#MNR: BETTOR’S LUCK < GOD’S FAVOR

“My little thug selling drugs and he struggling, the game got him bugging. I’m trying to him slow down, cousin.”
Big Noyd

The northeast was slammed with a nor’easter this past weekend, dumping ridiculous amounts of snow along the way. Boston was the recipient of the greatest snowfall it has EVER seen, recording 23.6” a couple days ago. Atlantic City set a new record for the 29th day of January, recording 14”. Manhattan’s Central Park also set a snowfall record for 1.29, reporting 7.3” of snow. Thousands of flights were cancelled, from JFK to LaGuardia to Logan. Power outages numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Freezing temperatures persist throughout the region. In typical northeast fashion, most areas are back to normal this Monday morning. If only the snow could have come last night. Perhaps, maybe…we’d have a snow day. Perhaps I could still be in bed, resting blissfully. Maybe I’d be in my wrestling suit, enjoying a cone of Gelatti and some coffee while watching Uncle Shay and Skip or maybe I’d be somewhere in Los Santos getting my paper and rank up. But…yeah…I almost forgot. School would probably still be in session…on the computer. Damn it, virtual…

David Ortiz, three-time World Series champion, was selected for induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame last week. Ortiz, affectionately known as “Big Papi,” was the heart and soul of the Boston Red Sox (along with Dustin Pedroia) during his tenure in Beantown. He was renowned as a premier power and clutch hitter, earning the distinction of being the consensus best designated hitter of all time. A ten-time All-Star, Papi finished his career .286/541/1,768 with a WAR (wins above replacement) of 55.3. He was MVP of the 2013 World Series. Congratulations, Big Papi. You deserved your induction call. You were an amazing talent that always gave maximum effort while always maintaining that effervescent smile and positive disposition. You [personally] stuck a fork in my Yankees from 2004 until you hung your spikes up (except for ’09). Salute.

Now that I’ve given Papi his full and just respect, it’s imperative that I speak on the atrocity of failing to induct two of the best to ever play the game, Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. This was their last year of eligibility on the writers’ ballots. Yeah, sure, I get it. Steroids, yadda, yadda, yadda…that’s utter bullshit. Major League Baseball knew EXACTLY what was going on. Commissioner Bud Selig knew. Shit, ask good ole George W. He knew that his old club, the Texas Rangers (W owned the team for years), featured a few players whose names were consistently mentioned in the “juicing” discussions. Mark and Sammy saved the sport in ’99 (wink, wink). We also know that players used amphetamines for DECADES. “Greenies” weren’t Red Bulls or 5-Hour Energy drinks. They were performance-enhancing drugs. Blame game aside, you can take away ALL of the statistics that come into question for having been achieved during the juicing era and both Bonds and Clemens would STILL be solidified as sure-shot HOF inductees. There are scores of men who have plaques in the Hall (I’ve been, and I have pictures of my favorite players’ plaques) that were not the best men from a subjective standpoint. Ultimately, I feel that the reason Bonds and Clemens (throw in Curt Schilling) are not HOFers is because of their ornery attitudes toward the media. They never kissed ass and they weren’t dick eaters. They never buddied up with the writers. They even exploded (allegedly) a time or two. Baseball writers are notorious for carrying grudges. Snubbing Barry and Rocket Man was their greatest “fuck you” in recent memory. I specifically left any type of shade out of the last paragraph because I wanted to give Papi his just praise. I did. But I’ll leave you with this. Regardless of what you saw with your own eyes, neither Barry nor Roger ever failed a drug test. Papi failed one in 2003.

(DROPS MIC AND WALKS OFF STAGE)

PS: For all you Brainy Smurf ass niggas who can’t wait to say, “But what about the veteran’s committee?” They hate Barry and Roger worse than the writers. Perhaps they’re justified in their feelings. But if you ask me, it’s because they know in their hearts that Barry and Roger were better ball players – with or without juice. It is what it is. Shoeless Joe, Charlie Hustle, Barry, Rocket Man – shit, we may be headed toward building a whole other HOF for the players Cooperstown refuse to induct. I’m also including the great Maury Wills because the other Hall won’t (for reasons unbeknownst to many).

