I know humans like this. They love to give you visual charts to show their feelings.

And I applaud them; just don’t confuse me when you start to give me the list. And don’t throw in 1A or 2B, that’s just too tough to keep up with.
I know you may not feel like it’s important to listen to me because I am not an authority figure on alcohol or English or human relations or baseball…and that’s cool.

I don’t blame you.

But I became reflective recently after sipping and steering one night, then I was watching Amy Winehouse stumble on stage and I read that Nivea crashed her car with her baby inside because she was drunk.

And I thought to myself, “this isn’t funny, I need to let people know the wrong I’ve done.” But I laughed while I said it so it negated the serious tone.

Then I asked, “Does anyone really care?

1) Not really

B) Maybe

3a) I’m writing this anyway, it’s my site and I can do what I want to.

Monday Ramble #43 Down With The King: Why LeBron James Is Better Than All Of Us

Posted: June 13, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | 2 Comments

Man I wish I could talk about something other than the NBA Finals. But since baseball season is everyday, I feel obligated to extend the sport I love by speaking on it although the season has ended.

A few weeks ago I wrote this long ramble voicing my opinion on Scottie Pippen’s comments about LeBron James. It started out insightful, then it got a little critical, and then I realized I didn’t want to write anything negative about millionaire entertainers.

Ironically LeBron’s post-game statement about his detractors was similar to a realization I made in my own piece.

He mentioned his haters would have the same issues today that they had yesterday. He actually said the people were “rooting on me to fail.” Rooting on? Man he needed a year of college but anyway…

To me that says, “eff the fans” or in the words of Jalen Rose, LeBron is saying, “I lost a game, but I’m not a loser in life.”

I admit I was one of the haters of “The Decision.”
I was totally pissed that he joined an offensive player like Dwyane Wade, who we would rather see him matched up against.

But now I realize that my opinion doesn’t matter. Most of the time I’m watching LeBron play on television I speak to the screen, I yell obscenities, I ask questions that get answered by no one and that’s when it hit me.

I am a fool. I might as well root for a villain in the X-Men movie that I know is going to lose, I am the person telling the game show contestant which door to choose even though they cannot hear me. It’s like I’m wishing Bishop didn’t shoot Raheim or I’m trying to stop Arnold and Dudley from going to the bike shop, these occurrences are going down and there’s nothing I can do but witness.

Is LeBron better than Kobe?

No.

Is he anywhere near Michael Jordan?

His hairline is but when you have to shoot 3s or dunk on people to score then obviously something’s missing from your game.
I don’t want to get into that crap because then I’ll sound like a sports analyst and you’ll think I care when you dispute my opinion.

What I do care about is our reason for comparing everyone and everything. Why do we need to ask if Dirk Nowitzki can be compared to Larry Bird, if Shaq was better than Wilt, if your ex was better than your current?

We compare all day. The price of name brand grocery to the store brand, your first kid to your second one, do you like breasts or backsides, light skin or dark, Jesus or Allah, Hangover 1 or 2, Chris Rock or Dave Chappelle, Star Wars or Star Trek, Tyler Perry or Spike Lee? It goes on and on.

We love to say things like “it wasn’t better than the first one” or “it wasn’t as good as last time.”

I do it all the time. One thing can be great but we wonder about its greatness contrasted against another thing. A while back, our weekly radio show took a look at love vs. money. We wanted to know if money was a factor in people’s decisions when dealing with relationships.

Some people called up and said love rules all, others said if you’re not financially stable then you’re not ready to be in a relationship. One caller even said men should “holla back when they get their weight up.”

I tried to reason with her and let her know it would be tough for anyone, male or female to be told to go and fix themselves then return. “Go get your money right, come back and we’ll see what it is.”

That’s like telling someone to get their weight down, or let their hair grow, or get a better wardrobe, or go read a few books, get a better personality and I’ll consider you.

