May 15, 2007

Your Old Man Would Obliterate You

My man Brew City Drew left a comment saying that he’s too light on his feet for his old man.  He’d float like a butterfly and sting his pops like a bee.

Granted, I don’t know his pops, but I feel very certain that wouldn’t happen.  I’m 26.  My father is 70.  There is nothing so important–at least nothing that would ever happen–that would compel me to fight him.  Absolutely nothing.

Has your father even put his hands on your shoulders to make a point?  If so, did you notice how hard it was to do much more than breathe?  That’s a little somethign that my man Bobo referred to in his comment.  It’s called “old man strength.”  My brother told me about it, and it’s real as steel.  There’s something about living fo ra long time that’ll turn you into a linebacker when necessary.

And take that a step further.  One time, when I was young and stupid, I said something to my mother that made her inform me that she’d leave me “picking up my teeth.”  Keep in mind that my mother’s the nicest woman I’ve ever met.  Also keep in mind that she was probably dead on right.  Old woman strength is no joke either.

And you know what part of it is?  Your daddy is not letting you kick his ass.  It just ain’t gonna happen.  If you think a whipper snapper is going to beat up an old man without htat old man summoning strength from the ancestors, you just don’t understand.  Reminds me of a story a buddy told me.  He was a defensive lineman on a college team, and he got into it with his position coach.  Now, this dude is about 6-5, and he was at least 300 pounds then.  He said he and the coach started yelling at each other over something.

“Man, next thing I knew, he just came into the locker room and kicked my ass all over the place.”

I mean, he said this totally matter-of-factly.  No embarrassment, no nothing.  And you know why?  Because there’s nothing embarrassing about getting beat down by a grown man.  Ask Robin Ventura about that.

Seriously, let’s make this an episode of Maury.  Father/Son Boxing Matches.  Instead of folks settling things on the People’s Court, let ‘em go handle it in the ring.  I guarantee you’d see more settlements than you knew were possible.

May 14, 2007

Bonds 756th–Would I throw it back?

Business…no way in the world I would.

May 14, 2007

Graduation Day

Went to Carolina’s graduation yesterday.  For those that weren’t there, I’m here to offer you the statistics that make any graduation great.  Keep in mind these numbers aren’t exact.  They are merely what I could gather from my limited vantage.

Jheri curls–five.

Shags–one, but it was a magnificent one.

At Clark, the best part of graduation was seeing where all the bougie folks came from.  There were always a bunch of folks–usually women–that would try to amp up their profiles once they got to school.  They’d get fresh to death and try to play it like they came from high society and all that stuff I could care less about.

Then Big Mama and Big Daddy would come to graduation with the jug with the pennies in the bottom, the airhorns, and all their country goodness and blow up the spot.  You could almost see some of them wince as they crossed the stage.

“Man, I wish they wouldn’t call me Nicey in over that megaphone!”

Priceless stuff, man.

Carolina doesn’t let graduates walk–BOO!!!–so you don’t quite get that great moment.

Instead, we settled for a moment that was almost as good–the applause for honorary graduate Dean Edwards Smith.  Seriously, it’s impossible for me to explain how beloved Dean is here.  It’s unlike anything I’ve seen or heard of.  And unlike a lot of places that make their coaches into something approaching deity, it’s actually a healthy thing here.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must continue celebrating the fact that I spent the day with four generations of my girlfriend’s family and emerged with all of my limbs in place.  A wonderful day indeed.

Fellas, please leave the best story you’ve got about meeting a girl’s family in the comments.  Cuz I know some of you have been threatened for real.  I know this because I wouldn’t let half of you anywhere any woman I’ve ever met.  And neither would you.

May 9, 2007

Jail is Wack

Business…LeBron needs to come to the rescue.

Now, here’s a new reason to stay outta jail.

May 8, 2007

Humor is Everywhere

Sometimes, the funniest things in life aren’t intentional.  For example, I’ll never forget when I was in grad school and I was helping set up for a Kwanzaa program.  It was about fifteen minutes  before the program was to start, and someone decided to see if the music was working.

Coincidentally, an African gentleman was walking into the door with a drum and dressed in traditional African gear right at the same time.  So imagine my laughter when I see the dude at the door and the music started instantly.  It was like the start to a remake of “Shaft in Africa.”

Funny stuff.

So I was talking to a good friend today, and this is how the conversation ended.

“Aight dude, I’m pulling up to Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary to talk to some inmates.  I’ll talk to you later.”

For some reason, that made me laugh in a way that I don’t when someone says, “my mama’s on the other line, let me call you back.”

May 7, 2007

Chat Today

Business…chatting at 4 p.m. on SportsNation.  Come by.

