Although my story isn't as long, or nearly as entertaining as Jean Shepherd's movie adaptation of his 1983 novel, "A Christmas Story" it still provided me a very important lesson in gratitude and humility - I think. Long ago, the object of my Christmas affection, was the ever popular remote control car. I woke up on the 25th and made a b-line to my grandmother's living room where the tree was located. I systematically eliminated all boxes that didn't resemble the box of a remote control car, as did my cousin of the same age. After a brief period of trial and error, I finally found it, just like I knew I would.
My cousin found his shortly afterwards. We ripped open the boxes with our respective names on them to reveal a nice red remote control Corvette for me, and a Porshe of the same color for him. There was one problem though - my shit was literally REMOTE CONTROLLED. *pause for a sec* Ok, audience, let me explain to you what was wrong with this. Yes, I refer to it as REMOTE control just for the sake of story, however, what I really had my heart set on was a RADIO controlled car. The difference? Simple. Radio is wireless, remote is not. My cousin opens his, and whatda know, his shit is RADIO controlled?!!?! The smug look on this nigga face almost got him strangled with my remote controlled car wire. Whats worst, is that he didn't even want a RC car originally, I talked him into it, this was MY idea. How is it that I get stuck with this shit?
Someone had some explaining to do. I know Santa Clause didn't bring me this shit, he wouldn't do me like that. It was my grandma. Ladies and gentleman, I love my nana to death, did then, still do, but WTF? I threw a fit, similar to Fred Sanford threatening to return to Elizabeth. Here my cousin is, chilling from the couch eating cookies sending his car underneath tables and shit, while I'm chasing my damn car around the house like a sucker. My shit didn't even have left and right controls, I had to use reverse to turn my car. Anyway, after getting a healthy lecture from my mother, father, aunt, uncle, other uncle, and other aunt I decided to calm down, and just be "appreciative" of what I got. After all, some kids didn't get anything for Christmas at all....
..You know what...fuck that. I need closure. I'm gonna call my grandma up and ask her what her motivation behind that was. How hard was it to grab 2 boxes instead of one and one of something else? Did she secretly resent the relationship between my mom and dad and decided to take it out on me? I still feel some kinda way about this. I guess the real lesson learned, is that you often WON'T get the things that you want in life, and some other jerkoff who is less deserving than you will.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Rerouting Our Course, Consequences? Pt. 2
So, assuming there really are forces beyond our control that remind us of the proper course to take in life, what are the consequences of deviation? Well, I think I may be able to shed some light on that. For the better half of 5 years, I have worked the 3rd shift, also known as the grave yard shift. I chose to work these hours because it paid me the most money. Simple as that. Wasn't hard to tell. Keep this fact in mind for later.
To someone who works 3rd, Thursday night, is like the average person's Friday. I came in to work Thursday night at 12 am, got off at 8am Friday morning. On a weekday, I'd normally goto sleep, but it was Friday, I was single, full of energy, and money. So I played DOA4 for a few hours, went to the mall and picked up a few things, met a few people, made a few calls, hit up happy hour, and before I knew it, it was Friday evening. I made sure I went to the liquor store before 9(closing time) and got a bottle of 151, and a case of Blue Bull, then went to hang at my friends crib at Heritage Park. Everyone was too pussy to sip the 151 with me, so it went virtually untouched. We made our way to a house party, drunk their liquor, talked to a few females....HOLD UP...
Sounds like a pretty decent start a weekend right? If you said yes, then I would agree. Where it started to deteriorate however, was when I let a few friends talk me into hitting the club. Why? I don't know, because I was already having a good time where I was at, FOR FREE! We get to the club, dance, mingle,drink, nothing out of the ordinary. I kicked it with some half and half Vietnamese/Black/....I have no idea type chick . Something about her was just so...strange. I wasn't too drunk too notice, just too lazy to acknowledge it. My attempt to get her to leave with me were thwarted by her friend, who grabbed her by the arm, and practically threw her in the car. She drops her shades low enough to show me her eyes, and tells me to meet her at the Waffle House just before her girlfriend pulls off in a white Chrysler 300.
Sooo...I drop off my friends (rudely, no socializing, obviously I had things to do) and haul ass back to the Waffle House on Route. 1. I'm flying in my car, passing cars in non passing zones and some more shit - didn't care. I get there, and its like the club after party. I ordered some food which I never ate, talked to a everybody EXCEPT for the girl I met at the club. Her and her cockblocking ass friends never showed.
Moving on...its now roughly 4am. Mind you, I went to work Thursday night, got off Friday morning, didn't goto sleep, now its early Saturday morning, and I still haven't slept, AND I've been drinking for the last 15 hours. From the Aunt Sarah's to my crib, was literally 3 turns, with the 2nd of said 3 turns coming after about a straight l0 minute drive on open road. It must have been my night too, because every light was green. Pretty much(almost) breezed home with no problems, despite the fact that I'm dozing in and out of sleep the whole ride back. After making the 2nd of the 3 turns, I finally start hitting a few red lights, which doesn't help, because everytime I stop, I fall asleep for just a little bit longer.
I was able to get away with this for so long, because up until now, the road didn't bend, it was literally straight shot. I doze off again after passing through yet another red light which unfortunately preceded a soft left bend. I then awoke to loud thud. The thud was because I had just ran on top of a medium. This made me fully alert, and fully aware of what was happening, so I slammed on the breaks, but it was too late. I ran on top of a medium and hit a sign doing about 50. The collision caused the sign the fold, and hit my windshield, shattering it. I then started to spin out of control for about 60 yards, UPHILL until my progress was halted by a guard rail - which I ran DIRECTLY on top of.