It came across my desk that earlier today, six Historically Black Colleges and Universities were recipients of bomb threats. Southern, Howard, Bethune-Cookman, Albany State, Bowie State, and Delaware State were all forced to lockdown and/or shelter-in-place for a time. Luckily, the threats were bogus, just like the first set of calls on 1.5 that involved Howard and a couple other schools. As an alumnus of an HBCU (1865 Panther Pride), the threats hit close to home. As an educator, I can do one better. About five or six years ago, my school (job) received about four or five bomb threats, including calls for three consecutive weeks. After the first two we ended up either taking the quarter mile walk to one of the elementary schools or going to the nearby middle school gymnasium, depending on the location of our classrooms. Prayerfully, none of the threats were real. But each call meant calling in the boys to sweep the building. It also meant pissing off everyone involved. It was what it was. What a crazy world we live in.

DAMN IT MAN

I got an alert from my Capital One Credit Wise app in the wee hours of Saturday morning that my precious Social Security Number had popped up on the dark web. Aww damn (Marty Mart voice)!!! I was (more) nervous den a hooker in church. I was nervous den a MF who got a C+ on their HIV test. I was nervous den a street and/or drill rapper’s videographer (IYKYK). I worked too hard for this 772 I’m holding down for the loan for our mortgage in 2.5. I kept reading. Guess what? The data leak came from MF T-Mobile, from the huge ass leak they had last August that made the press. The irony? I haven’t been a T-Mobile subscriber in damn near a decade. Those fuckers kept my info on deck all these years just to have it taken during a MF data leak. Fuck you T-Mobile. Fuck you with a sick dick. PS: I immechiately put a temporary fraud alert out to the credit bureaus. I work too hard for my royalties (Greg Nice voice). Stay on point with your personal info y’all. It’s nasty outchea.

I’m tied (tired). I’ll see y’all MF next Monday. Stay dangerous.

RIP NAS BLIXKY

tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: The Stoned Immaculate

“I wish it was a government plot. And not a nigga from the same block that walked down on my homie and gave him them shots.”

“Lying to them other guys but keeping it sincere with me. At least that’s what she wished that I believed.”

“Obstacles are optical illusions; we don’t really see ‘em. I done moved mountains through this music. I done bought houses and new coupes with it.”

“Can’t blame me, bro it’s all in the game. 24 hours in a day, we all have the same. You chose to sit on your ass, I chose to do my thing.”

“Straight chillin’ like how 8Ball and MJG would be in they pictures.”

Curren$y Spitta

If you haven’t figured it out from the quotes, this blog shall begin with Curren$y appreciation. The New Orleans rap savant is one of my favorite artists of all time, although he is relatively unknown to many alleged hip hop heads. The man has released 26 studio albums and scores of mixtapes. To my knowledge, he is the only artist to have been signed to both No Limit and Cash Money Records. He owns his own imprint, Jet Life Records. He has been the standard for feel- good music in a time where violence on wax remains supreme, which is exactly what I needed when I found my way to his catalog a decade ago. What began with downloading a single track (“Skyborne” off the first Pilot Talk) has led to a decade of fulfillment as a listener. He continues to release material at an accelerated rate, having just dropped the highly anticipated Pilot Talk IV on Christmas Eve. June 5 will mark the ten-year anniversary of his epic album The Stoned Immaculate, which contains my favorite Spitta song, the classic “Chandelier.” Fat J’s, fly cars, and good living. Thanks for all the great material, Spitta. I’m a fan for life.

We apologize for the absence of last week’s blog, but I tend to take it easy on MLK Day. We don’t need my words on his day. Reflection and appreciation are paramount on that day. I’m thankful for Dr. King and all he did for mankind. What has always captivated my imagination is the fact that he could have just played it cool, waited for his dad to retire, and enjoyed a quiet and comfortable life as pastor of a successful Baptist church. He didn’t need all the stress, jailing, threats, and eventual assassination. But he sacrificed. He sacrificed for us. He sacrificed his life for us. I’m eternally thankful.

Today is the first day my school district has been in-person in 2.5 weeks. That is all (emoji with the blank facial expression).

