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.
Monday, September 14, 2009
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