Not aware I'm about 4 feet in the air, I open the door to attempt to step out. I busted my ass, and my fitted fell off of my head, and into some mud. After I was finished foolishly cursing the mud for ruining my 30$ baseball cap, I look up, and saw a much more costly investment of mine - sitting, smoking, and on top a guard rail. A friend of mine called me earlier that week, asked me if I was alright. He said "I saw a black Lexus that looked just like yours on the back of a tow truck, TOTALED!, I was worried it was you. " "Yeah right " I told him. I thought about that, and could do nothing but laugh.
about the girl from the club: she said she worked at a department store at the local mall, I went there for the next 5 days in hopes that I'd run into her. Not because I felt some kinda way about her not showing, but to share with her this story that could have potentially killed me. Never saw her.
about the car: total damage was about 7,500, good looking out Geico. This happened only 1 month after getting the car. It was in the shop for 2 months.
To someone who works 3rd, Thursday night, is like the average person's Friday. I came in to work Thursday night at 12 am, got off at 8am Friday morning. On a weekday, I'd normally goto sleep, but it was Friday, I was single, full of energy, and money. So I played DOA4 for a few hours, went to the mall and picked up a few things, met a few people, made a few calls, hit up happy hour, and before I knew it, it was Friday evening. I made sure I went to the liquor store before 9(closing time) and got a bottle of 151, and a case of Blue Bull, then went to hang at my friends crib at Heritage Park. Everyone was too pussy to sip the 151 with me, so it went virtually untouched. We made our way to a house party, drunk their liquor, talked to a few females....HOLD UP...
Sounds like a pretty decent start a weekend right? If you said yes, then I would agree. Where it started to deteriorate however, was when I let a few friends talk me into hitting the club. Why? I don't know, because I was already having a good time where I was at, FOR FREE! We get to the club, dance, mingle,drink, nothing out of the ordinary. I kicked it with some half and half Vietnamese/Black/....I have no idea type chick . Something about her was just so...strange. I wasn't too drunk too notice, just too lazy to acknowledge it. My attempt to get her to leave with me were thwarted by her friend, who grabbed her by the arm, and practically threw her in the car. She drops her shades low enough to show me her eyes, and tells me to meet her at the Waffle House just before her girlfriend pulls off in a white Chrysler 300.
Sooo...I drop off my friends (rudely, no socializing, obviously I had things to do) and haul ass back to the Waffle House on Route. 1. I'm flying in my car, passing cars in non passing zones and some more shit - didn't care. I get there, and its like the club after party. I ordered some food which I never ate, talked to a everybody EXCEPT for the girl I met at the club. Her and her cockblocking ass friends never showed.
Moving on...its now roughly 4am. Mind you, I went to work Thursday night, got off Friday morning, didn't goto sleep, now its early Saturday morning, and I still haven't slept, AND I've been drinking for the last 15 hours. From the Aunt Sarah's to my crib, was literally 3 turns, with the 2nd of said 3 turns coming after about a straight l0 minute drive on open road. It must have been my night too, because every light was green. Pretty much(almost) breezed home with no problems, despite the fact that I'm dozing in and out of sleep the whole ride back. After making the 2nd of the 3 turns, I finally start hitting a few red lights, which doesn't help, because everytime I stop, I fall asleep for just a little bit longer.
I was able to get away with this for so long, because up until now, the road didn't bend, it was literally straight shot. I doze off again after passing through yet another red light which unfortunately preceded a soft left bend. I then awoke to loud thud. The thud was because I had just ran on top of a medium. This made me fully alert, and fully aware of what was happening, so I slammed on the breaks, but it was too late. I ran on top of a medium and hit a sign doing about 50. The collision caused the sign the fold, and hit my windshield, shattering it. I then started to spin out of control for about 60 yards, UPHILL until my progress was halted by a guard rail - which I ran DIRECTLY on top of.
Not aware I'm about 4 feet in the air, I open the door to attempt to step out. I busted my ass, and my fitted fell off of my head, and into some mud. After I was finished foolishly cursing the mud for ruining my 30$ baseball cap, I look up, and saw a much more costly investment of mine - sitting, smoking, and on top a guard rail. A friend of mine called me earlier that week, asked me if I was alright. He said "I saw a black Lexus that looked just like yours on the back of a tow truck, TOTALED!, I was worried it was you. " "Yeah right " I told him. I thought about that, and could do nothing but laugh.
about the girl from the club: she said she worked at a department store at the local mall, I went there for the next 5 days in hopes that I'd run into her. Not because I felt some kinda way about her not showing, but to share with her this story that could have potentially killed me. Never saw her.
about the car: total damage was about 7,500, good looking out Geico. This happened only 1 month after getting the car. It was in the shop for 2 months.
Monday, December 14, 2009
How Wrestling Ruined My Childhood
Like many adolescents in the late 80's I was a pretty huge fan of Wrestling. I'd eagerly watch the matches with my cousin of the same age, sometimes even acting out what I saw on my TV screen. One day, I went to the gym to workout with my pops, and what do you know, there's a ring! An actual fuckin boxing ring like the one I've seen Ric Flair and Sting battle it out in. I didn't even bother to ask my father if I could go in, I just ran, hopped, and rolled under the bottom rope like I saw my favorite wrestlers do on TV all the time. The first thing I wanted to try out, was the ropes...
A very common part of wrestling, is wrestler 1 throws throws wrestler 2 into the ropes. Wrestler 2 bounces off the ropes, and usually ends up on the receiving end of a drop kick or clothesline from wrestler 1. Since this was a solo exercise, I decided to act out both parts by myself, which is what ultimately, killed my enthusiasm for the "sport" of wrestling from then on out. There was no automatic bounce off the rope, none at fuckin all. My brain which was only 6 years old at the time didn't take long for me to put 3 and 2 together - "the wrestlers weren't bouncing at all, they were purposely running into the clothesline themselves" WTF? Why would someone purposely clothesline themselves? Makes no sense now, made no sense 20 years ago. Ladies and gentleman, I had been had.
