misterchris

While firmly holding…

2006-01-04T10:07:00.000-05:00

…the television remote in one hand your other hand was busy trying to figure out the secret relationship between the back of this device and the batteries. For an hour your little fingers twisted and turned the cell like it was a Tetris block. All the while the expression on your face was that of a head surgeon carefully trying to reunite two microscopic something-or-others under the pressure of a fading heartbeat. It was then I realized that I never sit and think what you will grow up to be. That is because I am already amazed at what you currently are.

People who have the ability...

2005-11-01T10:59:00.000-05:00

...to cry uncontrollably have always held my admiration. It has always been difficult for me to express sorrow in this way. Instead of crying, I internalize, meaning I don’t do much of anything, except for hold a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach for not crying. In the past I’ve carried this feeling around for years.

I was a little relieved when Q said, "Yo, cuz…I feel the same way."

I grew up far away from my extended family, but I never felt like I didn’t have one. Even though the time that I spent with my Grandmother was short, she gave me the type of memories that I’d expect from a person who would have had me over for dinner every weekend.

"That was Granny, she gave love that was worth a lifetime.", Q responded.

And I saw this when you met her for the first time. She held you as if you were here own, because in a way you are. And at that moment the love and happiness she experienced when meeting you was stronger than her cancer.

"I don’t mean to sound cliché or anything, but she looked like she was sleeping. Man, she really looked at peace.", Q said right before we ended our conversation.

The early AM sky no longer held the mystery of Halloween, but an air of loss I as stood out in the empty parking lot of a Chinese restaurant. After circling in my car for hours, listening to music and trying to shed more than a few miniscule tears I prepared for my long ride home. During the ride I prepared for the feeling that was awaiting me.

When I woke up this morning I was calm. I realized that my salvation lied within you. Specifically, I can teach you to walk in your Grandmother’s name and make her proud of your steps. And the only way I can do this is by example, by making her proud of me.

Hopefully, I will cry for my Grandmother.

Until then I will walk for her.

Little known fact.

2005-10-31T09:57:00.000-05:00

I’ve always fantasized about being the guy who saves someone else’s life. You know, the guy you see on the 10 o’clock news accepting a gift from the Mayor for being in front of a building just when it started to smoke. Or the guy who screamed "watch out" right before the construction scaffolding overloaded with cinderblocks made it's way to the sidewalk. Or the guy who managed to reach deep inside himself and throw the perfect sucker-punch (or nut punch) to knock the hold-up weapon under the soda fountains at KFC. And in the end my reward was a big check, a beautiful woman, or a free side of coleslaw. And I would be happy with either three.

However, my moment to shine never presented itself. Instead, I have frantically fished several coins, tacks, and other bite-sized objects out of your mouth; made flying leaps worthy of a Ringling Bros. trapeze artist to prevent you from falling off the bed backwards; and tumbled down stairs and escalators to prevent you from finding out you can’t walk down either.

When I am lying in bed allowing my back to heal I realize that I am so over that fantasy.

The art of...

2005-10-19T11:50:00.000-04:00

...the straight face.

----- Original note -----
Date: Sep.19.2005 09:58
From: mr-kossi
To: MisterChris
Subject: From the desk of Mr. Anthony Kossi.

Mr. Kossi (edited): Dear Friend, I am MR Anthony Kossi. The director in charge of auditing and account ingsection of Habic Togolaise Banque (HTB) Lome-Togo in West Africa with due respect and regard. I have decided to contact you on a business transaction that will be very beneficial to both of us at the end of the transaction .During our investigation and auditing in this bank, my department came across a very huge sum of money belonging to a deceased person who died on November 1st 1999 in a plane crash and the fund has been dormant in his account with this Bank without any claim of the fund in our custody either from his family or relation before our discovery to this development…

MC: That is absolutely terrible. Please let me know how I can be of assistance. My resources will be at your disposal!

Mr. Kossi (edited): Thanks for your response to my proposal. God in his infinity mercy has greated an opportunity for us. Considering the confidentiality and secrecy involved in this transaction. We have fully put everything in place and since this is not an opportunity open to everybody, we do not see anything wrong or “fraudulent” in what we are doing as long as we are not hurting who should not be hurt period. I need your response as soon as possible so that I will know what your position is before I give you details of the project. I awaits your urgent response….

MC: Oh my. That is truly a tragic story. I’m sad for all involved. Thank you for taking the time to further explain the history, it makes me feel more comfortable with this business transaction. I also feel strongly compelled to help because I, too, have suffered loss. Not anything as devastating as losing a parent or sibling, but the loss of my childhood dog, Mr. Nibbles. He was like family to me. He was always there waiting when I got off the school bus, or sitting under the dining room table patiently waiting for me to throw him a scrap of my mother’s boiled fruit and tofu surprise or religiously licking his crotch on the foot of my bed every night. You could even say he was my best friend. But one day he got into the cleaning products and “nibbled” on something he shouldn’t have. I came home from school to find him dead on our kitchen floor after trying to vomit up his pancreas. It was several years until I could look at my mother’s fruit and tofu surprise without crying. Anyway, I’d be honored to help in any way I can. And not just for the Billings family…but for the memory of Mr. Nibbles as well! May this business transaction help them all rest in peace. Please let me know what you want me to do. Thanks, Chris

Mr. Kossi: Ok, you have to send to me you private email so that I can send to you the application text which you will fill and send to the bank. So that we can be expecting their response. Also, I will like you to send to me your telephone number so that I can call you be for I close work for the day. I awaits your response so that I can send to you the application. - Anthony Kossi.

MC: I'm sorry I took so long. I was making a personal pizza by using an English Muffin, spaghetti sauce, and topping it off with a healthy squirt of cheese wiz. If you want I can send you the recipe. Oh wait, I just did. Anyway, my email address is misterchris@blackplanet.com and my phone number is 617-861-3962. However, my big brother Claudius is a jerk. If you call and get hung up on or some sort of goofy message it’s him acting like a jerk. He’s always doing stuff like that. And honestly, I think he purposely fed Mr. Nibbles those cleaning products. He thinks he’s being funny but in reality he’s just being hurtful. I hate him so much sometimes!!! I glad he was born with an extra ear! So, if he answers the phone or does something stupid, just call back and I’ll pick it up after he falls asleep. He spends most of afternoon watching Judge Judy and the People’s Court, but for some reason he always falls asleep during Judge Hatchett. He has three ears but can only watch two shows….go figure. Do you have any brothers or sisters Mr. Kossi?

Mr. Kossi: I have sent the application to you email. So check and fill it carefully and send it to the bank by email info_htbtg@bankersmail.com like I directed you. Get me informed as soon as you send it ok.

MC: So, I take it you’re an only child. That’s cool. I wish I were an only child. Well, I just wanted to write and inform you that I have received the bank application. But in the process of filling it out I noticed that it required a fax number. I don't have a fax machine. Claudius has one, for some stupid business venture he's doing with beanie-babies or mail order brides or something stupid like that, but I don't think he'll let me use it. He has a sign that says "keep out" on his bedroom door. I could use the fax machine at Kinko's but they are all the way across town, I'd need to take the bus to get there, and if the bank is going to fax me the 8.5 million I think one of the workers might steal it before I get there. Those people, that work there are all Black and Dominican...they’d definitely steal it and spend the money on chicken. I'm sorry, I really want to help, but I don't want to screw up this transaction because I don't have a fax machine. Is there anyway around this? Please let me know, Chris

Mr. Kossi: Thanks Chris, for informing me, I sending you another application without fax. Fill it and send to the bank. Anthony Kossi.

MC: Claudius just snuck up behind me, snatched the bank application and read it. He said I could get in trouble for saying I am Mr. Billings' cousin. I told him that you said it was alright and explained the situation, but then he said that you were lying. I think Claudius is just being his usual bone-head jerkity-jerk self. He’s just mad because people have moved on from beanie-babies back to the munchie-chies….which were never cool in the first place. Personally I’ve always like the Smurfs. Anyway, it got me thinking….in case the bank does start to ask questions that I should be prepared to answer them. Like what was Mr. Billing’s favorite food? Does he have any distinguishing moles or birthmarks? What are his views on Gay marriage and should Gay couples be allowed to adopt. After sex does he like to snuggle or does he just curl up in the fetal position and cry? As I’ve stated I’d very much like to help, but this is such a large sum of money I think we should be prepared for the unexpected. So if you could provide me with a little personal info about Mr. Billings I will happily send the application to the bank. The first thing I’m going to do with my share of the money is hire someone to kill Claudius.

Mr. Kossi: I am sorry i have to leave for now, I got an urgent call, I have to attend to some people. I will login later. Do let me know as soon as you send the application ok. Anthony Kossi.

MC: Ok, Mr. Kossi. I understand. Hey, if it's the bank calling about the money tell them that I have the application ready to send out. So when you do log back in tell me Mr. Billing's personal information and I will send it. How long will it be before we start to see some of the money? I am planning on hiring a witch doctor to turn Claudius into my zombie slave after I have him killed and the witch doctor said he'd need fifty dollars upfront. Hey, I just figured out another way I can help you...

Mr. Kossi: Forget it!! And how do you think you can help me??? Just do send application ok, and let me know. Anthony Kossi.

MC: Well, first I can help you come up with a much better story than this. I’m a storyteller….and you sir, are not.

Side...

2005-09-15T10:05:00.000-04:00

...note.

A little known fact.

2005-09-15T09:40:00.000-04:00

When I have problems sleeping I imagine that my bed is a makeshift wooden raft floating in the middle of the ocean. There has always been something about the motion of waves, a warm sea breeze and limbs that dangle slightly off the edge that I’ve found soothing. While watching you sleep on my chest I realized that this feeling that I conjure up simulates what it was like to fall asleep on top of your grandfather. It’s just a version that a grown mind finds acceptable.

The art of the straight face.

2005-08-22T09:22:00.000-04:00

----- 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…

2005-08-20T08:51:00.000-04:00

...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...

2005-08-05T14:48:00.000-04:00

...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.)

The art of…

2005-07-29T07:09:00.000-04:00

…the straight face. As it was taught to me, I hope to pass it on to you. Simply, feel free to take a risk and go where your story takes you. A little laughter is better than crying.

In these on-line exercises the name of the “unsuspecting player” has been slightly changed to protect their identity.

----- Original note -----
Date: Jul.13.2005 08:43
From: AsReal_AsYou
To: MisterChris
Subject: No subject

AsReal_AsYou: good morning, how are you?

MC: I can't complain. How are you?

AsReal_AsYou: Im good too I work third shift so im just happy to be home

MC: Yeah, that's a whole other world. What do you do?

AsReal_AsYou: I work for Bank of America doing data entry and whatever else they force us to do lol, we have alot of work and a little bit of people because of the layoffs so they have us all doing too much, what do you do?

MC: I'm a designer/art director/last-minute-go-to-guy for a local university. I also freelance as a superhero by the name of the Chocolate Thunder Boy Wonder. However, that is part of my dark disturbing side that I don't want to get into right now.

AsReal_AsYou: Super Hero wow sounds interesting

MC: It's really not. It’s a lot of lonely nights just sitting around checking the gadgets on my utility belt waiting for something to happen. Sometimes I wonder if I chose the right line of work. Maybe I'd like to be something like a carpenter, or loan officer. Then at least I'd just have a single identity. And that means I'd just have to do my taxes only once.

AsReal_AsYou: Sounds like hard work, do you save lives?

MC: Well of course I do. I wouldn't be much of a superhero if I just showed up to a burning building and barely managed to turn the hydrant on and calm people down until 911 arrived. But with all the lives I've saved it seems the only life I can't save is my own. I can't even remember the last time I went to a movie or even had someone over for dinner.

AsReal_AsYou: oh poor baby but im sure that the fact that you do good deeds should be rewarding to you

MC: It was until my job switched my health insurance to an HMO. Now every time I go to the emergency room I have to shell out $150 out of my own pocket. It's to the point I'm afraid of taking a bullet. Sometimes I really have to think, ok....leap off this building and risk getting hurt or take the stairs and use the money you would have paid in the emergency room on groceries or the gas bill.

AsReal_AsYou: lol you are too funny, so has anyone ever figured out your secret identity?

MC: Ummm, yeah. My dog. But he can't talk, so my secret is safe with him. But, just to be on the safe side I made him my sidekick. If I go down…that loose-lipped little bastard goes down with me.

AsReal_AsYou: is your dogs name duke like in the beans commercial? do you have a super hero suit

MC: Beans commercial? What the in the name of holy hot dogs are you talking about? I’m sorry but it’s kinda hard to watch primetime TV while punching out super villains. I suppose that I could install a mini-console in my power glove, but with no cable connection what in the hell am I going to watch? PBS? Fox? Come on I’m a superhero…I don’t have time for the boob-tube. And my dog’s name is simply “dog”. Animals that are won in poker games in the middle of the Mexican badlands shouldn’t expect much. Plus, I’m so broke right now he’s lucky I don’t call him dinner.

AsReal_AsYou: do you have a super hero suit?

MC: Yeah, I HAD a nice superhero suit. But things like gamma death rays, below-freezing temperatures, and razor-sharp bites and scratches from the Evil Women of the Jaded Black Widow Clan tend to wear on a fabric. And as I’ve already established, my budget doesn’t exactly allow for a weekly dry cleaning anymore. So instead of replacing worn out equipment I am forced to patch it up and recycle. Plus, I have to limit my shopping to WalMart or Building 19. I mean, being able to withstand the intense heat of reentering the Earth’s atmosphere used to be my minimum requirement for a garment…now, I’m happy just to find something within my budget that will color coordinate. *Sigh* I’m getting depressed.

AsReal_AsYou: Oh, i see so what does it look like.

MC: Like this.*

AsReal_AsYou: whats this?

MC: Nothing to be scared of young citizen.

AsReal_AsYou: that didnt answer the question, what is it?

MC: If I tell you it kinda defeats the purpose of the joke. But if you must know before visiting the link, you asked what the Chocolate Thunder's suit looked like...so it is simply a link to an image of a pathetic costume. As I said, nothing to be scared of. *sound of a balloon deflating*

AsReal_AsYou: ok im sorry i ruined it

~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Side note: I always knew that I’d get busted one day. It’s no secret that I like to incorporate a little imagery into my stories. However, a brother doesn’t own any web space, so it’s always been someone else's picture on someone else’s dime. (I know, for shame MC.....for shame.) Well, someone called me out and I have to tip my hat off to them for allowing me to go on with my bootleg blog. With that said show some respect to theresistancearmy.com.

Personally, if I found out someone was leeching off of me I’d be heated. I’d quietly switch the image to something else but keep the name the same. Then I’d just sit back and watch the offender explain to his readers why he chose to display an an.imal/hu.man in.ter.cour.se pic or something tasteful like that on their blog. But everybody already knows, besides being a newly convicted image bandit...I'm a petty bastard.

I had...

2005-07-27T09:23:00.000-04:00

absolutely no idea that my digital camera had video capabilities.

Yeah, sometimes your Pops isn't that bright.

I consider myself to be...

2005-07-22T16:43:00.000-04:00

...a responsible parent.

I mean, you won’t find me trying to ignore a smell that could only be coming from an expired pamper….or leaving you unattended in the car while I leisurely carouse the liquor store in search of a magical excape potion for the night. And you won't see an officer on an episode of Cops dipping his head into the squad car to ask me if there is a relative or family friend they can leave you with. Hell, I’ve even abstained from doing the-best-damn-feeling-thing-in-the-world while you’re asleep in the same room. So, I didn’t think twice about leaving you on the other side of the room to play with your toys while I turned my attention elsewhere. In fact, I just turned to look in the mirror. I can’t remember exactly what for, but I know I was staring at myself for a long time. I think I was comparing my reflection to the image of the man I thought I would look like as a child. (Yeah. It confused me, too.) Either way, I was absorbed in my own world, when I stepped backwards…and my heel felt something soft.

Oh man, I hope that’s a pillow.

I looked down to see that you were now on my side of the room, underfoot, and staring up at me with a rattled look that said, “Hey man, did you just step on me?!”

And I responded with a look that couldn’t be confused with saying anything but “Ohhhhhh, sh*ttttttttttt…”

Having the confirmation you needed, you proceeded to let me and everyone within a 100 mile radius know what a terrible parent I was. And you refused to stop until I picked you up and replaced my inattention with a miscellaneous googety-goo game. And when the last googety dried the remaining tear you spotted your abandoned toys on the other side of the room then proceeded to make the trek back over to the spot where I had originally set you down.

Anyway, this is how I learned that you had started crawl.

So, recently I really wasn’t surprised when I saw you take your first steps. Your eyes were all filled with the excitement that the first man to walk on the moon must have felt, while your movements would have won you the lead role in the movie “The Floor meets Baby Frankenstein”. But still, after step number four was complete and you fell back on your well-cushioned bottom I still wasn’t surprised.

This time what surprised me was a figure I saw in the mirror. It was me...sporting a jubilant smile. And it was the type of cheese-grin that I’ve only seen in pictures from my very early childhood. Pictures that were taken somewhere around Christmas time.

If I ruled the world...

2005-04-10T09:32:00.000-04:00

Cell phones would only have one ringtone option...vibrate. Maybe it’s because I’m a no frills kinda guy that I just don’t feel the need to have my phone start rappin’ every time I get a call.

While all of the other children...

2005-04-07T11:51:00.000-04:00

...in your class screamed, kicked, and cried in protest of the school's idea of celebrating St. Patrick's day, you were the only one who just sat there and laughed along with everyone else. It was almost as if you were performing for your audience.

This is why I call you Willy Smiles.

I hope that sense of humor, and more importantly, the ability to laugh at yourself stays as you grow older. It will get you through some tough times.

When your mother and I…

2005-04-02T14:50:00.000-05:00

...first started dating I would always ask her to translate the various Latin love songs she listened to so I could appreciate her love for the music. In turn, she could be found on a Friday asking if she could come with me to see whatever Hip Hop artist was in town that weekend.

But honeymoons only last for so long. Then you start to see things for what they are.

