Broham Adventures ...

Broham rmattwill and I made a quick trip to the Oak Par Mall, one of two worthy malls in KC, two days ago just to really look at the price of opening day tickets for the Royals & Tigers.

Yes, we're rabbid, die-hard Royals fans, and we've spent the better part of our existence dying with them year-in-and-out. He's going to be off, and well, I'm going to make time to go because I didn't see the Wranglers (the double-A farm club, and what we call the Royals because all of their players belong there) all of last season. The tickets were $39 each.

But that's not what this is about. It's about observation.

There are only three entrances I use to get into the mall. No reason, just habit. One is the food court, and that's where we went in, and as soon as we got to the door, rmattwill made an interesting observation.

There were several options for gluttony for one man - chinese, greek, mexican, pizza, Sonic ... But there were a few problems.

"Why are the mexicans working at the Panda Express?" he said. "Why are the Asians laboring at the Salsa Spot?"

It really didn't make sense. I looked over at the Greek place.

"Dude, there are Asians at the Greek place as well. This is off." The only place that actually had employees who looked like they maybe belong in place were at Original Pizza, which was run by what appeared to be Italian-Americans.

We walked around the mall, found the pricing for the tickets, walked in Express Men and a few other stores and then headed back toward the food court exit.

Rmattwill then said he wanted a slice of 'Zah, the one place that seemed original. We sat down for a second so he could eat. I looked over his shoulder, and low and behold a few black people were doing what black people do best. Sitting in the food court, they were immersed in a serious game of Spades.

This is 2 p.m. in the afternoon. Honestly, that's only something black people would do.

Come to think of it, I think I spent more time my senior year of high school playing spades during lunch than I did actually eating my lunch.

So I actually got up, and went to go and check on the score. Broham rmattwill thought I was slightly off for doing it, but for some reason it always interest me.

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The Real Package...

Last night I sat down and watched Deal or No Deal for the first time ever with my roommate and her boyfriend, who knows somebody who will be on the show soon.

That's about the only interest I had in the show, the fact that I knew somebody who knew somebody who would be on it in the near future. So I had to see what it was about, which turned out to be nothing.

The contestant, with the aid of random family and friends, picks a suitcase out of about 20 or so with value ranging from one penny to $1 million in them to start the competition. They don't know what's in the suitcae they've picked, but they then start to pick off suitcases, three at a time, opening them to attempt to guesstimate the value of their own suitcase. Once he/she has picked three, a mysterious phone call is made and a broker offers them a value of money, based on the monetary figures left on the board, to leave the game with a decent amount of cash?

Last night a lady, she had to be a sista, blew a chance to walk away with about $131,000 because she got greedy, and instead left with about $20,000.

Got it. Pretty stupid, huh? It seems like anybody with any common sense could go on this show and make $100,000 with ease.

But it got me thinking "What if I really won the lottery? What would I do with the money for society after I've secured myself?"

Most people tend to say, "I'm going to give so much money to cancer research" or "I'm going to give my money to my church" or "I'm gonna (blah, blah, blah)."

Not me. I've actually got a novel idea. Let's say I won $300 million. I'm going straight to the Jansport Headquarters, whereever the hell it is, and purchasing enough backpacks in bulk for the every student K-12 in the Kansas City, Kansas and Kansas City, Missouri school districts.

How did I come to this revelation? I was thinking a few days back about how my stepbrother, St. Nicholas (named so because he got/took anything he wanted), stole a pair of smiley-faced boxers of mine in when I was in high school. They were my favorite boxers - black, silk with yellow smiley faces all over them. The one time I wore them, they were a hit.

Then he wore them, and took away their smiles.

He was three years younger than I at the time, and in middle school, not grammar school for you Chicago folk. We shared a room, thus he had access to my closet and dresser, frequently raiding my belongings after I left for school - shoes, shirts, pants and apparently boxers.

I just thought to myself, "If I had a backpack, I could have at least protected my boxers by taking them with me." Instead, he wore them to school, got the same acclaim I did and was caught by yours truly wearing them over his own underwear as he walked in the house from his busstop later that day.

I then thought to myself how I might have brought more books home to study had I had the means to comfortably carry them home, and gotten a 4.0.

Think about it, maybe that's, one of, the problem(s) with inner-city schools, kids don't carry bookbags. You come to the burbs, and every kid has one, and it's full. You can't survive on a college campus without one. That might just do the trick.

Of course, you also leave open the opportunity that the kids might pack heat, grass and all sorts of unruly things in the bags as well. But wouldn't that be worth it if they brought their books home, and even tried osmosis when they went to sleep?

The city of Kansas City is hell-bent on renovating sports stadiums to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars. I kind of think they should take that cash, and buy their kids something to carry their books in so they can learn at home.

Then maybe we inner-city products won't live to win the lottery or to get on shows like Deal or No Deal. And yes, i'll be watching the show tomorrow night when it comes back on because it did entertain me.

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Ordinarily

Ordinarily

Ordinarily,
I would be able to see
Right through all the bullshit
You continually throw at me
But I can’t
Can’t let you go
Still trying to let you know
That old with you I wish to grow
Yet, in an indirect way, you continue to say no,
But that in any common situation,
All bullshit aside
You’d stop playing games
And I’d cut loose my pride
Truth be told,
All would be well
There would be foreclosure on your heart
With no intent to again sell
Sold to the highest bidder
Who knew how to produce
The best figures, in return
You’d give your everything
Laced with the security of my truth
The hurt of the past
Would lie in pass
Every point of argumentation left moot.
Hey, it would be nice,
But we walk an extraordinary/interesting path
Ordinarily, one I wouldn’t take
But for reason, unbeknownst to me, I’m up to task.

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A Sweet Refrain, For A While At Least ...

In 1998, I walked the streets, paths and halls of Mizzou (Misery) for the first time. I tell you, everything was old.

Norm Stewart and Larry Smith were the basketball and football coaches. I lived in a dorm room that looked more like a jail cell without the bars. Compact discs were still in style like cassette walkman's in 86.

Cell phones weren't the hot item to have. I remember calling my fling (can't really call her a girlfriend because "she had a man at home." Think Pretty Willie from the STL), and leaving messages on her room phone even when I knew she wasn't there as our mode of communication.

I remember going to her dorm room before she got there so we could go to dinner, something that would not have happened in 2000, once it seemed like 98.6 percent of college students had cellys. Or maybe even just waiting for her to answer the door because she was trying to get off the phone with her loser man (cough), boy (dude was supposed to graduate high school in 1998, but was classified a sophomore in high school that year. enough said).

Anyways, during my wait there was a neighbor of hers, we will call her The Sarg, an attractive quiet/shy girl, or so I thought she was reserved, who blasted one song on repeat seemingly everytime I dropped by: Tyrese's "Sweet Lady."

"Sweet Lady, would you be my, sweet love for, a lifetime. I'll be there, when you need me, just call and, receive me," he crooned over and over and over and over again.