The final nail in the coffin came from GI Joe. Sgt. Slaughter was the most thoroughest Joe of them all, kicked much Cobra ass. I finally see the REAL Sgt. Slaughter in a WWF match, and saw that he was really just some old, fat, bald guy. A far cry from the "Real American Hero" I saw on TV. From then on out, I couldn't enjoy anything anymore, I was always questioning, everything. I gave away my GI Joes, my Transformers. and quit cartoons cold turkey. I just watched Sports Center with my pops, which is probably why I'm a damn sports encyclopedia to this day.
I am still this way now, but even worse. I can't even enjoy one of my favorite films, Kill Bill, without constantly wondering why Uma Thurman is going through all this trouble to knife fight Vivica when she could have just plugged one in her head the second she answered the door - or how the hell she come up on the cash to fly to Japan after waking up from a 4 year coma? Wrestling has robbed me of my innocence.
A very common part of wrestling, is wrestler 1 throws throws wrestler 2 into the ropes. Wrestler 2 bounces off the ropes, and usually ends up on the receiving end of a drop kick or clothesline from wrestler 1. Since this was a solo exercise, I decided to act out both parts by myself, which is what ultimately, killed my enthusiasm for the "sport" of wrestling from then on out. There was no automatic bounce off the rope, none at fuckin all. My brain which was only 6 years old at the time didn't take long for me to put 3 and 2 together - "the wrestlers weren't bouncing at all, they were purposely running into the clothesline themselves" WTF? Why would someone purposely clothesline themselves? Makes no sense now, made no sense 20 years ago. Ladies and gentleman, I had been had.
The final nail in the coffin came from GI Joe. Sgt. Slaughter was the most thoroughest Joe of them all, kicked much Cobra ass. I finally see the REAL Sgt. Slaughter in a WWF match, and saw that he was really just some old, fat, bald guy. A far cry from the "Real American Hero" I saw on TV. From then on out, I couldn't enjoy anything anymore, I was always questioning, everything. I gave away my GI Joes, my Transformers. and quit cartoons cold turkey. I just watched Sports Center with my pops, which is probably why I'm a damn sports encyclopedia to this day.
I am still this way now, but even worse. I can't even enjoy one of my favorite films, Kill Bill, without constantly wondering why Uma Thurman is going through all this trouble to knife fight Vivica when she could have just plugged one in her head the second she answered the door - or how the hell she come up on the cash to fly to Japan after waking up from a 4 year coma? Wrestling has robbed me of my innocence.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Rerouting Our Course, Consequences? Pt. 1
One of my favorite video game franchises I've played over the past couple of years, is Ninja Gaiden. Lots of action, pretty graphics, cheesy storyline. At certain moments of the game, you'll enter a corridor or large room with multiple doors. For the sake of example, lets say this room features 5 of them. 1 of the doors leads you to an item of some significance, the other leads you forward to the next section of the level. The other 3...just dummies. They do nothing, and are just there for all intents and purposes, decoration. Obviously this is by design to help streamline the experience to the end user. Another scenario of what I am eluding to, would be a lab mouse traveling through a maze. Although the mouse is presented with alternative paths, usually, only one leads to the cheese.
Many moons ago, well, not many, more like 2 months ago I spoke about living out our lives (unknowingly) traveling down a pre-determined path. Unfortunately for us, we don't have the luxury of streamlined game design to guide us to the final boss. However, I strongly believe we are given subtle clues to help light the way.
February 4th, 200x was an exciting day for me. It was Saturday, I had 4,000 American dollars on hand for a down payment on a car I had been researching for the past 3 months or so. I arrive to the dealership, ask to check it out, test drive, the usual - then quickly cut to the chase. "I have 4 thou, will that that be enough down drive away today?" The dealers eyes lit up, as he promptly made his way back to his office to draw up paper work. After all the signatures are signed, the next step, obviously was s to let the money exchange hands, except there was one problem - I didn't have any. I reached in my left sweatpants pocket. Keys. I reached my right pocket. Nothing. I check my back pockets, I doubled checked my front. Nothing but my keys again. Feeling a tad embarrassed, I explain to the dealer that I (apparently) left my money at home. I get my brother, and my cousin who accompanied me to scrape up whatever cash they have on them to give to the dealer as a sign of good faith that I'll actually come back. We rushed back home, I jet out of the car to get inside the house, when I reached in my left pocket to get the keys to unlock the door, my hand runs into a wad of cash.
The money was in pocket the whole damn time. I suddenly had this real eerie rush of...I dunno, but I felt like this was a sign deterring me from getting this car. If this was a movie, the camera probably would have gotten close up to my face, while a cliche' ominous instrumental played in the background. To my audience of 2, (brother, cousin) waiting for me in the car, it would have appeared as though my puppeteer took a lunch break, and left me motionless, but the behind scenes look of this of this particular take would have showed that I was actually having a discussion with a friend of mine. Myself.
Refusing to acknowledge the utter eeriness of this whole situation, I pull out my keys, unlock the door, turn the knob and walk inside the house. I counted to 10, then walked back out. Obviously this was a farce to conceal the fact that my dumbass went all the way back home for nothing, but only you know that, and I'm sure you won't laugh at me for it. I returned to the dealer, finalized the paper work, and me, my younger brother Jerome, my cousin Zeus returned home +1 vehicle.
That car has brought me so, so, sooooo much trouble. but I'll discuss that later, its a quarter to 6 AM, and this submission is long enough as is. To Be Cont...
Many moons ago, well, not many, more like 2 months ago I spoke about living out our lives (unknowingly) traveling down a pre-determined path. Unfortunately for us, we don't have the luxury of streamlined game design to guide us to the final boss. However, I strongly believe we are given subtle clues to help light the way.
