MNR: NO CLICKBAIT NECESSARY

“Health is wealth.” – Origin Unknown

Earlier today, I took my fat ass to the podiatrist to get my doggies taken care of. I had an ingrown situation on one big toe and the other looked like a baby turtle shell (looked that way for years). I’ll spare the in-depth specifics. Just know that I took care of a painful situation that could have grown worse in time. As a diabetic, it was imperative that I did so.

I waited at least a calendar month before I went on Google and sought medical attention. I kept a regiment consisting of Epsom salt foot soakings, additional cleansing with alcohol, and Lotrimin. It got a bit better, but pain continued in one area (enough pain for my tough ass to grow tired of the bullshit). I researched a couple of locations before I decided on Dr. Lauren Grossman, one half of ladyfootdoctor.com. The first doctor I researched didn’t accept my insurance, Blue Cross Blue Shield of New Jersey. The second doctor I researched had enough negative reviews to raise suspicion, especially being that half of the reviews pertained to medical chicanery, i.e., the office didn’t let a few patients know that it didn’t accept their insurance until they arrived for their initial appointment. Even though the doctor replied to the negative reviews and informed the messengers that the error was due to new staff negligence, it was more than enough for me to look elsewhere. Thankfully, Dr. Grossman handled her handle. She treated the ingrown nail and shaved the other hoof down. I got a couple of ‘scripts and a return appointment set for early August. Thank you, Jesus (exhales).

Shut your trout-mouthed ass up, damn it. I already know that no one gives an incoming Teterboro private jet flying fuck about either of my damn big toes. This praise report wasn’t to bring attention to my Sasquatch hooves, rather, I wanted to use my own personal pain to bring light to a subject that plagues Black men IMO. But before I get to it, come join the campfire. Light that good satin up and take flight. I’ve got a short story to tell.

As a child the hospital was always hostile territory. At one point, my mom was juggling three part-time jobs to put it on the table. God bless Shareon for her work ethic, but three PTs mean no benefits and no insurance. I spent quite a few summers with @iamdjgreen at his childhood crib in Tidewater 2up2down when we were preteens. Even though the Hali is only about 3.5 to the west of Chesapeake, the climates aren’t exactly the same. Anyone who’s ever spent time by a coast knows the climate tends to be different from inland. As an asthmatic, that’s always been an issue for me, an issue that persists to this day. Whenever I travel (except Phoenix & Vegas; I love dry heat), there’s always a bit of time needed for my asthmatic lungs to adjust. Shit, I always seemed to have a wheeze in my chest when OT, and still do to this day. It just so happens that cuzzo’s mom, Aunt Nette, is a RN. Cuzzo is asthmatic too. We literally got the stethoscope to chest treatment daily. My wheeze prompted Auntie to take me to the ER…twice. All asthmatics know the routine: the typical doctor questions, two breathing treatments, a sample inhaler, and a release three hours later (extreme boredom). It was always the same routine when I was home in Jeff, albeit completely different causes (cat dander and Newport smoke). But that one summer in 757, it got so bad that Shareon told me to make sure I didn’t go to the hospital again – no matter what. We didn’t have insurance, and two ER visits were a bitch to pay out of pocket.

Cuzzo’s stepfather’s kid bro Derek, who was a few years older than Green and I, used to stay with us during the summer as well. Derek was (is) cool AF; a real big brother-type. I’ll never forget a couple of stories he told us. The first was about the time as a kid when he stuck a kitchen utensil in the electrical socket and got one hell of a jolt. Even though his dad was worried, even though he was just a kid, he gave Derek the OPTION of whether to go to the ER. The option. I’m not sure; I think Derek opted to go to the ER. But I definitely remember Derek laughing about how his dad NEVER went to see the doctor for ANYTHING. He didn’t believe in it. I eventually adopted the same mantra.

Green let me know YEARS back that Derek’s pop passed. Pop was young. Early 50s. He passed from something preventable with early diagnosis and treatment.