I had no problem with it because it was one of my favorite songs of the day, it just helped me know that The Sarg wasn't as shy as I originally thought. We never really got that cool. My first-semester freshman-year tryst ended after, well, just one semester, and I rarely returned to that dorm for fear of running into the my freshman fling, who decided to patch things up with her boyfriend and not speak to me for a year.

The Sarg and I spoke a few occassions before we both graduated, but nothing major. She joined a sorority that had about four or five of my close friends in it, so we would speak on occassion. I never told her about her affection for Coca-Cola's best advertisement voice. It was my sweet refrain.

In Nov. 2004, we actually ended up at a John Legend concert before John Legend was John Legend, and I told her about the Tyrese addiction for the first time. She was slightly embarassed.

Everytime I see her facebook profile, though, I immediately think of the song's chorus and smile like it was 98 all over again, and I didn't have a cell phone - you know, back when we were innocent. Today, I left a note on her facebook wall reminding her about Tyrese, and hopefully she smiled.

She cameback at me with a little heat, saying that I must have had a few obsession songs back in the day, and that I was probably obessesed with some John Legend song (she was right, currently the track "Again."). So I decided to make a short list of eight that bring back memories. Here's a short collection of songs that would make it on to my radio-recorded mixtape of the 90s.

My 8-trak mixtape
1. Glenn Jones - I've Been Searching (For So Long). I actually just found this song after an exhausting year-long search. So worth it, though.

2. Hi-Five - Unconditional Love. I loved the New Jack Swing Era unconditionally, and this is one of my favorite tracks from that time.

3. Janet Jackson - Anytime, Anyplace. I still swear up and down Janet showed (blurred) nipple in this video, long before Justin and the Superbowl malfunction.

4. Maxwell - Sumthin, Sumthin (Mellosmoothe Mix). When this song played in Love Jones first love scene, I knew it was a song I would have to have on my GIW Mixtape. If you want to know what GIW means, just ask or guess it. Think Twista.

5. LL Cool J f. Boyz II Men - Hey Lover. Think about the song I posted a few days ago. I felt like this a few times, including the freshman fling. speaking of whom ...

6. Boyz II Men - Doin Just Fine. Freshman fling played this song while I was in a sophomore slump as I walked by her room one day (and she knew I was going to walk by). The lyrics: "I'm doing just fine, getting along very well without you in my life. I don't need you in my life. Time made me stronger, you're no longer on my mind."

7. Jodeci -Lately. "Lately, I've been staring in the mirror, very slowly picking me apart. I'm trying to tell myself that I have no reason, with your heart." They did Stevie some justice.

8. Brian McKnight - I Remember You. I'm a huge fan of The Peanut Gang, so for it to be a major part of the title track to this album, I was in heaven.

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Thank God for Granting Me ...

...this moment of clarity, this moment of honesty. The world will feel my truth."

So two posts ago, my ability to have to converse with people of the opposite sex came into question. Not once, but twice.

Bad thing was, I could actually understand the complaints, but from a slightly different perspective. It's obvious that I'm from Mars, but I actually understand Venusian very well. Still, I guess I have my moments like most other males. The Soulmistress chimed in on this topic after cosigning on the belieanchica's arguement, and gave me this essay about relationships and why they fall apart because of communication, or lack thereof.

It's titled: Sex, Lies and Conversation; Why Is It So Hard for Men and Women to Talk to Each Other?

It's actually pretty insightful, going into a lot of theories and tests most people wouldn't even think possible. But it kind of explains the typical male-female relationship, and why a man supposedly doesn't talk much inside of a relationship, and why we may tend to jump around in conversation. Here are a few excerpts:

Analogous to the physical alignment that women and men take in conversation is their topical alignment. The girls in my study tended to talk at length about one topic, but the boys tended to jump from topic to topic. The second-grade girls exchanged stories about people they knew. The second-grade boys teased, told jokes, noticed things in the room and talked about finding games to play. The sixth-grade girls talked about problems with a mutual friend. The sixth grade boys talked about 55 different topics, none of which extended over more than a few turns.

....

Switching topics is another habit that gives women the impression men aren't listening, especially if they switch to a topic about themselves. But the evidence of the 10th-grade boys in my study indicates otherwise. The 10th-grade boys sprawled across their chairs with bodies parallel and eyes straight ahead, rarely looking at each other. They looked as if they were riding in a car, staring out the windshield. But they were talking about their feelings. One boy was upset because a girl had told him he had a drinking problem, and the other was feeling alienated from all his friends.

....

These differences begin to clarify why women and men have such different expectations about communication in marriage. For women, talk creates intimacy. Marriage is an orgy of closeness: you can tell your feelings and thoughts, and still be loved. Their greatest fear is being pushed away. But men live in a hierarchical world, where talk maintains independence and status. They are on guard to protect themselves from being put down and pushed around.

So much of this is who I am, but reading this made me realize that I actually have been extremely spoiled to a degree with Double B. Not to say I don't have good conversations with other women, but she actually fully understands me and how I talk. I've never actually had to fight to have a conversation - unless we were fighting/arguing. There's actually a good balance of all of the things explained in the excerpts levied between us, which is actually quite rare within a male-female relationship.

I actually notice that with other female friends, even the ones I like a lot, my mind tends to wander a bit. I don't know if its a difference in likeness or if I'm actually that uninterested in general or if they're that uninteresting.

I guess I let it show a little more often than I would like. Sorry.

I've kinda dismissed the idea that a soulmate exists per relationship experiences of the last four years. But if there's one out there for me, even if we don't end up together, it's probably the Black Barbie, no doubt, per this conversational thing alone.

Dude, we could talk about a leaf on the branch of a tree for an hour, weave about a million different topics into the conversation, end up talking about the leaf and be laughing and smiling throughout the whole tree talk. We have enough inside jokes to make Bobby & Whitney jealous (and no we don't do coke or smoke the grass).

It's almost like we met on Pluto, and made up our own language, Plutian, and no matter how hard gravity, or whatever the hell it maybe, tries to pull us away from Pluto, we always get sucked back into our own little world of blissful irrationality, otherwise known as love.

Maybe that's why I never really give up.

"When your sense got that much in common, and you been (loving) since, your inception fuck perception, go with what makes sense." Jay-Z, Moment of Clarity

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Randomshiznit about Inside Man that doesn't give anything away

1.) Inside Man is one of the 10 best movies I've ever seen.
2.) So good, I had to see it twice.
3.) Clive Owen is what the white male acting world has been missing. Forget Brad, Tom and George.
4.) This is one of the best screenplays I've ever heard next to When Harry Met Sally. Extremely funny.
5.) Denzel pimped what ever they put homeboy in.
6.) This is Crash, but with a subtle approach to the racial overtones, or shall I say undertones.
7.) Jodie Foster is one bad bitch.
8.) This is a bank robbery that would actually work.
9.) Spike Lee needs to find more scripts like this so we can get more great cinematography like he displays in this film.
10.) I hate Spike's "floating man" shot trick. It sucks like ... nevermind, i would spoil something.
11.) I think I've run out of things to say with out giving something away.
12.) "Now, I ain't she a gold digger, but she ain't messin with no broke n-gg-." lol ...