February 4th, 200x was an exciting day for me. It was Saturday, I had 4,000 American dollars on hand for a down payment on a car I had been researching for the past 3 months or so. I arrive to the dealership, ask to check it out, test drive, the usual - then quickly cut to the chase. "I have 4 thou, will that that be enough down drive away today?" The dealers eyes lit up, as he promptly made his way back to his office to draw up paper work. After all the signatures are signed, the next step, obviously was s to let the money exchange hands, except there was one problem - I didn't have any. I reached in my left sweatpants pocket. Keys. I reached my right pocket. Nothing. I check my back pockets, I doubled checked my front. Nothing but my keys again. Feeling a tad embarrassed, I explain to the dealer that I (apparently) left my money at home. I get my brother, and my cousin who accompanied me to scrape up whatever cash they have on them to give to the dealer as a sign of good faith that I'll actually come back. We rushed back home, I jet out of the car to get inside the house, when I reached in my left pocket to get the keys to unlock the door, my hand runs into a wad of cash.
The money was in pocket the whole damn time. I suddenly had this real eerie rush of...I dunno, but I felt like this was a sign deterring me from getting this car. If this was a movie, the camera probably would have gotten close up to my face, while a cliche' ominous instrumental played in the background. To my audience of 2, (brother, cousin) waiting for me in the car, it would have appeared as though my puppeteer took a lunch break, and left me motionless, but the behind scenes look of this of this particular take would have showed that I was actually having a discussion with a friend of mine. Myself.
Refusing to acknowledge the utter eeriness of this whole situation, I pull out my keys, unlock the door, turn the knob and walk inside the house. I counted to 10, then walked back out. Obviously this was a farce to conceal the fact that my dumbass went all the way back home for nothing, but only you know that, and I'm sure you won't laugh at me for it. I returned to the dealer, finalized the paper work, and me, my younger brother Jerome, my cousin Zeus returned home +1 vehicle.
That car has brought me so, so, sooooo much trouble. but I'll discuss that later, its a quarter to 6 AM, and this submission is long enough as is. To Be Cont...
Monday, November 30, 2009
Normal Super Powers
Following my Monday night protocol, I left my townhome, walked about 5 minutes to my cousins crib to watch football, laugh, and overdose on alcoholic beverages. Sounds like fun? Well, it was, but that was not the motive behind this weekly ritual. The TV scheduling gods saw fit to place Monday Night Football, within the same time slot as Mia's favorite TV sitcom, "Heroes". I often find the most simplest(read: easiest) solution to most problems I am faced with, and this one presented itself effortlessly.
There was one game in particular though, it was one of the most uneventful halves of football I had ever witnessed. I found neither the camaraderie, or (cheap)Vodka appealing enough to make me stay for the 2nd half, so I used that as an opportunity to spend some time with my girlfriend, and catch the latter half of her favorite show, Heroes with her. Turns out, it was a pretty damn good show. Each of the main characters possess their own unique ability that allows them to do extraordinary things. Many of the character's abilities exposed themselves accidentally.. With proper encouragement, I think we are all capable of the same evolution, deliberately or accidental.
I converse with myself, FREQUENTLY. Not out loud, because I don't have the courage of Ed Norton's character in Fight Club. I do, however engage in a zombie like gaze upon inanimate objects. To conceal the nature of this, I usually just stare at a magazine, casually flipping the pages at 5 minute intervals to pretend I'm actually reading. Or maybe at a movie on my TV screen from opening 20th Century Fox intro - closing credits without even knowing what was just on. Random Nosey Bystander: "Hey Tracy, what are you watching, that looks like a pretty good movie" Me: "Huh? oh, I dunno, I guess it was aight" RNB: "So you were just sitting there the whole time NOT watching TV? How can you not know?" Me: [sarcastically] Yes, I'm just fuckin sittin here staring at my TV watchin nothin." Sarcasm is useful to lie without actually lying.
I remember I was at a recording studio with a few of my friends, who were laying down tracks for their upcoming album. It was your standard studio setting equipped with leather couch(comfy), Patron(bleh), Hennessy(semi-bleh) Weed(not my thing) and cocaine(nope). I was chilling, messing around with my Motorola Q, pretty much on zombie auto pilot for the last hour or so, until I was disturbed by someone who wanted my opinion. "I know Tracy keeps it real, what do YOU think" My stock response in this situation is, "oh, that was hot, good shit my nigga" Honestly though, I had no idea what the fuck was going on. The loud talking, cursing, laughing, 2 groupie chicks - not even the live band equipped with drums and guitars could overshadow my thoughts between me, and my myself. If they could have overheard our conversation, they would not have liked what we would had to say about them. Our album review would've been harsh, and most likely alienated myself amongst the group. I've been to their sessions before, seen their shows, heard their mixtapes, the mass majority of it, I don't like.
I ask myself, frequently, "what is wrong with you?" Why can't I go someplace, where other people are having a good time, and catch the same "good time fever" that everyone else apparently has. Why can't I enjoy reality TV like everyone else? How come I don't like weed? How come I drink, but dislike the shit that most of my friends seem to love? Why do I hate virtually EVERYTHING that's on the radio? My anti'isms run far deeper than liquor or pop culture, but I'll cut this part short for the sake of brevity.
Maybe my (un)extraordinary superpower is nonconformity. Maybe if I seek like minded individuals I won't question my beliefs as much. Maybe I will find a way to use my power to my advantage in the future.
There was one game in particular though, it was one of the most uneventful halves of football I had ever witnessed. I found neither the camaraderie, or (cheap)Vodka appealing enough to make me stay for the 2nd half, so I used that as an opportunity to spend some time with my girlfriend, and catch the latter half of her favorite show, Heroes with her. Turns out, it was a pretty damn good show. Each of the main characters possess their own unique ability that allows them to do extraordinary things. Many of the character's abilities exposed themselves accidentally.. With proper encouragement, I think we are all capable of the same evolution, deliberately or accidental.