Donald tRump’s legal woes intensified 300% last week, as the walls appear to [finally] be closing in. The Supreme Court voted overwhelmingly to release 700+ documents from the National Archives into the waiting hands of the 1.6 committee. These documents are likely to create a clearer vision of Cheesy’s involvement with the plot to overthrow the United States government on that infamous day. I remain fairly incredulous that they won’t be able to paint him into a corner for that day, as I don’t believe there is a “smoking gun” that will prove that the insurrection was given implicit orders from his lips to be set in motion. I could be wrong. There’s also the fake elector(s) drama, but we’re still waiting for formal action to be taken. The other two legal matters he’s facing could very well be his downfall, in my estimation. The Fulton County DA office has sought a special grand jury for the investigation and potential trial for his infamous call (in addition to the one by Lady G) to Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger which aimed to pressure election officials over 2020 election results. I heard the call. Unless I’m missing something, it seems open-and-shut to me. 45 leaned on Raffensperger to flip over 11K votes in Fulton County from Sleepy Joe to Cheesy, allowing him to win the state and electoral votes. Finally, there’s Tish James, NY Attorney General, and her 115-page report concerning massive fraud with the Trump Organization. The report doesn’t make allegations; it presents findings, which seem to prove hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of fraud relating to the values of diverse tRump owned properties. James’ case is civil, but it is common knowledge that she is working in tandem with the Manhattan District Attorney’s office, which is conducting a criminal investigation along similar lines. That case may fall under the RICO statute for criminal racketeering when all is said and done. As I stated, James’ findings reflect fact, not assumption. We’ve seen fat boy wiggle out of EVERY problem before, but this may be the banana peel that he slips and breaks his neck on. I’m not holding my breath, but discernment leads me to believe that he and his chirren are going to take it on the chin with this one. We shall see.

Last weekend may have been the best weekend in the history of the NFL. All four divisional playoff games were Game of the Year candidates. All four came down to the wire; three ended on kicks and the fourth (in natural order) ended with a touchdown in overtime. The Bengals kicked the festivities off Saturday evening with a last second victory over the Titans, number one seed in the AFC. The Niners followed with a shocking last second upset victory over likely league MVP Aaron Rodgers and the Packers in Green Bay, the top-seeded team in the NFC, as special teams dominated and won the game for the decided underdog. Sunday afternoon saw the defending champs lose at home, as the Rams defeated Tom Brady’s Bucs, but only after the Rams squandered a 24-point lead. Tom’s magic wasn’t enough, as Matt Stafford ultimately outdueled him in a game for the ages, that, like the two divisional playoff games before it, ended with a last second field goal. Just when I figured that the weekend couldn’t get any better, I was proven wrong by the primetime finale. The Chiefs saved home field with an epic overtime win over the underdog Bills in a game that saw 25 points scored in the last two minutes of regulation. I have never seen a weekend of sports action so entertaining and amazing in my 43 years of life. I was blessed to watch all four games from front to back, except for the Rams/Bucs, having missed some of the second quarter, all of the third, and half of the fourth quarter to shop for groceries. I don’t see next weekend’s conference championship games one upping this past weekend, but I’ll damn sure be watching attentively. Long live sport.

Check in on your folk from time to time. This applies to everyone, but especially to men. Many of us are raised to believe that expressing our feelings is a sign of vulnerability and at times effeminate. It is not. That’s what friends are for. Sometimes you need to be the friend that not only checks in, but who also probes friends to make sure they’re doing ok. We are programmed to keep our thoughts and feelings to ourselves, but no man is an island. I thank my CEO for checking in on me at the most vulnerable time in my life about a decade ago. I probably wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t. In turn, I try my best to make sure I’m there for him, regardless of the bullshit I’m going through in my own personal life. That’s how brothers stay strong. Hov said it best – you know – the crutches bar. Make sure you hold your brother down. It’s the essence of brotherhood.

Make sure you keep it 100 in all that you endeavor upon. 99.5 won’t do. Black man, you built the pyramids. Baby girl, you are the queen mother earth. You are royalty. Infinite love to all. That’s my time. Until next time…

tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunberablescrew on IG

#MNR: The Souls of Black Folk

“Progression can’t be made if we’re separate forever.”
Q-Tip

(There’s a quote of an old Drag-on bar that would be perfect for what I’m about to discuss but it would be completely insensitive)

Four days ago, a Philadelphia house fire claimed the lives of twelve individuals, including eight children. The fire took place in a Philadelphia Housing Authority home that had been converted into several apartments. The fire was “possibly” started by a Christmas tree accidently set afire. There were no working smoke detectors in the domicile, and most of the deaths were from residents on the second and third floors.