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Am I really that rude and inconsiderate?

So, I've prided myself for quite some time for being able to hold the conversation of best conversations with people. Friends & foes alike.

Need good social commentary or advice about your relationship or desire for one? I'm the guy to call, and I don't have a problem listening and coming up with solutions.

But I think that I've run into a slight obstacle. I think the better part of my conversations of the last few years have been dominated by a few people who completely meet me on my level of social thought and perception - not above or below it. They tend to understand the idea of jumping around from topic to topic in the middle of issues for no reason at all or to make somebody laugh.

Make you smile at all costs, that's my style. But I don't think some of these youngsters quite get it, as was the case in a recent conversation with the Belizeanchica, who claims to be the queen master multitasker.

She started talking about some old man and how he won't leave her alone (and blah, blah, blah - I must have been giving her the Chris Rock "Uh, huh; You don't say; get outta here; I told you that bitch crazy!) until she seemed to have finished her monologue: "Poor old man …I don’t know if he’s lonely or what," she said, and no she wasn't calling me old in that moment.

(silence)

"I gotta figure out what I’m gonna eat today," I replied, clearly not on the subject of an old man hooking her up with free stuff so he could get her attention, although I did hear what she said considering that I was able to regurgutate it here. I obviously made a mistake.

"Am I that boring? Am I that uninteresting? Do you not like what I talk about?"

"What are you talking about," I replied, honestly as confused as I could be?

"You just completely ignored what I was talking about, and just started talking about how you need to find something to eat. Am I that boring? It seems like you do that everytime we talk," belizeanchica said?

(brief silence) I actually knew exactly what she was talking about.

"... No ... I'm just like that ... I'm random ... I throw random commentary into conversations for no reason. Can you not multitask your conversations with in the conversation," I fought back.

"It's not that," she said. "I just think that if I said, 'man vick, I lost my right leg in a car accident.' you come back immediately like 'Yeah, this fish i made for dinner is on point'

She wouldn't stop with the examples. (Note to CIA who has an automatic link to the words assasinate and president in the same paragraph: this did not really happen. It's a joke from a friend.)

"Ey Vick, I assassinated the president, and got away with it," she would say. "And you would respond with (silence) 'I saw Inside Man, and it was the best movie, I've ever seen."

She certainly saved the best for last, though, and she posted this one on my facebook wall.

belizeanchica: Yeah, so last night me and a group of swedish biochemists found the cure to cancer...and along the way we figured out how to make michael jackson black again (silence)
you: oh my god! this is the best sandwich i have ever had!

My only real response to any of these remarks? "Hey, in your examples, I ate fish and more than likely a turkey and cheese sandwich, so at least I'm eating healthy. You know I'm ... (cough, cough), 'Am I losing weight?"

(Jamie Foxx fan's, please save me because you know what I just said. "cho, cho, cho ... Africa!")

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My First Song ...

Here are the lyrics to the first song I've ever penned. I wrote it about a week ago. It started out as an ode to a current situation - but it evolved ... into a guy kind of daydreaming about this crush, a fine tender roni like the Iesha ABC talked about, that he has that he sees with another man. He wants her, and wants to share her with no one else.

Don't be harsh, but tell me what you think.

(I Want You) All To Myself

I saw you the other day,
Walking with a friend
Couldn’t tell if that was it
Or if he was possibly your man
Though he could be next of kin
I knew that guy could comprehend
Why I had to take a shot
I didn’t mean to meddle
But I had to pick the petals,
And discern if you’d love me
or love me not
(hook)
Look at you, can you blame me,
For falling for you the way I do
Is there some way, to contain me,
From feeling the way I do?
Don’t desire to share you
How dare you ask that I do
It’s not likely to happen cause
There’s one thing I hold to be true

(Chorus)
(I Want You) All To Myself
When I open up your heart
(I want to) find no one else
Just me, just you
Doing the things lovers do
(Brisk walks, bodies stimulated by truth talk)
Knowing in you, I will never fail
But how will I be able to tell?

My parents gave me a brother,
I grew to know many more
My door & frig were always open
But you, the thought of sharing wasn’t meant for
So step away from that other situation
Let me give you the adoration
You seem to be yearning for
Just give me your attention
Did I forget to mention
I’ll leave you longing for more
(Hook)
Trust love, you can’t tame me
From cherishing you the way I do
Don’t even try to contain me,
You know this isn't a fluke
No need to share you
How dare you ask that I do
It’s not likely to happen because
There’s one thing I hold to be true

(Chorus)
(I Want You) All To Myself
When I open up your heart
(I want to) find no one else
Just me, just you
Doing the things lovers do
Brisk walks, bodies stimulated by truth talk
Knowing in you I will never fail
But how will I be able to tell?

How can I tell?
How can I tell?
You’re not telling a tale…
Walk with me
Talk to me
Trust me we won’t fail

(Chorus to fade)

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Platinum Justifies Something, So Long As It's Not A Shower ...

So today, I haven't done much. Cleaned house. Watched a little Women's NCAA Hoops. Looked at the pictures of Adam Morrison crying like a little bia bia or Dick Vermeil after losing a game he shouldn't have lost again and again (click the link, it's worth it). Completed some albums on my I-Pod.

The latter of which was the most important thing thus far. Ever since I got this thing, I have needed to get my collection of Brian McKnight and R. Kelly albums together. So that's what I planned on doing today, starting with B. McKnight.

I got every album of his that i didn't have downloaded from I-Tunes except for Brian McKnight, and then started organizing. I had all but finished when a soulmistress, who has tormented me about McKnight's faults in this life, started to taunt me.

Actually, I preempted the taunt.

dmansmi: i've been downloading/organizing stuff for my I-POD ... I have nearly every track from every Brian McKnight, no I don't care that he beat his wife. he still makes good music - album since his first ...
dmansmi: Ok, I wish he hadn't beat his wife, like I wish R. Kelly hadn't peed on that girl ... point is, he still makes good music ...
soulmistress: but you think homeboy can't make love songs after cheating on Halle
soulmistress: thats a crime
soulmistress: but beating your wife...eh?
dmansmi: ... hey, it's the quality/quantity ...
soulmistress: that you can overlook
dmansmi: Eric Benet's music is good, but it doesn't quite have the quality of R. Kelly or Brian McKnight ...
dmansmi: Has Eric Benet gone platinum (or had a No. 1 single on the Billboard 100)?
soulmistress: don't ask me

My point exactly. How many times has Brian McKnight or Robert Kelly been on top of the Charts? Each has a No. 1 single. McKnight had "Back At One," a song I actually don't even think is close to his best and Kells had "Bump N' Grind" from that classic album 12 Play.

Where is Eric at? His best on the Billboad 100 was "Spend My Life With You," at No. 21, and he needed Tamia's help. It's probably the best - or the one that makes the most sense ("Back at One" goes in circles) and isn't about humping on a teenager's (Aaliyah's) leg - of the three songs listed.