I converse with myself, FREQUENTLY. Not out loud, because I don't have the courage of Ed Norton's character in Fight Club. I do, however engage in a zombie like gaze upon inanimate objects. To conceal the nature of this, I usually just stare at a magazine, casually flipping the pages at 5 minute intervals to pretend I'm actually reading. Or maybe at a movie on my TV screen from opening 20th Century Fox intro - closing credits without even knowing what was just on. Random Nosey Bystander: "Hey Tracy, what are you watching, that looks like a pretty good movie" Me: "Huh? oh, I dunno, I guess it was aight" RNB: "So you were just sitting there the whole time NOT watching TV? How can you not know?" Me: [sarcastically] Yes, I'm just fuckin sittin here staring at my TV watchin nothin." Sarcasm is useful to lie without actually lying.
I remember I was at a recording studio with a few of my friends, who were laying down tracks for their upcoming album. It was your standard studio setting equipped with leather couch(comfy), Patron(bleh), Hennessy(semi-bleh) Weed(not my thing) and cocaine(nope). I was chilling, messing around with my Motorola Q, pretty much on zombie auto pilot for the last hour or so, until I was disturbed by someone who wanted my opinion. "I know Tracy keeps it real, what do YOU think" My stock response in this situation is, "oh, that was hot, good shit my nigga" Honestly though, I had no idea what the fuck was going on. The loud talking, cursing, laughing, 2 groupie chicks - not even the live band equipped with drums and guitars could overshadow my thoughts between me, and my myself. If they could have overheard our conversation, they would not have liked what we would had to say about them. Our album review would've been harsh, and most likely alienated myself amongst the group. I've been to their sessions before, seen their shows, heard their mixtapes, the mass majority of it, I don't like.
I ask myself, frequently, "what is wrong with you?" Why can't I go someplace, where other people are having a good time, and catch the same "good time fever" that everyone else apparently has. Why can't I enjoy reality TV like everyone else? How come I don't like weed? How come I drink, but dislike the shit that most of my friends seem to love? Why do I hate virtually EVERYTHING that's on the radio? My anti'isms run far deeper than liquor or pop culture, but I'll cut this part short for the sake of brevity.
Maybe my (un)extraordinary superpower is nonconformity. Maybe if I seek like minded individuals I won't question my beliefs as much. Maybe I will find a way to use my power to my advantage in the future.
Monday, October 5, 2009
We've done this before...
There are no mistakes, only lessons. The old adage of trial and error has been beat into our heads at an early age. Learning off experience, practice makes perfect, etc... all imply the same principal. HOWEVER, as creatures of habit and prejudice, I imagine you have already built a mental template of where I'm going with this based on my opening statement. If you have, don't. If not, great. Either way, continue reading, I'll get to the point soon, trust me.
I sat in the passenger seat of the car waiting for my friend to come outside so we could goto DC. I listened to my brother vent from the backseat about a few things that were bothering him while I checked an e-mail alert on my phone. His rant began to startle me, but not in the way you would think. The car, the phone, his rant(word for word till I interrupted) was all too familiar. I had a rush of what is referred to as "deja vu"
I experience something similar to this at least once a week, except they normally only involve me, and not direct conversations with people that I associate with. Imagine for a moment that we're all players in an elaborate play (called "Life") without being aware of our participation. What if every now and then we caught a glimpse of the editing process going on in the background, via malfunction. ie: deja vu. Taking a moment to dwell on this phenomenon is quite humbling, at least to me it is. Am I really experiencing growth. or just traveling down a predetermined path?
Monday, September 14, 2009
Music Monday Time Machine
The 140 character limit of Twitter tends to get a bit claustrophobic at times. So I figured I'd take advantage of the extra real estate blogger.com provides me. My selection is Pretty Brown Eyes, by Mint Condition. Besides being what I consider to be a great song, it carries extra significance to me because of the memories I associate with it.
I was about 11 years old, bored as usual, so I solved that problem by dumping my last 8 quarters into Street Fighter 2. I was also hungry as hell, but I blew my last 2 dollars playing Street Fighter 2. The ensuing hunger quickly highlighted the flaw in my priority structure, but the fucked up part about hindsight is that it only happens after your mistake, not prior. Plus, I was 11, sue me.
Faced with this dilemma, I decided that I would victimize a carryout via snatch-grab-haul ass. ie: order some food, reach in pocket fumbling around pretending I forgot my money, tell them I had to go get my money in hopes that they would start cooking it without me paying, approach the counter like I was going to pay when the food was finished, snatch, grab, then haul ass, genius right?
Obviously I couldn't do this at a local spot, so I just started walking as far as my legs would carry me on an empty stomach. Eventually I ended up on a spot near 1st and Rhode Island Ave NE, and put my plan into motion. It appeared to be working, the chic took my order, started screaming in chinese to the cooks in the back - probably calling me all types of names in the process, but I didn't care, because the joke was about to be on her in a sec. The variable I didn't account for however, was the fact that I was in a very unfamiliar place on a block full of niggas that didn't know me. All looking, all staring, most of them mugging. I casually walked to a payphone to pretend to make a phone call like everything was cool, but eventually someone was like "ay cuz, who u?" Before I could answer, some (older) guy I had never seen before in my life walked up and asked me what I was doing around here, and where was I from. After I told him he offered to take me back home to O st, because he had heard the dudes plotting on jumping me as soon as I walked up. Cool dude, well dressed, drove an Acura Legend, and Pretty Brown Eyes played on the ride home.
I was about 11 years old, bored as usual, so I solved that problem by dumping my last 8 quarters into Street Fighter 2. I was also hungry as hell, but I blew my last 2 dollars playing Street Fighter 2. The ensuing hunger quickly highlighted the flaw in my priority structure, but the fucked up part about hindsight is that it only happens after your mistake, not prior. Plus, I was 11, sue me.
Faced with this dilemma, I decided that I would victimize a carryout via snatch-grab-haul ass. ie: order some food, reach in pocket fumbling around pretending I forgot my money, tell them I had to go get my money in hopes that they would start cooking it without me paying, approach the counter like I was going to pay when the food was finished, snatch, grab, then haul ass, genius right?
