The Beginning. The End. The Next.

Big light eyes, curly light hair, playful, and a bit of a momma's boy, Ky Mani Ja'Quade Henderson was born February 28th 2009 at 7lb and 6 ozees. Note to all potential criticism of the child's name: It has purpose, so chill. We just call him "Mani" for short, anyway. One day me and my cousins/ his uncles decided to ambush him with couch pillows whenever he entered the living room. It seemed like a great idea at the time since we lacked cable television. We got him twice, but he would not allow a 3rd, since on the 3rd attempt he came back with a toy shotgun. Where the hell did a 2 year old boy learn that from, C-Murder? Get kicked out the club, come back with a gun and air shit out. I definitely had a talk with his mother about that, but not before laughing hysterically for a good 10 minutes.

Brown skin, loving eyes, and always with much to say, Mia Winstead left us on February 28th 2009. Sometimes referred to as Mamma Mia because of her motherly nature, which was sometimes interpreted as nagging from those not paying attention-present company included. One of her more popular reoccurring gripes was her bed. It was an old ass California King, lumpy as hell, teetering a thin line between bedroom furniture and landfill fodder. I, on the other hand still had the sweet taste of victory from upgrading from floor, to love seat, to couch, so to me, any bed would suffice. Needless to say, it was a tough pill to swallow seeing so much of our money go towards that, instead of an LED TV, or a new cellphone that I didn't need. On February 28th, 2009 she got her wish, and I got to see her in rare form, relief. It washed over both of us like a tidal wave. 

Dark skin, watery eyes, and at a loss for words, I sat in our packed house the day before her funeral. I was in our bedroom, upstairs, trying to ignore the chants outside my window to come out. I was in the middle of a heated NBA 2K battle where I lost by 3 points after failing to score before time expired. Frustrated over my defeat, I decide to head outside to see what the fuss was about. About 5 of my closest friends and relatives frantically try to describe to me the rainbow that was seemingly perched atop of the roof of our townhome. Unfortunately I came too late, and it was gone. but before I could climb one step to reenter the house, it reappeared. It was just as they described. Hovering right above the roof our row of houses, close enough to poke with a stick. It was like she came back just for me, as if to say, I'm ok. Her timing was impeccable. 

Permanent Ink

If you're familiar with the phrase, or something similar, "I have no friends, only associates" then raise your right hand. Everyone who personally feels that they have more associates than actual friends, then accompany your right hand, with your left. Assuming I sat before a classroom the size of 20, I wouldn't surprise me to see 40 arms and 100 fingers stretched toward the ceiling.

My question to the classroom would begin and end, simply with the word, "why?" If there was ever an area of your life that needed as little gray as possible, it would be this area. Granted, some is necessary to define professional relationships, but that's not really what I'm talking about here. I imagine someone who has achieved the ever coveted title as "friend" is someone you would trust to watch your children, confide in, take the stand and lie for, dive in front of a bullet Kevin Costner style, etc, etc.. but what lane does that leave for the associate? Someone you....know? Someone who does, or can potentially do something to benefit you in the future?

In my perfect world (which unfortunately, has yet to exist) I have 0 associates. Only friends. I don't just hoard acquaintances. I also have 0 interest in being cordial just for the sake of being. We're either good, or not. Being the latter, doesn't make us enemies, oh no, quite the contrary.Its just means I have no interest in keeping you on the shelf till you're needed like dusty holiday decorations. My indifference towards you may actually be the kindest gesture you'll ever receive.

Its a game that I'm guilty of playing myself, almost without knowing. Its like awakening in the middle of a footrace with no memory as to how you got there, or why you're running. All you know is that you don't wanna lose. Any friendship I make, I intend on it staying with me always. Beneath layers of skin, permanently like a tattoo. I find this harder to do everyday, because I'm frequently surrounded by single serving acquaintances brandishing #2 pencils with erasers. Why even bother?

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I don't really know what to call this

so lets just call it a "pleasant chain reaction." Plans of larceny are easily conceived in a house with empty cupboards . Ditto for the will to carry them out. I will 86 the details of this plan, not to avoid self incrimination, but I feel that it would only detract from the merit of this particular story. I will just call it "plan B" This plan's contingency hindered upon the failure of plan A. It was pretty simple, over draft my bank card at the local Bloom Grocery store with enough food to hopefully last till the end of the week. If that didn't work, then use the 5 bucks or so we had between the 2 of us to get a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly so the women and kids back at the homestead can get their PB&J on while we executed "Plan B" My card was declined. No ground turkey, spaghetti noodles, chicken, steaks, eggs, etc for us tonight. I know the cashier was pissed at us for that, heh. Anyway, we walked out the store, down and out, armed with enough negativity to stick up a Girl Scout for her Samoans until some guy rushes up behind us, arm extended, grocery bag of ground turkey and noodles in hand.