Anyway, that's not the point. Kelly and McKnight have pumped out album after album, year after year of quality material all but Kelly's TP3.com (his worst effort ever). So do we condone their sins, peeing on underage girls and beating their wives? Hell, no.

But will I listen to their music? .... Umm, I have most every album either has made. (Note: sarcasm ahead) And I'm sorry, cheating on freaking Halle Berry, i don't care how many husbands/boyfriends she's been through or if she's that crazy, is far worse than beating your wife or peeing on a 13-year-old girl, who wanted to be urinated on.

Oh, wait. There is something worse than cheating on Halle - beating Halle (allegedly D. Justice and/or W.Snipes), and look at where their respective careers went after that. In the toilet, speaking of which...

Remember what Riley Freeman said: "Oh yes! The Victim. At what point does personal responsbility become a factor in the situation. I see piss coming, I move. She saw piss coming, she stayed. And why should I have to miss out on the next R. Kelly album just for that."

Well, at least it wasn't a platinum shower.

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Mother(French Connection UK)er ...

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How to Be a Player ...

"But now, look at her, she got this game on lock. Anything that she ever wanted, now she's got it. And I'm proud of her, I'm so proud to see that someone like her is in control, Womanopoly," the phone rang to the tune of Musiq Soulchild's Womanopoly.

The phone call was coming from one person, Q-Boogie, the one female friend of mine I consider to be a playa. Boog has this ability to penetrate men in ways the befuddle me, and she did it again recently ...

"So what have you been up to" I asked since we had really had a convo in few weeks.

"Well I went on two dates on Monday, but they both were pretty bad. The second date I thought I was supposed to be meeting somebody other than the person who showed up. "

(Silenece)
"You're doing way too much. How did that happen? How do you make a date with somebody, and its the wrong person? That's too much playing"

"Well I went to this party with co-workers on Friday and I gave three guys my number," she said.

Baller, right?

"The first guy and I made eye contact from accross the room, and we were feeling the song that was playing so we started dancing."

When it was over, he asked her for her phone number, and playing hard to get, she told him to find her later.

"Then I moved to another room and some salsa music came on, and another guy asked me to dance."

"Did you give him your number, too?"

"No, we just danced. Then the first guy found me and got my number."

She then ran into so guy who introduced himself as Gee-Money, and promptly asked him what his mother named him, all while staring at his wingman/cousin, we'll call him Darius Lovehall.

"He asked me what was into, and I told him I like spoken word sets, and he told me he was into that as well. He had me then"

"So were you his Nina at that point," I questioned?
(uncontrollable laughter)
"So, of course you gave him your number, right? Who was no. 3? You know this is starting to sound like a scene in How to Be A Player?"

"Umm, there was some guy sitting in an Infiniti about to leave his friend who was still in the party as i was leaving. He asked for my number, I thought he was cute so i gave it to them."

Ok. That part's settled.

"Now, how did you end up on dates with two of these guys on Monday? Were they dumb enough to call the next day?"

"Uh ... yeah," she said.

"I guess, so where the dates worth it?"

"The first date (on Monday) was alright. But we didn't have much in common, different cultures (blah, blah, blah, blah blah)."

"Ok, so you didn't go 0-for-2, did you?"

"Umm ... I didn't recognize the second guy when he got to my place to pick me up."

She thought she was talking to Darius Lovehall wanna-be on Saturday, when Infiniti and Beyond, the guy she just thought was cute, was the one ringing her phone/doorbell.

"He called me when he got here, and asked if I saw him. I was looking, but couldn't find him."

"Q, you know that's fucked up? right?"

(silence)

"What?"

"So how was the date?"

"He wasn't as cute as I thought the other night, so I wasn't impressed. I just wanted to go back home. The bad thing is the guy i really wanted to call never called ... why does that always happen?"

Huh, I wonder why.

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Bottomless Plane (Simply Deep)

I'm getting back to my core. It's going to be real, I tell you. The Truth. ...

By DAMON SMITH

You told me that I am nice,
You said to me I was caring,
Then you gave me the unforgiving but
If you didn’t notice, that’s when I started staring,
Or gazing,
Depends on how you perceive it
Tell you this, if you know love
There’s only one way you can conceive it
Purify yourself, virgin,
By casting out doubt
And driving away fear
Trust only Him
Whom you’re supposed to revere
Then hearty desires will be yours
Meeting people, real or fake, won’t seem like a chore
Asking a question, will require a reply
Knowing this truth will help you discern reality that hides
You will look at people
And see them for who they are
You won’t look for faults
Just gaze in their eyes and see certainty from afar
And more over the law to cherish
Just the way that you love
Understanding that’s not empty,
Just surface level words spoken from Above …

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E-mail Battle: Response from the 'Duk

(Ed's Note: Here's the response to an Ether-laced Takeover coming from the Windy City Finest ... the 'Duk)

D-Man Smith,

I appreciate the e-mail from Kansas City, even if it’s a terrible
reminder that spring comes to the City of Fountains a month earlier
than it does to the Windy City.

I’ve just finished reading your Jigga-like take on Barry’s questionable
Run to the Record and it surprised me a little. Though others might
argue with me, you’ve always been a fan of substance over style. That
much was evident in your early pushing of John Legend, before John
Legend was John Legend. No crap like Young Jeezy for you, bra. You’re
argyle over arm bands; suspenders over sweats.

If I’m picking my all-around renaissance man in Kizza City, you’re the
pick. More importantly, you are an important and knowledgeable person
when it coms to the black community – both local and national. If
something’s wrong, you’ll say so. Which is why I’m a bit taken aback by
your backing of Barry Bonds.

But before we get to all of that, I feel it’s only appropriate that I
voice my own appreciation of Willie Mays’ god-son. Back in the day,
when I was rocking Ruzicka Field in the Bartlett Little League, I found
myself on the AAA Pirates. As such, I secured a black, mesh-backed Bucs
hat and took to learning their important players … Sid Bream, Bobby
Bonilla, Andy Van Slyke, Gary Redus and who could forget pudgy Mike
LaValliere?

Bonds, of course, was the man, running to a 1990 NL MVP with a rare
blend of quickness, power and all-out athleticism. He seemed like the
type of guy I would like: he wasn’t brash like everyone else’s favorite
player – Jose Canseco . But he also wasn’t quite as humble as our
hometown hero, Ryne Sandberg. He was a wild card and, at the age of 12,
I think I could sense this. I followed Bonds and when he went to the
Giants in 1993, I was startled by his cocksure attitude in a May issue
of Sports Illustrated, the very same edition that contained a
fictitious profile of Cheers bartender Sam Malone.

Still, I liked Bonds. Though others might be turned off by his
surliness and arrogance, I saw a flawed character who might have been
classically “misunderstood.” A Giants’ visit to Wrigley was always an
anticipated one and I always made sure to poke a vote for Barry when it
came time to stuff the ballot box for guys like Frank Thomas over at
Comiskey.

Admittedly, I didn’t pay too much attention as Barry grew in size from
1998 to 2003. The 2001 homerun record was lost in a haze of
post-graduation celebration and uncertainty over my future profession.
Then 9/11 came and I could care less. I was more interested in my new
car and running around the suburbs trying to find a good time.