May 6, 2007

Top 10 Southern Emcees

My man Q and his man Rizoh have a blog called Street Census (blogroll), that does a whole bunch of lists.  I love the site, largely because I don’t think I’ve read a list that I agree with.  Where would the fun be if I agreed all the time?

The other day, Rizoh did a list on the top 10 Southern emcees.  I’d wanted to do a 25 on that, but I really didn’t have the time to do it and properly address all the more obscure people.  I normally do lists by going through my itunes, but I know there are limitations, and that topic’s too crucial for me to get wrong.

So I’m going to go through ten of them.

10.  Killer Mike.  This is pretty high, considering I haven’t heard his second record, and the first was inconsistent.  Might even be too high.  The inconsistency on Monster was because of beats, though, not him.  Mike’s got something in common with Bun-B–a decidedly Southern tone that’s unquestionably influenced by old school East Coast rap.  Bun’s rhyming idol is KRS-ONE, and I’m inclined to believe that Mike’s is, too.  In fact, Mike’s more of a Kris disciple, to my ear, because he’s more intense than Bun.  The power, the ability to clearly spit every line, and the fearlessness that make Kris the best make Mike so good.  There are very few things I’d want from an emcee that I don’t get from Killer Mike.

9.  Big Gipp/Cee-Lo.  I’m adding Cee-Lo to this because I’m not sure what to do with him.  He can rhyme, best believe.  Can jump on a beat and become a part of it.  The problem?  If you wanna offer smart-guy rap, you gotta be…smart.  What has Cee-Lo really offered than simple-minded stuff that no one could disagree with?  If he wants to make thought-provoking statements, he should be thought-provoking.  And he’s not.  Gipp’s far more interesting to me.  He’s jumped from style to style and made each work, offered intelligent rhymes without making a point of how intelligent he was being, and proven that the most underrated cat on the cool pantheon is the country baller.  I think Cee-Lo’s a more talented rapper than Gipp, but he ain’t quite as interesting.  If I could combine them, that amalgam would be at #9.
8.  Devin the Dude.  I’m torn on this one.  I enjoy him.  A lot.  But you wanna talk about someone without a lot to talk about?  That’s Dev.  But I’ll be damned if he hasn’t consistently found ways to make songs about little more than sex, weed and liquor entertaining.  Seriously, how does he do this?  I should have been bored with him three years ago.  Instead, I love Waitin’ To Inhale.  How in the world has he pulled this off?
7.  Lil’ Wayne.  As born to do this as anyone’s ever been.  Has any other rapper been as good as he was as a child–as far as we think–and become this good as an adult?  He knows how to flip words, has an incredible gift for metaphor, and a confidence on the mic you just can’t teach.  So why only at 7?  I don’t think he’s ever given me anything to think about.  Not a single thing.  Great stuff for enjoying, but little beyond that.
6.  T.I.  Yeah, he’s young.  But he’s given us four straight very good-to-classic records, and he’s done so with a style that pays homage to histor while forging new ground.  He’s as smart as they come and might have the best ear for beats out there.  He knows how to construct an album.  More than anything, he’s created a complex persona that compels me to keep listening to find out where he’s going to end up.

5.  Juvenile.  This was the omission from Rizoh’s list that made me do my own.  He did one of the records that changed the course of hip hop–400 Degreez, which I think is the record that truly began the Southern infusion into the mainstream.  He’s got one of the greatest voices ever, a way with words that’s like no one else, and a thought process that isn’t often heard.  I don’t agree with him, but the idea that people who don’t do whatever they have to do to get out of poverty are too concerned with appearances is something I had to give some consideration to.  It’s one of the most compelling responses to poverty that I recall hearing, even though it’s not rocket science.  And that’s what Juve brings–insight.
4.  Bun-B.  The tricky thing with Bun is that he’s only got one solo record that, in terms of his performance, pales in comparison to everything he did with UGK.  It’s good, but he never let loose in the way that made him legendary.  So creative with rhyme schemes, so confident, such a broad frame of reference, and an incredible ability to jump on any beat and wreck it.  Also–and this is irrelevant to this evaluation–the best interview I ever did.  God bless you if you get the chance to talk about music with Bun, and you’re the king if you can interview him as well as Jon Caramanica did.  Probably my favorite interview ever with a rapper.
3.  Andre 3000.  Name a rapper that’s ever commanded your attention from start to finish more consistently than Dre?  I can’t.  But I can’t put him over the next man on this list…
2.  Big Boi.  Yeah, over Andre.  It’s no longer a debate for me.  Who’s better at his best?  Andre, without question.  He just overpowers tracks in a way that I don’t think anyone has ever been able to be.  But what sets Big Boi over Andre is the fact that he’s the smarter of the pair.  Andre’s got great ways with words and can drop the perfect metaphor at the right time, but Big Boi’s offering more food for thought underneath the prettiness on top.  There’s nothing he can’t talk about.  He’s also the best since Big Pun at rapping about sex, which is a noteworthy point.  It’s not like it’s a breakaway victory for Antwan, but he gets it over Dre.  And I’m not just saying that to be contrarian.

