The art of the straight face.

----- Original note -----
Date: Aug.16.2005 10:48
From: tundara
To: MisterChris

tundara: cute pic

MC: Thanks. In the original picture I was standing next to Brandy, but her laywers contacted me and made me crop her out of it.

tundara: WOW.....That’s messed up!!!

MC: Yeah it is, considering that right after the picture was taken one of her body guards tackled me. I don't even know where he came from, but the next thing I knew I'm on the ground with some huge guy kicking me in the chest. I ended up with a few broken ribs and a collapsed lung. Plus, I managed to bite the hell out of my tongue and when I started to seize. I think at least they could have let me put the picture on my page or have given me a stick to bite on.

tundara: Oh my GOD!!!! That is not cool!!! Well ....did Brandy even apologize for them?

MC: Apologize? Honestly, I feel like she set me up. When I saw her I first asked if I could take a picture with her and she said it was cool as long as I put a shirt on. Then the next thing you know she started screaming "Get your hand off my @ss!" and then her goons smothered me. I've always heard she was a diva, but her personality just totally switched up on me in a matter of seconds. It was like she enjoyed seeing me getting beat down; because I think if a person felt like they were in danger they would leave the area. But she didn't, she stood there the whole time telling her "staff" what to do.

tundara: I never did like Brandy!!

MC: You know, I never really liked her either. Before the "incident" I think I only knew one of her songs. But ever since I got released from the intensive care unit I can't seem to get her off my mind. It's weird, I bought all of her albums, DVDs, posters and what not. I've even submitted paperwork into the courts to request a DNA test to see if I was the father of her child. It's a long shot, but wouldn't it be a trip if I was her baby daddy?

tundara: LOL You have issues!!! LOL

MC: Why, because I have dreams of settling down and raising a family? I don't get you women! I thought that's what you wanted. When a guy is sleeping around with several different women he's a dog...but when he wants to do the right thing he has issues and his dreams are laughed at? Well let me tell you something Miss Quick-to-Judge-and-Laugh-at-Everybody....I have the right to have real happiness in my life. Not just the kind of happiness that comes in a prescription! I don't care what you, my mother, or my high school guidance counselor says! According to the DNA test there could be a 99% chance that I'm NOT the father....but that's ok...because in my heart all I need is 1% to know the truth. So well just wait and see...then I'll show you. I'll show you all! You know, you sound alot like Brandy's legal representation. Are you screwing with me? Because if you are…it’s NOT cool.

tundara: LOL.....OOOOOOO.......K!

I called Agent B…

...and said, “Hey, there’s been a couple of things I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you been down 93 lately and when was the last time you saw T.eaze?”

In the short period in-between me asking and him answering the question I pictured myself back on Mission Hill, in an apartment that was thick with heads and smoke, while working on what could have been my second major in college. T.eaze walked in with a small crew of jeans, boots, spraypaint and backpacks. They still had a smell and crispness to them that reminded me of the first day of school or picture day. I reached out and silently gave him the peace offering. He nodded once and accepted it. By the time the offering had come back my way I had made up my mind about T.eaze. I liked him. He was humble, eager to learn and more importantly…he had heart. So, I told him to look in the cooler on the back porch. There he’d find a few Heinekens submerged in the ice. And maybe a few women along the way that were not as cold.

After that night T.eaze and I talked occasionally, sometimes about art, sometimes about music, but always about life. To minimize the chances of people mistaking him for a toy he was determined to reach the status of an all-city king and have his name become a landmark like the two buildings that formerly graced the New York City skyline. One time I pulled him away from his crew and over a few bottles told him a story about the different roads and life paths people traveled. My story had four main points. One, getting up, getting seen, and getting fame is an incredible feeling, but ultimately that feeling, inherited hardships and wasted years are the end of the road. Two, he should start thinking about what his next step will be and exactly how he can wake up everyday doing what he loves and get paid for it. Three, if you are blinded by fame there are unseen hazards such as toy envy, the pressure from crew loyalty, and the sentinels on the Vandal Squad who are also looking for fame in the Area B precinct. And lastly, I left him with this thought, “A person’s life path is determined by the small decisions they make on a daily basis.”

