Muscle Memory

It had been slightly less than 48 hours since I moved into my new apartment. I also threw quite a bit of the condiments and seasonings I accumulated over the last 13 months or so in the trash, all because I was too lazy to pack them. That single act of bad judgement meant I would be making a run to the store to replenish, which ironically required more effort than just packing them in the first place. I purchased the stuff I needed, and headed home. Walked up 3 flights of stairs of building 9717 and opened the door marked 3E. Seconds upon entering, I noticed my place was completely gutted. Not a ounce of furniture in sight.

The problem was I didn't live in 9717 anymore. I moved to a smaller apartment just around the corner, on the first floor. My entire physical being was simply following familiar protocol. I stood there for 2 minutes and had a small laugh at myself, courtesy of myself, then contemplated what else I'm currently doing in my life simply out of routine.

My goal this summer, is to deliver small shocks to my senses, miniature reality checks, gentle shoulder taps I'd you will, just to make sure I'm not still on autopilot. Sort of like those annoying Netflix interruptions that ask if you're still there. I want to clearly discern being alive versus just living.

An Email to Sonje

Ya know, the first time you visited me from NY, you stayed with me overnight. It

was great. Later on, you would come, and stay with me at my moms crib.

Eventually you moved in with your Grandad, and I was over there often

as well. I grinded hard as hell to have enough money just so I could travel to

see you, and make sure I could take you out and show you a good time.

I stayed with you at a den at your friends house, we rented a basement together, and then, an apartment. We've been consumed by eachother for so long...

....I made an analogy about you being an extra limb tahat weighs me

down. Fast forward about week, I'm able to describe you more

accurately. Your more like a kidney-because much like a kidney, the

effects of only having one are not necessarily seen in the short term.

If you're suprised at the person I've been behaving like as of late,

then that makes 2 of us. However, you've been very intrinsic to my

life for quite some time, and not even I could anticipate what its

like to not have you around.

Anyway, that was just something I wanted to say. I emailed because it

allowed me to produce my thoughts fluidly and coherently without

getting too emotional. Short story before I finish tho...

...I was with Quinton one day this summer, I had my red bandana in my

right pocket, anxious to tell people about the story of the Bloods who

backed down the looters in Ferguson. I ran into a young lady at the

DTLR, she commented about it. I gladly told her my story.

She gave me the "that sounds great, but I'm either too uninteresed or

too stupid to acknowledge." face. She hardly even knew what was going

on in Ferguson. Basically, she was just flirting. I came home and was

so happy that the girl I laid next to understood the gravity of such

an occurance. You being an "intrinsic" part of my life was good and

bad. Good because I liked being around you (I know,it wasn't like that

ALL of the time) but it was also bad, because I took it for granted.

The jerk store called, and they're running out of you

Click here to jump straight to start of the actual commercial

Remember this awesome guy? He was in an awful car accident, bought a Bow Flex and lost all the weight he gained from being immobile for 2 years. He got in such great shape that he "gave all his fat clothes to his fat friends".What kind of jerkhole shit is that to say?? Pride of personal achievment and humility don't have to be mutually exclusive. Its as if the more you love yourself, the less you love everyone else.Think back to pretty much every teen movie ever made where there's an uncool kid who becomes cool, then curves all of his friends who loved him/her when they were lame.

I have this theory I've been cultivating for a couple of decades. It's pretty simple, really. Its a theory that states that an overwhelmig majority of our human race falls into one of two jerk categories:You basically are one, or waiting to become one. You have your every day garden variety who embraced their jerk role from birth, OR, you have our aformentioned Bow Flex friend who's jerk gene laid dormant until he became more confident about himself. THAT guy, is one the worst because he hid his jerkness behind tradegy,which makes it difficult for you to point out the fact that's he's being a jerk without looking like one yourself.

The origin of my theory began in elementary school. I was young, and I convinced my mother to let me bring my Transformers to school in hopes to one up the competition on show and tell day. The only damper of the day, was the unfortunate news that one of my classmates lost his home, and all of his things in a fire. The teacher put emphasis on the class to be a little extra nice to the kid on that day. Didn't seem like too unreasonable of a request considering the circumstances. Anyway, post show and tell we all get some play time with our toys, and the fire kid was being a little obnoxious. This nigga snatched my Transformer without asking, and was being far too aggressive transforming my Ultra Magnus into truck form. I forceably took my shit back from him, just like my father would have wanted me to. He responded... by snitching on me. He tells the teacher what had happened, (obviously)omitting his role in the mini altercation. She decided without hearing anything I had to say that it would be fair if not only he got play with my Transformer, but that he also got to get a free punch courtesy of my arm, with no retaliation..This moment was one of several that made me the jerk I am today.

