#MNR: BUYER'S REMORSE

#MNR: BUYER’S REMORSE
 
“You feel this deep in your torso. Feel like someone’s reading your horoscope. Some shit only me and the Lord knows.”
Travis Scott
 
“Emotional luggage, nothing of it, I don’t check bags. I just carry on, leave that bullshit in the past.”
Curren$y
 
“You know your town is dangerous, when you see the strangest kid come home from doing a bid and nothing changes.”
GZA
 
Ok, y’all. Your boy has been quite proactive this holiday season. I copped some gifts and all that, you heard? Usually...usually I don’t give one fuck. I’m not Kris Kringle. I’m a poor Black man that works OD hard for my rupees. In other words, I ain’t got it. But, you know what? Even though I’m a single man with no earthly mother, my holiday assignment has not waned. It has only increased. Obviously, I’m crying like a rat eating raw onions because I’d much rather spend that bread on myself. What? Did I say something wrong? At least I kept it a buck. No one loves me like I love me. But I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do. Let’s get our holiday on, y’all.
 
I’m just bad news...
 
As much as I hate to admit it, I am. I’m a good human. That I know in my spirit. But I am bad fucking news. I’m Brainy Smurf meets Kevin Sabian meets Keyser Söze. I’m a got-damned know-it-all who always tries to negotiate peace yet exhibits underlying sociopathic tendencies. I could’ve played the lead in American Psycho. I exhibit levels of narcissism, often used to counteract bouts of self-loathing. I’m all over the fucking place. I crack jokes and maintain an amicable exterior to mask my morose view of reality. I’m not the best at communicating with my blood family. I love them all dearly, but I’m not the type to reach out just to say hello at this stage of life. As long as they’re in good health and spirit...cool. I’m fair; I don’t expect anything different in return. I have emotional issues I can’t really express because I can’t fully interpret them. Plus, they’re dormant. They are suppressed somewhere just below the 1 train 191st Street Station (IYKYK) in the Heights. After saying all that, I’m sure you’re thinking that I’m depressed. I’m far from it. I feel like a million euros, cash money. Life is good. Sure, my short term economic outlook is shaky (exacerbated by holiday shopping), but I’m ten toes down on my grind and I like the long term outlook. Every day is a blessing that I am grateful for and attack with voracity and grit. I have nary a complaint. But every now and then, around the time I sit and let the sick thoughts enter, I take it to DEFCON 1.
 
PRAY FOR PALESTINE. I don’t pick sides, but I’m on y’all side.
 
 
In a recent interview, Bryce Wilson said that Groove Theory’s second album would have easily gone multiplatinum. He felt that they had perfected the recipe after their self-titled debut album. That album was a solid 7.5 in my book. It had two classic tracks (if you must ask, ask me later) and another lowkey classic. I’ll give you the lowkey classic: “Ten Minute High.” I also love their Todd Rundgren/Isley Brothers cover “Hello, It’s Me.” Amel had the perfect voice for that track. Ok, ok. Y’all pulled my damn right leg. Y’all pulled the one that twitches when I’m nervous and ‘bout to split a MF forehead wide open. I’ll tell you. The other classic song is “Keep Tryin’.” Winter 1995 – what a time to be alive. “Tell Me” went global in my book. I don’t give a fluff what RIAA says. It played at every party senior year. Ev-er-y. After they dropped the dance hit of the winter, they slowed it down on the second single. “Keep Tryin’” is an amazing song. Amel Larrieux flows so effortlessly over Bryce’s production. It’s sultry in a nonsexual way. Listening to that track will inspire you to work a double shift after going on an all-night cocaine bender. But back to the sophomore album. Bryce said they would have done something similar to what The Fugees did. I’m jacking it because their debut was leaps and bounds above that bullshit The Fugees put out the first time around. What prevented the sophomore album from being their The Score, you may ask? Bryce said Amel was on her ultra-diva shit. The man said she wanted production credit even though she didn’t lay not one damn beat. She wanted 60% of their publishing after agreeing to a 50-50 split. Non-cipher. Remember this: Amel was relatively unknown outside of Philadelphia before Groove Theory came to be. Bryce had production credits with Mantronix at like seventeen years of age. His name was the one that carried weight going into the project. He also said Amel had first crack at “You’re Making Me High.” YES, that “You’re Making Me High.” She had dibs before Toni. The man said Amel wanted production rights on the track. He told Amel and her entourage to get the fuck out of his studio – over the phone. I love Amel Larrieux. I always will. She follows me on the Twitter. But I’ve heard about her diva mentality for a long time. I’m not mad at her or Bryce. They gave us a classic. But damn...what could have been.
 
RANDOM: I didn’t feel sorry for the fat Puerto Rican kid who got killed in Fresh, even though he was Fresh’s manz. Fat boy had it coming. But, in direct contrast, I damn near cried when teenage Donald Faison got killed in Sugar Hill. When you think on it for a taste, he too had it coming. And when you really think about it, both died for the same reason – wanting to be down. The fat kid thought he could run with and outsmart grown wolves on some drugs shit; he had an anchor tied to his ankle off jump. And Fresh warned his dumb ass. But Donald’s character...I will always feel empathy for him because all he was guilty of was wanting to be down. He shouldn’t have had his ass on the block that night. He should have been in his new crib in the ‘burbs. And just like Fresh shot fatty a warning, Roemello basically suggested that Donald had no purpose in coming back around the block. But he had a good heart. He just wanted to be down. There was nothing insidious in his approach. He would’ve held it down for Roemello if need be (or at least attempted to). But, at the end of the day, he should have had his ass in the crib. Quiet hours. The shit is kind of deep when you think about it. This is the type of shit I ponder from time to time. Fuck is my problem?
 
NOT RANDOM: The scene in Fresh at the basketball court when the bitch ass nigga shoots the younger kid (because he was doing him dirty with the handles) and lil mama who Fresh had mutual feelings for (she caught a stray) will always haunt my soul. I’ll never forget that slug stuck in her neck, her little leg twitching, or Fresh’s empathetic yet stoic reaction. Fresh is one of the best movies I’ve ever seen.
 
It's been a minute since I gave you good folk an outro paragraph to conclude the blog. I’ve just been dropping the microphone and walking off after a Dame Lillard buzzer beater from 32 feet. Swish. All jokes aside, I hope y’all had a good Turkey Day and extended break from the slave (if you read Malcolm’s autobiography you know). It was back to work today. My day. Ty Monday. But look at it this way, as shitty as the prospect of the beginning of an arduous work week can seem, we’ve already got one in the books by the time you read this. And just like that, 20% of the shit is done. Now comes the rest of the gauntlet before the next weekend begins. I live for the weekends, but I fret over the work week. Why? Because for many a year now, I’ve made sure that I do my best to treat every evening like a Friday evening – until it’s time to go to bed. What I’m saying is that I don’t deprive myself of capricious fuckery during the week. I galavant through the evening on my Don Quixote de la Mancha type shit. I turn my brain and phone off (unless you really, really matter), then I enjoy myself. The point is this: live before you die. Don’t deprive yourself. Now, make sure the kids are straight. Don’t go AWOL and all. But find the time for a daily by myself meeting. We only have one life to live. Enjoy this shit. And spread the word. #MNR is the best 5-minute read in America. I stand on that. Until next time, y’all. I’m out through the back dough (door).
 
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