Like I said, the never going to see the doctor mentality was my shit for a long time. Then I fell into the blessing of full-time employment and benefits about 14 years back. For the first time in my life, I could go see the doctor without killing my pockets. I took advantage. I found out I was diabetic, among other things. I also found out I had severe sleep apnea (some of y’all need to get the initial sleep study done, it may save your life). I began to treat my illnesses, for the most part. I was at times stubborn about taking a pill or sleeping with the CPAP here and there, but I was handling my handle. Unfortunately, I lost my benefits a few years later due to my position being outsourced. And honestly, I was in my feelings about being thrown away by the EPSD for so long that my anger began to consume me. For some dumbass reason, I felt that self-neglect was the only way to deal with my misfortune. I also used what I felt was the lack of sufficient funding to pay for private healthcare as a reason to abstain from medical coverage. In my warped mind, I felt that $200 a month was way too much to pay to “maybe” have to see a doctor once a year. I averaged 0.8 colds a year and zero serious or ER worthy type concerns. Shit, I was invincible if you let me tell it, even if my pockets weren’t.

At the same time, Shareon’s health was fading. I lost myself in my worry concerning her downward spiral. I didn’t tap back into self after she passed. She left me plenty of money to fuel all of my vices: food, drugs, alcohol, and women. I truly lived a hood Rockstar lifestyle for a couple of years for the first time since I was a fulltime 100 Blocks hustler fifteen years prior. I kept ignoring my health, even though I noticed my urine smelled like Honey Smacks every time I pissed. Even though I’d have to wake up in the middle of the night to piss, something I NEVER had to do before. Trips to the bathroom became races not to piss myself. The love below was also off-track (three grimace emojis). Then in late 2019, I noticed that my breath always seemed to be a bit short. I’d go from 500 level of the DMAE South Building down to the caf with my boys and be out of breath after walking back up ONE flight of stairs. Damn it, man. I know I’m a fat ass, but this was ridiculous. I remember a late November fire drill where I felt like I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe after walking to the baseball field. I couldn’t catch my breath. That entailed walking downstairs and walking on flat earth. There were no inclines. So, imagine what it was like going back inside. I had to play it off at the stairwell and let EVERYONE go ahead of me because I knew my issue would be noticeable. Leaving school every afternoon was also crazy. I always had to briefly pause and use my inhaler while walking to my coworker Aniyah’s SUV (congrats on baby Kairo). That’s not a long distance, by any means. But it was October; I rationalized that it was my asthma, induced by the change of seasons. At home, my chest felt funny when I’d walk upstairs. I knew something was wrong, but I continued to ignore the blatant warning signs. And then 1.1.2020 happened.

Everything came crashing down on New Year’s Day. I barely slept the night before. I finally admitted to myself that I needed to seek medical attention. I attempted to shower but couldn’t breathe – at all. After all, Mary Warren used to tell me as a child to never get caught in an ER with dirty underwear on. I ended up butt naked on the toilet. I called Brandi. My baby came and put socks on my aforementioned crusty feet and drawz on my fat ass. Brandi and my sis Rycki helped me down to the ambulance. I ended up spending two weeks in Englewood Hospital after damn near dying from a pulmonary embolism (massive blood clots in the chest and left leg). My blood sugar was also north of 450. I’m not too proud to admit that my no insurance having ass was blessed to be eligible for emergency MEDICAID, covering my ENTIRE hospital stay and three months afterward. I didn’t pay a cent for meds.

Take a moment to fully ingest everything you just read. I damn near died in my early 40s, all because I was too stubborn and thrifty to purchase health insurance. I found every excuse in the book to avoid it. I neglected my health for YEARS. Some of the damage done is irreversible. That’s 100% my fault. I have to live with it. But the key word is LIVE. I’m blessed to still be here. Yeah, I had to cut the alcohol, donuts, bagels, and green leafy vegetables out, but I’m still here. Health is wealth, Black men. Please don’t ignore it. Please go to the doctor. Check up on your health. Ain’t no glory or reward in being too tough to go get your health checked on. Unless you hold an early grave in that type of esteem. Go on ‘head and marinate on that. One love.

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

#MNR: AMERICAN HISTORY Z
 
A few days ago, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis signed legislation banning the teaching of Critical Race Theory in the state’s public schools. What, exactly, is CRT? Well, it’s defined as an academic movement of civil rights scholars and activists in the United States who seek to critically examine the law as it intersects with issues of race and to challenge mainstream approaches to racial justice. The 1619 Project, developed by Nikole Hannah-Jones, writers from the The New York Times, and The New York Times Magazine, “aims to reframe the country’s history by placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of Black Americans at the very center of the United States’ national narrative.” So…why, exactly, are DeSantis, Senate Minority Leader Moscow Mitch McConnell, and other conservative leaders scurrying to block the teaching of what many see as contextual history? I’m sure you know why. But, before I approach the answer to this question, I’m going to take you back to a few specific dates in the history of America.
 