Obviously I couldn't do this at a local spot, so I just started walking as far as my legs would carry me on an empty stomach. Eventually I ended up on a spot near 1st and Rhode Island Ave NE, and put my plan into motion. It appeared to be working, the chic took my order, started screaming in chinese to the cooks in the back - probably calling me all types of names in the process, but I didn't care, because the joke was about to be on her in a sec. The variable I didn't account for however, was the fact that I was in a very unfamiliar place on a block full of niggas that didn't know me. All looking, all staring, most of them mugging. I casually walked to a payphone to pretend to make a phone call like everything was cool, but eventually someone was like "ay cuz, who u?" Before I could answer, some (older) guy I had never seen before in my life walked up and asked me what I was doing around here, and where was I from. After I told him he offered to take me back home to O st, because he had heard the dudes plotting on jumping me as soon as I walked up. Cool dude, well dressed, drove an Acura Legend, and Pretty Brown Eyes played on the ride home.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
How much do you have to say, really?
Cold hard statistics are tools I often rely on to help prosecute my views in a sports debate. A QB who throws nearly as many touchdown passes as he does interceptions usually brings me to conclude that he takes (too many) chances. High passing percentages with a low TD number imply that he's conservative and doesn't take (enough) chances. Men lie, woman lie, numbers don't - usually. So assuming you're still with me up until this point and weren't thrown off by the sports reference, bear with me...
Just for the sake of conversation, I'd like to apply an equally rough statistical template to determine just how much relevant shit we have to talk about at any given moment. How often does your conversation consist of details concerning the latest chic to be eliminated from a reality dating show? How much thought do you dedicate towards a celebrity's hairstyle or bow tie, or better yet, who they're fucking? What is the last book you've read and recommended to someone else - Zane doesn't count, sorry. I could (roughly) conclude that if 70% of the things you say concern those topics, then probably have very little to say.
I was sitting here, writing this, nodding my head to the new Cuban Linx joint, thinking about the obvious, "self righteous" undertone this particular submission has. However, before you come to that conclusion, you may want to know that I am not very well read at all, so the last book I've recommended someone to read was god knows when. and I had just as much fun with the #chrisbrownbowtie Twitter trend as the next person. I don't consider myself immune to my own examination whatsoever. If you've been keeping score, you will remember me saying that I'm often my own Devil's advocate.
What do I consider relevant? Many things. Such as your plans to bring yourself closer to a career goal, getting money in general is always something I like to hear about. The competency of our PRESIDENT, not our "black" President, how to encourage youths in the inner city to more aggressively pursue academics vs rap star pipe dreams, etc.. I could (roughly) conclude that someone who speaks at length about those topics 90% of the time could probably stand to lighten up a bit.
Men lie, woman lie, numbers don't - usually. Its the "usually" part of that equation that introduces many variables I can't account for. Not everyone is comfortable with discussing issues outside pop culture because they fear being alienated, doesn't necessarily mean they don't have more relevant thoughts swirling around upstairs. Think about it, how many ringtones do you think Plies would sell if he discussed the difficulties of meeting term paper deadlines while he attended The University of South Florida instead of getting "Becky". My answer: Not many.
Just for the sake of conversation, I'd like to apply an equally rough statistical template to determine just how much relevant shit we have to talk about at any given moment. How often does your conversation consist of details concerning the latest chic to be eliminated from a reality dating show? How much thought do you dedicate towards a celebrity's hairstyle or bow tie, or better yet, who they're fucking? What is the last book you've read and recommended to someone else - Zane doesn't count, sorry. I could (roughly) conclude that if 70% of the things you say concern those topics, then probably have very little to say.
I was sitting here, writing this, nodding my head to the new Cuban Linx joint, thinking about the obvious, "self righteous" undertone this particular submission has. However, before you come to that conclusion, you may want to know that I am not very well read at all, so the last book I've recommended someone to read was god knows when. and I had just as much fun with the #chrisbrownbowtie Twitter trend as the next person. I don't consider myself immune to my own examination whatsoever. If you've been keeping score, you will remember me saying that I'm often my own Devil's advocate.
What do I consider relevant? Many things. Such as your plans to bring yourself closer to a career goal, getting money in general is always something I like to hear about. The competency of our PRESIDENT, not our "black" President, how to encourage youths in the inner city to more aggressively pursue academics vs rap star pipe dreams, etc.. I could (roughly) conclude that someone who speaks at length about those topics 90% of the time could probably stand to lighten up a bit.
Men lie, woman lie, numbers don't - usually. Its the "usually" part of that equation that introduces many variables I can't account for. Not everyone is comfortable with discussing issues outside pop culture because they fear being alienated, doesn't necessarily mean they don't have more relevant thoughts swirling around upstairs. Think about it, how many ringtones do you think Plies would sell if he discussed the difficulties of meeting term paper deadlines while he attended The University of South Florida instead of getting "Becky". My answer: Not many.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Destroy and Rebuild?
I can't exactly pinpoint the source of negativity that forced the wrath of karma. It could have been all the money I won cheating playing Tonk the day before. It could have been my less than honorable intentions, but on a unusually warm Dec 4th afternoon in 1996, I was struck and killed by a vehicle on my way home from school.
Unique perspectives can be gained from the least expected places. This is a tried and true statement which is only coincidentally cliché. A psychology major would have probably described my cellmate as mentally divergent, my major however was software so to me he was fuckin nuts.
His tall tales included, but were not limited too:
I didn't bother asking for the details of his incarceration, but he did mention he violated his parole when he caught a charge for disturbing the peace and trespassing at a local shopping mall. My mental image of that is him walking up to an Auntie Anne with a moses style walking stick, and laying hands on the forehead of an unsuspecting teenage girl trying to earn a few bucks for back to school clothes - to heal her of course...not for sodomy, cuz that would be crazy, Anywho
In the midst off all the raining and healing, he describes to me a process that involves dying and being reborn - without actually dying - sorta. My recollection of this "process" is as vague as my description. However, it has been said that in your last moments, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Unfortunately, my spiritual Tivo was only able to get the last 20 hours or so, leading all the way up to the collision. This was actually quite remarkable since I was only out cold for roughly 10 minutes. I awoke from my dream screaming in pain and shock. How my mind compressed an entire day within 10 minutes is unknown. Could have possibly been the phenomena that homie in jail was referring too, who knows.