Because even though she’s stood by my side at countless shows, had beer spilled on her newly purchased shoes, and dealt with over-aggressive dudes hitting on her anytime I went to visit the bartender or bathroom she cannot hide the fact that she doesn’t really like Hip Hop. I realized this when we were in the car and “Supersonic” came on.

And even though I sat for hours in my car, having tales of love and loss translated, and said things like, “Oh, that’s deep.” or “Man, he really must love her” I cannot hide the fact the only song I ever catch myself singing is Feliz Naviad and I’d rather listen to financial talk radio than listen to that Donnie Sanchez Suavo cd again.

It makes for interesting road trips.

So, this past Easter Sunday I went to drop you and your mother off at the church before I went to work. She takes the holiday seriously as she entered the car looking like we were going on our first date all over again. In fact it made me think, “Oh, yeah…I forgot about that.” And you were wearing a little blue buttoned shirt with jeans that she had purchased for you specifically for this day. You looked like a little intern who was trying to make a good impression on his first day at a law firm. I couldn’t help but chuckle as your mother buckled you in your car seat and asked, “What are you listening to?”

"Guess", I said as the singer proclaimed his faith.

“I don’t know. Is that reggae?”

“Kinda, it was a little before reggae.”

“Is that Bob Marley?”

“Yup, very early Bob Marley. This was before his reggae movement. He did everything from Do-Wop to gospel. You should’ve seen these young pictures of him in a 50’s suit without dreds. I think he was on American Bandstand or something. He could have passed for Little Richard.”

“Why are you listening to it now?”

“Well, it’s early and seeing how it’s Easter and all I didn’t want to roll up on the church blasting G Rap or something like that. I happened to just have it in my CD case and thought I hadn’t heard it in a while.”

“Oh, I see.”, she replied and wrapped her arm around mine as I pulled away from her building.

A week later I get a call at work. It was your mother. She wanted to remind me to bring the Bob Marley cd that night. I was a little surprised, but I agreed, then hung up the phone.

There just might be hope for us yet.

"Do you think...

2005-03-21T10:08:00.000-05:00

...he’ll do it?”, she asked.

And I thought about the guy who was always there on moving day...who didn’t sweat it when I borrowed seven of his cds and either lost or scratched them all up to hell...or who loomed over my shoulder when I picked up a Heineken bottle and threatened to put it in a drunken all-pro linebacker’s throat...and I replied to her, “Yeah, B’s cool. Even though his relationship with God has been a little shaky since he lost his parents, he’s good. I’d trust that kid with my life.”

I personally don’t think you need God parents. Agent B and Slick Talk have been there for me and I know that they’d naturally extend the same to you. Brethren look out for brethren...and brethren’s kids. But that’s your mother, very religious. Her kitchen has more pictures of saints and deceased relatives on the shelves than Goya products. She pulls out different combinations depending on the occasion or circumstance, lights a candle, and sometimes asks me to pray with her. I call it her religious spice rack. I don’t always understand it, but I respect it...as you should. Since we’ve been together I’ve seen some strange things that always seem to revolve around that spice rack. So again, respect it.

So, with that decision agreed upon we had Agent B over for dinner last night. And after he complimented the chicken broccoli alfredo I had made that came out a little bland I asked him. And as I knew he would, he said yes...then asked for a second helping. Yeah, even though it didn't taste that good. That right there is B.

And let me just tell you, you’re lucky, because I never knew my God father. And maybe it was for the best, because I saw a picture of him once and if anything did happen to my parents I have a feeling that I would have ended up learning how to roll dice real well and identify restaurants that made good fish sandwich. Not saying there’s anything wrong with that, but from the looks of the picture I think those were his strong points.

I sat on the couch...

2005-03-17T12:04:00.000-05:00

...and flipped through pictures of a buck-naked newborn peeping out from under a blanket, to a toddler with a head about as big as his curiosity, to an awkward teen who had more pimples than dates. And at times I had to admit, “Damn, I didn’t realize I was such a handsome kid.” The scary thing is, we could have passed for twins. That evening, at my parents house I reflected on my life in it’s different stages and it left me walking into the next stage with a real good feeling.

Today, I’m my biggest critic. I’m the first to say I’m wack or that sh*t I did just sucks. It’s that self-criticism that constantly makes me push a little further…try-learn-see-make-write something different. If I can’t do that I don’t feel I’m being true to myself and it depresses me. So, I try to do everything to my full potential and if a certain activity doesn’t elevate me to a higher understanding of the creative process…I try to avoid it. Especially if I only have the time and energy to do it in a half-@ssed way. That’s just not me. But at this stage in my life, it’s not about me. It’s about you.

In the past I’ve said, “I put so much of myself into my writing that you could clone me from the ink”. But lately I’ve viewed writing as a bad investment, one with no pay-off. And the time that I spent doing it could be used differently, in a way that is of more benefit to you. Although, after that evening at my parent’s house I realized that my writing can have purpose and be worth something, someday. So with that said…I’ll write for you.

Only I won’t be so hard on myself or try to impress you with twisted tales that are mostly written to fortify my ego. I’ll just focus on the straight talk, hoping that details I’ll give you will put together images that will one day give you the same feeling I had. Plus, I’d like to give you some insight into what my life was like and what was going on behind the scenes. I’m not sure what our relationship will be like when you read this. But, I do know that certain things I’ll do in your lifetime you won’t like or understand. I’m just hoping that we’ll be friends because right now, you’re my best friend. So when you do read this all I ask is…be easy on me. Don’t give me the same look I gave my father when I saw that picture of him in a wide-collar baby blue suit sporting a huge afro and sideburns. Just cut me a little slack. Because as you’ll see, we all go though stages.

In a Nutshell...

2005-01-12T17:03:00.000-05:00

1.) Hellboy is now known as Willy Smiles.

2.) He might not have a college fund yet, but at least he has a bunch of cool-@ss nicknames.

3.) The nickname my parents gave me as a baby was Tish-a-boo. I just can’t do that to Willy.

4.) I’ve been listening to mostly French Hip Hop lately. Yes, I know I can’t understand what they’re saying, but with most of the crap out there it might be a good thing.

5.) Around the end of the summer I noticed a small squirrel running up and down my gutters. I decided to be a nice guy and let him be. That little bastard repaid me by burrowing into my attic and chewing a $3000.00 hole in my roof.

6.) My animal activist co-worker said, “When you catch him…don’t kill him! Make sure you release him in Franklin Park or the Blue Hills.” I looked at her and said, “Yeah, right. Not only am I gonna kill him. I’m gonna fry him up and eat him with a side of potatoes and onions.”

7.) I’m constantly busy. For each extremity I have there is a pressing issue that pulls me in it’s own direction of choice. Unfortunately, I’m not Plasticman, but I’m learning.

8.) Sometimes, I go through whole days without seeing Willy…and it kills me.

9.) Sometimes, I go through whole days without eating a meal…and I don’t even notice.

10.) Even though he was in the middle of a 12 hour day, he put down his tools and let me pick his brain. Not only did he offer his knowledge, he offered stories, jokes and unknowingly a gem. Through a thick West Indian accent he said, “Brother, I wake up everyday thankful just to have the strength to struggle.” I walked away in the drizzle holding his words close. Even though his dark hard-worked complexion is rough and weathered his spirit allows everything about him to shine.

Storytellers...

2004-11-12T09:39:00.000-05:00

...that inspire.

Close your eyes.

And let the words speak.

A while back...

2004-11-04T11:27:00.000-05:00

I told you about an architect that I used to work with. From my almost unheard of use of the phrase “c*ck-sucker” in that story you should have been left with a strong impression that we didn’t get along too well. Over my 4 years of working with him I really grew to dislike him...to the point I had to check myself when he started to attend my gym. What got under my skin the most was the way he would prejudge and look down on people, and he always had something negative to say. And the worst thing about it is he’d never come at people directly. He’d just say some slick sh*t thinking whoever was privileged enough to speak to him wouldn’t be sharp enough to catch it. Well, around the time I was about to leave that job I was in a staff meeting where he had mentioned that his grandfather was a famous animator that worked closely with Walt Disney. No one really asked him, so the way he brought it up always stuck out in my mind as “classic c*ck-sucker”.

Well, it just so happens that I was doing some internet research yesterday and stumbled across his grandfather. It was true, he did work for Disney. In fact, he worked on Steamboat Willie. That's a big one. Then I started looking over his filmography and discovered a few of these little gems sprinkled throughout the list.

Why am I not surprised?

2004-11-03T15:38:00.000-05:00

You ain't gotta be a scholar to know the next four years gonna be ill.

- KRS One, 2001.

If I were a boxer...

2004-10-29T09:52:00.000-04:00

I like to think that I’d be like Joe Louis.

Even after he won the Heavyweight title and became a hero in the eyes of every Black American in 1937, he secretly hung his head in shame. Even while shaking the hands of the children who looked up to him as a god. The punches from the man who had defeated him the year before could still be felt. He walked the Earth in the shoes of a titan, all the while feeling like the title and praise were not rightfully his to hold.

"Only thing I remembered saying then was, 'Bring on Max Schmeling. Bring him on.'"

The Curse. 1918−2004

2004-10-28T16:05:00.000-04:00

What else would make a Brother willingly jump off of a light pole like he had all the faith in the world that the drunkards down below would catch him?

Sox, baby...that's what.

But my money says dude is lying somewhere in intensive care right now.

Welcome back.

2004-10-26T16:30:00.000-04:00

After my four week “vacation” I’m back in the office and talking with one of my least favorite co-workers. To be fair, she’s a very nice person but she’s just one of those people who I would consider to be my exact opposite. And sometimes being within earshot of her takes a little more effort for me than it does with other people. So, I’m catching up on the past month and I glance at her desk and see that she’s using a reference book that I happen to use. I look closer and see that the book she’s using is actually MY book. Now, I don’t mind sharing what I have, but I don’t remember her asking or me even giving it to her. And this is more than a “ok, who took my stapler?” type thing, because I paid for this book out of my pocket….not company dough. So, I’m standing there thinking that while I was away she just took it upon herself to browse through my sh*t and help herself like I was dead or something. It’s a shame to think that if someone wanted to go on leave without coming back to find that their office had been pillaged they’d have to resort to setting up booby traps to deter the guilty party with a semi-severed finger or a dart in the neck. Yes, a damn ugly, buck-toothed, bastardized, kool-aid with no sugar shame. It’s right up there with sneaking into the break room, opening up the fridge, and eating someone else’s lunch. Well, I’ll just wait and see how long it takes for my book to come back to me, but in the meantime…I’m ready for a vacation. Oh yeah, I forgot…I just had one. Ok then, I’ll just go to the break room. It will be interesting to see what’s in the fridge.

It seems...

2004-10-16T07:03:00.000-04:00

…every time I solve a problem or overcome a challenge, another one presents itself.

At times I feel like an automotive plant assembly robot that is responsible for attaching front bumpers for twelve hours a day. As soon as my feet touch the cold bedroom floor the switch is flipped, the lights crack and hum, and the cycle begins. Stopping for a break is not an option because a poor performance will only affect the rest of the production line. So, a five minute rest turns into watching a little TV at the end of the day to trying to catch up with things on the weekend to "I can't believe the year is almost over". Right now, my oil is leaking, my gears are grinding, there's smoke everywhere, and on top of that the monthly quota has just been dramatically increased. I continue to squeak through each day while holding on to the belief that if I keep the line moving steadily until the whistle blows that one day I’ll finally be able to wake up from a good night's sleep and start breathing freely rather than automatically.

When I was a kid…

2004-09-29T06:33:00.000-04:00

...I was a little wild. Now I’m not talking juvenile-detention-center-burnin’-sh*t-up-wild, but mischievous enough that my mother felt that I needed the structure and guidance of a good role model. So, when I was around ten I found myself sitting in some stranger’s dirty @ss basement as he talked about how it was now my Scout Den and these kids who obviously didn’t feel uncomfortable being confined and left unsupervised in some stranger’s dirty @ss basement were now my brothers. But because there had been a promise of building a go-cart at the end of the year I had got suited-up with that smaller than average navy blue cap, sat in the circle “Indian” style, and took the Boy Scout oath. During our first “pow-wow” we had a candid discussion about proper male hygiene followed by a Q&A session that I felt was a little awkward, went on a nature hike where the highlight was finding our Den Master’s dog who had ran away a week earlier and was now infested with ticks, then preformed our good deed for the day by bagging leaves and trash around the neighborhood. When we returned to the den for ginger snaps, we started to discuss the go-cart project. I had come ready with drawings that I had labored over for what I wanted my racer to look like, including a picture flip-book of me going down a hill. Once the Den Master had flipped through the last scene of me winning a trophy he tried to explain why they couldn’t do it my way while pointing to the unfinished go-cart that the troop had been working on the year before. Now, I knew it wasn’t finished yet...but I have this saying, “You start off with crap, you end up with crap.” So I started to try and sell the idea of building my go-cart independently by pointing out my use of real rubber tires, my preliminary sketches for a breaking system, and a couple of kick-@ss color schemes with matching names. Plus, I added it would be nice to have something to race the old unfinished go-cart against since I discovered that a competition hadn’t even been planned. My pitch was met by a little teasing from my peers as I had established myself as someone who wore the bandana around his neck a little differently. And the Den Master's response was just a frustrated “No, Christafah…this is how we’re gonna do it.” (Christafah = my name with a strong Boston accent) So, after only a week I found myself sitting outside of the “Trust Circle” with several eyes looking at me in silence. This revelation ended my career as a Boy Scout. I was tempted to come back for the camping trip, but I decided if the planning for this outing was anywhere near close to that of the go-cart project there would be several “Brothers” who might not make it back and if they did they wouldn’t want to talk about it. Upon hearing the news my mother was pretty upset. At first I thought it was because she had paid for a uniform that was now only good during Halloween. But as I got older I realized she was more concerned than upset. She was afraid that for some reason I didn’t fit in with other people on a social level. I didn’t get into any more trouble that summer as I spent the majority of those long days in the dump and abandoned lots seeking the right parts for my go-cart.

I have more to say…

I walked through the door…

2004-09-26T07:18:00.000-04:00

…covered with the frustration of a long day and found her in the living room, holding my son, singing an old Spanish love ballad. My arrival prompted her to blush, so I asked her to continue. And as I put my workboots in the broom closet and listened to her soft serenade I had to admit that I sometimes forget how beautiful Zachary’s mother is.

Salute!

2004-09-24T13:04:00.000-04:00

Miscellaneous Woman One: “Do you know Chris?”

Miscellaneous Woman Two: “Chris who?”

Miscellaneous Woman One: “You know Chris. The one with light-skin, green eyes, works out…um, drinks a lot.”

Miscellaneous Woman Two: “Ohhhh, Chris…”

Yup, that’s the exchange I overheard about eight years ago and it was the first time I ever heard someone categorize me as a “drinker”. I guess I was too busy polishing off bottles of “whatever-we-had-da-money-fo” and mixing new cocktail creations within my stomach to listen to what people had to say. Well, I’ve been waiting to say this for a while now, but I wanted to wait, give it some time to simmer. I wanted to let several social gatherings pass by to test my theory. So, having been in and out of many different Beantown bars, a handful of kicked-back cookouts, several sh*t talkin’ X-Box sessions, and the recent De La Hoya bout and I think I’m ready to announce this.

I don’t think I’m a drinker anymore.

Seriously, I can’t even have two light beers without feeling like someone slipped me a mickey. My tolerance has become so low that I’m afraid if I were to have a strong drink I’d fall into a soft coma for a week or so while “my boys” took pictures of me with a banana or some other questionable object close to my lips. Plus, when it’s 9:30 and you’re found at the back lounge taking blatant advantage of the soft pillows, dim lights, and ample leg room I think it’s about time to admit you lost your stripes…and make your way to the exit to catch the 10 o’clock news.

****

Five things I’ll really miss about being blasted.

5. How dang funny I am.

4. The fact that I can passionately argue with absolute strangers over absolutely nothing.

3. Climbing scaffolding, light poles, billboards or any other high urban structure.

2. How one Black Russian can turn a boring Wine and Cheese’r into at night at Club Chris.

1. Not being held fully accountable for my poor sexual performance.

****

Five things I really won’t miss about being blasted.

5. Losing my wallet, house keys, ride home, cookies, and date with a dime all in the same night.

4. Trying to figure out exactly how my tooth got chipped while doing the electric slide.

3. Remembering the next morning that I was passionately arguing with absolute idiots over something absolutely idiotic.

2. Knowing that one night out on the town that could have bought a month’s worth of groceries….or at least that prescription medicine I’ve been meaning to get.

1. Coming up with innovative bedroom ideas only to be hindered by my poor drunken performance.

****

So, as I step into the role of the “automatic designated-driver/maybe-you-shouldn’t-do-that-guy” I’d like to assure you that this is not the beginning of posts about a man living in ultra-strict sobriety where everyone else is a dirty liquor-bathed sinner. In all honesty, I’ll still have a drink or two when I’m out. I just can’t see myself getting all hardcore with it and challenging Slick Talk to shots of the HellFire just to shut his mouth up. And just like I’ll still have these few drinks, I’m quite sure that I’ll still have a few stories to share about my own or someone else’s general stupidity.

So this weekend, take a second to think about an old soldier, who happens to hold a few more medals than scars and….throw one back for me.

I’d have it no other way.

I am soooo tired right now.

2004-09-21T14:19:00.000-04:00

For the past week and a half I've been walkin' around work like Super-Pop because I've been staying up with Hellboy at night, getting about 3-4 hours sleep, then trooping through my day without missing a beat. Well, the fatigue just hit me in the mouth like blind-side sucker punch.

I'm so tired that...

...there were brownies in the kitchen and I didn't care.

...I called and inquired about the penalties for putting my gym membership on hold.

...I started to feel strangely feverish.

...I seriously thought about going into the bathroom stall to close my eyes for a while.

...I saw that I was the slowest moving thing in the office next to the clock.