In 2003, my father, sister and I found ourselves at SBC Park for a
Monday night game against the Cardinals. We were in the right field
standing room area, eating a plate of garlic fries and shivering from
the wind off the bay when Barry stepped to the batters’ box. On the
first pitch, he belted a screamer toward right center field, a shot
that left little doubt it would count as another notch closer to Ruth
and Aaron. I pinned up the game ticket at work, content that I would
one day show it to a grandson, if, of course, Bonds’ record still
stood.

But then the steroid accusations came. And everything changed.

I no longer view Bonds as the classic, misunderstood man just trying
his way through a thicket of media which can often be unfair,
particularly to rich black men. Instead, I see a man born into every
privilege – wealth, athleticism, good looks – and appreciating very
little of it. It’s often said that the only way for an athlete to be
labeled a “good guy“ is to call a sportswriter by his first name. In
the case of Bonds, that standard was probably much lower. And yet he
still didn’t care to act like a decent human being to anyone … least of
all his family, teammates or former mistresses.

Your assertion that Bonds is only doing what America is built on is a
bit off base. Pre-steroids Barry surely would have made the Hall and
that is why he will eventually address a lawn full of people one August
day in Cooperstown. But Barry’s post-steroid behavior, so delicately
detailed in the new expose, has shown no regard for the integrity of
the game that so many of us hold dear. That Buck O’Neil, a man who
overcame the worst types of racism, will watch Barry’s induction from
the lawn and not the members’ stage speaks volume over the silliness of
HOF admission.

You address the fact that Big Mac and Sammy may have committed the same
transgressions and I think it’s safe to allow that both did. You
conclude that their steroid use makes it OK for us to cheer Barry to
No. 756. I feel this is also wrong. I recently read a back issue of
Sports Illustrated where a fan central to the 1998 home run chase
expressed no regret for losing himself in that magical summer. “You
don’t hate all those Christmas mornings, even after you learn the truth
about Santa,” he said. That fan was right. And now Barry is nothing
but your uncle dressed up in a red suit. The illusion is gone.

But finally, back to my original surprise at your opinion. You cite
the racism and prejudice that Henry Aaron faced in 1974 and, surely,
that must have been the toughest social athletic feat since Jackie
Robinson crossed that line in 1947. For all that fear and doubt that
Hank faced, why wipe it all away with 48 more swings of a Louisville
Slugger? We should have more respect for the feats of our elders than
that, particularly when it comes to the plight of Hank Aaron.

And so I leave you with that. While you find yourself busy with a
tainted run toward history, I’ll be sitting in my recliner, not
necessarily rooting for a pulled hamstring or a strained groin but not
exactly dreading it , either.

Much love,

‘Duk

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An Ether-filled Takeover, Part II ...

(Ed's Note: here's an e-mail batte between the Duk and I. It's just the first part, I'll post the rest tomorrow)

Duk,

What's good? I thought I'd get at you like we were sitting next to each other in JOCO a few years back ... the "Good Times!"

Side Note: No, this has nothing to do with Jay-Z or Nas. Just liked the name and how it correlated to illegal drugs and a potential, yet hostile, takeover.
---
When Henry Aaron circled the bases and passed Babe Ruth back in 1974, I wasn't even a thought. My mother was finishing up her first year of college and pops was just graduating high school. They didn't even know each other for another four years.

But I remember seeing video over and over again. All I can honestly remember are the two guys, who ran their way into the history books, and the infamous clip.

I remember Aaron saying he didn't know what those guys were up to that night. Those kids and lots of hate mail/death threats petrified Hank during this time in his life. This black man was chastised for bringing down the greatest record in sports, coincidentally held by a white man.

It's weird. I think about Aaron, and can't help but see a bit of Barry Bonds - stern, confident and sure of himself. I also see the differences.

Sure, a pampered Bonds is cockier than a rooster at the break of dawn and Aaron is as humble as a professional athlete/icon comes. We're all sure Barry took the juice per the newfound catalog of books detailing every time he stuck a needle somewhere the sun doesn't shine. We're all just as sure Aaron was one of the game's best role models, an everyday workman reminiscent of blue-collar society.

Aaron is the epitome of Cooperstown, and people/media/idiots question whether or not Barry should share that same distinction. They question whether he should be allowed a shot at Hank's record.

I'm gonna keep it real: Barry Lamar, even with the 'roids scandal, belongs in the hall next to Hank, next to the Babe, next to Pete Rose (at least I think so). He deserves a chance to get to 756. Forget a probe. Forget the idea of suspension because of alleged suspicions or unproven truths. Why? Per the rules, what has Barry Lamar done wrong? Nothing.

Morals? That's a different story. Barry Lamar French Connection UK'd up. But this isn't about morals. This is about the true American way: hustle when you can, cut corners at all costs, get to the top and slit the throats at your feet to stay there? Right? Don't you explore all of your options, and take the best ones even if they involve getting your hands a little dirty?

All Barry, who had HOF-bound credentials when he left the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1992, did was try to get Michael Jordan-status the same way Mark McGwire did in 1998.

He did what he had to do within the realm of possibilities, and now we want to vilify him for it. Are we that quick to forget Jose Canseco in 88? 40/40 Club (No Barry, sorry No. Jay-Z either). I was eight, and I remember the steroids talk, and how nothing was done. We're so quick to forget the bottle of andro in Big Mac's locker ... remember that one, too. ... and who knows about Slammin Sammy.

No one cared. Why do they now? Because Barry may have committed perjury? He may have, but I don't think that is what this is about. The dude is about to embark upon territory unbridled.

This is a hostile ether-laced takeover.

Seven-fourteen and beyond: Numbers many of us never got the chance to see except for in the history books and in those faded video clips from 1974, and we don't like change.

People thought Babe Ruth was a joke for revolutionizing the game with the HR. Some thought it was a circus, and ruined an otherwise "pure" game (that's sarcasm thanks to Shoeless Joe and Co.). I've already mentioned what they did to Aaron for passing Ruth. That cycle is just happening again, and would have whether or not Barry got here clean or with his checkered past.

I remember cocky Barry, the same one who used to pat his chest and thigh in rhythm to be cool while shagging fly balls in left field of the 'Stick. I remember the Barry who looked like an idiot while dropping one of those precisely-timed shags in a live game.

I recall most of the allegations (domestic abuse, roids, asshole). The No. 73 is stained in my memory, and I'll remember when he hits 714, 715 and if he's so fortunate 756. If/When he does, I'll be happy because I will see him do it.

Anyway, I'm out. Peace, love and too much soul.

Later,
D. Scott

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Know When to Hold'em ..

So, it's no real secret that I can play Texas Hold'em, and play well at that. If I had $10,000 to blow, I would be in Vegas for the WSOP this summer. No Doubt.

But I don't. So, I'm relegated to playing for free every now and then, and taking my friends money in home games. Sunday was a perfect day for such an occassion.

