#MNR: [General]ly Speaking

MNR: [General]ly Speaking

“Up late night on their mother’s cordless. Thinking a perm or bleach and cream will make ‘em better when they’re gorgeous.”
Nas, “What Goes Around”

This nigga lying, this nigga lying. Y’all don’t know the nigga I’m referring to. But that nigga lying.

I’m proud of my NY Knicks. We won 21 games last year. We were picked to be shitty again this year. All we did was win 41 games and secure a four seed in the playoffs. Last night was a tough one. We should have handled our business a bit better than we did. We didn’t. All you can do is clean the slate and get back to it. It would be nice if Julius Randle showed up for Game 2. Yeah, he had a bad game, but it was the body language that got to me last night. He looked overwhelmed, as if the moment was a bit too big for him. I’m confident that he’ll bounce back tomorrow night and that we’ll even the series before heading to Philips Arena. I said Knicks in 6. Last night did nothing to shake my confidence. #KNICKSNATION 4 LIFE

Fuck all you bitch ass frank stand consumers and your Knicks slander, especially all the fake Nets fans that spawned out of nowhere when they picked up Slender Man aka Mr. Emotional, Kyrie Gandhi, and Blackbeard aka Struggle Braids. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch cuz y’all are all a right leg, a Kyrie mental health breakdown, or a few “buy one get ones” from Burger King from going home in the Eastern Conference Semifinals. Like I said, the only banner I saw in the Barclays rafters last time I went was Dr. J.’s dusty ass retired #32. Fuck y’all.

RIP Paul Mooney. If Richard Pryor is the GOAT (I have no problem with the assessment although I think Redd Foxx was damn close), then Paul is as well. He was a long-time writer for Pryor, and one of the most respected pens in the industry. He told the unabashed, uncompromised truth, even when it hurt. I’m glad that my generation caught a glimpse of his genius via the legendary Dave Chappelle and his seminal and eponymous show. A friend of mine argued that news of his death should have been much larger, as he is a key figure in comedy and one of the reasons why Richard Pryor is an icon. I concur. Look up TRPS on YouTube. There were only a handful of episodes…episodes that shook popular culture and were truly ahead of their time. Paul was a key part of it all. Rest easy Negrodamus. You shall be missed.

My sun Jermaine Cole dropped unexpectedly a week ago and gave us a damn good surprise album. Cole’s project, titled “The Off-Season,” is a twelve-track effort full of quality material. The radio is pushing “pride.is.the.devil” heavy right now, and it’s a damn good track. Lil Baby goes crazy. But my favorites are definitely “let.go.my.hand” and “my.life,” in which he brilliantly flips a classic old Pharoahe Monch hook. “100.mil” is another banger worthy of a few playbacks. Cole doesn’t miss…unless it’s in the Basketball Africa League. I watched the highlights from last Thursday (I think). He can definitely build a few luxury homes in Rwanda with the bricks he laid the other night. But all jokes aside, I’m proud of Jermaine. He continues to be one of the best MC’s breathing and has managed to live out his childhood dream – at the same damn time. Keep on doing what you do, my nigga. It’s a Cole world.

I saw some footage of Saweetie from a few years before she became a household name to all the younger folk. Some guy was on a college campus interviewing random co-eds about some dumb shit that I cannot recall and one of his interviewees happened to be Saweetie. She’s beautiful. Like naturally beautiful. Look, I’m no sexist or chauvinist, nor am I the type to TELL a woman anything about her body or appearance. It’s none of my business. But damn it, I am entitled to my opinion. All I can do is think of the aforementioned Nas bars. Y’all are already gorgeous. Y’all don’t need to change a thing. I love everything about the Black woman. I love your spirit, your hair, your smile, your body, and your mind. You don’t need enhancements, lace fronts, or anything else. But I’m going to continue to support you unconditionally. Just know that I love you all just as you are, without reservation or condition. We are the sun. You are the moon.

The crazy thing about catching up with loved ones and conversing about this and that is the uncomfortable mention of death. It never fails. At some point in the conversation the dearly departed will enter the discussion. I spoke with my folk Rahgie, my family from the Hali. He told me that my old rec league basketball teammate and HCHS class of ’96 alum Duron Moorefield passed. Duron was a man and a half at 13. When he drove to the basket, he was Lebron before Lebron – a true bull in a china cabinet. Off the court, he was a cool ass dude who kept to himself. RIP bro. Love you. That’s two of my guys gone from the team. Love you too AJ. You were truly unique. RIP to the Baby-Faced Assassin.

I also found out my old homie Nick Breedlove passed. I was told he had a fall and injured his head. He went to sleep and never woke up. Breedlove was old school cool when we were all still young. He was the first cat my age who smoked a Newport like an old school nigga off the movies. He was smoother than 6,000 thread silk sheets. It hurt to hear the news. RIP Breedlove.

RIP to Val from Jefferson Houses. Val’s been gone for a minute, but I just found out that she passed last night while conversing with my cousin/sister Leaha. Val was an older friend of the family (from my big cousin Wendy’s era) and used to visit 2A on a regular basis. She was always a willing source of information. She always had the scoop on the latest in Jefferson news. Val also had a laugh that would make Lucy Ricardo blush. I wouldn’t mind hearing Val laugh a thousand more times. Much love Val.

Things change, but death is certain.

My blog last week was nice AF, but it was also longer than a bootleg beta copy of Godfather II. Shit, I damn near stopped reading that MF at a certain point. My queen always reminds me of brevity, and she’s right. They don’t all have to be ten-minute reads. So, having said that, I’m out this bitch. Protect your peace and make sure you perpetually let your loved ones know exactly how much you love them. Tomorrow is not promised. To the projects I’m ghost shorty wop, one love.

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