In August of 1619, the first African slaves were brought to Port Comfort, VA (Jamestown). If you’ve never been educated about the Middle Passage and the precise manner in which Africans were shackled and transported on slave ships, you are certainly in for a big surprise.
 
On January 1, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, freeing all American slaves. Of course, there was no phone, television, satellite, or internet, so there was a significant amount of time before the entire nation was informed, as affirmed by Juneteenth (June 19, 1865). Juneteenth, also known as Freedom Day, celebrates the emancipation of those who had been enslaved in the US. It originated in Galveston, TX, as there was a scarcity of Union troops in the state. Enforcement of the Emancipation Proclamation had been slow and inconsistent, to say the least.
 
Reconstruction (1865-1877) was a period in US history following the American Civil War that awarded newly freed slaves “similar” civil rights as those of other (white) citizens. It birthed the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments. If you’ve never read The Souls of Black Folk by W.E.B. DuBois, it’s an amazing read, particularly the chapter in which he speaks on Reconstruction from a unique perspective. He provides perspective that contextual facts alone cannot.
 
The relatively unknown and oft-forgotten (I wonder why) Compromise of 1877 was an unwritten deal (amongst Congress) that settled the highly disputed 1876 presidential election. It resulted in the federal government pulling the last troops out of the South, effectively ending Reconstruction. Through the compromise, Republican Rutherford B. Hayes was awarded the presidency over Democrat Samuel J. Tilden. By 1905, virtually all Black men were basically disenfranchised by state legislatures in all Southern states. Jim Crow, a set of state and local laws that enforced racial segregation in the Southern US and elsewhere within the country, was already in full effect mode, no Al B. Sure. These laws were enacted by white Southern Democrat-dominated state legislatures to disenfranchise and remove political and economic gains made by Black folk during Reconstruction.
 
On April 15, 1947, Jack Roosevelt Robinson broke the baseball color line when he started at first base for the Brooklyn Dodgers, eventually opening the floodgates for Black and Latin talent that had for decades because of skin color been relegated to the Negro and Caribbean Leagues. This basically broke the color barrier in American professional sports.
 
In May of 1954, the US Supreme Court unanimously decided for the plaintiffs (led by future Justice Thurgood Marshall) in the class-action lawsuit Brown v. the Board of Education (Topeka, KS) that racial segregation of children in public schools was unconstitutional. “Separate but equal” (in theory) officially ended.
 
On July 2, 1964, Congress passed the Civil Rights Act of 1964, outlawing discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, and national origin. It outlawed Jim Crow. These laws were enforced until 1965.
 
I’VE JUST GIVEN YOU AN HISTORICALLY ACCURATE TIMELINE OF SLAVERY AND SEGREGATION IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. NONE OF THE INFORMATION GIVEN IS OPEN TO DEBATE, AS ALL OF THESE EVENTS ARE INALIENABLE FACTS.
 
(Now’s the time to roll that shit and light that shit. I’m in my bag today.)
 
So…on what planet is it fair to say that folk who were disenfranchised for damn near 400 years (345 to be exact; I did the math) are expected to have a fair chance in a race (pardon the pun and double entendre) that began centuries before they were allowed to enter and compete? I HAVEN’T MET A DEVIL YET THAT CAN GIVE ME AN ACCURATE ANSWER. And, unlike other ethnic groups, were given NOTHING to work with. Everything we gained in Reconstruction we lost after the Compromise. We weren’t given land. We weren’t given reparations. We weren’t given access to free higher education. We were given the expectation to keep up and compete.
 