Does it mean you take someone “as is” all the time? Not technically, but it does mean that you see something in the person you chose that outshines the things that you don’t see. And sometimes you are the piece that’s missing in their life that makes them want to workout, make more money, eat right, sacrifice sleep, or simply become a better version of themselves.

But it’s much easier to compare them to your last person, or the next person you’ll meet or some celebrity on a screen or website.

So what’s my point you ask?

LeBron James is a professional athlete. He is not worried about how he’s going to pay for daycare or when he should get his brakes fixed, there aren’t any bill collectors with his cell number.

But he does have a receding hairline, pressure to win, and a city that despises him. All of those are issues most of us would take on if it came along with his salary and endorsement deals…but would we really?

How good must it feel to know that you can buy almost anything? How weird it must feel to know that everyone else sees you as someone that can buy almost anything? And now Bron hints that his haters and former fans are just peasants with problems and poverty that can only talk about him with contempt while they live their miserable lives and are subjected to viewing commercials, highlights and footage of him living the life most can only dream of.  King James worked so hard to be what he is today.

 

But Michael Jordan may have out worked every human being that did any job ever.


He knew how to score before he learned how to shoot, then he decided to play defense, then he figured out how to win and get his team involved, then he became semi-cool with his competition but only to get inside their heads and beat them again and again as he made up false rumors about himself to get motivated.

He retired and returned after feeling lost. He fired himself up, won 3 more titles and walked away on top only to come back just to see if he still had it without the springs. He did, but it wasn’t the same. And now he’s in the hall of fame upset that he can’t play again and prove to this era that he’s better than them. He gave a speech that expressed he felt sorry for his kids, was still irked about a decision his college coach made and he invited the guy that took his spot on the team in HS to the ceremony.

These aren’t your typical “I’m happy I’m the greatest ever” moves.
And with all that there may be a slight possibility that in years to come, LeBron James will realize his own greatness, a sense of competitiveness will kick in and we will truly witness a player like no other. Size, speed, strength, shooting, scoring, stopping others and a will to be on top. And what will we do?

Search for a comparison.

Monday Ramble # 41 “Friday Night Fights”

Posted: May 20, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

I am posting this on a Friday because I didn’t post it on Monday. If you need a real reason, I can get one to you at a later date when I have a good one. Thank you for asking.

Anyway…when was the last time you had a fight?
If you have to think about it, that’s good. After you hit a certain age, fighting is pretty senseless unless it’s for your life or someone skips you on line at the supermarket…or calls you a vagina on reality TV…or somebody calls your child ugly…or tries to put something in your anus when you’re not looking, then it’s ok.

I was playing basketball last Friday at Georgia Tech. And no I didn’t get into a fight but there was a crew of three dudes that had on durags, ripped up ball gear and they spoke with a midwestern twang that had me on guard.

One of these dudes was slightly extra as he slung elbows around and took wild shots that sometimes went in. It was only a matter of time before he ran into the wrong individual and a “Shut the fuck up” was met with a “Who the fuck you talking to?”
And a “Let’s go outside.”


Surprisingly the man that was to be his competitor in the ring wasn’t as hype. He was actually calm, confident and eager to take the bout outdoors. Of course we all attempted to break it up as Midwest guy yelled out, “I’mma show y’all how we do it in Detroit!”

Ahh his place of origin had been revealed. But as he and the other possible combatant got closer, his foe’s strong accent and broken English seemed to cause some hesitation.
Detroit dude must have noticed what we all noticed. The Akon-resembling dark brother he was about to square off with wasn’t African-American…he was African.

Now I know Detroit is rough, there’s a lot of murders and ignorance and they like guns. But I’ve been to Africa, and I hate to be stereotypical but there’s just something about the mother continent that tells any American that a physical confrontation with someone from there may not be the smartest thing. I watched this Michigan youngster yell, make threats, ball his fist, ask someone else to “check” him, and beg not to be held back, but as soon as he got a quiet request to go outside, he said, “Let’s play ball.”