Yesterday, a #BXNYXC apartment fire resulted in the deaths of seventeen people, including eight children. 63 people were injured by smoke inhalation. The fire is suspected to have been started by a malfunctioned space heater. It is the deadliest NYC fire since the infamous 1990 Happy Land nightclub fiasco (also in the X) that killed 87 people.

I suggest researching the Happy Land incident if you are cut from a similar cloth as I. It’s a wild story. An older friend of mine frequented the spot and almost went there that night. Sheesh.

My deepest condolences go to the victims and the families in both tragedies. It pains me that eight children were lost in each inferno. They’ll never have the opportunity to experience life in its fullness. If you live in a house/building/whatever and the smoke detectors don’t work – handle that shit ASAP. Change the batteries. Call the super. Make sure that detection is possible in the event of calamity. Material possessions can be purchased again but lives cannot. And please…be EXTRA careful with space heaters. I’ve certainly used space heaters in my life, but my scary ass would rarely let one run while I was asleep. What’s bugging me out about that is the fact that space heaters were needed in the apartment building. I’ve lived in the P’s, and I’ve lived in private apartment buildings in #BXNYC. If the heat was working in housing, it was almost always on West Hell temperature, to the point that it was not unusual to come into the back room of the crib and the window be wide open in 30-degree weather. The use of space heaters definitely means that insufficient heat was an issue in the Bronx tragedy. I’m sure the building owners are upstanding and compassionate citizens (blatant sarcasm). A family living in an apartment should not have to supplement the building heat with space heaters. For the love of money…

As we began our second week of virtual learning today, I logged on this morning with the thought of a tweet I’d seen last night still smooth in the front of my mind. It came from an educator who raised some interesting points of perspective regarding cameras being on/off during virtual learning. Before I discuss the things she tweeted, I’ll speak on the camera policy in my school district. The rule is that cameras must be on for students to receive credit for attendance. Until last night, I’ve been a staunch advocate of cameras always being on, as I’d heard the harrowing stories of co-workers who had students that rarely did anything academically during the first cycle of virtual learning. I dealt with my own (small) bit of “camera on” drama with my lil man during virtual. Cameras off usually went hand-in-hand with academic ineptitude. But that sister introduced me to a new perspective. She spoke of one of her students being ashamed to cut the camera on because they were living in a homeless shelter. She spoke of a student who was one of seven living in a two-room apartment. Cyber bullying has evolved to include home shaming. Kids will incessantly pick on and shame kids who live in domiciles with poor aesthetics. She also spoke of a kid who had to sit in a car to attend class because the car had AC and the apartment did not. It was 104 degrees that day. Now, we all know that Twitter can be full of shit, gas, hyperbole, and outright lies, but these are certainly real-life dilemmas for many kids. If you’re an educator and you read this, at least do your due diligence before you excoriate a child for not having his/her camera on. You owe it to that kid.

The pandemic has really shaken the snow globe we exist in, to the point that I’m seeing television and cinematic projects rolling out that I’d damn near forgotten about because the pandemic pushed production back significantly. One of these projects happens to be the new dramatic interpretation of the iconic “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.” It’s been spoken about for years, and it will finally see the light of day next month, airing on Peacock. I’ve seen mixed reactions, many positive and many negative. A lot of folk feel like it’s little more than a rip-off “All American” that is merely aired on the Peacock app. I can’t affirm that because I’ve never seen an episode of AA (I don’t fuck with Taye Diggs), but I will say that I am in favor of the reboot and look forward to seeing it. We’ve perennially glossed over the show’s premise, but Will getting run out of West Philly by some gangster-type MF (played by battle rap star Eazy the Block Captain) and fleeing to affluent Bel Air to live with his auntie, uncle, and cousins is some real dramatic shit when you really think about it. They call it dramatic; I prefer dark. I love the idea because of the contrast to its predecessor. It makes good sense. Think of Tim Burton’s interpretation of Batman compared to the cartoonish Clooney Batman era compared to the Dark Knight trilogy. You can appreciate the stark, macabre trilogy because of the cartoonish shit that preceded it, as well as the utter uniqueness of Burton’s creation (the entire Gotham City other than Wayne Manor in the first film was a SET). I’m looking forward to seeing it. I got $5 for the Peacock subscription. Shit, I need to see Season 2 of “Saved by the Bell” anyway (Season 1 is free on the app). Big ups to Nasir Jones music blessing the trailer. GOAT shit.