...I realized that I would have got more work done today if I had up and gone to Six Flags.

I walked out of the office…

2004-09-20T10:03:00.000-04:00

...on Friday feeling all righteous, like a brother of the new corporate renaissance. Then Hellboy’s mom, who had taken my car for an oil change, told me the engine was running funny. I lifted the hood to find that the air filter compartment was unattached and rattling around on top of the engine, screws everywhere, minus the air filter. My ignorance in automotive mechanics and my concern for driving a vehicle not knowing if there was anything else awry led me to get on the phone with “Dave the Owner”, who suspiciously knew what car I was talking about before I said anything. I ended the call with telling Dave I will see him and his dismissive “just-bring-it-back-down-here” attitude first thing in the morning.

Holding my morning coffee, I respectfully walked into the station and presented Dave with my argument: “You did not perform the requested service in a satisfactory manner. Then you accepted a thirty dollar payment knowing that the car had a semi-assembled engine without a word of warning. I want my car fixed, money refunded, and to be reimbursed for my time spent to come back here and resolve this problem.”

Dave, who stood at the counter like a middle-aged white over-weight walrus, presented his non-apologetic excuse: “We didn’t have an air-filter to fit your car and my mechanic forgot to put the parts back together. It was his mistake. Being Friday and everything he just spaced it.” Followed by his counter offer: “I won't refund your money, but I’ll give you the new air filter, a $29.00 value (really $4.00 at AutoZone), for free.” Taking his attitude, lack of honesty, and my general disgust for dude’s "early-morning-just-came-from-the-bar" personal hygiene I told him his offer was unacceptable, which led Dave to try and engage me in a debate.

Bad move.

He obviously didn’t realize that I’m the type of guy who feels confident enough to walk into a wake and argue with the family of the recently deceased to whether or not their loved one was just sleeping. In fact, it's something that I kinda enjoy. So, after a few of Dave’s poorly structured scenarios and what-if’s he got a little frustrated at hearing me shoot holes in his flawed reasoning and attempted to attack my character. He said some sh*t like my name was Petey Punk Brownfield. And at that point, when he decided to get personal, I decided to show more resolve than certain occupying military forces in desert lands. I wasn’t goin’ anyplace, no matter how many confused customers came in, or how many mechanics he had stand around me, or how heated it got. He just ordered the MisterChris extra beef combo and I was willing to super-size it for free.

Twenty-minutes after I initially walked in, I walked out with what I wanted. Although, it didn’t come from a mutual agreement, admission of accountability, or even an apology. It came from me pulling Dave aside saying the equivalent of, “If you don’t give me the f*ckin’ money you stole from her...plus what I want...I am going to be that ‘angry Black man who’s quick to serve your slick mouth up in the parking lot’.”

Now here I am back at the office where I walked out last Friday feeling like a corporate champion. And I realize it only takes someone like Dave to drag you back down into sh*t. And unfortunately the landscape of my life is littered with "Daves".

Instead of the steak I was going to eat on Friday I ended up eating a hamburger. Which I also enjoy, but in all honestly, I'd rather eat steak. Possibly next time.

Nothin' feels better...

2004-09-17T13:29:00.000-04:00

than staying calm when someone does you wrong, being patient, carefully preparing, then attacking.

I just walked out of a three hour meeting where I professionally stomped the f*ck out of Mister Sneaky Sidewinder's stutterin' @ss. Even his people ducked behind they stenopads as I directed the flame at whoever dared to let their lips move. In the end I was satisfied with the results...but not before he apologized to me AND my mamma.

The highlight was when he said, "You know Chris, I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to raise these issues with me."

And I thought, "Yeah, ok buddy. The days of the angry Black man who's quick to serve your slick mouth up in the parking lot are dead."

I’m eatin’ steak tonight.

I talked with B the Agent the other day…

2004-09-16T11:28:00.000-04:00

...for the first time since the delivery room. After a lengthy conversation about our recent affairs, newly discovered music, and improvised life scenarios that seem to have us cracking up for hours he said, “Man, look at you Skill-killah…all grown and what not. You got a good job, a house, a son, and to boot…a woman who mysteriously loves the hell outta ya punk @ss. You got it, dog.” I gave a small laugh followed by a brief silence which led The Agent to call me by a name that he only does when the mood is serious. “You O.K., Chris?”, he asked. “Yes”, I replied. Then I took a moment and said, “B, in reality what I have is several big pieces of the puzzle. What I don’t have is a clear vision of how they should fit together or even what the finished picture should look like.” B didn’t say anything after that, but I knew he understood.

My life can be categorized into several very different worlds. Each one with pressures and demands that seem to want to take priority over the next. Although, these worlds are filled with people, some close, others not, in my travels within and inbetween them I find myself alone quite a bit. Sometimes walking out of HomeDepot wondering why a piece of plywood costs as much as half a day's pay, or sitting at my desk telling myself to watch my tongue, remember my goals, and stay focused, or trying to hold in the frustration of attempting to live a law-abiding life around people who don’t and never will. While each world is different the one thing they have in common is me, as I’m the element that keeps them together and in existence.

During these times, when I’m alone, music is the one element that helps me keep it together. It provides an outlet, that is readily accessible and at times it’s how I decompress and release myself of burden. Certain songs speak strongly to me through the artists’ struggles, fears, views towards themselves and their lives. If I were ever to make a compilation of music that would illustrate the various stages of my life I’d include several of these songs that I listen to when I’m alone. So, as The Agent and I sat in a car on a small Dorchester side street, we cracked the nearly fogged-up windows and I shared the latest addition to my life’s soundtrack that best documents these times when I'm alone. And we just sat with our eyes closed until the baseline slowly faded away like the lines of my son's tears.

Here is the song and here are the lyrics, which are somewhat incorrect. I guess people hear things differently.

Enjoy.

In a nutshell...

2004-09-14T08:32:00.000-04:00

1. I was sitting in on a spades game with a pair of sisters that I had just met. When I told them I was about to become a father one asked if I was married. When I told her I wasn’t she replied, “Oh, you not a father…you just a baby-daddy.”

2. I think I’m a father.

3. This weekend there was an incredible BBQ cook-off and brew festival, in addition to my boy’s all-dude end of the year cookout on Sunday. Well, at least that’s what Slick Talk told me as I was running back and forth to the hospital every three hours learning about Jaundice.

4. Don’t ever throw around the terms “elevated levels” and “brain damage” without a full explanation and not expect me to make your next twenty-four hours a living hell.

5. Hellboy’s ok. Jaundice is a common occurrence among newborns. However, the next time the nurse at the front desk sees me I expect her to subtly reach under the table and press the code red button. Looks like all that emergency disaster training will be utilized after all.

6. In my lifetime I’ve tasted buffalo, shark, ostrich, rabbit, squirrel, and now….breast milk! When I die I will have absolutely NO regrets.

7. About a month ago I informed people I was supposed to start my vacation this week, but due to an overflow in work I needed to spend a couple more weeks at my desk. Most people didn’t know this, and it that was made evident by Mr. Sneaky Sidewinder who thinking I was gone, e-mailed my boss on some bullsh*t emergency issues that he knew only I could answer. To his surprise I gave him a call and then called him on his b*tch move. Sneaky Sidewinder steadily stuttered.

8. He obviously didn’t know The Chocolate Thunder Boy Wonder’s theme song. I have it on constant rotation.

9. I am so sick and tired of certain women who feel they have the right to cut me in line. I’ve had this attempted on me so many times I start to wonder if I’m invisible. They just kinda lean up on me slowly…while I’m thinkin’ in the back of my mind “Ok, what the hell does she think she’s doing?” And I don’t think this ever happens with other women, because they know there’s a very good chance they’ll get hemmed up…especially if the other woman is a Sister. But with me, my only option is to re-establish the rules of civility which normally leads to “Well…I just need this twenty changed”, then bickering. And in my mind that’s a just an energy draining lose-lose situation….and the funny thing is I think they know this.

10. My boys and I, for lack of better things to do, have had this long-running game of giving ourselves names that we could use in the porno industry. As of this moment if you and your significant other happen to rent a skin-flick starring someone by the name of Woody Goodpecker you can assume that I’ve run into some kind of financial hardship.

There I sat…

2004-09-10T13:59:00.006-04:00

...much like I’m sitting now, without knowing how or what I should be feeling. Sometimes people encounter situations that encompass a wide range of emotions, from absolute joy to soul-shaking fear. And I’ve found that when writing about such experiences it’s difficult not to have the end result sound like a tale that is told from a kaleidoscope of different perspectives. I realize that some things just can’t be nicely packaged in a couple of neat and tidy well-crafted sentences. So if you were to ask me how I feel at this moment, I would simply say this: I sat there holding a tiny new life and all of his potential in my arms and for the first time in my life there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that God really liked me.

With that said I’d like to introduce my newborn son,
Zachary William. Now don’t let the light complexion fool ya. This kid is a hefty serving of fried chicken, black-eyed peas, and collards, seasoned with Adobo y Sazón Goya, and surprisingly served with a Tiramisu` drenched in aged Brugal Dominican Rum. The doctor said the melanin will come once he’s had a little time to let the flavor soak in. Although I feel he’s ready to be put on a platter and served to the world as is. And much to his mother’s chagrin, I’ve been presenting him as “Zach the Black Mack”, “Lil’ Hellboy”, or “Big Poppa’s Really Big Tax Exemption”. But no matter what I choose to call him he’s still my funny little guy and quite possibly the very reason I am and was meant to be.

So here we are...you and I. Back in this virtual meeting place we created. I say we because, while I choose to write my stories of the past, hopes for the future, and gripes of the present…you listen. I simply provide the hors d'oeuvres for this party. You walk in and provide the life. Without you, I’m just that kid whose parents had horribly planned his birthday party on December 25th at 10am. Sitting there all dressed up only to be told even the clown canceled. So at the end of our get-togethers, when all is said and done, I happily clean up and start to think about the next one because I truly appreciate every guest that has walked through this door…silent or verbose. And I mean that.

So that still leaves me sitting here, 3:24am, with Hellboy lying on my chest as I’m contorting my body so not to wake him while writing this. Now, In addition to not knowing how to feel, I don’t know what to expect…for myself or my life. I’ll still love BBQ…and Hip Hop…and my people…and will always believe that no matter how much bullsh*t we go through in this life in the end it will all be worth it. This I know won’t change. But some things will….they already have. No more sleeping around with super-models…or riding choppers buck-naked through the Mexican badlands…or negotiating with bank hostage takers on a drunken dare. Yeah, I’m afraid that Chris just might have gradually turned into the “Old Guy at the Club”…and as always he was the last person to find out…while doin’ his trademark two-step. Oh, well. I’ve had a good run. And all of that is really insignificant anyway. The major change I do see is in my time. Honestly, this will affect our get-togethers. As I stated above I truly enjoy them, but they might not happen as much. I’ll still post/b*tch from time to time, because sharing my thoughts is something I’ll always enjoy doing, but at this moment what I enjoy doing isn’t really important. I’ve spent the majority of my days here writing my life story, but I now need to teach Zachary how to write his own.

Well, Hellboy’s finally asleep. I’m going to see if I can catch a couple hours with him.

A long time ago…

2004-08-27T10:52:00.000-04:00

...I had a friend. She was like a sister to me. For her I would drop anything I was doing, drop any amount of money, or drop anybody to the ground to help her out. My loyalty for her grew without her even knowing it. She was just happy to have someone show up at her job and break the monotony of a slow day at the insurance desk. And I was just happy to just have someone sit there and listen...and help me make sense of things. We’ve seen a lot of good times together. Perhaps, more good times than bad in retrospect. She even asked me to be the Godfather to her son…which I proudly accepted and scrapped all plans of relocating to another city. She was my female equivalent of Agent B or Slick Talk. I called her Blizz or Your Highness because she loved the taste of herb. In fact, that’s how we started callin’ it “Hey Man”. Because every time she got lifted she’d look at you and say, “Heeeyyyyy maaaaaannnnn…” I really cared for her. She was my extended family.

It didn’t become apparent to me how much I cared for her until she had her son. At the time I was working at an architecture firm downtown and one of the top architects sent out an e-mail saying he was giving away an 85’ Volvo in exchange for the tax write-off. Me not having a car and trooping my laundry and groceries up and down a big hill every week…the free car sounded great. But the architect that was giving it away was a muthaf*ckin’ pretentious c*ck-sucking little snot (excuse my language…but he was really a d*ck) and I made my feelings about him known on several occasions. Asking him for the car was not an option. But then I thought about Blizz and how hard it must be for her to do the same domestic chores, especially lugging around a newborn, so I decided to swallow my pride and ask dude for the car. I walked into his office with my tail between my legs, told him about Blizz and if he gave the car to her it would be a significant improvement on her life and make things a lot easier for her. I just approached him on some man-sh*t like, “O.K. I know we don’t get along but…” He looked at me, knowing he had my manhood in a nutcracker, and told me he’d think about it. A couple of days later he said that he decided to give the car to someone else and the way he said it felt like a knife being twisted in my gut. He knew exactly what he was doing….that c*ck-sucker. And I knew the chances of him giving me that car were slim to none, but for Blizz I had to try. To this day, I have never told her this.

A little while after that, things started to change between me and Blizz. I know that she was struggling at the time, hell we we’re all trying to stay above water back then. But I don’t know exactly what happened. Maybe I said the wrong thing and insulted her, or she disapproved who I chose to be with, or she thought I was someone I was not, or maybe it’s that we just grew up…but she silently turned from me. When you’ve been tight with someone for over a decade you know when they’re upset with you…but through all my attempts to reach out to her she never spoke on it. Even though she was silent her actions screamed, “I want nothing to do with you, Chris.” And I’ve seen her behave this way with her girlfriends from time to time and their reaction has always been to cry and then whimper, “Why are you mad at me?” But the problem is I’m not a girl. I couldn’t come at her like that. So I just let her do what she had to do. Even though losing her friendship hurt I gave her the space she needed….and decided that I was unable to have a close non-sexual relationship with a female. I said, “Men and women are just different creatures. Dudes get up and brush themselves off and say, ‘good hit’…while women are drama-prone and fickle.” Or maybe that’s just a bullsh*t excuse I used to explain her behavior and even why my relationship with my own sister is less than stellar. Anyway, I just went on with my life and secretly wished her well. Since we shared mutual friends it wasn’t always easy, but I managed to resist going to gathering where she’d be present so not to make her or anyone else uncomfortable. I think she did the same.

Recently she surprised me by showing up at a party. I was really surprised because I was one of the people the party was for. And for the first time in three years she gave me a “hello” that didn’t seemed forced or reluctant. She seemed comfortable and at peace with whatever was fueling her anger. It was good to see her, good to see her smile, and good to hear her laugh…even at my stupid jokes. When she laughed it reminded me of the girl who used to sit next to me in a downtown Saturday matinee, laughing at my commentary while sipping on a wine cooler. We really didn’t speak at the party. I wanted to. I wanted to find out how she was doing and all that…but something stopped me. I think it’s because I really wanted to ask her, “What did I do?” But I didn’t have the words and that life just all seemed so far away. Maybe, I’ve changed. Well, I know I have. I’m not the same guy who used to give her a piggy-back ride down Huntington Ave; who used to wait outside her apartment until she got inside; who used to give dudes who wanted talk to her a “Treat Blizz Bad Get Beat-down” warning and I think she saw that. So, at the end of the party she gave me a small hug and I thanked her for coming.

I may appear to be skilled in expressing my emotions, but the reality is…some just never seem to come out right.

I love mornings…

2004-08-26T12:30:00.000-04:00

…especially when I have a much coveted day off. I wake up with the childlike anticipation and excitement for what a day of total freedom will bring. It could be a day trip out of town with a special lady, an all-city bar hop with the boys, a deep sea fishing trip with my father, or just lying in bed watching whatever comes on the Discovery Channel. Yup, I love that feeling. But of course I forgot…this is my life….and not a normal one, because then it happened.

“Chris, what are you doing today?”, she asked.

Thinking I’m about to be invited to a cookout I quickly (stupidly) responded, “Nothing. I got the whole day off, what’s up?!”

“Can you help my Mom move a few things to her new apartment?”

*Silent hesitation*

“Ummm…yeah. Sure. I guess I can swing over there for a little bit”

“Great! It won’t take long…we have a lot of people helping us.”

Yeah right. They had a lot of people standing around, talkin’ about they were either sick, or had a back problem, or some other bullsh*t excuse to why their participation would be limited to only carrying blankets and pillows. So, at 11:00am there was only me and one other guy to help…and we both seemed to be equally hung-over from the night before. On top of that, her mother’s apartment reeked with the putrid smell of poor planning. Besides a few boxes….absolutely nothing was packed. Dishes, glasses, and silverware were lying on the kitchen table as if to say, “Just make sure I get in the van!” And her mother wasn’t even home to say exactly what was leaving her well lived-in apartment of 20 years. If I hadn’t let them use my car to go pick up the moving van…I might have had a change of heart and dipped by using the “stitches” excuse. But it looked like I was gonna be there for the long hall, so I just got it in my mind to get it done so I could enjoy my day off.

“I’ll still have time to catch up with the guys this afternoon.”, I thought as I picked up a box of old sewing equipment.

Well, besides being on the third floor in a building where several children decided it was a good day to play tag on the steps…and not having any tools to take apart the solid oak bedroom furniture…and the little voice in my head that kept asking, “How the f*ck did you end up here?”…moving her stuff out to the street went pretty smoothly. After the two hours of removing twenty-eight screws from the bedroom furniture using only a pair of pliers that someone found under the refrigerator…moving the entire building to the top of Mount Everest would have seemed like a piece of cake. Just then my day got even better. That’s when I got the call. “Chris…the van won’t start. We have to go to another U-Haul. They said they’ll have one for us at 3pm…we’re heading over there now.” So there I stood, without a car, with Hung-over Homeboy and all her mother’s belongings down on the street, trying to decide the shadiest spot to sit on the 120 degree sidewalk until they returned with the mother and a moving vehicle.

