#MNR: SUCCOTASH

#MNR: SUCCOTASH
 
“I got a question. It’s serious as cancer. Where the fucking safe at? Somebody better answer.”
Shyne
 
“You can’t hear that switch, but you can hear them niggas scream.”
Future
 
“Why you trolling like a bitch, ain’t you tired? Trying to strike a chord and it’s probably A-minor!”
Kendrick Lamar
 
My intention last Saturday morning was to wake up (prayerfully/thankfully), shower, get superhero high, grab a bite to eat, and head to Fairleigh Dickinson University Field to watch their baseball team host Coppin State, who just so happens to feature my DMHS sun Christopher Marte at catcher. He’s been one of mine since his freshman year in high school; the bond is indelible. I made it to Dwight Morrow for a game in his senior and COVID (extra year of HS eligibility in lieu of 2020 seasons being canceled due to COVID) years, and promised him I’d attend the Saturday, 5.11 game. Again, that was my intention. However, I woke up at 6:33 am on Saturday morning (way too early for a Saturday) with an all-too familiar pain in my lower abdomen on the right side, in the general area of my right kidney. The pain wasn’t severe, but it was consistent. I knew it wasn’t normal. I went to the bathroom to pay the water bill. I only let about half my normal stream go, but I didn’t think much of it in the moment. It would be my last urination until Monday evening – after emergency surgery.
 
Before you drop a tear, roll up immechiately, and scream, “Dis tew much!” while lighting that MF, the surgery was simply placing a stent in my kidney to ensure that the exit passage was open for fluids AND my latest round of kidney stones to pass through, much like large container cargo ships do through the Panama and Suez canals. I checked into the emergency room last Monday around 9:30 am, had surgery around 2:30 pm, and had an underwhelming diabetes dietary dinner around 6:00 pm. My general doc told me I pissed 9 liters over the course of the night...through a catheter (three agony emojis). Three turkey bags full of pee-pee. I was released around 2:00 last Wednesday afternoon. I was given the strict order of drinking at least a gallon (yes, gallon) of water a day to flush my kidney and was taken off a couple prescriptions I’ve been using the past few years, most notably Metformin.
 
Oh yeah, I found out that my left kidney is on the verge of being useless. There’s been a staghorn kidney stone which has prevented any activity for an undetermined period of time. Dr. Lee and I will discuss it further when I see him on 5.30. Look at it this way. I can live another 70 years on one kidney (facts). I didn’t plan on living to 115-120 anyway. C’est la vie.
 
Life is good. Now, back to regularly scheduled programming.
 
For those of you on the wrong side of favor in the Kendrick/Aubrey battle, you should’ve read my blogs. Everything I said about both of those men was 100% accurate. Check the timestamp. I said that one of the two was born from and into the struggle while the other was raised in relative affluence by his Jewish mother...in another country. I did everything except implicitly state that Aubrey is not from our culture. I spoke on his lack of respect for the essence of the Black American struggle because he...isn’t Black American. I also said that Kenny was the better artist, point blank. I shot a higher percentage from the field than the Pacers did in the Garden in Game 7 (sighs). For anyone who isn’t aware, “They Not Like Us” was tailored specifically for California and Cali culture. I’ve seen more crip and blood walking to the Mustard beat than I’ve seen pimps with hoes. It’s a California cultural phenomenon. I was walking on 2fifth on the long (No Diddy) stretch between Lenox and Madison (IYKYK) and a group of young Hispanic men were in a small-ass four-door bopping to Mustard on the beat, hoe. The setting is hip-hop’s polar opposite to Compton, LA, California. This is Harlem, NYC, New York. Ponder that. It’s powerful.
 
 Now, ponder how far and how quickly Aubrey has fallen from grace. He’s the laughingstock of the internet. EVERY urban Youtuber is still frying his ass on a daily basis. He got one million DISLIKES for the punk ass song he did with Artificial Intelligence Pac and Snoop (extremely non-cipher). Nike recently released a pair of sneakers from NOCTA, Aubrey’s signature clothing/shoe line. The sneakers are sitting on the shelves and in the warehouses like the Knicks are sitting at home. They’re calling his shoe the Colonizer + whatever number was attached to those feminine gay men’s sneakers. I wouldn’t wear those shits on the way to pick up a check from Aubrey. I’m talmbout six figures. I’m pulling up in a pair of Kobe VI Protro. That light-skinned colonizer would have to respect it. RIP Drake. You’re Aubrey and only Aubrey from henceforth. And we know about those young girls. What in the Jeffrey Epstein...and what’s up with the grown man-headed brother with the baby’s body? I’m too scared to do my due diligence, so I’m just going to pretend that I’ve never seen him.
 