Seeing my cousin Klay Thompson return to the court from injury last night was a beautiful sight. Cuzzo spent 941 days away from the game, suffering both a torn ACL and Achilles back-to-back. He dropped a more than respectable 17 points in his return and caught a banger in traffic. The return of James Weisman could be the nail in the coffin for the rest of the NBA, especially considering that a potential Warriors/Nets final would mean no Kyrie in San Fran AND Brooklyn. We shall see.

That block Ja Morant got on Avery Bradley last night immediately went down in the books as one of the greatest rejections in the history of the A. Shit, basketball history for that matter. Ja is only 6’3.” His vertical is around 42” to 45.” The only comparable baller with height and vertical similarities is the great David Thompson (uncle), who stood at 6’4” with a 48” max vertical. That’s the ONLY person comparable this side of Earl Manigault’s legend. Ja is amazing. The Grizzlies have won a team record nine consecutive games. They’re 14 games over .500 and look like a certified problem for the rest of the league. I love to see it. Dominate, young King. Dominate.

I think it’s fucked up the way the Dolphins did Coach Brian Flores. I feel he deserved one more year to see his process through. But we all know how it goes for Black coaches in the NFL. I’m still waiting for Jim Caldwell to get another shot. It hurts to see my brothers disrespected the way they are. It’s time for Eric Bieniemy to get his shot. Byron Leftwich too. I’m sick of this prejudicial shit.

Congratulations to battle rap extraordinaire Danny Myers. You’re finally getting your much deserved flowers. You did your thing Saturday night (Tay Roc too). Make 2022 the year 2021 should have been for you. Salute.

That’s a wrap for this week. I’m tide (IYKYK). Peace and blessings to all. Tune in next week. Same bat time, same bat channel.

tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: Growth & Development
 

“Want me to be disrespectful? Pull up to the funeral, spit in his coffin.”
22Gz
 
Blessed New Year to all. If you’re reading this, you made it to 2022. Quite a few people didn’t make it this far. Before we get this thing started, it’s imperative that we amend last week’s 2021 RIP roll call and add two absolute icons to the list of the dearly departed: Coach John Madden and actress Betty White. I’m way too young to remember John Earl Madden as a coach, but the record speaks for itself. His regular season coaching record was 103-32-7, which comes out to a winning percentage of .750, an NFL record. He was the winning coach of Super Bowl XI and 1967 AFL champion. He was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1995. He is the only broadcaster to work all four major American television networks as well as the only broadcaster to call Super Bowls on all four major networks (a feat that will likely never be matched), winning 12 Sports Emmy Awards along the way. His video game series, John Madden Football/Madden NFL, is amongst the best-selling games of all time. Betty Marion White’s acting career spanned SEVEN decades. She won a total of eight Emmy Awards and was the first woman to produce a sitcom (Life with Elizabeth). She was best known as the indelible Rose Nylund, the supremely amicable yet often naïve housemate on the classic NBC sitcom Golden Girls (my second favorite show ever). She has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and was a 1995 Television Hall of Fame inductee. Both Coach Madden and Ms. White left indelible marks on my life, and I will miss both dearly. Salute to the two legends.
 
No matter how crazy your life may be, you made it to another year. Having said that, carpe diem. We are all given the same 168 hours in a week. It all boils down to how we choose to spend our time. Do everything within your power to make 2022 the best year of your life. Keep grinding.
 
Trust me, y’all. I try my best to keep any mention of COVID out of my blogs. I swear I do. But it’s virtually impossible to summarize a week without mentioning it. Omicron is currently running through the United States like Eric Dickerson ran through the NFL in 1984. I personally know more than a handful of individuals currently in COVID protocol, including one of my students. This shit is crazy. The one positive I’m taking from this is the fact that all the cases are “mild.” None of the people I know are hospitalized. All claim to have mild symptoms. I read that the nature of the Omicron variant could lead to the transition from pandemic to endemic, making COVID much more like the flu in its impact on health in the future. But it’s all speculation, as not even the “experts” seem to have a grasp on the matter. Sports leagues are suffering because of protocols. Hundreds of NFL and NBA players are currently in protocol, including 170 in the NFL alone entering Week 17. The NHL announced that none of its players will be attending next month’s Winter Olympics in Beijing. We’re down bad at the moment. All I’m saying is, damn…can my job return to virtual for a week or three? Can I live?
 
