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.