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.
Monday, November 30, 2009
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.