He was the guy behind us in line. Said to us "I've been there before, I couldn't buy all of it, but maybe this will help. God Bess y'all." If I had a pen and pad handy, I could have made an impromptu list of all the possible scenarios that would have played out that night, this one wouldn't have made the top 50. A true testament to the frame of mind I was working with at that time. This one, unexpected act of kindness from some random good Samaritan wasn't exactly enough to fill the fridge, but it  did give us new perspective. I now had new scenarios to add to my list - ones that didn't involve penitentiary chances. 

We called it a night, got and in the car and went home and talked about what had happened during the ride back. About 10 days later, I was able to secure a MUCH better gig, and my roommate came up on some extra cash when he sold his car for a few stacks. All of our problems weren't solved, but it was more than enough to keep us out of the desperation zone for quite some time, and it all started from one small gesture of kindness from a complete stranger. You never know the significance of your actions, however big or small. His may have prevented someone from getting hurt, who knows. The things you say or do, have the potential to build or destroy. Imagine how accomplished our species would be if we focused our power on the former?

Habitual Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

It doesn't take an expert to diagnose a person who changes her hair with the same frequency most people change clothes, as, impulsive. It probably wouldn't be uncommon for this particular type of person to have the memory of a loved erased from their memory following a breakup - assuming that particular technology existed. For Kate Winslet's character, Clementine Kruczynski it most certainly did.

Yes, I just took a snapshot of the plot of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind". Clementine's boyfriend, played by Jim Carey steps way outside of his ultra calculated, and reserved demeanor and undergoes the same procedure. Total mind wipe. Somehow, they meet again, fall in love again, thus dooming themselves to replay their adventure from start - breakup. They realized what had happened, and what was nigh inevitable too happen-AGAIN, and in so many words said "fuck it", lets do it anyway. Dope movie if I do say so myself. You should definitely see it if you haven't already.

This isn't the first time I speculated about the amount of "control" we actually have over our own decisions. Despite what my reference to Eternal Sunshine may have suggested, this really isn't a theory of fate, magic, biblical purpose, etc.. but more or less biological. Well, maybe not "biological", lets try the term "societal" on for size. I started doing some inventory recently. Clothes, art, TV programming, women, food, and music and there was a distinct coincidence they all shared, even dating back to early adolescence. Yeah  I know, "people like what they like" but you've never contemplated the origins? I don't know about you, but I've already decided a song is the shit rather than just plain ol' shit midway through the first verse. Movies that don't entertain me in about 5-10 minutes lose my attention to something else. Anything I show favor for, happens with zero deliberation or conscience thought. Something sparks something, which reminds of something that sparks something else, and what do ya know, I like it.

I would love to actually witness the chemical reaction that causes that particular article of clothing to catch your eye, that certain someone who just HAVE to get next to. The same reaction that sparked Joel and Clementine to rekindle a relationship that weren't even aware once existed. I've said it before, but I really think I missed my calling. I should have focused my studies on psychology-which is ironic since I frequently profess to how much I hate people. I could continue, but I won't. Peace.

Please Stop Talking During My Movie

*spoiler alert* The concealed text reveals the plot to the movie, Shutter Island to avoid any potential spoilage for those who have yet to see it, thus sparing you from what some asshole did to me. Highlight after "I also" to see. If you're using Firefox, then you'll probably see it anyway, so you may need to just skip over that part, or wipe your memory later Men In Black Style *spoiler alert*

I feel very...beleaguered. So much so, that I felt it necessary to use the word "beleaguered" rather than just simply stating "annoyed." Imagine trying to watch a movie with someone who almost never lets the plot play its way out to the end, constantly interjecting their own theories throughout the film. Yes, I also realized at some point that Leo Dicaprio was actually a patient on Shutter Island all along, and not a detective. That doesn't mean I wanted you to tell me that. It's like he does it just to make himself feel smarter, one "I told you so" at a time. Congrats, you have the dubious skill of ruining plots to screenplays, your father must be very proud of you. To further his quest for self validation, he craftly applies dreadful coatings to all layers of life, and then prides himself on proper diagnosis, regardless of the negative outcome. Obviously, he should have been a lawyer, but I digress...

Half of the time he doesn't even stick around long enough to confirm the ending. Usually diverting his attention to an email on his phone, or drowning out the dialog with his own cross chatter. What he fails to realize, is that swiftly arriving to a conclusion to a plot while neglecting the subtlety of the sights, the sounds, and the players on screen only fuel cynicism, and avoid the message. True knowledge cannot always be acquired by simply "knowing" it. Unlike a gig at McDonald's, the experience IS necessary.

BTW: The asshole I'm referring to, is me. The movie, is life, and I LOVE those steak, egg and cheese bagels from McDonald's. By the time you read this, I probably will have consumed 2 of them-assuming you're reading this on the morning of the 21st before Breakfast Armageddon, aka 10:30am. If not, just multiply 2 for every 2 days after today to maintain consistency. #shoutout to Mickey D's.