The beauty of the industrial era was that advanced education wasn’t a prerequisite for making a decent living. A man could leave high school (diploma in hand or otherwise) and get a factory job fresh out the gates. He was given a livable salary and good benefits. After 40 years of hard work, he could retire with a full pension. In the meantime, his earnings (and the cost of higher education at the time) meant that ALL of his kids were afforded the opportunity to receive a higher education. This was the case for many Black folk in the immediate aftermath of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Automotive plants in Michigan were booming; textile plants in the south were as well. But the advancement of the computer eventually brought an end to the Industrial Era. And, up until the Regan presidency and Reaganomics, the middle class “working Joe" was able to take care of his family despite little to no education. Reaganomics steadily chipped away at middle class earnings, causing the wide disparity between it and the wealthy that thrives to this very day. Factories closed (think Detroit and South Boston, VA). Blue collar jobs evaporated (many were outsourced to Asia) from the American workforce and were replaced by jobs that required being educated and/or tech savvy. Suddenly, that good old high school diploma didn’t mean jack shit. And oh yeah…Regan felt that it was necessary to upend the welfare system in this country, as he and others spread the disgusting narrative that Blacks and other minorities were milking the system, intentionally having babies to boost benefits (think “welfare queen”). The aftermath saw the transition from Aid to Families with Dependent Children (AFDC) to Temporary Aid for Needy Families (TANF). This did heavy damage to the familial structure in Black America, as households weren’t allowed to receive benefits if there was a man in the house. The result was the greatest number of broken homes in Black America since the slave trade. It was all a systematic plot to disenfranchise Black folk and people of color. “Ironically,” urban streets on either coast were at the exact same time introduced to a much cheaper and much more addictive form of cocaine known as crack. Crack pulverized neighborhoods, whether through dependency or “trade wars.” Were we responsible for the violence caused by crack? Well…that’s both yes and no. Yes, we did, in large part, kill ourselves because of addiction and competition. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but the coca plant doesn’t grow in this part of the world. And, unless I’m mistaken, we don’t have the means to import it from other continents. So, tell me, who did what to whom (emoji with the hand on chin)?
 
Conservatives don’t want CRT taught in public schools because thorough, accurate, and contextual facts will enlighten ALL learners to the PAST and PRESENT evils of Amerikkka, endangering the FUTURE of whitewashing. Simple and plain.
 
Candidly, I’ve never read a single word from the 1619 Project. Why? Because I have knowledge of self and I was taught accurate, contextual history from jump. It didn’t come from public schools. They didn’t teach me shit about contextual American history. My education began AT HOME with my grandmother Mary Ruth Marable Warren. She and my gpa Archie Gardner Warren Sr. lit a fire within that burnt so fervently that, from a young age, I didn’t need anyone to coerce me or point me in a particular direction to learn about me and mine. I did that on my own.
 
I don’t give a single fuck about the 1619 Project, with all due respect to Ms. Hannah-Jones. That’s no slight to that queen or the material she helped to develop. I said that because I have stressed forever that history should be first and predominantly taught IN-HOUSE. Parents and grandparents should be a Black child’s first history teacher. Damn near all of us came through public schools since desegregation. If you didn’t realize that those schools taught us the bare minimum, you must be the dumbest MF since Ray Carruth’s silly, murderous ass. You should know off rip from how you were taught that these schools aren’t teaching your child shit about her or his history. Black history…MLK, Rosa Parks, Jackie Robinson, Michael Jackson, slavery was kinda bad, yadda, yadda, yadda…the end. That’s what we were “taught.” Y’all know better. So do better. Please don’t depend on red OR blue states to teach your child contextual history. And if you don’t know enough to teach them, educate your damn selves. Or bring them to me. I got y’all. All jokes aside. Just pay me how you pay the white man for a job. APPLIED knowledge is power. Each one teach one (3 BLACK FIST EMOJIS).
 
tymonday.com; @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com; @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

MNR: It’s Hot Den a MF

Man, it’s so damn hot that I just saw a Greyhound bus pass by with the dog on the inside. I’m deadass. That MF was sitting in the front seat, the one that the drivers say you can’t sit in. That MF saw me staring in bewilderment and shrugged. I couldn’t hear his bark but the look in his eyes said, “FYM? Nigga, it’s hot den a MF!”

Who am I to disagree?

I know that they at the crib going crazy...

Damn near every time we hear that song lil mama asks me if Drizzy dropped Certified Lover Boy yet, and I’m like “nah.” Wasn’t he supposed to drop late January? I think so. But hey, who’s in a hurry to drop when they were just handed the award for Artist of the Decade? And, irrespective of whether you’re a certified Drake meat glazer, uber hater, or just a solid fan who appreciates his work, it’s hard to disagree with the decision. The only other artist that I can think of with a steady stream of really good material from the 2010s is Future…and those two men dropped a collabo project a few years ago. What a Time To Be Alive had a couple bangers…Jumpman, Jumpman, Jumpman, Jumpman, Jumpman, Jumpman…give that man Drizzy his credit and stop hating.