I thought as I slowly cooked from the inside on the sidewalk, “Man, this is the first nice beach day we’ve had in a minute…well, I’ll just check a movie later...I don’t wanna be outside anymore.”

After three hours of watching drug dealers hop out to random cars, little13 year olds modeling their newly found sexuality, and crack heads walking past and giving me looks like my sidewalk sittin’ @ss was worse off than them…they finally showed up with a moving truck. It was now 4:45pm and I started throwing things on my back and ordering people around in an attempt to salvage what was left of my day off. Once we got to the new apartment, which was in a residential complex for the elderly, I instructed Hung-over Homeboy to finish bringing in the rest of the stuff in while I reassembled the bedroom set and entertainment center….while all of the excuse makers decided it was a good time to get some Mickey D’s….then come back and instruct me on how the furniture should be arranged….while they all munched on fries. After we tried every possible furniture configuration they were finally satisfied with the one that I originally created when I lugged all the stuff in. So at 7:45pm they considered the move complete…relinquishing me of my commitment and setting me free.

“Maybe, I’ll just rent a couple of movies and relax tonight”, I thought as I rubbed my lower back.

But as I said before…this is my life, so I wasn’t surprised when I was about to hop in my car I heard an engine struggling to turn over and someone declare, “Oh no….Chris don’t leave! The truck won’t start!” And of course the truck was parked in a strict no parking zone…dead in the center of this elderly complex. Then as we were working to figure out why the truck wouldn’t start…it happened. The residents started coming out of their homes like it was Dawn of the Dead, waving canes, and expressing their disapproval of the truck being there. After being yelled at for 15 straight minutes and successfully restraining the urge to disrespect my elders I calmed them down and discovered that the need to move the truck right away was not because it was blocking the ambulance and fire route. It was because it was restricting access to the resident’s favorite bench…the one that’s lower to the ground with less bird poop on it. (WTF?! Isn’t Wheel of Fortune on or something?) So eventually, I went to the UHall and got someone to come and restart the truck. At 9:15pm I successfully watched the whole day, the apartment, the sidewalk, and the truck, disappear in my rear view mirror.

On the way home I get a call from my buddy.

“Hey…where you been? We’ve been tryin’ ta reach you. I thought you were comin’ over?”

“No dog, I’m going home and going straight to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

My wonderful day off.

There are not too many people I like right now.

But on the plus side, if I ever have a problem getting into heaven I can have St. Peter just review this day. I'd be like, "Come on dog, look at all that crap...I think I've earned at LEAST a weekend stay."

I like to write.

2004-08-25T12:44:00.000-04:00

But it’s not my favorite thing.
To do.
I like spending time with her.
More.
If reading would put her to sleep.
Satisfied.
I would pick up a pen and write.
Always.
But she’s never been one to sit home.
Reading.
She likes when I use my eyes to see.
Anything.
I do like to write.
But it’s not my favorite thing.

Feelin' good.

2004-08-13T10:30:00.000-04:00

The problem with my legs is still present…in fact it’s worse now. I just haven’t mentioned it because I don’t think anyone would be interested in reading “I feel like crap” posts day after day. Well, I finally got tired of medical specialists poking me with needles, putting me under x-rays, and touching my man-bacon then looking me in the face and calling my condition an anomaly. I decided to look at the problem the same way I look at every other problem in my life…if anyone’s gonna solve it…it’s most likely gonna be me. So, I did some research this week and here’s my very uneducated, don’t know the first thing about the medical field, theory:

While working on my house I caused some sort of trauma to the Lymphatic tissues in my lower legs. Most likely from hammering, scraping, and sanding on all fours for several hours at a time or pressing my legs up against a metal ladder to keep my balance. Either way…I f*cked them up. The trauma caused a build up of fluid which caused the swelling, extreme pain, and my inability to “swagger” for several weeks. Since my doctor’s assistant initially told me just to go home put ice on them and take aspirin, the protein rich fluid in my legs remained for at least a month and it became a Lymphatic infection. This explains why the pain in my legs has remained and has been accompanied with feeling like they are on fire. This explains why on a 90 degree day I’ve been coming home from work, closing all the windows, turning off the fan, and hoping straight in bed with my clothes on and covering myself with several blankets talkin’ about I’m freezing. This explains why I’ve been drinking 27 glasses of water a day and my mouth stays dry. This explains why I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night and scratching my burning limbs for hours. (In fact I’m writing this at 2:13am because the itching got me up again.) This also explains why I’ve been walking around my job (Whoa….I’ just got de ja vu….I’ve either wrote this before….or dreamed about it….weird) anyway, this also explains why I’ve been walking around my job feeling like a zombie who’s begging to be returned to the afterlife. Yeah, three months of this sh*t…feelin’ like I have some sort of malaria and need to have my legs amputated.

Well, I presented my theory to the group of specialists and they all looked at each other, left the room, then came back and said, “It sounds like it might be a strong possibility.” They agreed I should be put on an antibiotic for the infection and I should have a biopsy done to try and determine the cause of the inflammation.

I’ve been on the antibiotic for only two days now and the symptoms still remain; only now they are accompanied with the side effects of the medicine, tiredness and headaches. But through all of that if you were to ask me how I’m feeling I’d say, “I’m feeling good.” Why? Well, I’m feeling good because for the first time in three months the doctors aren’t blindly testing me and they are following a documented possibility. But most of all I’m really feeling good because during this three month ordeal I haven’t let it stop me. Out of three months the Boy Wonder has only taken three sick days and has been there to carry his responsibilities and the responsibilities of other’s on his back. And on the weekends and some weeknights he’s still put on the tool belt and ripped down walls then constructed superior ones like he was in perfect health and didn’t want to be wrapped up in bed. Yeah, I’m kinda feelin’ myself right now. But it goes beyond feelin’ good. It goes beyond The Chocolate Thunder Boy Wonder. It goes beyond even feelin’ like a certified monster. I honestly feel borderline demonic…and there are not too many people that can see me right now.

The biopsy left me with stitches in my leg, so I’m gonna take this weekend off because I’m afraid if I start working I might rip them. So let me just say this to all the people (who most likely aren't reading this) who kinda look at me funny in that little doubtful way….wait till I get better...cause you didn't even know I was sick. That's whats up....

If I ruled the world...

2004-08-12T08:07:00.000-04:00

Anyone who decorates their car by putting those novelty bullet hole stickers down the side should be made to do one weekend of community service as an assistant to the emergency trauma surgical team at Boston Medical Center. I hope their fake desperado, renegade-from-the law, punk John Gotti @ss isn’t squeamish. My prediction is by Saturday morning they’ll be ready to replace their gangster-image with daisy stickers.

In a nutshell...

2004-08-11T08:20:00.000-04:00

1. My summer didn’t officially start until my man slipped the new Roots into my car. These dudes continue to amaze me and refresh my love for the music.

2. What amazes me even more is how much I relate to a White-albino, overweight, half-blind, 26 year old kid from Minnesota. In fact, if I made music I’d strive for his greatness.

3. Kayne West aside, if Hip Hop keeps flirting with Gospel I just might have to ask their first daughter to marry me.

4. My neighbor Snitchie just bought himself a new picnic table…which isn’t that unusual because it’s summertime. But what I did find strange is I always see him sitting there by himself, just staring out into space. And he does this for hours. I mean I’ve taken time to decompress and take in a little nature, but I don’t consider staring at the back of a garage nature. There is just something very wrong with this picture.

5. AVP! They are finally bringing the comic book series to life. The little boy in me is jumping up and down and about to pee his pants. While the adult in me is preparing to round the fellas up, get tickets, and sneak in the theatre with Chinese Food with several intoxicating beverages. They should do everyone else a favor and give us a private screening because the Aliens are finally going to fight the Predators! It’s just in my nature to get a little wild. But here’s my prediction for the end….Humans will win.

6. One thing about me that I always felt made me special is I don’t use an alarm clock. I don’t have to. If I say I need to get up at 6am…I automatically wake up 6am. Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of a dream to look at the clock and say, “Yup, right on time.” It gets deeper. Several times I’ve got up in the middle of the night and said to myself, “It’s 3:24am” and I looked at the clock to see 3:24.

7. I have yet to find a way to make a significant amount of money from this “gift”.

8. I recently went to my man’s annual cookout. It’s an all day event of good food, drinks, and people. But what really makes me look forward to it is after dark he hooks the X-Box up to a LCD projector and projects the game on the side of his house. Man, when whuppin’ someone’s @ss on an outdoor 20 foot screen you really start to feel like you should be featured on a Black middle-class episode of Mtv Cribs.

9. Yesterday, a very robust woman, who looked like she could go into labor at any minute waddled onto the already crowded train. When I offered her my seat she surprisingly looked at me in disgust and said, “No!”. Upon further observation I realized she may have not been pregnant. My b…

10. I really like making lists. If I ever have a nervous breakdown and get committed to an insane asylum I think this is how I’d spend my time. I’d just sit in the recreation room, wearing my gown and slippers, and make lists with my circle of paper and safety crayon. Don't worry though...if they give me internet access I’ll still post them for your enjoyment/general disgust. Maybe I'll be able to sweet talk the nurse and arrange something.

I remember the good times.

2004-08-10T09:34:00.000-04:00

Living in an apartment, no worries except making sure the rent and bills get paid, the place stays clean, and the fridge stays full. That's why JJ always smiled so much. Look at him...that happy go-lucky bastard....just chillin'...doin' his artwork...mackin' the ladies. You know why you haven't seen him in the public spotlight as much lately? He bought a house...and he's not as funny anymore. No more kool-aid smiles...in fact, he's kind of a jerk now. Anyway, you can see where this post is headed. Let me b*tch for a minute about the misconceptions people have when you’re a homeowner, then I promise I won't rant for a while. It'll be tough...but I promise.

THE MISCONCEPTIONS PEOPLE HAVE WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG AND OWN A TWO-FAMILY HOUSE.

You built the house.

(I’m 33…the house is 105. I think it’s safe to say that the reason the closets are so small or the living room isn’t a little bigger or the tree in the back is overgrown isn’t a result of my past architectural and landscaping decisions.)

You sell drugs.

(Let me ask you this...does my house look like a drug czar's palace? Do you see flamingo's running around my yard next to the coy pond? Have you ever seen me fish a dead body out of my "C-shaped" pool after a violent cocaine episode? Have you ever watched Miami Vice and seen a drug lord who has a neighbor like you? I don't sell drugs...I strip, thank you very much.)

You have the ability to do anything at a moments notice.

(Ok, so you’re saying I should delead each unit, switch the heating system to forced air, and demolish the garage to make way for a new multi-level backyard party patio. Do I have a sugar-mamma you haven’t told me about?)

You want a “tip” on how to maintain your property or for someone to point out something that needs to be done.

(I appreciate you walking by and pointing out that I should relocate my ferns to a shadier side of the house….but I’m kinda busy with other things right now. And who said I even want the ferns? Where the hell did they come from anyway? I didn’t plant them.)

You are one of those slums lords, as seen on the local news undercover expose, who doesn’t take care of his property, keeps a single mother with three children without heat and running water, and is the blame for every apartment in Boston that costs $1500.00 a month.

(No…I can’t say that’s me. I’d consider myself a responsible landlord. If you ask my tenants they’d say the same. But now that you mention it…if I was YOUR landlord...)

You’re stupid.

(People LOVE to lie. Look, in this age of information when you lie on a rental application it’s really not too hard to find out. And saying, “Well, I didn’t know how you’d react to me running a business at my last residence” doesn’t really make it a little white lie either….especially when you were running a drug lab.)

Every problem you come across causes you to put the house on the market.

(Damn, can’t I have a few friends over without you asking if they’re realtors! Turn around and stop looking over the fence. I’m not selling!)

Because you’ve drank a couple of beers with someone in the past you’ll rent them an apartment for a couple hundred dollars or whatever they can afford to pay that month.

(Yeah, ok…you’ve heard of a mortgage right? That’s my rent. And they don’t wanna hear well my tenant/drinking buddy didn’t get along with his boss too well as an excuse. They make people ex-property owners for that.)

You’re filthy rich.

(I don’t know what to say about this besides….gold-digging women have walked away from me all pissed, talking about how I misrepresented myself. Musta been all those hundreds I use to fan myself with…or the spray bottle I fill up with Moet to mist myself off when it gets humid. Nothin’ like a Moet Mist to open the pores.)

Run!!!!

2004-08-06T10:42:00.000-04:00

A co-worker calls me and leaves a message exclaiming, “Chris I want it to be put on record that you’re the first person I called. Oh, God….I hope you’re in today. We have an emergency and I don’t know who else to go to! It’s the web site! We’re currently reviewing our open contracts to see how much money we have to get an emergency designer in here! Anyway call me as soon as you get this message!”

Once I found out that the problem was simply the wrong closing time on their hours of operation, a few clicks of the mouse, and the problem was solved.

I’m walking down the sidewalk and I noticed a parked compact car with two young children in the back and a woman in the front seat who looked like she was either throwing a violent tantrum or trying to fight off an invisible attacker. I drew close to see her franticly pound the seat, then the dashboard, then the roof, then the window…all while repeatedly using the name of the Lord and several saints in vain.

Once she managed to get the window open the bee flew out on its own accord. The woman and terrified toddlers replaced their crying with desperate gasps of relief.

I’m sitting on a crowed train, and just before the doors close a middle-aged man with a Southern accent screamed, “We have to get off!!!!!” Suddenly, half of the car’s occupants all strapped with over-stuffed duffle bags and suitcases make a mad dash to the door. It looked like a scene from a soccer stadium disaster as these twenty-five or so crazed people pushed elderly women and expectant mothers into each other as they all tried to squeeze through the same space. All the while, their leader was screaming at the door, “Come on!!! Hurry!!! We have to get off!!!!” as if this train were the last helicopter going BACK to Vietnam.

Once the last tourist got off and the train was officially delayed, a police officer who had noticed the disturbance sat the man down, showed him the transit map (the same one displayed onboard the train) and the man realized that he and his group were in fact on the correct train.

Now, why am I telling you these stories? Just to say this.

People, I am tried of seeing you panic.

Ninety-percent of the time it just makes the situation worse for you and everyone unfortunate enough to be near you. Plus have you seen yourself? It’s not pretty. And I’ve seen so many of you panicking over stupid sh*t that I feel I need to make of list of scenarios where it would be acceptable to panic.

I don’t wanna see you panic unless:

1. You are bungee jumping over jagged rock and after taking a 100ft dive you realized you miscalculated and the line is 110 feet long….ok…then you can panic. In fact you can do anything you want because you might not be able to do much for quite some time.

2. You wake up with a bomb handcuffed to your arm, the key is nowhere to be found, there is only 30 seconds left on the timer, and you see a letter from your heartbroken ex on the nightstand…ok…then you can panic. You’ll need the adrenaline to chew your hand off.

3. You realize you’ve been impregnated by an alien and it’s spawn is about to take it’s first breath by popping through your abdomen…ok…then you can panic. If you didn’t, it just wouldn’t seem that believable and I wouldn’t recommend the movie to any of my friends.

4. You look over the city skyline and see a bumpy fire breathing lizard swatting away military fighter jets and taking a bite out of one of the city’s tallest buildings….ok…then you can panic….Japanese style!!!

5. And finally…you are around me and decide you absolutely need to throw an over-dramatic, screaming, grabbing my arm, hissy fit over anything simple or stupid…ok…then you can panic…because this back-handed slap I have for you is gonna be something.

I’ve been meaning to say this for a while…

2004-08-05T11:14:00.000-04:00

I think I’m finally starting to understand how much of a public forum a blog actually is. This is a place where I log my personal thoughts in an attempt to play with words, vent, act like a clown, laugh, and find like-minded individuals who might just feel the same way as I do. Just like anything else in life, some of my thoughts and experiences I choose to share with people…some I don’t. Some of my thoughts and experiences are simply no one’s business but my own. I try to keep the subject matter based around me and when I talk about someone else it is in a way that their identity will remain safe. (Unless they are someone already in the public spotlight or I just really dislike them) Some will enjoy my stories and daily happenings and look at them as pure entertainment. Some will read and see it as an exact reflection of my life…believe me this is just a small window you’re looking through. Others who may know me in the non-virtual world might gain some insight as to what is going on in my mind and why I behave the way I do. I realize this. However, once the door is unlocked there is an open invitation to the reader who may choose to remain anonymous and what they do with the information they read is at their discretion. I realized once I started a blog my privacy and being vulnerable to outsiders would be the trade off. There is also a certain power in remaining anonymous…however that is a power I chose to relinquish. I just couldn’t write anything real if it wasn’t coming from me. While I’m far, far, far from being perfect, I try to be the same person, whether I’m with my boys, at work, at home, or in this public forum. I’m just me and when I’m here, I’m just sharing a little piece.

Well, with that said…

…all are welcome to my blog. Enjoy.

However…if my Mom calls me and says, “Hey, I was just showing your blog to some of the girls in the office. It’s sooooo cute! Look at you and your little poems!”

….you can consider this b*tch shut down.

Old School Memories

2004-08-04T15:37:00.000-04:00

I just ran across this web site…and it made me remember this story.

Several years ago (actually more than several years ago because I think I was only twenty-one and I was rockin’ a Starter Raiders jacket with the matching cap) I used to talk to Donica. Now when I say talk, it wasn’t anything big…we may have kissed once but that was about it. At the time she was going to Berklee School of Music. During our brief “talking” she had invited me to a small get together that she was having at her apartment and told me to bring some friends. I told my man, Slick Talk, who was my main running buddy back then, and once he heard there would be more girls than dudes his arm didn’t need to be twisted. So as it was the custom back in those days we got well liquored-up before we arrived at her building…holding several concealed bottles and other party paraphernalia.

I honestly don’t remember too much about the party. I just recall that it was an intimate get together, with a few of her friends, a few couples, and one of her classmates Lelah Hathaway’s little sister. (who’s name I cannot remember) Well Slick Talk was all over Little Sister, tryin’ to do what he does best…talk slick…and everybody else was busy trying to catch up to the level of “happiness” Slick Talk and I were feeling when we walked through the door. I guess they all reached that level when someone suggested that we all sit on the rug and play Truth or Dare. That brought a few hours of naughty advances and awkward moments that everybody laughed through. And me being the creative-thinker, awkward moment advocate that I am, was having a great time…until someone introduced a new dare into the game…a bottle of Jose Cuervo. After a few rounds all I remember was Donica saying something to me that didn’t seem right, so I said something to her that was probably a little tequila induced, and then she sternly looked at me and said, “Get out!” Well, she didn’t have to tell me twice. I knew the drill.

With thoughts of Little Stevie’s pizza on my mind I told Slick Talk, “We’re out” and we drunkenly bounced down the steps and out the door. However, I noticed that he was a little hesitant when we left…so I asked him if he was cool. He kinda let me know that at the time we left his slick talk had not reached it’s full potency and he wished he had more time to “seal the deal” with Little Sister. So, as not to risk being labeled a c*ckblocker I said if he wants to go back up I’ll go get some slices and wait for him outside. He immediately turned and hit the door buzzer a few times. I stayed to make sure he got in and after a short while, music blared over the intercom, and a female voice asked, “Who is it?” Now I don’t know that what happened next was because Slick Talk was really intoxicated, or he felt like he needed an excuse to go back to the party, or he just didn’t want Little Sister to know that he was chasing her, but he opened his mouth and said, “It’s me __________. Chris wants to come back up….he wants to apologize to Donica.”

I just stood there with this expression on my face that said, “No I don’t.”

And the door never opened.

I learned two things that night.

One, tequila and I don’t mix well because to this day I still don’t know what she said to me that got me all bent out of shape...if she said anything at all.

Two, although he’s my boy…Slick Talk is an @ss.

But even still, I can't wait to show him the web site. I know we'll have a good laugh over these old school memories.

On edge…

2004-08-03T09:14:00.000-04:00

The electrical inspector’s coming to look at my kitchen remodeling project today.

Unfortunately, he is coming at 10:30 and I’m hosting a 11:00 meeting at work, so I cannot be present. Seven plus months of planning and back-breaking work has come down to a couple of critical days and that leaves me sitting here doing the only thing I can do…going over possible outcomes.

1. The inspector will come, look over the electrical work, find everything up to code, and get the hell outta my house.

2. With me not present, the electrician could decide to point out all the electrical flaws that exist in every 100yr old house, forcing the inspector to have me upgrade everything, and forcing me to pay the electrician thousands more to do the work. There’s no two ways around this one…I’ve stayed up at night doin’ the math. If he wants to screw me….I just fell forward, hit my head, and passed out…@ss all in the air.

3. The inspector could look over my carpentry work and say, “What the f*ck is this?!”, find that the wall I built isn’t up to code, and have me tear three months of work down. Or worse he could deem my load-bearing wall inadequate, slap me with a hefty fine for legally trying to improve my residence, and declare my home inhabitable until the problem is resolved. Worst, worst, worst case scenario.

4. Murphy’s Law could take effect. From frozen pipes causing showers not to work, to leaky skylights, to heating systems that just shut off during an Artic freeze I’ve realized that Murphy’s Law is a consistent, money sucking, life draining, why-the-hell-did-this-happen-after-I-just-bought-all-them-Christmas-presents...b*tch.

5. These two loose screws I have rattling around in my head could finally decide they are sick and tired of pretending to hold on. Even right now they’re saying, “Hey Chris, we’re really not fooling anyone.”

In my life, I’ve always taken risks. While failure sometime occurs the pay-off is much greater. But in the period of time between choosing to take a risk and the actual outcome…this is the downside that you live with. Damage control, working all the angles, and be prepared for the worst. This is why my friends say it looks like I’m always thinking about something. They don’t know the half.

I wish I had my digital camera on me…

2004-08-02T08:14:00.000-04:00

…so I can show you what I don’t wanna see.

A young Brother b-boppin’ down the street, holding an open laptop computer like a breakfast n’ bed tray, using it to listen to beats through headphones. Come on dog, we all know you’re technologically flossy and everything but…put that thing back in it’s case. Wait…where’s the case?

Continued Ups and Downs

2004-07-30T14:44:00.000-04:00

This morning I woke up from a restless three hour sleep to see her standing in the doorway. She stood very silent and relaxed as if she had been wrapped up in my arms all night. But she was not….my arms remained as empty as the place in my head she normally occupies. And she just stood there…knowing I missed her…knowing I was wondering where she had been…knowing that she had left me with my demons….knowing I HATE the feeling of NOT knowing. But she just stood there, with a look on her face that expected me to get out of bed and embrace her.

Now, some would say I’m soft. But, I’m not…I’m stubborn. I know we can work. And I honestly cannot picture my life…where we don’t work. I know there is something about me she likes…something she needs. Why else would she keep coming back?

So…I walked up to her, placed my lips on her forehead, and whispered, “Look…baby…I know I’ve been working a lot on the house lately. And yes…when I went out with my boys last week…I admit…I chose to check them instead of staying home with you. And then there’s my job…well…that’s a whole ’nother monster I don’t even wanna get into. But, you know me better than anyone else…so, you have to understand….I have certain responsibilities now...and expectations to live up to. I have not been neglecting you…in fact, I’ve been bustin’ my @ss everyday just so we can be together…without any restrictions or worrying about how the gas bill will get paid or where we’re gonna live next month. And listen…just because I’m not here 24/7 doesn’t automatically mean I’m not thinking about you or that I forgot about you. Come on now…that don’t even sound right.”

She stood in the doorway, unconvinced…so I continued.

“What? You really think that I’ve forgotten about you? Lemme tell you a lil’ somethin’. I walk out of this house everyday with two thoughts in my head. One…I wish I didn’t have to leave you. Two…I can’t wait to see you when I get back home. And for you to stand there like, “Oh Chris, you’ve been neglecting me.” absolutely blows my mind. Lemme ask you this…how in the hell can I forget about you when just about everything I come in contact with reminds me of you? I see you in magazines, billboards, television, clothing….everywhere. I’m not playin’! When I was out with _______ and _______ last week, at the end of the night I was sittin’ by myself at the station, waiting for the last train, half drunk, eating a steak n’ cheese. While I sat on the bench I looked through the open roof to a pale orange moon set in a dark violet backdrop. By itself it was nothing. But combined with the complementary hues in the architecture, the lighting on a nearby brick building, the miscellaneous late night faces who would stumble past, and the eerie calm you get when 95 percent of the city’s population is fast asleep…it was like a surreal movie played in slow motion. I thought all that it needed was a soundtrack. Something like...”You got me”, by the Roots. And why does sitting drunk at a train station have me thinking of you? Because YOU were the one who showed me how to see all those things! You taught me how to see beauty in the ordinary! Now, I can’t go anywhere without seeing a reminder of you! But when I get home to share this…and build something from it…you’re out…you’re not here.”

She remained emotionless…so I proceeded to erupt.

“Oh, and that just means absolutely nothin’ to you, right?! Maybe if you showed a little bit more discretion over who you spent your time with, me tellin’ you some heart-felt sh*t would actually mean somethin’ to you…and you wouldn’t just stand there like my name was Theodore Nobody! You must really think I’m stupid. Yeah, I saw you!!! Yeah, Miss Slick Sh*t…YOU!!! I’ve been seein’ you…runnin’ with those little corny dudes!!! Yeah, that’s right…all posted up on his arm, making his tight Armarni shirt wearin’ @ss look like a lucky punk. I SAW YOU!!! Look do you really think I need you? Do you really think that this door won’t close, lock, and leave you outside with Joe Wack and his misconceptions of what hot is? You of all people know my name. And at the end of the day…it’s just me. And you are no exception to that rule. And don’t think you’re being slick by sittin’ up in my face and sayin’ “Yeah, so I was with him.” because…I know about the women, too. Yeah, the women. How can I not? You’ve been everywhere! I even saw you on the internet. My man pointed out a couple of sites…so I took me a look. And there you were…and it was obvious that you had been makin’ them losers you’ve been hangin’ with start to feel themselves a little…givin’ MY sh*t away to total strangers!!! And here I am working for us…lookin’ like a chump. How…do you think…that makes me feel?!! I said… how do YOU think that makes ME feel!?!! HOW THE F*CK DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL!?!!!!!!”

She threw her hands in my face and turned towards the street…so out of desperation I threw my words around her waist.

“All right…look, look, look, look, look, look …LOOK!!! All right, come on, slow down. Look, just let me tell you how that makes me feel….then you can go. I need you to understand this, just this one thing…then you can just do whatever. Just listen to me. When I see you with other people…I feel like…well…like that could be me. I see the expressions of sanctity on their faces and the way they walk…as if they were part of some exclusive club for the enlightened. And the sight of them feels like little pins sticking into my soul because at one time…that was me…walking with you as if I were emancipated. And what hurts the most is if I didn’t have all this bullsh*t going on…that could be me…again…that could be us. Listen...remember when we first met? I couldn’t have been more than 8 years old…riding in the car with my Dad to Providence. Of all places, I saw you off the expressway, under an overpass…do you remember what colors you were wearing? No? You were draped in shades of red and gold…looking like a young sighting of the Madonna. Blessing a forgotten landscape and giving people in despair a glimpse of hope. As we entered the city I saw you again at a corner store, again at the bus stop, and then again at my father’s building…each time more breathtaking than the next. Yeah, that’s when I nervously picked up a marker and asked you to be a part of my life…you looked at my amateurish scribble, blushed, and said “Yes”. We spent a lot of time together back then, didn’t we? Yeah, those were good times…“sigh”….I don’t know how things got so f*cked up. Well…yeah I do…I got f*cked up. Me and this “I can juggle heaven and earth” attitude while being blindfolded with machismo. That’s why I didn’t see you fall to the ground. But that’s my shortcoming, that’s my fault…I don’t want you to leave me for it. I want to apologize for neglecting you, I want you to trust me, and I want you to see that you are the motivation for everything I do.”

Her icy stare softened, so I drew closer and put her hands in mine.

“Look…I don’t want to come off as sounding corny or cliché…but I know that this is not the first time a man has expressed himself to a woman, so I might be repeating something my father said at one time to my mother …or something I’ve seen in a movie. But let me assure you, the source of my words is real. I want you to know that…without you…I am nothing. Without you…my world is a grimy concrete bed, blanketed by cold grey drizzle in a night that never ends. Without you…all I can see is the equivalent of a bread and water diet, never questioning anything’s meaning, purpose, or possible alternative on the menu. Without you…all of my accomplishments will become the object of misdirected blame and resentment as they get discarded along with all of my future dreams, hopes and ambitions for happiness. Without you…my soul is one blunt and empty over-proof bottle away from being back at that train station, except the Roots would now be replaced by John Lee Hooker’s “Burning Hell” as every train that passes by adds one year to my life. Without you…I simply would have had no reason to get out of bed this morning...or open my eyes. Without you...I might as well have been born blind. So for all those reasons…and more…I need you. Without you…I cannot be Chris. In fact, without you…I don’t know who I’d be. And…that scares me. Listen…I need you. For all the things you've helped me see...you have to see that in my eyes. Without you…I am nothi….”

She stopped me with a soft kiss...

And once again I started to see the beauty in things.

Ups and Downs

2004-07-29T14:00:00.000-04:00

“Love can either fill your world with joy….or completely tear it apart.”

I’ve been saying this for a minute. But here’s a different thought.

Whether it is art, literature, music, or philosophy I’ve often compared the creative process to love. In fact, in my life, the creative process has been the most meaningful relationship that I’ve ever had. She holds the power to make me feel like no other person, drink, or drug ever could. When she treats me well I feel like an extension of God’s hand. She shows me how to see through the blankness and amaze myself. But when she leaves...my happiness, confidence, and optimism leaves with her. I just wander the city as if I were a homeless person...head down…talking to God…hoping I’ll find salvation. Hoping I’ll find her before it's too late.

She is my passion….and doing anything without passion is my equivalent of Hell.

I need her…

I need her today.

The kiss of death?

2004-07-28T09:38:00.000-04:00

Yeah, this is gonna seem like a vain post.

Over the years I’ve watched several ex-girlfriends make really bad decisions with their lives. It’s to the point that as soon as one of us utters the words, “It’s over” I almost immediately expect to get a crazed late night call talking about…I just slapped my boss…or…then the officer asked me, “If it isn’t yours what was it doing under your seat?”…or…I’m pregnant, but he loves crack more than he does me. It’s like this person that I never knew was there suddenly comes out. So, stories like these don’t even surprise me anymore and I’m starting to think that every one of my relationships should start with a warning that upon break up there is a very good chance that life could start spiraling downward. Great selling point, eh?

Well, I was watching TV last night and I was surprised to see the smile of my ex-ex-ex-ex girlfriend make a brief appearance in a local commercial. After the initial shock was over I was happy knowing that it was a direction in life she had always wanted. And if she really gets successful, combined with a few other ex success stories, it just might balance things out and prove to the world that there really is life after Chris. Until then, I'll be busy putting together a report of post break up statistics and drafting a wavier.

I went out last night...

2004-07-23T11:04:00.000-04:00

...with my man, Money (who I now call, Slick Talk) and Agent B. (aka Big Vex, B the @sskicker, or the Automatic Acrobatic) to see a sneak preview of The Bourne Supremacy.

The best part about seeing this movie is I can now throw around the words, “sneak preview”. When I say things like, “Oh yeah….I saw the sneak preview” or "I was at the sneak preview last night" that gives people the impression that I’m a social dynamo/paladin as they picture me walking into an exclusive restaurant with an exotic giggling beauty on my arm…gliding through the back kitchen while giving my patented “How ya doin’” to the chef …as his Italian accent assures me that he has something special prepared for the young lady.

Yup, that was the best part of seeing this movie. If it wasn't for that I would have punched the screen. And even though the tickets were complimentary for everybody at the event....I'd still demand to be refunded $9.75.

Happy Birthday, Mamma!

2004-07-22T08:56:00.000-04:00

I’m terrible with birthdays. I’d forget my own if it wasn’t printed on my driver’s license. When I was twelve I forgot my Mother’s birthday and didn’t remember until I sauntered in the house at 9pm and saw her in the kitchen cutting the cake she had bought for herself. Oh, THAT didn’t feel good. At that point saying, “Oh, right…..Happy Birthday, Mom” really didn’t make it a more festive occasion. And I knew she was hurt, but instead of showing it she just cut me a piece of cake and told me there was milk in the fridge. THAT felt even worse! It was the worst cake I ever ate in my life and it wasn’t because I didn’t love chocolate. So, ever since that terrible day I’ve always paid special attention to her birthday, Mother’s Day, and Valentines Day and made sure I’m on point. Well, my Mom’s b-day passed this weekend and thanks to several notes to myself, including one on my arm in black magic marker, I was ready.

I asked my Mom, “Hey, would you like to go to this new restaurant I heard about in Providence? Its all-you-can-eat Lobster.”

“No.”, she replied in an unenthused tone.

“Ok, how about I scoop you and Dad up and bring you into town for a show? Lion King's here.”

Again, she simply replied, “No.”

After several other rejected suggestions I got frustrated and said, “O.k., well I’m coming down to see you that day so if you’re not home I’ll be waiting on the porch….and if it starts to rain I’m gonna break in through the garage.”

She gave a soft laugh and said, “Your Father will be home, but I get off work at nine.”

(My Mother is a borderline shoppaholic and values every minute of overtime she can get.)

When 9pm came around I was waiting at my Mother’s house with a card, a photo album all wrapped up with a bow, one dozen red roses, one bouquet of mixed flowers, and a carrot cake. I did everything besides rent a clown, after all, my Mother has me. When she arrived home she walked through the door with a surprised look and a big smile took over her face.

It’s like this almost every year….this “I don’t want you to do anything” game that we play. And it’s very clear to me that my Mother and I are both equally stubborn. In fact, my stubbornness comes from her.

Go my pretty snakes! Go and do my evil bidding!

2004-07-21T12:43:00.000-04:00

Even though I have beef with my next door neighbor, Snitchie, I don’t let my dislike for the man affect the way I treat his kids. He has a boy and a girl, both under twelve, and they are very well-mannered, smart, and respectful for the most part.

Yesterday, I was doing some yard work and saw the boy playing basketball in his yard without a shirt.

I called out to him, “Hey, put those muscles away. You’re making me look like the ten year old.”

He laughed, came up to the fence and said, “Um, Mr. Chris, I think you have a snake in your garage.” (It’s funny, they call me Mr. Chris in real life.)

“Yeah, I’m sure I have a few in there. Probably some up in the bushes too.”, I responded.

His eyes widened and he screamed, “There’s more?!”

“Well yeah, its summertime and those little garden snakes are everywhere. You probably got some over there too.”

“No! No we don’t! We don’t have any snakes in our yard!”

“Okaaaaaaay then, I guess all the snakes just live in my yard.”

“Well, when you see them could you put them in your trash can or something? I found some snake skin over here and we don’t want to get bit by any of your snakes.”

I assured him that if I saw any snakes I would properly dispose of them and then I thought to myself, “Did this little guy just run up on me to complain about snakes migrating from my yard into his?”

Yup.

Sounds exactly like his father.

Urban Obstacle Course

2004-07-20T09:05:00.000-04:00

Today, I hopped on the train strapped with my gym bag and laptop. Since I’m not one of those people who feels justified taking up two spaces, I slid the laptop under my seat, put the gym bag between my legs, and pulled out a magazine. I started reading a Money magazine article about families of active U.S. Reservists. I became so absorbed with the financial difficulty that these families were facing that I didn’t realize that I was already at my stop. Reactively, I jumped up, dodged incoming commuters, and slipped onto the platform. Just as the doors closed behind me I turned with my gym bag and magazine and realized that I had left my $3700 state-of-the-art laptop under the seat. F*ck….