Lets wrap this up with some facts and observations about this theory of mine: I'm the type of jerk of who often has an unyielding stance on my own opinions. This was created by situations where I was overruled by elders who just assumed their age made them right by default, or angry mobs of 2nd graders like in Ultra Magnus-gate. Situations where I was asked, and in some cases demanded to reconsider my stance, only to find out later, that I shouldn't have. I'm aware that I sometimes go too far with this, and its something I'm working on, ergo: don't trip, he aint through with me yet. The title was obviously inspired by George Costanza, which may not be so obvious if you're not familiar with Seinfeld. Also, I used the word "jerk" 10 times in this post, not including the title. Hope I wasn't too redundant.

My New Thing That I like Alot

First off, I'd like to offer this brief introduction to those who have been visiting here long enough to notice the gaping hole of submissions from now, to.."whenever I last decided to post something on my blog" day. My hiatus was mostly because I didn't like my pattern of negativity. I mean, I know the title of the blog has the word "Worthless" in it, but still. I'd like to spend some virtual ink musing about A) happier themes B) present day stuff.

NOW, with that out of the way, I'd like to speak on my new favorite thing. I dub thee, "The Near Miss." Its basically the rush of hanging from the very string of failure/success. The outcome has become irrelevant to me, since I'm pretty sure my life is part of some cosmic gag reel anyway. My entire 2011 was full of them. Moments where I could have tucked securely into the warmth of safety were exchanged for daring car chases. Moments where I could have extinguished doubt with a single word or phrase, were replaced with a cloak and a dagger. 

Ever see 28 Days Later? People were infected with "rage" it was pretty much the zombie Apocalypse...in the UK. Remember the scene near the end where homie goes HAM and starts beating the breaks off the soldier dude? I mean, he took both his thumbs and pushed the poor guys eyeballs into his skull for christsakes - behavior that could easily be misinterpreted as someone infected with said "rage." With his female companion witnessing his brutality, horrified, she grabs her machete, ready to defend herself. NOW, Mr. Ham could have easily just been like "hey, I'm not infected, I'm just mad this nigga left me out in the rain to die nshit" BUT NO , he rushes up to her as if he's gonna push her eyeballs in next. She cocks back her machete but checks her swing just before the chop, which allows him to deliver a witty one liner.

THATS my new favorite thing. Its the coke to my Scarface. That thin line(<--see what I did there) between celebration and catastrophe, with a bunch of witty one liners sandwiched between. Anyway, I hope someone out there enjoys reading my ramblings, because I plan on doing more of it. 

I wrote this with Dilla on repeat. 

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.

Breaking Neutral

My first New Years in 4 years without her didn't exactly ring in with a bang or thud. It was just, here. Actually, I was roughly 7 minutes tardy for 2010's "grand" entrance after briefly dozing off. I quietly celebrated her birthday a day later, I got through the whole day dry eyed-not too bad. My birthday, accompanied by about a 100 ft. of snow came a few weeks ago. I got a bunch of phone calls, love from the friends I've made via Social Networking, and even an impromptu cameo from a few obnoxious, inebriated mid 20 somethings invading my personal bubble. Overall, I would say it was an "alright" day.

Not terribly exciting I know, but it only appears that way to the untrained eye. When your drinking glass is as half empty as mine tends to be, neutrality is a blessing. I'm wise to the universe's plan this time around though, fool me (more than) twice, shame on me. Its obvious I'm being set up for some cruel, comical, and ironic punchline. One that will bring out my anger, quickly followed by frustration, slowly subsiding into a false sense of accomplishment when balance is restored due to my paranoia being consummated.

These unseen forces are in perpetual conflict. If I were to try to describe them I say such things as: brilliant, annoying, timely, inconvenient, comforting, unexpected-yet predictable. My inspiration to put these words to virtual paper, is to invite others to our brainstorm on beating the system, much like keeping ahead of the count in blackjack. How can we anticipate the punchline so the "setback" is subdued. You could take a theoretical loss, and end up back at or around zero, instead of being in the red. I currently feel like I have the schematics to pull this off, but lack all of the required tools. Possibly a partner...

January 2nd.

I had a bad allergic reaction to some dietary pills I was taking. It also caused my first ever headache that lasted about 12 days. Fun. To help fight the allergies, I popped a few Benadryl. Bootleg Benadryl to be exact (Walmart Brand FTW)

The combination of Benadryl and my headache proved to be too formidable an opponent for my insomnia, so I slept for pretty much the next 30 hours, with the large majority of that 30 spilling over to her birthday. My timing was awful, I know. I apologized, to which she disingenuously accepted, since every other day I had to re exonerate myself from the charges she brought against me. "You do remember me saying sorry and you accepting right?" - Guess not. The Double Jeopardy Law apparently didn't exist in our household.

Our book together has been written, and the story cannot be altered, but it makes me smile to revisit some of the earlier chapters every now and then.

Happy Birthday Mia.

My Christmas Story

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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?

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.

Mint Condition-Breakin' My Heart (Pretty Brown Eyes)

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.