So, yesterday, I’m watching the Buccaneers/Jets game (I had no other valid option cuz I’m not watching the bum ass Giants). Nothing special. I left with the ladies to go to the grocery store, and I happened to check my Twitter en route. Oh damn. Not AB again. If you didn’t see it, Antonio Brown appeared to quit dead in the middle of the game. He took his jersey/shoulder pads off, saluted the MetLife crowd, and left East Rutherford via an Uber. Of course, social media had a field day. We all did. Shit, it was funny AF. But truthfully, most of us realized that this was bigger than AB being an asshole. We already knew he was an asshole, but this seems to have mental health written all over it, as have many of his actions the past few years. I’m no healthcare professional, but it seems that there is something that needs to be addressed. As a human I’m praying that any deficiency he has be properly resolved, if possible. It would be easy for me to say that he tore his drawz way past any hope of salvaging his career, but sports have proven otherwise in similar situations. I agree with Coach Dungy in that the mental health dynamic must be properly addressed before any other team risks signing him. In full disclosure, new reports are saying that Head Coach Bruce Arians had allegedly asked AB to check in to the game. AB allegedly replied that he was hurt and couldn’t return. Arians in turn allegedly told AB he was no longer a Buccaneer and to leave, so he did. I don’t know how true this is, but even if it is, AB could’ve moved differently. If this is true, there was no need to make a spectacle because he would have been justified in simply exiting stage left. He should have just split (uneventfully) and waited for his agent to hit his line. He would’ve been with another team TODAY if he played it that way. But like I said, this is all speculation. Again, I pray that AB gets any needed services. It’s bigger than football.
 
As I first mentioned in last week’s blog, I am now fully intrigued by #BXNYC drill music. I’m talking OGz, YGz, SevSide, RPT, all of it. There’s Kay Flock, B Lovee, Dougie B, C Blu, Set Da Trend, Dthang Gz, Yus Gz, and plenty more. They make music, they go on Live and trash their opps’ dead homies, and occasionally kill one another. Some of them are still in high school. Bronx drill is where big guns and bigger personalities cross paths, and I can’t get enough of it. I don’t like the deaths, let’s get that clear. I don’t want to see young men of color killing each other over dumb shit. But as I stated, I am very intrigued by the scene. SevSide (187th St) is above my stomping grounds of 180th St/East Tremont – Watson area as well as above and to the east of Highbridge, the area where I laid my hustle game down flat, but I am familiar with the cross avenues: Prospect, Belmont, Courtland, Arthur (and others), all the way to Third. I know RPT from my homie Nik; her sister is a longtime resident and that’s where her son cut his gums. SevSide and RPT are dangerous areas, though they are often traditionally overlooked when talking about known #BXNYC “kill zones.” But things change. I have no problem with these adolescent boys and young men banging on wax. That’s kinda how this [rap] thing started, and I’d absolutely love it if they kept it on wax. Rah Gz is dead. Kay Flock and Dthang are both on the Island, both currently without bond (Flock for a body, D for a gun charge). Both have dropped Rikers Island phone “home” freestyle disses toward the other (three skull emojis). It doesn’t look good for the home team(s). And now, they’re under the microscope of rap music and even worse, the Bronx DA and Feds. I’m a keep all my fellow old heads posted on the updates even though I’m certain y’all have little interest in listening to the actual music. Ironically, some of it is wavy. Like I said, I’m hooked – mostly on the drama but I’m slowly ingesting the music as well. It may be a cold winter in the X. I’ll keep y’all posted.
 
That’s all for the first blog of 2022. I’m confident that this will be a prosperous year for myself as well as the UnB family. I feel that this is the year that all our hard work and dedication pay off. I’m looking forward to what the immediate future has in store. It’s cold AF up and down the east coast, so dress warm if you must leave the crib. I’m a see y’all in short time. Love to the world like Jeffrey Osborne dem the bicentennial year.
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB