Hello again! Sorry it's been so long. I actually can't believe it has been so long since the last post. You all probably think I'm traumatized or something. Well, I'm not. I am very tired though. Life is CRAAZY! I just moved up to Queens, the Brooklyn of the Future I have come to call it due to the impending construction of 6-8 high rise buildings in downtown Brooklyn. I don't know how I feel about that but I guess it is the way of the world.
Speaking about ways of the world, I've been saying it for a week or two, but I think Al Gore is going to be known as President Al Gore in several years. Did you read the Rolling Stone Article? That was what Tippe(r)d it off. He not only has a serious chance, but history is on his side: two presidents in the past have lost the electoral college while winning the popular vote while following up with a presidential win the subsequent year. In this case, Gore would have lost said election, made an Oscar Award winning documentary, and THEN go on to win the hardest game in the history of the world. I'm just ready for someone who gives a motherf*#% about what matters most: the environment. I overheard someone say, "If he runs solely on the global warming thing, that's, like, totally lame . . . like." Ok, so they didn't say all the "likes", but it makes their argument sound way lamer, right? No, but seriously, what better issue to concentrate on than SAVING THE WORLD?!?!?!
-BUT, Ian. Issues such as homelessness, abortion, gross national deficit, and immigration should not be thrown to the wind so easily by you! And you call yourself a . . .
AND that's when the gunshot earmuffs go ON. I watch TV now and while witnessing such learned programs such as The O'Reilly Factor, Scarborough Country, and The Colbert Report, I feel like the next hot show is just going to be this severely left or right political commentator with a bull horn and gunmuffs on all the time. It would be hilarious. He would get people like Anne Coulter, Al Franken and Ed Bagley Jr. all together, let them go at it, and spout his rhetoric whenever he felt prone to it. Beautiful.
This is fun. Writing I mean. I'm going to stop and leave some for next month when I update the blog again. JUST KIDDING! I'll do it sooner than that. Like next week. JUST KIDDING again! Sooner, more regularer. Check back soon!
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Monday, February 05, 2007
Me and the bros
Today was a good day. Got up early, went to Church, played some Gospel. You know, a classic Sunday in New York. And then I got in a gang fight in Harlem. Weeeeeeeeeeeeee! Four weeks in NYC: haven’t seen ground zero but played some 8 on 1 “fuck-wid-the-white-boy.” Check that off the list!
No seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?!?!!!! Who does this shit anymore? Riding around with Officers Lassic and Ma in the Police Wagon looking for black kids? So unnecessary yet I was doing it just today! I felt like Andrew Jackson in 18-fucking-58. Excuse my fluent French, but I’m a little shook up.
So here’s the story: I’m working out on the staircases in St. Nicholas Park and these smiling kids run up to my stuff which I had so conveniently placed in broad daylight, and take my phone from my jacket pocket. They just took it! So, I did what anyone other self-empowered 24 year-old would do: RUN AFTER THEM! You see, I was just going to talk to them. That’s right! Talk to them. “ Hey guys, what’s going on? Oh, cool you took my phone, that’s awesome. Go Bears!”
“Fwat-fwat-fwat!” Went three or four fists on the back of my head. “I’m in it now,” I thought. In 7 seconds we went from visiting to paddy-cake. And then they got shy and ran away. “Come on you guys, give it back!” I yelled. One of them had so cordially stayed behind. “What did they take?” He asked. “My phone. Can you help me get it back.” “Sure, but they won’t give it.” Begin walking forward and BLAM! Tag, you’re it on my right ear. This is when the fun begins. One of the 7 in front of me takes off down the hill for the rest of my stuff including a large cymbal bag, my notebook full of top secret launch codes, and my jackets (plural due to arctic air) with wallet. I sprint after the little girl and just as he reaches my stuff, I push him over to buy time so I can make a getaway. At this point, if Jack Bauer were here . . . wait, if Jack Bauer were here, he would either a) be accompanied by 2-9mms with 11 round clips each and therefore our story would have not progressed past the opening pleasantries, b) congratulated me for taking down 1 out of 8 bogeys, formidable yet not good enough for the Drazen mission, or c) punched me in the throat and called me dirty names in Spanish. Mmmmmmmmmm, c. So, having bought myself about 1.5 seconds, so happened the most touching moment of the past 3 minutes: perp #2, 5’7”, black beanie hat, blue jacket with 2 black layers underneath, pock-marked rotund cheeks, jeans (maybe) and whitesnake hitops (ok I made that one up)--as I described in the police report--stops in front of me, we lock eyes—time stops—he opens his mouth--I take a deep breath—he blinks and says: “You just pushed my nigga.” Awwwwww, sweetie! Let’s do it again! [Begin Tchaik’s Romeo et Juliet] He stops, I feign, take a deep breath, he blinks [record screeches to a halt]. Ok, it wasn’t that good. Bam! Perp #1 knocks me--AGAIN--in the back of the head—I guess they knew I had my face shots to do tonight. I have a revelation: run away!! [Jack’s throat shot really hurts now and begins to swell] I pick up my 40 pound bag of metal from the church gig [An common question I get when telling of my Gospel gig: “Is Harlem safe?” “Sure! It’s great now!”], and take off down the hill. Perp #1 or #2, I can’t tell, swipes my legs out from underneath me. When usually this wouldn’t phase me, the metal tells me otherwise. Everything goes flying, launch codes, Peruvian yacket and all as I recreate a scene from the family classic, Waterslide in the Backyard. Bam Bam Bam, more playful pats on the head. Dickface #19 takes my jacket and--unbeknownst to him--my wallet. “Noooooooooooo,” I whisper to myself. “Now the shire will never be safe.” Moments pass. The world stops on its axis. “Why?” With a grin, DF#19 drops the cash, and winks. “Was that a wink?” I asked myself in awe. He knew! He knew I couldn’t live without my 3 credit cards and 2 debit cards and gift card to BebopJeans.com! What a nice guy! Thanks Dickface. You’re the best. You see?! Harlem IS a safe place!
No seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?!?!!!! Who does this shit anymore? Riding around with Officers Lassic and Ma in the Police Wagon looking for black kids? So unnecessary yet I was doing it just today! I felt like Andrew Jackson in 18-fucking-58. Excuse my fluent French, but I’m a little shook up.
So here’s the story: I’m working out on the staircases in St. Nicholas Park and these smiling kids run up to my stuff which I had so conveniently placed in broad daylight, and take my phone from my jacket pocket. They just took it! So, I did what anyone other self-empowered 24 year-old would do: RUN AFTER THEM! You see, I was just going to talk to them. That’s right! Talk to them. “ Hey guys, what’s going on? Oh, cool you took my phone, that’s awesome. Go Bears!”
“Fwat-fwat-fwat!” Went three or four fists on the back of my head. “I’m in it now,” I thought. In 7 seconds we went from visiting to paddy-cake. And then they got shy and ran away. “Come on you guys, give it back!” I yelled. One of them had so cordially stayed behind. “What did they take?” He asked. “My phone. Can you help me get it back.” “Sure, but they won’t give it.” Begin walking forward and BLAM! Tag, you’re it on my right ear. This is when the fun begins. One of the 7 in front of me takes off down the hill for the rest of my stuff including a large cymbal bag, my notebook full of top secret launch codes, and my jackets (plural due to arctic air) with wallet. I sprint after the little girl and just as he reaches my stuff, I push him over to buy time so I can make a getaway. At this point, if Jack Bauer were here . . . wait, if Jack Bauer were here, he would either a) be accompanied by 2-9mms with 11 round clips each and therefore our story would have not progressed past the opening pleasantries, b) congratulated me for taking down 1 out of 8 bogeys, formidable yet not good enough for the Drazen mission, or c) punched me in the throat and called me dirty names in Spanish. Mmmmmmmmmm, c. So, having bought myself about 1.5 seconds, so happened the most touching moment of the past 3 minutes: perp #2, 5’7”, black beanie hat, blue jacket with 2 black layers underneath, pock-marked rotund cheeks, jeans (maybe) and whitesnake hitops (ok I made that one up)--as I described in the police report--stops in front of me, we lock eyes—time stops—he opens his mouth--I take a deep breath—he blinks and says: “You just pushed my nigga.” Awwwwww, sweetie! Let’s do it again! [Begin Tchaik’s Romeo et Juliet] He stops, I feign, take a deep breath, he blinks [record screeches to a halt]. Ok, it wasn’t that good. Bam! Perp #1 knocks me--AGAIN--in the back of the head—I guess they knew I had my face shots to do tonight. I have a revelation: run away!! [Jack’s throat shot really hurts now and begins to swell] I pick up my 40 pound bag of metal from the church gig [An common question I get when telling of my Gospel gig: “Is Harlem safe?” “Sure! It’s great now!”], and take off down the hill. Perp #1 or #2, I can’t tell, swipes my legs out from underneath me. When usually this wouldn’t phase me, the metal tells me otherwise. Everything goes flying, launch codes, Peruvian yacket and all as I recreate a scene from the family classic, Waterslide in the Backyard. Bam Bam Bam, more playful pats on the head. Dickface #19 takes my jacket and--unbeknownst to him--my wallet. “Noooooooooooo,” I whisper to myself. “Now the shire will never be safe.” Moments pass. The world stops on its axis. “Why?” With a grin, DF#19 drops the cash, and winks. “Was that a wink?” I asked myself in awe. He knew! He knew I couldn’t live without my 3 credit cards and 2 debit cards and gift card to BebopJeans.com! What a nice guy! Thanks Dickface. You’re the best. You see?! Harlem IS a safe place!
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