As the train pulled away I stood there for a second thinking about my options. One. Go into work and explain I lost my computer and need to buy another one…preferably by the end of the day. Two. Save myself the hassle of dealing with my boss and accounting department by replacing the computer out of my own pocket. Three. Retrieve my computer before anyone helps themselves to a $3700 gift that they’ll probably turn around and sell for $500 by meeting the train at the next stop….six blocks away.

Now this would have been the perfect opportunity to use some of those superpowers I’m always talking about. But the reality is….I don’t have any. So, I strapped my gymbag across my chest and started an all-out, O.J. Simpson Hertz commercial sprint for the next station. The subway stairs, commuters, intersections, and other urban obstacles all became a complete blur as all I could think about was shelling out 4 g’s of my hard earned cash. Four near collisions and one cramped-up hamstring later I made it to the next station where I slid through the turnstile and touched three stairs on a fifty step decent. Thanks to the train delays that I’m always complaining about I just made the closing doors. Breathing very heavily, I looked through the crowd of wide-eyed passengers and towards my former seat. There was my computer, sitting right where I left it. Thank God! I quickly claimed it and sat down to catch my breath and I realized that even if I didn’t make it to the stop, I probably still would have got my computer back. The funny way the seated passengers looked at me said one thing. We live in a day and age where people are very hesitant to touch a black case that’s been left unattended on the train.

Stay at home...lock up the children!

2004-07-19T09:14:00.000-04:00

With the Democratic National Convention right around the corner the city has been buzzing with predictions of the problems that this event will bring. With major highways, train stations, city blocks, and business being shut down to the general public for security reasons there has been talk of commuter delays for people like myself that work within the city. Officials have said that this event dwarfs any other event that Boston has ever seen, including the 4th of July celebration and the SuperBowl. On top of that, our police force has decided to strike over not having a contract, significantly reducing the number of officers the city can dedicate to the safety of this event. All the while the media has been painting a picture of a week filled with people being stranded at work for days or meeting their fate by being trampled under crazy mobs of confused commuters. And with the reduced police force the talk radio elite have been broadcasting several possible terrorist scenarios and even going as far as giving out step-by-step instructions in which someone would be able to carry one of these plans out. (Yeah, real smart move...Chuckles.) Over the past month everyone has been bombarded with sound clips of people and public officials saying things like, “It’s gonna be hell.”, “I’m staying locked-up in my basement all week”, and “It only takes one person with Small Pox to kill millions! We’re not ready for that!!!” Even our mayor made a public announcement saying that if you work in the city you should take the week of the DNC off. This just added gasoline to the fire.

I think back to four years ago. December 31, 1999 at 11:45pm to be exact. I was living with my ex-girlfriend at the time and we were hosting a New Year’s Eve party. While everyone was getting sauced, I was nervously peeking out the window and thinking I should have copped a pistol in case one of my ill prepared neighbors decided that they desperately needed to rush my three month supply of canned goods, bottled water, batteries, and other Y2K survival supplies. I stayed at the window, looking out over the block through the countdown and the few uneasy minutes afterward. At 12:05am I was relieved to find out that I wouldn’t have to go through a Dawn of the Dead scene, franticly boarding up windows, or licking off shots in the dark. My life was back to normal and the only negative thing that occurred from the Y2K scare was that I ended up having Chef Boy Ardee for lunch for three months.

So, these days I tend to be a little bit more laid back about warnings of public chaos and the general breakdown of civilization. While I’m sure the DNC will bring some public confusion, the chance of a possible terrorist threat, and other inconveniences ...I’m still planning on working that week. And as for being stuck on a delayed train for several hours or being trampled into a bloody pulp by wing-tips and high heels…I’m not too worried about that either. After all, the Chocolate Thunder Boy Wonder can fly.

I thought you knew…

If I ruled the world...

2004-07-15T08:31:00.000-04:00

we would happily welcome all Asian businesses into the hood…..under one condition….no bullet proof glass, speakerboxes, or safety deposit slots. If you don’t trust us enough to take our money, you don’t trust us enough to keep our money.

I’m cursed when it comes to waiting in lines.

2004-07-14T09:35:00.001-04:00

Seriously. I don’t know why, but every 3 out of 5 lines I get into there ends up being a problem that causes a delay. I could be behind one person at a hot dog stand and for some reason a brew-ha-ha would pop-off and keep me from eating for at least fifteen minutes. One of my ancestors must have been a line-cutter or something and now all his offspring have to live with this curse. It’s uncanny. My friends have even taken notice, leaving me to do a lot of my shopping alone. If I were to do a statistical table of the problems I see while waiting in lines it would look like this:

Price check with an unresponsive department representative. 7%
Cashier having to call manager because they do not have any ones. 5%
Customer with lack of funds or 3rd party check that needs 6 approvals. 5%
Customer with claims of a sale sign that no one else can seem to find. 10%
Customer with $50 worth of merchandise and $30 dollars to spend asking for the balance after each item is rung in. 20%
Argument between cashier and customer over 75 cents. 10%
Physical confrontation between cashier and customer over the same 75 cents. 2%
Customer arguing with cashier and manager because, Skrimps, Daiquiri mix, and chocolate edible body lotion cannot be purchased with food stamps. 40%
Customer pulls out a weapon and demands the drawer and a carton of Newports. 1%

Well, that’s the boulder I've been blessed to haul around with me for the rest off my life. So when the woman in front of me starts screaming and the people behind me start to groan I turn around and say, “I’m sorry, this is really my fault…… I’m cursed.”

I just can't win with this lady.

2004-07-13T07:36:00.000-04:00

A while back I told you about my straight-faced coworker and how she can never tell when I’m joking around. Our conversations normally end up with two straight-faced people staring at each other in an awkward moment of silence…and me wishing I had never told the joke in the first place.

Well yesterday, I was talking with my straight-faced coworker and the receptionist at the front desk. My straight-faced coworker had asked me if the doctor had diagnosed the problem with my legs yet. Me being the stubborn bastard I am, I told her, “No…. but I’m suspecting the problem is being caused by one of my bitter ex-girlfriends who has started practicing voodoo.” Her eyes twinkled and through a crack in her chiseled features a smile made an appearance followed by a giggle. Yes!

*crowd cheering wildly*

Then she said, “Yes Chris, I can definitely see that.” and continued laughing as she walked down the hall.

I stood there and the receptionist asked me, “Did she just diss you?”

I looked at her and said, “Um…. I’m not sure.”

******

On a side note, I never really understood the concept of White girls who rock extensions. I mean, bustin' out colors and everything. There must be someone in their family willing to pull them aside and say, "Um...Susie, you really look like an idiot."

Recipe for a bad mood.

2004-07-12T10:21:00.000-04:00

3 hours of sleep
2 tons of work, office work and manual labor
2 legs, throbbing, in constant pain
0 patience for incompetence, dependency, ignorance, general stupidity
1 short fuse
1 realization ….“The only person you can ever expect to solve the problems you’ll face in life is yourself.”

First take your work and separate the office from the manual labor. Dress the office work with a tie and the manual labor with a toolbelt. Combine the office work with the 0 patience and 1 short fuse and let stew for 50 hours or until it comes to a boil. Then mix the manual labor with the 2 legs and let simmer on a medium flame for 20-30 hrs. Once both mixtures are done combine on the same plate and sprinkle with the hours of sleep. Best served with realization.

Here’s a theory I’ve been working on…

2004-07-10T08:10:00.000-04:00

This is based on my experiences and experiences of the people I know on a personal level.

“Women hold the power to get a man anytime she wants, while men hold the power to keep a woman as long as he wants. And both men and women seem to want the power that the other has.”

First, take a night out on the town at the local meat market for the “grown and sexy”. I believe the average woman has the power to be approached by several gentlemen, get to know a select few, and possibly get intimate with one. The power is so great that this process can happen all in a few days or all in the same night. I am confident in saying that if a woman chooses to do this she holds the power to consistently do it anytime she wants. Most women I know inherently look for relationships so they do not use this power to its full potential.

Now take the average guy in the same club. He got his best gear on, hair’s tight, got his “smell-good” on….he’s on the hunt. He has the power to possibly meet two out of the seventy-three women he approaches, maybe get a number from one, and if he’s on his best behavior for a couple of weeks she might break him off a little piece. And the chances of this all happening in the same night are slim to none. Now we’ve all had certain “experiences” where this has happened, but it’s definitely not on a consistent basis…and not anytime a guy wants. So I’m just being real. Overall most dudes do not have the power to meet many women at their discretion, never-mind find physical companionship, and are happy to leave the club having just planted a seed.

Ok, let’s say the average girl and the average guy, meet, hook-up, and down the line start a monogamous relationship.

It is now the average guy who has the power to keep this relationship as long as he chooses. As long as he keeps watering the seed that he originally planted the relationship can grow over a lifetime…..even after he’s eff’ed up. With issues like domestic abuse and infidelity with a sibling as an exception to this rule I believe that this power to keep a relationship alive supersedes being caught in a lie and messing around. I know that the ladies are saying, “Hell no, I’d leave his @ss!!!!” Yeah, well you’re another exception to the rule, but overall I’ve seen these issues become more of an obstacle or “bump in the road” than an actual deal breaker. And on top of this most men I know are inherently hunters, and even when they are in a relationship with a woman who is beautiful both inside and out those instincts kick back in. I don’t know why it happens, but it does. In turn, most men I know do not use the power of keeping a relationship alive to its full potential.

Now on the other side, I’ve seen average women in relationships and how much in love they can be with a dude. So in love that they will treat them better than his own mother did. All other men become transparent, flirtation is no longer welcome, an invisible engagement ring starts to materialize, and her man is the only person who doesn’t hear the word “no” on a daily basis. But, when the foundation for the relationship becomes unstable (mainly due to man regaining his hunter’s instincts) they do not have the power to keep this relationship alive. She can be more open with her love, more experimental with her body, more generous with her money, more tolerant of his flaws, more forgiving of his mistakes, more submissive to his complaints….but once a man decides to stop watering the seed all the woman is doing is buying time until the relationship ultimately ends. I also don’t know why this happens, but it does. Overall most women I know do not have the power to keep a relationship alive no matter how much of herself she gives to a man.

To be fair, I may be talking about one type of relationship and not all relationships in general. But, if I am to admit this it would also be fair to admit that this one type of relationship is in the majority. And I’m not saying it's right or one power is more appealing than the other, but it’s a theory based on what I see.

If I ruled the world....

2004-07-08T07:43:00.000-04:00

I'd make it totally acceptable to run up on someone else's kid and start slappin' the hell out of them. Now I'm not talkin' about getting all buck nutty with headlocks and kidney punches, but enough of a licking to exorcise the parasitic demon. And when that's done, you get to turn your attention on the parent(s).

*taking off belt*

In a nutshell.

2004-07-07T09:17:00.000-04:00

I’d never thought I’d say this but….mantyhose are a godsend.
Here are two sentences that nobody likes to hear at the pharmacy:
1. Sorry Mr. B------, your insurance doesn’t cover this.
2. That will be eighty-five dollars.
That’s when you start to consider holistic healing.
All one needs to do to build a 12 foot load-bearing wall is take one long holiday weekend and subtract all beer, beach, and BBQs from the equation.
I can’t believe I built this thing. Not only does this wall keep the kitchen on the second floor from crashing down on the first floor kitchen it is also strong enough to stop an invasion of blood thirsty barbarians with battering rams. There will be no pillaging at my house anytime soon. Especially after I set up the vat of hot oil on the roof.
When nightfall came my friends decided to pop-in for some grill n’ chill. I decided to stay in my bedroom and watch the Twilight Zone marathon on SciFi. They stayed long after the last firework fizzled out while I fizzled out before the fireworks.
The next morning I woke up to two trash bags full of discarded beer bottles left from their chill session. And their effort would have been impressive, if I hadn’t finished off a whole bag of chocolate chip cookies and a gallon of milk that same night. I guess we all have our weaknesses.
The Chocolate Thunder Boy Wonder saw an essential project in distress. His arch enemy Mister-Pass-Da-Buck had infected the project with his patented style of mismanagement. Through all of the panic and confusion the Chocolate One swooped down and put the project and everyone involved on his shoulders. He then turned heaven, earth, and his social life upside down to safely deliver the project to the scheduled deadline of July 1st. Thus, keeping someone else’s promise and possibly saving the jobs of a few slack-jawed on-lookers.
The following day Mister-Pass-Da-Buck sends the Chocolate One an “Oh, you did such a great job----our staff really appreciates you----you provided me with the comfort and flexibility” e-mail. Now, the Chocolate Thunder Boy Wonder is not above being bitter. In fact one of his weaknesses is that he holds a grudge with a death grip.
That same day the Chocolate One had a discussion with his boss and got clearance to sit Mister-Pass-Da-Buck down for “The Stern Straight-Faced Talk”. With that clearance he can now freely use his superpowers to counteract the feeling of bitterness without having his actions misinterpreted as being evil. *standing on desk with cape blowing in the office fan*
What’s the point of a credit card company offering 24-hour online payment options if they are going tell people that due to the holiday they cannot process a payment until Tuesday morning? I know certain stores close on holidays, but who closes their web site? At least a warning would have been nice. Come Tuesday, I better not see a late fee.
Why didn’t someone tell me Spiderman came out this weekend? Heated!!!

Bill's not laughin' anymore.

2004-07-02T15:19:00.000-04:00

Have you seen or heard Bill Cosby lately?

He's publicly pointing out Black societal problems in a fashion that is similar to making people drop their pants and grab their ankles while he lets loose with the paddle. And alot of what he's saying I agree with 100%. Certain individuals need to hear it. Although, one part I am a little on the fence about is his choice to abandon subtlety and start taking heads. Career wise it is so out of character for him to do or say anything even remotely shocking. Since I've known him, it's just never been his forte. Sure in the past he has spoke on several social issues...but this time his words sound angry and frustrated. Now, I say "his words sound" because I've only read his words, so I think that this contributes to my uncertainty. If I heard him speak I'd probably see his intentions more clearly. Is he just ranting? Or is he using his exemplary talent for communication combined with these bold statements to effectively reach the Black community? He's a smart man, and a personal hero, so until I hear the audio I'm going to assume the latter. Either way, the man is projecting conviction and I'm interested in seeing where that conviction will take him.

If the Jetsons had only kept their promise.

2004-07-02T08:05:00.000-04:00

My father works at an auto dealership and one of his responsibilities is to act as a liaison between the dealership’s clients and the insurance agencies. Many of the clients my father works with he never meets directly but takes care of their needs over the phone. There was this one client that was constantly having problems with his insurance agency, so over the course of two months he and my father would speak almost everyday. Over that time they bonded over the mutual problems that they encountered while trying to work with this agency. They joked, laughed and became familiar with each other. And when they found out that they both enjoyed deep sea fishing they even made tentative plans to go out on the client’s boat down the Cape. Well about a week ago, the client had called my father to resolve a problem and once again they started trashing this insurance company. And my father said, “Yeah, they’re really screw-ups over there. They couldn’t find their way out of a dark closet.” The client laughed and replied, “Yeah, Bill…that’s so true. They’re all Black you know.”

Oh my….

If the Jetson’s had only kept their visionary promise of an affordable videophone for the office this revelation of character would have never happened.

And when he told me this story of course I asked if I could come along on the fishing trip.

Well, the doctors are stumped.

2004-07-01T09:25:00.000-04:00

One of the best medical networks in the country and they can’t figure out why this shining example of the male species has been hobbling around like a tortured gimp that just found his way out of the basement. Heart’s ok, so are the liver and kidneys, and no infectious diseases. (Got kinda shook over that one.) Still everything below my knees is swollen. So my doctor recommended that I wear leg compressors to help move the fluid and I take a diuretic for a while.

So this weekend, Chris is gonna be rockin’ some “special hosiery” at the cookout while taking a pill that is supposed to make him pee.

Lucky for me, I’m comfortable with my masculinity.

Maybe I’ll ask my doctor if I can at least replace the pill with beer.

p.s. I'm not automatically assuming people don't know what the word diuretic means, but my @ss had to look it up and I know I wasn't the only one who didn't see it on the SAT's.

Jump! Jump!

2004-06-30T08:17:00.001-04:00

Take one kindergarten talent show, twenty bandana-clad toddlers, KrisKross’ 15 minutes of fame hit “Jump”, one over ambitious Mack Daddy, an Olympics worthy vertical leap, a four foot drop, and a classmate covered landing pad…and you get the highlight of an otherwise painfully slow event.

No one was hurt. Just a little shook up.

I know…I’m going to Hell.

All I need is five minutes to an eternity alone with him.

2004-06-29T07:46:00.000-04:00

Everyday I get several e-mails offering solutions to improve my sexual performance, receive a never-heard-before refinancing rate, or a proposition to rock my world via webcam. *yawn* All for the low, low price of my credit card information and possibly my identity. I’m used to getting junk mail, so I didn’t see this one coming. The e-mail was simply titled, “I Hate Women.” I honestly thought it was a joke from some guy who wasn’t having any luck with the ladies and spending his ample free time pointing out the differences between men and women at the ladies’ expense.

So I opened it. And once it loaded, I saw images that were on some ole’ faces of death, Jeffery Daumer type sh*t. I felt like a police officer who was called out to investigate a loud marital tiff and stumbled upon the Texas Chainsaw Massacre homicide scene.

“Ummm…I’m gonna need some back-up down at the ol’ Jones farm.”

Now, I don’t blink at road kill, I clean the fish I catch, and serving on a jury for a 3 week medical malpractice trial has given me a higher tolerance for the gore of surgery. I don’t consider myself a squeamish person, but these images bothered me. Every mutilated female body was a reminder that there are still individuals who would do something like that and take pleasure in it. They were the type of images that made me want to spend every waking moment studying a martial art so no one would ever be able to do that to me or anyone I care about. I think about individuals like this…and it gets me mad. To the point, I wish that when they die I could choose their hellbound fate. Not saying I’d want to be a demon or anything, but I’d just like a little say in the matter. I’d pick a series of punishments that would replicate the exact emotions that this person inflicted on others…then I’d repeat it…over and over again until his soul wished it could die.