Freestyle Life

The Art of Freestyle in Hip Hop culture involves putting bars together on the fly. No rehearsal, no premeditation. The application of this skill has shifted a little, but that is more a product of the mainstream machine, rather than the art form itself. If only I had the musical inclination to place random thoughts into rhyme, I could probably spit a hot 16 myself. My brain splits into many alternate tangents at any given moment. I gather a particle of reality, then begin to weave my own, adding dialogue and characters as we see fit. Unfortunately, this process isn't as elegant or deliberate as I make it sound.

What's funny, is that 90% of the time, these alternate tangents are not even an improvement on my current reality. Reminds me of a movie I saw not too long ago, called Danika. The main character, Danika-played by Marisa Tomei would have these precognitive dreams that would serve no purpose besides increasing her paranoia for the safety of her children, and the fidelity of her husband-who she was still trying to trust again after he had an affair with the Nanny. Her disturbia led her family into utter disaster-till the end of movie. Turns out, everything you had witnessed for the past hour and a half was fantasy, created in the head of a bag lady, homeless, with all of her possessions inside of a shopping cart.

The thought that someone could suffer through such a harsh reality, and not even gain escape through fantasy was a bit haunting to me.  Now obviously, by virtue of me being able to create this blog automatically means I'm doing a damn slight better than Danika, but I can't help but draw some similarities. No matter where my head takes us, no matter who the players are, the results seem to parallel-sometimes even worsen. Makes me wonder if  "real" even exist. Maybe we all just make up our own reality, on the fly. Like a Freestyle.

Music Monday Time Machine Vol. 2

I ain't got no time top play witcha / I'm Phonte, international stage ripper - done -

made friends and made figgas while you stuck on the front porch mad like you fixin' to shave Mistah

That's reality, so color me purple / My name in history, nigga thats what I work for

Better keep it moving like the laws of inertia before these Carolina boys come hurt cha

better tellem bout it...

Phonte, Rapper Big Pooh, and 9th Wonder together form the group Little Brother. This track, "Watch Me" is one of my favorite LB tracks, it was from their 2nd studio album, The Minstrel Show. A very special friend of mine frequently recites quotes from the movie The Color Purple, so that particular line stuck out when posting this. As the title suggest, this is the second posting in which I hope to be a series. To carry on the tradition of the 1st MMTM submission, I will attach some brief musings that I associate with the song.

This was bad...
It took about 15 minutes on average to get from my residence to my place of work. I woke up after about 3 hours of sleep at 3:49 AM and needed to be at work by 4 AM to complete my 10 hour day. I was also on strike #2.5 for prior late infractions I earned within that same week. Obviously, the sum of this equation =  fucked, doesn't take a mathematician to figure that out. Now normally, this is the part where I begin to build crescendo before arriving at some grand finale of pain and fuckery. Well, let me spare you mundane details and skip to the back of the book-I definitely was late for work-because I crashed my car. (sound familiar?) My car smoked, wouldn't start, but my music still continued to blast through the speakers. I let Watch Me finish, even the brief dialog between the wiggers at the end of the track, then stepped out of the car to curse the heavens for not giving me the common sense to replace my tires which were as bald as Charles Barkley's head at the time. Not like it was my fault. Good job me.

This has a good ending...
You have to excuse the snippage of my previous Tale of Tracy, but I was rather anxious to entertain you with a more fonder memory. Me, and Mia were in rare(er) form, because it seemed every sentence, whether declarative or interrogative somehow arrived at a nasty arguement. To a bystander I imagine it would have been quite remarkable to watch. Me "hey, were you gonna fix anything today, or were me, you, and the kids doing pizza AGAIN?" Her "how about you fuckin goto work, and come the fuck home to a dirty fuckin house and see how much you fuckin feel like cookin!!!" Me "........."

I probably could've started a disucssion about Captain Planet and Deer Park Water that would have also been gunned down in a haze of cuss words like Alonzo at the end of Training Day. To minimize the carnage, I decided to exercise my right to remain silent, word to Chappelle. To help combat the awkward silence, Mia reached down to the audio controls to interject some music into our 2 door debate box on wheels. Our car had a 12 disc changer, with roughly 10 of these featuring music that she preferred to ride to. 1 of the remaining 2 being the same LB CD that kept me company that faithful day I wrecked my Ford. To my surprise, she quickly cycled the changer all the way up CD 11. I was shocked, didn't think she dug LB. She then rapidly tapped forward till she reached track 13, Watch Me. She did this while barely taking her eyes off the road, like she had done it 100x's. I looked at her with my seldomly used "pleasantly surprised face" which she felt, but never directly acknowledged. She glanced over briefly and gave me a half a smirk, ever so slightly as to say "yeah, you didn't know I liked this song, there's alot you don't know about me that you should probably find out, BUT, I'm still pissed at you. So just lets just not say shit and let this song ride out" It was the best conversation we had all day.