“I’m not saying I’m perfect, but I’m 99.9%.”
My apologies go out to all readers of this blog, whether you read on occasion or as a zealot. I had a medical issue that kept me away from my Mac. But, like Mason Betha on “Get Ready,” “We back. We back, we back, we back. We back, we back again…” I was always told that the show must go on. I’m [a lifetime] two Broadway shows in, so I’ll count my tardiness as a prolonged intermission of sorts. Now, let’s get to the meat and potatoes.
I want to begin by wishing a happy tenth earth day to one of my favorite people on the planet, Riyan the Great. I’ve known Rhino since her preschool era. She was one of mine when Brandi was just a mom who came to pick her kid up at BFC every day. Love you much Rhino. Here’s to eighty more revolutions around the sun. Even if I don’t receive the coveted Pulitzer, I know my baby girl will. She’s gonna be the best investigative reporter on planet Earth.
Big ups to my aforementioned queen Brandi. I love you beyond measure. I got your back, even if it means a detour through West Hell. Big ups to my CEO. Stay strong bro. I couldn’t envision a better brother to occupy a foxhole with. You saved my life back when, literally. And you made me the official godson of your prince. I cherish the responsibility. We gon make it, I swear my nigga (Big Boi voice). Big ups to my sissy Jonyce, err um, Jon Jon. You’re more than just the glue. You’re the closest person to Tamika on this earth. I was in a really bad place when Shareon passed. You were more family to me than any blood family was. You checked in on me on a regular basis, but it was more than the obligatory check-in. You didn’t ask uncomfortable questions or offer the cookie cutter “How you?” type of dialogue. You asked me about sports headlines. You spoke on any and everything OTHER THAN death and coping with death. It got me through some tough days. Cheers to you, sis. You’re so amazing.
Never forsake an opportunity to tell your folk exactly how much you love and appreciate them every time the spirit hits you. We have no idea what tomorrow may bring. Years ago, my big bro Chubby asked me to come downstairs one Friday night and kick it with him on 15th St. I told him I was on my way, even though I had no intention whatsoever of coming downstairs. I was high, drunk, and lazy AF. That was a Friday night. Chubby died that Tuesday. I never got the opportunity to tell him how much love I had for him. He knew, but I never got to verbalize it. “All these people that you love, go ‘head and give ‘em a toast. Because if they ain’t here tomorrow you’re gon miss ‘em the most.” My departed friend Mac Miller said it best.
DRAWING (draw · ing)
Origin: Philadelphia, PA
(verb) – to bring (draw) attention to oneself
Example: “Man, you’re doing too much. Stop drawing.”
Big ups to my brother Khalif Stripling, born and raised in the 2-1-5. I’ve heard plenty of folk from Philly use the terminology, but when I hear it in my mind, it’s always Strip saying it. Here’s the point: it’s particularly amusing when coworkers are guilty of drawing. You know the type, the ones that ALWAYS make sure that you know that they know that you are high as gas prices while on the job. Yeah, they began their drawing career in high school, most likely. Their bullshit never really bothered me, way, way, way back when I used to smoke good before school or work. I mean, shit. I WAS high as fuck. But why did you feel the need to broadcast it? My brother Todd is still the smoothest ever when it comes to being the opposite of drawing. Once upon a time, Bro (whose name shall remain anonymous because of his career and image) and I entered the Barco-Stevens Gymnasium for a VUU basketball game, higher than the elevation of Mexico City. We smooth sat on the front row, impervious to any random vitriol. The whole gymnasium knew we were blunted. But Todd, as only Todd could do, leaned forward, and spoke in a low tone, “That fragrance that you’re wearing. It’s so sweet.” I immediately ROTFL. He didn’t draw. That’s how it’s done. If you feel compelled to let me know that you have inside information, please do it with discretion. But when you say something loud AF like, “Hey Mr. T., I see you in your Crocs,” you’re drawing. The entire hallway heard you. That leaves the opportunity for a hater to peep game and do what haters do. Then I’m in line to get fucked with no Vaseline by administration (I guess; I don’t care that much regardless) if they do what haters do. That shit is non-cipher. Stop drawing. The aroma smells exactly like the morbid stench of hate.
My gpa AG Warren Sr. raised me to respect the job. He taught me that a person should always work to the terms of their contract, to hold off on any contract-related issue until the contract has been fulfilled, and THEN establish desired terms when the time comes to renegotiate. His logic? You signed the contract. No one forced you to leave your John Hancock on the solid line. You had every right to refuse. But signage means acceptance. I held that advice dear, and still adhere to it until this day. But damn it, I’m totally with the new school ideology of leaving a job at the drop of a dime when a better position is available. Why? Because today ain’t Pop’s era. There was definitely employer loyalty once upon a time. Good businesses took care of their own. Nowadays? Shit – an employer will cut you quicker than a ‘70s 42nd Street whore on a midtown Saturday night. There is little to no loyalty. So, guess what? Fuck your two weeks’ notice. If the new job tells me what I want to hear…I’m gone (Uncle Elroy voice)! Fuck my company, fuck my boss, and fuck the job. Next, please.