“Let’s go outside motherfucker” in a Michael Blackson voice would have been enough to make me think twice. Then the crew of African cohorts that began to swarm around quietly waiting for something to happen added more suspense.

All I envisioned was their dexterity with spears or some acrobatic martial art skill used for fighting lions and tigers. What was I thinking? I am a prejudice bastard. I assumed because someone speaks like Prince Akeem that they must know how to kill an elephant with their bare hands.

Yet I was not alone. We all had some jokes about the Motor City vs. The Motherland. We also peeped that no matter how much bumping and shoulder touching they did, dude with the durag kept saying, “Don’t touch me” as he got touched.

Sometimes you need people to do the courtesy ‘break-up the fight’ before it happens. Especially when you don’t really want to go through with it.

Which reminds me of the time I got fouled by some short, stocky gentleman on the court a few years ago and I returned the favor. He shed blood, he asked me to apologize, I declined, he got upset, someone held him back, I said let him go, I didn’t mean it, he calmed down, we ended up on the same team later that day, he gave me a ‘good pass’ nod, we won, after the games he gave me a pound. All good right?

Well yes but any of those instances could have taken a different turn, and I realized I had dodged a bullet when we were all preparing to leave the park and someone congratulated him on his last match. Match? Tennis? He doesn’t look like a tennis player. Wait a minute…he boxes? Oh well, luckily I didn’t take it there, wouldn’t want to box a boxer.

Then I began to size him up, I thought that since I made him bleed when I fouled him, maybe I’m stronger than I think and then…that’s when he picked up a bag that had the UFC logo on it. No way, he must have bought that in a store.

Later I found out he didn’t buy the bag at a store, he wasn’t a pro fighter but he was on his way. I dodged a silver bullet, thanked baby Jesus and never raised my voice on a basketball court again.

Go ahead call me a punk, puss, whatever you like. Fighting is fun when the consequence is losing.

Fighting isn’t fun when someone is going to their trunk afterwards or friends are jumping in or you have to stretch first…or you’re not playing hockey…or you tweet about it beforehand and ask your followers if you should go through with it…or if the footage goes up on Youtube…or if you have to set ground rules with your fight partner like ‘no kicking yo’…or you find out you were fighting a semi-professional fighter…then most likely your sparring days have expired. And that’s fine.

You know what you never hear before a fight? Honesty. No one ever says, “You would probably bust my ass but I ain’t trying to look like a bitch out here so I’mma say I’ll eff you up and hope that you believe that or you’re just unsure if I know a martial art or something and just back down.”

Instead you scream out, “What nucca? What? It’s whatever!”
Whatever is very broad. I would never tell someone it’s whatever. That covers everything: knives, guns, nooses, chainsaws, car keys. I need barriers.
I got out of fights with pure honesty. “You’re gonna fight me? Really? You got me by 40lbs my nig. Fuck it, if that’s how you feeling. Bet! (voice raises) I don’t fight people I respect, and I respect you. But let’s do it. I’m just saying, I ain’t box in a minute, expect some rust. Might be a little dancing around the first few rounds just to get my bearings but if this is what you need to happen fam, I’m good. Let’s get it poppin'”


By that time her rationale has usually kicked in and she doesn’t want to fight anymore. It works every time.

Monday Ramble #40 Breaking News: Osama Rhymes With Obama

Posted: May 2, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Just thoughts, MONDAY RAMBLE | Tags: , , , , , , | 10 Comments

It’s hard to believe I’ve been doing 40 weeks of blabbing out “randumb” thoughts. You guys have been really responsive and supportive and I thank you all for spreading the word. The book is on the way.

With that said, the topics I had in mind for this week were halted when I heard the news of Osama Bin Laden being killed last night. But I still need you guys to check out the archive of our deep and informative blogtalkradio show last week on “Domestic Violence” and tomorrow’s show on “The Friend Zone.”

I know it seems like good news to most people that the man behind the loss of so many American lives is deceased, but I was a little down. Bin Laden had become this mystical figure in my mind. Like a modern day giant with a Bad Santa-like beard that was evil to some, a hero to others, but wealthy to all.


