She found me y’all. I’m off the market. I’ve known her for some time. It just so happens that really getting to know her unearthed a precious gem. I’m thankful. I’m blessed. I’m content. Ballgame. And he gets the girl! (finally). I haven’t been happy relationship wise in a long time. I’ve had a lot of fun in the meantime (A LOT of fun), but it never equated to happiness. And I’m fond of quite a few ladies. But I’m giving this thing here my undivided attention. And please don’t ask who. We’re keeping this thing under wraps until we feel like letting the free world know (North Korea and East Moscow already know). Just know old Monday is happy. Ashanti first album, second single happy. My baby girl is the truth. It’s been a long time. #HER
By the way, and I’m certain I’ve blogged about this before—recently, but if you don’t have all of the actual artist H.E.R. material, you’re playing yourself. Skrate like dat. The kid Daniel Caesar, friend and collaborator, is fly AF his damn self. If Jacquees Quemixes your track, you’re 747 fly. I like this millennial soul vibe (this kid Caesar was born my senior year of HS) they’re vanguards of, along with a few others. It’s organic. It reminds me of the late ‘90s, early 2K Neosoul movement: amazing, talented, and original artists with ingenious material and fly production.
BUCK FOSTON. ETERNALLY. Only about 110 days until pitchers and catchers report. Winter meetings on deck first in December. Let’s do it for The Boss in heaven and spend heavy this offseason. Boss heavy. Fuck a luxury tax. I got $50 on it. Gimme Machado. Gimme Corbin. Make it happen so deGrom takes the 7 train from Mets-Willets Point to Grand Central and transfers to the 4 train. Tell him to get off at 161 St/Yankee Stadium and lace up. We need a MF with that dog in him to stare the champs down and put goose eggs on the HD scoreboard. deGrom got that dog in him. #letsgoyankees through death and ever after.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t speak on the perilous weekend past. My prayers go out to my Jewish brothers and sisters from the synagogue in the Burgh who were assassinated by a cruel, wanton, and wicked person, fueled by hate and used by the devil to deliver pure havoc. I’m black and proud but I love and embrace those of all races, creeds, genders, and sexual identity/preference. I just wish our President felt the same. That would be an excellent start to mending many fences.
I didn’t want to take away from the Pittsburgh situation or say anything to diminish the impact of the tragedy, but I hope y’all notice how the media treats Black stories. I’m almost certain some of you reading this don’t know about the elderly Black man and woman killed in the supermarket in Kentucky last Wednesday. The gunman, Gregory Bush, chose his victims because of their race, walking out of the supermarket immediately after proclaiming, “Whites don’t kill whites.” Ironically (yeah right), the story didn’t make much of a splash nationally and many of the publications that did run the story chose to focus on Bush’s alleged schizophrenia rather than label the crime a hate crime (REFER TO AFOREMENTIONED QUOTE) Really? (Sighs).
Stay woke, y’all. Please. The great, late Donny Hathaway said it best. Someday we’ll all be free. It’s my time y’all. Love you all.
MNR: TEFLON LUNGS
So I’m perusing the greatest daily on planet Earth (NY Daily News, provided daily by Mr. Leary) today when I read that now Mr. Trump (or #45, mama told me to show respeckkk no matter what) and his kindred team of certified monkeys in the White House are considering rescinding transgender rights. These rights include being able to use the public restroom of the gender one most identifies with and being able to check a gender box other than M or F on a form. It also includes a formal ban on transgender folk from being able to enlist in the Armed Forces. (Sighs) I’m not quite certain where to begin. I guess I’ll start with reminding you that these laws are Obama-era initiatives. And we all know how #45 feels about anything with Obama’s stamp and legacy attached. To be thorough, I will add that the article spoke on gender in the eyes of Trump-minded folk as solely being based on already proven scientific data as well as the gender given on one’s birth certificate. And if you put it that way, most folk from the far right to damn near the middle of the road would probably find little or no objection with this BS. If #45 and The Get Fresh Crew have their way, the only way a transgender person would be recognized by the government is if specific and individual scientific research were to affirm the gender that particular person identifies as. These folk fought long and hard to get to this point in history. They still face harsh ridicule and the threat of violence from factions varying from all-out hate groups to Baptist churches. I have no problem with a person being able to identify himself or herself as he or she pleases. I have no idea what’s going on inside their bodies or anyone else’s for that matter. Therefore, I don’t feel I have a political right to tell transgender folk how to identify. It’s sorta the same reason why I don’t feel I have the political right to tell a woman what to do with her body. The article said there’s 1.4M Americans who identify as transgender. They deserve to be treated with much more respect than pariahs or some twisted fad. A person is a person. Doesn’t matter whether it’s he or she. This is really sad. No, I’m not #45 or one of his cronies. Essentially, my political voice is mute on the topic. But I am a fair and compassionate man. Old Trumpie is coming for everything not labeled far-right, big money pilgrim. But I wonder if his team of Caesar and the rest of the ape squad realize that if you shit on every group other than yours, the vote will be tipped mega overwhelmingly in the direction of the left. I hope you all reading this remember on 11.6.18. If you don’t know that that’s Election Day, your diploma or degree may be under investigation.