At the end of our talk, he gave me a pound to signify that he had heard and respected what I had to say…but in the end I don’t think he heard me. Over the next several years I would continue to see the markings he left along his life path. Some times they would be in very lonely places where I wouldn’t expect the most mentally disturbed homeless person to go and other times in places that were distant like RI, CT, and NY…where I wouldn’t expect a mentally disturbed White boy to be. But each time I stumbled upon his trail of breadcrumbs I could tell he had been working on his craft, in his way, and in his own style. And when I last saw him at the Hip Hop Convention displaying his artwork it was apparent that although he had not gained the worldwide recognition of the Twin Towers, he did in fact tower over the Boston Metro like the Prudential Building. I was happy to see him and meet his new girlfriend that was more on the cute side than crazy. He looked good and extremely focused, especially for someone who suffered from extreme ADD among other things. Reaching in his denim pocket he revealed the same peace offering I had extended to him and his crew several years back and asked if I wanted to go outside. I declined, but stayed long enough to crush several plastic cups and talk with him about his art’s newly framed and hung direction. It was a good night….and I was glad that we had crossed paths once again.

Agent B brought me back to the present day by replying, “Oh man, T.eaze is dead, dog.” Then he spent the next few minutes giving me details of his last days. I told him that when I was driving down route 93 I saw a gra.ffiti tag that said, “RIP T.eaze” and that I was hoping it was a mistake. But after I hung up the phone I found out that ultimately it wasn’t the paint that brought his life path to an end. It was the oxycotin.

RIP T.eaze

*********

“This is for new jacks trying to decide where they fit...get busy!
Destroy city walls when you spit.

For writers with a Krylon image brain print...translate it!
Leave your name dripping from bricks.

For cats who come for fame with my name on their lips...re-think it!
You're sucking poison milk from fake t*ts.

This is for kids worried about the apocalypse...do something!
Prepare yourself and stop talking sh*t.”

- El-P

I’ve been told...

...that I have a great radio voice. It’s been described as very deep and tranquil. The type of voice you’d expect to hear late Saturday night on an obscure FM number far down the dial announcing a forgotten ballad from an era that only exists over the airwaves. And if I "whiten" up my voice a little youmight even be able to hear it on your local NPR station, giving everyone the play-by-play of the traffic and weather. It’s comforting to know that if this corporate thing doesn’t work out I can always fall back on whispering sweet nothing’s into a certain demographics ear and get paid for it. Either that or go back to telemarketing.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away as well.

I can’t sing. In fact, I s*ck. The sound of my singing voice has caused birds, squirrels and other woodland creatures to flock from the trees in search of higher ground, had people mistake me for being a throat cancer survivor, and caused newlyweds to have their very first argument over why I was invited to their wedding, allowed to drink so much and get a hold of the microphone. The real kick in the teeth is…I love to sing. I do it all the time. I’m just responsible enough to do it where it won’t cause anyone permanent nerve damage. So, when my pregnant co-worker introduced the concept of choosing a song that could be repeated throughout your childhood and would eventually become “your song” I was naturally intrigued for my love of music, but hesitant for my lack of vocal talent. But, I decided that having a song that would soothe you when you are uncomfortable or in distress, tell you that although times may get rough….they will get better, and would speak to you when I am unable, was more important than my insecurities. So, I extensively searched my mental musical library and after a few months of, “No, that’s not it. Too depressing.” I came up with your song. It’s funny, it was right under my nose.

Now your mother has spent the last month laughing at me because I do not have the same put-you-to-bed skills as she has. After all that work I did to find your song, when it was bedtime and I sang it to you, you decided that all you wanted to do was scream, kick, and scratch the hell out of me. For up to an hour at times...all while your mother snickered in the other room and got her jollies on. And I have to admit I was getting frustrated for a minute….with you, your mother and the whole damn “your song” idea. But I kept at it, night after night, until you didn’t fight as much. And the next few nights proved that it wasn’t a fluke. Then I could count the number of times you’d need to hear the song before falling asleep.

Finally!

Now when I cradle you and start singing your song I have the confidence of a World Wide Wrestling Federation Superstar who has just locked his opponent in a tight sleeper-hold. I know that it won’t be long before you are down for the count.

(And now I get to snicker at your mother trying to light the grill. She’s going to set herself on fire one of these days...with all that screaming and running around the house she does.)