He was sort of like a cool, devil person that could buy his freedom and kept a whole nation from snitching. I don’t know if he wrote a book about how he obtained his bread and power but I would read it.

Sure he allegedly planned 9/11 and all that but do we know for sure? And we saw footage of him praying and rejoicing after the Towers dropped. Was that really live? And if so, how did we get that footage? Did he send it? Was it on youtube because I can’t find it now?

I think he was setup to take the fall and now he’s supposedly gone. I’m not sure if I believe this story though.
The last time I killed someone and I thought they were dead, they really weren’t. And the bastard was lying still for so long, it seemed as though I had sent him to meet his maker. I was satisfied that all my thug raps were real and I had taken a life…again. Then all of a sudden, one of his tiny legs twitched and then three more moved, and I knew the deed wasn’t finished.

All I’m saying is you never know if someone is really dead until you wrap them up in a few paper towels with your own hands.

The first time I met Bin Laden I was watching the movie Hannibal. And there his name was on the cinematic wanted list with Hannibal Lechter in the movie released months before the planes hit the buildings.

So they did know he was a threat huh?
And Bush did fly his family out the morning of 9/11.
And we’re left to believe that this wasn’t some type of plan to raise oil prices. I wish I could get some oil. I know it’s worth much more than kilos of coke.
I swear I would move to Afghanistan if I had an oil connect. Then I would dis all those drug dealing rap guys with their grams and weight moving and I would boast about my gallons and trucks. It may not sound as cool but who needs to sell records when you’re selling gasoline and oil.

So anyways, I’m not happy about this guy passing.

And the main reason is because for the rest of my days I am going to have to hear rap punchlines about Osama and 9 times out of ten they will rhyme with Obama. And although this may have just knocked off your socks or toenail polish with that clever rhyme scheme, trust me, I wasn’t the first to think of it.

It’ll be in battle raps, ciphers, freestyles, videos… I’m sure Fabolous just recorded his verse and his line will probably make you chuckle. Heck I might even sneak one in. Or not.

You know what trips me out? I’ve heard people say, “We killed Bin Laden.”
We as in our armed forces. Our armed forces as in Americans. Americans will pick the finest of times to come together as one.
We really, really need an alien attack to get the human race to team up. I’m gonna pray for that.

It took ten years to find Bin Laden, and he wasn’t in a hole, he was in a mansion. The assault finally went down but no Americans were killed and a firefight took place. No Americans killed? Sounds like a G.I Joe episode to me. A firefight?

I’ve never seen a firefight. Well in the Fantastic Four movie I did, but that was The Human Torch and that wasn’t believable.

What I think happened was the pres and Osama had a few drinks and some weed and came up with a plan to make everyone comfy.

Obama: I need something big for my presidency.

Osama: Like what? Name it my friend.

Obama: I gotta take you down.

Osama: I know that would be berry helpful to you. How about we help each other? You say you kill me, you don’t mention seeing Tupac in the living room, I let you kill one of my brothers and you take his body back as trophy.

Obama: Deal!

Then just like the scene where Alonzo sets up Roger in Training Day, “Boom!” They shoot Bin Laden, make up a story, some rookie White cop is probably the shooter, he gets to go home and do the wife or the girlfriend thing.
I’m just saying…I want to see the body and the dental records before I go running around happy.
Not that I would be ecstatic that another man is dead just because the nation’s leaders told me to.

I know we have to blame someone but I don’t know if I really want to. Obama sounded really cool and cocky about the murder though. It was sort of like he’d done this before. And I don’t mean like the murders I’ve committed. Maybe this will get him put back in office, maybe Osama died of natural causes, maybe the next up and coming guy is waiting to plot a bigger attack and this was part of the plan like when Serpentor took over for Cobra Commander.

Do they know terrorists look forward to death? The graduation ceremony from terrorist school is a funeral.

Do you believe Osama’s dead? I guess a better question would be, do you care?

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