If you don’t watch American Horror Story, you really are missing out on one of the greatest shows in American television history. It airs on FX, meaning they can basically do whatever the fuck they want to do, including use the word fuck on TV (profanity is an art form when used properly). For those who are not in the know, AHS is an anthology series. An anthology series is a radio, television or book series that presents a different story and a different set of characters in each episode or season. In the case of AHS, many of the actors remain from season to season but the storyline changes. Of course, horror is in full abundance. Sometimes it’s the good old conventional blood and gore (often), other times it’s the modern psychological approach to horror. These days, psychological horror seems to be as if not even more effective than the good old blood fest of most horror movies/shows. Jessica Lange (first 5 seasons; my boo), Evan Peters, Sarah Paulson, and Academy Award Winner Kathy Bates are AHS staples, and other big timers like Cuba Gooding, Jr. (boooo), Lady Gaga, Angela Bassett (my other boo), and even the icon Stevie Nix have been cast members. If you think you know twisted, tune in to have your brains blown to bits. I’m not gonna reveal too much of the particulars. I want you to see for yourself. Catch it on Netflix for past seasons or on FX at 10 bells on Wednesday nights for the current season. Better hurry. Word is this may in fact be the final season, though no formal announcement has been made thus far. WARNING: if you do partake, go on ‘head and clear your weekend agenda. Cop that good seven, hit the supermarket, and prepare to binge.
In Search of Serendipity: The Possibility of Love’s Rebirth is due out any minute on the streets. Get at me for a copy of that butter. I got your fix. Love y’all. Smoke suntin’ witcha kinfolk. I’m a catch you on the come-up. See you when I see you unless you see me first. -30-
MNR: Mama I Want to Sing
I’m literally sitting here in midst my daily By Myself meeting, vibing. Regular shit. Music and aromatics. Good music. Sweet aromatics. Both LOUD. I usually have my blog topics ironed out and ready the night before, just like whatever uniform I’ve chosen to wear the next work day. Sadly, I broke a cardinal law I preach to my young men every single day: never let your problems/concerns/drama/bullshit take away from your task/craft/work. I let a situation from last Friday completely dominate my free and uninhibited thoughts. I try to save those types of thoughts for greatness, not fuckery. But hey, I love my beef fully cooked. Some things I just cannot met slide. I’m relentless. But that’s no excuse for not properly pre-gaming. For that I apologize. But I’ll do my best to make it up to you as I go along. Lean back in your E-Z Chair, adjust the ambient light, twirl one of those left hands, and just max. And when I take it there, you just add on. I don’t know WTF Raekwon meant when he said that, but I have an idea. It’s was fly either way. Anyways...Leggo.
I’ve really been trying my best to adjust my attitude and find my inner happiness these days. Even with all the loss I’ve incurred in the last 1.5, I can’t use it as an excuse to be depressed and mad at most of the world. Furthermore, I cannot keep letting the loss of one of my jobs and all the madness of its aftermath hurt me any longer. Things change. Loyalty is greatly undervalued in the marketplace these days. I understand. So, just like my baby girl Mya, I’m moving on. On. On. Onnnn. I’ll be moving on. My Lord has me. He always has. And I’ve been broke since 9.10.1978. Ain’t nothing changed but the drawz. I’m #eastside strong. And trouble don’t last always. A century is only a matter of time. I’m stronger than ever. Deadass.
Having said all that...