On the way to visit my family in Throgs Neck #BXNYC, I decided to take the A to 2fifth on the 8th Avenue side of town, just like I used to when I was living in Englewood 22 years ago. I usually took the M101 across 2fifth until it reached [1]16th and Lexington, a block away from Jeff. But some days I’d shun the bus for a nice stroll down 2fifth, Black America’s most famous street. Last Saturday I was immediately underwhelmed. There was nothing new and vibrant to report. The only interesting “new” business I saw was a Nike Unite store on 5th Avenue. There were plenty of closed stores along the strip. The Duane Reade on Lenox was Dundee. But so are most Duane Reade locations in the city not associated with Walgreens. Crossing over to the #Eastside had that mid-90s extra grimy feel. There’s still absolutely nothing in that big ass lot on 2fifth and Park. I felt like I was in Fallujah the further east I walked. The former Pathmark on Lexington has been leveled; there’s simply an empty lot (the entire block) and a tall ass fence surrounding the perimeter. The dope fiend McDonald’s across the street has finally ceased operations. The lone bright spot was a weed shop right beside the former Mickey D’s. I got an eighth of decent Gumbo for $25 and a pack of Raw for two cash.  I made my way to 2fourth to get a cheeseburger with an egg on it from JImbo’s. The burger was certainly worth it, but walking on that block felt like I needed the Juggernaut suit from GTA, two pistols (with at least one switch), and a pack of Jolly Ranchers pink lemonade. It immediately went from bright and sunny to overcast and rainy before I could walk down the block.
 
Low key, my trip home was a harrowing experience (lmao). The irony is that 20-25 years ago, I lived for all types of negativity. I had a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. Today, as a human who has doubled his life span since that time, I feel the exact opposite. I crave tranquility. I have no points left to prove. I do miss early 2000s Harlem, when billions in federal aid and corporate tax incentives came through and 2fifth (and Harlem) exploded. I’m talmbout Magic Theaters. Starbucks (gentrification was already on the way). The HMV on 1-2-5 was my favorite record store in NYC (sorry Virgin Megastore in Times Square, I really loved you too). RIP to boffum. Dr. Jay’s was the shit. So was Jimmy Jazz, which apparently is now Snipes (Junisa and/or Nella please verify that for me). House of Hoops was theeeeee shit! Apparently, now it’s just a regular Foot Locker. I’m guessing the midnight releases stopped long ago (sighs). At least Marshall’s is still standing. So is Cap City USA. And Rainbow will never die, so long as it is located in the MF hood. The bottom line is that 2fifth has reverted to pre-2000s squalor. It’s not as bad, but it’s definitely down bad.
 
The one bright spot on the 2fifth stroll was my brothers from the Nation on the corner of Lenox Avenue. I could be cryogenically frozen for 75 years, thaw out, head [back] to Harlem, and purchase the latest copy of the Final Call from one of my brothers. It commemorated Minister Farrakhan’s 91st birth anniversary. There was an article about a 19-year-old Milwaukee Black woman who was murdered on a first date by a white male from an affluent family. Prayerfully, he’s been booked on three felony charges, including murder. But hands down, the most heartbreaking article involved an 11-year-old Louisiana girl receiving a 7-year sentence for her role in a murder with her 12-year-old brother. They killed a white man but there was no reason given. I have all types of questions. There’s an 85-90% chance that I don’t read about these cases in the national press. I’ll leave it at that.
 
I’m a member of the Christian faith but I love and respect my brothers and sisters from the Nation. I also support them.
 
My heart hurts for Harlem.  
 
It feels good to be back at it. I missed y’all. Smoke one with your kinfolk when you see me. I just might be in your hood (IYKYK – Soul!).  I’m out through the dirty ass sliding patio do’ on the left side of the ‘partment. The one across from your auntie dem crib. You heard?
 
Y’all know where the fuck to @ us.