Oh, and he never left us to make an average R&B album.

1.  Scarface.  There wasn’t even a question on this one.  He’s the godfather of the modern storyteller, the man that provided the blueprint for the grittier, unromantic East Coast gangster records of the mid-’90s, and the man with the greatest artistic longevity in the game (LL doesn’t count since he sold out so blatantly).  Three classics as a solo rapper–Mr. Scarface is Back, The Diary, The Fix–one spectacularly underappreciated album–Last of a Dying Breed–and a pioneering track record with the Geto Boys.  And to top it off, there’s probably no rapper more respected by more of his peers than Brad Jordan.  He’s the best from the South and, unquestionably, one of the greatest of all-time.

Missed the cut:  Ludacris, Phonte Coleman, Eightball, MJG (tough one for me), TDD, Bubba Sparxxx, Mystikal (real tough), Chamillionaire (check back in five years), and a few others

May 6, 2007

Today’s Lamentation on Gender

As many of you know, my parents are college professors.  My mother’s an economist, which gives an inclination to look at things without getting lost in too much distraction.  The best and worst thing about economics is that it’s a just-so science, after all.  Thank goodness she’s legitimately the fairest person I’ve ever met–and I ain’t saying that just because she’s my mama, and more than a few readers of this blog could second that–for otherwise, I’d probably be a bit of an android.  Instead, I’m the nicest guy you never knew was nice.  Really.

My father, on the other hand, is a political scientist.  More specifically, he’s a political epistemologist.  Or, in layman’s terms, he thinks about stuff and ponders how and why people think about stuff.  It’s a great skill.  I kinda wish I was formally trained in it rather than just having a tacit knowledge of the skill.  Then, I’d know better when and when not to check out how and why people do the things they do.

And I wouldn’t annoy my girlfriend nearly as much.  When applied to everyday life, epistemology is a lot like fielding in baseball–a success rate of 95% just ain’t good enough at times.

Anyway, here’s the coolest thing about having a father with an active understanding of how to e-mail and a knack for epistemology–he sends me some of the stuff he thinks about.  It’s like having a father that works as a chef and brings food home for work.

So he sent me a paper he presented on the role of black males in the continuation–and on the converse, eradication–of the oppression of black women.  He and I are in agreement that black women are the most oppressed people in this country.  While the attention black men get from police is incredibly annoying, black women are burdened with the same responsibilities as black men while receiving far less for doing what they’re supposed to do.  That’s pretty foul.

The old man framed discussion around the responsibilities fathers have in how they raise their daughters.  Not just that simple-minded “keep her off the pole” madness.  It’s about how fathers need to empower their daughters’ ambitions, teaching them to “fly” rather than “perch.”

The old man’s dead on with this one.  I don’t think I need to explain it much deeper than that.  I apologize for offering a substandard synopsis of the paper, but I dont’ have the freedom to post it for you to see.

What I do have is the perspective of someone who’s life has begun to include considering my role in things like that.  I’ve always joked that, if I had daughters, I’d send them straight to the orphanage, simply because I know I’d be putty in their hands.  I see dudes at the store, I’ve got buddies with daughters, and they’re all suckers for their daughters.  They can get sons in line without thinking twice, but they’re powerless to hearing Daaaaaady!  I don’t wanna be that guy.

And just because I don’t want to be that guy, I’m probably gonna wind up with three daughters like their mama.  Which means I’ll be totally powerless, and I’ll have to walk through the grocery story with a shotgun to let them cats know I mean business.

But reading the old man’s paper made me realize the hardest thing for men raising daughters–that which lurks within them that they don’t realize is present.  The same way it’s impossible to navigate through this culture without internalizing some measure of white supremacy (or adopting black/Asian/Hispanic/etc. supremacy as a defense and being just as wrong, but in a different way), it’s hard not to get some sexism about you if you live in this country.  It’s just impossible.  So much is there and ingrained, and we’re typically not trained to recognize it.  We see it as how things should be, largely because that’s how they are.  Those two things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive, but they ain’t the same.