This past weekend, my faith was challenged in every conceivable way. It began with me getting into some shit defending this thing of ours, this Crew UnB thing of ours. We’ve put blood, sweat, and years into this. I defend any and every thing I believe in through death. A man has to have a code. I had to show restraint rather than hurt someone’s grown ass child. But...that’s a matter of discussion for another time and another place. I know what I’m capable of. Currently, I’m living by Exodus 14:14 on that issue. Another time, another place. So then there’s the money thing. I’m totally trying to see this thing through with complete and absolute positivity. Every penny counts. It just so has it that I got a text telling me one of my gigs is on hold for like three weeks. Three entire weeks. Whatever. I can’t put cheese on it this week. Or the next. Or the next. I don’t need cheese anyway (thanks Mr. Garrigó for the dietary plan). And I caught a cold from one of you mutants. Damn you. And to top it off, I ain’t get any cutty. All damn weekend. (Sighs)
Now, normally all this mixture of woe is me gumbo woulda sent me into a legendary implosion. It probably woulda involved a couple of my loved ones having to check on me to see if I did a Greg Louganis 1/2 Twist Pike off the GWB into the Hudson. I probably woulda alienated myself from a couple of people I care deeply about for an indefinite period of time. I probably woulda gotten superhero high. Dummy, dummy high. Yao Ming high. Telephone pole wires high. But I held fast. Hebrews 11. The entire chapter. I kept a smile as I decided against an Uber and got my slimming but still fat ass on public transit. I praised Him all weekend (even though I didn’t make the church house) and never allowed all the negative thoughts to invade my beautiful mind. I stuck my chest out a bit further. I acknowledged that it may get even tougher before I’m out of my Job season. And I continued to smile. Shareon well prepared me. The Lord fortified me. I’m strong enough to carry the 100 and 200 Blocks on my back.
This blog was all about me. For once in life. Thank you all for your time.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMY. I LOVE YOU. I’M ON TASK. 10.17
Monday Night Raw: The Intolerable Acts
The controversial Senate confirmation of beleaguered (self-inflicted) Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh is the culminating point of a process that has managed to further polarize a nation already teetering on the brink of catastrophic divide unseen since the Civil Rights Era. I’ll skip all the reasons we already know that are completely fucked up about all this chaos, mostly gender inequality and mistreatment. Listen, I respect every opinion, irrespective of yours (yes, I mean you). You can be angry AF about Kavanaugh’s confirmation after all the controversy or you can affirm your glee by leaning your dead (red) MAGA hat brim to the side like I do to show the patch on my New Era fitted baseball caps. I don’t give a shit. That’s the opinion our freedoms grant you. My concern, as a person who respects and appreciates the Constitution (outside the antiquated laws justifying us being chattel) and our political processes, is that the liberal/conservative divide is as visible as the Great Wall of China or former Berlin Wall. Personally, I don’t feel that voting should be completely indicative of party affiliation. If you are a liberal and like what a particular conservative politician has to offer, cast your vote in his/her favor. If you are a conservative who feels that a particular piece of local or state legislation represents the greater good in spite of being viewed as a liberal ideal, cast your vote in favor of. Laws aren’t partisan. I’ll leave that right there. This isn’t CNN. Anderson Cooper is my journalistic hero (since Channel One), but I sir, am no Anderson Cooper. I’m Anderson Cooper meets Larry David meets Khalid Abdul Muhammed. Chew on that.
That “I sir, am no Anderson Cooper” line is a thinly veiled reference to the end of the legendary quote from Lloyd Benson when replying to Dan Quayle in response to Quayle likening himself to JFK. And these media companies won’t give me a damn break. Fuck ‘em. I’m gon take mine. Same as I always have.
I’m saving the brunt of what I have to say about my next issue (topic) for Crew UnB’s first podcast (hint hint Mr. CEIZZO), but it’s obvious that Yeezy (Ye, Kanye, Dumbass) is on hard drugs. I really wish Mama Donda were still alive (Panther Pride). I’m quite certain she’d have something to say. Starting with his wife. Ending with his MAGA hat.
I completely fucking hate that acronym. Eat a dick, MAGA. And all your demon loyalists. But they are entitled to being demons. And I’m entitled to being able to say do a chin-up on my John Shaft.
Everyone knows I’m a weirdo. And rightfully so. I’m a neurotic, shell-shocked former drug dealer who survived absolute juvenile hell. I got it honest. Soooo....here comes the “Completely Random” section of the blog. These topics may not be in today’s headlines (one possibly) but they’re swimming in my Pacific sized aquarium of thoughts. Leggo.