Speaking of “Laugh Now Cry Later,” I saw yesterday that Durk’s big brother DThang was murdered in Chicago this past weekend. There’s so much on this plate to digest, but it must begin with RIP to DThang. All I can think of is all the discussions DJ Vlad has had with rappers talking about how dangerous it can be to continue to live in your hometown after the fame comes. Shit, it’s already hard enough for all of us to survive on a daily basis these days. But for many rappers, continuing to live around the way has been a death sentence. Ain’t no love in the heart of the city. Ask Nip, Nick Blixky, MO3, [in addition to DThang] a thousand rappers from Chicago, and plenty more from all over the globe. The best thing you can do is to get yourself and your immediate family out the hood and out of your hometown when the money and fame come. I heard Rowdy Rebel speak on moving to a spot an hour outside the city after he came home. He only goes back to Flatbush to visit. It’s the smart move. The great, late DMX said it best (and I’m paraphrasing) when he spoke on how dumb it was to feel that you have to keep it so real that your dumb, famous ass is compelled to consistently cool out on the block with the homies until the day someone pulls up and obliterates you. What are you doing it for? So the niggas with you can be like, “he was just out here chillin’ with us when the shots came.” And that’s it. Your life has been reduced to a story your “manz” tells on repeat to get hood sympathy and some new pussy. Fuck that. Get yours and get the hell out of Dodge. You can do more for your community alive and living elsewhere. You can’t do shit after you relocate to a cemetery. Rest in peace to Dontay Banks.

A nigga said on the Twitter yesterday that a MF actually bragged to him that he knew Ludacris’ chef’s dog walker (I think that’s how it went). WHAT? Rewind that shit and think on it for ten good seconds [ADD 3 CRYING WHILE LAUGHING EMOJIS].

Some of you MF will do any damn thing to seem important to the next MF. Name dropping is one of y’all main offenses. I’m not big on name dropping – at all. But if you do, can you at least limit it to immediate family? Most of y’all name drop a MF two or three degrees separated from your actual selves. Bitch, you don’t know that nigga. And nigga, that nigga don’t know you. Stop with the lies. And moreover, most of us don’t give a flying 747 fuck about you or that nigga. That nigga puts nothing on my plate. Why do I give a fuck about him or whatever you’re lying to me about? They do anything for clout…stop with the lies, girl. And nigga…nigga please.

I have long since realized that the key reason why I haven’t been able to ascend to the top of the professional ladder is because I refuse to “play the game.” If you’re full of shit, I’m going to figure out a way to tell you while remaining impervious to said shit. There’s principalities to this shit (Big Worm voice). Translation: I can’t let shit slide. I also can’t smile when there’s a frown dying to escape. And that’s a big part of playing the game. I don’t buck dance for massa. I don’t do the awkward laughs and pans for acceptance. I come in and do my job. As long as they pay me what the terms of the contract say to pay me, ain’t no thang. I’m going to work to the language of the contract. That’s it. I don’t give a fuck what’s going on. And no, I’m not going to any Christmas parties or work-related engagements that are outside the work schedule. The last time I bought into a job they canned me after running a program for three years and working in the building for eight. I even took a pay cut once. Sheeeittt. Never again. Just pay me. In full. I’ll do my damn job. That’s it.

It appears that the release of the Kobe 6 Protro Mambacita, a sneaker Vanessa Bryant personally designed in tribute to her oldest daughter GiGi, was a mistake made by a UK-based retailer. Nike revealed that cases of sneakers are typically sent to retailers weeks in advance, something most of us sneakerheads already knew. Footpatrol mistakenly received several cases of the shoe (about 48 pairs) over a month ago. It was supposed to receive the white POP colorway but instead received the Mambacita. In turn, they mistakenly sent the sneakers to raffle winners. After they realized their mistake, Footpatrol contacted customers with an email encouraging them to return the sneakers free of charge. Yeah fucking right. Exactly ZERO pairs were returned. Most of them found their way to StockX, reselling for BANDS. I’m going to let Nike off the hook for anything more than negligence. They never intended for the shoe to be released in the fashion it was released. And for those wondering, the shoe was produced before Kobe’s Nike contract ended. StockX ended up removing the shoe listing from their app, but after several were sold and they got their PC. The game is dirty y’all, but it’s the only one we’re left to play. Long live GiGi and Bean.

That’s about all for today. I tried to maintain brevity without sacrificing quality. Stop by the UnB shop and pick up some summer apparel for the family. We just dropped the Crew slides, a must-have during the summer. See you when I see you unless you see me first.

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