If there was a moral to this particular story, I imagine it would be to listen to the people around you. Wade through debris of chatter and just maybe you'll find a gem worthy of taking with you. Either that, or look both ways before crossing the street.
FIN
Unique perspectives can be gained from the least expected places. This is a tried and true statement which is only coincidentally cliché. A psychology major would have probably described my cellmate as mentally divergent, my major however was software so to me he was fuckin nuts.
His tall tales included, but were not limited too:
- The power over rain (not showering strippers with singles, I mean like Storm in X-Men)
- Can heal sickness with just his touch
- The power to expose "demons" disguised in human form
I didn't bother asking for the details of his incarceration, but he did mention he violated his parole when he caught a charge for disturbing the peace and trespassing at a local shopping mall. My mental image of that is him walking up to an Auntie Anne with a moses style walking stick, and laying hands on the forehead of an unsuspecting teenage girl trying to earn a few bucks for back to school clothes - to heal her of course...not for sodomy, cuz that would be crazy, Anywho
In the midst off all the raining and healing, he describes to me a process that involves dying and being reborn - without actually dying - sorta. My recollection of this "process" is as vague as my description. However, it has been said that in your last moments, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Unfortunately, my spiritual Tivo was only able to get the last 20 hours or so, leading all the way up to the collision. This was actually quite remarkable since I was only out cold for roughly 10 minutes. I awoke from my dream screaming in pain and shock. How my mind compressed an entire day within 10 minutes is unknown. Could have possibly been the phenomena that homie in jail was referring too, who knows.
If there was a moral to this particular story, I imagine it would be to listen to the people around you. Wade through debris of chatter and just maybe you'll find a gem worthy of taking with you. Either that, or look both ways before crossing the street.
FIN
Monday, August 31, 2009
My Personal Clusterfuck
Irritation has been a very reliable sidekick to me for an unhealthy chunk of my adult life. It manifest itself in many forms, and spawns from the most predictable places. Matter of fact, its predictable nature is its primary tool for gear grinding - more on that later.
I have very little patience, period - I cannot stress that enough through speech, let alone text. I have even less to entertain mundane questions about how my day was, or what I ate for lunch. Being social is not a prerequisite to the human experience, at least not to the point that people are forced to reciprocate babbling about nothing - more on that later.
I consider myself fairly "considerate" sorta, I guess. I try to accommodate advances from the people who surround me the best I can, because even I'm not that fuckin cynical to not understand that "How was your day" is just a synonym for "I give a damn about you, not the cosign my loan give a damn, but I hope your not plotting mass genocide give a damn" My considerate nature wrestles with my impatience all the time. The end result, is well - more on that later.
Irritation always runs its course, sorta like a flu virus. Once it cannot infect me further, it influences me to seek an anti-virus. This could be in the form of someone I enjoy conversing with on the phone, Twitter, exercising, Xbox, TV, alcohol, etc.. More often than not, my "solution" turns out to be fools gold. I'm my own Devils advocate, so I have a tendency to question whether I'm genuinely cured, or is my irritation just waiting to reemerge later like herpes. The difference is slight, and hard to detect, so now I'm neither irritated or happy, I'm suspicious. Suspicion restarts the cycle.
I could (literally) write a book on what irritates Tracy, life provides me an all you can eat buffet. Lately, however, I've been a bit preoccupied with learning the purposes of these things, and more importantly, how to strengthen myself from them. My sidekick is very reliable, repetitious even. This is helpful because sometimes I need to be beat over the head a bit in order for a message to get across. My cordial disposition and my impatience clash alot, but it provides balance. Whatever I attempt in life, whether its blogging, basketball, or Call of Duty, I want to excel at it. I would rather sideline myself and spectate than be "average" That desire fused with my impatience fuels my work ethic. My teetering demeanor helps me be creative, and motivates me to contribute my 2 cents to the www. Hence this blog.
One day I'll fit the correct pieces together, apply it at the right time, while meeting the right person/s and lighting will strike - hopefully I'll have a mason jar and lid handy to capture it. Of course that will only bring about a new cycle, one with less irritation and less shit to gripe about, learn, or write about. I'll embrace it when it happens because the purpose of that is growth, which IS necessary to the human experience.
Wow, before I sign off, 2 things I want to mention. This "thing", you know, that huge body of text preceding this, spawned from a few random thoughts I jotted down on Twitter. The other thing, my reference to getting "beat over the head" sparked a direct memory to a Cosby Show episode where Bill Cosby had Theo put a pot over his head, and hit the pot repeatedly while saying "I will pay more attention to my woman" I was young as hell when I 1st saw that episode, and I'm only now as of writing this understanding the point of that. Worthless Life Lessons indeed.
I have very little patience, period - I cannot stress that enough through speech, let alone text. I have even less to entertain mundane questions about how my day was, or what I ate for lunch. Being social is not a prerequisite to the human experience, at least not to the point that people are forced to reciprocate babbling about nothing - more on that later.
I consider myself fairly "considerate" sorta, I guess. I try to accommodate advances from the people who surround me the best I can, because even I'm not that fuckin cynical to not understand that "How was your day" is just a synonym for "I give a damn about you, not the cosign my loan give a damn, but I hope your not plotting mass genocide give a damn" My considerate nature wrestles with my impatience all the time. The end result, is well - more on that later.