As an absolute rap junkie, I’m always mentally wrestling with random “Greatest Of...” lists. I mean, shit. The music (not the culture) is approaching 40 (Fatback Band’s “King Tim III Personality Jock” was actually the first commercially released rap song not Rapper’s Delight, both released in ‘79) . There’s A LOT of material to judge. So almost any all-time list can and will be scrutinized heavily. Having said all that, Brad “Scarface” Jordan’s second verse on “My Mind’s Playing Tricks On Me” is a Top 25 verse all-time in my opinion. In a song with four A-1 verses (2 Scarface 1 Willie D. 1 Bushwick Bill), each unique and haunting tales of Black man paranoia, his second verse blew the other three out the water. Most people remember Bill’s verse because it was more appealing. It was. But Face penned a verse of hard medicine. Mucinex. Buckley’s. You dread taking it but you know deep down you have to for your own health. “Day by day it’s more impossible to cope. I feel like I’m the one that’s doing dope. Can’t keep a steady hand because I’m nervous. Every Sunday morning I’m in service...”. And when he goes on to talk about how he lost his lady due to lack of trust (real hustling damn near kills all trust on damn near every level), any adult can relate. “Now she’s back with her mother. Now I’m realizing that I love her...”. There’s something in the delivery that sticks to you. Bill rapped about Halloween but that Face verse continues to haunt to this day.
Is Robert Kelly the new Bobby Womack?
Is Christian Yelich the 2018 MLB National League MVP? He better be. He won the batting title, and came within 2 homers and 1 RBI of winning the triple crown, a feat unseen in the NL since 1937. He was Mr. Clutch down the stretch for a team that has already booked a reservation at the NLCS. AND, his 7 yr/49 M contract is an absolute steal in any sport. My question is this: ya think our old Cap’n #2 regrets shipping him off to Milwaukee when he took over operations for the Marlins? Ha...
The book is here y’all. I said THE BOOK IS HERE!!! Well, I actually just proofed it. But I’m taking pre-orders. In Search of Serendipity: The Rebirth of Love’s Possibility. It’s a book of love poetry that all persons in any walk of life can relate to. It’s ready to move. Contact me at email@example.com. You are going to love it. It’s tailored to the lover in you.
Get at us.
I’ll see you when I see you, unless you see me first. #eastside
Monday Night Raw (No Prophylactic)
Remember when your favorite rapper ever Jay-Z used to rap like his rap father Jaz-O? Then remember how he used to rap like the Fu-Schnickens/Das-Efx with the iggity? Then remember how he adapted to the Wu/Nas/BIG mafioso era? Then remember how he took Young Chris laid back flow? Sure. Me either.
It’s truly sad that hip-hop is the only genre of popular music that has widespread disdain for its older artists. The prevailing attitude of the young ones in the music business and its fans alike is that of apathy toward the old heads. They feel the sound is dated. They feel that the old heads can’t relate to the youth. In my opinion, this is true (the second sentiment). But the even harder pill to swallow is the sentiment that the old heads, for the most part, deserve the apathetic sentiment because of their unwillingness to show love to the youngsters from jump. They gave little to no help to upstart artists when they were in perfect position to, and the youngsters haven’t forgotten once they got their time to shine. Honestly, I think that this is systemic of Black America as a whole. Whether music, the church, or organizations, old heads seem to think that they don’t need to fall back in due time and let the proven youngsters get their opportunity to shine. And I know there’s a pre-mid-20s MF reading this and thinking “but damn T, you’re old.” Yeah, I am, compared to you. But being as how making it to your 80s is normal these days, I’m just getting my grown ass man on properly. But 40 is young in terms of organizational hierarchy, business, and other realms, roles where grandpas don’t ever feel it’s time to let the young ones shine. Sit yo’ old, stubborn, hating ass down. Eat your lunch and be quiet. Your time’s done.
I’m a hip hop junkie forever plus a day. It’s the culture I was born into, the culture I watched go from last to first. But when I think of the defining song of my generation, it’s not a rap song. Hands down, it’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana. In my opinion, it’s the best video of all-time as well. Kurt was able to express what all us teens felt within us back when. My generation was the one to usher the 2K new world order in. We were the first to learn how to use a computer in a way to earn a fortune. The Industrial Age died right before our feet. And at that time, we didn’t quite know how to express how we felt with the world literally changing before our eyes, knowing we’d be the ones to affect this change in some way. All we knew was fuck the world. Kurt & Co. accurately expressed our feelings for us to the old heads. Because at the end of the day, I’m worse than what—-I confess...
It’s my time y’all. Be on the lookout for my latest masterpiece, In Search of Serendipity: The Rebirth of Love’s Possibility. It’s due out any day now. Catch my squad and me on the web @ tymonday.com &theunbearablescrew.com.
Catch me at Ebony Junction until next time.