NCAA basketball. Minimal work and plenty of time. So I took up an invite at a game 45 minutes north of my house in a tournament-style game, which means you buy in for $10, if you lose, you're out (The winner takes all but the $10 the second placer put in).

I don't know why I typed all of that because I was eliminated within the first three hands. Let's say I got to Mikey's by 2:03. I was out of chips/asthonished by 2:09.

I won the first hand, and nearly doubled my $10. I lost the second hand to a guy named Potter when he sucked out on a flush draw (while I had top pair of Kings with an Ace kicker). That put a huge dent in my chipstack on hand two. I had just six bucks left.

I wouldn't quit call it a tilt, but I probably shouldn't have gone all in before the flop on the next hand no matter what. But I did with an Ace-Queen offsuit. Not a bad starting hand, but I certainly was called by one (King-Six), and was sucked out again.

My favorite/only phrase in Italian: HA FINUTO. TRANSLATED: I have finished.

I was done with nothing to do beside sulk for a few hours until the cash game started. When it did, I cleaned house, took names and their money.

We played until 9:30 p.m. I had to get back home in time to watch the Boondocks, and by the time I left, I was up about $50. ... I was pushing the guys around. Manipulating them however I wanted, and they were letting me.

The best thing about it was the last hand. Potter had been the only player I couldn't get a good beat on all day long. He had my number whenever we were in a Pot, no pun, together. But on the last hand, I didn't need a beat. I caught Pocket Aces. I knew it was time to leave ...

He had Pocket Tens in first position and went all in. ... He thought he had me, but he actually had little chance. Cha Ching!!!!!

HA FINUTO, BITCHES!!!

Needless to say, I felt like big shit for a bit. I left with a smile on my face bigger than Texas. It's the second week in a row I've laid the smack down on some candy-ass jabronis (sp) in Hold'em. You don't want nothing with me ...

But, ya know, if anybody wants to supply the $10,000 for the WSOP they can. We can split the winnings.

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Forgot this one ...

Brandy - Never Say Never ... It's one of those albums that you can just pop in and listen to all the way thru ...

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Said I'm 'So Sick' of Bad R&B

So about two weeks ago I decided to download, legally, Ne-Yo's new album, In My Own Words. Now, anybody who knows me knows that I'm a hardcore R&B, and knows there haven't been too many truly solid R&B albums since I graduated from high school (eight years ago, I'm old as hell).

The best one: Usher's Confessions. It was a pure R&B sound that you could feel at your core. Well this album won't sell 8 million copies, but In My Own Words is one of the best pure R&B albums I've heard in the last 20 years.

It's not Neo-soul - per Musiq Soulchild's Aijuswanaseing. It's not Soul - per John Legend's Get Lifted. It's Rhythm & Blues, and you just happen to feel it in your soul because you can relate to the situations explained by Ne-Yo, who also wrote Mario's hit Let Me Love You. It's a sound that's been missing from the music scene for quite some time.

What it really is, is the songwriting. John Legend & Brian McKnight have it. So does Mariah Carey, but few else do. Ne-Yo is one the chosen, and you'll soon understand.

So Sick is the album's hook song, and it's on point. But it has more to offer, and you'll understand when you hear it. For your pleasure, I've decided to list my favorite R&B/Neosoul/Soul albums in order of listening preference and quality. ... Enjoy, and be critical ... don't trip either, some of the album not in the top 20 are out because I only allotted what I feel is the best album of the artist into the top 20, but McKnight and co. have a few albums in the top.

Ne-Yo - In My Words
Brian McKnight - Anytime
Brian McKnight - U-Turn
Justin Timberlake - Justified
R. Kelly - Happy People
Alicia Keys - Songs in A Minor
Boyz II Men - Cooleyhighharmony
Donell Jones - Where I Wanna Be
Tweet - Southern Hummingbird
Toni Braxton - Secrets
R. Kelly - Chocolate Factory
Eric Benet - Tru To Myself

20. Aaliyah - Aaliyah - Babygirl gave us her best album just before she passed on.
19. Glenn Lewis - World Outside My Window - Again, the words and stories are what makes this album.
18. Raphael Saadiq - Ray Ray - Nobody knows this album, but it's the shit.
17. Mariah Carey - The Emancipation of Mimi - Smooth start, nosedives toward the end.
16. Eric Benet - A Day In the Life - Would be higher if he wasn't the infidel. You can't make love songs and then cheat on Halle Berry, and still garner much clout. Now, if he wrote an album about cheating on Halle, it might do as well as Confessions on Billboard and in this list. Sad, I know.
15. Toni Braxton - Toni Braxton - Voice that couldn't be measured with Babyface at the pen - pure elegance.
14. Dave Hollister - Chicago '85: The Movie - You want Love Jones real soundtrack? this is it.
13. Joe - All That I Am - Gripping tale of love stories.
12. R. Kelly - 12 Play - The introduction of the sexual ballads (there were hints that he was freaky early on ... think Bump & Grind).
11. Alicia Keys - The Diary of Alicia Keys - Another great song writer.
10. Usher - Confessions - Our generations Michael? Let just hope he doesn't go Wacko like Jacko.
9. Boyz II Men - II - Best thing to come from the New Jack Swing revolution, a real quartet with an engaging sound.
8. Mary J. Blige - Share My World - the Queen of Hip Hop Soul shared her best with us long ago.
7. D'Angelo - Brown Sugar - Sly ... Wish he hadn't lost it.
6. Jill Scott - Beautifully Human: Words And Sounds, Vol. 2 - Second smoothest album on the list.
5. Musiq Soulchild - Aijuswanaseing - Love is one of the best five songs on any album on this list.
4. Maxwell - Urban Hang Suite - Smoothest album on the list.
3. Brian McKnight - I Remember You - This Man is Genius.
2. John Legend - Get Lifted - Can you believe dude was turned away by every major record label before Kanye came through?
1. Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill - one of the greatest sounds of the 20th Century.

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He won't stop, but I will ...

Finally home from an exhausting week of travel, disappointment and high school hoops, i decided to fall asleep to the words, pitcures and motion of the film Hitch.

I've seen it about 1,400 times already. I guess it's the idea of the atypical guy sweeping the unfathomable beauty off her feet and into his arms when no one thought it possible that gets me. Though, I'm quite sick of Will Smith - can't quite tell you why, but I just wish he'd leave now.

Speaking of which, have you ever noticed how Black men always seem to be running in movies? I'll take you back a bit ... Remember Boyz N' Da Hood?

"Ricky!" ... Those cats were trucking it, still so sad they split up (Dude was going to "bang many hoes" in college. Think The Best Man and Morris Chestnut).

How about those Bad Boys movies? Men in Black? Or any Wesley Snipes movies? Love Jones? Yup, remember Darius chasing the train ... the same scene came up in Breakin All the Rules with J.Fizzle.

Notice how in all of those flicks except for Hood they're not running from the police or anything else. They're all chasing something that no self-respecting man (i.e. one who is not Barry Bonds, Ben Johnson or Jose Canseco) can catch ... we're talking cars, trains and my personal favorite, aliens.