Now, there are three things that bother me about my last statement. (And probably several more things that bother you.) One, there was probably already someone in that person’s life who played a demonic role. Two, the person would probably enjoy the punishment in some twisted ritual of submission. Three, the fact that I’m even fantasizing about this scenario potentially makes me the same as the person I want to punish.

And at the time I was writing this, I hear this on the news.

So, be careful out there….and especially on here.

I’m not the only one who can write a story.

Damn Chris, maybe you should get that looked at.

2004-06-28T15:29:00.000-04:00

For the past month my calves have felt like two overstuffed sausages. I’ve been in so much pain that I haven’t been able to strut, so on Friday I went to Beth Israel. Once admitted, I was the poster child for helplessness…the bracelet, the hospital gown, socks, and no drawers….all laid up in bed. I was there for several hours while they ran tests on my heart, liver, and kidneys. ~~I was there for so long that~~ Due to the influx of stabbing victims it was deemed that I could be moved from my comfortably private curtained area to a not so private area…out in the hallway by the public toilets. Well, besides being so close to the facilities I didn’t mind being out in the hall. I sat up in my bed and just watched people. It was like an episode of E.R. except a lot more vomiting and flushing. And I wasn’t the only patient who was lying out there. They brought in a middle-aged woman who was “obviously on dem things” and I watched her zone in and out of conversations and consciousness for several hours. Finally, after 10 hours the doctor came over to me (at first I thought he had to use the bathroom again), told me my blood tests came back fine, my x-rays were fine, he has no idea what’s going on with my legs, but he was willing to prescribe me something for the pain. Pointing at the middle-aged woman I said, “I hope it’s not the same thing she had.”

Sitting at work all day sometimes leaves my muscles a little tight, so when the doctor released me I wasn’t surprised that after ten hours I could barely walk. The pain was unimaginable and I slowly started to make my way past the middle-aged woman on my way out the E.R. Without warning she emerged from what I thought was near death and grabbed my arm. Shocked, I looked at her and said, “Ummm…I don’t work here.”

“Oh….do you have any gum or a mint?”, she asked.

“No, I wish I did. I’ve been here all day and I haven’t had anything to eat or drink.”, I replied.

She looked at me, then looked in the distance as if she was trying to figure out the calculations of a complex plan and asked, “Well, can you go down to the cafeteria and get me a slice of pizza?”

And I gave her a look that said, “A slice of pizza?!!! Lady, I can barely walk! And you want me to go down all those stairs and back up so I can bring your strung out @ss a slice a pizza?!! And on top of all that I don’t see any money in your hand! Is my reward for torturing myself on six flights of stairs gonna be the chance to dig in my pocket and pull out two beans to pay for your slice?! With my luck by the time I make it back upstairs you’ll be going into convulsions and I’ll be out two bucks with a cold slice of pizza in my hands. And let me play devil’s advocate for a second…say I did have the physical ability to make it to the cafeteria. I’M STARVING! Don’t you think I would have at least already have gotten myself something to eat?!!!!”

She dropped my arm like a rotten fish, turned away, and said, “Hmmpf”

I limped away and muttered, “Damn crackheads.”

>:( -official mad grill

Wanna hear a secret?

2004-06-21T16:36:00.000-04:00

When I was around 10 years old ~~I and~~ I heard my first rap song….and believe it or not I didn’t like it. I can’t remember who it was, but I know I wasn’t feelin’ it. Coming from an era of bouncy Disco records it felt like these former ~~sequence~~ sequin laden rollerskaters turned MCs weren’t singing…but just speaking to me. It was like a stranger on the train slowly leaning over and whispering in my ear, awkward and intrusive. More importantly, compared to the soulful classics my parents had nourished me with, it sounded extremely half-hearted and amateurish.

One summer night I was lying in bed listening to the radio. I was still young enough where after 10pm my @ss was confined to the house, but old enough where my imagination would bounce off of the four walls until it flew over the horizon. So, with my headphones on, I usually explored the offerings of the dial until I fell asleep. Just before I fell into a deep sleep the college radio station I had settled down with must have switched it’s playlist because I was suddenly startled by an uninvited presence in the form of a scratchy intro. It was the stranger from the train and he had found his way into my bedroom. Although this time he didn’t try to whisper in my ear. He spoke in a tone that commanded me to wake up from my half asleep state of consciousness. He didn’t waste time speaking in the traditional, “Hippity hop…I like soda pop.” slang that I had heard and shunned in the past. This time he spoke with authority…in simple short rhythmic phrases that when put together painted a complex picture. That night, while sitting in the darkness, I was taken on a 15 minute trip (early on, the average length of a Hip Hop song was 10 – 15 minutes, no hooks or chorus) through different worlds, lives, and emotions. When I came back I asked myself, “Who is this?” The stranger answered, “Oh, that’s my homeboy. Grandmaster Melle Mel.” Seeing that he had now peaked the interest of a young eleven-year-old, the stranger sat on the side of my bed, gently put his hand on the back of my head, and continued to do what had originally made me turn away from him. He continued speaking to me.

As my summer nights, cooled, then iced over I continued spending time with this stranger and listened. Soon the way he wore his white Kangol, a traditional conservative golfer’s cap, did not appear odd to me….but “Fresh”. And the more he spoke, the larger he grew. So, it’s not surprising that I began to look up to him. As I got to know his character I was amazed by his creative spirit and his ability to make something out of what most would consider nothing. Though him I witnessed Genesis as he gave the urban decay a renewed heartbeat. He would just walk into a room, and all eyes followed him, then they followed his movements….graceful and fluid, as if he was not bound to the mortal laws of gravity. And just when they thought his legwork could be mimicked he would switch direction and leave his followers on spinning the Boom, and searching for the Bap. His motions also bled through his penmanship. Every stroke in his black book was well-constructed thought but appeared spontaneous and free-flowing. These strokes became a colorful reflection of his personality and a window to his fears, struggles, and dreams. His markings were too beautiful to be contained in a book, so they grew from the dark subway tunnels to the tallest rooftops over the skyline as they reached for their spot in the sun. Yes, in case you can’t tell he made an impression me. I even secretly fell in love with several women that were attracted to him. But through all of his great qualities what I admired most about him remained the way he spoke to me…. unbridled, relentless, and unapologetic. He challenged anyone with a preconceived notion of who he was and filled the air with articulate blends of regional slang mixed with complex multi-syllable, nouns, verbs and adjectives. I could imagine that when he sat down to write every word in the Thesaurus would raise it’s hand and say, “Oooooh, Oooooh, pick me next! I mean the exact same thing as the next one. But he’s a sucka, and I sound dope!” Words were his weapon and he was a marksman who left few to challenge him twice. He was rebellious, confident, respected, and the undisputed king of wherever his suede Puma touched ground. He was also everything this awkward, buck toothed, pre-teen was not. So, over time I began to search my neighborhood for abandoned refrigerator boxes and doing acrobatics that would probably land me in the hospital today, practicing my penmanship outside of the classroom, taking beatings for ruining my fathers albums, and wearing a white kangol (tilted slightly to the side) as it became my mission to become everything he represented. I was already a boy, but now I was determined to earn a "B-" and add it to the forefront of my title.

I have more to say...but I have other things that need to be said. I'll be back.

Blah, blah, blah.

2004-06-18T18:56:00.000-04:00

Sometimes people ask me if I've ever considered writing for a living. I tell them, "No, because professional writers have to write even when they don't want to." (plus I rely on Word's spell and grammar check WAY too much)

Akrobatik said it best.

"It's easy to write a joint from the heart. When every muthaf*ckin' thing around me is fallin' apart."

Not sayin' there's anything wrong...but there's a lot of truth in that statement. I like to write when I have something to say and I just don't really feel like writing today, or even thinking for that matter. I'm tired. This was a long week of being me. (bka The Sarcastic Vigilante.) I just want to hang this cape up, go out for dolo, and forget who I am for a while.

So as the title says...blah, blah, blah.

This is my version of filler.

I guess I'm on a soapbox today.

2004-06-17T16:41:00.000-04:00

At first I was a little hesitant to write about this, but then I came to the conclusion that whoever reads my page has the intelligence (wit all dem' big wordz I be usin') not to support this…therefore if I write about it I wouldn’t be promoting it.

With that said…

For a thousand dollars and a pair of concert tickets would you enter the Smackfest?

Honestly, we are a beautiful people with an equally beautiful culture but sometimes we just plain show our @sses.

>:( official mad grill.

Who wants one of these in their body?

2004-06-17T07:56:00.000-04:00

That's not wood they're screwin' into.

Take a swarm of those new mini-motorcycles (or as I like to call them….circus bikes) and combine that with a population of youth who are known for reckless jay-walking and general disregard for traffic safety and you get one potentially deadly summer. One of these little Ruff Ryderz almost ended up under the front of my car yesterday after trying to “pop-a-wheelie” in the middle of traffic. Now I know this kid and he barely has the coordination to make a lay-up without twisting his ankle. Who the hell made him think he could he could hop on a high-speed machine and start bustin’ out tricks? Are they selling matching do-rags and throwbacks with the promise of X-Games talent these days? I have a feeling that come September they’ll be quite a few more make-shift telephone pole memorials and the motto will be changed to “Ride AND Die”.

Sometimes my sense of humor works against me.

2004-06-16T12:19:00.000-04:00

Well, I'd say about 8 out of 10 times it does. There's this older lady I work with that I have brief conversations with from time to time. Today she asked me why I was limping. I told her I hurt my ankle when I tried to jump off of a piano and grab a chandelier during bar fight in the Combat Zone. (A section of Boston known for immoral business practices and seedy behavior.)

*sound of crickets chirping*

She looked at me with both horror and bewilderment and kept that expression long after I told her I was only kidding and the real cause of my ailment. I limped away with my tail between my legs while I heard another coworker ask her, "How did he hurt his leg?"

"I'm not sure.", she responded.

Ahhhh, Chris...you witty bastard. That's gonna do your image around the office wonders.

I just want to go home.

2004-06-15T11:46:00.000-04:00

I was up all last night dreading the dogfight I was about to get into with my local building inspector this morning. After several negative experiences with this guy and two weeks worth of unreturned phone calls I was anticipating a “that’s-the-last-straw, bridge-burning, I-better-not-see-you-round-da-way”, type of confrontation. Well, I was wrong. Although, he did not return my “Good morning” pleasantries, I remained persistent and he was surprisingly mild-mannered, agreeable, and helpful. For the first time I walked out of the Inspectional Services office and felt like I got something accomplished.

Ever see the movie Falling Down? Well, as of this moment the sequel is on hold.

In a nutshell.

2004-06-14T08:46:00.000-04:00

I don’t own an X-Box or PlayStation, but I’ve spent over two decades and thousands of dollars within the arcades of Chinatown and the Back Bay. I’ve paid too many dues to be rocked on anybody’s little game. Yeah, he’s my boy, but I’m quick to spank that tons-of-sh*t-talkin’, every-game-ever-made-havin’, excuse-about-the-control-not-workin’, ego…while eating his girl’s cooking and drinking his beer. No love….that’s how I do. Those Asian middle school kids never had any love for me.

Nothin’ like a carnival in the ghetto. After seeing all of the people that will come out for the promise of a $20.00 – two dollar stuffed animal you start to realize Carnie Folk really aren’t all that strange. It looked like graffiti characters had come to life.

There is this free local paper I pick up every week to keep up on what’s going on in the neighborhood. Didn’t I see these crackheads selling this paper for a buck a pop…. right next to the free newspaper box? And people were buying it! Damn, I’m in the wrong business.

How did I go from being a part time project consultant to fulltime project leader? I guess I’m not good at ignoring dropped balls when they roll past my feet.

At first I thought this movie about my neighborhood was gonna be garbage, but I was surprised to find out it wasn't half bad. Not great, but not bad.

Give me any prehistoric animal that's been found frozen in the Artic, some charcoal and a grill….and I can make it taste good.

My legs have been killing me for about a month. Every morning I wake up with bruises as if someone had hit me with a hammer, but I can’t seem to identify how I’ve hurt them. Last week I decided to take a friend’s advice and limp my sorry @ss to the doctor.

My primary care doctor mainly caters to the gay community. Every once and a while I’ll run into someone I know from college in her office and they’ll give me that look like, “Oh, my God….Chris….you?!!” Ummm…no, dog…..no.

My doctor’s assistant giggled when I told her my fears of having blood clots or some sort of poisoning and having to get my money-makers amputated. Then she gave me a pack of ice and prescribed me regular over the counter Tylenol.

This weekend while up on a ladder I was extending myself to paint the far corner of a wall and I realized that I had been pressing my legs up against the metal steps of the ladder to stabilize myself. I had been doing this for months.

2004-06-10T16:19:00.000-04:00

Memories...

Of my father telling me to be careful with his records.

Of my mother in a beautiful dress and smelling of perfume.

Of my father laughing with strangers in the living room, holding drinks.

Of my mother telling me I had no rhythm and I better get back in bed.

For very person that passes a part of the culture leaves with them.

R.I.P.

What'd I say...

2004-06-10T13:48:00.000-04:00

How does someone reach the age of fifty, have several college degrees, and obtain a 100k plus position without having learned the fundamental principals taught in kindergarten?

Ok, I’m using a public facility (that shall remain nameless)….doin’ my thing. Someone else is there in the stall….doin’ their thing. After a hot minute he finishes, walks over to the sink, leans forward, brushes his hair to the side, scrapes something off his front tooth….then just walks out the door.

Ummm…did you forget something?

Well, maybe I’m being too hasty in my judgment. Highly successful individuals probably don’t “do their thing” the way the rest of us do. It’s probably released in an ultra sanitized pouch in their choice of scent, Summer Rain or Boysenberry, thus eliminating the need for post-disposal clean up and the general messiness associated with it. I think a French doctor can do the procedure for the price of a small yacht. It’s the perfect gift for that corporate multi-tasker on the go.

Yeah, right.

From now on I’m walking around with a little can of Lysol and hittin’ everything up before I touch it. No joke.

2004-06-09T08:22:00.000-04:00

My laptop has three plug in ports for audio while only one of them is for headphone use. Every once and a while I'll plug into the wrong port, like today for instance. I sat down, got set to work, put on my headphones, then unknowingly blasted a freestyle with a ridiculously insane amount of curses throughout my office.

Oh for the love of sweet Pete...that's not gonna be good.

It's a good thing only a few people come in as early as I do. Still, I need to start keeping my office door closed...or switch to some easy listening.

Ummm....yeah.

*closing door*

2004-06-08T12:58:00.000-04:00

Dear Reader,

Hello.

The comment function of my blog is now open for business. As the days go by you might notice that no one really leaves their comments. I want to assure you it is not because no one reads my blog or I don’t have any friends. On the contrary, I am extremely popular and everyone loves me. My blog has more worldwide readers than the New York Times and is translated into 32 different languages. Sometimes people even stop me on the street and say, “Hey!!!! Aren’t you MisterChris? Oh my God….it’s you…this is the best day of my life!!!!! You are exactly the same in person as you are in your writing….drunk!!!” And women…fo’gettaboutit. They just run up on me wherever I’m at with exotic elixirs and invitations to the paradise of pornographic pleasure. They just can’t seem to get enough of the C-man. And really now….can you blame them? That’s like tellin’ a fish not to drink the water. Man, I was just tellin’ Stacy Dash to chill the other day. I was like, “Stacy, honey….you gotta relax. This blog thing is not the end-all-be-all of our existence. I’ll write about you one day. Of course, I enjoyed the cheese eggs….what man wouldn’t? But there’s a lot of things I don’t write about.” Anyway, back to why you won’t find any comments on my blog. Well, I attribute it to most people being star struck, flabbergasted, or both. Popularity is a double-edged sword. If you don’t believe me let me ask you this….how can someone with testimonials like these not be America’s favorite guy?

The Testimonials:

“I should have never introduced Stacy Dash to Chris. My life with Marc has been so pale in comparison.”
- Jennifer Lopez

“I’m MisterChris!!! B*tch!!!!”
- Dave Chapelle

“Chris is like the life of every party….all rolled up into a drunk, judgmental, verbally abusive, ball of anger.”
- Some jerk at the party

“Now that’s a guy who really has a way with the ladies.”
- Hugh Heffner

“My only regret is not having had experienced and night out with the C-man.”
- Ronald Regan

“If everyone would get in touch with that little Chris inside us, the world would be a much better place.”
- Oprah Winfrey

“I’m not sure who this ‘MisterChris’ is….but this sunova b*tch sounds like a one f*ckin’ hellava guy.”
- Bill Cosby

Oh my…..and the list goes on.

So, in conclusion do not judge a man by the size of the comments in his blog, judge him by the truthfulness and virtue of morality in his words.

Thank you….my cherished reader…..and God Bless.

Management

2004-06-07T17:00:00.000-04:00

What's up with everyone hugging me lately? I've been working with this woman over the phone for the past month and we met for the first time today. At the end of the meeting I go for a handshake and she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a "Hey Buddy" with extended forearm lock and rub on the back.

It felt like my grandmother had entered her body for a second.

People are getting weird.

2004-05-28T15:46:00.000-04:00

It’s important that my morning coffee be just right. Regular coffee drinkers feel me. Add one extra sugar or 2% milk instead of cream and you run the risk of having your day spin out of control. So when I find spot that can make that good cup o’ joe I stick to it faithfully….through the good and the bad. Well, the bad’s been happening lately in form of a new employee. Either she’s the owners daughter or she was sick the day they showed the training video. Either way she cannot make MY coffee. No matter how slow I give her the order she’s always giving me back something different. And most of the time it tastes like she used dishwater as a base for the brewing. Yuck. It got so bad that I noticed she mainly worked the drive-thru, so I would make it a point to park, get out of my car, check to make sure she was still in back, then go inside. Well, I don’t know if she likes me or she’s trying to kill me with that witches brew she’s dishing out but last Wednesday she surprised me by popping from out back, getting in my face with that “Hey…I recognize you!” smile, and asking, “Can, I help you?” Honestly, I tried to play it off like I was studying the pastries and I didn’t hear her…but then she gets right directly in front of my line of vision and asks again.