Irritation always runs its course, sorta like a flu virus. Once it cannot infect me further, it influences me to seek an anti-virus. This could be in the form of someone I enjoy conversing with on the phone, Twitter, exercising, Xbox, TV, alcohol, etc.. More often than not, my "solution" turns out to be fools gold. I'm my own Devils advocate, so I have a tendency to question whether I'm genuinely cured, or is my irritation just waiting to reemerge later like herpes. The difference is slight, and hard to detect, so now I'm neither irritated or happy, I'm suspicious. Suspicion restarts the cycle.
I could (literally) write a book on what irritates Tracy, life provides me an all you can eat buffet. Lately, however, I've been a bit preoccupied with learning the purposes of these things, and more importantly, how to strengthen myself from them. My sidekick is very reliable, repetitious even. This is helpful because sometimes I need to be beat over the head a bit in order for a message to get across. My cordial disposition and my impatience clash alot, but it provides balance. Whatever I attempt in life, whether its blogging, basketball, or Call of Duty, I want to excel at it. I would rather sideline myself and spectate than be "average" That desire fused with my impatience fuels my work ethic. My teetering demeanor helps me be creative, and motivates me to contribute my 2 cents to the www. Hence this blog.
One day I'll fit the correct pieces together, apply it at the right time, while meeting the right person/s and lighting will strike - hopefully I'll have a mason jar and lid handy to capture it. Of course that will only bring about a new cycle, one with less irritation and less shit to gripe about, learn, or write about. I'll embrace it when it happens because the purpose of that is growth, which IS necessary to the human experience.
Wow, before I sign off, 2 things I want to mention. This "thing", you know, that huge body of text preceding this, spawned from a few random thoughts I jotted down on Twitter. The other thing, my reference to getting "beat over the head" sparked a direct memory to a Cosby Show episode where Bill Cosby had Theo put a pot over his head, and hit the pot repeatedly while saying "I will pay more attention to my woman" I was young as hell when I 1st saw that episode, and I'm only now as of writing this understanding the point of that. Worthless Life Lessons indeed.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Small Deviation from Protocol
I'm referring to this as a "deviation" because this particular lesson isn't worthless at all. Its something that I've learned recently, about 11 days ago actually. It dawned on me that I've spent the greater half of the last 7 months or so conflicting with her, rather than appreciating her. Sometimes she would "over react" to things I felt were trivial. but, all she would ever ask for was help - help with the kids, help with keeping the house - small things. I would rather focus on what I deemed important, which mainly came in the form of financial assistance.
I was way too stubborn to even entertain the idea that my own train of thought was anything less than the gospel - unwilling to bend and meet halfway. There were quite few nights where she would lay in bed staring at the back of my head while I sat holding a controller/remote/or keyboard. I imagine a small amount of my attention just before she went to sleep would have sufficed - BUT - Before I completely villainize myself, I feel that I must at least mention that opposing party wasn't exactly the most compromising either, but I digress...
Rather than celebrating our relationship, a lot of time was spent with petty bickering. I could have told her how much I admire her courage, tenacity, and unwavering loyalty toward me, and her family. I got comfortable, and took for granted what I believed would always be waiting for me.
and now its too late.
May She Always R.I.P.
Mia Ann Marie Winstead
January 2, 1977 - February 28, 2009
We'll kick it again someday.
I was way too stubborn to even entertain the idea that my own train of thought was anything less than the gospel - unwilling to bend and meet halfway. There were quite few nights where she would lay in bed staring at the back of my head while I sat holding a controller/remote/or keyboard. I imagine a small amount of my attention just before she went to sleep would have sufficed - BUT - Before I completely villainize myself, I feel that I must at least mention that opposing party wasn't exactly the most compromising either, but I digress...
Rather than celebrating our relationship, a lot of time was spent with petty bickering. I could have told her how much I admire her courage, tenacity, and unwavering loyalty toward me, and her family. I got comfortable, and took for granted what I believed would always be waiting for me.
and now its too late.
May She Always R.I.P.
Mia Ann Marie Winstead
January 2, 1977 - February 28, 2009
We'll kick it again someday.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Obama First Presidential Address
Its a shame that BO is thrust into an economical nightmare before he even has a chance to fully unpack all his shit at the White House, but, it is what it is. He stammered, stuttered, and paused quite a bit. If you're a supporter of BO like I am(and I hope that you are) then you will take it has him being candid, and speaking from the heart - maybe even being a tad nervous, after all, who else is more overwhelmed by his accomplishment than he is. If you are a detractor(and most likely racist) then you're probably licking your chops at the first sign of "weakness". Choose a side.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Just Got a New Phone
The G1 by Google, aka the HTC Dream - the first phone to use the Android's OS. I find it (slightly) ironic that it took internet upstart Google to bring the desktop experience to the smart phone market. How they managed to accomplish this before heavyweights Apple and MS is beyond me, but I'm happy about it nonetheless.
It features a suite of Google applications with seamless integration, fully customizable home screen that allows you to create folders then drag and drop like you would on your PC, and a healthy 3rd party application market that gets larger by the day. For 400 bucks w/o a contract, 179 subsidized, it was a no brainer. I also get 3G whenever I head up top(DC) to visit my folks. As I'm sure everyone already knows, Google owns myspace, youtube, AND blogger.com - which I personally just found out today(I'm a lil late, I know) - and now these bastards have a device thats compatible with most of their products attached to the hip of about a million people worldwide. The big G is planning world domination.
It features a suite of Google applications with seamless integration, fully customizable home screen that allows you to create folders then drag and drop like you would on your PC, and a healthy 3rd party application market that gets larger by the day. For 400 bucks w/o a contract, 179 subsidized, it was a no brainer. I also get 3G whenever I head up top(DC) to visit my folks. As I'm sure everyone already knows, Google owns myspace, youtube, AND blogger.com - which I personally just found out today(I'm a lil late, I know) - and now these bastards have a device thats compatible with most of their products attached to the hip of about a million people worldwide. The big G is planning world domination.
Worthless Intro
Not much to say here at all. Every now and then I'll post a movie, an album, or a mixtape just keep things interesting - and worthless.