Why is this? Can somebody let me know? I mean, how is it that a man chasing a car going 25 mph can keep pace although no man has ever run over (guesstimate) 15 mph? Wouldn't that mean he wouldn't have a chance?

Now I'm not saying there's something wrong with a man dumb enough to chase a car or a train with a woman he loves in it. I understand it. It just wouldn't be me. Nowadays, there this thing called the cell phone that tends to work.

So there's no reason to chase somebody. Just keep calling their cell until they answer the damn phone. Okay, that's a joke. But aren't they both truly stalkerish tendencies?

Also notice the central theme around Will Smith? Do his ginormous ears flapping help increase his speed or is he working out in the same gyms with Barry?

I think there's something to be drawn from this ... Black men are always chasing or running from something, and they need to just chill out. Like Comm said, "Walk like warriors, we were never told to run."

So you know, I'm done running/chasing after things I have no control over and running from the things I need to control.

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Not-so-good weekend ...

So, the title tells you how my weekend was ... horrible. The first day of the week wasn't so hot either ... don't really feel like going into it. All I will say is that I woke up with a headache, and not too long afterward got a text message that included the words "we need to talk" ...

That's never good.

There was one bright spot to the weekend, though. I took about $50 off of Greene and D.Smith-squared playing hold'em in the middle of Kansas.

If you didn't know, I'm fairly good at hold'em. I won a couple of 100-person tournaments before, and I have several strategies. On Friday night, I kept the plan simple: bet early, and go all-in on hands I'm drawing on ...

It's a dangerous strategy that can produce massive loss or great winnings. But since I was only going in for $10, I figured what the heck? The strategy worked and I left their hotel with a slight bulge in my back pocket.

Money can't cure much of anything, but I can say I did leave Emporia with a smile on my face because I took two guys candy money. lol. Too bad that good feeling is gone and shit is again screwy. ...

PS: for once, it wasn't youknowwho.

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Be Happy ...

"All I really want, is to be happy, to find a love that's mine, it would be so sweet." ~Mary J. Blige, Be Happy.

dmansmi: what do you think true happiness is ...
verythoughtful: umm... i think true happiness is being content
verythoughtful: having a million options in front of you and not giving a second thought to any of them
dmansmi: so are you saying that you don't do anything with any of the options?
dmansmi: even the first?
verythoughtful: the first option?
verythoughtful: i think if you're unhappy right now then of course you look into all the options, but if you're already experiencing true happiness then there's no reason to digress
verythoughtful: you stay on the course that's working out
dmansmi: i feel that ...
verythoughtful: what does it mean to you?
dmansmi: true happiness is something that is within you. It's not feeling that you have with somebody or something, but when you metaphorically look into a mirror by yourself, see yourself for who you are and smile because you know you're good.
dmansmi: what do you think?
verythoughtful: i think it has to come from within, another person can never make you feel sound, you'll always be missing something if you can't give yourself that

...These are things I've learned in recent years that my parents didn't bother teaching me in my youth. Sometimes, I honestly wonder why they didn't. I wonder if it would have saved me a world of hurt and disappointment if I understood beforehand that people will disappoint you when you expect them to come through for you and make you happy. Shit, I'm not sure they, my parents, even understand it at this point ... I'm just now learning how to cope with it in a manner where you accept it, and don't retaliate in some way, and if the negativity continues you just move on.

But that's not where my struggle really is at this point. It's in being happy. There are always moments in every day where I'm happy, but I don't think I've truly been happy since my first semester at Mizzou, and i know it shows? Reasons why? We don't have time for that.

I just know that I want this never-ending period of happiness to begin and forever be. I know it starts with me. I know I have to see myself, and be happy. I understand that I need to be content within my confinements, yet yearn for the plateaus I wish to reach.

I despise the idea of being about self/selfish, but right now ... that's what I need. I need to get myself to this point of no return to the lackluster feelings/decisions of yesterday, love in every moment and live for tomorrow.

That's my new Modus Operandi: "Love in Every Moment, Live for Tomorrow. For there, happiness waits patiently."

Oh yeah, thanks to verythoughtful for lending another voice ...

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Umm ...

French Connection UK effin Emporia, Kansas. ... Holla Back Youngin ...

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Insert Title HERE ...

EMPORIA, Kan. - So what do you do when you're stuck in a city metaphorically the size of your thumbnail with nothing to do except for watch basketball, go to Applebee's and a local eatery?

You keep thinking. So this was my question to my co-worker Tetona, who is braving this man-made cluster-french connection UK known as state basketball: If you there was a movie to be made about your life, what would the title be from a pre-existing movie ... and then the title you would give it yourself?

She said Brokeback Mountain, not because she's homosexual. She just grew up in Wyoming about 45 minutes away from where the movie is set.

What would be your answers? I'm curious ... I'll give you mine it a bit. Still thinking - as always.

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Still Thinking too Hard ...

Sitting in this hospitality room, snacking on some horrible food at this state tournament I overheard a couple of coaches saying a few things you wouldn't want them to repeat in front of kids. Nothing that vulgar or even worth repeating, but I thought to myself "Damn, I wouldn't want that guy leading/coaching my kids."

Then I started thinking about cats like MLK, JFK and Bill - Cosby and Clinton. All men of distinction and power. All men who soiled their wild oats after their filandering should have been long done per their decisions to say I do.

I pondered Barry Bonds and his chase for 755, and his other chase - the one to see if he can stuff a 25 pills down his throat while injecting himself in his butt, vein and thigh at the same time.

I thought about Martha Stewart, and her desire for more money, although she was worth more than the GNP of several countries.

I thought about my grandfather, and how he was the epitome of what a man, father and husband should be, and how he still had his faults. I thought about my father, and how fucked up he is. Period. I thought about my mother, the queen of the shoulda, coulda, woulda game. ....

And I came to this conclusion ... They are sects of both evil and good people here on this Earth. Not just one. I think we all come out inherently selfish because as babies we can't do anything for anyone else accept look at them with googly eyes. We were all once dependent as could be.

But the catch is what happens as you acquire knowledge? Do you use what you know for the purposes of selfish or worldly appetites? Or do you make decisions that benefit and serve the greatest good?

When you have access to power, and the ability to get away with things, it's tough not to do them or not do them, pun intended. I've always thought that if put in the position to be faithful or make the right decision, that I would do just that.

That one of those things that I, at this point in life, take seriously and hold dear to my heart. I can't imagine myself continuing to do the same wrongful shit over and over again.

But it makes you wonder, If Barry could find a new "clear" would he use it? If Pete Rose could bet on baseball again while managing and get away with it, would he? Is Bill Clinton still "not having sexual relations" with those women?

I don't know. I just know that fighting your own concious is a bitch when you know you're wrong, and answering to yourself before you fall asleep at night and knowing your not a good person is the worst feeling in the world.

Note: I fell asleep last night feeling great.

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Tales from the 'Ship ...

EMPORIA, Kan. - Essentials for a trip to the ship: 1. Big-ass headphones. 2. Biggie Smalls - Big Poppa. 3. at least enough rhythm to do the wave bounce from Hardball.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, you'll never take a trip to the ship. But that's your loss. Okay, in all seriousness ...