*Damn.*

“Umm…small regular, please.”

I had given up on detailed orders as they seemed to only make matters worse.

So, I’m crossing a parking lot, coffee in hand, about to jump on the subway, and rather than risking a day full of caffeine withdrawal symptoms I’m trying to suck this horrible concoction down. And I’m thinking to myself, “Damn, she got me…..again.” when suddenly a pick-up truck turns into the parking lot and guns right towards my direction. I thought that the driver saw me and was going to slow down until I got on the sidewalk. Well, he didn’t slow down and forced me to jump back like a cat in a video rewind sequence. It was on some real Matrix sh*t. As the nose of the truck brushed past my stomach I immediately turned my head to see who was behind the wheel. I got a glimpse of the driver. Then a glimpse of the black side view mirror. Then all I saw was light. And I vaguely remember seeing a brief flash of my childhood puppy that ran away and got hit by a car.

“Norton? Is that you buddy?”

“……..Norton???”

Now, it must be in human nature that any time one trips, falls, or generally busts their *ss that they must spend no more than 1.2 seconds on the ground then hop to their feet before they realize if they are hurt or not. Because, that’s exactly what I did. Then I ran up to truck to confront the driver. As soon as the door opened I greeted a middle-aged Spanish cat with a hostile “WTF?!?!”. (You know how we get.) He responded with a barrage of apologies and excuses. I was shaking. He was shaking…then he began hugging me. I looked at his truck…a company vehicle. I looked at his face….almost in tears. I looked at my coffee cup on the ground….coffee everywhere. I calmed down and said, “It’s cool, man. I’m ok” I patted him on the chest and broke away from his embrace. “I gotta get to work.”

On the train I thought about the driver and how relieved he must have been not to have to face any legal actions or the possibility of losing his job. And I chuckled, because he had no idea how relieved I was not to have to drink that cup of coffee.

Once at work, I restarted my day with another cup.

2004-05-28T11:44:00.000-04:00

I just found out that a second opinion is going to cost me another $300. Damn, I didn't even realize I was bending over.

2004-05-28T10:03:00.000-04:00

Just bought a new cap and I'm rockin' a soul patch. Ahhhh yeah, let cookout season begin. Pull up a chair, grab your brew, and bop your head with me.

2004-05-27T07:42:00.000-04:00

I just paid two hundred and fifty dollars to have someone tell me my plan won't work.

Then he has the nerve to ask to use the bathroom.

>:(

It felt like I got p*ssed on twice.

The chili is getting thicker.

2004-05-24T08:26:00.000-04:00

Start of a new week and through the rain I’m feeling more stubborn than chili stains on a wedding dress. That bountiful bean dish has nothing on me. Forget the bleach and other harsh detergents. I get all up in the fabric to the point that my mark is ugly and beautiful at the same time.

2004-05-21T09:12:00.000-04:00

In a Nutshell

Friday I shut off the computer and joined the rest of Boston’s social misfits in the only two words that seem to bring people out of hibernation by the dozens. Bar Crawl.
Five out of ten bars isn’t bad, especially when you have ten out of ten tasks to complete in the morning. Plus, it’s always been my experience that after bar number eight people are all set to provide new footage for the tv show “Cops”. Time to bounce.
After going to a cigar bar for the first time I’ve decided that I’d rather be shackled in a Texas hot box with a pile of cow manure during the peak days of summer.
I spent months looking for the ceramic tile that matches my kitchen floor without success. So at home this weekend I could be found on all fours, ripping up 160 square feet of perfectly good tile. Heartbreaking.
Back pain + unfinished work + an inbred stubbornness = a week off from the gym.
It seems to me that the tighter a deadline is the greater people’s expectations become.
And I now insist that my coworkers only call me by the name “Chocolate Thunder, Boy Wonder” Anything else is an insult.
I’ve been listening to the new Ill Bill lately. The beats are bangin’ and once I get past the ignorance he spits he's saying some sh*t. Hypocritical, maybe. Disturbing, most definitely.
People love telling me their problems and I’m like, “Come on now….I’m about one tax bill away from starting my own religious cult (women only) and moving up to the mountains to live in isolation. What makes you think I have the answer?”
Today on the train the woman sitting next to me seemed offended when I asked her if she had stepped in something. Upon checking her stilettos she realized she did.

2004-05-14T15:16:00.001-04:00

One thing that I love about my job is that I can listen to music while I work. (And on the real, if I couldn't I wouldn't be working here.) On the average day I'm listening to beats for six hours straight. With that type of volume one tends to exhaust a personal collection of music in a couple of weeks. So, to keep things fresh I end up looking towards internet radio streams. For a while I was pretty satisfied with this one station I found. It offered a variety of artists that I wasn't familiar with, freestyles, b-sides, re-mixes, turntablists, and no commercials. Yeah, it kept my head moving to all points on the compass and tested the springs on my ergonomic chair for quite a while. That is until one day the music stopped and I got a pop up message saying: "You have exceeded your listening allowance for the day. To continue please upgrade to Premium Membership"

Yeah, screw that.

I'm out.

Well, while I was in search for a simple replacement gem I've unearthed what seems to be the entrance to an untapped mine. Ha! I love it when that happens. But what I love even more....is sharing the love.

Enjoy.

2004-05-13T10:32:00.001-04:00

I’ve never seen a ghetto bird. But, I’ve seen all black rhinos with rims and illegal tints. Just sitting in the middle of the intersection. Indifferent to the crows, leaving the nest to find food for their young. Just blue eyes flashing in the grill, as to say this block no longer belongs to you. In fact, I saw two just this morning. Which I found strange. My mini urban obstacle course….paths, side streets, detours, and vehicular Jedi Tricks. I am constantly etching out routes through my mental grid...along with the other six billion of us...all bouncing off each other like unstable parts of the same molecule. I am tired.

2004-05-12T12:20:00.000-04:00

Gotta love this guy
"Facts are meaningless. You could use facts to prove anything that's even remotely true."
- Homer J. Simpson

2004-05-11T08:58:00.000-04:00

In a Nutshell

The new Reks is killin’ em.

I’ve decided on a plumber and electrician….keep your fingers crossed.

In one weekend you can spend $2784.12 at HomeDepot, Lowes, and Grossman’s Bargain Outlet without winning a shopping spree. The spree would have been nice though.

I’ve found a new diet. I eat whatever I want then combine it with beastly workouts, insomnia, and stress. I lost 5lbs without even knowing it.

Serenading your Mom with “I’ll always love my mama” on Mother’s Day is my signature move…..Trademark suckas.

I traded in going to see the DMC Regional Finals this Friday for a trip to the mall and a good night sleep. Oh, Chris what happened to you?

My boy tells me he almost got into a DWI accident on Friday. He’s a good storyteller, and the way he told it was humorous. Unlike the talk we had afterwards.

Everyone at my job seems to be focusing on someone who hasn’t been doing their job. It’s good to know I wasn’t crazy.

Overall work has been busy. Juggling multiple projects and emergencies. I'm getting alot of management experience. Unfortunately they are with people I shouldn't have to manage.

I took a day for myself. Just walked around the city, took some pictures, got a chocolate milkshake, and saw a movie. Even the sun gotta chill.

2004-05-01T06:19:00.000-04:00

Snitchie McSnoop of the Bush Shadow Cross Clan

Pretty stupid name, huh?

Admittedly so, but it’s not without warrant. Follow the reasoning.

Snitchie McSnoop is the type of name given to a man that:

when you first move into the neighborhood everyone has something negative to say about him, but you are not one to listen to the he-say-she-say and decide to give him a fair one;

does not have a job (at least one that anyone knows of) and can be found creeping around the perimeters of his property, peeping in adjacent houses, yards, and trash cans;

always seems to be angry, maybe for the fact that his life has more years associated to it than options;

proclaims to be a “Man of God” then goes into detail of how he would shoot the Reverend if he ever looked at his wife again;

has called the police on neighbors for as so much as putting up a birdhouse on their property without a city permit;

was the sole supporter of a criminal who held an elderly woman from the neighborhood captive in her own house;

does not have anything good to say about anyone;

surprises you when he pops out of nowhere to offer his assistance;

does not surprise you when he then says his assistance comes at a price;

gets a little salted when his offer is graciously declined;

comes back with a trivial matter and threatens you with a lawsuit.

Come on, dog. Your fair one has just expired. You messed up.

Now, Snitchie McSnoop is the type of name that is born on a day when you’re heated and can be found on your porch, killin’ Coronas with a couple of your Aces. In that setting it’s hard not to start thinking and get amped. But one of your buddies is a high school teacher and the other is on parole. Starting to wild would not be good for anyone. So after about a case and a few “if this were a few years ago” stories a name is born.

Now when I see him I say, “Wassup Snitchie” He doesn’t seem to like it, but my neighbors have taken a shining to it. And I laugh. And I will continue to laugh until he makes his second mistake by knocking on my door. Then playtime’s over. I might be young, and at certain things I might be inexperienced, but on that day he’ll find out the one thing I’m definitely not…the Reverend.

2004-04-30T07:57:00.000-04:00

Everyone has their favorite dish. That dish that you tell yourself, “If I was ever stranded on a deserted island I could see myself having this every day.” Well, my dish happens to be one that you just can’t find at every corner pizza, sub, or BBQ spot. In fact, I’ve only had it a few times in my life. People keep trying to make it for me, but I’ve found out that for the most part they either do not have the right ingredients or do not know what the right ingredients are. Yes, I’ve tasted some very interesting renditions. So, when I saw my dish I made it a point to capture her attention, introduce myself, and bring her to my dining table. Stirring the steaming pot, I asked her what her name was. As my mouth watered impatiently, her lips parted to respond…and I was surprised to find that her potentially meaningful name was enveloped in a cloud of menthol. Damn…she just unknowingly hit a cup of salt with her elbow and added it to the mix. I subtly put my appetite on hold in search for better fare and bounced. For some dudes it might have been a good meal, the kind where you stop snacking before dinner. But for me, it was like finding out there was human body part hidden somewhere in the stew.

Yeah, that's the face I made.

Feel free to add your own sound of disgust here.

2004-04-27T10:09:00.000-04:00

Passion is when you love something just about as much as you hate it.

2004-04-21T14:09:00.000-04:00

Read then listen.

2004-04-20T07:41:00.000-04:00

When someone asks you what you want for your birthday and your response is, “Well, I can always use new underwear and dress socks”, I think it’s safe to assume that your childhood is over.

2004-04-18T09:52:00.000-04:00

Today's Horoscope
You've recently made some extremely permanent plans others may have thought were a bit premature. Current events will prove them wrong, however -- much to your delight. Try not to be too, too smug. It's not polite to obviously gloat.
*****

O.K. Mr. Horoscope. This is more like it. You just might be right about this one, or at least I hope you are. In the past I’ve always noticed that the majority of my plans were a little, let’s say, unconventional. And when I explain my thought process to friends and even family members I often get a “that sounds like crazy-talk” look. And I guess nine times out of ten when the plan doesn’t work out that’s exactly what it looks like….crazy talk. But looking at the big picture, I believe you need to fail several times before you succeed at anything. And when that happens, of course I feel great...but try not to gloat. Simply because, no matter how many wins you have under your belt, at any given moment all that can be stripped from you by two little things: A bad set of circumstances followed by an equally bad decision.

2004-04-17T07:45:00.000-04:00

A moment of silence.
Please.
For Crooked I.
One of our own..
A fallen solider.
In the war.
Against wackness.
He has joined the fate.
Of so many before him.
Now signed to Death Row Records.
He is probably in a place.
Surrounded by.
Rented Women.
Automobiles.
And Jewelry.
We can only hope.
His rebirth.
Will be a second coming
Instead of just another tale.
Fitting the name.
Of his new label.
Until then.
Let’s remember him.
When he was.
Hungry.

2004-04-11T14:43:00.000-04:00

They originally told me it was going to be like a nature hike.

Yeah, nature hike my @ss…it was more like a full-fledged mountain climb without the proper equipment or Sherpa to guide the way.

At first I thought, "I’m strong. I’ll probably be to the top before any one of these guys." So, I wrapped what little dreads I had in a bandana and dug my nails into the earth. And honestly, I felt like a pro….well, for about twenty minutes I felt like one. Once my initial "gung-ho, let’s do this b*tch" energy had been exhausted I was close enough to the ground where I could still see my car, but high enough where I had stripped off three layers of clothing and drank half my water supply. Either way, it was least an hour to the top or bottom of this mini-Mount Everest, rock from Hell. So, feeling frustrated and not really knowing what to do, I did the only thing that one can do when their muscles and lungs declare, "No man, not gonna happen, no". I sat and rested. It might have been just a couple of minutes to fish an elusive piece of granite out of my boot, but it was long enough to evaluate my situation, see where I was, and where I wanted to be. Once the surprisingly small pebble was found, I continued upward. Not without other obstacles, though. I found myself needing to stop and rest after I blindly put my faith in a weak tree branch; after I accidentally placed my hand in a local’s nest; and after I was taunted by my more experienced rock climbing friends on their way back down to the car. Well, several periods of rest (and curses) later I made it to the top, lit up some herbals (yeah, I used to get my "hey man" on back in the day….don’t act so innocent) and just sat with no plans on making an immediate decent. As I looked over the fiery autumn horizon I thought, "Screw them, I got the keys."

I haven’t been rock climbing since then, but in a lot of ways I’m facing mountains that are of greater proportions and come with some of the same obstacles. The rock I’m sitting on right now is a kitchen remodeling project. I still have no Sherpa as I’m doing most of the work myself (for the first time), my weak tree branch has been shady contractors who look at the job in terms of how much they can squeeze out of my wallet rather than the work I need done, my snake has been the local building inspector who is more concerned with catching me doing something wrong than telling me the right way to go about things when asked, and my friends…well, lets just say some people have a lot of lip service while others shine when it’s crunch time. Now I sit here experiencing the same feelings I did when I was stuck in the middle of that rock, except muscles I didn’t know I even had are now expressing their discomfort. (How the in hell do you pull a butt cheek?) And as I sit here trying not to awaken my childhood asthma by inhaling airborne plaster, sawdust, and lead paint I think about the one thing that comforts me when I feel I want throw my hands up in the air and scream, "F*ck it!!!" It’s the lesson I took back from rock climbing.

When taking on a new task one of the most important tools one can have is patience. There are some mountains that are not meant to be scaled in one day. Sometimes to succeed, there is a point where you need to stop, rest, and then continue.

2004-04-08T07:43:00.000-04:00

Today's Horoscope
An old lover is about to make contact, after months or even years of yearning after your incredible connection. Be careful not to let old issues interfere with what could be a whole new beginning.
*****

Hmmmm, it's always flattering when an ex pops out of nowhere with that drunken phone call at 2am and slurs the words, "Ummmm...I wuz jussss thinkin' bout yoooou." (Ha…I was even guilty of that a couple of times in my younger days.) But, I always say, “Everybody has issues, myself included. What determines if two people are compatible or not is the tolerance level that they have for each other's issues.”

Examples:

1.) Leaving the cap off the toothpaste is an issue I can deal with. (As long as you NEVER, EVER do it again.)

2.) Selling my valuables to buy crack and smoke it with your ex-boyfriend because you had a bad day is an issue I can't deal with. (Well, I've never had to deal with that one for obvious reasons.)

In short, if things didn't work out the first time, they didn't work out for a reason. So sorry Mr. Horoscope, I can't take your advice on this one.

Oh, and another issue that raises a red flag for me…shoplifting. Nobody wants to hear how you just boosted them a gift. (Unfortunately that one was real, again from my younger days.)

2004-04-07T10:09:00.000-04:00

The low-income tenements that cap the ends of my street are a regular source of discarded chip bags, green beer bottles, stripped chicken bones, and random criminal element. After my seemingly daily ritual of cleaning the first three out of my bushes I had developed a thirst, so I decided to hit up the bodega around the corner for a juice. The larger tenement’s sidewalk had been cleaned earlier that morning, but was now littered with a few female residents and two younger males that by the way they were dressed and leaned on their ride could have easily been a backdrop for a Snoop Dog video. As I passed through their conversation, I heard a “snap” come from the taller male and my Spider-Sense started to tingle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the sun’s reflection and realized he had displayed a knife, probably a butterfly. I kept walking to the store and quenched my thirst. Now, on the way back there were two routes I could have taken. One: around the other side of the block or Two: back the way I came. Well, I’m sure you know which direction I chose. And within the confines of these words it would have been easy to embellish a heroic knife fight where I ended up looking like the previously mentioned superhero (yes, much easier in writing) but my walk back went off without incident. Well, besides this…the conflict that I felt from walking the line between looking for trouble and the need to p*ss on my territory. One seems foolish while the other seems necessary. There is one thing I am not conflicted about though, “If I have to live with the tenements, they have to live with me.”

2004-04-05T09:44:00.000-04:00

“I asked….do you feel me? And the crowd left me stranded.”
- Talib Kweli

I had a craving for those bomb chicken wings this weekend so I found myself waiting in line behind this young brother. I’d say he was about 20 or 21. From the way he ordered his steakbomb, I could tell he was from around my way. He was talking to his boy behind the grill and explaining why he hadn’t been around lately. Slapping the counter he said, “I’ve been working mad hours, yo. I’m sayin’…I was just hanging out, gettin’ into bullsh*t so I figured that if there was an extra shift I’d take it…If someone called out I’d come in. I’ve been workin’ like a b*tch, but I clocked like 12 hundred last month.” Now, I’m standing there, looking at the back of this cat’s braids like, “Damn…when I was 21 my biggest ambition was finding things I could mix into Ramen noodles to make ‘em taste like Lo Mein.” I admit, I was impressed….until he reached into his hoodie said, “Yeah, I just copped this wit it.” His boy’s eyes sparkled like the new iced “L” medallion and he shouted, “Daaaaaaamn!!…I’m pickin’ up some extra hours, son.”