THE NBA IS BACK!
Big ups to #KNICKSNATION. We’re back!!!!!!!!
The 2021-2022 NBA season tipped off this week, beginning Tuesday night in Milwaukee, as the defending champs received their rings and then delivered a critical beatdown to the Nets, the prohibitive favorite headed into the season. Of course, Brooklyn is without Kyrie Irving, my favorite NBA player, and flat-earth believer. We all know why he’s not active. There’s no need to rehash. I don’t know if a Kyrie-less Nets roster will be enough to dethrone the Bucks, and I’m not saying that because of Tuesday night’s result. I’m saying it because I genuinely feel that they’ll be a bit short on firepower. But I could be wrong. I think that my Knickerbockers can definitely finish top 4 in the East again, even top 3. We shall see. Evan Fournier, former Knicks killer, is now one of us. Obi is gonna make leaps and bounds this season. Welcome home, Kemba. DRose is still one of my favorite humans, period. In Julius we trust. I like what the Hawks have cooking, despite the fact that they did us dirty in the Playoffs. Trae is big time. The team is well built around him. Collins is a highlight reel, Huerter is an assassin, Hunter is Baby Kawhi, and Capela is a savant down low. Perhaps they can be the ones to fuck everyone’s long term tickets up and make it to the endgames. Ben has muddied the waters so badly in Iladelph that they’ll get pennies on the dollar back when they actually do ship his ass off into the wild blue yonder. I’m a big Jimmy Butler fan (since Marquette). He, Kyle, Bam, and company could make things interesting for the Heat in the East if they gel and stay healthy. But like I said – Giannis dem vs. the field. I’m taking Giannis dem. Out west, I think the Lakers will solve their chemistry issue in time to handle business and represent the conference in the NBA Finals. I feel that a healthy Bron and a healthy (and determined) AD are still the best combination since General Tso’s and house special fried rice. I love DBook and the Suns, but there’s a difference between being the hunter and the hunted. No Kawhi in the basement of Staples until March means no chance. Joker ain’t ready yet. Neither is Luka. Neither is Spider D45. But in all fairness, neither are their rosters. A healthy Klay and Weisman could propel the Warriors to a return to greatness if Steph plays the way he did last season. Joker played amazing ball and I’m not mad at him winning the MVP Award, but I had Steph with the slight edge. But anyway…I’m calling a Bucks/Lake Show Finals. I’ll pick a winner in June.
I found out today that my coworker Ms. Aniyah Williams and I are damn near related. Her mother’s brother is my GODFATHER! Clarence Shine and Big Ty Thompson were besties at Virginia Union University! He is my actual godfather, no play or pretend. The realization began with a conversation that Aniyah, our classroom teacher TM, and I had regarding jury duty. Somehow, the name Clarence Shine was mentioned. Clarence Shine from Baruch Houses in lower Manhattan? Yes. That played ball at VUU? Yes. Damn it, that’s my godfather!!! And to think, I’ve known Aniyah since she was a middle school student a few moons ago in the 21st Century after school program. It just so happened that years later I ended up in the classroom she ended up in. We’ve been smooth operator since day one. It all makes perfect sense now. We are family. God is so amazing. Now…let’s see if I can get a working number for Tyrone. It’s been a minute.
Here’s to family, love, togetherness, and devotion. I want all my folk to live their best lives, whether we’re blood, or we met in the streets. Life is way too short to waste time over frivolous and dumb shit. Remember my big brother Charles Chubby Chisolm and the Mac Miller bars I quoted. Never forsake the opportunity to show love. Moreover, oftentimes you may have to be the one to extend the olive branch. Sure, the phone works both ways, but if contacting a loved one enters your mind and you allow hubris to cloud your judgement…you may end up regretting your decision for the rest of your life. And if there’s one type of person I absolutely detest, it’s the “jump in the casket” ass MF. Nine times out of nine, all that cap is because all the fuck shit they did [while the loved one in the casket was alive] is now in turn eating them alive. And now, it’s too late to make it right (in their me-centric ass mind). Meanwhile, that sister or brother ain’t worried about your dumb ass or anything else mundane. Their soul is with the Lord. You’re the one who can’t cope. IDGAF – stay the fuck up out that casket. It’s the ultimate bad look. It’s disgusting. But what do I know? I’m just a blogger.
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