I think there's one thing I won't miss when my time working for Kit the Car, Knight Ridder, is over: watching kids you spend a lot of time around lose the big game.

It weird because you get to know people, and though you still have to be objective, you take losses personally. It's one thing to watch a marginal wrestler walk off the mat after losing a quarterfinal match to a three-time state champion and start crying.

But watching a team that actually had a chance to "win it all," stumble ... man, you can't help but feel for the kids. They walk around with the I'm-bigger-than-life attitudes, and their season they worked up to this climax comes crashing down in a matter of hours.

Watching them lose it is akin to the feeling you get when a friend or relative dies. It's not on that level, but it's a bit of a traumatic experience. In the last week, I've seen two losses like that, and don't want any more.

But there's nothing like that innocent moment when the team starts to chant "We're going to the ship! We're going to the Ship!" Those are the moments I live for. ...

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And Then there was three ...

The theory is right. Famous/great people do die in threes. This week: Superman's wife, Kirby Puckett and now Gordon Parks.

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It Will All Make Sense...

One Day said Common.

Not in one day, but one day. I just wish that day would come. I'm truly sick of dealing with fake no good people, who only look out for their interests and could give a shit about you.

So I happened to be looking on the crack of the new day, facebook, and happened to see something that really upset me. I'm not going too far into details but it had to do with the Triple B.

I would think that at this point that I wouldn't even twinge when I saw something about her or something that she did. I have that much disdain for her as a person. I truly believe that aside from my father, she is the worst person I've ever encountered in this life.

And normally, there's this thing inside of me that just pushes those people away into oblivion, aside from a distant memory in the back of my brain that resides with the millions of cells already dead from the consumption of too many Long Island Iced Teas, Makers & Cokes and Bacardi & Diets. I normally don't care, even if I see the person.

But that's not the case here. The shit still bothers me, tremendously ... I mean, it eats at my insides. I saw what I saw today, and I was literally enraged for about 10 minutes wanting to do/say something mean. Don't worry, I didn't.

I kept my calm, ate my Panera and thought about what I thought would happen once I was ready to really move on. (yes, I know I think too much, and too hard) I thought that once I found somebody who I liked that could meet me on several levels and make laugh ... I thought I'd be okay. And to a degree, I am. In some ways, I'm not.

I wake up smiling. I laugh throughout the day. I fall asleep easily, which didn't happen with ease in the past. Life is alright.

But I'm still peeved. Like I told the Triple B the last time I spoke with her, I wonder if I just want something back on the three-year-plus down payment I feel like I made and feel like I have nothing to show for it? I don't know.

I feel like I wasted that much time, energy and thought on someone who in the end never really gave/gives a shit about me, and I can actually see it was like that then clearly now. Maybe I'm just upset with myself for not letting go in 2003 before 2006 got here in what seemed like five minutes? I don't know.

Maybe I'm just kicking myself because all that time I could have been building something with the lady I'm currently infatuated with at the moment because she was in the same zip code I was in in 03, but in all reality that could be a loss as there's nearly no way we end up in the same city? I don't know.

I've used all of my swipes on my "Plead the 5th/fif" card, and I do know that I wish that it all made sense on this day, in this moment and forever more. For now, I guess I'll have to with what I know makes sense.

On another note: I CAN'T STAND PEOPLE WHO JUMP TO FUCKING CONCLUSIONS. I WISH THAT EVERY PERSON WHO JUMPED TO A CONCLUSION AND WENT OFF ON SOMEBODY FOR NO REASON HAD TO BE TAZED FOR 10 MINUTES BY THE DAMN POLICE SO THEY WOULDN'T DO THE SHIT ANYMORE. IT IS FUCKING ANNOYING.

I'm done. lol.

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Is This A Sign?

So I made my way to Target for a few necessities including some cotton squares for this astringent I use. While walking down the aisle with the men's facial cleansing products, I made an interesting observation: the dog food section was about five feet infront of me. Is this a sign?

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The Academy Went Hood...

It's that simple. "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp," written and arranged by Three Six Mafia won a grammy, er, Oscar last night.

The award naming was preceded by a very hood performance by Triple Six. Obviously, they looked out of place, and even more so when they accepted their award with jeans and t-shirts on.

But I will admit, it was a hilarious/shocking moment. It was up there with Janet Jackson's nipple popping out at the SuperBowl and Brittany and Madonna kissing, though I didn't too much care for the latter one. Couldn't you tell that everbody was shocked from Christopher Bridges (Ludacris) to Dana Owens (Queen Latifah) to Jon Stewart (Jon Stewart)?

Who would have thought that the Academy would go hood? Not me. I expected that riveting song from Crash to win. I am glad Crash won for film of the year, though. It deserved it over that "Bareback" ish.

On another note from Sunday, I pulled a new first. I saw three movies in the theater in one day. I had several hours between interviews at the same high school, and apparently had some time to waste. I hadn't seen a few movies that I wanted to catch, so I made the effort to see them all.

They were 16 Block Parties Hosted by Dave Chappelle on a Firewall. All good flicks. A great use of a day after I'd seen six high school basketball games in four days and before I'll see approximately 16 in four before the week is over.

All I have to say is Dave Chappelle needs to come back to Comedy Central. Aside from the Boondocks, he's the best thing to happen to television, not those Desperado HouseWhores, in quite a long time.

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Vibe Style: 20 Questions ...

1. What exactly is a laffy taffy, not the candy, and how do you shake it?
2. Is Jay-Z really "looking like he likes what he sees" when he checks up on Beyonce?
3. Does anybody realize that Flava Flav actually looks 50 times worse than he did in the early 90s?
4. Isn't Flavor of Love the worst, yet most entertaining, television show on VH1?
5. What would you do if somebody spit in your face?
6. If you're sprung, do you really have to follow that wacktose song up with I'm in Luv (Wit a Stripper)?
7. Doesn't T-Pain look like the third Ying Yang Twin?
8. Is Ying Yang really in this thang?
9. Was Kanye's Late Registration really the Rap Album of the year, or should that nod have gone to Common's Be?
10. Lyrically: Talib Kweli, Jay-Z or Common Sense?
11. Vocally: Alicia Keys, Beyonce or Mary J.?
12. Can Jay-Z and Nas co-exist?
13. Isn't Charlie Wilson a little to old to rock Cornrows?
14. When will rappers stop referencing Whitney and Bobby as an example of true love?
15. On that note, when will rappers stop "Cruising like Tom" as well?
16. Aren't you glad Ja Rule is off the scene so he can't yell "It's Murder" every five minutes?
17. How dumb is it to name a music label "Murder, Inc." in the first place?
18. Don't you wish Ashanti could have crawled into the hole with Ja before it blew up so you didn't have to hear the word "Baby" in another song?
19. Do you feel GWB should be impeached for lying to the American public about what he knew about Katrina before she truly became a bitch?
20. Don't you love the US-A (think Jamie Foxx: I Might Need Security)?

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