It’s tough to wrap my mind around that responsibility.  I hear all the time about dudes who start seeing the world totally differently once they have daughters, and I totally believe it.  I never had a little sister, so I never had to consider how things I’d do would affect her and the hypocrisy that points out.  For the most part, I think I’ve done okay.  But I also have a bit of a know-it-all streak–an unfortunate by-product of knowing everything!!!–which surely doesn’t get better when dealing with women.  I’m not positive of that, but I think it’s a safe guess.  After all, I grew up in this world.

How dreadful would it be to pass some foul, potentially paralyzing attitudes on without knowing it?  Dude, that’s really spooky.  If that’s me, I hope the kids will be smart enough to listen to my lady…and learn from her when not to listen to me.  Necessary skill that is.

I doubt this makes a great deal of sense, at least not in the name of cohesion.  But as I’ve reached the point where my life ain’t just mine anymore, I’ve realized the great level of responsibility that comes with that.  It’s a responsibility few of us are prepared for when that time comes.  And now that time is here and ain’t going nowhere, I better get ready.

Especially before there are even more people to worry about.

May 4, 2007

An Amazing Feat

Business…here’s a feature I did on Scotty Thurman.  Also, here’s a list of ten underclassmen that made bad decisions over the years.  The last one is the piece that required all the research.  It ain’t always easy finding up what some of these guys are up to.  Tracking Scotty down was no cup of tea, lemme tell ya.

I saw something today that blew my mind.  I was in the barber shop today, and a dude came in asking if he could wash the windows of the shop for $15.  The barber told him to do it.

Next thing we knew, dude went in his car and pulled out a full bucket of water and a squeegie and went to work.  How in the world do you drive somewhere with a full bucket of water out of a car?  How can you drive from any Point A to B with a FULL BUCKET OF WATER and not spill the water?  Seriously, I couldn’t pull out of a parking spot without needing to get my ride detailed.

Oh yeah, fight party at my house.  Disregard this if you don’t know where I live.  If I don’t know that you know where I live, please don’t spook me.

May 3, 2007

Things I Saw at the China Buffet

Okay, nothing says unintentional humor like a trip to a Chinese buffet.  Always guaranteed to see something.  Usually, it’s jheri curls and things like that.  Nothing says “ha!” like a curl.

So today, we saw the following…

1.  A slew of poorly dressed children.

It’s bad enough the kids are being taught gluttony in it’s best/worst form.  But to force them to do so in shorts so loud that I almost took a cameraphone shot of a 6 year-old?  Or the lil sucker in the orange t-shirt and red shorts?  That’s foul, man.  Just foul.

2.  A 6-foot tall woman with a mullet.

You read that right.

3.  The oddest couple.

A fortysomething white man in a Hawaiian shirt and the black woman wearing a way too tight shirt, way too tight way too shorts, and some contacts that didn’t even pretend to be a potentially natural eye color for her.  At first, we wondered if he was her p.o.  Then we realized he was her date.  Hey man, nothing says classy date like the buffet!  That’s why I take my girlfriend there all the time.  Plus, they take coupons.

4.  The demanding couple.

I’m not sure, but i think I heard two sizable ladies ask the folks at the buffet to give them chairs they could put right up to the buffet tables.  Okay, they really just asked for a booth closer to the buffet.  But how funny would it have been had they asked to sit right up near all that Asian goodness?  That would be funnier than the time the Seuss got kicked out of Cici’s for getting more than his $4 worth.

5.  A previous classic from the buffet.

First time we went, a lady asked what I wanted to drink.  I said “Coke.”  Her response?  “Sweet tea?”  Something told me to just take the tea.  Good thing I did, too.  Next time I went, I found out the “Coke” was actually Pepsi.  Lesson to all of you restaurant owners–this is the South.  We drink Coke.  We call every drink “Coke.”  Every vending machine is a “Coke machine.”  Give us Coke.  That’s what we do.  That’s how we do.  And we’re offended by anything else.

6.  A buffet observation.

Is it just me, or are black people entranced by shrimp in a way that others aren’t?  I feel some obligation when I’m at the buffet to eat as many shrimp as I possibly can, as if I’m getting over by eating all that shrimp.  It’s not good shrimp.  It’s just shrimp.  But I do love me some scrimp.  And if it’s all I can eat, I’m gonna eat all I can stand.  Or at least all I can stand while still having room for some red Jell-O.  My affection for Jell-O is pretty strong, I must say.

Man, I wish the buffet was open 24 hours.  I’d be in that piece right now.  Seriously, could you imagine the late night crowd at the Chinese buffet?  It would make the old IHOP on Courtland in Atlanta look like the dining hall at a country club.  If you don’t know about that IHOP, just ask somebody from Atlanta or anyone that went to an AUC school.  I assure you they have a story.

Yeah, I really should be asleep.  ‘Til tomorrow…